I felt strongly tempted1, at times, to enlighten my mother and sister on the real character and circumstances of the persecuted2 tenant3 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 appreciation4 of Eliza Millward's disposition5, 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 fugitive6 had found another home, and I was permitted to write to her, I would beg to be allowed to clear her name from these vile7 calumnies8: 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 slandered9 her. I don't think anybody believed me, but everybody soon learned to avoid insinuating10 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 determined11 to support her in the very face of reason; and meantime I grow insupportably morose12 and misanthropical13 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 distressed15 about me; but I couldn't help it - at least I thought I could not, though sometimes I felt a pang16 of remorse17 for my undutiful conduct to her, and made an effort to amend18, 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 shunned19 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 varied20 inquiries21 respecting her. I was a very constant and attentive22 visitor to him throughout the whole period of his illness and convalescence23; not only from the interest I took in his recovery, and my desire to cheer him up and make the utmost possible amends24 for my former 'brutality,' but from my growing attachment25 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 intonations26 of his voice, detecting resemblances which I wondered had never struck me before. He provoked me at times, indeed, by his evident reluctance27 to talk to me about his sister, though I did not question the friendliness28 of his motives30 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 pony31 till a fortnight after the date of our reconciliation32; 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 hazardous33 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 apprehensions34 respecting his health, and the worst result was a slight relapse of his illness, for no one knew of the visit but the inmates35 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 commiserating36 him.
'I've seen her already,' said he, quietly.
'You've seen her!' cried I, in astonishment37.
'Yes.' And then he told me what considerations had impelled38 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 positively39 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 worthy14 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 exalted40 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 fortitude41 to strive against them in this particular; and I trust she will not rest till she has entirely42 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 broached43 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 devoted44 to her, who can so thoroughly45 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 incurring46 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 annoyances47 I had lately sustained from him, - nor yet by any feeling of malevolent48 enmity towards Miss Wilson, but purely49 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 utterly50 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 abide51. Had they lived at a distance, he might have surmounted52 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 averting53 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 motive29 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 amiable54 woman would be capable of evincing that bitter, cold-blooded, designing malice55 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 slanderous56 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 malevolence57!'
'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 - inaccessible58 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 incapable59 of sharing your tastes, feelings, and ideas - so utterly destitute60 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 calamities61 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 judiciously62 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 covertly63 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 transmuted64 into Mrs. Lawrence of Woodford Hall. I believe, too, that he soon learned to contemplate65 with secret amazement66 his former predilection67, 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 embittered68 by the sudden cold neglect and ultimate desertion of her former admirer. Had I done wrong to blight69 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.
1 tempted | |
v.怂恿(某人)干不正当的事;冒…的险(tempt的过去分词) | |
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2 persecuted | |
(尤指宗教或政治信仰的)迫害(~sb. for sth.)( persecute的过去式和过去分词 ); 烦扰,困扰或骚扰某人 | |
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3 tenant | |
n.承租人;房客;佃户;v.租借,租用 | |
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4 appreciation | |
n.评价;欣赏;感谢;领会,理解;价格上涨 | |
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5 disposition | |
n.性情,性格;意向,倾向;排列,部署 | |
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6 fugitive | |
adj.逃亡的,易逝的;n.逃犯,逃亡者 | |
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7 vile | |
adj.卑鄙的,可耻的,邪恶的;坏透的 | |
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8 calumnies | |
n.诬蔑,诽谤,中伤(的话)( calumny的名词复数 ) | |
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9 slandered | |
造谣中伤( slander的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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10 insinuating | |
adj.曲意巴结的,暗示的v.暗示( insinuate的现在分词 );巧妙或迂回地潜入;(使)缓慢进入;慢慢伸入 | |
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11 determined | |
adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
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12 morose | |
adj.脾气坏的,不高兴的 | |
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13 misanthropical | |
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14 worthy | |
adj.(of)值得的,配得上的;有价值的 | |
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15 distressed | |
痛苦的 | |
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16 pang | |
n.剧痛,悲痛,苦闷 | |
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17 remorse | |
n.痛恨,悔恨,自责 | |
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18 amend | |
vt.修改,修订,改进;n.[pl.]赔罪,赔偿 | |
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19 shunned | |
v.避开,回避,避免( shun的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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20 varied | |
adj.多样的,多变化的 | |
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21 inquiries | |
n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 );疑问;探究;打听 | |
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22 attentive | |
adj.注意的,专心的;关心(别人)的,殷勤的 | |
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23 convalescence | |
n.病后康复期 | |
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24 amends | |
n. 赔偿 | |
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25 attachment | |
n.附属物,附件;依恋;依附 | |
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26 intonations | |
n.语调,说话的抑扬顿挫( intonation的名词复数 );(演奏或唱歌中的)音准 | |
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27 reluctance | |
n.厌恶,讨厌,勉强,不情愿 | |
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28 friendliness | |
n.友谊,亲切,亲密 | |
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29 motive | |
n.动机,目的;adv.发动的,运动的 | |
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30 motives | |
n.动机,目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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31 pony | |
adj.小型的;n.小马 | |
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32 reconciliation | |
n.和解,和谐,一致 | |
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33 hazardous | |
adj.(有)危险的,冒险的;碰运气的 | |
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34 apprehensions | |
疑惧 | |
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35 inmates | |
n.囚犯( inmate的名词复数 ) | |
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36 commiserating | |
v.怜悯,同情( commiserate的现在分词 ) | |
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37 astonishment | |
n.惊奇,惊异 | |
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38 impelled | |
v.推动、推进或敦促某人做某事( impel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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39 positively | |
adv.明确地,断然,坚决地;实在,确实 | |
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40 exalted | |
adj.(地位等)高的,崇高的;尊贵的,高尚的 | |
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41 fortitude | |
n.坚忍不拔;刚毅 | |
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42 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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43 broached | |
v.谈起( broach的过去式和过去分词 );打开并开始用;用凿子扩大(或修光);(在桶上)钻孔取液体 | |
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44 devoted | |
adj.忠诚的,忠实的,热心的,献身于...的 | |
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45 thoroughly | |
adv.完全地,彻底地,十足地 | |
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46 incurring | |
遭受,招致,引起( incur的现在分词 ) | |
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47 annoyances | |
n.恼怒( annoyance的名词复数 );烦恼;打扰;使人烦恼的事 | |
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48 malevolent | |
adj.有恶意的,恶毒的 | |
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49 purely | |
adv.纯粹地,完全地 | |
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50 utterly | |
adv.完全地,绝对地 | |
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51 abide | |
vi.遵守;坚持;vt.忍受 | |
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52 surmounted | |
战胜( surmount的过去式和过去分词 ); 克服(困难); 居于…之上; 在…顶上 | |
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53 averting | |
防止,避免( avert的现在分词 ); 转移 | |
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54 amiable | |
adj.和蔼可亲的,友善的,亲切的 | |
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55 malice | |
n.恶意,怨恨,蓄意;[律]预谋 | |
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56 slanderous | |
adj.诽谤的,中伤的 | |
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57 malevolence | |
n.恶意,狠毒 | |
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58 inaccessible | |
adj.达不到的,难接近的 | |
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59 incapable | |
adj.无能力的,不能做某事的 | |
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60 destitute | |
adj.缺乏的;穷困的 | |
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61 calamities | |
n.灾祸,灾难( calamity的名词复数 );不幸之事 | |
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62 judiciously | |
adv.明断地,明智而审慎地 | |
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63 covertly | |
adv.偷偷摸摸地 | |
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64 transmuted | |
v.使变形,使变质,把…变成…( transmute的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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65 contemplate | |
vt.盘算,计议;周密考虑;注视,凝视 | |
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66 amazement | |
n.惊奇,惊讶 | |
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67 predilection | |
n.偏好 | |
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68 embittered | |
v.使怨恨,激怒( embitter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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69 blight | |
n.枯萎病;造成破坏的因素;vt.破坏,摧残 | |
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