The Tenant of Wildfell Hall Anne BrontĂ« (librera reader .txt) đ
- Author: Anne Brontë
Book online «The Tenant of Wildfell Hall Anne BrontĂ« (librera reader .txt) đ». Author Anne BrontĂ«
âOh, Gilbert! how could you do so? Where have you been? Do come in and take your supper. Iâve got it all ready, though you donât deserve it, for keeping me in such a fright, after the strange manner you left the house this evening. Mr. Millward was quiteâ âBless the boy! how ill he looks. Oh, gracious! what is the matter?â
âNothing, nothingâ âgive me a candle.â
âBut wonât you take some supper?â
âNo; I want to go to bed,â said I, taking a candle and lighting it at the one she held in her hand.
âOh, Gilbert, how you tremble!â exclaimed my anxious parent. âHow white you look! Do tell me what it is? Has anything happened?â
âItâs nothing,â cried I, ready to stamp with vexation because the candle would not light. Then, suppressing my irritation, I added, âIâve been walking too fast, thatâs all. Good night,â and marched off to bed, regardless of the âWalking too fast! where have you been?â that was called after me from below.
My mother followed me to the very door of my room with her questionings and advice concerning my health and my conduct; but I implored her to let me alone till morning; and she withdrew, and at length I had the satisfaction to hear her close her own door. There was no sleep for me, however, that night as I thought; and instead of attempting to solicit it, I employed myself in rapidly pacing the chamber, having first removed my boots, lest my mother should hear me. But the boards creaked, and she was watchful. I had not walked above a quarter of an hour before she was at the door again.
âGilbert, why are you not in bedâ âyou said you wanted to go?â
âConfound it! Iâm going,â said I.
âBut why are you so long about it? You must have something on your mindâ ââ
âFor heavenâs sake, let me alone, and get to bed yourself.â
âCan it be that Mrs. Graham that distresses you so?â
âNo, no, I tell youâ âitâs nothing.â
âI wish to goodness it maynât,â murmured she, with a sigh, as she returned to her own apartment, while I threw myself on the bed, feeling most undutifully disaffected towards her for having deprived me of what seemed the only shadow of a consolation that remained, and chained me to that wretched couch of thorns.
Never did I endure so long, so miserable a night as that. And yet it was not wholly sleepless. Towards morning my distracting thoughts began to lose all pretensions to coherency, and shape themselves into confused and feverish dreams, and, at length, there followed an interval of unconscious slumber. But then the dawn of bitter recollection that succeededâ âthe waking to find life a blank, and worse than a blank, teeming with torment and miseryâ ânot a mere barren wilderness, but full of thorns and briersâ âto find myself deceived, duped, hopeless, my affections trampled upon, my angel not an angel, and my friend a fiend incarnateâ âit was worse than if I had not slept at all.
It was a dull, gloomy morning; the weather had changed like my prospects, and the rain was pattering against the window. I rose, nevertheless, and went out; not to look after the farm, though that would serve as my excuse, but to cool my brain, and regain, if possible, a sufficient degree of composure to meet the family at the morning meal without exciting inconvenient remarks. If I got a wetting, that, in conjunction with a pretended overexertion before breakfast, might excuse my sudden loss of appetite; and if a cold ensued, the severer the betterâ âit would help to account for the sullen moods and moping melancholy likely to cloud my brow for long enough.
XIIIâMy dear Gilbert, I wish you would try to be a little more amiable,â said my mother one morning after some display of unjustifiable ill-humour on my part. âYou say there is nothing the matter with you, and nothing has happened to grieve you, and yet I never saw anyone so altered as you within these last few days. You havenât a good word for anybodyâ âfriends and strangers, equals and inferiorsâ âitâs all the same. I do wish youâd try to check it.â
âCheck what?â
âWhy, your strange temper. You donât know how it spoils you. Iâm sure a finer disposition than yours by nature could not be, if youâd let it have fair play: so youâve no excuse that way.â
While she thus remonstrated, I took up a book, and laying it open on the table before me, pretended to be deeply absorbed in its perusal, for I was equally unable to justify myself and unwilling to acknowledge my errors; and I wished to have nothing to say on the matter. But my excellent parent went on lecturing, and then came to coaxing, and began to stroke my hair; and I was getting to feel quite a good boy, but my mischievous brother, who was idling about the room, revived
Comments (0)