Villette. Шарлотта Бронте

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СКАЧАТЬ from time to time. Nor was this powerful temptation wholly unavailing: her eyes, furtively raised from her work, cast many a peep towards the writing-table, rich in scattered pictures. An etching of a child playing with a Blenheim spaniel happened to flutter to the floor.

      "Pretty little dog!" said she, delighted.

      Graham prudently took no notice. Ere long, stealing from her corner, she approached to examine the treasure more closely. The dog's great eyes and long ears, and the child's hat and feathers, were irresistible.

      "Nice picture!" was her favourable criticism.

      "Well – you may have it," said Graham.

      She seemed to hesitate. The wish to possess was strong, but to accept would be a compromise of dignity. No. She put it down and turned away.

      "You won't have it, then, Polly?"

      "I would rather not, thank you."

      "Shall I tell you what I will do with the picture if you refuse it?"

      She half turned to listen.

      "Cut it into strips for lighting the taper."

      "No!"

      "But I shall."

      "Please – don't."

      Graham waxed inexorable on hearing the pleading tone; he took the scissors from his mother's work-basket.

      "Here goes!" said he, making a menacing flourish. "Right through Fido's head, and splitting little Harry's nose."

      "No! No! NO!"

      "Then come to me. Come quickly, or it is done."

      She hesitated, lingered, but complied.

      "Now, will you have it?" he asked, as she stood before him.

      "Please."

      "But I shall want payment."

      "How much?"

      "A kiss."

      "Give the picture first into my hand."

      Polly, as she said this, looked rather faithless in her turn. Graham gave it. She absconded a debtor, darted to her father, and took refuge on his knee. Graham rose in mimic wrath and followed. She buried her face in Mr. Home's waistcoat.

      "Papa – papa – send him away!"

      "I'll not be sent away," said Graham.

      With face still averted, she held out her hand to keep him off

      "Then, I shall kiss the hand," said he; but that moment it became a miniature fist, and dealt him payment in a small coin that was not kisses.

      Graham – not failing in his way to be as wily as his little playmate – retreated apparently quite discomfited; he flung himself on a sofa, and resting his head against the cushion, lay like one in pain. Polly, finding him silent, presently peeped at him. His eyes and face were covered with his hands. She turned on her father's knee, and gazed at her foe anxiously and long. Graham groaned.

      "Papa, what is the matter?" she whispered.

      "You had better ask him, Polly."

      "Is he hurt?" (groan second.)

      "He makes a noise as if he were," said Mr. Home.

      "Mother," suggested Graham, feebly, "I think you had better send for the doctor. Oh my eye!" (renewed silence, broken only by sighs from Graham.)

      "If I were to become blind – ?" suggested this last.

      His chastiser could not bear the suggestion. She was beside him directly.

      "Let me see your eye: I did not mean to touch it, only your mouth; and I did not think I hit so very hard."

      Silence answered her. Her features worked, – "I am sorry; I am sorry!"

      Then succeeded emotion, faltering; weeping.

      "Have done trying that child, Graham," said Mrs. Bretton.

      "It is all nonsense, my pet," cried Mr. Home.

      And Graham once more snatched her aloft, and she again punished him; and while she pulled his lion's locks, termed him – "The naughtiest, rudest, worst, untruest person that ever was."

* * * * *

      On the morning of Mr. Home's departure, he and his daughter had some conversation in a window-recess by themselves; I heard part of it.

      "Couldn't I pack my box and go with you, papa?" she whispered earnestly.

      He shook his head.

      "Should I be a trouble to you?"

      "Yes, Polly."

      "Because I am little?"

      "Because you are little and tender. It is only great, strong people that should travel. But don't look sad, my little girl; it breaks my heart. Papa, will soon come back to his Polly."

      "Indeed, indeed, I am not sad, scarcely at all."

      "Polly would be sorry to give papa pain; would she not?"

      "Sorrier than sorry."

      "Then Polly must be cheerful: not cry at parting; not fret afterwards.

      She must look forward to meeting again, and try to be happy meanwhile.

      Can she do this?"

      "She will try."

      "I see she will. Farewell, then. It is time to go."

      "Now? – just now?

      "Just now."

      She held up quivering lips. Her father sobbed, but she, I remarked, did not. Having put her down, he shook hands with the rest present, and departed.

      When the street-door closed, she dropped on her knees at a chair with a cry – "Papa!"

      It was low and long; a sort of "Why hast thou forsaken me?" During an ensuing space of some minutes, I perceived she endured agony. She went through, in that brief interval of her infant life, emotions such as some never feel; it was in her constitution: she would have more of such instants if she lived. Nobody spoke. Mrs. Bretton, being a mother, shed a tear or two. Graham, who was writing, lifted up his eyes and gazed at her. I, Lucy Snowe, was calm.

      The little creature, thus left unharassed, did for herself what none other could do – contended with an intolerable feeling; and, ere long, in some degree, repressed it. That day she would accept solace from none; nor the next day: she grew more passive afterwards.

      On the third evening, as she sat on the floor, worn and quiet, Graham, coming in, took her up gently, without a word. She did not resist: she rather nestled in his arms, as if weary. When he sat down, she laid her head against him; in a few minutes she slept; he carried her upstairs to bed. I was not surprised that, the next morning, the first thing she demanded was, "Where is Mr. СКАЧАТЬ