Anne Bronte: The Tenant of Wildfell Hall

45. CHAPTER XLV (continued)

'I've read it through,' said I, advancing into the room, - 'and I want to know if you'll forgive me - if you can forgive me?'

She did not answer, but her eyes glistened, and a faint red mantled on her lip and cheek. As I approached, she abruptly turned away, and went to the window. It was not in anger, I was well assured, but only to conceal or control her emotion. I therefore ventured to follow and stand beside her there, - but not to speak. She gave me her hand, without turning her head, and murmured in a voice she strove in vain to steady, - 'Can you forgive me?'

It might be deemed a breach of trust, I thought, to convey that lily hand to my lips, so I only gently pressed it between my own, and smilingly replied, - 'I hardly can. You should have told me this before. It shows a want of confidence - '

'Oh, no,' cried she, eagerly interrupting me; 'it was not that. It was no want of confidence in you; but if I had told you anything of my history, I must have told you all, in order to excuse my conduct; and I might well shrink from such a disclosure, till necessity obliged me to make it. But you forgive me? - I have done very, very wrong, I know; but, as usual, I have reaped the bitter fruits of my own error, - and must reap them to the end.'

Bitter, indeed, was the tone of anguish, repressed by resolute firmness, in which this was spoken. Now, I raised her hand to my lips, and fervently kissed it again and again; for tears prevented any other reply. She suffered these wild caresses without resistance or resentment; then, suddenly turning from me, she paced twice or thrice through the room. I knew by the contraction of her brow, the tight compression of her lips, and wringing of her hands, that meantime a violent conflict between reason and passion was silently passing within. At length she paused before the empty fire-place, and turning to me, said calmly - if that might be called calmness which was so evidently the result of a violent effort, - 'Now, Gilbert, you must leave me - not this moment, but soon - and you must never come again.'