When all were gone, I learnt that the vile slander had indeed beencirculated throughout the company, in the very presence of thevictim. Rose, however, vowed she did not and would not believe it,and my mother made the same declaration, though not, I fear, withthe same amount of real, unwavering incredulity. It seemed todwell continually on her mind, and she kept irritating me from timeto time by such expressions as - 'Dear, dear, who would havethought it! - Well! I always thought there was something odd abouther. - You see what it is for women to affect to be different toother people.' And once it was, - 'I misdoubted that appearance ofmystery from the very first - I thought there would no good come ofit; but this is a sad, sad business, to be sure!'

'Why, mother, you said you didn't believe these tales,' saidFergus.

'No more I do, my dear; but then, you know, there must be somefoundation.'

'The foundation is in the wickedness and falsehood of the world,'said I, 'and in the fact that Mr. Lawrence has been seen to go thatway once or twice of an evening - and the village gossips say hegoes to pay his addresses to the strange lady, and the scandal-mongers have greedily seized the rumour, to make it the basis oftheir own infernal structure.'

'Well, but, Gilbert, there must be something in her manner tocountenance such reports.'

'Did you see anything in her manner?'

'No, certainly; but then, you know, I always said there wassomething strange about her.'

I believe it was on that very evening that I ventured on anotherinvasion of Wildfell Hall. From the time of our party, which wasupwards of a week ago, I had been making daily efforts to meet itsmistress in her walks; and always disappointed (she must havemanaged it so on purpose), had nightly kept revolving in my mindsome pretext for another call. At length I concluded that theseparation could be endured no longer (by this time, you will see,I was pretty far gone); and, taking from the book-case an oldvolume that I thought she might be interested in, though, from itsunsightly and somewhat dilapidated condition, I had not yetventured to offer it for perusal, I hastened away, - but notwithout sundry misgivings as to how she would receive me, or how Icould summon courage to present myself with so slight an excuse.But, perhaps, I might see her in the field or the garden, and thenthere would be no great difficulty: it was the formal knocking atthe door, with the prospect of being gravely ushered in by Rachel,to the presence of a surprised, uncordial mistress, that so greatlydisturbed me.

My wish, however, was not gratified. Mrs. Graham herself was notto be seen; but there was Arthur playing with his frolicsome littledog in the garden. I looked over the gate and called him to me.He wanted me to come in; but I told him I could not without hismother's leave.

'I'll go and ask her,' said the child.

'No, no, Arthur, you mustn't do that; but if she's not engaged,just ask her to come here a minute. Tell her I want to speak toher.'

He ran to perform my bidding, and quickly returned with his mother.How lovely she looked with her dark ringlets streaming in the lightsummer breeze, her fair cheek slightly flushed, and her countenanceradiant with smiles. Dear Arthur! what did I not owe to you forthis and every other happy meeting? Through him I was at oncedelivered from all formality, and terror, and constraint. In loveaffairs, there is no mediator like a merry, simple-hearted child -ever ready to cement divided hearts, to span the unfriendly gulf ofcustom, to melt the ice of cold reserve, and overthrow theseparating walls of dread formality and pride.

'Well, Mr. Markham, what is it?' said the young mother, accostingme with a pleasant smile.

'I want you to look at this book, and, if you please, to take it,and peruse it at your leisure. I make no apology for calling youout on such a lovely evening, though it be for a matter of nogreater importance.'

'Tell him to come in, mamma,' said Arthur.

'Would you like to come in?' asked the lady.

'Yes; I should like to see your improvements in the garden.'

'And how your sister's roots have prospered in my charge,' addedshe, as she opened the gate.

And we sauntered through the garden, and talked of the flowers, thetrees, and the book, and then of other things. The evening waskind and genial, and so was my companion. By degrees I waxed morewarm and tender than, perhaps, I had ever been before; but still Isaid nothing tangible, and she attempted no repulse, until, inpassing a moss rose-tree that I had brought her some weeks since,in my sister's name, she plucked a beautiful half-open bud and bademe give it to Rose.

'May I not keep it myself?' I asked.

'No; but here is another for you.'

Instead of taking it quietly, I likewise took the hand that offeredit, and looked into her face. She let me hold it for a moment, andI saw a flash of ecstatic brilliance in her eye, a glow of gladexcitement on her face - I thought my hour of victory was come -but instantly a painful recollection seemed to flash upon her; acloud of anguish darkened her brow, a marble paleness blanched hercheek and lip; there seemed a moment of inward conflict, and, witha sudden effort, she withdrew her hand, and retreated a step or twoback.

'Now, Mr. Markham,' said she, with a kind of desperate calmness, 'Imust tell you plainly that I cannot do with this. I like yourcompany, because I am alone here, and your conversation pleases memore than that of any other person; but if you cannot be content toregard me as a friend - a plain, cold, motherly, or sisterly friend- I must beg you to leave me now, and let me alone hereafter: infact, we must be strangers for the future.'

'I will, then - be your friend, or brother, or anything you wish,if you will only let me continue to see you; but tell me why Icannot be anything more?'

There was a perplexed and thoughtful pause.

'Is it in consequence of some rash vow?'

'It is something of the kind,' she answered. 'Some day I may tellyou, but at present you had better leave me; and never, Gilbert,put me to the painful necessity of repeating what I have just nowsaid to you,' she earnestly added, giving me her hand in seriouskindness. How sweet, how musical my own name sounded in her mouth!

'I will not,' I replied. 'But you pardon this offence?'

'On condition that you never repeat it.'

'And may I come to see you now and then?'

'Perhaps - occasionally; provided you never abuse the privilege.'

'I make no empty promises, but you shall see.'

'The moment you do our intimacy is at an end, that's all.'

'And will you always call me Gilbert? It sounds more sisterly, andit will serve to remind me of our contract.'

She smiled, and once more bid me go; and at length I judged itprudent to obey, and she re-entered the house and I went down thehill. But as I went the tramp of horses' hoofs fell on my ear, andbroke the stillness of the dewy evening; and, looking towards thelane, I saw a solitary equestrian coming up. Inclining to dusk asit was, I knew him at a glance: it was Mr. Lawrence on his greypony. I flew across the field, leaped the stone fence, and thenwalked down the lane to meet him. On seeing me, he suddenly drewin his little steed, and seemed inclined to turn back, but onsecond thought apparently judged it better to continue his courseas before. He accosted me with a slight bow, and, edging close tothe wall, endeavoured to pass on; but I was not so minded. Seizinghis horse by the bridle, I exclaimed, - 'Now, Lawrence, I will havethis mystery explained! Tell me where you are going, and what youmean to do - at once, and distinctly!'

'Will you take your hand off the bridle?' said he, quietly -'you're hurting my pony's mouth.'

'You and your pony be - '

'What makes you so coarse and brutal, Markham? I'm quite ashamedof you.'

'You answer my questions - before you leave this spot I will knowwhat you mean by this perfidious duplicity!'

'I shall answer no questions till you let go the bridle, - if youstand till morning.'

'Now then,' said I, unclosing my hand, but still standing beforehim.

'Ask me some other time, when you can speak like a gentleman,'returned he, and he made an effort to pass me again; but I quicklyre-captured the pony, scarce less astonished than its master atsuch uncivil usage.

'Really, Mr. Markham, this is too much!' said the latter. 'Can Inot go to see my tenant on matters of business, without beingassaulted in this manner by -?'

'This is no time for business, sir! - I'll tell you, now, what Ithink of your conduct.'

'You'd better defer your opinion to a more convenient season,'interrupted he in a low tone - 'here's the vicar.' And, in truth,the vicar was just behind me, plodding homeward from some remotecorner of his parish. I immediately released the squire; and hewent on his way, saluting Mr. Millward as he passed.

'What! quarrelling, Markham?' cried the latter, addressing himselfto me, - 'and about that young widow, I doubt?' he added,reproachfully shaking his head. 'But let me tell you, young man'(here he put his face into mine with an important, confidentialair), 'she's not worth it!' and he confirmed the assertion by asolemn nod.

'MR. MILLWARD,' I exclaimed, in a tone of wrathful menace that madethe reverend gentleman look round - aghast - astounded at suchunwonted insolence, and stare me in the face, with a look thatplainly said, 'What, this to me!' But I was too indignant toapologise, or to speak another word to him: I turned away, andhastened homewards, descending with rapid strides the steep, roughlane, and leaving him to follow as he pleased.