Читать книгу Незнакомка из Уайлдфелл-Холла. Уровень 2 / The Tenant of Wildfell Hall - Эмили Бронте, Энн Бронте - Страница 10

Though my affections were fairly weaned from Eliza Millward, I did not yet entirely relinquish my visits to the vicarage. One day I resolved to make my visit a short one, and to talk to Eliza. It was never my custom to talk about Mrs. Graham either to her or anyone else; but Eliza said,

“Oh, Mr. Markham! What do you think of these shocking reports about Mrs. Graham? Can you believe them?”

“What reports?”

“Ah! You know!” she smiled and shook her head.

“I know nothing about them. What do you mean, Eliza?”

“Oh, don't ask me! I can't explain it.”

“What is it, Miss Millward? What does she mean?” I asked her sister.

“I don't know,” replied she. “Some idle slander, I suppose. I never heard it till Eliza told me the other day. I don't believe a word of it – I know Mrs. Graham too well!”

“Quite right, Miss Millward.”

Eliza raised her face, and gave me a look of sorrowful tenderness.

A few days after this we met again. Mrs. Graham arrived also. Mr. Lawrence came too. He seated himself quite aloof from the young widow, between my mother and Rose.

“Did you ever see such art?” whispered Eliza, who was my nearest neighbour.

“What do you mean?”

“Why, you can't pretend to be ignorant!”

“Ignorant of what?” demanded I sharply.

She started and replied, -

“Oh, hush! Don't speak so loud.”

“Well, tell me then,” I answered, “what is it you mean? I hate enigmas.”

She went to the window, where she stood for some time. I was astounded, provoked, ashamed. Shortly after we came to the tea-table.

“May I sit by you?” said a soft voice at my elbow.

“If you like,” was the reply; and Eliza slipped into the vacant chair.

“You're so stern, Gilbert. What have I done to offend you?”

“Take your tea, Eliza, and don't be foolish,” responded I.

Just then Miss Wilson wanted to negotiate an exchange of seats with Rose.

“Will you be so good as to exchange places with me, Miss Markham?” said she; “for I don't like to sit by Mrs. Graham. Your mamma invites such persons to her house!..”

“Will you be so good as to tell me what you mean, Miss Wilson?” said I.

The question startled her a little, but not much.

“Why, Mr. Markham,” replied she, coolly, “it surprises me rather that Mrs. Markham invites such a person as Mrs. Graham to her house. But, perhaps, she is not aware that the lady's character is not respectable.”

“Will you explain me…”

“This is scarcely the time or the place for such explanations. I think you can hardly be so ignorant as you pretend – you must know her as well as I do.”

“I think I do, perhaps a little better; so what?”

“Can you tell me, then, who was her husband, or if she ever had any? ”

Indignation kept me silent.

“Have you never observed,” said Eliza, “what a strange likeness there is between that child of hers and – ”

“And whom?” demanded Miss Wilson.

Eliza was startled.

“Oh, I beg your pardon!” pleaded she; “I may be mistaken – perhaps I was mistaken.”

I stared at Arthur Graham, who sat beside his mother on the opposite side of the table. Then I stared at Mr. Lawrence. There was some likeness, indeed!

Both, it is true, had more delicate features and smaller bones than commonly fall to the lot of individuals of rougher sex.

But did I not know Mrs. Graham? Was I not certain that she was immeasurably superior to any of her detractors; that she was, in fact, the noblest, the most adorable woman here?

Meantime, my brain was on fire with indignation. At length, I rose and left the table and the guests without a word of apology – I could endure their company no longer. I rushed out to the garden.

I nestled up in a corner of the bower, and hoped to stay there alone. But no! Someone was coming down!

It was Mrs. Graham. She was slowly moving down the walk with Arthur, and no one else. Why were they alone? I stepped forward.

“Oh, don't let us disturb you, Mr. Markham!” said she. “We came here to seek retirement ourselves, not to intrude on your seclusion.”

“I am no hermit, Mrs. Graham.”

“I feared you were unwell,” said she.

“Please sit here a little and rest, and tell me how you like this arbour,” said I. “Why have they left you alone?”

“It is I who have left them,” was the rejoinder. “I am tired.”

It was late in the evening before we came back. I offered to accompany Mrs. Graham home. Mr. Lawrence did not look at us, but he heard her denial.

Mrs. Graham thought there was no danger for herself or her child. It was daylight still, and the people were quiet and harmless.

Soon she left. Mr. Lawrence came to me, but I was blind to his extended hand, and deaf to his good-night till he repeated it a second time. Then, to get rid of him, I muttered an inarticulate reply.

“What is the matter, Markham?” whispered he. “Are you angry because Mrs. Graham did not let you go home with her?”

“What business is it of yours?” I demanded.

“Why, none,” replied he with quietness; “only let me tell you, Markham, that if you have any designs in that quarter, they will certainly fail. You are cherishing false hopes, and wasting your strength in useless efforts, and it grieves me.”

“Hypocrite!” I exclaimed.

He held his breath[12], turned white and went away without another word. I wounded him; and I was glad of it.