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.
That's it.
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 Anne Bronte Read and abridged by Stephanie Poppins Chapter 20.
Persistence September the 24th.
In the morning I rose light and cheerful,
Nay,
Intensely happy.
The hovering cloud cast over me by my aunt's views and by the fear of not obtaining her consent was lost in the bright effulgence of my own hopes and the too delightful consciousness of requited love.
It was a splendid morning and I went out to enjoy it in a quiet rambling company with my own blissful thoughts.
The dew was on the grass and ten thousand gossamers were waving in the breeze.
The happy red breast was pouring out its little song in song and my heart overflowed with silent hymns of gratitude and praise to heaven.
But I had not wandered far before my solitude was interrupted by the only person that could have disturbed my musings at that moment without being looked upon as an unwelcome intruder.
Mr.
Huntington came suddenly upon me.
So unexpected was the apparition,
I might have thought it the creation of an over-excited imagination,
Had the sense of sight alone borne witness to his presence,
But immediately I felt his strong arm round my waist and his warm kiss on my cheek,
Whilst his keen and gleeful salutation said,
My own Helen.
Not yours yet,
Said I,
Hastily swerving aside from this too presumptuous greeting.
Remember my guardians,
You will not easily attain my aunt's consent.
Don't you see she's prejudiced against you?
I do,
Dearest,
And you must tell me why,
That I may best know how to combat her objections.
I suppose she thinks I'm a prodigal,
Perused he,
Observing I was unwilling to reply,
And concludes that I shall have but little worldly goods wherewith to endow my better half.
If so,
You must tell her my property is mostly entailed and I cannot get rid of it.
There may be a few mortgages on the rest,
A few trifling debts and encumbrances here and there,
But nothing to speak of,
And though I acknowledge I'm not so rich as I might be,
Or have been,
Still I think we could manage pretty comfortably on what's left.
My father,
You know,
Was something of a miser,
And in his latter days especially saw no pleasure in life but to amass riches,
And so it is no wonder that his son should make it his chief delight to spend them,
Which was accordingly the case,
Until my acquaintance with you,
Dear Helen,
Taught me other views and nobler aims,
And the very idea of having you to care for under my roof would force me to moderate my expensive and live like a Christian,
Not to speak of all the prudence and virtue you would instil into my mind by your wise counsels and sweet,
Attractive goodness.
But it is not that,
Said I,
It is not money my aunt thinks about.
She knows better than to value worldly wealth above its price.
What is it then?
She wishes me to marry none but a really good man.
What,
A man of decided piety?
Ahem,
Well,
Come,
I'll manage that too.
It's Sunday today,
Isn't it?
I'll go to church morning,
Afternoon,
And evening,
And comport myself in such a godly sort that she shall regard me with admiration and sisterly love as a brand plucked from the burning.
I'll come home sighing like a furnace and full of the savour and unction of dear Mr.
Blayton's discourse.
Mr.
Blayton,
Said I dryly,
Is Mr.
Blayton a sweet preacher,
Helen,
A dear,
Delightful,
Heavenly-minded man?
He is a good man,
Mr.
Huntington.
I wish I could say half as much for you.
Oh,
I forgot,
You are a saint too.
I crave your pardon,
Dearest,
But don't call me Mr.
Huntington.
My name is Arthur.
I'll call you nothing,
For I'll have nothing to do with you if you talk in that way any more.
If you really mean to deceive my aunt as you say,
You are very wicked,
And if not,
You are very wrong to jest on such a subject.
I stand corrected,
Said he,
Concluding his laugh with a sorrowful sigh.
Now,
After a momentary pause,
Let us talk about something else.
Come nearer to me,
Helen,
And take my arm,
And then I'll let you alone.
I can't be quiet while I see you walking there.
I complied,
But said we must soon return to the house.
No one will be down to breakfast yet for long enough,
He answered.
You spoke of your guardians just now,
Helen,
But is not your father still living?
Yes,
But I always look upon my uncle and aunt as my guardians,
For they are so indeed,
Though not in name.
My father has entirely given me up to their care.
I have never seen him since dear Mama died when I was a very little girl,
And my aunt,
At her request,
Offered to take charge of me,
And took me away to Stanningley,
Where I have remained ever since.
I don't think he would object to anything for me that she thought proper to sanction.
But would he sanction anything to which he thought proper to object?
No,
I don't think he cares enough about me.
He is very much to blame,
But he doesn't know what an angel he has for his daughter,
Which is all the better for me,
As if he did,
He would not be willing to part with such a treasure.
And Mr Huntington,
Said I,
I suppose you know I am not an heiress.
He protested he had never given it a thought,
And begged I would not disturb his present enjoyment by the mention of such uninteresting subjects.
I was glad of this proof of disinterested affection,
For Annabella Wilmot is the probable heiress to all her uncle's wealth,
In addition to her late father's property,
Which she has already in possession.
I now insisted upon retracing our steps to the house,
But we walked slowly and went on talking as we proceeded.
I need not repeat all we said,
Let me rather refer to what passed between my aunt and me after breakfast,
When Mr Huntington called my uncle aside,
No doubt to make his proposals,
And she beckoned me into another room,
Where she once more commenced a solemn remonstrance,
Which however entirely failed to convince me that her view of the case was preferable to my own.
You judge him uncharitably,
Aunt,
I know,
Said I.
His very friends are not half so bad as you represent them.
There is Walter Hargrave,
Millicent's brother for one.
He is but a little lower than the angels,
If half,
She says of him,
Is true.
She is continually talking to me about him and lauding his many virtues to the skies.
You will form a very inadequate estimate of a man's character,
Replied she,
If you judge by what a fond sister says of him.
The worst of them generally know how to hide their misdeeds from their sister's eyes and their mother's too.
And there is Lord Lobra,
Continued I,
Quite a decent man.
Who told you so?
Lord Lobra is a desperate man.
He has dissipated his fortune in gambling and other things and is now seeking an heiress to retrieve it.
I told Miss Warren so.
But you're all alike,
She haughtily answered.
She was very much obliged to me,
But she believed she knew when a man was seeking her for her fortune and when for herself.
She flattered herself she had had experience enough in those matters to be justified in trusting to her own judgment.
And as for his lordship's lack of fortune,
She cared nothing about that,
As she hoped her own would suffice for both.
And as for his wildness,
She supposed he was no worse than others.
Besides,
He was reformed now.
Yes,
They can all play the hypocrite when they want to take in a fond,
Misguided woman.
Well,
I think he's about as good as she is,
Said I.
But when Mr Huntington is married,
He won't have many opportunities of consorting with his bachelor friends.
And the worse they are,
The more I long to deliver him from them.
To be sure,
My dear,
And the worse he is,
I suppose,
The more you long to deliver him from himself.
Yes,
Provided he's not incorrigible.
That is,
The more I long to deliver him from his faults,
To give him an opportunity of shaking off the adventurous evil got from contact with others worse than himself,
And shining out in the unclouded light of his own genuine goodness,
To do my utmost to help his better self against his worse,
And make what he would have been if he had not,
From the beginning,
Had a bad,
Selfish,
Miserly father,
Who,
To gratify his own sordid passions,
Restricted him in the most innocent enjoyments of childhood and youth,
And so disgusted him with every kind of restraint,
And a foolish mother who indulged him to the top of his bent,
Deceiving her husband for him,
And doing her utmost to encourage those germs of folly and vice it was her duty to suppress,
And then such a set of companions as you represent his friends to be.
Poor man,
Said my aunt sarcastically,
His kind have greatly wronged him.
They have,
Cried I,
And they shall wrong him no more.
His wife shall undo what his mother did.
Well,
Said she,
After a short pause,
I must say,
Helen,
I thought better of your judgment than this,
And your taste too.
How can you love such a man?
I cannot tell,
Or what pleasure you can find in his company.
For what fellowship hath light with darkness,
Or he that believeth with an infidel?
He is not an infidel,
And I am not light,
And he is not darkness.
His worst and only vice is thoughtlessness.
And thoughtlessness,
Pursued my aunt,
May lead to every crime,
And will but poorly excuse our errors in the sight of God.
Mr.
Huntington,
I suppose,
Is not without the common faculties of men.
He is not so light-headed as to be irresponsible.
His maker has endowed him with reason and conscience,
As well as the rest of us.
The Scriptures are open to him as well as to others,
And if he hear not them,
Neither will he hear,
Though one rose from the dead.
And remember,
Helen,
Continued she solemnly,
The wicked shall be turned into hell,
And they that forget God.
And suppose even he should continue to love you,
And you him,
And that you should pass through life together with adorable comfort.
How will it be in the end,
When you see yourselves parted for ever,
You perhaps taken into eternal bliss,
And he cast into the lake that burneth with unquenchable fire,
There for ever to,
Not for ever,
I exclaimed,
Only till he's paid the uttermost farthing.
For if any man's work abide not the fire,
He shall suffer loss,
Yet himself shall be saved,
But so as by fire.
Oh,
Helen,
Where did you learn all this?
In the Bible art,
I've searched it through and found nearly thirty passages all tending to support the same theory.
And is that the use you make of your Bible?
Did you find no passages tending to prove the danger and falsity of such a belief?
No,
I found indeed some passages that,
Taken by themselves,
Might seem to contradict that opinion,
But they will all bear a different construction to that which is commonly given,
And in most,
The only difficulty is in the word which we translate everlasting or eternal.
I don't know the Greek,
But I believe it strictly means for ages,
And might signify either endless or long enduring.
Here,
Our conference ended,
For it was now high time to prepare for church.
Everyone attended the morning service,
Except my uncle,
Who hardly ever goes,
And Mr Wilmot,
Who stayed at home with him,
To enjoy a quiet game of cribbage.
In the afternoon,
Miss Wilmot and Lord Lobra likewise excused themselves from attending,
But Mr Huntington vouchsafed to accompany us again.
Whether it was to ingratiate himself for my aunt,
I cannot tell,
But if so,
He certainly should have behaved better.
I must confess I did not like his conduct during service at all.
Holding his prayer book upside down,
Or open at any place but the right,
He did nothing but stare about him,
Unless he happened to catch my aunt's eye or mine.
Then he would drop his own on his book,
With a puritanical air of mock solemnity that would have been ludicrous if it had not been too provoking.
Once during the sermon,
After attentively regarding Mr Layton for a few minutes,
He suddenly produced his gold pencil case and snatched up a Bible.
Perceiving that I observed the moment,
He whispered he was going to make a note of the sermon.
But instead of that,
As I sat next to him,
I could not help seeing he was making a caricature of the preacher,
Giving to the respectable,
Pious,
Elderly gentleman the air and aspect of a most absurd old hypocrite.
And yet upon his return,
He talked to my aunt about the sermon,
With a degree of modest,
Serious discrimination that tempted me to believe he had really attended and profited by the discourse.
Just before dinner,
My uncle called me into the library for the discussion of a very important matter,
Which was dismissed in a few words.
Now,
Now,
Said he,
This young Huntington has been asking for you.
What must I say about it?
Your aunt will answer no.
But what say you?
I say yes,
Uncle,
Replied I,
Without a moment's hesitation,
For I had thoroughly made up my mind on the subject.
Very good,
Cried he.
Now that's a good,
Honest answer.
Wonderful for a girl.
I'll write to your father tomorrow.
He's sure to give his consent,
So you may look on the matter as settled.
You'd have done a deal better if you'd taken Wilmot,
I can tell you,
But that you won't believe.
At your time of life,
It's love that rules the roost.
At mine,
It's solid,
Serviceable gold.
I suppose now you'd never dream of looking into the state of your husband's finances,
Or troubling your head about settlements or anything of that sort.
I don't think I should.
I'll be thankful then you'd have wiser heads to think for you.
I haven't had time yet to examine thoroughly into this young rascal's affairs,
But I see that a great part of his father's fine property has been squandered away.
Still,
I think there's a pretty fair share of it left,
And a little careful nursing may make a handsome thing of it yet.
And then we must persuade your father to give you a decent fortune,
As he has only one beside yourself to care for.
And if you behave well,
Who knows?
But what I may be induced to remember you in my will,
Continued he,
Putting his finger to his nose with a knowing wink.
Thanks,
Uncle,
For that and your kindness,
Replied I.
Well,
And I questioned this young spark on the matter of settlements,
Continued he,
And he seemed disposed to be generous enough on that point.
I knew he would,
Said I,
But pray don't trouble your head,
Or his,
Or mine about that,
For all I have will be his,
And all he has will be mine,
And what more could either of us require?
And I was about to make my exit,
But he called me back.
Stop,
Stop,
Cried he,
We haven't mentioned the time yet.
When must it be?
Your aunt would be put off till the Lord knows when,
But he's anxious to be bound as soon as may be.
He won't hear of waiting beyond next month,
And you,
I guess,
Will be of the same mind,
So.
.
.
Not at all,
Uncle,
On the contrary,
I should like to wait till after Christmas at least.
Oh,
Phew,
Never tell me that tale,
I know better,
Cried he,
And he persisted in his incredulity.
Nevertheless,
It is quite true,
I am in no hurry at all.
How can I be,
When I think of the momentous change that awaits me,
And all I have to leave?
It is happy enough to know we are to be united,
And that he really loves me,
And I may love him as devotedly,
And think of him as often as I please.
However,
I insisted upon consulting my aunt about the time of the wedding,
For I determined her counsel should not be utterly disregarded,
And no conclusions on that particular are come to as yet.
