THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL BY ANNE BRONTE. A. NEW EDITION. LONDON: SMITH, ELDER, & CO., 15 WATERLOO PLACE. 1892. THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL. CHAPTER I. Tou must go back with me to the autumn of 1827. My lather, as you know, was a sort of gentleman farmer in shire ; and I, by his express desire, succeeded him in the game quiet occupation, not very willingly, for ambition urged me to higher aims, and self-conceit assured me that, in dis- regarding 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 J was capable of great achieve- ments ; 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 condi- tion, 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 agri- culture 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 con- sole 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 mort effect in cheering my spirits, and rebuking my thankless re- innings, than all the sage reflections and good resolutions I had forced my mind to frame ; for I was young then, remem- 2045031 6 THE TENAKT her 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 bo'ots for a clean pair of shoes, and my rough surtout for a respectable coat, and made myself gene- rally 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 fire-side, 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 sideboard, that shone like polished ebony, in the cheerful parlour twi- light. "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 h&i not the sense to direct himself and carrying out a plan for the extensive and efficient draining of the low meadow-lands." " That's my brave boy ! and Fergus what have ycu been doing?" OF WILDFKIX UAJi. 7 ' Badger-baiting." And here he proceeded to give a particular account of his eport, and the respective traits of prowess evinced by the badger and the dogs ; my mother pretending to listen with deep at- tention, and watching his animated countenance with a degrco 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 Mill- ward 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 im- portant piece of news I heard there I've 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 ser- vant!" " Oh dear ! that spoils it I'd hoped she was a witch," ob- served 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. 8 THE TENANT She went with her mother, who, of course, when she heard of 8 stranger being in the neighbourhood, would be on pins nd 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 Mis. 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 bye,' than ' how do you do.' But Eliza Millward says her father intends to call upon her soon, to olFer some pastoral advice, which he fears she needs, as, though she is known to have en- tered 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 1 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 ex- plosion. OF WILDFELL HAUL. 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 it' 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-opinion- ated, seemed not incapable of reflection, though she did not know where she had been all her life, poor thing, for she be- trayed a lamentable ignorance on certain points, and had not even the sense to be ashamed of it. u 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 know- ledge 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." u 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." u 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 dis- cover 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 pre- tence of household business, in order to escape the contradic- tion that was trembling on my tongue. After that, Rose favoured me with further particulars re- 10 Tllli TENAJST Bpecting Mrs. Graham. Her appearance, manners, and dress, and the very furniture cf 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, apper- taining to Wildfell Hall, where the faded crimson cushions and lining had been impressed 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 wa? 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 aqui- line, 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 be- tokened, I thought, no very soft or amiable temper ; and I said in my heart u I would rather admire you from this distance, fair lady, thaii 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 expres- sion 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 observ- ing 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 OK WILUiKLL HALL. 11 the corners of her eyes towards the object of general attrac- tion. 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 1 was made sensible of it by a sudden dig in the ribs, from the elbow ot 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 Milhvard was ; she was the vicar's younger daughter, and a very engaging little creature, for whom I felt no ssnall degree oi partiality ; and she knew it, though I had nevei 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 disqualifica- tions, 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, re- trousse, 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 attrac- tion lay in outward aspect at least; they were long and narrow in shape, the irids black, or very dark brown, the ex- pression various, and ever changing, but always either preter- naturally I had almost said diabolically wicked, or irre- sistibly 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 Jong, 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, pon- derous, 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 occa- 12 THE TENANT eions. He was a man of fixed principles, strong prejudice*, 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 deplor- ably ignorant, or wilfully blind. In childhood, I had always been accustomed to regard him with a feeling of reverential awe but lately, even now, sur- mounted, 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 Btand up before him, and say our catechism, or repeat u 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 bee 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 main- tained 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 bene- fit from his prescriptions, were told it was because they had not persevered, and if they complained of inconvenient re- sults therefrom, were assured it was all fancy. I will just touch upon two other persons whom I have men- tioned, 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 OF WILDFELL HALL. 13 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 be- sides ; 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 chesnut 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. 1 PERCEIVE, with joy, my most valued friend, that the cloud of your displeasure has past away ; the light of your counte- nance blesses me once more, and you desire the continuation of my story : therefore, without more ado, you shall have it. 1 think the day I last mentioned was a certain Sunday, the latest in the October oi' 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 14 THE TENANT 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 Eliza- bethan era, built of dark grey stone, venerable and pic- turesque 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 unshel- tered 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, unfilled 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 OF WII.DFKLL HALL. 16 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 har- monised well with the ghostly legions and dark traditions our old nurse had told us respecting the haunted hall and its departed occupants. 1 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, sur- mounted 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 be- holding 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. T,he 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, 16 THE TENANT and called Sancho to pacify him. He was just putting h!s li*.tle hand on the dog's neck and beginning to smile thrcm^h hia 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 ueck 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 contamina- tion 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." " 1 beg your pardon, sir," stammered she ; suddenly calm- ing down, the light of reason seeming to break upon her beclouded spirit, and a faint blush mantling on her cheek 41 1 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 sup- pose?" 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 V she added, somewhat abruptly. I bowed, but ventured to ask how she knew me. " Your sister called here, a few days ago, with Mrs. Mark- ham." " Is the resemblance so strong then ? " I asked, in some surprise, and not so greatly flattered at the idea as 1 ought to have been. " There is a likeness about the eyes and complexion I think," replied she, somewhat dubiously survej'ing my face ; u 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 corruption at church ^ look of repellent scorn, so easily assumed, and so entirely without the least distortion of a single feature, that, while Uiere, it seemed like the natural expression of the face, and OF WILDFELL HALL. 17 iras me 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 1 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 sooth my ruffled temper with the company and conversation of Eliza Milliard. I found her, as usual, busy with some piece of soft em- broidery (the mania lor 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 ;ust as I entered the room. "Not I, indeed!" was the phlegmatic reply; and my ap- pearance prevented further discussion. "You're so unfortunate, Mr. Markham!" observed the younger sister, with one ot 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 nog 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, tc be mutually pleased with each other, and managed to main- tain 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 trant to disturb the cat." 18 THE TENANT "Mary, dear, that won't excuse you in Mr. Markham's eyes," said Eliza ; " he hates cats, I dare say, 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 lor myself, and overflowing with love for Eliza. CHAPTER IH. 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 civilised 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 tliat 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 accom- pany 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, die 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." OF WILDFELL HALL. It " 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 subjuct, 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 read- ing at the moment of our visitor's arrival ; and, not choosing to be over civil, I had merely bowed as she entered, and con- tinued 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 20 THE TENANT now and then, to see how she relished the new-sprung inti- macy ; and I saw, by the unquiet aspect of her eye, that for some reason or other she was uneasy at the child's position. 14 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 pic- tures 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 dare say we shall be able to amuse him; and then you can make your own apologies to the Mill- wards and Wilsons, they will all be here, I expect." " Thank you, I never go to parties." " Ob ! but this will be quite a family concern early hours, and nobody here but ourselves, and just the Mill wards and Wilsons, most of whom you already know, and Mr. Lawrence, your landlord, with whom you ought to make acquaint- ance." " 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 in- fluence 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 hospi- table 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 dare say 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 upirits-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 1 I really gave you credit for having more sense. The OF WILDFKLL ITAIX. 21 poor child will be the veriest milksop that ever was sopped ! Only think what a man you will make of him, if you persist " I think it a very excellent plan," interrupted Mrs. Gra- ham 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 m 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 temp- tation ; or that of having no temptations to resist ? Is he a strong man that overcomes great obstacles and performs sur- prising achievements, though by dint of great muscular exer- tion, 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 ? It 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 lead- ing him by the hand, but let him learn to go alone." 41 1 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 ut- most, 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 with- out, when I have done all I can to render vice as uninviting to 22 THE TENANT 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 watchful- ness 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 wishfal 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, aud spend her life in pet- ting 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. Giaham, whatever you may think. But I'll get Mr. Millward to talk to you about it : he'll tell you the conse- quences ; 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 un- bounded confidence in that worthy gentleman " Mr. Mark- ham here, thinks his powers of conviction at least equal to Mr. Mill ward's. If I hear not him, neither should I be con- vinced though one rose from the dead, he would tell you. Well, Mr. Markham, you that maintain that a boy should net 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 OP W1LDFELL HALL. 23 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 ex- pect it to become a hardy tree, like that which has grown up on the mountain-side, exposed to all the action of the ele- ments, 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 temp- tation ; and you think that a woman cannot be too little ex- posed to temptation, or too little acquainted with vice, or any- thing connected therewith. It must be, either, that you think she is essentially so vicious, or so feeble-minded that she can- not 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 bene- fit by the experience of others, and the precepts of a higher authority, that they should know beforehand to refuse the evil 24 THE and choose the good, and require no experimental proof8 to teach them the evil of transgression. I would not send a poor girl into the world, unarmed against her foes, and igno- rant 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 dar- ling 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 sup- pose," said I, observing her rise, and begin to take leave of my mother. 14 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 argu- ment 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 Kose, " 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 ar- gument 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 pave it a spiteful squeeze ; for I was annoyed at the continual injustice she had done me from the very dawn of our acquaint- OF WILDKKI.I. It.U.L. 26 ance. 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 oi 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 con- vinced, whether you are or not. OUR party, spite of Mi CHAPTER IV. /, 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 acti- vity and goodnature, 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 senten- tious 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 atten- tive 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 ; tor 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, 26 THE TENANT 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 lor 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 sup- posed 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 OP WILDFELL HALL. 27 both, and I suppose there was a kind of fellow-feeling esta- blished between them. My Eliza was charming beyond description, coquettish with out 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, whisper- ing 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 fall of mirth arid 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 gentle- manly 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 quit- ting 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 acquaint- ances ; 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-con- tained, 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 con- viction 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 friend- ship, such as has since arisen between myself and you, Hal- ford, 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 oi the wearer, and which he may use as he pleases, without 28 THE TENANT 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 Bplit 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 dare say 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 per- son 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 out- thines us all in singing, and music too." Miss Wilson demurred. " She'll sing readily enough," said Fergus, " if you'll un- dertake 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. Per- haps 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. Mill;vanl, 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, an;] OF WILDFELL HALL. S9 a china jug of our best ale was presently brought and set before the worthy gentleman who so well knew how to appre- ciate its excellences. " Now TIIIS 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 camclle, 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 help- ing himself to a pretty stiff glass of the same. " By no means !" replied the oracle, with a Jove-like nod ; 44 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 ? " 44 Wrong!" repeated the vicar, with more than common solemnity ' 4 criminal, I should say criminal ! Not only ia 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 Mra. 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 play- ing with his half-empty wine-glass, and covertly smiling to himself. " But don't yon think, Mr. Millward," suggested be, when at length that gentleman paused in his discourse, 44 that when 80 THE TENANT 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. Law- rence's father had shortened his days by intemperance.) 44 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 gene- rally 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 ad- vantages ; for here you eee 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?" 44 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 hi modera- tion ; 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 mo- ther, 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 trill n 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. 44 What do you think of her ?" 44 1 cannot say that I like her much. She is handsome or rather I should say distinguished and interesting in her ap- pearance, but by no means amiable a woman liable to take strong prejudices, I should fancy, and stick to them through OF WILDFELL HALL. 81 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 no- ticed 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 Law- rence 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 pas- sage, 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, U 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 bittej ly 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, not cleverness, nor goodness, nor anything else that's desirable. 32 THE TENANT If you knew your own value, as I do, you wouldn't dream ol 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, 1 tell you ; but dear me ! mayn't 1 enjoy myself at all?" 44 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 jet 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." 41 Well, don't cry about it, mother," said I, for the tears were gushing from her eyes ; " there, let that kiss eii'ace 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 disap- prove of." So saying, I lighted my candle, and went to bed, consider- ably quenched in spirit. C II AFTER 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 canvass, bottles of oil and varnish, palette, brushes, paints, &c. Lean- ing against the wall were several sketches in various stages of progression, and a few finished paintings mostly of landscapes and figures. 44 1 must make you welcome to my studio," said Mrs. Graham, 4 ' 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 re- sumed 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, aa if she found it impossible to wean her attention entirely from her occupation to fix it upon her guests. It was a view OF WILDFEIi ILVLL. S3 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 : 1 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, ap- proaching 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 cha- racters 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 hesi- tated ; but after a moment's pause, with a kind of despe- jate 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 recog- nise 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 Lindenhope from the top of the hill ; another view of the old hall, basking in the sunny haze of a quiet sum- mer 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 be- clouded 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, 6 34 THE TENANT 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 Lave nothing else to paint. I have been told that you have tine view of the sea, somewhere in the neighbourhood Is It true ? and is it within walking distance ? " " Yes, il 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 1 could, and was en- tering 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, She suddenly paused, with a suppressed exclamation, started up Irom 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 Ro*e. The child looked at her in grave surprise. She straight- way 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 an- other behind it, with its face to the wall. I ventured to take (hat up too. Jt was the portrait of a gentleman in the full nriroe 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 OF AVILDFELL HALL. 85 careful minuteness of detail, and less of that freshness of co- louring 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 ot 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 I, " 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 with- out 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. Mark- ham. I'm sorry I offended you by my abruptness." When a lady condescends to apologise, there is no keeping one's anger of course ; so we parted good friends for once; and this time, I squeezed her hand with a cordial, not a spiteful pressure. THE TENAM7 CHAPTER VI. DURING the next four months I did not enter Mrs. Grahanv 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 vicar- age, and that, unfortunately, nobody was at home but Miss Alillward ; 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 appre- ciate 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 oc- casions, when I caught sight of her in my solitary walks or rides, or while following my agricultural pursuits, I gene- rally 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 inti- macy to quench, as it were, the kindling flame of our friend- ship 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 hap- pened 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 objec- OF WILDFELL HALL. 37 tionable 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, de- signedly or otherwise, small thanks to her for that same. But sometimes, I believe, she really had some little gratifi- cation 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 coin- ciding 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, per- haps, 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 aa it ought to have been. We chatted together a long time, but I found her rather frivolous, and even a little insipid, com- pared 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, thougn Mrs. Graham might be equally objectionable, I may be per- mitted, 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 balked in any expectations of another interview, so changeable was ehe 88 THE TEXAKT in her times of coming forth and in her places of resort, sa 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 dis- agreeable a supposition to be entertained a moment after it could conveniently be dismissed. One calm, clear afternoon, however, in March, as I was su- perintending the rolling of the meadow-land, and the repair- ing of a hedge in the valley, I saw Mrs. Graham down by the brook, with a sketch-book in her hand, absorbed in the exer- cise 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 be- fore Sancho, who, immediately upon perceiving his } r oung friend, scoured at fall 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 smooth- ness prevented his being too much hurt to laugh at the unto- ward 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 be- hold it so dexterously guided by those fair and graceful fin- Ej. But ere long their dexterity became impaired, they an to hesitate, to tremble slightly, and make false strokes, then suddenly came to a pause, while their owner laugh- ingly 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 pro- ceeding up and down the wide, steep field, he looked the OF WILDFELL HALL. 89 very incarnation of quiet, gleeful satisfaction and delight. The rolling, however, was soon completed ; but when I dis- mounted the gallant horseman, and restored him to his mo ther, she seemed rather displeased at my keeping him sc 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, com- fortk*ss 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 -dark- ness, and many exhibited their black, cavernous gulfs, en- tirely 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 be- tween us. "Yes." "Humph! I thought so." He looked contemplatively at 40 THE TENANT his horse's mane, as if he had some serious cause of dissatis- faction with it, or something else. "Well! what then?" "Oh, nothing!" replied he. "Only, I thought you dis- liked 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 entan- glement in the pony's redundant hoary mane. Then sud- denly turning to me, and fixing his shy, hazel eyes upon me with a steady penetrating gaze, he ad'ded, " 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 ame- liorated." " 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 irre- levant 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 au- dacious 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 ac- quaintance with the lady, and the changes of my opinion con- cerning 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 an- swered, " No, I think not." " Then you had better let her alone." She won't let me alone he might have said ; but lie 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 : an- other word on the subject would hare been like the last atom that breaks the camel's back. OF WILDFELL HALL. 41 1 was too late for tea ; but my mother had kindly kept the tea-pot 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, eve.i, he would have to put up with such as there was, and been wld to be thankful, for it was far too good for him ; but you we cau'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 thing?, 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 dare say 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 likes 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 docs 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 care- lessness 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 igno- rance 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 mar- ried. Then, when you've got some trifling, self-conceited girl 42 THE TENANT like Eliza Millward, careless of everything but her own im- mediate pleasure and advantage, or some misguided, obstinat 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 feel- ings 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 vir- tues ; 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 ; BO 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 OF WILDFELL HALL. 48 it in lieu of my brother's, told the latter he might go back, for I would accompany the ladies. " I beg your pardon 1" 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 in- troduce 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 mer- rier and I'm sure we shall want all the cheerfulness we can carry with us to that great, dark, gloomy room, with its nar- row 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-ser- vant, that opened the door, ushered us into an apartment, such as Rose had described to me as the scene of her first in- troduction 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 won- derful 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 sur- rounding objects ; but of course their position was imme- diately changed on our entrance. I could only observe the utance. Mrs. Graham was particularly delighted to something indescribably chilly in her quiet, I did not talk much to her. Seating myself 14 THE TEN AST picture during the few hrief seconds that Rachel held the door for our admittance. I do not think Mrs. Graham was see us : there was 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 lor ward at his hostess (in a manner that made me strongly in- clined to kick him out ot 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, emiling ; " 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 lit- tle 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 near- est 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." OF WILDFELL HALL 45 " 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 contess, 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 cau readily decide for us, as it mainly regarded yoursell and, in- deed, we often hold discussions about you ; for some of ua 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 ap- prehension and wrath. " I won't, I tel] 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 coun- try, 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 per- secutions, endeavoured to draw me into conversation. "Mr. Markham," said she, her rapid utterance and height- ened colour too plainly evincing her disquietude ; " have you forgotten the fine sea-view we were speaking of some time aujo ? I think I must trouble you, now, to tell me the nearest way to it ; for if this beautiful weather continue, I shall, per- haps, be able to walk there, and take my sketch ; I have ex- hausted 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 16 THE TENANT 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 pic-nic 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 ; 41 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 fur- ther discussion respecting the time and manner of the pro- jected 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 ex- pedition 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 Mill- ward, Jane and Richard Wilson, and Rose, Fergus, and Gil- bert Markham. Mr. Lawrence had been invited to join us, but, for some reason best known to himself, had refused to give us his com- pany. 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 fur- ther 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 mid-day, 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 en- tered the neighbourhood, and he did not like being in the car- riage with strangers, while all his four friends, mamma, and Bancho, and Mr. Markham, and Miss Millward, were on foot. OF WILDFELL HAIX. 47 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 for- saken the highway for a short cut across the fields, beheld the little carriage far away, disappearing amid the green, embow- ering 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 Mill- ward and Arthur. She and Mary journeyed along together, generally frdh 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 con- verse, 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 hav- ing so unfavourably impressed her, and the more desirous to vindicate my character and disposition in her eyes, and, if pos- sible, to win her esteem. At length our walk was ended. The increasing height and boldness of the hills had for some time intercepted the pro- spect ; 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 sea-mews that sported above, 48 THE TENANT 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-bye I don't know whether I've told before, but they were full of Boul, large, clear, and nearly black not brown, hut 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 re* mained so quiet. There was an aspect of subdued exhilara- tion in her face, that kindled into almost a smile of exalted, glad intelligence as her eye met mine. Never had she looked eo 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 agree- able, 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 Mill- ward 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 OF WILDFELL HALL. 49 ,he 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, pre- cipitous 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." 1 Oh, but you know I don't like that." 1 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. 50 THE TENANT " 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 ? " u 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 bow 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 in- trust him to me, by-the-bye," I grumbled, " though I had the honoiir 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 lew 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 1'avour ; 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 appro- bation, and the improvement I suggested was adopted with- out hesitation. "I have often wished in vain," said she, "for another's judgment to appeal to when I could scarcely trust the direc- tion of my own eye and head, they having been so long oc- cupied 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 soliuiry 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 OF WILDFELL HALL. 51 anywhere without such a companion wherewith to improve his leisure moments : all time seemed lost that was not de- voted to study, or exacted, by his physical nature, for the bare support of life. Even now, he could not abandon him- self 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 en we arrived. with great complacency whei The journey homeward w me, as the former part of 1 was by no means so agreeable, tc part of the day ; tor 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 lat- ter'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 tune, B!IC declined my proffered aid in so kind and friendly a manner that I almost forgave her. 62 THE TENANT CHAPTER VIII. Six weeks had past 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 hayfield, 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 lour winds of heaven, at the head of a goodly file ot servants and hirelings intending so to labour, from morning to 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 reso- lutions 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 tor 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. 44 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." u Oh, ho ! 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 wo 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. OF WILDFELL HALL. 53 " \Vhat, then, had she and you got on so well together aa to come to the giving and receiving of presents ?" Not pre- cisely, 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, pro- vided 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 waa 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, be- cause 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 con- fess, I was deeply wounded, though, at the same time, stimu- lated to seek revenge : but latterly, finding, beyond a doubt, that I was not that empty-headed coxcomb she had first sup- posed 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, conse- quently, could not fail to please his mamma. My second was to bring him a book, which, knowing his mother's parti- cularity, 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 54 THE TENANT 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 ex- pressed 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 heart-felt 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 use- less 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 presenta- tion : 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. OF W1LDFELL HALL. 55 "Why cannot vou?" 44 Because," she paused, and looked at the carpet. " Why cannot you?" I repeated, with a degree of irasci- bility 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 in- tended 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, 41 You think yourself insulted, Mr. Markham I wish I could make you understand that that I " 44 1 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 fa- vours : 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." 41 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 !" 44 1 will remember what I have said; but do not you punish my presumption by withdrawing your friendship en- tirely 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. Jt was with an agitated burning heart and brain that I 56 THE TENANT hurried homewards, regardless ol that scorching noon-day sun forgetful of everything but her I had just left re- gretting nothing but her impenetrability, and my own preci- pitancy 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 1'rom 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 resent- ment, 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. Markhara!" 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 en- courage us to disbelieve them 'i " "What reports?" "Ah, now! you knowl" she slyly smiled and shook her hcstd. " I know nothing about them. What in the world do you moan, Eliza?" " Oh, don't ask me ! / 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. 11 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. OF WILDFELL HALL. 57 " I don't know," replied she. " Some idle slander some- body 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 Mill ward ! 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 mis- placed." And she raised her face, and gave me such a look of sorrow- ful 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 lalse, 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 re- cover 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 bad another of our quiet little Earties, to which the usual company of friends and neighbours ad 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 intoler- able bore ; but the moment of her arrival brought new life to the house, and though I must not neglect the other guests for her, or expect to engross much of her attention and conversa- tion to myself alone, I anticipated an evening of no common enjoyment. w 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. "Pid you ever see such art?" whispered Eliza, who waa 58 THE TENANT my nearest neighbour. " Would you n " 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 78 THE TENANT nothing 01 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 encourage- ment, or treated me with greater severity than you did ! And if you think you have wronged me by giving me your friend- ship, and occasionally admitting me to the enjoyment of yoiu 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 hei 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, in- deed, 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 con- fess ; 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 thrill- ing 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, (jobbing convulsively ; yet I withdrew in silence. I felt that to obtrude my consolations on her then would only serve to aggravate her sxifferings- OP WILDFELL HALL. 79 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 sen- timent 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 cheer- fulness, 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 01 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 ! " 1 could see the red fire-light dimly gleaming from her par- lour 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 temp- tation 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 to 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, 80 THE TENANT " Come out I want to see the moon, and breathe the even- ing 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 fVom seeing two figures come forth into the moonlight ; Mrs. Gra- ham followed by another not Rachel, but a young man, slender and rather tall. Oh, heavens, how my temples throbbed! Intense anxiety darkened my sight; but I thought yes, and the voice confirmed it it was Mr. Law- rence. "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. 1 heard it plainly enough. " But I must leave this place, Frederic," 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 dark- ness 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, after- wards, 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 consider- nble time ; for when, having partially relieved myself by a torrent of tears,, and looked up at the moon, shining so calmly and carelessly on, as little influenced by my misery as 1 was by its peaceful radiance, and earnestly prayed for death or Ibrgetfulness, I had risen and journeyed homewards little regarding the way, but carried instinctively by my feet to the OF WILDFKLL HALL. 81 door, I found it bolted against me, and every one in bed ex- cept my mother, who hastened to answer my impatient knock- ing, and received me with a shower of questions and re- bukes. "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. U 0h, Gilbert, how j r ou 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 be- cause the candle would not light. Then, suppressing my irri- tation, I added, " I've been walking too fast, thu's all. Good night," and marched oft to bed, regardless of the u 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 1 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 ir.y boots Jest my mother should hear me. But the boards creaked, and che was watchful. I had not walked above a quarter of an hour before she was at the door again. " Gilbert, why arc you not m bed you said you wanted to t'o?" " Confound it ! I'm going," said I. " But why are you so long about it ? you must have some- thing 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 !" u I wish to goodness it mayn't !" murmured she, v.'ith a sigh, as she returned to her own apartment, while I threw myself on the bed, feeling most undutifully disaffected towards her tor having deprived me of what seemed the only shadow of a consolation that remained, and chained me to that wretched couch of thorns. 6 82 THE TENANT 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 briars 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 win- dow. 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 in- convenient 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. "Mr 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. u You say there is no- thing the matter with you, and nothing has happened to grieve you, and yet, I never saw any one 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 ab- sorbed in its perusal ; for I was equally unable to justify my- self, and unwilling to acknowledge my errors ; and I wished to have nothing to say on the matter. But my excellent pa- rent went on lecturing, and then came to coaxing, and began to stroke my hair ; and I was getting to feel quite a good boy, OF WILDFELL HALL. 83 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 dif owned 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, inoffen- sive 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,' 1 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 plas- tered 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 in- flict 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 misan- thropically 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 seem- ing 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 bs less irk- some 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 84 THE TENANT my shoulder to the wheel and toil away, like any poor drudgt of a cart-horse that was fairly broken in to its labour, and plod through life, not wholly useless if not agreeable, and un- complaining 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. How- ever, 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 ol 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 re- pelling 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 Tiot to speak of her, Miss Eliza." '* Oh, I beg your pardon ! I perceive Cupid's arrows hnve OF WILDFELL HALL. 8 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 wrathiul indignation, from the house ; but recollecting just in time to save my dig- nity 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 tbe ghost of my former reve- rence 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 ot 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 farnier'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 as- cended the hill, intending to visit a corn-field in the more ele- vated 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 4t 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 pur- sued the even tenor of my way ; and he soon relinquished tbe 86 THE TENAXT pursuit as hopeless, or was called away by Iris mother. At all events, when J 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 ar- rows 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 expedi- tion, soon after breakfast. It was a dull, drizzly day ; but that was no matter: it was all the more suitable to my frame ot 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, lost 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. Pie accosted me by name ; for it was no stranger it was Mr. Lawrence ! Instinc- tively 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. 1 had thought the circumstances of our last meeting would have left such an impression on his mind as to render him cold and dis- tant 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 re- OF WILDFELL HALL. 87 suit, 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 tangi- ble 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 yorv 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 j r ou 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 sud- den 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 analyze ; and perhaps, if I did so, the result would not be very credit- able to my disposition ; for I am not sure that a species of ex- ultation in what I had done was not one principal concomi- tant. 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 oi 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 con- 68 THE TKNAN1 science ; 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 farther 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 then 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 in- hospitable couch ; his clothes were considerably bcmircd ; 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 Ir.a 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 con- tamination in my touch. " What, you won't. Well ! you may sit there till dooms- day, 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 1, 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 hand- kerchief, as his own was now saturated with blood. He took it and cast it back to me, in abhorrence and contempt, with OF WILDFELL HALL. 89 all the strength he could muster. It wanted but this to fill the measure of his offences. With execrations not loud hut deep, I left him to live or die as he could, well satisfied that I had done my duty in attempting to save him hut forgetting how I had erred in hringing 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 stanch, 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 acknow- ledged 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 re- ceived 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 tra- verse the road but ourselves. As for what he might choosa 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 expla- nations, further than I thought proper. Perhaps, he might choose to be silent on the subject, for fear of raising inquiries 90 THE TENANT as to the cause of the quarrel, and drawing the public at- tention to his connection with Mrs. Graham, Avhich, 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 com- missions for my mother and Rose, with very laudable exacti- tude, 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 eay murderous, appearance in one place, the hat saturated with rain and coated with mud, indented and broken above the brim by that villanous 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 fly 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 OF WILDFELL HALL. 91 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?" 44 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 o* 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." " O, my dear boy ! Surely, surely you are not so un- forgiving as to carry your little differences to such a length " 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 in- quiries ; 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 parti- culars 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'a sake, it was not his intention to criminate me. 92 THE TENANT CHAPTER XV. THAT day was rainy like its predecessor ; but towards even- ing it began to clear up a little, and the next morning waa 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 glitter- ing 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 lin- gering 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 laugh, ing, half frightened at the unexpected aspect of my lace 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. lie 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 blue-bells," said she, pointing to some that were gleaming, at some distance, under the hedge along which we walked. The child hesi- tated, 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. OF WILDFELL HALL. 93 "Well, Mrs. Graham?" said I, calmly and coWly; 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 ap- pointed 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 ths 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 round 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. 94 THE TENANT But still, I was curious to know what sort of an explana- tion 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 ? u 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 agi- tating 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, im- parting 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 de- lightful 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 tirst 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 com- posureoutwardly, at least. She entered, calm, pale, col- lected. " To what am I indebted for this favour, Mr. Markham ?' said she, with such severe but quiet dignity as almost discon- OF WTLDFELL HALL. 95 certed me ; but I answered with a smile, and impudently enough : 44 Well, I am come to hear your explanation." 44 1 told you I would not give it," said she. " I said you were unworthy of my confidence." 44 Oh, very well," replied I, moving to the door. 44 Stay a moment," said she. u This is the last time I shall ce you : don't go just yet." I remained, awaiting her further commands. 44 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. 41 1 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, 44 Do you know that gentleman?" 41 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. 4l What next, sir?" 44 How long is it since you saw him?" 44 Who gave you the right to catechise me, on this or any other subject?" 41 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 " 44 1 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 expla- nation." 44 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 indig- nation from her eyes. " I will not condescend to explain my- self 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. 4t I heartily wish I could find them a jesting matter ! And as to being easily led to suspect, God only knows what a blind, incredu- lous fool I have hitherto been,"perseveringly shutting my eyes 96 THE TENANT 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 rememher 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 : 1 went on trusting and believing, hoping against hope, and adoring where I could not comprehend. It so hap- pened, 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 appa- rently in great affliction, and I partly blamed my own want oi forbearance and discretion as the cause of it. If I did wrong, iove 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 infa- tuation. I always said and thought, that I would never be- lieve 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 over-strained ; 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 1 was standing, with her chin resting on her closed hand, her C3*es no longer burning with anger, but gleaming with rest- less 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 un- generous and wrong to withdraw yourself so secretly and suddenly, immediately after such ardent protestations of at- tachment, 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 con- OF WILDFELL HALL. 97 cerned me ; nor cc-uld you have made rr.e discredit the evi- dence of my senses. 1 desired our intimacy to be discon- tinued at once, as you yourself had acknowledged would pro- bably 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 cither 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 ! Here- after 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. u 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 tor- ment 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 ac- company 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 1 it back when you havp rend it ; and don't breathe 1 93 THE TENANT a word of what it tells you to any living being. I trusfc 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, deter- mined 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 temporal 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, and call it, 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 draw- ing 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 my- self 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 OF WILDFKLL HALL. 99 that vexes me. As for the owner of that face, I cannot pet 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 conclud ing with : supposing all the rest be ansv, r ered in the affirma- tive, 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 be fore 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 ot being married j'ourself, 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 sup- posed, that }'ou would wish to marry any one, till you were asked : a girl's affections should never be won unsought. Bat 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 oppo- sition 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 ex- pectations, 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 1" 100 THE TENANT " 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." u Have you been troubled in that way, aunt?" " No, Helen," said she, with reproachful gravity, " but 1 know many that have ; and some, through carelessness, have been the wretched victims of deceit ; and some, through weak- ness, 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 conse- quent 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 dis- course. 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, li 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 charm- ing, in other respects ; t should hate him despise him pity OF WILDFELL HALL. 101 him anything but love him. My affections not only ought to he 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 get 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 ; in- deed, 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 arc 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 ex- citement 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 de- pressed 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 ]ad;es especially ap- peared 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,! 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. Boar- ham, by name, Bore'em, as I prefer spelling it, for a terrible 102 THE TENANT bore be 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 himselt with the notion that he was improving my mind by useful in- formation, 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 dare say ; 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 be- holders 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 ap- preciation 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 as- perity 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, lor I had found my new acquaintance a Tery lively and entertaining companion. There was a certain OF WILDFELL HALL. 108 graceful case and freedom about all he said and did, that gave a sense of repose and expansion to the mind, after so mucb constraint and formality as I had been doomed to suft'er. 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 him- self, 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 be- sides, I don't think it is false : I am an excellent physiog- nomist, 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'a that he was a worthless old reprobate, and by Mr. Boar- ham'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 occa- sional partner in the ball-room." It was not so, however, for I met him again nest mom- 104 THE TENANT ing. He came to call upon my uncle, apologising for not having done so before, by saying he was only lately re- turned from the continent, and had not heard, till the pre- vious night, of my uncle's arrival in town ; and after that, 1 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 for- tune, 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 Hot saying much for Mr. Hunt- ingdon, 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 exami- nation. 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 be- hind 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 mar- riage, 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?" OF WILDFELL HALL. 105 "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." " lie 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, He'len ; 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 a 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 ex- cellent 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 pos- sible provided, she could like him ; but I never could, and therefore " 11 But why not ? What objection do you find ?" " Firstly, he is, at least, forty years old considerably more 106 THE TENAN'I I should think, and I am but eighteen : secondly, he is nar- row-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 con- trary." 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.' 41 My dear young lady," said he, bowing and smirking with great complacency, "I have your kind guardian's permis- sion " " I know, sir," said I, wishing to shorten the scene as much as possible, " and I am greatly obliged for your pre- ference, 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, lie was amazed astounded at such an answer, but too incre- dulous 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 dispa- rity 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 OP WILDFELL HALL. 10? said, with a smile of the most provoking sell-sufficiency " you don't hate me, you know." " Yes, I do at this moment." " Not you ! It is Annabella Wilmot jxm 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. lie would not have done so, but for that hateful picture ! And there he had it still in his possession, an eter- nal monument to his pride and my humiliation ! It was but little sleep I got that night ; and, in the morn- ing, I rose perplexed and troubled with the thoughts of meet- ing 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, according!}', I received his cheerful morning salu- tation 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 civi- lity 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 wag 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 OF WILDFKLL HALL. 121 a Bmile 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 hap- less 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 considera- tion 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 dan- gers attendant upon damp feet, delivered with the most im- perturbable gravity, amid the jeers and laughter of Mr. Huntingdon and my uncle, who, leaving the prudent sports- man to entertain the ladies with his medical discussions, sal- lied 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 aban- doning the drawing-room if my aunt should come to complain of the desertion, and besides I wanted to finish the picture. It Avas 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 en- deavoured 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 at- tempted 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 were part of the gnarled trunk and of the spreading boughs of a large forest tree, whose foliage was of a brilliant golden green net 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 in- tently gazing upward in pleased yet earnest contemplation of 122 THE TENANT 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 hi j gun against the wall threw up the sash and sprang in and set himself be- fore 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 ap- proaching noon girlhood just ripening into womanhood, and nope 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 de- lusions ? " " 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 sum- mer and winter, through youth and age, and life and death ! il 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 !" OF WILDFELL HALL. 123 " 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 minia- ture 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 1 " But the more vehemently I insisted, the more he aggravated my distress by his insulting gleeful laugh. At length, how- ever, he restored it to me, saying, 41 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 sud- denly 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 apart- ment 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 Sicture, for I was glad, at the moment, that I had vexed im. When I returned to the drawing-room, I found Mr. Boar- ham 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 An- nabella 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 ouf 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 124 THE TENANT every way but theirs, while my aunt and Milicent went be- fore, 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 immedi- ately 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 My aunt observes the change, and though she has not in- quired 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 dispro- portioned 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 at- tempt 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 Low- borough, and while she amuses herself with the lively Hunt- ingdon she tries her utmost to enslave his moody friend ; and should she succeed in bringing both to her feet, the fasci- nating commoner will have but little chance against the OF W1LDFELL HALL. 125 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 occa- sion 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. lie 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 Wil- mot 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- SECOXD. 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, consider- ing 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 im- paired, or I should not have acted so weakly in many re- spects 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. l>ut to return: I was exerting myself to sing and play for the amusement, and at the request, of my aunt and Milicent, 126 THE TENANT before the gentlemen came into the drawing-room (Miss Wil- mot 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 Annahella. " Now, Miss Wilmot, won't you give us some music to- hight?" said he. u Do now! 1 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 Avith 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 ex- pression 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 supe- rior style that even I soon lost my anger in admiration, and listened with a sort of gloomy pleasure to the skilful modula- tions 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 prin- cipal 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 enthu- siasm, 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!" s;\id she, playfully running her fingers over the keys, when she had concluded the second song. " What shall I give you next?" But in sajing 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 plea- OF WILDFELL HALL. 127 jure 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 ot 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 ine O, beautiful, and full of grace I 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 iny tranced spirit blest. That laughing eye, whose sunny beam My memory would not cherish less ; And oh, that smile ! 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 t" When it ceased, I longed for nothing so muoh 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 128 THE TENANT he spoke in answer to some remark of Lord Lowborough'a, that his face was turned towards me. Perhaps, a hall sup- pressed sob had caught his ear, and caused him to look round Heaven forbid ! But, with a violent effort, I checked all farther signs of weakness, dried my tears, and, when I thought he had turned away again, rose, and instantly left the apart- ment, 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. Pre- sently, however, the door was gently opened and some one 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 vehe- mently, 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 fie ; 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 con- Bcioua of it at the time. OF WILDFELL HALL. 129 " It is this," resumed he : " that Annabella Wilmot, in comparison with you, is like a flaunting peony compared wilh 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, Lo 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." 44 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." 11 1 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 amaze- ment, 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 delibera- tion. 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 pre- sumptuous dog to dream of possessing such a treasure ; but, nevertheless, I would sooner die than relinquish her in favour of the best mai: that ever went to heaven and as for her happiness, I would sacrifice my body and soul " 44 Body and soul, Mr. Huntingdon sacrifice your soul?" e * Well, I would lay down life " 44 You would not be required to lay it down." 180 THE TENANT " I would spend it, then devote my life and all its powen to the promotion and preservation "Another time, sir, we will talk of this and I should have lelt 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 T. " My dear, I am not angry," she replied : " I am surprised. If it is true that you told him you could not accept hia 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 tu- multuous 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 fore- head, 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 con- sent, 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 hymus cf gratitude and praise to Heaven. OF WILDFEL1, HAIX. l31 But I had not wandered far before my solitude was inter- rupted 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 ?" u 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 BO, 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 ex- penses and live like a Christian not to speak of all the pru- dence 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." 44 What, a man of 4 decided piety?' ahem ! Well, come, I'll manage that too ! It's Sunday to-day, isn't it? I'll go to dmrch 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 182 THE TENANT 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 Pttch uninteresting subjects. I was glad of this proof of dis- interested affection ; for Annabclla Wilmot is the probable heiress to all her uncle's wealth, in addition to her Jftte father's property, which she has already in possession. OF WILDFELL HALL. 133 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 u 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 mothers' 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 judg- ment 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, mis- guided 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 op- portunities 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 opportu- nity of shaking off the adventitious evil got from contact with others worse than himself, and shining out in the un- clouded light of his own genuine goodness to do my utmost 134 THE TENANT to help his better eelf 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 in- fidel?'" " 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 'Jf he hear not them, neither will he hear though one rose from the dead.' And, remem- ber, 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 com- fort, 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 tilings to himseltj whether they be things in earth or things in heaven.'" OF WILDFELL HALL. 135 " Oh, Helen ! where did you learn all this ? " 11 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 fal- sity oi such a belief? " " No : I found, indeed, some passages that, taken by them- selves, 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 ot the belief, I would not publish it abroad, it I thought any poor wretch would be likely to presume upon it to his own destruc- tion, 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 crib- bage. In the afternoon Miss Wilmot and Lord Lowborough likewise excused themselves from attending ; but Mr. Hunt- ingdon 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 rignt, 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, ii 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 ob- served 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 ol 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 ol modest, serious discrimination that tempted me to believe he had really attended and profited by the discourse. Just before dinner my uncle called me into the library lor the discusfion of a very important matter, which was dismissed in few words. LS6 THE TENANT " Now Nel," 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 hesita- tion ; for I had thoroughly made up my mind on the subject. " Very good !" cried he. " Now that's a good honest an- swer 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 be- lieve. 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 any- thing of that sort?" " I don't think 1 should." " Well, be thankful, then, that you've wiser heads to think lor you. I haven't had time, yet, to examine thoroughly into this young rascal's aifairs, 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 hack. "Stop, stop!" cried he "We haven't mentioned the time 3t. When must it be? Your aunt would put it off till the ord 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 Lord OF WILDFELL HALL. 137 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 com- promise 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 pro- voked 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 ! AVell ! 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 pre- dominate. 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, 138 THE TENANT the warm, pinky tint of the whole harmonizing with the deeper colour of the cheeks, exactly as it ought to do. 1 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 ex- pected 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 tlms 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 im- punity." Miss Wilmot expressed her feelings on the subject, almost And so, Helen," said she, coming up to me with a smile of no amiable import, " you are to be Mrs. Huntingdon, I sup- pose?" " 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 oi' disappointment shadowed her face. " And does he love you I mean, does he idolize 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 idolized," 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 gentle- men were united in one that Lord Lowborough had Hunt- ingdon's handsome face and good temper, and all his wit, and mirth and charm, or else that Huntingdon had Lowborough'a pedigree, and title, and delightful old family seat, and I had him ; an I you might have the other and welcome." OF WILDFKLL MALI.. 139 "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 con- trast 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 morn- ing'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 loiter- ing through the room, previous to settling to their various morning's avocations, he came and leant over the back of my chair, with his lace 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 o( a bundle of congratulations, I've got a pocket-full 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 be- long, to speak politely. But if you saw how they abuse me, Helen, you would love me all the more, for having ventured BO 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 I He doesn't say much, to be sure, but his very 140 THE TENANT silence implies more than all the others' words, and the les& 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 Lave 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 Low borough'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 he 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 accom- pany 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 teaze 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? OF WILDFELL HALL. 141 CHAPTER XXII. OCTOBEK 5 th. My cup of sweets is not unmingled : it is dashed with a bitterness that I cannot hide from mj'self, dis- guise 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 thoughtless- ness. He and Lord Lowborough were accompanying Anna- bell a 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 have 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 rodo- montade 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, lie got into a bad way among us in London : he had an unfor- tunate 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. AVhcn I spend my money I like to enjoy the full value of it : I see no fun in wasting it on thieves and black- J42 THE TKNANT legs ; and as for gaining money, hitherto 1 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 in- teresting study, I assure you, Ellen, and sometimes very diverting : I've had many a laugh at the boobies and bedlam- ites. 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 mis- fortune, 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. lie made a large stake which he determined should be the last, whether he lost or won. He had often so determined betore, to be sure, and as often broken his deter- mination ; 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 pass- ing 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 pre- sent to play against him. Grimsby instantly presented him- self. Lowborough glared fiercely at him, for Grimsby was almost as celebrated Tor 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 (ell dead sick. OK WILDFKLL HALL. 143 " ' 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. 44 ' Oh, Huntingdon will lend you what you want,' said the other. " ' No ; you heard my oath,' answered Lowborough, turn- ing 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. 44 4 The last,' he answered, somewhat against my expectation. And I took him home that is, to our club tor 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. 44 ' Huntingdon, I'm ruined !' said he, taking the third glass from my hand he had drunk the other in dead silence. " 4 Not you!' said I. 4 You'll find a man can live without his money as merrily as a tortoise without its head, or a wasp without its body.' 14 4 But I'm in debt,' said he 4 deep in debt I And I can never, never get out of it!' 44 ' 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 1 handed him his fourth tumbler. 44 4 But I hate to be in debt 1 ' he shouted. ' I wasn't born for it, and I cannot bear it ! ' 44 4 What can't be cured must be endured,' said I, beginning to mix the fifth. 44 4 And then, I've lost my Caroline.' And he began to snivel then, for the brandy had softened his heart. " ' No matter,' I answered, 4 there are more Carolines in the world than one.' 44 ' There's only one for me,' he replied, with a dolorous sigh. 4 And if there were fifty more, who's to get them, I wonder, without money ? ' 41 4 Oh, somebody will take you for your title ; and then you've your family estate yet ; that's entailed, you know.' 411 1 wish to God I could sell it to pay my debts,' he muttered. 44 4 And then,' said Grimsby, who had just come in, 4 you can try again, you know. I would have more than one chance, if I were you. I'd never stop here.' 44 4 1 won't, I tell you !' shouted he. And he started up, and left the room walking rather unsteadily, for the liquor Ul THE TENANT had got into his bead. He was not so much used to it then, but after that, he took to it kindly to solace his cares. u He kept his oath about gambling (not a little to the sur- prise 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 last 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 de- lighted 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 hear- ing 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 AVC. ' Hear, hear ! Low- borough'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. 7 " ' Just so !' cried Hattersley "Stop, poor sinner, stop and think Before you further go, No longev sport upon the brink Of everlasting woo." OF WTLDFELL HALL. 145 " ' Exactly !' replied his lordship, with the utmost gravity. 1 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, 4 and I forswear it 1 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 seve- ral 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 a while, Grimsby directed my attention towards it, by a significant wink ; and, on turn- ing 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 re- collection of the whole affair, " he would have done so, and, perhaps, spoilt my face, too, but, providentially, this forest of curls" (taking oil' his hat, and showing his luxuriant chestnut 146 THE TENANT locks) " saved my skull, and prevented the glass from break- ing, 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 re- sort 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 mem- bers protested against this conduct. They did not like to have him sitting there like a skeleton at a feast, instead of contri- buting 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 waa suffering from the effects of an overdose of his in- sidious comforter ; but nobody spoke to him, and he spoke to nobody. A few sidelong glances, and a whispered observa- tion, that ' tlie ghost was come,' was all the notice he drew by his appearance, and we went on with our merry carousals as before, till he started us all, by suddenly drawing in his chair, and leaning forward with his elbows on the table, and exclaim- ing with portentous solemnity, " ' Well ! it puzzles me what you can find to be so merry OK WII.DFKLL IJALI-. 147 about. What you see in life I don't know 1 see only the blackness of darkness, and a fearful looking for ol 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 int* his hand but stop, I'm telling too much," mut tered 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 ap- plause. 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 can- not give himself up to drinking without bein miserable one half his days and mad the other ; besides, I like to enjoy my life at all aides and eitdS, 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 148 THE TENANT with a most conceited smile that ought to have provoked me more than it did. "And did Lord Lowborough profit by your advice?" 1 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 despe- rate, 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 sud- denly woke up, and vehemently grasping my arm, said, " ' Huntingdon, this won't do ! I'm resolved to have done with it.' u ' What, are yon 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 r-.p ; and I was such a fool I couldn't live without you. BtT 'iow I see what it is that keeps me back, and what's wantc.! to save me ; and I'd com pass 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 1?' " ' 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. OF WILDFKLL HALL. 149 "'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 cer- tain ; 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.' kl ' 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 for- ward, 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 destruc- tion, 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 reputa- tion 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 ladiea had ceased to be afraid of him, and were beginning to think him quite interesting ; but the mammas were still unrelenting. 160 THE TKXANT 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 inter- vention of his good angel, no doubt he would tell you, though he did not dare to fix his hopes on one so courted and ad- mired, till after they were brought into closer contact here at Staningley, and she, in the absence of her other admirers, in- dubitably courted his notice and held out every encourage- ment 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 1 chose to abandon the field in the pursuit of a brighter trea- sure. In a word, as I told you, he is fairly besotted. At first, he could dimly perceive her faults, and they gave him con- siderable uneasiness ; but now his passion and her art to- gether have blinded him to everything but her perfections and his amazing good fortune. Last night, he came to me brim-full of his new-found felicity : " ' Huntingdon, I am not a cast-away !' 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. Al- ready, 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 vate 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. im- patiently interrupting him. "If it is anything of real import- ance speak it in three words before I go." " Ju three words I cannot. Send those children away and Btay with me." " No ; keep your bad tidings to yourself. I know it ii OF WILDFELL HALL. 219 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 yot 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 exagge- rated 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 unwilling- ness 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 up- wards 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 ol 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 sen- timental 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 fel- lowship 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 porcu- pine 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." 220 THE TENANT " I don't know," replied the other : " she's not the style 01 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 face* 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 ibllowed him thither, and found him just enter- ing the shadowy walk. I was so light of heart, so overflow- ing 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 re- turned my close embrace with a fervour like old times, and then he started, and, in a tone of absolute terror, ex- claimed, " 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 1" " What the deuce did you do it for ? " cried he, quite testily, extricating himself from my arms, and wiping his ibrehead 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 1 " 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 !" OF WILDFKLL BALL. 221 44 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 ver- satility 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 Low- borough 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 ani- mation, 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 eee 'em match it." When it was done, she fondly stroked it, and gently patted my head. ^2 THE TEXAKT " Is that affectionate ebullition intended for my hair, or my- self, 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 Low- borough 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 cal- culated 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 moon-light 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 waa 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 reluc- tant 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 1 I wonder which will conquer." I consented. " Now, Mrs. Huntingdon," said Hargrave, as he arranged OF W1LDFELL HALL. 223 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 JMilicent at least ; but he only smiled ind 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, tor I con- sidered 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 inclin- ing 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 advan- tage, 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 gentleman," 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 ^24 THE TENANT "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 expres- sion of ardour and tenderness yet more insulting. "No, never, Mr. Hargrave!" exclaimed J, quickly with- drawing my hand. "Do you deny?" replied he, smilingly pointing to the board. " No, no," I answered, recollecting how strange my con- duct 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 ante -room, and before OF '.VILDFELL HALL. 2_'O 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 re- turned?" "Yes, yes go on!" said I, impatiently, for I feared my forced calmness would leave me before the end of his disclo- sure, 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 " "Goon, 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 vay of the shrubbery. I'll keep him talking there, about those matters I mentioned, and any- thing 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, T 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 tl e truth at once. I flew to the shrubbery. Scarcely had I reached it, when a sound of voices arrested my breathless speed. " AVe 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 15 226 THE TENAKT 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 u 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 tunes ? and do I ever com- plain?" " But tell me, don't you love her still a little ?" said she, placing her hand on his arm, looking earnestly in his face foi 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 con- front 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 sigh- ing of the wind, and the fitful rustle of the falling leaves. My senses seemed to fail me, but still I saw his shadowy form 5 ass before me, and through the rushing sound in my ears, I istinctly heard him say, as he stood looking up the lawn, " There goes the fool ! Run, Annabella, run! There in with you I 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 fore- head, 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 OF WILDFELL HALL. 227 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 re turned to the house. Much of my newborn strength and courage forsook me, I confess, as 1 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 O how could I endure to live ! John just then entered the hall, and seeing me, told me he had been sent ia 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 fife'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 hia 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 1 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 draw- ing-room. I was glad, for I knew not how to meet her, or what to say. I wanted no confidante in my distress. I de- served 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 228 THE TENANT 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 I 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-low ! 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 use- less explanation, but tell me, will you " He vehemently swore he knew nothing about it, and in- sisted upcn 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 OF WILDFELL HALL. 229 going to be made the talk of the country, for your fastidious caprices ? " u 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 yon : not of living without your mockery of love. When you tire ot 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." 230 THE TENANT Notwithstanding this resolution, I found my bed so intole- rable 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 the 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 stu- died, 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 preserva- tion, 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 OF WILDFELL HALL. 231 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 grati- tude 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 ot 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 an- swers 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 232 THE TENAKT transfer her social attentions from me to himself; tut 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 pertina- city 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 considera- tion 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 inten- tion to repair to the nursery, and asked if I would accompany her. " Annabella will excuse us," said she, " she's busy read- ing." " 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 fol- lowed her into the library. She closed the door, and walked up to the fire. " Who told you this?" said she. " No one : 1 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 dis- covered 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 her- self 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 hap- pens to be one of my favourite resorts." She coloured again, excessively, and remained silent, press- OF WILDFELL HALL. 283 ing 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 re- clining posture. " I want to know if you will tell Lord Low- borough?" "Suppose I do?" " Well, if you are disposed to publish the matter, I can- not dissuade you, of course but there will be terrible work if you do and if you don't, I shall think you the most gene- rous 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 hus- band, I suppose you mean," said I. She paused, in evident disconcertion and perplexity, min- gled 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 magna- nimity : 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 sin- cere 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 hus- band 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 dis- agreeable to me not for Mr. Huntingdon's sake," said I, ob- serving 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 231 THE TENANT 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 conse- quences - " " Yes, yes, of course," said she, interrupting me with a ges- ture of impatience. " But I cannot go, Helen, before the What possible prete could I frame for such a thing ? Whether I proposed going time appointed for our departure. What possible pretext 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 pre- sence 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 out- ward 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 pur- pose of contrasting her kind solicitude with my cold indiffer- ence. 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 makes 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 OF WILDFELL HALL. 235 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 incit- ing 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 ol 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 littered 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 mornrog : 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," drop- ping his voice almost to a whisper, " you see we are not alone." u We never are," returned she. But they were almost as good as alone, for I was now standing at the window, watch- ing 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, 23b THE TENAXT " 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 in- dignation that could not be suppressed. Startled, almost ap- palled, 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 sym- pathy 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, affect- ing 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. Har- grave 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, u free to do any thing but offend God and my con- science." There was a momentary pause. " Very right," said he ; " provided your conscience be not too morbidly tender, and your ideas of God not too errone- ously severe ; but can you suppose it would offend that be- nevolent 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 Via gaze, I answered calmly, 44 Mr. Hargrave, do you mean to insult me ?" OF WILDFELL HALL. 237 He was not prepared for this. He paused a moment to re- cover the shock ; then, drawing himself up and removing hia hand from my chair, he answered, with proud sadness, 44 That was not my intention." I just glanced towards the door, with a slight movement ol 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 inesti- mable 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 bid- ding farewell to her mother and sister. They persuaded hei to stay with them the rest of the day, Mrs. Hargrave pro- mising to bring her back in the evening and remain till the party broke up on the morrow. Consequently, Lady Low- borough 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 par- ticular 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 com- panion then made some attempts to get up a conversation ; but the monosyllables ' yes,' or 4 no,' or 4 humph,' were the ut- most her several remarks could elicit from me. At last, on her asking my opinion upon some immaterial point of discus- sion, I answered, 44 Why do you wish to talk to me, Lady Lowborough? you must know what I think of you." 44 Well, if you will be so bitter against me," replied she, 44 1 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 car- riage 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 gentle- men 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 238 THE TENANT 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 hu- mour 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. Har- grave and Milicent, whom I had just heard come down stairs and go into the drawing-room, I found him there still, lin- gering in the dimly-lighted apartment, and evidently waiting lor me. "Mrs. Huntingdon," said he as I passed, "will you allow me one word?" " What is it then ? be quick if you please." " I oftended you this morning ; and I cannot live under your displeasure." " Then, go, and sin no more," replied I, turning away. "No, nol" said he, hastily, setting himself before me " Pardon me, but I must have your forgiveness. I leave you to-morrow, and I nay not have an opportunity of speaking OF WILDFELL HALL. 289 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 imme- diately 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-morrowv 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 un- impeachable civility, give up my convenience to his, where- ever it may reasonably be done, and consult him in a busi- ueBS-like way on household affairs, deferring to his pleasure 240 THE TENANT 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 housekeeper, 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 in- tolerable." 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 any- thing 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 con- sole 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 vir- tuous 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 OK WlLDFELL HALL. 241 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 recrimina- tion. 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 reconcilia- tion 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 1 Yet I do my part to save him still : I give him to under- stand 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 stupified 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 pre- sence : 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 fre- quently 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 over- flowing 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 BO 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. 16 242 THE TENANT 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 partnei to pity his forlorn, comfortless condition, unalleviated as ifc 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 re- morse, 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 com- pletely 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 1" It was in the free, dashing hand of Lady Lowborough. I glanced at the first page ; it seemed full of extravagant pro- testations of affection ; impetuous longings for a speedy re- union ; 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 1"^ My little Arthur was standing between his knees, delight- edly 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 him with passionate fondness. Rathci frightened than consoled by this, he turned struggling from me and cried out aloud for his papa. I released him from my OF AVILDFKLL HALL. 248 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 corrupt- ing intercourse and example in after-life to counteract, but already he counteracts my arduous labour for the child's ad- vantage, destroys my influence over his tender mind, and robs me of his very love ; I had no earthly hopo 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 : what- ever 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 com- panion, 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 uo fears, no scruples 24 -i TI:E TEX AST 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 Avhich, 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 con- solation is, that he spends comparatively little of his time at home, and, during the months he passes in London or else- where, 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 pre- paring 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, con- siderably 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, \\ith certain prudent restrictions (which I deemed scarcely necessary) ; when, pre- suming 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 OF WILDFELL HALL. 215 BO 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 M T ater-side, and talked, with considerable animation, good taste, and intelli gence, 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 expres- sions 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 be- nighted mind, that he withdrew, astonished, mortified, and discomforted ; and, a few days after, I heard that he had de- parted for London. lie returned, however, in eight or nine weeks and did not entirely keep aloof from me, but com- ported 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 ex- 246 THE TENANT claimed, turning to me and still holding me fast by the hand, 11 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, accom- panied, 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, ex- tending it towards her. " Give it her yourself, you blockhead !" cried she, recoil- ing with a spring from between us. "Mrs. Huntingdon would rather receive it from you," re- plied 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- bye. Will that do, Walter?" added the saucy girl, turning to him and putting her arm round his neck, as he stood lean- ing 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 in- sist upon your leaving the room !" u Pray don't, Mrs. Hargrave, for I'm going to leave it my- eelf," said I, and immediately made my adieux. 1 About a week after, Mr. Hargrave brought his sister to see me. He conducted himself, at first, with his usual cold, dis- tant, half-stately, half-melancholy, altogether injured air; but Esther made no remark upon it this time : she had evi- dently 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 OF WILDFELL HA1X. 347 officiousness, for I had meditated following the noisy play- fellows if they did not speedily return. He thon 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 \vns rather at the question than the information it conveyed. 41 You don't object to it?" he said. " Not at all, if Lord Lowborough likes his company." 44 You have no love left lor him, then?" 44 Not the least." 44 1 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!" 44 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. 44 He was," replied he, with the same calm gravity as be- fore, " but do not wrong me by supposing that I could con- tinue my friendship and esteem to a man who could so infa- mously, so impiously forsake and injure one so transcen- dently well, I won't speak of it But tell me, do you never think of revenge ? " 44 Revenge 1 No what good would that do? it would make him no better, and me no happier. " 44 1 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." 44 Then, sir, I fear you must be very much worse than you should be, if I, a mere ordinary mortal, am, by your own con- fession, 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. 44 No, 1 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 no- body like you. But are you happy ? " he asked in a serious tone. 41 AB happy as some others, I suppose." ' 4 Are you as happy as you desire to be?" 44 No one is BO blest as that comes to on this side eternity." 248 THE TENANT " 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 re- plying. '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 pal- pitating 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 fol- lowed 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 dare say, 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 an- ger to refer to it. She seated hersell 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 1 Mr, Hargrave had not au opportunity of meeting me again OF WILDFELL HALL. 249 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 wag obliged at last almost entirely to remit my visits to the Grove at the expense of deeply offending Mrs. Hargrave and se- riously 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 van- quished : he seemed to be always on the watch. I frequently saw him riding lingeringly past the premises, looking search- ingly 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 mo- lested. 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 be- side me. It was Mr. Hargrave. He greeted me with a smile intended to be soft and melancholy, but his triumphant satis- faction 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. ]f you want another rebuff take it and welcome," was my inward remark. " Now, sir, what next?" This question, though unspoken, was not long unanswered : aftar a. few passing observations upon indifferent subject*, be 250 THE TENANT began in solemn tones the following appeal to my hu manity : " It will be four years next April since I first saw you, Mrs. Huntingdon you may have forgotten the circumstance, hut 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 en- dured 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?" u 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 na- ture, 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 i your power to raise two human beings from a state of actual suffering to such unspeakable beatitude as only generous, no- ble, 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 sacri- ficed to my enjoyment or yours either, with my consent OF WILDFEIX HALL. 251 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 ot 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 hia 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 disin- terested 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 !" 252 THE TENAKT 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 your- self 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 tor- menting me as you have lately done, I would gladly say fare- well and never sae 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 XXXVHI. DECEMBER 20th, 1826. The fifth anniversary ot my wed- ding 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 in- dividuals as those invited the year before last, with the addi- tion of two or three others, among whom were Mrs. Hargrave and her younger daughter. The gentlemen and Lady Low- uorough were invited for the pleasure and convenience of the OF WlLDFEIA HALL. 268 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 loath 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 in- form her husband of the circumstance or awaken his sus- picions 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 con- duct, 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 dis- course 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 mista of unbelief and sin are never wholly comfortless," when I heard a hurried step approaching, and Lord Lowborough en- tered 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 254 THE TENANT was ghastly pale ; his eyes were fixed upon the ground ; hia teeth clenched ; his fore'head 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?" de- manded 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 ! " he ex- claimed, with intense and fearful eagerness. " Two years, I believe. 1 ' "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 1 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 aftvction. Let her injure you no further; abstract yourself from her, and stand alone. 1 ' "And you, madam," said lie sUriily, anxiMing liimsclf. OF WILDFELL HATL. 2W) and turning rovud upon me "you have injured me too, by this ungenerous concealment i " 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, mur- mured passionately, "O God, that I might diel" 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 ; u 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 repre- hensible 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 eee 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 atten- tively surveying my face by the dim light, he said, in a milder tone than he had yet employed, 256 fJlE TEXAN* " 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 1 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 lurther discussion of his own calamity. " Happy 1" 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 fire-side 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. " Hallow, Lowborough ! " he began " Oh ! I beg your pardon," he exclaimed on seeing me ; "I didn't know it was a tete-i-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 1 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 OF WILDFELL HALL. 257 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 acci- dent happens why, that'll be all right too, I dare say, 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." u 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 1 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 ot 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 1 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 villany, and laughing his victim to scorn, and Mr. Grimsby, standing by, quietly rubbing his bands, and chuckling with fiendish satisfaction. In the drawing-room I found Lad}' Lowborough, evidently ia 110 very enviable state of mind, and struggling hard to 258 THE TENANT 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 con- cern, 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 unexpect- edly 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. Hunt- ingdon? 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, like- wise, 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, BO 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 enu- merate his wrongs but I hated his wife and my husband OF WILUFELL HALL. 2-59 more intensely than ever, and not for my sake, but lor hia. They departed early in the morning, before any one else was down, except myself, and just as 1 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-bye. "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 coun- tenance 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 laugh- ing 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 en- courage 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 al- ways with me or in the nursery, and gave Rachel particular injunctions never to let him come down to dessert as luus; a3 these " gentlemen" stayed ; but it was no use ; these orders 2CO THE TENAKT were immediacy countermanded and overruled by his fatheF : 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 con- cern "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 in- stead 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 \injust; and sometimes his father would insist upon my letting him re- main ; 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 ac- knowledge that I never saw him laugh at the child's misde- meanours, nor heard him utter a word of encouragement to his aspirations after manly accomplishments. But when any- thing very extraordinary was said or done by the infant pro- lligate, I noticed, at times, a peculiar expression in his face that 1 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 uncontroll- aDie passion Mr. Hargrave suddenly rose from his seat with an aspect of stern determination, lifted the child from his fa- tLnr's knee where he was sitting half tipsy, cocking his head OF WILDFELL HALL. 261 and laughing at me, and execrating me with words he little knew the meaning of handed him out of the room, and, set- ting 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 discon- certed boy. But this should not continue ; my child must not be aban- doned 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 un- able 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 ob- tain my livelihood in a strange land, without friends and with- out 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 de- gree 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 ? \Vhat 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 towu ; then, through her means, I would pri 262 THE TENANT vately sell what pictures I had on hand that would do for such a purpose, and some of those I should thereafter paint. Be- sides 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' ar- duous toil might well be borne by me with such an end in view ; and in the interim my son could not be much more in- jured than he was already. Having lormed 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 Avorked at my canvass 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 exclu- sively 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 apologised for his intrusion, and said he was only come for a book ; but when he had got it, he con- descended 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. Hun- tingdon," 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 OF WILDFELL HALL. 263 BO weary of their irrational conversation and pursuits now that there is no one to humanise 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 re- gret 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, u but I must confess I shall rejoice to bid adieu to the rest, inhospi- table 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 delect- able 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 264 THE TENANT himself utterly incapable of understanding or appreciating your real excellences. Huntingdon, meanwhile, sat quietly drinking his wine, or looking smilingly into his glass and of- fering 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 Hunting- don, looking innocently up from his glass ' or if I have, look 3 r ou, gentlemen, 1 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 some one 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. llargrave, 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 s\) lightly, will not be long in his possession." " You cannot mean that you will break j-our 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." 1 AVill you leave him then ? " l Yes." ' When and how ? " asked he, eagerly. 1 When I am ready, and how I can manage it most effec- tually." 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?" ' W r ith my son and, possibly, his nurse." ' Alone and unprotected 1 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, madfl OF WILDFELL HALL. 265 my blood rise in wrath : I abruptly turned away, and, snatch- ing 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 liimsell 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 inex- perienced woman, delicately nurtured, and utterly " " In a word, you would advise me to stay where I am," in- terrupted 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 \ipon his knee, and looked up in my face with a half-implor- ing, 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. 266 THE TENANT " 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 lor you, Mrs. Huntingdon no reverence for your sex no belief in virtue no admiration for its image. He will give such a ver- sion 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!" 41 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 impetu- ously starting to his feet " I will be your consoler and de- fender ! and if your conscience upbraid you for it, say I over- came you, and you could not choose but yield !" I never saw a man so 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 dare say I looked as fierce and reso- lute 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. u I am satisfied," he replied, with bitter emphasis, " that you are the most cold-hearted, unnatural, ungrateful woman J 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 ram-rod and his gun ; the former OK WILDFELL HALL. 26 J walked in, and stood with his back to the fire, surveying Mr. Hargrave and me, particularly the ionner, with a smile ol in- supportable meaning, accompanied as it was by the impu- dence of his brazen brow, and the sly, maliciouSj twinkle ol 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're 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 pneer 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 mantle-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, H ntingdon, you blackguard." "She can't deny it !" cried the gentleman thus addressed, grinning hi mingled rage and triumph. " She can't deny it if 268 THE TEXANT 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 1, 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 deter- mined 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 intima- tion obtained. " Now Huntingdon, you see ! " said Hattersley, " clear aa the day." u I don't care what he sees," said T, "or what he imagines ; but you, Mr. Hattersley, when you hear my name belied and slandered, will you defend it?" "I will." OF WILDFELL HALL. 2C9 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 1 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 hardnesa 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 im- mediately 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 Ra- chel 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 ejacula- tions, 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 rendition, 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 1 270 THE TENANT 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 ol 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 resolu- tion, 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, u 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 llachel says it's only wicked people that are damned. So mamma, that's why I think you must be wicked and J 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?" OF WILDFELL HALL. 271 14 Perhaps he does ; but that is nothing to you." 44 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 uot 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. lie 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 turn- ing 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 con- duct, but that had no effect upon him ; and, finally, I extin- guished both the candles, but he only wheeled round to the fire, and raising a blaze sufficient for his purposes, calmly con- tinued 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. 44 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." 44 What keys?" THE TEXAJfT " 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. u 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 to-morrow." " 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." u 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, deli- berately 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 mut- tered an oath. "And this and all, sir?" said the astonished servant, re- ferring 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. OF WILDFELL HALL. 273 "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 de- parted. "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 pos- session, 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 con- cerns ; I shall look out for a steward, my dear ; I won't ex- pose you to the temptation. And as for the household mat- ters, 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. Hunting- don ? Have I attempted to defraud you ? " u 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. u 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 ; arid it's well too I wasn't over full to-night, now I think of it, or I might have snoosed away and never dreamt of looking what my sweet lady was about or I mijjht have lacked the sense 1 8 274 THE TENANT 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-bye," 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 l>y the bit- terness 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 1 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 be- come 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 bitter- ness, he hath made me drunken with wormwood :" I forget to add " But though he cause grief, yet will he have com- passion 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 OF WILDFELL HALT.. 276 whole eternity of peace ? And for my little Arthur has he no friend but me ? Who was it said, " It is not the will ot 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 Fe- bruary ; and the moment he was gone, I breathed again, and felt my vital energy return ; not with the hope ot 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 de- spondent 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 de- files his mouth, and I have succeeded in giving him an abso- lute 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 alto- gether, that would only have increased his partiality for it, and made him regard it as a greater treat than ever. I there- fore 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 disagree- able 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 waa 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 276 THE TENANT 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 : " Ar- thur, 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, T flatter myself I shall secure him from this one vice ; ^nd for the rest, if on his father's return I find reason to ap- prehend 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 wicked- ness, I will yet deliver my son from his hands. I have de- vised 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, 1 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, 1 believe, he knows much more of my situation than I have told him. I can tell this by the air of tender Badness 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. Hunt- ingdon is at home. Bi'i he has never openly expressed any OF WILDFELL HALL. 277 disapprobation of him or sympathy for me ; he has never asked atiy questions, or said anything to invite my confidence. Had he done so, I should probably have had but few con- cealments 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 dispo- sition, for my misfortunes have soured and embittered me ex- ceedingly : I was beginning insensibly to cherish very un- amiable 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 doubt- less 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. 44 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." 44 You flatter me, Helen," replied he, stroking the child's soft, wavy locks. 4> 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 ? " eaid I. k ' i think I have an idea." " Have you so clear an idea that you can hear, without sui prise or disapproval, that I meditate escaping with that child to some secret asylum where we can live in peace and never see him again ? " 44 Is it really so?" " If you have not," continued I, 4 ' I'll tell you something 278 THE TENAlvT more about him," and I gave a sketch of his general con- duct, 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. Hunting- don, 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 advan- tage of it, unless circumstances should render it really neces- sary, 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 irom 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." OF WILDFELL HALL. 279 44 1 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 yon would be quite shocked at my undutiful conduct you can't imagine how she lectures me I am disobedient and un- grateful ; 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 pu- nishment 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 irom 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 for- tune, whatever exalted ideas I may have of my own attrac- tions." " 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 can- not get married if nobody sees me. I saw one or two gentle- men in London that I might have liked, but they were ycmnger 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 ac- 44 1 have no doubt you would feel it so, but it is possible 280 THE TENANT 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 other- wise. If I thought myself doomed to oldmaidenhood, 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 pati- ence, 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 yon have a right to the protection and support of your mother and brother, however they may seem to grudge it." 41 You are so grave, Mrs. Huntingdon," said Esther, after a pause. " When Milicent uttered the same discouraging sen- timents 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 hei 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 Grass- dale, while Mr. Huntingdon goes about enjoying himself where and how he pleases 1 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." OF WILDFELL HALL. CHAPTER XLII. SEPTEMBER 1st. No Mr. Huntingdon yet. Peihaps he wiu stay among his friends till Christmas ; and then, next spring, he will be off again. If he continue this plan, 1 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 ii-ienda at the shooting season may be borne, if Arthur get so firmly attached to me, so well established in good sense and prin- ciples 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 com- porting 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 V " " 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 Hunting- don, after all you can't imagine what a jovial good fellow he 82 THE TENANT is when he's not fairly drunk, only just primed or half seas sver 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 regiet? " " 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 sub- mission 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 be have 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, affec- tionate 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 piuk and white face : now she's a poor little bit of a creature, OF WILDFELL HALL. 283 lading and melting away like a snow-wreath but hang it ! that's not my fault." u 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 judg- ment 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 ad- monish 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 confi- dence, 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 Lon- don, and written during one of his wildest seasons of reck- less dissipation ; the other in the country during a lucid interval. The former was full of trouble and anguish ; not accusing him, but deeply regretting hia connection with his profligate companions, abusing Mr. Grimsby and others, in- sinuating 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 j3 r > 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, ai 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, 284 THE TEX AST after whistling a lew bars of a i'avourite 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 lor 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 belore 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 bless- ing, his mercy, and his aid ; not his curse." 44 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 wile'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, exclaim- ing* " 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 predis- posed 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. 44 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." 44 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 lull oi present bliss, and pleasing antici- pations for the future ; but no particular temptation has yet occurred to put his virtue to the test. Henceforth, however, ehe will doubtless be somewhat less timid and reserved, and be more kind and thoughtful. Surely, then, her hopes are OF WILDFELL HALL. cot unfounded ; and I have one bright spot, at leaet, 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 gover- ness 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 : 1 had already reduced the boy to little better than an auto- maton, 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 bother- ing about the matter, for he had engaged a governess already, and she was coming next week ; so that all I had to do waa to get things ready for her reception. This was a rather startling piece of intelligence. 1 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 inor- dinate 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, *\nd made no further objections. 286 THE TENANT 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 un- friendly 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 scrutinise 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 uhc, OF WILDFELL HALL. 2S7 having sojourned for half a century in this land of sin and Borrow, 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. " Yoru'll wan't 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 scrvant-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 accus- tomed to " " Do you think, ma'am, I can't bear what my missis can? eurely 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 shan'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 laved like my own bairns for all I'm too old to bide the 288 THE TENAAT thoughts o 1 leaving 'em iu trouble and danger, and going amongst strangers myself." 44 Then you shan't, Rachel !" cried I, embracing my faithful friend. " We'll all go together, and you shall see how the new life suits you." 44 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 1," was my answer; and so that point was settled. By that morning's post, 1 dispatched a few hasty lines to Frederick, beseeching him to prepare my asylum for my im- mediate 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. 1 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 st Grassdale, or to leave my son under his father's protec- tion ; 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 cir- cumstances. The third was to my aunt a much more difficult and pain- ful 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, 1 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 con- cerning it ; but any communications addressed to me under cover to my brother would be certain to reach me. I hoped e>he and my uncle would pardon the step I had taken, for if they knew all, 1 was sure they would not blame me ; and I OF WILDFELL HALT,. trusted they would not afflict themselves on my account, for if I could only reach my retreat in safety and keep it unmo- lested, 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 secresy, 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 any- thing 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 my- self 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 in- nocent 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. u 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 J. 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." u Somebody else may fill it to-morrow," I thought but did not say. " There ! I've seen the last of you, I hope," 1 mut- tered 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 ras entirely out of the question. It was equally out ot the 290 THE TENANT question to sit, or wander about my room, counting the horns and the minutes between me and the appointed time of action, straining my ears and trembling at every sound lest some one 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 past 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 Ben- son, 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 door-way, 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 remain- ing for the probable expenses of the journey. What trembling joy it was when the little wicket closed be- hind us, as we issued from the park ! Then, for on* *iom?Et, OP WILDFELL HALL. 291 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 remors% 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 he 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 eeven 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, vitn nothing to cling to, nothing to lean against, slowly 293 THE TENANT dragged and cruelly shaken over the rough, hilly roads. Bui Arthur was asleep in Rachel's lap, and between us we ma- naged 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 pre- pare 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 deso- late court, and in breathless anxiety surveyed the ruinous mass. Was it all blackness and desolation V No ; one faint red glimmer cheered us from a window where the lattice was iu good repair. The door was fastened, but after due knock- ing 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 tra- velling gear, and took a hasty survey of our new abode. Besides the kitchen there were two bed-rooms, 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 mas- ter desired his compliments to Mrs. Graham, and he had pre- pared 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 OF WILDFELL HALL. 293 iweet and refreshing when it came, and the waking was de- lightful 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 un- worthy 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 itsell, 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 an- ticipations 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 occa- sional 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 occa- sions 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 com- fortably 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 pro- cured me a Trardrobe more suitable to my present position : I have a second-hand piano, and a tolerably well-stocked book-case 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 294 THE TENANT 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. 1 have a few pictures already done, for I told Rachel to pack up all I had ; and she executed her commission hut 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 1 How I had studied and toiled to produce something, as I thought, worthy of the original ! what mingled pleasure and dissatis- faction 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 me- mory of past affection, nor yet to remind me of my former folly, but chiefly that 1 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 be- hold that father's face again a blessing I hardly dare reckon upon. It seems Mr. Huntingdon is making every exertion to dis- cover 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 un- molested, and even settle a reasonable allowance on me, pro- vided I will immediately deliver up his son. But, Heaven OF WILDFELL HALL. 295 help me i 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 considera- tion 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 exer- tions and perhaps be the means of spreading my lame 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 in- quiry, 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 attend- ance. I mean, however, to make the experiment next Sun- day, and oblige myself to leave him in charge of Rachel for a few hours. It will be a hard task, but surely no imprudence ; und the vicar has been to scold me for my neglect of the ordi- 296 THE TENANT nances 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 con- formity with the solemn occasion, and forbid them to be for ever dwelling on my absent child, and on the dreadful possi- bility 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 Borne 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 preju- dice 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 howmuch 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. OK \VILDFELL HALL. 297 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, 1 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 alter- native 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. AVhen it was ended, and my transient regret at its abrupt conclusion w T as 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 un- epeakable that my adored Helen was all I wished to think her that through the noisome vapours of the world's asper- lions and my own fancied convictions, her character shone 298 THE TENANT 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 oi 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 counte- nance 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 unan- nounced, 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. ' 4 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, OF WILDFELL I1ALL. 299 " 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, 44 1 hardly can. You should have told me this before. It shows a want of confidence " 44 Oh, no," cried she, eagerly interrupting me, 4C 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 tire-place, and turning to me, said calmly if that might be called calmness, which was so evidently the result of a violent effort, 44 Now, Gilbert, you must leave me not this moment, but soon and you must never come again." 44 Never again, Helen? just when I love you more than ever!" 41 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." 4 'End here !" echoed I ; and approaching the high, carved chimney-piece, I leant my hand against its heavy mould- ings, and dropped my forehead upon it in silent, sullen despondency. 44 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 ; 44 and you must see that it is better to part at 800 THE TENANT 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, "lean- not 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 pas- sion you leave all the burden to me ; and not satisfied with that, you do your utmost to fight against me when you know that I " she paused, and hid her face in her hand- kerchief. "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, OF WILDFELL UALL. 302 the thoughts of the final parting will become more painful? Don't you feel that every interview makes ua 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 dif- ferent," 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?" u 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 discom- posure, " there is little chance of my forgetting you. But I did not mean that Frederick should be the means of trans- mitting 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 there- fore 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 main- tained it to be madness : many men of Mr. Huntingdon's habits had lived to a ripe though miserable old age ; u 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, tliink, if he reached but fifty years or so, would you wait twenty or fifteen in vague uncertainty and suspense through 802 THE TENANT all the prime of youth and manhood and marry at last n woman laded and worn as I shall be without ever having seen me from this day to that ? You would not," she con- tinued, interrupting my earnest protestations of unfailing con- stancy, " or if you would you should not. Trust me, Gil- bert ; 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 1 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 cir- cumstances 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 foster- ing vain regrets and hurtful aspirations, and feeding thoughts that should be sternly and pitilessly left to perish of inani- tion " " 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, M without giving fresh food for scandal ; and when I departed, OF WILDFELL HALL. 303 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," taid 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 per- fect and glorious, but not like this ! : and a heart, perhaps, entirely estranged from me." " No, Gilbert, there is perfect love in heaven!" " So perfect, 1 suppose, that it soars above distinctions, and you will have no closer sympathy with me than with any one of the ten thoiisand 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 1 win heaven at all, I must, I know, be infinitely better 804 THE TENANT /md 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 pros- pect 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 bask- ing 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 chil- dren ; and when we are told that men and women do not play with toys, and that our companions will one day weary on 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 foun- tains of delight, and mingle their souls with ours in higher aims and nobler occupations beyond our present comprehen- sion, but not less deeply relished or less truly good for that, while yet both we and they remain essentially the same indi- viduals as before. But Gilbert, can you really derive no con- solation 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!" 41 Helen, I can ! if faith would never fail." OF WILDFELL HALL. 305 " Now, then," exclaimed she, while this hope is 8trong within us " " We will ])art," I cried. " You shall not have the paia of another effort to dismiss me : I will go at once ; but I did not put my request in words : she understood it in- stinctively, 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 em- brace from which no physical or mental force could rend ua. 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 malancholy musings in the lonely valley, with the eternal music in my ears, of the west wind rushing through the over-shadowing trees, and the brook babbling and gurgling along its stony bed my eyes, for the most part, vacantly fixed on the deep, checkered 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 morro\v; but what if he should denounce me to his sister in the meantime ? No, no, I must ask his pardon to-day, and intreat him to be lenient in his accusation, ii tli2 revelation must be made. I deferred it, however, till the evening, when my spirits were more com- posed, and when oh, wonderful perversity of human nature ! sorae faint germs of indefinite hopes were beginning to rise 806 THE TENANT in my mind ; not that I intended to cherish them after all that had been said on the subject, hut 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 balked 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 i'everish 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 apart- ment 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, en- tered, 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 superan- nuated 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 ip 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 dress- ing-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 be- guile 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. OF WILDFELL HALL. 307 " I know you didn't," answered I ; " butt>e 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 hig 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 dif- ficulties of my unenviable task. It must be performed, how- ever, 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 mis- take," 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 Avere 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 808 THE TENANT 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 ex- pression. u 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 mitiga- tion of the offence, how little encouragement to friendly con- fidence 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 for- get 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 iy illness then, that you are aware of?" " I think not." 14 I'm glad of that, for I have been all this time tormenting myself with the fear that somebody would tell her I was dy- ing, 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, iust to see how she would take it ; and then she might expose herself to fresh scandal." " I wish 1 had told her," said I. " If it were not for my promise, I would tell her now." OF WILDFELL HALL. 309 " By no means 1 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 ex- cuse 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 any- thing 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 man- fully resisting the temptation of dropping in a word from my- self 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 per- secuted 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 Wil- sons, and such was my present appreciation of Eliza Millward'a 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 wai patiently till these weary six months were over, and then, when the fugitive had found another home, and I was per- mitted to write to her, I would beg to be allowed to clear her 810 THE TENANT name from these vile calumnies : at present I must conten\ myself with simply asserting that I knew them to be false, and would prove it some day, to the shame of those who slan- dered 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 rea- son ; and meantime I grew insupportably morose and misan- thropical 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 dis- tressed 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 humanized 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 in- terest I took in his recovery, and my desire to cheer him up and make the utmost possible amends for my former " bru- tality," but from my growing attachment to himself, and the increasing pleasure I found in his society partly from his in- creased 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 remem- brance 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 return- ing strength, was to ride over by night to \Vildfell Hall, to see OF WILDFELL HALL. 311 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 appre- hensions 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 im pelled 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 re- cover 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 concern- ing 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," 312 THE TENANT " But 1 fear your anxiety is quite the other way lespecting 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 1 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," con- tinued 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. !t would be wrong to forget one so deeply and fondly devoted to her, who can so thoroughly appreciate her excellences, 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 o 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 occa- OF WILDFELL HALL. 813 rional annoyances I had lately sustained from him, nor yel 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 con- nections, and especially of her mother, whom he could not abide. Had they lived at a distance, he might have sur- mounted 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 acknowledg- ment 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 i 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 noman would be capable of evincing that bitter, cold-blooded, designing malice towards a fancied rival that I have observed in her." 314 THE TENANT "Markham!!" "Yes and it is my belief that Eliza Millward and ahe, ii not the very originators of the slanderous reports that have been propagated, were designedly the encouragers and chiet 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 other- wise." "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 re- specting 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 inacces- sible 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 1" 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 OF WILPFELL HALL. 31& 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 de^ sired effect : his visit to the AVilsons 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 him- self 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 trans- muted 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 de- sign 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 salu- tation 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. Mark- 316 THE TENANT ham!" said she, with a disingenuously malicious smile. "1 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 look ing 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 es- pecially, I have been particularly plodding and diligent." " Ah ! Well, there's nothing like active employment, I sup- C, to console the afflicted ; and, excuse me, Mr. Mark- , but you look so very far from well, and have been, by all accounts, so moody and thoughtful of late, I could al- most 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 en- tered 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've not heard it before, for good, bad, or indifferent, one always likes to be the first to tell It's about that sad Mrs. Gra- ham " 44 Hush sh sh ! " whispered Fergus, in a tone of solemn import. " 4 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 %he, speaking below her breath ; " another time, perhaps," OF \V1LDKELL HALL. 817 " 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 pro- ceeded. " 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, sir." "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. Gra- ham, 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 pos- sible 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 mut- tering 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 Wood- ford. 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. 518 THE TENANT " 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 rr.'j 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 circum- stance 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 arkham, Mrs. Lawrence, late Miss Hargrave." OF WILDFELL HALL. S5S I bowed to the bride, and vehemently wrung the bride- groom'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 oftences lor 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 in- tention." " 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 re- ceived 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-bye I needn't wish you a plea- sant 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 dis- course : 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 Avaist with his arm, while she rested her glowing cheek on his shoulder, looking the very imper- 8M THE TENANT eonation 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, play- fully, " I fear you must think me very insensible, Frederick : I know it is the custom for ladies to cry on these occasions, bu 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 lace as she spoke. What did he think? Could he grudge Rich 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, ii 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 check 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, declin- ing 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 tor 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, lor sundry departures from Woodford, and absences more or less prolonged, for which he never satisfactorily accounted, and concerning which he OF WILDFKLL HALL. 355 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 phi- losophy by touching upon the infectious theme of love. CHAPTER LIL 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?" "Aye 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 his-self ; 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 hopportuuity, 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 6 THE TENANT young gentleman ; and a proud 'un he was, and a wilful.. I was servant yonder for several years ; but I couldn T t stand then 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 no\v, 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 encou- raging 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 (hut 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 lodgfe 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 he interest of her tenants and dependants 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 ." OF WILDFE1.L HALL. S./7 At M I had time before the coach started to replenish my forces with a hearty breakfast, and to obtain the refresh- ment of my usual morning's ablutions, and the amelioration ol some slight change in my toilet, and also to dispatch 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 way-side inn ; choosing rather to brook a little delay than to present myself worn, wild, and weatherbeaten before my mistress and her aunt, who would be astonished enough to see me without that. Next morning, therefore, I not only fortified mysell 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 ol linen from my small carpet-bag, well brushed clothes, well polished boots, and neat new gloves, I mounted "The Light- ning," 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 then 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 anx- iety, 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. 41 Fine land this," said one of them, pointing with his urn- 858 THE TENANT brella to the wide fields on the right, conspicuous for their compact hedge-rows, 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 great coat 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 lor 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 neigh- bour, and pointing past me with his umbrella, " that's thr hall grand park, you see and all them woods plenty ot 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, prepa- tory to dropping myself down after it. " Sickly, sir ?" asked my talkative neighbour, staring me in the face (I dare say it was white enough). "No. Here, coachman." "Thank'ee, sir. All right !" The coachman pocketed his fee and drove away, leaving mo not walking up the park, but pacing to and fro before its gates, with folded arms and eyes fixed upon the ground an over- OF WILDFEI.L HALL. 369 whelming 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 pro- per sphere, and claim a share in her prosperity, which, had it never failed her, would most certainly have kept her un- known to me for ever? and this too, when we had parted six- teen 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 1 The very idea was in- tolerable. 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 inclina- tion 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 ot 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 1 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, for ever ! For ever adieu 1" 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, im- pressed 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. THE TENANT CHAFFER LIII. WHILE standing thus, absorbed in my gloomy reverie, a gen- tleman's carriage came round the corner of the road. 1 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, 44 Oh, aunt ! here's Mr. Markham Arthur's friend ! Stop, Richard!" There was such evidence of joyous though suppressed ex- citement in the utterance of those few words especially that tremulous, " Oh, aunt " that it threw me almost oiF 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 foot- man 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 im- mediately withdrawn. "Were you coming to see us, or only passing by? r ' asked the low voice of its owner, who, I felt, was attentively sur- veying my countenance from behind the thick, black veil which, with the shadowing panels, entirely concealed her own from me. 4 1 I came to see the place," faltered I. 4 The place," repeated she, in a tone which betokened more displeasure or disappointment than surprise. 4 Will you not enter it then?" 4 If you wish it." 4 Can you doubt?" 4 Yes, yes ! he must enter," cried Arthur running round from the other door ; and seizing my hand in both his, Le bhook it heartily. " Do you remember me, sir?" said he. OF \VII.DKKIX HALL. 361 " Yes, full well, my little man, altered though you are," replied I, surveying the comparatively tall, slim young gen- tleman 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 com- panion led me up the park, uiscoursing 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 sup- posed I had not travelled far that morning. " Not quite twenty miles," I answered. " Not on foot ! " t; No, madam, by coach." " Here's Rachel, sir," said Arthur, the only truly happy one amongst us, directing my attention to that worthy indi- vidual, 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 cha- racter. 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'i 8C2 THE TENANT 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 dis- cussed 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 mo- tion 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 now you all are at Lindenhope 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 ?" die exclaimed. " I feared to intrude." "To intrude!" cried she with an impatient gesture. "What" but as if suddenly recollecting her aunt's presence, he checked herself, and, turning to that lady, continued OF WILDFELL HALL. 36S H Why, aunt, this man is my brother's close fricnil and was my own intimate acqaintance (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, arid, 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 T, " 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 im- proved, 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 moni- tory misgivings at my own presumption, and fears that I should be us little weJcome as expected when I came), but I 864 THE 1'KXAXt 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 re- solved 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 44 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." 44 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." 44 Did you expect me to write to you then?" 44 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 " 44 1 did ask about you frequently. I was not going to do more," continued she, smiling, 4l so long as you continued to restrict yourself to a few polite inquiries about my health." 44 Your brother never told me that you had mentioned my OF W1LDFELL IIAIX,. 365 ' l)id 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. 41 Why should I stay any longer ?" " Wait till Arthur comes, at least." Only too glad to obey, I stood and leant against the oppo- site side of the window. " You told me you were not changed," said my compa- nion : " 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 embarrass- ment, 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, u 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, Gil- bert, 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 ab- sorbed in thinking what might be the meaning of her words, and what I ought to do or say upon the occasion ; whether to pive wav to rny feelings or restrain them still. Misconstruing 36G THE TENANT this hesitation into indifference or reluctance even -to ac- cept 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. u 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. Hun- tingdon? why not Helen, as before?" "Helen, then dear Helen!" I murmured. I was in an agony of mingled love, hope, delight, uncertainty, and sus- pense. u 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 fer- vently 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 affec- tion 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 re- it rained myself to say, " But if yon should repent!" OF WILDFELL HALL. S67 "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 pas- sionately 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 lor 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 1" " Where is your fidelity ? " " I mean I could not endure the misery of so long a separa- tion." " 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 satis- fied?" 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 nave seen that the greatest worldly distinctions and discrepan- cies of rank, birth, and fortune are as dust in the balance 368 THE TENANT compared with the unity of accordant thoughts and feelings, and truly loving, sympathizing hearts and souls." " But this is too much happiness," said I, embracing her again ; "1 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 sprung?" "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 there- fore 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. Max- well 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, 1 think, even in that first short visit ; lor when I talked cheerfully to her, she gradually became more kind and cordial, and when I departed she bade me a gracious adieu, hoping ( re long to have the pleasure of seeing me again. *' But you must not go till you have seen the conservatory, OK W1LDFELL HAii. .%9 my aunt's whiter 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 fur- nished with flowers considering the season hut, of course, ! 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 con- templative 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 yon 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 bye. 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 tui-ned 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. AVell ! I hope God will prosper your union, and make my dear girl happy at last. Could she 24 370 TOE TENANT have been contented to remain single, I own I should have been better satisfied ; but if she must marry again, I know ot 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 tc her. There are painful associations connected with Grassdale, which she cannot easily overcome ; and I shall nut molest you with my com- pany or interference here : I am a very quiet person, and shall keep my own apartments, and attend to my own con- cerns, and only see you now and then." Of course I most readily consented to thi? ; 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 ro.y cwa 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 suffi- cient 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 younj* scions that are growing up about ua. We are just now looking forward to the advent OF WILDFKLL ITAIX. 371 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 MAJUCHAM. June 10h. 1847 I'lUXTKD BY SlWriiT-WOOUE AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUAUB LONDON E Z> I T 1 1ST LIFE AND WORKS CHARLOTf E BRONTfi (CURRER BELL), AND HER SISTERS EMILY AND ANNE BUONTE (ELLIS AND ACTON BELL). In Seven Volumes, Large Crown 8vo. handsomely bound in cloth. Prices*, per Volume. The descriptions in ' Jane Eyre ' and the other Fictions by Charlotte Bronte and her Sisters being mostly of actual places, the Publishers considered that Views were the mosl suitable Illustrations for the Novels. They were indebted for a clue to the real names ot the most interesting scenes to a friend of the Bronte family, who enabled the artist, Mr. G. M. Wimperis, to identify the places described. 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He has a rare power of description, and in " Hodge and his Masters " we find plenty of good reading.' STANDARD. 'Mr Jefferies knows his ground well and thoroughly, and writes with much of his wonted itroightforwardness and assurance. . . . Pleasant and easy reading throughout.' ATHKN^KUX. SECOND EDITION. Grown 8vo. 6t. WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM; BEING THE NOTES OF A NATURALIST. EDITED BY J. A. OWEN. ' As a specimen of word-painting, the description of the quaint old fishing village C!OM to the edge of the North Kent marshes can hardly be surpassed. . . The book is capitally written, full of good stories. and thoroughly commeiidnMi-.' THK ATHKS^OM. London: SMITH, KLI^R. & CO.., r^ W:it,-rlo.i Place. W. M. THACKERAY'S WORKS. THE CHEAPER ILLUSTRATED EDITION, In 26 Volumes, crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. each. Sets in cloth, 4. 11s. ; or handsomely bound in half- morocco, 8. 8s. Containing nearly all the small Woodcut Illustrations nf the former Editions. AND MANY NEW ILLUSTRATIONS Bt EMINENT ARTISTS. THIS EDITION CONTAINS ALTOGETHER 1,773 ILLUSTRATIONS BY THE AUTHOR. LUKE FILDES, A.R.A. Lady BUTLER (Miss Eliza- beth Thompson). GEORGE DU MAURIER. RICHARD DOYLE. FRKDK. WALKER. A.R.A. GEORGE CRUIKSHANK. JOHN LEECH. FRANK DICKSEE. LINLEY SAMBOURNB. F. BARNARD. E. J. WHEELER. F. A. FRASER. CHARLES KEENS. R. B. WALLACE. IT. P. ATKINSON. W. J. WEBB. ; T. R. MACQUOID. i M. FITZGERALD. W. RALSTON. JOHN COLLIER. H. FURNISS. G. G. KlLBURNE, &C. VANITY FAIR. Illustrated by the Author, avols. PENDENNIS. Illustrated by the Author. Vols. THE NEWCOMES. Illustrated by RICHARD DOYLE, z vois. ESMOND. Illustrated by GEORGE DU MAURIER. TH VIRGINIANS. Illustrated by the THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. Illustrated by the Author, FREDERICK WALKER, and R. B. WALLACE. 2 vois. THE GREAT HOGGARTY DIAMOND ; A LITTLE DINNER AT TIMMINS S CORNHILL TO CAIRO. Illustrated by the Author, J. P. ATKINSON, and W. J. CHRISTMAS BOOKS. Illustrated by the Author and RICHARD DOYLE. THE BOOK OF SNOBS ; SKETCHES AND TRAVELS. Illustrated by the BURLESQUES. Illustrated by the Author and GEORGE CRUIKSHANK. PARIS SKETCH BOOK ; LITTLE TRAVELS & ROADSIDE SKETCHES. Illustrated by the Author.T. R. MACQUOID, and J. P. ATKINSON. THE YELLOWPLUSH PAPERS ; THE FITZnOODLE PAPERS; COX'S DIARY; CHARACTER SKETCHES. Illustrated by the Author and GEORGE CRUIKSHANK. THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK;CRI- TICAL REVIEWS. Illustrated by the Author, GEORGE CRUIKSHANK, JOHN LEECH, and M. FITZGERALD. THE MEMOIRS of BARRY LYNDON ; THE FATAL BOOTS. Illustrate* by GEORGE CRUIKSHANK and w. RALSTON. CATHERINE: a Story: MEN S WIVES ; THE BEDFORD ROW CON- SPIRACY. Illustrated by the Author, L. FILDES, A.R.A., and R. B. WALLACE. BALLADS : THE ROSE AND THE RING. Illustrated by the Author, Lady BUTLER I Miss Elizabeth Thompson I, GEORGE DI; MAURIER. JOHN COLLIER, H. FURNISS, G. G. KILBURNE, M. FITZ- GERALD, and 7. P. ATKINSON. ROUNDABOUT PAPERS. To which is added THE SECOND FUNERAL OF NAPOLEON. Illustrated by the Author, CHARLES KEENE, and M. FITZGERALD. THE FOUR GEORGES, and THE fNGLISH HUMORISTS OF THK IGHTEENTH CENTURY. Illustrated by the Author. FRANK DICKSEE, LINLEY SAMBOURNE. FREDERICK WALKER, and F. BARNARD. LOVEL THE WIDOWER: THE WOLVES AND THE LAMB; DENIS DUVAL. Illustrated by the Author and FREDERICK WALKER. To which is added an Essay on the Writings of W. W. THACKERAY by LESLIE STEPHEN. MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS, SKETCHES, AND REVIEWS. With Illus- trations by the Author. CONTRIBUTIONS TO 'PUNCH.' With 132 Illustrations by the Author. London: SMITH, ELDER, & CO., 15 Waterloo Place. W. M. TMACKERAY^S WORKS. MISCELLANEOUS VOLUMES, VANITY FAIR. Waterloo Edition. Complete in One Crown 8vo. Volume of 780 pages, with 141 Illustrations, neatly bound in cloth, price 2s. VANITY FAIR. People's Edition. Complete in One Volume, large demy 8vo. with 8 Full-page Illustrations, bound in paper cover, price One Shilling. THE FATAL BOOTS; and COX'S DIARY. People's Edition. Folio, Sixpence. BALLADS. By WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY. With 56 Illustrations by the AUTHOR, Lady I;i (Miss Elizabeth Thompson), GEORGE DU MA. JOHN COLLIER, H. FURNISS, G. G. KILBLKM., M. FITZGERALD, and J, P. ATKINSON. Printed on toned paper by Clay, Sons, and Taylor, and elegantly bound in cloth, gilt edges, by Burn. Small 410. i6s. THE ORPHAN OF PIMLICO. AND OTHER SKETCHES, FRAGMENTS, AND DRAWINGS. With a Preface and Editorial Notes by Miss THACKERAY. Royal 4to. 2U. LECTURES ON THE ENGLISH HUMORISTS OF THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY. Fcp. 8vo. limp cloth, 2s. 6d. THE ROSE AND THE RING; OR, THE HISTORY OF PRINCE GIGLIO AND PRINCE BULBO. A Fireside Pantomime for Great and Small Children. WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY THE AUTHOR. Square i6mo. 5*. EXTRACTS from the WRITINGS of W. M. THACKERAY. CHIEFLY PHILOSOPHICAL AND REFLECTIVE. Cheap Edition. Fcp. 8vo. zs. 6d. A COLLECTION OF LETTERS OF W. M. THACKERAY, 1847-1855- WITH PORTRAITS AND REPRODUCTIONS OF LETTERS AND DRAWINGS. Second Edition. Imperial 8vo. 12s. 6