Evening. - Breakfast passed
well over: I was calm and cool
throughout. I answered composedly
all inquiries respecting my health;
and whatever was unusual in my
look or manner was generally
attributed to the trifling indisposition
that had occasioned my early
retirement last night. But how
am I to get over the ten or twelve
days that must yet elapse before
they go? Yet why so long for
their departure? When they are
gone, how shall I get through
the months or years of my future
life in company with that man
- my greatest enemy? for none
could injure me as he has done.
Oh! when I think how fondly,
how foolishly I have loved him,
how madly I have trusted him,
how constantly I have laboured,
and studied, and prayed, and
struggled for his advantage;
and how cruelly he has trampled
on my love, betrayed my trust,
scorned my prayers and tears,
and efforts for his preservation,
crushed my hopes, destroyed my
youth's best feelings, and doomed
me to a life of hopeless misery,
as far as man can do it, it is
not enough to say that I no longer
love my husband - I HATE him!
The word stares me in the face
like a guilty confession, but
it is true: I hate him - I hate
him! But God have mercy on his
miserable soul! and make him
see and feel his guilt - I ask
no other vengeance! If he could
but fully know and truly feel
my wrongs I should be well avenged,
and I could freely pardon all;
but he is so lost, so hardened
in his heartless depravity, that
in this life I believe he never
will. But it is useless dwelling
on this theme: let me seek once
more to dissipate reflection
in the minor details of passing
events.
Mr. Hargrave has annoyed me
all day long with his serious,
sympathising, and (as he thinks)
unobtrusive politeness. If it
were more obtrusive it would
trouble me less, for then I could
snub him; but, as it is, he contrives
to appear so really kind and
thoughtful that I cannot do so
without rudeness and seeming
ingratitude. I sometimes think
I ought to give him credit for
the good feeling he simulates
so well; and then again, I think
it is my duty to suspect him
under the peculiar circumstances
in which I am placed. His kindness
may not all be feigned; but still,
let not the purest impulse of
gratitude to him induce me to
forget myself: let me remember
the game of chess, the expressions
he used on the occasion, and
those indescribable looks of
his, that so justly roused my
indignation, and I think I shall
be safe enough. I have done well
to record them so minutely.
I think he wishes to find an
opportunity of speaking to me
alone: he has seemed to be on
the watch all day; but I have
taken care to disappoint him
- not that I fear anything he
could say, but I have trouble
enough without the addition of
his insulting consolations, condolences,
or whatever else he might attempt;
and, for Milicent's sake, I do
not wish to quarrel with him.
He excused himself from going
out to shoot with the other gentlemen
in the morning, under the pretext
of having letters to write; and
instead of retiring for that
purpose into the library, he
sent for his desk into the morning-room,
where I was seated with Milicent
and Lady Lowborough. They had
betaken themselves to their work;
I, less to divert my mind than
to deprecate conversation, had
provided myself with a book.
Milicent saw that I wished to
be quiet, and accordingly let
me alone. Annabella, doubtless,
saw it too: but that was no reason
why she should restrain her tongue,
or curb her cheerful spirits:
she accordingly chatted away,
addressing herself almost exclusively
to me, and with the utmost assurance
and familiarity, growing the
more animated and friendly the
colder and briefer my answers
became. Mr. Hargrave saw that
I could ill endure it, and, looking
up from his desk, he answered
her questions and observations
for me, as far as he could, and
attempted to transfer her social
attentions from me to himself;
but it would not do. Perhaps
she thought I had a headache,
and could not bear to talk; at
any rate, she saw that her loquacious
vivacity annoyed me, as I could
tell by the malicious pertinacity
with which she persisted. But
I checked it effectually by putting
into her hand the book I had
been trying to read, on the fly-leaf
of which I had hastily scribbled,
-
'I am too well acquainted with
your character and conduct to
feel any real friendship for
you, and as I am without your
talent for dissimulation, I cannot
assume the appearance of it.
I must, therefore, beg that hereafter
all familiar intercourse may
cease between us; and if I still
continue to treat you with civility,
as if you were a woman worthy
of consideration and respect,
understand that it is out of
regard for your cousin Milicent's
feelings, not for yours.'
Upon perusing this she turned
scarlet, and bit her lip. Covertly
tearing away the leaf, she crumpled
it up and put it in the fire,
and then employed herself in
turning over the pages of the
book, and, really or apparently,
perusing its contents. In a little
while Milicent announced it her
intention to repair to the nursery,
and asked if I would accompany
her.
'Annabella will excuse us,'
said she; 'she's busy reading.'
'No, I won't,' cried Annabella,
suddenly looking up, and throwing
her book on the table; 'I want
to speak to Helen a minute. You
may go, Milicent, and she'll
follow in a while.' (Milicent
went.) 'Will you oblige me, Helen?'
continued she.
Her impudence astounded me;
but I complied, and followed
her into the library. She closed
the door, and walked up to the
fire.
'Who told you this?' said she.
'No one: I am not incapable
of seeing for myself.'
'Ah, you are suspicious!' cried
she, smiling, with a gleam of
hope. Hitherto there had been
a kind of desperation in her
hardihood; now she was evidently
relieved.
'If I were suspicious,' I replied,
'I should have discovered your
infamy long before. No, Lady
Lowborough, I do not found my
charge upon suspicion.'
'On what do you found it, then?'
said she, throwing herself into
an arm-chair, and stretching
out her feet to the fender, with
an obvious effort to appear composed.
'I enjoy a moonlight ramble
as well as you,' I answered,
steadily fixing my eyes upon
her; 'and the shrubbery happens
to be one of my favourite resorts.'
She coloured again excessively,
and remained silent, pressing
her finger against her teeth,
and gazing into the fire. I watched
her a few moments with a feeling
of malevolent gratification;
then, moving towards the door,
I calmly asked if she had anything
more to say.
'Yes, yes!' cried she eagerly,
starting up from her reclining
posture. 'I want to know if you
will tell Lord Lowborough?'
'Suppose I do?'
'Well, if you are disposed
to publish the matter, I cannot
dissuade you, of course - but
there will be terrible work if
you do - and if you don't, I
shall think you the most generous
of mortal beings - and if there
is anything in the world I can
do for you - anything short of
- ' she hesitated.
'Short of renouncing your guilty
connection with my husband, I
suppose you mean?' said I.
She paused, in evident disconcertion
and perplexity, mingled with
anger she dared not show.
'I cannot renounce what is
dearer than life,' she muttered,
in a low, hurried tone. Then,
suddenly raising her head and
fixing her gleaming eyes upon
me, she continued earnestly:
'But, Helen - or Mrs. Huntingdon,
or whatever you would have me
call you - will you tell him?
If you are generous, here is
a fitting opportunity for the
exercise of your magnanimity:
if you are proud, here am I -
your rival - ready to acknowledge
myself your debtor for an act
of the most noble forbearance.'
'I shall not tell him.'
'You will not!' cried she,
delightedly. 'Accept my sincere
thanks, then!'
She sprang up, and offered
me her hand. I drew back.
'Give me no thanks; it is not
for your sake that I refrain.
Neither is it an act of any forbearance:
I have no wish to publish your
shame. I should be sorry to distress
your husband with the knowledge
of it.'
'And Milicent? will you tell
her?'
'No: on the contrary, I shall
do my utmost to conceal it from
her. I would not for much that
she should know the infamy and
disgrace of her relation!'
'You use hard words, Mrs. Huntingdon,
but I can pardon you.'
'And now, Lady Lowborough,'
continued I, 'let me counsel
you to leave this house as soon
as possible. You must be aware
that your continuance here is
excessively disagreeable to me
- not for Mr. Huntingdon's sake,'
said I, observing the dawn of
a malicious smile of triumph
on her face - 'you are welcome
to him, if you like him, as far
as I am concerned - but because
it is painful to be always disguising
my true sentiments respecting
you, and straining to keep up
an appearance of civility and
respect towards one for whom
I have not the most distant shadow
of esteem; and because, if you
stay, your conduct cannot possibly
remain concealed much longer
from the only two persons in
the house who do not know it
already. And, for your husband's
sake, Annabella, and even for
your own, I wish - I earnestly
advise and entreat you to break
off this unlawful connection
at once, and return to your duty
while you may, before the dreadful
consequences - '
'Yes, yes, of course,' said
she, interrupting me with a gesture
of impatience. 'But I cannot
go, Helen, before the time appointed
for our departure. What possible
pretext could I frame for such
a thing? Whether I proposed going
back alone - which Lowborough
would not hear of - or taking
him with me, the very circumstance
itself would be certain to excite
suspicion - and when our visit
is so nearly at an end too -
little more than a week - surely
you can endure my presence so
long! I will not annoy you with
any more of my friendly impertinences.'
'Well, I have nothing more
to say to you.'
'Have you mentioned this affair
to Huntingdon?' asked she, as
I was leaving the room.
'How dare you mention his name
to me!' was the only answer I
gave.
No words have passed between
us since, but such as outward
decency or pure necessity demanded.
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