I perceive, with joy, my most
valued friend, that the cloud
of your displeasure has passed
away; the light of your countenance
blesses me once more, and you
desire the continuation of my
story: therefore, without more
ado, you shall have it.
I think the day I last mentioned
was a certain Sunday, the latest
in the October of 1827. On the
following Tuesday I was out with
my dog and gun, in pursuit of
such game as I could find within
the territory of Linden-Car;
but finding none at all, I turned
my arms against the hawks and
carrion crows, whose depredations,
as I suspected, had deprived
me of better prey. To this end
I left the more frequented regions,
the wooded valleys, the corn-fields,
and the meadow-lands, and proceeded
to mount the steep acclivity
of Wildfell, the wildest and
the loftiest eminence in our
neighbourhood, where, as you
ascend, the hedges, as well as
the trees, become scanty and
stunted, the former, at length,
giving place to rough stone fences,
partly greened over with ivy
and moss, the latter to larches
and Scotch fir-trees, or isolated
blackthorns. The fields, being
rough and stony, and wholly unfit
for the plough, were mostly devoted
to the posturing of sheep and
cattle; the soil was thin and
poor: bits of grey rock here
and there peeped out from the
grassy hillocks; bilberry-plants
and heather - relics of more
savage wildness - grew under
the walls; and in many of the
enclosures, ragweeds and rushes
usurped supremacy over the scanty
herbage; but these were not my
property.
Near the top of this hill,
about two miles from Linden-Car,
stood Wildfell Hall, a superannuated
mansion of the Elizabethan era,
built of dark grey stone, venerable
and picturesque to look at, but
doubtless, cold and gloomy enough
to inhabit, with its thick stone
mullions and little latticed
panes, its time-eaten air-holes,
and its too lonely, too unsheltered
situation, - only shielded from
the war of wind and weather by
a group of Scotch firs, themselves
half blighted with storms, and
looking as stern and gloomy as
the Hall itself. Behind it lay
a few desolate fields, and then
the brown heath-clad summit of
the hill; before it (enclosed
by stone walls, and entered by
an iron gate, with large balls
of grey granite - similar to
those which decorated the roof
and gables - surmounting the
gate-posts) was a garden, - once
stocked with such hard plants
and flowers as could best brook
the soil and climate, and such
trees and shrubs as could best
endure the gardener's torturing
shears, and most readily assume
the shapes he chose to give them,
- now, having been left so many
years untilled and untrimmed,
abandoned to the weeds and the
grass, to the frost and the wind,
the rain and the drought, it
presented a very singular appearance
indeed. The close green walls
of privet, that had bordered
the principal walk, were two-thirds
withered away, and the rest grown
beyond all reasonable bounds;
the old boxwood swan, that sat
beside the scraper, had lost
its neck and half its body: the
castellated towers of laurel
in the middle of the garden,
the gigantic warrior that stood
on one side of the gateway, and
the lion that guarded the other,
were sprouted into such fantastic
shapes as resembled nothing either
in heaven or earth, or in the
waters under the earth; but,
to my young imagination, they
presented all of them a goblinish
appearance, that harmonised well
with the ghostly legions and
dark traditions our old nurse
had told us respecting the haunted
hall and its departed occupants.
I had succeeded in killing
a hawk and two crows when I came
within sight of the mansion;
and then, relinquishing further
depredations, I sauntered on,
to have a look at the old place,
and see what changes had been
wrought in it by its new inhabitant.
I did not like to go quite to
the front and stare in at the
gate; but I paused beside the
garden wall, and looked, and
saw no change - except in one
wing, where the broken windows
and dilapidated roof had evidently
been repaired, and where a thin
wreath of smoke was curling up
from the stack of chimneys.
While I thus stood, leaning
on my gun, and looking up at
the dark gables, sunk in an idle
reverie, weaving a tissue of
wayward fancies, in which old
associations and the fair young
hermit, now within those walls,
bore a nearly equal part, I heard
a slight rustling and scrambling
just within the garden; and,
glancing in the direction whence
the sound proceeded, I beheld
a tiny hand elevated above the
wall: it clung to the topmost
stone, and then another little
hand was raised to take a firmer
hold, and then appeared a small
white forehead, surmounted with
wreaths of light brown hair,
with a pair of deep blue eyes
beneath, and the upper portion
of a diminutive ivory nose.
The eyes did not notice me,
but sparkled with glee on beholding
Sancho, my beautiful black and
white setter, that was coursing
about the field with its muzzle
to the ground. The little creature
raised its face and called aloud
to the dog. The good-natured
animal paused, looked up, and
wagged his tail, but made no
further advances. The child (a
little boy, apparently about
five years old) scrambled up
to the top of the wall, and called
again and again; but finding
this of no avail, apparently
made up his mind, like Mahomet,
to go to the mountain, since
the mountain would not come to
him, and attempted to get over;
but a crabbed old cherry- tree,
that grew hard by, caught him
by the frock in one of its crooked
scraggy arms that stretched over
the wall. In attempting to disengage
himself his foot slipped, and
down he tumbled - but not to
the earth; - the tree still kept
him suspended. There was a silent
struggle, and then a piercing
shriek; - but, in an instant,
I had dropped my gun on the grass,
and caught the little fellow
in my arms.
I wiped his eyes with his frock,
told him he was all right and
called Sancho to pacify him.
He was just putting little hand
on the dog's neck and beginning
to smile through his tears, when
I heard behind me a click of
the iron gate, and a rustle of
female garments, and lo! Mrs.
Graham darted upon me - her neck
uncovered, her black locks streaming
in the wind.
'Give me the child!' she said,
in a voice scarce louder than
a whisper, but with a tone of
startling vehemence, and, seizing
the boy, she snatched him from
me, as if some dire contamination
were in my touch, and then stood
with one hand firmly clasping
his, the other on his shoulder,
fixing upon me her large, luminous
dark eyes - pale, breathless,
quivering with agitation.
'I was not harming the child,
madam,' said I, scarce knowing
whether to be most astonished
or displeased; 'he was tumbling
off the wall there; and I was
so fortunate as to catch him,
while he hung suspended headlong
from that tree, and prevent I
know not what catastrophe.'
'I beg your pardon, sir,' stammered
she; - suddenly calming down,
- the light of reason seeming
to break upon her beclouded spirit,
and a faint blush mantling on
her cheek - 'I did not know you;
- and I thought - '
She stooped to kiss the child,
and fondly clasped her arm round
his neck.
'You thought I was going to
kidnap your son, I suppose?'
She stroked his head with a
half-embarrassed laugh, and replied,
- 'I did not know he had attempted
to climb the wall. - I have the
pleasure of addressing Mr. Markham,
I believe?' she added, somewhat
abruptly.
I bowed, but ventured to ask
how she knew me.
'Your sister called here, a
few days ago, with Mrs. Markham.'
'Is the resemblance so strong
then?' I asked, in some surprise,
and not so greatly flattered
at the idea as I ought to have
been.
'There is a likeness about
the eyes and complexion I think,'
replied she, somewhat dubiously
surveying my face; - 'and I think
I saw you at church on Sunday.'
I smiled. - There was something
either in that smile or the recollections
it awakened that was particularly
displeasing to her, for she suddenly
assumed again that proud, chilly
look that had so unspeakably
roused my aversion at church
- a look of repellent scorn,
so easily assumed, and so entirely
without the least distortion
of a single feature, that, while
there, it seemed like the natural
expression of the face, and was
the more provoking to me, because
I could not think it affected.
'Good-morning, Mr. Markham,'
said she; and without another
word or glance, she withdrew,
with her child, into the garden;
and I returned home, angry and
dissatisfied - I could scarcely
tell you why, and therefore will
not attempt it.
I only stayed to put away my
gun and powder-horn, and give
some requisite directions to
one of the farming-men, and then
repaired to the vicarage, to
solace my spirit and soothe my
ruffled temper with the company
and conversation of Eliza Millward.
I found her, as usual, busy
with some piece of soft embroidery
(the mania for Berlin wools had
not yet commenced), while her
sister was seated at the chimney-corner,
with the cat on her knee, mending
a heap of stockings.
'Mary - Mary! put them away!'
Eliza was hastily saying, just
as I entered the room.
'Not I, indeed!' was the phlegmatic
reply; and my appearance prevented
further discussion.
'You're so unfortunate, Mr.
Markham!' observed the younger
sister, with one of her arch,
sidelong glances. 'Papa's just
gone out into the parish, and
not likely to be back for an
hour!'
'Never mind; I can manage to
spend a few minutes with his
daughters, if they'll allow me,'
said I, bringing a chair to the
fire, and seating myself therein,
without waiting to be asked.
'Well, if you'll be very good
and amusing, we shall not object.'
'Let your permission be unconditional,
pray; for I came not to give
pleasure, but to seek it,' I
answered.
However, I thought it but reasonable
to make some slight exertion
to render my company agreeable;
and what little effort I made,
was apparently pretty successful,
for Miss Eliza was never in a
better humour. We seemed, indeed,
to be mutually pleased with each
other, and managed to maintain
between us a cheerful and animated
though not very profound conversation.
It was little better than a TETE-
E-TETE, for Miss Millward never
opened her lips, except occasionally
to correct some random assertion
or exaggerated expression of
her sister's, and once to ask
her to pick up the ball of cotton
that had rolled under the table.
I did this myself, however, as
in duty bound.
'Thank you, Mr. Markham,' said
she, as I presented it to her.
'I would have picked it up myself;
only I did not want to disturb
the cat.'
'Mary, dear, that won't excuse
you in Mr. Markham's eyes,' said
Eliza; 'he hates cats, I daresay,
as cordially as he does old maids
- like all other gentlemen. Don't
you, Mr. Markham?'
'I believe it is natural for
our unamiable sex to dislike
the creatures,' replied I; 'for
you ladies lavish so many caresses
upon them.'
'Bless them - little darlings!'
cried she, in a sudden burst
of enthusiasm, turning round
and overwhelming her sister's
pet with a shower of kisses.
'Don't, Eliza!' said Miss Millward,
somewhat gruffly, as she impatiently
pushed her away.
But it was time for me to be
going: make what haste I would,
I should still be too late for
tea; and my mother was the soul
of order and punctuality.
My fair friend was evidently
unwilling to bid me adieu. I
tenderly squeezed her little
hand at parting; and she repaid
me with one of her softest smiles
and most bewitching glances.
I went home very happy, with
a heart brimful of complacency
for myself, and overflowing with
love for Eliza.
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