Shirley Charlotte Brontë (free ebook reader for pc .txt) 📖

be glad to see him any day. The higher above me, so much the better. It degrades to stoop; it is glorious to look up. What frets me is, that when I try to esteem, I am baffled; when religiously inclined, there are but false gods to adore. I disdain to be a pagan.”

“Miss Keeldar, will you come in? We are here at the rectory gates.”

“Not today, but tomorrow I shall fetch you to spend the evening with me. Caroline Helstone, if you really are what at present to me you seem, you and I will suit. I have never in my whole life been able to talk to a young lady as I have talked to you this morning. Kiss me⁠—and goodbye.”

Mrs. Pryor seemed as well disposed to cultivate Caroline’s acquaintance as Shirley. She, who went nowhere else, called on an early day at the rectory. She came in the afternoon, when the rector happened to be out. It was rather a close day; the heat of the weather had flushed her, and she seemed fluttered too by the circumstance of entering a strange house, for it appeared her habits were most retiring and secluded. When Miss Helstone went to her in the dining-room she found her seated on the sofa, trembling, fanning herself with her handkerchief, and seeming to contend with a nervous discomposure that threatened to become hysterical.

Caroline marvelled somewhat at this unusual want of self-command in a lady of her years, and also at the lack of real strength in one who appeared almost robust⁠—for Mrs. Pryor hastened to allege the fatigue of her walk, the heat of the sun, etc., as reasons for her temporary indisposition; and still as, with more hurry than coherence, she again and again enumerated these causes of exhaustion, Caroline gently sought to relieve her by opening her shawl and removing her bonnet. Attentions of this sort Mrs. Pryor would not have accepted from everyone. In general she recoiled from touch or close approach with a mixture of embarrassment and coldness far from flattering to those who offered her aid. To Miss Helstone’s little light hand, however, she yielded tractably, and seemed soothed by its contact. In a few minutes she ceased to tremble, and grew quiet and tranquil.

Her usual manner being resumed, she proceeded to talk of ordinary topics. In a miscellaneous company Mrs. Pryor rarely opened her lips, or, if obliged to speak, she spoke under restraint, and consequently not well; in dialogue she was a good converser. Her language, always a little formal, was well chosen; her sentiments were just; her information was varied and correct. Caroline felt it pleasant to listen to her, more pleasant than she could have anticipated.

On the wall opposite the sofa where they sat hung three pictures⁠—the centre one, above the mantelpiece, that of a lady; the two others, male portraits.

“That is a beautiful face,” said Mrs. Pryor, interrupting a brief pause which had followed half an hour’s animated conversation. “The features may be termed perfect; no statuary’s chisel could improve them. It is a portrait from the life, I presume?”

“It is a portrait of Mrs. Helstone.”

“Of Mrs. Matthewson Helstone? Of your uncle’s wife?”

“It is, and is said to be a good likeness. Before her marriage she was accounted the beauty of the district.”

“I should say she merited the distinction. What accuracy in all the lineaments! It is, however, a passive face. The original could not have been what is generally termed ‘a woman of spirit.’ ”

“I believe she was a remarkably still, silent person.”

“One would scarcely have expected, my dear, that your uncle’s choice should have fallen on a partner of that description. Is he not fond of being amused by lively chat?”

“In company he is. But he always says he could never do with a talking wife. He must have quiet at home. You go out to gossip, he affirms; you come home to read and reflect.”

“Mrs. Matthewson lived but a few years after her marriage, I think I have heard?”

“About five years.”

“Well, my dear,” pursued Mrs. Pryor, rising to go, “I trust it is understood that you will frequently come to Fieldhead. I hope you will. You must feel lonely here, having no female relative in the house; you must necessarily pass much of your time in solitude.”

“I am inured to it. I have grown up by myself. May I arrange your shawl for you?”

Mrs. Pryor submitted to be assisted.

“Should you chance to require help in your studies,” she said, “you may command me.”

Caroline expressed her sense of such kindness.

“I hope to have frequent conversations with you. I should wish to be of use to you.”

Again Miss Helstone returned thanks. She thought what a kind heart was hidden under her visitor’s seeming chilliness. Observing that Mrs. Pryor again glanced with an air of interest towards the portraits, as she walked down the room, Caroline casually explained: “The likeness that hangs near the window, you will see, is my uncle, taken twenty years ago; the other, to the left of the mantelpiece, is his brother James, my father.”

“They resemble each other in some measure,” said Mrs. Pryor; “yet a difference of character may be traced in the different mould of the brow and mouth.”

“What difference?” inquired Caroline, accompanying her to the door. “James Helstone⁠—that is, my father⁠—is generally considered the best-looking of the two. Strangers, I remark, always exclaim, ‘What a handsome man!’ Do you think his picture handsome, Mrs. Pryor?”

“It is much softer or finer featured than that of your uncle.”

“But where or what is the difference of character to which you alluded? Tell me. I wish to see if you guess right.”

“My dear, your uncle is a man of principle. His forehead and his lips are firm, and his eye is steady.”

“Well, and the other? Do not be afraid of offending me. I always like the truth.”

“Do you like the truth? It is well for you. Adhere to that preference⁠—never swerve thence. The other, my dear, if he had been living now, would probably have furnished little support to his daughter. It is,