CHAPTER XLVI

The Tenent of Windfell Hall

by Anne Bronte

CHAPTER XLVI, THE TENENT OF WINDFELL HALL by Anne Bronte
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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.