CHAPTER VIII

The Tenent of Windfell Hall

by Anne Bronte

CHAPTER VIII, THE TENENT OF WINDFELL HALL by Anne Bronte
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Six weeks had passed away. It was a splendid morning about the
close of June. Most of the hay was cut, but the last week had been
very unfavourable; and now that fine weather was come at last,
being determined to make the most of it, I had gathered all hands
together into the hay-field, and was working away myself, in the
midst of them, in my shirt-sleeves, with a light, shady straw hat
on my head, catching up armfuls of moist, reeking grass, and
shaking it out to the four winds of heaven, at the head of a goodly
file of servants and hirelings - intending so to labour, from
morning till night, with as much zeal and assiduity as I could look
for from any of them, as well to prosper the work by my own
exertion as to animate the workers by my example - when lo! my
resolutions were overthrown in a moment, by the simple fact of my
brother's running up to me and putting into my hand a small parcel,
just arrived from London, which I had been for some time expecting.
I tore off the cover, and disclosed an elegant and portable edition
of 'Marmion.'

'I guess I know who that's for,' said Fergus, who stood looking on
while I complacently examined the volume. 'That's for Miss Eliza,
now.'

He pronounced this with a tone and look so prodigiously knowing,
that I was glad to contradict him.

'You're wrong, my lad,' said I; and, taking up my coat, I deposited
the book in one of its pockets, and then put it on (i.e. the coat).
'Now come here, you idle dog, and make yourself useful for once,' I
continued. 'Pull off your coat, and take my place in the field
till I come back.'

'Till you come back? - and where are you going, pray?

'No matter where - the when is all that concerns you; - and I shall
be back by dinner, at least.'

'Oh - oh! and I'm to labour away till then, am I? - and to keep all
these fellows hard at it besides? Well, well! I'll submit - for
once in a way. - Come, my lads, you must look sharp: I'm come to
help you now:- and woe be to that man, or woman either, that pauses
for a moment amongst you - whether to stare about him, to scratch
his head, or blow his nose - no pretext will serve - nothing but
work, work, work in the sweat of your face,' &c., &c.

Leaving him thus haranguing the people, more to their amusement
than edification, I returned to the house, and, having made some
alteration in my toilet, hastened away to Wildfell Hall, with the
book in my pocket; for it was destined for the shelves of Mrs.
Graham.

'What! then had she and you got on so well together as to come to
the giving and receiving of presents?' - Not precisely, old buck;
this was my first experiment in that line; and I was very anxious
to see the result of it.

We had met several times since the - Bay excursion, and I had found
she was not averse to my company, provided I confined my
conversation to the discussion of abstract matters, or topics of
common interest; - the moment I touched upon the sentimental or the
complimentary, or made the slightest approach to tenderness in word
or look, I was not only punished by an immediate change in her
manner at the time, but doomed to find her more cold and distant,
if not entirely inaccessible, when next I sought her company. This
circumstance did not greatly disconcert me, however, because I
attributed it, not so much to any dislike of my person, as to some
absolute resolution against a second marriage formed prior to the
time of our acquaintance, whether from excess of affection for her
late husband, or because she had had enough of him and the
matrimonial state together. At first, indeed, she had seemed to
take a pleasure in mortifying my vanity and crushing my presumption
- relentlessly nipping off bud by bud as they ventured to appear;
and then, I confess, I was deeply wounded, though, at the same
time, stimulated to seek revenge; - but latterly finding, beyond a
doubt, that I was not that empty-headed coxcomb she had first
supposed me, she had repulsed my modest advances in quite a
different spirit. It was a kind of serious, almost sorrowful
displeasure, which I soon learnt carefully to avoid awakening.

'Let me first establish my position as a friend,' thought I - 'the
patron and playfellow of her son, the sober, solid, plain-dealing
friend of herself, and then, when I have made myself fairly
necessary to her comfort and enjoyment in life (as I believe I
can), we'll see what next may be effected.'

So we talked about painting, poetry, and music, theology, geology,
and philosophy: once or twice I lent her a book, and once she lent
me one in return: I met her in her walks as often as I could; I
came to her house as often as I dared. My first pretext for
invading the sanctum was to bring Arthur a little waddling puppy of
which Sancho was the father, and which delighted the child beyond
expression, and, consequently, could not fail to please his mamma.
My second was to bring him a book, which, knowing his mother's
particularity, I had carefully selected, and which I submitted for
her approbation before presenting it to him. Then, I brought her
some plants for her garden, in my sister's name - having previously
persuaded Rose to send them. Each of these times I inquired after
the picture she was painting from the sketch taken on the cliff,
and was admitted into the studio, and asked my opinion or advice
respecting its progress.

My last visit had been to return the book she had lent me; and then
it was that, in casually discussing the poetry of Sir Walter Scott,
she had expressed a wish to see 'Marmion,' and I had conceived the
presumptuous idea of making her a present of it, and, on my return
home, instantly sent for the smart little volume I had this morning
received. But an apology for invading the hermitage was still
necessary; so I had furnished myself with a blue morocco collar for
Arthur's little dog; and that being given and received, with much
more joy and gratitude, on the part of the receiver, than the worth
of the gift or the selfish motive of the giver deserved, I ventured
to ask Mrs. Graham for one more look at the picture, if it was
still there.

'Oh, yes! come in,' said she (for I had met them in the garden).
'It is finished and framed, all ready for sending away; but give me
your last opinion, and if you can suggest any further improvement,
it shall be - duly considered, at least.'

The picture was strikingly beautiful; it was the very scene itself,
transferred as if by magic to the canvas; but I expressed my
approbation in guarded terms, and few words, for fear of
displeasing her. She, however, attentively watched my looks, and
her artist's pride was gratified, no doubt, to read my heartfelt
admiration in my eyes. But, while I gazed, I thought upon the
book, and wondered how it was to be presented. My heart failed me;
but I determined not to be such a fool as to come away without
having made the attempt. It was useless waiting for an
opportunity, and useless trying to concoct a speech for the
occasion. The more plainly and naturally the thing was done, the
better, I thought; so I just looked out of the window to screw up
my courage, and then pulled out the book, turned round, and put it
into her hand, with this short explanation:

'You were wishing to see 'Marmion,' Mrs. Graham; and here it is, if
you will be so kind as to take it.'

A momentary blush suffused her face - perhaps, a blush of
sympathetic shame for such an awkward style of presentation: she
gravely examined the volume on both sides; then silently turned
over the leaves, knitting her brows the while, in serious
cogitation; then closed the book, and turning from it to me,
quietly asked the price of it - I felt the hot blood rush to my
face.

'I'm sorry to offend you, Mr. Markham,' said she, 'but unless I pay
for the book, I cannot take it.' And she laid it on the table.

'Why cannot you?'

'Because,' - she paused, and looked at the carpet.

'Why cannot you?' I repeated, with a degree of irascibility that
roused her to lift her eyes and look me steadily in the face.

'Because I don't like to put myself under obligations that I can
never repay - I am obliged to you already for your kindness to my
son; but his grateful affection and your own good feelings must
reward you for that.'

'Nonsense!' ejaculated I.

She turned her eyes on me again, with a look of quiet, grave
surprise, that had the effect of a rebuke, whether intended for
such or not.

'Then you won't take the book?' I asked, more mildly than I had yet
spoken.

'I will gladly take it, if you will let me pay for it.' I told her
the exact price, and the cost of the carriage besides, in as calm a
tone as I could command - for, in fact, I was ready to weep with
disappointment and vexation.

She produced her purse, and coolly counted out the money, but
hesitated to put it into my hand. Attentively regarding me, in a
tone of soothing softness, she observed, - 'You think yourself
insulted, Mr Markham - I wish I could make you understand that -
that I - '

'I do understand you, perfectly,' I said. 'You think that if you
were to accept that trifle from me now, I should presume upon it
hereafter; but you are mistaken:- if you will only oblige me by
taking it, believe me, I shall build no hopes upon it, and consider
this no precedent for future favours:- and it is nonsense to talk
about putting yourself under obligations to me when you must know
that in such a case the obligation is entirely on my side, - the
favour on yours.'

'Well, then, I'll take you at your word,' she answered, with a most
angelic smile, returning the odious money to her purse - 'but
remember!'

'I will remember - what I have said; - but do not you punish my
presumption by withdrawing your friendship entirely from me, - or
expect me to atone for it by being more distant than before,' said
I, extending my hand to take leave, for I was too much excited to
remain.

'Well, then! let us be as we were,' replied she, frankly placing
her hand in mine; and while I held it there, I had much difficulty
to refrain from pressing it to my lips; - but that would be
suicidal madness: I had been bold enough already, and this
premature offering had well-nigh given the death-blow to my hopes.

It was with an agitated, burning heart and brain that I hurried
homewards, regardless of that scorching noonday sun - forgetful of
everything but her I had just left - regretting nothing but her
impenetrability, and my own precipitancy and want of tact - fearing
nothing but her hateful resolution, and my inability to overcome it
- hoping nothing - but halt, - I will not bore you with my
conflicting hopes and fears - my serious cogitations and resolves.