align="center">Chapter VII
Not many days after this, on a mild sunny morning, I was out on the hill-side. I beheld three persons below. They were Eliza Millward, Fergus, and Rose; so I crossed the field to meet them. They told me that they were going to Wildfell Hall. I joined them, and offered my arm to Eliza, who readily accepted it.
So we went all. The meagre old maid-servant, that opened the door, ushered us into a tolerably spacious and lofty room.
The lady was seated in a stiff, high-backed arm-chair, with a small round table, containing a desk and a work-basket on one side of her, and her little boy on the other. The boy was leaning his elbow on her knee, and reading to her, with wonderful fluency, from a small volume that lay in her lap.
I do not think Mrs. Graham was particularly delighted to see us. There was something indescribably chilly in her quiet, calm civility; but I did not talk much to her. I called Arthur to me, and he and I and Sancho amused ourselves very pleasantly together. Fergus was interrupting the conversation, or filling up a pause with some impertinent question or remark. At one time it was,
“It, amazes me, Mrs. Graham, how you can choose such a dilapidated, rickety old place as this to live in. If you can't afford to occupy the whole house, why can't you take a neat little cottage?”
“Perhaps this romantic, old-fashioned place, Mr. Fergus,” replied she, “has many advantages over a cottage. You see, the rooms are larger and more airy. The unoccupied apartments, which I don't pay for, may serve as lumber-rooms. They are very useful for my little boy to run about in on rainy days when he can't go out. Then there is the garden for him to play in, and for me to work in.”
“But then how can you bear such a situation – your nearest neighbours two miles distant, and nobody passes by? Rose will go mad in such a place.”
“The loneliness of the place was one of its chief recommendations. I like to be quiet.”
“Oh! Do you want to tell us to leave you alone?”
“No, I dislike an extensive acquaintance; but if I have a few friends, of course I am glad to see them occasionally. No one can be happy in eternal solitude. Therefore, Mr. Fergus, if you choose to enter my house as a friend, I will make you welcome. If not, I will keep you away.”
“And, Mrs. Graham,” said he again, five minutes after, “we were disputing something. Well, the question, or questions for you to answer – ”
“Hold your tongue, Fergus!” cried Rose.
“I won't! The questions are these: first, concerning your birth, extraction, and previous residence. Some people say that you are a foreigner, and some an Englishwoman; some a native of the north country, and some of the south; some say – ”
“Well, Mr. Fergus, I'll tell you. I'm an Englishwoman. I was born in the country, neither in the extreme north nor south of our happy isle. In the country I have passed my life, and now I hope you are satisfied.”
“Except this – ”
“No, not one more!” laughed she, and, to escape my brother's persecutions, drew me into conversation.
“Mr. Markham,” said she, “have you forgotten the fine sea-view we were speaking of some time ago? I think I must trouble you, now, to tell me the nearest way to it. I shall, perhaps, be able to walk there, and take my sketch. I want to see it.”
“Oh, don't tell her, Gilbert!” cried Rose; “she will go with us. I suppose, Mrs. Graham, it is a very long walk, too far for you. But we were thinking about a picnic there. I'm sure we shall all be delighted to have you amongst us.”
Poor Mrs. Graham looked dismayed, and attempted to make excuses.
“Just a nice walk for the gentlemen,” continued Rose; “but the ladies will have their pony-carriage, which will be large enough to contain little Arthur and three ladies, together with your sketching apparatus, and our provisions.”
We rose, and took our leave.
But this was only March: a cold, wet April, and two weeks of May passed over before we ventured forth on our expedition. The company consisted of Mrs. and Master Graham, Mary and Eliza Millward, Jane and Richard Wilson, and Rose, Fergus, and Gilbert Markham.
Mr. Lawrence was invited to join us, but, for some reason he refused to give us his company.. The decision was not displeasing to me.
It was about midday when we reached the place of our destination. Mrs. Graham walked all the way to the cliffs. I have a very pleasant recollection of that walk, along the hard, white, sunny road. Eliza was not beside me; but she was with her friends in the pony-carriage. I was too happy in the company of Mrs. Graham to regret the absence of Eliza Millward.
At length our walk was ended. I looked at my companion to see what she thought of the glorious scene. She said nothing: but she stood still. She had very fine eyes – not brown, but very dark grey. A cool breeze blew from the sea – soft, pure, salubrious. She looked very lovely; my heart warmly cleaved to her.
Mrs. Graham seated herself at a distance from me. Eliza was my nearest neighbour. Soon my heart began to warm towards her once again; and we were all very merry and happy together.
Then Mrs. Graham took her camp-stool and drawing materials. She begged Miss Millward to take charge of her precious son, left us and proceeded along the steep, stony hill.
I rose and cannily slipped away. A few rapid strides soon brought me to her – a narrow ledge of rock at the verge of the cliff. She did not hear me. My shadow across her paper alarmed her. She looked hastily round.
“Oh! I didn't know it was you. Why did you startle me so?” said she testily. “Well, what did you come for? Are they all coming?”
“No; this little ledge can scarcely contain them all.”
“I'm glad, for I'm tired.”
“Well, then, I won't talk. I'll only sit and watch your drawing.”
“Oh, but you know I don't like that.”
“Then I'll admire this magnificent prospect.”
She made no objection to this. I sat beside her there, and said nothing.
“Are you there still, Mr. Markham?” said she at length. “Why don't you go and amuse yourself with your friends?”
“Because I am tired of them, like you.”
“What was Arthur doing when you came away?”
“He was with Miss Millward, where you left him.”
Soon declared her sketch completed, and closed the book. We returned.
The journey homeward was not so agreeable to me as the former part of the day. Now Mrs. Graham was in the carriage, and Eliza Millward was the companion of my walk.
Chapter VIII
It was a splendid morning of June. Most of the hay was cut. My brother ran up to me and put into my hand a small parcel, just arrived from London. I tore off the cover, and disclosed an elegant and portable edition of “Marmion[11].” I hastened away
Marmion – «Мармион», роман в стихах Вальтера Скотта.
