During the next four months I did not enter Mrs. Graham's house,nor she mine; but still the ladies continued to talk about her, andstill our acquaintance continued, though slowly, to advance. Asfor their talk, I paid but little attention to that (when itrelated to the fair hermit, I mean), and the only information Iderived from it was, that one fine frosty day she had ventured totake her little boy as far as the vicarage, and that,unfortunately, nobody was at home but Miss Millward; nevertheless,she had sat a long time, and, by all accounts, they had found agood deal to say to each other, and parted with a mutual desire tomeet again. But Mary liked children, and fond mammas like thosewho can duly appreciate their treasures.

But sometimes I saw her myself, not only when she came to church,but when she was out on the hills with her son, whether taking along, purpose-like walk, or - on special fine days - leisurelyrambling over the moor or the bleak pasture-lands, surrounding theold hall, herself with a book in her hand, her son gambolling abouther; and, on any of these occasions, when I caught sight of her inmy solitary walks or rides, or while following my agriculturalpursuits, I generally contrived to meet or overtake her, for Irather liked to see Mrs. Graham, and to talk to her, and Idecidedly liked to talk to her little companion, whom, when oncethe ice of his shyness was fairly broken, I found to be a veryamiable, intelligent, and entertaining little fellow; and we soonbecame excellent friends - how much to the gratification of hismamma I cannot undertake to say. I suspected at first that she wasdesirous of throwing cold water on this growing intimacy - toquench, as it were, the kindling flame of our friendship - butdiscovering, at length, in spite of her prejudice against me, thatI was perfectly harmless, and even well-intentioned, and that,between myself and my dog, her son derived a great deal of pleasurefrom the acquaintance that he would not otherwise have known, sheceased to object, and even welcomed my coming with a smile.

As for Arthur, he would shout his welcome from afar, and run tomeet me fifty yards from his mother's side. If I happened to be onhorseback he was sure to get a canter or a gallop; or, if there wasone of the draught horses within an available distance, he wastreated to a steady ride upon that, which served his turn almost aswell; but his mother would always follow and trudge beside him -not so much, I believe, to ensure his safe conduct, as to see thatI instilled no objectionable notions into his infant mind, for shewas ever on the watch, and never would allow him to be taken out ofher sight. What pleased her best of all was to see him romping andracing with Sancho, while I walked by her side - not, I fear, forlove of my company (though I sometimes deluded myself with thatidea), so much as for the delight she took in seeing her son thushappily engaged in the enjoyment of those active sports soinvigorating to his tender frame, yet so seldom exercised for wantof playmates suited to his years: and, perhaps, her pleasure wassweetened not a little by the fact of my being with her instead ofwith him, and therefore incapable of doing him any injury directlyor indirectly, designedly or otherwise, small thanks to her forthat same.

But sometimes, I believe, she really had some little gratificationin conversing with me; and one bright February morning, duringtwenty minutes' stroll along the moor, she laid aside her usualasperity and reserve, and fairly entered into conversation with me,discoursing with so much eloquence and depth of thought and feelingon a subject happily coinciding with my own ideas, and looking sobeautiful withal, that I went home enchanted; and on the way(morally) started to find myself thinking that, after all, itwould, perhaps, be better to spend one's days with such a womanthan with Eliza Millward; and then I (figuratively) blushed for myinconstancy.

On entering the parlour I found Eliza there with Rose, and no oneelse. The surprise was not altogether so agreeable as it ought tohave been. We chatted together a long time, but I found her ratherfrivolous, and even a little insipid, compared with the more matureand earnest Mrs. Graham. Alas, for human constancy!

'However,' thought I, 'I ought not to marry Eliza, since my motherso strongly objects to it, and I ought not to delude the girl withthe idea that I intended to do so. Now, if this mood continue, Ishall have less difficulty in emancipating my affections from hersoft yet unrelenting sway; and, though Mrs. Graham might be equallyobjectionable, I may be permitted, like the doctors, to cure agreater evil by a less, for I shall not fall seriously in love withthe young widow, I think, nor she with me - that's certain - but ifI find a little pleasure in her society I may surely be allowed toseek it; and if the star of her divinity be bright enough to dimthe lustre of Eliza's, so much the better, but I scarcely can thinkit.'

And thereafter I seldom suffered a fine day to pass without payinga visit to Wildfell about the time my new acquaintance usually lefther hermitage; but so frequently was I baulked in my expectationsof another interview, so changeable was she in her times of comingforth and in her places of resort, so transient were the occasionalglimpses I was able to obtain, that I felt half inclined to thinkshe took as much pains to avoid my company as I to seek hers; butthis was too disagreeable a supposition to be entertained a momentafter it could conveniently be dismissed.

One calm, clear afternoon, however, in March, as I wassuperintending the rolling of the meadow-land, and the repairing ofa hedge in the valley, I saw Mrs. Graham down by the brook, with asketch-book in her hand, absorbed in the exercise of her favouriteart, while Arthur was putting on the time with constructing damsand breakwaters in the shallow, stony stream. I was rather in wantof amusement, and so rare an opportunity was not to be neglected;so, leaving both meadow and hedge, I quickly repaired to the spot,but not before Sancho, who, immediately upon perceiving his youngfriend, scoured at full gallop the intervening space, and pouncedupon him with an impetuous mirth that precipitated the child almostinto the middle of the beck; but, happily, the stones preserved himfrom any serious wetting, while their smoothness prevented hisbeing too much hurt to laugh at the untoward event.

Mrs. Graham was studying the distinctive characters of thedifferent varieties of trees in their winter nakedness, andcopying, with a spirited, though delicate touch, their variousramifications. She did not talk much, but I stood and watched theprogress of her pencil: it was a pleasure to behold it sodexterously guided by those fair and graceful fingers. But erelong their dexterity became impaired, they began to hesitate, totremble slightly, and make false strokes, and then suddenly came toa pause, while their owner laughingly raised her face to mine, andtold me that her sketch did not profit by my superintendence.

'Then,' said I, 'I'll talk to Arthur till you've done.'

'I should like to have a ride, Mr. Markham, if mamma will let me,'said the child.

'What on, my boy?'

'I think there's a horse in that field,' replied he, pointing towhere the strong black mare was pulling the roller.

'No, no, Arthur; it's too far,' objected his mother.

But I promised to bring him safe back after a turn or two up anddown the meadow; and when she looked at his eager face she smiledand let him go. It was the first time she had even allowed me totake him so much as half a field's length from her side.

Enthroned upon his monstrous steed, and solemnly proceeding up anddown the wide, steep field, he looked the very incarnation ofquiet, gleeful satisfaction and delight. The rolling, however, wassoon completed; but when I dismounted the gallant horseman, andrestored him to his mother, she seemed rather displeased at mykeeping him so long. She had shut up her sketch-book, and been,probably, for some minutes impatiently waiting his return.

It was now high time to go home, she said, and would have bid megood-evening, but I was not going to leave her yet: I accompaniedher half-way up the hill. She became more sociable, and I wasbeginning to be very happy; but, on coming within sight of the grimold hall, she stood still, and turned towards me while she spoke,as if expecting I should go no further, that the conversation wouldend here, and I should now take leave and depart - as, indeed, itwas time to do, for 'the clear, cold eve' was fast 'declining,' thesun had set, and the gibbous moon was visibly brightening in thepale grey sky; but a feeling almost of compassion riveted me to thespot. It seemed hard to leave her to such a lonely, comfortlesshome. I looked up at it. Silent and grim it frowned; before us.A faint, red light was gleaming from the lower windows of one wing,but all the other windows were in darkness, and many exhibitedtheir black, cavernous gulfs, entirely destitute of glazing orframework.

'Do you not find it a desolate place to live in?' said I, after amoment of silent contemplation.

'I do, sometimes,' replied she. 'On winter evenings, when Arthuris in bed, and I am sitting there alone, hearing the bleak windmoaning round me and howling through the ruinous old chambers, nobooks or occupations can represss the dismal thoughts andapprehensions that come crowding in - but it is folly to give wayto such weakness, I know. If Rachel is satisfied with such a life,why should not I? - Indeed, I cannot be too thankful for such anasylum, while it is left me.'

The closing sentence was uttered in an under-tone, as if spokenrather to herself than to me. She then bid me good-evening andwithdrew.

I had not proceeded many steps on my way homewards when I perceivedMr. Lawrence, on his pretty grey pony, coming up the rugged lanethat crossed over the hill-top. I went a little out of my way tospeak to him; for we had not met for some time.

'Was that Mrs. Graham you were speaking to just now?' said he,after the first few words of greeting had passed between us.

'Yes.'

'Humph! I thought so.' He looked contemplatively at his horse'smane, as if he had some serious cause of dissatisfaction with it,or something else.

'Well! what then?'

'Oh, nothing!' replied he. 'Only I thought you disliked her,' hequietly added, curling his classic lip with a slightly sarcasticsmile.

'Suppose I did; mayn't a man change his mind on furtheracquaintance?'

'Yes, of course,' returned he, nicely reducing an entanglement inthe pony's redundant hoary mane. Then suddenly turning to me, andfixing his shy, hazel eyes upon me with a steady penetrating gaze,he added, 'Then you have changed your mind?'

'I can't say that I have exactly. No; I think I hold the sameopinion respecting her as before - but slightly ameliorated.'

'Oh!' He looked round for something else to talk about; andglancing up at the moon, made some remark upon the beauty of theevening, which I did not answer, as being irrelevant to thesubject.

'Lawrence,' said I, calmly looking him in the face, 'are you inlove with Mrs. Graham?'

Instead of his being deeply offended at this, as I more than halfexpected he would, the first start of surprise, at the audaciousquestion, was followed by a tittering laugh, as if he was highlyamused at the idea.

'I in love with her!' repeated he. 'What makes you dream of such athing?'

'From the interest you take in the progress of my acquaintance withthe lady, and the changes of my opinion concerning her, I thoughtyou might be jealous.'

He laughed again. 'Jealous! no. But I thought you were going tomarry Eliza Millward.'

'You thought wrong, then; I am not going to marry either one or theother - that I know of - '

'Then I think you'd better let them alone.'

'Are you going to marry Jane Wilson?'

He coloured, and played with the mane again, but answered - 'No, Ithink not.'

'Then you had better let her alone.'

'She won't let me alone,' he might have said; but he only lookedsilly and said nothing for the space of half a minute, and thenmade another attempt to turn the conversation; and this time I letit pass; for he had borne enough: another word on the subjectwould have been like the last atom that breaks the camel's. back.

I was too late for tea; but my mother had kindly kept the teapotand muffin warm upon the hobs, and, though she scolded me a little,readily admitted my excuses; and when I complained of the flavourof the overdrawn tea, she poured the remainder into the slop-basin,and bade Rose put some fresh into the pot, and reboil the kettle,which offices were performed with great commotion, and certainremarkable comments.

'Well! - if it had been me now, I should have had no tea at all -if it had been Fergus, even, he would have to put up with such asthere was, and been told to be thankful, for it was far too goodfor him; but you - we can't do too much for you. It's always so -if there's anything particularly nice at table, mamma winks andnods at me to abstain from it, and if I don't attend to that, shewhispers, "Don't eat so much of that, Rose; Gilbert will like itfor his supper." - I'm nothing at all. In the parlour, it's "Come,Rose, put away your things, and let's have the room nice and tidyagainst they come in; and keep up a good fire; Gilbert likes acheerful fire." In the kitchen - "Make that pie a large one, Rose;I daresay the boys'll be hungry; and don't put so much pepper in,they'll not like it, I'm sure" - or, "Rose, don't put so manyspices in the pudding, Gilbert likes it plain," - or, "Mind you putplenty of currants in the cake, Fergus liked plenty." If I say,"Well, mamma, I don't," I'm told I ought not to think of myself."You know, Rose, in all household matters, we have only two thingsto consider, first, what's proper to be done; and, secondly, what'smost agreeable to the gentlemen of the house - anything will do forthe ladies."'

'And very good doctrine too,' said my mother. 'Gilbert thinks so,I'm sure.'

'Very convenient doctrine, for us, at all events,' said I; 'but ifyou would really study my pleasure, mother, you must consider yourown comfort and convenience a little more than you do - as forRose, I have no doubt she'll take care of herself; and whenever shedoes make a sacrifice or perform a remarkable act of devotedness,she'll take good care to let me know the extent of it. But for youI might sink into the grossest condition of self-indulgence andcarelessness about the wants of others, from the mere habit ofbeing constantly cared for myself, and having all my wantsanticipated or immediately supplied, while left in total ignoranceof what is done for me, - if Rose did not enlighten me now andthen; and I should receive all your kindness as a matter of course,and never know how much I owe you.'

'Ah! and you never will know, Gilbert, till you're married. Then,when you've got some trifling, self-conceited girl like ElizaMillward, careless of everything but her own immediate pleasure andadvantage, or some misguided, obstinate woman, like Mrs. Graham,ignorant of her principal duties, and clever only in what concernsher least to know - then you'll find the difference.'

'It will do me good, mother; I was not sent into the world merelyto exercise the good capacities and good feelings of others - wasI? - but to exert my own towards them; and when I marry, I shallexpect to find more pleasure in making my wife happy andcomfortable, than in being made so by her: I would rather givethan receive.'

'Oh! that's all nonsense, my dear. It's mere boy's talk that!You'll soon tire of petting and humouring your wife, be she ever socharming, and then comes the trial.'

'Well, then, we must bear one another's burdens.'

'Then you must fall each into your proper place. You'll do yourbusiness, and she, if she's worthy of you, will do hers; but it'syour business to please yourself, and hers to please you. I'm sureyour poor, dear father was as good a husband as ever lived, andafter the first six months or so were over, I should as soon haveexpected him to fly, as to put himself out of his way to pleasureme. He always said I was a good wife, and did my duty; and healways did his - bless him! - he was steady and punctual, seldomfound fault without a reason, always did justice to my gooddinners, and hardly ever spoiled my cookery by delay - and that'sas much as any woman can expect of any man.'

Is it so, Halford? Is that the extent of your domestic virtues;and does your happy wife exact no more?