I wiped his eyes with his frock, told him he was all right and called Sancho to pacify him. He was just putting his little hand on the dog's neck and beginning to smile through his tears, when I heard behind me a click of the iron gate, and a rustle of female garments, and lo! Mrs. Graham darted upon me - her neck uncovered, her black locks streaming in the wind.
'Give me the child!'
She said in a voice scarce louder than a whisper, but with a tone of startling vehemence, and, seizing the boy, she snatched him from me, as if some dire contamination were in my touch, and then stood with one hand firmly clasping his, the other on his shoulder, fixing upon me her large, luminous dark eyes - pale, breathless, quivering with agitation.
'I was not harming the child, madam,' said I, scarce knowing whether to be most astonished or displeased; 'he was tumbling off the wall there; and I was so fortunate as to catch him, while he hung suspended headlong from that tree, and prevent I know not what catastrophe.'
'I beg your pardon, sir,' stammered she; - suddenly calming down, - the light of reason seeming to break upon her beclouded spirit, and a faint blush mantling on her cheek - 'I did not know you; - and I thought -
She stooped to kiss the child, and fondly clasped her arm round his neck.
'You thought I was going to kidnap your son, I suppose?'
She stroked his head with a half-embarrassed laugh, and replied, - 'I did not know he had attempted to climb the wall. - I have the pleasure of addressing Mr. Markham, I believe?' she added, somewhat abruptly.
I bowed, but ventured to ask how she knew me.
'Your sister called here, a few days ago, with Mrs. Markham.'
'Is the resemblance so strong then?' I asked, in some surprise, and not so greatly flattered at the idea as I ought to have been.
'There is a likeness about the eyes and complexion I think,' replied she, somewhat dubiously surveying my face; - 'and I think I saw you at church on Sunday.'
I smiled. - There was something either in that smile or the recollections it awakened that was particularly displeasing to her, for she suddenly assumed again that proud, chilly look that had so unspeakably roused my aversion at church - a look of repellent scorn, so easily assumed, and so entirely without the least distortion of a single feature, that, while there, it seemed like the natural expression of the face, and was the more provoking to me, because I could not think it affected.
'Good-morning, Mr. Markham,' said she; and without another word or glance, she withdrew, with her child, into the garden; and I returned home, angry and dissatisfied - I could scarcely tell you why, and therefore will not attempt it.
I only stayed to put away my gun and powder-horn, and give some requisite directions to one of the farming-men, and then repaired to the vicarage, to solace my spirit and soothe my ruffled temper with the company and conversation of Eliza Millward.
I found her, as usual, busy with some piece of soft embroidery (the mania for Berlin wools had not yet commenced), while her sister was seated at the chimney-corner, with the cat on her knee, mending a heap of stockings.
'Mary - Mary! put them away!' Eliza was hastily saying, just as I entered the room.
'Not I, indeed!' was the phlegmatic reply; and my appearance prevented further discussion.
'You're so unfortunate, Mr. Markham!' observed the younger sister, with one of her arch, sidelong glances. 'Papa's just gone out into the parish, and not likely to be back for an hour!'
'Never mind; I can manage to spend a few minutes with his daughters, if they'll allow me,' said I, bringing a chair to the fire, and seating myself therein, without waiting to be asked.
'Well, if you'll be very good and amusing, we shall not object.'
'Let your permission be unconditional, pray; for I came not to give pleasure, but to seek it,' I answered.
However, I thought it but reasonable to make some slight exertion to render my company agreeable; and what little effort I made, was apparently pretty successful, for Miss Eliza was never in a better humour. We seemed, indeed, to be mutually pleased with each other, and managed to maintain between us a cheerful and animated though not very profound conversation. It was little better than a tete-a-tete, for Miss Millward never opened her lips, except occasionally to correct some random assertion or exaggerated expression of her sister's, and once to ask her to pick up the ball of cotton that had rolled under the table. I did this myself, however, as in duty bound.
'Thank you, Mr. Markham,' said she, as I presented it to her. 'I would have picked it up myself; only I did not want to disturb the cat.'
'Mary, dear, that won't excuse you in Mr. Markham's eyes,' said Eliza; 'he hates cats, I daresay, as cordially as he does old maids - like all other gentlemen. Don't you, Mr. Markham?'
'I believe it is natural for our unamiable sex to dislike the creatures,' replied I; 'for you ladies lavish so many caresses upon them.'
'Bless them - little darlings!' cried she, in a sudden burst of enthusiasm, turning round and overwhelming her sister's pet with a shower of kisses.
'Don't, Eliza!' said Miss Millward, somewhat gruffly, as she impatiently pushed her away.
But it was time for me to be going: make what haste I would, I should still be too late for tea; and my mother was the soul of order and punctuality.
My fair friend was evidently unwilling to bid me adieu. I tenderly squeezed her little hand at parting; and she repaid me with one of her softest smiles and most bewitching glances. I went home very happy, with a heart brimful of complacency for myself, and overflowing with love for Eliza.
Chapter 3,
A CONTROVERSY
Two days after, Mrs. Graham called at Linden-Car, contrary to the expectation of Rose, who entertained an idea that the mysterious occupant of Wildfell Hall would wholly disregard the common observances of civilized life, - in which opinion she was supported by the Wilsons, who testified that neither their call nor the Millwards' had been returned as yet. Now, however, the cause of that omission was explained, though not entirely to the satisfaction of Rose. Mrs. Graham had brought her child with her, and on my mother's expressing surprise that he could walk so far, she replied,-
'It is a long walk for him; but I must have either taken him with me, or relinquished the visit altogether; for I never leave him alone; and I think, Mrs. Markham, I must beg you to make my excuses to the Millwards and Mrs. Wilson, when you see them, as I fear I cannot do myself the pleasure of calling upon them till my little Arthur is able to accompany me.'
'But you have a servant,' said Rose; 'could you not leave him with her?'
'She has her own occupations to attend to; and besides, she is too old to run after a child, and he is too mercurial to be tied to an elderly woman.'
'But you left him to come to church.'
'Yes, once; but I would not have left him for any other purpose; and I think, in future, I must contrive to bring him with me, or stay at home.'
'Is he so mischievous?' asked my mother, considerably shocked.
'No,' replied the lady, sadly smiling, as she stroked the wavy locks of her son, who was seated on a low stool at her feet; 'but he is my only treasure, and I am his only friend: so we don't like to be separated.'
'But, my dear, I call that doting,' said my plain-spoken parent. 'You should try to suppress such foolish fondness, as well to save your son from ruin as yourself from ridicule.'
'Ruin, Mrs. Markham?'
'Yes; it is spoiling the child. Even at his age, he ought not to be always tied to his mother's apron-string; he should learn to be ashamed of it.'
'Mrs. Markham, I beg you will not say such things, in his presence, at least. I trust my son will never be ashamed to love his mother!' said Mrs. Graham, with a serious energy that startled the company.
My mother attempted to appease her by an explanation; but she seemed to think enough had been said on the subject, and abruptly turned the conversation.
'Just as I thought,' said I to myself: 'the lady's temper is none of
the mildest, notwithstanding her sweet, pale face and lofty brow, where thought and suffering seem equally to have stamped their impress.'
All this time I was seated at a table on the other side of the room, apparently immersed in the perusal of a volume of the Farmer's Magazine, which I happened to have been reading at the moment of our visitor's arrival; and, not choosing to be over civil, I had merely bowed as she entered, and continued my occupation as before.
In a little while, however, I was sensible that some one was approaching me, with a light, but slow and hesitating tread. It was little Arthur, irresistibly attracted by my dog Sancho, that was lying at my feet. On looking up I beheld him standing about two yards off, with his clear blue eyes wistfully gazing on the dog, transfixed to the spot, not by fear of the animal, but by a timid disinclination to approach its master. A little encouragement, however, induced him to come forward. The child, though shy, was not sullen. In a minute he was kneeling on the carpet, with his arms round Sancho's neck, and, in a minute or two more, the little fellow was seated on my knee, surveying with eager interest the various specimens of horses, cattle, pigs, and model farms portrayed in the volume before me. I glanced at his mother now and then to see how she relished the new-sprung intimacy; and I saw, by the unquiet aspect of her eye, that for some reason or other she was uneasy at the child's position.
'Arthur,' said she, at length, 'come here. You are troublesome to Mr. Markham: he wishes to read.'
'By no means, Mrs. Graham; pray let him stay. I am as much amused as he is,' pleaded I. But still, with hand and eye, she silently called him to her side.
'No, mamma,' said the child; 'let me look at these pictures first; and then I'll come, and tell you all about them.'
'We are going to have a small party on Monday, the fifth of November,' said my mother; 'and I hope you will not refuse to make one, Mrs. Graham. You can bring your little boy with you, you know - I daresay we shall be able to amuse him; - and then you can make your own apologies to the Millwards and Wilsons - they will all be here, I expect.'
'Thank you, I never go to parties.'
'Oh! but this will be quite a family concern - early hours, and nobody here but ourselves, and just the Millwards and Wilsons, most of whom you already know, and Mr. Lawrence, your landlord, with whom you ought to make acquaintance.'
'I do know something of him - but you must excuse me this time; for the evenings, now, are dark and damp, and Arthur, I fear, is too delicate to risk exposure to their influence with impunity. We must defer the enjoyment of your hospitality till the return of longer days and warmer nights.'
Rose, now, at a hint from my mother, produced a decanter of wine, with accompaniments of glasses and cake, from the cupboard and the oak sideboard, and the refreshment was duly presented to the guests. They both partook of the cake, but obstinately refused the wine, in spite of their hostess's hospitable attempts to force it upon them. Arthur, especially shrank from the ruby nectar as if in terror and disgust, and was ready to cry when urged to take it.
'Never mind, Arthur,' said his mamma; 'Mrs. Markham thinks it will do you good, as you were tired with your walk; but she will not oblige you to take it! - I daresay you will do very well without. He detests the very sight of wine,' she added, 'and the smell of it almost makes him sick. I have been accustomed to make him swallow a little wine or weak spirits-and-water, by way of medicine, when he was sick, and, in fact, I have done what I could to make him hate them.'
Everybody laughed, except the young widow and her son.
'Well, Mrs. Graham,' said my mother, wiping the tears of merriment from her bright blue eyes - 'well, you surprise me! I really gave you credit for having more sense. - The poor child will be the veriest milksop that ever was sopped! Only think what a man you will make of him, if you persist in - '
'I think it a very excellent plan,' interrupted Mrs. Graham, with imperturbable gravity. 'By that means I hope to save him from one degrading vice at least. I wish I could render the incentives to every other equally innoxious in his case.'
'But by such means,' said I, 'you will never render him virtuous. - What is it that constitutes virtue, Mrs. Graham? Is it the circumstance of being able and willing to resist temptation; or that of having no temptations to resist? - Is he a strong man that overcomes great obstacles and performs surprising achievements, though by dint of great muscular exertion, and at the risk of some subsequent fatigue, or he that sits in his chair all day, with nothing to do more laborious than stirring the fire, and carrying his food to his mouth? If you would have your son to walk honourably through the world, you must not attempt to clear the stones from his path, but teach him to walk firmly over them - not insist upon leading him by the hand, but let him learn to go alone.'
'I will lead him by the hand, Mr. Markham, till he has strength to go alone; and I will clear as many stones from his path as I can, and teach him to avoid the rest - or walk firmly over them, as you say; - for when I have done my utmost, in the way of clearance, there will still be plenty left to exercise all the agility, steadiness, and circumspection he will ever have. - It is all very well to talk about noble resistance, and trials of virtue; but for fifty - or five hundred men that have yielded to temptation, show me one that has had virtue to resist. And why should I take it for granted that my son will be one in a thousand? - and not rather prepare for the worst, and suppose he will be like his - like the rest of mankind, unless I take care to prevent it?'
'You are very complimentary to us all,' I observed.
'I know nothing about you - I speak of those I do know - and when I see the whole race of mankind (with a few rare exceptions) stumbling and blundering along the path of life, sinking into every pitfall, and breaking their shins over every impediment that lies in their way, shall I not use all the means in my power to insure for him a smoother and a safer passage?'
'Yes, but the surest means will be to endeavour to fortify him against temptation, not to remove it out of his way.'
'I will do both, Mr. Markham. God knows he will have temptations enough to assail him, both from within and without, when I have done all I can to render vice as uninviting to him, as it is abominable in its own nature - I myself have had, indeed, but few incentives to what the world calls vice, but yet I have experienced temptations and trials of another kind, that have required, on many occasions, more watchfulness and firmness to resist than I have hitherto been able to muster against them. And this, I believe, is what most others would acknowledge who are accustomed to reflection, and wishful to strive against their natural corruptions.'
'Yes,' said my mother, but half apprehending her drift; 'but you would not judge of a boy by yourself - and, my dear Mrs. Graham, let me warn you in good time against the error - the fatal error, I may call it - of taking that boy's education upon yourself. Because you are clever in some things and well informed, you may fancy yourself equal to the task; but indeed you are not; and if you persist in the attempt, believe me you will bitterly repent it when the mischief is done.'
'I am to send him to school, I suppose, to learn to despise his mother's authority and affection!' said the lady, with rather a bitter smile.
'Oh, no! - But if you would have a boy to despise his mother, let her keep him at home, and spend her life in petting him up, and slaving to indulge his follies and caprices.'
'I perfectly agree with you, Mrs. Markham; but nothing can be further from my principles and practice than such criminal weakness as that.'
'Well, but you will treat him like a girl - you'll spoil his spirit, and make a mere Miss Nancy of him - you will, indeed, Mrs. Graham, whatever you may think. But I'll get Mr. Millward to talk to you about it: - he'll tell you the consequences; - he'll set it before you as plain as the day; - and tell you what you ought to do, and all about it; - and, I don't doubt, he'll be able to convince you in a minute.'
'No occasion to trouble the vicar,' said Mrs. Graham, glancing at me - I suppose I was smiling at my mother's unbounded confidence in
that worthy gentleman - 'Mr. Markham here thinks his powers of conviction at least equal to Mr. Millward's. If I hear not him, neither should I be convinced though one rose from the dead, he would tell you. Well, Mr. Markham, you that maintain that a boy should not be shielded from evil, but sent out to battle against it, alone and unassisted - not taught to avoid the snares of life, but boldly to rush into them, or over them, as he may - to seek danger, rather than shun it, and feed his virtue by temptation, - would you -?'
'I beg your pardon, Mrs. Graham - but you get on too fast. I have not yet said that a boy should be taught to rush into the snares of life, - or even wilfully to seek temptation for the sake of exercising his virtue by overcoming it; - I only say that it is better to arm and strengthen your hero, than to disarm and enfeeble the foe; - and if you were to rear an oak sapling in a hothouse, tending it carefully night and day, and shielding it from every breath of wind, you could not expect it to become a hardy tree, like that which has grown up on the mountain-side, exposed to all the action of the elements, and not even sheltered from the shock of the tempest.'
'Granted; - but would you use the same argument with regard to a girl?'
'Certainly not.'
'No; you would have her to be tenderly and delicately nurtured, like a hot-house plant - taught to cling to others for direction and support, and guarded, as much as possible, from the very knowledge of evil. But will you be so good as to inform me why you make this distinction? Is it that you think she has no virtue?'
'Assuredly not.'
'Well, but you affirm that virtue is only elicited by temptation; - and you think that a woman cannot be too little exposed to temptation, or too little acquainted with vice, or anything connected therewith. It must be, either, that you think she is essentially so vicious, or so feeble-minded, that she cannot withstand temptation, - and though she may be pure and innocent as long as she is kept in ignorance and restraint, yet, being destitute of real virtue, to teach her how to sin is at once to make her a sinner, and the greater her knowledge, the wider her liberty, the deeper will be her depravity, - whereas, in the nobler sex, there is a natural tendency to goodness, guarded by a superior fortitude, which, the more it is exercised by trials and dangers, is only the further developed - '
The Tenant of Wildfell Hall Page 3