I felt strongly tempted, at
times, to enlighten my mother
and sister on the real character
and circumstances of the persecuted
tenant of Wildfell Hall, and
at first I greatly regretted
having omitted to ask that lady's
permission to do so; but, on
due reflection, I considered
that if it were known to them,
it could not long remain a secret
to the Millwards and Wilsons,
and such was my present appreciation
of Eliza Millward's disposition,
that, if once she got a clue
to the story, I should fear she
would soon find means to enlighten
Mr. Huntingdon upon the place
of his wife's retreat. I would
therefore wait patiently till
these weary six months were over,
and then, when the fugitive had
found another home, and I was
permitted to write to her, I
would beg to be allowed to clear
her name from these vile calumnies:
at present I must content myself
with simply asserting that I
knew them to be false, and would
prove it some day, to the shame
of those who slandered her. I
don't think anybody believed
me, but everybody soon learned
to avoid insinuating a word against
her, or even mentioning her name
in my presence. They thought
I was so madly infatuated by
the seductions of that unhappy
lady that I was determined to
support her in the very face
of reason; and meantime I grow
insupportably morose and misanthropical
from the idea that every one
I met was harbouring unworthy
thoughts of the supposed Mrs.
Graham, and would express them
if he dared. My poor mother was
quite distressed about me; but
I couldn't help it - at least
I thought I could not, though
sometimes I felt a pang of remorse
for my undutiful conduct to her,
and made an effort to amend,
attended with some partial success;
and indeed I was generally more
humanised in my demeanour to
her than to any one else, Mr.
Lawrence excepted. Rose and Fergus
usually shunned my presence;
and it was well they did, for
I was not fit company for them,
nor they for me, under the present
circumstances.
Mrs. Huntingdon did not leave
Wildfell Hall till above two
months after our farewell interview.
During that time she never appeared
at church, and I never went near
the house: I only knew she was
still there by her brother's
brief answers to my many and
varied inquiries respecting her.
I was a very constant and attentive
visitor to him throughout the
whole period of his illness and
convalescence; not only from
the interest I took in his recovery,
and my desire to cheer him up
and make the utmost possible
amends for my former 'brutality,'
but from my growing attachment
to himself, and the increasing
pleasure I found in his society
- partly from his increased cordiality
to me, but chiefly on account
of his close connection, both
in blood and in affection, with
my adored Helen. I loved him
for it better than I liked to
express: and I took a secret
delight in pressing those slender
white fingers, so marvellously
like her own, considering he
was not a woman, and in watching
the passing changes in his fair,
pale features, and observing
the intonations of his voice,
detecting resemblances which
I wondered had never struck me
before. He provoked me at times,
indeed, by his evident reluctance
to talk to me about his sister,
though I did not question the
friendliness of his motives in
wishing to discourage my remembrance
of her.
His recovery was not quite
so rapid as he had expected it
to be; he was not able to mount
his pony till a fortnight after
the date of our reconciliation;
and the first use he made of
his returning strength was to
ride over by night to Wildfell
Hall, to see his sister. It was
a hazardous enterprise both for
him and for her, but he thought
it necessary to consult with
her on the subject of her projected
departure, if not to calm her
apprehensions respecting his
health, and the worst result
was a slight relapse of his illness,
for no one knew of the visit
but the inmates of the old Hall,
except myself; and I believe
it had not been his intention
to mention it to me, for when
I came to see him the next day,
and observed he was not so well
as he ought to have been, he
merely said he had caught cold
by being out too late in the
evening.
'You'll never be able to see
your sister, if you don't take
care of yourself,' said I, a
little provoked at the circumstance
on her account, instead of commiserating
him.
'I've seen her already,' said
he, quietly.
'You've seen her!' cried I,
in astonishment.
'Yes.' And then he told me
what considerations had impelled
him to make the venture, and
with what precautions he had
made it.
'And how was she?' I eagerly
asked.
'As usual,' was the brief though
sad reply.
'As usual - that is, far from
happy and far from strong.'
'She is not positively ill,'
returned he; 'and she will recover
her spirits in a while, I have
no doubt - but so many trials
have been almost too much for
her. How threatening those clouds
look,' continued he, turning
towards the window. 'We shall
have thunder- showers before
night, I imagine, and they are
just in the midst of stacking
my corn. Have you got yours all
in yet?'
'No. And, Lawrence, did she
- did your sister mention me?'
'She asked if I had seen you
lately.'
'And what else did she say?'
'I cannot tell you all she
said,' replied he, with a slight
smile; 'for we talked a good
deal, though my stay was but
short; but our conversation was
chiefly on the subject of her
intended departure, which I begged
her to delay till I was better
able to assist her in her search
after another home.'
'But did she say no more about
me?'
'She did not say much about
you, Markham. I should not have
encouraged her to do so, had
she been inclined; but happily
she was not: she only asked a
few questions concerning you,
and seemed satisfied with my
brief answers, wherein she showed
herself wiser than her friend;
and I may tell you, too, that
she seemed to be far more anxious
lest you should think too much
of her, than lest you should
forget her.'
'She was right.'
'But I fear your anxiety is
quite the other way respecting
her.'
'No, it is not: I wish her
to be happy; but I don't wish
her to forget me altogether.
She knows it is impossible that
I should forget her; and she
is right to wish me not to remember
her too well. I should not desire
her to regret me too deeply;
but I can scarcely imagine she
will make herself very unhappy
about me, because I know I am
not worthy of it, except in my
appreciation of her.'
'You are neither of you worthy
of a broken heart, - nor of all
the sighs, and tears, and sorrowful
thoughts that have been, and
I fear will be, wasted upon you
both; but, at present, each has
a more exalted opinion of the
other than, I fear, he or she
deserves; and my sister's feelings
are naturally full as keen as
yours, and I believe more constant;
but she has the good sense and
fortitude to strive against them
in this particular; and I trust
she will not rest till she has
entirely weaned her thoughts
- ' he hesitated.
'From me,' said I.
'And I wish you would make
the like exertions,' continued
he.
'Did she tell you that that
was her intention?'
'No; the question was not broached
between us: there was no necessity
for it, for I had no doubt that
such was her determination.'
'To forget me?'
'Yes, Markham! Why not?'
'Oh, well!' was my only audible
reply; but I internally answered,
- 'No, Lawrence, you're wrong
there: she is not determined
to forget me. It would be wrong
to forget one so deeply and fondly
devoted to her, who can so thoroughly
appreciate her excellencies,
and sympathise with all her thoughts,
as I can do, and it would be
wrong in me to forget so excellent
and divine a piece of God's creation
as she, when I have once so truly
loved and known her.' But I said
no more to him on that subject.
I instantly started a new topic
of conversation, and soon took
leave of my companion, with a
feeling of less cordiality towards
him than usual. Perhaps I had
no right to be annoyed at him,
but I was so nevertheless.
In little more than a week
after this I met him returning
from a visit to the Wilsons';
and I now resolved to do him
a good turn, though at the expense
of his feelings, and perhaps
at the risk of incurring that
displeasure which is so commonly
the reward of those who give
disagreeable information, or
tender their advice unasked.
In this, believe me, I was actuated
by no motives of revenge for
the occasional annoyances I had
lately sustained from him, -
nor yet by any feeling of malevolent
enmity towards Miss Wilson, but
purely by the fact that I could
not endure that such a woman
should be Mrs. Huntingdon's sister,
and that, as well for his own
sake as for hers, I could not
bear to think of his being deceived
into a union with one so unworthy
of him, and so utterly unfitted
to be the partner of his quiet
home, and the companion of his
life. He had had uncomfortable
suspicions on that head himself,
I imagined; but such was his
inexperience, and such were the
lady's powers of attraction,
and her skill in bringing them
to bear upon his young imagination,
that they had not disturbed him
long; and I believe the only
effectual causes of the vacillating
indecision that had preserved
him hitherto from making an actual
declaration of love, was the
consideration of her connections,
and especially of her mother,
whom he could not abide. Had
they lived at a distance, he
might have surmounted the objection,
but within two or three miles
of Woodford it was really no
light matter.
'You've been to call on the
Wilsons, Lawrence,' said I, as
I walked beside his pony.
'Yes,' replied he, slightly
averting his face: 'I thought
it but civil to take the first
opportunity of returning their
kind attentions, since they have
been so very particular and constant
in their inquiries throughout
the whole course of my illness.'
'It's all Miss Wilson's doing.'
'And if it is,' returned he,
with a very perceptible blush,
'is that any reason why I should
not make a suitable acknowledgment?'
'It is a reason why you should
not make the acknowledgment she
looks for.'
'Let us drop that subject if
you please,' said he, in evident
displeasure.
'No, Lawrence, with your leave
we'll continue it a while longer;
and I'll tell you something,
now we're about it, which you
may believe or not as you choose
- only please to remember that
it is not my custom to speak
falsely, and that in this case
I can have no motive for misrepresenting
the truth - '
'Well, Markham, what now?'
'Miss Wilson hates your sister.
It may be natural enough that,
in her ignorance of the relationship,
she should feel some degree of
enmity against her, but no good
or amiable woman would be capable
of evincing that bitter, cold-blooded,
designing malice towards a fancied
rival that I have observed in
her.'
'Markham!'
'Yes - and it is my belief
that Eliza Millward and she,
if not the very originators of
the slanderous reports that have
been propagated, were designedly
the encouragers and chief disseminators
of them. She was not desirous
to mix up your name in the matter,
of course, but her delight was,
and still is, to blacken your
sister's character to the utmost
of her power, without risking
too greatly the exposure of her
own malevolence!'
'I cannot believe it,' interrupted
my companion, his face burning
with indignation.
'Well, as I cannot prove it,
I must content myself with asserting
that it is so to the best of
my belief; but as you would not
willingly marry Miss Wilson if
it were so, you will do well
to be cautious, till you have
proved it to be otherwise.'
'I never told you, Markham,
that I intended to marry Miss
Wilson,' said he, proudly.
'No, but whether you do or
not, she intends to marry you.'
'Did she tell you so?'
'No, but - '
'Then you have no right to
make such an assertion respecting
her.' He slightly quickened his
pony's pace, but I laid my hand
on its mane, determined he should
not leave me yet.
'Wait a moment, Lawrence, and
let me explain myself; and don't
be so very - I don't know what
to call it - inaccessible as
you are. - I know what you think
of Jane Wilson; and I believe
I know how far you are mistaken
in your opinion: you think she
is singularly charming, elegant,
sensible, and refined: you are
not aware that she is selfish,
cold-hearted, ambitious, artful,
shallow-minded - '
'Enough, Markham - enough!'
'No; let me finish:- you don't
know that, if you married her,
your home would be rayless and
comfortless; and it would break
your heart at last to find yourself
united to one so wholly incapable
of sharing your tastes, feelings,
and ideas - so utterly destitute
of sensibility, good feeling,
and true nobility of soul.'
'Have you done?' asked my companion
quietly.
'Yes; - I know you hate me
for my impertinence, but I don't
care if it only conduces to preserve
you from that fatal mistake.'
'Well!' returned he, with a
rather wintry smile - 'I'm glad
you have overcome or forgotten
your own afflictions so far as
to be able to study so deeply
the affairs of others, and trouble
your head so unnecessarily about
the fancied or possible calamities
of their future life.'
We parted - somewhat coldly
again: but still we did not cease
to be friends; and my well-meant
warning, though it might have
been more judiciously delivered,
as well as more thankfully received,
was not wholly unproductive of
the desired effect: his visit
to the Wilsons was not repeated,
and though, in our subsequent
interviews, he never mentioned
her name to me, nor I to him,
- I have reason to believe he
pondered my words in his mind,
eagerly though covertly sought
information respecting the fair
lady from other quarters, secretly
compared my character of her
with what he had himself observed
and what he heard from others,
and finally came to the conclusion
that, all things considered,
she had much better remain Miss
Wilson of Ryecote Farm than be
transmuted into Mrs. Lawrence
of Woodford Hall. I believe,
too, that he soon learned to
contemplate with secret amazement
his former predilection, and
to congratulate himself on the
lucky escape he had made; but
he never confessed it to me,
or hinted one word of acknowledgment
for the part I had had in his
deliverance, but this was not
surprising to any one that knew
him as I did.
As for Jane Wilson, she, of
course, was disappointed and
embittered by the sudden cold
neglect and ultimate desertion
of her former admirer. Had I
done wrong to blight her cherished
hopes? I think not; and certainly
my conscience has never accused
me, from that day to this, of
any evil design in the matter.
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