Six weeks had passed away. It
was a splendid morning about
the close of June. Most of the
hay was cut, but the last week
had been very unfavourable; and
now that fine weather was come
at last, being determined to
make the most of it, I had gathered
all hands together into the hay-field,
and was working away myself,
in the midst of them, in my shirt-sleeves,
with a light, shady straw hat
on my head, catching up armfuls
of moist, reeking grass, and
shaking it out to the four winds
of heaven, at the head of a goodly
file of servants and hirelings
- intending so to labour, from
morning till night, with as much
zeal and assiduity as I could
look for from any of them, as
well to prosper the work by my
own exertion as to animate the
workers by my example - when
lo! my resolutions were overthrown
in a moment, by the simple fact
of my brother's running up to
me and putting into my hand a
small parcel, just arrived from
London, which I had been for
some time expecting. I tore off
the cover, and disclosed an elegant
and portable edition
of 'Marmion.'
'I guess I know who that's
for,' said Fergus, who stood
looking on while I complacently
examined the volume. 'That's
for Miss Eliza, now.'
He pronounced this with a tone
and look so prodigiously knowing,
that I was glad to contradict
him.
'You're wrong, my lad,' said
I; and, taking up my coat, I
deposited the book in one of
its pockets, and then put it
on (i.e. the coat). 'Now come
here, you idle dog, and make
yourself useful for once,' I
continued. 'Pull off your coat,
and take my place in the field
till I come back.'
'Till you come back? - and
where are you going, pray?
'No matter where - the when
is all that concerns you; - and
I shall be back by dinner, at
least.'
'Oh
- oh! and I'm
to labour away
till then,
am I? - and
to
keep all these fellows hard at
it besides? Well, well! I'll
submit - for once in a way. -
Come, my lads, you must look
sharp: I'm come to help you now:-
and woe be to that man, or woman
either, that pauses for a moment
amongst you - whether to stare
about him, to scratch his head,
or blow his nose - no pretext
will serve - nothing but work,
work, work in the sweat of your
face,' &c., &c.
Leaving him thus haranguing
the people, more to their amusement
than edification, I returned
to the house, and, having made
some alteration in my toilet,
hastened away to Wildfell Hall,
with the book in my pocket; for
it was destined for the shelves
of Mrs. Graham.
'What! then had she and you
got on so well together as to
come to the giving and receiving
of presents?' - Not precisely,
old buck; this was my first experiment
in that line; and I was very
anxious to see the result of
it.
We had met several times since
the - Bay excursion, and I had
found she was not averse to my
company, provided I confined
my conversation to the discussion
of abstract matters, or topics
of common interest; - the moment
I touched upon the sentimental
or the complimentary, or made
the slightest approach to tenderness
in word or look, I was not only
punished by an immediate change
in her manner at the time, but
doomed to find her more cold
and distant, if not entirely
inaccessible, when next I sought
her company. This circumstance
did not greatly disconcert me,
however, because I attributed
it, not so much to any dislike
of my person, as to some absolute
resolution against a second marriage
formed prior to the time of our
acquaintance, whether from excess
of affection for her late husband,
or because she had had enough
of him and the matrimonial state
together. At first, indeed, she
had seemed to take a pleasure
in mortifying my vanity and crushing
my presumption - relentlessly
nipping off bud by bud as they
ventured to appear; and then,
I confess, I was deeply wounded,
though, at the same time, stimulated
to seek revenge; - but latterly
finding, beyond a doubt, that
I was not that empty-headed coxcomb
she had first supposed me, she
had repulsed my modest advances
in quite a different spirit.
It was a kind of serious, almost
sorrowful displeasure, which
I soon learnt carefully to avoid
awakening.
'Let me first establish my
position as a friend,' thought
I - 'the patron and playfellow
of her son, the sober, solid,
plain-dealing friend of herself,
and then, when I have made myself
fairly necessary to her comfort
and enjoyment in life (as I believe
I can), we'll see what next may
be effected.'
So we talked about painting,
poetry, and music, theology,
geology, and philosophy: once
or twice I lent her a book, and
once she lent me one in return:
I met her in her walks as often
as I could; I came to her house
as often as I dared. My first
pretext for invading the sanctum
was to bring Arthur a little
waddling puppy of which Sancho
was the father, and which delighted
the child beyond expression,
and, consequently, could not
fail to please his mamma. My
second was to bring him a book,
which, knowing his mother's particularity,
I had carefully selected, and
which I submitted for her approbation
before presenting it to him.
Then, I brought her some plants
for her garden, in my sister's
name - having previously persuaded
Rose to send them. Each of these
times I inquired after the picture
she was painting from the sketch
taken on the cliff, and was admitted
into the studio, and asked my
opinion or advice respecting
its progress.
My last visit had been to return
the book she had lent me; and
then it was that, in casually
discussing the poetry of Sir
Walter Scott, she had expressed
a wish to see 'Marmion,' and
I had conceived the presumptuous
idea of making her a present
of it, and, on my return home,
instantly sent for the smart
little volume I had this morning
received. But an apology for
invading the hermitage was still
necessary; so I had furnished
myself with a blue morocco collar
for Arthur's little dog; and
that being given and received,
with much more joy and gratitude,
on the part of the receiver,
than the worth of the gift or
the selfish motive of the giver
deserved, I ventured to ask Mrs.
Graham for one more look at the
picture, if it was still there.
'Oh, yes! come in,' said she
(for I had met them in the garden).
'It is finished and framed, all
ready for sending away; but give
me your last opinion, and if
you can suggest any further improvement,
it shall be - duly considered,
at least.'
The picture was strikingly
beautiful; it was the very scene
itself, transferred as if by
magic to the canvas; but I expressed
my approbation in guarded terms,
and few words, for fear of displeasing
her. She, however, attentively
watched my looks, and her artist's
pride was gratified, no doubt,
to read my heartfelt admiration
in my eyes. But, while I gazed,
I thought upon the book, and
wondered how it was to be presented.
My heart failed me; but I determined
not to be such a fool as to come
away without having made the
attempt. It was useless waiting
for an opportunity, and useless
trying to concoct a speech for
the occasion. The more plainly
and naturally the thing was done,
the better, I thought; so I just
looked out of the window to screw
up my courage, and then pulled
out the book, turned round, and
put it into her hand, with this
short explanation:
'You were wishing to see 'Marmion,'
Mrs. Graham; and here it is,
if you will be so kind as to
take it.'
A momentary blush suffused
her face - perhaps, a blush of
sympathetic shame for such an
awkward style of presentation:
she gravely examined the volume
on both sides; then silently
turned over the leaves, knitting
her brows the while, in serious
cogitation; then closed the book,
and turning from it to me, quietly
asked the price of it - I felt
the hot blood rush to my face.
'I'm sorry to offend you, Mr.
Markham,' said she, 'but unless
I pay for the book, I cannot
take it.' And she laid it on
the table.
'Why cannot you?'
'Because,' - she paused, and
looked at the carpet.
'Why cannot you?' I repeated,
with a degree of irascibility
that roused her to lift her eyes
and look me steadily in the face.
'Because I don't like to put
myself under obligations that
I can never repay - I am obliged
to you already for your kindness
to my son; but his grateful affection
and your own good feelings must
reward you for that.'
'Nonsense!' ejaculated I.
She turned her eyes on me again,
with a look of quiet, grave surprise,
that had the effect of a rebuke,
whether intended for such or
not.
'Then you won't take the book?'
I asked, more mildly than I had
yet spoken.
'I will gladly take it, if
you will let me pay for it.'
I told her the exact price, and
the cost of the carriage besides,
in as calm a tone as I could
command - for, in fact, I was
ready to weep with disappointment
and vexation.
She produced her purse, and
coolly counted out the money,
but hesitated to put it into
my hand. Attentively regarding
me, in a tone of soothing softness,
she observed, - 'You think yourself
insulted, Mr Markham - I wish
I could make you understand that
- that I - '
'I do understand you, perfectly,'
I said. 'You think that if you
were to accept that trifle from
me now, I should presume upon
it hereafter; but you are mistaken:-
if you will only oblige me by
taking it, believe me, I shall
build no hopes upon it, and consider
this no precedent for future
favours:- and it is nonsense
to talk about putting yourself
under obligations to me when
you must know that in such a
case the obligation is entirely
on my side, - the favour on yours.'
'Well, then, I'll take you
at your word,' she answered,
with a most angelic smile, returning
the odious money to her purse
- 'but remember!'
'I will remember - what I have
said; - but do not you punish
my presumption by withdrawing
your friendship entirely from
me, - or expect me to atone for
it by being more distant than
before,' said I, extending my
hand to take leave, for I was
too much excited to remain.
'Well, then! let us be as we
were,' replied she, frankly placing
her hand in mine; and while I
held it there, I had much difficulty
to refrain from pressing it to
my lips; - but that would be
suicidal madness: I had been
bold enough already, and this
premature offering had well-nigh
given the death-blow to my hopes.
It was with an agitated, burning
heart and brain that I hurried
homewards, regardless of that
scorching noonday sun - forgetful
of everything but her I had just
left - regretting nothing but
her impenetrability, and my own
precipitancy and want of tact
- fearing nothing but her hateful
resolution, and my inability
to overcome it - hoping nothing
- but halt, - I will not bore
you with my conflicting hopes
and fears - my serious cogitations
and resolves.
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