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+The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Tenant of Wildfell Hall, by Anne Bronte
+
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+
+
+
+Title: The Tenant of Wildfell Hall
+
+
+Author: Anne Bronte
+
+Introduction by: Mrs. Humphry Ward
+
+Release Date: February 2, 2010  [eBook #969]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+
+***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL***
+
+
+Transcribed from the 1920 John Murray edition by David Price, email
+ccx074@pglaf.org
+
+     [Picture: Anne Brontë from a drawing by Charlotte Brontë in the
+                  possession of the Rev. A. B. Nicholls]
+
+
+
+
+
+                                THE TENANT
+                                    OF
+                              WILDFELL HALL
+
+
+                              BY ANNE BRONTË
+
+                           WITH AN INTRODUCTION
+                           BY MRS HUMPHREY WARD
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+                                  LONDON
+                    JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET, W.
+                                   1920
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+THIS EDITION FIRST ISSUED                                _March_, 1900
+   (Smith, Elder & Co.)
+Reprinted                                                 _June_, 1906
+Reprinted (John Murray)                              _September_, 1920
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+                          [All rights reserved]
+
+
+
+
+LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
+
+PORTRAIT OF ANNE BRONTË                                 _Frontispiece_
+FACSIMILE OF THE TITLE-PAGE OF THE FIRST EDITION              _p._ xxv
+OF ‘WILDFELL HALL’
+_The following Illustrations are reproduced from photographs taken by
+Mr. W. R. Bland_, _of Duffield_, _Derby_, _in conjunction with Mr. C.
+Barrow Keene_, _of Derby_:
+MOORLAND SCENE, HAWORTH                                _To face p._ 14
+                  (_with water_)                                    46
+                 (_with cottage_)                                  100
+BLAKE HALL (GRASSDALE MANOR):
+   THE APPROACH                                                    206
+   FRONT                                                           222
+   SIDE                                                            286
+
+INTRODUCTION
+
+
+Anne Brontë serves a twofold purpose in the study of what the Brontës
+wrote and were.  In the first place, her gentle and delicate presence,
+her sad, short story, her hard life and early death, enter deeply into
+the poetry and tragedy that have always been entwined with the memory of
+the Brontës, as women and as writers; in the second, the books and poems
+that she wrote serve as matter of comparison by which to test the
+greatness of her two sisters.  She is the measure of their genius—like
+them, yet not with them.
+
+Many years after Anne’s death her brother-in-law protested against a
+supposed portrait of her, as giving a totally wrong impression of the
+‘dear, gentle Anne Brontë.’  ‘Dear’ and ‘gentle’ indeed she seems to have
+been through life, the youngest and prettiest of the sisters, with a
+delicate complexion, a slender neck, and small, pleasant features.
+Notwithstanding, she possessed in full the Brontë seriousness, the Brontë
+strength of will.  When her father asked her at four years old what a
+little child like her wanted most, the tiny creature replied—if it were
+not a Brontë it would be incredible!—‘Age and experience.’  When the
+three children started their ‘Island Plays’ together in 1827, Anne, who
+was then eight, chose Guernsey for her imaginary island, and peopled it
+with ‘Michael Sadler, Lord Bentinck, and Sir Henry Halford.’  She and
+Emily were constant companions, and there is evidence that they shared a
+common world of fancy from very early days to mature womanhood.  ‘The
+Gondal Chronicles’ seem to have amused them for many years, and to have
+branched out into innumerable books, written in the ‘tiny writing’ of
+which Mr. Clement Shorter has given us facsimiles.  ‘I am now engaged in
+writing the fourth volume of Solala Vernon’s Life,’ says Anne at
+twenty-one.  And four years later Emily says, ‘The Gondals still flourish
+bright as ever.  I am at present writing a work on the First War.  Anne
+has been writing some articles on this and a book by Henry Sophona.  We
+intend sticking firm by the rascals as long as they delight us, which I
+am glad to say they do at present.’
+
+That the author of ‘Wildfell Hall’ should ever have delighted in the
+Gondals, should ever have written the story of Solala Vernon or Henry
+Sophona, is pleasant to know.  Then, for her too, as for her sisters,
+there was a moment when the power of ‘making out’ could turn loneliness
+and disappointment into riches and content.  For a time at least, and
+before a hard and degrading experience had broken the spring of her
+youth, and replaced the disinterested and spontaneous pleasure that is to
+be got from the life and play of imagination, by a sad sense of duty, and
+an inexorable consciousness of moral and religious mission, Anne Brontë
+wrote stories for her own amusement, and loved the ‘rascals’ she created.
+
+But already in 1841, when we first hear of the Gondals and Solala Vernon,
+the material for quite other books was in poor Anne’s mind.  She was then
+teaching in the family at Thorpe Green, where Branwell joined her as
+tutor in 1843, and where, owing to events that are still a mystery, she
+seems to have passed through an ordeal that left her shattered in health
+and nerve, with nothing gained but those melancholy and repulsive
+memories that she was afterwards to embody in ‘Wildfell Hall.’  She
+seems, indeed, to have been partly the victim of Branwell’s morbid
+imagination, the imagination of an opium-eater and a drunkard.  That he
+was neither the conqueror nor the villain that he made his sisters
+believe, all the evidence that has been gathered since Mrs. Gaskell wrote
+goes to show.  But poor Anne believed his account of himself, and no
+doubt saw enough evidence of vicious character in Branwell’s daily life
+to make the worst enormities credible.  She seems to have passed the last
+months of her stay at Thorpe Green under a cloud of dread and miserable
+suspicion, and was thankful to escape from her situation in the summer of
+1845.  At the same moment Branwell was summarily dismissed from his
+tutorship, his employer, Mr. Robinson, writing a stern letter of
+complaint to Bramwell’s father, concerned no doubt with the young man’s
+disorderly and intemperate habits.  Mrs. Gaskell says: ‘The premature
+deaths of two at least of the sisters—all the great possibilities of
+their earthly lives snapped short—may be dated from Midsummer 1845.’  The
+facts as we now know them hardly bear out so strong a judgment.  There is
+nothing to show that Branwell’s conduct was responsible in any way for
+Emily’s illness and death, and Anne, in the contemporary fragment
+recovered by Mr. Shorter, gives a less tragic account of the matter.
+‘During my stay (at Thorpe Green),’ she writes on July 31, 1845, ‘I have
+had some very unpleasant and undreamt-of experience of human nature. . . .
+Branwell has . . . been a tutor at Thorpe Green, and had much
+tribulation and ill-health. . . .  We hope he will be better and do
+better in future.’  And at the end of the paper she says, sadly,
+forecasting the coming years, ‘I for my part cannot well be flatter or
+older in mind than I am now.’  This is the language of disappointment and
+anxiety; but it hardly fits the tragic story that Mrs. Gaskell believed.
+
+That story was, no doubt, the elaboration of Branwell’s diseased fancy
+during the three years which elapsed between his dismissal from Thorpe
+Green and his death.  He imagined a guilty romance with himself and his
+employer’s wife for characters, and he imposed the horrid story upon his
+sisters.  Opium and drink are the sufficient explanations; and no time
+need now be wasted upon unravelling the sordid mystery.  But the vices of
+the brother, real or imaginary, have a certain importance in literature,
+because of the effect they produced upon his sisters.  There can be no
+question that Branwell’s opium madness, his bouts of drunkenness at the
+Black Bull, his violence at home, his free and coarse talk, and his
+perpetual boast of guilty secrets, influenced the imagination of his
+wholly pure and inexperienced sisters.  Much of ‘Wuthering Heights,’ and
+all of ‘Wildfell Hall,’ show Branwell’s mark, and there are many passages
+in Charlotte’s books also where those who know the history of the
+parsonage can hear the voice of those sharp moral repulsions, those
+dismal moral questionings, to which Branwell’s misconduct and ruin gave
+rise.  Their brother’s fate was an element in the genius of Emily and
+Charlotte which they were strong enough to assimilate, which may have
+done them some harm, and weakened in them certain delicate or sane
+perceptions, but was ultimately, by the strange alchemy of talent, far
+more profitable than hurtful, inasmuch as it troubled the waters of the
+soul, and brought them near to the more desperate realities of our
+‘frail, fall’n humankind.’
+
+But Anne was not strong enough, her gift was not vigorous enough, to
+enable her thus to transmute experience and grief.  The probability is
+that when she left Thorpe Green in 1845 she was already suffering from
+that religious melancholy of which Charlotte discovered such piteous
+evidence among her papers after death.  It did not much affect the
+writing of ‘Agnes Grey,’ which was completed in 1846, and reflected the
+minor pains and discomforts of her teaching experience, but it combined
+with the spectacle of Branwell’s increasing moral and physical decay to
+produce that bitter mandate of conscience under which she wrote ‘The
+Tenant of Wildfell Hall.’
+
+‘Hers was naturally a sensitive, reserved, and dejected nature.  She
+hated her work, but would pursue it.  It was written as a warning,’—so
+said Charlotte when, in the pathetic Preface of 1850, she was
+endeavouring to explain to the public how a creature so gentle and so
+good as Acton Bell should have written such a book as ‘Wildfell Hall.’
+And in the second edition of ‘Wildfell Hall,’ which appeared in 1848,
+Anne Brontë herself justified her novel in a Preface which is reprinted
+in this volume for the first time.  The little Preface is a curious
+document.  It has the same determined didactic tone which pervades the
+book itself, the same narrowness of view, and inflation of expression, an
+inflation which is really due not to any personal egotism in the writer,
+but rather to that very gentleness and inexperience which must yet nerve
+itself under the stimulus of religion to its disagreeable and repulsive
+task.  ‘I knew that such characters’—as Huntingdon and his companions—‘do
+exist, and if I have warned one rash youth from following in their steps
+the book has not been written in vain.’  If the story has given more pain
+than pleasure to ‘any honest reader,’ the writer ‘craves his pardon, for
+such was far from my intention.’  But at the same time she cannot promise
+to limit her ambition to the giving of innocent pleasure, or to the
+production of ‘a perfect work of art.’  ‘Time and talent so spent I
+should consider wasted and misapplied.’  God has given her unpalatable
+truths to speak, and she must speak them.
+
+The measure of misconstruction and abuse, therefore, which her book
+brought upon her she bore, says her sister, ‘as it was her custom to bear
+whatever was unpleasant, with mild, steady patience.  She was a very
+sincere and practical Christian, but the tinge of religious melancholy
+communicated a sad shade to her brief, blameless life.’
+
+In spite of misconstruction and abuse, however, ‘Wildfell Hall’ seems to
+have attained more immediate success than anything else written by the
+sisters before 1848, except ‘Jane Eyre.’  It went into a second edition
+within a very short time of its publication, and Messrs. Newby informed
+the American publishers with whom they were negotiating that it was the
+work of the same hand which had produced ‘Jane Eyre,’ and superior to
+either ‘Jane Eyre’ or ‘Wuthering Heights’!  It was, indeed, the sharp
+practice connected with this astonishing judgment which led to the
+sisters’ hurried journey to London in 1848—the famous journey when the
+two little ladies in black revealed themselves to Mr. Smith, and proved
+to him that they were not one Currer Bell, but two Miss Brontës.  It was
+Anne’s sole journey to London—her only contact with a world that was not
+Haworth, except that supplied by her school-life at Roehead and her two
+teaching engagements.
+
+And there was and is a considerable narrative ability, a sheer moral
+energy in ‘Wildfell Hall,’ which would not be enough, indeed, to keep it
+alive if it were not the work of a Brontë, but still betray its kinship
+and source.  The scenes of Huntingdon’s wickedness are less interesting
+but less improbable than the country-house scenes of ‘Jane Eyre’; the
+story of his death has many true and touching passages; the last
+love-scene is well, even in parts admirably, written.  But the book’s
+truth, so far as it is true, is scarcely the truth of imagination; it is
+rather the truth of a tract or a report.  There can be little doubt that
+many of the pages are close transcripts from Branwell’s conduct and
+language,—so far as Anne’s slighter personality enabled her to render her
+brother’s temperament, which was more akin to Emily’s than to her own.
+The same material might have been used by Emily or Charlotte; Emily, as
+we know, did make use of it in ‘Wuthering Heights’; but only after it had
+passed through that ineffable transformation, that mysterious,
+incommunicable heightening which makes and gives rank in literature.
+Some subtle, innate correspondence between eye and brain, between brain
+and hand, was present in Emily and Charlotte, and absent in Anne.  There
+is no other account to be given of this or any other case of difference
+between serviceable talent and the high gifts of ‘Delos’ and Patara’s own
+Apollo.’
+
+The same world of difference appears between her poems and those of her
+playfellow and comrade, Emily.  If ever our descendants should establish
+the schools for writers which are even now threatened or attempted, they
+will hardly know perhaps any better than we what genius is, nor how it
+can be produced.  But if they try to teach by example, then Anne and
+Emily Brontë are ready to their hand.  Take the verses written by Emily
+at Roehead which contain the lovely lines which I have already quoted in
+an earlier ‘Introduction.’ {0}  Just before those lines there are two or
+three verses which it is worth while to compare with a poem of Anne’s
+called ‘Home.’  Emily was sixteen at the time of writing; Anne about
+twenty-one or twenty-two.  Both sisters take for their motive the exile’s
+longing thought of home.  Emily’s lines are full of faults, but they have
+the indefinable quality—here, no doubt, only in the bud, only as a matter
+of promise—which Anne’s are entirely without.  From the twilight
+schoolroom at Roehead, Emily turns in thought to the distant upland of
+Haworth and the little stone-built house upon its crest:—
+
+   There is a spot, ’mid barren hills,
+      Where winter howls, and driving rain;
+   But, if the dreary tempest chills,
+      There is a light that warms again.
+
+   The house is old, the trees are bare,
+      Moonless above bends twilight’s dome,
+   But what on earth is half so dear—
+      So longed for—as the hearth of home?
+
+   The mute bird sitting on the stone,
+      The dank moss dripping from the wall,
+   The thorn-trees gaunt, the walks o’ergrown,
+      I love them—how I love them all!
+
+Anne’s verses, written from one of the houses where she was a governess,
+express precisely the same feeling, and movement of mind.  But notice the
+instinctive rightness and swiftness of Emily’s, the blurred weakness of
+Anne’s!—
+
+   For yonder garden, fair and wide,
+      With groves of evergreen,
+   Long winding walks, and borders trim,
+      And velvet lawns between—
+
+   Restore to me that little spot,
+      With gray walls compassed round,
+   Where knotted grass neglected lies,
+      And weeds usurp the ground.
+
+   Though all around this mansion high
+      Invites the foot to roam,
+   And though its halls are fair within—
+      Oh, give me back my Home!
+
+A similar parallel lies between Anne’s lines ‘Domestic Peace,’—a sad and
+true reflection of the terrible times with Branwell in 1846—and Emily’s
+‘Wanderer from the Fold’; while in Emily’s ‘Last Lines,’ the daring
+spirit of the sister to whom the magic gift was granted separates itself
+for ever from the gentle and accustomed piety of the sister to whom it
+was denied.  Yet Anne’s ‘Last Lines’—‘I hoped that with the brave and
+strong’—have sweetness and sincerity; they have gained and kept a place
+in English religious verse, and they must always appeal to those who love
+the Brontës because, in the language of Christian faith and submission,
+they record the death of Emily and the passionate affection which her
+sisters bore her.
+
+And so we are brought back to the point from which we started.  It is not
+as the writer of ‘Wildfell Hall,’ but as the sister of Charlotte and
+Emily Brontë, that Anne Brontë escapes oblivion—as the frail ‘little
+one,’ upon whom the other two lavished a tender and protecting care, who
+was a witness of Emily’s death, and herself, within a few minutes of her
+own farewell to life, bade Charlotte ‘take courage.’
+
+‘When my thoughts turn to Anne,’ said Charlotte many years earlier, ‘they
+always see her as a patient, persecuted stranger,—more lonely, less
+gifted with the power of making friends even than I am.’  Later on,
+however, this power of making friends seems to have belonged to Anne in
+greater measure than to the others.  Her gentleness conquered; she was
+not set apart, as they were, by the lonely and self-sufficing activities
+of great powers; her Christianity, though sad and timid, was of a kind
+which those around her could understand; she made no grim fight with
+suffering and death as did Emily.  Emily was ‘torn’ from life ‘conscious,
+panting, reluctant,’ to use Charlotte’s own words; Anne’s ‘sufferings
+were mild,’ her mind ‘generally serene,’ and at the last ‘she thanked God
+that death was come, and come so gently.’  When Charlotte returned to the
+desolate house at Haworth, Emily’s large house-dog and Anne’s little
+spaniel welcomed her in ‘a strange, heart-touching way,’ she writes to
+Mr. Williams.  She alone was left, heir to all the memories and tragedies
+of the house.  She took up again the task of life and labour.  She cared
+for her father; she returned to the writing of ‘Shirley’; and when she
+herself passed away, four years later, she had so turned those years to
+account that not only all she did but all she loved had passed silently
+into the keeping of fame.  Mrs. Gaskell’s touching and delightful task
+was ready for her, and Anne, no less than Charlotte and Emily, was sure
+of England’s remembrance.
+
+                                                             MARY A. WARD.
+
+
+
+
+AUTHOR’S PREFACE {1}
+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 be 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_ 22_nd_, 1848.
+
+       [Picture: Facsimile of the Title-page of the First Edition]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+
+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,
+retroussé,—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.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+
+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 pasturing 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.
+
+                    [Picture: Moorland Scene, Haworth]
+
+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 _tête-à-tête_, 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.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+
+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 get 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.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+
+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,’ I 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.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+
+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.
+
+             [Picture: Moorland scene (with water): Haworth]
+
+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 repress 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?
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+
+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 mere 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 _tête-à-tête_ 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.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+
+When all were gone, I learnt that the vile slander had indeed been
+circulated throughout the company, in the very presence of the victim.
+Rose, however, vowed she did not and would not believe it, and my mother
+made the same declaration, though not, I fear, with the same amount of
+real, unwavering incredulity.  It seemed to dwell continually on her
+mind, and she kept irritating me from time to time by such expressions
+as—‘Dear, dear, who would have thought it!—Well!  I always thought there
+was something odd about her.—You see what it is for women to affect to be
+different to other people.’  And once it was,—‘I misdoubted that
+appearance of mystery from the very first—I thought there would no good
+come of it; but this is a sad, sad business, to be sure!’
+
+‘Why, mother, you said you didn’t believe these tales,’ said Fergus.
+
+‘No more I do, my dear; but then, you know, there must be some
+foundation.’
+
+‘The foundation is in the wickedness and falsehood of the world,’ said I,
+‘and in the fact that Mr. Lawrence has been seen to go that way once or
+twice of an evening—and the village gossips say he goes to pay his
+addresses to the strange lady, and the scandal-mongers have greedily
+seized the rumour, to make it the basis of their own infernal structure.’
+
+‘Well, but, Gilbert, there must be something in her manner to countenance
+such reports.’
+
+‘Did you see anything in her manner?’
+
+‘No, certainly; but then, you know, I always said there was something
+strange about her.’
+
+I believe it was on that very evening that I ventured on another invasion
+of Wildfell Hall.  From the time of our party, which was upwards of a
+week ago, I had been making daily efforts to meet its mistress in her
+walks; and always disappointed (she must have managed it so on purpose),
+had nightly kept revolving in my mind some pretext for another call.  At
+length I concluded that the separation could be endured no longer (by
+this time, you will see, I was pretty far gone); and, taking from the
+book-case an old volume that I thought she might be interested in,
+though, from its unsightly and somewhat dilapidated condition, I had not
+yet ventured to offer it for perusal, I hastened away,—but not without
+sundry misgivings as to how she would receive me, or how I could summon
+courage to present myself with so slight an excuse.  But, perhaps, I
+might see her in the field or the garden, and then there would be no
+great difficulty: it was the formal knocking at the door, with the
+prospect of being gravely ushered in by Rachel, to the presence of a
+surprised, uncordial mistress, that so greatly disturbed me.
+
+My wish, however, was not gratified.  Mrs. Graham herself was not to be
+seen; but there was Arthur playing with his frolicsome little dog in the
+garden.  I looked over the gate and called him to me.  He wanted me to
+come in; but I told him I could not without his mother’s leave.
+
+‘I’ll go and ask her,’ said the child.
+
+‘No, no, Arthur, you mustn’t do that; but if she’s not engaged, just ask
+her to come here a minute.  Tell her I want to speak to her.’
+
+He ran to perform my bidding, and quickly returned with his mother.  How
+lovely she looked with her dark ringlets streaming in the light summer
+breeze, her fair cheek slightly flushed, and her countenance radiant with
+smiles.  Dear Arthur! what did I not owe to you for this and every other
+happy meeting?  Through him I was at once delivered from all formality,
+and terror, and constraint.  In love affairs, there is no mediator like a
+merry, simple-hearted child—ever ready to cement divided hearts, to span
+the unfriendly gulf of custom, to melt the ice of cold reserve, and
+overthrow the separating walls of dread formality and pride.
+
+‘Well, Mr. Markham, what is it?’ said the young mother, accosting me with
+a pleasant smile.
+
+‘I want you to look at this book, and, if you please, to take it, and
+peruse it at your leisure.  I make no apology for calling you out on such
+a lovely evening, though it be for a matter of no greater importance.’
+
+‘Tell him to come in, mamma,’ said Arthur.
+
+‘Would you like to come in?’ asked the lady.
+
+‘Yes; I should like to see your improvements in the garden.’
+
+‘And how your sister’s roots have prospered in my charge,’ added she, as
+she opened the gate.
+
+And we sauntered through the garden, and talked of the flowers, the
+trees, and the book, and then of other things.  The evening was kind and
+genial, and so was my companion.  By degrees I waxed more warm and tender
+than, perhaps, I had ever been before; but still I said nothing tangible,
+and she attempted no repulse, until, in passing a moss rose-tree that I
+had brought her some weeks since, in my sister’s name, she plucked a
+beautiful half-open bud and bade me give it to Rose.
+
+‘May I not keep it myself?’ I asked.
+
+‘No; but here is another for you.’
+
+Instead of taking it quietly, I likewise took the hand that offered it,
+and looked into her face.  She let me hold it for a moment, and I saw a
+flash of ecstatic brilliance in her eye, a glow of glad excitement on her
+face—I thought my hour of victory was come—but instantly a painful
+recollection seemed to flash upon her; a cloud of anguish darkened her
+brow, a marble paleness blanched her cheek and lip; there seemed a moment
+of inward conflict, and, with a sudden effort, she withdrew her hand, and
+retreated a step or two back.
+
+‘Now, Mr. Markham,’ said she, with a kind of desperate calmness, ‘I must
+tell you plainly that I cannot do with this.  I like your company,
+because I am alone here, and your conversation pleases me more than that
+of any other person; but if you cannot be content to regard me as a
+friend—a plain, cold, motherly, or sisterly friend—I must beg you to
+leave me now, and let me alone hereafter: in fact, we must be strangers
+for the future.’
+
+‘I will, then—be your friend, or brother, or anything you wish, if you
+will only let me continue to see you; but tell me why I cannot be
+anything more?’
+
+There was a perplexed and thoughtful pause.
+
+‘Is it in consequence of some rash vow?’
+
+‘It is something of the kind,’ she answered.  ‘Some day I may tell you,
+but at present you had better leave me; and never, Gilbert, put me to the
+painful necessity of repeating what I have just now said to you,’ she
+earnestly added, giving me her hand in serious kindness.  How sweet, how
+musical my own name sounded in her mouth!
+
+‘I will not,’ I replied.  ‘But you pardon this offence?’
+
+‘On condition that you never repeat it.’
+
+‘And may I come to see you now and then?’
+
+‘Perhaps—occasionally; provided you never abuse the privilege.’
+
+‘I make no empty promises, but you shall see.’
+
+‘The moment you do our intimacy is at an end, that’s all.’
+
+‘And will you always call me Gilbert?  It sounds more sisterly, and it
+will serve to remind me of our contract.’
+
+She smiled, and once more bid me go; and at length I judged it prudent to
+obey, and she re-entered the house and I went down the hill.  But as I
+went the tramp of horses’ hoofs fell on my ear, and broke the stillness
+of the dewy evening; and, looking towards the lane, I saw a solitary
+equestrian coming up.  Inclining to dusk as it was, I knew him at a
+glance: it was Mr. Lawrence on his grey pony.  I flew across the field,
+leaped the stone fence, and then walked down the lane to meet him.  On
+seeing me, he suddenly drew in his little steed, and seemed inclined to
+turn back, but on second thought apparently judged it better to continue
+his course as before.  He accosted me with a slight bow, and, edging
+close to the wall, endeavoured to pass on; but I was not so minded.
+Seizing his horse by the bridle, I exclaimed,—‘Now, Lawrence, I will have
+this mystery explained!  Tell me where you are going, and what you mean
+to do—at once, and distinctly!’
+
+‘Will you take your hand off the bridle?’ said he, quietly—‘you’re
+hurting my pony’s mouth.’
+
+‘You and your pony be—’
+
+‘What makes you so coarse and brutal, Markham?  I’m quite ashamed of
+you.’
+
+‘You answer my questions—before you leave this spot I will know what you
+mean by this perfidious duplicity!’
+
+‘I shall answer no questions till you let go the bridle,—if you stand
+till morning.’
+
+‘Now then,’ said I, unclosing my hand, but still standing before him.
+
+‘Ask me some other time, when you can speak like a gentleman,’ returned
+he, and he made an effort to pass me again; but I quickly re-captured the
+pony, scarce less astonished than its master at such uncivil usage.
+
+‘Really, Mr. Markham, this is too much!’ said the latter.  ‘Can I not go
+to see my tenant on matters of business, without being assaulted in this
+manner by—?’
+
+‘This is no time for business, sir!—I’ll tell you, now, what I think of
+your conduct.’
+
+‘You’d better defer your opinion to a more convenient season,’
+interrupted he in a low tone—‘here’s the vicar.’  And, in truth, the
+vicar was just behind me, plodding homeward from some remote corner of
+his parish.  I immediately released the squire; and he went on his way,
+saluting Mr. Millward as he passed.
+
+‘What! quarrelling, Markham?’ cried the latter, addressing himself to
+me,—‘and about that young widow, I doubt?’ he added, reproachfully
+shaking his head.  ‘But let me tell you, young man’ (here he put his face
+into mine with an important, confidential air), ‘she’s not worth it!’ and
+he confirmed the assertion by a solemn nod.
+
+‘MR. MILLWARD,’ I exclaimed, in a tone of wrathful menace that made the
+reverend gentleman look round—aghast—astounded at such unwonted
+insolence, and stare me in the face, with a look that plainly said,
+‘What, this to me!’  But I was too indignant to apologise, or to speak
+another word to him: I turned away, and hastened homewards, descending
+with rapid strides the steep, rough lane, and leaving him to follow as he
+pleased.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+
+You must suppose about three weeks passed over.  Mrs. Graham and I were
+now established friends—or brother and sister, as we rather chose to
+consider ourselves.  She called me Gilbert, by my express desire, and I
+called her Helen, for I had seen that name written in her books.  I
+seldom attempted to see her above twice a week; and still I made our
+meetings appear the result of accident as often as I could—for I found it
+necessary to be extremely careful—and, altogether, I behaved with such
+exceeding propriety that she never had occasion to reprove me once.  Yet
+I could not but perceive that she was at times unhappy and dissatisfied
+with herself or her position, and truly I myself was not quite contented
+with the latter: this assumption of brotherly nonchalance was very hard
+to sustain, and I often felt myself a most confounded hypocrite with it
+all; I saw too, or rather I felt, that, in spite of herself, ‘I was not
+indifferent to her,’ as the novel heroes modestly express it, and while I
+thankfully enjoyed my present good fortune, I could not fail to wish and
+hope for something better in future; but, of course, I kept such dreams
+entirely to myself.
+
+‘Where are you going, Gilbert?’ said Rose, one evening, shortly after
+tea, when I had been busy with the farm all day.
+
+‘To take a walk,’ was the reply.
+
+‘Do you always brush your hat so carefully, and do your hair so nicely,
+and put on such smart new gloves when you take a walk?’
+
+‘Not always.’
+
+‘You’re going to Wildfell Hall, aren’t you?’
+
+‘What makes you think so?’
+
+‘Because you look as if you were—but I wish you wouldn’t go so often.’
+
+‘Nonsense, child!  I don’t go once in six weeks—what do you mean?’
+
+‘Well, but if I were you, I wouldn’t have so much to do with Mrs.
+Graham.’
+
+‘Why, Rose, are you, too, giving in to the prevailing opinion?’
+
+‘No,’ returned she, hesitatingly—‘but I’ve heard so much about her
+lately, both at the Wilsons’ and the vicarage;—and besides, mamma says,
+if she were a proper person she would not be living there by herself—and
+don’t you remember last winter, Gilbert, all that about the false name to
+the picture; and how she explained it—saying she had friends or
+acquaintances from whom she wished her present residence to be concealed,
+and that she was afraid of their tracing her out;—and then, how suddenly
+she started up and left the room when that person came—whom she took good
+care not to let us catch a glimpse of, and who Arthur, with such an air
+of mystery, told us was his mamma’s friend?’
+
+‘Yes, Rose, I remember it all; and I can forgive your uncharitable
+conclusions; for, perhaps, if I did not know her myself, I should put all
+these things together, and believe the same as you do; but thank God, I
+do know her; and I should be unworthy the name of a man, if I could
+believe anything that was said against her, unless I heard it from her
+own lips.—I should as soon believe such things of you, Rose.’
+
+‘Oh, Gilbert!’
+
+‘Well, do you think I could believe anything of the kind,—whatever the
+Wilsons and Millwards dared to whisper?’
+
+‘I should hope not indeed!’
+
+‘And why not?—Because I know you—Well, and I know her just as well.’
+
+‘Oh, no! you know nothing of her former life; and last year, at this
+time, you did not know that such a person existed.’
+
+‘No matter.  There is such a thing as looking through a person’s eyes
+into the heart, and learning more of the height, and breadth, and depth
+of another’s soul in one hour than it might take you a lifetime to
+discover, if he or she were not disposed to reveal it, or if you had not
+the sense to understand it.’
+
+‘Then you are going to see her this evening?’
+
+‘To be sure I am!’
+
+‘But what would mamma say, Gilbert!’
+
+‘Mamma needn’t know.’
+
+‘But she must know some time, if you go on.’
+
+‘Go on!—there’s no going on in the matter.  Mrs. Graham and I are two
+friends—and will be; and no man breathing shall hinder it,—or has a right
+to interfere between us.’
+
+‘But if you knew how they talk you would be more careful, for her sake as
+well as for your own.  Jane Wilson thinks your visits to the old hall but
+another proof of her depravity—’
+
+‘Confound Jane Wilson!’
+
+‘And Eliza Millward is quite grieved about you.’
+
+‘I hope she is.’
+
+‘But I wouldn’t, if I were you.’
+
+‘Wouldn’t what?—How do they know that I go there?’
+
+‘There’s nothing hid from them: they spy out everything.’
+
+‘Oh, I never thought of this!—And so they dare to turn my friendship into
+food for further scandal against her!—That proves the falsehood of their
+other lies, at all events, if any proof were wanting.—Mind you contradict
+them, Rose, whenever you can.’
+
+‘But they don’t speak openly to me about such things: it is only by hints
+and innuendoes, and by what I hear others say, that I knew what they
+think.’
+
+‘Well, then, I won’t go to-day, as it’s getting latish.  But oh, deuce
+take their cursed, envenomed tongues!’ I muttered, in the bitterness of
+my soul.
+
+And just at that moment the vicar entered the room: we had been too much
+absorbed in our conversation to observe his knock.  After his customary
+cheerful and fatherly greeting of Rose, who was rather a favourite with
+the old gentleman, he turned somewhat sternly to me:—
+
+‘Well, sir!’ said he, ‘you’re quite a stranger.  It is—let—me—see,’ he
+continued, slowly, as he deposited his ponderous bulk in the arm-chair
+that Rose officiously brought towards him; ‘it is just—six-weeks—by my
+reckoning, since you darkened—my—door!’  He spoke it with emphasis, and
+struck his stick on the floor.
+
+‘Is it, sir?’ said I.
+
+‘Ay!  It is so!’  He added an affirmatory nod, and continued to gaze upon
+me with a kind of irate solemnity, holding his substantial stick between
+his knees, with his hands clasped upon its head.
+
+‘I have been busy,’ I said, for an apology was evidently demanded.
+
+‘Busy!’ repeated he, derisively.
+
+‘Yes, you know I’ve been getting in my hay; and now the harvest is
+beginning.’
+
+‘Humph!’
+
+Just then my mother came in, and created a diversion in my favour by her
+loquacious and animated welcome of the reverend guest.  She regretted
+deeply that he had not come a little earlier, in time for tea, but
+offered to have some immediately prepared, if he would do her the favour
+to partake of it.
+
+‘Not any for me, I thank you,’ replied he; ‘I shall be at home in a few
+minutes.’
+
+‘Oh, but do stay and take a little! it will be ready in five minutes.’
+
+But he rejected the offer with a majestic wave of the hand.
+
+‘I’ll tell you what I’ll take, Mrs. Markham,’ said he: ‘I’ll take a glass
+of your excellent ale.’
+
+‘With pleasure!’ cried my mother, proceeding with alacrity to pull the
+bell and order the favoured beverage.
+
+‘I thought,’ continued he, ‘I’d just look in upon you as I passed, and
+taste your home-brewed ale.  I’ve been to call on Mrs. Graham.’
+
+‘Have you, indeed?’
+
+He nodded gravely, and added with awful emphasis—‘I thought it incumbent
+upon me to do so.’
+
+‘Really!’ ejaculated my mother.
+
+‘Why so, Mr. Millward?’ asked I.
+
+He looked at me with some severity, and turning again to my mother,
+repeated,—‘I thought it incumbent upon me!’ and struck his stick on the
+floor again.  My mother sat opposite, an awe-struck but admiring auditor.
+
+‘“Mrs. Graham,” said I,’ he continued, shaking his head as he spoke,
+‘“these are terrible reports!”  “What, sir?” says she, affecting to be
+ignorant of my meaning.  “It is my—duty—as—your pastor,” said I, “to tell
+you both everything that I myself see reprehensible in your conduct, and
+all I have reason to suspect, and what others tell me concerning you.”—So
+I told her!’
+
+‘You did, sir?’ cried I, starting from my seat and striking my fist on
+the table.  He merely glanced towards me, and continued—addressing his
+hostess:—
+
+‘It was a painful duty, Mrs. Markham—but I told her!’
+
+‘And how did she take it?’ asked my mother.
+
+‘Hardened, I fear—hardened!’ he replied, with a despondent shake of the
+head; ‘and, at the same time, there was a strong display of unchastened,
+misdirected passions.  She turned white in the face, and drew her breath
+through her teeth in a savage sort of way;—but she offered no extenuation
+or defence; and with a kind of shameless calmness—shocking indeed to
+witness in one so young—as good as told me that my remonstrance was
+unavailing, and my pastoral advice quite thrown away upon her—nay, that
+my very presence was displeasing while I spoke such things.  And I
+withdrew at length, too plainly seeing that nothing could be done—and
+sadly grieved to find her case so hopeless.  But I am fully determined,
+Mrs. Markham, that my daughters—shall—not—consort with her.  Do you adopt
+the same resolution with regard to yours!—As for your sons—as for you,
+young man,’ he continued, sternly turning to me—
+
+‘As for ME, sir,’ I began, but checked by some impediment in my
+utterance, and finding that my whole frame trembled with fury, I said no
+more, but took the wiser part of snatching up my hat and bolting from the
+room, slamming the door behind me, with a bang that shook the house to
+its foundations, and made my mother scream, and gave a momentary relief
+to my excited feelings.
+
+The next minute saw me hurrying with rapid strides in the direction of
+Wildfell Hall—to what intent or purpose I could scarcely tell, but I must
+be moving somewhere, and no other goal would do—I must see her too, and
+speak to her—that was certain; but what to say, or how to act, I had no
+definite idea.  Such stormy thoughts—so many different resolutions
+crowded in upon me, that my mind was little better than a chaos of
+conflicting passions.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+
+In little more than twenty minutes the journey was accomplished.  I
+paused at the gate to wipe my streaming forehead, and recover my breath
+and some degree of composure.  Already the rapid walking had somewhat
+mitigated my excitement; and with a firm and steady tread I paced the
+garden-walk.  In passing the inhabited wing of the building, I caught a
+sight of Mrs. Graham, through the open window, slowly pacing up and down
+her lonely room.
+
+She seemed agitated and even dismayed at my arrival, as if she thought I
+too was coming to accuse her.  I had entered her presence intending to
+condole with her upon the wickedness of the world, and help her to abuse
+the vicar and his vile informants, but now I felt positively ashamed to
+mention the subject, and determined not to refer to it, unless she led
+the way.
+
+‘I am come at an unseasonable hour,’ said I, assuming a cheerfulness I
+did not feel, in order to reassure her; ‘but I won’t stay many minutes.’
+
+She smiled upon me, faintly it is true, but most kindly—I had almost said
+thankfully, as her apprehensions were removed.
+
+‘How dismal you are, Helen!  Why have you no fire?’ I said, looking round
+on the gloomy apartment.
+
+‘It is summer yet,’ she replied.
+
+‘But we always have a fire in the evenings, if we can bear it; and you
+especially require one in this cold house and dreary room.’
+
+‘You should have come a little sooner, and I would have had one lighted
+for you: but it is not worth while now—you won’t stay many minutes, you
+say, and Arthur is gone to bed.’
+
+‘But I have a fancy for a fire, nevertheless.  Will you order one, if I
+ring?’
+
+‘Why, Gilbert, you don’t look cold!’ said she, smilingly regarding my
+face, which no doubt seemed warm enough.
+
+‘No,’ replied I, ‘but I want to see you comfortable before I go.’
+
+‘Me comfortable!’ repeated she, with a bitter laugh, as if there were
+something amusingly absurd in the idea.  ‘It suits me better as it is,’
+she added, in a tone of mournful resignation.
+
+But determined to have my own way, I pulled the bell.
+
+‘There now, Helen!’ I said, as the approaching steps of Rachel were heard
+in answer to the summons.  There was nothing for it but to turn round and
+desire the maid to light the fire.
+
+I owe Rachel a grudge to this day for the look she cast upon me ere she
+departed on her mission, the sour, suspicious, inquisitorial look that
+plainly demanded, ‘What are you here for, I wonder?’  Her mistress did
+not fail to notice it, and a shade of uneasiness darkened her brow.
+
+‘You must not stay long, Gilbert,’ said she, when the door was closed
+upon us.
+
+‘I’m not going to,’ said I, somewhat testily, though without a grain of
+anger in my heart against any one but the meddling old woman.  ‘But,
+Helen, I’ve something to say to you before I go.’
+
+‘What is it?’
+
+‘No, not now—I don’t know yet precisely what it is, or how to say it,’
+replied I, with more truth than wisdom; and then, fearing lest she should
+turn me out of the house, I began talking about indifferent matters in
+order to gain time.  Meanwhile Rachel came in to kindle the fire, which
+was soon effected by thrusting a red-hot poker between the bars of the
+grate, where the fuel was already disposed for ignition.  She honoured me
+with another of her hard, inhospitable looks in departing, but, little
+moved thereby, I went on talking; and setting a chair for Mrs. Graham on
+one side of the hearth, and one for myself on the other, I ventured to
+sit down, though half suspecting she would rather see me go.
+
+In a little while we both relapsed into silence, and continued for
+several minutes gazing abstractedly into the fire—she intent upon her own
+sad thoughts, and I reflecting how delightful it would be to be seated
+thus beside her with no other presence to restrain our intercourse—not
+even that of Arthur, our mutual friend, without whom we had never met
+before—if only I could venture to speak my mind, and disburden my full
+heart of the feelings that had so long oppressed it, and which it now
+struggled to retain, with an effort that it seemed impossible to continue
+much longer,—and revolving the pros and cons for opening my heart to her
+there and then, and imploring a return of affection, the permission to
+regard her thenceforth as my own, and the right and the power to defend
+her from the calumnies of malicious tongues.  On the one hand, I felt a
+new-born confidence in my powers of persuasion—a strong conviction that
+my own fervour of spirit would grant me eloquence—that my very
+determination—the absolute necessity for succeeding, that I felt must win
+me what I sought; while, on the other, I feared to lose the ground I had
+already gained with so much toil and skill, and destroy all future hope
+by one rash effort, when time and patience might have won success.  It
+was like setting my life upon the cast of a die; and yet I was ready to
+resolve upon the attempt.  At any rate, I would entreat the explanation
+she had half promised to give me before; I would demand the reason of
+this hateful barrier, this mysterious impediment to my happiness, and, as
+I trusted, to her own.
+
+But while I considered in what manner I could best frame my request, my
+companion, wakened from her reverie with a scarcely audible sigh, and
+looking towards the window, where the blood-red harvest moon, just rising
+over one of the grim, fantastic evergreens, was shining in upon us,
+said,—‘Gilbert, it is getting late.’
+
+‘I see,’ said I.  ‘You want me to go, I suppose?’
+
+‘I think you ought.  If my kind neighbours get to know of this visit—as
+no doubt they will—they will not turn it much to my advantage.’  It was
+with what the vicar would doubtless have called a savage sort of smile
+that she said this.
+
+‘Let them turn it as they will,’ said I.  ‘What are their thoughts to you
+or me, so long as we are satisfied with ourselves—and each other.  Let
+them go to the deuce with their vile constructions and their lying
+inventions!’
+
+This outburst brought a flush of colour to her face.
+
+‘You have heard, then, what they say of me?’
+
+‘I heard some detestable falsehoods; but none but fools would credit them
+for a moment, Helen, so don’t let them trouble you.’
+
+‘I did not think Mr. Millward a fool, and he believes it all; but however
+little you may value the opinions of those about you—however little you
+may esteem them as individuals, it is not pleasant to be looked upon as a
+liar and a hypocrite, to be thought to practise what you abhor, and to
+encourage the vices you would discountenance, to find your good
+intentions frustrated, and your hands crippled by your supposed
+unworthiness, and to bring disgrace on the principles you profess.’
+
+‘True; and if I, by my thoughtlessness and selfish disregard to
+appearances, have at all assisted to expose you to these evils, let me
+entreat you not only to pardon me, but to enable me to make reparation;
+authorise me to clear your name from every imputation: give me the right
+to identify your honour with my own, and to defend your reputation as
+more precious than my life!’
+
+‘Are you hero enough to unite yourself to one whom you know to be
+suspected and despised by all around you, and identify your interests and
+your honour with hers?  Think! it is a serious thing.’
+
+‘I should be proud to do it, Helen!—most happy—delighted beyond
+expression!—and if that be all the obstacle to our union, it is
+demolished, and you must—you shall be mine!’
+
+And starting from my seat in a frenzy of ardour, I seized her hand and
+would have pressed it to my lips, but she as suddenly caught it away,
+exclaiming in the bitterness of intense affliction,—‘No, no, it is not
+all!’
+
+‘What is it, then?  You promised I should know some time, and—’
+
+‘You shall know some time—but not now—my head aches terribly,’ she said,
+pressing her hand to her forehead, ‘and I must have some repose—and
+surely I have had misery enough to-day!’ she added, almost wildly.
+
+‘But it could not harm you to tell it,’ I persisted: ‘it would ease your
+mind; and I should then know how to comfort you.’
+
+She shook her head despondingly.  ‘If you knew all, you, too, would blame
+me—perhaps even more than I deserve—though I have cruelly wronged you,’
+she added in a low murmur, as if she mused aloud.
+
+‘You, Helen?  Impossible?’
+
+‘Yes, not willingly; for I did not know the strength and depth of your
+attachment.  I thought—at least I endeavoured to think your regard for me
+was as cold and fraternal as you professed it to be.’
+
+‘Or as yours?’
+
+‘Or as mine—ought to have been—of such a light and selfish, superficial
+nature, that—’
+
+‘There, indeed, you wronged me.’
+
+            [Picture: Moorland scene (with cottage), Haworth]
+
+‘I know I did; and, sometimes, I suspected it then; but I thought, upon
+the whole, there could be no great harm in leaving your fancies and your
+hopes to dream themselves to nothing—or flutter away to some more fitting
+object, while your friendly sympathies remained with me; but if I had
+known the depth of your regard, the generous, disinterested affection you
+seem to feel—’
+
+‘Seem, Helen?’
+
+‘That you do feel, then, I would have acted differently.’
+
+‘How?  You could not have given me less encouragement, or treated me with
+greater severity than you did!  And if you think you have wronged me by
+giving me your friendship, and occasionally admitting me to the enjoyment
+of your company and conversation, when all hopes of closer intimacy were
+vain—as indeed you always gave me to understand—if you think you have
+wronged me by this, you are mistaken; for such favours, in themselves
+alone, are not only delightful to my heart, but purifying, exalting,
+ennobling to my soul; and I would rather have your friendship than the
+love of any other woman in the world!’
+
+Little comforted by this, she clasped her hands upon her knee, and
+glancing upward, seemed, in silent anguish, to implore divine assistance;
+then, turning to me, she calmly said,—‘To-morrow, if you meet me on the
+moor about mid-day, I will tell you all you seek to know; and perhaps you
+will then see the necessity of discontinuing our intimacy—if, indeed, you
+do not willingly resign me as one no longer worthy of regard.’
+
+‘I can safely answer no to that: you cannot have such grave confessions
+to make—you must be trying my faith, Helen.’
+
+‘No, no, no,’ she earnestly repeated—‘I wish it were so!  Thank heaven!’
+she added, ‘I have no great crime to confess; but I have more than you
+will like to hear, or, perhaps, can readily excuse,—and more than I can
+tell you now; so let me entreat you to leave me!’
+
+‘I will; but answer me this one question first;—do you love me?’
+
+‘I will not answer it!’
+
+‘Then I will conclude you do; and so good-night.’
+
+She turned from me to hide the emotion she could not quite control; but I
+took her hand and fervently kissed it.
+
+‘Gilbert, do leave me!’ she cried, in a tone of such thrilling anguish
+that I felt it would be cruel to disobey.
+
+But I gave one look back before I closed the door, and saw her leaning
+forward on the table, with her hands pressed against her eyes, sobbing
+convulsively; yet I withdrew in silence.  I felt that to obtrude my
+consolations on her then would only serve to aggravate her sufferings.
+
+To tell you all the questionings and conjectures—the fears, and hopes,
+and wild emotions that jostled and chased each other through my mind as I
+descended the hill, would almost fill a volume in itself.  But before I
+was half-way down, a sentiment of strong sympathy for her I had left
+behind me had displaced all other feelings, and seemed imperatively to
+draw me back: I began to think, ‘Why am I hurrying so fast in this
+direction?  Can I find comfort or consolation—peace, certainty,
+contentment, all—or anything that I want at home? and can I leave all
+perturbation, sorrow, and anxiety behind me there?’
+
+And I turned round to look at the old Hall.  There was little besides the
+chimneys visible above my contracted horizon.  I walked back to get a
+better view of it.  When it rose in sight, I stood still a moment to
+look, and then continued moving towards the gloomy object of attraction.
+Something called me nearer—nearer still—and why not, pray?  Might I not
+find more benefit in the contemplation of that venerable pile with the
+full moon in the cloudless heaven shining so calmly above it—with that
+warm yellow lustre peculiar to an August night—and the mistress of my
+soul within, than in returning to my home, where all comparatively was
+light, and life, and cheerfulness, and therefore inimical to me in my
+present frame of mind,—and the more so that its inmates all were more or
+less imbued with that detestable belief, the very thought of which made
+my blood boil in my veins—and how could I endure to hear it openly
+declared, or cautiously insinuated—which was worse?—I had had trouble
+enough already, with some babbling fiend that would keep whispering in my
+ear, ‘It may be true,’ till I had shouted aloud, ‘It is false!  I defy
+you to make me suppose it!’
+
+I could see the red firelight dimly gleaming from her parlour window.  I
+went up to the garden wall, and stood leaning over it, with my eyes fixed
+upon the lattice, wondering what she was doing, thinking, or suffering
+now, and wishing I could speak to her but one word, or even catch one
+glimpse of her, before I went.
+
+I had not thus looked, and wished, and wondered long, before I vaulted
+over the barrier, unable to resist the temptation of taking one glance
+through the window, just to see if she were more composed than when we
+parted;—and if I found her still in deep distress, perhaps I might
+venture attempt a word of comfort—to utter one of the many things I
+should have said before, instead of aggravating her sufferings by my
+stupid impetuosity.  I looked.  Her chair was vacant: so was the room.
+But at that moment some one opened the outer door, and a voice—her
+voice—said,—‘Come out—I want to see the moon, and breathe the evening
+air: they will do me good—if anything will.’
+
+Here, then, were she and Rachel coming to take a walk in the garden.  I
+wished myself safe back over the wall.  I stood, however, in the shadow
+of the tall holly-bush, which, standing between the window and the porch,
+at present screened me from observation, but did not prevent me from
+seeing two figures come forth into the moonlight: Mrs. Graham followed by
+another—not Rachel, but a young man, slender and rather tall.  O heavens,
+how my temples throbbed!  Intense anxiety darkened my sight; but I
+thought—yes, and the voice confirmed it—it was Mr. Lawrence!
+
+‘You should not let it worry you so much, Helen,’ said he; ‘I will be
+more cautious in future; and in time—’
+
+I did not hear the rest of the sentence; for he walked close beside her
+and spoke so gently that I could not catch the words.  My heart was
+splitting with hatred; but I listened intently for her reply.  I heard it
+plainly enough.
+
+‘But I must leave this place, Frederick,’ she said—‘I never can be happy
+here,—nor anywhere else, indeed,’ she added, with a mirthless laugh,—‘but
+I cannot rest here.’
+
+‘But where could you find a better place?’ replied he, ‘so secluded—so
+near me, if you think anything of that.’
+
+‘Yes,’ interrupted she, ‘it is all I could wish, if they could only have
+left me alone.’
+
+‘But wherever you go, Helen, there will be the same sources of annoyance.
+I cannot consent to lose you: I must go with you, or come to you; and
+there are meddling fools elsewhere, as well as here.’
+
+While thus conversing they had sauntered slowly past me, down the walk,
+and I heard no more of their discourse; but I saw him put his arm round
+her waist, while she lovingly rested her hand on his shoulder;—and then,
+a tremulous darkness obscured my sight, my heart sickened and my head
+burned like fire: I half rushed, half staggered from the spot, where
+horror had kept me rooted, and leaped or tumbled over the wall—I hardly
+know which—but I know that, afterwards, like a passionate child, I dashed
+myself on the ground and lay there in a paroxysm of anger and despair—how
+long, I cannot undertake to say; but it must have been a considerable
+time; for when, having partially relieved myself by a torment of tears,
+and looked up at the moon, shining so calmly and carelessly on, as little
+influenced by my misery as I was by its peaceful radiance, and earnestly
+prayed for death or forgetfulness, I had risen and journeyed
+homewards—little regarding the way, but carried instinctively by my feet
+to the door, I found it bolted against me, and every one in bed except my
+mother, who hastened to answer my impatient knocking, and received me
+with a shower of questions and rebukes.
+
+‘Oh, Gilbert! how could you do so?  Where have you been?  Do come in and
+take your supper.  I’ve got it all ready, though you don’t deserve it,
+for keeping me in such a fright, after the strange manner you left the
+house this evening.  Mr. Millward was quite—  Bless the boy! how ill he
+looks.  Oh, gracious! what is the matter?’
+
+‘Nothing, nothing—give me a candle.’
+
+‘But won’t you take some supper?’
+
+‘No; I want to go to bed,’ said I, taking a candle and lighting it at the
+one she held in her hand.
+
+‘Oh, Gilbert, how you tremble!’ exclaimed my anxious parent.  ‘How white
+you look!  Do tell me what it is?  Has anything happened?’
+
+‘It’s nothing,’ cried I, ready to stamp with vexation because the candle
+would not light.  Then, suppressing my irritation, I added, ‘I’ve been
+walking too fast, that’s all.  Good-night,’ and marched off to bed,
+regardless of the ‘Walking too fast! where have you been?’ that was
+called after me from below.
+
+My mother followed me to the very door of my room with her questionings
+and advice concerning my health and my conduct; but I implored her to let
+me alone till morning; and she withdrew, and at length I had the
+satisfaction to hear her close her own door.  There was no sleep for me,
+however, that night as I thought; and instead of attempting to solicit
+it, I employed myself in rapidly pacing the chamber, having first removed
+my boots, lest my mother should hear me.  But the boards creaked, and she
+was watchful.  I had not walked above a quarter of an hour before she was
+at the door again.
+
+‘Gilbert, why are you not in bed—you said you wanted to go?’
+
+‘Confound it!  I’m going,’ said I.
+
+‘But why are you so long about it?  You must have something on your
+mind—’
+
+‘For heaven’s sake, let me alone, and get to bed yourself.’
+
+‘Can it be that Mrs. Graham that distresses you so?’
+
+‘No, no, I tell you—it’s nothing.’
+
+‘I wish to goodness it mayn’t,’ murmured she, with a sigh, as she
+returned to her own apartment, while I threw myself on the bed, feeling
+most undutifully disaffected towards her for having deprived me of what
+seemed the only shadow of a consolation that remained, and chained me to
+that wretched couch of thorns.
+
+Never did I endure so long, so miserable a night as that.  And yet it was
+not wholly sleepless.  Towards morning my distracting thoughts began to
+lose all pretensions to coherency, and shape themselves into confused and
+feverish dreams, and, at length, there followed an interval of
+unconscious slumber.  But then the dawn of bitter recollection that
+succeeded—the waking to find life a blank, and worse than a blank,
+teeming with torment and misery—not a mere barren wilderness, but full of
+thorns and briers—to find myself deceived, duped, hopeless, my affections
+trampled upon, my angel not an angel, and my friend a fiend incarnate—it
+was worse than if I had not slept at all.
+
+It was a dull, gloomy morning; the weather had changed like my prospects,
+and the rain was pattering against the window.  I rose, nevertheless, and
+went out; not to look after the farm, though that would serve as my
+excuse, but to cool my brain, and regain, if possible, a sufficient
+degree of composure to meet the family at the morning meal without
+exciting inconvenient remarks.  If I got a wetting, that, in conjunction
+with a pretended over-exertion before breakfast, might excuse my sudden
+loss of appetite; and if a cold ensued, the severer the better—it would
+help to account for the sullen moods and moping melancholy likely to
+cloud my brow for long enough.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+
+‘My dear Gilbert, I wish you would try to be a little more amiable,’ said
+my mother one morning after some display of unjustifiable ill-humour on
+my part.  ‘You say there is nothing the matter with you, and nothing has
+happened to grieve you, and yet I never saw anyone so altered as you
+within these last few days.  You haven’t a good word for anybody—friends
+and strangers, equals and inferiors—it’s all the same.  I do wish you’d
+try to check it.’
+
+‘Check what?’
+
+‘Why, your strange temper.  You don’t know how it spoils you.  I’m sure a
+finer disposition than yours by nature could not be, if you’d let it have
+fair play: so you’ve no excuse that way.’
+
+While she thus remonstrated, I took up a book, and laying it open on the
+table before me, pretended to be deeply absorbed in its perusal, for I
+was equally unable to justify myself and unwilling to acknowledge my
+errors; and I wished to have nothing to say on the matter.  But my
+excellent parent went on lecturing, and then came to coaxing, and began
+to stroke my hair; and I was getting to feel quite a good boy, but my
+mischievous brother, who was idling about the room, revived my corruption
+by suddenly calling out,—‘Don’t touch him, mother! he’ll bite!  He’s a
+very tiger in human form.  I’ve given him up for my part—fairly disowned
+him—cast him off, root and branch.  It’s as much as my life is worth to
+come within six yards of him.  The other day he nearly fractured my skull
+for singing a pretty, inoffensive love-song, on purpose to amuse him.’
+
+‘Oh, Gilbert! how could you?’ exclaimed my mother.
+
+‘I told you to hold your noise first, you know, Fergus,’ said I.
+
+‘Yes, but when I assured you it was no trouble and went on with the next
+verse, thinking you might like it better, you clutched me by the shoulder
+and dashed me away, right against the wall there, with such force that I
+thought I had bitten my tongue in two, and expected to see the place
+plastered with my brains; and when I put my hand to my head, and found my
+skull not broken, I thought it was a miracle, and no mistake.  But, poor
+fellow!’ added he, with a sentimental sigh—‘his heart’s broken—that’s the
+truth of it—and his head’s—’
+
+‘Will you be silent NOW?’ cried I, starting up, and eyeing the fellow so
+fiercely that my mother, thinking I meant to inflict some grievous bodily
+injury, laid her hand on my arm, and besought me to let him alone, and he
+walked leisurely out, with his hands in his pockets, singing
+provokingly—‘Shall I, because a woman’s fair,’ &c.
+
+‘I’m not going to defile my fingers with him,’ said I, in answer to the
+maternal intercession.  ‘I wouldn’t touch him with the tongs.’
+
+I now recollected that I had business with Robert Wilson, concerning the
+purchase of a certain field adjoining my farm—a business I had been
+putting off from day to day; for I had no interest in anything now; and
+besides, I was misanthropically inclined, and, moreover, had a particular
+objection to meeting Jane Wilson or her mother; for though I had too good
+reason, now, to credit their reports concerning Mrs. Graham, I did not
+like them a bit the better for it—or Eliza Millward either—and the
+thought of meeting them was the more repugnant to me that I could not,
+now, defy their seeming calumnies and triumph in my own convictions as
+before.  But to-day I determined to make an effort to return to my duty.
+Though I found no pleasure in it, it would be less irksome than
+idleness—at all events it would be more profitable.  If life promised no
+enjoyment within my vocation, at least it offered no allurements out of
+it; and henceforth I would put my shoulder to the wheel and toil away,
+like any poor drudge of a cart-horse that was fairly broken in to its
+labour, and plod through life, not wholly useless if not agreeable, and
+uncomplaining if not contented with my lot.
+
+Thus resolving, with a kind of sullen resignation, if such a term may be
+allowed, I wended my way to Ryecote Farm, scarcely expecting to find its
+owner within at this time of day, but hoping to learn in what part of the
+premises he was most likely to be found.
+
+Absent he was, but expected home in a few minutes; and I was desired to
+step into the parlour and wait.  Mrs. Wilson was busy in the kitchen, but
+the room was not empty; and I scarcely checked an involuntary recoil as I
+entered it; for there sat Miss Wilson chattering with Eliza Millward.
+However, I determined to be cool and civil.  Eliza seemed to have made
+the same resolution on her part.  We had not met since the evening of the
+tea-party; but there was no visible emotion either of pleasure or pain,
+no attempt at pathos, no display of injured pride: she was cool in
+temper, civil in demeanour.  There was even an ease and cheerfulness
+about her air and manner that I made no pretension to; but there was a
+depth of malice in her too expressive eye that plainly told me I was not
+forgiven; for, though she no longer hoped to win me to herself, she still
+hated her rival, and evidently delighted to wreak her spite on me.  On
+the other hand, Miss Wilson was as affable and courteous as heart could
+wish, and though I was in no very conversable humour myself, the two
+ladies between them managed to keep up a pretty continuous fire of small
+talk.  But Eliza took advantage of the first convenient pause to ask if I
+had lately seen Mrs. Graham, in a tone of merely casual inquiry, but with
+a sidelong glance—intended to be playfully mischievous—really, brimful
+and running over with malice.
+
+‘Not lately,’ I replied, in a careless tone, but sternly repelling her
+odious glances with my eyes; for I was vexed to feel the colour mounting
+to my forehead, despite my strenuous efforts to appear unmoved.
+
+‘What! are you beginning to tire already?  I thought so noble a creature
+would have power to attach you for a year at least!’
+
+‘I would rather not speak of her now.’
+
+‘Ah! then you are convinced, at last, of your mistake—you have at length
+discovered that your divinity is not quite the immaculate—’
+
+‘I desired you not to speak of her, Miss Eliza.’
+
+‘Oh, I beg your pardon!  I perceive Cupid’s arrows have been too sharp
+for you: the wounds, being more than skin-deep, are not yet healed, and
+bleed afresh at every mention of the loved one’s name.’
+
+‘Say, rather,’ interposed Miss Wilson, ‘that Mr. Markham feels that name
+is unworthy to be mentioned in the presence of right-minded females.  I
+wonder, Eliza, you should think of referring to that unfortunate
+person—you might know the mention of her would be anything but agreeable
+to any one here present.’
+
+How could this be borne?  I rose and was about to clap my hat upon my
+head and burst away, in wrathful indignation from the house; but
+recollecting—just in time to save my dignity—the folly of such a
+proceeding, and how it would only give my fair tormentors a merry laugh
+at my expense, for the sake of one I acknowledged in my own heart to be
+unworthy of the slightest sacrifice—though the ghost of my former
+reverence and love so hung about me still, that I could not bear to hear
+her name aspersed by others—I merely walked to the window, and having
+spent a few seconds in vengibly biting my lips and sternly repressing the
+passionate heavings of my chest, I observed to Miss Wilson, that I could
+see nothing of her brother, and added that, as my time was precious, it
+would perhaps be better to call again to-morrow, at some time when I
+should be sure to find him at home.
+
+‘Oh, no!’ said she; ‘if you wait a minute, he will be sure to come; for
+he has business at L—’ (that was our market-town), ‘and will require a
+little refreshment before he goes.’
+
+I submitted accordingly, with the best grace I could; and, happily, I had
+not long to wait.  Mr. Wilson soon arrived, and, indisposed for business
+as I was at that moment, and little as I cared for the field or its
+owner, I forced my attention to the matter in hand, with very creditable
+determination, and quickly concluded the bargain—perhaps more to the
+thrifty farmer’s satisfaction than he cared to acknowledge.  Then,
+leaving him to the discussion of his substantial ‘refreshment,’ I gladly
+quitted the house, and went to look after my reapers.
+
+Leaving them busy at work on the side of the valley, I ascended the hill,
+intending to visit a corn-field in the more elevated regions, and see
+when it would be ripe for the sickle.  But I did not visit it that day;
+for, as I approached, I beheld, at no great distance, Mrs. Graham and her
+son coming down in the opposite direction.  They saw me; and Arthur
+already was running to meet me; but I immediately turned back and walked
+steadily homeward; for I had fully determined never to encounter his
+mother again; and regardless of the shrill voice in my ear, calling upon
+me to ‘wait a moment,’ I pursued the even tenor of my way; and he soon
+relinquished the pursuit as hopeless, or was called away by his mother.
+At all events, when I looked back, five minutes after, not a trace of
+either was to be seen.
+
+This incident agitated and disturbed me most unaccountably—unless you
+would account for it by saying that Cupid’s arrows not only had been too
+sharp for me, but they were barbed and deeply rooted, and I had not yet
+been able to wrench them from my heart.  However that be, I was rendered
+doubly miserable for the remainder of the day.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+
+Next morning, I bethought me, I, too, had business at L—; so I mounted my
+horse, and set forth on the expedition soon after breakfast.  It was a
+dull, drizzly day; but that was no matter: it was all the more suitable
+to my frame of mind.  It was likely to be a lonely journey; for it was no
+market-day, and the road I traversed was little frequented at any other
+time; but that suited me all the better too.
+
+As I trotted along, however, chewing the cud of—bitter fancies, I heard
+another horse at no great distance behind me; but I never conjectured who
+the rider might be, or troubled my head about him, till, on slackening my
+pace to ascend a gentle acclivity, or rather, suffering my horse to
+slacken his pace into a lazy walk—for, rapt in my own reflections, I was
+letting it jog on as leisurely as it thought proper—I lost ground, and my
+fellow-traveller overtook me.  He accosted me by name, for it was no
+stranger—it was Mr. Lawrence!  Instinctively the fingers of my whip-hand
+tingled, and grasped their charge with convulsive energy; but I
+restrained the impulse, and answering his salutation with a nod,
+attempted to push on; but he pushed on beside me, and began to talk about
+the weather and the crops.  I gave the briefest possible answers to his
+queries and observations, and fell back.  He fell back too, and asked if
+my horse was lame.  I replied with a look, at which he placidly smiled.
+
+I was as much astonished as exasperated at this singular pertinacity and
+imperturbable assurance on his part.  I had thought the circumstances of
+our last meeting would have left such an impression on his mind as to
+render him cold and distant ever after: instead of that, he appeared not
+only to have forgotten all former offences, but to be impenetrable to all
+present incivilities.  Formerly, the slightest hint, or mere fancied
+coldness in tone or glance, had sufficed to repulse him: now, positive
+rudeness could not drive him away.  Had he heard of my disappointment;
+and was he come to witness the result, and triumph in my despair?  I
+grasped my whip with more determined energy than before—but still forbore
+to raise it, and rode on in silence, waiting for some more tangible cause
+of offence, before I opened the floodgates of my soul and poured out the
+dammed-up fury that was foaming and swelling within.
+
+‘Markham,’ said he, in his usual quiet tone, ‘why do you quarrel with
+your friends, because you have been disappointed in one quarter?  You
+have found your hopes defeated; but how am I to blame for it?  I warned
+you beforehand, you know, but you would not—’
+
+He said no more; for, impelled by some fiend at my elbow, I had seized my
+whip by the small end, and—swift and sudden as a flash of
+lightning—brought the other down upon his head.  It was not without a
+feeling of savage satisfaction that I beheld the instant, deadly pallor
+that overspread his face, and the few red drops that trickled down his
+forehead, while he reeled a moment in his saddle, and then fell backward
+to the ground.  The pony, surprised to be so strangely relieved of its
+burden, started and capered, and kicked a little, and then made use of
+its freedom to go and crop the grass of the hedge-bank: while its master
+lay as still and silent as a corpse.  Had I killed him?—an icy hand
+seemed to grasp my heart and check its pulsation, as I bent over him,
+gazing with breathless intensity upon the ghastly, upturned face.  But
+no; he moved his eyelids and uttered a slight groan.  I breathed again—he
+was only stunned by the fall.  It served him right—it would teach him
+better manners in future.  Should I help him to his horse?  No.  For any
+other combination of offences I would; but his were too unpardonable.  He
+might mount it himself, if he liked—in a while: already he was beginning
+to stir and look about him—and there it was for him, quietly browsing on
+the road-side.
+
+So with a muttered execration I left the fellow to his fate, and clapping
+spurs to my own horse, galloped away, excited by a combination of
+feelings it would not be easy to analyse; and perhaps, if I did so, the
+result would not be very creditable to my disposition; for I am not sure
+that a species of exultation in what I had done was not one principal
+concomitant.
+
+Shortly, however, the effervescence began to abate, and not many minutes
+elapsed before I had turned and gone back to look after the fate of my
+victim.  It was no generous impulse—no kind relentings that led me to
+this—nor even the fear of what might be the consequences to myself, if I
+finished my assault upon the squire by leaving him thus neglected, and
+exposed to further injury; it was, simply, the voice of conscience; and I
+took great credit to myself for attending so promptly to its dictates—and
+judging the merit of the deed by the sacrifice it cost, I was not far
+wrong.
+
+Mr. Lawrence and his pony had both altered their positions in some
+degree.  The pony had wandered eight or ten yards further away; and he
+had managed, somehow, to remove himself from the middle of the road: I
+found him seated in a recumbent position on the bank,—looking very white
+and sickly still, and holding his cambric handkerchief (now more red than
+white) to his head.  It must have been a powerful blow; but half the
+credit—or the blame of it (which you please) must be attributed to the
+whip, which was garnished with a massive horse’s head of plated metal.
+The grass, being sodden with rain, afforded the young gentleman a rather
+inhospitable couch; his clothes were considerably bemired; and his hat
+was rolling in the mud on the other side of the road.  But his thoughts
+seemed chiefly bent upon his pony, on which he was wistfully gazing—half
+in helpless anxiety, and half in hopeless abandonment to his fate.
+
+I dismounted, however, and having fastened my own animal to the nearest
+tree, first picked up his hat, intending to clap it on his head; but
+either he considered his head unfit for a hat, or the hat, in its present
+condition, unfit for his head; for shrinking away the one, he took the
+other from my hand, and scornfully cast it aside.
+
+‘It’s good enough for you,’ I muttered.
+
+My next good office was to catch his pony and bring it to him, which was
+soon accomplished; for the beast was quiet enough in the main, and only
+winced and flirted a trifle till I got hold of the bridle—but then, I
+must see him in the saddle.
+
+‘Here, you fellow—scoundrel—dog—give me your hand, and I’ll help you to
+mount.’
+
+No; he turned from me in disgust.  I attempted to take him by the arm.
+He shrank away as if there had been contamination in my touch.
+
+‘What, you won’t!  Well! you may sit there till doomsday, for what I
+care.  But I suppose you don’t want to lose all the blood in your
+body—I’ll just condescend to bind that up for you.’
+
+‘Let me alone, if you please.’
+
+‘Humph; with all my heart.  You may go to the d—l, if you choose—and say
+I sent you.’
+
+But before I abandoned him to his fate I flung his pony’s bridle over a
+stake in the hedge, and threw him my handkerchief, as his own was now
+saturated with blood.  He took it and cast it back to me in abhorrence
+and contempt, with all the strength he could muster.  It wanted but this
+to fill the measure of his offences.  With execrations not loud but deep
+I left him to live or die as he could, well satisfied that I had done my
+duty in attempting to save him—but forgetting how I had erred in bringing
+him into such a condition, and how insultingly my after-services had been
+offered—and sullenly prepared to meet the consequences if he should
+choose to say I had attempted to murder him—which I thought not unlikely,
+as it seemed probable he was actuated by such spiteful motives in so
+perseveringly refusing my assistance.
+
+Having remounted my horse, I just looked back to see how he was getting
+on, before I rode away.  He had risen from the ground, and grasping his
+pony’s mane, was attempting to resume his seat in the saddle; but
+scarcely had he put his foot in the stirrup, when a sickness or dizziness
+seemed to overpower him: he leant forward a moment, with his head drooped
+on the animal’s back, and then made one more effort, which proving
+ineffectual, he sank back on the bank, where I left him, reposing his
+head on the oozy turf, and to all appearance, as calmly reclining as if
+he had been taking his rest on his sofa at home.
+
+I ought to have helped him in spite of himself—to have bound up the wound
+he was unable to staunch, and insisted upon getting him on his horse and
+seeing him safe home; but, besides my bitter indignation against himself,
+there was the question what to say to his servants—and what to my own
+family.  Either I should have to acknowledge the deed, which would set me
+down as a madman, unless I acknowledged the motive too—and that seemed
+impossible—or I must get up a lie, which seemed equally out of the
+question—especially as Mr. Lawrence would probably reveal the whole
+truth, and thereby bring me to tenfold disgrace—unless I were villain
+enough, presuming on the absence of witnesses, to persist in my own
+version of the case, and make him out a still greater scoundrel than he
+was.  No; he had only received a cut above the temple, and perhaps a few
+bruises from the fall, or the hoofs of his own pony: that could not kill
+him if he lay there half the day; and, if he could not help himself,
+surely some one would be coming by: it would be impossible that a whole
+day should pass and no one traverse the road but ourselves.  As for what
+he might choose to say hereafter, I would take my chance about it: if he
+told lies, I would contradict him; if he told the truth, I would bear it
+as best I could.  I was not obliged to enter into explanations further
+than I thought proper.  Perhaps he might choose to be silent on the
+subject, for fear of raising inquiries as to the cause of the quarrel,
+and drawing the public attention to his connection with Mrs. Graham,
+which, whether for her sake or his own, he seemed so very desirous to
+conceal.
+
+Thus reasoning, I trotted away to the town, where I duly transacted my
+business, and performed various little commissions for my mother and
+Rose, with very laudable exactitude, considering the different
+circumstances of the case.  In returning home, I was troubled with sundry
+misgivings about the unfortunate Lawrence.  The question, What if I
+should find him lying still on the damp earth, fairly dying of cold and
+exhaustion—or already stark and chill? thrust itself most unpleasantly
+upon my mind, and the appalling possibility pictured itself with painful
+vividness to my imagination as I approached the spot where I had left
+him.  But no, thank heaven, both man and horse were gone, and nothing was
+left to witness against me but two objects—unpleasant enough in
+themselves to be sure, and presenting a very ugly, not to say murderous
+appearance—in one place, the hat saturated with rain and coated with mud,
+indented and broken above the brim by that villainous whip-handle; in
+another, the crimson handkerchief, soaking in a deeply tinctured pool of
+water—for much rain had fallen in the interim.
+
+Bad news flies fast: it was hardly four o’clock when I got home, but my
+mother gravely accosted me with—‘Oh, Gilbert!—Such an accident!  Rose has
+been shopping in the village, and she’s heard that Mr. Lawrence has been
+thrown from his horse and brought home dying!’
+
+This shocked me a trifle, as you may suppose; but I was comforted to hear
+that he had frightfully fractured his skull and broken a leg; for,
+assured of the falsehood of this, I trusted the rest of the story was
+equally exaggerated; and when I heard my mother and sister so feelingly
+deploring his condition, I had considerable difficulty in preventing
+myself from telling them the real extent of the injuries, as far as I
+knew them.
+
+‘You must go and see him to-morrow,’ said my mother.
+
+‘Or to-day,’ suggested Rose: ‘there’s plenty of time; and you can have
+the pony, as your horse is tired.  Won’t you, Gilbert—as soon as you’ve
+had something to eat?’
+
+‘No, no—how can we tell that it isn’t all a false report?  It’s highly
+im-’
+
+‘Oh, I’m sure it isn’t; for the village is all alive about it; and I saw
+two people that had seen others that had seen the man that found him.
+That sounds far-fetched; but it isn’t so when you think of it.’
+
+‘Well, but Lawrence is a good rider; it is not likely he would fall from
+his horse at all; and if he did, it is highly improbable he would break
+his bones in that way.  It must be a gross exaggeration at least.’
+
+‘No; but the horse kicked him—or something.’
+
+‘What, his quiet little pony?’
+
+‘How do you know it was that?’
+
+‘He seldom rides any other.’
+
+‘At any rate,’ said my mother, ‘you will call to-morrow.  Whether it be
+true or false, exaggerated or otherwise, we shall like to know how he
+is.’
+
+‘Fergus may go.’
+
+‘Why not you?’
+
+‘He has more time.  I am busy just now.’
+
+‘Oh! but, Gilbert, how can you be so composed about it?  You won’t mind
+business for an hour or two in a case of this sort, when your friend is
+at the point of death.’
+
+‘He is not, I tell you.’
+
+‘For anything you know, he may be: you can’t tell till you have seen him.
+At all events, he must have met with some terrible accident, and you
+ought to see him: he’ll take it very unkind if you don’t.’
+
+‘Confound it!  I can’t.  He and I have not been on good terms of late.’
+
+‘Oh, my dear boy!  Surely, surely you are not so unforgiving as to carry
+your little differences to such a length as—’
+
+‘Little differences, indeed!’ I muttered.
+
+‘Well, but only remember the occasion.  Think how—’
+
+‘Well, well, don’t bother me now—I’ll see about it,’ I replied.
+
+And my seeing about it was to send Fergus next morning, with my mother’s
+compliments, to make the requisite inquiries; for, of course, my going
+was out of the question—or sending a message either.  He brought back
+intelligence that the young squire was laid up with the complicated evils
+of a broken head and certain contusions (occasioned by a fall—of which he
+did not trouble himself to relate the particulars—and the subsequent
+misconduct of his horse), and a severe cold, the consequence of lying on
+the wet ground in the rain; but there were no broken bones, and no
+immediate prospects of dissolution.
+
+It was evident, then, that for Mrs. Graham’s sake it was not his
+intention to criminate me.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+
+That day was rainy like its predecessor; but towards evening it began to
+clear up a little, and the next morning was fair and promising.  I was
+out on the hill with the reapers.  A light wind swept over the corn, and
+all nature laughed in the sunshine.  The lark was rejoicing among the
+silvery floating clouds.  The late rain had so sweetly freshened and
+cleared the air, and washed the sky, and left such glittering gems on
+branch and blade, that not even the farmers could have the heart to blame
+it.  But no ray of sunshine could reach my heart, no breeze could freshen
+it; nothing could fill the void my faith, and hope, and joy in Helen
+Graham had left, or drive away the keen regrets and bitter dregs of
+lingering love that still oppressed it.
+
+While I stood with folded arms abstractedly gazing on the undulating
+swell of the corn, not yet disturbed by the reapers, something gently
+pulled my skirts, and a small voice, no longer welcome to my ears,
+aroused me with the startling words,—‘Mr. Markham, mamma wants you.’
+
+‘Wants me, Arthur?’
+
+‘Yes.  Why do you look so queer?’ said he, half laughing, half frightened
+at the unexpected aspect of my face in suddenly turning towards him,—‘and
+why have you kept so long away?  Come!  Won’t you come?’
+
+‘I’m busy just now,’ I replied, scarce knowing what to answer.
+
+He looked up in childish bewilderment; but before I could speak again the
+lady herself was at my side.
+
+‘Gilbert, I must speak with you!’ said she, in a tone of suppressed
+vehemence.
+
+I looked at her pale cheek and glittering eye, but answered nothing.
+
+‘Only for a moment,’ pleaded she.  ‘Just step aside into this other
+field.’  She glanced at the reapers, some of whom were directing looks of
+impertinent curiosity towards her.  ‘I won’t keep you a minute.’
+
+I accompanied her through the gap.
+
+‘Arthur, darling, run and gather those bluebells,’ said she, pointing to
+some that were gleaming at some distance under the hedge along which we
+walked.  The child hesitated, as if unwilling to quit my side.  ‘Go,
+love!’ repeated she more urgently, and in a tone which, though not
+unkind, demanded prompt obedience, and obtained it.
+
+‘Well, Mrs. Graham?’ said I, calmly and coldly; for, though I saw she was
+miserable, and pitied her, I felt glad to have it in my power to torment
+her.
+
+She fixed her eyes upon me with a look that pierced me to the heart; and
+yet it made me smile.
+
+‘I don’t ask the reason of this change, Gilbert,’ said she, with bitter
+calmness: ‘I know it too well; but though I could see myself suspected
+and condemned by every one else, and bear it with calmness, I cannot
+endure it from you.—Why did you not come to hear my explanation on the
+day I appointed to give it?’
+
+‘Because I happened, in the interim, to learn all you would have told
+me—and a trifle more, I imagine.’
+
+‘Impossible, for I would have told you all!’ cried she, passionately—‘but
+I won’t now, for I see you are not worthy of it!’
+
+And her pale lips quivered with agitation.
+
+‘Why not, may I ask?’
+
+She repelled my mocking smile with a glance of scornful indignation.
+
+‘Because you never understood me, or you would not soon have listened to
+my traducers—my confidence would be misplaced in you—you are not the man
+I thought you.  Go!  I won’t care what you think of me.’
+
+She turned away, and I went; for I thought that would torment her as much
+as anything; and I believe I was right; for, looking back a minute after,
+I saw her turn half round, as if hoping or expecting to find me still
+beside her; and then she stood still, and cast one look behind.  It was a
+look less expressive of anger than of bitter anguish and despair; but I
+immediately assumed an aspect of indifference, and affected to be gazing
+carelessly around me, and I suppose she went on; for after lingering
+awhile to see if she would come back or call, I ventured one more glance,
+and saw her a good way off, moving rapidly up the field, with little
+Arthur running by her side and apparently talking as he went; but she
+kept her face averted from him, as if to hide some uncontrollable
+emotion.  And I returned to my business.
+
+But I soon began to regret my precipitancy in leaving her so soon.  It
+was evident she loved me—probably she was tired of Mr. Lawrence, and
+wished to exchange him for me; and if I had loved and reverenced her less
+to begin with, the preference might have gratified and amused me; but now
+the contrast between her outward seeming and her inward mind, as I
+supposed,—between my former and my present opinion of her, was so
+harrowing—so distressing to my feelings, that it swallowed up every
+lighter consideration.
+
+But still I was curious to know what sort of an explanation she would
+have given me—or would give now, if I pressed her for it—how much she
+would confess, and how she would endeavour to excuse herself.  I longed
+to know what to despise, and what to admire in her; how much to pity, and
+how much to hate;—and, what was more, I would know.  I would see her once
+more, and fairly satisfy myself in what light to regard her, before we
+parted.  Lost to me she was, for ever, of course; but still I could not
+bear to think that we had parted, for the last time, with so much
+unkindness and misery on both sides.  That last look of hers had sunk
+into my heart; I could not forget it.  But what a fool I was!  Had she
+not deceived me, injured me—blighted my happiness for life?  ‘Well, I’ll
+see her, however,’ was my concluding resolve, ‘but not to-day: to-day and
+to-night she may think upon her sins, and be as miserable as she will:
+to-morrow I will see her once again, and know something more about her.
+The interview may be serviceable to her, or it may not.  At any rate, it
+will give a breath of excitement to the life she has doomed to
+stagnation, and may calm with certainty some agitating thoughts.’
+
+I did go on the morrow, but not till towards evening, after the business
+of the day was concluded, that is, between six and seven; and the
+westering sun was gleaming redly on the old Hall, and flaming in the
+latticed windows, as I reached it, imparting to the place a cheerfulness
+not its own.  I need not dilate upon the feelings with which I approached
+the shrine of my former divinity—that spot teeming with a thousand
+delightful recollections and glorious dreams—all darkened now by one
+disastrous truth.
+
+Rachel admitted me into the parlour, and went to call her mistress, for
+she was not there: but there was her desk left open on the little round
+table beside the high-backed chair, with a book laid upon it.  Her
+limited but choice collection of books was almost as familiar to me as my
+own; but this volume I had not seen before.  I took it up.  It was Sir
+Humphry Davy’s ‘Last Days of a Philosopher,’ and on the first leaf was
+written, ‘Frederick Lawrence.’  I closed the book, but kept it in my
+hand, and stood facing the door, with my back to the fire-place, calmly
+waiting her arrival; for I did not doubt she would come.  And soon I
+heard her step in the hall.  My heart was beginning to throb, but I
+checked it with an internal rebuke, and maintained my composure—outwardly
+at least.  She entered, calm, pale, collected.
+
+‘To what am I indebted for this favour, Mr. Markham?’ said she, with such
+severe but quiet dignity as almost disconcerted me; but I answered with a
+smile, and impudently enough,—
+
+‘Well, I am come to hear your explanation.’
+
+‘I told you I would not give it,’ said she.  ‘I said you were unworthy of
+my confidence.’
+
+‘Oh, very well,’ replied I, moving to the door.
+
+‘Stay a moment,’ said she.  ‘This is the last time I shall see you: don’t
+go just yet.’
+
+I remained, awaiting her further commands.
+
+‘Tell me,’ resumed she, ‘on what grounds you believe these things against
+me; who told you; and what did they say?’
+
+I paused a moment.  She met my eye as unflinchingly as if her bosom had
+been steeled with conscious innocence.  She was resolved to know the
+worst, and determined to dare it too.  ‘I can crush that bold spirit,’
+thought I.  But while I secretly exulted in my power, I felt disposed to
+dally with my victim like a cat.  Showing her the book that I still held,
+in my hand, and pointing to the name on the fly-leaf, but fixing my eye
+upon her face, I asked,—‘Do you know that gentleman?’
+
+‘Of course I do,’ replied she; and a sudden flush suffused her
+features—whether of shame or anger I could not tell: it rather resembled
+the latter.  ‘What next, sir?’
+
+‘How long is it since you saw him?’
+
+‘Who gave you the right to catechize me on this or any other subject?’
+
+‘Oh, no one!—it’s quite at your option whether to answer or not.  And
+now, let me ask—have you heard what has lately befallen this friend of
+yours?—because, if you have not—’
+
+‘I will not be insulted, Mr. Markham!’ cried she, almost infuriated at my
+manner.  ‘So you had better leave the house at once, if you came only for
+that.’
+
+‘I did not come to insult you: I came to hear your explanation.’
+
+‘And I tell you I won’t give it!’ retorted she, pacing the room in a
+state of strong excitement, with her hands clasped tightly together,
+breathing short, and flashing fires of indignation from her eyes.  ‘I
+will not condescend to explain myself to one that can make a jest of such
+horrible suspicions, and be so easily led to entertain them.’
+
+‘I do not make a jest of them, Mrs. Graham,’ returned I, dropping at once
+my tone of taunting sarcasm.  ‘I heartily wish I could find them a
+jesting matter.  And as to being easily led to suspect, God only knows
+what a blind, incredulous fool I have hitherto been, perseveringly
+shutting my eyes and stopping my ears against everything that threatened
+to shake my confidence in you, till proof itself confounded my
+infatuation!’
+
+‘What proof, sir?’
+
+‘Well, I’ll tell you.  You remember that evening when I was here last?’
+
+‘I do.’
+
+‘Even then you dropped some hints that might have opened the eyes of a
+wiser man; but they had no such effect upon me: I went on trusting and
+believing, hoping against hope, and adoring where I could not comprehend.
+It so happened, however, that after I left you I turned back—drawn by
+pure depth of sympathy and ardour of affection—not daring to intrude my
+presence openly upon you, but unable to resist the temptation of catching
+one glimpse through the window, just to see how you were: for I had left
+you apparently in great affliction, and I partly blamed my own want of
+forbearance and discretion as the cause of it.  If I did wrong, love
+alone was my incentive, and the punishment was severe enough; for it was
+just as I had reached that tree, that you came out into the garden with
+your friend.  Not choosing to show myself, under the circumstances, I
+stood still, in the shadow, till you had both passed by.’
+
+‘And how much of our conversation did you hear?’
+
+‘I heard quite enough, Helen.  And it was well for me that I did hear it;
+for nothing less could have cured my infatuation.  I always said and
+thought, that I would never believe a word against you, unless I heard it
+from your own lips.  All the hints and affirmations of others I treated
+as malignant, baseless slanders; your own self-accusations I believed to
+be overstrained; and all that seemed unaccountable in your position I
+trusted that you could account for if you chose.’
+
+Mrs. Graham had discontinued her walk.  She leant against one end of the
+chimney-piece, opposite that near which I was standing, with her chin
+resting on her closed hand, her eyes—no longer burning with anger, but
+gleaming with restless excitement—sometimes glancing at me while I spoke,
+then coursing the opposite wall, or fixed upon the carpet.
+
+‘You should have come to me after all,’ said she, ‘and heard what I had
+to say in my own justification.  It was ungenerous and wrong to withdraw
+yourself so secretly and suddenly, immediately after such ardent
+protestations of attachment, without ever assigning a reason for the
+change.  You should have told me all--no matter how bitterly.  It would
+have been better than this silence.’
+
+‘To what end should I have done so?  You could not have enlightened me
+further, on the subject which alone concerned me; nor could you have made
+me discredit the evidence of my senses.  I desired our intimacy to be
+discontinued at once, as you yourself had acknowledged would probably be
+the case if I knew all; but I did not wish to upbraid you,—though (as you
+also acknowledged) you had deeply wronged me.  Yes, you have done me an
+injury you can never repair—or any other either—you have blighted the
+freshness and promise of youth, and made my life a wilderness!  I might
+live a hundred years, but I could never recover from the effects of this
+withering blow—and never forget it!  Hereafter—You smile, Mrs. Graham,’
+said I, suddenly stopping short, checked in my passionate declamation by
+unutterable feelings to behold her actually smiling at the picture of the
+ruin she had wrought.
+
+‘Did I?’ replied she, looking seriously up; ‘I was not aware of it.  If I
+did, it was not for pleasure at the thoughts of the harm I had done you.
+Heaven knows I have had torment enough at the bare possibility of that;
+it was for joy to find that you had some depth of soul and feeling after
+all, and to hope that I had not been utterly mistaken in your worth.  But
+smiles and tears are so alike with me, they are neither of them confined
+to any particular feelings: I often cry when I am happy, and smile when I
+am sad.’
+
+She looked at me again, and seemed to expect a reply; but I continued
+silent.
+
+‘Would you be very glad,’ resumed she, ‘to find that you were mistaken in
+your conclusions?’
+
+‘How can you ask it, Helen?’
+
+‘I don’t say I can clear myself altogether,’ said she, speaking low and
+fast, while her heart beat visibly and her bosom heaved with
+excitement,—‘but would you be glad to discover I was better than you
+think me?’
+
+‘Anything that could in the least degree tend to restore my former
+opinion of you, to excuse the regard I still feel for you, and alleviate
+the pangs of unutterable regret that accompany it, would be only too
+gladly, too eagerly received!’  Her cheeks burned, and her whole frame
+trembled, now, with excess of agitation.  She did not speak, but flew to
+her desk, and snatching thence what seemed a thick album or manuscript
+volume, hastily tore away a few leaves from the end, and thrust the rest
+into my hand, saying, ‘You needn’t read it all; but take it home with
+you,’ and hurried from the room.  But when I had left the house, and was
+proceeding down the walk, she opened the window and called me back.  It
+was only to say,—‘Bring it back when you have read it; and don’t breathe
+a word of what it tells you to any living being.  I trust to your
+honour.’
+
+Before I could answer she had closed the casement and turned away.  I saw
+her cast herself back in the old oak chair, and cover her face with her
+hands.  Her feelings had been wrought to a pitch that rendered it
+necessary to seek relief in tears.
+
+Panting with eagerness, and struggling to suppress my hopes, I hurried
+home, and rushed up-stairs to my room, having first provided myself with
+a candle, though it was scarcely twilight yet—then, shut and bolted the
+door, determined to tolerate no interruption; and sitting down before the
+table, opened out my prize and delivered myself up to its perusal—first
+hastily turning over the leaves and snatching a sentence here and there,
+and then setting myself steadily to read it through.
+
+I have it now before me; and though you could not, of course, peruse it
+with half the interest that I did, I know you would not be satisfied with
+an abbreviation of its contents, and you shall have the whole, save,
+perhaps, a few passages here and there of merely temporary interest to
+the writer, or such as would serve to encumber the story rather than
+elucidate it.  It begins somewhat abruptly, thus—but we will reserve its
+commencement for another chapter.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+
+June 1st, 1821.—We have just returned to Staningley—that is, we returned
+some days ago, and I am not yet settled, and feel as if I never should
+be.  We left town sooner than was intended, in consequence of my uncle’s
+indisposition;—I wonder what would have been the result if we had stayed
+the full time.  I am quite ashamed of my new-sprung distaste for country
+life.  All my former occupations seem so tedious and dull, my former
+amusements so insipid and unprofitable.  I cannot enjoy my music, because
+there is no one to hear it.  I cannot enjoy my walks, because there is no
+one to meet.  I cannot enjoy my books, because they have not power to
+arrest my attention: my head is so haunted with the recollections of the
+last few weeks, that I cannot attend to them.  My drawing suits me best,
+for I can draw and think at the same time; and if my productions cannot
+now be seen by any one but myself, and those who do not care about them,
+they, possibly, may be, hereafter.  But, then, there is one face I am
+always trying to paint or to sketch, and always without success; and that
+vexes me.  As for the owner of that face, I cannot get him out of my
+mind—and, indeed, I never try.  I wonder whether he ever thinks of me;
+and I wonder whether I shall ever see him again.  And then might follow a
+train of other wonderments—questions for time and fate to
+answer—concluding with—Supposing all the rest be answered in the
+affirmative, I wonder whether I shall ever repent it? as my aunt would
+tell me I should, if she knew what I was thinking about.
+
+How distinctly I remember our conversation that evening before our
+departure for town, when we were sitting together over the fire, my uncle
+having gone to bed with a slight attack of the gout.
+
+‘Helen,’ said she, after a thoughtful silence, ‘do you ever think about
+marriage?’
+
+‘Yes, aunt, often.’
+
+‘And do you ever contemplate the possibility of being married yourself,
+or engaged, before the season is over?’
+
+‘Sometimes; but I don’t think it at all likely that I ever shall.’
+
+‘Why so?’
+
+‘Because, I imagine, there must be only a very, very few men in the world
+that I should like to marry; and of those few, it is ten to one I may
+never be acquainted with one; or if I should, it is twenty to one he may
+not happen to be single, or to take a fancy to me.’
+
+‘That is no argument at all.  It may be very true—and I hope is true,
+that there are very few men whom you would choose to marry, of yourself.
+It is not, indeed, to be supposed that you would wish to marry any one
+till you were asked: a girl’s affections should never be won unsought.
+But when they are sought—when the citadel of the heart is fairly
+besieged—it is apt to surrender sooner than the owner is aware of, and
+often against her better judgment, and in opposition to all her
+preconceived ideas of what she could have loved, unless she be extremely
+careful and discreet.  Now, I want to warn you, Helen, of these things,
+and to exhort you to be watchful and circumspect from the very
+commencement of your career, and not to suffer your heart to be stolen
+from you by the first foolish or unprincipled person that covets the
+possession of it.—You know, my dear, you are only just eighteen; there is
+plenty of time before you, and neither your uncle nor I are in any hurry
+to get you off our hands, and I may venture to say, there will be no lack
+of suitors; for you can boast a good family, a pretty considerable
+fortune and expectations, and, I may as well tell you likewise—for, if I
+don’t, others will—that you have a fair share of beauty besides—and I
+hope you may never have cause to regret it!’
+
+‘I hope not, aunt; but why should you fear it?’
+
+‘Because, my dear, beauty is that quality which, next to money, is
+generally the most attractive to the worst kinds of men; and, therefore,
+it is likely to entail a great deal of trouble on the possessor.’
+
+‘Have you been troubled in that way, aunt?’
+
+‘No, Helen,’ said she, with reproachful gravity, ‘but I know many that
+have; and some, through carelessness, have been the wretched victims of
+deceit; and some, through weakness, have fallen into snares and
+temptations terrible to relate.’
+
+‘Well, I shall be neither careless nor weak.’
+
+‘Remember Peter, Helen!  Don’t boast, but watch.  Keep a guard over your
+eyes and ears as the inlets of your heart, and over your lips as the
+outlet, lest they betray you in a moment of unwariness.  Receive, coldly
+and dispassionately, every attention, till you have ascertained and duly
+considered the worth of the aspirant; and let your affections be
+consequent upon approbation alone.  First study; then approve; then love.
+Let your eyes be blind to all external attractions, your ears deaf to all
+the fascinations of flattery and light discourse.—These are nothing—and
+worse than nothing—snares and wiles of the tempter, to lure the
+thoughtless to their own destruction.  Principle is the first thing,
+after all; and next to that, good sense, respectability, and moderate
+wealth.  If you should marry the handsomest, and most accomplished and
+superficially agreeable man in the world, you little know the misery that
+would overwhelm you if, after all, you should find him to be a worthless
+reprobate, or even an impracticable fool.’
+
+‘But what are all the poor fools and reprobates to do, aunt?  If
+everybody followed your advice, the world would soon come to an end.’
+
+‘Never fear, my dear! the male fools and reprobates will never want for
+partners, while there are so many of the other sex to match them; but do
+you follow my advice.  And this is no subject for jesting, Helen—I am
+sorry to see you treat the matter in that light way.  Believe me,
+matrimony is a serious thing.’ And she spoke it so seriously, that one
+might have fancied she had known it to her cost; but I asked no more
+impertinent questions, and merely answered,—‘I know it is; and I know
+there is truth and sense in what you say; but you need not fear me, for I
+not only should think it wrong to marry a man that was deficient in sense
+or in principle, but I should never be tempted to do it; for I could not
+like him, if he were ever so handsome, and ever so charming, in other
+respects; I should hate him—despise him—pity him—anything but love him.
+My affections not only ought to be founded on approbation, but they will
+and must be so: for, without approving, I cannot love.  It is needless to
+say, I ought to be able to respect and honour the man I marry, as well as
+love him, for I cannot love him without.  So set your mind at rest.’
+
+‘I hope it may be so,’ answered she.
+
+‘I know it is so,’ persisted I.
+
+‘You have not been tried yet, Helen—we can but hope,’ said she in her
+cold, cautious way.
+
+‘I was vexed at her incredulity; but I am not sure her doubts were
+entirely without sagacity; I fear I have found it much easier to remember
+her advice than to profit by it;—indeed, I have sometimes been led to
+question the soundness of her doctrines on those subjects.  Her counsels
+may be good, as far as they go—in the main points at least;—but there are
+some things she has overlooked in her calculations.  I wonder if she was
+ever in love.
+
+I commenced my career—or my first campaign, as my uncle calls it—kindling
+with bright hopes and fancies—chiefly raised by this conversation—and
+full of confidence in my own discretion.  At first, I was delighted with
+the novelty and excitement of our London life; but soon I began to weary
+of its mingled turbulence and constraint, and sigh for the freshness and
+freedom of home.  My new acquaintances, both male and female,
+disappointed my expectations, and vexed and depressed me by turns; for I
+soon grew tired of studying their peculiarities, and laughing at their
+foibles—particularly as I was obliged to keep my criticisms to myself,
+for my aunt would not hear them—and they—the ladies especially—appeared
+so provokingly mindless, and heartless, and artificial.  The gentlemen
+seemed better, but, perhaps, it was because I knew them less—perhaps,
+because they flattered me; but I did not fall in love with any of them;
+and, if their attentions pleased me one moment, they provoked me the
+next, because they put me out of humour with myself, by revealing my
+vanity and making me fear I was becoming like some of the ladies I so
+heartily despised.
+
+There was one elderly gentleman that annoyed me very much; a rich old
+friend of my uncle’s, who, I believe, thought I could not do better than
+marry him; but, besides being old, he was ugly and disagreeable,—and
+wicked, I am sure, though my aunt scolded me for saying so; but she
+allowed he was no saint.  And there was another, less hateful, but still
+more tiresome, because she favoured him, and was always thrusting him
+upon me, and sounding his praises in my ears—Mr. Boarham by name,
+Bore’em, as I prefer spelling it, for a terrible bore he was: I shudder
+still at the remembrance of his voice—drone, drone, drone, in my
+ear—while he sat beside me, prosing away by the half-hour together, and
+beguiling himself with the notion that he was improving my mind by useful
+information, or impressing his dogmas upon me and reforming my errors of
+judgment, or perhaps that he was talking down to my level, and amusing me
+with entertaining discourse.  Yet he was a decent man enough in the main,
+I daresay; and if he had kept his distance, I never would have hated him.
+As it was, it was almost impossible to help it, for he not only bothered
+me with the infliction of his own presence, but he kept me from the
+enjoyment of more agreeable society.
+
+One night, however, at a ball, he had been more than usually tormenting,
+and my patience was quite exhausted.  It appeared as if the whole evening
+was fated to be insupportable: I had just had one dance with an
+empty-headed coxcomb, and then Mr. Boarham had come upon me and seemed
+determined to cling to me for the rest of the night.  He never danced
+himself, and there he sat, poking his head in my face, and impressing all
+beholders with the idea that he was a confirmed, acknowledged lover; my
+aunt looking complacently on all the time, and wishing him God-speed.  In
+vain I attempted to drive him away by giving a loose to my exasperated
+feelings, even to positive rudeness: nothing could convince him that his
+presence was disagreeable.  Sullen silence was taken for rapt attention,
+and gave him greater room to talk; sharp answers were received as smart
+sallies of girlish vivacity, that only required an indulgent rebuke; and
+flat contradictions were but as oil to the flames, calling forth new
+strains of argument to support his dogmas, and bringing down upon me
+endless floods of reasoning to overwhelm me with conviction.
+
+But there was one present who seemed to have a better appreciation of my
+frame of mind.  A gentleman stood by, who had been watching our
+conference for some time, evidently much amused at my companion’s
+remorseless pertinacity and my manifest annoyance, and laughing to
+himself at the asperity and uncompromising spirit of my replies.  At
+length, however, he withdrew, and went to the lady of the house,
+apparently for the purpose of asking an introduction to me, for, shortly
+after, they both came up, and she introduced him as Mr. Huntingdon, the
+son of a late friend of my uncle’s.  He asked me to dance.  I gladly
+consented, of course; and he was my companion during the remainder of my
+stay, which was not long, for my aunt, as usual, insisted upon an early
+departure.
+
+I was sorry to go, for I had found my new acquaintance a very lively and
+entertaining companion.  There was a certain graceful ease and freedom
+about all he said and did, that gave a sense of repose and expansion to
+the mind, after so much constraint and formality as I had been doomed to
+suffer.  There might be, it is true, a little too much careless boldness
+in his manner and address, but I was in so good a humour, and so grateful
+for my late deliverance from Mr. Boarham, that it did not anger me.
+
+‘Well, Helen, how do you like Mr. Boarham now?’ said my aunt, as we took
+our seats in the carriage and drove away.
+
+‘Worse than ever,’ I replied.
+
+She looked displeased, but said no more on that subject.
+
+‘Who was the gentleman you danced with last,’ resumed she, after a
+pause—‘that was so officious in helping you on with your shawl?’
+
+‘He was not officious at all, aunt: he never attempted to help me till he
+saw Mr. Boarham coming to do so; and then he stepped laughingly forward
+and said, “Come, I’ll preserve you from that infliction.”’
+
+‘Who was it, I ask?’ said she, with frigid gravity.
+
+‘It was Mr. Huntingdon, the son of uncle’s old friend.’
+
+‘I have heard your uncle speak of young Mr. Huntingdon.  I’ve heard him
+say, “He’s a fine lad, that young Huntingdon, but a bit wildish, I
+fancy.”  So I’d have you beware.’
+
+‘What does “a bit wildish” mean?’ I inquired.
+
+‘It means destitute of principle, and prone to every vice that is common
+to youth.’
+
+‘But I’ve heard uncle say he was a sad wild fellow himself, when he was
+young.’
+
+She sternly shook her head.
+
+‘He was jesting then, I suppose,’ said I, ‘and here he was speaking at
+random—at least, I cannot believe there is any harm in those laughing
+blue eyes.’
+
+‘False reasoning, Helen!’ said she, with a sigh.
+
+‘Well, we ought to be charitable, you know, aunt—besides, I don’t think
+it is false: I am an excellent physiognomist, and I always judge of
+people’s characters by their looks—not by whether they are handsome or
+ugly, but by the general cast of the countenance.  For instance, I should
+know by your countenance that you were not of a cheerful, sanguine
+disposition; and I should know by Mr. Wilmot’s, that he was a worthless
+old reprobate; and by Mr. Boarham’s, that he was not an agreeable
+companion; and by Mr. Huntingdon’s, that he was neither a fool nor a
+knave, though, possibly, neither a sage nor a saint—but that is no matter
+to me, as I am not likely to meet him again—unless as an occasional
+partner in the ball-room.’
+
+It was not so, however, for I met him again next morning.  He came to
+call upon my uncle, apologising for not having done so before, by saying
+he was only lately returned from the Continent, and had not heard, till
+the previous night, of my uncle’s arrival in town; and after that I often
+met him; sometimes in public, sometimes at home; for he was very
+assiduous in paying his respects to his old friend, who did not, however,
+consider himself greatly obliged by the attention.
+
+‘I wonder what the deuce the lad means by coming so often,’ he would
+say,—‘can you tell, Helen?—Hey?  He wants none o’ my company, nor I
+his—that’s certain.’
+
+‘I wish you’d tell him so, then,’ said my aunt.
+
+‘Why, what for?  If I don’t want him, somebody does, mayhap’ (winking at
+me).  ‘Besides, he’s a pretty tidy fortune, Peggy, you know—not such a
+catch as Wilmot; but then Helen won’t hear of that match: for, somehow,
+these old chaps don’t go down with the girls—with all their money, and
+their experience to boot.  I’ll bet anything she’d rather have this young
+fellow without a penny, than Wilmot with his house full of gold.
+Wouldn’t you, Nell?’
+
+‘Yes, uncle; but that’s not saying much for Mr. Huntingdon; for I’d
+rather be an old maid and a pauper than Mrs. Wilmot.’
+
+‘And Mrs. Huntingdon?  What would you rather be than Mrs. Huntingdon—eh?’
+
+‘I’ll tell you when I’ve considered the matter.’
+
+‘Ah! it needs consideration, then?  But come, now—would you rather be an
+old maid—let alone the pauper?’
+
+‘I can’t tell till I’m asked.’
+
+And I left the room immediately, to escape further examination.  But five
+minutes after, in looking from my window, I beheld Mr. Boarham coming up
+to the door.  I waited nearly half-an-hour in uncomfortable suspense,
+expecting every minute to be called, and vainly longing to hear him go.
+Then footsteps were heard on the stairs, and my aunt entered the room
+with a solemn countenance, and closed the door behind her.
+
+‘Here is Mr. Boarham, Helen,’ said she.  ‘He wishes to see you.’
+
+‘Oh, aunt!—Can’t you tell him I’m indisposed?—I’m sure I am—to see him.’
+
+‘Nonsense, my dear! this is no trifling matter.  He is come on a very
+important errand—to ask your hand in marriage of your uncle and me.’
+
+‘I hope my uncle and you told him it was not in your power to give it.
+What right had he to ask any one before me?’
+
+‘Helen!’
+
+‘What did my uncle say?’
+
+‘He said he would not interfere in the matter; if you liked to accept Mr.
+Boarham’s obliging offer, you—’
+
+‘Did he say obliging offer?’
+
+‘No; he said if you liked to take him you might; and if not, you might
+please yourself.’
+
+‘He said right; and what did you say?’
+
+‘It is no matter what I said.  What will you say?—that is the question.
+He is now waiting to ask you himself; but consider well before you go;
+and if you intend to refuse him, give me your reasons.’
+
+‘I shall refuse him, of course; but you must tell me how, for I want to
+be civil and yet decided—and when I’ve got rid of him, I’ll give you my
+reasons afterwards.’
+
+‘But stay, Helen; sit down a little and compose yourself.  Mr. Boarham is
+in no particular hurry, for he has little doubt of your acceptance; and I
+want to speak with you.  Tell me, my dear, what are your objections to
+him?  Do you deny that he is an upright, honourable man?’
+
+‘No.’
+
+‘Do you deny that he is sensible, sober, respectable?’
+
+‘No; he may be all this, but—’
+
+‘But, Helen!  How many such men do you expect to meet with in the world?
+Upright, honourable, sensible, sober, respectable!  Is this such an
+every-day character that you should reject the possessor of such noble
+qualities without a moment’s hesitation?  Yes, noble I may call them; for
+think of the full meaning of each, and how many inestimable virtues they
+include (and I might add many more to the list), and consider that all
+this is laid at your feet.  It is in your power to secure this
+inestimable blessing for life—a worthy and excellent husband, who loves
+you tenderly, but not too fondly so as to blind him to your faults, and
+will be your guide throughout life’s pilgrimage, and your partner in
+eternal bliss.  Think how—’
+
+‘But I hate him, aunt,’ said I, interrupting this unusual flow of
+eloquence.
+
+‘Hate him, Helen!  Is this a Christian spirit?—you hate him? and he so
+good a man!’
+
+‘I don’t hate him as a man, but as a husband.  As a man, I love him so
+much that I wish him a better wife than I—one as good as himself, or
+better—if you think that possible—provided she could like him; but I
+never could, and therefore—’
+
+‘But why not?  What objection do you find?’
+
+‘Firstly, he is at least forty years old—considerably more, I should
+think—and I am but eighteen; secondly, he is narrow-minded and bigoted in
+the extreme; thirdly, his tastes and feelings are wholly dissimilar to
+mine; fourthly, his looks, voice, and manner are particularly displeasing
+to me; and, finally, I have an aversion to his whole person that I never
+can surmount.’
+
+‘Then you ought to surmount it.  And please to compare him for a moment
+with Mr. Huntingdon, and, good looks apart (which contribute nothing to
+the merit of the man, or to the happiness of married life, and which you
+have so often professed to hold in light esteem), tell me which is the
+better man.’
+
+‘I have no doubt Mr. Huntingdon is a much better man than you think him;
+but we are not talking about him now, but about Mr. Boarham; and as I
+would rather grow, live, and die in single blessedness—than be his wife,
+it is but right that I should tell him so at once, and put him out of
+suspense—so let me go.’
+
+‘But don’t give him a flat denial; he has no idea of such a thing, and it
+would offend him greatly: say you have no thoughts of matrimony at
+present—’
+
+‘But I have thoughts of it.’
+
+‘Or that you desire a further acquaintance.’
+
+‘But I don’t desire a further acquaintance—quite the contrary.’
+
+And without waiting for further admonitions I left the room and went to
+seek Mr. Boarham.  He was walking up and down the drawing-room, humming
+snatches of tunes and nibbling the end of his cane.
+
+‘My dear young lady,’ said he, bowing and smirking with great
+complacency, ‘I have your kind guardian’s permission—’
+
+‘I know, sir,’ said I, wishing to shorten the scene as much as possible,
+‘and I am greatly obliged for your preference, but must beg to decline
+the honour you wish to confer, for I think we were not made for each
+other, as you yourself would shortly discover if the experiment were
+tried.’
+
+My aunt was right.  It was quite evident he had had little doubt of my
+acceptance, and no idea of a positive denial.  He was amazed, astounded
+at such an answer, but too incredulous to be much offended; and after a
+little humming and hawing, he returned to the attack.
+
+‘I know, my dear, that there exists a considerable disparity between us
+in years, in temperament, and perhaps some other things; but let me
+assure you, I shall not be severe to mark the faults and foibles of a
+young and ardent nature such as yours, and while I acknowledge them to
+myself, and even rebuke them with all a father’s care, believe me, no
+youthful lover could be more tenderly indulgent towards the object of his
+affections than I to you; and, on the other hand, let me hope that my
+more experienced years and graver habits of reflection will be no
+disparagement in your eyes, as I shall endeavour to make them all
+conducive to your happiness.  Come, now!  What do you say?  Let us have
+no young lady’s affectations and caprices, but speak out at once.’
+
+‘I will, but only to repeat what I said before, that I am certain we were
+not made for each other.’
+
+‘You really think so?’
+
+‘I do.’
+
+‘But you don’t know me—you wish for a further acquaintance—a longer time
+to—’
+
+‘No, I don’t.  I know you as well as I ever shall, and better than you
+know me, or you would never dream of uniting yourself to one so
+incongruous—so utterly unsuitable to you in every way.’
+
+‘But, my dear young lady, I don’t look for perfection; I can excuse—’
+
+‘Thank you, Mr. Boarham, but I won’t trespass upon your goodness.  You
+may save your indulgence and consideration for some more worthy object,
+that won’t tax them so heavily.’
+
+‘But let me beg you to consult your aunt; that excellent lady, I am sure,
+will—’
+
+‘I have consulted her; and I know her wishes coincide with yours; but in
+such important matters, I take the liberty of judging for myself; and no
+persuasion can alter my inclinations, or induce me to believe that such a
+step would be conducive to my happiness or yours—and I wonder that a man
+of your experience and discretion should think of choosing such a wife.’
+
+‘Ah, well!’ said he, ‘I have sometimes wondered at that myself.  I have
+sometimes said to myself, “Now Boarham, what is this you’re after?  Take
+care, man—look before you leap!  This is a sweet, bewitching creature,
+but remember, the brightest attractions to the lover too often prove the
+husband’s greatest torments!”  I assure you my choice has not been made
+without much reasoning and reflection.  The seeming imprudence of the
+match has cost me many an anxious thought by day, and many a sleepless
+hour by night; but at length I satisfied myself that it was not, in very
+deed, imprudent.  I saw my sweet girl was not without her faults, but of
+these her youth, I trusted, was not one, but rather an earnest of virtues
+yet unblown—a strong ground of presumption that her little defects of
+temper and errors of judgment, opinion, or manner were not irremediable,
+but might easily be removed or mitigated by the patient efforts of a
+watchful and judicious adviser, and where I failed to enlighten and
+control, I thought I might safely undertake to pardon, for the sake of
+her many excellences.  Therefore, my dearest girl, since I am satisfied,
+why should you object—on my account, at least?’
+
+‘But to tell you the truth, Mr. Boarham, it is on my own account I
+principally object; so let us—drop the subject,’ I would have said, ‘for
+it is worse than useless to pursue it any further,’ but he pertinaciously
+interrupted me with,—‘But why so?  I would love you, cherish you, protect
+you,’ &c., &c.
+
+I shall not trouble myself to put down all that passed between us.
+Suffice it to say, that I found him very troublesome, and very hard to
+convince that I really meant what I said, and really was so obstinate and
+blind to my own interests, that there was no shadow of a chance that
+either he or my aunt would ever be able to overcome my objections.
+Indeed, I am not sure that I succeeded after all; though wearied with his
+so pertinaciously returning to the same point and repeating the same
+arguments over and over again, forcing me to reiterate the same replies,
+I at length turned short and sharp upon him, and my last words were,—‘I
+tell you plainly, that it cannot be.  No consideration can induce me to
+marry against my inclinations.  I respect you—at least, I would respect
+you, if you would behave like a sensible man—but I cannot love you, and
+never could—and the more you talk the further you repel me; so pray don’t
+say any more about it.’
+
+Whereupon he wished me a good-morning, and withdrew, disconcerted and
+offended, no doubt; but surely it was not my fault.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+
+The next day I accompanied my uncle and aunt to a dinner-party at Mr.
+Wilmot’s.  He had two ladies staying with him: his niece Annabella, a
+fine dashing girl, or rather young woman,—of some five-and-twenty, too
+great a flirt to be married, according to her own assertion, but greatly
+admired by the gentlemen, who universally pronounced her a splendid
+woman; and her gentle cousin, Milicent Hargrave, who had taken a violent
+fancy to me, mistaking me for something vastly better than I was.  And I,
+in return, was very fond of her.  I should entirely exclude poor Milicent
+in my general animadversions against the ladies of my acquaintance.  But
+it was not on her account, or her cousin’s, that I have mentioned the
+party: it was for the sake of another of Mr. Wilmot’s guests, to wit Mr.
+Huntingdon.  I have good reason to remember his presence there, for this
+was the last time I saw him.
+
+He did not sit near me at dinner; for it was his fate to hand in a
+capacious old dowager, and mine to be handed in by Mr. Grimsby, a friend
+of his, but a man I very greatly disliked: there was a sinister cast in
+his countenance, and a mixture of lurking ferocity and fulsome
+insincerity in his demeanour, that I could not away with.  What a
+tiresome custom that is, by-the-by—one among the many sources of
+factitious annoyance of this ultra-civilised life.  If the gentlemen must
+lead the ladies into the dining-room, why cannot they take those they
+like best?
+
+I am not sure, however, that Mr. Huntingdon would have taken me, if he
+had been at liberty to make his own selection.  It is quite possible he
+might have chosen Miss Wilmot; for she seemed bent upon engrossing his
+attention to herself, and he seemed nothing loth to pay the homage she
+demanded.  I thought so, at least, when I saw how they talked and
+laughed, and glanced across the table, to the neglect and evident umbrage
+of their respective neighbours—and afterwards, as the gentlemen joined us
+in the drawing-room, when she, immediately upon his entrance, loudly
+called upon him to be the arbiter of a dispute between herself and
+another lady, and he answered the summons with alacrity, and decided the
+question without a moment’s hesitation in her favour—though, to my
+thinking, she was obviously in the wrong—and then stood chatting
+familiarly with her and a group of other ladies; while I sat with
+Milicent Hargrave at the opposite end of the room, looking over the
+latter’s drawings, and aiding her with my critical observations and
+advice, at her particular desire.  But in spite of my efforts to remain
+composed, my attention wandered from the drawings to the merry group, and
+against my better judgment my wrath rose, and doubtless my countenance
+lowered; for Milicent, observing that I must be tired of her daubs and
+scratches, begged I would join the company now, and defer the examination
+of the remainder to another opportunity.  But while I was assuring her
+that I had no wish to join them, and was not tired, Mr. Huntingdon
+himself came up to the little round table at which we sat.
+
+‘Are these yours?’ said he, carelessly taking up one of the drawings.
+
+‘No, they are Miss Hargrave’s.’
+
+‘Oh! well, let’s have a look at them.’
+
+And, regardless of Miss Hargrave’s protestations that they were not worth
+looking at, he drew a chair to my side, and receiving the drawings, one
+by one from my hand, successively scanned them over, and threw them on
+the table, but said not a word about them, though he was talking all the
+time.  I don’t know what Milicent Hargrave thought of such conduct, but I
+found his conversation extremely interesting; though, as I afterwards
+discovered, when I came to analyse it, it was chiefly confined to
+quizzing the different members of the company present; and albeit he made
+some clever remarks, and some excessively droll ones, I do not think the
+whole would appear anything very particular, if written here, without the
+adventitious aids of look, and tone, and gesture, and that ineffable but
+indefinite charm, which cast a halo over all he did and said, and which
+would have made it a delight to look in his face, and hear the music of
+his voice, if he had been talking positive nonsense—and which, moreover,
+made me feel so bitter against my aunt when she put a stop to this
+enjoyment, by coming composedly forward, under pretence of wishing to see
+the drawings, that she cared and knew nothing about, and while making
+believe to examine them, addressing herself to Mr. Huntingdon, with one
+of her coldest and most repellent aspects, and beginning a series of the
+most common-place and formidably formal questions and observations, on
+purpose to wrest his attention from me—on purpose to vex me, as I
+thought: and having now looked through the portfolio, I left them to
+their _tête-à-tête_, and seated myself on a sofa, quite apart from the
+company—never thinking how strange such conduct would appear, but merely
+to indulge, at first, the vexation of the moment, and subsequently to
+enjoy my private thoughts.
+
+But I was not left long alone, for Mr. Wilmot, of all men the least
+welcome, took advantage of my isolated position to come and plant himself
+beside me.  I had flattered myself that I had so effectually repulsed his
+advances on all former occasions, that I had nothing more to apprehend
+from his unfortunate predilection; but it seems I was mistaken: so great
+was his confidence, either in his wealth or his remaining powers of
+attraction, and so firm his conviction of feminine weakness, that he
+thought himself warranted to return to the siege, which he did with
+renovated ardour, enkindled by the quantity of wine he had drunk—a
+circumstance that rendered him infinitely the more disgusting; but
+greatly as I abhorred him at that moment, I did not like to treat him
+with rudeness, as I was now his guest, and had just been enjoying his
+hospitality; and I was no hand at a polite but determined rejection, nor
+would it have greatly availed me if I had, for he was too coarse-minded
+to take any repulse that was not as plain and positive as his own
+effrontery.  The consequence was, that he waxed more fulsomely tender,
+and more repulsively warm, and I was driven to the very verge of
+desperation, and about to say I know not what, when I felt my hand, that
+hung over the arm of the sofa, suddenly taken by another and gently but
+fervently pressed.  Instinctively, I guessed who it was, and, on looking
+up, was less surprised than delighted to see Mr. Huntingdon smiling upon
+me.  It was like turning from some purgatorial fiend to an angel of
+light, come to announce that the season of torment was past.
+
+‘Helen,’ said he (he frequently called me Helen, and I never resented the
+freedom), ‘I want you to look at this picture.  Mr. Wilmot will excuse
+you a moment, I’m sure.’
+
+I rose with alacrity.  He drew my arm within his, and led me across the
+room to a splendid painting of Vandyke’s that I had noticed before, but
+not sufficiently examined.  After a moment of silent contemplation, I was
+beginning to comment on its beauties and peculiarities, when, playfully
+pressing the hand he still retained within his arm, he interrupted me
+with,—‘Never mind the picture: it was not for that I brought you here; it
+was to get you away from that scoundrelly old profligate yonder, who is
+looking as if he would like to challenge me for the affront.’
+
+‘I am very much obliged to you,’ said I.  ‘This is twice you have
+delivered me from such unpleasant companionship.’
+
+‘Don’t be too thankful,’ he answered: ‘it is not all kindness to you; it
+is partly from a feeling of spite to your tormentors that makes me
+delighted to do the old fellows a bad turn, though I don’t think I have
+any great reason to dread them as rivals.  Have I, Helen?’
+
+‘You know I detest them both.’
+
+‘And me?’
+
+‘I have no reason to detest you.’
+
+‘But what are your sentiments towards me?  Helen—Speak!  How do you
+regard me?’
+
+And again he pressed my hand; but I feared there was more of conscious
+power than tenderness in his demeanour, and I felt he had no right to
+extort a confession of attachment from me when he had made no
+correspondent avowal himself, and knew not what to answer.  At last I
+said,—‘How do you regard me?’
+
+‘Sweet angel, I adore you!  I—’
+
+‘Helen, I want you a moment,’ said the distinct, low voice of my aunt,
+close beside us.  And I left him, muttering maledictions against his evil
+angel.
+
+‘Well, aunt, what is it?  What do you want?’ said I, following her to the
+embrasure of the window.
+
+‘I want you to join the company, when you are fit to be seen,’ returned
+she, severely regarding me; ‘but please to stay here a little, till that
+shocking colour is somewhat abated, and your eyes have recovered
+something of their natural expression.  I should be ashamed for anyone to
+see you in your present state.’
+
+Of course, such a remark had no effect in reducing the ‘shocking colour’;
+on the contrary, I felt my face glow with redoubled fires kindled by a
+complication of emotions, of which indignant, swelling anger was the
+chief.  I offered no reply, however, but pushed aside the curtain and
+looked into the night—or rather into the lamp-lit square.
+
+‘Was Mr. Huntingdon proposing to you, Helen?’ inquired my too watchful
+relative.
+
+‘No.’
+
+‘What was he saying then?  I heard something very like it.’
+
+‘I don’t know what he would have said, if you hadn’t interrupted him.’
+
+‘And would you have accepted him, Helen, if he had proposed?’
+
+‘Of course not—without consulting uncle and you.’
+
+‘Oh!  I’m glad, my dear, you have so much prudence left.  Well, now,’ she
+added, after a moment’s pause, ‘you have made yourself conspicuous enough
+for one evening.  The ladies are directing inquiring glances towards us
+at this moment, I see: I shall join them.  Do you come too, when you are
+sufficiently composed to appear as usual.’
+
+‘I am so now.’
+
+‘Speak gently then, and don’t look so malicious,’ said my calm, but
+provoking aunt.  ‘We shall return home shortly, and then,’ she added with
+solemn significance, ‘I have much to say to you.’
+
+So I went home prepared for a formidable lecture.  Little was said by
+either party in the carriage during our short transit homewards; but when
+I had entered my room and thrown myself into an easy-chair, to reflect on
+the events of the day, my aunt followed me thither, and having dismissed
+Rachel, who was carefully stowing away my ornaments, closed the door; and
+placing a chair beside me, or rather at right angles with mine, sat down.
+With due deference I offered her my more commodious seat.  She declined
+it, and thus opened the conference: ‘Do you remember, Helen, our
+conversation the night but one before we left Staningley?’
+
+‘Yes, aunt.’
+
+‘And do you remember how I warned you against letting your heart be
+stolen from you by those unworthy of its possession, and fixing your
+affections where approbation did not go before, and where reason and
+judgment withheld their sanction?’
+
+‘Yes; but my reason—’
+
+‘Pardon me—and do you remember assuring me that there was no occasion for
+uneasiness on your account; for you should never be tempted to marry a
+man who was deficient in sense or principle, however handsome or charming
+in other respects he might be, for you could not love him; you should
+hate—despise—pity—anything but love him—were not those your words?’
+
+‘Yes; but—’
+
+‘And did you not say that your affection must be founded on approbation;
+and that, unless you could approve and honour and respect, you could not
+love?’
+
+‘Yes; but I do approve, and honour, and respect—’
+
+‘How so, my dear?  Is Mr. Huntingdon a good man?’
+
+‘He is a much better man than you think him.’
+
+‘That is nothing to the purpose.  Is he a good man?’
+
+‘Yes—in some respects.  He has a good disposition.’
+
+‘Is he a man of principle?’
+
+‘Perhaps not, exactly; but it is only for want of thought.  If he had
+some one to advise him, and remind him of what is right—’
+
+‘He would soon learn, you think—and you yourself would willingly
+undertake to be his teacher?  But, my dear, he is, I believe, full ten
+years older than you—how is it that you are so beforehand in moral
+acquirements?’
+
+‘Thanks to you, aunt, I have been well brought up, and had good examples
+always before me, which he, most likely, has not; and, besides, he is of
+a sanguine temperament, and a gay, thoughtless temper, and I am naturally
+inclined to reflection.’
+
+‘Well, now you have made him out to be deficient in both sense and
+principle, by your own confession—’
+
+‘Then, my sense and my principle are at his service.’
+
+‘That sounds presumptuous, Helen.  Do you think you have enough for both;
+and do you imagine your merry, thoughtless profligate would allow himself
+to be guided by a young girl like you?’
+
+‘No; I should not wish to guide him; but I think I might have influence
+sufficient to save him from some errors, and I should think my life well
+spent in the effort to preserve so noble a nature from destruction.  He
+always listens attentively now when I speak seriously to him (and I often
+venture to reprove his random way of talking), and sometimes he says that
+if he had me always by his side he should never do or say a wicked thing,
+and that a little daily talk with me would make him quite a saint.  It
+may he partly jest and partly flattery, but still—’
+
+‘But still you think it may be truth?’
+
+‘If I do think there is any mixture of truth in it, it is not from
+confidence in my own powers, but in his natural goodness.  And you have
+no right to call him a profligate, aunt; he is nothing of the kind.’
+
+‘Who told you so, my dear?  What was that story about his intrigue with a
+married lady—Lady who was it?—Miss Wilmot herself was telling you the
+other day?’
+
+‘It was false—false!’ I cried.  ‘I don’t believe a word of it.’
+
+‘You think, then, that he is a virtuous, well-conducted young man?’
+
+‘I know nothing positive respecting his character.  I only know that I
+have heard nothing definite against it—nothing that could be proved, at
+least; and till people can prove their slanderous accusations, I will not
+believe them.  And I know this, that if he has committed errors, they are
+only such as are common to youth, and such as nobody thinks anything
+about; for I see that everybody likes him, and all the mammas smile upon
+him, and their daughters—and Miss Wilmot herself—are only too glad to
+attract his attention.’
+
+‘Helen, the world may look upon such offences as venial; a few
+unprincipled mothers may be anxious to catch a young man of fortune
+without reference to his character; and thoughtless girls may be glad to
+win the smiles of so handsome a gentleman, without seeking to penetrate
+beyond the surface; but you, I trusted, were better informed than to see
+with their eyes, and judge with their perverted judgment.  I did not
+think you would call these venial errors!’
+
+‘Nor do I, aunt; but if I hate the sins, I love the sinner, and would do
+much for his salvation, even supposing your suspicions to be mainly true,
+which I do not and will not believe.’
+
+‘Well, my dear, ask your uncle what sort of company he keeps, and if he
+is not banded with a set of loose, profligate young men, whom he calls
+his friends, his jolly companions, and whose chief delight is to wallow
+in vice, and vie with each other who can run fastest and furthest down
+the headlong road to the place prepared for the devil and his angels.’
+
+‘Then I will save him from them.’
+
+‘Oh, Helen, Helen! you little know the misery of uniting your fortunes to
+such a man!’
+
+‘I have such confidence in him, aunt, notwithstanding all you say, that I
+would willingly risk my happiness for the chance of securing his.  I will
+leave better men to those who only consider their own advantage.  If he
+has done amiss, I shall consider my life well spent in saving him from
+the consequences of his early errors, and striving to recall him to the
+path of virtue.  God grant me success!’
+
+Here the conversation ended, for at this juncture my uncle’s voice was
+heard from his chamber, loudly calling upon my aunt to come to bed.  He
+was in a bad humour that night; for his gout was worse.  It had been
+gradually increasing upon him ever since we came to town; and my aunt
+took advantage of the circumstance next morning to persuade him to return
+to the country immediately, without waiting for the close of the season.
+His physician supported and enforced her arguments; and contrary to her
+usual habits, she so hurried the preparations for removal (as much for my
+sake as my uncle’s, I think), that in a very few days we departed; and I
+saw no more of Mr. Huntingdon.  My aunt flatters herself I shall soon
+forget him—perhaps she thinks I have forgotten him already, for I never
+mention his name; and she may continue to think so, till we meet again—if
+ever that should be.  I wonder if it will?
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+
+
+August 25th.—I am now quite settled down to my usual routine of steady
+occupations and quiet amusements—tolerably contented and cheerful, but
+still looking forward to spring with the hope of returning to town, not
+for its gaieties and dissipations, but for the chance of meeting Mr.
+Huntingdon once again; for still he is always in my thoughts and in my
+dreams.  In all my employments, whatever I do, or see, or hear, has an
+ultimate reference to him; whatever skill or knowledge I acquire is some
+day to be turned to his advantage or amusement; whatever new beauties in
+nature or art I discover are to be depicted to meet his eye, or stored in
+my memory to be told him at some future period.  This, at least, is the
+hope that I cherish, the fancy that lights me on my lonely way.  It may
+be only an ignis fatuus, after all, but it can do no harm to follow it
+with my eyes and rejoice in its lustre, as long as it does not lure me
+from the path I ought to keep; and I think it will not, for I have
+thought deeply on my aunt’s advice, and I see clearly, now, the folly of
+throwing myself away on one that is unworthy of all the love I have to
+give, and incapable of responding to the best and deepest feelings of my
+inmost heart—so clearly, that even if I should see him again, and if he
+should remember me and love me still (which, alas! is too little
+probable, considering how he is situated, and by whom surrounded), and if
+he should ask me to marry him—I am determined not to consent until I know
+for certain whether my aunt’s opinion of him or mine is nearest the
+truth; for if mine is altogether wrong, it is not he that I love; it is a
+creature of my own imagination.  But I think it is not wrong—no, no—there
+is a secret something—an inward instinct that assures me I am right.
+There is essential goodness in him;—and what delight to unfold it!  If he
+has wandered, what bliss to recall him!  If he is now exposed to the
+baneful influence of corrupting and wicked companions, what glory to
+deliver him from them!  Oh! if I could but believe that Heaven has
+designed me for this!
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+To-day is the first of September; but my uncle has ordered the gamekeeper
+to spare the partridges till the gentlemen come.  ‘What gentlemen?’ I
+asked when I heard it.  A small party he had invited to shoot.  His
+friend Mr. Wilmot was one, and my aunt’s friend, Mr. Boarham, another.
+This struck me as terrible news at the moment; but all regret and
+apprehension vanished like a dream when I heard that Mr. Huntingdon was
+actually to be a third!  My aunt is greatly against his coming, of
+course: she earnestly endeavoured to dissuade my uncle from asking him;
+but he, laughing at her objections, told her it was no use talking, for
+the mischief was already done: he had invited Huntingdon and his friend
+Lord Lowborough before we left London, and nothing now remained but to
+fix the day for their coming.  So he is safe, and I am sure of seeing
+him.  I cannot express my joy.  I find it very difficult to conceal it
+from my aunt; but I don’t wish to trouble her with my feelings till I
+know whether I ought to indulge them or not.  If I find it my absolute
+duty to suppress them, they shall trouble no one but myself; and if I can
+really feel myself justified in indulging this attachment, I can dare
+anything, even the anger and grief of my best friend, for its
+object—surely, I shall soon know.  But they are not coming till about the
+middle of the month.
+
+We are to have two lady visitors also: Mr. Wilmot is to bring his niece
+and her cousin Milicent.  I suppose my aunt thinks the latter will
+benefit me by her society, and the salutary example of her gentle
+deportment and lowly and tractable spirit; and the former I suspect she
+intends as a species of counter-attraction to win Mr. Huntingdon’s
+attention from me.  I don’t thank her for this; but I shall be glad of
+Milicent’s company: she is a sweet, good girl, and I wish I were like
+her—more like her, at least, than I am.
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+19th.—They are come.  They came the day before yesterday.  The gentlemen
+are all gone out to shoot, and the ladies are with my aunt, at work in
+the drawing-room.  I have retired to the library, for I am very unhappy,
+and I want to be alone.  Books cannot divert me; so having opened my
+desk, I will try what may be done by detailing the cause of my
+uneasiness.  This paper will serve instead of a confidential friend into
+whose ear I might pour forth the overflowings of my heart.  It will not
+sympathise with my distresses, but then it will not laugh at them, and,
+if I keep it close, it cannot tell again; so it is, perhaps, the best
+friend I could have for the purpose.
+
+First, let me speak of his arrival—how I sat at my window, and watched
+for nearly two hours, before his carriage entered the park-gates—for they
+all came before him,—and how deeply I was disappointed at every arrival,
+because it was not his.  First came Mr. Wilmot and the ladies.  When
+Milicent had got into her room, I quitted my post a few minutes to look
+in upon her and have a little private conversation, for she was now my
+intimate friend, several long epistles having passed between us since our
+parting.  On returning to my window, I beheld another carriage at the
+door.  Was it his?  No; it was Mr. Boarham’s plain dark chariot; and
+there stood he upon the steps, carefully superintending the dislodging of
+his various boxes and packages.  What a collection!  One would have
+thought he projected a visit of six months at least.  A considerable time
+after, came Lord Lowborough in his barouche.  Is he one of the profligate
+friends, I wonder?  I should think not; for no one could call him a jolly
+companion, I’m sure,—and, besides, he appears too sober and gentlemanly
+in his demeanour to merit such suspicions.  He is a tall, thin,
+gloomy-looking man, apparently between thirty and forty, and of a
+somewhat sickly, careworn aspect.
+
+At last, Mr. Huntingdon’s light phaeton came bowling merrily up the lawn.
+I had but a transient glimpse of him: for the moment it stopped, he
+sprang out over the side on to the portico steps, and disappeared into
+the house.
+
+I now submitted to be dressed for dinner—a duty which Rachel had been
+urging upon me for the last twenty minutes; and when that important
+business was completed, I repaired to the drawing-room, where I found Mr.
+and Miss Wilmot and Milicent Hargrave already assembled.  Shortly after,
+Lord Lowborough entered, and then Mr. Boarham, who seemed quite willing
+to forget and forgive my former conduct, and to hope that a little
+conciliation and steady perseverance on his part might yet succeed in
+bringing me to reason.  While I stood at the window, conversing with
+Milicent, he came up to me, and was beginning to talk in nearly his usual
+strain, when Mr. Huntingdon entered the room.
+
+‘How will he greet me, I wonder?’ said my bounding heart; and, instead of
+advancing to meet him, I turned to the window to hide or subdue my
+emotion.  But having saluted his host and hostess, and the rest of the
+company, he came to me, ardently squeezed my hand, and murmured he was
+glad to see me once again.  At that moment dinner was announced: my aunt
+desired him to take Miss Hargrave into the dining-room, and odious Mr.
+Wilmot, with unspeakable grimaces, offered his arm to me; and I was
+condemned to sit between himself and Mr. Boarham.  But afterwards, when
+we were all again assembled in the drawing-room, I was indemnified for so
+much suffering by a few delightful minutes of conversation with Mr.
+Huntingdon.
+
+In the course of the evening, Miss Wilmot was called upon to sing and
+play for the amusement of the company, and I to exhibit my drawings, and,
+though he likes music, and she is an accomplished musician, I think I am
+right in affirming, that he paid more attention to my drawings than to
+her music.
+
+So far so good;—but hearing him pronounce, sotto voce, but with peculiar
+emphasis, concerning one of the pieces, ‘This is better than all!’—I
+looked up, curious to see which it was, and, to my horror, beheld him
+complacently gazing at the back of the picture:—it was his own face that
+I had sketched there and forgotten to rub out!  To make matters worse, in
+the agony of the moment, I attempted to snatch it from his hand; but he
+prevented me, and exclaiming, ‘No—by George, I’ll keep it!’ placed it
+against his waistcoat and buttoned his coat upon it with a delighted
+chuckle.
+
+Then, drawing a candle close to his elbow, he gathered all the drawings
+to himself, as well what he had seen as the others, and muttering, ‘I
+must look at both sides now,’ he eagerly commenced an examination, which
+I watched, at first, with tolerable composure, in the confidence that his
+vanity would not be gratified by any further discoveries; for, though I
+must plead guilty to having disfigured the backs of several with abortive
+attempts to delineate that too fascinating physiognomy, I was sure that,
+with that one unfortunate exception, I had carefully obliterated all such
+witnesses of my infatuation.  But the pencil frequently leaves an
+impression upon cardboard that no amount of rubbing can efface.  Such, it
+seems, was the case with most of these; and, I confess, I trembled when I
+saw him holding them so close to the candle, and poring so intently over
+the seeming blanks; but still, I trusted, he would not be able to make
+out these dim traces to his own satisfaction.  I was mistaken, however.
+Having ended his scrutiny, he quietly remarked,—‘I perceive the backs of
+young ladies’ drawings, like the postscripts of their letters, are the
+most important and interesting part of the concern.’
+
+Then, leaning back in his chair, he reflected a few minutes in silence,
+complacently smiling to himself, and while I was concocting some cutting
+speech wherewith to check his gratification, he rose, and passing over to
+where Annabella Wilmot sat vehemently coquetting with Lord Lowborough,
+seated himself on the sofa beside her, and attached himself to her for
+the rest of the evening.
+
+‘So then,’ thought I, ‘he despises me, because he knows I love him.’
+
+And the reflection made me so miserable I knew not what to do.  Milicent
+came and began to admire my drawings, and make remarks upon them; but I
+could not talk to her—I could talk to no one, and, upon the introduction
+of tea, I took advantage of the open door and the slight diversion caused
+by its entrance to slip out—for I was sure I could not take any—and take
+refuge in the library.  My aunt sent Thomas in quest of me, to ask if I
+were not coming to tea; but I bade him say I should not take any
+to-night, and, happily, she was too much occupied with her guests to make
+any further inquiries at the time.
+
+As most of the company had travelled far that day, they retired early to
+rest; and having heard them all, as I thought, go up-stairs, I ventured
+out, to get my candlestick from the drawing-room sideboard.  But Mr.
+Huntingdon had lingered behind the rest.  He was just at the foot of the
+stairs when I opened the door, and hearing my step in the hall—though I
+could hardly hear it myself—he instantly turned back.
+
+‘Helen, is that you?’ said he.  ‘Why did you run away from us?’
+
+‘Good-night, Mr. Huntingdon,’ said I, coldly, not choosing to answer the
+question.  And I turned away to enter the drawing-room.
+
+‘But you’ll shake hands, won’t you?’ said he, placing himself in the
+doorway before me.  And he seized my hand and held it, much against my
+will.
+
+‘Let me go, Mr. Huntingdon,’ said I.  ‘I want to get a candle.’
+
+‘The candle will keep,’ returned he.
+
+I made a desperate effort to free my hand from his grasp.
+
+‘Why are you in such a hurry to leave me, Helen?’ he said, with a smile
+of the most provoking self-sufficiency.  ‘You don’t hate me, you know.’
+
+‘Yes, I do—at this moment.’
+
+‘Not you.  It is Annabella Wilmot you hate, not me.’
+
+‘I have nothing to do with Annabella Wilmot,’ said I, burning with
+indignation.
+
+‘But I have, you know,’ returned he, with peculiar emphasis.
+
+‘That is nothing to me, sir,’ I retorted.
+
+‘Is it nothing to you, Helen?  Will you swear it?  Will you?’
+
+‘No I won’t, Mr. Huntingdon! and I will go,’ cried I, not knowing whether
+to laugh, or to cry, or to break out into a tempest of fury.
+
+‘Go, then, you vixen!’ he said; but the instant he released my hand he
+had the audacity to put his arm round my neck, and kiss me.
+
+Trembling with anger and agitation, and I don’t know what besides, I
+broke away, and got my candle, and rushed up-stairs to my room.  He would
+not have done so but for that hateful picture.  And there he had it still
+in his possession, an eternal monument to his pride and my humiliation.
+
+It was but little sleep I got that night, and in the morning I rose
+perplexed and troubled with the thoughts of meeting him at breakfast.  I
+knew not how it was to be done.  An assumption of dignified, cold
+indifference would hardly do, after what he knew of my devotion—to his
+face, at least.  Yet something must be done to check his presumption—I
+would not submit to be tyrannised over by those bright, laughing eyes.
+And, accordingly, I received his cheerful morning salutation as calmly
+and coldly as my aunt could have wished, and defeated with brief answers
+his one or two attempts to draw me into conversation, while I comported
+myself with unusual cheerfulness and complaisance towards every other
+member of the party, especially Annabella Wilmot, and even her uncle and
+Mr. Boarham were treated with an extra amount of civility on the
+occasion, not from any motives of coquetry, but just to show him that my
+particular coolness and reserve arose from no general ill-humour or
+depression of spirits.
+
+He was not, however, to be repelled by such acting as this.  He did not
+talk much to me, but when he did speak it was with a degree of freedom
+and openness, and kindliness too, that plainly seemed to intimate he knew
+his words were music to my ears; and when his looks met mine it was with
+a smile—presumptuous, it might be—but oh! so sweet, so bright, so genial,
+that I could not possibly retain my anger; every vestige of displeasure
+soon melted away beneath it like morning clouds before the summer sun.
+
+Soon after breakfast all the gentlemen save one, with boyish eagerness,
+set out on their expedition against the hapless partridges; my uncle and
+Mr. Wilmot on their shooting ponies, Mr. Huntingdon and Lord Lowborough
+on their legs: the one exception being Mr. Boarham, who, in consideration
+of the rain that had fallen during the night, thought it prudent to
+remain behind a little and join them in a while when the sun had dried
+the grass.  And he favoured us all with a long and minute disquisition
+upon the evils and dangers attendant upon damp feet, delivered with the
+most imperturbable gravity, amid the jeers and laughter of Mr. Huntingdon
+and my uncle, who, leaving the prudent sportsman to entertain the ladies
+with his medical discussions, sallied forth with their guns, bending
+their steps to the stables first, to have a look at the horses and let
+out the dogs.
+
+Not desirous of sharing Mr. Boarham’s company for the whole of the
+morning, I betook myself to the library, and there brought forth my easel
+and began to paint.  The easel and the painting apparatus would serve as
+an excuse for abandoning the drawing-room if my aunt should come to
+complain of the desertion, and besides I wanted to finish the picture.
+It was one I had taken great pains with, and I intended it to be my
+masterpiece, though it was somewhat presumptuous in the design.  By the
+bright azure of the sky, and by the warm and brilliant lights and deep
+long shadows, I had endeavoured to convey the idea of a sunny morning.  I
+had ventured to give more of the bright verdure of spring or early summer
+to the grass and foliage than is commonly attempted in painting.  The
+scene represented was an open glade in a wood.  A group of dark Scotch
+firs was introduced in the middle distance to relieve the prevailing
+freshness of the rest; but in the foreground was part of the gnarled
+trunk and of the spreading boughs of a large forest-tree, whose foliage
+was of a brilliant golden green—not golden from autumnal mellowness, but
+from the sunshine and the very immaturity of the scarce expanded leaves.
+Upon this bough, that stood out in bold relief against the sombre firs,
+were seated an amorous pair of turtle doves, whose soft sad-coloured
+plumage afforded a contrast of another nature; and beneath it a young
+girl was kneeling on the daisy-spangled turf, with head thrown back and
+masses of fair hair falling on her shoulders, her hands clasped, lips
+parted, and eyes intently gazing upward in pleased yet earnest
+contemplation of those feathered lovers—too deeply absorbed in each other
+to notice her.
+
+I had scarcely settled to my work, which, however, wanted but a few
+touches to the finishing, when the sportsmen passed the window on their
+return from the stables.  It was partly open, and Mr. Huntingdon must
+have seen me as he went by, for in half a minute he came back, and
+setting his gun against the wall, threw up the sash and sprang in, and
+set himself before my picture.
+
+‘Very pretty, i’faith,’ said he, after attentively regarding it for a few
+seconds; ‘and a very fitting study for a young lady.  Spring just opening
+into summer—morning just approaching noon—girlhood just ripening into
+womanhood, and hope just verging on fruition.  She’s a sweet creature!
+but why didn’t you make her black hair?’
+
+‘I thought light hair would suit her better.  You see I have made her
+blue-eyed and plump, and fair and rosy.’
+
+‘Upon my word—a very Hebe!  I should fall in love with her if I hadn’t
+the artist before me.  Sweet innocent! she’s thinking there will come a
+time when she will be wooed and won like that pretty hen-dove by as fond
+and fervent a lover; and she’s thinking how pleasant it will be, and how
+tender and faithful he will find her.’
+
+‘And perhaps,’ suggested I, ‘how tender and faithful she shall find him.’
+
+‘Perhaps, for there is no limit to the wild extravagance of Hope’s
+imaginings at such an age.’
+
+‘Do you call that, then, one of her wild, extravagant delusions?’
+
+‘No; my heart tells me it is not.  I might have thought so once, but now,
+I say, give me the girl I love, and I will swear eternal constancy to her
+and her alone, through summer and winter, through youth and age, and life
+and death! if age and death must come.’
+
+He spoke this in such serious earnest that my heart bounded with delight;
+but the minute after he changed his tone, and asked, with a significant
+smile, if I had ‘any more portraits.’
+
+‘No,’ replied I, reddening with confusion and wrath.
+
+But my portfolio was on the table: he took it up, and coolly sat down to
+examine its contents.
+
+‘Mr. Huntingdon, those are my unfinished sketches,’ cried I, ‘and I never
+let any one see them.’
+
+And I placed my hand on the portfolio to wrest it from him, but he
+maintained his hold, assuring me that he ‘liked unfinished sketches of
+all things.’
+
+‘But I hate them to be seen,’ returned I.  ‘I can’t let you have it,
+indeed!’
+
+‘Let me have its bowels then,’ said he; and just as I wrenched the
+portfolio from his hand, he deftly abstracted the greater part of its
+contents, and after turning them over a moment he cried out,—‘Bless my
+stars, here’s another;’ and slipped a small oval of ivory paper into his
+waistcoat pocket—a complete miniature portrait that I had sketched with
+such tolerable success as to be induced to colour it with great pains and
+care.  But I was determined he should not keep it.
+
+‘Mr. Huntingdon,’ cried I, ‘I insist upon having that back!  It is mine,
+and you have no right to take it.  Give it me directly—I’ll never forgive
+you if you don’t!’
+
+But the more vehemently I insisted, the more he aggravated my distress by
+his insulting, gleeful laugh.  At length, however, he restored it to me,
+saying,—‘Well, well, since you value it so much, I’ll not deprive you of
+it.’
+
+To show him how I valued it, I tore it in two and threw it into the fire.
+He was not prepared for this.  His merriment suddenly ceasing, he stared
+in mute amazement at the consuming treasure; and then, with a careless
+‘Humph!  I’ll go and shoot now,’ he turned on his heel and vacated the
+apartment by the window as he came, and setting on his hat with an air,
+took up his gun and walked away, whistling as he went—and leaving me not
+too much agitated to finish my picture, for I was glad, at the moment,
+that I had vexed him.
+
+When I returned to the drawing-room, I found Mr. Boarham had ventured to
+follow his comrades to the field; and shortly after lunch, to which they
+did not think of returning, I volunteered to accompany the ladies in a
+walk, and show Annabella and Milicent the beauties of the country.  We
+took a long ramble, and re-entered the park just as the sportsmen were
+returning from their expedition.  Toil-spent and travel-stained, the main
+body of them crossed over the grass to avoid us, but Mr. Huntingdon, all
+spattered and splashed as he was, and stained with the blood of his
+prey—to the no small offence of my aunt’s strict sense of propriety—came
+out of his way to meet us, with cheerful smiles and words for all but me,
+and placing himself between Annabella Wilmot and myself, walked up the
+road and began to relate the various exploits and disasters of the day,
+in a manner that would have convulsed me with laughter if I had been on
+good terms with him; but he addressed himself entirely to Annabella, and
+I, of course, left all the laughter and all the badinage to her, and
+affecting the utmost indifference to whatever passed between them, walked
+along a few paces apart, and looking every way but theirs, while my aunt
+and Milicent went before, linked arm in arm and gravely discoursing
+together.  At length Mr. Huntingdon turned to me, and addressing me in a
+confidential whisper, said,—‘Helen, why did you burn my picture?’
+
+‘Because I wished to destroy it,’ I answered, with an asperity it is
+useless now to lament.
+
+‘Oh, very good!’ was the reply; ‘if you don’t value me, I must turn to
+somebody that will.’
+
+I thought it was partly in jest—a half-playful mixture of mock
+resignation and pretended indifference: but immediately he resumed his
+place beside Miss Wilmot, and from that hour to this—during all that
+evening, and all the next day, and the next, and the next, and all this
+morning (the 22nd), he has never given me one kind word or one pleasant
+look—never spoken to me, but from pure necessity—never glanced towards me
+but with a cold, unfriendly look I thought him quite incapable of
+assuming.
+
+My aunt observes the change, and though she has not inquired the cause or
+made any remark to me on the subject, I see it gives her pleasure.  Miss
+Wilmot observes it, too, and triumphantly ascribes it to her own superior
+charms and blandishments; but I am truly miserable—more so than I like to
+acknowledge to myself.  Pride refuses to aid me.  It has brought me into
+the scrape, and will not help me out of it.
+
+He meant no harm—it was only his joyous, playful spirit; and I, by my
+acrimonious resentment—so serious, so disproportioned to the offence—have
+so wounded his feelings, so deeply offended him, that I fear he will
+never forgive me—and all for a mere jest!  He thinks I dislike him, and
+he must continue to think so.  I must lose him for ever, and Annabella
+may win him, and triumph as she will.
+
+But it is not my loss nor her triumph that I deplore so greatly as the
+wreck of my fond hopes for his advantage, and her unworthiness of his
+affection, and the injury he will do himself by trusting his happiness to
+her.  She does not love him: she thinks only of herself.  She cannot
+appreciate the good that is in him: she will neither see it, nor value
+it, nor cherish it.  She will neither deplore his faults nor attempt
+their amendment, but rather aggravate them by her own.  And I doubt
+whether she will not deceive him after all.  I see she is playing double
+between him and Lord Lowborough, and while she amuses herself with the
+lively Huntingdon, she tries her utmost to enslave his moody friend; and
+should she succeed in bringing both to her feet, the fascinating commoner
+will have but little chance against the lordly peer.  If he observes her
+artful by-play, it gives him no uneasiness, but rather adds new zest to
+his diversion by opposing a stimulating check to his otherwise too easy
+conquest.
+
+Messrs. Wilmot and Boarham have severally taken occasion by his neglect
+of me to renew their advances; and if I were like Annabella and some
+others I should take advantage of their perseverance to endeavour to
+pique him into a revival of affection; but, justice and honesty apart, I
+could not bear to do it.  I am annoyed enough by their present
+persecutions without encouraging them further; and even if I did it would
+have precious little effect upon him.  He sees me suffering under the
+condescending attentions and prosaic discourses of the one, and the
+repulsive obtrusions of the other, without so much as a shadow of
+commiseration for me, or resentment against my tormentors.  He never
+could have loved me, or he would not have resigned me so willingly, and
+he would not go on talking to everybody else so cheerfully as he
+does—laughing and jesting with Lord Lowborough and my uncle, teasing
+Milicent Hargrave, and flirting with Annabella Wilmot—as if nothing were
+on his mind.  Oh! why can’t I hate him?  I must be infatuated, or I
+should scorn to regret him as I do.  But I must rally all the powers I
+have remaining, and try to tear him from my heart.  There goes the
+dinner-bell, and here comes my aunt to scold me for sitting here at my
+desk all day, instead of staying with the company: wish the company
+were—gone.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX
+
+
+Twenty Second: Night.—What have I done? and what will be the end of it?
+I cannot calmly reflect upon it; I cannot sleep.  I must have recourse to
+my diary again; I will commit it to paper to-night, and see what I shall
+think of it to-morrow.
+
+I went down to dinner resolving to be cheerful and well-conducted, and
+kept my resolution very creditably, considering how my head ached and how
+internally wretched I felt.  I don’t know what is come over me of late;
+my very energies, both mental and physical, must be strangely impaired,
+or I should not have acted so weakly in many respects as I have done; but
+I have not been well this last day or two.  I suppose it is with sleeping
+and eating so little, and thinking so much, and being so continually out
+of humour.  But to return.  I was exerting myself to sing and play for
+the amusement, and at the request, of my aunt and Milicent, before the
+gentlemen came into the drawing-room (Miss Wilmot never likes to waste
+her musical efforts on ladies’ ears alone).  Milicent had asked for a
+little Scotch song, and I was just in the middle of it when they entered.
+The first thing Mr. Huntingdon did was to walk up to Annabella.
+
+‘Now, Miss Wilmot, won’t you give us some music to-night?’ said he.  ‘Do
+now!  I know you will, when I tell you that I have been hungering and
+thirsting all day for the sound of your voice.  Come! the piano’s
+vacant.’
+
+It was, for I had quitted it immediately upon hearing his petition.  Had
+I been endowed with a proper degree of self-possession, I should have
+turned to the lady myself, and cheerfully joined my entreaties to his,
+whereby I should have disappointed his expectations, if the affront had
+been purposely given, or made him sensible of the wrong, if it had only
+arisen from thoughtlessness; but I felt it too deeply to do anything but
+rise from the music-stool, and throw myself back on the sofa, suppressing
+with difficulty the audible expression of the bitterness I felt within.
+I knew Annabella’s musical talents were superior to mine, but that was no
+reason why I should be treated as a perfect nonentity.  The time and the
+manner of his asking her appeared like a gratuitous insult to me; and I
+could have wept with pure vexation.
+
+Meantime, she exultingly seated herself at the piano, and favoured him
+with two of his favourite songs, in such superior style that even I soon
+lost my anger in admiration, and listened with a sort of gloomy pleasure
+to the skilful modulations of her full-toned and powerful voice, so
+judiciously aided by her rounded and spirited touch; and while my ears
+drank in the sound, my eyes rested on the face of her principal auditor,
+and derived an equal or superior delight from the contemplation of his
+speaking countenance, as he stood beside her—that eye and brow lighted up
+with keen enthusiasm, and that sweet smile passing and appearing like
+gleams of sunshine on an April day.  No wonder he should hunger and
+thirst to hear her sing.  I now forgave him from my heart his reckless
+slight of me, and I felt ashamed at my pettish resentment of such a
+trifle—ashamed too of those bitter envious pangs that gnawed my inmost
+heart, in spite of all this admiration and delight.
+
+‘There now,’ said she, playfully running her fingers over the keys when
+she had concluded the second song.  ‘What shall I give you next?’
+
+But in saying this she looked back at Lord Lowborough, who was standing a
+little behind, leaning against the back of a chair, an attentive
+listener, too, experiencing, to judge by his countenance, much the same
+feelings of mingled pleasure and sadness as I did.  But the look she gave
+him plainly said, ‘Do you choose for me now: I have done enough for him,
+and will gladly exert myself to gratify you;’ and thus encouraged, his
+lordship came forward, and turning over the music, presently set before
+her a little song that I had noticed before, and read more than once,
+with an interest arising from the circumstance of my connecting it in my
+mind with the reigning tyrant of my thoughts.  And now, with my nerves
+already excited and half unstrung, I could not hear those words so
+sweetly warbled forth without some symptoms of emotion I was not able to
+suppress.  Tears rose unbidden to my eyes, and I buried my face in the
+sofa-pillow that they might flow unseen while I listened.  The air was
+simple, sweet, and sad.  It is still running in my head, and so are the
+words:—
+
+   Farewell to thee! but not farewell
+      To all my fondest thoughts of thee:
+   Within my heart they still shall dwell;
+      And they shall cheer and comfort me.
+
+   O beautiful, and full of grace!
+      If thou hadst never met mine eye,
+   I had not dreamed a living face
+      Could fancied charms so far outvie.
+
+   If I may ne’er behold again
+      That form and face so dear to me,
+   Nor hear thy voice, still would I fain
+      Preserve, for aye, their memory.
+
+   That voice, the magic of whose tone
+      Can wake an echo in my breast,
+   Creating feelings that, alone,
+      Can make my tranced spirit blest.
+
+   That laughing eye, whose sunny beam
+      My memory would not cherish less;—
+   And oh, that smile!  I whose joyous gleam
+      No mortal languish can express.
+
+   Adieu! but let me cherish, still,
+      The hope with which I cannot part.
+   Contempt may wound, and coldness chill,
+      But still it lingers in my heart.
+
+   And who can tell but Heaven, at last,
+      May answer all my thousand prayers,
+   And bid the future pay the past
+      With joy for anguish, smiles for tears.
+
+When it ceased, I longed for nothing so much as to be out of the room.
+The sofa was not far from the door, but I did not dare to raise my head,
+for I knew Mr. Huntingdon was standing near me, and I knew by the sound
+of his voice, as he spoke in answer to some remark of Lord Lowborough’s,
+that his face was turned towards me.  Perhaps a half-suppressed sob had
+caught his ear, and caused him to look round—heaven forbid!  But with a
+violent effort, I checked all further signs of weakness, dried my tears,
+and, when I thought he had turned away again, rose, and instantly left
+the apartment, taking refuge in my favourite resort, the library.
+
+There was no light there but the faint red glow of the neglected
+fire;—but I did not want a light; I only wanted to indulge my thoughts,
+unnoticed and undisturbed; and sitting down on a low stool before the
+easy-chair, I sunk my head upon its cushioned seat, and thought, and
+thought, until the tears gushed out again, and I wept like any child.
+Presently, however, the door was gently opened and someone entered the
+room.  I trusted it was only a servant, and did not stir.  The door was
+closed again—but I was not alone; a hand gently touched my shoulder, and
+a voice said, softly,—‘Helen, what is the matter?’
+
+I could not answer at the moment.
+
+‘You must, and shall tell me,’ was added, more vehemently, and the
+speaker threw himself on his knees beside me on the rug, and forcibly
+possessed himself of my hand; but I hastily caught it away, and
+replied,—‘It is nothing to you, Mr. Huntingdon.’
+
+‘Are you sure it is nothing to me?’ he returned; ‘can you swear that you
+were not thinking of me while you wept?’  This was unendurable.  I made
+an effort to rise, but he was kneeling on my dress.
+
+‘Tell me,’ continued he—‘I want to know,—because if you were, I have
+something to say to you,—and if not, I’ll go.’
+
+‘Go then!’ I cried; but, fearing he would obey too well, and never come
+again, I hastily added—‘Or say what you have to say, and have done with
+it!’
+
+‘But which?’ said he—‘for I shall only say it if you really were thinking
+of me.  So tell me, Helen.’
+
+‘You’re excessively impertinent, Mr. Huntingdon!’
+
+‘Not at all—too pertinent, you mean.  So you won’t tell me?—Well, I’ll
+spare your woman’s pride, and, construing your silence into “Yes,” I’ll
+take it for granted that I was the subject of your thoughts, and the
+cause of your affliction—’
+
+‘Indeed, sir—’
+
+‘If you deny it, I won’t tell you my secret,’ threatened he; and I did
+not interrupt him again, or even attempt to repulse him: though he had
+taken my hand once more, and half embraced me with his other arm, I was
+scarcely conscious of it at the time.
+
+‘It is this,’ resumed he: ‘that Annabella Wilmot, in comparison with you,
+is like a flaunting peony compared with a sweet, wild rosebud gemmed with
+dew—and I love you to distraction!—Now, tell me if that intelligence
+gives you any pleasure.  Silence again?  That means yes.  Then let me
+add, that I cannot live without you, and if you answer No to this last
+question, you will drive me mad.—Will you bestow yourself upon me?—you
+will!’ he cried, nearly squeezing me to death in his arms.
+
+‘No, no!’ I exclaimed, struggling to free myself from him—‘you must ask
+my uncle and aunt.’
+
+‘They won’t refuse me, if you don’t.’
+
+‘I’m not so sure of that—my aunt dislikes you.’
+
+‘But you don’t, Helen—say you love me, and I’ll go.’
+
+‘I wish you would go!’ I replied.
+
+‘I will, this instant,—if you’ll only say you love me.’
+
+‘You know I do,’ I answered.  And again he caught me in his arms, and
+smothered me with kisses.
+
+At that moment my aunt opened wide the door, and stood before us, candle
+in hand, in shocked and horrified amazement, gazing alternately at Mr.
+Huntingdon and me—for we had both started up, and now stood wide enough
+asunder.  But his confusion was only for a moment.  Rallying in an
+instant, with the most enviable assurance, he began,—‘I beg ten thousand
+pardons, Mrs. Maxwell!  Don’t be too severe upon me.  I’ve been asking
+your sweet niece to take me for better, for worse; and she, like a good
+girl, informs me she cannot think of it without her uncle’s and aunt’s
+consent.  So let me implore you not to condemn me to eternal
+wretchedness: if you favour my cause, I am safe; for Mr. Maxwell, I am
+certain, can refuse you nothing.’
+
+‘We will talk of this to-morrow, sir,’ said my aunt, coldly.  ‘It is a
+subject that demands mature and serious deliberation.  At present, you
+had better return to the drawing-room.’
+
+‘But meantime,’ pleaded he, ‘let me commend my cause to your most
+indulgent—’
+
+‘No indulgence for you, Mr. Huntingdon, must come between me and the
+consideration of my niece’s happiness.’
+
+‘Ah, true!  I know she is an angel, and I am a presumptuous dog to dream
+of possessing such a treasure; but, nevertheless, I would sooner die than
+relinquish her in favour of the best man that ever went to heaven—and as
+for her happiness, I would sacrifice my body and soul—’
+
+‘Body and soul, Mr. Huntingdon—sacrifice your soul?’
+
+‘Well, I would lay down life—’
+
+‘You would not be required to lay it down.’
+
+‘I would spend it, then—devote my life—and all its powers to the
+promotion and preservation—’
+
+‘Another time, sir, we will talk of this—and I should have felt disposed
+to judge more favourably of your pretensions, if you too had chosen
+another time and place, and let me add—another manner for your
+declaration.’
+
+‘Why, you see, Mrs. Maxwell,’ he began—
+
+‘Pardon me, sir,’ said she, with dignity—‘The company are inquiring for
+you in the other room.’  And she turned to me.
+
+‘Then you must plead for me, Helen,’ said he, and at length withdrew.
+
+‘You had better retire to your room, Helen,’ said my aunt, gravely.  ‘I
+will discuss this matter with you, too, to-morrow.’
+
+‘Don’t be angry, aunt,’ said I.
+
+‘My dear, I am not angry,’ she replied: ‘I am surprised.  If it is true
+that you told him you could not accept his offer without our consent—’
+
+‘It is true,’ interrupted I.
+
+‘Then how could you permit—?’
+
+‘I couldn’t help it, aunt,’ I cried, bursting into tears.  They were not
+altogether the tears of sorrow, or of fear for her displeasure, but
+rather the outbreak of the general tumultuous excitement of my feelings.
+But my good aunt was touched at my agitation.  In a softer tone, she
+repeated her recommendation to retire, and, gently kissing my forehead,
+bade me good-night, and put her candle in my hand; and I went; but my
+brain worked so, I could not think of sleeping.  I feel calmer now that I
+have written all this; and I will go to bed, and try to win tired
+nature’s sweet restorer.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX
+
+
+September 24th.—In the morning I rose, light and cheerful—nay, intensely
+happy.  The hovering cloud cast over me by my aunt’s views, and by the
+fear of not obtaining her consent, was lost in the bright effulgence of
+my own hopes, and the too delightful consciousness of requited love.  It
+was a splendid morning; and I went out to enjoy it, in a quiet ramble, in
+company with my own blissful thoughts.  The dew was on the grass, and ten
+thousand gossamers were waving in the breeze; the happy red-breast was
+pouring out its little soul in song, and my heart overflowed with silent
+hymns of gratitude and praise to heaven.
+
+But I had not wandered far before my solitude was interrupted by the only
+person that could have disturbed my musings, at that moment, without
+being looked upon as an unwelcome intruder: Mr. Huntingdon came suddenly
+upon me.  So unexpected was the apparition, that I might have thought it
+the creation of an over-excited imagination, had the sense of sight alone
+borne witness to his presence; but immediately I felt his strong arm
+round my waist and his warm kiss on my cheek, while his keen and gleeful
+salutation, ‘My own Helen!’ was ringing in my ear.
+
+‘Not yours yet!’ said I, hastily swerving aside from this too
+presumptuous greeting.  ‘Remember my guardians.  You will not easily
+obtain my aunt’s consent.  Don’t you see she is prejudiced against you?’
+
+‘I do, dearest; and you must tell me why, that I may best know how to
+combat her objections.  I suppose she thinks I am a prodigal,’ pursued
+he, observing that I was unwilling to reply, ‘and concludes that I shall
+have but little worldly goods wherewith to endow my better half?  If so,
+you must tell her that my property is mostly entailed, and I cannot get
+rid of it.  There may be a few mortgages on the rest—a few trifling debts
+and incumbrances here and there, but nothing to speak of; and though I
+acknowledge I am not so rich as I might be—or have been—still, I think,
+we could manage pretty comfortably on what’s left.  My father, you know,
+was something of a miser, and in his latter days especially saw no
+pleasure in life but to amass riches; and so it is no wonder that his son
+should make it his chief delight to spend them, which was accordingly the
+case, until my acquaintance with you, dear Helen, taught me other views
+and nobler aims.  And the very idea of having you to care for under my
+roof would force me to moderate my expenses and live like a Christian—not
+to speak of all the prudence and virtue you would instil into my mind by
+your wise counsels and sweet, attractive goodness.’
+
+‘But it is not that,’ said I; ‘it is not money my aunt thinks about.  She
+knows better than to value worldly wealth above its price.’
+
+‘What is it, then?’
+
+‘She wishes me to—to marry none but a really good man.’
+
+‘What, a man of “decided piety”?—ahem!—Well, come, I’ll manage that too!
+It’s Sunday to-day, isn’t it?  I’ll go to church morning, afternoon, and
+evening, and comport myself in such a godly sort that she shall regard me
+with admiration and sisterly love, as a brand plucked from the burning.
+I’ll come home sighing like a furnace, and full of the savour and unction
+of dear Mr. Blatant’s discourse—’
+
+‘Mr. Leighton,’ said I, dryly.
+
+‘Is Mr. Leighton a “sweet preacher,” Helen—a “dear, delightful,
+heavenly-minded man”?’
+
+‘He is a good man, Mr. Huntingdon.  I wish I could say half as much for
+you.’
+
+‘Oh, I forgot, you are a saint, too.  I crave your pardon, dearest—but
+don’t call me Mr. Huntingdon; my name is Arthur.’
+
+‘I’ll call you nothing—for I’ll have nothing at all to do with you if you
+talk in that way any more.  If you really mean to deceive my aunt as you
+say, you are very wicked; and if not, you are very wrong to jest on such
+a subject.’
+
+‘I stand corrected,’ said he, concluding his laugh with a sorrowful sigh.
+‘Now,’ resumed he, after a momentary pause, ‘let us talk about something
+else.  And come nearer to me, Helen, and take my arm; and then I’ll let
+you alone.  I can’t be quiet while I see you walking there.’
+
+I complied; but said we must soon return to the house.
+
+‘No one will be down to breakfast yet, for long enough,’ he answered.
+‘You spoke of your guardians just now, Helen, but is not your father
+still living?’
+
+‘Yes, but I always look upon my uncle and aunt as my guardians, for they
+are so in deed, though not in name.  My father has entirely given me up
+to their care.  I have never seen him since dear mamma died, when I was a
+very little girl, and my aunt, at her request, offered to take charge of
+me, and took me away to Staningley, where I have remained ever since; and
+I don’t think he would object to anything for me that she thought proper
+to sanction.’
+
+‘But would he sanction anything to which she thought proper to object?’
+
+‘No, I don’t think he cares enough about me.’
+
+‘He is very much to blame—but he doesn’t know what an angel he has for
+his daughter—which is all the better for me, as, if he did, he would not
+be willing to part with such a treasure.’
+
+‘And Mr. Huntingdon,’ said I, ‘I suppose you know I am not an heiress?’
+
+He protested he had never given it a thought, and begged I would not
+disturb his present enjoyment by the mention of such uninteresting
+subjects.  I was glad of this proof of disinterested affection; for
+Annabella Wilmot is the probable heiress to all her uncle’s wealth, in
+addition to her late father’s property, which she has already in
+possession.
+
+I now insisted upon retracing our steps to the house; but we walked
+slowly, and went on talking as we proceeded.  I need not repeat all we
+said: let me rather refer to what passed between my aunt and me, after
+breakfast, when Mr. Huntingdon called my uncle aside, no doubt to make
+his proposals, and she beckoned me into another room, where she once more
+commenced a solemn remonstrance, which, however, entirely failed to
+convince me that her view of the case was preferable to my own.
+
+‘You judge him uncharitably, aunt, I know,’ said I.  ‘His very friends
+are not half so bad as you represent them.  There is Walter Hargrave,
+Milicent’s brother, for one: he is but a little lower than the angels, if
+half she says of him is true.  She is continually talking to me about
+him, and lauding his many virtues to the skies.’
+
+‘You will form a very inadequate estimate of a man’s character,’ replied
+she, ‘if you judge by what a fond sister says of him.  The worst of them
+generally know how to hide their misdeeds from their sisters’ eyes, and
+their mother’s, too.’
+
+‘And there is Lord Lowborough,’ continued I, ‘quite a decent man.’
+
+‘Who told you so?  Lord Lowborough is a desperate man.  He has dissipated
+his fortune in gambling and other things, and is now seeking an heiress
+to retrieve it.  I told Miss Wilmot so; but you’re all alike: she
+haughtily answered she was very much obliged to me, but she believed she
+knew when a man was seeking her for her fortune, and when for herself;
+she flattered herself she had had experience enough in those matters to
+be justified in trusting to her own judgment—and as for his lordship’s
+lack of fortune, she cared nothing about that, as she hoped her own would
+suffice for both; and as for his wildness, she supposed he was no worse
+than others—besides, he was reformed now.  Yes, they can all play the
+hypocrite when they want to take in a fond, misguided woman!’
+
+‘Well, I think he’s about as good as she is,’ said I.  ‘But when Mr.
+Huntingdon is married, he won’t have many opportunities of consorting
+with his bachelor friends;—and the worse they are, the more I long to
+deliver him from them.’
+
+‘To be sure, my dear; and the worse he is, I suppose, the more you long
+to deliver him from himself.’
+
+‘Yes, provided he is not incorrigible—that is, the more I long to deliver
+him from his faults—to give him an opportunity of shaking off the
+adventitious evil got from contact with others worse than himself, and
+shining out in the unclouded light of his own genuine goodness—to do my
+utmost to help his better self against his worse, and make him what he
+would have been if he had not, from the beginning, had a bad, selfish,
+miserly father, who, to gratify his own sordid passions, restricted him
+in the most innocent enjoyments of childhood and youth, and so disgusted
+him with every kind of restraint;—and a foolish mother who indulged him
+to the top of his bent, deceiving her husband for him, and doing her
+utmost to encourage those germs of folly and vice it was her duty to
+suppress,—and then, such a set of companions as you represent his friends
+to be—’
+
+‘Poor man!’ said she, sarcastically, ‘his kind have greatly wronged him!’
+
+‘They have!’ cried I—‘and they shall wrong him no more—his wife shall
+undo what his mother did!’
+
+‘Well,’ said she, after a short pause, ‘I must say, Helen, I thought
+better of your judgment than this—and your taste too.  How you can love
+such a man I cannot tell, or what pleasure you can find in his company;
+for “what fellowship hath light with darkness; or he that believeth with
+an infidel?”’
+
+‘He is not an infidel;—and I am not light, and he is not darkness; his
+worst and only vice is thoughtlessness.’
+
+‘And thoughtlessness,’ pursued my aunt, ‘may lead to every crime, and
+will but poorly excuse our errors in the sight of God.  Mr. Huntingdon, I
+suppose, is not without the common faculties of men: he is not so
+light-headed as to be irresponsible: his Maker has endowed him with
+reason and conscience as well as the rest of us; the Scriptures are open
+to him as well as to others;—and “if he hear not them, neither will he
+hear though one rose from the dead.” And remember, Helen,’ continued she,
+solemnly, ‘“the wicked shall be turned into hell, and they that forget
+God!”’  And suppose, even, that he should continue to love you, and you
+him, and that you should pass through life together with tolerable
+comfort—how will it be in the end, when you see yourselves parted for
+ever; you, perhaps, taken into eternal bliss, and he cast into the lake
+that burneth with unquenchable fire—there for ever to—’
+
+‘Not for ever,’ I exclaimed, ‘“only till he has paid the uttermost
+farthing;” for “if any man’s work abide not the fire, he shall suffer
+loss, yet himself shall be saved, but so as by fire;” and He that “is
+able to subdue all things to Himself will have all men to be saved,” and
+“will, in the fulness of time, gather together in one all things in
+Christ Jesus, who tasted death for every man, and in whom God will
+reconcile all things to Himself, whether they be things in earth or
+things in heaven.”’
+
+‘Oh, Helen! where did you learn all this?’
+
+‘In the Bible, aunt.  I have searched it through, and found nearly thirty
+passages, all tending to support the same theory.’
+
+‘And is that the use you make of your Bible?  And did you find no
+passages tending to prove the danger and the falsity of such a belief?’
+
+‘No: I found, indeed, some passages that, taken by themselves, might seem
+to contradict that opinion; but they will all bear a different
+construction to that which is commonly given, and in most the only
+difficulty is in the word which we translate “everlasting” or “eternal.”
+I don’t know the Greek, but I believe it strictly means for ages, and
+might signify either endless or long-enduring.  And as for the danger of
+the belief, I would not publish it abroad if I thought any poor wretch
+would be likely to presume upon it to his own destruction, but it is a
+glorious thought to cherish in one’s own heart, and I would not part with
+it for all the world can give!’
+
+Here our conference ended, for it was now high time to prepare for
+church.  Every one attended the morning service, except my uncle, who
+hardly ever goes, and Mr. Wilmot, who stayed at home with him to enjoy a
+quiet game of cribbage.  In the afternoon Miss Wilmot and Lord Lowborough
+likewise excused themselves from attending; but Mr. Huntingdon vouchsafed
+to accompany us again.  Whether it was to ingratiate himself with my aunt
+I cannot tell, but, if so, he certainly should have behaved better.  I
+must confess, I did not like his conduct during service at all.  Holding
+his prayer-book upside down, or open at any place but the right, he did
+nothing but stare about him, unless he happened to catch my aunt’s eye or
+mine, and then he would drop his own on his book, with a puritanical air
+of mock solemnity that would have been ludicrous, if it had not been too
+provoking.  Once, during the sermon, after attentively regarding Mr.
+Leighton for a few minutes, he suddenly produced his gold pencil-case and
+snatched up a Bible.  Perceiving that I observed the movement, he
+whispered that he was going to make a note of the sermon; but instead of
+that, as I sat next him, I could not help seeing that he was making a
+caricature of the preacher, giving to the respectable, pious, elderly
+gentleman, the air and aspect of a most absurd old hypocrite.  And yet,
+upon his return, he talked to my aunt about the sermon with a degree of
+modest, serious discrimination that tempted me to believe he had really
+attended to and profited by the discourse.
+
+Just before dinner my uncle called me into the library for the discussion
+of a very important matter, which was dismissed in few words.
+
+‘Now, Nell,’ said he, ‘this young Huntingdon has been asking for you:
+what must I say about it?  Your aunt would answer “no”—but what say you?’
+
+‘I say yes, uncle,’ replied I, without a moment’s hesitation; for I had
+thoroughly made up my mind on the subject.
+
+‘Very good!’ cried he.  ‘Now that’s a good honest answer—wonderful for a
+girl!—Well, I’ll write to your father to-morrow.  He’s sure to give his
+consent; so you may look on the matter as settled.  You’d have done a
+deal better if you’d taken Wilmot, I can tell you; but that you won’t
+believe.  At your time of life, it’s love that rules the roast: at mine,
+it’s solid, serviceable gold.  I suppose now, you’d never dream of
+looking into the state of your husband’s finances, or troubling your head
+about settlements, or anything of that sort?’
+
+‘I don’t think I should.’
+
+‘Well, be thankful, then, that you’ve wiser heads to think for you.  I
+haven’t had time, yet, to examine thoroughly into this young rascal’s
+affairs, but I see that a great part of his father’s fine property has
+been squandered away;—but still, I think, there’s a pretty fair share of
+it left, and a little careful nursing may make a handsome thing of it
+yet; and then we must persuade your father to give you a decent fortune,
+as he has only one besides yourself to care for;—and, if you behave well,
+who knows but what I may be induced to remember you in my will!’
+continued he, putting his fingers to his nose, with a knowing wink.
+
+‘Thanks, uncle, for that and all your kindness,’ replied I.
+
+‘Well, and I questioned this young spark on the matter of settlements,’
+continued he; ‘and he seemed disposed to be generous enough on that
+point—’
+
+‘I knew he would!’ said I.  ‘But pray don’t trouble your head—or his, or
+mine about that; for all I have will be his, and all he has will be mine;
+and what more could either of us require?’  And I was about to make my
+exit, but he called me back.
+
+‘Stop, stop!’ cried he; ‘we haven’t mentioned the time yet.  When must it
+be?  Your aunt would put it off till the Lord knows when, but he is
+anxious to be bound as soon as may be: he won’t hear of waiting beyond
+next month; and you, I guess, will be of the same mind, so—’
+
+‘Not at all, uncle; on the contrary, I should like to wait till after
+Christmas, at least.’
+
+‘Oh! pooh, pooh! never tell me that tale—I know better,’ cried he; and he
+persisted in his incredulity.  Nevertheless, it is quite true.  I am in
+no hurry at all.  How can I be, when I think of the momentous change that
+awaits me, and of all I have to leave?  It is happiness enough to know
+that we are to be united; and that he really loves me, and I may love him
+as devotedly, and think of him as often as I please.  However, I insisted
+upon consulting my aunt about the time of the wedding, for I determined
+her counsels should not be utterly disregarded; and no conclusions on
+that particular are come to yet.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI
+
+
+October 1st.—All is settled now.  My father has given his consent, and
+the time is fixed for Christmas, by a sort of compromise between the
+respective advocates for hurry and delay.  Milicent Hargrave is to be one
+bridesmaid and Annabella Wilmot the other—not that I am particularly fond
+of the latter, but she is an intimate of the family, and I have not
+another friend.
+
+When I told Milicent of my engagement, she rather provoked me by her
+manner of taking it.  After staring a moment in mute surprise, she
+said,—‘Well, Helen, I suppose I ought to congratulate you—and I am glad
+to see you so happy; but I did not think you would take him; and I can’t
+help feeling surprised that you should like him so much.’
+
+‘Why so?’
+
+‘Because you are so superior to him in every way, and there’s something
+so bold and reckless about him—so, I don’t know how—but I always feel a
+wish to get out of his way when I see him approach.’
+
+‘You are timid, Milicent; but that’s no fault of his.’
+
+‘And then his look,’ continued she.  ‘People say he’s handsome, and of
+course he is; but I don’t like that kind of beauty, and I wonder that you
+should.’
+
+‘Why so, pray?’
+
+‘Well, you know, I think there’s nothing noble or lofty in his
+appearance.’
+
+‘In fact, you wonder that I can like any one so unlike the stilted heroes
+of romance.  Well, give me my flesh and blood lover, and I’ll leave all
+the Sir Herberts and Valentines to you—if you can find them.’
+
+‘I don’t want them,’ said she.  ‘I’ll be satisfied with flesh and blood
+too—only the spirit must shine through and predominate.  But don’t you
+think Mr. Huntingdon’s face is too red?’
+
+‘No!’ cried I, indignantly.  ‘It is not red at all.  There is just a
+pleasant glow, a healthy freshness in his complexion—the warm, pinky tint
+of the whole harmonising with the deeper colour of the cheeks, exactly as
+it ought to do.  I hate a man to be red and white, like a painted doll,
+or all sickly white, or smoky black, or cadaverous yellow.’
+
+‘Well, tastes differ—but I like pale or dark,’ replied she.  ‘But, to
+tell you the truth, Helen, I had been deluding myself with the hope that
+you would one day be my sister.  I expected Walter would be introduced to
+you next season; and I thought you would like him, and was certain he
+would like you; and I flattered myself I should thus have the felicity of
+seeing the two persons I like best in the world—except mamma—united in
+one.  He mayn’t be exactly what you would call handsome, but he’s far
+more distinguished-looking, and nicer and better than Mr. Huntingdon;—and
+I’m sure you would say so, if you knew him.’
+
+‘Impossible, Milicent!  You think so, because you’re his sister; and, on
+that account, I’ll forgive you; but nobody else should so disparage
+Arthur Huntingdon to me with impunity.’
+
+Miss Wilmot expressed her feelings on the subject almost as openly.
+
+‘And so, Helen,’ said she, coming up to me with a smile of no amiable
+import, ‘you are to be Mrs. Huntingdon, I suppose?’
+
+‘Yes,’ replied I.  ‘Don’t you envy me?’
+
+‘Oh, dear, no!’ she exclaimed.  ‘I shall probably be Lady Lowborough some
+day, and then you know, dear, I shall be in a capacity to inquire, “Don’t
+you envy me?”’
+
+‘Henceforth I shall envy no one,’ returned I.
+
+‘Indeed!  Are you so happy then?’ said she, thoughtfully; and something
+very like a cloud of disappointment shadowed her face.  ‘And does he love
+you—I mean, does he idolise you as much as you do him?’ she added, fixing
+her eyes upon me with ill-disguised anxiety for the reply.
+
+‘I don’t want to be idolised,’ I answered; ‘but I am well assured that he
+loves me more than anybody else in the world—as I do him.’
+
+‘Exactly,’ said she, with a nod.  ‘I wish—‘ she paused.
+
+‘What do you wish?’ asked I, annoyed at the vindictive expression of her
+countenance.
+
+‘I wish,’ returned, she, with a short laugh, ‘that all the attractive
+points and desirable qualifications of the two gentlemen were united in
+one—that Lord Lowborough had Huntingdon’s handsome face and good temper,
+and all his wit, and mirth and charm, or else that Huntingdon had
+Lowborough’s pedigree, and title, and delightful old family seat, and I
+had him; and you might have the other and welcome.’
+
+‘Thank you, dear Annabella: I am better satisfied with things as they
+are, for my own part; and for you, I wish you were as well content with
+your intended as I am with mine,’ said I; and it was true enough; for,
+though vexed at first at her unamiable spirit, her frankness touched me,
+and the contrast between our situations was such, that I could well
+afford to pity her and wish her well.
+
+Mr. Huntingdon’s acquaintances appear to be no better pleased with our
+approaching union than mine.  This morning’s post brought him letters
+from several of his friends, during the perusal of which, at the
+breakfast-table, he excited the attention of the company by the singular
+variety of his grimaces.  But he crushed them all into his pocket, with a
+private laugh, and said nothing till the meal was concluded.  Then, while
+the company were hanging over the fire or loitering through the room,
+previous to settling to their various morning avocations, he came and
+leant over the back of my chair, with his face in contact with my curls,
+and commencing with a quiet little kiss, poured forth the following
+complaints into my ear:—
+
+‘Helen, you witch, do you know that you’ve entailed upon me the curses of
+all my friends?  I wrote to them the other day, to tell them of my happy
+prospects, and now, instead of a bundle of congratulations, I’ve got a
+pocketful of bitter execrations and reproaches.  There’s not one kind
+wish for me, or one good word for you, among them all.  They say there’ll
+be no more fun now, no more merry days and glorious nights—and all my
+fault—I am the first to break up the jovial band, and others, in pure
+despair, will follow my example.  I was the very life and prop of the
+community, they do me the honour to say, and I have shamefully betrayed
+my trust—’
+
+‘You may join them again, if you like,’ said I, somewhat piqued at the
+sorrowful tone of his discourse.  ‘I should be sorry to stand between any
+man—or body of men, and so much happiness; and perhaps I can manage to do
+without you, as well as your poor deserted friends.’
+
+‘Bless you, no,’ murmured he.  ‘It’s “all for love or the world well
+lost,” with me.  Let them go to—where they belong, to speak politely.
+But if you saw how they abuse me, Helen, you would love me all the more
+for having ventured so much for your sake.’
+
+He pulled out his crumpled letters.  I thought he was going to show them
+to me, and told him I did not wish to see them.
+
+‘I’m not going to show them to you, love,’ said he.  ‘They’re hardly fit
+for a lady’s eyes—the most part of them.  But look here.  This is
+Grimsby’s scrawl—only three lines, the sulky dog!  He doesn’t say much,
+to be sure, but his very silence implies more than all the others’ words,
+and the less he says, the more he thinks—and this is Hargrave’s missive.
+He is particularly grieved at me, because, forsooth he had fallen in love
+with you from his sister’s reports, and meant to have married you
+himself, as soon as he had sown his wild oats.’
+
+‘I’m vastly obliged to him,’ observed I.
+
+‘And so am I,’ said he.  ‘And look at this.  This is Hattersley’s—every
+page stuffed full of railing accusations, bitter curses, and lamentable
+complaints, ending up with swearing that he’ll get married himself in
+revenge: he’ll throw himself away on the first old maid that chooses to
+set her cap at him,—as if I cared what he did with himself.’
+
+‘Well,’ said I, ‘if you do give up your intimacy with these men, I don’t
+think you will have much cause to regret the loss of their society; for
+it’s my belief they never did you much good.’
+
+‘Maybe not; but we’d a merry time of it, too, though mingled with sorrow
+and pain, as Lowborough knows to his cost—Ha, ha!’ and while he was
+laughing at the recollection of Lowborough’s troubles, my uncle came and
+slapped him on the shoulder.
+
+‘Come, my lad!’ said he.  ‘Are you too busy making love to my niece to
+make war with the pheasants?—First of October, remember!  Sun shines
+out—rain ceased—even Boarham’s not afraid to venture in his waterproof
+boots; and Wilmot and I are going to beat you all.  I declare, we old
+’uns are the keenest sportsmen of the lot!’
+
+‘I’ll show you what I can do to-day, however,’ said my companion.  ‘I’ll
+murder your birds by wholesale, just for keeping me away from better
+company than either you or them.’
+
+And so saying he departed; and I saw no more of him till dinner.  It
+seemed a weary time; I wonder what I shall do without him.
+
+It is very true that the three elder gentlemen have proved themselves
+much keener sportsmen than the two younger ones; for both Lord Lowborough
+and Arthur Huntingdon have of late almost daily neglected the shooting
+excursions to accompany us in our various rides and rambles.  But these
+merry times are fast drawing to a close.  In less than a fortnight the
+party break up, much to my sorrow, for every day I enjoy it more and
+more—now that Messrs. Boarham and Wilmot have ceased to tease me, and my
+aunt has ceased to lecture me, and I have ceased to be jealous of
+Annabella—and even to dislike her—and now that Mr. Huntingdon is become
+my Arthur, and I may enjoy his society without restraint.  What shall I
+do without him, I repeat?
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII
+
+
+October 5th.—My cup of sweets is not unmingled: it is dashed with a
+bitterness that I cannot hide from myself, disguise it as I will.  I may
+try to persuade myself that the sweetness overpowers it; I may call it a
+pleasant aromatic flavour; but say what I will, it is still there, and I
+cannot but taste it.  I cannot shut my eyes to Arthur’s faults; and the
+more I love him the more they trouble me.  His very heart, that I trusted
+so, is, I fear, less warm and generous than I thought it.  At least, he
+gave me a specimen of his character to-day that seemed to merit a harder
+name than thoughtlessness.  He and Lord Lowborough were accompanying
+Annabella and me in a long, delightful ride; he was riding by my side, as
+usual, and Annabella and Lord Lowborough were a little before us, the
+latter bending towards his companion as if in tender and confidential
+discourse.
+
+‘Those two will get the start of us, Helen, if we don’t look sharp,’
+observed Huntingdon.  ‘They’ll make a match of it, as sure as can be.
+That Lowborough’s fairly besotted.  But he’ll find himself in a fix when
+he’s got her, I doubt.’
+
+‘And she’ll find herself in a fix when she’s got him,’ said I, ‘if what
+I’ve heard of him is true.’
+
+‘Not a bit of it.  She knows what she’s about; but he, poor fool, deludes
+himself with the notion that she’ll make him a good wife, and because she
+has amused him with some rodomontade about despising rank and wealth in
+matters of love and marriage, he flatters himself that she’s devotedly
+attached to him; that she will not refuse him for his poverty, and does
+not court him for his rank, but loves him for himself alone.’
+
+‘But is not he courting her for her fortune?’
+
+‘No, not he.  That was the first attraction, certainly; but now he has
+quite lost sight of it: it never enters his calculations, except merely
+as an essential without which, for the lady’s own sake, he could not
+think of marrying her.  No; he’s fairly in love.  He thought he never
+could be again, but he’s in for it once more.  He was to have been
+married before, some two or three years ago; but he lost his bride by
+losing his fortune.  He got into a bad way among us in London: he had an
+unfortunate taste for gambling; and surely the fellow was born under an
+unlucky star, for he always lost thrice where he gained once.  That’s a
+mode of self-torment I never was much addicted to.  When I spend my money
+I like to enjoy the full value of it: I see no fun in wasting it on
+thieves and blacklegs; and as for gaining money, hitherto I have always
+had sufficient; it’s time enough to be clutching for more, I think, when
+you begin to see the end of what you have.  But I have sometimes
+frequented the gaming-houses just to watch the on-goings of those mad
+votaries of chance—a very interesting study, I assure you, Helen, and
+sometimes very diverting: I’ve had many a laugh at the boobies and
+bedlamites.  Lowborough was quite infatuated—not willingly, but of
+necessity,—he was always resolving to give it up, and always breaking his
+resolutions.  Every venture was the ‘just once more:’ if he gained a
+little, he hoped to gain a little more next time, and if he lost, it
+would not do to leave off at that juncture; he must go on till he had
+retrieved that last misfortune, at least: bad luck could not last for
+ever; and every lucky hit was looked upon as the dawn of better times,
+till experience proved the contrary.  At length he grew desperate, and we
+were daily on the look-out for a case of _felo-de-se_—no great matter,
+some of us whispered, as his existence had ceased to be an acquisition to
+our club.  At last, however, he came to a check.  He made a large stake,
+which he determined should be the last, whether he lost or won.  He had
+often so determined before, to be sure, and as often broken his
+determination; and so it was this time.  He lost; and while his
+antagonist smilingly swept away the stakes, he turned chalky white, drew
+back in silence, and wiped his forehead.  I was present at the time; and
+while he stood with folded arms and eyes fixed on the ground, I knew well
+enough what was passing in his mind.
+
+‘“Is it to be the last, Lowborough?” said I, stepping up to him.
+
+‘“The last but one,” he answered, with a grim smile; and then, rushing
+back to the table, he struck his hand upon it, and, raising his voice
+high above all the confusion of jingling coins and muttered oaths and
+curses in the room, he swore a deep and solemn oath that, come what
+would, this trial should be the last, and imprecated unspeakable curses
+on his head if ever he should shuffle a card or rattle a dice-box again.
+He then doubled his former stake, and challenged any one present to play
+against him.  Grimsby instantly presented himself.  Lowborough glared
+fiercely at him, for Grimsby was almost as celebrated for his luck as he
+was for his ill-fortune.  However, they fell to work.  But Grimsby had
+much skill and little scruple, and whether he took advantage of the
+other’s trembling, blinded eagerness to deal unfairly by him, I cannot
+undertake to say; but Lowborough lost again, and fell dead sick.
+
+‘“You’d better try once more,” said Grimsby, leaning across the table.
+And then he winked at me.
+
+‘“I’ve nothing to try with,” said the poor devil, with a ghastly smile.
+
+‘“Oh, Huntingdon will lend you what you want,” said the other.
+
+‘“No; you heard my oath,” answered Lowborough, turning away in quiet
+despair.  And I took him by the arm and led him out.
+
+‘“Is it to be the last, Lowborough?” I asked, when I got him into the
+street.
+
+‘“The last,” he answered, somewhat against my expectation.  And I took
+him home—that is, to our club—for he was as submissive as a child—and
+plied him with brandy-and-water till he began to look rather
+brighter—rather more alive, at least.
+
+‘“Huntingdon, I’m ruined!” said he, taking the third glass from my
+hand—he had drunk the others in dead silence.
+
+‘“Not you,” said I.  “You’ll find a man can live without his money as
+merrily as a tortoise without its head, or a wasp without its body.”
+
+‘“But I’m in debt,” said he—“deep in debt.  And I can never, never get
+out of it.”
+
+‘“Well, what of that?  Many a better man than you has lived and died in
+debt; and they can’t put you in prison, you know, because you’re a peer.”
+And I handed him his fourth tumbler.
+
+‘“But I hate to be in debt!” he shouted.  “I wasn’t born for it, and I
+cannot bear it.”
+
+‘“What can’t be cured must be endured,” said I, beginning to mix the
+fifth.
+
+‘“And then, I’ve lost my Caroline.”  And he began to snivel then, for the
+brandy had softened his heart.
+
+‘“No matter,” I answered, “there are more Carolines in the world than
+one.”
+
+‘“There’s only one for me,” he replied, with a dolorous sigh.  “And if
+there were fifty more, who’s to get them, I wonder, without money?”
+
+‘“Oh, somebody will take you for your title; and then you’ve your family
+estate yet; that’s entailed, you know.”
+
+‘“I wish to God I could sell it to pay my debts,” he muttered.
+
+‘“And then,” said Grimsby, who had just come in, “you can try again, you
+know.  I would have more than one chance, if I were you.  I’d never stop
+here.”
+
+‘“I won’t, I tell you!” shouted he.  And he started up, and left the
+room—walking rather unsteadily, for the liquor had got into his head.  He
+was not so much used to it then, but after that he took to it kindly to
+solace his cares.
+
+‘He kept his oath about gambling (not a little to the surprise of us
+all), though Grimsby did his utmost to tempt him to break it, but now he
+had got hold of another habit that bothered him nearly as much, for he
+soon discovered that the demon of drink was as black as the demon of
+play, and nearly as hard to get rid of—especially as his kind friends did
+all they could to second the promptings of his own insatiable cravings.’
+
+‘Then, they were demons themselves,’ cried I, unable to contain my
+indignation.  ‘And you, Mr. Huntingdon, it seems, were the first to tempt
+him.’
+
+‘Well, what could we do?’ replied he, deprecatingly.—‘We meant it in
+kindness—we couldn’t bear to see the poor fellow so miserable:—and
+besides, he was such a damper upon us, sitting there silent and glum,
+when he was under the threefold influence—of the loss of his sweetheart,
+the loss of his fortune, and the reaction of the lost night’s debauch;
+whereas, when he had something in him, if he was not merry himself, he
+was an unfailing source of merriment to us.  Even Grimsby could chuckle
+over his odd sayings: they delighted him far more than my merry jests, or
+Hattersley’s riotous mirth.  But one evening, when we were sitting over
+our wine, after one of our club dinners, and all had been hearty
+together,—Lowborough giving us mad toasts, and hearing our wild songs,
+and bearing a hand in the applause, if he did not help us to sing them
+himself,—he suddenly relapsed into silence, sinking his head on his hand,
+and never lifting his glass to his lips;—but this was nothing new; so we
+let him alone, and went on with our jollification, till, suddenly raising
+his head, he interrupted us in the middle of a roar of laughter by
+exclaiming,—‘Gentlemen, where is all this to end?—Will you just tell me
+that now?—Where is it all to end?’  He rose.
+
+‘“A speech, a speech!” shouted we.  “Hear, hear!  Lowborough’s going to
+give us a speech!”
+
+‘He waited calmly till the thunders of applause and jingling of glasses
+had ceased, and then proceeded,—“It’s only this, gentlemen,—that I think
+we’d better go no further.  We’d better stop while we can.”
+
+‘“Just so!” cried Hattersley—
+
+   “Stop, poor sinner, stop and think
+      Before you further go,
+   No longer sport upon the brink
+      Of everlasting woe.”
+
+‘“Exactly!” replied his lordship, with the utmost gravity.  “And if you
+choose to visit the bottomless pit, I won’t go with you—we must part
+company, for I swear I’ll not move another step towards it!—What’s this?”
+he said, taking up his glass of wine.
+
+‘“Taste it,” suggested I.
+
+‘“This is hell broth!” he exclaimed.  “I renounce it for ever!”  And he
+threw it out into the middle of the table.
+
+‘“Fill again!” said I, handing him the bottle—“and let us drink to your
+renunciation.”
+
+‘“It’s rank poison,” said he, grasping the bottle by the neck, “and I
+forswear it!  I’ve given up gambling, and I’ll give up this too.”  He was
+on the point of deliberately pouring the whole contents of the bottle on
+to the table, but Hargrave wrested it from him.  “On you be the curse,
+then!” said he.  And, backing from the room, he shouted, “Farewell, ye
+tempters!” and vanished amid shouts of laughter and applause.
+
+‘We expected him back among us the next day; but, to our surprise, the
+place remained vacant: we saw nothing of him for a whole week; and we
+really began to think he was going to keep his word.  At last, one
+evening, when we were most of us assembled together again, he entered,
+silent and grim as a ghost, and would have quietly slipped into his usual
+seat at my elbow, but we all rose to welcome him, and several voices were
+raised to ask what he would have, and several hands were busy with bottle
+and glass to serve him; but I knew a smoking tumbler of brandy-and-water
+would comfort him best, and had nearly prepared it, when he peevishly
+pushed it away, saying,—
+
+‘“Do let me alone, Huntingdon!  Do be quiet, all of you!  I’m not come to
+join you: I’m only come to be with you awhile, because I can’t bear my
+own thoughts.”  And he folded his arms, and leant back in his chair; so
+we let him be.  But I left the glass by him; and, after awhile, Grimsby
+directed my attention towards it, by a significant wink; and, on turning
+my head, I saw it was drained to the bottom.  He made me a sign to
+replenish, and quietly pushed up the bottle.  I willingly complied; but
+Lowborough detected the pantomime, and, nettled at the intelligent grins
+that were passing between us, snatched the glass from my hand, dashed the
+contents of it in Grimsby’s face, threw the empty tumbler at me, and then
+bolted from the room.’
+
+‘I hope he broke your head,’ said I.
+
+‘No, love,’ replied he, laughing immoderately at the recollection of the
+whole affair; ‘he would have done so,—and perhaps, spoilt my face, too,
+but, providentially, this forest of curls’ (taking off his hat, and
+showing his luxuriant chestnut locks) ‘saved my skull, and prevented the
+glass from breaking, till it reached the table.’
+
+‘After that,’ he continued, ‘Lowborough kept aloof from us a week or two
+longer.  I used to meet him occasionally in the town; and then, as I was
+too good-natured to resent his unmannerly conduct, and he bore no malice
+against me,—he was never unwilling to talk to me; on the contrary, he
+would cling to me, and follow me anywhere but to the club, and the
+gaming-houses, and such-like dangerous places of resort—he was so weary
+of his own moping, melancholy mind.  At last, I got him to come in with
+me to the club, on condition that I would not tempt him to drink; and,
+for some time, he continued to look in upon us pretty regularly of an
+evening,—still abstaining, with wonderful perseverance, from the “rank
+poison” he had so bravely forsworn.  But some of our members protested
+against this conduct.  They did not like to have him sitting there like a
+skeleton at a feast, instead of contributing his quota to the general
+amusement, casting a cloud over all, and watching, with greedy eyes,
+every drop they carried to their lips—they vowed it was not fair; and
+some of them maintained that he should either be compelled to do as
+others did, or expelled from the society; and swore that, next time he
+showed himself, they would tell him as much, and, if he did not take the
+warning, proceed to active measures.  However, I befriended him on this
+occasion, and recommended them to let him be for a while, intimating
+that, with a little patience on our parts, he would soon come round
+again.  But, to be sure, it was rather provoking; for, though he refused
+to drink like an honest Christian, it was well known to me that he kept a
+private bottle of laudanum about him, which he was continually soaking
+at—or rather, holding off and on with, abstaining one day and exceeding
+the next—just like the spirits.
+
+‘One night, however, during one of our orgies—one of our high festivals,
+I mean—he glided in, like the ghost in “Macbeth,” and seated himself, as
+usual, a little back from the table, in the chair we always placed for
+“the spectre,” whether it chose to fill it or not.  I saw by his face
+that he was suffering from the effects of an overdose of his insidious
+comforter; but nobody spoke to him, and he spoke to nobody.  A few
+sidelong glances, and a whispered observation, that “the ghost was come,”
+was all the notice he drew by his appearance, and we went on with our
+merry carousals as before, till he startled us all by suddenly drawing in
+his chair, and leaning forward with his elbows on the table, and
+exclaiming with portentous solemnity,—“Well! it puzzles me what you can
+find to be so merry about.  What you see in life I don’t know—I see only
+the blackness of darkness, and a fearful looking for of judgment and
+fiery indignation!”
+
+‘All the company simultaneously pushed up their glasses to him, and I set
+them before him in a semicircle, and, tenderly patting him on the back,
+bid him drink, and he would soon see as bright a prospect as any of us;
+but he pushed them back, muttering,—
+
+‘“Take them away!  I won’t taste it, I tell you.  I won’t—I won’t!”  So I
+handed them down again to the owners; but I saw that he followed them
+with a glare of hungry regret as they departed.  Then he clasped his
+hands before his eyes to shut out the sight, and two minutes after lifted
+his head again, and said, in a hoarse but vehement whisper,—
+
+‘“And yet I must!  Huntingdon, get me a glass!”
+
+‘“Take the bottle, man!” said I, thrusting the brandy-bottle into his
+hand—but stop, I’m telling too much,’ muttered the narrator, startled at
+the look I turned upon him.  ‘But no matter,’ he recklessly added, and
+thus continued his relation: ‘In his desperate eagerness, he seized the
+bottle and sucked away, till he suddenly dropped from his chair,
+disappearing under the table amid a tempest of applause.  The consequence
+of this imprudence was something like an apoplectic fit, followed by a
+rather severe brain fever—’
+
+‘And what did you think of yourself, sir?’ said I, quickly.
+
+‘Of course, I was very penitent,’ he replied.  ‘I went to see him once or
+twice—nay, twice or thrice—or by’r lady, some four times—and when he got
+better, I tenderly brought him back to the fold.’
+
+‘What do you mean?’
+
+‘I mean, I restored him to the bosom of the club, and compassionating the
+feebleness of his health and extreme lowness of his spirits, I
+recommended him to “take a little wine for his stomach’s sake,” and, when
+he was sufficiently re-established, to embrace the media-via,
+ni-jamais-ni-toujours plan—not to kill himself like a fool, and not to
+abstain like a ninny—in a word, to enjoy himself like a rational
+creature, and do as I did; for, don’t think, Helen, that I’m a tippler;
+I’m nothing at all of the kind, and never was, and never shall be.  I
+value my comfort far too much.  I see that a man cannot give himself up
+to drinking without being miserable one-half his days and mad the other;
+besides, I like to enjoy my life at all sides and ends, which cannot be
+done by one that suffers himself to be the slave of a single
+propensity—and, moreover, drinking spoils one’s good looks,’ he
+concluded, with a most conceited smile that ought to have provoked me
+more than it did.
+
+‘And did Lord Lowborough profit by your advice?’ I asked.
+
+‘Why, yes, in a manner.  For a while he managed very well; indeed, he was
+a model of moderation and prudence—something too much so for the tastes
+of our wild community; but, somehow, Lowborough had not the gift of
+moderation: if he stumbled a little to one side, he must go down before
+he could right himself: if he overshot the mark one night, the effects of
+it rendered him so miserable the next day that he must repeat the offence
+to mend it; and so on from day to day, till his clamorous conscience
+brought him to a stand.  And then, in his sober moments, he so bothered
+his friends with his remorse, and his terrors and woes, that they were
+obliged, in self-defence, to get him to drown his sorrows in wine, or any
+more potent beverage that came to hand; and when his first scruples of
+conscience were overcome, he would need no more persuading, he would
+often grow desperate, and be as great a blackguard as any of them could
+desire—but only to lament his own unutterable wickedness and degradation
+the more when the fit was over.
+
+‘At last, one day when he and I were alone together, after pondering
+awhile in one of his gloomy, abstracted moods, with his arms folded and
+his head sunk on his breast, he suddenly woke up, and vehemently grasping
+my arm, said,—
+
+‘“Huntingdon, this won’t do!  I’m resolved to have done with it.”
+
+‘“What, are you going to shoot yourself?” said I.
+
+‘“No; I’m going to reform.”
+
+‘“Oh, that’s nothing new!  You’ve been going to reform these twelve
+months and more.”
+
+‘“Yes, but you wouldn’t let me; and I was such a fool I couldn’t live
+without you.  But now I see what it is that keeps me back, and what’s
+wanted to save me; and I’d compass sea and land to get it—only I’m afraid
+there’s no chance.”  And he sighed as if his heart would break.
+
+‘“What is it, Lowborough?” said I, thinking he was fairly cracked at
+last.
+
+‘“A wife,” he answered; “for I can’t live alone, because my own mind
+distracts me, and I can’t live with you, because you take the devil’s
+part against me.”
+
+‘“Who—I?”
+
+‘“Yes—all of you do—and you more than any of them, you know.  But if I
+could get a wife, with fortune enough to pay off my debts and set me
+straight in the world—”
+
+‘“To be sure,” said I.
+
+‘“And sweetness and goodness enough,” he continued, “to make home
+tolerable, and to reconcile me to myself, I think I should do yet.  I
+shall never be in love again, that’s certain; but perhaps that would be
+no great matter, it would enable me to choose with my eyes open—and I
+should make a good husband in spite of it; but could any one be in love
+with me?—that’s the question.  With your good looks and powers of
+fascination” (he was pleased to say), “I might hope; but as it is,
+Huntingdon, do you think anybody would take me—ruined and wretched as I
+am?”
+
+‘“Yes, certainly.”
+
+‘“Who?”
+
+‘“Why, any neglected old maid, fast sinking in despair, would be
+delighted to—”
+
+‘“No, no,” said he—“it must be somebody that I can love.”
+
+‘“Why, you just said you never could be in love again!”
+
+‘“Well, love is not the word—but somebody that I can like.  I’ll search
+all England through, at all events!” he cried, with a sudden burst of
+hope, or desperation.  “Succeed or fail, it will be better than rushing
+headlong to destruction at that d-d club: so farewell to it and you.
+Whenever I meet you on honest ground or under a Christian roof, I shall
+be glad to see you; but never more shall you entice me to that devil’s
+den!”
+
+‘This was shameful language, but I shook hands with him, and we parted.
+He kept his word; and from that time forward he has been a pattern of
+propriety, as far as I can tell; but till lately I have not had very much
+to do with him.  He occasionally sought my company, but as frequently
+shrunk from it, fearing lest I should wile him back to destruction, and I
+found his not very entertaining, especially as he sometimes attempted to
+awaken my conscience and draw me from the perdition he considered himself
+to have escaped; but when I did happen to meet him, I seldom failed to
+ask after the progress of his matrimonial efforts and researches, and, in
+general, he could give me but a poor account.  The mothers were repelled
+by his empty coffers and his reputation for gambling, and the daughters
+by his cloudy brow and melancholy temper—besides, he didn’t understand
+them; he wanted the spirit and assurance to carry his point.
+
+‘I left him at it when I went to the continent; and on my return, at the
+year’s end, I found him still a disconsolate bachelor—though, certainly,
+looking somewhat less like an unblest exile from the tomb than before.
+The young ladies had ceased to be afraid of him, and were beginning to
+think him quite interesting; but the mammas were still unrelenting.  It
+was about this time, Helen, that my good angel brought me into
+conjunction with you; and then I had eyes and ears for nobody else.  But,
+meantime, Lowborough became acquainted with our charming friend, Miss
+Wilmot—through the intervention of his good angel, no doubt he would tell
+you, though he did not dare to fix his hopes on one so courted and
+admired, till after they were brought into closer contact here at
+Staningley, and she, in the absence of her other admirers, indubitably
+courted his notice and held out every encouragement to his timid
+advances.  Then, indeed, he began to hope for a dawn of brighter days;
+and if, for a while, I darkened his prospects by standing between him and
+his sun—and so nearly plunged him again into the abyss of despair—it only
+intensified his ardour and strengthened his hopes when I chose to abandon
+the field in the pursuit of a brighter treasure.  In a word, as I told
+you, he is fairly besotted.  At first, he could dimly perceive her
+faults, and they gave him considerable uneasiness; but now his passion
+and her art together have blinded him to everything but her perfections
+and his amazing good fortune.  Last night he came to me brimful of his
+new-found felicity:
+
+‘“Huntingdon, I am not a castaway!” said he, seizing my hand and
+squeezing it like a vice.  “There is happiness in store for me yet—even
+in this life—she loves me!”
+
+‘“Indeed!” said I.  “Has she told you so?”
+
+‘“No, but I can no longer doubt it.  Do you not see how pointedly kind
+and affectionate she is?  And she knows the utmost extent of my poverty,
+and cares nothing about it!  She knows all the folly and all the
+wickedness of my former life, and is not afraid to trust me—and my rank
+and title are no allurements to her; for them she utterly disregards.
+She is the most generous, high-minded being that can be conceived of.
+She will save me, body and soul, from destruction.  Already, she has
+ennobled me in my own estimation, and made me three times better, wiser,
+greater than I was.  Oh! if I had but known her before, how much
+degradation and misery I should have been spared!  But what have I done
+to deserve so magnificent a creature?”
+
+‘And the cream of the jest,’ continued Mr. Huntingdon, laughing, ‘is,
+that the artful minx loves nothing about him but his title and pedigree,
+and “that delightful old family seat.”’
+
+‘How do you know?’ said I.
+
+‘She told me so herself; she said, “As for the man himself, I thoroughly
+despise him; but then, I suppose, it is time to be making my choice, and
+if I waited for some one capable of eliciting my esteem and affection, I
+should have to pass my life in single blessedness, for I detest you all!”
+Ha, ha!  I suspect she was wrong there; but, however, it is evident she
+has no love for him, poor fellow.’
+
+‘Then you ought to tell him so.’
+
+‘What! and spoil all her plans and prospects, poor girl?  No, no: that
+would be a breach of confidence, wouldn’t it, Helen?  Ha, ha!  Besides,
+it would break his heart.’  And he laughed again.
+
+‘Well, Mr. Huntingdon, I don’t know what you see so amazingly diverting
+in the matter; I see nothing to laugh at.’
+
+‘I’m laughing at you, just now, love,’ said he, redoubling his
+machinations.
+
+And leaving him to enjoy his merriment alone, I touched Ruby with the
+whip, and cantered on to rejoin our companions; for we had been walking
+our horses all this time, and were consequently a long way behind.
+Arthur was soon at my side again; but not disposed to talk to him, I
+broke into a gallop.  He did the same; and we did not slacken our pace
+till we came up with Miss Wilmot and Lord Lowborough, which was within
+half a mile of the park-gates.  I avoided all further conversation with
+him till we came to the end of our ride, when I meant to jump off my
+horse and vanish into the house, before he could offer his assistance;
+but while I was disengaging my habit from the crutch, he lifted me off,
+and held me by both hands, asserting that he would not let me go till I
+had forgiven him.
+
+‘I have nothing to forgive,’ said I.  ‘You have not injured me.’
+
+‘No, darling—God forbid that I should! but you are angry because it was
+to me that Annabella confessed her lack of esteem for her lover.’
+
+‘No, Arthur, it is not that that displeases me: it is the whole system of
+your conduct towards your friend, and if you wish me to forget it, go
+now, and tell him what sort of a woman it is that he adores so madly, and
+on whom he has hung his hopes of future happiness.’
+
+‘I tell you, Helen, it would break his heart—it would be the death of
+him—besides being a scandalous trick to poor Annabella.  There is no help
+for him now; he is past praying for.  Besides, she may keep up the
+deception to the end of the chapter; and then he will be just as happy in
+the illusion as if it were reality; or perhaps he will only discover his
+mistake when he has ceased to love her; and if not, it is much better
+that the truth should dawn gradually upon him.  So now, my angel, I hope
+I have made out a clear case, and fully convinced you that I cannot make
+the atonement you require.  What other requisition have you to make?
+Speak, and I will gladly obey.’
+
+‘I have none but this,’ said I, as gravely as before: ‘that, in future,
+you will never make a jest of the sufferings of others, and always use
+your influence with your friends for their own advantage against their
+evil propensities, instead of seconding their evil propensities against
+themselves.’
+
+‘I will do my utmost,’ said he, ‘to remember and perform the injunctions
+of my angel monitress;’ and after kissing both my gloved hands, he let me
+go.
+
+When I entered my room, I was surprised to see Annabella Wilmot standing
+before my toilet-table, composedly surveying her features in the glass,
+with one hand flirting her gold-mounted whip, and the other holding up
+her long habit.
+
+‘She certainly is a magnificent creature!’ thought I, as I beheld that
+tall, finely developed figure, and the reflection of the handsome face in
+the mirror before me, with the glossy dark hair, slightly and not
+ungracefully disordered by the breezy ride, the rich brown complexion
+glowing with exercise, and the black eyes sparkling with unwonted
+brilliance.  On perceiving me, she turned round, exclaiming, with a laugh
+that savoured more of malice than of mirth,—‘Why, Helen! what have you
+been doing so long?  I came to tell you my good fortune,’ she continued,
+regardless of Rachel’s presence.  ‘Lord Lowborough has proposed, and I
+have been graciously pleased to accept him.  Don’t you envy me, dear?’
+
+‘No, love,’ said I—‘or him either,’ I mentally added.  ‘And do you like
+him, Annabella?’
+
+‘Like him! yes, to be sure—over head and ears in love!’
+
+‘Well, I hope you’ll make him a good wife.’
+
+‘Thank you, my dear!  And what besides do you hope?’
+
+‘I hope you will both love each other, and both be happy.’
+
+‘Thanks; and I hope you will make a very good wife to Mr. Huntingdon!’
+said she, with a queenly bow, and retired.
+
+‘Oh, Miss! how could you say so to her!’ cried Rachel.
+
+‘Say what?’ replied I.
+
+‘Why, that you hoped she would make him a good wife.  I never heard such
+a thing!’
+
+‘Because I do hope it, or rather, I wish it; she’s almost past hope.’
+
+‘Well,’ said she, ‘I’m sure I hope he’ll make her a good husband.  They
+tell queer things about him downstairs.  They were saying—’
+
+‘I know, Rachel.  I’ve heard all about him; but he’s reformed now.  And
+they have no business to tell tales about their masters.’
+
+‘No, mum—or else, they have said some things about Mr. Huntingdon too.’
+‘I won’t hear them, Rachel; they tell lies.’
+
+‘Yes, mum,’ said she, quietly, as she went on arranging my hair.
+
+‘Do you believe them, Rachel?’ I asked, after a short pause.
+
+‘No, Miss, not all.  You know when a lot of servants gets together they
+like to talk about their betters; and some, for a bit of swagger, likes
+to make it appear as though they knew more than they do, and to throw out
+hints and things just to astonish the others.  But I think, if I was you,
+Miss Helen, I’d look very well before I leaped.  I do believe a young
+lady can’t be too careful who she marries.’
+
+‘Of course not,’ said I; ‘but be quick, will you, Rachel?  I want to be
+dressed.’
+
+And, indeed, I was anxious to be rid of the good woman, for I was in such
+a melancholy frame I could hardly keep the tears out of my eyes while she
+dressed me.  It was not for Lord Lowborough—it was not for Annabella—it
+was not for myself—it was for Arthur Huntingdon that they rose.
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+13th.—They are gone, and he is gone.  We are to be parted for more than
+two months, above ten weeks! a long, long time to live and not to see
+him.  But he has promised to write often, and made me promise to write
+still oftener, because he will be busy settling his affairs, and I shall
+have nothing better to do.  Well, I think I shall always have plenty to
+say.  But oh! for the time when we shall be always together, and can
+exchange our thoughts without the intervention of these cold go-betweens,
+pen, ink, and paper!
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+22nd.—I have had several letters from Arthur already.  They are not long,
+but passing sweet, and just like himself, full of ardent affection, and
+playful lively humour; but there is always a ‘but’ in this imperfect
+world, and I do wish he would sometimes be serious.  I cannot get him to
+write or speak in real, solid earnest.  I don’t much mind it now, but if
+it be always so, what shall I do with the serious part of myself?
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII
+
+
+Feb. 18, 1822.—Early this morning Arthur mounted his hunter and set off
+in high glee to meet the — hounds.  He will be away all day, and so I
+will amuse myself with my neglected diary, if I can give that name to
+such an irregular composition.  It is exactly four months since I opened
+it last.
+
+I am married now, and settled down as Mrs. Huntingdon of Grassdale Manor.
+I have had eight weeks’ experience of matrimony.  And do I regret the
+step I have taken?  No, though I must confess, in my secret heart, that
+Arthur is not what I thought him at first, and if I had known him in the
+beginning as thoroughly as I do now, I probably never should have loved
+him, and if I loved him first, and then made the discovery, I fear I
+should have thought it my duty not to have married him.  To be sure I
+might have known him, for every one was willing enough to tell me about
+him, and he himself was no accomplished hypocrite, but I was wilfully
+blind; and now, instead of regretting that I did not discern his full
+character before I was indissolubly bound to him, I am glad, for it has
+saved me a great deal of battling with my conscience, and a great deal of
+consequent trouble and pain; and, whatever I ought to have done, my duty
+now is plainly to love him and to cleave to him, and this just tallies
+with my inclination.
+
+He is very fond of me, almost too fond.  I could do with less caressing
+and more rationality.  I should like to be less of a pet and more of a
+friend, if I might choose; but I won’t complain of that: I am only afraid
+his affection loses in depth where it gains in ardour.  I sometimes liken
+it to a fire of dry twigs and branches compared with one of solid coal,
+very bright and hot; but if it should burn itself out and leave nothing
+but ashes behind, what shall I do?  But it won’t, it sha’n’t, I am
+determined; and surely I have power to keep it alive.  So let me dismiss
+that thought at once.  But Arthur is selfish; I am constrained to
+acknowledge that; and, indeed, the admission gives me less pain than
+might be expected, for, since I love him so much, I can easily forgive
+him for loving himself: he likes to be pleased, and it is my delight to
+please him; and when I regret this tendency of his, it is for his own
+sake, not for mine.
+
+The first instance he gave was on the occasion of our bridal tour.  He
+wanted to hurry it over, for all the continental scenes were already
+familiar to him: many had lost their interest in his eyes, and others had
+never had anything to lose.  The consequence was, that after a flying
+transit through part of France and part of Italy, I came back nearly as
+ignorant as I went, having made no acquaintance with persons and manners,
+and very little with things, my head swarming with a motley confusion of
+objects and scenes; some, it is true, leaving a deeper and more pleasing
+impression than others, but these embittered by the recollection that my
+emotions had not been shared by my companion, but that, on the contrary,
+when I had expressed a particular interest in anything that I saw or
+desired to see, it had been displeasing to him, inasmuch as it proved
+that I could take delight in anything disconnected with himself.
+
+           [Picture: Blake Hall—The Approach (Grassdale Manor)]
+
+As for Paris, we only just touched at that, and he would not give me time
+to see one-tenth of the beauties and interesting objects of Rome.  He
+wanted to get me home, he said, to have me all to himself, and to see me
+safely installed as the mistress of Grassdale Manor, just as
+single-minded, as naïve, and piquante as I was; and as if I had been some
+frail butterfly, he expressed himself fearful of rubbing the silver off
+my wings by bringing me into contact with society, especially that of
+Paris and Rome; and, more-over, he did not scruple to tell me that there
+were ladies in both places that would tear his eyes out if they happened
+to meet him with me.
+
+Of course I was vexed at all this; but still it was less the
+disappointment to myself that annoyed me, than the disappointment in him,
+and the trouble I was at to frame excuses to my friends for having seen
+and observed so little, without imputing one particle of blame to my
+companion.  But when we got home—to my new, delightful home—I was so
+happy and he was so kind that I freely forgave him all; and I was
+beginning to think my lot too happy, and my husband actually too good for
+me, if not too good for this world, when, on the second Sunday after our
+arrival, he shocked and horrified me by another instance of his
+unreasonable exaction.  We were walking home from the morning service,
+for it was a fine frosty day, and as we are so near the church, I had
+requested the carriage should not be used.
+
+‘Helen,’ said he, with unusual gravity, ‘I am not quite satisfied with
+you.’
+
+I desired to know what was wrong.
+
+‘But will you promise to reform if I tell you?’
+
+‘Yes, if I can, and without offending a higher authority.’
+
+‘Ah! there it is, you see: you don’t love me with all your heart.’
+
+‘I don’t understand you, Arthur (at least I hope I don’t): pray tell me
+what I have done or said amiss.’
+
+‘It is nothing you have done or said; it is something that you are—you
+are too religious.  Now I like a woman to be religious, and I think your
+piety one of your greatest charms; but then, like all other good things,
+it may be carried too far.  To my thinking, a woman’s religion ought not
+to lessen her devotion to her earthly lord.  She should have enough to
+purify and etherealise her soul, but not enough to refine away her heart,
+and raise her above all human sympathies.’
+
+‘And am I above all human sympathies?’ said I.
+
+‘No, darling; but you are making more progress towards that saintly
+condition than I like; for all these two hours I have been thinking of
+you and wanting to catch your eye, and you were so absorbed in your
+devotions that you had not even a glance to spare for me—I declare it is
+enough to make one jealous of one’s Maker—which is very wrong, you know;
+so don’t excite such wicked passions again, for my soul’s sake.’
+
+‘I will give my whole heart and soul to my Maker if I can,’ I answered,
+‘and not one atom more of it to you than He allows.  What are you, sir,
+that you should set yourself up as a god, and presume to dispute
+possession of my heart with Him to whom I owe all I have and all I am,
+every blessing I ever did or ever can enjoy—and yourself among the
+rest—if you are a blessing, which I am half inclined to doubt.’
+
+‘Don’t be so hard upon me, Helen; and don’t pinch my arm so: you are
+squeezing your fingers into the bone.’
+
+‘Arthur,’ continued I, relaxing my hold of his arm, ‘you don’t love me
+half as much as I do you; and yet, if you loved me far less than you do,
+I would not complain, provided you loved your Maker more.  I should
+rejoice to see you at any time so deeply absorbed in your devotions that
+you had not a single thought to spare for me.  But, indeed, I should lose
+nothing by the change, for the more you loved your God the more deep and
+pure and true would be your love to me.’
+
+At this he only laughed and kissed my hand, calling me a sweet
+enthusiast.  Then taking off his hat, he added: ‘But look here,
+Helen—what can a man do with such a head as this?’
+
+The head looked right enough, but when he placed my hand on the top of
+it, it sunk in a bed of curls, rather alarmingly low, especially in the
+middle.
+
+‘You see I was not made to be a saint,’ said he, laughing, ‘If God meant
+me to be religious, why didn’t He give me a proper organ of veneration?’
+
+‘You are like the servant,’ I replied, ‘who, instead of employing his one
+talent in his master’s service, restored it to him unimproved, alleging,
+as an excuse, that he knew him “to be a hard man, reaping where he had
+not sown, and gathering where he had not strawed.”  Of him to whom less
+is given, less will be required, but our utmost exertions are required of
+us all.  You are not without the capacity of veneration, and faith and
+hope, and conscience and reason, and every other requisite to a
+Christian’s character, if you choose to employ them; but all our talents
+increase in the using, and every faculty, both good and bad, strengthens
+by exercise: therefore, if you choose to use the bad, or those which tend
+to evil, till they become your masters, and neglect the good till they
+dwindle away, you have only yourself to blame.  But you have talents,
+Arthur—natural endowments both of heart and mind and temper, such as many
+a better Christian would be glad to possess, if you would only employ
+them in God’s service.  I should never expect to see you a devotee, but
+it is quite possible to be a good Christian without ceasing to be a
+happy, merry-hearted man.’
+
+‘You speak like an oracle, Helen, and all you say is indisputably true;
+but listen here: I am hungry, and I see before me a good substantial
+dinner; I am told that if I abstain from this to-day I shall have a
+sumptuous feast to-morrow, consisting of all manner of dainties and
+delicacies.  Now, in the first place, I should be loth to wait till
+to-morrow when I have the means of appeasing my hunger already before me:
+in the second place, the solid viands of to-day are more to my taste than
+the dainties that are promised me; in the third place, I don’t see
+to-morrow’s banquet, and how can I tell that it is not all a fable, got
+up by the greasy-faced fellow that is advising me to abstain in order
+that he may have all the good victuals to himself? in the fourth place,
+this table must be spread for somebody, and, as Solomon says, “Who can
+eat, or who else can hasten hereunto more than I?” and finally, with your
+leave, I’ll sit down and satisfy my cravings of to-day, and leave
+to-morrow to shift for itself—who knows but what I may secure both this
+and that?’
+
+‘But you are not required to abstain from the substantial dinner of
+to-day: you are only advised to partake of these coarser viands in such
+moderation as not to incapacitate you from enjoying the choicer banquet
+of to-morrow.  If, regardless of that counsel, you choose to make a beast
+of yourself now, and over-eat and over-drink yourself till you turn the
+good victuals into poison, who is to blame if, hereafter, while you are
+suffering the torments of yesterday’s gluttony and drunkenness, you see
+more temperate men sitting down to enjoy themselves at that splendid
+entertainment which you are unable to taste?’
+
+‘Most true, my patron saint; but again, our friend Solomon says, “There
+is nothing better for a man than to eat and to drink, and to be merry.”’
+
+‘And again,’ returned I, ‘he says, “Rejoice, O young man, in thy youth;
+and walk in the ways of thine heart, and in the sight of thine eyes: but
+know thou, that for all these things God will bring thee into judgment.”’
+
+‘Well, but, Helen, I’m sure I’ve been very good these last few weeks.
+What have you seen amiss in me, and what would you have me to do?’
+
+‘Nothing more than you do, Arthur: your actions are all right so far; but
+I would have your thoughts changed; I would have you to fortify yourself
+against temptation, and not to call evil good, and good evil; I should
+wish you to think more deeply, to look further, and aim higher than you
+do.’
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV
+
+
+March 25th.—Arthur is getting tired—not of me, I trust, but of the idle,
+quiet life he leads—and no wonder, for he has so few sources of
+amusement: he never reads anything but newspapers and sporting magazines;
+and when he sees me occupied with a book, he won’t let me rest till I
+close it.  In fine weather he generally manages to get through the time
+pretty well, but on rainy days, of which we have had a good many of late,
+it is quite painful to witness his ennui.  I do all I can to amuse him,
+but it is impossible to get him to feel interested in what I most like to
+talk about, while, on the other hand, he likes to talk about things that
+cannot interest me—or even that annoy me—and these please him—the most of
+all: for his favourite amusement is to sit or loll beside me on the sofa,
+and tell me stories of his former amours, always turning upon the ruin of
+some confiding girl or the cozening of some unsuspecting husband; and
+when I express my horror and indignation, he lays it all to the charge of
+jealousy, and laughs till the tears run down his cheeks.  I used to fly
+into passions or melt into tears at first, but seeing that his delight
+increased in proportion to my anger and agitation, I have since
+endeavoured to suppress my feelings and receive his revelations in the
+silence of calm contempt; but still he reads the inward struggle in my
+face, and misconstrues my bitterness of soul for his unworthiness into
+the pangs of wounded jealousy; and when he has sufficiently diverted
+himself with that, or fears my displeasure will become too serious for
+his comfort, he tries to kiss and soothe me into smiles again—never were
+his caresses so little welcome as then!  This is double selfishness
+displayed to me and to the victims of his former love.  There are times
+when, with a momentary pang—a flash of wild dismay, I ask myself, ‘Helen,
+what have you done?’  But I rebuke the inward questioner, and repel the
+obtrusive thoughts that crowd upon me; for were he ten times as sensual
+and impenetrable to good and lofty thoughts, I well know I have no right
+to complain.  And I don’t and won’t complain.  I do and will love him
+still; and I do not and will not regret that I have linked my fate with
+his.
+
+April 4th.—We have had a downright quarrel.  The particulars are as
+follows: Arthur had told me, at different intervals, the whole story of
+his intrigue with Lady F—, which I would not believe before.  It was some
+consolation, however, to find that in this instance the lady had been
+more to blame than he, for he was very young at the time, and she had
+decidedly made the first advances, if what he said was true.  I hated her
+for it, for it seemed as if she had chiefly contributed to his
+corruption; and when he was beginning to talk about her the other day, I
+begged he would not mention her, for I detested the very sound of her
+name.
+
+‘Not because you loved her, Arthur, mind, but because she injured you and
+deceived her husband, and was altogether a very abominable woman, whom
+you ought to be ashamed to mention.’
+
+But he defended her by saying that she had a doting old husband, whom it
+was impossible to love.
+
+‘Then why did she marry him?’ said I.
+
+‘For his money,’ was the reply.
+
+‘Then that was another crime, and her solemn promise to love and honour
+him was another, that only increased the enormity of the last.’
+
+‘You are too severe upon the poor lady,’ laughed he.  ‘But never mind,
+Helen, I don’t care for her now; and I never loved any of them half as
+much as I do you, so you needn’t fear to be forsaken like them.’
+
+‘If you had told me these things before, Arthur, I never should have
+given you the chance.’
+
+‘Wouldn’t you, my darling?’
+
+‘Most certainly not!’
+
+He laughed incredulously.
+
+‘I wish I could convince you of it now!’ cried I, starting up from beside
+him: and for the first time in my life, and I hope the last, I wished I
+had not married him.
+
+‘Helen,’ said he, more gravely, ‘do you know that if I believed you now I
+should be very angry? but thank heaven I don’t.  Though you stand there
+with your white face and flashing eyes, looking at me like a very
+tigress, I know the heart within you perhaps a trifle better than you
+know it yourself.’
+
+Without another word I left the room and locked myself up in my own
+chamber.  In about half an hour he came to the door, and first he tried
+the handle, then he knocked.
+
+‘Won’t you let me in, Helen?’ said he.  ‘No; you have displeased me,’ I
+replied, ‘and I don’t want to see your face or hear your voice again till
+the morning.’
+
+He paused a moment as if dumfounded or uncertain how to answer such a
+speech, and then turned and walked away.  This was only an hour after
+dinner: I knew he would find it very dull to sit alone all the evening;
+and this considerably softened my resentment, though it did not make me
+relent.  I was determined to show him that my heart was not his slave,
+and I could live without him if I chose; and I sat down and wrote a long
+letter to my aunt, of course telling her nothing of all this.  Soon after
+ten o’clock I heard him come up again, but he passed my door and went
+straight to his own dressing-room, where he shut himself in for the
+night.
+
+I was rather anxious to see how he would meet me in the morning, and not
+a little disappointed to behold him enter the breakfast-room with a
+careless smile.
+
+‘Are you cross still, Helen?’ said he, approaching as if to salute me.  I
+coldly turned to the table, and began to pour out the coffee, observing
+that he was rather late.
+
+He uttered a low whistle and sauntered away to the window, where he stood
+for some minutes looking out upon the pleasing prospect of sullen grey
+clouds, streaming rain, soaking lawn, and dripping leafless trees, and
+muttering execrations on the weather, and then sat down to breakfast.
+While taking his coffee he muttered it was ‘d—d cold.’
+
+‘You should not have left it so long,’ said I.
+
+He made no answer, and the meal was concluded in silence.  It was a
+relief to both when the letter-bag was brought in.  It contained upon
+examination a newspaper and one or two letters for him, and a couple of
+letters for me, which he tossed across the table without a remark.  One
+was from my brother, the other from Milicent Hargrave, who is now in
+London with her mother.  His, I think, were business letters, and
+apparently not much to his mind, for he crushed them into his pocket with
+some muttered expletives that I should have reproved him for at any other
+time.  The paper he set before him, and pretended to be deeply absorbed
+in its contents during the remainder of breakfast, and a considerable
+time after.
+
+The reading and answering of my letters, and the direction of household
+concerns, afforded me ample employment for the morning: after lunch I got
+my drawing, and from dinner till bed-time I read.  Meanwhile, poor Arthur
+was sadly at a loss for something to amuse him or to occupy his time.  He
+wanted to appear as busy and as unconcerned as I did.  Had the weather at
+all permitted, he would doubtless have ordered his horse and set off to
+some distant region, no matter where, immediately after breakfast, and
+not returned till night: had there been a lady anywhere within reach, of
+any age between fifteen and forty-five, he would have sought revenge and
+found employment in getting up, or trying to get up, a desperate
+flirtation with her; but being, to my private satisfaction, entirely cut
+off from both these sources of diversion, his sufferings were truly
+deplorable.  When he had done yawning over his paper and scribbling short
+answers to his shorter letters, he spent the remainder of the morning and
+the whole of the afternoon in fidgeting about from room to room, watching
+the clouds, cursing the rain, alternately petting and teasing and abusing
+his dogs, sometimes lounging on the sofa with a book that he could not
+force himself to read, and very often fixedly gazing at me when he
+thought I did not perceive it, with the vain hope of detecting some
+traces of tears, or some tokens of remorseful anguish in my face.  But I
+managed to preserve an undisturbed though grave serenity throughout the
+day.  I was not really angry: I felt for him all the time, and longed to
+be reconciled; but I determined he should make the first advances, or at
+least show some signs of an humble and contrite spirit first; for, if I
+began, it would only minister to his self-conceit, increase his
+arrogance, and quite destroy the lesson I wanted to give him.
+
+He made a long stay in the dining-room after dinner, and, I fear, took an
+unusual quantity of wine, but not enough to loosen his tongue: for when
+he came in and found me quietly occupied with my book, too busy to lift
+my head on his entrance, he merely murmured an expression of suppressed
+disapprobation, and, shutting the door with a bang, went and stretched
+himself at full length on the sofa, and composed himself to sleep.  But
+his favourite cocker, Dash, that had been lying at my feet, took the
+liberty of jumping upon him and beginning to lick his face.  He struck it
+off with a smart blow, and the poor dog squeaked and ran cowering back to
+me.  When he woke up, about half an hour after, he called it to him
+again, but Dash only looked sheepish and wagged the tip of his tail.  He
+called again more sharply, but Dash only clung the closer to me, and
+licked my hand, as if imploring protection.  Enraged at this, his master
+snatched up a heavy book and hurled it at his head.  The poor dog set up
+a piteous outcry, and ran to the door.  I let him out, and then quietly
+took up the book.
+
+‘Give that book to me,’ said Arthur, in no very courteous tone.  I gave
+it to him.
+
+‘Why did you let the dog out?’ he asked; ‘you knew I wanted him.’
+
+‘By what token?’ I replied; ‘by your throwing the book at him? but
+perhaps it was intended for me?’
+
+‘No; but I see you’ve got a taste of it,’ said he, looking at my hand,
+that had also been struck, and was rather severely grazed.
+
+I returned to my reading, and he endeavoured to occupy himself in the
+same manner; but in a little while, after several portentous yawns, he
+pronounced his book to be ‘cursed trash,’ and threw it on the table.
+Then followed eight or ten minutes of silence, during the greater part of
+which, I believe, he was staring at me.  At last his patience was tired
+out.
+
+‘What is that book, Helen?’ he exclaimed.
+
+I told him.
+
+‘Is it interesting?’
+
+‘Yes, very.’
+
+I went on reading, or pretending to read, at least—I cannot say there was
+much communication between my eyes and my brain; for, while the former
+ran over the pages, the latter was earnestly wondering when Arthur would
+speak next, and what he would say, and what I should answer.  But he did
+not speak again till I rose to make the tea, and then it was only to say
+he should not take any.  He continued lounging on the sofa, and
+alternately closing his eyes and looking at his watch and at me, till
+bed-time, when I rose, and took my candle and retired.
+
+‘Helen!’ cried he, the moment I had left the room.  I turned back, and
+stood awaiting his commands.
+
+‘What do you want, Arthur?’ I said at length.
+
+‘Nothing,’ replied he.  ‘Go!’
+
+I went, but hearing him mutter something as I was closing the door, I
+turned again.  It sounded very like ‘confounded slut,’ but I was quite
+willing it should be something else.
+
+‘Were you speaking, Arthur?’ I asked.
+
+‘No,’ was the answer, and I shut the door and departed.  I saw nothing
+more of him till the following morning at breakfast, when he came down a
+full hour after the usual time.
+
+‘You’re very late,’ was my morning’s salutation.
+
+‘You needn’t have waited for me,’ was his; and he walked up to the window
+again.  It was just such weather as yesterday.
+
+‘Oh, this confounded rain!’ he muttered.  But, after studiously regarding
+it for a minute or two, a bright idea, seemed to strike him, for he
+suddenly exclaimed, ‘But I know what I’ll do!’ and then returned and took
+his seat at the table.  The letter-bag was already there, waiting to be
+opened.  He unlocked it and examined the contents, but said nothing about
+them.
+
+‘Is there anything for me?’ I asked.
+
+‘No.’
+
+He opened the newspaper and began to read.
+
+‘You’d better take your coffee,’ suggested I; ‘it will be cold again.’
+
+‘You may go,’ said he, ‘if you’ve done; I don’t want you.’
+
+I rose and withdrew to the next room, wondering if we were to have
+another such miserable day as yesterday, and wishing intensely for an end
+of these mutually inflicted torments.  Shortly after I heard him ring the
+bell and give some orders about his wardrobe that sounded as if he
+meditated a long journey.  He then sent for the coachman, and I heard
+something about the carriage and the horses, and London, and seven
+o’clock to-morrow morning, that startled and disturbed me not a little.
+
+‘I must not let him go to London, whatever comes of it,’ said I to
+myself; ‘he will run into all kinds of mischief, and I shall be the cause
+of it.  But the question is, How am I to alter his purpose?  Well, I will
+wait awhile, and see if he mentions it.’
+
+I waited most anxiously, from hour to hour; but not a word was spoken, on
+that or any other subject, to me.  He whistled and talked to his dogs,
+and wandered from room to room, much the same as on the previous day.  At
+last I began to think I must introduce the subject myself, and was
+pondering how to bring it about, when John unwittingly came to my relief
+with the following message from the coachman:
+
+‘Please, sir, Richard says one of the horses has got a very bad cold, and
+he thinks, sir, if you could make it convenient to go the day after
+to-morrow, instead of to-morrow, he could physic it to-day, so as—’
+
+‘Confound his impudence!’ interjected the master.
+
+‘Please, sir, he says it would be a deal better if you could,’ persisted
+John, ‘for he hopes there’ll be a change in the weather shortly, and he
+says it’s not likely, when a horse is so bad with a cold, and physicked
+and all—’
+
+‘Devil take the horse!’ cried the gentleman.  ‘Well, tell him I’ll think
+about it,’ he added, after a moment’s reflection.  He cast a searching
+glance at me, as the servant withdrew, expecting to see some token of
+deep astonishment and alarm; but, being previously prepared, I preserved
+an aspect of stoical indifference.  His countenance fell as he met my
+steady gaze, and he turned away in very obvious disappointment, and
+walked up to the fire-place, where he stood in an attitude of undisguised
+dejection, leaning against the chimney-piece with his forehead sunk upon
+his arm.
+
+‘Where do you want to go, Arthur?’ said I.
+
+‘To London,’ replied he, gravely.
+
+‘What for?’ I asked.
+
+‘Because I cannot be happy here.’
+
+‘Why not?’
+
+‘Because my wife doesn’t love me.’
+
+‘She would love you with all her heart, if you deserved it.’
+
+‘What must I do to deserve it?’
+
+This seemed humble and earnest enough; and I was so much affected,
+between sorrow and joy, that I was obliged to pause a few seconds before
+I could steady my voice to reply.
+
+‘If she gives you her heart,’ said I, ‘you must take it, thankfully, and
+use it well, and not pull it in pieces, and laugh in her face, because
+she cannot snatch it away.’
+
+He now turned round, and stood facing me, with his back to the fire.
+‘Come, then, Helen, are you going to be a good girl?’ said he.
+
+This sounded rather too arrogant, and the smile that accompanied it did
+not please me.  I therefore hesitated to reply.  Perhaps my former answer
+had implied too much: he had heard my voice falter, and might have seen
+me brush away a tear.
+
+‘Are you going to forgive me, Helen?’ he resumed, more humbly.
+
+‘Are you penitent?’ I replied, stepping up to him and smiling in his
+face.
+
+‘Heart-broken!’ he answered, with a rueful countenance, yet with a merry
+smile just lurking within his eyes and about the corners of his mouth;
+but this could not repulse me, and I flew into his arms.  He fervently
+embraced me, and though I shed a torrent of tears, I think I never was
+happier in my life than at that moment.
+
+‘Then you won’t go to London, Arthur?’ I said, when the first transport
+of tears and kisses had subsided.
+
+‘No, love,—unless you will go with me.’
+
+‘I will, gladly,’ I answered, ‘if you think the change will amuse you,
+and if you will put off the journey till next week.’
+
+He readily consented, but said there was no need of much preparation, as
+he should not be for staying long, for he did not wish me to be
+Londonized, and to lose my country freshness and originality by too much
+intercourse with the ladies of the world.  I thought this folly; but I
+did not wish to contradict him now: I merely said that I was of very
+domestic habits, as he well knew, and had no particular wish to mingle
+with the world.
+
+So we are to go to London on Monday, the day after to-morrow.  It is now
+four days since the termination of our quarrel, and I am sure it has done
+us both good: it has made me like Arthur a great deal better, and made
+him behave a great deal better to me.  He has never once attempted to
+annoy me since, by the most distant allusion to Lady F—, or any of those
+disagreeable reminiscences of his former life.  I wish I could blot them
+from my memory, or else get him to regard such matters in the same light
+as I do.  Well! it is something, however, to have made him see that they
+are not fit subjects for a conjugal jest.  He may see further some time.
+I will put no limits to my hopes; and, in spite of my aunt’s forebodings
+and my own unspoken fears, I trust we shall be happy yet.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV
+
+
+On the eighth of April we went to London, on the eighth of May I
+returned, in obedience to Arthur’s wish; very much against my own,
+because I left him behind.  If he had come with me, I should have been
+very glad to get home again, for he led me such a round of restless
+dissipation while there, that, in that short space of time, I was quite
+tired out.  He seemed bent upon displaying me to his friends and
+acquaintances in particular, and the public in general, on every possible
+occasion, and to the greatest possible advantage.  It was something to
+feel that he considered me a worthy object of pride; but I paid dear for
+the gratification: for, in the first place, to please him I had to
+violate my cherished predilections, my almost rooted principles in favour
+of a plain, dark, sober style of dress—I must sparkle in costly jewels
+and deck myself out like a painted butterfly, just as I had, long since,
+determined I would never do—and this was no trifling sacrifice; in the
+second place, I was continually straining to satisfy his sanguine
+expectations and do honour to his choice by my general conduct and
+deportment, and fearing to disappoint him by some awkward misdemeanour,
+or some trait of inexperienced ignorance about the customs of society,
+especially when I acted the part of hostess, which I was not unfrequently
+called upon to do; and, in the third place, as I intimated before, I was
+wearied of the throng and bustle, the restless hurry and ceaseless change
+of a life so alien to all my previous habits.  At last, he suddenly
+discovered that the London air did not agree with me, and I was
+languishing for my country home, and must immediately return to
+Grassdale.
+
+I laughingly assured him that the case was not so urgent as he appeared
+to think it, but I was quite willing to go home if he was.  He replied
+that he should be obliged to remain a week or two longer, as he had
+business that required his presence.
+
+              [Picture: Blake Hall—Front (Grassdale Manor)]
+
+‘Then I will stay with you,’ said I.
+
+‘But I can’t do with you, Helen,’ was his answer: ‘as long as you stay I
+shall attend to you and neglect my business.’
+
+‘But I won’t let you,’ I returned; ‘now that I know you have business to
+attend to, I shall insist upon your attending to it, and letting me
+alone; and, to tell the truth, I shall be glad of a little rest.  I can
+take my rides and walks in the Park as usual; and your business cannot
+occupy all your time: I shall see you at meal-times, and in the evenings
+at least, and that will be better than being leagues away and never
+seeing you at all.’
+
+‘But, my love, I cannot let you stay.  How can I settle my affairs when I
+know that you are here, neglected—?’
+
+‘I shall not feel myself neglected: while you are doing your duty,
+Arthur, I shall never complain of neglect.  If you had told me before,
+that you had anything to do, it would have been half done before this;
+and now you must make up for lost time by redoubled exertions.  Tell me
+what it is; and I will be your taskmaster, instead of being a hindrance.’
+
+‘No, no,’ persisted the impracticable creature; ‘you must go home, Helen;
+I must have the satisfaction of knowing that you are safe and well,
+though far away.  Your bright eyes are faded, and that tender, delicate
+bloom has quite deserted your cheek.’
+
+‘That is only with too much gaiety and fatigue.’
+
+‘It is not, I tell you; it is the London air: you are pining for the
+fresh breezes of your country home, and you shall feel them before you
+are two days older.  And remember your situation, dearest Helen; on your
+health, you know, depends the health, if not the life, of our future
+hope.’
+
+‘Then you really wish to get rid of me?’
+
+‘Positively, I do; and I will take you down myself to Grassdale, and then
+return.  I shall not be absent above a week or fortnight at most.’
+
+‘But if I must go, I will go alone: if you must stay, it is needless to
+waste your time in the journey there and back.’
+
+But he did not like the idea of sending me alone.
+
+‘Why, what helpless creature do you take me for,’ I replied, ‘that you
+cannot trust me to go a hundred miles in our own carriage, with our own
+footman and a maid to attend me?  If you come with me I shall assuredly
+keep you.  But tell me, Arthur, what is this tiresome business; and why
+did you never mention it before?’
+
+‘It is only a little business with my lawyer,’ said he; and he told me
+something about a piece of property he wanted to sell, in order to pay
+off a part of the incumbrances on his estate; but either the account was
+a little confused, or I was rather dull of comprehension, for I could not
+clearly understand how that should keep him in town a fortnight after me.
+Still less can I now comprehend how it should keep him a month, for it is
+nearly that time since I left him, and no signs of his return as yet.  In
+every letter he promises to be with me in a few days, and every time
+deceives me, or deceives himself.  His excuses are vague and
+insufficient.  I cannot doubt that he has got among his former companions
+again.  Oh, why did I leave him!  I wish—I do intensely wish he would
+return!
+
+June 29th.—No Arthur yet; and for many days I have been looking and
+longing in vain for a letter.  His letters, when they come, are kind, if
+fair words and endearing epithets can give them a claim to the title—but
+very short, and full of trivial excuses and promises that I cannot trust;
+and yet how anxiously I look forward to them! how eagerly I open and
+devour one of those little, hastily-scribbled returns for the three or
+four long letters, hitherto unanswered, he has had from me!
+
+Oh, it is cruel to leave me so long alone!  He knows I have no one but
+Rachel to speak to, for we have no neighbours here, except the Hargraves,
+whose residence I can dimly descry from these upper windows embosomed
+among those low, woody hills beyond the Dale.  I was glad when I learnt
+that Milicent was so near us; and her company would be a soothing solace
+to me now; but she is still in town with her mother; there is no one at
+the Grove but little Esther and her French governess, for Walter is
+always away.  I saw that paragon of manly perfections in London: he
+seemed scarcely to merit the eulogiums of his mother and sister, though
+he certainly appeared more conversable and agreeable than Lord
+Lowborough, more candid and high-minded than Mr. Grimsby, and more
+polished and gentlemanly than Mr. Hattersley, Arthur’s only other friend
+whom he judged fit to introduce to me.—Oh, Arthur, why won’t you come?
+why won’t you write to me at least?  You talked about my health: how can
+you expect me to gather bloom and vigour here, pining in solitude and
+restless anxiety from day to day?—It would serve you right to come back
+and find my good looks entirely wasted away.  I would beg my uncle and
+aunt, or my brother, to come and see me, but I do not like to complain of
+my loneliness to them, and indeed loneliness is the least of my
+sufferings.  But what is he doing—what is it that keeps him away?  It is
+this ever-recurring question, and the horrible suggestions it raises,
+that distract me.
+
+July 3rd.—My last bitter letter has wrung from him an answer at last, and
+a rather longer one than usual; but still I don’t know what to make of
+it.  He playfully abuses me for the gall and vinegar of my latest
+effusion, tells me I can have no conception of the multitudinous
+engagements that keep him away, but avers that, in spite of them all, he
+will assuredly be with me before the close of next week; though it is
+impossible for a man so circumstanced as he is to fix the precise day of
+his return: meantime he exhorts me to the exercise of patience, ‘that
+first of woman’s virtues,’ and desires me to remember the saying,
+‘Absence makes the heart grow fonder,’ and comfort myself with the
+assurance that the longer he stays away the better he shall love me when
+he returns; and till he does return, he begs I will continue to write to
+him constantly, for, though he is sometimes too idle and often too busy
+to answer my letters as they come, he likes to receive them daily; and if
+I fulfil my threat of punishing his seeming neglect by ceasing to write,
+he shall be so angry that he will do his utmost to forget me.  He adds
+this piece of intelligence respecting poor Milicent Hargrave:
+
+‘Your little friend Milicent is likely, before long, to follow your
+example, and take upon her the yoke of matrimony in conjunction with a
+friend of mine.  Hattersley, you know, has not yet fulfilled his direful
+threat of throwing his precious person away on the first old maid that
+chose to evince a tenderness for him; but he still preserves a resolute
+determination to see himself a married man before the year is out.
+“Only,” said he to me, “I must have somebody that will let me have my own
+way in everything—not like your wife, Huntingdon: she is a charming
+creature, but she looks as if she had a will of her own, and could play
+the vixen upon occasion” (I thought “you’re right there, man,” but I
+didn’t say so).  “I must have some good, quiet soul that will let me just
+do what I like and go where I like, keep at home or stay away, without a
+word of reproach or complaint; for I can’t do with being bothered.”
+“Well,” said I, “I know somebody that will suit you to a tee, if you
+don’t care for money, and that’s Hargrave’s sister, Milicent.”  He
+desired to be introduced to her forthwith, for he said he had plenty of
+the needful himself, or should have when his old governor chose to quit
+the stage.  So you see, Helen, I have managed pretty well, both for your
+friend and mine.’
+
+Poor Milicent!  But I cannot imagine she will ever be led to accept such
+a suitor—one so repugnant to all her ideas of a man to be honoured and
+loved.
+
+5th.—Alas! I was mistaken.  I have got a long letter from her this
+morning, telling me she is already engaged, and expects to be married
+before the close of the month.
+
+‘I hardly know what to say about it,’ she writes, ‘or what to think.  To
+tell you the truth, Helen, I don’t like the thoughts of it at all.  If I
+am to be Mr. Hattersley’s wife, I must try to love him; and I do try with
+all my might; but I have made very little progress yet; and the worst
+symptom of the case is, that the further he is from me the better I like
+him: he frightens me with his abrupt manners and strange hectoring ways,
+and I dread the thoughts of marrying him.  “Then why have you accepted
+him?” you will ask; and I didn’t know I had accepted him; but mamma tells
+me I have, and he seems to think so too.  I certainly didn’t mean to do
+so; but I did not like to give him a flat refusal, for fear mamma should
+be grieved and angry (for I knew she wished me to marry him), and I
+wanted to talk to her first about it: so I gave him what I thought was an
+evasive, half negative answer; but she says it was as good as an
+acceptance, and he would think me very capricious if I were to attempt to
+draw back—and indeed I was so confused and frightened at the moment, I
+can hardly tell what I said.  And next time I saw him, he accosted me in
+all confidence as his affianced bride, and immediately began to settle
+matters with mamma.  I had not courage to contradict them then, and how
+can I do it now?  I cannot; they would think me mad.  Besides, mamma is
+so delighted with the idea of the match; she thinks she has managed so
+well for me; and I cannot bear to disappoint her.  I do object sometimes,
+and tell her what I feel, but you don’t know how she talks.  Mr.
+Hattersley, you know, is the son of a rich banker, and as Esther and I
+have no fortunes, and Walter very little, our dear mamma is very anxious
+to see us all well married, that is, united to rich partners.  It is not
+my idea of being well married, but she means it all for the best.  She
+says when I am safe off her hands it will be such a relief to her mind;
+and she assures me it will be a good thing for the family as well as for
+me.  Even Walter is pleased at the prospect, and when I confessed my
+reluctance to him, he said it was all childish nonsense.  Do you think it
+nonsense, Helen?  I should not care if I could see any prospect of being
+able to love and admire him, but I can’t.  There is nothing about him to
+hang one’s esteem and affection upon; he is so diametrically opposite to
+what I imagined my husband should be.  Do write to me, and say all you
+can to encourage me.  Don’t attempt to dissuade me, for my fate is fixed:
+preparations for the important event are already going on around me; and
+don’t say a word against Mr. Hattersley, for I want to think well of him;
+and though I have spoken against him myself, it is for the last time:
+hereafter, I shall never permit myself to utter a word in his dispraise,
+however he may seem to deserve it; and whoever ventures to speak
+slightingly of the man I have promised to love, to honour, and obey, must
+expect my serious displeasure.  After all, I think he is quite as good as
+Mr. Huntingdon, if not better; and yet you love him, and seem to be happy
+and contented; and perhaps I may manage as well.  You must tell me, if
+you can, that Mr. Hattersley is better than he seems—that he is upright,
+honourable, and open-hearted—in fact, a perfect diamond in the rough.  He
+may be all this, but I don’t know him.  I know only the exterior, and
+what, I trust, is the worst part of him.’
+
+She concludes with ‘Good-by, dear Helen.  I am waiting anxiously for your
+advice—but mind you let it be all on the right side.’
+
+Alas! poor Milicent, what encouragement can I give you? or what
+advice—except that it is better to make a bold stand now, though at the
+expense of disappointing and angering both mother and brother and lover,
+than to devote your whole life, hereafter, to misery and vain regret?
+
+Saturday, 13th.—The week is over, and he is not come.  All the sweet
+summer is passing away without one breath of pleasure to me or benefit to
+him.  And I had all along been looking forward to this season with the
+fond, delusive hope that we should enjoy it so sweetly together; and
+that, with God’s help and my exertions, it would be the means of
+elevating his mind, and refining his taste to a due appreciation of the
+salutary and pure delights of nature, and peace, and holy love.  But
+now—at evening, when I see the round red sun sink quietly down behind
+those woody hills, leaving them sleeping in a warm, red, golden haze, I
+only think another lovely day is lost to him and me; and at morning, when
+roused by the flutter and chirp of the sparrows, and the gleeful twitter
+of the swallows—all intent upon feeding their young, and full of life and
+joy in their own little frames—I open the window to inhale the balmy,
+soul-reviving air, and look out upon the lovely landscape, laughing in
+dew and sunshine—I too often shame that glorious scene with tears of
+thankless misery, because he cannot feel its freshening influence; and
+when I wander in the ancient woods, and meet the little wild flowers
+smiling in my path, or sit in the shadow of our noble ash-trees by the
+water-side, with their branches gently swaying in the light summer breeze
+that murmurs through their feathery foliage—my ears full of that low
+music mingled with the dreamy hum of insects, my eyes abstractedly gazing
+on the glassy surface of the little lake before me, with the trees that
+crowd about its bank, some gracefully bending to kiss its waters, some
+rearing their stately heads high above, but stretching their wide arms
+over its margin, all faithfully mirrored far, far down in its glassy
+depth—though sometimes the images are partially broken by the sport of
+aquatic insects, and sometimes, for a moment, the whole is shivered into
+trembling fragments by a transient breeze that sweeps the surface too
+roughly—still I have no pleasure; for the greater the happiness that
+nature sets before me, the more I lament that he is not here to taste it:
+the greater the bliss we might enjoy together, the more I feel our
+present wretchedness apart (yes, ours; he must be wretched, though he may
+not know it); and the more my senses are pleased, the more my heart is
+oppressed; for he keeps it with him confined amid the dust and smoke of
+London—perhaps shut up within the walls of his own abominable club.
+
+But most of all, at night, when I enter my lonely chamber, and look out
+upon the summer moon, ‘sweet regent of the sky,’ floating above me in the
+‘black blue vault of heaven,’ shedding a flood of silver radiance over
+park, and wood, and water, so pure, so peaceful, so divine—and think,
+Where is he now?—what is he doing at this moment? wholly unconscious of
+this heavenly scene—perhaps revelling with his boon companions,
+perhaps—God help me, it is too—too much!
+
+23rd.—Thank heaven, he is come at last!  But how altered! flushed and
+feverish, listless and languid, his beauty strangely diminished, his
+vigour and vivacity quite departed.  I have not upbraided him by word or
+look; I have not even asked him what he has been doing.  I have not the
+heart to do it, for I think he is ashamed of himself-he must be so
+indeed, and such inquiries could not fail to be painful to both.  My
+forbearance pleases him—touches him even, I am inclined to think.  He
+says he is glad to be home again, and God knows how glad I am to get him
+back, even as he is.  He lies on the sofa, nearly all day long; and I
+play and sing to him for hours together.  I write his letters for him,
+and get him everything he wants; and sometimes I read to him, and
+sometimes I talk, and sometimes only sit by him and soothe him with
+silent caresses.  I know he does not deserve it; and I fear I am spoiling
+him; but this once, I will forgive him, freely and entirely.  I will
+shame him into virtue if I can, and I will never let him leave me again.
+
+He is pleased with my attentions—it may be, grateful for them.  He likes
+to have me near him: and though he is peevish and testy with his servants
+and his dogs, he is gentle and kind to me.  What he would be, if I did
+not so watchfully anticipate his wants, and so carefully avoid, or
+immediately desist from doing anything that has a tendency to irritate or
+disturb him, with however little reason, I cannot tell.  How intensely I
+wish he were worthy of all this care!  Last night, as I sat beside him,
+with his head in my lap, passing my fingers through his beautiful curls,
+this thought made my eyes overflow with sorrowful tears—as it often does;
+but this time, a tear fell on his face and made him look up.  He smiled,
+but not insultingly.
+
+‘Dear Helen!’ he said—‘why do you cry? you know that I love you’ (and he
+pressed my hand to his feverish lips), ‘and what more could you desire?’
+
+‘Only, Arthur, that you would love yourself as truly and as faithfully as
+you are loved by me.’
+
+‘That would be hard, indeed!’ he replied, tenderly squeezing my hand.
+
+August 24th.—Arthur is himself again, as lusty and reckless, as light of
+heart and head as ever, and as restless and hard to amuse as a spoilt
+child, and almost as full of mischief too, especially when wet weather
+keeps him within doors.  I wish he had something to do, some useful
+trade, or profession, or employment—anything to occupy his head or his
+hands for a few hours a day, and give him something besides his own
+pleasure to think about.  If he would play the country gentleman and
+attend to the farm—but that he knows nothing about, and won’t give his
+mind to consider,—or if he would take up with some literary study, or
+learn to draw or to play—as he is so fond of music, I often try to
+persuade him to learn the piano, but he is far too idle for such an
+undertaking: he has no more idea of exerting himself to overcome
+obstacles than he has of restraining his natural appetites; and these two
+things are the ruin of him.  I lay them both to the charge of his harsh
+yet careless father, and his madly indulgent mother.—If ever I am a
+mother I will zealously strive against this crime of over-indulgence.  I
+can hardly give it a milder name when I think of the evils it brings.
+
+Happily, it will soon be the shooting season, and then, if the weather
+permit, he will find occupation enough in the pursuit and destruction of
+the partridges and pheasants: we have no grouse, or he might have been
+similarly occupied at this moment, instead of lying under the acacia-tree
+pulling poor Dash’s ears.  But he says it is dull work shooting alone; he
+must have a friend or two to help him.
+
+‘Let them be tolerably decent then, Arthur,’ said I.  The word ‘friend’
+in his mouth makes me shudder: I know it was some of his ‘friends’ that
+induced him to stay behind me in London, and kept him away so long:
+indeed, from what he has unguardedly told me, or hinted from time to
+time, I cannot doubt that he frequently showed them my letters, to let
+them see how fondly his wife watched over his interests, and how keenly
+she regretted his absence; and that they induced him to remain week after
+week, and to plunge into all manner of excesses, to avoid being laughed
+at for a wife-ridden fool, and, perhaps, to show how far he could venture
+to go without danger of shaking the fond creature’s devoted attachment.
+It is a hateful idea, but I cannot believe it is a false one.
+
+‘Well,’ replied he, ‘I thought of Lord Lowborough for one; but there is
+no possibility of getting him without his better half, our mutual friend,
+Annabella; so we must ask them both.  You’re not afraid of her, are you,
+Helen?’ he asked, with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.
+
+‘Of course not,’ I answered: ‘why should I?  And who besides?’
+
+‘Hargrave for one.  He will be glad to come, though his own place is so
+near, for he has little enough land of his own to shoot over, and we can
+extend our depredations into it, if we like; and he is thoroughly
+respectable, you know, Helen—quite a lady’s man: and I think, Grimsby for
+another: he’s a decent, quiet fellow enough.  You’ll not object to
+Grimsby?’
+
+‘I hate him: but, however, if you wish it, I’ll try to endure his
+presence for a while.’
+
+‘All a prejudice, Helen, a mere woman’s antipathy.’
+
+‘No; I have solid grounds for my dislike.  And is that all?’
+
+‘Why, yes, I think so.  Hattersley will be too busy billing and cooing,
+with his bride to have much time to spare for guns and dogs at present,’
+he replied.  And that reminds me, that I have had several letters from
+Milicent since her marriage, and that she either is, or pretends to be,
+quite reconciled to her lot.  She professes to have discovered numberless
+virtues and perfections in her husband, some of which, I fear, less
+partial eyes would fail to distinguish, though they sought them carefully
+with tears; and now that she is accustomed to his loud voice, and abrupt,
+uncourteous manners, she affirms she finds no difficulty in loving him as
+a wife should do, and begs I will burn that letter wherein she spoke so
+unadvisedly against him.  So that I trust she may yet be happy; but, if
+she is, it will be entirely the reward of her own goodness of heart; for
+had she chosen to consider herself the victim of fate, or of her mother’s
+worldly wisdom, she might have been thoroughly miserable; and if, for
+duty’s sake, she had not made every effort to love her husband, she
+would, doubtless, have hated him to the end of her days.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVI
+
+
+Sept. 23rd.—Our guests arrived about three weeks ago.  Lord and Lady
+Lowborough have now been married above eight months; and I will do the
+lady the credit to say that her husband is quite an altered man; his
+looks, his spirits, and his temper, are all perceptibly changed for the
+better since I last saw him.  But there is room for improvement still.
+He is not always cheerful, nor always contented, and she often complains
+of his ill-humour, which, however, of all persons, she ought to be the
+last to accuse him of, as he never displays it against her, except for
+such conduct as would provoke a saint.  He adores her still, and would go
+to the world’s end to please her.  She knows her power, and she uses it
+too; but well knowing that to wheedle and coax is safer than to command,
+she judiciously tempers her despotism with flattery and blandishments
+enough to make him deem himself a favoured and a happy man.
+
+But she has a way of tormenting him, in which I am a fellow-sufferer, or
+might be, if I chose to regard myself as such.  This is by openly, but
+not too glaringly, coquetting with Mr. Huntingdon, who is quite willing
+to be her partner in the game; but I don’t care for it, because, with
+him, I know there is nothing but personal vanity, and a mischievous
+desire to excite my jealousy, and, perhaps, to torment his friend; and
+she, no doubt, is actuated by much the same motives; only, there is more
+of malice and less of playfulness in her manoeuvres.  It is obviously,
+therefore, my interest to disappoint them both, as far as I am concerned,
+by preserving a cheerful, undisturbed serenity throughout; and,
+accordingly, I endeavour to show the fullest confidence in my husband,
+and the greatest indifference to the arts of my attractive guest.  I have
+never reproached the former but once, and that was for laughing at Lord
+Lowborough’s depressed and anxious countenance one evening, when they had
+both been particularly provoking; and then, indeed, I said a good deal on
+the subject, and rebuked him sternly enough; but he only laughed, and
+said,—‘You can feel for him, Helen, can’t you?’
+
+‘I can feel for anyone that is unjustly treated,’ I replied, ‘and I can
+feel for those that injure them too.’
+
+‘Why, Helen, you are as jealous as he is!’ cried he, laughing still more;
+and I found it impossible to convince him of his mistake.  So, from that
+time, I have carefully refrained from any notice of the subject whatever,
+and left Lord Lowborough to take care of himself.  He either has not the
+sense or the power to follow my example, though he does try to conceal
+his uneasiness as well as he can; but still, it will appear in his face,
+and his ill-humour will peep out at intervals, though not in the
+expression of open resentment—they never go far enough for that.  But I
+confess I do feel jealous at times, most painfully, bitterly so; when she
+sings and plays to him, and he hangs over the instrument, and dwells upon
+her voice with no affected interest; for then I know he is really
+delighted, and I have no power to awaken similar fervour.  I can amuse
+and please him with my simple songs, but not delight him thus.
+
+28th.—Yesterday, we all went to the Grove, Mr. Hargrave’s much-neglected
+home.  His mother frequently asks us over, that she may have the pleasure
+of her dear Walter’s company; and this time she had invited us to a
+dinner-party, and got together as many of the country gentry as were
+within reach to meet us.  The entertainment was very well got up; but I
+could not help thinking about the cost of it all the time.  I don’t like
+Mrs. Hargrave; she is a hard, pretentious, worldly-minded woman.  She has
+money enough to live very comfortably, if she only knew how to use it
+judiciously, and had taught her son to do the same; but she is ever
+straining to keep up appearances, with that despicable pride that shuns
+the semblance of poverty as of a shameful crime.  She grinds her
+dependents, pinches her servants, and deprives even her daughters and
+herself of the real comforts of life, because she will not consent to
+yield the palm in outward show to those who have three times her wealth;
+and, above all, because she is determined her cherished son shall be
+enabled to ‘hold up his head with the highest gentlemen in the land.’
+This same son, I imagine, is a man of expensive habits, no reckless
+spendthrift and no abandoned sensualist, but one who likes to have
+‘everything handsome about him,’ and to go to a certain length in
+youthful indulgences, not so much to gratify his own tastes as to
+maintain his reputation as a man of fashion in the world, and a
+respectable fellow among his own lawless companions; while he is too
+selfish to consider how many comforts might be obtained for his fond
+mother and sisters with the money he thus wastes upon himself: as long as
+they can contrive to make a respectable appearance once a year, when they
+come to town, he gives himself little concern about their private
+stintings and struggles at home.  This is a harsh judgment to form of
+‘dear, noble-minded, generous-hearted Walter,’ but I fear it is too just.
+
+Mrs. Hargrave’s anxiety to make good matches for her daughters is partly
+the cause, and partly the result, of these errors: by making a figure in
+the world, and showing them off to advantage, she hopes to obtain better
+chances for them; and by thus living beyond her legitimate means, and
+lavishing so much on their brother, she renders them portionless, and
+makes them burdens on her hands.  Poor Milicent, I fear, has already
+fallen a sacrifice to the manoeuvrings of this mistaken mother, who
+congratulates herself on having so satisfactorily discharged her maternal
+duty, and hopes to do as well for Esther.  But Esther is a child as yet,
+a little merry romp of fourteen: as honest-hearted, and as guileless and
+simple as her sister, but with a fearless spirit of her own, that I fancy
+her mother will find some difficulty in bending to her purposes.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVII
+
+
+October 9th.—It was on the night of the 4th, a little after tea, that
+Annabella had been singing and playing, with Arthur as usual at her side:
+she had ended her song, but still she sat at the instrument; and he stood
+leaning on the back of her chair, conversing in scarcely audible tones,
+with his face in very close proximity with hers.  I looked at Lord
+Lowborough.  He was at the other end of the room, talking with Messrs.
+Hargrave and Grimsby; but I saw him dart towards his lady and his host a
+quick, impatient glance, expressive of intense disquietude, at which
+Grimsby smiled.  Determined to interrupt the _tête-à-tête_, I rose, and,
+selecting a piece of music from the music stand, stepped up to the piano,
+intending to ask the lady to play it; but I stood transfixed and
+speechless on seeing her seated there, listening, with what seemed an
+exultant smile on her flushed face to his soft murmurings, with her hand
+quietly surrendered to his clasp.  The blood rushed first to my heart,
+and then to my head; for there was more than this: almost at the moment
+of my approach, he cast a hurried glance over his shoulder towards the
+other occupants of the room, and then ardently pressed the unresisting
+hand to his lips.  On raising his eyes, he beheld me, and dropped them
+again, confounded and dismayed.  She saw me too, and confronted me with a
+look of hard defiance.  I laid the music on the piano, and retired.  I
+felt ill; but I did not leave the room: happily, it was getting late, and
+could not be long before the company dispersed.
+
+I went to the fire, and leant my head against the chimney-piece.  In a
+minute or two, some one asked me if I felt unwell.  I did not answer;
+indeed, at the time, I knew not what was said; but I mechanically looked
+up, and saw Mr. Hargrave standing beside me on the rug.
+
+‘Shall I get you a glass of wine?’ said he.
+
+‘No, thank you,’ I replied; and, turning from him, I looked round.  Lady
+Lowborough was beside her husband, bending over him as he sat, with her
+hand on his shoulder, softly talking and smiling in his face; and Arthur
+was at the table, turning over a book of engravings.  I seated myself in
+the nearest chair; and Mr. Hargrave, finding his services were not
+desired, judiciously withdrew.  Shortly after, the company broke up, and,
+as the guests were retiring to their rooms, Arthur approached me, smiling
+with the utmost assurance.
+
+‘Are you very angry, Helen?’ murmured he.
+
+‘This is no jest, Arthur,’ said I, seriously, but as calmly as I
+could—‘unless you think it a jest to lose my affection for ever.’
+
+‘What! so bitter?’ he exclaimed, laughingly, clasping my hand between
+both his; but I snatched it away, in indignation—almost in disgust, for
+he was obviously affected with wine.
+
+‘Then I must go down on my knees,’ said he; and kneeling before me, with
+clasped hands, uplifted in mock humiliation, he continued
+imploringly—‘Forgive me, Helen—dear Helen, forgive me, and I’ll never do
+it again!’ and, burying his face in his handkerchief, he affected to sob
+aloud.
+
+Leaving him thus employed, I took my candle, and, slipping quietly from
+the room, hastened up-stairs as fast as I could.  But he soon discovered
+that I had left him, and, rushing up after me, caught me in his arms,
+just as I had entered the chamber, and was about to shut the door in his
+face.
+
+‘No, no, by heaven, you sha’n’t escape me so!’ he cried.  Then, alarmed
+at my agitation, he begged me not to put myself in such a passion,
+telling me I was white in the face, and should kill myself if I did so.
+
+‘Let me go, then,’ I murmured; and immediately he released me—and it was
+well he did, for I was really in a passion.  I sank into the easy-chair
+and endeavoured to compose myself, for I wanted to speak to him calmly.
+He stood beside me, but did not venture to touch me or to speak for a few
+seconds; then, approaching a little nearer, he dropped on one knee—not in
+mock humility, but to bring himself nearer my level, and leaning his hand
+on the arm of the chair, he began in a low voice: ‘It is all nonsense,
+Helen—a jest, a mere nothing—not worth a thought.  Will you never learn,’
+he continued more boldly, ‘that you have nothing to fear from me? that I
+love you wholly and entirely?—or if,’ he added with a lurking smile, ‘I
+ever give a thought to another, you may well spare it, for those fancies
+are here and gone like a flash of lightning, while my love for you burns
+on steadily, and for ever, like the sun.  You little exorbitant tyrant,
+will not that—?’
+
+‘Be quiet a moment, will you, Arthur?’ said I, ‘and listen to me—and
+don’t think I’m in a jealous fury: I am perfectly calm.  Feel my hand.’
+And I gravely extended it towards him—but closed it upon his with an
+energy that seemed to disprove the assertion, and made him smile.  ‘You
+needn’t smile, sir,’ said I, still tightening my grasp, and looking
+steadfastly on him till he almost quailed before me.  ‘You may think it
+all very fine, Mr. Huntingdon, to amuse yourself with rousing my
+jealousy; but take care you don’t rouse my hate instead.  And when you
+have once extinguished my love, you will find it no easy matter to kindle
+it again.’
+
+‘Well, Helen, I won’t repeat the offence.  But I meant nothing by it, I
+assure you.  I had taken too much wine, and I was scarcely myself at the
+time.’
+
+‘You often take too much; and that is another practice I detest.’ He
+looked up astonished at my warmth.  ‘Yes,’ I continued; ‘I never
+mentioned it before, because I was ashamed to do so; but now I’ll tell
+you that it distresses me, and may disgust me, if you go on and suffer
+the habit to grow upon you, as it will if you don’t check it in time.
+But the whole system of your conduct to Lady Lowborough is not referable
+to wine; and this night you knew perfectly well what you were doing.’
+
+‘Well, I’m sorry for it,’ replied he, with more of sulkiness than
+contrition: ‘what more would you have?’
+
+‘You are sorry that I saw you, no doubt,’ I answered coldly.
+
+‘If you had not seen me,’ he muttered, fixing his eyes on the carpet, ‘it
+would have done no harm.’
+
+My heart felt ready to burst; but I resolutely swallowed back my emotion,
+and answered calmly,
+
+‘You think not?’
+
+‘No,’ replied he, boldly.  ‘After all, what have I done?  It’s
+nothing—except as you choose to make it a subject of accusation and
+distress.’
+
+‘What would Lord Lowborough, your friend, think, if he knew all? or what
+would you yourself think, if he or any other had acted the same part to
+me, throughout, as you have to Annabella?’
+
+‘I would blow his brains out.’
+
+‘Well, then, Arthur, how can you call it nothing—an offence for which you
+would think yourself justified in blowing another man’s brains out?  Is
+it nothing to trifle with your friend’s feelings and mine—to endeavour to
+steal a woman’s affections from her husband—what he values more than his
+gold, and therefore what it is more dishonest to take?  Are the marriage
+vows a jest; and is it nothing to make it your sport to break them, and
+to tempt another to do the same?  Can I love a man that does such things,
+and coolly maintains it is nothing?’
+
+‘You are breaking your marriage vows yourself,’ said he, indignantly
+rising and pacing to and fro.  ‘You promised to honour and obey me, and
+now you attempt to hector over me, and threaten and accuse me, and call
+me worse than a highwayman.  If it were not for your situation, Helen, I
+would not submit to it so tamely.  I won’t be dictated to by a woman,
+though she be my wife.’
+
+‘What will you do then?  Will you go on till I hate you, and then accuse
+me of breaking my vows?’
+
+He was silent a moment, and then replied: ‘You never will hate me.’
+Returning and resuming his former position at my feet, he repeated more
+vehemently—‘You cannot hate me as long as I love you.’
+
+‘But how can I believe that you love me, if you continue to act in this
+way?  Just imagine yourself in my place: would you think I loved you, if
+I did so?  Would you believe my protestations, and honour and trust me
+under such circumstances?’
+
+‘The cases are different,’ he replied.  ‘It is a woman’s nature to be
+constant—to love one and one only, blindly, tenderly, and for ever—bless
+them, dear creatures! and you above them all; but you must have some
+commiseration for us, Helen; you must give us a little more licence, for,
+as Shakespeare has it—
+
+         However we do praise ourselves,
+   Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm,
+   More longing, wavering, sooner lost and won
+   Than women’s are.’
+
+‘Do you mean by that, that your fancies are lost to me, and won by Lady
+Lowborough?’
+
+‘No! heaven is my witness that I think her mere dust and ashes in
+comparison with you, and shall continue to think so, unless you drive me
+from you by too much severity.  She is a daughter of earth; you are an
+angel of heaven; only be not too austere in your divinity, and remember
+that I am a poor, fallible mortal.  Come now, Helen; won’t you forgive
+me?’ he said, gently taking my hand, and looking up with an innocent
+smile.
+
+‘If I do, you will repeat the offence.’
+
+‘I swear by—’
+
+‘Don’t swear; I’ll believe your word as well as your oath.  I wish I
+could have confidence in either.’
+
+‘Try me, then, Helen: only trust and pardon me this once, and you shall
+see!  Come, I am in hell’s torments till you speak the word.’
+
+I did not speak it, but I put my hand on his shoulder and kissed his
+forehead, and then burst into tears.  He embraced me tenderly; and we
+have been good friends ever since.  He has been decently temperate at
+table, and well-conducted towards Lady Lowborough.  The first day he held
+himself aloof from her, as far as he could without any flagrant breach of
+hospitality: since that he has been friendly and civil, but nothing
+more—in my presence, at least, nor, I think, at any other time; for she
+seems haughty and displeased, and Lord Lowborough is manifestly more
+cheerful, and more cordial towards his host than before.  But I shall be
+glad when they are gone, for I have so little love for Annabella that it
+is quite a task to be civil to her, and as she is the only woman here
+besides myself, we are necessarily thrown so much together.  Next time
+Mrs. Hargrave calls I shall hail her advent as quite a relief.  I have a
+good mind to ask Arthur’s leave to invite the old lady to stay with us
+till our guests depart.  I think I will.  She will take it as a kind
+attention, and, though I have little relish for her society, she will be
+truly welcome as a third to stand between Lady Lowborough and me.
+
+The first time the latter and I were alone together, after that unhappy
+evening, was an hour or two after breakfast on the following day, when
+the gentlemen were gone out, after the usual time spent in the writing of
+letters, the reading of newspapers, and desultory conversation.  We sat
+silent for two or three minutes.  She was busy with her work, and I was
+running over the columns of a paper from which I had extracted all the
+pith some twenty minutes before.  It was a moment of painful
+embarrassment to me, and I thought it must be infinitely more so to her;
+but it seems I was mistaken.  She was the first to speak; and, smiling
+with the coolest assurance, she began,—
+
+‘Your husband was merry last night, Helen: is he often so?’
+
+My blood boiled in my face; but it was better she should seem to
+attribute his conduct to this than to anything else.
+
+‘No,’ replied I, ‘and never will be so again, I trust.’
+
+‘You gave him a curtain lecture, did you?’
+
+‘No! but I told him I disliked such conduct, and he promised me not to
+repeat it.’
+
+‘I thought he looked rather subdued this morning,’ she continued; ‘and
+you, Helen? you’ve been weeping, I see—that’s our grand resource, you
+know.  But doesn’t it make your eyes smart? and do you always find it to
+answer?’
+
+‘I never cry for effect; nor can I conceive how any one can.’
+
+‘Well, I don’t know: I never had occasion to try it; but I think if
+Lowborough were to commit such improprieties, I’d make him cry.  I don’t
+wonder at your being angry, for I’m sure I’d give my husband a lesson he
+would not soon forget for a lighter offence than that.  But then he never
+will do anything of the kind; for I keep him in too good order for that.’
+
+‘Are you sure you don’t arrogate too much of the credit to yourself.
+Lord Lowborough was quite as remarkable for his abstemiousness for some
+time before you married him, as he is now, I have heard.’
+
+‘Oh, about the wine you mean—yes, he’s safe enough for that.  And as to
+looking askance to another woman, he’s safe enough for that too, while I
+live, for he worships the very ground I tread on.’
+
+‘Indeed! and are you sure you deserve it?’
+
+‘Why, as to that, I can’t say: you know we’re all fallible creatures,
+Helen; we none of us deserve to be worshipped.  But are you sure your
+darling Huntingdon deserves all the love you give to him?’
+
+I knew not what to answer to this.  I was burning with anger; but I
+suppressed all outward manifestations of it, and only bit my lip and
+pretended to arrange my work.
+
+‘At any rate,’ resumed she, pursuing her advantage, ‘you can console
+yourself with the assurance that you are worthy of all the love he gives
+to you.’
+
+‘You flatter me,’ said I; ‘but, at least, I can try to be worthy of it.’
+And then I turned the conversation.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVIII
+
+
+December 25th.—Last Christmas I was a bride, with a heart overflowing
+with present bliss, and full of ardent hopes for the future, though not
+unmingled with foreboding fears.  Now I am a wife: my bliss is sobered,
+but not destroyed; my hopes diminished, but not departed; my fears
+increased, but not yet thoroughly confirmed; and, thank heaven, I am a
+mother too.  God has sent me a soul to educate for heaven, and give me a
+new and calmer bliss, and stronger hopes to comfort me.
+
+Dec. 25th, 1823.—Another year is gone.  My little Arthur lives and
+thrives.  He is healthy, but not robust, full of gentle playfulness and
+vivacity, already affectionate, and susceptible of passions and emotions
+it will be long ere he can find words to express.  He has won his
+father’s heart at last; and now my constant terror is, lest he should be
+ruined by that father’s thoughtless indulgence.  But I must beware of my
+own weakness too, for I never knew till now how strong are a parent’s
+temptations to spoil an only child.
+
+I have need of consolation in my son, for (to this silent paper I may
+confess it) I have but little in my husband.  I love him still; and he
+loves me, in his own way—but oh, how different from the love I could have
+given, and once had hoped to receive!  How little real sympathy there
+exists between us; how many of my thoughts and feelings are gloomily
+cloistered within my own mind; how much of my higher and better self is
+indeed unmarried—doomed either to harden and sour in the sunless shade of
+solitude, or to quite degenerate and fall away for lack of nutriment in
+this unwholesome soil!  But, I repeat, I have no right to complain; only
+let me state the truth—some of the truth, at least,—and see hereafter if
+any darker truths will blot these pages.  We have now been full two years
+united; the ‘romance’ of our attachment must be worn away.  Surely I have
+now got down to the lowest gradation in Arthur’s affection, and
+discovered all the evils of his nature: if there be any further change,
+it must be for the better, as we become still more accustomed to each
+other; surely we shall find no lower depth than this.  And, if so, I can
+bear it well—as well, at least, as I have borne it hitherto.
+
+Arthur is not what is commonly called a bad man: he has many good
+qualities; but he is a man without self-restraint or lofty aspirations, a
+lover of pleasure, given up to animal enjoyments: he is not a bad
+husband, but his notions of matrimonial duties and comforts are not my
+notions.  Judging from appearances, his idea of a wife is a thing to love
+one devotedly, and to stay at home to wait upon her husband, and amuse
+him and minister to his comfort in every possible way, while he chooses
+to stay with her; and, when he is absent, to attend to his interests,
+domestic or otherwise, and patiently wait his return, no matter how he
+may be occupied in the meantime.
+
+Early in spring he announced his intention of going to London: his
+affairs there demanded his attendance, he said, and he could refuse it no
+longer.  He expressed his regret at having to leave me, but hoped I would
+amuse myself with the baby till he returned.
+
+‘But why leave me?’ I said.  ‘I can go with you: I can be ready at any
+time.’
+
+‘You would not take that child to town?’
+
+‘Yes; why not?’
+
+The thing was absurd: the air of the town would be certain to disagree
+with him, and with me as a nurse; the late hours and London habits would
+not suit me under such circumstances; and altogether he assured me that
+it would be excessively troublesome, injurious, and unsafe.  I over-ruled
+his objections as well as I could, for I trembled at the thoughts of his
+going alone, and would sacrifice almost anything for myself, much even
+for my child, to prevent it; but at length he told me, plainly, and
+somewhat testily, that he could not do with me: he was worn out with the
+baby’s restless nights, and must have some repose.  I proposed separate
+apartments; but it would not do.
+
+‘The truth is, Arthur,’ I said at last, ‘you are weary of my company, and
+determined not to have me with you.  You might as well have said so at
+once.’
+
+He denied it; but I immediately left the room, and flew to the nursery,
+to hide my feelings, if I could not soothe them, there.
+
+I was too much hurt to express any further dissatisfaction with his
+plans, or at all to refer to the subject again, except for the necessary
+arrangements concerning his departure and the conduct of affairs during
+his absence, till the day before he went, when I earnestly exhorted him
+to take care of himself and keep out of the way of temptation.  He
+laughed at my anxiety, but assured me there was no cause for it, and
+promised to attend to my advice.
+
+‘I suppose it is no use asking you to fix a day for your return?’ said I.
+
+‘Why, no; I hardly can, under the circumstances; but be assured, love, I
+shall not be long away.’
+
+‘I don’t wish to keep you a prisoner at home,’ I replied; ‘I should not
+grumble at your staying whole months away—if you can be happy so long
+without me—provided I knew you were safe; but I don’t like the idea of
+your being there among your friends, as you call them.’
+
+‘Pooh, pooh, you silly girl!  Do you think I can’t take care of myself?’
+
+‘You didn’t last time.  But THIS time, Arthur,’ I added, earnestly, ‘show
+me that you can, and teach me that I need not fear to trust you!’
+
+He promised fair, but in such a manner as we seek to soothe a child.  And
+did he keep his promise?  No; and henceforth I can never trust his word.
+Bitter, bitter confession!  Tears blind me while I write.  It was early
+in March that he went, and he did not return till July.  This time he did
+not trouble himself to make excuses as before, and his letters were less
+frequent, and shorter and less affectionate, especially after the first
+few weeks: they came slower and slower, and more terse and careless every
+time.  But still, when I omitted writing, he complained of my neglect.
+When I wrote sternly and coldly, as I confess I frequently did at the
+last, he blamed my harshness, and said it was enough to scare him from
+his home: when I tried mild persuasion, he was a little more gentle in
+his replies, and promised to return; but I had learnt, at last, to
+disregard his promises.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIX
+
+
+Those were four miserable months, alternating between intense anxiety,
+despair, and indignation, pity for him and pity for myself.  And yet,
+through all, I was not wholly comfortless: I had my darling, sinless,
+inoffensive little one to console me; but even this consolation was
+embittered by the constantly-recurring thought, ‘How shall I teach him
+hereafter to respect his father, and yet to avoid his example?’
+
+But I remembered that I had brought all these afflictions, in a manner
+wilfully, upon myself; and I determined to bear them without a murmur.
+At the same time I resolved not to give myself up to misery for the
+transgressions of another, and endeavoured to divert myself as much as I
+could; and besides the companionship of my child, and my dear, faithful
+Rachel, who evidently guessed my sorrows and felt for them, though she
+was too discreet to allude to them, I had my books and pencil, my
+domestic affairs, and the welfare and comfort of Arthur’s poor tenants
+and labourers to attend to: and I sometimes sought and obtained amusement
+in the company of my young friend Esther Hargrave: occasionally I rode
+over to see her, and once or twice I had her to spend the day with me at
+the Manor.  Mrs. Hargrave did not visit London that season: having no
+daughter to marry, she thought it as well to stay at home and economise;
+and, for a wonder, Walter came down to join her in the beginning of June,
+and stayed till near the close of August.
+
+The first time I saw him was on a sweet, warm evening, when I was
+sauntering in the park with little Arthur and Rachel, who is head-nurse
+and lady’s-maid in one—for, with my secluded life and tolerably active
+habits, I require but little attendance, and as she had nursed me and
+coveted to nurse my child, and was moreover so very trustworthy, I
+preferred committing the important charge to her, with a young
+nursery-maid under her directions, to engaging any one else: besides, it
+saves money; and since I have made acquaintance with Arthur’s affairs, I
+have learnt to regard that as no trifling recommendation; for, by my own
+desire, nearly the whole of the income of my fortune is devoted, for
+years to come, to the paying off of his debts, and the money he contrives
+to squander away in London is incomprehensible.  But to return to Mr.
+Hargrave.  I was standing with Rachel beside the water, amusing the
+laughing baby in her arms with a twig of willow laden with golden
+catkins, when, greatly to my surprise, he entered the park, mounted on
+his costly black hunter, and crossed over the grass to meet me.  He
+saluted me with a very fine compliment, delicately worded, and modestly
+delivered withal, which he had doubtless concocted as he rode along.  He
+told me he had brought a message from his mother, who, as he was riding
+that way, had desired him to call at the Manor and beg the pleasure of my
+company to a friendly family dinner to-morrow.
+
+‘There is no one to meet but ourselves,’ said he; ‘but Esther is very
+anxious to see you; and my mother fears you will feel solitary in this
+great house so much alone, and wishes she could persuade you to give her
+the pleasure of your company more frequently, and make yourself at home
+in our more humble dwelling, till Mr. Huntingdon’s return shall render
+this a little more conducive to your comfort.’
+
+‘She is very kind,’ I answered, ‘but I am not alone, you see;—and those
+whose time is fully occupied seldom complain of solitude.’
+
+‘Will you not come to-morrow, then?  She will be sadly disappointed if
+you refuse.’
+
+I did not relish being thus compassionated for my loneliness; but,
+however, I promised to come.
+
+‘What a sweet evening this is!’ observed he, looking round upon the sunny
+park, with its imposing swell and slope, its placid water, and majestic
+clumps of trees.  ‘And what a paradise you live in!’
+
+‘It is a lovely evening,’ answered I; and I sighed to think how little I
+had felt its loveliness, and how little of a paradise sweet Grassdale was
+to me—how still less to the voluntary exile from its scenes.  Whether Mr.
+Hargrave divined my thoughts, I cannot tell, but, with a half-hesitating,
+sympathising seriousness of tone and manner, he asked if I had lately
+heard from Mr. Huntingdon.
+
+‘Not lately,’ I replied.
+
+‘I thought not,’ he muttered, as if to himself, looking thoughtfully on
+the ground.
+
+‘Are you not lately returned from London?’ I asked.
+
+‘Only yesterday.’
+
+‘And did you see him there?’
+
+‘Yes—I saw him.’
+
+‘Was he well?’
+
+‘Yes—that is,’ said he, with increasing hesitation and an appearance of
+suppressed indignation, ‘he was as well as—as he deserved to be, but
+under circumstances I should have deemed incredible for a man so favoured
+as he is.’  He here looked up and pointed the sentence with a serious bow
+to me.  I suppose my face was crimson.
+
+‘Pardon me, Mrs. Huntingdon,’ he continued, ‘but I cannot suppress my
+indignation when I behold such infatuated blindness and perversion of
+taste;—but, perhaps, you are not aware—‘  He paused.
+
+‘I am aware of nothing, sir—except that he delays his coming longer than
+I expected; and if, at present, he prefers the society of his friends to
+that of his wife, and the dissipations of the town to the quiet of
+country life, I suppose I have those friends to thank for it.  Their
+tastes and occupations are similar to his, and I don’t see why his
+conduct should awaken either their indignation or surprise.’
+
+‘You wrong me cruelly,’ answered he.  ‘I have shared but little of Mr.
+Huntingdon’s society for the last few weeks; and as for his tastes and
+occupations, they are quite beyond me—lonely wanderer as I am.  Where I
+have but sipped and tasted, he drains the cup to the dregs; and if ever
+for a moment I have sought to drown the voice of reflection in madness
+and folly, or if I have wasted too much of my time and talents among
+reckless and dissipated companions, God knows I would gladly renounce
+them entirely and for ever, if I had but half the blessings that man so
+thanklessly casts behind his back—but half the inducements to virtue and
+domestic, orderly habits that he despises—but such a home, and such a
+partner to share it!  It is infamous!’ he muttered, between his teeth.
+‘And don’t think, Mrs. Huntingdon,’ he added aloud, ‘that I could be
+guilty of inciting him to persevere in his present pursuits: on the
+contrary, I have remonstrated with him again and again; I have frequently
+expressed my surprise at his conduct, and reminded him of his duties and
+his privileges—but to no purpose; he only—’
+
+‘Enough, Mr. Hargrave; you ought to be aware that whatever my husband’s
+faults may be, it can only aggravate the evil for me to hear them from a
+stranger’s lips.’
+
+‘Am I then a stranger?’ said he in a sorrowful tone.  ‘I am your nearest
+neighbour, your son’s godfather, and your husband’s friend; may I not be
+yours also?’
+
+‘Intimate acquaintance must precede real friendship; I know but little of
+you, Mr. Hargrave, except from report.’
+
+‘Have you then forgotten the six or seven weeks I spent under your roof
+last autumn?  I have not forgotten them.  And I know enough of you, Mrs.
+Huntingdon, to think that your husband is the most enviable man in the
+world, and I should be the next if you would deem me worthy of your
+friendship.’
+
+‘If you knew more of me, you would not think it, or if you did you would
+not say it, and expect me to be flattered by the compliment.’
+
+I stepped backward as I spoke.  He saw that I wished the conversation to
+end; and immediately taking the hint, he gravely bowed, wished me
+good-evening, and turned his horse towards the road.  He appeared grieved
+and hurt at my unkind reception of his sympathising overtures.  I was not
+sure that I had done right in speaking so harshly to him; but, at the
+time, I had felt irritated—almost insulted by his conduct; it seemed as
+if he was presuming upon the absence and neglect of my husband, and
+insinuating even more than the truth against him.
+
+Rachel had moved on, during our conversation, to some yards’ distance.
+He rode up to her, and asked to see the child.  He took it carefully into
+his arms, looked upon it with an almost paternal smile, and I heard him
+say, as I approached,—
+
+‘And this, too, he has forsaken!’
+
+He then tenderly kissed it, and restored it to the gratified nurse.
+
+‘Are you fond of children, Mr. Hargrave?’ said I, a little softened
+towards him.
+
+‘Not in general,’ he replied, ‘but that is such a sweet child, and so
+like its mother,’ he added in a lower tone.
+
+‘You are mistaken there; it is its father it resembles.’
+
+‘Am I not right, nurse?’ said he, appealing to Rachel.
+
+‘I think, sir, there’s a bit of both,’ she replied.
+
+He departed; and Rachel pronounced him a very nice gentleman.  I had
+still my doubts on the subject.
+
+In the course of the following six weeks I met him several times, but
+always, save once, in company with his mother, or his sister, or both.
+When I called on them, he always happened to be at home, and, when they
+called on me, it was always he that drove them over in the phaeton.  His
+mother, evidently, was quite delighted with his dutiful attentions and
+newly-acquired domestic habits.
+
+The time that I met him alone was on a bright, but not oppressively hot
+day, in the beginning of July: I had taken little Arthur into the wood
+that skirts the park, and there seated him on the moss-cushioned roots of
+an old oak; and, having gathered a handful of bluebells and wild-roses, I
+was kneeling before him, and presenting them, one by one, to the grasp of
+his tiny fingers; enjoying the heavenly beauty of the flowers, through
+the medium of his smiling eyes: forgetting, for the moment, all my cares,
+laughing at his gleeful laughter, and delighting myself with his
+delight,—when a shadow suddenly eclipsed the little space of sunshine on
+the grass before us; and looking up, I beheld Walter Hargrave standing
+and gazing upon us.
+
+‘Excuse me, Mrs. Huntingdon,’ said he, ‘but I was spell-bound; I had
+neither the power to come forward and interrupt you, nor to withdraw from
+the contemplation of such a scene.  How vigorous my little godson grows!
+and how merry he is this morning!’  He approached the child, and stooped
+to take his hand; but, on seeing that his caresses were likely to produce
+tears and lamentations, instead of a reciprocation of friendly
+demonstrations, he prudently drew back.
+
+‘What a pleasure and comfort that little creature must be to you, Mrs.
+Huntingdon!’ he observed, with a touch of sadness in his intonation, as
+he admiringly contemplated the infant.
+
+‘It is,’ replied I; and then I asked after his mother and sister.
+
+He politely answered my inquiries, and then returned again to the subject
+I wished to avoid; though with a degree of timidity that witnessed his
+fear to offend.
+
+‘You have not heard from Huntingdon lately?’ he said.
+
+‘Not this week,’ I replied.  Not these three weeks, I might have said.
+
+‘I had a letter from him this morning.  I wish it were such a one as I
+could show to his lady.’  He half drew from his waistcoat-pocket a letter
+with Arthur’s still beloved hand on the address, scowled at it, and put
+it back again, adding—‘But he tells me he is about to return next week.’
+
+‘He tells me so every time he writes.’
+
+‘Indeed! well, it is like him.  But to me he always avowed it his
+intention to stay till the present month.’
+
+It struck me like a blow, this proof of premeditated transgression and
+systematic disregard of truth.
+
+‘It is only of a piece with the rest of his conduct,’ observed Mr.
+Hargrave, thoughtfully regarding me, and reading, I suppose, my feelings
+in my face.
+
+‘Then he is really coming next week?’ said I, after a pause.
+
+‘You may rely upon it, if the assurance can give you any pleasure.  And
+is it possible, Mrs. Huntingdon, that you can rejoice at his return?’ he
+exclaimed, attentively perusing my features again.
+
+‘Of course, Mr. Hargrave; is he not my husband?’
+
+‘Oh, Huntingdon; you know not what you slight!’ he passionately murmured.
+
+I took up my baby, and, wishing him good-morning, departed, to indulge my
+thoughts unscrutinized, within the sanctum of my home.
+
+And was I glad?  Yes, delighted; though I was angered by Arthur’s
+conduct, and though I felt that he had wronged me, and was determined he
+should feel it too.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXX
+
+
+On the following morning I received a few lines from him myself,
+confirming Hargrave’s intimations respecting his approaching return.  And
+he did come next week, but in a condition of body and mind even worse
+than before.  I did not, however, intend to pass over his derelictions
+this time without a remark; I found it would not do.  But the first day
+he was weary with his journey, and I was glad to get him back: I would
+not upbraid him then; I would wait till to-morrow.  Next morning he was
+weary still: I would wait a little longer.  But at dinner, when, after
+breakfasting at twelve o’clock on a bottle of soda-water and a cup of
+strong coffee, and lunching at two on another bottle of soda-water
+mingled with brandy, he was finding fault with everything on the table,
+and declaring we must change our cook, I thought the time was come.
+
+‘It is the same cook as we had before you went, Arthur,’ said I.  ‘You
+were generally pretty well satisfied with her then.’
+
+‘You must have been letting her get into slovenly habits, then, while I
+was away.  It is enough to poison one, eating such a disgusting mess!’
+And he pettishly pushed away his plate, and leant back despairingly in
+his chair.
+
+‘I think it is you that are changed, not she,’ said I, but with the
+utmost gentleness, for I did not wish to irritate him.
+
+‘It may be so,’ he replied carelessly, as he seized a tumbler of wine and
+water, adding, when he had tossed it off, ‘for I have an infernal fire in
+my veins, that all the waters of the ocean cannot quench!’
+
+‘What kindled it?’ I was about to ask, but at that moment the butler
+entered and began to take away the things.
+
+‘Be quick, Benson; do have done with that infernal clatter!’ cried his
+master.  ‘And don’t bring the cheese, unless you want to make me sick
+outright!’
+
+Benson, in some surprise, removed the cheese, and did his best to effect
+a quiet and speedy clearance of the rest; but, unfortunately, there was a
+rumple in the carpet, caused by the hasty pushing back of his master’s
+chair, at which he tripped and stumbled, causing a rather alarming
+concussion with the trayful of crockery in his hands, but no positive
+damage, save the fall and breaking of a sauce tureen; but, to my
+unspeakable shame and dismay, Arthur turned furiously around upon him,
+and swore at him with savage coarseness.  The poor man turned pale, and
+visibly trembled as he stooped to pick up the fragments.
+
+‘He couldn’t help it, Arthur,’ said I; ‘the carpet caught his foot, and
+there’s no great harm done.  Never mind the pieces now, Benson; you can
+clear them away afterwards.’
+
+Glad to be released, Benson expeditiously set out the dessert and
+withdrew.
+
+‘What could you mean, Helen, by taking the servant’s part against me,’
+said Arthur, as soon as the door was closed, ‘when you knew I was
+distracted?’
+
+‘I did not know you were distracted, Arthur: and the poor man was quite
+frightened and hurt at your sudden explosion.’
+
+‘Poor man, indeed! and do you think I could stop to consider the feelings
+of an insensate brute like that, when my own nerves were racked and torn
+to pieces by his confounded blunders?’
+
+‘I never heard you complain of your nerves before.’
+
+‘And why shouldn’t I have nerves as well as you?’
+
+‘Oh, I don’t dispute your claim to their possession, but I never complain
+of mine.’
+
+‘No, how should you, when you never do anything to try them?’
+
+‘Then why do you try yours, Arthur?’
+
+‘Do you think I have nothing to do but to stay at home and take care of
+myself like a woman?’
+
+‘Is it impossible, then, to take care of yourself like a man when you go
+abroad?  You told me that you could, and would too; and you promised—’
+
+‘Come, come, Helen, don’t begin with that nonsense now; I can’t bear it.’
+
+‘Can’t bear what?—to be reminded of the promises you have broken?’
+
+‘Helen, you are cruel.  If you knew how my heart throbbed, and how every
+nerve thrilled through me while you spoke, you would spare me.  You can
+pity a dolt of a servant for breaking a dish; but you have no compassion
+for me when my head is split in two and all on fire with this consuming
+fever.’
+
+He leant his head on his hand, and sighed.  I went to him and put my hand
+on his forehead.  It was burning indeed.
+
+‘Then come with me into the drawing-room, Arthur; and don’t take any more
+wine: you have taken several glasses since dinner, and eaten next to
+nothing all the day.  How can that make you better?’
+
+With some coaxing and persuasion, I got him to leave the table.  When the
+baby was brought I tried to amuse him with that; but poor little Arthur
+was cutting his teeth, and his father could not bear his complaints:
+sentence of immediate banishment was passed upon him on the first
+indication of fretfulness; and because, in the course of the evening, I
+went to share his exile for a little while, I was reproached, on my
+return, for preferring my child to my husband.  I found the latter
+reclining on the sofa just as I had left him.
+
+‘Well!’ exclaimed the injured man, in a tone of pseudo-resignation.  ‘I
+thought I wouldn’t send for you; I thought I’d just see how long it would
+please you to leave me alone.’
+
+‘I have not been very long, have I, Arthur?  I have not been an hour, I’m
+sure.’
+
+‘Oh, of course, an hour is nothing to you, so pleasantly employed; but to
+me—’
+
+‘It has not been pleasantly employed,’ interrupted I.  ‘I have been
+nursing our poor little baby, who is very far from well, and I could not
+leave him till I got him to sleep.’
+
+‘Oh, to be sure, you’re overflowing with kindness and pity for everything
+but me.’
+
+‘And why should I pity you?  What is the matter with you?’
+
+‘Well! that passes everything!  After all the wear and tear that I’ve
+had, when I come home sick and weary, longing for comfort, and expecting
+to find attention and kindness, at least from my wife, she calmly asks
+what is the matter with me!’
+
+‘There is nothing the matter with you,’ returned I, ‘except what you have
+wilfully brought upon yourself, against my earnest exhortation and
+entreaty.’
+
+‘Now, Helen,’ said he emphatically, half rising from his recumbent
+posture, ‘if you bother me with another word, I’ll ring the bell and
+order six bottles of wine, and, by heaven, I’ll drink them dry before I
+stir from this place!’
+
+I said no more, but sat down before the table and drew a book towards me.
+
+‘Do let me have quietness at least!’ continued he, ‘if you deny me every
+other comfort;’ and sinking back into his former position, with an
+impatient expiration between a sigh and a groan, he languidly closed his
+eyes, as if to sleep.
+
+What the book was that lay open on the table before me, I cannot tell,
+for I never looked at it.  With an elbow on each side of it, and my hands
+clasped before my eyes, I delivered myself up to silent weeping.  But
+Arthur was not asleep: at the first slight sob, he raised his head and
+looked round, impatiently exclaiming, ‘What are you crying for, Helen?
+What the deuce is the matter now?’
+
+‘I’m crying for you, Arthur,’ I replied, speedily drying my tears; and
+starting up, I threw myself on my knees before him, and clasping his
+nerveless hand between my own, continued: ‘Don’t you know that you are a
+part of myself?  And do you think you can injure and degrade yourself,
+and I not feel it?’
+
+‘Degrade myself, Helen?’
+
+‘Yes, degrade!  What have you been doing all this time?’
+
+‘You’d better not ask,’ said he, with a faint smile.
+
+‘And you had better not tell; but you cannot deny that you have degraded
+yourself miserably.  You have shamefully wronged yourself, body and soul,
+and me too; and I can’t endure it quietly, and I won’t!’
+
+‘Well, don’t squeeze my hand so frantically, and don’t agitate me so, for
+heaven’s sake!  Oh, Hattersley! you were right: this woman will be the
+death of me, with her keen feelings and her interesting force of
+character.  There, there, do spare me a little.’
+
+‘Arthur, you must repent!’ cried I, in a frenzy of desperation, throwing
+my arms around him and burying my face in his bosom.  ‘You shall say you
+are sorry for what you have done!’
+
+‘Well, well, I am.’
+
+‘You are not! you’ll do it again.’
+
+‘I shall never live to do it again if you treat me so savagely,’ replied
+he, pushing me from him.  ‘You’ve nearly squeezed the breath out of my
+body.’  He pressed his hand to his heart, and looked really agitated and
+ill.
+
+‘Now get me a glass of wine,’ said he, ‘to remedy what you’ve done, you
+she tiger!  I’m almost ready to faint.’
+
+I flew to get the required remedy.  It seemed to revive him considerably.
+
+‘What a shame it is,’ said I, as I took the empty glass from his hand,
+‘for a strong young man like you to reduce yourself to such a state!’
+
+‘If you knew all, my girl, you’d say rather, “What a wonder it is you can
+bear it so well as you do!”  I’ve lived more in these four months, Helen,
+than you have in the whole course of your existence, or will to the end
+of your days, if they numbered a hundred years; so I must expect to pay
+for it in some shape.’
+
+‘You will have to pay a higher price than you anticipate, if you don’t
+take care: there will be the total loss of your own health, and of my
+affection too, if that is of any value to you.’
+
+‘What! you’re at that game of threatening me with the loss of your
+affection again, are you?  I think it couldn’t have been very genuine
+stuff to begin with, if it’s so easily demolished.  If you don’t mind, my
+pretty tyrant, you’ll make me regret my choice in good earnest, and envy
+my friend Hattersley his meek little wife: she’s quite a pattern to her
+sex, Helen.  He had her with him in London all the season, and she was no
+trouble at all.  He might amuse himself just as he pleased, in regular
+bachelor style, and she never complained of neglect; he might come home
+at any hour of the night or morning, or not come home at all; be sullen,
+sober, or glorious drunk; and play the fool or the madman to his own
+heart’s desire, without any fear or botheration.  She never gives him a
+word of reproach or complaint, do what he will.  He says there’s not such
+a jewel in all England, and swears he wouldn’t take a kingdom for her.’
+
+‘But he makes her life a curse to her.’
+
+‘Not he!  She has no will but his, and is always contented and happy as
+long as he is enjoying himself.’
+
+‘In that case she is as great a fool as he is; but it is not so.  I have
+several letters from her, expressing the greatest anxiety about his
+proceedings, and complaining that you incite him to commit those
+extravagances—one especially, in which she implores me to use my
+influence with you to get you away from London, and affirms that her
+husband never did such things before you came, and would certainly
+discontinue them as soon as you departed and left him to the guidance of
+his own good sense.’
+
+‘The detestable little traitor!  Give me the letter, and he shall see it
+as sure as I’m a living man.’
+
+‘No, he shall not see it without her consent; but if he did, there is
+nothing there to anger him, nor in any of the others.  She never speaks a
+word against him: it is only anxiety for him that she expresses.  She
+only alludes to his conduct in the most delicate terms, and makes every
+excuse for him that she can possibly think of; and as for her own misery,
+I rather feel it than see it expressed in her letters.’
+
+‘But she abuses me; and no doubt you helped her.’
+
+‘No; I told her she over-rated my influence with you, that I would gladly
+draw you away from the temptations of the town if I could, but had little
+hope of success, and that I thought she was wrong in supposing that you
+enticed Mr. Hattersley or any one else into error.  I had myself held the
+contrary opinion at one time, but I now believed that you mutually
+corrupted each other; and, perhaps, if she used a little gentle but
+serious remonstrance with her husband, it might be of some service; as,
+though he was more rough-hewn than mine, I believed he was of a less
+impenetrable material.’
+
+‘And so that is the way you go on—heartening each other up to mutiny, and
+abusing each other’s partners, and throwing out implications against your
+own, to the mutual gratification of both!’
+
+‘According to your own account,’ said I, ‘my evil counsel has had but
+little effect upon her.  And as to abuse and aspersions, we are both of
+us far too deeply ashamed of the errors and vices of our other halves, to
+make them the common subject of our correspondence.  Friends as we are,
+we would willingly keep your failings to ourselves—even from ourselves if
+we could, unless by knowing them we could deliver you from them.’
+
+‘Well, well! don’t worry me about them: you’ll never effect any good by
+that.  Have patience with me, and bear with my languor and crossness a
+little while, till I get this cursed low fever out of my veins, and then
+you’ll find me cheerful and kind as ever.  Why can’t you be gentle and
+good, as you were last time?—I’m sure I was very grateful for it.’
+
+‘And what good did your gratitude do?  I deluded myself with the idea
+that you were ashamed of your transgressions, and hoped you would never
+repeat them again; but now you have left me nothing to hope!’
+
+‘My case is quite desperate, is it?  A very blessed consideration, if it
+will only secure me from the pain and worry of my dear anxious wife’s
+efforts to convert me, and her from the toil and trouble of such
+exertions, and her sweet face and silver accents from the ruinous effects
+of the same.  A burst of passion is a fine rousing thing upon occasion,
+Helen, and a flood of tears is marvellously affecting, but, when indulged
+too often, they are both deuced plaguy things for spoiling one’s beauty
+and tiring out one’s friends.’
+
+Thenceforth I restrained my tears and passions as much as I could.  I
+spared him my exhortations and fruitless efforts at conversion too, for I
+saw it was all in vain: God might awaken that heart, supine and stupefied
+with self-indulgence, and remove the film of sensual darkness from his
+eyes, but I could not.  His injustice and ill-humour towards his
+inferiors, who could not defend themselves, I still resented and
+withstood; but when I alone was their object, as was frequently the case,
+I endured it with calm forbearance, except at times, when my temper, worn
+out by repeated annoyances, or stung to distraction by some new instance
+of irrationality, gave way in spite of myself, and exposed me to the
+imputations of fierceness, cruelty, and impatience.  I attended carefully
+to his wants and amusements, but not, I own, with the same devoted
+fondness as before, because I could not feel it; besides, I had now
+another claimant on my time and care—my ailing infant, for whose sake I
+frequently braved and suffered the reproaches and complaints of his
+unreasonably exacting father.
+
+But Arthur is not naturally a peevish or irritable man; so far from it,
+that there was something almost ludicrous in the incongruity of this
+adventitious fretfulness and nervous irritability, rather calculated to
+excite laughter than anger, if it were not for the intensely painful
+considerations attendant upon those symptoms of a disordered frame, and
+his temper gradually improved as his bodily health was restored, which
+was much sooner than would have been the case but for my strenuous
+exertions; for there was still one thing about him that I did not give up
+in despair, and one effort for his preservation that I would not remit.
+His appetite for the stimulus of wine had increased upon him, as I had
+too well foreseen.  It was now something more to him than an accessory to
+social enjoyment: it was an important source of enjoyment in itself.  In
+this time of weakness and depression he would have made it his medicine
+and support, his comforter, his recreation, and his friend, and thereby
+sunk deeper and deeper, and bound himself down for ever in the bathos
+whereinto he had fallen.  But I determined this should never be, as long
+as I had any influence left; and though I could not prevent him from
+taking more than was good for him, still, by incessant perseverance, by
+kindness, and firmness, and vigilance, by coaxing, and daring, and
+determination, I succeeded in preserving him from absolute bondage to
+that detestable propensity, so insidious in its advances, so inexorable
+in its tyranny, so disastrous in its effects.
+
+And here I must not forget that I am not a little indebted to his friend
+Mr. Hargrave.  About that time he frequently called at Grassdale, and
+often dined with us, on which occasions I fear Arthur would willingly
+have cast prudence and decorum to the winds, and made ‘a night of it,’ as
+often as his friend would have consented to join him in that exalted
+pastime; and if the latter had chosen to comply, he might, in a night or
+two, have ruined the labour of weeks, and overthrown with a touch the
+frail bulwark it had cost me such trouble and toil to construct.  I was
+so fearful of this at first, that I humbled myself to intimate to him, in
+private, my apprehensions of Arthur’s proneness to these excesses, and to
+express a hope that he would not encourage it.  He was pleased with this
+mark of confidence, and certainly did not betray it.  On that and every
+subsequent occasion his presence served rather as a check upon his host,
+than an incitement to further acts of intemperance; and he always
+succeeded in bringing him from the dining-room in good time, and in
+tolerably good condition; for if Arthur disregarded such intimations as
+‘Well, I must not detain you from your lady,’ or ‘We must not forget that
+Mrs. Huntingdon is alone,’ he would insist upon leaving the table
+himself, to join me, and his host, however unwillingly, was obliged to
+follow.
+
+Hence I learned to welcome Mr. Hargrave as a real friend to the family, a
+harmless companion for Arthur, to cheer his spirits and preserve him from
+the tedium of absolute idleness and a total isolation from all society
+but mine, and a useful ally to me.  I could not but feel grateful to him
+under such circumstances; and I did not scruple to acknowledge my
+obligation on the first convenient opportunity; yet, as I did so, my
+heart whispered all was not right, and brought a glow to my face, which
+he heightened by his steady, serious gaze, while, by his manner of
+receiving those acknowledgments, he more than doubled my misgivings.  His
+high delight at being able to serve me was chastened by sympathy for me
+and commiseration for himself—about, I know not what, for I would not
+stay to inquire, or suffer him to unburden his sorrows to me.  His sighs
+and intimations of suppressed affliction seemed to come from a full
+heart; but either he must contrive to retain them within it, or breathe
+them forth in other ears than mine: there was enough of confidence
+between us already.  It seemed wrong that there should exist a secret
+understanding between my husband’s friend and me, unknown to him, of
+which he was the object.  But my after-thought was, ‘If it is wrong,
+surely Arthur’s is the fault, not mine.’
+
+And indeed I know not whether, at the time, it was not for him rather
+than myself that I blushed; for, since he and I are one, I so identify
+myself with him, that I feel his degradation, his failings, and
+transgressions as my own: I blush for him, I fear for him; I repent for
+him, weep, pray, and feel for him as for myself; but I cannot act for
+him; and hence I must be, and I am, debased, contaminated by the union,
+both in my own eyes and in the actual truth.  I am so determined to love
+him, so intensely anxious to excuse his errors, that I am continually
+dwelling upon them, and labouring to extenuate the loosest of his
+principles and the worst of his practices, till I am familiarised with
+vice, and almost a partaker in his sins.  Things that formerly shocked
+and disgusted me, now seem only natural.  I know them to be wrong,
+because reason and God’s word declare them to be so; but I am gradually
+losing that instinctive horror and repulsion which were given me by
+nature, or instilled into me by the precepts and example of my aunt.
+Perhaps then I was too severe in my judgments, for I abhorred the sinner
+as well as the sin; now I flatter myself I am more charitable and
+considerate; but am I not becoming more indifferent and insensate too?
+Fool that I was, to dream that I had strength and purity enough to save
+myself and him!  Such vain presumption would be rightly served, if I
+should perish with him in the gulf from which I sought to save him!  Yet,
+God preserve me from it, and him too!  Yes, poor Arthur, I will still
+hope and pray for you; and though I write as if you were some abandoned
+wretch, past hope and past reprieve, it is only my anxious fears, my
+strong desires that make me do so; one who loved you less would be less
+bitter, less dissatisfied.
+
+His conduct has, of late, been what the world calls irreproachable; but
+then I know his heart is still unchanged; and I know that spring is
+approaching, and deeply dread the consequences.
+
+As he began to recover the tone and vigour of his exhausted frame, and
+with it something of his former impatience of retirement and repose, I
+suggested a short residence by the sea-side, for his recreation and
+further restoration, and for the benefit of our little one as well.  But
+no: watering-places were so intolerably dull; besides, he had been
+invited by one of his friends to spend a month or two in Scotland for the
+better recreation of grouse-shooting and deer-stalking, and had promised
+to go.
+
+‘Then you will leave me again, Arthur?’ said I.
+
+‘Yes, dearest, but only to love you the better when I come back, and make
+up for all past offences and short-comings; and you needn’t fear me this
+time: there are no temptations on the mountains.  And during my absence
+you may pay a visit to Staningley, if you like: your uncle and aunt have
+long been wanting us to go there, you know; but somehow there’s such a
+repulsion between the good lady and me, that I never could bring myself
+up to the scratch.’
+
+About the third week in August, Arthur set out for Scotland, and Mr.
+Hargrave accompanied him thither, to my private satisfaction.  Shortly
+after, I, with little Arthur and Rachel, went to Staningley, my dear old
+home, which, as well as my dear old friends its inhabitants, I saw again
+with mingled feelings of pleasure and pain so intimately blended that I
+could scarcely distinguish the one from the other, or tell to which to
+attribute the various tears, and smiles, and sighs awakened by those old
+familiar scenes, and tones, and faces.
+
+Arthur did not come home till several weeks after my return to Grassdale;
+but I did not feel so anxious about him now; to think of him engaged in
+active sports among the wild hills of Scotland, was very different from
+knowing him to be immersed amid the corruptions and temptations of
+London.  His letters now; though neither long nor loverlike, were more
+regular than ever they had been before; and when he did return, to my
+great joy, instead of being worse than when he went, he was more cheerful
+and vigorous, and better in every respect.  Since that time I have had
+little cause to complain.  He still has an unfortunate predilection for
+the pleasures of the table, against which I have to struggle and watch;
+but he has begun to notice his boy, and that is an increasing source of
+amusement to him within-doors, while his fox-hunting and coursing are a
+sufficient occupation for him without, when the ground is not hardened by
+frost; so that he is not wholly dependent on me for entertainment.  But
+it is now January; spring is approaching; and, I repeat, I dread the
+consequences of its arrival.  That sweet season, I once so joyously
+welcomed as the time of hope and gladness, awakens now far other
+anticipations by its return.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXI
+
+
+March 20th, 1824.  The dreaded time is come, and Arthur is gone, as I
+expected.  This time he announced it his intention to make but a short
+stay in London, and pass over to the Continent, where he should probably
+stay a few weeks; but I shall not expect him till after the lapse of many
+weeks: I now know that, with him, days signify weeks, and weeks months.
+
+July 30th.—He returned about three weeks ago, rather better in health,
+certainly, than before, but still worse in temper.  And yet, perhaps, I
+am wrong: it is I that am less patient and forbearing.  I am tired out
+with his injustice, his selfishness and hopeless depravity.  I wish a
+milder word would do; I am no angel, and my corruption rises against it.
+My poor father died last week: Arthur was vexed to hear of it, because he
+saw that I was shocked and grieved, and he feared the circumstance would
+mar his comfort.  When I spoke of ordering my mourning, he
+exclaimed,—‘Oh, I hate black!  But, however, I suppose you must wear it
+awhile, for form’s sake; but I hope, Helen, you won’t think it your
+bounden duty to compose your face and manners into conformity with your
+funereal garb.  Why should you sigh and groan, and I be made
+uncomfortable, because an old gentleman in —shire, a perfect stranger to
+us both, has thought proper to drink himself to death?  There, now, I
+declare you’re crying!  Well, it must be affectation.’
+
+He would not hear of my attending the funeral, or going for a day or two,
+to cheer poor Frederick’s solitude.  It was quite unnecessary, he said,
+and I was unreasonable to wish it.  What was my father to me?  I had
+never seen him but once since I was a baby, and I well knew he had never
+cared a stiver about me; and my brother, too, was little better than a
+stranger.  ‘Besides, dear Helen,’ said he, embracing me with flattering
+fondness, ‘I cannot spare you for a single day.’
+
+‘Then how have you managed without me these many days?’ said I.
+
+‘Ah! then I was knocking about the world, now I am at home, and home
+without you, my household deity, would be intolerable.’
+
+‘Yes, as long as I am necessary to your comfort; but you did not say so
+before, when you urged me to leave you, in order that you might get away
+from your home without me,’ retorted I; but before the words were well
+out of my mouth, I regretted having uttered them.  It seemed so heavy a
+charge: if false, too gross an insult; if true, too humiliating a fact to
+be thus openly cast in his teeth.  But I might have spared myself that
+momentary pang of self-reproach.  The accusation awoke neither shame nor
+indignation in him: he attempted neither denial nor excuse, but only
+answered with a long, low, chuckling laugh, as if he viewed the whole
+transaction as a clever, merry jest from beginning to end.  Surely that
+man will make me dislike him at last!
+
+   Sine as ye brew, my maiden fair,
+   Keep mind that ye maun drink the yill.
+
+Yes; and I will drink it to the very dregs: and none but myself shall
+know how bitter I find it!
+
+August 20th.—We are shaken down again to about our usual position.
+Arthur has returned to nearly his former condition and habits; and I have
+found it my wisest plan to shut my eyes against the past and future, as
+far as he, at least, is concerned, and live only for the present: to love
+him when I can; to smile (if possible) when he smiles, be cheerful when
+he is cheerful, and pleased when he is agreeable; and when he is not, to
+try to make him so; and if that won’t answer, to bear with him, to excuse
+him, and forgive him as well as I can, and restrain my own evil passions
+from aggravating his; and yet, while I thus yield and minister to his
+more harmless propensities to self-indulgence, to do all in my power to
+save him from the worse.
+
+But we shall not be long alone together.  I shall shortly be called upon
+to entertain the same select body of friends as we had the autumn before
+last, with the addition of Mr. Hattersley and, at my special request, his
+wife and child.  I long to see Milicent, and her little girl too.  The
+latter is now above a year old; she will be a charming playmate for my
+little Arthur.
+
+September 30th.—Our guests have been here a week or two; but I have had
+no leisure to pass any comments upon them till now.  I cannot get over my
+dislike to Lady Lowborough.  It is not founded on mere personal pique; it
+is the woman herself that I dislike, because I so thoroughly disapprove
+of her.  I always avoid her company as much as I can without violating
+the laws of hospitality; but when we do speak or converse together, it is
+with the utmost civility, even apparent cordiality on her part; but
+preserve me from such cordiality!  It is like handling brier-roses and
+may-blossoms, bright enough to the eye, and outwardly soft to the touch,
+but you know there are thorns beneath, and every now and then you feel
+them too; and perhaps resent the injury by crushing them in till you have
+destroyed their power, though somewhat to the detriment of your own
+fingers.
+
+Of late, however, I have seen nothing in her conduct towards Arthur to
+anger or alarm me.  During the first few days I thought she seemed very
+solicitous to win his admiration.  Her efforts were not unnoticed by him:
+I frequently saw him smiling to himself at her artful manoeuvres: but, to
+his praise be it spoken, her shafts fell powerless by his side.  Her most
+bewitching smiles, her haughtiest frowns were ever received with the same
+immutable, careless good-humour; till, finding he was indeed
+impenetrable, she suddenly remitted her efforts, and became, to all
+appearance, as perfectly indifferent as himself.  Nor have I since
+witnessed any symptom of pique on his part, or renewed attempts at
+conquest upon hers.
+
+This is as it should be; but Arthur never will let me be satisfied with
+him.  I have never, for a single hour since I married him, known what it
+is to realise that sweet idea, ‘In quietness and confidence shall be your
+rest.’  Those two detestable men, Grimsby and Hattersley, have destroyed
+all my labour against his love of wine.  They encourage him daily to
+overstep the bounds of moderation, and not unfrequently to disgrace
+himself by positive excess.  I shall not soon forget the second night
+after their arrival.  Just as I had retired from the dining-room with the
+ladies, before the door was closed upon us, Arthur exclaimed,—‘Now then,
+my lads, what say you to a regular jollification?’
+
+Milicent glanced at me with a half-reproachful look, as if I could hinder
+it; but her countenance changed when she heard Hattersley’s voice,
+shouting through door and wall,—‘I’m your man!  Send for more wine: here
+isn’t half enough!’
+
+We had scarcely entered the drawing-room before we were joined by Lord
+Lowborough.
+
+‘What can induce you to come so soon?’ exclaimed his lady, with a most
+ungracious air of dissatisfaction.
+
+‘You know I never drink, Annabella,’ replied he seriously.
+
+‘Well, but you might stay with them a little: it looks so silly to be
+always dangling after the women; I wonder you can!’
+
+He reproached her with a look of mingled bitterness and surprise, and,
+sinking into a chair, suppressed a heavy sigh, bit his pale lips, and
+fixed his eyes upon the floor.
+
+‘You did right to leave them, Lord Lowborough,’ said I.  ‘I trust you
+will always continue to honour us so early with your company.  And if
+Annabella knew the value of true wisdom, and the misery of folly and—and
+intemperance, she would not talk such nonsense—even in jest.’
+
+He raised his eyes while I spoke, and gravely turned them upon me, with a
+half-surprised, half-abstracted look, and then bent them on his wife.
+
+‘At least,’ said she, ‘I know the value of a warm heart and a bold, manly
+spirit.’
+
+‘Well, Annabella,’ said he, in a deep and hollow tone, ‘since my presence
+is disagreeable to you, I will relieve you of it.’
+
+‘Are you going back to them, then?’ said she, carelessly.
+
+‘No,’ exclaimed he, with harsh and startling emphasis.  ‘I will not go
+back to them!  And I will never stay with them one moment longer than I
+think right, for you or any other tempter!  But you needn’t mind that; I
+shall never trouble you again by intruding my company upon you so
+unseasonably.’
+
+He left the room: I heard the hall-door open and shut, and immediately
+after, on putting aside the curtain, I saw him pacing down the park, in
+the comfortless gloom of the damp, cloudy twilight.
+
+‘It would serve you right, Annabella,’ said I, at length, ‘if Lord
+Lowborough were to return to his old habits, which had so nearly effected
+his ruin, and which it cost him such an effort to break: you would then
+see cause to repent such conduct as this.’
+
+‘Not at all, my dear!  I should not mind if his lordship were to see fit
+to intoxicate himself every day: I should only the sooner be rid of him.’
+
+‘Oh, Annabella!’ cried Milicent.  ‘How can you say such wicked things!
+It would, indeed, be a just punishment, as far as you are concerned, if
+Providence should take you at your word, and make you feel what others
+feel, that—‘  She paused as a sudden burst of loud talking and laughter
+reached us from the dining-room, in which the voice of Hattersley was
+pre-eminently conspicuous, even to my unpractised ear.
+
+‘What you feel at this moment, I suppose?’ said Lady Lowborough, with a
+malicious smile, fixing her eyes upon her cousin’s distressed
+countenance.
+
+The latter offered no reply, but averted her face and brushed away a
+tear.  At that moment the door opened and admitted Mr. Hargrave, just a
+little flushed, his dark eyes sparkling with unwonted vivacity.
+
+‘Oh, I’m so glad you’re come, Walter?’ cried his sister.  ‘But I wish you
+could have got Ralph to come too.’
+
+‘Utterly impossible, dear Milicent,’ replied he, gaily.  ‘I had much ado
+to get away myself.  Ralph attempted to keep me by violence; Huntingdon
+threatened me with the eternal loss of his friendship; and Grimsby, worse
+than all, endeavoured to make me ashamed of my virtue, by such galling
+sarcasms and innuendoes as he knew would wound me the most.  So you see,
+ladies, you ought to make me welcome when I have braved and suffered so
+much for the favour of your sweet society.’  He smilingly turned to me
+and bowed as he finished the sentence.
+
+‘Isn’t he handsome now, Helen!’ whispered Milicent, her sisterly pride
+overcoming, for the moment, all other considerations.
+
+‘He would be,’ I returned, ‘if that brilliance of eye, and lip, and cheek
+were natural to him; but look again, a few hours hence.’
+
+Here the gentleman took a seat near me at the table, and petitioned for a
+cup of coffee.
+
+‘I consider this an apt illustration of heaven taken by storm,’ said he,
+as I handed one to him.  ‘I am in paradise, now; but I have fought my way
+through flood and fire to win it.  Ralph Hattersley’s last resource was
+to set his back against the door, and swear I should find no passage but
+through his body (a pretty substantial one too).  Happily, however, that
+was not the only door, and I effected my escape by the side entrance
+through the butler’s pantry, to the infinite amazement of Benson, who was
+cleaning the plate.’
+
+Mr. Hargrave laughed, and so did his cousin; but his sister and I
+remained silent and grave.
+
+‘Pardon my levity, Mrs. Huntingdon,’ murmured he, more seriously, as he
+raised his eyes to my face.  ‘You are not used to these things: you
+suffer them to affect your delicate mind too sensibly.  But I thought of
+you in the midst of those lawless roysterers; and I endeavoured to
+persuade Mr. Huntingdon to think of you too; but to no purpose: I fear he
+is fully determined to enjoy himself this night; and it will be no use
+keeping the coffee waiting for him or his companions; it will be much if
+they join us at tea.  Meantime, I earnestly wish I could banish the
+thoughts of them from your mind—and my own too, for I hate to think of
+them—yes—even of my dear friend Huntingdon, when I consider the power he
+possesses over the happiness of one so immeasurably superior to himself,
+and the use he makes of it—I positively detest the man!’
+
+‘You had better not say so to me, then,’ said I; ‘for, bad as he is, he
+is part of myself, and you cannot abuse him without offending me.’
+
+‘Pardon me, then, for I would sooner die than offend you.  But let us say
+no more of him for the present, if you please.’
+
+At last they came; but not till after ten, when tea, which had been
+delayed for more than half an hour, was nearly over.  Much as I had
+longed for their coming, my heart failed me at the riotous uproar of
+their approach; and Milicent turned pale, and almost started from her
+seat, as Mr. Hattersley burst into the room with a clamorous volley of
+oaths in his mouth, which Hargrave endeavoured to check by entreating him
+to remember the ladies.
+
+‘Ah! you do well to remind me of the ladies, you dastardly deserter,’
+cried he, shaking his formidable fist at his brother-in-law.  ‘If it were
+not for them, you well know, I’d demolish you in the twinkling of an eye,
+and give your body to the fowls of heaven and the lilies of the fields!’
+Then, planting a chair by Lady Lowborough’s side, he stationed himself in
+it, and began to talk to her with a mixture of absurdity and impudence
+that seemed rather to amuse than to offend her; though she affected to
+resent his insolence, and to keep him at bay with sallies of smart and
+spirited repartee.
+
+Meantime Mr. Grimsby seated himself by me, in the chair vacated by
+Hargrave as they entered, and gravely stated that he would thank me for a
+cup of tea: and Arthur placed himself beside poor Milicent,
+confidentially pushing his head into her face, and drawing in closer to
+her as she shrank away from him.  He was not so noisy as Hattersley, but
+his face was exceedingly flushed: he laughed incessantly, and while I
+blushed for all I saw and heard of him, I was glad that he chose to talk
+to his companion in so low a tone that no one could hear what he said but
+herself.
+
+‘What fools they are!’ drawled Mr. Grimsby, who had been talking away, at
+my elbow, with sententious gravity all the time; but I had been too much
+absorbed in contemplating the deplorable state of the other
+two—especially Arthur—to attend to him.
+
+‘Did you ever hear such nonsense as they talk, Mrs. Huntingdon?’ he
+continued.  ‘I’m quite ashamed of them for my part: they can’t take so
+much as a bottle between them without its getting into their heads—’
+
+‘You are pouring the cream into your saucer, Mr. Grimsby.’
+
+‘Ah! yes, I see, but we’re almost in darkness here.  Hargrave, snuff
+those candles, will you?’
+
+‘They’re wax; they don’t require snuffing,’ said I.
+
+‘“The light of the body is the eye,”’ observed Hargrave, with a sarcastic
+smile.  ‘“If thine eye be single, thy whole body shall be full of
+light.”’
+
+Grimsby repulsed him with a solemn wave of the hand, and then turning to
+me, continued, with the same drawling tones and strange uncertainty of
+utterance and heavy gravity of aspect as before: ‘But as I was saying,
+Mrs. Huntingdon, they have no head at all: they can’t take half a bottle
+without being affected some way; whereas I—well, I’ve taken three times
+as much as they have to-night, and you see I’m perfectly steady.  Now
+that may strike you as very singular, but I think I can explain it: you
+see their brains—I mention no names, but you’ll understand to whom I
+allude—their brains are light to begin with, and the fumes of the
+fermented liquor render them lighter still, and produce an entire
+light-headedness, or giddiness, resulting in intoxication; whereas my
+brains, being composed of more solid materials, will absorb a
+considerable quantity of this alcoholic vapour without the production of
+any sensible result—’
+
+‘I think you will find a sensible result produced on that tea,’
+interrupted Mr. Hargrave, ‘by the quantity of sugar you have put into it.
+Instead of your usual complement of one lump, you have put in six.’
+
+‘Have I so?’ replied the philosopher, diving with his spoon into the cup,
+and bringing up several half-dissolved pieces in confirmation of the
+assertion.  ‘Hum!  I perceive.  Thus, Madam, you see the evil of absence
+of mind—of thinking too much while engaged in the common concerns of
+life.  Now, if I had had my wits about me, like ordinary men, instead of
+within me like a philosopher, I should not have spoiled this cup of tea,
+and been constrained to trouble you for another.’
+
+‘That is the sugar-basin, Mr. Grimsby.  Now you have spoiled the sugar
+too; and I’ll thank you to ring for some more, for here is Lord
+Lowborough at last; and I hope his lordship will condescend to sit down
+with us, such as we are, and allow me to give him some tea.’
+
+His lordship gravely bowed in answer to my appeal, but said nothing.
+Meantime, Hargrave volunteered to ring for the sugar, while Grimsby
+lamented his mistake, and attempted to prove that it was owing to the
+shadow of the urn and the badness of the lights.
+
+Lord Lowborough had entered a minute or two before, unobserved by anyone
+but me, and had been standing before the door, grimly surveying the
+company.  He now stepped up to Annabella, who sat with her back towards
+him, with Hattersley still beside her, though not now attending to her,
+being occupied in vociferously abusing and bullying his host.
+
+‘Well, Annabella,’ said her husband, as he leant over the back of her
+chair, ‘which of these three “bold, manly spirits” would you have me to
+resemble?’
+
+‘By heaven and earth, you shall resemble us all!’ cried Hattersley,
+starting up and rudely seizing him by the arm.  ‘Hallo, Huntingdon!’ he
+shouted—‘I’ve got him!  Come, man, and help me!  And d—n me, if I don’t
+make him drunk before I let him go!  He shall make up for all past
+delinquencies as sure as I’m a living soul!’
+
+There followed a disgraceful contest: Lord Lowborough, in desperate
+earnest, and pale with anger, silently struggling to release himself from
+the powerful madman that was striving to drag him from the room.  I
+attempted to urge Arthur to interfere in behalf of his outraged guest,
+but he could do nothing but laugh.
+
+‘Huntingdon, you fool, come and help me, can’t you!’ cried Hattersley,
+himself somewhat weakened by his excesses.
+
+‘I’m wishing you God-speed, Hattersley,’ cried Arthur, ‘and aiding you
+with my prayers: I can’t do anything else if my life depended on it!  I’m
+quite used up.  Oh—oh!’ and leaning back in his seat, he clapped his
+hands on his sides and groaned aloud.
+
+‘Annabella, give me a candle!’ said Lowborough, whose antagonist had now
+got him round the waist and was endeavouring to root him from the
+door-post, to which he madly clung with all the energy of desperation.
+
+‘I shall take no part in your rude sports!’ replied the lady coldly
+drawing back.  ‘I wonder you can expect it.’  But I snatched up a candle
+and brought it to him.  He took it and held the flame to Hattersley’s
+hands, till, roaring like a wild beast, the latter unclasped them and let
+him go.  He vanished, I suppose to his own apartment, for nothing more
+was seen of him till the morning.  Swearing and cursing like a maniac,
+Hattersley threw himself on to the ottoman beside the window.  The door
+being now free, Milicent attempted to make her escape from the scene of
+her husband’s disgrace; but he called her back, and insisted upon her
+coming to him.
+
+‘What do you want, Ralph?’ murmured she, reluctantly approaching him.
+
+‘I want to know what’s the matter with you,’ said he, pulling her on to
+his knee like a child.  ‘What are you crying for, Milicent?—Tell me!’
+
+‘I’m not crying.’
+
+‘You are,’ persisted he, rudely pulling her hands from her face.  ‘How
+dare you tell such a lie!’
+
+‘I’m not crying now,’ pleaded she.
+
+‘But you have been, and just this minute too; and I will know what for.
+Come, now, you shall tell me!’
+
+‘Do let me alone, Ralph!  Remember, we are not at home.’
+
+‘No matter: you shall answer my question!’ exclaimed her tormentor; and
+he attempted to extort the confession by shaking her, and remorselessly
+crushing her slight arms in the gripe of his powerful fingers.
+
+‘Don’t let him treat your sister in that way,’ said I to Mr. Hargrave.
+
+‘Come now, Hattersley, I can’t allow that,’ said that gentleman, stepping
+up to the ill-assorted couple.  ‘Let my sister alone, if you please.’
+
+And he made an effort to unclasp the ruffian’s fingers from her arm, but
+was suddenly driven backward, and nearly laid upon the floor by a violent
+blow on the chest, accompanied with the admonition, ‘Take that for your
+insolence! and learn to interfere between me and mine again.’
+
+‘If you were not drunk, I’d have satisfaction for that!’ gasped Hargrave,
+white and breathless as much from passion as from the immediate effects
+of the blow.
+
+‘Go to the devil!’ responded his brother-in-law.  ‘Now, Milicent, tell me
+what you were crying for.’
+
+‘I’ll tell you some other time,’ murmured she, ‘when we are alone.’
+
+‘Tell me now!’ said he, with another shake and a squeeze that made her
+draw in her breath and bite her lip to suppress a cry of pain.
+
+‘I’ll tell you, Mr. Hattersley,’ said I.  ‘She was crying from pure shame
+and humiliation for you; because she could not bear to see you conduct
+yourself so disgracefully.’
+
+‘Confound you, Madam!’ muttered he, with a stare of stupid amazement at
+my ‘impudence.’  ‘It was not that—was it, Milicent?’
+
+She was silent.
+
+‘Come, speak up, child!’
+
+‘I can’t tell now,’ sobbed she.
+
+‘But you can say “yes” or “no” as well as “I can’t tell.”—Come!’
+
+‘Yes,’ she whispered, hanging her head, and blushing at the awful
+acknowledgment.
+
+‘Curse you for an impertinent hussy, then!’ cried he, throwing her from
+him with such violence that she fell on her side; but she was up again
+before either I or her brother could come to her assistance, and made the
+best of her way out of the room, and, I suppose, up-stairs, without loss
+of time.
+
+The next object of assault was Arthur, who sat opposite, and had, no
+doubt, richly enjoyed the whole scene.
+
+‘Now, Huntingdon,’ exclaimed his irascible friend, ‘I will not have you
+sitting there and laughing like an idiot!’
+
+‘Oh, Hattersley,’ cried he, wiping his swimming eyes—‘you’ll be the death
+of me.’
+
+‘Yes, I will, but not as you suppose: I’ll have the heart out of your
+body, man, if you irritate me with any more of that imbecile
+laughter!—What! are you at it yet?—There! see if that’ll settle you!’
+cried Hattersley, snatching up a footstool and hurting it at the head of
+his host; but he as well as missed his aim, and the latter still sat
+collapsed and quaking with feeble laughter, with tears running down his
+face: a deplorable spectacle indeed.
+
+Hattersley tried cursing and swearing, but it would not do: he then took
+a number of books from the table beside him, and threw them, one by one,
+at the object of his wrath; but Arthur only laughed the more; and,
+finally, Hattersley rushed upon him in a frenzy and seizing him by the
+shoulders, gave him a violent shaking, under which he laughed and
+shrieked alarmingly.  But I saw no more: I thought I had witnessed enough
+of my husband’s degradation; and leaving Annabella and the rest to follow
+when they pleased, I withdrew, but not to bed.  Dismissing Rachel to her
+rest, I walked up and down my room, in an agony of misery for what had
+been done, and suspense, not knowing what might further happen, or how or
+when that unhappy creature would come up to bed.
+
+At last he came, slowly and stumblingly ascending the stairs, supported
+by Grimsby and Hattersley, who neither of them walked quite steadily
+themselves, but were both laughing and joking at him, and making noise
+enough for all the servants to hear.  He himself was no longer laughing
+now, but sick and stupid.  I will write no more about that.
+
+Such disgraceful scenes (or nearly such) have been repeated more than
+once.  I don’t say much to Arthur about it, for, if I did, it would do
+more harm than good; but I let him know that I intensely dislike such
+exhibitions; and each time he has promised they should never again be
+repeated.  But I fear he is losing the little self-command and
+self-respect he once possessed: formerly, he would have been ashamed to
+act thus—at least, before any other witnesses than his boon companions,
+or such as they.  His friend Hargrave, with a prudence and
+self-government that I envy for him, never disgraces himself by taking
+more than sufficient to render him a little ‘elevated,’ and is always the
+first to leave the table after Lord Lowborough, who, wiser still,
+perseveres in vacating the dining-room immediately after us: but never
+once, since Annabella offended him so deeply, has he entered the
+drawing-room before the rest; always spending the interim in the library,
+which I take care to have lighted for his accommodation; or, on fine
+moonlight nights, in roaming about the grounds.  But I think she regrets
+her misconduct, for she has never repeated it since, and of late she has
+comported herself with wonderful propriety towards him, treating him with
+more uniform kindness and consideration than ever I have observed her to
+do before.  I date the time of this improvement from the period when she
+ceased to hope and strive for Arthur’s admiration.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXII
+
+
+October 5th.—Esther Hargrave is getting a fine girl.  She is not out of
+the school-room yet, but her mother frequently brings her over to call in
+the mornings when the gentlemen are out, and sometimes she spends an hour
+or two in company with her sister and me, and the children; and when we
+go to the Grove, I always contrive to see her, and talk more to her than
+to any one else, for I am very much attached to my little friend, and so
+is she to me.  I wonder what she can see to like in me though, for I am
+no longer the happy, lively girl I used to be; but she has no other
+society, save that of her uncongenial mother, and her governess (as
+artificial and conventional a person as that prudent mother could procure
+to rectify the pupil’s natural qualities), and, now and then, her
+subdued, quiet sister.  I often wonder what will be her lot in life, and
+so does she; but her speculations on the future are full of buoyant hope;
+so were mine once.  I shudder to think of her being awakened, like me, to
+a sense of their delusive vanity.  It seems as if I should feel her
+disappointment, even more deeply than my own.  I feel almost as if I were
+born for such a fate, but she is so joyous and fresh, so light of heart
+and free of spirit, and so guileless and unsuspecting too.  Oh, it would
+be cruel to make her feel as I feel now, and know what I have known!
+
+Her sister trembles for her too.  Yesterday morning, one of October’s
+brightest, loveliest days, Milicent and I were in the garden enjoying a
+brief half-hour together with our children, while Annabella was lying on
+the drawing-room sofa, deep in the last new novel.  We had been romping
+with the little creatures, almost as merry and wild as themselves, and
+now paused in the shade of the tall copper beech, to recover breath and
+rectify our hair, disordered by the rough play and the frolicsome breeze,
+while they toddled together along the broad, sunny walk; my Arthur
+supporting the feebler steps of her little Helen, and sagaciously
+pointing out to her the brightest beauties of the border as they passed,
+with semi-articulate prattle, that did as well for her as any other mode
+of discourse.  From laughing at the pretty sight, we began to talk of the
+children’s future life; and that made us thoughtful.  We both relapsed
+into silent musing as we slowly proceeded up the walk; and I suppose
+Milicent, by a train of associations, was led to think of her sister.
+
+‘Helen,’ said she, ‘you often see Esther, don’t you?’
+
+‘Not very often.’
+
+‘But you have more frequent opportunities of meeting her than I have; and
+she loves you, I know, and reverences you too: there is nobody’s opinion
+she thinks so much of; and she says you have more sense than mamma.’
+
+‘That is because she is self-willed, and my opinions more generally
+coincide with her own than your mamma’s.  But what then, Milicent?’
+
+‘Well, since you have so much influence with her, I wish you would
+seriously impress it upon her, never, on any account, or for anybody’s
+persuasion, to marry for the sake of money, or rank, or establishment, or
+any earthly thing, but true affection and well-grounded esteem.’
+
+‘There is no necessity for that,’ said I, ‘for we have had some discourse
+on that subject already, and I assure you her ideas of love and matrimony
+are as romantic as any one could desire.’
+
+‘But romantic notions will not do: I want her to have true notions.’
+
+‘Very right: but in my judgment, what the world stigmatises as romantic,
+is often more nearly allied to the truth than is commonly supposed; for,
+if the generous ideas of youth are too often over-clouded by the sordid
+views of after-life, that scarcely proves them to be false.’
+
+‘Well, but if you think her ideas are what they ought to be, strengthen
+them, will you? and confirm them, as far as you can; for I had romantic
+notions once, and—I don’t mean to say that I regret my lot, for I am
+quite sure I don’t, but—’
+
+‘I understand you,’ said I; ‘you are contented for yourself, but you
+would not have your sister to suffer the same as you.’
+
+‘No—or worse.  She might have far worse to suffer than I, for I am really
+contented, Helen, though you mayn’t think it: I speak the solemn truth in
+saying that I would not exchange my husband for any man on earth, if I
+might do it by the plucking of this leaf.’
+
+‘Well, I believe you: now that you have him, you would not exchange him
+for another; but then you would gladly exchange some of his qualities for
+those of better men.’
+
+‘Yes: just as I would gladly exchange some of my own qualities for those
+of better women; for neither he nor I are perfect, and I desire his
+improvement as earnestly as my own.  And he will improve, don’t you think
+so, Helen? he’s only six-and-twenty yet.’
+
+‘He may,’ I answered,
+
+‘He will, he WILL!’ repeated she.
+
+‘Excuse the faintness of my acquiescence, Milicent, I would not
+discourage your hopes for the world, but mine have been so often
+disappointed, that I am become as cold and doubtful in my expectations as
+the flattest of octogenarians.’
+
+‘And yet you do hope, still, even for Mr. Huntingdon?’
+
+‘I do, I confess, “even” for him; for it seems as if life and hope must
+cease together.  And is he so much worse, Milicent, than Mr. Hattersley?’
+
+‘Well, to give you my candid opinion, I think there is no comparison
+between them.  But you mustn’t be offended, Helen, for you know I always
+speak my mind, and you may speak yours too.  I sha’n’t care.’
+
+‘I am not offended, love; and my opinion is, that if there be a
+comparison made between the two, the difference, for the most part, is
+certainly in Hattersley’s favour.’
+
+Milicent’s own heart told her how much it cost me to make this
+acknowledgment; and, with a childlike impulse, she expressed her sympathy
+by suddenly kissing my cheek, without a word of reply, and then turning
+quickly away, caught up her baby, and hid her face in its frock.  How odd
+it is that we so often weep for each other’s distresses, when we shed not
+a tear for our own!  Her heart had been full enough of her own sorrows,
+but it overflowed at the idea of mine; and I, too, shed tears at the
+sight of her sympathetic emotion, though I had not wept for myself for
+many a week.
+
+               [Picture: Blake Hall—Side (Grassdale Manor)]
+
+It was one rainy day last week; most of the company were killing time in
+the billiard-room, but Milicent and I were with little Arthur and Helen
+in the library, and between our books, our children, and each other, we
+expected to make out a very agreeable morning.  We had not been thus
+secluded above two hours, however, when Mr. Hattersley came in,
+attracted, I suppose, by the voice of his child, as he was crossing the
+hall, for he is prodigiously fond of her, and she of him.
+
+He was redolent of the stables, where he had been regaling himself with
+the company of his fellow-creatures the horses ever since breakfast.  But
+that was no matter to my little namesake; as soon as the colossal person
+of her father darkened the door, she uttered a shrill scream of delight,
+and, quitting her mother’s side, ran crowing towards him, balancing her
+course with outstretched arms, and embracing his knee, threw back her
+head and laughed in his face.  He might well look smilingly down upon
+those small, fair features, radiant with innocent mirth, those clear blue
+shining eyes, and that soft flaxen hair cast back upon the little ivory
+neck and shoulders.  Did he not think how unworthy he was of such a
+possession?  I fear no such idea crossed his mind.  He caught her up, and
+there followed some minutes of very rough play, during which it is
+difficult to say whether the father or the daughter laughed and shouted
+the loudest.  At length, however, the boisterous pastime terminated,
+suddenly, as might be expected: the little one was hurt, and began to
+cry; and the ungentle play-fellow tossed it into its mother’s lap,
+bidding her ‘make all straight.’ As happy to return to that gentle
+comforter as it had been to leave her, the child nestled in her arms, and
+hushed its cries in a moment; and sinking its little weary head on her
+bosom, soon dropped asleep.
+
+Meantime Mr. Hattersley strode up to the fire, and interposing his height
+and breadth between us and it, stood with arms akimbo, expanding his
+chest, and gazing round him as if the house and all its appurtenances and
+contents were his own undisputed possessions.
+
+‘Deuced bad weather this!’ he began.  ‘There’ll be no shooting to-day, I
+guess.’  Then, suddenly lifting up his voice, he regaled us with a few
+bars of a rollicking song, which abruptly ceasing, he finished the tune
+with a whistle, and then continued:—‘I say, Mrs. Huntingdon, what a fine
+stud your husband has! not large, but good.  I’ve been looking at them a
+bit this morning; and upon my word, Black Boss, and Grey Tom, and that
+young Nimrod are the finest animals I’ve seen for many a day!’  Then
+followed a particular discussion of their various merits, succeeded by a
+sketch of the great things he intended to do in the horse-jockey line,
+when his old governor thought proper to quit the stage.  ‘Not that I wish
+him to close his accounts,’ added he: ‘the old Trojan is welcome to keep
+his books open as long as he pleases for me.’
+
+‘I hope so, indeed, Mr. Hattersley.’
+
+‘Oh, yes!  It’s only my way of talking.  The event must come some time,
+and so I look to the bright side of it: that’s the right plan—isn’t it,
+Mrs. H.?  What are you two doing here?  By-the-by, where’s Lady
+Lowborough?’
+
+‘In the billiard-room.’
+
+‘What a splendid creature she is!’ continued he, fixing his eyes on his
+wife, who changed colour, and looked more and more disconcerted as he
+proceeded.  ‘What a noble figure she has; and what magnificent black
+eyes; and what a fine spirit of her own; and what a tongue of her own,
+too, when she likes to use it.  I perfectly adore her!  But never mind,
+Milicent: I wouldn’t have her for my wife, not if she’d a kingdom for her
+dowry!  I’m better satisfied with the one I have.  Now then! what do you
+look so sulky for? don’t you believe me?’
+
+‘Yes, I believe you,’ murmured she, in a tone of half sad, half sullen
+resignation, as she turned away to stroke the hair of her sleeping
+infant, that she had laid on the sofa beside her.
+
+‘Well, then, what makes you so cross?  Come here, Milly, and tell me why
+you can’t be satisfied with my assurance.’
+
+She went, and putting her little hand within his arm, looked up in his
+face, and said softly,—
+
+‘What does it amount to, Ralph?  Only to this, that though you admire
+Annabella so much, and for qualities that I don’t possess, you would
+still rather have me than her for your wife, which merely proves that you
+don’t think it necessary to love your wife; you are satisfied if she can
+keep your house, and take care of your child.  But I’m not cross; I’m
+only sorry; for,’ added she, in a low, tremulous accent, withdrawing her
+hand from his arm, and bending her looks on the rug, ‘if you don’t love
+me, you don’t, and it can’t be helped.’
+
+‘Very true; but who told you I didn’t?  Did I say I loved Annabella?’
+
+‘You said you adored her.’
+
+‘True, but adoration isn’t love.  I adore Annabella, but I don’t love
+her; and I love thee, Milicent, but I don’t adore thee.’  In proof of his
+affection, he clutched a handful of her light brown ringlets, and
+appeared to twist them unmercifully.
+
+‘Do you really, Ralph?’ murmured she, with a faint smile beaming through
+her tears, just putting up her hand to his, in token that he pulled
+rather too hard.
+
+‘To be sure I do,’ responded he: ‘only you bother me rather, sometimes.’
+
+‘I bother you!’ cried she, in very natural surprise.
+
+‘Yes, you—but only by your exceeding goodness.  When a boy has been
+eating raisins and sugar-plums all day, he longs for a squeeze of sour
+orange by way of a change.  And did you never, Milly, observe the sands
+on the sea-shore; how nice and smooth they look, and how soft and easy
+they feel to the foot?  But if you plod along, for half an hour, over
+this soft, easy carpet—giving way at every step, yielding the more the
+harder you press,—you’ll find it rather wearisome work, and be glad
+enough to come to a bit of good, firm rock, that won’t budge an inch
+whether you stand, walk, or stamp upon it; and, though it be hard as the
+nether millstone, you’ll find it the easier footing after all.’
+
+‘I know what you mean, Ralph,’ said she, nervously playing with her
+watchguard and tracing the figure on the rug with the point of her tiny
+foot—‘I know what you mean: but I thought you always liked to be yielded
+to, and I can’t alter now.’
+
+‘I do like it,’ replied he, bringing her to him by another tug at her
+hair.  ‘You mustn’t mind my talk, Milly.  A man must have something to
+grumble about; and if he can’t complain that his wife harries him to
+death with her perversity and ill-humour, he must complain that she wears
+him out with her kindness and gentleness.’
+
+‘But why complain at all, unless because you are tired and dissatisfied?’
+
+‘To excuse my own failings, to be sure.  Do you think I’ll bear all the
+burden of my sins on my own shoulders, as long as there’s another ready
+to help me, with none of her own to carry?’
+
+‘There is no such one on earth,’ said she seriously; and then, taking his
+hand from her head, she kissed it with an air of genuine devotion, and
+tripped away to the door.
+
+‘What now?’ said he.  ‘Where are you going?’
+
+‘To tidy my hair,’ she answered, smiling through her disordered locks;
+‘you’ve made it all come down.’
+
+‘Off with you then!—An excellent little woman,’ he remarked when she was
+gone, ‘but a thought too soft—she almost melts in one’s hands.  I
+positively think I ill-use her sometimes, when I’ve taken too much—but I
+can’t help it, for she never complains, either at the time or after.  I
+suppose she doesn’t mind it.’
+
+‘I can enlighten you on that subject, Mr. Hattersley,’ said I: ‘she does
+mind it; and some other things she minds still more, which yet you may
+never hear her complain of.’
+
+‘How do you know?—does she complain to you?’ demanded he, with a sudden
+spark of fury ready to burst into a flame if I should answer “yes.”
+
+‘No,’ I replied; ‘but I have known her longer and studied her more
+closely than you have done.—And I can tell you, Mr. Hattersley, that
+Milicent loves you more than you deserve, and that you have it in your
+power to make her very happy, instead of which you are her evil genius,
+and, I will venture to say, there is not a single day passes in which you
+do not inflict upon her some pang that you might spare her if you would.’
+
+‘Well—it’s not my fault,’ said he, gazing carelessly up at the ceiling
+and plunging his hands into his pockets: ‘if my ongoings don’t suit her,
+she should tell me so.’
+
+‘Is she not exactly the wife you wanted?  Did you not tell Mr. Huntingdon
+you must have one that would submit to anything without a murmur, and
+never blame you, whatever you did?’
+
+‘True, but we shouldn’t always have what we want: it spoils the best of
+us, doesn’t it?  How can I help playing the deuce when I see it’s all one
+to her whether I behave like a Christian or like a scoundrel, such as
+nature made me? and how can I help teasing her when she’s so invitingly
+meek and mim, when she lies down like a spaniel at my feet and never so
+much as squeaks to tell me that’s enough?’
+
+‘If you are a tyrant by nature, the temptation is strong, I allow; but no
+generous mind delights to oppress the weak, but rather to cherish and
+protect.’
+
+‘I don’t oppress her; but it’s so confounded flat to be always cherishing
+and protecting; and then, how can I tell that I am oppressing her when
+she “melts away and makes no sign”?  I sometimes think she has no feeling
+at all; and then I go on till she cries, and that satisfies me.’
+
+‘Then you do delight to oppress her?’
+
+‘I don’t, I tell you! only when I’m in a bad humour, or a particularly
+good one, and want to afflict for the pleasure of comforting; or when she
+looks flat and wants shaking up a bit.  And sometimes she provokes me by
+crying for nothing, and won’t tell me what it’s for; and then, I allow,
+it enrages me past bearing, especially when I’m not my own man.’
+
+‘As is no doubt generally the case on such occasions,’ said I.  ‘But in
+future, Mr. Hattersley, when you see her looking flat, or crying for
+“nothing” (as you call it), ascribe it all to yourself: be assured it is
+something you have done amiss, or your general misconduct, that
+distresses her.’
+
+‘I don’t believe it.  If it were, she should tell me so: I don’t like
+that way of moping and fretting in silence, and saying nothing: it’s not
+honest.  How can she expect me to mend my ways at that rate?’
+
+‘Perhaps she gives you credit for having more sense than you possess, and
+deludes herself with the hope that you will one day see your own errors
+and repair them, if left to your own reflection.’
+
+‘None of your sneers, Mrs. Huntingdon.  I have the sense to see that I’m
+not always quite correct, but sometimes I think that’s no great matter,
+as long as I injure nobody but myself—’
+
+‘It is a great matter,’ interrupted I, ‘both to yourself (as you will
+hereafter find to your cost) and to all connected with you, most
+especially your wife.  But, indeed, it is nonsense to talk about injuring
+no one but yourself: it is impossible to injure yourself, especially by
+such acts as we allude to, without injuring hundreds, if not thousands,
+besides, in a greater or less, degree, either by the evil you do or the
+good you leave undone.’  ‘And as I was saying,’ continued he, ‘or would
+have said if you hadn’t taken me up so short, I sometimes think I should
+do better if I were joined to one that would always remind me when I was
+wrong, and give me a motive for doing good and eschewing evil, by
+decidedly showing her approval of the one and disapproval of the other.’
+
+‘If you had no higher motive than the approval of your fellow-mortal, it
+would do you little good.’
+
+‘Well, but if I had a mate that would not always be yielding, and always
+equally kind, but that would have the spirit to stand at bay now and
+then, and honestly tell me her mind at all times, such a one as yourself
+for instance.  Now, if I went on with you as I do with her when I’m in
+London, you’d make the house too hot to hold me at times, I’ll be sworn.’
+
+‘You mistake me: I’m no termagant.’
+
+‘Well, all the better for that, for I can’t stand contradiction, in a
+general way, and I’m as fond of my own will as another; only I think too
+much of it doesn’t answer for any man.’
+
+‘Well, I would never contradict you without a cause, but certainly I
+would always let you know what I thought of your conduct; and if you
+oppressed me, in body, mind, or estate, you should at least have no
+reason to suppose “I didn’t mind it.”’
+
+‘I know that, my lady; and I think if my little wife were to follow the
+same plan, it would be better for us both.’
+
+‘I’ll tell her.’
+
+‘No, no, let her be; there’s much to be said on both sides, and, now I
+think upon it, Huntingdon often regrets that you are not more like her,
+scoundrelly dog that he is, and you see, after all, you can’t reform him:
+he’s ten times worse than I.  He’s afraid of you, to be sure; that is,
+he’s always on his best behaviour in your presence—but—’
+
+‘I wonder what his worst behaviour is like, then?’ I could not forbear
+observing.
+
+‘Why, to tell you the truth, it’s very bad indeed—isn’t it, Hargrave?’
+said he, addressing that gentleman, who had entered the room unperceived
+by me, for I was now standing near the fire, with my back to the door.
+‘Isn’t Huntingdon,’ he continued, ‘as great a reprobate as ever was d—d?’
+
+‘His lady will not hear him censured with impunity,’ replied Mr.
+Hargrave, coming forward; ‘but I must say, I thank God I am not such
+another.’
+
+‘Perhaps it would become you better,’ said I, ‘to look at what you are,
+and say, “God be merciful to me a sinner.”’
+
+‘You are severe,’ returned he, bowing slightly and drawing himself up
+with a proud yet injured air.  Hattersley laughed, and clapped him on the
+shoulder.  Moving from under his hand with a gesture of insulted dignity,
+Mr. Hargrave took himself away to the other end of the rug.
+
+‘Isn’t it a shame, Mrs. Huntingdon?’ cried his brother-in-law; ‘I struck
+Walter Hargrave when I was drunk, the second night after we came, and
+he’s turned a cold shoulder on me ever since; though I asked his pardon
+the very morning after it was done!’
+
+‘Your manner of asking it,’ returned the other, ‘and the clearness with
+which you remembered the whole transaction, showed you were not too drunk
+to be fully conscious of what you were about, and quite responsible for
+the deed.’
+
+‘You wanted to interfere between me and my wife,’ grumbled Hattersley,
+‘and that is enough to provoke any man.’
+
+‘You justify it, then?’ said his opponent, darting upon him a most
+vindictive glance.
+
+‘No, I tell you I wouldn’t have done it if I hadn’t been under
+excitement; and if you choose to bear malice for it after all the
+handsome things I’ve said, do so and be d—d!’
+
+‘I would refrain from such language in a lady’s presence, at least,’ said
+Mr. Hargrave, hiding his anger under a mask of disgust.
+
+‘What have I said?’ returned Hattersley: ‘nothing but heaven’s truth.  He
+will be damned, won’t he, Mrs. Huntingdon, if he doesn’t forgive his
+brother’s trespasses?’
+
+‘You ought to forgive him, Mr. Hargrave, since he asks you,’ said I.
+
+‘Do you say so?  Then I will!’  And, smiling almost frankly, he stepped
+forward and offered his hand.  It was immediately clasped in that of his
+relative, and the reconciliation was apparently cordial on both sides.
+
+‘The affront,’ continued Hargrave, turning to me, ‘owed half its
+bitterness to the fact of its being offered in your presence; and since
+you bid me forgive it, I will, and forget it too.’
+
+‘I guess the best return I can make will be to take myself off,’ muttered
+Hattersley, with a broad grin.  His companion smiled, and he left the
+room.  This put me on my guard.  Mr. Hargrave turned seriously to me, and
+earnestly began,—
+
+‘Dear Mrs. Huntingdon, how I have longed for, yet dreaded, this hour!  Do
+not be alarmed,’ he added, for my face was crimson with anger: ‘I am not
+about to offend you with any useless entreaties or complaints.  I am not
+going to presume to trouble you with the mention of my own feelings or
+your perfections, but I have something to reveal to you which you ought
+to know, and which, yet, it pains me inexpressibly—’
+
+‘Then don’t trouble yourself to reveal it!’
+
+‘But it is of importance—’
+
+‘If so I shall hear it soon enough, especially if it is bad news, as you
+seem to consider it.  At present I am going to take the children to the
+nursery.’
+
+‘But can’t you ring and send them?’
+
+‘No; I want the exercise of a run to the top of the house.  Come,
+Arthur.’
+
+‘But you will return?’
+
+‘Not yet; don’t wait.’
+
+‘Then when may I see you again?’
+
+‘At lunch,’ said I, departing with little Helen in one arm and leading
+Arthur by the hand.
+
+He turned away, muttering some sentence of impatient censure or
+complaint, in which ‘heartless’ was the only distinguishable word.
+
+‘What nonsense is this, Mr. Hargrave?’ said I, pausing in the doorway.
+‘What do you mean?’
+
+‘Oh, nothing; I did not intend you should hear my soliloquy.  But the
+fact is, Mrs. Huntingdon, I have a disclosure to make, painful for me to
+offer as for you to hear; and I want you to give me a few minutes of your
+attention in private at any time and place you like to appoint.  It is
+from no selfish motive that I ask it, and not for any cause that could
+alarm your superhuman purity: therefore you need not kill me with that
+look of cold and pitiless disdain.  I know too well the feelings with
+which the bearers of bad tidings are commonly regarded not to—’
+
+‘What is this wonderful piece of intelligence?’ said I, impatiently
+interrupting him.  ‘If it is anything of real importance, speak it in
+three words before I go.’
+
+‘In three words I cannot.  Send those children away and stay with me.’
+
+‘No; keep your bad tidings to yourself.  I know it is something I don’t
+want to hear, and something you would displease me by telling.’
+
+‘You have divined too truly, I fear; but still, since I know it, I feel
+it my duty to disclose it to you.’
+
+‘Oh, spare us both the infliction, and I will exonerate you from the
+duty.  You have offered to tell; I have refused to hear: my ignorance
+will not be charged on you.’
+
+‘Be it so: you shall not hear it from me.  But if the blow fall too
+suddenly upon you when it comes, remember I wished to soften it!’
+
+I left him.  I was determined his words should not alarm me.  What could
+he, of all men, have to reveal that was of importance for me to hear?  It
+was no doubt some exaggerated tale about my unfortunate husband that he
+wished to make the most of to serve his own bad purposes.
+
+6th.—He has not alluded to this momentous mystery since, and I have seen
+no reason to repent of my unwillingness to hear it.  The threatened blow
+has not been struck yet, and I do not greatly fear it.  At present I am
+pleased with Arthur: he has not positively disgraced himself for upwards
+of a fortnight, and all this last week has been so very moderate in his
+indulgence at table that I can perceive a marked difference in his
+general temper and appearance.  Dare I hope this will continue?
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIII
+
+
+Seventh.—Yes, I will hope!  To-night I heard Grimsby and Hattersley
+grumbling together about the inhospitality of their host.  They did not
+know I was near, for I happened to be standing behind the curtain in the
+bow of the window, watching the moon rising over the clump of tall dark
+elm-trees below the lawn, and wondering why Arthur was so sentimental as
+to stand without, leaning against the outer pillar of the portico,
+apparently watching it too.
+
+‘So, I suppose we’ve seen the last of our merry carousals in this house,’
+said Mr. Hattersley; ‘I thought his good-fellowship wouldn’t last long.
+But,’ added he, laughing, ‘I didn’t expect it would meet its end this
+way.  I rather thought our pretty hostess would be setting up her
+porcupine quills, and threatening to turn us out of the house if we
+didn’t mind our manners.’
+
+‘You didn’t foresee this, then?’ answered Grimsby, with a guttural
+chuckle.  ‘But he’ll change again when he’s sick of her.  If we come here
+a year or two hence, we shall have all our own way, you’ll see.’
+
+‘I don’t know,’ replied the other: ‘she’s not the style of woman you soon
+tire of.  But be that as it may, it’s devilish provoking now that we
+can’t be jolly, because he chooses to be on his good behaviour.’
+
+‘It’s all these cursed women!’ muttered Grimsby: ‘they’re the very bane
+of the world!  They bring trouble and discomfort wherever they come, with
+their false, fair faces and their deceitful tongues.’
+
+At this juncture I issued from my retreat, and smiling on Mr. Grimsby as
+I passed, left the room and went out in search of Arthur.  Having seen
+him bend his course towards the shrubbery, I followed him thither, and
+found him just entering the shadowy walk.  I was so light of heart, so
+overflowing with affection, that I sprang upon him and clasped him in my
+arms.  This startling conduct had a singular effect upon him: first, he
+murmured, ‘Bless you, darling!’ and returned my close embrace with a
+fervour like old times, and then he started, and, in a tone of absolute
+terror, exclaimed, ‘Helen! what the devil is this?’ and I saw, by the
+faint light gleaming through the overshadowing tree, that he was
+positively pale with the shock.
+
+How strange that the instinctive impulse of affection should come first,
+and then the shock of the surprise!  It shows, at least, that the
+affection is genuine: he is not sick of me yet.
+
+‘I startled you, Arthur,’ said I, laughing in my glee.  ‘How nervous you
+are!’
+
+‘What the deuce did you do it for?’ cried he, quite testily, extricating
+himself from my arms, and wiping his forehead with his handkerchief.  ‘Go
+back, Helen—go back directly!  You’ll get your death of cold!’
+
+‘I won’t, till I’ve told you what I came for.  They are blaming you,
+Arthur, for your temperance and sobriety, and I’m come to thank you for
+it.  They say it is all “these cursed women,” and that we are the bane of
+the world; but don’t let them laugh or grumble you out of your good
+resolutions, or your affection for me.’
+
+He laughed.  I squeezed him in my arms again, and cried in tearful
+earnest, ‘Do, do persevere! and I’ll love you better than ever I did
+before!’
+
+‘Well, well, I will!’ said he, hastily kissing me.  ‘There, now, go.  You
+mad creature, how could you come out in your light evening dress this
+chill autumn night?’
+
+‘It is a glorious night,’ said I.
+
+‘It is a night that will give you your death, in another minute.  Run
+away, do!’
+
+‘Do you see my death among those trees, Arthur?’ said I, for he was
+gazing intently at the shrubs, as if he saw it coming, and I was
+reluctant to leave him, in my new-found happiness and revival of hope and
+love.  But he grew angry at my delay, so I kissed him and ran back to the
+house.
+
+I was in such a good humour that night: Milicent told me I was the life
+of the party, and whispered she had never seen me so brilliant.
+Certainly, I talked enough for twenty, and smiled upon them all.
+Grimsby, Hattersley, Hargrave, Lady Lowborough, all shared my sisterly
+kindness.  Grimsby stared and wondered; Hattersley laughed and jested (in
+spite of the little wine he had been suffered to imbibe), but still
+behaved as well as he knew how.  Hargrave and Annabella, from different
+motives and in different ways, emulated me, and doubtless both surpassed
+me, the former in his discursive versatility and eloquence, the latter in
+boldness and animation at least.  Milicent, delighted to see her husband,
+her brother, and her over-estimated friend acquitting themselves so well,
+was lively and gay too, in her quiet way.  Even Lord Lowborough caught
+the general contagion: his dark greenish eyes were lighted up beneath
+their moody brows; his sombre countenance was beautified by smiles; all
+traces of gloom and proud or cold reserve had vanished for the time; and
+he astonished us all, not only by his general cheerfulness and animation,
+but by the positive flashes of true force and brilliance he emitted from
+time to time.  Arthur did not talk much, but he laughed, and listened to
+the rest, and was in perfect good-humour, though not excited by wine.  So
+that, altogether, we made a very merry, innocent, and entertaining party.
+
+9th.—Yesterday, when Rachel came to dress me for dinner, I saw that she
+had been crying.  I wanted to know the cause of it, but she seemed
+reluctant to tell.  Was she unwell?  No.  Had she heard bad news from her
+friends?  No.  Had any of the servants vexed her?
+
+‘Oh, no, ma’am!’ she answered; ‘it’s not for myself.’
+
+‘What then, Rachel?  Have you been reading novels?’
+
+‘Bless you, no!’ said she, with a sorrowful shake of the head; and then
+she sighed and continued: ‘But to tell you the truth, ma’am, I don’t like
+master’s ways of going on.’
+
+‘What do you mean, Rachel?  He’s going on very properly at present.’
+
+‘Well, ma’am, if you think so, it’s right.’
+
+And she went on dressing my hair, in a hurried way, quite unlike her
+usual calm, collected manner, murmuring, half to herself, she was sure it
+was beautiful hair: she ‘could like to see ’em match it.’  When it was
+done, she fondly stroked it, and gently patted my head.
+
+‘Is that affectionate ebullition intended for my hair, or myself, nurse?’
+said I, laughingly turning round upon her; but a tear was even now in her
+eye.
+
+‘What do you mean, Rachel?’ I exclaimed.
+
+‘Well, ma’am, I don’t know; but if—’
+
+‘If what?’
+
+‘Well, if I was you, I wouldn’t have that Lady Lowborough in the house
+another minute—not another minute I wouldn’t!
+
+I was thunderstruck; but before I could recover from the shock
+sufficiently to demand an explanation, Milicent entered my room, as she
+frequently does when she is dressed before me; and she stayed with me
+till it was time to go down.  She must have found me a very unsociable
+companion this time, for Rachel’s last words rang in my ears.  But still
+I hoped, I trusted they had no foundation but in some idle rumour of the
+servants from what they had seen in Lady Lowborough’s manner last month;
+or perhaps from something that had passed between their master and her
+during her former visit.  At dinner I narrowly observed both her and
+Arthur, and saw nothing extraordinary in the conduct of either, nothing
+calculated to excite suspicion, except in distrustful minds, which mine
+was not, and therefore I would not suspect.
+
+Almost immediately after dinner Annabella went out with her husband to
+share his moonlight ramble, for it was a splendid evening like the last.
+Mr. Hargrave entered the drawing-room a little before the others, and
+challenged me to a game of chess.  He did it without any of that sad but
+proud humility he usually assumes in addressing me, unless he is excited
+with wine.  I looked at his face to see if that was the case now.  His
+eye met mine keenly, but steadily: there was something about him I did
+not understand, but he seemed sober enough.  Not choosing to engage with
+him, I referred him to Milicent.
+
+‘She plays badly,’ said he, ‘I want to match my skill with yours.  Come
+now! you can’t pretend you are reluctant to lay down your work.  I know
+you never take it up except to pass an idle hour, when there is nothing
+better you can do.’
+
+‘But chess-players are so unsociable,’ I objected; ‘they are no company
+for any but themselves.’
+
+‘There is no one here but Milicent, and she—’
+
+‘Oh, I shall be delighted to watch you!’ cried our mutual friend.  ‘Two
+such players—it will be quite a treat!  I wonder which will conquer.’
+
+I consented.
+
+‘Now, Mrs. Huntingdon,’ said Hargrave, as he arranged the men on the
+board, speaking distinctly, and with a peculiar emphasis, as if he had a
+double meaning to all his words, ‘you are a good player, but I am a
+better: we shall have a long game, and you will give me some trouble; but
+I can be as patient as you, and in the end I shall certainly win.’  He
+fixed his eyes upon me with a glance I did not like, keen, crafty, bold,
+and almost impudent;—already half triumphant in his anticipated success.
+
+‘I hope not, Mr. Hargrave!’ returned I, with vehemence that must have
+startled Milicent at least; but he only smiled and murmured, ‘Time will
+show.’
+
+We set to work: he sufficiently interested in the game, but calm and
+fearless in the consciousness of superior skill: I, intensely eager to
+disappoint his expectations, for I considered this the type of a more
+serious contest, as I imagined he did, and I felt an almost superstitious
+dread of being beaten: at all events, I could ill endure that present
+success should add one tittle to his conscious power (his insolent
+self-confidence I ought to say), or encourage for a moment his dream of
+future conquest.  His play was cautious and deep, but I struggled hard
+against him.  For some time the combat was doubtful: at length, to my
+joy, the victory seemed inclining to my side: I had taken several of his
+best pieces, and manifestly baffled his projects.  He put his hand to his
+brow and paused, in evident perplexity.  I rejoiced in my advantage, but
+dared not glory in it yet.  At length, he lifted his head, and quietly
+making his move, looked at me and said, calmly, ‘Now you think you will
+win, don’t you?’
+
+‘I hope so,’ replied I, taking his pawn that he had pushed into the way
+of my bishop with so careless an air that I thought it was an oversight,
+but was not generous enough, under the circumstances, to direct his
+attention to it, and too heedless, at the moment, to foresee the
+after-consequences of my move.  ‘It is those bishops that trouble me,’
+said he; ‘but the bold knight can overleap the reverend gentlemen,’
+taking my last bishop with his knight; ‘and now, those sacred persons
+once removed, I shall carry all before me.’
+
+‘Oh, Walter, how you talk!’ cried Milicent; ‘she has far more pieces than
+you still.’
+
+‘I intend to give you some trouble yet,’ said I; ‘and perhaps, sir, you
+will find yourself checkmated before you are aware.  Look to your queen.’
+
+The combat deepened.  The game was a long one, and I did give him some
+trouble: but he was a better player than I.
+
+‘What keen gamesters you are!’ said Mr. Hattersley, who had now entered,
+and been watching us for some time.  ‘Why, Mrs. Huntingdon, your hand
+trembles as if you had staked your all upon it! and, Walter, you dog, you
+look as deep and cool as if you were certain of success, and as keen and
+cruel as if you would drain her heart’s blood!  But if I were you, I
+wouldn’t beat her, for very fear: she’ll hate you if you do—she will, by
+heaven!  I see it in her eye.’
+
+‘Hold your tongue, will you?’ said I: his talk distracted me, for I was
+driven to extremities.  A few more moves, and I was inextricably
+entangled in the snare of my antagonist.
+
+‘Check,’ cried he: I sought in agony some means of escape.  ‘Mate!’ he
+added, quietly, but with evident delight.  He had suspended the utterance
+of that last fatal syllable the better to enjoy my dismay.  I was
+foolishly disconcerted by the event.  Hattersley laughed; Milicent was
+troubled to see me so disturbed.  Hargrave placed his hand on mine that
+rested on the table, and squeezing it with a firm but gentle pressure,
+murmured, ‘Beaten, beaten!’ and gazed into my face with a look where
+exultation was blended with an expression of ardour and tenderness yet
+more insulting.
+
+‘No, never, Mr. Hargrave!’ exclaimed I, quickly withdrawing my hand.
+
+‘Do you deny?’ replied he, smilingly pointing to the board.  ‘No, no,’ I
+answered, recollecting how strange my conduct must appear: ‘you have
+beaten me in that game.’
+
+‘Will you try another, then?’
+
+‘No.’
+
+‘You acknowledge my superiority?’
+
+‘Yes, as a chess-player.’
+
+I rose to resume my work.
+
+‘Where is Annabella?’ said Hargrave, gravely, after glancing round the
+room.
+
+‘Gone out with Lord Lowborough,’ answered I, for he looked at me for a
+reply.
+
+‘And not yet returned!’ he said, seriously.
+
+‘I suppose not.’
+
+‘Where is Huntingdon?’ looking round again.
+
+‘Gone out with Grimsby, as you know,’ said Hattersley, suppressing a
+laugh, which broke forth as he concluded the sentence.  Why did he laugh?
+Why did Hargrave connect them thus together?  Was it true, then?  And was
+this the dreadful secret he had wished to reveal to me?  I must know, and
+that quickly.  I instantly rose and left the room to go in search of
+Rachel and demand an explanation of her words; but Mr. Hargrave followed
+me into the anteroom, and before I could open its outer door, gently laid
+his hand upon the lock.  ‘May I tell you something, Mrs. Huntingdon?’
+said he, in a subdued tone, with serious, downcast eyes.
+
+‘If it be anything worth hearing,’ replied I, struggling to be composed,
+for I trembled in every limb.
+
+He quietly pushed a chair towards me.  I merely leant my hand upon it,
+and bid him go on.
+
+‘Do not be alarmed,’ said he: ‘what I wish to say is nothing in itself;
+and I will leave you to draw your own inferences from it.  You say that
+Annabella is not yet returned?’
+
+‘Yes, yes—go on!’ said I, impatiently; for I feared my forced calmness
+would leave me before the end of his disclosure, whatever it might be.
+
+‘And you hear,’ continued he, ‘that Huntingdon is gone out with Grimsby?’
+
+‘Well?’
+
+‘I heard the latter say to your husband—or the man who calls himself so—’
+
+‘Go on, sir!’
+
+He bowed submissively, and continued: ‘I heard him say,—“I shall manage
+it, you’ll see!  They’re gone down by the water; I shall meet them there,
+and tell him I want a bit of talk with him about some things that we
+needn’t trouble the lady with; and she’ll say she can be walking back to
+the house; and then I shall apologise, you know, and all that, and tip
+her a wink to take the way of the shrubbery.  I’ll keep him talking
+there, about those matters I mentioned, and anything else I can think of,
+as long as I can, and then bring him round the other way, stopping to
+look at the trees, the fields, and anything else I can find to discourse
+of.”’  Mr. Hargrave paused, and looked at me.
+
+Without a word of comment or further questioning, I rose, and darted from
+the room and out of the house.  The torment of suspense was not to be
+endured: I would not suspect my husband falsely, on this man’s
+accusation, and I would not trust him unworthily—I must know the truth at
+once.  I flew to the shrubbery.  Scarcely had I reached it, when a sound
+of voices arrested my breathless speed.
+
+‘We have lingered too long; he will be back,’ said Lady Lowborough’s
+voice.
+
+‘Surely not, dearest!’ was his reply; ‘but you can run across the lawn,
+and get in as quietly as you can; I’ll follow in a while.’
+
+My knees trembled under me; my brain swam round.  I was ready to faint.
+She must not see me thus.  I shrunk among the bushes, and leant against
+the trunk of a tree to let her pass.
+
+‘Ah, Huntingdon!’ said she reproachfully, pausing where I had stood with
+him the night before—‘it was here you kissed that woman!’ she looked back
+into the leafy shade.  Advancing thence, he answered, with a careless
+laugh,—
+
+‘Well, dearest, I couldn’t help it.  You know I must keep straight with
+her as long as I can.  Haven’t I seen you kiss your dolt of a husband
+scores of times?—and do I ever complain?’
+
+‘But tell me, don’t you love her still—a little?’ said she, placing her
+hand on his arm, looking earnestly in his face—for I could see them,
+plainly, the moon shining full upon them from between the branches of the
+tree that sheltered me.
+
+‘Not one bit, by all that’s sacred!’ he replied, kissing her glowing
+cheek.
+
+‘Good heavens, I must be gone!’ cried she, suddenly breaking from him,
+and away she flew.
+
+There he stood before me; but I had not strength to confront him now: my
+tongue cleaved to the roof of my mouth; I was well-nigh sinking to the
+earth, and I almost wondered he did not hear the beating of my heart
+above the low sighing of the wind and the fitful rustle of the falling
+leaves.  My senses seemed to fail me, but still I saw his shadowy form
+pass before me, and through the rushing sound in my ears I distinctly
+heard him say, as he stood looking up the lawn,—‘There goes the fool!
+Run, Annabella, run!  There—in with you!  Ah,—he didn’t see!  That’s
+right, Grimsby, keep him back!’  And even his low laugh reached me as he
+walked away.
+
+‘God help me now!’ I murmured, sinking on my knees among the damp weeds
+and brushwood that surrounded me, and looking up at the moonlit sky,
+through the scant foliage above.  It seemed all dim and quivering now to
+my darkened sight.  My burning, bursting heart strove to pour forth its
+agony to God, but could not frame its anguish into prayer; until a gust
+of wind swept over me, which, while it scattered the dead leaves, like
+blighted hopes, around, cooled my forehead, and seemed a little to revive
+my sinking frame.  Then, while I lifted up my soul in speechless, earnest
+supplication, some heavenly influence seemed to strengthen me within: I
+breathed more freely; my vision cleared; I saw distinctly the pure moon
+shining on, and the light clouds skimming the clear, dark sky; and then I
+saw the eternal stars twinkling down upon me; I knew their God was mine,
+and He was strong to save and swift to hear.  ‘I will never leave thee,
+nor forsake thee,’ seemed whispered from above their myriad orbs.  No,
+no; I felt He would not leave me comfortless: in spite of earth and hell
+I should have strength for all my trials, and win a glorious rest at
+last!
+
+Refreshed, invigorated, if not composed, I rose and returned to the
+house.  Much of my new-born strength and courage forsook me, I confess,
+as I entered it, and shut out the fresh wind and the glorious sky:
+everything I saw and heard seemed to sicken my heart—the hall, the lamp,
+the staircase, the doors of the different apartments, the social sound of
+talk and laughter from the drawing-room.  How could I bear my future
+life!  In this house, among those people—oh, how could I endure to live!
+John just then entered the hall, and seeing me, told me he had been sent
+in search of me, adding that he had taken in the tea, and master wished
+to know if I were coming.
+
+‘Ask Mrs. Hattersley to be so kind as to make the tea, John,’ said I.
+‘Say I am not well to-night, and wish to be excused.’
+
+I retired into the large, empty dining-room, where all was silence and
+darkness, but for the soft sighing of the wind without, and the faint
+gleam of moonlight that pierced the blinds and curtains; and there I
+walked rapidly up and down, thinking of my bitter thoughts alone.  How
+different was this from the evening of yesterday!  That, it seems, was
+the last expiring flash of my life’s happiness.  Poor, blinded fool that
+I was to be so happy!  I could now see the reason of Arthur’s strange
+reception of me in the shrubbery; the burst of kindness was for his
+paramour, the start of horror for his wife.  Now, too, I could better
+understand the conversation between Hattersley and Grimsby; it was
+doubtless of his love for her they spoke, not for me.
+
+I heard the drawing-room door open: a light quick step came out of the
+ante-room, crossed the hall, and ascended the stairs.  It was Milicent,
+poor Milicent, gone to see how I was—no one else cared for me; but she
+still was kind.  I shed no tears before, but now they came, fast and
+free.  Thus she did me good, without approaching me.  Disappointed in her
+search, I heard her come down, more slowly than she had ascended.  Would
+she come in there, and find me out?  No, she turned in the opposite
+direction and re-entered the drawing-room.  I was glad, for I knew not
+how to meet her, or what to say.  I wanted no confidante in my distress.
+I deserved none, and I wanted none.  I had taken the burden upon myself;
+let me bear it alone.
+
+As the usual hour of retirement approached I dried my eyes, and tried to
+clear my voice and calm my mind.  I must see Arthur to-night, and speak
+to him; but I would do it calmly: there should be no scene—nothing to
+complain or to boast of to his companions—nothing to laugh at with his
+lady-love.  When the company were retiring to their chambers I gently
+opened the door, and just as he passed, beckoned him in.
+
+‘What’s to do with you, Helen?’ said he.  ‘Why couldn’t you come to make
+tea for us? and what the deuce are you here for, in the dark?  What ails
+you, young woman: you look like a ghost!’ he continued, surveying me by
+the light of his candle.
+
+‘No matter,’ I answered, ‘to you; you have no longer any regard for me it
+appears; and I have no longer any for you.’
+
+‘Hal-lo! what the devil is this?’ he muttered.  ‘I would leave you
+to-morrow,’ continued I, ‘and never again come under this roof, but for
+my child’—I paused a moment to steady, my voice.
+
+‘What in the devil’s name is this, Helen?’ cried he.  ‘What can you be
+driving at?’
+
+‘You know perfectly well.  Let us waste no time in useless explanation,
+but tell me, will you—?’
+
+He vehemently swore he knew nothing about it, and insisted upon hearing
+what poisonous old woman had been blackening his name, and what infamous
+lies I had been fool enough to believe.
+
+‘Spare yourself the trouble of forswearing yourself and racking your
+brains to stifle truth with falsehood,’ I coldly replied.  ‘I have
+trusted to the testimony of no third person.  I was in the shrubbery this
+evening, and I saw and heard for myself.’
+
+This was enough.  He uttered a suppressed exclamation of consternation
+and dismay, and muttering, ‘I shall catch it now!’ set down his candle on
+the nearest chair, and rearing his back against the wall, stood
+confronting me with folded arms.
+
+‘Well, what then?’ said he, with the calm insolence of mingled
+shamelessness and desperation.
+
+‘Only this,’ returned I; ‘will you let me take our child and what remains
+of my fortune, and go?’
+
+‘Go where?’
+
+‘Anywhere, where he will be safe from your contaminating influence, and I
+shall be delivered from your presence, and you from mine.’
+
+‘No.’
+
+‘Will you let me have the child then, without the money?’
+
+‘No, nor yourself without the child.  Do you think I’m going to be made
+the talk of the country for your fastidious caprices?’
+
+‘Then I must stay here, to be hated and despised.  But henceforth we are
+husband and wife only in the name.’
+
+‘Very good.’
+
+‘I am your child’s mother, and your housekeeper, nothing more.  So you
+need not trouble yourself any longer to feign the love you cannot feel: I
+will exact no more heartless caresses from you, nor offer nor endure them
+either.  I will not be mocked with the empty husk of conjugal
+endearments, when you have given the substance to another!’
+
+‘Very good, if you please.  We shall see who will tire first, my lady.’
+
+‘If I tire, it will be of living in the world with you: not of living
+without your mockery of love.  When you tire of your sinful ways, and
+show yourself truly repentant, I will forgive you, and, perhaps, try to
+love you again, though that will be hard indeed.’
+
+‘Humph! and meantime you will go and talk me over to Mrs. Hargrave, and
+write long letters to aunt Maxwell to complain of the wicked wretch you
+have married?’
+
+‘I shall complain to no one.  Hitherto I have struggled hard to hide your
+vices from every eye, and invest you with virtues you never possessed;
+but now you must look to yourself.’
+
+I left him muttering bad language to himself, and went up-stairs.
+
+‘You are poorly, ma’am,’ said Rachel, surveying me with deep anxiety.
+
+‘It is too true, Rachel,’ said I, answering her sad looks rather than her
+words.
+
+‘I knew it, or I wouldn’t have mentioned such a thing.’
+
+‘But don’t you trouble yourself about it,’ said I, kissing her pale,
+time-wasted cheek.  ‘I can bear it better than you imagine.’
+
+‘Yes, you were always for “bearing.”  But if I was you I wouldn’t bear
+it; I’d give way to it, and cry right hard! and I’d talk too, I just
+would—I’d let him know what it was to—’
+
+‘I have talked,’ said I; ‘I’ve said enough.’
+
+‘Then I’d cry,’ persisted she.  ‘I wouldn’t look so white and so calm,
+and burst my heart with keeping it in.’
+
+‘I have cried,’ said I, smiling, in spite of my misery; ‘and I am calm
+now, really: so don’t discompose me again, nurse: let us say no more
+about it, and don’t mention it to the servants.  There, you may go now.
+Good-night; and don’t disturb your rest for me: I shall sleep well—if I
+can.’
+
+Notwithstanding this resolution, I found my bed so intolerable that,
+before two o’clock, I rose, and lighting my candle by the rushlight that
+was still burning, I got my desk and sat down in my dressing-gown to
+recount the events of the past evening.  It was better to be so occupied
+than to be lying in bed torturing my brain with recollections of the far
+past and anticipations of the dreadful future.  I have found relief in
+describing the very circumstances that have destroyed my peace, as well
+as the little trivial details attendant upon their discovery.  No sleep I
+could have got this night would have done so much towards composing my
+mind, and preparing me to meet the trials of the day.  I fancy so, at
+least; and yet, when I cease writing, I find my head aches terribly; and
+when I look into the glass, I am startled at my haggard, worn appearance.
+
+Rachel has been to dress me, and says I have had a sad night of it, she
+can see.  Milicent has just looked in to ask me how I was.  I told her I
+was better, but to excuse my appearance admitted I had had a restless
+night.  I wish this day were over!  I shudder at the thoughts of going
+down to breakfast.  How shall I encounter them all?  Yet let me remember
+it is not I that am guilty: I have no cause to fear; and if they scorn me
+as a victim of their guilt, I can pity their folly and despise their
+scorn.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIV
+
+
+Evening.—Breakfast passed well over: I was calm and cool throughout.  I
+answered composedly all inquiries respecting my health; and whatever was
+unusual in my look or manner was generally attributed to the trifling
+indisposition that had occasioned my early retirement last night.  But
+how am I to get over the ten or twelve days that must yet elapse before
+they go?  Yet why so long for their departure?  When they are gone, how
+shall I get through the months or years of my future life in company with
+that man—my greatest enemy? for none could injure me as he has done.  Oh!
+when I think how fondly, how foolishly I have loved him, how madly I have
+trusted him, how constantly I have laboured, and studied, and prayed, and
+struggled for his advantage; and how cruelly he has trampled on my love,
+betrayed my trust, scorned my prayers and tears, and efforts for his
+preservation, crushed my hopes, destroyed my youth’s best feelings, and
+doomed me to a life of hopeless misery, as far as man can do it, it is
+not enough to say that I no longer love my husband—I HATE him!  The word
+stares me in the face like a guilty confession, but it is true: I hate
+him—I hate him!  But God have mercy on his miserable soul! and make him
+see and feel his guilt—I ask no other vengeance!  If he could but fully
+know and truly feel my wrongs I should be well avenged, and I could
+freely pardon all; but he is so lost, so hardened in his heartless
+depravity, that in this life I believe he never will.  But it is useless
+dwelling on this theme: let me seek once more to dissipate reflection in
+the minor details of passing events.
+
+Mr. Hargrave has annoyed me all day long with his serious, sympathising,
+and (as he thinks) unobtrusive politeness.  If it were more obtrusive it
+would trouble me less, for then I could snub him; but, as it is, he
+contrives to appear so really kind and thoughtful that I cannot do so
+without rudeness and seeming ingratitude.  I sometimes think I ought to
+give him credit for the good feeling he simulates so well; and then
+again, I think it is my duty to suspect him under the peculiar
+circumstances in which I am placed.  His kindness may not all be feigned;
+but still, let not the purest impulse of gratitude to him induce me to
+forget myself: let me remember the game of chess, the expressions he used
+on the occasion, and those indescribable looks of his, that so justly
+roused my indignation, and I think I shall be safe enough.  I have done
+well to record them so minutely.
+
+I think he wishes to find an opportunity of speaking to me alone: he has
+seemed to be on the watch all day; but I have taken care to disappoint
+him—not that I fear anything he could say, but I have trouble enough
+without the addition of his insulting consolations, condolences, or
+whatever else he might attempt; and, for Milicent’s sake, I do not wish
+to quarrel with him.  He excused himself from going out to shoot with the
+other gentlemen in the morning, under the pretext of having letters to
+write; and instead of retiring for that purpose into the library, he sent
+for his desk into the morning-room, where I was seated with Milicent and
+Lady Lowborough.  They had betaken themselves to their work; I, less to
+divert my mind than to deprecate conversation, had provided myself with a
+book.  Milicent saw that I wished to be quiet, and accordingly let me
+alone.  Annabella, doubtless, saw it too: but that was no reason why she
+should restrain her tongue, or curb her cheerful spirits: she accordingly
+chatted away, addressing herself almost exclusively to me, and with the
+utmost assurance and familiarity, growing the more animated and friendly
+the colder and briefer my answers became.  Mr. Hargrave saw that I could
+ill endure it, and, looking up from his desk, he answered her questions
+and observations for me, as far as he could, and attempted to transfer
+her social attentions from me to himself; but it would not do.  Perhaps
+she thought I had a headache, and could not bear to talk; at any rate,
+she saw that her loquacious vivacity annoyed me, as I could tell by the
+malicious pertinacity with which she persisted.  But I checked it
+effectually by putting into her hand the book I had been trying to read,
+on the fly-leaf of which I had hastily scribbled,—
+
+‘I am too well acquainted with your character and conduct to feel any
+real friendship for you, and as I am without your talent for
+dissimulation, I cannot assume the appearance of it.  I must, therefore,
+beg that hereafter all familiar intercourse may cease between us; and if
+I still continue to treat you with civility, as if you were a woman
+worthy of consideration and respect, understand that it is out of regard
+for your cousin Milicent’s feelings, not for yours.’
+
+Upon perusing this she turned scarlet, and bit her lip.  Covertly tearing
+away the leaf, she crumpled it up and put it in the fire, and then
+employed herself in turning over the pages of the book, and, really or
+apparently, perusing its contents.  In a little while Milicent announced
+it her intention to repair to the nursery, and asked if I would accompany
+her.
+
+‘Annabella will excuse us,’ said she; ‘she’s busy reading.’
+
+‘No, I won’t,’ cried Annabella, suddenly looking up, and throwing her
+book on the table; ‘I want to speak to Helen a minute.  You may go,
+Milicent, and she’ll follow in a while.’  (Milicent went.) ‘Will you
+oblige me, Helen?’ continued she.
+
+Her impudence astounded me; but I complied, and followed her into the
+library.  She closed the door, and walked up to the fire.
+
+‘Who told you this?’ said she.
+
+‘No one: I am not incapable of seeing for myself.’
+
+‘Ah, you are suspicious!’ cried she, smiling, with a gleam of hope.
+Hitherto there had been a kind of desperation in her hardihood; now she
+was evidently relieved.
+
+‘If I were suspicious,’ I replied, ‘I should have discovered your infamy
+long before.  No, Lady Lowborough, I do not found my charge upon
+suspicion.’
+
+‘On what do you found it, then?’ said she, throwing herself into an
+arm-chair, and stretching out her feet to the fender, with an obvious
+effort to appear composed.
+
+‘I enjoy a moonlight ramble as well as you,’ I answered, steadily fixing
+my eyes upon her; ‘and the shrubbery happens to be one of my favourite
+resorts.’
+
+She coloured again excessively, and remained silent, pressing her finger
+against her teeth, and gazing into the fire.  I watched her a few moments
+with a feeling of malevolent gratification; then, moving towards the
+door, I calmly asked if she had anything more to say.
+
+‘Yes, yes!’ cried she eagerly, starting up from her reclining posture.
+‘I want to know if you will tell Lord Lowborough?’
+
+‘Suppose I do?’
+
+‘Well, if you are disposed to publish the matter, I cannot dissuade you,
+of course—but there will be terrible work if you do—and if you don’t, I
+shall think you the most generous of mortal beings—and if there is
+anything in the world I can do for you—anything short of—‘ she hesitated.
+
+‘Short of renouncing your guilty connection with my husband, I suppose
+you mean?’ said I.
+
+She paused, in evident disconcertion and perplexity, mingled with anger
+she dared not show.
+
+‘I cannot renounce what is dearer than life,’ she muttered, in a low,
+hurried tone.  Then, suddenly raising her head and fixing her gleaming
+eyes upon me, she continued earnestly: ‘But, Helen—or Mrs. Huntingdon, or
+whatever you would have me call you—will you tell him?  If you are
+generous, here is a fitting opportunity for the exercise of your
+magnanimity: if you are proud, here am I—your rival—ready to acknowledge
+myself your debtor for an act of the most noble forbearance.’
+
+‘I shall not tell him.’
+
+‘You will not!’ cried she, delightedly.  ‘Accept my sincere thanks,
+then!’
+
+She sprang up, and offered me her hand.  I drew back.
+
+‘Give me no thanks; it is not for your sake that I refrain.  Neither is
+it an act of any forbearance: I have no wish to publish your shame.  I
+should be sorry to distress your husband with the knowledge of it.’
+
+‘And Milicent? will you tell her?’
+
+‘No: on the contrary, I shall do my utmost to conceal it from her.  I
+would not for much that she should know the infamy and disgrace of her
+relation!’
+
+‘You use hard words, Mrs. Huntingdon, but I can pardon you.’
+
+‘And now, Lady Lowborough,’ continued I, ‘let me counsel you to leave
+this house as soon as possible.  You must be aware that your continuance
+here is excessively disagreeable to me—not for Mr. Huntingdon’s sake,’
+said I, observing the dawn of a malicious smile of triumph on her
+face—‘you are welcome to him, if you like him, as far as I am
+concerned—but because it is painful to be always disguising my true
+sentiments respecting you, and straining to keep up an appearance of
+civility and respect towards one for whom I have not the most distant
+shadow of esteem; and because, if you stay, your conduct cannot possibly
+remain concealed much longer from the only two persons in the house who
+do not know it already.  And, for your husband’s sake, Annabella, and
+even for your own, I wish—I earnestly advise and entreat you to break off
+this unlawful connection at once, and return to your duty while you may,
+before the dreadful consequences—’
+
+‘Yes, yes, of course,’ said she, interrupting me with a gesture of
+impatience.  ‘But I cannot go, Helen, before the time appointed for our
+departure.  What possible pretext could I frame for such a thing?
+Whether I proposed going back alone—which Lowborough would not hear of—or
+taking him with me, the very circumstance itself would be certain to
+excite suspicion—and when our visit is so nearly at an end too—little
+more than a week—surely you can endure my presence so long!  I will not
+annoy you with any more of my friendly impertinences.’
+
+‘Well, I have nothing more to say to you.’
+
+‘Have you mentioned this affair to Huntingdon?’ asked she, as I was
+leaving the room.
+
+‘How dare you mention his name to me!’ was the only answer I gave.
+
+No words have passed between us since, but such as outward decency or
+pure necessity demanded.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXV
+
+
+Nineteenth.—In proportion as Lady Lowborough finds she has nothing to
+fear from me, and as the time of departure draws nigh, the more audacious
+and insolent she becomes.  She does not scruple to speak to my husband
+with affectionate familiarity in my presence, when no one else is by, and
+is particularly fond of displaying her interest in his health and
+welfare, or in anything that concerns him, as if for the purpose of
+contrasting her kind solicitude with my cold indifference.  And he
+rewards her by such smiles and glances, such whispered words, or
+boldly-spoken insinuations, indicative of his sense of her goodness and
+my neglect, as make the blood rush into my face, in spite of myself—for I
+would be utterly regardless of it all—deaf and blind to everything that
+passes between them, since the more I show myself sensible of their
+wickedness the more she triumphs in her victory, and the more he flatters
+himself that I love him devotedly still, in spite of my pretended
+indifference.  On such occasions I have sometimes been startled by a
+subtle, fiendish suggestion inciting me to show him the contrary by a
+seeming encouragement of Hargrave’s advances; but such ideas are banished
+in a moment with horror and self-abasement; and then I hate him tenfold
+more than ever for having brought me to this!—God pardon me for it and
+all my sinful thoughts!  Instead of being humbled and purified by my
+afflictions, I feel that they are turning my nature into gall.  This must
+be my fault as much as theirs that wrong me.  No true Christian could
+cherish such bitter feelings as I do against him and her, especially the
+latter: him, I still feel that I could pardon—freely, gladly—on the
+slightest token of repentance; but she—words cannot utter my abhorrence.
+Reason forbids, but passion urges strongly; and I must pray and struggle
+long ere I subdue it.
+
+It is well that she is leaving to-morrow, for I could not well endure her
+presence for another day.  This morning she rose earlier than usual.  I
+found her in the room alone, when I went down to breakfast.
+
+‘Oh, Helen! is it you?’ said she, turning as I entered.
+
+I gave an involuntary start back on seeing her, at which she uttered a
+short laugh, observing, ‘I think we are both disappointed.’
+
+I came forward and busied myself with the breakfast things.
+
+‘This is the last day I shall burden your hospitality,’ said she, as she
+seated herself at the table.  ‘Ah, here comes one that will not rejoice
+at it!’ she murmured, half to herself, as Arthur entered the room.
+
+He shook hands with her and wished her good-morning: then, looking
+lovingly in her face, and still retaining her hand in his, murmured
+pathetically, ‘The last—last day!’
+
+‘Yes,’ said she with some asperity; ‘and I rose early to make the best of
+it—I have been here alone this half-hour, and you—you lazy creature—’
+
+‘Well, I thought I was early too,’ said he; ‘but,’ dropping his voice
+almost to a whisper, ‘you see we are not alone.’
+
+‘We never are,’ returned she.  But they were almost as good as alone, for
+I was now standing at the window, watching the clouds, and struggling to
+suppress my wrath.
+
+Some more words passed between them, which, happily, I did not overhear;
+but Annabella had the audacity to come and place herself beside me, and
+even to put her hand upon my shoulder and say softly, ‘You need not
+grudge him to me, Helen, for I love him more than ever you could do.’
+
+This put me beside myself.  I took her hand and violently dashed it from
+me, with an expression of abhorrence and indignation that could not be
+suppressed.  Startled, almost appalled, by this sudden outbreak, she
+recoiled in silence.  I would have given way to my fury and said more,
+but Arthur’s low laugh recalled me to myself.  I checked the half-uttered
+invective, and scornfully turned away, regretting that I had given him so
+much amusement.  He was still laughing when Mr. Hargrave made his
+appearance.  How much of the scene he had witnessed I do not know, for
+the door was ajar when he entered.  He greeted his host and his cousin
+both coldly, and me with a glance intended to express the deepest
+sympathy mingled with high admiration and esteem.
+
+‘How much allegiance do you owe to that man?’ he asked below his breath,
+as he stood beside me at the window, affecting to be making observations
+on the weather.
+
+‘None,’ I answered.  And immediately returning to the table, I employed
+myself in making the tea.  He followed, and would have entered into some
+kind of conversation with me, but the other guests were now beginning to
+assemble, and I took no more notice of him, except to give him his
+coffee.
+
+After breakfast, determined to pass as little of the day as possible in
+company with Lady Lowborough, I quietly stole away from the company and
+retired to the library.  Mr. Hargrave followed me thither, under pretence
+of coming for a book; and first, turning to the shelves, he selected a
+volume, and then quietly, but by no means timidly, approaching me, he
+stood beside me, resting his hand on the back of my chair, and said
+softly, ‘And so you consider yourself free at last?’
+
+‘Yes,’ said I, without moving, or raising my eyes from my book, ‘free to
+do anything but offend God and my conscience.’
+
+There was a momentary pause.
+
+‘Very right,’ said he, ‘provided your conscience be not too morbidly
+tender, and your ideas of God not too erroneously severe; but can you
+suppose it would offend that benevolent Being to make the happiness of
+one who would die for yours?—to raise a devoted heart from purgatorial
+torments to a state of heavenly bliss, when you could do it without the
+slightest injury to yourself or any other?’
+
+This was spoken in a low, earnest, melting tone, as he bent over me.  I
+now raised my head; and steadily confronting his gaze, I answered calmly,
+‘Mr. Hargrave, do you mean to insult me?’
+
+He was not prepared for this.  He paused a moment to recover the shock;
+then, drawing himself up and removing his hand from my chair, he
+answered, with proud sadness,—‘That was not my intention.’
+
+I just glanced towards the door, with a slight movement of the head, and
+then returned to my book.  He immediately withdrew.  This was better than
+if I had answered with more words, and in the passionate spirit to which
+my first impulse would have prompted.  What a good thing it is to be able
+to command one’s temper!  I must labour to cultivate this inestimable
+quality: God only knows how often I shall need it in this rough, dark
+road that lies before me.
+
+In the course of the morning I drove over to the Grove with the two
+ladies, to give Milicent an opportunity for bidding farewell to her
+mother and sister.  They persuaded her to stay with them the rest of the
+day, Mrs. Hargrave promising to bring her back in the evening and remain
+till the party broke up on the morrow.  Consequently, Lady Lowborough and
+I had the pleasure of returning _tête-à-tête_ in the carriage together.
+For the first mile or two we kept silence, I looking out of my window,
+and she leaning back in her corner.  But I was not going to restrict
+myself to any particular position for her; when I was tired of leaning
+forward, with the cold, raw wind in my face, and surveying the russet
+hedges and the damp, tangled grass of their banks, I gave it up and leant
+back too.  With her usual impudence, my companion then made some attempts
+to get up a conversation; but the monosyllables ‘yes,’ or ‘no’ or
+‘humph,’ were the utmost her several remarks could elicit from me.  At
+last, on her asking my opinion upon some immaterial point of discussion,
+I answered,—‘Why do you wish to talk to me, Lady Lowborough?  You must
+know what I think of you.’
+
+‘Well, if you will be so bitter against me,’ replied she, ‘I can’t help
+it; but I’m not going to sulk for anybody.’  Our short drive was now at
+an end.  As soon as the carriage door was opened, she sprang out, and
+went down the park to meet the gentlemen, who were just returning from
+the woods.  Of course I did not follow.
+
+But I had not done with her impudence yet: after dinner, I retired to the
+drawing-room, as usual, and she accompanied me, but I had the two
+children with me, and I gave them my whole attention, and determined to
+keep them till the gentlemen came, or till Milicent arrived with her
+mother.  Little Helen, however, was soon tired of playing, and insisted
+upon going to sleep; and while I sat on the sofa with her on my knee, and
+Arthur seated beside me, gently playing with her soft, flaxen hair, Lady
+Lowborough composedly came and placed herself on the other side.
+
+‘To-morrow, Mrs. Huntingdon,’ said she, ‘you will be delivered from my
+presence, which, no doubt, you will be very glad of—it is natural you
+should; but do you know I have rendered you a great service?  Shall I
+tell you what it is?’
+
+‘I shall be glad to hear of any service you have rendered me,’ said I,
+determined to be calm, for I knew by the tone of her voice she wanted to
+provoke me.
+
+‘Well,’ resumed she, ‘have you not observed the salutary change in Mr.
+Huntingdon?  Don’t you see what a sober, temperate man he is become?  You
+saw with regret the sad habits he was contracting, I know: and I know you
+did your utmost to deliver him from them, but without success, until I
+came to your assistance.  I told him in few words that I could not bear
+to see him degrade himself so, and that I should cease to—no matter what
+I told him, but you see the reformation I have wrought; and you ought to
+thank me for it.’
+
+I rose and rang for the nurse.
+
+‘But I desire no thanks,’ she continued; ‘all the return I ask is, that
+you will take care of him when I am gone, and not, by harshness and
+neglect, drive him back to his old courses.’
+
+I was almost sick with passion, but Rachel was now at the door.  I
+pointed to the children, for I could not trust myself to speak: she took
+them away, and I followed.
+
+‘Will you, Helen?’ continued the speaker.
+
+I gave her a look that blighted the malicious smile on her face, or
+checked it, at least for a moment, and departed.  In the ante-room I met
+Mr. Hargrave.  He saw I was in no humour to be spoken to, and suffered me
+to pass without a word; but when, after a few minutes’ seclusion in the
+library, I had regained my composure, and was returning to join Mrs.
+Hargrave and Milicent, whom I had just heard come downstairs and go into
+the drawing-room, I found him there still lingering in the dimly-lighted
+apartment, and evidently waiting for me.
+
+‘Mrs. Huntingdon,’ said he as I passed, ‘will you allow me one word?’
+
+‘What is it then? be quick, if you please.’
+
+‘I offended you this morning; and I cannot live under your displeasure.’
+
+‘Then go, and sin no more,’ replied I, turning away.
+
+‘No, no!’ said he, hastily, setting himself before me.  ‘Pardon me, but I
+must have your forgiveness.  I leave you to-morrow, and I may not have an
+opportunity of speaking to you again.  I was wrong to forget myself and
+you, as I did; but let me implore you to forget and forgive my rash
+presumption, and think of me as if those words had never been spoken;
+for, believe me, I regret them deeply, and the loss of your esteem is too
+severe a penalty: I cannot bear it.’
+
+‘Forgetfulness is not to be purchased with a wish; and I cannot bestow my
+esteem on all who desire it, unless they deserve it too.’
+
+‘I shall think my life well spent in labouring to deserve it, if you will
+but pardon this offence—will you?’
+
+‘Yes.’
+
+‘Yes! but that is coldly spoken.  Give me your hand and I’ll believe you.
+You won’t?  Then, Mrs. Huntingdon, you do not forgive me!’
+
+‘Yes; here it is, and my forgiveness with it: only, _sin no more_.’
+
+He pressed my cold hand with sentimental fervour, but said nothing, and
+stood aside to let me pass into the room, where all the company were now
+assembled.  Mr. Grimsby was seated near the door: on seeing me enter,
+almost immediately followed by Hargrave, he leered at me with a glance of
+intolerable significance, as I passed.  I looked him in the face, till he
+sullenly turned away, if not ashamed, at least confounded for the moment.
+Meantime Hattersley had seized Hargrave by the arm, and was whispering
+something in his ear—some coarse joke, no doubt, for the latter neither
+laughed nor spoke in answer, but, turning from him with a slight curl of
+the lip, disengaged himself and went to his mother, who was telling Lord
+Lowborough how many reasons she had to be proud of her son.
+
+Thank heaven, they are all going to-morrow.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVI
+
+
+December 20th, 1824.—This is the third anniversary of our felicitous
+union.  It is now two months since our guests left us to the enjoyment of
+each other’s society; and I have had nine weeks’ experience of this new
+phase of conjugal life—two persons living together, as master and
+mistress of the house, and father and mother of a winsome, merry little
+child, with the mutual understanding that there is no love, friendship,
+or sympathy between them.  As far as in me lies, I endeavour to live
+peaceably with him: I treat him with unimpeachable civility, give up my
+convenience to his, wherever it may reasonably be done, and consult him
+in a business-like way on household affairs, deferring to his pleasure
+and judgment, even when I know the latter to be inferior to my own.
+
+As for him, for the first week or two, he was peevish and low, fretting,
+I suppose, over his dear Annabella’s departure, and particularly
+ill-tempered to me: everything I did was wrong; I was cold-hearted, hard,
+insensate; my sour, pale face was perfectly repulsive; my voice made him
+shudder; he knew not how he could live through the winter with me; I
+should kill him by inches.  Again I proposed a separation, but it would
+not do: he was not going to be the talk of all the old gossips in the
+neighbourhood: he would not have it said that he was such a brute his
+wife could not live with him.  No; he must contrive to bear with me.
+
+‘I must contrive to bear with you, you mean,’ said I; ‘for so long as I
+discharge my functions of steward and house-keeper, so conscientiously
+and well, without pay and without thanks, you cannot afford to part with
+me.  I shall therefore remit these duties when my bondage becomes
+intolerable.’  This threat, I thought, would serve to keep him in check,
+if anything would.
+
+I believe he was much disappointed that I did not feel his offensive
+sayings more acutely, for when he had said anything particularly well
+calculated to hurt my feelings, he would stare me searchingly in the
+face, and then grumble against my ‘marble heart’ or my ‘brutal
+insensibility.’  If I had bitterly wept and deplored his lost affection,
+he would, perhaps, have condescended to pity me, and taken me into favour
+for a while, just to comfort his solitude and console him for the absence
+of his beloved Annabella, until he could meet her again, or some more
+fitting substitute.  Thank heaven, I am not so weak as that!  I was
+infatuated once with a foolish, besotted affection, that clung to him in
+spite of his unworthiness, but it is fairly gone now—wholly crushed and
+withered away; and he has none but himself and his vices to thank for it.
+
+At first (in compliance with his sweet lady’s injunctions, I suppose), he
+abstained wonderfully well from seeking to solace his cares in wine; but
+at length he began to relax his virtuous efforts, and now and then
+exceeded a little, and still continues to do so; nay, sometimes, not a
+little.  When he is under the exciting influence of these excesses, he
+sometimes fires up and attempts to play the brute; and then I take little
+pains to suppress my scorn and disgust.  When he is under the depressing
+influence of the after-consequences, he bemoans his sufferings and his
+errors, and charges them both upon me; he knows such indulgence injures
+his health, and does him more harm than good; but he says I drive him to
+it by my unnatural, unwomanly conduct; it will be the ruin of him in the
+end, but it is all my fault; and then I am roused to defend myself,
+sometimes with bitter recrimination.  This is a kind of injustice I
+cannot patiently endure.  Have I not laboured long and hard to save him
+from this very vice?  Would I not labour still to deliver him from it if
+I could? but could I do so by fawning upon him and caressing him when I
+know that he scorns me?  Is it my fault that I have lost my influence
+with him, or that he has forfeited every claim to my regard?  And should
+I seek a reconciliation with him, when I feel that I abhor him, and that
+he despises me? and while he continues still to correspond with Lady
+Lowborough, as I know he does?  No, never, never, never! he may drink
+himself dead, but it is NOT my fault!
+
+Yet I do my part to save him still: I give him to understand that
+drinking makes his eyes dull, and his face red and bloated; and that it
+tends to render him imbecile in body and mind; and if Annabella were to
+see him as often as I do, she would speedily be disenchanted; and that
+she certainly will withdraw her favour from him, if he continues such
+courses.  Such a mode of admonition wins only coarse abuse for me—and,
+indeed, I almost feel as if I deserved it, for I hate to use such
+arguments; but they sink into his stupefied heart, and make him pause,
+and ponder, and abstain, more than anything else I could say.
+
+At present I am enjoying a temporary relief from his presence: he is gone
+with Hargrave to join a distant hunt, and will probably not be back
+before to-morrow evening.  How differently I used to feel his absence!
+
+Mr. Hargrave is still at the Grove.  He and Arthur frequently meet to
+pursue their rural sports together: he often calls upon us here, and
+Arthur not unfrequently rides over to him.  I do not think either of
+these soi-disant friends is overflowing with love for the other; but such
+intercourse serves to get the time on, and I am very willing it should
+continue, as it saves me some hours of discomfort in Arthur’s society,
+and gives him some better employment than the sottish indulgence of his
+sensual appetites.  The only objection I have to Mr. Hargrave’s being in
+the neighbourhood, is that the fear of meeting him at the Grove prevents
+me from seeing his sister so often as I otherwise should; for, of late,
+he has conducted himself towards me with such unerring propriety, that I
+have almost forgotten his former conduct.  I suppose he is striving to
+‘win my esteem.’  If he continue to act in this way, he may win it; but
+what then?  The moment he attempts to demand anything more, he will lose
+it again.
+
+February 10th.—It is a hard, embittering thing to have one’s kind
+feelings and good intentions cast back in one’s teeth.  I was beginning
+to relent towards my wretched partner; to pity his forlorn, comfortless
+condition, unalleviated as it is by the consolations of intellectual
+resources and the answer of a good conscience towards God; and to think I
+ought to sacrifice my pride, and renew my efforts once again to make his
+home agreeable and lead him back to the path of virtue; not by false
+professions of love, and not by pretended remorse, but by mitigating my
+habitual coldness of manner, and commuting my frigid civility into
+kindness wherever an opportunity occurred; and not only was I beginning
+to think so, but I had already begun to act upon the thought—and what was
+the result?  No answering spark of kindness, no awakening penitence, but
+an unappeasable ill-humour, and a spirit of tyrannous exaction that
+increased with indulgence, and a lurking gleam of self-complacent triumph
+at every detection of relenting softness in my manner, that congealed me
+to marble again as often as it recurred; and this morning he finished the
+business:—I think the petrifaction is so completely effected at last that
+nothing can melt me again.  Among his letters was one which he perused
+with symptoms of unusual gratification, and then threw it across the
+table to me, with the admonition,—
+
+‘There! read that, and take a lesson by it!’
+
+It was in the free, dashing hand of Lady Lowborough.  I glanced at the
+first page; it seemed full of extravagant protestations of affection;
+impetuous longings for a speedy reunion—and impious defiance of God’s
+mandates, and railings against His providence for having cast their lot
+asunder, and doomed them both to the hateful bondage of alliance with
+those they could not love.  He gave a slight titter on seeing me change
+colour.  I folded up the letter, rose, and returned it to him, with no
+remark, but—
+
+‘Thank you, I will take a lesson by it!’
+
+My little Arthur was standing between his knees, delightedly playing with
+the bright, ruby ring on his finger.  Urged by a sudden, imperative
+impulse to deliver my son from that contaminating influence, I caught him
+up in my arms and carried him with me out of the room.  Not liking this
+abrupt removal, the child began to pout and cry.  This was a new stab to
+my already tortured heart.  I would not let him go; but, taking him with
+me into the library, I shut the door, and, kneeling on the floor beside
+him, I embraced him, kissed him, wept over with him with passionate
+fondness.  Rather frightened than consoled by this, he turned struggling
+from me, and cried out aloud for his papa.  I released him from my arms,
+and never were more bitter tears than those that now concealed him from
+my blinded, burning eyes.  Hearing his cries, the father came to the
+room.  I instantly turned away, lest he should see and misconstrue my
+emotion.  He swore at me, and took the now pacified child away.
+
+It is hard that my little darling should love him more than me; and that,
+when the well-being and culture of my son is all I have to live for, I
+should see my influence destroyed by one whose selfish affection is more
+injurious than the coldest indifference or the harshest tyranny could be.
+If I, for his good, deny him some trifling indulgence, he goes to his
+father, and the latter, in spite of his selfish indolence, will even give
+himself some trouble to meet the child’s desires: if I attempt to curb
+his will, or look gravely on him for some act of childish disobedience,
+he knows his other parent will smile and take his part against me.  Thus,
+not only have I the father’s spirit in the son to contend against, the
+germs of his evil tendencies to search out and eradicate, and his
+corrupting intercourse and example in after-life to counteract, but
+already he counteracts my arduous labour for the child’s advantage,
+destroys my influence over his tender mind, and robs me of his very love;
+I had no earthly hope but this, and he seems to take a diabolical delight
+in tearing it away.
+
+But it is wrong to despair; I will remember the counsel of the inspired
+writer to him ‘that feareth the Lord and obeyeth the voice of his
+servant, that sitteth in darkness and hath no light; let him trust in the
+name of the Lord, and stay upon his God!’
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVII
+
+
+December 20th, 1825.—Another year is past; and I am weary of this life.
+And yet I cannot wish to leave it: whatever afflictions assail me here, I
+cannot wish to go and leave my darling in this dark and wicked world
+alone, without a friend to guide him through its weary mazes, to warn him
+of its thousand snares, and guard him from the perils that beset him on
+every hand.  I am not well fitted to be his only companion, I know; but
+there is no other to supply my place.  I am too grave to minister to his
+amusements and enter into his infantile sports as a nurse or a mother
+ought to do, and often his bursts of gleeful merriment trouble and alarm
+me; I see in them his father’s spirit and temperament, and I tremble for
+the consequences; and too often damp the innocent mirth I ought to share.
+That father, on the contrary, has no weight of sadness on his mind; is
+troubled with no fears, no scruples concerning his son’s future welfare;
+and at evenings especially, the times when the child sees him the most
+and the oftenest, he is always particularly jocund and open-hearted:
+ready to laugh and to jest with anything or anybody but me, and I am
+particularly silent and sad: therefore, of course, the child dotes upon
+his seemingly joyous amusing, ever-indulgent papa, and will at any time
+gladly exchange my company for his.  This disturbs me greatly; not so
+much for the sake of my son’s affection (though I do prize that highly,
+and though I feel it is my right, and know I have done much to earn it)
+as for that influence over him which, for his own advantage, I would
+strive to purchase and retain, and which for very spite his father
+delights to rob me of, and, from motives of mere idle egotism, is pleased
+to win to himself; making no use of it but to torment me and ruin the
+child.  My only consolation is, that he spends comparatively little of
+his time at home, and, during the months he passes in London or
+elsewhere, I have a chance of recovering the ground I had lost, and
+overcoming with good the evil he has wrought by his wilful mismanagement.
+But then it is a bitter trial to behold him, on his return, doing his
+utmost to subvert my labours and transform my innocent, affectionate,
+tractable darling into a selfish, disobedient, and mischievous boy;
+thereby preparing the soil for those vices he has so successfully
+cultivated in his own perverted nature.
+
+Happily, there were none of Arthur’s ‘friends’ invited to Grassdale last
+autumn: he took himself off to visit some of them instead.  I wish he
+would always do so, and I wish his friends were numerous and loving
+enough to keep him amongst them all the year round.  Mr. Hargrave,
+considerably to my annoyance, did not go with him; but I think I have
+done with that gentleman at last.
+
+For seven or eight months he behaved so remarkably well, and managed so
+skilfully too, that I was almost completely off my guard, and was really
+beginning to look upon him as a friend, and even to treat him as such,
+with certain prudent restrictions (which I deemed scarcely necessary);
+when, presuming upon my unsuspecting kindness, he thought he might
+venture to overstep the bounds of decent moderation and propriety that
+had so long restrained him.  It was on a pleasant evening at the close of
+May: I was wandering in the park, and he, on seeing me there as he rode
+past, made bold to enter and approach me, dismounting and leaving his
+horse at the gate.  This was the first time he had ventured to come
+within its inclosure since I had been left alone, without the sanction of
+his mother’s or sister’s company, or at least the excuse of a message
+from them.  But he managed to appear so calm and easy, so respectful and
+self-possessed in his friendliness, that, though a little surprised, I
+was neither alarmed nor offended at the unusual liberty, and he walked
+with me under the ash-trees and by the water-side, and talked, with
+considerable animation, good taste, and intelligence, on many subjects,
+before I began to think about getting rid of him.  Then, after a pause,
+during which we both stood gazing on the calm, blue water—I revolving in
+my mind the best means of politely dismissing my companion, he, no doubt,
+pondering other matters equally alien to the sweet sights and sounds that
+alone were present to his senses,—he suddenly electrified me by
+beginning, in a peculiar tone, low, soft, but perfectly distinct, to pour
+forth the most unequivocal expressions of earnest and passionate love;
+pleading his cause with all the bold yet artful eloquence he could summon
+to his aid.  But I cut short his appeal, and repulsed him so
+determinately, so decidedly, and with such a mixture of scornful
+indignation, tempered with cool, dispassionate sorrow and pity for his
+benighted mind, that he withdrew, astonished, mortified, and
+discomforted; and, a few days after, I heard that he had departed for
+London.  He returned, however, in eight or nine weeks, and did not
+entirely keep aloof from me, but comported himself in so remarkable a
+manner that his quick-sighted sister could not fail to notice the change.
+
+‘What have you done to Walter, Mrs. Huntingdon?’ said she one morning,
+when I had called at the Grove, and he had just left the room after
+exchanging a few words of the coldest civility.  ‘He has been so
+extremely ceremonious and stately of late, I can’t imagine what it is all
+about, unless you have desperately offended him.  Tell me what it is,
+that I may be your mediator, and make you friends again.’
+
+‘I have done nothing willingly to offend him,’ said I.  ‘If he is
+offended, he can best tell you himself what it is about.’
+
+‘I’ll ask him,’ cried the giddy girl, springing up and putting her head
+out of the window: ‘he’s only in the garden—Walter!’
+
+‘No, no, Esther! you will seriously displease me if you do; and I shall
+leave you immediately, and not come again for months—perhaps years.’
+
+‘Did you call, Esther?’ said her brother, approaching the window from
+without.
+
+‘Yes; I wanted to ask you—’
+
+‘Good-morning, Esther,’ said I, taking her hand and giving it a severe
+squeeze.
+
+‘To ask you,’ continued she, ‘to get me a rose for Mrs. Huntingdon.’  He
+departed.  ‘Mrs. Huntingdon,’ she exclaimed, turning to me and still
+holding me fast by the hand, ‘I’m quite shocked at you—you’re just as
+angry, and distant, and cold as he is: and I’m determined you shall be as
+good friends as ever before you go.’
+
+‘Esther, how can you be so rude!’ cried Mrs. Hargrave, who was seated
+gravely knitting in her easy-chair.  ‘Surely, you never will learn to
+conduct yourself like a lady!’
+
+‘Well, mamma, you said yourself—‘  But the young lady was silenced by the
+uplifted finger of her mamma, accompanied with a very stern shake of the
+head.
+
+‘Isn’t she cross?’ whispered she to me; but, before I could add my share
+of reproof, Mr. Hargrave reappeared at the window with a beautiful
+moss-rose in his hand.
+
+‘Here, Esther, I’ve brought you the rose,’ said he, extending it towards
+her.
+
+‘Give it her yourself, you blockhead!’ cried she, recoiling with a spring
+from between us.
+
+‘Mrs. Huntingdon would rather receive it from you,’ replied he, in a very
+serious tone, but lowering his voice that his mother might not hear.  His
+sister took the rose and gave it to me.
+
+‘My brother’s compliments, Mrs. Huntingdon, and he hopes you and he will
+come to a better understanding by-and-by.  Will that do, Walter?’ added
+the saucy girl, turning to him and putting her arm round his neck, as he
+stood leaning upon the sill of the window—‘or should I have said that you
+are sorry you were so touchy? or that you hope she will pardon your
+offence?’
+
+‘You silly girl! you don’t know what you are talking about,’ replied he
+gravely.
+
+‘Indeed I don’t: for I’m quite in the dark!’
+
+‘Now, Esther,’ interposed Mrs. Hargrave, who, if equally benighted on the
+subject of our estrangement, saw at least that her daughter was behaving
+very improperly, ‘I must insist upon your leaving the room!’
+
+‘Pray don’t, Mrs. Hargrave, for I’m going to leave it myself,’ said I,
+and immediately made my adieux.
+
+About a week after Mr. Hargrave brought his sister to see me.  He
+conducted himself, at first, with his usual cold, distant, half-stately,
+half-melancholy, altogether injured air; but Esther made no remark upon
+it this time: she had evidently been schooled into better manners.  She
+talked to me, and laughed and romped with little Arthur, her loved and
+loving playmate.  He, somewhat to my discomfort, enticed her from the
+room to have a run in the hall, and thence into the garden.  I got up to
+stir the fire.  Mr. Hargrave asked if I felt cold, and shut the door—a
+very unseasonable piece of officiousness, for I had meditated following
+the noisy playfellows if they did not speedily return.  He then took the
+liberty of walking up to the fire himself, and asking me if I were aware
+that Mr. Huntingdon was now at the seat of Lord Lowborough, and likely to
+continue there some time.
+
+‘No; but it’s no matter,’ I answered carelessly; and if my cheek glowed
+like fire, it was rather at the question than the information it
+conveyed.
+
+‘You don’t object to it?’ he said.
+
+‘Not at all, if Lord Lowborough likes his company.’
+
+‘You have no love left for him, then?’
+
+‘Not the least.’
+
+‘I knew that—I knew you were too high-minded and pure in your own nature
+to continue to regard one so utterly false and polluted with any feelings
+but those of indignation and scornful abhorrence!’
+
+‘Is he not your friend?’ said I, turning my eyes from the fire to his
+face, with perhaps a slight touch of those feelings he assigned to
+another.
+
+‘He was,’ replied he, with the same calm gravity as before; ‘but do not
+wrong me by supposing that I could continue my friendship and esteem to a
+man who could so infamously, so impiously forsake and injure one so
+transcendently—well, I won’t speak of it.  But tell me, do you never
+think of revenge?’
+
+‘Revenge!  No—what good would that do?—it would make him no better, and
+me no happier.’
+
+‘I don’t know how to talk to you, Mrs. Huntingdon,’ said he, smiling;
+‘you are only half a woman—your nature must be half human, half angelic.
+Such goodness overawes me; I don’t know what to make of it.’
+
+‘Then, sir, I fear you must be very much worse than you should be, if I,
+a mere ordinary mortal, am, by your own confession, so vastly your
+superior; and since there exists so little sympathy between us, I think
+we had better each look out for some more congenial companion.’  And
+forthwith moving to the window, I began to look out for my little son and
+his gay young friend.
+
+‘No, I am the ordinary mortal, I maintain,’ replied Mr. Hargrave.  ‘I
+will not allow myself to be worse than my fellows; but you, Madam—I
+equally maintain there is nobody like you.  But are you happy?’ he asked
+in a serious tone.
+
+‘As happy as some others, I suppose.’
+
+‘Are you as happy as you desire to be?’
+
+‘No one is so blest as that comes to on this side of eternity.’
+
+‘One thing I know,’ returned he, with a deep sad sigh; ‘you are
+immeasurably happier than I am.’
+
+‘I am very sorry for you, then,’ I could not help replying.
+
+‘Are you, indeed?  No, for if you were you would be glad to relieve me.’
+
+‘And so I should if I could do so without injuring myself or any other.’
+
+‘And can you suppose that I should wish you to injure yourself?  No: on
+the contrary, it is your own happiness I long for more than mine.  You
+are miserable now, Mrs. Huntingdon,’ continued he, looking me boldly in
+the face.  ‘You do not complain, but I see—and feel—and know that you are
+miserable—and must remain so as long as you keep those walls of
+impenetrable ice about your still warm and palpitating heart; and I am
+miserable, too.  Deign to smile on me and I am happy: trust me, and you
+shall be happy also, for if you are a woman I can make you so—and I will
+do it in spite of yourself!’ he muttered between his teeth; ‘and as for
+others, the question is between ourselves alone: you cannot injure your
+husband, you know, and no one else has any concern in the matter.’
+
+‘I have a son, Mr. Hargrave, and you have a mother,’ said I, retiring
+from the window, whither he had followed me.
+
+‘They need not know,’ he began; but before anything more could be said on
+either side, Esther and Arthur re-entered the room.  The former glanced
+at Walter’s flushed, excited countenance, and then at mine—a little
+flushed and excited too, I daresay, though from far different causes.
+She must have thought we had been quarrelling desperately, and was
+evidently perplexed and disturbed at the circumstance; but she was too
+polite or too much afraid of her brother’s anger to refer to it.  She
+seated herself on the sofa, and putting back her bright, golden ringlets,
+that were scattered in wild profusion over her face, she immediately
+began to talk about the garden and her little playfellow, and continued
+to chatter away in her usual strain till her brother summoned her to
+depart.
+
+‘If I have spoken too warmly, forgive me,’ he murmured on taking his
+leave, ‘or I shall never forgive myself.’  Esther smiled and glanced at
+me: I merely bowed, and her countenance fell.  She thought it a poor
+return for Walter’s generous concession, and was disappointed in her
+friend.  Poor child, she little knows the world she lives in!
+
+Mr. Hargrave had not an opportunity of meeting me again in private for
+several weeks after this; but when he did meet me there was less of pride
+and more of touching melancholy in his manner than before.  Oh, how he
+annoyed me!  I was obliged at last almost entirely to remit my visits to
+the Grove, at the expense of deeply offending Mrs. Hargrave and seriously
+afflicting poor Esther, who really values my society for want of better,
+and who ought not to suffer for the fault of her brother.  But that
+indefatigable foe was not yet vanquished: he seemed to be always on the
+watch.  I frequently saw him riding lingeringly past the premises,
+looking searchingly round him as he went—or, if I did not, Rachel did.
+That sharp-sighted woman soon guessed how matters stood between us, and
+descrying the enemy’s movements from her elevation at the nursery-window,
+she would give me a quiet intimation if she saw me preparing for a walk
+when she had reason to believe he was about, or to think it likely that
+he would meet or overtake me in the way I meant to traverse.  I would
+then defer my ramble, or confine myself for that day to the park and
+gardens, or, if the proposed excursion was a matter of importance, such
+as a visit to the sick or afflicted, I would take Rachel with me, and
+then I was never molested.
+
+But one mild, sunshiny day, early in November, I had ventured forth alone
+to visit the village school and a few of the poor tenants, and on my
+return I was alarmed at the clatter of a horse’s feet behind me,
+approaching at a rapid, steady trot.  There was no stile or gap at hand
+by which I could escape into the fields, so I walked quietly on, saying
+to myself, ‘It may not be he after all; and if it is, and if he do annoy
+me, it shall be for the last time, I am determined, if there be power in
+words and looks against cool impudence and mawkish sentimentality so
+inexhaustible as his.’
+
+The horse soon overtook me, and was reined up close beside me.  It was
+Mr. Hargrave.  He greeted me with a smile intended to be soft and
+melancholy, but his triumphant satisfaction at having caught me at last
+so shone through that it was quite a failure.  After briefly answering
+his salutation and inquiring after the ladies at the Grove, I turned away
+and walked on; but he followed and kept his horse at my side: it was
+evident he intended to be my companion all the way.
+
+‘Well!  I don’t much care.  If you want another rebuff, take it—and
+welcome,’ was my inward remark.  ‘Now, sir, what next?’
+
+This question, though unspoken, was not long unanswered; after a few
+passing observations upon indifferent subjects, he began in solemn tones
+the following appeal to my humanity:—
+
+‘It will be four years next April since I first saw you, Mrs.
+Huntingdon—you may have forgotten the circumstance, but I never can.  I
+admired you then most deeply, but I dared not love you.  In the following
+autumn I saw so much of your perfections that I could not fail to love
+you, though I dared not show it.  For upwards of three years I have
+endured a perfect martyrdom.  From the anguish of suppressed emotions,
+intense and fruitless longings, silent sorrow, crushed hopes, and
+trampled affections, I have suffered more than I can tell, or you
+imagine—and you were the cause of it, and not altogether the innocent
+cause.  My youth is wasting away; my prospects are darkened; my life is a
+desolate blank; I have no rest day or night: I am become a burden to
+myself and others, and you might save me by a word—a glance, and will not
+do it—is this right?’
+
+‘In the first place, I don’t believe you,’ answered I; ‘in the second, if
+you will be such a fool, I can’t hinder it.’
+
+‘If you affect,’ replied he, earnestly, ‘to regard as folly the best, the
+strongest, the most godlike impulses of our nature, I don’t believe you.
+I know you are not the heartless, icy being you pretend to be—you had a
+heart once, and gave it to your husband.  When you found him utterly
+unworthy of the treasure, you reclaimed it; and you will not pretend that
+you loved that sensual, earthly-minded profligate so deeply, so
+devotedly, that you can never love another?  I know that there are
+feelings in your nature that have never yet been called forth; I know,
+too, that in your present neglected lonely state you are and must be
+miserable.  You have it in your power to raise two human beings from a
+state of actual suffering to such unspeakable beatitude as only generous,
+noble, self-forgetting love can give (for you can love me if you will);
+you may tell me that you scorn and detest me, but, since you have set me
+the example of plain speaking, I will answer that I do not believe you.
+But you will not do it! you choose rather to leave us miserable; and you
+coolly tell me it is the will of God that we should remain so.  You may
+call this religion, but I call it wild fanaticism!’
+
+‘There is another life both for you and for me,’ said I.  ‘If it be the
+will of God that we should sow in tears now, it is only that we may reap
+in joy hereafter.  It is His will that we should not injure others by the
+gratification of our own earthly passions; and you have a mother, and
+sisters, and friends who would be seriously injured by your disgrace; and
+I, too, have friends, whose peace of mind shall never be sacrificed to my
+enjoyment, or yours either, with my consent; and if I were alone in the
+world, I have still my God and my religion, and I would sooner die than
+disgrace my calling and break my faith with heaven to obtain a few brief
+years of false and fleeting happiness—happiness sure to end in misery
+even here—for myself or any other!’
+
+‘There need be no disgrace, no misery or sacrifice in any quarter,’
+persisted he.  ‘I do not ask you to leave your home or defy the world’s
+opinion.’  But I need not repeat all his arguments.  I refuted them to
+the best of my power; but that power was provokingly small, at the
+moment, for I was too much flurried with indignation—and even shame—that
+he should thus dare to address me, to retain sufficient command of
+thought and language to enable me adequately to contend against his
+powerful sophistries.  Finding, however, that he could not be silenced by
+reason, and even covertly exulted in his seeming advantage, and ventured
+to deride those assertions I had not the coolness to prove, I changed my
+course and tried another plan.
+
+‘Do you really love me?’ said I, seriously, pausing and looking him
+calmly in the face.
+
+‘Do I love you!’ cried he.
+
+‘Truly?’ I demanded.
+
+His countenance brightened; he thought his triumph was at hand.  He
+commenced a passionate protestation of the truth and fervour of his
+attachment, which I cut short by another question:—
+
+‘But is it not a selfish love?  Have you enough disinterested affection
+to enable you to sacrifice your own pleasure to mine?’
+
+‘I would give my life to serve you.’
+
+‘I don’t want your life; but have you enough real sympathy for my
+afflictions to induce you to make an effort to relieve them, at the risk
+of a little discomfort to yourself?’
+
+‘Try me, and see.’
+
+‘If you have, never mention this subject again.  You cannot recur to it
+in any way without doubling the weight of those sufferings you so
+feelingly deplore.  I have nothing left me but the solace of a good
+conscience and a hopeful trust in heaven, and you labour continually to
+rob me of these.  If you persist, I must regard you as my deadliest foe.’
+
+‘But hear me a moment—’
+
+‘No, sir!  You said you would give your life to serve me; I only ask your
+silence on one particular point.  I have spoken plainly; and what I say I
+mean.  If you torment me in this way any more, I must conclude that your
+protestations are entirely false, and that you hate me in your heart as
+fervently as you profess to love me!’
+
+He bit his lip, and bent his eyes upon the ground in silence for a while.
+
+‘Then I must leave you,’ said he at length, looking steadily upon me, as
+if with the last hope of detecting some token of irrepressible anguish or
+dismay awakened by those solemn words.  ‘I must leave you.  I cannot live
+here, and be for ever silent on the all-absorbing subject of my thoughts
+and wishes.’
+
+‘Formerly, I believe, you spent but little of your time at home,’ I
+answered; ‘it will do you no harm to absent yourself again, for a
+while—if that be really necessary.’
+
+‘If that be really possible,’ he muttered; ‘and can you bid me go so
+coolly?  Do you really wish it?’
+
+‘Most certainly I do.  If you cannot see me without tormenting me as you
+have lately done, I would gladly say farewell and never see you more.’
+
+He made no answer, but, bending from his horse, held out his hand towards
+me.  I looked up at his face, and saw therein such a look of genuine
+agony of soul, that, whether bitter disappointment, or wounded pride, or
+lingering love, or burning wrath were uppermost, I could not hesitate to
+put my hand in his as frankly as if I bade a friend farewell.  He grasped
+it very hard, and immediately put spurs to his horse and galloped away.
+Very soon after, I learned that he was gone to Paris, where he still is;
+and the longer he stays there the better for me.
+
+I thank God for this deliverance!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVIII
+
+
+December 20th, 1826.—The fifth anniversary of my wedding-day, and, I
+trust, the last I shall spend under this roof.  My resolution is formed,
+my plan concocted, and already partly put in execution.  My conscience
+does not blame me, but while the purpose ripens let me beguile a few of
+these long winter evenings in stating the case for my own satisfaction: a
+dreary amusement enough, but having the air of a useful occupation, and
+being pursued as a task, it will suit me better than a lighter one.
+
+In September, quiet Grassdale was again alive with a party of ladies and
+gentlemen (so called), consisting of the same individuals as those
+invited the year before last, with the addition of two or three others,
+among whom were Mrs. Hargrave and her younger daughter.  The gentlemen
+and Lady Lowborough were invited for the pleasure and convenience of the
+host; the other ladies, I suppose, for the sake of appearances, and to
+keep me in check, and make me discreet and civil in my demeanour.  But
+the ladies stayed only three weeks; the gentlemen, with two exceptions,
+above two months: for their hospitable entertainer was loth to part with
+them and be left alone with his bright intellect, his stainless
+conscience, and his loved and loving wife.
+
+On the day of Lady Lowborough’s arrival, I followed her into her chamber,
+and plainly told her that, if I found reason to believe that she still
+continued her criminal connection with Mr. Huntingdon, I should think it
+my absolute duty to inform her husband of the circumstance—or awaken his
+suspicions at least—however painful it might be, or however dreadful the
+consequences.  She was startled at first by the declaration, so
+unexpected, and so determinately yet calmly delivered; but rallying in a
+moment, she coolly replied that, if I saw anything at all reprehensible
+or suspicious in her conduct, she would freely give me leave to tell his
+lordship all about it.  Willing to be satisfied with this, I left her;
+and certainly I saw nothing thenceforth particularly reprehensible or
+suspicious in her demeanour towards her host; but then I had the other
+guests to attend to, and I did not watch them narrowly—for, to confess
+the truth, I feared to see anything between them.  I no longer regarded
+it as any concern of mine, and if it was my duty to enlighten Lord
+Lowborough, it was a painful duty, and I dreaded to be called to perform
+it.
+
+But my fears were brought to an end in a manner I had not anticipated.
+One evening, about a fortnight after the visitors’ arrival, I had retired
+into the library to snatch a few minutes’ respite from forced
+cheerfulness and wearisome discourse, for after so long a period of
+seclusion, dreary indeed as I had often found it, I could not always bear
+to be doing violence to my feelings, and goading my powers to talk, and
+smile and listen, and play the attentive hostess, or even the cheerful
+friend: I had just ensconced myself within the bow of the window, and was
+looking out upon the west, where the darkening hills rose sharply defined
+against the clear amber light of evening, that gradually blended and
+faded away into the pure, pale blue of the upper sky, where one bright
+star was shining through, as if to promise—‘When that dying light is
+gone, the world will not be left in darkness, and they who trust in God,
+whose minds are unbeclouded by the mists of unbelief and sin, are never
+wholly comfortless,’—when I heard a hurried step approaching, and Lord
+Lowborough entered.  This room was still his favourite resort.  He flung
+the door to with unusual violence, and cast his hat aside regardless
+where it fell.  What could be the matter with him?  His face was ghastly
+pale; his eyes were fixed upon the ground; his teeth clenched: his
+forehead glistened with the dews of agony.  It was plain he knew his
+wrongs at last!
+
+Unconscious of my presence, he began to pace the room in a state of
+fearful agitation, violently wringing his hands and uttering low groans
+or incoherent ejaculations.  I made a movement to let him know that he
+was not alone; but he was too preoccupied to notice it.  Perhaps, while
+his back was towards me, I might cross the room and slip away unobserved.
+I rose to make the attempt, but then he perceived me.  He started and
+stood still a moment; then wiped his streaming forehead, and, advancing
+towards me, with a kind of unnatural composure, said in a deep, almost
+sepulchral tone,—‘Mrs. Huntingdon, I must leave you to-morrow.’
+
+‘To-morrow!’ I repeated.  ‘I do not ask the cause.’
+
+‘You know it then, and you can be so calm!’ said he, surveying me with
+profound astonishment, not unmingled with a kind of resentful bitterness,
+as it appeared to me.
+
+‘I have so long been aware of—‘ I paused in time, and added, ‘of my
+husband’s character, that nothing shocks me.’
+
+‘But this—how long have you been aware of this?’ demanded he, laying his
+clenched hand on the table beside him, and looking me keenly and fixedly
+in the face.
+
+I felt like a criminal.
+
+‘Not long,’ I answered.
+
+‘You knew it!’ cried he, with bitter vehemence—‘and you did not tell me!
+You helped to deceive me!’
+
+‘My lord, I did not help to deceive you.’
+
+‘Then why did you not tell me?’
+
+‘Because I knew it would be painful to you.  I hoped she would return to
+her duty, and then there would be no need to harrow your feelings with
+such—’
+
+‘O God! how long has this been going on?  How long has it been, Mrs.
+Huntingdon?—Tell me—I must know!’ exclaimed, with intense and fearful
+eagerness.
+
+‘Two years, I believe.’
+
+‘Great heaven! and she has duped me all this time!’  He turned away with
+a suppressed groan of agony, and paced the room again in a paroxysm of
+renewed agitation.  My heart smote me; but I would try to console him,
+though I knew not how to attempt it.
+
+‘She is a wicked woman,’ I said.  ‘She has basely deceived and betrayed
+you.  She is as little worthy of your regret as she was of your
+affection.  Let her injure you no further; abstract yourself from her,
+and stand alone.’
+
+‘And you, Madam,’ said he sternly, arresting himself, and turning round
+upon me, ‘you have injured me too by this ungenerous concealment!’
+
+There was a sudden revulsion in my feelings.  Something rose within me,
+and urged me to resent this harsh return for my heartfelt sympathy, and
+defend myself with answering severity.  Happily, I did not yield to the
+impulse.  I saw his anguish as, suddenly smiting his forehead, he turned
+abruptly to the window, and, looking upward at the placid sky, murmured
+passionately, ‘O God, that I might die!’—and felt that to add one drop of
+bitterness to that already overflowing cup would be ungenerous indeed.
+And yet I fear there was more coldness than gentleness in the quiet tone
+of my reply:—‘I might offer many excuses that some would admit to be
+valid, but I will not attempt to enumerate them—’
+
+‘I know them,’ said he hastily: ‘you would say that it was no business of
+yours: that I ought to have taken care of myself; that if my own
+blindness has led me into this pit of hell, I have no right to blame
+another for giving me credit for a larger amount of sagacity than I
+possessed—’
+
+‘I confess I was wrong,’ continued I, without regarding this bitter
+interruption; ‘but whether want of courage or mistaken kindness was the
+cause of my error, I think you blame me too severely.  I told Lady
+Lowborough two weeks ago, the very hour she came, that I should certainly
+think it my duty to inform you if she continued to deceive you: she gave
+me full liberty to do so if I should see anything reprehensible or
+suspicious in her conduct; I have seen nothing; and I trusted she had
+altered her course.’
+
+He continued gazing from the window while I spoke, and did not answer,
+but, stung by the recollections my words awakened, stamped his foot upon
+the floor, ground his teeth, and corrugated his brow, like one under the
+influence of acute physical pain.
+
+‘It was wrong, it was wrong!’ he muttered at length.  ‘Nothing can excuse
+it; nothing can atone for it,—for nothing can recall those years of
+cursed credulity; nothing obliterate them!—nothing, nothing!’ he repeated
+in a whisper, whose despairing bitterness precluded all resentment.
+
+‘When I put the case to myself, I own it was wrong,’ I answered; ‘but I
+can only now regret that I did not see it in this light before, and that,
+as you say, nothing can recall the past.’
+
+Something in my voice or in the spirit of this answer seemed to alter his
+mood.  Turning towards me, and attentively surveying my face by the dim
+light, he said, in a milder tone than he had yet employed,—‘You, too,
+have suffered, I suppose.’
+
+‘I suffered much, at first.’
+
+‘When was that?’
+
+‘Two years ago; and two years hence you will be as calm as I am now, and
+far, far happier, I trust, for you are a man, and free to act as you
+please.’
+
+Something like a smile, but a very bitter one, crossed his face for a
+moment.
+
+‘You have not been happy, lately?’ he said, with a kind of effort to
+regain composure, and a determination to waive the further discussion of
+his own calamity.
+
+‘Happy?’ I repeated, almost provoked at such a question.  ‘Could I be so,
+with such a husband?’
+
+‘I have noticed a change in your appearance since the first years of your
+marriage,’ pursued he: ‘I observed it to—to that infernal demon,’ he
+muttered between his teeth; ‘and he said it was your own sour temper that
+was eating away your bloom: it was making you old and ugly before your
+time, and had already made his fireside as comfortless as a convent cell.
+You smile, Mrs. Huntingdon; nothing moves you.  I wish my nature were as
+calm as yours.’
+
+‘My nature was not originally calm,’ said I.  ‘I have learned to appear
+so by dint of hard lessons and many repeated efforts.’
+
+At this juncture Mr. Hattersley burst into the room.
+
+‘Hallo, Lowborough!’ he began—‘Oh! I beg your pardon,’ he exclaimed on
+seeing me.  ‘I didn’t know it was a _tête-à-tête_.  Cheer up, man,’ he
+continued, giving Lord Lowborough a thump on the back, which caused the
+latter to recoil from him with looks of ineffable disgust and irritation.
+‘Come, I want to speak with you a bit.’
+
+‘Speak, then.’
+
+‘But I’m not sure it would be quite agreeable to the lady what I have to
+say.’
+
+‘Then it would not be agreeable to me,’ said his lordship, turning to
+leave the room.
+
+‘Yes, it would,’ cried the other, following him into the hall.  ‘If
+you’ve the heart of a man, it would be the very ticket for you.  It’s
+just this, my lad,’ he continued, rather lowering his voice, but not
+enough to prevent me from hearing every word he said, though the
+half-closed door stood between us.  ‘I think you’re an ill-used man—nay,
+now, don’t flare up; I don’t want to offend you: it’s only my rough way
+of talking.  I must speak right out, you know, or else not at all; and
+I’m come—stop now! let me explain—I’m come to offer you my services, for
+though Huntingdon is my friend, he’s a devilish scamp, as we all know,
+and I’ll be your friend for the nonce.  I know what it is you want, to
+make matters straight: it’s just to exchange a shot with him, and then
+you’ll feel yourself all right again; and if an accident happens—why,
+that’ll be all right too, I daresay, to a desperate fellow like you.
+Come now, give me your hand, and don’t look so black upon it.  Name time
+and place, and I’ll manage the rest.’
+
+‘That,’ answered the more low, deliberate voice of Lord Lowborough, ‘is
+just the remedy my own heart, or the devil within it, suggested—to meet
+him, and not to part without blood.  Whether I or he should fall, or
+both, it would be an inexpressible relief to me, if—’
+
+‘Just so!  Well then,—’
+
+‘No!’ exclaimed his lordship, with deep, determined emphasis.  ‘Though I
+hate him from my heart, and should rejoice at any calamity that could
+befall him, I’ll leave him to God; and though I abhor my own life, I’ll
+leave that, too, to Him that gave it.’
+
+‘But you see, in this case,’ pleaded Hattersley—
+
+‘I’ll not hear you!’ exclaimed his companion, hastily turning away.  ‘Not
+another word!  I’ve enough to do against the fiend within me.’
+
+‘Then you’re a white-livered fool, and I wash my hands of you,’ grumbled
+the tempter, as he swung himself round and departed.
+
+‘Right, right, Lord Lowborough,’ cried I, darting out and clasping his
+burning hand, as he was moving away to the stairs.  ‘I begin to think the
+world is not worthy of you!’  Not understanding this sudden ebullition,
+he turned upon me with a stare of gloomy, bewildered amazement, that made
+me ashamed of the impulse to which I had yielded; but soon a more
+humanised expression dawned upon his countenance, and before I could
+withdraw my hand, he pressed it kindly, while a gleam of genuine feeling
+flashed from his eyes as he murmured, ‘God help us both!’
+
+‘Amen!’ responded I; and we parted.
+
+I returned to the drawing-room, where, doubtless, my presence would be
+expected by most, desired by one or two.  In the ante-room was Mr.
+Hattersley, railing against Lord Lowborough’s poltroonery before a select
+audience, viz. Mr. Huntingdon, who was lounging against the table,
+exulting in his own treacherous villainy, and laughing his victim to
+scorn, and Mr. Grimsby, standing by, quietly rubbing his hands and
+chuckling with fiendish satisfaction.
+
+In the drawing-room I found Lady Lowborough, evidently in no very
+enviable state of mind, and struggling hard to conceal her discomposure
+by an overstrained affectation of unusual cheerfulness and vivacity, very
+uncalled-for under the circumstances, for she had herself given the
+company to understand that her husband had received unpleasant
+intelligence from home, which necessitated his immediate departure, and
+that he had suffered it so to bother his mind that it had brought on a
+bilious headache, owing to which, and the preparations he judged
+necessary to hasten his departure, she believed they would not have the
+pleasure of seeing him to-night.  However, she asserted, it was only a
+business concern, and so she did not intend it should trouble her.  She
+was just saying this as I entered, and she darted upon me such a glance
+of hardihood and defiance as at once astonished and revolted me.
+
+‘But I am troubled,’ continued she, ‘and vexed too, for I think it my
+duty to accompany his lordship, and of course I am very sorry to part
+with all my kind friends so unexpectedly and so soon.’
+
+‘And yet, Annabella,’ said Esther, who was sitting beside her, ‘I never
+saw you in better spirits in my life.’
+
+‘Precisely so, my love: because I wish to make the best of your society,
+since it appears this is to be the last night I am to enjoy it till
+heaven knows when; and I wish to leave a good impression on you all,’—she
+glanced round, and seeing her aunt’s eye fixed upon her, rather too
+scrutinizingly, as she probably thought, she started up and continued:
+‘To which end I’ll give you a song—shall I, aunt? shall I, Mrs.
+Huntingdon? shall I ladies and gentlemen all?  Very well.  I’ll do my
+best to amuse you.’
+
+She and Lord Lowborough occupied the apartments next to mine.  I know not
+how she passed the night, but I lay awake the greater part of it
+listening to his heavy step pacing monotonously up and down his
+dressing-room, which was nearest my chamber.  Once I heard him pause and
+throw something out of the window with a passionate ejaculation; and in
+the morning, after they were gone, a keen-bladed clasp-knife was found on
+the grass-plot below; a razor, likewise, was snapped in two and thrust
+deep into the cinders of the grate, but partially corroded by the
+decaying embers.  So strong had been the temptation to end his miserable
+life, so determined his resolution to resist it.
+
+My heart bled for him as I lay listening to that ceaseless tread.
+Hitherto I had thought too much of myself, too little of him: now I
+forgot my own afflictions, and thought only of his; of the ardent
+affection so miserably wasted, the fond faith so cruelly betrayed,
+the—no, I will not attempt to enumerate his wrongs—but I hated his wife
+and my husband more intensely than ever, and not for my sake, but for
+his.
+
+They departed early in the morning, before any one else was down, except
+myself, and just as I was leaving my room Lord Lowborough was descending
+to take his place in the carriage, where his lady was already ensconced;
+and Arthur (or Mr. Huntingdon, as I prefer calling him, for the other is
+my child’s name) had the gratuitous insolence to come out in his
+dressing-gown to bid his ‘friend’ good-by.
+
+‘What, going already, Lowborough!’ said he.  ‘Well, good-morning.’ He
+smilingly offered his hand.
+
+I think the other would have knocked him down, had he not instinctively
+started back before that bony fist quivering with rage and clenched till
+the knuckles gleamed white and glistening through the skin.  Looking upon
+him with a countenance livid with furious hate, Lord Lowborough muttered
+between his closed teeth a deadly execration he would not have uttered
+had he been calm enough to choose his words, and departed.
+
+‘I call that an unchristian spirit now,’ said the villain.  ‘But I’d
+never give up an old friend for the sake of a wife.  You may have mine if
+you like, and I call that handsome; I can do no more than offer
+restitution, can I?’
+
+But Lowborough had gained the bottom of the stairs, and was now crossing
+the hall; and Mr. Huntingdon, leaning over the banisters, called out,
+‘Give my love to Annabella! and I wish you both a happy journey,’ and
+withdrew, laughing, to his chamber.
+
+He subsequently expressed himself rather glad she was gone.  ‘She was so
+deuced imperious and exacting,’ said he.  ‘Now I shall be my own man
+again, and feel rather more at my ease.’
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIX
+
+
+My greatest source of uneasiness, in this time of trial, was my son, whom
+his father and his father’s friends delighted to encourage in all the
+embryo vices a little child can show, and to instruct in all the evil
+habits he could acquire—in a word, to ‘make a man of him’ was one of
+their staple amusements; and I need say no more to justify my alarm on
+his account, and my determination to deliver him at any hazard from the
+hands of such instructors.  I first attempted to keep him always with me,
+or in the nursery, and gave Rachel particular injunctions never to let
+him come down to dessert as long as these ‘gentlemen’ stayed; but it was
+no use: these orders were immediately countermanded and overruled by his
+father; he was not going to have the little fellow moped to death between
+an old nurse and a cursed fool of a mother.  So the little fellow came
+down every evening in spite of his cross mamma, and learned to tipple
+wine like papa, to swear like Mr. Hattersley, and to have his own way
+like a man, and sent mamma to the devil when she tried to prevent him.
+To see such things done with the roguish naïveté of that pretty little
+child, and hear such things spoken by that small infantile voice, was as
+peculiarly piquant and irresistibly droll to them as it was inexpressibly
+distressing and painful to me; and when he had set the table in a roar he
+would look round delightedly upon them all, and add his shrill laugh to
+theirs.  But if that beaming blue eye rested on me, its light would
+vanish for a moment, and he would say, in some concern, ‘Mamma, why don’t
+you laugh?  Make her laugh, papa—she never will.’
+
+Hence was I obliged to stay among these human brutes, watching an
+opportunity to get my child away from them instead of leaving them
+immediately after the removal of the cloth, as I should always otherwise
+have done.  He was never willing to go, and I frequently had to carry him
+away by force, for which he thought me very cruel and unjust; and
+sometimes his father would insist upon my letting him remain; and then I
+would leave him to his kind friends, and retire to indulge my bitterness
+and despair alone, or to rack my brains for a remedy to this great evil.
+
+But here again I must do Mr. Hargrave the justice to acknowledge that I
+never saw him laugh at the child’s misdemeanours, nor heard him utter a
+word of encouragement to his aspirations after manly accomplishments.
+But when anything very extraordinary was said or done by the infant
+profligate, I noticed, at times, a peculiar expression in his face that I
+could neither interpret nor define: a slight twitching about the muscles
+of the mouth; a sudden flash in the eye, as he darted a sudden glance at
+the child and then at me: and then I could fancy there arose a gleam of
+hard, keen, sombre satisfaction in his countenance at the look of
+impotent wrath and anguish he was too certain to behold in mine.  But on
+one occasion, when Arthur had been behaving particularly ill, and Mr.
+Huntingdon and his guests had been particularly provoking and insulting
+to me in their encouragement of him, and I particularly anxious to get
+him out of the room, and on the very point of demeaning myself by a burst
+of uncontrollable passion—Mr. Hargrave suddenly rose from his seat with
+an aspect of stern determination, lifted the child from his father’s
+knee, where he was sitting half-tipsy, cocking his head and laughing at
+me, and execrating me with words he little knew the meaning of, handed
+him out of the room, and, setting him down in the hall, held the door
+open for me, gravely bowed as I withdrew, and closed it after me.  I
+heard high words exchanged between him and his already half-inebriated
+host as I departed, leading away my bewildered and disconcerted boy.
+
+But this should not continue: my child must not be abandoned to this
+corruption: better far that he should live in poverty and obscurity, with
+a fugitive mother, than in luxury and affluence with such a father.
+These guests might not be with us long, but they would return again: and
+he, the most injurious of the whole, his child’s worst enemy, would still
+remain.  I could endure it for myself, but for my son it must be borne no
+longer: the world’s opinion and the feelings of my friends must be alike
+unheeded here, at least—alike unable to deter me from my duty.  But where
+should I find an asylum, and how obtain subsistence for us both?  Oh, I
+would take my precious charge at early dawn, take the coach to M—, flee
+to the port of —, cross the Atlantic, and seek a quiet, humble home in
+New England, where I would support myself and him by the labour of my
+hands.  The palette and the easel, my darling playmates once, must be my
+sober toil-fellows now.  But was I sufficiently skilful as an artist to
+obtain my livelihood in a strange land, without friends and without
+recommendation?  No; I must wait a little; I must labour hard to improve
+my talent, and to produce something worth while as a specimen of my
+powers, something to speak favourably for me, whether as an actual
+painter or a teacher.  Brilliant success, of course, I did not look for,
+but some degree of security from positive failure was indispensable: I
+must not take my son to starve.  And then I must have money for the
+journey, the passage, and some little to support us in our retreat in
+case I should be unsuccessful at first: and not too little either: for
+who could tell how long I might have to struggle with the indifference or
+neglect of others, or my own inexperience or inability to suit their
+tastes?
+
+What should I do then?  Apply to my brother and explain my circumstances
+and my resolves to him?  No, no: even if I told him all my grievances,
+which I should be very reluctant to do, he would be certain to disapprove
+of the step: it would seem like madness to him, as it would to my uncle
+and aunt, or to Milicent.  No; I must have patience and gather a hoard of
+my own.  Rachel should be my only confidante—I thought I could persuade
+her into the scheme; and she should help me, first, to find out a
+picture-dealer in some distant town; then, through her means, I would
+privately sell what pictures I had on hand that would do for such a
+purpose, and some of those I should thereafter paint.  Besides this, I
+would contrive to dispose of my jewels, not the family jewels, but the
+few I brought with me from home, and those my uncle gave me on my
+marriage.  A few months’ arduous toil might well be borne by me with such
+an end in view; and in the interim my son could not be much more injured
+than he was already.
+
+Having formed this resolution, I immediately set to work to accomplish
+it, I might possibly have been induced to wax cool upon it afterwards, or
+perhaps to keep weighing the pros and cons in my mind till the latter
+overbalanced the former, and I was driven to relinquish the project
+altogether, or delay the execution of it to an indefinite period, had not
+something occurred to confirm me in that determination, to which I still
+adhere, which I still think I did well to form, and shall do better to
+execute.
+
+Since Lord Lowborough’s departure I had regarded the library as entirely
+my own, a secure retreat at all hours of the day.  None of our gentlemen
+had the smallest pretensions to a literary taste, except Mr. Hargrave;
+and he, at present, was quite contented with the newspapers and
+periodicals of the day.  And if, by any chance, he should look in here, I
+felt assured he would soon depart on seeing me, for, instead of becoming
+less cool and distant towards me, he had become decidedly more so since
+the departure of his mother and sisters, which was just what I wished.
+Here, then, I set up my easel, and here I worked at my canvas from
+daylight till dusk, with very little intermission, saving when pure
+necessity, or my duties to little Arthur, called me away: for I still
+thought proper to devote some portion of every day exclusively to his
+instruction and amusement.  But, contrary to my expectation, on the third
+morning, while I was thus employed, Mr. Hargrave did look in, and did not
+immediately withdraw on seeing me.  He apologized for his intrusion, and
+said he was only come for a book; but when he had got it, he condescended
+to cast a glance over my picture.  Being a man of taste, he had something
+to say on this subject as well as another, and having modestly commented
+on it, without much encouragement from me, he proceeded to expatiate on
+the art in general.  Receiving no encouragement in that either, he
+dropped it, but did not depart.
+
+‘You don’t give us much of your company, Mrs. Huntingdon,’ observed he,
+after a brief pause, during which I went on coolly mixing and tempering
+my colours; ‘and I cannot wonder at it, for you must be heartily sick of
+us all.  I myself am so thoroughly ashamed of my companions, and so weary
+of their irrational conversation and pursuits—now that there is no one to
+humanize them and keep them in check, since you have justly abandoned us
+to our own devices—that I think I shall presently withdraw from amongst
+them, probably within this week; and I cannot suppose you will regret my
+departure.’
+
+He paused.  I did not answer.
+
+‘Probably,’ he added, with a smile, ‘your only regret on the subject will
+be that I do not take all my companions along with me.  I flatter myself,
+at times, that though among them I am not of them; but it is natural that
+you should be glad to get rid of me.  I may regret this, but I cannot
+blame you for it.’
+
+‘I shall not rejoice at your departure, for you can conduct yourself like
+a gentleman,’ said I, thinking it but right to make some acknowledgment
+for his good behaviour; ‘but I must confess I shall rejoice to bid adieu
+to the rest, inhospitable as it may appear.’
+
+‘No one can blame you for such an avowal,’ replied he gravely: ‘not even
+the gentlemen themselves, I imagine.  I’ll just tell you,’ he continued,
+as if actuated by a sudden resolution, ‘what was said last night in the
+dining-room, after you left us: perhaps you will not mind it, as you’re
+so very philosophical on certain points,’ he added with a slight sneer.
+‘They were talking about Lord Lowborough and his delectable lady, the
+cause of whose sudden departure is no secret amongst them; and her
+character is so well known to them all, that, nearly related to me as she
+is, I could not attempt to defend it.  Curse me!’ he muttered, par
+parenthese, ‘if I don’t have vengeance for this!  If the villain must
+disgrace the family, must he blazon it abroad to every low-bred knave of
+his acquaintance?  I beg your pardon, Mrs. Huntingdon.  Well, they were
+talking of these things, and some of them remarked that, as she was
+separated from her husband, he might see her again when he pleased.’
+
+‘“Thank you,” said he; “I’ve had enough of her for the present: I’ll not
+trouble to see her, unless she comes to me.”
+
+‘“Then what do you mean to do, Huntingdon, when we’re gone?” said Ralph
+Hattersley.  “Do you mean to turn from the error of your ways, and be a
+good husband, a good father, and so forth; as I do, when I get shut of
+you and all these rollicking devils you call your friends?  I think it’s
+time; and your wife is fifty times too good for you, you know—”
+
+‘And he added some praise of you, which you would not thank me for
+repeating, nor him for uttering; proclaiming it aloud, as he did, without
+delicacy or discrimination, in an audience where it seemed profanation to
+utter your name: himself utterly incapable of understanding or
+appreciating your real excellences.  Huntingdon, meanwhile, sat quietly
+drinking his wine,—or looking smilingly into his glass and offering no
+interruption or reply, till Hattersley shouted out,—“Do you hear me,
+man?”
+
+‘“Yes, go on,” said he.
+
+‘“Nay, I’ve done,” replied the other: “I only want to know if you intend
+to take my advice.”
+
+‘“What advice?”
+
+‘“To turn over a new leaf, you double-dyed scoundrel,” shouted Ralph,
+“and beg your wife’s pardon, and be a good boy for the future.”
+
+‘“My wife! what wife?  I have no wife,” replied Huntingdon, looking
+innocently up from his glass, “or if I have, look you, gentlemen: I value
+her so highly that any one among you, that can fancy her, may have her
+and welcome: you may, by Jove, and my blessing into the bargain!”
+
+‘I—hem—someone asked if he really meant what he said; upon which he
+solemnly swore he did, and no mistake.  What do you think of that, Mrs.
+Huntingdon?’ asked Mr. Hargrave, after a short pause, during which I had
+felt he was keenly examining my half-averted face.
+
+‘I say,’ replied I, calmly, ‘that what he prizes so lightly will not be
+long in his possession.’
+
+‘You cannot mean that you will break your heart and die for the
+detestable conduct of an infamous villain like that!’
+
+‘By no means: my heart is too thoroughly dried to be broken in a hurry,
+and I mean to live as long as I can.’
+
+‘Will you leave him then?’
+
+‘Yes.’
+
+‘When: and how?’ asked he, eagerly.
+
+‘When I am ready, and how I can manage it most effectually.’
+
+‘But your child?’
+
+‘My child goes with me.’
+
+‘He will not allow it.’
+
+‘I shall not ask him.’
+
+‘Ah, then, it is a secret flight you meditate! but with whom, Mrs.
+Huntingdon?’
+
+‘With my son: and possibly, his nurse.’
+
+‘Alone—and unprotected!  But where can you go? what can you do?  He will
+follow you and bring you back.’
+
+‘I have laid my plans too well for that.  Let me once get clear of
+Grassdale, and I shall consider myself safe.’
+
+Mr. Hargrave advanced one step towards me, looked me in the face, and
+drew in his breath to speak; but that look, that heightened colour, that
+sudden sparkle of the eye, made my blood rise in wrath: I abruptly turned
+away, and, snatching up my brush, began to dash away at my canvas with
+rather too much energy for the good of the picture.
+
+‘Mrs. Huntingdon,’ said he with bitter solemnity, ‘you are cruel—cruel to
+me—cruel to yourself.’
+
+‘Mr. Hargrave, remember your promise.’
+
+‘I must speak: my heart will burst if I don’t!  I have been silent long
+enough, and you must hear me!’ cried he, boldly intercepting my retreat
+to the door.  ‘You tell me you owe no allegiance to your husband; he
+openly declares himself weary of you, and calmly gives you up to anybody
+that will take you; you are about to leave him; no one will believe that
+you go alone; all the world will say, “She has left him at last, and who
+can wonder at it?  Few can blame her, fewer still can pity him; but who
+is the companion of her flight?”  Thus you will have no credit for your
+virtue (if you call it such): even your best friends will not believe in
+it; because it is monstrous, and not to be credited but by those who
+suffer, from the effects of it, such cruel torments that they know it to
+be indeed reality.  But what can you do in the cold, rough world alone?
+you, a young and inexperienced woman, delicately nurtured, and utterly—’
+
+‘In a word, you would advise me to stay where I am,’ interrupted I.
+‘Well, I’ll see about it.’
+
+‘By all means, leave him!’ cried he earnestly; ‘but NOT alone! Helen! let
+me protect you!’
+
+‘Never! while heaven spares my reason,’ replied I, snatching away the
+hand he had presumed to seize and press between his own.  But he was in
+for it now; he had fairly broken the barrier: he was completely roused,
+and determined to hazard all for victory.
+
+‘I must not be denied!’ exclaimed he, vehemently; and seizing both my
+hands, he held them very tight, but dropped upon his knee, and looked up
+in my face with a half-imploring, half-imperious gaze.  ‘You have no
+reason now: you are flying in the face of heaven’s decrees.  God has
+designed me to be your comfort and protector—I feel it, I know it as
+certainly as if a voice from heaven declared, “Ye twain shall be one
+flesh”—and you spurn me from you—’
+
+‘Let me go, Mr. Hargrave!’ said I, sternly.  But he only tightened his
+grasp.
+
+‘Let me go!’ I repeated, quivering with indignation.
+
+His face was almost opposite the window as he knelt.  With a slight
+start, I saw him glance towards it; and then a gleam of malicious triumph
+lit up his countenance.  Looking over my shoulder, I beheld a shadow just
+retiring round the corner.
+
+‘That is Grimsby,’ said he deliberately.  ‘He will report what he has
+seen to Huntingdon and all the rest, with such embellishments as he
+thinks proper.  He has no love for you, Mrs. Huntingdon—no reverence for
+your sex, no belief in virtue, no admiration for its image.  He will give
+such a version of this story as will leave no doubt at all about your
+character, in the minds of those who hear it.  Your fair fame is gone;
+and nothing that I or you can say can ever retrieve it.  But give me the
+power to protect you, and show me the villain that dares to insult!’
+
+‘No one has ever dared to insult me as you are doing now!’ said I, at
+length releasing my hands, and recoiling from him.
+
+‘I do not insult you,’ cried he: ‘I worship you.  You are my angel, my
+divinity!  I lay my powers at your feet, and you must and shall accept
+them!’ he exclaimed, impetuously starting to his feet.  ‘I will be your
+consoler and defender! and if your conscience upbraid you for it, say I
+overcame you, and you could not choose but yield!’
+
+I never saw a man go terribly excited.  He precipitated himself towards
+me.  I snatched up my palette-knife and held it against him.  This
+startled him: he stood and gazed at me in astonishment; I daresay I
+looked as fierce and resolute as he.  I moved to the bell, and put my
+hand upon the cord.  This tamed him still more.  With a
+half-authoritative, half-deprecating wave of the hand, he sought to deter
+me from ringing.
+
+‘Stand off, then!’ said I; he stepped back.  ‘And listen to me.  I don’t
+like you,’ I continued, as deliberately and emphatically as I could, to
+give the greater efficacy to my words; ‘and if I were divorced from my
+husband, or if he were dead, I would not marry you.  There now!  I hope
+you’re satisfied.’
+
+His face grew blanched with anger.
+
+‘I am satisfied,’ he replied, with bitter emphasis, ‘that you are the
+most cold-hearted, unnatural, ungrateful woman I ever yet beheld!’
+
+‘Ungrateful, sir?’
+
+‘Ungrateful.’
+
+‘No, Mr. Hargrave, I am not.  For all the good you ever did me, or ever
+wished to do, I most sincerely thank you: for all the evil you have done
+me, and all you would have done, I pray God to pardon you, and make you
+of a better mind.’  Here the door was thrown open, and Messrs. Huntingdon
+and Hattersley appeared without.  The latter remained in the hall, busy
+with his ramrod and his gun; the former walked in, and stood with his
+back to the fire, surveying Mr. Hargrave and me, particularly the former,
+with a smile of insupportable meaning, accompanied as it was by the
+impudence of his brazen brow, and the sly, malicious, twinkle of his eye.
+
+‘Well, sir?’ said Hargrave, interrogatively, and with the air of one
+prepared to stand on the defensive.
+
+‘Well, sir,’ returned his host.
+
+‘We want to know if you are at liberty to join us in a go at the
+pheasants, Walter,’ interposed Hattersley from without.  ‘Come! there
+shall be nothing shot besides, except a puss or two; I’ll vouch for
+that.’
+
+Walter did not answer, but walked to the window to collect his faculties.
+Arthur uttered a low whistle, and followed him with his eyes.  A slight
+flush of anger rose to Hargrave’s cheek; but in a moment he turned calmly
+round, and said carelessly:
+
+‘I came here to bid farewell to Mrs. Huntingdon, and tell her I must go
+to-morrow.’
+
+‘Humph!  You’re mighty sudden in your resolution.  What takes you off so
+soon, may I ask?’
+
+‘Business,’ returned he, repelling the other’s incredulous sneer with a
+glance of scornful defiance.
+
+‘Very good,’ was the reply; and Hargrave walked away.  Thereupon Mr.
+Huntingdon, gathering his coat-laps under his arms, and setting his
+shoulder against the mantel-piece, turned to me, and, addressing me in a
+low voice, scarcely above his breath, poured forth a volley of the vilest
+and grossest abuse it was possible for the imagination to conceive or the
+tongue to utter.  I did not attempt to interrupt him; but my spirit
+kindled within me, and when he had done, I replied, ‘If your accusation
+were true, Mr. Huntingdon, how dare you blame me?’
+
+‘She’s hit it, by Jove!’ cried Hattersley, rearing his gun against the
+wall; and, stepping into the room, he took his precious friend by the
+arm, and attempted to drag him away.  ‘Come, my lad,’ he muttered; ‘true
+or false, you’ve no right to blame her, you know, nor him either; after
+what you said last night.  So come along.’
+
+There was something implied here that I could not endure.
+
+‘Dare you suspect me, Mr. Hattersley?’ said I, almost beside myself with
+fury.
+
+‘Nay, nay, I suspect nobody.  It’s all right, it’s all right.  So come
+along, Huntingdon, you blackguard.’
+
+‘She can’t deny it!’ cried the gentleman thus addressed, grinning in
+mingled rage and triumph.  ‘She can’t deny it if her life depended on
+it!’ and muttering some more abusive language, he walked into the hall,
+and took up his hat and gun from the table.
+
+‘I scorn to justify myself to you!’ said I.  ‘But you,’ turning to
+Hattersley, ‘if you presume to have any doubts on the subject, ask Mr.
+Hargrave.’
+
+At this they simultaneously burst into a rude laugh that made my whole
+frame tingle to the fingers’ ends.
+
+‘Where is he?  I’ll ask him myself!’ said I, advancing towards them.
+
+Suppressing a new burst of merriment, Hattersley pointed to the outer
+door.  It was half open.  His brother-in-law was standing on the front
+without.
+
+‘Mr. Hargrave, will you please to step this way?’ said I.
+
+He turned and looked at me in grave surprise.
+
+‘Step this way, if you please!’ I repeated, in so determined a manner
+that he could not, or did not choose to resist its authority.  Somewhat
+reluctantly he ascended the steps and advanced a pace or two into the
+hall.
+
+‘And tell those gentlemen,’ I continued—‘these men, whether or not I
+yielded to your solicitations.’
+
+‘I don’t understand you, Mrs. Huntingdon.’
+
+‘You do understand me, sir; and I charge you, upon your honour as a
+gentleman (if you have any), to answer truly.  Did I, or did I not?’
+
+‘No,’ muttered he, turning away.
+
+‘Speak up, sir; they can’t hear you.  Did I grant your request?
+
+‘You did not.’
+
+‘No, I’ll be sworn she didn’t,’ said Hattersley, ‘or he’d never look so
+black.’
+
+‘I’m willing to grant you the satisfaction of a gentleman, Huntingdon,’
+said Mr. Hargrave, calmly addressing his host, but with a bitter sneer
+upon his countenance.
+
+‘Go to the deuce!’ replied the latter, with an impatient jerk of the
+head.  Hargrave withdrew with a look of cold disdain, saying,—‘You know
+where to find me, should you feel disposed to send a friend.’
+
+Muttered oaths and curses were all the answer this intimation obtained.
+
+‘Now, Huntingdon, you see!’ said Hattersley.  ‘Clear as the day.’
+
+‘I don’t care what he sees,’ said I, ‘or what he imagines; but you, Mr.
+Hattersley, when you hear my name belied and slandered, will you defend
+it?’
+
+‘I will.’
+
+I instantly departed and shut myself into the library.  What could
+possess me to make such a request of such a man I cannot tell; but
+drowning men catch at straws: they had driven me desperate between them;
+I hardly knew what I said.  There was no other to preserve my name from
+being blackened and aspersed among this nest of boon companions, and
+through them, perhaps, into the world; and beside my abandoned wretch of
+a husband, the base, malignant Grimsby, and the false villain Hargrave,
+this boorish ruffian, coarse and brutal as he was, shone like a glow-worm
+in the dark, among its fellow worms.
+
+What a scene was this!  Could I ever have imagined that I should be
+doomed to bear such insults under my own roof—to hear such things spoken
+in my presence; nay, spoken to me and of me; and by those who arrogated
+to themselves the name of gentlemen?  And could I have imagined that I
+should have been able to endure it as calmly, and to repel their insults
+as firmly and as boldly as I had done?  A hardness such as this is taught
+by rough experience and despair alone.
+
+Such thoughts as these chased one another through my mind, as I paced to
+and fro the room, and longed—oh, how I longed—to take my child and leave
+them now, without an hour’s delay!  But it could not be; there was work
+before me: hard work, that must be done.
+
+‘Then let me do it,’ said I, ‘and lose not a moment in vain repinings and
+idle chafings against my fate, and those who influence it.’
+
+And conquering my agitation with a powerful effort, I immediately resumed
+my task, and laboured hard all day.
+
+Mr. Hargrave did depart on the morrow; and I have never seen him since.
+The others stayed on for two or three weeks longer; but I kept aloof from
+them as much as possible, and still continued my labour, and have
+continued it, with almost unabated ardour, to the present day.  I soon
+acquainted Rachel with my design, confiding all my motives and intentions
+to her ear, and, much to my agreeable surprise, found little difficulty
+in persuading her to enter into my views.  She is a sober, cautious
+woman, but she so hates her master, and so loves her mistress and her
+nursling, that after several ejaculations, a few faint objections, and
+many tears and lamentations that I should be brought to such a pass, she
+applauded my resolution and consented to aid me with all her might: on
+one condition only: that she might share my exile: otherwise, she was
+utterly inexorable, regarding it as perfect madness for me and Arthur to
+go alone.  With touching generosity, she modestly offered to aid me with
+her little hoard of savings, hoping I would ‘excuse her for the liberty,
+but really, if I would do her the favour to accept it as a loan, she
+would be very happy.’  Of course I could not think of such a thing; but
+now, thank heaven, I have gathered a little hoard of my own, and my
+preparations are so far advanced that I am looking forward to a speedy
+emancipation.  Only let the stormy severity of this winter weather be
+somewhat abated, and then, some morning, Mr. Huntingdon will come down to
+a solitary breakfast-table, and perhaps be clamouring through the house
+for his invisible wife and child, when they are some fifty miles on their
+way to the Western world, or it may be more: for we shall leave him hours
+before the dawn, and it is not probable he will discover the loss of both
+until the day is far advanced.
+
+I am fully alive to the evils that may and must result upon the step I am
+about to take; but I never waver in my resolution, because I never forget
+my son.  It was only this morning, while I pursued my usual employment,
+he was sitting at my feet, quietly playing with the shreds of canvas I
+had thrown upon the carpet; but his mind was otherwise occupied, for, in
+a while, he looked up wistfully in my face, and gravely asked,—‘Mamma,
+why are you wicked?’
+
+‘Who told you I was wicked, love?’
+
+‘Rachel.’
+
+‘No, Arthur, Rachel never said so, I am certain.’
+
+‘Well, then, it was papa,’ replied he, thoughtfully.  Then, after a
+reflective pause, he added, ‘At least, I’ll tell you how it was I got to
+know: when I’m with papa, if I say mamma wants me, or mamma says I’m not
+to do something that he tells me to do, he always says, “Mamma be
+damned,” and Rachel says it’s only wicked people that are damned.  So,
+mamma, that’s why I think you must be wicked: and I wish you wouldn’t.’
+
+‘My dear child, I am not.  Those are bad words, and wicked people often
+say them of others better than themselves.  Those words cannot make
+people be damned, nor show that they deserve it.  God will judge us by
+our own thoughts and deeds, not by what others say about us.  And when
+you hear such words spoken, Arthur, remember never to repeat them: it is
+wicked to say such things of others, not to have them said against you.’
+
+‘Then it’s papa that’s wicked,’ said he, ruefully.
+
+‘Papa is wrong to say such things, and you will be very wrong to imitate
+him now that you know better.’
+
+‘What is imitate?’
+
+‘To do as he does.’
+
+‘Does he know better?’
+
+‘Perhaps he does; but that is nothing to you.’
+
+‘If he doesn’t, you ought to tell him, mamma.’
+
+‘I have told him.’
+
+The little moralist paused and pondered.  I tried in vain to divert his
+mind from the subject.
+
+‘I’m sorry papa’s wicked,’ said he mournfully, at length, ‘for I don’t
+want him to go to hell.’  And so saying he burst into tears.
+
+I consoled him with the hope that perhaps his papa would alter and become
+good before he died—; but is it not time to deliver him from such a
+parent?
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XL
+
+
+January 10th, 1827.—While writing the above, yesterday evening, I sat in
+the drawing-room.  Mr. Huntingdon was present, but, as I thought, asleep
+on the sofa behind me.  He had risen, however, unknown to me, and,
+actuated by some base spirit of curiosity, been looking over my shoulder
+for I know not how long; for when I had laid aside my pen, and was about
+to close the book, he suddenly placed his hand upon it, and saying,—‘With
+your leave, my dear, I’ll have a look at this,’ forcibly wrested it from
+me, and, drawing a chair to the table, composedly sat down to examine it:
+turning back leaf after leaf to find an explanation of what he had read.
+Unluckily for me, he was more sober that night than he usually is at such
+an hour.
+
+Of course I did not leave him to pursue this occupation in quiet: I made
+several attempts to snatch the book from his hands, but he held it too
+firmly for that; I upbraided him in bitterness and scorn for his mean and
+dishonourable conduct, but that had no effect upon him; and, finally, I
+extinguished both the candles, but he only wheeled round to the fire, and
+raising a blaze sufficient for his purposes, calmly continued the
+investigation.  I had serious thoughts of getting a pitcher of water and
+extinguishing that light too; but it was evident his curiosity was too
+keenly excited to be quenched by that, and the more I manifested my
+anxiety to baffle his scrutiny, the greater would be his determination to
+persist in it, besides it was too late.
+
+‘It seems very interesting, love,’ said he, lifting his head and turning
+to where I stood, wringing my hands in silent rage and anguish; ‘but it’s
+rather long; I’ll look at it some other time; and meanwhile I’ll trouble
+you for your keys, my dear.’
+
+‘What keys?’
+
+‘The keys of your cabinet, desk, drawers, and whatever else you possess,’
+said he, rising and holding out his hand.
+
+‘I’ve not got them,’ I replied.  The key of my desk, in fact, was at that
+moment in the lock, and the others were attached to it.
+
+‘Then you must send for them,’ said he; ‘and if that old devil, Rachel,
+doesn’t immediately deliver them up, she tramps bag and baggage
+tomorrow.’
+
+‘She doesn’t know where they are,’ I answered, quietly placing my hand
+upon them, and taking them from the desk, as I thought, unobserved.  ‘I
+know, but I shall not give them up without a reason.’
+
+‘And I know, too,’ said he, suddenly seizing my closed hand and rudely
+abstracting them from it.  He then took up one of the candles and
+relighted it by thrusting it into the fire.
+
+‘Now, then,’ sneered he, ‘we must have a confiscation of property.  But,
+first, let us take a peep into the studio.’
+
+And putting the keys into his pocket, he walked into the library.  I
+followed, whether with the dim idea of preventing mischief, or only to
+know the worst, I can hardly tell.  My painting materials were laid
+together on the corner table, ready for to-morrow’s use, and only covered
+with a cloth.  He soon spied them out, and putting down the candle,
+deliberately proceeded to cast them into the fire: palette, paints,
+bladders, pencils, brushes, varnish: I saw them all consumed: the
+palette-knives snapped in two, the oil and turpentine sent hissing and
+roaring up the chimney.  He then rang the bell.
+
+‘Benson, take those things away,’ said he, pointing to the easel, canvas,
+and stretcher; ‘and tell the housemaid she may kindle the fire with them:
+your mistress won’t want them any more.’
+
+Benson paused aghast and looked at me.
+
+‘Take them away, Benson,’ said I; and his master muttered an oath.
+
+‘And this and all, sir?’ said the astonished servant, referring to the
+half-finished picture.
+
+‘That and all,’ replied the master; and the things were cleared away.
+
+Mr. Huntingdon then went up-stairs.  I did not attempt to follow him, but
+remained seated in the arm-chair, speechless, tearless, and almost
+motionless, till he returned about half-an-hour after, and walking up to
+me, held the candle in my face and peered into my eyes with looks and
+laughter too insulting to be borne.  With a sudden stroke of my hand I
+dashed the candle to the floor.
+
+‘Hal-lo!’ muttered he, starting back; ‘she’s the very devil for spite.
+Did ever any mortal see such eyes?—they shine in the dark like a cat’s.
+Oh, you’re a sweet one!’  So saying, he gathered up the candle and the
+candlestick.  The former being broken as well as extinguished, he rang
+for another.
+
+‘Benson, your mistress has broken the candle; bring another.’
+
+‘You expose yourself finely,’ observed I, as the man departed.
+
+‘I didn’t say I’d broken it, did I?’ returned he.  He then threw my keys
+into my lap, saying,—‘There! you’ll find nothing gone but your money, and
+the jewels, and a few little trifles I thought it advisable to take into
+my own possession, lest your mercantile spirit should be tempted to turn
+them into gold.  I’ve left you a few sovereigns in your purse, which I
+expect to last you through the month; at all events, when you want more
+you will be so good as to give me an account of how that’s spent.  I
+shall put you upon a small monthly allowance, in future, for your own
+private expenses; and you needn’t trouble yourself any more about my
+concerns; I shall look out for a steward, my dear—I won’t expose you to
+the temptation.  And as for the household matters, Mrs. Greaves must be
+very particular in keeping her accounts; we must go upon an entirely new
+plan—’
+
+‘What great discovery have you made now, Mr. Huntingdon?  Have I
+attempted to defraud you?’
+
+‘Not in money matters, exactly, it seems; but it’s best to keep out of
+the way of temptation.’
+
+Here Benson entered with the candles, and there followed a brief interval
+of silence; I sitting still in my chair, and he standing with his back to
+the fire, silently triumphing in my despair.
+
+‘And so,’ said he at length, ‘you thought to disgrace me, did you, by
+running away and turning artist, and supporting yourself by the labour of
+your hands, forsooth?  And you thought to rob me of my son, too, and
+bring him up to be a dirty Yankee tradesman, or a low, beggarly painter?’
+
+‘Yes, to obviate his becoming such a gentleman as his father.’
+
+‘It’s well you couldn’t keep your own secret—ha, ha!  It’s well these
+women must be blabbing.  If they haven’t a friend to talk to, they must
+whisper their secrets to the fishes, or write them on the sand, or
+something; and it’s well, too, I wasn’t over full to-night, now I think
+of it, or I might have snoozed away and never dreamt of looking what my
+sweet lady was about; or I might have lacked the sense or the power to
+carry my point like a man, as I have done.’
+
+Leaving him to his self-congratulations, I rose to secure my manuscript,
+for I now remembered it had been left upon the drawing-room table, and I
+determined, if possible, to save myself the humiliation of seeing it in
+his hands again.  I could not bear the idea of his amusing himself over
+my secret thoughts and recollections; though, to be sure, he would find
+little good of himself therein indited, except in the former part; and
+oh, I would sooner burn it all than he should read what I had written
+when I was such a fool as to love him!
+
+‘And by-the-by,’ cried he, as I was leaving the room, ‘you’d better tell
+that d—d old sneak of a nurse to keep out of my way for a day or two; I’d
+pay her her wages and send her packing to-morrow, but I know she’d do
+more mischief out of the house than in it.’
+
+And as I departed, he went on cursing and abusing my faithful friend and
+servant with epithets I will not defile this paper with repeating.  I
+went to her as soon as I had put away my book, and told her how our
+project was defeated.  She was as much distressed and horrified as I
+was—and more so than I was that night, for I was partly stunned by the
+blow, and partly excited and supported against it by the bitterness of my
+wrath.  But in the morning, when I woke without that cheering hope that
+had been my secret comfort and support so long, and all this day, when I
+have wandered about restless and objectless, shunning my husband,
+shrinking even from my child, knowing that I am unfit to be his teacher
+or companion, hoping nothing for his future life, and fervently wishing
+he had never been born,—I felt the full extent of my calamity, and I feel
+it now.  I know that day after day such feelings will return upon me.  I
+am a slave—a prisoner—but that is nothing; if it were myself alone I
+would not complain, but I am forbidden to rescue my son from ruin, and
+what was once my only consolation is become the crowning source of my
+despair.
+
+Have I no faith in God?  I try to look to Him and raise my heart to
+heaven, but it will cleave to the dust.  I can only say, ‘He hath hedged
+me about, that I cannot get out: He hath made my chain heavy.  He hath
+filled me with bitterness—He hath made me drunken with wormwood.’  I
+forget to add, ‘But though He cause grief, yet will He have compassion
+according to the multitude of His mercies.  For He doth not afflict
+willingly nor grieve the children of men.’ I ought to think of this; and
+if there be nothing but sorrow for me in this world, what is the longest
+life of misery to a whole eternity of peace?  And for my little
+Arthur—has he no friend but me?  Who was it said, ‘It is not the will of
+your Father which is in heaven that one of these little ones should
+perish?’
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLI
+
+
+March 20th.—Having now got rid of Mr. Huntingdon for a season, my spirits
+begin to revive.  He left me early in February; and the moment he was
+gone, I breathed again, and felt my vital energy return; not with the
+hope of escape—he has taken care to leave me no visible chance of
+that—but with a determination to make the best of existing circumstances.
+Here was Arthur left to me at last; and rousing from my despondent
+apathy, I exerted all my powers to eradicate the weeds that had been
+fostered in his infant mind, and sow again the good seed they had
+rendered unproductive.  Thank heaven, it is not a barren or a stony soil;
+if weeds spring fast there, so do better plants.  His apprehensions are
+more quick, his heart more overflowing with affection than ever his
+father’s could have been, and it is no hopeless task to bend him to
+obedience and win him to love and know his own true friend, as long as
+there is no one to counteract my efforts.
+
+I had much trouble at first in breaking him of those evil habits his
+father had taught him to acquire, but already that difficulty is nearly
+vanquished now: bad language seldom defiles his mouth, and I have
+succeeded in giving him an absolute disgust for all intoxicating liquors,
+which I hope not even his father or his father’s friends will be able to
+overcome.  He was inordinately fond of them for so young a creature, and,
+remembering my unfortunate father as well as his, I dreaded the
+consequences of such a taste.  But if I had stinted him, in his usual
+quantity of wine, or forbidden him to taste it altogether, that would
+only have increased his partiality for it, and made him regard it as a
+greater treat than ever.  I therefore gave him quite as much as his
+father was accustomed to allow him; as much, indeed, as he desired to
+have—but into every glass I surreptitiously introduced a small quantity
+of tartar-emetic, just enough to produce inevitable nausea and depression
+without positive sickness.  Finding such disagreeable consequences
+invariably to result from this indulgence, he soon grew weary of it, but
+the more he shrank from the daily treat the more I pressed it upon him,
+till his reluctance was strengthened to perfect abhorrence.  When he was
+thoroughly disgusted with every kind of wine, I allowed him, at his own
+request, to try brandy-and-water, and then gin-and-water, for the little
+toper was familiar with them all, and I was determined that all should be
+equally hateful to him.  This I have now effected; and since he declares
+that the taste, the smell, the sight of any one of them is sufficient to
+make him sick, I have given up teasing him about them, except now and
+then as objects of terror in cases of misbehaviour.  ‘Arthur, if you’re
+not a good boy I shall give you a glass of wine,’ or ‘Now, Arthur, if you
+say that again you shall have some brandy-and-water,’ is as good as any
+other threat; and once or twice, when he was sick, I have obliged the
+poor child to swallow a little wine-and-water without the tartar-emetic,
+by way of medicine; and this practice I intend to continue for some time
+to come; not that I think it of any real service in a physical sense, but
+because I am determined to enlist all the powers of association in my
+service; I wish this aversion to be so deeply grounded in his nature that
+nothing in after-life may be able to overcome it.
+
+Thus, I flatter myself, I shall secure him from this one vice; and for
+the rest, if on his father’s return I find reason to apprehend that my
+good lessons will be all destroyed—if Mr. Huntingdon commence again the
+game of teaching the child to hate and despise his mother, and emulate
+his father’s wickedness—I will yet deliver my son from his hands.  I have
+devised another scheme that might be resorted to in such a case; and if I
+could but obtain my brother’s consent and assistance, I should not doubt
+of its success.  The old hall where he and I were born, and where our
+mother died, is not now inhabited, nor yet quite sunk into decay, as I
+believe.  Now, if I could persuade him to have one or two rooms made
+habitable, and to let them to me as a stranger, I might live there, with
+my child, under an assumed name, and still support myself by my favourite
+art.  He should lend me the money to begin with, and I would pay him
+back, and live in lowly independence and strict seclusion, for the house
+stands in a lonely place, and the neighbourhood is thinly inhabited, and
+he himself should negotiate the sale of my pictures for me.  I have
+arranged the whole plan in my head: and all I want is to persuade
+Frederick to be of the same mind as myself.  He is coming to see me soon,
+and then I will make the proposal to him, having first enlightened him
+upon my circumstances sufficiently to excuse the project.
+
+Already, I believe, he knows much more of my situation than I have told
+him.  I can tell this by the air of tender sadness pervading his letters;
+and by the fact of his so seldom mentioning my husband, and generally
+evincing a kind of covert bitterness when he does refer to him; as well
+as by the circumstance of his never coming to see me when Mr. Huntingdon
+is at home.  But he has never openly expressed any disapprobation of him
+or sympathy for me; he has never asked any questions, or said anything to
+invite my confidence.  Had he done so, I should probably have had but few
+concealments from him.  Perhaps he feels hurt at my reserve.  He is a
+strange being; I wish we knew each other better.  He used to spend a
+month at Staningley every year, before I was married; but, since our
+father’s death, I have only seen him once, when he came for a few days
+while Mr. Huntingdon was away.  He shall stay many days this time, and
+there shall be more candour and cordiality between us than ever there was
+before, since our early childhood.  My heart clings to him more than
+ever; and my soul is sick of solitude.
+
+April 16th.—He is come and gone.  He would not stay above a fortnight.
+The time passed quickly, but very, very happily, and it has done me good.
+I must have a bad disposition, for my misfortunes have soured and
+embittered me exceedingly: I was beginning insensibly to cherish very
+unamiable feelings against my fellow-mortals, the male part of them
+especially; but it is a comfort to see there is at least one among them
+worthy to be trusted and esteemed; and doubtless there are more, though I
+have never known them, unless I except poor Lord Lowborough, and he was
+bad enough in his day.  But what would Frederick have been, if he had
+lived in the world, and mingled from his childhood with such men as these
+of my acquaintance? and what will Arthur be, with all his natural
+sweetness of disposition, if I do not save him from that world and those
+companions?  I mentioned my fears to Frederick, and introduced the
+subject of my plan of rescue on the evening after his arrival, when I
+presented my little son to his uncle.
+
+‘He is like you, Frederick,’ said I, ‘in some of his moods: I sometimes
+think he resembles you more than his father; and I am glad of it.’
+
+‘You flatter me, Helen,’ replied he, stroking the child’s soft, wavy
+locks.
+
+‘No, you will think it no compliment when I tell you I would rather have
+him to resemble Benson than his father.’  He slightly elevated his
+eyebrows, but said nothing.
+
+‘Do you know what sort of man Mr. Huntingdon is?’ said I.
+
+‘I think I have an idea.’
+
+‘Have you so clear an idea that you can hear, without surprise or
+disapproval, that I meditate escaping with that child to some secret
+asylum, where we can live in peace, and never see him again?’
+
+‘Is it really so?’
+
+‘If you have not,’ continued I, ‘I’ll tell you something more about him’;
+and I gave a sketch of his general conduct, and a more particular account
+of his behaviour with regard to his child, and explained my apprehensions
+on the latter’s account, and my determination to deliver him from his
+father’s influence.
+
+Frederick was exceedingly indignant against Mr. Huntingdon, and very much
+grieved for me; but still he looked upon my project as wild and
+impracticable.  He deemed my fears for Arthur disproportioned to the
+circumstances, and opposed so many objections to my plan, and devised so
+many milder methods for ameliorating my condition, that I was obliged to
+enter into further details to convince him that my husband was utterly
+incorrigible, and that nothing could persuade him to give up his son,
+whatever became of me, he being as fully determined the child should not
+leave him, as I was not to leave the child; and that, in fact, nothing
+would answer but this, unless I fled the country, as I had intended
+before.  To obviate that, he at length consented to have one wing of the
+old hall put into a habitable condition, as a place of refuge against a
+time of need; but hoped I would not take advantage of it unless
+circumstances should render it really necessary, which I was ready enough
+to promise: for though, for my own sake, such a hermitage appears like
+paradise itself, compared with my present situation, yet for my friends’
+sakes, for Milicent and Esther, my sisters in heart and affection, for
+the poor tenants of Grassdale, and, above all, for my aunt, I will stay
+if I possibly can.
+
+July 29th.—Mrs. Hargrave and her daughter are come back from London.
+Esther is full of her first season in town; but she is still heart-whole
+and unengaged.  Her mother sought out an excellent match for her, and
+even brought the gentleman to lay his heart and fortune at her feet; but
+Esther had the audacity to refuse the noble gifts.  He was a man of good
+family and large possessions, but the naughty girl maintained he was old
+as Adam, ugly as sin, and hateful as—one who shall be nameless.
+
+‘But, indeed, I had a hard time of it,’ said she: ‘mamma was very greatly
+disappointed at the failure of her darling project, and very, very angry
+at my obstinate resistance to her will, and is so still; but I can’t help
+it.  And Walter, too, is so seriously displeased at my perversity and
+absurd caprice, as he calls it, that I fear he will never forgive me—I
+did not think he could be so unkind as he has lately shown himself.  But
+Milicent begged me not to yield, and I’m sure, Mrs. Huntingdon, if you
+had seen the man they wanted to palm upon me, you would have advised me
+not to take him too.’
+
+‘I should have done so whether I had seen him or not,’ said I; ‘it is
+enough that you dislike him.’
+
+‘I knew you would say so; though mamma affirmed you would be quite
+shocked at my undutiful conduct.  You can’t imagine how she lectures me:
+I am disobedient and ungrateful; I am thwarting her wishes, wronging my
+brother, and making myself a burden on her hands.  I sometimes fear
+she’ll overcome me after all.  I have a strong will, but so has she, and
+when she says such bitter things, it provokes me to such a pass that I
+feel inclined to do as she bids me, and then break my heart and say,
+“There, mamma, it’s all your fault!”’
+
+‘Pray don’t!’ said I.  ‘Obedience from such a motive would be positive
+wickedness, and certain to bring the punishment it deserves.  Stand firm,
+and your mamma will soon relinquish her persecution; and the gentleman
+himself will cease to pester you with his addresses if he finds them
+steadily rejected.’
+
+‘Oh, no! mamma will weary all about her before she tires herself with her
+exertions; and as for Mr. Oldfield, she has given him to understand that
+I have refused his offer, not from any dislike of his person, but merely
+because I am giddy and young, and cannot at present reconcile myself to
+the thoughts of marriage under any circumstances: but by next season, she
+has no doubt, I shall have more sense, and hopes my girlish fancies will
+be worn away.  So she has brought me home, to school me into a proper
+sense of my duty, against the time comes round again.  Indeed, I believe
+she will not put herself to the expense of taking me up to London again,
+unless I surrender: she cannot afford to take me to town for pleasure and
+nonsense, she says, and it is not every rich gentleman that will consent
+to take me without a fortune, whatever exalted ideas I may have of my own
+attractions.’
+
+‘Well, Esther, I pity you; but still, I repeat, stand firm.  You might as
+well sell yourself to slavery at once, as marry a man you dislike.  If
+your mother and brother are unkind to you, you may leave them, but
+remember you are bound to your husband for life.’
+
+‘But I cannot leave them unless I get married, and I cannot get married
+if nobody sees me.  I saw one or two gentlemen in London that I might
+have liked, but they were younger sons, and mamma would not let me get to
+know them—one especially, who I believe rather liked me—but she threw
+every possible obstacle in the way of our better acquaintance.  Wasn’t it
+provoking?’
+
+‘I have no doubt you would feel it so, but it is possible that if you
+married him, you might have more reason to regret it hereafter than if
+you married Mr. Oldfield.  When I tell you not to marry without love, I
+do not advise you to marry for love alone: there are many, many other
+things to be considered.  Keep both heart and hand in your own
+possession, till you see good reason to part with them; and if such an
+occasion should never present itself, comfort your mind with this
+reflection, that though in single life your joys may not be very many,
+your sorrows, at least, will not be more than you can bear.  Marriage may
+change your circumstances for the better, but, in my private opinion, it
+is far more likely to produce a contrary result.’
+
+‘So thinks Milicent; but allow me to say I think otherwise.  If I thought
+myself doomed to old-maidenhood, I should cease to value my life.  The
+thoughts of living on, year after year, at the Grove—a hanger-on upon
+mamma and Walter, a mere cumberer of the ground (now that I know in what
+light they would regard it), is perfectly intolerable; I would rather run
+away with the butler.’
+
+‘Your circumstances are peculiar, I allow; but have patience, love; do
+nothing rashly.  Remember you are not yet nineteen, and many years are
+yet to pass before any one can set you down as an old maid: you cannot
+tell what Providence may have in store for you.  And meantime, remember
+you have a right to the protection and support of your mother and
+brother, however they may seem to grudge it.’
+
+‘You are so grave, Mrs. Huntingdon,’ said Esther, after a pause.  ‘When
+Milicent uttered the same discouraging sentiments concerning marriage, I
+asked if she was happy: she said she was; but I only half believed her;
+and now I must put the same question to you.’
+
+‘It is a very impertinent question,’ laughed I, ‘from a young girl to a
+married woman so many years her senior, and I shall not answer it.’
+
+‘Pardon me, dear madam,’ said she, laughingly throwing herself into my
+arms, and kissing me with playful affection; but I felt a tear on my
+neck, as she dropped her head on my bosom and continued, with an odd
+mixture of sadness and levity, timidity and audacity,—‘I know you are not
+so happy as I mean to be, for you spend half your life alone at
+Grassdale, while Mr. Huntingdon goes about enjoying himself where and how
+he pleases.  I shall expect my husband to have no pleasures but what he
+shares with me; and if his greatest pleasure of all is not the enjoyment
+of my company, why, it will be the worse for him, that’s all.’
+
+‘If such are your expectations of matrimony, Esther, you must, indeed, be
+careful whom you marry—or rather, you must avoid it altogether.’
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLII
+
+
+September 1st.—No Mr. Huntingdon yet.  Perhaps he will stay among his
+friends till Christmas; and then, next spring, he will be off again.  If
+he continue this plan, I shall be able to stay at Grassdale well
+enough—that is, I shall be able to stay, and that is enough; even an
+occasional bevy of friends at the shooting season may be borne, if Arthur
+get so firmly attached to me, so well established in good sense and
+principles before they come that I shall be able, by reason and
+affection, to keep him pure from their contaminations.  Vain hope, I
+fear! but still, till such a time of trial comes I will forbear to think
+of my quiet asylum in the beloved old hall.
+
+Mr. and Mrs. Hattersley have been staying at the Grove a fortnight: and
+as Mr. Hargrave is still absent, and the weather was remarkably fine, I
+never passed a day without seeing my two friends, Milicent and Esther,
+either there or here.  On one occasion, when Mr. Hattersley had driven
+them over to Grassdale in the phaeton, with little Helen and Ralph, and
+we were all enjoying ourselves in the garden—I had a few minutes’
+conversation with that gentleman, while the ladies were amusing
+themselves with the children.
+
+‘Do you want to hear anything of your husband, Mrs. Huntingdon?’ said he.
+
+‘No, unless you can tell me when to expect him home.’
+
+‘I can’t.—You don’t want him, do you?’ said he, with a broad grin.
+
+‘No.’
+
+‘Well, I think you’re better without him, sure enough—for my part, I’m
+downright weary of him.  I told him I’d leave him if he didn’t mend his
+manners, and he wouldn’t; so I left him.  You see, I’m a better man than
+you think me; and, what’s more, I have serious thoughts of washing my
+hands of him entirely, and the whole set of ’em, and comporting myself
+from this day forward with all decency and sobriety, as a Christian and
+the father of a family should do.  What do you think of that?’
+
+‘It is a resolution you ought to have formed long ago.’
+
+‘Well, I’m not thirty yet; it isn’t too late, is it?’
+
+‘No; it is never too late to reform, as long as you have the sense to
+desire it, and the strength to execute your purpose.’
+
+‘Well, to tell you the truth, I’ve thought of it often and often before;
+but he’s such devilish good company, is Huntingdon, after all.  You can’t
+imagine what a jovial good fellow he is when he’s not fairly drunk, only
+just primed or half-seas-over.  We all have a bit of a liking for him at
+the bottom of our hearts, though we can’t respect him.’
+
+‘But should you wish yourself to be like him?’
+
+‘No, I’d rather be like myself, bad as I am.’
+
+‘You can’t continue as bad as you are without getting worse and more
+brutalised every day, and therefore more like him.’
+
+I could not help smiling at the comical, half-angry, half-confounded look
+he put on at this rather unusual mode of address.
+
+‘Never mind my plain speaking,’ said I; ‘it is from the best of motives.
+But tell me, should you wish your sons to be like Mr. Huntingdon—or even
+like yourself?’
+
+‘Hang it! no.’
+
+‘Should you wish your daughter to despise you—or, at least, to feel no
+vestige of respect for you, and no affection but what is mingled with the
+bitterest regret?’
+
+‘Oh, no!  I couldn’t stand that.’
+
+‘And, finally, should you wish your wife to be ready to sink into the
+earth when she hears you mentioned; and to loathe the very sound of your
+voice, and shudder at your approach?’
+
+‘She never will; she likes me all the same, whatever I do.’
+
+‘Impossible, Mr. Hattersley! you mistake her quiet submission for
+affection.’
+
+‘Fire and fury—’
+
+‘Now don’t burst into a tempest at that.  I don’t mean to say she does
+not love you—she does, I know, a great deal better than you deserve; but
+I am quite sure, that if you behave better, she will love you more, and
+if you behave worse, she will love you less and less, till all is lost in
+fear, aversion, and bitterness of soul, if not in secret hatred and
+contempt.  But, dropping the subject of affection, should you wish to be
+the tyrant of her life—to take away all the sunshine from her existence,
+and make her thoroughly miserable?’
+
+‘Of course not; and I don’t, and I’m not going to.’
+
+‘You have done more towards it than you suppose.’
+
+‘Pooh, pooh! she’s not the susceptible, anxious, worriting creature you
+imagine: she’s a little meek, peaceable, affectionate body; apt to be
+rather sulky at times, but quiet and cool in the main, and ready to take
+things as they come.’
+
+‘Think of what she was five years ago, when you married her, and what she
+is now.’
+
+‘I know she was a little plump lassie then, with a pretty pink and white
+face: now she’s a poor little bit of a creature, fading and melting away
+like a snow-wreath.  But hang it!—that’s not my fault.’
+
+‘What is the cause of it then?  Not years, for she’s only
+five-and-twenty.’
+
+‘It’s her own delicate health, and confound it, madam! what would you
+make of me?—and the children, to be sure, that worry her to death between
+them.’
+
+‘No, Mr. Hattersley, the children give her more pleasure than pain: they
+are fine, well-dispositioned children—’
+
+‘I know they are—bless them!’
+
+‘Then why lay the blame on them?—I’ll tell you what it is: it’s silent
+fretting and constant anxiety on your account, mingled, I suspect, with
+something of bodily fear on her own.  When you behave well, she can only
+rejoice with trembling; she has no security, no confidence in your
+judgment or principles; but is continually dreading the close of such
+short-lived felicity; when you behave ill, her causes of terror and
+misery are more than any one can tell but herself.  In patient endurance
+of evil, she forgets it is our duty to admonish our neighbours of their
+transgressions.  Since you will mistake her silence for indifference,
+come with me, and I’ll show you one or two of her letters—no breach of
+confidence, I hope, since you are her other half.’
+
+He followed me into the library.  I sought out and put into his hands two
+of Milicent’s letters: one dated from London, and written during one of
+his wildest seasons of reckless dissipation; the other in the country,
+during a lucid interval.  The former was full of trouble and anguish; not
+accusing him, but deeply regretting his connection with his profligate
+companions, abusing Mr. Grimsby and others, insinuating bitter things
+against Mr. Huntingdon, and most ingeniously throwing the blame of her
+husband’s misconduct on to other men’s shoulders.  The latter was full of
+hope and joy, yet with a trembling consciousness that this happiness
+would not last; praising his goodness to the skies, but with an evident,
+though but half-expressed wish, that it were based on a surer foundation
+than the natural impulses of the heart, and a half-prophetic dread of the
+fall of that house so founded on the sand,—which fall had shortly after
+taken place, as Hattersley must have been conscious while he read.
+
+Almost at the commencement of the first letter I had the unexpected
+pleasure of seeing him blush; but he immediately turned his back to me,
+and finished the perusal at the window.  At the second, I saw him, once
+or twice, raise his hand, and hurriedly pass it across his face.  Could
+it be to dash away a tear?  When he had done, there was an interval spent
+in clearing his throat and staring out of the window, and then, after
+whistling a few bars of a favourite air, he turned round, gave me back
+the letters, and silently shook me by the hand.
+
+‘I’ve been a cursed rascal, God knows,’ said he, as he gave it a hearty
+squeeze, ‘but you see if I don’t make amends for it—d—n me if I don’t!’
+
+‘Don’t curse yourself, Mr. Hattersley; if God had heard half your
+invocations of that kind, you would have been in hell long before now—and
+you cannot make amends for the past by doing your duty for the future,
+inasmuch as your duty is only what you owe to your Maker, and you cannot
+do more than fulfil it: another must make amends for your past
+delinquencies.  If you intend to reform, invoke God’s blessing, His
+mercy, and His aid; not His curse.’
+
+‘God help me, then—for I’m sure I need it.  Where’s Milicent?’
+
+‘She’s there, just coming in with her sister.’
+
+He stepped out at the glass door, and went to meet them.  I followed at a
+little distance.  Somewhat to his wife’s astonishment, he lifted her off
+from the ground, and saluted her with a hearty kiss and a strong embrace;
+then placing his two hands on her shoulders, he gave her, I suppose, a
+sketch of the great things he meant to do, for she suddenly threw her
+arms round him, and burst into tears, exclaiming,—‘Do, do, Ralph—we shall
+be so happy!  How very, very good you are!’
+
+‘Nay, not I,’ said he, turning her round, and pushing her towards me.
+‘Thank her; it’s her doing.’
+
+Milicent flew to thank me, overflowing with gratitude.  I disclaimed all
+title to it, telling her her husband was predisposed to amendment before
+I added my mite of exhortation and encouragement, and that I had only
+done what she might, and ought to have done herself.
+
+‘Oh, no!’ cried she; ‘I couldn’t have influenced him, I’m sure, by
+anything that I could have said.  I should only have bothered him by my
+clumsy efforts at persuasion, if I had made the attempt.’
+
+‘You never tried me, Milly,’ said he.
+
+Shortly after they took their leave.  They are now gone on a visit to
+Hattersley’s father.  After that they will repair to their country home.
+I hope his good resolutions will not fall through, and poor Milicent will
+not be again disappointed.  Her last letter was full of present bliss,
+and pleasing anticipations for the future; but no particular temptation
+has yet occurred to put his virtue to the test.  Henceforth, however, she
+will doubtless be somewhat less timid and reserved, and he more kind and
+thoughtful.—Surely, then, her hopes are not unfounded; and I have one
+bright spot, at least, whereon to rest my thoughts.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLIII
+
+
+October 10th.—Mr. Huntingdon returned about three weeks ago.  His
+appearance, his demeanour and conversation, and my feelings with regard
+to him, I shall not trouble myself to describe.  The day after his
+arrival, however, he surprised me by the announcement of an intention to
+procure a governess for little Arthur: I told him it was quite
+unnecessary, not to say ridiculous, at the present season: I thought I
+was fully competent to the task of teaching him myself—for some years to
+come, at least: the child’s education was the only pleasure and business
+of my life; and since he had deprived me of every other occupation, he
+might surely leave me that.
+
+He said I was not fit to teach children, or to be with them: I had
+already reduced the boy to little better than an automaton; I had broken
+his fine spirit with my rigid severity; and I should freeze all the
+sunshine out of his heart, and make him as gloomy an ascetic as myself,
+if I had the handling of him much longer.  And poor Rachel, too, came in
+for her share of abuse, as usual; he cannot endure Rachel, because he
+knows she has a proper appreciation of him.
+
+I calmly defended our several qualifications as nurse and governess, and
+still resisted the proposed addition to our family; but he cut me short
+by saying it was no use bothering about the matter, for he had engaged a
+governess already, and she was coming next week; so that all I had to do
+was to get things ready for her reception.  This was a rather startling
+piece of intelligence.  I ventured to inquire her name and address, by
+whom she had been recommended, or how he had been led to make choice of
+her.
+
+‘She is a very estimable, pious young person,’ said he; ‘you needn’t be
+afraid.  Her name is Myers, I believe; and she was recommended to me by a
+respectable old dowager: a lady of high repute in the religious world.  I
+have not seen her myself, and therefore cannot give you a particular
+account of her person and conversation, and so forth; but, if the old
+lady’s eulogies are correct, you will find her to possess all desirable
+qualifications for her position: an inordinate love of children among the
+rest.’
+
+All this was gravely and quietly spoken, but there was a laughing demon
+in his half-averted eye that boded no good, I imagined.  However, I
+thought of my asylum in —shire, and made no further objections.
+
+When Miss Myers arrived, I was not prepared to give her a very cordial
+reception.  Her appearance was not particularly calculated to produce a
+favourable impression at first sight, nor did her manners and subsequent
+conduct, in any degree, remove the prejudice I had already conceived
+against her.  Her attainments were limited, her intellect noways above
+mediocrity.  She had a fine voice, and could sing like a nightingale, and
+accompany herself sufficiently well on the piano; but these were her only
+accomplishments.  There was a look of guile and subtlety in her face, a
+sound of it in her voice.  She seemed afraid of me, and would start if I
+suddenly approached her.  In her behaviour she was respectful and
+complaisant, even to servility: she attempted to flatter and fawn upon me
+at first, but I soon checked that.  Her fondness for her little pupil was
+overstrained, and I was obliged to remonstrate with her on the subject of
+over-indulgence and injudicious praise; but she could not gain his heart.
+Her piety consisted in an occasional heaving of sighs, and uplifting of
+eyes to the ceiling, and the utterance of a few cant phrases.  She told
+me she was a clergyman’s daughter, and had been left an orphan from her
+childhood, but had had the good fortune to obtain a situation in a very
+pious family; and then she spoke so gratefully of the kindness she had
+experienced from its different members, that I reproached myself for my
+uncharitable thoughts and unfriendly conduct, and relented for a time,
+but not for long: my causes of dislike were too rational, my suspicions
+too well founded for that; and I knew it was my duty to watch and
+scrutinize till those suspicions were either satisfactorily removed or
+confirmed.
+
+I asked the name and residence of the kind and pious family.  She
+mentioned a common name, and an unknown and distant place of abode, but
+told me they were now on the Continent, and their present address was
+unknown to her.  I never saw her speak much to Mr. Huntingdon; but he
+would frequently look into the school-room to see how little Arthur got
+on with his new companion, when I was not there.  In the evening, she sat
+with us in the drawing-room, and would sing and play to amuse him or us,
+as she pretended, and was very attentive to his wants, and watchful to
+anticipate them, though she only talked to me; indeed, he was seldom in a
+condition to be talked to.  Had she been other than she was, I should
+have felt her presence a great relief to come between us thus, except,
+indeed, that I should have been thoroughly ashamed for any decent person
+to see him as he often was.
+
+I did not mention my suspicions to Rachel; but she, having sojourned for
+half a century in this land of sin and sorrow, has learned to be
+suspicious herself.  She told me from the first she was ‘down of that new
+governess,’ and I soon found she watched her quite as narrowly as I did;
+and I was glad of it, for I longed to know the truth: the atmosphere of
+Grassdale seemed to stifle me, and I could only live by thinking of
+Wildfell Hall.
+
+At last, one morning, she entered my chamber with such intelligence that
+my resolution was taken before she had ceased to speak.  While she
+dressed me I explained to her my intentions and what assistance I should
+require from her, and told her which of my things she was to pack up, and
+what she was to leave behind for herself, as I had no other means of
+recompensing her for this sudden dismissal after her long and faithful
+service: a circumstance I most deeply regretted, but could not avoid.
+
+‘And what will you do, Rachel?’ said I; ‘will you go home, or seek
+another place?’
+
+‘I have no home, ma’am, but with you,’ she replied; ‘and if I leave you
+I’ll never go into place again as long as I live.’
+
+‘But I can’t afford to live like a lady now,’ returned I: ‘I must be my
+own maid and my child’s nurse.’
+
+‘What signifies!’ replied she, in some excitement.  ‘You’ll want somebody
+to clean and wash, and cook, won’t you?  I can do all that; and never
+mind the wages: I’ve my bits o’ savings yet, and if you wouldn’t take me
+I should have to find my own board and lodging out of ’em somewhere, or
+else work among strangers: and it’s what I’m not used to: so you can
+please yourself, ma’am.’ Her voice quavered as she spoke, and the tears
+stood in her eyes.
+
+‘I should like it above all things, Rachel, and I’d give you such wages
+as I could afford: such as I should give to any servant-of-all-work I
+might employ: but don’t you see I should be dragging you down with me
+when you have done nothing to deserve it?’
+
+‘Oh, fiddle!’ ejaculated she.
+
+‘And, besides, my future way of living will be so widely different to the
+past: so different to all you have been accustomed to—’
+
+‘Do you think, ma’am, I can’t bear what my missis can? surely I’m not so
+proud and so dainty as that comes to; and my little master, too, God
+bless him!’
+
+‘But I’m young, Rachel; I sha’n’t mind it; and Arthur is young too: it
+will be nothing to him.’
+
+‘Nor me either: I’m not so old but what I can stand hard fare and hard
+work, if it’s only to help and comfort them as I’ve loved like my own
+bairns: for all I’m too old to bide the thoughts o’ leaving ’em in
+trouble and danger, and going amongst strangers myself.’
+
+‘Then you sha’n’t, Rachel!’ cried I, embracing my faithful friend.
+‘We’ll all go together, and you shall see how the new life suits you.’
+
+‘Bless you, honey!’ cried she, affectionately returning my embrace.
+‘Only let us get shut of this wicked house, and we’ll do right enough,
+you’ll see.’
+
+‘So think I,’ was my answer; and so that point was settled.
+
+By that morning’s post I despatched a few hasty lines to Frederick,
+beseeching him to prepare my asylum for my immediate reception: for I
+should probably come to claim it within a day after the receipt of that
+note: and telling him, in few words, the cause of my sudden resolution.
+I then wrote three letters of adieu: the first to Esther Hargrave, in
+which I told her that I found it impossible to stay any longer at
+Grassdale, or to leave my son under his father’s protection; and, as it
+was of the last importance that our future abode should be unknown to him
+and his acquaintance, I should disclose it to no one but my brother,
+through the medium of whom I hoped still to correspond with my friends.
+I then gave her his address, exhorted her to write frequently, reiterated
+some of my former admonitions regarding her own concerns, and bade her a
+fond farewell.
+
+The second was to Milicent; much to the same effect, but a little more
+confidential, as befitted our longer intimacy, and her greater experience
+and better acquaintance with my circumstances.
+
+The third was to my aunt: a much more difficult and painful undertaking,
+and therefore I had left it to the last; but I must give her some
+explanation of that extraordinary step I had taken: and that quickly, for
+she and my uncle would no doubt hear of it within a day or two after my
+disappearance, as it was probable that Mr. Huntingdon would speedily
+apply to them to know what was become of me.  At last, however, I told
+her I was sensible of my error: I did not complain of its punishment, and
+I was sorry to trouble my friends with its consequences; but in duty to
+my son I must submit no longer; it was absolutely necessary that he
+should be delivered from his father’s corrupting influence.  I should not
+disclose my place of refuge even to her, in order that she and my uncle
+might be able, with truth, to deny all knowledge concerning it; but any
+communications addressed to me under cover to my brother would be certain
+to reach me.  I hoped she and my uncle would pardon the step I had taken,
+for if they knew all, I was sure they would not blame me; and I trusted
+they would not afflict themselves on my account, for if I could only
+reach my retreat in safety and keep it unmolested, I should be very
+happy, but for the thoughts of them; and should be quite contented to
+spend my life in obscurity, devoting myself to the training up of my
+child, and teaching him to avoid the errors of both his parents.
+
+These things were done yesterday: I have given two whole days to the
+preparation for our departure, that Frederick may have more time to
+prepare the rooms, and Rachel to pack up the things: for the latter task
+must be done with the utmost caution and secrecy, and there is no one but
+me to assist her.  I can help to get the articles together, but I do not
+understand the art of stowing them into the boxes, so as to take up the
+smallest possible space; and there are her own things to do, as well as
+mine and Arthur’s.  I can ill afford to leave anything behind, since I
+have no money, except a few guineas in my purse; and besides, as Rachel
+observed, whatever I left would most likely become the property of Miss
+Myers, and I should not relish that.
+
+But what trouble I have had throughout these two days, struggling to
+appear calm and collected, to meet him and her as usual, when I was
+obliged to meet them, and forcing myself to leave my little Arthur in her
+hands for hours together!  But I trust these trials are over now: I have
+laid him in my bed for better security, and never more, I trust, shall
+his innocent lips be defiled by their contaminating kisses, or his young
+ears polluted by their words.  But shall we escape in safety?  Oh, that
+the morning were come, and we were on our way at least!  This evening,
+when I had given Rachel all the assistance I could, and had nothing left
+me but to wait, and wish and tremble, I became so greatly agitated that I
+knew not what to do.  I went down to dinner, but I could not force myself
+to eat.  Mr. Huntingdon remarked the circumstance.
+
+‘What’s to do with you now?’ said he, when the removal of the second
+course gave him time to look about him.
+
+‘I am not well,’ I replied: ‘I think I must lie down a little; you won’t
+miss me much?’
+
+‘Not the least: if you leave your chair, it’ll do just as well—better, a
+trifle,’ he muttered, as I left the room, ‘for I can fancy somebody else
+fills it.’
+
+‘Somebody else may fill it to-morrow,’ I thought, but did not say.
+‘There!  I’ve seen the last of you, I hope,’ I muttered, as I closed the
+door upon him.
+
+Rachel urged me to seek repose at once, to recruit my strength for
+to-morrow’s journey, as we must be gone before the dawn; but in my
+present state of nervous excitement that was entirely out of the
+question.  It was equally out of the question to sit, or wander about my
+room, counting the hours and the minutes between me and the appointed
+time of action, straining my ears and trembling at every sound, lest
+someone should discover and betray us after all.  I took up a book and
+tried to read: my eyes wandered over the pages, but it was impossible to
+bind my thoughts to their contents.  Why not have recourse to the old
+expedient, and add this last event to my chronicle?  I opened its pages
+once more, and wrote the above account—with difficulty, at first, but
+gradually my mind became more calm and steady.  Thus several hours have
+passed away: the time is drawing near; and now my eyes feel heavy and my
+frame exhausted.  I will commend my cause to God, and then lie down and
+gain an hour or two of sleep; and then!—
+
+Little Arthur sleeps soundly.  All the house is still: there can be no
+one watching.  The boxes were all corded by Benson, and quietly conveyed
+down the back stairs after dusk, and sent away in a cart to the M—
+coach-office.  The name upon the cards was Mrs. Graham, which appellation
+I mean henceforth to adopt.  My mother’s maiden name was Graham, and
+therefore I fancy I have some claim to it, and prefer it to any other,
+except my own, which I dare not resume.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLIV
+
+
+October 24th.—Thank heaven, I am free and safe at last.  Early we rose,
+swiftly and quietly dressed, slowly and stealthily descended to the hall,
+where Benson stood ready with a light, to open the door and fasten it
+after us.  We were obliged to let one man into our secret on account of
+the boxes, &c.  All the servants were but too well acquainted with their
+master’s conduct, and either Benson or John would have been willing to
+serve me; but as the former was more staid and elderly, and a crony of
+Rachel’s besides, I of course directed her to make choice of him as her
+assistant and confidant on the occasion, as far as necessity demanded, I
+only hope he may not be brought into trouble thereby, and only wish I
+could reward him for the perilous service he was so ready to undertake.
+I slipped two guineas into his hand, by way of remembrance, as he stood
+in the doorway, holding the candle to light our departure, with a tear in
+his honest grey eye, and a host of good wishes depicted on his solemn
+countenance.  Alas!  I could offer no more: I had barely sufficient
+remaining for the probable expenses of the journey.
+
+What trembling joy it was when the little wicket closed behind us, as we
+issued from the park!  Then, for one moment, I paused, to inhale one
+draught of that cool, bracing air, and venture one look back upon the
+house.  All was dark and still: no light glimmered in the windows, no
+wreath of smoke obscured the stars that sparkled above it in the frosty
+sky.  As I bade farewell for ever to that place, the scene of so much
+guilt and misery, I felt glad that I had not left it before, for now
+there was no doubt about the propriety of such a step—no shadow of
+remorse for him I left behind.  There was nothing to disturb my joy but
+the fear of detection; and every step removed us further from the chance
+of that.
+
+We had left Grassdale many miles behind us before the round red sun arose
+to welcome our deliverance; and if any inhabitant of its vicinity had
+chanced to see us then, as we bowled along on the top of the coach, I
+scarcely think they would have suspected our identity.  As I intend to be
+taken for a widow, I thought it advisable to enter my new abode in
+mourning: I was, therefore, attired in a plain black silk dress and
+mantle, a black veil (which I kept carefully over my face for the first
+twenty or thirty miles of the journey), and a black silk bonnet, which I
+had been constrained to borrow of Rachel, for want of such an article
+myself.  It was not in the newest fashion, of course; but none the worse
+for that, under present circumstances.  Arthur was clad in his plainest
+clothes, and wrapped in a coarse woollen shawl; and Rachel was muffled in
+a grey cloak and hood that had seen better days, and gave her more the
+appearance of an ordinary though decent old woman, than of a lady’s-maid.
+
+Oh, what delight it was to be thus seated aloft, rumbling along the
+broad, sunshiny road, with the fresh morning breeze in my face,
+surrounded by an unknown country, all smiling—cheerfully, gloriously
+smiling in the yellow lustre of those early beams; with my darling child
+in my arms, almost as happy as myself, and my faithful friend beside me:
+a prison and despair behind me, receding further, further back at every
+clatter of the horses’ feet; and liberty and hope before!  I could hardly
+refrain from praising God aloud for my deliverance, or astonishing my
+fellow-passengers by some surprising outburst of hilarity.
+
+But the journey was a very long one, and we were all weary enough before
+the close of it.  It was far into the night when we reached the town of
+L—, and still we were seven miles from our journey’s end; and there was
+no more coaching, nor any conveyance to be had, except a common cart, and
+that with the greatest difficulty, for half the town was in bed.  And a
+dreary ride we had of it, that last stage of the journey, cold and weary
+as we were; sitting on our boxes, with nothing to cling to, nothing to
+lean against, slowly dragged and cruelly shaken over the rough, hilly
+roads.  But Arthur was asleep in Rachel’s lap, and between us we managed
+pretty well to shield him from the cold night air.
+
+At last we began to ascend a terribly steep and stony lane, which, in
+spite of the darkness, Rachel said she remembered well: she had often
+walked there with me in her arms, and little thought to come again so
+many years after, under such circumstances as the present.  Arthur being
+now awakened by the jolting and the stoppages, we all got out and walked.
+We had not far to go; but what if Frederick should not have received my
+letter? or if he should not have had time to prepare the rooms for our
+reception, and we should find them all dark, damp, and comfortless,
+destitute of food, fire, and furniture, after all our toil?
+
+At length the grim, dark pile appeared before us.  The lane conducted us
+round by the back way.  We entered the desolate court, and in breathless
+anxiety surveyed the ruinous mass.  Was it all blackness and desolation?
+No; one faint red glimmer cheered us from a window where the lattice was
+in good repair.  The door was fastened, but after due knocking and
+waiting, and some parleying with a voice from an upper window, we were
+admitted by an old woman who had been commissioned to air and keep the
+house till our arrival, into a tolerably snug little apartment, formerly
+the scullery of the mansion, which Frederick had now fitted up as a
+kitchen.  Here she procured us a light, roused the fire to a cheerful
+blaze, and soon prepared a simple repast for our refreshment; while we
+disencumbered ourselves of our travelling-gear, and took a hasty survey
+of our new abode.  Besides the kitchen, there were two bedrooms, a
+good-sized parlour, and another smaller one, which I destined for my
+studio, all well aired and seemingly in good repair, but only partly
+furnished with a few old articles, chiefly of ponderous black oak, the
+veritable ones that had been there before, and which had been kept as
+antiquarian relics in my brother’s present residence, and now, in all
+haste, transported back again.
+
+The old woman brought my supper and Arthur’s into the parlour, and told
+me, with all due formality, that ‘the master desired his compliments to
+Mrs. Graham, and he had prepared the rooms as well as he could upon so
+short a notice; but he would do himself the pleasure of calling upon her
+to-morrow, to receive her further commands.’
+
+I was glad to ascend the stern-looking stone staircase, and lie down in
+the gloomy, old-fashioned bed, beside my little Arthur.  He was asleep in
+a minute; but, weary as I was, my excited feelings and restless
+cogitations kept me awake till dawn began to struggle with the darkness;
+but sleep was sweet and refreshing when it came, and the waking was
+delightful beyond expression.  It was little Arthur that roused me, with
+his gentle kisses.  He was here, then, safely clasped in my arms, and
+many leagues away from his unworthy father!  Broad daylight illumined the
+apartment, for the sun was high in heaven, though obscured by rolling
+masses of autumnal vapour.
+
+The scene, indeed, was not remarkably cheerful in itself, either within
+or without.  The large bare room, with its grim old furniture, the
+narrow, latticed windows, revealing the dull, grey sky above and the
+desolate wilderness below, where the dark stone walls and iron gate, the
+rank growth of grass and weeds, and the hardy evergreens of preternatural
+forms, alone remained to tell that there had been once a garden,—and the
+bleak and barren fields beyond might have struck me as gloomy enough at
+another time; but now, each separate object seemed to echo back my own
+exhilarating sense of hope and freedom: indefinite dreams of the far past
+and bright anticipations of the future seemed to greet me at every turn.
+I should rejoice with more security, to be sure, had the broad sea rolled
+between my present and my former homes; but surely in this lonely spot I
+might remain unknown; and then I had my brother here to cheer my solitude
+with his occasional visits.
+
+He came that morning; and I have had several interviews with him since;
+but he is obliged to be very cautious when and how he comes; not even his
+servants or his best friends must know of his visits to Wildfell—except
+on such occasions as a landlord might be expected to call upon a stranger
+tenant—lest suspicion should be excited against me, whether of the truth
+or of some slanderous falsehood.
+
+I have now been here nearly a fortnight, and, but for one disturbing
+care, the haunting dread of discovery, I am comfortably settled in my new
+home: Frederick has supplied me with all requisite furniture and painting
+materials: Rachel has sold most of my clothes for me, in a distant town,
+and procured me a wardrobe more suitable to my present position: I have a
+second-hand piano, and a tolerably well-stocked bookcase in my parlour;
+and my other room has assumed quite a professional, business-like
+appearance already.  I am working hard to repay my brother for all his
+expenses on my account; not that there is the slightest necessity for
+anything of the kind, but it pleases me to do so: I shall have so much
+more pleasure in my labour, my earnings, my frugal fare, and household
+economy, when I know that I am paying my way honestly, and that what
+little I possess is legitimately all my own; and that no one suffers for
+my folly—in a pecuniary way at least.  I shall make him take the last
+penny I owe him, if I can possibly effect it without offending him too
+deeply.  I have a few pictures already done, for I told Rachel to pack up
+all I had; and she executed her commission but too well—for among the
+rest, she put up a portrait of Mr. Huntingdon that I had painted in the
+first year of my marriage.  It struck me with dismay, at the moment, when
+I took it from the box and beheld those eyes fixed upon me in their
+mocking mirth, as if exulting still in his power to control my fate, and
+deriding my efforts to escape.
+
+How widely different had been my feelings in painting that portrait to
+what they now were in looking upon it!  How I had studied and toiled to
+produce something, as I thought, worthy of the original! what mingled
+pleasure and dissatisfaction I had had in the result of my
+labours!—pleasure for the likeness I had caught; dissatisfaction, because
+I had not made it handsome enough.  Now, I see no beauty in it—nothing
+pleasing in any part of its expression; and yet it is far handsomer and
+far more agreeable—far less repulsive I should rather say—than he is now:
+for these six years have wrought almost as great a change upon himself as
+on my feelings regarding him.  The frame, however, is handsome enough; it
+will serve for another painting.  The picture itself I have not
+destroyed, as I had first intended; I have put it aside; not, I think,
+from any lurking tenderness for the memory of past affection, nor yet to
+remind me of my former folly, but chiefly that I may compare my son’s
+features and countenance with this, as he grows up, and thus be enabled
+to judge how much or how little he resembles his father—if I may be
+allowed to keep him with me still, and never to behold that father’s face
+again—a blessing I hardly dare reckon upon.
+
+It seems Mr. Huntingdon is making every exertion to discover the place of
+my retreat.  He has been in person to Staningley, seeking redress for his
+grievances—expecting to hear of his victims, if not to find them
+there—and has told so many lies, and with such unblushing coolness, that
+my uncle more than half believes him, and strongly advocates my going
+back to him and being friends again.  But my aunt knows better: she is
+too cool and cautious, and too well acquainted with both my husband’s
+character and my own to be imposed upon by any specious falsehoods the
+former could invent.  But he does not want me back; he wants my child;
+and gives my friends to understand that if I prefer living apart from
+him, he will indulge the whim and let me do so unmolested, and even
+settle a reasonable allowance on me, provided I will immediately deliver
+up his son.  But heaven help me!  I am not going to sell my child for
+gold, though it were to save both him and me from starving: it would be
+better that he should die with me than that he should live with his
+father.
+
+Frederick showed me a letter he had received from that gentleman, full of
+cool impudence such as would astonish any one who did not know him, but
+such as, I am convinced, none would know better how to answer than my
+brother.  He gave me no account of his reply, except to tell me that he
+had not acknowledged his acquaintance with my place of refuge, but rather
+left it to be inferred that it was quite unknown to him, by saying it was
+useless to apply to him, or any other of my relations, for information on
+the subject, as it appeared I had been driven to such extremity that I
+had concealed my retreat even from my best friends; but that if he had
+known it, or should at any time be made aware of it, most certainly Mr.
+Huntingdon would be the last person to whom he should communicate the
+intelligence; and that he need not trouble himself to bargain for the
+child, for he (Frederick) fancied he knew enough of his sister to enable
+him to declare, that wherever she might be, or however situated, no
+consideration would induce her to deliver him up.
+
+30th.—Alas! my kind neighbours will not let me alone.  By some means they
+have ferreted me out, and I have had to sustain visits from three
+different families, all more or less bent upon discovering who and what I
+am, whence I came, and why I have chosen such a home as this.  Their
+society is unnecessary to me, to say the least, and their curiosity
+annoys and alarms me: if I gratify it, it may lead to the ruin of my son,
+and if I am too mysterious it will only excite their suspicions, invite
+conjecture, and rouse them to greater exertions—and perhaps be the means
+of spreading my fame from parish to parish, till it reach the ears of
+some one who will carry it to the Lord of Grassdale Manor.
+
+I shall be expected to return their calls, but if, upon inquiry, I find
+that any of them live too far away for Arthur to accompany me, they must
+expect in vain for a while, for I cannot bear to leave him, unless it be
+to go to church, and I have not attempted that yet: for—it may be foolish
+weakness, but I am under such constant dread of his being snatched away,
+that I am never easy when he is not by my side; and I fear these nervous
+terrors would so entirely disturb my devotions, that I should obtain no
+benefit from the attendance.  I mean, however, to make the experiment
+next Sunday, and oblige myself to leave him in charge of Rachel for a few
+hours.  It will be a hard task, but surely no imprudence; and the vicar
+has been to scold me for my neglect of the ordinances of religion.  I had
+no sufficient excuse to offer, and I promised, if all were well, he
+should see me in my pew next Sunday; for I do not wish to be set down as
+an infidel; and, besides, I know I should derive great comfort and
+benefit from an occasional attendance at public worship, if I could only
+have faith and fortitude to compose my thoughts in conformity with the
+solemn occasion, and forbid them to be for ever dwelling on my absent
+child, and on the dreadful possibility of finding him gone when I return;
+and surely God in His mercy will preserve me from so severe a trial: for
+my child’s own sake, if not for mine, He will not suffer him to be torn
+away.
+
+November 3rd.—I have made some further acquaintance with my neighbours.
+The fine gentleman and beau of the parish and its vicinity (in his own
+estimation, at least) is a young . . . .
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+Here it ended.  The rest was torn away.  How cruel, just when she was
+going to mention me! for I could not doubt it was your humble servant she
+was about to mention, though not very favourably, of course.  I could
+tell that, as well by those few words as by the recollection of her whole
+aspect and demeanour towards me in the commencement of our acquaintance.
+Well!  I could readily forgive her prejudice against me, and her hard
+thoughts of our sex in general, when I saw to what brilliant specimens
+her experience had been limited.
+
+Respecting me, however, she had long since seen her error, and perhaps
+fallen into another in the opposite extreme: for if, at first, her
+opinion of me had been lower than I deserved, I was convinced that now my
+deserts were lower than her opinion; and if the former part of this
+continuation had been torn away to avoid wounding my feelings, perhaps
+the latter portion had been removed for fear of ministering too much to
+my self-conceit.  At any rate, I would have given much to have seen it
+all—to have witnessed the gradual change, and watched the progress of her
+esteem and friendship for me, and whatever warmer feeling she might have;
+to have seen how much of love there was in her regard, and how it had
+grown upon her in spite of her virtuous resolutions and strenuous
+exertions to—but no, I had no right to see it: all this was too sacred
+for any eyes but her own, and she had done well to keep it from me.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLV
+
+
+Well, Halford, what do you think of all this? and while you read it, did
+you ever picture to yourself what my feelings would probably be during
+its perusal?  Most likely not; but I am not going to descant upon them
+now: I will only make this acknowledgment, little honourable as it may be
+to human nature, and especially to myself,—that the former half of the
+narrative was, to me, more painful than the latter, not that I was at all
+insensible to Mrs. Huntingdon’s wrongs or unmoved by her sufferings, but,
+I must confess, I felt a kind of selfish gratification in watching her
+husband’s gradual decline in her good graces, and seeing how completely
+he extinguished all her affection at last.  The effect of the whole,
+however, in spite of all my sympathy for her, and my fury against him,
+was to relieve my mind of an intolerable burden, and fill my heart with
+joy, as if some friend had roused me from a dreadful nightmare.
+
+It was now near eight o’clock in the morning, for my candle had expired
+in the midst of my perusal, leaving me no alternative but to get another,
+at the expense of alarming the house, or to go to bed, and wait the
+return of daylight.  On my mother’s account, I chose the latter; but how
+willingly I sought my pillow, and how much sleep it brought me, I leave
+you to imagine.
+
+At the first appearance of dawn, I rose, and brought the manuscript to
+the window, but it was impossible to read it yet.  I devoted half an hour
+to dressing, and then returned to it again.  Now, with a little
+difficulty, I could manage; and with intense and eager interest, I
+devoured the remainder of its contents.  When it was ended, and my
+transient regret at its abrupt conclusion was over, I opened the window
+and put out my head to catch the cooling breeze, and imbibe deep draughts
+of the pure morning air.  A splendid morning it was; the half-frozen dew
+lay thick on the grass, the swallows were twittering round me, the rooks
+cawing, and cows lowing in the distance; and early frost and summer
+sunshine mingled their sweetness in the air.  But I did not think of
+that: a confusion of countless thoughts and varied emotions crowded upon
+me while I gazed abstractedly on the lovely face of nature.  Soon,
+however, this chaos of thoughts and passions cleared away, giving place
+to two distinct emotions: joy unspeakable that my adored Helen was all I
+wished to think her—that through the noisome vapours of the world’s
+aspersions and my own fancied convictions, her character shone bright,
+and clear, and stainless as that sun I could not bear to look on; and
+shame and deep remorse for my own conduct.
+
+Immediately after breakfast I hurried over to Wildfell Hall.  Rachel had
+risen many degrees in my estimation since yesterday.  I was ready to
+greet her quite as an old friend; but every kindly impulse was checked by
+the look of cold distrust she cast upon me on opening the door.  The old
+virgin had constituted herself the guardian of her lady’s honour, I
+suppose, and doubtless she saw in me another Mr. Hargrave, only the more
+dangerous in being more esteemed and trusted by her mistress.
+
+‘Missis can’t see any one to-day, sir—she’s poorly,’ said she, in answer
+to my inquiry for Mrs. Graham.
+
+‘But I must see her, Rachel,’ said I, placing my hand on the door to
+prevent its being shut against me.
+
+‘Indeed, sir, you can’t,’ replied she, settling her countenance in still
+more iron frigidity than before.
+
+‘Be so good as to announce me.’
+
+‘It’s no manner of use, Mr. Markham; she’s poorly, I tell you.’
+
+Just in time to prevent me from committing the impropriety of taking the
+citadel by storm, and pushing forward unannounced, an inner door opened,
+and little Arthur appeared with his frolicsome playfellow, the dog.  He
+seized my hand between both his, and smilingly drew me forward.
+
+‘Mamma says you’re to come in, Mr. Markham,’ said he, ‘and I am to go out
+and play with Rover.’
+
+Rachel retired with a sigh, and I stepped into the parlour and shut the
+door.  There, before the fire-place, stood the tall, graceful figure,
+wasted with many sorrows.  I cast the manuscript on the table, and looked
+in her face.  Anxious and pale, it was turned towards me; her clear, dark
+eyes were fixed on mine with a gaze so intensely earnest that they bound
+me like a spell.
+
+‘Have you looked it over?’ she murmured.  The spell was broken.
+
+‘I’ve read it through,’ said I, advancing into the room,—‘and I want to
+know if you’ll forgive me—if you can forgive me?’
+
+She did not answer, but her eyes glistened, and a faint red mantled on
+her lip and cheek.  As I approached, she abruptly turned away, and went
+to the window.  It was not in anger, I was well assured, but only to
+conceal or control her emotion.  I therefore ventured to follow and stand
+beside her there,—but not to speak.  She gave me her hand, without
+turning her head, and murmured in a voice she strove in vain to
+steady,—‘Can you forgive me?’
+
+It might be deemed a breach of trust, I thought, to convey that lily hand
+to my lips, so I only gently pressed it between my own, and smilingly
+replied,—‘I hardly can.  You should have told me this before.  It shows a
+want of confidence—’
+
+‘Oh, no,’ cried she, eagerly interrupting me; ‘it was not that.  It was
+no want of confidence in you; but if I had told you anything of my
+history, I must have told you all, in order to excuse my conduct; and I
+might well shrink from such a disclosure, till necessity obliged me to
+make it.  But you forgive me?—I have done very, very wrong, I know; but,
+as usual, I have reaped the bitter fruits of my own error,—and must reap
+them to the end.’
+
+Bitter, indeed, was the tone of anguish, repressed by resolute firmness,
+in which this was spoken.  Now, I raised her hand to my lips, and
+fervently kissed it again and again; for tears prevented any other reply.
+She suffered these wild caresses without resistance or resentment; then,
+suddenly turning from me, she paced twice or thrice through the room.  I
+knew by the contraction of her brow, the tight compression of her lips,
+and wringing of her hands, that meantime a violent conflict between
+reason and passion was silently passing within.  At length she paused
+before the empty fire-place, and turning to me, said calmly—if that might
+be called calmness which was so evidently the result of a violent
+effort,—‘Now, Gilbert, you must leave me—not this moment, but soon—and
+you must never come again.’
+
+‘Never again, Helen? just when I love you more than ever.’
+
+‘For that very reason, if it be so, we should not meet again.  I thought
+this interview was necessary—at least, I persuaded myself it was so—that
+we might severally ask and receive each other’s pardon for the past; but
+there can be no excuse for another.  I shall leave this place, as soon as
+I have means to seek another asylum; but our intercourse must end here.’
+
+‘End here!’ echoed I; and approaching the high, carved chimney-piece, I
+leant my hand against its heavy mouldings, and dropped my forehead upon
+it in silent, sullen despondency.
+
+‘You must not come again,’ continued she.  There was a slight tremor in
+her voice, but I thought her whole manner was provokingly composed,
+considering the dreadful sentence she pronounced.  ‘You must know why I
+tell you so,’ she resumed; ‘and you must see that it is better to part at
+once: —if it be hard to say adieu for ever, you ought to help me.’  She
+paused.  I did not answer.  ‘Will you promise not to come?—if you won’t,
+and if you do come here again, you will drive me away before I know where
+to find another place of refuge—or how to seek it.’
+
+‘Helen,’ said I, turning impatiently towards her, ‘I cannot discuss the
+matter of eternal separation calmly and dispassionately as you can do.
+It is no question of mere expedience with me; it is a question of life
+and death!’
+
+She was silent.  Her pale lips quivered, and her fingers trembled with
+agitation, as she nervously entwined them in the hair-chain to which was
+appended her small gold watch—the only thing of value she had permitted
+herself to keep.  I had said an unjust and cruel thing; but I must needs
+follow it up with something worse.
+
+‘But, Helen!’ I began in a soft, low tone, not daring to raise my eyes to
+her face, ‘that man is not your husband: in the sight of heaven he has
+forfeited all claim to—‘  She seized my arm with a grasp of startling
+energy.
+
+‘Gilbert, don’t!’ she cried, in a tone that would have pierced a heart of
+adamant.  ‘For God’s sake, don’t you attempt these arguments!  No fiend
+could torture me like this!’
+
+‘I won’t, I won’t!’ said I, gently laying my hand on hers; almost as much
+alarmed at her vehemence as ashamed of my own misconduct.
+
+‘Instead of acting like a true friend,’ continued she, breaking from me,
+and throwing herself into the old arm-chair, ‘and helping me with all
+your might—or rather taking your own part in the struggle of right
+against passion—you leave all the burden to me;—and not satisfied with
+that, you do your utmost to fight against me—when you know that!—‘ she
+paused, and hid her face in her handkerchief.
+
+‘Forgive me, Helen!’ pleaded I.  ‘I will never utter another word on the
+subject.  But may we not still meet as friends?’
+
+‘It will not do,’ she replied, mournfully shaking her head; and then she
+raised her eyes to mine, with a mildly reproachful look that seemed to
+say, ‘You must know that as well as I.’
+
+‘Then what must we do?’ cried I, passionately.  But immediately I added
+in a quieter tone—‘I’ll do whatever you desire; only don’t say that this
+meeting is to be our last.’
+
+‘And why not?  Don’t you know that every time we meet the thoughts of the
+final parting will become more painful?  Don’t you feel that every
+interview makes us dearer to each other than the last?’
+
+The utterance of this last question was hurried and low, and the downcast
+eyes and burning blush too plainly showed that she, at least, had felt
+it.  It was scarcely prudent to make such an admission, or to add—as she
+presently did—‘I have power to bid you go, now: another time it might be
+different,’—but I was not base enough to attempt to take advantage of her
+candour.
+
+‘But we may write,’ I timidly suggested.  ‘You will not deny me that
+consolation?’
+
+‘We can hear of each other through my brother.’
+
+‘Your brother!’  A pang of remorse and shame shot through me.  She had
+not heard of the injury he had sustained at my hands; and I had not the
+courage to tell her.  ‘Your brother will not help us,’ I said: ‘he would
+have all communion between us to be entirely at an end.’
+
+‘And he would be right, I suppose.  As a friend of both, he would wish us
+both well; and every friend would tell us it was our interest, as well as
+our duty, to forget each other, though we might not see it ourselves.
+But don’t be afraid, Gilbert,’ she added, smiling sadly at my manifest
+discomposure; ‘there is little chance of my forgetting you.  But I did
+not mean that Frederick should be the means of transmitting messages
+between us—only that each might know, through him, of the other’s
+welfare;—and more than this ought not to be: for you are young, Gilbert,
+and you ought to marry—and will some time, though you may think it
+impossible now: and though I hardly can say I wish you to forget me, I
+know it is right that you should, both for your own happiness, and that
+of your future wife;—and therefore I must and will wish it,’ she added
+resolutely.
+
+‘And you are young too, Helen,’ I boldly replied; ‘and when that
+profligate scoundrel has run through his career, you will give your hand
+to me—I’ll wait till then.’
+
+But she would not leave me this support.  Independently of the moral evil
+of basing our hopes upon the death of another, who, if unfit for this
+world, was at least no less so for the next, and whose amelioration would
+thus become our bane and his greatest transgression our greatest
+benefit,—she maintained it to be madness: many men of Mr. Huntingdon’s
+habits had lived to a ripe though miserable old age.  ‘And if I,’ said
+she, ‘am young in years, I am old in sorrow; but even if trouble should
+fail to kill me before vice destroys him, think, if he reached but fifty
+years or so, would you wait twenty or fifteen—in vague uncertainty and
+suspense—through all the prime of youth and manhood—and marry at last a
+woman faded and worn as I shall be—without ever having seen me from this
+day to that?—You would not,’ she continued, interrupting my earnest
+protestations of unfailing constancy,—‘or if you would, you should not.
+Trust me, Gilbert; in this matter I know better than you.  You think me
+cold and stony-hearted, and you may, but—’
+
+‘I don’t, Helen.’
+
+‘Well, never mind: you might if you would: but I have not spent my
+solitude in utter idleness, and I am not speaking now from the impulse of
+the moment, as you do.  I have thought of all these matters again and
+again; I have argued these questions with myself, and pondered well our
+past, and present, and future career; and, believe me, I have come to the
+right conclusion at last.  Trust my words rather than your own feelings
+now, and in a few years you will see that I was right—though at present I
+hardly can see it myself,’ she murmured with a sigh as she rested her
+head on her hand.  ‘And don’t argue against me any more: all you can say
+has been already said by my own heart and refuted by my reason.  It was
+hard enough to combat those suggestions as they were whispered within me;
+in your mouth they are ten times worse, and if you knew how much they
+pain me you would cease at once, I know.  If you knew my present
+feelings, you would even try to relieve them at the expense of your own.’
+
+‘I will go—in a minute, if that can relieve you—and NEVER return!’ said
+I, with bitter emphasis.  ‘But, if we may never meet, and never hope to
+meet again, is it a crime to exchange our thoughts by letter?  May not
+kindred spirits meet, and mingle in communion, whatever be the fate and
+circumstances of their earthly tenements?’
+
+‘They may, they may!’ cried she, with a momentary burst of glad
+enthusiasm.  ‘I thought of that too, Gilbert, but I feared to mention it,
+because I feared you would not understand my views upon the subject.  I
+fear it even now—I fear any kind friend would tell us we are both
+deluding ourselves with the idea of keeping up a spiritual intercourse
+without hope or prospect of anything further—without fostering vain
+regrets and hurtful aspirations, and feeding thoughts that should be
+sternly and pitilessly left to perish of inanition.’
+
+‘Never mind our kind friends: if they can part our bodies, it is enough;
+in God’s name, let them not sunder our souls!’ cried I, in terror lest
+she should deem it her duty to deny us this last remaining consolation.
+
+‘But no letters can pass between us here,’ said she, ‘without giving
+fresh food for scandal; and when I departed, I had intended that my new
+abode should be unknown to you as to the rest of the world; not that I
+should doubt your word if you promised not to visit me, but I thought you
+would be more tranquil in your own mind if you knew you could not do it,
+and likely to find less difficulty in abstracting yourself from me if you
+could not picture my situation to your mind.  But listen,’ said she,
+smilingly putting up her finger to check my impatient reply: ‘in six
+months you shall hear from Frederick precisely where I am; and if you
+still retain your wish to write to me, and think you can maintain a
+correspondence all thought, all spirit—such as disembodied souls or
+unimpassioned friends, at least, might hold,—write, and I will answer
+you.’
+
+‘Six months!’
+
+‘Yes, to give your present ardour time to cool, and try the truth and
+constancy of your soul’s love for mine.  And now, enough has been said
+between us.  Why can’t we part at once?’ exclaimed she, almost wildly,
+after a moment’s pause, as she suddenly rose from her chair, with her
+hands resolutely clasped together.  I thought it was my duty to go
+without delay; and I approached and half extended my hand as if to take
+leave—she grasped it in silence.  But this thought of final separation
+was too intolerable: it seemed to squeeze the blood out of my heart; and
+my feet were glued to the floor.
+
+‘And must we never meet again?’ I murmured, in the anguish of my soul.
+
+‘We shall meet in heaven.  Let us think of that,’ said she in a tone of
+desperate calmness; but her eyes glittered wildly, and her face was
+deadly pale.
+
+‘But not as we are now,’ I could not help replying.  ‘It gives me little
+consolation to think I shall next behold you as a disembodied spirit, or
+an altered being, with a frame perfect and glorious, but not like
+this!—and a heart, perhaps, entirely estranged from me.’
+
+‘No, Gilbert, there is perfect love in heaven!’
+
+‘So perfect, I suppose, that it soars above distinctions, and you will
+have no closer sympathy with me than with any one of the ten thousand
+thousand angels and the innumerable multitude of happy spirits round us.’
+
+‘Whatever I am, you will be the same, and, therefore, cannot possibly
+regret it; and whatever that change may be we know it must be for the
+better.’
+
+‘But if I am to be so changed that I shall cease to adore you with my
+whole heart and soul, and love you beyond every other creature, I shall
+not be myself; and though, if ever I win heaven at all, I must, I know,
+be infinitely better and happier than I am now, my earthly nature cannot
+rejoice in the anticipation of such beatitude, from which itself and its
+chief joy must be excluded.’
+
+‘Is your love all earthly, then?’
+
+‘No, but I am supposing we shall have no more intimate communion with
+each other than with the rest.’
+
+‘If so, it will be because we love them more, and not each other less.
+Increase of love brings increase of happiness, when it is mutual, and
+pure as that will be.’
+
+‘But can you, Helen, contemplate with delight this prospect of losing me
+in a sea of glory?’
+
+‘I own I cannot; but we know not that it will be so;—and I do know that
+to regret the exchange of earthly pleasures for the joys of heaven, is as
+if the grovelling caterpillar should lament that it must one day quit the
+nibbled leaf to soar aloft and flutter through the air, roving at will
+from flower to flower, sipping sweet honey from their cups, or basking in
+their sunny petals.  If these little creatures knew how great a change
+awaited them, no doubt they would regret it; but would not all such
+sorrow be misplaced?  And if that illustration will not move you, here is
+another:—We are children now; we feel as children, and we understand as
+children; and when we are told that men and women do not play with toys,
+and that our companions will one day weary of the trivial sports and
+occupations that interest them and us so deeply now, we cannot help being
+saddened at the thoughts of such an alteration, because we cannot
+conceive that as we grow up our own minds will become so enlarged and
+elevated that we ourselves shall then regard as trifling those objects
+and pursuits we now so fondly cherish, and that, though our companions
+will no longer join us in those childish pastimes, they will drink with
+us at other fountains of delight, and mingle their souls with ours in
+higher aims and nobler occupations beyond our present comprehension, but
+not less deeply relished or less truly good for that, while yet both we
+and they remain essentially the same individuals as before.  But,
+Gilbert, can you really derive no consolation from the thought that we
+may meet together where there is no more pain and sorrow, no more
+striving against sin, and struggling of the spirit against the flesh;
+where both will behold the same glorious truths, and drink exalted and
+supreme felicity from the same fountain of light and goodness—that Being
+whom both will worship with the same intensity of holy ardour—and where
+pure and happy creatures both will love with the same divine affection?
+If you cannot, never write to me!’
+
+‘Helen, I can! if faith would never fail.’
+
+‘Now, then,’ exclaimed she, ‘while this hope is strong within us—’
+
+‘We will part,’ I cried.  ‘You shall not have the pain of another effort
+to dismiss me.  I will go at once; but—’
+
+I did not put my request in words: she understood it instinctively, and
+this time she yielded too—or rather, there was nothing so deliberate as
+requesting or yielding in the matter: there was a sudden impulse that
+neither could resist.  One moment I stood and looked into her face, the
+next I held her to my heart, and we seemed to grow together in a close
+embrace from which no physical or mental force could rend us.  A
+whispered ‘God bless you!’ and ‘Go—go!’ was all she said; but while she
+spoke she held me so fast that, without violence, I could not have obeyed
+her.  At length, however, by some heroic effort, we tore ourselves apart,
+and I rushed from the house.
+
+I have a confused remembrance of seeing little Arthur running up the
+garden-walk to meet me, and of bolting over the wall to avoid him—and
+subsequently running down the steep fields, clearing the stone fences and
+hedges as they came in my way, till I got completely out of sight of the
+old hall and down to the bottom of the hill; and then of long hours spent
+in bitter tears and lamentations, and melancholy musings in the lonely
+valley, with the eternal music in my ears, of the west wind rushing
+through the overshadowing trees, and the brook babbling and gurgling
+along its stony bed; my eyes, for the most part, vacantly fixed on the
+deep, chequered shades restlessly playing over the bright sunny grass at
+my feet, where now and then a withered leaf or two would come dancing to
+share the revelry; but my heart was away up the hill in that dark room
+where she was weeping desolate and alone—she whom I was not to comfort,
+not to see again, till years or suffering had overcome us both, and torn
+our spirits from their perishing abodes of clay.
+
+There was little business done that day, you may be sure.  The farm was
+abandoned to the labourers, and the labourers were left to their own
+devices.  But one duty must be attended to; I had not forgotten my
+assault upon Frederick Lawrence; and I must see him to apologise for the
+unhappy deed.  I would fain have put it off till the morrow; but what if
+he should denounce me to his sister in the meantime?  No, no!  I must ask
+his pardon to-day, and entreat him to be lenient in his accusation, if
+the revelation must be made.  I deferred it, however, till the evening,
+when my spirits were more composed, and when—oh, wonderful perversity of
+human nature!—some faint germs of indefinite hopes were beginning to rise
+in my mind; not that I intended to cherish them, after all that had been
+said on the subject, but there they must lie for a while, uncrushed
+though not encouraged, till I had learnt to live without them.
+
+Arrived at Woodford, the young squire’s abode, I found no little
+difficulty in obtaining admission to his presence.  The servant that
+opened the door told me his master was very ill, and seemed to think it
+doubtful whether he would be able to see me.  I was not going to be
+baulked, however.  I waited calmly in the hall to be announced, but
+inwardly determined to take no denial.  The message was such as I
+expected—a polite intimation that Mr. Lawrence could see no one; he was
+feverish, and must not be disturbed.
+
+‘I shall not disturb him long,’ said I; ‘but I must see him for a moment:
+it is on business of importance that I wish to speak to him.’
+
+‘I’ll tell him, sir,’ said the man.  And I advanced further into the hall
+and followed him nearly to the door of the apartment where his master
+was—for it seemed he was not in bed.  The answer returned was that Mr.
+Lawrence hoped I would be so good as to leave a message or a note with
+the servant, as he could attend to no business at present.
+
+‘He may as well see me as you,’ said I; and, stepping past the astonished
+footman, I boldly rapped at the door, entered, and closed it behind me.
+The room was spacious and handsomely furnished—very comfortably, too, for
+a bachelor.  A clear, red fire was burning in the polished grate: a
+superannuated greyhound, given up to idleness and good living, lay
+basking before it on the thick, soft rug, on one corner of which, beside
+the sofa, sat a smart young springer, looking wistfully up in its
+master’s face—perhaps asking permission to share his couch, or, it might
+be, only soliciting a caress from his hand or a kind word from his lips.
+The invalid himself looked very interesting as he lay reclining there, in
+his elegant dressing-gown, with a silk handkerchief bound across his
+temples.  His usually pale face was flushed and feverish; his eyes were
+half closed, until he became sensible of my presence—and then he opened
+them wide enough: one hand was thrown listlessly over the back of the
+sofa, and held a small volume, with which, apparently, he had been vainly
+attempting to beguile the weary hours.  He dropped it, however, in his
+start of indignant surprise as I advanced into the room and stood before
+him on the rug.  He raised himself on his pillows, and gazed upon me with
+equal degrees of nervous horror, anger, and amazement depicted on his
+countenance.
+
+‘Mr. Markham, I scarcely expected this!’ he said; and the blood left his
+cheek as he spoke.
+
+‘I know you didn’t,’ answered I; ‘but be quiet a minute, and I’ll tell
+you what I came for.’  Unthinkingly, I advanced a step or two nearer.  He
+winced at my approach, with an expression of aversion and instinctive
+physical fear anything but conciliatory to my feelings.  I stepped back,
+however.
+
+‘Make your story a short one,’ said he, putting his hand on the small
+silver bell that stood on the table beside him, ‘or I shall be obliged to
+call for assistance.  I am in no state to bear your brutalities now, or
+your presence either.’  And in truth the moisture started from his pores
+and stood on his pale forehead like dew.
+
+Such a reception was hardly calculated to diminish the difficulties of my
+unenviable task.  It must be performed however, in some fashion; and so I
+plunged into it at once, and floundered through it as I could.
+
+‘The truth is, Lawrence,’ said I, ‘I have not acted quite correctly
+towards you of late—especially on this last occasion; and I’m come to—in
+short, to express my regret for what has been done, and to beg your
+pardon.  If you don’t choose to grant it,’ I added hastily, not liking
+the aspect of his face, ‘it’s no matter; only I’ve done my duty—that’s
+all.’
+
+‘It’s easily done,’ replied he, with a faint smile bordering on a sneer:
+‘to abuse your friend and knock him on the head without any assignable
+cause, and then tell him the deed was not quite correct, but it’s no
+matter whether he pardons it or not.’
+
+‘I forgot to tell you that it was in consequence of a mistake,’—muttered
+I.  ‘I should have made a very handsome apology, but you provoked me so
+confoundedly with your—.  Well, I suppose it’s my fault.  The fact is, I
+didn’t know that you were Mrs. Graham’s brother, and I saw and heard some
+things respecting your conduct towards her which were calculated to
+awaken unpleasant suspicions, that, allow me to say, a little candour and
+confidence on your part might have removed; and, at last, I chanced to
+overhear a part of a conversation between you and her that made me think
+I had a right to hate you.’
+
+‘And how came you to know that I was her brother?’ asked he, in some
+anxiety.
+
+‘She told me herself.  She told me all.  She knew I might be trusted.
+But you needn’t disturb yourself about that, Mr. Lawrence, for I’ve seen
+the last of her!’
+
+‘The last!  Is she gone, then?’
+
+‘No; but she has bid adieu to me, and I have promised never to go near
+that house again while she inhabits it.’  I could have groaned aloud at
+the bitter thoughts awakened by this turn in the discourse.  But I only
+clenched my hands and stamped my foot upon the rug.  My companion,
+however, was evidently relieved.
+
+‘You have done right,’ he said, in a tone of unqualified approbation,
+while his face brightened into almost a sunny expression.  ‘And as for
+the mistake, I am sorry for both our sakes that it should have occurred.
+Perhaps you can forgive my want of candour, and remember, as some partial
+mitigation of the offence, how little encouragement to friendly
+confidence you have given me of late.’
+
+‘Yes, yes—I remember it all: nobody can blame me more than I blame myself
+in my own heart; at any rate, nobody can regret more sincerely than I do
+the result of my brutality, as you rightly term it.’
+
+‘Never mind that,’ said he, faintly smiling; ‘let us forget all
+unpleasant words on both sides, as well as deeds, and consign to oblivion
+everything that we have cause to regret.  Have you any objection to take
+my hand, or you’d rather not?’  It trembled through weakness as he held
+it out, and dropped before I had time to catch it and give it a hearty
+squeeze, which he had not the strength to return.
+
+‘How dry and burning your hand is, Lawrence,’ said I.  ‘You are really
+ill, and I have made you worse by all this talk.’
+
+‘Oh, it is nothing; only a cold got by the rain.’
+
+‘My doing, too.’
+
+‘Never mind that.  But tell me, did you mention this affair to my
+sister?’
+
+‘To confess the truth, I had not the courage to do so; but when you tell
+her, will you just say that I deeply regret it, and—?’
+
+‘Oh, never fear!  I shall say nothing against you, as long as you keep
+your good resolution of remaining aloof from her.  She has not heard of
+my illness, then, that you are aware of?’
+
+‘I think not.’
+
+‘I’m glad of that, for I have been all this time tormenting myself with
+the fear that somebody would tell her I was dying, or desperately ill,
+and she would be either distressing herself on account of her inability
+to hear from me or do me any good, or perhaps committing the madness of
+coming to see me.  I must contrive to let her know something about it, if
+I can,’ continued he, reflectively, ‘or she will be hearing some such
+story.  Many would be glad to tell her such news, just to see how she
+would take it; and then she might expose herself to fresh scandal.’
+
+‘I wish I had told her,’ said I.  ‘If it were not for my promise, I would
+tell her now.’
+
+‘By no means!  I am not dreaming of that;—but if I were to write a short
+note, now, not mentioning you, Markham, but just giving a slight account
+of my illness, by way of excuse for my not coming to see her, and to put
+her on her guard against any exaggerated reports she may hear,—and
+address it in a disguised hand—would you do me the favour to slip it into
+the post-office as you pass? for I dare not trust any of the servants in
+such a case.’
+
+Most willingly I consented, and immediately brought him his desk.  There
+was little need to disguise his hand, for the poor fellow seemed to have
+considerable difficulty in writing at all, so as to be legible.  When the
+note was done, I thought it time to retire, and took leave, after asking
+if there was anything in the world I could do for him, little or great,
+in the way of alleviating his sufferings, and repairing the injury I had
+done.
+
+‘No,’ said he; ‘you have already done much towards it; you have done more
+for me than the most skilful physician could do: for you have relieved my
+mind of two great burdens—anxiety on my sister’s account, and deep regret
+upon your own: for I do believe these two sources of torment have had
+more effect in working me up into a fever than anything else; and I am
+persuaded I shall soon recover now.  There is one more thing you can do
+for me, and that is, come and see me now and then—for you see I am very
+lonely here, and I promise your entrance shall not be disputed again.’
+
+I engaged to do so, and departed with a cordial pressure of the hand.  I
+posted the letter on my way home, most manfully resisting the temptation
+of dropping in a word from myself at the same time.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLVI
+
+
+I felt strongly tempted, at times, to enlighten my mother and sister on
+the real character and circumstances of the persecuted tenant of Wildfell
+Hall, and at first I greatly regretted having omitted to ask that lady’s
+permission to do so; but, on due reflection, I considered that if it were
+known to them, it could not long remain a secret to the Millwards and
+Wilsons, and such was my present appreciation of Eliza Millward’s
+disposition, that, if once she got a clue to the story, I should fear she
+would soon find means to enlighten Mr. Huntingdon upon the place of his
+wife’s retreat.  I would therefore wait patiently till these weary six
+months were over, and then, when the fugitive had found another home, and
+I was permitted to write to her, I would beg to be allowed to clear her
+name from these vile calumnies: at present I must content myself with
+simply asserting that I knew them to be false, and would prove it some
+day, to the shame of those who slandered her.  I don’t think anybody
+believed me, but everybody soon learned to avoid insinuating a word
+against her, or even mentioning her name in my presence.  They thought I
+was so madly infatuated by the seductions of that unhappy lady that I was
+determined to support her in the very face of reason; and meantime I grow
+insupportably morose and misanthropical from the idea that every one I
+met was harbouring unworthy thoughts of the supposed Mrs. Graham, and
+would express them if he dared.  My poor mother was quite distressed
+about me; but I couldn’t help it—at least I thought I could not, though
+sometimes I felt a pang of remorse for my undutiful conduct to her, and
+made an effort to amend, attended with some partial success; and indeed I
+was generally more humanised in my demeanour to her than to any one else,
+Mr. Lawrence excepted.  Rose and Fergus usually shunned my presence; and
+it was well they did, for I was not fit company for them, nor they for
+me, under the present circumstances.
+
+Mrs. Huntingdon did not leave Wildfell Hall till above two months after
+our farewell interview.  During that time she never appeared at church,
+and I never went near the house: I only knew she was still there by her
+brother’s brief answers to my many and varied inquiries respecting her.
+I was a very constant and attentive visitor to him throughout the whole
+period of his illness and convalescence; not only from the interest I
+took in his recovery, and my desire to cheer him up and make the utmost
+possible amends for my former ‘brutality,’ but from my growing attachment
+to himself, and the increasing pleasure I found in his society—partly
+from his increased cordiality to me, but chiefly on account of his close
+connection, both in blood and in affection, with my adored Helen.  I
+loved him for it better than I liked to express: and I took a secret
+delight in pressing those slender white fingers, so marvellously like her
+own, considering he was not a woman, and in watching the passing changes
+in his fair, pale features, and observing the intonations of his voice,
+detecting resemblances which I wondered had never struck me before.  He
+provoked me at times, indeed, by his evident reluctance to talk to me
+about his sister, though I did not question the friendliness of his
+motives in wishing to discourage my remembrance of her.
+
+His recovery was not quite so rapid as he had expected it to be; he was
+not able to mount his pony till a fortnight after the date of our
+reconciliation; and the first use he made of his returning strength was
+to ride over by night to Wildfell Hall, to see his sister.  It was a
+hazardous enterprise both for him and for her, but he thought it
+necessary to consult with her on the subject of her projected departure,
+if not to calm her apprehensions respecting his health, and the worst
+result was a slight relapse of his illness, for no one knew of the visit
+but the inmates of the old Hall, except myself; and I believe it had not
+been his intention to mention it to me, for when I came to see him the
+next day, and observed he was not so well as he ought to have been, he
+merely said he had caught cold by being out too late in the evening.
+
+‘You’ll never be able to see your sister, if you don’t take care of
+yourself,’ said I, a little provoked at the circumstance on her account,
+instead of commiserating him.
+
+‘I’ve seen her already,’ said he, quietly.
+
+‘You’ve seen her!’ cried I, in astonishment.
+
+‘Yes.’  And then he told me what considerations had impelled him to make
+the venture, and with what precautions he had made it.
+
+‘And how was she?’ I eagerly asked.
+
+‘As usual,’ was the brief though sad reply.
+
+‘As usual—that is, far from happy and far from strong.’
+
+‘She is not positively ill,’ returned he; ‘and she will recover her
+spirits in a while, I have no doubt—but so many trials have been almost
+too much for her.  How threatening those clouds look,’ continued he,
+turning towards the window.  ‘We shall have thunder-showers before night,
+I imagine, and they are just in the midst of stacking my corn.  Have you
+got yours all in yet?’
+
+‘No.  And, Lawrence, did she—did your sister mention me?’
+
+‘She asked if I had seen you lately.’
+
+‘And what else did she say?’
+
+‘I cannot tell you all she said,’ replied he, with a slight smile; ‘for
+we talked a good deal, though my stay was but short; but our conversation
+was chiefly on the subject of her intended departure, which I begged her
+to delay till I was better able to assist her in her search after another
+home.’
+
+‘But did she say no more about me?’
+
+‘She did not say much about you, Markham.  I should not have encouraged
+her to do so, had she been inclined; but happily she was not: she only
+asked a few questions concerning you, and seemed satisfied with my brief
+answers, wherein she showed herself wiser than her friend; and I may tell
+you, too, that she seemed to be far more anxious lest you should think
+too much of her, than lest you should forget her.’
+
+‘She was right.’
+
+‘But I fear your anxiety is quite the other way respecting her.’
+
+‘No, it is not: I wish her to be happy; but I don’t wish her to forget me
+altogether.  She knows it is impossible that I should forget her; and she
+is right to wish me not to remember her too well.  I should not desire
+her to regret me too deeply; but I can scarcely imagine she will make
+herself very unhappy about me, because I know I am not worthy of it,
+except in my appreciation of her.’
+
+‘You are neither of you worthy of a broken heart,—nor of all the sighs,
+and tears, and sorrowful thoughts that have been, and I fear will be,
+wasted upon you both; but, at present, each has a more exalted opinion of
+the other than, I fear, he or she deserves; and my sister’s feelings are
+naturally full as keen as yours, and I believe more constant; but she has
+the good sense and fortitude to strive against them in this particular;
+and I trust she will not rest till she has entirely weaned her thoughts—‘
+he hesitated.
+
+‘From me,’ said I.
+
+‘And I wish you would make the like exertions,’ continued he.
+
+‘Did she tell you that that was her intention?’
+
+‘No; the question was not broached between us: there was no necessity for
+it, for I had no doubt that such was her determination.’
+
+‘To forget me?’
+
+‘Yes, Markham!  Why not?’
+
+‘Oh, well!’ was my only audible reply; but I internally answered,—‘No,
+Lawrence, you’re wrong there: she is not determined to forget me.  It
+would be wrong to forget one so deeply and fondly devoted to her, who can
+so thoroughly appreciate her excellencies, and sympathise with all her
+thoughts, as I can do, and it would be wrong in me to forget so excellent
+and divine a piece of God’s creation as she, when I have once so truly
+loved and known her.’ But I said no more to him on that subject.  I
+instantly started a new topic of conversation, and soon took leave of my
+companion, with a feeling of less cordiality towards him than usual.
+Perhaps I had no right to be annoyed at him, but I was so nevertheless.
+
+In little more than a week after this I met him returning from a visit to
+the Wilsons’; and I now resolved to do him a good turn, though at the
+expense of his feelings, and perhaps at the risk of incurring that
+displeasure which is so commonly the reward of those who give
+disagreeable information, or tender their advice unasked.  In this,
+believe me, I was actuated by no motives of revenge for the occasional
+annoyances I had lately sustained from him,—nor yet by any feeling of
+malevolent enmity towards Miss Wilson, but purely by the fact that I
+could not endure that such a woman should be Mrs. Huntingdon’s sister,
+and that, as well for his own sake as for hers, I could not bear to think
+of his being deceived into a union with one so unworthy of him, and so
+utterly unfitted to be the partner of his quiet home, and the companion
+of his life.  He had had uncomfortable suspicions on that head himself, I
+imagined; but such was his inexperience, and such were the lady’s powers
+of attraction, and her skill in bringing them to bear upon his young
+imagination, that they had not disturbed him long; and I believe the only
+effectual causes of the vacillating indecision that had preserved him
+hitherto from making an actual declaration of love, was the consideration
+of her connections, and especially of her mother, whom he could not
+abide.  Had they lived at a distance, he might have surmounted the
+objection, but within two or three miles of Woodford it was really no
+light matter.
+
+‘You’ve been to call on the Wilsons, Lawrence,’ said I, as I walked
+beside his pony.
+
+‘Yes,’ replied he, slightly averting his face: ‘I thought it but civil to
+take the first opportunity of returning their kind attentions, since they
+have been so very particular and constant in their inquiries throughout
+the whole course of my illness.’
+
+‘It’s all Miss Wilson’s doing.’
+
+‘And if it is,’ returned he, with a very perceptible blush, ‘is that any
+reason why I should not make a suitable acknowledgment?’
+
+‘It is a reason why you should not make the acknowledgment she looks
+for.’
+
+‘Let us drop that subject if you please,’ said he, in evident
+displeasure.
+
+‘No, Lawrence, with your leave we’ll continue it a while longer; and I’ll
+tell you something, now we’re about it, which you may believe or not as
+you choose—only please to remember that it is not my custom to speak
+falsely, and that in this case I can have no motive for misrepresenting
+the truth—’
+
+‘Well, Markham, what now?’
+
+‘Miss Wilson hates your sister.  It may be natural enough that, in her
+ignorance of the relationship, she should feel some degree of enmity
+against her, but no good or amiable woman would be capable of evincing
+that bitter, cold-blooded, designing malice towards a fancied rival that
+I have observed in her.’
+
+‘Markham!’
+
+‘Yes—and it is my belief that Eliza Millward and she, if not the very
+originators of the slanderous reports that have been propagated, were
+designedly the encouragers and chief disseminators of them.  She was not
+desirous to mix up your name in the matter, of course, but her delight
+was, and still is, to blacken your sister’s character to the utmost of
+her power, without risking too greatly the exposure of her own
+malevolence!’
+
+‘I cannot believe it,’ interrupted my companion, his face burning with
+indignation.
+
+‘Well, as I cannot prove it, I must content myself with asserting that it
+is so to the best of my belief; but as you would not willingly marry Miss
+Wilson if it were so, you will do well to be cautious, till you have
+proved it to be otherwise.’
+
+‘I never told you, Markham, that I intended to marry Miss Wilson,’ said
+he, proudly.
+
+‘No, but whether you do or not, she intends to marry you.’
+
+‘Did she tell you so?’
+
+‘No, but—’
+
+‘Then you have no right to make such an assertion respecting her.’ He
+slightly quickened his pony’s pace, but I laid my hand on its mane,
+determined he should not leave me yet.
+
+‘Wait a moment, Lawrence, and let me explain myself; and don’t be so
+very—I don’t know what to call it—inaccessible as you are.—I know what
+you think of Jane Wilson; and I believe I know how far you are mistaken
+in your opinion: you think she is singularly charming, elegant, sensible,
+and refined: you are not aware that she is selfish, cold-hearted,
+ambitious, artful, shallow-minded—’
+
+‘Enough, Markham—enough!’
+
+‘No; let me finish:—you don’t know that, if you married her, your home
+would be rayless and comfortless; and it would break your heart at last
+to find yourself united to one so wholly incapable of sharing your
+tastes, feelings, and ideas—so utterly destitute of sensibility, good
+feeling, and true nobility of soul.’
+
+‘Have you done?’ asked my companion quietly.
+
+‘Yes;—I know you hate me for my impertinence, but I don’t care if it only
+conduces to preserve you from that fatal mistake.’
+
+‘Well!’ returned he, with a rather wintry smile—‘I’m glad you have
+overcome or forgotten your own afflictions so far as to be able to study
+so deeply the affairs of others, and trouble your head so unnecessarily
+about the fancied or possible calamities of their future life.’
+
+We parted—somewhat coldly again: but still we did not cease to be
+friends; and my well-meant warning, though it might have been more
+judiciously delivered, as well as more thankfully received, was not
+wholly unproductive of the desired effect: his visit to the Wilsons was
+not repeated, and though, in our subsequent interviews, he never
+mentioned her name to me, nor I to him,—I have reason to believe he
+pondered my words in his mind, eagerly though covertly sought information
+respecting the fair lady from other quarters, secretly compared my
+character of her with what he had himself observed and what he heard from
+others, and finally came to the conclusion that, all things considered,
+she had much better remain Miss Wilson of Ryecote Farm than be transmuted
+into Mrs. Lawrence of Woodford Hall.  I believe, too, that he soon
+learned to contemplate with secret amazement his former predilection, and
+to congratulate himself on the lucky escape he had made; but he never
+confessed it to me, or hinted one word of acknowledgment for the part I
+had had in his deliverance, but this was not surprising to any one that
+knew him as I did.
+
+As for Jane Wilson, she, of course, was disappointed and embittered by
+the sudden cold neglect and ultimate desertion of her former admirer.
+Had I done wrong to blight her cherished hopes?  I think not; and
+certainly my conscience has never accused me, from that day to this, of
+any evil design in the matter.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLVII
+
+
+One morning, about the beginning of November, while I was inditing some
+business letters, shortly after breakfast, Eliza Millward came to call
+upon my sister.  Rose had neither the discrimination nor the virulence to
+regard the little demon as I did, and they still preserved their former
+intimacy.  At the moment of her arrival, however, there was no one in the
+room but Fergus and myself, my mother and sister being both of them
+absent, ‘on household cares intent’; but I was not going to lay myself
+out for her amusement, whoever else might so incline: I merely honoured
+her with a careless salutation and a few words of course, and then went
+on with my writing, leaving my brother to be more polite if he chose.
+But she wanted to tease me.
+
+‘What a pleasure it is to find you at home, Mr. Markham!’ said she, with
+a disingenuously malicious smile.  ‘I so seldom see you now, for you
+never come to the vicarage.  Papa, is quite offended, I can tell you,’
+she added playfully, looking into my face with an impertinent laugh, as
+she seated herself, half beside and half before my desk, off the corner
+of the table.
+
+‘I have had a good deal to do of late,’ said I, without looking up from
+my letter.
+
+‘Have you, indeed!  Somebody said you had been strangely neglecting your
+business these last few months.’
+
+‘Somebody said wrong, for, these last two months especially, I have been
+particularly plodding and diligent.’
+
+‘Ah! well, there’s nothing like active employment, I suppose, to console
+the afflicted;—and, excuse me, Mr. Markham, but you look so very far from
+well, and have been, by all accounts, so moody and thoughtful of late,—I
+could almost think you have some secret care preying on your spirits.
+Formerly,’ said she timidly, ‘I could have ventured to ask you what it
+was, and what I could do to comfort you: I dare not do it now.’
+
+‘You’re very kind, Miss Eliza.  When I think you can do anything to
+comfort me, I’ll make bold to tell you.’
+
+‘Pray do!—I suppose I mayn’t guess what it is that troubles you?’
+
+‘There’s no necessity, for I’ll tell you plainly.  The thing that
+troubles me the most at present is a young lady sitting at my elbow, and
+preventing me from finishing my letter, and, thereafter, repairing to my
+daily business.’
+
+Before she could reply to this ungallant speech, Rose entered the room;
+and Miss Eliza rising to greet her, they both seated themselves near the
+fire, where that idle lad Fergus was standing, leaning his shoulder
+against the corner of the chimney-piece, with his legs crossed and his
+hands in his breeches-pockets.
+
+‘Now, Rose, I’ll tell you a piece of news—I hope you have not heard it
+before: for good, bad, or indifferent, one always likes to be the first
+to tell.  It’s about that sad Mrs. Graham—’
+
+‘Hush-sh-sh!’ whispered Fergus, in a tone of solemn import.  ‘“We never
+mention her; her name is never heard.”’  And glancing up, I caught him
+with his eye askance on me, and his finger pointed to his forehead; then,
+winking at the young lady with a doleful shake of the head, he
+whispered—‘A monomania—but don’t mention it—all right but that.’
+
+‘I should be sorry to injure any one’s feelings,’ returned she, speaking
+below her breath.  ‘Another time, perhaps.’
+
+‘Speak out, Miss Eliza!’ said I, not deigning to notice the other’s
+buffooneries: ‘you needn’t fear to say anything in my presence.’
+
+‘Well,’ answered she, ‘perhaps you know already that Mrs. Graham’s
+husband is not really dead, and that she had run away from him?’  I
+started, and felt my face glow; but I bent it over my letter, and went on
+folding it up as she proceeded.  ‘But perhaps you did not know that she
+is now gone back to him again, and that a perfect reconciliation has
+taken place between them?  Only think,’ she continued, turning to the
+confounded Rose, ‘what a fool the man must be!’
+
+‘And who gave you this piece of intelligence, Miss Eliza?’ said I,
+interrupting my sister’s exclamations.
+
+‘I had it from a very authentic source.’
+
+‘From whom, may I ask?’
+
+‘From one of the servants at Woodford.’
+
+‘Oh!  I was not aware that you were on such intimate terms with Mr.
+Lawrence’s household.’
+
+‘It was not from the man himself that I heard it, but he told it in
+confidence to our maid Sarah, and Sarah told it to me.’
+
+‘In confidence, I suppose?  And you tell it in confidence to us?  But I
+can tell you that it is but a lame story after all, and scarcely one-half
+of it true.’
+
+While I spoke I completed the sealing and direction of my letters, with a
+somewhat unsteady hand, in spite of all my efforts to retain composure,
+and in spite of my firm conviction that the story was a lame one—that the
+supposed Mrs. Graham, most certainly, had not voluntarily gone back to
+her husband, or dreamt of a reconciliation.  Most likely she was gone
+away, and the tale-bearing servant, not knowing what was become of her,
+had conjectured that such was the case, and our fair visitor had detailed
+it as a certainty, delighted with such an opportunity of tormenting me.
+But it was possible—barely possible—that some one might have betrayed
+her, and she had been taken away by force.  Determined to know the worst,
+I hastily pocketed my two letters, and muttered something about being too
+late for the post, left the room, rushed into the yard, and vociferously
+called for my horse.  No one being there, I dragged him out of the stable
+myself, strapped the saddle on to his back and the bridle on to his head,
+mounted, and speedily galloped away to Woodford.  I found its owner
+pensively strolling in the grounds.
+
+‘Is your sister gone?’ were my first words as I grasped his hand, instead
+of the usual inquiry after his health.
+
+‘Yes, she’s gone,’ was his answer, so calmly spoken that my terror was at
+once removed.
+
+‘I suppose I mayn’t know where she is?’ said I, as I dismounted, and
+relinquished my horse to the gardener, who, being the only servant within
+call, had been summoned by his master, from his employment of raking up
+the dead leaves on the lawn, to take him to the stables.
+
+My companion gravely took my arm, and leading me away to the garden, thus
+answered my question,—‘She is at Grassdale Manor, in —shire.’
+
+‘Where?’ cried I, with a convulsive start.
+
+‘At Grassdale Manor.’
+
+‘How was it?’ I gasped.  ‘Who betrayed her?’
+
+‘She went of her own accord.’
+
+‘Impossible, Lawrence!  She could not be so frantic!’ exclaimed I,
+vehemently grasping his arm, as if to force him to unsay those hateful
+words.
+
+‘She did,’ persisted he in the same grave, collected manner as before;
+‘and not without reason,’ he continued, gently disengaging himself from
+my grasp.  ‘Mr. Huntingdon is ill.’
+
+‘And so she went to nurse him?’
+
+‘Yes.’
+
+‘Fool!’ I could not help exclaiming, and Lawrence looked up with a rather
+reproachful glance.  ‘Is he dying, then?’
+
+‘I think not, Markham.’
+
+‘And how many more nurses has he?  How many ladies are there besides to
+take care of him?’
+
+‘None; he was alone, or she would not have gone.’
+
+‘Oh, confound it!  This is intolerable!’
+
+‘What is?  That he should be alone?’
+
+I attempted no reply, for I was not sure that this circumstance did not
+partly conduce to my distraction.  I therefore continued to pace the walk
+in silent anguish, with my hand pressed to my forehead; then suddenly
+pausing and turning to my companion, I impatiently exclaimed, ‘Why did
+she take this infatuated step?  What fiend persuaded her to it?’
+
+‘Nothing persuaded her but her own sense of duty.’
+
+‘Humbug!’
+
+‘I was half inclined to say so myself, Markham, at first.  I assure you
+it was not by my advice that she went, for I detest that man as fervently
+as you can do,—except, indeed, that his reformation would give me much
+greater pleasure than his death; but all I did was to inform her of the
+circumstance of his illness (the consequence of a fall from his horse in
+hunting), and to tell her that that unhappy person, Miss Myers, had left
+him some time ago.’
+
+‘It was ill done!  Now, when he finds the convenience of her presence, he
+will make all manner of lying speeches and false, fair promises for the
+future, and she will believe him, and then her condition will be ten
+times worse and ten times more irremediable than before.’
+
+‘There does not appear to be much ground for such apprehensions at
+present,’ said he, producing a letter from his pocket.  ‘From the account
+I received this morning, I should say—’
+
+It was her writing!  By an irresistible impulse I held out my hand, and
+the words, ‘Let me see it,’ involuntarily passed my lips.  He was
+evidently reluctant to grant the request, but while he hesitated I
+snatched it from his hand.  Recollecting myself, however, the minute
+after, I offered to restore it.
+
+‘Here, take it,’ said I, ‘if you don’t want me to read it.’
+
+‘No,’ replied he, ‘you may read it if you like.’
+
+I read it, and so may you.
+
+                                                      Grassdale, Nov. 4th.
+
+DEAR FREDERICK,—I know you will be anxious to hear from me, and I will
+tell you all I can.  Mr. Huntingdon is very ill, but not dying, or in any
+immediate danger; and he is rather better at present than he was when I
+came.  I found the house in sad confusion: Mrs. Greaves, Benson, every
+decent servant had left, and those that were come to supply their places
+were a negligent, disorderly set, to say no worse—I must change them
+again, if I stay.  A professional nurse, a grim, hard old woman, had been
+hired to attend the wretched invalid.  He suffers much, and has no
+fortitude to bear him through.  The immediate injuries he sustained from
+the accident, however, were not very severe, and would, as the doctor
+says, have been but trifling to a man of temperate habits, but with him
+it is very different.  On the night of my arrival, when I first entered
+his room, he was lying in a kind of half delirium.  He did not notice me
+till I spoke, and then he mistook me for another.
+
+‘Is it you, Alice, come again?’ he murmured.  ‘What did you leave me
+for?’
+
+‘It is I, Arthur—it is Helen, your wife,’ I replied.
+
+‘My wife!’ said he, with a start.  ‘For heaven’s sake, don’t mention
+her—I have none.  Devil take her,’ he cried, a moment after, ‘and you,
+too!  What did you do it for?’
+
+I said no more; but observing that he kept gazing towards the foot of the
+bed, I went and sat there, placing the light so as to shine full upon me,
+for I thought he might be dying, and I wanted him to know me.  For a long
+time he lay silently looking upon me, first with a vacant stare, then
+with a fixed gaze of strange growing intensity.  At last he startled me
+by suddenly raising himself on his elbow and demanding in a horrified
+whisper, with his eyes still fixed upon me, ‘Who is it?’
+
+‘It is Helen Huntingdon,’ said I, quietly rising at the same time, and
+removing to a less conspicuous position.
+
+‘I must be going mad,’ cried he, ‘or something—delirious, perhaps; but
+leave me, whoever you are.  I can’t bear that white face, and those eyes.
+For God’s sake go, and send me somebody else that doesn’t look like
+that!’
+
+I went at once, and sent the hired nurse; but next morning I ventured to
+enter his chamber again, and, taking the nurse’s place by his bedside, I
+watched him and waited on him for several hours, showing myself as little
+as possible, and only speaking when necessary, and then not above my
+breath.  At first he addressed me as the nurse, but, on my crossing the
+room to draw up the window-blinds, in obedience to his directions, he
+said, ‘No, it isn’t nurse; it’s Alice.  Stay with me, do!  That old hag
+will be the death of me.’
+
+‘I mean to stay with you,’ said I.  And after that he would call me
+Alice, or some other name almost equally repugnant to my feelings.  I
+forced myself to endure it for a while, fearing a contradiction might
+disturb him too much; but when, having asked for a glass of water, while
+I held it to his lips, he murmured, ‘Thanks, dearest!’ I could not help
+distinctly observing, ‘You would not say so if you knew me,’ intending to
+follow that up with another declaration of my identity; but he merely
+muttered an incoherent reply, so I dropped it again, till some time
+after, when, as I was bathing his forehead and temples with vinegar and
+water to relieve the heat and pain in his head, he observed, after
+looking earnestly upon me for some minutes, ‘I have such strange
+fancies—I can’t get rid of them, and they won’t let me rest; and the most
+singular and pertinacious of them all is your face and voice—they seem
+just like hers.  I could swear at this moment that she was by my side.’
+
+‘She is,’ said I.
+
+‘That seems comfortable,’ continued he, without noticing my words; ‘and
+while you do it, the other fancies fade away—but this only
+strengthens.—Go on—go on, till it vanishes, too.  I can’t stand such a
+mania as this; it would kill me!’
+
+‘It never will vanish,’ said I, distinctly, ‘for it is the truth!’
+
+‘The truth!’ he cried, starting, as if an asp had stung him.  ‘You don’t
+mean to say that you are really she?’
+
+‘I do; but you needn’t shrink away from me, as if I were your greatest
+enemy: I am come to take care of you, and do what none of them would do.’
+
+‘For God’s sake, don’t torment me now!’ cried he in pitiable agitation;
+and then he began to mutter bitter curses against me, or the evil fortune
+that had brought me there; while I put down the sponge and basin, and
+resumed my seat at the bed-side.
+
+‘Where are they?’ said he: ‘have they all left me—servants and all?’
+
+‘There are servants within call if you want them; but you had better lie
+down now and be quiet: none of them could or would attend you as
+carefully as I shall do.’
+
+‘I can’t understand it at all,’ said he, in bewildered perplexity.  ‘Was
+it a dream that—‘ and he covered his eyes with his hands, as if trying to
+unravel the mystery.
+
+‘No, Arthur, it was not a dream, that your conduct was such as to oblige
+me to leave you; but I heard that you were ill and alone, and I am come
+back to nurse you.  You need not fear to trust me: tell me all your
+wants, and I will try to satisfy them.  There is no one else to care for
+you; and I shall not upbraid you now.’
+
+‘Oh! I see,’ said he, with a bitter smile; ‘it’s an act of Christian
+charity, whereby you hope to gain a higher seat in heaven for yourself,
+and scoop a deeper pit in hell for me.’
+
+‘No; I came to offer you that comfort and assistance your situation
+required; and if I could benefit your soul as well as your body, and
+awaken some sense of contrition and—’
+
+‘Oh, yes; if you could overwhelm me with remorse and confusion of face,
+now’s the time.  What have you done with my son?’
+
+‘He is well, and you may see him some time, if you will compose yourself,
+but not now.’
+
+‘Where is he?’
+
+‘He is safe.’
+
+‘Is he here?’
+
+‘Wherever he is, you will not see him till you have promised to leave him
+entirely under my care and protection, and to let me take him away
+whenever and wherever I please, if I should hereafter judge it necessary
+to remove him again.  But we will talk of that to-morrow: you must be
+quiet now.’
+
+‘No, let me see him now, I promise, if it must be so.’
+
+‘No—’
+
+‘I swear it, as God is in heaven!  Now, then, let me see him.’
+
+‘But I cannot trust your oaths and promises: I must have a written
+agreement, and you must sign it in presence of a witness: but not
+to-day—to-morrow.’
+
+‘No, to-day; now,’ persisted he: and he was in such a state of feverish
+excitement, and so bent upon the immediate gratification of his wish,
+that I thought it better to grant it at once, as I saw he would not rest
+till I did.  But I was determined my son’s interest should not be
+forgotten; and having clearly written out the promise I wished Mr.
+Huntingdon to give upon a slip of paper, I deliberately read it over to
+him, and made him sign it in the presence of Rachel.  He begged I would
+not insist upon this: it was a useless exposure of my want of faith in
+his word to the servant.  I told him I was sorry, but since he had
+forfeited my confidence, he must take the consequence.  He next pleaded
+inability to hold the pen.  ‘Then we must wait until you can hold it,’
+said I.  Upon which he said he would try; but then he could not see to
+write.  I placed my finger where the signature was to be, and told him he
+might write his name in the dark, if he only knew where to put it.  But
+he had not power to form the letters.  ‘In that case, you must be too ill
+to see the child,’ said I; and finding me inexorable, he at length
+managed to ratify the agreement; and I bade Rachel send the boy.
+
+All this may strike you as harsh, but I felt I must not lose my present
+advantage, and my son’s future welfare should not be sacrificed to any
+mistaken tenderness for this man’s feelings.  Little Arthur had not
+forgotten his father, but thirteen months of absence, during which he had
+seldom been permitted to hear a word about him, or hardly to whisper his
+name, had rendered him somewhat shy; and when he was ushered into the
+darkened room where the sick man lay, so altered from his former self,
+with fiercely flushed face and wildly-gleaming eyes—he instinctively
+clung to me, and stood looking on his father with a countenance
+expressive of far more awe than pleasure.
+
+‘Come here, Arthur,’ said the latter, extending his hand towards him.
+The child went, and timidly touched that burning hand, but almost started
+in alarm, when his father suddenly clutched his arm and drew him nearer
+to his side.
+
+‘Do you know me?’ asked Mr. Huntingdon, intently perusing his features.
+
+‘Yes.’
+
+‘Who am I?’
+
+‘Papa.’
+
+‘Are you glad to see me?’
+
+‘Yes.’
+
+‘You’re not!’ replied the disappointed parent, relaxing his hold, and
+darting a vindictive glance at me.
+
+Arthur, thus released, crept back to me and put his hand in mine.  His
+father swore I had made the child hate him, and abused and cursed me
+bitterly.  The instant he began I sent our son out of the room; and when
+he paused to breathe, I calmly assured him that he was entirely mistaken;
+I had never once attempted to prejudice his child against him.
+
+‘I did indeed desire him to forget you,’ I said, ‘and especially to
+forget the lessons you taught him; and for that cause, and to lessen the
+danger of discovery, I own I have generally discouraged his inclination
+to talk about you; but no one can blame me for that, I think.’
+
+The invalid only replied by groaning aloud, and rolling his head on a
+pillow in a paroxysm of impatience.
+
+‘I am in hell, already!’ cried he.  ‘This cursed thirst is burning my
+heart to ashes!  Will nobody—?’
+
+Before he could finish the sentence I had poured out a glass of some
+acidulated, cooling drink that was on the table, and brought it to him.
+He drank it greedily, but muttered, as I took away the glass,—‘I suppose
+you’re heaping coals of fire on my head, you think?’
+
+Not noticing this speech, I asked if there was anything else I could do
+for him.
+
+‘Yes; I’ll give you another opportunity of showing your Christian
+magnanimity,’ sneered he: ‘set my pillow straight, and these confounded
+bed-clothes.’  I did so.  ‘There: now get me another glass of that slop.’
+I complied.  ‘This is delightful, isn’t it?’ said he with a malicious
+grin, as I held it to his lips; ‘you never hoped for such a glorious
+opportunity?’
+
+‘Now, shall I stay with you?’ said I, as I replaced the glass on the
+table: ‘or will you be more quiet if I go and send the nurse?’
+
+‘Oh, yes, you’re wondrous gentle and obliging!  But you’ve driven me mad
+with it all!’ responded he, with an impatient toss.
+
+‘I’ll leave you, then,’ said I; and I withdrew, and did not trouble him
+with my presence again that day, except for a minute or two at a time,
+just to see how he was and what he wanted.
+
+Next morning the doctor ordered him to be bled; and after that he was
+more subdued and tranquil.  I passed half the day in his room at
+different intervals.  My presence did not appear to agitate or irritate
+him as before, and he accepted my services quietly, without any bitter
+remarks: indeed, he scarcely spoke at all, except to make known his
+wants, and hardly then.  But on the morrow, that is to say, in proportion
+as he recovered from the state of exhaustion and stupefaction, his
+ill-nature appeared to revive.
+
+‘Oh, this sweet revenge!’ cried he, when I had been doing all I could to
+make him comfortable and to remedy the carelessness of his nurse.  ‘And
+you can enjoy it with such a quiet conscience too, because it’s all in
+the way of duty.’
+
+‘It is well for me that I am doing my duty,’ said I, with a bitterness I
+could not repress, ‘for it is the only comfort I have; and the
+satisfaction of my own conscience, it seems, is the only reward I need
+look for!’
+
+He looked rather surprised at the earnestness of my manner.
+
+‘What reward did you look for?’ he asked.
+
+‘You will think me a liar if I tell you; but I did hope to benefit you:
+as well to better your mind as to alleviate your present sufferings; but
+it appears I am to do neither; your own bad spirit will not let me.  As
+far as you are concerned, I have sacrificed my own feelings, and all the
+little earthly comfort that was left me, to no purpose; and every little
+thing I do for you is ascribed to self-righteous malice and refined
+revenge!’
+
+‘It’s all very fine, I daresay,’ said he, eyeing me with stupid
+amazement; ‘and of course I ought to be melted to tears of penitence and
+admiration at the sight of so much generosity and superhuman goodness;
+but you see I can’t manage it.  However, pray do me all the good you can,
+if you do really find any pleasure in it; for you perceive I am almost as
+miserable just now as you need wish to see me.  Since you came, I
+confess, I have had better attendance than before, for these wretches
+neglected me shamefully, and all my old friends seem to have fairly
+forsaken me.  I’ve had a dreadful time of it, I assure you: I sometimes
+thought I should have died: do you think there’s any chance?’
+
+‘There’s always a chance of death; and it is always well to live with
+such a chance in view.’
+
+‘Yes, yes! but do you think there’s any likelihood that this illness will
+have a fatal termination?’
+
+‘I cannot tell; but, supposing it should, how are you prepared to meet
+the event?’
+
+‘Why, the doctor told me I wasn’t to think about it, for I was sure to
+get better if I stuck to his regimen and prescriptions.’
+
+‘I hope you may, Arthur; but neither the doctor nor I can speak with
+certainty in such a case; there is internal injury, and it is difficult
+to know to what extent.’
+
+‘There now! you want to scare me to death.’
+
+‘No; but I don’t want to lull you to false security.  If a consciousness
+of the uncertainty of life can dispose you to serious and useful
+thoughts, I would not deprive you of the benefit of such reflections,
+whether you do eventually recover or not.  Does the idea of death appal
+you very much?’
+
+‘It’s just the only thing I can’t bear to think of; so if you’ve any—’
+
+‘But it must come some time,’ interrupted I, ‘and if it be years hence,
+it will as certainly overtake you as if it came to-day,—and no doubt be
+as unwelcome then as now, unless you—’
+
+‘Oh, hang it! don’t torment me with your preachments now, unless you want
+to kill me outright.  I can’t stand it, I tell you.  I’ve sufferings
+enough without that.  If you think there’s danger, save me from it; and
+then, in gratitude, I’ll hear whatever you like to say.’
+
+I accordingly dropped the unwelcome topic.  And now, Frederick, I think I
+may bring my letter to a close.  From these details you may form your own
+judgment of the state of my patient, and of my own position and future
+prospects.  Let me hear from you soon, and I will write again to tell you
+how we get on; but now that my presence is tolerated, and even required,
+in the sick-room, I shall have but little time to spare between my
+husband and my son,—for I must not entirely neglect the latter: it would
+not do to keep him always with Rachel, and I dare not leave him for a
+moment with any of the other servants, or suffer him to be alone, lest he
+should meet them.  If his father get worse, I shall ask Esther Hargrave
+to take charge of him for a time, till I have reorganised the household
+at least; but I greatly prefer keeping him under my own eye.
+
+I find myself in rather a singular position: I am exerting my utmost
+endeavours to promote the recovery and reformation of my husband, and if
+I succeed, what shall I do?  My duty, of course,—but how?  No matter; I
+can perform the task that is before me now, and God will give me strength
+to do whatever He requires hereafter.  Good-by, dear Frederick.
+
+                                                         HELEN HUNTINGDON.
+
+‘What do you think of it?’ said Lawrence, as I silently refolded the
+letter.
+
+‘It seems to me,’ returned I, ‘that she is casting her pearls before
+swine.  May they be satisfied with trampling them under their feet, and
+not turn again and rend her!  But I shall say no more against her: I see
+that she was actuated by the best and noblest motives in what she has
+done; and if the act is not a wise one, may heaven protect her from its
+consequences!  May I keep this letter, Lawrence?—you see she has never
+once mentioned me throughout—or made the most distant allusion to me;
+therefore, there can be no impropriety or harm in it.’
+
+‘And, therefore, why should you wish to keep it?’
+
+‘Were not these characters written by her hand? and were not these words
+conceived in her mind, and many of them spoken by her lips?’
+
+‘Well,’ said he.  And so I kept it; otherwise, Halford, you could never
+have become so thoroughly acquainted with its contents.
+
+‘And when you write,’ said I, ‘will you have the goodness to ask her if I
+may be permitted to enlighten my mother and sister on her real history
+and circumstance, just so far as is necessary to make the neighbourhood
+sensible of the shameful injustice they have done her?  I want no tender
+messages, but just ask her that, and tell her it is the greatest favour
+she could do me; and tell her—no, nothing more.  You see I know the
+address, and I might write to her myself, but I am so virtuous as to
+refrain.’
+
+‘Well, I’ll do this for you, Markham.’
+
+‘And as soon as you receive an answer, you’ll let me know?’
+
+‘If all be well, I’ll come myself and tell you immediately.’
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLVIII
+
+
+Five or six days after this Mr. Lawrence paid us the honour of a call;
+and when he and I were alone together—which I contrived as soon as
+possible by bringing him out to look at my cornstacks—he showed me
+another letter from his sister.  This one he was quite willing to submit
+to my longing gaze; he thought, I suppose, it would do me good.  The only
+answer it gave to my message was this:—
+
+‘Mr. Markham is at liberty to make such revelations concerning me as he
+judges necessary.  He will know that I should wish but little to be said
+on the subject.  I hope he is well; but tell him he must not think of
+me.’
+
+I can give you a few extracts from the rest of the letter, for I was
+permitted to keep this also—perhaps, as an antidote to all pernicious
+hopes and fancies.
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+He is decidedly better, but very low from the depressing effects of his
+severe illness and the strict regimen he is obliged to observe—so
+opposite to all his previous habits.  It is deplorable to see how
+completely his past life has degenerated his once noble constitution, and
+vitiated the whole system of his organization.  But the doctor says he
+may now be considered out of danger, if he will only continue to observe
+the necessary restrictions.  Some stimulating cordials he must have, but
+they should be judiciously diluted and sparingly used; and I find it very
+difficult to keep him to this.  At first, his extreme dread of death
+rendered the task an easy one; but in proportion as he feels his acute
+suffering abating, and sees the danger receding, the more intractable he
+becomes.  Now, also, his appetite for food is beginning to return; and
+here, too, his long habits of self-indulgence are greatly against him.  I
+watch and restrain him as well as I can, and often get bitterly abused
+for my rigid severity; and sometimes he contrives to elude my vigilance,
+and sometimes acts in opposition to my will.  But he is now so completely
+reconciled to my attendance in general that he is never satisfied when I
+am not by his side.  I am obliged to be a little stiff with him
+sometimes, or he would make a complete slave of me; and I know it would
+be unpardonable weakness to give up all other interests for him.  I have
+the servants to overlook, and my little Arthur to attend to,—and my own
+health too, all of which would be entirely neglected were I to satisfy
+his exorbitant demands.  I do not generally sit up at night, for I think
+the nurse who has made it her business is better qualified for such
+undertakings than I am;—but still, an unbroken night’s rest is what I but
+seldom enjoy, and never can venture to reckon upon; for my patient makes
+no scruple of calling me up at an hour when his wants or his fancies
+require my presence.  But he is manifestly afraid of my displeasure; and
+if at one time he tries my patience by his unreasonable exactions, and
+fretful complaints and reproaches, at another he depresses me by his
+abject submission and deprecatory self-abasement when he fears he has
+gone too far.  But all this I can readily pardon; I know it is chiefly
+the result of his enfeebled frame and disordered nerves.  What annoys me
+the most, is his occasional attempts at affectionate fondness that I can
+neither credit nor return; not that I hate him: his sufferings and my own
+laborious care have given him some claim to my regard—to my affection
+even, if he would only be quiet and sincere, and content to let things
+remain as they are; but the more he tries to conciliate me, the more I
+shrink from him and from the future.
+
+‘Helen, what do you mean to do when I get well?’ he asked this morning.
+‘Will you run away again?’
+
+‘It entirely depends upon your own conduct.’
+
+‘Oh, I’ll be very good.’
+
+‘But if I find it necessary to leave you, Arthur, I shall not “run away”:
+you know I have your own promise that I may go whenever I please, and
+take my son with me.’
+
+‘Oh, but you shall have no cause.’  And then followed a variety of
+professions, which I rather coldly checked.
+
+‘Will you not forgive me, then?’ said he.
+
+‘Yes,—I have forgiven you: but I know you cannot love me as you once
+did—and I should be very sorry if you were to, for I could not pretend to
+return it: so let us drop the subject, and never recur to it again.  By
+what I have done for you, you may judge of what I will do—if it be not
+incompatible with the higher duty I owe to my son (higher, because he
+never forfeited his claims, and because I hope to do more good to him
+than I can ever do to you); and if you wish me to feel kindly towards
+you, it is deeds not words which must purchase my affection and esteem.’
+
+His sole reply to this was a slight grimace, and a scarcely perceptible
+shrug.  Alas, unhappy man! words, with him, are so much cheaper than
+deeds; it was as if I had said, ‘Pounds, not pence, must buy the article
+you want.’  And then he sighed a querulous, self-commiserating sigh, as
+if in pure regret that he, the loved and courted of so many worshippers,
+should be now abandoned to the mercy of a harsh, exacting, cold-hearted
+woman like that, and even glad of what kindness she chose to bestow.
+
+‘It’s a pity, isn’t it?’ said I; and whether I rightly divined his
+musings or not, the observation chimed in with his thoughts, for he
+answered—‘It can’t be helped,’ with a rueful smile at my penetration.
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+I have seen Esther Hargrave twice.  She is a charming creature, but her
+blithe spirit is almost broken, and her sweet temper almost spoiled, by
+the still unremitting persecutions of her mother in behalf of her
+rejected suitor—not violent, but wearisome and unremitting like a
+continual dropping.  The unnatural parent seems determined to make her
+daughter’s life a burden, if she will not yield to her desires.
+
+‘Mamma does all she can,’ said she, ‘to make me feel myself a burden and
+incumbrance to the family, and the most ungrateful, selfish, and
+undutiful daughter that ever was born; and Walter, too, is as stern and
+cold and haughty as if he hated me outright.  I believe I should have
+yielded at once if I had known, from the beginning, how much resistance
+would have cost me; but now, for very obstinacy’s sake, I will stand
+out!’
+
+‘A bad motive for a good resolve,’ I answered.  ‘But, however, I know you
+have better motives, really, for your perseverance: and I counsel you to
+keep them still in view.’
+
+‘Trust me I will.  I threaten mamma sometimes that I’ll run away, and
+disgrace the family by earning my own livelihood, if she torments me any
+more; and then that frightens her a little.  But I will do it, in good
+earnest, if they don’t mind.’
+
+‘Be quiet and patient a while,’ said I, ‘and better times will come.’
+
+Poor girl!  I wish somebody that was worthy to possess her would come and
+take her away—don’t you, Frederick?
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+If the perusal of this letter filled me with dismay for Helen’s future
+life and mine, there was one great source of consolation: it was now in
+my power to clear her name from every foul aspersion.  The Millwards and
+the Wilsons should see with their own eyes the bright sun bursting from
+the cloud—and they should be scorched and dazzled by its beams;—and my
+own friends too should see it—they whose suspicions had been such gall
+and wormwood to my soul.  To effect this I had only to drop the seed into
+the ground, and it would soon become a stately, branching herb: a few
+words to my mother and sister, I knew, would suffice to spread the news
+throughout the whole neighbourhood, without any further exertion on my
+part.
+
+Rose was delighted; and as soon as I had told her all I thought
+proper—which was all I affected to know—she flew with alacrity to put on
+her bonnet and shawl, and hasten to carry the glad tidings to the
+Millwards and Wilsons—glad tidings, I suspect, to none but herself and
+Mary Millward—that steady, sensible girl, whose sterling worth had been
+so quickly perceived and duly valued by the supposed Mrs. Graham, in
+spite of her plain outside; and who, on her part, had been better able to
+see and appreciate that lady’s true character and qualities than the
+brightest genius among them.
+
+As I may never have occasion to mention her again, I may as well tell you
+here that she was at this time privately engaged to Richard Wilson—a
+secret, I believe, to every one but themselves.  That worthy student was
+now at Cambridge, where his most exemplary conduct and his diligent
+perseverance in the pursuit of learning carried him safely through, and
+eventually brought him with hard-earned honours, and an untarnished
+reputation, to the close of his collegiate career.  In due time he became
+Mr. Millward’s first and only curate—for that gentleman’s declining years
+forced him at last to acknowledge that the duties of his extensive parish
+were a little too much for those vaunted energies which he was wont to
+boast over his younger and less active brethren of the cloth.  This was
+what the patient, faithful lovers had privately planned and quietly
+waited for years ago; and in due time they were united, to the
+astonishment of the little world they lived in, that had long since
+declared them both born to single blessedness; affirming it impossible
+that the pale, retiring bookworm should ever summon courage to seek a
+wife, or be able to obtain one if he did, and equally impossible that the
+plain-looking, plain-dealing, unattractive, unconciliating Miss Millward
+should ever find a husband.
+
+They still continued to live at the vicarage, the lady dividing her time
+between her father, her husband, and their poor parishioners,—and
+subsequently her rising family; and now that the Reverend Michael
+Millward has been gathered to his fathers, full of years and honours, the
+Reverend Richard Wilson has succeeded him to the vicarage of Linden-hope,
+greatly to the satisfaction of its inhabitants, who had so long tried and
+fully proved his merits, and those of his excellent and well-loved
+partner.
+
+If you are interested in the after fate of that lady’s sister, I can only
+tell you—what perhaps you have heard from another quarter—that some
+twelve or thirteen years ago she relieved the happy couple of her
+presence by marrying a wealthy tradesman of L—; and I don’t envy him his
+bargain.  I fear she leads him a rather uncomfortable life, though,
+happily, he is too dull to perceive the extent of his misfortune.  I have
+little enough to do with her myself: we have not met for many years; but,
+I am well assured, she has not yet forgotten or forgiven either her
+former lover, or the lady whose superior qualities first opened his eyes
+to the folly of his boyish attachment.
+
+As for Richard Wilson’s sister, she, having been wholly unable to
+recapture Mr. Lawrence, or obtain any partner rich and elegant enough to
+suit her ideas of what the husband of Jane Wilson ought to be, is yet in
+single blessedness.  Shortly after the death of her mother she withdrew
+the light of her presence from Ryecote Farm, finding it impossible any
+longer to endure the rough manners and unsophisticated habits of her
+honest brother Robert and his worthy wife, or the idea of being
+identified with such vulgar people in the eyes of the world, and took
+lodgings in — the county town, where she lived, and still lives, I
+suppose, in a kind of close-fisted, cold, uncomfortable gentility, doing
+no good to others, and but little to herself; spending her days in
+fancy-work and scandal; referring frequently to her ‘brother the vicar,’
+and her ‘sister, the vicar’s lady,’ but never to her brother the farmer
+and her sister the farmer’s wife; seeing as much company as she can
+without too much expense, but loving no one and beloved by none—a
+cold-hearted, supercilious, keenly, insidiously censorious old maid.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLIX
+
+
+Though Mr. Lawrence’s health was now quite re-established, my visits to
+Woodford were as unremitting as ever; though often less protracted than
+before.  We seldom talked about Mrs. Huntingdon; but yet we never met
+without mentioning her, for I never sought his company but with the hope
+of hearing something about her, and he never sought mine at all, because
+he saw me often enough without.  But I always began to talk of other
+things, and waited first to see if he would introduce the subject.  If he
+did not, I would casually ask, ‘Have you heard from your sister lately?’
+If he said ‘No,’ the matter was dropped: if he said ‘Yes,’ I would
+venture to inquire, ‘How is she?’ but never ‘How is her husband?’ though
+I might be burning to know; because I had not the hypocrisy to profess
+any anxiety for his recovery, and I had not the face to express any
+desire for a contrary result.  Had I any such desire?—I fear I must plead
+guilty; but since you have heard my confession, you must hear my
+justification as well —a few of the excuses, at least, wherewith I sought
+to pacify my own accusing conscience.
+
+In the first place, you see, his life did harm to others, and evidently
+no good to himself; and though I wished it to terminate, I would not have
+hastened its close if, by the lifting of a finger, I could have done so,
+or if a spirit had whispered in my ear that a single effort of the will
+would be enough,—unless, indeed, I had the power to exchange him for some
+other victim of the grave, whose life might be of service to his race,
+and whose death would be lamented by his friends.  But was there any harm
+in wishing that, among the many thousands whose souls would certainly be
+required of them before the year was over, this wretched mortal might be
+one?  I thought not; and therefore I wished with all my heart that it
+might please heaven to remove him to a better world, or if that might not
+be, still to take him out of this; for if he were unfit to answer the
+summons now, after a warning sickness, and with such an angel by his
+side, it seemed but too certain that he never would be—that, on the
+contrary, returning health would bring returning lust and villainy, and
+as he grew more certain of recovery, more accustomed to her generous
+goodness, his feelings would become more callous, his heart more flinty
+and impervious to her persuasive arguments—but God knew best.  Meantime,
+however, I could not but be anxious for the result of His decrees;
+knowing, as I did, that (leaving myself entirely out of the question),
+however Helen might feel interested in her husband’s welfare, however she
+might deplore his fate, still while he lived she must be miserable.
+
+A fortnight passed away, and my inquiries were always answered in the
+negative.  At length a welcome ‘yes’ drew from me the second question.
+Lawrence divined my anxious thoughts, and appreciated my reserve.  I
+feared, at first, he was going to torture me by unsatisfactory replies,
+and either leave me quite in the dark concerning what I wanted to know,
+or force me to drag the information out of him, morsel by morsel, by
+direct inquiries.  ‘And serve you right,’ you will say; but he was more
+merciful; and in a little while he put his sister’s letter into my hand.
+I silently read it, and restored it to him without comment or remark.
+This mode of procedure suited him so well, that thereafter he always
+pursued the plan of showing me her letters at once, when ‘inquired’ after
+her, if there were any to show—it was so much less trouble than to tell
+me their contents; and I received such confidences so quietly and
+discreetly that he was never induced to discontinue them.
+
+But I devoured those precious letters with my eyes, and never let them go
+till their contents were stamped upon my mind; and when I got home, the
+most important passages were entered in my diary among the remarkable
+events of the day.
+
+The first of these communications brought intelligence of a serious
+relapse in Mr. Huntingdon’s illness, entirely the result of his own
+infatuation in persisting in the indulgence of his appetite for
+stimulating drink.  In vain had she remonstrated, in vain she had mingled
+his wine with water: her arguments and entreaties were a nuisance, her
+interference was an insult so intolerable that, at length, on finding she
+had covertly diluted the pale port that was brought him, he threw the
+bottle out of the window, swearing he would not be cheated like a baby,
+ordered the butler, on pain of instant dismissal, to bring a bottle of
+the strongest wine in the cellar, and affirming that he should have been
+well long ago if he had been let to have his own way, but she wanted to
+keep him weak in order that she might have him under her thumb—but, by
+the Lord Harry, he would have no more humbug—seized a glass in one hand
+and the bottle in the other, and never rested till he had drunk it dry.
+Alarming symptoms were the immediate result of this ‘imprudence,’ as she
+mildly termed it—symptoms which had rather increased than diminished
+since; and this was the cause of her delay in writing to her brother.
+Every former feature of his malady had returned with augmented virulence:
+the slight external wound, half healed, had broken out afresh; internal
+inflammation had taken place, which might terminate fatally if not soon
+removed.  Of course, the wretched sufferer’s temper was not improved by
+this calamity—in fact, I suspect it was well nigh insupportable, though
+his kind nurse did not complain; but she said she had been obliged at
+last to give her son in charge to Esther Hargrave, as her presence was so
+constantly required in the sick-room that she could not possibly attend
+to him herself; and though the child had begged to be allowed to continue
+with her there, and to help her to nurse his papa, and though she had no
+doubt he would have been very good and quiet, she could not think of
+subjecting his young and tender feelings to the sight of so much
+suffering, or of allowing him to witness his father’s impatience, or hear
+the dreadful language he was wont to use in his paroxysms of pain or
+irritation.
+
+The latter (continued she) most deeply regrets the step that has
+occasioned his relapse; but, as usual, he throws the blame upon me.  If I
+had reasoned with him like a rational creature, he says, it never would
+have happened; but to be treated like a baby or a fool was enough to put
+any man past his patience, and drive him to assert his independence even
+at the sacrifice of his own interest.  He forgets how often I had
+reasoned him ‘past his patience’ before.  He appears to be sensible of
+his danger; but nothing can induce him to behold it in the proper light.
+The other night, while I was waiting on him, and just as I had brought
+him a draught to assuage his burning thirst, he observed, with a return
+of his former sarcastic bitterness, ‘Yes, you’re mighty attentive now!  I
+suppose there’s nothing you wouldn’t do for me now?’
+
+‘You know,’ said I, a little surprised at his manner, ‘that I am willing
+to do anything I can to relieve you.’
+
+‘Yes, now, my immaculate angel; but when once you have secured your
+reward, and find yourself safe in heaven, and me howling in hell-fire,
+catch you lifting a finger to serve me then!  No, you’ll look
+complacently on, and not so much as dip the tip of your finger in water
+to cool my tongue!’
+
+‘If so, it will be because of the great gulf over which I cannot pass;
+and if I could look complacently on in such a case, it would be only from
+the assurance that you were being purified from your sins, and fitted to
+enjoy the happiness I felt.—But are you determined, Arthur, that I shall
+not meet you in heaven?’
+
+‘Humph!  What should I do there, I should like to know?’
+
+‘Indeed, I cannot tell; and I fear it is too certain that your tastes and
+feelings must be widely altered before you can have any enjoyment there.
+But do you prefer sinking, without an effort, into the state of torment
+you picture to yourself?’
+
+‘Oh, it’s all a fable,’ said he, contemptuously.
+
+‘Are you sure, Arthur? are you quite sure?  Because, if there is any
+doubt, and if you should find yourself mistaken after all, when it is too
+late to turn—’
+
+‘It would be rather awkward, to be sure,’ said he; ‘but don’t bother me
+now—I’m not going to die yet.  I can’t and won’t,’ he added vehemently,
+as if suddenly struck with the appalling aspect of that terrible event.
+‘Helen, you must save me!’  And he earnestly seized my hand, and looked
+into my face with such imploring eagerness that my heart bled for him,
+and I could not speak for tears.
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+The next letter brought intelligence that the malady was fast increasing;
+and the poor sufferer’s horror of death was still more distressing than
+his impatience of bodily pain.  All his friends had not forsaken him; for
+Mr. Hattersley, hearing of his danger, had come to see him from his
+distant home in the north.  His wife had accompanied him, as much for the
+pleasure of seeing her dear friend, from whom she had been parted so
+long, as to visit her mother and sister.
+
+Mrs. Huntingdon expressed herself glad to see Milicent once more, and
+pleased to behold her so happy and well.  She is now at the Grove,
+continued the letter, but she often calls to see me.  Mr. Hattersley
+spends much of his time at Arthur’s bed-side.  With more good feeling
+than I gave him credit for, he evinces considerable sympathy for his
+unhappy friend, and is far more willing than able to comfort him.
+Sometimes he tries to joke and laugh with him, but that will not do;
+sometimes he endeavours to cheer him with talk about old times, and this
+at one time may serve to divert the sufferer from his own sad thoughts;
+at another, it will only plunge him into deeper melancholy than before;
+and then Hattersley is confounded, and knows not what to say, unless it
+be a timid suggestion that the clergyman might be sent for.  But Arthur
+will never consent to that: he knows he has rejected the clergyman’s
+well-meant admonitions with scoffing levity at other times, and cannot
+dream of turning to him for consolation now.
+
+Mr. Hattersley sometimes offers his services instead of mine, but Arthur
+will not let me go: that strange whim still increases, as his strength
+declines—the fancy to have me always by his side.  I hardly ever leave
+him, except to go into the next room, where I sometimes snatch an hour or
+so of sleep when he is quiet; but even then the door is left ajar, that
+he may know me to be within call.  I am with him now, while I write, and
+I fear my occupation annoys him; though I frequently break off to attend
+to him, and though Mr. Hattersley is also by his side.  That gentleman
+came, as he said, to beg a holiday for me, that I might have a run in the
+park, this fine frosty morning, with Milicent and Esther and little
+Arthur, whom he had driven over to see me.  Our poor invalid evidently
+felt it a heartless proposition, and would have felt it still more
+heartless in me to accede to it.  I therefore said I would only go and
+speak to them a minute, and then come back.  I did but exchange a few
+words with them, just outside the portico, inhaling the fresh, bracing
+air as I stood, and then, resisting the earnest and eloquent entreaties
+of all three to stay a little longer, and join them in a walk round the
+garden, I tore myself away and returned to my patient.  I had not been
+absent five minutes, but he reproached me bitterly for my levity and
+neglect.  His friend espoused my cause.
+
+‘Nay, nay, Huntingdon,’ said he, ‘you’re too hard upon her; she must have
+food and sleep, and a mouthful of fresh air now and then, or she can’t
+stand it, I tell you.  Look at her, man! she’s worn to a shadow already.’
+
+‘What are her sufferings to mine?’ said the poor invalid.  ‘You don’t
+grudge me these attentions, do you, Helen?’
+
+‘No, Arthur, if I could really serve you by them.  I would give my life
+to save you, if I might.’
+
+‘Would you, indeed?  No!’
+
+‘Most willingly I would.’
+
+‘Ah! that’s because you think yourself more fit to die!’
+
+There was a painful pause.  He was evidently plunged in gloomy
+reflections; but while I pondered for something to say that might benefit
+without alarming him, Hattersley, whose mind had been pursuing almost the
+same course, broke silence with, ‘I say, Huntingdon, I would send for a
+parson of some sort: if you didn’t like the vicar, you know, you could
+have his curate, or somebody else.’
+
+‘No; none of them can benefit me if she can’t,’ was the answer.  And the
+tears gushed from his eyes as he earnestly exclaimed, ‘Oh, Helen, if I
+had listened to you, it never would have come to this! and if I had heard
+you long ago—oh, God! how different it would have been!’
+
+‘Hear me now, then, Arthur,’ said I, gently pressing his hand.
+
+‘It’s too late now,’ said he despondingly.  And after that another
+paroxysm of pain came on; and then his mind began to wander, and we
+feared his death was approaching: but an opiate was administered: his
+sufferings began to abate, he gradually became more composed, and at
+length sank into a kind of slumber.  He has been quieter since; and now
+Hattersley has left him, expressing a hope that he shall find him better
+when he calls to-morrow.
+
+‘Perhaps I may recover,’ he replied; ‘who knows?  This may have been the
+crisis.  What do you think, Helen?’  Unwilling to depress him, I gave the
+most cheering answer I could, but still recommended him to prepare for
+the possibility of what I inly feared was but too certain.  But he was
+determined to hope.  Shortly after he relapsed into a kind of doze, but
+now he groans again.
+
+There is a change.  Suddenly he called me to his side, with such a
+strange, excited manner, that I feared he was delirious, but he was not.
+‘That was the crisis, Helen!’ said he, delightedly.  ‘I had an infernal
+pain here—it is quite gone now.  I never was so easy since the fall—quite
+gone, by heaven!’ and he clasped and kissed my hand in the very fulness
+of his heart; but finding I did not participate in his joy, he quickly
+flung it from him, and bitterly cursed my coldness and insensibility.
+How could I reply?  Kneeling beside him, I took his hand and fondly
+pressed it to my lips—for the first time since our separation—and told
+him, as well as tears would let me speak, that it was not that that kept
+me silent: it was the fear that this sudden cessation of pain was not so
+favourable a symptom as he supposed.  I immediately sent for the doctor:
+we are now anxiously awaiting him.  I will tell you what he says.  There
+is still the same freedom from pain, the same deadness to all sensation
+where the suffering was most acute.
+
+My worst fears are realised: mortification has commenced.  The doctor has
+told him there is no hope.  No words can describe his anguish.  I can
+write no more.
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+The next was still more distressing in the tenor of its contents.  The
+sufferer was fast approaching dissolution—dragged almost to the verge of
+that awful chasm he trembled to contemplate, from which no agony of
+prayers or tears could save him.  Nothing could comfort him now;
+Hattersley’s rough attempts at consolation were utterly in vain.  The
+world was nothing to him: life and all its interests, its petty cares and
+transient pleasures, were a cruel mockery.  To talk of the past was to
+torture him with vain remorse; to refer to the future was to increase his
+anguish; and yet to be silent was to leave him a prey to his own regrets
+and apprehensions.  Often he dwelt with shuddering minuteness on the fate
+of his perishing clay—the slow, piecemeal dissolution already invading
+his frame: the shroud, the coffin, the dark, lonely grave, and all the
+horrors of corruption.
+
+‘If I try,’ said his afflicted wife, ‘to divert him from these things—to
+raise his thoughts to higher themes, it is no better:—“Worse and worse!”
+he groans.  “If there be really life beyond the tomb, and judgment after
+death, how can I face it?”—I cannot do him any good; he will neither be
+enlightened, nor roused, nor comforted by anything I say; and yet he
+clings to me with unrelenting pertinacity—with a kind of childish
+desperation, as if I could save him from the fate he dreads.  He keeps me
+night and day beside him.  He is holding my left hand now, while I write;
+he has held it thus for hours: sometimes quietly, with his pale face
+upturned to mine: sometimes clutching my arm with violence—the big drops
+starting from his forehead at the thoughts of what he sees, or thinks he
+sees, before him.  If I withdraw my hand for a moment it distresses him.
+
+‘“Stay with me, Helen,” he says; “let me hold you so: it seems as if harm
+could not reach me while you are here.  But death will come—it is coming
+now—fast, fast!—and—oh, if I could believe there was nothing after!”
+
+‘“Don’t try to believe it, Arthur; there is joy and glory after, if you
+will but try to reach it!”
+
+‘“What, for me?” he said, with something like a laugh.  “Are we not to be
+judged according to the deeds done in the body?  Where’s the use of a
+probationary existence, if a man may spend it as he pleases, just
+contrary to God’s decrees, and then go to heaven with the best—if the
+vilest sinner may win the reward of the holiest saint, by merely saying,
+“I repent!””’
+
+‘“But if you sincerely repent—”
+
+‘“I can’t repent; I only fear.”
+
+‘“You only regret the past for its consequences to yourself?”
+
+‘“Just so—except that I’m sorry to have wronged you, Nell, because you’re
+so good to me.”
+
+‘“Think of the goodness of God, and you cannot but be grieved to have
+offended Him.”
+
+‘“What is God?—I cannot see Him or hear Him.—God is only an idea.”
+
+‘“God is Infinite Wisdom, and Power, and Goodness—and LOVE; but if this
+idea is too vast for your human faculties—if your mind loses itself in
+its overwhelming infinitude, fix it on Him who condescended to take our
+nature upon Him, who was raised to heaven even in His glorified human
+body, in whom the fulness of the Godhead shines.”
+
+‘But he only shook his head and sighed.  Then, in another paroxysm of
+shuddering horror, he tightened his grasp on my hand and arm, and,
+groaning and lamenting, still clung to me with that wild, desperate
+earnestness so harrowing to my soul, because I know I cannot help him.  I
+did my best to soothe and comfort him.
+
+‘“Death is so terrible,” he cried, “I cannot bear it!  You don’t know,
+Helen—you can’t imagine what it is, because you haven’t it before you!
+and when I’m buried, you’ll return to your old ways and be as happy as
+ever, and all the world will go on just as busy and merry as if I had
+never been; while I—”  He burst into tears.
+
+‘“You needn’t let that distress you,” I said; “we shall all follow you
+soon enough.”
+
+‘“I wish to God I could take you with me now!” he exclaimed: “you should
+plead for me.”
+
+‘“No man can deliver his brother, nor make agreement unto God for him,” I
+replied: “it cost more to redeem their souls—it cost the blood of an
+incarnate God, perfect and sinless in Himself, to redeem us from the
+bondage of the evil one:—let Him plead for you.”
+
+‘But I seem to speak in vain.  He does not now, as formerly, laugh these
+blessed truths to scorn: but still he cannot trust, or will not
+comprehend them.  He cannot linger long.  He suffers dreadfully, and so
+do those that wait upon him.  But I will not harass you with further
+details: I have said enough, I think, to convince you that I did well to
+go to him.’
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+Poor, poor Helen! dreadful indeed her trials must have been!  And I could
+do nothing to lessen them—nay, it almost seemed as if I had brought them
+upon her myself by my own secret desires; and whether I looked at her
+husband’s sufferings or her own, it seemed almost like a judgment upon
+myself for having cherished such a wish.
+
+The next day but one there came another letter.  That too was put into my
+hands without a remark, and these are its contents:—
+
+                                                                 Dec. 5th.
+
+He is gone at last.  I sat beside him all night, with my hand fast locked
+in his, watching the changes of his features and listening to his failing
+breath.  He had been silent a long time, and I thought he would never
+speak again, when he murmured, faintly but distinctly,—‘Pray for me,
+Helen!’
+
+‘I do pray for you, every hour and every minute, Arthur; but you must
+pray for yourself.’
+
+His lips moved, but emitted no sound;—then his looks became unsettled;
+and, from the incoherent, half-uttered words that escaped him from time
+to time, supposing him to be now unconscious, I gently disengaged my hand
+from his, intending to steal away for a breath of air, for I was almost
+ready to faint; but a convulsive movement of the fingers, and a faintly
+whispered ‘Don’t leave me!’ immediately recalled me: I took his hand
+again, and held it till he was no more—and then I fainted.  It was not
+grief; it was exhaustion, that, till then, I had been enabled
+successfully to combat.  Oh, Frederick! none can imagine the miseries,
+bodily and mental, of that death-bed!  How could I endure to think that
+that poor trembling soul was hurried away to everlasting torment? it
+would drive me mad.  But, thank God, I have hope—not only from a vague
+dependence on the possibility that penitence and pardon might have
+reached him at the last, but from the blessed confidence that, through
+whatever purging fires the erring spirit may be doomed to pass—whatever
+fate awaits it—still it is not lost, and God, who hateth nothing that He
+hath made, will bless it in the end!
+
+His body will be consigned on Thursday to that dark grave he so much
+dreaded; but the coffin must be closed as soon as possible.  If you will
+attend the funeral, come quickly, for I need help.
+
+                                                         HELEN HUNTINGDON.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER L
+
+
+On reading this I had no reason to disguise my joy and hope from
+Frederick Lawrence, for I had none to be ashamed of.  I felt no joy but
+that his sister was at length released from her afflictive, overwhelming
+toil—no hope but that she would in time recover from the effects of it,
+and be suffered to rest in peace and quietness, at least, for the
+remainder of her life.  I experienced a painful commiseration for her
+unhappy husband (though fully aware that he had brought every particle of
+his sufferings upon himself, and but too well deserved them all), and a
+profound sympathy for her own afflictions, and deep anxiety for the
+consequences of those harassing cares, those dreadful vigils, that
+incessant and deleterious confinement beside a living corpse—for I was
+persuaded she had not hinted half the sufferings she had had to endure.
+
+‘You will go to her, Lawrence?’ said I, as I put the letter into his
+hand.
+
+‘Yes, immediately.’
+
+‘That’s right!  I’ll leave you, then, to prepare for your departure.’
+
+‘I’ve done that already, while you were reading the letter, and before
+you came; and the carriage is now coming round to the door.’
+
+Inly approving his promptitude, I bade him good-morning, and withdrew.
+He gave me a searching glance as we pressed each other’s hands at
+parting; but whatever he sought in my countenance, he saw there nothing
+but the most becoming gravity—it might be mingled with a little sternness
+in momentary resentment at what I suspected to be passing in his mind.
+
+Had I forgotten my own prospects, my ardent love, my pertinacious hopes?
+It seemed like sacrilege to revert to them now, but I had not forgotten
+them.  It was, however, with a gloomy sense of the darkness of those
+prospects, the fallacy of those hopes, and the vanity of that affection,
+that I reflected on those things as I remounted my horse and slowly
+journeyed homewards.  Mrs. Huntingdon was free now; it was no longer a
+crime to think of her—but did she ever think of me?  Not now—of course it
+was not to be expected—but would she when this shock was over?  In all
+the course of her correspondence with her brother (our mutual friend, as
+she herself had called him) she had never mentioned me but once—and that
+was from necessity.  This alone afforded strong presumption that I was
+already forgotten; yet this was not the worst: it might have been her
+sense of duty that had kept her silent: she might be only trying to
+forget; but in addition to this, I had a gloomy conviction that the awful
+realities she had seen and felt, her reconciliation with the man she had
+once loved, his dreadful sufferings and death, must eventually efface
+from her mind all traces of her passing love for me.  She might recover
+from these horrors so far as to be restored to her former health, her
+tranquillity, her cheerfulness even—but never to those feelings which
+would appear to her, henceforth, as a fleeting fancy, a vain, illusive
+dream; especially as there was no one to remind her of my existence—no
+means of assuring her of my fervent constancy, now that we were so far
+apart, and delicacy forbade me to see her or to write to her, for months
+to come at least.  And how could I engage her brother in my behalf? how
+could I break that icy crust of shy reserve?  Perhaps he would disapprove
+of my attachment now as highly as before; perhaps he would think me too
+poor—too lowly born, to match with his sister.  Yes, there was another
+barrier: doubtless there was a wide distinction between the rank and
+circumstances of Mrs. Huntingdon, the lady of Grassdale Manor, and those
+of Mrs. Graham, the artist, the tenant of Wildfell Hall.  And it might be
+deemed presumption in me to offer my hand to the former, by the world, by
+her friends, if not by herself; a penalty I might brave, if I were
+certain she loved me; but otherwise, how could I?  And, finally, her
+deceased husband, with his usual selfishness, might have so constructed
+his will as to place restrictions upon her marrying again.  So that you
+see I had reasons enough for despair if I chose to indulge it.
+
+Nevertheless, it was with no small degree of impatience that I looked
+forward to Mr. Lawrence’s return from Grassdale: impatience that
+increased in proportion as his absence was prolonged.  He stayed away
+some ten or twelve days.  All very right that he should remain to comfort
+and help his sister, but he might have written to tell me how she was, or
+at least to tell me when to expect his return; for he might have known I
+was suffering tortures of anxiety for her, and uncertainty for my own
+future prospects.  And when he did return, all he told me about her was,
+that she had been greatly exhausted and worn by her unremitting exertions
+in behalf of that man who had been the scourge of her life, and had
+dragged her with him nearly to the portals of the grave, and was still
+much shaken and depressed by his melancholy end and the circumstances
+attendant upon it; but no word in reference to me; no intimation that my
+name had ever passed her lips, or even been spoken in her presence.  To
+be sure, I asked no questions on the subject; I could not bring my mind
+to do so, believing, as I did, that Lawrence was indeed averse to the
+idea of my union with his sister.
+
+I saw that he expected to be further questioned concerning his visit, and
+I saw too, with the keen perception of awakened jealousy, or alarmed
+self-esteem, or by whatever name I ought to call it, that he rather
+shrank from that impending scrutiny, and was no less pleased than
+surprised to find it did not come.  Of course, I was burning with anger,
+but pride obliged me to suppress my feelings, and preserve a smooth face,
+or at least a stoic calmness, throughout the interview.  It was well it
+did, for, reviewing the matter in my sober judgment, I must say it would
+have been highly absurd and improper to have quarrelled with him on such
+an occasion.  I must confess, too, that I wronged him in my heart: the
+truth was, he liked me very well, but he was fully aware that a union
+between Mrs. Huntingdon and me would be what the world calls a
+mesalliance; and it was not in his nature to set the world at defiance;
+especially in such a case as this, for its dread laugh, or ill opinion,
+would be far more terrible to him directed against his sister than
+himself.  Had he believed that a union was necessary to the happiness of
+both, or of either, or had he known how fervently I loved her, he would
+have acted differently; but seeing me so calm and cool, he would not for
+the world disturb my philosophy; and though refraining entirely from any
+active opposition to the match, he would yet do nothing to bring it
+about, and would much rather take the part of prudence, in aiding us to
+overcome our mutual predilections, than that of feeling, to encourage
+them.  ‘And he was in the right of it,’ you will say.  Perhaps he was; at
+any rate, I had no business to feel so bitterly against him as I did; but
+I could not then regard the matter in such a moderate light; and, after a
+brief conversation upon indifferent topics, I went away, suffering all
+the pangs of wounded pride and injured friendship, in addition to those
+resulting from the fear that I was indeed forgotten, and the knowledge
+that she I loved was alone and afflicted, suffering from injured health
+and dejected spirits, and I was forbidden to console or assist her:
+forbidden even to assure her of my sympathy, for the transmission of any
+such message through Mr. Lawrence was now completely out of the question.
+
+But what should I do?  I would wait, and see if she would notice me,
+which of course she would not, unless by some kind message intrusted to
+her brother, that, in all probability, he would not deliver, and then,
+dreadful thought! she would think me cooled and changed for not returning
+it, or, perhaps, he had already given her to understand that I had ceased
+to think of her.  I would wait, however, till the six months after our
+parting were fairly passed (which would be about the close of February),
+and then I would send her a letter, modestly reminding her of her former
+permission to write to her at the close of that period, and hoping I
+might avail myself of it—at least to express my heartfelt sorrow for her
+late afflictions, my just appreciation of her generous conduct, and my
+hope that her health was now completely re-established, and that she
+would, some time, be permitted to enjoy those blessings of a peaceful,
+happy life, which had been denied her so long, but which none could more
+truly be said to merit than herself—adding a few words of kind
+remembrance to my little friend Arthur, with a hope that he had not
+forgotten me, and perhaps a few more in reference to bygone times, to the
+delightful hours I had passed in her society, and my unfading
+recollection of them, which was the salt and solace of my life, and a
+hope that her recent troubles had not entirely banished me from her mind.
+If she did not answer this, of course I should write no more: if she did
+(as surely she would, in some fashion), my future proceedings should be
+regulated by her reply.
+
+Ten weeks was long to wait in such a miserable state of uncertainty; but
+courage! it must be endured! and meantime I would continue to see
+Lawrence now and then, though not so often as before, and I would still
+pursue my habitual inquiries after his sister, if he had lately heard
+from her, and how she was, but nothing more.
+
+I did so, and the answers I received were always provokingly limited to
+the letter of the inquiry: she was much as usual: she made no complaints,
+but the tone of her last letter evinced great depression of mind: she
+said she was better: and, finally, she said she was well, and very busy
+with her son’s education, and with the management of her late husband’s
+property, and the regulation of his affairs.  The rascal had never told
+me how that property was disposed, or whether Mr. Huntingdon had died
+intestate or not; and I would sooner die than ask him, lest he should
+misconstrue into covetousness my desire to know.  He never offered to
+show me his sister’s letters now, and I never hinted a wish to see them.
+February, however, was approaching; December was past; January, at
+length, was almost over—a few more weeks, and then, certain despair or
+renewal of hope would put an end to this long agony of suspense.
+
+But alas! it was just about that time she was called to sustain another
+blow in the death of her uncle—a worthless old fellow enough in himself,
+I daresay, but he had always shown more kindness and affection to her
+than to any other creature, and she had always been accustomed to regard
+him as a parent.  She was with him when he died, and had assisted her
+aunt to nurse him during the last stage of his illness.  Her brother went
+to Staningley to attend the funeral, and told me, upon his return, that
+she was still there, endeavouring to cheer her aunt with her presence,
+and likely to remain some time.  This was bad news for me, for while she
+continued there I could not write to her, as I did not know the address,
+and would not ask it of him.  But week followed week, and every time I
+inquired about her she was still at Staningley.
+
+‘Where is Staningley?’ I asked at last.
+
+‘In —shire,’ was the brief reply; and there was something so cold and dry
+in the manner of it, that I was effectually deterred from requesting a
+more definite account.
+
+‘When will she return to Grassdale?’ was my next question.
+
+‘I don’t know.’
+
+‘Confound it!’ I muttered.
+
+‘Why, Markham?’ asked my companion, with an air of innocent surprise.
+But I did not deign to answer him, save by a look of silent, sullen
+contempt, at which he turned away, and contemplated the carpet with a
+slight smile, half pensive, half amused; but quickly looking up, he began
+to talk of other subjects, trying to draw me into a cheerful and friendly
+conversation, but I was too much irritated to discourse with him, and
+soon took leave.
+
+You see Lawrence and I somehow could not manage to get on very well
+together.  The fact is, I believe, we were both of us a little too
+touchy.  It is a troublesome thing, Halford, this susceptibility to
+affronts where none are intended.  I am no martyr to it now, as you can
+bear me witness: I have learned to be merry and wise, to be more easy
+with myself and more indulgent to my neighbours, and I can afford to
+laugh at both Lawrence and you.
+
+Partly from accident, partly from wilful negligence on my part (for I was
+really beginning to dislike him), several weeks elapsed before I saw my
+friend again.  When we did meet, it was he that sought me out.  One
+bright morning, early in June, he came into the field, where I was just
+commencing my hay harvest.
+
+‘It is long since I saw you, Markham,’ said he, after the first few words
+had passed between us.  ‘Do you never mean to come to Woodford again?’
+
+‘I called once, and you were out.’
+
+‘I was sorry, but that was long since; I hoped you would call again, and
+now I have called, and you were out, which you generally are, or I would
+do myself the pleasure of calling more frequently; but being determined
+to see you this time, I have left my pony in the lane, and come over
+hedge and ditch to join you; for I am about to leave Woodford for a
+while, and may not have the pleasure of seeing you again for a month or
+two.’
+
+‘Where are you going?’
+
+‘To Grassdale first,’ said he, with a half-smile he would willingly have
+suppressed if he could.
+
+‘To Grassdale!  Is she there, then?’
+
+‘Yes, but in a day or two she will leave it to accompany Mrs. Maxwell to
+F— for the benefit of the sea air, and I shall go with them.’  (F— was at
+that time a quiet but respectable watering-place: it is considerably more
+frequented now.)
+
+Lawrence seemed to expect me to take advantage of this circumstance to
+entrust him with some sort of a message to his sister; and I believe he
+would have undertaken to deliver it without any material objections, if I
+had had the sense to ask him, though of course he would not offer to do
+so, if I was content to let it alone.  But I could not bring myself to
+make the request, and it was not till after he was gone, that I saw how
+fair an opportunity I had lost; and then, indeed, I deeply regretted my
+stupidity and my foolish pride, but it was now too late to remedy the
+evil.
+
+He did not return till towards the latter end of August.  He wrote to me
+twice or thrice from F—, but his letters were most provokingly
+unsatisfactory, dealing in generalities or in trifles that I cared
+nothing about, or replete with fancies and reflections equally unwelcome
+to me at the time, saying next to nothing about his sister, and little
+more about himself.  I would wait, however, till he came back; perhaps I
+could get something more out of him then.  At all events, I would not
+write to her now, while she was with him and her aunt, who doubtless
+would be still more hostile to my presumptuous aspirations than himself.
+When she was returned to the silence and solitude of her own home, it
+would be my fittest opportunity.
+
+When Lawrence came, however, he was as reserved as ever on the subject of
+my keen anxiety.  He told me that his sister had derived considerable
+benefit from her stay at F— that her son was quite well, and—alas! that
+both of them were gone, with Mrs. Maxwell, back to Staningley, and there
+they stayed at least three months.  But instead of boring you with my
+chagrin, my expectations and disappointments, my fluctuations of dull
+despondency and flickering hope, my varying resolutions, now to drop it,
+and now to persevere—now to make a bold push, and now to let things pass
+and patiently abide my time,—I will employ myself in settling the
+business of one or two of the characters introduced in the course of this
+narrative, whom I may not have occasion to mention again.
+
+Some time before Mr. Huntingdon’s death Lady Lowborough eloped with
+another gallant to the Continent, where, having lived a while in reckless
+gaiety and dissipation, they quarrelled and parted.  She went dashing on
+for a season, but years came and money went: she sunk, at length, in
+difficulty and debt, disgrace and misery; and died at last, as I have
+heard, in penury, neglect, and utter wretchedness.  But this might be
+only a report: she may be living yet for anything I or any of her
+relatives or former acquaintances can tell; for they have all lost sight
+of her long years ago, and would as thoroughly forget her if they could.
+Her husband, however, upon this second misdemeanour, immediately sought
+and obtained a divorce, and, not long after, married again.  It was well
+he did, for Lord Lowborough, morose and moody as he seemed, was not the
+man for a bachelor’s life.  No public interests, no ambitious projects,
+or active pursuits,—or ties of friendship even (if he had had any
+friends), could compensate to him for the absence of domestic comforts
+and endearments.  He had a son and a nominal daughter, it is true, but
+they too painfully reminded him of their mother, and the unfortunate
+little Annabella was a source of perpetual bitterness to his soul.  He
+had obliged himself to treat her with paternal kindness: he had forced
+himself not to hate her, and even, perhaps, to feel some degree of kindly
+regard for her, at last, in return for her artless and unsuspecting
+attachment to himself; but the bitterness of his self-condemnation for
+his inward feelings towards that innocent being, his constant struggles
+to subdue the evil promptings of his nature (for it was not a generous
+one), though partly guessed at by those who knew him, could be known to
+God and his own heart alone;—so also was the hardness of his conflicts
+with the temptation to return to the vice of his youth, and seek oblivion
+for past calamities, and deadness to the present misery of a blighted
+heart a joyless, friendless life, and a morbidly disconsolate mind, by
+yielding again to that insidious foe to health, and sense, and virtue,
+which had so deplorably enslaved and degraded him before.
+
+The second object of his choice was widely different from the first.
+Some wondered at his taste; some even ridiculed it—but in this their
+folly was more apparent than his.  The lady was about his own age—_i.e._,
+between thirty and forty—remarkable neither for beauty, nor wealth, nor
+brilliant accomplishments; nor any other thing that I ever heard of,
+except genuine good sense, unswerving integrity, active piety,
+warm-hearted benevolence, and a fund of cheerful spirits.  These
+qualities, however, as you may readily imagine, combined to render her an
+excellent mother to the children, and an invaluable wife to his lordship.
+He, with his usual self-depreciation, thought her a world too good for
+him, and while he wondered at the kindness of Providence in conferring
+such a gift upon him, and even at her taste in preferring him to other
+men, he did his best to reciprocate the good she did him, and so far
+succeeded that she was, and I believe still is, one of the happiest and
+fondest wives in England; and all who question the good taste of either
+partner may be thankful if their respective selections afford them half
+the genuine satisfaction in the end, or repay their preference with
+affection half as lasting and sincere.
+
+If you are at all interested in the fate of that low scoundrel, Grimsby,
+I can only tell you that he went from bad to worse, sinking from bathos
+to bathos of vice and villainy, consorting only with the worst members of
+his club and the lowest dregs of society—happily for the rest of the
+world—and at last met his end in a drunken brawl, from the hands, it is
+said, of some brother scoundrel he had cheated at play.
+
+As for Mr. Hattersley, he had never wholly forgotten his resolution to
+‘come out from among them,’ and behave like a man and a Christian, and
+the last illness and death of his once jolly friend Huntingdon so deeply
+and seriously impressed him with the evil of their former practices, that
+he never needed another lesson of the kind.  Avoiding the temptations of
+the town, he continued to pass his life in the country, immersed in the
+usual pursuits of a hearty, active, country gentleman; his occupations
+being those of farming, and breeding horses and cattle, diversified with
+a little hunting and shooting, and enlivened by the occasional
+companionship of his friends (better friends than those of his youth),
+and the society of his happy little wife (now cheerful and confiding as
+heart could wish), and his fine family of stalwart sons and blooming
+daughters.  His father, the banker, having died some years ago and left
+him all his riches, he has now full scope for the exercise of his
+prevailing tastes, and I need not tell you that Ralph Hattersley, Esq.,
+is celebrated throughout the country for his noble breed of horses.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LI
+
+
+We will now turn to a certain still, cold, cloudy afternoon about the
+commencement of December, when the first fall of snow lay thinly
+scattered over the blighted fields and frozen roads, or stored more
+thickly in the hollows of the deep cart-ruts and footsteps of men and
+horses impressed in the now petrified mire of last month’s drenching
+rains.  I remember it well, for I was walking home from the vicarage with
+no less remarkable a personage than Miss Eliza Millward by my side.  I
+had been to call upon her father,—a sacrifice to civility undertaken
+entirely to please my mother, not myself, for I hated to go near the
+house; not merely on account of my antipathy to the once so bewitching
+Eliza, but because I had not half forgiven the old gentleman himself for
+his ill opinion of Mrs. Huntingdon; for though now constrained to
+acknowledge himself mistaken in his former judgment, he still maintained
+that she had done wrong to leave her husband; it was a violation of her
+sacred duties as a wife, and a tempting of Providence by laying herself
+open to temptation; and nothing short of bodily ill-usage (and that of no
+trifling nature) could excuse such a step—nor even that, for in such a
+case she ought to appeal to the laws for protection.  But it was not of
+him I intended to speak; it was of his daughter Eliza.  Just as I was
+taking leave of the vicar, she entered the room, ready equipped for a
+walk.
+
+‘I was just coming to see, your sister, Mr. Markham,’ said she; ‘and so,
+if you have no objection, I’ll accompany you home.  I like company when
+I’m walking out—don’t you?’
+
+‘Yes, when it’s agreeable.’
+
+‘That of course,’ rejoined the young lady, smiling archly.
+
+So we proceeded together.
+
+‘Shall I find Rose at home, do you think?’ said she, as we closed the
+garden gate, and set our faces towards Linden-Car.
+
+‘I believe so.’
+
+‘I trust I shall, for I’ve a little bit of news for her—if you haven’t
+forestalled me.’
+
+‘I?’
+
+‘Yes: do you know what Mr. Lawrence is gone for?’  She looked up
+anxiously for my reply.
+
+‘Is he gone?’ said I; and her face brightened.
+
+‘Ah! then he hasn’t told you about his sister?’
+
+‘What of her?’ I demanded in terror, lest some evil should have befallen
+her.
+
+‘Oh, Mr. Markham, how you blush!’ cried she, with a tormenting laugh.
+‘Ha, ha, you have not forgotten her yet.  But you had better be quick
+about it, I can tell you, for—alas, alas!—she’s going to be married next
+Thursday!’
+
+‘No, Miss Eliza, that’s false.’
+
+‘Do you charge me with a falsehood, sir?’
+
+‘You are misinformed.’
+
+‘Am I?  Do you know better, then?’
+
+‘I think I do.’
+
+‘What makes you look so pale then?’ said she, smiling with delight at my
+emotion.  ‘Is it anger at poor me for telling such a fib?  Well, I only
+“tell the tale as ’twas told to me:” I don’t vouch for the truth of it;
+but at the same time, I don’t see what reason Sarah should have for
+deceiving me, or her informant for deceiving her; and that was what she
+told me the footman told her:—that Mrs. Huntingdon was going to be
+married on Thursday, and Mr. Lawrence was gone to the wedding.  She did
+tell me the name of the gentleman, but I’ve forgotten that.  Perhaps you
+can assist me to remember it.  Is there not some one that lives near—or
+frequently visits the neighbourhood, that has long been attached to
+her?—a Mr.—oh, dear! Mr.—’
+
+‘Hargrave?’ suggested I, with a bitter smile.
+
+‘You’re right,’ cried she; ‘that was the very name.’
+
+‘Impossible, Miss Eliza!’ I exclaimed, in a tone that made her start.
+
+‘Well, you know, that’s what they told me,’ said she, composedly staring
+me in the face.  And then she broke out into a long shrill laugh that put
+me to my wit’s end with fury.
+
+‘Really you must excuse me,’ cried she.  ‘I know it’s very rude, but ha,
+ha, ha!—did you think to marry her yourself?  Dear, dear, what a
+pity!—ha, ha, ha!  Gracious, Mr. Markham, are you going to faint?  Oh,
+mercy! shall I call this man?  Here, Jacob—‘  But checking the word on
+her lips, I seized her arm and gave it, I think, a pretty severe squeeze,
+for she shrank into herself with a faint cry of pain or terror; but the
+spirit within her was not subdued: instantly rallying, she continued,
+with well-feigned concern, ‘What can I do for you?  Will you have some
+water—some brandy?  I daresay they have some in the public-house down
+there, if you’ll let me run.’
+
+‘Have done with this nonsense!’ cried I, sternly.  She looked
+confounded—almost frightened again, for a moment.  ‘You know I hate such
+jests,’ I continued.
+
+‘Jests indeed!  I wasn’t jesting!’
+
+‘You were laughing, at all events; and I don’t like to be laughed at,’
+returned I, making violent efforts to speak with proper dignity and
+composure, and to say nothing but what was coherent and sensible.  ‘And
+since you are in such a merry mood, Miss Eliza, you must be good enough
+company for yourself; and therefore I shall leave you to finish your walk
+alone—for, now I think of it, I have business elsewhere; so
+good-evening.’
+
+With that I left her (smothering her malicious laughter) and turned aside
+into the fields, springing up the bank, and pushing through the nearest
+gap in the hedge.  Determined at once to prove the truth—or rather the
+falsehood—of her story, I hastened to Woodford as fast as my legs could
+carry me; first veering round by a circuitous course, but the moment I
+was out of sight of my fair tormentor cutting away across the country,
+just as a bird might fly, over pasture-land, and fallow, and stubble, and
+lane, clearing hedges and ditches and hurdles, till I came to the young
+squire’s gates.  Never till now had I known the full fervour of my
+love—the full strength of my hopes, not wholly crushed even in my hours
+of deepest despondency, always tenaciously clinging to the thought that
+one day she might be mine, or, if not that, at least that something of my
+memory, some slight remembrance of our friendship and our love, would be
+for ever cherished in her heart.  I marched up to the door, determined,
+if I saw the master, to question him boldly concerning his sister, to
+wait and hesitate no longer, but cast false delicacy and stupid pride
+behind my back, and know my fate at once.
+
+‘Is Mr. Lawrence at home?’ I eagerly asked of the servant that opened the
+door.
+
+‘No, sir, master went yesterday,’ replied he, looking very alert.
+
+‘Went where?’
+
+‘To Grassdale, sir—wasn’t you aware, sir?  He’s very close, is master,’
+said the fellow, with a foolish, simpering grin.  ‘I suppose, sir—’
+
+But I turned and left him, without waiting to hear what he supposed.  I
+was not going to stand there to expose my tortured feelings to the
+insolent laughter and impertinent curiosity of a fellow like that.
+
+But what was to be done now?  Could it be possible that she had left me
+for that man?  I could not believe it.  Me she might forsake, but not to
+give herself to him!  Well, I would know the truth; to no concerns of
+daily life could I attend while this tempest of doubt and dread, of
+jealousy and rage, distracted me.  I would take the morning coach from L—
+(the evening one would be already gone), and fly to Grassdale—I must be
+there before the marriage.  And why?  Because a thought struck me that
+perhaps I might prevent it—that if I did not, she and I might both lament
+it to the latest moment of our lives.  It struck me that someone might
+have belied me to her: perhaps her brother; yes, no doubt her brother had
+persuaded her that I was false and faithless, and taking advantage of her
+natural indignation, and perhaps her desponding carelessness about her
+future life, had urged her, artfully, cruelly, on to this other marriage,
+in order to secure her from me.  If this was the case, and if she should
+only discover her mistake when too late to repair it—to what a life of
+misery and vain regret might she be doomed as well as me; and what
+remorse for me to think my foolish scruples had induced it all!  Oh, I
+must see her—she must know my truth even if I told it at the church door!
+I might pass for a madman or an impertinent fool—even she might be
+offended at such an interruption, or at least might tell me it was now
+too late.  But if I could save her, if she might be mine!—it was too
+rapturous a thought!
+
+Winged by this hope, and goaded by these fears, I hurried homewards to
+prepare for my departure on the morrow.  I told my mother that urgent
+business which admitted no delay, but which I could not then explain,
+called me away.
+
+My deep anxiety and serious preoccupation could not be concealed from her
+maternal eyes; and I had much ado to calm her apprehensions of some
+disastrous mystery.
+
+That night there came a heavy fall of snow, which so retarded the
+progress of the coaches on the following day that I was almost driven to
+distraction.  I travelled all night, of course, for this was Wednesday:
+to-morrow morning, doubtless, the marriage would take place.  But the
+night was long and dark: the snow heavily clogged the wheels and balled
+the horses’ feet; the animals were consumedly lazy; the coachman most
+execrably cautious; the passengers confoundedly apathetic in their supine
+indifference to the rate of our progression.  Instead of assisting me to
+bully the several coachmen and urge them forward, they merely stared and
+grinned at my impatience: one fellow even ventured to rally me upon
+it—but I silenced him with a look that quelled him for the rest of the
+journey; and when, at the last stage, I would have taken the reins into
+my own hand, they all with one accord opposed it.
+
+It was broad daylight when we entered M— and drew up at the ‘Rose and
+Crown.’  I alighted and called aloud for a post-chaise to Grassdale.
+There was none to be had: the only one in the town was under repair.  ‘A
+gig, then—a fly—car—anything—only be quick!’  There was a gig, but not a
+horse to spare.  I sent into the town to seek one: but they were such an
+intolerable time about it that I could wait no longer—I thought my own
+feet could carry me sooner; and bidding them send the conveyance after
+me, if it were ready within an hour, I set off as fast as I could walk.
+The distance was little more than six miles, but the road was strange,
+and I had to keep stopping to inquire my way; hallooing to carters and
+clodhoppers, and frequently invading the cottages, for there were few
+abroad that winter’s morning; sometimes knocking up the lazy people from
+their beds, for where so little work was to be done, perhaps so little
+food and fire to be had, they cared not to curtail their slumbers.  I had
+no time to think of them, however; aching with weariness and desperation,
+I hurried on.  The gig did not overtake me: and it was well I had not
+waited for it; vexatious rather, that I had been fool enough to wait so
+long.
+
+At length, however, I entered the neighbourhood of Grassdale.  I
+approached the little rural church—but lo! there stood a train of
+carriages before it; it needed not the white favours bedecking the
+servants and horses, nor the merry voices of the village idlers assembled
+to witness the show, to apprise me that there was a wedding within.  I
+ran in among them, demanding, with breathless eagerness, had the ceremony
+long commenced?  They only gaped and stared.  In my desperation, I pushed
+past them, and was about to enter the churchyard gate, when a group of
+ragged urchins, that had been hanging like bees to the window, suddenly
+dropped off and made a rush for the porch, vociferating in the uncouth
+dialect of their country something which signified, ‘It’s over—they’re
+coming out!’
+
+If Eliza Millward had seen me then she might indeed have been delighted.
+I grasped the gate-post for support, and stood intently gazing towards
+the door to take my last look on my soul’s delight, my first on that
+detested mortal who had torn her from my heart, and doomed her, I was
+certain, to a life of misery and hollow, vain repining—for what happiness
+could she enjoy with him?  I did not wish to shock her with my presence
+now, but I had not power to move away.  Forth came the bride and
+bridegroom.  Him I saw not; I had eyes for none but her.  A long veil
+shrouded half her graceful form, but did not hide it; I could see that
+while she carried her head erect, her eyes were bent upon the ground, and
+her face and neck were suffused with a crimson blush; but every feature
+was radiant with smiles, and gleaming through the misty whiteness of her
+veil were clusters of golden ringlets!  Oh, heavens! it was not my Helen!
+The first glimpse made me start—but my eyes were darkened with exhaustion
+and despair.  Dare I trust them?  ‘Yes—it is not she!  It was a younger,
+slighter, rosier beauty—lovely indeed, but with far less dignity and
+depth of soul—without that indefinable grace, that keenly spiritual yet
+gentle charm, that ineffable power to attract and subjugate the heart—my
+heart at least.  I looked at the bridegroom—it was Frederick Lawrence!  I
+wiped away the cold drops that were trickling down my forehead, and
+stepped back as he approached; but, his eyes fell upon me, and he knew
+me, altered as my appearance must have been.
+
+‘Is that you, Markham?’ said he, startled and confounded at the
+apparition—perhaps, too, at the wildness of my looks.
+
+‘Yes, Lawrence; is that you?’ I mustered the presence of mind to reply.
+
+He smiled and coloured, as if half-proud and half-ashamed of his
+identity; and if he had reason to be proud of the sweet lady on his arm,
+he had no less cause to be ashamed of having concealed his good fortune
+so long.
+
+‘Allow me to introduce you to my bride,’ said he, endeavouring to hide
+his embarrassment by an assumption of careless gaiety.  ‘Esther, this is
+Mr. Markham; my friend Markham, Mrs. Lawrence, late Miss Hargrave.’
+
+I bowed to the bride, and vehemently wrung the bridegroom’s hand.
+
+‘Why did you not tell me of this?’ I said, reproachfully, pretending a
+resentment I did not feel (for in truth I was almost wild with joy to
+find myself so happily mistaken, and overflowing with affection to him
+for this and for the base injustice I felt that I had done him in my
+mind—he might have wronged me, but not to that extent; and as I had hated
+him like a demon for the last forty hours, the reaction from such a
+feeling was so great that I could pardon all offences for the moment—and
+love him in spite of them too).
+
+‘I did tell you,’ said he, with an air of guilty confusion; ‘you received
+my letter?’
+
+‘What letter?’
+
+‘The one announcing my intended marriage.’
+
+‘I never received the most distant hint of such an intention.’
+
+‘It must have crossed you on your way then—it should have reached you
+yesterday morning—it was rather late, I acknowledge.  But what brought
+you here, then, if you received no information?’
+
+It was now my turn to be confounded; but the young lady, who had been
+busily patting the snow with her foot during our short sotto-voce
+colloquy, very opportunely came to my assistance by pinching her
+companion’s arm and whispering a suggestion that his friend should be
+invited to step into the carriage and go with them; it being scarcely
+agreeable to stand there among so many gazers, and keeping their friends
+waiting into the bargain.
+
+‘And so cold as it is too!’ said he, glancing with dismay at her slight
+drapery, and immediately handing her into the carriage.  ‘Markham, will
+you come?  We are going to Paris, but we can drop you anywhere between
+this and Dover.’
+
+‘No, thank you.  Good-by—I needn’t wish you a pleasant journey; but I
+shall expect a very handsome apology, some time, mind, and scores of
+letters, before we meet again.’
+
+He shook my hand, and hastened to take his place beside his lady.  This
+was no time or place for explanation or discourse: we had already stood
+long enough to excite the wonder of the village sight-seers, and perhaps
+the wrath of the attendant bridal party; though, of course, all this
+passed in a much shorter time than I have taken to relate, or even than
+you will take to read it.  I stood beside the carriage, and, the window
+being down, I saw my happy friend fondly encircle his companion’s waist
+with his arm, while she rested her glowing cheek on his shoulder, looking
+the very impersonation of loving, trusting bliss.  In the interval
+between the footman’s closing the door and taking his place behind she
+raised her smiling brown eyes to his face, observing, playfully,—‘I fear
+you must think me very insensible, Frederick: I know it is the custom for
+ladies to cry on these occasions, but I couldn’t squeeze a tear for my
+life.’
+
+He only answered with a kiss, and pressed her still closer to his bosom.
+
+‘But what is this?’ he murmured.  ‘Why, Esther, you’re crying now!’
+
+‘Oh, it’s nothing—it’s only too much happiness—and the wish,’ sobbed she,
+‘that our dear Helen were as happy as ourselves.’
+
+‘Bless you for that wish!’ I inwardly responded, as the carriage rolled
+away—‘and heaven grant it be not wholly vain!’
+
+I thought a cloud had suddenly darkened her husband’s face as she spoke.
+What did he think?  Could he grudge such happiness to his dear sister and
+his friend as he now felt himself?  At such a moment it was impossible.
+The contrast between her fate and his must darken his bliss for a time.
+Perhaps, too, he thought of me: perhaps he regretted the part he had had
+in preventing our union, by omitting to help us, if not by actually
+plotting against us.  I exonerated him from that charge now, and deeply
+lamented my former ungenerous suspicions; but he had wronged us, still—I
+hoped, I trusted that he had.  He had not attempted to cheek the course
+of our love by actually damming up the streams in their passage, but he
+had passively watched the two currents wandering through life’s arid
+wilderness, declining to clear away the obstructions that divided them,
+and secretly hoping that both would lose themselves in the sand before
+they could be joined in one.  And meantime he had been quietly proceeding
+with his own affairs; perhaps, his heart and head had been so full of his
+fair lady that he had had but little thought to spare for others.
+Doubtless he had made his first acquaintance with her—his first intimate
+acquaintance at least—during his three months’ sojourn at F—, for I now
+recollected that he had once casually let fall an intimation that his
+aunt and sister had a young friend staying with them at the time, and
+this accounted for at least one-half his silence about all transactions
+there.  Now, too, I saw a reason for many little things that had slightly
+puzzled me before; among the rest, for sundry departures from Woodford,
+and absences more or less prolonged, for which he never satisfactorily
+accounted, and concerning which he hated to be questioned on his return.
+Well might the servant say his master was ‘very close.’  But why this
+strange reserve to me?  Partly, from that remarkable idiosyncrasy to
+which I have before alluded; partly, perhaps, from tenderness to my
+feelings, or fear to disturb my philosophy by touching upon the
+infectious theme of love.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LII
+
+
+The tardy gig had overtaken me at last.  I entered it, and bade the man
+who brought it drive to Grassdale Manor—I was too busy with my own
+thoughts to care to drive it myself.  I would see Mrs. Huntingdon—there
+could be no impropriety in that now that her husband had been dead above
+a year—and by her indifference or her joy at my unexpected arrival I
+could soon tell whether her heart was truly mine.  But my companion, a
+loquacious, forward fellow, was not disposed to leave me to the
+indulgence of my private cogitations.
+
+‘There they go!’ said he, as the carriages filed away before us.
+‘There’ll be brave doings on yonder to-day, as what come to-morra.—Know
+anything of that family, sir? or you’re a stranger in these parts?’
+
+‘I know them by report.’
+
+‘Humph!  There’s the best of ’em gone, anyhow.  And I suppose the old
+missis is agoing to leave after this stir’s gotten overed, and take
+herself off, somewhere, to live on her bit of a jointure; and the young
+’un—at least the new ’un (she’s none so very young)—is coming down to
+live at the Grove.’
+
+‘Is Mr. Hargrave married, then?’
+
+‘Ay, sir, a few months since.  He should a been wed afore, to a widow
+lady, but they couldn’t agree over the money: she’d a rare long purse,
+and Mr. Hargrave wanted it all to hisself; but she wouldn’t let it go,
+and so then they fell out.  This one isn’t quite as rich, nor as handsome
+either, but she hasn’t been married before.  She’s very plain, they say,
+and getting on to forty or past, and so, you know, if she didn’t jump at
+this hopportunity, she thought she’d never get a better.  I guess she
+thought such a handsome young husband was worth all ‘at ever she had, and
+he might take it and welcome, but I lay she’ll rue her bargain afore
+long.  They say she begins already to see ‘at he isn’t not altogether
+that nice, generous, perlite, delightful gentleman ‘at she thought him
+afore marriage—he begins a being careless and masterful already.  Ay, and
+she’ll find him harder and carelesser nor she thinks on.’
+
+‘You seem to be well acquainted with him,’ I observed.
+
+‘I am, sir; I’ve known him since he was quite a young gentleman; and a
+proud ’un he was, and a wilful.  I was servant yonder for several years;
+but I couldn’t stand their niggardly ways—she got ever longer and worse,
+did missis, with her nipping and screwing, and watching and grudging; so
+I thought I’d find another place.’
+
+‘Are we not near the house?’ said I, interrupting him.
+
+‘Yes, sir; yond’s the park.’
+
+My heart sank within me to behold that stately mansion in the midst of
+its expansive grounds.  The park as beautiful now, in its wintry garb, as
+it could be in its summer glory: the majestic sweep, the undulating swell
+and fall, displayed to full advantage in that robe of dazzling purity,
+stainless and printless—save one long, winding track left by the trooping
+deer—the stately timber-trees with their heavy-laden branches gleaming
+white against the dull, grey sky; the deep, encircling woods; the broad
+expanse of water sleeping in frozen quiet; and the weeping ash and willow
+drooping their snow-clad boughs above it—all presented a picture,
+striking indeed, and pleasing to an unencumbered mind, but by no means
+encouraging to me.  There was one comfort, however,—all this was entailed
+upon little Arthur, and could not under any circumstances, strictly
+speaking, be his mother’s.  But how was she situated?  Overcoming with a
+sudden effort my repugnance to mention her name to my garrulous
+companion, I asked him if he knew whether her late husband had left a
+will, and how the property had been disposed of.  Oh, yes, he knew all
+about it; and I was quickly informed that to her had been left the full
+control and management of the estate during her son’s minority, besides
+the absolute, unconditional possession of her own fortune (but I knew
+that her father had not given her much), and the small additional sum
+that had been settled upon her before marriage.
+
+Before the close of the explanation we drew up at the park-gates.  Now
+for the trial.  If I should find her within—but alas! she might be still
+at Staningley: her brother had given me no intimation to the contrary.  I
+inquired at the porter’s lodge if Mrs. Huntingdon were at home.  No, she
+was with her aunt in —shire, but was expected to return before Christmas.
+She usually spent most of her time at Staningley, only coming to
+Grassdale occasionally, when the management of affairs, or the interest
+of her tenants and dependents, required her presence.
+
+‘Near what town is Staningley situated?’ I asked.  The requisite
+information was soon obtained.  ‘Now then, my man, give me the reins, and
+we’ll return to M—.  I must have some breakfast at the “Rose and Crown,”
+and then away to Staningley by the first coach for —.’
+
+At M— I had time before the coach started to replenish my forces with a
+hearty breakfast, and to obtain the refreshment of my usual morning’s
+ablutions, and the amelioration of some slight change in my toilet, and
+also to despatch a short note to my mother (excellent son that I was), to
+assure her that I was still in existence, and to excuse my non-appearance
+at the expected time.  It was a long journey to Staningley for those
+slow-travelling days, but I did not deny myself needful refreshment on
+the road, nor even a night’s rest at a wayside inn, choosing rather to
+brook a little delay than to present myself worn, wild, and
+weather-beaten before my mistress and her aunt, who would be astonished
+enough to see me without that.  Next morning, therefore, I not only
+fortified myself with as substantial a breakfast as my excited feelings
+would allow me to swallow, but I bestowed a little more than usual time
+and care upon my toilet; and, furnished with a change of linen from my
+small carpet-bag, well-brushed clothes, well-polished boots, and neat new
+gloves, I mounted ‘The Lightning,’ and resumed my journey.  I had nearly
+two stages yet before me, but the coach, I was informed, passed through
+the neighbourhood of Staningley, and having desired to be set down as
+near the Hall as possible, I had nothing to do but to sit with folded
+arms and speculate upon the coming hour.
+
+It was a clear, frosty morning.  The very fact of sitting exalted aloft,
+surveying the snowy landscape and sweet sunny sky, inhaling the pure,
+bracing air, and crunching away over the crisp frozen snow, was
+exhilarating enough in itself; but add to this the idea of to what goal I
+was hastening, and whom I expected to meet, and you may have some faint
+conception of my frame of mind at the time—only a faint one, though: for
+my heart swelled with unspeakable delight, and my spirits rose almost to
+madness, in spite of my prudent endeavours to bind them down to a
+reasonable platitude by thinking of the undeniable difference between
+Helen’s rank and mine; of all that she had passed through since our
+parting; of her long, unbroken silence; and, above all, of her cool,
+cautious aunt, whose counsels she would doubtless be careful not to
+slight again.  These considerations made my heart flutter with anxiety,
+and my chest heave with impatience to get the crisis over; but they could
+not dim her image in my mind, or mar the vivid recollection of what had
+been said and felt between us, or destroy the keen anticipation of what
+was to be: in fact, I could not realise their terrors now.  Towards the
+close of the journey, however, a couple of my fellow-passengers kindly
+came to my assistance, and brought me low enough.
+
+‘Fine land this,’ said one of them, pointing with his umbrella to the
+wide fields on the right, conspicuous for their compact hedgerows, deep,
+well-cut ditches, and fine timber-trees, growing sometimes on the
+borders, sometimes in the midst of the enclosure: ‘very fine land, if you
+saw it in the summer or spring.’
+
+‘Ay,’ responded the other, a gruff elderly man, with a drab greatcoat
+buttoned up to the chin, and a cotton umbrella between his knees.  ‘It’s
+old Maxwell’s, I suppose.’
+
+‘It was his, sir; but he’s dead now, you’re aware, and has left it all to
+his niece.’
+
+‘All?’
+
+‘Every rood of it, and the mansion-house and all! every hatom of his
+worldly goods, except just a trifle, by way of remembrance, to his nephew
+down in —shire, and an annuity to his wife.’
+
+‘It’s strange, sir!’
+
+‘It is, sir; and she wasn’t his own niece neither.  But he had no near
+relations of his own—none but a nephew he’d quarrelled with; and he
+always had a partiality for this one.  And then his wife advised him to
+it, they say: she’d brought most of the property, and it was her wish
+that this lady should have it.’
+
+‘Humph!  She’ll be a fine catch for somebody.’
+
+‘She will so.  She’s a widow, but quite young yet, and uncommon handsome:
+a fortune of her own, besides, and only one child, and she’s nursing a
+fine estate for him in —.  There’ll be lots to speak for her! ’fraid
+there’s no chance for uz’—(facetiously jogging me with his elbow, as well
+as his companion)—‘ha, ha, ha!  No offence, sir, I hope?’—(to me).
+‘Ahem!  I should think she’ll marry none but a nobleman myself.  Look ye,
+sir,’ resumed he, turning to his other neighbour, and pointing past me
+with his umbrella, ‘that’s the Hall: grand park, you see, and all them
+woods—plenty of timber there, and lots of game.  Hallo! what now?’
+
+This exclamation was occasioned by the sudden stoppage of the coach at
+the park-gates.
+
+‘Gen’leman for Staningley Hall?’ cried the coachman and I rose and threw
+my carpet-bag on to the ground, preparatory to dropping myself down after
+it.
+
+‘Sickly, sir?’ asked my talkative neighbour, staring me in the face.  I
+daresay it was white enough.
+
+‘No.  Here, coachman!’
+
+‘Thank’ee, sir.—All right!’
+
+The coachman pocketed his fee and drove away, leaving me, not walking up
+the park, but pacing to and fro before its gates, with folded arms, and
+eyes fixed upon the ground, an overwhelming force of images, thoughts,
+impressions crowding on my mind, and nothing tangibly distinct but this:
+My love had been cherished in vain—my hope was gone for ever; I must tear
+myself away at once, and banish or suppress all thoughts of her, like the
+remembrance of a wild, mad dream.  Gladly would I have lingered round the
+place for hours, in the hope of catching at least one distant glimpse of
+her before I went, but it must not be—I must not suffer her to see me;
+for what could have brought me hither but the hope of reviving her
+attachment, with a view hereafter to obtain her hand?  And could I bear
+that she should think me capable of such a thing?—of presuming upon the
+acquaintance—the love, if you will—accidentally contracted, or rather
+forced upon her against her will, when she was an unknown fugitive,
+toiling for her own support, apparently without fortune, family, or
+connections; to come upon her now, when she was reinstated in her proper
+sphere, and claim a share in her prosperity, which, had it never failed
+her, would most certainly have kept her unknown to me for ever?  And
+this, too, when we had parted sixteen months ago, and she had expressly
+forbidden me to hope for a re-union in this world, and never sent me a
+line or a message from that day to this.  No!  The very idea was
+intolerable.
+
+And even if she should have a lingering affection for me still, ought I
+to disturb her peace by awakening those feelings? to subject her to the
+struggles of conflicting duty and inclination—to whichsoever side the
+latter might allure, or the former imperatively call her—whether she
+should deem it her duty to risk the slights and censures of the world,
+the sorrow and displeasure of those she loved, for a romantic idea of
+truth and constancy to me, or to sacrifice her individual wishes to the
+feelings of her friends and her own sense of prudence and the fitness of
+things?  No—and I would not!  I would go at once, and she should never
+know that I had approached the place of her abode: for though I might
+disclaim all idea of ever aspiring to her hand, or even of soliciting a
+place in her friendly regard, her peace should not be broken by my
+presence, nor her heart afflicted by the sight of my fidelity.
+
+‘Adieu then, dear Helen, forever!  Forever adieu!’
+
+So said I—and yet I could not tear myself away.  I moved a few paces, and
+then looked back, for one last view of her stately home, that I might
+have its outward form, at least, impressed upon my mind as indelibly as
+her own image, which, alas! I must not see again—then walked a few steps
+further; and then, lost in melancholy musings, paused again and leant my
+back against a rough old tree that grew beside the road.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LIII
+
+
+While standing thus, absorbed in my gloomy reverie, a gentleman’s
+carriage came round the corner of the road.  I did not look at it; and
+had it rolled quietly by me, I should not have remembered the fact of its
+appearance at all; but a tiny voice from within it roused me by
+exclaiming, ‘Mamma, mamma, here’s Mr. Markham!’
+
+I did not hear the reply, but presently the same voice answered, ‘It is
+indeed, mamma—look for yourself.’
+
+I did not raise my eyes, but I suppose mamma looked, for a clear
+melodious voice, whose tones thrilled through my nerves, exclaimed, ‘Oh,
+aunt! here’s Mr. Markham, Arthur’s friend!  Stop, Richard!’
+
+There was such evidence of joyous though suppressed excitement in the
+utterance of those few words—especially that tremulous, ‘Oh, aunt’—that
+it threw me almost off my guard.  The carriage stopped immediately, and I
+looked up and met the eye of a pale, grave, elderly lady surveying me
+from the open window.  She bowed, and so did I, and then she withdrew her
+head, while Arthur screamed to the footman to let him out; but before
+that functionary could descend from his box a hand was silently put forth
+from the carriage window.  I knew that hand, though a black glove
+concealed its delicate whiteness and half its fair proportions, and
+quickly seizing it, I pressed it in my own—ardently for a moment, but
+instantly recollecting myself, I dropped it, and it was immediately
+withdrawn.
+
+‘Were you coming to see us, or only passing by?’ asked the low voice of
+its owner, who, I felt, was attentively surveying my countenance from
+behind the thick black veil which, with the shadowing panels, entirely
+concealed her own from me.
+
+‘I—I came to see the place,’ faltered I.
+
+‘The place,’ repeated she, in a tone which betokened more displeasure or
+disappointment than surprise.
+
+‘Will you not enter it, then?’
+
+‘If you wish it.’
+
+‘Can you doubt?’
+
+‘Yes, yes! he must enter,’ cried Arthur, running round from the other
+door; and seizing my hand in both his, he shook it heartily.
+
+‘Do you remember me, sir?’ said he.
+
+‘Yes, full well, my little man, altered though you are,’ replied I,
+surveying the comparatively tall, slim young gentleman, with his mother’s
+image visibly stamped upon his fair, intelligent features, in spite of
+the blue eyes beaming with gladness, and the bright locks clustering
+beneath his cap.
+
+‘Am I not grown?’ said he, stretching himself up to his full height.
+
+‘Grown! three inches, upon my word!’
+
+‘I was seven last birthday,’ was the proud rejoinder.  ‘In seven years
+more I shall be as tall as you nearly.’
+
+‘Arthur,’ said his mother, ‘tell him to come in.  Go on, Richard.’
+
+There was a touch of sadness as well as coldness in her voice, but I knew
+not to what to ascribe it.  The carriage drove on and entered the gates
+before us.  My little companion led me up the park, discoursing merrily
+all the way.  Arrived at the hall-door, I paused on the steps and looked
+round me, waiting to recover my composure, if possible—or, at any rate,
+to remember my new-formed resolutions and the principles on which they
+were founded; and it was not till Arthur had been for some time gently
+pulling my coat, and repeating his invitations to enter, that I at length
+consented to accompany him into the apartment where the ladies awaited
+us.
+
+Helen eyed me as I entered with a kind of gentle, serious scrutiny, and
+politely asked after Mrs. Markham and Rose.  I respectfully answered her
+inquiries.  Mrs. Maxwell begged me to be seated, observing it was rather
+cold, but she supposed I had not travelled far that morning.
+
+‘Not quite twenty miles,’ I answered.
+
+‘Not on foot!’
+
+‘No, Madam, by coach.’
+
+‘Here’s Rachel, sir,’ said Arthur, the only truly happy one amongst us,
+directing my attention to that worthy individual, who had just entered to
+take her mistress’s things.  She vouchsafed me an almost friendly smile
+of recognition—a favour that demanded, at least, a civil salutation on my
+part, which was accordingly given and respectfully returned—she had seen
+the error of her former estimation of my character.
+
+When Helen was divested of her lugubrious bonnet and veil, her heavy
+winter cloak, &c., she looked so like herself that I knew not how to bear
+it.  I was particularly glad to see her beautiful black hair, unstinted
+still, and unconcealed in its glossy luxuriance.
+
+‘Mamma has left off her widow’s cap in honour of uncle’s marriage,’
+observed Arthur, reading my looks with a child’s mingled simplicity and
+quickness of observation.  Mamma looked grave and Mrs. Maxwell shook her
+head.  ‘And aunt Maxwell is never going to leave off hers,’ persisted the
+naughty boy; but when he saw that his pertness was seriously displeasing
+and painful to his aunt, he went and silently put his arm round her neck,
+kissed her cheek, and withdrew to the recess of one of the great
+bay-windows, where he quietly amused himself with his dog, while Mrs.
+Maxwell gravely discussed with me the interesting topics of the weather,
+the season, and the roads.  I considered her presence very useful as a
+check upon my natural impulses—an antidote to those emotions of
+tumultuous excitement which would otherwise have carried me away against
+my reason and my will; but just then I felt the restraint almost
+intolerable, and I had the greatest difficulty in forcing myself to
+attend to her remarks and answer them with ordinary politeness; for I was
+sensible that Helen was standing within a few feet of me beside the fire.
+I dared not look at her, but I felt her eye was upon me, and from one
+hasty, furtive glance, I thought her cheek was slightly flushed, and that
+her fingers, as she played with her watch-chain, were agitated with that
+restless, trembling motion which betokens high excitement.
+
+‘Tell me,’ said she, availing herself of the first pause in the attempted
+conversation between her aunt and me, and speaking fast and low, with her
+eyes bent on the gold chain—for I now ventured another glance—‘Tell me
+how you all are at Linden-hope—has nothing happened since I left you?’
+
+‘I believe not.’
+
+‘Nobody dead? nobody married?’
+
+‘No.’
+
+‘Or—or expecting to marry?—No old ties dissolved or new ones formed? no
+old friends forgotten or supplanted?’
+
+She dropped her voice so low in the last sentence that no one could have
+caught the concluding words but myself, and at the same time turned her
+eyes upon me with a dawning smile, most sweetly melancholy, and a look of
+timid though keen inquiry that made my cheeks tingle with inexpressible
+emotions.
+
+‘I believe not,’ I answered.  ‘Certainly not, if others are as little
+changed as I.’  Her face glowed in sympathy with mine.
+
+‘And you really did not mean to call?’ she exclaimed.
+
+‘I feared to intrude.’
+
+‘To intrude!’ cried she, with an impatient gesture.  ‘What—‘ but as if
+suddenly recollecting her aunt’s presence, she checked herself, and,
+turning to that lady, continued—‘Why, aunt, this man is my brother’s
+close friend, and was my own intimate acquaintance (for a few short
+months at least), and professed a great attachment to my boy—and when he
+passes the house, so many scores of miles from his home, he declines to
+look in for fear of intruding!’
+
+‘Mr. Markham is over-modest,’ observed Mrs. Maxwell.
+
+‘Over-ceremonious rather,’ said her niece—‘over—well, it’s no matter.’
+And turning from me, she seated herself in a chair beside the table, and
+pulling a book to her by the cover, began to turn over the leaves in an
+energetic kind of abstraction.
+
+‘If I had known,’ said I, ‘that you would have honoured me by remembering
+me as an intimate acquaintance, I most likely should not have denied
+myself the pleasure of calling upon you, but I thought you had forgotten
+me long ago.’
+
+‘You judged of others by yourself,’ muttered she without raising her eyes
+from the book, but reddening as she spoke, and hastily turning over a
+dozen leaves at once.
+
+There was a pause, of which Arthur thought he might venture to avail
+himself to introduce his handsome young setter, and show me how
+wonderfully it was grown and improved, and to ask after the welfare of
+its father Sancho.  Mrs. Maxwell then withdrew to take off her things.
+Helen immediately pushed the book from her, and after silently surveying
+her son, his friend, and his dog for a few moments, she dismissed the
+former from the room under pretence of wishing him to fetch his last new
+book to show me.  The child obeyed with alacrity; but I continued
+caressing the dog.  The silence might have lasted till its master’s
+return, had it depended on me to break it; but, in half a minute or less,
+my hostess impatiently rose, and, taking her former station on the rug
+between me and the chimney corner, earnestly exclaimed—
+
+‘Gilbert, what is the matter with you?—why are you so changed?  It is a
+very indiscreet question, I know,’ she hastened to add: ‘perhaps a very
+rude one—don’t answer it if you think so—but I hate mysteries and
+concealments.’
+
+‘I am not changed, Helen—unfortunately I am as keen and passionate as
+ever—it is not I, it is circumstances that are changed.’
+
+‘What circumstances?  Do tell me!’  Her cheek was blanched with the very
+anguish of anxiety—could it be with the fear that I had rashly pledged my
+faith to another?
+
+‘I’ll tell you at once,’ said I.  ‘I will confess that I came here for
+the purpose of seeing you (not without some monitory misgivings at my own
+presumption, and fears that I should be as little welcome as expected
+when I came), but I did not know that this estate was yours until
+enlightened on the subject of your inheritance by the conversation of two
+fellow-passengers in the last stage of my journey; and then I saw at once
+the folly of the hopes I had cherished, and the madness of retaining them
+a moment longer; and though I alighted at your gates, I determined not to
+enter within them; I lingered a few minutes to see the place, but was
+fully resolved to return to M— without seeing its mistress.’
+
+‘And if my aunt and I had not been just returning from our morning drive,
+I should have seen and heard no more of you?’
+
+‘I thought it would be better for both that we should not meet,’ replied
+I, as calmly as I could, but not daring to speak above my breath, from
+conscious inability to steady my voice, and not daring to look in her
+face lest my firmness should forsake me altogether.  ‘I thought an
+interview would only disturb your peace and madden me.  But I am glad,
+now, of this opportunity of seeing you once more and knowing that you
+have not forgotten me, and of assuring you that I shall never cease to
+remember you.’
+
+There was a moment’s pause.  Mrs. Huntingdon moved away, and stood in the
+recess of the window.  Did she regard this as an intimation that modesty
+alone prevented me from asking her hand? and was she considering how to
+repulse me with the smallest injury to my feelings?  Before I could speak
+to relieve her from such a perplexity, she broke the silence herself by
+suddenly turning towards me and observing—
+
+‘You might have had such an opportunity before—as far, I mean, as regards
+assuring me of your kindly recollections, and yourself of mine, if you
+had written to me.’
+
+‘I would have done so, but I did not know your address, and did not like
+to ask your brother, because I thought he would object to my writing; but
+this would not have deterred me for a moment, if I could have ventured to
+believe that you expected to hear from me, or even wasted a thought upon
+your unhappy friend; but your silence naturally led me to conclude myself
+forgotten.’
+
+‘Did you expect me to write to you, then?’
+
+‘No, Helen—Mrs. Huntingdon,’ said I, blushing at the implied imputation,
+‘certainly not; but if you had sent me a message through your brother, or
+even asked him about me now and then—’
+
+‘I did ask about you frequently.  I was not going to do more,’ continued
+she, smiling, ‘so long as you continued to restrict yourself to a few
+polite inquiries about my health.’
+
+‘Your brother never told me that you had mentioned my name.’
+
+‘Did you ever ask him?’
+
+‘No; for I saw he did not wish to be questioned about you, or to afford
+the slightest encouragement or assistance to my too obstinate
+attachment.’  Helen did not reply.  ‘And he was perfectly right,’ added
+I.  But she remained in silence, looking out upon the snowy lawn.  ‘Oh, I
+will relieve her of my presence,’ thought I; and immediately I rose and
+advanced to take leave, with a most heroic resolution—but pride was at
+the bottom of it, or it could not have carried me through.
+
+‘Are you going already?’ said she, taking the hand I offered, and not
+immediately letting it go.
+
+‘Why should I stay any longer?’
+
+‘Wait till Arthur comes, at least.’
+
+Only too glad to obey, I stood and leant against the opposite side of the
+window.
+
+‘You told me you were not changed,’ said my companion: ‘you are—very much
+so.’
+
+‘No, Mrs. Huntingdon, I only ought to be.’
+
+‘Do you mean to maintain that you have the same regard for me that you
+had when last we met?’
+
+‘I have; but it would be wrong to talk of it now.’
+
+‘It was wrong to talk of it then, Gilbert; it would not now—unless to do
+so would be to violate the truth.’
+
+I was too much agitated to speak; but, without waiting for an answer, she
+turned away her glistening eye and crimson cheek, and threw up the window
+and looked out, whether to calm her own, excited feelings, or to relieve
+her embarrassment, or only to pluck that beautiful half-blown
+Christmas-rose that grew upon the little shrub without, just peeping from
+the snow that had hitherto, no doubt, defended it from the frost, and was
+now melting away in the sun.  Pluck it, however, she did, and having
+gently dashed the glittering powder from its leaves, approached it to her
+lips and said:
+
+‘This rose is not so fragrant as a summer flower, but it has stood
+through hardships none of them could bear: the cold rain of winter has
+sufficed to nourish it, and its faint sun to warm it; the bleak winds
+have not blanched it, or broken its stem, and the keen frost has not
+blighted it.  Look, Gilbert, it is still fresh and blooming as a flower
+can be, with the cold snow even now on its petals.—Will you have it?’
+
+I held out my hand: I dared not speak lest my emotion should overmaster
+me.  She laid the rose across my palm, but I scarcely closed my fingers
+upon it, so deeply was I absorbed in thinking what might be the meaning
+of her words, and what I ought to do or say upon the occasion; whether to
+give way to my feelings or restrain them still.  Misconstruing this
+hesitation into indifference—or reluctance even—to accept her gift, Helen
+suddenly snatched it from my hand, threw it out on to the snow, shut down
+the window with an emphasis, and withdrew to the fire.
+
+‘Helen, what means this?’ I cried, electrified at this startling change
+in her demeanour.
+
+‘You did not understand my gift,’ said she—‘or, what is worse, you
+despised it.  I’m sorry I gave it you; but since I did make such a
+mistake, the only remedy I could think of was to take it away.’
+
+‘You misunderstood me cruelly,’ I replied, and in a minute I had opened
+the window again, leaped out, picked up the flower, brought it in, and
+presented it to her, imploring her to give it me again, and I would keep
+it for ever for her sake, and prize it more highly than anything in the
+world I possessed.
+
+‘And will this content you?’ said she, as she took it in her hand.
+
+‘It shall,’ I answered.
+
+‘There, then; take it.’
+
+I pressed it earnestly to my lips, and put it in my bosom, Mrs.
+Huntingdon looking on with a half-sarcastic smile.
+
+‘Now, are you going?’ said she.
+
+‘I will if—if I must.’
+
+‘You are changed,’ persisted she—‘you are grown either very proud or very
+indifferent.’
+
+‘I am neither, Helen—Mrs. Huntingdon.  If you could see my heart—’
+
+‘You must be one,—if not both.  And why Mrs. Huntingdon?—why not Helen,
+as before?’
+
+‘Helen, then—dear Helen!’ I murmured.  I was in an agony of mingled love,
+hope, delight, uncertainty, and suspense.
+
+‘The rose I gave you was an emblem of my heart,’ said she; ‘would you
+take it away and leave me here alone?’
+
+‘Would you give me your hand too, if I asked it?’
+
+‘Have I not said enough?’ she answered, with a most enchanting smile.  I
+snatched her hand, and would have fervently kissed it, but suddenly
+checked myself, and said,—
+
+‘But have you considered the consequences?’
+
+‘Hardly, I think, or I should not have offered myself to one too proud to
+take me, or too indifferent to make his affection outweigh my worldly
+goods.’
+
+Stupid blockhead that I was!—I trembled to clasp her in my arms, but
+dared not believe in so much joy, and yet restrained myself to say,—
+
+‘But if you should repent!’
+
+‘It would be your fault,’ she replied: ‘I never shall, unless you
+bitterly disappoint me.  If you have not sufficient confidence in my
+affection to believe this, let me alone.’
+
+‘My darling angel—my own Helen,’ cried I, now passionately kissing the
+hand I still retained, and throwing my left arm around her, ‘you never
+shall repent, if it depend on me alone.  But have you thought of your
+aunt?’  I trembled for the answer, and clasped her closer to my heart in
+the instinctive dread of losing my new-found treasure.
+
+‘My aunt must not know of it yet,’ said she.  ‘She would think it a rash,
+wild step, because she could not imagine how well I know you; but she
+must know you herself, and learn to like you.  You must leave us now,
+after lunch, and come again in spring, and make a longer stay, and
+cultivate her acquaintance, and I know you will like each other.’
+
+‘And then you will be mine,’ said I, printing a kiss upon her lips, and
+another, and another; for I was as daring and impetuous now as I had been
+backward and constrained before.
+
+‘No—in another year,’ replied she, gently disengaging herself from my
+embrace, but still fondly clasping my hand.
+
+‘Another year!  Oh, Helen, I could not wait so long!’
+
+‘Where is your fidelity?’
+
+‘I mean I could not endure the misery of so long a separation.’
+
+‘It would not be a separation: we will write every day: my spirit shall
+be always with you, and sometimes you shall see me with your bodily eye.
+I will not be such a hypocrite as to pretend that I desire to wait so
+long myself, but as my marriage is to please myself, alone, I ought to
+consult my friends about the time of it.’
+
+‘Your friends will disapprove.’
+
+‘They will not greatly disapprove, dear Gilbert,’ said she, earnestly
+kissing my hand; ‘they cannot, when they know you, or, if they could,
+they would not be true friends—I should not care for their estrangement.
+Now are you satisfied?’  She looked up in my face with a smile of
+ineffable tenderness.
+
+‘Can I be otherwise, with your love?  And you do love me, Helen?’ said I,
+not doubting the fact, but wishing to hear it confirmed by her own
+acknowledgment.  ‘If you loved as I do,’ she earnestly replied, ‘you
+would not have so nearly lost me—these scruples of false delicacy and
+pride would never thus have troubled you—you would have seen that the
+greatest worldly distinctions and discrepancies of rank, birth, and
+fortune are as dust in the balance compared with the unity of accordant
+thoughts and feelings, and truly loving, sympathising hearts and souls.’
+
+‘But this is too much happiness,’ said I, embracing her again; ‘I have
+not deserved it, Helen—I dare not believe in such felicity: and the
+longer I have to wait, the greater will be my dread that something will
+intervene to snatch you from me—and think, a thousand things may happen
+in a year!—I shall be in one long fever of restless terror and impatience
+all the time.  And besides, winter is such a dreary season.’
+
+‘I thought so too,’ replied she gravely: ‘I would not be married in
+winter—in December, at least,’ she added, with a shudder—for in that
+month had occurred both the ill-starred marriage that had bound her to
+her former husband, and the terrible death that released her—‘and
+therefore I said another year, in spring.’
+
+‘Next spring?’
+
+‘No, no—next autumn, perhaps.’
+
+‘Summer, then?’
+
+‘Well, the close of summer.  There now! be satisfied.’
+
+While she was speaking Arthur re-entered the room—good boy for keeping
+out so long.
+
+‘Mamma, I couldn’t find the book in either of the places you told me to
+look for it’ (there was a conscious something in mamma’s smile that
+seemed to say, ‘No, dear, I knew you could not’), ‘but Rachel got it for
+me at last.  Look, Mr. Markham, a natural history, with all kinds of
+birds and beasts in it, and the reading as nice as the pictures!’
+
+In great good humour I sat down to examine the book, and drew the little
+fellow between my knees.  Had he come a minute before I should have
+received him less graciously, but now I affectionately stroked his
+curling locks, and even kissed his ivory forehead: he was my own Helen’s
+son, and therefore mine; and as such I have ever since regarded him.
+That pretty child is now a fine young man: he has realised his mother’s
+brightest expectations, and is at present residing in Grassdale Manor
+with his young wife—the merry little Helen Hattersley of yore.
+
+I had not looked through half the book before Mrs. Maxwell appeared to
+invite me into the other room to lunch.  That lady’s cool, distant
+manners rather chilled me at first; but I did my best to propitiate her,
+and not entirely without success, I think, even in that first short
+visit; for when I talked cheerfully to her, she gradually became more
+kind and cordial, and when I departed she bade me a gracious adieu,
+hoping ere long to have the pleasure of seeing me again.
+
+‘But you must not go till you have seen the conservatory, my aunt’s
+winter garden,’ said Helen, as I advanced to take leave of her, with as
+much philosophy and self-command as I could summon to my aid.
+
+I gladly availed myself of such a respite, and followed her into a large
+and beautiful conservatory, plentifully furnished with flowers,
+considering the season—but, of course, I had little attention to spare
+for them.  It was not, however, for any tender colloquy that my companion
+had brought me there:—
+
+‘My aunt is particularly fond of flowers,’ she observed, ‘and she is fond
+of Staningley too: I brought you here to offer a petition in her behalf,
+that this may be her home as long as she lives, and—if it be not our home
+likewise—that I may often see her and be with her; for I fear she will be
+sorry to lose me; and though she leads a retired and contemplative life,
+she is apt to get low-spirited if left too much alone.’
+
+‘By all means, dearest Helen!—do what you will with your own.  I should
+not dream of wishing your aunt to leave the place under any
+circumstances; and we will live either here or elsewhere as you and she
+may determine, and you shall see her as often as you like.  I know she
+must be pained to part with you, and I am willing to make any reparation
+in my power.  I love her for your sake, and her happiness shall be as
+dear to me as that of my own mother.’
+
+‘Thank you, darling! you shall have a kiss for that.  Good-by.  There
+now—there, Gilbert—let me go—here’s Arthur; don’t astonish his infantile
+brain with your madness.’
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+But it is time to bring my narrative to a close.  Any one but you would
+say I had made it too long already.  But for your satisfaction I will add
+a few words more; because I know you will have a fellow-feeling for the
+old lady, and will wish to know the last of her history.  I did come
+again in spring, and, agreeably to Helen’s injunctions, did my best to
+cultivate her acquaintance.  She received me very kindly, having been,
+doubtless, already prepared to think highly of my character by her
+niece’s too favourable report.  I turned my best side out, of course, and
+we got along marvellously well together.  When my ambitious intentions
+were made known to her, she took it more sensibly than I had ventured to
+hope.  Her only remark on the subject, in my hearing, was—
+
+‘And so, Mr. Markham, you are going to rob me of my niece, I understand.
+Well!  I hope God will prosper your union, and make my dear girl happy at
+last.  Could she have been contented to remain single, I own I should
+have been better satisfied; but if she must marry again, I know of no
+one, now living and of a suitable age, to whom I would more willingly
+resign her than yourself, or who would be more likely to appreciate her
+worth and make, her truly happy, as far as I can tell.’
+
+Of course I was delighted with the compliment, and hoped to show her that
+she was not mistaken in her favourable judgment.
+
+‘I have, however, one request to offer,’ continued she.  ‘It seems I am
+still to look on Staningley as my home: I wish you to make it yours
+likewise, for Helen is attached to the place and to me—as I am to her.
+There are painful associations connected with Grassdale, which she cannot
+easily overcome; and I shall not molest you with my company or
+interference here: I am a very quiet person, and shall keep my own
+apartments, and attend to my own concerns, and only see you now and
+then.’
+
+Of course I most readily consented to this; and we lived in the greatest
+harmony with our dear aunt until the day of her death, which melancholy
+event took place a few years after—melancholy, not to herself (for it
+came quietly upon her, and she was glad to reach her journey’s end), but
+only to the few loving friends and grateful dependents she left behind.
+
+To return, however, to my own affairs: I was married in summer, on a
+glorious August morning.  It took the whole eight months, and all Helen’s
+kindness and goodness to boot, to overcome my mother’s prejudices against
+my bride-elect, and to reconcile her to the idea of my leaving Linden
+Grange and living so far away.  Yet she was gratified at her son’s good
+fortune after all, and proudly attributed it all to his own superior
+merits and endowments.  I bequeathed the farm to Fergus, with better
+hopes of its prosperity than I should have had a year ago under similar
+circumstances; for he had lately fallen in love with the Vicar of L—’s
+eldest daughter—a lady whose superiority had roused his latent virtues,
+and stimulated him to the most surprising exertions, not only to gain her
+affection and esteem, and to obtain a fortune sufficient to aspire to her
+hand, but to render himself worthy of her, in his own eyes, as well as in
+those of her parents; and in the end he was successful, as you already
+know.  As for myself, I need not tell you how happily my Helen and I have
+lived together, and how blessed we still are in each other’s society, and
+in the promising young scions that are growing up about us.  We are just
+now looking forward to the advent of you and Rose, for the time of your
+annual visit draws nigh, when you must leave your dusty, smoky, noisy,
+toiling, striving city for a season of invigorating relaxation and social
+retirement with us.
+
+                                                      Till then, farewell,
+                                                          GILBERT MARKHAM.
+
+STANINGLEY: _June_ 10_th_, 1847.
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+                                 THE END
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+              Printed by SPOTTISWOODE, BALLENTYNE & CO. LTD.
+                   Colchester, London & Eton, England.
+
+
+
+
+Footnotes:
+
+
+{0}  Introduction to _Wuthering Heights_, p. xl.  ‘Still, as I mused the
+naked room,’ &c.
+
+{1}  This Preface is now printed here for the first time in a collected
+edition of the works of the Brontë sisters.
+
+
+
+
+***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL***
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+The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Tenant of Wildfell Hall, by Anne Bronte
+
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+
+
+
+Title: The Tenant of Wildfell Hall
+
+
+Author: Anne Bronte
+
+Introduction by: Mrs. Humphry Ward
+
+Release Date: February 2, 2010  [eBook #969]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII)
+
+
+***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL***
+
+
+Transcribed from the 1920 John Murray edition by David Price, email
+ccx074@pglaf.org
+
+     [Picture: Anne Bronte from a drawing by Charlotte Bronte in the
+                  possession of the Rev. A. B. Nicholls]
+
+
+
+
+
+                                THE TENANT
+                                    OF
+                              WILDFELL HALL
+
+
+                              BY ANNE BRONTE
+
+                           WITH AN INTRODUCTION
+                           BY MRS HUMPHREY WARD
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+                                  LONDON
+                    JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET, W.
+                                   1920
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+THIS EDITION FIRST ISSUED                                _March_, 1900
+   (Smith, Elder & Co.)
+Reprinted                                                 _June_, 1906
+Reprinted (John Murray)                              _September_, 1920
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+                          [All rights reserved]
+
+
+
+
+LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
+
+PORTRAIT OF ANNE BRONTE                                 _Frontispiece_
+FACSIMILE OF THE TITLE-PAGE OF THE FIRST EDITION              _p._ xxv
+OF 'WILDFELL HALL'
+_The following Illustrations are reproduced from photographs taken by
+Mr. W. R. Bland_, _of Duffield_, _Derby_, _in conjunction with Mr. C.
+Barrow Keene_, _of Derby_:
+MOORLAND SCENE, HAWORTH                                _To face p._ 14
+                  (_with water_)                                    46
+                 (_with cottage_)                                  100
+BLAKE HALL (GRASSDALE MANOR):
+   THE APPROACH                                                    206
+   FRONT                                                           222
+   SIDE                                                            286
+
+INTRODUCTION
+
+
+Anne Bronte serves a twofold purpose in the study of what the Brontes
+wrote and were.  In the first place, her gentle and delicate presence,
+her sad, short story, her hard life and early death, enter deeply into
+the poetry and tragedy that have always been entwined with the memory of
+the Brontes, as women and as writers; in the second, the books and poems
+that she wrote serve as matter of comparison by which to test the
+greatness of her two sisters.  She is the measure of their genius--like
+them, yet not with them.
+
+Many years after Anne's death her brother-in-law protested against a
+supposed portrait of her, as giving a totally wrong impression of the
+'dear, gentle Anne Bronte.'  'Dear' and 'gentle' indeed she seems to have
+been through life, the youngest and prettiest of the sisters, with a
+delicate complexion, a slender neck, and small, pleasant features.
+Notwithstanding, she possessed in full the Bronte seriousness, the Bronte
+strength of will.  When her father asked her at four years old what a
+little child like her wanted most, the tiny creature replied--if it were
+not a Bronte it would be incredible!--'Age and experience.'  When the
+three children started their 'Island Plays' together in 1827, Anne, who
+was then eight, chose Guernsey for her imaginary island, and peopled it
+with 'Michael Sadler, Lord Bentinck, and Sir Henry Halford.'  She and
+Emily were constant companions, and there is evidence that they shared a
+common world of fancy from very early days to mature womanhood.  'The
+Gondal Chronicles' seem to have amused them for many years, and to have
+branched out into innumerable books, written in the 'tiny writing' of
+which Mr. Clement Shorter has given us facsimiles.  'I am now engaged in
+writing the fourth volume of Solala Vernon's Life,' says Anne at
+twenty-one.  And four years later Emily says, 'The Gondals still flourish
+bright as ever.  I am at present writing a work on the First War.  Anne
+has been writing some articles on this and a book by Henry Sophona.  We
+intend sticking firm by the rascals as long as they delight us, which I
+am glad to say they do at present.'
+
+That the author of 'Wildfell Hall' should ever have delighted in the
+Gondals, should ever have written the story of Solala Vernon or Henry
+Sophona, is pleasant to know.  Then, for her too, as for her sisters,
+there was a moment when the power of 'making out' could turn loneliness
+and disappointment into riches and content.  For a time at least, and
+before a hard and degrading experience had broken the spring of her
+youth, and replaced the disinterested and spontaneous pleasure that is to
+be got from the life and play of imagination, by a sad sense of duty, and
+an inexorable consciousness of moral and religious mission, Anne Bronte
+wrote stories for her own amusement, and loved the 'rascals' she created.
+
+But already in 1841, when we first hear of the Gondals and Solala Vernon,
+the material for quite other books was in poor Anne's mind.  She was then
+teaching in the family at Thorpe Green, where Branwell joined her as
+tutor in 1843, and where, owing to events that are still a mystery, she
+seems to have passed through an ordeal that left her shattered in health
+and nerve, with nothing gained but those melancholy and repulsive
+memories that she was afterwards to embody in 'Wildfell Hall.'  She
+seems, indeed, to have been partly the victim of Branwell's morbid
+imagination, the imagination of an opium-eater and a drunkard.  That he
+was neither the conqueror nor the villain that he made his sisters
+believe, all the evidence that has been gathered since Mrs. Gaskell wrote
+goes to show.  But poor Anne believed his account of himself, and no
+doubt saw enough evidence of vicious character in Branwell's daily life
+to make the worst enormities credible.  She seems to have passed the last
+months of her stay at Thorpe Green under a cloud of dread and miserable
+suspicion, and was thankful to escape from her situation in the summer of
+1845.  At the same moment Branwell was summarily dismissed from his
+tutorship, his employer, Mr. Robinson, writing a stern letter of
+complaint to Bramwell's father, concerned no doubt with the young man's
+disorderly and intemperate habits.  Mrs. Gaskell says: 'The premature
+deaths of two at least of the sisters--all the great possibilities of
+their earthly lives snapped short--may be dated from Midsummer 1845.'
+The facts as we now know them hardly bear out so strong a judgment.
+There is nothing to show that Branwell's conduct was responsible in any
+way for Emily's illness and death, and Anne, in the contemporary fragment
+recovered by Mr. Shorter, gives a less tragic account of the matter.
+'During my stay (at Thorpe Green),' she writes on July 31, 1845, 'I have
+had some very unpleasant and undreamt-of experience of human nature. . . .
+Branwell has . . . been a tutor at Thorpe Green, and had much
+tribulation and ill-health. . . .  We hope he will be better and do
+better in future.'  And at the end of the paper she says, sadly,
+forecasting the coming years, 'I for my part cannot well be flatter or
+older in mind than I am now.'  This is the language of disappointment and
+anxiety; but it hardly fits the tragic story that Mrs. Gaskell believed.
+
+That story was, no doubt, the elaboration of Branwell's diseased fancy
+during the three years which elapsed between his dismissal from Thorpe
+Green and his death.  He imagined a guilty romance with himself and his
+employer's wife for characters, and he imposed the horrid story upon his
+sisters.  Opium and drink are the sufficient explanations; and no time
+need now be wasted upon unravelling the sordid mystery.  But the vices of
+the brother, real or imaginary, have a certain importance in literature,
+because of the effect they produced upon his sisters.  There can be no
+question that Branwell's opium madness, his bouts of drunkenness at the
+Black Bull, his violence at home, his free and coarse talk, and his
+perpetual boast of guilty secrets, influenced the imagination of his
+wholly pure and inexperienced sisters.  Much of 'Wuthering Heights,' and
+all of 'Wildfell Hall,' show Branwell's mark, and there are many passages
+in Charlotte's books also where those who know the history of the
+parsonage can hear the voice of those sharp moral repulsions, those
+dismal moral questionings, to which Branwell's misconduct and ruin gave
+rise.  Their brother's fate was an element in the genius of Emily and
+Charlotte which they were strong enough to assimilate, which may have
+done them some harm, and weakened in them certain delicate or sane
+perceptions, but was ultimately, by the strange alchemy of talent, far
+more profitable than hurtful, inasmuch as it troubled the waters of the
+soul, and brought them near to the more desperate realities of our
+'frail, fall'n humankind.'
+
+But Anne was not strong enough, her gift was not vigorous enough, to
+enable her thus to transmute experience and grief.  The probability is
+that when she left Thorpe Green in 1845 she was already suffering from
+that religious melancholy of which Charlotte discovered such piteous
+evidence among her papers after death.  It did not much affect the
+writing of 'Agnes Grey,' which was completed in 1846, and reflected the
+minor pains and discomforts of her teaching experience, but it combined
+with the spectacle of Branwell's increasing moral and physical decay to
+produce that bitter mandate of conscience under which she wrote 'The
+Tenant of Wildfell Hall.'
+
+'Hers was naturally a sensitive, reserved, and dejected nature.  She
+hated her work, but would pursue it.  It was written as a warning,'--so
+said Charlotte when, in the pathetic Preface of 1850, she was
+endeavouring to explain to the public how a creature so gentle and so
+good as Acton Bell should have written such a book as 'Wildfell Hall.'
+And in the second edition of 'Wildfell Hall,' which appeared in 1848,
+Anne Bronte herself justified her novel in a Preface which is reprinted
+in this volume for the first time.  The little Preface is a curious
+document.  It has the same determined didactic tone which pervades the
+book itself, the same narrowness of view, and inflation of expression, an
+inflation which is really due not to any personal egotism in the writer,
+but rather to that very gentleness and inexperience which must yet nerve
+itself under the stimulus of religion to its disagreeable and repulsive
+task.  'I knew that such characters'--as Huntingdon and his
+companions--'do exist, and if I have warned one rash youth from following
+in their steps the book has not been written in vain.'  If the story has
+given more pain than pleasure to 'any honest reader,' the writer 'craves
+his pardon, for such was far from my intention.'  But at the same time
+she cannot promise to limit her ambition to the giving of innocent
+pleasure, or to the production of 'a perfect work of art.'  'Time and
+talent so spent I should consider wasted and misapplied.'  God has given
+her unpalatable truths to speak, and she must speak them.
+
+The measure of misconstruction and abuse, therefore, which her book
+brought upon her she bore, says her sister, 'as it was her custom to bear
+whatever was unpleasant, with mild, steady patience.  She was a very
+sincere and practical Christian, but the tinge of religious melancholy
+communicated a sad shade to her brief, blameless life.'
+
+In spite of misconstruction and abuse, however, 'Wildfell Hall' seems to
+have attained more immediate success than anything else written by the
+sisters before 1848, except 'Jane Eyre.'  It went into a second edition
+within a very short time of its publication, and Messrs. Newby informed
+the American publishers with whom they were negotiating that it was the
+work of the same hand which had produced 'Jane Eyre,' and superior to
+either 'Jane Eyre' or 'Wuthering Heights'!  It was, indeed, the sharp
+practice connected with this astonishing judgment which led to the
+sisters' hurried journey to London in 1848--the famous journey when the
+two little ladies in black revealed themselves to Mr. Smith, and proved
+to him that they were not one Currer Bell, but two Miss Brontes.  It was
+Anne's sole journey to London--her only contact with a world that was not
+Haworth, except that supplied by her school-life at Roehead and her two
+teaching engagements.
+
+And there was and is a considerable narrative ability, a sheer moral
+energy in 'Wildfell Hall,' which would not be enough, indeed, to keep it
+alive if it were not the work of a Bronte, but still betray its kinship
+and source.  The scenes of Huntingdon's wickedness are less interesting
+but less improbable than the country-house scenes of 'Jane Eyre'; the
+story of his death has many true and touching passages; the last
+love-scene is well, even in parts admirably, written.  But the book's
+truth, so far as it is true, is scarcely the truth of imagination; it is
+rather the truth of a tract or a report.  There can be little doubt that
+many of the pages are close transcripts from Branwell's conduct and
+language,--so far as Anne's slighter personality enabled her to render
+her brother's temperament, which was more akin to Emily's than to her
+own.  The same material might have been used by Emily or Charlotte;
+Emily, as we know, did make use of it in 'Wuthering Heights'; but only
+after it had passed through that ineffable transformation, that
+mysterious, incommunicable heightening which makes and gives rank in
+literature.  Some subtle, innate correspondence between eye and brain,
+between brain and hand, was present in Emily and Charlotte, and absent in
+Anne.  There is no other account to be given of this or any other case of
+difference between serviceable talent and the high gifts of 'Delos' and
+Patara's own Apollo.'
+
+The same world of difference appears between her poems and those of her
+playfellow and comrade, Emily.  If ever our descendants should establish
+the schools for writers which are even now threatened or attempted, they
+will hardly know perhaps any better than we what genius is, nor how it
+can be produced.  But if they try to teach by example, then Anne and
+Emily Bronte are ready to their hand.  Take the verses written by Emily
+at Roehead which contain the lovely lines which I have already quoted in
+an earlier 'Introduction.' {0}  Just before those lines there are two or
+three verses which it is worth while to compare with a poem of Anne's
+called 'Home.'  Emily was sixteen at the time of writing; Anne about
+twenty-one or twenty-two.  Both sisters take for their motive the exile's
+longing thought of home.  Emily's lines are full of faults, but they have
+the indefinable quality--here, no doubt, only in the bud, only as a
+matter of promise--which Anne's are entirely without.  From the twilight
+schoolroom at Roehead, Emily turns in thought to the distant upland of
+Haworth and the little stone-built house upon its crest:--
+
+   There is a spot, 'mid barren hills,
+      Where winter howls, and driving rain;
+   But, if the dreary tempest chills,
+      There is a light that warms again.
+
+   The house is old, the trees are bare,
+      Moonless above bends twilight's dome,
+   But what on earth is half so dear--
+      So longed for--as the hearth of home?
+
+   The mute bird sitting on the stone,
+      The dank moss dripping from the wall,
+   The thorn-trees gaunt, the walks o'ergrown,
+      I love them--how I love them all!
+
+Anne's verses, written from one of the houses where she was a governess,
+express precisely the same feeling, and movement of mind.  But notice the
+instinctive rightness and swiftness of Emily's, the blurred weakness of
+Anne's!--
+
+   For yonder garden, fair and wide,
+      With groves of evergreen,
+   Long winding walks, and borders trim,
+      And velvet lawns between--
+
+   Restore to me that little spot,
+      With gray walls compassed round,
+   Where knotted grass neglected lies,
+      And weeds usurp the ground.
+
+   Though all around this mansion high
+      Invites the foot to roam,
+   And though its halls are fair within--
+      Oh, give me back my Home!
+
+A similar parallel lies between Anne's lines 'Domestic Peace,'--a sad and
+true reflection of the terrible times with Branwell in 1846--and Emily's
+'Wanderer from the Fold'; while in Emily's 'Last Lines,' the daring
+spirit of the sister to whom the magic gift was granted separates itself
+for ever from the gentle and accustomed piety of the sister to whom it
+was denied.  Yet Anne's 'Last Lines'--'I hoped that with the brave and
+strong'--have sweetness and sincerity; they have gained and kept a place
+in English religious verse, and they must always appeal to those who love
+the Brontes because, in the language of Christian faith and submission,
+they record the death of Emily and the passionate affection which her
+sisters bore her.
+
+And so we are brought back to the point from which we started.  It is not
+as the writer of 'Wildfell Hall,' but as the sister of Charlotte and
+Emily Bronte, that Anne Bronte escapes oblivion--as the frail 'little
+one,' upon whom the other two lavished a tender and protecting care, who
+was a witness of Emily's death, and herself, within a few minutes of her
+own farewell to life, bade Charlotte 'take courage.'
+
+'When my thoughts turn to Anne,' said Charlotte many years earlier, 'they
+always see her as a patient, persecuted stranger,--more lonely, less
+gifted with the power of making friends even than I am.'  Later on,
+however, this power of making friends seems to have belonged to Anne in
+greater measure than to the others.  Her gentleness conquered; she was
+not set apart, as they were, by the lonely and self-sufficing activities
+of great powers; her Christianity, though sad and timid, was of a kind
+which those around her could understand; she made no grim fight with
+suffering and death as did Emily.  Emily was 'torn' from life 'conscious,
+panting, reluctant,' to use Charlotte's own words; Anne's 'sufferings
+were mild,' her mind 'generally serene,' and at the last 'she thanked God
+that death was come, and come so gently.'  When Charlotte returned to the
+desolate house at Haworth, Emily's large house-dog and Anne's little
+spaniel welcomed her in 'a strange, heart-touching way,' she writes to
+Mr. Williams.  She alone was left, heir to all the memories and tragedies
+of the house.  She took up again the task of life and labour.  She cared
+for her father; she returned to the writing of 'Shirley'; and when she
+herself passed away, four years later, she had so turned those years to
+account that not only all she did but all she loved had passed silently
+into the keeping of fame.  Mrs. Gaskell's touching and delightful task
+was ready for her, and Anne, no less than Charlotte and Emily, was sure
+of England's remembrance.
+
+                                                             MARY A. WARD.
+
+
+
+
+AUTHOR'S PREFACE {1}
+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 be 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_ 22_nd_, 1848.
+
+       [Picture: Facsimile of the Title-page of the First Edition]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+
+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 pasturing 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.
+
+                    [Picture: Moorland Scene, Haworth]
+
+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-a-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.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+
+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 get 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.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+
+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,' I 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.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+
+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.
+
+             [Picture: Moorland scene (with water): Haworth]
+
+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 repress 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?
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+
+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 mere 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-a-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.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+
+When all were gone, I learnt that the vile slander had indeed been
+circulated throughout the company, in the very presence of the victim.
+Rose, however, vowed she did not and would not believe it, and my mother
+made the same declaration, though not, I fear, with the same amount of
+real, unwavering incredulity.  It seemed to dwell continually on her
+mind, and she kept irritating me from time to time by such expressions
+as--'Dear, dear, who would have thought it!--Well!  I always thought
+there was something odd about her.--You see what it is for women to
+affect to be different to other people.'  And once it was,--'I misdoubted
+that appearance of mystery from the very first--I thought there would no
+good come of it; but this is a sad, sad business, to be sure!'
+
+'Why, mother, you said you didn't believe these tales,' said Fergus.
+
+'No more I do, my dear; but then, you know, there must be some
+foundation.'
+
+'The foundation is in the wickedness and falsehood of the world,' said I,
+'and in the fact that Mr. Lawrence has been seen to go that way once or
+twice of an evening--and the village gossips say he goes to pay his
+addresses to the strange lady, and the scandal-mongers have greedily
+seized the rumour, to make it the basis of their own infernal structure.'
+
+'Well, but, Gilbert, there must be something in her manner to countenance
+such reports.'
+
+'Did you see anything in her manner?'
+
+'No, certainly; but then, you know, I always said there was something
+strange about her.'
+
+I believe it was on that very evening that I ventured on another invasion
+of Wildfell Hall.  From the time of our party, which was upwards of a
+week ago, I had been making daily efforts to meet its mistress in her
+walks; and always disappointed (she must have managed it so on purpose),
+had nightly kept revolving in my mind some pretext for another call.  At
+length I concluded that the separation could be endured no longer (by
+this time, you will see, I was pretty far gone); and, taking from the
+book-case an old volume that I thought she might be interested in,
+though, from its unsightly and somewhat dilapidated condition, I had not
+yet ventured to offer it for perusal, I hastened away,--but not without
+sundry misgivings as to how she would receive me, or how I could summon
+courage to present myself with so slight an excuse.  But, perhaps, I
+might see her in the field or the garden, and then there would be no
+great difficulty: it was the formal knocking at the door, with the
+prospect of being gravely ushered in by Rachel, to the presence of a
+surprised, uncordial mistress, that so greatly disturbed me.
+
+My wish, however, was not gratified.  Mrs. Graham herself was not to be
+seen; but there was Arthur playing with his frolicsome little dog in the
+garden.  I looked over the gate and called him to me.  He wanted me to
+come in; but I told him I could not without his mother's leave.
+
+'I'll go and ask her,' said the child.
+
+'No, no, Arthur, you mustn't do that; but if she's not engaged, just ask
+her to come here a minute.  Tell her I want to speak to her.'
+
+He ran to perform my bidding, and quickly returned with his mother.  How
+lovely she looked with her dark ringlets streaming in the light summer
+breeze, her fair cheek slightly flushed, and her countenance radiant with
+smiles.  Dear Arthur! what did I not owe to you for this and every other
+happy meeting?  Through him I was at once delivered from all formality,
+and terror, and constraint.  In love affairs, there is no mediator like a
+merry, simple-hearted child--ever ready to cement divided hearts, to span
+the unfriendly gulf of custom, to melt the ice of cold reserve, and
+overthrow the separating walls of dread formality and pride.
+
+'Well, Mr. Markham, what is it?' said the young mother, accosting me with
+a pleasant smile.
+
+'I want you to look at this book, and, if you please, to take it, and
+peruse it at your leisure.  I make no apology for calling you out on such
+a lovely evening, though it be for a matter of no greater importance.'
+
+'Tell him to come in, mamma,' said Arthur.
+
+'Would you like to come in?' asked the lady.
+
+'Yes; I should like to see your improvements in the garden.'
+
+'And how your sister's roots have prospered in my charge,' added she, as
+she opened the gate.
+
+And we sauntered through the garden, and talked of the flowers, the
+trees, and the book, and then of other things.  The evening was kind and
+genial, and so was my companion.  By degrees I waxed more warm and tender
+than, perhaps, I had ever been before; but still I said nothing tangible,
+and she attempted no repulse, until, in passing a moss rose-tree that I
+had brought her some weeks since, in my sister's name, she plucked a
+beautiful half-open bud and bade me give it to Rose.
+
+'May I not keep it myself?' I asked.
+
+'No; but here is another for you.'
+
+Instead of taking it quietly, I likewise took the hand that offered it,
+and looked into her face.  She let me hold it for a moment, and I saw a
+flash of ecstatic brilliance in her eye, a glow of glad excitement on her
+face--I thought my hour of victory was come--but instantly a painful
+recollection seemed to flash upon her; a cloud of anguish darkened her
+brow, a marble paleness blanched her cheek and lip; there seemed a moment
+of inward conflict, and, with a sudden effort, she withdrew her hand, and
+retreated a step or two back.
+
+'Now, Mr. Markham,' said she, with a kind of desperate calmness, 'I must
+tell you plainly that I cannot do with this.  I like your company,
+because I am alone here, and your conversation pleases me more than that
+of any other person; but if you cannot be content to regard me as a
+friend--a plain, cold, motherly, or sisterly friend--I must beg you to
+leave me now, and let me alone hereafter: in fact, we must be strangers
+for the future.'
+
+'I will, then--be your friend, or brother, or anything you wish, if you
+will only let me continue to see you; but tell me why I cannot be
+anything more?'
+
+There was a perplexed and thoughtful pause.
+
+'Is it in consequence of some rash vow?'
+
+'It is something of the kind,' she answered.  'Some day I may tell you,
+but at present you had better leave me; and never, Gilbert, put me to the
+painful necessity of repeating what I have just now said to you,' she
+earnestly added, giving me her hand in serious kindness.  How sweet, how
+musical my own name sounded in her mouth!
+
+'I will not,' I replied.  'But you pardon this offence?'
+
+'On condition that you never repeat it.'
+
+'And may I come to see you now and then?'
+
+'Perhaps--occasionally; provided you never abuse the privilege.'
+
+'I make no empty promises, but you shall see.'
+
+'The moment you do our intimacy is at an end, that's all.'
+
+'And will you always call me Gilbert?  It sounds more sisterly, and it
+will serve to remind me of our contract.'
+
+She smiled, and once more bid me go; and at length I judged it prudent to
+obey, and she re-entered the house and I went down the hill.  But as I
+went the tramp of horses' hoofs fell on my ear, and broke the stillness
+of the dewy evening; and, looking towards the lane, I saw a solitary
+equestrian coming up.  Inclining to dusk as it was, I knew him at a
+glance: it was Mr. Lawrence on his grey pony.  I flew across the field,
+leaped the stone fence, and then walked down the lane to meet him.  On
+seeing me, he suddenly drew in his little steed, and seemed inclined to
+turn back, but on second thought apparently judged it better to continue
+his course as before.  He accosted me with a slight bow, and, edging
+close to the wall, endeavoured to pass on; but I was not so minded.
+Seizing his horse by the bridle, I exclaimed,--'Now, Lawrence, I will
+have this mystery explained!  Tell me where you are going, and what you
+mean to do--at once, and distinctly!'
+
+'Will you take your hand off the bridle?' said he, quietly--'you're
+hurting my pony's mouth.'
+
+'You and your pony be--'
+
+'What makes you so coarse and brutal, Markham?  I'm quite ashamed of
+you.'
+
+'You answer my questions--before you leave this spot I will know what you
+mean by this perfidious duplicity!'
+
+'I shall answer no questions till you let go the bridle,--if you stand
+till morning.'
+
+'Now then,' said I, unclosing my hand, but still standing before him.
+
+'Ask me some other time, when you can speak like a gentleman,' returned
+he, and he made an effort to pass me again; but I quickly re-captured the
+pony, scarce less astonished than its master at such uncivil usage.
+
+'Really, Mr. Markham, this is too much!' said the latter.  'Can I not go
+to see my tenant on matters of business, without being assaulted in this
+manner by--?'
+
+'This is no time for business, sir!--I'll tell you, now, what I think of
+your conduct.'
+
+'You'd better defer your opinion to a more convenient season,'
+interrupted he in a low tone--'here's the vicar.'  And, in truth, the
+vicar was just behind me, plodding homeward from some remote corner of
+his parish.  I immediately released the squire; and he went on his way,
+saluting Mr. Millward as he passed.
+
+'What! quarrelling, Markham?' cried the latter, addressing himself to
+me,--'and about that young widow, I doubt?' he added, reproachfully
+shaking his head.  'But let me tell you, young man' (here he put his face
+into mine with an important, confidential air), 'she's not worth it!' and
+he confirmed the assertion by a solemn nod.
+
+'MR. MILLWARD,' I exclaimed, in a tone of wrathful menace that made the
+reverend gentleman look round--aghast--astounded at such unwonted
+insolence, and stare me in the face, with a look that plainly said,
+'What, this to me!'  But I was too indignant to apologise, or to speak
+another word to him: I turned away, and hastened homewards, descending
+with rapid strides the steep, rough lane, and leaving him to follow as he
+pleased.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+
+You must suppose about three weeks passed over.  Mrs. Graham and I were
+now established friends--or brother and sister, as we rather chose to
+consider ourselves.  She called me Gilbert, by my express desire, and I
+called her Helen, for I had seen that name written in her books.  I
+seldom attempted to see her above twice a week; and still I made our
+meetings appear the result of accident as often as I could--for I found
+it necessary to be extremely careful--and, altogether, I behaved with
+such exceeding propriety that she never had occasion to reprove me once.
+Yet I could not but perceive that she was at times unhappy and
+dissatisfied with herself or her position, and truly I myself was not
+quite contented with the latter: this assumption of brotherly nonchalance
+was very hard to sustain, and I often felt myself a most confounded
+hypocrite with it all; I saw too, or rather I felt, that, in spite of
+herself, 'I was not indifferent to her,' as the novel heroes modestly
+express it, and while I thankfully enjoyed my present good fortune, I
+could not fail to wish and hope for something better in future; but, of
+course, I kept such dreams entirely to myself.
+
+'Where are you going, Gilbert?' said Rose, one evening, shortly after
+tea, when I had been busy with the farm all day.
+
+'To take a walk,' was the reply.
+
+'Do you always brush your hat so carefully, and do your hair so nicely,
+and put on such smart new gloves when you take a walk?'
+
+'Not always.'
+
+'You're going to Wildfell Hall, aren't you?'
+
+'What makes you think so?'
+
+'Because you look as if you were--but I wish you wouldn't go so often.'
+
+'Nonsense, child!  I don't go once in six weeks--what do you mean?'
+
+'Well, but if I were you, I wouldn't have so much to do with Mrs.
+Graham.'
+
+'Why, Rose, are you, too, giving in to the prevailing opinion?'
+
+'No,' returned she, hesitatingly--'but I've heard so much about her
+lately, both at the Wilsons' and the vicarage;--and besides, mamma says,
+if she were a proper person she would not be living there by herself--and
+don't you remember last winter, Gilbert, all that about the false name to
+the picture; and how she explained it--saying she had friends or
+acquaintances from whom she wished her present residence to be concealed,
+and that she was afraid of their tracing her out;--and then, how suddenly
+she started up and left the room when that person came--whom she took
+good care not to let us catch a glimpse of, and who Arthur, with such an
+air of mystery, told us was his mamma's friend?'
+
+'Yes, Rose, I remember it all; and I can forgive your uncharitable
+conclusions; for, perhaps, if I did not know her myself, I should put all
+these things together, and believe the same as you do; but thank God, I
+do know her; and I should be unworthy the name of a man, if I could
+believe anything that was said against her, unless I heard it from her
+own lips.--I should as soon believe such things of you, Rose.'
+
+'Oh, Gilbert!'
+
+'Well, do you think I could believe anything of the kind,--whatever the
+Wilsons and Millwards dared to whisper?'
+
+'I should hope not indeed!'
+
+'And why not?--Because I know you--Well, and I know her just as well.'
+
+'Oh, no! you know nothing of her former life; and last year, at this
+time, you did not know that such a person existed.'
+
+'No matter.  There is such a thing as looking through a person's eyes
+into the heart, and learning more of the height, and breadth, and depth
+of another's soul in one hour than it might take you a lifetime to
+discover, if he or she were not disposed to reveal it, or if you had not
+the sense to understand it.'
+
+'Then you are going to see her this evening?'
+
+'To be sure I am!'
+
+'But what would mamma say, Gilbert!'
+
+'Mamma needn't know.'
+
+'But she must know some time, if you go on.'
+
+'Go on!--there's no going on in the matter.  Mrs. Graham and I are two
+friends--and will be; and no man breathing shall hinder it,--or has a
+right to interfere between us.'
+
+'But if you knew how they talk you would be more careful, for her sake as
+well as for your own.  Jane Wilson thinks your visits to the old hall but
+another proof of her depravity--'
+
+'Confound Jane Wilson!'
+
+'And Eliza Millward is quite grieved about you.'
+
+'I hope she is.'
+
+'But I wouldn't, if I were you.'
+
+'Wouldn't what?--How do they know that I go there?'
+
+'There's nothing hid from them: they spy out everything.'
+
+'Oh, I never thought of this!--And so they dare to turn my friendship
+into food for further scandal against her!--That proves the falsehood of
+their other lies, at all events, if any proof were wanting.--Mind you
+contradict them, Rose, whenever you can.'
+
+'But they don't speak openly to me about such things: it is only by hints
+and innuendoes, and by what I hear others say, that I knew what they
+think.'
+
+'Well, then, I won't go to-day, as it's getting latish.  But oh, deuce
+take their cursed, envenomed tongues!' I muttered, in the bitterness of
+my soul.
+
+And just at that moment the vicar entered the room: we had been too much
+absorbed in our conversation to observe his knock.  After his customary
+cheerful and fatherly greeting of Rose, who was rather a favourite with
+the old gentleman, he turned somewhat sternly to me:--
+
+'Well, sir!' said he, 'you're quite a stranger.  It is--let--me--see,' he
+continued, slowly, as he deposited his ponderous bulk in the arm-chair
+that Rose officiously brought towards him; 'it is just--six-weeks--by my
+reckoning, since you darkened--my--door!'  He spoke it with emphasis, and
+struck his stick on the floor.
+
+'Is it, sir?' said I.
+
+'Ay!  It is so!'  He added an affirmatory nod, and continued to gaze upon
+me with a kind of irate solemnity, holding his substantial stick between
+his knees, with his hands clasped upon its head.
+
+'I have been busy,' I said, for an apology was evidently demanded.
+
+'Busy!' repeated he, derisively.
+
+'Yes, you know I've been getting in my hay; and now the harvest is
+beginning.'
+
+'Humph!'
+
+Just then my mother came in, and created a diversion in my favour by her
+loquacious and animated welcome of the reverend guest.  She regretted
+deeply that he had not come a little earlier, in time for tea, but
+offered to have some immediately prepared, if he would do her the favour
+to partake of it.
+
+'Not any for me, I thank you,' replied he; 'I shall be at home in a few
+minutes.'
+
+'Oh, but do stay and take a little! it will be ready in five minutes.'
+
+But he rejected the offer with a majestic wave of the hand.
+
+'I'll tell you what I'll take, Mrs. Markham,' said he: 'I'll take a glass
+of your excellent ale.'
+
+'With pleasure!' cried my mother, proceeding with alacrity to pull the
+bell and order the favoured beverage.
+
+'I thought,' continued he, 'I'd just look in upon you as I passed, and
+taste your home-brewed ale.  I've been to call on Mrs. Graham.'
+
+'Have you, indeed?'
+
+He nodded gravely, and added with awful emphasis--'I thought it incumbent
+upon me to do so.'
+
+'Really!' ejaculated my mother.
+
+'Why so, Mr. Millward?' asked I.
+
+He looked at me with some severity, and turning again to my mother,
+repeated,--'I thought it incumbent upon me!' and struck his stick on the
+floor again.  My mother sat opposite, an awe-struck but admiring auditor.
+
+'"Mrs. Graham," said I,' he continued, shaking his head as he spoke,
+'"these are terrible reports!"  "What, sir?" says she, affecting to be
+ignorant of my meaning.  "It is my--duty--as--your pastor," said I, "to
+tell you both everything that I myself see reprehensible in your conduct,
+and all I have reason to suspect, and what others tell me concerning
+you."--So I told her!'
+
+'You did, sir?' cried I, starting from my seat and striking my fist on
+the table.  He merely glanced towards me, and continued--addressing his
+hostess:--
+
+'It was a painful duty, Mrs. Markham--but I told her!'
+
+'And how did she take it?' asked my mother.
+
+'Hardened, I fear--hardened!' he replied, with a despondent shake of the
+head; 'and, at the same time, there was a strong display of unchastened,
+misdirected passions.  She turned white in the face, and drew her breath
+through her teeth in a savage sort of way;--but she offered no
+extenuation or defence; and with a kind of shameless calmness--shocking
+indeed to witness in one so young--as good as told me that my
+remonstrance was unavailing, and my pastoral advice quite thrown away
+upon her--nay, that my very presence was displeasing while I spoke such
+things.  And I withdrew at length, too plainly seeing that nothing could
+be done--and sadly grieved to find her case so hopeless.  But I am fully
+determined, Mrs. Markham, that my daughters--shall--not--consort with
+her.  Do you adopt the same resolution with regard to yours!--As for your
+sons--as for you, young man,' he continued, sternly turning to me--
+
+'As for ME, sir,' I began, but checked by some impediment in my
+utterance, and finding that my whole frame trembled with fury, I said no
+more, but took the wiser part of snatching up my hat and bolting from the
+room, slamming the door behind me, with a bang that shook the house to
+its foundations, and made my mother scream, and gave a momentary relief
+to my excited feelings.
+
+The next minute saw me hurrying with rapid strides in the direction of
+Wildfell Hall--to what intent or purpose I could scarcely tell, but I
+must be moving somewhere, and no other goal would do--I must see her too,
+and speak to her--that was certain; but what to say, or how to act, I had
+no definite idea.  Such stormy thoughts--so many different resolutions
+crowded in upon me, that my mind was little better than a chaos of
+conflicting passions.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+
+In little more than twenty minutes the journey was accomplished.  I
+paused at the gate to wipe my streaming forehead, and recover my breath
+and some degree of composure.  Already the rapid walking had somewhat
+mitigated my excitement; and with a firm and steady tread I paced the
+garden-walk.  In passing the inhabited wing of the building, I caught a
+sight of Mrs. Graham, through the open window, slowly pacing up and down
+her lonely room.
+
+She seemed agitated and even dismayed at my arrival, as if she thought I
+too was coming to accuse her.  I had entered her presence intending to
+condole with her upon the wickedness of the world, and help her to abuse
+the vicar and his vile informants, but now I felt positively ashamed to
+mention the subject, and determined not to refer to it, unless she led
+the way.
+
+'I am come at an unseasonable hour,' said I, assuming a cheerfulness I
+did not feel, in order to reassure her; 'but I won't stay many minutes.'
+
+She smiled upon me, faintly it is true, but most kindly--I had almost
+said thankfully, as her apprehensions were removed.
+
+'How dismal you are, Helen!  Why have you no fire?' I said, looking round
+on the gloomy apartment.
+
+'It is summer yet,' she replied.
+
+'But we always have a fire in the evenings, if we can bear it; and you
+especially require one in this cold house and dreary room.'
+
+'You should have come a little sooner, and I would have had one lighted
+for you: but it is not worth while now--you won't stay many minutes, you
+say, and Arthur is gone to bed.'
+
+'But I have a fancy for a fire, nevertheless.  Will you order one, if I
+ring?'
+
+'Why, Gilbert, you don't look cold!' said she, smilingly regarding my
+face, which no doubt seemed warm enough.
+
+'No,' replied I, 'but I want to see you comfortable before I go.'
+
+'Me comfortable!' repeated she, with a bitter laugh, as if there were
+something amusingly absurd in the idea.  'It suits me better as it is,'
+she added, in a tone of mournful resignation.
+
+But determined to have my own way, I pulled the bell.
+
+'There now, Helen!' I said, as the approaching steps of Rachel were heard
+in answer to the summons.  There was nothing for it but to turn round and
+desire the maid to light the fire.
+
+I owe Rachel a grudge to this day for the look she cast upon me ere she
+departed on her mission, the sour, suspicious, inquisitorial look that
+plainly demanded, 'What are you here for, I wonder?'  Her mistress did
+not fail to notice it, and a shade of uneasiness darkened her brow.
+
+'You must not stay long, Gilbert,' said she, when the door was closed
+upon us.
+
+'I'm not going to,' said I, somewhat testily, though without a grain of
+anger in my heart against any one but the meddling old woman.  'But,
+Helen, I've something to say to you before I go.'
+
+'What is it?'
+
+'No, not now--I don't know yet precisely what it is, or how to say it,'
+replied I, with more truth than wisdom; and then, fearing lest she should
+turn me out of the house, I began talking about indifferent matters in
+order to gain time.  Meanwhile Rachel came in to kindle the fire, which
+was soon effected by thrusting a red-hot poker between the bars of the
+grate, where the fuel was already disposed for ignition.  She honoured me
+with another of her hard, inhospitable looks in departing, but, little
+moved thereby, I went on talking; and setting a chair for Mrs. Graham on
+one side of the hearth, and one for myself on the other, I ventured to
+sit down, though half suspecting she would rather see me go.
+
+In a little while we both relapsed into silence, and continued for
+several minutes gazing abstractedly into the fire--she intent upon her
+own sad thoughts, and I reflecting how delightful it would be to be
+seated thus beside her with no other presence to restrain our
+intercourse--not even that of Arthur, our mutual friend, without whom we
+had never met before--if only I could venture to speak my mind, and
+disburden my full heart of the feelings that had so long oppressed it,
+and which it now struggled to retain, with an effort that it seemed
+impossible to continue much longer,--and revolving the pros and cons for
+opening my heart to her there and then, and imploring a return of
+affection, the permission to regard her thenceforth as my own, and the
+right and the power to defend her from the calumnies of malicious
+tongues.  On the one hand, I felt a new-born confidence in my powers of
+persuasion--a strong conviction that my own fervour of spirit would grant
+me eloquence--that my very determination--the absolute necessity for
+succeeding, that I felt must win me what I sought; while, on the other, I
+feared to lose the ground I had already gained with so much toil and
+skill, and destroy all future hope by one rash effort, when time and
+patience might have won success.  It was like setting my life upon the
+cast of a die; and yet I was ready to resolve upon the attempt.  At any
+rate, I would entreat the explanation she had half promised to give me
+before; I would demand the reason of this hateful barrier, this
+mysterious impediment to my happiness, and, as I trusted, to her own.
+
+But while I considered in what manner I could best frame my request, my
+companion, wakened from her reverie with a scarcely audible sigh, and
+looking towards the window, where the blood-red harvest moon, just rising
+over one of the grim, fantastic evergreens, was shining in upon us,
+said,--'Gilbert, it is getting late.'
+
+'I see,' said I.  'You want me to go, I suppose?'
+
+'I think you ought.  If my kind neighbours get to know of this visit--as
+no doubt they will--they will not turn it much to my advantage.'  It was
+with what the vicar would doubtless have called a savage sort of smile
+that she said this.
+
+'Let them turn it as they will,' said I.  'What are their thoughts to you
+or me, so long as we are satisfied with ourselves--and each other.  Let
+them go to the deuce with their vile constructions and their lying
+inventions!'
+
+This outburst brought a flush of colour to her face.
+
+'You have heard, then, what they say of me?'
+
+'I heard some detestable falsehoods; but none but fools would credit them
+for a moment, Helen, so don't let them trouble you.'
+
+'I did not think Mr. Millward a fool, and he believes it all; but however
+little you may value the opinions of those about you--however little you
+may esteem them as individuals, it is not pleasant to be looked upon as a
+liar and a hypocrite, to be thought to practise what you abhor, and to
+encourage the vices you would discountenance, to find your good
+intentions frustrated, and your hands crippled by your supposed
+unworthiness, and to bring disgrace on the principles you profess.'
+
+'True; and if I, by my thoughtlessness and selfish disregard to
+appearances, have at all assisted to expose you to these evils, let me
+entreat you not only to pardon me, but to enable me to make reparation;
+authorise me to clear your name from every imputation: give me the right
+to identify your honour with my own, and to defend your reputation as
+more precious than my life!'
+
+'Are you hero enough to unite yourself to one whom you know to be
+suspected and despised by all around you, and identify your interests and
+your honour with hers?  Think! it is a serious thing.'
+
+'I should be proud to do it, Helen!--most happy--delighted beyond
+expression!--and if that be all the obstacle to our union, it is
+demolished, and you must--you shall be mine!'
+
+And starting from my seat in a frenzy of ardour, I seized her hand and
+would have pressed it to my lips, but she as suddenly caught it away,
+exclaiming in the bitterness of intense affliction,--'No, no, it is not
+all!'
+
+'What is it, then?  You promised I should know some time, and--'
+
+'You shall know some time--but not now--my head aches terribly,' she
+said, pressing her hand to her forehead, 'and I must have some
+repose--and surely I have had misery enough to-day!' she added, almost
+wildly.
+
+'But it could not harm you to tell it,' I persisted: 'it would ease your
+mind; and I should then know how to comfort you.'
+
+She shook her head despondingly.  'If you knew all, you, too, would blame
+me--perhaps even more than I deserve--though I have cruelly wronged you,'
+she added in a low murmur, as if she mused aloud.
+
+'You, Helen?  Impossible?'
+
+'Yes, not willingly; for I did not know the strength and depth of your
+attachment.  I thought--at least I endeavoured to think your regard for
+me was as cold and fraternal as you professed it to be.'
+
+'Or as yours?'
+
+'Or as mine--ought to have been--of such a light and selfish, superficial
+nature, that--'
+
+'There, indeed, you wronged me.'
+
+            [Picture: Moorland scene (with cottage), Haworth]
+
+'I know I did; and, sometimes, I suspected it then; but I thought, upon
+the whole, there could be no great harm in leaving your fancies and your
+hopes to dream themselves to nothing--or flutter away to some more
+fitting object, while your friendly sympathies remained with me; but if I
+had known the depth of your regard, the generous, disinterested affection
+you seem to feel--'
+
+'Seem, Helen?'
+
+'That you do feel, then, I would have acted differently.'
+
+'How?  You could not have given me less encouragement, or treated me with
+greater severity than you did!  And if you think you have wronged me by
+giving me your friendship, and occasionally admitting me to the enjoyment
+of your company and conversation, when all hopes of closer intimacy were
+vain--as indeed you always gave me to understand--if you think you have
+wronged me by this, you are mistaken; for such favours, in themselves
+alone, are not only delightful to my heart, but purifying, exalting,
+ennobling to my soul; and I would rather have your friendship than the
+love of any other woman in the world!'
+
+Little comforted by this, she clasped her hands upon her knee, and
+glancing upward, seemed, in silent anguish, to implore divine assistance;
+then, turning to me, she calmly said,--'To-morrow, if you meet me on the
+moor about mid-day, I will tell you all you seek to know; and perhaps you
+will then see the necessity of discontinuing our intimacy--if, indeed,
+you do not willingly resign me as one no longer worthy of regard.'
+
+'I can safely answer no to that: you cannot have such grave confessions
+to make--you must be trying my faith, Helen.'
+
+'No, no, no,' she earnestly repeated--'I wish it were so!  Thank heaven!'
+she added, 'I have no great crime to confess; but I have more than you
+will like to hear, or, perhaps, can readily excuse,--and more than I can
+tell you now; so let me entreat you to leave me!'
+
+'I will; but answer me this one question first;--do you love me?'
+
+'I will not answer it!'
+
+'Then I will conclude you do; and so good-night.'
+
+She turned from me to hide the emotion she could not quite control; but I
+took her hand and fervently kissed it.
+
+'Gilbert, do leave me!' she cried, in a tone of such thrilling anguish
+that I felt it would be cruel to disobey.
+
+But I gave one look back before I closed the door, and saw her leaning
+forward on the table, with her hands pressed against her eyes, sobbing
+convulsively; yet I withdrew in silence.  I felt that to obtrude my
+consolations on her then would only serve to aggravate her sufferings.
+
+To tell you all the questionings and conjectures--the fears, and hopes,
+and wild emotions that jostled and chased each other through my mind as I
+descended the hill, would almost fill a volume in itself.  But before I
+was half-way down, a sentiment of strong sympathy for her I had left
+behind me had displaced all other feelings, and seemed imperatively to
+draw me back: I began to think, 'Why am I hurrying so fast in this
+direction?  Can I find comfort or consolation--peace, certainty,
+contentment, all--or anything that I want at home? and can I leave all
+perturbation, sorrow, and anxiety behind me there?'
+
+And I turned round to look at the old Hall.  There was little besides the
+chimneys visible above my contracted horizon.  I walked back to get a
+better view of it.  When it rose in sight, I stood still a moment to
+look, and then continued moving towards the gloomy object of attraction.
+Something called me nearer--nearer still--and why not, pray?  Might I not
+find more benefit in the contemplation of that venerable pile with the
+full moon in the cloudless heaven shining so calmly above it--with that
+warm yellow lustre peculiar to an August night--and the mistress of my
+soul within, than in returning to my home, where all comparatively was
+light, and life, and cheerfulness, and therefore inimical to me in my
+present frame of mind,--and the more so that its inmates all were more or
+less imbued with that detestable belief, the very thought of which made
+my blood boil in my veins--and how could I endure to hear it openly
+declared, or cautiously insinuated--which was worse?--I had had trouble
+enough already, with some babbling fiend that would keep whispering in my
+ear, 'It may be true,' till I had shouted aloud, 'It is false!  I defy
+you to make me suppose it!'
+
+I could see the red firelight dimly gleaming from her parlour window.  I
+went up to the garden wall, and stood leaning over it, with my eyes fixed
+upon the lattice, wondering what she was doing, thinking, or suffering
+now, and wishing I could speak to her but one word, or even catch one
+glimpse of her, before I went.
+
+I had not thus looked, and wished, and wondered long, before I vaulted
+over the barrier, unable to resist the temptation of taking one glance
+through the window, just to see if she were more composed than when we
+parted;--and if I found her still in deep distress, perhaps I might
+venture attempt a word of comfort--to utter one of the many things I
+should have said before, instead of aggravating her sufferings by my
+stupid impetuosity.  I looked.  Her chair was vacant: so was the room.
+But at that moment some one opened the outer door, and a voice--her
+voice--said,--'Come out--I want to see the moon, and breathe the evening
+air: they will do me good--if anything will.'
+
+Here, then, were she and Rachel coming to take a walk in the garden.  I
+wished myself safe back over the wall.  I stood, however, in the shadow
+of the tall holly-bush, which, standing between the window and the porch,
+at present screened me from observation, but did not prevent me from
+seeing two figures come forth into the moonlight: Mrs. Graham followed by
+another--not Rachel, but a young man, slender and rather tall.  O
+heavens, how my temples throbbed!  Intense anxiety darkened my sight; but
+I thought--yes, and the voice confirmed it--it was Mr. Lawrence!
+
+'You should not let it worry you so much, Helen,' said he; 'I will be
+more cautious in future; and in time--'
+
+I did not hear the rest of the sentence; for he walked close beside her
+and spoke so gently that I could not catch the words.  My heart was
+splitting with hatred; but I listened intently for her reply.  I heard it
+plainly enough.
+
+'But I must leave this place, Frederick,' she said--'I never can be happy
+here,--nor anywhere else, indeed,' she added, with a mirthless
+laugh,--'but I cannot rest here.'
+
+'But where could you find a better place?' replied he, 'so secluded--so
+near me, if you think anything of that.'
+
+'Yes,' interrupted she, 'it is all I could wish, if they could only have
+left me alone.'
+
+'But wherever you go, Helen, there will be the same sources of annoyance.
+I cannot consent to lose you: I must go with you, or come to you; and
+there are meddling fools elsewhere, as well as here.'
+
+While thus conversing they had sauntered slowly past me, down the walk,
+and I heard no more of their discourse; but I saw him put his arm round
+her waist, while she lovingly rested her hand on his shoulder;--and then,
+a tremulous darkness obscured my sight, my heart sickened and my head
+burned like fire: I half rushed, half staggered from the spot, where
+horror had kept me rooted, and leaped or tumbled over the wall--I hardly
+know which--but I know that, afterwards, like a passionate child, I
+dashed myself on the ground and lay there in a paroxysm of anger and
+despair--how long, I cannot undertake to say; but it must have been a
+considerable time; for when, having partially relieved myself by a
+torment of tears, and looked up at the moon, shining so calmly and
+carelessly on, as little influenced by my misery as I was by its peaceful
+radiance, and earnestly prayed for death or forgetfulness, I had risen
+and journeyed homewards--little regarding the way, but carried
+instinctively by my feet to the door, I found it bolted against me, and
+every one in bed except my mother, who hastened to answer my impatient
+knocking, and received me with a shower of questions and rebukes.
+
+'Oh, Gilbert! how could you do so?  Where have you been?  Do come in and
+take your supper.  I've got it all ready, though you don't deserve it,
+for keeping me in such a fright, after the strange manner you left the
+house this evening.  Mr. Millward was quite--  Bless the boy! how ill he
+looks.  Oh, gracious! what is the matter?'
+
+'Nothing, nothing--give me a candle.'
+
+'But won't you take some supper?'
+
+'No; I want to go to bed,' said I, taking a candle and lighting it at the
+one she held in her hand.
+
+'Oh, Gilbert, how you tremble!' exclaimed my anxious parent.  'How white
+you look!  Do tell me what it is?  Has anything happened?'
+
+'It's nothing,' cried I, ready to stamp with vexation because the candle
+would not light.  Then, suppressing my irritation, I added, 'I've been
+walking too fast, that's all.  Good-night,' and marched off to bed,
+regardless of the 'Walking too fast! where have you been?' that was
+called after me from below.
+
+My mother followed me to the very door of my room with her questionings
+and advice concerning my health and my conduct; but I implored her to let
+me alone till morning; and she withdrew, and at length I had the
+satisfaction to hear her close her own door.  There was no sleep for me,
+however, that night as I thought; and instead of attempting to solicit
+it, I employed myself in rapidly pacing the chamber, having first removed
+my boots, lest my mother should hear me.  But the boards creaked, and she
+was watchful.  I had not walked above a quarter of an hour before she was
+at the door again.
+
+'Gilbert, why are you not in bed--you said you wanted to go?'
+
+'Confound it!  I'm going,' said I.
+
+'But why are you so long about it?  You must have something on your
+mind--'
+
+'For heaven's sake, let me alone, and get to bed yourself.'
+
+'Can it be that Mrs. Graham that distresses you so?'
+
+'No, no, I tell you--it's nothing.'
+
+'I wish to goodness it mayn't,' murmured she, with a sigh, as she
+returned to her own apartment, while I threw myself on the bed, feeling
+most undutifully disaffected towards her for having deprived me of what
+seemed the only shadow of a consolation that remained, and chained me to
+that wretched couch of thorns.
+
+Never did I endure so long, so miserable a night as that.  And yet it was
+not wholly sleepless.  Towards morning my distracting thoughts began to
+lose all pretensions to coherency, and shape themselves into confused and
+feverish dreams, and, at length, there followed an interval of
+unconscious slumber.  But then the dawn of bitter recollection that
+succeeded--the waking to find life a blank, and worse than a blank,
+teeming with torment and misery--not a mere barren wilderness, but full
+of thorns and briers--to find myself deceived, duped, hopeless, my
+affections trampled upon, my angel not an angel, and my friend a fiend
+incarnate--it was worse than if I had not slept at all.
+
+It was a dull, gloomy morning; the weather had changed like my prospects,
+and the rain was pattering against the window.  I rose, nevertheless, and
+went out; not to look after the farm, though that would serve as my
+excuse, but to cool my brain, and regain, if possible, a sufficient
+degree of composure to meet the family at the morning meal without
+exciting inconvenient remarks.  If I got a wetting, that, in conjunction
+with a pretended over-exertion before breakfast, might excuse my sudden
+loss of appetite; and if a cold ensued, the severer the better--it would
+help to account for the sullen moods and moping melancholy likely to
+cloud my brow for long enough.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+
+'My dear Gilbert, I wish you would try to be a little more amiable,' said
+my mother one morning after some display of unjustifiable ill-humour on
+my part.  'You say there is nothing the matter with you, and nothing has
+happened to grieve you, and yet I never saw anyone so altered as you
+within these last few days.  You haven't a good word for anybody--friends
+and strangers, equals and inferiors--it's all the same.  I do wish you'd
+try to check it.'
+
+'Check what?'
+
+'Why, your strange temper.  You don't know how it spoils you.  I'm sure a
+finer disposition than yours by nature could not be, if you'd let it have
+fair play: so you've no excuse that way.'
+
+While she thus remonstrated, I took up a book, and laying it open on the
+table before me, pretended to be deeply absorbed in its perusal, for I
+was equally unable to justify myself and unwilling to acknowledge my
+errors; and I wished to have nothing to say on the matter.  But my
+excellent parent went on lecturing, and then came to coaxing, and began
+to stroke my hair; and I was getting to feel quite a good boy, but my
+mischievous brother, who was idling about the room, revived my corruption
+by suddenly calling out,--'Don't touch him, mother! he'll bite!  He's a
+very tiger in human form.  I've given him up for my part--fairly disowned
+him--cast him off, root and branch.  It's as much as my life is worth to
+come within six yards of him.  The other day he nearly fractured my skull
+for singing a pretty, inoffensive love-song, on purpose to amuse him.'
+
+'Oh, Gilbert! how could you?' exclaimed my mother.
+
+'I told you to hold your noise first, you know, Fergus,' said I.
+
+'Yes, but when I assured you it was no trouble and went on with the next
+verse, thinking you might like it better, you clutched me by the shoulder
+and dashed me away, right against the wall there, with such force that I
+thought I had bitten my tongue in two, and expected to see the place
+plastered with my brains; and when I put my hand to my head, and found my
+skull not broken, I thought it was a miracle, and no mistake.  But, poor
+fellow!' added he, with a sentimental sigh--'his heart's broken--that's
+the truth of it--and his head's--'
+
+'Will you be silent NOW?' cried I, starting up, and eyeing the fellow so
+fiercely that my mother, thinking I meant to inflict some grievous bodily
+injury, laid her hand on my arm, and besought me to let him alone, and he
+walked leisurely out, with his hands in his pockets, singing
+provokingly--'Shall I, because a woman's fair,' &c.
+
+'I'm not going to defile my fingers with him,' said I, in answer to the
+maternal intercession.  'I wouldn't touch him with the tongs.'
+
+I now recollected that I had business with Robert Wilson, concerning the
+purchase of a certain field adjoining my farm--a business I had been
+putting off from day to day; for I had no interest in anything now; and
+besides, I was misanthropically inclined, and, moreover, had a particular
+objection to meeting Jane Wilson or her mother; for though I had too good
+reason, now, to credit their reports concerning Mrs. Graham, I did not
+like them a bit the better for it--or Eliza Millward either--and the
+thought of meeting them was the more repugnant to me that I could not,
+now, defy their seeming calumnies and triumph in my own convictions as
+before.  But to-day I determined to make an effort to return to my duty.
+Though I found no pleasure in it, it would be less irksome than
+idleness--at all events it would be more profitable.  If life promised no
+enjoyment within my vocation, at least it offered no allurements out of
+it; and henceforth I would put my shoulder to the wheel and toil away,
+like any poor drudge of a cart-horse that was fairly broken in to its
+labour, and plod through life, not wholly useless if not agreeable, and
+uncomplaining if not contented with my lot.
+
+Thus resolving, with a kind of sullen resignation, if such a term may be
+allowed, I wended my way to Ryecote Farm, scarcely expecting to find its
+owner within at this time of day, but hoping to learn in what part of the
+premises he was most likely to be found.
+
+Absent he was, but expected home in a few minutes; and I was desired to
+step into the parlour and wait.  Mrs. Wilson was busy in the kitchen, but
+the room was not empty; and I scarcely checked an involuntary recoil as I
+entered it; for there sat Miss Wilson chattering with Eliza Millward.
+However, I determined to be cool and civil.  Eliza seemed to have made
+the same resolution on her part.  We had not met since the evening of the
+tea-party; but there was no visible emotion either of pleasure or pain,
+no attempt at pathos, no display of injured pride: she was cool in
+temper, civil in demeanour.  There was even an ease and cheerfulness
+about her air and manner that I made no pretension to; but there was a
+depth of malice in her too expressive eye that plainly told me I was not
+forgiven; for, though she no longer hoped to win me to herself, she still
+hated her rival, and evidently delighted to wreak her spite on me.  On
+the other hand, Miss Wilson was as affable and courteous as heart could
+wish, and though I was in no very conversable humour myself, the two
+ladies between them managed to keep up a pretty continuous fire of small
+talk.  But Eliza took advantage of the first convenient pause to ask if I
+had lately seen Mrs. Graham, in a tone of merely casual inquiry, but with
+a sidelong glance--intended to be playfully mischievous--really, brimful
+and running over with malice.
+
+'Not lately,' I replied, in a careless tone, but sternly repelling her
+odious glances with my eyes; for I was vexed to feel the colour mounting
+to my forehead, despite my strenuous efforts to appear unmoved.
+
+'What! are you beginning to tire already?  I thought so noble a creature
+would have power to attach you for a year at least!'
+
+'I would rather not speak of her now.'
+
+'Ah! then you are convinced, at last, of your mistake--you have at length
+discovered that your divinity is not quite the immaculate--'
+
+'I desired you not to speak of her, Miss Eliza.'
+
+'Oh, I beg your pardon!  I perceive Cupid's arrows have been too sharp
+for you: the wounds, being more than skin-deep, are not yet healed, and
+bleed afresh at every mention of the loved one's name.'
+
+'Say, rather,' interposed Miss Wilson, 'that Mr. Markham feels that name
+is unworthy to be mentioned in the presence of right-minded females.  I
+wonder, Eliza, you should think of referring to that unfortunate
+person--you might know the mention of her would be anything but agreeable
+to any one here present.'
+
+How could this be borne?  I rose and was about to clap my hat upon my
+head and burst away, in wrathful indignation from the house; but
+recollecting--just in time to save my dignity--the folly of such a
+proceeding, and how it would only give my fair tormentors a merry laugh
+at my expense, for the sake of one I acknowledged in my own heart to be
+unworthy of the slightest sacrifice--though the ghost of my former
+reverence and love so hung about me still, that I could not bear to hear
+her name aspersed by others--I merely walked to the window, and having
+spent a few seconds in vengibly biting my lips and sternly repressing the
+passionate heavings of my chest, I observed to Miss Wilson, that I could
+see nothing of her brother, and added that, as my time was precious, it
+would perhaps be better to call again to-morrow, at some time when I
+should be sure to find him at home.
+
+'Oh, no!' said she; 'if you wait a minute, he will be sure to come; for
+he has business at L--' (that was our market-town), 'and will require a
+little refreshment before he goes.'
+
+I submitted accordingly, with the best grace I could; and, happily, I had
+not long to wait.  Mr. Wilson soon arrived, and, indisposed for business
+as I was at that moment, and little as I cared for the field or its
+owner, I forced my attention to the matter in hand, with very creditable
+determination, and quickly concluded the bargain--perhaps more to the
+thrifty farmer's satisfaction than he cared to acknowledge.  Then,
+leaving him to the discussion of his substantial 'refreshment,' I gladly
+quitted the house, and went to look after my reapers.
+
+Leaving them busy at work on the side of the valley, I ascended the hill,
+intending to visit a corn-field in the more elevated regions, and see
+when it would be ripe for the sickle.  But I did not visit it that day;
+for, as I approached, I beheld, at no great distance, Mrs. Graham and her
+son coming down in the opposite direction.  They saw me; and Arthur
+already was running to meet me; but I immediately turned back and walked
+steadily homeward; for I had fully determined never to encounter his
+mother again; and regardless of the shrill voice in my ear, calling upon
+me to 'wait a moment,' I pursued the even tenor of my way; and he soon
+relinquished the pursuit as hopeless, or was called away by his mother.
+At all events, when I looked back, five minutes after, not a trace of
+either was to be seen.
+
+This incident agitated and disturbed me most unaccountably--unless you
+would account for it by saying that Cupid's arrows not only had been too
+sharp for me, but they were barbed and deeply rooted, and I had not yet
+been able to wrench them from my heart.  However that be, I was rendered
+doubly miserable for the remainder of the day.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+
+Next morning, I bethought me, I, too, had business at L--; so I mounted
+my horse, and set forth on the expedition soon after breakfast.  It was a
+dull, drizzly day; but that was no matter: it was all the more suitable
+to my frame of mind.  It was likely to be a lonely journey; for it was no
+market-day, and the road I traversed was little frequented at any other
+time; but that suited me all the better too.
+
+As I trotted along, however, chewing the cud of--bitter fancies, I heard
+another horse at no great distance behind me; but I never conjectured who
+the rider might be, or troubled my head about him, till, on slackening my
+pace to ascend a gentle acclivity, or rather, suffering my horse to
+slacken his pace into a lazy walk--for, rapt in my own reflections, I was
+letting it jog on as leisurely as it thought proper--I lost ground, and
+my fellow-traveller overtook me.  He accosted me by name, for it was no
+stranger--it was Mr. Lawrence!  Instinctively the fingers of my whip-hand
+tingled, and grasped their charge with convulsive energy; but I
+restrained the impulse, and answering his salutation with a nod,
+attempted to push on; but he pushed on beside me, and began to talk about
+the weather and the crops.  I gave the briefest possible answers to his
+queries and observations, and fell back.  He fell back too, and asked if
+my horse was lame.  I replied with a look, at which he placidly smiled.
+
+I was as much astonished as exasperated at this singular pertinacity and
+imperturbable assurance on his part.  I had thought the circumstances of
+our last meeting would have left such an impression on his mind as to
+render him cold and distant ever after: instead of that, he appeared not
+only to have forgotten all former offences, but to be impenetrable to all
+present incivilities.  Formerly, the slightest hint, or mere fancied
+coldness in tone or glance, had sufficed to repulse him: now, positive
+rudeness could not drive him away.  Had he heard of my disappointment;
+and was he come to witness the result, and triumph in my despair?  I
+grasped my whip with more determined energy than before--but still
+forbore to raise it, and rode on in silence, waiting for some more
+tangible cause of offence, before I opened the floodgates of my soul and
+poured out the dammed-up fury that was foaming and swelling within.
+
+'Markham,' said he, in his usual quiet tone, 'why do you quarrel with
+your friends, because you have been disappointed in one quarter?  You
+have found your hopes defeated; but how am I to blame for it?  I warned
+you beforehand, you know, but you would not--'
+
+He said no more; for, impelled by some fiend at my elbow, I had seized my
+whip by the small end, and--swift and sudden as a flash of
+lightning--brought the other down upon his head.  It was not without a
+feeling of savage satisfaction that I beheld the instant, deadly pallor
+that overspread his face, and the few red drops that trickled down his
+forehead, while he reeled a moment in his saddle, and then fell backward
+to the ground.  The pony, surprised to be so strangely relieved of its
+burden, started and capered, and kicked a little, and then made use of
+its freedom to go and crop the grass of the hedge-bank: while its master
+lay as still and silent as a corpse.  Had I killed him?--an icy hand
+seemed to grasp my heart and check its pulsation, as I bent over him,
+gazing with breathless intensity upon the ghastly, upturned face.  But
+no; he moved his eyelids and uttered a slight groan.  I breathed
+again--he was only stunned by the fall.  It served him right--it would
+teach him better manners in future.  Should I help him to his horse?  No.
+For any other combination of offences I would; but his were too
+unpardonable.  He might mount it himself, if he liked--in a while:
+already he was beginning to stir and look about him--and there it was for
+him, quietly browsing on the road-side.
+
+So with a muttered execration I left the fellow to his fate, and clapping
+spurs to my own horse, galloped away, excited by a combination of
+feelings it would not be easy to analyse; and perhaps, if I did so, the
+result would not be very creditable to my disposition; for I am not sure
+that a species of exultation in what I had done was not one principal
+concomitant.
+
+Shortly, however, the effervescence began to abate, and not many minutes
+elapsed before I had turned and gone back to look after the fate of my
+victim.  It was no generous impulse--no kind relentings that led me to
+this--nor even the fear of what might be the consequences to myself, if I
+finished my assault upon the squire by leaving him thus neglected, and
+exposed to further injury; it was, simply, the voice of conscience; and I
+took great credit to myself for attending so promptly to its
+dictates--and judging the merit of the deed by the sacrifice it cost, I
+was not far wrong.
+
+Mr. Lawrence and his pony had both altered their positions in some
+degree.  The pony had wandered eight or ten yards further away; and he
+had managed, somehow, to remove himself from the middle of the road: I
+found him seated in a recumbent position on the bank,--looking very white
+and sickly still, and holding his cambric handkerchief (now more red than
+white) to his head.  It must have been a powerful blow; but half the
+credit--or the blame of it (which you please) must be attributed to the
+whip, which was garnished with a massive horse's head of plated metal.
+The grass, being sodden with rain, afforded the young gentleman a rather
+inhospitable couch; his clothes were considerably bemired; and his hat
+was rolling in the mud on the other side of the road.  But his thoughts
+seemed chiefly bent upon his pony, on which he was wistfully gazing--half
+in helpless anxiety, and half in hopeless abandonment to his fate.
+
+I dismounted, however, and having fastened my own animal to the nearest
+tree, first picked up his hat, intending to clap it on his head; but
+either he considered his head unfit for a hat, or the hat, in its present
+condition, unfit for his head; for shrinking away the one, he took the
+other from my hand, and scornfully cast it aside.
+
+'It's good enough for you,' I muttered.
+
+My next good office was to catch his pony and bring it to him, which was
+soon accomplished; for the beast was quiet enough in the main, and only
+winced and flirted a trifle till I got hold of the bridle--but then, I
+must see him in the saddle.
+
+'Here, you fellow--scoundrel--dog--give me your hand, and I'll help you
+to mount.'
+
+No; he turned from me in disgust.  I attempted to take him by the arm.
+He shrank away as if there had been contamination in my touch.
+
+'What, you won't!  Well! you may sit there till doomsday, for what I
+care.  But I suppose you don't want to lose all the blood in your
+body--I'll just condescend to bind that up for you.'
+
+'Let me alone, if you please.'
+
+'Humph; with all my heart.  You may go to the d--l, if you choose--and
+say I sent you.'
+
+But before I abandoned him to his fate I flung his pony's bridle over a
+stake in the hedge, and threw him my handkerchief, as his own was now
+saturated with blood.  He took it and cast it back to me in abhorrence
+and contempt, with all the strength he could muster.  It wanted but this
+to fill the measure of his offences.  With execrations not loud but deep
+I left him to live or die as he could, well satisfied that I had done my
+duty in attempting to save him--but forgetting how I had erred in
+bringing him into such a condition, and how insultingly my after-services
+had been offered--and sullenly prepared to meet the consequences if he
+should choose to say I had attempted to murder him--which I thought not
+unlikely, as it seemed probable he was actuated by such spiteful motives
+in so perseveringly refusing my assistance.
+
+Having remounted my horse, I just looked back to see how he was getting
+on, before I rode away.  He had risen from the ground, and grasping his
+pony's mane, was attempting to resume his seat in the saddle; but
+scarcely had he put his foot in the stirrup, when a sickness or dizziness
+seemed to overpower him: he leant forward a moment, with his head drooped
+on the animal's back, and then made one more effort, which proving
+ineffectual, he sank back on the bank, where I left him, reposing his
+head on the oozy turf, and to all appearance, as calmly reclining as if
+he had been taking his rest on his sofa at home.
+
+I ought to have helped him in spite of himself--to have bound up the
+wound he was unable to staunch, and insisted upon getting him on his
+horse and seeing him safe home; but, besides my bitter indignation
+against himself, there was the question what to say to his servants--and
+what to my own family.  Either I should have to acknowledge the deed,
+which would set me down as a madman, unless I acknowledged the motive
+too--and that seemed impossible--or I must get up a lie, which seemed
+equally out of the question--especially as Mr. Lawrence would probably
+reveal the whole truth, and thereby bring me to tenfold disgrace--unless
+I were villain enough, presuming on the absence of witnesses, to persist
+in my own version of the case, and make him out a still greater scoundrel
+than he was.  No; he had only received a cut above the temple, and
+perhaps a few bruises from the fall, or the hoofs of his own pony: that
+could not kill him if he lay there half the day; and, if he could not
+help himself, surely some one would be coming by: it would be impossible
+that a whole day should pass and no one traverse the road but ourselves.
+As for what he might choose to say hereafter, I would take my chance
+about it: if he told lies, I would contradict him; if he told the truth,
+I would bear it as best I could.  I was not obliged to enter into
+explanations further than I thought proper.  Perhaps he might choose to
+be silent on the subject, for fear of raising inquiries as to the cause
+of the quarrel, and drawing the public attention to his connection with
+Mrs. Graham, which, whether for her sake or his own, he seemed so very
+desirous to conceal.
+
+Thus reasoning, I trotted away to the town, where I duly transacted my
+business, and performed various little commissions for my mother and
+Rose, with very laudable exactitude, considering the different
+circumstances of the case.  In returning home, I was troubled with sundry
+misgivings about the unfortunate Lawrence.  The question, What if I
+should find him lying still on the damp earth, fairly dying of cold and
+exhaustion--or already stark and chill? thrust itself most unpleasantly
+upon my mind, and the appalling possibility pictured itself with painful
+vividness to my imagination as I approached the spot where I had left
+him.  But no, thank heaven, both man and horse were gone, and nothing was
+left to witness against me but two objects--unpleasant enough in
+themselves to be sure, and presenting a very ugly, not to say murderous
+appearance--in one place, the hat saturated with rain and coated with
+mud, indented and broken above the brim by that villainous whip-handle;
+in another, the crimson handkerchief, soaking in a deeply tinctured pool
+of water--for much rain had fallen in the interim.
+
+Bad news flies fast: it was hardly four o'clock when I got home, but my
+mother gravely accosted me with--'Oh, Gilbert!--Such an accident!  Rose
+has been shopping in the village, and she's heard that Mr. Lawrence has
+been thrown from his horse and brought home dying!'
+
+This shocked me a trifle, as you may suppose; but I was comforted to hear
+that he had frightfully fractured his skull and broken a leg; for,
+assured of the falsehood of this, I trusted the rest of the story was
+equally exaggerated; and when I heard my mother and sister so feelingly
+deploring his condition, I had considerable difficulty in preventing
+myself from telling them the real extent of the injuries, as far as I
+knew them.
+
+'You must go and see him to-morrow,' said my mother.
+
+'Or to-day,' suggested Rose: 'there's plenty of time; and you can have
+the pony, as your horse is tired.  Won't you, Gilbert--as soon as you've
+had something to eat?'
+
+'No, no--how can we tell that it isn't all a false report?  It's highly
+im-'
+
+'Oh, I'm sure it isn't; for the village is all alive about it; and I saw
+two people that had seen others that had seen the man that found him.
+That sounds far-fetched; but it isn't so when you think of it.'
+
+'Well, but Lawrence is a good rider; it is not likely he would fall from
+his horse at all; and if he did, it is highly improbable he would break
+his bones in that way.  It must be a gross exaggeration at least.'
+
+'No; but the horse kicked him--or something.'
+
+'What, his quiet little pony?'
+
+'How do you know it was that?'
+
+'He seldom rides any other.'
+
+'At any rate,' said my mother, 'you will call to-morrow.  Whether it be
+true or false, exaggerated or otherwise, we shall like to know how he
+is.'
+
+'Fergus may go.'
+
+'Why not you?'
+
+'He has more time.  I am busy just now.'
+
+'Oh! but, Gilbert, how can you be so composed about it?  You won't mind
+business for an hour or two in a case of this sort, when your friend is
+at the point of death.'
+
+'He is not, I tell you.'
+
+'For anything you know, he may be: you can't tell till you have seen him.
+At all events, he must have met with some terrible accident, and you
+ought to see him: he'll take it very unkind if you don't.'
+
+'Confound it!  I can't.  He and I have not been on good terms of late.'
+
+'Oh, my dear boy!  Surely, surely you are not so unforgiving as to carry
+your little differences to such a length as--'
+
+'Little differences, indeed!' I muttered.
+
+'Well, but only remember the occasion.  Think how--'
+
+'Well, well, don't bother me now--I'll see about it,' I replied.
+
+And my seeing about it was to send Fergus next morning, with my mother's
+compliments, to make the requisite inquiries; for, of course, my going
+was out of the question--or sending a message either.  He brought back
+intelligence that the young squire was laid up with the complicated evils
+of a broken head and certain contusions (occasioned by a fall--of which
+he did not trouble himself to relate the particulars--and the subsequent
+misconduct of his horse), and a severe cold, the consequence of lying on
+the wet ground in the rain; but there were no broken bones, and no
+immediate prospects of dissolution.
+
+It was evident, then, that for Mrs. Graham's sake it was not his
+intention to criminate me.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+
+That day was rainy like its predecessor; but towards evening it began to
+clear up a little, and the next morning was fair and promising.  I was
+out on the hill with the reapers.  A light wind swept over the corn, and
+all nature laughed in the sunshine.  The lark was rejoicing among the
+silvery floating clouds.  The late rain had so sweetly freshened and
+cleared the air, and washed the sky, and left such glittering gems on
+branch and blade, that not even the farmers could have the heart to blame
+it.  But no ray of sunshine could reach my heart, no breeze could freshen
+it; nothing could fill the void my faith, and hope, and joy in Helen
+Graham had left, or drive away the keen regrets and bitter dregs of
+lingering love that still oppressed it.
+
+While I stood with folded arms abstractedly gazing on the undulating
+swell of the corn, not yet disturbed by the reapers, something gently
+pulled my skirts, and a small voice, no longer welcome to my ears,
+aroused me with the startling words,--'Mr. Markham, mamma wants you.'
+
+'Wants me, Arthur?'
+
+'Yes.  Why do you look so queer?' said he, half laughing, half frightened
+at the unexpected aspect of my face in suddenly turning towards
+him,--'and why have you kept so long away?  Come!  Won't you come?'
+
+'I'm busy just now,' I replied, scarce knowing what to answer.
+
+He looked up in childish bewilderment; but before I could speak again the
+lady herself was at my side.
+
+'Gilbert, I must speak with you!' said she, in a tone of suppressed
+vehemence.
+
+I looked at her pale cheek and glittering eye, but answered nothing.
+
+'Only for a moment,' pleaded she.  'Just step aside into this other
+field.'  She glanced at the reapers, some of whom were directing looks of
+impertinent curiosity towards her.  'I won't keep you a minute.'
+
+I accompanied her through the gap.
+
+'Arthur, darling, run and gather those bluebells,' said she, pointing to
+some that were gleaming at some distance under the hedge along which we
+walked.  The child hesitated, as if unwilling to quit my side.  'Go,
+love!' repeated she more urgently, and in a tone which, though not
+unkind, demanded prompt obedience, and obtained it.
+
+'Well, Mrs. Graham?' said I, calmly and coldly; for, though I saw she was
+miserable, and pitied her, I felt glad to have it in my power to torment
+her.
+
+She fixed her eyes upon me with a look that pierced me to the heart; and
+yet it made me smile.
+
+'I don't ask the reason of this change, Gilbert,' said she, with bitter
+calmness: 'I know it too well; but though I could see myself suspected
+and condemned by every one else, and bear it with calmness, I cannot
+endure it from you.--Why did you not come to hear my explanation on the
+day I appointed to give it?'
+
+'Because I happened, in the interim, to learn all you would have told
+me--and a trifle more, I imagine.'
+
+'Impossible, for I would have told you all!' cried she,
+passionately--'but I won't now, for I see you are not worthy of it!'
+
+And her pale lips quivered with agitation.
+
+'Why not, may I ask?'
+
+She repelled my mocking smile with a glance of scornful indignation.
+
+'Because you never understood me, or you would not soon have listened to
+my traducers--my confidence would be misplaced in you--you are not the
+man I thought you.  Go!  I won't care what you think of me.'
+
+She turned away, and I went; for I thought that would torment her as much
+as anything; and I believe I was right; for, looking back a minute after,
+I saw her turn half round, as if hoping or expecting to find me still
+beside her; and then she stood still, and cast one look behind.  It was a
+look less expressive of anger than of bitter anguish and despair; but I
+immediately assumed an aspect of indifference, and affected to be gazing
+carelessly around me, and I suppose she went on; for after lingering
+awhile to see if she would come back or call, I ventured one more glance,
+and saw her a good way off, moving rapidly up the field, with little
+Arthur running by her side and apparently talking as he went; but she
+kept her face averted from him, as if to hide some uncontrollable
+emotion.  And I returned to my business.
+
+But I soon began to regret my precipitancy in leaving her so soon.  It
+was evident she loved me--probably she was tired of Mr. Lawrence, and
+wished to exchange him for me; and if I had loved and reverenced her less
+to begin with, the preference might have gratified and amused me; but now
+the contrast between her outward seeming and her inward mind, as I
+supposed,--between my former and my present opinion of her, was so
+harrowing--so distressing to my feelings, that it swallowed up every
+lighter consideration.
+
+But still I was curious to know what sort of an explanation she would
+have given me--or would give now, if I pressed her for it--how much she
+would confess, and how she would endeavour to excuse herself.  I longed
+to know what to despise, and what to admire in her; how much to pity, and
+how much to hate;--and, what was more, I would know.  I would see her
+once more, and fairly satisfy myself in what light to regard her, before
+we parted.  Lost to me she was, for ever, of course; but still I could
+not bear to think that we had parted, for the last time, with so much
+unkindness and misery on both sides.  That last look of hers had sunk
+into my heart; I could not forget it.  But what a fool I was!  Had she
+not deceived me, injured me--blighted my happiness for life?  'Well, I'll
+see her, however,' was my concluding resolve, 'but not to-day: to-day and
+to-night she may think upon her sins, and be as miserable as she will:
+to-morrow I will see her once again, and know something more about her.
+The interview may be serviceable to her, or it may not.  At any rate, it
+will give a breath of excitement to the life she has doomed to
+stagnation, and may calm with certainty some agitating thoughts.'
+
+I did go on the morrow, but not till towards evening, after the business
+of the day was concluded, that is, between six and seven; and the
+westering sun was gleaming redly on the old Hall, and flaming in the
+latticed windows, as I reached it, imparting to the place a cheerfulness
+not its own.  I need not dilate upon the feelings with which I approached
+the shrine of my former divinity--that spot teeming with a thousand
+delightful recollections and glorious dreams--all darkened now by one
+disastrous truth.
+
+Rachel admitted me into the parlour, and went to call her mistress, for
+she was not there: but there was her desk left open on the little round
+table beside the high-backed chair, with a book laid upon it.  Her
+limited but choice collection of books was almost as familiar to me as my
+own; but this volume I had not seen before.  I took it up.  It was Sir
+Humphry Davy's 'Last Days of a Philosopher,' and on the first leaf was
+written, 'Frederick Lawrence.'  I closed the book, but kept it in my
+hand, and stood facing the door, with my back to the fire-place, calmly
+waiting her arrival; for I did not doubt she would come.  And soon I
+heard her step in the hall.  My heart was beginning to throb, but I
+checked it with an internal rebuke, and maintained my
+composure--outwardly at least.  She entered, calm, pale, collected.
+
+'To what am I indebted for this favour, Mr. Markham?' said she, with such
+severe but quiet dignity as almost disconcerted me; but I answered with a
+smile, and impudently enough,--
+
+'Well, I am come to hear your explanation.'
+
+'I told you I would not give it,' said she.  'I said you were unworthy of
+my confidence.'
+
+'Oh, very well,' replied I, moving to the door.
+
+'Stay a moment,' said she.  'This is the last time I shall see you: don't
+go just yet.'
+
+I remained, awaiting her further commands.
+
+'Tell me,' resumed she, 'on what grounds you believe these things against
+me; who told you; and what did they say?'
+
+I paused a moment.  She met my eye as unflinchingly as if her bosom had
+been steeled with conscious innocence.  She was resolved to know the
+worst, and determined to dare it too.  'I can crush that bold spirit,'
+thought I.  But while I secretly exulted in my power, I felt disposed to
+dally with my victim like a cat.  Showing her the book that I still held,
+in my hand, and pointing to the name on the fly-leaf, but fixing my eye
+upon her face, I asked,--'Do you know that gentleman?'
+
+'Of course I do,' replied she; and a sudden flush suffused her
+features--whether of shame or anger I could not tell: it rather resembled
+the latter.  'What next, sir?'
+
+'How long is it since you saw him?'
+
+'Who gave you the right to catechize me on this or any other subject?'
+
+'Oh, no one!--it's quite at your option whether to answer or not.  And
+now, let me ask--have you heard what has lately befallen this friend of
+yours?--because, if you have not--'
+
+'I will not be insulted, Mr. Markham!' cried she, almost infuriated at my
+manner.  'So you had better leave the house at once, if you came only for
+that.'
+
+'I did not come to insult you: I came to hear your explanation.'
+
+'And I tell you I won't give it!' retorted she, pacing the room in a
+state of strong excitement, with her hands clasped tightly together,
+breathing short, and flashing fires of indignation from her eyes.  'I
+will not condescend to explain myself to one that can make a jest of such
+horrible suspicions, and be so easily led to entertain them.'
+
+'I do not make a jest of them, Mrs. Graham,' returned I, dropping at once
+my tone of taunting sarcasm.  'I heartily wish I could find them a
+jesting matter.  And as to being easily led to suspect, God only knows
+what a blind, incredulous fool I have hitherto been, perseveringly
+shutting my eyes and stopping my ears against everything that threatened
+to shake my confidence in you, till proof itself confounded my
+infatuation!'
+
+'What proof, sir?'
+
+'Well, I'll tell you.  You remember that evening when I was here last?'
+
+'I do.'
+
+'Even then you dropped some hints that might have opened the eyes of a
+wiser man; but they had no such effect upon me: I went on trusting and
+believing, hoping against hope, and adoring where I could not comprehend.
+It so happened, however, that after I left you I turned back--drawn by
+pure depth of sympathy and ardour of affection--not daring to intrude my
+presence openly upon you, but unable to resist the temptation of catching
+one glimpse through the window, just to see how you were: for I had left
+you apparently in great affliction, and I partly blamed my own want of
+forbearance and discretion as the cause of it.  If I did wrong, love
+alone was my incentive, and the punishment was severe enough; for it was
+just as I had reached that tree, that you came out into the garden with
+your friend.  Not choosing to show myself, under the circumstances, I
+stood still, in the shadow, till you had both passed by.'
+
+'And how much of our conversation did you hear?'
+
+'I heard quite enough, Helen.  And it was well for me that I did hear it;
+for nothing less could have cured my infatuation.  I always said and
+thought, that I would never believe a word against you, unless I heard it
+from your own lips.  All the hints and affirmations of others I treated
+as malignant, baseless slanders; your own self-accusations I believed to
+be overstrained; and all that seemed unaccountable in your position I
+trusted that you could account for if you chose.'
+
+Mrs. Graham had discontinued her walk.  She leant against one end of the
+chimney-piece, opposite that near which I was standing, with her chin
+resting on her closed hand, her eyes--no longer burning with anger, but
+gleaming with restless excitement--sometimes glancing at me while I
+spoke, then coursing the opposite wall, or fixed upon the carpet.
+
+'You should have come to me after all,' said she, 'and heard what I had
+to say in my own justification.  It was ungenerous and wrong to withdraw
+yourself so secretly and suddenly, immediately after such ardent
+protestations of attachment, without ever assigning a reason for the
+change.  You should have told me all--no matter how bitterly.  It would
+have been better than this silence.'
+
+'To what end should I have done so?  You could not have enlightened me
+further, on the subject which alone concerned me; nor could you have made
+me discredit the evidence of my senses.  I desired our intimacy to be
+discontinued at once, as you yourself had acknowledged would probably be
+the case if I knew all; but I did not wish to upbraid you,--though (as
+you also acknowledged) you had deeply wronged me.  Yes, you have done me
+an injury you can never repair--or any other either--you have blighted
+the freshness and promise of youth, and made my life a wilderness!  I
+might live a hundred years, but I could never recover from the effects of
+this withering blow--and never forget it!  Hereafter--You smile, Mrs.
+Graham,' said I, suddenly stopping short, checked in my passionate
+declamation by unutterable feelings to behold her actually smiling at the
+picture of the ruin she had wrought.
+
+'Did I?' replied she, looking seriously up; 'I was not aware of it.  If I
+did, it was not for pleasure at the thoughts of the harm I had done you.
+Heaven knows I have had torment enough at the bare possibility of that;
+it was for joy to find that you had some depth of soul and feeling after
+all, and to hope that I had not been utterly mistaken in your worth.  But
+smiles and tears are so alike with me, they are neither of them confined
+to any particular feelings: I often cry when I am happy, and smile when I
+am sad.'
+
+She looked at me again, and seemed to expect a reply; but I continued
+silent.
+
+'Would you be very glad,' resumed she, 'to find that you were mistaken in
+your conclusions?'
+
+'How can you ask it, Helen?'
+
+'I don't say I can clear myself altogether,' said she, speaking low and
+fast, while her heart beat visibly and her bosom heaved with
+excitement,--'but would you be glad to discover I was better than you
+think me?'
+
+'Anything that could in the least degree tend to restore my former
+opinion of you, to excuse the regard I still feel for you, and alleviate
+the pangs of unutterable regret that accompany it, would be only too
+gladly, too eagerly received!'  Her cheeks burned, and her whole frame
+trembled, now, with excess of agitation.  She did not speak, but flew to
+her desk, and snatching thence what seemed a thick album or manuscript
+volume, hastily tore away a few leaves from the end, and thrust the rest
+into my hand, saying, 'You needn't read it all; but take it home with
+you,' and hurried from the room.  But when I had left the house, and was
+proceeding down the walk, she opened the window and called me back.  It
+was only to say,--'Bring it back when you have read it; and don't breathe
+a word of what it tells you to any living being.  I trust to your
+honour.'
+
+Before I could answer she had closed the casement and turned away.  I saw
+her cast herself back in the old oak chair, and cover her face with her
+hands.  Her feelings had been wrought to a pitch that rendered it
+necessary to seek relief in tears.
+
+Panting with eagerness, and struggling to suppress my hopes, I hurried
+home, and rushed up-stairs to my room, having first provided myself with
+a candle, though it was scarcely twilight yet--then, shut and bolted the
+door, determined to tolerate no interruption; and sitting down before the
+table, opened out my prize and delivered myself up to its perusal--first
+hastily turning over the leaves and snatching a sentence here and there,
+and then setting myself steadily to read it through.
+
+I have it now before me; and though you could not, of course, peruse it
+with half the interest that I did, I know you would not be satisfied with
+an abbreviation of its contents, and you shall have the whole, save,
+perhaps, a few passages here and there of merely temporary interest to
+the writer, or such as would serve to encumber the story rather than
+elucidate it.  It begins somewhat abruptly, thus--but we will reserve its
+commencement for another chapter.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+
+June 1st, 1821.--We have just returned to Staningley--that is, we
+returned some days ago, and I am not yet settled, and feel as if I never
+should be.  We left town sooner than was intended, in consequence of my
+uncle's indisposition;--I wonder what would have been the result if we
+had stayed the full time.  I am quite ashamed of my new-sprung distaste
+for country life.  All my former occupations seem so tedious and dull, my
+former amusements so insipid and unprofitable.  I cannot enjoy my music,
+because there is no one to hear it.  I cannot enjoy my walks, because
+there is no one to meet.  I cannot enjoy my books, because they have not
+power to arrest my attention: my head is so haunted with the
+recollections of the last few weeks, that I cannot attend to them.  My
+drawing suits me best, for I can draw and think at the same time; and if
+my productions cannot now be seen by any one but myself, and those who do
+not care about them, they, possibly, may be, hereafter.  But, then, there
+is one face I am always trying to paint or to sketch, and always without
+success; and that vexes me.  As for the owner of that face, I cannot get
+him out of my mind--and, indeed, I never try.  I wonder whether he ever
+thinks of me; and I wonder whether I shall ever see him again.  And then
+might follow a train of other wonderments--questions for time and fate to
+answer--concluding with--Supposing all the rest be answered in the
+affirmative, I wonder whether I shall ever repent it? as my aunt would
+tell me I should, if she knew what I was thinking about.
+
+How distinctly I remember our conversation that evening before our
+departure for town, when we were sitting together over the fire, my uncle
+having gone to bed with a slight attack of the gout.
+
+'Helen,' said she, after a thoughtful silence, 'do you ever think about
+marriage?'
+
+'Yes, aunt, often.'
+
+'And do you ever contemplate the possibility of being married yourself,
+or engaged, before the season is over?'
+
+'Sometimes; but I don't think it at all likely that I ever shall.'
+
+'Why so?'
+
+'Because, I imagine, there must be only a very, very few men in the world
+that I should like to marry; and of those few, it is ten to one I may
+never be acquainted with one; or if I should, it is twenty to one he may
+not happen to be single, or to take a fancy to me.'
+
+'That is no argument at all.  It may be very true--and I hope is true,
+that there are very few men whom you would choose to marry, of yourself.
+It is not, indeed, to be supposed that you would wish to marry any one
+till you were asked: a girl's affections should never be won unsought.
+But when they are sought--when the citadel of the heart is fairly
+besieged--it is apt to surrender sooner than the owner is aware of, and
+often against her better judgment, and in opposition to all her
+preconceived ideas of what she could have loved, unless she be extremely
+careful and discreet.  Now, I want to warn you, Helen, of these things,
+and to exhort you to be watchful and circumspect from the very
+commencement of your career, and not to suffer your heart to be stolen
+from you by the first foolish or unprincipled person that covets the
+possession of it.--You know, my dear, you are only just eighteen; there
+is plenty of time before you, and neither your uncle nor I are in any
+hurry to get you off our hands, and I may venture to say, there will be
+no lack of suitors; for you can boast a good family, a pretty
+considerable fortune and expectations, and, I may as well tell you
+likewise--for, if I don't, others will--that you have a fair share of
+beauty besides--and I hope you may never have cause to regret it!'
+
+'I hope not, aunt; but why should you fear it?'
+
+'Because, my dear, beauty is that quality which, next to money, is
+generally the most attractive to the worst kinds of men; and, therefore,
+it is likely to entail a great deal of trouble on the possessor.'
+
+'Have you been troubled in that way, aunt?'
+
+'No, Helen,' said she, with reproachful gravity, 'but I know many that
+have; and some, through carelessness, have been the wretched victims of
+deceit; and some, through weakness, have fallen into snares and
+temptations terrible to relate.'
+
+'Well, I shall be neither careless nor weak.'
+
+'Remember Peter, Helen!  Don't boast, but watch.  Keep a guard over your
+eyes and ears as the inlets of your heart, and over your lips as the
+outlet, lest they betray you in a moment of unwariness.  Receive, coldly
+and dispassionately, every attention, till you have ascertained and duly
+considered the worth of the aspirant; and let your affections be
+consequent upon approbation alone.  First study; then approve; then love.
+Let your eyes be blind to all external attractions, your ears deaf to all
+the fascinations of flattery and light discourse.--These are nothing--and
+worse than nothing--snares and wiles of the tempter, to lure the
+thoughtless to their own destruction.  Principle is the first thing,
+after all; and next to that, good sense, respectability, and moderate
+wealth.  If you should marry the handsomest, and most accomplished and
+superficially agreeable man in the world, you little know the misery that
+would overwhelm you if, after all, you should find him to be a worthless
+reprobate, or even an impracticable fool.'
+
+'But what are all the poor fools and reprobates to do, aunt?  If
+everybody followed your advice, the world would soon come to an end.'
+
+'Never fear, my dear! the male fools and reprobates will never want for
+partners, while there are so many of the other sex to match them; but do
+you follow my advice.  And this is no subject for jesting, Helen--I am
+sorry to see you treat the matter in that light way.  Believe me,
+matrimony is a serious thing.' And she spoke it so seriously, that one
+might have fancied she had known it to her cost; but I asked no more
+impertinent questions, and merely answered,--'I know it is; and I know
+there is truth and sense in what you say; but you need not fear me, for I
+not only should think it wrong to marry a man that was deficient in sense
+or in principle, but I should never be tempted to do it; for I could not
+like him, if he were ever so handsome, and ever so charming, in other
+respects; I should hate him--despise him--pity him--anything but love
+him.  My affections not only ought to be founded on approbation, but they
+will and must be so: for, without approving, I cannot love.  It is
+needless to say, I ought to be able to respect and honour the man I
+marry, as well as love him, for I cannot love him without.  So set your
+mind at rest.'
+
+'I hope it may be so,' answered she.
+
+'I know it is so,' persisted I.
+
+'You have not been tried yet, Helen--we can but hope,' said she in her
+cold, cautious way.
+
+'I was vexed at her incredulity; but I am not sure her doubts were
+entirely without sagacity; I fear I have found it much easier to remember
+her advice than to profit by it;--indeed, I have sometimes been led to
+question the soundness of her doctrines on those subjects.  Her counsels
+may be good, as far as they go--in the main points at least;--but there
+are some things she has overlooked in her calculations.  I wonder if she
+was ever in love.
+
+I commenced my career--or my first campaign, as my uncle calls
+it--kindling with bright hopes and fancies--chiefly raised by this
+conversation--and full of confidence in my own discretion.  At first, I
+was delighted with the novelty and excitement of our London life; but
+soon I began to weary of its mingled turbulence and constraint, and sigh
+for the freshness and freedom of home.  My new acquaintances, both male
+and female, disappointed my expectations, and vexed and depressed me by
+turns; for I soon grew tired of studying their peculiarities, and
+laughing at their foibles--particularly as I was obliged to keep my
+criticisms to myself, for my aunt would not hear them--and they--the
+ladies especially--appeared so provokingly mindless, and heartless, and
+artificial.  The gentlemen seemed better, but, perhaps, it was because I
+knew them less--perhaps, because they flattered me; but I did not fall in
+love with any of them; and, if their attentions pleased me one moment,
+they provoked me the next, because they put me out of humour with myself,
+by revealing my vanity and making me fear I was becoming like some of the
+ladies I so heartily despised.
+
+There was one elderly gentleman that annoyed me very much; a rich old
+friend of my uncle's, who, I believe, thought I could not do better than
+marry him; but, besides being old, he was ugly and disagreeable,--and
+wicked, I am sure, though my aunt scolded me for saying so; but she
+allowed he was no saint.  And there was another, less hateful, but still
+more tiresome, because she favoured him, and was always thrusting him
+upon me, and sounding his praises in my ears--Mr. Boarham by name,
+Bore'em, as I prefer spelling it, for a terrible bore he was: I shudder
+still at the remembrance of his voice--drone, drone, drone, in my
+ear--while he sat beside me, prosing away by the half-hour together, and
+beguiling himself with the notion that he was improving my mind by useful
+information, or impressing his dogmas upon me and reforming my errors of
+judgment, or perhaps that he was talking down to my level, and amusing me
+with entertaining discourse.  Yet he was a decent man enough in the main,
+I daresay; and if he had kept his distance, I never would have hated him.
+As it was, it was almost impossible to help it, for he not only bothered
+me with the infliction of his own presence, but he kept me from the
+enjoyment of more agreeable society.
+
+One night, however, at a ball, he had been more than usually tormenting,
+and my patience was quite exhausted.  It appeared as if the whole evening
+was fated to be insupportable: I had just had one dance with an
+empty-headed coxcomb, and then Mr. Boarham had come upon me and seemed
+determined to cling to me for the rest of the night.  He never danced
+himself, and there he sat, poking his head in my face, and impressing all
+beholders with the idea that he was a confirmed, acknowledged lover; my
+aunt looking complacently on all the time, and wishing him God-speed.  In
+vain I attempted to drive him away by giving a loose to my exasperated
+feelings, even to positive rudeness: nothing could convince him that his
+presence was disagreeable.  Sullen silence was taken for rapt attention,
+and gave him greater room to talk; sharp answers were received as smart
+sallies of girlish vivacity, that only required an indulgent rebuke; and
+flat contradictions were but as oil to the flames, calling forth new
+strains of argument to support his dogmas, and bringing down upon me
+endless floods of reasoning to overwhelm me with conviction.
+
+But there was one present who seemed to have a better appreciation of my
+frame of mind.  A gentleman stood by, who had been watching our
+conference for some time, evidently much amused at my companion's
+remorseless pertinacity and my manifest annoyance, and laughing to
+himself at the asperity and uncompromising spirit of my replies.  At
+length, however, he withdrew, and went to the lady of the house,
+apparently for the purpose of asking an introduction to me, for, shortly
+after, they both came up, and she introduced him as Mr. Huntingdon, the
+son of a late friend of my uncle's.  He asked me to dance.  I gladly
+consented, of course; and he was my companion during the remainder of my
+stay, which was not long, for my aunt, as usual, insisted upon an early
+departure.
+
+I was sorry to go, for I had found my new acquaintance a very lively and
+entertaining companion.  There was a certain graceful ease and freedom
+about all he said and did, that gave a sense of repose and expansion to
+the mind, after so much constraint and formality as I had been doomed to
+suffer.  There might be, it is true, a little too much careless boldness
+in his manner and address, but I was in so good a humour, and so grateful
+for my late deliverance from Mr. Boarham, that it did not anger me.
+
+'Well, Helen, how do you like Mr. Boarham now?' said my aunt, as we took
+our seats in the carriage and drove away.
+
+'Worse than ever,' I replied.
+
+She looked displeased, but said no more on that subject.
+
+'Who was the gentleman you danced with last,' resumed she, after a
+pause--'that was so officious in helping you on with your shawl?'
+
+'He was not officious at all, aunt: he never attempted to help me till he
+saw Mr. Boarham coming to do so; and then he stepped laughingly forward
+and said, "Come, I'll preserve you from that infliction."'
+
+'Who was it, I ask?' said she, with frigid gravity.
+
+'It was Mr. Huntingdon, the son of uncle's old friend.'
+
+'I have heard your uncle speak of young Mr. Huntingdon.  I've heard him
+say, "He's a fine lad, that young Huntingdon, but a bit wildish, I
+fancy."  So I'd have you beware.'
+
+'What does "a bit wildish" mean?' I inquired.
+
+'It means destitute of principle, and prone to every vice that is common
+to youth.'
+
+'But I've heard uncle say he was a sad wild fellow himself, when he was
+young.'
+
+She sternly shook her head.
+
+'He was jesting then, I suppose,' said I, 'and here he was speaking at
+random--at least, I cannot believe there is any harm in those laughing
+blue eyes.'
+
+'False reasoning, Helen!' said she, with a sigh.
+
+'Well, we ought to be charitable, you know, aunt--besides, I don't think
+it is false: I am an excellent physiognomist, and I always judge of
+people's characters by their looks--not by whether they are handsome or
+ugly, but by the general cast of the countenance.  For instance, I should
+know by your countenance that you were not of a cheerful, sanguine
+disposition; and I should know by Mr. Wilmot's, that he was a worthless
+old reprobate; and by Mr. Boarham's, that he was not an agreeable
+companion; and by Mr. Huntingdon's, that he was neither a fool nor a
+knave, though, possibly, neither a sage nor a saint--but that is no
+matter to me, as I am not likely to meet him again--unless as an
+occasional partner in the ball-room.'
+
+It was not so, however, for I met him again next morning.  He came to
+call upon my uncle, apologising for not having done so before, by saying
+he was only lately returned from the Continent, and had not heard, till
+the previous night, of my uncle's arrival in town; and after that I often
+met him; sometimes in public, sometimes at home; for he was very
+assiduous in paying his respects to his old friend, who did not, however,
+consider himself greatly obliged by the attention.
+
+'I wonder what the deuce the lad means by coming so often,' he would
+say,--'can you tell, Helen?--Hey?  He wants none o' my company, nor I
+his--that's certain.'
+
+'I wish you'd tell him so, then,' said my aunt.
+
+'Why, what for?  If I don't want him, somebody does, mayhap' (winking at
+me).  'Besides, he's a pretty tidy fortune, Peggy, you know--not such a
+catch as Wilmot; but then Helen won't hear of that match: for, somehow,
+these old chaps don't go down with the girls--with all their money, and
+their experience to boot.  I'll bet anything she'd rather have this young
+fellow without a penny, than Wilmot with his house full of gold.
+Wouldn't you, Nell?'
+
+'Yes, uncle; but that's not saying much for Mr. Huntingdon; for I'd
+rather be an old maid and a pauper than Mrs. Wilmot.'
+
+'And Mrs. Huntingdon?  What would you rather be than Mrs.
+Huntingdon--eh?'
+
+'I'll tell you when I've considered the matter.'
+
+'Ah! it needs consideration, then?  But come, now--would you rather be an
+old maid--let alone the pauper?'
+
+'I can't tell till I'm asked.'
+
+And I left the room immediately, to escape further examination.  But five
+minutes after, in looking from my window, I beheld Mr. Boarham coming up
+to the door.  I waited nearly half-an-hour in uncomfortable suspense,
+expecting every minute to be called, and vainly longing to hear him go.
+Then footsteps were heard on the stairs, and my aunt entered the room
+with a solemn countenance, and closed the door behind her.
+
+'Here is Mr. Boarham, Helen,' said she.  'He wishes to see you.'
+
+'Oh, aunt!--Can't you tell him I'm indisposed?--I'm sure I am--to see
+him.'
+
+'Nonsense, my dear! this is no trifling matter.  He is come on a very
+important errand--to ask your hand in marriage of your uncle and me.'
+
+'I hope my uncle and you told him it was not in your power to give it.
+What right had he to ask any one before me?'
+
+'Helen!'
+
+'What did my uncle say?'
+
+'He said he would not interfere in the matter; if you liked to accept Mr.
+Boarham's obliging offer, you--'
+
+'Did he say obliging offer?'
+
+'No; he said if you liked to take him you might; and if not, you might
+please yourself.'
+
+'He said right; and what did you say?'
+
+'It is no matter what I said.  What will you say?--that is the question.
+He is now waiting to ask you himself; but consider well before you go;
+and if you intend to refuse him, give me your reasons.'
+
+'I shall refuse him, of course; but you must tell me how, for I want to
+be civil and yet decided--and when I've got rid of him, I'll give you my
+reasons afterwards.'
+
+'But stay, Helen; sit down a little and compose yourself.  Mr. Boarham is
+in no particular hurry, for he has little doubt of your acceptance; and I
+want to speak with you.  Tell me, my dear, what are your objections to
+him?  Do you deny that he is an upright, honourable man?'
+
+'No.'
+
+'Do you deny that he is sensible, sober, respectable?'
+
+'No; he may be all this, but--'
+
+'But, Helen!  How many such men do you expect to meet with in the world?
+Upright, honourable, sensible, sober, respectable!  Is this such an
+every-day character that you should reject the possessor of such noble
+qualities without a moment's hesitation?  Yes, noble I may call them; for
+think of the full meaning of each, and how many inestimable virtues they
+include (and I might add many more to the list), and consider that all
+this is laid at your feet.  It is in your power to secure this
+inestimable blessing for life--a worthy and excellent husband, who loves
+you tenderly, but not too fondly so as to blind him to your faults, and
+will be your guide throughout life's pilgrimage, and your partner in
+eternal bliss.  Think how--'
+
+'But I hate him, aunt,' said I, interrupting this unusual flow of
+eloquence.
+
+'Hate him, Helen!  Is this a Christian spirit?--you hate him? and he so
+good a man!'
+
+'I don't hate him as a man, but as a husband.  As a man, I love him so
+much that I wish him a better wife than I--one as good as himself, or
+better--if you think that possible--provided she could like him; but I
+never could, and therefore--'
+
+'But why not?  What objection do you find?'
+
+'Firstly, he is at least forty years old--considerably more, I should
+think--and I am but eighteen; secondly, he is narrow-minded and bigoted
+in the extreme; thirdly, his tastes and feelings are wholly dissimilar to
+mine; fourthly, his looks, voice, and manner are particularly displeasing
+to me; and, finally, I have an aversion to his whole person that I never
+can surmount.'
+
+'Then you ought to surmount it.  And please to compare him for a moment
+with Mr. Huntingdon, and, good looks apart (which contribute nothing to
+the merit of the man, or to the happiness of married life, and which you
+have so often professed to hold in light esteem), tell me which is the
+better man.'
+
+'I have no doubt Mr. Huntingdon is a much better man than you think him;
+but we are not talking about him now, but about Mr. Boarham; and as I
+would rather grow, live, and die in single blessedness--than be his wife,
+it is but right that I should tell him so at once, and put him out of
+suspense--so let me go.'
+
+'But don't give him a flat denial; he has no idea of such a thing, and it
+would offend him greatly: say you have no thoughts of matrimony at
+present--'
+
+'But I have thoughts of it.'
+
+'Or that you desire a further acquaintance.'
+
+'But I don't desire a further acquaintance--quite the contrary.'
+
+And without waiting for further admonitions I left the room and went to
+seek Mr. Boarham.  He was walking up and down the drawing-room, humming
+snatches of tunes and nibbling the end of his cane.
+
+'My dear young lady,' said he, bowing and smirking with great
+complacency, 'I have your kind guardian's permission--'
+
+'I know, sir,' said I, wishing to shorten the scene as much as possible,
+'and I am greatly obliged for your preference, but must beg to decline
+the honour you wish to confer, for I think we were not made for each
+other, as you yourself would shortly discover if the experiment were
+tried.'
+
+My aunt was right.  It was quite evident he had had little doubt of my
+acceptance, and no idea of a positive denial.  He was amazed, astounded
+at such an answer, but too incredulous to be much offended; and after a
+little humming and hawing, he returned to the attack.
+
+'I know, my dear, that there exists a considerable disparity between us
+in years, in temperament, and perhaps some other things; but let me
+assure you, I shall not be severe to mark the faults and foibles of a
+young and ardent nature such as yours, and while I acknowledge them to
+myself, and even rebuke them with all a father's care, believe me, no
+youthful lover could be more tenderly indulgent towards the object of his
+affections than I to you; and, on the other hand, let me hope that my
+more experienced years and graver habits of reflection will be no
+disparagement in your eyes, as I shall endeavour to make them all
+conducive to your happiness.  Come, now!  What do you say?  Let us have
+no young lady's affectations and caprices, but speak out at once.'
+
+'I will, but only to repeat what I said before, that I am certain we were
+not made for each other.'
+
+'You really think so?'
+
+'I do.'
+
+'But you don't know me--you wish for a further acquaintance--a longer
+time to--'
+
+'No, I don't.  I know you as well as I ever shall, and better than you
+know me, or you would never dream of uniting yourself to one so
+incongruous--so utterly unsuitable to you in every way.'
+
+'But, my dear young lady, I don't look for perfection; I can excuse--'
+
+'Thank you, Mr. Boarham, but I won't trespass upon your goodness.  You
+may save your indulgence and consideration for some more worthy object,
+that won't tax them so heavily.'
+
+'But let me beg you to consult your aunt; that excellent lady, I am sure,
+will--'
+
+'I have consulted her; and I know her wishes coincide with yours; but in
+such important matters, I take the liberty of judging for myself; and no
+persuasion can alter my inclinations, or induce me to believe that such a
+step would be conducive to my happiness or yours--and I wonder that a man
+of your experience and discretion should think of choosing such a wife.'
+
+'Ah, well!' said he, 'I have sometimes wondered at that myself.  I have
+sometimes said to myself, "Now Boarham, what is this you're after?  Take
+care, man--look before you leap!  This is a sweet, bewitching creature,
+but remember, the brightest attractions to the lover too often prove the
+husband's greatest torments!"  I assure you my choice has not been made
+without much reasoning and reflection.  The seeming imprudence of the
+match has cost me many an anxious thought by day, and many a sleepless
+hour by night; but at length I satisfied myself that it was not, in very
+deed, imprudent.  I saw my sweet girl was not without her faults, but of
+these her youth, I trusted, was not one, but rather an earnest of virtues
+yet unblown--a strong ground of presumption that her little defects of
+temper and errors of judgment, opinion, or manner were not irremediable,
+but might easily be removed or mitigated by the patient efforts of a
+watchful and judicious adviser, and where I failed to enlighten and
+control, I thought I might safely undertake to pardon, for the sake of
+her many excellences.  Therefore, my dearest girl, since I am satisfied,
+why should you object--on my account, at least?'
+
+'But to tell you the truth, Mr. Boarham, it is on my own account I
+principally object; so let us--drop the subject,' I would have said, 'for
+it is worse than useless to pursue it any further,' but he pertinaciously
+interrupted me with,--'But why so?  I would love you, cherish you,
+protect you,' &c., &c.
+
+I shall not trouble myself to put down all that passed between us.
+Suffice it to say, that I found him very troublesome, and very hard to
+convince that I really meant what I said, and really was so obstinate and
+blind to my own interests, that there was no shadow of a chance that
+either he or my aunt would ever be able to overcome my objections.
+Indeed, I am not sure that I succeeded after all; though wearied with his
+so pertinaciously returning to the same point and repeating the same
+arguments over and over again, forcing me to reiterate the same replies,
+I at length turned short and sharp upon him, and my last words were,--'I
+tell you plainly, that it cannot be.  No consideration can induce me to
+marry against my inclinations.  I respect you--at least, I would respect
+you, if you would behave like a sensible man--but I cannot love you, and
+never could--and the more you talk the further you repel me; so pray
+don't say any more about it.'
+
+Whereupon he wished me a good-morning, and withdrew, disconcerted and
+offended, no doubt; but surely it was not my fault.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+
+The next day I accompanied my uncle and aunt to a dinner-party at Mr.
+Wilmot's.  He had two ladies staying with him: his niece Annabella, a
+fine dashing girl, or rather young woman,--of some five-and-twenty, too
+great a flirt to be married, according to her own assertion, but greatly
+admired by the gentlemen, who universally pronounced her a splendid
+woman; and her gentle cousin, Milicent Hargrave, who had taken a violent
+fancy to me, mistaking me for something vastly better than I was.  And I,
+in return, was very fond of her.  I should entirely exclude poor Milicent
+in my general animadversions against the ladies of my acquaintance.  But
+it was not on her account, or her cousin's, that I have mentioned the
+party: it was for the sake of another of Mr. Wilmot's guests, to wit Mr.
+Huntingdon.  I have good reason to remember his presence there, for this
+was the last time I saw him.
+
+He did not sit near me at dinner; for it was his fate to hand in a
+capacious old dowager, and mine to be handed in by Mr. Grimsby, a friend
+of his, but a man I very greatly disliked: there was a sinister cast in
+his countenance, and a mixture of lurking ferocity and fulsome
+insincerity in his demeanour, that I could not away with.  What a
+tiresome custom that is, by-the-by--one among the many sources of
+factitious annoyance of this ultra-civilised life.  If the gentlemen must
+lead the ladies into the dining-room, why cannot they take those they
+like best?
+
+I am not sure, however, that Mr. Huntingdon would have taken me, if he
+had been at liberty to make his own selection.  It is quite possible he
+might have chosen Miss Wilmot; for she seemed bent upon engrossing his
+attention to herself, and he seemed nothing loth to pay the homage she
+demanded.  I thought so, at least, when I saw how they talked and
+laughed, and glanced across the table, to the neglect and evident umbrage
+of their respective neighbours--and afterwards, as the gentlemen joined
+us in the drawing-room, when she, immediately upon his entrance, loudly
+called upon him to be the arbiter of a dispute between herself and
+another lady, and he answered the summons with alacrity, and decided the
+question without a moment's hesitation in her favour--though, to my
+thinking, she was obviously in the wrong--and then stood chatting
+familiarly with her and a group of other ladies; while I sat with
+Milicent Hargrave at the opposite end of the room, looking over the
+latter's drawings, and aiding her with my critical observations and
+advice, at her particular desire.  But in spite of my efforts to remain
+composed, my attention wandered from the drawings to the merry group, and
+against my better judgment my wrath rose, and doubtless my countenance
+lowered; for Milicent, observing that I must be tired of her daubs and
+scratches, begged I would join the company now, and defer the examination
+of the remainder to another opportunity.  But while I was assuring her
+that I had no wish to join them, and was not tired, Mr. Huntingdon
+himself came up to the little round table at which we sat.
+
+'Are these yours?' said he, carelessly taking up one of the drawings.
+
+'No, they are Miss Hargrave's.'
+
+'Oh! well, let's have a look at them.'
+
+And, regardless of Miss Hargrave's protestations that they were not worth
+looking at, he drew a chair to my side, and receiving the drawings, one
+by one from my hand, successively scanned them over, and threw them on
+the table, but said not a word about them, though he was talking all the
+time.  I don't know what Milicent Hargrave thought of such conduct, but I
+found his conversation extremely interesting; though, as I afterwards
+discovered, when I came to analyse it, it was chiefly confined to
+quizzing the different members of the company present; and albeit he made
+some clever remarks, and some excessively droll ones, I do not think the
+whole would appear anything very particular, if written here, without the
+adventitious aids of look, and tone, and gesture, and that ineffable but
+indefinite charm, which cast a halo over all he did and said, and which
+would have made it a delight to look in his face, and hear the music of
+his voice, if he had been talking positive nonsense--and which, moreover,
+made me feel so bitter against my aunt when she put a stop to this
+enjoyment, by coming composedly forward, under pretence of wishing to see
+the drawings, that she cared and knew nothing about, and while making
+believe to examine them, addressing herself to Mr. Huntingdon, with one
+of her coldest and most repellent aspects, and beginning a series of the
+most common-place and formidably formal questions and observations, on
+purpose to wrest his attention from me--on purpose to vex me, as I
+thought: and having now looked through the portfolio, I left them to
+their _tete-a-tete_, and seated myself on a sofa, quite apart from the
+company--never thinking how strange such conduct would appear, but merely
+to indulge, at first, the vexation of the moment, and subsequently to
+enjoy my private thoughts.
+
+But I was not left long alone, for Mr. Wilmot, of all men the least
+welcome, took advantage of my isolated position to come and plant himself
+beside me.  I had flattered myself that I had so effectually repulsed his
+advances on all former occasions, that I had nothing more to apprehend
+from his unfortunate predilection; but it seems I was mistaken: so great
+was his confidence, either in his wealth or his remaining powers of
+attraction, and so firm his conviction of feminine weakness, that he
+thought himself warranted to return to the siege, which he did with
+renovated ardour, enkindled by the quantity of wine he had drunk--a
+circumstance that rendered him infinitely the more disgusting; but
+greatly as I abhorred him at that moment, I did not like to treat him
+with rudeness, as I was now his guest, and had just been enjoying his
+hospitality; and I was no hand at a polite but determined rejection, nor
+would it have greatly availed me if I had, for he was too coarse-minded
+to take any repulse that was not as plain and positive as his own
+effrontery.  The consequence was, that he waxed more fulsomely tender,
+and more repulsively warm, and I was driven to the very verge of
+desperation, and about to say I know not what, when I felt my hand, that
+hung over the arm of the sofa, suddenly taken by another and gently but
+fervently pressed.  Instinctively, I guessed who it was, and, on looking
+up, was less surprised than delighted to see Mr. Huntingdon smiling upon
+me.  It was like turning from some purgatorial fiend to an angel of
+light, come to announce that the season of torment was past.
+
+'Helen,' said he (he frequently called me Helen, and I never resented the
+freedom), 'I want you to look at this picture.  Mr. Wilmot will excuse
+you a moment, I'm sure.'
+
+I rose with alacrity.  He drew my arm within his, and led me across the
+room to a splendid painting of Vandyke's that I had noticed before, but
+not sufficiently examined.  After a moment of silent contemplation, I was
+beginning to comment on its beauties and peculiarities, when, playfully
+pressing the hand he still retained within his arm, he interrupted me
+with,--'Never mind the picture: it was not for that I brought you here;
+it was to get you away from that scoundrelly old profligate yonder, who
+is looking as if he would like to challenge me for the affront.'
+
+'I am very much obliged to you,' said I.  'This is twice you have
+delivered me from such unpleasant companionship.'
+
+'Don't be too thankful,' he answered: 'it is not all kindness to you; it
+is partly from a feeling of spite to your tormentors that makes me
+delighted to do the old fellows a bad turn, though I don't think I have
+any great reason to dread them as rivals.  Have I, Helen?'
+
+'You know I detest them both.'
+
+'And me?'
+
+'I have no reason to detest you.'
+
+'But what are your sentiments towards me?  Helen--Speak!  How do you
+regard me?'
+
+And again he pressed my hand; but I feared there was more of conscious
+power than tenderness in his demeanour, and I felt he had no right to
+extort a confession of attachment from me when he had made no
+correspondent avowal himself, and knew not what to answer.  At last I
+said,--'How do you regard me?'
+
+'Sweet angel, I adore you!  I--'
+
+'Helen, I want you a moment,' said the distinct, low voice of my aunt,
+close beside us.  And I left him, muttering maledictions against his evil
+angel.
+
+'Well, aunt, what is it?  What do you want?' said I, following her to the
+embrasure of the window.
+
+'I want you to join the company, when you are fit to be seen,' returned
+she, severely regarding me; 'but please to stay here a little, till that
+shocking colour is somewhat abated, and your eyes have recovered
+something of their natural expression.  I should be ashamed for anyone to
+see you in your present state.'
+
+Of course, such a remark had no effect in reducing the 'shocking colour';
+on the contrary, I felt my face glow with redoubled fires kindled by a
+complication of emotions, of which indignant, swelling anger was the
+chief.  I offered no reply, however, but pushed aside the curtain and
+looked into the night--or rather into the lamp-lit square.
+
+'Was Mr. Huntingdon proposing to you, Helen?' inquired my too watchful
+relative.
+
+'No.'
+
+'What was he saying then?  I heard something very like it.'
+
+'I don't know what he would have said, if you hadn't interrupted him.'
+
+'And would you have accepted him, Helen, if he had proposed?'
+
+'Of course not--without consulting uncle and you.'
+
+'Oh!  I'm glad, my dear, you have so much prudence left.  Well, now,' she
+added, after a moment's pause, 'you have made yourself conspicuous enough
+for one evening.  The ladies are directing inquiring glances towards us
+at this moment, I see: I shall join them.  Do you come too, when you are
+sufficiently composed to appear as usual.'
+
+'I am so now.'
+
+'Speak gently then, and don't look so malicious,' said my calm, but
+provoking aunt.  'We shall return home shortly, and then,' she added with
+solemn significance, 'I have much to say to you.'
+
+So I went home prepared for a formidable lecture.  Little was said by
+either party in the carriage during our short transit homewards; but when
+I had entered my room and thrown myself into an easy-chair, to reflect on
+the events of the day, my aunt followed me thither, and having dismissed
+Rachel, who was carefully stowing away my ornaments, closed the door; and
+placing a chair beside me, or rather at right angles with mine, sat down.
+With due deference I offered her my more commodious seat.  She declined
+it, and thus opened the conference: 'Do you remember, Helen, our
+conversation the night but one before we left Staningley?'
+
+'Yes, aunt.'
+
+'And do you remember how I warned you against letting your heart be
+stolen from you by those unworthy of its possession, and fixing your
+affections where approbation did not go before, and where reason and
+judgment withheld their sanction?'
+
+'Yes; but my reason--'
+
+'Pardon me--and do you remember assuring me that there was no occasion
+for uneasiness on your account; for you should never be tempted to marry
+a man who was deficient in sense or principle, however handsome or
+charming in other respects he might be, for you could not love him; you
+should hate--despise--pity--anything but love him--were not those your
+words?'
+
+'Yes; but--'
+
+'And did you not say that your affection must be founded on approbation;
+and that, unless you could approve and honour and respect, you could not
+love?'
+
+'Yes; but I do approve, and honour, and respect--'
+
+'How so, my dear?  Is Mr. Huntingdon a good man?'
+
+'He is a much better man than you think him.'
+
+'That is nothing to the purpose.  Is he a good man?'
+
+'Yes--in some respects.  He has a good disposition.'
+
+'Is he a man of principle?'
+
+'Perhaps not, exactly; but it is only for want of thought.  If he had
+some one to advise him, and remind him of what is right--'
+
+'He would soon learn, you think--and you yourself would willingly
+undertake to be his teacher?  But, my dear, he is, I believe, full ten
+years older than you--how is it that you are so beforehand in moral
+acquirements?'
+
+'Thanks to you, aunt, I have been well brought up, and had good examples
+always before me, which he, most likely, has not; and, besides, he is of
+a sanguine temperament, and a gay, thoughtless temper, and I am naturally
+inclined to reflection.'
+
+'Well, now you have made him out to be deficient in both sense and
+principle, by your own confession--'
+
+'Then, my sense and my principle are at his service.'
+
+'That sounds presumptuous, Helen.  Do you think you have enough for both;
+and do you imagine your merry, thoughtless profligate would allow himself
+to be guided by a young girl like you?'
+
+'No; I should not wish to guide him; but I think I might have influence
+sufficient to save him from some errors, and I should think my life well
+spent in the effort to preserve so noble a nature from destruction.  He
+always listens attentively now when I speak seriously to him (and I often
+venture to reprove his random way of talking), and sometimes he says that
+if he had me always by his side he should never do or say a wicked thing,
+and that a little daily talk with me would make him quite a saint.  It
+may he partly jest and partly flattery, but still--'
+
+'But still you think it may be truth?'
+
+'If I do think there is any mixture of truth in it, it is not from
+confidence in my own powers, but in his natural goodness.  And you have
+no right to call him a profligate, aunt; he is nothing of the kind.'
+
+'Who told you so, my dear?  What was that story about his intrigue with a
+married lady--Lady who was it?--Miss Wilmot herself was telling you the
+other day?'
+
+'It was false--false!' I cried.  'I don't believe a word of it.'
+
+'You think, then, that he is a virtuous, well-conducted young man?'
+
+'I know nothing positive respecting his character.  I only know that I
+have heard nothing definite against it--nothing that could be proved, at
+least; and till people can prove their slanderous accusations, I will not
+believe them.  And I know this, that if he has committed errors, they are
+only such as are common to youth, and such as nobody thinks anything
+about; for I see that everybody likes him, and all the mammas smile upon
+him, and their daughters--and Miss Wilmot herself--are only too glad to
+attract his attention.'
+
+'Helen, the world may look upon such offences as venial; a few
+unprincipled mothers may be anxious to catch a young man of fortune
+without reference to his character; and thoughtless girls may be glad to
+win the smiles of so handsome a gentleman, without seeking to penetrate
+beyond the surface; but you, I trusted, were better informed than to see
+with their eyes, and judge with their perverted judgment.  I did not
+think you would call these venial errors!'
+
+'Nor do I, aunt; but if I hate the sins, I love the sinner, and would do
+much for his salvation, even supposing your suspicions to be mainly true,
+which I do not and will not believe.'
+
+'Well, my dear, ask your uncle what sort of company he keeps, and if he
+is not banded with a set of loose, profligate young men, whom he calls
+his friends, his jolly companions, and whose chief delight is to wallow
+in vice, and vie with each other who can run fastest and furthest down
+the headlong road to the place prepared for the devil and his angels.'
+
+'Then I will save him from them.'
+
+'Oh, Helen, Helen! you little know the misery of uniting your fortunes to
+such a man!'
+
+'I have such confidence in him, aunt, notwithstanding all you say, that I
+would willingly risk my happiness for the chance of securing his.  I will
+leave better men to those who only consider their own advantage.  If he
+has done amiss, I shall consider my life well spent in saving him from
+the consequences of his early errors, and striving to recall him to the
+path of virtue.  God grant me success!'
+
+Here the conversation ended, for at this juncture my uncle's voice was
+heard from his chamber, loudly calling upon my aunt to come to bed.  He
+was in a bad humour that night; for his gout was worse.  It had been
+gradually increasing upon him ever since we came to town; and my aunt
+took advantage of the circumstance next morning to persuade him to return
+to the country immediately, without waiting for the close of the season.
+His physician supported and enforced her arguments; and contrary to her
+usual habits, she so hurried the preparations for removal (as much for my
+sake as my uncle's, I think), that in a very few days we departed; and I
+saw no more of Mr. Huntingdon.  My aunt flatters herself I shall soon
+forget him--perhaps she thinks I have forgotten him already, for I never
+mention his name; and she may continue to think so, till we meet
+again--if ever that should be.  I wonder if it will?
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+
+
+August 25th.--I am now quite settled down to my usual routine of steady
+occupations and quiet amusements--tolerably contented and cheerful, but
+still looking forward to spring with the hope of returning to town, not
+for its gaieties and dissipations, but for the chance of meeting Mr.
+Huntingdon once again; for still he is always in my thoughts and in my
+dreams.  In all my employments, whatever I do, or see, or hear, has an
+ultimate reference to him; whatever skill or knowledge I acquire is some
+day to be turned to his advantage or amusement; whatever new beauties in
+nature or art I discover are to be depicted to meet his eye, or stored in
+my memory to be told him at some future period.  This, at least, is the
+hope that I cherish, the fancy that lights me on my lonely way.  It may
+be only an ignis fatuus, after all, but it can do no harm to follow it
+with my eyes and rejoice in its lustre, as long as it does not lure me
+from the path I ought to keep; and I think it will not, for I have
+thought deeply on my aunt's advice, and I see clearly, now, the folly of
+throwing myself away on one that is unworthy of all the love I have to
+give, and incapable of responding to the best and deepest feelings of my
+inmost heart--so clearly, that even if I should see him again, and if he
+should remember me and love me still (which, alas! is too little
+probable, considering how he is situated, and by whom surrounded), and if
+he should ask me to marry him--I am determined not to consent until I
+know for certain whether my aunt's opinion of him or mine is nearest the
+truth; for if mine is altogether wrong, it is not he that I love; it is a
+creature of my own imagination.  But I think it is not wrong--no,
+no--there is a secret something--an inward instinct that assures me I am
+right.  There is essential goodness in him;--and what delight to unfold
+it!  If he has wandered, what bliss to recall him!  If he is now exposed
+to the baneful influence of corrupting and wicked companions, what glory
+to deliver him from them!  Oh! if I could but believe that Heaven has
+designed me for this!
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+To-day is the first of September; but my uncle has ordered the gamekeeper
+to spare the partridges till the gentlemen come.  'What gentlemen?' I
+asked when I heard it.  A small party he had invited to shoot.  His
+friend Mr. Wilmot was one, and my aunt's friend, Mr. Boarham, another.
+This struck me as terrible news at the moment; but all regret and
+apprehension vanished like a dream when I heard that Mr. Huntingdon was
+actually to be a third!  My aunt is greatly against his coming, of
+course: she earnestly endeavoured to dissuade my uncle from asking him;
+but he, laughing at her objections, told her it was no use talking, for
+the mischief was already done: he had invited Huntingdon and his friend
+Lord Lowborough before we left London, and nothing now remained but to
+fix the day for their coming.  So he is safe, and I am sure of seeing
+him.  I cannot express my joy.  I find it very difficult to conceal it
+from my aunt; but I don't wish to trouble her with my feelings till I
+know whether I ought to indulge them or not.  If I find it my absolute
+duty to suppress them, they shall trouble no one but myself; and if I can
+really feel myself justified in indulging this attachment, I can dare
+anything, even the anger and grief of my best friend, for its
+object--surely, I shall soon know.  But they are not coming till about
+the middle of the month.
+
+We are to have two lady visitors also: Mr. Wilmot is to bring his niece
+and her cousin Milicent.  I suppose my aunt thinks the latter will
+benefit me by her society, and the salutary example of her gentle
+deportment and lowly and tractable spirit; and the former I suspect she
+intends as a species of counter-attraction to win Mr. Huntingdon's
+attention from me.  I don't thank her for this; but I shall be glad of
+Milicent's company: she is a sweet, good girl, and I wish I were like
+her--more like her, at least, than I am.
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+19th.--They are come.  They came the day before yesterday.  The gentlemen
+are all gone out to shoot, and the ladies are with my aunt, at work in
+the drawing-room.  I have retired to the library, for I am very unhappy,
+and I want to be alone.  Books cannot divert me; so having opened my
+desk, I will try what may be done by detailing the cause of my
+uneasiness.  This paper will serve instead of a confidential friend into
+whose ear I might pour forth the overflowings of my heart.  It will not
+sympathise with my distresses, but then it will not laugh at them, and,
+if I keep it close, it cannot tell again; so it is, perhaps, the best
+friend I could have for the purpose.
+
+First, let me speak of his arrival--how I sat at my window, and watched
+for nearly two hours, before his carriage entered the park-gates--for
+they all came before him,--and how deeply I was disappointed at every
+arrival, because it was not his.  First came Mr. Wilmot and the ladies.
+When Milicent had got into her room, I quitted my post a few minutes to
+look in upon her and have a little private conversation, for she was now
+my intimate friend, several long epistles having passed between us since
+our parting.  On returning to my window, I beheld another carriage at the
+door.  Was it his?  No; it was Mr. Boarham's plain dark chariot; and
+there stood he upon the steps, carefully superintending the dislodging of
+his various boxes and packages.  What a collection!  One would have
+thought he projected a visit of six months at least.  A considerable time
+after, came Lord Lowborough in his barouche.  Is he one of the profligate
+friends, I wonder?  I should think not; for no one could call him a jolly
+companion, I'm sure,--and, besides, he appears too sober and gentlemanly
+in his demeanour to merit such suspicions.  He is a tall, thin,
+gloomy-looking man, apparently between thirty and forty, and of a
+somewhat sickly, careworn aspect.
+
+At last, Mr. Huntingdon's light phaeton came bowling merrily up the lawn.
+I had but a transient glimpse of him: for the moment it stopped, he
+sprang out over the side on to the portico steps, and disappeared into
+the house.
+
+I now submitted to be dressed for dinner--a duty which Rachel had been
+urging upon me for the last twenty minutes; and when that important
+business was completed, I repaired to the drawing-room, where I found Mr.
+and Miss Wilmot and Milicent Hargrave already assembled.  Shortly after,
+Lord Lowborough entered, and then Mr. Boarham, who seemed quite willing
+to forget and forgive my former conduct, and to hope that a little
+conciliation and steady perseverance on his part might yet succeed in
+bringing me to reason.  While I stood at the window, conversing with
+Milicent, he came up to me, and was beginning to talk in nearly his usual
+strain, when Mr. Huntingdon entered the room.
+
+'How will he greet me, I wonder?' said my bounding heart; and, instead of
+advancing to meet him, I turned to the window to hide or subdue my
+emotion.  But having saluted his host and hostess, and the rest of the
+company, he came to me, ardently squeezed my hand, and murmured he was
+glad to see me once again.  At that moment dinner was announced: my aunt
+desired him to take Miss Hargrave into the dining-room, and odious Mr.
+Wilmot, with unspeakable grimaces, offered his arm to me; and I was
+condemned to sit between himself and Mr. Boarham.  But afterwards, when
+we were all again assembled in the drawing-room, I was indemnified for so
+much suffering by a few delightful minutes of conversation with Mr.
+Huntingdon.
+
+In the course of the evening, Miss Wilmot was called upon to sing and
+play for the amusement of the company, and I to exhibit my drawings, and,
+though he likes music, and she is an accomplished musician, I think I am
+right in affirming, that he paid more attention to my drawings than to
+her music.
+
+So far so good;--but hearing him pronounce, sotto voce, but with peculiar
+emphasis, concerning one of the pieces, 'This is better than all!'--I
+looked up, curious to see which it was, and, to my horror, beheld him
+complacently gazing at the back of the picture:--it was his own face that
+I had sketched there and forgotten to rub out!  To make matters worse, in
+the agony of the moment, I attempted to snatch it from his hand; but he
+prevented me, and exclaiming, 'No--by George, I'll keep it!' placed it
+against his waistcoat and buttoned his coat upon it with a delighted
+chuckle.
+
+Then, drawing a candle close to his elbow, he gathered all the drawings
+to himself, as well what he had seen as the others, and muttering, 'I
+must look at both sides now,' he eagerly commenced an examination, which
+I watched, at first, with tolerable composure, in the confidence that his
+vanity would not be gratified by any further discoveries; for, though I
+must plead guilty to having disfigured the backs of several with abortive
+attempts to delineate that too fascinating physiognomy, I was sure that,
+with that one unfortunate exception, I had carefully obliterated all such
+witnesses of my infatuation.  But the pencil frequently leaves an
+impression upon cardboard that no amount of rubbing can efface.  Such, it
+seems, was the case with most of these; and, I confess, I trembled when I
+saw him holding them so close to the candle, and poring so intently over
+the seeming blanks; but still, I trusted, he would not be able to make
+out these dim traces to his own satisfaction.  I was mistaken, however.
+Having ended his scrutiny, he quietly remarked,--'I perceive the backs of
+young ladies' drawings, like the postscripts of their letters, are the
+most important and interesting part of the concern.'
+
+Then, leaning back in his chair, he reflected a few minutes in silence,
+complacently smiling to himself, and while I was concocting some cutting
+speech wherewith to check his gratification, he rose, and passing over to
+where Annabella Wilmot sat vehemently coquetting with Lord Lowborough,
+seated himself on the sofa beside her, and attached himself to her for
+the rest of the evening.
+
+'So then,' thought I, 'he despises me, because he knows I love him.'
+
+And the reflection made me so miserable I knew not what to do.  Milicent
+came and began to admire my drawings, and make remarks upon them; but I
+could not talk to her--I could talk to no one, and, upon the introduction
+of tea, I took advantage of the open door and the slight diversion caused
+by its entrance to slip out--for I was sure I could not take any--and
+take refuge in the library.  My aunt sent Thomas in quest of me, to ask
+if I were not coming to tea; but I bade him say I should not take any
+to-night, and, happily, she was too much occupied with her guests to make
+any further inquiries at the time.
+
+As most of the company had travelled far that day, they retired early to
+rest; and having heard them all, as I thought, go up-stairs, I ventured
+out, to get my candlestick from the drawing-room sideboard.  But Mr.
+Huntingdon had lingered behind the rest.  He was just at the foot of the
+stairs when I opened the door, and hearing my step in the hall--though I
+could hardly hear it myself--he instantly turned back.
+
+'Helen, is that you?' said he.  'Why did you run away from us?'
+
+'Good-night, Mr. Huntingdon,' said I, coldly, not choosing to answer the
+question.  And I turned away to enter the drawing-room.
+
+'But you'll shake hands, won't you?' said he, placing himself in the
+doorway before me.  And he seized my hand and held it, much against my
+will.
+
+'Let me go, Mr. Huntingdon,' said I.  'I want to get a candle.'
+
+'The candle will keep,' returned he.
+
+I made a desperate effort to free my hand from his grasp.
+
+'Why are you in such a hurry to leave me, Helen?' he said, with a smile
+of the most provoking self-sufficiency.  'You don't hate me, you know.'
+
+'Yes, I do--at this moment.'
+
+'Not you.  It is Annabella Wilmot you hate, not me.'
+
+'I have nothing to do with Annabella Wilmot,' said I, burning with
+indignation.
+
+'But I have, you know,' returned he, with peculiar emphasis.
+
+'That is nothing to me, sir,' I retorted.
+
+'Is it nothing to you, Helen?  Will you swear it?  Will you?'
+
+'No I won't, Mr. Huntingdon! and I will go,' cried I, not knowing whether
+to laugh, or to cry, or to break out into a tempest of fury.
+
+'Go, then, you vixen!' he said; but the instant he released my hand he
+had the audacity to put his arm round my neck, and kiss me.
+
+Trembling with anger and agitation, and I don't know what besides, I
+broke away, and got my candle, and rushed up-stairs to my room.  He would
+not have done so but for that hateful picture.  And there he had it still
+in his possession, an eternal monument to his pride and my humiliation.
+
+It was but little sleep I got that night, and in the morning I rose
+perplexed and troubled with the thoughts of meeting him at breakfast.  I
+knew not how it was to be done.  An assumption of dignified, cold
+indifference would hardly do, after what he knew of my devotion--to his
+face, at least.  Yet something must be done to check his presumption--I
+would not submit to be tyrannised over by those bright, laughing eyes.
+And, accordingly, I received his cheerful morning salutation as calmly
+and coldly as my aunt could have wished, and defeated with brief answers
+his one or two attempts to draw me into conversation, while I comported
+myself with unusual cheerfulness and complaisance towards every other
+member of the party, especially Annabella Wilmot, and even her uncle and
+Mr. Boarham were treated with an extra amount of civility on the
+occasion, not from any motives of coquetry, but just to show him that my
+particular coolness and reserve arose from no general ill-humour or
+depression of spirits.
+
+He was not, however, to be repelled by such acting as this.  He did not
+talk much to me, but when he did speak it was with a degree of freedom
+and openness, and kindliness too, that plainly seemed to intimate he knew
+his words were music to my ears; and when his looks met mine it was with
+a smile--presumptuous, it might be--but oh! so sweet, so bright, so
+genial, that I could not possibly retain my anger; every vestige of
+displeasure soon melted away beneath it like morning clouds before the
+summer sun.
+
+Soon after breakfast all the gentlemen save one, with boyish eagerness,
+set out on their expedition against the hapless partridges; my uncle and
+Mr. Wilmot on their shooting ponies, Mr. Huntingdon and Lord Lowborough
+on their legs: the one exception being Mr. Boarham, who, in consideration
+of the rain that had fallen during the night, thought it prudent to
+remain behind a little and join them in a while when the sun had dried
+the grass.  And he favoured us all with a long and minute disquisition
+upon the evils and dangers attendant upon damp feet, delivered with the
+most imperturbable gravity, amid the jeers and laughter of Mr. Huntingdon
+and my uncle, who, leaving the prudent sportsman to entertain the ladies
+with his medical discussions, sallied forth with their guns, bending
+their steps to the stables first, to have a look at the horses and let
+out the dogs.
+
+Not desirous of sharing Mr. Boarham's company for the whole of the
+morning, I betook myself to the library, and there brought forth my easel
+and began to paint.  The easel and the painting apparatus would serve as
+an excuse for abandoning the drawing-room if my aunt should come to
+complain of the desertion, and besides I wanted to finish the picture.
+It was one I had taken great pains with, and I intended it to be my
+masterpiece, though it was somewhat presumptuous in the design.  By the
+bright azure of the sky, and by the warm and brilliant lights and deep
+long shadows, I had endeavoured to convey the idea of a sunny morning.  I
+had ventured to give more of the bright verdure of spring or early summer
+to the grass and foliage than is commonly attempted in painting.  The
+scene represented was an open glade in a wood.  A group of dark Scotch
+firs was introduced in the middle distance to relieve the prevailing
+freshness of the rest; but in the foreground was part of the gnarled
+trunk and of the spreading boughs of a large forest-tree, whose foliage
+was of a brilliant golden green--not golden from autumnal mellowness, but
+from the sunshine and the very immaturity of the scarce expanded leaves.
+Upon this bough, that stood out in bold relief against the sombre firs,
+were seated an amorous pair of turtle doves, whose soft sad-coloured
+plumage afforded a contrast of another nature; and beneath it a young
+girl was kneeling on the daisy-spangled turf, with head thrown back and
+masses of fair hair falling on her shoulders, her hands clasped, lips
+parted, and eyes intently gazing upward in pleased yet earnest
+contemplation of those feathered lovers--too deeply absorbed in each
+other to notice her.
+
+I had scarcely settled to my work, which, however, wanted but a few
+touches to the finishing, when the sportsmen passed the window on their
+return from the stables.  It was partly open, and Mr. Huntingdon must
+have seen me as he went by, for in half a minute he came back, and
+setting his gun against the wall, threw up the sash and sprang in, and
+set himself before my picture.
+
+'Very pretty, i'faith,' said he, after attentively regarding it for a few
+seconds; 'and a very fitting study for a young lady.  Spring just opening
+into summer--morning just approaching noon--girlhood just ripening into
+womanhood, and hope just verging on fruition.  She's a sweet creature!
+but why didn't you make her black hair?'
+
+'I thought light hair would suit her better.  You see I have made her
+blue-eyed and plump, and fair and rosy.'
+
+'Upon my word--a very Hebe!  I should fall in love with her if I hadn't
+the artist before me.  Sweet innocent! she's thinking there will come a
+time when she will be wooed and won like that pretty hen-dove by as fond
+and fervent a lover; and she's thinking how pleasant it will be, and how
+tender and faithful he will find her.'
+
+'And perhaps,' suggested I, 'how tender and faithful she shall find him.'
+
+'Perhaps, for there is no limit to the wild extravagance of Hope's
+imaginings at such an age.'
+
+'Do you call that, then, one of her wild, extravagant delusions?'
+
+'No; my heart tells me it is not.  I might have thought so once, but now,
+I say, give me the girl I love, and I will swear eternal constancy to her
+and her alone, through summer and winter, through youth and age, and life
+and death! if age and death must come.'
+
+He spoke this in such serious earnest that my heart bounded with delight;
+but the minute after he changed his tone, and asked, with a significant
+smile, if I had 'any more portraits.'
+
+'No,' replied I, reddening with confusion and wrath.
+
+But my portfolio was on the table: he took it up, and coolly sat down to
+examine its contents.
+
+'Mr. Huntingdon, those are my unfinished sketches,' cried I, 'and I never
+let any one see them.'
+
+And I placed my hand on the portfolio to wrest it from him, but he
+maintained his hold, assuring me that he 'liked unfinished sketches of
+all things.'
+
+'But I hate them to be seen,' returned I.  'I can't let you have it,
+indeed!'
+
+'Let me have its bowels then,' said he; and just as I wrenched the
+portfolio from his hand, he deftly abstracted the greater part of its
+contents, and after turning them over a moment he cried out,--'Bless my
+stars, here's another;' and slipped a small oval of ivory paper into his
+waistcoat pocket--a complete miniature portrait that I had sketched with
+such tolerable success as to be induced to colour it with great pains and
+care.  But I was determined he should not keep it.
+
+'Mr. Huntingdon,' cried I, 'I insist upon having that back!  It is mine,
+and you have no right to take it.  Give it me directly--I'll never
+forgive you if you don't!'
+
+But the more vehemently I insisted, the more he aggravated my distress by
+his insulting, gleeful laugh.  At length, however, he restored it to me,
+saying,--'Well, well, since you value it so much, I'll not deprive you of
+it.'
+
+To show him how I valued it, I tore it in two and threw it into the fire.
+He was not prepared for this.  His merriment suddenly ceasing, he stared
+in mute amazement at the consuming treasure; and then, with a careless
+'Humph!  I'll go and shoot now,' he turned on his heel and vacated the
+apartment by the window as he came, and setting on his hat with an air,
+took up his gun and walked away, whistling as he went--and leaving me not
+too much agitated to finish my picture, for I was glad, at the moment,
+that I had vexed him.
+
+When I returned to the drawing-room, I found Mr. Boarham had ventured to
+follow his comrades to the field; and shortly after lunch, to which they
+did not think of returning, I volunteered to accompany the ladies in a
+walk, and show Annabella and Milicent the beauties of the country.  We
+took a long ramble, and re-entered the park just as the sportsmen were
+returning from their expedition.  Toil-spent and travel-stained, the main
+body of them crossed over the grass to avoid us, but Mr. Huntingdon, all
+spattered and splashed as he was, and stained with the blood of his
+prey--to the no small offence of my aunt's strict sense of
+propriety--came out of his way to meet us, with cheerful smiles and words
+for all but me, and placing himself between Annabella Wilmot and myself,
+walked up the road and began to relate the various exploits and disasters
+of the day, in a manner that would have convulsed me with laughter if I
+had been on good terms with him; but he addressed himself entirely to
+Annabella, and I, of course, left all the laughter and all the badinage
+to her, and affecting the utmost indifference to whatever passed between
+them, walked along a few paces apart, and looking every way but theirs,
+while my aunt and Milicent went before, linked arm in arm and gravely
+discoursing together.  At length Mr. Huntingdon turned to me, and
+addressing me in a confidential whisper, said,--'Helen, why did you burn
+my picture?'
+
+'Because I wished to destroy it,' I answered, with an asperity it is
+useless now to lament.
+
+'Oh, very good!' was the reply; 'if you don't value me, I must turn to
+somebody that will.'
+
+I thought it was partly in jest--a half-playful mixture of mock
+resignation and pretended indifference: but immediately he resumed his
+place beside Miss Wilmot, and from that hour to this--during all that
+evening, and all the next day, and the next, and the next, and all this
+morning (the 22nd), he has never given me one kind word or one pleasant
+look--never spoken to me, but from pure necessity--never glanced towards
+me but with a cold, unfriendly look I thought him quite incapable of
+assuming.
+
+My aunt observes the change, and though she has not inquired the cause or
+made any remark to me on the subject, I see it gives her pleasure.  Miss
+Wilmot observes it, too, and triumphantly ascribes it to her own superior
+charms and blandishments; but I am truly miserable--more so than I like
+to acknowledge to myself.  Pride refuses to aid me.  It has brought me
+into the scrape, and will not help me out of it.
+
+He meant no harm--it was only his joyous, playful spirit; and I, by my
+acrimonious resentment--so serious, so disproportioned to the
+offence--have so wounded his feelings, so deeply offended him, that I
+fear he will never forgive me--and all for a mere jest!  He thinks I
+dislike him, and he must continue to think so.  I must lose him for ever,
+and Annabella may win him, and triumph as she will.
+
+But it is not my loss nor her triumph that I deplore so greatly as the
+wreck of my fond hopes for his advantage, and her unworthiness of his
+affection, and the injury he will do himself by trusting his happiness to
+her.  She does not love him: she thinks only of herself.  She cannot
+appreciate the good that is in him: she will neither see it, nor value
+it, nor cherish it.  She will neither deplore his faults nor attempt
+their amendment, but rather aggravate them by her own.  And I doubt
+whether she will not deceive him after all.  I see she is playing double
+between him and Lord Lowborough, and while she amuses herself with the
+lively Huntingdon, she tries her utmost to enslave his moody friend; and
+should she succeed in bringing both to her feet, the fascinating commoner
+will have but little chance against the lordly peer.  If he observes her
+artful by-play, it gives him no uneasiness, but rather adds new zest to
+his diversion by opposing a stimulating check to his otherwise too easy
+conquest.
+
+Messrs. Wilmot and Boarham have severally taken occasion by his neglect
+of me to renew their advances; and if I were like Annabella and some
+others I should take advantage of their perseverance to endeavour to
+pique him into a revival of affection; but, justice and honesty apart, I
+could not bear to do it.  I am annoyed enough by their present
+persecutions without encouraging them further; and even if I did it would
+have precious little effect upon him.  He sees me suffering under the
+condescending attentions and prosaic discourses of the one, and the
+repulsive obtrusions of the other, without so much as a shadow of
+commiseration for me, or resentment against my tormentors.  He never
+could have loved me, or he would not have resigned me so willingly, and
+he would not go on talking to everybody else so cheerfully as he
+does--laughing and jesting with Lord Lowborough and my uncle, teasing
+Milicent Hargrave, and flirting with Annabella Wilmot--as if nothing were
+on his mind.  Oh! why can't I hate him?  I must be infatuated, or I
+should scorn to regret him as I do.  But I must rally all the powers I
+have remaining, and try to tear him from my heart.  There goes the
+dinner-bell, and here comes my aunt to scold me for sitting here at my
+desk all day, instead of staying with the company: wish the company
+were--gone.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX
+
+
+Twenty Second: Night.--What have I done? and what will be the end of it?
+I cannot calmly reflect upon it; I cannot sleep.  I must have recourse to
+my diary again; I will commit it to paper to-night, and see what I shall
+think of it to-morrow.
+
+I went down to dinner resolving to be cheerful and well-conducted, and
+kept my resolution very creditably, considering how my head ached and how
+internally wretched I felt.  I don't know what is come over me of late;
+my very energies, both mental and physical, must be strangely impaired,
+or I should not have acted so weakly in many respects as I have done; but
+I have not been well this last day or two.  I suppose it is with sleeping
+and eating so little, and thinking so much, and being so continually out
+of humour.  But to return.  I was exerting myself to sing and play for
+the amusement, and at the request, of my aunt and Milicent, before the
+gentlemen came into the drawing-room (Miss Wilmot never likes to waste
+her musical efforts on ladies' ears alone).  Milicent had asked for a
+little Scotch song, and I was just in the middle of it when they entered.
+The first thing Mr. Huntingdon did was to walk up to Annabella.
+
+'Now, Miss Wilmot, won't you give us some music to-night?' said he.  'Do
+now!  I know you will, when I tell you that I have been hungering and
+thirsting all day for the sound of your voice.  Come! the piano's
+vacant.'
+
+It was, for I had quitted it immediately upon hearing his petition.  Had
+I been endowed with a proper degree of self-possession, I should have
+turned to the lady myself, and cheerfully joined my entreaties to his,
+whereby I should have disappointed his expectations, if the affront had
+been purposely given, or made him sensible of the wrong, if it had only
+arisen from thoughtlessness; but I felt it too deeply to do anything but
+rise from the music-stool, and throw myself back on the sofa, suppressing
+with difficulty the audible expression of the bitterness I felt within.
+I knew Annabella's musical talents were superior to mine, but that was no
+reason why I should be treated as a perfect nonentity.  The time and the
+manner of his asking her appeared like a gratuitous insult to me; and I
+could have wept with pure vexation.
+
+Meantime, she exultingly seated herself at the piano, and favoured him
+with two of his favourite songs, in such superior style that even I soon
+lost my anger in admiration, and listened with a sort of gloomy pleasure
+to the skilful modulations of her full-toned and powerful voice, so
+judiciously aided by her rounded and spirited touch; and while my ears
+drank in the sound, my eyes rested on the face of her principal auditor,
+and derived an equal or superior delight from the contemplation of his
+speaking countenance, as he stood beside her--that eye and brow lighted
+up with keen enthusiasm, and that sweet smile passing and appearing like
+gleams of sunshine on an April day.  No wonder he should hunger and
+thirst to hear her sing.  I now forgave him from my heart his reckless
+slight of me, and I felt ashamed at my pettish resentment of such a
+trifle--ashamed too of those bitter envious pangs that gnawed my inmost
+heart, in spite of all this admiration and delight.
+
+'There now,' said she, playfully running her fingers over the keys when
+she had concluded the second song.  'What shall I give you next?'
+
+But in saying this she looked back at Lord Lowborough, who was standing a
+little behind, leaning against the back of a chair, an attentive
+listener, too, experiencing, to judge by his countenance, much the same
+feelings of mingled pleasure and sadness as I did.  But the look she gave
+him plainly said, 'Do you choose for me now: I have done enough for him,
+and will gladly exert myself to gratify you;' and thus encouraged, his
+lordship came forward, and turning over the music, presently set before
+her a little song that I had noticed before, and read more than once,
+with an interest arising from the circumstance of my connecting it in my
+mind with the reigning tyrant of my thoughts.  And now, with my nerves
+already excited and half unstrung, I could not hear those words so
+sweetly warbled forth without some symptoms of emotion I was not able to
+suppress.  Tears rose unbidden to my eyes, and I buried my face in the
+sofa-pillow that they might flow unseen while I listened.  The air was
+simple, sweet, and sad.  It is still running in my head, and so are the
+words:--
+
+   Farewell to thee! but not farewell
+      To all my fondest thoughts of thee:
+   Within my heart they still shall dwell;
+      And they shall cheer and comfort me.
+
+   O beautiful, and full of grace!
+      If thou hadst never met mine eye,
+   I had not dreamed a living face
+      Could fancied charms so far outvie.
+
+   If I may ne'er behold again
+      That form and face so dear to me,
+   Nor hear thy voice, still would I fain
+      Preserve, for aye, their memory.
+
+   That voice, the magic of whose tone
+      Can wake an echo in my breast,
+   Creating feelings that, alone,
+      Can make my tranced spirit blest.
+
+   That laughing eye, whose sunny beam
+      My memory would not cherish less;--
+   And oh, that smile!  I whose joyous gleam
+      No mortal languish can express.
+
+   Adieu! but let me cherish, still,
+      The hope with which I cannot part.
+   Contempt may wound, and coldness chill,
+      But still it lingers in my heart.
+
+   And who can tell but Heaven, at last,
+      May answer all my thousand prayers,
+   And bid the future pay the past
+      With joy for anguish, smiles for tears.
+
+When it ceased, I longed for nothing so much as to be out of the room.
+The sofa was not far from the door, but I did not dare to raise my head,
+for I knew Mr. Huntingdon was standing near me, and I knew by the sound
+of his voice, as he spoke in answer to some remark of Lord Lowborough's,
+that his face was turned towards me.  Perhaps a half-suppressed sob had
+caught his ear, and caused him to look round--heaven forbid!  But with a
+violent effort, I checked all further signs of weakness, dried my tears,
+and, when I thought he had turned away again, rose, and instantly left
+the apartment, taking refuge in my favourite resort, the library.
+
+There was no light there but the faint red glow of the neglected
+fire;--but I did not want a light; I only wanted to indulge my thoughts,
+unnoticed and undisturbed; and sitting down on a low stool before the
+easy-chair, I sunk my head upon its cushioned seat, and thought, and
+thought, until the tears gushed out again, and I wept like any child.
+Presently, however, the door was gently opened and someone entered the
+room.  I trusted it was only a servant, and did not stir.  The door was
+closed again--but I was not alone; a hand gently touched my shoulder, and
+a voice said, softly,--'Helen, what is the matter?'
+
+I could not answer at the moment.
+
+'You must, and shall tell me,' was added, more vehemently, and the
+speaker threw himself on his knees beside me on the rug, and forcibly
+possessed himself of my hand; but I hastily caught it away, and
+replied,--'It is nothing to you, Mr. Huntingdon.'
+
+'Are you sure it is nothing to me?' he returned; 'can you swear that you
+were not thinking of me while you wept?'  This was unendurable.  I made
+an effort to rise, but he was kneeling on my dress.
+
+'Tell me,' continued he--'I want to know,--because if you were, I have
+something to say to you,--and if not, I'll go.'
+
+'Go then!' I cried; but, fearing he would obey too well, and never come
+again, I hastily added--'Or say what you have to say, and have done with
+it!'
+
+'But which?' said he--'for I shall only say it if you really were
+thinking of me.  So tell me, Helen.'
+
+'You're excessively impertinent, Mr. Huntingdon!'
+
+'Not at all--too pertinent, you mean.  So you won't tell me?--Well, I'll
+spare your woman's pride, and, construing your silence into "Yes," I'll
+take it for granted that I was the subject of your thoughts, and the
+cause of your affliction--'
+
+'Indeed, sir--'
+
+'If you deny it, I won't tell you my secret,' threatened he; and I did
+not interrupt him again, or even attempt to repulse him: though he had
+taken my hand once more, and half embraced me with his other arm, I was
+scarcely conscious of it at the time.
+
+'It is this,' resumed he: 'that Annabella Wilmot, in comparison with you,
+is like a flaunting peony compared with a sweet, wild rosebud gemmed with
+dew--and I love you to distraction!--Now, tell me if that intelligence
+gives you any pleasure.  Silence again?  That means yes.  Then let me
+add, that I cannot live without you, and if you answer No to this last
+question, you will drive me mad.--Will you bestow yourself upon me?--you
+will!' he cried, nearly squeezing me to death in his arms.
+
+'No, no!' I exclaimed, struggling to free myself from him--'you must ask
+my uncle and aunt.'
+
+'They won't refuse me, if you don't.'
+
+'I'm not so sure of that--my aunt dislikes you.'
+
+'But you don't, Helen--say you love me, and I'll go.'
+
+'I wish you would go!' I replied.
+
+'I will, this instant,--if you'll only say you love me.'
+
+'You know I do,' I answered.  And again he caught me in his arms, and
+smothered me with kisses.
+
+At that moment my aunt opened wide the door, and stood before us, candle
+in hand, in shocked and horrified amazement, gazing alternately at Mr.
+Huntingdon and me--for we had both started up, and now stood wide enough
+asunder.  But his confusion was only for a moment.  Rallying in an
+instant, with the most enviable assurance, he began,--'I beg ten thousand
+pardons, Mrs. Maxwell!  Don't be too severe upon me.  I've been asking
+your sweet niece to take me for better, for worse; and she, like a good
+girl, informs me she cannot think of it without her uncle's and aunt's
+consent.  So let me implore you not to condemn me to eternal
+wretchedness: if you favour my cause, I am safe; for Mr. Maxwell, I am
+certain, can refuse you nothing.'
+
+'We will talk of this to-morrow, sir,' said my aunt, coldly.  'It is a
+subject that demands mature and serious deliberation.  At present, you
+had better return to the drawing-room.'
+
+'But meantime,' pleaded he, 'let me commend my cause to your most
+indulgent--'
+
+'No indulgence for you, Mr. Huntingdon, must come between me and the
+consideration of my niece's happiness.'
+
+'Ah, true!  I know she is an angel, and I am a presumptuous dog to dream
+of possessing such a treasure; but, nevertheless, I would sooner die than
+relinquish her in favour of the best man that ever went to heaven--and as
+for her happiness, I would sacrifice my body and soul--'
+
+'Body and soul, Mr. Huntingdon--sacrifice your soul?'
+
+'Well, I would lay down life--'
+
+'You would not be required to lay it down.'
+
+'I would spend it, then--devote my life--and all its powers to the
+promotion and preservation--'
+
+'Another time, sir, we will talk of this--and I should have felt disposed
+to judge more favourably of your pretensions, if you too had chosen
+another time and place, and let me add--another manner for your
+declaration.'
+
+'Why, you see, Mrs. Maxwell,' he began--
+
+'Pardon me, sir,' said she, with dignity--'The company are inquiring for
+you in the other room.'  And she turned to me.
+
+'Then you must plead for me, Helen,' said he, and at length withdrew.
+
+'You had better retire to your room, Helen,' said my aunt, gravely.  'I
+will discuss this matter with you, too, to-morrow.'
+
+'Don't be angry, aunt,' said I.
+
+'My dear, I am not angry,' she replied: 'I am surprised.  If it is true
+that you told him you could not accept his offer without our consent--'
+
+'It is true,' interrupted I.
+
+'Then how could you permit--?'
+
+'I couldn't help it, aunt,' I cried, bursting into tears.  They were not
+altogether the tears of sorrow, or of fear for her displeasure, but
+rather the outbreak of the general tumultuous excitement of my feelings.
+But my good aunt was touched at my agitation.  In a softer tone, she
+repeated her recommendation to retire, and, gently kissing my forehead,
+bade me good-night, and put her candle in my hand; and I went; but my
+brain worked so, I could not think of sleeping.  I feel calmer now that I
+have written all this; and I will go to bed, and try to win tired
+nature's sweet restorer.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX
+
+
+September 24th.--In the morning I rose, light and cheerful--nay,
+intensely happy.  The hovering cloud cast over me by my aunt's views, and
+by the fear of not obtaining her consent, was lost in the bright
+effulgence of my own hopes, and the too delightful consciousness of
+requited love.  It was a splendid morning; and I went out to enjoy it, in
+a quiet ramble, in company with my own blissful thoughts.  The dew was on
+the grass, and ten thousand gossamers were waving in the breeze; the
+happy red-breast was pouring out its little soul in song, and my heart
+overflowed with silent hymns of gratitude and praise to heaven.
+
+But I had not wandered far before my solitude was interrupted by the only
+person that could have disturbed my musings, at that moment, without
+being looked upon as an unwelcome intruder: Mr. Huntingdon came suddenly
+upon me.  So unexpected was the apparition, that I might have thought it
+the creation of an over-excited imagination, had the sense of sight alone
+borne witness to his presence; but immediately I felt his strong arm
+round my waist and his warm kiss on my cheek, while his keen and gleeful
+salutation, 'My own Helen!' was ringing in my ear.
+
+'Not yours yet!' said I, hastily swerving aside from this too
+presumptuous greeting.  'Remember my guardians.  You will not easily
+obtain my aunt's consent.  Don't you see she is prejudiced against you?'
+
+'I do, dearest; and you must tell me why, that I may best know how to
+combat her objections.  I suppose she thinks I am a prodigal,' pursued
+he, observing that I was unwilling to reply, 'and concludes that I shall
+have but little worldly goods wherewith to endow my better half?  If so,
+you must tell her that my property is mostly entailed, and I cannot get
+rid of it.  There may be a few mortgages on the rest--a few trifling
+debts and incumbrances here and there, but nothing to speak of; and
+though I acknowledge I am not so rich as I might be--or have been--still,
+I think, we could manage pretty comfortably on what's left.  My father,
+you know, was something of a miser, and in his latter days especially saw
+no pleasure in life but to amass riches; and so it is no wonder that his
+son should make it his chief delight to spend them, which was accordingly
+the case, until my acquaintance with you, dear Helen, taught me other
+views and nobler aims.  And the very idea of having you to care for under
+my roof would force me to moderate my expenses and live like a
+Christian--not to speak of all the prudence and virtue you would instil
+into my mind by your wise counsels and sweet, attractive goodness.'
+
+'But it is not that,' said I; 'it is not money my aunt thinks about.  She
+knows better than to value worldly wealth above its price.'
+
+'What is it, then?'
+
+'She wishes me to--to marry none but a really good man.'
+
+'What, a man of "decided piety"?--ahem!--Well, come, I'll manage that
+too!  It's Sunday to-day, isn't it?  I'll go to church morning,
+afternoon, and evening, and comport myself in such a godly sort that she
+shall regard me with admiration and sisterly love, as a brand plucked
+from the burning.  I'll come home sighing like a furnace, and full of the
+savour and unction of dear Mr. Blatant's discourse--'
+
+'Mr. Leighton,' said I, dryly.
+
+'Is Mr. Leighton a "sweet preacher," Helen--a "dear, delightful,
+heavenly-minded man"?'
+
+'He is a good man, Mr. Huntingdon.  I wish I could say half as much for
+you.'
+
+'Oh, I forgot, you are a saint, too.  I crave your pardon, dearest--but
+don't call me Mr. Huntingdon; my name is Arthur.'
+
+'I'll call you nothing--for I'll have nothing at all to do with you if
+you talk in that way any more.  If you really mean to deceive my aunt as
+you say, you are very wicked; and if not, you are very wrong to jest on
+such a subject.'
+
+'I stand corrected,' said he, concluding his laugh with a sorrowful sigh.
+'Now,' resumed he, after a momentary pause, 'let us talk about something
+else.  And come nearer to me, Helen, and take my arm; and then I'll let
+you alone.  I can't be quiet while I see you walking there.'
+
+I complied; but said we must soon return to the house.
+
+'No one will be down to breakfast yet, for long enough,' he answered.
+'You spoke of your guardians just now, Helen, but is not your father
+still living?'
+
+'Yes, but I always look upon my uncle and aunt as my guardians, for they
+are so in deed, though not in name.  My father has entirely given me up
+to their care.  I have never seen him since dear mamma died, when I was a
+very little girl, and my aunt, at her request, offered to take charge of
+me, and took me away to Staningley, where I have remained ever since; and
+I don't think he would object to anything for me that she thought proper
+to sanction.'
+
+'But would he sanction anything to which she thought proper to object?'
+
+'No, I don't think he cares enough about me.'
+
+'He is very much to blame--but he doesn't know what an angel he has for
+his daughter--which is all the better for me, as, if he did, he would not
+be willing to part with such a treasure.'
+
+'And Mr. Huntingdon,' said I, 'I suppose you know I am not an heiress?'
+
+He protested he had never given it a thought, and begged I would not
+disturb his present enjoyment by the mention of such uninteresting
+subjects.  I was glad of this proof of disinterested affection; for
+Annabella Wilmot is the probable heiress to all her uncle's wealth, in
+addition to her late father's property, which she has already in
+possession.
+
+I now insisted upon retracing our steps to the house; but we walked
+slowly, and went on talking as we proceeded.  I need not repeat all we
+said: let me rather refer to what passed between my aunt and me, after
+breakfast, when Mr. Huntingdon called my uncle aside, no doubt to make
+his proposals, and she beckoned me into another room, where she once more
+commenced a solemn remonstrance, which, however, entirely failed to
+convince me that her view of the case was preferable to my own.
+
+'You judge him uncharitably, aunt, I know,' said I.  'His very friends
+are not half so bad as you represent them.  There is Walter Hargrave,
+Milicent's brother, for one: he is but a little lower than the angels, if
+half she says of him is true.  She is continually talking to me about
+him, and lauding his many virtues to the skies.'
+
+'You will form a very inadequate estimate of a man's character,' replied
+she, 'if you judge by what a fond sister says of him.  The worst of them
+generally know how to hide their misdeeds from their sisters' eyes, and
+their mother's, too.'
+
+'And there is Lord Lowborough,' continued I, 'quite a decent man.'
+
+'Who told you so?  Lord Lowborough is a desperate man.  He has dissipated
+his fortune in gambling and other things, and is now seeking an heiress
+to retrieve it.  I told Miss Wilmot so; but you're all alike: she
+haughtily answered she was very much obliged to me, but she believed she
+knew when a man was seeking her for her fortune, and when for herself;
+she flattered herself she had had experience enough in those matters to
+be justified in trusting to her own judgment--and as for his lordship's
+lack of fortune, she cared nothing about that, as she hoped her own would
+suffice for both; and as for his wildness, she supposed he was no worse
+than others--besides, he was reformed now.  Yes, they can all play the
+hypocrite when they want to take in a fond, misguided woman!'
+
+'Well, I think he's about as good as she is,' said I.  'But when Mr.
+Huntingdon is married, he won't have many opportunities of consorting
+with his bachelor friends;--and the worse they are, the more I long to
+deliver him from them.'
+
+'To be sure, my dear; and the worse he is, I suppose, the more you long
+to deliver him from himself.'
+
+'Yes, provided he is not incorrigible--that is, the more I long to
+deliver him from his faults--to give him an opportunity of shaking off
+the adventitious evil got from contact with others worse than himself,
+and shining out in the unclouded light of his own genuine goodness--to do
+my utmost to help his better self against his worse, and make him what he
+would have been if he had not, from the beginning, had a bad, selfish,
+miserly father, who, to gratify his own sordid passions, restricted him
+in the most innocent enjoyments of childhood and youth, and so disgusted
+him with every kind of restraint;--and a foolish mother who indulged him
+to the top of his bent, deceiving her husband for him, and doing her
+utmost to encourage those germs of folly and vice it was her duty to
+suppress,--and then, such a set of companions as you represent his
+friends to be--'
+
+'Poor man!' said she, sarcastically, 'his kind have greatly wronged him!'
+
+'They have!' cried I--'and they shall wrong him no more--his wife shall
+undo what his mother did!'
+
+'Well,' said she, after a short pause, 'I must say, Helen, I thought
+better of your judgment than this--and your taste too.  How you can love
+such a man I cannot tell, or what pleasure you can find in his company;
+for "what fellowship hath light with darkness; or he that believeth with
+an infidel?"'
+
+'He is not an infidel;--and I am not light, and he is not darkness; his
+worst and only vice is thoughtlessness.'
+
+'And thoughtlessness,' pursued my aunt, 'may lead to every crime, and
+will but poorly excuse our errors in the sight of God.  Mr. Huntingdon, I
+suppose, is not without the common faculties of men: he is not so
+light-headed as to be irresponsible: his Maker has endowed him with
+reason and conscience as well as the rest of us; the Scriptures are open
+to him as well as to others;--and "if he hear not them, neither will he
+hear though one rose from the dead." And remember, Helen,' continued she,
+solemnly, '"the wicked shall be turned into hell, and they that forget
+God!"'  And suppose, even, that he should continue to love you, and you
+him, and that you should pass through life together with tolerable
+comfort--how will it be in the end, when you see yourselves parted for
+ever; you, perhaps, taken into eternal bliss, and he cast into the lake
+that burneth with unquenchable fire--there for ever to--'
+
+'Not for ever,' I exclaimed, '"only till he has paid the uttermost
+farthing;" for "if any man's work abide not the fire, he shall suffer
+loss, yet himself shall be saved, but so as by fire;" and He that "is
+able to subdue all things to Himself will have all men to be saved," and
+"will, in the fulness of time, gather together in one all things in
+Christ Jesus, who tasted death for every man, and in whom God will
+reconcile all things to Himself, whether they be things in earth or
+things in heaven."'
+
+'Oh, Helen! where did you learn all this?'
+
+'In the Bible, aunt.  I have searched it through, and found nearly thirty
+passages, all tending to support the same theory.'
+
+'And is that the use you make of your Bible?  And did you find no
+passages tending to prove the danger and the falsity of such a belief?'
+
+'No: I found, indeed, some passages that, taken by themselves, might seem
+to contradict that opinion; but they will all bear a different
+construction to that which is commonly given, and in most the only
+difficulty is in the word which we translate "everlasting" or "eternal."
+I don't know the Greek, but I believe it strictly means for ages, and
+might signify either endless or long-enduring.  And as for the danger of
+the belief, I would not publish it abroad if I thought any poor wretch
+would be likely to presume upon it to his own destruction, but it is a
+glorious thought to cherish in one's own heart, and I would not part with
+it for all the world can give!'
+
+Here our conference ended, for it was now high time to prepare for
+church.  Every one attended the morning service, except my uncle, who
+hardly ever goes, and Mr. Wilmot, who stayed at home with him to enjoy a
+quiet game of cribbage.  In the afternoon Miss Wilmot and Lord Lowborough
+likewise excused themselves from attending; but Mr. Huntingdon vouchsafed
+to accompany us again.  Whether it was to ingratiate himself with my aunt
+I cannot tell, but, if so, he certainly should have behaved better.  I
+must confess, I did not like his conduct during service at all.  Holding
+his prayer-book upside down, or open at any place but the right, he did
+nothing but stare about him, unless he happened to catch my aunt's eye or
+mine, and then he would drop his own on his book, with a puritanical air
+of mock solemnity that would have been ludicrous, if it had not been too
+provoking.  Once, during the sermon, after attentively regarding Mr.
+Leighton for a few minutes, he suddenly produced his gold pencil-case and
+snatched up a Bible.  Perceiving that I observed the movement, he
+whispered that he was going to make a note of the sermon; but instead of
+that, as I sat next him, I could not help seeing that he was making a
+caricature of the preacher, giving to the respectable, pious, elderly
+gentleman, the air and aspect of a most absurd old hypocrite.  And yet,
+upon his return, he talked to my aunt about the sermon with a degree of
+modest, serious discrimination that tempted me to believe he had really
+attended to and profited by the discourse.
+
+Just before dinner my uncle called me into the library for the discussion
+of a very important matter, which was dismissed in few words.
+
+'Now, Nell,' said he, 'this young Huntingdon has been asking for you:
+what must I say about it?  Your aunt would answer "no"--but what say
+you?'
+
+'I say yes, uncle,' replied I, without a moment's hesitation; for I had
+thoroughly made up my mind on the subject.
+
+'Very good!' cried he.  'Now that's a good honest answer--wonderful for a
+girl!--Well, I'll write to your father to-morrow.  He's sure to give his
+consent; so you may look on the matter as settled.  You'd have done a
+deal better if you'd taken Wilmot, I can tell you; but that you won't
+believe.  At your time of life, it's love that rules the roast: at mine,
+it's solid, serviceable gold.  I suppose now, you'd never dream of
+looking into the state of your husband's finances, or troubling your head
+about settlements, or anything of that sort?'
+
+'I don't think I should.'
+
+'Well, be thankful, then, that you've wiser heads to think for you.  I
+haven't had time, yet, to examine thoroughly into this young rascal's
+affairs, but I see that a great part of his father's fine property has
+been squandered away;--but still, I think, there's a pretty fair share of
+it left, and a little careful nursing may make a handsome thing of it
+yet; and then we must persuade your father to give you a decent fortune,
+as he has only one besides yourself to care for;--and, if you behave
+well, who knows but what I may be induced to remember you in my will!'
+continued he, putting his fingers to his nose, with a knowing wink.
+
+'Thanks, uncle, for that and all your kindness,' replied I.
+
+'Well, and I questioned this young spark on the matter of settlements,'
+continued he; 'and he seemed disposed to be generous enough on that
+point--'
+
+'I knew he would!' said I.  'But pray don't trouble your head--or his, or
+mine about that; for all I have will be his, and all he has will be mine;
+and what more could either of us require?'  And I was about to make my
+exit, but he called me back.
+
+'Stop, stop!' cried he; 'we haven't mentioned the time yet.  When must it
+be?  Your aunt would put it off till the Lord knows when, but he is
+anxious to be bound as soon as may be: he won't hear of waiting beyond
+next month; and you, I guess, will be of the same mind, so--'
+
+'Not at all, uncle; on the contrary, I should like to wait till after
+Christmas, at least.'
+
+'Oh! pooh, pooh! never tell me that tale--I know better,' cried he; and
+he persisted in his incredulity.  Nevertheless, it is quite true.  I am
+in no hurry at all.  How can I be, when I think of the momentous change
+that awaits me, and of all I have to leave?  It is happiness enough to
+know that we are to be united; and that he really loves me, and I may
+love him as devotedly, and think of him as often as I please.  However, I
+insisted upon consulting my aunt about the time of the wedding, for I
+determined her counsels should not be utterly disregarded; and no
+conclusions on that particular are come to yet.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI
+
+
+October 1st.--All is settled now.  My father has given his consent, and
+the time is fixed for Christmas, by a sort of compromise between the
+respective advocates for hurry and delay.  Milicent Hargrave is to be one
+bridesmaid and Annabella Wilmot the other--not that I am particularly
+fond of the latter, but she is an intimate of the family, and I have not
+another friend.
+
+When I told Milicent of my engagement, she rather provoked me by her
+manner of taking it.  After staring a moment in mute surprise, she
+said,--'Well, Helen, I suppose I ought to congratulate you--and I am glad
+to see you so happy; but I did not think you would take him; and I can't
+help feeling surprised that you should like him so much.'
+
+'Why so?'
+
+'Because you are so superior to him in every way, and there's something
+so bold and reckless about him--so, I don't know how--but I always feel a
+wish to get out of his way when I see him approach.'
+
+'You are timid, Milicent; but that's no fault of his.'
+
+'And then his look,' continued she.  'People say he's handsome, and of
+course he is; but I don't like that kind of beauty, and I wonder that you
+should.'
+
+'Why so, pray?'
+
+'Well, you know, I think there's nothing noble or lofty in his
+appearance.'
+
+'In fact, you wonder that I can like any one so unlike the stilted heroes
+of romance.  Well, give me my flesh and blood lover, and I'll leave all
+the Sir Herberts and Valentines to you--if you can find them.'
+
+'I don't want them,' said she.  'I'll be satisfied with flesh and blood
+too--only the spirit must shine through and predominate.  But don't you
+think Mr. Huntingdon's face is too red?'
+
+'No!' cried I, indignantly.  'It is not red at all.  There is just a
+pleasant glow, a healthy freshness in his complexion--the warm, pinky
+tint of the whole harmonising with the deeper colour of the cheeks,
+exactly as it ought to do.  I hate a man to be red and white, like a
+painted doll, or all sickly white, or smoky black, or cadaverous yellow.'
+
+'Well, tastes differ--but I like pale or dark,' replied she.  'But, to
+tell you the truth, Helen, I had been deluding myself with the hope that
+you would one day be my sister.  I expected Walter would be introduced to
+you next season; and I thought you would like him, and was certain he
+would like you; and I flattered myself I should thus have the felicity of
+seeing the two persons I like best in the world--except mamma--united in
+one.  He mayn't be exactly what you would call handsome, but he's far
+more distinguished-looking, and nicer and better than Mr.
+Huntingdon;--and I'm sure you would say so, if you knew him.'
+
+'Impossible, Milicent!  You think so, because you're his sister; and, on
+that account, I'll forgive you; but nobody else should so disparage
+Arthur Huntingdon to me with impunity.'
+
+Miss Wilmot expressed her feelings on the subject almost as openly.
+
+'And so, Helen,' said she, coming up to me with a smile of no amiable
+import, 'you are to be Mrs. Huntingdon, I suppose?'
+
+'Yes,' replied I.  'Don't you envy me?'
+
+'Oh, dear, no!' she exclaimed.  'I shall probably be Lady Lowborough some
+day, and then you know, dear, I shall be in a capacity to inquire, "Don't
+you envy me?"'
+
+'Henceforth I shall envy no one,' returned I.
+
+'Indeed!  Are you so happy then?' said she, thoughtfully; and something
+very like a cloud of disappointment shadowed her face.  'And does he love
+you--I mean, does he idolise you as much as you do him?' she added,
+fixing her eyes upon me with ill-disguised anxiety for the reply.
+
+'I don't want to be idolised,' I answered; 'but I am well assured that he
+loves me more than anybody else in the world--as I do him.'
+
+'Exactly,' said she, with a nod.  'I wish--' she paused.
+
+'What do you wish?' asked I, annoyed at the vindictive expression of her
+countenance.
+
+'I wish,' returned, she, with a short laugh, 'that all the attractive
+points and desirable qualifications of the two gentlemen were united in
+one--that Lord Lowborough had Huntingdon's handsome face and good temper,
+and all his wit, and mirth and charm, or else that Huntingdon had
+Lowborough's pedigree, and title, and delightful old family seat, and I
+had him; and you might have the other and welcome.'
+
+'Thank you, dear Annabella: I am better satisfied with things as they
+are, for my own part; and for you, I wish you were as well content with
+your intended as I am with mine,' said I; and it was true enough; for,
+though vexed at first at her unamiable spirit, her frankness touched me,
+and the contrast between our situations was such, that I could well
+afford to pity her and wish her well.
+
+Mr. Huntingdon's acquaintances appear to be no better pleased with our
+approaching union than mine.  This morning's post brought him letters
+from several of his friends, during the perusal of which, at the
+breakfast-table, he excited the attention of the company by the singular
+variety of his grimaces.  But he crushed them all into his pocket, with a
+private laugh, and said nothing till the meal was concluded.  Then, while
+the company were hanging over the fire or loitering through the room,
+previous to settling to their various morning avocations, he came and
+leant over the back of my chair, with his face in contact with my curls,
+and commencing with a quiet little kiss, poured forth the following
+complaints into my ear:--
+
+'Helen, you witch, do you know that you've entailed upon me the curses of
+all my friends?  I wrote to them the other day, to tell them of my happy
+prospects, and now, instead of a bundle of congratulations, I've got a
+pocketful of bitter execrations and reproaches.  There's not one kind
+wish for me, or one good word for you, among them all.  They say there'll
+be no more fun now, no more merry days and glorious nights--and all my
+fault--I am the first to break up the jovial band, and others, in pure
+despair, will follow my example.  I was the very life and prop of the
+community, they do me the honour to say, and I have shamefully betrayed
+my trust--'
+
+'You may join them again, if you like,' said I, somewhat piqued at the
+sorrowful tone of his discourse.  'I should be sorry to stand between any
+man--or body of men, and so much happiness; and perhaps I can manage to
+do without you, as well as your poor deserted friends.'
+
+'Bless you, no,' murmured he.  'It's "all for love or the world well
+lost," with me.  Let them go to--where they belong, to speak politely.
+But if you saw how they abuse me, Helen, you would love me all the more
+for having ventured so much for your sake.'
+
+He pulled out his crumpled letters.  I thought he was going to show them
+to me, and told him I did not wish to see them.
+
+'I'm not going to show them to you, love,' said he.  'They're hardly fit
+for a lady's eyes--the most part of them.  But look here.  This is
+Grimsby's scrawl--only three lines, the sulky dog!  He doesn't say much,
+to be sure, but his very silence implies more than all the others' words,
+and the less he says, the more he thinks--and this is Hargrave's missive.
+He is particularly grieved at me, because, forsooth he had fallen in love
+with you from his sister's reports, and meant to have married you
+himself, as soon as he had sown his wild oats.'
+
+'I'm vastly obliged to him,' observed I.
+
+'And so am I,' said he.  'And look at this.  This is Hattersley's--every
+page stuffed full of railing accusations, bitter curses, and lamentable
+complaints, ending up with swearing that he'll get married himself in
+revenge: he'll throw himself away on the first old maid that chooses to
+set her cap at him,--as if I cared what he did with himself.'
+
+'Well,' said I, 'if you do give up your intimacy with these men, I don't
+think you will have much cause to regret the loss of their society; for
+it's my belief they never did you much good.'
+
+'Maybe not; but we'd a merry time of it, too, though mingled with sorrow
+and pain, as Lowborough knows to his cost--Ha, ha!' and while he was
+laughing at the recollection of Lowborough's troubles, my uncle came and
+slapped him on the shoulder.
+
+'Come, my lad!' said he.  'Are you too busy making love to my niece to
+make war with the pheasants?--First of October, remember!  Sun shines
+out--rain ceased--even Boarham's not afraid to venture in his waterproof
+boots; and Wilmot and I are going to beat you all.  I declare, we old
+'uns are the keenest sportsmen of the lot!'
+
+'I'll show you what I can do to-day, however,' said my companion.  'I'll
+murder your birds by wholesale, just for keeping me away from better
+company than either you or them.'
+
+And so saying he departed; and I saw no more of him till dinner.  It
+seemed a weary time; I wonder what I shall do without him.
+
+It is very true that the three elder gentlemen have proved themselves
+much keener sportsmen than the two younger ones; for both Lord Lowborough
+and Arthur Huntingdon have of late almost daily neglected the shooting
+excursions to accompany us in our various rides and rambles.  But these
+merry times are fast drawing to a close.  In less than a fortnight the
+party break up, much to my sorrow, for every day I enjoy it more and
+more--now that Messrs. Boarham and Wilmot have ceased to tease me, and my
+aunt has ceased to lecture me, and I have ceased to be jealous of
+Annabella--and even to dislike her--and now that Mr. Huntingdon is become
+my Arthur, and I may enjoy his society without restraint.  What shall I
+do without him, I repeat?
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII
+
+
+October 5th.--My cup of sweets is not unmingled: it is dashed with a
+bitterness that I cannot hide from myself, disguise it as I will.  I may
+try to persuade myself that the sweetness overpowers it; I may call it a
+pleasant aromatic flavour; but say what I will, it is still there, and I
+cannot but taste it.  I cannot shut my eyes to Arthur's faults; and the
+more I love him the more they trouble me.  His very heart, that I trusted
+so, is, I fear, less warm and generous than I thought it.  At least, he
+gave me a specimen of his character to-day that seemed to merit a harder
+name than thoughtlessness.  He and Lord Lowborough were accompanying
+Annabella and me in a long, delightful ride; he was riding by my side, as
+usual, and Annabella and Lord Lowborough were a little before us, the
+latter bending towards his companion as if in tender and confidential
+discourse.
+
+'Those two will get the start of us, Helen, if we don't look sharp,'
+observed Huntingdon.  'They'll make a match of it, as sure as can be.
+That Lowborough's fairly besotted.  But he'll find himself in a fix when
+he's got her, I doubt.'
+
+'And she'll find herself in a fix when she's got him,' said I, 'if what
+I've heard of him is true.'
+
+'Not a bit of it.  She knows what she's about; but he, poor fool, deludes
+himself with the notion that she'll make him a good wife, and because she
+has amused him with some rodomontade about despising rank and wealth in
+matters of love and marriage, he flatters himself that she's devotedly
+attached to him; that she will not refuse him for his poverty, and does
+not court him for his rank, but loves him for himself alone.'
+
+'But is not he courting her for her fortune?'
+
+'No, not he.  That was the first attraction, certainly; but now he has
+quite lost sight of it: it never enters his calculations, except merely
+as an essential without which, for the lady's own sake, he could not
+think of marrying her.  No; he's fairly in love.  He thought he never
+could be again, but he's in for it once more.  He was to have been
+married before, some two or three years ago; but he lost his bride by
+losing his fortune.  He got into a bad way among us in London: he had an
+unfortunate taste for gambling; and surely the fellow was born under an
+unlucky star, for he always lost thrice where he gained once.  That's a
+mode of self-torment I never was much addicted to.  When I spend my money
+I like to enjoy the full value of it: I see no fun in wasting it on
+thieves and blacklegs; and as for gaining money, hitherto I have always
+had sufficient; it's time enough to be clutching for more, I think, when
+you begin to see the end of what you have.  But I have sometimes
+frequented the gaming-houses just to watch the on-goings of those mad
+votaries of chance--a very interesting study, I assure you, Helen, and
+sometimes very diverting: I've had many a laugh at the boobies and
+bedlamites.  Lowborough was quite infatuated--not willingly, but of
+necessity,--he was always resolving to give it up, and always breaking
+his resolutions.  Every venture was the 'just once more:' if he gained a
+little, he hoped to gain a little more next time, and if he lost, it
+would not do to leave off at that juncture; he must go on till he had
+retrieved that last misfortune, at least: bad luck could not last for
+ever; and every lucky hit was looked upon as the dawn of better times,
+till experience proved the contrary.  At length he grew desperate, and we
+were daily on the look-out for a case of _felo-de-se_--no great matter,
+some of us whispered, as his existence had ceased to be an acquisition to
+our club.  At last, however, he came to a check.  He made a large stake,
+which he determined should be the last, whether he lost or won.  He had
+often so determined before, to be sure, and as often broken his
+determination; and so it was this time.  He lost; and while his
+antagonist smilingly swept away the stakes, he turned chalky white, drew
+back in silence, and wiped his forehead.  I was present at the time; and
+while he stood with folded arms and eyes fixed on the ground, I knew well
+enough what was passing in his mind.
+
+'"Is it to be the last, Lowborough?" said I, stepping up to him.
+
+'"The last but one," he answered, with a grim smile; and then, rushing
+back to the table, he struck his hand upon it, and, raising his voice
+high above all the confusion of jingling coins and muttered oaths and
+curses in the room, he swore a deep and solemn oath that, come what
+would, this trial should be the last, and imprecated unspeakable curses
+on his head if ever he should shuffle a card or rattle a dice-box again.
+He then doubled his former stake, and challenged any one present to play
+against him.  Grimsby instantly presented himself.  Lowborough glared
+fiercely at him, for Grimsby was almost as celebrated for his luck as he
+was for his ill-fortune.  However, they fell to work.  But Grimsby had
+much skill and little scruple, and whether he took advantage of the
+other's trembling, blinded eagerness to deal unfairly by him, I cannot
+undertake to say; but Lowborough lost again, and fell dead sick.
+
+'"You'd better try once more," said Grimsby, leaning across the table.
+And then he winked at me.
+
+'"I've nothing to try with," said the poor devil, with a ghastly smile.
+
+'"Oh, Huntingdon will lend you what you want," said the other.
+
+'"No; you heard my oath," answered Lowborough, turning away in quiet
+despair.  And I took him by the arm and led him out.
+
+'"Is it to be the last, Lowborough?" I asked, when I got him into the
+street.
+
+'"The last," he answered, somewhat against my expectation.  And I took
+him home--that is, to our club--for he was as submissive as a child--and
+plied him with brandy-and-water till he began to look rather
+brighter--rather more alive, at least.
+
+'"Huntingdon, I'm ruined!" said he, taking the third glass from my
+hand--he had drunk the others in dead silence.
+
+'"Not you," said I.  "You'll find a man can live without his money as
+merrily as a tortoise without its head, or a wasp without its body."
+
+'"But I'm in debt," said he--"deep in debt.  And I can never, never get
+out of it."
+
+'"Well, what of that?  Many a better man than you has lived and died in
+debt; and they can't put you in prison, you know, because you're a peer."
+And I handed him his fourth tumbler.
+
+'"But I hate to be in debt!" he shouted.  "I wasn't born for it, and I
+cannot bear it."
+
+'"What can't be cured must be endured," said I, beginning to mix the
+fifth.
+
+'"And then, I've lost my Caroline."  And he began to snivel then, for the
+brandy had softened his heart.
+
+'"No matter," I answered, "there are more Carolines in the world than
+one."
+
+'"There's only one for me," he replied, with a dolorous sigh.  "And if
+there were fifty more, who's to get them, I wonder, without money?"
+
+'"Oh, somebody will take you for your title; and then you've your family
+estate yet; that's entailed, you know."
+
+'"I wish to God I could sell it to pay my debts," he muttered.
+
+'"And then," said Grimsby, who had just come in, "you can try again, you
+know.  I would have more than one chance, if I were you.  I'd never stop
+here."
+
+'"I won't, I tell you!" shouted he.  And he started up, and left the
+room--walking rather unsteadily, for the liquor had got into his head.
+He was not so much used to it then, but after that he took to it kindly
+to solace his cares.
+
+'He kept his oath about gambling (not a little to the surprise of us
+all), though Grimsby did his utmost to tempt him to break it, but now he
+had got hold of another habit that bothered him nearly as much, for he
+soon discovered that the demon of drink was as black as the demon of
+play, and nearly as hard to get rid of--especially as his kind friends
+did all they could to second the promptings of his own insatiable
+cravings.'
+
+'Then, they were demons themselves,' cried I, unable to contain my
+indignation.  'And you, Mr. Huntingdon, it seems, were the first to tempt
+him.'
+
+'Well, what could we do?' replied he, deprecatingly.--'We meant it in
+kindness--we couldn't bear to see the poor fellow so miserable:--and
+besides, he was such a damper upon us, sitting there silent and glum,
+when he was under the threefold influence--of the loss of his sweetheart,
+the loss of his fortune, and the reaction of the lost night's debauch;
+whereas, when he had something in him, if he was not merry himself, he
+was an unfailing source of merriment to us.  Even Grimsby could chuckle
+over his odd sayings: they delighted him far more than my merry jests, or
+Hattersley's riotous mirth.  But one evening, when we were sitting over
+our wine, after one of our club dinners, and all had been hearty
+together,--Lowborough giving us mad toasts, and hearing our wild songs,
+and bearing a hand in the applause, if he did not help us to sing them
+himself,--he suddenly relapsed into silence, sinking his head on his
+hand, and never lifting his glass to his lips;--but this was nothing new;
+so we let him alone, and went on with our jollification, till, suddenly
+raising his head, he interrupted us in the middle of a roar of laughter
+by exclaiming,--'Gentlemen, where is all this to end?--Will you just tell
+me that now?--Where is it all to end?'  He rose.
+
+'"A speech, a speech!" shouted we.  "Hear, hear!  Lowborough's going to
+give us a speech!"
+
+'He waited calmly till the thunders of applause and jingling of glasses
+had ceased, and then proceeded,--"It's only this, gentlemen,--that I
+think we'd better go no further.  We'd better stop while we can."
+
+'"Just so!" cried Hattersley--
+
+   "Stop, poor sinner, stop and think
+      Before you further go,
+   No longer sport upon the brink
+      Of everlasting woe."
+
+'"Exactly!" replied his lordship, with the utmost gravity.  "And if you
+choose to visit the bottomless pit, I won't go with you--we must part
+company, for I swear I'll not move another step towards it!--What's
+this?" he said, taking up his glass of wine.
+
+'"Taste it," suggested I.
+
+'"This is hell broth!" he exclaimed.  "I renounce it for ever!"  And he
+threw it out into the middle of the table.
+
+'"Fill again!" said I, handing him the bottle--"and let us drink to your
+renunciation."
+
+'"It's rank poison," said he, grasping the bottle by the neck, "and I
+forswear it!  I've given up gambling, and I'll give up this too."  He was
+on the point of deliberately pouring the whole contents of the bottle on
+to the table, but Hargrave wrested it from him.  "On you be the curse,
+then!" said he.  And, backing from the room, he shouted, "Farewell, ye
+tempters!" and vanished amid shouts of laughter and applause.
+
+'We expected him back among us the next day; but, to our surprise, the
+place remained vacant: we saw nothing of him for a whole week; and we
+really began to think he was going to keep his word.  At last, one
+evening, when we were most of us assembled together again, he entered,
+silent and grim as a ghost, and would have quietly slipped into his usual
+seat at my elbow, but we all rose to welcome him, and several voices were
+raised to ask what he would have, and several hands were busy with bottle
+and glass to serve him; but I knew a smoking tumbler of brandy-and-water
+would comfort him best, and had nearly prepared it, when he peevishly
+pushed it away, saying,--
+
+'"Do let me alone, Huntingdon!  Do be quiet, all of you!  I'm not come to
+join you: I'm only come to be with you awhile, because I can't bear my
+own thoughts."  And he folded his arms, and leant back in his chair; so
+we let him be.  But I left the glass by him; and, after awhile, Grimsby
+directed my attention towards it, by a significant wink; and, on turning
+my head, I saw it was drained to the bottom.  He made me a sign to
+replenish, and quietly pushed up the bottle.  I willingly complied; but
+Lowborough detected the pantomime, and, nettled at the intelligent grins
+that were passing between us, snatched the glass from my hand, dashed the
+contents of it in Grimsby's face, threw the empty tumbler at me, and then
+bolted from the room.'
+
+'I hope he broke your head,' said I.
+
+'No, love,' replied he, laughing immoderately at the recollection of the
+whole affair; 'he would have done so,--and perhaps, spoilt my face, too,
+but, providentially, this forest of curls' (taking off his hat, and
+showing his luxuriant chestnut locks) 'saved my skull, and prevented the
+glass from breaking, till it reached the table.'
+
+'After that,' he continued, 'Lowborough kept aloof from us a week or two
+longer.  I used to meet him occasionally in the town; and then, as I was
+too good-natured to resent his unmannerly conduct, and he bore no malice
+against me,--he was never unwilling to talk to me; on the contrary, he
+would cling to me, and follow me anywhere but to the club, and the
+gaming-houses, and such-like dangerous places of resort--he was so weary
+of his own moping, melancholy mind.  At last, I got him to come in with
+me to the club, on condition that I would not tempt him to drink; and,
+for some time, he continued to look in upon us pretty regularly of an
+evening,--still abstaining, with wonderful perseverance, from the "rank
+poison" he had so bravely forsworn.  But some of our members protested
+against this conduct.  They did not like to have him sitting there like a
+skeleton at a feast, instead of contributing his quota to the general
+amusement, casting a cloud over all, and watching, with greedy eyes,
+every drop they carried to their lips--they vowed it was not fair; and
+some of them maintained that he should either be compelled to do as
+others did, or expelled from the society; and swore that, next time he
+showed himself, they would tell him as much, and, if he did not take the
+warning, proceed to active measures.  However, I befriended him on this
+occasion, and recommended them to let him be for a while, intimating
+that, with a little patience on our parts, he would soon come round
+again.  But, to be sure, it was rather provoking; for, though he refused
+to drink like an honest Christian, it was well known to me that he kept a
+private bottle of laudanum about him, which he was continually soaking
+at--or rather, holding off and on with, abstaining one day and exceeding
+the next--just like the spirits.
+
+'One night, however, during one of our orgies--one of our high festivals,
+I mean--he glided in, like the ghost in "Macbeth," and seated himself, as
+usual, a little back from the table, in the chair we always placed for
+"the spectre," whether it chose to fill it or not.  I saw by his face
+that he was suffering from the effects of an overdose of his insidious
+comforter; but nobody spoke to him, and he spoke to nobody.  A few
+sidelong glances, and a whispered observation, that "the ghost was come,"
+was all the notice he drew by his appearance, and we went on with our
+merry carousals as before, till he startled us all by suddenly drawing in
+his chair, and leaning forward with his elbows on the table, and
+exclaiming with portentous solemnity,--"Well! it puzzles me what you can
+find to be so merry about.  What you see in life I don't know--I see only
+the blackness of darkness, and a fearful looking for of judgment and
+fiery indignation!"
+
+'All the company simultaneously pushed up their glasses to him, and I set
+them before him in a semicircle, and, tenderly patting him on the back,
+bid him drink, and he would soon see as bright a prospect as any of us;
+but he pushed them back, muttering,--
+
+'"Take them away!  I won't taste it, I tell you.  I won't--I won't!"  So
+I handed them down again to the owners; but I saw that he followed them
+with a glare of hungry regret as they departed.  Then he clasped his
+hands before his eyes to shut out the sight, and two minutes after lifted
+his head again, and said, in a hoarse but vehement whisper,--
+
+'"And yet I must!  Huntingdon, get me a glass!"
+
+'"Take the bottle, man!" said I, thrusting the brandy-bottle into his
+hand--but stop, I'm telling too much,' muttered the narrator, startled at
+the look I turned upon him.  'But no matter,' he recklessly added, and
+thus continued his relation: 'In his desperate eagerness, he seized the
+bottle and sucked away, till he suddenly dropped from his chair,
+disappearing under the table amid a tempest of applause.  The consequence
+of this imprudence was something like an apoplectic fit, followed by a
+rather severe brain fever--'
+
+'And what did you think of yourself, sir?' said I, quickly.
+
+'Of course, I was very penitent,' he replied.  'I went to see him once or
+twice--nay, twice or thrice--or by'r lady, some four times--and when he
+got better, I tenderly brought him back to the fold.'
+
+'What do you mean?'
+
+'I mean, I restored him to the bosom of the club, and compassionating the
+feebleness of his health and extreme lowness of his spirits, I
+recommended him to "take a little wine for his stomach's sake," and, when
+he was sufficiently re-established, to embrace the media-via,
+ni-jamais-ni-toujours plan--not to kill himself like a fool, and not to
+abstain like a ninny--in a word, to enjoy himself like a rational
+creature, and do as I did; for, don't think, Helen, that I'm a tippler;
+I'm nothing at all of the kind, and never was, and never shall be.  I
+value my comfort far too much.  I see that a man cannot give himself up
+to drinking without being miserable one-half his days and mad the other;
+besides, I like to enjoy my life at all sides and ends, which cannot be
+done by one that suffers himself to be the slave of a single
+propensity--and, moreover, drinking spoils one's good looks,' he
+concluded, with a most conceited smile that ought to have provoked me
+more than it did.
+
+'And did Lord Lowborough profit by your advice?' I asked.
+
+'Why, yes, in a manner.  For a while he managed very well; indeed, he was
+a model of moderation and prudence--something too much so for the tastes
+of our wild community; but, somehow, Lowborough had not the gift of
+moderation: if he stumbled a little to one side, he must go down before
+he could right himself: if he overshot the mark one night, the effects of
+it rendered him so miserable the next day that he must repeat the offence
+to mend it; and so on from day to day, till his clamorous conscience
+brought him to a stand.  And then, in his sober moments, he so bothered
+his friends with his remorse, and his terrors and woes, that they were
+obliged, in self-defence, to get him to drown his sorrows in wine, or any
+more potent beverage that came to hand; and when his first scruples of
+conscience were overcome, he would need no more persuading, he would
+often grow desperate, and be as great a blackguard as any of them could
+desire--but only to lament his own unutterable wickedness and degradation
+the more when the fit was over.
+
+'At last, one day when he and I were alone together, after pondering
+awhile in one of his gloomy, abstracted moods, with his arms folded and
+his head sunk on his breast, he suddenly woke up, and vehemently grasping
+my arm, said,--
+
+'"Huntingdon, this won't do!  I'm resolved to have done with it."
+
+'"What, are you going to shoot yourself?" said I.
+
+'"No; I'm going to reform."
+
+'"Oh, that's nothing new!  You've been going to reform these twelve
+months and more."
+
+'"Yes, but you wouldn't let me; and I was such a fool I couldn't live
+without you.  But now I see what it is that keeps me back, and what's
+wanted to save me; and I'd compass sea and land to get it--only I'm
+afraid there's no chance."  And he sighed as if his heart would break.
+
+'"What is it, Lowborough?" said I, thinking he was fairly cracked at
+last.
+
+'"A wife," he answered; "for I can't live alone, because my own mind
+distracts me, and I can't live with you, because you take the devil's
+part against me."
+
+'"Who--I?"
+
+'"Yes--all of you do--and you more than any of them, you know.  But if I
+could get a wife, with fortune enough to pay off my debts and set me
+straight in the world--"
+
+'"To be sure," said I.
+
+'"And sweetness and goodness enough," he continued, "to make home
+tolerable, and to reconcile me to myself, I think I should do yet.  I
+shall never be in love again, that's certain; but perhaps that would be
+no great matter, it would enable me to choose with my eyes open--and I
+should make a good husband in spite of it; but could any one be in love
+with me?--that's the question.  With your good looks and powers of
+fascination" (he was pleased to say), "I might hope; but as it is,
+Huntingdon, do you think anybody would take me--ruined and wretched as I
+am?"
+
+'"Yes, certainly."
+
+'"Who?"
+
+'"Why, any neglected old maid, fast sinking in despair, would be
+delighted to--"
+
+'"No, no," said he--"it must be somebody that I can love."
+
+'"Why, you just said you never could be in love again!"
+
+'"Well, love is not the word--but somebody that I can like.  I'll search
+all England through, at all events!" he cried, with a sudden burst of
+hope, or desperation.  "Succeed or fail, it will be better than rushing
+headlong to destruction at that d-d club: so farewell to it and you.
+Whenever I meet you on honest ground or under a Christian roof, I shall
+be glad to see you; but never more shall you entice me to that devil's
+den!"
+
+'This was shameful language, but I shook hands with him, and we parted.
+He kept his word; and from that time forward he has been a pattern of
+propriety, as far as I can tell; but till lately I have not had very much
+to do with him.  He occasionally sought my company, but as frequently
+shrunk from it, fearing lest I should wile him back to destruction, and I
+found his not very entertaining, especially as he sometimes attempted to
+awaken my conscience and draw me from the perdition he considered himself
+to have escaped; but when I did happen to meet him, I seldom failed to
+ask after the progress of his matrimonial efforts and researches, and, in
+general, he could give me but a poor account.  The mothers were repelled
+by his empty coffers and his reputation for gambling, and the daughters
+by his cloudy brow and melancholy temper--besides, he didn't understand
+them; he wanted the spirit and assurance to carry his point.
+
+'I left him at it when I went to the continent; and on my return, at the
+year's end, I found him still a disconsolate bachelor--though, certainly,
+looking somewhat less like an unblest exile from the tomb than before.
+The young ladies had ceased to be afraid of him, and were beginning to
+think him quite interesting; but the mammas were still unrelenting.  It
+was about this time, Helen, that my good angel brought me into
+conjunction with you; and then I had eyes and ears for nobody else.  But,
+meantime, Lowborough became acquainted with our charming friend, Miss
+Wilmot--through the intervention of his good angel, no doubt he would
+tell you, though he did not dare to fix his hopes on one so courted and
+admired, till after they were brought into closer contact here at
+Staningley, and she, in the absence of her other admirers, indubitably
+courted his notice and held out every encouragement to his timid
+advances.  Then, indeed, he began to hope for a dawn of brighter days;
+and if, for a while, I darkened his prospects by standing between him and
+his sun--and so nearly plunged him again into the abyss of despair--it
+only intensified his ardour and strengthened his hopes when I chose to
+abandon the field in the pursuit of a brighter treasure.  In a word, as I
+told you, he is fairly besotted.  At first, he could dimly perceive her
+faults, and they gave him considerable uneasiness; but now his passion
+and her art together have blinded him to everything but her perfections
+and his amazing good fortune.  Last night he came to me brimful of his
+new-found felicity:
+
+'"Huntingdon, I am not a castaway!" said he, seizing my hand and
+squeezing it like a vice.  "There is happiness in store for me yet--even
+in this life--she loves me!"
+
+'"Indeed!" said I.  "Has she told you so?"
+
+'"No, but I can no longer doubt it.  Do you not see how pointedly kind
+and affectionate she is?  And she knows the utmost extent of my poverty,
+and cares nothing about it!  She knows all the folly and all the
+wickedness of my former life, and is not afraid to trust me--and my rank
+and title are no allurements to her; for them she utterly disregards.
+She is the most generous, high-minded being that can be conceived of.
+She will save me, body and soul, from destruction.  Already, she has
+ennobled me in my own estimation, and made me three times better, wiser,
+greater than I was.  Oh! if I had but known her before, how much
+degradation and misery I should have been spared!  But what have I done
+to deserve so magnificent a creature?"
+
+'And the cream of the jest,' continued Mr. Huntingdon, laughing, 'is,
+that the artful minx loves nothing about him but his title and pedigree,
+and "that delightful old family seat."'
+
+'How do you know?' said I.
+
+'She told me so herself; she said, "As for the man himself, I thoroughly
+despise him; but then, I suppose, it is time to be making my choice, and
+if I waited for some one capable of eliciting my esteem and affection, I
+should have to pass my life in single blessedness, for I detest you all!"
+Ha, ha!  I suspect she was wrong there; but, however, it is evident she
+has no love for him, poor fellow.'
+
+'Then you ought to tell him so.'
+
+'What! and spoil all her plans and prospects, poor girl?  No, no: that
+would be a breach of confidence, wouldn't it, Helen?  Ha, ha!  Besides,
+it would break his heart.'  And he laughed again.
+
+'Well, Mr. Huntingdon, I don't know what you see so amazingly diverting
+in the matter; I see nothing to laugh at.'
+
+'I'm laughing at you, just now, love,' said he, redoubling his
+machinations.
+
+And leaving him to enjoy his merriment alone, I touched Ruby with the
+whip, and cantered on to rejoin our companions; for we had been walking
+our horses all this time, and were consequently a long way behind.
+Arthur was soon at my side again; but not disposed to talk to him, I
+broke into a gallop.  He did the same; and we did not slacken our pace
+till we came up with Miss Wilmot and Lord Lowborough, which was within
+half a mile of the park-gates.  I avoided all further conversation with
+him till we came to the end of our ride, when I meant to jump off my
+horse and vanish into the house, before he could offer his assistance;
+but while I was disengaging my habit from the crutch, he lifted me off,
+and held me by both hands, asserting that he would not let me go till I
+had forgiven him.
+
+'I have nothing to forgive,' said I.  'You have not injured me.'
+
+'No, darling--God forbid that I should! but you are angry because it was
+to me that Annabella confessed her lack of esteem for her lover.'
+
+'No, Arthur, it is not that that displeases me: it is the whole system of
+your conduct towards your friend, and if you wish me to forget it, go
+now, and tell him what sort of a woman it is that he adores so madly, and
+on whom he has hung his hopes of future happiness.'
+
+'I tell you, Helen, it would break his heart--it would be the death of
+him--besides being a scandalous trick to poor Annabella.  There is no
+help for him now; he is past praying for.  Besides, she may keep up the
+deception to the end of the chapter; and then he will be just as happy in
+the illusion as if it were reality; or perhaps he will only discover his
+mistake when he has ceased to love her; and if not, it is much better
+that the truth should dawn gradually upon him.  So now, my angel, I hope
+I have made out a clear case, and fully convinced you that I cannot make
+the atonement you require.  What other requisition have you to make?
+Speak, and I will gladly obey.'
+
+'I have none but this,' said I, as gravely as before: 'that, in future,
+you will never make a jest of the sufferings of others, and always use
+your influence with your friends for their own advantage against their
+evil propensities, instead of seconding their evil propensities against
+themselves.'
+
+'I will do my utmost,' said he, 'to remember and perform the injunctions
+of my angel monitress;' and after kissing both my gloved hands, he let me
+go.
+
+When I entered my room, I was surprised to see Annabella Wilmot standing
+before my toilet-table, composedly surveying her features in the glass,
+with one hand flirting her gold-mounted whip, and the other holding up
+her long habit.
+
+'She certainly is a magnificent creature!' thought I, as I beheld that
+tall, finely developed figure, and the reflection of the handsome face in
+the mirror before me, with the glossy dark hair, slightly and not
+ungracefully disordered by the breezy ride, the rich brown complexion
+glowing with exercise, and the black eyes sparkling with unwonted
+brilliance.  On perceiving me, she turned round, exclaiming, with a laugh
+that savoured more of malice than of mirth,--'Why, Helen! what have you
+been doing so long?  I came to tell you my good fortune,' she continued,
+regardless of Rachel's presence.  'Lord Lowborough has proposed, and I
+have been graciously pleased to accept him.  Don't you envy me, dear?'
+
+'No, love,' said I--'or him either,' I mentally added.  'And do you like
+him, Annabella?'
+
+'Like him! yes, to be sure--over head and ears in love!'
+
+'Well, I hope you'll make him a good wife.'
+
+'Thank you, my dear!  And what besides do you hope?'
+
+'I hope you will both love each other, and both be happy.'
+
+'Thanks; and I hope you will make a very good wife to Mr. Huntingdon!'
+said she, with a queenly bow, and retired.
+
+'Oh, Miss! how could you say so to her!' cried Rachel.
+
+'Say what?' replied I.
+
+'Why, that you hoped she would make him a good wife.  I never heard such
+a thing!'
+
+'Because I do hope it, or rather, I wish it; she's almost past hope.'
+
+'Well,' said she, 'I'm sure I hope he'll make her a good husband.  They
+tell queer things about him downstairs.  They were saying--'
+
+'I know, Rachel.  I've heard all about him; but he's reformed now.  And
+they have no business to tell tales about their masters.'
+
+'No, mum--or else, they have said some things about Mr. Huntingdon too.'
+'I won't hear them, Rachel; they tell lies.'
+
+'Yes, mum,' said she, quietly, as she went on arranging my hair.
+
+'Do you believe them, Rachel?' I asked, after a short pause.
+
+'No, Miss, not all.  You know when a lot of servants gets together they
+like to talk about their betters; and some, for a bit of swagger, likes
+to make it appear as though they knew more than they do, and to throw out
+hints and things just to astonish the others.  But I think, if I was you,
+Miss Helen, I'd look very well before I leaped.  I do believe a young
+lady can't be too careful who she marries.'
+
+'Of course not,' said I; 'but be quick, will you, Rachel?  I want to be
+dressed.'
+
+And, indeed, I was anxious to be rid of the good woman, for I was in such
+a melancholy frame I could hardly keep the tears out of my eyes while she
+dressed me.  It was not for Lord Lowborough--it was not for Annabella--it
+was not for myself--it was for Arthur Huntingdon that they rose.
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+13th.--They are gone, and he is gone.  We are to be parted for more than
+two months, above ten weeks! a long, long time to live and not to see
+him.  But he has promised to write often, and made me promise to write
+still oftener, because he will be busy settling his affairs, and I shall
+have nothing better to do.  Well, I think I shall always have plenty to
+say.  But oh! for the time when we shall be always together, and can
+exchange our thoughts without the intervention of these cold go-betweens,
+pen, ink, and paper!
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+22nd.--I have had several letters from Arthur already.  They are not
+long, but passing sweet, and just like himself, full of ardent affection,
+and playful lively humour; but there is always a 'but' in this imperfect
+world, and I do wish he would sometimes be serious.  I cannot get him to
+write or speak in real, solid earnest.  I don't much mind it now, but if
+it be always so, what shall I do with the serious part of myself?
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII
+
+
+Feb. 18, 1822.--Early this morning Arthur mounted his hunter and set off
+in high glee to meet the -- hounds.  He will be away all day, and so I
+will amuse myself with my neglected diary, if I can give that name to
+such an irregular composition.  It is exactly four months since I opened
+it last.
+
+I am married now, and settled down as Mrs. Huntingdon of Grassdale Manor.
+I have had eight weeks' experience of matrimony.  And do I regret the
+step I have taken?  No, though I must confess, in my secret heart, that
+Arthur is not what I thought him at first, and if I had known him in the
+beginning as thoroughly as I do now, I probably never should have loved
+him, and if I loved him first, and then made the discovery, I fear I
+should have thought it my duty not to have married him.  To be sure I
+might have known him, for every one was willing enough to tell me about
+him, and he himself was no accomplished hypocrite, but I was wilfully
+blind; and now, instead of regretting that I did not discern his full
+character before I was indissolubly bound to him, I am glad, for it has
+saved me a great deal of battling with my conscience, and a great deal of
+consequent trouble and pain; and, whatever I ought to have done, my duty
+now is plainly to love him and to cleave to him, and this just tallies
+with my inclination.
+
+He is very fond of me, almost too fond.  I could do with less caressing
+and more rationality.  I should like to be less of a pet and more of a
+friend, if I might choose; but I won't complain of that: I am only afraid
+his affection loses in depth where it gains in ardour.  I sometimes liken
+it to a fire of dry twigs and branches compared with one of solid coal,
+very bright and hot; but if it should burn itself out and leave nothing
+but ashes behind, what shall I do?  But it won't, it sha'n't, I am
+determined; and surely I have power to keep it alive.  So let me dismiss
+that thought at once.  But Arthur is selfish; I am constrained to
+acknowledge that; and, indeed, the admission gives me less pain than
+might be expected, for, since I love him so much, I can easily forgive
+him for loving himself: he likes to be pleased, and it is my delight to
+please him; and when I regret this tendency of his, it is for his own
+sake, not for mine.
+
+The first instance he gave was on the occasion of our bridal tour.  He
+wanted to hurry it over, for all the continental scenes were already
+familiar to him: many had lost their interest in his eyes, and others had
+never had anything to lose.  The consequence was, that after a flying
+transit through part of France and part of Italy, I came back nearly as
+ignorant as I went, having made no acquaintance with persons and manners,
+and very little with things, my head swarming with a motley confusion of
+objects and scenes; some, it is true, leaving a deeper and more pleasing
+impression than others, but these embittered by the recollection that my
+emotions had not been shared by my companion, but that, on the contrary,
+when I had expressed a particular interest in anything that I saw or
+desired to see, it had been displeasing to him, inasmuch as it proved
+that I could take delight in anything disconnected with himself.
+
+          [Picture: Blake Hall--The Approach (Grassdale Manor)]
+
+As for Paris, we only just touched at that, and he would not give me time
+to see one-tenth of the beauties and interesting objects of Rome.  He
+wanted to get me home, he said, to have me all to himself, and to see me
+safely installed as the mistress of Grassdale Manor, just as
+single-minded, as naive, and piquante as I was; and as if I had been some
+frail butterfly, he expressed himself fearful of rubbing the silver off
+my wings by bringing me into contact with society, especially that of
+Paris and Rome; and, more-over, he did not scruple to tell me that there
+were ladies in both places that would tear his eyes out if they happened
+to meet him with me.
+
+Of course I was vexed at all this; but still it was less the
+disappointment to myself that annoyed me, than the disappointment in him,
+and the trouble I was at to frame excuses to my friends for having seen
+and observed so little, without imputing one particle of blame to my
+companion.  But when we got home--to my new, delightful home--I was so
+happy and he was so kind that I freely forgave him all; and I was
+beginning to think my lot too happy, and my husband actually too good for
+me, if not too good for this world, when, on the second Sunday after our
+arrival, he shocked and horrified me by another instance of his
+unreasonable exaction.  We were walking home from the morning service,
+for it was a fine frosty day, and as we are so near the church, I had
+requested the carriage should not be used.
+
+'Helen,' said he, with unusual gravity, 'I am not quite satisfied with
+you.'
+
+I desired to know what was wrong.
+
+'But will you promise to reform if I tell you?'
+
+'Yes, if I can, and without offending a higher authority.'
+
+'Ah! there it is, you see: you don't love me with all your heart.'
+
+'I don't understand you, Arthur (at least I hope I don't): pray tell me
+what I have done or said amiss.'
+
+'It is nothing you have done or said; it is something that you are--you
+are too religious.  Now I like a woman to be religious, and I think your
+piety one of your greatest charms; but then, like all other good things,
+it may be carried too far.  To my thinking, a woman's religion ought not
+to lessen her devotion to her earthly lord.  She should have enough to
+purify and etherealise her soul, but not enough to refine away her heart,
+and raise her above all human sympathies.'
+
+'And am I above all human sympathies?' said I.
+
+'No, darling; but you are making more progress towards that saintly
+condition than I like; for all these two hours I have been thinking of
+you and wanting to catch your eye, and you were so absorbed in your
+devotions that you had not even a glance to spare for me--I declare it is
+enough to make one jealous of one's Maker--which is very wrong, you know;
+so don't excite such wicked passions again, for my soul's sake.'
+
+'I will give my whole heart and soul to my Maker if I can,' I answered,
+'and not one atom more of it to you than He allows.  What are you, sir,
+that you should set yourself up as a god, and presume to dispute
+possession of my heart with Him to whom I owe all I have and all I am,
+every blessing I ever did or ever can enjoy--and yourself among the
+rest--if you are a blessing, which I am half inclined to doubt.'
+
+'Don't be so hard upon me, Helen; and don't pinch my arm so: you are
+squeezing your fingers into the bone.'
+
+'Arthur,' continued I, relaxing my hold of his arm, 'you don't love me
+half as much as I do you; and yet, if you loved me far less than you do,
+I would not complain, provided you loved your Maker more.  I should
+rejoice to see you at any time so deeply absorbed in your devotions that
+you had not a single thought to spare for me.  But, indeed, I should lose
+nothing by the change, for the more you loved your God the more deep and
+pure and true would be your love to me.'
+
+At this he only laughed and kissed my hand, calling me a sweet
+enthusiast.  Then taking off his hat, he added: 'But look here,
+Helen--what can a man do with such a head as this?'
+
+The head looked right enough, but when he placed my hand on the top of
+it, it sunk in a bed of curls, rather alarmingly low, especially in the
+middle.
+
+'You see I was not made to be a saint,' said he, laughing, 'If God meant
+me to be religious, why didn't He give me a proper organ of veneration?'
+
+'You are like the servant,' I replied, 'who, instead of employing his one
+talent in his master's service, restored it to him unimproved, alleging,
+as an excuse, that he knew him "to be a hard man, reaping where he had
+not sown, and gathering where he had not strawed."  Of him to whom less
+is given, less will be required, but our utmost exertions are required of
+us all.  You are not without the capacity of veneration, and faith and
+hope, and conscience and reason, and every other requisite to a
+Christian's character, if you choose to employ them; but all our talents
+increase in the using, and every faculty, both good and bad, strengthens
+by exercise: therefore, if you choose to use the bad, or those which tend
+to evil, till they become your masters, and neglect the good till they
+dwindle away, you have only yourself to blame.  But you have talents,
+Arthur--natural endowments both of heart and mind and temper, such as
+many a better Christian would be glad to possess, if you would only
+employ them in God's service.  I should never expect to see you a
+devotee, but it is quite possible to be a good Christian without ceasing
+to be a happy, merry-hearted man.'
+
+'You speak like an oracle, Helen, and all you say is indisputably true;
+but listen here: I am hungry, and I see before me a good substantial
+dinner; I am told that if I abstain from this to-day I shall have a
+sumptuous feast to-morrow, consisting of all manner of dainties and
+delicacies.  Now, in the first place, I should be loth to wait till
+to-morrow when I have the means of appeasing my hunger already before me:
+in the second place, the solid viands of to-day are more to my taste than
+the dainties that are promised me; in the third place, I don't see
+to-morrow's banquet, and how can I tell that it is not all a fable, got
+up by the greasy-faced fellow that is advising me to abstain in order
+that he may have all the good victuals to himself? in the fourth place,
+this table must be spread for somebody, and, as Solomon says, "Who can
+eat, or who else can hasten hereunto more than I?" and finally, with your
+leave, I'll sit down and satisfy my cravings of to-day, and leave
+to-morrow to shift for itself--who knows but what I may secure both this
+and that?'
+
+'But you are not required to abstain from the substantial dinner of
+to-day: you are only advised to partake of these coarser viands in such
+moderation as not to incapacitate you from enjoying the choicer banquet
+of to-morrow.  If, regardless of that counsel, you choose to make a beast
+of yourself now, and over-eat and over-drink yourself till you turn the
+good victuals into poison, who is to blame if, hereafter, while you are
+suffering the torments of yesterday's gluttony and drunkenness, you see
+more temperate men sitting down to enjoy themselves at that splendid
+entertainment which you are unable to taste?'
+
+'Most true, my patron saint; but again, our friend Solomon says, "There
+is nothing better for a man than to eat and to drink, and to be merry."'
+
+'And again,' returned I, 'he says, "Rejoice, O young man, in thy youth;
+and walk in the ways of thine heart, and in the sight of thine eyes: but
+know thou, that for all these things God will bring thee into judgment."'
+
+'Well, but, Helen, I'm sure I've been very good these last few weeks.
+What have you seen amiss in me, and what would you have me to do?'
+
+'Nothing more than you do, Arthur: your actions are all right so far; but
+I would have your thoughts changed; I would have you to fortify yourself
+against temptation, and not to call evil good, and good evil; I should
+wish you to think more deeply, to look further, and aim higher than you
+do.'
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV
+
+
+March 25th.--Arthur is getting tired--not of me, I trust, but of the
+idle, quiet life he leads--and no wonder, for he has so few sources of
+amusement: he never reads anything but newspapers and sporting magazines;
+and when he sees me occupied with a book, he won't let me rest till I
+close it.  In fine weather he generally manages to get through the time
+pretty well, but on rainy days, of which we have had a good many of late,
+it is quite painful to witness his ennui.  I do all I can to amuse him,
+but it is impossible to get him to feel interested in what I most like to
+talk about, while, on the other hand, he likes to talk about things that
+cannot interest me--or even that annoy me--and these please him--the most
+of all: for his favourite amusement is to sit or loll beside me on the
+sofa, and tell me stories of his former amours, always turning upon the
+ruin of some confiding girl or the cozening of some unsuspecting husband;
+and when I express my horror and indignation, he lays it all to the
+charge of jealousy, and laughs till the tears run down his cheeks.  I
+used to fly into passions or melt into tears at first, but seeing that
+his delight increased in proportion to my anger and agitation, I have
+since endeavoured to suppress my feelings and receive his revelations in
+the silence of calm contempt; but still he reads the inward struggle in
+my face, and misconstrues my bitterness of soul for his unworthiness into
+the pangs of wounded jealousy; and when he has sufficiently diverted
+himself with that, or fears my displeasure will become too serious for
+his comfort, he tries to kiss and soothe me into smiles again--never were
+his caresses so little welcome as then!  This is double selfishness
+displayed to me and to the victims of his former love.  There are times
+when, with a momentary pang--a flash of wild dismay, I ask myself,
+'Helen, what have you done?'  But I rebuke the inward questioner, and
+repel the obtrusive thoughts that crowd upon me; for were he ten times as
+sensual and impenetrable to good and lofty thoughts, I well know I have
+no right to complain.  And I don't and won't complain.  I do and will
+love him still; and I do not and will not regret that I have linked my
+fate with his.
+
+April 4th.--We have had a downright quarrel.  The particulars are as
+follows: Arthur had told me, at different intervals, the whole story of
+his intrigue with Lady F--, which I would not believe before.  It was
+some consolation, however, to find that in this instance the lady had
+been more to blame than he, for he was very young at the time, and she
+had decidedly made the first advances, if what he said was true.  I hated
+her for it, for it seemed as if she had chiefly contributed to his
+corruption; and when he was beginning to talk about her the other day, I
+begged he would not mention her, for I detested the very sound of her
+name.
+
+'Not because you loved her, Arthur, mind, but because she injured you and
+deceived her husband, and was altogether a very abominable woman, whom
+you ought to be ashamed to mention.'
+
+But he defended her by saying that she had a doting old husband, whom it
+was impossible to love.
+
+'Then why did she marry him?' said I.
+
+'For his money,' was the reply.
+
+'Then that was another crime, and her solemn promise to love and honour
+him was another, that only increased the enormity of the last.'
+
+'You are too severe upon the poor lady,' laughed he.  'But never mind,
+Helen, I don't care for her now; and I never loved any of them half as
+much as I do you, so you needn't fear to be forsaken like them.'
+
+'If you had told me these things before, Arthur, I never should have
+given you the chance.'
+
+'Wouldn't you, my darling?'
+
+'Most certainly not!'
+
+He laughed incredulously.
+
+'I wish I could convince you of it now!' cried I, starting up from beside
+him: and for the first time in my life, and I hope the last, I wished I
+had not married him.
+
+'Helen,' said he, more gravely, 'do you know that if I believed you now I
+should be very angry? but thank heaven I don't.  Though you stand there
+with your white face and flashing eyes, looking at me like a very
+tigress, I know the heart within you perhaps a trifle better than you
+know it yourself.'
+
+Without another word I left the room and locked myself up in my own
+chamber.  In about half an hour he came to the door, and first he tried
+the handle, then he knocked.
+
+'Won't you let me in, Helen?' said he.  'No; you have displeased me,' I
+replied, 'and I don't want to see your face or hear your voice again till
+the morning.'
+
+He paused a moment as if dumfounded or uncertain how to answer such a
+speech, and then turned and walked away.  This was only an hour after
+dinner: I knew he would find it very dull to sit alone all the evening;
+and this considerably softened my resentment, though it did not make me
+relent.  I was determined to show him that my heart was not his slave,
+and I could live without him if I chose; and I sat down and wrote a long
+letter to my aunt, of course telling her nothing of all this.  Soon after
+ten o'clock I heard him come up again, but he passed my door and went
+straight to his own dressing-room, where he shut himself in for the
+night.
+
+I was rather anxious to see how he would meet me in the morning, and not
+a little disappointed to behold him enter the breakfast-room with a
+careless smile.
+
+'Are you cross still, Helen?' said he, approaching as if to salute me.  I
+coldly turned to the table, and began to pour out the coffee, observing
+that he was rather late.
+
+He uttered a low whistle and sauntered away to the window, where he stood
+for some minutes looking out upon the pleasing prospect of sullen grey
+clouds, streaming rain, soaking lawn, and dripping leafless trees, and
+muttering execrations on the weather, and then sat down to breakfast.
+While taking his coffee he muttered it was 'd--d cold.'
+
+'You should not have left it so long,' said I.
+
+He made no answer, and the meal was concluded in silence.  It was a
+relief to both when the letter-bag was brought in.  It contained upon
+examination a newspaper and one or two letters for him, and a couple of
+letters for me, which he tossed across the table without a remark.  One
+was from my brother, the other from Milicent Hargrave, who is now in
+London with her mother.  His, I think, were business letters, and
+apparently not much to his mind, for he crushed them into his pocket with
+some muttered expletives that I should have reproved him for at any other
+time.  The paper he set before him, and pretended to be deeply absorbed
+in its contents during the remainder of breakfast, and a considerable
+time after.
+
+The reading and answering of my letters, and the direction of household
+concerns, afforded me ample employment for the morning: after lunch I got
+my drawing, and from dinner till bed-time I read.  Meanwhile, poor Arthur
+was sadly at a loss for something to amuse him or to occupy his time.  He
+wanted to appear as busy and as unconcerned as I did.  Had the weather at
+all permitted, he would doubtless have ordered his horse and set off to
+some distant region, no matter where, immediately after breakfast, and
+not returned till night: had there been a lady anywhere within reach, of
+any age between fifteen and forty-five, he would have sought revenge and
+found employment in getting up, or trying to get up, a desperate
+flirtation with her; but being, to my private satisfaction, entirely cut
+off from both these sources of diversion, his sufferings were truly
+deplorable.  When he had done yawning over his paper and scribbling short
+answers to his shorter letters, he spent the remainder of the morning and
+the whole of the afternoon in fidgeting about from room to room, watching
+the clouds, cursing the rain, alternately petting and teasing and abusing
+his dogs, sometimes lounging on the sofa with a book that he could not
+force himself to read, and very often fixedly gazing at me when he
+thought I did not perceive it, with the vain hope of detecting some
+traces of tears, or some tokens of remorseful anguish in my face.  But I
+managed to preserve an undisturbed though grave serenity throughout the
+day.  I was not really angry: I felt for him all the time, and longed to
+be reconciled; but I determined he should make the first advances, or at
+least show some signs of an humble and contrite spirit first; for, if I
+began, it would only minister to his self-conceit, increase his
+arrogance, and quite destroy the lesson I wanted to give him.
+
+He made a long stay in the dining-room after dinner, and, I fear, took an
+unusual quantity of wine, but not enough to loosen his tongue: for when
+he came in and found me quietly occupied with my book, too busy to lift
+my head on his entrance, he merely murmured an expression of suppressed
+disapprobation, and, shutting the door with a bang, went and stretched
+himself at full length on the sofa, and composed himself to sleep.  But
+his favourite cocker, Dash, that had been lying at my feet, took the
+liberty of jumping upon him and beginning to lick his face.  He struck it
+off with a smart blow, and the poor dog squeaked and ran cowering back to
+me.  When he woke up, about half an hour after, he called it to him
+again, but Dash only looked sheepish and wagged the tip of his tail.  He
+called again more sharply, but Dash only clung the closer to me, and
+licked my hand, as if imploring protection.  Enraged at this, his master
+snatched up a heavy book and hurled it at his head.  The poor dog set up
+a piteous outcry, and ran to the door.  I let him out, and then quietly
+took up the book.
+
+'Give that book to me,' said Arthur, in no very courteous tone.  I gave
+it to him.
+
+'Why did you let the dog out?' he asked; 'you knew I wanted him.'
+
+'By what token?' I replied; 'by your throwing the book at him? but
+perhaps it was intended for me?'
+
+'No; but I see you've got a taste of it,' said he, looking at my hand,
+that had also been struck, and was rather severely grazed.
+
+I returned to my reading, and he endeavoured to occupy himself in the
+same manner; but in a little while, after several portentous yawns, he
+pronounced his book to be 'cursed trash,' and threw it on the table.
+Then followed eight or ten minutes of silence, during the greater part of
+which, I believe, he was staring at me.  At last his patience was tired
+out.
+
+'What is that book, Helen?' he exclaimed.
+
+I told him.
+
+'Is it interesting?'
+
+'Yes, very.'
+
+I went on reading, or pretending to read, at least--I cannot say there
+was much communication between my eyes and my brain; for, while the
+former ran over the pages, the latter was earnestly wondering when Arthur
+would speak next, and what he would say, and what I should answer.  But
+he did not speak again till I rose to make the tea, and then it was only
+to say he should not take any.  He continued lounging on the sofa, and
+alternately closing his eyes and looking at his watch and at me, till
+bed-time, when I rose, and took my candle and retired.
+
+'Helen!' cried he, the moment I had left the room.  I turned back, and
+stood awaiting his commands.
+
+'What do you want, Arthur?' I said at length.
+
+'Nothing,' replied he.  'Go!'
+
+I went, but hearing him mutter something as I was closing the door, I
+turned again.  It sounded very like 'confounded slut,' but I was quite
+willing it should be something else.
+
+'Were you speaking, Arthur?' I asked.
+
+'No,' was the answer, and I shut the door and departed.  I saw nothing
+more of him till the following morning at breakfast, when he came down a
+full hour after the usual time.
+
+'You're very late,' was my morning's salutation.
+
+'You needn't have waited for me,' was his; and he walked up to the window
+again.  It was just such weather as yesterday.
+
+'Oh, this confounded rain!' he muttered.  But, after studiously regarding
+it for a minute or two, a bright idea, seemed to strike him, for he
+suddenly exclaimed, 'But I know what I'll do!' and then returned and took
+his seat at the table.  The letter-bag was already there, waiting to be
+opened.  He unlocked it and examined the contents, but said nothing about
+them.
+
+'Is there anything for me?' I asked.
+
+'No.'
+
+He opened the newspaper and began to read.
+
+'You'd better take your coffee,' suggested I; 'it will be cold again.'
+
+'You may go,' said he, 'if you've done; I don't want you.'
+
+I rose and withdrew to the next room, wondering if we were to have
+another such miserable day as yesterday, and wishing intensely for an end
+of these mutually inflicted torments.  Shortly after I heard him ring the
+bell and give some orders about his wardrobe that sounded as if he
+meditated a long journey.  He then sent for the coachman, and I heard
+something about the carriage and the horses, and London, and seven
+o'clock to-morrow morning, that startled and disturbed me not a little.
+
+'I must not let him go to London, whatever comes of it,' said I to
+myself; 'he will run into all kinds of mischief, and I shall be the cause
+of it.  But the question is, How am I to alter his purpose?  Well, I will
+wait awhile, and see if he mentions it.'
+
+I waited most anxiously, from hour to hour; but not a word was spoken, on
+that or any other subject, to me.  He whistled and talked to his dogs,
+and wandered from room to room, much the same as on the previous day.  At
+last I began to think I must introduce the subject myself, and was
+pondering how to bring it about, when John unwittingly came to my relief
+with the following message from the coachman:
+
+'Please, sir, Richard says one of the horses has got a very bad cold, and
+he thinks, sir, if you could make it convenient to go the day after
+to-morrow, instead of to-morrow, he could physic it to-day, so as--'
+
+'Confound his impudence!' interjected the master.
+
+'Please, sir, he says it would be a deal better if you could,' persisted
+John, 'for he hopes there'll be a change in the weather shortly, and he
+says it's not likely, when a horse is so bad with a cold, and physicked
+and all--'
+
+'Devil take the horse!' cried the gentleman.  'Well, tell him I'll think
+about it,' he added, after a moment's reflection.  He cast a searching
+glance at me, as the servant withdrew, expecting to see some token of
+deep astonishment and alarm; but, being previously prepared, I preserved
+an aspect of stoical indifference.  His countenance fell as he met my
+steady gaze, and he turned away in very obvious disappointment, and
+walked up to the fire-place, where he stood in an attitude of undisguised
+dejection, leaning against the chimney-piece with his forehead sunk upon
+his arm.
+
+'Where do you want to go, Arthur?' said I.
+
+'To London,' replied he, gravely.
+
+'What for?' I asked.
+
+'Because I cannot be happy here.'
+
+'Why not?'
+
+'Because my wife doesn't love me.'
+
+'She would love you with all her heart, if you deserved it.'
+
+'What must I do to deserve it?'
+
+This seemed humble and earnest enough; and I was so much affected,
+between sorrow and joy, that I was obliged to pause a few seconds before
+I could steady my voice to reply.
+
+'If she gives you her heart,' said I, 'you must take it, thankfully, and
+use it well, and not pull it in pieces, and laugh in her face, because
+she cannot snatch it away.'
+
+He now turned round, and stood facing me, with his back to the fire.
+'Come, then, Helen, are you going to be a good girl?' said he.
+
+This sounded rather too arrogant, and the smile that accompanied it did
+not please me.  I therefore hesitated to reply.  Perhaps my former answer
+had implied too much: he had heard my voice falter, and might have seen
+me brush away a tear.
+
+'Are you going to forgive me, Helen?' he resumed, more humbly.
+
+'Are you penitent?' I replied, stepping up to him and smiling in his
+face.
+
+'Heart-broken!' he answered, with a rueful countenance, yet with a merry
+smile just lurking within his eyes and about the corners of his mouth;
+but this could not repulse me, and I flew into his arms.  He fervently
+embraced me, and though I shed a torrent of tears, I think I never was
+happier in my life than at that moment.
+
+'Then you won't go to London, Arthur?' I said, when the first transport
+of tears and kisses had subsided.
+
+'No, love,--unless you will go with me.'
+
+'I will, gladly,' I answered, 'if you think the change will amuse you,
+and if you will put off the journey till next week.'
+
+He readily consented, but said there was no need of much preparation, as
+he should not be for staying long, for he did not wish me to be
+Londonized, and to lose my country freshness and originality by too much
+intercourse with the ladies of the world.  I thought this folly; but I
+did not wish to contradict him now: I merely said that I was of very
+domestic habits, as he well knew, and had no particular wish to mingle
+with the world.
+
+So we are to go to London on Monday, the day after to-morrow.  It is now
+four days since the termination of our quarrel, and I am sure it has done
+us both good: it has made me like Arthur a great deal better, and made
+him behave a great deal better to me.  He has never once attempted to
+annoy me since, by the most distant allusion to Lady F--, or any of those
+disagreeable reminiscences of his former life.  I wish I could blot them
+from my memory, or else get him to regard such matters in the same light
+as I do.  Well! it is something, however, to have made him see that they
+are not fit subjects for a conjugal jest.  He may see further some time.
+I will put no limits to my hopes; and, in spite of my aunt's forebodings
+and my own unspoken fears, I trust we shall be happy yet.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV
+
+
+On the eighth of April we went to London, on the eighth of May I
+returned, in obedience to Arthur's wish; very much against my own,
+because I left him behind.  If he had come with me, I should have been
+very glad to get home again, for he led me such a round of restless
+dissipation while there, that, in that short space of time, I was quite
+tired out.  He seemed bent upon displaying me to his friends and
+acquaintances in particular, and the public in general, on every possible
+occasion, and to the greatest possible advantage.  It was something to
+feel that he considered me a worthy object of pride; but I paid dear for
+the gratification: for, in the first place, to please him I had to
+violate my cherished predilections, my almost rooted principles in favour
+of a plain, dark, sober style of dress--I must sparkle in costly jewels
+and deck myself out like a painted butterfly, just as I had, long since,
+determined I would never do--and this was no trifling sacrifice; in the
+second place, I was continually straining to satisfy his sanguine
+expectations and do honour to his choice by my general conduct and
+deportment, and fearing to disappoint him by some awkward misdemeanour,
+or some trait of inexperienced ignorance about the customs of society,
+especially when I acted the part of hostess, which I was not unfrequently
+called upon to do; and, in the third place, as I intimated before, I was
+wearied of the throng and bustle, the restless hurry and ceaseless change
+of a life so alien to all my previous habits.  At last, he suddenly
+discovered that the London air did not agree with me, and I was
+languishing for my country home, and must immediately return to
+Grassdale.
+
+I laughingly assured him that the case was not so urgent as he appeared
+to think it, but I was quite willing to go home if he was.  He replied
+that he should be obliged to remain a week or two longer, as he had
+business that required his presence.
+
+              [Picture: Blake Hall--Front (Grassdale Manor)]
+
+'Then I will stay with you,' said I.
+
+'But I can't do with you, Helen,' was his answer: 'as long as you stay I
+shall attend to you and neglect my business.'
+
+'But I won't let you,' I returned; 'now that I know you have business to
+attend to, I shall insist upon your attending to it, and letting me
+alone; and, to tell the truth, I shall be glad of a little rest.  I can
+take my rides and walks in the Park as usual; and your business cannot
+occupy all your time: I shall see you at meal-times, and in the evenings
+at least, and that will be better than being leagues away and never
+seeing you at all.'
+
+'But, my love, I cannot let you stay.  How can I settle my affairs when I
+know that you are here, neglected--?'
+
+'I shall not feel myself neglected: while you are doing your duty,
+Arthur, I shall never complain of neglect.  If you had told me before,
+that you had anything to do, it would have been half done before this;
+and now you must make up for lost time by redoubled exertions.  Tell me
+what it is; and I will be your taskmaster, instead of being a hindrance.'
+
+'No, no,' persisted the impracticable creature; 'you must go home, Helen;
+I must have the satisfaction of knowing that you are safe and well,
+though far away.  Your bright eyes are faded, and that tender, delicate
+bloom has quite deserted your cheek.'
+
+'That is only with too much gaiety and fatigue.'
+
+'It is not, I tell you; it is the London air: you are pining for the
+fresh breezes of your country home, and you shall feel them before you
+are two days older.  And remember your situation, dearest Helen; on your
+health, you know, depends the health, if not the life, of our future
+hope.'
+
+'Then you really wish to get rid of me?'
+
+'Positively, I do; and I will take you down myself to Grassdale, and then
+return.  I shall not be absent above a week or fortnight at most.'
+
+'But if I must go, I will go alone: if you must stay, it is needless to
+waste your time in the journey there and back.'
+
+But he did not like the idea of sending me alone.
+
+'Why, what helpless creature do you take me for,' I replied, 'that you
+cannot trust me to go a hundred miles in our own carriage, with our own
+footman and a maid to attend me?  If you come with me I shall assuredly
+keep you.  But tell me, Arthur, what is this tiresome business; and why
+did you never mention it before?'
+
+'It is only a little business with my lawyer,' said he; and he told me
+something about a piece of property he wanted to sell, in order to pay
+off a part of the incumbrances on his estate; but either the account was
+a little confused, or I was rather dull of comprehension, for I could not
+clearly understand how that should keep him in town a fortnight after me.
+Still less can I now comprehend how it should keep him a month, for it is
+nearly that time since I left him, and no signs of his return as yet.  In
+every letter he promises to be with me in a few days, and every time
+deceives me, or deceives himself.  His excuses are vague and
+insufficient.  I cannot doubt that he has got among his former companions
+again.  Oh, why did I leave him!  I wish--I do intensely wish he would
+return!
+
+June 29th.--No Arthur yet; and for many days I have been looking and
+longing in vain for a letter.  His letters, when they come, are kind, if
+fair words and endearing epithets can give them a claim to the title--but
+very short, and full of trivial excuses and promises that I cannot trust;
+and yet how anxiously I look forward to them! how eagerly I open and
+devour one of those little, hastily-scribbled returns for the three or
+four long letters, hitherto unanswered, he has had from me!
+
+Oh, it is cruel to leave me so long alone!  He knows I have no one but
+Rachel to speak to, for we have no neighbours here, except the Hargraves,
+whose residence I can dimly descry from these upper windows embosomed
+among those low, woody hills beyond the Dale.  I was glad when I learnt
+that Milicent was so near us; and her company would be a soothing solace
+to me now; but she is still in town with her mother; there is no one at
+the Grove but little Esther and her French governess, for Walter is
+always away.  I saw that paragon of manly perfections in London: he
+seemed scarcely to merit the eulogiums of his mother and sister, though
+he certainly appeared more conversable and agreeable than Lord
+Lowborough, more candid and high-minded than Mr. Grimsby, and more
+polished and gentlemanly than Mr. Hattersley, Arthur's only other friend
+whom he judged fit to introduce to me.--Oh, Arthur, why won't you come?
+why won't you write to me at least?  You talked about my health: how can
+you expect me to gather bloom and vigour here, pining in solitude and
+restless anxiety from day to day?--It would serve you right to come back
+and find my good looks entirely wasted away.  I would beg my uncle and
+aunt, or my brother, to come and see me, but I do not like to complain of
+my loneliness to them, and indeed loneliness is the least of my
+sufferings.  But what is he doing--what is it that keeps him away?  It
+is this ever-recurring question, and the horrible suggestions it raises,
+that distract me.
+
+July 3rd.--My last bitter letter has wrung from him an answer at last,
+and a rather longer one than usual; but still I don't know what to make
+of it.  He playfully abuses me for the gall and vinegar of my latest
+effusion, tells me I can have no conception of the multitudinous
+engagements that keep him away, but avers that, in spite of them all, he
+will assuredly be with me before the close of next week; though it is
+impossible for a man so circumstanced as he is to fix the precise day of
+his return: meantime he exhorts me to the exercise of patience, 'that
+first of woman's virtues,' and desires me to remember the saying,
+'Absence makes the heart grow fonder,' and comfort myself with the
+assurance that the longer he stays away the better he shall love me when
+he returns; and till he does return, he begs I will continue to write to
+him constantly, for, though he is sometimes too idle and often too busy
+to answer my letters as they come, he likes to receive them daily; and if
+I fulfil my threat of punishing his seeming neglect by ceasing to write,
+he shall be so angry that he will do his utmost to forget me.  He adds
+this piece of intelligence respecting poor Milicent Hargrave:
+
+'Your little friend Milicent is likely, before long, to follow your
+example, and take upon her the yoke of matrimony in conjunction with a
+friend of mine.  Hattersley, you know, has not yet fulfilled his direful
+threat of throwing his precious person away on the first old maid that
+chose to evince a tenderness for him; but he still preserves a resolute
+determination to see himself a married man before the year is out.
+"Only," said he to me, "I must have somebody that will let me have my own
+way in everything--not like your wife, Huntingdon: she is a charming
+creature, but she looks as if she had a will of her own, and could play
+the vixen upon occasion" (I thought "you're right there, man," but I
+didn't say so).  "I must have some good, quiet soul that will let me just
+do what I like and go where I like, keep at home or stay away, without a
+word of reproach or complaint; for I can't do with being bothered."
+"Well," said I, "I know somebody that will suit you to a tee, if you
+don't care for money, and that's Hargrave's sister, Milicent."  He
+desired to be introduced to her forthwith, for he said he had plenty of
+the needful himself, or should have when his old governor chose to quit
+the stage.  So you see, Helen, I have managed pretty well, both for your
+friend and mine.'
+
+Poor Milicent!  But I cannot imagine she will ever be led to accept such
+a suitor--one so repugnant to all her ideas of a man to be honoured and
+loved.
+
+5th.--Alas! I was mistaken.  I have got a long letter from her this
+morning, telling me she is already engaged, and expects to be married
+before the close of the month.
+
+'I hardly know what to say about it,' she writes, 'or what to think.  To
+tell you the truth, Helen, I don't like the thoughts of it at all.  If I
+am to be Mr. Hattersley's wife, I must try to love him; and I do try with
+all my might; but I have made very little progress yet; and the worst
+symptom of the case is, that the further he is from me the better I like
+him: he frightens me with his abrupt manners and strange hectoring ways,
+and I dread the thoughts of marrying him.  "Then why have you accepted
+him?" you will ask; and I didn't know I had accepted him; but mamma tells
+me I have, and he seems to think so too.  I certainly didn't mean to do
+so; but I did not like to give him a flat refusal, for fear mamma should
+be grieved and angry (for I knew she wished me to marry him), and I
+wanted to talk to her first about it: so I gave him what I thought was an
+evasive, half negative answer; but she says it was as good as an
+acceptance, and he would think me very capricious if I were to attempt to
+draw back--and indeed I was so confused and frightened at the moment, I
+can hardly tell what I said.  And next time I saw him, he accosted me in
+all confidence as his affianced bride, and immediately began to settle
+matters with mamma.  I had not courage to contradict them then, and how
+can I do it now?  I cannot; they would think me mad.  Besides, mamma is
+so delighted with the idea of the match; she thinks she has managed so
+well for me; and I cannot bear to disappoint her.  I do object sometimes,
+and tell her what I feel, but you don't know how she talks.  Mr.
+Hattersley, you know, is the son of a rich banker, and as Esther and I
+have no fortunes, and Walter very little, our dear mamma is very anxious
+to see us all well married, that is, united to rich partners.  It is not
+my idea of being well married, but she means it all for the best.  She
+says when I am safe off her hands it will be such a relief to her mind;
+and she assures me it will be a good thing for the family as well as for
+me.  Even Walter is pleased at the prospect, and when I confessed my
+reluctance to him, he said it was all childish nonsense.  Do you think it
+nonsense, Helen?  I should not care if I could see any prospect of being
+able to love and admire him, but I can't.  There is nothing about him to
+hang one's esteem and affection upon; he is so diametrically opposite to
+what I imagined my husband should be.  Do write to me, and say all you
+can to encourage me.  Don't attempt to dissuade me, for my fate is fixed:
+preparations for the important event are already going on around me; and
+don't say a word against Mr. Hattersley, for I want to think well of him;
+and though I have spoken against him myself, it is for the last time:
+hereafter, I shall never permit myself to utter a word in his dispraise,
+however he may seem to deserve it; and whoever ventures to speak
+slightingly of the man I have promised to love, to honour, and obey, must
+expect my serious displeasure.  After all, I think he is quite as good as
+Mr. Huntingdon, if not better; and yet you love him, and seem to be happy
+and contented; and perhaps I may manage as well.  You must tell me, if
+you can, that Mr. Hattersley is better than he seems--that he is upright,
+honourable, and open-hearted--in fact, a perfect diamond in the rough.
+He may be all this, but I don't know him.  I know only the exterior, and
+what, I trust, is the worst part of him.'
+
+She concludes with 'Good-by, dear Helen.  I am waiting anxiously for your
+advice--but mind you let it be all on the right side.'
+
+Alas! poor Milicent, what encouragement can I give you? or what
+advice--except that it is better to make a bold stand now, though at the
+expense of disappointing and angering both mother and brother and lover,
+than to devote your whole life, hereafter, to misery and vain regret?
+
+Saturday, 13th.--The week is over, and he is not come.  All the sweet
+summer is passing away without one breath of pleasure to me or benefit to
+him.  And I had all along been looking forward to this season with the
+fond, delusive hope that we should enjoy it so sweetly together; and
+that, with God's help and my exertions, it would be the means of
+elevating his mind, and refining his taste to a due appreciation of the
+salutary and pure delights of nature, and peace, and holy love.  But
+now--at evening, when I see the round red sun sink quietly down behind
+those woody hills, leaving them sleeping in a warm, red, golden haze, I
+only think another lovely day is lost to him and me; and at morning, when
+roused by the flutter and chirp of the sparrows, and the gleeful twitter
+of the swallows--all intent upon feeding their young, and full of life
+and joy in their own little frames--I open the window to inhale the
+balmy, soul-reviving air, and look out upon the lovely landscape,
+laughing in dew and sunshine--I too often shame that glorious scene with
+tears of thankless misery, because he cannot feel its freshening
+influence; and when I wander in the ancient woods, and meet the little
+wild flowers smiling in my path, or sit in the shadow of our noble
+ash-trees by the water-side, with their branches gently swaying in the
+light summer breeze that murmurs through their feathery foliage--my ears
+full of that low music mingled with the dreamy hum of insects, my eyes
+abstractedly gazing on the glassy surface of the little lake before me,
+with the trees that crowd about its bank, some gracefully bending to kiss
+its waters, some rearing their stately heads high above, but stretching
+their wide arms over its margin, all faithfully mirrored far, far down in
+its glassy depth--though sometimes the images are partially broken by the
+sport of aquatic insects, and sometimes, for a moment, the whole is
+shivered into trembling fragments by a transient breeze that sweeps the
+surface too roughly--still I have no pleasure; for the greater the
+happiness that nature sets before me, the more I lament that he is not
+here to taste it: the greater the bliss we might enjoy together, the more
+I feel our present wretchedness apart (yes, ours; he must be wretched,
+though he may not know it); and the more my senses are pleased, the more
+my heart is oppressed; for he keeps it with him confined amid the dust
+and smoke of London--perhaps shut up within the walls of his own
+abominable club.
+
+But most of all, at night, when I enter my lonely chamber, and look out
+upon the summer moon, 'sweet regent of the sky,' floating above me in the
+'black blue vault of heaven,' shedding a flood of silver radiance over
+park, and wood, and water, so pure, so peaceful, so divine--and think,
+Where is he now?--what is he doing at this moment? wholly unconscious of
+this heavenly scene--perhaps revelling with his boon companions,
+perhaps--God help me, it is too--too much!
+
+23rd.--Thank heaven, he is come at last!  But how altered! flushed and
+feverish, listless and languid, his beauty strangely diminished, his
+vigour and vivacity quite departed.  I have not upbraided him by word or
+look; I have not even asked him what he has been doing.  I have not the
+heart to do it, for I think he is ashamed of himself-he must be so
+indeed, and such inquiries could not fail to be painful to both.  My
+forbearance pleases him--touches him even, I am inclined to think.  He
+says he is glad to be home again, and God knows how glad I am to get him
+back, even as he is.  He lies on the sofa, nearly all day long; and I
+play and sing to him for hours together.  I write his letters for him,
+and get him everything he wants; and sometimes I read to him, and
+sometimes I talk, and sometimes only sit by him and soothe him with
+silent caresses.  I know he does not deserve it; and I fear I am spoiling
+him; but this once, I will forgive him, freely and entirely.  I will
+shame him into virtue if I can, and I will never let him leave me again.
+
+He is pleased with my attentions--it may be, grateful for them.  He likes
+to have me near him: and though he is peevish and testy with his servants
+and his dogs, he is gentle and kind to me.  What he would be, if I did
+not so watchfully anticipate his wants, and so carefully avoid, or
+immediately desist from doing anything that has a tendency to irritate or
+disturb him, with however little reason, I cannot tell.  How intensely I
+wish he were worthy of all this care!  Last night, as I sat beside him,
+with his head in my lap, passing my fingers through his beautiful curls,
+this thought made my eyes overflow with sorrowful tears--as it often
+does; but this time, a tear fell on his face and made him look up.  He
+smiled, but not insultingly.
+
+'Dear Helen!' he said--'why do you cry? you know that I love you' (and he
+pressed my hand to his feverish lips), 'and what more could you desire?'
+
+'Only, Arthur, that you would love yourself as truly and as faithfully as
+you are loved by me.'
+
+'That would be hard, indeed!' he replied, tenderly squeezing my hand.
+
+August 24th.--Arthur is himself again, as lusty and reckless, as light of
+heart and head as ever, and as restless and hard to amuse as a spoilt
+child, and almost as full of mischief too, especially when wet weather
+keeps him within doors.  I wish he had something to do, some useful
+trade, or profession, or employment--anything to occupy his head or his
+hands for a few hours a day, and give him something besides his own
+pleasure to think about.  If he would play the country gentleman and
+attend to the farm--but that he knows nothing about, and won't give his
+mind to consider,--or if he would take up with some literary study, or
+learn to draw or to play--as he is so fond of music, I often try to
+persuade him to learn the piano, but he is far too idle for such an
+undertaking: he has no more idea of exerting himself to overcome
+obstacles than he has of restraining his natural appetites; and these two
+things are the ruin of him.  I lay them both to the charge of his harsh
+yet careless father, and his madly indulgent mother.--If ever I am a
+mother I will zealously strive against this crime of over-indulgence.  I
+can hardly give it a milder name when I think of the evils it brings.
+
+Happily, it will soon be the shooting season, and then, if the weather
+permit, he will find occupation enough in the pursuit and destruction of
+the partridges and pheasants: we have no grouse, or he might have been
+similarly occupied at this moment, instead of lying under the acacia-tree
+pulling poor Dash's ears.  But he says it is dull work shooting alone; he
+must have a friend or two to help him.
+
+'Let them be tolerably decent then, Arthur,' said I.  The word 'friend'
+in his mouth makes me shudder: I know it was some of his 'friends' that
+induced him to stay behind me in London, and kept him away so long:
+indeed, from what he has unguardedly told me, or hinted from time to
+time, I cannot doubt that he frequently showed them my letters, to let
+them see how fondly his wife watched over his interests, and how keenly
+she regretted his absence; and that they induced him to remain week after
+week, and to plunge into all manner of excesses, to avoid being laughed
+at for a wife-ridden fool, and, perhaps, to show how far he could venture
+to go without danger of shaking the fond creature's devoted attachment.
+It is a hateful idea, but I cannot believe it is a false one.
+
+'Well,' replied he, 'I thought of Lord Lowborough for one; but there is
+no possibility of getting him without his better half, our mutual friend,
+Annabella; so we must ask them both.  You're not afraid of her, are you,
+Helen?' he asked, with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.
+
+'Of course not,' I answered: 'why should I?  And who besides?'
+
+'Hargrave for one.  He will be glad to come, though his own place is so
+near, for he has little enough land of his own to shoot over, and we can
+extend our depredations into it, if we like; and he is thoroughly
+respectable, you know, Helen--quite a lady's man: and I think, Grimsby
+for another: he's a decent, quiet fellow enough.  You'll not object to
+Grimsby?'
+
+'I hate him: but, however, if you wish it, I'll try to endure his
+presence for a while.'
+
+'All a prejudice, Helen, a mere woman's antipathy.'
+
+'No; I have solid grounds for my dislike.  And is that all?'
+
+'Why, yes, I think so.  Hattersley will be too busy billing and cooing,
+with his bride to have much time to spare for guns and dogs at present,'
+he replied.  And that reminds me, that I have had several letters from
+Milicent since her marriage, and that she either is, or pretends to be,
+quite reconciled to her lot.  She professes to have discovered numberless
+virtues and perfections in her husband, some of which, I fear, less
+partial eyes would fail to distinguish, though they sought them carefully
+with tears; and now that she is accustomed to his loud voice, and abrupt,
+uncourteous manners, she affirms she finds no difficulty in loving him as
+a wife should do, and begs I will burn that letter wherein she spoke so
+unadvisedly against him.  So that I trust she may yet be happy; but, if
+she is, it will be entirely the reward of her own goodness of heart; for
+had she chosen to consider herself the victim of fate, or of her mother's
+worldly wisdom, she might have been thoroughly miserable; and if, for
+duty's sake, she had not made every effort to love her husband, she
+would, doubtless, have hated him to the end of her days.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVI
+
+
+Sept. 23rd.--Our guests arrived about three weeks ago.  Lord and Lady
+Lowborough have now been married above eight months; and I will do the
+lady the credit to say that her husband is quite an altered man; his
+looks, his spirits, and his temper, are all perceptibly changed for the
+better since I last saw him.  But there is room for improvement still.
+He is not always cheerful, nor always contented, and she often complains
+of his ill-humour, which, however, of all persons, she ought to be the
+last to accuse him of, as he never displays it against her, except for
+such conduct as would provoke a saint.  He adores her still, and would go
+to the world's end to please her.  She knows her power, and she uses it
+too; but well knowing that to wheedle and coax is safer than to command,
+she judiciously tempers her despotism with flattery and blandishments
+enough to make him deem himself a favoured and a happy man.
+
+But she has a way of tormenting him, in which I am a fellow-sufferer, or
+might be, if I chose to regard myself as such.  This is by openly, but
+not too glaringly, coquetting with Mr. Huntingdon, who is quite willing
+to be her partner in the game; but I don't care for it, because, with
+him, I know there is nothing but personal vanity, and a mischievous
+desire to excite my jealousy, and, perhaps, to torment his friend; and
+she, no doubt, is actuated by much the same motives; only, there is more
+of malice and less of playfulness in her manoeuvres.  It is obviously,
+therefore, my interest to disappoint them both, as far as I am concerned,
+by preserving a cheerful, undisturbed serenity throughout; and,
+accordingly, I endeavour to show the fullest confidence in my husband,
+and the greatest indifference to the arts of my attractive guest.  I have
+never reproached the former but once, and that was for laughing at Lord
+Lowborough's depressed and anxious countenance one evening, when they had
+both been particularly provoking; and then, indeed, I said a good deal on
+the subject, and rebuked him sternly enough; but he only laughed, and
+said,--'You can feel for him, Helen, can't you?'
+
+'I can feel for anyone that is unjustly treated,' I replied, 'and I can
+feel for those that injure them too.'
+
+'Why, Helen, you are as jealous as he is!' cried he, laughing still more;
+and I found it impossible to convince him of his mistake.  So, from that
+time, I have carefully refrained from any notice of the subject whatever,
+and left Lord Lowborough to take care of himself.  He either has not the
+sense or the power to follow my example, though he does try to conceal
+his uneasiness as well as he can; but still, it will appear in his face,
+and his ill-humour will peep out at intervals, though not in the
+expression of open resentment--they never go far enough for that.  But I
+confess I do feel jealous at times, most painfully, bitterly so; when she
+sings and plays to him, and he hangs over the instrument, and dwells upon
+her voice with no affected interest; for then I know he is really
+delighted, and I have no power to awaken similar fervour.  I can amuse
+and please him with my simple songs, but not delight him thus.
+
+28th.--Yesterday, we all went to the Grove, Mr. Hargrave's much-neglected
+home.  His mother frequently asks us over, that she may have the pleasure
+of her dear Walter's company; and this time she had invited us to a
+dinner-party, and got together as many of the country gentry as were
+within reach to meet us.  The entertainment was very well got up; but I
+could not help thinking about the cost of it all the time.  I don't like
+Mrs. Hargrave; she is a hard, pretentious, worldly-minded woman.  She has
+money enough to live very comfortably, if she only knew how to use it
+judiciously, and had taught her son to do the same; but she is ever
+straining to keep up appearances, with that despicable pride that shuns
+the semblance of poverty as of a shameful crime.  She grinds her
+dependents, pinches her servants, and deprives even her daughters and
+herself of the real comforts of life, because she will not consent to
+yield the palm in outward show to those who have three times her wealth;
+and, above all, because she is determined her cherished son shall be
+enabled to 'hold up his head with the highest gentlemen in the land.'
+This same son, I imagine, is a man of expensive habits, no reckless
+spendthrift and no abandoned sensualist, but one who likes to have
+'everything handsome about him,' and to go to a certain length in
+youthful indulgences, not so much to gratify his own tastes as to
+maintain his reputation as a man of fashion in the world, and a
+respectable fellow among his own lawless companions; while he is too
+selfish to consider how many comforts might be obtained for his fond
+mother and sisters with the money he thus wastes upon himself: as long as
+they can contrive to make a respectable appearance once a year, when they
+come to town, he gives himself little concern about their private
+stintings and struggles at home.  This is a harsh judgment to form of
+'dear, noble-minded, generous-hearted Walter,' but I fear it is too just.
+
+Mrs. Hargrave's anxiety to make good matches for her daughters is partly
+the cause, and partly the result, of these errors: by making a figure in
+the world, and showing them off to advantage, she hopes to obtain better
+chances for them; and by thus living beyond her legitimate means, and
+lavishing so much on their brother, she renders them portionless, and
+makes them burdens on her hands.  Poor Milicent, I fear, has already
+fallen a sacrifice to the manoeuvrings of this mistaken mother, who
+congratulates herself on having so satisfactorily discharged her maternal
+duty, and hopes to do as well for Esther.  But Esther is a child as yet,
+a little merry romp of fourteen: as honest-hearted, and as guileless and
+simple as her sister, but with a fearless spirit of her own, that I fancy
+her mother will find some difficulty in bending to her purposes.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVII
+
+
+October 9th.--It was on the night of the 4th, a little after tea, that
+Annabella had been singing and playing, with Arthur as usual at her side:
+she had ended her song, but still she sat at the instrument; and he stood
+leaning on the back of her chair, conversing in scarcely audible tones,
+with his face in very close proximity with hers.  I looked at Lord
+Lowborough.  He was at the other end of the room, talking with Messrs.
+Hargrave and Grimsby; but I saw him dart towards his lady and his host a
+quick, impatient glance, expressive of intense disquietude, at which
+Grimsby smiled.  Determined to interrupt the _tete-a-tete_, I rose, and,
+selecting a piece of music from the music stand, stepped up to the piano,
+intending to ask the lady to play it; but I stood transfixed and
+speechless on seeing her seated there, listening, with what seemed an
+exultant smile on her flushed face to his soft murmurings, with her hand
+quietly surrendered to his clasp.  The blood rushed first to my heart,
+and then to my head; for there was more than this: almost at the moment
+of my approach, he cast a hurried glance over his shoulder towards the
+other occupants of the room, and then ardently pressed the unresisting
+hand to his lips.  On raising his eyes, he beheld me, and dropped them
+again, confounded and dismayed.  She saw me too, and confronted me with a
+look of hard defiance.  I laid the music on the piano, and retired.  I
+felt ill; but I did not leave the room: happily, it was getting late, and
+could not be long before the company dispersed.
+
+I went to the fire, and leant my head against the chimney-piece.  In a
+minute or two, some one asked me if I felt unwell.  I did not answer;
+indeed, at the time, I knew not what was said; but I mechanically looked
+up, and saw Mr. Hargrave standing beside me on the rug.
+
+'Shall I get you a glass of wine?' said he.
+
+'No, thank you,' I replied; and, turning from him, I looked round.  Lady
+Lowborough was beside her husband, bending over him as he sat, with her
+hand on his shoulder, softly talking and smiling in his face; and Arthur
+was at the table, turning over a book of engravings.  I seated myself in
+the nearest chair; and Mr. Hargrave, finding his services were not
+desired, judiciously withdrew.  Shortly after, the company broke up, and,
+as the guests were retiring to their rooms, Arthur approached me, smiling
+with the utmost assurance.
+
+'Are you very angry, Helen?' murmured he.
+
+'This is no jest, Arthur,' said I, seriously, but as calmly as I
+could--'unless you think it a jest to lose my affection for ever.'
+
+'What! so bitter?' he exclaimed, laughingly, clasping my hand between
+both his; but I snatched it away, in indignation--almost in disgust, for
+he was obviously affected with wine.
+
+'Then I must go down on my knees,' said he; and kneeling before me, with
+clasped hands, uplifted in mock humiliation, he continued
+imploringly--'Forgive me, Helen--dear Helen, forgive me, and I'll never
+do it again!' and, burying his face in his handkerchief, he affected to
+sob aloud.
+
+Leaving him thus employed, I took my candle, and, slipping quietly from
+the room, hastened up-stairs as fast as I could.  But he soon discovered
+that I had left him, and, rushing up after me, caught me in his arms,
+just as I had entered the chamber, and was about to shut the door in his
+face.
+
+'No, no, by heaven, you sha'n't escape me so!' he cried.  Then, alarmed
+at my agitation, he begged me not to put myself in such a passion,
+telling me I was white in the face, and should kill myself if I did so.
+
+'Let me go, then,' I murmured; and immediately he released me--and it was
+well he did, for I was really in a passion.  I sank into the easy-chair
+and endeavoured to compose myself, for I wanted to speak to him calmly.
+He stood beside me, but did not venture to touch me or to speak for a few
+seconds; then, approaching a little nearer, he dropped on one knee--not
+in mock humility, but to bring himself nearer my level, and leaning his
+hand on the arm of the chair, he began in a low voice: 'It is all
+nonsense, Helen--a jest, a mere nothing--not worth a thought.  Will you
+never learn,' he continued more boldly, 'that you have nothing to fear
+from me? that I love you wholly and entirely?--or if,' he added with a
+lurking smile, 'I ever give a thought to another, you may well spare it,
+for those fancies are here and gone like a flash of lightning, while my
+love for you burns on steadily, and for ever, like the sun.  You little
+exorbitant tyrant, will not that--?'
+
+'Be quiet a moment, will you, Arthur?' said I, 'and listen to me--and
+don't think I'm in a jealous fury: I am perfectly calm.  Feel my hand.'
+And I gravely extended it towards him--but closed it upon his with an
+energy that seemed to disprove the assertion, and made him smile.  'You
+needn't smile, sir,' said I, still tightening my grasp, and looking
+steadfastly on him till he almost quailed before me.  'You may think it
+all very fine, Mr. Huntingdon, to amuse yourself with rousing my
+jealousy; but take care you don't rouse my hate instead.  And when you
+have once extinguished my love, you will find it no easy matter to kindle
+it again.'
+
+'Well, Helen, I won't repeat the offence.  But I meant nothing by it, I
+assure you.  I had taken too much wine, and I was scarcely myself at the
+time.'
+
+'You often take too much; and that is another practice I detest.' He
+looked up astonished at my warmth.  'Yes,' I continued; 'I never
+mentioned it before, because I was ashamed to do so; but now I'll tell
+you that it distresses me, and may disgust me, if you go on and suffer
+the habit to grow upon you, as it will if you don't check it in time.
+But the whole system of your conduct to Lady Lowborough is not referable
+to wine; and this night you knew perfectly well what you were doing.'
+
+'Well, I'm sorry for it,' replied he, with more of sulkiness than
+contrition: 'what more would you have?'
+
+'You are sorry that I saw you, no doubt,' I answered coldly.
+
+'If you had not seen me,' he muttered, fixing his eyes on the carpet, 'it
+would have done no harm.'
+
+My heart felt ready to burst; but I resolutely swallowed back my emotion,
+and answered calmly,
+
+'You think not?'
+
+'No,' replied he, boldly.  'After all, what have I done?  It's
+nothing--except as you choose to make it a subject of accusation and
+distress.'
+
+'What would Lord Lowborough, your friend, think, if he knew all? or what
+would you yourself think, if he or any other had acted the same part to
+me, throughout, as you have to Annabella?'
+
+'I would blow his brains out.'
+
+'Well, then, Arthur, how can you call it nothing--an offence for which
+you would think yourself justified in blowing another man's brains out?
+Is it nothing to trifle with your friend's feelings and mine--to
+endeavour to steal a woman's affections from her husband--what he values
+more than his gold, and therefore what it is more dishonest to take?  Are
+the marriage vows a jest; and is it nothing to make it your sport to
+break them, and to tempt another to do the same?  Can I love a man that
+does such things, and coolly maintains it is nothing?'
+
+'You are breaking your marriage vows yourself,' said he, indignantly
+rising and pacing to and fro.  'You promised to honour and obey me, and
+now you attempt to hector over me, and threaten and accuse me, and call
+me worse than a highwayman.  If it were not for your situation, Helen, I
+would not submit to it so tamely.  I won't be dictated to by a woman,
+though she be my wife.'
+
+'What will you do then?  Will you go on till I hate you, and then accuse
+me of breaking my vows?'
+
+He was silent a moment, and then replied: 'You never will hate me.'
+Returning and resuming his former position at my feet, he repeated more
+vehemently--'You cannot hate me as long as I love you.'
+
+'But how can I believe that you love me, if you continue to act in this
+way?  Just imagine yourself in my place: would you think I loved you, if
+I did so?  Would you believe my protestations, and honour and trust me
+under such circumstances?'
+
+'The cases are different,' he replied.  'It is a woman's nature to be
+constant--to love one and one only, blindly, tenderly, and for
+ever--bless them, dear creatures! and you above them all; but you must
+have some commiseration for us, Helen; you must give us a little more
+licence, for, as Shakespeare has it--
+
+         However we do praise ourselves,
+   Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm,
+   More longing, wavering, sooner lost and won
+   Than women's are.'
+
+'Do you mean by that, that your fancies are lost to me, and won by Lady
+Lowborough?'
+
+'No! heaven is my witness that I think her mere dust and ashes in
+comparison with you, and shall continue to think so, unless you drive me
+from you by too much severity.  She is a daughter of earth; you are an
+angel of heaven; only be not too austere in your divinity, and remember
+that I am a poor, fallible mortal.  Come now, Helen; won't you forgive
+me?' he said, gently taking my hand, and looking up with an innocent
+smile.
+
+'If I do, you will repeat the offence.'
+
+'I swear by--'
+
+'Don't swear; I'll believe your word as well as your oath.  I wish I
+could have confidence in either.'
+
+'Try me, then, Helen: only trust and pardon me this once, and you shall
+see!  Come, I am in hell's torments till you speak the word.'
+
+I did not speak it, but I put my hand on his shoulder and kissed his
+forehead, and then burst into tears.  He embraced me tenderly; and we
+have been good friends ever since.  He has been decently temperate at
+table, and well-conducted towards Lady Lowborough.  The first day he held
+himself aloof from her, as far as he could without any flagrant breach of
+hospitality: since that he has been friendly and civil, but nothing
+more--in my presence, at least, nor, I think, at any other time; for she
+seems haughty and displeased, and Lord Lowborough is manifestly more
+cheerful, and more cordial towards his host than before.  But I shall be
+glad when they are gone, for I have so little love for Annabella that it
+is quite a task to be civil to her, and as she is the only woman here
+besides myself, we are necessarily thrown so much together.  Next time
+Mrs. Hargrave calls I shall hail her advent as quite a relief.  I have a
+good mind to ask Arthur's leave to invite the old lady to stay with us
+till our guests depart.  I think I will.  She will take it as a kind
+attention, and, though I have little relish for her society, she will be
+truly welcome as a third to stand between Lady Lowborough and me.
+
+The first time the latter and I were alone together, after that unhappy
+evening, was an hour or two after breakfast on the following day, when
+the gentlemen were gone out, after the usual time spent in the writing of
+letters, the reading of newspapers, and desultory conversation.  We sat
+silent for two or three minutes.  She was busy with her work, and I was
+running over the columns of a paper from which I had extracted all the
+pith some twenty minutes before.  It was a moment of painful
+embarrassment to me, and I thought it must be infinitely more so to her;
+but it seems I was mistaken.  She was the first to speak; and, smiling
+with the coolest assurance, she began,--
+
+'Your husband was merry last night, Helen: is he often so?'
+
+My blood boiled in my face; but it was better she should seem to
+attribute his conduct to this than to anything else.
+
+'No,' replied I, 'and never will be so again, I trust.'
+
+'You gave him a curtain lecture, did you?'
+
+'No! but I told him I disliked such conduct, and he promised me not to
+repeat it.'
+
+'I thought he looked rather subdued this morning,' she continued; 'and
+you, Helen? you've been weeping, I see--that's our grand resource, you
+know.  But doesn't it make your eyes smart? and do you always find it to
+answer?'
+
+'I never cry for effect; nor can I conceive how any one can.'
+
+'Well, I don't know: I never had occasion to try it; but I think if
+Lowborough were to commit such improprieties, I'd make him cry.  I don't
+wonder at your being angry, for I'm sure I'd give my husband a lesson he
+would not soon forget for a lighter offence than that.  But then he never
+will do anything of the kind; for I keep him in too good order for that.'
+
+'Are you sure you don't arrogate too much of the credit to yourself.
+Lord Lowborough was quite as remarkable for his abstemiousness for some
+time before you married him, as he is now, I have heard.'
+
+'Oh, about the wine you mean--yes, he's safe enough for that.  And as to
+looking askance to another woman, he's safe enough for that too, while I
+live, for he worships the very ground I tread on.'
+
+'Indeed! and are you sure you deserve it?'
+
+'Why, as to that, I can't say: you know we're all fallible creatures,
+Helen; we none of us deserve to be worshipped.  But are you sure your
+darling Huntingdon deserves all the love you give to him?'
+
+I knew not what to answer to this.  I was burning with anger; but I
+suppressed all outward manifestations of it, and only bit my lip and
+pretended to arrange my work.
+
+'At any rate,' resumed she, pursuing her advantage, 'you can console
+yourself with the assurance that you are worthy of all the love he gives
+to you.'
+
+'You flatter me,' said I; 'but, at least, I can try to be worthy of it.'
+And then I turned the conversation.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVIII
+
+
+December 25th.--Last Christmas I was a bride, with a heart overflowing
+with present bliss, and full of ardent hopes for the future, though not
+unmingled with foreboding fears.  Now I am a wife: my bliss is sobered,
+but not destroyed; my hopes diminished, but not departed; my fears
+increased, but not yet thoroughly confirmed; and, thank heaven, I am a
+mother too.  God has sent me a soul to educate for heaven, and give me a
+new and calmer bliss, and stronger hopes to comfort me.
+
+Dec. 25th, 1823.--Another year is gone.  My little Arthur lives and
+thrives.  He is healthy, but not robust, full of gentle playfulness and
+vivacity, already affectionate, and susceptible of passions and emotions
+it will be long ere he can find words to express.  He has won his
+father's heart at last; and now my constant terror is, lest he should be
+ruined by that father's thoughtless indulgence.  But I must beware of my
+own weakness too, for I never knew till now how strong are a parent's
+temptations to spoil an only child.
+
+I have need of consolation in my son, for (to this silent paper I may
+confess it) I have but little in my husband.  I love him still; and he
+loves me, in his own way--but oh, how different from the love I could
+have given, and once had hoped to receive!  How little real sympathy
+there exists between us; how many of my thoughts and feelings are
+gloomily cloistered within my own mind; how much of my higher and better
+self is indeed unmarried--doomed either to harden and sour in the sunless
+shade of solitude, or to quite degenerate and fall away for lack of
+nutriment in this unwholesome soil!  But, I repeat, I have no right to
+complain; only let me state the truth--some of the truth, at least,--and
+see hereafter if any darker truths will blot these pages.  We have now
+been full two years united; the 'romance' of our attachment must be worn
+away.  Surely I have now got down to the lowest gradation in Arthur's
+affection, and discovered all the evils of his nature: if there be any
+further change, it must be for the better, as we become still more
+accustomed to each other; surely we shall find no lower depth than this.
+And, if so, I can bear it well--as well, at least, as I have borne it
+hitherto.
+
+Arthur is not what is commonly called a bad man: he has many good
+qualities; but he is a man without self-restraint or lofty aspirations, a
+lover of pleasure, given up to animal enjoyments: he is not a bad
+husband, but his notions of matrimonial duties and comforts are not my
+notions.  Judging from appearances, his idea of a wife is a thing to love
+one devotedly, and to stay at home to wait upon her husband, and amuse
+him and minister to his comfort in every possible way, while he chooses
+to stay with her; and, when he is absent, to attend to his interests,
+domestic or otherwise, and patiently wait his return, no matter how he
+may be occupied in the meantime.
+
+Early in spring he announced his intention of going to London: his
+affairs there demanded his attendance, he said, and he could refuse it no
+longer.  He expressed his regret at having to leave me, but hoped I would
+amuse myself with the baby till he returned.
+
+'But why leave me?' I said.  'I can go with you: I can be ready at any
+time.'
+
+'You would not take that child to town?'
+
+'Yes; why not?'
+
+The thing was absurd: the air of the town would be certain to disagree
+with him, and with me as a nurse; the late hours and London habits would
+not suit me under such circumstances; and altogether he assured me that
+it would be excessively troublesome, injurious, and unsafe.  I over-ruled
+his objections as well as I could, for I trembled at the thoughts of his
+going alone, and would sacrifice almost anything for myself, much even
+for my child, to prevent it; but at length he told me, plainly, and
+somewhat testily, that he could not do with me: he was worn out with the
+baby's restless nights, and must have some repose.  I proposed separate
+apartments; but it would not do.
+
+'The truth is, Arthur,' I said at last, 'you are weary of my company, and
+determined not to have me with you.  You might as well have said so at
+once.'
+
+He denied it; but I immediately left the room, and flew to the nursery,
+to hide my feelings, if I could not soothe them, there.
+
+I was too much hurt to express any further dissatisfaction with his
+plans, or at all to refer to the subject again, except for the necessary
+arrangements concerning his departure and the conduct of affairs during
+his absence, till the day before he went, when I earnestly exhorted him
+to take care of himself and keep out of the way of temptation.  He
+laughed at my anxiety, but assured me there was no cause for it, and
+promised to attend to my advice.
+
+'I suppose it is no use asking you to fix a day for your return?' said I.
+
+'Why, no; I hardly can, under the circumstances; but be assured, love, I
+shall not be long away.'
+
+'I don't wish to keep you a prisoner at home,' I replied; 'I should not
+grumble at your staying whole months away--if you can be happy so long
+without me--provided I knew you were safe; but I don't like the idea of
+your being there among your friends, as you call them.'
+
+'Pooh, pooh, you silly girl!  Do you think I can't take care of myself?'
+
+'You didn't last time.  But THIS time, Arthur,' I added, earnestly, 'show
+me that you can, and teach me that I need not fear to trust you!'
+
+He promised fair, but in such a manner as we seek to soothe a child.  And
+did he keep his promise?  No; and henceforth I can never trust his word.
+Bitter, bitter confession!  Tears blind me while I write.  It was early
+in March that he went, and he did not return till July.  This time he did
+not trouble himself to make excuses as before, and his letters were less
+frequent, and shorter and less affectionate, especially after the first
+few weeks: they came slower and slower, and more terse and careless every
+time.  But still, when I omitted writing, he complained of my neglect.
+When I wrote sternly and coldly, as I confess I frequently did at the
+last, he blamed my harshness, and said it was enough to scare him from
+his home: when I tried mild persuasion, he was a little more gentle in
+his replies, and promised to return; but I had learnt, at last, to
+disregard his promises.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIX
+
+
+Those were four miserable months, alternating between intense anxiety,
+despair, and indignation, pity for him and pity for myself.  And yet,
+through all, I was not wholly comfortless: I had my darling, sinless,
+inoffensive little one to console me; but even this consolation was
+embittered by the constantly-recurring thought, 'How shall I teach him
+hereafter to respect his father, and yet to avoid his example?'
+
+But I remembered that I had brought all these afflictions, in a manner
+wilfully, upon myself; and I determined to bear them without a murmur.
+At the same time I resolved not to give myself up to misery for the
+transgressions of another, and endeavoured to divert myself as much as I
+could; and besides the companionship of my child, and my dear, faithful
+Rachel, who evidently guessed my sorrows and felt for them, though she
+was too discreet to allude to them, I had my books and pencil, my
+domestic affairs, and the welfare and comfort of Arthur's poor tenants
+and labourers to attend to: and I sometimes sought and obtained amusement
+in the company of my young friend Esther Hargrave: occasionally I rode
+over to see her, and once or twice I had her to spend the day with me at
+the Manor.  Mrs. Hargrave did not visit London that season: having no
+daughter to marry, she thought it as well to stay at home and economise;
+and, for a wonder, Walter came down to join her in the beginning of June,
+and stayed till near the close of August.
+
+The first time I saw him was on a sweet, warm evening, when I was
+sauntering in the park with little Arthur and Rachel, who is head-nurse
+and lady's-maid in one--for, with my secluded life and tolerably active
+habits, I require but little attendance, and as she had nursed me and
+coveted to nurse my child, and was moreover so very trustworthy, I
+preferred committing the important charge to her, with a young
+nursery-maid under her directions, to engaging any one else: besides, it
+saves money; and since I have made acquaintance with Arthur's affairs, I
+have learnt to regard that as no trifling recommendation; for, by my own
+desire, nearly the whole of the income of my fortune is devoted, for
+years to come, to the paying off of his debts, and the money he contrives
+to squander away in London is incomprehensible.  But to return to Mr.
+Hargrave.  I was standing with Rachel beside the water, amusing the
+laughing baby in her arms with a twig of willow laden with golden
+catkins, when, greatly to my surprise, he entered the park, mounted on
+his costly black hunter, and crossed over the grass to meet me.  He
+saluted me with a very fine compliment, delicately worded, and modestly
+delivered withal, which he had doubtless concocted as he rode along.  He
+told me he had brought a message from his mother, who, as he was riding
+that way, had desired him to call at the Manor and beg the pleasure of my
+company to a friendly family dinner to-morrow.
+
+'There is no one to meet but ourselves,' said he; 'but Esther is very
+anxious to see you; and my mother fears you will feel solitary in this
+great house so much alone, and wishes she could persuade you to give her
+the pleasure of your company more frequently, and make yourself at home
+in our more humble dwelling, till Mr. Huntingdon's return shall render
+this a little more conducive to your comfort.'
+
+'She is very kind,' I answered, 'but I am not alone, you see;--and those
+whose time is fully occupied seldom complain of solitude.'
+
+'Will you not come to-morrow, then?  She will be sadly disappointed if
+you refuse.'
+
+I did not relish being thus compassionated for my loneliness; but,
+however, I promised to come.
+
+'What a sweet evening this is!' observed he, looking round upon the sunny
+park, with its imposing swell and slope, its placid water, and majestic
+clumps of trees.  'And what a paradise you live in!'
+
+'It is a lovely evening,' answered I; and I sighed to think how little I
+had felt its loveliness, and how little of a paradise sweet Grassdale was
+to me--how still less to the voluntary exile from its scenes.  Whether
+Mr. Hargrave divined my thoughts, I cannot tell, but, with a
+half-hesitating, sympathising seriousness of tone and manner, he asked if
+I had lately heard from Mr. Huntingdon.
+
+'Not lately,' I replied.
+
+'I thought not,' he muttered, as if to himself, looking thoughtfully on
+the ground.
+
+'Are you not lately returned from London?' I asked.
+
+'Only yesterday.'
+
+'And did you see him there?'
+
+'Yes--I saw him.'
+
+'Was he well?'
+
+'Yes--that is,' said he, with increasing hesitation and an appearance of
+suppressed indignation, 'he was as well as--as he deserved to be, but
+under circumstances I should have deemed incredible for a man so favoured
+as he is.'  He here looked up and pointed the sentence with a serious bow
+to me.  I suppose my face was crimson.
+
+'Pardon me, Mrs. Huntingdon,' he continued, 'but I cannot suppress my
+indignation when I behold such infatuated blindness and perversion of
+taste;--but, perhaps, you are not aware--'  He paused.
+
+'I am aware of nothing, sir--except that he delays his coming longer than
+I expected; and if, at present, he prefers the society of his friends to
+that of his wife, and the dissipations of the town to the quiet of
+country life, I suppose I have those friends to thank for it.  Their
+tastes and occupations are similar to his, and I don't see why his
+conduct should awaken either their indignation or surprise.'
+
+'You wrong me cruelly,' answered he.  'I have shared but little of Mr.
+Huntingdon's society for the last few weeks; and as for his tastes and
+occupations, they are quite beyond me--lonely wanderer as I am.  Where I
+have but sipped and tasted, he drains the cup to the dregs; and if ever
+for a moment I have sought to drown the voice of reflection in madness
+and folly, or if I have wasted too much of my time and talents among
+reckless and dissipated companions, God knows I would gladly renounce
+them entirely and for ever, if I had but half the blessings that man so
+thanklessly casts behind his back--but half the inducements to virtue and
+domestic, orderly habits that he despises--but such a home, and such a
+partner to share it!  It is infamous!' he muttered, between his teeth.
+'And don't think, Mrs. Huntingdon,' he added aloud, 'that I could be
+guilty of inciting him to persevere in his present pursuits: on the
+contrary, I have remonstrated with him again and again; I have frequently
+expressed my surprise at his conduct, and reminded him of his duties and
+his privileges--but to no purpose; he only--'
+
+'Enough, Mr. Hargrave; you ought to be aware that whatever my husband's
+faults may be, it can only aggravate the evil for me to hear them from a
+stranger's lips.'
+
+'Am I then a stranger?' said he in a sorrowful tone.  'I am your nearest
+neighbour, your son's godfather, and your husband's friend; may I not be
+yours also?'
+
+'Intimate acquaintance must precede real friendship; I know but little of
+you, Mr. Hargrave, except from report.'
+
+'Have you then forgotten the six or seven weeks I spent under your roof
+last autumn?  I have not forgotten them.  And I know enough of you, Mrs.
+Huntingdon, to think that your husband is the most enviable man in the
+world, and I should be the next if you would deem me worthy of your
+friendship.'
+
+'If you knew more of me, you would not think it, or if you did you would
+not say it, and expect me to be flattered by the compliment.'
+
+I stepped backward as I spoke.  He saw that I wished the conversation to
+end; and immediately taking the hint, he gravely bowed, wished me
+good-evening, and turned his horse towards the road.  He appeared grieved
+and hurt at my unkind reception of his sympathising overtures.  I was not
+sure that I had done right in speaking so harshly to him; but, at the
+time, I had felt irritated--almost insulted by his conduct; it seemed as
+if he was presuming upon the absence and neglect of my husband, and
+insinuating even more than the truth against him.
+
+Rachel had moved on, during our conversation, to some yards' distance.
+He rode up to her, and asked to see the child.  He took it carefully into
+his arms, looked upon it with an almost paternal smile, and I heard him
+say, as I approached,--
+
+'And this, too, he has forsaken!'
+
+He then tenderly kissed it, and restored it to the gratified nurse.
+
+'Are you fond of children, Mr. Hargrave?' said I, a little softened
+towards him.
+
+'Not in general,' he replied, 'but that is such a sweet child, and so
+like its mother,' he added in a lower tone.
+
+'You are mistaken there; it is its father it resembles.'
+
+'Am I not right, nurse?' said he, appealing to Rachel.
+
+'I think, sir, there's a bit of both,' she replied.
+
+He departed; and Rachel pronounced him a very nice gentleman.  I had
+still my doubts on the subject.
+
+In the course of the following six weeks I met him several times, but
+always, save once, in company with his mother, or his sister, or both.
+When I called on them, he always happened to be at home, and, when they
+called on me, it was always he that drove them over in the phaeton.  His
+mother, evidently, was quite delighted with his dutiful attentions and
+newly-acquired domestic habits.
+
+The time that I met him alone was on a bright, but not oppressively hot
+day, in the beginning of July: I had taken little Arthur into the wood
+that skirts the park, and there seated him on the moss-cushioned roots of
+an old oak; and, having gathered a handful of bluebells and wild-roses, I
+was kneeling before him, and presenting them, one by one, to the grasp of
+his tiny fingers; enjoying the heavenly beauty of the flowers, through
+the medium of his smiling eyes: forgetting, for the moment, all my cares,
+laughing at his gleeful laughter, and delighting myself with his
+delight,--when a shadow suddenly eclipsed the little space of sunshine on
+the grass before us; and looking up, I beheld Walter Hargrave standing
+and gazing upon us.
+
+'Excuse me, Mrs. Huntingdon,' said he, 'but I was spell-bound; I had
+neither the power to come forward and interrupt you, nor to withdraw from
+the contemplation of such a scene.  How vigorous my little godson grows!
+and how merry he is this morning!'  He approached the child, and stooped
+to take his hand; but, on seeing that his caresses were likely to produce
+tears and lamentations, instead of a reciprocation of friendly
+demonstrations, he prudently drew back.
+
+'What a pleasure and comfort that little creature must be to you, Mrs.
+Huntingdon!' he observed, with a touch of sadness in his intonation, as
+he admiringly contemplated the infant.
+
+'It is,' replied I; and then I asked after his mother and sister.
+
+He politely answered my inquiries, and then returned again to the subject
+I wished to avoid; though with a degree of timidity that witnessed his
+fear to offend.
+
+'You have not heard from Huntingdon lately?' he said.
+
+'Not this week,' I replied.  Not these three weeks, I might have said.
+
+'I had a letter from him this morning.  I wish it were such a one as I
+could show to his lady.'  He half drew from his waistcoat-pocket a letter
+with Arthur's still beloved hand on the address, scowled at it, and put
+it back again, adding--'But he tells me he is about to return next week.'
+
+'He tells me so every time he writes.'
+
+'Indeed! well, it is like him.  But to me he always avowed it his
+intention to stay till the present month.'
+
+It struck me like a blow, this proof of premeditated transgression and
+systematic disregard of truth.
+
+'It is only of a piece with the rest of his conduct,' observed Mr.
+Hargrave, thoughtfully regarding me, and reading, I suppose, my feelings
+in my face.
+
+'Then he is really coming next week?' said I, after a pause.
+
+'You may rely upon it, if the assurance can give you any pleasure.  And
+is it possible, Mrs. Huntingdon, that you can rejoice at his return?' he
+exclaimed, attentively perusing my features again.
+
+'Of course, Mr. Hargrave; is he not my husband?'
+
+'Oh, Huntingdon; you know not what you slight!' he passionately murmured.
+
+I took up my baby, and, wishing him good-morning, departed, to indulge my
+thoughts unscrutinized, within the sanctum of my home.
+
+And was I glad?  Yes, delighted; though I was angered by Arthur's
+conduct, and though I felt that he had wronged me, and was determined he
+should feel it too.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXX
+
+
+On the following morning I received a few lines from him myself,
+confirming Hargrave's intimations respecting his approaching return.  And
+he did come next week, but in a condition of body and mind even worse
+than before.  I did not, however, intend to pass over his derelictions
+this time without a remark; I found it would not do.  But the first day
+he was weary with his journey, and I was glad to get him back: I would
+not upbraid him then; I would wait till to-morrow.  Next morning he was
+weary still: I would wait a little longer.  But at dinner, when, after
+breakfasting at twelve o'clock on a bottle of soda-water and a cup of
+strong coffee, and lunching at two on another bottle of soda-water
+mingled with brandy, he was finding fault with everything on the table,
+and declaring we must change our cook, I thought the time was come.
+
+'It is the same cook as we had before you went, Arthur,' said I.  'You
+were generally pretty well satisfied with her then.'
+
+'You must have been letting her get into slovenly habits, then, while I
+was away.  It is enough to poison one, eating such a disgusting mess!'
+And he pettishly pushed away his plate, and leant back despairingly in
+his chair.
+
+'I think it is you that are changed, not she,' said I, but with the
+utmost gentleness, for I did not wish to irritate him.
+
+'It may be so,' he replied carelessly, as he seized a tumbler of wine and
+water, adding, when he had tossed it off, 'for I have an infernal fire in
+my veins, that all the waters of the ocean cannot quench!'
+
+'What kindled it?' I was about to ask, but at that moment the butler
+entered and began to take away the things.
+
+'Be quick, Benson; do have done with that infernal clatter!' cried his
+master.  'And don't bring the cheese, unless you want to make me sick
+outright!'
+
+Benson, in some surprise, removed the cheese, and did his best to effect
+a quiet and speedy clearance of the rest; but, unfortunately, there was a
+rumple in the carpet, caused by the hasty pushing back of his master's
+chair, at which he tripped and stumbled, causing a rather alarming
+concussion with the trayful of crockery in his hands, but no positive
+damage, save the fall and breaking of a sauce tureen; but, to my
+unspeakable shame and dismay, Arthur turned furiously around upon him,
+and swore at him with savage coarseness.  The poor man turned pale, and
+visibly trembled as he stooped to pick up the fragments.
+
+'He couldn't help it, Arthur,' said I; 'the carpet caught his foot, and
+there's no great harm done.  Never mind the pieces now, Benson; you can
+clear them away afterwards.'
+
+Glad to be released, Benson expeditiously set out the dessert and
+withdrew.
+
+'What could you mean, Helen, by taking the servant's part against me,'
+said Arthur, as soon as the door was closed, 'when you knew I was
+distracted?'
+
+'I did not know you were distracted, Arthur: and the poor man was quite
+frightened and hurt at your sudden explosion.'
+
+'Poor man, indeed! and do you think I could stop to consider the feelings
+of an insensate brute like that, when my own nerves were racked and torn
+to pieces by his confounded blunders?'
+
+'I never heard you complain of your nerves before.'
+
+'And why shouldn't I have nerves as well as you?'
+
+'Oh, I don't dispute your claim to their possession, but I never complain
+of mine.'
+
+'No, how should you, when you never do anything to try them?'
+
+'Then why do you try yours, Arthur?'
+
+'Do you think I have nothing to do but to stay at home and take care of
+myself like a woman?'
+
+'Is it impossible, then, to take care of yourself like a man when you go
+abroad?  You told me that you could, and would too; and you promised--'
+
+'Come, come, Helen, don't begin with that nonsense now; I can't bear it.'
+
+'Can't bear what?--to be reminded of the promises you have broken?'
+
+'Helen, you are cruel.  If you knew how my heart throbbed, and how every
+nerve thrilled through me while you spoke, you would spare me.  You can
+pity a dolt of a servant for breaking a dish; but you have no compassion
+for me when my head is split in two and all on fire with this consuming
+fever.'
+
+He leant his head on his hand, and sighed.  I went to him and put my hand
+on his forehead.  It was burning indeed.
+
+'Then come with me into the drawing-room, Arthur; and don't take any more
+wine: you have taken several glasses since dinner, and eaten next to
+nothing all the day.  How can that make you better?'
+
+With some coaxing and persuasion, I got him to leave the table.  When the
+baby was brought I tried to amuse him with that; but poor little Arthur
+was cutting his teeth, and his father could not bear his complaints:
+sentence of immediate banishment was passed upon him on the first
+indication of fretfulness; and because, in the course of the evening, I
+went to share his exile for a little while, I was reproached, on my
+return, for preferring my child to my husband.  I found the latter
+reclining on the sofa just as I had left him.
+
+'Well!' exclaimed the injured man, in a tone of pseudo-resignation.  'I
+thought I wouldn't send for you; I thought I'd just see how long it would
+please you to leave me alone.'
+
+'I have not been very long, have I, Arthur?  I have not been an hour, I'm
+sure.'
+
+'Oh, of course, an hour is nothing to you, so pleasantly employed; but to
+me--'
+
+'It has not been pleasantly employed,' interrupted I.  'I have been
+nursing our poor little baby, who is very far from well, and I could not
+leave him till I got him to sleep.'
+
+'Oh, to be sure, you're overflowing with kindness and pity for everything
+but me.'
+
+'And why should I pity you?  What is the matter with you?'
+
+'Well! that passes everything!  After all the wear and tear that I've
+had, when I come home sick and weary, longing for comfort, and expecting
+to find attention and kindness, at least from my wife, she calmly asks
+what is the matter with me!'
+
+'There is nothing the matter with you,' returned I, 'except what you have
+wilfully brought upon yourself, against my earnest exhortation and
+entreaty.'
+
+'Now, Helen,' said he emphatically, half rising from his recumbent
+posture, 'if you bother me with another word, I'll ring the bell and
+order six bottles of wine, and, by heaven, I'll drink them dry before I
+stir from this place!'
+
+I said no more, but sat down before the table and drew a book towards me.
+
+'Do let me have quietness at least!' continued he, 'if you deny me every
+other comfort;' and sinking back into his former position, with an
+impatient expiration between a sigh and a groan, he languidly closed his
+eyes, as if to sleep.
+
+What the book was that lay open on the table before me, I cannot tell,
+for I never looked at it.  With an elbow on each side of it, and my hands
+clasped before my eyes, I delivered myself up to silent weeping.  But
+Arthur was not asleep: at the first slight sob, he raised his head and
+looked round, impatiently exclaiming, 'What are you crying for, Helen?
+What the deuce is the matter now?'
+
+'I'm crying for you, Arthur,' I replied, speedily drying my tears; and
+starting up, I threw myself on my knees before him, and clasping his
+nerveless hand between my own, continued: 'Don't you know that you are a
+part of myself?  And do you think you can injure and degrade yourself,
+and I not feel it?'
+
+'Degrade myself, Helen?'
+
+'Yes, degrade!  What have you been doing all this time?'
+
+'You'd better not ask,' said he, with a faint smile.
+
+'And you had better not tell; but you cannot deny that you have degraded
+yourself miserably.  You have shamefully wronged yourself, body and soul,
+and me too; and I can't endure it quietly, and I won't!'
+
+'Well, don't squeeze my hand so frantically, and don't agitate me so, for
+heaven's sake!  Oh, Hattersley! you were right: this woman will be the
+death of me, with her keen feelings and her interesting force of
+character.  There, there, do spare me a little.'
+
+'Arthur, you must repent!' cried I, in a frenzy of desperation, throwing
+my arms around him and burying my face in his bosom.  'You shall say you
+are sorry for what you have done!'
+
+'Well, well, I am.'
+
+'You are not! you'll do it again.'
+
+'I shall never live to do it again if you treat me so savagely,' replied
+he, pushing me from him.  'You've nearly squeezed the breath out of my
+body.'  He pressed his hand to his heart, and looked really agitated and
+ill.
+
+'Now get me a glass of wine,' said he, 'to remedy what you've done, you
+she tiger!  I'm almost ready to faint.'
+
+I flew to get the required remedy.  It seemed to revive him considerably.
+
+'What a shame it is,' said I, as I took the empty glass from his hand,
+'for a strong young man like you to reduce yourself to such a state!'
+
+'If you knew all, my girl, you'd say rather, "What a wonder it is you can
+bear it so well as you do!"  I've lived more in these four months, Helen,
+than you have in the whole course of your existence, or will to the end
+of your days, if they numbered a hundred years; so I must expect to pay
+for it in some shape.'
+
+'You will have to pay a higher price than you anticipate, if you don't
+take care: there will be the total loss of your own health, and of my
+affection too, if that is of any value to you.'
+
+'What! you're at that game of threatening me with the loss of your
+affection again, are you?  I think it couldn't have been very genuine
+stuff to begin with, if it's so easily demolished.  If you don't mind, my
+pretty tyrant, you'll make me regret my choice in good earnest, and envy
+my friend Hattersley his meek little wife: she's quite a pattern to her
+sex, Helen.  He had her with him in London all the season, and she was no
+trouble at all.  He might amuse himself just as he pleased, in regular
+bachelor style, and she never complained of neglect; he might come home
+at any hour of the night or morning, or not come home at all; be sullen,
+sober, or glorious drunk; and play the fool or the madman to his own
+heart's desire, without any fear or botheration.  She never gives him a
+word of reproach or complaint, do what he will.  He says there's not such
+a jewel in all England, and swears he wouldn't take a kingdom for her.'
+
+'But he makes her life a curse to her.'
+
+'Not he!  She has no will but his, and is always contented and happy as
+long as he is enjoying himself.'
+
+'In that case she is as great a fool as he is; but it is not so.  I have
+several letters from her, expressing the greatest anxiety about his
+proceedings, and complaining that you incite him to commit those
+extravagances--one especially, in which she implores me to use my
+influence with you to get you away from London, and affirms that her
+husband never did such things before you came, and would certainly
+discontinue them as soon as you departed and left him to the guidance of
+his own good sense.'
+
+'The detestable little traitor!  Give me the letter, and he shall see it
+as sure as I'm a living man.'
+
+'No, he shall not see it without her consent; but if he did, there is
+nothing there to anger him, nor in any of the others.  She never speaks a
+word against him: it is only anxiety for him that she expresses.  She
+only alludes to his conduct in the most delicate terms, and makes every
+excuse for him that she can possibly think of; and as for her own misery,
+I rather feel it than see it expressed in her letters.'
+
+'But she abuses me; and no doubt you helped her.'
+
+'No; I told her she over-rated my influence with you, that I would gladly
+draw you away from the temptations of the town if I could, but had little
+hope of success, and that I thought she was wrong in supposing that you
+enticed Mr. Hattersley or any one else into error.  I had myself held the
+contrary opinion at one time, but I now believed that you mutually
+corrupted each other; and, perhaps, if she used a little gentle but
+serious remonstrance with her husband, it might be of some service; as,
+though he was more rough-hewn than mine, I believed he was of a less
+impenetrable material.'
+
+'And so that is the way you go on--heartening each other up to mutiny,
+and abusing each other's partners, and throwing out implications against
+your own, to the mutual gratification of both!'
+
+'According to your own account,' said I, 'my evil counsel has had but
+little effect upon her.  And as to abuse and aspersions, we are both of
+us far too deeply ashamed of the errors and vices of our other halves, to
+make them the common subject of our correspondence.  Friends as we are,
+we would willingly keep your failings to ourselves--even from ourselves
+if we could, unless by knowing them we could deliver you from them.'
+
+'Well, well! don't worry me about them: you'll never effect any good by
+that.  Have patience with me, and bear with my languor and crossness a
+little while, till I get this cursed low fever out of my veins, and then
+you'll find me cheerful and kind as ever.  Why can't you be gentle and
+good, as you were last time?--I'm sure I was very grateful for it.'
+
+'And what good did your gratitude do?  I deluded myself with the idea
+that you were ashamed of your transgressions, and hoped you would never
+repeat them again; but now you have left me nothing to hope!'
+
+'My case is quite desperate, is it?  A very blessed consideration, if it
+will only secure me from the pain and worry of my dear anxious wife's
+efforts to convert me, and her from the toil and trouble of such
+exertions, and her sweet face and silver accents from the ruinous effects
+of the same.  A burst of passion is a fine rousing thing upon occasion,
+Helen, and a flood of tears is marvellously affecting, but, when indulged
+too often, they are both deuced plaguy things for spoiling one's beauty
+and tiring out one's friends.'
+
+Thenceforth I restrained my tears and passions as much as I could.  I
+spared him my exhortations and fruitless efforts at conversion too, for I
+saw it was all in vain: God might awaken that heart, supine and stupefied
+with self-indulgence, and remove the film of sensual darkness from his
+eyes, but I could not.  His injustice and ill-humour towards his
+inferiors, who could not defend themselves, I still resented and
+withstood; but when I alone was their object, as was frequently the case,
+I endured it with calm forbearance, except at times, when my temper, worn
+out by repeated annoyances, or stung to distraction by some new instance
+of irrationality, gave way in spite of myself, and exposed me to the
+imputations of fierceness, cruelty, and impatience.  I attended carefully
+to his wants and amusements, but not, I own, with the same devoted
+fondness as before, because I could not feel it; besides, I had now
+another claimant on my time and care--my ailing infant, for whose sake I
+frequently braved and suffered the reproaches and complaints of his
+unreasonably exacting father.
+
+But Arthur is not naturally a peevish or irritable man; so far from it,
+that there was something almost ludicrous in the incongruity of this
+adventitious fretfulness and nervous irritability, rather calculated to
+excite laughter than anger, if it were not for the intensely painful
+considerations attendant upon those symptoms of a disordered frame, and
+his temper gradually improved as his bodily health was restored, which
+was much sooner than would have been the case but for my strenuous
+exertions; for there was still one thing about him that I did not give up
+in despair, and one effort for his preservation that I would not remit.
+His appetite for the stimulus of wine had increased upon him, as I had
+too well foreseen.  It was now something more to him than an accessory to
+social enjoyment: it was an important source of enjoyment in itself.  In
+this time of weakness and depression he would have made it his medicine
+and support, his comforter, his recreation, and his friend, and thereby
+sunk deeper and deeper, and bound himself down for ever in the bathos
+whereinto he had fallen.  But I determined this should never be, as long
+as I had any influence left; and though I could not prevent him from
+taking more than was good for him, still, by incessant perseverance, by
+kindness, and firmness, and vigilance, by coaxing, and daring, and
+determination, I succeeded in preserving him from absolute bondage to
+that detestable propensity, so insidious in its advances, so inexorable
+in its tyranny, so disastrous in its effects.
+
+And here I must not forget that I am not a little indebted to his friend
+Mr. Hargrave.  About that time he frequently called at Grassdale, and
+often dined with us, on which occasions I fear Arthur would willingly
+have cast prudence and decorum to the winds, and made 'a night of it,' as
+often as his friend would have consented to join him in that exalted
+pastime; and if the latter had chosen to comply, he might, in a night or
+two, have ruined the labour of weeks, and overthrown with a touch the
+frail bulwark it had cost me such trouble and toil to construct.  I was
+so fearful of this at first, that I humbled myself to intimate to him, in
+private, my apprehensions of Arthur's proneness to these excesses, and to
+express a hope that he would not encourage it.  He was pleased with this
+mark of confidence, and certainly did not betray it.  On that and every
+subsequent occasion his presence served rather as a check upon his host,
+than an incitement to further acts of intemperance; and he always
+succeeded in bringing him from the dining-room in good time, and in
+tolerably good condition; for if Arthur disregarded such intimations as
+'Well, I must not detain you from your lady,' or 'We must not forget that
+Mrs. Huntingdon is alone,' he would insist upon leaving the table
+himself, to join me, and his host, however unwillingly, was obliged to
+follow.
+
+Hence I learned to welcome Mr. Hargrave as a real friend to the family, a
+harmless companion for Arthur, to cheer his spirits and preserve him from
+the tedium of absolute idleness and a total isolation from all society
+but mine, and a useful ally to me.  I could not but feel grateful to him
+under such circumstances; and I did not scruple to acknowledge my
+obligation on the first convenient opportunity; yet, as I did so, my
+heart whispered all was not right, and brought a glow to my face, which
+he heightened by his steady, serious gaze, while, by his manner of
+receiving those acknowledgments, he more than doubled my misgivings.  His
+high delight at being able to serve me was chastened by sympathy for me
+and commiseration for himself--about, I know not what, for I would not
+stay to inquire, or suffer him to unburden his sorrows to me.  His sighs
+and intimations of suppressed affliction seemed to come from a full
+heart; but either he must contrive to retain them within it, or breathe
+them forth in other ears than mine: there was enough of confidence
+between us already.  It seemed wrong that there should exist a secret
+understanding between my husband's friend and me, unknown to him, of
+which he was the object.  But my after-thought was, 'If it is wrong,
+surely Arthur's is the fault, not mine.'
+
+And indeed I know not whether, at the time, it was not for him rather
+than myself that I blushed; for, since he and I are one, I so identify
+myself with him, that I feel his degradation, his failings, and
+transgressions as my own: I blush for him, I fear for him; I repent for
+him, weep, pray, and feel for him as for myself; but I cannot act for
+him; and hence I must be, and I am, debased, contaminated by the union,
+both in my own eyes and in the actual truth.  I am so determined to love
+him, so intensely anxious to excuse his errors, that I am continually
+dwelling upon them, and labouring to extenuate the loosest of his
+principles and the worst of his practices, till I am familiarised with
+vice, and almost a partaker in his sins.  Things that formerly shocked
+and disgusted me, now seem only natural.  I know them to be wrong,
+because reason and God's word declare them to be so; but I am gradually
+losing that instinctive horror and repulsion which were given me by
+nature, or instilled into me by the precepts and example of my aunt.
+Perhaps then I was too severe in my judgments, for I abhorred the sinner
+as well as the sin; now I flatter myself I am more charitable and
+considerate; but am I not becoming more indifferent and insensate too?
+Fool that I was, to dream that I had strength and purity enough to save
+myself and him!  Such vain presumption would be rightly served, if I
+should perish with him in the gulf from which I sought to save him!  Yet,
+God preserve me from it, and him too!  Yes, poor Arthur, I will still
+hope and pray for you; and though I write as if you were some abandoned
+wretch, past hope and past reprieve, it is only my anxious fears, my
+strong desires that make me do so; one who loved you less would be less
+bitter, less dissatisfied.
+
+His conduct has, of late, been what the world calls irreproachable; but
+then I know his heart is still unchanged; and I know that spring is
+approaching, and deeply dread the consequences.
+
+As he began to recover the tone and vigour of his exhausted frame, and
+with it something of his former impatience of retirement and repose, I
+suggested a short residence by the sea-side, for his recreation and
+further restoration, and for the benefit of our little one as well.  But
+no: watering-places were so intolerably dull; besides, he had been
+invited by one of his friends to spend a month or two in Scotland for the
+better recreation of grouse-shooting and deer-stalking, and had promised
+to go.
+
+'Then you will leave me again, Arthur?' said I.
+
+'Yes, dearest, but only to love you the better when I come back, and make
+up for all past offences and short-comings; and you needn't fear me this
+time: there are no temptations on the mountains.  And during my absence
+you may pay a visit to Staningley, if you like: your uncle and aunt have
+long been wanting us to go there, you know; but somehow there's such a
+repulsion between the good lady and me, that I never could bring myself
+up to the scratch.'
+
+About the third week in August, Arthur set out for Scotland, and Mr.
+Hargrave accompanied him thither, to my private satisfaction.  Shortly
+after, I, with little Arthur and Rachel, went to Staningley, my dear old
+home, which, as well as my dear old friends its inhabitants, I saw again
+with mingled feelings of pleasure and pain so intimately blended that I
+could scarcely distinguish the one from the other, or tell to which to
+attribute the various tears, and smiles, and sighs awakened by those old
+familiar scenes, and tones, and faces.
+
+Arthur did not come home till several weeks after my return to Grassdale;
+but I did not feel so anxious about him now; to think of him engaged in
+active sports among the wild hills of Scotland, was very different from
+knowing him to be immersed amid the corruptions and temptations of
+London.  His letters now; though neither long nor loverlike, were more
+regular than ever they had been before; and when he did return, to my
+great joy, instead of being worse than when he went, he was more cheerful
+and vigorous, and better in every respect.  Since that time I have had
+little cause to complain.  He still has an unfortunate predilection for
+the pleasures of the table, against which I have to struggle and watch;
+but he has begun to notice his boy, and that is an increasing source of
+amusement to him within-doors, while his fox-hunting and coursing are a
+sufficient occupation for him without, when the ground is not hardened by
+frost; so that he is not wholly dependent on me for entertainment.  But
+it is now January; spring is approaching; and, I repeat, I dread the
+consequences of its arrival.  That sweet season, I once so joyously
+welcomed as the time of hope and gladness, awakens now far other
+anticipations by its return.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXI
+
+
+March 20th, 1824.  The dreaded time is come, and Arthur is gone, as I
+expected.  This time he announced it his intention to make but a short
+stay in London, and pass over to the Continent, where he should probably
+stay a few weeks; but I shall not expect him till after the lapse of many
+weeks: I now know that, with him, days signify weeks, and weeks months.
+
+July 30th.--He returned about three weeks ago, rather better in health,
+certainly, than before, but still worse in temper.  And yet, perhaps, I
+am wrong: it is I that am less patient and forbearing.  I am tired out
+with his injustice, his selfishness and hopeless depravity.  I wish a
+milder word would do; I am no angel, and my corruption rises against it.
+My poor father died last week: Arthur was vexed to hear of it, because he
+saw that I was shocked and grieved, and he feared the circumstance would
+mar his comfort.  When I spoke of ordering my mourning, he
+exclaimed,--'Oh, I hate black!  But, however, I suppose you must wear it
+awhile, for form's sake; but I hope, Helen, you won't think it your
+bounden duty to compose your face and manners into conformity with your
+funereal garb.  Why should you sigh and groan, and I be made
+uncomfortable, because an old gentleman in --shire, a perfect stranger to
+us both, has thought proper to drink himself to death?  There, now, I
+declare you're crying!  Well, it must be affectation.'
+
+He would not hear of my attending the funeral, or going for a day or two,
+to cheer poor Frederick's solitude.  It was quite unnecessary, he said,
+and I was unreasonable to wish it.  What was my father to me?  I had
+never seen him but once since I was a baby, and I well knew he had never
+cared a stiver about me; and my brother, too, was little better than a
+stranger.  'Besides, dear Helen,' said he, embracing me with flattering
+fondness, 'I cannot spare you for a single day.'
+
+'Then how have you managed without me these many days?' said I.
+
+'Ah! then I was knocking about the world, now I am at home, and home
+without you, my household deity, would be intolerable.'
+
+'Yes, as long as I am necessary to your comfort; but you did not say so
+before, when you urged me to leave you, in order that you might get away
+from your home without me,' retorted I; but before the words were well
+out of my mouth, I regretted having uttered them.  It seemed so heavy a
+charge: if false, too gross an insult; if true, too humiliating a fact to
+be thus openly cast in his teeth.  But I might have spared myself that
+momentary pang of self-reproach.  The accusation awoke neither shame nor
+indignation in him: he attempted neither denial nor excuse, but only
+answered with a long, low, chuckling laugh, as if he viewed the whole
+transaction as a clever, merry jest from beginning to end.  Surely that
+man will make me dislike him at last!
+
+   Sine as ye brew, my maiden fair,
+   Keep mind that ye maun drink the yill.
+
+Yes; and I will drink it to the very dregs: and none but myself shall
+know how bitter I find it!
+
+August 20th.--We are shaken down again to about our usual position.
+Arthur has returned to nearly his former condition and habits; and I have
+found it my wisest plan to shut my eyes against the past and future, as
+far as he, at least, is concerned, and live only for the present: to love
+him when I can; to smile (if possible) when he smiles, be cheerful when
+he is cheerful, and pleased when he is agreeable; and when he is not, to
+try to make him so; and if that won't answer, to bear with him, to excuse
+him, and forgive him as well as I can, and restrain my own evil passions
+from aggravating his; and yet, while I thus yield and minister to his
+more harmless propensities to self-indulgence, to do all in my power to
+save him from the worse.
+
+But we shall not be long alone together.  I shall shortly be called upon
+to entertain the same select body of friends as we had the autumn before
+last, with the addition of Mr. Hattersley and, at my special request, his
+wife and child.  I long to see Milicent, and her little girl too.  The
+latter is now above a year old; she will be a charming playmate for my
+little Arthur.
+
+September 30th.--Our guests have been here a week or two; but I have had
+no leisure to pass any comments upon them till now.  I cannot get over my
+dislike to Lady Lowborough.  It is not founded on mere personal pique; it
+is the woman herself that I dislike, because I so thoroughly disapprove
+of her.  I always avoid her company as much as I can without violating
+the laws of hospitality; but when we do speak or converse together, it is
+with the utmost civility, even apparent cordiality on her part; but
+preserve me from such cordiality!  It is like handling brier-roses and
+may-blossoms, bright enough to the eye, and outwardly soft to the touch,
+but you know there are thorns beneath, and every now and then you feel
+them too; and perhaps resent the injury by crushing them in till you have
+destroyed their power, though somewhat to the detriment of your own
+fingers.
+
+Of late, however, I have seen nothing in her conduct towards Arthur to
+anger or alarm me.  During the first few days I thought she seemed very
+solicitous to win his admiration.  Her efforts were not unnoticed by him:
+I frequently saw him smiling to himself at her artful manoeuvres: but, to
+his praise be it spoken, her shafts fell powerless by his side.  Her most
+bewitching smiles, her haughtiest frowns were ever received with the same
+immutable, careless good-humour; till, finding he was indeed
+impenetrable, she suddenly remitted her efforts, and became, to all
+appearance, as perfectly indifferent as himself.  Nor have I since
+witnessed any symptom of pique on his part, or renewed attempts at
+conquest upon hers.
+
+This is as it should be; but Arthur never will let me be satisfied with
+him.  I have never, for a single hour since I married him, known what it
+is to realise that sweet idea, 'In quietness and confidence shall be your
+rest.'  Those two detestable men, Grimsby and Hattersley, have destroyed
+all my labour against his love of wine.  They encourage him daily to
+overstep the bounds of moderation, and not unfrequently to disgrace
+himself by positive excess.  I shall not soon forget the second night
+after their arrival.  Just as I had retired from the dining-room with the
+ladies, before the door was closed upon us, Arthur exclaimed,--'Now then,
+my lads, what say you to a regular jollification?'
+
+Milicent glanced at me with a half-reproachful look, as if I could hinder
+it; but her countenance changed when she heard Hattersley's voice,
+shouting through door and wall,--'I'm your man!  Send for more wine: here
+isn't half enough!'
+
+We had scarcely entered the drawing-room before we were joined by Lord
+Lowborough.
+
+'What can induce you to come so soon?' exclaimed his lady, with a most
+ungracious air of dissatisfaction.
+
+'You know I never drink, Annabella,' replied he seriously.
+
+'Well, but you might stay with them a little: it looks so silly to be
+always dangling after the women; I wonder you can!'
+
+He reproached her with a look of mingled bitterness and surprise, and,
+sinking into a chair, suppressed a heavy sigh, bit his pale lips, and
+fixed his eyes upon the floor.
+
+'You did right to leave them, Lord Lowborough,' said I.  'I trust you
+will always continue to honour us so early with your company.  And if
+Annabella knew the value of true wisdom, and the misery of folly and--and
+intemperance, she would not talk such nonsense--even in jest.'
+
+He raised his eyes while I spoke, and gravely turned them upon me, with a
+half-surprised, half-abstracted look, and then bent them on his wife.
+
+'At least,' said she, 'I know the value of a warm heart and a bold, manly
+spirit.'
+
+'Well, Annabella,' said he, in a deep and hollow tone, 'since my presence
+is disagreeable to you, I will relieve you of it.'
+
+'Are you going back to them, then?' said she, carelessly.
+
+'No,' exclaimed he, with harsh and startling emphasis.  'I will not go
+back to them!  And I will never stay with them one moment longer than I
+think right, for you or any other tempter!  But you needn't mind that; I
+shall never trouble you again by intruding my company upon you so
+unseasonably.'
+
+He left the room: I heard the hall-door open and shut, and immediately
+after, on putting aside the curtain, I saw him pacing down the park, in
+the comfortless gloom of the damp, cloudy twilight.
+
+'It would serve you right, Annabella,' said I, at length, 'if Lord
+Lowborough were to return to his old habits, which had so nearly effected
+his ruin, and which it cost him such an effort to break: you would then
+see cause to repent such conduct as this.'
+
+'Not at all, my dear!  I should not mind if his lordship were to see fit
+to intoxicate himself every day: I should only the sooner be rid of him.'
+
+'Oh, Annabella!' cried Milicent.  'How can you say such wicked things!
+It would, indeed, be a just punishment, as far as you are concerned, if
+Providence should take you at your word, and make you feel what others
+feel, that--'  She paused as a sudden burst of loud talking and laughter
+reached us from the dining-room, in which the voice of Hattersley was
+pre-eminently conspicuous, even to my unpractised ear.
+
+'What you feel at this moment, I suppose?' said Lady Lowborough, with a
+malicious smile, fixing her eyes upon her cousin's distressed
+countenance.
+
+The latter offered no reply, but averted her face and brushed away a
+tear.  At that moment the door opened and admitted Mr. Hargrave, just a
+little flushed, his dark eyes sparkling with unwonted vivacity.
+
+'Oh, I'm so glad you're come, Walter?' cried his sister.  'But I wish you
+could have got Ralph to come too.'
+
+'Utterly impossible, dear Milicent,' replied he, gaily.  'I had much ado
+to get away myself.  Ralph attempted to keep me by violence; Huntingdon
+threatened me with the eternal loss of his friendship; and Grimsby, worse
+than all, endeavoured to make me ashamed of my virtue, by such galling
+sarcasms and innuendoes as he knew would wound me the most.  So you see,
+ladies, you ought to make me welcome when I have braved and suffered so
+much for the favour of your sweet society.'  He smilingly turned to me
+and bowed as he finished the sentence.
+
+'Isn't he handsome now, Helen!' whispered Milicent, her sisterly pride
+overcoming, for the moment, all other considerations.
+
+'He would be,' I returned, 'if that brilliance of eye, and lip, and cheek
+were natural to him; but look again, a few hours hence.'
+
+Here the gentleman took a seat near me at the table, and petitioned for a
+cup of coffee.
+
+'I consider this an apt illustration of heaven taken by storm,' said he,
+as I handed one to him.  'I am in paradise, now; but I have fought my way
+through flood and fire to win it.  Ralph Hattersley's last resource was
+to set his back against the door, and swear I should find no passage but
+through his body (a pretty substantial one too).  Happily, however, that
+was not the only door, and I effected my escape by the side entrance
+through the butler's pantry, to the infinite amazement of Benson, who was
+cleaning the plate.'
+
+Mr. Hargrave laughed, and so did his cousin; but his sister and I
+remained silent and grave.
+
+'Pardon my levity, Mrs. Huntingdon,' murmured he, more seriously, as he
+raised his eyes to my face.  'You are not used to these things: you
+suffer them to affect your delicate mind too sensibly.  But I thought of
+you in the midst of those lawless roysterers; and I endeavoured to
+persuade Mr. Huntingdon to think of you too; but to no purpose: I fear he
+is fully determined to enjoy himself this night; and it will be no use
+keeping the coffee waiting for him or his companions; it will be much if
+they join us at tea.  Meantime, I earnestly wish I could banish the
+thoughts of them from your mind--and my own too, for I hate to think of
+them--yes--even of my dear friend Huntingdon, when I consider the power
+he possesses over the happiness of one so immeasurably superior to
+himself, and the use he makes of it--I positively detest the man!'
+
+'You had better not say so to me, then,' said I; 'for, bad as he is, he
+is part of myself, and you cannot abuse him without offending me.'
+
+'Pardon me, then, for I would sooner die than offend you.  But let us say
+no more of him for the present, if you please.'
+
+At last they came; but not till after ten, when tea, which had been
+delayed for more than half an hour, was nearly over.  Much as I had
+longed for their coming, my heart failed me at the riotous uproar of
+their approach; and Milicent turned pale, and almost started from her
+seat, as Mr. Hattersley burst into the room with a clamorous volley of
+oaths in his mouth, which Hargrave endeavoured to check by entreating him
+to remember the ladies.
+
+'Ah! you do well to remind me of the ladies, you dastardly deserter,'
+cried he, shaking his formidable fist at his brother-in-law.  'If it were
+not for them, you well know, I'd demolish you in the twinkling of an eye,
+and give your body to the fowls of heaven and the lilies of the fields!'
+Then, planting a chair by Lady Lowborough's side, he stationed himself in
+it, and began to talk to her with a mixture of absurdity and impudence
+that seemed rather to amuse than to offend her; though she affected to
+resent his insolence, and to keep him at bay with sallies of smart and
+spirited repartee.
+
+Meantime Mr. Grimsby seated himself by me, in the chair vacated by
+Hargrave as they entered, and gravely stated that he would thank me for a
+cup of tea: and Arthur placed himself beside poor Milicent,
+confidentially pushing his head into her face, and drawing in closer to
+her as she shrank away from him.  He was not so noisy as Hattersley, but
+his face was exceedingly flushed: he laughed incessantly, and while I
+blushed for all I saw and heard of him, I was glad that he chose to talk
+to his companion in so low a tone that no one could hear what he said but
+herself.
+
+'What fools they are!' drawled Mr. Grimsby, who had been talking away, at
+my elbow, with sententious gravity all the time; but I had been too much
+absorbed in contemplating the deplorable state of the other
+two--especially Arthur--to attend to him.
+
+'Did you ever hear such nonsense as they talk, Mrs. Huntingdon?' he
+continued.  'I'm quite ashamed of them for my part: they can't take so
+much as a bottle between them without its getting into their heads--'
+
+'You are pouring the cream into your saucer, Mr. Grimsby.'
+
+'Ah! yes, I see, but we're almost in darkness here.  Hargrave, snuff
+those candles, will you?'
+
+'They're wax; they don't require snuffing,' said I.
+
+'"The light of the body is the eye,"' observed Hargrave, with a sarcastic
+smile.  '"If thine eye be single, thy whole body shall be full of
+light."'
+
+Grimsby repulsed him with a solemn wave of the hand, and then turning to
+me, continued, with the same drawling tones and strange uncertainty of
+utterance and heavy gravity of aspect as before: 'But as I was saying,
+Mrs. Huntingdon, they have no head at all: they can't take half a bottle
+without being affected some way; whereas I--well, I've taken three times
+as much as they have to-night, and you see I'm perfectly steady.  Now
+that may strike you as very singular, but I think I can explain it: you
+see their brains--I mention no names, but you'll understand to whom I
+allude--their brains are light to begin with, and the fumes of the
+fermented liquor render them lighter still, and produce an entire
+light-headedness, or giddiness, resulting in intoxication; whereas my
+brains, being composed of more solid materials, will absorb a
+considerable quantity of this alcoholic vapour without the production of
+any sensible result--'
+
+'I think you will find a sensible result produced on that tea,'
+interrupted Mr. Hargrave, 'by the quantity of sugar you have put into it.
+Instead of your usual complement of one lump, you have put in six.'
+
+'Have I so?' replied the philosopher, diving with his spoon into the cup,
+and bringing up several half-dissolved pieces in confirmation of the
+assertion.  'Hum!  I perceive.  Thus, Madam, you see the evil of absence
+of mind--of thinking too much while engaged in the common concerns of
+life.  Now, if I had had my wits about me, like ordinary men, instead of
+within me like a philosopher, I should not have spoiled this cup of tea,
+and been constrained to trouble you for another.'
+
+'That is the sugar-basin, Mr. Grimsby.  Now you have spoiled the sugar
+too; and I'll thank you to ring for some more, for here is Lord
+Lowborough at last; and I hope his lordship will condescend to sit down
+with us, such as we are, and allow me to give him some tea.'
+
+His lordship gravely bowed in answer to my appeal, but said nothing.
+Meantime, Hargrave volunteered to ring for the sugar, while Grimsby
+lamented his mistake, and attempted to prove that it was owing to the
+shadow of the urn and the badness of the lights.
+
+Lord Lowborough had entered a minute or two before, unobserved by anyone
+but me, and had been standing before the door, grimly surveying the
+company.  He now stepped up to Annabella, who sat with her back towards
+him, with Hattersley still beside her, though not now attending to her,
+being occupied in vociferously abusing and bullying his host.
+
+'Well, Annabella,' said her husband, as he leant over the back of her
+chair, 'which of these three "bold, manly spirits" would you have me to
+resemble?'
+
+'By heaven and earth, you shall resemble us all!' cried Hattersley,
+starting up and rudely seizing him by the arm.  'Hallo, Huntingdon!' he
+shouted--'I've got him!  Come, man, and help me!  And d--n me, if I don't
+make him drunk before I let him go!  He shall make up for all past
+delinquencies as sure as I'm a living soul!'
+
+There followed a disgraceful contest: Lord Lowborough, in desperate
+earnest, and pale with anger, silently struggling to release himself from
+the powerful madman that was striving to drag him from the room.  I
+attempted to urge Arthur to interfere in behalf of his outraged guest,
+but he could do nothing but laugh.
+
+'Huntingdon, you fool, come and help me, can't you!' cried Hattersley,
+himself somewhat weakened by his excesses.
+
+'I'm wishing you God-speed, Hattersley,' cried Arthur, 'and aiding you
+with my prayers: I can't do anything else if my life depended on it!  I'm
+quite used up.  Oh--oh!' and leaning back in his seat, he clapped his
+hands on his sides and groaned aloud.
+
+'Annabella, give me a candle!' said Lowborough, whose antagonist had now
+got him round the waist and was endeavouring to root him from the
+door-post, to which he madly clung with all the energy of desperation.
+
+'I shall take no part in your rude sports!' replied the lady coldly
+drawing back.  'I wonder you can expect it.'  But I snatched up a candle
+and brought it to him.  He took it and held the flame to Hattersley's
+hands, till, roaring like a wild beast, the latter unclasped them and let
+him go.  He vanished, I suppose to his own apartment, for nothing more
+was seen of him till the morning.  Swearing and cursing like a maniac,
+Hattersley threw himself on to the ottoman beside the window.  The door
+being now free, Milicent attempted to make her escape from the scene of
+her husband's disgrace; but he called her back, and insisted upon her
+coming to him.
+
+'What do you want, Ralph?' murmured she, reluctantly approaching him.
+
+'I want to know what's the matter with you,' said he, pulling her on to
+his knee like a child.  'What are you crying for, Milicent?--Tell me!'
+
+'I'm not crying.'
+
+'You are,' persisted he, rudely pulling her hands from her face.  'How
+dare you tell such a lie!'
+
+'I'm not crying now,' pleaded she.
+
+'But you have been, and just this minute too; and I will know what for.
+Come, now, you shall tell me!'
+
+'Do let me alone, Ralph!  Remember, we are not at home.'
+
+'No matter: you shall answer my question!' exclaimed her tormentor; and
+he attempted to extort the confession by shaking her, and remorselessly
+crushing her slight arms in the gripe of his powerful fingers.
+
+'Don't let him treat your sister in that way,' said I to Mr. Hargrave.
+
+'Come now, Hattersley, I can't allow that,' said that gentleman, stepping
+up to the ill-assorted couple.  'Let my sister alone, if you please.'
+
+And he made an effort to unclasp the ruffian's fingers from her arm, but
+was suddenly driven backward, and nearly laid upon the floor by a violent
+blow on the chest, accompanied with the admonition, 'Take that for your
+insolence! and learn to interfere between me and mine again.'
+
+'If you were not drunk, I'd have satisfaction for that!' gasped Hargrave,
+white and breathless as much from passion as from the immediate effects
+of the blow.
+
+'Go to the devil!' responded his brother-in-law.  'Now, Milicent, tell me
+what you were crying for.'
+
+'I'll tell you some other time,' murmured she, 'when we are alone.'
+
+'Tell me now!' said he, with another shake and a squeeze that made her
+draw in her breath and bite her lip to suppress a cry of pain.
+
+'I'll tell you, Mr. Hattersley,' said I.  'She was crying from pure shame
+and humiliation for you; because she could not bear to see you conduct
+yourself so disgracefully.'
+
+'Confound you, Madam!' muttered he, with a stare of stupid amazement at
+my 'impudence.'  'It was not that--was it, Milicent?'
+
+She was silent.
+
+'Come, speak up, child!'
+
+'I can't tell now,' sobbed she.
+
+'But you can say "yes" or "no" as well as "I can't tell."--Come!'
+
+'Yes,' she whispered, hanging her head, and blushing at the awful
+acknowledgment.
+
+'Curse you for an impertinent hussy, then!' cried he, throwing her from
+him with such violence that she fell on her side; but she was up again
+before either I or her brother could come to her assistance, and made the
+best of her way out of the room, and, I suppose, up-stairs, without loss
+of time.
+
+The next object of assault was Arthur, who sat opposite, and had, no
+doubt, richly enjoyed the whole scene.
+
+'Now, Huntingdon,' exclaimed his irascible friend, 'I will not have you
+sitting there and laughing like an idiot!'
+
+'Oh, Hattersley,' cried he, wiping his swimming eyes--'you'll be the
+death of me.'
+
+'Yes, I will, but not as you suppose: I'll have the heart out of your
+body, man, if you irritate me with any more of that imbecile
+laughter!--What! are you at it yet?--There! see if that'll settle you!'
+cried Hattersley, snatching up a footstool and hurting it at the head of
+his host; but he as well as missed his aim, and the latter still sat
+collapsed and quaking with feeble laughter, with tears running down his
+face: a deplorable spectacle indeed.
+
+Hattersley tried cursing and swearing, but it would not do: he then took
+a number of books from the table beside him, and threw them, one by one,
+at the object of his wrath; but Arthur only laughed the more; and,
+finally, Hattersley rushed upon him in a frenzy and seizing him by the
+shoulders, gave him a violent shaking, under which he laughed and
+shrieked alarmingly.  But I saw no more: I thought I had witnessed enough
+of my husband's degradation; and leaving Annabella and the rest to follow
+when they pleased, I withdrew, but not to bed.  Dismissing Rachel to her
+rest, I walked up and down my room, in an agony of misery for what had
+been done, and suspense, not knowing what might further happen, or how or
+when that unhappy creature would come up to bed.
+
+At last he came, slowly and stumblingly ascending the stairs, supported
+by Grimsby and Hattersley, who neither of them walked quite steadily
+themselves, but were both laughing and joking at him, and making noise
+enough for all the servants to hear.  He himself was no longer laughing
+now, but sick and stupid.  I will write no more about that.
+
+Such disgraceful scenes (or nearly such) have been repeated more than
+once.  I don't say much to Arthur about it, for, if I did, it would do
+more harm than good; but I let him know that I intensely dislike such
+exhibitions; and each time he has promised they should never again be
+repeated.  But I fear he is losing the little self-command and
+self-respect he once possessed: formerly, he would have been ashamed to
+act thus--at least, before any other witnesses than his boon companions,
+or such as they.  His friend Hargrave, with a prudence and
+self-government that I envy for him, never disgraces himself by taking
+more than sufficient to render him a little 'elevated,' and is always the
+first to leave the table after Lord Lowborough, who, wiser still,
+perseveres in vacating the dining-room immediately after us: but never
+once, since Annabella offended him so deeply, has he entered the
+drawing-room before the rest; always spending the interim in the library,
+which I take care to have lighted for his accommodation; or, on fine
+moonlight nights, in roaming about the grounds.  But I think she regrets
+her misconduct, for she has never repeated it since, and of late she has
+comported herself with wonderful propriety towards him, treating him with
+more uniform kindness and consideration than ever I have observed her to
+do before.  I date the time of this improvement from the period when she
+ceased to hope and strive for Arthur's admiration.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXII
+
+
+October 5th.--Esther Hargrave is getting a fine girl.  She is not out of
+the school-room yet, but her mother frequently brings her over to call in
+the mornings when the gentlemen are out, and sometimes she spends an hour
+or two in company with her sister and me, and the children; and when we
+go to the Grove, I always contrive to see her, and talk more to her than
+to any one else, for I am very much attached to my little friend, and so
+is she to me.  I wonder what she can see to like in me though, for I am
+no longer the happy, lively girl I used to be; but she has no other
+society, save that of her uncongenial mother, and her governess (as
+artificial and conventional a person as that prudent mother could procure
+to rectify the pupil's natural qualities), and, now and then, her
+subdued, quiet sister.  I often wonder what will be her lot in life, and
+so does she; but her speculations on the future are full of buoyant hope;
+so were mine once.  I shudder to think of her being awakened, like me, to
+a sense of their delusive vanity.  It seems as if I should feel her
+disappointment, even more deeply than my own.  I feel almost as if I were
+born for such a fate, but she is so joyous and fresh, so light of heart
+and free of spirit, and so guileless and unsuspecting too.  Oh, it would
+be cruel to make her feel as I feel now, and know what I have known!
+
+Her sister trembles for her too.  Yesterday morning, one of October's
+brightest, loveliest days, Milicent and I were in the garden enjoying a
+brief half-hour together with our children, while Annabella was lying on
+the drawing-room sofa, deep in the last new novel.  We had been romping
+with the little creatures, almost as merry and wild as themselves, and
+now paused in the shade of the tall copper beech, to recover breath and
+rectify our hair, disordered by the rough play and the frolicsome breeze,
+while they toddled together along the broad, sunny walk; my Arthur
+supporting the feebler steps of her little Helen, and sagaciously
+pointing out to her the brightest beauties of the border as they passed,
+with semi-articulate prattle, that did as well for her as any other mode
+of discourse.  From laughing at the pretty sight, we began to talk of the
+children's future life; and that made us thoughtful.  We both relapsed
+into silent musing as we slowly proceeded up the walk; and I suppose
+Milicent, by a train of associations, was led to think of her sister.
+
+'Helen,' said she, 'you often see Esther, don't you?'
+
+'Not very often.'
+
+'But you have more frequent opportunities of meeting her than I have; and
+she loves you, I know, and reverences you too: there is nobody's opinion
+she thinks so much of; and she says you have more sense than mamma.'
+
+'That is because she is self-willed, and my opinions more generally
+coincide with her own than your mamma's.  But what then, Milicent?'
+
+'Well, since you have so much influence with her, I wish you would
+seriously impress it upon her, never, on any account, or for anybody's
+persuasion, to marry for the sake of money, or rank, or establishment, or
+any earthly thing, but true affection and well-grounded esteem.'
+
+'There is no necessity for that,' said I, 'for we have had some discourse
+on that subject already, and I assure you her ideas of love and matrimony
+are as romantic as any one could desire.'
+
+'But romantic notions will not do: I want her to have true notions.'
+
+'Very right: but in my judgment, what the world stigmatises as romantic,
+is often more nearly allied to the truth than is commonly supposed; for,
+if the generous ideas of youth are too often over-clouded by the sordid
+views of after-life, that scarcely proves them to be false.'
+
+'Well, but if you think her ideas are what they ought to be, strengthen
+them, will you? and confirm them, as far as you can; for I had romantic
+notions once, and--I don't mean to say that I regret my lot, for I am
+quite sure I don't, but--'
+
+'I understand you,' said I; 'you are contented for yourself, but you
+would not have your sister to suffer the same as you.'
+
+'No--or worse.  She might have far worse to suffer than I, for I am
+really contented, Helen, though you mayn't think it: I speak the solemn
+truth in saying that I would not exchange my husband for any man on
+earth, if I might do it by the plucking of this leaf.'
+
+'Well, I believe you: now that you have him, you would not exchange him
+for another; but then you would gladly exchange some of his qualities for
+those of better men.'
+
+'Yes: just as I would gladly exchange some of my own qualities for those
+of better women; for neither he nor I are perfect, and I desire his
+improvement as earnestly as my own.  And he will improve, don't you think
+so, Helen? he's only six-and-twenty yet.'
+
+'He may,' I answered,
+
+'He will, he WILL!' repeated she.
+
+'Excuse the faintness of my acquiescence, Milicent, I would not
+discourage your hopes for the world, but mine have been so often
+disappointed, that I am become as cold and doubtful in my expectations as
+the flattest of octogenarians.'
+
+'And yet you do hope, still, even for Mr. Huntingdon?'
+
+'I do, I confess, "even" for him; for it seems as if life and hope must
+cease together.  And is he so much worse, Milicent, than Mr. Hattersley?'
+
+'Well, to give you my candid opinion, I think there is no comparison
+between them.  But you mustn't be offended, Helen, for you know I always
+speak my mind, and you may speak yours too.  I sha'n't care.'
+
+'I am not offended, love; and my opinion is, that if there be a
+comparison made between the two, the difference, for the most part, is
+certainly in Hattersley's favour.'
+
+Milicent's own heart told her how much it cost me to make this
+acknowledgment; and, with a childlike impulse, she expressed her sympathy
+by suddenly kissing my cheek, without a word of reply, and then turning
+quickly away, caught up her baby, and hid her face in its frock.  How odd
+it is that we so often weep for each other's distresses, when we shed not
+a tear for our own!  Her heart had been full enough of her own sorrows,
+but it overflowed at the idea of mine; and I, too, shed tears at the
+sight of her sympathetic emotion, though I had not wept for myself for
+many a week.
+
+              [Picture: Blake Hall--Side (Grassdale Manor)]
+
+It was one rainy day last week; most of the company were killing time in
+the billiard-room, but Milicent and I were with little Arthur and Helen
+in the library, and between our books, our children, and each other, we
+expected to make out a very agreeable morning.  We had not been thus
+secluded above two hours, however, when Mr. Hattersley came in,
+attracted, I suppose, by the voice of his child, as he was crossing the
+hall, for he is prodigiously fond of her, and she of him.
+
+He was redolent of the stables, where he had been regaling himself with
+the company of his fellow-creatures the horses ever since breakfast.  But
+that was no matter to my little namesake; as soon as the colossal person
+of her father darkened the door, she uttered a shrill scream of delight,
+and, quitting her mother's side, ran crowing towards him, balancing her
+course with outstretched arms, and embracing his knee, threw back her
+head and laughed in his face.  He might well look smilingly down upon
+those small, fair features, radiant with innocent mirth, those clear blue
+shining eyes, and that soft flaxen hair cast back upon the little ivory
+neck and shoulders.  Did he not think how unworthy he was of such a
+possession?  I fear no such idea crossed his mind.  He caught her up, and
+there followed some minutes of very rough play, during which it is
+difficult to say whether the father or the daughter laughed and shouted
+the loudest.  At length, however, the boisterous pastime terminated,
+suddenly, as might be expected: the little one was hurt, and began to
+cry; and the ungentle play-fellow tossed it into its mother's lap,
+bidding her 'make all straight.' As happy to return to that gentle
+comforter as it had been to leave her, the child nestled in her arms, and
+hushed its cries in a moment; and sinking its little weary head on her
+bosom, soon dropped asleep.
+
+Meantime Mr. Hattersley strode up to the fire, and interposing his height
+and breadth between us and it, stood with arms akimbo, expanding his
+chest, and gazing round him as if the house and all its appurtenances and
+contents were his own undisputed possessions.
+
+'Deuced bad weather this!' he began.  'There'll be no shooting to-day, I
+guess.'  Then, suddenly lifting up his voice, he regaled us with a few
+bars of a rollicking song, which abruptly ceasing, he finished the tune
+with a whistle, and then continued:--'I say, Mrs. Huntingdon, what a fine
+stud your husband has! not large, but good.  I've been looking at them a
+bit this morning; and upon my word, Black Boss, and Grey Tom, and that
+young Nimrod are the finest animals I've seen for many a day!'  Then
+followed a particular discussion of their various merits, succeeded by a
+sketch of the great things he intended to do in the horse-jockey line,
+when his old governor thought proper to quit the stage.  'Not that I wish
+him to close his accounts,' added he: 'the old Trojan is welcome to keep
+his books open as long as he pleases for me.'
+
+'I hope so, indeed, Mr. Hattersley.'
+
+'Oh, yes!  It's only my way of talking.  The event must come some time,
+and so I look to the bright side of it: that's the right plan--isn't it,
+Mrs. H.?  What are you two doing here?  By-the-by, where's Lady
+Lowborough?'
+
+'In the billiard-room.'
+
+'What a splendid creature she is!' continued he, fixing his eyes on his
+wife, who changed colour, and looked more and more disconcerted as he
+proceeded.  'What a noble figure she has; and what magnificent black
+eyes; and what a fine spirit of her own; and what a tongue of her own,
+too, when she likes to use it.  I perfectly adore her!  But never mind,
+Milicent: I wouldn't have her for my wife, not if she'd a kingdom for her
+dowry!  I'm better satisfied with the one I have.  Now then! what do you
+look so sulky for? don't you believe me?'
+
+'Yes, I believe you,' murmured she, in a tone of half sad, half sullen
+resignation, as she turned away to stroke the hair of her sleeping
+infant, that she had laid on the sofa beside her.
+
+'Well, then, what makes you so cross?  Come here, Milly, and tell me why
+you can't be satisfied with my assurance.'
+
+She went, and putting her little hand within his arm, looked up in his
+face, and said softly,--
+
+'What does it amount to, Ralph?  Only to this, that though you admire
+Annabella so much, and for qualities that I don't possess, you would
+still rather have me than her for your wife, which merely proves that you
+don't think it necessary to love your wife; you are satisfied if she can
+keep your house, and take care of your child.  But I'm not cross; I'm
+only sorry; for,' added she, in a low, tremulous accent, withdrawing her
+hand from his arm, and bending her looks on the rug, 'if you don't love
+me, you don't, and it can't be helped.'
+
+'Very true; but who told you I didn't?  Did I say I loved Annabella?'
+
+'You said you adored her.'
+
+'True, but adoration isn't love.  I adore Annabella, but I don't love
+her; and I love thee, Milicent, but I don't adore thee.'  In proof of his
+affection, he clutched a handful of her light brown ringlets, and
+appeared to twist them unmercifully.
+
+'Do you really, Ralph?' murmured she, with a faint smile beaming through
+her tears, just putting up her hand to his, in token that he pulled
+rather too hard.
+
+'To be sure I do,' responded he: 'only you bother me rather, sometimes.'
+
+'I bother you!' cried she, in very natural surprise.
+
+'Yes, you--but only by your exceeding goodness.  When a boy has been
+eating raisins and sugar-plums all day, he longs for a squeeze of sour
+orange by way of a change.  And did you never, Milly, observe the sands
+on the sea-shore; how nice and smooth they look, and how soft and easy
+they feel to the foot?  But if you plod along, for half an hour, over
+this soft, easy carpet--giving way at every step, yielding the more the
+harder you press,--you'll find it rather wearisome work, and be glad
+enough to come to a bit of good, firm rock, that won't budge an inch
+whether you stand, walk, or stamp upon it; and, though it be hard as the
+nether millstone, you'll find it the easier footing after all.'
+
+'I know what you mean, Ralph,' said she, nervously playing with her
+watchguard and tracing the figure on the rug with the point of her tiny
+foot--'I know what you mean: but I thought you always liked to be yielded
+to, and I can't alter now.'
+
+'I do like it,' replied he, bringing her to him by another tug at her
+hair.  'You mustn't mind my talk, Milly.  A man must have something to
+grumble about; and if he can't complain that his wife harries him to
+death with her perversity and ill-humour, he must complain that she wears
+him out with her kindness and gentleness.'
+
+'But why complain at all, unless because you are tired and dissatisfied?'
+
+'To excuse my own failings, to be sure.  Do you think I'll bear all the
+burden of my sins on my own shoulders, as long as there's another ready
+to help me, with none of her own to carry?'
+
+'There is no such one on earth,' said she seriously; and then, taking his
+hand from her head, she kissed it with an air of genuine devotion, and
+tripped away to the door.
+
+'What now?' said he.  'Where are you going?'
+
+'To tidy my hair,' she answered, smiling through her disordered locks;
+'you've made it all come down.'
+
+'Off with you then!--An excellent little woman,' he remarked when she was
+gone, 'but a thought too soft--she almost melts in one's hands.  I
+positively think I ill-use her sometimes, when I've taken too much--but I
+can't help it, for she never complains, either at the time or after.  I
+suppose she doesn't mind it.'
+
+'I can enlighten you on that subject, Mr. Hattersley,' said I: 'she does
+mind it; and some other things she minds still more, which yet you may
+never hear her complain of.'
+
+'How do you know?--does she complain to you?' demanded he, with a sudden
+spark of fury ready to burst into a flame if I should answer "yes."
+
+'No,' I replied; 'but I have known her longer and studied her more
+closely than you have done.--And I can tell you, Mr. Hattersley, that
+Milicent loves you more than you deserve, and that you have it in your
+power to make her very happy, instead of which you are her evil genius,
+and, I will venture to say, there is not a single day passes in which you
+do not inflict upon her some pang that you might spare her if you would.'
+
+'Well--it's not my fault,' said he, gazing carelessly up at the ceiling
+and plunging his hands into his pockets: 'if my ongoings don't suit her,
+she should tell me so.'
+
+'Is she not exactly the wife you wanted?  Did you not tell Mr. Huntingdon
+you must have one that would submit to anything without a murmur, and
+never blame you, whatever you did?'
+
+'True, but we shouldn't always have what we want: it spoils the best of
+us, doesn't it?  How can I help playing the deuce when I see it's all one
+to her whether I behave like a Christian or like a scoundrel, such as
+nature made me? and how can I help teasing her when she's so invitingly
+meek and mim, when she lies down like a spaniel at my feet and never so
+much as squeaks to tell me that's enough?'
+
+'If you are a tyrant by nature, the temptation is strong, I allow; but no
+generous mind delights to oppress the weak, but rather to cherish and
+protect.'
+
+'I don't oppress her; but it's so confounded flat to be always cherishing
+and protecting; and then, how can I tell that I am oppressing her when
+she "melts away and makes no sign"?  I sometimes think she has no feeling
+at all; and then I go on till she cries, and that satisfies me.'
+
+'Then you do delight to oppress her?'
+
+'I don't, I tell you! only when I'm in a bad humour, or a particularly
+good one, and want to afflict for the pleasure of comforting; or when she
+looks flat and wants shaking up a bit.  And sometimes she provokes me by
+crying for nothing, and won't tell me what it's for; and then, I allow,
+it enrages me past bearing, especially when I'm not my own man.'
+
+'As is no doubt generally the case on such occasions,' said I.  'But in
+future, Mr. Hattersley, when you see her looking flat, or crying for
+"nothing" (as you call it), ascribe it all to yourself: be assured it is
+something you have done amiss, or your general misconduct, that
+distresses her.'
+
+'I don't believe it.  If it were, she should tell me so: I don't like
+that way of moping and fretting in silence, and saying nothing: it's not
+honest.  How can she expect me to mend my ways at that rate?'
+
+'Perhaps she gives you credit for having more sense than you possess, and
+deludes herself with the hope that you will one day see your own errors
+and repair them, if left to your own reflection.'
+
+'None of your sneers, Mrs. Huntingdon.  I have the sense to see that I'm
+not always quite correct, but sometimes I think that's no great matter,
+as long as I injure nobody but myself--'
+
+'It is a great matter,' interrupted I, 'both to yourself (as you will
+hereafter find to your cost) and to all connected with you, most
+especially your wife.  But, indeed, it is nonsense to talk about injuring
+no one but yourself: it is impossible to injure yourself, especially by
+such acts as we allude to, without injuring hundreds, if not thousands,
+besides, in a greater or less, degree, either by the evil you do or the
+good you leave undone.'  'And as I was saying,' continued he, 'or would
+have said if you hadn't taken me up so short, I sometimes think I should
+do better if I were joined to one that would always remind me when I was
+wrong, and give me a motive for doing good and eschewing evil, by
+decidedly showing her approval of the one and disapproval of the other.'
+
+'If you had no higher motive than the approval of your fellow-mortal, it
+would do you little good.'
+
+'Well, but if I had a mate that would not always be yielding, and always
+equally kind, but that would have the spirit to stand at bay now and
+then, and honestly tell me her mind at all times, such a one as yourself
+for instance.  Now, if I went on with you as I do with her when I'm in
+London, you'd make the house too hot to hold me at times, I'll be sworn.'
+
+'You mistake me: I'm no termagant.'
+
+'Well, all the better for that, for I can't stand contradiction, in a
+general way, and I'm as fond of my own will as another; only I think too
+much of it doesn't answer for any man.'
+
+'Well, I would never contradict you without a cause, but certainly I
+would always let you know what I thought of your conduct; and if you
+oppressed me, in body, mind, or estate, you should at least have no
+reason to suppose "I didn't mind it."'
+
+'I know that, my lady; and I think if my little wife were to follow the
+same plan, it would be better for us both.'
+
+'I'll tell her.'
+
+'No, no, let her be; there's much to be said on both sides, and, now I
+think upon it, Huntingdon often regrets that you are not more like her,
+scoundrelly dog that he is, and you see, after all, you can't reform him:
+he's ten times worse than I.  He's afraid of you, to be sure; that is,
+he's always on his best behaviour in your presence--but--'
+
+'I wonder what his worst behaviour is like, then?' I could not forbear
+observing.
+
+'Why, to tell you the truth, it's very bad indeed--isn't it, Hargrave?'
+said he, addressing that gentleman, who had entered the room unperceived
+by me, for I was now standing near the fire, with my back to the door.
+'Isn't Huntingdon,' he continued, 'as great a reprobate as ever was
+d--d?'
+
+'His lady will not hear him censured with impunity,' replied Mr.
+Hargrave, coming forward; 'but I must say, I thank God I am not such
+another.'
+
+'Perhaps it would become you better,' said I, 'to look at what you are,
+and say, "God be merciful to me a sinner."'
+
+'You are severe,' returned he, bowing slightly and drawing himself up
+with a proud yet injured air.  Hattersley laughed, and clapped him on the
+shoulder.  Moving from under his hand with a gesture of insulted dignity,
+Mr. Hargrave took himself away to the other end of the rug.
+
+'Isn't it a shame, Mrs. Huntingdon?' cried his brother-in-law; 'I struck
+Walter Hargrave when I was drunk, the second night after we came, and
+he's turned a cold shoulder on me ever since; though I asked his pardon
+the very morning after it was done!'
+
+'Your manner of asking it,' returned the other, 'and the clearness with
+which you remembered the whole transaction, showed you were not too drunk
+to be fully conscious of what you were about, and quite responsible for
+the deed.'
+
+'You wanted to interfere between me and my wife,' grumbled Hattersley,
+'and that is enough to provoke any man.'
+
+'You justify it, then?' said his opponent, darting upon him a most
+vindictive glance.
+
+'No, I tell you I wouldn't have done it if I hadn't been under
+excitement; and if you choose to bear malice for it after all the
+handsome things I've said, do so and be d--d!'
+
+'I would refrain from such language in a lady's presence, at least,' said
+Mr. Hargrave, hiding his anger under a mask of disgust.
+
+'What have I said?' returned Hattersley: 'nothing but heaven's truth.  He
+will be damned, won't he, Mrs. Huntingdon, if he doesn't forgive his
+brother's trespasses?'
+
+'You ought to forgive him, Mr. Hargrave, since he asks you,' said I.
+
+'Do you say so?  Then I will!'  And, smiling almost frankly, he stepped
+forward and offered his hand.  It was immediately clasped in that of his
+relative, and the reconciliation was apparently cordial on both sides.
+
+'The affront,' continued Hargrave, turning to me, 'owed half its
+bitterness to the fact of its being offered in your presence; and since
+you bid me forgive it, I will, and forget it too.'
+
+'I guess the best return I can make will be to take myself off,' muttered
+Hattersley, with a broad grin.  His companion smiled, and he left the
+room.  This put me on my guard.  Mr. Hargrave turned seriously to me, and
+earnestly began,--
+
+'Dear Mrs. Huntingdon, how I have longed for, yet dreaded, this hour!  Do
+not be alarmed,' he added, for my face was crimson with anger: 'I am not
+about to offend you with any useless entreaties or complaints.  I am not
+going to presume to trouble you with the mention of my own feelings or
+your perfections, but I have something to reveal to you which you ought
+to know, and which, yet, it pains me inexpressibly--'
+
+'Then don't trouble yourself to reveal it!'
+
+'But it is of importance--'
+
+'If so I shall hear it soon enough, especially if it is bad news, as you
+seem to consider it.  At present I am going to take the children to the
+nursery.'
+
+'But can't you ring and send them?'
+
+'No; I want the exercise of a run to the top of the house.  Come,
+Arthur.'
+
+'But you will return?'
+
+'Not yet; don't wait.'
+
+'Then when may I see you again?'
+
+'At lunch,' said I, departing with little Helen in one arm and leading
+Arthur by the hand.
+
+He turned away, muttering some sentence of impatient censure or
+complaint, in which 'heartless' was the only distinguishable word.
+
+'What nonsense is this, Mr. Hargrave?' said I, pausing in the doorway.
+'What do you mean?'
+
+'Oh, nothing; I did not intend you should hear my soliloquy.  But the
+fact is, Mrs. Huntingdon, I have a disclosure to make, painful for me to
+offer as for you to hear; and I want you to give me a few minutes of your
+attention in private at any time and place you like to appoint.  It is
+from no selfish motive that I ask it, and not for any cause that could
+alarm your superhuman purity: therefore you need not kill me with that
+look of cold and pitiless disdain.  I know too well the feelings with
+which the bearers of bad tidings are commonly regarded not to--'
+
+'What is this wonderful piece of intelligence?' said I, impatiently
+interrupting him.  'If it is anything of real importance, speak it in
+three words before I go.'
+
+'In three words I cannot.  Send those children away and stay with me.'
+
+'No; keep your bad tidings to yourself.  I know it is something I don't
+want to hear, and something you would displease me by telling.'
+
+'You have divined too truly, I fear; but still, since I know it, I feel
+it my duty to disclose it to you.'
+
+'Oh, spare us both the infliction, and I will exonerate you from the
+duty.  You have offered to tell; I have refused to hear: my ignorance
+will not be charged on you.'
+
+'Be it so: you shall not hear it from me.  But if the blow fall too
+suddenly upon you when it comes, remember I wished to soften it!'
+
+I left him.  I was determined his words should not alarm me.  What could
+he, of all men, have to reveal that was of importance for me to hear?  It
+was no doubt some exaggerated tale about my unfortunate husband that he
+wished to make the most of to serve his own bad purposes.
+
+6th.--He has not alluded to this momentous mystery since, and I have seen
+no reason to repent of my unwillingness to hear it.  The threatened blow
+has not been struck yet, and I do not greatly fear it.  At present I am
+pleased with Arthur: he has not positively disgraced himself for upwards
+of a fortnight, and all this last week has been so very moderate in his
+indulgence at table that I can perceive a marked difference in his
+general temper and appearance.  Dare I hope this will continue?
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIII
+
+
+Seventh.--Yes, I will hope!  To-night I heard Grimsby and Hattersley
+grumbling together about the inhospitality of their host.  They did not
+know I was near, for I happened to be standing behind the curtain in the
+bow of the window, watching the moon rising over the clump of tall dark
+elm-trees below the lawn, and wondering why Arthur was so sentimental as
+to stand without, leaning against the outer pillar of the portico,
+apparently watching it too.
+
+'So, I suppose we've seen the last of our merry carousals in this house,'
+said Mr. Hattersley; 'I thought his good-fellowship wouldn't last long.
+But,' added he, laughing, 'I didn't expect it would meet its end this
+way.  I rather thought our pretty hostess would be setting up her
+porcupine quills, and threatening to turn us out of the house if we
+didn't mind our manners.'
+
+'You didn't foresee this, then?' answered Grimsby, with a guttural
+chuckle.  'But he'll change again when he's sick of her.  If we come here
+a year or two hence, we shall have all our own way, you'll see.'
+
+'I don't know,' replied the other: 'she's not the style of woman you soon
+tire of.  But be that as it may, it's devilish provoking now that we
+can't be jolly, because he chooses to be on his good behaviour.'
+
+'It's all these cursed women!' muttered Grimsby: 'they're the very bane
+of the world!  They bring trouble and discomfort wherever they come, with
+their false, fair faces and their deceitful tongues.'
+
+At this juncture I issued from my retreat, and smiling on Mr. Grimsby as
+I passed, left the room and went out in search of Arthur.  Having seen
+him bend his course towards the shrubbery, I followed him thither, and
+found him just entering the shadowy walk.  I was so light of heart, so
+overflowing with affection, that I sprang upon him and clasped him in my
+arms.  This startling conduct had a singular effect upon him: first, he
+murmured, 'Bless you, darling!' and returned my close embrace with a
+fervour like old times, and then he started, and, in a tone of absolute
+terror, exclaimed, 'Helen! what the devil is this?' and I saw, by the
+faint light gleaming through the overshadowing tree, that he was
+positively pale with the shock.
+
+How strange that the instinctive impulse of affection should come first,
+and then the shock of the surprise!  It shows, at least, that the
+affection is genuine: he is not sick of me yet.
+
+'I startled you, Arthur,' said I, laughing in my glee.  'How nervous you
+are!'
+
+'What the deuce did you do it for?' cried he, quite testily, extricating
+himself from my arms, and wiping his forehead with his handkerchief.  'Go
+back, Helen--go back directly!  You'll get your death of cold!'
+
+'I won't, till I've told you what I came for.  They are blaming you,
+Arthur, for your temperance and sobriety, and I'm come to thank you for
+it.  They say it is all "these cursed women," and that we are the bane of
+the world; but don't let them laugh or grumble you out of your good
+resolutions, or your affection for me.'
+
+He laughed.  I squeezed him in my arms again, and cried in tearful
+earnest, 'Do, do persevere! and I'll love you better than ever I did
+before!'
+
+'Well, well, I will!' said he, hastily kissing me.  'There, now, go.  You
+mad creature, how could you come out in your light evening dress this
+chill autumn night?'
+
+'It is a glorious night,' said I.
+
+'It is a night that will give you your death, in another minute.  Run
+away, do!'
+
+'Do you see my death among those trees, Arthur?' said I, for he was
+gazing intently at the shrubs, as if he saw it coming, and I was
+reluctant to leave him, in my new-found happiness and revival of hope and
+love.  But he grew angry at my delay, so I kissed him and ran back to the
+house.
+
+I was in such a good humour that night: Milicent told me I was the life
+of the party, and whispered she had never seen me so brilliant.
+Certainly, I talked enough for twenty, and smiled upon them all.
+Grimsby, Hattersley, Hargrave, Lady Lowborough, all shared my sisterly
+kindness.  Grimsby stared and wondered; Hattersley laughed and jested (in
+spite of the little wine he had been suffered to imbibe), but still
+behaved as well as he knew how.  Hargrave and Annabella, from different
+motives and in different ways, emulated me, and doubtless both surpassed
+me, the former in his discursive versatility and eloquence, the latter in
+boldness and animation at least.  Milicent, delighted to see her husband,
+her brother, and her over-estimated friend acquitting themselves so well,
+was lively and gay too, in her quiet way.  Even Lord Lowborough caught
+the general contagion: his dark greenish eyes were lighted up beneath
+their moody brows; his sombre countenance was beautified by smiles; all
+traces of gloom and proud or cold reserve had vanished for the time; and
+he astonished us all, not only by his general cheerfulness and animation,
+but by the positive flashes of true force and brilliance he emitted from
+time to time.  Arthur did not talk much, but he laughed, and listened to
+the rest, and was in perfect good-humour, though not excited by wine.  So
+that, altogether, we made a very merry, innocent, and entertaining party.
+
+9th.--Yesterday, when Rachel came to dress me for dinner, I saw that she
+had been crying.  I wanted to know the cause of it, but she seemed
+reluctant to tell.  Was she unwell?  No.  Had she heard bad news from her
+friends?  No.  Had any of the servants vexed her?
+
+'Oh, no, ma'am!' she answered; 'it's not for myself.'
+
+'What then, Rachel?  Have you been reading novels?'
+
+'Bless you, no!' said she, with a sorrowful shake of the head; and then
+she sighed and continued: 'But to tell you the truth, ma'am, I don't like
+master's ways of going on.'
+
+'What do you mean, Rachel?  He's going on very properly at present.'
+
+'Well, ma'am, if you think so, it's right.'
+
+And she went on dressing my hair, in a hurried way, quite unlike her
+usual calm, collected manner, murmuring, half to herself, she was sure it
+was beautiful hair: she 'could like to see 'em match it.'  When it was
+done, she fondly stroked it, and gently patted my head.
+
+'Is that affectionate ebullition intended for my hair, or myself, nurse?'
+said I, laughingly turning round upon her; but a tear was even now in her
+eye.
+
+'What do you mean, Rachel?' I exclaimed.
+
+'Well, ma'am, I don't know; but if--'
+
+'If what?'
+
+'Well, if I was you, I wouldn't have that Lady Lowborough in the house
+another minute--not another minute I wouldn't!
+
+I was thunderstruck; but before I could recover from the shock
+sufficiently to demand an explanation, Milicent entered my room, as she
+frequently does when she is dressed before me; and she stayed with me
+till it was time to go down.  She must have found me a very unsociable
+companion this time, for Rachel's last words rang in my ears.  But still
+I hoped, I trusted they had no foundation but in some idle rumour of the
+servants from what they had seen in Lady Lowborough's manner last month;
+or perhaps from something that had passed between their master and her
+during her former visit.  At dinner I narrowly observed both her and
+Arthur, and saw nothing extraordinary in the conduct of either, nothing
+calculated to excite suspicion, except in distrustful minds, which mine
+was not, and therefore I would not suspect.
+
+Almost immediately after dinner Annabella went out with her husband to
+share his moonlight ramble, for it was a splendid evening like the last.
+Mr. Hargrave entered the drawing-room a little before the others, and
+challenged me to a game of chess.  He did it without any of that sad but
+proud humility he usually assumes in addressing me, unless he is excited
+with wine.  I looked at his face to see if that was the case now.  His
+eye met mine keenly, but steadily: there was something about him I did
+not understand, but he seemed sober enough.  Not choosing to engage with
+him, I referred him to Milicent.
+
+'She plays badly,' said he, 'I want to match my skill with yours.  Come
+now! you can't pretend you are reluctant to lay down your work.  I know
+you never take it up except to pass an idle hour, when there is nothing
+better you can do.'
+
+'But chess-players are so unsociable,' I objected; 'they are no company
+for any but themselves.'
+
+'There is no one here but Milicent, and she--'
+
+'Oh, I shall be delighted to watch you!' cried our mutual friend.  'Two
+such players--it will be quite a treat!  I wonder which will conquer.'
+
+I consented.
+
+'Now, Mrs. Huntingdon,' said Hargrave, as he arranged the men on the
+board, speaking distinctly, and with a peculiar emphasis, as if he had a
+double meaning to all his words, 'you are a good player, but I am a
+better: we shall have a long game, and you will give me some trouble; but
+I can be as patient as you, and in the end I shall certainly win.'  He
+fixed his eyes upon me with a glance I did not like, keen, crafty, bold,
+and almost impudent;--already half triumphant in his anticipated success.
+
+'I hope not, Mr. Hargrave!' returned I, with vehemence that must have
+startled Milicent at least; but he only smiled and murmured, 'Time will
+show.'
+
+We set to work: he sufficiently interested in the game, but calm and
+fearless in the consciousness of superior skill: I, intensely eager to
+disappoint his expectations, for I considered this the type of a more
+serious contest, as I imagined he did, and I felt an almost superstitious
+dread of being beaten: at all events, I could ill endure that present
+success should add one tittle to his conscious power (his insolent
+self-confidence I ought to say), or encourage for a moment his dream of
+future conquest.  His play was cautious and deep, but I struggled hard
+against him.  For some time the combat was doubtful: at length, to my
+joy, the victory seemed inclining to my side: I had taken several of his
+best pieces, and manifestly baffled his projects.  He put his hand to his
+brow and paused, in evident perplexity.  I rejoiced in my advantage, but
+dared not glory in it yet.  At length, he lifted his head, and quietly
+making his move, looked at me and said, calmly, 'Now you think you will
+win, don't you?'
+
+'I hope so,' replied I, taking his pawn that he had pushed into the way
+of my bishop with so careless an air that I thought it was an oversight,
+but was not generous enough, under the circumstances, to direct his
+attention to it, and too heedless, at the moment, to foresee the
+after-consequences of my move.  'It is those bishops that trouble me,'
+said he; 'but the bold knight can overleap the reverend gentlemen,'
+taking my last bishop with his knight; 'and now, those sacred persons
+once removed, I shall carry all before me.'
+
+'Oh, Walter, how you talk!' cried Milicent; 'she has far more pieces than
+you still.'
+
+'I intend to give you some trouble yet,' said I; 'and perhaps, sir, you
+will find yourself checkmated before you are aware.  Look to your queen.'
+
+The combat deepened.  The game was a long one, and I did give him some
+trouble: but he was a better player than I.
+
+'What keen gamesters you are!' said Mr. Hattersley, who had now entered,
+and been watching us for some time.  'Why, Mrs. Huntingdon, your hand
+trembles as if you had staked your all upon it! and, Walter, you dog, you
+look as deep and cool as if you were certain of success, and as keen and
+cruel as if you would drain her heart's blood!  But if I were you, I
+wouldn't beat her, for very fear: she'll hate you if you do--she will, by
+heaven!  I see it in her eye.'
+
+'Hold your tongue, will you?' said I: his talk distracted me, for I was
+driven to extremities.  A few more moves, and I was inextricably
+entangled in the snare of my antagonist.
+
+'Check,' cried he: I sought in agony some means of escape.  'Mate!' he
+added, quietly, but with evident delight.  He had suspended the utterance
+of that last fatal syllable the better to enjoy my dismay.  I was
+foolishly disconcerted by the event.  Hattersley laughed; Milicent was
+troubled to see me so disturbed.  Hargrave placed his hand on mine that
+rested on the table, and squeezing it with a firm but gentle pressure,
+murmured, 'Beaten, beaten!' and gazed into my face with a look where
+exultation was blended with an expression of ardour and tenderness yet
+more insulting.
+
+'No, never, Mr. Hargrave!' exclaimed I, quickly withdrawing my hand.
+
+'Do you deny?' replied he, smilingly pointing to the board.  'No, no,' I
+answered, recollecting how strange my conduct must appear: 'you have
+beaten me in that game.'
+
+'Will you try another, then?'
+
+'No.'
+
+'You acknowledge my superiority?'
+
+'Yes, as a chess-player.'
+
+I rose to resume my work.
+
+'Where is Annabella?' said Hargrave, gravely, after glancing round the
+room.
+
+'Gone out with Lord Lowborough,' answered I, for he looked at me for a
+reply.
+
+'And not yet returned!' he said, seriously.
+
+'I suppose not.'
+
+'Where is Huntingdon?' looking round again.
+
+'Gone out with Grimsby, as you know,' said Hattersley, suppressing a
+laugh, which broke forth as he concluded the sentence.  Why did he laugh?
+Why did Hargrave connect them thus together?  Was it true, then?  And was
+this the dreadful secret he had wished to reveal to me?  I must know, and
+that quickly.  I instantly rose and left the room to go in search of
+Rachel and demand an explanation of her words; but Mr. Hargrave followed
+me into the anteroom, and before I could open its outer door, gently laid
+his hand upon the lock.  'May I tell you something, Mrs. Huntingdon?'
+said he, in a subdued tone, with serious, downcast eyes.
+
+'If it be anything worth hearing,' replied I, struggling to be composed,
+for I trembled in every limb.
+
+He quietly pushed a chair towards me.  I merely leant my hand upon it,
+and bid him go on.
+
+'Do not be alarmed,' said he: 'what I wish to say is nothing in itself;
+and I will leave you to draw your own inferences from it.  You say that
+Annabella is not yet returned?'
+
+'Yes, yes--go on!' said I, impatiently; for I feared my forced calmness
+would leave me before the end of his disclosure, whatever it might be.
+
+'And you hear,' continued he, 'that Huntingdon is gone out with Grimsby?'
+
+'Well?'
+
+'I heard the latter say to your husband--or the man who calls himself
+so--'
+
+'Go on, sir!'
+
+He bowed submissively, and continued: 'I heard him say,--"I shall manage
+it, you'll see!  They're gone down by the water; I shall meet them there,
+and tell him I want a bit of talk with him about some things that we
+needn't trouble the lady with; and she'll say she can be walking back to
+the house; and then I shall apologise, you know, and all that, and tip
+her a wink to take the way of the shrubbery.  I'll keep him talking
+there, about those matters I mentioned, and anything else I can think of,
+as long as I can, and then bring him round the other way, stopping to
+look at the trees, the fields, and anything else I can find to discourse
+of."'  Mr. Hargrave paused, and looked at me.
+
+Without a word of comment or further questioning, I rose, and darted from
+the room and out of the house.  The torment of suspense was not to be
+endured: I would not suspect my husband falsely, on this man's
+accusation, and I would not trust him unworthily--I must know the truth
+at once.  I flew to the shrubbery.  Scarcely had I reached it, when a
+sound of voices arrested my breathless speed.
+
+'We have lingered too long; he will be back,' said Lady Lowborough's
+voice.
+
+'Surely not, dearest!' was his reply; 'but you can run across the lawn,
+and get in as quietly as you can; I'll follow in a while.'
+
+My knees trembled under me; my brain swam round.  I was ready to faint.
+She must not see me thus.  I shrunk among the bushes, and leant against
+the trunk of a tree to let her pass.
+
+'Ah, Huntingdon!' said she reproachfully, pausing where I had stood with
+him the night before--'it was here you kissed that woman!' she looked
+back into the leafy shade.  Advancing thence, he answered, with a
+careless laugh,--
+
+'Well, dearest, I couldn't help it.  You know I must keep straight with
+her as long as I can.  Haven't I seen you kiss your dolt of a husband
+scores of times?--and do I ever complain?'
+
+'But tell me, don't you love her still--a little?' said she, placing her
+hand on his arm, looking earnestly in his face--for I could see them,
+plainly, the moon shining full upon them from between the branches of the
+tree that sheltered me.
+
+'Not one bit, by all that's sacred!' he replied, kissing her glowing
+cheek.
+
+'Good heavens, I must be gone!' cried she, suddenly breaking from him,
+and away she flew.
+
+There he stood before me; but I had not strength to confront him now: my
+tongue cleaved to the roof of my mouth; I was well-nigh sinking to the
+earth, and I almost wondered he did not hear the beating of my heart
+above the low sighing of the wind and the fitful rustle of the falling
+leaves.  My senses seemed to fail me, but still I saw his shadowy form
+pass before me, and through the rushing sound in my ears I distinctly
+heard him say, as he stood looking up the lawn,--'There goes the fool!
+Run, Annabella, run!  There--in with you!  Ah,--he didn't see!  That's
+right, Grimsby, keep him back!'  And even his low laugh reached me as he
+walked away.
+
+'God help me now!' I murmured, sinking on my knees among the damp weeds
+and brushwood that surrounded me, and looking up at the moonlit sky,
+through the scant foliage above.  It seemed all dim and quivering now to
+my darkened sight.  My burning, bursting heart strove to pour forth its
+agony to God, but could not frame its anguish into prayer; until a gust
+of wind swept over me, which, while it scattered the dead leaves, like
+blighted hopes, around, cooled my forehead, and seemed a little to revive
+my sinking frame.  Then, while I lifted up my soul in speechless, earnest
+supplication, some heavenly influence seemed to strengthen me within: I
+breathed more freely; my vision cleared; I saw distinctly the pure moon
+shining on, and the light clouds skimming the clear, dark sky; and then I
+saw the eternal stars twinkling down upon me; I knew their God was mine,
+and He was strong to save and swift to hear.  'I will never leave thee,
+nor forsake thee,' seemed whispered from above their myriad orbs.  No,
+no; I felt He would not leave me comfortless: in spite of earth and hell
+I should have strength for all my trials, and win a glorious rest at
+last!
+
+Refreshed, invigorated, if not composed, I rose and returned to the
+house.  Much of my new-born strength and courage forsook me, I confess,
+as I entered it, and shut out the fresh wind and the glorious sky:
+everything I saw and heard seemed to sicken my heart--the hall, the lamp,
+the staircase, the doors of the different apartments, the social sound of
+talk and laughter from the drawing-room.  How could I bear my future
+life!  In this house, among those people--oh, how could I endure to live!
+John just then entered the hall, and seeing me, told me he had been sent
+in search of me, adding that he had taken in the tea, and master wished
+to know if I were coming.
+
+'Ask Mrs. Hattersley to be so kind as to make the tea, John,' said I.
+'Say I am not well to-night, and wish to be excused.'
+
+I retired into the large, empty dining-room, where all was silence and
+darkness, but for the soft sighing of the wind without, and the faint
+gleam of moonlight that pierced the blinds and curtains; and there I
+walked rapidly up and down, thinking of my bitter thoughts alone.  How
+different was this from the evening of yesterday!  That, it seems, was
+the last expiring flash of my life's happiness.  Poor, blinded fool that
+I was to be so happy!  I could now see the reason of Arthur's strange
+reception of me in the shrubbery; the burst of kindness was for his
+paramour, the start of horror for his wife.  Now, too, I could better
+understand the conversation between Hattersley and Grimsby; it was
+doubtless of his love for her they spoke, not for me.
+
+I heard the drawing-room door open: a light quick step came out of the
+ante-room, crossed the hall, and ascended the stairs.  It was Milicent,
+poor Milicent, gone to see how I was--no one else cared for me; but she
+still was kind.  I shed no tears before, but now they came, fast and
+free.  Thus she did me good, without approaching me.  Disappointed in her
+search, I heard her come down, more slowly than she had ascended.  Would
+she come in there, and find me out?  No, she turned in the opposite
+direction and re-entered the drawing-room.  I was glad, for I knew not
+how to meet her, or what to say.  I wanted no confidante in my distress.
+I deserved none, and I wanted none.  I had taken the burden upon myself;
+let me bear it alone.
+
+As the usual hour of retirement approached I dried my eyes, and tried to
+clear my voice and calm my mind.  I must see Arthur to-night, and speak
+to him; but I would do it calmly: there should be no scene--nothing to
+complain or to boast of to his companions--nothing to laugh at with his
+lady-love.  When the company were retiring to their chambers I gently
+opened the door, and just as he passed, beckoned him in.
+
+'What's to do with you, Helen?' said he.  'Why couldn't you come to make
+tea for us? and what the deuce are you here for, in the dark?  What ails
+you, young woman: you look like a ghost!' he continued, surveying me by
+the light of his candle.
+
+'No matter,' I answered, 'to you; you have no longer any regard for me it
+appears; and I have no longer any for you.'
+
+'Hal-lo! what the devil is this?' he muttered.  'I would leave you
+to-morrow,' continued I, 'and never again come under this roof, but for
+my child'--I paused a moment to steady, my voice.
+
+'What in the devil's name is this, Helen?' cried he.  'What can you be
+driving at?'
+
+'You know perfectly well.  Let us waste no time in useless explanation,
+but tell me, will you--?'
+
+He vehemently swore he knew nothing about it, and insisted upon hearing
+what poisonous old woman had been blackening his name, and what infamous
+lies I had been fool enough to believe.
+
+'Spare yourself the trouble of forswearing yourself and racking your
+brains to stifle truth with falsehood,' I coldly replied.  'I have
+trusted to the testimony of no third person.  I was in the shrubbery this
+evening, and I saw and heard for myself.'
+
+This was enough.  He uttered a suppressed exclamation of consternation
+and dismay, and muttering, 'I shall catch it now!' set down his candle on
+the nearest chair, and rearing his back against the wall, stood
+confronting me with folded arms.
+
+'Well, what then?' said he, with the calm insolence of mingled
+shamelessness and desperation.
+
+'Only this,' returned I; 'will you let me take our child and what remains
+of my fortune, and go?'
+
+'Go where?'
+
+'Anywhere, where he will be safe from your contaminating influence, and I
+shall be delivered from your presence, and you from mine.'
+
+'No.'
+
+'Will you let me have the child then, without the money?'
+
+'No, nor yourself without the child.  Do you think I'm going to be made
+the talk of the country for your fastidious caprices?'
+
+'Then I must stay here, to be hated and despised.  But henceforth we are
+husband and wife only in the name.'
+
+'Very good.'
+
+'I am your child's mother, and your housekeeper, nothing more.  So you
+need not trouble yourself any longer to feign the love you cannot feel: I
+will exact no more heartless caresses from you, nor offer nor endure them
+either.  I will not be mocked with the empty husk of conjugal
+endearments, when you have given the substance to another!'
+
+'Very good, if you please.  We shall see who will tire first, my lady.'
+
+'If I tire, it will be of living in the world with you: not of living
+without your mockery of love.  When you tire of your sinful ways, and
+show yourself truly repentant, I will forgive you, and, perhaps, try to
+love you again, though that will be hard indeed.'
+
+'Humph! and meantime you will go and talk me over to Mrs. Hargrave, and
+write long letters to aunt Maxwell to complain of the wicked wretch you
+have married?'
+
+'I shall complain to no one.  Hitherto I have struggled hard to hide your
+vices from every eye, and invest you with virtues you never possessed;
+but now you must look to yourself.'
+
+I left him muttering bad language to himself, and went up-stairs.
+
+'You are poorly, ma'am,' said Rachel, surveying me with deep anxiety.
+
+'It is too true, Rachel,' said I, answering her sad looks rather than her
+words.
+
+'I knew it, or I wouldn't have mentioned such a thing.'
+
+'But don't you trouble yourself about it,' said I, kissing her pale,
+time-wasted cheek.  'I can bear it better than you imagine.'
+
+'Yes, you were always for "bearing."  But if I was you I wouldn't bear
+it; I'd give way to it, and cry right hard! and I'd talk too, I just
+would--I'd let him know what it was to--'
+
+'I have talked,' said I; 'I've said enough.'
+
+'Then I'd cry,' persisted she.  'I wouldn't look so white and so calm,
+and burst my heart with keeping it in.'
+
+'I have cried,' said I, smiling, in spite of my misery; 'and I am calm
+now, really: so don't discompose me again, nurse: let us say no more
+about it, and don't mention it to the servants.  There, you may go now.
+Good-night; and don't disturb your rest for me: I shall sleep well--if I
+can.'
+
+Notwithstanding this resolution, I found my bed so intolerable that,
+before two o'clock, I rose, and lighting my candle by the rushlight that
+was still burning, I got my desk and sat down in my dressing-gown to
+recount the events of the past evening.  It was better to be so occupied
+than to be lying in bed torturing my brain with recollections of the far
+past and anticipations of the dreadful future.  I have found relief in
+describing the very circumstances that have destroyed my peace, as well
+as the little trivial details attendant upon their discovery.  No sleep I
+could have got this night would have done so much towards composing my
+mind, and preparing me to meet the trials of the day.  I fancy so, at
+least; and yet, when I cease writing, I find my head aches terribly; and
+when I look into the glass, I am startled at my haggard, worn appearance.
+
+Rachel has been to dress me, and says I have had a sad night of it, she
+can see.  Milicent has just looked in to ask me how I was.  I told her I
+was better, but to excuse my appearance admitted I had had a restless
+night.  I wish this day were over!  I shudder at the thoughts of going
+down to breakfast.  How shall I encounter them all?  Yet let me remember
+it is not I that am guilty: I have no cause to fear; and if they scorn me
+as a victim of their guilt, I can pity their folly and despise their
+scorn.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIV
+
+
+Evening.--Breakfast passed well over: I was calm and cool throughout.  I
+answered composedly all inquiries respecting my health; and whatever was
+unusual in my look or manner was generally attributed to the trifling
+indisposition that had occasioned my early retirement last night.  But
+how am I to get over the ten or twelve days that must yet elapse before
+they go?  Yet why so long for their departure?  When they are gone, how
+shall I get through the months or years of my future life in company with
+that man--my greatest enemy? for none could injure me as he has done.
+Oh! when I think how fondly, how foolishly I have loved him, how madly I
+have trusted him, how constantly I have laboured, and studied, and
+prayed, and struggled for his advantage; and how cruelly he has trampled
+on my love, betrayed my trust, scorned my prayers and tears, and efforts
+for his preservation, crushed my hopes, destroyed my youth's best
+feelings, and doomed me to a life of hopeless misery, as far as man can
+do it, it is not enough to say that I no longer love my husband--I HATE
+him!  The word stares me in the face like a guilty confession, but it is
+true: I hate him--I hate him!  But God have mercy on his miserable soul!
+and make him see and feel his guilt--I ask no other vengeance!  If he
+could but fully know and truly feel my wrongs I should be well avenged,
+and I could freely pardon all; but he is so lost, so hardened in his
+heartless depravity, that in this life I believe he never will.  But it
+is useless dwelling on this theme: let me seek once more to dissipate
+reflection in the minor details of passing events.
+
+Mr. Hargrave has annoyed me all day long with his serious, sympathising,
+and (as he thinks) unobtrusive politeness.  If it were more obtrusive it
+would trouble me less, for then I could snub him; but, as it is, he
+contrives to appear so really kind and thoughtful that I cannot do so
+without rudeness and seeming ingratitude.  I sometimes think I ought to
+give him credit for the good feeling he simulates so well; and then
+again, I think it is my duty to suspect him under the peculiar
+circumstances in which I am placed.  His kindness may not all be feigned;
+but still, let not the purest impulse of gratitude to him induce me to
+forget myself: let me remember the game of chess, the expressions he used
+on the occasion, and those indescribable looks of his, that so justly
+roused my indignation, and I think I shall be safe enough.  I have done
+well to record them so minutely.
+
+I think he wishes to find an opportunity of speaking to me alone: he has
+seemed to be on the watch all day; but I have taken care to disappoint
+him--not that I fear anything he could say, but I have trouble enough
+without the addition of his insulting consolations, condolences, or
+whatever else he might attempt; and, for Milicent's sake, I do not wish
+to quarrel with him.  He excused himself from going out to shoot with the
+other gentlemen in the morning, under the pretext of having letters to
+write; and instead of retiring for that purpose into the library, he sent
+for his desk into the morning-room, where I was seated with Milicent and
+Lady Lowborough.  They had betaken themselves to their work; I, less to
+divert my mind than to deprecate conversation, had provided myself with a
+book.  Milicent saw that I wished to be quiet, and accordingly let me
+alone.  Annabella, doubtless, saw it too: but that was no reason why she
+should restrain her tongue, or curb her cheerful spirits: she accordingly
+chatted away, addressing herself almost exclusively to me, and with the
+utmost assurance and familiarity, growing the more animated and friendly
+the colder and briefer my answers became.  Mr. Hargrave saw that I could
+ill endure it, and, looking up from his desk, he answered her questions
+and observations for me, as far as he could, and attempted to transfer
+her social attentions from me to himself; but it would not do.  Perhaps
+she thought I had a headache, and could not bear to talk; at any rate,
+she saw that her loquacious vivacity annoyed me, as I could tell by the
+malicious pertinacity with which she persisted.  But I checked it
+effectually by putting into her hand the book I had been trying to read,
+on the fly-leaf of which I had hastily scribbled,--
+
+'I am too well acquainted with your character and conduct to feel any
+real friendship for you, and as I am without your talent for
+dissimulation, I cannot assume the appearance of it.  I must, therefore,
+beg that hereafter all familiar intercourse may cease between us; and if
+I still continue to treat you with civility, as if you were a woman
+worthy of consideration and respect, understand that it is out of regard
+for your cousin Milicent's feelings, not for yours.'
+
+Upon perusing this she turned scarlet, and bit her lip.  Covertly tearing
+away the leaf, she crumpled it up and put it in the fire, and then
+employed herself in turning over the pages of the book, and, really or
+apparently, perusing its contents.  In a little while Milicent announced
+it her intention to repair to the nursery, and asked if I would accompany
+her.
+
+'Annabella will excuse us,' said she; 'she's busy reading.'
+
+'No, I won't,' cried Annabella, suddenly looking up, and throwing her
+book on the table; 'I want to speak to Helen a minute.  You may go,
+Milicent, and she'll follow in a while.'  (Milicent went.) 'Will you
+oblige me, Helen?' continued she.
+
+Her impudence astounded me; but I complied, and followed her into the
+library.  She closed the door, and walked up to the fire.
+
+'Who told you this?' said she.
+
+'No one: I am not incapable of seeing for myself.'
+
+'Ah, you are suspicious!' cried she, smiling, with a gleam of hope.
+Hitherto there had been a kind of desperation in her hardihood; now she
+was evidently relieved.
+
+'If I were suspicious,' I replied, 'I should have discovered your infamy
+long before.  No, Lady Lowborough, I do not found my charge upon
+suspicion.'
+
+'On what do you found it, then?' said she, throwing herself into an
+arm-chair, and stretching out her feet to the fender, with an obvious
+effort to appear composed.
+
+'I enjoy a moonlight ramble as well as you,' I answered, steadily fixing
+my eyes upon her; 'and the shrubbery happens to be one of my favourite
+resorts.'
+
+She coloured again excessively, and remained silent, pressing her finger
+against her teeth, and gazing into the fire.  I watched her a few moments
+with a feeling of malevolent gratification; then, moving towards the
+door, I calmly asked if she had anything more to say.
+
+'Yes, yes!' cried she eagerly, starting up from her reclining posture.
+'I want to know if you will tell Lord Lowborough?'
+
+'Suppose I do?'
+
+'Well, if you are disposed to publish the matter, I cannot dissuade you,
+of course--but there will be terrible work if you do--and if you don't, I
+shall think you the most generous of mortal beings--and if there is
+anything in the world I can do for you--anything short of--' she
+hesitated.
+
+'Short of renouncing your guilty connection with my husband, I suppose
+you mean?' said I.
+
+She paused, in evident disconcertion and perplexity, mingled with anger
+she dared not show.
+
+'I cannot renounce what is dearer than life,' she muttered, in a low,
+hurried tone.  Then, suddenly raising her head and fixing her gleaming
+eyes upon me, she continued earnestly: 'But, Helen--or Mrs. Huntingdon,
+or whatever you would have me call you--will you tell him?  If you are
+generous, here is a fitting opportunity for the exercise of your
+magnanimity: if you are proud, here am I--your rival--ready to
+acknowledge myself your debtor for an act of the most noble forbearance.'
+
+'I shall not tell him.'
+
+'You will not!' cried she, delightedly.  'Accept my sincere thanks,
+then!'
+
+She sprang up, and offered me her hand.  I drew back.
+
+'Give me no thanks; it is not for your sake that I refrain.  Neither is
+it an act of any forbearance: I have no wish to publish your shame.  I
+should be sorry to distress your husband with the knowledge of it.'
+
+'And Milicent? will you tell her?'
+
+'No: on the contrary, I shall do my utmost to conceal it from her.  I
+would not for much that she should know the infamy and disgrace of her
+relation!'
+
+'You use hard words, Mrs. Huntingdon, but I can pardon you.'
+
+'And now, Lady Lowborough,' continued I, 'let me counsel you to leave
+this house as soon as possible.  You must be aware that your continuance
+here is excessively disagreeable to me--not for Mr. Huntingdon's sake,'
+said I, observing the dawn of a malicious smile of triumph on her
+face--'you are welcome to him, if you like him, as far as I am
+concerned--but because it is painful to be always disguising my true
+sentiments respecting you, and straining to keep up an appearance of
+civility and respect towards one for whom I have not the most distant
+shadow of esteem; and because, if you stay, your conduct cannot possibly
+remain concealed much longer from the only two persons in the house who
+do not know it already.  And, for your husband's sake, Annabella, and
+even for your own, I wish--I earnestly advise and entreat you to break
+off this unlawful connection at once, and return to your duty while you
+may, before the dreadful consequences--'
+
+'Yes, yes, of course,' said she, interrupting me with a gesture of
+impatience.  'But I cannot go, Helen, before the time appointed for our
+departure.  What possible pretext could I frame for such a thing?
+Whether I proposed going back alone--which Lowborough would not hear
+of--or taking him with me, the very circumstance itself would be certain
+to excite suspicion--and when our visit is so nearly at an end
+too--little more than a week--surely you can endure my presence so long!
+I will not annoy you with any more of my friendly impertinences.'
+
+'Well, I have nothing more to say to you.'
+
+'Have you mentioned this affair to Huntingdon?' asked she, as I was
+leaving the room.
+
+'How dare you mention his name to me!' was the only answer I gave.
+
+No words have passed between us since, but such as outward decency or
+pure necessity demanded.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXV
+
+
+Nineteenth.--In proportion as Lady Lowborough finds she has nothing to
+fear from me, and as the time of departure draws nigh, the more audacious
+and insolent she becomes.  She does not scruple to speak to my husband
+with affectionate familiarity in my presence, when no one else is by, and
+is particularly fond of displaying her interest in his health and
+welfare, or in anything that concerns him, as if for the purpose of
+contrasting her kind solicitude with my cold indifference.  And he
+rewards her by such smiles and glances, such whispered words, or
+boldly-spoken insinuations, indicative of his sense of her goodness and
+my neglect, as make the blood rush into my face, in spite of myself--for
+I would be utterly regardless of it all--deaf and blind to everything
+that passes between them, since the more I show myself sensible of their
+wickedness the more she triumphs in her victory, and the more he flatters
+himself that I love him devotedly still, in spite of my pretended
+indifference.  On such occasions I have sometimes been startled by a
+subtle, fiendish suggestion inciting me to show him the contrary by a
+seeming encouragement of Hargrave's advances; but such ideas are banished
+in a moment with horror and self-abasement; and then I hate him tenfold
+more than ever for having brought me to this!--God pardon me for it and
+all my sinful thoughts!  Instead of being humbled and purified by my
+afflictions, I feel that they are turning my nature into gall.  This must
+be my fault as much as theirs that wrong me.  No true Christian could
+cherish such bitter feelings as I do against him and her, especially the
+latter: him, I still feel that I could pardon--freely, gladly--on the
+slightest token of repentance; but she--words cannot utter my abhorrence.
+Reason forbids, but passion urges strongly; and I must pray and struggle
+long ere I subdue it.
+
+It is well that she is leaving to-morrow, for I could not well endure her
+presence for another day.  This morning she rose earlier than usual.  I
+found her in the room alone, when I went down to breakfast.
+
+'Oh, Helen! is it you?' said she, turning as I entered.
+
+I gave an involuntary start back on seeing her, at which she uttered a
+short laugh, observing, 'I think we are both disappointed.'
+
+I came forward and busied myself with the breakfast things.
+
+'This is the last day I shall burden your hospitality,' said she, as she
+seated herself at the table.  'Ah, here comes one that will not rejoice
+at it!' she murmured, half to herself, as Arthur entered the room.
+
+He shook hands with her and wished her good-morning: then, looking
+lovingly in her face, and still retaining her hand in his, murmured
+pathetically, 'The last--last day!'
+
+'Yes,' said she with some asperity; 'and I rose early to make the best of
+it--I have been here alone this half-hour, and you--you lazy creature--'
+
+'Well, I thought I was early too,' said he; 'but,' dropping his voice
+almost to a whisper, 'you see we are not alone.'
+
+'We never are,' returned she.  But they were almost as good as alone, for
+I was now standing at the window, watching the clouds, and struggling to
+suppress my wrath.
+
+Some more words passed between them, which, happily, I did not overhear;
+but Annabella had the audacity to come and place herself beside me, and
+even to put her hand upon my shoulder and say softly, 'You need not
+grudge him to me, Helen, for I love him more than ever you could do.'
+
+This put me beside myself.  I took her hand and violently dashed it from
+me, with an expression of abhorrence and indignation that could not be
+suppressed.  Startled, almost appalled, by this sudden outbreak, she
+recoiled in silence.  I would have given way to my fury and said more,
+but Arthur's low laugh recalled me to myself.  I checked the half-uttered
+invective, and scornfully turned away, regretting that I had given him so
+much amusement.  He was still laughing when Mr. Hargrave made his
+appearance.  How much of the scene he had witnessed I do not know, for
+the door was ajar when he entered.  He greeted his host and his cousin
+both coldly, and me with a glance intended to express the deepest
+sympathy mingled with high admiration and esteem.
+
+'How much allegiance do you owe to that man?' he asked below his breath,
+as he stood beside me at the window, affecting to be making observations
+on the weather.
+
+'None,' I answered.  And immediately returning to the table, I employed
+myself in making the tea.  He followed, and would have entered into some
+kind of conversation with me, but the other guests were now beginning to
+assemble, and I took no more notice of him, except to give him his
+coffee.
+
+After breakfast, determined to pass as little of the day as possible in
+company with Lady Lowborough, I quietly stole away from the company and
+retired to the library.  Mr. Hargrave followed me thither, under pretence
+of coming for a book; and first, turning to the shelves, he selected a
+volume, and then quietly, but by no means timidly, approaching me, he
+stood beside me, resting his hand on the back of my chair, and said
+softly, 'And so you consider yourself free at last?'
+
+'Yes,' said I, without moving, or raising my eyes from my book, 'free to
+do anything but offend God and my conscience.'
+
+There was a momentary pause.
+
+'Very right,' said he, 'provided your conscience be not too morbidly
+tender, and your ideas of God not too erroneously severe; but can you
+suppose it would offend that benevolent Being to make the happiness of
+one who would die for yours?--to raise a devoted heart from purgatorial
+torments to a state of heavenly bliss, when you could do it without the
+slightest injury to yourself or any other?'
+
+This was spoken in a low, earnest, melting tone, as he bent over me.  I
+now raised my head; and steadily confronting his gaze, I answered calmly,
+'Mr. Hargrave, do you mean to insult me?'
+
+He was not prepared for this.  He paused a moment to recover the shock;
+then, drawing himself up and removing his hand from my chair, he
+answered, with proud sadness,--'That was not my intention.'
+
+I just glanced towards the door, with a slight movement of the head, and
+then returned to my book.  He immediately withdrew.  This was better than
+if I had answered with more words, and in the passionate spirit to which
+my first impulse would have prompted.  What a good thing it is to be able
+to command one's temper!  I must labour to cultivate this inestimable
+quality: God only knows how often I shall need it in this rough, dark
+road that lies before me.
+
+In the course of the morning I drove over to the Grove with the two
+ladies, to give Milicent an opportunity for bidding farewell to her
+mother and sister.  They persuaded her to stay with them the rest of the
+day, Mrs. Hargrave promising to bring her back in the evening and remain
+till the party broke up on the morrow.  Consequently, Lady Lowborough and
+I had the pleasure of returning _tete-a-tete_ in the carriage together.
+For the first mile or two we kept silence, I looking out of my window,
+and she leaning back in her corner.  But I was not going to restrict
+myself to any particular position for her; when I was tired of leaning
+forward, with the cold, raw wind in my face, and surveying the russet
+hedges and the damp, tangled grass of their banks, I gave it up and leant
+back too.  With her usual impudence, my companion then made some attempts
+to get up a conversation; but the monosyllables 'yes,' or 'no' or
+'humph,' were the utmost her several remarks could elicit from me.  At
+last, on her asking my opinion upon some immaterial point of discussion,
+I answered,--'Why do you wish to talk to me, Lady Lowborough?  You must
+know what I think of you.'
+
+'Well, if you will be so bitter against me,' replied she, 'I can't help
+it; but I'm not going to sulk for anybody.'  Our short drive was now at
+an end.  As soon as the carriage door was opened, she sprang out, and
+went down the park to meet the gentlemen, who were just returning from
+the woods.  Of course I did not follow.
+
+But I had not done with her impudence yet: after dinner, I retired to the
+drawing-room, as usual, and she accompanied me, but I had the two
+children with me, and I gave them my whole attention, and determined to
+keep them till the gentlemen came, or till Milicent arrived with her
+mother.  Little Helen, however, was soon tired of playing, and insisted
+upon going to sleep; and while I sat on the sofa with her on my knee, and
+Arthur seated beside me, gently playing with her soft, flaxen hair, Lady
+Lowborough composedly came and placed herself on the other side.
+
+'To-morrow, Mrs. Huntingdon,' said she, 'you will be delivered from my
+presence, which, no doubt, you will be very glad of--it is natural you
+should; but do you know I have rendered you a great service?  Shall I
+tell you what it is?'
+
+'I shall be glad to hear of any service you have rendered me,' said I,
+determined to be calm, for I knew by the tone of her voice she wanted to
+provoke me.
+
+'Well,' resumed she, 'have you not observed the salutary change in Mr.
+Huntingdon?  Don't you see what a sober, temperate man he is become?  You
+saw with regret the sad habits he was contracting, I know: and I know you
+did your utmost to deliver him from them, but without success, until I
+came to your assistance.  I told him in few words that I could not bear
+to see him degrade himself so, and that I should cease to--no matter what
+I told him, but you see the reformation I have wrought; and you ought to
+thank me for it.'
+
+I rose and rang for the nurse.
+
+'But I desire no thanks,' she continued; 'all the return I ask is, that
+you will take care of him when I am gone, and not, by harshness and
+neglect, drive him back to his old courses.'
+
+I was almost sick with passion, but Rachel was now at the door.  I
+pointed to the children, for I could not trust myself to speak: she took
+them away, and I followed.
+
+'Will you, Helen?' continued the speaker.
+
+I gave her a look that blighted the malicious smile on her face, or
+checked it, at least for a moment, and departed.  In the ante-room I met
+Mr. Hargrave.  He saw I was in no humour to be spoken to, and suffered me
+to pass without a word; but when, after a few minutes' seclusion in the
+library, I had regained my composure, and was returning to join Mrs.
+Hargrave and Milicent, whom I had just heard come downstairs and go into
+the drawing-room, I found him there still lingering in the dimly-lighted
+apartment, and evidently waiting for me.
+
+'Mrs. Huntingdon,' said he as I passed, 'will you allow me one word?'
+
+'What is it then? be quick, if you please.'
+
+'I offended you this morning; and I cannot live under your displeasure.'
+
+'Then go, and sin no more,' replied I, turning away.
+
+'No, no!' said he, hastily, setting himself before me.  'Pardon me, but I
+must have your forgiveness.  I leave you to-morrow, and I may not have an
+opportunity of speaking to you again.  I was wrong to forget myself and
+you, as I did; but let me implore you to forget and forgive my rash
+presumption, and think of me as if those words had never been spoken;
+for, believe me, I regret them deeply, and the loss of your esteem is too
+severe a penalty: I cannot bear it.'
+
+'Forgetfulness is not to be purchased with a wish; and I cannot bestow my
+esteem on all who desire it, unless they deserve it too.'
+
+'I shall think my life well spent in labouring to deserve it, if you will
+but pardon this offence--will you?'
+
+'Yes.'
+
+'Yes! but that is coldly spoken.  Give me your hand and I'll believe you.
+You won't?  Then, Mrs. Huntingdon, you do not forgive me!'
+
+'Yes; here it is, and my forgiveness with it: only, _sin no more_.'
+
+He pressed my cold hand with sentimental fervour, but said nothing, and
+stood aside to let me pass into the room, where all the company were now
+assembled.  Mr. Grimsby was seated near the door: on seeing me enter,
+almost immediately followed by Hargrave, he leered at me with a glance of
+intolerable significance, as I passed.  I looked him in the face, till he
+sullenly turned away, if not ashamed, at least confounded for the moment.
+Meantime Hattersley had seized Hargrave by the arm, and was whispering
+something in his ear--some coarse joke, no doubt, for the latter neither
+laughed nor spoke in answer, but, turning from him with a slight curl of
+the lip, disengaged himself and went to his mother, who was telling Lord
+Lowborough how many reasons she had to be proud of her son.
+
+Thank heaven, they are all going to-morrow.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVI
+
+
+December 20th, 1824.--This is the third anniversary of our felicitous
+union.  It is now two months since our guests left us to the enjoyment of
+each other's society; and I have had nine weeks' experience of this new
+phase of conjugal life--two persons living together, as master and
+mistress of the house, and father and mother of a winsome, merry little
+child, with the mutual understanding that there is no love, friendship,
+or sympathy between them.  As far as in me lies, I endeavour to live
+peaceably with him: I treat him with unimpeachable civility, give up my
+convenience to his, wherever it may reasonably be done, and consult him
+in a business-like way on household affairs, deferring to his pleasure
+and judgment, even when I know the latter to be inferior to my own.
+
+As for him, for the first week or two, he was peevish and low, fretting,
+I suppose, over his dear Annabella's departure, and particularly
+ill-tempered to me: everything I did was wrong; I was cold-hearted, hard,
+insensate; my sour, pale face was perfectly repulsive; my voice made him
+shudder; he knew not how he could live through the winter with me; I
+should kill him by inches.  Again I proposed a separation, but it would
+not do: he was not going to be the talk of all the old gossips in the
+neighbourhood: he would not have it said that he was such a brute his
+wife could not live with him.  No; he must contrive to bear with me.
+
+'I must contrive to bear with you, you mean,' said I; 'for so long as I
+discharge my functions of steward and house-keeper, so conscientiously
+and well, without pay and without thanks, you cannot afford to part with
+me.  I shall therefore remit these duties when my bondage becomes
+intolerable.'  This threat, I thought, would serve to keep him in check,
+if anything would.
+
+I believe he was much disappointed that I did not feel his offensive
+sayings more acutely, for when he had said anything particularly well
+calculated to hurt my feelings, he would stare me searchingly in the
+face, and then grumble against my 'marble heart' or my 'brutal
+insensibility.'  If I had bitterly wept and deplored his lost affection,
+he would, perhaps, have condescended to pity me, and taken me into favour
+for a while, just to comfort his solitude and console him for the absence
+of his beloved Annabella, until he could meet her again, or some more
+fitting substitute.  Thank heaven, I am not so weak as that!  I was
+infatuated once with a foolish, besotted affection, that clung to him in
+spite of his unworthiness, but it is fairly gone now--wholly crushed and
+withered away; and he has none but himself and his vices to thank for it.
+
+At first (in compliance with his sweet lady's injunctions, I suppose), he
+abstained wonderfully well from seeking to solace his cares in wine; but
+at length he began to relax his virtuous efforts, and now and then
+exceeded a little, and still continues to do so; nay, sometimes, not a
+little.  When he is under the exciting influence of these excesses, he
+sometimes fires up and attempts to play the brute; and then I take little
+pains to suppress my scorn and disgust.  When he is under the depressing
+influence of the after-consequences, he bemoans his sufferings and his
+errors, and charges them both upon me; he knows such indulgence injures
+his health, and does him more harm than good; but he says I drive him to
+it by my unnatural, unwomanly conduct; it will be the ruin of him in the
+end, but it is all my fault; and then I am roused to defend myself,
+sometimes with bitter recrimination.  This is a kind of injustice I
+cannot patiently endure.  Have I not laboured long and hard to save him
+from this very vice?  Would I not labour still to deliver him from it if
+I could? but could I do so by fawning upon him and caressing him when I
+know that he scorns me?  Is it my fault that I have lost my influence
+with him, or that he has forfeited every claim to my regard?  And should
+I seek a reconciliation with him, when I feel that I abhor him, and that
+he despises me? and while he continues still to correspond with Lady
+Lowborough, as I know he does?  No, never, never, never! he may drink
+himself dead, but it is NOT my fault!
+
+Yet I do my part to save him still: I give him to understand that
+drinking makes his eyes dull, and his face red and bloated; and that it
+tends to render him imbecile in body and mind; and if Annabella were to
+see him as often as I do, she would speedily be disenchanted; and that
+she certainly will withdraw her favour from him, if he continues such
+courses.  Such a mode of admonition wins only coarse abuse for me--and,
+indeed, I almost feel as if I deserved it, for I hate to use such
+arguments; but they sink into his stupefied heart, and make him pause,
+and ponder, and abstain, more than anything else I could say.
+
+At present I am enjoying a temporary relief from his presence: he is gone
+with Hargrave to join a distant hunt, and will probably not be back
+before to-morrow evening.  How differently I used to feel his absence!
+
+Mr. Hargrave is still at the Grove.  He and Arthur frequently meet to
+pursue their rural sports together: he often calls upon us here, and
+Arthur not unfrequently rides over to him.  I do not think either of
+these soi-disant friends is overflowing with love for the other; but such
+intercourse serves to get the time on, and I am very willing it should
+continue, as it saves me some hours of discomfort in Arthur's society,
+and gives him some better employment than the sottish indulgence of his
+sensual appetites.  The only objection I have to Mr. Hargrave's being in
+the neighbourhood, is that the fear of meeting him at the Grove prevents
+me from seeing his sister so often as I otherwise should; for, of late,
+he has conducted himself towards me with such unerring propriety, that I
+have almost forgotten his former conduct.  I suppose he is striving to
+'win my esteem.'  If he continue to act in this way, he may win it; but
+what then?  The moment he attempts to demand anything more, he will lose
+it again.
+
+February 10th.--It is a hard, embittering thing to have one's kind
+feelings and good intentions cast back in one's teeth.  I was beginning
+to relent towards my wretched partner; to pity his forlorn, comfortless
+condition, unalleviated as it is by the consolations of intellectual
+resources and the answer of a good conscience towards God; and to think I
+ought to sacrifice my pride, and renew my efforts once again to make his
+home agreeable and lead him back to the path of virtue; not by false
+professions of love, and not by pretended remorse, but by mitigating my
+habitual coldness of manner, and commuting my frigid civility into
+kindness wherever an opportunity occurred; and not only was I beginning
+to think so, but I had already begun to act upon the thought--and what
+was the result?  No answering spark of kindness, no awakening penitence,
+but an unappeasable ill-humour, and a spirit of tyrannous exaction that
+increased with indulgence, and a lurking gleam of self-complacent triumph
+at every detection of relenting softness in my manner, that congealed me
+to marble again as often as it recurred; and this morning he finished the
+business:--I think the petrifaction is so completely effected at last
+that nothing can melt me again.  Among his letters was one which he
+perused with symptoms of unusual gratification, and then threw it across
+the table to me, with the admonition,--
+
+'There! read that, and take a lesson by it!'
+
+It was in the free, dashing hand of Lady Lowborough.  I glanced at the
+first page; it seemed full of extravagant protestations of affection;
+impetuous longings for a speedy reunion--and impious defiance of God's
+mandates, and railings against His providence for having cast their lot
+asunder, and doomed them both to the hateful bondage of alliance with
+those they could not love.  He gave a slight titter on seeing me change
+colour.  I folded up the letter, rose, and returned it to him, with no
+remark, but--
+
+'Thank you, I will take a lesson by it!'
+
+My little Arthur was standing between his knees, delightedly playing with
+the bright, ruby ring on his finger.  Urged by a sudden, imperative
+impulse to deliver my son from that contaminating influence, I caught him
+up in my arms and carried him with me out of the room.  Not liking this
+abrupt removal, the child began to pout and cry.  This was a new stab to
+my already tortured heart.  I would not let him go; but, taking him with
+me into the library, I shut the door, and, kneeling on the floor beside
+him, I embraced him, kissed him, wept over with him with passionate
+fondness.  Rather frightened than consoled by this, he turned struggling
+from me, and cried out aloud for his papa.  I released him from my arms,
+and never were more bitter tears than those that now concealed him from
+my blinded, burning eyes.  Hearing his cries, the father came to the
+room.  I instantly turned away, lest he should see and misconstrue my
+emotion.  He swore at me, and took the now pacified child away.
+
+It is hard that my little darling should love him more than me; and that,
+when the well-being and culture of my son is all I have to live for, I
+should see my influence destroyed by one whose selfish affection is more
+injurious than the coldest indifference or the harshest tyranny could be.
+If I, for his good, deny him some trifling indulgence, he goes to his
+father, and the latter, in spite of his selfish indolence, will even give
+himself some trouble to meet the child's desires: if I attempt to curb
+his will, or look gravely on him for some act of childish disobedience,
+he knows his other parent will smile and take his part against me.  Thus,
+not only have I the father's spirit in the son to contend against, the
+germs of his evil tendencies to search out and eradicate, and his
+corrupting intercourse and example in after-life to counteract, but
+already he counteracts my arduous labour for the child's advantage,
+destroys my influence over his tender mind, and robs me of his very love;
+I had no earthly hope but this, and he seems to take a diabolical delight
+in tearing it away.
+
+But it is wrong to despair; I will remember the counsel of the inspired
+writer to him 'that feareth the Lord and obeyeth the voice of his
+servant, that sitteth in darkness and hath no light; let him trust in the
+name of the Lord, and stay upon his God!'
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVII
+
+
+December 20th, 1825.--Another year is past; and I am weary of this life.
+And yet I cannot wish to leave it: whatever afflictions assail me here, I
+cannot wish to go and leave my darling in this dark and wicked world
+alone, without a friend to guide him through its weary mazes, to warn him
+of its thousand snares, and guard him from the perils that beset him on
+every hand.  I am not well fitted to be his only companion, I know; but
+there is no other to supply my place.  I am too grave to minister to his
+amusements and enter into his infantile sports as a nurse or a mother
+ought to do, and often his bursts of gleeful merriment trouble and alarm
+me; I see in them his father's spirit and temperament, and I tremble for
+the consequences; and too often damp the innocent mirth I ought to share.
+That father, on the contrary, has no weight of sadness on his mind; is
+troubled with no fears, no scruples concerning his son's future welfare;
+and at evenings especially, the times when the child sees him the most
+and the oftenest, he is always particularly jocund and open-hearted:
+ready to laugh and to jest with anything or anybody but me, and I am
+particularly silent and sad: therefore, of course, the child dotes upon
+his seemingly joyous amusing, ever-indulgent papa, and will at any time
+gladly exchange my company for his.  This disturbs me greatly; not so
+much for the sake of my son's affection (though I do prize that highly,
+and though I feel it is my right, and know I have done much to earn it)
+as for that influence over him which, for his own advantage, I would
+strive to purchase and retain, and which for very spite his father
+delights to rob me of, and, from motives of mere idle egotism, is pleased
+to win to himself; making no use of it but to torment me and ruin the
+child.  My only consolation is, that he spends comparatively little of
+his time at home, and, during the months he passes in London or
+elsewhere, I have a chance of recovering the ground I had lost, and
+overcoming with good the evil he has wrought by his wilful mismanagement.
+But then it is a bitter trial to behold him, on his return, doing his
+utmost to subvert my labours and transform my innocent, affectionate,
+tractable darling into a selfish, disobedient, and mischievous boy;
+thereby preparing the soil for those vices he has so successfully
+cultivated in his own perverted nature.
+
+Happily, there were none of Arthur's 'friends' invited to Grassdale last
+autumn: he took himself off to visit some of them instead.  I wish he
+would always do so, and I wish his friends were numerous and loving
+enough to keep him amongst them all the year round.  Mr. Hargrave,
+considerably to my annoyance, did not go with him; but I think I have
+done with that gentleman at last.
+
+For seven or eight months he behaved so remarkably well, and managed so
+skilfully too, that I was almost completely off my guard, and was really
+beginning to look upon him as a friend, and even to treat him as such,
+with certain prudent restrictions (which I deemed scarcely necessary);
+when, presuming upon my unsuspecting kindness, he thought he might
+venture to overstep the bounds of decent moderation and propriety that
+had so long restrained him.  It was on a pleasant evening at the close of
+May: I was wandering in the park, and he, on seeing me there as he rode
+past, made bold to enter and approach me, dismounting and leaving his
+horse at the gate.  This was the first time he had ventured to come
+within its inclosure since I had been left alone, without the sanction of
+his mother's or sister's company, or at least the excuse of a message
+from them.  But he managed to appear so calm and easy, so respectful and
+self-possessed in his friendliness, that, though a little surprised, I
+was neither alarmed nor offended at the unusual liberty, and he walked
+with me under the ash-trees and by the water-side, and talked, with
+considerable animation, good taste, and intelligence, on many subjects,
+before I began to think about getting rid of him.  Then, after a pause,
+during which we both stood gazing on the calm, blue water--I revolving in
+my mind the best means of politely dismissing my companion, he, no doubt,
+pondering other matters equally alien to the sweet sights and sounds that
+alone were present to his senses,--he suddenly electrified me by
+beginning, in a peculiar tone, low, soft, but perfectly distinct, to pour
+forth the most unequivocal expressions of earnest and passionate love;
+pleading his cause with all the bold yet artful eloquence he could summon
+to his aid.  But I cut short his appeal, and repulsed him so
+determinately, so decidedly, and with such a mixture of scornful
+indignation, tempered with cool, dispassionate sorrow and pity for his
+benighted mind, that he withdrew, astonished, mortified, and
+discomforted; and, a few days after, I heard that he had departed for
+London.  He returned, however, in eight or nine weeks, and did not
+entirely keep aloof from me, but comported himself in so remarkable a
+manner that his quick-sighted sister could not fail to notice the change.
+
+'What have you done to Walter, Mrs. Huntingdon?' said she one morning,
+when I had called at the Grove, and he had just left the room after
+exchanging a few words of the coldest civility.  'He has been so
+extremely ceremonious and stately of late, I can't imagine what it is all
+about, unless you have desperately offended him.  Tell me what it is,
+that I may be your mediator, and make you friends again.'
+
+'I have done nothing willingly to offend him,' said I.  'If he is
+offended, he can best tell you himself what it is about.'
+
+'I'll ask him,' cried the giddy girl, springing up and putting her head
+out of the window: 'he's only in the garden--Walter!'
+
+'No, no, Esther! you will seriously displease me if you do; and I shall
+leave you immediately, and not come again for months--perhaps years.'
+
+'Did you call, Esther?' said her brother, approaching the window from
+without.
+
+'Yes; I wanted to ask you--'
+
+'Good-morning, Esther,' said I, taking her hand and giving it a severe
+squeeze.
+
+'To ask you,' continued she, 'to get me a rose for Mrs. Huntingdon.'  He
+departed.  'Mrs. Huntingdon,' she exclaimed, turning to me and still
+holding me fast by the hand, 'I'm quite shocked at you--you're just as
+angry, and distant, and cold as he is: and I'm determined you shall be as
+good friends as ever before you go.'
+
+'Esther, how can you be so rude!' cried Mrs. Hargrave, who was seated
+gravely knitting in her easy-chair.  'Surely, you never will learn to
+conduct yourself like a lady!'
+
+'Well, mamma, you said yourself--'  But the young lady was silenced by
+the uplifted finger of her mamma, accompanied with a very stern shake of
+the head.
+
+'Isn't she cross?' whispered she to me; but, before I could add my share
+of reproof, Mr. Hargrave reappeared at the window with a beautiful
+moss-rose in his hand.
+
+'Here, Esther, I've brought you the rose,' said he, extending it towards
+her.
+
+'Give it her yourself, you blockhead!' cried she, recoiling with a spring
+from between us.
+
+'Mrs. Huntingdon would rather receive it from you,' replied he, in a very
+serious tone, but lowering his voice that his mother might not hear.  His
+sister took the rose and gave it to me.
+
+'My brother's compliments, Mrs. Huntingdon, and he hopes you and he will
+come to a better understanding by-and-by.  Will that do, Walter?' added
+the saucy girl, turning to him and putting her arm round his neck, as he
+stood leaning upon the sill of the window--'or should I have said that
+you are sorry you were so touchy? or that you hope she will pardon your
+offence?'
+
+'You silly girl! you don't know what you are talking about,' replied he
+gravely.
+
+'Indeed I don't: for I'm quite in the dark!'
+
+'Now, Esther,' interposed Mrs. Hargrave, who, if equally benighted on the
+subject of our estrangement, saw at least that her daughter was behaving
+very improperly, 'I must insist upon your leaving the room!'
+
+'Pray don't, Mrs. Hargrave, for I'm going to leave it myself,' said I,
+and immediately made my adieux.
+
+About a week after Mr. Hargrave brought his sister to see me.  He
+conducted himself, at first, with his usual cold, distant, half-stately,
+half-melancholy, altogether injured air; but Esther made no remark upon
+it this time: she had evidently been schooled into better manners.  She
+talked to me, and laughed and romped with little Arthur, her loved and
+loving playmate.  He, somewhat to my discomfort, enticed her from the
+room to have a run in the hall, and thence into the garden.  I got up to
+stir the fire.  Mr. Hargrave asked if I felt cold, and shut the door--a
+very unseasonable piece of officiousness, for I had meditated following
+the noisy playfellows if they did not speedily return.  He then took the
+liberty of walking up to the fire himself, and asking me if I were aware
+that Mr. Huntingdon was now at the seat of Lord Lowborough, and likely to
+continue there some time.
+
+'No; but it's no matter,' I answered carelessly; and if my cheek glowed
+like fire, it was rather at the question than the information it
+conveyed.
+
+'You don't object to it?' he said.
+
+'Not at all, if Lord Lowborough likes his company.'
+
+'You have no love left for him, then?'
+
+'Not the least.'
+
+'I knew that--I knew you were too high-minded and pure in your own nature
+to continue to regard one so utterly false and polluted with any feelings
+but those of indignation and scornful abhorrence!'
+
+'Is he not your friend?' said I, turning my eyes from the fire to his
+face, with perhaps a slight touch of those feelings he assigned to
+another.
+
+'He was,' replied he, with the same calm gravity as before; 'but do not
+wrong me by supposing that I could continue my friendship and esteem to a
+man who could so infamously, so impiously forsake and injure one so
+transcendently--well, I won't speak of it.  But tell me, do you never
+think of revenge?'
+
+'Revenge!  No--what good would that do?--it would make him no better, and
+me no happier.'
+
+'I don't know how to talk to you, Mrs. Huntingdon,' said he, smiling;
+'you are only half a woman--your nature must be half human, half angelic.
+Such goodness overawes me; I don't know what to make of it.'
+
+'Then, sir, I fear you must be very much worse than you should be, if I,
+a mere ordinary mortal, am, by your own confession, so vastly your
+superior; and since there exists so little sympathy between us, I think
+we had better each look out for some more congenial companion.'  And
+forthwith moving to the window, I began to look out for my little son and
+his gay young friend.
+
+'No, I am the ordinary mortal, I maintain,' replied Mr. Hargrave.  'I
+will not allow myself to be worse than my fellows; but you, Madam--I
+equally maintain there is nobody like you.  But are you happy?' he asked
+in a serious tone.
+
+'As happy as some others, I suppose.'
+
+'Are you as happy as you desire to be?'
+
+'No one is so blest as that comes to on this side of eternity.'
+
+'One thing I know,' returned he, with a deep sad sigh; 'you are
+immeasurably happier than I am.'
+
+'I am very sorry for you, then,' I could not help replying.
+
+'Are you, indeed?  No, for if you were you would be glad to relieve me.'
+
+'And so I should if I could do so without injuring myself or any other.'
+
+'And can you suppose that I should wish you to injure yourself?  No: on
+the contrary, it is your own happiness I long for more than mine.  You
+are miserable now, Mrs. Huntingdon,' continued he, looking me boldly in
+the face.  'You do not complain, but I see--and feel--and know that you
+are miserable--and must remain so as long as you keep those walls of
+impenetrable ice about your still warm and palpitating heart; and I am
+miserable, too.  Deign to smile on me and I am happy: trust me, and you
+shall be happy also, for if you are a woman I can make you so--and I will
+do it in spite of yourself!' he muttered between his teeth; 'and as for
+others, the question is between ourselves alone: you cannot injure your
+husband, you know, and no one else has any concern in the matter.'
+
+'I have a son, Mr. Hargrave, and you have a mother,' said I, retiring
+from the window, whither he had followed me.
+
+'They need not know,' he began; but before anything more could be said on
+either side, Esther and Arthur re-entered the room.  The former glanced
+at Walter's flushed, excited countenance, and then at mine--a little
+flushed and excited too, I daresay, though from far different causes.
+She must have thought we had been quarrelling desperately, and was
+evidently perplexed and disturbed at the circumstance; but she was too
+polite or too much afraid of her brother's anger to refer to it.  She
+seated herself on the sofa, and putting back her bright, golden ringlets,
+that were scattered in wild profusion over her face, she immediately
+began to talk about the garden and her little playfellow, and continued
+to chatter away in her usual strain till her brother summoned her to
+depart.
+
+'If I have spoken too warmly, forgive me,' he murmured on taking his
+leave, 'or I shall never forgive myself.'  Esther smiled and glanced at
+me: I merely bowed, and her countenance fell.  She thought it a poor
+return for Walter's generous concession, and was disappointed in her
+friend.  Poor child, she little knows the world she lives in!
+
+Mr. Hargrave had not an opportunity of meeting me again in private for
+several weeks after this; but when he did meet me there was less of pride
+and more of touching melancholy in his manner than before.  Oh, how he
+annoyed me!  I was obliged at last almost entirely to remit my visits to
+the Grove, at the expense of deeply offending Mrs. Hargrave and seriously
+afflicting poor Esther, who really values my society for want of better,
+and who ought not to suffer for the fault of her brother.  But that
+indefatigable foe was not yet vanquished: he seemed to be always on the
+watch.  I frequently saw him riding lingeringly past the premises,
+looking searchingly round him as he went--or, if I did not, Rachel did.
+That sharp-sighted woman soon guessed how matters stood between us, and
+descrying the enemy's movements from her elevation at the nursery-window,
+she would give me a quiet intimation if she saw me preparing for a walk
+when she had reason to believe he was about, or to think it likely that
+he would meet or overtake me in the way I meant to traverse.  I would
+then defer my ramble, or confine myself for that day to the park and
+gardens, or, if the proposed excursion was a matter of importance, such
+as a visit to the sick or afflicted, I would take Rachel with me, and
+then I was never molested.
+
+But one mild, sunshiny day, early in November, I had ventured forth alone
+to visit the village school and a few of the poor tenants, and on my
+return I was alarmed at the clatter of a horse's feet behind me,
+approaching at a rapid, steady trot.  There was no stile or gap at hand
+by which I could escape into the fields, so I walked quietly on, saying
+to myself, 'It may not be he after all; and if it is, and if he do annoy
+me, it shall be for the last time, I am determined, if there be power in
+words and looks against cool impudence and mawkish sentimentality so
+inexhaustible as his.'
+
+The horse soon overtook me, and was reined up close beside me.  It was
+Mr. Hargrave.  He greeted me with a smile intended to be soft and
+melancholy, but his triumphant satisfaction at having caught me at last
+so shone through that it was quite a failure.  After briefly answering
+his salutation and inquiring after the ladies at the Grove, I turned away
+and walked on; but he followed and kept his horse at my side: it was
+evident he intended to be my companion all the way.
+
+'Well!  I don't much care.  If you want another rebuff, take it--and
+welcome,' was my inward remark.  'Now, sir, what next?'
+
+This question, though unspoken, was not long unanswered; after a few
+passing observations upon indifferent subjects, he began in solemn tones
+the following appeal to my humanity:--
+
+'It will be four years next April since I first saw you, Mrs.
+Huntingdon--you may have forgotten the circumstance, but I never can.  I
+admired you then most deeply, but I dared not love you.  In the following
+autumn I saw so much of your perfections that I could not fail to love
+you, though I dared not show it.  For upwards of three years I have
+endured a perfect martyrdom.  From the anguish of suppressed emotions,
+intense and fruitless longings, silent sorrow, crushed hopes, and
+trampled affections, I have suffered more than I can tell, or you
+imagine--and you were the cause of it, and not altogether the innocent
+cause.  My youth is wasting away; my prospects are darkened; my life is a
+desolate blank; I have no rest day or night: I am become a burden to
+myself and others, and you might save me by a word--a glance, and will
+not do it--is this right?'
+
+'In the first place, I don't believe you,' answered I; 'in the second, if
+you will be such a fool, I can't hinder it.'
+
+'If you affect,' replied he, earnestly, 'to regard as folly the best, the
+strongest, the most godlike impulses of our nature, I don't believe you.
+I know you are not the heartless, icy being you pretend to be--you had a
+heart once, and gave it to your husband.  When you found him utterly
+unworthy of the treasure, you reclaimed it; and you will not pretend that
+you loved that sensual, earthly-minded profligate so deeply, so
+devotedly, that you can never love another?  I know that there are
+feelings in your nature that have never yet been called forth; I know,
+too, that in your present neglected lonely state you are and must be
+miserable.  You have it in your power to raise two human beings from a
+state of actual suffering to such unspeakable beatitude as only generous,
+noble, self-forgetting love can give (for you can love me if you will);
+you may tell me that you scorn and detest me, but, since you have set me
+the example of plain speaking, I will answer that I do not believe you.
+But you will not do it! you choose rather to leave us miserable; and you
+coolly tell me it is the will of God that we should remain so.  You may
+call this religion, but I call it wild fanaticism!'
+
+'There is another life both for you and for me,' said I.  'If it be the
+will of God that we should sow in tears now, it is only that we may reap
+in joy hereafter.  It is His will that we should not injure others by the
+gratification of our own earthly passions; and you have a mother, and
+sisters, and friends who would be seriously injured by your disgrace; and
+I, too, have friends, whose peace of mind shall never be sacrificed to my
+enjoyment, or yours either, with my consent; and if I were alone in the
+world, I have still my God and my religion, and I would sooner die than
+disgrace my calling and break my faith with heaven to obtain a few brief
+years of false and fleeting happiness--happiness sure to end in misery
+even here--for myself or any other!'
+
+'There need be no disgrace, no misery or sacrifice in any quarter,'
+persisted he.  'I do not ask you to leave your home or defy the world's
+opinion.'  But I need not repeat all his arguments.  I refuted them to
+the best of my power; but that power was provokingly small, at the
+moment, for I was too much flurried with indignation--and even
+shame--that he should thus dare to address me, to retain sufficient
+command of thought and language to enable me adequately to contend
+against his powerful sophistries.  Finding, however, that he could not be
+silenced by reason, and even covertly exulted in his seeming advantage,
+and ventured to deride those assertions I had not the coolness to prove,
+I changed my course and tried another plan.
+
+'Do you really love me?' said I, seriously, pausing and looking him
+calmly in the face.
+
+'Do I love you!' cried he.
+
+'Truly?' I demanded.
+
+His countenance brightened; he thought his triumph was at hand.  He
+commenced a passionate protestation of the truth and fervour of his
+attachment, which I cut short by another question:--
+
+'But is it not a selfish love?  Have you enough disinterested affection
+to enable you to sacrifice your own pleasure to mine?'
+
+'I would give my life to serve you.'
+
+'I don't want your life; but have you enough real sympathy for my
+afflictions to induce you to make an effort to relieve them, at the risk
+of a little discomfort to yourself?'
+
+'Try me, and see.'
+
+'If you have, never mention this subject again.  You cannot recur to it
+in any way without doubling the weight of those sufferings you so
+feelingly deplore.  I have nothing left me but the solace of a good
+conscience and a hopeful trust in heaven, and you labour continually to
+rob me of these.  If you persist, I must regard you as my deadliest foe.'
+
+'But hear me a moment--'
+
+'No, sir!  You said you would give your life to serve me; I only ask your
+silence on one particular point.  I have spoken plainly; and what I say I
+mean.  If you torment me in this way any more, I must conclude that your
+protestations are entirely false, and that you hate me in your heart as
+fervently as you profess to love me!'
+
+He bit his lip, and bent his eyes upon the ground in silence for a while.
+
+'Then I must leave you,' said he at length, looking steadily upon me, as
+if with the last hope of detecting some token of irrepressible anguish or
+dismay awakened by those solemn words.  'I must leave you.  I cannot live
+here, and be for ever silent on the all-absorbing subject of my thoughts
+and wishes.'
+
+'Formerly, I believe, you spent but little of your time at home,' I
+answered; 'it will do you no harm to absent yourself again, for a
+while--if that be really necessary.'
+
+'If that be really possible,' he muttered; 'and can you bid me go so
+coolly?  Do you really wish it?'
+
+'Most certainly I do.  If you cannot see me without tormenting me as you
+have lately done, I would gladly say farewell and never see you more.'
+
+He made no answer, but, bending from his horse, held out his hand towards
+me.  I looked up at his face, and saw therein such a look of genuine
+agony of soul, that, whether bitter disappointment, or wounded pride, or
+lingering love, or burning wrath were uppermost, I could not hesitate to
+put my hand in his as frankly as if I bade a friend farewell.  He grasped
+it very hard, and immediately put spurs to his horse and galloped away.
+Very soon after, I learned that he was gone to Paris, where he still is;
+and the longer he stays there the better for me.
+
+I thank God for this deliverance!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVIII
+
+
+December 20th, 1826.--The fifth anniversary of my wedding-day, and, I
+trust, the last I shall spend under this roof.  My resolution is formed,
+my plan concocted, and already partly put in execution.  My conscience
+does not blame me, but while the purpose ripens let me beguile a few of
+these long winter evenings in stating the case for my own satisfaction: a
+dreary amusement enough, but having the air of a useful occupation, and
+being pursued as a task, it will suit me better than a lighter one.
+
+In September, quiet Grassdale was again alive with a party of ladies and
+gentlemen (so called), consisting of the same individuals as those
+invited the year before last, with the addition of two or three others,
+among whom were Mrs. Hargrave and her younger daughter.  The gentlemen
+and Lady Lowborough were invited for the pleasure and convenience of the
+host; the other ladies, I suppose, for the sake of appearances, and to
+keep me in check, and make me discreet and civil in my demeanour.  But
+the ladies stayed only three weeks; the gentlemen, with two exceptions,
+above two months: for their hospitable entertainer was loth to part with
+them and be left alone with his bright intellect, his stainless
+conscience, and his loved and loving wife.
+
+On the day of Lady Lowborough's arrival, I followed her into her chamber,
+and plainly told her that, if I found reason to believe that she still
+continued her criminal connection with Mr. Huntingdon, I should think it
+my absolute duty to inform her husband of the circumstance--or awaken his
+suspicions at least--however painful it might be, or however dreadful the
+consequences.  She was startled at first by the declaration, so
+unexpected, and so determinately yet calmly delivered; but rallying in a
+moment, she coolly replied that, if I saw anything at all reprehensible
+or suspicious in her conduct, she would freely give me leave to tell his
+lordship all about it.  Willing to be satisfied with this, I left her;
+and certainly I saw nothing thenceforth particularly reprehensible or
+suspicious in her demeanour towards her host; but then I had the other
+guests to attend to, and I did not watch them narrowly--for, to confess
+the truth, I feared to see anything between them.  I no longer regarded
+it as any concern of mine, and if it was my duty to enlighten Lord
+Lowborough, it was a painful duty, and I dreaded to be called to perform
+it.
+
+But my fears were brought to an end in a manner I had not anticipated.
+One evening, about a fortnight after the visitors' arrival, I had retired
+into the library to snatch a few minutes' respite from forced
+cheerfulness and wearisome discourse, for after so long a period of
+seclusion, dreary indeed as I had often found it, I could not always bear
+to be doing violence to my feelings, and goading my powers to talk, and
+smile and listen, and play the attentive hostess, or even the cheerful
+friend: I had just ensconced myself within the bow of the window, and was
+looking out upon the west, where the darkening hills rose sharply defined
+against the clear amber light of evening, that gradually blended and
+faded away into the pure, pale blue of the upper sky, where one bright
+star was shining through, as if to promise--'When that dying light is
+gone, the world will not be left in darkness, and they who trust in God,
+whose minds are unbeclouded by the mists of unbelief and sin, are never
+wholly comfortless,'--when I heard a hurried step approaching, and Lord
+Lowborough entered.  This room was still his favourite resort.  He flung
+the door to with unusual violence, and cast his hat aside regardless
+where it fell.  What could be the matter with him?  His face was ghastly
+pale; his eyes were fixed upon the ground; his teeth clenched: his
+forehead glistened with the dews of agony.  It was plain he knew his
+wrongs at last!
+
+Unconscious of my presence, he began to pace the room in a state of
+fearful agitation, violently wringing his hands and uttering low groans
+or incoherent ejaculations.  I made a movement to let him know that he
+was not alone; but he was too preoccupied to notice it.  Perhaps, while
+his back was towards me, I might cross the room and slip away unobserved.
+I rose to make the attempt, but then he perceived me.  He started and
+stood still a moment; then wiped his streaming forehead, and, advancing
+towards me, with a kind of unnatural composure, said in a deep, almost
+sepulchral tone,--'Mrs. Huntingdon, I must leave you to-morrow.'
+
+'To-morrow!' I repeated.  'I do not ask the cause.'
+
+'You know it then, and you can be so calm!' said he, surveying me with
+profound astonishment, not unmingled with a kind of resentful bitterness,
+as it appeared to me.
+
+'I have so long been aware of--' I paused in time, and added, 'of my
+husband's character, that nothing shocks me.'
+
+'But this--how long have you been aware of this?' demanded he, laying his
+clenched hand on the table beside him, and looking me keenly and fixedly
+in the face.
+
+I felt like a criminal.
+
+'Not long,' I answered.
+
+'You knew it!' cried he, with bitter vehemence--'and you did not tell me!
+You helped to deceive me!'
+
+'My lord, I did not help to deceive you.'
+
+'Then why did you not tell me?'
+
+'Because I knew it would be painful to you.  I hoped she would return to
+her duty, and then there would be no need to harrow your feelings with
+such--'
+
+'O God! how long has this been going on?  How long has it been, Mrs.
+Huntingdon?--Tell me--I must know!' exclaimed, with intense and fearful
+eagerness.
+
+'Two years, I believe.'
+
+'Great heaven! and she has duped me all this time!'  He turned away with
+a suppressed groan of agony, and paced the room again in a paroxysm of
+renewed agitation.  My heart smote me; but I would try to console him,
+though I knew not how to attempt it.
+
+'She is a wicked woman,' I said.  'She has basely deceived and betrayed
+you.  She is as little worthy of your regret as she was of your
+affection.  Let her injure you no further; abstract yourself from her,
+and stand alone.'
+
+'And you, Madam,' said he sternly, arresting himself, and turning round
+upon me, 'you have injured me too by this ungenerous concealment!'
+
+There was a sudden revulsion in my feelings.  Something rose within me,
+and urged me to resent this harsh return for my heartfelt sympathy, and
+defend myself with answering severity.  Happily, I did not yield to the
+impulse.  I saw his anguish as, suddenly smiting his forehead, he turned
+abruptly to the window, and, looking upward at the placid sky, murmured
+passionately, 'O God, that I might die!'--and felt that to add one drop
+of bitterness to that already overflowing cup would be ungenerous indeed.
+And yet I fear there was more coldness than gentleness in the quiet tone
+of my reply:--'I might offer many excuses that some would admit to be
+valid, but I will not attempt to enumerate them--'
+
+'I know them,' said he hastily: 'you would say that it was no business of
+yours: that I ought to have taken care of myself; that if my own
+blindness has led me into this pit of hell, I have no right to blame
+another for giving me credit for a larger amount of sagacity than I
+possessed--'
+
+'I confess I was wrong,' continued I, without regarding this bitter
+interruption; 'but whether want of courage or mistaken kindness was the
+cause of my error, I think you blame me too severely.  I told Lady
+Lowborough two weeks ago, the very hour she came, that I should certainly
+think it my duty to inform you if she continued to deceive you: she gave
+me full liberty to do so if I should see anything reprehensible or
+suspicious in her conduct; I have seen nothing; and I trusted she had
+altered her course.'
+
+He continued gazing from the window while I spoke, and did not answer,
+but, stung by the recollections my words awakened, stamped his foot upon
+the floor, ground his teeth, and corrugated his brow, like one under the
+influence of acute physical pain.
+
+'It was wrong, it was wrong!' he muttered at length.  'Nothing can excuse
+it; nothing can atone for it,--for nothing can recall those years of
+cursed credulity; nothing obliterate them!--nothing, nothing!' he
+repeated in a whisper, whose despairing bitterness precluded all
+resentment.
+
+'When I put the case to myself, I own it was wrong,' I answered; 'but I
+can only now regret that I did not see it in this light before, and that,
+as you say, nothing can recall the past.'
+
+Something in my voice or in the spirit of this answer seemed to alter his
+mood.  Turning towards me, and attentively surveying my face by the dim
+light, he said, in a milder tone than he had yet employed,--'You, too,
+have suffered, I suppose.'
+
+'I suffered much, at first.'
+
+'When was that?'
+
+'Two years ago; and two years hence you will be as calm as I am now, and
+far, far happier, I trust, for you are a man, and free to act as you
+please.'
+
+Something like a smile, but a very bitter one, crossed his face for a
+moment.
+
+'You have not been happy, lately?' he said, with a kind of effort to
+regain composure, and a determination to waive the further discussion of
+his own calamity.
+
+'Happy?' I repeated, almost provoked at such a question.  'Could I be so,
+with such a husband?'
+
+'I have noticed a change in your appearance since the first years of your
+marriage,' pursued he: 'I observed it to--to that infernal demon,' he
+muttered between his teeth; 'and he said it was your own sour temper that
+was eating away your bloom: it was making you old and ugly before your
+time, and had already made his fireside as comfortless as a convent cell.
+You smile, Mrs. Huntingdon; nothing moves you.  I wish my nature were as
+calm as yours.'
+
+'My nature was not originally calm,' said I.  'I have learned to appear
+so by dint of hard lessons and many repeated efforts.'
+
+At this juncture Mr. Hattersley burst into the room.
+
+'Hallo, Lowborough!' he began--'Oh! I beg your pardon,' he exclaimed on
+seeing me.  'I didn't know it was a _tete-a-tete_.  Cheer up, man,' he
+continued, giving Lord Lowborough a thump on the back, which caused the
+latter to recoil from him with looks of ineffable disgust and irritation.
+'Come, I want to speak with you a bit.'
+
+'Speak, then.'
+
+'But I'm not sure it would be quite agreeable to the lady what I have to
+say.'
+
+'Then it would not be agreeable to me,' said his lordship, turning to
+leave the room.
+
+'Yes, it would,' cried the other, following him into the hall.  'If
+you've the heart of a man, it would be the very ticket for you.  It's
+just this, my lad,' he continued, rather lowering his voice, but not
+enough to prevent me from hearing every word he said, though the
+half-closed door stood between us.  'I think you're an ill-used man--nay,
+now, don't flare up; I don't want to offend you: it's only my rough way
+of talking.  I must speak right out, you know, or else not at all; and
+I'm come--stop now! let me explain--I'm come to offer you my services,
+for though Huntingdon is my friend, he's a devilish scamp, as we all
+know, and I'll be your friend for the nonce.  I know what it is you want,
+to make matters straight: it's just to exchange a shot with him, and then
+you'll feel yourself all right again; and if an accident happens--why,
+that'll be all right too, I daresay, to a desperate fellow like you.
+Come now, give me your hand, and don't look so black upon it.  Name time
+and place, and I'll manage the rest.'
+
+'That,' answered the more low, deliberate voice of Lord Lowborough, 'is
+just the remedy my own heart, or the devil within it, suggested--to meet
+him, and not to part without blood.  Whether I or he should fall, or
+both, it would be an inexpressible relief to me, if--'
+
+'Just so!  Well then,--'
+
+'No!' exclaimed his lordship, with deep, determined emphasis.  'Though I
+hate him from my heart, and should rejoice at any calamity that could
+befall him, I'll leave him to God; and though I abhor my own life, I'll
+leave that, too, to Him that gave it.'
+
+'But you see, in this case,' pleaded Hattersley--
+
+'I'll not hear you!' exclaimed his companion, hastily turning away.  'Not
+another word!  I've enough to do against the fiend within me.'
+
+'Then you're a white-livered fool, and I wash my hands of you,' grumbled
+the tempter, as he swung himself round and departed.
+
+'Right, right, Lord Lowborough,' cried I, darting out and clasping his
+burning hand, as he was moving away to the stairs.  'I begin to think the
+world is not worthy of you!'  Not understanding this sudden ebullition,
+he turned upon me with a stare of gloomy, bewildered amazement, that made
+me ashamed of the impulse to which I had yielded; but soon a more
+humanised expression dawned upon his countenance, and before I could
+withdraw my hand, he pressed it kindly, while a gleam of genuine feeling
+flashed from his eyes as he murmured, 'God help us both!'
+
+'Amen!' responded I; and we parted.
+
+I returned to the drawing-room, where, doubtless, my presence would be
+expected by most, desired by one or two.  In the ante-room was Mr.
+Hattersley, railing against Lord Lowborough's poltroonery before a select
+audience, viz. Mr. Huntingdon, who was lounging against the table,
+exulting in his own treacherous villainy, and laughing his victim to
+scorn, and Mr. Grimsby, standing by, quietly rubbing his hands and
+chuckling with fiendish satisfaction.
+
+In the drawing-room I found Lady Lowborough, evidently in no very
+enviable state of mind, and struggling hard to conceal her discomposure
+by an overstrained affectation of unusual cheerfulness and vivacity, very
+uncalled-for under the circumstances, for she had herself given the
+company to understand that her husband had received unpleasant
+intelligence from home, which necessitated his immediate departure, and
+that he had suffered it so to bother his mind that it had brought on a
+bilious headache, owing to which, and the preparations he judged
+necessary to hasten his departure, she believed they would not have the
+pleasure of seeing him to-night.  However, she asserted, it was only a
+business concern, and so she did not intend it should trouble her.  She
+was just saying this as I entered, and she darted upon me such a glance
+of hardihood and defiance as at once astonished and revolted me.
+
+'But I am troubled,' continued she, 'and vexed too, for I think it my
+duty to accompany his lordship, and of course I am very sorry to part
+with all my kind friends so unexpectedly and so soon.'
+
+'And yet, Annabella,' said Esther, who was sitting beside her, 'I never
+saw you in better spirits in my life.'
+
+'Precisely so, my love: because I wish to make the best of your society,
+since it appears this is to be the last night I am to enjoy it till
+heaven knows when; and I wish to leave a good impression on you
+all,'--she glanced round, and seeing her aunt's eye fixed upon her,
+rather too scrutinizingly, as she probably thought, she started up and
+continued: 'To which end I'll give you a song--shall I, aunt? shall I,
+Mrs. Huntingdon? shall I ladies and gentlemen all?  Very well.  I'll do
+my best to amuse you.'
+
+She and Lord Lowborough occupied the apartments next to mine.  I know not
+how she passed the night, but I lay awake the greater part of it
+listening to his heavy step pacing monotonously up and down his
+dressing-room, which was nearest my chamber.  Once I heard him pause and
+throw something out of the window with a passionate ejaculation; and in
+the morning, after they were gone, a keen-bladed clasp-knife was found on
+the grass-plot below; a razor, likewise, was snapped in two and thrust
+deep into the cinders of the grate, but partially corroded by the
+decaying embers.  So strong had been the temptation to end his miserable
+life, so determined his resolution to resist it.
+
+My heart bled for him as I lay listening to that ceaseless tread.
+Hitherto I had thought too much of myself, too little of him: now I
+forgot my own afflictions, and thought only of his; of the ardent
+affection so miserably wasted, the fond faith so cruelly betrayed,
+the--no, I will not attempt to enumerate his wrongs--but I hated his wife
+and my husband more intensely than ever, and not for my sake, but for
+his.
+
+They departed early in the morning, before any one else was down, except
+myself, and just as I was leaving my room Lord Lowborough was descending
+to take his place in the carriage, where his lady was already ensconced;
+and Arthur (or Mr. Huntingdon, as I prefer calling him, for the other is
+my child's name) had the gratuitous insolence to come out in his
+dressing-gown to bid his 'friend' good-by.
+
+'What, going already, Lowborough!' said he.  'Well, good-morning.' He
+smilingly offered his hand.
+
+I think the other would have knocked him down, had he not instinctively
+started back before that bony fist quivering with rage and clenched till
+the knuckles gleamed white and glistening through the skin.  Looking upon
+him with a countenance livid with furious hate, Lord Lowborough muttered
+between his closed teeth a deadly execration he would not have uttered
+had he been calm enough to choose his words, and departed.
+
+'I call that an unchristian spirit now,' said the villain.  'But I'd
+never give up an old friend for the sake of a wife.  You may have mine if
+you like, and I call that handsome; I can do no more than offer
+restitution, can I?'
+
+But Lowborough had gained the bottom of the stairs, and was now crossing
+the hall; and Mr. Huntingdon, leaning over the banisters, called out,
+'Give my love to Annabella! and I wish you both a happy journey,' and
+withdrew, laughing, to his chamber.
+
+He subsequently expressed himself rather glad she was gone.  'She was so
+deuced imperious and exacting,' said he.  'Now I shall be my own man
+again, and feel rather more at my ease.'
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIX
+
+
+My greatest source of uneasiness, in this time of trial, was my son, whom
+his father and his father's friends delighted to encourage in all the
+embryo vices a little child can show, and to instruct in all the evil
+habits he could acquire--in a word, to 'make a man of him' was one of
+their staple amusements; and I need say no more to justify my alarm on
+his account, and my determination to deliver him at any hazard from the
+hands of such instructors.  I first attempted to keep him always with me,
+or in the nursery, and gave Rachel particular injunctions never to let
+him come down to dessert as long as these 'gentlemen' stayed; but it was
+no use: these orders were immediately countermanded and overruled by his
+father; he was not going to have the little fellow moped to death between
+an old nurse and a cursed fool of a mother.  So the little fellow came
+down every evening in spite of his cross mamma, and learned to tipple
+wine like papa, to swear like Mr. Hattersley, and to have his own way
+like a man, and sent mamma to the devil when she tried to prevent him.
+To see such things done with the roguish naivete of that pretty little
+child, and hear such things spoken by that small infantile voice, was as
+peculiarly piquant and irresistibly droll to them as it was inexpressibly
+distressing and painful to me; and when he had set the table in a roar he
+would look round delightedly upon them all, and add his shrill laugh to
+theirs.  But if that beaming blue eye rested on me, its light would
+vanish for a moment, and he would say, in some concern, 'Mamma, why don't
+you laugh?  Make her laugh, papa--she never will.'
+
+Hence was I obliged to stay among these human brutes, watching an
+opportunity to get my child away from them instead of leaving them
+immediately after the removal of the cloth, as I should always otherwise
+have done.  He was never willing to go, and I frequently had to carry him
+away by force, for which he thought me very cruel and unjust; and
+sometimes his father would insist upon my letting him remain; and then I
+would leave him to his kind friends, and retire to indulge my bitterness
+and despair alone, or to rack my brains for a remedy to this great evil.
+
+But here again I must do Mr. Hargrave the justice to acknowledge that I
+never saw him laugh at the child's misdemeanours, nor heard him utter a
+word of encouragement to his aspirations after manly accomplishments.
+But when anything very extraordinary was said or done by the infant
+profligate, I noticed, at times, a peculiar expression in his face that I
+could neither interpret nor define: a slight twitching about the muscles
+of the mouth; a sudden flash in the eye, as he darted a sudden glance at
+the child and then at me: and then I could fancy there arose a gleam of
+hard, keen, sombre satisfaction in his countenance at the look of
+impotent wrath and anguish he was too certain to behold in mine.  But on
+one occasion, when Arthur had been behaving particularly ill, and Mr.
+Huntingdon and his guests had been particularly provoking and insulting
+to me in their encouragement of him, and I particularly anxious to get
+him out of the room, and on the very point of demeaning myself by a burst
+of uncontrollable passion--Mr. Hargrave suddenly rose from his seat with
+an aspect of stern determination, lifted the child from his father's
+knee, where he was sitting half-tipsy, cocking his head and laughing at
+me, and execrating me with words he little knew the meaning of, handed
+him out of the room, and, setting him down in the hall, held the door
+open for me, gravely bowed as I withdrew, and closed it after me.  I
+heard high words exchanged between him and his already half-inebriated
+host as I departed, leading away my bewildered and disconcerted boy.
+
+But this should not continue: my child must not be abandoned to this
+corruption: better far that he should live in poverty and obscurity, with
+a fugitive mother, than in luxury and affluence with such a father.
+These guests might not be with us long, but they would return again: and
+he, the most injurious of the whole, his child's worst enemy, would still
+remain.  I could endure it for myself, but for my son it must be borne no
+longer: the world's opinion and the feelings of my friends must be alike
+unheeded here, at least--alike unable to deter me from my duty.  But
+where should I find an asylum, and how obtain subsistence for us both?
+Oh, I would take my precious charge at early dawn, take the coach to M--,
+flee to the port of --, cross the Atlantic, and seek a quiet, humble home
+in New England, where I would support myself and him by the labour of my
+hands.  The palette and the easel, my darling playmates once, must be my
+sober toil-fellows now.  But was I sufficiently skilful as an artist to
+obtain my livelihood in a strange land, without friends and without
+recommendation?  No; I must wait a little; I must labour hard to improve
+my talent, and to produce something worth while as a specimen of my
+powers, something to speak favourably for me, whether as an actual
+painter or a teacher.  Brilliant success, of course, I did not look for,
+but some degree of security from positive failure was indispensable: I
+must not take my son to starve.  And then I must have money for the
+journey, the passage, and some little to support us in our retreat in
+case I should be unsuccessful at first: and not too little either: for
+who could tell how long I might have to struggle with the indifference or
+neglect of others, or my own inexperience or inability to suit their
+tastes?
+
+What should I do then?  Apply to my brother and explain my circumstances
+and my resolves to him?  No, no: even if I told him all my grievances,
+which I should be very reluctant to do, he would be certain to disapprove
+of the step: it would seem like madness to him, as it would to my uncle
+and aunt, or to Milicent.  No; I must have patience and gather a hoard of
+my own.  Rachel should be my only confidante--I thought I could persuade
+her into the scheme; and she should help me, first, to find out a
+picture-dealer in some distant town; then, through her means, I would
+privately sell what pictures I had on hand that would do for such a
+purpose, and some of those I should thereafter paint.  Besides this, I
+would contrive to dispose of my jewels, not the family jewels, but the
+few I brought with me from home, and those my uncle gave me on my
+marriage.  A few months' arduous toil might well be borne by me with such
+an end in view; and in the interim my son could not be much more injured
+than he was already.
+
+Having formed this resolution, I immediately set to work to accomplish
+it, I might possibly have been induced to wax cool upon it afterwards, or
+perhaps to keep weighing the pros and cons in my mind till the latter
+overbalanced the former, and I was driven to relinquish the project
+altogether, or delay the execution of it to an indefinite period, had not
+something occurred to confirm me in that determination, to which I still
+adhere, which I still think I did well to form, and shall do better to
+execute.
+
+Since Lord Lowborough's departure I had regarded the library as entirely
+my own, a secure retreat at all hours of the day.  None of our gentlemen
+had the smallest pretensions to a literary taste, except Mr. Hargrave;
+and he, at present, was quite contented with the newspapers and
+periodicals of the day.  And if, by any chance, he should look in here, I
+felt assured he would soon depart on seeing me, for, instead of becoming
+less cool and distant towards me, he had become decidedly more so since
+the departure of his mother and sisters, which was just what I wished.
+Here, then, I set up my easel, and here I worked at my canvas from
+daylight till dusk, with very little intermission, saving when pure
+necessity, or my duties to little Arthur, called me away: for I still
+thought proper to devote some portion of every day exclusively to his
+instruction and amusement.  But, contrary to my expectation, on the third
+morning, while I was thus employed, Mr. Hargrave did look in, and did not
+immediately withdraw on seeing me.  He apologized for his intrusion, and
+said he was only come for a book; but when he had got it, he condescended
+to cast a glance over my picture.  Being a man of taste, he had something
+to say on this subject as well as another, and having modestly commented
+on it, without much encouragement from me, he proceeded to expatiate on
+the art in general.  Receiving no encouragement in that either, he
+dropped it, but did not depart.
+
+'You don't give us much of your company, Mrs. Huntingdon,' observed he,
+after a brief pause, during which I went on coolly mixing and tempering
+my colours; 'and I cannot wonder at it, for you must be heartily sick of
+us all.  I myself am so thoroughly ashamed of my companions, and so weary
+of their irrational conversation and pursuits--now that there is no one
+to humanize them and keep them in check, since you have justly abandoned
+us to our own devices--that I think I shall presently withdraw from
+amongst them, probably within this week; and I cannot suppose you will
+regret my departure.'
+
+He paused.  I did not answer.
+
+'Probably,' he added, with a smile, 'your only regret on the subject will
+be that I do not take all my companions along with me.  I flatter myself,
+at times, that though among them I am not of them; but it is natural that
+you should be glad to get rid of me.  I may regret this, but I cannot
+blame you for it.'
+
+'I shall not rejoice at your departure, for you can conduct yourself like
+a gentleman,' said I, thinking it but right to make some acknowledgment
+for his good behaviour; 'but I must confess I shall rejoice to bid adieu
+to the rest, inhospitable as it may appear.'
+
+'No one can blame you for such an avowal,' replied he gravely: 'not even
+the gentlemen themselves, I imagine.  I'll just tell you,' he continued,
+as if actuated by a sudden resolution, 'what was said last night in the
+dining-room, after you left us: perhaps you will not mind it, as you're
+so very philosophical on certain points,' he added with a slight sneer.
+'They were talking about Lord Lowborough and his delectable lady, the
+cause of whose sudden departure is no secret amongst them; and her
+character is so well known to them all, that, nearly related to me as she
+is, I could not attempt to defend it.  Curse me!' he muttered, par
+parenthese, 'if I don't have vengeance for this!  If the villain must
+disgrace the family, must he blazon it abroad to every low-bred knave of
+his acquaintance?  I beg your pardon, Mrs. Huntingdon.  Well, they were
+talking of these things, and some of them remarked that, as she was
+separated from her husband, he might see her again when he pleased.'
+
+'"Thank you," said he; "I've had enough of her for the present: I'll not
+trouble to see her, unless she comes to me."
+
+'"Then what do you mean to do, Huntingdon, when we're gone?" said Ralph
+Hattersley.  "Do you mean to turn from the error of your ways, and be a
+good husband, a good father, and so forth; as I do, when I get shut of
+you and all these rollicking devils you call your friends?  I think it's
+time; and your wife is fifty times too good for you, you know--"
+
+'And he added some praise of you, which you would not thank me for
+repeating, nor him for uttering; proclaiming it aloud, as he did, without
+delicacy or discrimination, in an audience where it seemed profanation to
+utter your name: himself utterly incapable of understanding or
+appreciating your real excellences.  Huntingdon, meanwhile, sat quietly
+drinking his wine,--or looking smilingly into his glass and offering no
+interruption or reply, till Hattersley shouted out,--"Do you hear me,
+man?"
+
+'"Yes, go on," said he.
+
+'"Nay, I've done," replied the other: "I only want to know if you intend
+to take my advice."
+
+'"What advice?"
+
+'"To turn over a new leaf, you double-dyed scoundrel," shouted Ralph,
+"and beg your wife's pardon, and be a good boy for the future."
+
+'"My wife! what wife?  I have no wife," replied Huntingdon, looking
+innocently up from his glass, "or if I have, look you, gentlemen: I value
+her so highly that any one among you, that can fancy her, may have her
+and welcome: you may, by Jove, and my blessing into the bargain!"
+
+'I--hem--someone asked if he really meant what he said; upon which he
+solemnly swore he did, and no mistake.  What do you think of that, Mrs.
+Huntingdon?' asked Mr. Hargrave, after a short pause, during which I had
+felt he was keenly examining my half-averted face.
+
+'I say,' replied I, calmly, 'that what he prizes so lightly will not be
+long in his possession.'
+
+'You cannot mean that you will break your heart and die for the
+detestable conduct of an infamous villain like that!'
+
+'By no means: my heart is too thoroughly dried to be broken in a hurry,
+and I mean to live as long as I can.'
+
+'Will you leave him then?'
+
+'Yes.'
+
+'When: and how?' asked he, eagerly.
+
+'When I am ready, and how I can manage it most effectually.'
+
+'But your child?'
+
+'My child goes with me.'
+
+'He will not allow it.'
+
+'I shall not ask him.'
+
+'Ah, then, it is a secret flight you meditate! but with whom, Mrs.
+Huntingdon?'
+
+'With my son: and possibly, his nurse.'
+
+'Alone--and unprotected!  But where can you go? what can you do?  He will
+follow you and bring you back.'
+
+'I have laid my plans too well for that.  Let me once get clear of
+Grassdale, and I shall consider myself safe.'
+
+Mr. Hargrave advanced one step towards me, looked me in the face, and
+drew in his breath to speak; but that look, that heightened colour, that
+sudden sparkle of the eye, made my blood rise in wrath: I abruptly turned
+away, and, snatching up my brush, began to dash away at my canvas with
+rather too much energy for the good of the picture.
+
+'Mrs. Huntingdon,' said he with bitter solemnity, 'you are cruel--cruel
+to me--cruel to yourself.'
+
+'Mr. Hargrave, remember your promise.'
+
+'I must speak: my heart will burst if I don't!  I have been silent long
+enough, and you must hear me!' cried he, boldly intercepting my retreat
+to the door.  'You tell me you owe no allegiance to your husband; he
+openly declares himself weary of you, and calmly gives you up to anybody
+that will take you; you are about to leave him; no one will believe that
+you go alone; all the world will say, "She has left him at last, and who
+can wonder at it?  Few can blame her, fewer still can pity him; but who
+is the companion of her flight?"  Thus you will have no credit for your
+virtue (if you call it such): even your best friends will not believe in
+it; because it is monstrous, and not to be credited but by those who
+suffer, from the effects of it, such cruel torments that they know it to
+be indeed reality.  But what can you do in the cold, rough world alone?
+you, a young and inexperienced woman, delicately nurtured, and utterly--'
+
+'In a word, you would advise me to stay where I am,' interrupted I.
+'Well, I'll see about it.'
+
+'By all means, leave him!' cried he earnestly; 'but NOT alone! Helen! let
+me protect you!'
+
+'Never! while heaven spares my reason,' replied I, snatching away the
+hand he had presumed to seize and press between his own.  But he was in
+for it now; he had fairly broken the barrier: he was completely roused,
+and determined to hazard all for victory.
+
+'I must not be denied!' exclaimed he, vehemently; and seizing both my
+hands, he held them very tight, but dropped upon his knee, and looked up
+in my face with a half-imploring, half-imperious gaze.  'You have no
+reason now: you are flying in the face of heaven's decrees.  God has
+designed me to be your comfort and protector--I feel it, I know it as
+certainly as if a voice from heaven declared, "Ye twain shall be one
+flesh"--and you spurn me from you--'
+
+'Let me go, Mr. Hargrave!' said I, sternly.  But he only tightened his
+grasp.
+
+'Let me go!' I repeated, quivering with indignation.
+
+His face was almost opposite the window as he knelt.  With a slight
+start, I saw him glance towards it; and then a gleam of malicious triumph
+lit up his countenance.  Looking over my shoulder, I beheld a shadow just
+retiring round the corner.
+
+'That is Grimsby,' said he deliberately.  'He will report what he has
+seen to Huntingdon and all the rest, with such embellishments as he
+thinks proper.  He has no love for you, Mrs. Huntingdon--no reverence for
+your sex, no belief in virtue, no admiration for its image.  He will give
+such a version of this story as will leave no doubt at all about your
+character, in the minds of those who hear it.  Your fair fame is gone;
+and nothing that I or you can say can ever retrieve it.  But give me the
+power to protect you, and show me the villain that dares to insult!'
+
+'No one has ever dared to insult me as you are doing now!' said I, at
+length releasing my hands, and recoiling from him.
+
+'I do not insult you,' cried he: 'I worship you.  You are my angel, my
+divinity!  I lay my powers at your feet, and you must and shall accept
+them!' he exclaimed, impetuously starting to his feet.  'I will be your
+consoler and defender! and if your conscience upbraid you for it, say I
+overcame you, and you could not choose but yield!'
+
+I never saw a man go terribly excited.  He precipitated himself towards
+me.  I snatched up my palette-knife and held it against him.  This
+startled him: he stood and gazed at me in astonishment; I daresay I
+looked as fierce and resolute as he.  I moved to the bell, and put my
+hand upon the cord.  This tamed him still more.  With a
+half-authoritative, half-deprecating wave of the hand, he sought to deter
+me from ringing.
+
+'Stand off, then!' said I; he stepped back.  'And listen to me.  I don't
+like you,' I continued, as deliberately and emphatically as I could, to
+give the greater efficacy to my words; 'and if I were divorced from my
+husband, or if he were dead, I would not marry you.  There now!  I hope
+you're satisfied.'
+
+His face grew blanched with anger.
+
+'I am satisfied,' he replied, with bitter emphasis, 'that you are the
+most cold-hearted, unnatural, ungrateful woman I ever yet beheld!'
+
+'Ungrateful, sir?'
+
+'Ungrateful.'
+
+'No, Mr. Hargrave, I am not.  For all the good you ever did me, or ever
+wished to do, I most sincerely thank you: for all the evil you have done
+me, and all you would have done, I pray God to pardon you, and make you
+of a better mind.'  Here the door was thrown open, and Messrs. Huntingdon
+and Hattersley appeared without.  The latter remained in the hall, busy
+with his ramrod and his gun; the former walked in, and stood with his
+back to the fire, surveying Mr. Hargrave and me, particularly the former,
+with a smile of insupportable meaning, accompanied as it was by the
+impudence of his brazen brow, and the sly, malicious, twinkle of his eye.
+
+'Well, sir?' said Hargrave, interrogatively, and with the air of one
+prepared to stand on the defensive.
+
+'Well, sir,' returned his host.
+
+'We want to know if you are at liberty to join us in a go at the
+pheasants, Walter,' interposed Hattersley from without.  'Come! there
+shall be nothing shot besides, except a puss or two; I'll vouch for
+that.'
+
+Walter did not answer, but walked to the window to collect his faculties.
+Arthur uttered a low whistle, and followed him with his eyes.  A slight
+flush of anger rose to Hargrave's cheek; but in a moment he turned calmly
+round, and said carelessly:
+
+'I came here to bid farewell to Mrs. Huntingdon, and tell her I must go
+to-morrow.'
+
+'Humph!  You're mighty sudden in your resolution.  What takes you off so
+soon, may I ask?'
+
+'Business,' returned he, repelling the other's incredulous sneer with a
+glance of scornful defiance.
+
+'Very good,' was the reply; and Hargrave walked away.  Thereupon Mr.
+Huntingdon, gathering his coat-laps under his arms, and setting his
+shoulder against the mantel-piece, turned to me, and, addressing me in a
+low voice, scarcely above his breath, poured forth a volley of the vilest
+and grossest abuse it was possible for the imagination to conceive or the
+tongue to utter.  I did not attempt to interrupt him; but my spirit
+kindled within me, and when he had done, I replied, 'If your accusation
+were true, Mr. Huntingdon, how dare you blame me?'
+
+'She's hit it, by Jove!' cried Hattersley, rearing his gun against the
+wall; and, stepping into the room, he took his precious friend by the
+arm, and attempted to drag him away.  'Come, my lad,' he muttered; 'true
+or false, you've no right to blame her, you know, nor him either; after
+what you said last night.  So come along.'
+
+There was something implied here that I could not endure.
+
+'Dare you suspect me, Mr. Hattersley?' said I, almost beside myself with
+fury.
+
+'Nay, nay, I suspect nobody.  It's all right, it's all right.  So come
+along, Huntingdon, you blackguard.'
+
+'She can't deny it!' cried the gentleman thus addressed, grinning in
+mingled rage and triumph.  'She can't deny it if her life depended on
+it!' and muttering some more abusive language, he walked into the hall,
+and took up his hat and gun from the table.
+
+'I scorn to justify myself to you!' said I.  'But you,' turning to
+Hattersley, 'if you presume to have any doubts on the subject, ask Mr.
+Hargrave.'
+
+At this they simultaneously burst into a rude laugh that made my whole
+frame tingle to the fingers' ends.
+
+'Where is he?  I'll ask him myself!' said I, advancing towards them.
+
+Suppressing a new burst of merriment, Hattersley pointed to the outer
+door.  It was half open.  His brother-in-law was standing on the front
+without.
+
+'Mr. Hargrave, will you please to step this way?' said I.
+
+He turned and looked at me in grave surprise.
+
+'Step this way, if you please!' I repeated, in so determined a manner
+that he could not, or did not choose to resist its authority.  Somewhat
+reluctantly he ascended the steps and advanced a pace or two into the
+hall.
+
+'And tell those gentlemen,' I continued--'these men, whether or not I
+yielded to your solicitations.'
+
+'I don't understand you, Mrs. Huntingdon.'
+
+'You do understand me, sir; and I charge you, upon your honour as a
+gentleman (if you have any), to answer truly.  Did I, or did I not?'
+
+'No,' muttered he, turning away.
+
+'Speak up, sir; they can't hear you.  Did I grant your request?
+
+'You did not.'
+
+'No, I'll be sworn she didn't,' said Hattersley, 'or he'd never look so
+black.'
+
+'I'm willing to grant you the satisfaction of a gentleman, Huntingdon,'
+said Mr. Hargrave, calmly addressing his host, but with a bitter sneer
+upon his countenance.
+
+'Go to the deuce!' replied the latter, with an impatient jerk of the
+head.  Hargrave withdrew with a look of cold disdain, saying,--'You know
+where to find me, should you feel disposed to send a friend.'
+
+Muttered oaths and curses were all the answer this intimation obtained.
+
+'Now, Huntingdon, you see!' said Hattersley.  'Clear as the day.'
+
+'I don't care what he sees,' said I, 'or what he imagines; but you, Mr.
+Hattersley, when you hear my name belied and slandered, will you defend
+it?'
+
+'I will.'
+
+I instantly departed and shut myself into the library.  What could
+possess me to make such a request of such a man I cannot tell; but
+drowning men catch at straws: they had driven me desperate between them;
+I hardly knew what I said.  There was no other to preserve my name from
+being blackened and aspersed among this nest of boon companions, and
+through them, perhaps, into the world; and beside my abandoned wretch of
+a husband, the base, malignant Grimsby, and the false villain Hargrave,
+this boorish ruffian, coarse and brutal as he was, shone like a glow-worm
+in the dark, among its fellow worms.
+
+What a scene was this!  Could I ever have imagined that I should be
+doomed to bear such insults under my own roof--to hear such things spoken
+in my presence; nay, spoken to me and of me; and by those who arrogated
+to themselves the name of gentlemen?  And could I have imagined that I
+should have been able to endure it as calmly, and to repel their insults
+as firmly and as boldly as I had done?  A hardness such as this is taught
+by rough experience and despair alone.
+
+Such thoughts as these chased one another through my mind, as I paced to
+and fro the room, and longed--oh, how I longed--to take my child and
+leave them now, without an hour's delay!  But it could not be; there was
+work before me: hard work, that must be done.
+
+'Then let me do it,' said I, 'and lose not a moment in vain repinings and
+idle chafings against my fate, and those who influence it.'
+
+And conquering my agitation with a powerful effort, I immediately resumed
+my task, and laboured hard all day.
+
+Mr. Hargrave did depart on the morrow; and I have never seen him since.
+The others stayed on for two or three weeks longer; but I kept aloof from
+them as much as possible, and still continued my labour, and have
+continued it, with almost unabated ardour, to the present day.  I soon
+acquainted Rachel with my design, confiding all my motives and intentions
+to her ear, and, much to my agreeable surprise, found little difficulty
+in persuading her to enter into my views.  She is a sober, cautious
+woman, but she so hates her master, and so loves her mistress and her
+nursling, that after several ejaculations, a few faint objections, and
+many tears and lamentations that I should be brought to such a pass, she
+applauded my resolution and consented to aid me with all her might: on
+one condition only: that she might share my exile: otherwise, she was
+utterly inexorable, regarding it as perfect madness for me and Arthur to
+go alone.  With touching generosity, she modestly offered to aid me with
+her little hoard of savings, hoping I would 'excuse her for the liberty,
+but really, if I would do her the favour to accept it as a loan, she
+would be very happy.'  Of course I could not think of such a thing; but
+now, thank heaven, I have gathered a little hoard of my own, and my
+preparations are so far advanced that I am looking forward to a speedy
+emancipation.  Only let the stormy severity of this winter weather be
+somewhat abated, and then, some morning, Mr. Huntingdon will come down to
+a solitary breakfast-table, and perhaps be clamouring through the house
+for his invisible wife and child, when they are some fifty miles on their
+way to the Western world, or it may be more: for we shall leave him hours
+before the dawn, and it is not probable he will discover the loss of both
+until the day is far advanced.
+
+I am fully alive to the evils that may and must result upon the step I am
+about to take; but I never waver in my resolution, because I never forget
+my son.  It was only this morning, while I pursued my usual employment,
+he was sitting at my feet, quietly playing with the shreds of canvas I
+had thrown upon the carpet; but his mind was otherwise occupied, for, in
+a while, he looked up wistfully in my face, and gravely asked,--'Mamma,
+why are you wicked?'
+
+'Who told you I was wicked, love?'
+
+'Rachel.'
+
+'No, Arthur, Rachel never said so, I am certain.'
+
+'Well, then, it was papa,' replied he, thoughtfully.  Then, after a
+reflective pause, he added, 'At least, I'll tell you how it was I got to
+know: when I'm with papa, if I say mamma wants me, or mamma says I'm not
+to do something that he tells me to do, he always says, "Mamma be
+damned," and Rachel says it's only wicked people that are damned.  So,
+mamma, that's why I think you must be wicked: and I wish you wouldn't.'
+
+'My dear child, I am not.  Those are bad words, and wicked people often
+say them of others better than themselves.  Those words cannot make
+people be damned, nor show that they deserve it.  God will judge us by
+our own thoughts and deeds, not by what others say about us.  And when
+you hear such words spoken, Arthur, remember never to repeat them: it is
+wicked to say such things of others, not to have them said against you.'
+
+'Then it's papa that's wicked,' said he, ruefully.
+
+'Papa is wrong to say such things, and you will be very wrong to imitate
+him now that you know better.'
+
+'What is imitate?'
+
+'To do as he does.'
+
+'Does he know better?'
+
+'Perhaps he does; but that is nothing to you.'
+
+'If he doesn't, you ought to tell him, mamma.'
+
+'I have told him.'
+
+The little moralist paused and pondered.  I tried in vain to divert his
+mind from the subject.
+
+'I'm sorry papa's wicked,' said he mournfully, at length, 'for I don't
+want him to go to hell.'  And so saying he burst into tears.
+
+I consoled him with the hope that perhaps his papa would alter and become
+good before he died--; but is it not time to deliver him from such a
+parent?
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XL
+
+
+January 10th, 1827.--While writing the above, yesterday evening, I sat in
+the drawing-room.  Mr. Huntingdon was present, but, as I thought, asleep
+on the sofa behind me.  He had risen, however, unknown to me, and,
+actuated by some base spirit of curiosity, been looking over my shoulder
+for I know not how long; for when I had laid aside my pen, and was about
+to close the book, he suddenly placed his hand upon it, and
+saying,--'With your leave, my dear, I'll have a look at this,' forcibly
+wrested it from me, and, drawing a chair to the table, composedly sat
+down to examine it: turning back leaf after leaf to find an explanation
+of what he had read.  Unluckily for me, he was more sober that night than
+he usually is at such an hour.
+
+Of course I did not leave him to pursue this occupation in quiet: I made
+several attempts to snatch the book from his hands, but he held it too
+firmly for that; I upbraided him in bitterness and scorn for his mean and
+dishonourable conduct, but that had no effect upon him; and, finally, I
+extinguished both the candles, but he only wheeled round to the fire, and
+raising a blaze sufficient for his purposes, calmly continued the
+investigation.  I had serious thoughts of getting a pitcher of water and
+extinguishing that light too; but it was evident his curiosity was too
+keenly excited to be quenched by that, and the more I manifested my
+anxiety to baffle his scrutiny, the greater would be his determination to
+persist in it, besides it was too late.
+
+'It seems very interesting, love,' said he, lifting his head and turning
+to where I stood, wringing my hands in silent rage and anguish; 'but it's
+rather long; I'll look at it some other time; and meanwhile I'll trouble
+you for your keys, my dear.'
+
+'What keys?'
+
+'The keys of your cabinet, desk, drawers, and whatever else you possess,'
+said he, rising and holding out his hand.
+
+'I've not got them,' I replied.  The key of my desk, in fact, was at that
+moment in the lock, and the others were attached to it.
+
+'Then you must send for them,' said he; 'and if that old devil, Rachel,
+doesn't immediately deliver them up, she tramps bag and baggage
+tomorrow.'
+
+'She doesn't know where they are,' I answered, quietly placing my hand
+upon them, and taking them from the desk, as I thought, unobserved.  'I
+know, but I shall not give them up without a reason.'
+
+'And I know, too,' said he, suddenly seizing my closed hand and rudely
+abstracting them from it.  He then took up one of the candles and
+relighted it by thrusting it into the fire.
+
+'Now, then,' sneered he, 'we must have a confiscation of property.  But,
+first, let us take a peep into the studio.'
+
+And putting the keys into his pocket, he walked into the library.  I
+followed, whether with the dim idea of preventing mischief, or only to
+know the worst, I can hardly tell.  My painting materials were laid
+together on the corner table, ready for to-morrow's use, and only covered
+with a cloth.  He soon spied them out, and putting down the candle,
+deliberately proceeded to cast them into the fire: palette, paints,
+bladders, pencils, brushes, varnish: I saw them all consumed: the
+palette-knives snapped in two, the oil and turpentine sent hissing and
+roaring up the chimney.  He then rang the bell.
+
+'Benson, take those things away,' said he, pointing to the easel, canvas,
+and stretcher; 'and tell the housemaid she may kindle the fire with them:
+your mistress won't want them any more.'
+
+Benson paused aghast and looked at me.
+
+'Take them away, Benson,' said I; and his master muttered an oath.
+
+'And this and all, sir?' said the astonished servant, referring to the
+half-finished picture.
+
+'That and all,' replied the master; and the things were cleared away.
+
+Mr. Huntingdon then went up-stairs.  I did not attempt to follow him, but
+remained seated in the arm-chair, speechless, tearless, and almost
+motionless, till he returned about half-an-hour after, and walking up to
+me, held the candle in my face and peered into my eyes with looks and
+laughter too insulting to be borne.  With a sudden stroke of my hand I
+dashed the candle to the floor.
+
+'Hal-lo!' muttered he, starting back; 'she's the very devil for spite.
+Did ever any mortal see such eyes?--they shine in the dark like a cat's.
+Oh, you're a sweet one!'  So saying, he gathered up the candle and the
+candlestick.  The former being broken as well as extinguished, he rang
+for another.
+
+'Benson, your mistress has broken the candle; bring another.'
+
+'You expose yourself finely,' observed I, as the man departed.
+
+'I didn't say I'd broken it, did I?' returned he.  He then threw my keys
+into my lap, saying,--'There! you'll find nothing gone but your money,
+and the jewels, and a few little trifles I thought it advisable to take
+into my own possession, lest your mercantile spirit should be tempted to
+turn them into gold.  I've left you a few sovereigns in your purse, which
+I expect to last you through the month; at all events, when you want more
+you will be so good as to give me an account of how that's spent.  I
+shall put you upon a small monthly allowance, in future, for your own
+private expenses; and you needn't trouble yourself any more about my
+concerns; I shall look out for a steward, my dear--I won't expose you to
+the temptation.  And as for the household matters, Mrs. Greaves must be
+very particular in keeping her accounts; we must go upon an entirely new
+plan--'
+
+'What great discovery have you made now, Mr. Huntingdon?  Have I
+attempted to defraud you?'
+
+'Not in money matters, exactly, it seems; but it's best to keep out of
+the way of temptation.'
+
+Here Benson entered with the candles, and there followed a brief interval
+of silence; I sitting still in my chair, and he standing with his back to
+the fire, silently triumphing in my despair.
+
+'And so,' said he at length, 'you thought to disgrace me, did you, by
+running away and turning artist, and supporting yourself by the labour of
+your hands, forsooth?  And you thought to rob me of my son, too, and
+bring him up to be a dirty Yankee tradesman, or a low, beggarly painter?'
+
+'Yes, to obviate his becoming such a gentleman as his father.'
+
+'It's well you couldn't keep your own secret--ha, ha!  It's well these
+women must be blabbing.  If they haven't a friend to talk to, they must
+whisper their secrets to the fishes, or write them on the sand, or
+something; and it's well, too, I wasn't over full to-night, now I think
+of it, or I might have snoozed away and never dreamt of looking what my
+sweet lady was about; or I might have lacked the sense or the power to
+carry my point like a man, as I have done.'
+
+Leaving him to his self-congratulations, I rose to secure my manuscript,
+for I now remembered it had been left upon the drawing-room table, and I
+determined, if possible, to save myself the humiliation of seeing it in
+his hands again.  I could not bear the idea of his amusing himself over
+my secret thoughts and recollections; though, to be sure, he would find
+little good of himself therein indited, except in the former part; and
+oh, I would sooner burn it all than he should read what I had written
+when I was such a fool as to love him!
+
+'And by-the-by,' cried he, as I was leaving the room, 'you'd better tell
+that d--d old sneak of a nurse to keep out of my way for a day or two;
+I'd pay her her wages and send her packing to-morrow, but I know she'd do
+more mischief out of the house than in it.'
+
+And as I departed, he went on cursing and abusing my faithful friend and
+servant with epithets I will not defile this paper with repeating.  I
+went to her as soon as I had put away my book, and told her how our
+project was defeated.  She was as much distressed and horrified as I
+was--and more so than I was that night, for I was partly stunned by the
+blow, and partly excited and supported against it by the bitterness of my
+wrath.  But in the morning, when I woke without that cheering hope that
+had been my secret comfort and support so long, and all this day, when I
+have wandered about restless and objectless, shunning my husband,
+shrinking even from my child, knowing that I am unfit to be his teacher
+or companion, hoping nothing for his future life, and fervently wishing
+he had never been born,--I felt the full extent of my calamity, and I
+feel it now.  I know that day after day such feelings will return upon
+me.  I am a slave--a prisoner--but that is nothing; if it were myself
+alone I would not complain, but I am forbidden to rescue my son from
+ruin, and what was once my only consolation is become the crowning source
+of my despair.
+
+Have I no faith in God?  I try to look to Him and raise my heart to
+heaven, but it will cleave to the dust.  I can only say, 'He hath hedged
+me about, that I cannot get out: He hath made my chain heavy.  He hath
+filled me with bitterness--He hath made me drunken with wormwood.'  I
+forget to add, 'But though He cause grief, yet will He have compassion
+according to the multitude of His mercies.  For He doth not afflict
+willingly nor grieve the children of men.' I ought to think of this; and
+if there be nothing but sorrow for me in this world, what is the longest
+life of misery to a whole eternity of peace?  And for my little
+Arthur--has he no friend but me?  Who was it said, 'It is not the will of
+your Father which is in heaven that one of these little ones should
+perish?'
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLI
+
+
+March 20th.--Having now got rid of Mr. Huntingdon for a season, my
+spirits begin to revive.  He left me early in February; and the moment he
+was gone, I breathed again, and felt my vital energy return; not with the
+hope of escape--he has taken care to leave me no visible chance of
+that--but with a determination to make the best of existing
+circumstances.  Here was Arthur left to me at last; and rousing from my
+despondent apathy, I exerted all my powers to eradicate the weeds that
+had been fostered in his infant mind, and sow again the good seed they
+had rendered unproductive.  Thank heaven, it is not a barren or a stony
+soil; if weeds spring fast there, so do better plants.  His apprehensions
+are more quick, his heart more overflowing with affection than ever his
+father's could have been, and it is no hopeless task to bend him to
+obedience and win him to love and know his own true friend, as long as
+there is no one to counteract my efforts.
+
+I had much trouble at first in breaking him of those evil habits his
+father had taught him to acquire, but already that difficulty is nearly
+vanquished now: bad language seldom defiles his mouth, and I have
+succeeded in giving him an absolute disgust for all intoxicating liquors,
+which I hope not even his father or his father's friends will be able to
+overcome.  He was inordinately fond of them for so young a creature, and,
+remembering my unfortunate father as well as his, I dreaded the
+consequences of such a taste.  But if I had stinted him, in his usual
+quantity of wine, or forbidden him to taste it altogether, that would
+only have increased his partiality for it, and made him regard it as a
+greater treat than ever.  I therefore gave him quite as much as his
+father was accustomed to allow him; as much, indeed, as he desired to
+have--but into every glass I surreptitiously introduced a small quantity
+of tartar-emetic, just enough to produce inevitable nausea and depression
+without positive sickness.  Finding such disagreeable consequences
+invariably to result from this indulgence, he soon grew weary of it, but
+the more he shrank from the daily treat the more I pressed it upon him,
+till his reluctance was strengthened to perfect abhorrence.  When he was
+thoroughly disgusted with every kind of wine, I allowed him, at his own
+request, to try brandy-and-water, and then gin-and-water, for the little
+toper was familiar with them all, and I was determined that all should be
+equally hateful to him.  This I have now effected; and since he declares
+that the taste, the smell, the sight of any one of them is sufficient to
+make him sick, I have given up teasing him about them, except now and
+then as objects of terror in cases of misbehaviour.  'Arthur, if you're
+not a good boy I shall give you a glass of wine,' or 'Now, Arthur, if you
+say that again you shall have some brandy-and-water,' is as good as any
+other threat; and once or twice, when he was sick, I have obliged the
+poor child to swallow a little wine-and-water without the tartar-emetic,
+by way of medicine; and this practice I intend to continue for some time
+to come; not that I think it of any real service in a physical sense, but
+because I am determined to enlist all the powers of association in my
+service; I wish this aversion to be so deeply grounded in his nature that
+nothing in after-life may be able to overcome it.
+
+Thus, I flatter myself, I shall secure him from this one vice; and for
+the rest, if on his father's return I find reason to apprehend that my
+good lessons will be all destroyed--if Mr. Huntingdon commence again the
+game of teaching the child to hate and despise his mother, and emulate
+his father's wickedness--I will yet deliver my son from his hands.  I
+have devised another scheme that might be resorted to in such a case; and
+if I could but obtain my brother's consent and assistance, I should not
+doubt of its success.  The old hall where he and I were born, and where
+our mother died, is not now inhabited, nor yet quite sunk into decay, as
+I believe.  Now, if I could persuade him to have one or two rooms made
+habitable, and to let them to me as a stranger, I might live there, with
+my child, under an assumed name, and still support myself by my favourite
+art.  He should lend me the money to begin with, and I would pay him
+back, and live in lowly independence and strict seclusion, for the house
+stands in a lonely place, and the neighbourhood is thinly inhabited, and
+he himself should negotiate the sale of my pictures for me.  I have
+arranged the whole plan in my head: and all I want is to persuade
+Frederick to be of the same mind as myself.  He is coming to see me soon,
+and then I will make the proposal to him, having first enlightened him
+upon my circumstances sufficiently to excuse the project.
+
+Already, I believe, he knows much more of my situation than I have told
+him.  I can tell this by the air of tender sadness pervading his letters;
+and by the fact of his so seldom mentioning my husband, and generally
+evincing a kind of covert bitterness when he does refer to him; as well
+as by the circumstance of his never coming to see me when Mr. Huntingdon
+is at home.  But he has never openly expressed any disapprobation of him
+or sympathy for me; he has never asked any questions, or said anything to
+invite my confidence.  Had he done so, I should probably have had but few
+concealments from him.  Perhaps he feels hurt at my reserve.  He is a
+strange being; I wish we knew each other better.  He used to spend a
+month at Staningley every year, before I was married; but, since our
+father's death, I have only seen him once, when he came for a few days
+while Mr. Huntingdon was away.  He shall stay many days this time, and
+there shall be more candour and cordiality between us than ever there was
+before, since our early childhood.  My heart clings to him more than
+ever; and my soul is sick of solitude.
+
+April 16th.--He is come and gone.  He would not stay above a fortnight.
+The time passed quickly, but very, very happily, and it has done me good.
+I must have a bad disposition, for my misfortunes have soured and
+embittered me exceedingly: I was beginning insensibly to cherish very
+unamiable feelings against my fellow-mortals, the male part of them
+especially; but it is a comfort to see there is at least one among them
+worthy to be trusted and esteemed; and doubtless there are more, though I
+have never known them, unless I except poor Lord Lowborough, and he was
+bad enough in his day.  But what would Frederick have been, if he had
+lived in the world, and mingled from his childhood with such men as these
+of my acquaintance? and what will Arthur be, with all his natural
+sweetness of disposition, if I do not save him from that world and those
+companions?  I mentioned my fears to Frederick, and introduced the
+subject of my plan of rescue on the evening after his arrival, when I
+presented my little son to his uncle.
+
+'He is like you, Frederick,' said I, 'in some of his moods: I sometimes
+think he resembles you more than his father; and I am glad of it.'
+
+'You flatter me, Helen,' replied he, stroking the child's soft, wavy
+locks.
+
+'No, you will think it no compliment when I tell you I would rather have
+him to resemble Benson than his father.'  He slightly elevated his
+eyebrows, but said nothing.
+
+'Do you know what sort of man Mr. Huntingdon is?' said I.
+
+'I think I have an idea.'
+
+'Have you so clear an idea that you can hear, without surprise or
+disapproval, that I meditate escaping with that child to some secret
+asylum, where we can live in peace, and never see him again?'
+
+'Is it really so?'
+
+'If you have not,' continued I, 'I'll tell you something more about him';
+and I gave a sketch of his general conduct, and a more particular account
+of his behaviour with regard to his child, and explained my apprehensions
+on the latter's account, and my determination to deliver him from his
+father's influence.
+
+Frederick was exceedingly indignant against Mr. Huntingdon, and very much
+grieved for me; but still he looked upon my project as wild and
+impracticable.  He deemed my fears for Arthur disproportioned to the
+circumstances, and opposed so many objections to my plan, and devised so
+many milder methods for ameliorating my condition, that I was obliged to
+enter into further details to convince him that my husband was utterly
+incorrigible, and that nothing could persuade him to give up his son,
+whatever became of me, he being as fully determined the child should not
+leave him, as I was not to leave the child; and that, in fact, nothing
+would answer but this, unless I fled the country, as I had intended
+before.  To obviate that, he at length consented to have one wing of the
+old hall put into a habitable condition, as a place of refuge against a
+time of need; but hoped I would not take advantage of it unless
+circumstances should render it really necessary, which I was ready enough
+to promise: for though, for my own sake, such a hermitage appears like
+paradise itself, compared with my present situation, yet for my friends'
+sakes, for Milicent and Esther, my sisters in heart and affection, for
+the poor tenants of Grassdale, and, above all, for my aunt, I will stay
+if I possibly can.
+
+July 29th.--Mrs. Hargrave and her daughter are come back from London.
+Esther is full of her first season in town; but she is still heart-whole
+and unengaged.  Her mother sought out an excellent match for her, and
+even brought the gentleman to lay his heart and fortune at her feet; but
+Esther had the audacity to refuse the noble gifts.  He was a man of good
+family and large possessions, but the naughty girl maintained he was old
+as Adam, ugly as sin, and hateful as--one who shall be nameless.
+
+'But, indeed, I had a hard time of it,' said she: 'mamma was very greatly
+disappointed at the failure of her darling project, and very, very angry
+at my obstinate resistance to her will, and is so still; but I can't help
+it.  And Walter, too, is so seriously displeased at my perversity and
+absurd caprice, as he calls it, that I fear he will never forgive me--I
+did not think he could be so unkind as he has lately shown himself.  But
+Milicent begged me not to yield, and I'm sure, Mrs. Huntingdon, if you
+had seen the man they wanted to palm upon me, you would have advised me
+not to take him too.'
+
+'I should have done so whether I had seen him or not,' said I; 'it is
+enough that you dislike him.'
+
+'I knew you would say so; though mamma affirmed you would be quite
+shocked at my undutiful conduct.  You can't imagine how she lectures me:
+I am disobedient and ungrateful; I am thwarting her wishes, wronging my
+brother, and making myself a burden on her hands.  I sometimes fear
+she'll overcome me after all.  I have a strong will, but so has she, and
+when she says such bitter things, it provokes me to such a pass that I
+feel inclined to do as she bids me, and then break my heart and say,
+"There, mamma, it's all your fault!"'
+
+'Pray don't!' said I.  'Obedience from such a motive would be positive
+wickedness, and certain to bring the punishment it deserves.  Stand firm,
+and your mamma will soon relinquish her persecution; and the gentleman
+himself will cease to pester you with his addresses if he finds them
+steadily rejected.'
+
+'Oh, no! mamma will weary all about her before she tires herself with her
+exertions; and as for Mr. Oldfield, she has given him to understand that
+I have refused his offer, not from any dislike of his person, but merely
+because I am giddy and young, and cannot at present reconcile myself to
+the thoughts of marriage under any circumstances: but by next season, she
+has no doubt, I shall have more sense, and hopes my girlish fancies will
+be worn away.  So she has brought me home, to school me into a proper
+sense of my duty, against the time comes round again.  Indeed, I believe
+she will not put herself to the expense of taking me up to London again,
+unless I surrender: she cannot afford to take me to town for pleasure and
+nonsense, she says, and it is not every rich gentleman that will consent
+to take me without a fortune, whatever exalted ideas I may have of my own
+attractions.'
+
+'Well, Esther, I pity you; but still, I repeat, stand firm.  You might as
+well sell yourself to slavery at once, as marry a man you dislike.  If
+your mother and brother are unkind to you, you may leave them, but
+remember you are bound to your husband for life.'
+
+'But I cannot leave them unless I get married, and I cannot get married
+if nobody sees me.  I saw one or two gentlemen in London that I might
+have liked, but they were younger sons, and mamma would not let me get to
+know them--one especially, who I believe rather liked me--but she threw
+every possible obstacle in the way of our better acquaintance.  Wasn't it
+provoking?'
+
+'I have no doubt you would feel it so, but it is possible that if you
+married him, you might have more reason to regret it hereafter than if
+you married Mr. Oldfield.  When I tell you not to marry without love, I
+do not advise you to marry for love alone: there are many, many other
+things to be considered.  Keep both heart and hand in your own
+possession, till you see good reason to part with them; and if such an
+occasion should never present itself, comfort your mind with this
+reflection, that though in single life your joys may not be very many,
+your sorrows, at least, will not be more than you can bear.  Marriage may
+change your circumstances for the better, but, in my private opinion, it
+is far more likely to produce a contrary result.'
+
+'So thinks Milicent; but allow me to say I think otherwise.  If I thought
+myself doomed to old-maidenhood, I should cease to value my life.  The
+thoughts of living on, year after year, at the Grove--a hanger-on upon
+mamma and Walter, a mere cumberer of the ground (now that I know in what
+light they would regard it), is perfectly intolerable; I would rather run
+away with the butler.'
+
+'Your circumstances are peculiar, I allow; but have patience, love; do
+nothing rashly.  Remember you are not yet nineteen, and many years are
+yet to pass before any one can set you down as an old maid: you cannot
+tell what Providence may have in store for you.  And meantime, remember
+you have a right to the protection and support of your mother and
+brother, however they may seem to grudge it.'
+
+'You are so grave, Mrs. Huntingdon,' said Esther, after a pause.  'When
+Milicent uttered the same discouraging sentiments concerning marriage, I
+asked if she was happy: she said she was; but I only half believed her;
+and now I must put the same question to you.'
+
+'It is a very impertinent question,' laughed I, 'from a young girl to a
+married woman so many years her senior, and I shall not answer it.'
+
+'Pardon me, dear madam,' said she, laughingly throwing herself into my
+arms, and kissing me with playful affection; but I felt a tear on my
+neck, as she dropped her head on my bosom and continued, with an odd
+mixture of sadness and levity, timidity and audacity,--'I know you are
+not so happy as I mean to be, for you spend half your life alone at
+Grassdale, while Mr. Huntingdon goes about enjoying himself where and how
+he pleases.  I shall expect my husband to have no pleasures but what he
+shares with me; and if his greatest pleasure of all is not the enjoyment
+of my company, why, it will be the worse for him, that's all.'
+
+'If such are your expectations of matrimony, Esther, you must, indeed, be
+careful whom you marry--or rather, you must avoid it altogether.'
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLII
+
+
+September 1st.--No Mr. Huntingdon yet.  Perhaps he will stay among his
+friends till Christmas; and then, next spring, he will be off again.  If
+he continue this plan, I shall be able to stay at Grassdale well
+enough--that is, I shall be able to stay, and that is enough; even an
+occasional bevy of friends at the shooting season may be borne, if Arthur
+get so firmly attached to me, so well established in good sense and
+principles before they come that I shall be able, by reason and
+affection, to keep him pure from their contaminations.  Vain hope, I
+fear! but still, till such a time of trial comes I will forbear to think
+of my quiet asylum in the beloved old hall.
+
+Mr. and Mrs. Hattersley have been staying at the Grove a fortnight: and
+as Mr. Hargrave is still absent, and the weather was remarkably fine, I
+never passed a day without seeing my two friends, Milicent and Esther,
+either there or here.  On one occasion, when Mr. Hattersley had driven
+them over to Grassdale in the phaeton, with little Helen and Ralph, and
+we were all enjoying ourselves in the garden--I had a few minutes'
+conversation with that gentleman, while the ladies were amusing
+themselves with the children.
+
+'Do you want to hear anything of your husband, Mrs. Huntingdon?' said he.
+
+'No, unless you can tell me when to expect him home.'
+
+'I can't.--You don't want him, do you?' said he, with a broad grin.
+
+'No.'
+
+'Well, I think you're better without him, sure enough--for my part, I'm
+downright weary of him.  I told him I'd leave him if he didn't mend his
+manners, and he wouldn't; so I left him.  You see, I'm a better man than
+you think me; and, what's more, I have serious thoughts of washing my
+hands of him entirely, and the whole set of 'em, and comporting myself
+from this day forward with all decency and sobriety, as a Christian and
+the father of a family should do.  What do you think of that?'
+
+'It is a resolution you ought to have formed long ago.'
+
+'Well, I'm not thirty yet; it isn't too late, is it?'
+
+'No; it is never too late to reform, as long as you have the sense to
+desire it, and the strength to execute your purpose.'
+
+'Well, to tell you the truth, I've thought of it often and often before;
+but he's such devilish good company, is Huntingdon, after all.  You can't
+imagine what a jovial good fellow he is when he's not fairly drunk, only
+just primed or half-seas-over.  We all have a bit of a liking for him at
+the bottom of our hearts, though we can't respect him.'
+
+'But should you wish yourself to be like him?'
+
+'No, I'd rather be like myself, bad as I am.'
+
+'You can't continue as bad as you are without getting worse and more
+brutalised every day, and therefore more like him.'
+
+I could not help smiling at the comical, half-angry, half-confounded look
+he put on at this rather unusual mode of address.
+
+'Never mind my plain speaking,' said I; 'it is from the best of motives.
+But tell me, should you wish your sons to be like Mr. Huntingdon--or even
+like yourself?'
+
+'Hang it! no.'
+
+'Should you wish your daughter to despise you--or, at least, to feel no
+vestige of respect for you, and no affection but what is mingled with the
+bitterest regret?'
+
+'Oh, no!  I couldn't stand that.'
+
+'And, finally, should you wish your wife to be ready to sink into the
+earth when she hears you mentioned; and to loathe the very sound of your
+voice, and shudder at your approach?'
+
+'She never will; she likes me all the same, whatever I do.'
+
+'Impossible, Mr. Hattersley! you mistake her quiet submission for
+affection.'
+
+'Fire and fury--'
+
+'Now don't burst into a tempest at that.  I don't mean to say she does
+not love you--she does, I know, a great deal better than you deserve; but
+I am quite sure, that if you behave better, she will love you more, and
+if you behave worse, she will love you less and less, till all is lost in
+fear, aversion, and bitterness of soul, if not in secret hatred and
+contempt.  But, dropping the subject of affection, should you wish to be
+the tyrant of her life--to take away all the sunshine from her existence,
+and make her thoroughly miserable?'
+
+'Of course not; and I don't, and I'm not going to.'
+
+'You have done more towards it than you suppose.'
+
+'Pooh, pooh! she's not the susceptible, anxious, worriting creature you
+imagine: she's a little meek, peaceable, affectionate body; apt to be
+rather sulky at times, but quiet and cool in the main, and ready to take
+things as they come.'
+
+'Think of what she was five years ago, when you married her, and what she
+is now.'
+
+'I know she was a little plump lassie then, with a pretty pink and white
+face: now she's a poor little bit of a creature, fading and melting away
+like a snow-wreath.  But hang it!--that's not my fault.'
+
+'What is the cause of it then?  Not years, for she's only
+five-and-twenty.'
+
+'It's her own delicate health, and confound it, madam! what would you
+make of me?--and the children, to be sure, that worry her to death
+between them.'
+
+'No, Mr. Hattersley, the children give her more pleasure than pain: they
+are fine, well-dispositioned children--'
+
+'I know they are--bless them!'
+
+'Then why lay the blame on them?--I'll tell you what it is: it's silent
+fretting and constant anxiety on your account, mingled, I suspect, with
+something of bodily fear on her own.  When you behave well, she can only
+rejoice with trembling; she has no security, no confidence in your
+judgment or principles; but is continually dreading the close of such
+short-lived felicity; when you behave ill, her causes of terror and
+misery are more than any one can tell but herself.  In patient endurance
+of evil, she forgets it is our duty to admonish our neighbours of their
+transgressions.  Since you will mistake her silence for indifference,
+come with me, and I'll show you one or two of her letters--no breach of
+confidence, I hope, since you are her other half.'
+
+He followed me into the library.  I sought out and put into his hands two
+of Milicent's letters: one dated from London, and written during one of
+his wildest seasons of reckless dissipation; the other in the country,
+during a lucid interval.  The former was full of trouble and anguish; not
+accusing him, but deeply regretting his connection with his profligate
+companions, abusing Mr. Grimsby and others, insinuating bitter things
+against Mr. Huntingdon, and most ingeniously throwing the blame of her
+husband's misconduct on to other men's shoulders.  The latter was full of
+hope and joy, yet with a trembling consciousness that this happiness
+would not last; praising his goodness to the skies, but with an evident,
+though but half-expressed wish, that it were based on a surer foundation
+than the natural impulses of the heart, and a half-prophetic dread of the
+fall of that house so founded on the sand,--which fall had shortly after
+taken place, as Hattersley must have been conscious while he read.
+
+Almost at the commencement of the first letter I had the unexpected
+pleasure of seeing him blush; but he immediately turned his back to me,
+and finished the perusal at the window.  At the second, I saw him, once
+or twice, raise his hand, and hurriedly pass it across his face.  Could
+it be to dash away a tear?  When he had done, there was an interval spent
+in clearing his throat and staring out of the window, and then, after
+whistling a few bars of a favourite air, he turned round, gave me back
+the letters, and silently shook me by the hand.
+
+'I've been a cursed rascal, God knows,' said he, as he gave it a hearty
+squeeze, 'but you see if I don't make amends for it--d--n me if I don't!'
+
+'Don't curse yourself, Mr. Hattersley; if God had heard half your
+invocations of that kind, you would have been in hell long before
+now--and you cannot make amends for the past by doing your duty for the
+future, inasmuch as your duty is only what you owe to your Maker, and you
+cannot do more than fulfil it: another must make amends for your past
+delinquencies.  If you intend to reform, invoke God's blessing, His
+mercy, and His aid; not His curse.'
+
+'God help me, then--for I'm sure I need it.  Where's Milicent?'
+
+'She's there, just coming in with her sister.'
+
+He stepped out at the glass door, and went to meet them.  I followed at a
+little distance.  Somewhat to his wife's astonishment, he lifted her off
+from the ground, and saluted her with a hearty kiss and a strong embrace;
+then placing his two hands on her shoulders, he gave her, I suppose, a
+sketch of the great things he meant to do, for she suddenly threw her
+arms round him, and burst into tears, exclaiming,--'Do, do, Ralph--we
+shall be so happy!  How very, very good you are!'
+
+'Nay, not I,' said he, turning her round, and pushing her towards me.
+'Thank her; it's her doing.'
+
+Milicent flew to thank me, overflowing with gratitude.  I disclaimed all
+title to it, telling her her husband was predisposed to amendment before
+I added my mite of exhortation and encouragement, and that I had only
+done what she might, and ought to have done herself.
+
+'Oh, no!' cried she; 'I couldn't have influenced him, I'm sure, by
+anything that I could have said.  I should only have bothered him by my
+clumsy efforts at persuasion, if I had made the attempt.'
+
+'You never tried me, Milly,' said he.
+
+Shortly after they took their leave.  They are now gone on a visit to
+Hattersley's father.  After that they will repair to their country home.
+I hope his good resolutions will not fall through, and poor Milicent will
+not be again disappointed.  Her last letter was full of present bliss,
+and pleasing anticipations for the future; but no particular temptation
+has yet occurred to put his virtue to the test.  Henceforth, however, she
+will doubtless be somewhat less timid and reserved, and he more kind and
+thoughtful.--Surely, then, her hopes are not unfounded; and I have one
+bright spot, at least, whereon to rest my thoughts.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLIII
+
+
+October 10th.--Mr. Huntingdon returned about three weeks ago.  His
+appearance, his demeanour and conversation, and my feelings with regard
+to him, I shall not trouble myself to describe.  The day after his
+arrival, however, he surprised me by the announcement of an intention to
+procure a governess for little Arthur: I told him it was quite
+unnecessary, not to say ridiculous, at the present season: I thought I
+was fully competent to the task of teaching him myself--for some years to
+come, at least: the child's education was the only pleasure and business
+of my life; and since he had deprived me of every other occupation, he
+might surely leave me that.
+
+He said I was not fit to teach children, or to be with them: I had
+already reduced the boy to little better than an automaton; I had broken
+his fine spirit with my rigid severity; and I should freeze all the
+sunshine out of his heart, and make him as gloomy an ascetic as myself,
+if I had the handling of him much longer.  And poor Rachel, too, came in
+for her share of abuse, as usual; he cannot endure Rachel, because he
+knows she has a proper appreciation of him.
+
+I calmly defended our several qualifications as nurse and governess, and
+still resisted the proposed addition to our family; but he cut me short
+by saying it was no use bothering about the matter, for he had engaged a
+governess already, and she was coming next week; so that all I had to do
+was to get things ready for her reception.  This was a rather startling
+piece of intelligence.  I ventured to inquire her name and address, by
+whom she had been recommended, or how he had been led to make choice of
+her.
+
+'She is a very estimable, pious young person,' said he; 'you needn't be
+afraid.  Her name is Myers, I believe; and she was recommended to me by a
+respectable old dowager: a lady of high repute in the religious world.  I
+have not seen her myself, and therefore cannot give you a particular
+account of her person and conversation, and so forth; but, if the old
+lady's eulogies are correct, you will find her to possess all desirable
+qualifications for her position: an inordinate love of children among the
+rest.'
+
+All this was gravely and quietly spoken, but there was a laughing demon
+in his half-averted eye that boded no good, I imagined.  However, I
+thought of my asylum in --shire, and made no further objections.
+
+When Miss Myers arrived, I was not prepared to give her a very cordial
+reception.  Her appearance was not particularly calculated to produce a
+favourable impression at first sight, nor did her manners and subsequent
+conduct, in any degree, remove the prejudice I had already conceived
+against her.  Her attainments were limited, her intellect noways above
+mediocrity.  She had a fine voice, and could sing like a nightingale, and
+accompany herself sufficiently well on the piano; but these were her only
+accomplishments.  There was a look of guile and subtlety in her face, a
+sound of it in her voice.  She seemed afraid of me, and would start if I
+suddenly approached her.  In her behaviour she was respectful and
+complaisant, even to servility: she attempted to flatter and fawn upon me
+at first, but I soon checked that.  Her fondness for her little pupil was
+overstrained, and I was obliged to remonstrate with her on the subject of
+over-indulgence and injudicious praise; but she could not gain his heart.
+Her piety consisted in an occasional heaving of sighs, and uplifting of
+eyes to the ceiling, and the utterance of a few cant phrases.  She told
+me she was a clergyman's daughter, and had been left an orphan from her
+childhood, but had had the good fortune to obtain a situation in a very
+pious family; and then she spoke so gratefully of the kindness she had
+experienced from its different members, that I reproached myself for my
+uncharitable thoughts and unfriendly conduct, and relented for a time,
+but not for long: my causes of dislike were too rational, my suspicions
+too well founded for that; and I knew it was my duty to watch and
+scrutinize till those suspicions were either satisfactorily removed or
+confirmed.
+
+I asked the name and residence of the kind and pious family.  She
+mentioned a common name, and an unknown and distant place of abode, but
+told me they were now on the Continent, and their present address was
+unknown to her.  I never saw her speak much to Mr. Huntingdon; but he
+would frequently look into the school-room to see how little Arthur got
+on with his new companion, when I was not there.  In the evening, she sat
+with us in the drawing-room, and would sing and play to amuse him or us,
+as she pretended, and was very attentive to his wants, and watchful to
+anticipate them, though she only talked to me; indeed, he was seldom in a
+condition to be talked to.  Had she been other than she was, I should
+have felt her presence a great relief to come between us thus, except,
+indeed, that I should have been thoroughly ashamed for any decent person
+to see him as he often was.
+
+I did not mention my suspicions to Rachel; but she, having sojourned for
+half a century in this land of sin and sorrow, has learned to be
+suspicious herself.  She told me from the first she was 'down of that new
+governess,' and I soon found she watched her quite as narrowly as I did;
+and I was glad of it, for I longed to know the truth: the atmosphere of
+Grassdale seemed to stifle me, and I could only live by thinking of
+Wildfell Hall.
+
+At last, one morning, she entered my chamber with such intelligence that
+my resolution was taken before she had ceased to speak.  While she
+dressed me I explained to her my intentions and what assistance I should
+require from her, and told her which of my things she was to pack up, and
+what she was to leave behind for herself, as I had no other means of
+recompensing her for this sudden dismissal after her long and faithful
+service: a circumstance I most deeply regretted, but could not avoid.
+
+'And what will you do, Rachel?' said I; 'will you go home, or seek
+another place?'
+
+'I have no home, ma'am, but with you,' she replied; 'and if I leave you
+I'll never go into place again as long as I live.'
+
+'But I can't afford to live like a lady now,' returned I: 'I must be my
+own maid and my child's nurse.'
+
+'What signifies!' replied she, in some excitement.  'You'll want somebody
+to clean and wash, and cook, won't you?  I can do all that; and never
+mind the wages: I've my bits o' savings yet, and if you wouldn't take me
+I should have to find my own board and lodging out of 'em somewhere, or
+else work among strangers: and it's what I'm not used to: so you can
+please yourself, ma'am.' Her voice quavered as she spoke, and the tears
+stood in her eyes.
+
+'I should like it above all things, Rachel, and I'd give you such wages
+as I could afford: such as I should give to any servant-of-all-work I
+might employ: but don't you see I should be dragging you down with me
+when you have done nothing to deserve it?'
+
+'Oh, fiddle!' ejaculated she.
+
+'And, besides, my future way of living will be so widely different to the
+past: so different to all you have been accustomed to--'
+
+'Do you think, ma'am, I can't bear what my missis can? surely I'm not so
+proud and so dainty as that comes to; and my little master, too, God
+bless him!'
+
+'But I'm young, Rachel; I sha'n't mind it; and Arthur is young too: it
+will be nothing to him.'
+
+'Nor me either: I'm not so old but what I can stand hard fare and hard
+work, if it's only to help and comfort them as I've loved like my own
+bairns: for all I'm too old to bide the thoughts o' leaving 'em in
+trouble and danger, and going amongst strangers myself.'
+
+'Then you sha'n't, Rachel!' cried I, embracing my faithful friend.
+'We'll all go together, and you shall see how the new life suits you.'
+
+'Bless you, honey!' cried she, affectionately returning my embrace.
+'Only let us get shut of this wicked house, and we'll do right enough,
+you'll see.'
+
+'So think I,' was my answer; and so that point was settled.
+
+By that morning's post I despatched a few hasty lines to Frederick,
+beseeching him to prepare my asylum for my immediate reception: for I
+should probably come to claim it within a day after the receipt of that
+note: and telling him, in few words, the cause of my sudden resolution.
+I then wrote three letters of adieu: the first to Esther Hargrave, in
+which I told her that I found it impossible to stay any longer at
+Grassdale, or to leave my son under his father's protection; and, as it
+was of the last importance that our future abode should be unknown to him
+and his acquaintance, I should disclose it to no one but my brother,
+through the medium of whom I hoped still to correspond with my friends.
+I then gave her his address, exhorted her to write frequently, reiterated
+some of my former admonitions regarding her own concerns, and bade her a
+fond farewell.
+
+The second was to Milicent; much to the same effect, but a little more
+confidential, as befitted our longer intimacy, and her greater experience
+and better acquaintance with my circumstances.
+
+The third was to my aunt: a much more difficult and painful undertaking,
+and therefore I had left it to the last; but I must give her some
+explanation of that extraordinary step I had taken: and that quickly, for
+she and my uncle would no doubt hear of it within a day or two after my
+disappearance, as it was probable that Mr. Huntingdon would speedily
+apply to them to know what was become of me.  At last, however, I told
+her I was sensible of my error: I did not complain of its punishment, and
+I was sorry to trouble my friends with its consequences; but in duty to
+my son I must submit no longer; it was absolutely necessary that he
+should be delivered from his father's corrupting influence.  I should not
+disclose my place of refuge even to her, in order that she and my uncle
+might be able, with truth, to deny all knowledge concerning it; but any
+communications addressed to me under cover to my brother would be certain
+to reach me.  I hoped she and my uncle would pardon the step I had taken,
+for if they knew all, I was sure they would not blame me; and I trusted
+they would not afflict themselves on my account, for if I could only
+reach my retreat in safety and keep it unmolested, I should be very
+happy, but for the thoughts of them; and should be quite contented to
+spend my life in obscurity, devoting myself to the training up of my
+child, and teaching him to avoid the errors of both his parents.
+
+These things were done yesterday: I have given two whole days to the
+preparation for our departure, that Frederick may have more time to
+prepare the rooms, and Rachel to pack up the things: for the latter task
+must be done with the utmost caution and secrecy, and there is no one but
+me to assist her.  I can help to get the articles together, but I do not
+understand the art of stowing them into the boxes, so as to take up the
+smallest possible space; and there are her own things to do, as well as
+mine and Arthur's.  I can ill afford to leave anything behind, since I
+have no money, except a few guineas in my purse; and besides, as Rachel
+observed, whatever I left would most likely become the property of Miss
+Myers, and I should not relish that.
+
+But what trouble I have had throughout these two days, struggling to
+appear calm and collected, to meet him and her as usual, when I was
+obliged to meet them, and forcing myself to leave my little Arthur in her
+hands for hours together!  But I trust these trials are over now: I have
+laid him in my bed for better security, and never more, I trust, shall
+his innocent lips be defiled by their contaminating kisses, or his young
+ears polluted by their words.  But shall we escape in safety?  Oh, that
+the morning were come, and we were on our way at least!  This evening,
+when I had given Rachel all the assistance I could, and had nothing left
+me but to wait, and wish and tremble, I became so greatly agitated that I
+knew not what to do.  I went down to dinner, but I could not force myself
+to eat.  Mr. Huntingdon remarked the circumstance.
+
+'What's to do with you now?' said he, when the removal of the second
+course gave him time to look about him.
+
+'I am not well,' I replied: 'I think I must lie down a little; you won't
+miss me much?'
+
+'Not the least: if you leave your chair, it'll do just as well--better, a
+trifle,' he muttered, as I left the room, 'for I can fancy somebody else
+fills it.'
+
+'Somebody else may fill it to-morrow,' I thought, but did not say.
+'There!  I've seen the last of you, I hope,' I muttered, as I closed the
+door upon him.
+
+Rachel urged me to seek repose at once, to recruit my strength for
+to-morrow's journey, as we must be gone before the dawn; but in my
+present state of nervous excitement that was entirely out of the
+question.  It was equally out of the question to sit, or wander about my
+room, counting the hours and the minutes between me and the appointed
+time of action, straining my ears and trembling at every sound, lest
+someone should discover and betray us after all.  I took up a book and
+tried to read: my eyes wandered over the pages, but it was impossible to
+bind my thoughts to their contents.  Why not have recourse to the old
+expedient, and add this last event to my chronicle?  I opened its pages
+once more, and wrote the above account--with difficulty, at first, but
+gradually my mind became more calm and steady.  Thus several hours have
+passed away: the time is drawing near; and now my eyes feel heavy and my
+frame exhausted.  I will commend my cause to God, and then lie down and
+gain an hour or two of sleep; and then!--
+
+Little Arthur sleeps soundly.  All the house is still: there can be no
+one watching.  The boxes were all corded by Benson, and quietly conveyed
+down the back stairs after dusk, and sent away in a cart to the M--
+coach-office.  The name upon the cards was Mrs. Graham, which appellation
+I mean henceforth to adopt.  My mother's maiden name was Graham, and
+therefore I fancy I have some claim to it, and prefer it to any other,
+except my own, which I dare not resume.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLIV
+
+
+October 24th.--Thank heaven, I am free and safe at last.  Early we rose,
+swiftly and quietly dressed, slowly and stealthily descended to the hall,
+where Benson stood ready with a light, to open the door and fasten it
+after us.  We were obliged to let one man into our secret on account of
+the boxes, &c.  All the servants were but too well acquainted with their
+master's conduct, and either Benson or John would have been willing to
+serve me; but as the former was more staid and elderly, and a crony of
+Rachel's besides, I of course directed her to make choice of him as her
+assistant and confidant on the occasion, as far as necessity demanded, I
+only hope he may not be brought into trouble thereby, and only wish I
+could reward him for the perilous service he was so ready to undertake.
+I slipped two guineas into his hand, by way of remembrance, as he stood
+in the doorway, holding the candle to light our departure, with a tear in
+his honest grey eye, and a host of good wishes depicted on his solemn
+countenance.  Alas!  I could offer no more: I had barely sufficient
+remaining for the probable expenses of the journey.
+
+What trembling joy it was when the little wicket closed behind us, as we
+issued from the park!  Then, for one moment, I paused, to inhale one
+draught of that cool, bracing air, and venture one look back upon the
+house.  All was dark and still: no light glimmered in the windows, no
+wreath of smoke obscured the stars that sparkled above it in the frosty
+sky.  As I bade farewell for ever to that place, the scene of so much
+guilt and misery, I felt glad that I had not left it before, for now
+there was no doubt about the propriety of such a step--no shadow of
+remorse for him I left behind.  There was nothing to disturb my joy but
+the fear of detection; and every step removed us further from the chance
+of that.
+
+We had left Grassdale many miles behind us before the round red sun arose
+to welcome our deliverance; and if any inhabitant of its vicinity had
+chanced to see us then, as we bowled along on the top of the coach, I
+scarcely think they would have suspected our identity.  As I intend to be
+taken for a widow, I thought it advisable to enter my new abode in
+mourning: I was, therefore, attired in a plain black silk dress and
+mantle, a black veil (which I kept carefully over my face for the first
+twenty or thirty miles of the journey), and a black silk bonnet, which I
+had been constrained to borrow of Rachel, for want of such an article
+myself.  It was not in the newest fashion, of course; but none the worse
+for that, under present circumstances.  Arthur was clad in his plainest
+clothes, and wrapped in a coarse woollen shawl; and Rachel was muffled in
+a grey cloak and hood that had seen better days, and gave her more the
+appearance of an ordinary though decent old woman, than of a lady's-maid.
+
+Oh, what delight it was to be thus seated aloft, rumbling along the
+broad, sunshiny road, with the fresh morning breeze in my face,
+surrounded by an unknown country, all smiling--cheerfully, gloriously
+smiling in the yellow lustre of those early beams; with my darling child
+in my arms, almost as happy as myself, and my faithful friend beside me:
+a prison and despair behind me, receding further, further back at every
+clatter of the horses' feet; and liberty and hope before!  I could hardly
+refrain from praising God aloud for my deliverance, or astonishing my
+fellow-passengers by some surprising outburst of hilarity.
+
+But the journey was a very long one, and we were all weary enough before
+the close of it.  It was far into the night when we reached the town of
+L--, and still we were seven miles from our journey's end; and there was
+no more coaching, nor any conveyance to be had, except a common cart, and
+that with the greatest difficulty, for half the town was in bed.  And a
+dreary ride we had of it, that last stage of the journey, cold and weary
+as we were; sitting on our boxes, with nothing to cling to, nothing to
+lean against, slowly dragged and cruelly shaken over the rough, hilly
+roads.  But Arthur was asleep in Rachel's lap, and between us we managed
+pretty well to shield him from the cold night air.
+
+At last we began to ascend a terribly steep and stony lane, which, in
+spite of the darkness, Rachel said she remembered well: she had often
+walked there with me in her arms, and little thought to come again so
+many years after, under such circumstances as the present.  Arthur being
+now awakened by the jolting and the stoppages, we all got out and walked.
+We had not far to go; but what if Frederick should not have received my
+letter? or if he should not have had time to prepare the rooms for our
+reception, and we should find them all dark, damp, and comfortless,
+destitute of food, fire, and furniture, after all our toil?
+
+At length the grim, dark pile appeared before us.  The lane conducted us
+round by the back way.  We entered the desolate court, and in breathless
+anxiety surveyed the ruinous mass.  Was it all blackness and desolation?
+No; one faint red glimmer cheered us from a window where the lattice was
+in good repair.  The door was fastened, but after due knocking and
+waiting, and some parleying with a voice from an upper window, we were
+admitted by an old woman who had been commissioned to air and keep the
+house till our arrival, into a tolerably snug little apartment, formerly
+the scullery of the mansion, which Frederick had now fitted up as a
+kitchen.  Here she procured us a light, roused the fire to a cheerful
+blaze, and soon prepared a simple repast for our refreshment; while we
+disencumbered ourselves of our travelling-gear, and took a hasty survey
+of our new abode.  Besides the kitchen, there were two bedrooms, a
+good-sized parlour, and another smaller one, which I destined for my
+studio, all well aired and seemingly in good repair, but only partly
+furnished with a few old articles, chiefly of ponderous black oak, the
+veritable ones that had been there before, and which had been kept as
+antiquarian relics in my brother's present residence, and now, in all
+haste, transported back again.
+
+The old woman brought my supper and Arthur's into the parlour, and told
+me, with all due formality, that 'the master desired his compliments to
+Mrs. Graham, and he had prepared the rooms as well as he could upon so
+short a notice; but he would do himself the pleasure of calling upon her
+to-morrow, to receive her further commands.'
+
+I was glad to ascend the stern-looking stone staircase, and lie down in
+the gloomy, old-fashioned bed, beside my little Arthur.  He was asleep in
+a minute; but, weary as I was, my excited feelings and restless
+cogitations kept me awake till dawn began to struggle with the darkness;
+but sleep was sweet and refreshing when it came, and the waking was
+delightful beyond expression.  It was little Arthur that roused me, with
+his gentle kisses.  He was here, then, safely clasped in my arms, and
+many leagues away from his unworthy father!  Broad daylight illumined the
+apartment, for the sun was high in heaven, though obscured by rolling
+masses of autumnal vapour.
+
+The scene, indeed, was not remarkably cheerful in itself, either within
+or without.  The large bare room, with its grim old furniture, the
+narrow, latticed windows, revealing the dull, grey sky above and the
+desolate wilderness below, where the dark stone walls and iron gate, the
+rank growth of grass and weeds, and the hardy evergreens of preternatural
+forms, alone remained to tell that there had been once a garden,--and the
+bleak and barren fields beyond might have struck me as gloomy enough at
+another time; but now, each separate object seemed to echo back my own
+exhilarating sense of hope and freedom: indefinite dreams of the far past
+and bright anticipations of the future seemed to greet me at every turn.
+I should rejoice with more security, to be sure, had the broad sea rolled
+between my present and my former homes; but surely in this lonely spot I
+might remain unknown; and then I had my brother here to cheer my solitude
+with his occasional visits.
+
+He came that morning; and I have had several interviews with him since;
+but he is obliged to be very cautious when and how he comes; not even his
+servants or his best friends must know of his visits to Wildfell--except
+on such occasions as a landlord might be expected to call upon a stranger
+tenant--lest suspicion should be excited against me, whether of the truth
+or of some slanderous falsehood.
+
+I have now been here nearly a fortnight, and, but for one disturbing
+care, the haunting dread of discovery, I am comfortably settled in my new
+home: Frederick has supplied me with all requisite furniture and painting
+materials: Rachel has sold most of my clothes for me, in a distant town,
+and procured me a wardrobe more suitable to my present position: I have a
+second-hand piano, and a tolerably well-stocked bookcase in my parlour;
+and my other room has assumed quite a professional, business-like
+appearance already.  I am working hard to repay my brother for all his
+expenses on my account; not that there is the slightest necessity for
+anything of the kind, but it pleases me to do so: I shall have so much
+more pleasure in my labour, my earnings, my frugal fare, and household
+economy, when I know that I am paying my way honestly, and that what
+little I possess is legitimately all my own; and that no one suffers for
+my folly--in a pecuniary way at least.  I shall make him take the last
+penny I owe him, if I can possibly effect it without offending him too
+deeply.  I have a few pictures already done, for I told Rachel to pack up
+all I had; and she executed her commission but too well--for among the
+rest, she put up a portrait of Mr. Huntingdon that I had painted in the
+first year of my marriage.  It struck me with dismay, at the moment, when
+I took it from the box and beheld those eyes fixed upon me in their
+mocking mirth, as if exulting still in his power to control my fate, and
+deriding my efforts to escape.
+
+How widely different had been my feelings in painting that portrait to
+what they now were in looking upon it!  How I had studied and toiled to
+produce something, as I thought, worthy of the original! what mingled
+pleasure and dissatisfaction I had had in the result of my
+labours!--pleasure for the likeness I had caught; dissatisfaction,
+because I had not made it handsome enough.  Now, I see no beauty in
+it--nothing pleasing in any part of its expression; and yet it is far
+handsomer and far more agreeable--far less repulsive I should rather
+say--than he is now: for these six years have wrought almost as great a
+change upon himself as on my feelings regarding him.  The frame, however,
+is handsome enough; it will serve for another painting.  The picture
+itself I have not destroyed, as I had first intended; I have put it
+aside; not, I think, from any lurking tenderness for the memory of past
+affection, nor yet to remind me of my former folly, but chiefly that I
+may compare my son's features and countenance with this, as he grows up,
+and thus be enabled to judge how much or how little he resembles his
+father--if I may be allowed to keep him with me still, and never to
+behold that father's face again--a blessing I hardly dare reckon upon.
+
+It seems Mr. Huntingdon is making every exertion to discover the place of
+my retreat.  He has been in person to Staningley, seeking redress for his
+grievances--expecting to hear of his victims, if not to find them
+there--and has told so many lies, and with such unblushing coolness, that
+my uncle more than half believes him, and strongly advocates my going
+back to him and being friends again.  But my aunt knows better: she is
+too cool and cautious, and too well acquainted with both my husband's
+character and my own to be imposed upon by any specious falsehoods the
+former could invent.  But he does not want me back; he wants my child;
+and gives my friends to understand that if I prefer living apart from
+him, he will indulge the whim and let me do so unmolested, and even
+settle a reasonable allowance on me, provided I will immediately deliver
+up his son.  But heaven help me!  I am not going to sell my child for
+gold, though it were to save both him and me from starving: it would be
+better that he should die with me than that he should live with his
+father.
+
+Frederick showed me a letter he had received from that gentleman, full of
+cool impudence such as would astonish any one who did not know him, but
+such as, I am convinced, none would know better how to answer than my
+brother.  He gave me no account of his reply, except to tell me that he
+had not acknowledged his acquaintance with my place of refuge, but rather
+left it to be inferred that it was quite unknown to him, by saying it was
+useless to apply to him, or any other of my relations, for information on
+the subject, as it appeared I had been driven to such extremity that I
+had concealed my retreat even from my best friends; but that if he had
+known it, or should at any time be made aware of it, most certainly Mr.
+Huntingdon would be the last person to whom he should communicate the
+intelligence; and that he need not trouble himself to bargain for the
+child, for he (Frederick) fancied he knew enough of his sister to enable
+him to declare, that wherever she might be, or however situated, no
+consideration would induce her to deliver him up.
+
+30th.--Alas! my kind neighbours will not let me alone.  By some means
+they have ferreted me out, and I have had to sustain visits from three
+different families, all more or less bent upon discovering who and what I
+am, whence I came, and why I have chosen such a home as this.  Their
+society is unnecessary to me, to say the least, and their curiosity
+annoys and alarms me: if I gratify it, it may lead to the ruin of my son,
+and if I am too mysterious it will only excite their suspicions, invite
+conjecture, and rouse them to greater exertions--and perhaps be the means
+of spreading my fame from parish to parish, till it reach the ears of
+some one who will carry it to the Lord of Grassdale Manor.
+
+I shall be expected to return their calls, but if, upon inquiry, I find
+that any of them live too far away for Arthur to accompany me, they must
+expect in vain for a while, for I cannot bear to leave him, unless it be
+to go to church, and I have not attempted that yet: for--it may be
+foolish weakness, but I am under such constant dread of his being
+snatched away, that I am never easy when he is not by my side; and I fear
+these nervous terrors would so entirely disturb my devotions, that I
+should obtain no benefit from the attendance.  I mean, however, to make
+the experiment next Sunday, and oblige myself to leave him in charge of
+Rachel for a few hours.  It will be a hard task, but surely no
+imprudence; and the vicar has been to scold me for my neglect of the
+ordinances of religion.  I had no sufficient excuse to offer, and I
+promised, if all were well, he should see me in my pew next Sunday; for I
+do not wish to be set down as an infidel; and, besides, I know I should
+derive great comfort and benefit from an occasional attendance at public
+worship, if I could only have faith and fortitude to compose my thoughts
+in conformity with the solemn occasion, and forbid them to be for ever
+dwelling on my absent child, and on the dreadful possibility of finding
+him gone when I return; and surely God in His mercy will preserve me from
+so severe a trial: for my child's own sake, if not for mine, He will not
+suffer him to be torn away.
+
+November 3rd.--I have made some further acquaintance with my neighbours.
+The fine gentleman and beau of the parish and its vicinity (in his own
+estimation, at least) is a young . . . .
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+Here it ended.  The rest was torn away.  How cruel, just when she was
+going to mention me! for I could not doubt it was your humble servant she
+was about to mention, though not very favourably, of course.  I could
+tell that, as well by those few words as by the recollection of her whole
+aspect and demeanour towards me in the commencement of our acquaintance.
+Well!  I could readily forgive her prejudice against me, and her hard
+thoughts of our sex in general, when I saw to what brilliant specimens
+her experience had been limited.
+
+Respecting me, however, she had long since seen her error, and perhaps
+fallen into another in the opposite extreme: for if, at first, her
+opinion of me had been lower than I deserved, I was convinced that now my
+deserts were lower than her opinion; and if the former part of this
+continuation had been torn away to avoid wounding my feelings, perhaps
+the latter portion had been removed for fear of ministering too much to
+my self-conceit.  At any rate, I would have given much to have seen it
+all--to have witnessed the gradual change, and watched the progress of
+her esteem and friendship for me, and whatever warmer feeling she might
+have; to have seen how much of love there was in her regard, and how it
+had grown upon her in spite of her virtuous resolutions and strenuous
+exertions to--but no, I had no right to see it: all this was too sacred
+for any eyes but her own, and she had done well to keep it from me.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLV
+
+
+Well, Halford, what do you think of all this? and while you read it, did
+you ever picture to yourself what my feelings would probably be during
+its perusal?  Most likely not; but I am not going to descant upon them
+now: I will only make this acknowledgment, little honourable as it may be
+to human nature, and especially to myself,--that the former half of the
+narrative was, to me, more painful than the latter, not that I was at all
+insensible to Mrs. Huntingdon's wrongs or unmoved by her sufferings, but,
+I must confess, I felt a kind of selfish gratification in watching her
+husband's gradual decline in her good graces, and seeing how completely
+he extinguished all her affection at last.  The effect of the whole,
+however, in spite of all my sympathy for her, and my fury against him,
+was to relieve my mind of an intolerable burden, and fill my heart with
+joy, as if some friend had roused me from a dreadful nightmare.
+
+It was now near eight o'clock in the morning, for my candle had expired
+in the midst of my perusal, leaving me no alternative but to get another,
+at the expense of alarming the house, or to go to bed, and wait the
+return of daylight.  On my mother's account, I chose the latter; but how
+willingly I sought my pillow, and how much sleep it brought me, I leave
+you to imagine.
+
+At the first appearance of dawn, I rose, and brought the manuscript to
+the window, but it was impossible to read it yet.  I devoted half an hour
+to dressing, and then returned to it again.  Now, with a little
+difficulty, I could manage; and with intense and eager interest, I
+devoured the remainder of its contents.  When it was ended, and my
+transient regret at its abrupt conclusion was over, I opened the window
+and put out my head to catch the cooling breeze, and imbibe deep draughts
+of the pure morning air.  A splendid morning it was; the half-frozen dew
+lay thick on the grass, the swallows were twittering round me, the rooks
+cawing, and cows lowing in the distance; and early frost and summer
+sunshine mingled their sweetness in the air.  But I did not think of
+that: a confusion of countless thoughts and varied emotions crowded upon
+me while I gazed abstractedly on the lovely face of nature.  Soon,
+however, this chaos of thoughts and passions cleared away, giving place
+to two distinct emotions: joy unspeakable that my adored Helen was all I
+wished to think her--that through the noisome vapours of the world's
+aspersions and my own fancied convictions, her character shone bright,
+and clear, and stainless as that sun I could not bear to look on; and
+shame and deep remorse for my own conduct.
+
+Immediately after breakfast I hurried over to Wildfell Hall.  Rachel had
+risen many degrees in my estimation since yesterday.  I was ready to
+greet her quite as an old friend; but every kindly impulse was checked by
+the look of cold distrust she cast upon me on opening the door.  The old
+virgin had constituted herself the guardian of her lady's honour, I
+suppose, and doubtless she saw in me another Mr. Hargrave, only the more
+dangerous in being more esteemed and trusted by her mistress.
+
+'Missis can't see any one to-day, sir--she's poorly,' said she, in answer
+to my inquiry for Mrs. Graham.
+
+'But I must see her, Rachel,' said I, placing my hand on the door to
+prevent its being shut against me.
+
+'Indeed, sir, you can't,' replied she, settling her countenance in still
+more iron frigidity than before.
+
+'Be so good as to announce me.'
+
+'It's no manner of use, Mr. Markham; she's poorly, I tell you.'
+
+Just in time to prevent me from committing the impropriety of taking the
+citadel by storm, and pushing forward unannounced, an inner door opened,
+and little Arthur appeared with his frolicsome playfellow, the dog.  He
+seized my hand between both his, and smilingly drew me forward.
+
+'Mamma says you're to come in, Mr. Markham,' said he, 'and I am to go out
+and play with Rover.'
+
+Rachel retired with a sigh, and I stepped into the parlour and shut the
+door.  There, before the fire-place, stood the tall, graceful figure,
+wasted with many sorrows.  I cast the manuscript on the table, and looked
+in her face.  Anxious and pale, it was turned towards me; her clear, dark
+eyes were fixed on mine with a gaze so intensely earnest that they bound
+me like a spell.
+
+'Have you looked it over?' she murmured.  The spell was broken.
+
+'I've read it through,' said I, advancing into the room,--'and I want to
+know if you'll forgive me--if you can forgive me?'
+
+She did not answer, but her eyes glistened, and a faint red mantled on
+her lip and cheek.  As I approached, she abruptly turned away, and went
+to the window.  It was not in anger, I was well assured, but only to
+conceal or control her emotion.  I therefore ventured to follow and stand
+beside her there,--but not to speak.  She gave me her hand, without
+turning her head, and murmured in a voice she strove in vain to
+steady,--'Can you forgive me?'
+
+It might be deemed a breach of trust, I thought, to convey that lily hand
+to my lips, so I only gently pressed it between my own, and smilingly
+replied,--'I hardly can.  You should have told me this before.  It shows
+a want of confidence--'
+
+'Oh, no,' cried she, eagerly interrupting me; 'it was not that.  It was
+no want of confidence in you; but if I had told you anything of my
+history, I must have told you all, in order to excuse my conduct; and I
+might well shrink from such a disclosure, till necessity obliged me to
+make it.  But you forgive me?--I have done very, very wrong, I know; but,
+as usual, I have reaped the bitter fruits of my own error,--and must reap
+them to the end.'
+
+Bitter, indeed, was the tone of anguish, repressed by resolute firmness,
+in which this was spoken.  Now, I raised her hand to my lips, and
+fervently kissed it again and again; for tears prevented any other reply.
+She suffered these wild caresses without resistance or resentment; then,
+suddenly turning from me, she paced twice or thrice through the room.  I
+knew by the contraction of her brow, the tight compression of her lips,
+and wringing of her hands, that meantime a violent conflict between
+reason and passion was silently passing within.  At length she paused
+before the empty fire-place, and turning to me, said calmly--if that
+might be called calmness which was so evidently the result of a violent
+effort,--'Now, Gilbert, you must leave me--not this moment, but soon--and
+you must never come again.'
+
+'Never again, Helen? just when I love you more than ever.'
+
+'For that very reason, if it be so, we should not meet again.  I thought
+this interview was necessary--at least, I persuaded myself it was
+so--that we might severally ask and receive each other's pardon for the
+past; but there can be no excuse for another.  I shall leave this place,
+as soon as I have means to seek another asylum; but our intercourse must
+end here.'
+
+'End here!' echoed I; and approaching the high, carved chimney-piece, I
+leant my hand against its heavy mouldings, and dropped my forehead upon
+it in silent, sullen despondency.
+
+'You must not come again,' continued she.  There was a slight tremor in
+her voice, but I thought her whole manner was provokingly composed,
+considering the dreadful sentence she pronounced.  'You must know why I
+tell you so,' she resumed; 'and you must see that it is better to part at
+once: --if it be hard to say adieu for ever, you ought to help me.'  She
+paused.  I did not answer.  'Will you promise not to come?--if you won't,
+and if you do come here again, you will drive me away before I know where
+to find another place of refuge--or how to seek it.'
+
+'Helen,' said I, turning impatiently towards her, 'I cannot discuss the
+matter of eternal separation calmly and dispassionately as you can do.
+It is no question of mere expedience with me; it is a question of life
+and death!'
+
+She was silent.  Her pale lips quivered, and her fingers trembled with
+agitation, as she nervously entwined them in the hair-chain to which was
+appended her small gold watch--the only thing of value she had permitted
+herself to keep.  I had said an unjust and cruel thing; but I must needs
+follow it up with something worse.
+
+'But, Helen!' I began in a soft, low tone, not daring to raise my eyes to
+her face, 'that man is not your husband: in the sight of heaven he has
+forfeited all claim to--'  She seized my arm with a grasp of startling
+energy.
+
+'Gilbert, don't!' she cried, in a tone that would have pierced a heart of
+adamant.  'For God's sake, don't you attempt these arguments!  No fiend
+could torture me like this!'
+
+'I won't, I won't!' said I, gently laying my hand on hers; almost as much
+alarmed at her vehemence as ashamed of my own misconduct.
+
+'Instead of acting like a true friend,' continued she, breaking from me,
+and throwing herself into the old arm-chair, 'and helping me with all
+your might--or rather taking your own part in the struggle of right
+against passion--you leave all the burden to me;--and not satisfied with
+that, you do your utmost to fight against me--when you know that!--' she
+paused, and hid her face in her handkerchief.
+
+'Forgive me, Helen!' pleaded I.  'I will never utter another word on the
+subject.  But may we not still meet as friends?'
+
+'It will not do,' she replied, mournfully shaking her head; and then she
+raised her eyes to mine, with a mildly reproachful look that seemed to
+say, 'You must know that as well as I.'
+
+'Then what must we do?' cried I, passionately.  But immediately I added
+in a quieter tone--'I'll do whatever you desire; only don't say that this
+meeting is to be our last.'
+
+'And why not?  Don't you know that every time we meet the thoughts of the
+final parting will become more painful?  Don't you feel that every
+interview makes us dearer to each other than the last?'
+
+The utterance of this last question was hurried and low, and the downcast
+eyes and burning blush too plainly showed that she, at least, had felt
+it.  It was scarcely prudent to make such an admission, or to add--as she
+presently did--'I have power to bid you go, now: another time it might be
+different,'--but I was not base enough to attempt to take advantage of
+her candour.
+
+'But we may write,' I timidly suggested.  'You will not deny me that
+consolation?'
+
+'We can hear of each other through my brother.'
+
+'Your brother!'  A pang of remorse and shame shot through me.  She had
+not heard of the injury he had sustained at my hands; and I had not the
+courage to tell her.  'Your brother will not help us,' I said: 'he would
+have all communion between us to be entirely at an end.'
+
+'And he would be right, I suppose.  As a friend of both, he would wish us
+both well; and every friend would tell us it was our interest, as well as
+our duty, to forget each other, though we might not see it ourselves.
+But don't be afraid, Gilbert,' she added, smiling sadly at my manifest
+discomposure; 'there is little chance of my forgetting you.  But I did
+not mean that Frederick should be the means of transmitting messages
+between us--only that each might know, through him, of the other's
+welfare;--and more than this ought not to be: for you are young, Gilbert,
+and you ought to marry--and will some time, though you may think it
+impossible now: and though I hardly can say I wish you to forget me, I
+know it is right that you should, both for your own happiness, and that
+of your future wife;--and therefore I must and will wish it,' she added
+resolutely.
+
+'And you are young too, Helen,' I boldly replied; 'and when that
+profligate scoundrel has run through his career, you will give your hand
+to me--I'll wait till then.'
+
+But she would not leave me this support.  Independently of the moral evil
+of basing our hopes upon the death of another, who, if unfit for this
+world, was at least no less so for the next, and whose amelioration would
+thus become our bane and his greatest transgression our greatest
+benefit,--she maintained it to be madness: many men of Mr. Huntingdon's
+habits had lived to a ripe though miserable old age.  'And if I,' said
+she, 'am young in years, I am old in sorrow; but even if trouble should
+fail to kill me before vice destroys him, think, if he reached but fifty
+years or so, would you wait twenty or fifteen--in vague uncertainty and
+suspense--through all the prime of youth and manhood--and marry at last a
+woman faded and worn as I shall be--without ever having seen me from this
+day to that?--You would not,' she continued, interrupting my earnest
+protestations of unfailing constancy,--'or if you would, you should not.
+Trust me, Gilbert; in this matter I know better than you.  You think me
+cold and stony-hearted, and you may, but--'
+
+'I don't, Helen.'
+
+'Well, never mind: you might if you would: but I have not spent my
+solitude in utter idleness, and I am not speaking now from the impulse of
+the moment, as you do.  I have thought of all these matters again and
+again; I have argued these questions with myself, and pondered well our
+past, and present, and future career; and, believe me, I have come to the
+right conclusion at last.  Trust my words rather than your own feelings
+now, and in a few years you will see that I was right--though at present
+I hardly can see it myself,' she murmured with a sigh as she rested her
+head on her hand.  'And don't argue against me any more: all you can say
+has been already said by my own heart and refuted by my reason.  It was
+hard enough to combat those suggestions as they were whispered within me;
+in your mouth they are ten times worse, and if you knew how much they
+pain me you would cease at once, I know.  If you knew my present
+feelings, you would even try to relieve them at the expense of your own.'
+
+'I will go--in a minute, if that can relieve you--and NEVER return!' said
+I, with bitter emphasis.  'But, if we may never meet, and never hope to
+meet again, is it a crime to exchange our thoughts by letter?  May not
+kindred spirits meet, and mingle in communion, whatever be the fate and
+circumstances of their earthly tenements?'
+
+'They may, they may!' cried she, with a momentary burst of glad
+enthusiasm.  'I thought of that too, Gilbert, but I feared to mention it,
+because I feared you would not understand my views upon the subject.  I
+fear it even now--I fear any kind friend would tell us we are both
+deluding ourselves with the idea of keeping up a spiritual intercourse
+without hope or prospect of anything further--without fostering vain
+regrets and hurtful aspirations, and feeding thoughts that should be
+sternly and pitilessly left to perish of inanition.'
+
+'Never mind our kind friends: if they can part our bodies, it is enough;
+in God's name, let them not sunder our souls!' cried I, in terror lest
+she should deem it her duty to deny us this last remaining consolation.
+
+'But no letters can pass between us here,' said she, 'without giving
+fresh food for scandal; and when I departed, I had intended that my new
+abode should be unknown to you as to the rest of the world; not that I
+should doubt your word if you promised not to visit me, but I thought you
+would be more tranquil in your own mind if you knew you could not do it,
+and likely to find less difficulty in abstracting yourself from me if you
+could not picture my situation to your mind.  But listen,' said she,
+smilingly putting up her finger to check my impatient reply: 'in six
+months you shall hear from Frederick precisely where I am; and if you
+still retain your wish to write to me, and think you can maintain a
+correspondence all thought, all spirit--such as disembodied souls or
+unimpassioned friends, at least, might hold,--write, and I will answer
+you.'
+
+'Six months!'
+
+'Yes, to give your present ardour time to cool, and try the truth and
+constancy of your soul's love for mine.  And now, enough has been said
+between us.  Why can't we part at once?' exclaimed she, almost wildly,
+after a moment's pause, as she suddenly rose from her chair, with her
+hands resolutely clasped together.  I thought it was my duty to go
+without delay; and I approached and half extended my hand as if to take
+leave--she grasped it in silence.  But this thought of final separation
+was too intolerable: it seemed to squeeze the blood out of my heart; and
+my feet were glued to the floor.
+
+'And must we never meet again?' I murmured, in the anguish of my soul.
+
+'We shall meet in heaven.  Let us think of that,' said she in a tone of
+desperate calmness; but her eyes glittered wildly, and her face was
+deadly pale.
+
+'But not as we are now,' I could not help replying.  'It gives me little
+consolation to think I shall next behold you as a disembodied spirit, or
+an altered being, with a frame perfect and glorious, but not like
+this!--and a heart, perhaps, entirely estranged from me.'
+
+'No, Gilbert, there is perfect love in heaven!'
+
+'So perfect, I suppose, that it soars above distinctions, and you will
+have no closer sympathy with me than with any one of the ten thousand
+thousand angels and the innumerable multitude of happy spirits round us.'
+
+'Whatever I am, you will be the same, and, therefore, cannot possibly
+regret it; and whatever that change may be we know it must be for the
+better.'
+
+'But if I am to be so changed that I shall cease to adore you with my
+whole heart and soul, and love you beyond every other creature, I shall
+not be myself; and though, if ever I win heaven at all, I must, I know,
+be infinitely better and happier than I am now, my earthly nature cannot
+rejoice in the anticipation of such beatitude, from which itself and its
+chief joy must be excluded.'
+
+'Is your love all earthly, then?'
+
+'No, but I am supposing we shall have no more intimate communion with
+each other than with the rest.'
+
+'If so, it will be because we love them more, and not each other less.
+Increase of love brings increase of happiness, when it is mutual, and
+pure as that will be.'
+
+'But can you, Helen, contemplate with delight this prospect of losing me
+in a sea of glory?'
+
+'I own I cannot; but we know not that it will be so;--and I do know that
+to regret the exchange of earthly pleasures for the joys of heaven, is as
+if the grovelling caterpillar should lament that it must one day quit the
+nibbled leaf to soar aloft and flutter through the air, roving at will
+from flower to flower, sipping sweet honey from their cups, or basking in
+their sunny petals.  If these little creatures knew how great a change
+awaited them, no doubt they would regret it; but would not all such
+sorrow be misplaced?  And if that illustration will not move you, here is
+another:--We are children now; we feel as children, and we understand as
+children; and when we are told that men and women do not play with toys,
+and that our companions will one day weary of the trivial sports and
+occupations that interest them and us so deeply now, we cannot help being
+saddened at the thoughts of such an alteration, because we cannot
+conceive that as we grow up our own minds will become so enlarged and
+elevated that we ourselves shall then regard as trifling those objects
+and pursuits we now so fondly cherish, and that, though our companions
+will no longer join us in those childish pastimes, they will drink with
+us at other fountains of delight, and mingle their souls with ours in
+higher aims and nobler occupations beyond our present comprehension, but
+not less deeply relished or less truly good for that, while yet both we
+and they remain essentially the same individuals as before.  But,
+Gilbert, can you really derive no consolation from the thought that we
+may meet together where there is no more pain and sorrow, no more
+striving against sin, and struggling of the spirit against the flesh;
+where both will behold the same glorious truths, and drink exalted and
+supreme felicity from the same fountain of light and goodness--that Being
+whom both will worship with the same intensity of holy ardour--and where
+pure and happy creatures both will love with the same divine affection?
+If you cannot, never write to me!'
+
+'Helen, I can! if faith would never fail.'
+
+'Now, then,' exclaimed she, 'while this hope is strong within us--'
+
+'We will part,' I cried.  'You shall not have the pain of another effort
+to dismiss me.  I will go at once; but--'
+
+I did not put my request in words: she understood it instinctively, and
+this time she yielded too--or rather, there was nothing so deliberate as
+requesting or yielding in the matter: there was a sudden impulse that
+neither could resist.  One moment I stood and looked into her face, the
+next I held her to my heart, and we seemed to grow together in a close
+embrace from which no physical or mental force could rend us.  A
+whispered 'God bless you!' and 'Go--go!' was all she said; but while she
+spoke she held me so fast that, without violence, I could not have obeyed
+her.  At length, however, by some heroic effort, we tore ourselves apart,
+and I rushed from the house.
+
+I have a confused remembrance of seeing little Arthur running up the
+garden-walk to meet me, and of bolting over the wall to avoid him--and
+subsequently running down the steep fields, clearing the stone fences and
+hedges as they came in my way, till I got completely out of sight of the
+old hall and down to the bottom of the hill; and then of long hours spent
+in bitter tears and lamentations, and melancholy musings in the lonely
+valley, with the eternal music in my ears, of the west wind rushing
+through the overshadowing trees, and the brook babbling and gurgling
+along its stony bed; my eyes, for the most part, vacantly fixed on the
+deep, chequered shades restlessly playing over the bright sunny grass at
+my feet, where now and then a withered leaf or two would come dancing to
+share the revelry; but my heart was away up the hill in that dark room
+where she was weeping desolate and alone--she whom I was not to comfort,
+not to see again, till years or suffering had overcome us both, and torn
+our spirits from their perishing abodes of clay.
+
+There was little business done that day, you may be sure.  The farm was
+abandoned to the labourers, and the labourers were left to their own
+devices.  But one duty must be attended to; I had not forgotten my
+assault upon Frederick Lawrence; and I must see him to apologise for the
+unhappy deed.  I would fain have put it off till the morrow; but what if
+he should denounce me to his sister in the meantime?  No, no!  I must ask
+his pardon to-day, and entreat him to be lenient in his accusation, if
+the revelation must be made.  I deferred it, however, till the evening,
+when my spirits were more composed, and when--oh, wonderful perversity of
+human nature!--some faint germs of indefinite hopes were beginning to
+rise in my mind; not that I intended to cherish them, after all that had
+been said on the subject, but there they must lie for a while, uncrushed
+though not encouraged, till I had learnt to live without them.
+
+Arrived at Woodford, the young squire's abode, I found no little
+difficulty in obtaining admission to his presence.  The servant that
+opened the door told me his master was very ill, and seemed to think it
+doubtful whether he would be able to see me.  I was not going to be
+baulked, however.  I waited calmly in the hall to be announced, but
+inwardly determined to take no denial.  The message was such as I
+expected--a polite intimation that Mr. Lawrence could see no one; he was
+feverish, and must not be disturbed.
+
+'I shall not disturb him long,' said I; 'but I must see him for a moment:
+it is on business of importance that I wish to speak to him.'
+
+'I'll tell him, sir,' said the man.  And I advanced further into the hall
+and followed him nearly to the door of the apartment where his master
+was--for it seemed he was not in bed.  The answer returned was that Mr.
+Lawrence hoped I would be so good as to leave a message or a note with
+the servant, as he could attend to no business at present.
+
+'He may as well see me as you,' said I; and, stepping past the astonished
+footman, I boldly rapped at the door, entered, and closed it behind me.
+The room was spacious and handsomely furnished--very comfortably, too,
+for a bachelor.  A clear, red fire was burning in the polished grate: a
+superannuated greyhound, given up to idleness and good living, lay
+basking before it on the thick, soft rug, on one corner of which, beside
+the sofa, sat a smart young springer, looking wistfully up in its
+master's face--perhaps asking permission to share his couch, or, it might
+be, only soliciting a caress from his hand or a kind word from his lips.
+The invalid himself looked very interesting as he lay reclining there, in
+his elegant dressing-gown, with a silk handkerchief bound across his
+temples.  His usually pale face was flushed and feverish; his eyes were
+half closed, until he became sensible of my presence--and then he opened
+them wide enough: one hand was thrown listlessly over the back of the
+sofa, and held a small volume, with which, apparently, he had been vainly
+attempting to beguile the weary hours.  He dropped it, however, in his
+start of indignant surprise as I advanced into the room and stood before
+him on the rug.  He raised himself on his pillows, and gazed upon me with
+equal degrees of nervous horror, anger, and amazement depicted on his
+countenance.
+
+'Mr. Markham, I scarcely expected this!' he said; and the blood left his
+cheek as he spoke.
+
+'I know you didn't,' answered I; 'but be quiet a minute, and I'll tell
+you what I came for.'  Unthinkingly, I advanced a step or two nearer.  He
+winced at my approach, with an expression of aversion and instinctive
+physical fear anything but conciliatory to my feelings.  I stepped back,
+however.
+
+'Make your story a short one,' said he, putting his hand on the small
+silver bell that stood on the table beside him, 'or I shall be obliged to
+call for assistance.  I am in no state to bear your brutalities now, or
+your presence either.'  And in truth the moisture started from his pores
+and stood on his pale forehead like dew.
+
+Such a reception was hardly calculated to diminish the difficulties of my
+unenviable task.  It must be performed however, in some fashion; and so I
+plunged into it at once, and floundered through it as I could.
+
+'The truth is, Lawrence,' said I, 'I have not acted quite correctly
+towards you of late--especially on this last occasion; and I'm come
+to--in short, to express my regret for what has been done, and to beg
+your pardon.  If you don't choose to grant it,' I added hastily, not
+liking the aspect of his face, 'it's no matter; only I've done my
+duty--that's all.'
+
+'It's easily done,' replied he, with a faint smile bordering on a sneer:
+'to abuse your friend and knock him on the head without any assignable
+cause, and then tell him the deed was not quite correct, but it's no
+matter whether he pardons it or not.'
+
+'I forgot to tell you that it was in consequence of a mistake,'--muttered
+I.  'I should have made a very handsome apology, but you provoked me so
+confoundedly with your--.  Well, I suppose it's my fault.  The fact is, I
+didn't know that you were Mrs. Graham's brother, and I saw and heard some
+things respecting your conduct towards her which were calculated to
+awaken unpleasant suspicions, that, allow me to say, a little candour and
+confidence on your part might have removed; and, at last, I chanced to
+overhear a part of a conversation between you and her that made me think
+I had a right to hate you.'
+
+'And how came you to know that I was her brother?' asked he, in some
+anxiety.
+
+'She told me herself.  She told me all.  She knew I might be trusted.
+But you needn't disturb yourself about that, Mr. Lawrence, for I've seen
+the last of her!'
+
+'The last!  Is she gone, then?'
+
+'No; but she has bid adieu to me, and I have promised never to go near
+that house again while she inhabits it.'  I could have groaned aloud at
+the bitter thoughts awakened by this turn in the discourse.  But I only
+clenched my hands and stamped my foot upon the rug.  My companion,
+however, was evidently relieved.
+
+'You have done right,' he said, in a tone of unqualified approbation,
+while his face brightened into almost a sunny expression.  'And as for
+the mistake, I am sorry for both our sakes that it should have occurred.
+Perhaps you can forgive my want of candour, and remember, as some partial
+mitigation of the offence, how little encouragement to friendly
+confidence you have given me of late.'
+
+'Yes, yes--I remember it all: nobody can blame me more than I blame
+myself in my own heart; at any rate, nobody can regret more sincerely
+than I do the result of my brutality, as you rightly term it.'
+
+'Never mind that,' said he, faintly smiling; 'let us forget all
+unpleasant words on both sides, as well as deeds, and consign to oblivion
+everything that we have cause to regret.  Have you any objection to take
+my hand, or you'd rather not?'  It trembled through weakness as he held
+it out, and dropped before I had time to catch it and give it a hearty
+squeeze, which he had not the strength to return.
+
+'How dry and burning your hand is, Lawrence,' said I.  'You are really
+ill, and I have made you worse by all this talk.'
+
+'Oh, it is nothing; only a cold got by the rain.'
+
+'My doing, too.'
+
+'Never mind that.  But tell me, did you mention this affair to my
+sister?'
+
+'To confess the truth, I had not the courage to do so; but when you tell
+her, will you just say that I deeply regret it, and--?'
+
+'Oh, never fear!  I shall say nothing against you, as long as you keep
+your good resolution of remaining aloof from her.  She has not heard of
+my illness, then, that you are aware of?'
+
+'I think not.'
+
+'I'm glad of that, for I have been all this time tormenting myself with
+the fear that somebody would tell her I was dying, or desperately ill,
+and she would be either distressing herself on account of her inability
+to hear from me or do me any good, or perhaps committing the madness of
+coming to see me.  I must contrive to let her know something about it, if
+I can,' continued he, reflectively, 'or she will be hearing some such
+story.  Many would be glad to tell her such news, just to see how she
+would take it; and then she might expose herself to fresh scandal.'
+
+'I wish I had told her,' said I.  'If it were not for my promise, I would
+tell her now.'
+
+'By no means!  I am not dreaming of that;--but if I were to write a short
+note, now, not mentioning you, Markham, but just giving a slight account
+of my illness, by way of excuse for my not coming to see her, and to put
+her on her guard against any exaggerated reports she may hear,--and
+address it in a disguised hand--would you do me the favour to slip it
+into the post-office as you pass? for I dare not trust any of the
+servants in such a case.'
+
+Most willingly I consented, and immediately brought him his desk.  There
+was little need to disguise his hand, for the poor fellow seemed to have
+considerable difficulty in writing at all, so as to be legible.  When the
+note was done, I thought it time to retire, and took leave, after asking
+if there was anything in the world I could do for him, little or great,
+in the way of alleviating his sufferings, and repairing the injury I had
+done.
+
+'No,' said he; 'you have already done much towards it; you have done more
+for me than the most skilful physician could do: for you have relieved my
+mind of two great burdens--anxiety on my sister's account, and deep
+regret upon your own: for I do believe these two sources of torment have
+had more effect in working me up into a fever than anything else; and I
+am persuaded I shall soon recover now.  There is one more thing you can
+do for me, and that is, come and see me now and then--for you see I am
+very lonely here, and I promise your entrance shall not be disputed
+again.'
+
+I engaged to do so, and departed with a cordial pressure of the hand.  I
+posted the letter on my way home, most manfully resisting the temptation
+of dropping in a word from myself at the same time.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLVI
+
+
+I felt strongly tempted, at times, to enlighten my mother and sister on
+the real character and circumstances of the persecuted tenant of Wildfell
+Hall, and at first I greatly regretted having omitted to ask that lady's
+permission to do so; but, on due reflection, I considered that if it were
+known to them, it could not long remain a secret to the Millwards and
+Wilsons, and such was my present appreciation of Eliza Millward's
+disposition, that, if once she got a clue to the story, I should fear she
+would soon find means to enlighten Mr. Huntingdon upon the place of his
+wife's retreat.  I would therefore wait patiently till these weary six
+months were over, and then, when the fugitive had found another home, and
+I was permitted to write to her, I would beg to be allowed to clear her
+name from these vile calumnies: at present I must content myself with
+simply asserting that I knew them to be false, and would prove it some
+day, to the shame of those who slandered her.  I don't think anybody
+believed me, but everybody soon learned to avoid insinuating a word
+against her, or even mentioning her name in my presence.  They thought I
+was so madly infatuated by the seductions of that unhappy lady that I was
+determined to support her in the very face of reason; and meantime I grow
+insupportably morose and misanthropical from the idea that every one I
+met was harbouring unworthy thoughts of the supposed Mrs. Graham, and
+would express them if he dared.  My poor mother was quite distressed
+about me; but I couldn't help it--at least I thought I could not, though
+sometimes I felt a pang of remorse for my undutiful conduct to her, and
+made an effort to amend, attended with some partial success; and indeed I
+was generally more humanised in my demeanour to her than to any one else,
+Mr. Lawrence excepted.  Rose and Fergus usually shunned my presence; and
+it was well they did, for I was not fit company for them, nor they for
+me, under the present circumstances.
+
+Mrs. Huntingdon did not leave Wildfell Hall till above two months after
+our farewell interview.  During that time she never appeared at church,
+and I never went near the house: I only knew she was still there by her
+brother's brief answers to my many and varied inquiries respecting her.
+I was a very constant and attentive visitor to him throughout the whole
+period of his illness and convalescence; not only from the interest I
+took in his recovery, and my desire to cheer him up and make the utmost
+possible amends for my former 'brutality,' but from my growing attachment
+to himself, and the increasing pleasure I found in his society--partly
+from his increased cordiality to me, but chiefly on account of his close
+connection, both in blood and in affection, with my adored Helen.  I
+loved him for it better than I liked to express: and I took a secret
+delight in pressing those slender white fingers, so marvellously like her
+own, considering he was not a woman, and in watching the passing changes
+in his fair, pale features, and observing the intonations of his voice,
+detecting resemblances which I wondered had never struck me before.  He
+provoked me at times, indeed, by his evident reluctance to talk to me
+about his sister, though I did not question the friendliness of his
+motives in wishing to discourage my remembrance of her.
+
+His recovery was not quite so rapid as he had expected it to be; he was
+not able to mount his pony till a fortnight after the date of our
+reconciliation; and the first use he made of his returning strength was
+to ride over by night to Wildfell Hall, to see his sister.  It was a
+hazardous enterprise both for him and for her, but he thought it
+necessary to consult with her on the subject of her projected departure,
+if not to calm her apprehensions respecting his health, and the worst
+result was a slight relapse of his illness, for no one knew of the visit
+but the inmates of the old Hall, except myself; and I believe it had not
+been his intention to mention it to me, for when I came to see him the
+next day, and observed he was not so well as he ought to have been, he
+merely said he had caught cold by being out too late in the evening.
+
+'You'll never be able to see your sister, if you don't take care of
+yourself,' said I, a little provoked at the circumstance on her account,
+instead of commiserating him.
+
+'I've seen her already,' said he, quietly.
+
+'You've seen her!' cried I, in astonishment.
+
+'Yes.'  And then he told me what considerations had impelled him to make
+the venture, and with what precautions he had made it.
+
+'And how was she?' I eagerly asked.
+
+'As usual,' was the brief though sad reply.
+
+'As usual--that is, far from happy and far from strong.'
+
+'She is not positively ill,' returned he; 'and she will recover her
+spirits in a while, I have no doubt--but so many trials have been almost
+too much for her.  How threatening those clouds look,' continued he,
+turning towards the window.  'We shall have thunder-showers before night,
+I imagine, and they are just in the midst of stacking my corn.  Have you
+got yours all in yet?'
+
+'No.  And, Lawrence, did she--did your sister mention me?'
+
+'She asked if I had seen you lately.'
+
+'And what else did she say?'
+
+'I cannot tell you all she said,' replied he, with a slight smile; 'for
+we talked a good deal, though my stay was but short; but our conversation
+was chiefly on the subject of her intended departure, which I begged her
+to delay till I was better able to assist her in her search after another
+home.'
+
+'But did she say no more about me?'
+
+'She did not say much about you, Markham.  I should not have encouraged
+her to do so, had she been inclined; but happily she was not: she only
+asked a few questions concerning you, and seemed satisfied with my brief
+answers, wherein she showed herself wiser than her friend; and I may tell
+you, too, that she seemed to be far more anxious lest you should think
+too much of her, than lest you should forget her.'
+
+'She was right.'
+
+'But I fear your anxiety is quite the other way respecting her.'
+
+'No, it is not: I wish her to be happy; but I don't wish her to forget me
+altogether.  She knows it is impossible that I should forget her; and she
+is right to wish me not to remember her too well.  I should not desire
+her to regret me too deeply; but I can scarcely imagine she will make
+herself very unhappy about me, because I know I am not worthy of it,
+except in my appreciation of her.'
+
+'You are neither of you worthy of a broken heart,--nor of all the sighs,
+and tears, and sorrowful thoughts that have been, and I fear will be,
+wasted upon you both; but, at present, each has a more exalted opinion of
+the other than, I fear, he or she deserves; and my sister's feelings are
+naturally full as keen as yours, and I believe more constant; but she has
+the good sense and fortitude to strive against them in this particular;
+and I trust she will not rest till she has entirely weaned her
+thoughts--' he hesitated.
+
+'From me,' said I.
+
+'And I wish you would make the like exertions,' continued he.
+
+'Did she tell you that that was her intention?'
+
+'No; the question was not broached between us: there was no necessity for
+it, for I had no doubt that such was her determination.'
+
+'To forget me?'
+
+'Yes, Markham!  Why not?'
+
+'Oh, well!' was my only audible reply; but I internally answered,--'No,
+Lawrence, you're wrong there: she is not determined to forget me.  It
+would be wrong to forget one so deeply and fondly devoted to her, who can
+so thoroughly appreciate her excellencies, and sympathise with all her
+thoughts, as I can do, and it would be wrong in me to forget so excellent
+and divine a piece of God's creation as she, when I have once so truly
+loved and known her.' But I said no more to him on that subject.  I
+instantly started a new topic of conversation, and soon took leave of my
+companion, with a feeling of less cordiality towards him than usual.
+Perhaps I had no right to be annoyed at him, but I was so nevertheless.
+
+In little more than a week after this I met him returning from a visit to
+the Wilsons'; and I now resolved to do him a good turn, though at the
+expense of his feelings, and perhaps at the risk of incurring that
+displeasure which is so commonly the reward of those who give
+disagreeable information, or tender their advice unasked.  In this,
+believe me, I was actuated by no motives of revenge for the occasional
+annoyances I had lately sustained from him,--nor yet by any feeling of
+malevolent enmity towards Miss Wilson, but purely by the fact that I
+could not endure that such a woman should be Mrs. Huntingdon's sister,
+and that, as well for his own sake as for hers, I could not bear to think
+of his being deceived into a union with one so unworthy of him, and so
+utterly unfitted to be the partner of his quiet home, and the companion
+of his life.  He had had uncomfortable suspicions on that head himself, I
+imagined; but such was his inexperience, and such were the lady's powers
+of attraction, and her skill in bringing them to bear upon his young
+imagination, that they had not disturbed him long; and I believe the only
+effectual causes of the vacillating indecision that had preserved him
+hitherto from making an actual declaration of love, was the consideration
+of her connections, and especially of her mother, whom he could not
+abide.  Had they lived at a distance, he might have surmounted the
+objection, but within two or three miles of Woodford it was really no
+light matter.
+
+'You've been to call on the Wilsons, Lawrence,' said I, as I walked
+beside his pony.
+
+'Yes,' replied he, slightly averting his face: 'I thought it but civil to
+take the first opportunity of returning their kind attentions, since they
+have been so very particular and constant in their inquiries throughout
+the whole course of my illness.'
+
+'It's all Miss Wilson's doing.'
+
+'And if it is,' returned he, with a very perceptible blush, 'is that any
+reason why I should not make a suitable acknowledgment?'
+
+'It is a reason why you should not make the acknowledgment she looks
+for.'
+
+'Let us drop that subject if you please,' said he, in evident
+displeasure.
+
+'No, Lawrence, with your leave we'll continue it a while longer; and I'll
+tell you something, now we're about it, which you may believe or not as
+you choose--only please to remember that it is not my custom to speak
+falsely, and that in this case I can have no motive for misrepresenting
+the truth--'
+
+'Well, Markham, what now?'
+
+'Miss Wilson hates your sister.  It may be natural enough that, in her
+ignorance of the relationship, she should feel some degree of enmity
+against her, but no good or amiable woman would be capable of evincing
+that bitter, cold-blooded, designing malice towards a fancied rival that
+I have observed in her.'
+
+'Markham!'
+
+'Yes--and it is my belief that Eliza Millward and she, if not the very
+originators of the slanderous reports that have been propagated, were
+designedly the encouragers and chief disseminators of them.  She was not
+desirous to mix up your name in the matter, of course, but her delight
+was, and still is, to blacken your sister's character to the utmost of
+her power, without risking too greatly the exposure of her own
+malevolence!'
+
+'I cannot believe it,' interrupted my companion, his face burning with
+indignation.
+
+'Well, as I cannot prove it, I must content myself with asserting that it
+is so to the best of my belief; but as you would not willingly marry Miss
+Wilson if it were so, you will do well to be cautious, till you have
+proved it to be otherwise.'
+
+'I never told you, Markham, that I intended to marry Miss Wilson,' said
+he, proudly.
+
+'No, but whether you do or not, she intends to marry you.'
+
+'Did she tell you so?'
+
+'No, but--'
+
+'Then you have no right to make such an assertion respecting her.' He
+slightly quickened his pony's pace, but I laid my hand on its mane,
+determined he should not leave me yet.
+
+'Wait a moment, Lawrence, and let me explain myself; and don't be so
+very--I don't know what to call it--inaccessible as you are.--I know what
+you think of Jane Wilson; and I believe I know how far you are mistaken
+in your opinion: you think she is singularly charming, elegant, sensible,
+and refined: you are not aware that she is selfish, cold-hearted,
+ambitious, artful, shallow-minded--'
+
+'Enough, Markham--enough!'
+
+'No; let me finish:--you don't know that, if you married her, your home
+would be rayless and comfortless; and it would break your heart at last
+to find yourself united to one so wholly incapable of sharing your
+tastes, feelings, and ideas--so utterly destitute of sensibility, good
+feeling, and true nobility of soul.'
+
+'Have you done?' asked my companion quietly.
+
+'Yes;--I know you hate me for my impertinence, but I don't care if it
+only conduces to preserve you from that fatal mistake.'
+
+'Well!' returned he, with a rather wintry smile--'I'm glad you have
+overcome or forgotten your own afflictions so far as to be able to study
+so deeply the affairs of others, and trouble your head so unnecessarily
+about the fancied or possible calamities of their future life.'
+
+We parted--somewhat coldly again: but still we did not cease to be
+friends; and my well-meant warning, though it might have been more
+judiciously delivered, as well as more thankfully received, was not
+wholly unproductive of the desired effect: his visit to the Wilsons was
+not repeated, and though, in our subsequent interviews, he never
+mentioned her name to me, nor I to him,--I have reason to believe he
+pondered my words in his mind, eagerly though covertly sought information
+respecting the fair lady from other quarters, secretly compared my
+character of her with what he had himself observed and what he heard from
+others, and finally came to the conclusion that, all things considered,
+she had much better remain Miss Wilson of Ryecote Farm than be transmuted
+into Mrs. Lawrence of Woodford Hall.  I believe, too, that he soon
+learned to contemplate with secret amazement his former predilection, and
+to congratulate himself on the lucky escape he had made; but he never
+confessed it to me, or hinted one word of acknowledgment for the part I
+had had in his deliverance, but this was not surprising to any one that
+knew him as I did.
+
+As for Jane Wilson, she, of course, was disappointed and embittered by
+the sudden cold neglect and ultimate desertion of her former admirer.
+Had I done wrong to blight her cherished hopes?  I think not; and
+certainly my conscience has never accused me, from that day to this, of
+any evil design in the matter.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLVII
+
+
+One morning, about the beginning of November, while I was inditing some
+business letters, shortly after breakfast, Eliza Millward came to call
+upon my sister.  Rose had neither the discrimination nor the virulence to
+regard the little demon as I did, and they still preserved their former
+intimacy.  At the moment of her arrival, however, there was no one in the
+room but Fergus and myself, my mother and sister being both of them
+absent, 'on household cares intent'; but I was not going to lay myself
+out for her amusement, whoever else might so incline: I merely honoured
+her with a careless salutation and a few words of course, and then went
+on with my writing, leaving my brother to be more polite if he chose.
+But she wanted to tease me.
+
+'What a pleasure it is to find you at home, Mr. Markham!' said she, with
+a disingenuously malicious smile.  'I so seldom see you now, for you
+never come to the vicarage.  Papa, is quite offended, I can tell you,'
+she added playfully, looking into my face with an impertinent laugh, as
+she seated herself, half beside and half before my desk, off the corner
+of the table.
+
+'I have had a good deal to do of late,' said I, without looking up from
+my letter.
+
+'Have you, indeed!  Somebody said you had been strangely neglecting your
+business these last few months.'
+
+'Somebody said wrong, for, these last two months especially, I have been
+particularly plodding and diligent.'
+
+'Ah! well, there's nothing like active employment, I suppose, to console
+the afflicted;--and, excuse me, Mr. Markham, but you look so very far
+from well, and have been, by all accounts, so moody and thoughtful of
+late,--I could almost think you have some secret care preying on your
+spirits.  Formerly,' said she timidly, 'I could have ventured to ask you
+what it was, and what I could do to comfort you: I dare not do it now.'
+
+'You're very kind, Miss Eliza.  When I think you can do anything to
+comfort me, I'll make bold to tell you.'
+
+'Pray do!--I suppose I mayn't guess what it is that troubles you?'
+
+'There's no necessity, for I'll tell you plainly.  The thing that
+troubles me the most at present is a young lady sitting at my elbow, and
+preventing me from finishing my letter, and, thereafter, repairing to my
+daily business.'
+
+Before she could reply to this ungallant speech, Rose entered the room;
+and Miss Eliza rising to greet her, they both seated themselves near the
+fire, where that idle lad Fergus was standing, leaning his shoulder
+against the corner of the chimney-piece, with his legs crossed and his
+hands in his breeches-pockets.
+
+'Now, Rose, I'll tell you a piece of news--I hope you have not heard it
+before: for good, bad, or indifferent, one always likes to be the first
+to tell.  It's about that sad Mrs. Graham--'
+
+'Hush-sh-sh!' whispered Fergus, in a tone of solemn import.  '"We never
+mention her; her name is never heard."'  And glancing up, I caught him
+with his eye askance on me, and his finger pointed to his forehead; then,
+winking at the young lady with a doleful shake of the head, he
+whispered--'A monomania--but don't mention it--all right but that.'
+
+'I should be sorry to injure any one's feelings,' returned she, speaking
+below her breath.  'Another time, perhaps.'
+
+'Speak out, Miss Eliza!' said I, not deigning to notice the other's
+buffooneries: 'you needn't fear to say anything in my presence.'
+
+'Well,' answered she, 'perhaps you know already that Mrs. Graham's
+husband is not really dead, and that she had run away from him?'  I
+started, and felt my face glow; but I bent it over my letter, and went on
+folding it up as she proceeded.  'But perhaps you did not know that she
+is now gone back to him again, and that a perfect reconciliation has
+taken place between them?  Only think,' she continued, turning to the
+confounded Rose, 'what a fool the man must be!'
+
+'And who gave you this piece of intelligence, Miss Eliza?' said I,
+interrupting my sister's exclamations.
+
+'I had it from a very authentic source.'
+
+'From whom, may I ask?'
+
+'From one of the servants at Woodford.'
+
+'Oh!  I was not aware that you were on such intimate terms with Mr.
+Lawrence's household.'
+
+'It was not from the man himself that I heard it, but he told it in
+confidence to our maid Sarah, and Sarah told it to me.'
+
+'In confidence, I suppose?  And you tell it in confidence to us?  But I
+can tell you that it is but a lame story after all, and scarcely one-half
+of it true.'
+
+While I spoke I completed the sealing and direction of my letters, with a
+somewhat unsteady hand, in spite of all my efforts to retain composure,
+and in spite of my firm conviction that the story was a lame one--that
+the supposed Mrs. Graham, most certainly, had not voluntarily gone back
+to her husband, or dreamt of a reconciliation.  Most likely she was gone
+away, and the tale-bearing servant, not knowing what was become of her,
+had conjectured that such was the case, and our fair visitor had detailed
+it as a certainty, delighted with such an opportunity of tormenting me.
+But it was possible--barely possible--that some one might have betrayed
+her, and she had been taken away by force.  Determined to know the worst,
+I hastily pocketed my two letters, and muttered something about being too
+late for the post, left the room, rushed into the yard, and vociferously
+called for my horse.  No one being there, I dragged him out of the stable
+myself, strapped the saddle on to his back and the bridle on to his head,
+mounted, and speedily galloped away to Woodford.  I found its owner
+pensively strolling in the grounds.
+
+'Is your sister gone?' were my first words as I grasped his hand, instead
+of the usual inquiry after his health.
+
+'Yes, she's gone,' was his answer, so calmly spoken that my terror was at
+once removed.
+
+'I suppose I mayn't know where she is?' said I, as I dismounted, and
+relinquished my horse to the gardener, who, being the only servant within
+call, had been summoned by his master, from his employment of raking up
+the dead leaves on the lawn, to take him to the stables.
+
+My companion gravely took my arm, and leading me away to the garden, thus
+answered my question,--'She is at Grassdale Manor, in --shire.'
+
+'Where?' cried I, with a convulsive start.
+
+'At Grassdale Manor.'
+
+'How was it?' I gasped.  'Who betrayed her?'
+
+'She went of her own accord.'
+
+'Impossible, Lawrence!  She could not be so frantic!' exclaimed I,
+vehemently grasping his arm, as if to force him to unsay those hateful
+words.
+
+'She did,' persisted he in the same grave, collected manner as before;
+'and not without reason,' he continued, gently disengaging himself from
+my grasp.  'Mr. Huntingdon is ill.'
+
+'And so she went to nurse him?'
+
+'Yes.'
+
+'Fool!' I could not help exclaiming, and Lawrence looked up with a rather
+reproachful glance.  'Is he dying, then?'
+
+'I think not, Markham.'
+
+'And how many more nurses has he?  How many ladies are there besides to
+take care of him?'
+
+'None; he was alone, or she would not have gone.'
+
+'Oh, confound it!  This is intolerable!'
+
+'What is?  That he should be alone?'
+
+I attempted no reply, for I was not sure that this circumstance did not
+partly conduce to my distraction.  I therefore continued to pace the walk
+in silent anguish, with my hand pressed to my forehead; then suddenly
+pausing and turning to my companion, I impatiently exclaimed, 'Why did
+she take this infatuated step?  What fiend persuaded her to it?'
+
+'Nothing persuaded her but her own sense of duty.'
+
+'Humbug!'
+
+'I was half inclined to say so myself, Markham, at first.  I assure you
+it was not by my advice that she went, for I detest that man as fervently
+as you can do,--except, indeed, that his reformation would give me much
+greater pleasure than his death; but all I did was to inform her of the
+circumstance of his illness (the consequence of a fall from his horse in
+hunting), and to tell her that that unhappy person, Miss Myers, had left
+him some time ago.'
+
+'It was ill done!  Now, when he finds the convenience of her presence, he
+will make all manner of lying speeches and false, fair promises for the
+future, and she will believe him, and then her condition will be ten
+times worse and ten times more irremediable than before.'
+
+'There does not appear to be much ground for such apprehensions at
+present,' said he, producing a letter from his pocket.  'From the account
+I received this morning, I should say--'
+
+It was her writing!  By an irresistible impulse I held out my hand, and
+the words, 'Let me see it,' involuntarily passed my lips.  He was
+evidently reluctant to grant the request, but while he hesitated I
+snatched it from his hand.  Recollecting myself, however, the minute
+after, I offered to restore it.
+
+'Here, take it,' said I, 'if you don't want me to read it.'
+
+'No,' replied he, 'you may read it if you like.'
+
+I read it, and so may you.
+
+                                                      Grassdale, Nov. 4th.
+
+DEAR FREDERICK,--I know you will be anxious to hear from me, and I will
+tell you all I can.  Mr. Huntingdon is very ill, but not dying, or in any
+immediate danger; and he is rather better at present than he was when I
+came.  I found the house in sad confusion: Mrs. Greaves, Benson, every
+decent servant had left, and those that were come to supply their places
+were a negligent, disorderly set, to say no worse--I must change them
+again, if I stay.  A professional nurse, a grim, hard old woman, had been
+hired to attend the wretched invalid.  He suffers much, and has no
+fortitude to bear him through.  The immediate injuries he sustained from
+the accident, however, were not very severe, and would, as the doctor
+says, have been but trifling to a man of temperate habits, but with him
+it is very different.  On the night of my arrival, when I first entered
+his room, he was lying in a kind of half delirium.  He did not notice me
+till I spoke, and then he mistook me for another.
+
+'Is it you, Alice, come again?' he murmured.  'What did you leave me
+for?'
+
+'It is I, Arthur--it is Helen, your wife,' I replied.
+
+'My wife!' said he, with a start.  'For heaven's sake, don't mention
+her--I have none.  Devil take her,' he cried, a moment after, 'and you,
+too!  What did you do it for?'
+
+I said no more; but observing that he kept gazing towards the foot of the
+bed, I went and sat there, placing the light so as to shine full upon me,
+for I thought he might be dying, and I wanted him to know me.  For a long
+time he lay silently looking upon me, first with a vacant stare, then
+with a fixed gaze of strange growing intensity.  At last he startled me
+by suddenly raising himself on his elbow and demanding in a horrified
+whisper, with his eyes still fixed upon me, 'Who is it?'
+
+'It is Helen Huntingdon,' said I, quietly rising at the same time, and
+removing to a less conspicuous position.
+
+'I must be going mad,' cried he, 'or something--delirious, perhaps; but
+leave me, whoever you are.  I can't bear that white face, and those eyes.
+For God's sake go, and send me somebody else that doesn't look like
+that!'
+
+I went at once, and sent the hired nurse; but next morning I ventured to
+enter his chamber again, and, taking the nurse's place by his bedside, I
+watched him and waited on him for several hours, showing myself as little
+as possible, and only speaking when necessary, and then not above my
+breath.  At first he addressed me as the nurse, but, on my crossing the
+room to draw up the window-blinds, in obedience to his directions, he
+said, 'No, it isn't nurse; it's Alice.  Stay with me, do!  That old hag
+will be the death of me.'
+
+'I mean to stay with you,' said I.  And after that he would call me
+Alice, or some other name almost equally repugnant to my feelings.  I
+forced myself to endure it for a while, fearing a contradiction might
+disturb him too much; but when, having asked for a glass of water, while
+I held it to his lips, he murmured, 'Thanks, dearest!' I could not help
+distinctly observing, 'You would not say so if you knew me,' intending to
+follow that up with another declaration of my identity; but he merely
+muttered an incoherent reply, so I dropped it again, till some time
+after, when, as I was bathing his forehead and temples with vinegar and
+water to relieve the heat and pain in his head, he observed, after
+looking earnestly upon me for some minutes, 'I have such strange
+fancies--I can't get rid of them, and they won't let me rest; and the
+most singular and pertinacious of them all is your face and voice--they
+seem just like hers.  I could swear at this moment that she was by my
+side.'
+
+'She is,' said I.
+
+'That seems comfortable,' continued he, without noticing my words; 'and
+while you do it, the other fancies fade away--but this only
+strengthens.--Go on--go on, till it vanishes, too.  I can't stand such a
+mania as this; it would kill me!'
+
+'It never will vanish,' said I, distinctly, 'for it is the truth!'
+
+'The truth!' he cried, starting, as if an asp had stung him.  'You don't
+mean to say that you are really she?'
+
+'I do; but you needn't shrink away from me, as if I were your greatest
+enemy: I am come to take care of you, and do what none of them would do.'
+
+'For God's sake, don't torment me now!' cried he in pitiable agitation;
+and then he began to mutter bitter curses against me, or the evil fortune
+that had brought me there; while I put down the sponge and basin, and
+resumed my seat at the bed-side.
+
+'Where are they?' said he: 'have they all left me--servants and all?'
+
+'There are servants within call if you want them; but you had better lie
+down now and be quiet: none of them could or would attend you as
+carefully as I shall do.'
+
+'I can't understand it at all,' said he, in bewildered perplexity.  'Was
+it a dream that--' and he covered his eyes with his hands, as if trying
+to unravel the mystery.
+
+'No, Arthur, it was not a dream, that your conduct was such as to oblige
+me to leave you; but I heard that you were ill and alone, and I am come
+back to nurse you.  You need not fear to trust me: tell me all your
+wants, and I will try to satisfy them.  There is no one else to care for
+you; and I shall not upbraid you now.'
+
+'Oh! I see,' said he, with a bitter smile; 'it's an act of Christian
+charity, whereby you hope to gain a higher seat in heaven for yourself,
+and scoop a deeper pit in hell for me.'
+
+'No; I came to offer you that comfort and assistance your situation
+required; and if I could benefit your soul as well as your body, and
+awaken some sense of contrition and--'
+
+'Oh, yes; if you could overwhelm me with remorse and confusion of face,
+now's the time.  What have you done with my son?'
+
+'He is well, and you may see him some time, if you will compose yourself,
+but not now.'
+
+'Where is he?'
+
+'He is safe.'
+
+'Is he here?'
+
+'Wherever he is, you will not see him till you have promised to leave him
+entirely under my care and protection, and to let me take him away
+whenever and wherever I please, if I should hereafter judge it necessary
+to remove him again.  But we will talk of that to-morrow: you must be
+quiet now.'
+
+'No, let me see him now, I promise, if it must be so.'
+
+'No--'
+
+'I swear it, as God is in heaven!  Now, then, let me see him.'
+
+'But I cannot trust your oaths and promises: I must have a written
+agreement, and you must sign it in presence of a witness: but not
+to-day--to-morrow.'
+
+'No, to-day; now,' persisted he: and he was in such a state of feverish
+excitement, and so bent upon the immediate gratification of his wish,
+that I thought it better to grant it at once, as I saw he would not rest
+till I did.  But I was determined my son's interest should not be
+forgotten; and having clearly written out the promise I wished Mr.
+Huntingdon to give upon a slip of paper, I deliberately read it over to
+him, and made him sign it in the presence of Rachel.  He begged I would
+not insist upon this: it was a useless exposure of my want of faith in
+his word to the servant.  I told him I was sorry, but since he had
+forfeited my confidence, he must take the consequence.  He next pleaded
+inability to hold the pen.  'Then we must wait until you can hold it,'
+said I.  Upon which he said he would try; but then he could not see to
+write.  I placed my finger where the signature was to be, and told him he
+might write his name in the dark, if he only knew where to put it.  But
+he had not power to form the letters.  'In that case, you must be too ill
+to see the child,' said I; and finding me inexorable, he at length
+managed to ratify the agreement; and I bade Rachel send the boy.
+
+All this may strike you as harsh, but I felt I must not lose my present
+advantage, and my son's future welfare should not be sacrificed to any
+mistaken tenderness for this man's feelings.  Little Arthur had not
+forgotten his father, but thirteen months of absence, during which he had
+seldom been permitted to hear a word about him, or hardly to whisper his
+name, had rendered him somewhat shy; and when he was ushered into the
+darkened room where the sick man lay, so altered from his former self,
+with fiercely flushed face and wildly-gleaming eyes--he instinctively
+clung to me, and stood looking on his father with a countenance
+expressive of far more awe than pleasure.
+
+'Come here, Arthur,' said the latter, extending his hand towards him.
+The child went, and timidly touched that burning hand, but almost started
+in alarm, when his father suddenly clutched his arm and drew him nearer
+to his side.
+
+'Do you know me?' asked Mr. Huntingdon, intently perusing his features.
+
+'Yes.'
+
+'Who am I?'
+
+'Papa.'
+
+'Are you glad to see me?'
+
+'Yes.'
+
+'You're not!' replied the disappointed parent, relaxing his hold, and
+darting a vindictive glance at me.
+
+Arthur, thus released, crept back to me and put his hand in mine.  His
+father swore I had made the child hate him, and abused and cursed me
+bitterly.  The instant he began I sent our son out of the room; and when
+he paused to breathe, I calmly assured him that he was entirely mistaken;
+I had never once attempted to prejudice his child against him.
+
+'I did indeed desire him to forget you,' I said, 'and especially to
+forget the lessons you taught him; and for that cause, and to lessen the
+danger of discovery, I own I have generally discouraged his inclination
+to talk about you; but no one can blame me for that, I think.'
+
+The invalid only replied by groaning aloud, and rolling his head on a
+pillow in a paroxysm of impatience.
+
+'I am in hell, already!' cried he.  'This cursed thirst is burning my
+heart to ashes!  Will nobody--?'
+
+Before he could finish the sentence I had poured out a glass of some
+acidulated, cooling drink that was on the table, and brought it to him.
+He drank it greedily, but muttered, as I took away the glass,--'I suppose
+you're heaping coals of fire on my head, you think?'
+
+Not noticing this speech, I asked if there was anything else I could do
+for him.
+
+'Yes; I'll give you another opportunity of showing your Christian
+magnanimity,' sneered he: 'set my pillow straight, and these confounded
+bed-clothes.'  I did so.  'There: now get me another glass of that slop.'
+I complied.  'This is delightful, isn't it?' said he with a malicious
+grin, as I held it to his lips; 'you never hoped for such a glorious
+opportunity?'
+
+'Now, shall I stay with you?' said I, as I replaced the glass on the
+table: 'or will you be more quiet if I go and send the nurse?'
+
+'Oh, yes, you're wondrous gentle and obliging!  But you've driven me mad
+with it all!' responded he, with an impatient toss.
+
+'I'll leave you, then,' said I; and I withdrew, and did not trouble him
+with my presence again that day, except for a minute or two at a time,
+just to see how he was and what he wanted.
+
+Next morning the doctor ordered him to be bled; and after that he was
+more subdued and tranquil.  I passed half the day in his room at
+different intervals.  My presence did not appear to agitate or irritate
+him as before, and he accepted my services quietly, without any bitter
+remarks: indeed, he scarcely spoke at all, except to make known his
+wants, and hardly then.  But on the morrow, that is to say, in proportion
+as he recovered from the state of exhaustion and stupefaction, his
+ill-nature appeared to revive.
+
+'Oh, this sweet revenge!' cried he, when I had been doing all I could to
+make him comfortable and to remedy the carelessness of his nurse.  'And
+you can enjoy it with such a quiet conscience too, because it's all in
+the way of duty.'
+
+'It is well for me that I am doing my duty,' said I, with a bitterness I
+could not repress, 'for it is the only comfort I have; and the
+satisfaction of my own conscience, it seems, is the only reward I need
+look for!'
+
+He looked rather surprised at the earnestness of my manner.
+
+'What reward did you look for?' he asked.
+
+'You will think me a liar if I tell you; but I did hope to benefit you:
+as well to better your mind as to alleviate your present sufferings; but
+it appears I am to do neither; your own bad spirit will not let me.  As
+far as you are concerned, I have sacrificed my own feelings, and all the
+little earthly comfort that was left me, to no purpose; and every little
+thing I do for you is ascribed to self-righteous malice and refined
+revenge!'
+
+'It's all very fine, I daresay,' said he, eyeing me with stupid
+amazement; 'and of course I ought to be melted to tears of penitence and
+admiration at the sight of so much generosity and superhuman goodness;
+but you see I can't manage it.  However, pray do me all the good you can,
+if you do really find any pleasure in it; for you perceive I am almost as
+miserable just now as you need wish to see me.  Since you came, I
+confess, I have had better attendance than before, for these wretches
+neglected me shamefully, and all my old friends seem to have fairly
+forsaken me.  I've had a dreadful time of it, I assure you: I sometimes
+thought I should have died: do you think there's any chance?'
+
+'There's always a chance of death; and it is always well to live with
+such a chance in view.'
+
+'Yes, yes! but do you think there's any likelihood that this illness will
+have a fatal termination?'
+
+'I cannot tell; but, supposing it should, how are you prepared to meet
+the event?'
+
+'Why, the doctor told me I wasn't to think about it, for I was sure to
+get better if I stuck to his regimen and prescriptions.'
+
+'I hope you may, Arthur; but neither the doctor nor I can speak with
+certainty in such a case; there is internal injury, and it is difficult
+to know to what extent.'
+
+'There now! you want to scare me to death.'
+
+'No; but I don't want to lull you to false security.  If a consciousness
+of the uncertainty of life can dispose you to serious and useful
+thoughts, I would not deprive you of the benefit of such reflections,
+whether you do eventually recover or not.  Does the idea of death appal
+you very much?'
+
+'It's just the only thing I can't bear to think of; so if you've any--'
+
+'But it must come some time,' interrupted I, 'and if it be years hence,
+it will as certainly overtake you as if it came to-day,--and no doubt be
+as unwelcome then as now, unless you--'
+
+'Oh, hang it! don't torment me with your preachments now, unless you want
+to kill me outright.  I can't stand it, I tell you.  I've sufferings
+enough without that.  If you think there's danger, save me from it; and
+then, in gratitude, I'll hear whatever you like to say.'
+
+I accordingly dropped the unwelcome topic.  And now, Frederick, I think I
+may bring my letter to a close.  From these details you may form your own
+judgment of the state of my patient, and of my own position and future
+prospects.  Let me hear from you soon, and I will write again to tell you
+how we get on; but now that my presence is tolerated, and even required,
+in the sick-room, I shall have but little time to spare between my
+husband and my son,--for I must not entirely neglect the latter: it would
+not do to keep him always with Rachel, and I dare not leave him for a
+moment with any of the other servants, or suffer him to be alone, lest he
+should meet them.  If his father get worse, I shall ask Esther Hargrave
+to take charge of him for a time, till I have reorganised the household
+at least; but I greatly prefer keeping him under my own eye.
+
+I find myself in rather a singular position: I am exerting my utmost
+endeavours to promote the recovery and reformation of my husband, and if
+I succeed, what shall I do?  My duty, of course,--but how?  No matter; I
+can perform the task that is before me now, and God will give me strength
+to do whatever He requires hereafter.  Good-by, dear Frederick.
+
+                                                         HELEN HUNTINGDON.
+
+'What do you think of it?' said Lawrence, as I silently refolded the
+letter.
+
+'It seems to me,' returned I, 'that she is casting her pearls before
+swine.  May they be satisfied with trampling them under their feet, and
+not turn again and rend her!  But I shall say no more against her: I see
+that she was actuated by the best and noblest motives in what she has
+done; and if the act is not a wise one, may heaven protect her from its
+consequences!  May I keep this letter, Lawrence?--you see she has never
+once mentioned me throughout--or made the most distant allusion to me;
+therefore, there can be no impropriety or harm in it.'
+
+'And, therefore, why should you wish to keep it?'
+
+'Were not these characters written by her hand? and were not these words
+conceived in her mind, and many of them spoken by her lips?'
+
+'Well,' said he.  And so I kept it; otherwise, Halford, you could never
+have become so thoroughly acquainted with its contents.
+
+'And when you write,' said I, 'will you have the goodness to ask her if I
+may be permitted to enlighten my mother and sister on her real history
+and circumstance, just so far as is necessary to make the neighbourhood
+sensible of the shameful injustice they have done her?  I want no tender
+messages, but just ask her that, and tell her it is the greatest favour
+she could do me; and tell her--no, nothing more.  You see I know the
+address, and I might write to her myself, but I am so virtuous as to
+refrain.'
+
+'Well, I'll do this for you, Markham.'
+
+'And as soon as you receive an answer, you'll let me know?'
+
+'If all be well, I'll come myself and tell you immediately.'
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLVIII
+
+
+Five or six days after this Mr. Lawrence paid us the honour of a call;
+and when he and I were alone together--which I contrived as soon as
+possible by bringing him out to look at my cornstacks--he showed me
+another letter from his sister.  This one he was quite willing to submit
+to my longing gaze; he thought, I suppose, it would do me good.  The only
+answer it gave to my message was this:--
+
+'Mr. Markham is at liberty to make such revelations concerning me as he
+judges necessary.  He will know that I should wish but little to be said
+on the subject.  I hope he is well; but tell him he must not think of
+me.'
+
+I can give you a few extracts from the rest of the letter, for I was
+permitted to keep this also--perhaps, as an antidote to all pernicious
+hopes and fancies.
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+He is decidedly better, but very low from the depressing effects of his
+severe illness and the strict regimen he is obliged to observe--so
+opposite to all his previous habits.  It is deplorable to see how
+completely his past life has degenerated his once noble constitution, and
+vitiated the whole system of his organization.  But the doctor says he
+may now be considered out of danger, if he will only continue to observe
+the necessary restrictions.  Some stimulating cordials he must have, but
+they should be judiciously diluted and sparingly used; and I find it very
+difficult to keep him to this.  At first, his extreme dread of death
+rendered the task an easy one; but in proportion as he feels his acute
+suffering abating, and sees the danger receding, the more intractable he
+becomes.  Now, also, his appetite for food is beginning to return; and
+here, too, his long habits of self-indulgence are greatly against him.  I
+watch and restrain him as well as I can, and often get bitterly abused
+for my rigid severity; and sometimes he contrives to elude my vigilance,
+and sometimes acts in opposition to my will.  But he is now so completely
+reconciled to my attendance in general that he is never satisfied when I
+am not by his side.  I am obliged to be a little stiff with him
+sometimes, or he would make a complete slave of me; and I know it would
+be unpardonable weakness to give up all other interests for him.  I have
+the servants to overlook, and my little Arthur to attend to,--and my own
+health too, all of which would be entirely neglected were I to satisfy
+his exorbitant demands.  I do not generally sit up at night, for I think
+the nurse who has made it her business is better qualified for such
+undertakings than I am;--but still, an unbroken night's rest is what I
+but seldom enjoy, and never can venture to reckon upon; for my patient
+makes no scruple of calling me up at an hour when his wants or his
+fancies require my presence.  But he is manifestly afraid of my
+displeasure; and if at one time he tries my patience by his unreasonable
+exactions, and fretful complaints and reproaches, at another he depresses
+me by his abject submission and deprecatory self-abasement when he fears
+he has gone too far.  But all this I can readily pardon; I know it is
+chiefly the result of his enfeebled frame and disordered nerves.  What
+annoys me the most, is his occasional attempts at affectionate fondness
+that I can neither credit nor return; not that I hate him: his sufferings
+and my own laborious care have given him some claim to my regard--to my
+affection even, if he would only be quiet and sincere, and content to let
+things remain as they are; but the more he tries to conciliate me, the
+more I shrink from him and from the future.
+
+'Helen, what do you mean to do when I get well?' he asked this morning.
+'Will you run away again?'
+
+'It entirely depends upon your own conduct.'
+
+'Oh, I'll be very good.'
+
+'But if I find it necessary to leave you, Arthur, I shall not "run away":
+you know I have your own promise that I may go whenever I please, and
+take my son with me.'
+
+'Oh, but you shall have no cause.'  And then followed a variety of
+professions, which I rather coldly checked.
+
+'Will you not forgive me, then?' said he.
+
+'Yes,--I have forgiven you: but I know you cannot love me as you once
+did--and I should be very sorry if you were to, for I could not pretend
+to return it: so let us drop the subject, and never recur to it again.
+By what I have done for you, you may judge of what I will do--if it be
+not incompatible with the higher duty I owe to my son (higher, because he
+never forfeited his claims, and because I hope to do more good to him
+than I can ever do to you); and if you wish me to feel kindly towards
+you, it is deeds not words which must purchase my affection and esteem.'
+
+His sole reply to this was a slight grimace, and a scarcely perceptible
+shrug.  Alas, unhappy man! words, with him, are so much cheaper than
+deeds; it was as if I had said, 'Pounds, not pence, must buy the article
+you want.'  And then he sighed a querulous, self-commiserating sigh, as
+if in pure regret that he, the loved and courted of so many worshippers,
+should be now abandoned to the mercy of a harsh, exacting, cold-hearted
+woman like that, and even glad of what kindness she chose to bestow.
+
+'It's a pity, isn't it?' said I; and whether I rightly divined his
+musings or not, the observation chimed in with his thoughts, for he
+answered--'It can't be helped,' with a rueful smile at my penetration.
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+I have seen Esther Hargrave twice.  She is a charming creature, but her
+blithe spirit is almost broken, and her sweet temper almost spoiled, by
+the still unremitting persecutions of her mother in behalf of her
+rejected suitor--not violent, but wearisome and unremitting like a
+continual dropping.  The unnatural parent seems determined to make her
+daughter's life a burden, if she will not yield to her desires.
+
+'Mamma does all she can,' said she, 'to make me feel myself a burden and
+incumbrance to the family, and the most ungrateful, selfish, and
+undutiful daughter that ever was born; and Walter, too, is as stern and
+cold and haughty as if he hated me outright.  I believe I should have
+yielded at once if I had known, from the beginning, how much resistance
+would have cost me; but now, for very obstinacy's sake, I will stand
+out!'
+
+'A bad motive for a good resolve,' I answered.  'But, however, I know you
+have better motives, really, for your perseverance: and I counsel you to
+keep them still in view.'
+
+'Trust me I will.  I threaten mamma sometimes that I'll run away, and
+disgrace the family by earning my own livelihood, if she torments me any
+more; and then that frightens her a little.  But I will do it, in good
+earnest, if they don't mind.'
+
+'Be quiet and patient a while,' said I, 'and better times will come.'
+
+Poor girl!  I wish somebody that was worthy to possess her would come and
+take her away--don't you, Frederick?
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+If the perusal of this letter filled me with dismay for Helen's future
+life and mine, there was one great source of consolation: it was now in
+my power to clear her name from every foul aspersion.  The Millwards and
+the Wilsons should see with their own eyes the bright sun bursting from
+the cloud--and they should be scorched and dazzled by its beams;--and my
+own friends too should see it--they whose suspicions had been such gall
+and wormwood to my soul.  To effect this I had only to drop the seed into
+the ground, and it would soon become a stately, branching herb: a few
+words to my mother and sister, I knew, would suffice to spread the news
+throughout the whole neighbourhood, without any further exertion on my
+part.
+
+Rose was delighted; and as soon as I had told her all I thought
+proper--which was all I affected to know--she flew with alacrity to put
+on her bonnet and shawl, and hasten to carry the glad tidings to the
+Millwards and Wilsons--glad tidings, I suspect, to none but herself and
+Mary Millward--that steady, sensible girl, whose sterling worth had been
+so quickly perceived and duly valued by the supposed Mrs. Graham, in
+spite of her plain outside; and who, on her part, had been better able to
+see and appreciate that lady's true character and qualities than the
+brightest genius among them.
+
+As I may never have occasion to mention her again, I may as well tell you
+here that she was at this time privately engaged to Richard Wilson--a
+secret, I believe, to every one but themselves.  That worthy student was
+now at Cambridge, where his most exemplary conduct and his diligent
+perseverance in the pursuit of learning carried him safely through, and
+eventually brought him with hard-earned honours, and an untarnished
+reputation, to the close of his collegiate career.  In due time he became
+Mr. Millward's first and only curate--for that gentleman's declining
+years forced him at last to acknowledge that the duties of his extensive
+parish were a little too much for those vaunted energies which he was
+wont to boast over his younger and less active brethren of the cloth.
+This was what the patient, faithful lovers had privately planned and
+quietly waited for years ago; and in due time they were united, to the
+astonishment of the little world they lived in, that had long since
+declared them both born to single blessedness; affirming it impossible
+that the pale, retiring bookworm should ever summon courage to seek a
+wife, or be able to obtain one if he did, and equally impossible that the
+plain-looking, plain-dealing, unattractive, unconciliating Miss Millward
+should ever find a husband.
+
+They still continued to live at the vicarage, the lady dividing her time
+between her father, her husband, and their poor parishioners,--and
+subsequently her rising family; and now that the Reverend Michael
+Millward has been gathered to his fathers, full of years and honours, the
+Reverend Richard Wilson has succeeded him to the vicarage of Linden-hope,
+greatly to the satisfaction of its inhabitants, who had so long tried and
+fully proved his merits, and those of his excellent and well-loved
+partner.
+
+If you are interested in the after fate of that lady's sister, I can only
+tell you--what perhaps you have heard from another quarter--that some
+twelve or thirteen years ago she relieved the happy couple of her
+presence by marrying a wealthy tradesman of L--; and I don't envy him his
+bargain.  I fear she leads him a rather uncomfortable life, though,
+happily, he is too dull to perceive the extent of his misfortune.  I have
+little enough to do with her myself: we have not met for many years; but,
+I am well assured, she has not yet forgotten or forgiven either her
+former lover, or the lady whose superior qualities first opened his eyes
+to the folly of his boyish attachment.
+
+As for Richard Wilson's sister, she, having been wholly unable to
+recapture Mr. Lawrence, or obtain any partner rich and elegant enough to
+suit her ideas of what the husband of Jane Wilson ought to be, is yet in
+single blessedness.  Shortly after the death of her mother she withdrew
+the light of her presence from Ryecote Farm, finding it impossible any
+longer to endure the rough manners and unsophisticated habits of her
+honest brother Robert and his worthy wife, or the idea of being
+identified with such vulgar people in the eyes of the world, and took
+lodgings in -- the county town, where she lived, and still lives, I
+suppose, in a kind of close-fisted, cold, uncomfortable gentility, doing
+no good to others, and but little to herself; spending her days in
+fancy-work and scandal; referring frequently to her 'brother the vicar,'
+and her 'sister, the vicar's lady,' but never to her brother the farmer
+and her sister the farmer's wife; seeing as much company as she can
+without too much expense, but loving no one and beloved by none--a
+cold-hearted, supercilious, keenly, insidiously censorious old maid.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLIX
+
+
+Though Mr. Lawrence's health was now quite re-established, my visits to
+Woodford were as unremitting as ever; though often less protracted than
+before.  We seldom talked about Mrs. Huntingdon; but yet we never met
+without mentioning her, for I never sought his company but with the hope
+of hearing something about her, and he never sought mine at all, because
+he saw me often enough without.  But I always began to talk of other
+things, and waited first to see if he would introduce the subject.  If he
+did not, I would casually ask, 'Have you heard from your sister lately?'
+If he said 'No,' the matter was dropped: if he said 'Yes,' I would
+venture to inquire, 'How is she?' but never 'How is her husband?' though
+I might be burning to know; because I had not the hypocrisy to profess
+any anxiety for his recovery, and I had not the face to express any
+desire for a contrary result.  Had I any such desire?--I fear I must
+plead guilty; but since you have heard my confession, you must hear my
+justification as well --a few of the excuses, at least, wherewith I
+sought to pacify my own accusing conscience.
+
+In the first place, you see, his life did harm to others, and evidently
+no good to himself; and though I wished it to terminate, I would not have
+hastened its close if, by the lifting of a finger, I could have done so,
+or if a spirit had whispered in my ear that a single effort of the will
+would be enough,--unless, indeed, I had the power to exchange him for
+some other victim of the grave, whose life might be of service to his
+race, and whose death would be lamented by his friends.  But was there
+any harm in wishing that, among the many thousands whose souls would
+certainly be required of them before the year was over, this wretched
+mortal might be one?  I thought not; and therefore I wished with all my
+heart that it might please heaven to remove him to a better world, or if
+that might not be, still to take him out of this; for if he were unfit to
+answer the summons now, after a warning sickness, and with such an angel
+by his side, it seemed but too certain that he never would be--that, on
+the contrary, returning health would bring returning lust and villainy,
+and as he grew more certain of recovery, more accustomed to her generous
+goodness, his feelings would become more callous, his heart more flinty
+and impervious to her persuasive arguments--but God knew best.  Meantime,
+however, I could not but be anxious for the result of His decrees;
+knowing, as I did, that (leaving myself entirely out of the question),
+however Helen might feel interested in her husband's welfare, however she
+might deplore his fate, still while he lived she must be miserable.
+
+A fortnight passed away, and my inquiries were always answered in the
+negative.  At length a welcome 'yes' drew from me the second question.
+Lawrence divined my anxious thoughts, and appreciated my reserve.  I
+feared, at first, he was going to torture me by unsatisfactory replies,
+and either leave me quite in the dark concerning what I wanted to know,
+or force me to drag the information out of him, morsel by morsel, by
+direct inquiries.  'And serve you right,' you will say; but he was more
+merciful; and in a little while he put his sister's letter into my hand.
+I silently read it, and restored it to him without comment or remark.
+This mode of procedure suited him so well, that thereafter he always
+pursued the plan of showing me her letters at once, when 'inquired' after
+her, if there were any to show--it was so much less trouble than to tell
+me their contents; and I received such confidences so quietly and
+discreetly that he was never induced to discontinue them.
+
+But I devoured those precious letters with my eyes, and never let them go
+till their contents were stamped upon my mind; and when I got home, the
+most important passages were entered in my diary among the remarkable
+events of the day.
+
+The first of these communications brought intelligence of a serious
+relapse in Mr. Huntingdon's illness, entirely the result of his own
+infatuation in persisting in the indulgence of his appetite for
+stimulating drink.  In vain had she remonstrated, in vain she had mingled
+his wine with water: her arguments and entreaties were a nuisance, her
+interference was an insult so intolerable that, at length, on finding she
+had covertly diluted the pale port that was brought him, he threw the
+bottle out of the window, swearing he would not be cheated like a baby,
+ordered the butler, on pain of instant dismissal, to bring a bottle of
+the strongest wine in the cellar, and affirming that he should have been
+well long ago if he had been let to have his own way, but she wanted to
+keep him weak in order that she might have him under her thumb--but, by
+the Lord Harry, he would have no more humbug--seized a glass in one hand
+and the bottle in the other, and never rested till he had drunk it dry.
+Alarming symptoms were the immediate result of this 'imprudence,' as she
+mildly termed it--symptoms which had rather increased than diminished
+since; and this was the cause of her delay in writing to her brother.
+Every former feature of his malady had returned with augmented virulence:
+the slight external wound, half healed, had broken out afresh; internal
+inflammation had taken place, which might terminate fatally if not soon
+removed.  Of course, the wretched sufferer's temper was not improved by
+this calamity--in fact, I suspect it was well nigh insupportable, though
+his kind nurse did not complain; but she said she had been obliged at
+last to give her son in charge to Esther Hargrave, as her presence was so
+constantly required in the sick-room that she could not possibly attend
+to him herself; and though the child had begged to be allowed to continue
+with her there, and to help her to nurse his papa, and though she had no
+doubt he would have been very good and quiet, she could not think of
+subjecting his young and tender feelings to the sight of so much
+suffering, or of allowing him to witness his father's impatience, or hear
+the dreadful language he was wont to use in his paroxysms of pain or
+irritation.
+
+The latter (continued she) most deeply regrets the step that has
+occasioned his relapse; but, as usual, he throws the blame upon me.  If I
+had reasoned with him like a rational creature, he says, it never would
+have happened; but to be treated like a baby or a fool was enough to put
+any man past his patience, and drive him to assert his independence even
+at the sacrifice of his own interest.  He forgets how often I had
+reasoned him 'past his patience' before.  He appears to be sensible of
+his danger; but nothing can induce him to behold it in the proper light.
+The other night, while I was waiting on him, and just as I had brought
+him a draught to assuage his burning thirst, he observed, with a return
+of his former sarcastic bitterness, 'Yes, you're mighty attentive now!  I
+suppose there's nothing you wouldn't do for me now?'
+
+'You know,' said I, a little surprised at his manner, 'that I am willing
+to do anything I can to relieve you.'
+
+'Yes, now, my immaculate angel; but when once you have secured your
+reward, and find yourself safe in heaven, and me howling in hell-fire,
+catch you lifting a finger to serve me then!  No, you'll look
+complacently on, and not so much as dip the tip of your finger in water
+to cool my tongue!'
+
+'If so, it will be because of the great gulf over which I cannot pass;
+and if I could look complacently on in such a case, it would be only from
+the assurance that you were being purified from your sins, and fitted to
+enjoy the happiness I felt.--But are you determined, Arthur, that I shall
+not meet you in heaven?'
+
+'Humph!  What should I do there, I should like to know?'
+
+'Indeed, I cannot tell; and I fear it is too certain that your tastes and
+feelings must be widely altered before you can have any enjoyment there.
+But do you prefer sinking, without an effort, into the state of torment
+you picture to yourself?'
+
+'Oh, it's all a fable,' said he, contemptuously.
+
+'Are you sure, Arthur? are you quite sure?  Because, if there is any
+doubt, and if you should find yourself mistaken after all, when it is too
+late to turn--'
+
+'It would be rather awkward, to be sure,' said he; 'but don't bother me
+now--I'm not going to die yet.  I can't and won't,' he added vehemently,
+as if suddenly struck with the appalling aspect of that terrible event.
+'Helen, you must save me!'  And he earnestly seized my hand, and looked
+into my face with such imploring eagerness that my heart bled for him,
+and I could not speak for tears.
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+The next letter brought intelligence that the malady was fast increasing;
+and the poor sufferer's horror of death was still more distressing than
+his impatience of bodily pain.  All his friends had not forsaken him; for
+Mr. Hattersley, hearing of his danger, had come to see him from his
+distant home in the north.  His wife had accompanied him, as much for the
+pleasure of seeing her dear friend, from whom she had been parted so
+long, as to visit her mother and sister.
+
+Mrs. Huntingdon expressed herself glad to see Milicent once more, and
+pleased to behold her so happy and well.  She is now at the Grove,
+continued the letter, but she often calls to see me.  Mr. Hattersley
+spends much of his time at Arthur's bed-side.  With more good feeling
+than I gave him credit for, he evinces considerable sympathy for his
+unhappy friend, and is far more willing than able to comfort him.
+Sometimes he tries to joke and laugh with him, but that will not do;
+sometimes he endeavours to cheer him with talk about old times, and this
+at one time may serve to divert the sufferer from his own sad thoughts;
+at another, it will only plunge him into deeper melancholy than before;
+and then Hattersley is confounded, and knows not what to say, unless it
+be a timid suggestion that the clergyman might be sent for.  But Arthur
+will never consent to that: he knows he has rejected the clergyman's
+well-meant admonitions with scoffing levity at other times, and cannot
+dream of turning to him for consolation now.
+
+Mr. Hattersley sometimes offers his services instead of mine, but Arthur
+will not let me go: that strange whim still increases, as his strength
+declines--the fancy to have me always by his side.  I hardly ever leave
+him, except to go into the next room, where I sometimes snatch an hour or
+so of sleep when he is quiet; but even then the door is left ajar, that
+he may know me to be within call.  I am with him now, while I write, and
+I fear my occupation annoys him; though I frequently break off to attend
+to him, and though Mr. Hattersley is also by his side.  That gentleman
+came, as he said, to beg a holiday for me, that I might have a run in the
+park, this fine frosty morning, with Milicent and Esther and little
+Arthur, whom he had driven over to see me.  Our poor invalid evidently
+felt it a heartless proposition, and would have felt it still more
+heartless in me to accede to it.  I therefore said I would only go and
+speak to them a minute, and then come back.  I did but exchange a few
+words with them, just outside the portico, inhaling the fresh, bracing
+air as I stood, and then, resisting the earnest and eloquent entreaties
+of all three to stay a little longer, and join them in a walk round the
+garden, I tore myself away and returned to my patient.  I had not been
+absent five minutes, but he reproached me bitterly for my levity and
+neglect.  His friend espoused my cause.
+
+'Nay, nay, Huntingdon,' said he, 'you're too hard upon her; she must have
+food and sleep, and a mouthful of fresh air now and then, or she can't
+stand it, I tell you.  Look at her, man! she's worn to a shadow already.'
+
+'What are her sufferings to mine?' said the poor invalid.  'You don't
+grudge me these attentions, do you, Helen?'
+
+'No, Arthur, if I could really serve you by them.  I would give my life
+to save you, if I might.'
+
+'Would you, indeed?  No!'
+
+'Most willingly I would.'
+
+'Ah! that's because you think yourself more fit to die!'
+
+There was a painful pause.  He was evidently plunged in gloomy
+reflections; but while I pondered for something to say that might benefit
+without alarming him, Hattersley, whose mind had been pursuing almost the
+same course, broke silence with, 'I say, Huntingdon, I would send for a
+parson of some sort: if you didn't like the vicar, you know, you could
+have his curate, or somebody else.'
+
+'No; none of them can benefit me if she can't,' was the answer.  And the
+tears gushed from his eyes as he earnestly exclaimed, 'Oh, Helen, if I
+had listened to you, it never would have come to this! and if I had heard
+you long ago--oh, God! how different it would have been!'
+
+'Hear me now, then, Arthur,' said I, gently pressing his hand.
+
+'It's too late now,' said he despondingly.  And after that another
+paroxysm of pain came on; and then his mind began to wander, and we
+feared his death was approaching: but an opiate was administered: his
+sufferings began to abate, he gradually became more composed, and at
+length sank into a kind of slumber.  He has been quieter since; and now
+Hattersley has left him, expressing a hope that he shall find him better
+when he calls to-morrow.
+
+'Perhaps I may recover,' he replied; 'who knows?  This may have been the
+crisis.  What do you think, Helen?'  Unwilling to depress him, I gave the
+most cheering answer I could, but still recommended him to prepare for
+the possibility of what I inly feared was but too certain.  But he was
+determined to hope.  Shortly after he relapsed into a kind of doze, but
+now he groans again.
+
+There is a change.  Suddenly he called me to his side, with such a
+strange, excited manner, that I feared he was delirious, but he was not.
+'That was the crisis, Helen!' said he, delightedly.  'I had an infernal
+pain here--it is quite gone now.  I never was so easy since the
+fall--quite gone, by heaven!' and he clasped and kissed my hand in the
+very fulness of his heart; but finding I did not participate in his joy,
+he quickly flung it from him, and bitterly cursed my coldness and
+insensibility.  How could I reply?  Kneeling beside him, I took his hand
+and fondly pressed it to my lips--for the first time since our
+separation--and told him, as well as tears would let me speak, that it
+was not that that kept me silent: it was the fear that this sudden
+cessation of pain was not so favourable a symptom as he supposed.  I
+immediately sent for the doctor: we are now anxiously awaiting him.  I
+will tell you what he says.  There is still the same freedom from pain,
+the same deadness to all sensation where the suffering was most acute.
+
+My worst fears are realised: mortification has commenced.  The doctor has
+told him there is no hope.  No words can describe his anguish.  I can
+write no more.
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+The next was still more distressing in the tenor of its contents.  The
+sufferer was fast approaching dissolution--dragged almost to the verge of
+that awful chasm he trembled to contemplate, from which no agony of
+prayers or tears could save him.  Nothing could comfort him now;
+Hattersley's rough attempts at consolation were utterly in vain.  The
+world was nothing to him: life and all its interests, its petty cares and
+transient pleasures, were a cruel mockery.  To talk of the past was to
+torture him with vain remorse; to refer to the future was to increase his
+anguish; and yet to be silent was to leave him a prey to his own regrets
+and apprehensions.  Often he dwelt with shuddering minuteness on the fate
+of his perishing clay--the slow, piecemeal dissolution already invading
+his frame: the shroud, the coffin, the dark, lonely grave, and all the
+horrors of corruption.
+
+'If I try,' said his afflicted wife, 'to divert him from these things--to
+raise his thoughts to higher themes, it is no better:--"Worse and worse!"
+he groans.  "If there be really life beyond the tomb, and judgment after
+death, how can I face it?"--I cannot do him any good; he will neither be
+enlightened, nor roused, nor comforted by anything I say; and yet he
+clings to me with unrelenting pertinacity--with a kind of childish
+desperation, as if I could save him from the fate he dreads.  He keeps me
+night and day beside him.  He is holding my left hand now, while I write;
+he has held it thus for hours: sometimes quietly, with his pale face
+upturned to mine: sometimes clutching my arm with violence--the big drops
+starting from his forehead at the thoughts of what he sees, or thinks he
+sees, before him.  If I withdraw my hand for a moment it distresses him.
+
+'"Stay with me, Helen," he says; "let me hold you so: it seems as if harm
+could not reach me while you are here.  But death will come--it is coming
+now--fast, fast!--and--oh, if I could believe there was nothing after!"
+
+'"Don't try to believe it, Arthur; there is joy and glory after, if you
+will but try to reach it!"
+
+'"What, for me?" he said, with something like a laugh.  "Are we not to be
+judged according to the deeds done in the body?  Where's the use of a
+probationary existence, if a man may spend it as he pleases, just
+contrary to God's decrees, and then go to heaven with the best--if the
+vilest sinner may win the reward of the holiest saint, by merely saying,
+"I repent!""'
+
+'"But if you sincerely repent--"
+
+'"I can't repent; I only fear."
+
+'"You only regret the past for its consequences to yourself?"
+
+'"Just so--except that I'm sorry to have wronged you, Nell, because
+you're so good to me."
+
+'"Think of the goodness of God, and you cannot but be grieved to have
+offended Him."
+
+'"What is God?--I cannot see Him or hear Him.--God is only an idea."
+
+'"God is Infinite Wisdom, and Power, and Goodness--and LOVE; but if this
+idea is too vast for your human faculties--if your mind loses itself in
+its overwhelming infinitude, fix it on Him who condescended to take our
+nature upon Him, who was raised to heaven even in His glorified human
+body, in whom the fulness of the Godhead shines."
+
+'But he only shook his head and sighed.  Then, in another paroxysm of
+shuddering horror, he tightened his grasp on my hand and arm, and,
+groaning and lamenting, still clung to me with that wild, desperate
+earnestness so harrowing to my soul, because I know I cannot help him.  I
+did my best to soothe and comfort him.
+
+'"Death is so terrible," he cried, "I cannot bear it!  You don't know,
+Helen--you can't imagine what it is, because you haven't it before you!
+and when I'm buried, you'll return to your old ways and be as happy as
+ever, and all the world will go on just as busy and merry as if I had
+never been; while I--"  He burst into tears.
+
+'"You needn't let that distress you," I said; "we shall all follow you
+soon enough."
+
+'"I wish to God I could take you with me now!" he exclaimed: "you should
+plead for me."
+
+'"No man can deliver his brother, nor make agreement unto God for him," I
+replied: "it cost more to redeem their souls--it cost the blood of an
+incarnate God, perfect and sinless in Himself, to redeem us from the
+bondage of the evil one:--let Him plead for you."
+
+'But I seem to speak in vain.  He does not now, as formerly, laugh these
+blessed truths to scorn: but still he cannot trust, or will not
+comprehend them.  He cannot linger long.  He suffers dreadfully, and so
+do those that wait upon him.  But I will not harass you with further
+details: I have said enough, I think, to convince you that I did well to
+go to him.'
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+Poor, poor Helen! dreadful indeed her trials must have been!  And I could
+do nothing to lessen them--nay, it almost seemed as if I had brought them
+upon her myself by my own secret desires; and whether I looked at her
+husband's sufferings or her own, it seemed almost like a judgment upon
+myself for having cherished such a wish.
+
+The next day but one there came another letter.  That too was put into my
+hands without a remark, and these are its contents:--
+
+                                                                 Dec. 5th.
+
+He is gone at last.  I sat beside him all night, with my hand fast locked
+in his, watching the changes of his features and listening to his failing
+breath.  He had been silent a long time, and I thought he would never
+speak again, when he murmured, faintly but distinctly,--'Pray for me,
+Helen!'
+
+'I do pray for you, every hour and every minute, Arthur; but you must
+pray for yourself.'
+
+His lips moved, but emitted no sound;--then his looks became unsettled;
+and, from the incoherent, half-uttered words that escaped him from time
+to time, supposing him to be now unconscious, I gently disengaged my hand
+from his, intending to steal away for a breath of air, for I was almost
+ready to faint; but a convulsive movement of the fingers, and a faintly
+whispered 'Don't leave me!' immediately recalled me: I took his hand
+again, and held it till he was no more--and then I fainted.  It was not
+grief; it was exhaustion, that, till then, I had been enabled
+successfully to combat.  Oh, Frederick! none can imagine the miseries,
+bodily and mental, of that death-bed!  How could I endure to think that
+that poor trembling soul was hurried away to everlasting torment? it
+would drive me mad.  But, thank God, I have hope--not only from a vague
+dependence on the possibility that penitence and pardon might have
+reached him at the last, but from the blessed confidence that, through
+whatever purging fires the erring spirit may be doomed to pass--whatever
+fate awaits it--still it is not lost, and God, who hateth nothing that He
+hath made, will bless it in the end!
+
+His body will be consigned on Thursday to that dark grave he so much
+dreaded; but the coffin must be closed as soon as possible.  If you will
+attend the funeral, come quickly, for I need help.
+
+                                                         HELEN HUNTINGDON.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER L
+
+
+On reading this I had no reason to disguise my joy and hope from
+Frederick Lawrence, for I had none to be ashamed of.  I felt no joy but
+that his sister was at length released from her afflictive, overwhelming
+toil--no hope but that she would in time recover from the effects of it,
+and be suffered to rest in peace and quietness, at least, for the
+remainder of her life.  I experienced a painful commiseration for her
+unhappy husband (though fully aware that he had brought every particle of
+his sufferings upon himself, and but too well deserved them all), and a
+profound sympathy for her own afflictions, and deep anxiety for the
+consequences of those harassing cares, those dreadful vigils, that
+incessant and deleterious confinement beside a living corpse--for I was
+persuaded she had not hinted half the sufferings she had had to endure.
+
+'You will go to her, Lawrence?' said I, as I put the letter into his
+hand.
+
+'Yes, immediately.'
+
+'That's right!  I'll leave you, then, to prepare for your departure.'
+
+'I've done that already, while you were reading the letter, and before
+you came; and the carriage is now coming round to the door.'
+
+Inly approving his promptitude, I bade him good-morning, and withdrew.
+He gave me a searching glance as we pressed each other's hands at
+parting; but whatever he sought in my countenance, he saw there nothing
+but the most becoming gravity--it might be mingled with a little
+sternness in momentary resentment at what I suspected to be passing in
+his mind.
+
+Had I forgotten my own prospects, my ardent love, my pertinacious hopes?
+It seemed like sacrilege to revert to them now, but I had not forgotten
+them.  It was, however, with a gloomy sense of the darkness of those
+prospects, the fallacy of those hopes, and the vanity of that affection,
+that I reflected on those things as I remounted my horse and slowly
+journeyed homewards.  Mrs. Huntingdon was free now; it was no longer a
+crime to think of her--but did she ever think of me?  Not now--of course
+it was not to be expected--but would she when this shock was over?  In
+all the course of her correspondence with her brother (our mutual friend,
+as she herself had called him) she had never mentioned me but once--and
+that was from necessity.  This alone afforded strong presumption that I
+was already forgotten; yet this was not the worst: it might have been her
+sense of duty that had kept her silent: she might be only trying to
+forget; but in addition to this, I had a gloomy conviction that the awful
+realities she had seen and felt, her reconciliation with the man she had
+once loved, his dreadful sufferings and death, must eventually efface
+from her mind all traces of her passing love for me.  She might recover
+from these horrors so far as to be restored to her former health, her
+tranquillity, her cheerfulness even--but never to those feelings which
+would appear to her, henceforth, as a fleeting fancy, a vain, illusive
+dream; especially as there was no one to remind her of my existence--no
+means of assuring her of my fervent constancy, now that we were so far
+apart, and delicacy forbade me to see her or to write to her, for months
+to come at least.  And how could I engage her brother in my behalf? how
+could I break that icy crust of shy reserve?  Perhaps he would disapprove
+of my attachment now as highly as before; perhaps he would think me too
+poor--too lowly born, to match with his sister.  Yes, there was another
+barrier: doubtless there was a wide distinction between the rank and
+circumstances of Mrs. Huntingdon, the lady of Grassdale Manor, and those
+of Mrs. Graham, the artist, the tenant of Wildfell Hall.  And it might be
+deemed presumption in me to offer my hand to the former, by the world, by
+her friends, if not by herself; a penalty I might brave, if I were
+certain she loved me; but otherwise, how could I?  And, finally, her
+deceased husband, with his usual selfishness, might have so constructed
+his will as to place restrictions upon her marrying again.  So that you
+see I had reasons enough for despair if I chose to indulge it.
+
+Nevertheless, it was with no small degree of impatience that I looked
+forward to Mr. Lawrence's return from Grassdale: impatience that
+increased in proportion as his absence was prolonged.  He stayed away
+some ten or twelve days.  All very right that he should remain to comfort
+and help his sister, but he might have written to tell me how she was, or
+at least to tell me when to expect his return; for he might have known I
+was suffering tortures of anxiety for her, and uncertainty for my own
+future prospects.  And when he did return, all he told me about her was,
+that she had been greatly exhausted and worn by her unremitting exertions
+in behalf of that man who had been the scourge of her life, and had
+dragged her with him nearly to the portals of the grave, and was still
+much shaken and depressed by his melancholy end and the circumstances
+attendant upon it; but no word in reference to me; no intimation that my
+name had ever passed her lips, or even been spoken in her presence.  To
+be sure, I asked no questions on the subject; I could not bring my mind
+to do so, believing, as I did, that Lawrence was indeed averse to the
+idea of my union with his sister.
+
+I saw that he expected to be further questioned concerning his visit, and
+I saw too, with the keen perception of awakened jealousy, or alarmed
+self-esteem, or by whatever name I ought to call it, that he rather
+shrank from that impending scrutiny, and was no less pleased than
+surprised to find it did not come.  Of course, I was burning with anger,
+but pride obliged me to suppress my feelings, and preserve a smooth face,
+or at least a stoic calmness, throughout the interview.  It was well it
+did, for, reviewing the matter in my sober judgment, I must say it would
+have been highly absurd and improper to have quarrelled with him on such
+an occasion.  I must confess, too, that I wronged him in my heart: the
+truth was, he liked me very well, but he was fully aware that a union
+between Mrs. Huntingdon and me would be what the world calls a
+mesalliance; and it was not in his nature to set the world at defiance;
+especially in such a case as this, for its dread laugh, or ill opinion,
+would be far more terrible to him directed against his sister than
+himself.  Had he believed that a union was necessary to the happiness of
+both, or of either, or had he known how fervently I loved her, he would
+have acted differently; but seeing me so calm and cool, he would not for
+the world disturb my philosophy; and though refraining entirely from any
+active opposition to the match, he would yet do nothing to bring it
+about, and would much rather take the part of prudence, in aiding us to
+overcome our mutual predilections, than that of feeling, to encourage
+them.  'And he was in the right of it,' you will say.  Perhaps he was; at
+any rate, I had no business to feel so bitterly against him as I did; but
+I could not then regard the matter in such a moderate light; and, after a
+brief conversation upon indifferent topics, I went away, suffering all
+the pangs of wounded pride and injured friendship, in addition to those
+resulting from the fear that I was indeed forgotten, and the knowledge
+that she I loved was alone and afflicted, suffering from injured health
+and dejected spirits, and I was forbidden to console or assist her:
+forbidden even to assure her of my sympathy, for the transmission of any
+such message through Mr. Lawrence was now completely out of the question.
+
+But what should I do?  I would wait, and see if she would notice me,
+which of course she would not, unless by some kind message intrusted to
+her brother, that, in all probability, he would not deliver, and then,
+dreadful thought! she would think me cooled and changed for not returning
+it, or, perhaps, he had already given her to understand that I had ceased
+to think of her.  I would wait, however, till the six months after our
+parting were fairly passed (which would be about the close of February),
+and then I would send her a letter, modestly reminding her of her former
+permission to write to her at the close of that period, and hoping I
+might avail myself of it--at least to express my heartfelt sorrow for her
+late afflictions, my just appreciation of her generous conduct, and my
+hope that her health was now completely re-established, and that she
+would, some time, be permitted to enjoy those blessings of a peaceful,
+happy life, which had been denied her so long, but which none could more
+truly be said to merit than herself--adding a few words of kind
+remembrance to my little friend Arthur, with a hope that he had not
+forgotten me, and perhaps a few more in reference to bygone times, to the
+delightful hours I had passed in her society, and my unfading
+recollection of them, which was the salt and solace of my life, and a
+hope that her recent troubles had not entirely banished me from her mind.
+If she did not answer this, of course I should write no more: if she did
+(as surely she would, in some fashion), my future proceedings should be
+regulated by her reply.
+
+Ten weeks was long to wait in such a miserable state of uncertainty; but
+courage! it must be endured! and meantime I would continue to see
+Lawrence now and then, though not so often as before, and I would still
+pursue my habitual inquiries after his sister, if he had lately heard
+from her, and how she was, but nothing more.
+
+I did so, and the answers I received were always provokingly limited to
+the letter of the inquiry: she was much as usual: she made no complaints,
+but the tone of her last letter evinced great depression of mind: she
+said she was better: and, finally, she said she was well, and very busy
+with her son's education, and with the management of her late husband's
+property, and the regulation of his affairs.  The rascal had never told
+me how that property was disposed, or whether Mr. Huntingdon had died
+intestate or not; and I would sooner die than ask him, lest he should
+misconstrue into covetousness my desire to know.  He never offered to
+show me his sister's letters now, and I never hinted a wish to see them.
+February, however, was approaching; December was past; January, at
+length, was almost over--a few more weeks, and then, certain despair or
+renewal of hope would put an end to this long agony of suspense.
+
+But alas! it was just about that time she was called to sustain another
+blow in the death of her uncle--a worthless old fellow enough in himself,
+I daresay, but he had always shown more kindness and affection to her
+than to any other creature, and she had always been accustomed to regard
+him as a parent.  She was with him when he died, and had assisted her
+aunt to nurse him during the last stage of his illness.  Her brother went
+to Staningley to attend the funeral, and told me, upon his return, that
+she was still there, endeavouring to cheer her aunt with her presence,
+and likely to remain some time.  This was bad news for me, for while she
+continued there I could not write to her, as I did not know the address,
+and would not ask it of him.  But week followed week, and every time I
+inquired about her she was still at Staningley.
+
+'Where is Staningley?' I asked at last.
+
+'In --shire,' was the brief reply; and there was something so cold and
+dry in the manner of it, that I was effectually deterred from requesting
+a more definite account.
+
+'When will she return to Grassdale?' was my next question.
+
+'I don't know.'
+
+'Confound it!' I muttered.
+
+'Why, Markham?' asked my companion, with an air of innocent surprise.
+But I did not deign to answer him, save by a look of silent, sullen
+contempt, at which he turned away, and contemplated the carpet with a
+slight smile, half pensive, half amused; but quickly looking up, he began
+to talk of other subjects, trying to draw me into a cheerful and friendly
+conversation, but I was too much irritated to discourse with him, and
+soon took leave.
+
+You see Lawrence and I somehow could not manage to get on very well
+together.  The fact is, I believe, we were both of us a little too
+touchy.  It is a troublesome thing, Halford, this susceptibility to
+affronts where none are intended.  I am no martyr to it now, as you can
+bear me witness: I have learned to be merry and wise, to be more easy
+with myself and more indulgent to my neighbours, and I can afford to
+laugh at both Lawrence and you.
+
+Partly from accident, partly from wilful negligence on my part (for I was
+really beginning to dislike him), several weeks elapsed before I saw my
+friend again.  When we did meet, it was he that sought me out.  One
+bright morning, early in June, he came into the field, where I was just
+commencing my hay harvest.
+
+'It is long since I saw you, Markham,' said he, after the first few words
+had passed between us.  'Do you never mean to come to Woodford again?'
+
+'I called once, and you were out.'
+
+'I was sorry, but that was long since; I hoped you would call again, and
+now I have called, and you were out, which you generally are, or I would
+do myself the pleasure of calling more frequently; but being determined
+to see you this time, I have left my pony in the lane, and come over
+hedge and ditch to join you; for I am about to leave Woodford for a
+while, and may not have the pleasure of seeing you again for a month or
+two.'
+
+'Where are you going?'
+
+'To Grassdale first,' said he, with a half-smile he would willingly have
+suppressed if he could.
+
+'To Grassdale!  Is she there, then?'
+
+'Yes, but in a day or two she will leave it to accompany Mrs. Maxwell to
+F-- for the benefit of the sea air, and I shall go with them.'  (F-- was
+at that time a quiet but respectable watering-place: it is considerably
+more frequented now.)
+
+Lawrence seemed to expect me to take advantage of this circumstance to
+entrust him with some sort of a message to his sister; and I believe he
+would have undertaken to deliver it without any material objections, if I
+had had the sense to ask him, though of course he would not offer to do
+so, if I was content to let it alone.  But I could not bring myself to
+make the request, and it was not till after he was gone, that I saw how
+fair an opportunity I had lost; and then, indeed, I deeply regretted my
+stupidity and my foolish pride, but it was now too late to remedy the
+evil.
+
+He did not return till towards the latter end of August.  He wrote to me
+twice or thrice from F--, but his letters were most provokingly
+unsatisfactory, dealing in generalities or in trifles that I cared
+nothing about, or replete with fancies and reflections equally unwelcome
+to me at the time, saying next to nothing about his sister, and little
+more about himself.  I would wait, however, till he came back; perhaps I
+could get something more out of him then.  At all events, I would not
+write to her now, while she was with him and her aunt, who doubtless
+would be still more hostile to my presumptuous aspirations than himself.
+When she was returned to the silence and solitude of her own home, it
+would be my fittest opportunity.
+
+When Lawrence came, however, he was as reserved as ever on the subject of
+my keen anxiety.  He told me that his sister had derived considerable
+benefit from her stay at F-- that her son was quite well, and--alas! that
+both of them were gone, with Mrs. Maxwell, back to Staningley, and there
+they stayed at least three months.  But instead of boring you with my
+chagrin, my expectations and disappointments, my fluctuations of dull
+despondency and flickering hope, my varying resolutions, now to drop it,
+and now to persevere--now to make a bold push, and now to let things pass
+and patiently abide my time,--I will employ myself in settling the
+business of one or two of the characters introduced in the course of this
+narrative, whom I may not have occasion to mention again.
+
+Some time before Mr. Huntingdon's death Lady Lowborough eloped with
+another gallant to the Continent, where, having lived a while in reckless
+gaiety and dissipation, they quarrelled and parted.  She went dashing on
+for a season, but years came and money went: she sunk, at length, in
+difficulty and debt, disgrace and misery; and died at last, as I have
+heard, in penury, neglect, and utter wretchedness.  But this might be
+only a report: she may be living yet for anything I or any of her
+relatives or former acquaintances can tell; for they have all lost sight
+of her long years ago, and would as thoroughly forget her if they could.
+Her husband, however, upon this second misdemeanour, immediately sought
+and obtained a divorce, and, not long after, married again.  It was well
+he did, for Lord Lowborough, morose and moody as he seemed, was not the
+man for a bachelor's life.  No public interests, no ambitious projects,
+or active pursuits,--or ties of friendship even (if he had had any
+friends), could compensate to him for the absence of domestic comforts
+and endearments.  He had a son and a nominal daughter, it is true, but
+they too painfully reminded him of their mother, and the unfortunate
+little Annabella was a source of perpetual bitterness to his soul.  He
+had obliged himself to treat her with paternal kindness: he had forced
+himself not to hate her, and even, perhaps, to feel some degree of kindly
+regard for her, at last, in return for her artless and unsuspecting
+attachment to himself; but the bitterness of his self-condemnation for
+his inward feelings towards that innocent being, his constant struggles
+to subdue the evil promptings of his nature (for it was not a generous
+one), though partly guessed at by those who knew him, could be known to
+God and his own heart alone;--so also was the hardness of his conflicts
+with the temptation to return to the vice of his youth, and seek oblivion
+for past calamities, and deadness to the present misery of a blighted
+heart a joyless, friendless life, and a morbidly disconsolate mind, by
+yielding again to that insidious foe to health, and sense, and virtue,
+which had so deplorably enslaved and degraded him before.
+
+The second object of his choice was widely different from the first.
+Some wondered at his taste; some even ridiculed it--but in this their
+folly was more apparent than his.  The lady was about his own
+age--_i.e._, between thirty and forty--remarkable neither for beauty, nor
+wealth, nor brilliant accomplishments; nor any other thing that I ever
+heard of, except genuine good sense, unswerving integrity, active piety,
+warm-hearted benevolence, and a fund of cheerful spirits.  These
+qualities, however, as you may readily imagine, combined to render her an
+excellent mother to the children, and an invaluable wife to his lordship.
+He, with his usual self-depreciation, thought her a world too good for
+him, and while he wondered at the kindness of Providence in conferring
+such a gift upon him, and even at her taste in preferring him to other
+men, he did his best to reciprocate the good she did him, and so far
+succeeded that she was, and I believe still is, one of the happiest and
+fondest wives in England; and all who question the good taste of either
+partner may be thankful if their respective selections afford them half
+the genuine satisfaction in the end, or repay their preference with
+affection half as lasting and sincere.
+
+If you are at all interested in the fate of that low scoundrel, Grimsby,
+I can only tell you that he went from bad to worse, sinking from bathos
+to bathos of vice and villainy, consorting only with the worst members of
+his club and the lowest dregs of society--happily for the rest of the
+world--and at last met his end in a drunken brawl, from the hands, it is
+said, of some brother scoundrel he had cheated at play.
+
+As for Mr. Hattersley, he had never wholly forgotten his resolution to
+'come out from among them,' and behave like a man and a Christian, and
+the last illness and death of his once jolly friend Huntingdon so deeply
+and seriously impressed him with the evil of their former practices, that
+he never needed another lesson of the kind.  Avoiding the temptations of
+the town, he continued to pass his life in the country, immersed in the
+usual pursuits of a hearty, active, country gentleman; his occupations
+being those of farming, and breeding horses and cattle, diversified with
+a little hunting and shooting, and enlivened by the occasional
+companionship of his friends (better friends than those of his youth),
+and the society of his happy little wife (now cheerful and confiding as
+heart could wish), and his fine family of stalwart sons and blooming
+daughters.  His father, the banker, having died some years ago and left
+him all his riches, he has now full scope for the exercise of his
+prevailing tastes, and I need not tell you that Ralph Hattersley, Esq.,
+is celebrated throughout the country for his noble breed of horses.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LI
+
+
+We will now turn to a certain still, cold, cloudy afternoon about the
+commencement of December, when the first fall of snow lay thinly
+scattered over the blighted fields and frozen roads, or stored more
+thickly in the hollows of the deep cart-ruts and footsteps of men and
+horses impressed in the now petrified mire of last month's drenching
+rains.  I remember it well, for I was walking home from the vicarage with
+no less remarkable a personage than Miss Eliza Millward by my side.  I
+had been to call upon her father,--a sacrifice to civility undertaken
+entirely to please my mother, not myself, for I hated to go near the
+house; not merely on account of my antipathy to the once so bewitching
+Eliza, but because I had not half forgiven the old gentleman himself for
+his ill opinion of Mrs. Huntingdon; for though now constrained to
+acknowledge himself mistaken in his former judgment, he still maintained
+that she had done wrong to leave her husband; it was a violation of her
+sacred duties as a wife, and a tempting of Providence by laying herself
+open to temptation; and nothing short of bodily ill-usage (and that of no
+trifling nature) could excuse such a step--nor even that, for in such a
+case she ought to appeal to the laws for protection.  But it was not of
+him I intended to speak; it was of his daughter Eliza.  Just as I was
+taking leave of the vicar, she entered the room, ready equipped for a
+walk.
+
+'I was just coming to see, your sister, Mr. Markham,' said she; 'and so,
+if you have no objection, I'll accompany you home.  I like company when
+I'm walking out--don't you?'
+
+'Yes, when it's agreeable.'
+
+'That of course,' rejoined the young lady, smiling archly.
+
+So we proceeded together.
+
+'Shall I find Rose at home, do you think?' said she, as we closed the
+garden gate, and set our faces towards Linden-Car.
+
+'I believe so.'
+
+'I trust I shall, for I've a little bit of news for her--if you haven't
+forestalled me.'
+
+'I?'
+
+'Yes: do you know what Mr. Lawrence is gone for?'  She looked up
+anxiously for my reply.
+
+'Is he gone?' said I; and her face brightened.
+
+'Ah! then he hasn't told you about his sister?'
+
+'What of her?' I demanded in terror, lest some evil should have befallen
+her.
+
+'Oh, Mr. Markham, how you blush!' cried she, with a tormenting laugh.
+'Ha, ha, you have not forgotten her yet.  But you had better be quick
+about it, I can tell you, for--alas, alas!--she's going to be married
+next Thursday!'
+
+'No, Miss Eliza, that's false.'
+
+'Do you charge me with a falsehood, sir?'
+
+'You are misinformed.'
+
+'Am I?  Do you know better, then?'
+
+'I think I do.'
+
+'What makes you look so pale then?' said she, smiling with delight at my
+emotion.  'Is it anger at poor me for telling such a fib?  Well, I only
+"tell the tale as 'twas told to me:" I don't vouch for the truth of it;
+but at the same time, I don't see what reason Sarah should have for
+deceiving me, or her informant for deceiving her; and that was what she
+told me the footman told her:--that Mrs. Huntingdon was going to be
+married on Thursday, and Mr. Lawrence was gone to the wedding.  She did
+tell me the name of the gentleman, but I've forgotten that.  Perhaps you
+can assist me to remember it.  Is there not some one that lives near--or
+frequently visits the neighbourhood, that has long been attached to
+her?--a Mr.--oh, dear! Mr.--'
+
+'Hargrave?' suggested I, with a bitter smile.
+
+'You're right,' cried she; 'that was the very name.'
+
+'Impossible, Miss Eliza!' I exclaimed, in a tone that made her start.
+
+'Well, you know, that's what they told me,' said she, composedly staring
+me in the face.  And then she broke out into a long shrill laugh that put
+me to my wit's end with fury.
+
+'Really you must excuse me,' cried she.  'I know it's very rude, but ha,
+ha, ha!--did you think to marry her yourself?  Dear, dear, what a
+pity!--ha, ha, ha!  Gracious, Mr. Markham, are you going to faint?  Oh,
+mercy! shall I call this man?  Here, Jacob--'  But checking the word on
+her lips, I seized her arm and gave it, I think, a pretty severe squeeze,
+for she shrank into herself with a faint cry of pain or terror; but the
+spirit within her was not subdued: instantly rallying, she continued,
+with well-feigned concern, 'What can I do for you?  Will you have some
+water--some brandy?  I daresay they have some in the public-house down
+there, if you'll let me run.'
+
+'Have done with this nonsense!' cried I, sternly.  She looked
+confounded--almost frightened again, for a moment.  'You know I hate such
+jests,' I continued.
+
+'Jests indeed!  I wasn't jesting!'
+
+'You were laughing, at all events; and I don't like to be laughed at,'
+returned I, making violent efforts to speak with proper dignity and
+composure, and to say nothing but what was coherent and sensible.  'And
+since you are in such a merry mood, Miss Eliza, you must be good enough
+company for yourself; and therefore I shall leave you to finish your walk
+alone--for, now I think of it, I have business elsewhere; so
+good-evening.'
+
+With that I left her (smothering her malicious laughter) and turned aside
+into the fields, springing up the bank, and pushing through the nearest
+gap in the hedge.  Determined at once to prove the truth--or rather the
+falsehood--of her story, I hastened to Woodford as fast as my legs could
+carry me; first veering round by a circuitous course, but the moment I
+was out of sight of my fair tormentor cutting away across the country,
+just as a bird might fly, over pasture-land, and fallow, and stubble, and
+lane, clearing hedges and ditches and hurdles, till I came to the young
+squire's gates.  Never till now had I known the full fervour of my
+love--the full strength of my hopes, not wholly crushed even in my hours
+of deepest despondency, always tenaciously clinging to the thought that
+one day she might be mine, or, if not that, at least that something of my
+memory, some slight remembrance of our friendship and our love, would be
+for ever cherished in her heart.  I marched up to the door, determined,
+if I saw the master, to question him boldly concerning his sister, to
+wait and hesitate no longer, but cast false delicacy and stupid pride
+behind my back, and know my fate at once.
+
+'Is Mr. Lawrence at home?' I eagerly asked of the servant that opened the
+door.
+
+'No, sir, master went yesterday,' replied he, looking very alert.
+
+'Went where?'
+
+'To Grassdale, sir--wasn't you aware, sir?  He's very close, is master,'
+said the fellow, with a foolish, simpering grin.  'I suppose, sir--'
+
+But I turned and left him, without waiting to hear what he supposed.  I
+was not going to stand there to expose my tortured feelings to the
+insolent laughter and impertinent curiosity of a fellow like that.
+
+But what was to be done now?  Could it be possible that she had left me
+for that man?  I could not believe it.  Me she might forsake, but not to
+give herself to him!  Well, I would know the truth; to no concerns of
+daily life could I attend while this tempest of doubt and dread, of
+jealousy and rage, distracted me.  I would take the morning coach from
+L-- (the evening one would be already gone), and fly to Grassdale--I must
+be there before the marriage.  And why?  Because a thought struck me that
+perhaps I might prevent it--that if I did not, she and I might both
+lament it to the latest moment of our lives.  It struck me that someone
+might have belied me to her: perhaps her brother; yes, no doubt her
+brother had persuaded her that I was false and faithless, and taking
+advantage of her natural indignation, and perhaps her desponding
+carelessness about her future life, had urged her, artfully, cruelly, on
+to this other marriage, in order to secure her from me.  If this was the
+case, and if she should only discover her mistake when too late to repair
+it--to what a life of misery and vain regret might she be doomed as well
+as me; and what remorse for me to think my foolish scruples had induced
+it all!  Oh, I must see her--she must know my truth even if I told it at
+the church door!  I might pass for a madman or an impertinent fool--even
+she might be offended at such an interruption, or at least might tell me
+it was now too late.  But if I could save her, if she might be mine!--it
+was too rapturous a thought!
+
+Winged by this hope, and goaded by these fears, I hurried homewards to
+prepare for my departure on the morrow.  I told my mother that urgent
+business which admitted no delay, but which I could not then explain,
+called me away.
+
+My deep anxiety and serious preoccupation could not be concealed from her
+maternal eyes; and I had much ado to calm her apprehensions of some
+disastrous mystery.
+
+That night there came a heavy fall of snow, which so retarded the
+progress of the coaches on the following day that I was almost driven to
+distraction.  I travelled all night, of course, for this was Wednesday:
+to-morrow morning, doubtless, the marriage would take place.  But the
+night was long and dark: the snow heavily clogged the wheels and balled
+the horses' feet; the animals were consumedly lazy; the coachman most
+execrably cautious; the passengers confoundedly apathetic in their supine
+indifference to the rate of our progression.  Instead of assisting me to
+bully the several coachmen and urge them forward, they merely stared and
+grinned at my impatience: one fellow even ventured to rally me upon
+it--but I silenced him with a look that quelled him for the rest of the
+journey; and when, at the last stage, I would have taken the reins into
+my own hand, they all with one accord opposed it.
+
+It was broad daylight when we entered M-- and drew up at the 'Rose and
+Crown.'  I alighted and called aloud for a post-chaise to Grassdale.
+There was none to be had: the only one in the town was under repair.  'A
+gig, then--a fly--car--anything--only be quick!'  There was a gig, but
+not a horse to spare.  I sent into the town to seek one: but they were
+such an intolerable time about it that I could wait no longer--I thought
+my own feet could carry me sooner; and bidding them send the conveyance
+after me, if it were ready within an hour, I set off as fast as I could
+walk.  The distance was little more than six miles, but the road was
+strange, and I had to keep stopping to inquire my way; hallooing to
+carters and clodhoppers, and frequently invading the cottages, for there
+were few abroad that winter's morning; sometimes knocking up the lazy
+people from their beds, for where so little work was to be done, perhaps
+so little food and fire to be had, they cared not to curtail their
+slumbers.  I had no time to think of them, however; aching with weariness
+and desperation, I hurried on.  The gig did not overtake me: and it was
+well I had not waited for it; vexatious rather, that I had been fool
+enough to wait so long.
+
+At length, however, I entered the neighbourhood of Grassdale.  I
+approached the little rural church--but lo! there stood a train of
+carriages before it; it needed not the white favours bedecking the
+servants and horses, nor the merry voices of the village idlers assembled
+to witness the show, to apprise me that there was a wedding within.  I
+ran in among them, demanding, with breathless eagerness, had the ceremony
+long commenced?  They only gaped and stared.  In my desperation, I pushed
+past them, and was about to enter the churchyard gate, when a group of
+ragged urchins, that had been hanging like bees to the window, suddenly
+dropped off and made a rush for the porch, vociferating in the uncouth
+dialect of their country something which signified, 'It's over--they're
+coming out!'
+
+If Eliza Millward had seen me then she might indeed have been delighted.
+I grasped the gate-post for support, and stood intently gazing towards
+the door to take my last look on my soul's delight, my first on that
+detested mortal who had torn her from my heart, and doomed her, I was
+certain, to a life of misery and hollow, vain repining--for what
+happiness could she enjoy with him?  I did not wish to shock her with my
+presence now, but I had not power to move away.  Forth came the bride and
+bridegroom.  Him I saw not; I had eyes for none but her.  A long veil
+shrouded half her graceful form, but did not hide it; I could see that
+while she carried her head erect, her eyes were bent upon the ground, and
+her face and neck were suffused with a crimson blush; but every feature
+was radiant with smiles, and gleaming through the misty whiteness of her
+veil were clusters of golden ringlets!  Oh, heavens! it was not my Helen!
+The first glimpse made me start--but my eyes were darkened with
+exhaustion and despair.  Dare I trust them?  'Yes--it is not she!  It was
+a younger, slighter, rosier beauty--lovely indeed, but with far less
+dignity and depth of soul--without that indefinable grace, that keenly
+spiritual yet gentle charm, that ineffable power to attract and subjugate
+the heart--my heart at least.  I looked at the bridegroom--it was
+Frederick Lawrence!  I wiped away the cold drops that were trickling down
+my forehead, and stepped back as he approached; but, his eyes fell upon
+me, and he knew me, altered as my appearance must have been.
+
+'Is that you, Markham?' said he, startled and confounded at the
+apparition--perhaps, too, at the wildness of my looks.
+
+'Yes, Lawrence; is that you?' I mustered the presence of mind to reply.
+
+He smiled and coloured, as if half-proud and half-ashamed of his
+identity; and if he had reason to be proud of the sweet lady on his arm,
+he had no less cause to be ashamed of having concealed his good fortune
+so long.
+
+'Allow me to introduce you to my bride,' said he, endeavouring to hide
+his embarrassment by an assumption of careless gaiety.  'Esther, this is
+Mr. Markham; my friend Markham, Mrs. Lawrence, late Miss Hargrave.'
+
+I bowed to the bride, and vehemently wrung the bridegroom's hand.
+
+'Why did you not tell me of this?' I said, reproachfully, pretending a
+resentment I did not feel (for in truth I was almost wild with joy to
+find myself so happily mistaken, and overflowing with affection to him
+for this and for the base injustice I felt that I had done him in my
+mind--he might have wronged me, but not to that extent; and as I had
+hated him like a demon for the last forty hours, the reaction from such a
+feeling was so great that I could pardon all offences for the moment--and
+love him in spite of them too).
+
+'I did tell you,' said he, with an air of guilty confusion; 'you received
+my letter?'
+
+'What letter?'
+
+'The one announcing my intended marriage.'
+
+'I never received the most distant hint of such an intention.'
+
+'It must have crossed you on your way then--it should have reached you
+yesterday morning--it was rather late, I acknowledge.  But what brought
+you here, then, if you received no information?'
+
+It was now my turn to be confounded; but the young lady, who had been
+busily patting the snow with her foot during our short sotto-voce
+colloquy, very opportunely came to my assistance by pinching her
+companion's arm and whispering a suggestion that his friend should be
+invited to step into the carriage and go with them; it being scarcely
+agreeable to stand there among so many gazers, and keeping their friends
+waiting into the bargain.
+
+'And so cold as it is too!' said he, glancing with dismay at her slight
+drapery, and immediately handing her into the carriage.  'Markham, will
+you come?  We are going to Paris, but we can drop you anywhere between
+this and Dover.'
+
+'No, thank you.  Good-by--I needn't wish you a pleasant journey; but I
+shall expect a very handsome apology, some time, mind, and scores of
+letters, before we meet again.'
+
+He shook my hand, and hastened to take his place beside his lady.  This
+was no time or place for explanation or discourse: we had already stood
+long enough to excite the wonder of the village sight-seers, and perhaps
+the wrath of the attendant bridal party; though, of course, all this
+passed in a much shorter time than I have taken to relate, or even than
+you will take to read it.  I stood beside the carriage, and, the window
+being down, I saw my happy friend fondly encircle his companion's waist
+with his arm, while she rested her glowing cheek on his shoulder, looking
+the very impersonation of loving, trusting bliss.  In the interval
+between the footman's closing the door and taking his place behind she
+raised her smiling brown eyes to his face, observing, playfully,--'I fear
+you must think me very insensible, Frederick: I know it is the custom for
+ladies to cry on these occasions, but I couldn't squeeze a tear for my
+life.'
+
+He only answered with a kiss, and pressed her still closer to his bosom.
+
+'But what is this?' he murmured.  'Why, Esther, you're crying now!'
+
+'Oh, it's nothing--it's only too much happiness--and the wish,' sobbed
+she, 'that our dear Helen were as happy as ourselves.'
+
+'Bless you for that wish!' I inwardly responded, as the carriage rolled
+away--'and heaven grant it be not wholly vain!'
+
+I thought a cloud had suddenly darkened her husband's face as she spoke.
+What did he think?  Could he grudge such happiness to his dear sister and
+his friend as he now felt himself?  At such a moment it was impossible.
+The contrast between her fate and his must darken his bliss for a time.
+Perhaps, too, he thought of me: perhaps he regretted the part he had had
+in preventing our union, by omitting to help us, if not by actually
+plotting against us.  I exonerated him from that charge now, and deeply
+lamented my former ungenerous suspicions; but he had wronged us, still--I
+hoped, I trusted that he had.  He had not attempted to cheek the course
+of our love by actually damming up the streams in their passage, but he
+had passively watched the two currents wandering through life's arid
+wilderness, declining to clear away the obstructions that divided them,
+and secretly hoping that both would lose themselves in the sand before
+they could be joined in one.  And meantime he had been quietly proceeding
+with his own affairs; perhaps, his heart and head had been so full of his
+fair lady that he had had but little thought to spare for others.
+Doubtless he had made his first acquaintance with her--his first intimate
+acquaintance at least--during his three months' sojourn at F--, for I now
+recollected that he had once casually let fall an intimation that his
+aunt and sister had a young friend staying with them at the time, and
+this accounted for at least one-half his silence about all transactions
+there.  Now, too, I saw a reason for many little things that had slightly
+puzzled me before; among the rest, for sundry departures from Woodford,
+and absences more or less prolonged, for which he never satisfactorily
+accounted, and concerning which he hated to be questioned on his return.
+Well might the servant say his master was 'very close.'  But why this
+strange reserve to me?  Partly, from that remarkable idiosyncrasy to
+which I have before alluded; partly, perhaps, from tenderness to my
+feelings, or fear to disturb my philosophy by touching upon the
+infectious theme of love.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LII
+
+
+The tardy gig had overtaken me at last.  I entered it, and bade the man
+who brought it drive to Grassdale Manor--I was too busy with my own
+thoughts to care to drive it myself.  I would see Mrs. Huntingdon--there
+could be no impropriety in that now that her husband had been dead above
+a year--and by her indifference or her joy at my unexpected arrival I
+could soon tell whether her heart was truly mine.  But my companion, a
+loquacious, forward fellow, was not disposed to leave me to the
+indulgence of my private cogitations.
+
+'There they go!' said he, as the carriages filed away before us.
+'There'll be brave doings on yonder to-day, as what come to-morra.--Know
+anything of that family, sir? or you're a stranger in these parts?'
+
+'I know them by report.'
+
+'Humph!  There's the best of 'em gone, anyhow.  And I suppose the old
+missis is agoing to leave after this stir's gotten overed, and take
+herself off, somewhere, to live on her bit of a jointure; and the young
+'un--at least the new 'un (she's none so very young)--is coming down to
+live at the Grove.'
+
+'Is Mr. Hargrave married, then?'
+
+'Ay, sir, a few months since.  He should a been wed afore, to a widow
+lady, but they couldn't agree over the money: she'd a rare long purse,
+and Mr. Hargrave wanted it all to hisself; but she wouldn't let it go,
+and so then they fell out.  This one isn't quite as rich, nor as handsome
+either, but she hasn't been married before.  She's very plain, they say,
+and getting on to forty or past, and so, you know, if she didn't jump at
+this hopportunity, she thought she'd never get a better.  I guess she
+thought such a handsome young husband was worth all 'at ever she had, and
+he might take it and welcome, but I lay she'll rue her bargain afore
+long.  They say she begins already to see 'at he isn't not altogether
+that nice, generous, perlite, delightful gentleman 'at she thought him
+afore marriage--he begins a being careless and masterful already.  Ay,
+and she'll find him harder and carelesser nor she thinks on.'
+
+'You seem to be well acquainted with him,' I observed.
+
+'I am, sir; I've known him since he was quite a young gentleman; and a
+proud 'un he was, and a wilful.  I was servant yonder for several years;
+but I couldn't stand their niggardly ways--she got ever longer and worse,
+did missis, with her nipping and screwing, and watching and grudging; so
+I thought I'd find another place.'
+
+'Are we not near the house?' said I, interrupting him.
+
+'Yes, sir; yond's the park.'
+
+My heart sank within me to behold that stately mansion in the midst of
+its expansive grounds.  The park as beautiful now, in its wintry garb, as
+it could be in its summer glory: the majestic sweep, the undulating swell
+and fall, displayed to full advantage in that robe of dazzling purity,
+stainless and printless--save one long, winding track left by the
+trooping deer--the stately timber-trees with their heavy-laden branches
+gleaming white against the dull, grey sky; the deep, encircling woods;
+the broad expanse of water sleeping in frozen quiet; and the weeping ash
+and willow drooping their snow-clad boughs above it--all presented a
+picture, striking indeed, and pleasing to an unencumbered mind, but by no
+means encouraging to me.  There was one comfort, however,--all this was
+entailed upon little Arthur, and could not under any circumstances,
+strictly speaking, be his mother's.  But how was she situated?
+Overcoming with a sudden effort my repugnance to mention her name to my
+garrulous companion, I asked him if he knew whether her late husband had
+left a will, and how the property had been disposed of.  Oh, yes, he knew
+all about it; and I was quickly informed that to her had been left the
+full control and management of the estate during her son's minority,
+besides the absolute, unconditional possession of her own fortune (but I
+knew that her father had not given her much), and the small additional
+sum that had been settled upon her before marriage.
+
+Before the close of the explanation we drew up at the park-gates.  Now
+for the trial.  If I should find her within--but alas! she might be still
+at Staningley: her brother had given me no intimation to the contrary.  I
+inquired at the porter's lodge if Mrs. Huntingdon were at home.  No, she
+was with her aunt in --shire, but was expected to return before
+Christmas.  She usually spent most of her time at Staningley, only coming
+to Grassdale occasionally, when the management of affairs, or the
+interest of her tenants and dependents, required her presence.
+
+'Near what town is Staningley situated?' I asked.  The requisite
+information was soon obtained.  'Now then, my man, give me the reins, and
+we'll return to M--.  I must have some breakfast at the "Rose and Crown,"
+and then away to Staningley by the first coach for --.'
+
+At M-- I had time before the coach started to replenish my forces with a
+hearty breakfast, and to obtain the refreshment of my usual morning's
+ablutions, and the amelioration of some slight change in my toilet, and
+also to despatch a short note to my mother (excellent son that I was), to
+assure her that I was still in existence, and to excuse my non-appearance
+at the expected time.  It was a long journey to Staningley for those
+slow-travelling days, but I did not deny myself needful refreshment on
+the road, nor even a night's rest at a wayside inn, choosing rather to
+brook a little delay than to present myself worn, wild, and
+weather-beaten before my mistress and her aunt, who would be astonished
+enough to see me without that.  Next morning, therefore, I not only
+fortified myself with as substantial a breakfast as my excited feelings
+would allow me to swallow, but I bestowed a little more than usual time
+and care upon my toilet; and, furnished with a change of linen from my
+small carpet-bag, well-brushed clothes, well-polished boots, and neat new
+gloves, I mounted 'The Lightning,' and resumed my journey.  I had nearly
+two stages yet before me, but the coach, I was informed, passed through
+the neighbourhood of Staningley, and having desired to be set down as
+near the Hall as possible, I had nothing to do but to sit with folded
+arms and speculate upon the coming hour.
+
+It was a clear, frosty morning.  The very fact of sitting exalted aloft,
+surveying the snowy landscape and sweet sunny sky, inhaling the pure,
+bracing air, and crunching away over the crisp frozen snow, was
+exhilarating enough in itself; but add to this the idea of to what goal I
+was hastening, and whom I expected to meet, and you may have some faint
+conception of my frame of mind at the time--only a faint one, though: for
+my heart swelled with unspeakable delight, and my spirits rose almost to
+madness, in spite of my prudent endeavours to bind them down to a
+reasonable platitude by thinking of the undeniable difference between
+Helen's rank and mine; of all that she had passed through since our
+parting; of her long, unbroken silence; and, above all, of her cool,
+cautious aunt, whose counsels she would doubtless be careful not to
+slight again.  These considerations made my heart flutter with anxiety,
+and my chest heave with impatience to get the crisis over; but they could
+not dim her image in my mind, or mar the vivid recollection of what had
+been said and felt between us, or destroy the keen anticipation of what
+was to be: in fact, I could not realise their terrors now.  Towards the
+close of the journey, however, a couple of my fellow-passengers kindly
+came to my assistance, and brought me low enough.
+
+'Fine land this,' said one of them, pointing with his umbrella to the
+wide fields on the right, conspicuous for their compact hedgerows, deep,
+well-cut ditches, and fine timber-trees, growing sometimes on the
+borders, sometimes in the midst of the enclosure: 'very fine land, if you
+saw it in the summer or spring.'
+
+'Ay,' responded the other, a gruff elderly man, with a drab greatcoat
+buttoned up to the chin, and a cotton umbrella between his knees.  'It's
+old Maxwell's, I suppose.'
+
+'It was his, sir; but he's dead now, you're aware, and has left it all to
+his niece.'
+
+'All?'
+
+'Every rood of it, and the mansion-house and all! every hatom of his
+worldly goods, except just a trifle, by way of remembrance, to his nephew
+down in --shire, and an annuity to his wife.'
+
+'It's strange, sir!'
+
+'It is, sir; and she wasn't his own niece neither.  But he had no near
+relations of his own--none but a nephew he'd quarrelled with; and he
+always had a partiality for this one.  And then his wife advised him to
+it, they say: she'd brought most of the property, and it was her wish
+that this lady should have it.'
+
+'Humph!  She'll be a fine catch for somebody.'
+
+'She will so.  She's a widow, but quite young yet, and uncommon handsome:
+a fortune of her own, besides, and only one child, and she's nursing a
+fine estate for him in --.  There'll be lots to speak for her! 'fraid
+there's no chance for uz'--(facetiously jogging me with his elbow, as
+well as his companion)--'ha, ha, ha!  No offence, sir, I hope?'--(to me).
+'Ahem!  I should think she'll marry none but a nobleman myself.  Look ye,
+sir,' resumed he, turning to his other neighbour, and pointing past me
+with his umbrella, 'that's the Hall: grand park, you see, and all them
+woods--plenty of timber there, and lots of game.  Hallo! what now?'
+
+This exclamation was occasioned by the sudden stoppage of the coach at
+the park-gates.
+
+'Gen'leman for Staningley Hall?' cried the coachman and I rose and threw
+my carpet-bag on to the ground, preparatory to dropping myself down after
+it.
+
+'Sickly, sir?' asked my talkative neighbour, staring me in the face.  I
+daresay it was white enough.
+
+'No.  Here, coachman!'
+
+'Thank'ee, sir.--All right!'
+
+The coachman pocketed his fee and drove away, leaving me, not walking up
+the park, but pacing to and fro before its gates, with folded arms, and
+eyes fixed upon the ground, an overwhelming force of images, thoughts,
+impressions crowding on my mind, and nothing tangibly distinct but this:
+My love had been cherished in vain--my hope was gone for ever; I must
+tear myself away at once, and banish or suppress all thoughts of her,
+like the remembrance of a wild, mad dream.  Gladly would I have lingered
+round the place for hours, in the hope of catching at least one distant
+glimpse of her before I went, but it must not be--I must not suffer her
+to see me; for what could have brought me hither but the hope of reviving
+her attachment, with a view hereafter to obtain her hand?  And could I
+bear that she should think me capable of such a thing?--of presuming upon
+the acquaintance--the love, if you will--accidentally contracted, or
+rather forced upon her against her will, when she was an unknown
+fugitive, toiling for her own support, apparently without fortune,
+family, or connections; to come upon her now, when she was reinstated in
+her proper sphere, and claim a share in her prosperity, which, had it
+never failed her, would most certainly have kept her unknown to me for
+ever?  And this, too, when we had parted sixteen months ago, and she had
+expressly forbidden me to hope for a re-union in this world, and never
+sent me a line or a message from that day to this.  No!  The very idea
+was intolerable.
+
+And even if she should have a lingering affection for me still, ought I
+to disturb her peace by awakening those feelings? to subject her to the
+struggles of conflicting duty and inclination--to whichsoever side the
+latter might allure, or the former imperatively call her--whether she
+should deem it her duty to risk the slights and censures of the world,
+the sorrow and displeasure of those she loved, for a romantic idea of
+truth and constancy to me, or to sacrifice her individual wishes to the
+feelings of her friends and her own sense of prudence and the fitness of
+things?  No--and I would not!  I would go at once, and she should never
+know that I had approached the place of her abode: for though I might
+disclaim all idea of ever aspiring to her hand, or even of soliciting a
+place in her friendly regard, her peace should not be broken by my
+presence, nor her heart afflicted by the sight of my fidelity.
+
+'Adieu then, dear Helen, forever!  Forever adieu!'
+
+So said I--and yet I could not tear myself away.  I moved a few paces,
+and then looked back, for one last view of her stately home, that I might
+have its outward form, at least, impressed upon my mind as indelibly as
+her own image, which, alas! I must not see again--then walked a few steps
+further; and then, lost in melancholy musings, paused again and leant my
+back against a rough old tree that grew beside the road.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LIII
+
+
+While standing thus, absorbed in my gloomy reverie, a gentleman's
+carriage came round the corner of the road.  I did not look at it; and
+had it rolled quietly by me, I should not have remembered the fact of its
+appearance at all; but a tiny voice from within it roused me by
+exclaiming, 'Mamma, mamma, here's Mr. Markham!'
+
+I did not hear the reply, but presently the same voice answered, 'It is
+indeed, mamma--look for yourself.'
+
+I did not raise my eyes, but I suppose mamma looked, for a clear
+melodious voice, whose tones thrilled through my nerves, exclaimed, 'Oh,
+aunt! here's Mr. Markham, Arthur's friend!  Stop, Richard!'
+
+There was such evidence of joyous though suppressed excitement in the
+utterance of those few words--especially that tremulous, 'Oh, aunt'--that
+it threw me almost off my guard.  The carriage stopped immediately, and I
+looked up and met the eye of a pale, grave, elderly lady surveying me
+from the open window.  She bowed, and so did I, and then she withdrew her
+head, while Arthur screamed to the footman to let him out; but before
+that functionary could descend from his box a hand was silently put forth
+from the carriage window.  I knew that hand, though a black glove
+concealed its delicate whiteness and half its fair proportions, and
+quickly seizing it, I pressed it in my own--ardently for a moment, but
+instantly recollecting myself, I dropped it, and it was immediately
+withdrawn.
+
+'Were you coming to see us, or only passing by?' asked the low voice of
+its owner, who, I felt, was attentively surveying my countenance from
+behind the thick black veil which, with the shadowing panels, entirely
+concealed her own from me.
+
+'I--I came to see the place,' faltered I.
+
+'The place,' repeated she, in a tone which betokened more displeasure or
+disappointment than surprise.
+
+'Will you not enter it, then?'
+
+'If you wish it.'
+
+'Can you doubt?'
+
+'Yes, yes! he must enter,' cried Arthur, running round from the other
+door; and seizing my hand in both his, he shook it heartily.
+
+'Do you remember me, sir?' said he.
+
+'Yes, full well, my little man, altered though you are,' replied I,
+surveying the comparatively tall, slim young gentleman, with his mother's
+image visibly stamped upon his fair, intelligent features, in spite of
+the blue eyes beaming with gladness, and the bright locks clustering
+beneath his cap.
+
+'Am I not grown?' said he, stretching himself up to his full height.
+
+'Grown! three inches, upon my word!'
+
+'I was seven last birthday,' was the proud rejoinder.  'In seven years
+more I shall be as tall as you nearly.'
+
+'Arthur,' said his mother, 'tell him to come in.  Go on, Richard.'
+
+There was a touch of sadness as well as coldness in her voice, but I knew
+not to what to ascribe it.  The carriage drove on and entered the gates
+before us.  My little companion led me up the park, discoursing merrily
+all the way.  Arrived at the hall-door, I paused on the steps and looked
+round me, waiting to recover my composure, if possible--or, at any rate,
+to remember my new-formed resolutions and the principles on which they
+were founded; and it was not till Arthur had been for some time gently
+pulling my coat, and repeating his invitations to enter, that I at length
+consented to accompany him into the apartment where the ladies awaited
+us.
+
+Helen eyed me as I entered with a kind of gentle, serious scrutiny, and
+politely asked after Mrs. Markham and Rose.  I respectfully answered her
+inquiries.  Mrs. Maxwell begged me to be seated, observing it was rather
+cold, but she supposed I had not travelled far that morning.
+
+'Not quite twenty miles,' I answered.
+
+'Not on foot!'
+
+'No, Madam, by coach.'
+
+'Here's Rachel, sir,' said Arthur, the only truly happy one amongst us,
+directing my attention to that worthy individual, who had just entered to
+take her mistress's things.  She vouchsafed me an almost friendly smile
+of recognition--a favour that demanded, at least, a civil salutation on
+my part, which was accordingly given and respectfully returned--she had
+seen the error of her former estimation of my character.
+
+When Helen was divested of her lugubrious bonnet and veil, her heavy
+winter cloak, &c., she looked so like herself that I knew not how to bear
+it.  I was particularly glad to see her beautiful black hair, unstinted
+still, and unconcealed in its glossy luxuriance.
+
+'Mamma has left off her widow's cap in honour of uncle's marriage,'
+observed Arthur, reading my looks with a child's mingled simplicity and
+quickness of observation.  Mamma looked grave and Mrs. Maxwell shook her
+head.  'And aunt Maxwell is never going to leave off hers,' persisted the
+naughty boy; but when he saw that his pertness was seriously displeasing
+and painful to his aunt, he went and silently put his arm round her neck,
+kissed her cheek, and withdrew to the recess of one of the great
+bay-windows, where he quietly amused himself with his dog, while Mrs.
+Maxwell gravely discussed with me the interesting topics of the weather,
+the season, and the roads.  I considered her presence very useful as a
+check upon my natural impulses--an antidote to those emotions of
+tumultuous excitement which would otherwise have carried me away against
+my reason and my will; but just then I felt the restraint almost
+intolerable, and I had the greatest difficulty in forcing myself to
+attend to her remarks and answer them with ordinary politeness; for I was
+sensible that Helen was standing within a few feet of me beside the fire.
+I dared not look at her, but I felt her eye was upon me, and from one
+hasty, furtive glance, I thought her cheek was slightly flushed, and that
+her fingers, as she played with her watch-chain, were agitated with that
+restless, trembling motion which betokens high excitement.
+
+'Tell me,' said she, availing herself of the first pause in the attempted
+conversation between her aunt and me, and speaking fast and low, with her
+eyes bent on the gold chain--for I now ventured another glance--'Tell me
+how you all are at Linden-hope--has nothing happened since I left you?'
+
+'I believe not.'
+
+'Nobody dead? nobody married?'
+
+'No.'
+
+'Or--or expecting to marry?--No old ties dissolved or new ones formed? no
+old friends forgotten or supplanted?'
+
+She dropped her voice so low in the last sentence that no one could have
+caught the concluding words but myself, and at the same time turned her
+eyes upon me with a dawning smile, most sweetly melancholy, and a look of
+timid though keen inquiry that made my cheeks tingle with inexpressible
+emotions.
+
+'I believe not,' I answered.  'Certainly not, if others are as little
+changed as I.'  Her face glowed in sympathy with mine.
+
+'And you really did not mean to call?' she exclaimed.
+
+'I feared to intrude.'
+
+'To intrude!' cried she, with an impatient gesture.  'What--' but as if
+suddenly recollecting her aunt's presence, she checked herself, and,
+turning to that lady, continued--'Why, aunt, this man is my brother's
+close friend, and was my own intimate acquaintance (for a few short
+months at least), and professed a great attachment to my boy--and when he
+passes the house, so many scores of miles from his home, he declines to
+look in for fear of intruding!'
+
+'Mr. Markham is over-modest,' observed Mrs. Maxwell.
+
+'Over-ceremonious rather,' said her niece--'over--well, it's no matter.'
+And turning from me, she seated herself in a chair beside the table, and
+pulling a book to her by the cover, began to turn over the leaves in an
+energetic kind of abstraction.
+
+'If I had known,' said I, 'that you would have honoured me by remembering
+me as an intimate acquaintance, I most likely should not have denied
+myself the pleasure of calling upon you, but I thought you had forgotten
+me long ago.'
+
+'You judged of others by yourself,' muttered she without raising her eyes
+from the book, but reddening as she spoke, and hastily turning over a
+dozen leaves at once.
+
+There was a pause, of which Arthur thought he might venture to avail
+himself to introduce his handsome young setter, and show me how
+wonderfully it was grown and improved, and to ask after the welfare of
+its father Sancho.  Mrs. Maxwell then withdrew to take off her things.
+Helen immediately pushed the book from her, and after silently surveying
+her son, his friend, and his dog for a few moments, she dismissed the
+former from the room under pretence of wishing him to fetch his last new
+book to show me.  The child obeyed with alacrity; but I continued
+caressing the dog.  The silence might have lasted till its master's
+return, had it depended on me to break it; but, in half a minute or less,
+my hostess impatiently rose, and, taking her former station on the rug
+between me and the chimney corner, earnestly exclaimed--
+
+'Gilbert, what is the matter with you?--why are you so changed?  It is a
+very indiscreet question, I know,' she hastened to add: 'perhaps a very
+rude one--don't answer it if you think so--but I hate mysteries and
+concealments.'
+
+'I am not changed, Helen--unfortunately I am as keen and passionate as
+ever--it is not I, it is circumstances that are changed.'
+
+'What circumstances?  Do tell me!'  Her cheek was blanched with the very
+anguish of anxiety--could it be with the fear that I had rashly pledged
+my faith to another?
+
+'I'll tell you at once,' said I.  'I will confess that I came here for
+the purpose of seeing you (not without some monitory misgivings at my own
+presumption, and fears that I should be as little welcome as expected
+when I came), but I did not know that this estate was yours until
+enlightened on the subject of your inheritance by the conversation of two
+fellow-passengers in the last stage of my journey; and then I saw at once
+the folly of the hopes I had cherished, and the madness of retaining them
+a moment longer; and though I alighted at your gates, I determined not to
+enter within them; I lingered a few minutes to see the place, but was
+fully resolved to return to M-- without seeing its mistress.'
+
+'And if my aunt and I had not been just returning from our morning drive,
+I should have seen and heard no more of you?'
+
+'I thought it would be better for both that we should not meet,' replied
+I, as calmly as I could, but not daring to speak above my breath, from
+conscious inability to steady my voice, and not daring to look in her
+face lest my firmness should forsake me altogether.  'I thought an
+interview would only disturb your peace and madden me.  But I am glad,
+now, of this opportunity of seeing you once more and knowing that you
+have not forgotten me, and of assuring you that I shall never cease to
+remember you.'
+
+There was a moment's pause.  Mrs. Huntingdon moved away, and stood in the
+recess of the window.  Did she regard this as an intimation that modesty
+alone prevented me from asking her hand? and was she considering how to
+repulse me with the smallest injury to my feelings?  Before I could speak
+to relieve her from such a perplexity, she broke the silence herself by
+suddenly turning towards me and observing--
+
+'You might have had such an opportunity before--as far, I mean, as
+regards assuring me of your kindly recollections, and yourself of mine,
+if you had written to me.'
+
+'I would have done so, but I did not know your address, and did not like
+to ask your brother, because I thought he would object to my writing; but
+this would not have deterred me for a moment, if I could have ventured to
+believe that you expected to hear from me, or even wasted a thought upon
+your unhappy friend; but your silence naturally led me to conclude myself
+forgotten.'
+
+'Did you expect me to write to you, then?'
+
+'No, Helen--Mrs. Huntingdon,' said I, blushing at the implied imputation,
+'certainly not; but if you had sent me a message through your brother, or
+even asked him about me now and then--'
+
+'I did ask about you frequently.  I was not going to do more,' continued
+she, smiling, 'so long as you continued to restrict yourself to a few
+polite inquiries about my health.'
+
+'Your brother never told me that you had mentioned my name.'
+
+'Did you ever ask him?'
+
+'No; for I saw he did not wish to be questioned about you, or to afford
+the slightest encouragement or assistance to my too obstinate
+attachment.'  Helen did not reply.  'And he was perfectly right,' added
+I.  But she remained in silence, looking out upon the snowy lawn.  'Oh, I
+will relieve her of my presence,' thought I; and immediately I rose and
+advanced to take leave, with a most heroic resolution--but pride was at
+the bottom of it, or it could not have carried me through.
+
+'Are you going already?' said she, taking the hand I offered, and not
+immediately letting it go.
+
+'Why should I stay any longer?'
+
+'Wait till Arthur comes, at least.'
+
+Only too glad to obey, I stood and leant against the opposite side of the
+window.
+
+'You told me you were not changed,' said my companion: 'you are--very
+much so.'
+
+'No, Mrs. Huntingdon, I only ought to be.'
+
+'Do you mean to maintain that you have the same regard for me that you
+had when last we met?'
+
+'I have; but it would be wrong to talk of it now.'
+
+'It was wrong to talk of it then, Gilbert; it would not now--unless to do
+so would be to violate the truth.'
+
+I was too much agitated to speak; but, without waiting for an answer, she
+turned away her glistening eye and crimson cheek, and threw up the window
+and looked out, whether to calm her own, excited feelings, or to relieve
+her embarrassment, or only to pluck that beautiful half-blown
+Christmas-rose that grew upon the little shrub without, just peeping from
+the snow that had hitherto, no doubt, defended it from the frost, and was
+now melting away in the sun.  Pluck it, however, she did, and having
+gently dashed the glittering powder from its leaves, approached it to her
+lips and said:
+
+'This rose is not so fragrant as a summer flower, but it has stood
+through hardships none of them could bear: the cold rain of winter has
+sufficed to nourish it, and its faint sun to warm it; the bleak winds
+have not blanched it, or broken its stem, and the keen frost has not
+blighted it.  Look, Gilbert, it is still fresh and blooming as a flower
+can be, with the cold snow even now on its petals.--Will you have it?'
+
+I held out my hand: I dared not speak lest my emotion should overmaster
+me.  She laid the rose across my palm, but I scarcely closed my fingers
+upon it, so deeply was I absorbed in thinking what might be the meaning
+of her words, and what I ought to do or say upon the occasion; whether to
+give way to my feelings or restrain them still.  Misconstruing this
+hesitation into indifference--or reluctance even--to accept her gift,
+Helen suddenly snatched it from my hand, threw it out on to the snow,
+shut down the window with an emphasis, and withdrew to the fire.
+
+'Helen, what means this?' I cried, electrified at this startling change
+in her demeanour.
+
+'You did not understand my gift,' said she--'or, what is worse, you
+despised it.  I'm sorry I gave it you; but since I did make such a
+mistake, the only remedy I could think of was to take it away.'
+
+'You misunderstood me cruelly,' I replied, and in a minute I had opened
+the window again, leaped out, picked up the flower, brought it in, and
+presented it to her, imploring her to give it me again, and I would keep
+it for ever for her sake, and prize it more highly than anything in the
+world I possessed.
+
+'And will this content you?' said she, as she took it in her hand.
+
+'It shall,' I answered.
+
+'There, then; take it.'
+
+I pressed it earnestly to my lips, and put it in my bosom, Mrs.
+Huntingdon looking on with a half-sarcastic smile.
+
+'Now, are you going?' said she.
+
+'I will if--if I must.'
+
+'You are changed,' persisted she--'you are grown either very proud or
+very indifferent.'
+
+'I am neither, Helen--Mrs. Huntingdon.  If you could see my heart--'
+
+'You must be one,--if not both.  And why Mrs. Huntingdon?--why not Helen,
+as before?'
+
+'Helen, then--dear Helen!' I murmured.  I was in an agony of mingled
+love, hope, delight, uncertainty, and suspense.
+
+'The rose I gave you was an emblem of my heart,' said she; 'would you
+take it away and leave me here alone?'
+
+'Would you give me your hand too, if I asked it?'
+
+'Have I not said enough?' she answered, with a most enchanting smile.  I
+snatched her hand, and would have fervently kissed it, but suddenly
+checked myself, and said,--
+
+'But have you considered the consequences?'
+
+'Hardly, I think, or I should not have offered myself to one too proud to
+take me, or too indifferent to make his affection outweigh my worldly
+goods.'
+
+Stupid blockhead that I was!--I trembled to clasp her in my arms, but
+dared not believe in so much joy, and yet restrained myself to say,--
+
+'But if you should repent!'
+
+'It would be your fault,' she replied: 'I never shall, unless you
+bitterly disappoint me.  If you have not sufficient confidence in my
+affection to believe this, let me alone.'
+
+'My darling angel--my own Helen,' cried I, now passionately kissing the
+hand I still retained, and throwing my left arm around her, 'you never
+shall repent, if it depend on me alone.  But have you thought of your
+aunt?'  I trembled for the answer, and clasped her closer to my heart in
+the instinctive dread of losing my new-found treasure.
+
+'My aunt must not know of it yet,' said she.  'She would think it a rash,
+wild step, because she could not imagine how well I know you; but she
+must know you herself, and learn to like you.  You must leave us now,
+after lunch, and come again in spring, and make a longer stay, and
+cultivate her acquaintance, and I know you will like each other.'
+
+'And then you will be mine,' said I, printing a kiss upon her lips, and
+another, and another; for I was as daring and impetuous now as I had been
+backward and constrained before.
+
+'No--in another year,' replied she, gently disengaging herself from my
+embrace, but still fondly clasping my hand.
+
+'Another year!  Oh, Helen, I could not wait so long!'
+
+'Where is your fidelity?'
+
+'I mean I could not endure the misery of so long a separation.'
+
+'It would not be a separation: we will write every day: my spirit shall
+be always with you, and sometimes you shall see me with your bodily eye.
+I will not be such a hypocrite as to pretend that I desire to wait so
+long myself, but as my marriage is to please myself, alone, I ought to
+consult my friends about the time of it.'
+
+'Your friends will disapprove.'
+
+'They will not greatly disapprove, dear Gilbert,' said she, earnestly
+kissing my hand; 'they cannot, when they know you, or, if they could,
+they would not be true friends--I should not care for their estrangement.
+Now are you satisfied?'  She looked up in my face with a smile of
+ineffable tenderness.
+
+'Can I be otherwise, with your love?  And you do love me, Helen?' said I,
+not doubting the fact, but wishing to hear it confirmed by her own
+acknowledgment.  'If you loved as I do,' she earnestly replied, 'you
+would not have so nearly lost me--these scruples of false delicacy and
+pride would never thus have troubled you--you would have seen that the
+greatest worldly distinctions and discrepancies of rank, birth, and
+fortune are as dust in the balance compared with the unity of accordant
+thoughts and feelings, and truly loving, sympathising hearts and souls.'
+
+'But this is too much happiness,' said I, embracing her again; 'I have
+not deserved it, Helen--I dare not believe in such felicity: and the
+longer I have to wait, the greater will be my dread that something will
+intervene to snatch you from me--and think, a thousand things may happen
+in a year!--I shall be in one long fever of restless terror and
+impatience all the time.  And besides, winter is such a dreary season.'
+
+'I thought so too,' replied she gravely: 'I would not be married in
+winter--in December, at least,' she added, with a shudder--for in that
+month had occurred both the ill-starred marriage that had bound her to
+her former husband, and the terrible death that released her--'and
+therefore I said another year, in spring.'
+
+'Next spring?'
+
+'No, no--next autumn, perhaps.'
+
+'Summer, then?'
+
+'Well, the close of summer.  There now! be satisfied.'
+
+While she was speaking Arthur re-entered the room--good boy for keeping
+out so long.
+
+'Mamma, I couldn't find the book in either of the places you told me to
+look for it' (there was a conscious something in mamma's smile that
+seemed to say, 'No, dear, I knew you could not'), 'but Rachel got it for
+me at last.  Look, Mr. Markham, a natural history, with all kinds of
+birds and beasts in it, and the reading as nice as the pictures!'
+
+In great good humour I sat down to examine the book, and drew the little
+fellow between my knees.  Had he come a minute before I should have
+received him less graciously, but now I affectionately stroked his
+curling locks, and even kissed his ivory forehead: he was my own Helen's
+son, and therefore mine; and as such I have ever since regarded him.
+That pretty child is now a fine young man: he has realised his mother's
+brightest expectations, and is at present residing in Grassdale Manor
+with his young wife--the merry little Helen Hattersley of yore.
+
+I had not looked through half the book before Mrs. Maxwell appeared to
+invite me into the other room to lunch.  That lady's cool, distant
+manners rather chilled me at first; but I did my best to propitiate her,
+and not entirely without success, I think, even in that first short
+visit; for when I talked cheerfully to her, she gradually became more
+kind and cordial, and when I departed she bade me a gracious adieu,
+hoping ere long to have the pleasure of seeing me again.
+
+'But you must not go till you have seen the conservatory, my aunt's
+winter garden,' said Helen, as I advanced to take leave of her, with as
+much philosophy and self-command as I could summon to my aid.
+
+I gladly availed myself of such a respite, and followed her into a large
+and beautiful conservatory, plentifully furnished with flowers,
+considering the season--but, of course, I had little attention to spare
+for them.  It was not, however, for any tender colloquy that my companion
+had brought me there:--
+
+'My aunt is particularly fond of flowers,' she observed, 'and she is fond
+of Staningley too: I brought you here to offer a petition in her behalf,
+that this may be her home as long as she lives, and--if it be not our
+home likewise--that I may often see her and be with her; for I fear she
+will be sorry to lose me; and though she leads a retired and
+contemplative life, she is apt to get low-spirited if left too much
+alone.'
+
+'By all means, dearest Helen!--do what you will with your own.  I should
+not dream of wishing your aunt to leave the place under any
+circumstances; and we will live either here or elsewhere as you and she
+may determine, and you shall see her as often as you like.  I know she
+must be pained to part with you, and I am willing to make any reparation
+in my power.  I love her for your sake, and her happiness shall be as
+dear to me as that of my own mother.'
+
+'Thank you, darling! you shall have a kiss for that.  Good-by.  There
+now--there, Gilbert--let me go--here's Arthur; don't astonish his
+infantile brain with your madness.'
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+But it is time to bring my narrative to a close.  Any one but you would
+say I had made it too long already.  But for your satisfaction I will add
+a few words more; because I know you will have a fellow-feeling for the
+old lady, and will wish to know the last of her history.  I did come
+again in spring, and, agreeably to Helen's injunctions, did my best to
+cultivate her acquaintance.  She received me very kindly, having been,
+doubtless, already prepared to think highly of my character by her
+niece's too favourable report.  I turned my best side out, of course, and
+we got along marvellously well together.  When my ambitious intentions
+were made known to her, she took it more sensibly than I had ventured to
+hope.  Her only remark on the subject, in my hearing, was--
+
+'And so, Mr. Markham, you are going to rob me of my niece, I understand.
+Well!  I hope God will prosper your union, and make my dear girl happy at
+last.  Could she have been contented to remain single, I own I should
+have been better satisfied; but if she must marry again, I know of no
+one, now living and of a suitable age, to whom I would more willingly
+resign her than yourself, or who would be more likely to appreciate her
+worth and make, her truly happy, as far as I can tell.'
+
+Of course I was delighted with the compliment, and hoped to show her that
+she was not mistaken in her favourable judgment.
+
+'I have, however, one request to offer,' continued she.  'It seems I am
+still to look on Staningley as my home: I wish you to make it yours
+likewise, for Helen is attached to the place and to me--as I am to her.
+There are painful associations connected with Grassdale, which she cannot
+easily overcome; and I shall not molest you with my company or
+interference here: I am a very quiet person, and shall keep my own
+apartments, and attend to my own concerns, and only see you now and
+then.'
+
+Of course I most readily consented to this; and we lived in the greatest
+harmony with our dear aunt until the day of her death, which melancholy
+event took place a few years after--melancholy, not to herself (for it
+came quietly upon her, and she was glad to reach her journey's end), but
+only to the few loving friends and grateful dependents she left behind.
+
+To return, however, to my own affairs: I was married in summer, on a
+glorious August morning.  It took the whole eight months, and all Helen's
+kindness and goodness to boot, to overcome my mother's prejudices against
+my bride-elect, and to reconcile her to the idea of my leaving Linden
+Grange and living so far away.  Yet she was gratified at her son's good
+fortune after all, and proudly attributed it all to his own superior
+merits and endowments.  I bequeathed the farm to Fergus, with better
+hopes of its prosperity than I should have had a year ago under similar
+circumstances; for he had lately fallen in love with the Vicar of L--'s
+eldest daughter--a lady whose superiority had roused his latent virtues,
+and stimulated him to the most surprising exertions, not only to gain her
+affection and esteem, and to obtain a fortune sufficient to aspire to her
+hand, but to render himself worthy of her, in his own eyes, as well as in
+those of her parents; and in the end he was successful, as you already
+know.  As for myself, I need not tell you how happily my Helen and I have
+lived together, and how blessed we still are in each other's society, and
+in the promising young scions that are growing up about us.  We are just
+now looking forward to the advent of you and Rose, for the time of your
+annual visit draws nigh, when you must leave your dusty, smoky, noisy,
+toiling, striving city for a season of invigorating relaxation and social
+retirement with us.
+
+                                                      Till then, farewell,
+                                                          GILBERT MARKHAM.
+
+STANINGLEY: _June_ 10_th_, 1847.
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+                                 THE END
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+              Printed by SPOTTISWOODE, BALLENTYNE & CO. LTD.
+                   Colchester, London & Eton, England.
+
+
+
+
+Footnotes:
+
+
+{0}  Introduction to _Wuthering Heights_, p. xl.  'Still, as I mused the
+naked room,' &c.
+
+{1}  This Preface is now printed here for the first time in a collected
+edition of the works of the Bronte sisters.
+
+
+
+
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diff --git a/old/969.zip b/old/969.zip
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+***The Project Gutenberg Etext of The Tenant of Wildfell Hall***
+#4 in our series by the Brontes
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+The Tenant of Wildfell Hall
+
+by Anne Bronte
+
+July, 1997  [Etext #969]
+
+
+***The Project Gutenberg Etext of The Tenant of Wildfell Hall***
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+The Tenant of Wildfell Hall by Anne Bronte
+Scanned and proofed by David Price
+ccx074@coventry.ac.uk
+
+
+
+
+The Tenant of Wildfell Hall
+
+
+
+
+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
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+
+
+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.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+
+
+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.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+
+
+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.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+
+
+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.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+
+
+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.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+
+
+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?
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+
+
+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.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+
+
+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.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+
+
+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.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+
+
+When all were gone, I learnt that the vile slander had indeed been
+circulated throughout the company, in the very presence of the
+victim.  Rose, however, vowed she did not and would not believe it,
+and my mother made the same declaration, though not, I fear, with
+the same amount of real, unwavering incredulity.  It seemed to
+dwell continually on her mind, and she kept irritating me from time
+to time by such expressions as - 'Dear, dear, who would have
+thought it! - Well!  I always thought there was something odd about
+her. - You see what it is for women to affect to be different to
+other people.'  And once it was, - 'I misdoubted that appearance of
+mystery from the very first - I thought there would no good come of
+it; but this is a sad, sad business, to be sure!'
+
+'Why, mother, you said you didn't believe these tales,' said
+Fergus.
+
+'No more I do, my dear; but then, you know, there must be some
+foundation.'
+
+'The foundation is in the wickedness and falsehood of the world,'
+said I, 'and in the fact that Mr. Lawrence has been seen to go that
+way once or twice of an evening - and the village gossips say he
+goes to pay his addresses to the strange lady, and the scandal-
+mongers have greedily seized the rumour, to make it the basis of
+their own infernal structure.'
+
+'Well, but, Gilbert, there must be something in her manner to
+countenance such reports.'
+
+'Did you see anything in her manner?'
+
+'No, certainly; but then, you know, I always said there was
+something strange about her.'
+
+I believe it was on that very evening that I ventured on another
+invasion of Wildfell Hall.  From the time of our party, which was
+upwards of a week ago, I had been making daily efforts to meet its
+mistress in her walks; and always disappointed (she must have
+managed it so on purpose), had nightly kept revolving in my mind
+some pretext for another call.  At length I concluded that the
+separation could be endured no longer (by this time, you will see,
+I was pretty far gone); and, taking from the book-case an old
+volume that I thought she might be interested in, though, from its
+unsightly and somewhat dilapidated condition, I had not yet
+ventured to offer it for perusal, I hastened away, - but not
+without sundry misgivings as to how she would receive me, or how I
+could summon courage to present myself with so slight an excuse.
+But, perhaps, I might see her in the field or the garden, and then
+there would be no great difficulty:  it was the formal knocking at
+the door, with the prospect of being gravely ushered in by Rachel,
+to the presence of a surprised, uncordial mistress, that so greatly
+disturbed me.
+
+My wish, however, was not gratified.  Mrs. Graham herself was not
+to be seen; but there was Arthur playing with his frolicsome little
+dog in the garden.  I looked over the gate and called him to me.
+He wanted me to come in; but I told him I could not without his
+mother's leave.
+
+'I'll go and ask her,' said the child.
+
+'No, no, Arthur, you mustn't do that; but if she's not engaged,
+just ask her to come here a minute.  Tell her I want to speak to
+her.'
+
+He ran to perform my bidding, and quickly returned with his mother.
+How lovely she looked with her dark ringlets streaming in the light
+summer breeze, her fair cheek slightly flushed, and her countenance
+radiant with smiles.  Dear Arthur! what did I not owe to you for
+this and every other happy meeting?  Through him I was at once
+delivered from all formality, and terror, and constraint.  In love
+affairs, there is no mediator like a merry, simple-hearted child -
+ever ready to cement divided hearts, to span the unfriendly gulf of
+custom, to melt the ice of cold reserve, and overthrow the
+separating walls of dread formality and pride.
+
+'Well, Mr. Markham, what is it?' said the young mother, accosting
+me with a pleasant smile.
+
+'I want you to look at this book, and, if you please, to take it,
+and peruse it at your leisure.  I make no apology for calling you
+out on such a lovely evening, though it be for a matter of no
+greater importance.'
+
+'Tell him to come in, mamma,' said Arthur.
+
+'Would you like to come in?' asked the lady.
+
+'Yes; I should like to see your improvements in the garden.'
+
+'And how your sister's roots have prospered in my charge,' added
+she, as she opened the gate.
+
+And we sauntered through the garden, and talked of the flowers, the
+trees, and the book, and then of other things.  The evening was
+kind and genial, and so was my companion.  By degrees I waxed more
+warm and tender than, perhaps, I had ever been before; but still I
+said nothing tangible, and she attempted no repulse, until, in
+passing a moss rose-tree that I had brought her some weeks since,
+in my sister's name, she plucked a beautiful half-open bud and bade
+me give it to Rose.
+
+'May I not keep it myself?' I asked.
+
+'No; but here is another for you.'
+
+Instead of taking it quietly, I likewise took the hand that offered
+it, and looked into her face.  She let me hold it for a moment, and
+I saw a flash of ecstatic brilliance in her eye, a glow of glad
+excitement on her face - I thought my hour of victory was come -
+but instantly a painful recollection seemed to flash upon her; a
+cloud of anguish darkened her brow, a marble paleness blanched her
+cheek and lip; there seemed a moment of inward conflict, and, with
+a sudden effort, she withdrew her hand, and retreated a step or two
+back.
+
+'Now, Mr. Markham,' said she, with a kind of desperate calmness, 'I
+must tell you plainly that I cannot do with this.  I like your
+company, because I am alone here, and your conversation pleases me
+more than that of any other person; but if you cannot be content to
+regard me as a friend - a plain, cold, motherly, or sisterly friend
+- I must beg you to leave me now, and let me alone hereafter:  in
+fact, we must be strangers for the future.'
+
+'I will, then - be your friend, or brother, or anything you wish,
+if you will only let me continue to see you; but tell me why I
+cannot be anything more?'
+
+There was a perplexed and thoughtful pause.
+
+'Is it in consequence of some rash vow?'
+
+'It is something of the kind,' she answered.  'Some day I may tell
+you, but at present you had better leave me; and never, Gilbert,
+put me to the painful necessity of repeating what I have just now
+said to you,' she earnestly added, giving me her hand in serious
+kindness.  How sweet, how musical my own name sounded in her mouth!
+
+'I will not,' I replied.  'But you pardon this offence?'
+
+'On condition that you never repeat it.'
+
+'And may I come to see you now and then?'
+
+'Perhaps - occasionally; provided you never abuse the privilege.'
+
+'I make no empty promises, but you shall see.'
+
+'The moment you do our intimacy is at an end, that's all.'
+
+'And will you always call me Gilbert?  It sounds more sisterly, and
+it will serve to remind me of our contract.'
+
+She smiled, and once more bid me go; and at length I judged it
+prudent to obey, and she re-entered the house and I went down the
+hill.  But as I went the tramp of horses' hoofs fell on my ear, and
+broke the stillness of the dewy evening; and, looking towards the
+lane, I saw a solitary equestrian coming up.  Inclining to dusk as
+it was, I knew him at a glance:  it was Mr. Lawrence on his grey
+pony.  I flew across the field, leaped the stone fence, and then
+walked down the lane to meet him.  On seeing me, he suddenly drew
+in his little steed, and seemed inclined to turn back, but on
+second thought apparently judged it better to continue his course
+as before.  He accosted me with a slight bow, and, edging close to
+the wall, endeavoured to pass on; but I was not so minded.  Seizing
+his horse by the bridle, I exclaimed, - 'Now, Lawrence, I will have
+this mystery explained!  Tell me where you are going, and what you
+mean to do - at once, and distinctly!'
+
+'Will you take your hand off the bridle?' said he, quietly -
+'you're hurting my pony's mouth.'
+
+'You and your pony be - '
+
+'What makes you so coarse and brutal, Markham?  I'm quite ashamed
+of you.'
+
+'You answer my questions - before you leave this spot I will know
+what you mean by this perfidious duplicity!'
+
+'I shall answer no questions till you let go the bridle, - if you
+stand till morning.'
+
+'Now then,' said I, unclosing my hand, but still standing before
+him.
+
+'Ask me some other time, when you can speak like a gentleman,'
+returned he, and he made an effort to pass me again; but I quickly
+re-captured the pony, scarce less astonished than its master at
+such uncivil usage.
+
+'Really, Mr. Markham, this is too much!' said the latter.  'Can I
+not go to see my tenant on matters of business, without being
+assaulted in this manner by -?'
+
+'This is no time for business, sir! - I'll tell you, now, what I
+think of your conduct.'
+
+'You'd better defer your opinion to a more convenient season,'
+interrupted he in a low tone - 'here's the vicar.'  And, in truth,
+the vicar was just behind me, plodding homeward from some remote
+corner of his parish.  I immediately released the squire; and he
+went on his way, saluting Mr. Millward as he passed.
+
+'What! quarrelling, Markham?' cried the latter, addressing himself
+to me, - 'and about that young widow, I doubt?' he added,
+reproachfully shaking his head.  'But let me tell you, young man'
+(here he put his face into mine with an important, confidential
+air), 'she's not worth it!' and he confirmed the assertion by a
+solemn nod.
+
+'MR. MILLWARD,' I exclaimed, in a tone of wrathful menace that made
+the reverend gentleman look round - aghast - astounded at such
+unwonted insolence, and stare me in the face, with a look that
+plainly said, 'What, this to me!'  But I was too indignant to
+apologise, or to speak another word to him:  I turned away, and
+hastened homewards, descending with rapid strides the steep, rough
+lane, and leaving him to follow as he pleased.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+
+
+You must suppose about three weeks passed over.  Mrs. Graham and I
+were now established friends - or brother and sister, as we rather
+chose to consider ourselves.  She called me Gilbert, by my express
+desire, and I called her Helen, for I had seen that name written in
+her books.  I seldom attempted to see her above twice a week; and
+still I made our meetings appear the result of accident as often as
+I could - for I found it necessary to be extremely careful - and,
+altogether, I behaved with such exceeding propriety that she never
+had occasion to reprove me once.  Yet I could not but perceive that
+she was at times unhappy and dissatisfied with herself or her
+position, and truly I myself was not quite contented with the
+latter:  this assumption of brotherly nonchalance was very hard to
+sustain, and I often felt myself a most confounded hypocrite with
+it all; I saw too, or rather I felt, that, in spite of herself, 'I
+was not indifferent to her,' as the novel heroes modestly express
+it, and while I thankfully enjoyed my present good fortune, I could
+not fail to wish and hope for something better in future; but, of
+course, I kept such dreams entirely to myself.
+
+'Where are you going, Gilbert?' said Rose, one evening, shortly
+after tea, when I had been busy with the farm all day.
+
+'To take a walk,' was the reply.
+
+'Do you always brush your hat so carefully, and do your hair so
+nicely, and put on such smart new gloves when you take a walk?'
+
+'Not always.'
+
+'You're going to Wildfell Hall, aren't you?'
+
+'What makes you think so?'
+
+'Because you look as if you were - but I wish you wouldn't go so
+often.'
+
+'Nonsense, child!  I don't go once in six weeks - what do you
+mean?'
+
+'Well, but if I were you, I wouldn't have so much to do with Mrs.
+Graham.'
+
+'Why, Rose, are you, too, giving in to the prevailing opinion?'
+
+'No,' returned she, hesitatingly - 'but I've heard so much about
+her lately, both at the Wilsons' and the vicarage; - and besides,
+mamma says, if she were a proper person she would not be living
+there by herself - and don't you remember last winter, Gilbert, all
+that about the false name to the picture; and how she explained it
+- saying she had friends or acquaintances from whom she wished her
+present residence to be concealed, and that she was afraid of their
+tracing her out; - and then, how suddenly she started up and left
+the room when that person came - whom she took good care not to let
+us catch a glimpse of, and who Arthur, with such an air of mystery,
+told us was his mamma's friend?'
+
+'Yes, Rose, I remember it all; and I can forgive your uncharitable
+conclusions; for, perhaps, if I did not know her myself, I should
+put all these things together, and believe the same as you do; but
+thank God, I do know her; and I should be unworthy the name of a
+man, if I could believe anything that was said against her, unless
+I heard it from her own lips. - I should as soon believe such
+things of you, Rose.'
+
+'Oh, Gilbert!'
+
+'Well, do you think I could believe anything of the kind, -
+whatever the Wilsons and Millwards dared to whisper?'
+
+'I should hope not indeed!'
+
+'And why not? - Because I know you - Well, and I know her just as
+well.'
+
+'Oh, no! you know nothing of her former life; and last year, at
+this time, you did not know that such a person existed.'
+
+'No matter.  There is such a thing as looking through a person's
+eyes into the heart, and learning more of the height, and breadth,
+and depth of another's soul in one hour than it might take you a
+lifetime to discover, if he or she were not disposed to reveal it,
+or if you had not the sense to understand it.'
+
+'Then you are going to see her this evening?'
+
+'To be sure I am!'
+
+'But what would mamma say, Gilbert!'
+
+'Mamma needn't know.'
+
+'But she must know some time, if you go on.'
+
+'Go on! - there's no going on in the matter.  Mrs. Graham and I are
+two friends - and will be; and no man breathing shall hinder it, -
+or has a right to interfere between us.'
+
+'But if you knew how they talk you would be more careful, for her
+sake as well as for your own.  Jane Wilson thinks your visits to
+the old hall but another proof of her depravity - '
+
+'Confound Jane Wilson!'
+
+'And Eliza Millward is quite grieved about you.'
+
+'I hope she is.'
+
+'But I wouldn't, if I were you.'
+
+'Wouldn't what? - How do they know that I go there?'
+
+'There's nothing hid from them:  they spy out everything.'
+
+'Oh, I never thought of this! - And so they dare to turn my
+friendship into food for further scandal against her! - That proves
+the falsehood of their other lies, at all events, if any proof were
+wanting. - Mind you contradict them, Rose, whenever you can.'
+
+'But they don't speak openly to me about such things:  it is only
+by hints and innuendoes, and by what I hear others say, that I knew
+what they think.'
+
+'Well, then, I won't go to-day, as it's getting latish.  But oh,
+deuce take their cursed, envenomed tongues!' I muttered, in the
+bitterness of my soul.
+
+And just at that moment the vicar entered the room:  we had been
+too much absorbed in our conversation to observe his knock.  After
+his customary cheerful and fatherly greeting of Rose, who was
+rather a favourite with the old gentleman, he turned somewhat
+sternly to me:-
+
+'Well, sir!' said he, 'you're quite a stranger.  It is - let - me -
+see,' he continued, slowly, as he deposited his ponderous bulk in
+the arm-chair that Rose officiously brought towards him; 'it is
+just - six-weeks - by my reckoning, since you darkened - my -
+door!'  He spoke it with emphasis, and struck his stick on the
+floor.
+
+'Is it, sir?' said I.
+
+'Ay!  It is so!'  He added an affirmatory nod, and continued to
+gaze upon me with a kind of irate solemnity, holding his
+substantial stick between his knees, with his hands clasped upon
+its head.
+
+'I have been busy,' I said, for an apology was evidently demanded.
+
+'Busy!' repeated he, derisively.
+
+'Yes, you know I've been getting in my hay; and now the harvest is
+beginning.'
+
+'Humph!'
+
+Just then my mother came in, and created a diversion in my favour
+by her loquacious and animated welcome of the reverend guest.  She
+regretted deeply that he had not come a little earlier, in time for
+tea, but offered to have some immediately prepared, if he would do
+her the favour to partake of it.
+
+'Not any for me, I thank you,' replied he; 'I shall be at home in a
+few minutes.'
+
+'Oh, but do stay and take a little! it will be ready in five
+minutes.'
+
+But he rejected the offer with a majestic wave of the hand.
+
+'I'll tell you what I'll take, Mrs. Markham,' said he:  'I'll take
+a glass of your excellent ale.'
+
+'With pleasure!' cried my mother, proceeding with alacrity to pull
+the bell and order the favoured beverage.
+
+'I thought,' continued he, 'I'd just look in upon you as I passed,
+and taste your home-brewed ale.  I've been to call on Mrs. Graham.'
+
+'Have you, indeed?'
+
+He nodded gravely, and added with awful emphasis - 'I thought it
+incumbent upon me to do so.'
+
+'Really!' ejaculated my mother.
+
+'Why so, Mr. Millward?' asked I.
+
+He looked at me with some severity, and turning again to my mother,
+repeated, - 'I thought it incumbent upon me!' and struck his stick
+on the floor again.  My mother sat opposite, an awe-struck but
+admiring auditor.
+
+'"Mrs. Graham," said I,' he continued, shaking his head as he
+spoke, '"these are terrible reports!"  "What, sir?" says she,
+affecting to be ignorant of my meaning.  "It is my - duty - as -
+your pastor," said I, "to tell you both everything that I myself
+see reprehensible in your conduct, and all I have reason to
+suspect, and what others tell me concerning you." - So I told her!'
+
+'You did, sir?' cried I, starting from my seat and striking my fist
+on the table.  He merely glanced towards me, and continued -
+addressing his hostess:-
+
+'It was a painful duty, Mrs. Markham - but I told her!'
+
+'And how did she take it?' asked my mother.
+
+'Hardened, I fear - hardened!' he replied, with a despondent shake
+of the head; 'and, at the same time, there was a strong display of
+unchastened, misdirected passions.  She turned white in the face,
+and drew her breath through her teeth in a savage sort of way; -
+but she offered no extenuation or defence; and with a kind of
+shameless calmness - shocking indeed to witness in one so young -
+as good as told me that my remonstrance was unavailing, and my
+pastoral advice quite thrown away upon her - nay, that my very
+presence was displeasing while I spoke such things.  And I withdrew
+at length, too plainly seeing that nothing could be done - and
+sadly grieved to find her case so hopeless.  But I am fully
+determined, Mrs. Markham, that my daughters - shall - not - consort
+with her.  Do you adopt the same resolution with regard to yours! -
+As for your sons - as for you, young man,' he continued, sternly
+turning to me -
+
+'As for ME, sir,' I began, but checked by some impediment in my
+utterance, and finding that my whole frame trembled with fury, I
+said no more, but took the wiser part of snatching up my hat and
+bolting from the room, slamming the door behind me, with a bang
+that shook the house to its foundations, and made my mother scream,
+and gave a momentary relief to my excited feelings.
+
+The next minute saw me hurrying with rapid strides in the direction
+of Wildfell Hall - to what intent or purpose I could scarcely tell,
+but I must be moving somewhere, and no other goal would do - I must
+see her too, and speak to her - that was certain; but what to say,
+or how to act, I had no definite idea.  Such stormy thoughts - so
+many different resolutions crowded in upon me, that my mind was
+little better than a chaos of conflicting passions.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+
+
+In little more than twenty minutes the journey was accomplished.  I
+paused at the gate to wipe my streaming forehead, and recover my
+breath and some degree of composure.  Already the rapid walking had
+somewhat mitigated my excitement; and with a firm and steady tread
+I paced the garden-walk.  In passing the inhabited wing of the
+building, I caught a sight of Mrs. Graham, through the open window,
+slowly pacing up and down her lonely room.
+
+She seemed agitated and even dismayed at my arrival, as if she
+thought I too was coming to accuse her.  I had entered her presence
+intending to condole with her upon the wickedness of the world, and
+help her to abuse the vicar and his vile informants, but now I felt
+positively ashamed to mention the subject, and determined not to
+refer to it, unless she led the way.
+
+'I am come at an unseasonable hour,' said I, assuming a
+cheerfulness I did not feel, in order to reassure her; 'but I won't
+stay many minutes.'
+
+She smiled upon me, faintly it is true, but most kindly - I had
+almost said thankfully, as her apprehensions were removed.
+
+'How dismal you are, Helen!  Why have you no fire?' I said, looking
+round on the gloomy apartment.
+
+'It is summer yet,' she replied.
+
+'But we always have a fire in the evenings, if we can bear it; and
+you especially require one in this cold house and dreary room.'
+
+'You should have come a little sooner, and I would have had one
+lighted for you:  but it is not worth while now - you won't stay
+many minutes, you say, and Arthur is gone to bed.'
+
+'But I have a fancy for a fire, nevertheless.  Will you order one,
+if I ring?'
+
+'Why, Gilbert, you don't look cold!' said she, smilingly regarding
+my face, which no doubt seemed warm enough.
+
+'No,' replied I, 'but I want to see you comfortable before I go.'
+
+'Me comfortable!' repeated she, with a bitter laugh, as if there
+were something amusingly absurd in the idea.  'It suits me better
+as it is,' she added, in a tone of mournful resignation.
+
+But determined to have my own way, I pulled the bell.
+
+'There now, Helen!' I said, as the approaching steps of Rachel were
+heard in answer to the summons.  There was nothing for it but to
+turn round and desire the maid to light the fire.
+
+I owe Rachel a grudge to this day for the look she cast upon me ere
+she departed on her mission, the sour, suspicious, inquisitorial
+look that plainly demanded, 'What are you here for, I wonder?'  Her
+mistress did not fail to notice it, and a shade of uneasiness
+darkened her brow.
+
+'You must not stay long, Gilbert,' said she, when the door was
+closed upon us.
+
+'I'm not going to,' said I, somewhat testily, though without a
+grain of anger in my heart against any one but the meddling old
+woman.  'But, Helen, I've something to say to you before I go.'
+
+'What is it?'
+
+'No, not now - I don't know yet precisely what it is, or how to say
+it,' replied I, with more truth than wisdom; and then, fearing lest
+she should turn me out of the house, I began talking about
+indifferent matters in order to gain time.  Meanwhile Rachel came
+in to kindle the fire, which was soon effected by thrusting a red-
+hot poker between the bars of the grate, where the fuel was already
+disposed for ignition.  She honoured me with another of her hard,
+inhospitable looks in departing, but, little moved thereby, I went
+on talking; and setting a chair for Mrs. Graham on one side of the
+hearth, and one for myself on the other, I ventured to sit down,
+though half suspecting she would rather see me go.
+
+In a little while we both relapsed into silence, and continued for
+several minutes gazing abstractedly into the fire - she intent upon
+her own sad thoughts, and I reflecting how delightful it would be
+to be seated thus beside her with no other presence to restrain our
+intercourse - not even that of Arthur, our mutual friend, without
+whom we had never met before - if only I could venture to speak my
+mind, and disburden my full heart of the feelings that had so long
+oppressed it, and which it now struggled to retain, with an effort
+that it seemed impossible to continue much longer, - and revolving
+the pros and cons for opening my heart to her there and then, and
+imploring a return of affection, the permission to regard her
+thenceforth as my own, and the right and the power to defend her
+from the calumnies of malicious tongues.  On the one hand, I felt a
+new-born confidence in my powers of persuasion - a strong
+conviction that my own fervour of spirit would grant me eloquence -
+that my very determination - the absolute necessity for succeeding,
+that I felt must win me what I sought; while, on the other, I
+feared to lose the ground I had already gained with so much toil
+and skill, and destroy all future hope by one rash effort, when
+time and patience might have won success.  It was like setting my
+life upon the cast of a die; and yet I was ready to resolve upon
+the attempt.  At any rate, I would entreat the explanation she had
+half promised to give me before; I would demand the reason of this
+hateful barrier, this mysterious impediment to my happiness, and,
+as I trusted, to her own.
+
+But while I considered in what manner I could best frame my
+request, my companion, wakened from her reverie with a scarcely
+audible sigh, and looking towards the window, where the blood-red
+harvest moon, just rising over one of the grim, fantastic
+evergreens, was shining in upon us, said, - 'Gilbert, it is getting
+late.'
+
+'I see,' said I.  'You want me to go, I suppose?'
+
+'I think you ought.  If my kind neighbours get to know of this
+visit - as no doubt they will - they will not turn it much to my
+advantage.'
+
+It was with what the vicar would doubtless have called a savage
+sort of smile that she said this.
+
+'Let them turn it as they will,' said I.  'What are their thoughts
+to you or me, so long as we are satisfied with ourselves - and each
+other.  Let them go to the deuce with their vile constructions and
+their lying inventions!'
+
+This outburst brought a flush of colour to her face.
+
+'You have heard, then, what they say of me?'
+
+'I heard some detestable falsehoods; but none but fools would
+credit them for a moment, Helen, so don't let them trouble you.'
+
+'I did not think Mr. Millward a fool, and he believes it all; but
+however little you may value the opinions of those about you -
+however little you may esteem them as individuals, it is not
+pleasant to be looked upon as a liar and a hypocrite, to be thought
+to practise what you abhor, and to encourage the vices you would
+discountenance, to find your good intentions frustrated, and your
+hands crippled by your supposed unworthiness, and to bring disgrace
+on the principles you profess.'
+
+'True; and if I, by my thoughtlessness and selfish disregard to
+appearances, have at all assisted to expose you to these evils, let
+me entreat you not only to pardon me, but to enable me to make
+reparation; authorise me to clear your name from every imputation:
+give me the right to identify your honour with my own, and to
+defend your reputation as more precious than my life!'
+
+'Are you hero enough to unite yourself to one whom you know to be
+suspected and despised by all around you, and identify your
+interests and your honour with hers?  Think! it is a serious
+thing.'
+
+'I should be proud to do it, Helen! - most happy - delighted beyond
+expression! - and if that be all the obstacle to our union, it is
+demolished, and you must - you shall be mine!'
+
+And starting from my seat in a frenzy of ardour, I seized her hand
+and would have pressed it to my lips, but she as suddenly caught it
+away, exclaiming in the bitterness of intense affliction, - 'No,
+no, it is not all!'
+
+'What is it, then?  You promised I should know some time, and - '
+
+'You shall know some time - but not now - my head aches terribly,'
+she said, pressing her hand to her forehead, 'and I must have some
+repose - and surely I have had misery enough to-day!' she added,
+almost wildly.
+
+'But it could not harm you to tell it,' I persisted:  'it would
+ease your mind; and I should then know how to comfort you.'
+
+She shook her head despondingly.  'If you knew all, you, too, would
+blame me - perhaps even more than I deserve - though I have cruelly
+wronged you,' she added in a low murmur, as if she mused aloud.
+
+'You, Helen?  Impossible?'
+
+'Yes, not willingly; for I did not know the strength and depth of
+your attachment.  I thought - at least I endeavoured to think your
+regard for me was as cold and fraternal as you professed it to be.'
+
+'Or as yours?'
+
+'Or as mine - ought to have been - of such a light and selfish,
+superficial nature, that - '
+
+'There, indeed, you wronged me.'
+
+I know I did; and, sometimes, I suspected it then; but I thought,
+upon the whole, there could be no great harm in leaving your
+fancies and your hopes to dream themselves to nothing - or flutter
+away to some more fitting object, while your friendly sympathies
+remained with me; but if I had known the depth of your regard, the
+generous, disinterested affection you seem to feel - '
+
+'Seem, Helen?'
+
+'That you do feel, then, I would have acted differently.'
+
+'How?  You could not have given me less encouragement, or treated
+me with greater severity than you did!  And if you think you have
+wronged me by giving me your friendship, and occasionally admitting
+me to the enjoyment of your company and conversation, when all
+hopes of closer intimacy were vain - as indeed you always gave me
+to understand - if you think you have wronged me by this, you are
+mistaken; for such favours, in themselves alone, are not only
+delightful to my heart, but purifying, exalting, ennobling to my
+soul; and I would rather have your friendship than the love of any
+other woman in the world!'
+
+Little comforted by this, she clasped her hands upon her knee, and
+glancing upward, seemed, in silent anguish, to implore divine
+assistance; then, turning to me, she calmly said, - 'To-morrow, if
+you meet me on the moor about mid-day, I will tell you all you seek
+to know; and perhaps you will then see the necessity of
+discontinuing our intimacy - if, indeed, you do not willingly
+resign me as one no longer worthy of regard.'
+
+'I can safely answer no to that:  you cannot have such grave
+confessions to make - you must be trying my faith, Helen.'
+
+'No, no, no,' she earnestly repeated - 'I wish it were so!  Thank
+heaven!' she added, 'I have no great crime to confess; but I have
+more than you will like to hear, or, perhaps, can readily excuse, -
+and more than I can tell you now; so let me entreat you to leave
+me!'
+
+'I will; but answer me this one question first; - do you love me?'
+
+'I will not answer it!'
+
+'Then I will conclude you do; and so good-night.'
+
+She turned from me to hide the emotion she could not quite control;
+but I took her hand and fervently kissed it.
+
+'Gilbert, do leave me!' she cried, in a tone of such thrilling
+anguish that I felt it would be cruel to disobey.
+
+But I gave one look back before I closed the door, and saw her
+leaning forward on the table, with her hands pressed against her
+eyes, sobbing convulsively; yet I withdrew in silence.  I felt that
+to obtrude my consolations on her then would only serve to
+aggravate her sufferings.
+
+To tell you all the questionings and conjectures - the fears, and
+hopes, and wild emotions that jostled and chased each other through
+my mind as I descended the hill, would almost fill a volume in
+itself.  But before I was half-way down, a sentiment of strong
+sympathy for her I had left behind me had displaced all other
+feelings, and seemed imperatively to draw me back:  I began to
+think, 'Why am I hurrying so fast in this direction?  Can I find
+comfort or consolation - peace, certainty, contentment, all - or
+anything that I want at home? and can I leave all perturbation,
+sorrow, and anxiety behind me there?'
+
+And I turned round to look at the old Hall.  There was little
+besides the chimneys visible above my contracted horizon.  I walked
+back to get a better view of it.  When it rose in sight, I stood
+still a moment to look, and then continued moving towards the
+gloomy object of attraction.  Something called me nearer - nearer
+still - and why not, pray?  Might I not find more benefit in the
+contemplation of that venerable pile with the full moon in the
+cloudless heaven shining so calmly above it - with that warm yellow
+lustre peculiar to an August night - and the mistress of my soul
+within, than in returning to my home, where all comparatively was
+light, and life, and cheerfulness, and therefore inimical to me in
+my present frame of mind, - and the more so that its inmates all
+were more or less imbued with that detestable belief, the very
+thought of which made my blood boil in my veins - and how could I
+endure to hear it openly declared, or cautiously insinuated - which
+was worse? - I had had trouble enough already, with some babbling
+fiend that would keep whispering in my ear, 'It may be true,' till
+I had shouted aloud, 'It is false!  I defy you to make me suppose
+it!'
+
+I could see the red firelight dimly gleaming from her parlour
+window.  I went up to the garden wall, and stood leaning over it,
+with my eyes fixed upon the lattice, wondering what she was doing,
+thinking, or suffering now, and wishing I could speak to her but
+one word, or even catch one glimpse of her, before I went.
+
+I had not thus looked, and wished, and wondered long, before I
+vaulted over the barrier, unable to resist the temptation of taking
+one glance through the window, just to if she were more composed
+than when we parted; - and if I found her still in deep distress,
+perhaps I might venture attempt a word of comfort - to utter one of
+the many things I should have said before, instead of aggravating
+her sufferings by my stupid impetuosity.  I looked.  Her chair was
+vacant:  so was the room.  But at that moment some one opened the
+outer door, and a voice - her voice - said, - 'Come out - I want to
+see the moon, and breathe the evening air:  they will do me good -
+if anything will.'
+
+Here, then, were she and Rachel coming to take a walk in the
+garden.  I wished myself safe back over the wall.  I stood,
+however, in the shadow of the tall holly-bush, which, standing
+between the window and the porch, at present screened me from
+observation, but did not prevent me from seeing two figures come
+forth into the moonlight:  Mrs. Graham followed by another - not
+Rachel, but a young man, slender and rather tall.  O heavens, how
+my temples throbbed!  Intense anxiety darkened my sight; but I
+thought - yes, and the voice confirmed it - it was Mr. Lawrence!
+
+'You should not let it worry you so much, Helen,' said he; 'I will
+be more cautious in future; and in time - '
+
+I did not hear the rest of the sentence; for he walked close beside
+her and spoke so gently that I could not catch the words.  My heart
+was splitting with hatred; but I listened intently for her reply.
+I heard it plainly enough.
+
+'But I must leave this place, Frederick,' she said - 'I never can
+be happy here, - nor anywhere else, indeed,' she added, with a
+mirthless laugh, - 'but I cannot rest here.'
+
+'But where could you find a better place?' replied he, 'so secluded
+- so near me, if you think anything of that.'
+
+'Yes,' interrupted she, 'it is all I could wish, if they could only
+have left me alone.'
+
+'But wherever you go, Helen, there will be the same sources of
+annoyance.  I cannot consent to lose you:  I must go with you, or
+come to you; and there are meddling fools elsewhere, as well as
+here.'
+
+While thus conversing they had sauntered slowly past me, down the
+walk, and I heard no more of their discourse; but I saw him put his
+arm round her waist, while she lovingly rested her hand on his
+shoulder; - and then, a tremulous darkness obscured my sight, my
+heart sickened and my head burned like fire:  I half rushed, half
+staggered from the spot, where horror had kept me rooted, and
+leaped or tumbled over the wall - I hardly know which - but I know
+that, afterwards, like a passionate child, I dashed myself on the
+ground and lay there in a paroxysm of anger and despair - how long,
+I cannot undertake to say; but it must have been a considerable
+time; for when, having partially relieved myself by a torment of
+tears, and looked up at the moon, shining so calmly and carelessly
+on, as little influenced by my misery as I was by its peaceful
+radiance, and earnestly prayed for death or forgetfulness, I had
+risen and journeyed homewards - little regarding the way, but
+carried instinctively by my feet to the door, I found it bolted
+against me, and every one in bed except my mother, who hastened to
+answer my impatient knocking, and received me with a shower of
+questions and rebukes.
+
+'Oh, Gilbert! how could you do so?  Where have you been?  Do come
+in and take your supper.  I've got it all ready, though you don't
+deserve it, for keeping me in such a fright, after the strange
+manner you left the house this evening.  Mr. Millward was quite -
+Bless the boy! how ill he looks.  Oh, gracious! what is the
+matter?'
+
+'Nothing, nothing - give me a candle.'
+
+'But won't you take some supper?'
+
+'No; I want to go to bed,' said I, taking a candle and lighting it
+at the one she held in her hand.
+
+'Oh, Gilbert, how you tremble!' exclaimed my anxious parent.  'How
+white you look!  Do tell me what it is?  Has anything happened?'
+
+'It's nothing,' cried I, ready to stamp with vexation because the
+candle would not light.  Then, suppressing my irritation, I added,
+'I've been walking too fast, that's all.  Good-night,' and marched
+off to bed, regardless of the 'Walking too fast! where have you
+been?' that was called after me from below.
+
+My mother followed me to the very door of my room with her
+questionings and advice concerning my health and my conduct; but I
+implored her to let me alone till morning; and she withdrew, and at
+length I had the satisfaction to hear her close her own door.
+There was no sleep for me, however, that night as I thought; and
+instead of attempting to solicit it, I employed myself in rapidly
+pacing the chamber, having first removed my boots, lest my mother
+should hear me.  But the boards creaked, and she was watchful.  I
+had not walked above a quarter of an hour before she was at the
+door again.
+
+'Gilbert, why are you not in bed - you said you wanted to go?'
+
+'Confound it!  I'm going,' said I.
+
+'But why are you so long about it?  You must have something on your
+mind - '
+
+'For heaven's sake, let me alone, and get to bed yourself.'
+
+'Can it be that Mrs. Graham that distresses you so?'
+
+'No, no, I tell you - it's nothing.'
+
+'I wish to goodness it mayn't,' murmured she, with a sigh, as she
+returned to her own apartment, while I threw myself on the bed,
+feeling most undutifully disaffected towards her for having
+deprived me of what seemed the only shadow of a consolation that
+remained, and chained me to that wretched couch of thorns.
+
+Never did I endure so long, so miserable a night as that.  And yet
+it was not wholly sleepless.  Towards morning my distracting
+thoughts began to lose all pretensions to coherency, and shape
+themselves into confused and feverish dreams, and, at length, there
+followed an interval of unconscious slumber.  But then the dawn of
+bitter recollection that succeeded - the waking to find life a
+blank, and worse than a blank, teeming with torment and misery -
+not a mere barren wilderness, but full of thorns and briers - to
+find myself deceived, duped, hopeless, my affections trampled upon,
+my angel not an angel, and my friend a fiend incarnate - it was
+worse than if I had not slept at all.
+
+It was a dull, gloomy morning; the weather had changed like my
+prospects, and the rain was pattering against the window.  I rose,
+nevertheless, and went out; not to look after the farm, though that
+would serve as my excuse, but to cool my brain, and regain, if
+possible, a sufficient degree of composure to meet the family at
+the morning meal without exciting inconvenient remarks.  If I got a
+wetting, that, in conjunction with a pretended over-exertion before
+breakfast, might excuse my sudden loss of appetite; and if a cold
+ensued, the severer the better - it would help to account for the
+sullen moods and moping melancholy likely to cloud my brow for long
+enough.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+
+
+'My dear Gilbert, I wish you would try to be a little more
+amiable,' said my mother one morning after some display of
+unjustifiable ill-humour on my part.  'You say there is nothing the
+matter with you, and nothing has happened to grieve you, and yet I
+never saw anyone so altered as you within these last few days.  You
+haven't a good word for anybody - friends and strangers, equals and
+inferiors - it's all the same.  I do wish you'd try to check it.'
+
+'Check what?'
+
+'Why, your strange temper.  You don't know how it spoils you.  I'm
+sure a finer disposition than yours by nature could not be, if
+you'd let it have fair play:  so you've no excuse that way.'
+
+While she thus remonstrated, I took up a book, and laying it open
+on the table before me, pretended to be deeply absorbed in its
+perusal, for I was equally unable to justify myself and unwilling
+to acknowledge my errors; and I wished to have nothing to say on
+the matter.  But my excellent parent went on lecturing, and then
+came to coaxing, and began to stroke my hair; and I was getting to
+feel quite a good boy, but my mischievous brother, who was idling
+about the room, revived my corruption by suddenly calling out, -
+'Don't touch him, mother! he'll bite!  He's a very tiger in human
+form.  I've given him up for my part - fairly disowned him - cast
+him off, root and branch.  It's as much as my life is worth to come
+within six yards of him.  The other day he nearly fractured my
+skull for singing a pretty, inoffensive love-song, on purpose to
+amuse him.'
+
+'Oh, Gilbert! how could you?' exclaimed my mother.
+
+'I told you to hold your noise first, you know, Fergus,' said I.
+
+'Yes, but when I assured you it was no trouble and went on with the
+next verse, thinking you might like it better, you clutched me by
+the shoulder and dashed me away, right against the wall there, with
+such force that I thought I had bitten my tongue in two, and
+expected to see the place plastered with my brains; and when I put
+my hand to my head, and found my skull not broken, I thought it was
+a miracle, and no mistake.  But, poor fellow!' added he, with a
+sentimental sigh - 'his heart's broken - that's the truth of it -
+and his head's - '
+
+'Will you be silent NOW?' cried I, starting up, and eyeing the
+fellow so fiercely that my mother, thinking I meant to inflict some
+grievous bodily injury, laid her hand on my arm, and besought me to
+let him alone, and he walked leisurely out, with his hands in his
+pockets, singing provokingly - 'Shall I, because a woman's fair,'
+&c.
+
+'I'm not going to defile my fingers with him,' said I, in answer to
+the maternal intercession.  'I wouldn't touch him with the tongs.'
+
+I now recollected that I had business with Robert Wilson,
+concerning the purchase of a certain field adjoining my farm - a
+business I had been putting off from day to day; for I had no
+interest in anything now; and besides, I was misanthropically
+inclined, and, moreover, had a particular objection to meeting Jane
+Wilson or her mother; for though I had too good reason, now, to
+credit their reports concerning Mrs. Graham, I did not like them a
+bit the better for it - or Eliza Millward either - and the thought
+of meeting them was the more repugnant to me that I could not, now,
+defy their seeming calumnies and triumph in my own convictions as
+before.  But to-day I determined to make an effort to return to my
+duty.  Though I found no pleasure in it, it would be less irksome
+than idleness - at all events it would be more profitable.  If life
+promised no enjoyment within my vocation, at least it offered no
+allurements out of it; and henceforth I would put my shoulder to
+the wheel and toil away, like any poor drudge of a cart-horse that
+was fairly broken in to its labour, and plod through life, not
+wholly useless if not agreeable, and uncomplaining if not contented
+with my lot.
+
+Thus resolving, with a kind of sullen resignation, if such a term
+may be allowed, I wended my way to Ryecote Farm, scarcely expecting
+to find its owner within at this time of day, but hoping to learn
+in what part of the premises he was most likely to be found.
+
+Absent he was, but expected home in a few minutes; and I was
+desired to step into the parlour and wait.  Mrs. Wilson was busy in
+the kitchen, but the room was not empty; and I scarcely checked an
+involuntary recoil as I entered it; for there sat Miss Wilson
+chattering with Eliza Millward.  However, I determined to be cool
+and civil.  Eliza seemed to have made the same resolution on her
+part.  We had not met since the evening of the tea-party; but there
+was no visible emotion either of pleasure or pain, no attempt at
+pathos, no display of injured pride:  she was cool in temper, civil
+in demeanour.  There was even an ease and cheerfulness about her
+air and manner that I made no pretension to; but there was a depth
+of malice in her too expressive eye that plainly told me I was not
+forgiven; for, though she no longer hoped to win me to herself, she
+still hated her rival, and evidently delighted to wreak her spite
+on me.  On the other hand, Miss Wilson was as affable and courteous
+as heart could wish, and though I was in no very conversable humour
+myself, the two ladies between them managed to keep up a pretty
+continuous fire of small talk.  But Eliza took advantage of the
+first convenient pause to ask if I had lately seen Mrs. Graham, in
+a tone of merely casual inquiry, but with a sidelong glance -
+intended to be playfully mischievous - really, brimful and running
+over with malice.
+
+'Not lately,' I replied, in a careless tone, but sternly repelling
+her odious glances with my eyes; for I was vexed to feel the colour
+mounting to my forehead, despite my strenuous efforts to appear
+unmoved.
+
+'What! are you beginning to tire already?  I thought so noble a
+creature would have power to attach you for a year at least!'
+
+'I would rather not speak of her now.'
+
+'Ah! then you are convinced, at last, of your mistake - you have at
+length discovered that your divinity is not quite the immaculate -
+'
+
+'I desired you not to speak of her, Miss Eliza.'
+
+'Oh, I beg your pardon!  I perceive Cupid's arrows have been too
+sharp for you:  the wounds, being more than skin-deep, are not yet
+healed, and bleed afresh at every mention of the loved one's name.'
+
+'Say, rather,' interposed Miss Wilson, 'that Mr. Markham feels that
+name is unworthy to be mentioned in the presence of right-minded
+females.  I wonder, Eliza, you should think of referring to that
+unfortunate person - you might know the mention of her would be
+anything but agreeable to any one here present.'
+
+How could this be borne?  I rose and was about to clap my hat upon
+my head and burst away, in wrathful indignation from the house; but
+recollecting - just in time to save my dignity - the folly of such
+a proceeding, and how it would only give my fair tormentors a merry
+laugh at my expense, for the sake of one I acknowledged in my own
+heart to be unworthy of the slightest sacrifice - though the ghost
+of my former reverence and love so hung about me still, that I
+could not bear to hear her name aspersed by others - I merely
+walked to the window, and having spent a few seconds in vengibly
+biting my lips and sternly repressing the passionate heavings of my
+chest, I observed to Miss Wilson, that I could see nothing of her
+brother, and added that, as my time was precious, it would perhaps
+be better to call again to-morrow, at some time when I should be
+sure to find him at home.
+
+'Oh, no!' said she; 'if you wait a minute, he will be sure to come;
+for he has business at L-' (that was our market-town), 'and will
+require a little refreshment before he goes.'
+
+I submitted accordingly, with the best grace I could; and, happily,
+I had not long to wait.  Mr. Wilson soon arrived, and, indisposed
+for business as I was at that moment, and little as I cared for the
+field or its owner, I forced my attention to the matter in hand,
+with very creditable determination, and quickly concluded the
+bargain - perhaps more to the thrifty farmer's satisfaction than he
+cared to acknowledge.  Then, leaving him to the discussion of his
+substantial 'refreshment,' I gladly quitted the house, and went to
+look after my reapers.
+
+Leaving them busy at work on the side of the valley, I ascended the
+hill, intending to visit a corn-field in the more elevated regions,
+and see when it would be ripe for the sickle.  But I did not visit
+it that day; for, as I approached, I beheld, at no great distance,
+Mrs. Graham and her son coming down in the opposite direction.
+They saw me; and Arthur already was running to meet me; but I
+immediately turned back and walked steadily homeward; for I had
+fully determined never to encounter his mother again; and
+regardless of the shrill voice in my ear, calling upon me to 'wait
+a moment,' I pursued the even tenor of my way; and he soon
+relinquished the pursuit as hopeless, or was called away by his
+mother.  At all events, when I looked back, five minutes after, not
+a trace of either was to be seen.
+
+This incident agitated and disturbed me most unaccountably - unless
+you would account for it by saying that Cupid's arrows not only had
+been too sharp for me, but they were barbed and deeply rooted, and
+I had not yet been able to wrench them from my heart.  However that
+be, I was rendered doubly miserable for the remainder of the day.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+
+
+Next morning, I bethought me, I, too, had business at L-; so I
+mounted my horse, and set forth on the expedition soon after
+breakfast.  It was a dull, drizzly day; but that was no matter:  it
+was all the more suitable to my frame of mind.  It was likely to be
+a lonely journey; for it was no market-day, and the road I
+traversed was little frequented at any other time; but that suited
+me all the better too.
+
+As I trotted along, however, chewing the cud of - bitter fancies, I
+heard another horse at no great distance behind me; but I never
+conjectured who the rider might be, or troubled my head about him,
+till, on slackening my pace to ascend a gentle acclivity, or
+rather, suffering my horse to slacken his pace into a lazy walk -
+for, rapt in my own reflections, I was letting it jog on as
+leisurely as it thought proper - I lost ground, and my fellow-
+traveller overtook me.  He accosted me by name, for it was no
+stranger - it was Mr. Lawrence!  Instinctively the fingers of my
+whip-hand tingled, and grasped their charge with convulsive energy;
+but I restrained the impulse, and answering his salutation with a
+nod, attempted to push on; but he pushed on beside me, and began to
+talk about the weather and the crops.  I gave the briefest possible
+answers to his queries and observations, and fell back.  He fell
+back too, and asked if my horse was lame.  I replied with a look,
+at which he placidly smiled.
+
+I was as much astonished as exasperated at this singular
+pertinacity and imperturbable assurance on his part.  I had thought
+the circumstances of our last meeting would have left such an
+impression on his mind as to render him cold and distant ever
+after:  instead of that, he appeared not only to have forgotten all
+former offences, but to be impenetrable to all present
+incivilities.  Formerly, the slightest hint, or mere fancied
+coldness in tone or glance, had sufficed to repulse him:  now,
+positive rudeness could not drive him away.  Had he heard of my
+disappointment; and was he come to witness the result, and triumph
+in my despair?  I grasped my whip with more determined energy than
+before - but still forbore to raise it, and rode on in silence,
+waiting for some more tangible cause of offence, before I opened
+the floodgates of my soul and poured out the dammed-up fury that
+was foaming and swelling within.
+
+'Markham,' said he, in his usual quiet tone, 'why do you quarrel
+with your friends, because you have been disappointed in one
+quarter?  You have found your hopes defeated; but how am I to blame
+for it?  I warned you beforehand, you know, but you would not - '
+
+He said no more; for, impelled by some fiend at my elbow, I had
+seized my whip by the small end, and - swift and sudden as a flash
+of lightning - brought the other down upon his head.  It was not
+without a feeling of savage satisfaction that I beheld the instant,
+deadly pallor that overspread his face, and the few red drops that
+trickled down his forehead, while he reeled a moment in his saddle,
+and then fell backward to the ground.  The pony, surprised to be so
+strangely relieved of its burden, started and capered, and kicked a
+little, and then made use of its freedom to go and crop the grass
+of the hedge-bank:  while its master lay as still and silent as a
+corpse.  Had I killed him? - an icy hand seemed to grasp my heart
+and check its pulsation, as I bent over him, gazing with breathless
+intensity upon the ghastly, upturned face.  But no; he moved his
+eyelids and uttered a slight groan.  I breathed again - he was only
+stunned by the fall.  It served him right - it would teach him
+better manners in future.  Should I help him to his horse?  No.
+For any other combination of offences I would; but his were too
+unpardonable.  He might mount it himself, if he liked - in a while:
+already he was beginning to stir and look about him - and there it
+was for him, quietly browsing on the road-side.
+
+So with a muttered execration I left the fellow to his fate, and
+clapping spurs to my own horse, galloped away, excited by a
+combination of feelings it would not be easy to analyse; and
+perhaps, if I did so, the result would not be very creditable to my
+disposition; for I am not sure that a species of exultation in what
+I had done was not one principal concomitant.
+
+Shortly, however, the effervescence began to abate, and not many
+minutes elapsed before I had turned and gone back to look after the
+fate of my victim.  It was no generous impulse - no kind relentings
+that led me to this - nor even the fear of what might be the
+consequences to myself, if I finished my assault upon the squire by
+leaving him thus neglected, and exposed to further injury; it was,
+simply, the voice of conscience; and I took great credit to myself
+for attending so promptly to its dictates - and judging the merit
+of the deed by the sacrifice it cost, I was not far wrong.
+
+Mr. Lawrence and his pony had both altered their positions in some
+degree.  The pony had wandered eight or ten yards further away; and
+he had managed, somehow, to remove himself from the middle of the
+road:  I found him seated in a recumbent position on the bank, -
+looking very white and sickly still, and holding his cambric
+handkerchief (now more red than white) to his head.  It must have
+been a powerful blow; but half the credit - or the blame of it
+(which you please) must be attributed to the whip, which was
+garnished with a massive horse's head of plated metal.  The grass,
+being sodden with rain, afforded the young gentleman a rather
+inhospitable couch; his clothes were considerably bemired; and his
+hat was rolling in the mud on the other side of the road.  But his
+thoughts seemed chiefly bent upon his pony, on which he was
+wistfully gazing - half in helpless anxiety, and half in hopeless
+abandonment to his fate.
+
+I dismounted, however, and having fastened my own animal to the
+nearest tree, first picked up his hat, intending to clap it on his
+head; but either he considered his head unfit for a hat, or the
+hat, in its present condition, unfit for his head; for shrinking
+away the one, he took the other from my hand, and scornfully cast
+it aside.
+
+'It's good enough for you,' I muttered.
+
+My next good office was to catch his pony and bring it to him,
+which was soon accomplished; for the beast was quiet enough in the
+main, and only winced and flirted a trifle till I got hold of the
+bridle - but then, I must see him in the saddle.
+
+'Here, you fellow - scoundrel - dog - give me your hand, and I'll
+help you to mount.'
+
+No; he turned from me in disgust.  I attempted to take him by the
+arm.  He shrank away as if there had been contamination in my
+touch.
+
+'What, you won't!  Well! you may sit there till doomsday, for what
+I care.  But I suppose you don't want to lose all the blood in your
+body - I'll just condescend to bind that up for you.'
+
+'Let me alone, if you please.'
+
+'Humph; with all my heart.  You may go to the d-l, if you choose -
+and say I sent you.'
+
+But before I abandoned him to his fate I flung his pony's bridle
+over a stake in the hedge, and threw him my handkerchief, as his
+own was now saturated with blood.  He took it and cast it back to
+me in abhorrence and contempt, with all the strength he could
+muster.  It wanted but this to fill the measure of his offences.
+With execrations not loud but deep I left him to live or die as he
+could, well satisfied that I had done my duty in attempting to save
+him - but forgetting how I had erred in bringing him into such a
+condition, and how insultingly my after-services had been offered -
+and sullenly prepared to meet the consequences if he should choose
+to say I had attempted to murder him - which I thought not
+unlikely, as it seemed probable he was actuated by such spiteful
+motives in so perseveringly refusing my assistance.
+
+Having remounted my horse, I just looked back to see how he was
+getting on, before I rode away.  He had risen from the ground, and
+grasping his pony's mane, was attempting to resume his seat in the
+saddle; but scarcely had he put his foot in the stirrup, when a
+sickness or dizziness seemed to overpower him:  he leant forward a
+moment, with his head drooped on the animal's back, and then made
+one more effort, which proving ineffectual, he sank back on the
+bank, where I left him, reposing his head on the oozy turf, and to
+all appearance, as calmly reclining as if he had been taking his
+rest on his sofa at home.
+
+I ought to have helped him in spite of himself - to have bound up
+the wound he was unable to staunch, and insisted upon getting him
+on his horse and seeing him safe home; but, besides my bitter
+indignation against himself, there was the question what to say to
+his servants - and what to my own family.  Either I should have to
+acknowledge the deed, which would set me down as a madman, unless I
+acknowledged the motive too - and that seemed impossible - or I
+must get up a lie, which seemed equally out of the question -
+especially as Mr. Lawrence would probably reveal the whole truth,
+and thereby bring me to tenfold disgrace - unless I were villain
+enough, presuming on the absence of witnesses, to persist in my own
+version of the case, and make him out a still greater scoundrel
+than he was.  No; he had only received a cut above the temple, and
+perhaps a few bruises from the fall, or the hoofs of his own pony:
+that could not kill him if he lay there half the day; and, if he
+could not help himself, surely some one would be coming by:  it
+would be impossible that a whole day should pass and no one
+traverse the road but ourselves.  As for what he might choose to
+say hereafter, I would take my chance about it:  if he told lies, I
+would contradict him; if he told the truth, I would bear it as best
+I could.  I was not obliged to enter into explanations further than
+I thought proper.  Perhaps he might choose to be silent on the
+subject, for fear of raising inquiries as to the cause of the
+quarrel, and drawing the public attention to his connection with
+Mrs. Graham, which, whether for her sake or his own, he seemed so
+very desirous to conceal.
+
+Thus reasoning, I trotted away to the town, where I duly transacted
+my business, and performed various little commissions for my mother
+and Rose, with very laudable exactitude, considering the different
+circumstances of the case.  In returning home, I was troubled with
+sundry misgivings about the unfortunate Lawrence.  The question,
+What if I should find him lying still on the damp earth, fairly
+dying of cold and exhaustion - or already stark and chill? thrust
+itself most unpleasantly upon my mind, and the appalling
+possibility pictured itself with painful vividness to my
+imagination as I approached the spot where I had left him.  But no,
+thank heaven, both man and horse were gone, and nothing was left to
+witness against me but two objects - unpleasant enough in
+themselves to be sure, and presenting a very ugly, not to say
+murderous appearance - in one place, the hat saturated with rain
+and coated with mud, indented and broken above the brim by that
+villainous whip-handle; in another, the crimson handkerchief,
+soaking in a deeply tinctured pool of water - for much rain had
+fallen in the interim.
+
+Bad news flies fast:  it was hardly four o'clock when I got home,
+but my mother gravely accosted me with - 'Oh, Gilbert! - Such an
+accident!  Rose has been shopping in the village, and she's heard
+that Mr. Lawrence has been thrown from his horse and brought home
+dying!'
+
+This shocked me a trifle, as you may suppose; but I was comforted
+to hear that he had frightfully fractured his skull and broken a
+leg; for, assured of the falsehood of this, I trusted the rest of
+the story was equally exaggerated; and when I heard my mother and
+sister so feelingly deploring his condition, I had considerable
+difficulty in preventing myself from telling them the real extent
+of the injuries, as far as I knew them.
+
+'You must go and see him to-morrow,' said my mother.
+
+'Or to-day,' suggested Rose:  'there's plenty of time; and you can
+have the pony, as your horse is tired.  Won't you, Gilbert - as
+soon as you've had something to eat?'
+
+'No, no - how can we tell that it isn't all a false report?  It's
+highly im-'
+
+'Oh, I'm sure it isn't; for the village is all alive about it; and
+I saw two people that had seen others that had seen the man that
+found him.  That sounds far-fetched; but it isn't so when you think
+of it.'
+
+'Well, but Lawrence is a good rider; it is not likely he would fall
+from his horse at all; and if he did, it is highly improbable he
+would break his bones in that way.  It must be a gross exaggeration
+at least.'
+
+'No; but the horse kicked him - or something.'
+
+'What, his quiet little pony?'
+
+'How do you know it was that?'
+
+'He seldom rides any other.'
+
+'At any rate,' said my mother, 'you will call to-morrow.  Whether
+it be true or false, exaggerated or otherwise, we shall like to
+know how he is.'
+
+'Fergus may go.'
+
+'Why not you?'
+
+'He has more time.  I am busy just now.'
+
+'Oh! but, Gilbert, how can you be so composed about it?  You won't
+mind business for an hour or two in a case of this sort, when your
+friend is at the point of death.'
+
+'He is not, I tell you.'
+
+'For anything you know, he may be:  you can't tell till you have
+seen him.  At all events, he must have met with some terrible
+accident, and you ought to see him:  he'll take it very unkind if
+you don't.'
+
+'Confound it!  I can't.  He and I have not been on good terms of
+late.'
+
+'Oh, my dear boy!  Surely, surely you are not so unforgiving as to
+carry your little differences to such a length as - '
+
+'Little differences, indeed!' I muttered.
+
+'Well, but only remember the occasion.  Think how - '
+
+'Well, well, don't bother me now - I'll see about it,' I replied.
+
+And my seeing about it was to send Fergus next morning, with my
+mother's compliments, to make the requisite inquiries; for, of
+course, my going was out of the question - or sending a message
+either.  He brought back intelligence that the young squire was
+laid up with the complicated evils of a broken head and certain
+contusions (occasioned by a fall - of which he did not trouble
+himself to relate the particulars - and the subsequent misconduct
+of his horse), and a severe cold, the consequence of lying on the
+wet ground in the rain; but there were no broken bones, and no
+immediate prospects of dissolution.
+
+It was evident, then, that for Mrs. Graham's sake it was not his
+intention to criminate me.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+
+
+That day was rainy like its predecessor; but towards evening it
+began to clear up a little, and the next morning was fair and
+promising.  I was out on the hill with the reapers.  A light wind
+swept over the corn, and all nature laughed in the sunshine.  The
+lark was rejoicing among the silvery floating clouds.  The late
+rain had so sweetly freshened and cleared the air, and washed the
+sky, and left such glittering gems on branch and blade, that not
+even the farmers could have the heart to blame it.  But no ray of
+sunshine could reach my heart, no breeze could freshen it; nothing
+could fill the void my faith, and hope, and joy in Helen Graham had
+left, or drive away the keen regrets and bitter dregs of lingering
+love that still oppressed it.
+
+While I stood with folded arms abstractedly gazing on the
+undulating swell of the corn, not yet disturbed by the reapers,
+something gently pulled my skirts, and a small voice, no longer
+welcome to my ears, aroused me with the startling words, - 'Mr.
+Markham, mamma wants you.'
+
+'Wants me, Arthur?'
+
+'Yes.  Why do you look so queer?' said he, half laughing, half
+frightened at the unexpected aspect of my face in suddenly turning
+towards him, - 'and why have you kept so long away?  Come!  Won't
+you come?'
+
+'I'm busy just now,' I replied, scarce knowing what to answer.
+
+He looked up in childish bewilderment; but before I could speak
+again the lady herself was at my side.
+
+'Gilbert, I must speak with you!' said she, in a tone of suppressed
+vehemence.
+
+I looked at her pale cheek and glittering eye, but answered
+nothing.
+
+'Only for a moment,' pleaded she.  'Just step aside into this other
+field.'  She glanced at the reapers, some of whom were directing
+looks of impertinent curiosity towards her.  'I won't keep you a
+minute.'
+
+I accompanied her through the gap.
+
+'Arthur, darling, run and gather those bluebells,' said she,
+pointing to some that were gleaming at some distance under the
+hedge along which we walked.  The child hesitated, as if unwilling
+to quit my side.  'Go, love!' repeated she more urgently, and in a
+tone which, though not unkind, demanded prompt obedience, and
+obtained it.
+
+'Well, Mrs. Graham?' said I, calmly and coldly; for, though I saw
+she was miserable, and pitied her, I felt glad to have it in my
+power to torment her.
+
+She fixed her eyes upon me with a look that pierced me to the
+heart; and yet it made me smile.
+
+'I don't ask the reason of this change, Gilbert,' said she, with
+bitter calmness:  'I know it too well; but though I could see
+myself suspected and condemned by every one else, and bear it with
+calmness, I cannot endure it from you. - Why did you not come to
+hear my explanation on the day I appointed to give it?'
+
+'Because I happened, in the interim, to learn all you would have
+told me - and a trifle more, I imagine.'
+
+'Impossible, for I would have told you all!' cried she,
+passionately - 'but I won't now, for I see you are not worthy of
+it!'
+
+And her pale lips quivered with agitation.
+
+'Why not, may I ask?'
+
+She repelled my mocking smile with a glance of scornful
+indignation.
+
+'Because you never understood me, or you would not soon have
+listened to my traducers - my confidence would be misplaced in you
+- you are not the man I thought you.  Go!  I won't care what you
+think of me.'
+
+She turned away, and I went; for I thought that would torment her
+as much as anything; and I believe I was right; for, looking back a
+minute after, I saw her turn half round, as if hoping or expecting
+to find me still beside her; and then she stood still, and cast one
+look behind.  It was a look less expressive of anger than of bitter
+anguish and despair; but I immediately assumed an aspect of
+indifference, and affected to be gazing carelessly around me, and I
+suppose she went on; for after lingering awhile to see if she would
+come back or call, I ventured one more glance, and saw her a good
+way off, moving rapidly up the field, with little Arthur running by
+her side and apparently talking as he went; but she kept her face
+averted from him, as if to hide some uncontrollable emotion.  And I
+returned to my business.
+
+But I soon began to regret my precipitancy in leaving her so soon.
+It was evident she loved me - probably she was tired of Mr.
+Lawrence, and wished to exchange him for me; and if I had loved and
+reverenced her less to begin with, the preference might have
+gratified and amused me; but now the contrast between her outward
+seeming and her inward mind, as I supposed, - between my former and
+my present opinion of her, was so harrowing - so distressing to my
+feelings, that it swallowed up every lighter consideration.
+
+But still I was curious to know what sort of an explanation she
+would have given me - or would give now, if I pressed her for it -
+how much she would confess, and how she would endeavour to excuse
+herself.  I longed to know what to despise, and what to admire in
+her; how much to pity, and how much to hate; - and, what was more,
+I would know.  I would see her once more, and fairly satisfy myself
+in what light to regard her, before we parted.  Lost to me she was,
+for ever, of course; but still I could not bear to think that we
+had parted, for the last time, with so much unkindness and misery
+on both sides.  That last look of hers had sunk into my heart; I
+could not forget it.  But what a fool I was!  Had she not deceived
+me, injured me - blighted my happiness for life?  'Well, I'll see
+her, however,' was my concluding resolve, 'but not to-day:  to-day
+and to-night she may think upon her sins, and be as miserable as
+she will:  to-morrow I will see her once again, and know something
+more about her.  The interview may be serviceable to her, or it may
+not.  At any rate, it will give a breath of excitement to the life
+she has doomed to stagnation, and may calm with certainty some
+agitating thoughts.'
+
+I did go on the morrow, but not till towards evening, after the
+business of the day was concluded, that is, between six and seven;
+and the westering sun was gleaming redly on the old Hall, and
+flaming in the latticed windows, as I reached it, imparting to the
+place a cheerfulness not its own.  I need not dilate upon the
+feelings with which I approached the shrine of my former divinity -
+that spot teeming with a thousand delightful recollections and
+glorious dreams - all darkened now by one disastrous truth
+
+Rachel admitted me into the parlour, and went to call her mistress,
+for she was not there:  but there was her desk left open on the
+little round table beside the high-backed chair, with a book laid
+upon it.  Her limited but choice collection of books was almost as
+familiar to me as my own; but this volume I had not seen before.  I
+took it up.  It was Sir Humphry Davy's 'Last Days of a
+Philosopher,' and on the first leaf was written, 'Frederick
+Lawrence.'  I closed the book, but kept it in my hand, and stood
+facing the door, with my back to the fire-place, calmly waiting her
+arrival; for I did not doubt she would come.  And soon I heard her
+step in the hall.  My heart was beginning to throb, but I checked
+it with an internal rebuke, and maintained my composure - outwardly
+at least.  She entered, calm, pale, collected.
+
+'To what am I indebted for this favour, Mr. Markham?' said she,
+with such severe but quiet dignity as almost disconcerted me; but I
+answered with a smile, and impudently enough, -
+
+'Well, I am come to hear your explanation.'
+
+'I told you I would not give it,' said she.  'I said you were
+unworthy of my confidence.'
+
+'Oh, very well,' replied I, moving to the door.
+
+'Stay a moment,' said she.  'This is the last time I shall see you:
+don't go just yet.'
+
+I remained, awaiting her further commands.
+
+'Tell me,' resumed she, 'on what grounds you believe these things
+against me; who told you; and what did they say?'
+
+I paused a moment.  She met my eye as unflinchingly as if her bosom
+had been steeled with conscious innocence.  She was resolved to
+know the worst, and determined to dare it too.  'I can crush that
+bold spirit,' thought I.  But while I secretly exulted in my power,
+I felt disposed to dally with my victim like a cat.  Showing her
+the book that I still held, in my hand, and pointing to the name on
+the fly-leaf, but fixing my eye upon her face, I asked, - 'Do you
+know that gentleman?'
+
+'Of course I do,' replied she; and a sudden flush suffused her
+features - whether of shame or anger I could not tell:  it rather
+resembled the latter.  'What next, sir?'
+
+'How long is it since you saw him?'
+
+'Who gave you the right to catechize me on this or any other
+subject?'
+
+'Oh, no one! - it's quite at your option whether to answer or not.
+And now, let me ask - have you heard what has lately befallen this
+friend of yours? - because, if you have not - '
+
+'I will not be insulted, Mr. Markham!' cried she, almost infuriated
+at my manner.  'So you had better leave the house at once, if you
+came only for that.'
+
+'I did not come to insult you:  I came to hear your explanation.'
+
+'And I tell you I won't give it!' retorted she, pacing the room in
+a state of strong excitement, with her hands clasped tightly
+together, breathing short, and flashing fires of indignation from
+her eyes.  'I will not condescend to explain myself to one that can
+make a jest of such horrible suspicions, and be so easily led to
+entertain them.'
+
+'I do not make a jest of them, Mrs. Graham,' returned I, dropping
+at once my tone of taunting sarcasm.  'I heartily wish I could find
+them a jesting matter.  And as to being easily led to suspect, God
+only knows what a blind, incredulous fool I have hitherto been,
+perseveringly shutting my eyes and stopping my ears against
+everything that threatened to shake my confidence in you, till
+proof itself confounded my infatuation!'
+
+'What proof, sir?'
+
+'Well, I'll tell you.  You remember that evening when I was here
+last?'
+
+'I do.'
+
+'Even then you dropped some hints that might have opened the eyes
+of a wiser man; but they had no such effect upon me:  I went on
+trusting and believing, hoping against hope, and adoring where I
+could not comprehend.  It so happened, however, that after I left
+you I turned back - drawn by pure depth of sympathy and ardour of
+affection - not daring to intrude my presence openly upon you, but
+unable to resist the temptation of catching one glimpse through the
+window, just to see how you were:  for I had left you apparently in
+great affliction, and I partly blamed my own want of forbearance
+and discretion as the cause of it.  If I did wrong, love alone was
+my incentive, and the punishment was severe enough; for it was just
+as I had reached that tree, that you came out into the garden with
+your friend.  Not choosing to show myself, under the circumstances,
+I stood still, in the shadow, till you had both passed by.'
+
+'And how much of our conversation did you hear?'
+
+'I heard quite enough, Helen.  And it was well for me that I did
+hear it; for nothing less could have cured my infatuation.  I
+always said and thought, that I would never believe a word against
+you, unless I heard it from your own lips.  All the hints and
+affirmations of others I treated as malignant, baseless slanders;
+your own self-accusations I believed to be overstrained; and all
+that seemed unaccountable in your position I trusted that you could
+account for if you chose.'
+
+Mrs. Graham had discontinued her walk.  She leant against one end
+of the chimney-piece, opposite that near which I was standing, with
+her chin resting on her closed hand, her eyes - no longer burning
+with anger, but gleaming with restless excitement - sometimes
+glancing at me while I spoke, then coursing the opposite wall, or
+fixed upon the carpet.
+
+'You should have come to me after all,' said she, 'and heard what I
+had to say in my own justification.  It was ungenerous and wrong to
+withdraw yourself so secretly and suddenly, immediately after such
+ardent protestations of attachment, without ever assigning a reason
+for the change.  You should have told me all-no matter how
+bitterly.  It would have been better than this silence.'
+
+'To what end should I have done so?  You could not have enlightened
+me further, on the subject which alone concerned me; nor could you
+have made me discredit the evidence of my senses.  I desired our
+intimacy to be discontinued at once, as you yourself had
+acknowledged would probably be the case if I knew all; but I did
+not wish to upbraid you, - though (as you also acknowledged) you
+had deeply wronged me.  Yes, you have done me an injury you can
+never repair - or any other either - you have blighted the
+freshness and promise of youth, and made my life a wilderness!  I
+might live a hundred years, but I could never recover from the
+effects of this withering blow - and never forget it!  Hereafter -
+You smile, Mrs. Graham,' said I, suddenly stopping short, checked
+in my passionate declamation by unutterable feelings to behold her
+actually smiling at the picture of the ruin she had wrought.
+
+'Did I?' replied she, looking seriously up; 'I was not aware of it.
+If I did, it was not for pleasure at the thoughts of the harm I had
+done you.  Heaven knows I have had torment enough at the bare
+possibility of that; it was for joy to find that you had some depth
+of soul and feeling after all, and to hope that I had not been
+utterly mistaken in your worth.  But smiles and tears are so alike
+with me, they are neither of them confined to any particular
+feelings:  I often cry when I am happy, and smile when I am sad.'
+
+She looked at me again, and seemed to expect a reply; but I
+continued silent.
+
+'Would you be very glad,' resumed she, 'to find that you were
+mistaken in your conclusions?'
+
+'How can you ask it, Helen?'
+
+'I don't say I can clear myself altogether,' said she, speaking low
+and fast, while her heart beat visibly and her bosom heaved with
+excitement, - 'but would you be glad to discover I was better than
+you think me?'
+
+'Anything that could in the least degree tend to restore my former
+opinion of you, to excuse the regard I still feel for you, and
+alleviate the pangs of unutterable regret that accompany it, would
+be only too gladly, too eagerly received!'  Her cheeks burned, and
+her whole frame trembled, now, with excess of agitation.  She did
+not speak, but flew to her desk, and snatching thence what seemed a
+thick album or manuscript volume, hastily tore away a few leaves
+from the end, and thrust the rest into my hand, saying, 'You
+needn't read it all; but take it home with you,' and hurried from
+the room.  But when I had left the house, and was proceeding down
+the walk, she opened the window and called me back.  It was only to
+say, - 'Bring it back when you have read it; and don't breathe a
+word of what it tells you to any living being.  I trust to your
+honour.'
+
+Before I could answer she had closed the casement and turned away.
+I saw her cast herself back in the old oak chair, and cover her
+face with her hands.  Her feelings had been wrought to a pitch that
+rendered it necessary to seek relief in tears.
+
+Panting with eagerness, and struggling to suppress my hopes, I
+hurried home, and rushed up-stairs to my room, having first
+provided myself with a candle, though it was scarcely twilight yet
+- then, shut and bolted the door, determined to tolerate no
+interruption; and sitting down before the table, opened out my
+prize and delivered myself up to its perusal - first hastily
+turning over the leaves and snatching a sentence here and there,
+and then setting myself steadily to read it through.
+
+I have it now before me; and though you could not, of course,
+peruse it with half the interest that I did, I know you would not
+be satisfied with an abbreviation of its contents, and you shall
+have the whole, save, perhaps, a few passages here and there of
+merely temporary interest to the writer, or such as would serve to
+encumber the story rather than elucidate it.  It begins somewhat
+abruptly, thus - but we will reserve its commencement for another
+chapter.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+
+
+June 1st, 1821. - We have just returned to Staningley - that is, we
+returned some days ago, and I am not yet settled, and feel as if I
+never should be.  We left town sooner than was intended, in
+consequence of my uncle's indisposition; - I wonder what would have
+been the result if we had stayed the full time.  I am quite ashamed
+of my new-sprung distaste for country life.  All my former
+occupations seem so tedious and dull, my former amusements so
+insipid and unprofitable.  I cannot enjoy my music, because there
+is no one to hear it.  I cannot enjoy my walks, because there is no
+one to meet.  I cannot enjoy my books, because they have not power
+to arrest my attention:  my head is so haunted with the
+recollections of the last few weeks, that I cannot attend to them.
+My drawing suits me best, for I can draw and think at the same
+time; and if my productions cannot now be seen by any one but
+myself, and those who do not care about them, they, possibly, may
+be, hereafter.  But, then, there is one face I am always trying to
+paint or to sketch, and always without success; and that vexes me.
+As for the owner of that face, I cannot get him out of my mind -
+and, indeed, I never try.  I wonder whether he ever thinks of me;
+and I wonder whether I shall ever see him again.  And then might
+follow a train of other wonderments - questions for time and fate
+to answer - concluding with - Supposing all the rest be answered in
+the affirmative, I wonder whether I shall ever repent it? as my
+aunt would tell me I should, if she knew what I was thinking about.
+
+How distinctly I remember our conversation that evening before our
+departure for town, when we were sitting together over the fire, my
+uncle having gone to bed with a slight attack of the gout.
+
+'Helen,' said she, after a thoughtful silence, 'do you ever think
+about marriage?'
+
+'Yes, aunt, often.'
+
+'And do you ever contemplate the possibility of being married
+yourself, or engaged, before the season is over?'
+
+'Sometimes; but I don't think it at all likely that I ever shall.'
+
+'Why so?'
+
+'Because, I imagine, there must be only a very, very few men in the
+world that I should like to marry; and of those few, it is ten to
+one I may never be acquainted with one; or if I should, it is
+twenty to one he may not happen to be single, or to take a fancy to
+me.'
+
+'That is no argument at all.  It may be very true - and I hope is
+true, that there are very few men whom you would choose to marry,
+of yourself.  It is not, indeed, to be supposed that you would wish
+to marry any one till you were asked:  a girl's affections should
+never be won unsought.  But when they are sought - when the citadel
+of the heart is fairly besieged - it is apt to surrender sooner
+than the owner is aware of, and often against her better judgment,
+and in opposition to all her preconceived ideas of what she could
+have loved, unless she be extremely careful and discreet.  Now, I
+want to warn you, Helen, of these things, and to exhort you to be
+watchful and circumspect from the very commencement of your career,
+and not to suffer your heart to be stolen from you by the first
+foolish or unprincipled person that covets the possession of it. -
+You know, my dear, you are only just eighteen; there is plenty of
+time before you, and neither your uncle nor I are in any hurry to
+get you off our hands, and I may venture to say, there will be no
+lack of suitors; for you can boast a good family, a pretty
+considerable fortune and expectations, and, I may as well tell you
+likewise - for, if I don't, others will - that you have a fair
+share of beauty besides - and I hope you may never have cause to
+regret it!'
+
+'I hope not, aunt; but why should you fear it?'
+
+'Because, my dear, beauty is that quality which, next to money, is
+generally the most attractive to the worst kinds of men; and,
+therefore, it is likely to entail a great deal of trouble on the
+possessor.'
+
+'Have you been troubled in that way, aunt?'
+
+'No, Helen,' said she, with reproachful gravity, 'but I know many
+that have; and some, through carelessness, have been the wretched
+victims of deceit; and some, through weakness, have fallen into
+snares and temptations terrible to relate.'
+
+'Well, I shall be neither careless nor weak.'
+
+'Remember Peter, Helen!  Don't boast, but watch.  Keep a guard over
+your eyes and ears as the inlets of your heart, and over your lips
+as the outlet, lest they betray you in a moment of unwariness.
+Receive, coldly and dispassionately, every attention, till you have
+ascertained and duly considered the worth of the aspirant; and let
+your affections be consequent upon approbation alone.  First study;
+then approve; then love.  Let your eyes be blind to all external
+attractions, your ears deaf to all the fascinations of flattery and
+light discourse. - These are nothing - and worse than nothing -
+snares and wiles of the tempter, to lure the thoughtless to their
+own destruction.  Principle is the first thing, after all; and next
+to that, good sense, respectability, and moderate wealth.  If you
+should marry the handsomest, and most accomplished and
+superficially agreeable man in the world, you little know the
+misery that would overwhelm you if, after all, you should find him
+to be a worthless reprobate, or even an impracticable fool.'
+
+'But what are all the poor fools and reprobates to do, aunt?  If
+everybody followed your advice, the world would soon come to an
+end.'
+
+'Never fear, my dear! the male fools and reprobates will never want
+for partners, while there are so many of the other sex to match
+them; but do you follow my advice.  And this is no subject for
+jesting, Helen - I am sorry to see you treat the matter in that
+light way.  Believe me, matrimony is a serious thing.' And she
+spoke it so seriously, that one might have fancied she had known it
+to her cost; but I asked no more impertinent questions, and merely
+answered, - 'I know it is; and I know there is truth and sense in
+what you say; but you need not fear me, for I not only should think
+it wrong to marry a man that was deficient in sense or in
+principle, but I should never be tempted to do it; for I could not
+like him, if he were ever so handsome, and ever so charming, in
+other respects; I should hate him - despise him - pity him -
+anything but love him.  My affections not only ought to be founded
+on approbation, but they will and must be so:  for, without
+approving, I cannot love.  It is needless to say, I ought to be
+able to respect and honour the man I marry, as well as love him,
+for I cannot love him without.  So set your mind at rest.'
+
+'I hope it may be so,' answered she.
+
+'I know it is so,' persisted I.
+
+'You have not been tried yet, Helen - we can but hope,' said she in
+her cold, cautious way.
+
+'I was vexed at her incredulity; but I am not sure her doubts were
+entirely without sagacity; I fear I have found it much easier to
+remember her advice than to profit by it; - indeed, I have
+sometimes been led to question the soundness of her doctrines on
+those subjects.  Her counsels may be good, as far as they go - in
+the main points at least; - but there are some things she has
+overlooked in her calculations.  I wonder if she was ever in love.
+
+I commenced my career - or my first campaign, as my uncle calls it
+- kindling with bright hopes and fancies - chiefly raised by this
+conversation - and full of confidence in my own discretion.  At
+first, I was delighted with the novelty and excitement of our
+London life; but soon I began to weary of its mingled turbulence
+and constraint, and sigh for the freshness and freedom of home.  My
+new acquaintances, both male and female, disappointed my
+expectations, and vexed and depressed me by turns; I for I soon
+grew tired of studying their peculiarities, and laughing at their
+foibles - particularly as I was obliged to keep my criticisms to
+myself, for my aunt would not hear them - and they - the ladies
+especially - appeared so provokingly mindless, and heartless, and
+artificial.  The gentlemen scorned better, but, perhaps, it was
+because I knew them less - perhaps, because they flattered me; but
+I did not fall in love with any of them; and, if their attentions
+pleased me one moment, they provoked me the next, because they put
+me out of humour with myself, by revealing my vanity and making me
+fear I was becoming like some of the ladies I so heartily despised.
+
+There was one elderly gentleman that annoyed me very much; a rich
+old friend of my uncle's, who, I believe, thought I could not do
+better than marry him; but, besides being old, he was ugly and
+disagreeable, - and wicked, I am sure, though my aunt scolded me
+for saying so; but she allowed he was no saint.  And there was
+another, less hateful, but still more tiresome, because she
+favoured him, and was always thrusting him upon me, and sounding
+his praises in my ears - Mr. Boarham by name, Bore'em, as I prefer
+spelling it, for a terrible bore he was:  I shudder still at the
+remembrance of his voice - drone, drone, drone, in my ear - while
+he sat beside me, prosing away by the half-hour together, and
+beguiling himself with the notion that he was improving my mind by
+useful information, or impressing his dogmas upon me and reforming
+my errors of judgment, or perhaps that he was talking down to my
+level, and amusing me with entertaining discourse.  Yet he was a
+decent man enough in the main, I daresay; and if he had kept his
+distance, I never would have hated him.  As it was, it was almost
+impossible to help it, for he not only bothered me with the
+infliction of his own presence, but he kept me from the enjoyment
+of more agreeable society.
+
+One night, however, at a ball, he had been more than usually
+tormenting, and my patience was quite exhausted.  It appeared as if
+the whole evening was fated to be insupportable:  I had just had
+one dance with an empty-headed coxcomb, and then Mr. Boarham had
+come upon me and seemed determined to cling to me for the rest of
+the night.  He never danced himself, and there he sat, poking his
+head in my face, and impressing all beholders with the idea that he
+was a confirmed, acknowledged lover; my aunt looking complacently
+on all the time, and wishing him God-speed.  In vain I attempted to
+drive him away by giving a loose to my exasperated feelings, even
+to positive rudeness:  nothing could convince him that his presence
+was disagreeable.  Sullen silence was taken for rapt attention, and
+gave him greater room to talk; sharp answers were received as smart
+sallies of girlish vivacity, that only required an indulgent
+rebuke; and flat contradictions were but as oil to the flames,
+calling forth new strains of argument to support his dogmas, and
+bringing down upon me endless floods of reasoning to overwhelm me
+with conviction.
+
+But there was one present who seemed to have a better appreciation
+of my frame of mind.  A gentleman stood by, who had been watching
+our conference for some time, evidently much amused at my
+companion's remorseless pertinacity and my manifest annoyance, and
+laughing to himself at the asperity and uncompromising spirit of my
+replies.  At length, however, he withdrew, and went to the lady of
+the house, apparently for the purpose of asking an introduction to
+me, for, shortly after, they both came up, and she introduced him
+as Mr. Huntingdon, the son of a late friend of my uncle's.  He
+asked me to dance.  I gladly consented, of course; and he was my
+companion during the remainder of my stay, which was not long, for
+my aunt, as usual, insisted upon an early departure.
+
+I was sorry to go, for I had found my new acquaintance a very
+lively and entertaining companion.  There was a certain graceful
+ease and freedom about all he said and did, that gave a sense of
+repose and expansion to the mind, after so much constraint and
+formality as I had been doomed to suffer.  There might be, it is
+true, a little too much careless boldness in his manner and
+address, but I was in so good a humour, and so grateful for my late
+deliverance from Mr. Boarham, that it did not anger me.
+
+'Well, Helen, how do you like Mr. Boarham now?' said my aunt, as we
+took our seats in the carriage and drove away.
+
+'Worse than ever,' I replied.
+
+She looked displeased, but said no more on that subject.
+
+'Who was the gentleman you danced with last,' resumed she, after a
+pause - 'that was so officious in helping you on with your shawl?'
+
+'He was not officious at all, aunt:  he never attempted to help me
+till he saw Mr. Boarham coming to do so; and then he stepped
+laughingly forward and said, "Come, I'll preserve you from that
+infliction."'
+
+'Who was it, I ask?' said she, with frigid gravity.
+
+'It was Mr. Huntingdon, the son of uncle's old friend.'
+
+'I have heard your uncle speak of young Mr. Huntingdon.  I've heard
+him say, "He's a fine lad, that young Huntingdon, but a bit
+wildish, I fancy."  So I'd have you beware.'
+
+'What does "a bit wildish" mean?' I inquired.
+
+'It means destitute of principle, and prone to every vice that is
+common to youth.'
+
+'But I've heard uncle say he was a sad wild fellow himself, when he
+was young.'
+
+She sternly shook her head.
+
+'He was jesting then, I suppose,' said I, 'and here he was speaking
+at random - at least, I cannot believe there is any harm in those
+laughing blue eyes.'
+
+'False reasoning, Helen!' said she, with a sigh.
+
+'Well, we ought to be charitable, you know, aunt - besides, I don't
+think it is false:  I am an excellent physiognomist, and I always
+judge of people's characters by their looks - not by whether they
+are handsome or ugly, but by the general cast of the countenance.
+For instance, I should know by your countenance that you were not
+of a cheerful, sanguine disposition; and I should know by Mr.
+Wilmot's, that he was a worthless old reprobate; and by Mr.
+Boarham's, that he was not an agreeable companion; and by Mr.
+Huntingdon's, that he was neither a fool nor a knave, though,
+possibly, neither a sage nor a saint - but that is no matter to me,
+as I am not likely to meet him again - unless as an occasional
+partner in the ball-room.'
+
+It was not so, however, for I met him again next morning.  He came
+to call upon my uncle, apologising for not having done so before,
+by saying he was only lately returned from the Continent, and had
+not heard, till the previous night, of my uncle's arrival in town;
+and after that I often met him; sometimes in public, sometimes at
+home; for he was very assiduous in paying his respects to his old
+friend, who did not, however, consider himself greatly obliged by
+the attention.
+
+'I wonder what the deuce the lad means by coming so often,' he
+would say, - 'can you tell, Helen? - Hey?  He wants none o' my
+company, nor I his - that's certain.'
+
+'I wish you'd tell him so, then,' said my aunt.
+
+'Why, what for?  If I don't want him, somebody does, mayhap'
+(winking at me).  'Besides, he's a pretty tidy fortune, Peggy, you
+know - not such a catch as Wilmot; but then Helen won't hear of
+that match:  for, somehow, these old chaps don't go down with the
+girls - with all their money, and their experience to boot.  I'll
+bet anything she'd rather have this young fellow without a penny,
+than Wilmot with his house full of gold.  Wouldn't you, Nell?'
+
+'Yes, uncle; but that's not saying much for Mr. Huntingdon; for I'd
+rather be an old maid and a pauper than Mrs. Wilmot.'
+
+'And Mrs. Huntingdon?  What would you rather be than Mrs.
+Huntingdon - eh?'
+
+'I'll tell you when I've considered the matter.'
+
+'Ah! it needs consideration, then?  But come, now - would you
+rather be an old maid - let alone the pauper?'
+
+'I can't tell till I'm asked.'
+
+And I left the room immediately, to escape further examination.
+But five minutes after, in looking from my window, I beheld Mr.
+Boarham coming up to the door.  I waited nearly half-an-hour in
+uncomfortable suspense, expecting every minute to be called, and
+vainly longing to hear him go.  Then footsteps were heard on the
+stairs, and my aunt entered the room with a solemn countenance, and
+closed the door behind her.
+
+'Here is Mr. Boarham, Helen,' said she.  'He wishes to see you.'
+
+'Oh, aunt! - Can't you tell him I'm indisposed? - I'm sure I am -
+to see him.'
+
+'Nonsense, my dear! this is no trifling matter.  He is come on a
+very important errand - to ask your hand in marriage of your uncle
+and me.'
+
+'I hope my uncle and you told him it was not in your power to give
+it.  What right had he to ask any one before me?'
+
+'Helen!'
+
+'What did my uncle say?'
+
+'He said he would not interfere in the matter; if you liked to
+accept Mr. Boarham's obliging offer, you - '
+
+'Did he say obliging offer?'
+
+'No; he said if you liked to take him you might; and if not, you
+might please yourself.'
+
+'He said right; and what did you say?'
+
+'It is no matter what I said.  What will you say? - that is the
+question.  He is now waiting to ask you himself; but consider well
+before you go; and if you intend to refuse him, give me your
+reasons.'
+
+'I shall refuse him, of course; but you must tell me how, for I
+want to be civil and yet decided - and when I've got rid of him,
+I'll give you my reasons afterwards.'
+
+'But stay, Helen; sit down a little and compose yourself.  Mr.
+Boarham is in no particular hurry, for he has little doubt of your
+acceptance; and I want to speak with you.  Tell me, my dear, what
+are your objections to him?  Do you deny that he is an upright,
+honourable man?'
+
+'No.'
+
+'Do you deny that he is sensible, sober, respectable?'
+
+'No; he may be all this, but - '
+
+'But, Helen!  How many such men do you expect to meet with in the
+world?  Upright, honourable, sensible, sober, respectable!  Is this
+such an every-day character that you should reject the possessor of
+such noble qualities without a moment's hesitation?  Yes, noble I
+may call them; for think of the full meaning of each, and how many
+inestimable virtues they include (and I might add many more to the
+list), and consider that all this is laid at your feet.  It is in
+your power to secure this inestimable blessing for life - a worthy
+and excellent husband, who loves you tenderly, but not too fondly
+so as to blind him to your faults, and will be your guide
+throughout life's pilgrimage, and your partner in eternal bliss.
+Think how - '
+
+'But I hate him, aunt,' said I, interrupting this unusual flow of
+eloquence.
+
+'Hate him, Helen!  Is this a Christian spirit? - you hate him? and
+he so good a man!'
+
+'I don't hate him as a man, but as a husband.  As a man, I love him
+so much that I wish him a better wife than I - one as good as
+himself, or better - if you think that possible - provided she
+could like him; but I never could, and therefore - '
+
+'But why not?  What objection do you find?'
+
+'Firstly, he is at least forty years old - considerably more, I
+should think - and I am but eighteen; secondly, he is narrow-minded
+and bigoted in the extreme; thirdly, his tastes and feelings are
+wholly dissimilar to mine; fourthly, his looks, voice, and manner
+are particularly displeasing to me; and, finally, I have an
+aversion to his whole person that I never can surmount.'
+
+'Then you ought to surmount it.  And please to compare him for a
+moment with Mr. Huntingdon, and, good looks apart (which contribute
+nothing to the merit of the man, or to the happiness of married
+life, and which you have so often professed to hold in light
+esteem), tell me which is the better man.'
+
+'I have no doubt Mr. Huntingdon is a much better man than you think
+him; but we are not talking about him now, but about Mr. Boarham;
+and as I would rather grow, live, and die in single blessedness -
+than be his wife, it is but right that I should tell him so at
+once, and put him out of suspense - so let me go.'
+
+'But don't give him a flat denial; he has no idea of such a thing,
+and it would offend him greatly:  say you have no thoughts of
+matrimony at present - '
+
+'But I have thoughts of it.'
+
+'Or that you desire a further acquaintance.'
+
+'But I don't desire a further acquaintance - quite the contrary.'
+
+And without waiting for further admonitions I left the room and
+went to seek Mr. Boarham.  He was walking up and down the drawing-
+room, humming snatches of tunes and nibbling the end of his cane.
+
+'My dear young lady,' said he, bowing and smirking with great
+complacency, 'I have your kind guardian's permission - '
+
+'I know, sir,' said I, wishing to shorten the scene as much as
+possible, 'and I am greatly obliged for your preference, but must
+beg to decline the honour you wish to confer, for I think we were
+not made for each other, as you yourself would shortly discover if
+the experiment were tried.'
+
+My aunt was right.  It was quite evident he had had little doubt of
+my acceptance, and no idea of a positive denial.  He was amazed,
+astounded at such an answer, but too incredulous to be much
+offended; and after a little humming and hawing, he returned to the
+attack.
+
+'I know, my dear, that there exists a considerable disparity
+between us in years, in temperament, and perhaps some other things;
+but let me assure you, I shall not be severe to mark the faults and
+foibles of a young and ardent nature such as yours, and while I
+acknowledge them to myself, and even rebuke them with all a
+father's care, believe me, no youthful lover could be more tenderly
+indulgent towards the object of his affections than I to you; and,
+on the other hand, let me hope that my more experienced years and
+graver habits of reflection will be no disparagement in your eyes,
+as I shall endeavour to make them all conducive to your happiness.
+Come, now!  What do you say?  Let us have no young lady's
+affectations and caprices, but speak out at once.'
+
+'I will, but only to repeat what I said before, that I am certain
+we were not made for each other.'
+
+'You really think so?'
+
+'I do.'
+
+'But you don't know me - you wish for a further acquaintance - a
+longer time to - '
+
+'No, I don't.  I know you as well as I ever shall, and better than
+you know me, or you would never dream of uniting yourself to one so
+incongruous - so utterly unsuitable to you in every way.'
+
+'But, my dear young lady, I don't look for perfection; I can excuse
+- '
+
+'Thank you, Mr. Boarham, but I won't trespass upon your goodness.
+You may save your indulgence and consideration for some more worthy
+object, that won't tax them so heavily.'
+
+'But let me beg you to consult your aunt; that excellent lady, I am
+sure, will - '
+
+'I have consulted her; and I know her wishes coincide with yours;
+but in such important matters, I take the liberty of judging for
+myself; and no persuasion can alter my inclinations, or induce me
+to believe that such a step would be conducive to my happiness or
+yours - and I wonder that a man of your experience and discretion
+should think of choosing such a wife.'
+
+'Ah, well!' said he, 'I have sometimes wondered at that myself.  I
+have sometimes said to myself, "Now Boarham, what is this you're
+after?  Take care, man - look before you leap!  This is a sweet,
+bewitching creature, but remember, the brightest attractions to the
+lover too often prove the husband's greatest torments!"  I assure
+you my choice has not been made without much reasoning and
+reflection.  The seeming imprudence of the match has cost me many
+an anxious thought by day, and many a sleepless hour by night; but
+at length I satisfied myself that it was not, in very deed,
+imprudent.  I saw my sweet girl was not without her faults, but of
+these her youth, I trusted, was not one, but rather an earnest of
+virtues yet unblown - a strong ground of presumption that her
+little defects of temper and errors of judgment, opinion, or manner
+were not irremediable, but might easily be removed or mitigated by
+the patient efforts of a watchful and judicious adviser, and where
+I failed to enlighten and control, I thought I might safely
+undertake to pardon, for the sake of her many excellences.
+Therefore, my dearest girl, since I am satisfied, why should you
+object - on my account, at least?'
+
+'But to tell you the truth, Mr. Boarham, it is on my own account I
+principally object; so let us - drop the subject,' I would have
+said, 'for it is worse than useless to pursue it any further,' but
+he pertinaciously interrupted me with, - 'But why so?  I would love
+you, cherish you, protect you,' &c., &c.
+
+I shall not trouble myself to put down all that passed between us.
+Suffice it to say, that I found him very troublesome, and very hard
+to convince that I really meant what I said, and really was so
+obstinate and blind to my own interests, that there was no shadow
+of a chance that either he or my aunt would ever be able to
+overcome my objections.  Indeed, I am not sure that I succeeded
+after all; though wearied with his so pertinaciously returning to
+the same point and repeating the same arguments over and over
+again, forcing me to reiterate the same replies, I at length turned
+short and sharp upon him, and my last words were, - 'I tell you
+plainly, that it cannot be.  No consideration can induce me to
+marry against my inclinations.  I respect you - at least, I would
+respect you, if you would behave like a sensible man - but I cannot
+love you, and never could - and the more you talk the further you
+repel me; so pray don't say any more about it.'
+
+Whereupon he wished me a good-morning, and withdrew, disconcerted
+and offended, no doubt; but surely it was not my fault.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+
+
+The next day I accompanied my uncle and aunt to a dinner-party at
+Mr. Wilmot's.  He had two ladies staying with him:  his niece
+Annabella, a fine dashing girl, or rather young woman, - of some
+five-and-twenty, too great a flirt to be married, according to her
+own assertion, but greatly admired by the gentlemen, who
+universally pronounced her a splendid woman; and her gentle cousin,
+Milicent Hargrave, who had taken a violent fancy to me, mistaking
+me for something vastly better than I was.  And I, in return, was
+very fond of her.  I should entirely exclude poor Milicent in my
+general animadversions against the ladies of my acquaintance.  But
+it was not on her account, or her cousin's, that I have mentioned
+the party:  it was for the sake of another of Mr. Wilmot's guests,
+to wit Mr. Huntingdon.  I have good reason to remember his presence
+there, for this was the last time I saw him.
+
+He did not sit near me at dinner; for it was his fate to hand in a
+capacious old dowager, and mine to be handed in by Mr. Grimsby, a
+friend of his, but a man I very greatly disliked:  there was a
+sinister cast in his countenance, and a mixture of lurking ferocity
+and fulsome insincerity in his demeanour, that I could not away
+with.  What a tiresome custom that is, by-the-by - one among the
+many sources of factitious annoyance of this ultra-civilised life.
+If the gentlemen must lead the ladies into the dining-room, why
+cannot they take those they like best?
+
+I am not sure, however, that Mr. Huntingdon would have taken me, if
+he had been at liberty to make his own selection.  It is quite
+possible he might have chosen Miss Wilmot; for she seemed bent upon
+engrossing his attention to herself, and he seemed nothing loth to
+pay the homage she demanded.  I thought so, at least, when I saw
+how they talked and laughed, and glanced across the table, to the
+neglect and evident umbrage of their respective neighbours - and
+afterwards, as the gentlemen joined us in the drawing-room, when
+she, immediately upon his entrance, loudly called upon him to be
+the arbiter of a dispute between herself and another lady, and he
+answered the summons with alacrity, and decided the question
+without a moment's hesitation in her favour - though, to my
+thinking, she was obviously in the wrong - and then stood chatting
+familiarly with her and a group of other ladies; while I sat with
+Milicent Hargrave at the opposite end of the room, looking over the
+latter's drawings, and aiding her with my critical observations and
+advice, at her particular desire.  But in spite of my efforts to
+remain composed, my attention wandered from the drawings to the
+merry group, and against my better judgment my wrath rose, and
+doubtless my countenance lowered; for Milicent, observing that I
+must be tired of her daubs and scratches, begged I would join the
+company now, and defer the examination of the remainder to another
+opportunity.  But while I was assuring her that I had no wish to
+join them, and was not tired, Mr. Huntingdon himself came up to the
+little round table at which we sat.
+
+'Are these yours?' said he, carelessly taking up one of the
+drawings.
+
+'No, they are Miss Hargrave's.'
+
+'Oh! well, let's have a look at them.'
+
+And, regardless of Miss Hargrave's protestations that they were not
+worth looking at, he drew a chair to my side, and receiving the
+drawings, one by one from my hand, successively scanned them over,
+and threw them on the table, but said not a word about them, though
+he was talking all the time.  I don't know what Milicent Hargrave
+thought of such conduct, but I found his conversation extremely
+interesting; though, as I afterwards discovered, when I came to
+analyse it, it was chiefly confined to quizzing the different
+members of the company present; and albeit he made some clever
+remarks, and some excessively droll ones, I do not think the whole
+would appear anything very particular, if written here, without the
+adventitious aids of look, and tone, and gesture, and that
+ineffable but indefinite charm, which cast a halo over all he did
+and said, and which would have made it a delight to look in his
+face, and hear the music of his voice, if he had been talking
+positive nonsense - and which, moreover, made me feel so bitter
+against my aunt when she put a stop to this enjoyment, by coming
+composedly forward, under pretence of wishing to see the drawings,
+that she cared and knew nothing about, and while making believe to
+examine them, addressing herself to Mr. Huntingdon, with one of her
+coldest and most repellent aspects, and beginning a series of the
+most common-place and formidably formal questions and observations,
+on purpose to wrest his attention from me - on purpose to vex me,
+as I thought:  and having now looked through the portfolio, I left
+them to their TETE-E-TETE, and seated myself on a sofa, quite apart
+from the company - never thinking how strange such conduct would
+appear, but merely to indulge, at first, the vexation of the
+moment, and subsequently to enjoy my private thoughts.
+
+But I was not left long alone, for Mr. Wilmot, of all men the least
+welcome, took advantage of my isolated position to come and plant
+himself beside me.  I had flattered myself that I had so
+effectually repulsed his advances on all former occasions, that I
+had nothing more to apprehend from his unfortunate predilection;
+but it seems I was mistaken:  so great was his confidence, either
+in his wealth or his remaining powers of attraction, and so firm
+his conviction of feminine weakness, that he thought himself
+warranted to return to the siege, which he did with renovated
+ardour, enkindled by the quantity of wine he had drunk - a
+circumstance that rendered him infinitely the more disgusting; but
+greatly as I abhorred him at that moment, I did not like to treat
+him with rudeness, as I was now his guest, and had just been
+enjoying his hospitality; and I was no hand at a polite but
+determined rejection, nor would it have greatly availed me if I
+had, for he was too coarse-minded to take any repulse that was not
+as plain and positive as his own effrontery.  The consequence was,
+that he waxed more fulsomely tender, and more repulsively warm, and
+I was driven to the very verge of desperation, and about to say I
+know not what, when I felt my hand, that hung over the arm of the
+sofa, suddenly taken by another and gently but fervently pressed.
+Instinctively, I guessed who it was, and, on looking up, was less
+surprised than delighted to see Mr. Huntingdon smiling upon me.  It
+was like turning from some purgatorial fiend to an angel of light,
+come to announce that the season of torment was past.
+
+'Helen,' said he (he frequently called me Helen, and I never
+resented the freedom), 'I want you to look at this picture.  Mr.
+Wilmot will excuse you a moment, I'm sure.'
+
+I rose with alacrity.  He drew my arm within his, and led me across
+the room to a splendid painting of Vandyke's that I had noticed
+before, but not sufficiently examined.  After a moment of silent
+contemplation, I was beginning to comment on its beauties and
+peculiarities, when, playfully pressing the hand he still retained
+within his arm, he interrupted me with, - 'Never mind the picture:
+it was not for that I brought you here; it was to get you away from
+that scoundrelly old profligate yonder, who is looking as if he
+would like to challenge me for the affront.'
+
+'I am very much obliged to you,' said I.  'This is twice you have
+delivered me from such unpleasant companionship.'
+
+'Don't be too thankful,' he answered:  'it is not all kindness to
+you; it is partly from a feeling of spite to your tormentors that
+makes me delighted to do the old fellows a bad turn, though I don't
+think I have any great reason to dread them as rivals.  Have I,
+Helen?'
+
+'You know I detest them both.'
+
+'And me?'
+
+'I have no reason to detest you.'
+
+'But what are your sentiments towards me?  Helen - Speak!  How do
+you regard me?'
+
+And again he pressed my hand; but I feared there was more of
+conscious power than tenderness in his demeanour, and I felt he had
+no right to extort a confession of attachment from me when he had
+made no correspondent avowal himself, and knew not what to answer.
+At last I said, - 'How do you regard me?'
+
+'Sweet angel, I adore you!  I - '
+
+'Helen, I want you a moment,' said the distinct, low voice of my
+aunt, close beside us.  And I left him, muttering maledictions
+against his evil angel.
+
+'Well, aunt, what is it?  What do you want?' said I, following her
+to the embrasure of the window.
+
+'I want you to join the company, when you are fit to be seen,'
+returned she, severely regarding me; 'but please to stay here a
+little, till that shocking colour is somewhat abated, and your eyes
+have recovered something of their natural expression.  I should be
+ashamed for anyone to see you in your present state.'
+
+Of course, such a remark had no effect in reducing the 'shocking
+colour'; on the contrary, I felt my face glow with redoubled fires
+kindled by a complication of emotions, of which indignant, swelling
+anger was the chief.  I offered no reply, however, but pushed aside
+the curtain and looked into the night - or rather into the lamp-lit
+square.
+
+'Was Mr. Huntingdon proposing to you, Helen?' inquired my too
+watchful relative.
+
+'No.'
+
+'What was he saying then?  I heard something very like it.'
+
+'I don't know what he would have said, if you hadn't interrupted
+him.'
+
+'And would you have accepted him, Helen, if he had proposed?'
+
+'Of course not - without consulting uncle and you.'
+
+'Oh!  I'm glad, my dear, you have so much prudence left.  Well,
+now,' she added, after a moment's pause, 'you have made yourself
+conspicuous enough for one evening.  The ladies are directing
+inquiring glances towards us at this moment, I see:  I shall join
+them.  Do you come too, when you are sufficiently composed to
+appear as usual.'
+
+'I am so now.'
+
+'Speak gently then, and don't look so malicious,' said my calm, but
+provoking aunt.  'We shall return home shortly, and then,' she
+added with solemn significance, 'I have much to say to you.'
+
+So I went home prepared for a formidable lecture.  Little was said
+by either party in the carriage during our short transit homewards;
+but when I had entered my room and thrown myself into an easy-
+chair, to reflect on the events of the day, my aunt followed me
+thither, and having dismissed Rachel, who was carefully stowing
+away my ornaments, closed the door; and placing a chair beside me,
+or rather at right angles with mine, sat down.  With due deference
+I offered her my more commodious seat.  She declined it, and thus
+opened the conference:  'Do you remember, Helen, our conversation
+the night but one before we left Staningley?'
+
+'Yes, aunt.'
+
+'And do you remember how I warned you against letting your heart be
+stolen from you by those unworthy of its possession, and fixing
+your affections where approbation did not go before, and where
+reason and judgment withheld their sanction?'
+
+'Yes; but my reason - '
+
+'Pardon me - and do you remember assuring me that there was no
+occasion for uneasiness on your account; for you should never be
+tempted to marry a man who was deficient in sense or principle,
+however handsome or charming in other respects he might be, for you
+could not love him; you should hate - despise - pity - anything but
+love him - were not those your words?'
+
+'Yes; but - '
+
+'And did you not say that your affection must be founded on
+approbation; and that, unless you could approve and honour and
+respect, you could not love?'
+
+'Yes; but I do approve, and honour, and respect - '
+
+'How so, my dear?  Is Mr. Huntingdon a good man?'
+
+'He is a much better man than you think him.'
+
+'That is nothing to the purpose.  Is he a good man?'
+
+'Yes - in some respects.  He has a good disposition.'
+
+'Is he a man of principle?'
+
+'Perhaps not, exactly; but it is only for want of thought.  If he
+had some one to advise him, and remind him of what is right - '
+
+'He would soon learn, you think - and you yourself would willingly
+undertake to be his teacher?  But, my dear, he is, I believe, full
+ten years older than you - how is it that you are so beforehand in
+moral acquirements?'
+
+'Thanks to you, aunt, I have been well brought up, and had good
+examples always before me, which he, most likely, has not; and,
+besides, he is of a sanguine temperament, and a gay, thoughtless
+temper, and I am naturally inclined to reflection.'
+
+'Well, now you have made him out to be deficient in both sense and
+principle, by your own confession - '
+
+'Then, my sense and my principle are at his service.'
+
+'That sounds presumptuous, Helen.  Do you think you have enough for
+both; and do you imagine your merry, thoughtless profligate would
+allow himself to be guided by a young girl like you?'
+
+'No; I should not wish to guide him; but I think I might have
+influence sufficient to save him from some errors, and I should
+think my life well spent in the effort to preserve so noble a
+nature from destruction.  He always listens attentively now when I
+speak seriously to him (and I often venture to reprove his random
+way of talking), and sometimes he says that if he had me always by
+his side he should never do or say a wicked thing, and that a
+little daily talk with me would make him quite a saint.  It may he
+partly jest and partly flattery, but still - '
+
+'But still you think it may be truth?'
+
+'If I do think there is any mixture of truth in it, it is not from
+confidence in my own powers, but in his natural goodness.  And you
+have no right to call him a profligate, aunt; he is nothing of the
+kind.'
+
+'Who told you so, my dear?  What was that story about his intrigue
+with a married lady - Lady who was it? - Miss Wilmot herself was
+telling you the other day?'
+
+'It was false - false!' I cried.  'I don't believe a word of it.'
+
+'You think, then, that he is a virtuous, well-conducted young man?'
+
+'I know nothing positive respecting his character.  I only know
+that I have heard nothing definite against it - nothing that could
+be proved, at least; and till people can prove their slanderous
+accusations, I will not believe them.  And I know this, that if he
+has committed errors, they are only such as are common to youth,
+and such as nobody thinks anything about; for I see that everybody
+likes him, and all the mammas smile upon him, and their daughters -
+and Miss Wilmot herself - are only too glad to attract his
+attention.'
+
+'Helen, the world may look upon such offences as venial; a few
+unprincipled mothers may be anxious to catch a young man of fortune
+without reference to his character; and thoughtless girls may be
+glad to win the smiles of so handsome a gentleman, without seeking
+to penetrate beyond the surface; but you, I trusted, were better
+informed than to see with their eyes, and judge with their
+perverted judgment.  I did not think you would call these venial
+errors!'
+
+'Nor do I, aunt; but if I hate the sins, I love the sinner, and
+would do much for his salvation, even supposing your suspicions to
+be mainly true, which I do not and will not believe.'
+
+'Well, my dear, ask your uncle what sort of company he keeps, and
+if he is not banded with a set of loose, profligate young men, whom
+he calls his friends, his jolly companions, and whose chief delight
+is to wallow in vice, and vie with each other who can run fastest
+and furthest down the headlong road to the place prepared for the
+devil and his angels.'
+
+'Then I will save him from them.'
+
+'Oh, Helen, Helen! you little know the misery of uniting your
+fortunes to such a man!'
+
+'I have such confidence in him, aunt, notwithstanding all you say,
+that I would willingly risk my happiness for the chance of securing
+his.  I will leave better men to those who only consider their own
+advantage.  If he has done amiss, I shall consider my life well
+spent in saving him from the consequences of his early errors, and
+striving to recall him to the path of virtue.  God grant me
+success!'
+
+Here the conversation ended, for at this juncture my uncle's voice
+was heard from his chamber, loudly calling upon my aunt to come to
+bed.  He was in a bad humour that night; for his gout was worse.
+It had been gradually increasing upon him ever since we came to
+town; and my aunt took advantage of the circumstance next morning
+to persuade him to return to the country immediately, without
+waiting for the close of the season.  His physician supported and
+enforced her arguments; and contrary to her usual habits, she so
+hurried the preparations for removal (as much for my sake as my
+uncle's, I think), that in a very few days we departed; and I saw
+no more of Mr. Huntingdon.  My aunt flatters herself I shall soon
+forget him - perhaps she thinks I have forgotten him already, for I
+never mention his name; and she may continue to think so, till we
+meet again - if ever that should be.  I wonder if it will?
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+
+
+
+August 25th. - I am now quite settled down to my usual routine of
+steady occupations and quiet amusements - tolerably contented and
+cheerful, but still looking forward to spring with the hope of
+returning to town, not for its gaieties and dissipations, but for
+the chance of meeting Mr. Huntingdon once again; for still he is
+always in my thoughts and in my dreams.  In all my employments,
+whatever I do, or see, or hear, has an ultimate reference to him;
+whatever skill or knowledge I acquire is some day to be turned to
+his advantage or amusement; whatever new beauties in nature or art
+I discover are to be depicted to meet his eye, or stored in my
+memory to be told him at some future period.  This, at least, is
+the hope that I cherish, the fancy that lights me on my lonely way.
+It may be only an ignis fatuus, after all, but it can do no harm to
+follow it with my eyes and rejoice in its lustre, as long as it
+does not lure me from the path I ought to keep; and I think it will
+not, for I have thought deeply on my aunt's advice, and I see
+clearly, now, the folly of throwing myself away on one that is
+unworthy of all the love I have to give, and incapable of
+responding to the best and deepest feelings of my inmost heart - so
+clearly, that even if I should see him again, and if he should
+remember me and love me still (which, alas! is too little probable,
+considering how he is situated, and by whom surrounded), and if he
+should ask me to marry him - I am determined not to consent until I
+know for certain whether my aunt's opinion of him or mine is
+nearest the truth; for if mine is altogether wrong, it is not he
+that I love; it is a creature of my own imagination.  But I think
+it is not wrong - no, no - there is a secret something - an inward
+instinct that assures me I am right.  There is essential goodness
+in him; - and what delight to unfold it!  If he has wandered, what
+bliss to recall him!  If he is now exposed to the baneful influence
+of corrupting and wicked companions, what glory to deliver him from
+them!  Oh! if I could but believe that Heaven has designed me for
+this!
+
+* * * * *
+
+To-day is the first of September; but my uncle has ordered the
+gamekeeper to spare the partridges till the gentlemen come.  'What
+gentlemen?' I asked when I heard it.  A small party he had invited
+to shoot.  His friend Mr. Wilmot was one, and my aunt's friend, Mr.
+Boarham, another.  This struck me as terrible news at the moment;
+but all regret and apprehension vanished like a dream when I heard
+that Mr. Huntingdon was actually to be a third!  My aunt is greatly
+against his coming, of course:  she earnestly endeavoured to
+dissuade my uncle from asking him; but he, laughing at her
+objections, told her it was no use talking, for the mischief was
+already done:  he had invited Huntingdon and his friend Lord
+Lowborough before we left London, and nothing now remained but to
+fix the day for their coming.  So he is safe, and I am sure of
+seeing him.  I cannot express my joy.  I find it very difficult to
+conceal it from my aunt; but I don't wish to trouble her with my
+feelings till I know whether I ought to indulge them or not.  If I
+find it my absolute duty to suppress them, they shall trouble no
+one but myself; and if I can really feel myself justified in
+indulging this attachment, I can dare anything, even the anger and
+grief of my best friend, for its object - surely, I shall soon
+know.  But they are not coming till about the middle of the month.
+
+We are to have two lady visitors also:  Mr. Wilmot is to bring his
+niece and her cousin Milicent.  I suppose my aunt thinks the latter
+will benefit me by her society, and the salutary example of her
+gentle deportment and lowly and tractable spirit; and the former I
+suspect she intends as a species of counter-attraction to win Mr.
+Huntingdon's attention from me.  I don't thank her for this; but I
+shall be glad of Milicent's company:  she is a sweet, good girl,
+and I wish I were like her - more like her, at least, than I am.
+
+* * * * *
+
+19th. - They are come.  They came the day before yesterday.  The
+gentlemen are all gone out to shoot, and the ladies are with my
+aunt, at work in the drawing-room.  I have retired to the library,
+for I am very unhappy, and I want to be alone.  Books cannot divert
+me; so having opened my desk, I will try what may be done by
+detailing the cause of my uneasiness.  This paper will serve
+instead of a confidential friend into whose ear I might pour forth
+the overflowings of my heart.  It will not sympathise with my
+distresses, but then it will not laugh at them, and, if I keep it
+close, it cannot tell again; so it is, perhaps, the best friend I
+could have for the purpose.
+
+First, let me speak of his arrival - how I sat at my window, and
+watched for nearly two hours, before his carriage entered the park-
+gates - for they all came before him, - and how deeply I was
+disappointed at every arrival, because it was not his.  First came
+Mr. Wilmot and the ladies.  When Milicent had got into her room, I
+quitted my post a few minutes to look in upon her and have a little
+private conversation, for she was now my intimate friend, several
+long epistles having passed between us since our parting.  On
+returning to my window, I beheld another carriage at the door.  Was
+it his?  No; it was Mr. Boarham's plain dark chariot; and there
+stood he upon the steps, carefully superintending the dislodging of
+his various boxes and packages.  What a collection!  One would have
+thought he projected a visit of six months at least.  A
+considerable time after, came Lord Lowborough in his barouche.  Is
+he one of the profligate friends, I wonder?  I should think not;
+for no one could call him a jolly companion, I'm sure, - and,
+besides, he appears too sober and gentlemanly in his demeanour to
+merit such suspicions.  He is a tall, thin, gloomy-looking man,
+apparently between thirty and forty, and of a somewhat sickly,
+careworn aspect.
+
+At last, Mr. Huntingdon's light phaeton came bowling merrily up the
+lawn.  I had but a transient glimpse of him:  for the moment it
+stopped, he sprang out over the side on to the portico steps, and
+disappeared into the house.
+
+I now submitted to be dressed for dinner - a duty which Rachel had
+been urging upon me for the last twenty minutes; and when that
+important business was completed, I repaired to the drawing-room,
+where I found Mr. and Miss Wilmot and Milicent Hargrave already
+assembled.  Shortly after, Lord Lowborough entered, and then Mr.
+Boarham, who seemed quite willing to forget and forgive my former
+conduct, and to hope that a little conciliation and steady
+perseverance on his part might yet succeed in bringing me to
+reason.  While I stood at the window, conversing with Milicent, he
+came up to me, and was beginning to talk in nearly his usual
+strain, when Mr. Huntingdon entered the room.
+
+'How will he greet me, I wonder?' said my bounding heart; and,
+instead of advancing to meet him, I turned to the window to hide or
+subdue my emotion.  But having saluted his host and hostess, and
+the rest of the company, he came to me, ardently squeezed my hand,
+and murmured he was glad to see me once again.  At that moment
+dinner was announced:  my aunt desired him to take Miss Hargrave
+into the dining-room, and odious Mr. Wilmot, with unspeakable
+grimaces, offered his arm to me; and I was condemned to sit between
+himself and Mr. Boarham.  But afterwards, when we were all again
+assembled in the drawing-room, I was indemnified for so much
+suffering by a few delightful minutes of conversation with Mr.
+Huntingdon.
+
+In the course of the evening, Miss Wilmot was called upon to sing
+and play for the amusement of the company, and I to exhibit my
+drawings, and, though he likes music, and she is an accomplished
+musician, I think I am right in affirming, that he paid more
+attention to my drawings than to her music.
+
+So far so good; - but hearing him pronounce, sotto voce, but with
+peculiar emphasis, concerning one of the pieces, 'This is better
+than all!' - I looked up, curious to see which it was, and, to my
+horror, beheld him complacently gazing at the back of the picture:-
+it was his own face that I had sketched there and forgotten to rub
+out!  To make matters worse, in the agony of the moment, I
+attempted to snatch it from his hand; but he prevented me, and
+exclaiming, 'No - by George, I'll keep it!' placed it against his
+waistcoat and buttoned his coat upon it with a delighted chuckle.
+
+Then, drawing a candle close to his elbow, he gathered all the
+drawings to himself, as well what he had seen as the others, and
+muttering, 'I must look at both sides now,' he eagerly commenced an
+examination, which I watched, at first, with tolerable composure,
+in the confidence that his vanity would not be gratified by any
+further discoveries; for, though I must plead guilty to having
+disfigured the backs of several with abortive attempts to delineate
+that too fascinating physiognomy, I was sure that, with that one
+unfortunate exception, I had carefully obliterated all such
+witnesses of my infatuation.  But the pencil frequently leaves an
+impression upon cardboard that no amount of rubbing can efface.
+Such, it seems, was the case with most of these; and, I confess, I
+trembled when I saw him holding them so close to the candle, and
+poring so intently over the seeming blanks; but still, I trusted,
+he would not be able to make out these dim traces to his own
+satisfaction.  I was mistaken, however.  Having ended his scrutiny,
+he quietly remarked, - 'I perceive the backs of young ladies'
+drawings, like the postscripts of their letters, are the most
+important and interesting part of the concern.'
+
+Then, leaning back in his chair, he reflected a few minutes in
+silence, complacently smiling to himself, and while I was
+concocting some cutting speech wherewith to check his
+gratification, he rose, and passing over to where Annabella Wilmot
+sat vehemently coquetting with Lord Lowborough, seated himself on
+the sofa beside her, and attached himself to her for the rest of
+the evening.
+
+'So then,' thought I, 'he despises me, because he knows I love
+him.'
+
+And the reflection made me so miserable I knew not what to do.
+Milicent came and began to admire my drawings, and make remarks
+upon them; but I could not talk to her - I could talk to no one,
+and, upon the introduction of tea, I took advantage of the open
+door and the slight diversion caused by its entrance to slip out -
+for I was sure I could not take any - and take refuge in the
+library.  My aunt sent Thomas in quest of me, to ask if I were not
+coming to tea; but I bade him say I should not take any to-night,
+and, happily, she was too much occupied with her guests to make any
+further inquiries at the time.
+
+As most of the company had travelled far that day, they retired
+early to rest; and having heard them all, as I thought, go up-
+stairs, I ventured out, to get my candlestick from the drawing-room
+sideboard.  But Mr. Huntingdon had lingered behind the rest.  He
+was just at the foot of the stairs when I opened the door, and
+hearing my step in the hall - though I could hardly hear it myself
+- he instantly turned back.
+
+'Helen, is that you?' said he.  'Why did you run away from us?'
+
+'Good-night, Mr. Huntingdon,' said I, coldly, not choosing to
+answer the question.  And I turned away to enter the drawing-room.
+
+'But you'll shake hands, won't you?' said he, placing himself in
+the doorway before me.  And he seized my hand and held it, much
+against my will.
+
+'Let me go, Mr. Huntingdon,' said I.  'I want to get a candle.'
+
+'The candle will keep,' returned he.
+
+I made a desperate effort to free my hand from his grasp.
+
+'Why are you in such a hurry to leave me, Helen?' he said, with a
+smile of the most provoking self-sufficiency.  'You don't hate me,
+you know.'
+
+'Yes, I do - at this moment.'
+
+'Not you.  It is Annabella Wilmot you hate, not me.'
+
+'I have nothing to do with Annabella Wilmot,' said I, burning with
+indignation.
+
+'But I have, you know,' returned he, with peculiar emphasis.
+
+'That is nothing to me, sir,' I retorted.
+
+'Is it nothing to you, Helen?  Will you swear it?  Will you?'
+
+'No I won't, Mr. Huntingdon! and I will go,' cried I, not knowing
+whether to laugh, or to cry, or to break out into a tempest of
+fury.
+
+'Go, then, you vixen!' he said; but the instant he released my hand
+he had the audacity to put his arm round my neck, and kiss me.
+
+Trembling with anger and agitation, and I don't know what besides,
+I broke away, and got my candle, and rushed up-stairs to my room.
+He would not have done so but for that hateful picture.  And there
+he had it still in his possession, an eternal monument to his pride
+and my humiliation.
+
+It was but little sleep I got that night, and in the morning I rose
+perplexed and troubled with the thoughts of meeting him at
+breakfast.  I knew not how it was to be done.  An assumption of
+dignified, cold indifference would hardly do, after what he knew of
+my devotion - to his face, at least.  Yet something must be done to
+check his presumption - I would not submit to be tyrannised over by
+those bright, laughing eyes.  And, accordingly, I received his
+cheerful morning salutation as calmly and coldly as my aunt could
+have wished, and defeated with brief answers his one or two
+attempts to draw me into conversation, while I comported myself
+with unusual cheerfulness and complaisance towards every other
+member of the party, especially Annabella Wilmot, and even her
+uncle and Mr. Boarham were treated with an extra amount of civility
+on the occasion, not from any motives of coquetry, but just to show
+him that my particular coolness and reserve arose from no general
+ill-humour or depression of spirits.
+
+He was not, however, to be repelled by such acting as this.  He did
+not talk much to me, but when he did speak it was with a degree of
+freedom and openness, and kindliness too, that plainly seemed to
+intimate he knew his words were music to my ears; and when his
+looks met mine it was with a smile - presumptuous, it might be -
+but oh! so sweet, so bright, so genial, that I could not possibly
+retain my anger; every vestige of displeasure soon melted away
+beneath it like morning clouds before the summer sun.
+
+Soon after breakfast all the gentlemen save one, with boyish
+eagerness, set out on their expedition against the hapless
+partridges; my uncle and Mr. Wilmot on their shooting ponies, Mr.
+Huntingdon and Lord Lowborough on their legs:  the one exception
+being Mr. Boarham, who, in consideration of the rain that had
+fallen during the night, thought it prudent to remain behind a
+little and join them in a while when the sun had dried the grass.
+And he favoured us all with a long and minute disquisition upon the
+evils and dangers attendant upon damp feet, delivered with the most
+imperturbable gravity, amid the jeers and laughter of Mr.
+Huntingdon and my uncle, who, leaving the prudent sportsman to
+entertain the ladies with his medical discussions, sallied forth
+with their guns, bending their steps to the stables first, to have
+a look at the horses and let out the dogs.
+
+Not desirous of sharing Mr. Boarham's company for the whole of the
+morning, I betook myself to the library, and there brought forth my
+easel and began to paint.  The easel and the painting apparatus
+would serve as an excuse for abandoning the drawing-room if my aunt
+should come to complain of the desertion, and besides I wanted to
+finish the picture.  It was one I had taken great pains with, and I
+intended it to be my masterpiece, though it was somewhat
+presumptuous in the design.  By the bright azure of the sky, and by
+the warm and brilliant lights and deep long shadows, I had
+endeavoured to convey the idea of a sunny morning.  I had ventured
+to give more of the bright verdure of spring or early summer to the
+grass and foliage than is commonly attempted in painting.  The
+scene represented was an open glade in a wood.  A group of dark
+Scotch firs was introduced in the middle distance to relieve the
+prevailing freshness of the rest; but in the foreground was part of
+the gnarled trunk and of the spreading boughs of a large forest-
+tree, whose foliage was of a brilliant golden green - not golden
+from autumnal mellowness, but from the sunshine and the very
+immaturity of the scarce expanded leaves.  Upon this bough, that
+stood out in bold relief against the sombre firs, were seated an
+amorous pair of turtle doves, whose soft sad-coloured plumage
+afforded a contrast of another nature; and beneath it a young girl
+was kneeling on the daisy-spangled turf, with head thrown back and
+masses of fair hair falling on her shoulders, her hands clasped,
+lips parted, and eyes intently gazing upward in pleased yet earnest
+contemplation of those feathered lovers - too deeply absorbed in
+each other to notice her.
+
+I had scarcely settled to my work, which, however, wanted but a few
+touches to the finishing, when the sportsmen passed the window on
+their return from the stables.  It was partly open, and Mr.
+Huntingdon must have seen me as he went by, for in half a minute he
+came back, and setting his gun against the wall, threw up the sash
+and sprang in, and set himself before my picture.
+
+'Very pretty, i'faith,' said he, after attentively regarding it for
+a few seconds; 'and a very fitting study for a young lady.  Spring
+just opening into summer - morning just approaching noon - girlhood
+just ripening into womanhood, and hope just verging on fruition.
+She's a sweet creature! but why didn't you make her black hair?'
+
+'I thought light hair would suit her better.  You see I have made
+her blue-eyed and plump, and fair and rosy.'
+
+'Upon my word - a very Hebe!  I should fall in love with her if I
+hadn't the artist before me.  Sweet innocent! she's thinking there
+will come a time when she will be wooed and won like that pretty
+hen-dove by as fond and fervent a lover; and she's thinking how
+pleasant it will be, and how tender and faithful he will find her.'
+
+'And perhaps,' suggested I, 'how tender and faithful she shall find
+him.'
+
+'Perhaps, for there is no limit to the wild extravagance of Hope's
+imaginings at such an age.'
+
+'Do you call that, then, one of her wild, extravagant delusions?'
+
+'No; my heart tells me it is not.  I might have thought so once,
+but now, I say, give me the girl I love, and I will swear eternal
+constancy to her and her alone, through summer and winter, through
+youth and age, and life and death! if age and death must come.'
+
+He spoke this in such serious earnest that my heart bounded with
+delight; but the minute after he changed his tone, and asked, with
+a significant smile, if I had 'any more portraits.'
+
+'No,' replied I, reddening with confusion and wrath.
+
+But my portfolio was on the table:  he took it up, and coolly sat
+down to examine its contents.
+
+'Mr. Huntingdon, those are my unfinished sketches,' cried I, 'and I
+never let any one see them.'
+
+And I placed my hand on the portfolio to wrest it from him, but he
+maintained his hold, assuring me that he 'liked unfinished sketches
+of all things.'
+
+'But I hate them to be seen,' returned I.  'I can't let you have
+it, indeed!'
+
+'Let me have its bowels then,' said he; and just as I wrenched the
+portfolio from his hand, he deftly abstracted the greater part of
+its contents, and after turning them over a moment he cried out, -
+'Bless my stars, here's another;' and slipped a small oval of ivory
+paper into his waistcoat pocket - a complete miniature portrait
+that I had sketched with such tolerable success as to be induced to
+colour it with great pains and care.  But I was determined he
+should not keep it.
+
+'Mr. Huntingdon,' cried I, 'I insist upon having that back!  It is
+mine, and you have no right to take it.  Give it me directly - I'll
+never forgive you if you don't!'
+
+But the more vehemently I insisted, the more he aggravated my
+distress by his insulting, gleeful laugh.  At length, however, he
+restored it to me, saying, - 'Well, well, since you value it so
+much, I'll not deprive you of it.'
+
+To show him how I valued it, I tore it in two and threw it into the
+fire.  He was not prepared for this.  His merriment suddenly
+ceasing, he stared in mute amazement at the consuming treasure; and
+then, with a careless 'Humph! I'll go and shoot now,' he turned on
+his heel and vacated the apartment by the window as he came, and
+setting on his hat with an air, took up his gun and walked away,
+whistling as he went - and leaving me not too much agitated to
+finish my picture, for I was glad, at the moment, that I had vexed
+him.
+
+When I returned to the drawing-room, I found Mr. Boarham had
+ventured to follow his comrades to the field; and shortly after
+lunch, to which they did not think of returning, I volunteered to
+accompany the ladies in a walk, and show Annabella and Milicent the
+beauties of the country.  We took a long ramble, and re-entered the
+park just as the sportsmen were returning from their expedition.
+Toil-spent and travel-stained, the main body of them crossed over
+the grass to avoid us, but Mr. Huntingdon, all spattered and
+splashed as he was, and stained with the blood of his prey - to the
+no small offence of my aunt's strict sense of propriety - came out
+of his way to meet us, with cheerful smiles and words for all but
+me, and placing himself between Annabella Wilmot and myself, walked
+up the road and began to relate the various exploits and disasters
+of the day, in a manner that would have convulsed me with laughter
+if I had been on good terms with him; but he addressed himself
+entirely to Annabella, and I, of course, left all the laughter and
+all the badinage to her, and affecting the utmost indifference to
+whatever passed between them, walked along a few paces apart, and
+looking every way but theirs, while my aunt and Milicent went
+before, linked arm in arm and gravely discoursing together.  At
+length Mr. Huntingdon turned to me, and addressing me in a
+confidential whisper, said, - 'Helen, why did you burn my picture?'
+
+'Because I wished to destroy it,' I answered, with an asperity it
+is useless now to lament.
+
+'Oh, very good!' was the reply; 'if you don't value me, I must turn
+to somebody that will.'
+
+I thought it was partly in jest - a half-playful mixture of mock
+resignation and pretended indifference:  but immediately he resumed
+his place beside Miss Wilmot, and from that hour to this - during
+all that evening, and all the next day, and the next, and the next,
+and all this morning (the 22nd), he has never given me one kind
+word or one pleasant look - never spoken to me, but from pure
+necessity - never glanced towards me but with a cold, unfriendly
+look I thought him quite incapable of assuming.
+
+My aunt observes the change, and though she has not inquired the
+cause or made any remark to me on the subject, I see it gives her
+pleasure.  Miss Wilmot observes it, too, and triumphantly ascribes
+it to her own superior charms and blandishments; but I am truly
+miserable - more so than I like to acknowledge to myself.  Pride
+refuses to aid me.  It has brought me into the scrape, and will not
+help me out of it.
+
+He meant no harm - it was only his joyous, playful spirit; and I,
+by my acrimonious resentment - so serious, so disproportioned to
+the offence - have so wounded his feelings, so deeply offended him,
+that I fear he will never forgive me - and all for a mere jest!  He
+thinks I dislike him, and he must continue to think so.  I must
+lose him for ever, and Annabella may win him, and triumph as she
+will.
+
+But it is not my loss nor her triumph that I deplore so greatly as
+the wreck of my fond hopes for his advantage, and her unworthiness
+of his affection, and the injury he will do himself by trusting his
+happiness to her.  She does not love him:  she thinks only of
+herself.  She cannot appreciate the good that is in him:  she will
+neither see it, nor value it, nor cherish it.  She will neither
+deplore his faults nor attempt their amendment, but rather
+aggravate them by her own.  And I doubt whether she will not
+deceive him after all.  I see she is playing double between him and
+Lord Lowborough, and while she amuses herself with the lively
+Huntingdon, she tries her utmost to enslave his moody friend; and
+should she succeed in bringing both to her feet, the fascinating
+commoner will have but little chance against the lordly peer.  If
+he observes her artful by-play, it gives him no uneasiness, but
+rather adds new zest to his diversion by opposing a stimulating
+check to his otherwise too easy conquest.
+
+Messrs. Wilmot and Boarham have severally taken occasion by his
+neglect of me to renew their advances; and if I were like Annabella
+and some others I should take advantage of their perseverance to
+endeavour to pique him into a revival of affection; but, justice
+and honesty apart, I could not bear to do it.  I am annoyed enough
+by their present persecutions without encouraging them further; and
+even if I did it would have precious little effect upon him.  He
+sees me suffering under the condescending attentions and prosaic
+discourses of the one, and the repulsive obtrusions of the other,
+without so much as a shadow of commiseration for me, or resentment
+against my tormentors.  He never could have loved me, or he would
+not have resigned me so willingly, and he would not go on talking
+to everybody else so cheerfully as he does - laughing and jesting
+with Lord Lowborough and my uncle, teasing Milicent Hargrave, and
+flirting with Annabella Wilmot - as if nothing were on his mind.
+Oh! why can't I hate him?  I must be infatuated, or I should scorn
+to regret him as I do.  But I must rally all the powers I have
+remaining, and try to tear him from my heart.  There goes the
+dinner-bell, and here comes my aunt to scold me for sitting here at
+my desk all day, instead of staying with the company:  wish the
+company were - gone.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX
+
+
+
+Twenty Second:  Night. - What have I done? and what will be the end
+of it?  I cannot calmly reflect upon it; I cannot sleep.  I must
+have recourse to my diary again; I will commit it to paper to-
+night, and see what I shall think of it to-morrow.
+
+I went down to dinner resolving to be cheerful and well-conducted,
+and kept my resolution very creditably, considering how my head
+ached and how internally wretched I felt.  I don't know what is
+come over me of late; my very energies, both mental and physical,
+must be strangely impaired, or I should not have acted so weakly in
+many respects as I have done; but I have not been well this last
+day or two.  I suppose it is with sleeping and eating so little,
+and thinking so much, and being so continually out of humour.  But
+to return.  I was exerting myself to sing and play for the
+amusement, and at the request, of my aunt and Milicent, before the
+gentlemen came into the drawing-room (Miss Wilmot never likes to
+waste her musical efforts on ladies' ears alone).  Milicent had
+asked for a little Scotch song, and I was just in the middle of it
+when they entered.  The first thing Mr. Huntingdon did was to walk
+up to Annabella.
+
+'Now, Miss Wilmot, won't you give us some music to-night?' said he.
+'Do now!  I know you will, when I tell you that I have been
+hungering and thirsting all day for the sound of your voice.  Come!
+the piano's vacant.'
+
+It was, for I had quitted it immediately upon hearing his petition.
+Had I been endowed with a proper degree of self-possession, I
+should have turned to the lady myself, and cheerfully joined my
+entreaties to his, whereby I should have disappointed his
+expectations, if the affront had been purposely given, or made him
+sensible of the wrong, if it had only arisen from thoughtlessness;
+but I felt it too deeply to do anything but rise from the music-
+stool, and throw myself back on the sofa, suppressing with
+difficulty the audible expression of the bitterness I felt within.
+I knew Annabella's musical talents were superior to mine, but that
+was no reason why I should be treated as a perfect nonentity.  The
+time and the manner of his asking her appeared like a gratuitous
+insult to me; and I could have wept with pure vexation.
+
+Meantime, she exultingly seated herself at the piano, and favoured
+him with two of his favourite songs, in such superior style that
+even I soon lost my anger in admiration, and listened with a sort
+of gloomy pleasure to the skilful modulations of her full-toned and
+powerful voice, so judiciously aided by her rounded and spirited
+touch; and while my ears drank in the sound, my eyes rested on the
+face of her principal auditor, and derived an equal or superior
+delight from the contemplation of his speaking countenance, as he
+stood beside her - that eye and brow lighted up with keen
+enthusiasm, and that sweet smile passing and appearing like gleams
+of sunshine on an April day.  No wonder he should hunger and thirst
+to hear her sing.  I now forgave him from my heart his reckless
+slight of me, and I felt ashamed at my pettish resentment of such a
+trifle - ashamed too of those bitter envious pangs that gnawed my
+inmost heart, in spite of all this admiration and delight.
+
+'There now,' said she, playfully running her fingers over the keys
+when she had concluded the second song.  'What shall I give you
+next?'
+
+But in saying this she looked back at Lord Lowborough, who was
+standing a little behind, leaning against the back of a chair, an
+attentive listener, too, experiencing, to judge by his countenance,
+much the same feelings of mingled pleasure and sadness as I did.
+But the look she gave him plainly said, 'Do you choose for me now:
+I have done enough for him, and will gladly exert myself to gratify
+you;' and thus encouraged, his lordship came forward, and turning
+over the music, presently set before her a little song that I had
+noticed before, and read more than once, with an interest arising
+from the circumstance of my connecting it in my mind with the
+reigning tyrant of my thoughts.  And now, with my nerves already
+excited and half unstrung, I could not hear those words so sweetly
+warbled forth without some symptoms of emotion I was not able to
+suppress.  Tears rose unbidden to my eyes, and I buried my face in
+the sofa-pillow that they might flow unseen while I listened.  The
+air was simple, sweet, and sad.  It is still running in my head,
+and so are the words:-
+
+
+Farewell to thee! but not farewell
+To all my fondest thoughts of thee:
+Within my heart they still shall dwell;
+And they shall cheer and comfort me.
+
+O beautiful, and full of grace!
+If thou hadst never met mine eye,
+I had not dreamed a living face
+Could fancied charms so far outvie.
+
+If I may ne'er behold again
+That form and face so dear to me,
+Nor hear thy voice, still would I fain
+Preserve, for aye, their memory.
+
+That voice, the magic of whose tone
+Can wake an echo in my breast,
+Creating feelings that, alone,
+Can make my tranced spirit blest.
+
+That laughing eye, whose sunny beam
+My memory would not cherish less; -
+And oh, that smile!  I whose joyous gleam
+No mortal languish can express.
+
+Adieu! but let me cherish, still,
+The hope with which I cannot part.
+Contempt may wound, and coldness chill,
+But still it lingers in my heart.
+
+And who can tell but Heaven, at last,
+May answer all my thousand prayers,
+And bid the future pay the past
+With joy for anguish, smiles for tears.
+
+
+When it ceased, I longed for nothing so much as to be out of the
+room.  The sofa was not far from the door, but I did not dare to
+raise my head, for I knew Mr. Huntingdon was standing near me, and
+I knew by the sound of his voice, as he spoke in answer to some
+remark of Lord Lowborough's, that his face was turned towards me.
+Perhaps a half-suppressed sob had caught his ear, and caused him to
+look round - heaven forbid!  But with a violent effort, I checked
+all further signs of weakness, dried my tears, and, when I thought
+he had turned away again, rose, and instantly left the apartment,
+taking refuge in my favourite resort, the library.
+
+There was no light there but the faint red glow of the neglected
+fire; - but I did not want a light; I only wanted to indulge my
+thoughts, unnoticed and undisturbed; and sitting down on a low
+stool before the easy-chair, I sunk my head upon its cushioned
+seat, and thought, and thought, until the tears gushed out again,
+and I wept like any child.  Presently, however, the door was gently
+opened and someone entered the room.  I trusted it was only a
+servant, and did not stir.  The door was closed again - but I was
+not alone; a hand gently touched my shoulder, and a voice said,
+softly, - 'Helen, what is the matter?'
+
+I could not answer at the moment.
+
+'You must, and shall tell me,' was added, more vehemently, and the
+speaker threw himself on his knees beside me on the rug, and
+forcibly possessed himself of my hand; but I hastily caught it
+away, and replied, - 'It is nothing to you, Mr. Huntingdon.'
+
+'Are you sure it is nothing to me?' he returned; 'can you swear
+that you were not thinking of me while you wept?'  This was
+unendurable.  I made an effort to rise, but he was kneeling on my
+dress.
+
+'Tell me,' continued he - 'I want to know, - because if you were, I
+have something to say to you, - and if not, I'll go.'
+
+'Go then!' I cried; but, fearing he would obey too well, and never
+come again, I hastily added - 'Or say what you have to say, and
+have done with it!'
+
+'But which?' said he - 'for I shall only say it if you really were
+thinking of me.  So tell me, Helen.'
+
+'You're excessively impertinent, Mr. Huntingdon!'
+
+'Not at all - too pertinent, you mean.  So you won't tell me? -
+Well, I'll spare your woman's pride, and, construing your silence
+into "Yes," I'll take it for granted that I was the subject of your
+thoughts, and the cause of your affliction - '
+
+'Indeed, sir - '
+
+'If you deny it, I won't tell you my secret,' threatened he; and I
+did not interrupt him again, or even attempt to repulse him:
+though he had taken my hand once more, and half embraced me with
+his other arm, I was scarcely conscious of it at the time.
+
+'It is this,' resumed he:  'that Annabella Wilmot, in comparison
+with you, is like a flaunting peony compared with a sweet, wild
+rosebud gemmed with dew - and I love you to distraction! - Now,
+tell me if that intelligence gives you any pleasure.  Silence
+again?  That means yes.  Then let me add, that I cannot live
+without you, and if you answer No to this last question, you will
+drive me mad. - Will you bestow yourself upon me? - you will!' he
+cried, nearly squeezing me to death in his arms.
+
+'No, no!' I exclaimed, struggling to free myself from him - 'you
+must ask my uncle and aunt.'
+
+'They won't refuse me, if you don't.'
+
+'I'm not so sure of that - my aunt dislikes you.'
+
+'But you don't, Helen - say you love me, and I'll go.'
+
+'I wish you would go!' I replied.
+
+'I will, this instant, - if you'll only say you love me.'
+
+'You know I do,' I answered.  And again he caught me in his arms,
+and smothered me with kisses.
+
+At that moment my aunt opened wide the door, and stood before us,
+candle in hand, in shocked and horrified amazement, gazing
+alternately at Mr. Huntingdon and me - for we had both started up,
+and now stood wide enough asunder.  But his confusion was only for
+a moment.  Rallying in an instant, with the most enviable
+assurance, he began, - 'I beg ten thousand pardons, Mrs. Maxwell!
+Don't be too severe upon me.  I've been asking your sweet niece to
+take me for better, for worse; and she, like a good girl, informs
+me she cannot think of it without her uncle's and aunt's consent.
+So let me implore you not to condemn me to eternal wretchedness:
+if you favour my cause, I am safe; for Mr. Maxwell, I am certain,
+can refuse you nothing.'
+
+'We will talk of this to-morrow, sir,' said my aunt, coldly.  'It
+is a subject that demands mature and serious deliberation.  At
+present, you had better return to the drawing-room.'
+
+'But meantime,' pleaded he, 'let me commend my cause to your most
+indulgent - '
+
+'No indulgence for you, Mr. Huntingdon, must come between me and
+the consideration of my niece's happiness.'
+
+'Ah, true!  I know she is an angel, and I am a presumptuous dog to
+dream of possessing such a treasure; but, nevertheless, I would
+sooner die than relinquish her in favour of the best man that ever
+went to heaven - and as for her happiness, I would sacrifice my
+body and soul - '
+
+'Body and soul, Mr. Huntingdon - sacrifice your soul?'
+
+'Well, I would lay down life - '
+
+'You would not be required to lay it down.'
+
+'I would spend it, then - devote my life - and all its powers to
+the promotion and preservation - '
+
+'Another time, sir, we will talk of this - and I should have felt
+disposed to judge more favourably of your pretensions, if you too
+had chosen another time and place, and let me add - another manner
+for your declaration.'
+
+'Why, you see, Mrs. Maxwell,' he began -
+
+'Pardon me, sir,' said she, with dignity - 'The company are
+inquiring for you in the other room.'  And she turned to me.
+
+'Then you must plead for me, Helen,' said he, and at length
+withdrew.
+
+'You had better retire to your room, Helen,' said my aunt, gravely.
+'I will discuss this matter with you, too, to-morrow.'
+
+'Don't be angry, aunt,' said I.
+
+'My dear, I am not angry,' she replied:  'I am surprised.  If it is
+true that you told him you could not accept his offer without our
+consent - '
+
+'It is true,' interrupted I.
+
+'Then how could you permit -?'
+
+'I couldn't help it, aunt,' I cried, bursting into tears.  They
+were not altogether the tears of sorrow, or of fear for her
+displeasure, but rather the outbreak of the general tumultuous
+excitement of my feelings.  But my good aunt was touched at my
+agitation.  In a softer tone, she repeated her recommendation to
+retire, and, gently kissing my forehead, bade me good-night, and
+put her candle in my hand; and I went; but my brain worked so, I
+could not think of sleeping.  I feel calmer now that I have written
+all this; and I will go to bed, and try to win tired nature's sweet
+restorer.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX
+
+
+
+September 24th. - In the morning I rose, light and cheerful - nay,
+intensely happy.  The hovering cloud cast over me by my aunt's
+views, and by the fear of not obtaining her consent, was lost in
+the bright effulgence of my own hopes, and the too delightful
+consciousness of requited love.  It was a splendid morning; and I
+went out to enjoy it, in a quiet ramble, in company with my own
+blissful thoughts.  The dew was on the grass, and ten thousand
+gossamers were waving in the breeze; the happy red-breast was
+pouring out its little soul in song, and my heart overflowed with
+silent hymns of gratitude and praise to heaven.
+
+But I had not wandered far before my solitude was interrupted by
+the only person that could have disturbed my musings, at that
+moment, without being looked upon as an unwelcome intruder:  Mr.
+Huntingdon came suddenly upon me.  So unexpected was the
+apparition, that I might have thought it the creation of an over-
+excited imagination, had the sense of sight alone borne witness to
+his presence; but immediately I felt his strong arm round my waist
+and his warm kiss on my cheek, while his keen and gleeful
+salutation, 'My own Helen!' was ringing in my ear.
+
+'Not yours yet!' said I, hastily swerving aside from this too
+presumptuous greeting.  'Remember my guardians.  You will not
+easily obtain my aunt's consent.  Don't you see she is prejudiced
+against you?'
+
+'I do, dearest; and you must tell me why, that I may best know how
+to combat her objections.  I suppose she thinks I am a prodigal,'
+pursued he, observing that I was unwilling to reply, 'and concludes
+that I shall have but little worldly goods wherewith to endow my
+better half?  If so, you must tell her that my property is mostly
+entailed, and I cannot get rid of it.  There may be a few mortgages
+on the rest - a few trifling debts and incumbrances here and there,
+but nothing to speak of; and though I acknowledge I am not so rich
+as I might be - or have been - still, I think, we could manage
+pretty comfortably on what's left.  My father, you know, was
+something of a miser, and in his latter days especially saw no
+pleasure in life but to amass riches; and so it is no wonder that
+his son should make it his chief delight to spend them, which was
+accordingly the case, until my acquaintance with you, dear Helen,
+taught me other views and nobler aims.  And the very idea of having
+you to care for under my roof would force me to moderate my
+expenses and live like a Christian - not to speak of all the
+prudence and virtue you would instil into my mind by your wise
+counsels and sweet, attractive goodness.'
+
+'But it is not that,' said I; 'it is not money my aunt thinks
+about.  She knows better than to value worldly wealth above its
+price.'
+
+'What is it, then?'
+
+'She wishes me to - to marry none but a really good man.'
+
+'What, a man of "decided piety"? - ahem! - Well, come, I'll manage
+that too!  It's Sunday to-day, isn't it?  I'll go to church
+morning, afternoon, and evening, and comport myself in such a godly
+sort that she shall regard me with admiration and sisterly love, as
+a brand plucked from the burning.  I'll come home sighing like a
+furnace, and full of the savour and unction of dear Mr. Blatant's
+discourse - '
+
+'Mr. Leighton,' said I, dryly.
+
+'Is Mr. Leighton a "sweet preacher," Helen - a "dear, delightful,
+heavenly-minded man"?'
+
+'He is a good man, Mr. Huntingdon.  I wish I could say half as much
+for you.'
+
+'Oh, I forgot, you are a saint, too.  I crave your pardon, dearest
+- but don't call me Mr. Huntingdon; my name is Arthur.'
+
+'I'll call you nothing - for I'll have nothing at all to do with
+you if you talk in that way any more.  If you really mean to
+deceive my aunt as you say, you are very wicked; and if not, you
+are very wrong to jest on such a subject.'
+
+'I stand corrected,' said he, concluding his laugh with a sorrowful
+sigh.  'Now,' resumed he, after a momentary pause, 'let us talk
+about something else.  And come nearer to me, Helen, and take my
+arm; and then I'll let you alone.  I can't be quiet while I see you
+walking there.'
+
+I complied; but said we must soon return to the house.
+
+'No one will be down to breakfast yet, for long enough,' he
+answered.  'You spoke of your guardians just now, Helen, but is not
+your father still living?'
+
+'Yes, but I always look upon my uncle and aunt as my guardians, for
+they are so in deed, though not in name.  My father has entirely
+given me up to their care.  I have never seen him since dear mamma
+died, when I was a very little girl, and my aunt, at her request,
+offered to take charge of me, and took me away to Staningley, where
+I have remained ever since; and I don't think he would object to
+anything for me that she thought proper to sanction.'
+
+'But would he sanction anything to which she thought proper to
+object?'
+
+'No, I don't think he cares enough about me.'
+
+'He is very much to blame - but he doesn't know what an angel he
+has for his daughter - which is all the better for me, as, if he
+did, he would not be willing to part with such a treasure.'
+
+'And Mr. Huntingdon,' said I, 'I suppose you know I am not an
+heiress?'
+
+He protested he had never given it a thought, and begged I would
+not disturb his present enjoyment by the mention of such
+uninteresting subjects.  I was glad of this proof of disinterested
+affection; for Annabella Wilmot is the probable heiress to all her
+uncle's wealth, in addition to her late father's property, which
+she has already in possession.
+
+I now insisted upon retracing our steps to the house; but we walked
+slowly, and went on talking as we proceeded.  I need not repeat all
+we said:  let me rather refer to what passed between my aunt and
+me, after breakfast, when Mr. Huntingdon called my uncle aside, no
+doubt to make his proposals, and she beckoned me into another room,
+where she once more commenced a solemn remonstrance, which,
+however, entirely failed to convince me that her view of the case
+was preferable to my own.
+
+'You judge him uncharitably, aunt, I know,' said I.  'His very
+friends are not half so bad as you represent them.  There is Walter
+Hargrave, Milicent's brother, for one:  he is but a little lower
+than the angels, if half she says of him is true.  She is
+continually talking to me about him, and lauding his many virtues
+to the skies.'
+
+'You will form a very inadequate estimate of a man's character,'
+replied she, 'if you judge by what a fond sister says of him.  The
+worst of them generally know how to hide their misdeeds from their
+sisters' eyes, and their mother's, too.'
+
+'And there is Lord Lowborough,' continued I, 'quite a decent man.'
+
+'Who told you so?  Lord Lowborough is a desperate man.  He has
+dissipated his fortune in gambling and other things, and is now
+seeking an heiress to retrieve it.  I told Miss Wilmot so; but
+you're all alike:  she haughtily answered she was very much obliged
+to me, but she believed she knew when a man was seeking her for her
+fortune, and when for herself; she flattered herself she had had
+experience enough in those matters to be justified in trusting to
+her own judgment - and as for his lordship's lack of fortune, she
+cared nothing about that, as she hoped her own would suffice for
+both; and as for his wildness, she supposed he was no worse than
+others - besides, he was reformed now.  Yes, they can all play the
+hypocrite when they want to take in a fond, misguided woman!'
+
+'Well, I think he's about as good as she is,' said I.  'But when
+Mr. Huntingdon is married, he won't have many opportunities of
+consorting with his bachelor friends; - and the worse they are, the
+more I long to deliver him from them.'
+
+'To be sure, my dear; and the worse he is, I suppose, the more you
+long to deliver him from himself.'
+
+'Yes, provided he is not incorrigible - that is, the more I long to
+deliver him from his faults - to give him an opportunity of shaking
+off the adventitious evil got from contact with others worse than
+himself, and shining out in the unclouded light of his own genuine
+goodness - to do my utmost to help his better self against his
+worse, and make him what he would have been if he had not, from the
+beginning, had a bad, selfish, miserly father, who, to gratify his
+own sordid passions, restricted him in the most innocent enjoyments
+of childhood and youth, and so disgusted him with every kind of
+restraint; - and a foolish mother who indulged him to the top of
+his bent, deceiving her husband for him, and doing her utmost to
+encourage those germs of folly and vice it was her duty to
+suppress, - and then, such a set of companions as you represent his
+friends to be - '
+
+'Poor man!' said she, sarcastically, 'his kind have greatly wronged
+him!'
+
+'They have!' cried I - 'and they shall wrong him no more - his wife
+shall undo what his mother did!'
+
+'Well,' said she, after a short pause, 'I must say, Helen, I
+thought better of your judgment than this - and your taste too.
+How you can love such a man I cannot tell, or what pleasure you can
+find in his company; for "what fellowship hath light with darkness;
+or he that believeth with an infidel?"'
+
+'He is not an infidel; - and I am not light, and he is not
+darkness; his worst and only vice is thoughtlessness.'
+
+'And thoughtlessness,' pursued my aunt, 'may lead to every crime,
+and will but poorly excuse our errors in the sight of God.  Mr.
+Huntingdon, I suppose, is not without the common faculties of men:
+he is not so light-headed as to be irresponsible:  his Maker has
+endowed him with reason and conscience as well as the rest of us;
+the Scriptures are open to him as well as to others; - and "if he
+hear not them, neither will he hear though one rose from the dead."
+And remember, Helen,' continued she, solemnly, '"the wicked shall
+be turned into hell, and they that forget God!"'  And suppose,
+even, that he should continue to love you, and you him, and that
+you should pass through life together with tolerable comfort - how
+will it be in the end, when you see yourselves parted for ever;
+you, perhaps, taken into eternal bliss, and he cast into the lake
+that burneth with unquenchable fire - there for ever to - '
+
+'Not for ever,' I exclaimed, '"only till he has paid the uttermost
+farthing;" for "if any man's work abide not the fire, he shall
+suffer loss, yet himself shall be saved, but so as by fire;" and He
+that "is able to subdue all things to Himself will have all men to
+be saved," and "will, in the fulness of time, gather together in
+one all things in Christ Jesus, who tasted death for every man, and
+in whom God will reconcile all things to Himself, whether they be
+things in earth or things in heaven."'
+
+'Oh, Helen! where did you learn all this?'
+
+'In the Bible, aunt.  I have searched it through, and found nearly
+thirty passages, all tending to support the same theory.'
+
+'And is that the use you make of your Bible?  And did you find no
+passages tending to prove the danger and the falsity of such a
+belief?'
+
+'No:  I found, indeed, some passages that, taken by themselves,
+might seem to contradict that opinion; but they will all bear a
+different construction to that which is commonly given, and in most
+the only difficulty is in the word which we translate "everlasting"
+or "eternal."  I don't know the Greek, but I believe it strictly
+means for ages, and might signify either endless or long-enduring.
+And as for the danger of the belief, I would not publish it abroad
+if I thought any poor wretch would be likely to presume upon it to
+his own destruction, but it is a glorious thought to cherish in
+one's own heart, and I would not part with it for all the world can
+give!'
+
+Here our conference ended, for it was now high time to prepare for
+church.  Every one attended the morning service, except my uncle,
+who hardly ever goes, and Mr. Wilmot, who stayed at home with him
+to enjoy a quiet game of cribbage.  In the afternoon Miss Wilmot
+and Lord Lowborough likewise excused themselves from attending; but
+Mr. Huntingdon vouchsafed to accompany us again.  Whether it was to
+ingratiate himself with my aunt I cannot tell, but, if so, he
+certainly should have behaved better.  I must confess, I did not
+like his conduct during service at all.  Holding his prayer-book
+upside down, or open at any place but the right, he did nothing but
+stare about him, unless he happened to catch my aunt's eye or mine,
+and then he would drop his own on his book, with a puritanical air
+of mock solemnity that would have been ludicrous, if it had not
+been too provoking.  Once, during the sermon, after attentively
+regarding Mr. Leighton for a few minutes, he suddenly produced his
+gold pencil-case and snatched up a Bible.  Perceiving that I
+observed the movement, he whispered that he was going to make a
+note of the sermon; but instead of that, as I sat next him, I could
+not help seeing that he was making a caricature of the preacher,
+giving to the respectable, pious, elderly gentleman, the air and
+aspect of a most absurd old hypocrite.  And yet, upon his return,
+he talked to my aunt about the sermon with a degree of modest,
+serious discrimination that tempted me to believe he had really
+attended to and profited by the discourse.
+
+Just before dinner my uncle called me into the library for the
+discussion of a very important matter, which was dismissed in few
+words.
+
+'Now, Nell,' said he, 'this young Huntingdon has been asking for
+you:  what must I say about it?  Your aunt would answer "no" - but
+what say you?'
+
+'I say yes, uncle,' replied I, without a moment's hesitation; for I
+had thoroughly made up my mind on the subject.
+
+'Very good!' cried he.  'Now that's a good honest answer -
+wonderful for a girl! - Well, I'll write to your father to-morrow.
+He's sure to give his consent; so you may look on the matter as
+settled.  You'd have done a deal better if you'd taken Wilmot, I
+can tell you; but that you won't believe.  At your time of life,
+it's love that rules the roast:  at mine, it's solid, serviceable
+gold.  I suppose now, you'd never dream of looking into the state
+of your husband's finances, or troubling your head about
+settlements, or anything of that sort?'
+
+'I don't think I should.'
+
+'Well, be thankful, then, that you've wiser heads to think for you.
+I haven't had time, yet, to examine thoroughly into this young
+rascal's affairs, but I see that a great part of his father's fine
+property has been squandered away; - but still, I think, there's a
+pretty fair share of it left, and a little careful nursing may make
+a handsome thing of it yet; and then we must persuade your father
+to give you a decent fortune, as he has only one besides yourself
+to care for; - and, if you behave well, who knows but what I may be
+induced to remember you in my will!' continued he, putting his
+fingers to his nose, with a knowing wink.
+
+'Thanks, uncle, for that and all your kindness,' replied I.
+
+'Well, and I questioned this young spark on the matter of
+settlements,' continued he; 'and he seemed disposed to be generous
+enough on that point - '
+
+'I knew he would!' said I.  'But pray don't trouble your head - or
+his, or mine about that; for all I have will be his, and all he has
+will be mine; and what more could either of us require?'  And I was
+about to make my exit, but he called me back.
+
+'Stop, stop!' cried he; 'we haven't mentioned the time yet.  When
+must it be?  Your aunt would put it off till the Lord knows when,
+but he is anxious to be bound as soon as may be:  he won't hear of
+waiting beyond next month; and you, I guess, will be of the same
+mind, so - '
+
+'Not at all, uncle; on the contrary, I should like to wait till
+after Christmas, at least.'
+
+'Oh! pooh, pooh! never tell me that tale - I know better,' cried
+he; and he persisted in his incredulity.  Nevertheless, it is quite
+true.  I am in no hurry at all.  How can I be, when I think of the
+momentous change that awaits me, and of all I have to leave?  It is
+happiness enough to know that we are to be united; and that he
+really loves me, and I may love him as devotedly, and think of him
+as often as I please.  However, I insisted upon consulting my aunt
+about the time of the wedding, for I determined her counsels should
+not be utterly disregarded; and no conclusions on that particular
+are come to yet.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI
+
+
+
+October 1st. - All is settled now.  My father has given his
+consent, and the time is fixed for Christmas, by a sort of
+compromise between the respective advocates for hurry and delay.
+Milicent Hargrave is to be one bridesmaid and Annabella Wilmot the
+other - not that I am particularly fond of the latter, but she is
+an intimate of the family, and I have not another friend.
+
+When I told Milicent of my engagement, she rather provoked me by
+her manner of talking it.  After staring a moment in mute surprise,
+she said, - 'Well, Helen, I suppose I ought to congratulate you -
+and I am glad to see you so happy; but I did not think you would
+take him; and I can't help feeling surprised that you should like
+him so much.'
+
+'Why so?'
+
+'Because you are so superior to him in every way, and there's
+something so bold and reckless about him - so, I don't know how -
+but I always feel a wish to get out of his way when I see him
+approach.'
+
+'You are timid, Milicent; but that's no fault of his.'
+
+'And then his look,' continued she.  'People say he's handsome, and
+of course he is; but I don't like that kind of beauty, and I wonder
+that you should.'
+
+'Why so, pray?'
+
+'Well, you know, I think there's nothing noble or lofty in his
+appearance.'
+
+'In fact, you wonder that I can like any one so unlike the stilted
+heroes of romance.  Well, give me my flesh and blood lover, and
+I'll leave all the Sir Herberts and Valentines to you - if you can
+find them.'
+
+'I don't want them,' said she.  'I'll be satisfied with flesh and
+blood too - only the spirit must shine through and predominate.
+But don't you think Mr. Huntingdon's face is too red?'
+
+'No!' cried I, indignantly.  'It is not red at all.  There is just
+a pleasant glow, a healthy freshness in his complexion - the warm,
+pinky tint of the whole harmonising with the deeper colour of the
+cheeks, exactly as it ought to do.  I hate a man to be red and
+white, like a painted doll, or all sickly white, or smoky black, or
+cadaverous yellow.'
+
+'Well, tastes differ - but I like pale or dark,' replied she.
+'But, to tell you the truth, Helen, I had been deluding myself with
+the hope that you would one day be my sister.  I expected Walter
+would be introduced to you next season; and I thought you would
+like him, and was certain he would like you; and I flattered myself
+I should thus have the felicity of seeing the two persons I like
+best in the world - except mamma - united in one.  He mayn't be
+exactly what you would call handsome, but he's far more
+distinguished-looking, and nicer and better than Mr. Huntingdon; -
+and I'm sure you would say so, if you knew him.'
+
+'Impossible, Milicent!  You think so, because you're his sister;
+and, on that account, I'll forgive you; but nobody else should so
+disparage Arthur Huntingdon to me with impunity.'
+
+Miss Wilmot expressed her feelings on the subject almost as openly.
+
+'And so, Helen,' said she, coming up to me with a smile of no
+amiable import, 'you are to be Mrs. Huntingdon, I suppose?'
+
+'Yes,' replied I.  'Don't you envy me?'
+
+'Oh, dear, no!' she exclaimed.  'I shall probably be Lady
+Lowborough some day, and then you know, dear, I shall be in a
+capacity to inquire, "Don't you envy me?"'
+
+'Henceforth I shall envy no one,' returned I.
+
+'Indeed!  Are you so happy then?' said she, thoughtfully; and
+something very like a cloud of disappointment shadowed her face.
+'And does he love you - I mean, does he idolise you as much as you
+do him?' she added, fixing her eyes upon me with ill-disguised
+anxiety for the reply.
+
+'I don't want to be idolised,' I answered; 'but I am well assured
+that he loves me more than anybody else in the world - as I do
+him.'
+
+'Exactly,' said she, with a nod.  'I wish - ' she paused.
+
+'What do you wish?' asked I, annoyed at the vindictive expression
+of her countenance.
+
+'I wish,' returned, she, with a short laugh, 'that all the
+attractive points and desirable qualifications of the two gentlemen
+were united in one - that Lord Lowborough had Huntingdon's handsome
+face and good temper, and all his wit, and mirth and charm, or else
+that Huntingdon had Lowborough's pedigree, and title, and
+delightful old family seat, and I had him; and you might have the
+other and welcome.'
+
+'Thank you, dear Annabella:  I am better satisfied with things as
+they are, for my own part; and for you, I wish you were as well
+content with your intended as I am with mine,' said I; and it was
+true enough; for, though vexed at first at her unamiable spirit,
+her frankness touched me, and the contrast between our situations
+was such, that I could well afford to pity her and wish her well.
+
+Mr. Huntingdon's acquaintances appear to be no better pleased with
+our approaching union than mine.  This morning's post brought him
+letters from several of his friends, during the perusal of which,
+at the breakfast-table, he excited the attention of the company by
+the singular variety of his grimaces.  But he crushed them all into
+his pocket, with a private laugh, and said nothing till the meal
+was concluded.  Then, while the company were hanging over the fire
+or loitering through the room, previous to settling to their
+various morning avocations, he came and leant over the back of my
+chair, with his face in contact with my curls, and commencing with
+a quiet little kiss, poured forth the following complaints into my
+ear:-
+
+'Helen, you witch, do you know that you've entailed upon me the
+curses of all my friends?  I wrote to them the other day, to tell
+them of my happy prospects, and now, instead of a bundle of
+congratulations, I've got a pocketful of bitter execrations and
+reproaches.  There's not one kind wish for me, or one good word for
+you, among them all.  They say there'll be no more fun now, no more
+merry days and glorious nights - and all my fault - I am the first
+to break up the jovial band, and others, in pure despair, will
+follow my example.  I was the very life and prop of the community,
+they do me the honour to say, and I have shamefully betrayed my
+trust - '
+
+'You may join them again, if you like,' said I, somewhat piqued at
+the sorrowful tone of his discourse.  'I should be sorry to stand
+between any man - or body of men, and so much happiness; and
+perhaps I can manage to do without you, as well as your poor
+deserted friends.'
+
+'Bless you, no,' murmured he.  'It's "all for love or the world
+well lost," with me.  Let them go to - where they belong, to speak
+politely.  But if you saw how they abuse me, Helen, you would love
+me all the more for having ventured so much for your sake.'
+
+He pulled out his crumpled letters.  I thought he was going to show
+them to me, and told him I did not wish to see them.
+
+'I'm not going to show them to you, love,' said he.  'They're
+hardly fit for a lady's eyes - the most part of them.  But look
+here.  This is Grimsby's scrawl - only three lines, the sulky dog!
+He doesn't say much, to be sure, but his very silence implies more
+than all the others' words, and the less he says, the more he
+thinks - and this is Hargrave's missive.  He is particularly
+grieved at me, because, forsooth he had fallen in love with you
+from his sister's reports, and meant to have married you himself,
+as soon as he had sown his wild oats.'
+
+'I'm vastly obliged to him,' observed I.
+
+'And so am I,' said he.  'And look at this.  This is Hattersley's -
+every page stuffed full of railing accusations, bitter curses, and
+lamentable complaints, ending up with swearing that he'll get
+married himself in revenge:  he'll throw himself away on the first
+old maid that chooses to set her cap at him, - as if I cared what
+he did with himself.'
+
+'Well,' said I, 'if you do give up your intimacy with these men, I
+don't think you will have much cause to regret the loss of their
+society; for it's my belief they never did you much good.'
+
+'Maybe not; but we'd a merry time of it, too, though mingled with
+sorrow and pain, as Lowborough knows to his cost - Ha, ha!' and
+while he was laughing at the recollection of Lowborough's troubles,
+my uncle came and slapped him on the shoulder.
+
+'Come, my lad!' said he.  'Are you too busy making love to my niece
+to make war with the pheasants? - First of October, remember!  Sun
+shines out - rain ceased - even Boarham's not afraid to venture in
+his waterproof boots; and Wilmot and I are going to beat you all.
+I declare, we old 'uns are the keenest sportsmen of the lot!'
+
+'I'll show you what I can do to-day, however,' said my companion.
+'I'll murder your birds by wholesale, just for keeping me away from
+better company than either you or them.'
+
+And so saying he departed; and I saw no more of him till dinner.
+It seemed a weary time; I wonder what I shall do without him.
+
+It is very true that the three elder gentlemen have proved
+themselves much keener sportsmen than the two younger ones; for
+both Lord Lowborough and Arthur Huntingdon have of late almost
+daily neglected the shooting excursions to accompany us in our
+various rides and rambles.  But these merry times are fast drawing
+to a close.  In less than a fortnight the party break up, much to
+my sorrow, for every day I enjoy it more and more - now that
+Messrs. Boarham and Wilmot have ceased to tease me, and my aunt has
+ceased to lecture me, and I have ceased to be jealous of Annabella
+- and even to dislike her - and now that Mr. Huntingdon is become
+my Arthur, and I may enjoy his society without restraint.  What
+shall I do without him, I repeat?
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII
+
+
+
+October 5th. - My cup of sweets is not unmingled:  it is dashed
+with a bitterness that I cannot hide from myself, disguise it as I
+will.  I may try to persuade myself that the sweetness overpowers
+it; I may call it a pleasant aromatic flavour; but say what I will,
+it is still there, and I cannot but taste it.  I cannot shut my
+eyes to Arthur's faults; and the more I love him the more they
+trouble me.  His very heart, that I trusted so, is, I fear, less
+warm and generous than I thought it.  At least, he gave me a
+specimen of his character to-day that seemed to merit a harder name
+than thoughtlessness.  He and Lord Lowborough were accompanying
+Annabella and me in a long, delightful ride; he was riding by my
+side, as usual, and Annabella and Lord Lowborough were a little
+before us, the latter bending towards his companion as if in tender
+and confidential discourse.
+
+'Those two will get the start of us, Helen, if we don't look
+sharp,' observed Huntingdon.  'They'll make a match of it, as sure
+as can be.  That Lowborough's fairly besotted.  But he'll find
+himself in a fix when he's got her, I doubt.'
+
+'And she'll find herself in a fix when she's got him,' said I, 'if
+what I've heard of him is true.'
+
+'Not a bit of it.  She knows what she's about; but he, poor fool,
+deludes himself with the notion that she'll make him a good wife,
+and because she has amused him with some rodomontade about
+despising rank and wealth in matters of love and marriage, he
+flatters himself that she's devotedly attached to him; that she
+will not refuse him for his poverty, and does not court him for his
+rank, but loves him for himself alone.'
+
+'But is not he courting her for her fortune?'
+
+'No, not he.  That was the first attraction, certainly; but now he
+has quite lost sight of it:  it never enters his calculations,
+except merely as an essential without which, for the lady's own
+sake, he could not think of marrying her.  No; he's fairly in love.
+He thought he never could be again, but he's in for it once more.
+He was to have been married before, some two or three years ago;
+but he lost his bride by losing his fortune.  He got into a bad way
+among us in London:  he had an unfortunate taste for gambling; and
+surely the fellow was born under an unlucky star, for he always
+lost thrice where he gained once.  That's a mode of self-torment I
+never was much addicted to.  When I spend my money I like to enjoy
+the full value of it:  I see no fun in wasting it on thieves and
+blacklegs; and as for gaining money, hitherto I have always had
+sufficient; it's time enough to be clutching for more, I think,
+when you begin to see the end of what you have.  But I have
+sometimes frequented the gaming-houses just to watch the on-goings
+of those mad votaries of chance - a very interesting study, I
+assure you, Helen, and sometimes very diverting:  I've had many a
+laugh at the boobies and bedlamites.  Lowborough was quite
+infatuated - not willingly, but of necessity, - he was always
+resolving to give it up, and always breaking his resolutions.
+Every venture was the 'just once more:' if he gained a little, he
+hoped to gain a little more next time, and if he lost, it would not
+do to leave off at that juncture; he must go on till he had
+retrieved that last misfortune, at least:  bad luck could not last
+for ever; and every lucky hit was looked upon as the dawn of better
+times, till experience proved the contrary.  At length he grew
+desperate, and we were daily on the look-out for a case of FELO-DE-
+SE - no great matter, some of us whispered, as his existence had
+ceased to be an acquisition to our club.  At last, however, he came
+to a check.  He made a large stake, which he determined should be
+the last, whether he lost or won.  He had often so determined
+before, to be sure, and as often broken his determination; and so
+it was this time.  He lost; and while his antagonist smilingly
+swept away the stakes, he turned chalky white, drew back in
+silence, and wiped his forehead.  I was present at the time; and
+while he stood with folded arms and eyes fixed on the ground, I
+knew well enough what was passing in his mind.
+
+'"Is it to be the last, Lowborough?" said I, stepping up to him.
+
+'"The last but one," he answered, with a grim smile; and then,
+rushing back to the table, he struck his hand upon it, and, raising
+his voice high above all the confusion of jingling coins and
+muttered oaths and curses in the room, he swore a deep and solemn
+oath that, come what would, this trial should be the last, and
+imprecated unspeakable curses on his head if ever he should shuffle
+a card or rattle a dice-box again.  He then doubled his former
+stake, and challenged any one present to play against him.  Grimsby
+instantly presented himself.  Lowborough glared fiercely at him,
+for Grimsby was almost as celebrated for his luck as he was for his
+ill-fortune.  However, they fell to work.  But Grimsby had much
+skill and little scruple, and whether he took advantage of the
+other's trembling, blinded eagerness to deal unfairly by him, I
+cannot undertake to say; but Lowborough lost again, and fell dead
+sick.
+
+'"You'd better try once more," said Grimsby, leaning across the
+table.  And then he winked at me.
+
+'"I've nothing to try with," said the poor devil, with a ghastly
+smile.
+
+'"Oh, Huntingdon will lend you what you want," said the other.
+
+'"No; you heard my oath," answered Lowborough, turning away in
+quiet despair.  And I took him by the arm and led him out.
+
+'"Is it to be the last, Lowborough?" I asked, when I got him into
+the street.
+
+'"The last," he answered, somewhat against my expectation.  And I
+took him home - that is, to our club - for he was as submissive as
+a child - and plied him with brandy-and-water till he began to look
+rather brighter - rather more alive, at least.
+
+'"Huntingdon, I'm ruined!" said he, taking the third glass from my
+hand - he had drunk the others in dead silence.
+
+'"Not you," said I.  "You'll find a man can live without his money
+as merrily as a tortoise without its head, or a wasp without its
+body.
+
+'"But I'm in debt," said he - "deep in debt.  And I can never,
+never get out of it."
+
+'"Well, what of that?  Many a better man than you has lived and
+died in debt; and they can't put you in prison, you know, because
+you're a peer."  And I handed him his fourth tumbler.
+
+'"But I hate to be in debt!" he shouted.  "I wasn't born for it,
+and I cannot bear it."
+
+'"What can't be cured must be endured," said I, beginning to mix
+the fifth.
+
+'"And then, I've lost my Caroline."  And he began to snivel then,
+for the brandy had softened his heart.
+
+'"No matter," I answered, "there are more Carolines in the world
+than one."
+
+'"There's only one for me," he replied, with a dolorous sigh.  "And
+if there were fifty more, who's to get them, I wonder, without
+money?"
+
+'"Oh, somebody will take you for your title; and then you've your
+family estate yet; that's entailed, you know."
+
+'"I wish to God I could sell it to pay my debts," he muttered.
+
+'"And then," said Grimsby, who had just come in, "you can try
+again, you know.  I would have more than one chance, if I were you.
+I'd never stop here."
+
+'"I won't, I tell you!" shouted he.  And he started up, and left
+the room - walking rather unsteadily, for the liquor had got into
+his head.  He was not so much used to it then, but after that he
+took to it kindly to solace his cares.
+
+'He kept his oath about gambling (not a little to the surprise of
+us all), though Grimsby did his utmost to tempt him to break it,
+but now he had got hold of another habit that bothered him nearly
+as much, for he soon discovered that the demon of drink was as
+black as the demon of play, and nearly as hard to get rid of -
+especially as his kind friends did all they could to second the
+promptings of his own insatiable cravings.'
+
+'Then, they were demons themselves,' cried I, unable to contain my
+indignation.  'And you, Mr. Huntingdon, it seems, were the first to
+tempt him.'
+
+'Well, what could we do?' replied he, deprecatingly. - 'We meant it
+in kindness - we couldn't bear to see the poor fellow so
+miserable:- and besides, he was such a damper upon us, sitting
+there silent and glum, when he was under the threefold influence -
+of the loss of his sweetheart, the loss of his fortune, and the
+reaction of the lost night's debauch; whereas, when he had
+something in him, if he was not merry himself, he was an unfailing
+source of merriment to us.  Even Grimsby could chuckle over his odd
+sayings:  they delighted him far more than my merry jests, or
+Hattersley's riotous mirth.  But one evening, when we were sitting
+over our wine, after one of our club dinners, and all had been
+hearty together, - Lowborough giving us mad toasts, and hearing our
+wild songs, and bearing a hand in the applause, if he did not help
+us to sing them himself, - he suddenly relapsed into silence,
+sinking his head on his hand, and never lifting his glass to his
+lips; - but this was nothing new; so we let him alone, and went on
+with our jollification, till, suddenly raising his head, he
+interrupted us in the middle of a roar of laughter by exclaiming, -
+'Gentlemen, where is all this to end? - Will you just tell me that
+now? - Where is it all to end?'  He rose.
+
+'"A speech, a speech!" shouted we.  "Hear, hear!  Lowborough's
+going to give us a speech!"
+
+'He waited calmly till the thunders of applause and jingling of
+glasses had ceased, and then proceeded, - "It's only this,
+gentlemen, - that I think we'd better go no further.  We'd better
+stop while we can."
+
+'"Just so!" cried Hattersley -
+
+
+"Stop, poor sinner, stop and think
+Before you further go,
+No longer sport upon the brink
+Of everlasting woe."
+
+
+'"Exactly!" replied his lordship, with the utmost gravity.  "And if
+you choose to visit the bottomless pit, I won't go with you - we
+must part company, for I swear I'll not move another step towards
+it! - What's this?' he said, taking up his glass of wine.
+
+'"Taste it," suggested I.
+
+'"This is hell broth!" he exclaimed.  "I renounce it for ever!"
+And he threw it out into the middle of the table.
+
+'"Fill again!" said I, handing him the bottle - "and let us drink
+to your renunciation."
+
+'"It's rank poison," said he, grasping the bottle by the neck, "and
+I forswear it!  I've given up gambling, and I'll give up this too."
+He was on the point of deliberately pouring the whole contents of
+the bottle on to the table, but Hargrave wrested it from him.  "On
+you be the curse, then!" said he.  And, backing from the room, he
+shouted, "Farewell, ye tempters!" and vanished amid shouts of
+laughter and applause.
+
+'We expected him back among us the next day; but, to our surprise,
+the place remained vacant:  we saw nothing of him for a whole week;
+and we really began to think he was going to keep his word.  At
+last, one evening, when we were most of us assembled together
+again, he entered, silent and grim as a ghost, and would have
+quietly slipped into his usual seat at my elbow, but we all rose to
+welcome him, and several voices were raised to ask what he would
+have, and several hands were busy with bottle and glass to serve
+him; but I knew a smoking tumbler of brandy-and-water would comfort
+him best, and had nearly prepared it, when he peevishly pushed it
+away, saying, -
+
+'"Do let me alone, Huntingdon!  Do be quiet, all of you!  I'm not
+come to join you:  I'm only come to be with you awhile, because I
+can't bear my own thoughts."  And he folded his arms, and leant
+back in his chair; so we let him be.  But I left the glass by him;
+and, after awhile, Grimsby directed my attention towards it, by a
+significant wink; and, on turning my head, I saw it was drained to
+the bottom.  He made me a sign to replenish, and quietly pushed up
+the bottle.  I willingly complied; but Lowborough detected the
+pantomime, and, nettled at the intelligent grins that were passing
+between us, snatched the glass from my hand, dashed the contents of
+it in Grimsby's face, threw the empty tumbler at me, and then
+bolted from the room.'
+
+'I hope he broke your head,' said I.
+
+'No, love,' replied he, laughing immoderately at the recollection
+of the whole affair; 'he would have done so, - and perhaps, spoilt
+my face, too, but, providentially, this forest of curls' (taking
+off his hat, and showing his luxuriant chestnut locks) 'saved my
+skull, and prevented the glass from breaking, till it reached the
+table.'
+
+'After that,' he continued, 'Lowborough kept aloof from us a week
+or two longer.  I used to meet him occasionally in the town; and
+then, as I was too good-natured to resent his unmannerly conduct,
+and he bore no malice against me, - he was never unwilling to talk
+to me; on the contrary, he would cling to me, and follow me
+anywhere but to the club, and the gaming-houses, and such-like
+dangerous places of resort - he was so weary of his own moping,
+melancholy mind.  At last, I got him to come in with me to the
+club, on condition that I would not tempt him to drink; and, for
+some time, he continued to look in upon us pretty regularly of an
+evening, - still abstaining, with wonderful perseverance, from the
+"rank poison" he had so bravely forsworn.  But some of our members
+protested against this conduct.  They did not like to have him
+sitting there like a skeleton at a feast, instead of contributing
+his quota to the general amusement, casting a cloud over all, and
+watching, with greedy eyes, every drop they carried to their lips -
+they vowed it was not fair; and some of them maintained that he
+should either be compelled to do as others did, or expelled from
+the society; and swore that, next time he showed himself, they
+would tell him as much, and, if he did not take the warning,
+proceed to active measures.  However, I befriended him on this
+occasion, and recommended them to let him be for a while,
+intimating that, with a little patience on our parts, he would soon
+come round again.  But, to be sure, it was rather provoking; for,
+though he refused to drink like an honest Christian, it was well
+known to me that he kept a private bottle of laudanum about him,
+which he was continually soaking at - or rather, holding off and on
+with, abstaining one day and exceeding the next - just like the
+spirits.
+
+'One night, however, during one of our orgies - one of our high
+festivals, I mean - he glided in, like the ghost in "Macbeth," and
+seated himself, as usual, a little back from the table, in the
+chair we always placed for "the spectre," whether it chose to fill
+it or not.  I saw by his face that he was suffering from the
+effects of an overdose of his insidious comforter; but nobody spoke
+to him, and he spoke to nobody.  A few sidelong glances, and a
+whispered observation, that "the ghost was come," was all the
+notice he drew by his appearance, and we went on with our merry
+carousals as before, till he startled us all by suddenly drawing in
+his chair, and leaning forward with his elbows on the table, and
+exclaiming with portentous solemnity, - "Well! it puzzles me what
+you can find to be so merry about.  What you see in life I don't
+know - I see only the blackness of darkness, and a fearful looking
+for of judgment and fiery indignation!"
+
+'All the company simultaneously pushed up their glasses to him, and
+I set them before him in a semicircle, and, tenderly patting him on
+the back, bid him drink, and he would soon see as bright a prospect
+as any of us; but he pushed them back, muttering, -
+
+'"Take them away!  I won't taste it, I tell you.  I won't - I
+won't!"  So I handed them down again to the owners; but I saw that
+he followed them with a glare of hungry regret as they departed.
+Then he clasped his hands before his eyes to shut out the sight,
+and two minutes after lifted his head again, and said, in a hoarse
+but vehement whisper, -
+
+'"And yet I must!  Huntingdon, get me a glass!"
+
+'"Take the bottle, man!" said I, thrusting the brandy-bottle into
+his hand - but stop, I'm telling too much,' muttered the narrator,
+startled at the look I turned upon him.  'But no matter,' he
+recklessly added, and thus continued his relation:  'In his
+desperate eagerness, he seized the bottle and sucked away, till he
+suddenly dropped from his chair, disappearing under the table amid
+a tempest of applause.  The consequence of this imprudence was
+something like an apoplectic fit, followed by a rather severe brain
+fever - '
+
+'And what did you think of yourself, sir?' said I, quickly.
+
+'Of course, I was very penitent,' he replied.  'I went to see him
+once or twice - nay, twice or thrice - or by'r lady, some four
+times - and when he got better, I tenderly brought him back to the
+fold.'
+
+'What do you mean?'
+
+'I mean, I restored him to the bosom of the club, and
+compassionating the feebleness of his health and extreme lowness of
+his spirits, I recommended him to "take a little wine for his
+stomach's sake," and, when he was sufficiently re-established, to
+embrace the media-via, ni-jamais-ni-toujours plan - not to kill
+himself like a fool, and not to abstain like a ninny - in a word,
+to enjoy himself like a rational creature, and do as I did; for,
+don't think, Helen, that I'm a tippler; I'm nothing at all of the
+kind, and never was, and never shall be.  I value my comfort far
+too much.  I see that a man cannot give himself up to drinking
+without being miserable one-half his days and mad the other;
+besides, I like to enjoy my life at all sides and ends, which
+cannot be done by one that suffers himself to be the slave of a
+single propensity - and, moreover, drinking spoils one's good
+looks,' he concluded, with a most conceited smile that ought to
+have provoked me more than it did.
+
+'And did Lord Lowborough profit by your advice?' I asked.
+
+'Why, yes, in a manner.  For a while he managed very well; indeed,
+he was a model of moderation and prudence - something too much so
+for the tastes of our wild community; but, somehow, Lowborough had
+not the gift of moderation:  if he stumbled a little to one side,
+he must go down before he could right himself:  if he overshot the
+mark one night, the effects of it rendered him so miserable the
+next day that he must repeat the offence to mend it; and so on from
+day to day, till his clamorous conscience brought him to a stand.
+And then, in his sober moments, he so bothered his friends with his
+remorse, and his terrors and woes, that they were obliged, in self-
+defence, to get him to drown his sorrows in wine, or any more
+potent beverage that came to hand; and when his first scruples of
+conscience were overcome, he would need no more persuading, he
+would often grow desperate, and be as great a blackguard as any of
+them could desire - but only to lament his own unutterable
+wickedness and degradation the more when the fit was over.
+
+'At last, one day when he and I were alone together, after
+pondering awhile in one of his gloomy, abstracted moods, with his
+arms folded and his head sunk on his breast, he suddenly woke up,
+and vehemently grasping my arm, said, -
+
+'"Huntingdon, this won't do!  I'm resolved to have done with it."
+
+'"What, are you going to shoot yourself?" said I.
+
+'"No; I'm going to reform."
+
+'"Oh, that's nothing new!  You've been going to reform these twelve
+months and more."
+
+'"Yes, but you wouldn't let me; and I was such a fool I couldn't
+live without you.  But now I see what it is that keeps me back, and
+what's wanted to save me; and I'd compass sea and land to get it -
+only I'm afraid there's no chance."  And he sighed as if his heart
+would break.
+
+'"What is it, Lowborough?" said I, thinking he was fairly cracked
+at last.
+
+'"A wife," he answered; "for I can't live alone, because my own
+mind distracts me, and I can't live with you, because you take the
+devil's part against me."
+
+'"Who - I?"
+
+'"Yes - all of you do - and you more than any of them, you know.
+But if I could get a wife, with fortune enough to pay off my debts
+and set me straight in the world - "
+
+'"To be sure," said I.
+
+'"And sweetness and goodness enough," he continued, "to make home
+tolerable, and to reconcile me to myself, I think I should do yet.
+I shall never be in love again, that's certain; but perhaps that
+would be no great matter, it would enable me to choose with my eyes
+open - and I should make a good husband in spite of it; but could
+any one be in love with me? - that's the question.  With your good
+looks and powers of fascination" (he was pleased to say), "I might
+hope; but as it is, Huntingdon, do you think anybody would take me
+- ruined and wretched as I am?"
+
+'"Yes, certainly."
+
+'"Who?"
+
+'"Why, any neglected old maid, fast sinking in despair, would be
+delighted to - "
+
+'"No, no," said he - "it must be somebody that I can love."
+
+'"Why, you just said you never could be in love again!'
+
+'"Well, love is not the word - but somebody that I can like.  I'll
+search all England through, at all events!" he cried, with a sudden
+burst of hope, or desperation.  "Succeed or fail, it will be better
+than rushing headlong to destruction at that d-d club:  so farewell
+to it and you.  Whenever I meet you on honest ground or under a
+Christian roof, I shall be glad to see you; but never more shall
+you entice me to that devil's den!"
+
+'This was shameful language, but I shook hands with him, and we
+parted.  He kept his word; and from that time forward he has been a
+pattern of propriety, as far as I can tell; but till lately I have
+not had very much to do with him.  He occasionally sought my
+company, but as frequently shrunk from it, fearing lest I should
+wile him back to destruction, and I found his not very
+entertaining, especially as he sometimes attempted to awaken my
+conscience and draw me from the perdition he considered himself to
+have escaped; but when I did happen to meet him, I seldom failed to
+ask after the progress of his matrimonial efforts and researches,
+and, in general, he could give me but a poor account.  The mothers
+were repelled by his empty coffers and his reputation for gambling,
+and the daughters by his cloudy brow and melancholy temper -
+besides, he didn't understand them; he wanted the spirit and
+assurance to carry his point.
+
+'I left him at it when I went to the continent; and on my return,
+at the year's end, I found him still a disconsolate bachelor -
+though, certainly, looking somewhat less like an unblest exile from
+the tomb than before.  The young ladies had ceased to be afraid of
+him, and were beginning to think him quite interesting; but the
+mammas were still unrelenting.  It was about this time, Helen, that
+my good angel brought me into conjunction with you; and then I had
+eyes and ears for nobody else.  But, meantime, Lowborough became
+acquainted with our charming friend, Miss Wilmot - through the
+intervention of his good angel, no doubt he would tell you, though
+he did not dare to fix his hopes on one so courted and admired,
+till after they were brought into closer contact here at
+Staningley, and she, in the absence of her other admirers,
+indubitably courted his notice and held out every encouragement to
+his timid advances.  Then, indeed, he began to hope for a dawn of
+brighter days; and if, for a while, I darkened his prospects by
+standing between him and his sun - and so nearly plunged him again
+into the abyss of despair - it only intensified his ardour and
+strengthened his hopes when I chose to abandon the field in the
+pursuit of a brighter treasure.  In a word, as I told you, he is
+fairly besotted.  At first, he could dimly perceive her faults, and
+they gave him considerable uneasiness; but now his passion and her
+art together have blinded him to everything but her perfections and
+his amazing good fortune.  Last night he came to me brimful of his
+new-found felicity:
+
+'"Huntingdon, I am not a castaway!" said he, seizing my hand and
+squeezing it like a vice.  "There is happiness in store for me yet
+- even in this life - she loves me!"
+
+'"Indeed!" said I.  "Has she told you so?"
+
+'"No, but I can no longer doubt it.  Do you not see how pointedly
+kind and affectionate she is?  And she knows the utmost extent of
+my poverty, and cares nothing about it!  She knows all the folly
+and all the wickedness of my former life, and is not afraid to
+trust me - and my rank and title are no allurements to her; for
+them she utterly disregards.  She is the most generous, high-minded
+being that can be conceived of.  She will save me, body and soul,
+from destruction.  Already, she has ennobled me in my own
+estimation, and made me three times better, wiser, greater than I
+was.  Oh! if I had but known her before, how much degradation and
+misery I should have been spared!  But what have I done to deserve
+so magnificent a creature?"
+
+'And the cream of the jest,' continued Mr. Huntingdon, laughing,
+'is, that the artful minx loves nothing about him but his title and
+pedigree, and "that delightful old family seat."'
+
+'How do you know?' said I.
+
+'She told me so herself; she said, "As for the man himself, I
+thoroughly despise him; but then, I suppose, it is time to be
+making my choice, and if I waited for some one capable of eliciting
+my esteem and affection, I should have to pass my life in single
+blessedness, for I detest you all!"  Ha, ha!  I suspect she was
+wrong there; but, however, it is evident she has no love for him,
+poor fellow.'
+
+'Then you ought to tell him so.'
+
+'What! and spoil all her plans and prospects, poor girl?  No, no:
+that would be a breach of confidence, wouldn't it, Helen?  Ha, ha!
+Besides, it would break his heart.'  And he laughed again.
+
+'Well, Mr. Huntingdon, I don't know what you see so amazingly
+diverting in the matter; I see nothing to laugh at.'
+
+'I'm laughing at you, just now, love,' said he, redoubling his
+machinations.
+
+And leaving him to enjoy his merriment alone, I touched Ruby with
+the whip, and cantered on to rejoin our companions; for we had been
+walking our horses all this time, and were consequently a long way
+behind.  Arthur was soon at my side again; but not disposed to talk
+to him, I broke into a gallop.  He did the same; and we did not
+slacken our pace till we came up with Miss Wilmot and Lord
+Lowborough, which was within half a mile of the park-gates.  I
+avoided all further conversation with him till we came to the end
+of our ride, when I meant to jump off my horse and vanish into the
+house, before he could offer his assistance; but while I was
+disengaging my habit from the crutch, he lifted me off, and held me
+by both hands, asserting that he would not let me go till I had
+forgiven him.
+
+'I have nothing to forgive,' said I.  'You have not injured me.'
+
+'No, darling - God forbid that I should! but you are angry because
+it was to me that Annabella confessed her lack of esteem for her
+lover.'
+
+'No, Arthur, it is not that that displeases me:  it is the whole
+system of your conduct towards your friend, and if you wish me to
+forget it, go now, and tell him what sort of a woman it is that he
+adores so madly, and on whom he has hung his hopes of future
+happiness.'
+
+'I tell you, Helen, it would break his heart - it would be the
+death of him - besides being a scandalous trick to poor Annabella.
+There is no help for him now; he is past praying for.  Besides, she
+may keep up the deception to the end of the chapter; and then he
+will be just as happy in the illusion as if it were reality; or
+perhaps he will only discover his mistake when he has ceased to
+love her; and if not, it is much better that the truth should dawn
+gradually upon him.  So now, my angel, I hope I have made out a
+clear case, and fully convinced you that I cannot make the
+atonement you require.  What other requisition have you to make?
+Speak, and I will gladly obey.'
+
+'I have none but this,' said I, as gravely as before:  'that, in
+future, you will never make a jest of the sufferings of others, and
+always use your influence with your friends for their own advantage
+against their evil propensities, instead of seconding their evil
+propensities against themselves.'
+
+'I will do my utmost,' said he, 'to remember and perform the
+injunctions of my angel monitress;' and after kissing both my
+gloved hands, he let me go.
+
+When I entered my room, I was surprised to see Annabella Wilmot
+standing before my toilet-table, composedly surveying her features
+in the glass, with one hand flirting her gold-mounted whip, and the
+other holding up her long habit.
+
+'She certainly is a magnificent creature!' thought I, as I beheld
+that tall, finely developed figure, and the reflection of the
+handsome face in the mirror before me, with the glossy dark hair,
+slightly and not ungracefully disordered by the breezy ride, the
+rich brown complexion glowing with exercise, and the black eyes
+sparkling with unwonted brilliance.  On perceiving me, she turned
+round, exclaiming, with a laugh that savoured more of malice than
+of mirth, - 'Why, Helen! what have you been doing so long?  I came
+to tell you my good fortune,' she continued, regardless of Rachel's
+presence.  'Lord Lowborough has proposed, and I have been
+graciously pleased to accept him.  Don't you envy me, dear?'
+
+'No, love,' said I - 'or him either,' I mentally added.  'And do
+you like him, Annabella?'
+
+'Like him! yes, to be sure - over head and ears in love!'
+
+'Well, I hope you'll make him a good wife.'
+
+'Thank you, my dear!  And what besides do you hope?'
+
+'I hope you will both love each other, and both be happy.'
+
+'Thanks; and I hope you will make a very good wife to Mr.
+Huntingdon!' said she, with a queenly bow, and retired.
+
+'Oh, Miss! how could you say so to her!' cried Rachel.
+
+'Say what?' replied I.
+
+'Why, that you hoped she would make him a good wife.  I never heard
+such a thing!'
+
+'Because I do hope it, or rather, I wish it; she's almost past
+hope.'
+
+'Well,' said she, 'I'm sure I hope he'll make her a good husband.
+They tell queer things about him downstairs.  They were saying - '
+
+'I know, Rachel.  I've heard all about him; but he's reformed now.
+And they have no business to tell tales about their masters.'
+
+'No, mum - or else, they have said some things about Mr. Huntingdon
+too.'
+
+'I won't hear them, Rachel; they tell lies.'
+
+'Yes, mum,' said she, quietly, as she went on arranging my hair.
+
+'Do you believe them, Rachel?' I asked, after a short pause.
+
+'No, Miss, not all.  You know when a lot of servants gets together
+they like to talk about their betters; and some, for a bit of
+swagger, likes to make it appear as though they knew more than they
+do, and to throw out hints and things just to astonish the others.
+But I think, if I was you, Miss Helen, I'd look very well before I
+leaped.  I do believe a young lady can't be too careful who she
+marries.'
+
+'Of course not,' said I; 'but be quick, will you, Rachel?  I want
+to be dressed.'
+
+And, indeed, I was anxious to be rid of the good woman, for I was
+in such a melancholy frame I could hardly keep the tears out of my
+eyes while she dressed me.  It was not for Lord Lowborough - it was
+not for Annabella - it was not for myself - it was for Arthur
+Huntingdon that they rose.
+
+* * * * *
+
+13th. - They are gone, and he is gone.  We are to be parted for
+more than two months, above ten weeks! a long, long time to live
+and not to see him.  But he has promised to write often, and made
+me promise to write still oftener, because he will be busy settling
+his affairs, and I shall have nothing better to do.  Well, I think
+I shall always have plenty to say.  But oh! for the time when we
+shall be always together, and can exchange our thoughts without the
+intervention of these cold go-betweens, pen, ink, and paper!
+
+22nd. - I have had several letters from Arthur already.  They are
+not long, but passing sweet, and just like himself, full of ardent
+affection, and playful lively humour; but there is always a 'but'
+in this imperfect world, and I do wish he would sometimes be
+serious.  I cannot get him to write or speak in real, solid
+earnest.  I don't much mind it now, but if it be always so, what
+shall I do with the serious part of myself?
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII
+
+
+
+Feb. 18, 1822. - Early this morning Arthur mounted his hunter and
+set off in high glee to meet the - hounds.  He will be away all
+day, and so I will amuse myself with my neglected diary, if I can
+give that name to such an irregular composition.  It is exactly
+four months since I opened it last.
+
+I am married now, and settled down as Mrs. Huntingdon of Grassdale
+Manor.  I have had eight weeks' experience of matrimony.  And do I
+regret the step I have taken?  No, though I must confess, in my
+secret heart, that Arthur is not what I thought him at first, and
+if I had known him in the beginning as thoroughly as I do now, I
+probably never should have loved him, and if I loved him first, and
+then made the discovery, I fear I should have thought it my duty
+not to have married him.  To be sure I might have known him, for
+every one was willing enough to tell me about him, and he himself
+was no accomplished hypocrite, but I was wilfully blind; and now,
+instead of regretting that I did not discern his full character
+before I was indissolubly bound to him, I am glad, for it has saved
+me a great deal of battling with my conscience, and a great deal of
+consequent trouble and pain; and, whatever I ought to have done, my
+duty now is plainly to love him and to cleave to him, and this just
+tallies with my inclination.
+
+He is very fond of me, almost too fond.  I could do with less
+caressing and more rationality.  I should like to be less of a pet
+and more of a friend, if I might choose; but I won't complain of
+that:  I am only afraid his affection loses in depth where it gains
+in ardour.  I sometimes liken it to a fire of dry twigs and
+branches compared with one of solid coal, very bright and hot; but
+if it should burn itself out and leave nothing but ashes behind,
+what shall I do?  But it won't, it sha'n't, I am determined; and
+surely I have power to keep it alive.  So let me dismiss that
+thought at once.  But Arthur is selfish; I am constrained to
+acknowledge that; and, indeed, the admission gives me less pain
+than might be expected, for, since I love him so much, I can easily
+forgive him for loving himself:  he likes to be pleased, and it is
+my delight to please him; and when I regret this tendency of his,
+it is for his own sake, not for mine.
+
+The first instance he gave was on the occasion of our bridal tour.
+He wanted to hurry it over, for all the continental scenes were
+already familiar to him:  many had lost their interest in his eyes,
+and others had never had anything to lose.  The consequence was,
+that after a flying transit through part of France and part of
+Italy, I came back nearly as ignorant as I went, having made no
+acquaintance with persons and manners, and very little with things,
+my head swarming with a motley confusion of objects and scenes;
+some, it is true, leaving a deeper and more pleasing impression
+than others, but these embittered by the recollection that my
+emotions had not been shared by my companion, but that, on the
+contrary, when I had expressed a particular interest in anything
+that I saw or desired to see, it had been displeasing to him,
+inasmuch as it proved that I could take delight in anything
+disconnected with himself.
+
+As for Paris, we only just touched at that, and he would not give
+me time to see one-tenth of the beauties and interesting objects of
+Rome.  He wanted to get me home, he said, to have me all to
+himself, and to see me safely installed as the mistress of
+Grassdale Manor, just as single-minded, as naive, and piquante as I
+was; and as if I had been some frail butterfly, he expressed
+himself fearful of rubbing the silver off my wings by bringing me
+into contact with society, especially that of Paris and Rome; and,
+more-over, he did not scruple to tell me that there were ladies in
+both places that would tear his eyes out if they happened to meet
+him with me.
+
+Of course I was vexed at all this; but still it was less the
+disappointment to myself that annoyed me, than the disappointment
+in him, and the trouble I was at to frame excuses to my friends for
+having seen and observed so little, without imputing one particle
+of blame to my companion.  But when we got home - to my new,
+delightful home - I was so happy and he was so kind that I freely
+forgave him all; and I was beginning to think my lot too happy, and
+my husband actually too good for me, if not too good for this
+world, when, on the second Sunday after our arrival, he shocked and
+horrified me by another instance of his unreasonable exaction.  We
+were walking home from the morning service, for it was a fine
+frosty day, and as we are so near the church, I had requested the
+carriage should not be used.
+
+'Helen,' said he, with unusual gravity, 'I am not quite satisfied
+with you.'
+
+I desired to know what was wrong.
+
+'But will you promise to reform if I tell you?'
+
+'Yes, if I can, and without offending a higher authority.'
+
+'Ah! there it is, you see:  you don't love me with all your heart.'
+
+'I don't understand you, Arthur (at least I hope I don't):  pray
+tell me what I have done or said amiss.'
+
+'It is nothing you have done or said; it is something that you are
+- you are too religious.  Now I like a woman to be religious, and I
+think your piety one of your greatest charms; but then, like all
+other good things, it may be carried too far.  To my thinking, a
+woman's religion ought not to lessen her devotion to her earthly
+lord.  She should have enough to purify and etherealise her soul,
+but not enough to refine away her heart, and raise her above all
+human sympathies.'
+
+'And am I above all human sympathies?' said I.
+
+'No, darling; but you are making more progress towards that saintly
+condition than I like; for all these two hours I have been thinking
+of you and wanting to catch your eye, and you were so absorbed in
+your devotions that you had not even a glance to spare for me - I
+declare it is enough to make one jealous of one's Maker - which is
+very wrong, you know; so don't excite such wicked passions again,
+for my soul's sake.'
+
+'I will give my whole heart and soul to my Maker if I can,' I
+answered, 'and not one atom more of it to you than He allows.  What
+are you, sir, that you should set yourself up as a god, and presume
+to dispute possession of my heart with Him to whom I owe all I have
+and all I am, every blessing I ever did or ever can enjoy - and
+yourself among the rest - if you are a blessing, which I am half
+inclined to doubt.'
+
+'Don't be so hard upon me, Helen; and don't pinch my arm so:  you
+are squeezing your fingers into the bone.'
+
+'Arthur,' continued I, relaxing my hold of his arm, 'you don't love
+me half as much as I do you; and yet, if you loved me far less than
+you do, I would not complain, provided you loved your Maker more.
+I should rejoice to see you at any time so deeply absorbed in your
+devotions that you had not a single thought to spare for me.  But,
+indeed, I should lose nothing by the change, for the more you loved
+your God the more deep and pure and true would be your love to me.'
+
+At this he only laughed and kissed my hand, calling me a sweet
+enthusiast.  Then taking off his hat, he added:  'But look here,
+Helen - what can a man do with such a head as this?'
+
+The head looked right enough, but when he placed my hand on the top
+of it, it sunk in a bed of curls, rather alarmingly low, especially
+in the middle.
+
+'You see I was not made to be a saint,' said he, laughing, 'If God
+meant me to be religious, why didn't He give me a proper organ of
+veneration?'
+
+'You are like the servant,' I replied, 'who, instead of employing
+his one talent in his master's service, restored it to him
+unimproved, alleging, as an excuse, that he knew him "to be a hard
+man, reaping where he had not sown, and gathering where he had not
+strawed."  Of him to whom less is given, less will be required, but
+our utmost exertions are required of us all.  You are not without
+the capacity of veneration, and faith and hope, and conscience and
+reason, and every other requisite to a Christian's character, if
+you choose to employ them; but all our talents increase in the
+using, and every faculty, both good and bad, strengthens by
+exercise:  therefore, if you choose to use the bad, or those which
+tend to evil, till they become your masters, and neglect the good
+till they dwindle away, you have only yourself to blame.  But you
+have talents, Arthur - natural endowments both of heart and mind
+and temper, such as many a better Christian would be glad to
+possess, if you would only employ them in God's service.  I should
+never expect to see you a devotee, but it is quite possible to be a
+good Christian without ceasing to be a happy, merry-hearted man.'
+
+'You speak like an oracle, Helen, and all you say is indisputably
+true; but listen here:  I am hungry, and I see before me a good
+substantial dinner; I am told that if I abstain from this to-day I
+shall have a sumptuous feast to-morrow, consisting of all manner of
+dainties and delicacies.  Now, in the first place, I should be loth
+to wait till to-morrow when I have the means of appeasing my hunger
+already before me:  in the second place, the solid viands of to-day
+are more to my taste than the dainties that are promised me; in the
+third place, I don't see to-morrow's banquet, and how can I tell
+that it is not all a fable, got up by the greasy-faced fellow that
+is advising me to abstain in order that he may have all the good
+victuals to himself? in the fourth place, this table must be spread
+for somebody, and, as Solomon says, "Who can eat, or who else can
+hasten hereunto more than I?" and finally, with your leave, I'll
+sit down and satisfy my cravings of to-day, and leave to-morrow to
+shift for itself - who knows but what I may secure both this and
+that?'
+
+'But you are not required to abstain from the substantial dinner of
+to-day:  you are only advised to partake of these coarser viands in
+such moderation as not to incapacitate you from enjoying the
+choicer banquet of to-morrow.  If, regardless of that counsel, you
+choose to make a beast of yourself now, and over-eat and over-drink
+yourself till you turn the good victuals into poison, who is to
+blame if, hereafter, while you are suffering the torments of
+yesterday's gluttony and drunkenness, you see more temperate men
+sitting down to enjoy themselves at that splendid entertainment
+which you are unable to taste?'
+
+'Most true, my patron saint; but again, our friend Solomon says,
+"There is nothing better for a man than to eat and to drink, and to
+be merry."'
+
+'And again,' returned I, 'he says, "Rejoice, O young man, in thy
+youth; and walk in the ways of thine heart, and in the sight of
+thine eyes:  but know thou, that for all these things God will
+bring thee into judgment."'
+
+'Well, but, Helen, I'm sure I've been very good these last few
+weeks.  What have you seen amiss in me, and what would you have me
+to do?'
+
+'Nothing more than you do, Arthur:  your actions are all right so
+far; but I would have your thoughts changed; I would have you to
+fortify yourself against temptation, and not to call evil good, and
+good evil; I should wish you to think more deeply, to look further,
+and aim higher than you do.'
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV
+
+
+
+March 25th. - Arthur is getting tired - not of me, I trust, but of
+the idle, quiet life he leads - and no wonder, for he has so few
+sources of amusement:  he never reads anything but newspapers and
+sporting magazines; and when he sees me occupied with a book, he
+won't let me rest till I close it.  In fine weather he generally
+manages to get through the time pretty well, but on rainy days, of
+which we have had a good many of late, it is quite painful to
+witness his ennui.  I do all I can to amuse him, but it is
+impossible to get him to feel interested in what I most like to
+talk about, while, on the other hand, he likes to talk about things
+that cannot interest me - or even that annoy me - and these please
+him - the most of all:  for his favourite amusement is to sit or
+loll beside me on the sofa, and tell me stories of his former
+amours, always turning upon the ruin of some confiding girl or the
+cozening of some unsuspecting husband; and when I express my horror
+and indignation, he lays it all to the charge of jealousy, and
+laughs till the tears run down his cheeks.  I used to fly into
+passions or melt into tears at first, but seeing that his delight
+increased in proportion to my anger and agitation, I have since
+endeavoured to suppress my feelings and receive his revelations in
+the silence of calm contempt; but still he reads the inward
+struggle in my face, and misconstrues my bitterness of soul for his
+unworthiness into the pangs of wounded jealousy; and when he has
+sufficiently diverted himself with that, or fears my displeasure
+will become too serious for his comfort, he tries to kiss and
+soothe me into smiles again - never were his caresses so little
+welcome as then!  This is double selfishness displayed to me and to
+the victims of his former love.  There are times when, with a
+momentary pang - a flash of wild dismay, I ask myself, 'Helen, what
+have you done?'  But I rebuke the inward questioner, and repel the
+obtrusive thoughts that crowd upon me; for were he ten times as
+sensual and impenetrable to good and lofty thoughts, I well know I
+have no right to complain.  And I don't and won't complain.  I do
+and will love him still; and I do not and will not regret that I
+have linked my fate with his.
+
+April 4th. - We have had a downright quarrel.  The particulars are
+as follows:  Arthur had told me, at different intervals, the whole
+story of his intrigue with Lady F-, which I would not believe
+before.  It was some consolation, however, to find that in this
+instance the lady had been more to blame than he, for he was very
+young at the time, and she had decidedly made the first advances,
+if what he said was true.  I hated her for it, for it seemed as if
+she had chiefly contributed to his corruption; and when he was
+beginning to talk about her the other day, I begged he would not
+mention her, for I detested the very sound of her name.
+
+'Not because you loved her, Arthur, mind, but because she injured
+you and deceived her husband, and was altogether a very abominable
+woman, whom you ought to be ashamed to mention.'
+
+But he defended her by saying that she had a doting old husband,
+whom it was impossible to love.
+
+'Then why did she marry him?' said I.
+
+'For his money,' was the reply.
+
+'Then that was another crime, and her solemn promise to love and
+honour him was another, that only increased the enormity of the
+last.'
+
+'You are too severe upon the poor lady,' laughed he.  'But never
+mind, Helen, I don't care for her now; and I never loved any of
+them half as much as I do you, so you needn't fear to be forsaken
+like them.'
+
+'If you had told me these things before, Arthur, I never should
+have given you the chance.'
+
+'Wouldn't you, my darling?'
+
+'Most certainly not!'
+
+He laughed incredulously.
+
+'I wish I could convince you of it now!' cried I, starting up from
+beside him:  and for the first time in my life, and I hope the
+last, I wished I had not married him.
+
+'Helen,' said he, more gravely, 'do you know that if I believed you
+now I should be very angry? but thank heaven I don't.  Though you
+stand there with your white face and flashing eyes, looking at me
+like a very tigress, I know the heart within you perhaps a trifle
+better than you know it yourself.'
+
+Without another word I left the room and locked myself up in my own
+chamber.  In about half an hour he came to the door, and first he
+tried the handle, then he knocked.
+
+'Won't you let me in, Helen?' said he.
+
+'No; you have displeased me,' I replied, 'and I don't want to see
+your face or hear your voice again till the morning.'
+
+He paused a moment as if dumfounded or uncertain how to answer such
+a speech, and then turned and walked away.  This was only an hour
+after dinner:  I knew he would find it very dull to sit alone all
+the evening; and this considerably softened my resentment, though
+it did not make me relent.  I was determined to show him that my
+heart was not his slave, and I could live without him if I chose;
+and I sat down and wrote a long letter to my aunt, of course
+telling her nothing of all this.  Soon after ten o'clock I heard
+him come up again, but he passed my door and went straight to his
+own dressing-room, where he shut himself in for the night.
+
+I was rather anxious to see how he would meet me in the morning,
+and not a little disappointed to behold him enter the breakfast-
+room with a careless smile.
+
+'Are you cross still, Helen?' said he, approaching as if to salute
+me.  I coldly turned to the table, and began to pour out the
+coffee, observing that he was rather late.
+
+He uttered a low whistle and sauntered away to the window, where he
+stood for some minutes looking out upon the pleasing prospect of
+sullen grey clouds, streaming rain, soaking lawn, and dripping
+leafless trees, and muttering execrations on the weather, and then
+sat down to breakfast.  While taking his coffee he muttered it was
+'d-d cold.'
+
+'You should not have left it so long,' said I.
+
+He made no answer, and the meal was concluded in silence.  It was a
+relief to both when the letter-bag was brought in.  It contained
+upon examination a newspaper and one or two letters for him, and a
+couple of letters for me, which he tossed across the table without
+a remark.  One was from my brother, the other from Milicent
+Hargrave, who is now in London with her mother.  His, I think, were
+business letters, and apparently not much to his mind, for he
+crushed them into his pocket with some muttered expletives that I
+should have reproved him for at any other time.  The paper he set
+before him, and pretended to be deeply absorbed in its contents
+during the remainder of breakfast, and a considerable time after.
+
+The reading and answering of my letters, and the direction of
+household concerns, afforded me ample employment for the morning:
+after lunch I got my drawing, and from dinner till bed-time I read.
+Meanwhile, poor Arthur was sadly at a loss for something to amuse
+him or to occupy his time.  He wanted to appear as busy and as
+unconcerned as I did.  Had the weather at all permitted, he would
+doubtless have ordered his horse and set off to some distant
+region, no matter where, immediately after breakfast, and not
+returned till night:  had there been a lady anywhere within reach,
+of any age between fifteen and forty-five, he would have sought
+revenge and found employment in getting up, or trying to get up, a
+desperate flirtation with her; but being, to my private
+satisfaction, entirely cut off from both these sources of
+diversion, his sufferings were truly deplorable.  When he had done
+yawning over his paper and scribbling short answers to his shorter
+letters, he spent the remainder of the morning and the whole of the
+afternoon in fidgeting about from room to room, watching the
+clouds, cursing the rain, alternately petting and teasing and
+abusing his dogs, sometimes lounging on the sofa with a book that
+he could not force himself to read, and very often fixedly gazing
+at me when he thought I did not perceive it, with the vain hope of
+detecting some traces of tears, or some tokens of remorseful
+anguish in my face.  But I managed to preserve an undisturbed
+though grave serenity throughout the day.  I was not really angry:
+I felt for him all the time, and longed to be reconciled; but I
+determined he should make the first advances, or at least show some
+signs of an humble and contrite spirit first; for, if I began, it
+would only minister to his self-conceit, increase his arrogance,
+and quite destroy the lesson I wanted to give him.
+
+He made a long stay in the dining-room after dinner, and, I fear,
+took an unusual quantity of wine, but not enough to loosen his
+tongue:  for when he came in and found me quietly occupied with my
+book, too busy to lift my head on his entrance, he merely murmured
+an expression of suppressed disapprobation, and, shutting the door
+with a bang, went and stretched himself at full length on the sofa,
+and composed himself to sleep.  But his favourite cocker, Dash,
+that had been lying at my feet, took the liberty of jumping upon
+him and beginning to lick his face.  He struck it off with a smart
+blow, and the poor dog squeaked and ran cowering back to me.  When
+he woke up, about half an hour after, he called it to him again,
+but Dash only looked sheepish and wagged the tip of his tail.  He
+called again more sharply, but Dash only clung the closer to me,
+and licked my hand, as if imploring protection.  Enraged at this,
+his master snatched up a heavy book and hurled it at his head.  The
+poor dog set up a piteous outcry, and ran to the door.  I let him
+out, and then quietly took up the book.
+
+'Give that book to me,' said Arthur, in no very courteous tone.  I
+gave it to him.
+
+'Why did you let the dog out?' he asked; 'you knew I wanted him.'
+
+'By what token?' I replied; 'by your throwing the book at him? but
+perhaps it was intended for me?'
+
+'No; but I see you've got a taste of it,' said he, looking at my
+hand, that had also been struck, and was rather severely grazed.
+
+I returned to my reading, and he endeavoured to occupy himself in
+the same manner; but in a little while, after several portentous
+yawns, he pronounced his book to be 'cursed trash,' and threw it on
+the table.  Then followed eight or ten minutes of silence, during
+the greater part of which, I believe, he was staring at me.  At
+last his patience was tired out.
+
+'What is that book, Helen?' he exclaimed.
+
+I told him.
+
+'Is it interesting?'
+
+'Yes, very.'
+
+I went on reading, or pretending to read, at least - I cannot say
+there was much communication between my eyes and my brain; for,
+while the former ran over the pages, the latter was earnestly
+wondering when Arthur would speak next, and what he would say, and
+what I should answer.  But he did not speak again till I rose to
+make the tea, and then it was only to say he should not take any.
+He continued lounging on the sofa, and alternately closing his eyes
+and looking at his watch and at me, till bed-time, when I rose, and
+took my candle and retired.
+
+'Helen!' cried he, the moment I had left the room.  I turned back,
+and stood awaiting his commands.
+
+'What do you want, Arthur?' I said at length.
+
+'Nothing,' replied he.  'Go!'
+
+I went, but hearing him mutter something as I was closing the door,
+I turned again.  It sounded very like 'confounded slut,' but I was
+quite willing it should be something else.
+
+'Were you speaking, Arthur?' I asked.
+
+'No,' was the answer, and I shut the door and departed.  I saw
+nothing more of him till the following morning at breakfast, when
+he came down a full hour after the usual time.
+
+'You're very late,' was my morning's salutation.
+
+'You needn't have waited for me,' was his; and he walked up to the
+window again.  It was just such weather as yesterday.
+
+'Oh, this confounded rain!' he muttered.  But, after studiously
+regarding it for a minute or two, a bright idea, seemed to strike
+him, for he suddenly exclaimed, 'But I know what I'll do!' and then
+returned and took his seat at the table.  The letter-bag was
+already there, waiting to be opened.  He unlocked it and examined
+the contents, but said nothing about them.
+
+'Is there anything for me?' I asked.
+
+'No.'
+
+He opened the newspaper and began to read.
+
+'You'd better take your coffee,' suggested I; 'it will be cold
+again.'
+
+'You may go,' said he, 'if you've done; I don't want you.'
+
+I rose and withdrew to the next room, wondering if we were to have
+another such miserable day as yesterday, and wishing intensely for
+an end of these mutually inflicted torments.  Shortly after I heard
+him ring the bell and give some orders about his wardrobe that
+sounded as if he meditated a long journey.  He then sent for the
+coachman, and I heard something about the carriage and the horses,
+and London, and seven o'clock to-morrow morning, that startled and
+disturbed me not a little.
+
+'I must not let him go to London, whatever comes of it,' said I to
+myself; 'he will run into all kinds of mischief, and I shall be the
+cause of it.  But the question is, How am I to alter his purpose?
+Well, I will wait awhile, and see if he mentions it.'
+
+I waited most anxiously, from hour to hour; but not a word was
+spoken, on that or any other subject, to me.  He whistled and
+talked to his dogs, and wandered from room to room, much the same
+as on the previous day.  At last I began to think I must introduce
+the subject myself, and was pondering how to bring it about, when
+John unwittingly came to my relief with the following message from
+the coachman:
+
+'Please, sir, Richard says one of the horses has got a very bad
+cold, and he thinks, sir, if you could make it convenient to go the
+day after to-morrow, instead of to-morrow, he could physic it to-
+day, so as - '
+
+'Confound his impudence!' interjected the master.
+
+'Please, sir, he says it would be a deal better if you could,'
+persisted John, 'for he hopes there'll be a change in the weather
+shortly, and he says it's not likely, when a horse is so bad with a
+cold, and physicked and all - '
+
+'Devil take the horse!' cried the gentleman.  'Well, tell him I'll
+think about it,' he added, after a moment's reflection.  He cast a
+searching glance at me, as the servant withdrew, expecting to see
+some token of deep astonishment and alarm; but, being previously
+prepared, I preserved an aspect of stoical indifference.  His
+countenance fell as he met my steady gaze, and he turned away in
+very obvious disappointment, and walked up to the fire-place, where
+he stood in an attitude of undisguised dejection, leaning against
+the chimney-piece with his forehead sunk upon his arm.
+
+'Where do you want to go, Arthur?' said I.
+
+'To London,' replied he, gravely.
+
+'What for?' I asked.
+
+'Because I cannot be happy here.'
+
+'Why not?'
+
+'Because my wife doesn't love me.'
+
+'She would love you with all her heart, if you deserved it.'
+
+'What must I do to deserve it?'
+
+This seemed humble and earnest enough; and I was so much affected,
+between sorrow and joy, that I was obliged to pause a few seconds
+before I could steady my voice to reply.
+
+'If she gives you her heart,' said I, 'you must take it,
+thankfully, and use it well, and not pull it in pieces, and laugh
+in her face, because she cannot snatch it away.'
+
+He now turned round, and stood facing me, with his back to the
+fire.  'Come, then, Helen, are you going to be a good girl?' said
+he.
+
+This sounded rather too arrogant, and the smile that accompanied it
+did not please me.  I therefore hesitated to reply.  Perhaps my
+former answer had implied too much:  he had heard my voice falter,
+and might have seen me brush away a tear.
+
+'Are you going to forgive me, Helen?' he resumed, more humbly.
+
+'Are you penitent?' I replied, stepping up to him and smiling in
+his face.
+
+'Heart-broken!' he answered, with a rueful countenance, yet with a
+merry smile just lurking within his eyes and about the corners of
+his mouth; but this could not repulse me, and I flew into his arms.
+He fervently embraced me, and though I shed a torrent of tears, I
+think I never was happier in my life than at that moment.
+
+'Then you won't go to London, Arthur?' I said, when the first
+transport of tears and kisses had subsided.
+
+'No, love, - unless you will go with me.'
+
+'I will, gladly,' I answered, 'if you think the change will amuse
+you, and if you will put off the journey till next week.'
+
+He readily consented, but said there was no need of much
+preparation, as he should not be for staying long, for he did not
+wish me to be Londonized, and to lose my country freshness and
+originality by too much intercourse with the ladies of the world.
+I thought this folly; but I did not wish to contradict him now:  I
+merely said that I was of very domestic habits, as he well knew,
+and had no particular wish to mingle with the world.
+
+So we are to go to London on Monday, the day after to-morrow.  It
+is now four days since the termination of our quarrel, and I am
+sure it has done us both good:  it has made me like Arthur a great
+deal better, and made him behave a great deal better to me.  He has
+never once attempted to annoy me since, by the most distant
+allusion to Lady F-, or any of those disagreeable reminiscences of
+his former life.  I wish I could blot them from my memory, or else
+get him to regard such matters in the same light as I do.  Well! it
+is something, however, to have made him see that they are not fit
+subjects for a conjugal jest.  He may see further some time.  I
+will put no limits to my hopes; and, in spite of my aunt's
+forebodings and my own unspoken fears, I trust we shall be happy
+yet.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV
+
+
+
+On the eighth of April we went to London, on the eighth of May I
+returned, in obedience to Arthur's wish; very much against my own,
+because I left him behind.  If he had come with me, I should have
+been very glad to get home again, for he led me such a round of
+restless dissipation while there, that, in that short space of
+time, I was quite tired out.  He seemed bent upon displaying me to
+his friends and acquaintances in particular, and the public in
+general, on every possible occasion, and to the greatest possible
+advantage.  It was something to feel that he considered me a worthy
+object of pride; but I paid dear for the gratification:  for, in
+the first place, to please him I had to violate my cherished
+predilections, my almost rooted principles in favour of a plain,
+dark, sober style of dress - I must sparkle in costly jewels and
+deck myself out like a painted butterfly, just as I had, long
+since, determined I would never do - and this was no trifling
+sacrifice; in the second place, I was continually straining to
+satisfy his sanguine expectations and do honour to his choice by my
+general conduct and deportment, and fearing to disappoint him by
+some awkward misdemeanour, or some trait of inexperienced ignorance
+about the customs of society, especially when I acted the part of
+hostess, which I was not unfrequently called upon to do; and, in
+the third place, as I intimated before, I was wearied of the throng
+and bustle, the restless hurry and ceaseless change of a life so
+alien to all my previous habits.  At last, he suddenly discovered
+that the London air did not agree with me, and I was languishing
+for my country home, and must immediately return to Grassdale.
+
+I laughingly assured him that the case was not so urgent as he
+appeared to think it, but I was quite willing to go home if he was.
+He replied that he should be obliged to remain a week or two
+longer, as he had business that required his presence.
+
+'Then I will stay with you,' said I.
+
+'But I can't do with you, Helen,' was his answer:  'as long as you
+stay I shall attend to you and neglect my business.'
+
+'But I won't let you,' I returned; 'now that I know you have
+business to attend to, I shall insist upon your attending to it,
+and letting me alone; and, to tell the truth, I shall be glad of a
+little rest.  I can take my rides and walks in the Park as usual;
+and your business cannot occupy all your time:  I shall see you at
+meal-times, and in the evenings at least, and that will be better
+than being leagues away and never seeing you at all.'
+
+'But, my love, I cannot let you stay.  How can I settle my affairs
+when I know that you are here, neglected -?'
+
+'I shall not feel myself neglected:  while you are doing your duty,
+Arthur, I shall never complain of neglect.  If you had told me
+before, that you had anything to do, it would have been half done
+before this; and now you must make up for lost time by redoubled
+exertions.  Tell me what it is; and I will be your taskmaster,
+instead of being a hindrance.'
+
+'No, no,' persisted the impracticable creature; 'you must go home,
+Helen; I must have the satisfaction of knowing that you are safe
+and well, though far away.  Your bright eyes are faded, and that
+tender, delicate bloom has quite deserted your cheek.'
+
+'That is only with too much gaiety and fatigue.'
+
+'It is not, I tell you; it is the London air:  you are pining for
+the fresh breezes of your country home, and you shall feel them
+before you are two days older.  And remember your situation,
+dearest Helen; on your health, you know, depends the health, if not
+the life, of our future hope.'
+
+'Then you really wish to get rid of me?'
+
+'Positively, I do; and I will take you down myself to Grassdale,
+and then return.  I shall not be absent above a week or fortnight
+at most.'
+
+'But if I must go, I will go alone:  if you must stay, it is
+needless to waste your time in the journey there and back.'
+
+But he did not like the idea of sending me alone.
+
+'Why, what helpless creature do you take me for,' I replied, 'that
+you cannot trust me to go a hundred miles in our own carriage, with
+our own footman and a maid to attend me?  If you come with me I
+shall assuredly keep you.  But tell me, Arthur, what is this
+tiresome business; and why did you never mention it before?'
+
+'It is only a little business with my lawyer,' said he; and he told
+me something about a piece of property he wanted to sell, in order
+to pay off a part of the incumbrances on his estate; but either the
+account was a little confused, or I was rather dull of
+comprehension, for I could not clearly understand how that should
+keep him in town a fortnight after me.  Still less can I now
+comprehend how it should keep him a month, for it is nearly that
+time since I left him, and no signs of his return as yet.  In every
+letter he promises to be with me in a few days, and every time
+deceives me, or deceives himself.  His excuses are vague and
+insufficient.  I cannot doubt that he has got among his former
+companions again.  Oh, why did I leave him!  I wish - I do
+intensely wish he would return!
+
+June 29th. - No Arthur yet; and for many days I have been looking
+and longing in vain for a letter.  His letters, when they come, are
+kind, if fair words and endearing epithets can give them a claim to
+the title - but very short, and full of trivial excuses and
+promises that I cannot trust; and yet how anxiously I look forward
+to them I how eagerly I open and devour one of those little,
+hastily-scribbled returns for the three or four long letters,
+hitherto unanswered, he has had from me!
+
+Oh, it is cruel to leave me so long alone!  He knows I have no one
+but Rachel to speak to, for we have no neighbours here, except the
+Hargraves, whose residence I can dimly descry from these upper
+windows embosomed among those low, woody hills beyond the Dale.  I
+was glad when I learnt that Milicent was so near us; and her
+company would be a soothing solace to me now; but she is still in
+town with her mother; there is no one at the Grove but little
+Esther and her French governess, for Walter is always away.  I saw
+that paragon of manly perfections in London:  he seemed scarcely to
+merit the eulogiums of his mother and sister, though he certainly
+appeared more conversable and agreeable than Lord Lowborough, more
+candid and high-minded than Mr. Grimsby, and more polished and
+gentlemanly than Mr. Hattersley, Arthur's only other friend whom he
+judged fit to introduce to me. - Oh, Arthur, why won't you come?
+why won't you write to me at least?  You talked about my health:
+how can you expect me to gather bloom and vigour here, pining in
+solitude and restless anxiety from day to day? - It would serve you
+right to come back and find my good looks entirely wasted away.  I
+would beg my uncle and aunt, or my brother, to come and see me, but
+I do not like to complain of my loneliness to them, and indeed
+loneliness is the least of my sufferings.  But what is he, doing -
+what is it that keeps him away?  It is this ever-recurring
+question, and the horrible suggestions it raises, that distract me.
+
+July 3rd. - My last bitter letter has wrung from him an answer at
+last, and a rather longer one than usual; but still I don't know
+what to make of it.  He playfully abuses me for the gall and
+vinegar of my latest effusion, tells me I can have no conception of
+the multitudinous engagements that keep him away, but avers that,
+in spite of them all, he will assuredly be with me before the close
+of next week; though it is impossible for a man so circumstanced as
+he is to fix the precise day of his return:  meantime he exhorts me
+to the exercise of patience, 'that first of woman's virtues,' and
+desires me to remember the saying, 'Absence makes the heart grow
+fonder,' and comfort myself with the assurance that the longer he
+stays away the better he shall love me when he returns; and till he
+does return, he begs I will continue to write to him constantly,
+for, though he is sometimes too idle and often too busy to answer
+my letters as they come, he likes to receive them daily; and if I
+fulfil my threat of punishing his seeming neglect by ceasing to
+write, he shall be so angry that he will do his utmost to forget
+me.  He adds this piece of intelligence respecting poor Milicent
+Hargrave:
+
+'Your little friend Milicent is likely, before long, to follow your
+example, and take upon her the yoke of matrimony in conjunction
+with a friend of mine.  Hattersley, you know, has not yet fulfilled
+his direful threat of throwing his precious person away on the
+first old maid that chose to evince a tenderness for him; but he
+still preserves a resolute determination to see himself a married
+man before the year is out.  "Only," said he to me, "I must have
+somebody that will let me have my own way in everything - not like
+your wife, Huntingdon:  she is a charming creature, but she looks
+as if she had a will of her own, and could play the vixen upon
+occasion" (I thought "you're right there, man," but I didn't say
+so).  "I must have some good, quiet soul that will let me just do
+what I like and go where I like, keep at home or stay away, without
+a word of reproach or complaint; for I can't do with being
+bothered."  "Well," said I, "I know somebody that will suit you to
+a tee, if you don't care for money, and that's Hargrave's sister,
+Milicent."  He desired to be introduced to her forthwith, for he
+said he had plenty of the needful himself, or should have when his
+old governor chose to quit the stage.  So you see, Helen, I have
+managed pretty well, both for your friend and mine.'
+
+Poor Milicent!  But I cannot imagine she will ever be led to accept
+such a suitor - one so repugnant to all her ideas of a man to be
+honoured and loved.
+
+5th. - Alas! I was mistaken.  I have got a long letter from her
+this morning, telling me she is already engaged, and expects to be
+married before the close of the month.
+
+'I hardly know what to say about it,' she writes, 'or what to
+think.  To tell you the truth, Helen, I don't like the thoughts of
+it at all.  If I am to be Mr. Hattersley's wife, I must try to love
+him; and I do try with all my might; but I have made very little
+progress yet; and the worst symptom of the case is, that the
+further he is from me the better I like him:  he frightens me with
+his abrupt manners and strange hectoring ways, and I dread the
+thoughts of marrying him.  "Then why have you accepted him?" you
+will ask; and I didn't know I had accepted him; but mamma tells me
+I have, and he seems to think so too.  I certainly didn't mean to
+do so; but I did not like to give him a flat refusal, for fear
+mamma should be grieved and angry (for I knew she wished me to
+marry him), and I wanted to talk to her first about it:  So I gave
+him what I thought was an evasive, half negative answer; but she
+says it was as good as an acceptance, and he would think me very
+capricious if I were to attempt to draw back - and indeed I was so
+confused and frightened at the moment, I can hardly tell what I
+said.  And next time I saw him, he accosted me in all confidence as
+his affianced bride, and immediately began to settle matters with
+mamma.  I had not courage to contradict them then, and how can I do
+it now?  I cannot; they would think me mad.  Besides, mamma is so
+delighted with the idea of the match; she thinks she has managed so
+well for me; and I cannot bear to disappoint her.  I do object
+sometimes, and tell her what I feel, but you don't know how she
+talks.  Mr. Hattersley, you know, is the son of a rich banker, and
+as Esther and I have no fortunes, and Walter very little, our dear
+mamma is very anxious to see us all well married, that is, united
+to rich partners.  It is not my idea of being well married, but she
+means it all for the best.  She says when I am safe off her hands
+it will be such a relief to her mind; and she assures me it will be
+a good thing for the family as well as for me.  Even Walter is
+pleased at the prospect, and when I confessed my reluctance to him,
+he said it was all childish nonsense.  Do you think it nonsense,
+Helen?  I should not care if I could see any prospect of being able
+to love and admire him, but I can't.  There is nothing about him to
+hang one's esteem and affection upon; he is so diametrically
+opposite to what I imagined my husband should be.  Do write to me,
+and say all you can to encourage me.  Don't attempt to dissuade me,
+for my fate is fixed:  preparations for the important event are
+already going on around me; and don't say a word against Mr.
+Hattersley, for I want to think well of him; and though I have
+spoken against him myself, it is for the last time:  hereafter, I
+shall never permit myself to utter a word in his dispraise, however
+he may seem to deserve it; and whoever ventures to speak
+slightingly of the man I have promised to love, to honour, and
+obey, must expect my serious displeasure.  After all, I think he is
+quite as good as Mr. Huntingdon, if not better; and yet you love
+him, and seem to be happy and contented; and perhaps I may manage
+as well.  You must tell me, if you can, that Mr. Hattersley is
+better than he seems - that he is upright, honourable, and open-
+hearted - in fact, a perfect diamond in the rough.  He may be all
+this, but I don't know him.  I know only the exterior, and what, I
+trust, is the worst part of him.'
+
+She concludes with 'Good-by, dear Helen.  I am waiting anxiously
+for your advice - but mind you let it be all on the right side.'
+
+Alas! poor Milicent, what encouragement can I give you? or what
+advice - except that it is better to make a bold stand now, though
+at the expense of disappointing and angering both mother and
+brother and lover, than to devote your whole life, hereafter, to
+misery and vain regret?
+
+Saturday, 13th. - The week is over, and he is not come.  All the
+sweet summer is passing away without one breath of pleasure to me
+or benefit to him.  And I had all along been looking forward to
+this season with the fond, delusive hope that we should enjoy it so
+sweetly together; and that, with God's help and my exertions, it
+would be the means of elevating his mind, and refining his taste to
+a due appreciation of the salutary and pure delights of nature, and
+peace, and holy love.  But now - at evening, when I see the round
+red sun sink quietly down behind those woody hills, leaving them
+sleeping in a warm, red, golden haze, I only think another lovely
+day is lost to him and me; and at morning, when roused by the
+flutter and chirp of the sparrows, and the gleeful twitter of the
+swallows - all intent upon feeding their young, and full of life
+and joy in their own little frames - I open the window to inhale
+the balmy, soul-reviving air, and look out upon the lovely
+landscape, laughing in dew and sunshine - I too often shame that
+glorious scene with tears of thankless misery, because he cannot
+feel its freshening influence; and when I wander in the ancient
+woods, and meet the little wild flowers smiling in my path, or sit
+in the shadow of our noble ash-trees by the water-side, with their
+branches gently swaying in the light summer breeze that murmurs
+through their feathery foliage - my ears full of that low music
+mingled with the dreamy hum of insects, my eyes abstractedly gazing
+on the glassy surface of the little lake before me, with the trees
+that crowd about its bank, some gracefully bending to kiss its
+waters, some rearing their stately heads high above, but stretching
+their wide arms over its margin, all faithfully mirrored far, far
+down in its glassy depth - though sometimes the images are
+partially broken by the sport of aquatic insects, and sometimes,
+for a moment, the whole is shivered into trembling fragments by a
+transient breeze that sweeps the surface too roughly - still I have
+no pleasure; for the greater the happiness that nature sets before
+me, the more I lament that he is not here to taste it:  the greater
+the bliss we might enjoy together, the more I feel our present
+wretchedness apart (yes, ours; he must be wretched, though he may
+not know it); and the more my senses are pleased, the more my heart
+is oppressed; for he keeps it with him confined amid the dust and
+smoke of London - perhaps shut up within the walls of his own
+abominable club.
+
+But most of all, at night, when I enter my lonely chamber, and look
+out upon the summer moon, 'sweet regent of the sky,' floating above
+me in the 'black blue vault of heaven,' shedding a flood of silver
+radiance over park, and wood, and water, so pure, so peaceful, so
+divine - and think, Where is he now? - what is he doing at this
+moment? wholly unconscious of this heavenly scene - perhaps
+revelling with his boon companions, perhaps - God help me, it is
+too - too much!
+
+23rd. - Thank heaven, he is come at last!  But how altered! flushed
+and feverish, listless and languid, his beauty strangely
+diminished, his vigour and vivacity quite departed.  I have not
+upbraided him by word or look; I have not even asked him what he
+has been doing.  I have not the heart to do it, for I think he is
+ashamed of himself-he must be so indeed, and such inquiries could
+not fail to be painful to both.  My forbearance pleases him -
+touches him even, I am inclined to think.  He says he is glad to be
+home again, and God knows how glad I am to get him back, even as he
+is.  He lies on the sofa, nearly all day long; and I play and sing
+to him for hours together.  I write his letters for him, and get
+him everything he wants; and sometimes I read to him, and sometimes
+I talk, and sometimes only sit by him and soothe him with silent
+caresses.  I know he does not deserve it; and I fear I am spoiling
+him; but this once, I will forgive him, freely and entirely.  I
+will shame him into virtue if I can, and I will never let him leave
+me again.
+
+He is pleased with my attentions - it may be, grateful for them.
+He likes to have me near him:  and though he is peevish and testy
+with his servants and his dogs, he is gentle and kind to me.  What
+he would be, if I did not so watchfully anticipate his wants, and
+so carefully avoid, or immediately desist from doing anything that
+has a tendency to irritate or disturb him, with however little
+reason, I cannot tell.  How intensely I wish he were worthy of all
+this care!  Last night, as I sat beside him, with his head in my
+lap, passing my fingers through his beautiful curls, this thought
+made my eyes overflow with sorrowful tears - as it often does; but
+this time, a tear fell on his face and made him look up.  He
+smiled, but not insultingly.
+
+'Dear Helen!' he said - 'why do you cry? you know that I love you'
+(and he pressed my hand to his feverish lips), 'and what more could
+you desire?'
+
+'Only, Arthur, that you would love yourself as truly and as
+faithfully as you are loved by me.'
+
+'That would be hard, indeed!' he replied, tenderly squeezing my
+hand.
+
+August 24th. - Arthur is himself again, as lusty and reckless, as
+light of heart and head as ever, and as restless and hard to amuse
+as a spoilt child, and almost as full of mischief too, especially
+when wet weather keeps him within doors.  I wish he had something
+to do, some useful trade, or profession, or employment - anything
+to occupy his head or his hands for a few hours a day, and give him
+something besides his own pleasure to think about.  If he would
+play the country gentleman and attend to the farm - but that he
+knows nothing about, and won't give his mind to consider, - or if
+he would take up with some literary study, or learn to draw or to
+play - as he is so fond of music, I often try to persuade him to
+learn the piano, but he is far too idle for such an undertaking:
+he has no more idea of exerting himself to overcome obstacles than
+he has of restraining his natural appetites; and these two things
+are the ruin of him.  I lay them both to the charge of his harsh
+yet careless father, and his madly indulgent mother. - If ever I am
+a mother I will zealously strive against this crime of over-
+indulgence.  I can hardly give it a milder name when I think of the
+evils it brings.
+
+Happily, it will soon be the shooting season, and then, if the
+weather permit, he will find occupation enough in the pursuit and
+destruction of the partridges and pheasants:  we have no grouse, or
+he might have been similarly occupied at this moment, instead of
+lying under the acacia-tree pulling poor Dash's ears.  But he says
+it is dull work shooting alone; he must have a friend or two to
+help him.
+
+'Let them be tolerably decent then, Arthur,' said I.  The word
+'friend' in his mouth makes me shudder:  I know it was some of his
+'friends' that induced him to stay behind me in London, and kept
+him away so long:  indeed, from what he has unguardedly told me, or
+hinted from time to time, I cannot doubt that he frequently showed
+them my letters, to let them see how fondly his wife watched over
+his interests, and how keenly she regretted his absence; and that
+they induced him to remain week after week, and to plunge into all
+manner of excesses, to avoid being laughed at for a wife-ridden
+fool, and, perhaps, to show how far he could venture to go without
+danger of shaking the fond creature's devoted attachment.  It is a
+hateful idea, but I cannot believe it is a false one.
+
+'Well,' replied he, 'I thought of Lord Lowborough for one; but
+there is no possibility of getting him without his better half, our
+mutual friend, Annabella; so we must ask them both.  You're not
+afraid of her, are you, Helen?' he asked, with a mischievous
+twinkle in his eyes.
+
+'Of course not,' I answered:  'why should I?  And who besides?'
+
+'Hargrave for one.  He will be glad to come, though his own place
+is so near, for he has little enough land of his own to shoot over,
+and we can extend our depredations into it, if we like; and he is
+thoroughly respectable, you know, Helen - quite a lady's man:  and
+I think, Grimsby for another:  he's a decent, quiet fellow enough.
+You'll not object to Grimsby?'
+
+'I hate him:  but, however, if you wish it, I'll try to endure his
+presence for a while.'
+
+'All a prejudice, Helen, a mere woman's antipathy.'
+
+'No; I have solid grounds for my dislike.  And is that all?'
+
+'Why, yes, I think so.  Hattersley will be too busy billing and
+cooing, with his bride to have much time to spare for guns and dogs
+at present,' he replied.  And that reminds me, that I have had
+several letters from Milicent since her marriage, and that she
+either is, or pretends to be, quite reconciled to her lot.  She
+professes to have discovered numberless virtues and perfections in
+her husband, some of which, I fear, less partial eyes would fail to
+distinguish, though they sought them carefully with tears; and now
+that she is accustomed to his loud voice, and abrupt, uncourteous
+manners, she affirms she finds no difficulty in loving him as a
+wife should do, and begs I will burn that letter wherein she spoke
+so unadvisedly against him.  So that I trust she may yet be happy;
+but, if she is, it will be entirely the reward of her own goodness
+of heart; for had she chosen to consider herself the victim of
+fate, or of her mother's worldly wisdom, she might have been
+thoroughly miserable; and if, for duty's sake, she had not made
+every effort to love her husband, she would, doubtless, have hated
+him to the end of her days.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVI
+
+
+
+Sept. 23rd. - Our guests arrived about three weeks ago.  Lord and
+Lady Lowborough have now been married above eight months; and I
+will do the lady the credit to say that her husband is quite an
+altered man; his looks, his spirits, and his temper, are all
+perceptibly changed for the better since I last saw him.  But there
+is room for improvement still.  He is not always cheerful, nor
+always contented, and she often complains of his ill-humour, which,
+however, of all persons, she ought to be the last to accuse him of,
+as he never displays it against her, except for such conduct as
+would provoke a saint.  He adores her still, and would go to the
+world's end to please her.  She knows her power, and she uses it
+too; but well knowing that to wheedle and coax is safer than to
+command, she judiciously tempers her despotism with flattery and
+blandishments enough to make him deem himself a favoured and a
+happy man.
+
+But she has a way of tormenting him, in which I am a fellow-
+sufferer, or might be, if I chose to regard myself as such.  This
+is by openly, but not too glaringly, coquetting with Mr.
+Huntingdon, who is quite willing to be her partner in the game; but
+I don't care for it, because, with him, I know there is nothing but
+personal vanity, and a mischievous desire to excite my jealousy,
+and, perhaps, to torment his friend; and she, no doubt, is actuated
+by much the same motives; only, there is more of malice and less of
+playfulness in her manoeuvres.  It is obviously, therefore, my
+interest to disappoint them both, as far as I am concerned, by
+preserving a cheerful, undisturbed serenity throughout; and,
+accordingly, I endeavour to show the fullest confidence in my
+husband, and the greatest indifference to the arts of my attractive
+guest.  I have never reproached the former but once, and that was
+for laughing at Lord Lowborough's depressed and anxious countenance
+one evening, when they had both been particularly provoking; and
+then, indeed, I said a good deal on the subject, and rebuked him
+sternly enough; but he only laughed, and said, - 'You can feel for
+him, Helen, can't you?'
+
+'I can feel for anyone that is unjustly treated,' I replied, 'and I
+can feel for those that injure them too.'
+
+'Why, Helen, you are as jealous as he is!' cried he, laughing still
+more; and I found it impossible to convince him of his mistake.
+So, from that time, I have carefully refrained from any notice of
+the subject whatever, and left Lord Lowborough to take care of
+himself.  He either has not the sense or the power to follow my
+example, though he does try to conceal his uneasiness as well as he
+can; but still, it will appear in his face, and his ill-humour will
+peep out at intervals, though not in the expression of open
+resentment - they never go far enough for that.  But I confess I do
+feel jealous at times, most painfully, bitterly so; when she sings
+and plays to him, and he hangs over the instrument, and dwells upon
+her voice with no affected interest; for then I know he is really
+delighted, and I have no power to awaken similar fervour.  I can
+amuse and please him with my simple songs, but not delight him
+thus.
+
+28th. - Yesterday, we all went to the Grove, Mr. Hargrave's much-
+neglected home.  His mother frequently asks us over, that she may
+have the pleasure of her dear Walter's company; and this time she
+had invited us to a dinner-party, and got together as many of the
+country gentry as were within reach to meet us.  The entertainment
+was very well got up; but I could not help thinking about the cost
+of it all the time.  I don't like Mrs. Hargrave; she is a hard,
+pretentious, worldly-minded woman.  She has money enough to live
+very comfortably, if she only knew how to use it judiciously, and
+had taught her son to do the same; but she is ever straining to
+keep up appearances, with that despicable pride that shuns the
+semblance of poverty as of a shameful crime.  She grinds her
+dependents, pinches her servants, and deprives even her daughters
+and herself of the real comforts of life, because she will not
+consent to yield the palm in outward show to those who have three
+times her wealth; and, above all, because she is determined her
+cherished son shall be enabled to 'hold up his head with the
+highest gentlemen in the land.'  This same son, I imagine, is a man
+of expensive habits, no reckless spendthrift and no abandoned
+sensualist, but one who likes to have 'everything handsome about
+him,' and to go to a certain length in youthful indulgences, not so
+much to gratify his own tastes as to maintain his reputation as a
+man of fashion in the world, and a respectable fellow among his own
+lawless companions; while he is too selfish to consider how many
+comforts might be obtained for his fond mother and sisters with the
+money he thus wastes upon himself:  as long as they can contrive to
+make a respectable appearance once a year, when they come to town,
+he gives himself little concern about their private stintings and
+struggles at home.  This is a harsh judgment to form of 'dear,
+noble-minded, generous-hearted Walter,' but I fear it is too just.
+
+Mrs. Hargrave's anxiety to make good matches for her daughters is
+partly the cause, and partly the result, of these errors:  by
+making a figure in the world, and showing them off to advantage,
+she hopes to obtain better chances for them; and by thus living
+beyond her legitimate means, and lavishing so much on their
+brother, she renders them portionless, and makes them burdens on
+her hands.  Poor Milicent, I fear, has already fallen a sacrifice
+to the manoeuvrings of this mistaken mother, who congratulates
+herself on having so satisfactorily discharged her maternal duty,
+and hopes to do as well for Esther.  But Esther is a child as yet,
+a little merry romp of fourteen:  as honest-hearted, and as
+guileless and simple as her sister, but with a fearless spirit of
+her own, that I fancy her mother will find some difficulty in
+bending to her purposes.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVII
+
+
+
+October 9th. - It was on the night of the 4th, a little after tea,
+that Annabella had been singing and playing, with Arthur as usual
+at her side:  she had ended her song, but still she sat at the
+instrument; and he stood leaning on the back of her chair,
+conversing in scarcely audible tones, with his face in very close
+proximity with hers.  I looked at Lord Lowborough.  He was at the
+other end of the room, talking with Messrs. Hargrave and Grimsby;
+but I saw him dart towards his lady and his host a quick, impatient
+glance, expressive of intense disquietude, at which Grimsby smiled.
+Determined to interrupt the TETE-E-TETE, I rose, and, selecting a
+piece of music from the music stand, stepped up to the piano,
+intending to ask the lady to play it; but I stood transfixed and
+speechless on seeing her seated there, listening, with what seemed
+an exultant smile on her flushed face to his soft murmurings, with
+her hand quietly surrendered to his clasp.  The blood rushed first
+to my heart, and then to my head; for there was more than this:
+almost at the moment of my approach, he cast a hurried glance over
+his shoulder towards the other occupants of the room, and then
+ardently pressed the unresisting hand to his lips.  On raising his
+eyes, he beheld me, and dropped them again, confounded and
+dismayed.  She saw me too, and confronted me with a look of hard
+defiance.  I laid the music on the piano, and retired.  I felt ill;
+but I did not leave the room:  happily, it was getting late, and
+could not be long before the company dispersed.
+
+I went to the fire, and leant my head against the chimney-piece.
+In a minute or two, some one asked me if I felt unwell.  I did not
+answer; indeed, at the time, I knew not what was said; but I
+mechanically looked up, and saw Mr. Hargrave standing beside me on
+the rug.
+
+'Shall I get you a glass of wine?' said he.
+
+'No, thank you,' I replied; and, turning from him, I looked round.
+Lady Lowborough was beside her husband, bending over him as he sat,
+with her hand on his shoulder, softly talking and smiling in his
+face; and Arthur was at the table, turning over a book of
+engravings.  I seated myself in the nearest chair; and Mr.
+Hargrave, finding his services were not desired, judiciously
+withdrew.  Shortly after, the company broke up, and, as the guests
+were retiring to their rooms, Arthur approached me, smiling with
+the utmost assurance.
+
+'Are you very angry, Helen?' murmured he.
+
+'This is no jest, Arthur,' said I, seriously, but as calmly as I
+could - 'unless you think it a jest to lose my affection for ever.'
+
+'What! so bitter?' he exclaimed, laughingly, clasping my hand
+between both his; but I snatched it away, in indignation - almost
+in disgust, for he was obviously affected with wine.
+
+'Then I must go down on my knees,' said he; and kneeling before me,
+with clasped hands, uplifted in mock humiliation, he continued
+imploringly - 'Forgive me, Helen - dear Helen, forgive me, and I'll
+never do it again!' and, burying his face in his handkerchief, he
+affected to sob aloud.
+
+Leaving him thus employed, I took my candle, and, slipping quietly
+from the room, hastened up-stairs as fast as I could.  But he soon
+discovered that I had left him, and, rushing up after me, caught me
+in his arms, just as I had entered the chamber, and was about to
+shut the door in his face.
+
+'No, no, by heaven, you sha'n't escape me so!' he cried.  Then,
+alarmed at my agitation, he begged me not to put myself in such a
+passion, telling me I was white in the face, and should kill myself
+if I did so.
+
+'Let me go, then,' I murmured; and immediately he released me - and
+it was well he did, for I was really in a passion.  I sank into the
+easy-chair and endeavoured to compose myself, for I wanted to speak
+to him calmly.  He stood beside me, but did not venture to touch me
+or to speak for a few seconds; then, approaching a little nearer,
+he dropped on one knee - not in mock humility, but to bring himself
+nearer my level, and leaning his hand on the arm of the chair, he
+began in a low voice:  'It is all nonsense, Helen - a jest, a mere
+nothing - not worth a thought.  Will you never learn,' he continued
+more boldly, 'that you have nothing to fear from me? that I love
+you wholly and entirely? - or if,' he added with a lurking smile,
+'I ever give a thought to another, you may well spare it, for those
+fancies are here and gone like a flash of lightning, while my love
+for you burns on steadily, and for ever, like the sun.  You little
+exorbitant tyrant, will not that -?'
+
+'Be quiet a moment, will you, Arthur?' said I, 'and listen to me -
+and don't think I'm in a jealous fury:  I am perfectly calm.  Feel
+my hand.'  And I gravely extended it towards him - but closed it
+upon his with an energy that seemed to disprove the assertion, and
+made him smile.  'You needn't smile, sir,' said I, still tightening
+my grasp, and looking steadfastly on him till he almost quailed
+before me.  'You may think it all very fine, Mr. Huntingdon, to
+amuse yourself with rousing my jealousy; but take care you don't
+rouse my hate instead.  And when you have once extinguished my
+love, you will find it no easy matter to kindle it again.'
+
+'Well, Helen, I won't repeat the offence.  But I meant nothing by
+it, I assure you.  I had taken too much wine, and I was scarcely
+myself at the time.'
+
+'You often take too much; and that is another practice I detest.'
+He looked up astonished at my warmth.  'Yes,' I continued; 'I never
+mentioned it before, because I was ashamed to do so; but now I'll
+tell you that it distresses me, and may disgust me, if you go on
+and suffer the habit to grow upon you, as it will if you don't
+check it in time.  But the whole system of your conduct to Lady
+Lowborough is not referable to wine; and this night you knew
+perfectly well what you were doing.'
+
+'Well, I'm sorry for it,' replied he, with more of sulkiness than
+contrition:  'what more would you have?'
+
+'You are sorry that I saw you, no doubt,' I answered coldly.
+
+'If you had not seen me,' he muttered, fixing his eyes on the
+carpet, 'it would have done no harm.'
+
+My heart felt ready to burst; but I resolutely swallowed back my
+emotion, and answered calmly,
+
+'You think not?'
+
+'No,' replied he, boldly.  'After all, what have I done?  It's
+nothing - except as you choose to make it a subject of accusation
+and distress.'
+
+'What would Lord Lowborough, your friend, think, if he knew all? or
+what would you yourself think, if he or any other had acted the
+same part to me, throughout, as you have to Annabella?'
+
+'I would blow his brains out.'
+
+'Well, then, Arthur, how can you call it nothing - an offence for
+which you would think yourself justified in blowing another man's
+brains out?  Is it nothing to trifle with your friend's feelings
+and mine - to endeavour to steal a woman's affections from her
+husband - what he values more than his gold, and therefore what it
+is more dishonest to take?  Are the marriage vows a jest; and is it
+nothing to make it your sport to break them, and to tempt another
+to do the same?  Can I love a man that does such things, and coolly
+maintains it is nothing?'
+
+'You are breaking your marriage vows yourself,' said he,
+indignantly rising and pacing to and fro.  'You promised to honour
+and obey me, and now you attempt to hector over me, and threaten
+and accuse me, and call me worse than a highwayman.  If it were not
+for your situation, Helen, I would not submit to it so tamely.  I
+won't be dictated to by a woman, though she be my wife.'
+
+'What will you do then?  Will you go on till I hate you, and then
+accuse me of breaking my vows?'
+
+He was silent a. moment, and then replied:  'You never will hate
+me.'  Returning and resuming his former position at my feet, he
+repeated more vehemently - 'You cannot hate me as long as I love
+you.'
+
+'But how can I believe that you love me, if you continue to act in
+this way?  Just imagine yourself in my place:  would you think I
+loved you, if I did so?  Would you believe my protestations, and
+honour and trust me under such circumstances? '
+
+'The cases are different,' he replied.  'It is a woman's nature to
+be constant - to love one and one only, blindly, tenderly, and for
+ever - bless them, dear creatures! and you above them all; but you
+must have some commiseration for us, Helen; you must give us a
+little more licence, for, as Shakespeare has it -
+
+
+However we do praise ourselves,
+Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm,
+More longing, wavering, sooner lost and won
+Than women's are.'
+
+
+'Do you mean by that, that your fancies are lost to me, and won by
+Lady Lowborough?'
+
+'No! heaven is my witness that I think her mere dust and ashes in
+comparison with you, and shall continue to think so, unless you
+drive me from you by too much severity.  She is a daughter of
+earth; you are an angel of heaven; only be not too austere in your
+divinity, and remember that I am a poor, fallible mortal.  Come
+now, Helen; won't you forgive me?' he said, gently taking my hand,
+and looking up with an innocent smile.
+
+'If I do, you will repeat the offence.'
+
+'I swear by - '
+
+'Don't swear; I'll believe your word as well as your oath.  I wish
+I could have confidence in either.'
+
+'Try me, then, Helen:  only trust and pardon me this once, and you
+shall see!  Come, I am in hell's torments till you speak the word.'
+
+I did not speak it, but I put my hand on his shoulder and kissed
+his forehead, and then burst into tears.  He embraced me tenderly;
+and we have been good friends ever since.  He has been decently
+temperate at table, and well-conducted towards Lady Lowborough.
+The first day he held himself aloof from her, as far as he could
+without any flagrant breach of hospitality:  since that he has been
+friendly and civil, but nothing more - in my presence, at least,
+nor, I think, at any other time; for she seems haughty and
+displeased, and Lord Lowborough is manifestly more cheerful, and
+more cordial towards his host than before.  But I shall be glad
+when they are gone, for I have so little love for Annabella that it
+is quite a task to be civil to her, and as she is the only woman
+here besides myself, we are necessarily thrown so much together.
+Next time Mrs. Hargrave calls I shall hail her advent as quite a
+relief.  I have a good mind to ask Arthur's leave to invite the old
+lady to stay with us till our guests depart.  I think I will.  She
+will take it as a kind attention, and, though I have little relish
+for her society, she will be truly welcome as a third to stand
+between Lady Lowborough and me.
+
+The first time the latter and I were alone together, after that
+unhappy evening, was an hour or two after breakfast on the
+following day, when the gentlemen were gone out, after the usual
+time spent in the writing of letters, the reading of newspapers,
+and desultory conversation.  We sat silent for two or three
+minutes.  She was busy with her work, and I was running over the
+columns of a paper from which I had extracted all the pith some
+twenty minutes before.  It was a moment of painful embarrassment to
+me, and I thought it must be infinitely more so to her; but it
+seems I was mistaken.  She was the first to speak; and, smiling
+with the coolest assurance, she began, -
+
+'Your husband was merry last night, Helen:  is he often so?'
+
+My blood boiled in my face; but it was better she should seem to
+attribute his conduct to this than to anything else.
+
+'No,' replied I, 'and never will be so again, I trust.'
+
+'You gave him a curtain lecture, did you?'
+
+'No! but I told him I disliked such conduct, and he promised me not
+to repeat it.'
+
+'I thought he looked rather subdued this morning,' she continued;
+'and you, Helen? you've been weeping, I see - that's our grand
+resource, you know.  But doesn't it make your eyes smart? and do
+you always find it to answer?'
+
+'I never cry for effect; nor can I conceive how any one can.'
+
+'Well, I don't know:  I never had occasion to try it; but I think
+if Lowborough were to commit such improprieties, I'd make him cry.
+I don't wonder at your being angry, for I'm sure I'd give my
+husband a lesson he would not soon forget for a lighter offence
+than that.  But then he never will do anything of the kind; for I
+keep him in too good order for that.'
+
+'Are you sure you don't arrogate too much of the credit to
+yourself.  Lord Lowborough was quite as remarkable for his
+abstemiousness for some time before you married him, as he is now,
+I have heard.'
+
+'Oh, about the wine you mean - yes, he's safe enough for that.  And
+as to looking askance to another woman, he's safe enough for that
+too, while I live, for he worships the very ground I tread on.'
+
+'Indeed! and are you sure you deserve it?'
+
+'Why, as to that, I can't say:  you know we're all fallible
+creatures, Helen; we none of us deserve to be worshipped.  But are
+you sure your darling Huntingdon deserves all the love you give to
+him?'
+
+I knew not what to answer to this.  I was burning with anger; but I
+suppressed all outward manifestations of it, and only bit my lip
+and pretended to arrange my work.
+
+'At any rate,' resumed she, pursuing her advantage, 'you can
+console yourself with the assurance that you are worthy of all the
+love he gives to you.'
+
+'You flatter me,' said I; 'but, at least, I can try to be worthy of
+it.'  And then I turned the conversation.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVIII
+
+
+
+December 25th. - Last Christmas I was a bride, with a heart
+overflowing with present bliss, and full of ardent hopes for the
+future, though not unmingled with foreboding fears.  Now I am a
+wife:  my bliss is sobered, but not destroyed; my hopes diminished,
+but not departed; my fears increased, but not yet thoroughly
+confirmed; and, thank heaven, I am a mother too.  God has sent me a
+soul to educate for heaven, and give me a new and calmer bliss, and
+stronger hopes to comfort me.
+
+Dec. 25th, 1823. - Another year is gone.  My little Arthur lives
+and thrives.  He is healthy, but not robust, full of gentle
+playfulness and vivacity, already affectionate, and susceptible of
+passions and emotions it will be long ere he can find words to
+express.  He has won his father's heart at last; and now my
+constant terror is, lest he should be ruined by that father's
+thoughtless indulgence.  But I must beware of my own weakness too,
+for I never knew till now how strong are a parent's temptations to
+spoil an only child.
+
+I have need of consolation in my son, for (to this silent paper I
+may confess it) I have but little in my husband.  I love him still;
+and he loves me, in his own way - but oh, how different from the
+love I could have given, and once had hoped to receive!  How little
+real sympathy there exists between us; how many of my thoughts and
+feelings are gloomily cloistered within my own mind; how much of my
+higher and better self is indeed unmarried - doomed either to
+harden and sour in the sunless shade of solitude, or to quite
+degenerate and fall away for lack of nutriment in this unwholesome
+soil!  But, I repeat, I have no right to complain; only let me
+state the truth - some of the truth, at least, - and see hereafter
+if any darker truths will blot these pages.  We have now been full
+two years united; the 'romance' of our attachment must be worn
+away.  Surely I have now got down to the lowest gradation in
+Arthur's affection, and discovered all the evils of his nature:  if
+there be any further change, it must be for the better, as we
+become still more accustomed to each other; surely we shall find no
+lower depth than this.  And, if so, I can bear it well - as well,
+at least, as I have borne it hitherto.
+
+Arthur is not what is commonly called a bad man:  he has many good
+qualities; but he is a man without self-restraint or lofty
+aspirations, a lover of pleasure, given up to animal enjoyments:
+he is not a bad husband, but his notions of matrimonial duties and
+comforts are not my notions.  Judging from appearances, his idea of
+a wife is a thing to love one devotedly, and to stay at home to
+wait upon her husband, and amuse him and minister to his comfort in
+every possible way, while he chooses to stay with her; and, when he
+is absent, to attend to his interests, domestic or otherwise, and
+patiently wait his return, no matter how he may be occupied in the
+meantime.
+
+Early in spring he announced his intention of going to London:  his
+affairs there demanded his attendance, he said, and he could refuse
+it no longer.  He expressed his regret at having to leave me, but
+hoped I would amuse myself with the baby till he returned.
+
+'But why leave me?' I said.  'I can go with you:  I can be ready at
+any time.'
+
+'You would not take that child to town?'
+
+'Yes; why not?'
+
+The thing was absurd:  the air of the town would be certain to
+disagree with him, and with me as a nurse; the late hours and
+London habits would not suit me under such circumstances; and
+altogether he assured me that it would be excessively troublesome,
+injurious, and unsafe.  I over-ruled his objections as well as I
+could, for I trembled at the thoughts of his going alone, and would
+sacrifice almost anything for myself, much even for my child, to
+prevent it; but at length he told me, plainly, and somewhat
+testily, that he could not do with me:  he was worn out with the
+baby's restless nights, and must have some repose.  I proposed
+separate apartments; but it would not do.
+
+'The truth is, Arthur,' I said at last, 'you are weary of my
+company, and determined not to have me with you.  You might as well
+have said so at once.'
+
+He denied it; but I immediately left the room, and flew to the
+nursery, to hide my feelings, if I could not soothe them, there.
+
+I was too much hurt to express any further dissatisfaction with his
+plans, or at all to refer to the subject again, except for the
+necessary arrangements concerning his departure and the conduct of
+affairs during his absence, till the day before he went, when I
+earnestly exhorted him to take care of himself and keep out of the
+way of temptation.  He laughed at my anxiety, but assured me there
+was no cause for it, and promised to attend to my advice.
+
+'I suppose it is no use asking you to fix a day for your return?'
+said I.
+
+'Why, no; I hardly can, under the circumstances; but be assured,
+love, I shall not be long away.'
+
+'I don't wish to keep you a prisoner at home,' I replied; 'I should
+not grumble at your staying whole months away - if you can be happy
+so long without me - provided I knew you were safe; but I don't
+like the idea of your being there among your friends, as you call
+them.'
+
+'Pooh, pooh, you silly girl!  Do you think I can't take care of
+myself?'
+
+'You didn't last time.  But THIS time, Arthur,' I added, earnestly,
+'show me that you can, and teach me that I need not fear to trust
+you!'
+
+He promised fair, but in such a manner as we seek to soothe a
+child.  And did he keep his promise?  No; and henceforth I can
+never trust his word.  Bitter, bitter confession!  Tears blind me
+while I write.  It was early in March that he went, and he did not
+return till July.  This time he did not trouble himself to make
+excuses as before, and his letters were less frequent, and shorter
+and less affectionate, especially after the first few weeks:  they
+came slower and slower, and more terse and careless every time.
+But still, when I omitted writing, he complained of my neglect.
+When I wrote sternly and coldly, as I confess I frequently did at
+the last, he blamed my harshness, and said it was enough to scare
+him from his home:  when I tried mild persuasion, he was a little
+more gentle in his replies, and promised to return; but I had
+learnt, at last, to disregard his promises.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIX
+
+
+
+Those were four miserable months, alternating between intense
+anxiety, despair, and indignation, pity for him and pity for
+myself.  And yet, through all, I was not wholly comfortless:  I had
+my darling, sinless, inoffensive little one to console me; but even
+this consolation was embittered by the constantly-recurring
+thought, 'How shall I teach him hereafter to respect his father,
+and yet to avoid his example?'
+
+But I remembered that I had brought all these afflictions, in a
+manner wilfully, upon myself; and I determined to bear them without
+a murmur.  At the same time I resolved not to give myself up to
+misery for the transgressions of another, and endeavoured to divert
+myself as much as I could; and besides the companionship of my
+child, and my dear, faithful Rachel, who evidently guessed my
+sorrows and felt for them, though she was too discreet to allude to
+them, I had my books and pencil, my domestic affairs, and the
+welfare and comfort of Arthur's poor tenants and labourers to
+attend to:  and I sometimes sought and obtained amusement in the
+company of my young friend Esther Hargrave:  occasionally I rode
+over to see her, and once or twice I had her to spend the day with
+me at the Manor.  Mrs. Hargrave did not visit London that season:
+having no daughter to marry, she thought it as well to stay at home
+and economise; and, for a wonder, Walter came down to join her in
+the beginning of June, and stayed till near the close of August.
+
+The first time I saw him was on a sweet, warm evening, when I was
+sauntering in the park with little Arthur and Rachel, who is head-
+nurse and lady's-maid in one - for, with my secluded life and
+tolerably active habits, I require but little attendance, and as
+she had nursed me and coveted to nurse my child, and was moreover
+so very trustworthy, I preferred committing the important charge to
+her, with a young nursery-maid under her directions, to engaging
+any one else:  besides, it saves money; and since I have made
+acquaintance with Arthur's affairs, I have learnt to regard that as
+no trifling recommendation; for, by my own desire, nearly the whole
+of the income of my fortune is devoted, for years to come, to the
+paying off of his debts, and the money he contrives to squander
+away in London is incomprehensible.  But to return to Mr. Hargrave.
+I was standing with Rachel beside the water, amusing the laughing
+baby in her arms with a twig of willow laden with golden catkins,
+when, greatly to my surprise, he entered the park, mounted on his
+costly black hunter, and crossed over the grass to meet me.  He
+saluted me with a very fine compliment, delicately worded, and
+modestly delivered withal, which he had doubtless concocted as he
+rode along.  He told me he had brought a message from his mother,
+who, as he was riding that way, had desired him to call at the
+Manor and beg the pleasure of my company to a friendly family
+dinner to-morrow.
+
+'There is no one to meet but ourselves,' said he; 'but Esther is
+very anxious to see you; and my mother fears you will feel solitary
+in this great house so much alone, and wishes she could persuade
+you to give her the pleasure of your company more frequently, and
+make yourself at home in our more humble dwelling, till Mr.
+Huntingdon's return shall render this a little more conducive to
+your comfort.'
+
+'She is very kind,' I answered, 'but I am not alone, you see; - and
+those whose time is fully occupied seldom complain of solitude.'
+
+'Will you not come to-morrow, then?  She will be sadly disappointed
+if you refuse.'
+
+I did not relish being thus compassionated for my loneliness; but,
+however, I promised to come.
+
+'What a sweet evening this is!' observed he, looking round upon the
+sunny park, with its imposing swell and slope, its placid water,
+and majestic clumps of trees.  'And what a paradise you live in!'
+
+'It is a lovely evening,' answered I; and I sighed to think how
+little I had felt its loveliness, and how little of a paradise
+sweet Grassdale was to me - how still less to the voluntary exile
+from its scenes.  Whether Mr. Hargrave divined my thoughts, I
+cannot tell, but, with a half-hesitating, sympathising seriousness
+of tone and manner, he asked if I had lately heard from Mr.
+Huntingdon.
+
+'Not lately,' I replied.
+
+'I thought not,' he muttered, as if to himself, looking
+thoughtfully on the ground.
+
+'Are you not lately returned from London?' I asked.
+
+'Only yesterday.'
+
+'And did you see him there?'
+
+'Yes - I saw him.'
+
+'Was he well?'
+
+'Yes - that is,' said he, with increasing hesitation and an
+appearance of suppressed indignation, 'he was as well as - as he
+deserved to be, but under circumstances I should have deemed
+incredible for a man so favoured as he is.'  He here looked up and
+pointed the sentence with a serious bow to me.  I suppose my face
+was crimson.
+
+'Pardon me, Mrs. Huntingdon,' he continued, 'but I cannot suppress
+my indignation when I behold such infatuated blindness and
+perversion of taste; - but, perhaps, you are not aware - '  He
+paused.
+
+'I am aware of nothing, sir - except that he delays his coming
+longer than I expected; and if, at present, he prefers the society
+of his friends to that of his wife, and the dissipations of the
+town to the quiet of country life, I suppose I have those friends
+to thank for it.  Their tastes and occupations are similar to his,
+and I don't see why his conduct should awaken either their
+indignation or surprise.'
+
+'You wrong me cruelly,' answered he.  'I have shared but little of
+Mr. Huntingdon's society for the last few weeks; and as for his
+tastes and occupations, they are quite beyond me - lonely wanderer
+as I am.  Where I have but sipped and tasted, he drains the cup to
+the dregs; and if ever for a moment I have sought to drown the
+voice of reflection in madness and folly, or if I have wasted too
+much of my time and talents among reckless and dissipated
+companions, God knows I would gladly renounce them entirely and for
+ever, if I had but half the blessings that man so thanklessly casts
+behind his back - but half the inducements to virtue and domestic,
+orderly habits that he despises - but such a home, and such a
+partner to share it!  It is infamous!' he muttered, between his
+teeth.  'And don't think, Mrs. Huntingdon,' he added aloud, 'that I
+could be guilty of inciting him to persevere in his present
+pursuits:  on the contrary, I have remonstrated with him again and
+again; I have frequently expressed my surprise at his conduct, and
+reminded him of his duties and his privileges - but to no purpose;
+he only - '
+
+'Enough, Mr. Hargrave; you ought to be aware that whatever my
+husband's faults may be, it can only aggravate the evil for me to
+hear them from a stranger's lips.'
+
+'Am I then a stranger?' said he in a sorrowful tone.  'I am your
+nearest neighbour, your son's godfather, and your husband's friend;
+may I not be yours also?'
+
+'Intimate acquaintance must precede real friendship; I know but
+little of you, Mr. Hargrave, except from report.'
+
+'Have you then forgotten the six or seven weeks I spent under your
+roof last autumn?  I have not forgotten them.  And I know enough of
+you, Mrs. Huntingdon, to think that your husband is the most
+enviable man in the world, and I should be the next if you would
+deem me worthy of your friendship.'
+
+'If you knew more of me, you would not think it, or if you did you
+would not say it, and expect me to be flattered by the compliment.'
+
+I stepped backward as I spoke.  He saw that I wished the
+conversation to end; and immediately taking the hint, he gravely
+bowed, wished me good-evening, and turned his horse towards the
+road.  He appeared grieved and hurt at my unkind reception of his
+sympathising overtures.  I was not sure that I had done right in
+speaking so harshly to him; but, at the time, I had felt irritated
+- almost insulted by his conduct; it seemed as if he was presuming
+upon the absence and neglect of my husband, and insinuating even
+more than the truth against him.
+
+Rachel had moved on, during our conversation, to some yards'
+distance.  He rode up to her, and asked to see the child.  He took
+it carefully into his arms, looked upon it with an almost paternal
+smile, and I heard him say, as I approached, -
+
+'And this, too, he has forsaken!'
+
+He then tenderly kissed it, and restored it to the gratified nurse.
+
+'Are you fond of children, Mr. Hargrave?' said I, a little softened
+towards him.
+
+'Not in general,' he replied, 'but that is such a sweet child, and
+so like its mother,' he added in a lower tone.
+
+'You are mistaken there; it is its father it resembles.'
+
+'Am I not right, nurse?' said he, appealing to Rachel.
+
+'I think, sir, there's a bit of both,' she replied.
+
+He departed; and Rachel pronounced him a very nice gentleman.  I
+had still my doubts on the subject.
+
+In the course of the following six weeks I met him several times,
+but always, save once, in company with his mother, or his sister,
+or both.  When I called on them, he always happened to be at home,
+and, when they called on me, it was always he that drove them over
+in the phaeton.  His mother, evidently, was quite delighted with
+his dutiful attentions and newly-acquired domestic habits.
+
+The time that I met him alone was on a bright, but not oppressively
+hot day, in the beginning of July:  I had taken little Arthur into
+the wood that skirts the park, and there seated him on the moss-
+cushioned roots of an old oak; and, having gathered a handful of
+bluebells and wild-roses, I was kneeling before him, and presenting
+them, one by one, to the grasp of his tiny fingers; enjoying the
+heavenly beauty of the flowers, through the medium of his smiling
+eyes:  forgetting, for the moment, all my cares, laughing at his
+gleeful laughter, and delighting myself with his delight, - when a
+shadow suddenly eclipsed the little space of sunshine on the grass
+before us; and looking up, I beheld Walter Hargrave standing and
+gazing upon us.
+
+'Excuse me, Mrs. Huntingdon,' said he, 'but I was spell-bound; I
+had neither the power to come forward and interrupt you, nor to
+withdraw from the contemplation of such a scene.  How vigorous my
+little godson grows! and how merry he is this morning!'  He
+approached the child, and stooped to take his hand; but, on seeing
+that his caresses were likely to produce tears and lamentations,
+instead of a reciprocation of friendly demonstrations, he prudently
+drew back.
+
+'What a pleasure and comfort that little creature must be to you,
+Mrs. Huntingdon!' he observed, with a touch of sadness in his
+intonation, as he admiringly contemplated the infant.
+
+'It is,' replied I; and then I asked after his mother and sister.
+
+He politely answered my inquiries, and then returned again to the
+subject I wished to avoid; though with a degree of timidity that
+witnessed his fear to offend.
+
+'You have not heard from Huntingdon lately?' he said.
+
+'Not this week,' I replied.  Not these three weeks, I might have
+said.
+
+'I had a letter from him this morning.  I wish it were such a one
+as I could show to his lady.'  He half drew from his waistcoat-
+pocket a letter with Arthur's still beloved hand on the address,
+scowled at it, and put it back again, adding - 'But he tells me he
+is about to return next week.'
+
+'He tells me so every time he writes.'
+
+'Indeed! well, it is like him.  But to me he always avowed it his
+intention to stay till the present month.'
+
+It struck me like a blow, this proof of premeditated transgression
+and systematic disregard of truth.
+
+'It is only of a piece with the rest of his conduct,' observed Mr.
+Hargrave, thoughtfully regarding me, and reading, I suppose, my
+feelings in my face.
+
+'Then he is really coming next week?' said I, after a pause.
+
+'You may rely upon it, if the assurance can give you any pleasure.
+And is it possible, Mrs. Huntingdon, that you can rejoice at his
+return?' he exclaimed, attentively perusing my features again.
+
+'Of course, Mr. Hargrave; is he not my husband?'
+
+'Oh, Huntingdon; you know not what you slight!' he passionately
+murmured.
+
+I took up my baby, and, wishing him good-morning, departed, to
+indulge my thoughts unscrutinized, within the sanctum of my home.
+
+And was I glad?  Yes, delighted; though I was angered by Arthur's
+conduct, and though I felt that he had wronged me, and was
+determined he should feel it too.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXX
+
+
+
+On the following morning I received a few lines from him myself,
+confirming Hargrave's intimations respecting his approaching
+return.  And he did come next week, but in a condition of body and
+mind even worse than before.  I did not, however, intend to pass
+over his derelictions this time without a remark; I found it would
+not do.  But the first day he was weary with his journey, and I was
+glad to get him back:  I would not upbraid him then; I would wait
+till to-morrow.  Next morning he was weary still:  I would wait a
+little longer.  But at dinner, when, after breakfasting at twelve
+o'clock on a bottle of soda-water and a cup of strong coffee, and
+lunching at two on another bottle of soda-water mingled with
+brandy, he was finding fault with everything on the table, and
+declaring we must change our cook, I thought the time was come.
+
+'It is the same cook as we had before you went, Arthur,' said I.
+'You were generally pretty well satisfied with her then.'
+
+'You must have been letting her get into slovenly habits, then,
+while I was away.  It is enough to poison one, eating such a
+disgusting mess!'  And he pettishly pushed away his plate, and
+leant back despairingly in his chair.
+
+'I think it is you that are changed, not she,' said I, but with the
+utmost gentleness, for I did not wish to irritate him.
+
+'It may be so,' he replied carelessly, as he seized a tumbler of
+wine and water, adding, when he had tossed it off, 'for I have an
+infernal fire in my veins, that all the waters of the ocean cannot
+quench!'
+
+'What kindled it?' I was about to ask, but at that moment the
+butler entered and began to take away the things.
+
+'Be quick, Benson; do have done with that infernal clatter!' cried
+his master.  'And don't bring the cheese, unless you want to make
+me sick outright!'
+
+Benson, in some surprise, removed the cheese, and did his best to
+effect a quiet and speedy clearance of the rest; but,
+unfortunately, there was a rumple in the carpet, caused by the
+hasty pushing back of his master's chair, at which he tripped and
+stumbled, causing a rather alarming concussion with the trayful of
+crockery in his hands, but no positive damage, save the fall and
+breaking of a sauce tureen; but, to my unspeakable shame and
+dismay, Arthur turned furiously around upon him, and swore at him
+with savage coarseness.  The poor man turned pale, and visibly
+trembled as he stooped to pick up the fragments.
+
+'He couldn't help it, Arthur,' said I; 'the carpet caught his foot,
+and there's no great harm done.  Never mind the pieces now, Benson;
+you can clear them away afterwards.'
+
+Glad to be released, Benson expeditiously set out the dessert and
+withdrew.
+
+'What could you mean, Helen, by taking the servant's part against
+me,' said Arthur, as soon as the door was closed, 'when you knew I
+was distracted?'
+
+'I did not know you were distracted, Arthur:  and the poor man was
+quite frightened and hurt at your sudden explosion.'
+
+'Poor man, indeed! and do you think I could stop to consider the
+feelings of an insensate brute like that, when my own nerves were
+racked and torn to pieces by his confounded blunders?'
+
+'I never heard you complain of your nerves before.'
+
+'And why shouldn't I have nerves as well as you?'
+
+'Oh, I don't dispute your claim to their possession, but I never
+complain of mine.'
+
+'No, how should you, when you never do anything to try them?'
+
+'Then why do you try yours, Arthur?'
+
+'Do you think I have nothing to do but to stay at home and take
+care of myself like a woman?'
+
+'Is it impossible, then, to take care of yourself like a man when
+you go abroad?  You told me that you could, and would too; and you
+promised - '
+
+'Come, come, Helen, don't begin with that nonsense now; I can't
+bear it.'
+
+'Can't bear what? - to be reminded of the promises you have
+broken?'
+
+'Helen, you are cruel.  If you knew how my heart throbbed, and how
+every nerve thrilled through me while you spoke, you would spare
+me.  You can pity a dolt of a servant for breaking a dish; but you
+have no compassion for me when my head is split in two and all on
+fire with this consuming fever.'
+
+He leant his head on his hand, and sighed.  I went to him and put
+my hand on his forehead.  It was burning indeed.
+
+'Then come with me into the drawing-room, Arthur; and don't take
+any more wine:  you have taken several glasses since dinner, and
+eaten next to nothing all the day.  How can that make you better?'
+
+With some coaxing and persuasion, I got him to leave the table.
+When the baby was brought I tried to amuse him with that; but poor
+little Arthur was cutting his teeth, and his father could not bear
+his complaints:  sentence of immediate banishment was passed upon
+him on the first indication of fretfulness; and because, in the
+course of the evening, I went to share his exile for a little
+while, I was reproached, on my return, for preferring my child to
+my husband.  I found the latter reclining on the sofa just as I had
+left him.
+
+'Well!' exclaimed the injured man, in a tone of pseudo-resignation.
+'I thought I wouldn't send for you; I thought I'd just see how long
+it would please you to leave me alone.'
+
+'I have not been very long, have I, Arthur?  I have not been an
+hour, I'm sure.'
+
+'Oh, of course, an hour is nothing to you, so pleasantly employed;
+but to me - '
+
+'It has not been pleasantly employed,' interrupted I.  'I have been
+nursing our poor little baby, who is very far from well, and I
+could not leave him till I got him to sleep.'
+
+'Oh, to be sure, you're overflowing with kindness and pity for
+everything but me.'
+
+'And why should I pity you?  What is the matter with you?'
+
+'Well! that passes everything!  After all the wear and tear that
+I've had, when I come home sick and weary, longing for comfort, and
+expecting to find attention and kindness, at least from my wife,
+she calmly asks what is the matter with me!'
+
+'There is nothing the matter with you,' returned I, 'except what
+you have wilfully brought upon yourself, against my earnest
+exhortation and entreaty.'
+
+'Now, Helen,' said he emphatically, half rising from his recumbent
+posture, 'if you bother me with another word, I'll ring the bell
+and order six bottles of wine, and, by heaven, I'll drink them dry
+before I stir from this place!'
+
+I said no more, but sat down before the table and drew a book
+towards me.
+
+'Do let me have quietness at least!' continued he, 'if you deny me
+every other comfort;' and sinking back into his former position,
+with an impatient expiration between a sigh and a groan, he
+languidly closed his eyes, as if to sleep.
+
+What the book was that lay open on the table before me, I cannot
+tell, for I never looked at it.  With an elbow on each side of it,
+and my hands clasped before my eyes, I delivered myself up to
+silent weeping.  But Arthur was not asleep:  at the first slight
+sob, he raised his head and looked round, impatiently exclaiming,
+'What are you crying for, Helen?  What the deuce is the matter
+now?'
+
+'I'm crying for you, Arthur,' I replied, speedily drying my tears;
+and starting up, I threw myself on my knees before him, and
+clasping his nerveless hand between my own, continued:  'Don't you
+know that you are a part of myself?  And do you think you can
+injure and degrade yourself, and I not feel it?'
+
+'Degrade myself, Helen?'
+
+'Yes, degrade!  What have you been doing all this time?'
+
+'You'd better not ask,' said he, with a faint smile.
+
+'And you had better not tell; but you cannot deny that you have
+degraded yourself miserably.  You have shamefully wronged yourself,
+body and soul, and me too; and I can't endure it quietly, and I
+won't!'
+
+'Well, don't squeeze my hand so frantically, and don't agitate me
+so, for heaven's sake!  Oh, Hattersley! you were right:  this woman
+will be the death of me, with her keen feelings and her interesting
+force of character.  There, there, do spare me a little.'
+
+'Arthur, you must repent!' cried I, in a frenzy of desperation,
+throwing my arms around him and burying my face in his bosom.  'You
+shall say you are sorry for what you have done!'
+
+'Well, well, I am.'
+
+'You are not! you'll do it again.'
+
+'I shall never live to do it again if you treat me so savagely,'
+replied he, pushing me from him.  'You've nearly squeezed the
+breath out of my body.'  He pressed his hand to his heart, and
+looked really agitated and ill.
+
+'Now get me a glass of wine,' said he, 'to remedy what you've done,
+you she tiger!  I'm almost ready to faint.'
+
+I flew to get the required remedy.  It seemed to revive him
+considerably.
+
+'What a shame it is,' said I, as I took the empty glass from his
+hand, 'for a strong young man like you to reduce yourself to such a
+state!'
+
+'If you knew all, my girl, you'd say rather, "What a wonder it is
+you can bear it so well as you do!"  I've lived more in these four
+months, Helen, than you have in the whole course of your existence,
+or will to the end of your days, if they numbered a hundred years;
+so I must expect to pay for it in some shape.'
+
+'You will have to pay a higher price than you anticipate, if you
+don't take care:  there will be the total loss of your own health,
+and of my affection too, if that is of any value to you.'
+
+'What! you're at that game of threatening me with the loss of your
+affection again, are you?  I think it couldn't have been very
+genuine stuff to begin with, if it's so easily demolished.  If you
+don't mind, my pretty tyrant, you'll make me regret my choice in
+good earnest, and envy my friend Hattersley his meek little wife:
+she's quite a pattern to her sex, Helen.  He had her with him in
+London all the season, and she was no trouble at all.  He might
+amuse himself just as he pleased, in regular bachelor style, and
+she never complained of neglect; he might come home at any hour of
+the night or morning, or not come home at all; be sullen, sober, or
+glorious drunk; and play the fool or the madman to his own heart's
+desire, without any fear or botheration.  She never gives him a
+word of reproach or complaint, do what he will.  He says there's
+not such a jewel in all England, and swears he wouldn't take a
+kingdom for her.'
+
+'But he makes her life a curse to her.'
+
+'Not he!  She has no will but his, and is always contented and
+happy as long as he is enjoying himself.'
+
+'In that case she is as great a fool as he is; but it is not so.  I
+have several letters from her, expressing the greatest anxiety
+about his proceedings, and complaining that you incite him to
+commit those extravagances - one especially, in which she implores
+me to use my influence with you to get you away from London, and
+affirms that her husband never did such things before you came, and
+would certainly discontinue them as soon as you departed and left
+him to the guidance of his own good sense.'
+
+'The detestable little traitor!  Give me the letter, and he shall
+see it as sure as I'm a living man.'
+
+'No, he shall not see it without her consent; but if he did, there
+is nothing there to anger him, nor in any of the others.  She never
+speaks a word against him:  it is only anxiety for him that she
+expresses.  She only alludes to his conduct in the most delicate
+terms, and makes every excuse for him that she can possibly think
+of; and as for her own misery, I rather feel it than see it
+expressed in her letters.'
+
+'But she abuses me; and no doubt you helped her.'
+
+'No; I told her she over-rated my influence with you, that I would
+gladly draw you away from the temptations of the town if I could,
+but had little hope of success, and that I thought she was wrong in
+supposing that you enticed Mr. Hattersley or any one else into
+error.  I had myself held the contrary opinion at one time, but I
+now believed that you mutually corrupted each other; and, perhaps,
+if she used a little gentle but serious remonstrance with her
+husband, it might be of some service; as, though he was more rough-
+hewn than mine, I believed he was of a less impenetrable material.'
+
+'And so that is the way you go on - heartening each other up to
+mutiny, and abusing each other's partners, and throwing out
+implications against your own, to the mutual gratification of
+both!'
+
+'According to your own account,' said I, 'my evil counsel has had
+but little effect upon her.  And as to abuse and aspersions, we are
+both of us far too deeply ashamed of the errors and vices of our
+other halves, to make them the common subject of our
+correspondence.  Friends as we are, we would willingly keep your
+failings to ourselves - even from ourselves if we could, unless by
+knowing them we could deliver you from them.'
+
+'Well, well! don't worry me about them:  you'll never effect any
+good by that.  Have patience with me, and bear with my languor and
+crossness a little while, till I get this cursed low fever out of
+my veins, and then you'll find me cheerful and kind as ever.  Why
+can't you be gentle and good, as you were last time? - I'm sure I
+was very grateful for it.'
+
+'And what good did your gratitude do?  I deluded myself with the
+idea that you were ashamed of your transgressions, and hoped you
+would never repeat them again; but now you have left me nothing to
+hope!'
+
+'My case is quite desperate, is it?  A very blessed consideration,
+if it will only secure me from the pain and worry of my dear
+anxious wife's efforts to convert me, and her from the toil and
+trouble of such exertions, and her sweet face and silver accents
+from the ruinous effects of the same.  A burst of passion is a fine
+rousing thing upon occasion, Helen, and a flood of tears is
+marvellously affecting, but, when indulged too often, they are both
+deuced plaguy things for spoiling one's beauty and tiring out one's
+friends.'
+
+Thenceforth I restrained my tears and passions as much as I could.
+I spared him my exhortations and fruitless efforts at conversion
+too, for I saw it was all in vain:  God might awaken that heart,
+supine and stupefied with self-indulgence, and remove the film of
+sensual darkness from his eyes, but I could not.  His injustice and
+ill-humour towards his inferiors, who could not defend themselves,
+I still resented and withstood; but when I alone was their object,
+as was frequently the case, I endured it with calm forbearance,
+except at times, when my temper, worn out by repeated annoyances,
+or stung to distraction by some new instance of irrationality, gave
+way in spite of myself, and exposed me to the imputations of
+fierceness, cruelty, and impatience.  I attended carefully to his
+wants and amusements, but not, I own, with the same devoted
+fondness as before, because I could not feel it; besides, I had now
+another claimant on my time and care - my ailing infant, for whose
+sake I frequently braved and suffered the reproaches and complaints
+of his unreasonably exacting father.
+
+But Arthur is not naturally a peevish or irritable man; so far from
+it, that there was something almost ludicrous in the incongruity of
+this adventitious fretfulness and nervous irritability, rather
+calculated to excite laughter than anger, if it were not for the
+intensely painful considerations attendant upon those symptoms of a
+disordered frame, and his temper gradually improved as his bodily
+health was restored, which was much sooner than would have been the
+case but for my strenuous exertions; for there was still one thing
+about him that I did not give up in despair, and one effort for his
+preservation that I would not remit.  His appetite for the stimulus
+of wine had increased upon him, as I had too well foreseen.  It was
+now something more to him than an accessory to social enjoyment:
+it was an important source of enjoyment in itself.  In this time of
+weakness and depression he would have made it his medicine and
+support, his comforter, his recreation, and his friend, and thereby
+sunk deeper and deeper, and bound himself down for ever in the
+bathos whereinto he had fallen.  But I determined this should never
+be, as long as I had any influence left; and though I could not
+prevent him from taking more than was good for him, still, by
+incessant perseverance, by kindness, and firmness, and vigilance,
+by coaxing, and daring, and determination, I succeeded in
+preserving him from absolute bondage to that detestable propensity,
+so insidious in its advances, so inexorable in its tyranny, so
+disastrous in its effects.
+
+And here I must not forget that I am not a little indebted to his
+friend Mr. Hargrave.  About that time he frequently called at
+Grassdale, and often dined with us, on which occasions I fear
+Arthur would willingly have cast prudence and decorum to the winds,
+and made 'a night of it,' as often as his friend would have
+consented to join him in that exalted pastime; and if the latter
+had chosen to comply, he might, in a night or two, have ruined the
+labour of weeks, and overthrown with a touch the frail bulwark it
+had cost me such trouble and toil to construct.  I was so fearful
+of this at first, that I humbled myself to intimate to him, in
+private, my apprehensions of Arthur's proneness to these excesses,
+and to express a hope that he would not encourage it.  He was
+pleased with this mark of confidence, and certainly did not betray
+it.  On that and every subsequent occasion his presence served
+rather as a check upon his host, than an incitement to further acts
+of intemperance; and he always succeeded in bringing him from the
+dining-room in good time, and in tolerably good condition; for if
+Arthur disregarded such intimations as 'Well, I must not detain you
+from your lady,' or 'We must not forget that Mrs. Huntingdon is
+alone,' he would insist upon leaving the table himself, to join me,
+and his host, however unwillingly, was obliged to follow.
+
+Hence I learned to welcome Mr. Hargrave as a real friend to the
+family, a harmless companion for Arthur, to cheer his spirits and
+preserve him from the tedium of absolute idleness and a total
+isolation from all society but mine, and a useful ally to me.  I
+could not but feel grateful to him under such circumstances; and I
+did not scruple to acknowledge my obligation on the first
+convenient opportunity; yet, as I did so, my heart whispered all
+was not right, and brought a glow to my face, which he heightened
+by his steady, serious gaze, while, by his manner of receiving
+those acknowledgments, he more than doubled my misgivings.  His
+high delight at being able to serve me was chastened by sympathy
+for me and commiseration for himself - about, I know not what, for
+I would not stay to inquire, or suffer him to unburden his sorrows
+to me.  His sighs and intimations of suppressed affliction seemed
+to come from a full heart; but either he must contrive to retain
+them within it, or breathe them forth in other ears than mine:
+there was enough of confidence between us already.  It seemed wrong
+that there should exist a secret understanding between my husband's
+friend and me, unknown to him, of which he was the object.  But my
+after-thought was, 'If it is wrong, surely Arthur's is the fault,
+not mine.'
+
+And indeed I know not whether, at the time, it was not for him
+rather than myself that I blushed; for, since he and I are one, I
+so identify myself with him, that I feel his degradation, his
+failings, and transgressions as my own:  I blush for him, I fear
+for him; I repent for him, weep, pray, and feel for him as for
+myself; but I cannot act for him; and hence I must be, and I am,
+debased, contaminated by the union, both in my own eyes and in the
+actual truth.  I am so determined to love him, so intensely anxious
+to excuse his errors, that I am continually dwelling upon them, and
+labouring to extenuate the loosest of his principles and the worst
+of his practices, till I am familiarised with vice, and almost a
+partaker in his sins.  Things that formerly shocked and disgusted
+me, now seem only natural.  I know them to be wrong, because reason
+and God's word declare them to be so; but I am gradually losing
+that instinctive horror and repulsion which were given me by
+nature, or instilled into me by the precepts and example of my
+aunt.  Perhaps then I was too severe in my judgments, for I
+abhorred the sinner as well as the sin; now I flatter myself I am
+more charitable and considerate; but am I not becoming more
+indifferent and insensate too?  Fool that I was, to dream that I
+had strength and purity enough to save myself and him!  Such vain
+presumption would be rightly served, if I should perish with him in
+the gulf from which I sought to save him!  Yet, God preserve me
+from it, and him too!  Yes, poor Arthur, I will still hope and pray
+for you; and though I write as if you were some abandoned wretch,
+past hope and past reprieve, it is only my anxious fears, my strong
+desires that make me do so; one who loved you less would be less
+bitter, less dissatisfied.
+
+His conduct has, of late, been what the world calls irreproachable;
+but then I know his heart is still unchanged; and I know that
+spring is approaching, and deeply dread the consequences.
+
+As he began to recover the tone and vigour of his exhausted frame,
+and with it something of his former impatience of retirement and
+repose, I suggested a short residence by the sea-side, for his
+recreation and further restoration, and for the benefit of our
+little one as well.  But no:  watering-places were so intolerably
+dull; besides, he had been invited by one of his friends to spend a
+month or two in Scotland for the better recreation of grouse-
+shooting and deer-stalking, and had promise to go.
+
+'Then you will leave me again, Arthur?' said I.
+
+'Yes, dearest, but only to love you the better when I come back,
+and make up for all past offences and short-comings; and you
+needn't fear me this time:  there are no temptations on the
+mountains.  And during my absence you may pay a visit to
+Staningley, if you like:  your uncle and aunt have long been
+wanting us to go there, you know; but somehow there's such a
+repulsion between the good lady and me, that I never could bring
+myself up to the scratch.'
+
+About the third week in August, Arthur set out for Scotland, and
+Mr. Hargrave accompanied him thither, to my private satisfaction.
+Shortly after, I, with little Arthur and Rachel, went to
+Staningley, my dear old home, which, as well as my dear old friends
+its inhabitants, I saw again with mingled feelings of pleasure and
+pain so intimately blended that I could scarcely distinguish the
+one from the other, or tell to which to attribute the various
+tears, and smiles, and sighs awakened by those old familiar scenes,
+and tones, and faces.
+
+Arthur did not come home till several weeks after my return to
+Grassdale; but I did not feel so anxious about him now; to think of
+him engaged in active sports among the wild hills of Scotland, was
+very different from knowing him to be immersed amid the corruptions
+and temptations of London.  His letters now; though neither long
+nor loverlike, were more regular than ever they had been before;
+and when he did return, to my great joy, instead of being worse
+than when he went, he was more cheerful and vigorous, and better in
+every respect.  Since that time I have had little cause to
+complain.  He still has an unfortunate predilection for the
+pleasures of the table, against which I have to struggle and watch;
+but he has begun to notice his boy, and that is an increasing
+source of amusement to him within-doors, while his fox-hunting and
+coursing are a sufficient occupation for him without, when the
+ground is not hardened by frost; so that he is not wholly dependent
+on me for entertainment.  But it is now January; spring is
+approaching; and, I repeat, I dread the consequences of its
+arrival.  That sweet season, I once so joyously welcomed as the
+time of hope and gladness, awakens now far other anticipations by
+its return.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXI
+
+
+
+March 20th, 1824.  The dreaded time is come, and Arthur is gone, as
+I expected.  This time he announced it his intention to make but a
+short stay in London, and pass over to the Continent, where he
+should probably stay a few weeks; but I shall not expect him till
+after the lapse of many weeks:  I now know that, with him, days
+signify weeks, and weeks months.
+
+July 30th. - He returned about three weeks ago, rather better in
+health, certainly, than before, but still worse in temper.  And
+yet, perhaps, I am wrong:  it is I that am less patient and
+forbearing.  I am tired out with his injustice, his selfishness and
+hopeless depravity.  I wish a milder word would do; I am no angel,
+and my corruption rises against it.  My poor father died last week:
+Arthur was vexed to hear of it, because he saw that I was shocked
+and grieved, and he feared the circumstance would mar his comfort.
+When I spoke of ordering my mourning, he exclaimed, - 'Oh, I hate
+black!  But, however, I suppose you must wear it awhile, for form's
+sake; but I hope, Helen, you won't think it your bounden duty to
+compose your face and manners into conformity with your funereal
+garb.  Why should you sigh and groan, and I be made uncomfortable,
+because an old gentleman in -shire, a perfect stranger to us both,
+has thought proper to drink himself to death?  There, now, I
+declare you're crying!  Well, it must be affectation.'
+
+He would not hear of my attending the funeral, or going for a day
+or two, to cheer poor Frederick's solitude.  It was quite
+unnecessary, he said, and I was unreasonable to wish it.  What was
+my father to me?  I had never seen him but once since I was a baby,
+and I well knew he had never cared a stiver about me; and my
+brother, too, was little better than a stranger.  'Besides, dear
+Helen,' said he, embracing me with flattering fondness, 'I cannot
+spare you for a single day.'
+
+'Then how have you managed without me these many days?' said I.
+
+'Ah! then I was knocking about the world, now I am at home, and
+home without you, my household deity, would be intolerable.'
+
+'Yes, as long as I am necessary to your comfort; but you did not
+say so before, when you urged me to leave you, in order that you
+might get away from your home without me,' retorted I; but before
+the words were well out of my mouth, I regretted having uttered
+them.  It seemed so heavy a charge:  if false, too gross an insult;
+if true, too humiliating a fact to be thus openly cast in his
+teeth.  But I might have spared myself that momentary pang of self-
+reproach.  The accusation awoke neither shame nor indignation in
+him:  he attempted neither denial nor excuse, but only answered
+with a long, low, chuckling laugh, as if he viewed the whole
+transaction as a clever, merry jest from beginning to end.  Surely
+that man will make me dislike him at last!
+
+
+Sine as ye brew, my maiden fair,
+Keep mind that ye maun drink the yill.
+
+
+Yes; and I will drink it to the very dregs:  and none but myself
+shall know how bitter I find it!
+
+August 20th. - We are shaken down again to about our usual
+position.  Arthur has returned to nearly his former condition and
+habits; and I have found it my wisest plan to shut my eyes against
+the past and future, as far as he, at least, is concerned, and live
+only for the present:  to love him when I can; to smile (if
+possible) when he smiles, be cheerful when he is cheerful, and
+pleased when he is agreeable; and when he is not, to try to make
+him so; and if that won't answer, to bear with him, to excuse him,
+and forgive him as well as I can, and restrain my own evil passions
+from aggravating his; and yet, while I thus yield and minister to
+his more harmless propensities to self-indulgence, to do all in my
+power to save him from the worse.
+
+But we shall not be long alone together.  I shall shortly be called
+upon to entertain the same select body of friends as we had the
+autumn before last, with the addition of Mr. Hattersley and, at my
+special request, his wife and child.  I long to see Milicent, and
+her little girl too.  The latter is now above a year old; she will
+be a charming playmate for my little Arthur.
+
+September 30th. - Our guests have been here a week or two; but I
+have had no leisure to pass any comments upon them till now.  I
+cannot get over my dislike to Lady Lowborough.  It is not founded
+on mere personal pique; it is the woman herself that I dislike,
+because I so thoroughly disapprove of her.  I always avoid her
+company as much as I can without violating the laws of hospitality;
+but when we do speak or converse together, it is with the utmost
+civility, even apparent cordiality on her part; but preserve me
+from such cordiality!  It is like handling brier-roses and may-
+blossoms, bright enough to the eye, and outwardly soft to the
+touch, but you know there are thorns beneath, and every now and
+then you feel them too; and perhaps resent the injury by crushing
+them in till you have destroyed their power, though somewhat to the
+detriment of your own fingers.
+
+Of late, however, I have seen nothing in her conduct towards Arthur
+to anger or alarm me.  During the first few days I thought she
+seemed very solicitous to win his admiration.  Her efforts were not
+unnoticed by him:  I frequently saw him smiling to himself at her
+artful manoeuvres:  but, to his praise be it spoken, her shafts
+fell powerless by his side.  Her most bewitching smiles, her
+haughtiest frowns were ever received with the same immutable,
+careless good-humour; till, finding he was indeed impenetrable, she
+suddenly remitted her efforts, and became, to all appearance, as
+perfectly indifferent as himself.  Nor have I since witnessed any
+symptom of pique on his part, or renewed attempts at conquest upon
+hers.
+
+This is as it should be; but Arthur never will let me be satisfied
+with him.  I have never, for a single hour since I married him,
+known what it is to realise that sweet idea, 'In quietness and
+confidence shall be your rest.'  Those two detestable men, Grimsby
+and Hattersley, have destroyed all my labour against his love of
+wine.  They encourage him daily to overstep the bounds of
+moderation, and not unfrequently to disgrace himself by positive
+excess.  I shall not soon forget the second night after their
+arrival.  Just as I had retired from the dining-room with the
+ladies, before the door was closed upon us, Arthur exclaimed, -
+'Now then, my lads, what say you to a regular jollification?'
+
+Milicent glanced at me with a half-reproachful look, as if I could
+hinder it; but her countenance changed when she heard Hattersley's
+voice, shouting through door and wall, - 'I'm your man!  Send for
+more wine:  here isn't half enough!'
+
+We had scarcely entered the drawing-room before we were joined by
+Lord Lowborough.
+
+'What can induce you to come so soon?' exclaimed his lady, with a
+most ungracious air of dissatisfaction.
+
+'You know I never drink, Annabella,' replied he seriously.
+
+'Well, but you might stay with them a little:  it looks so silly to
+be always dangling after the women; I wonder you can!'
+
+He reproached her with a look of mingled bitterness and surprise,
+and, sinking into a chair, suppressed a heavy sigh, bit his pale
+lips, and fixed his eyes upon the floor.
+
+'You did right to leave them, Lord Lowborough,' said I.  'I trust
+you will always continue to honour us so early with your company.
+And if Annabella knew the value of true wisdom, and the misery of
+folly and - and intemperance, she would not talk such nonsense -
+even in jest.'
+
+He raised his eyes while I spoke, and gravely turned them upon me,
+with a half-surprised, half-abstracted look, and then bent them on
+his wife.
+
+'At least,' said she, 'I know the value of a warm heart and a bold,
+manly spirit.'
+
+'Well, Annabella,' said he, in a deep and hollow tone, 'since my
+presence is disagreeable to you, I will relieve you of it.'
+
+'Are you going back to them, then?' said she, carelessly.
+
+'No,' exclaimed he, with harsh and startling emphasis.  'I will not
+go back to them!  And I will never stay with them one moment longer
+than I think right, for you or any other tempter!  But you needn't
+mind that; I shall never trouble you again by intruding my company
+upon you so unseasonably.'
+
+He left the room:  I heard the hall-door open and shut, and
+immediately after, on putting aside the curtain, I saw him pacing
+down the park, in the comfortless gloom of the damp, cloudy
+twilight.
+
+'It would serve you right, Annabella,' said I, at length, 'if Lord
+Lowborough were to return to his old habits, which had so nearly
+effected his ruin, and which it cost him such an effort to break:
+you would then see cause to repent such conduct as this.'
+
+'Not at all, my dear!  I should not mind if his lordship were to
+see fit to intoxicate himself every day:  I should only the sooner
+be rid of him.'
+
+'Oh, Annabella!' cried Milicent.  'How can you say such wicked
+things!  It would, indeed, be a just punishment, as far as you are
+concerned, if Providence should take you at your word, and make you
+feel what others feel, that - '  She paused as a sudden burst of
+loud talking and laughter reached us from the dining-room, in which
+the voice of Hattersley was pre-eminently conspicuous, even to my
+unpractised ear.
+
+'What you feel at this moment, I suppose?' said Lady Lowborough,
+with a malicious smile, fixing her eyes upon her cousin's
+distressed countenance.
+
+The latter offered no reply, but averted her face and brushed away
+a tear.  At that moment the door opened and admitted Mr. Hargrave,
+just a little flushed, his dark eyes sparkling with unwonted
+vivacity.
+
+'Oh, I'm so glad you're come, Walter?' cried his sister.  'But I
+wish you could have got Ralph to come too.'
+
+'Utterly impossible, dear Milicent,' replied he, gaily.  'I had
+much ado to get away myself.  Ralph attempted to keep me by
+violence; Huntingdon threatened me with the eternal loss of his
+friendship; and Grimsby, worse than all, endeavoured to make me
+ashamed of my virtue, by such galling sarcasms and innuendoes as he
+knew would wound me the most.  So you see, ladies, you ought to
+make me welcome when I have braved and suffered so much for the
+favour of your sweet society.'  He smilingly turned to me and bowed
+as he finished the sentence.
+
+'Isn't he handsome now, Helen!' whispered Milicent, her sisterly
+pride overcoming, for the moment, all other considerations.
+
+'He would be,' I returned, 'if that brilliance of eye, and lip, and
+cheek were natural to him; but look again, a few hours hence.'
+
+Here the gentleman took a seat near me at the table, and petitioned
+for a cup of coffee.
+
+'I consider this an apt illustration of heaven taken by storm,'
+said he, as I handed one to him.  'I am in paradise, now; but I
+have fought my way through flood and fire to win it.  Ralph
+Hattersley's last resource was to set his back against the door,
+and swear I should find no passage but through his body (a pretty
+substantial one too).  Happily, however, that was not the only
+door, and I effected my escape by the side entrance through the
+butler's pantry, to the infinite amazement of Benson, who was
+cleaning the plate.'
+
+Mr. Hargrave laughed, and so did his cousin; but his sister and I
+remained silent and grave.
+
+'Pardon my levity, Mrs. Huntingdon,' murmured he, more seriously,
+as he raised his eyes to my face.  'You are not used to these
+things:  you suffer them to affect your delicate mind too sensibly.
+But I thought of you in the midst of those lawless roysterers; and
+I endeavoured to persuade Mr. Huntingdon to think of you too; but
+to no purpose:  I fear he is fully determined to enjoy himself this
+night; and it will be no use keeping the coffee waiting for him or
+his companions; it will be much if they join us at tea.  Meantime,
+I earnestly wish I could banish the thoughts of them from your mind
+- and my own too, for I hate to think of them - yes - even of my
+dear friend Huntingdon, when I consider the power he possesses over
+the happiness of one so immeasurably superior to himself, and the
+use he makes of it - I positively detest the man!'
+
+'You had better not say so to me, then,' said I; 'for, bad as he
+is, he is part of myself, and you cannot abuse him without
+offending me.'
+
+'Pardon me, then, for I would sooner die than offend you.  But let
+us say no more of him for the present, if you please.'
+
+At last they came; but not till after ten, when tea, which had been
+delayed for more than half an hour, was nearly over.  Much as I had
+longed for their coming, my heart failed me at the riotous uproar
+of their approach; and Milicent turned pale, and almost started
+from her seat, as Mr. Hattersley burst into the room with a
+clamorous volley of oaths in his mouth, which Hargrave endeavoured
+to check by entreating him to remember the ladies.
+
+'Ah! you do well to remind me of the ladies, you dastardly
+deserter,' cried he, shaking his formidable fist at his brother-in-
+law.  'If it were not for them, you well know, I'd demolish you in
+the twinkling of an eye, and give your body to the fowls of heaven
+and the lilies of the fields!'  Then, planting a chair by Lady
+Lowborough's side, he stationed himself in it, and began to talk to
+her with a mixture of absurdity and impudence that seemed rather to
+amuse than to offend her; though she affected to resent his
+insolence, and to keep him at bay with sallies of smart and
+spirited repartee.
+
+Meantime Mr. Grimsby seated himself by me, in the chair vacated by
+Hargrave as they entered, and gravely stated that he would thank me
+for a cup of tea:  and Arthur placed himself beside poor Milicent,
+confidentially pushing his head into her face, and drawing in
+closer to her as she shrank away from him.  He was not so noisy as
+Hattersley, but his face was exceedingly flushed:  he laughed
+incessantly, and while I blushed for all I saw and heard of him, I
+was glad that he chose to talk to his companion in so low a tone
+that no one could hear what he said but herself.
+
+'What fools they are!' drawled Mr. Grimsby, who had been talking
+away, at my elbow, with sententious gravity all the time; but I had
+been too much absorbed in contemplating the deplorable state of the
+other two - especially Arthur - to attend to him.
+
+'Did you ever hear such nonsense as they talk, Mrs. Huntingdon?' he
+continued.  'I'm quite ashamed of them for my part:  they can't
+take so much as a bottle between them without its getting into
+their heads - '
+
+'You are pouring the cream into your saucer, Mr. Grimsby.'
+
+'Ah! yes, I see, but we're almost in darkness here.  Hargrave,
+snuff those candles, will you?'
+
+'They're wax; they don't require snuffing,' said I.
+
+'"The light of the body is the eye,"' observed Hargrave, with a
+sarcastic smile.  '"If thine eye be single, thy whole body shall be
+full of light."'
+
+Grimsby repulsed him with a solemn wave of the hand, and then
+turning to me, continued, with the same drawling tones and strange
+uncertainty of utterance and heavy gravity of aspect as before:
+'But as I was saying, Mrs. Huntingdon, they have no head at all:
+they can't take half a bottle without being affected some way;
+whereas I - well, I've taken three times as much as they have to-
+night, and you see I'm perfectly steady.  Now that may strike you
+as very singular, but I think I can explain it:  you see their
+brains - I mention no names, but you'll understand to whom I allude
+- their brains are light to begin with, and the fumes of the
+fermented liquor render them lighter still, and produce an entire
+light-headedness, or giddiness, resulting in intoxication; whereas
+my brains, being composed of more solid materials, will absorb a
+considerable quantity of this alcoholic vapour without the
+production of any sensible result - '
+
+'I think you will find a sensible result produced on that tea,'
+interrupted Mr. Hargrave, 'by the quantity of sugar you have put
+into it.  Instead of your usual complement of one lump, you have
+put in six.'
+
+'Have I so?' replied the philosopher, diving with his spoon into
+the cup, and bringing up several half-dissolved pieces in
+confirmation of the assertion.  'Hum!  I perceive.  Thus, Madam,
+you see the evil of absence of mind - of thinking too much while
+engaged in the common concerns of life.  Now, if I had had my wits
+about me, like ordinary men, instead of within me like a
+philosopher, I should not have spoiled this cup of tea, and been
+constrained to trouble you for another.'
+
+'That is the sugar-basin, Mr. Grimsby.  Now you have spoiled the
+sugar too; and I'll thank you to ring for some more, for here is
+Lord Lowborough at last; and I hope his lordship will condescend to
+sit down with us, such as we are, and allow me to give him some
+tea.'
+
+His lordship gravely bowed in answer to my appeal, but said
+nothing.  Meantime, Hargrave volunteered to ring for the sugar,
+while Grimsby lamented his mistake, and attempted to prove that it
+was owing to the shadow of the urn and the badness of the lights.
+
+Lord Lowborough had entered a minute or two before, unobserved by
+an one but me, and had been standing before the door, grimly
+surveying the company.  He now stepped up to Annabella, who sat
+with her back towards him, with Hattersley still beside her, though
+not now attending to her, being occupied in vociferously abusing
+and bullying his host.
+
+'Well, Annabella,' said her husband, as he leant over the back of
+her chair, 'which of these three "bold, manly spirits" would you
+have me to resemble?'
+
+'By heaven and earth, you shall resemble us all!' cried Hattersley,
+starting up and rudely seizing him by the arm.  'Hallo,
+Huntingdon!' he shouted - 'I've got him!  Come, man, and help me!
+And d-n me, if I don't make him drunk before I let him go!  He
+shall make up for all past delinquencies as sure as I'm a living
+soul!'
+
+There followed a disgraceful contest:  Lord Lowborough, in
+desperate earnest, and pale with anger, silently struggling to
+release himself from the powerful madman that was striving to drag
+him from the room.  I attempted to urge Arthur to interfere in
+behalf of his outraged guest, but he could do nothing but laugh.
+
+'Huntingdon, you fool, come and help me, can't you!' cried
+Hattersley, himself somewhat weakened by his excesses.
+
+'I'm wishing you God-speed, Hattersley,' cried Arthur, 'and aiding
+you with my prayers:  I can't do anything else if my life depended
+on it!  I'm quite used up.  Oh - oh!' and leaning back in his seat,
+he clapped his hands on his sides and groaned aloud.
+
+'Annabella, give me a candle!' said Lowborough, whose antagonist
+had now got him round the waist and was endeavouring to root him
+from the door-post, to which he madly clung with all the energy of
+desperation.
+
+'I shall take no part in your rude sports!' replied the lady coldly
+drawing back.  'I wonder you can expect it.'  But I snatched up a
+candle and brought it to him.  He took it and held the flame to
+Hattersley's hands, till, roaring like a wild beast, the latter
+unclasped them and let him go.  He vanished, I suppose to his own
+apartment, for nothing more was seen of him till the morning.
+Swearing and cursing like a maniac, Hattersley threw himself on to
+the ottoman beside the window.  The door being now free, Milicent
+attempted to make her escape from the scene of her husband's
+disgrace; but he called her back, and insisted upon her coming to
+him.
+
+'What do you want, Ralph?' murmured she, reluctantly approaching
+him.
+
+'I want to know what's the matter with you,' said he, pulling her
+on to his knee like a child.  'What are you crying for, Milicent? -
+Tell me!'
+
+'I'm not crying.'
+
+'You are,' persisted he, rudely pulling her hands from her face.
+'How dare you tell such a lie!'
+
+'I'm not crying now,' pleaded she.
+
+'But you have been, and just this minute too; and I will know what
+for.  Come, now, you shall tell me!'
+
+'Do let me alone, Ralph!  Remember, we are not at home.'
+
+'No matter:  you shall answer my question!' exclaimed her
+tormentor; and he attempted to extort the confession by shaking
+her, and remorselessly crushing her slight arms in the gripe of his
+powerful fingers.
+
+'Don't let him treat your sister in that way,' said I to Mr.
+Hargrave.
+
+'Come now, Hattersley, I can't allow that,' said that gentleman,
+stepping up to the ill-assorted couple.  'Let my sister alone, if
+you please.'
+
+And he made an effort to unclasp the ruffian's fingers from her
+arm, but was suddenly driven backward, and nearly laid upon the
+floor by a violent blow on the chest, accompanied with the
+admonition, 'Take that for your insolence! and learn to interfere
+between me and mine again.'
+
+'If you were not drunk, I'd have satisfaction for that!' gasped
+Hargrave, white and breathless as much from passion as from the
+immediate effects of the blow.
+
+'Go to the devil!' responded his brother-in-law.  'Now, Milicent,
+tell me what you were crying for.'
+
+'I'll tell you some other time,' murmured she, 'when we are alone.'
+
+'Tell me now!' said he, with another shake and a squeeze that made
+her draw in her breath and bite her lip to suppress a cry of pain.
+
+'I'll tell you, Mr. Hattersley,' said I.  'She was crying from pure
+shame and humiliation for you; because she could not bear to see
+you conduct yourself so disgracefully.'
+
+'Confound you, Madam!' muttered he, with a stare of stupid
+amazement at my 'impudence.'  'It was not that - was it, Milicent?'
+
+She was silent.
+
+'Come, speak up, child!'
+
+'I can't tell now,' sobbed she.
+
+'But you can say "yes" or "no" as well as "I can't tell." - Come!'
+
+'Yes,' she whispered, hanging her head, and blushing at the awful
+acknowledgment.
+
+'Curse you for an impertinent hussy, then!' cried he, throwing her
+from him with such violence that she fell on her side; but she was
+up again before either I or her brother could come to her
+assistance, and made the best of her way out of the room, and, I
+suppose, up-stairs, without loss of time.
+
+The next object of assault was Arthur, who sat opposite, and had,
+no doubt, richly enjoyed the whole scene.
+
+'Now, Huntingdon,' exclaimed his irascible friend, 'I will not have
+you sitting there and laughing like an idiot!'
+
+'Oh, Hattersley,' cried he, wiping his swimming eyes - 'you'll be
+the death of me.'
+
+'Yes, I will, but not as you suppose:  I'll have the heart out of
+your body, man, if you irritate me with any more of that imbecile
+laughter! - What! are you at it yet? - There! see if that'll settle
+you!' cried Hattersley, snatching up a footstool and hurting it at
+the head of his host; but he as well as missed his aim, and the
+latter still sat collapsed and quaking with feeble laughter, with
+tears running down his face:  a deplorable spectacle indeed.
+
+Hattersley tried cursing and swearing, but it would not do:  he
+then took a number of books from the table beside him, and threw
+them, one by one, at the object of his wrath; but Arthur only
+laughed the more; and, finally, Hattersley rushed upon him in a
+frenzy and seizing him by the shoulders, gave him a violent
+shaking, under which he laughed and shrieked alarmingly.  But I saw
+no more:  I thought I had witnessed enough of my husband's
+degradation; and leaving Annabella and the rest to follow when they
+pleased, I withdrew, but not to bed.  Dismissing Rachel to her
+rest, I walked up and down my room, in an agony of misery for what
+had been done, and suspense, not knowing what might further happen,
+or how or when that unhappy creature would come up to bed.
+
+At last he came, slowly and stumblingly ascending the stairs,
+supported by Grimsby and Hattersley, who neither of them walked
+quite steadily themselves, but were both laughing and joking at
+him, and making noise enough for all the servants to hear.  He
+himself was no longer laughing now, but sick and stupid.  I will
+write no more about that.
+
+Such disgraceful scenes (or nearly such) have been repeated more
+than once.  I don't say much to Arthur about it, for, if I did, it
+would do more harm than good; but I let him know that I intensely
+dislike such exhibitions; and each time he has promised they should
+never again be repeated.  But I fear he is losing the little self-
+command and self-respect he once possessed:  formerly, he would
+have been ashamed to act thus - at least, before any other
+witnesses than his boon companions, or such as they.  His friend
+Hargrave, with a prudence and self-government that I envy for him,
+never disgraces himself by taking more than sufficient to render
+him a little 'elevated,' and is always the first to leave the table
+after Lord Lowborough, who, wiser still, perseveres in vacating the
+dining-room immediately after us:  but never once, since Annabella
+offended him so deeply, has he entered the drawing-room before the
+rest; always spending the interim in the library, which I take care
+to have lighted for his accommodation; or, on fine moonlight
+nights, in roaming about the grounds.  But I think she regrets her
+misconduct, for she has never repeated it since, and of late she
+has comported herself with wonderful propriety towards him,
+treating him with more uniform kindness and consideration than ever
+I have observed her to do before.  I date the time of this
+improvement from the period when she ceased to hope and strive for
+Arthur's admiration.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXII
+
+
+
+October 5th. - Esther Hargrave is getting a fine girl.  She is not
+out of the school-room yet, but her mother frequently brings her
+over to call in the mornings when the gentlemen are out, and
+sometimes she spends an hour or two in company with her sister and
+me, and the children; and when we go to the Grove, I always
+contrive to see her, and talk more to her than to any one else, for
+I am very much attached to my little friend, and so is she to me.
+I wonder what she can see to like in me though, for I am no longer
+the happy, lively girl I used to be; but she has no other society,
+save that of her uncongenial mother, and her governess (as
+artificial and conventional a person as that prudent mother could
+procure to rectify the pupil's natural qualities), and, now and
+then, her subdued, quiet sister.  I often wonder what will be her
+lot in life, and so does she; but her speculations on the future
+are full of buoyant hope; so were mine once.  I shudder to think of
+her being awakened, like me, to a sense of their delusive vanity.
+It seems as if I should feel her disappointment, even more deeply
+than my own.  I feel almost as if I were born for such a fate, but
+she is so joyous and fresh, so light of heart and free of spirit,
+and so guileless and unsuspecting too.  Oh, it would be cruel to
+make her feel as I feel now, and know what I have known!
+
+Her sister trembles for her too.  Yesterday morning, one of
+October's brightest, loveliest days, Milicent and I were in the
+garden enjoying a brief half-hour together with our children, while
+Annabella was lying on the drawing-room sofa, deep in the last new
+novel.  We had been romping with the little creatures, almost as
+merry and wild as themselves, and now paused in the shade of the
+tall copper beech, to recover breath and rectify our hair,
+disordered by the rough play and the frolicsome breeze, while they
+toddled together along the broad, sunny walk; my Arthur supporting
+the feebler steps of her little Helen, and sagaciously pointing out
+to her the brightest beauties of the border as they passed, with
+semi-articulate prattle, that did as well for her as any other mode
+of discourse.  From laughing at the pretty sight, we began to talk
+of the children's future life; and that made us thoughtful.  We
+both relapsed into silent musing as we slowly proceeded up the
+walk; and I suppose Milicent, by a train of associations, was led
+to think of her sister.
+
+'Helen,' said she, 'you often see Esther, don't you?'
+
+'Not very often.'
+
+'But you have more frequent opportunities of meeting her than I
+have; and she loves you, I know, and reverences you too:  there is
+nobody's opinion she thinks so much of; and she says you have more
+sense than mamma.'
+
+'That is because she is self-willed, and my opinions more generally
+coincide with her own than your mamma's.  But what then, Milicent?'
+
+'Well, since you have so much influence with her, I wish you would
+seriously impress it upon her, never, on any account, or for
+anybody's persuasion, to marry for the sake of money, or rank, or
+establishment, or any earthly thing, but true affection and well-
+grounded esteem.'
+
+'There is no necessity for that,' said I, 'for we have had some
+discourse on that subject already, and I assure you her ideas of
+love and matrimony are as romantic as any one could desire.'
+
+'But romantic notions will not do:  I want her to have true
+notions.'
+
+'Very right:  but in my judgment, what the world stigmatises as
+romantic, is often more nearly allied to the truth than is commonly
+supposed; for, if the generous ideas of youth are too often over-
+clouded by the sordid views of after-life, that scarcely proves
+them to be false.'
+
+'Well, but if you think her ideas are what they ought to be,
+strengthen them, will you? and confirm them, as far as you can; for
+I had romantic notions once, and - I don't mean to say that I
+regret my lot, for I am quite sure I don't, but - '
+
+'I understand you,' said I; 'you are contented for yourself, but
+you would not have your sister to suffer the same as you.'
+
+'No - or worse.  She might have far worse to suffer than I, for I
+am really contented, Helen, though you mayn't think it:  I speak
+the solemn truth in saying that I would not exchange my husband for
+any man on earth, if I might do it by the plucking of this leaf.'
+
+'Well, I believe you:  now that you have him, you would not
+exchange him for another; but then you would gladly exchange some
+of his qualities for those of better men.'
+
+'Yes:  just as I would gladly exchange some of my own qualities for
+those of better women; for neither he nor I are perfect, and I
+desire his improvement as earnestly as my own.  And he will
+improve, don't you think so, Helen? he's only six-and-twenty yet.'
+
+'He may,' I answered,
+
+'He will, he WILL!' repeated she.
+
+'Excuse the faintness of my acquiescence, Milicent, I would not
+discourage your hopes for the world, but mine have been so often
+disappointed, that I am become as cold and doubtful in my
+expectations as the flattest of octogenarians.'
+
+'And yet you do hope, still, even for Mr. Huntingdon?'
+
+'I do, I confess, "even" for him; for it seems as if life and hope
+must cease together.  And is he so much worse, Milicent, than Mr.
+Hattersley?'
+
+'Well, to give you my candid opinion, I think there is no
+comparison between them.  But you mustn't be offended, Helen, for
+you know I always speak my mind, and you may speak yours too.  I
+sha'n't care.'
+
+'I am not offended, love; and my opinion is, that if there be a
+comparison made between the two, the difference, for the most part,
+is certainly in Hattersley's favour.'
+
+Milicent's own heart told her how much it cost me to make this
+acknowledgment; and, with a childlike impulse, she expressed her
+sympathy by suddenly kissing my cheek, without a word of reply, and
+then turning quickly away, caught up her baby, and hid her face in
+its frock.  How odd it is that we so often weep for each other's
+distresses, when we shed not a tear for our own!  Her heart had
+been full enough of her own sorrows, but it overflowed at the idea
+of mine; and I, too, shed tears at the sight of her sympathetic
+emotion, though I had not wept for myself for many a week.
+
+It was one rainy day last week; most of the company were killing
+time in the billiard-room, but Milicent and I were with little
+Arthur and Helen in the library, and between our books, our
+children, and each other, we expected to make out a very agreeable
+morning.  We had not been thus secluded above two hours, however,
+when Mr. Hattersley came in, attracted, I suppose, by the voice of
+his child, as he was crossing the hall, for he is prodigiously fond
+of her, and she of him.
+
+He was redolent of the stables, where he had been regaling himself
+with the company of his fellow-creatures the horses ever since
+breakfast.  But that was no matter to my little namesake; as soon
+as the colossal person of her father darkened the door, she uttered
+a shrill scream of delight, and, quitting her mother's side, ran
+crowing towards him, balancing her course with outstretched arms,
+and embracing his knee, threw back her head and laughed in his
+face.  He might well look smilingly down upon those small, fair
+features, radiant with innocent mirth, those clear blue shining
+eyes, and that soft flaxen hair cast back upon the little ivory
+neck and shoulders.  Did he not think how unworthy he was of such a
+possession?  I fear no such idea crossed his mind.  He caught her
+up, and there followed some minutes of very rough play, during
+which it is difficult to say whether the father or the daughter
+laughed and shouted the loudest.  At length, however, the
+boisterous pastime terminated, suddenly, as might be expected:  the
+little one was hurt, and began to cry; and the ungentle play-fellow
+tossed it into its mother's lap, bidding her 'make all straight.'
+As happy to return to that gentle comforter as it had been to leave
+her, the child nestled in her arms, and hushed its cries in a
+moment; and sinking its little weary head on her bosom, soon
+dropped asleep.
+
+Meantime Mr. Hattersley strode up to the fire, and interposing his
+height and breadth between us and it, stood with arms akimbo,
+expanding his chest, and gazing round him as if the house and all
+its appurtenances and contents were his own undisputed possessions.
+
+'Deuced bad weather this!' he began.  'There'll be no shooting to-
+day, I guess.'  Then, suddenly lifting up his voice, he regaled us
+with a few bars of a rollicking song, which abruptly ceasing, he
+finished the tune with a whistle, and then continued:- 'I say, Mrs.
+Huntingdon, what a fine stud your husband has! not large, but good.
+I've been looking at them a bit this morning; and upon my word,
+Black Boss, and Grey Tom, and that young Nimrod are the finest
+animals I've seen for many a day!'  Then followed a particular
+discussion of their various merits, succeeded by a sketch of the
+great things he intended to do in the horse-jockey line, when his
+old governor thought proper to quit the stage.  'Not that I wish
+him to close his accounts,' added he:  'the old Trojan is welcome
+to keep his books open as long as he pleases for me.'
+
+'I hope so, indeed, Mr. Hattersley.'
+
+'Oh, yes!  It's only my way of talking.  The event must come some
+time, and so I look to the bright side of it:  that's the right
+plan - isn't it, Mrs. H.?  What are you two doing here?  By-the-by,
+where's Lady Lowborough?'
+
+'In the billiard-room.'
+
+'What a splendid creature she is!' continued he, fixing his eyes on
+his wife, who changed colour, and looked more and more disconcerted
+as he proceeded.  'What a noble figure she has; and what
+magnificent black eyes; and what a fine spirit of her own; and what
+a tongue of her own, too, when she likes to use it.  I perfectly
+adore her!  But never mind, Milicent:  I wouldn't have her for my
+wife, not if she'd a kingdom for her dowry!  I'm better satisfied
+with the one I have.  Now then! what do you look so sulky for?
+don't you believe me?'
+
+'Yes, I believe you,' murmured she, in a tone of half sad, half
+sullen resignation, as she turned away to stroke the hair of her
+sleeping infant, that she had laid on the sofa beside her.
+
+'Well, then, what makes you so cross?  Come here, Milly, and tell
+me why you can't be satisfied with my assurance.'
+
+She went, and putting her little hand within his arm, looked up in
+his face, and said softly, -
+
+'What does it amount to, Ralph?  Only to this, that though you
+admire Annabella so much, and for qualities that I don't possess,
+you would still rather have me than her for your wife, which merely
+proves that you don't think it necessary to love your wife; you are
+satisfied if she can keep your house, and take care of your child.
+But I'm not cross; I'm only sorry; for,' added she, in a low,
+tremulous accent, withdrawing her hand from his arm, and bending
+her looks on the rug, 'if you don't love me, you don't, and it
+can't be helped.'
+
+'Very true; but who told you I didn't?  Did I say I loved
+Annabella?'
+
+'You said you adored her.'
+
+'True, but adoration isn't love.  I adore Annabella, but I don't
+love her; and I love thee, Milicent, but I don't adore thee.'  In
+proof of his affection, he clutched a handful of her light brown
+ringlets, and appeared to twist them unmercifully.
+
+'Do you really, Ralph?' murmured she, with a faint smile beaming
+through her tears, just putting up her hand to his, in token that
+he pulled rather too hard.
+
+'To be sure I do,' responded he:  'only you bother me rather,
+sometimes.'
+
+'I bother you!' cried she, in very natural surprise.
+
+'Yes, you - but only by your exceeding goodness.  When a boy has
+been eating raisins and sugar-plums all day, he longs for a squeeze
+of sour orange by way of a change.  And did you never, Milly,
+observe the sands on the sea-shore; how nice and smooth they look,
+and how soft and easy they feel to the foot?  But if you plod
+along, for half an hour, over this soft, easy carpet - giving way
+at every step, yielding the more the harder you press, - you'll
+find it rather wearisome work, and be glad enough to come to a bit
+of good, firm rock, that won't budge an inch whether you stand,
+walk, or stamp upon it; and, though it be hard as the nether
+millstone, you'll find it the easier footing after all.'
+
+'I know what you mean, Ralph,' said she, nervously playing with her
+watchguard and tracing the figure on the rug with the point of her
+tiny foot - 'I know what you mean:  but I thought you always liked
+to be yielded to, and I can't alter now.'
+
+'I do like it,' replied he, bringing her to him by another tug at
+her hair.  'You mustn't mind my talk, Milly.  A man must have
+something to grumble about; and if he can't complain that his wife
+harries him to death with her perversity and ill-humour, he must
+complain that she wears him out with her kindness and gentleness.'
+
+'But why complain at all, unless because you are tired and
+dissatisfied?'
+
+'To excuse my own failings, to be sure.  Do you think I'll bear all
+the burden of my sins on my own shoulders, as long as there's
+another ready to help me, with none of her own to carry?'
+
+'There is no such one on earth,' said she seriously; and then,
+taking his hand from her head, she kissed it with an air of genuine
+devotion, and tripped away to the door.
+
+'What now?' said he.  'Where are you going?'
+
+'To tidy my hair,' she answered, smiling through her disordered
+locks; 'you've made it all come down.'
+
+'Off with you then! - An excellent little woman,' he remarked when
+she was gone, 'but a thought too soft - she almost melts in one's
+hands.  I positively think I ill-use her sometimes, when I've taken
+too much - but I can't help it, for she never complains, either at
+the time or after.  I suppose she doesn't mind it.'
+
+'I can enlighten you on that subject, Mr. Hattersley,' said I:
+'she does mind it; and some other things she minds still more,
+which yet you may never hear her complain of.'
+
+'How do you know? - does she complain to you?' demanded he, with a
+sudden spark of fury ready to burst into a flame if I should answer
+"yes."
+
+'No,' I replied; 'but I have known her longer and studied her more
+closely than you have done. - And I can tell you, Mr. Hattersley,
+that Milicent loves you more than you deserve, and that you have it
+in your power to make her very happy, instead of which you are her
+evil genius, and, I will venture to say, there is not a single day
+passes in which you do not inflict upon her some pang that you
+might spare her if you would.'
+
+'Well - it's not my fault,' said he, gazing carelessly up at the
+ceiling and plunging his hands into his pockets:  'if my ongoings
+don't suit her, she should tell me so.'
+
+'Is she not exactly the wife you wanted?  Did you not tell Mr.
+Huntingdon you must have one that would submit to anything without
+a murmur, and never blame you, whatever you did?'
+
+'True, but we shouldn't always have what we want:  it spoils the
+best of us, doesn't it?  How can I help playing the deuce when I
+see it's all one to her whether I behave like a Christian or like a
+scoundrel, such as nature made me? and how can I help teasing her
+when she's so invitingly meek and mim, when she lies down like a
+spaniel at my feet and never so much as squeaks to tell me that's
+enough?'
+
+'If you are a tyrant by nature, the temptation is strong, I allow;
+but no generous mind delights to oppress the weak, but rather to
+cherish and protect.'
+
+'I don't oppress her; but it's so confounded flat to be always
+cherishing and protecting; and then, how can I tell that I am
+oppressing her when she "melts away and makes no sign"?  I
+sometimes think she has no feeling at all; and then I go on till
+she cries, and that satisfies me.'
+
+'Then you do delight to oppress her?'
+
+'I don't, I tell you! only when I'm in a bad humour, or a
+particularly good one, and want to afflict for the pleasure of
+comforting; or when she looks flat and wants shaking up a bit.  And
+sometimes she provokes me by crying for nothing, and won't tell me
+what it's for; and then, I allow, it enrages me past bearing,
+especially when I'm not my own man.'
+
+'As is no doubt generally the case on such occasions,' said I.
+'But in future, Mr. Hattersley, when you see her looking flat, or
+crying for "nothing" (as you call it), ascribe it all to yourself:
+be assured it is something you have done amiss, or your general
+misconduct, that distresses her.'
+
+'I don't believe it.  If it were, she should tell me so:  I don't
+like that way of moping and fretting in silence, and saying
+nothing:  it's not honest.  How can she expect me to mend my ways
+at that rate?'
+
+'Perhaps she gives you credit for having more sense than you
+possess, and deludes herself with the hope that you will one day
+see your own errors and repair them, if left to your own
+reflection.'
+
+'None of your sneers, Mrs. Huntingdon.  I have the sense to see
+that I'm not always quite correct, but sometimes I think that's no
+great matter, as long as I injure nobody but myself - '
+
+'It is a great matter,' interrupted I, 'both to yourself (as you
+will hereafter find to your cost) and to all connected with you,
+most especially your wife.  But, indeed, it is nonsense to talk
+about injuring no one but yourself:  it is impossible to injure
+yourself, especially by such acts as we allude to, without injuring
+hundreds, if not thousands, besides, in a greater or less, degree,
+either by the evil you do or the good you leave undone.'
+
+'And as I was saying,' continued he, 'or would have said if you
+hadn't taken me up so short, I sometimes think I should do better
+if I were joined to one that would always remind me when I was
+wrong, and give me a motive for doing good and eschewing evil, by
+decidedly showing her approval of the one and disapproval of the
+other.'
+
+'If you had no higher motive than the approval of your fellow-
+mortal, it would do you little good.'
+
+'Well, but if I had a mate that would not always be yielding, and
+always equally kind, but that would have the spirit to stand at bay
+now and then, and honestly tell me her mind at all times, such a
+one as yourself for instance.  Now, if I went on with you as I do
+with her when I'm in London, you'd make the house too hot to hold
+me at times, I'll be sworn.'
+
+'You mistake me:  I'm no termagant.'
+
+'Well, all the better for that, for I can't stand contradiction, in
+a general way, and I'm as fond of my own will as another; only I
+think too much of it doesn't answer for any man.'
+
+'Well, I would never contradict you without a cause, but certainly
+I would always let you know what I thought of your conduct; and if
+you oppressed me, in body, mind, or estate, you should at least
+have no reason to suppose "I didn't mind it."'
+
+'I know that, my lady; and I think if my little wife were to follow
+the same plan, it would be better for us both.'
+
+'I'll tell her.'
+
+'No, no, let her be; there's much to be said on both sides, and,
+now I think upon it, Huntingdon often regrets that you are not more
+like her, scoundrelly dog that he is, and you see, after all, you
+can't reform him:  he's ten times worse than I.  He's afraid of
+you, to be sure; that is, he's always on his best behaviour in your
+presence - but - '
+
+'I wonder what his worst behaviour is like, then?' I could not
+forbear observing.
+
+'Why, to tell you the truth, it's very bad indeed - isn't it,
+Hargrave?' said he, addressing that gentleman, who had entered the
+room unperceived by me, for I was now standing near the fire, with
+my back to the door.  'Isn't Huntingdon,' he continued, 'as great a
+reprobate as ever was d-d?'
+
+'His lady will not hear him censured with impunity,' replied Mr.
+Hargrave, coming forward; 'but I must say, I thank God I am not
+such another.'
+
+'Perhaps it would become you better,' said I, 'to look at what you
+are, and say, "God be merciful to me a sinner."'
+
+'You are severe,' returned he, bowing slightly and drawing himself
+up with a proud yet injured air.  Hattersley laughed, and clapped
+him on the shoulder.  Moving from under his hand with a gesture of
+insulted dignity, Mr. Hargrave took himself away to the other end
+of the rug.
+
+'Isn't it a shame, Mrs. Huntingdon?' cried his brother-in-law; 'I
+struck Walter Hargrave when I was drunk, the second night after we
+came, and he's turned a cold shoulder on me ever since; though I
+asked his pardon the very morning after it was done!'
+
+'Your manner of asking it,' returned the other, 'and the clearness
+with which you remembered the whole transaction, showed you were
+not too drunk to be fully conscious of what you were about, and
+quite responsible for the deed.'
+
+'You wanted to interfere between me and my wife,' grumbled
+Hattersley, 'and that is enough to provoke any man.'
+
+'You justify it, then?' said his opponent, darting upon him a most
+vindictive glance.
+
+'No, I tell you I wouldn't have done it if I hadn't been under
+excitement; and if you choose to bear malice for it after all the
+handsome things I've said, do so and be d-d!'
+
+'I would refrain from such language in a lady's presence, at
+least,' said Mr. Hargrave, hiding his anger under a mask of
+disgust.
+
+'What have I said?' returned Hattersley:  'nothing but heaven's
+truth.  He will be damned, won't he, Mrs. Huntingdon, if he doesn't
+forgive his brother's trespasses?'
+
+'You ought to forgive him, Mr. Hargrave, since he asks you,' said
+I.
+
+'Do you say so?  Then I will!'  And, smiling almost frankly, he
+stepped forward and offered his hand.  It was immediately clasped
+in that of his relative, and the reconciliation was apparently
+cordial on both sides.
+
+'The affront,' continued Hargrave, turning to me, 'owed half its
+bitterness to the fact of its being offered in your presence; and
+since you bid me forgive it, I will, and forget it too.'
+
+'I guess the best return I can make will be to take myself off,'
+muttered Hattersley, with a broad grin.  His companion smiled, and
+he left the room.  This put me on my guard.  Mr. Hargrave turned
+seriously to me, and earnestly began, -
+
+'Dear Mrs. Huntingdon, how I have longed for, yet dreaded, this
+hour!  Do not be alarmed,' he added, for my face was crimson with
+anger:  'I am not about to offend you with any useless entreaties
+or complaints.  I am not going to presume to trouble you with the
+mention of my own feelings or your perfections, but I have
+something to reveal to you which you ought to know, and which, yet,
+it pains me inexpressibly - '
+
+'Then don't trouble yourself to reveal it!'
+
+'But it is of importance - '
+
+'If so I shall hear it soon enough, especially if it is bad news,
+as you seem to consider it.  At present I am going to take the
+children to the nursery.'
+
+'But can't you ring and send them?'
+
+'No; I want the exercise of a run to the top of the house.  Come,
+Arthur.'
+
+'But you will return?'
+
+'Not yet; don't wait.'
+
+'Then when may I see you again?'
+
+'At lunch,' said I, departing with little Helen in one arm and
+leading Arthur by the hand.
+
+He turned away, muttering some sentence of impatient censure or
+complaint, in which 'heartless' was the only distinguishable word.
+
+'What nonsense is this, Mr. Hargrave?' said I, pausing in the
+doorway.  'What do you mean?'
+
+'Oh, nothing; I did not intend you should hear my soliloquy.  But
+the fact is, Mrs. Huntingdon, I have a disclosure to make, painful
+for me to offer as for you to hear; and I want you to give me a few
+minutes of your attention in private at any time and place you like
+to appoint.  It is from no selfish motive that I ask it, and not
+for any cause that could alarm your superhuman purity:  therefore
+you need not kill me with that look of cold and pitiless disdain.
+I know too well the feelings with which the bearers of bad tidings
+are commonly regarded not to - '
+
+'What is this wonderful piece of intelligence?' said I, impatiently
+interrupting him.  'If it is anything of real importance, speak it
+in three words before I go.'
+
+'In three words I cannot.  Send those children away and stay with
+me.'
+
+'No; keep your bad tidings to yourself.  I know it is something I
+don't want to hear, and something you would displease me by
+telling.'
+
+'You have divined too truly, I fear; but still, since I know it, I
+feel it my duty to disclose it to you.'
+
+'Oh, spare us both the infliction, and I will exonerate you from
+the duty.  You have offered to tell; I have refused to hear:  my
+ignorance will not be charged on you.'
+
+'Be it so:  you shall not hear it from me.  But if the blow fall
+too suddenly upon you when it comes, remember I wished to soften
+it!'
+
+I left him.  I was determined his words should not alarm me.  What
+could he, of all men, have to reveal that was of importance for me
+to hear?  It was no doubt some exaggerated tale about my
+unfortunate husband that he wished to make the most of to serve his
+own bad purposes.
+
+6th. - He has not alluded to this momentous mystery since, and I
+have seen no reason to repent of my unwillingness to hear it.  The
+threatened blow has not been struck yet, and I do not greatly fear
+it.  At present I am pleased with Arthur:  he has not positively
+disgraced himself for upwards of a fortnight, and all this last
+week has been so very moderate in his indulgence at table that I
+can perceive a marked difference in his general temper and
+appearance.  Dare I hope this will continue?
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIII
+
+
+
+Seventh. - Yes, I will hope!  To-night I heard Grimsby and
+Hattersley grumbling together about the inhospitality of their
+host.  They did not know I was near, for I happened to be standing
+behind the curtain in the bow of the window, watching the moon
+rising over the clump of tall dark elm-trees below the lawn, and
+wondering why Arthur was so sentimental as to stand without,
+leaning against the outer pillar of the portico, apparently
+watching it too.
+
+'So, I suppose we've seen the last of our merry carousals in this
+house,' said Mr. Hattersley; 'I thought his good-fellowship
+wouldn't last long.  But,' added he, laughing, 'I didn't expect it
+would meet its end this way.  I rather thought our pretty hostess
+would be setting up her porcupine quills, and threatening to turn
+us out of the house if we didn't mind our manners.'
+
+'You didn't foresee this, then?' answered Grimsby, with a guttural
+chuckle.  'But he'll change again when he's sick of her.  If we
+come here a year or two hence, we shall have all our own way,
+you'll see.'
+
+'I don't know,' replied the other:  'she's not the style of woman
+you soon tire of.  But be that as it may, it's devilish provoking
+now that we can't be jolly, because he chooses to be on his good
+behaviour.'
+
+'It's all these cursed women!' muttered Grimsby:  'they're the very
+bane of the world!  They bring trouble and discomfort wherever they
+come, with their false, fair faces and their deceitful tongues.'
+
+At this juncture I issued from my retreat, and smiling on Mr.
+Grimsby as I passed, left the room and went out in search of
+Arthur.  Having seen him bend his course towards the shrubbery, I
+followed him thither, and found him just entering the shadowy walk.
+I was so light of heart, so overflowing with affection, that I
+sprang upon him and clasped him in my arms.  This startling conduct
+had a singular effect upon him:  first, he murmured, 'Bless you,
+darling!' and returned my close embrace with a fervour like old
+times, and then he started, and, in a tone of absolute terror,
+exclaimed, 'Helen! what the devil is this?' and I saw, by the faint
+light gleaming through the overshadowing tree, that he was
+positively pale with the shock.
+
+How strange that the instinctive impulse of affection should come
+first, and then the shock of the surprise!  It shows, at least,
+that the affection is genuine:  he is not sick of me yet.
+
+'I startled you, Arthur,' said I, laughing in my glee.  'How
+nervous you are!'
+
+'What the deuce did you do it for?' cried he, quite testily,
+extricating himself from my arms, and wiping his forehead with his
+handkerchief.  'Go back, Helen - go back directly!  You'll get your
+death of cold!'
+
+'I won't, till I've told you what I came for.  They are blaming
+you, Arthur, for your temperance and sobriety, and I'm come to
+thank you for it.  They say it is all "these cursed women," and
+that we are the bane of the world; but don't let them laugh or
+grumble you out of your good resolutions, or your affection for
+me.'
+
+He laughed.  I squeezed him in my arms again, and cried in tearful
+earnest, 'Do, do persevere! and I'll love you better than ever I
+did before!'
+
+'Well, well, I will!' said he, hastily kissing me.  'There, now,
+go.  You mad creature, how could you come out in your light evening
+dress this chill autumn night?'
+
+'It is a glorious night,' said I.
+
+'It is a night that will give you your death, in another minute.
+Run away, do!'
+
+'Do you see my death among those trees, Arthur?' said I, for he was
+gazing intently at the shrubs, as if he saw it coming, and I was
+reluctant to leave him, in my new-found happiness and revival of
+hope and love.  But he grew angry at my delay, so I kissed him and
+ran back to the house.
+
+I was in such a good humour that night:  Milicent told me I was the
+life of the party, and whispered she had never seen me so
+brilliant.  Certainly, I talked enough for twenty, and smiled upon
+them all.  Grimsby, Hattersley, Hargrave, Lady Lowborough, all
+shared my sisterly kindness.  Grimsby stared and wondered;
+Hattersley laughed and jested (in spite of the little wine he had
+been suffered to imbibe), but still behaved as well as he knew how.
+Hargrave and Annabella, from different motives and in different
+ways, emulated me, and doubtless both surpassed me, the former in
+his discursive versatility and eloquence, the latter in boldness
+and animation at least.  Milicent, delighted to see her husband,
+her brother, and her over-estimated friend acquitting themselves so
+well, was lively and gay too, in her quiet way.  Even Lord
+Lowborough caught the general contagion:  his dark greenish eyes
+were lighted up beneath their moody brows; his sombre countenance
+was beautified by smiles; all traces of gloom and proud or cold
+reserve had vanished for the time; and he astonished us all, not
+only by his general cheerfulness and animation, but by the positive
+flashes of true force and brilliance he emitted from time to time.
+Arthur did not talk much, but he laughed, and listened to the rest,
+and was in perfect good-humour, though not excited by wine.  So
+that, altogether, we made a very merry, innocent, and entertaining
+party.
+
+9th. - Yesterday, when Rachel came to dress me for dinner, I saw
+that she had been crying.  I wanted to know the cause of it, but
+she seemed reluctant to tell.  Was she unwell?  No.  Had she heard
+bad news from her friends?  No.  Had any of the servants vexed her?
+
+'Oh, no, ma'am!' she answered; 'it's not for myself.'
+
+'What then, Rachel?  Have you been reading novels?'
+
+'Bless you, no!' said she, with a sorrowful shake of the head; and
+then she sighed and continued:  'But to tell you the truth, ma'am,
+I don't like master's ways of going on.'
+
+'What do you mean, Rachel?  He's going on very properly at
+present.'
+
+'Well, ma'am, if you think so, it's right.'
+
+And she went on dressing my hair, in a hurried way, quite unlike
+her usual calm, collected manner, murmuring, half to herself, she
+was sure it was beautiful hair:  she 'could like to see 'em match
+it.'  When it was done, she fondly stroked it, and gently patted my
+head.
+
+'Is that affectionate ebullition intended for my hair, or myself,
+nurse?' said I, laughingly turning round upon her; but a tear was
+even now in her eye.
+
+'What do you mean, Rachel?' I exclaimed.
+
+'Well, ma'am, I don't know; but if - '
+
+'If what?'
+
+'Well, if I was you, I wouldn't have that Lady Lowborough in the
+house another minute - not another minute I wouldn't!
+
+I was thunderstruck; but before I could recover from the shock
+sufficiently to demand an explanation, Milicent entered my room, as
+she frequently does when she is dressed before me; and she stayed
+with me till it was time to go down.  She must have found me a very
+unsociable companion this time, for Rachel's last words rang in my
+ears.  But still I hoped, I trusted they had no foundation but in
+some idle rumour of the servants from what they had seen in Lady
+Lowborough's manner last month; or perhaps from something that had
+passed between their master and her during her former visit.  At
+dinner I narrowly observed both her and Arthur, and saw nothing
+extraordinary in the conduct of either, nothing calculated to
+excite suspicion, except in distrustful minds, which mine was not,
+and therefore I would not suspect.
+
+Almost immediately after dinner Annabella went out with her husband
+to share his moonlight ramble, for it was a splendid evening like
+the last.  Mr. Hargrave entered the drawing-room a little before
+the others, and challenged me to a game of chess.  He did it
+without any of that sad but proud humility he usually assumes in
+addressing me, unless he is excited with wine.  I looked at his
+face to see if that was the case now.  His eye met mine keenly, but
+steadily:  there was something about him I did not understand, but
+he seemed sober enough.  Not choosing to engage with him, I
+referred him to Milicent.
+
+'She plays badly,' said he, 'I want to match my skill with yours.
+Come now! you can't pretend you are reluctant to lay down your
+work.  I know you never take it up except to pass an idle hour,
+when there is nothing better you can do.'
+
+'But chess-players are so unsociable,' I objected; 'they are no
+company for any but themselves.'
+
+'There is no one here but Milicent, and she - '
+
+'Oh, I shall be delighted to watch you!' cried our mutual friend.
+'Two such players - it will be quite a treat!  I wonder which will
+conquer.'
+
+I consented.
+
+'Now, Mrs. Huntingdon,' said Hargrave, as he arranged the men on
+the board, speaking distinctly, and with a peculiar emphasis, as if
+he had a double meaning to all his words, 'you are a good player,
+but I am a better:  we shall have a long game, and you will give me
+some trouble; but I can be as patient as you, and in the end I
+shall certainly win.'  He fixed his eyes upon me with a glance I
+did not like, keen, crafty, bold, and almost impudent; - already
+half triumphant in his anticipated success.
+
+'I hope not, Mr. Hargrave!' returned I, with vehemence that must
+have startled Milicent at least; but he only smiled and murmured,
+'Time will show.'
+
+We set to work:  he sufficiently interested in the game, but calm
+and fearless in the consciousness of superior skill:  I, intensely
+eager to disappoint his expectations, for I considered this the
+type of a more serious contest, as I imagined he did, and I felt an
+almost superstitious dread of being beaten:  at all events, I could
+ill endure that present success should add one tittle to his
+conscious power (his insolent self-confidence I ought to say), or
+encourage for a moment his dream of future conquest.  His play was
+cautious and deep, but I struggled hard against him.  For some time
+the combat was doubtful:  at length, to my joy, the victory seemed
+inclining to my side:  I had taken several of his best pieces, and
+manifestly baffled his projects.  He put his hand to his brow and
+paused, in evident perplexity.  I rejoiced in my advantage, but
+dared not glory in it yet.  At length, he lifted his head, and
+quietly making his move, looked at me and said, calmly, 'Now you
+think you will win, don't you?'
+
+'I hope so,' replied I, taking his pawn that he had pushed into the
+way of my bishop with so careless an air that I thought it was an
+oversight, but was not generous enough, under the circumstances, to
+direct his attention to it, and too heedless, at the moment, to
+foresee the after-consequences of my move.
+
+'It is those bishops that trouble me,' said he; 'but the bold
+knight can overleap the reverend gentlemen,' taking my last bishop
+with his knight; 'and now, those sacred persons once removed, I
+shall carry all before me.'
+
+'Oh, Walter, how you talk!' cried Milicent; 'she has far more
+pieces than you still.'
+
+'I intend to give you some trouble yet,' said I; 'and perhaps, sir,
+you will find yourself checkmated before you are aware.  Look to
+your queen.'
+
+The combat deepened.  The game was a long one, and I did give him
+some trouble:  but he was a better player than I.
+
+'What keen gamesters you are!' said Mr. Hattersley, who had now
+entered, and been watching us for some time.  'Why, Mrs.
+Huntingdon, your hand trembles as if you had staked your all upon
+it! and, Walter, you dog, you look as deep and cool as if you were
+certain of success, and as keen and cruel as if you would drain her
+heart's blood!  But if I were you, I wouldn't beat her, for very
+fear:  she'll hate you if you do - she will, by heaven!  I see it
+in her eye.'
+
+'Hold your tongue, will you?' said I:  his talk distracted me, for
+I was driven to extremities.  A few more moves, and I was
+inextricably entangled in the snare of my antagonist.
+
+'Check,' cried he:  I sought in agony some means of escape.
+'Mate!' he added, quietly, but with evident delight.  He had
+suspended the utterance of that last fatal syllable the better to
+enjoy my dismay.  I was foolishly disconcerted by the event.
+Hattersley laughed; Milicent was troubled to see me so disturbed.
+Hargrave placed his hand on mine that rested on the table, and
+squeezing it with a firm but gentle pressure, murmured, 'Beaten,
+beaten!' and gazed into my face with a look where exultation was
+blended with an expression of ardour and tenderness yet more
+insulting.
+
+'No, never, Mr. Hargrave!' exclaimed I, quickly withdrawing my
+hand.
+
+'Do you deny?' replied he, smilingly pointing to the board.  'No,
+no,' I answered, recollecting how strange my conduct must appear:
+'you have beaten me in that game.'
+
+'Will you try another, then?'
+
+'No.'
+
+'You acknowledge my superiority?'
+
+'Yes, as a chess-player.'
+
+I rose to resume my work.
+
+'Where is Annabella?' said Hargrave, gravely, after glancing round
+the room.
+
+'Gone out with Lord Lowborough,' answered I, for he looked at me
+for a reply.
+
+'And not yet returned!' he said, seriously.
+
+'I suppose not.'
+
+'Where is Huntingdon?' looking round again.
+
+'Gone out with Grimsby, as you know,' said Hattersley, suppressing
+a laugh, which broke forth as he concluded the sentence.  Why did
+he laugh?  Why did Hargrave connect them thus together?  Was it
+true, then?  And was this the dreadful secret he had wished to
+reveal to me?  I must know, and that quickly.  I instantly rose and
+left the room to go in search of Rachel and demand an explanation
+of her words; but Mr. Hargrave followed me into the anteroom, and
+before I could open its outer door, gently laid his hand upon the
+lock.  'May I tell you something, Mrs. Huntingdon?' said he, in a
+subdued tone, with serious, downcast eyes.
+
+'If it be anything worth hearing,' replied I, struggling to be
+composed, for I trembled in every limb.
+
+He quietly pushed a chair towards me.  I merely leant my hand upon
+it, and bid him go on.
+
+'Do not be alarmed,' said he:  'what I wish to say is nothing in
+itself; and I will leave you to draw your own inferences from it.
+You say that Annabella is not yet returned?'
+
+'Yes, yes - go on!' said I, impatiently; for I feared my forced
+calmness would leave me before the end of his disclosure, whatever
+it might be.
+
+'And you hear,' continued he, 'that Huntingdon is gone out with
+Grimsby?'
+
+'Well?'
+
+'I heard the latter say to your husband - or the man who calls
+himself so - '
+
+'Go on, sir!'
+
+He bowed submissively, and continued:  'I heard him say, - "I shall
+manage it, you'll see!  They're gone down by the water; I shall
+meet them there, and tell him I want a bit of talk with him about
+some things that we needn't trouble the lady with; and she'll say
+she can be walking back to the house; and then I shall apologise,
+you know, and all that, and tip her a wink to take the way of the
+shrubbery.  I'll keep him talking there, about those matters I
+mentioned, and anything else I can think of, as long as I can, and
+then bring him round the other way, stopping to look at the trees,
+the fields, and anything else I can find to discourse of."'  Mr.
+Hargrave paused, and looked at me.
+
+Without a word of comment or further questioning, I rose, and
+darted from the room and out of the house.  The torment of suspense
+was not to be endured:  I would not suspect my husband falsely, on
+this man's accusation, and I would not trust him unworthily - I
+must know the truth at once.  I flew to the shrubbery.  Scarcely
+had I reached it, when a sound of voices arrested my breathless
+speed.
+
+'We have lingered too long; he will be back,' said Lady
+Lowborough's voice.
+
+'Surely not, dearest!' was his reply; 'but you can run across the
+lawn, and get in as quietly as you can; I'll follow in a while.'
+
+My knees trembled under me; my brain swam round.  I was ready to
+faint.  She must not see me thus.  I shrunk among the bushes, and
+leant against the trunk of a tree to let her pass.
+
+'Ah, Huntingdon!' said she reproachfully, pausing where I had stood
+with him the night before - 'it was here you kissed that woman!'
+she looked back into the leafy shade.  Advancing thence, he
+answered, with a careless laugh, -
+
+'Well, dearest, I couldn't help it.  You know I must keep straight
+with her as long as I can.  Haven't I seen you kiss your dolt of a
+husband scores of times? - and do I ever complain?'
+
+'But tell me, don't you love her still - a little?' said she,
+placing her hand on his arm, looking earnestly in his face - for I
+could see them, plainly, the moon shining full upon them from
+between the branches of the tree that sheltered me.
+
+'Not one bit, by all that's sacred!' he replied, kissing her
+glowing cheek.
+
+'Good heavens, I must be gone!' cried she, suddenly breaking from
+him, and away she flew.
+
+There he stood before me; but I had not strength to confront him
+now:  my tongue cleaved to the roof of my mouth; I was well-nigh
+sinking to the earth, and I almost wondered he did not hear the
+beating of my heart above the low sighing of the wind and the
+fitful rustle of the falling leaves.  My senses seemed to fail me,
+but still I saw his shadowy form pass before me, and through the
+rushing sound in my ears I distinctly heard him say, as he stood
+looking up the lawn, - 'There goes the fool!  Run, Annabella, run!
+There - in with you!  Ah, - he didn't see!  That's right, Grimsby,
+keep him back!'  And even his low laugh reached me as he walked
+away.
+
+'God help me now!' I murmured, sinking on my knees among the damp
+weeds and brushwood that surrounded me, and looking up at the
+moonlit sky, through the scant foliage above.  It seemed all dim
+and quivering now to my darkened sight.  My burning, bursting heart
+strove to pour forth its agony to God, but could not frame its
+anguish into prayer; until a gust of wind swept over me, which,
+while it scattered the dead leaves, like blighted hopes, around,
+cooled my forehead, and seemed a little to revive my sinking frame.
+Then, while I lifted up my soul in speechless, earnest
+supplication, some heavenly influence seemed to strengthen me
+within:  I breathed more freely; my vision cleared; I saw
+distinctly the pure moon shining on, and the light clouds skimming
+the clear, dark sky; and then I saw the eternal stars twinkling
+down upon me; I knew their God was mine, and He was strong to save
+and swift to hear.  'I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee,'
+seemed whispered from above their myriad orbs.  No, no; I felt He
+would not leave me comfortless:  in spite of earth and hell I
+should have strength for all my trials, and win a glorious rest at
+last!
+
+Refreshed, invigorated, if not composed, I rose and returned to the
+house.  Much of my new-born strength and courage forsook me, I
+confess, as I entered it, and shut out the fresh wind and the
+glorious sky:  everything I saw and heard seemed to sicken my heart
+- the hall, the lamp, the staircase, the doors of the different
+apartments, the social sound of talk and laughter from the drawing-
+room.  How could I bear my future life!  In this house, among those
+people - oh, how could I endure to live!  John just then entered
+the hall, and seeing me, told me he had been sent in search of me,
+adding that he had taken in the tea, and master wished to know if I
+were coming.
+
+'Ask Mrs. Hattersley to be so kind as to make the tea, John,' said
+I.  'Say I am not well to-night, and wish to be excused.'
+
+I retired into the large, empty dining-room, where all was silence
+and darkness, but for the soft sighing of the wind without, and the
+faint gleam of moonlight that pierced the blinds and curtains; and
+there I walked rapidly up and down, thinking of my bitter thoughts
+alone.  How different was this from the evening of yesterday!
+That, it seems, was the last expiring flash of my life's happiness.
+Poor, blinded fool that I was to be so happy!  I could now see the
+reason of Arthur's strange reception of me in the shrubbery; the
+burst of kindness was for his paramour, the start of horror for his
+wife.  Now, too, I could better understand the conversation between
+Hattersley and Grimsby; it was doubtless of his love for her they
+spoke, not for me.
+
+I heard the drawing-room door open:  a light quick step came out of
+the ante-room, crossed the hall, and ascended the stairs.  It was
+Milicent, poor Milicent, gone to see how I was - no one else cared
+for me; but she still was kind.  I shed no tears before, but now
+they came, fast and free.  Thus she did me good, without
+approaching me.  Disappointed in her search, I heard her come down,
+more slowly than she had ascended.  Would she come in there, and
+find me out?  No, she turned in the opposite direction and re-
+entered the drawing-room.  I was glad, for I knew not how to meet
+her, or what to say.  I wanted no confidante in my distress.  I
+deserved none, and I wanted none.  I had taken the burden upon
+myself; let me bear it alone.
+
+As the usual hour of retirement approached I dried my eyes, and
+tried to clear my voice and calm my mind.  I must see Arthur to-
+night, and speak to him; but I would do it calmly:  there should be
+no scene - nothing to complain or to boast of to his companions -
+nothing to laugh at with his lady-love.  When the company were
+retiring to their chambers I gently opened the door, and just as he
+passed, beckoned him in.
+
+'What's to do with you, Helen?' said he.  'Why couldn't you come to
+make tea for us? and what the deuce are you here for, in the dark?
+What ails you, young woman:  you look like a ghost!' he continued,
+surveying me by the light of his candle.
+
+'No matter,' I answered, 'to you; you have no longer any regard for
+me it appears; and I have no longer any for you.'
+
+'Hal-lo! what the devil is this?' he muttered.
+
+'I would leave you to-morrow,' continued I, 'and never again come
+under this roof, but for my child' - I paused a moment to steady,
+my voice.
+
+'What in the devil's name is this, Helen?' cried he.  'What can you
+be driving at?'
+
+'You know perfectly well.  Let us waste no time in useless
+explanation, but tell me, will you -?'
+
+He vehemently swore he knew nothing about it, and insisted upon
+hearing what poisonous old woman had been blackening his name, and
+what infamous lies I had been fool enough to believe.
+
+'Spare yourself the trouble of forswearing yourself and racking
+your brains to stifle truth with falsehood,' I coldly replied.  'I
+have trusted to the testimony of no third person.  I was in the
+shrubbery this evening, and I saw and heard for myself.'
+
+This was enough.  He uttered a suppressed exclamation of
+consternation and dismay, and muttering, 'I shall catch it now!'
+set down his candle on the nearest chair, and rearing his back
+against the wall, stood confronting me with folded arms.
+
+'Well, what then?' said he, with the calm insolence of mingled
+shamelessness and desperation.
+
+'Only this,' returned I; 'will you let me take our child and what
+remains of my fortune, and go?'
+
+'Go where?'
+
+'Anywhere, where he will be safe from your contaminating influence,
+and I shall be delivered from your presence, and you from mine.'
+
+'No.'
+
+'Will you let me have the child then, without the money?'
+
+'No, nor yourself without the child.  Do you think I'm going to be
+made the talk of the country for your fastidious caprices?'
+
+'Then I must stay here, to be hated and despised.  But henceforth
+we are husband and wife only in the name.'
+
+'Very good.'
+
+'I am your child's mother, and your housekeeper, nothing more.  So
+you need not trouble yourself any longer to feign the love you
+cannot feel:  I will exact no more heartless caresses from you, nor
+offer nor endure them either.  I will not be mocked with the empty
+husk of conjugal endearments, when you have given the substance to
+another!'
+
+'Very good, if you please.  We shall see who will tire first, my
+lady.'
+
+'If I tire, it will be of living in the world with you:  not of
+living without your mockery of love.  When you tire of your sinful
+ways, and show yourself truly repentant, I will forgive you, and,
+perhaps, try to love you again, though that will be hard indeed.'
+
+'Humph! and meantime you will go and talk me over to Mrs. Hargrave,
+and write long letters to aunt Maxwell to complain of the wicked
+wretch you have married?'
+
+'I shall complain to no one.  Hitherto I have struggled hard to
+hide your vices from every eye, and invest you with virtues you
+never possessed; but now you must look to yourself.'
+
+I left him muttering bad language to himself, and went up-stairs.
+
+'You are poorly, ma'am,' said Rachel, surveying me with deep
+anxiety.
+
+'It is too true, Rachel,' said I, answering her sad looks rather
+than her words.
+
+'I knew it, or I wouldn't have mentioned such a thing.'
+
+'But don't you trouble yourself about it,' said I, kissing her
+pale, time-wasted cheek.  'I can bear it better than you imagine.'
+
+'Yes, you were always for "bearing."  But if I was you I wouldn't
+bear it; I'd give way to it, and cry right hard! and I'd talk too,
+I just would - I'd let him know what it was to - '
+
+'I have talked,' said I; 'I've said enough.'
+
+'Then I'd cry,' persisted she.  'I wouldn't look so white and so
+calm, and burst my heart with keeping it in.'
+
+'I have cried,' said I, smiling, in spite of my misery; 'and I am
+calm now, really:  so don't discompose me again, nurse:  let us say
+no more about it, and don't mention it to the servants.  There, you
+may go now.  Good-night; and don't disturb your rest for me:  I
+shall sleep well - if I can.'
+
+Notwithstanding this resolution, I found my bed so intolerable
+that, before two o'clock, I rose, and lighting my candle by the
+rushlight that was still burning, I got my desk and sat down in my
+dressing-gown to recount the events of the past evening.  It was
+better to be so occupied than to be lying in bed torturing my brain
+with recollections of the far past and anticipations of the
+dreadful future.  I have found relief in describing the very
+circumstances that have destroyed my peace, as well as the little
+trivial details attendant upon their discovery.  No sleep I could
+have got this night would have done so much towards composing my
+mind, and preparing me to meet the trials of the day.  I fancy so,
+at least; and yet, when I cease writing, I find my head aches
+terribly; and when I look into the glass, I am startled at my
+haggard, worn appearance.
+
+Rachel has been to dress me, and says I have had a sad night of it,
+she can see.  Milicent has just looked in to ask me how I was.  I
+told her I was better, but to excuse my appearance admitted I had
+had a restless night.  I wish this day were over!  I shudder at the
+thoughts of going down to breakfast.  How shall I encounter them
+all?  Yet let me remember it is not I that am guilty:  I have no
+cause to fear; and if they scorn me as a victim of their guilt, I
+can pity their folly and despise their scorn.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIV
+
+
+
+Evening. - Breakfast passed well over:  I was calm and cool
+throughout.  I answered composedly all inquiries respecting my
+health; and whatever was unusual in my look or manner was generally
+attributed to the trifling indisposition that had occasioned my
+early retirement last night.  But how am I to get over the ten or
+twelve days that must yet elapse before they go?  Yet why so long
+for their departure?  When they are gone, how shall I get through
+the months or years of my future life in company with that man - my
+greatest enemy? for none could injure me as he has done.  Oh! when
+I think how fondly, how foolishly I have loved him, how madly I
+have trusted him, how constantly I have laboured, and studied, and
+prayed, and struggled for his advantage; and how cruelly he has
+trampled on my love, betrayed my trust, scorned my prayers and
+tears, and efforts for his preservation, crushed my hopes,
+destroyed my youth's best feelings, and doomed me to a life of
+hopeless misery, as far as man can do it, it is not enough to say
+that I no longer love my husband - I HATE him!  The word stares me
+in the face like a guilty confession, but it is true:  I hate him -
+I hate him!  But God have mercy on his miserable soul! and make him
+see and feel his guilt - I ask no other vengeance!  If he could but
+fully know and truly feel my wrongs I should be well avenged, and I
+could freely pardon all; but he is so lost, so hardened in his
+heartless depravity, that in this life I believe he never will.
+But it is useless dwelling on this theme:  let me seek once more to
+dissipate reflection in the minor details of passing events.
+
+Mr. Hargrave has annoyed me all day long with his serious,
+sympathising, and (as he thinks) unobtrusive politeness.  If it
+were more obtrusive it would trouble me less, for then I could snub
+him; but, as it is, he contrives to appear so really kind and
+thoughtful that I cannot do so without rudeness and seeming
+ingratitude.  I sometimes think I ought to give him credit for the
+good feeling he simulates so well; and then again, I think it is my
+duty to suspect him under the peculiar circumstances in which I am
+placed.  His kindness may not all be feigned; but still, let not
+the purest impulse of gratitude to him induce me to forget myself:
+let me remember the game of chess, the expressions he used on the
+occasion, and those indescribable looks of his, that so justly
+roused my indignation, and I think I shall be safe enough.  I have
+done well to record them so minutely.
+
+I think he wishes to find an opportunity of speaking to me alone:
+he has seemed to be on the watch all day; but I have taken care to
+disappoint him - not that I fear anything he could say, but I have
+trouble enough without the addition of his insulting consolations,
+condolences, or whatever else he might attempt; and, for Milicent's
+sake, I do not wish to quarrel with him.  He excused himself from
+going out to shoot with the other gentlemen in the morning, under
+the pretext of having letters to write; and instead of retiring for
+that purpose into the library, he sent for his desk into the
+morning-room, where I was seated with Milicent and Lady Lowborough.
+They had betaken themselves to their work; I, less to divert my
+mind than to deprecate conversation, had provided myself with a
+book.  Milicent saw that I wished to be quiet, and accordingly let
+me alone.  Annabella, doubtless, saw it too:  but that was no
+reason why she should restrain her tongue, or curb her cheerful
+spirits:  she accordingly chatted away, addressing herself almost
+exclusively to me, and with the utmost assurance and familiarity,
+growing the more animated and friendly the colder and briefer my
+answers became.  Mr. Hargrave saw that I could ill endure it, and,
+looking up from his desk, he answered her questions and
+observations for me, as far as he could, and attempted to transfer
+her social attentions from me to himself; but it would not do.
+Perhaps she thought I had a headache, and could not bear to talk;
+at any rate, she saw that her loquacious vivacity annoyed me, as I
+could tell by the malicious pertinacity with which she persisted.
+But I checked it effectually by putting into her hand the book I
+had been trying to read, on the fly-leaf of which I had hastily
+scribbled, -
+
+'I am too well acquainted with your character and conduct to feel
+any real friendship for you, and as I am without your talent for
+dissimulation, I cannot assume the appearance of it.  I must,
+therefore, beg that hereafter all familiar intercourse may cease
+between us; and if I still continue to treat you with civility, as
+if you were a woman worthy of consideration and respect, understand
+that it is out of regard for your cousin Milicent's feelings, not
+for yours.'
+
+Upon perusing this she turned scarlet, and bit her lip.  Covertly
+tearing away the leaf, she crumpled it up and put it in the fire,
+and then employed herself in turning over the pages of the book,
+and, really or apparently, perusing its contents.  In a little
+while Milicent announced it her intention to repair to the nursery,
+and asked if I would accompany her.
+
+'Annabella will excuse us,' said she; 'she's busy reading.'
+
+'No, I won't,' cried Annabella, suddenly looking up, and throwing
+her book on the table; 'I want to speak to Helen a minute.  You may
+go, Milicent, and she'll follow in a while.'  (Milicent went.)
+'Will you oblige me, Helen?' continued she.
+
+Her impudence astounded me; but I complied, and followed her into
+the library.  She closed the door, and walked up to the fire.
+
+'Who told you this?' said she.
+
+'No one:  I am not incapable of seeing for myself.'
+
+'Ah, you are suspicious!' cried she, smiling, with a gleam of hope.
+Hitherto there had been a kind of desperation in her hardihood; now
+she was evidently relieved.
+
+'If I were suspicious,' I replied, 'I should have discovered your
+infamy long before.  No, Lady Lowborough, I do not found my charge
+upon suspicion.'
+
+'On what do you found it, then?' said she, throwing herself into an
+arm-chair, and stretching out her feet to the fender, with an
+obvious effort to appear composed.
+
+'I enjoy a moonlight ramble as well as you,' I answered, steadily
+fixing my eyes upon her; 'and the shrubbery happens to be one of my
+favourite resorts.'
+
+She coloured again excessively, and remained silent, pressing her
+finger against her teeth, and gazing into the fire.  I watched her
+a few moments with a feeling of malevolent gratification; then,
+moving towards the door, I calmly asked if she had anything more to
+say.
+
+'Yes, yes!' cried she eagerly, starting up from her reclining
+posture.  'I want to know if you will tell Lord Lowborough?'
+
+'Suppose I do?'
+
+'Well, if you are disposed to publish the matter, I cannot dissuade
+you, of course - but there will be terrible work if you do - and if
+you don't, I shall think you the most generous of mortal beings -
+and if there is anything in the world I can do for you - anything
+short of - ' she hesitated.
+
+'Short of renouncing your guilty connection with my husband, I
+suppose you mean?' said I.
+
+She paused, in evident disconcertion and perplexity, mingled with
+anger she dared not show.
+
+'I cannot renounce what is dearer than life,' she muttered, in a
+low, hurried tone.  Then, suddenly raising her head and fixing her
+gleaming eyes upon me, she continued earnestly:  'But, Helen - or
+Mrs. Huntingdon, or whatever you would have me call you - will you
+tell him?  If you are generous, here is a fitting opportunity for
+the exercise of your magnanimity:  if you are proud, here am I -
+your rival - ready to acknowledge myself your debtor for an act of
+the most noble forbearance.'
+
+'I shall not tell him.'
+
+'You will not!' cried she, delightedly.  'Accept my sincere thanks,
+then!'
+
+She sprang up, and offered me her hand.  I drew back.
+
+'Give me no thanks; it is not for your sake that I refrain.
+Neither is it an act of any forbearance:  I have no wish to publish
+your shame.  I should be sorry to distress your husband with the
+knowledge of it.'
+
+'And Milicent? will you tell her?'
+
+'No:  on the contrary, I shall do my utmost to conceal it from her.
+I would not for much that she should know the infamy and disgrace
+of her relation!'
+
+'You use hard words, Mrs. Huntingdon, but I can pardon you.'
+
+'And now, Lady Lowborough,' continued I, 'let me counsel you to
+leave this house as soon as possible.  You must be aware that your
+continuance here is excessively disagreeable to me - not for Mr.
+Huntingdon's sake,' said I, observing the dawn of a malicious smile
+of triumph on her face - 'you are welcome to him, if you like him,
+as far as I am concerned - but because it is painful to be always
+disguising my true sentiments respecting you, and straining to keep
+up an appearance of civility and respect towards one for whom I
+have not the most distant shadow of esteem; and because, if you
+stay, your conduct cannot possibly remain concealed much longer
+from the only two persons in the house who do not know it already.
+And, for your husband's sake, Annabella, and even for your own, I
+wish - I earnestly advise and entreat you to break off this
+unlawful connection at once, and return to your duty while you may,
+before the dreadful consequences - '
+
+'Yes, yes, of course,' said she, interrupting me with a gesture of
+impatience.  'But I cannot go, Helen, before the time appointed for
+our departure.  What possible pretext could I frame for such a
+thing?  Whether I proposed going back alone - which Lowborough
+would not hear of - or taking him with me, the very circumstance
+itself would be certain to excite suspicion - and when our visit is
+so nearly at an end too - little more than a week - surely you can
+endure my presence so long!  I will not annoy you with any more of
+my friendly impertinences.'
+
+'Well, I have nothing more to say to you.'
+
+'Have you mentioned this affair to Huntingdon?' asked she, as I was
+leaving the room.
+
+'How dare you mention his name to me!' was the only answer I gave.
+
+No words have passed between us since, but such as outward decency
+or pure necessity demanded.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXV
+
+
+
+Nineteenth. - In proportion as Lady Lowborough finds she has
+nothing to fear from me, and as the time of departure draws nigh,
+the more audacious and insolent she becomes.  She does not scruple
+to speak to my husband with affectionate familiarity in my
+presence, when no one else is by, and is particularly fond of
+displaying her interest in his health and welfare, or in anything
+that concerns him, as if for the purpose of contrasting her kind
+solicitude with my cold indifference.  And he rewards her by such
+smiles and glances, such whispered words, or boldly-spoken
+insinuations, indicative of his sense of her goodness and my
+neglect, as make the blood rush into my face, in spite of myself -
+for I would be utterly regardless of it all - deaf and blind to
+everything that passes between them, since the more I show myself
+sensible of their wickedness the more she triumphs in her victory,
+and the more he flatters himself that I love him devotedly still,
+in spite of my pretended indifference.  On such occasions I have
+sometimes been startled by a subtle, fiendish suggestion inciting
+me to show him the contrary by a seeming encouragement of
+Hargrave's advances; but such ideas are banished in a moment with
+horror and self-abasement; and then I hate him tenfold more than
+ever for having brought me to this! - God pardon me for it and all
+my sinful thoughts!  Instead of being humbled and purified by my
+afflictions, I feel that they are turning my nature into gall.
+This must be my fault as much as theirs that wrong me.  No true
+Christian could cherish such bitter feelings as I do against him
+and her, especially the latter:  him, I still feel that I could
+pardon - freely, gladly - on the slightest token of repentance; but
+she - words cannot utter my abhorrence.  Reason forbids, but
+passion urges strongly; and I must pray and struggle long ere I
+subdue it.
+
+It is well that she is leaving to-morrow, for I could not well
+endure her presence for another day.  This morning she rose earlier
+than usual.  I found her in the room alone, when I went down to
+breakfast.
+
+'Oh, Helen! is it you?' said she, turning as I entered.
+
+I gave an involuntary start back on seeing her, at which she
+uttered a short laugh, observing, 'I think we are both
+disappointed.'
+
+I came forward and busied myself with the breakfast things.
+
+'This is the last day I shall burden your hospitality,' said she,
+as she seated herself at the table.  'Ah, here comes one that will
+not rejoice at it!' she murmured, half to herself, as Arthur
+entered the room.
+
+He shook hands with her and wished her good-morning:  then, looking
+lovingly in her face, and still retaining her hand in his, murmured
+pathetically, 'The last - last day!'
+
+'Yes,' said she with some asperity; 'and I rose early to make the
+best of it - I have been here alone this half-hour, and you - you
+lazy creature - '
+
+'Well, I thought I was early too,' said he; 'but,' dropping his
+voice almost to a whisper, 'you see we are not alone.'
+
+'We never are,' returned she.  But they were almost as good as
+alone, for I was now standing at the window, watching the clouds,
+and struggling to suppress my wrath.
+
+Some more words passed between them, which, happily, I did not
+overhear; but Annabella had the audacity to come and place herself
+beside me, and even to put her hand upon my shoulder and say
+softly, 'You need not grudge him to me, Helen, for I love him more
+than ever you could do.'
+
+This put me beside myself.  I took her hand and violently dashed it
+from me, with an expression of abhorrence and indignation that
+could not be suppressed.  Startled, almost appalled, by this sudden
+outbreak, she recoiled in silence.  I would have given way to my
+fury and said more, but Arthur's low laugh recalled me to myself.
+I checked the half-uttered invective, and scornfully turned away,
+regretting that I had given him so much amusement.  He was still
+laughing when Mr. Hargrave made his appearance.  How much of the
+scene he had witnessed I do not know, for the door was ajar when he
+entered.  He greeted his host and his cousin both coldly, and me
+with a glance intended to express the deepest sympathy mingled with
+high admiration and esteem.
+
+'How much allegiance do you owe to that man?' he asked below his
+breath, as he stood beside me at the window, affecting to be making
+observations on the weather.
+
+'None,' I answered.  And immediately returning to the table, I
+employed myself in making the tea.  He followed, and would have
+entered into some kind of conversation with me, but the other
+guests were now beginning to assemble, and I took no more notice of
+him, except to give him his coffee.
+
+After breakfast, determined to pass as little of the day as
+possible in company with Lady Lowborough, I quietly stole away from
+the company and retired to the library.  Mr. Hargrave followed me
+thither, under pretence of coming for a book; and first, turning to
+the shelves, he selected a volume, and then quietly, but by no
+means timidly, approaching me, he stood beside me, resting his hand
+on the back of my chair, and said softly, 'And so you consider
+yourself free at last?'
+
+'Yes,' said I, without moving, or raising my eyes from my book,
+'free to do anything but offend God and my conscience.'
+
+There was a momentary pause.
+
+'Very right,' said he, 'provided your conscience be not too
+morbidly tender, and your ideas of God not too erroneously severe;
+but can you suppose it would offend that benevolent Being to make
+the happiness of one who would die for yours? - to raise a devoted
+heart from purgatorial torments to a state of heavenly bliss, when
+you could do it without the slightest injury to yourself or any
+other?'
+
+This was spoken in a low, earnest, melting tone, as he bent over
+me.  I now raised my head; and steadily confronting his gaze, I
+answered calmly, 'Mr. Hargrave, do you mean to insult me?'
+
+He was not prepared for this.  He paused a moment to recover the
+shook; then, drawing himself up and removing his hand from my
+chair, he answered, with proud sadness, - 'That was not my
+intention.'
+
+I just glanced towards the door, with a slight movement of the
+head, and then returned to my book.  He immediately withdrew.  This
+was better than if I had answered with more words, and in the
+passionate spirit to which my first impulse would have prompted.
+What a good thing it is to be able to command one's temper!  I must
+labour to cultivate this inestimable quality:  God only knows how
+often I shall need it in this rough, dark road that lies before me.
+
+In the course of the morning I drove over to the Grove with the two
+ladies, to give Milicent an opportunity for bidding farewell to her
+mother and sister.  They persuaded her to stay with them the rest
+of the day, Mrs. Hargrave promising to bring her back in the
+evening and remain till the party broke up on the morrow.
+Consequently, Lady Lowborough and I had the pleasure of returning
+TETE-E-TETE in the carriage together.  For the first mile or two we
+kept silence, I looking out of my window, and she leaning back in
+her corner.  But I was not going to restrict myself to any
+particular position for her; when I was tired of leaning forward,
+with the cold, raw wind in my face, and surveying the russet hedges
+and the damp, tangled grass of their banks, I gave it up and leant
+back too.  With her usual impudence, my companion then made some
+attempts to get up a conversation; but the monosyllables 'yes,' or
+'no' or 'humph,' were the utmost her several remarks could elicit
+from me.  At last, on her asking my opinion upon some immaterial
+point of discussion, I answered, - 'Why do you wish to talk to me,
+Lady Lowborough?  You must know what I think of you.'
+
+'Well, if you will be so bitter against me,' replied she, 'I can't
+help it; but I'm not going to sulk for anybody.'
+
+Our short drive was now at an end.  As soon as the carriage door
+was opened, she sprang out, and went down the park to meet the
+gentlemen, who were just returning from the woods.  Of course I did
+not follow.
+
+But I had not done with her impudence yet:  after dinner, I retired
+to the drawing-room, as usual, and she accompanied me, but I had
+the two children with me, and I gave them my whole attention, and
+determined to keep them till the gentlemen came, or till Milicent
+arrived with her mother.  Little Helen, however, was soon tired of
+playing, and insisted upon going to sleep; and while I sat on the
+sofa with her on my knee, and Arthur seated beside me, gently
+playing with her soft, flaxen hair, Lady Lowborough composedly came
+and placed herself on the other side.
+
+'To-morrow, Mrs. Huntingdon,' said she, 'you will be delivered from
+my presence, which, no doubt, you will be very glad of - it is
+natural you should; but do you know I have rendered you a great
+service?  Shall I tell you what it is?'
+
+'I shall be glad to hear of any service you have rendered me,' said
+I, determined to be calm, for I knew by the tone of her voice she
+wanted to provoke me.
+
+'Well,' resumed she, 'have you not observed the salutary change in
+Mr. Huntingdon?  Don't you see what a sober, temperate man he is
+become?  You saw with regret the sad habits he was contracting, I
+know:  and I know you did your utmost to deliver him from them, but
+without success, until I came to your assistance.  I told him in
+few words that I could not bear to see him degrade himself so, and
+that I should cease to - no matter what I told him, but you see the
+reformation I have wrought; and you ought to thank me for it.'
+
+I rose and rang for the nurse.
+
+'But I desire no thanks,' she continued; 'all the return I ask is,
+that you will take care of him when I am gone, and not, by
+harshness and neglect, drive him back to his old courses.'
+
+I was almost sick with passion, but Rachel was now at the door.  I
+pointed to the children, for I could not trust myself to speak:
+she took them away, and I followed.
+
+'Will you, Helen?' continued the speaker.
+
+I gave her a look that blighted the malicious smile on her face, or
+checked it, at least for a moment, and departed.  In the ante-room
+I met Mr. Hargrave.  He saw I was in no humour to be spoken to, and
+suffered me to pass without a word; but when, after a few minutes'
+seclusion in the library, I had regained my composure, and was
+returning to join Mrs. Hargrave and Milicent, whom I had just heard
+come downstairs and go into the drawing-room, I found him there
+still lingering in the dimly-lighted apartment, and evidently
+waiting for me.
+
+'Mrs. Huntingdon,' said he as I passed, 'will you allow me one
+word?'
+
+'What is it then? be quick, if you please.'
+
+'I offended you this morning; and I cannot live under your
+displeasure.'
+
+'Then go, and sin no more,' replied I, turning away.
+
+'No, no!' said he, hastily, setting himself before me.  'Pardon me,
+but I must have your forgiveness.  I leave you to-morrow, and I may
+not have an opportunity of speaking to you again.  I was wrong to
+forget myself and you, as I did; but let me implore you to forget
+and forgive my rash presumption, and think of me as if those words
+had never been spoken; for, believe me, I regret them deeply, and
+the loss of your esteem is too severe a penalty:  I cannot bear
+it.'
+
+'Forgetfulness is not to be purchased with a wish; and I cannot
+bestow my esteem on all who desire it, unless they deserve it too.'
+
+'I shall think my life well spent in labouring to deserve it, if
+you will but pardon this offence - will you?'
+
+'Yes.'
+
+'Yes! but that is coldly spoken.  Give me your hand and I'll
+believe you.  You won't?  Then, Mrs. Huntingdon, you do not forgive
+me!'
+
+'Yes; here it is, and my forgiveness with it:  only, SIN NO MORE.'
+
+He pressed my cold hand with sentimental fervour, but said nothing,
+and stood aside to let me pass into the room, where all the company
+were now assembled.  Mr. Grimsby was seated near the door:  on
+seeing me enter, almost immediately followed by Hargrave, he leered
+at me with a glance of intolerable significance, as I passed.  I
+looked him in the face, till he sullenly turned away, if not
+ashamed, at least confounded for the moment.  Meantime Hattersley
+had seized Hargrave by the arm, and was whispering something in his
+ear - some coarse joke, no doubt, for the latter neither laughed
+nor spoke in answer, but, turning from him with a slight curl of
+the lip, disengaged himself and went to his mother, who was telling
+Lord Lowborough how many reasons she had to be proud of her son.
+
+Thank heaven, they are all going to-morrow.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVI
+
+
+
+December 20th, 1824. - This is the third anniversary of our
+felicitous union.  It is now two months since our guests left us to
+the enjoyment of each other's society; and I have had nine weeks'
+experience of this new phase of conjugal life - two persons living
+together, as master and mistress of the house, and father and
+mother of a winsome, merry little child, with the mutual
+understanding that there is no love, friendship, or sympathy
+between them.  As far as in me lies, I endeavour to live peaceably
+with him:  I treat him with unimpeachable civility, give up my
+convenience to his, wherever it may reasonably be done, and consult
+him in a business-like way on household affairs, deferring to his
+pleasure and judgment, even when I know the latter to be inferior
+to my own.
+
+As for him, for the first week or two, he was peevish and low,
+fretting, I suppose, over his dear Annabella's departure, and
+particularly ill-tempered to me:  everything I did was wrong; I was
+cold-hearted, hard, insensate; my sour, pale face was perfectly
+repulsive; my voice made him shudder; he knew not how he could live
+through the winter with me; I should kill him by inches.  Again I
+proposed a separation, but it would not do:  he was not going to be
+the talk of all the old gossips in the neighbourhood:  he would not
+have it said that he was such a brute his wife could not live with
+him.  No; he must contrive to bear with me.
+
+'I must contrive to bear with you, you mean,' said I; 'for so long
+as I discharge my functions of steward and house-keeper, so
+conscientiously and well, without pay and without thanks, you
+cannot afford to part with me.  I shall therefore remit these
+duties when my bondage becomes intolerable.'  This threat, I
+thought, would serve to keep him in check, if anything would.
+
+I believe he was much disappointed that I did not feel his
+offensive sayings more acutely, for when he had said anything
+particularly well calculated to hurt my feelings, he would stare me
+searchingly in the face, and then grumble against my 'marble heart'
+or my 'brutal insensibility.'  If I had bitterly wept and deplored
+his lost affection, he would, perhaps, have condescended to pity
+me, and taken me into favour for a while, just to comfort his
+solitude and console him for the absence of his beloved Annabella,
+until he could meet her again, or some more fitting substitute.
+Thank heaven, I am not so weak as that!  I was infatuated once with
+a foolish, besotted affection, that clung to him in spite of his
+unworthiness, but it is fairly gone now - wholly crushed and
+withered away; and he has none but himself and his vices to thank
+for it.
+
+At first (in compliance with his sweet lady's injunctions, I
+suppose), he abstained wonderfully well from seeking to solace his
+cares in wine; but at length he began to relax his virtuous
+efforts, and now and then exceeded a little, and still continues to
+do so; nay, sometimes, not a little.  When he is under the exciting
+influence of these excesses, he sometimes fires up and attempts to
+play the brute; and then I take little pains to suppress my scorn
+and disgust.  When he is under the depressing influence of the
+after-consequences, he bemoans his sufferings and his errors, and
+charges them both upon me; he knows such indulgence injures his
+health, and does him more harm than good; but he says I drive him
+to it by my unnatural, unwomanly conduct; it will be the ruin of
+him in the end, but it is all my fault; and then I am roused to
+defend myself, sometimes with bitter recrimination.  This is a kind
+of injustice I cannot patiently endure.  Have I not laboured long
+and hard to save him from this very vice?  Would I not labour still
+to deliver him from it if I could? but could I do so by fawning
+upon him and caressing him when I know that he scorns me?  Is it my
+fault that I have lost my influence with him, or that he has
+forfeited every claim to my regard?  And should I seek a
+reconciliation with him, when I feel that I abhor him, and that he
+despises me? and while he continues still to correspond with Lady
+Lowborough, as I know he does?  No, never, never, never! he may
+drink himself dead, but it is NOT my fault!
+
+Yet I do my part to save him still:  I give him to understand that
+drinking makes his eyes dull, and his face red and bloated; and
+that it tends to render him imbecile in body and mind; and if
+Annabella were to see him as often as I do, she would speedily be
+disenchanted; and that she certainly will withdraw her favour from
+him, if he continues such courses.  Such a mode of admonition wins
+only coarse abuse for me - and, indeed, I almost feel as if I
+deserved it, for I hate to use such arguments; but they sink into
+his stupefied heart, and make him pause, and ponder, and abstain,
+more than anything else I could say.
+
+At present I am enjoying a temporary relief from his presence:  he
+is gone with Hargrave to join a distant hunt, and will probably not
+be back before to-morrow evening.  How differently I used to feel
+his absence!
+
+Mr. Hargrave is still at the Grove.  He and Arthur frequently meet
+to pursue their rural sports together:  he often calls upon us
+here, and Arthur not unfrequently rides over to him.  I do not
+think either of these soi-disant friends is overflowing with love
+for the other; but such intercourse serves to get the time on, and
+I am very willing it should continue, as it saves me some hours of
+discomfort in Arthur's society, and gives him some better
+employment than the sottish indulgence of his sensual appetites.
+The only objection I have to Mr. Hargrave's being in the
+neighbourhood, is that the fear of meeting him at the Grove
+prevents me from seeing his sister so often as I otherwise should;
+for, of late, he has conducted himself towards me with such
+unerring propriety, that I have almost forgotten his former
+conduct.  I suppose he is striving to 'win my esteem.'  If he
+continue to act in this way, he may win it; but what then?  The
+moment he attempts to demand anything more, he will lose it again.
+
+February 10th. - It is a hard, embittering thing to have one's kind
+feelings and good intentions cast back in one's teeth.  I was
+beginning to relent towards my wretched partner; to pity his
+forlorn, comfortless condition, unalleviated as it is by the
+consolations of intellectual resources and the answer of a good
+conscience towards God; and to think I ought to sacrifice my pride,
+and renew my efforts once again to make his home agreeable and lead
+him back to the path of virtue; not by false professions of love,
+and not by pretended remorse, but by mitigating my habitual
+coldness of manner, and commuting my frigid civility into kindness
+wherever an opportunity occurred; and not only was I beginning to
+think so, but I had already begun to act upon the thought - and
+what was the result?  No answering spark of kindness, no awakening
+penitence, but an unappeasable ill-humour, and a spirit of
+tyrannous exaction that increased with indulgence, and a lurking
+gleam of self-complacent triumph at every detection of relenting
+softness in my manner, that congealed me to marble again as often
+as it recurred; and this morning he finished the business:- I think
+the petrifaction is so completely effected at last that nothing can
+melt me again.  Among his letters was one which he perused with
+symptoms of unusual gratification, and then threw it across the
+table to me, with the admonition, -
+
+'There! read that, and take a lesson by it!'
+
+It was in the free, dashing hand of Lady Lowborough.  I glanced at
+the first page; it seemed full of extravagant protestations of
+affection; impetuous longings for a speedy reunion - and impious
+defiance of God's mandates, and railings against His providence for
+having cast their lot asunder, and doomed them both to the hateful
+bondage of alliance with those they could not love.  He gave a
+slight titter on seeing me change colour.  I folded up the letter,
+rose, and returned it to him, with no remark, but -
+
+'Thank you, I will take a lesson by it!'
+
+My little Arthur was standing between his knees, delightedly
+playing with the bright, ruby ring on his finger.  Urged by a
+sudden, imperative impulse to deliver my son from that
+contaminating influence, I caught him up in my arms and carried him
+with me out of the room.  Not liking this abrupt removal, the child
+began to pout and cry.  This was a new stab to my already tortured
+heart.  I would not let him go; but, taking him with me into the
+library, I shut the door, and, kneeling on the floor beside him, I
+embraced him, kissed him, wept over with him with passionate
+fondness.  Rather frightened than consoled by this, he turned
+struggling from me, and cried out aloud for his papa.  I released
+him from my arms, and never were more bitter tears than those that
+now concealed him from my blinded, burning eyes.  Hearing his
+cries, the father came to the room.  I instantly turned away, lest
+he should see and misconstrue my emotion.  He swore at me, and took
+the now pacified child away.
+
+It is hard that my little darling should love him more than me; and
+that, when the well-being and culture of my son is all I have to
+live for, I should see my influence destroyed by one whose selfish
+affection is more injurious than the coldest indifference or the
+harshest tyranny could be.  If I, for his good, deny him some
+trifling indulgence, he goes to his father, and the latter, in
+spite of his selfish indolence, will even give himself some trouble
+to meet the child's desires:  if I attempt to curb his will, or
+look gravely on him for some act of childish disobedience, he knows
+his other parent will smile and take his part against me.  Thus,
+not only have I the father's spirit in the son to contend against,
+the germs of his evil tendencies to search out and eradicate, and
+his corrupting intercourse and example in after-life to counteract,
+but already he counteracts my arduous labour for the child's
+advantage, destroys my influence over his tender mind, and robs me
+of his very love; I had no earthly hope but this, and he seems to
+take a diabolical delight in tearing it away.
+
+But it is wrong to despair; I will remember the counsel of the
+inspired writer to him 'that feareth the Lord and obeyeth the voice
+of his servant, that sitteth in darkness and hath no light; let him
+trust in the name of the Lord, and stay upon his God!'
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVII
+
+
+
+December 20th, 1825. - Another year is past; and I am weary of this
+life.  And yet I cannot wish to leave it:  whatever afflictions
+assail me here, I cannot wish to go and leave my darling in this
+dark and wicked world alone, without a friend to guide him through
+its weary mazes, to warn him of its thousand snares, and guard him
+from the perils that beset him on every hand.  I am not well fitted
+to be his only companion, I know; but there is no other to supply
+my place.  I am too grave to minister to his amusements and enter
+into his infantile sports as a nurse or a mother ought to do, and
+often his bursts of gleeful merriment trouble and alarm me; I see
+in them his father's spirit and temperament, and I tremble for the
+consequences; and too often damp the innocent mirth I ought to
+share.  That father, on the contrary, has no weight of sadness on
+his mind; is troubled with no fears, no scruples concerning his
+son's future welfare; and at evenings especially, the times when
+the child sees him the most and the oftenest, he is always
+particularly jocund and open-hearted:  ready to laugh and to jest
+with anything or anybody but me, and I am particularly silent and
+sad:  therefore, of course, the child dotes upon his seemingly
+joyous amusing, ever-indulgent papa, and will at any time gladly
+exchange my company for his.  This disturbs me greatly; not so much
+for the sake of my son's affection (though I do prize that highly,
+and though I feel it is my right, and know I have done much to earn
+it) as for that influence over him which, for his own advantage, I
+would strive to purchase and retain, and which for very spite his
+father delights to rob me of, and, from motives of mere idle
+egotism, is pleased to win to himself; making no use of it but to
+torment me and ruin the child.  My only consolation is, that he
+spends comparatively little of his time at home, and, during the
+months he passes in London or elsewhere, I have a chance of
+recovering the ground I had lost, and overcoming with good the evil
+he has wrought by his wilful mismanagement.  But then it is a
+bitter trial to behold him, on his return, doing his utmost to
+subvert my labours and transform my innocent, affectionate,
+tractable darling into a selfish, disobedient, and mischievous boy;
+thereby preparing the soil for those vices he has so successfully
+cultivated in his own perverted nature.
+
+Happily, there were none of Arthur's 'friends' invited to Grassdale
+last autumn:  he took himself off to visit some of them instead.  I
+wish he would always do so, and I wish his friends were numerous
+and loving enough to keep him amongst them all the year round.  Mr.
+Hargrave, considerably to my annoyance, did not go with him; but I
+think I have done with that gentleman at last.
+
+For seven or eight months he behaved so remarkably well, and
+managed so skilfully too, that I was almost completely off my
+guard, and was really beginning to look upon him as a friend, and
+even to treat him as such, with certain prudent restrictions (which
+I deemed scarcely necessary); when, presuming upon my unsuspecting
+kindness, he thought he might venture to overstep the bounds of
+decent moderation and propriety that had so long restrained him.
+It was on a pleasant evening at the close of May:  I was wandering
+in the park, and he, on seeing me there as he rode past, made bold
+to enter and approach me, dismounting and leaving his horse at the
+gate.  This was the first time he had ventured to come within its
+inclosure since I had been left alone, without the sanction of his
+mother's or sister's company, or at least the excuse of a message
+from them.  But he managed to appear so calm and easy, so
+respectful and self-possessed in his friendliness, that, though a
+little surprised, I was neither alarmed nor offended at the unusual
+liberty, and he walked with me under the ash-trees and by the
+water-side, and talked, with considerable animation, good taste,
+and intelligence, on many subjects, before I began to think about
+getting rid of him.  Then, after a pause, during which we both
+stood gazing on the calm, blue water - I revolving in my mind the
+best means of politely dismissing my companion, he, no doubt,
+pondering other matters equally alien to the sweet sights and
+sounds that alone were present to his senses, - he suddenly
+electrified me by beginning, in a peculiar tone, low, soft, but
+perfectly distinct, to pour forth the most unequivocal expressions
+of earnest and passionate love; pleading his cause with all the
+bold yet artful eloquence he could summon to his aid.  But I cut
+short his appeal, and repulsed him so determinately, so decidedly,
+and with such a mixture of scornful indignation, tempered with
+cool, dispassionate sorrow and pity for his benighted mind, that he
+withdrew, astonished, mortified, and discomforted; and, a few days
+after, I heard that he had departed for London.  He returned,
+however, in eight or nine weeks, and did not entirely keep aloof
+from me, but comported himself in so remarkable a manner that his
+quick-sighted sister could not fail to notice the change.
+
+'What have you done to Walter, Mrs. Huntingdon?' said she one
+morning, when I had called at the Grove, and he had just left the
+room after exchanging a few words of the coldest civility.  'He has
+been so extremely ceremonious and stately of late, I can't imagine
+what it is all about, unless you have desperately offended him.
+Tell me what it is, that I may be your mediator, and make you
+friends again.'
+
+'I have done nothing willingly to offend him,' said I.  'If he is
+offended, he can best tell you himself what it is about.'
+
+'I'll ask him,' cried the giddy girl, springing up and putting her
+head out of the window:  'he's only in the garden - Walter!'
+
+'No, no, Esther! you will seriously displease me if you do; and I
+shall leave you immediately, and not come again for months -
+perhaps years.'
+
+'Did you call, Esther?' said her brother, approaching the window
+from without.
+
+'Yes; I wanted to ask you - '
+
+'Good-morning, Esther,' said I, talking her hand and giving it a
+severe squeeze.
+
+'To ask you,' continued she, 'to get me a rose for Mrs.
+Huntingdon.'  He departed.  'Mrs. Huntingdon,' she exclaimed,
+turning to me and still holding me fast by the hand, 'I'm quite
+shocked at you - you're just as angry, and distant, and cold as he
+is:  and I'm determined you shall be as good friends as ever before
+you go.'
+
+'Esther, how can you be so rude!' cried Mrs. Hargrave, who was
+seated gravely knitting in her easy-chair.  'Surely, you never will
+learn to conduct yourself like a lady!'
+
+'Well, mamma, you said yourself - '  But the young lady was
+silenced by the uplifted finger of her mamma, accompanied with a
+very stern shake of the head.
+
+'Isn't she cross?' whispered she to me; but, before I could add my
+share of reproof, Mr. Hargrave reappeared at the window with a
+beautiful moss-rose in his hand.
+
+'Here, Esther, I've brought you the rose,' said he, extending it
+towards her.
+
+'Give it her yourself, you blockhead!' cried she, recoiling with a
+spring from between us.
+
+'Mrs. Huntingdon would rather receive it from you,' replied he, in
+a very serious tone, but lowering his voice that his mother might
+not hear.  His sister took the rose and gave it to me.
+
+'My brother's compliments, Mrs. Huntingdon, and he hopes you and he
+will come to a better understanding by-and-by.  Will that do,
+Walter?' added the saucy girl, turning to him and putting her arm
+round his neck, as he stood leaning upon the sill of the window -
+'or should I have said that you are sorry you were so touchy? or
+that you hope she will pardon your offence?'
+
+'You silly girl! you don't know what you are talking about,'
+replied he gravely.
+
+'Indeed I don't:  for I'm quite in the dark!'
+
+'Now, Esther,' interposed Mrs. Hargrave, who, if equally benighted
+on the subject of our estrangement, saw at least that her daughter
+was behaving very improperly, 'I must insist upon your leaving the
+room!'
+
+'Pray don't, Mrs. Hargrave, for I'm going to leave it myself,' said
+I, and immediately made my adieux.
+
+About a week after Mr. Hargrave brought his sister to see me.  He
+conducted himself, at first, with his usual cold, distant, half-
+stately, half-melancholy, altogether injured air; but Esther made
+no remark upon it this time:  she had evidently been schooled into
+better manners.  She talked to me, and laughed and romped with
+little Arthur, her loved and loving playmate.  He, somewhat to my
+discomfort, enticed her from the room to have a run in the hall,
+and thence into the garden.  I got up to stir the fire.  Mr.
+Hargrave asked if I felt cold, and shut the door - a very
+unseasonable piece of officiousness, for I had meditated following
+the noisy playfellows if they did not speedily return.  He then
+took the liberty of walking up to the fire himself, and asking me
+if I were aware that Mr. Huntingdon was now at the seat of Lord
+Lowborough, and likely to continue there some time.
+
+'No; but it's no matter,' I answered carelessly; and if my cheek
+glowed like fire, it was rather at the question than the
+information it conveyed.
+
+'You don't object to it?' he said.
+
+'Not at all, if Lord Lowborough likes his company.'
+
+'You have no love left for him, then?'
+
+'Not the least.'
+
+'I knew that - I knew you were too high-minded and pure in your own
+nature to continue to regard one so utterly false and polluted with
+any feelings but those of indignation and scornful abhorrence!'
+
+'Is he not your friend?' said I, turning my eyes from the fire to
+his face, with perhaps a slight touch of those feelings he assigned
+to another.
+
+'He was,' replied he, with the same calm gravity as before; 'but do
+not wrong me by supposing that I could continue my friendship and
+esteem to a man who could so infamously, so impiously forsake and
+injure one so transcendently - well, I won't speak of it.  But tell
+me, do you never think of revenge?'
+
+'Revenge!  No - what good would that do? - it would make him no
+better, and me no happier.'
+
+'I don't know how to talk to you, Mrs. Huntingdon,' said he,
+smiling; 'you are only half a woman - your nature must be half
+human, half angelic.  Such goodness overawes me; I don't know what
+to make of it.'
+
+'Then, sir, I fear you must be very much worse than you should be,
+if I, a mere ordinary mortal, am, by your own confession, so vastly
+your superior; and since there exists so little sympathy between
+us, I think we had better each look out for some more congenial
+companion.'  And forthwith moving to the window, I began to look
+out for my little son and his gay young friend.
+
+'No, I am the ordinary mortal, I maintain,' replied Mr. Hargrave.
+'I will not allow myself to be worse than my fellows; but you,
+Madam - I equally maintain there is nobody like you.  But are you
+happy?' he asked in a serious tone.
+
+'As happy as some others, I suppose.'
+
+'Are you as happy as you desire to be?'
+
+'No one is so blest as that comes to on this side eternity.'
+
+'One thing I know,' returned he, with a deep sad sigh; 'you are
+immeasurably happier than I am.'
+
+'I am very sorry for you, then,' I could not help replying.
+
+'Are you, indeed?  No, for if you were you would be glad to relieve
+me.'
+
+'And so I should if I could do so without injuring myself or any
+other.'
+
+'And can you suppose that I should wish you to injure yourself?
+No:  on the contrary, it is your own happiness I long for more than
+mine.  You are miserable now, Mrs. Huntingdon,' continued he,
+looking me boldly in the face.  'You do not complain, but I see -
+and feel - and know that you are miserable - and must remain so as
+long as you keep those walls of impenetrable ice about your still
+warm and palpitating heart; and I am miserable, too.  Deign to
+smile on me and I am happy:  trust me, and you shall be happy also,
+for if you are a woman I can make you so - and I will do it in
+spite of yourself!' he muttered between his teeth; 'and as for
+others, the question is between ourselves alone:  you cannot injure
+your husband, you know, and no one else has any concern in the
+matter.'
+
+'I have a son, Mr. Hargrave, and you have a mother,' said I,
+retiring from the window, whither he had followed me.
+
+'They need not know,' he began; but before anything more could be
+said on either side, Esther and Arthur re-entered the room.  The
+former glanced at Walter's flushed, excited countenance, and then
+at mine - a little flushed and excited too, I daresay, though from
+far different causes.  She must have thought we had been
+quarrelling desperately, and was evidently perplexed and disturbed
+at the circumstance; but she was too polite or too much afraid of
+her brother's anger to refer to it.  She seated herself on the
+sofa, and putting back her bright, golden ringlets, that were
+scattered in wild profusion over her face, she immediately began to
+talk about the garden and her little playfellow, and continued to
+chatter away in her usual strain till her brother summoned her to
+depart.
+
+'If I have spoken too warmly, forgive me,' he murmured on taking
+his leave, 'or I shall never forgive myself.'  Esther smiled and
+glanced at me:  I merely bowed, and her countenance fell.  She
+thought it a poor return for Walter's generous concession, and was
+disappointed in her friend.  Poor child, she little knows the world
+she lives in!
+
+Mr. Hargrave had not an opportunity of meeting me again in private
+for several weeks after this; but when he did meet me there was
+less of pride and more of touching melancholy in his manner than
+before.  Oh, how he annoyed me!  I was obliged at last almost
+entirely to remit my visits to the Grove, at the expense of deeply
+offending Mrs. Hargrave and seriously afflicting poor Esther, who
+really values my society for want of better, and who ought not to
+suffer for the fault of her brother.  But that indefatigable foe
+was not yet vanquished:  he seemed to be always on the watch.  I
+frequently saw him riding lingeringly past the premises, looking
+searchingly round him as he went - or, if I did not, Rachel did.
+That sharp-sighted woman soon guessed how matters stood between us,
+and descrying the enemy's movements from her elevation at the
+nursery-window, she would give me a quiet intimation if she saw me
+preparing for a walk when she had reason to believe he was about,
+or to think it likely that he would meet or overtake me in the way
+I meant to traverse.  I would then defer my ramble, or confine
+myself for that day to the park and gardens, or, if the proposed
+excursion was a matter of importance, such as a visit to the sick
+or afflicted, I would take Rachel with me, and then I was never
+molested.
+
+But one mild, sunshiny day, early in November, I had ventured forth
+alone to visit the village school and a few of the poor tenants,
+and on my return I was alarmed at the clatter of a horse's feet
+behind me, approaching at a rapid, steady trot.  There was no stile
+or gap at hand by which I could escape into the fields, so I walked
+quietly on, saying to myself, 'It may not be he after all; and if
+it is, and if he do annoy me, it shall be for the last time, I am
+determined, if there be power in words and looks against cool
+impudence and mawkish sentimentality so inexhaustible as his.'
+
+The horse soon overtook me, and was reined up close beside me.  It
+was Mr. Hargrave.  He greeted me with a smile intended to be soft
+and melancholy, but his triumphant satisfaction at having caught me
+at last so shone through that it was quite a failure.  After
+briefly answering his salutation and inquiring after the ladies at
+the Grove, I turned away and walked on; but he followed and kept
+his horse at my side:  it was evident he intended to be my
+companion all the way.
+
+'Well!  I don't much care.  If you want another rebuff, take it -
+and welcome,' was my inward remark.  'Now, sir, what next?'
+
+This question, though unspoken, was not long unanswered; after a
+few passing observations upon indifferent subjects, he began in
+solemn tones the following appeal to my humanity:-
+
+'It will be four years next April since I first saw you, Mrs.
+Huntingdon - you may have forgotten the circumstance, but I never
+can.  I admired you then most deeply, but I dared not love you.  In
+the following autumn I saw so much of your perfections that I could
+not fail to love you, though I dared not show it.  For upwards of
+three years I have endured a perfect martyrdom.  From the anguish
+of suppressed emotions, intense and fruitless longings, silent
+sorrow, crushed hopes, and trampled affections, I have suffered
+more than I can tell, or you imagine - and you were the cause of
+it, and not altogether the innocent cause.  My youth is wasting
+away; my prospects are darkened; my life is a desolate blank; I
+have no rest day or night:  I am become a burden to myself and
+others, and you might save me by a word - a glance, and will not do
+it - is this right?'
+
+'In the first place, I don't believe you,' answered I; 'in the
+second, if you will be such a fool, I can't hinder it.'
+
+'If you affect,' replied he, earnestly, 'to regard as folly the
+best, the strongest, the most godlike impulses of our nature, I
+don't believe you.  I know you are not the heartless, icy being you
+pretend to be - you had a heart once, and gave it to your husband.
+When you found him utterly unworthy of the treasure, you reclaimed
+it; and you will not pretend that you loved that sensual, earthly-
+minded profligate so deeply, so devotedly, that you can never love
+another?  I know that there are feelings in your nature that have
+never yet been called forth; I know, too, that in your present
+neglected lonely state you are and must be miserable.  You have it
+in your power to raise two human beings from a state of actual
+suffering to such unspeakable beatitude as only generous, noble,
+self-forgetting love can give (for you can love me if you will);
+you may tell me that you scorn and detest me, but, since you have
+set me the example of plain speaking, I will answer that I do not
+believe you.  But you will not do it! you choose rather to leave us
+miserable; and you coolly tell me it is the will of God that we
+should remain so.  You may call this religion, but I call it wild
+fanaticism!'
+
+'There is another life both for you and for me,' said I.  'If it be
+the will of God that we should sow in tears now, it is only that we
+may reap in joy hereafter.  It is His will that we should not
+injure others by the gratification of our own earthly passions; and
+you have a mother, and sisters, and friends who would be seriously
+injured by your disgrace; and I, too, have friends, whose peace of
+mind shall never be sacrificed to my enjoyment, or yours either,
+with my consent; and if I were alone in the world, I have still my
+God and my religion, and I would sooner die than disgrace my
+calling and break my faith with heaven to obtain a few brief years
+of false and fleeting happiness - happiness sure to end in misery
+even here - for myself or any other!'
+
+'There need be no disgrace, no misery or sacrifice in any quarter,'
+persisted he.  'I do not ask you to leave your home or defy the
+world's opinion.'  But I need not repeat all his arguments.  I
+refuted them to the best of my power; but that power was
+provokingly small, at the moment, for I was too much flurried with
+indignation - and even shame - that he should thus dare to address
+me, to retain sufficient command of thought and language to enable
+me adequately to contend against his powerful sophistries.
+Finding, however, that he could not be silenced by reason, and even
+covertly exulted in his seeming advantage, and ventured to deride
+those assertions I had not the coolness to prove, I changed my
+course and tried another plan.
+
+'Do you really love me?' said I, seriously, pausing and looking him
+calmly in the face.
+
+'Do I love you!' cried he.
+
+'Truly?' I demanded.
+
+His countenance brightened; he thought his triumph was at hand.  He
+commenced a passionate protestation of the truth and fervour of his
+attachment, which I cut short by another question:-
+
+'But is it not a selfish love?  Have you enough disinterested
+affection to enable you to sacrifice your own pleasure to mine?'
+
+'I would give my life to serve you.'
+
+'I don't want your life; but have you enough real sympathy for my
+afflictions to induce you to make an effort to relieve them, at the
+risk of a little discomfort to yourself?'
+
+'Try me, and see.'
+
+'If you have, never mention this subject again.  You cannot recur
+to it in any way without doubling the weight of those sufferings
+you so feelingly deplore.  I have nothing left me but the solace of
+a good conscience and a hopeful trust in heaven, and you labour
+continually to rob me of these.  If you persist, I must regard you
+as my deadliest foe.'
+
+'But hear me a moment - '
+
+'No, sir!  You said you would give your life to serve me; I only
+ask your silence on one particular point.  I have spoken plainly;
+and what I say I mean.  If you torment me in this way any more, I
+must conclude that your protestations are entirely false, and that
+you hate me in your heart as fervently as you profess to love me!'
+
+He bit his lip, and bent his eyes upon the ground in silence for a
+while.
+
+'Then I must leave you,' said he at length, looking steadily upon
+me, as if with the last hope of detecting some token of
+irrepressible anguish or dismay awakened by those solemn words.  'I
+must leave you.  I cannot live here, and be for ever silent on the
+all-absorbing subject of my thoughts and wishes.'
+
+'Formerly, I believe, you spent but little of your time at home,' I
+answered; 'it will do you no harm to absent yourself again, for a
+while - if that be really necessary.'
+
+'If that be really possible,' he muttered; 'and can you bid me go
+so coolly?  Do you really wish it?'
+
+'Most certainly I do.  If you cannot see me without tormenting me
+as you have lately done, I would gladly say farewell and never see
+you more.'
+
+He made no answer, but, bending from his horse, held out his hand
+towards me.  I looked up at his face, and saw therein such a look
+of genuine agony of soul, that, whether bitter disappointment, or
+wounded pride, or lingering love, or burning wrath were uppermost,
+I could not hesitate to put my hand in his as frankly as if I bade
+a friend farewell.  He grasped it very hard, and immediately put
+spurs to his horse and galloped away.  Very soon after, I learned
+that he was gone to Paris, where he still is; and the longer he
+stays there the better for me.
+
+I thank God for this deliverance!
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVIII
+
+
+
+December 20th, 1826. - The fifth anniversary of my wedding-day,
+and, I trust, the last I shall spend under this roof.  My
+resolution is formed, my plan concocted, and already partly put in
+execution.  My conscience does not blame me, but while the purpose
+ripens let me beguile a few of these long winter evenings in
+stating the case for my own satisfaction:  a dreary amusement
+enough, but having the air of a useful occupation, and being
+pursued as a task, it will suit me better than a lighter one.
+
+In September, quiet Grassdale was again alive with a party of
+ladies and gentlemen (so called), consisting of the same
+individuals as those invited the year before last, with the
+addition of two or three others, among whom were Mrs. Hargrave and
+her younger daughter.  The gentlemen and Lady Lowborough were
+invited for the pleasure and convenience of the host; the other
+ladies, I suppose, for the sake of appearances, and to keep me in
+check, and make me discreet and civil in my demeanour.  But the
+ladies stayed only three weeks; the gentlemen, with two exceptions,
+above two months:  for their hospitable entertainer was loth to
+part with them and be left alone with his bright intellect, his
+stainless conscience, and his loved and loving wife.
+
+On the day of Lady Lowborough's arrival, I followed her into her
+chamber, and plainly told her that, if I found reason to believe
+that she still continued her criminal connection with Mr.
+Huntingdon, I should think it my absolute duty to inform her
+husband of the circumstance - or awaken his suspicions at least -
+however painful it might be, or however dreadful the consequences.
+She was startled at first by the declaration, so unexpected, and so
+determinately yet calmly delivered; but rallying in a moment, she
+coolly replied that, if I saw anything at all reprehensible or
+suspicious in her conduct, she would freely give me leave to tell
+his lordship all about it.  Willing to be satisfied with this, I
+left her; and certainly I saw nothing thenceforth particularly
+reprehensible or suspicious in her demeanour towards her host; but
+then I had the other guests to attend to, and I did not watch them
+narrowly - for, to confess the truth, I feared to see anything
+between them.  I no longer regarded it as any concern of mine, and
+if it was my duty to enlighten Lord Lowborough, it was a painful
+duty, and I dreaded to be called to perform it.
+
+But my fears were brought to an end in a manner I had not
+anticipated.  One evening, about a fortnight after the visitors'
+arrival, I had retired into the library to snatch a few minutes'
+respite from forced cheerfulness and wearisome discourse, for after
+so long a period of seclusion, dreary indeed as I had often found
+it, I could not always bear to be doing violence to my feelings,
+and goading my powers to talk, and smile and listen, and play the
+attentive hostess, or even the cheerful friend:  I had just
+ensconced myself within the bow of the window, and was looking out
+upon the west, where the darkening hills rose sharply defined
+against the clear amber light of evening, that gradually blended
+and faded away into the pure, pale blue of the upper sky, where one
+bright star was shining through, as if to promise - 'When that
+dying light is gone, the world will not be left in darkness, and
+they who trust in God, whose minds are unbeclouded by the mists of
+unbelief and sin, are never wholly comfortless,' - when I heard a
+hurried step approaching, and Lord Lowborough entered.  This room
+was still his favourite resort.  He flung the door to with unusual
+violence, and cast his hat aside regardless where it fell.  What
+could be the matter with him?  His face was ghastly pale; his eyes
+were fixed upon the ground; his teeth clenched:  his forehead
+glistened with the dews of agony.  It was plain he knew his wrongs
+at last!
+
+Unconscious of my presence, he began to pace the room in a state of
+fearful agitation, violently wringing his hands and uttering low
+groans or incoherent ejaculations.  I made a movement to let him
+know that he was not alone; but he was too preoccupied to notice
+it.  Perhaps, while his back was towards me, I might cross the room
+and slip away unobserved.  I rose to make the attempt, but then he
+perceived me.  He started and stood still a moment; then wiped his
+streaming forehead, and, advancing towards me, with a kind of
+unnatural composure, said in a deep, almost sepulchral tone, -
+'Mrs. Huntingdon, I must leave you to-morrow.'
+
+'To-morrow!' I repeated.  'I do not ask the cause.'
+
+'You know it then, and you can be so calm!' said he, surveying me
+with profound astonishment, not unmingled with a kind of resentful
+bitterness, as it appeared to me.
+
+'I have so long been aware of - ' I paused in time, and added, 'of
+my husband's character, that nothing shocks me.'
+
+'But this - how long have you been aware of this?' demanded he,
+laying his clenched hand on the table beside him, and looking me
+keenly and fixedly in the face.
+
+I felt like a criminal.
+
+'Not long,' I answered.
+
+'You knew it!' cried he, with bitter vehemence - 'and you did not
+tell me!  You helped to deceive me!'
+
+'My lord, I did not help to deceive you.'
+
+'Then why did you not tell me?'
+
+'Because I knew it would be painful to you.  I hoped she would
+return to her duty, and then there would be no need to harrow your
+feelings with such - '
+
+'O God! how long has this been going on?  How long has it been,
+Mrs. Huntingdon? - Tell me - I must know!' exclaimed, with intense
+and fearful eagerness.
+
+'Two years, I believe.'
+
+'Great heaven! and she has duped me all this time!'  He turned away
+with a suppressed groan of agony, and paced the room again in a
+paroxysm of renewed agitation.  My heart smote me; but I would try
+to console him, though I knew not how to attempt it.
+
+'She is a wicked woman,' I said.  'She has basely deceived and
+betrayed you.  She is as little worthy of your regret as she was of
+your affection.  Let her injure you no further; abstract yourself
+from her, and stand alone.'
+
+'And you, Madam,' said he sternly, arresting himself, and turning
+round upon me, 'you have injured me too by this ungenerous
+concealment!'
+
+There was a sudden revulsion in my feelings.  Something rose within
+me, and urged me to resent this harsh return for my heartfelt
+sympathy, and defend myself with answering severity.  Happily, I
+did not yield to the impulse.  I saw his anguish as, suddenly
+smiting his forehead, he turned abruptly to the window, and,
+looking upward at the placid sky, murmured passionately, 'O God,
+that I might die!' - and felt that to add one drop of bitterness to
+that already overflowing cup would be ungenerous indeed.  And yet I
+fear there was more coldness than gentleness in the quiet tone of
+my reply:- 'I might offer many excuses that some would admit to be
+valid, but I will not attempt to enumerate them - '
+
+'I know them,' said he hastily:  'you would say that it was no
+business of yours:  that I ought to have taken care of myself; that
+if my own blindness has led me into this pit of hell, I have no
+right to blame another for giving me credit for a larger amount of
+sagacity than I possessed - '
+
+'I confess I was wrong,' continued I, without regarding this bitter
+interruption; 'but whether want of courage or mistaken kindness was
+the cause of my error, I think you blame me too severely.  I told
+Lady Lowborough two weeks ago, the very hour she came, that I
+should certainly think it my duty to inform you if she continued to
+deceive you:  she gave me full liberty to do so if I should see
+anything reprehensible or suspicious in her conduct; I have seen
+nothing; and I trusted she had altered her course.'
+
+He continued gazing from the window while I spoke, and did not
+answer, but, stung by the recollections my words awakened, stamped
+his foot upon the floor, ground his teeth, and corrugated his brow,
+like one under the influence of acute physical pain.
+
+'It was wrong, it was wrong!' he muttered at length.  'Nothing can
+excuse it; nothing can atone for it, - for nothing can recall those
+years of cursed credulity; nothing obliterate them! - nothing,
+nothing!' he repeated in a whisper, whose despairing bitterness
+precluded all resentment.
+
+'When I put the case to myself, I own it was wrong,' I answered;
+'but I can only now regret that I did not see it in this light
+before, and that, as you say, nothing can recall the past.'
+
+Something in my voice or in the spirit of this answer seemed to
+alter his mood.  Turning towards me, and attentively surveying my
+face by the dim light, he said, in a milder tone than he had yet
+employed, - 'You, too, have suffered, I suppose.'
+
+'I suffered much, at first.'
+
+'When was that?'
+
+'Two years ago; and two years hence you will be as calm as I am
+now, and far, far happier, I trust, for you are a man, and free to
+act as you please.'
+
+Something like a smile, but a very bitter one, crossed his face for
+a moment.
+
+'You have not been happy, lately?' he said, with a kind of effort
+to regain composure, and a determination to waive the further
+discussion of his own calamity.
+
+'Happy?' I repeated, almost provoked at such a question.  'Could I
+be so, with such a husband?'
+
+'I have noticed a change in your appearance since the first years
+of your marriage,' pursued he:  'I observed it to - to that
+infernal demon,' he muttered between his teeth; 'and he said it was
+your own sour temper that was eating away your bloom:  it was
+making you old and ugly before your time, and had already made his
+fireside as comfortless as a convent cell.  You smile, Mrs.
+Huntingdon; nothing moves you.  I wish my nature were as calm as
+yours.'
+
+'My nature was not originally calm,' said I.  'I have learned to
+appear so by dint of hard lessons and many repeated efforts.'
+
+At this juncture Mr. Hattersley burst into the room.
+
+'Hallo, Lowborough!' he began - 'Oh! I beg your pardon,' he
+exclaimed on seeing me.  'I didn't know it was A TETE-E-TETE.
+Cheer up, man,' he continued, giving Lord Lowborough a thump on the
+back, which caused the latter to recoil from him with looks of
+ineffable disgust and irritation.  'Come, I want to speak with you
+a bit.'
+
+'Speak, then.'
+
+'But I'm not sure it would be quite agreeable to the lady what I
+have to say.'
+
+'Then it would not be agreeable to me,' said his lordship, turning
+to leave the room.
+
+'Yes, it would,' cried the other, following him into the hall.  'If
+you've the heart of a man, it would be the very ticket for you.
+It's just this, my lad,' he continued, rather lowering his voice,
+but not enough to prevent me from hearing every word he said,
+though the half-closed door stood between us.  'I think you're an
+ill-used man - nay, now, don't flare up; I don't want to offend
+you:  it's only my rough way of talking.  I must speak right out,
+you know, or else not at all; and I'm come - stop now! let me
+explain - I'm come to offer you my services, for though Huntingdon
+is my friend, he's a devilish scamp, as we all know, and I'll be
+your friend for the nonce.  I know what it is you want, to make
+matters straight:  it's just to exchange a shot with him, and then
+you'll feel yourself all right again; and if an accident happens -
+why, that'll be all right too, I daresay, to a desperate fellow
+like you.  Come now, give me your hand, and don't look so black
+upon it.  Name time and place, and I'll manage the rest.'
+
+'That,' answered the more low, deliberate voice of Lord Lowborough,
+'is just the remedy my own heart, or the devil within it, suggested
+- to meet him, and not to part without blood.  Whether I or he
+should fall, or both, it would be an inexpressible relief to me, if
+- '
+
+'Just so!  Well then, - '
+
+'No!' exclaimed his lordship, with deep, determined emphasis.
+'Though I hate him from my heart, and should rejoice at any
+calamity that could befall him, I'll leave him to God; and though I
+abhor my own life, I'll leave that, too, to Him that gave it.'
+
+'But you see, in this case,' pleaded Hattersley -
+
+'I'll not hear you!' exclaimed his companion, hastily turning away.
+'Not another word!  I've enough to do against the fiend within me.'
+
+'Then you're a white-livered fool, and I wash my hands of you,'
+grumbled the tempter, as he swung himself round and departed.
+
+'Right, right, Lord Lowborough,' cried I, darting out and clasping
+his burning hand, as he was moving away to the stairs.  'I begin to
+think the world is not worthy of you!'  Not understanding this
+sudden ebullition, he turned upon me with a stare of gloomy,
+bewildered amazement, that made me ashamed of the impulse to which
+I had yielded; but soon a more humanised expression dawned upon his
+countenance, and before I could withdraw my hand, he pressed it
+kindly, while a gleam of genuine feeling flashed from his eyes as
+he murmured, 'God help us both!'
+
+'Amen!' responded I; and we parted.
+
+I returned to the drawing-room, where, doubtless, my presence would
+be expected by most, desired by one or two.  In the ante-room was
+Mr. Hattersley, railing against Lord Lowborough's poltroonery
+before a select audience, viz. Mr. Huntingdon, who was lounging
+against the table, exulting in his own treacherous villainy, and
+laughing his victim to scorn, and Mr. Grimsby, standing by, quietly
+rubbing his hands and chuckling with fiendish satisfaction.
+
+In the drawing-room I found Lady Lowborough, evidently in no very
+enviable state of mind, and struggling hard to conceal her
+discomposure by an overstrained affectation of unusual cheerfulness
+and vivacity, very uncalled-for under the circumstances, for she
+had herself given the company to understand that her husband had
+received unpleasant intelligence from home, which necessitated his
+immediate departure, and that he had suffered it so to bother his
+mind that it had brought on a bilious headache, owing to which, and
+the preparations he judged necessary to hasten his departure, she
+believed they would not have the pleasure of seeing him to-night.
+However, she asserted, it was only a business concern, and so she
+did not intend it should trouble her.  She was just saying this as
+I entered, and she darted upon me such a glance of hardihood and
+defiance as at once astonished and revolted me.
+
+'But I am troubled,' continued she, 'and vexed too, for I think it
+my duty to accompany his lordship, and of course I am very sorry to
+part with all my kind friends so unexpectedly and so soon.'
+
+'And yet, Annabella,' said Esther, who was sitting beside her, 'I
+never saw you in better spirits in my life.'
+
+'Precisely so, my love:  because I wish to make the best of your
+society, since it appears this is to be the last night I am to
+enjoy it till heaven knows when; and I wish to leave a good
+impression on you all,' - she glanced round, and seeing her aunt's
+eye fixed upon her, rather too scrutinizingly, as she probably
+thought, she started up and continued:  'To which end I'll give you
+a song - shall I, aunt? shall I, Mrs. Huntingdon? shall I ladies
+and gentlemen all?  Very well.  I'll do my best to amuse you.'
+
+She and Lord Lowborough occupied the apartments next to mine.  I
+know not how she passed the night, but I lay awake the greater part
+of it listening to his heavy step pacing monotonously up and down
+his dressing-room, which was nearest my chamber.  Once I heard him
+pause and throw something out of the window with a passionate
+ejaculation; and in the morning, after they were gone, a keen-
+bladed clasp-knife was found on the grass-plot below; a razor,
+likewise, was snapped in two and thrust deep into the cinders of
+the grate, but partially corroded by the decaying embers.  So
+strong had been the temptation to end his miserable life, so
+determined his resolution to resist it.
+
+My heart bled for him as I lay listening to that ceaseless tread.
+Hitherto I had thought too much of myself, too little of him:  now
+I forgot my own afflictions, and thought only of his; of the ardent
+affection so miserably wasted, the fond faith so cruelly betrayed,
+the - no, I will not attempt to enumerate his wrongs - but I hated
+his wife and my husband more intensely than ever, and not for my
+sake, but for his.
+
+They departed early in the morning, before any one else was down,
+except myself, and just as I was leaving my room Lord Lowborough
+was descending to take his place in the carriage, where his lady
+was already ensconced; and Arthur (or Mr. Huntingdon, as I prefer
+calling him, for the other is my child's name) had the gratuitous
+insolence to come out in his dressing-gown to bid his 'friend'
+good-by.
+
+'What, going already, Lowborough!' said he.  'Well, good-morning.'
+He smilingly offered his hand.
+
+I think the other would have knocked him down, had he not
+instinctively started back before that bony fist quivering with
+rage and clenched till the knuckles gleamed white and glistening
+through the skin.  Looking upon him with a countenance livid with
+furious hate, Lord Lowborough muttered between his closed teeth a
+deadly execration he would not have uttered had he been calm enough
+to choose his words, and departed.
+
+'I call that an unchristian spirit now,' said the villain.  'But
+I'd never give up an old friend for the sake of a wife.  You may
+have mine if you like, and I call that handsome; I can do no more
+than offer restitution, can I?'
+
+But Lowborough had gained the bottom of the stairs, and was now
+crossing the hall; and Mr. Huntingdon, leaning over the banisters,
+called out, 'Give my love to Annabella! and I wish you both a happy
+journey,' and withdrew, laughing, to his chamber.
+
+He subsequently expressed himself rather glad she was gone.  'She
+was so deuced imperious and exacting,' said he.  'Now I shall be my
+own man again, and feel rather more at my ease.'
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIX
+
+
+
+My greatest source of uneasiness, in this time of trial, was my
+son, whom his father and his father's friends delighted to
+encourage in all the embryo vices a little child can show, and to
+instruct in all the evil habits he could acquire - in a word, to
+'make a man of him' was one of their staple amusements; and I need
+say no more to justify my alarm on his account, and my
+determination to deliver him at any hazard from the hands of such
+instructors.  I first attempted to keep him always with me, or in
+the nursery, and gave Rachel particular injunctions never to let
+him come down to dessert as long as these 'gentlemen' stayed; but
+it was no use:  these orders were immediately countermanded and
+overruled by his father; he was not going to have the little fellow
+moped to death between an old nurse and a cursed fool of a mother.
+So the little fellow came down every evening in spite of his cross
+mamma, and learned to tipple wine like papa, to swear like Mr.
+Hattersley, and to have his own way like a man, and sent mamma to
+the devil when she tried to prevent him.  To see such things done
+with the roguish naivete of that pretty little child, and hear such
+things spoken by that small infantile voice, was as peculiarly
+piquant and irresistibly droll to them as it was inexpressibly
+distressing and painful to me; and when he had set the table in a
+roar he would look round delightedly upon them all, and add his
+shrill laugh to theirs.  But if that beaming blue eye rested on me,
+its light would vanish for a moment, and he would say, in some
+concern, 'Mamma, why don't you laugh?  Make her laugh, papa - she
+never will.'
+
+Hence was I obliged to stay among these human brutes, watching an
+opportunity to get my child away from them instead of leaving them
+immediately after the removal of the cloth, as I should always
+otherwise have done.  He was never willing to go, and I frequently
+had to carry him away by force, for which he thought me very cruel
+and unjust; and sometimes his father would insist upon my letting
+him remain; and then I would leave him to his kind friends, and
+retire to indulge my bitterness and despair alone, or to rack my
+brains for a remedy to this great evil.
+
+But here again I must do Mr. Hargrave the justice to acknowledge
+that I never saw him laugh at the child's misdemeanours, nor heard
+him utter a word of encouragement to his aspirations after manly
+accomplishments.  But when anything very extraordinary was said or
+done by the infant profligate, I noticed, at times, a peculiar
+expression in his face that I could neither interpret nor define:
+a slight twitching about the muscles of the mouth; a sudden flash
+in the eye, as he darted a sudden glance at the child and then at
+me:  and then I could fancy there arose a gleam of hard, keen,
+sombre satisfaction in his countenance at the look of impotent
+wrath and anguish he was too certain to behold in mine.  But on one
+occasion, when Arthur had been behaving particularly ill, and Mr.
+Huntingdon and his guests had been particularly provoking and
+insulting to me in their encouragement of him, and I particularly
+anxious to get him out of the room, and on the very point of
+demeaning myself by a burst of uncontrollable passion - Mr.
+Hargrave suddenly rose from his seat with an aspect of stern
+determination, lifted the child from his father's knee, where he
+was sitting half-tipsy, cocking his head and laughing at me, and
+execrating me with words he little knew the meaning of, handed him
+out of the room, and, setting him down in the hall, held the door
+open for me, gravely bowed as I withdrew, and closed it after me.
+I heard high words exchanged between him and his already half-
+inebriated host as I departed, leading away my bewildered and
+disconcerted boy.
+
+But this should not continue:  my child must not be abandoned to
+this corruption:  better far that he should live in poverty and
+obscurity, with a fugitive mother, that in luxury and affluence
+with such a father.  These guests might not be with us long, but
+they would return again:  and he, the most injurious of the whole,
+his child's worst enemy, would still remain.  I could endure it for
+myself, but for my son it must be borne no longer:  the world's
+opinion and the feelings of my friends must be alike unheeded here,
+at least - alike unable to deter me from my duty.  But where should
+I find an asylum, and how obtain subsistence for us both?  Oh, I
+would take my precious charge at early dawn, take the coach to M-,
+flee to the port of -, cross the Atlantic, and seek a quiet, humble
+home in New England, where I would support myself and him by the
+labour of my hands.  The palette and the easel, my darling
+playmates once, must be my sober toil-fellows now.  But was I
+sufficiently skilful as an artist to obtain my livelihood in a
+strange land, without friends and without recommendation?  No; I
+must wait a little; I must labour hard to improve my talent, and to
+produce something worth while as a specimen of my powers, something
+to speak favourably for me, whether as an actual painter or a
+teacher.  Brilliant success, of course, I did not look for, but
+some degree of security from positive failure was indispensable:  I
+must not take my son to starve.  And then I must have money for the
+journey, the passage, and some little to support us in our retreat
+in case I should be unsuccessful at first:  and not too little
+either:  for who could tell how long I might have to struggle with
+the indifference or neglect of others, or my own inexperience or
+inability to suit their tastes?
+
+What should I do then?  Apply to my brother and explain my
+circumstances and my resolves to him?  No, no:  even if I told him
+all my grievances, which I should be very reluctant to do, he would
+be certain to disapprove of the step:  it would seem like madness
+to him, as it would to my uncle and aunt, or to Milicent.  No; I
+must have patience and gather a hoard of my own.  Rachel should be
+my only confidante - I thought I could persuade her into the
+scheme; and she should help me, first, to find out a picture-dealer
+in some distant town; then, through her means, I would privately
+sell what pictures I had on hand that would do for such a purpose,
+and some of those I should thereafter paint.  Besides this, I would
+contrive to dispose of my jewels, not the family jewels, but the
+few I brought with me from home, and those my uncle gave me on my
+marriage.  A few months' arduous toil might well be borne by me
+with such an end in view; and in the interim my son could not be
+much more injured than he was already.
+
+Having formed this resolution, I immediately set to work to
+accomplish it, I might possibly have been induced to wax cool upon
+it afterwards, or perhaps to keep weighing the pros and cons in my
+mind till the latter overbalanced the former, and I was driven to
+relinquish the project altogether, or delay the execution of it to
+an indefinite period, had not something occurred to confirm me in
+that determination, to which I still adhere, which I still think I
+did well to form, and shall do better to execute.
+
+Since Lord Lowborough's departure I had regarded the library as
+entirely my own, a secure retreat at all hours of the day.  None of
+our gentlemen had the smallest pretensions to a literary taste,
+except Mr. Hargrave; and he, at present, was quite contented with
+the newspapers and periodicals of the day.  And if, by any chance,
+he should look in here, I felt assured he would soon depart on
+seeing me, for, instead of becoming less cool and distant towards
+me, he had become decidedly more so since the departure of his
+mother and sisters, which was just what I wished.  Here, then, I
+set up my easel, and here I worked at my canvas from daylight till
+dusk, with very little intermission, saving when pure necessity, or
+my duties to little Arthur, called me away:  for I still thought
+proper to devote some portion of every day exclusively to his
+instruction and amusement.  But, contrary to my expectation, on the
+third morning, while I was thus employed, Mr. Hargrave did look in,
+and did not immediately withdraw on seeing me.  He apologized for
+his intrusion, and said he was only come for a book; but when he
+had got it, he condescended to cast a glance over my picture.
+Being a man of taste, he had something to say on this subject as
+well as another, and having modestly commented on it, without much
+encouragement from me, he proceeded to expatiate on the art in
+general.  Receiving no encouragement in that either, he dropped it,
+but did not depart.
+
+'You don't give us much of your company, Mrs. Huntingdon,' observed
+he, after a brief pause, during which I went on coolly mixing and
+tempering my colours; 'and I cannot wonder at it, for you must be
+heartily sick of us all.  I myself am so thoroughly ashamed of my
+companions, and so weary of their irrational conversation and
+pursuits - now that there is no one to humanize them and keep them
+in check, since you have justly abandoned us to our own devices -
+that I think I shall presently withdraw from amongst them, probably
+within this week; and I cannot suppose you will regret my
+departure.'
+
+He paused.  I did not answer.
+
+'Probably,' he added, with a smile, 'your only regret on the
+subject will be that I do not take all my companions along with me.
+I flatter myself, at times, that though among them I am not of
+them; but it is natural that you should be glad to get rid of me.
+I may regret this, but I cannot blame you for it.'
+
+'I shall not rejoice at your departure, for you can conduct
+yourself like a gentleman,' said I, thinking it but right to make
+some acknowledgment for his good behaviour; 'but I must confess I
+shall rejoice to bid adieu. to the rest, inhospitable as it may
+appear.'
+
+'No one can blame you for such an avowal,' replied he gravely:
+'not even the gentlemen themselves, I imagine.  I'll just tell
+you,' he continued, as if actuated by a sudden resolution, 'what
+was said last night in the dining-room, after you left us:  perhaps
+you will not mind it, as you're so very philosophical on certain
+points,' he added with a slight sneer.  'They were talking about
+Lord Lowborough and his delectable lady, the cause of whose sudden
+departure is no secret amongst them; and her character is so well
+known to them all, that, nearly related to me as she is, I could
+not attempt to defend it.  Curse me!' he muttered, par parenthese,
+'if I don't have vengeance for this!  If the villain must disgrace
+the family, must he blazon it abroad to every low-bred knave of his
+acquaintance?  I beg your pardon, Mrs. Huntingdon.  Well, they were
+talking of these things, and some of them remarked that, as she was
+separated from her husband, he might see her again when he
+pleased.'
+
+'"Thank you," said he; "I've had enough of her for the present:
+I'll not trouble to see her, unless she comes to me."
+
+'"Then what do you mean to do, Huntingdon, when we're gone?" said
+Ralph Hattersley.  "Do you mean to turn from the error of your
+ways, and be a good husband, a good father, and so forth; as I do,
+when I get shut of you and all these rollicking devils you call
+your friends?  I think it's time; and your wife is fifty times too
+good for you, you know - "
+
+'And he added some praise of you, which you would not thank me for
+repeating, nor him for uttering; proclaiming it aloud, as he did,
+without delicacy or discrimination, in an audience where it seemed
+profanation to utter your name:  himself utterly incapable of
+understanding or appreciating your real excellences.  Huntingdon,
+meanwhile, sat quietly drinking his wine, - or looking smilingly
+into his glass and offering no interruption or reply, till
+Hattersley shouted out, - "Do you hear me, man?"
+
+'"Yes, go on," said he.
+
+'"Nay, I've done," replied the other:  "I only want to know if you
+intend to take my advice."
+
+'"What advice?"
+
+'"To turn over a new leaf, you double-dyed scoundrel," shouted
+Ralph, "and beg your wife's pardon, and be a good boy for the
+future."
+
+'"My wife! what wife?  I have no wife," replied Huntingdon, looking
+innocently up from his glass, "or if I have, look you, gentlemen:
+I value her so highly that any one among you, that can fancy her,
+may have her and welcome:  you may, by Jove, and my blessing into
+the bargain!"
+
+'I - hem - someone asked if he really meant what he said; upon
+which he solemnly swore he did, and no mistake.  What do you think
+of that, Mrs. Huntingdon?' asked Mr. Hargrave, after a short pause,
+during which I had felt he was keenly examining my half-averted
+face.
+
+'I say,' replied I, calmly, 'that what he prizes so lightly will
+not be long in his possession.'
+
+'You cannot mean that you will break your heart and die for the
+detestable conduct of an infamous villain like that!'
+
+'By no means:  my heart is too thoroughly dried to be broken in a
+hurry, and I mean to live as long as I can.'
+
+'Will you leave him then?'
+
+'Yes.'
+
+'When:  and how?' asked he, eagerly.
+
+'When I am ready, and how I can manage it most effectually.'
+
+'But your child?'
+
+'My child goes with me.'
+
+'He will not allow it.'
+
+'I shall not ask him.'
+
+'Ah, then, it is a secret flight you meditate! but with whom, Mrs.
+Huntingdon?'
+
+'With my son:  and possibly, his nurse.'
+
+'Alone - and unprotected!  But where can you go? what can you do?
+He will follow you and bring you back.'
+
+'I have laid my plans too well for that.  Let me once get clear of
+Grassdale, and I shall consider myself safe.'
+
+Mr. Hargrave advanced one step towards me, looked me in the face,
+and drew in his breath to speak; but that look, that heightened
+colour, that sudden sparkle of the eye, made my blood rise in
+wrath:  I abruptly turned away, and, snatching up my brush, began
+to dash away at my canvas with rather too much energy for the good
+of the picture.
+
+'Mrs. Huntingdon,' said he with bitter solemnity, 'you are cruel -
+cruel to me - cruel to yourself.'
+
+'Mr. Hargrave, remember your promise.'
+
+'I must speak:  my heart will burst if I don't!  I have been silent
+long enough, and you must hear me!' cried he, boldly intercepting
+my retreat to the door.  'You tell me you owe no allegiance to your
+husband; he openly declares himself weary of you, and calmly gives
+you up to anybody that will take you; you are about to leave him;
+no one will believe that you go alone; all the world will say, "She
+has left him at last, and who can wonder at it?  Few can blame her,
+fewer still can pity him; but who is the companion of her flight?"
+Thus you will have no credit for your virtue (if you call it such):
+even your best friends will not believe in it; because it is
+monstrous, and not to be credited but by those who suffer, from the
+effects of it, such cruel torments that they know it to be indeed
+reality.  But what can you do in the cold, rough world alone? you,
+a young and inexperienced woman, delicately nurtured, and utterly -
+'
+
+'In a word, you would advise me to stay where I am,' interrupted I.
+'Well, I'll see about it.'
+
+'By all means, leave him!' cried he earnestly; 'but NOT alone!
+Helen! let me protect you!'
+
+'Never! while heaven spares my reason,' replied I, snatching away
+the hand he had presumed to seize and press between his own.  But
+he was in for it now; he had fairly broken the barrier:  he was
+completely roused, and determined to hazard all for victory.
+
+'I must not be denied!' exclaimed he, vehemently; and seizing both
+my hands, he held them very tight, but dropped upon his knee, and
+looked up in my face with a half-imploring, half-imperious gaze.
+'You have no reason now:  you are flying in the face of heaven's
+decrees.  God has designed me to be your comfort and protector - I
+feel it, I know it as certainly as if a voice from heaven declared,
+"Ye twain shall be one flesh" - and you spurn me from you - '
+
+'Let me go, Mr. Hargrave!' said I, sternly.  But he only tightened
+his grasp.
+
+'Let me go!' I repeated, quivering with indignation.
+
+His face was almost opposite the window as he knelt.  With a slight
+start, I saw him glance towards it; and then a gleam of malicious
+triumph lit up his countenance.  Looking over my shoulder, I beheld
+a shadow just retiring round the corner.
+
+'That is Grimsby,' said he deliberately.  'He will report what he
+has seen to Huntingdon and all the rest, with such embellishments
+as he thinks proper.  He has no love for you, Mrs. Huntingdon - no
+reverence for your sex, no belief in virtue, no admiration for its
+image.  He will give such a version of this story as will leave no
+doubt at all about your character, in the minds of those who hear
+it.  Your fair fame is gone; and nothing that I or you can say can
+ever retrieve it.  But give me the power to protect you, and show
+me the villain that dares to insult!'
+
+'No one has ever dared to insult me as you are doing now!' said I,
+at length releasing my hands, and recoiling from him.
+
+'I do not insult you,' cried he:  'I worship you.  You are my
+angel, my divinity!  I lay my powers at your feet, and you must and
+shall accept them!' he exclaimed, impetuously starting to his feet.
+'I will be your consoler and defender! and if your conscience
+upbraid you for it, say I overcame you, and you could not choose
+but yield!'
+
+I never saw a man go terribly excited.  He precipitated himself
+towards me.  I snatched up my palette-knife and held it against
+him.  This startled him:  he stood and gazed at me in astonishment;
+I daresay I looked as fierce and resolute as he.  I moved to the
+bell, and put my hand upon the cord.  This tamed him still more.
+With a half-authoritative, half-deprecating wave of the hand, he
+sought to deter me from ringing.
+
+'Stand off, then!' said I; he stepped back.  'And listen to me.  I
+don't like you,' I continued, as deliberately and emphatically as I
+could, to give the greater efficacy to my words; 'and if I were
+divorced from my husband, or if he were dead, I would not marry
+you.  There now!  I hope you're satisfied.'
+
+His face grew blanched with anger.
+
+'I am satisfied,' he replied, with bitter emphasis, 'that you are
+the most cold-hearted, unnatural, ungrateful woman I ever yet
+beheld!'
+
+'Ungrateful, sir?'
+
+'Ungrateful.'
+
+'No, Mr. Hargrave, I am not.  For all the good you ever did me, or
+ever wished to do, I most sincerely thank you:  for all the evil
+you have done me, and all you would have done, I pray God to pardon
+you, and make you of a better mind.'  Here the door was thrown
+open, and Messrs. Huntingdon and Hattersley appeared without.  The
+latter remained in the hall, busy with his ramrod and his gun; the
+former walked in, and stood with his back to the fire, surveying
+Mr. Hargrave and me, particularly the former, with a smile of
+insupportable meaning, accompanied as it was by the impudence of
+his brazen brow, and the sly, malicious, twinkle of his eye.
+
+'Well, sir?' said Hargrave, interrogatively, and with the air of
+one prepared to stand on the defensive.
+
+'Well, sir,' returned his host.
+
+'We want to know if you are at liberty to join us in a go at the
+pheasants, Walter,' interposed Hattersley from without.  'Come!
+there shall be nothing shot besides, except a puss or two; I'll
+vouch for that.'
+
+Walter did not answer, but walked to the window to collect his
+faculties.  Arthur uttered a low whistle, and followed him with his
+eyes.  A slight flush of anger rose to Hargrave's cheek; but in a
+moment he turned calmly round, and said carelessly:
+
+'I came here to bid farewell to Mrs. Huntingdon, and tell her I
+must go to-morrow.'
+
+'Humph!  You're mighty sudden in your resolution.  What takes you
+off so soon, may I ask?'
+
+'Business,' returned he, repelling the other's incredulous sneer
+with a glance of scornful defiance.
+
+'Very good,' was the reply; and Hargrave walked away.  Thereupon
+Mr. Huntingdon, gathering his coat-laps under his arms, and setting
+his shoulder against the mantel-piece, turned to me, and,
+addressing me in a low voice, scarcely above his breath, poured
+forth a volley of the vilest and grossest abuse it was possible for
+the imagination to conceive or the tongue to utter.  I did not
+attempt to interrupt him; but my spirit kindled within me, and when
+he had done, I replied, 'If your accusation were true, Mr.
+Huntingdon, how dare you blame me?'
+
+'She's hit it, by Jove!' cried Hattersley, rearing his gun against
+the wall; and, stepping into the room, he took his precious friend
+by the arm, and attempted to drag him away.  'Come, my lad,' he
+muttered; 'true or false, you've no right to blame her, you know,
+nor him either; after what you said last night.  So come along.'
+
+There was something implied here that I could not endure.
+
+'Dare you suspect me, Mr. Hattersley?' said I, almost beside myself
+with fury.
+
+'Nay, nay, I suspect nobody.  It's all right, it's all right.  So
+come along, Huntingdon, you blackguard.'
+
+'She can't deny it!' cried the gentleman thus addressed, grinning
+in mingled rage and triumph.  'She can't deny it if her life
+depended on it!' and muttering some more abusive language, he
+walked into the hall, and took up his hat and gun from the table.
+
+'I scorn to justify myself to you!' said I.  'But you,' turning to
+Hattersley, 'if you presume to have any doubts on the subject, ask
+Mr. Hargrave.'
+
+At this they simultaneously burst into a rude laugh that made my
+whole frame tingle to the fingers' ends.
+
+'Where is he?  I'll ask him myself!' said I, advancing towards
+them.
+
+Suppressing a new burst of merriment, Hattersley pointed to the
+outer door.  It was half open.  His brother-in-law was standing on
+the front without.
+
+'Mr. Hargrave, will you please to step this way?' said I.
+
+He turned and looked at me in grave surprise.
+
+'Step this way, if you please!' I repeated, in so determined a
+manner that he could not, or did not choose to resist its
+authority.  Somewhat reluctantly he ascended the steps and advanced
+a pace or two into the hall.
+
+'And tell those gentlemen,' I continued - 'these men, whether or
+not I yielded to your solicitations.'
+
+'I don't understand you, Mrs. Huntingdon.'
+
+'You do understand me, sir; and I charge you, upon your honour as a
+gentleman (if you have any), to answer truly.  Did I, or did I
+not?'
+
+'No,' muttered he, turning away.
+
+'Speak up, sir; they can't hear you.  Did I grant your request?
+
+'You did not.'
+
+'No, I'll be sworn she didn't,' said Hattersley, 'or he'd never
+look so black.'
+
+'I'm willing to grant you the satisfaction of a gentleman,
+Huntingdon,' said Mr. Hargrave, calmly addressing his host, but
+with a bitter sneer upon his countenance.
+
+'Go to the deuce!' replied the latter, with an impatient jerk of
+the head.  Hargrave withdrew with a look of cold disdain, saying, -
+'You know where to find me, should you feel disposed to send a
+friend.'
+
+Muttered oaths and curses were all the answer this intimation
+obtained.
+
+'Now, Huntingdon, you see!' said Hattersley.  'Clear as the day.'
+
+'I don't care what he sees,' said I, 'or what he imagines; but you,
+Mr. Hattersley, when you hear my name belied and slandered, will
+you defend it?'
+
+'I will.'
+
+I instantly departed and shut myself into the library.  What could
+possess me to make such a request of such a man I cannot tell; but
+drowning men catch at straws:  they had driven me desperate between
+them; I hardly knew what I said.  There was no other to preserve my
+name from being blackened and aspersed among this nest of boon
+companions, and through them, perhaps, into the world; and beside
+my abandoned wretch of a husband, the base, malignant Grimsby, and
+the false villain Hargrave, this boorish ruffian, coarse and brutal
+as he was, shone like a glow-worm in the dark, among its fellow
+worms.
+
+What a scene was this!  Could I ever have imagined that I should be
+doomed to bear such insults under my own roof - to hear such things
+spoken in my presence; nay, spoken to me and of me; and by those
+who arrogated to themselves the name of gentlemen?  And could I
+have imagined that I should have been able to endure it as calmly,
+and to repel their insults as firmly and as boldly as I had done?
+A hardness such as this is taught by rough experience and despair
+alone.
+
+Such thoughts as these chased one another through my mind, as I
+paced to and fro the room, and longed - oh, how I longed - to take
+my child and leave them now, without an hour's delay!  But it could
+not be; there was work before me:  hard work, that must be done.
+
+'Then let me do it,' said I, 'and lose not a moment in vain
+repinings and idle chafings against my fate, and those who
+influence it.'
+
+And conquering my agitation with a powerful effort, I immediately
+resumed my task, and laboured hard all day.
+
+Mr. Hargrave did depart on the morrow; and I have never seen him
+since.  The others stayed on for two or three weeks longer; but I
+kept aloof from them as much as possible, and still continued my
+labour, and have continued it, with almost unabated ardour, to the
+present day.  I soon acquainted Rachel with my design, confiding
+all my motives and intentions to her ear, and, much to my agreeable
+surprise, found little difficulty in persuading her to enter into
+my views.  She is a sober, cautious woman, but she so hates her
+master, and so loves her mistress and her nursling, that after
+several ejaculations, a few faint objections, and many tears and
+lamentations that I should be brought to such a pass, she applauded
+my resolution and consented to aid me with all her might:  on one
+condition only:  that she might share my exile:  otherwise, she was
+utterly inexorable, regarding it as perfect madness for me and
+Arthur to go alone.  With touching generosity, she modestly offered
+to aid me with her little hoard of savings, hoping I would 'excuse
+her for the liberty, but really, if I would do her the favour to
+accept it as a loan, she would be very happy.'  Of course I could
+not think of such a thing; but now, thank heaven, I have gathered a
+little hoard of my own, and my preparations are so far advanced
+that I am looking forward to a speedy emancipation.  Only let the
+stormy severity of this winter weather be somewhat abated, and
+then, some morning, Mr. Huntingdon will come down to a solitary
+breakfast-table, and perhaps be clamouring through the house for
+his invisible wife and child, when they are some fifty miles on
+their way to the Western world, or it may be more:  for we shall
+leave him hours before the dawn, and it is not probable he will
+discover the loss of both until the day is far advanced.
+
+I am fully alive to the evils that may and must result upon the
+step I am about to take; but I never waver in my resolution,
+because I never forget my son.  It was only this morning, while I
+pursued my usual employment, he was sitting at my feet, quietly
+playing with the shreds of canvas I had thrown upon the carpet; but
+his mind was otherwise occupied, for, in a while, he looked up
+wistfully in my face, and gravely asked, - 'Mamma, why are you
+wicked?'
+
+'Who told you I was wicked, love?'
+
+'Rachel.'
+
+'No, Arthur, Rachel never said so, I am certain.'
+
+'Well, then, it was papa,' replied he, thoughtfully.  Then, after a
+reflective pause, he added, 'At least, I'll tell you how it was I
+got to know:  when I'm with papa, if I say mamma wants me, or mamma
+says I'm not to do something that he tells me to do, he always
+says, "Mamma be damned," and Rachel says it's only wicked people
+that are damned.  So, mamma, that's why I think you must be wicked:
+and I wish you wouldn't.'
+
+'My dear child, I am not.  Those are bad words, and wicked people
+often say them of others better than themselves.  Those words
+cannot make people be damned, nor show that they deserve it.  God
+will judge us by our own thoughts and deeds, not by what others say
+about us.  And when you hear such words spoken, Arthur, remember
+never to repeat them:  it is wicked to say such things of others,
+not to have them said against you.'
+
+'Then it's papa that's wicked,' said he, ruefully.
+
+'Papa is wrong to say such things, and you will be very wrong to
+imitate him now that you know better.'
+
+'What is imitate?'
+
+'To do as he does.'
+
+'Does he know better?'
+
+'Perhaps he does; but that is nothing to you.'
+
+'If he doesn't, you ought to tell him, mamma.'
+
+'I have told him.'
+
+The little moralist paused and pondered.  I tried in vain to divert
+his mind from the subject.
+
+'I'm sorry papa's wicked,' said he mournfully, at length, 'for I
+don't want him to go to hell.'  And so saying he burst into tears.
+
+I consoled him with the hope that perhaps his papa would alter and
+become good before he died -; but is it not time to deliver him
+from such a parent?
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XL
+
+
+
+January 10th, 1827. - While writing the above, yesterday evening, I
+sat in the drawing-room.  Mr. Huntingdon was present, but, as I
+thought, asleep on the sofa behind me.  He had risen, however,
+unknown to me, and, actuated by some base spirit of curiosity, been
+looking over my shoulder for I know not how long; for when I had
+laid aside my pen, and was about to close the book, he suddenly
+placed his hand upon it, and saying, - 'With your leave, my dear,
+I'll have a look at this,' forcibly wrested it from me, and,
+drawing a chair to the table, composedly sat down to examine it:
+turning back leaf after leaf to find an explanation of what he had
+read.  Unluckily for me, he was more sober that night than he
+usually is at such an hour.
+
+Of course I did not leave him to pursue this occupation in quiet:
+I made several attempts to snatch the book from his hands, but he
+held it too firmly for that; I upbraided him in bitterness and
+scorn for his mean and dishonourable conduct, but that had no
+effect upon him; and, finally, I extinguished both the candles, but
+he only wheeled round to the fire, and raising a blaze sufficient
+for his purposes, calmly continued the investigation.  I had
+serious thoughts of getting a pitcher of water and extinguishing
+that light too; but it was evident his curiosity was too keenly
+excited to be quenched by that, and the more I manifested my
+anxiety to baffle his scrutiny, the greater would be his
+determination to persist in it besides it was too late.
+
+'It seems very interesting, love,' said he, lifting his head and
+turning to where I stood, wringing my hands in silent rage and
+anguish; 'but it's rather long; I'll look at it some other time;
+and meanwhile I'll trouble you for your keys, my dear.'
+
+'What keys?'
+
+'The keys of your cabinet, desk, drawers, and whatever else you
+possess,' said he, rising and holding out his hand.
+
+'I've not got them,' I replied.  The key of my desk, in fact, was
+at that moment in the lock, and the others were attached to it.
+
+'Then you must send for them,' said he; 'and if that old devil,
+Rachel, doesn't immediately deliver them up, she tramps bag and
+baggage tomorrow.'
+
+'She doesn't know where they are,' I answered, quietly placing my
+hand upon them, and taking them from the desk, as I thought,
+unobserved.  'I know, but I shall not give them up without a
+reason.'
+
+'And I know, too,' said he, suddenly seizing my closed hand and
+rudely abstracting them from it.  He then took up one of the
+candles and relighted it by thrusting it into the fire.
+
+'Now, then,' sneered he, 'we must have a confiscation of property.
+But, first, let us take a peep into the studio.'
+
+And putting the keys into his pocket, he walked into the library.
+I followed, whether with the dim idea of preventing mischief, or
+only to know the worst, I can hardly tell.  My painting materials
+were laid together on the corner table, ready for to-morrow's use,
+and only covered with a cloth.  He soon spied them out, and putting
+down the candle, deliberately proceeded to cast them into the fire:
+palette, paints, bladders, pencils, brushes, varnish:  I saw them
+all consumed:  the palette-knives snapped in two, the oil and
+turpentine sent hissing and roaring up the chimney.  He then rang
+the bell.
+
+'Benson, take those things away,' said he, pointing to the easel,
+canvas, and stretcher; 'and tell the housemaid she may kindle the
+fire with them:  your mistress won't want them any more.'
+
+Benson paused aghast and looked at me.
+
+'Take them away, Benson,' said I; and his master muttered an oath.
+
+'And this and all, sir?' said the astonished servant, referring to
+the half-finished picture.
+
+'That and all,' replied the master; and the things were cleared
+away.
+
+Mr. Huntingdon then went up-stairs.  I did not attempt to follow
+him, but remained seated in the arm-chair, speechless, tearless,
+and almost motionless, till he returned about half-an-hour after,
+and walking up to me, held the candle in my face and peered into my
+eyes with looks and laughter too insulting to be borne.  With a
+sudden stroke of my hand I dashed the candle to the floor.
+
+'Hal-lo!' muttered he, starting back; 'she's the very devil for
+spite.  Did ever any mortal see such eyes? - they shine in the dark
+like a cat's.  Oh, you're a sweet one!'  So saying, he gathered up
+the candle and the candlestick.  The former being broken as well as
+extinguished, he rang for another.
+
+'Benson, your mistress has broken the candle; bring another.'
+
+'You expose yourself finely,' observed I, as the man departed.
+
+'I didn't say I'd broken it, did I?' returned he.  He then threw my
+keys into my lap, saying, - 'There! you'll find nothing gone but
+your money, and the jewels, and a few little trifles I thought it
+advisable to take into my own possession, lest your mercantile
+spirit should be tempted to turn them into gold.  I've left you a
+few sovereigns in your purse, which I expect to last you through
+the month; at all events, when you want more you will be so good as
+to give me an account of how that's spent.  I shall put you upon a
+small monthly allowance, in future, for your own private expenses;
+and you needn't trouble yourself any more about my concerns; I
+shall look out for a steward, my dear - I won't expose you to the
+temptation.  And as for the household matters, Mrs. Greaves must be
+very particular in keeping her accounts; we must go upon an
+entirely new plan - '
+
+'What great discovery have you made now, Mr. Huntingdon?  Have I
+attempted to defraud you?'
+
+'Not in money matters, exactly, it seems; but it's best to keep out
+of the way of temptation.'
+
+Here Benson entered with the candles, and there followed a brief
+interval of silence; I sitting still in my chair, and he standing
+with his back to the fire, silently triumphing in my despair.
+
+'And so,' said he at length, 'you thought to disgrace me, did you,
+by running away and turning artist, and supporting yourself by the
+labour of your hands, forsooth?  And you thought to rob me of my
+son, too, and bring him up to be a dirty Yankee tradesman, or a
+low, beggarly painter?'
+
+'Yes, to obviate his becoming such a gentleman as his father.'
+
+'It's well you couldn't keep your own secret - ha, ha!  It's well
+these women must be blabbing.  If they haven't a friend to talk to,
+they must whisper their secrets to the fishes, or write them on the
+sand, or something; and it's well, too, I wasn't over full to-
+night, now I think of it, or I might have snoozed away and never
+dreamt of looking what my sweet lady was about; or I might have
+lacked the sense or the power to carry my point like a man, as I
+have done.'
+
+Leaving him to his self-congratulations, I rose to secure my
+manuscript, for I now remembered it had been left upon the drawing-
+room table, and I determined, if possible, to save myself the
+humiliation of seeing it in his hands again.  I could not bear the
+idea of his amusing himself over my secret thoughts and
+recollections; though, to be sure, he would find little good of
+himself therein indited, except in the former part; and oh, I would
+sooner burn it all than he should read what I had written when I
+was such a fool as to love him!
+
+'And by-the-by,' cried he, as I was leaving the room, 'you'd better
+tell that d-d old sneak of a nurse to keep out of my way for a day
+or two; I'd pay her her wages and send her packing to-morrow, but I
+know she'd do more mischief out of the house than in it.'
+
+And as I departed, he went on cursing and abusing my faithful
+friend and servant with epithets I will not defile this paper with
+repeating.  I went to her as soon as I had put away my book, and
+told her how our project was defeated.  She was as much distressed
+and horrified as I was - and more so than I was that night, for I
+was partly stunned by the blow, and partly excited and supported
+against it by the bitterness of my wrath.  But in the morning, when
+I woke without that cheering hope that had been my secret comfort
+and support so long, and all this day, when I have wandered about
+restless and objectless, shunning my husband, shrinking even from
+my child, knowing that I am unfit to be his teacher or companion,
+hoping nothing for his future life, and fervently wishing he had
+never been born, - I felt the full extent of my calamity, and I
+feel it now.  I know that day after day such feelings will return
+upon me.  I am a slave - a prisoner - but that is nothing; if it
+were myself alone I would not complain, but I am forbidden to
+rescue my son from ruin, and what was once my only consolation is
+become the crowning source of my despair.
+
+Have I no faith in God?  I try to look to Him and raise my heart to
+heaven, but it will cleave to the dust.  I can only say, 'He hath
+hedged me about, that I cannot get out:  He hath made my chain
+heavy.  He hath filled me with bitterness - He hath made me drunken
+with wormwood.'  I forget to add, 'But though He cause grief, yet
+will He have compassion according to the multitude of His mercies.
+For He doth not afflict willingly nor grieve the children of men.'
+I ought to think of this; and if there be nothing but sorrow for me
+in this world, what is the longest life of misery to a whole
+eternity of peace?  And for my little Arthur - has he no friend but
+me?  Who was it said, 'It is not the will of your Father which is
+in heaven that one of these little ones should perish?'
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLI
+
+
+
+March 20th. - Having now got rid of Mr. Huntingdon for a season, my
+spirits begin to revive.  He left me early in February; and the
+moment he was gone, I breathed again, and felt my vital energy
+return; not with the hope of escape - he has taken care to leave me
+no visible chance of that - but with a determination to make the
+best of existing circumstances.  Here was Arthur left to me at
+last; and rousing from my despondent apathy, I exerted all my
+powers to eradicate the weeds that had been fostered in his infant
+mind, and sow again the good seed they had rendered unproductive.
+Thank heaven, it is not a barren or a stony soil; if weeds spring
+fast there, so do better plants.  His apprehensions are more quick,
+his heart more overflowing with affection than ever his father's
+could have been, and it is no hopeless task to bend him to
+obedience and win him to love and know his own true friend, as long
+as there is no one to counteract my efforts.
+
+I had much trouble at first in breaking him of those evil habits
+his father had taught him to acquire, but already that difficulty
+is nearly vanquished now:  bad language seldom defiles his mouth,
+and I have succeeded in giving him an absolute disgust for all
+intoxicating liquors, which I hope not even his father or his
+father's friends will be able to overcome.  He was inordinately
+fond of them for so young a creature, and, remembering my
+unfortunate father as well as his, I dreaded the consequences of
+such a taste.  But if I had stinted him, in his usual quantity of
+wine, or forbidden him to taste it altogether, that would only have
+increased his partiality for it, and made him regard it as a
+greater treat than ever.  I therefore gave him quite as much as his
+father was accustomed to allow him; as much, indeed, as he desired
+to have - but into every glass I surreptitiously introduced a small
+quantity of tartar-emetic, just enough to produce inevitable nausea
+and depression without positive sickness.  Finding such
+disagreeable consequences invariably to result from this
+indulgence, he soon grew weary of it, but the more he shrank from
+the daily treat the more I pressed it upon him, till his reluctance
+was strengthened to perfect abhorrence.  When he was thoroughly
+disgusted with every kind of wine, I allowed him, at his own
+request, to try brandy-and-water, and then gin-and-water, for the
+little toper was familiar with them all, and I was determined that
+all should be equally hateful to him.  This I have now effected;
+and since he declares that the taste, the smell, the sight of any
+one of them is sufficient to make him sick, I have given up teasing
+him about them, except now and then as objects of terror in cases
+of misbehaviour.  'Arthur, if you're not a good boy I shall give
+you a glass of wine,' or 'Now, Arthur, if you say that again you
+shall have some brandy-and-water,' is as good as any other threat;
+and once or twice, when he was sick, I have obliged the poor child
+to swallow a little wine-and-water without the tartar-emetic, by
+way of medicine; and this practice I intend to continue for some
+time to come; not that I think it of any real service in a physical
+sense, but because I am determined to enlist all the powers of
+association in my service; I wish this aversion to be so deeply
+grounded in his nature that nothing in after-life may be able to
+overcome it.
+
+Thus, I flatter myself, I shall secure him from this one vice; and
+for the rest, if on his father's return I find reason to apprehend
+that my good lessons will be all destroyed - if Mr. Huntingdon
+commence again the game of teaching the child to hate and despise
+his mother, and emulate his father's wickedness - I will yet
+deliver my son from his hands.  I have devised another scheme that
+might be resorted to in such a case; and if I could but obtain my
+brother's consent and assistance, I should not doubt of its
+success.  The old hall where he and I were born, and where our
+mother died, is not now inhabited, nor yet quite sunk into decay,
+as I believe.  Now, if I could persuade him to have one or two
+rooms made habitable, and to let them to me as a stranger, I might
+live there, with my child, under an assumed name, and still support
+myself by my favourite art.  He should lend me the money to begin
+with, and I would pay him back, and live in lowly independence and
+strict seclusion, for the house stands in a lonely place, and the
+neighbourhood is thinly inhabited, and he himself should negotiate
+the sale of my pictures for me.  I have arranged the whole plan in
+my head:  and all I want is to persuade Frederick to be of the same
+mind as myself.  He is coming to see me soon, and then I will make
+the proposal to him, having first enlightened him upon my
+circumstances sufficiently to excuse the project.
+
+Already, I believe, he knows much more of my situation than I have
+told him.  I can tell this by the air of tender sadness pervading
+his letters; and by the fact of his so seldom mentioning my
+husband, and generally evincing a kind of covert bitterness when he
+does refer to him; as well as by the circumstance of his never
+coming to see me when Mr. Huntingdon is at home.  But he has never
+openly expressed any disapprobation of him or sympathy for me; he
+has never asked any questions, or said anything to invite my
+confidence.  Had he done so, I should probably have had but few
+concealments from him.  Perhaps he feels hurt at my reserve.  He is
+a strange being; I wish we knew each other better.  He used to
+spend a month at Staningley every year, before I was married; but,
+since our father's death, I have only seen him once, when he came
+for a few days while Mr. Huntingdon was away.  He shall stay many
+days this time, and there shall be more candour and cordiality
+between us than ever there was before, since our early childhood.
+My heart clings to him more than ever; and my soul is sick of
+solitude.
+
+April 16th. - He is come and gone.  He would not stay above a
+fortnight.  The time passed quickly, but very, very happily, and it
+has done me good.  I must have a bad disposition, for my
+misfortunes have soured and embittered me exceedingly:  I was
+beginning insensibly to cherish very unamiable feelings against my
+fellow-mortals, the male part of them especially; but it is a
+comfort to see there is at least one among them worthy to be
+trusted and esteemed; and doubtless there are more, though I have
+never known them, unless I except poor Lord Lowborough, and he was
+bad enough in his day.  But what would Frederick have been, if he
+had lived in the world, and mingled from his childhood with such
+men as these of my acquaintance? and what will Arthur be, with all
+his natural sweetness of disposition, if I do not save him from
+that world and those companions?  I mentioned my fears to
+Frederick, and introduced the subject of my plan of rescue on the
+evening after his arrival, when I presented my little son to his
+uncle.
+
+'He is like you, Frederick,' said I, 'in some of his moods:  I
+sometimes think he resembles you more than his father; and I am
+glad of it.'
+
+'You flatter me, Helen,' replied he, stroking the child's soft,
+wavy locks.
+
+'No, you will think it no compliment when I tell you I would rather
+have him to resemble Benson than his father.'
+
+He slightly elevated his eyebrows, but said nothing.
+
+'Do you know what sort of man Mr. Huntingdon is?' said I.
+
+'I think I have an idea.'
+
+'Have you so clear an idea that you can hear, without surprise or
+disapproval, that I meditate escaping with that child to some
+secret asylum, where we can live in peace, and never see him
+again?'
+
+'Is it really so?'
+
+'If you have not,' continued I, 'I'll tell you something more about
+him'; and I gave a sketch of his general conduct, and a more
+particular account of his behaviour with regard to his child, and
+explained my apprehensions on the latter's account, and my
+determination to deliver him from his father's influence.
+
+Frederick was exceedingly indignant against Mr. Huntingdon, and
+very much grieved for me; but still he looked upon my project as
+wild and impracticable.  He deemed my fears for Arthur
+disproportioned to the circumstances, and opposed so many
+objections to my plan, and devised so many milder methods for
+ameliorating my condition, that I was obliged to enter into further
+details to convince him that my husband was utterly incorrigible,
+and that nothing could persuade him to give up his son, whatever
+became of me, he being as fully determined the child should not
+leave him, as I was not to leave the child; and that, in fact,
+nothing would answer but this, unless I fled the country, as I had
+intended before.  To obviate that, he at length consented to have
+one wing of the old hall put into a habitable condition, as a place
+of refuge against a time of need; but hoped I would not take
+advantage of it unless circumstances should render it really
+necessary, which I was ready enough to promise:  for though, for my
+own sake, such a hermitage appears like paradise itself, compared
+with my present situation, yet for my friends' sakes, for Milicent
+and Esther, my sisters in heart and affection, for the poor tenants
+of Grassdale, and, above all, for my aunt, I will stay if I
+possibly can.
+
+July 29th. - Mrs. Hargrave and her daughter are come back from
+London.  Esther is full of her first season in town; but she is
+still heart-whole and unengaged.  Her mother sought out an
+excellent match for her, and even brought the gentleman to lay his
+heart and fortune at her feet; but Esther had the audacity to
+refuse the noble gifts.  He was a man of good family and large
+possessions, but the naughty girl maintained he was old as Adam,
+ugly as sin, and hateful as - one who shall be nameless.
+
+'But, indeed, I had a hard time of it,' said she:  'mamma was very
+greatly disappointed at the failure of her darling project, and
+very, very angry at my obstinate resistance to her will, and is so
+still; but I can't help it.  And Walter, too, is so seriously
+displeased at my perversity and absurd caprice, as he calls it,
+that I fear he will never forgive me - I did not think he could be
+so unkind as he has lately shown himself.  But Milicent begged me
+not to yield, and I'm sure, Mrs. Huntingdon, if you had seen the
+man they wanted to palm upon me, you would have advised me not to
+take him too.'
+
+'I should have done so whether I had seen him or not,' said I; 'it
+is enough that you dislike him.'
+
+'I knew you would say so; though mamma affirmed you would be quite
+shocked at my undutiful conduct.  You can't imagine how she
+lectures me:  I am disobedient and ungrateful; I am thwarting her
+wishes, wronging my brother, and making myself a burden on her
+hands.  I sometimes fear she'll overcome me after all.  I have a
+strong will, but so has she, and when she says such bitter things,
+it provokes me to such a pass that I feel inclined to do as she
+bids me, and then break my heart and say, "There, mamma, it's all
+your fault!"'
+
+'Pray don't!' said I.  'Obedience from such a motive would be
+positive wickedness, and certain to bring the punishment it
+deserves.  Stand firm, and your mamma will soon relinquish her
+persecution; and the gentleman himself will cease to pester you
+with his addresses if he finds them steadily rejected.'
+
+'Oh, no! mamma will weary all about her before she tires herself
+with her exertions; and as for Mr. Oldfield, she has given him to
+understand that I have refused his offer, not from any dislike of
+his person, but merely because I am giddy and young, and cannot at
+present reconcile myself to the thoughts of marriage under any
+circumstances:  but by next season, she has no doubt, I shall have
+more sense, and hopes my girlish fancies will be worn away.  So she
+has brought me home, to school me into a proper sense of my duty,
+against the time comes round again.  Indeed, I believe she will not
+put herself to the expense of taking me up to London again, unless
+I surrender:  she cannot afford to take me to town for pleasure and
+nonsense, she says, and it is not every rich gentleman that will
+consent to take me without a fortune, whatever exalted ideas I may
+have of my own attractions.'
+
+'Well, Esther, I pity you; but still, I repeat, stand firm.  You
+might as well sell yourself to slavery at once, as marry a man you
+dislike.  If your mother and brother are unkind to you, you may
+leave them, but remember you are bound to your husband for life.'
+
+'But I cannot leave them unless I get married, and I cannot get
+married if nobody sees me.  I saw one or two gentlemen in London
+that I might have liked, but they were younger sons, and mamma
+would not let me get to know them - one especially, who I believe
+rather liked me - but she threw every possible obstacle in the way
+of our better acquaintance.  Wasn't it provoking?'
+
+'I have no doubt you would feel it so, but it is possible that if
+you married him, you might have more reason to regret it hereafter
+than if you married Mr. Oldfield.  When I tell you not to marry
+without love, I do not advise you to marry for love alone:  there
+are many, many other things to be considered.  Keep both heart and
+hand in your own possession, till you see good reason to part with
+them; and if such an occasion should never present itself, comfort
+your mind with this reflection, that though in single life your
+joys may not be very many, your sorrows, at least, will not be more
+than you can bear.  Marriage may change your circumstances for the
+better, but, in my private opinion, it is far more likely to
+produce a contrary result.'
+
+'So thinks Milicent; but allow me to say I think otherwise.  If I
+thought myself doomed to old-maidenhood, I should cease to value my
+life.  The thoughts of living on, year after year, at the Grove - a
+hanger-on upon mamma and Walter, a mere cumberer of the ground (now
+that I know in what light they would regard it), is perfectly
+intolerable; I would rather run away with the butler.'
+
+'Your circumstances are peculiar, I allow; but have patience, love;
+do nothing rashly.  Remember you are not yet nineteen, and many
+years are yet to pass before any one can set you down as an old
+maid:  you cannot tell what Providence may have in store for you.
+And meantime, remember you have a right to the protection and
+support of your mother and brother, however they may seem to grudge
+it.'
+
+'You are so grave, Mrs. Huntingdon,' said Esther, after a pause.
+'When Milicent uttered the same discouraging sentiments concerning
+marriage, I asked if she was happy:  she said she was; but I only
+half believed her; and now I must put the same question to you.'
+
+'It is a very impertinent question,' laughed I, 'from a young girl
+to a married woman so many years her senior, and I shall not answer
+it.'
+
+'Pardon me, dear madam,' said she, laughingly throwing herself into
+my arms, and kissing me with playful affection; but I felt a tear
+on my neck, as she dropped her head on my bosom and continued, with
+an odd mixture of sadness and levity, timidity and audacity, - 'I
+know you are not so happy as I mean to be, for you spend half your
+life alone at Grassdale, while Mr. Huntingdon goes about enjoying
+himself where and how he pleases.  I shall expect my husband to
+have no pleasures but what he shares with me; and if his greatest
+pleasure of all is not the enjoyment of my company, why, it will be
+the worse for him, that's all.'
+
+'If such are your expectations of matrimony, Esther, you must,
+indeed, be careful whom you marry - or rather, you must avoid it
+altogether.'
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLII
+
+
+
+September 1st. - No Mr. Huntingdon yet.  Perhaps he will stay among
+his friends till Christmas; and then, next spring, he will be off
+again.  If he continue this plan, I shall be able to stay at
+Grassdale well enough - that is, I shall be able to stay, and that
+is enough; even an occasional bevy of friends at the shooting
+season may be borne, if Arthur get so firmly attached to me, so
+well established in good sense and principles before they come that
+I shall be able, by reason and affection, to keep him pure from
+their contaminations.  Vain hope, I fear! but still, till such a
+time of trial comes I will forbear to think of my quiet asylum in
+the beloved old hall.
+
+Mr. and Mrs. Hattersley have been staying at the Grove a fortnight:
+and as Mr. Hargrave is still absent, and the weather was remarkably
+fine, I never passed a day without seeing my two friends, Milicent
+and Esther, either there or here.  On one occasion, when Mr.
+Hattersley had driven them over to Grassdale in the phaeton, with
+little Helen and Ralph, and we were all enjoying ourselves in the
+garden - I had a few minutes' conversation with that gentleman,
+while the ladies were amusing themselves with the children.
+
+'Do you want to hear anything of your husband, Mrs. Huntingdon?'
+said he.
+
+'No, unless you can tell me when to expect him home.'
+
+'I can't. - You don't want him, do you?' said he, with a broad
+grin.
+
+'No.'
+
+'Well, I think you're better without him, sure enough - for my
+part, I'm downright weary of him.  I told him I'd leave him if he
+didn't mend his manners, and he wouldn't; so I left him.  You see,
+I'm a better man than you think me; and, what's more, I have
+serious thoughts of washing my hands of him entirely, and the whole
+set of 'em, and comporting myself from this day forward with all
+decency and sobriety, as a Christian and the father of a family
+should do.  What do you think of that?'
+
+'It is a resolution you ought to have formed long ago.'
+
+'Well, I'm not thirty yet; it isn't too late, is it?'
+
+'No; it is never too late to reform, as long as you have the sense
+to desire it, and the strength to execute your purpose.'
+
+'Well, to tell you the truth, I've thought of it often and often
+before; but he's such devilish good company, is Huntingdon, after
+all.  You can't imagine what a jovial good fellow he is when he's
+not fairly drunk, only just primed or half-seas-over.  We all have
+a bit of a liking for him at the bottom of our hearts, though we
+can't respect him.'
+
+'But should you wish yourself to be like him?'
+
+'No, I'd rather be like myself, bad as I am.'
+
+'You can't continue as bad as you are without getting worse and
+more brutalised every day, and therefore more like him.'
+
+I could not help smiling at the comical, half-angry, half-
+confounded look he put on at this rather unusual mode of address.
+
+'Never mind my plain speaking,' said I; 'it is from the best of
+motives.  But tell me, should you wish your sons to be like Mr.
+Huntingdon - or even like yourself?'
+
+'Hang it! no.'
+
+'Should you wish your daughter to despise you - or, at least, to
+feel no vestige of respect for you, and no affection but what is
+mingled with the bitterest regret?'
+
+'Oh, no!  I couldn't stand that.'
+
+'And, finally, should you wish your wife to be ready to sink into
+the earth when she hears you mentioned; and to loathe the very
+sound of your voice, and shudder at your approach?'
+
+'She never will; she likes me all the same, whatever I do.'
+
+'Impossible, Mr. Hattersley! you mistake her quiet submission for
+affection.'
+
+'Fire and fury - '
+
+'Now don't burst into a tempest at that.  I don't mean to say she
+does not love you - she does, I know, a great deal better than you
+deserve; but I am quite sure, that if you behave better, she will
+love you more, and if you behave worse, she will love you less and
+less, till all is lost in fear, aversion, and bitterness of soul,
+if not in secret hatred and contempt.  But, dropping the subject of
+affection, should you wish to be the tyrant of her life - to take
+away all the sunshine from her existence, and make her thoroughly
+miserable?'
+
+'Of course not; and I don't, and I'm not going to.'
+
+'You have done more towards it than you suppose.'
+
+'Pooh, pooh! she's not the susceptible, anxious, worriting creature
+you imagine:  she's a little meek, peaceable, affectionate body;
+apt to be rather sulky at times, but quiet and cool in the main,
+and ready to take things as they come.'
+
+'Think of what she was five years ago, when you married her, and
+what she is now.'
+
+'I know she was a little plump lassie then, with a pretty pink and
+white face:  now she's a poor little bit of a creature, fading and
+melting away like a snow-wreath.  But hang it! - that's not my
+fault.'
+
+'What is the cause of it then?  Not years, for she's only five-and-
+twenty.'
+
+'It's her own delicate health, and confound it, madam! what would
+you make of me? - and the children, to be sure, that worry her to
+death between them.'
+
+'No, Mr. Hattersley, the children give her more pleasure than pain:
+they are fine, well-dispositioned children - '
+
+'I know they are - bless them!'
+
+'Then why lay the blame on them? - I'll tell you what it is:  it's
+silent fretting and constant anxiety on your account, mingled, I
+suspect, with something of bodily fear on her own.  When you behave
+well, she can only rejoice with trembling; she has no security, no
+confidence in your judgment or principles; but is continually
+dreading the close of such short-lived felicity; when you behave
+ill, her causes of terror and misery are more than any one can tell
+but herself.  In patient endurance of evil, she forgets it is our
+duty to admonish our neighbours of their transgressions.  Since you
+will mistake her silence for indifference, come with me, and I'll
+show you one or two of her letters - no breach of confidence, I
+hope, since you are her other half.'
+
+He followed me into the library.  I sought out and put into his
+hands two of Milicent's letters:  one dated from London, and
+written during one of his wildest seasons of reckless dissipation;
+the other in the country, during a lucid interval.  The former was
+full of trouble and anguish; not accusing him, but deeply
+regretting his connection with his profligate companions, abusing
+Mr. Grimsby and others, insinuating bitter things against Mr.
+Huntingdon, and most ingeniously throwing the blame of her
+husband's misconduct on to other men's shoulders.  The latter was
+full of hope and joy, yet with a trembling consciousness that this
+happiness would not last; praising his goodness to the skies, but
+with an evident, though but half-expressed wish, that it were based
+on a surer foundation than the natural impulses of the heart, and a
+half-prophetic dread of the fall of that house so founded on the
+sand, - which fall had shortly after taken place, as Hattersley
+must have been conscious while he read.
+
+Almost at the commencement of the first letter I had the unexpected
+pleasure of seeing him blush; but he immediately turned his back to
+me, and finished the perusal at the window.  At the second, I saw
+him, once or twice, raise his hand, and hurriedly pass it across
+his face.  Could it be to dash away a tear?  When he had done,
+there was an interval spent in clearing his throat and staring out
+of the window, and then, after whistling a few bars of a favourite
+air, he turned round, gave me back the letters, and silently shook
+me by the hand.
+
+'I've been a cursed rascal, God knows,' said he, as he gave it a
+hearty squeeze, 'but you see if I don't make amends for it - d-n me
+if I don't!'
+
+'Don't curse yourself, Mr. Hattersley; if God had heard half your
+invocations of that kind, you would have been in hell long before
+now - and you cannot make amends for the past by doing your duty
+for the future, inasmuch as your duty is only what you owe to your
+Maker, and you cannot do more than fulfil it:  another must make
+amends for your past delinquencies.  If you intend to reform,
+invoke God's blessing, His mercy, and His aid; not His curse.'
+
+'God help me, then - for I'm sure I need it.  Where's Milicent?'
+
+'She's there, just coming in with her sister.'
+
+He stepped out at the glass door, and went to meet them.  I
+followed at a little distance.  Somewhat to his wife's
+astonishment, he lifted her off from the ground, and saluted her
+with a hearty kiss and a strong embrace; then placing his two hands
+on her shoulders, he gave her, I suppose, a sketch of the great
+things he meant to do, for she suddenly threw her arms round him,
+and burst into tears, exclaiming, - 'Do, do, Ralph - we shall be so
+happy!  How very, very good you are!'
+
+'Nay, not I,' said he, turning her round, and pushing her towards
+me.  'Thank her; it's her doing.'
+
+Milicent flew to thank me, overflowing with gratitude.  I
+disclaimed all title to it, telling her her husband was predisposed
+to amendment before I added my mite of exhortation and
+encouragement, and that I had only done what she might, and ought
+to have done herself.
+
+'Oh, no!' cried she; 'I couldn't have influenced him, I'm sure, by
+anything that I could have said.  I should only have bothered him
+by my clumsy efforts at persuasion, if I had made the attempt.'
+
+'You never tried me, Milly,' said he.
+
+Shortly after they took their leave.  They are now gone on a visit
+to Hattersley's father.  After that they will repair to their
+country home.  I hope his good resolutions will not fall through,
+and poor Milicent will not be again disappointed.  Her last letter
+was full of present bliss, and pleasing anticipations for the
+future; but no particular temptation has yet occurred to put his
+virtue to the test.  Henceforth, however, she will doubtless be
+somewhat less timid and reserved, and he more kind and thoughtful.
+- Surely, then, her hopes are not unfounded; and I have one bright
+spot, at least, whereon to rest my thoughts.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLIII
+
+
+
+October 10th. - Mr. Huntingdon returned about three weeks ago.  His
+appearance, his demeanour and conversation, and my feelings with
+regard to him, I shall not trouble myself to describe.  The day
+after his arrival, however, he surprised me by the announcement of
+an intention to procure a governess for little Arthur:  I told him
+it was quite unnecessary, not to say ridiculous, at the present
+season:  I thought I was fully competent to the task of teaching
+him myself - for some years to come, at least:  the child's
+education was the only pleasure and business of my life; and since
+he had deprived me of every other occupation, he might surely leave
+me that.
+
+He said I was not fit to teach children, or to be with them:  I had
+already reduced the boy to little better than an automaton; I had
+broken his fine spirit with my rigid severity; and I should freeze
+all the sunshine out of his heart, and make him as gloomy an
+ascetic as myself, if I had the handling of him much longer.  And
+poor Rachel, too, came in for her share of abuse, as usual; he
+cannot endure Rachel, because he knows she has a proper
+appreciation of him.
+
+I calmly defended our several qualifications as nurse and
+governess, and still resisted the proposed addition to our family;
+but he cut me short by saying it was no use bothering about the
+matter, for he had engaged a governess already, and she was coming
+next week; so that all I had to do was to get things ready for her
+reception.  This was a rather startling piece of intelligence.  I
+ventured to inquire her name and address, by whom she had been
+recommended, or how he had been led to make choice of her.
+
+'She is a very estimable, pious young person,' said he; 'you
+needn't be afraid.  Her name is Myers, I believe; and she was
+recommended to me by a respectable old dowager:  a lady of high
+repute in the religious world.  I have not seen her myself, and
+therefore cannot give you a particular account of her person and
+conversation, and so forth; but, if the old lady's eulogies are
+correct, you will find her to possess all desirable qualifications
+for her position:  an inordinate love of children among the rest.'
+
+All this was gravely and quietly spoken, but there was a laughing
+demon in his half-averted eye that boded no good, I imagined.
+However, I thought of my asylum in -shire, and made no further
+objections.
+
+When Miss Myers arrived, I was not prepared to give her a very
+cordial reception.  Her appearance was not particularly calculated
+to produce a favourable impression at first sight, nor did her
+manners and subsequent conduct, in any degree, remove the prejudice
+I had already conceived against her.  Her attainments were limited,
+her intellect noways above mediocrity.  She had a fine voice, and
+could sing like a nightingale, and accompany herself sufficiently
+well on the piano; but these were her only accomplishments.  There
+was a look of guile and subtlety in her face, a sound of it in her
+voice.  She seemed afraid of me, and would start if I suddenly
+approached her.  In her behaviour she was respectful and
+complaisant, even to servility:  she attempted to flatter and fawn
+upon me at first, but I soon checked that.  Her fondness for her
+little pupil was overstrained, and I was obliged to remonstrate
+with her on the subject of over-indulgence and injudicious praise;
+but she could not gain his heart.  Her piety consisted in an
+occasional heaving of sighs, and uplifting of eyes to the ceiling,
+and the utterance of a few cant phrases.  She told me she was a
+clergyman's daughter, and had been left an orphan from her
+childhood, but had had the good fortune to obtain a situation in a
+very pious family; and then she spoke so gratefully of the kindness
+she had experienced from its different members, that I reproached
+myself for my uncharitable thoughts and unfriendly conduct, and
+relented for a time, but not for long:  my causes of dislike were
+too rational, my suspicions too well founded for that; and I knew
+it was my duty to watch and scrutinize till those suspicions were
+either satisfactorily removed or confirmed.
+
+I asked the name and residence of the kind and pious family.  She
+mentioned a common name, and an unknown and distant place of abode,
+but told me they were now on the Continent, and their present
+address was unknown to her.  I never saw her speak much to Mr.
+Huntingdon; but he would frequently look into the school-room to
+see how little Arthur got on with his new companion, when I was not
+there.  In the evening, she sat with us in the drawing-room, and
+would sing and play to amuse him or us, as she pretended, and was
+very attentive to his wants, and watchful to anticipate them,
+though she only talked to me; indeed, he was seldom in a condition
+to be talked to.  Had she been other than she was, I should have
+felt her presence a great relief to come between us thus, except,
+indeed, that I should have been thoroughly ashamed for any decent
+person to see him as he often was.
+
+I did not mention my suspicions to Rachel; but she, having
+sojourned for half a century in this land of sin and sorrow, has
+learned to be suspicious herself.  She told me from the first she
+was 'down of that new governess,' and I soon found she watched her
+quite as narrowly as I did; and I was glad of it, for I longed to
+know the truth:  the atmosphere of Grassdale seemed to stifle me,
+and I could only live by thinking of Wildfell Hall.
+
+At last, one morning, she entered my chamber with such intelligence
+that my resolution was taken before she had ceased to speak.  While
+she dressed me I explained to her my intentions and what assistance
+I should require from her, and told her which of my things she was
+to pack up, and what she was to leave behind for herself, as I had
+no other means of recompensing her for this sudden dismissal after
+her long and faithful service:  a circumstance I most deeply
+regretted, but could not avoid.
+
+'And what will you do, Rachel?' said I; 'will you go home, or seek
+another place?'
+
+'I have no home, ma'am, but with you,' she replied; 'and if I leave
+you I'll never go into place again as long as I live.'
+
+'But I can't afford to live like a lady now,' returned I:  'I must
+be my own maid and my child's nurse.'
+
+'What signifies!' replied she, in some excitement.  'You'll want
+somebody to clean and wash, and cook, won't you?  I can do all
+that; and never mind the wages:  I've my bits o' savings yet, and
+if you wouldn't take me I should have to find my own board and
+lodging out of 'em somewhere, or else work among strangers:  and
+it's what I'm not used to:  so you can please yourself, ma'am.'
+Her voice quavered as she spoke, and the tears stood in her eyes.
+
+'I should like it above all things, Rachel, and I'd give you such
+wages as I could afford:  such as I should give to any servant-of-
+all-work I might employ:  but don't you see I should be dragging
+you down with me when you have done nothing to deserve it?'
+
+'Oh, fiddle!' ejaculated she.
+
+'And, besides, my future way of living will be so widely different
+to the past:  so different to all you have been accustomed to - '
+
+'Do you think, ma'am, I can't bear what my missis can? surely I'm
+not so proud and so dainty as that comes to; and my little master,
+too, God bless him!'
+
+'But I'm young, Rachel; I sha'n't mind it; and Arthur is young too:
+it will be nothing to him.'
+
+'Nor me either:  I'm not so old but what I can stand hard fare and
+hard work, if it's only to help and comfort them as I've loved like
+my own bairns:  for all I'm too old to bide the thoughts o' leaving
+'em in trouble and danger, and going amongst strangers myself.'
+
+'Then you sha'n't, Rachel!' cried I, embracing my faithful friend.
+'We'll all go together, and you shall see how the new life suits
+you.'
+
+'Bless you, honey!' cried she, affectionately returning my embrace.
+'Only let us get shut of this wicked house, and we'll do right
+enough, you'll see.'
+
+'So think I,' was my answer; and so that point was settled.
+
+By that morning's post I despatched a few hasty lines to Frederick,
+beseeching him to prepare my asylum for my immediate reception:
+for I should probably come to claim it within a day after the
+receipt of that note:  and telling him, in few words, the cause of
+my sudden resolution.  I then wrote three letters of adieu:  the
+first to Esther Hargrave, in which I told her that I found it
+impossible to stay any longer at Grassdale, or to leave my son
+under his father's protection; and, as it was of the last
+importance that our future abode should be unknown to him and his
+acquaintance, I should disclose it to no one but my brother,
+through the medium of whom I hoped still to correspond with my
+friends.  I then gave her his address, exhorted her to write
+frequently, reiterated some of my former admonitions regarding her
+own concerns, and bade her a fond farewell.
+
+The second was to Milicent; much to the same effect, but a little
+more confidential, as befitted our longer intimacy, and her greater
+experience and better acquaintance with my circumstances.
+
+The third was to my aunt:  a much more difficult and painful
+undertaking, and therefore I had left it to the last; but I must
+give her some explanation of that extraordinary step I had taken:
+and that quickly, for she and my uncle would no doubt hear of it
+within a day or two after my disappearance, as it was probable that
+Mr. Huntingdon would speedily apply to them to know what was become
+of me.  At last, however, I told her I was sensible of my error:  I
+did not complain of its punishment, and I was sorry to trouble my
+friends with its consequences; but in duty to my son I must submit
+no longer; it was absolutely necessary that he should be delivered
+from his father's corrupting influence.  I should not disclose my
+place of refuge even to her, in order that she and my uncle might
+be able, with truth, to deny all knowledge concerning it; but any
+communications addressed to me under cover to my brother would be
+certain to reach me.  I hoped she and my uncle would pardon the
+step I had taken, for if they knew all, I was sure they would not
+blame me; and I trusted they would not afflict themselves on my
+account, for if I could only reach my retreat in safety and keep it
+unmolested, I should be very happy, but for the thoughts of them;
+and should be quite contented to spend my life in obscurity,
+devoting myself to the training up of my child, and teaching him to
+avoid the errors of both his parents.
+
+These things were done yesterday:  I have given two whole days to
+the preparation for our departure, that Frederick may have more
+time to prepare the rooms, and Rachel to pack up the things:  for
+the latter task must be done with the utmost caution and secrecy,
+and there is no one but me to assist her.  I can help to get the
+articles together, but I do not understand the art of stowing them
+into the boxes, so as to take up the smallest possible space; and
+there are her own things to do, as well as mine and Arthur's.  I
+can ill afford to leave anything behind, since I have no money,
+except a few guineas in my purse; and besides, as Rachel observed,
+whatever I left would most likely become the property of Miss
+Myers, and I should not relish that.
+
+But what trouble I have had throughout these two days, struggling
+to appear calm and collected, to meet him and her as usual, when I
+was obliged to meet them, and forcing myself to leave my little
+Arthur in her hands for hours together!  But I trust these trials
+are over now:  I have laid him in my bed for better security, and
+never more, I trust, shall his innocent lips be defiled by their
+contaminating kisses, or his young ears polluted by their words.
+But shall we escape in safety?  Oh, that the morning were come, and
+we were on our way at least!  This evening, when I had given Rachel
+all the assistance I could, and had nothing left me but to wait,
+and wish and tremble, I became so greatly agitated that I knew not
+what to do.  I went down to dinner, but I could not force myself to
+eat.  Mr. Huntingdon remarked the circumstance.
+
+'What's to do with you now?' said he, when the removal of the
+second course gave him time to look about him.
+
+'I am not well,' I replied:  'I think I must lie down a little; you
+won't miss me much?'
+
+'Not the least:  if you leave your chair, it'll do just as well -
+better, a trifle,' he muttered, as I left the room, 'for I can
+fancy somebody else fills it.'
+
+'Somebody else may fill it to-morrow,' I thought, but did not say.
+'There!  I've seen the last of you, I hope,' I muttered, as I
+closed the door upon him.
+
+Rachel urged me to seek repose at once, to recruit my strength for
+to-morrow's journey, as we must be gone before the dawn; but in my
+present state of nervous excitement that was entirely out of the
+question.  It was equally out of the question to sit, or wander
+about my room, counting the hours and the minutes between me and
+the appointed time of action, straining my ears and trembling at
+every sound, lest someone should discover and betray us after all.
+I took up a book and tried to read:  my eyes wandered over the
+pages, but it was impossible to bind my thoughts to their contents.
+Why not have recourse to the old expedient, and add this last event
+to my chronicle?  I opened its pages once more, and wrote the above
+account - with difficulty, at first, but gradually my mind became
+more calm and steady.  Thus several hours have passed away:  the
+time is drawing near; and now my eyes feel heavy and my frame
+exhausted.  I will commend my cause to God, and then lie down and
+gain an hour or two of sleep; and then! -
+
+Little Arthur sleeps soundly.  All the house is still:  there can
+be no one watching.  The boxes were all corded by Benson, and
+quietly conveyed down the back stairs after dusk, and sent away in
+a cart to the M- coach-office.  The name upon the cards was Mrs.
+Graham, which appellation I mean henceforth to adopt.  My mother's
+maiden name was Graham, and therefore I fancy I have some claim to
+it, and prefer it to any other, except my own, which I dare not
+resume.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLIV
+
+
+
+October 24th. - Thank heaven, I am free and safe at last.  Early we
+rose, swiftly and quietly dressed, slowly and stealthily descended
+to the hall, where Benson stood ready with a light, to open the
+door and fasten it after us.  We were obliged to let one man into
+our secret on account of the boxes, &c.  All the servants were but
+too well acquainted with their master's conduct, and either Benson
+or John would have been willing to serve me; but as the former was
+more staid and elderly, and a crony of Rachel's besides, I of
+course directed her to make choice of him as her assistant and
+confidant on the occasion, as far as necessity demanded, I only
+hope he may not be brought into trouble thereby, and only wish I
+could reward him for the perilous service he was so ready to
+undertake.  I slipped two guineas into his hand, by way of
+remembrance, as he stood in the doorway, holding the candle to
+light our departure, with a tear in his honest grey eye, and a host
+of good wishes depicted on his solemn countenance.  Alas!  I could
+offer no more:  I had barely sufficient remaining for the probable
+expenses of the journey.
+
+What trembling joy it was when the little wicket closed behind us,
+as we issued from the park!  Then, for one moment, I paused, to
+inhale one draught of that cool, bracing air, and venture one look
+back upon the house.  All was dark and still:  no light glimmered
+in the windows, no wreath of smoke obscured the stars that sparkled
+above it in the frosty sky.  As I bade farewell for ever to that
+place, the scene of so much guilt and misery, I felt glad that I
+had not left it before, for now there was no doubt about the
+propriety of such a step - no shadow of remorse for him I left
+behind.  There was nothing to disturb my joy but the fear of
+detection; and every step removed us further from the chance of
+that.
+
+We had left Grassdale many miles behind us before the round red sun
+arose to welcome our deliverance; and if any inhabitant of its
+vicinity had chanced to see us then, as we bowled along on the top
+of the coach, I scarcely think they would have suspected our
+identity.  As I intend to be taken for a widow, I thought it
+advisable to enter my new abode in mourning:  I was, therefore,
+attired in a plain black silk dress and mantle, a black veil (which
+I kept carefully over my face for the first twenty or thirty miles
+of the journey), and a black silk bonnet, which I had been
+constrained to borrow of Rachel, for want of such an article
+myself.  It was not in the newest fashion, of course; but none the
+worse for that, under present circumstances.  Arthur was clad in
+his plainest clothes, and wrapped in a coarse woollen shawl; and
+Rachel was muffled in a grey cloak and hood that had seen better
+days, and gave her more the appearance of an ordinary though decent
+old woman, than of a lady's-maid.
+
+Oh, what delight it was to be thus seated aloft, rumbling along the
+broad, sunshiny road, with the fresh morning breeze in my face,
+surrounded by an unknown country, all smiling - cheerfully,
+gloriously smiling in the yellow lustre of those early beams; with
+my darling child in my arms, almost as happy as myself, and my
+faithful friend beside me:  a prison and despair behind me,
+receding further, further back at every clatter of the horses'
+feet; and liberty and hope before!  I could hardly refrain from
+praising God aloud for my deliverance, or astonishing my fellow-
+passengers by some surprising outburst of hilarity.
+
+But the journey was a very long one, and we were all weary enough
+before the close of it.  It was far into the night when we reached
+the town of L-, and still we were seven miles from our journey's
+end; and there was no more coaching, nor any conveyance to be had,
+except a common cart, and that with the greatest difficulty, for
+half the town was in bed.  And a dreary ride we had of it, that
+last stage of the journey, cold and weary as we were; sitting on
+our boxes, with nothing to cling to, nothing to lean against,
+slowly dragged and cruelly shaken over the rough, hilly roads.  But
+Arthur was asleep in Rachel's lap, and between us we managed pretty
+well to shield him from the cold night air.
+
+At last we began to ascend a terribly steep and stony lane, which,
+in spite of the darkness, Rachel said she remembered well:  she had
+often walked there with me in her arms, and little thought to come
+again so many years after, under such circumstances as the present.
+Arthur being now awakened by the jolting and the stoppages, we all
+got out and walked.  We had not far to go; but what if Frederick
+should not have received my letter? or if he should not have had
+time to prepare the rooms for our reception, and we should find
+them all dark, damp, and comfortless, destitute of food, fire, and
+furniture, after all our toil?
+
+At length the grim, dark pile appeared before us.  The lane
+conducted us round by the back way.  We entered the desolate court,
+and in breathless anxiety surveyed the ruinous mass.  Was it all
+blackness and desolation?  No; one faint red glimmer cheered us
+from a window where the lattice was in good repair.  The door was
+fastened, but after due knocking and waiting, and some parleying
+with a voice from an upper window, we were admitted by an old woman
+who had been commissioned to air and keep the house till our
+arrival, into a tolerably snug little apartment, formerly the
+scullery of the mansion, which Frederick had now fitted up as a
+kitchen.  Here she procured us a light, roused the fire to a
+cheerful blaze, and soon prepared a simple repast for our
+refreshment; while we disencumbered ourselves of our travelling-
+gear, and took a hasty survey of our new abode.  Besides the
+kitchen, there were two bedrooms, a good-sized parlour, and another
+smaller one, which I destined for my studio, all well aired and
+seemingly in good repair, but only partly furnished with a few old
+articles, chiefly of ponderous black oak, the veritable ones that
+had been there before, and which had been kept as antiquarian
+relics in my brother's present residence, and now, in all haste,
+transported back again.
+
+The old woman brought my supper and Arthur's into the parlour, and
+told me, with all due formality, that 'the master desired his
+compliments to Mrs. Graham, and he had prepared the rooms as well
+as he could upon so short a notice; but he would do himself the
+pleasure of calling upon her to-morrow, to receive her further
+commands.'
+
+I was glad to ascend the stern-looking stone staircase, and lie
+down in the gloomy, old-fashioned bed, beside my little Arthur.  He
+was asleep in a minute; but, weary as I was, my excited feelings
+and restless cogitations kept me awake till dawn began to struggle
+with the darkness; but sleep was sweet and refreshing when it came,
+and the waking was delightful beyond expression.  It was little
+Arthur that roused me, with his gentle kisses.  He was here, then,
+safely clasped in my arms, and many leagues away from his unworthy
+father!  Broad daylight illumined the apartment, for the sun was
+high in heaven, though obscured by rolling masses of autumnal
+vapour.
+
+The scene, indeed, was not remarkably cheerful in itself, either
+within or without.  The large bare room, with its grim old
+furniture, the narrow, latticed windows, revealing the dull, grey
+sky above and the desolate wilderness below, where the dark stone
+walls and iron gate, the rank growth of grass and weeds, and the
+hardy evergreens of preternatural forms, alone remained to tell
+that there had been once a garden, - and the bleak and barren
+fields beyond might have struck me as gloomy enough at another
+time; but now, each separate object seemed to echo back my own
+exhilarating sense of hope and freedom:  indefinite dreams of the
+far past and bright anticipations of the future seemed to greet me
+at every turn.  I should rejoice with more security, to be sure,
+had the broad sea rolled between my present and my former homes;
+but surely in this lonely spot I might remain unknown; and then I
+had my brother here to cheer my solitude with his occasional
+visits.
+
+He came that morning; and I have had several interviews with him
+since; but he is obliged to be very cautious when and how he comes;
+not even his servants or his best friends must know of his visits
+to Wildfell - except on such occasions as a landlord might be
+expected to call upon a stranger tenant - lest suspicion should be
+excited against me, whether of the truth or of some slanderous
+falsehood.
+
+I have now been here nearly a fortnight, and, but for one
+disturbing care, the haunting dread of discovery, I am comfortably
+settled in my new home:  Frederick has supplied me with all
+requisite furniture and painting materials:  Rachel has sold most
+of my clothes for me, in a distant town, and procured me a wardrobe
+more suitable to my present position:  I have a second-hand piano,
+and a tolerably well-stocked bookcase in my parlour; and my other
+room has assumed quite a professional, business-like appearance
+already.  I am working hard to repay my brother for all his
+expenses on my account; not that there is the slightest necessity
+for anything of the kind, but it pleases me to do so:  I shall have
+so much more pleasure in my labour, my earnings, my frugal fare,
+and household economy, when I know that I am paying my way
+honestly, and that what little I possess is legitimately all my
+own; and that no one suffers for my folly - in a pecuniary way at
+least.  I shall make him take the last penny I owe him, if I can
+possibly effect it without offending him too deeply.  I have a few
+pictures already done, for I told Rachel to pack up all I had; and
+she executed her commission but too well - for among the rest, she
+put up a portrait of Mr. Huntingdon that I had painted in the first
+year of my marriage.  It struck me with dismay, at the moment, when
+I took it from the box and beheld those eyes fixed upon me in their
+mocking mirth, as if exulting still in his power to control my
+fate, and deriding my efforts to escape.
+
+How widely different had been my feelings in painting that portrait
+to what they now were in looking upon it!  How I had studied and
+toiled to produce something, as I thought, worthy of the original!
+what mingled pleasure and dissatisfaction I had had in the result
+of my labours! - pleasure for the likeness I had caught;
+dissatisfaction, because I had not made it handsome enough.  Now, I
+see no beauty in it - nothing pleasing in any part of its
+expression; and yet it is far handsomer and far more agreeable -
+far less repulsive I should rather say - than he is now:  for these
+six years have wrought almost as great a change upon himself as on
+my feelings regarding him.  The frame, however, is handsome enough;
+it will serve for another painting.  The picture itself I have not
+destroyed, as I had first intended; I have put it aside; not, I
+think, from any lurking tenderness for the memory of past
+affection, nor yet to remind me of my former folly, but chiefly
+that I may compare my son's features and countenance with this, as
+he grows up, and thus be enabled to judge how much or how little he
+resembles his father - if I may be allowed to keep him with me
+still, and never to behold that father's face again - a blessing I
+hardly dare reckon upon.
+
+It seems Mr. Huntingdon is making every exertion to discover the
+place of my retreat.  He has been in person to Staningley, seeking
+redress for his grievances - expecting to hear of his victims, if
+not to find them there - and has told so many lies, and with such
+unblushing coolness, that my uncle more than half believes him, and
+strongly advocates my going back to him and being friends again.
+But my aunt knows better:  she is too cool and cautious, and too
+well acquainted with both my husband's character and my own to be
+imposed upon by any specious falsehoods the former could invent.
+But he does not want me back; he wants my child; and gives my
+friends to understand that if I prefer living apart from him, he
+will indulge the whim and let me do so unmolested, and even settle
+a reasonable allowance on me, provided I will immediately deliver
+up his son.  But heaven help me!  I am not going to sell my child
+for gold, though it were to save both him and me from starving:  it
+would be better that he should die with me than that he should live
+with his father.
+
+Frederick showed me a letter he had received from that gentleman,
+full of cool impudence such as would astonish any one who did not
+know him, but such as, I am convinced, none would know better how
+to answer than my brother.  He gave me no account of his reply,
+except to tell me that he had not acknowledged his acquaintance
+with my place of refuge, but rather left it to be inferred that it
+was quite unknown to him, by saying it was useless to apply to him,
+or any other of my relations, for information on the subject, as it
+appeared I had been driven to such extremity that I had concealed
+my retreat even from my best friends; but that if he had known it,
+or should at any time be made aware of it, most certainly Mr.
+Huntingdon would be the last person to whom he should communicate
+the intelligence; and that he need not trouble himself to bargain
+for the child, for he (Frederick) fancied he knew enough of his
+sister to enable him to declare, that wherever she might be, or
+however situated, no consideration would induce her to deliver him
+up.
+
+30th. - Alas! my kind neighbours will not let me alone.  By some
+means they have ferreted me out, and I have had to sustain visits
+from three different families, all more or less bent upon
+discovering who and what I am, whence I came, and why I have chosen
+such a home as this.  Their society is unnecessary to me, to say
+the least, and their curiosity annoys and alarms me:  if I gratify
+it, it may lead to the ruin of my son, and if I am too mysterious
+it will only excite their suspicions, invite conjecture, and rouse
+them to greater exertions - and perhaps be the means of spreading
+my fame from parish to parish, till it reach the ears of some one
+who will carry it to the Lord of Grassdale Manor.
+
+I shall be expected to return their calls, but if, upon inquiry, I
+find that any of them live too far away for Arthur to accompany me,
+they must expect in vain for a while, for I cannot bear to leave
+him, unless it be to go to church, and I have not attempted that
+yet:  for - it may be foolish weakness, but I am under such
+constant dread of his being snatched away, that I am never easy
+when he is not by my side; and I fear these nervous terrors would
+so entirely disturb my devotions, that I should obtain no benefit
+from the attendance.  I mean, however, to make the experiment next
+Sunday, and oblige myself to leave him in charge of Rachel for a
+few hours.  It will be a hard task, but surely no imprudence; and
+the vicar has been to scold me for my neglect of the ordinances of
+religion.  I had no sufficient excuse to offer, and I promised, if
+all were well, he should see me in my pew next Sunday; for I do not
+wish to be set down as an infidel; and, besides, I know I should
+derive great comfort and benefit from an occasional attendance at
+public worship, if I could only have faith and fortitude to compose
+my thoughts in conformity with the solemn occasion, and forbid them
+to be for ever dwelling on my absent child, and on the dreadful
+possibility of finding him gone when I return; and surely God in
+His mercy will preserve me from so severe a trial:  for my child's
+own sake, if not for mine, He will not suffer him to be torn away.
+
+November 3rd. - I have made some further acquaintance with my
+neighbours.  The fine gentleman and beau of the parish and its
+vicinity (in his own estimation, at least) is a young . . . .
+
+* * * * *
+
+Here it ended.  The rest was torn away.  How cruel, just when she
+was going to mention me! for I could not doubt it was your humble
+servant she was about to mention, though not very favourably, of
+course.  I could tell that, as well by those few words as by the
+recollection of her whole aspect and demeanour towards me in the
+commencement of our acquaintance.  Well!  I could readily forgive
+her prejudice against me, and her hard thoughts of our sex in
+general, when I saw to what brilliant specimens her experience had
+been limited.
+
+Respecting me, however, she had long since seen her error, and
+perhaps fallen into another in the opposite extreme:  for if, at
+first, her opinion of me had been lower than I deserved, I was
+convinced that now my deserts were lower than her opinion; and if
+the former part of this continuation had been torn away to avoid
+wounding my feelings, perhaps the latter portion had been removed
+for fear of ministering too much to my self-conceit.  At any rate,
+I would have given much to have seen it all - to have witnessed the
+gradual change, and watched the progress of her esteem and
+friendship for me, and whatever warmer feeling she might have; to
+have seen how much of love there was in her regard, and how it had
+grown upon her in spite of her virtuous resolutions and strenuous
+exertions to - but no, I had no right to see it:  all this was too
+sacred for any eyes but her own, and she had done well to keep it
+from me.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLV
+
+
+
+Well, Halford, what do you think of all this? and while you read
+it, did you ever picture to yourself what my feelings would
+probably be during its perusal?  Most likely not; but I am not
+going to descant upon them now:  I will only make this
+acknowledgment, little honourable as it may be to human nature, and
+especially to myself, - that the former half of the narrative was,
+to me, more painful than the latter, not that I was at all
+insensible to Mrs. Huntingdon's wrongs or unmoved by her
+sufferings, but, I must confess, I felt a kind of selfish
+gratification in watching her husband's gradual decline in her good
+graces, and seeing how completely he extinguished all her affection
+at last.  The effect of the whole, however, in spite of all my
+sympathy for her, and my fury against him, was to relieve my mind
+of an intolerable burden, and fill my heart with joy, as if some
+friend had roused me from a dreadful nightmare.
+
+It was now near eight o'clock in the morning, for my candle had
+expired in the midst of my perusal, leaving me no alternative but
+to get another, at the expense of alarming the house, or to go to
+bed, and wait the return of daylight.  On my mother's account, I
+chose the latter; but how willingly I sought my pillow, and how
+much sleep it brought me, I leave you to imagine.
+
+At the first appearance of dawn, I rose, and brought the manuscript
+to the window, but it was impossible to read it yet.  I devoted
+half an hour to dressing, and then returned to it again.  Now, with
+a little difficulty, I could manage; and with intense and eager
+interest, I devoured the remainder of its contents.  When it was
+ended, and my transient regret at its abrupt conclusion was over, I
+opened the window and put out my head to catch the cooling breeze,
+and imbibe deep draughts of the pure morning air.  A splendid
+morning it was; the half-frozen dew lay thick on the grass, the
+swallows were twittering round me, the rooks cawing, and cows
+lowing in the distance; and early frost and summer sunshine mingled
+their sweetness in the air.  But I did not think of that:  a
+confusion of countless thoughts and varied emotions crowded upon me
+while I gazed abstractedly on the lovely face of nature.  Soon,
+however, this chaos of thoughts and passions cleared away, giving
+place to two distinct emotions:  joy unspeakable that my adored
+Helen was all I wished to think her - that through the noisome
+vapours of the world's aspersions and my own fancied convictions,
+her character shone bright, and clear, and stainless as that sun I
+could not bear to look on; and shame and deep remorse for my own
+conduct.
+
+Immediately after breakfast I hurried over to Wildfell Hall.
+Rachel had risen many degrees in my estimation since yesterday.  I
+was ready to greet her quite as an old friend; but every kindly
+impulse was checked by the look of cold distrust she cast upon me
+on opening the door.  The old virgin had constituted herself the
+guardian of her lady's honour, I suppose, and doubtless she saw in
+me another Mr. Hargrave, only the more dangerous in being more
+esteemed and trusted by her mistress.
+
+'Missis can't see any one to-day, sir - she's poorly,' said she, in
+answer to my inquiry for Mrs. Graham.
+
+'But I must see her, Rachel,' said I, placing my hand on the door
+to prevent its being shut against me.
+
+'Indeed, sir, you can't,' replied she, settling her countenance in
+still more iron frigidity than before.
+
+'Be so good as to announce me.'
+
+'It's no manner of use, Mr. Markham; she's poorly, I tell you.'
+
+Just in time to prevent me from committing the impropriety of
+taking the citadel by storm, and pushing forward unannounced, an
+inner door opened, and little Arthur appeared with his frolicsome
+playfellow, the dog.  He seized my hand between both his, and
+smilingly drew me forward.
+
+'Mamma says you're to come in, Mr. Markham,' said he, 'and I am to
+go out and play with Rover.'
+
+Rachel retired with a sigh, and I stepped into the parlour and shut
+the door.  There, before the fire-place, stood the tall, graceful
+figure, wasted with many sorrows.  I cast the manuscript on the
+table, and looked in her face.  Anxious and pale, it was turned
+towards me; her clear, dark eyes were fixed on mine with a gaze so
+intensely earnest that they bound me like a spell.
+
+'Have you looked it over?' she murmured.  The spell was broken.
+
+'I've read it through,' said I, advancing into the room, - 'and I
+want to know if you'll forgive me - if you can forgive me?'
+
+She did not answer, but her eyes glistened, and a faint red mantled
+on her lip and cheek.  As I approached, she abruptly turned away,
+and went to the window.  It was not in anger, I was well assured,
+but only to conceal or control her emotion.  I therefore ventured
+to follow and stand beside her there, - but not to speak.  She gave
+me her hand, without turning her head, and murmured in a voice she
+strove in vain to steady, - 'Can you forgive me?'
+
+It might be deemed a breach of trust, I thought, to convey that
+lily hand to my lips, so I only gently pressed it between my own,
+and smilingly replied, - 'I hardly can.  You should have told me
+this before.  It shows a want of confidence - '
+
+'Oh, no,' cried she, eagerly interrupting me; 'it was not that.  It
+was no want of confidence in you; but if I had told you anything of
+my history, I must have told you all, in order to excuse my
+conduct; and I might well shrink from such a disclosure, till
+necessity obliged me to make it.  But you forgive me? - I have done
+very, very wrong, I know; but, as usual, I have reaped the bitter
+fruits of my own error, - and must reap them to the end.'
+
+Bitter, indeed, was the tone of anguish, repressed by resolute
+firmness, in which this was spoken.  Now, I raised her hand to my
+lips, and fervently kissed it again and again; for tears prevented
+any other reply.  She suffered these wild caresses without
+resistance or resentment; then, suddenly turning from me, she paced
+twice or thrice through the room.  I knew by the contraction of her
+brow, the tight compression of her lips, and wringing of her hands,
+that meantime a violent conflict between reason and passion was
+silently passing within.  At length she paused before the empty
+fire-place, and turning to me, said calmly - if that might be
+called calmness which was so evidently the result of a violent
+effort, - 'Now, Gilbert, you must leave me - not this moment, but
+soon - and you must never come again.'
+
+'Never again, Helen? just when I love you more than ever.'
+
+'For that very reason, if it be so, we should not meet again.  I
+thought this interview was necessary - at least, I persuaded myself
+it was so - that we might severally ask and receive each other's
+pardon for the past; but there can be no excuse for another.  I
+shall leave this place, as soon as I have means to seek another
+asylum; but our intercourse must end here.'
+
+'End here!' echoed I; and approaching the high, carved chimney-
+piece, I leant my hand against its heavy mouldings, and dropped my
+forehead upon it in silent, sullen despondency.
+
+'You must not come again,' continued she.  There was a slight
+tremor in her voice, but I thought her whole manner was provokingly
+composed, considering the dreadful sentence she pronounced.  'You
+must know why I tell you so,' she resumed; 'and you must see that
+it is better to part at once:  - if it be hard to say adieu for
+ever, you ought to help me.'  She paused.  I did not answer.  'Will
+you promise not to come? - if you won't, and if you do come here
+again, you will drive me away before I know where to find another
+place of refuge - or how to seek it.'
+
+'Helen,' said I, turning impatiently towards her, 'I cannot discuss
+the matter of eternal separation calmly and dispassionately as you
+can do.  It is no question of mere expedience with me; it is a
+question of life and death!'
+
+She was silent.  Her pale lips quivered, and her fingers trembled
+with agitation, as she nervously entwined them in the hair-chain to
+which was appended her small gold watch - the only thing of value
+she had permitted herself to keep.  I had said an unjust and cruel
+thing; but I must needs follow it up with something worse.
+
+'But, Helen!' I began in a soft, low tone, not daring to raise my
+eyes to her face, 'that man is not your husband:  in the sight of
+heaven he has forfeited all claim to - '  She seized my arm with a
+grasp of startling energy.
+
+'Gilbert, don't!' she cried, in a tone that would have pierced a
+heart of adamant.  'For God's sake, don't you attempt these
+arguments!  No fiend could torture me like this!'
+
+'I won't, I won't!' said I, gently laying my hand on hers; almost
+as much alarmed at her vehemence as ashamed of my own misconduct.
+
+'Instead of acting like a true friend,' continued she, breaking
+from me, and throwing herself into the old arm-chair, 'and helping
+me with all your might - or rather taking your own part in the
+struggle of right against passion - you leave all the burden to me;
+- and not satisfied with that, you do your utmost to fight against
+me - when you know that! - ' she paused, and hid her face in her
+handkerchief.
+
+'Forgive me, Helen!' pleaded I.  'I will never utter another word
+on the subject.  But may we not still meet as friends?'
+
+'It will not do,' she replied, mournfully shaking her head; and
+then she raised her eyes to mine, with a mildly reproachful look
+that seemed to say, 'You must know that as well as I.'
+
+'Then what must we do?' cried I, passionately.  But immediately I
+added in a quieter tone - 'I'll do whatever you desire; only don't
+say that this meeting is to be our last.'
+
+'And why not?  Don't you know that every time we meet the thoughts
+of the final parting will become more painful?  Don't you feel that
+every interview makes us dearer to each other than the last?'
+
+The utterance of this last question was hurried and low, and the
+downcast eyes and burning blush too plainly showed that she, at
+least, had felt it.  It was scarcely prudent to make such an
+admission, or to add - as she presently did - 'I have power to bid
+you go, now:  another time it might be different,' - but I was not
+base enough to attempt to take advantage of her candour.
+
+'But we may write,' I timidly suggested.  'You will not deny me
+that consolation?'
+
+'We can hear of each other through my brother.'
+
+'Your brother!'  A pang of remorse and shame shot through me.  She
+had not heard of the injury he had sustained at my hands; and I had
+not the courage to tell her.  'Your brother will not help us,' I
+said:  'he would have all communion between us to be entirely at an
+end.'
+
+'And he would be right, I suppose.  As a friend of both, he would
+wish us both well; and every friend would tell us it was our
+interest, as well as our duty, to forget each other, though we
+might not see it ourselves.  But don't be afraid, Gilbert,' she
+added, smiling sadly at my manifest discomposure; 'there is little
+chance of my forgetting you.  But I did not mean that Frederick
+should be the means of transmitting messages between us - only that
+each might know, through him, of the other's welfare; - and more
+than this ought not to be:  for you are young, Gilbert, and you
+ought to marry - and will some time, though you may think it
+impossible now:  and though I hardly can say I wish you to forget
+me, I know it is right that you should, both for your own
+happiness, and that of your future wife; - and therefore I must and
+will wish it,' she added resolutely.
+
+'And you are young too, Helen,' I boldly replied; 'and when that
+profligate scoundrel has run through his career, you will give your
+hand to me - I'll wait till then.'
+
+But she would not leave me this support.  Independently of the
+moral evil of basing our hopes upon the death of another, who, if
+unfit for this world, was at least no less so for the next, and
+whose amelioration would thus become our bane and his greatest
+transgression our greatest benefit, - she maintained it to be
+madness:  many men of Mr. Huntingdon's habits had lived to a ripe
+though miserable old age.  'And if I,' said she, 'am young in
+years, I am old in sorrow; but even if trouble should fail to kill
+me before vice destroys him, think, if he reached but fifty years
+or so, would you wait twenty or fifteen - in vague uncertainty and
+suspense - through all the prime of youth and manhood - and marry
+at last a woman faded and worn as I shall be - without ever having
+seen me from this day to that? - You would not,' she continued,
+interrupting my earnest protestations of unfailing constancy, - 'or
+if you would, you should not.  Trust me, Gilbert; in this matter I
+know better than you.  You think me cold and stony-hearted, and you
+may, but - '
+
+'I don't, Helen.'
+
+'Well, never mind:  you might if you would:  but I have not spent
+my solitude in utter idleness, and I am not speaking now from the
+impulse of the moment, as you do.  I have thought of all these
+matters again and again; I have argued these questions with myself,
+and pondered well our past, and present, and future career; and,
+believe me, I have come to the right conclusion at last.  Trust my
+words rather than your own feelings now, and in a few years you
+will see that I was right - though at present I hardly can see it
+myself,' she murmured with a sigh as she rested her head on her
+hand.  'And don't argue against me any more:  all you can say has
+been already said by my own heart and refuted by my reason.  It was
+hard enough to combat those suggestions as they were whispered
+within me; in your mouth they are ten times worse, and if you knew
+how much they pain me you would cease at once, I know.  If you knew
+my present feelings, you would even try to relieve them at the
+expense of your own.'
+
+'I will go - in a minute, if that can relieve you - and NEVER
+return!' said I, with bitter emphasis.  'But, if we may never meet,
+and never hope to meet again, is it a crime to exchange our
+thoughts by letter?  May not kindred spirits meet, and mingle in
+communion, whatever be the fate and circumstances of their earthly
+tenements?'
+
+'They may, they may!' cried she, with a momentary burst of glad
+enthusiasm.  'I thought of that too, Gilbert, but I feared to
+mention it, because I feared you would not understand my views upon
+the subject.  I fear it even now - I fear any kind friend would
+tell us we are both deluding ourselves with the idea of keeping up
+a spiritual intercourse without hope or prospect of anything
+further - without fostering vain regrets and hurtful aspirations,
+and feeding thoughts that should be sternly and pitilessly left to
+perish of inanition.'
+
+'Never mind our kind friends:  if they can part our bodies, it is
+enough; in God's name, let them not sunder our souls!' cried I, in
+terror lest she should deem it her duty to deny us this last
+remaining consolation.
+
+'But no letters can pass between us here,' said she, 'without
+giving fresh food for scandal; and when I departed, I had intended
+that my new abode should be unknown to you as to the rest of the
+world; not that I should doubt your word if you promised not to
+visit me, but I thought you would be more tranquil in your own mind
+if you knew you could not do it, and likely to find less difficulty
+in abstracting yourself from me if you could not picture my
+situation to your mind.  But listen,' said she, smilingly putting
+up her finger to check my impatient reply:  'in six months you
+shall hear from Frederick precisely where I am; and if you still
+retain your wish to write to me, and think you can maintain a
+correspondence all thought, all spirit - such as disembodied souls
+or unimpassioned friends, at least, might hold, - write, and I will
+answer you.'
+
+'Six months!'
+
+'Yes, to give your present ardour time to cool, and try the truth
+and constancy of your soul's love for mine.  And now, enough has
+been said between us.  Why can't we part at once?' exclaimed she,
+almost wildly, after a moment's pause, as she suddenly rose from
+her chair, with her hands resolutely clasped together.  I thought
+it was my duty to go without delay; and I approached and half
+extended my hand as if to take leave - she grasped it in silence.
+But this thought of final separation was too intolerable:  it
+seemed to squeeze the blood out of my heart; and my feet were glued
+to the floor.
+
+'And must we never meet again?' I murmured, in the anguish of my
+soul.
+
+'We shall meet in heaven.  Let us think of that,' said she in a
+tone of desperate calmness; but her eyes glittered wildly, and her
+face was deadly pale.
+
+'But not as we are now,' I could not help replying.  'It gives me
+little consolation to think I shall next behold you as a
+disembodied spirit, or an altered being, with a frame perfect and
+glorious, but not like this! - and a heart, perhaps, entirely
+estranged from me.'
+
+'No, Gilbert, there is perfect love in heaven!'
+
+'So perfect, I suppose, that it soars above distinctions, and you
+will have no closer sympathy with me than with any one of the ten
+thousand thousand angels and the innumerable multitude of happy
+spirits round us.'
+
+'Whatever I am, you will be the same, and, therefore, cannot
+possibly regret it; and whatever that change may be we know it must
+be for the better.'
+
+'But if I am to be so changed that I shall cease to adore you with
+my whole heart and soul, and love you beyond every other creature,
+I shall not be myself; and though, if ever I win heaven at all, I
+must, I know, be infinitely better and happier than I am now, my
+earthly nature cannot rejoice in the anticipation of such
+beatitude, from which itself and its chief joy must be excluded.'
+
+'Is your love all earthly, then?'
+
+'No, but I am supposing we shall have no more intimate communion
+with each other than with the rest.'
+
+'If so, it will be because we love them more, and not each other
+less.  Increase of love brings increase of happiness, when it is
+mutual, and pure as that will be.'
+
+'But can you, Helen, contemplate with delight this prospect of
+losing me in a sea of glory?'
+
+'I own I cannot; but we know not that it will be so; - and I do
+know that to regret the exchange of earthly pleasures for the joys
+of heaven, is as if the grovelling caterpillar should lament that
+it must one day quit the nibbled leaf to soar aloft and flutter
+through the air, roving at will from flower to flower, sipping
+sweet honey from their cups, or basking in their sunny petals.  If
+these little creatures knew how great a change awaited them, no
+doubt they would regret it; but would not all such sorrow be
+misplaced?  And if that illustration will not move you, here is
+another:- We are children now; we feel as children, and we
+understand as children; and when we are told that men and women do
+not play with toys, and that our companions will one day weary of
+the trivial sports and occupations that interest them and us so
+deeply now, we cannot help being saddened at the thoughts of such
+an alteration, because we cannot conceive that as we grow up our
+own minds will become so enlarged and elevated that we ourselves
+shall then regard as trifling those objects and pursuits we now so
+fondly cherish, and that, though our companions will no longer join
+us in those childish pastimes, they will drink with us at other
+fountains of delight, and mingle their souls with ours in higher
+aims and nobler occupations beyond our present comprehension, but
+not less deeply relished or less truly good for that, while yet
+both we and they remain essentially the same individuals as before.
+But, Gilbert, can you really derive no consolation from the thought
+that we may meet together where there is no more pain and sorrow,
+no more striving against sin, and struggling of the spirit against
+the flesh; where both will behold the same glorious truths, and
+drink exalted and supreme felicity from the same fountain of light
+and goodness - that Being whom both will worship with the same
+intensity of holy ardour - and where pure and happy creatures both
+will love with the same divine affection?  If you cannot, never
+write to me!'
+
+'Helen, I can! if faith would never fail.'
+
+'Now, then,' exclaimed she, 'while this hope is strong within us -
+'
+
+'We will part,' I cried.  'You shall not have the pain of another
+effort to dismiss me.  I will go at once; but - '
+
+I did not put my request in words:  she understood it
+instinctively, and this time she yielded too - or rather, there was
+nothing so deliberate as requesting or yielding in the matter:
+there was a sudden impulse that neither could resist.  One moment I
+stood and looked into her face, the next I held her to my heart,
+and we seemed to grow together in a close embrace from which no
+physical or mental force could rend us.  A whispered 'God bless
+you!' and 'Go - go!' was all she said; but while she spoke she held
+me so fast that, without violence, I could not have obeyed her.  At
+length, however, by some heroic effort, we tore ourselves apart,
+and I rushed from the house.
+
+I have a confused remembrance of seeing little Arthur running up
+the garden-walk to meet me, and of bolting over the wall to avoid
+him - and subsequently running down the steep fields, clearing the
+stone fences and hedges as they came in my way, till I got
+completely out of sight of the old hall and down to the bottom of
+the hill; and then of long hours spent in bitter tears and
+lamentations, and melancholy musings in the lonely valley, with the
+eternal music in my ears, of the west wind rushing through the
+overshadowing trees, and the brook babbling and gurgling along its
+stony bed; my eyes, for the most part, vacantly fixed on the deep,
+chequered shades restlessly playing over the bright sunny grass at
+my feet, where now and then a withered leaf or two would come
+dancing to share the revelry; but my heart was away up the hill in
+that dark room where she was weeping desolate and alone - she whom
+I was not to comfort, not to see again, till years or suffering had
+overcome us both, and torn our spirits from their perishing abodes
+of clay.
+
+There was little business done that day, you may be sure.  The farm
+was abandoned to the labourers, and the labourers were left to
+their own devices.  But one duty must be attended to; I had not
+forgotten my assault upon Frederick Lawrence; and I must see him to
+apologise for the unhappy deed.  I would fain have put it off till
+the morrow; but what if he should denounce me to his sister in the
+meantime?  No, no!  I must ask his pardon to-day, and entreat him
+to be lenient in his accusation, if the revelation must be made.  I
+deferred it, however, till the evening, when my spirits were more
+composed, and when - oh, wonderful perversity of human nature! -
+some faint germs of indefinite hopes were beginning to rise in my
+mind; not that I intended to cherish them, after all that had been
+said on the subject, but there they must lie for a while, uncrushed
+though not encouraged, till I had learnt to live without them.
+
+Arrived at Woodford, the young squire's abode, I found no little
+difficulty in obtaining admission to his presence.  The servant
+that opened the door told me his master was very ill, and seemed to
+think it doubtful whether he would be able to see me.  I was not
+going to be baulked, however.  I waited calmly in the hall to be
+announced, but inwardly determined to take no denial.  The message
+was such as I expected - a polite intimation that Mr. Lawrence
+could see no one; he was feverish, and must not be disturbed.
+
+'I shall not disturb him long,' said I; 'but I must see him for a
+moment:  it is on business of importance that I wish to speak to
+him.'
+
+'I'll tell him, sir,' said the man.  And I advanced further into
+the hall and followed him nearly to the door of the apartment where
+his master was - for it seemed he was not in bed.  The answer
+returned was that Mr. Lawrence hoped I would be so good as to leave
+a message or a note with the servant, as he could attend to no
+business at present.
+
+'He may as well see me as you,' said I; and, stepping past the
+astonished footman, I boldly rapped at the door, entered, and
+closed it behind me.  The room was spacious and handsomely
+furnished - very comfortably, too, for a bachelor.  A clear, red
+fire was burning in the polished grate:  a superannuated greyhound,
+given up to idleness and good living, lay basking before it on the
+thick, soft rug, on one corner of which, beside the sofa, sat a
+smart young springer, looking wistfully up in its master's face -
+perhaps asking permission to share his couch, or, it might be, only
+soliciting a caress from his hand or a kind word from his lips.
+The invalid himself looked very interesting as he lay reclining
+there, in his elegant dressing-gown, with a silk handkerchief bound
+across his temples.  His usually pale face was flushed and
+feverish; his eyes were half closed, until he became sensible of my
+presence - and then he opened them wide enough:  one hand was
+thrown listlessly over the back of the sofa, and held a small
+volume, with which, apparently, he had been vainly attempting to
+beguile the weary hours.  He dropped it, however, in his start of
+indignant surprise as I advanced into the room and stood before him
+on the rug.  He raised himself on his pillows, and gazed upon me
+with equal degrees of nervous horror, anger, and amazement depicted
+on his countenance.
+
+'Mr. Markham, I scarcely expected this!' he said; and the blood
+left his cheek as he spoke.
+
+'I know you didn't,' answered I; 'but be quiet a minute, and I'll
+tell you what I came for.'  Unthinkingly, I advanced a step or two
+nearer.  He winced at my approach, with an expression of aversion
+and instinctive physical fear anything but conciliatory to my
+feelings.  I stepped back, however.
+
+'Make your story a short one,' said he, putting his hand on the
+small silver bell that stood on the table beside him, 'or I shall
+be obliged to call for assistance.  I am in no state to bear your
+brutalities now, or your presence either.'  And in truth the
+moisture started from his pores and stood on his pale forehead like
+dew.
+
+Such a reception was hardly calculated to diminish the difficulties
+of my unenviable task.  It must be performed however, in some
+fashion; and so I plunged into it at once, and floundered through
+it as I could.
+
+'The truth is, Lawrence,' said I, 'I have not acted quite correctly
+towards you of late - especially on this last occasion; and I'm
+come to - in short, to express my regret for what has been done,
+and to beg your pardon.  If you don't choose to grant it,' I added
+hastily, not liking the aspect of his face, 'it's no matter; only
+I've done my duty - that's all.'
+
+'It's easily done,' replied he, with a faint smile bordering on a
+sneer:  'to abuse your friend and knock him on the head without any
+assignable cause, and then tell him the deed was not quite correct,
+but it's no matter whether he pardons it or not.'
+
+'I forgot to tell you that it was in consequence of a mistake,' -
+muttered I.  'I should have made a very handsome apology, but you
+provoked me so confoundedly with your -.  Well, I suppose it's my
+fault.  The fact is, I didn't know that you were Mrs. Graham's
+brother, and I saw and heard some things respecting your conduct
+towards her which were calculated to awaken unpleasant suspicions,
+that, allow me to say, a little candour and confidence on your part
+might have removed; and, at last, I chanced to overhear a part of a
+conversation between you and her that made me think I had a right
+to hate you.'
+
+'And how came you to know that I was her brother?' asked he, in
+some anxiety.
+
+'She told me herself.  She told me all.  She knew I might be
+trusted.  But you needn't disturb yourself about that, Mr.
+Lawrence, for I've seen the last of her!'
+
+'The last!  Is she gone, then?'
+
+'No; but she has bid adieu to me, and I have promised never to go
+near that house again while she inhabits it.'  I could have groaned
+aloud at the bitter thoughts awakened by this turn in the
+discourse.  But I only clenched my hands and stamped my foot upon
+the rug.  My companion, however, was evidently relieved.
+
+'You have done right,' he said, in a tone of unqualified
+approbation, while his face brightened into almost a sunny
+expression.  'And as for the mistake, I am sorry for both our sakes
+that it should have occurred.  Perhaps you can forgive my want of
+candour, and remember, as some partial mitigation of the offence,
+how little encouragement to friendly confidence you have given me
+of late.'
+
+'Yes, yes - I remember it all:  nobody can blame me more than I
+blame myself in my own heart; at any rate, nobody can regret more
+sincerely than I do the result of my brutality, as you rightly term
+it.'
+
+'Never mind that,' said he, faintly smiling; 'let us forget all
+unpleasant words on both sides, as well as deeds, and consign to
+oblivion everything that we have cause to regret.  Have you any
+objection to take my hand, or you'd rather not?'  It trembled
+through weakness as he held it out, and dropped before I had time
+to catch it and give it a hearty squeeze, which he had not the
+strength to return.
+
+'How dry and burning your hand is, Lawrence,' said I.  'You are
+really ill, and I have made you worse by all this talk.'
+
+'Oh, it is nothing; only a cold got by the rain.'
+
+'My doing, too.'
+
+'Never mind that.  But tell me, did you mention this affair to my
+sister?'
+
+'To confess the truth, I had not the courage to do so; but when you
+tell her, will you just say that I deeply regret it, and - ?'
+
+'Oh, never fear!  I shall say nothing against you, as long as you
+keep your good resolution of remaining aloof from her.  She has not
+heard of my illness, then, that you are aware of?'
+
+'I think not.'
+
+'I'm glad of that, for I have been all this time tormenting myself
+with the fear that somebody would tell her I was dying, or
+desperately ill, and she would be either distressing herself on
+account of her inability to hear from me or do me any good, or
+perhaps committing the madness of coming to see me.  I must
+contrive to let her know something about it, if I can,' continued
+he, reflectively, 'or she will be hearing some such story.  Many
+would be glad to tell her such news, just to see how she would take
+it; and then she might expose herself to fresh scandal.'
+
+'I wish I had told her,' said I.  'If it were not for my promise, I
+would tell her now.'
+
+'By no means!  I am not dreaming of that; - but if I were to write
+a short note, now, not mentioning you, Markham, but just giving a
+slight account of my illness, by way of excuse for my not coming to
+see her, and to put her on her guard against any exaggerated
+reports she may hear, - and address it in a disguised hand - would
+you do me the favour to slip it into the post-office as you pass?
+for I dare not trust any of the servants in such a case.'
+
+Most willingly I consented, and immediately brought him his desk.
+There was little need to disguise his hand, for the poor fellow
+seemed to have considerable difficulty in writing at all, so as to
+be legible.  When the note was done, I thought it time to retire,
+and took leave, after asking if there was anything in the world I
+could do for him, little or great, in the way of alleviating his
+sufferings, and repairing the injury I had done.
+
+'No,' said he; 'you have already done much towards it; you have
+done more for me than the most skilful physician could do:  for you
+have relieved my mind of two great burdens - anxiety on my sister's
+account, and deep regret upon your own:  for I do believe these two
+sources of torment have had more effect in working me up into a
+fever than anything else; and I am persuaded I shall soon recover
+now.  There is one more thing you can do for me, and that is, come
+and see me now and then - for you see I am very lonely here, and I
+promise your entrance shall not be disputed again.'
+
+I engaged to do so, and departed with a cordial pressure of the
+hand.  I posted the letter on my way home, most manfully resisting
+the temptation of dropping in a word from myself at the same time.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLVI
+
+
+
+I felt strongly tempted, at times, to enlighten my mother and
+sister on the real character and circumstances of the persecuted
+tenant of Wildfell Hall, and at first I greatly regretted having
+omitted to ask that lady's permission to do so; but, on due
+reflection, I considered that if it were known to them, it could
+not long remain a secret to the Millwards and Wilsons, and such was
+my present appreciation of Eliza Millward's disposition, that, if
+once she got a clue to the story, I should fear she would soon find
+means to enlighten Mr. Huntingdon upon the place of his wife's
+retreat.  I would therefore wait patiently till these weary six
+months were over, and then, when the fugitive had found another
+home, and I was permitted to write to her, I would beg to be
+allowed to clear her name from these vile calumnies:  at present I
+must content myself with simply asserting that I knew them to be
+false, and would prove it some day, to the shame of those who
+slandered her.  I don't think anybody believed me, but everybody
+soon learned to avoid insinuating a word against her, or even
+mentioning her name in my presence.  They thought I was so madly
+infatuated by the seductions of that unhappy lady that I was
+determined to support her in the very face of reason; and meantime
+I grow insupportably morose and misanthropical from the idea that
+every one I met was harbouring unworthy thoughts of the supposed
+Mrs. Graham, and would express them if he dared.  My poor mother
+was quite distressed about me; but I couldn't help it - at least I
+thought I could not, though sometimes I felt a pang of remorse for
+my undutiful conduct to her, and made an effort to amend, attended
+with some partial success; and indeed I was generally more
+humanised in my demeanour to her than to any one else, Mr. Lawrence
+excepted.  Rose and Fergus usually shunned my presence; and it was
+well they did, for I was not fit company for them, nor they for me,
+under the present circumstances.
+
+Mrs. Huntingdon did not leave Wildfell Hall till above two months
+after our farewell interview.  During that time she never appeared
+at church, and I never went near the house:  I only knew she was
+still there by her brother's brief answers to my many and varied
+inquiries respecting her.  I was a very constant and attentive
+visitor to him throughout the whole period of his illness and
+convalescence; not only from the interest I took in his recovery,
+and my desire to cheer him up and make the utmost possible amends
+for my former 'brutality,' but from my growing attachment to
+himself, and the increasing pleasure I found in his society -
+partly from his increased cordiality to me, but chiefly on account
+of his close connection, both in blood and in affection, with my
+adored Helen.  I loved him for it better than I liked to express:
+and I took a secret delight in pressing those slender white
+fingers, so marvellously like her own, considering he was not a
+woman, and in watching the passing changes in his fair, pale
+features, and observing the intonations of his voice, detecting
+resemblances which I wondered had never struck me before.  He
+provoked me at times, indeed, by his evident reluctance to talk to
+me about his sister, though I did not question the friendliness of
+his motives in wishing to discourage my remembrance of her.
+
+His recovery was not quite so rapid as he had expected it to be; he
+was not able to mount his pony till a fortnight after the date of
+our reconciliation; and the first use he made of his returning
+strength was to ride over by night to Wildfell Hall, to see his
+sister.  It was a hazardous enterprise both for him and for her,
+but he thought it necessary to consult with her on the subject of
+her projected departure, if not to calm her apprehensions
+respecting his health, and the worst result was a slight relapse of
+his illness, for no one knew of the visit but the inmates of the
+old Hall, except myself; and I believe it had not been his
+intention to mention it to me, for when I came to see him the next
+day, and observed he was not so well as he ought to have been, he
+merely said he had caught cold by being out too late in the
+evening.
+
+'You'll never be able to see your sister, if you don't take care of
+yourself,' said I, a little provoked at the circumstance on her
+account, instead of commiserating him.
+
+'I've seen her already,' said he, quietly.
+
+'You've seen her!' cried I, in astonishment.
+
+'Yes.'  And then he told me what considerations had impelled him to
+make the venture, and with what precautions he had made it.
+
+'And how was she?' I eagerly asked.
+
+'As usual,' was the brief though sad reply.
+
+'As usual - that is, far from happy and far from strong.'
+
+'She is not positively ill,' returned he; 'and she will recover her
+spirits in a while, I have no doubt - but so many trials have been
+almost too much for her.  How threatening those clouds look,'
+continued he, turning towards the window.  'We shall have thunder-
+showers before night, I imagine, and they are just in the midst of
+stacking my corn.  Have you got yours all in yet?'
+
+'No.  And, Lawrence, did she - did your sister mention me?'
+
+'She asked if I had seen you lately.'
+
+'And what else did she say?'
+
+'I cannot tell you all she said,' replied he, with a slight smile;
+'for we talked a good deal, though my stay was but short; but our
+conversation was chiefly on the subject of her intended departure,
+which I begged her to delay till I was better able to assist her in
+her search after another home.'
+
+'But did she say no more about me?'
+
+'She did not say much about you, Markham.  I should not have
+encouraged her to do so, had she been inclined; but happily she was
+not:  she only asked a few questions concerning you, and seemed
+satisfied with my brief answers, wherein she showed herself wiser
+than her friend; and I may tell you, too, that she seemed to be far
+more anxious lest you should think too much of her, than lest you
+should forget her.'
+
+'She was right.'
+
+'But I fear your anxiety is quite the other way respecting her.'
+
+'No, it is not:  I wish her to be happy; but I don't wish her to
+forget me altogether.  She knows it is impossible that I should
+forget her; and she is right to wish me not to remember her too
+well.  I should not desire her to regret me too deeply; but I can
+scarcely imagine she will make herself very unhappy about me,
+because I know I am not worthy of it, except in my appreciation of
+her.'
+
+'You are neither of you worthy of a broken heart, - nor of all the
+sighs, and tears, and sorrowful thoughts that have been, and I fear
+will be, wasted upon you both; but, at present, each has a more
+exalted opinion of the other than, I fear, he or she deserves; and
+my sister's feelings are naturally full as keen as yours, and I
+believe more constant; but she has the good sense and fortitude to
+strive against them in this particular; and I trust she will not
+rest till she has entirely weaned her thoughts - ' he hesitated.
+
+'From me,' said I.
+
+'And I wish you would make the like exertions,' continued he.
+
+'Did she tell you that that was her intention?'
+
+'No; the question was not broached between us:  there was no
+necessity for it, for I had no doubt that such was her
+determination.'
+
+'To forget me?'
+
+'Yes, Markham!  Why not?'
+
+'Oh, well!' was my only audible reply; but I internally answered, -
+'No, Lawrence, you're wrong there:  she is not determined to forget
+me.  It would be wrong to forget one so deeply and fondly devoted
+to her, who can so thoroughly appreciate her excellencies, and
+sympathise with all her thoughts, as I can do, and it would be
+wrong in me to forget so excellent and divine a piece of God's
+creation as she, when I have once so truly loved and known her.'
+But I said no more to him on that subject.  I instantly started a
+new topic of conversation, and soon took leave of my companion,
+with a feeling of less cordiality towards him than usual.  Perhaps
+I had no right to be annoyed at him, but I was so nevertheless.
+
+In little more than a week after this I met him returning from a
+visit to the Wilsons'; and I now resolved to do him a good turn,
+though at the expense of his feelings, and perhaps at the risk of
+incurring that displeasure which is so commonly the reward of those
+who give disagreeable information, or tender their advice unasked.
+In this, believe me, I was actuated by no motives of revenge for
+the occasional annoyances I had lately sustained from him, - nor
+yet by any feeling of malevolent enmity towards Miss Wilson, but
+purely by the fact that I could not endure that such a woman should
+be Mrs. Huntingdon's sister, and that, as well for his own sake as
+for hers, I could not bear to think of his being deceived into a
+union with one so unworthy of him, and so utterly unfitted to be
+the partner of his quiet home, and the companion of his life.  He
+had had uncomfortable suspicions on that head himself, I imagined;
+but such was his inexperience, and such were the lady's powers of
+attraction, and her skill in bringing them to bear upon his young
+imagination, that they had not disturbed him long; and I believe
+the only effectual causes of the vacillating indecision that had
+preserved him hitherto from making an actual declaration of love,
+was the consideration of her connections, and especially of her
+mother, whom he could not abide.  Had they lived at a distance, he
+might have surmounted the objection, but within two or three miles
+of Woodford it was really no light matter.
+
+'You've been to call on the Wilsons, Lawrence,' said I, as I walked
+beside his pony.
+
+'Yes,' replied he, slightly averting his face:  'I thought it but
+civil to take the first opportunity of returning their kind
+attentions, since they have been so very particular and constant in
+their inquiries throughout the whole course of my illness.'
+
+'It's all Miss Wilson's doing.'
+
+'And if it is,' returned he, with a very perceptible blush, 'is
+that any reason why I should not make a suitable acknowledgment?'
+
+'It is a reason why you should not make the acknowledgment she
+looks for.'
+
+'Let us drop that subject if you please,' said he, in evident
+displeasure.
+
+'No, Lawrence, with your leave we'll continue it a while longer;
+and I'll tell you something, now we're about it, which you may
+believe or not as you choose - only please to remember that it is
+not my custom to speak falsely, and that in this case I can have no
+motive for misrepresenting the truth - '
+
+'Well, Markham, what now?'
+
+'Miss Wilson hates your sister.  It may be natural enough that, in
+her ignorance of the relationship, she should feel some degree of
+enmity against her, but no good or amiable woman would be capable
+of evincing that bitter, cold-blooded, designing malice towards a
+fancied rival that I have observed in her.'
+
+'Markham!'
+
+'Yes - and it is my belief that Eliza Millward and she, if not the
+very originators of the slanderous reports that have been
+propagated, were designedly the encouragers and chief disseminators
+of them.  She was not desirous to mix up your name in the matter,
+of course, but her delight was, and still is, to blacken your
+sister's character to the utmost of her power, without risking too
+greatly the exposure of her own malevolence!'
+
+'I cannot believe it,' interrupted my companion, his face burning
+with indignation.
+
+'Well, as I cannot prove it, I must content myself with asserting
+that it is so to the best of my belief; but as you would not
+willingly marry Miss Wilson if it were so, you will do well to be
+cautious, till you have proved it to be otherwise.'
+
+'I never told you, Markham, that I intended to marry Miss Wilson,'
+said he, proudly.
+
+'No, but whether you do or not, she intends to marry you.'
+
+'Did she tell you so?'
+
+'No, but - '
+
+'Then you have no right to make such an assertion respecting her.'
+He slightly quickened his pony's pace, but I laid my hand on its
+mane, determined he should not leave me yet.
+
+'Wait a moment, Lawrence, and let me explain myself; and don't be
+so very - I don't know what to call it - inaccessible as you are. -
+I know what you think of Jane Wilson; and I believe I know how far
+you are mistaken in your opinion:  you think she is singularly
+charming, elegant, sensible, and refined:  you are not aware that
+she is selfish, cold-hearted, ambitious, artful, shallow-minded - '
+
+'Enough, Markham - enough!'
+
+'No; let me finish:- you don't know that, if you married her, your
+home would be rayless and comfortless; and it would break your
+heart at last to find yourself united to one so wholly incapable of
+sharing your tastes, feelings, and ideas - so utterly destitute of
+sensibility, good feeling, and true nobility of soul.'
+
+'Have you done?' asked my companion quietly.
+
+'Yes; - I know you hate me for my impertinence, but I don't care if
+it only conduces to preserve you from that fatal mistake.'
+
+'Well!' returned he, with a rather wintry smile - 'I'm glad you
+have overcome or forgotten your own afflictions so far as to be
+able to study so deeply the affairs of others, and trouble your
+head so unnecessarily about the fancied or possible calamities of
+their future life.'
+
+We parted - somewhat coldly again:  but still we did not cease to
+be friends; and my well-meant warning, though it might have been
+more judiciously delivered, as well as more thankfully received,
+was not wholly unproductive of the desired effect:  his visit to
+the Wilsons was not repeated, and though, in our subsequent
+interviews, he never mentioned her name to me, nor I to him, - I
+have reason to believe he pondered my words in his mind, eagerly
+though covertly sought information respecting the fair lady from
+other quarters, secretly compared my character of her with what he
+had himself observed and what he heard from others, and finally
+came to the conclusion that, all things considered, she had much
+better remain Miss Wilson of Ryecote Farm than be transmuted into
+Mrs. Lawrence of Woodford Hall.  I believe, too, that he soon
+learned to contemplate with secret amazement his former
+predilection, and to congratulate himself on the lucky escape he
+had made; but he never confessed it to me, or hinted one word of
+acknowledgment for the part I had had in his deliverance, but this
+was not surprising to any one that knew him as I did.
+
+As for Jane Wilson, she, of course, was disappointed and embittered
+by the sudden cold neglect and ultimate desertion of her former
+admirer.  Had I done wrong to blight her cherished hopes?  I think
+not; and certainly my conscience has never accused me, from that
+day to this, of any evil design in the matter.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLVII
+
+
+
+One morning, about the beginning of November, while I was inditing
+some business letters, shortly after breakfast, Eliza Millward came
+to call upon my sister.  Rose had neither the discrimination nor
+the virulence to regard the little demon as I did, and they still
+preserved their former intimacy.  At the moment of her arrival,
+however, there was no one in the room but Fergus and myself, my
+mother and sister being both of them absent, 'on household cares
+intent'; but I was not going to lay myself out for her amusement,
+whoever else might so incline:  I merely honoured her with a
+careless salutation and a few words of course, and then went on
+with my writing, leaving my brother to be more polite if he chose.
+But she wanted to tease me.
+
+'What a pleasure it is to find you at home, Mr. Markham!' said she,
+with a disingenuously malicious smile.  'I so seldom see you now,
+for you never come to the vicarage.  Papa, is quite offended, I can
+tell you,' she added playfully, looking into my face with an
+impertinent laugh, as she seated herself, half beside and half
+before my desk, off the corner of the table.
+
+'I have had a good deal to do of late,' said I, without looking up
+from my letter.
+
+'Have you, indeed!  Somebody said you had been strangely neglecting
+your business these last few months.'
+
+'Somebody said wrong, for, these last two months especially, I have
+been particularly plodding and diligent.'
+
+'Ah! well, there's nothing like active employment, I suppose, to
+console the afflicted; - and, excuse me, Mr. Markham, but you look
+so very far from well, and have been, by all accounts, so moody and
+thoughtful of late, - I could almost think you have some secret
+care preying on your spirits.  Formerly,' said she timidly, 'I
+could have ventured to ask you what it was, and what I could do to
+comfort you:  I dare not do it now.'
+
+'You're very kind, Miss Eliza.  When I think you can do anything to
+comfort me, I'll make bold to tell you.'
+
+'Pray do! - I suppose I mayn't guess what it is that troubles you?'
+
+'There's no necessity, for I'll tell you plainly.  The thing that
+troubles me the most at present is a young lady sitting at my
+elbow, and preventing me from finishing my letter, and, thereafter,
+repairing to my daily business.'
+
+Before she could reply to this ungallant speech, Rose entered the
+room; and Miss Eliza rising to greet her, they both seated
+themselves near the fire, where that idle lad Fergus was standing,
+leaning his shoulder against the corner of the chimney-piece, with
+his legs crossed and his hands in his breeches-pockets.
+
+'Now, Rose, I'll tell you a piece of news - I hope you have not
+heard it before:  for good, bad, or indifferent, one always likes
+to be the first to tell.  It's about that sad Mrs. Graham - '
+
+'Hush-sh-sh!' whispered Fergus, in a tone of solemn import.  '"We
+never mention her; her name is never heard."'  And glancing up, I
+caught him with his eye askance on me, and his finger pointed to
+his forehead; then, winking at the young lady with a doleful shake
+of the head, be whispered - 'A monomania - but don't mention it -
+all right but that.'
+
+'I should be sorry to injure any one's feelings,' returned she,
+speaking below her breath.  'Another time, perhaps.'
+
+'Speak out, Miss Eliza!' said I, not deigning to notice the other's
+buffooneries:  'you needn't fear to say anything in my presence.'
+
+'Well,' answered she, 'perhaps you know already that Mrs. Graham's
+husband is not really dead, and that she had run away from him?'  I
+started, and felt my face glow; but I bent it over my letter, and
+went on folding it up as she proceeded.  'But perhaps you did not
+know that she is now gone back to him again, and that a perfect
+reconciliation has taken place between them?  Only think,' she
+continued, turning to the confounded Rose, 'what a fool the man
+must be!'
+
+'And who gave you this piece of intelligence, Miss Eliza?' said I,
+interrupting my sister's exclamations.
+
+'I had it from a very authentic source.'
+
+'From whom, may I ask?'
+
+'From one of the servants at Woodford.'
+
+'Oh!  I was not aware that you were on such intimate terms with Mr.
+Lawrence's household.'
+
+'It was not from the man himself that I heard it, but he told it in
+confidence to our maid Sarah, and Sarah told it to me.'
+
+'In confidence, I suppose?  And you tell it in confidence to us?
+But I can tell you that it is but a lame story after all, and
+scarcely one-half of it true.'
+
+While I spoke I completed the sealing and direction of my letters,
+with a somewhat unsteady hand, in spite of all my efforts to retain
+composure, and in spite of my firm conviction that the story was a
+lame one - that the supposed Mrs. Graham, most certainly, had not
+voluntarily gone back to her husband, or dreamt of a
+reconciliation.  Most likely she was gone away, and the tale-
+bearing servant, not knowing what was become of her, had
+conjectured that such was the case, and our fair visitor had
+detailed it as a certainty, delighted with such an opportunity of
+tormenting me.  But it was possible - barely possible - that some
+one might have betrayed her, and she had been taken away by force.
+Determined to know the worst, I hastily pocketed my two letters,
+and muttered something about being too late for the post, left the
+room, rushed into the yard, and vociferously called for my horse.
+No one being there, I dragged him out of the stable myself,
+strapped the saddle on to his back and the bridle on to his head,
+mounted, and speedily galloped away to Woodford.  I found its owner
+pensively strolling in the grounds.
+
+'Is your sister gone?' were my first words as I grasped his hand,
+instead of the usual inquiry after his health.
+
+'Yes, she's gone,' was his answer, so calmly spoken that my terror
+was at once removed.
+
+'I suppose I mayn't know where she is?' said I, as I dismounted,
+and relinquished my horse to the gardener, who, being the only
+servant within call, had been summoned by his master, from his
+employment of raking up the dead leaves on the lawn, to take him to
+the stables.
+
+My companion gravely took my arm, and leading me away to the
+garden, thus answered my question, - 'She is at Grassdale Manor, in
+-shire.'
+
+'Where?' cried I, with a convulsive start.
+
+'At Grassdale Manor.'
+
+'How was it?' I gasped.  'Who betrayed her?'
+
+'She went of her own accord.'
+
+'Impossible, Lawrence!  She could not be so frantic!' exclaimed I,
+vehemently grasping his arm, as if to force him to unsay those
+hateful words.
+
+'She did,' persisted he in the same grave, collected manner as
+before; 'and not without reason,' he continued, gently disengaging
+himself from my grasp.  'Mr. Huntingdon is ill.'
+
+'And so she went to nurse him?'
+
+'Yes.'
+
+'Fool!' I could not help exclaiming, and Lawrence looked up with a
+rather reproachful glance.  'Is he dying, then?'
+
+'I think not, Markham.'
+
+'And how many more nurses has he?  How many ladies are there
+besides to take care of him?'
+
+'None; he was alone, or she would not have gone.'
+
+'Oh, confound it!  This is intolerable!'
+
+'What is?  That he should be alone?'
+
+I attempted no reply, for I was not sure that this circumstance did
+not partly conduce to my distraction.  I therefore continued to
+pace the walk in silent anguish, with my hand pressed to my
+forehead; then suddenly pausing and turning to my companion, I
+impatiently exclaimed, 'Why did she take this infatuated step?
+What fiend persuaded her to it?'
+
+'Nothing persuaded her but her own sense of duty.'
+
+'Humbug!'
+
+'I was half inclined to say so myself, Markham, at first.  I assure
+you it was not by my advice that she went, for I detest that man as
+fervently as you can do, - except, indeed, that his reformation
+would give me much greater pleasure than his death; but all I did
+was to inform her of the circumstance of his illness (the
+consequence of a fall from his horse in hunting), and to tell her
+that that unhappy person, Miss Myers, had left him some time ago.'
+
+'It was ill done!  Now, when he finds the convenience of her
+presence, he will make all manner of lying speeches and false, fair
+promises for the future, and she will believe him, and then her
+condition will be ten times worse and ten times more irremediable
+than before.'
+
+'There does not appear to be much ground for such apprehensions at
+present,' said he, producing a letter from his pocket.  'From the
+account I received this morning, I should say - '
+
+It was her writing!  By an irresistible impulse I held out my hand,
+and the words, 'Let me see it,' involuntarily passed my lips.  He
+was evidently reluctant to grant the request, but while he
+hesitated I snatched it from his hand.  Recollecting myself,
+however, the minute after, I offered to restore it.
+
+'Here, take it,' said I, 'if you don't want me to read it.'
+
+'No,' replied he, 'you may read it if you like.'
+
+I read it, and so may you.
+
+
+Grassdale, Nov. 4th.
+
+Dear Frederick, - I know you will be anxious to hear from me, and I
+will tell you all I can.  Mr. Huntingdon is very ill, but not
+dying, or in any immediate danger; and he is rather better at
+present than he was when I came.  I found the house in sad
+confusion:  Mrs. Greaves, Benson, every decent servant had left,
+and those that were come to supply their places were a negligent,
+disorderly set, to say no worse - I must change them again, if I
+stay.  A professional nurse, a grim, hard old woman, had been hired
+to attend the wretched invalid.  He suffers much, and has no
+fortitude to bear him through.  The immediate injuries he sustained
+from the accident, however, were not very severe, and would, as the
+doctor says, have been but trifling to a man of temperate habits,
+but with him it is very different.  On the night of my arrival,
+when I first entered his room, he was lying in a kind of half
+delirium.  He did not notice me till I spoke, and then he mistook
+me for another.
+
+'Is it you, Alice, come again?' he murmured.  'What did you leave
+me for?'
+
+'It is I, Arthur - it is Helen, your wife,' I replied.
+
+'My wife!' said he, with a start.  'For heaven's sake, don't
+mention her - I have none.  Devil take her,' he cried, a moment
+after, 'and you, too!  What did you do it for?'
+
+I said no more; but observing that he kept gazing towards the foot
+of the bed, I went and sat there, placing the light so as to shine
+full upon me, for I thought he might be dying, and I wanted him to
+know me.  For a long time he lay silently looking upon me, first
+with a vacant stare, then with a fixed gaze of strange growing
+intensity.  At last he startled me by suddenly raising himself on
+his elbow and demanding in a horrified whisper, with his eyes still
+fixed upon me, 'Who is it?'
+
+'It is Helen Huntingdon,' said I, quietly rising at the same time,
+and removing to a less conspicuous position.
+
+'I must be going mad,' cried he, 'or something - delirious,
+perhaps; but leave me, whoever you are.  I can't bear that white
+face, and those eyes.  For God's sake go, and send me somebody else
+that doesn't look like that!'
+
+I went at once, and sent the hired nurse; but next morning I
+ventured to enter his chamber again, and, taking the nurse's place
+by his bedside, I watched him and waited on him for several hours,
+showing myself as little as possible, and only speaking when
+necessary, and then not above my breath.  At first he addressed me
+as the nurse, but, on my crossing the room to draw up the window-
+blinds, in obedience to his directions, he said, 'No, it isn't
+nurse; it's Alice.  Stay with me, do!  That old hag will be the
+death of me.'
+
+'I mean to stay with you,' said I.  And after that he would call me
+Alice, or some other name almost equally repugnant to my feelings.
+I forced myself to endure it for a while, fearing a contradiction
+might disturb him too much; but when, having asked for a glass of
+water, while I held it to his lips, he murmured, 'Thanks, dearest!'
+I could not help distinctly observing, 'You would not say so if you
+knew me,' intending to follow that up with another declaration of
+my identity; but he merely muttered an incoherent reply, so I
+dropped it again, till some time after, when, as I was bathing his
+forehead and temples with vinegar and water to relieve the heat and
+pain in his head, he observed, after looking earnestly upon me for
+some minutes, 'I have such strange fancies - I can't get rid of
+them, and they won't let me rest; and the most singular and
+pertinacious of them all is your face and voice - they seem just
+like hers.  I could swear at this moment that she was by my side.'
+
+'She is,' said I.
+
+'That seems comfortable,' continued he, without noticing my words;
+'and while you do it, the other fancies fade away - but this only
+strengthens. - Go on - go on, till it vanishes, too.  I can't stand
+such a mania as this; it would kill me!'
+
+'It never will vanish,' said I, distinctly, 'for it is the truth!'
+
+'The truth!' he cried, starting, as if an asp had stung him.  'You
+don't mean to say that you are really she?'
+
+'I do; but you needn't shrink away from me, as if I were your
+greatest enemy:  I am come to take care of you, and do what none of
+them would do.'
+
+'For God's sake, don't torment me now!' cried he in pitiable
+agitation; and then he began to mutter bitter curses against me, or
+the evil fortune that had brought me there; while I put down the
+sponge and basin, and resumed my seat at the bed-side.
+
+'Where are they?' said he:  'have they all left me - servants and
+all?'
+
+'There are servants within call if you want them; but you had
+better lie down now and be quiet:  none of them could or would
+attend you as carefully as I shall do.'
+
+'I can't understand it at all,' said he, in bewildered perplexity.
+'Was it a dream that - ' and he covered his eyes with his hands, as
+if trying to unravel the mystery.
+
+'No, Arthur, it was not a dream, that your conduct was such as to
+oblige me to leave you; but I heard that you were ill and alone,
+and I am come back to nurse you.  You need not fear to trust me
+tell me all your wants, and I will try to satisfy them.  There is
+no one else to care for you; and I shall not upbraid you now.'
+
+'Oh! I see,' said he, with a bitter smile; 'it's an act of
+Christian charity, whereby you hope to gain a higher seat in heaven
+for yourself, and scoop a deeper pit in hell for me.'
+
+'No; I came to offer you that comfort and assistance your situation
+required; and if I could benefit your soul as well as your body,
+and awaken some sense of contrition and - '
+
+'Oh, yes; if you could overwhelm me with remorse and confusion of
+face, now's the time.  What have you done with my son?'
+
+'He is well, and you may see him some time, if you will compose
+yourself, but not now.'
+
+'Where is he?'
+
+'He is safe.'
+
+'Is he here?'
+
+'Wherever he is, you will not see him till you have promised to
+leave him entirely under my care and protection, and to let me take
+him away whenever and wherever I please, if I should hereafter
+judge it necessary to remove him again.  But we will talk of that
+to-morrow:  you must be quiet now.'
+
+'No, let me see him now, I promise, if it must be so.'
+
+'No - '
+
+'I swear it, as God is in heaven!  Now, then, let me see him.'
+
+'But I cannot trust your oaths and promises:  I must have a written
+agreement, and you must sign it in presence of a witness:  but not
+to-day - to-morrow.'
+
+'No, to-day; now,' persisted he:  and he was in such a state of
+feverish excitement, and so bent upon the immediate gratification
+of his wish, that I thought it better to grant it at once, as I saw
+he would not rest till I did.  But I was determined my son's
+interest should not be forgotten; and having clearly written out
+the promise I wished Mr. Huntingdon to give upon a slip of paper, I
+deliberately read it over to him, and made him sign it in the
+presence of Rachel.  He begged I would not insist upon this:  it
+was a useless exposure of my want of faith in his word to the
+servant.  I told him I was sorry, but since he had forfeited my
+confidence, he must take the consequence.  He next pleaded
+inability to hold the pen.  'Then we must wait until you can hold
+it,' said I.  Upon which he said he would try; but then he could
+not see to write.  I placed my finger where the signature was to
+be, and told him he might write his name in the dark, if he only
+knew where to put it.  But he had not power to form the letters.
+'In that case, you must be too ill to see the child,' said I; and
+finding me inexorable, he at length managed to ratify the
+agreement; and I bade Rachel send the boy.
+
+All this may strike you as harsh, but I felt I must not lose my
+present advantage, and my son's future welfare should not be
+sacrificed to any mistaken tenderness for this man's feelings.
+Little Arthur had not forgotten his father, but thirteen months of
+absence, during which he had seldom been permitted to hear a word
+about him, or hardly to whisper his name, had rendered him somewhat
+shy; and when he was ushered into the darkened room where the sick
+man lay, so altered from his former self, with fiercely flushed
+face and wildly-gleaming eyes - he instinctively clung to me, and
+stood looking on his father with a countenance expressive of far
+more awe than pleasure.
+
+'Come here, Arthur,' said the latter, extending his hand towards
+him.  The child went, and timidly touched that burning hand, but
+almost started in alarm, when his father suddenly clutched his arm
+and drew him nearer to his side.
+
+'Do you know me?' asked Mr. Huntingdon, intently perusing his
+features.
+
+'Yes.'
+
+'Who am I?'
+
+'Papa.'
+
+'Are you glad to see me?'
+
+'Yes.'
+
+'You're not!' replied the disappointed parent, relaxing his hold,
+and darting a vindictive glance at me.
+
+Arthur, thus released, crept back to me and put his hand in mine.
+His father swore I had made the child hate him, and abused and
+cursed me bitterly.  The instant he began I sent our son out of the
+room; and when he paused to breathe, I calmly assured him that he
+was entirely mistaken; I had never once attempted to prejudice his
+child against him.
+
+'I did indeed desire him to forget you,' I said, 'and especially to
+forget the lessons you taught him; and for that cause, and to
+lessen the danger of discovery, I own I have generally discouraged
+his inclination to talk about you; but no one can blame me for
+that, I think.'
+
+The invalid only replied by groaning aloud, and rolling his head on
+a pillow in a paroxysm of impatience.
+
+'I am in hell, already!' cried he.  'This cursed thirst is burning
+my heart to ashes!  Will nobody -?'
+
+Before he could finish the sentence I had poured out a glass of
+some acidulated, cooling drink that was on the table, and brought
+it to him.  He drank it greedily, but muttered, as I took away the
+glass, - 'I suppose you're heaping coals of fire on my head, you
+think?'
+
+Not noticing this speech, I asked if there was anything else I
+could do for him.
+
+'Yes; I'll give you another opportunity of showing your Christian
+magnanimity,' sneered he:  'set my pillow straight, and these
+confounded bed-clothes.'  I did so.  'There:  now get me another
+glass of that slop.'  I complied.  'This is delightful, isn't it?'
+said he with a malicious grin, as I held it to his lips; 'you never
+hoped for such a glorious opportunity?'
+
+'Now, shall I stay with you?' said I, as I replaced the glass on
+the table:  'or will you be more quiet if I go and send the nurse?'
+
+'Oh, yes, you're wondrous gentle and obliging!  But you've driven
+me mad with it all!' responded he, with an impatient toss.
+
+'I'll leave you, then,' said I; and I withdrew, and did not trouble
+him with my presence again that day, except for a minute or two at
+a time, just to see how he was and what he wanted.
+
+Next morning the doctor ordered him to be bled; and after that he
+was more subdued and tranquil.  I passed half the day in his room
+at different intervals.  My presence did not appear to agitate or
+irritate him as before, and he accepted my services quietly,
+without any bitter remarks:  indeed, he scarcely spoke at all,
+except to make known his wants, and hardly then.  But on the
+morrow, that is to say, in proportion as he recovered from the
+state of exhaustion and stupefaction, his ill-nature appeared to
+revive.
+
+'Oh, this sweet revenge!' cried he, when I had been doing all I
+could to make him comfortable and to remedy the carelessness of his
+nurse.  'And you can enjoy it with such a quiet conscience too,
+because it's all in the way of duty.'
+
+'It is well for me that I am doing my duty,' said I, with a
+bitterness I could not repress, 'for it is the only comfort I have;
+and the satisfaction of my own conscience, it seems, is the only
+reward I need look for!'
+
+He looked rather surprised at the earnestness of my manner.
+
+'What reward did you look for?' he asked.
+
+'You will think me a liar if I tell you; but I did hope to benefit
+you:  as well to better your mind as to alleviate your present
+sufferings; but it appears I am to do neither; your own bad spirit
+will not let me.  As far as you are concerned, I have sacrificed my
+own feelings, and all the little earthly comfort that was left me,
+to no purpose; and every little thing I do for you is ascribed to
+self-righteous malice and refined revenge!'
+
+'It's all very fine, I daresay,' said he, eyeing me with stupid
+amazement; 'and of course I ought to be melted to tears of
+penitence and admiration at the sight of so much generosity and
+superhuman goodness; but you see I can't manage it.  However, pray
+do me all the good you can, if you do really find any pleasure in
+it; for you perceive I am almost as miserable just now as you need
+wish to see me.  Since you came, I confess, I have had better
+attendance than before, for these wretches neglected me shamefully,
+and all my old friends seem to have fairly forsaken me.  I've had a
+dreadful time of it, I assure you:  I sometimes thought I should
+have died:  do you think there's any chance?'
+
+'There's always a chance of death; and it is always well to live
+with such a chance in view.'
+
+'Yes, yes! but do you think there's any likelihood that this
+illness will have a fatal termination?'
+
+'I cannot tell; but, supposing it should, how are you prepared to
+meet the event?'
+
+'Why, the doctor told me I wasn't to think about it, for I was sure
+to get better if I stuck to his regimen and prescriptions.'
+
+'I hope you may, Arthur; but neither the doctor nor I can speak
+with certainty in such a case; there is internal injury, and it is
+difficult to know to what extent.'
+
+'There now! you want to scare me to death.'
+
+'No; but I don't want to lull you to false security.  If a
+consciousness of the uncertainty of life can dispose you to serious
+and useful thoughts, I would not deprive you of the benefit of such
+reflections, whether you do eventually recover or not.  Does the
+idea of death appal you very much?'
+
+'It's just the only thing I can't bear to think of; so if you've
+any - '
+
+'But it must come some time,' interrupted I, 'and if it be years
+hence, it will as certainly overtake you as if it came to-day, -
+and no doubt be as unwelcome then as now, unless you - '
+
+'Oh, hang it! don't torment me with your preachments now, unless
+you want to kill me outright.  I can't stand it, I tell you.  I've
+sufferings enough without that.  If you think there's danger, save
+me from it; and then, in gratitude, I'll hear whatever you like to
+say.'
+
+I accordingly dropped the unwelcome topic.  And now, Frederick, I
+think I may bring my letter to a close.  From these details you may
+form your own judgment of the state of my patient, and of my own
+position and future prospects.  Let me hear from you soon, and I
+will write again to tell you how we get on; but now that my
+presence is tolerated, and even required, in the sick-room, I shall
+have but little time to spare between my husband and my son, - for
+I must not entirely neglect the latter:  it would not do to keep
+him always with Rachel, and I dare not leave him for a moment with
+any of the other servants, or suffer him to be alone, lest he
+should meet them.  If his father get worse, I shall ask Esther
+Hargrave to take charge of him for a time, till I have reorganised
+the household at least; but I greatly prefer keeping him under my
+own eye.
+
+I find myself in rather a singular position:  I am exerting my
+utmost endeavours to promote the recovery and reformation of my
+husband, and if I succeed, what shall I do?  My duty, of course, -
+but how?  No matter; I can perform the task that is before me now,
+and God will give me strength to do whatever He requires hereafter.
+Good-by, dear Frederick.
+
+HELEN HUNTINGDON.
+
+
+'What do you think of it?' said Lawrence, as I silently refolded
+the letter.
+
+'It seems to me,' returned I, 'that she is casting her pearls
+before swine.  May they be satisfied with trampling them under
+their feet, and not turn again and rend her!  But I shall say no
+more against her:  I see that she was actuated by the best and
+noblest motives in what she has done; and if the act is not a wise
+one, may heaven protect her from its consequences!  May I keep this
+letter, Lawrence? - you see she has never once mentioned me
+throughout - or made the most distant allusion to me; therefore,
+there can be no impropriety or harm in it.'
+
+'And, therefore, why should you wish to keep it?'
+
+'Were not these characters written by her hand? and were not these
+words conceived in her mind, and many of them spoken by her lips?'
+
+'Well,' said he.  And so I kept it; otherwise, Halford, you could
+never have become so thoroughly acquainted with its contents.
+
+'And when you write,' said I, 'will you have the goodness to ask
+her if I may be permitted to enlighten my mother and sister on her
+real history and circumstance, just so far as is necessary to make
+the neighbourhood sensible of the shameful injustice they have done
+her?  I want no tender messages, but just ask her that, and tell
+her it is the greatest favour she could do me; and tell her - no,
+nothing more.  You see I know the address, and I might write to her
+myself, but I am so virtuous as to refrain.'
+
+'Well, I'll do this for you, Markham.'
+
+'And as soon as you receive an answer, you'll let me know?'
+
+'If all be well, I'll come myself and tell you immediately.'
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLVIII
+
+
+
+Five or six days after this Mr. Lawrence paid us the honour of a
+call; and when he and I were alone together - which I contrived as
+soon as possible by bringing him out to look at my cornstacks - he
+showed me another letter from his sister.  This one he was quite
+willing to submit to my longing gaze; he thought, I suppose, it
+would do me good.  The only answer it gave to my message was this:-
+
+'Mr. Markham is at liberty to make such revelations concerning me
+as he judges necessary.  He will know that I should wish but little
+to be said on the subject.  I hope he is well; but tell him he must
+not think of me.'
+
+I can give you a few extracts from the rest of the letter, for I
+was permitted to keep this also - perhaps, as an antidote to all
+pernicious hopes and fancies.
+
+* * * * *
+
+He is decidedly better, but very low from the depressing effects of
+his severe illness and the strict regimen he is obliged to observe
+- so opposite to all his previous habits.  It is deplorable to see
+how completely his past life has degenerated his once noble
+constitution, and vitiated the whole system of his organization.
+But the doctor says he may now be considered out of danger, if he
+will only continue to observe the necessary restrictions.  Some
+stimulating cordials he must have, but they should be judiciously
+diluted and sparingly used; and I find it very difficult to keep
+him to this.  At first, his extreme dread of death rendered the
+task an easy one; but in proportion as he feels his acute suffering
+abating, and sees the danger receding, the more intractable he
+becomes.  Now, also, his appetite for food is beginning to return;
+and here, too, his long habits of self-indulgence are greatly
+against him.  I watch and restrain him as well as I can, and often
+get bitterly abused for my rigid severity; and sometimes he
+contrives to elude my vigilance, and sometimes acts in opposition
+to my will.  But he is now so completely reconciled to my
+attendance in general that he is never satisfied when I am not by
+his side.  I am obliged to be a little stiff with him sometimes, or
+he would make a complete slave of me; and I know it would be
+unpardonable weakness to give up all other interests for him.  I
+have the servants to overlook, and my little Arthur to attend to, -
+and my own health too, all of which would be entirely neglected
+were I to satisfy his exorbitant demands.  I do not generally sit
+up at night, for I think the nurse who has made it her business is
+better qualified for such undertakings than I am; - but still, an
+unbroken night's rest is what I but seldom enjoy, and never can
+venture to reckon upon; for my patient makes no scruple of calling
+me up at an hour when his wants or his fancies require my presence.
+But he is manifestly afraid of my displeasure; and if at one time
+he tries my patience by his unreasonable exactions, and fretful
+complaints and reproaches, at another he depresses me by his abject
+submission and deprecatory self-abasement when he fears he has gone
+too far.  But all this I can readily pardon; I know it is chiefly
+the result of his enfeebled frame and disordered nerves.  What
+annoys me the most, is his occasional attempts at affectionate
+fondness that I can neither credit nor return; not that I hate him:
+his sufferings and my own laborious care have given him some claim
+to my regard - to my affection even, if he would only be quiet and
+sincere, and content to let things remain as they are; but the more
+he tries to conciliate me, the more I shrink from him and from the
+future.
+
+'Helen, what do you mean to do when I get well?' he asked this
+morning.  'Will you run away again?'
+
+'It entirely depends upon your own conduct.'
+
+'Oh, I'll be very good.'
+
+'But if I find it necessary to leave you, Arthur, I shall not "run
+away":  you know I have your own promise that I may go whenever I
+please, and take my son with me.'
+
+'Oh, but you shall have no cause.'  And then followed a variety of
+professions, which I rather coldly checked.
+
+'Will you not forgive me, then?' said he.
+
+'Yes, - I have forgiven you:  but I know you cannot love me as you
+once did - and I should be very sorry if you were to, for I could
+not pretend to return it:  so let us drop the subject, and never
+recur to it again.  By what I have done for you, you may judge of
+what I will do - if it be not incompatible with the higher duty I
+owe to my son (higher, because he never forfeited his claims, and
+because I hope to do more good to him than I can ever do to you);
+and if you wish me to feel kindly towards you, it is deeds not
+words which must purchase my affection and esteem.'
+
+His sole reply to this was a slight grimace, and a scarcely
+perceptible shrug.  Alas, unhappy man! words, with him, are so much
+cheaper than deeds; it was as if I had said, 'Pounds, not pence,
+must buy the article you want.'  And then he sighed a querulous,
+self-commiserating sigh, as if in pure regret that he, the loved
+and courted of so many worshippers, should be now abandoned to the
+mercy of a harsh, exacting, cold-hearted woman like that, and even
+glad of what kindness she chose to bestow.
+
+'It's a pity, isn't it?' said I; and whether I rightly divined his
+musings or not, the observation chimed in with his thoughts, for he
+answered - 'It can't be helped,' with a rueful smile at my
+penetration.
+
+* * * * *
+
+I have I seen Esther Hargrave twice.  She is a charming creature,
+but her blithe spirit is almost broken, and her sweet temper almost
+spoiled, by the still unremitting persecutions of her mother in
+behalf of her rejected suitor - not violent, but wearisome and
+unremitting like a continual dropping.  The unnatural parent seems
+determined to make her daughter's life a burden, if she will not
+yield to her desires.
+
+'Mamma does all she can,' said she, 'to make me feel myself a
+burden and incumbrance to the family, and the most ungrateful,
+selfish, and undutiful daughter that ever was born; and Walter,
+too, is as stern and cold and haughty as if he hated me outright.
+I believe I should have yielded at once if I had known, from the
+beginning, how much resistance would have cost me; but now, for
+very obstinacy's sake, I will stand out!'
+
+'A bad motive for a good resolve,' I answered.  'But, however, I
+know you have better motives, really, for your perseverance:  and I
+counsel you to keep them still in view.'
+
+'Trust me I will.  I threaten mamma sometimes that I'll run away,
+and disgrace the family by earning my own livelihood, if she
+torments me any more; and then that frightens her a little.  But I
+will do it, in good earnest, if they don't mind.'
+
+'Be quiet and patient a while,' said I, 'and better times will
+come.'
+
+Poor girl!  I wish somebody that was worthy to possess her would
+come and take her away - don't you, Frederick?
+
+* * * * *
+
+If the perusal of this letter filled me with dismay for Helen's
+future life and mine, there was one great source of consolation:
+it was now in my power to clear her name from every foul aspersion.
+The Millwards and the Wilsons should see with their own eyes the
+bright sun bursting from the cloud - and they should be scorched
+and dazzled by its beams; - and my own friends too should see it -
+they whose suspicions had been such gall and wormwood to my soul.
+To effect this I had only to drop the seed into the ground, and it
+would soon become a stately, branching herb:  a few words to my
+mother and sister, I knew, would suffice to spread the news
+throughout the whole neighbourhood, without any further exertion on
+my part.
+
+Rose was delighted; and as soon as I had told her all I thought
+proper - which was all I affected to know - she flew with alacrity
+to put on her bonnet and shawl, and hasten to carry the glad
+tidings to the Millwards and Wilsons - glad tidings, I suspect, to
+none but herself and Mary Millward - that steady, sensible girl,
+whose sterling worth had been so quickly perceived and duly valued
+by the supposed Mrs. Graham, in spite of her plain outside; and
+who, on her part, had been better able to see and appreciate that
+lady's true character and qualities than the brightest genius among
+them.
+
+As I may never have occasion to mention her again, I may as well
+tell you here that she was at this time privately engaged to
+Richard Wilson - a secret, I believe, to every one but themselves.
+That worthy student was now at Cambridge, where his most exemplary
+conduct and his diligent perseverance in the pursuit of learning
+carried him safely through, and eventually brought him with hard-
+earned honours, and an untarnished reputation, to the close of his
+collegiate career.  In due time he became Mr. Millward's first and
+only curate - for that gentleman's declining years forced him at
+last to acknowledge that the duties of his extensive parish were a
+little too much for those vaunted energies which he was wont to
+boast over his younger and less active brethren of the cloth.  This
+was what the patient, faithful lovers had privately planned and
+quietly waited for years ago; and in due time they were united, to
+the astonishment of the little world they lived in, that had long
+since declared them both born to single blessedness; affirming it
+impossible that the pale, retiring bookworm should ever summon
+courage to seek a wife, or be able to obtain one if he did, and
+equally impossible that the plain-looking, plain-dealing,
+unattractive, unconciliating Miss Millward should ever find a
+husband.
+
+They still continued to live at the vicarage, the lady dividing her
+time between her father, her husband, and their poor parishioners,
+- and subsequently her rising family; and now that the Reverend
+Michael Millward has been gathered to his fathers, full of years
+and honours, the Reverend Richard Wilson has succeeded him to the
+vicarage of Linden-hope, greatly to the satisfaction of its
+inhabitants, who had so long tried and fully proved his merits, and
+those of his excellent and well-loved partner.
+
+If you are interested in the after fate of that lady's sister, I
+can only tell you - what perhaps you have heard from another
+quarter - that some twelve or thirteen years ago she relieved the
+happy couple of her presence by marrying a wealthy tradesman of L-;
+and I don't envy him his bargain.  I fear she leads him a rather
+uncomfortable life, though, happily, he is too dull to perceive the
+extent of his misfortune.  I have little enough to do with her
+myself:  we have not met for many years; but, I am well assured,
+she has not yet forgotten or forgiven either her former lover, or
+the lady whose superior qualities first opened his eyes to the
+folly of his boyish attachment.
+
+As for Richard Wilson's sister, she, having been wholly unable to
+recapture Mr. Lawrence, or obtain any partner rich and elegant
+enough to suit her ideas of what the husband of Jane Wilson ought
+to be, is yet in single blessedness.  Shortly after the death of
+her mother she withdrew the light of her presence from Ryecote
+Farm, finding it impossible any longer to endure the rough manners
+and unsophisticated habits of her honest brother Robert and his
+worthy wife, or the idea of being identified with such vulgar
+people in the eyes of the world, and took lodgings in - the county
+town, where she lived, and still lives, I suppose, in a kind of
+close-fisted, cold, uncomfortable gentility, doing no good to
+others, and but little to herself; spending her days in fancy-work
+and scandal; referring frequently to her 'brother the vicar,' and
+her 'sister, the vicar's lady,' but never to her brother the farmer
+and her sister the farmer's wife; seeing as much company as she can
+without too much expense, but loving no one and beloved by none -
+a cold-hearted, supercilious, keenly, insidiously censorious old
+maid.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLIX
+
+
+
+Though Mr. Lawrence's health was now quite re-established, my
+visits to Woodford were as unremitting as ever; though often less
+protracted than before.  We seldom talked about Mrs. Huntingdon;
+but yet we never met without mentioning her, for I never sought his
+company but with the hope of hearing something about her, and he
+never sought mine at all, because he saw me often enough without.
+But I always began to talk of other things, and waited first to see
+if he would introduce the subject.  If he did not, I would casually
+ask, 'Have you heard from your sister lately?'  If he said 'No,'
+the matter was dropped:  if he said 'Yes,' I would venture to
+inquire, 'How is she?' but never 'How is her husband?' though I
+might be burning to know; because I had not the hypocrisy to
+profess any anxiety for his recovery, and I had not the face to
+express any desire for a contrary result.  Had I any such desire? -
+I fear I must plead guilty; but since you have heard my confession,
+you must hear my justification as well  - a few of the excuses, at
+least, wherewith I sought to pacify my own accusing conscience.
+
+In the first place, you see, his life did harm to others, and
+evidently no good to himself; and though I wished it to terminate,
+I would not have hastened its close if, by the lifting of a finger,
+I could have done so, or if a spirit had whispered in my ear that a
+single effort of the will would be enough, - unless, indeed, I had
+the power to exchange him for some other victim of the grave, whose
+life might be of service to his race, and whose death would be
+lamented by his friends.  But was there any harm in wishing that,
+among the many thousands whose souls would certainly be required of
+them before the year was over, this wretched mortal might be one?
+I thought not; and therefore I wished with all my heart that it
+might please heaven to remove him to a better world, or if that
+might not be, still to take him out of this; for if he were unfit
+to answer the summons now, after a warning sickness, and with such
+an angel by his side, it seemed but too certain that he never would
+be - that, on the contrary, returning health would bring returning
+lust and villainy, and as he grew more certain of recovery, more
+accustomed to her generous goodness, his feelings would become more
+callous, his heart more flinty and impervious to her persuasive
+arguments - but God knew best.  Meantime, however, I could not but
+be anxious for the result of His decrees; knowing, as I did, that
+(leaving myself entirely out of the question), however Helen might
+feel interested in her husband's welfare, however she might deplore
+his fate, still while he lived she must be miserable.
+
+A fortnight passed away, and my inquiries were always answered in
+the negative.  At length a welcome 'yes' drew from me the second
+question.  Lawrence divined my anxious thoughts, and appreciated my
+reserve.  I feared, at first, he was going to torture me by
+unsatisfactory replies, and either leave me quite in the dark
+concerning what I wanted to know, or force me to drag the
+information out of him, morsel by morsel, by direct inquiries.
+'And serve you right,' you will say; but he was more merciful; and
+in a little while he put his sister's letter into my hand.  I
+silently read it, and restored it to him without comment or remark.
+This mode of procedure suited him so well, that thereafter he
+always pursued the plan of showing me her letters at once, when
+'inquired' after her, if there were any to show - it was so much
+less trouble than to tell me their contents; and I received such
+confidences so quietly and discreetly that he was never induced to
+discontinue them.
+
+But I devoured those precious letters with my eyes, and never let
+them go till their contents were stamped upon my mind; and when I
+got home, the most important passages were entered in my diary
+among the remarkable events of the day.
+
+The first of these communications brought intelligence of a serious
+relapse in Mr. Huntingdon's illness, entirely the result of his own
+infatuation in persisting in the indulgence of his appetite for
+stimulating drink.  In vain had she remonstrated, in vain she had
+mingled his wine with water:  her arguments and entreaties were a
+nuisance, her interference was an insult so intolerable that, at
+length, on finding she had covertly diluted the pale port that was
+brought him, he threw the bottle out of window, swearing he would
+not be cheated like a baby, ordered the butler, on pain of instant
+dismissal, to bring a bottle of the strongest wine in the cellar,
+and affirming that he should have been well long ago if he had been
+let to have his own way, but she wanted to keep him weak in order
+that she might have him under her thumb - but, by the Lord Harry,
+he would have no more humbug - seized a glass in one hand and the
+bottle in the other, and never rested till he had drunk it dry.
+Alarming symptoms were the immediate result of this 'imprudence,'
+as she mildly termed it - symptoms which had rather increased than
+diminished since; and this was the cause of her delay in writing to
+her brother.  Every former feature of his malady had returned with
+augmented virulence:  the slight external wound, half healed, had
+broken out afresh; internal inflammation had taken place, which
+might terminate fatally if not soon removed.  Of course, the
+wretched sufferer's temper was not improved by this calamity - in
+fact, I suspect it was well nigh insupportable, though his kind
+nurse did not complain; but she said she had been obliged at last
+to give her son in charge to Esther Hargrave, as her presence was
+so constantly required in the sick-room that she could not possibly
+attend to him herself; and though the child had begged to be
+allowed to continue with her there, and to help her to nurse his
+papa, and though she had no doubt he would have been very good and
+quiet, she could not think of subjecting his young and tender
+feelings to the sight of so much suffering, or of allowing him to
+witness his father's impatience, or hear the dreadful language he
+was wont to use in his paroxysms of pain or irritation.
+
+The latter (continued she) most deeply regrets the step that has
+occasioned his relapse; but, as usual, he throws the blame upon me.
+If I had reasoned with him like a rational creature, he says, it
+never would have happened; but to be treated like a baby or a fool
+was enough to put any man past his patience, and drive him to
+assert his independence even at the sacrifice of his own interest.
+He forgets how often I had reasoned him 'past his patience' before.
+He appears to be sensible of his danger; but nothing can induce him
+to behold it in the proper light.  The other night, while I was
+waiting on him, and just as I had brought him a draught to assuage
+his burning thirst, he observed, with a return of his former
+sarcastic bitterness, 'Yes, you're mighty attentive now!  I suppose
+there's nothing you wouldn't do for me now?'
+
+'You know,' said I, a little surprised at his manner, 'that I am
+willing to do anything I can to relieve you.'
+
+'Yes, now, my immaculate angel; but when once you have secured your
+reward, and find yourself safe in heaven, and me howling in hell-
+fire, catch you lifting a finger to serve me then!  No, you'll look
+complacently on, and not so much as dip the tip of your finger in
+water to cool my tongue!'
+
+'If so, it will be because of the great gulf over which I cannot
+pass; and if I could look complacently on in such a case, it would
+be only from the assurance that you were being purified from your
+sins, and fitted to enjoy the happiness I felt. - But are you
+determined, Arthur, that I shall not meet you in heaven?'
+
+'Humph!  What should I do there, I should like to know?'
+
+'Indeed, I cannot tell; and I fear it is too certain that your
+tastes and feelings must be widely altered before you can have any
+enjoyment there.  But do you prefer sinking, without an effort,
+into the state of torment you picture to yourself?'
+
+'Oh, it's all a fable,' said he, contemptuously.
+
+'Are you sure, Arthur? are you quite sure?  Because, if there is
+any doubt, and if you should find yourself mistaken after all, when
+it is too late to turn - '
+
+'It would be rather awkward, to be sure,' said he; 'but don't
+bother me now - I'm not going to die yet.  I can't and won't,' he
+added vehemently, as if suddenly struck with the appalling aspect
+of that terrible event.  'Helen, you must save me!'  And he
+earnestly seized my hand, and looked into my face with such
+imploring eagerness that my heart bled for him, and I could not
+speak for tears.
+
+* * * * *
+
+The next letter brought intelligence that the malady was fast
+increasing; and the poor sufferer's horror of death was still more
+distressing than his impatience of bodily pain.  All his friends
+had not forsaken him; for Mr. Hattersley, hearing of his danger,
+had come to see him from his distant home in the north.  His wife
+had accompanied him, as much for the pleasure of seeing her dear
+friend, from whom she had been parted so long, as to visit her
+mother and sister.
+
+Mrs. Huntingdon expressed herself glad to see Milicent once more,
+and pleased to behold her so happy and well.  She is now at the
+Grove, continued the letter, but she often calls to see me.  Mr.
+Hattersley spends much of his time at Arthur's bed-side.  With more
+good feeling than I gave him credit for, he evinces considerable
+sympathy for his unhappy friend, and is far more willing than able
+to comfort him.  Sometimes he tries to joke and laugh with him, but
+that will not do; sometimes he endeavours to cheer him with talk
+about old times, and this at one time may serve to divert the
+sufferer from his own sad thoughts; at another, it will only plunge
+him into deeper melancholy than before; and then Hattersley is
+confounded, and knows not what to say, unless it be a timid
+suggestion that the clergyman might be sent for.  But Arthur will
+never consent to that:  he knows he has rejected the clergyman's
+well-meant admonitions with scoffing levity at other times, and
+cannot dream of turning to him for consolation now.
+
+Mr. Hattersley sometimes offers his services instead of mine, but
+Arthur will not let me go:  that strange whim still increases, as
+his strength declines - the fancy to have me always by his side.  I
+hardly ever leave him, except to go into the next room, where I
+sometimes snatch an hour or so of sleep when he is quiet; but even
+then the door is left ajar, that he may know me to be within call.
+I am with him now, while I write, and I fear my occupation annoys
+him; though I frequently break off to attend to him, and though Mr.
+Hattersley is also by his side.  That gentleman came, as he said,
+to beg a holiday for me, that I might have a run in the park, this
+fine frosty morning, with Milicent and Esther and little Arthur,
+whom he had driven over to see me.  Our poor invalid evidently felt
+it a heartless proposition, and would have felt it still more
+heartless in me to accede to it.  I therefore said I would only go
+and speak to them a minute, and then come back.  I did but exchange
+a few words with them, just outside the portico, inhaling the
+fresh, bracing air as I stood, and then, resisting the earnest and
+eloquent entreaties of all three to stay a little longer, and join
+them in a walk round the garden, I tore myself away and returned to
+my patient.  I had not been absent five minutes, but he reproached
+me bitterly for my levity and neglect.  His friend espoused my
+cause.
+
+'Nay, nay, Huntingdon,' said he, 'you're too hard upon her; she
+must have food and sleep, and a mouthful of fresh air now and then,
+or she can't stand it, I tell you.  Look at her, man! she's worn to
+a shadow already.'
+
+'What are her sufferings to mine?' said the poor invalid.  'You
+don't grudge me these attentions, do you, Helen?'
+
+'No, Arthur, if I could really serve you by them.  I would give my
+life to save you, if I might.'
+
+'Would you, indeed?  No!'
+
+'Most willingly I would.'
+
+'Ah! that's because you think yourself more fit to die!'
+
+There was a painful pause.  He was evidently plunged in gloomy
+reflections; but while I pondered for something to say that might
+benefit without alarming him, Hattersley, whose mind had been
+pursuing almost the same course, broke silence with, 'I say,
+Huntingdon, I would send for a parson of some sort:  if you didn't
+like the vicar, you know, you could have his curate, or somebody
+else.'
+
+'No; none of them can benefit me if she can't,' was the answer.
+And the tears gushed from his eyes as he earnestly exclaimed, 'Oh,
+Helen, if I had listened to you, it never would have come to this!
+and if I had heard you long ago - oh, God! how different it would
+have been!'
+
+'Hear me now, then, Arthur,' said I, gently pressing his hand.
+
+'It's too late now,' said he despondingly.  And after that another
+paroxysm of pain came on; and then his mind began to wander, and we
+feared his death was approaching:  but an opiate was administered:
+his sufferings began to abate, he gradually became more composed,
+and at length sank into a kind of slumber.  He has been quieter
+since; and now Hattersley has left him, expressing a hope that he
+shall find him better when he calls to-morrow.
+
+'Perhaps I may recover,' he replied; 'who knows?  This may have
+been the crisis.  What do you think, Helen?'  Unwilling to depress
+him, I gave the most cheering answer I could, but still recommended
+him to prepare for the possibility of what I inly feared was but
+too certain.  But he was determined to hope.  Shortly after he
+relapsed into a kind of doze, but now he groans again.
+
+There is a change.  Suddenly he called me to his side, with such a
+strange, excited manner, that I feared he was delirious, but he was
+not.  'That was the crisis, Helen!' said he, delightedly.  'I had
+an infernal pain here - it is quite gone now.  I never was so easy
+since the fall - quite gone, by heaven!' and he clasped and kissed
+my hand in the very fulness of his heart; but finding I did not
+participate his joy, he quickly flung it from him, and bitterly
+cursed my coldness and insensibility.  How could I reply?  Kneeling
+beside him, I took his hand and fondly pressed it to my lips - for
+the first time since our separation - and told him, as well as
+tears would let me speak, that it was not that that kept me silent:
+it was the fear that this sudden cessation of pain was not so
+favourable a symptom as he supposed.  I immediately sent for the
+doctor:  we are now anxiously awaiting him.  I will tell you what
+he says.  There is still the same freedom from pain, the same
+deadness to all sensation where the suffering was most acute.
+
+My worst fears are realised:  mortification has commenced.  The
+doctor has told him there is no hope.  No words can describe his
+anguish.  I can write no more.
+
+* * * * *
+
+The next was still more distressing in the tenor of its contents.
+The sufferer was fast approaching dissolution - dragged almost to
+the verge of that awful chasm he trembled to contemplate, from
+which no agony of prayers or tears could save him.  Nothing could
+comfort him now; Hattersley's rough attempts at consolation were
+utterly in vain.  The world was nothing to him:  life and all its
+interests, its petty cares and transient pleasures, were a cruel
+mockery.  To talk of the past was to torture him with vain remorse;
+to refer to the future was to increase his anguish; and yet to be
+silent was to leave him a prey to his own regrets and
+apprehensions.  Often he dwelt with shuddering minuteness on the
+fate of his perishing clay - the slow, piecemeal dissolution
+already invading his frame:  the shroud, the coffin, the dark,
+lonely grave, and all the horrors of corruption.
+
+'If I try,' said his afflicted wife, 'to divert him from these
+things - to raise his thoughts to higher themes, it is no better:-
+"Worse and worse!" he groans.  "If there be really life beyond the
+tomb, and judgment after death, how can I face it?" - I cannot do
+him any good; he will neither be enlightened, nor roused, nor
+comforted by anything I say; and yet he clings to me with
+unrelenting pertinacity - with a kind of childish desperation, as
+if I could save him from the fate he dreads.  He keeps me night and
+day beside him.  He is holding my left hand now, while I write; he
+has held it thus for hours:  sometimes quietly, with his pale face
+upturned to mine:  sometimes clutching my arm with violence - the
+big drops starting from his forehead at the thoughts of what he
+sees, or thinks he sees, before him.  If I withdraw my hand for a
+moment it distresses him.
+
+'"Stay with me, Helen," he says; "let me hold you so:  it seems as
+if harm could not reach me while you are here.  But death will come
+- it is coming now - fast, fast! - and - oh, if I could believe
+there was nothing after!"
+
+'"Don't try to believe it, Arthur; there is joy and glory after, if
+you will but try to reach it!"
+
+'"What, for me?" he said, with something like a laugh.  "Are we not
+to be judged according to the deeds done in the body?  Where's the
+use of a probationary existence, if a man may spend it as he
+pleases, just contrary to God's decrees, and then go to heaven with
+the best - if the vilest sinner may win the reward of the holiest
+saint, by merely saying, "I repent!"'
+
+'"But if you sincerely repent - "
+
+'"I can't repent; I only fear."
+
+'"You only regret the past for its consequences to yourself?"
+
+'"Just so - except that I'm sorry to have wronged you, Nell,
+because you're so good to me."
+
+'"Think of the goodness of God, and you cannot but be grieved to
+have offended Him."
+
+'"What is God? - I cannot see Him or hear Him. - God is only an
+idea."
+
+'"God is Infinite Wisdom, and Power, and Goodness - and LOVE; but
+if this idea is too vast for your human faculties - if your mind
+loses itself in its overwhelming infinitude, fix it on Him who
+condescended to take our nature upon Him, who was raised to heaven
+even in His glorified human body, in whom the fulness of the
+Godhead shines."
+
+'But he only shook his head and sighed.  Then, in another paroxysm
+of shuddering horror, he tightened his grasp on my hand and arm,
+and, groaning and lamenting, still clung to me with that wild,
+desperate earnestness so harrowing to my soul, because I know I
+cannot help him.  I did my best to soothe and comfort him.
+
+'"Death is so terrible," he cried, "I cannot bear it!  You don't
+know, Helen - you can't imagine what it is, because you haven't it
+before you! and when I'm buried, you'll return to your old ways and
+be as happy as ever, and all the world will go on just as busy and
+merry as if I had never been; while I - "  He burst into tears.
+
+'"You needn't let that distress you," I said; "we shall all follow
+you soon enough."
+
+'"I wish to God I could take you with me now!" he exclaimed:  "you
+should plead for me."
+
+'"No man can deliver his brother, nor make agreement unto God for
+him," I replied:  "it cost more to redeem their souls - it cost the
+blood of an incarnate God, perfect and sinless in Himself, to
+redeem us from the bondage of the evil one:- let Him plead for
+you."
+
+'But I seem to speak in vain.  He does not now, as formerly, laugh
+these blessed truths to scorn:  but still he cannot trust, or will
+not comprehend them.  He cannot linger long.  He suffers
+dreadfully, and so do those that wait upon him.  But I will not
+harass you with further details:  I have said enough, I think, to
+convince you that I did well to go to him.'
+
+* * * * *
+
+Poor, poor Helen! dreadful indeed her trials must have been!  And I
+could do nothing to lessen them - nay, it almost seemed as if I had
+brought them upon her myself by my own secret desires; and whether
+I looked at her husband's sufferings or her own, it seemed almost
+like a judgment upon myself for having cherished such a wish.
+
+The next day but one there came another letter.  That too was put
+into my hands without a remark, and these are its contents:-
+
+
+Dec. 5th.
+
+He is gone at last.  I sat beside him all night, with my hand fast
+looked in his, watching the changes of his features and listening
+to his failing breath.  He had been silent a long time, and I
+thought he would never speak again, when he murmured, faintly but
+distinctly, - 'Pray for me, Helen!'
+
+'I do pray for you, every hour and every minute, Arthur; but you
+must pray for yourself.'
+
+His lips moved, but emitted no sound; - then his looks became
+unsettled; and, from the incoherent, half-uttered words that
+escaped him from time to time, supposing him to be now unconscious,
+I gently disengaged my hand from his, intending to steal away for a
+breath of air, for I was almost ready to faint; but a convulsive
+movement of the fingers, and a faintly whispered 'Don't leave me!'
+immediately recalled me:  I took his hand again, and held it till
+he was no more - and then I fainted.  It was not grief; it was
+exhaustion, that, till then, I had been enabled successfully to
+combat.  Oh, Frederick! none can imagine the miseries, bodily and
+mental, of that death-bed!  How could I endure to think that that
+poor trembling soul was hurried away to everlasting torment? it
+would drive me mad.  But, thank God, I have hope - not only from a
+vague dependence on the possibility that penitence and pardon might
+have reached him at the last, but from the blessed confidence that,
+through whatever purging fires the erring spirit may be doomed to
+pass - whatever fate awaits it - still it is not lost, and God, who
+hateth nothing that He hath made, will bless it in the end!
+
+His body will be consigned on Thursday to that dark grave he so
+much dreaded; but the coffin must be closed as soon as possible.
+If you will attend the funeral, come quickly, for I need help.
+
+HELEN HUNTINGDON.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER L
+
+
+
+On reading this I had no reason to disguise my joy and hope from
+Frederick Lawrence, for I had none to be ashamed of.  I felt no joy
+but that his sister was at length released from her afflictive,
+overwhelming toil - no hope but that she would in time recover from
+the effects of it, and be suffered to rest in peace and quietness,
+at least, for the remainder of her life.  I experienced a painful
+commiseration for her unhappy husband (though fully aware that he
+had brought every particle of his sufferings upon himself, and but
+too well deserved them all), and a profound sympathy for her own
+afflictions, and deep anxiety for the consequences of those
+harassing cares, those dreadful vigils, that incessant and
+deleterious confinement beside a living corpse - for I was
+persuaded she had not hinted half the sufferings she had had to
+endure.
+
+'You will go to her, Lawrence?' said I, as I put the letter into
+his hand.
+
+'Yes, immediately.'
+
+'That's right!  I'll leave you, then, to prepare for your
+departure.'
+
+'I've done that already, while you were reading the letter, and
+before you came; and the carriage is now coming round to the door.'
+
+Inly approving his promptitude, I bade him good-morning, and
+withdrew.  He gave me a searching glance as we pressed each other's
+hands at parting; but whatever he sought in my countenance, he saw
+there nothing but the most becoming gravity - it might be mingled
+with a little sternness in momentary resentment at what I suspected
+to be passing in his mind.
+
+Had I forgotten my own prospects, my ardent love, my pertinacious
+hopes?  It seemed like sacrilege to revert to them now, but I had
+not forgotten them.  It was, however, with a gloomy sense of the
+darkness of those prospects, the fallacy of those hopes, and the
+vanity of that affection, that I reflected on those things as I
+remounted my horse and slowly journeyed homewards.  Mrs. Huntingdon
+was free now; it was no longer a crime to think of her - but did
+she ever think of me?  Not now - of course it was not to be
+expected - but would she when this shock was over?  In all the
+course of her correspondence with her brother (our mutual friend,
+as she herself had called him) she had never mentioned me but once
+- and that was from necessity.  This alone afforded strong
+presumption that I was already forgotten; yet this was not the
+worst:  it might have been her sense of duty that had kept her
+silent:  she might be only trying to forget; but in addition to
+this, I had a gloomy conviction that the awful realities she had
+seen and felt, her reconciliation with the man she had once loved,
+his dreadful sufferings and death, must eventually efface from her
+mind all traces of her passing love for me.  She might recover from
+these horrors so far as to be restored to her former health, her
+tranquillity, her cheerfulness even - but never to those feelings
+which would appear to her, henceforth, as a fleeting fancy, a vain,
+illusive dream; especially as there was no one to remind her of my
+existence - no means of assuring her of my fervent constancy, now
+that we were so far apart, and delicacy forbade me to see her or to
+write to her, for months to come at least.  And how could I engage
+her brother in my behalf? how could I break that icy crust of shy
+reserve?  Perhaps he would disapprove of my attachment now as
+highly as before; perhaps he would think me too poor - too lowly
+born, to match with his sister.  Yes, there was another barrier:
+doubtless there was a wide distinction between the rank and
+circumstances of Mrs. Huntingdon, the lady of Grassdale Manor, and
+those of Mrs. Graham, the artist, the tenant of Wildfell Hall.  And
+it might be deemed presumption in me to offer my hand to the
+former, by the world, by her friends, if not by herself; a penalty
+I might brave, if I were certain she loved me; but otherwise, how
+could I?  And, finally, her deceased husband, with his usual
+selfishness, might have so constructed his will as to place
+restrictions upon her marrying again.  So that you see I had
+reasons enough for despair if I chose to indulge it.
+
+Nevertheless, it was with no small degree of impatience that I
+looked forward to Mr. Lawrence's return from Grassdale:  impatience
+that increased in proportion as his absence was prolonged.  He
+stayed away some ten or twelve days.  All very right that he should
+remain to comfort and help his sister, but he might have written to
+tell me how she was, or at least to tell me when to expect his
+return; for he might have known I was suffering tortures of anxiety
+for her, and uncertainty for my own future prospects.  And when he
+did return, all he told me about her was, that she had been greatly
+exhausted and worn by her unremitting exertions in behalf of that
+man who had been the scourge of her life, and had dragged her with
+him nearly to the portals of the grave, and was still much shaken
+and depressed by his melancholy end and the circumstances attendant
+upon it; but no word in reference to me; no intimation that my name
+had ever passed her lips, or even been spoken in her presence.  To
+be sure, I asked no questions on the subject; I could not bring my
+mind to do so, believing, as I did, that Lawrence was indeed averse
+to the idea of my union with his sister.
+
+I saw that he expected to be further questioned concerning his
+visit, and I saw too, with the keen perception of awakened
+jealousy, or alarmed self-esteem, or by whatever name I ought to
+call it, that he rather shrank from that impending scrutiny, and
+was no less pleased than surprised to find it did not come.  Of
+course, I was burning with anger, but pride obliged me to suppress
+my feelings, and preserve a smooth face, or at least a stoic
+calmness, throughout the interview.  It was well it did, for,
+reviewing the matter in my sober judgment, I must say it would have
+been highly absurd and improper to have quarrelled with him on such
+an occasion.  I must confess, too, that I wronged him in my heart:
+the truth was, he liked me very well, but he was fully aware that a
+union between Mrs. Huntingdon and me would be what the world calls
+a mesalliance; and it was not in his nature to set the world at
+defiance; especially in such a case as this, for its dread laugh,
+or ill opinion, would be far more terrible to him directed against
+his sister than himself.  Had he believed that a union was
+necessary to the happiness of both, or of either, or had he known
+how fervently I loved her, he would have acted differently; but
+seeing me so calm and cool, he would not for the world disturb my
+philosophy; and though refraining entirely from any active
+opposition to the match, he would yet do nothing to bring it about,
+and would much rather take the part of prudence, in aiding us to
+overcome our mutual predilections, than that of feeling, to
+encourage them.  'And he was in the right of it,' you will say.
+Perhaps he was; at any rate, I had no business to feel so bitterly
+against him as I did; but I could not then regard the matter in
+such a moderate light; and, after a brief conversation upon
+indifferent topics, I went away, suffering all the pangs of wounded
+pride and injured friendship, in addition to those resulting from
+the fear that I was indeed forgotten, and the knowledge that she I
+loved was alone and afflicted, suffering from injured health and
+dejected spirits, and I was forbidden to console or assist her:
+forbidden even to assure her of my sympathy, for the transmission
+of any such message through Mr. Lawrence was now completely out of
+the question.
+
+But what should I do?  I would wait, and see if she would notice
+me, which of course she would not, unless by some kind message
+intrusted to her brother, that, in all probability, he would not
+deliver, and then, dreadful thought! she would think me cooled and
+changed for not returning it, or, perhaps, he had already given her
+to understand that I had ceased to think of her.  I would wait,
+however, till the six months after our parting were fairly passed
+(which would be about the close of February), and then I would send
+her a letter, modestly reminding her of her former permission to
+write to her at the close of that period, and hoping I might avail
+myself of it - at least to express my heartfelt sorrow for her late
+afflictions, my just appreciation of her generous conduct, and my
+hope that her health was now completely re-established, and that
+she would, some time, be permitted to enjoy those blessings of a
+peaceful, happy life, which had been denied her so long, but which
+none could more truly be said to merit than herself - adding a few
+words of kind remembrance to my little friend Arthur, with a hope
+that he had not forgotten me, and perhaps a few more in reference
+to bygone times, to the delightful hours I had passed in her
+society, and my unfading recollection of them, which was the salt
+and solace of my life, and a hope that her recent troubles had not
+entirely banished me from her mind.  If she did not answer this, of
+course I should write no more:  if she did (as surely she would, in
+some fashion), my future proceedings should be regulated by her
+reply.
+
+Ten weeks was long to wait in such a miserable state of
+uncertainty; but courage! it must be endured! and meantime I would
+continue to see Lawrence now and then, though not so often as
+before, and I would still pursue my habitual inquiries after his
+sister, if he had lately heard from her, and how she was, but
+nothing more.
+
+I did so, and the answers I received were always provokingly
+limited to the letter of the inquiry:  she was much as usual:  she
+made no complaints, but the tone of her last letter evinced great
+depression of mind:  she said she was better:  and, finally, she
+said she was well, and very busy with her son's education, and with
+the management of her late husband's property, and the regulation
+of his affairs.  The rascal had never told me how that property was
+disposed, or whether Mr. Huntingdon had died intestate or not; and
+I would sooner die than ask him, lest he should misconstrue into
+covetousness my desire to know.  He never offered to show me his
+sister's letters now, and I never hinted a wish to see them.
+February, however, was approaching; December was past; January, at
+length, was almost over - a few more weeks, and then, certain
+despair or renewal of hope would put an end to this long agony of
+suspense.
+
+But alas! it was just about that time she was called to sustain
+another blow in the death of her uncle - a worthless old fellow
+enough in himself, I daresay, but he had always shown more kindness
+and affection to her than to any other creature, and she had always
+been accustomed to regard him as a parent.  She was with him when
+he died, and had assisted her aunt to nurse him during the last
+stage of his illness.  Her brother went to Staningley to attend the
+funeral, and told me, upon his return, that she was still there,
+endeavouring to cheer her aunt with her presence, and likely to
+remain some time.  This was bad news for me, for while she
+continued there I could not write to her, as I did not know the
+address, and would not ask it of him.  But week followed week, and
+every time I inquired about her she was still at Staningley.
+
+'Where is Staningley?' I asked at last.
+
+'In -shire,' was the brief reply; and there was something so cold
+and dry in the manner of it, that I was effectually deterred from
+requesting a more definite account.
+
+'When will she return to Grassdale?' was my next question.
+
+'I don't know.'
+
+'Confound it!' I muttered.
+
+'Why, Markham?' asked my companion, with an air of innocent
+surprise.  But I did not deign to answer him, save by a look of
+silent, sullen contempt, at which he turned away, and contemplated
+the carpet with a slight smile, half pensive, half amused; but
+quickly looking up, he began to talk of other subjects, trying to
+draw me into a cheerful and friendly conversation, but I was too
+much irritated to discourse with him, and soon took leave.
+
+You see Lawrence and I somehow could not manage to get on very well
+together.  The fact is, I believe, we were both of us a little too
+touchy.  It is a troublesome thing, Halford, this susceptibility to
+affronts where none are intended.  I am no martyr to it now, as you
+can bear me witness:  I have learned to be merry and wise, to be
+more easy with myself and more indulgent to my neighbours, and I
+can afford to laugh at both Lawrence and you.
+
+Partly from accident, partly from wilful negligence on my part (for
+I was really beginning to dislike him), several weeks elapsed
+before I saw my friend again.  When we did meet, it was he that
+sought me out.  One bright morning, early in June, he came into the
+field, where I was just commencing my hay harvest.
+
+'It is long since I saw you, Markham,' said he, after the first few
+words had passed between us.  'Do you never mean to come to
+Woodford again?'
+
+'I called once, and you were out.'
+
+'I was sorry, but that was long since; I hoped you would call
+again, and now I have called, and you were out, which you generally
+are, or I would do myself the pleasure of calling more frequently;
+but being determined to see you this time, I have left my pony in
+the lane, and come over hedge and ditch to join you; for I am about
+to leave Woodford for a while, and may not have the pleasure of
+seeing you again for a month or two.'
+
+'Where are you going?'
+
+'To Grassdale first,' said he, with a half-smile he would willingly
+have suppressed if he could.
+
+'To Grassdale!  Is she there, then?'
+
+'Yes, but in a day or two she will leave it to accompany Mrs.
+Maxwell to F- for the benefit of the sea air, and I shall go with
+them.'  (F- was at that time a quiet but respectable watering-
+place:  it is considerably more frequented now.)
+
+Lawrence seemed to expect me to take advantage of this circumstance
+to entrust him with some sort of a message to his sister; and I
+believe he would have undertaken to deliver it without any material
+objections, if I had had the sense to ask him, though of course he
+would not offer to do so, if I was content to let it alone.  But I
+could not bring myself to make the request, and it was not till
+after he was gone, that I saw how fair an opportunity I had lost;
+and then, indeed, I deeply regretted my stupidity and my foolish
+pride, but it was now too late to remedy the evil.
+
+He did not return till towards the latter end of August.  He wrote
+to me twice or thrice from F-, but his letters were most
+provokingly unsatisfactory, dealing in generalities or in trifles
+that I cared nothing about, or replete with fancies and reflections
+equally unwelcome to me at the time, saying next to nothing about
+his sister, and little more about himself.  I would wait, however,
+till he came back; perhaps I could get something more out of him
+then.  At all events, I would not write to her now, while she was
+with him and her aunt, who doubtless would be still more hostile to
+my presumptuous aspirations than himself.  When she was returned to
+the silence and solitude of her own home, it would be my fittest
+opportunity.
+
+When Lawrence came, however, he was as reserved as ever on the
+subject of my keen anxiety.  He told me that his sister had derived
+considerable benefit from her stay at F- that her son was quite
+well, and - alas! that both of them were gone, with Mrs. Maxwell,
+back to Staningley, and there they stayed at least three months.
+But instead of boring you with my chagrin, my expectations and
+disappointments, my fluctuations of dull despondency and flickering
+hope, my varying resolutions, now to drop it, and now to persevere
+- now to make a bold push, and now to let things pass and patiently
+abide my time, - I will employ myself in settling the business of
+one or two of the characters introduced in the course of this
+narrative, whom I may not have occasion to mention again.
+
+Some time before Mr. Huntingdon's death Lady Lowborough eloped with
+another gallant to the Continent, where, having lived a while in
+reckless gaiety and dissipation, they quarrelled and parted.  She
+went dashing on for a season, but years came and money went:  she
+sunk, at length, in difficulty and debt, disgrace and misery; and
+died at last, as I have heard, in penury, neglect, and utter
+wretchedness.  But this might be only a report:  she may be living
+yet for anything I or any of her relatives or former acquaintances
+can tell; for they have all lost sight of her long years ago, and
+would as thoroughly forget her if they could.  Her husband,
+however, upon this second misdemeanour, immediately sought and
+obtained a divorce, and, not long after, married again.  It was
+well he did, for Lord Lowborough, morose and moody as he seemed,
+was not the man for a bachelor's life.  No public interests, no
+ambitious projects, or active pursuits, - or ties of friendship
+even (if he had had any friends), could compensate to him for the
+absence of domestic comforts and endearments.  He had a son and a
+nominal daughter, it is true, but they too painfully reminded him
+of their mother, and the unfortunate little Annabella was a source
+of perpetual bitterness to his soul.  He had obliged himself to
+treat her with paternal kindness:  he had forced himself not to
+hate her, and even, perhaps, to feel some degree of kindly regard
+for her, at last, in return for her artless and unsuspecting
+attachment to himself; but the bitterness of his self-condemnation
+for his inward feelings towards that innocent being, his constant
+struggles to subdue the evil promptings of his nature (for it was
+not a generous one), though partly guessed at by those who knew
+him, could be known to God and his own heart alone; - so also was
+the hardness of his conflicts with the temptation to return to the
+vice of his youth, and seek oblivion for past calamities, and
+deadness to the present misery of a blighted heart a joyless,
+friendless life, and a morbidly disconsolate mind, by yielding
+again to that insidious foe to health, and sense, and virtue, which
+had so deplorably enslaved and degraded him before.
+
+The second object of his choice was widely different from the
+first.  Some wondered at his taste; some even ridiculed it - but in
+this their folly was more apparent than his.  The lady was about
+his own age - i.e., between thirty and forty - remarkable neither
+for beauty, nor wealth, nor brilliant accomplishments; nor any
+other thing that I ever heard of, except genuine good sense,
+unswerving integrity, active piety, warm-hearted benevolence, and a
+fund of cheerful spirits.  These qualities, however, as you way
+readily imagine, combined to render her an excellent mother to the
+children, and an invaluable wife to his lordship.  He, with his
+usual self-depreciation, thought her a world too good for him, and
+while he wondered at the kindness of Providence in conferring such
+a gift upon him, and even at her taste in preferring him to other
+men, he did his best to reciprocate the good she did him, and so
+far succeeded that she was, and I believe still is, one of the
+happiest and fondest wives in England; and all who question the
+good taste of either partner may be thankful if their respective
+selections afford them half the genuine satisfaction in the end, or
+repay their preference with affection half as lasting and sincere.
+
+If you are at all interested in the fate of that low scoundrel,
+Grimsby, I can only tell you that he went from bad to worse,
+sinking from bathos to bathos of vice and villainy, consorting only
+with the worst members of his club and the lowest dregs of society
+- happily for the rest of the world - and at last met his end in a
+drunken brawl, from the hands, it is said, of some brother
+scoundrel he had cheated at play.
+
+As for Mr. Hattersley, he had never wholly forgotten his resolution
+to 'come out from among them,' and behave like a man and a
+Christian, and the last illness and death of his once jolly friend
+Huntingdon so deeply and seriously impressed him with the evil of
+their former practices, that he never needed another lesson of the
+kind.  Avoiding the temptations of the town, he continued to pass
+his life in the country, immersed in the usual pursuits of a
+hearty, active, country gentleman; his occupations being those of
+farming, and breeding horses and cattle, diversified with a little
+hunting and shooting, and enlivened by the occasional companionship
+of his friends (better friends than those of his youth), and the
+society of his happy little wife (now cheerful and confiding as
+heart could wish), and his fine family of stalwart sons and
+blooming daughters.  His father, the banker, having died some years
+ago and left him all his riches, he has now full scope for the
+exercise of his prevailing tastes, and I need not tell you that
+Ralph Hattersley, Esq., is celebrated throughout the country for
+his noble breed of horses.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LI
+
+
+
+We will now turn to a certain still, cold, cloudy afternoon about
+the commencement of December, when the first fall of snow lay
+thinly scattered over the blighted fields and frozen roads, or
+stored more thickly in the hollows of the deep cart-ruts and
+footsteps of men and horses impressed in the now petrified mire of
+last month's drenching rains.  I remember it well, for I was
+walking home from the vicarage with no less remarkable a personage
+than Miss Eliza Millward by my side.  I had been to call upon her
+father, - a sacrifice to civility undertaken entirely to please my
+mother, not myself, for I hated to go near the house; not merely on
+account of my antipathy to the once so bewitching Eliza, but
+because I had not half forgiven the old gentleman himself for his
+ill opinion of Mrs. Huntingdon; for though now constrained to
+acknowledge himself mistaken in his former judgment, he still
+maintained that she had done wrong to leave her husband; it was a
+violation of her sacred duties as a wife, and a tempting of
+Providence by laying herself open to temptation; and nothing short
+of bodily ill-usage (and that of no trifling nature) could excuse
+such a step - nor even that, for in such a case she ought to appeal
+to the laws for protection.  But it was not of him I intended to
+speak; it was of his daughter Eliza.  Just as I was taking leave of
+the vicar, she entered the room, ready equipped for a walk.
+
+'I was just coming to see, your sister, Mr. Markham,' said she;
+'and so, if you have no objection, I'll accompany you home.  I like
+company when I'm walking out - don't you?'
+
+'Yes, when it's agreeable.'
+
+'That of course,' rejoined the young lady, smiling archly.
+
+So we proceeded together.
+
+'Shall I find Rose at home, do you think?' said she, as we closed
+the garden gate, and set our faces towards Linden-Car.
+
+'I believe so.'
+
+'I trust I shall, for I've a little bit of news for her - if you
+haven't forestalled me.'
+
+'I?'
+
+'Yes:  do you know what Mr. Lawrence is gone for?'  She looked up
+anxiously for my reply.
+
+'Is he gone?' said I; and her face brightened.
+
+'Ah! then he hasn't told you about his sister?'
+
+'What of her?' I demanded in terror, lest some evil should have
+befallen her.
+
+'Oh, Mr. Markham, how you blush!' cried she, with a tormenting
+laugh.  'Ha, ha, you have not forgotten her yet.  But you had
+better be quick about it, I can tell you, for - alas, alas! - she's
+going to be married next Thursday!'
+
+'No, Miss Eliza, that's false.'
+
+'Do you charge me with a falsehood, sir?'
+
+'You are misinformed.'
+
+'Am I?  Do you know better, then?'
+
+'I think I do.'
+
+'What makes you look so pale then?' said she, smiling with delight
+at my emotion.  'Is it anger at poor me for telling such a fib?
+Well, I only "tell the tale as 'twas told to me:" I don't vouch for
+the truth of it; but at the same time, I don't see what reason
+Sarah should have for deceiving me, or her informant for deceiving
+her; and that was what she told me the footman told her:- that Mrs.
+Huntingdon was going to be married on Thursday, and Mr. Lawrence
+was gone to the wedding.  She did tell me the name of the
+gentleman, but I've forgotten that.  Perhaps you can assist me to
+remember it.  Is there not some one that lives near - or frequently
+visits the neighbourhood, that has long been attached to her? - a
+Mr. - oh, dear! Mr. - '
+
+'Hargrave?' suggested I, with a bitter smile.
+
+'You're right,' cried she; 'that was the very name.'
+
+'Impossible, Miss Eliza!' I exclaimed, in a tone that made her
+start.
+
+'Well, you know, that's what they told me,' said she, composedly
+staring me in the face.  And then she broke out into a long shrill
+laugh that put me to my wit's end with fury.
+
+'Really you must excuse me,' cried she.  'I know it's very rude,
+but ha, ha, ha! - did you think to marry her yourself?  Dear, dear,
+what a pity! - ha, ha, ha!  Gracious, Mr. Markham, are you going to
+faint?  Oh, mercy! shall I call this man?  Here, Jacob - '  But
+checking the word on her lips, I seized her arm and gave it, I
+think, a pretty severe squeeze, for she shrank into herself with a
+faint cry of pain or terror; but the spirit within her was not
+subdued:  instantly rallying, she continued, with well-feigned
+concern, 'What can I do for you?  Will you have some water - some
+brandy?  I daresay they have some in the public-house down there,
+if you'll let me run.'
+
+'Have done with this nonsense!' cried I, sternly.  She looked
+confounded - almost frightened again, for a moment.  'You know I
+hate such jests,' I continued.
+
+'Jests indeed!  I wasn't jesting!'
+
+'You were laughing, at all events; and I don't like to be laughed
+at,' returned I, making violent efforts to speak with proper
+dignity and composure, and to say nothing but what was coherent and
+sensible.  'And since you are in such a merry mood, Miss Eliza, you
+must be good enough company for yourself; and therefore I shall
+leave you to finish your walk alone - for, now I think of it, I
+have business elsewhere; so good-evening.'
+
+With that I left her (smothering her malicious laughter) and turned
+aside into the fields, springing up the bank, and pushing through
+the nearest gap in the hedge.  Determined at once to prove the
+truth - or rather the falsehood - of her story, I hastened to
+Woodford as fast as my legs could carry me; first veering round by
+a circuitous course, but the moment I was out of sight of my fair
+tormentor cutting away across the country, just as a bird might
+fly, over pasture-land, and fallow, and stubble, and lane, clearing
+hedges and ditches and hurdles, till I came to the young squire's
+gates.  Never till now had I known the full fervour of my love -
+the full strength of my hopes, not wholly crushed even in my hours
+of deepest despondency, always tenaciously clinging to the thought
+that one day she might be mine, or, if not that, at least that
+something of my memory, some slight remembrance of our friendship
+and our love, would be for ever cherished in her heart.  I marched
+up to the door, determined, if I saw the master, to question him
+boldly concerning his sister, to wait and hesitate no longer, but
+cast false delicacy and stupid pride behind my back, and know my
+fate at once.
+
+'Is Mr. Lawrence at home?' I eagerly asked of the servant that
+opened the door.
+
+'No, sir, master went yesterday,' replied he, looking very alert.
+
+'Went where?'
+
+'To Grassdale, sir - wasn't you aware, sir?  He's very close, is
+master,' said the fellow, with a foolish, simpering grin.  'I
+suppose, sir - '
+
+But I turned and left him, without waiting to hear what he
+supposed.  I was not going to stand there to expose my tortured
+feelings to the insolent laughter and impertinent curiosity of a
+fellow like that.
+
+But what was to be done now?  Could it be possible that she had
+left me for that man?  I could not believe it.  Me she might
+forsake, but not to give herself to him!  Well, I would know the
+truth; to no concerns of daily life could I attend while this
+tempest of doubt and dread, of jealousy and rage, distracted me.  I
+would take the morning coach from L- (the evening one would be
+already gone), and fly to Grassdale - I must be there before the
+marriage.  And why?  Because a thought struck me that perhaps I
+might prevent it - that if I did not, she and I might both lament
+it to the latest moment of our lives.  It struck me that someone
+might have belied me to her:  perhaps her brother; yes, no doubt
+her brother had persuaded her that I was false and faithless, and
+taking advantage of her natural indignation, and perhaps her
+desponding carelessness about her future life, had urged her,
+artfully, cruelly, on to this other marriage, in order to secure
+her from me.  If this was the case, and if she should only discover
+her mistake when too late to repair it - to what a life of misery
+and vain regret might she be doomed as well as me; and what remorse
+for me to think my foolish scruples had induced it all!  Oh, I must
+see her - she must know my truth even if I told it at the church
+door!  I might pass for a madman or an impertinent fool - even she
+might be offended at such an interruption, or at least might tell
+me it was now too late.  But if I could save her, if she might be
+mine! - it was too rapturous a thought!
+
+Winged by this hope, and goaded by these fears, I hurried homewards
+to prepare for my departure on the morrow.  I told my mother that
+urgent business which admitted no delay, but which I could not then
+explain, called me away.
+
+My deep anxiety and serious preoccupation could not be concealed
+from her maternal eyes; and I had much ado to calm her
+apprehensions of some disastrous mystery.
+
+That night there came a heavy fall of snow, which so retarded the
+progress of the coaches on the following day that I was almost
+driven to distraction.  I travelled all night, of course, for this
+was Wednesday:  to-morrow morning, doubtless, the marriage would
+take place.  But the night was long and dark:  the snow heavily
+clogged the wheels and balled the horses' feet; the animals were
+consumedly lazy; the coachman most execrably cautious; the
+passengers confoundedly apathetic in their supine indifference to
+the rate of our progression.  Instead of assisting me to bully the
+several coachmen and urge them forward, they merely stared and
+grinned at my impatience:  one fellow even ventured to rally me
+upon it - but I silenced him with a look that quelled him for the
+rest of the journey; and when, at the last stage, I would have
+taken the reins into my own hand, they all with one accord opposed
+it.
+
+It was broad daylight when we entered M- and drew up at the 'Rose
+and Crown.'  I alighted and called aloud for a post-chaise to
+Grassdale.  There was none to be had:  the only one in the town was
+under repair.  'A gig, then - a fly - car - anything - only be
+quick!'  There was a gig, but not a horse to spare.  I sent into
+the town to seek one:  but they were such an intolerable time about
+it that I could wait no longer - I thought my own feet could carry
+me sooner; and bidding them send the conveyance after me, if it
+were ready within an hour, I set off as fast as I could walk.  The
+distance was little more than six miles, but the road was strange,
+and I had to keep stopping to inquire my way; hallooing to carters
+and clodhoppers, and frequently invading the cottages, for there
+were few abroad that winter's morning; sometimes knocking up the
+lazy people from their beds, for where so little work was to be
+done, perhaps so little food and fire to be had, they cared not to
+curtail their slumbers.  I had no time to think of them, however;
+aching with weariness and desperation, I hurried on.  The gig did
+not overtake me:  and it was well I had not waited for it;
+vexatious rather, that I had been fool enough to wait so long.
+
+At length, however, I entered the neighbourhood of Grassdale.  I
+approached the little rural church - but lo! there stood a train of
+carriages before it; it needed not the white favours bedecking the
+servants and horses, nor the merry voices of the village idlers
+assembled to witness the show, to apprise me that there was a
+wedding within.  I ran in among them, demanding, with breathless
+eagerness, had the ceremony long commenced?  They only gaped and
+stared.  In my desperation, I pushed past them, and was about to
+enter the churchyard gate, when a group of ragged urchins, that had
+been hanging like bees to the window, suddenly dropped off and made
+a rush for the porch, vociferating in the uncouth dialect of their
+country something which signified, 'It's over - they're coming
+out!'
+
+If Eliza Millward had seen me then she might indeed have been
+delighted.  I grasped the gate-post for support, and stood intently
+gazing towards the door to take my last look on my soul's delight,
+my first on that detested mortal who had torn her from my heart,
+and doomed her, I was certain, to a life of misery and hollow, vain
+repining - for what happiness could she enjoy with him?  I did not
+wish to shock her with my presence now, but I had not power to move
+away.  Forth came the bride and bridegroom.  Him I saw not; I had
+eyes for none but her.  A long veil shrouded half her graceful
+form, but did not hide it; I could see that while she carried her
+head erect, her eyes were bent upon the ground, and her face and
+neck were suffused with a crimson blush; but every feature was
+radiant with smiles, and gleaming through the misty whiteness of
+her veil were clusters of golden ringlets!  Oh, heavens! it was not
+my Helen!  The first glimpse made me start - but my eyes were
+darkened with exhaustion and despair.  Dare I trust them?  'Yes -
+it is not she!  It was a younger, slighter, rosier beauty - lovely
+indeed, but with far less dignity and depth of soul - without that
+indefinable grace, that keenly spiritual yet gentle charm, that
+ineffable power to attract and subjugate the heart - my heart at
+least.  I looked at the bridegroom - it was Frederick Lawrence!  I
+wiped away the cold drops that were trickling down my forehead, and
+stepped back as he approached; but, his eyes fell upon me, and he
+knew me, altered as my appearance must have been.
+
+'Is that you, Markham?' said he, startled and confounded at the
+apparition - perhaps, too, at the wildness of my looks.
+
+'Yes, Lawrence; is that you?' I mustered the presence of mind to
+reply.
+
+He smiled and coloured, as if half-proud and half-ashamed of his
+identity; and if he had reason to be proud of the sweet lady on his
+arm, he had no less cause to be ashamed of having concealed his
+good fortune so long.
+
+'Allow me to introduce you to my bride,' said he, endeavouring to
+hide his embarrassment by an assumption of careless gaiety.
+'Esther, this is Mr. Markham; my friend Markham, Mrs. Lawrence,
+late Miss Hargrave.'
+
+I bowed to the bride, and vehemently wrung the bridegroom's hand.
+
+'Why did you not tell me of this?' I said, reproachfully,
+pretending a resentment I did not feel (for in truth I was almost
+wild with joy to find myself so happily mistaken, and overflowing
+with affection to him for this and for the base injustice I felt
+that I had done him in my mind - he might have wronged me, but not
+to that extent; and as I had hated him like a demon for the last
+forty hours, the reaction from such a feeling was so great that I
+could pardon all offences for the moment - and love him in spite of
+them too).
+
+'I did tell you,' said he, with an air of guilty confusion; 'you
+received my letter?'
+
+'What letter?'
+
+'The one announcing my intended marriage.'
+
+'I never received the most distant hint of such an intention.'
+
+'It must have crossed you on your way then - it should have reached
+you yesterday morning - it was rather late, I acknowledge.  But
+what brought you here, then, if you received no information?'
+
+It was now my turn to be confounded; but the young lady, who had
+been busily patting the snow with her foot during our short sotto-
+voce colloquy, very opportunely came to my assistance by pinching
+her companion's arm and whispering a suggestion that his friend
+should be invited to step into the carriage and go with them; it
+being scarcely agreeable to stand there among so many gazers, and
+keeping their friends waiting into the bargain.
+
+'And so cold as it is too!' said he, glancing with dismay at her
+slight drapery, and immediately handing her into the carriage.
+'Markham, will you come?  We are going to Paris, but we can drop
+you anywhere between this and Dover.'
+
+'No, thank you.  Good-by - I needn't wish you a pleasant journey;
+but I shall expect a very handsome apology, some time, mind, and
+scores of letters, before we meet again.'
+
+He shook my hand, and hastened to take his place beside his lady.
+This was no time or place for explanation or discourse:  we had
+already stood long enough to excite the wonder of the village
+sight-seers, and perhaps the wrath of the attendant bridal party;
+though, of course, all this passed in a much shorter time than I
+have taken to relate, or even than you will take to read it.  I
+stood beside the carriage, and, the window being down, I saw my
+happy friend fondly encircle his companion's waist with his arm,
+while she rested her glowing cheek on his shoulder, looking the
+very impersonation of loving, trusting bliss.  In the interval
+between the footman's closing the door and taking his place behind
+she raised her smiling brown eyes to his face, observing,
+playfully, - 'I fear you must think me very insensible, Frederick:
+I know it is the custom for ladies to cry on these occasions, but I
+couldn't squeeze a tear for my life.'
+
+He only answered with a kiss, and pressed her still closer to his
+bosom.
+
+'But what is this?' he murmured.  'Why, Esther, you're crying now!'
+
+'Oh, it's nothing - it's only too much happiness - and the wish,'
+sobbed she, 'that our dear Helen were as happy as ourselves.'
+
+'Bless you for that wish!' I inwardly responded, as the carriage
+rolled away - 'and heaven grant it be not wholly vain!'
+
+I thought a cloud had suddenly darkened her husband's face as she
+spoke.  What did he think?  Could he grudge such happiness to his
+dear sister and his friend as he now felt himself?  At such a
+moment it was impossible.  The contrast between her fate and his
+must darken his bliss for a time.  Perhaps, too, he thought of me:
+perhaps he regretted the part he had had in preventing our union,
+by omitting to help us, if not by actually plotting against us.  I
+exonerated him from that charge now, and deeply lamented my former
+ungenerous suspicions; but he had wronged us, still - I hoped, I
+trusted that he had.  He had not attempted to cheek the course of
+our love by actually damming up the streams in their passage, but
+he had passively watched the two currents wandering through life's
+arid wilderness, declining to clear away the obstructions that
+divided them, and secretly hoping that both would lose themselves
+in the sand before they could be joined in one.  And meantime he
+had been quietly proceeding with his own affairs; perhaps, his
+heart and head had been so full of his fair lady that he had had
+but little thought to spare for others.  Doubtless he had made his
+first acquaintance with her - his first intimate acquaintance at
+least - during his three months' sojourn at F-, for I now
+recollected that he had once casually let fall an intimation that
+his aunt and sister had a young friend staying with them at the
+time, and this accounted for at least one-half his silence about
+all transactions there.  Now, too, I saw a reason for many little
+things that had slightly puzzled me before; among the rest, for
+sundry departures from Woodford, and absences more or less
+prolonged, for which he never satisfactorily accounted, and
+concerning which he hated to be questioned on his return.  Well
+might the servant say his master was 'very close.'  But why this
+strange reserve to me?  Partly, from that remarkable idiosyncrasy
+to which I have before alluded; partly, perhaps, from tenderness to
+my feelings, or fear to disturb my philosophy by touching upon the
+infectious theme of love.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LII
+
+
+
+The tardy gig had overtaken me at last.  I entered it, and bade the
+man who brought it drive to Grassdale Manor - I was too busy with
+my own thoughts to care to drive it myself.  I would see Mrs.
+Huntingdon - there could be no impropriety in that now that her
+husband had been dead above a year - and by her indifference or her
+joy at my unexpected arrival I could soon tell whether her heart
+was truly mine.  But my companion, a loquacious, forward fellow,
+was not disposed to leave me to the indulgence of my private
+cogitations.
+
+'There they go!' said he, as the carriages filed away before us.
+'There'll be brave doings on yonder to-day, as what come to-morra.
+- Know anything of that family, sir? or you're a stranger in these
+parts?'
+
+'I know them by report.'
+
+'Humph!  There's the best of 'em gone, anyhow.  And I suppose the
+old missis is agoing to leave after this stir's gotten overed, and
+take herself off, somewhere, to live on her bit of a jointure; and
+the young 'un - at least the new 'un (she's none so very young) -
+is coming down to live at the Grove.'
+
+'Is Mr. Hargrave married, then?'
+
+'Ay, sir, a few months since.  He should a been wed afore, to a
+widow lady, but they couldn't agree over the money:  she'd a rare
+long purse, and Mr. Hargrave wanted it all to hisself; but she
+wouldn't let it go, and so then they fell out.  This one isn't
+quite as rich, nor as handsome either, but she hasn't been married
+before.  She's very plain, they say, and getting on to forty or
+past, and so, you know, if she didn't jump at this hopportunity,
+she thought she'd never get a better.  I guess she thought such a
+handsome young husband was worth all 'at ever she had, and he might
+take it and welcome, but I lay she'll rue her bargain afore long.
+They say she begins already to see 'at he isn't not altogether that
+nice, generous, perlite, delightful gentleman 'at she thought him
+afore marriage - he begins a being careless and masterful already.
+Ay, and she'll find him harder and carelesser nor she thinks on.'
+
+'You seem to be well acquainted with him,' I observed.
+
+'I am, sir; I've known him since he was quite a young gentleman;
+and a proud 'un he was, and a wilful.  I was servant yonder for
+several years; but I couldn't stand their niggardly ways - she got
+ever longer and worse, did missis, with her nipping and screwing,
+and watching and grudging; so I thought I'd find another place.'
+
+'Are we not near the house?' said I, interrupting him.
+
+'Yes, sir; yond's the park.'
+
+My heart sank within me to behold that stately mansion in the midst
+of its expansive grounds.  The park as beautiful now, in its wintry
+garb, as it could be in its summer glory:  the majestic sweep, the
+undulating swell and fall, displayed to full advantage in that robe
+of dazzling purity, stainless and printless - save one long,
+winding track left by the trooping deer - the stately timber-trees
+with their heavy-laden branches gleaming white against the dull,
+grey sky; the deep, encircling woods; the broad expanse of water
+sleeping in frozen quiet; and the weeping ash and willow drooping
+their snow-clad boughs above it - all presented a picture, striking
+indeed, and pleasing to an unencumbered mind, but by no means
+encouraging to me.  There was one comfort, however, - all this was
+entailed upon little Arthur, and could not under any circumstances,
+strictly speaking, be his mother's.  But how was she situated?
+Overcoming with a sudden effort my repugnance to mention her name
+to my garrulous companion, I asked him if he knew whether her late
+husband had left a will, and how the property had been disposed of.
+Oh, yes, he knew all about it; and I was quickly informed that to
+her had been left the full control and management of the estate
+during her son's minority, besides the absolute, unconditional
+possession of her own fortune (but I knew that her father had not
+given her much), and the small additional sum that had been settled
+upon her before marriage.
+
+Before the close of the explanation we drew up at the park-gates.
+Now for the trial.  If I should find her within - but alas! she
+might be still at Staningley:  her brother had given me no
+intimation to the contrary.  I inquired at the porter's lodge if
+Mrs. Huntingdon were at home.  No, she was with her aunt in -shire,
+but was expected to return before Christmas.  She usually spent
+most of her time at Staningley, only coming to Grassdale
+occasionally, when the management of affairs, or the interest of
+her tenants and dependents, required her presence.
+
+'Near what town is Staningley situated?' I asked.  The requisite
+information was soon obtained.  'Now then, my man, give me the
+reins, and we'll return to M-.  I must have some breakfast at the
+"Rose and Crown," and then away to Staningley by the first coach
+for -.'
+
+At M- I had time before the coach started to replenish my forces
+with a hearty breakfast, and to obtain the refreshment of my usual
+morning's ablutions, and the amelioration of some slight change in
+my toilet, and also to despatch a short note to my mother
+(excellent son that I was), to assure her that I was still in
+existence, and to excuse my non-appearance at the expected time.
+It was a long journey to Staningley for those slow-travelling days,
+but I did not deny myself needful refreshment on the road, nor even
+a night's rest at a wayside inn, choosing rather to brook a little
+delay than to present myself worn, wild, and weather-beaten before
+my mistress and her aunt, who would be astonished enough to see me
+without that.  Next morning, therefore, I not only fortified myself
+with as substantial a breakfast as my excited feelings would allow
+me to swallow, but I bestowed a little more than usual time and
+care upon my toilet; and, furnished with a change of linen from my
+small carpet-bag, well-brushed clothes, well-polished boots, and
+neat new gloves, I mounted 'The Lightning,' and resumed my journey.
+I had nearly two stages yet before me, but the coach, I was
+informed, passed through the neighbourhood of Staningley, and
+having desired to be set down as near the Hall as possible, I had
+nothing to do but to sit with folded arms and speculate upon the
+coming hour.
+
+It was a clear, frosty morning.  The very fact of sitting exalted
+aloft, surveying the snowy landscape and sweet sunny sky, inhaling
+the pure, bracing air, and crunching away over the crisp frozen
+snow, was exhilarating enough in itself; but add to this the idea
+of to what goal I was hastening, and whom I expected to meet, and
+you may have some faint conception of my frame of mind at the time
+- only a faint one, though:  for my heart swelled with unspeakable
+delight, and my spirits rose almost to madness, in spite of my
+prudent endeavours to bind them down to a reasonable platitude by
+thinking of the undeniable difference between Helen's rank and
+mine; of all that she had passed through since our parting; of her
+long, unbroken silence; and, above all, of her cool, cautious aunt,
+whose counsels she would doubtless be careful not to slight again.
+These considerations made my heart flutter with anxiety, and my
+chest heave with impatience to get the crisis over; but they could
+not dim her image in my mind, or mar the vivid recollection of what
+had been said and felt between us, or destroy the keen anticipation
+of what was to be:  in fact, I could not realise their terrors now.
+Towards the close of the journey, however, a couple of my fellow-
+passengers kindly came to my assistance, and brought me low enough.
+
+'Fine land this,' said one of them, pointing with his umbrella to
+the wide fields on the right, conspicuous for their compact
+hedgerows, deep, well-cut ditches, and fine timber-trees, growing
+sometimes on the borders, sometimes in the midst of the enclosure:
+'very fine land, if you saw it in the summer or spring.'
+
+'Ay,' responded the other, a gruff elderly man, with a drab
+greatcoat buttoned up to the chin, and a cotton umbrella between
+his knees.  'It's old Maxwell's, I suppose.'
+
+'It was his, sir; but he's dead now, you're aware, and has left it
+all to his niece.'
+
+'All?'
+
+'Every rood of it, and the mansion-house and all! every hatom of
+his worldly goods, except just a trifle, by way of remembrance, to
+his nephew down in -shire, and an annuity to his wife.'
+
+'It's strange, sir!'
+
+'It is, sir; and she wasn't his own niece neither.  But he had no
+near relations of his own - none but a nephew he'd quarrelled with;
+and he always had a partiality for this one.  And then his wife
+advised him to it, they say:  she'd brought most of the property,
+and it was her wish that this lady should have it.'
+
+'Humph!  She'll be a fine catch for somebody.'
+
+'She will so.  She's a widow, but quite young yet, and uncommon
+handsome:  a fortune of her own, besides, and only one child, and
+she's nursing a fine estate for him in -.  There'll be lots to
+speak for her! 'fraid there's no chance for uz' - (facetiously
+jogging me with his elbow, as well as his companion) - 'ha, ha, ha!
+No offence, sir, I hope?' - (to me).  'Ahem!  I should think she'll
+marry none but a nobleman myself.  Look ye, sir,' resumed he,
+turning to his other neighbour, and pointing past me with his
+umbrella, 'that's the Hall:  grand park, you see, and all them
+woods - plenty of timber there, and lots of game.  Hallo! what
+now?'
+
+This exclamation was occasioned by the sudden stoppage of the coach
+at the park-gates.
+
+'Gen'leman for Staningley Hall?' cried the coachman and I rose and
+threw my carpet-bag on to the ground, preparatory to dropping
+myself down after it.
+
+'Sickly, sir?' asked my talkative neighbour, staring me in the
+face.  I daresay it was white enough.
+
+'No.  Here, coachman!'
+
+'Thank'ee, sir. - All right!'
+
+The coachman pocketed his fee and drove away, leaving me, not
+walking up the park, but pacing to and fro before its gates, with
+folded arms, and eyes fixed upon the ground, an overwhelming force
+of images, thoughts, impressions crowding on my mind, and nothing
+tangibly distinct but this:  My love had been cherished in vain -
+my hope was gone for ever; I must tear myself away at once, and
+banish or suppress all thoughts of her, like the remembrance of a
+wild, mad dream.  Gladly would I have lingered round the place for
+hours, in the hope of catching at least one distant glimpse of her
+before I went, but it must not be - I must not suffer her to see
+me; for what could have brought me hither but the hope of reviving
+her attachment, with a view hereafter to obtain her hand?  And
+could I bear that she should think me capable of such a thing? - of
+presuming upon the acquaintance - the love, if you will -
+accidentally contracted, or rather forced upon her against her
+will, when she was an unknown fugitive, toiling for her own
+support, apparently without fortune, family, or connections; to
+come upon her now, when she was reinstated in her proper sphere,
+and claim a share in her prosperity, which, had it never failed
+her, would most certainly have kept her unknown to me for ever?
+And this, too, when we had parted sixteen months ago, and she had
+expressly forbidden me to hope for a re-union in this world, and
+never sent me a line or a message from that day to this.  No!  The
+very idea was intolerable.
+
+And even if she should have a lingering affection for me still,
+ought I to disturb her peace by awakening those feelings? to
+subject her to the struggles of conflicting duty and inclination -
+to whichsoever side the latter might allure, or the former
+imperatively call her - whether she should deem it her duty to risk
+the slights and censures of the world, the sorrow and displeasure
+of those she loved, for a romantic idea of truth and constancy to
+me, or to sacrifice her individual wishes to the feelings of her
+friends and her own sense of prudence and the fitness of things?
+No - and I would not!  I would go at once, and she should never
+know that I had approached the place of her abode:  for though I
+might disclaim all idea of ever aspiring to her hand, or even of
+soliciting a place in her friendly regard, her peace should not be
+broken by my presence, nor her heart afflicted by the sight of my
+fidelity.
+
+'Adieu then, dear Helen, forever!  Forever adieu!'
+
+So said I - and yet I could not tear myself away.  I moved a few
+paces, and then looked back, for one last view of her stately home,
+that I might have its outward form, at least, impressed upon my
+mind as indelibly as her own image, which, alas! I must not see
+again - then walked a few steps further; and then, lost in
+melancholy musings, paused again and leant my back against a rough
+old tree that grew beside the road.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LIII
+
+
+
+While standing thus, absorbed in my gloomy reverie, a gentleman's
+carriage came round the corner of the road.  I did not look at it;
+and had it rolled quietly by me, I should not have remembered the
+fact of its appearance at all; but a tiny voice from within it
+roused me by exclaiming, 'Mamma, mamma, here's Mr. Markham!'
+
+I did not hear the reply, but presently the same voice answered,
+'It is indeed, mamma - look for yourself.'
+
+I did not raise my eyes, but I suppose mamma looked, for a clear
+melodious voice, whose tones thrilled through my nerves, exclaimed,
+'Oh, aunt! here's Mr. Markham, Arthur's friend!  Stop, Richard!'
+
+There was such evidence of joyous though suppressed excitement in
+the utterance of those few words - especially that tremulous, 'Oh,
+aunt' - that it threw me almost off my guard.  The carriage stopped
+immediately, and I looked up and met the eye of a pale, grave,
+elderly lady surveying me from the open window.  She bowed, and so
+did I, and then she withdrew her head, while Arthur screamed to the
+footman to let him out; but before that functionary could descend
+from his box a hand was silently put forth from the carriage
+window.  I knew that hand, though a black glove concealed its
+delicate whiteness and half its fair proportions, and quickly
+seizing it, I pressed it in my own - ardently for a moment, but
+instantly recollecting myself, I dropped it, and it was immediately
+withdrawn.
+
+'Were you coming to see us, or only passing by?' asked the low
+voice of its owner, who, I felt, was attentively surveying my
+countenance from behind the thick black veil which, with the
+shadowing panels, entirely concealed her own from me.
+
+'I - I came to see the place,' faltered I.
+
+'The place,' repeated she, in a tone which betokened more
+displeasure or disappointment than surprise.
+
+'Will you not enter it, then?'
+
+'If you wish it.'
+
+'Can you doubt?'
+
+'Yes, yes! he must enter,' cried Arthur, running round from the
+other door; and seizing my hand in both his, he shook it heartily.
+
+'Do you remember me, sir?' said he.
+
+'Yes, full well, my little man, altered though you are,' replied I,
+surveying the comparatively tall, slim young gentleman, with his
+mother's image visibly stamped upon his fair, intelligent features,
+in spite of the blue eyes beaming with gladness, and the bright
+locks clustering beneath his cap.
+
+'Am I not grown?' said he, stretching himself up to his full
+height.
+
+'Grown! three inches, upon my word!'
+
+'I was seven last birthday,' was the proud rejoinder.  'In seven
+years more I shall be as tall as you nearly.'
+
+'Arthur,' said his mother, 'tell him to come in.  Go on, Richard.'
+
+There was a touch of sadness as well as coldness in her voice, but
+I knew not to what to ascribe it.  The carriage drove on and
+entered the gates before us.  My little companion led me up the
+park, discoursing merrily all the way.  Arrived at the hall-door, I
+paused on the steps and looked round me, waiting to recover my
+composure, if possible - or, at any rate, to remember my new-formed
+resolutions and the principles on which they were founded; and it
+was not till Arthur had been for some time gently pulling my coat,
+and repeating his invitations to enter, that I at length consented
+to accompany him into the apartment where the ladies awaited us.
+
+Helen eyed me as I entered with a kind of gentle, serious scrutiny,
+and politely asked after Mrs. Markham and Rose.  I respectfully
+answered her inquiries.  Mrs. Maxwell begged me to be seated,
+observing it was rather cold, but she supposed I had not travelled
+far that morning.
+
+'Not quite twenty miles,' I answered.
+
+'Not on foot!'
+
+'No, Madam, by coach.'
+
+'Here's Rachel, sir,' said Arthur, the only truly happy one amongst
+us, directing my attention to that worthy individual, who had just
+entered to take her mistress's things.  She vouchsafed me an almost
+friendly smile of recognition - a favour that demanded, at least, a
+civil salutation on my part, which was accordingly given and
+respectfully returned - she had seen the error of her former
+estimation of my character.
+
+When Helen was divested of her lugubrious bonnet and veil, her
+heavy winter cloak, &c., she looked so like herself that I knew not
+how to bear it.  I was particularly glad to see her beautiful black
+hair, unstinted still, and unconcealed in its glossy luxuriance.
+
+'Mamma has left off her widow's cap in honour of uncle's marriage,'
+observed Arthur, reading my looks with a child's mingled simplicity
+and quickness of observation.  Mamma looked grave and Mrs. Maxwell
+shook her head.  'And aunt Maxwell is never going to leave off
+hers,' persisted the naughty boy; but when he saw that his pertness
+was seriously displeasing and painful to his aunt, he went and
+silently put his arm round her neck, kissed her cheek, and withdrew
+to the recess of one of the great bay-windows, where he quietly
+amused himself with his dog, while Mrs. Maxwell gravely discussed
+with me the interesting topics of the weather, the season, and the
+roads.  I considered her presence very useful as a check upon my
+natural impulses - an antidote to those emotions of tumultuous
+excitement which would otherwise have carried me away against my
+reason and my will; but just then I felt the restraint almost
+intolerable, and I had the greatest difficulty in forcing myself to
+attend to her remarks and answer them with ordinary politeness; for
+I was sensible that Helen was standing within a few feet of me
+beside the fire.  I dared not look at her, but I felt her eye was
+upon me, and from one hasty, furtive glance, I thought her cheek
+was slightly flushed, and that her fingers, as she played with her
+watch-chain, were agitated with that restless, trembling motion
+which betokens high excitement.
+
+'Tell me,' said she, availing herself of the first pause in the
+attempted conversation between her aunt and me, and speaking fast
+and low, with her eyes bent on the gold chain - for I now ventured
+another glance - 'Tell me how you all are at Linden-hope - has
+nothing happened since I left you?'
+
+'I believe not.'
+
+'Nobody dead? nobody married?'
+
+'No.'
+
+'Or - or expecting to marry? - No old ties dissolved or new ones
+formed? no old friends forgotten or supplanted?'
+
+She dropped her voice so low in the last sentence that no one could
+have caught the concluding words but myself, and at the same time
+turned her eyes upon me with a dawning smile, most sweetly
+melancholy, and a look of timid though keen inquiry that made my
+cheeks tingle with inexpressible emotions.
+
+'I believe not,' I answered.  'Certainly not, if others are as
+little changed as I.'  Her face glowed in sympathy with mine.
+
+'And you really did not mean to call?' she exclaimed.
+
+'I feared to intrude.'
+
+'To intrude!' cried she, with an impatient gesture.  'What - ' but
+as if suddenly recollecting her aunt's presence, she checked
+herself, and, turning to that lady, continued - 'Why, aunt, this
+man is my brother's close friend, and was my own intimate
+acquaintance (for a few short months at least), and professed a
+great attachment to my boy - and when he passes the house, so many
+scores of miles from his home, he declines to look in for fear of
+intruding!'
+
+'Mr. Markham is over-modest,' observed Mrs. Maxwell.
+
+'Over-ceremonious rather,' said her niece - 'over - well, it's no
+matter.'  And turning from me, she seated herself in a chair beside
+the table, and pulling a book to her by the cover, began to turn
+over the leaves in an energetic kind of abstraction.
+
+'If I had known,' said I, 'that you would have honoured me by
+remembering me as an intimate acquaintance, I most likely should
+not have denied myself the pleasure of calling upon you, but I
+thought you had forgotten me long ago.'
+
+'You judged of others by yourself,' muttered she without raising
+her eyes from the book, but reddening as she spoke, and hastily
+turning over a dozen leaves at once.
+
+There was a pause, of which Arthur thought he might venture to
+avail himself to introduce his handsome young setter, and show me
+how wonderfully it was grown and improved, and to ask after the
+welfare of its father Sancho.  Mrs. Maxwell then withdrew to take
+off her things.  Helen immediately pushed the book from her, and
+after silently surveying her son, his friend, and his dog for a few
+moments, she dismissed the former from the room under pretence of
+wishing him to fetch his last new book to show me.  The child
+obeyed with alacrity; but I continued caressing the dog.  The
+silence might have lasted till its master's return, had it depended
+on me to break it; but, in half a minute or less, my hostess
+impatiently rose, and, taking her former station on the rug between
+me and the chimney corner, earnestly exclaimed -
+
+'Gilbert, what is the matter with you? - why are you so changed?
+It is a very indiscreet question, I know,' she hastened to add:
+'perhaps a very rude one - don't answer it if you think so - but I
+hate mysteries and concealments.'
+
+'I am not changed, Helen - unfortunately I am as keen and
+passionate as ever - it is not I, it is circumstances that are
+changed.'
+
+'What circumstances?  Do tell me!'  Her cheek was blanched with the
+very anguish of anxiety - could it be with the fear that I had
+rashly pledged my faith to another?
+
+'I'll tell you at once,' said I.  'I will confess that I came here
+for the purpose of seeing you (not without some monitory misgivings
+at my own presumption, and fears that I should be as little welcome
+as expected when I came), but I did not know that this estate was
+yours until enlightened on the subject of your inheritance by the
+conversation of two fellow-passengers in the last stage of my
+journey; and then I saw at once the folly of the hopes I had
+cherished, and the madness of retaining them a moment longer; and
+though I alighted at your gates, I determined not to enter within
+them; I lingered a few minutes to see the place, but was fully
+resolved to return to M- without seeing its mistress.'
+
+'And if my aunt and I had not been just returning from our morning
+drive, I should have seen and heard no more of you?'
+
+'I thought it would be better for both that we should not meet,'
+replied I, as calmly as I could, but not daring to speak above my
+breath, from conscious inability to steady my voice, and not daring
+to look in her face lest my firmness should forsake me altogether.
+'I thought an interview would only disturb your peace and madden
+me.  But I am glad, now, of this opportunity of seeing you once
+more and knowing that you have not forgotten me, and of assuring
+you that I shall never cease to remember you.'
+
+There was a moment's pause.  Mrs. Huntingdon moved away, and stood
+in the recess of the window.  Did she regard this as an intimation
+that modesty alone prevented me from asking her hand? and was she
+considering how to repulse me with the smallest injury to my
+feelings?  Before I could speak to relieve her from such a
+perplexity, she broke the silence herself by suddenly turning
+towards me and observing -
+
+'You might have had such an opportunity before - as far, I mean, as
+regards assuring me of your kindly recollections, and yourself of
+mine, if you had written to me.'
+
+'I would have done so, but I did not know your address, and did not
+like to ask your brother, because I thought he would object to my
+writing; but this would not have deterred me for a moment, if I
+could have ventured to believe that you expected to hear from me,
+or even wasted a thought upon your unhappy friend; but your silence
+naturally led me to conclude myself forgotten.'
+
+'Did you expect me to write to you, then?'
+
+'No, Helen - Mrs. Huntingdon,' said I, blushing at the implied
+imputation, 'certainly not; but if you had sent me a message
+through your brother, or even asked him about me now and then - '
+
+'I did ask about you frequently.  I was not going to do more,'
+continued she, smiling, 'so long as you continued to restrict
+yourself to a few polite inquiries about my health.'
+
+'Your brother never told me that you had mentioned my name.'
+
+'Did you ever ask him?'
+
+'No; for I saw he did not wish to be questioned about you, or to
+afford the slightest encouragement or assistance to my too
+obstinate attachment.'  Helen did not reply.  'And he was perfectly
+right,' added I.  But she remained in silence, looking out upon the
+snowy lawn.  'Oh, I will relieve her of my presence,' thought I;
+and immediately I rose and advanced to take leave, with a most
+heroic resolution - but pride was at the bottom of it, or it could
+not have carried me through.
+
+'Are you going already?' said she, taking the hand I offered, and
+not immediately letting it go.
+
+'Why should I stay any longer?'
+
+'Wait till Arthur comes, at least.'
+
+Only too glad to obey, I stood and leant against the opposite side
+of the window.
+
+'You told me you were not changed,' said my companion:  'you are -
+very much so.'
+
+'No, Mrs. Huntingdon, I only ought to be.'
+
+'Do you mean to maintain that you have the same regard for me that
+you had when last we met?'
+
+'I have; but it would be wrong to talk of it now.'
+
+'It was wrong to talk of it then, Gilbert; it would not now -
+unless to do so would be to violate the truth.'
+
+I was too much agitated to speak; but, without waiting for an
+answer, she turned away her glistening eye and crimson cheek, and
+threw up the window and looked out, whether to calm her own,
+excited feelings, or to relieve her embarrassment, or only to pluck
+that beautiful half-blown Christmas-rose that grew upon the little
+shrub without, just peeping from the snow that had hitherto, no
+doubt, defended it from the frost, and was now melting away in the
+sun.  Pluck it, however, she did, and having gently dashed the
+glittering powder from its leaves, approached it to her lips and
+said:
+
+'This rose is not so fragrant as a summer flower, but it has stood
+through hardships none of them could bear:  the cold rain of winter
+has sufficed to nourish it, and its faint sun to warm it; the bleak
+winds have not blanched it, or broken its stem, and the keen frost
+has not blighted it.  Look, Gilbert, it is still fresh and blooming
+as a flower can be, with the cold snow even now on its petals. -
+Will you have it?'
+
+I held out my hand:  I dared not speak lest my emotion should
+overmaster me.  She laid the rose across my palm, but I scarcely
+closed my fingers upon it, so deeply was I absorbed in thinking
+what might be the meaning of her words, and what I ought to do or
+say upon the occasion; whether to give way to my feelings or
+restrain them still.  Misconstruing this hesitation into
+indifference - or reluctance even - to accept her gift, Helen
+suddenly snatched it from my hand, threw it out on to the snow,
+shut down the window with an emphasis, and withdrew to the fire.
+
+'Helen, what means this?' I cried, electrified at this startling
+change in her demeanour.
+
+'You did not understand my gift,' said she - 'or, what is worse,
+you despised it.  I'm sorry I gave it you; but since I did make
+such a mistake, the only remedy I could think of was to take it
+away.'
+
+'You misunderstood me cruelly,' I replied, and in a minute I had
+opened the window again, leaped out, picked up the flower, brought
+it in, and presented it to her, imploring her to give it me again,
+and I would keep it for ever for her sake, and prize it more highly
+than anything in the world I possessed.
+
+'And will this content you?' said she, as she took it in her hand.
+
+'It shall,' I answered.
+
+'There, then; take it.'
+
+I pressed it earnestly to my lips, and put it in my bosom, Mrs.
+Huntingdon looking on with a half-sarcastic smile.
+
+'Now, are you going?' said she.
+
+'I will if - if I must.'
+
+'You are changed,' persisted she - 'you are grown either very proud
+or very indifferent.'
+
+'I am neither, Helen - Mrs. Huntingdon.  If you could see my heart
+- '
+
+'You must be one, - if not both.  And why Mrs. Huntingdon? - why
+not Helen, as before?'
+
+'Helen, then - dear Helen!' I murmured.  I was in an agony of
+mingled love, hope, delight, uncertainty, and suspense.
+
+'The rose I gave you was an emblem of my heart,' said she; 'would
+you take it away and leave me here alone?'
+
+'Would you give me your hand too, if I asked it?'
+
+'Have I not said enough?' she answered, with a most enchanting
+smile.  I snatched her hand, and would have fervently kissed it,
+but suddenly checked myself, and said, -
+
+'But have you considered the consequences?'
+
+'Hardly, I think, or I should not have offered myself to one too
+proud to take me, or too indifferent to make his affection outweigh
+my worldly goods.'
+
+Stupid blockhead that I was! - I trembled to clasp her in my arms,
+but dared not believe in so much joy, and yet restrained myself to
+say, -
+
+'But if you should repent!'
+
+'It would be your fault,' she replied:  'I never shall, unless you
+bitterly disappoint me.  If you have not sufficient confidence in
+my affection to believe this, let me alone.'
+
+'My darling angel - my own Helen,' cried I, now passionately
+kissing the hand I still retained, and throwing my left arm around
+her, 'you never shall repent, if it depend on me alone.  But have
+you thought of your aunt?'  I trembled for the answer, and clasped
+her closer to my heart in the instinctive dread of losing my new-
+found treasure.
+
+'My aunt must not know of it yet,' said she.  'She would think it a
+rash, wild step, because she could not imagine how well I know you;
+but she must know you herself, and learn to like you.  You must
+leave us now, after lunch, and come again in spring, and make a
+longer stay, and cultivate her acquaintance, and I know you will
+like each other.'
+
+'And then you will be mine,' said I, printing a kiss upon her lips,
+and another, and another; for I was as daring and impetuous now as
+I had been backward and constrained before.
+
+'No - in another year,' replied she, gently disengaging herself
+from my embrace, but still fondly clasping my hand.
+
+'Another year!  Oh, Helen, I could not wait so long!'
+
+'Where is your fidelity?'
+
+'I mean I could not endure the misery of so long a separation.'
+
+'It would not be a separation:  we will write every day:  my spirit
+shall be always with you, and sometimes you shall see me with your
+bodily eye.  I will not be such a hypocrite as to pretend that I
+desire to wait so long myself, but as my marriage is to please
+myself, alone, I ought to consult my friends about the time of it.'
+
+'Your friends will disapprove.'
+
+'They will not greatly disapprove, dear Gilbert,' said she,
+earnestly kissing my hand; 'they cannot, when they know you, or, if
+they could, they would not be true friends - I should not care for
+their estrangement.  Now are you satisfied?'  She looked up in my
+face with a smile of ineffable tenderness.
+
+'Can I be otherwise, with your love?  And you do love me, Helen?'
+said I, not doubting the fact, but wishing to hear it confirmed by
+her own acknowledgment.
+
+'If you loved as I do,' she earnestly replied, 'you would not have
+so nearly lost me - these scruples of false delicacy and pride
+would never thus have troubled you - you would have seen that the
+greatest worldly distinctions and discrepancies of rank, birth, and
+fortune are as dust in the balance compared with the unity of
+accordant thoughts and feelings, and truly loving, sympathising
+hearts and souls.'
+
+'But this is too much happiness,' said I, embracing her again; 'I
+have not deserved it, Helen - I dare not believe in such felicity:
+and the longer I have to wait, the greater will be my dread that
+something will intervene to snatch you from me - and think, a
+thousand things may happen in a year! - I shall be in one long
+fever of restless terror and impatience all the time.  And besides,
+winter is such a dreary season.'
+
+'I thought so too,' replied she gravely:  'I would not be married
+in winter - in December, at least,' she added, with a shudder - for
+in that month had occurred both the ill-starred marriage that had
+bound her to her former husband, and the terrible death that
+released her - 'and therefore I said another year, in spring.'
+
+'Next spring?'
+
+'No, no - next autumn, perhaps.'
+
+'Summer, then?'
+
+'Well, the close of summer.  There now! be satisfied.'
+
+While she was speaking Arthur re-entered the room - good boy for
+keeping out so long.
+
+'Mamma, I couldn't find the book in either of the places you told
+me to look for it' (there was a conscious something in mamma's
+smile that seemed to say, 'No, dear, I knew you could not'), 'but
+Rachel got it for me at last.  Look, Mr. Markham, a natural
+history, with all kinds of birds and beasts in it, and the reading
+as nice as the pictures!'
+
+In great good humour I sat down to examine the book, and drew the
+little fellow between my knees.  Had he come a minute before I
+should have received him less graciously, but now I affectionately
+stroked his curling looks, and even kissed his ivory forehead:  he
+was my own Helen's son, and therefore mine; and as such I have ever
+since regarded him.  That pretty child is now a fine young man:  he
+has realised his mother's brightest expectations, and is at present
+residing in Grassdale Manor with his young wife - the merry little
+Helen Hattersley of yore.
+
+I had not looked through half the book before Mrs. Maxwell appeared
+to invite me into the other room to lunch.  That lady's cool,
+distant manners rather chilled me at first; but I did my best to
+propitiate her, and not entirely without success, I think, even in
+that first short visit; for when I talked cheerfully to her, she
+gradually became more kind and cordial, and when I departed she
+bade me a gracious adieu, hoping ere long to have the pleasure of
+seeing me again.
+
+'But you must not go till you have seen the conservatory, my aunt's
+winter garden,' said Helen, as I advanced to take leave of her,
+with as much philosophy and self-command as I could summon to my
+aid.
+
+I gladly availed myself of such a respite, and followed her into a
+large and beautiful conservatory, plentifully furnished with
+flowers, considering the season - but, of course, I had little
+attention to spare for them.  It was not, however, for any tender
+colloquy that my companion had brought me there:-
+
+'My aunt is particularly fond of flowers,' she observed, 'and she
+is fond of Staningley too:  I brought you here to offer a petition
+in her behalf, that this may be her home as long as she lives, and
+- if it be not our home likewise - that I may often see her and be
+with her; for I fear she will be sorry to lose me; and though she
+leads a retired and contemplative life, she is apt to get low-
+spirited if left too much alone.'
+
+'By all means, dearest Helen! - do what you will with your own.  I
+should not dream of wishing your aunt to leave the place under any
+circumstances; and we will live either here or elsewhere as you and
+she may determine, and you shall see her as often as you like.  I
+know she must be pained to part with you, and I am willing to make
+any reparation in my power.  I love her for your sake, and her
+happiness shall be as dear to me as that of my own mother.'
+
+'Thank you, darling! you shall have a kiss for that.  Good-by.
+There now - there, Gilbert - let me go - here's Arthur; don't
+astonish his infantile brain with your madness.'
+
+* * * * *
+
+But it is time to bring my narrative to a close.  Any one but you
+would say I had made it too long already.  But for your
+satisfaction I will add a few words more; because I know you will
+have a fellow-feeling for the old lady, and will wish to know the
+last of her history.  I did come again in spring, and, agreeably to
+Helen's injunctions, did my best to cultivate her acquaintance.
+She received me very kindly, having been, doubtless, already
+prepared to think highly of my character by her niece's too
+favourable report.  I turned my best side out, of course, and we
+got along marvellously well together.  When my ambitious intentions
+were made known to her, she took it more sensibly than I had
+ventured to hope.  Her only remark on the subject, in my hearing,
+was -
+
+'And so, Mr. Markham, you are going to rob me of my niece, I
+understand.  Well!  I hope God will prosper your union, and make my
+dear girl happy at last.  Could she have been contented to remain
+single, I own I should have been better satisfied; but if she must
+marry again, I know of no one, now living and of a suitable age, to
+whom I would more willingly resign her than yourself, or who would
+be more likely to appreciate her worth and make, her truly happy,
+as far as I can tell.'
+
+Of course I was delighted with the compliment, and hoped to show
+her that she was not mistaken in her favourable judgment.
+
+'I have, however, one request to offer,' continued she.  'It seems
+I am still to look on Staningley as my home:  I wish you to make it
+yours likewise, for Helen is attached to the place and to me - as I
+am to her.  There are painful associations connected with
+Grassdale, which she cannot easily overcome; and I shall not molest
+you with my company or interference here:  I am a very quiet
+person, and shall keep my own apartments, and attend to my own
+concerns, and only see you now and then.'
+
+Of course I most readily consented to this; and we lived in the
+greatest harmony with our dear aunt until the day of her death,
+which melancholy event took place a few years after - melancholy,
+not to herself (for it came quietly upon her, and she was glad to
+reach her journey's end), but only to the few loving friends and
+grateful dependents she left behind.
+
+To return, however, to my own affairs:  I was married in summer, on
+a glorious August morning.  It took the whole eight months, and all
+Helen's kindness and goodness to boot, to overcome my mother's
+prejudices against my bride-elect, and to reconcile her to the idea
+of my leaving Linden Grange and living so far away.  Yet she was
+gratified at her son's good fortune after all, and proudly
+attributed it all to his own superior merits and endowments.  I
+bequeathed the farm to Fergus, with better hopes of its prosperity
+than I should have had a year ago under similar circumstances; for
+he had lately fallen in love with the Vicar of L-'s eldest daughter
+- a lady whose superiority had roused his latent virtues, and
+stimulated him to the most surprising exertions, not only to gain
+her affection and esteem, and to obtain a fortune sufficient to
+aspire to her hand, but to render himself worthy of her, in his own
+eyes, as well as in those of her parents; and in the end he was
+successful, as you already know.  As for myself, I need not tell
+you how happily my Helen and I have lived together, and how blessed
+we still are in each other's society, and in the promising young
+scions that are growing up about us.  We are just now looking
+forward to the advent of you and Rose, for the time of your annual
+visit draws nigh, when you must leave your dusty, smoky, noisy,
+toiling, striving city for a season of invigorating relaxation and
+social retirement with us.
+
+Till then, farewell,
+
+GILBERT MARKHAM.
+
+STANINGLEY:  June 10TH, 1847.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg eText The Tenant of Wildfell Hall
+
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