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CHAPTER 11

The Vicar Again

You must suppose about three weeks passed over. Mrs Graham and I were now established friends--or brother and sister, as we rather chose to consider ourselves. She called me Gilbert, by my express desire, and I called her Helen, for I had seen that name written in her books. I seldom attempted to see her above twice a week; and still I made our meetings appear the result of accident as often as I could--for I found it necessary to be extremely careful--and, altogether, I behaved with such exceeding propriety that she never had occasion to reprove me once. Yet I could not but perceive that she was at times unhappy and dissatisfied with herself--or her position, and truly I myself was not quite contented with the latter: this assumption of brotherly nonchalance was very hard to sustain, and I often felt myself a most confounded hypocrite with it all; I saw too, or rather I felt, that, in spite of herself, `I was not indifferent to her," as the novel heroes modestly express it, and while I thankfully enjoyed my present good fortune, I could not fail to wish and hope for something better in future; but of course, I kept such dreams entirely to myself.

`Where are you going, Gilbert?' said Rose, one evening, shortly after tea, when I had been busy with the farm all day,

`To take a walk,' was the reply.

`Do you always brush your hat so carefully, and do your hair so nicely, and put on such smart new gloves when you take a walk?'

`Not always.'

`You're going to Wildfell Hall, aren't you?'

`What makes you think so?'

`Because you look as if you were--but I wish you wouldn't go so often.'

`Nonsense, child! I don't go once in six weeks--what do you mean?'

`Well, but if I were you, I wouldn't have so much to do with Mrs Graham.'

`Why Rose, are you, too, giving in to the prevailing opinion?'

`No,' returned she, hesitatingly--`but I've heard so much about her lately, both at the Wilsons' and the vicarage;--and besides, mamma says, if she were a proper person, she would not be living there by herself--and don't you remember last winter, Gilbert, all that about the false name to the picture; and how she explained it--saying she had friends or acquaintances from whom she wished her present residence to be concealed, and that she was afraid of their tracing her out;--and then, how suddenly she started up and left the room when that person came--whom she took good care not to let us catch a glimpse of, and who Arthur, with such an air of mystery, told us was his mamma's friend?'

`Yes, Rose, I remember it all; and I can forgive your uncharitable conclusions; for perhaps, if I did not know her myself, I should put all these things together, and believe the same as you do; but thank God, I do know her; and I should be unworthy the name of a man, if I could believe anything that was said against her, unless I heard it from her own lips.--I should as soon believe such things of you, Rose.'

`Oh, Gilbert!'

`Well, do you think I could believe anything of the kind,--whatever the Wilsons and Millwards dared to whisper?'

`I should hope not indeed!'

`And why not?--Because I know you--well, and I know her just as well.'

`Oh, no! you know nothing of her former life; and last year at this time, you did not know that such a person existed.'

`No matter. There is' such a thing as looking through a person's eyes into the heart, and learning more of the height, and breadth, and depth of another's soul in one hour, than it might take you a lifetime to discover, if he or she were not disposed to reveal it,--or if you had not the sense to understand it.'

`Then you are going to see her this evening?'

To be sure I am!'

`But what would mamma say, Gilbert?'

`Mamma needn't know.'

`But she must know sometime,if you go on'

`Go on!--there's no going on in the matter--Mrs Graham and I are two friends--and will be; and no man breathing shall hinder it,--or has a right to interfere between us.'

`But if you knew how they talk, you would be more careful--for her sake as well as for your own. Jane Wilson thinks your visits to the old hall but another proof of her depravity--'

`Confound Jane Wilson!'

`And Eliza Millward is quite grieved about you.'

`I hope she is.'

`But I wouldn't if I were you.'

`Wouldn't what?--How do they know that I go there?'

`There's nothing hid from them: they spy out everything.'

`Oh, I never thought of this!--And so they dare to turn my friendship into food for further scandal against her!--That proves the falsehood of their other lies, at all events, if any proof were wanting.--Mind you contradict them, Rose, whenever you can.'

`But they don't speak openly to me about such things: it is only by hints and innuendoes, and by what I hear others say, that I know what they think.'

`Well then, I won't go today, as it's getting latish. But oh, deuce take their cursed envenomed tongues!' I muttered, in the bitterness of my soul.

And just at that moment, the vicar entered the room: we had been too much absorbed in our conversation to observe his knock. Alter his customary cheerful and fatherly greeting of Rose, who was rather a favourite with the old gentleman, he turned somewhat sternly to me:--

`Well, sir!' said he, `you're quite a stranger. It is-let-me-see,' he continued, slowly, as he deposited his ponderous bulk in the armchair that Rose officiously brought towards him, `it is just six--weeks--by my reckoning, since you darkened--my--door!' He spoke it with emphasis, and struck his stick on the floor.

`Is it, sir?' said I.

`Ay! It is so!' He added an affiramatory nod, and continued to gaze upon me with a kind of irate solemnity, holding his substantial stick between his knees, with his hands clasped upon its head.

`I have been busy,' I said, for an apology was evidently demanded.

`Busy!' repeated he, derisively.

`Yes; you know I've been getting in my hay: and now the harvest is beginning.'

`Humph!'

Just then my mother came in, and created a diversion in my favour by her loquacious and animated welcome of the reverend guest. She regretted deeply that he had not come a little earlier, in time for tea, but offered to have some immediately prepared, if he would do her the favour to partake of it.

`Not any for me, I thank you,' replied he; `I shall be at home in a few minutes.'

`Oh, but do stay and take a little! it will be ready in five minutes.'

But he rejected the offer with a majestic wave of the hand.

`I'll tell you what I'll take, Mrs Markham,' said he: `I'll take a glass of your excellent ale.'

`With pleasure!' cried my mother, proceeding with alacrity to pull.the bell and order the favoured beverage.

`I thought,' continued he, `I'd just look in upon you as I passed, and taste your home-brewed ale. I've been to call on Mrs Graham.'

`Have you indeed?'

He nodded gravely, and added with awful emphasis--

I thought it incumbent upon me to do so.'

`Really!' ejaculated my mother.

`Why so, Mr Millward?' asked I. He looked at me with some severity, and turning again to my mother, repeated--

`I thought it incumbent upon me!' and struck his stick on the floor again. My mother sat opposite, an awe-struck but admiring auditor.

`"Mrs Graham," said I,' he continued, shaking his head as he spoke, `"these are terrible reports!" "What sir?" says she, affecting to be ignorant of my meaning. "It is my--duty--as--your pastor," said I, "to tell you both everything that I myself see reprehensible in your conduct, and all I have reason to suspect, and what others tell me concerning you"--So I told her!'

`You did sir?' cried I, starting from my seat, and striking my fist on the table. He merely glanced towards me, and continued--addressing his hostess:

`It was a painful duty, Mrs Markham--but I told her!'

`And how did she take it?' asked my mother.

`Hardened, I fear--hardened!' he replied, with a despondent shake of the head; `and at the same time, there was a strong display of unchastened, misdirected passions. She turned white in the face, and drew her breath through her teeth in a savage sort of way;--but she offered no extenuation or defence; and with a kind of shameless calmness--shocking indeed to witness, in one so young--as good as told me that my remonstrance was unavailing, and my pastoral advice quite thrown away upon her--nay, that my very presence was displeasing while I spoke such things. And I withdrew at length, too plainly seeing that nothing could be done--and sadly grieved to find her case so hopeless. But I am fully determined, Mrs Markham, that my daughters--shall--not--consort with her. Do you adopt the same resolution with regard to yours!--As for your sons--as for you, young man,' he continued, sternly turning to me.

`As for ME, sir,--' I began, but checked by some impediment in my utterance, and finding that my whole frame trembled with fury, I said no more--but took the wiser part of snatching up my hat and bolting from the room, slamming the door behind me with a bang that shook the house to its foundations and made my mother scream--and gave a momentary relief to my excited feelings.

The next minute saw me hurrying with rapid strides in the direction of Wildfell Hall--to what intent or purpose I could scarcely tel!, but I must be moving somewhere, and no other goal would do--I must see her, too, and speak to her--that was certain, but what to say or how to act, I had no definite idea. Such stormy thoughts--so many different resolutions--crowded in upon me, hat my mind was little better than a chaos of conflicting passions.



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