3 books to know Brontë Sisters. Anne Bronte
green.
‘I almost wish I were not a painter,’ observed my companion.
‘Why so? one would think at such a time you would most exult in your privilege of being able to imitate the various brilliant and delightful touches of nature.’
‘No; for instead of delivering myself up to the full enjoyment of them as others do, I am always troubling my head about how I could produce the same effect upon canvas; and as that can never be done, it is mere vanity and vexation of spirit.’
‘Perhaps you cannot do it to satisfy yourself, but you may and do succeed in delighting others with the result of your endeavours.’
‘Well, after all, I should not complain: perhaps few people gain their livelihood with so much pleasure in their toil as I do. Here is some one coming.’
She seemed vexed at the interruption.
‘It is only Mr. Lawrence and Miss Wilson,’ said I, ‘coming to enjoy a quiet stroll. They will not disturb us.’
I could not quite decipher the expression of her face; but I was satisfied there was no jealousy therein. What business had I to look for it?
‘What sort of a person is Miss Wilson?’ she asked.
‘She is elegant and accomplished above the generality of her birth and station; and some say she is ladylike and agreeable.’
‘I thought her somewhat frigid and rather supercilious in her manner to-day.’
‘Very likely she might be so to you. She has possibly taken a prejudice against you, for I think she regards you in the light of a rival.’
‘Me! Impossible, Mr. Markham!’ said she, evidently astonished and annoyed.
‘Well, I know nothing about it,’ returned I, rather doggedly; for I thought her annoyance was chiefly against myself.
The pair had now approached within a few paces of us. Our arbour was set snugly back in a corner, before which the avenue at its termination turned off into the more airy walk along the bottom of the garden. As they approached this, I saw, by the aspect of Jane Wilson, that she was directing her companion’s attention to us; and, as well by her cold, sarcastic smile as by the few isolated words of her discourse that reached me, I knew full well that she was impressing him with the idea, that we were strongly attached to each other. I noticed that he coloured up to the temples, gave us one furtive glance in passing, and walked on, looking grave, but seemingly offering no reply to her remarks.
It was true, then, that he had some designs upon Mrs. Graham; and, were they honourable, he would not be so anxious to conceal them. She was blameless, of course, but he was detestable beyond all count.
While these thoughts flashed through my mind, my companion abruptly rose, and calling her son, said they would now go in quest of the company, and departed up the avenue. Doubtless she had heard or guessed something of Miss Wilson’s remarks, and therefore it was natural enough she should choose to continue the tête-à-tête no longer, especially as at that moment my cheeks were burning with indignation against my former friend, the token of which she might mistake for a blush of stupid embarrassment. For this I owed Miss Wilson yet another grudge; and still the more I thought upon her conduct the more I hated her.
It was late in the evening before I joined the company. I found Mrs. Graham already equipped for departure, and taking leave of the rest, who were now returned to the house. I offered, nay, begged to accompany her home. Mr. Lawrence was standing by at the time conversing with some one else. He did not look at us, but, on hearing my earnest request, he paused in the middle of a sentence to listen for her reply, and went on, with a look of quiet satisfaction, the moment he found it was to be a denial.
A denial it was, decided, though not unkind. She could not be persuaded to think there was danger for herself or her child in traversing those lonely lanes and fields without attendance. It was daylight still, and she should meet no one; or if she did, the people were quiet and harmless she was well assured. In fact, she would not hear of any one’s putting himself out of the way to accompany her, though Fergus vouchsafed to offer his services in case they should be more acceptable than mine, and my mother begged she might send one of the farming-men to escort her.
When she was gone the rest was all a blank or worse. Lawrence attempted to draw me into conversation, but I snubbed him and went to another part of the room. Shortly after the party broke up and he himself took leave. When he came to me I was blind to his extended hand, and deaf to his good-night till he repeated it a second time; and then, to get rid of him, I muttered an inarticulate reply, accompanied by a sulky nod.
‘What is the matter, Markham?’ whispered he.
I replied by a wrathful and contemptuous stare.
‘Are you angry because Mrs. Graham would not let you go home with her?’ he asked, with a faint smile that nearly exasperated me beyond control.
But, swallowing down all fiercer answers, I merely demanded,—‘What business is it of yours?’
‘Why, none,’ replied he with provoking quietness; ‘only,’—and he raised his eyes to my face, and spoke with unusual solemnity,—‘only let me tell you, Markham, that if you have any designs in that quarter, they will certainly fail; and it grieves me to see you cherishing false hopes, and wasting your strength in useless efforts, for—’
‘Hypocrite!’ I exclaimed; and he held his breath, and looked very blank, turned white about the gills, and went away without another word.
I had wounded him to the quick; and I was glad of it.
CHAPTER X
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WHEN ALL WERE GONE, I learnt that the vile slander had indeed been circulated throughout the company, in the very presence of the victim. Rose, however, vowed she did not and would not believe it, and my mother made the same declaration, though not, I fear, with the same amount of real, unwavering incredulity. It seemed to dwell continually on her mind, and she kept irritating me from time to time by such expressions as—‘Dear, dear, who would have thought it!—Well! I always thought there was something odd about her.—You see what it is for women to affect to be different to other people.’ And once it was,—‘I misdoubted that appearance of mystery from the very first—I thought there would no good come of it; but this is a sad, sad business, to be sure!’
‘Why, mother, you said you didn’t believe these tales,’ said Fergus.
‘No more I do, my dear; but then, you know, there must be some foundation.’
‘The foundation is in the wickedness and falsehood of the world,’ said I, ‘and in the fact that Mr. Lawrence has been seen to go that way once or twice of an evening—and the village gossips say he goes to pay his addresses to the strange lady, and the scandal-mongers have greedily seized the rumour, to make it the basis of their own infernal structure.’
‘Well, but, Gilbert, there must be something in her manner to countenance such reports.’
‘Did you see anything in her manner?’
‘No, certainly; but then, you know, I always said there was something strange about her.’
I believe it was on that very evening that I ventured on another invasion of Wildfell Hall. From the time of our party, which was upwards of a week ago, I had been making daily efforts to meet its mistress in her walks; and always disappointed (she must have managed it so on purpose), had nightly kept revolving in my mind some pretext for another call. At length I concluded that the separation could be endured no longer (by this time, you will see, I was pretty far gone); and, taking from the book-case an old volume that I thought she might be interested in, though, from its unsightly and somewhat dilapidated condition, I had not yet ventured