50 Tenant Of Wildfell Hall - Read By Stephanie Poppins

Hello.

Welcome to Sleep Stories with Steph,

A romantic bedtime podcast guaranteed to help you drift off into a calm,

Relaxing sleep.

Come with me as we travel back to a time long ago where Helen Huntingdon is sacrificing everything she knows in order to protect her son.

But before we begin let us take a moment to focus on where we are now.

Take a deep breath in through your nose then let it out on a long sigh.

It is time to relax and really let go.

Feel your shoulders melt away from your ears as you sink into the support beneath you.

Feel the pressure seep away from your cheeks as your breath drops into a natural rhythm.

There is nothing you need to be doing right now and nowhere you need to go.

We are together and it is time for sleep.

The Tenant of Wildfelm Hall by Read and abridged by Stephanie Poppins Chapter 50 Doubts and Disappointments On reading the letter I had no reason to disguise my joy and hope from Frederick Lawrence.

I had none to be ashamed of.

I felt no joy but that his sister was at length released from her afflictive,

Overwhelming toil.

No hope but that she would in time recover from the effects of it and be suffered to rest in peace and quietness at least for the remainder of her life.

I experienced a painful commiseration for her unhappy husband.

Though fully aware he had brought every particle of his sufferings upon himself,

And a profound sympathy for her own afflictions and deep anxiety for all the consequences of those harassing cares,

Those dreadful vigils,

That incessant confinement beside a living corpse,

For I was persuaded she had not hinted half the suffering she had to endure.

You will go to her,

Lawrence,

Said I as I put the letter into his hand.

Yes,

Immediately.

That's right,

I'll leave you then to prepare for your departure.

I've done that already while you were reading the letter before you came.

The carriage is now coming round to the door.

I then bade him good morning and withdrew.

Lawrence gave me a searching glance as we pressed each other's hands at parting,

But whatever he sought in my countenance he saw there nothing but the most becoming gravity.

It might be mingled with a little sternness in momentary resentment at what I suspected to be passing in his mind.

Had I forgotten my own prospects,

My ardent love,

My pertinacious hopes?

It seemed like sacrilege to revert to them now,

But I had not forgotten them.

It was,

However,

With a gloomy sense of the darkness of those prospects,

The fallacy of those hopes,

And the vanity of that affection,

That I reflected on those things as I remounted my horse.

Mrs Huntingdon was free.

It was no longer a crime to think of her.

But did she ever think of me?

Not now.

Of course it was not to be expected.

But would she when this shock was over?

In all the course of her correspondence with her brother,

She had never mentioned me but once.

And this was from necessity.

This alone afforded strong presumption I was already forgotten.

Yet this was not the worst.

It might have been her sense of duty that had kept her silent.

She might have only been trying to forget,

But in addition to this,

I had a gloomy conviction the awful reality she'd seen and felt,

Her reconciliation with a man she'd once loved,

Must eventually efface from her mind all traces of her passing love for me.

She might recover from these horrors so far as to be restored to her former health,

But never to those feelings which would appear to her henceforth as a fleeting fancy,

A vain elusive dream,

Especially as there was no what to remind her of my existence,

No means of assuring her of my fervent constancy,

Now we were so far apart.

And delicacy forbade me to see her or to write to her for months to come at least.

How could I engage her brother in my behalf?

How could I break that icy crust of shy reserve?

Perhaps he would disapprove of my attachment now,

As highly as before,

Because he would think me too poor,

Too lowly-born to match with his sister.

Yet there was another barrier,

Doubtless a wide distinction between the rank and circumstances of Mrs.

Huntingdon,

The lady of Grassedale Manor,

And those of Mrs.

Graham the artist,

The tenant of Wildfell Hall.

It might be seemed presumption in me to offer my hand to the former,

A penalty I might brave if I were certain she loved me,

But otherwise how could I?

And finally her deceased husband,

With his usual selfishness,

Might have so constructed his will as to place restrictions upon her marrying again.

I had reasons enough for despair if I chose to indulge it.

Nevertheless,

It was with no small degree of impatience I looked forward to Mr.

Lawrence's return.

He stayed away some ten or twelve days.

All very right he should remain to comfort and help his sister,

But he might have written to tell me how she was,

Or at least to tell me when to expect his return.

When he did return all he told me about her was that she'd been greatly exhausted and worn.

Her husband had all but dragged her with him nearly to the portals of the grave.

She was still much shaken and depressed by his melancholy end,

And the circumstances attendant upon it,

But no word in reference to me,

No intimation that my name had ever passed her lips,

Or even been spoken in her presence.

To be sure I asked no questions on the subject.

I could not bring my mind to do so,

Believing as I did that Lawrence was indeed averse to the idea of my union with his sister.

I saw too he expected to be further questioned concerning his visit,

And I saw too with a keen perception of awakened jealousy,

Or whatever name I ought to call it,

He rather shrank from that impending scrutiny and was no less pleased and surprised to find it did not calm.

Of course I was burning with anger,

But pride obliged me to suppress my feelings and preserve a smooth face,

Or at least a stoic calmness throughout the interview.

It was well I did.

Reviewing the matter in my sober judgment I must say it would have been highly absurd and improper to have quarrelled with him in such an occasion.

I confess I wronged him as well in my heart.

The truth was he liked me very well,

But he was fully aware a union between Mrs.

Huntington and me would be what the world calls a misalliance,

And it was not in his nature to set the world at defiance.

But what should I do?

I would wait and see if she would notice me,

Which of course she would not.

Unless by some kind message entrusted to her brother that in all probability he would not deliver,

And then she would think me cold and change for not returning it.

I would wait,

However,

Till the six months after our parting were fairly past.

Then I would send her a letter modestly reminding her of her former permission to write to her at close of that period.

Hoping I might avail myself of it at least to express my heartfelt sorrow,

My just appreciation of her generous conduct and my hope that her health was now completely re-established,

Adding a few words of kind remembrance to my little friend Arthur.

And if of course she did not answer this,

I should write no more.

Ten weeks was long to wait in such a miserable state of uncertainty,

But courage,

It must be endured.

And meantime I would continue to see Lawrence now and then,

Though not so often as before.

I did so,

And the answers I received were always provokingly limited to the letter of the inquiry.

According to Helen,

She was much as usual.

She said she was well and very busy with her son's education,

With the management of her late husband's property and the regulation of his affairs.

The rascal had never told me how that property was disposed or whether Mr.

Huntington had died intestate or not,

And I would sooner die than ask Lawrence,

Lest he should misconstrue into covetousness my desire to know.

He never offered to show me his sister's letters now,

And I never hinted a wish to see them.

February,

However,

Was approaching.

December was past.

January,

At length,

Was almost over.

A few more weeks,

And then certain despair or renewal of hope would put an end to this long agony of suspense.