Bleak House by Charles Dickens (the top 100 crime novels of all time .txt) 📖

>My hair had not been cut off, though it had been in danger more

than once. It was long and thick. I let it down, and shook it

out, and went up to the glass upon the dressing-table. There was a

little muslin curtain drawn across it. I drew it back and stood

for a moment looking through such a veil of my own hair that I

could see nothing else. Then I put my hair aside and looked at the

reflection in the mirror, encouraged by seeing how placidly it

looked at me. I was very much changed—oh, very, very much. At

first my face was so strange to me that I think I should have put

my hands before it and started back but for the encouragement I

have mentioned. Very soon it became more familiar, and then I knew

the extent of the alteration in it better than I had done at first.

It was not like what I had expected, but I had expected nothing

definite, and I dare say anything definite would have surprised me.

 

I had never been a beauty and had never thought myself one, but I

had been very different from this. It was all gone now. Heaven

was so good to me that I could let it go with a few not bitter

tears and could stand there arranging my hair for the night quite

thankfully.

 

One thing troubled me, and I considered it for a long time before I

went to sleep. I had kept Mr. Woodcourt’s flowers. When they were

withered I had dried them and put them in a book that I was fond

of. Nobody knew this, not even Ada. I was doubtful whether I had

a right to preserve what he had sent to one so different—whether

it was generous towards him to do it. I wished to be generous to

him, even in the secret depths of my heart, which he would never

know, because I could have loved him—could have been devoted to

him. At last I came to the conclusion that I might keep them if I

treasured them only as a remembrance of what was irrevocably past

and gone, never to be looked back on any more, in any other light.

I hope this may not seem trivial. I was very much in earnest.

 

I took care to be up early in the morning and to be before the

glass when Charley came in on tiptoe.

 

“Dear, dear, miss!” cried Charley, starting. “Is that you?”

 

“Yes, Charley,” said I, quietly putting up my hair. “And I am very

well indeed, and very happy.”

 

I saw it was a weight off Charley’s mind, but it was a greater

weight off mine. I knew the worst now and was composed to it. I

shall not conceal, as I go on, the weaknesses I could not quite

conquer, but they always passed from me soon and the happier frame

of mind stayed by me faithfully.

 

Wishing to be fully re-established in my strength and my good

spirits before Ada came, I now laid down a little series of plans

with Charley for being in the fresh air all day long. We were to

be out before breakfast, and were to dine early, and were to be out

again before and after dinner, and were to talk in the garden after

tea, and were to go to rest betimes, and were to climb every hill

and explore every road, lane, and field in the neighbourhood. As

to restoratives and strengthening delicacies, Mr. Boythorn’s good

housekeeper was for ever trotting about with something to eat or

drink in her hand; I could not even be heard of as resting in the

park but she would come trotting after me with a basket, her

cheerful face shining with a lecture on the importance of frequent

nourishment. Then there was a pony expressly for my riding, a

chubby pony with a short neck and a mane all over his eyes who

could canter—when he would—so easily and quietly that he was a

treasure. In a very few days he would come to me in the paddock

when I called him, and eat out of my hand, and follow me about. We

arrived at such a capital understanding that when he was jogging

with me lazily, and rather obstinately, down some shady lane, if I

patted his neck and said, “Stubbs, I am surprised you don’t canter

when you know how much I like it; and I think you might oblige me,

for you are only getting stupid and going to sleep,” he would give

his head a comical shake or two and set off directly, while Charley

would stand still and laugh with such enjoyment that her laughter

was like music. I don’t know who had given Stubbs his name, but it

seemed to belong to him as naturally as his rough coat. Once we

put him in a little chaise and drove him triumphantly through the

green lanes for five miles; but all at once, as we were extolling

him to the skies, he seemed to take it ill that he should have been

accompanied so far by the circle of tantalizing little gnats that

had been hovering round and round his ears the whole way without

appearing to advance an inch, and stopped to think about it. I

suppose he came to the decision that it was not to be borne, for he

steadily refused to move until I gave the reins to Charley and got

out and walked, when he followed me with a sturdy sort of good

humour, putting his head under my arm and rubbing his ear against

my sleeve. It was in vain for me to say, “Now, Stubbs, I feel

quite sure from what I know of you that you will go on if I ride a

little while,” for the moment I left him, he stood stock still

again. Consequently I was obliged to lead the way, as before; and

in this order we returned home, to the great delight of the

village.

 

Charley and I had reason to call it the most friendly of villages,

I am sure, for in a week’s time the people were so glad to see us

go by, though ever so frequently in the course of a day, that there

were faces of greeting in every cottage. I had known many of the

grown people before and almost all the children, but now the very

steeple began to wear a familiar and affectionate look. Among my

new friends was an old old woman who lived in such a little

thatched and whitewashed dwelling that when the outside shutter was

turned up on its hinges, it shut up the whole house-front. This

old lady had a grandson who was a sailor, and I wrote a letter to

him for her and drew at the top of it the chimney-corner in which

she had brought him up and where his old stool yet occupied its old

place. This was considered by the whole village the most wonderful

achievement in the world, but when an answer came back all the way

from Plymouth, in which he mentioned that he was going to take the

picture all the way to America, and from America would write again,

I got all the credit that ought to have been given to the post-office and was invested with the merit of the whole system.

 

Thus, what with being so much in the air, playing with so many

children, gossiping with so many people, sitting on invitation in

so many cottages, going on with Charley’s education, and writing

long letters to Ada every day, I had scarcely any time to think

about that little loss of mine and was almost always cheerful. If

I did think of it at odd moments now and then, I had only to be

busy and forget it. I felt it more than I had hoped I should once

when a child said, “Mother, why is the lady not a pretty lady now

like she used to be?” But when I found the child was not less fond

of me, and drew its soft hand over my face with a kind of pitying

protection in its touch, that soon set me up again. There were

many little occurrences which suggested to me, with great

consolation, how natural it is to gentle hearts to be considerate

and delicate towards any inferiority. One of these particularly

touched me. I happened to stroll into the little church when a

marriage was just concluded, and the young couple had to sign the

register.

 

The bridegroom, to whom the pen was handed first, made a rude cross

for his mark; the bride, who came next, did the same. Now, I had

known the bride when I was last there, not only as the prettiest

girl in the place, but as having quite distinguished herself in the

school, and I could not help looking at her with some surprise.

She came aside and whispered to me, while tears of honest love and

admiration stood in her bright eyes, “He’s a dear good fellow,

miss; but he can’t write yet—he’s going to learn of me—and I

wouldn’t shame him for the world!” Why, what had I to fear, I

thought, when there was this nobility in the soul of a labouring

man’s daughter!

 

The air blew as freshly and revivingly upon me as it had ever

blown, and the healthy colour came into my new face as it had come

into my old one. Charley was wonderful to see, she was so radiant

and so rosy; and we both enjoyed the whole day and slept soundly

the whole night.

 

There was a favourite spot of mine in the park-woods of Chesney

Wold where a seat had been erected commanding a lovely view. The

wood had been cleared and opened to improve this point of sight,

and the bright sunny landscape beyond was so beautiful that I

rested there at least once every day. A picturesque part of the

Hall, called the Ghost’s Walk, was seen to advantage from this

higher ground; and the startling name, and the old legend in the

Dedlock family which I had heard from Mr. Boythorn accounting for

it, mingled with the view and gave it something of a mysterious

interest in addition to its real charms. There was a bank here,

too, which was a famous one for violets; and as it was a daily

delight of Charley’s to gather wild flowers, she took as much to

the spot as I did.

 

It would be idle to inquire now why I never went close to the house

or never went inside it. The family were not there, I had heard on

my arrival, and were not expected. I was far from being incurious

or uninterested about the building; on the contrary, I often sat in

this place wondering how the rooms ranged and whether any echo like

a footstep really did resound at times, as the story said, upon the

lonely Ghost’s Walk. The indefinable feeling with which Lady

Dedlock had impressed me may have had some influence in keeping me

from the house even when she was absent. I am not sure. Her face

and figure were associated with it, naturally; but I cannot say

that they repelled me from it, though something did. For whatever

reason or no reason, I had never once gone near it, down to the day

at which my story now arrives.

 

I was resting at my favourite point after a long ramble, and

Charley was gathering violets at a little distance from me. I had

been looking at the Ghost’s Walk lying in a deep shade of masonry

afar off and picturing to myself the female shape that was