Читать книгу Незнакомка из Уайлдфелл-Холла. Уровень 2 / The Tenant of Wildfell Hall - Эмили Бронте, Энн Бронте - Страница 11

But the vile slander was born. Rose, however, vowed she did not believe it, and my mother made the same declaration.

Anyway, she said one day,

“Well! I always thought there was something odd about her. This is a sad, sad business!”

“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 people,” said I, “and in the fact that Mr. Lawrence went that way once or twice. The scandal-mongers have greedily seized the rumour.”

“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.”

That evening I went to Wildfell Hall. By this time, you see, I was in love with her. I took from the book-case an old volume to offer her, and hastened away.

Arthur was playing with his frolicsome little dog in the garden. I looked over the gate and called him to me.

“Arthur, tell your mother I want to speak to her.”

He ran to perform my bidding, and quickly returned with his mother. How lovely she looked with her dark ringlets!

“Well, Mr. Markham, what is it?” said the young mother.

“I want you to look at this book, and, if you please, to take it, and peruse it at your leisure.”

“Tell him to come in, mamma,” said Arthur.

And we sauntered through the garden, and talked of the flowers, the trees, and the book, and then of other things. The evening was kind and genial, and so was my companion. We passed a rose-tree. She plucked a beautiful half-open bud and bade me give it to Rose.

“May I not keep it myself?” I asked.

“No; but here is another for you.”

I took the hand that offered it, and looked into her face.

“Mr. Markham,” said she, with desperate calmness, “I must tell you something. I like your company, because I am alone here, and your conversation pleases me more than that of any other person. But if you cannot regard me as a friend – a plain, cold, motherly, or sisterly friend – I must beg you to leave me now, and let me alone hereafter. In fact, we must be strangers for the future.”

“I will, then – be your friend, or brother, or anything you wish. But tell me why I cannot be anything more?”

There was a perplexed and thoughtful pause.

“Is it in consequence of some rash vow?”

“It is something of the kind,” she answered. “Some day I may tell you, but at present please leave me, Gilbert.”

How sweet, how musical my own name sounded in her mouth!

“May I come to see you now and then[13]?”

“Perhaps – occasionally.”

“And will you always call me Gilbert? It sounds more sisterly.”

She smiled and re-entered the house and I went down the hill. But suddenly the tramp of horses' hoofs fell on my ear, and broke the stillness of the dewy evening. I saw a solitary equestrian. I knew him at a glance: it was Mr. Lawrence on his grey pony. He saw me and wanted to turn back, but then continued his course as before. He accosted me with a slight bow, and wanted to pass on; but I seized his horse by the bridle, and exclaimed,

“Now, Lawrence, tell me where you are going, and what you mean to do!”

“Will you take your hand off the bridle?” said he quietly, “you're hurting my pony's mouth.”

“You and your pony be – ”

“What makes you so coarse and brutal, Markham? I'm quite ashamed of you.”

“You answer my questions – before you leave this spot! I will know what you mean by this perfidious duplicity!”

“I shall answer no questions till you let go the bridle.”

“Now then,” said I and unclosed my hand.

“Ask me some other time, when you can speak like a gentleman,” returned he. “Mr. Markham, this is too much![14] Can I not go to see my tenant?”

“This is no time for business, sir! I'll tell you, now, what I think of your conduct.”

“Really? Here's the vicar.”

And, in truth, the vicar was just behind me. I immediately released the squire; and he went on his way.

“What! Quarrelling, Markham?” cried the vicar, “and about that young widow, I think?” he added. “But let me tell you, young man, she's not worth it.”

“Mr. Millward!” I exclaimed, turned away, and hastened homewards.