Chapter 13
'My dear Gilbert, I wish you would try to be a little moreamiable,' said my mother one morning after some display ofunjustifiable ill-humour on my part. 'You say there is nothing thematter with you, and nothing has happened to grieve you, and yet Inever saw anyone so altered as you within these last few days. Youhaven't a good word for anybody - friends and strangers, equals andinferiors - it's all the same. I do wish you'd try to check it.'
'Check what?'
'Why, your strange temper. You don't know how it spoils you. I'msure a finer disposition than yours by nature could not be, ifyou'd let it have fair play: so you've no excuse that way.'
While she thus remonstrated, I took up a book, and laying it openon the table before me, pretended to be deeply absorbed in itsperusal, for I was equally unable to justify myself and unwillingto acknowledge my errors; and I wished to have nothing to say onthe matter. But my excellent parent went on lecturing, and thencame to coaxing, and began to stroke my hair; and I was getting tofeel quite a good boy, but my mischievous brother, who was idlingabout the room, revived my corruption by suddenly calling out, -'Don't touch him, mother! he'll bite! He's a very tiger in humanform. I've given him up for my part - fairly disowned him - casthim off, root and branch. It's as much as my life is worth to comewithin six yards of him. The other day he nearly fractured myskull for singing a pretty, inoffensive love-song, on purpose toamuse him.'
'Oh, Gilbert! how could you?' exclaimed my mother.
'I told you to hold your noise first, you know, Fergus,' said I.
'Yes, but when I assured you it was no trouble and went on with thenext verse, thinking you might like it better, you clutched me bythe shoulder and dashed me away, right against the wall there, withsuch force that I thought I had bitten my tongue in two, andexpected to see the place plastered with my brains; and when I putmy hand to my head, and found my skull not broken, I thought it wasa miracle, and no mistake. But, poor fellow!' added he, with asentimental sigh - 'his heart's broken - that's the truth of it -and his head's - '
'Will you be silent NOW?' cried I, starting up, and eyeing thefellow so fiercely that my mother, thinking I meant to inflict somegrievous bodily injury, laid her hand on my arm, and besought me tolet him alone, and he walked leisurely out, with his hands in hispockets, singing provokingly - 'Shall I, because a woman's fair,'&c.
'I'm not going to defile my fingers with him,' said I, in answer tothe maternal intercession. 'I wouldn't touch him with the tongs.'
I now recollected that I had business with Robert Wilson,concerning the purchase of a certain field adjoining my farm - abusiness I had been putting off from day to day; for I had nointerest in anything now; and besides, I was misanthropicallyinclined, and, moreover, had a particular objection to meeting JaneWilson or her mother; for though I had too good reason, now, tocredit their reports concerning Mrs. Graham, I did not like them abit the better for it - or Eliza Millward either - and the thoughtof meeting them was the more repugnant to me that I could not, now,defy their seeming calumnies and triumph in my own convictions asbefore. But to-day I determined to make an effort to return to myduty. Though I found no pleasure in it, it would be less irksomethan idleness - at all events it would be more profitable. If lifepromised no enjoyment within my vocation, at least it offered noallurements out of it; and henceforth I would put my shoulder tothe wheel and toil away, like any poor drudge of a cart-horse thatwas fairly broken in to its labour, and plod through life, notwholly useless if not agreeable, and uncomplaining if not contentedwith my lot.
Thus resolving, with a kind of sullen resignation, if such a termmay be allowed, I wended my way to Ryecote Farm, scarcely expectingto find its owner within at this time of day, but hoping to learnin what part of the premises he was most likely to be found.
Absent he was, but expected home in a few minutes; and I wasdesired to step into the parlour and wait. Mrs. Wilson was busy inthe kitchen, but the room was not empty; and I scarcely checked aninvoluntary recoil as I entered it; for there sat Miss Wilsonchattering with Eliza Millward. However, I determined to be cooland civil. Eliza seemed to have made the same resolution on herpart. We had not met since the evening of the tea-party; but therewas no visible emotion either of pleasure or pain, no attempt atpathos, no display of injured pride: she was cool in temper, civilin demeanour. There was even an ease and cheerfulness about herair and manner that I made no pretension to; but there was a depthof malice in her too expressive eye that plainly told me I was notforgiven; for, though she no longer hoped to win me to herself, shestill hated her rival, and evidently delighted to wreak her spiteon me. On the other hand, Miss Wilson was as affable and courteousas heart could wish, and though I was in no very conversable humourmyself, the two ladies between them managed to keep up a prettycontinuous fire of small talk. But Eliza took advantage of thefirst convenient pause to ask if I had lately seen Mrs. Graham, ina tone of merely casual inquiry, but with a sidelong glance -intended to be playfully mischievous - really, brimful and runningover with malice.
'Not lately,' I replied, in a careless tone, but sternly repellingher odious glances with my eyes; for I was vexed to feel the colourmounting to my forehead, despite my strenuous efforts to appearunmoved.
'What! are you beginning to tire already? I thought so noble acreature would have power to attach you for a year at least!'
'I would rather not speak of her now.'
'Ah! then you are convinced, at last, of your mistake - you have atlength discovered that your divinity is not quite the immaculate -'
'I desired you not to speak of her, Miss Eliza.'
'Oh, I beg your pardon! I perceive Cupid's arrows have been toosharp for you: the wounds, being more than skin-deep, are not yethealed, and bleed afresh at every mention of the loved one's name.'
'Say, rather,' interposed Miss Wilson, 'that Mr. Markham feels thatname is unworthy to be mentioned in the presence of right-mindedfemales. I wonder, Eliza, you should think of referring to thatunfortunate person - you might know the mention of her would beanything but agreeable to any one here present.'
How could this be borne? I rose and was about to clap my hat uponmy head and burst away, in wrathful indignation from the house; butrecollecting - just in time to save my dignity - the folly of sucha proceeding, and how it would only give my fair tormentors a merrylaugh at my expense, for the sake of one I acknowledged in my ownheart to be unworthy of the slightest sacrifice - though the ghostof my former reverence and love so hung about me still, that Icould not bear to hear her name aspersed by others - I merelywalked to the window, and having spent a few seconds in vengiblybiting my lips and sternly repressing the passionate heavings of mychest, I observed to Miss Wilson, that I could see nothing of herbrother, and added that, as my time was precious, it would perhapsbe better to call again to-morrow, at some time when I should besure to find him at home.
'Oh, no!' said she; 'if you wait a minute, he will be sure to come;for he has business at L-' (that was our market-town), 'and willrequire a little refreshment before he goes.'
I submitted accordingly, with the best grace I could; and, happily,I had not long to wait. Mr. Wilson soon arrived, and, indisposedfor business as I was at that moment, and little as I cared for thefield or its owner, I forced my attention to the matter in hand,with very creditable determination, and quickly concluded thebargain - perhaps more to the thrifty farmer's satisfaction than hecared to acknowledge. Then, leaving him to the discussion of hissubstantial 'refreshment,' I gladly quitted the house, and went tolook after my reapers.
Leaving them busy at work on the side of the valley, I ascended thehill, intending to visit a corn-field in the more elevated regions,and see when it would be ripe for the sickle. But I did not visitit that day; for, as I approached, I beheld, at no great distance,Mrs. Graham and her son coming down in the opposite direction.They saw me; and Arthur already was running to meet me; but Iimmediately turned back and walked steadily homeward; for I hadfully determined never to encounter his mother again; andregardless of the shrill voice in my ear, calling upon me to 'waita moment,' I pursued the even tenor of my way; and he soonrelinquished the pursuit as hopeless, or was called away by hismother. At all events, when I looked back, five minutes after, nota trace of either was to be seen.
This incident agitated and disturbed me most unaccountably - unlessyou would account for it by saying that Cupid's arrows not only hadbeen too sharp for me, but they were barbed and deeply rooted, andI had not yet been able to wrench them from my heart. However thatbe, I was rendered doubly miserable for the remainder of the day.