Villette - The Original Classic Edition. Brontë Charlotte

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СКАЧАТЬ of the hall-lamp was shining; her little brow knit in anxious, meditation.

       "What are you thinking about, Polly?"

       "Nothing particular; only I wish that door was clear glass--that I might see through it. The boys seem very cheerful, and I want to go to them: I want to be with Graham, and watch his friends."

       "What hinders you from going?"

       "I feel afraid: but may I try, do you think? May I knock at the door, and ask to be let in?"

       I thought perhaps they might not object to have her as a playmate, and therefore encouraged the attempt.

       She knocked--too faintly at first to be heard, but on a second essay the door unclosed; Graham's head appeared; he looked in high

       spirits, but impatient.

       "What do you want, you little monkey?"

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       "To come to you."

       "Do you indeed? As if I would be troubled with you! Away to mamma and Mistress Snowe, and tell them to put you to bed." The auburn head and bright flushed face vanished,--the door shut peremptorily. She was stunned.

       "Why does he speak so? He never spoke so before," she said in consternation. "What have I done?" "Nothing, Polly; but Graham is busy with his school-friends."

       "And he likes them better than me! He turns me away now they are here!"

       I had some thoughts of consoling her, and of improving the occasion by inculcating some of those maxims of philosophy whereof I had ever a tolerable stock ready for application. She stopped me, however, by putting her fingers in her ears at the first words I uttered, and then lying down on the mat with her face against the flags; nor could either Warren or the cook root her from that position: she was allowed to lie, therefore, till she chose to rise of her own accord.

       Graham forgot his impatience the same evening, and would have accosted her as usual when his friends were gone, but she wrenched herself from his hand; her eye quite flashed; she would not bid him good-night; she would not look in his face. The next day he treated her with indifference, and she grew like a bit of marble. The day after, he teased her to know what was the matter; her lips would not unclose. Of course he could not feel real anger on his side: the match was too unequal in every way; he tried soothing and coaxing. "Why was she so angry? What had he done?" By-and-by tears answered him; he petted her, and they were friends. But she was one on whom such incidents were not lost: I remarked that never after this rebuff did she seek him, or follow him, or in any way solicit his notice. I told her once to carry a book or some other article to Graham when he was shut up in his study.

       "I shall wait till he comes out," said she, proudly; "I don't choose to give him the trouble of rising to open the door."

       Young Bretton had a favourite pony on which he often rode out; from the window she always watched his departure and return. It was her ambition to be permitted to have a ride round the courtyard on this pony; but far be it from her to ask such a favour. One day she descended to the yard to watch him dismount; as she leaned against the gate, the longing wish for the indulgence of a ride glittered in her eye.

       "Come, Polly, will you have a canter?" asked Graham, half carelessly.

       I suppose she thought he was too careless.

       "No, thank you," said she, turning away with the utmost coolness. "You'd better," pursued he. "You will like it, I am sure."

       "Don't think I should care a fig about it," was the response.

       "That is not true. You told Lucy Snowe you longed to have a ride."

       "Lucy Snowe is a tatter-box," I heard her say (her imperfect articulation was the least precocious thing she had about her); and with this; she walked into the house.

       Graham, coming in soon after, observed to his mother,--"Mamma, I believe that creature is a changeling: she is a perfect cabinet of oddities; but I should be dull without her: she amuses me a great deal more than you or Lucy Snowe."

       *

       "Miss Snowe," said Paulina to me (she had now got into the habit of occasionally chatting with me when we were alone in our room at night), "do you know on what day in the week I like Graham best?"

       "How can I possibly know anything so strange? Is there one day out of the seven when he is otherwise than on the other six?"

       "To be sure! Can't you see? Don't you know? I find him the most excellent on a Sunday; then we have him the whole day, and he is quiet, and, in the evening, so kind."

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       This observation was not altogether groundless: going to church, &c., kept Graham quiet on the Sunday, and the evening he generally dedicated to a serene, though rather indolent sort of enjoyment by the parlour fireside. He would take possession of the couch, and then he would call Polly.

       Graham was a boy not quite as other boys are; all his delight did not lie in action: he was capable of some intervals of contemplation; he could take a pleasure too in reading, nor was his selection of books wholly indiscriminate: there were glimmerings of characteristic preference, and even of instinctive taste in the choice. He rarely, it is true, remarked on what he read, but I have seen him sit and think of it.

       Polly, being near him, kneeling on a little cushion or the carpet, a conversation would begin in murmurs, not inaudible, though subdued. I caught a snatch of their tenor now and then; and, in truth, some influence better and finer than that of every day, seemed to soothe Graham at such times into no ungentle mood.

       "Have you learned any hymns this week, Polly?"

       "I have learned a very pretty one, four verses long. Shall I say it?" "Speak nicely, then: don't be in a hurry."

       The hymn being rehearsed, or rather half-chanted, in a little singing voice, Graham would take exceptions at the manner, and proceed to give a lesson in recitation. She was quick in learning, apt in imitating; and, besides, her pleasure was to please Graham: she proved a ready scholar. To the hymn would succeed some reading--perhaps a chapter in the Bible; correction was seldom required here, for the child could read any simple narrative chapter very well; and, when the subject was such as she could understand and

       take an interest in, her expression and emphasis were something remarkable. Joseph cast into the pit; the calling of Samuel; Daniel in the lions' den;--these were favourite passages: of the first especially she seemed perfectly to feel the pathos.

       "Poor Jacob!" she would sometimes say, with quivering lips. "How he loved his son Joseph! As much," she once added--"as much, Graham, as I love you: if you were to die" (and she re-opened the book, sought the verse, and read), "I should refuse to be comforted, and go down into the grave to you mourning."

       With these words she gathered Graham in her little arms, drawing his long-tressed head towards her. The action, I remember, struck me as strangely rash; exciting the feeling one might experience on seeing an animal dangerous by nature, and but half-tamed by art, too heedlessly fondled. Not that I feared Graham would hurt, or very roughly check her; but I thought she ran risk of incurring

       such a careless, impatient repulse, as would be worse almost to her than a blow. On: the whole, however, these demonstrations were borne passively: sometimes even a sort of complacent wonder at her earnest partiality would smile not unkindly in his eyes. Once he said:--"You like me almost as well as if you were my little sister, Polly."

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