CHAPTER XXXV

The Tenent of Windfell Hall

by Anne Bronte

CHAPTER XXXV, THE TENENT OF WINDFELL HALL by Anne Bronte
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Nineteenth. - In proportion as Lady Lowborough finds she has
nothing to fear from me, and as the time of departure draws nigh,
the more audacious and insolent she becomes. She does not scruple
to speak to my husband with affectionate familiarity in my
presence, when no one else is by, and is particularly fond of
displaying her interest in his health and welfare, or in anything
that concerns him, as if for the purpose of contrasting her kind
solicitude with my cold indifference. And he rewards her by such
smiles and glances, such whispered words, or boldly-spoken
insinuations, indicative of his sense of her goodness and my
neglect, as make the blood rush into my face, in spite of myself -
for I would be utterly regardless of it all - deaf and blind to
everything that passes between them, since the more I show myself
sensible of their wickedness the more she triumphs in her victory,
and the more he flatters himself that I love him devotedly still,
in spite of my pretended indifference. On such occasions I have
sometimes been startled by a subtle, fiendish suggestion inciting
me to show him the contrary by a seeming encouragement of
Hargrave's advances; but such ideas are banished in a moment with
horror and self-abasement; and then I hate him tenfold more than
ever for having brought me to this! - God pardon me for it and all
my sinful thoughts! Instead of being humbled and purified by my
afflictions, I feel that they are turning my nature into gall.
This must be my fault as much as theirs that wrong me. No true
Christian could cherish such bitter feelings as I do against him
and her, especially the latter: him, I still feel that I could
pardon - freely, gladly - on the slightest token of repentance; but
she - words cannot utter my abhorrence. Reason forbids, but
passion urges strongly; and I must pray and struggle long ere I
subdue it.

It is well that she is leaving to-morrow, for I could not well
endure her presence for another day. This morning she rose earlier
than usual. I found her in the room alone, when I went down to
breakfast.

'Oh, Helen! is it you?' said she, turning as I entered.

I gave an involuntary start back on seeing her, at which she
uttered a short laugh, observing, 'I think we are both
disappointed.'

I came forward and busied myself with the breakfast things.

'This is the last day I shall burden your hospitality,' said she,
as she seated herself at the table. 'Ah, here comes one that will
not rejoice at it!' she murmured, half to herself, as Arthur
entered the room.

He shook hands with her and wished her good-morning: then, looking
lovingly in her face, and still retaining her hand in his, murmured
pathetically, 'The last - last day!'

'Yes,' said she with some asperity; 'and I rose early to make the
best of it - I have been here alone this half-hour, and you - you
lazy creature - '

'Well, I thought I was early too,' said he; 'but,' dropping his
voice almost to a whisper, 'you see we are not alone.'

'We never are,' returned she. But they were almost as good as
alone, for I was now standing at the window, watching the clouds,
and struggling to suppress my wrath.

Some more words passed between them, which, happily, I did not
overhear; but Annabella had the audacity to come and place herself
beside me, and even to put her hand upon my shoulder and say
softly, 'You need not grudge him to me, Helen, for I love him more
than ever you could do.'

This put me beside myself. I took her hand and violently dashed it
from me, with an expression of abhorrence and indignation that
could not be suppressed. Startled, almost appalled, by this sudden
outbreak, she recoiled in silence. I would have given way to my
fury and said more, but Arthur's low laugh recalled me to myself.
I checked the half-uttered invective, and scornfully turned away,
regretting that I had given him so much amusement. He was still
laughing when Mr. Hargrave made his appearance. How much of the
scene he had witnessed I do not know, for the door was ajar when he
entered. He greeted his host and his cousin both coldly, and me
with a glance intended to express the deepest sympathy mingled with
high admiration and esteem.

'How much allegiance do you owe to that man?' he asked below his
breath, as he stood beside me at the window, affecting to be making
observations on the weather.

'None,' I answered. And immediately returning to the table, I
employed myself in making the tea. He followed, and would have
entered into some kind of conversation with me, but the other
guests were now beginning to assemble, and I took no more notice of
him, except to give him his coffee.

After breakfast, determined to pass as little of the day as
possible in company with Lady Lowborough, I quietly stole away from
the company and retired to the library. Mr. Hargrave followed me
thither, under pretence of coming for a book; and first, turning to
the shelves, he selected a volume, and then quietly, but by no
means timidly, approaching me, he stood beside me, resting his hand
on the back of my chair, and said softly, 'And so you consider
yourself free at last?'

'Yes,' said I, without moving, or raising my eyes from my book,
'free to do anything but offend God and my conscience.'

There was a momentary pause.

'Very right,' said he, 'provided your conscience be not too
morbidly tender, and your ideas of God not too erroneously severe;
but can you suppose it would offend that benevolent Being to make
the happiness of one who would die for yours? - to raise a devoted
heart from purgatorial torments to a state of heavenly bliss, when
you could do it without the slightest injury to yourself or any
other?'

This was spoken in a low, earnest, melting tone, as he bent over
me. I now raised my head; and steadily confronting his gaze, I
answered calmly, 'Mr. Hargrave, do you mean to insult me?'

He was not prepared for this. He paused a moment to recover the
shook; then, drawing himself up and removing his hand from my
chair, he answered, with proud sadness, - 'That was not my
intention.'

I just glanced towards the door, with a slight movement of the
head, and then returned to my book. He immediately withdrew. This
was better than if I had answered with more words, and in the
passionate spirit to which my first impulse would have prompted.
What a good thing it is to be able to command one's temper! I must
labour to cultivate this inestimable quality: God only knows how
often I shall need it in this rough, dark road that lies before me.

In the course of the morning I drove over to the Grove with the two
ladies, to give Milicent an opportunity for bidding farewell to her
mother and sister. They persuaded her to stay with them the rest
of the day, Mrs. Hargrave promising to bring her back in the
evening and remain till the party broke up on the morrow.
Consequently, Lady Lowborough and I had the pleasure of returning
TETE-E-TETE in the carriage together. For the first mile or two we
kept silence, I looking out of my window, and she leaning back in
her corner. But I was not going to restrict myself to any
particular position for her; when I was tired of leaning forward,
with the cold, raw wind in my face, and surveying the russet hedges
and the damp, tangled grass of their banks, I gave it up and leant
back too. With her usual impudence, my companion then made some
attempts to get up a conversation; but the monosyllables 'yes,' or
'no' or 'humph,' were the utmost her several remarks could elicit
from me. At last, on her asking my opinion upon some immaterial
point of discussion, I answered, - 'Why do you wish to talk to me,
Lady Lowborough? You must know what I think of you.'

'Well, if you will be so bitter against me,' replied she, 'I can't
help it; but I'm not going to sulk for anybody.'

Our short drive was now at an end. As soon as the carriage door
was opened, she sprang out, and went down the park to meet the
gentlemen, who were just returning from the woods. Of course I did
not follow.

But I had not done with her impudence yet: after dinner, I retired
to the drawing-room, as usual, and she accompanied me, but I had
the two children with me, and I gave them my whole attention, and
determined to keep them till the gentlemen came, or till Milicent
arrived with her mother. Little Helen, however, was soon tired of
playing, and insisted upon going to sleep; and while I sat on the
sofa with her on my knee, and Arthur seated beside me, gently
playing with her soft, flaxen hair, Lady Lowborough composedly came
and placed herself on the other side.

'To-morrow, Mrs. Huntingdon,' said she, 'you will be delivered from
my presence, which, no doubt, you will be very glad of - it is
natural you should; but do you know I have rendered you a great
service? Shall I tell you what it is?'

'I shall be glad to hear of any service you have rendered me,' said
I, determined to be calm, for I knew by the tone of her voice she
wanted to provoke me.

'Well,' resumed she, 'have you not observed the salutary change in
Mr. Huntingdon? Don't you see what a sober, temperate man he is
become? You saw with regret the sad habits he was contracting, I
know: and I know you did your utmost to deliver him from them, but
without success, until I came to your assistance. I told him in
few words that I could not bear to see him degrade himself so, and
that I should cease to - no matter what I told him, but you see the
reformation I have wrought; and you ought to thank me for it.'

I rose and rang for the nurse.

'But I desire no thanks,' she continued; 'all the return I ask is,
that you will take care of him when I am gone, and not, by
harshness and neglect, drive him back to his old courses.'

I was almost sick with passion, but Rachel was now at the door. I
pointed to the children, for I could not trust myself to speak:
she took them away, and I followed.

'Will you, Helen?' continued the speaker.

I gave her a look that blighted the malicious smile on her face, or
checked it, at least for a moment, and departed. In the ante-room
I met Mr. Hargrave. He saw I was in no humour to be spoken to, and
suffered me to pass without a word; but when, after a few minutes'
seclusion in the library, I had regained my composure, and was
returning to join Mrs. Hargrave and Milicent, whom I had just heard
come downstairs and go into the drawing-room, I found him there
still lingering in the dimly-lighted apartment, and evidently
waiting for me.

'Mrs. Huntingdon,' said he as I passed, 'will you allow me one
word?'

'What is it then? be quick, if you please.'

'I offended you this morning; and I cannot live under your
displeasure.'

'Then go, and sin no more,' replied I, turning away.

'No, no!' said he, hastily, setting himself before me. 'Pardon me,
but I must have your forgiveness. I leave you to-morrow, and I may
not have an opportunity of speaking to you again. I was wrong to
forget myself and you, as I did; but let me implore you to forget
and forgive my rash presumption, and think of me as if those words
had never been spoken; for, believe me, I regret them deeply, and
the loss of your esteem is too severe a penalty: I cannot bear
it.'

'Forgetfulness is not to be purchased with a wish; and I cannot
bestow my esteem on all who desire it, unless they deserve it too.'

'I shall think my life well spent in labouring to deserve it, if
you will but pardon this offence - will you?'

'Yes.'

'Yes! but that is coldly spoken. Give me your hand and I'll
believe you. You won't? Then, Mrs. Huntingdon, you do not forgive
me!'

'Yes; here it is, and my forgiveness with it: only, SIN NO MORE.'

He pressed my cold hand with sentimental fervour, but said nothing,
and stood aside to let me pass into the room, where all the company
were now assembled. Mr. Grimsby was seated near the door: on
seeing me enter, almost immediately followed by Hargrave, he leered
at me with a glance of intolerable significance, as I passed. I
looked him in the face, till he sullenly turned away, if not
ashamed, at least confounded for the moment. Meantime Hattersley
had seized Hargrave by the arm, and was whispering something in his
ear - some coarse joke, no doubt, for the latter neither laughed
nor spoke in answer, but, turning from him with a slight curl of
the lip, disengaged himself and went to his mother, who was telling
Lord Lowborough how many reasons she had to be proud of her son.

Thank heaven, they are all going to-morrow.