Незнакомка из Уайлдфелл-Холла. Уровень 2 / The Tenant of Wildfell Hall

“And whom?” demanded Miss Wilson.

Eliza was startled.

“Oh, I beg your pardon!” pleaded she; “I may be mistaken – perhaps I was mistaken.”

I stared at Arthur Graham, who sat beside his mother on the opposite side of the table. Then I stared at Mr. Lawrence. There was some likeness, indeed!

Both, it is true, had more delicate features and smaller bones than commonly fall to the lot of individuals of rougher sex.

But did I not know Mrs. Graham? Was I not certain that she was immeasurably superior to any of her detractors; that she was, in fact, the noblest, the most adorable woman here?

Meantime, my brain was on fire with indignation. At length, I rose and left the table and the guests without a word of apology – I could endure their company no longer. I rushed out to the garden.

I nestled up in a corner of the bower, and hoped to stay there alone. But no! Someone was coming down!

It was Mrs. Graham. She was slowly moving down the walk with Arthur, and no one else. Why were they alone? I stepped forward.

“Oh, don't let us disturb you, Mr. Markham!” said she. “We came here to seek retirement ourselves, not to intrude on your seclusion.”

“I am no hermit, Mrs. Graham.”

“I feared you were unwell,” said she.

“Please sit here a little and rest, and tell me how you like this arbour,” said I. “Why have they left you alone?”

“It is I who have left them,” was the rejoinder. “I am tired.”

It was late in the evening before we came back. I offered to accompany Mrs. Graham home. Mr. Lawrence did not look at us, but he heard her denial.

Mrs. Graham thought there was no danger for herself or her child. It was daylight still, and the people were quiet and harmless.

Soon she left. Mr. Lawrence came to me, but I was blind to his extended hand, and deaf to his good-night till he repeated it a second time. Then, to get rid of him, I muttered an inarticulate reply.

“What is the matter, Markham?” whispered he. “Are you angry because Mrs. Graham did not let you go home with her?”

“What business is it of yours?” I demanded.

“Why, none,” replied he with quietness; “only let me tell you, Markham, that if you have any designs in that quarter, they will certainly fail. You are cherishing false hopes, and wasting your strength in useless efforts, and it grieves me.”

“Hypocrite!” I exclaimed.

He held his breath[12 - held his breath – поперхнулся], turned white and went away without another word. I wounded him; and I was glad of it.

Chapter X

But the vile slander was born. Rose, however, vowed she did not believe it, and my mother made the same declaration.

Anyway, she said one day,

“Well! I always thought there was something odd about her. This is a sad, sad business!”

“Why, mother, you said you didn't believe these tales,” said Fergus.

“No more I do, my dear; but then, you know, there must be some foundation.”

“The foundation is in the wickedness and falsehood of the people,” said I, “and in the fact that Mr. Lawrence went that way once or twice. The scandal-mongers have greedily seized the rumour.”

“Well, but, Gilbert, there must be something in her manner to countenance such reports.”

“Did you see anything in her manner?”

“No, certainly; but then, you know, I always said there was something strange about her.”

That evening I went to Wildfell Hall. By this time, you see, I was in love with her. I took from the book-case an old volume to offer her, and hastened away.

Arthur was playing with his frolicsome little dog in the garden. I looked over the gate and called him to me.

“Arthur, tell your mother I want to speak to her.”

He ran to perform my bidding, and quickly returned with his mother. How lovely she looked with her dark ringlets!

“Well, Mr. Markham, what is it?” said the young mother.

“I want you to look at this book, and, if you please, to take it, and peruse it at your leisure.”

“Tell him to come in, mamma,” said Arthur.

And we sauntered through the garden, and talked of the flowers, the trees, and the book, and then of other things. The evening was kind and genial, and so was my companion. We passed a rose-tree. She plucked a beautiful half-open bud and bade me give it to Rose.

“May I not keep it myself?” I asked.

“No; but here is another for you.”

I took the hand that offered it, and looked into her face.

“Mr. Markham,” said she, with desperate calmness, “I must tell you something. I like your company, because I am alone here, and your conversation pleases me more than that of any other person. But if you cannot regard me as a friend – a plain, cold, motherly, or sisterly friend – I must beg you to leave me now, and let me alone hereafter. In fact, we must be strangers for the future.”

“I will, then – be your friend, or brother, or anything you wish. But tell me why I cannot be anything more?”

There was a perplexed and thoughtful pause.

“Is it in consequence of some rash vow?”

“It is something of the kind,” she answered. “Some day I may tell you, but at present please leave me, Gilbert.”

How sweet, how musical my own name sounded in her mouth!

“May I come to see you now and then[13 - now and then – иногда]?”