style="font-size:15px;"> She laughed and replied, -
“I did not know he was climbing the wall. You are Mr. Markham, I believe?” she added abruptly.
I bowed.
“Your sister called here, a few days ago, with Mrs. Markham.”
“Is the resemblance so strong then?” I asked, in some surprise.
“There is a likeness about the eyes and complexion I think,” replied she; “and I think I saw you at church on Sunday.”
I smiled.
“Good-morning, Mr. Markham,” said she; and without another word or glance, she withdrew, with her child, into the garden.
I returned home, angry and dissatisfied. Then I to the vicarage, to solace my spirit and soothe my temper with the company and conversation of Eliza Millward.
I found her, as usual, busy with embroidery.
“You're so unfortunate, Mr. Markham!” observed the younger sister. “Papa's just gone out into the parish!”
“Never mind[6]; I am going to a few minutes with his daughters,” said I.
We were mutually pleased with each other, maintained between us a cheerful and animated conversation. I tenderly squeezed Eliza's little hand at parting; and she repaid me with one of her softest smiles. I went home very happy. I was overflowing with love for Eliza.
Chapter III
Two days after, Mrs. Graham called at Linden-Car. Mrs. Graham brought her child with her and said,
“It is a long walk for him; but I must take him with me; for I never leave him alone.”
“But you have a servant,” said Rose; “can you leave him with her?”
“She has her own occupations; and besides, she is very old, and he is very mercurial.”
“But you left him to come to church.”
“Yes, once; but I won't leave him for any other purpose. I think, in future, I must bring him with me, or stay at home.”
“Is he so mischievous?” asked my mother.
“No,” replied the lady, as she stroked the wavy locks of her son; “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[7],” said my plain-spoken parent. “You must 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. Shame on him.”
“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.
“Just as I thought,” said I to myself: “the lady's temper is none of the mildest.”
All this time I was seated at a table on the other side of the room. In a little while, however, someone was approaching me. It was little Arthur. My dog Sancho attracted him. A little encouragement 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. In a minute or two more, the little fellow was seated on my knee.
“Arthur,” said Mrs. Graham, “come here. You are troublesome to Mr. Markham: he wishes to read.”
“By no means, Mrs. Graham; pray let him stay,” pleaded I.
But she silently called him.
“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.”
“Thank you, I never go to parties.”
“Oh! but this will be quite a family concern – nobody here but ourselves, and just the Millwards and Wilsons, most of whom you already know, and Mr. Lawrence, your landlord.”
“Oh, you must excuse me this time. The evenings now are dark and damp, and Arthur, I fear, is very delicate. We must defer the enjoyment of your hospitality till the return of longer days and warmer nights.”
Rose produced a decanter of wine, with glasses and cake, from the cupboard. The guests both ate the cake, but obstinately refused the wine. Arthur looked at the ruby nectar in terror and disgust.
“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! He detests the very sight of wine,” she added, “and the smell of it almost makes him sick.”
“Well, Mrs. Graham,” said my mother, “well, you surprise me. What a poor child! Only think what a man you will make of him, if you persist in – ”
“By that means,” interrupted Mrs. Graham, with imperturbable gravity, “I hope to save him from one vice at least.”
“But by such means,” said I, “you will never render him virtuous[8]. What is virtue, Mrs. Graham? Must one resist temptation? But if one has no temptations to resist? Is he a strong man that overcomes great obstacles, or he that sits in his chair all day, with nothing to do? You must not clear the stones from his path, but teach him to walk firmly over them. Let him learn to go alone.”
“I will lead him by the hand, Mr. Markham, till he has strength to go alone. I will clear as many stones from his path as I can, and teach him to avoid the rest. 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 had virtue to resist.”
“You are very complimentary to us all,” I observed.
“I know nothing about you – I speak of those I do know. He will have temptations enough to assail him, both from within and without.”
“Yes,” said my mother; “but, my dear Mrs. Graham, let me warn you against the error – the fatal error, I may call it: don't take 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.”
“I must send him to school, I suppose, to learn to despise his mother's authority and affection!” said the lady, with a bitter smile.
“Oh, no! But you will treat him like a girl – you'll spoil his spirit, and make a girl of him. I'll ask Mr. Millward to talk to you about it. I don't doubt, he'll be able to convince you in a minute.”
“No occasion to trouble the vicar,” said Mrs. Graham. “Anyway,
Never mind. – Ничего.
I call that doting – я называю это слепым обожанием
you will never render him virtuous – вы никогда не пробудите в нём добродетели
