--- /dev/null
+JANE EYRE\r
+AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY\r
+\r
+\r
+BY\r
+CHARLOTTE BRONTE\r
+\r
+_ILLUSTRATED BY F. H. TOWNSEND_\r
+\r
+London\r
+SERVICE & PATON\r
+5 HENRIETTA STREET\r
+1897\r
+\r
+_The Illustrations_\r
+_in this Volume are the copyright of_\r
+SERVICE & PATON, _London_\r
+\r
+TO\r
+W. M. THACKERAY, ESQ.,\r
+\r
+This Work\r
+IS RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED\r
+\r
+BY\r
+THE AUTHOR\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+PREFACE\r
+\r
+\r
+A preface to the first edition of "Jane Eyre" being unnecessary, I gave\r
+none: this second edition demands a few words both of acknowledgment and\r
+miscellaneous remark.\r
+\r
+My thanks are due in three quarters.\r
+\r
+To the Public, for the indulgent ear it has inclined to a plain tale with\r
+few pretensions.\r
+\r
+To the Press, for the fair field its honest suffrage has opened to an\r
+obscure aspirant.\r
+\r
+To my Publishers, for the aid their tact, their energy, their practical\r
+sense and frank liberality have afforded an unknown and unrecommended\r
+Author.\r
+\r
+The Press and the Public are but vague personifications for me, and I\r
+must thank them in vague terms; but my Publishers are definite: so are\r
+certain generous critics who have encouraged me as only large-hearted and\r
+high-minded men know how to encourage a struggling stranger; to them,\r
+_i.e._, to my Publishers and the select Reviewers, I say cordially,\r
+Gentlemen, I thank you from my heart.\r
+\r
+Having thus acknowledged what I owe those who have aided and approved me,\r
+I turn to another class; a small one, so far as I know, but not,\r
+therefore, to be overlooked. I mean the timorous or carping few who\r
+doubt the tendency of such books as "Jane Eyre:" in whose eyes whatever\r
+is unusual is wrong; whose ears detect in each protest against\r
+bigotry--that parent of crime--an insult to piety, that regent of God on\r
+earth. I would suggest to such doubters certain obvious distinctions; I\r
+would remind them of certain simple truths.\r
+\r
+Conventionality is not morality. Self-righteousness is not religion. To\r
+attack the first is not to assail the last. To pluck the mask from the\r
+face of the Pharisee, is not to lift an impious hand to the Crown of\r
+Thorns.\r
+\r
+These things and deeds are diametrically opposed: they are as distinct as\r
+is vice from virtue. Men too often confound them: they should not be\r
+confounded: appearance should not be mistaken for truth; narrow human\r
+doctrines, that only tend to elate and magnify a few, should not be\r
+substituted for the world-redeeming creed of Christ. There is--I repeat\r
+it--a difference; and it is a good, and not a bad action to mark broadly\r
+and clearly the line of separation between them.\r
+\r
+The world may not like to see these ideas dissevered, for it has been\r
+accustomed to blend them; finding it convenient to make external show\r
+pass for sterling worth--to let white-washed walls vouch for clean\r
+shrines. It may hate him who dares to scrutinise and expose--to rase the\r
+gilding, and show base metal under it--to penetrate the sepulchre, and\r
+reveal charnel relics: but hate as it will, it is indebted to him.\r
+\r
+Ahab did not like Micaiah, because he never prophesied good concerning\r
+him, but evil; probably he liked the sycophant son of Chenaannah better;\r
+yet might Ahab have escaped a bloody death, had he but stopped his ears\r
+to flattery, and opened them to faithful counsel.\r
+\r
+There is a man in our own days whose words are not framed to tickle\r
+delicate ears: who, to my thinking, comes before the great ones of\r
+society, much as the son of Imlah came before the throned Kings of Judah\r
+and Israel; and who speaks truth as deep, with a power as prophet-like\r
+and as vital--a mien as dauntless and as daring. Is the satirist of\r
+"Vanity Fair" admired in high places? I cannot tell; but I think if some\r
+of those amongst whom he hurls the Greek fire of his sarcasm, and over\r
+whom he flashes the levin-brand of his denunciation, were to take his\r
+warnings in time--they or their seed might yet escape a fatal\r
+Rimoth-Gilead.\r
+\r
+Why have I alluded to this man? I have alluded to him, Reader, because I\r
+think I see in him an intellect profounder and more unique than his\r
+contemporaries have yet recognised; because I regard him as the first\r
+social regenerator of the day--as the very master of that working corps\r
+who would restore to rectitude the warped system of things; because I\r
+think no commentator on his writings has yet found the comparison that\r
+suits him, the terms which rightly characterise his talent. They say he\r
+is like Fielding: they talk of his wit, humour, comic powers. He\r
+resembles Fielding as an eagle does a vulture: Fielding could stoop on\r
+carrion, but Thackeray never does. His wit is bright, his humour\r
+attractive, but both bear the same relation to his serious genius that\r
+the mere lambent sheet-lightning playing under the edge of the summer-\r
+cloud does to the electric death-spark hid in its womb. Finally, I have\r
+alluded to Mr. Thackeray, because to him--if he will accept the tribute\r
+of a total stranger--I have dedicated this second edition of "JANE EYRE."\r
+\r
+CURRER BELL.\r
+\r
+_December_ 21_st_, 1847.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+NOTE TO THE THIRD EDITION\r
+\r
+\r
+I avail myself of the opportunity which a third edition of "Jane Eyre"\r
+affords me, of again addressing a word to the Public, to explain that my\r
+claim to the title of novelist rests on this one work alone. If,\r
+therefore, the authorship of other works of fiction has been attributed\r
+to me, an honour is awarded where it is not merited; and consequently,\r
+denied where it is justly due.\r
+\r
+This explanation will serve to rectify mistakes which may already have\r
+been made, and to prevent future errors.\r
+\r
+CURRER BELL.\r
+\r
+_April_ 13_th_, 1848.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER I\r
+\r
+\r
+There was no possibility of taking a walk that day. We had been\r
+wandering, indeed, in the leafless shrubbery an hour in the morning; but\r
+since dinner (Mrs. Reed, when there was no company, dined early) the cold\r
+winter wind had brought with it clouds so sombre, and a rain so\r
+penetrating, that further out-door exercise was now out of the question.\r
+\r
+I was glad of it: I never liked long walks, especially on chilly\r
+afternoons: dreadful to me was the coming home in the raw twilight, with\r
+nipped fingers and toes, and a heart saddened by the chidings of Bessie,\r
+the nurse, and humbled by the consciousness of my physical inferiority to\r
+Eliza, John, and Georgiana Reed.\r
+\r
+The said Eliza, John, and Georgiana were now clustered round their mama\r
+in the drawing-room: she lay reclined on a sofa by the fireside, and with\r
+her darlings about her (for the time neither quarrelling nor crying)\r
+looked perfectly happy. Me, she had dispensed from joining the group;\r
+saying, "She regretted to be under the necessity of keeping me at a\r
+distance; but that until she heard from Bessie, and could discover by her\r
+own observation, that I was endeavouring in good earnest to acquire a\r
+more sociable and childlike disposition, a more attractive and sprightly\r
+manner--something lighter, franker, more natural, as it were--she really\r
+must exclude me from privileges intended only for contented, happy,\r
+little children."\r
+\r
+"What does Bessie say I have done?" I asked.\r
+\r
+"Jane, I don't like cavillers or questioners; besides, there is something\r
+truly forbidding in a child taking up her elders in that manner. Be\r
+seated somewhere; and until you can speak pleasantly, remain silent."\r
+\r
+A breakfast-room adjoined the drawing-room, I slipped in there. It\r
+contained a bookcase: I soon possessed myself of a volume, taking care\r
+that it should be one stored with pictures. I mounted into the window-\r
+seat: gathering up my feet, I sat cross-legged, like a Turk; and, having\r
+drawn the red moreen curtain nearly close, I was shrined in double\r
+retirement.\r
+\r
+Folds of scarlet drapery shut in my view to the right hand; to the left\r
+were the clear panes of glass, protecting, but not separating me from the\r
+drear November day. At intervals, while turning over the leaves of my\r
+book, I studied the aspect of that winter afternoon. Afar, it offered a\r
+pale blank of mist and cloud; near a scene of wet lawn and storm-beat\r
+shrub, with ceaseless rain sweeping away wildly before a long and\r
+lamentable blast.\r
+\r
+I returned to my book--Bewick's History of British Birds: the letterpress\r
+thereof I cared little for, generally speaking; and yet there were\r
+certain introductory pages that, child as I was, I could not pass quite\r
+as a blank. They were those which treat of the haunts of sea-fowl; of\r
+"the solitary rocks and promontories" by them only inhabited; of the\r
+coast of Norway, studded with isles from its southern extremity, the\r
+Lindeness, or Naze, to the North Cape--\r
+\r
+ "Where the Northern Ocean, in vast whirls,\r
+ Boils round the naked, melancholy isles\r
+ Of farthest Thule; and the Atlantic surge\r
+ Pours in among the stormy Hebrides."\r
+\r
+Nor could I pass unnoticed the suggestion of the bleak shores of Lapland,\r
+Siberia, Spitzbergen, Nova Zembla, Iceland, Greenland, with "the vast\r
+sweep of the Arctic Zone, and those forlorn regions of dreary space,--that\r
+reservoir of frost and snow, where firm fields of ice, the accumulation\r
+of centuries of winters, glazed in Alpine heights above heights, surround\r
+the pole, and concentre the multiplied rigours of extreme cold." Of\r
+these death-white realms I formed an idea of my own: shadowy, like all\r
+the half-comprehended notions that float dim through children's brains,\r
+but strangely impressive. The words in these introductory pages\r
+connected themselves with the succeeding vignettes, and gave significance\r
+to the rock standing up alone in a sea of billow and spray; to the broken\r
+boat stranded on a desolate coast; to the cold and ghastly moon glancing\r
+through bars of cloud at a wreck just sinking.\r
+\r
+I cannot tell what sentiment haunted the quite solitary churchyard, with\r
+its inscribed headstone; its gate, its two trees, its low horizon,\r
+girdled by a broken wall, and its newly-risen crescent, attesting the\r
+hour of eventide.\r
+\r
+The two ships becalmed on a torpid sea, I believed to be marine phantoms.\r
+\r
+The fiend pinning down the thief's pack behind him, I passed over\r
+quickly: it was an object of terror.\r
+\r
+So was the black horned thing seated aloof on a rock, surveying a distant\r
+crowd surrounding a gallows.\r
+\r
+Each picture told a story; mysterious often to my undeveloped\r
+understanding and imperfect feelings, yet ever profoundly interesting: as\r
+interesting as the tales Bessie sometimes narrated on winter evenings,\r
+when she chanced to be in good humour; and when, having brought her\r
+ironing-table to the nursery hearth, she allowed us to sit about it, and\r
+while she got up Mrs. Reed's lace frills, and crimped her nightcap\r
+borders, fed our eager attention with passages of love and adventure\r
+taken from old fairy tales and other ballads; or (as at a later period I\r
+discovered) from the pages of Pamela, and Henry, Earl of Moreland.\r
+\r
+With Bewick on my knee, I was then happy: happy at least in my way. I\r
+feared nothing but interruption, and that came too soon. The breakfast-\r
+room door opened.\r
+\r
+"Boh! Madam Mope!" cried the voice of John Reed; then he paused: he\r
+found the room apparently empty.\r
+\r
+"Where the dickens is she!" he continued. "Lizzy! Georgy! (calling to\r
+his sisters) Joan is not here: tell mama she is run out into the rain--bad\r
+animal!"\r
+\r
+"It is well I drew the curtain," thought I; and I wished fervently he\r
+might not discover my hiding-place: nor would John Reed have found it out\r
+himself; he was not quick either of vision or conception; but Eliza just\r
+put her head in at the door, and said at once--\r
+\r
+"She is in the window-seat, to be sure, Jack."\r
+\r
+And I came out immediately, for I trembled at the idea of being dragged\r
+forth by the said Jack.\r
+\r
+"What do you want?" I asked, with awkward diffidence.\r
+\r
+"Say, 'What do you want, Master Reed?'" was the answer. "I want you to\r
+come here;" and seating himself in an arm-chair, he intimated by a\r
+gesture that I was to approach and stand before him.\r
+\r
+John Reed was a schoolboy of fourteen years old; four years older than I,\r
+for I was but ten: large and stout for his age, with a dingy and\r
+unwholesome skin; thick lineaments in a spacious visage, heavy limbs and\r
+large extremities. He gorged himself habitually at table, which made him\r
+bilious, and gave him a dim and bleared eye and flabby cheeks. He ought\r
+now to have been at school; but his mama had taken him home for a month\r
+or two, "on account of his delicate health." Mr. Miles, the master,\r
+affirmed that he would do very well if he had fewer cakes and sweetmeats\r
+sent him from home; but the mother's heart turned from an opinion so\r
+harsh, and inclined rather to the more refined idea that John's\r
+sallowness was owing to over-application and, perhaps, to pining after\r
+home.\r
+\r
+John had not much affection for his mother and sisters, and an antipathy\r
+to me. He bullied and punished me; not two or three times in the week,\r
+nor once or twice in the day, but continually: every nerve I had feared\r
+him, and every morsel of flesh in my bones shrank when he came near.\r
+There were moments when I was bewildered by the terror he inspired,\r
+because I had no appeal whatever against either his menaces or his\r
+inflictions; the servants did not like to offend their young master by\r
+taking my part against him, and Mrs. Reed was blind and deaf on the\r
+subject: she never saw him strike or heard him abuse me, though he did\r
+both now and then in her very presence, more frequently, however, behind\r
+her back.\r
+\r
+Habitually obedient to John, I came up to his chair: he spent some three\r
+minutes in thrusting out his tongue at me as far as he could without\r
+damaging the roots: I knew he would soon strike, and while dreading the\r
+blow, I mused on the disgusting and ugly appearance of him who would\r
+presently deal it. I wonder if he read that notion in my face; for, all\r
+at once, without speaking, he struck suddenly and strongly. I tottered,\r
+and on regaining my equilibrium retired back a step or two from his\r
+chair.\r
+\r
+"That is for your impudence in answering mama awhile since," said he,\r
+"and for your sneaking way of getting behind curtains, and for the look\r
+you had in your eyes two minutes since, you rat!"\r
+\r
+Accustomed to John Reed's abuse, I never had an idea of replying to it;\r
+my care was how to endure the blow which would certainly follow the\r
+insult.\r
+\r
+"What were you doing behind the curtain?" he asked.\r
+\r
+"I was reading."\r
+\r
+"Show the book."\r
+\r
+I returned to the window and fetched it thence.\r
+\r
+"You have no business to take our books; you are a dependent, mama says;\r
+you have no money; your father left you none; you ought to beg, and not\r
+to live here with gentlemen's children like us, and eat the same meals we\r
+do, and wear clothes at our mama's expense. Now, I'll teach you to\r
+rummage my bookshelves: for they _are_ mine; all the house belongs to me,\r
+or will do in a few years. Go and stand by the door, out of the way of\r
+the mirror and the windows."\r
+\r
+I did so, not at first aware what was his intention; but when I saw him\r
+lift and poise the book and stand in act to hurl it, I instinctively\r
+started aside with a cry of alarm: not soon enough, however; the volume\r
+was flung, it hit me, and I fell, striking my head against the door and\r
+cutting it. The cut bled, the pain was sharp: my terror had passed its\r
+climax; other feelings succeeded.\r
+\r
+"Wicked and cruel boy!" I said. "You are like a murderer--you are like a\r
+slave-driver--you are like the Roman emperors!"\r
+\r
+I had read Goldsmith's History of Rome, and had formed my opinion of\r
+Nero, Caligula, etc. Also I had drawn parallels in silence, which I never\r
+thought thus to have declared aloud.\r
+\r
+"What! what!" he cried. "Did she say that to me? Did you hear her,\r
+Eliza and Georgiana? Won't I tell mama? but first--"\r
+\r
+He ran headlong at me: I felt him grasp my hair and my shoulder: he had\r
+closed with a desperate thing. I really saw in him a tyrant, a murderer.\r
+I felt a drop or two of blood from my head trickle down my neck, and was\r
+sensible of somewhat pungent suffering: these sensations for the time\r
+predominated over fear, and I received him in frantic sort. I don't very\r
+well know what I did with my hands, but he called me "Rat! Rat!" and\r
+bellowed out aloud. Aid was near him: Eliza and Georgiana had run for\r
+Mrs. Reed, who was gone upstairs: she now came upon the scene, followed\r
+by Bessie and her maid Abbot. We were parted: I heard the words--\r
+\r
+"Dear! dear! What a fury to fly at Master John!"\r
+\r
+"Did ever anybody see such a picture of passion!"\r
+\r
+Then Mrs. Reed subjoined--\r
+\r
+"Take her away to the red-room, and lock her in there." Four hands were\r
+immediately laid upon me, and I was borne upstairs.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER II\r
+\r
+\r
+I resisted all the way: a new thing for me, and a circumstance which\r
+greatly strengthened the bad opinion Bessie and Miss Abbot were disposed\r
+to entertain of me. The fact is, I was a trifle beside myself; or rather\r
+_out_ of myself, as the French would say: I was conscious that a moment's\r
+mutiny had already rendered me liable to strange penalties, and, like any\r
+other rebel slave, I felt resolved, in my desperation, to go all lengths.\r
+\r
+"Hold her arms, Miss Abbot: she's like a mad cat."\r
+\r
+"For shame! for shame!" cried the lady's-maid. "What shocking conduct,\r
+Miss Eyre, to strike a young gentleman, your benefactress's son! Your\r
+young master."\r
+\r
+"Master! How is he my master? Am I a servant?"\r
+\r
+"No; you are less than a servant, for you do nothing for your keep.\r
+There, sit down, and think over your wickedness."\r
+\r
+They had got me by this time into the apartment indicated by Mrs. Reed,\r
+and had thrust me upon a stool: my impulse was to rise from it like a\r
+spring; their two pair of hands arrested me instantly.\r
+\r
+"If you don't sit still, you must be tied down," said Bessie. "Miss\r
+Abbot, lend me your garters; she would break mine directly."\r
+\r
+Miss Abbot turned to divest a stout leg of the necessary ligature. This\r
+preparation for bonds, and the additional ignominy it inferred, took a\r
+little of the excitement out of me.\r
+\r
+"Don't take them off," I cried; "I will not stir."\r
+\r
+In guarantee whereof, I attached myself to my seat by my hands.\r
+\r
+"Mind you don't," said Bessie; and when she had ascertained that I was\r
+really subsiding, she loosened her hold of me; then she and Miss Abbot\r
+stood with folded arms, looking darkly and doubtfully on my face, as\r
+incredulous of my sanity.\r
+\r
+"She never did so before," at last said Bessie, turning to the Abigail.\r
+\r
+"But it was always in her," was the reply. "I've told Missis often my\r
+opinion about the child, and Missis agreed with me. She's an underhand\r
+little thing: I never saw a girl of her age with so much cover."\r
+\r
+Bessie answered not; but ere long, addressing me, she said--"You ought to\r
+be aware, Miss, that you are under obligations to Mrs. Reed: she keeps\r
+you: if she were to turn you off, you would have to go to the poorhouse."\r
+\r
+I had nothing to say to these words: they were not new to me: my very\r
+first recollections of existence included hints of the same kind. This\r
+reproach of my dependence had become a vague sing-song in my ear: very\r
+painful and crushing, but only half intelligible. Miss Abbot joined in--\r
+\r
+"And you ought not to think yourself on an equality with the Misses Reed\r
+and Master Reed, because Missis kindly allows you to be brought up with\r
+them. They will have a great deal of money, and you will have none: it\r
+is your place to be humble, and to try to make yourself agreeable to\r
+them."\r
+\r
+"What we tell you is for your good," added Bessie, in no harsh voice,\r
+"you should try to be useful and pleasant, then, perhaps, you would have\r
+a home here; but if you become passionate and rude, Missis will send you\r
+away, I am sure."\r
+\r
+"Besides," said Miss Abbot, "God will punish her: He might strike her\r
+dead in the midst of her tantrums, and then where would she go? Come,\r
+Bessie, we will leave her: I wouldn't have her heart for anything. Say\r
+your prayers, Miss Eyre, when you are by yourself; for if you don't\r
+repent, something bad might be permitted to come down the chimney and\r
+fetch you away."\r
+\r
+They went, shutting the door, and locking it behind them.\r
+\r
+The red-room was a square chamber, very seldom slept in, I might say\r
+never, indeed, unless when a chance influx of visitors at Gateshead Hall\r
+rendered it necessary to turn to account all the accommodation it\r
+contained: yet it was one of the largest and stateliest chambers in the\r
+mansion. A bed supported on massive pillars of mahogany, hung with\r
+curtains of deep red damask, stood out like a tabernacle in the centre;\r
+the two large windows, with their blinds always drawn down, were half\r
+shrouded in festoons and falls of similar drapery; the carpet was red;\r
+the table at the foot of the bed was covered with a crimson cloth; the\r
+walls were a soft fawn colour with a blush of pink in it; the wardrobe,\r
+the toilet-table, the chairs were of darkly polished old mahogany. Out\r
+of these deep surrounding shades rose high, and glared white, the piled-\r
+up mattresses and pillows of the bed, spread with a snowy Marseilles\r
+counterpane. Scarcely less prominent was an ample cushioned easy-chair\r
+near the head of the bed, also white, with a footstool before it; and\r
+looking, as I thought, like a pale throne.\r
+\r
+This room was chill, because it seldom had a fire; it was silent, because\r
+remote from the nursery and kitchen; solemn, because it was known to be\r
+so seldom entered. The house-maid alone came here on Saturdays, to wipe\r
+from the mirrors and the furniture a week's quiet dust: and Mrs. Reed\r
+herself, at far intervals, visited it to review the contents of a certain\r
+secret drawer in the wardrobe, where were stored divers parchments, her\r
+jewel-casket, and a miniature of her deceased husband; and in those last\r
+words lies the secret of the red-room--the spell which kept it so lonely\r
+in spite of its grandeur.\r
+\r
+Mr. Reed had been dead nine years: it was in this chamber he breathed his\r
+last; here he lay in state; hence his coffin was borne by the\r
+undertaker's men; and, since that day, a sense of dreary consecration had\r
+guarded it from frequent intrusion.\r
+\r
+My seat, to which Bessie and the bitter Miss Abbot had left me riveted,\r
+was a low ottoman near the marble chimney-piece; the bed rose before me;\r
+to my right hand there was the high, dark wardrobe, with subdued, broken\r
+reflections varying the gloss of its panels; to my left were the muffled\r
+windows; a great looking-glass between them repeated the vacant majesty\r
+of the bed and room. I was not quite sure whether they had locked the\r
+door; and when I dared move, I got up and went to see. Alas! yes: no\r
+jail was ever more secure. Returning, I had to cross before the looking-\r
+glass; my fascinated glance involuntarily explored the depth it revealed.\r
+All looked colder and darker in that visionary hollow than in reality:\r
+and the strange little figure there gazing at me, with a white face and\r
+arms specking the gloom, and glittering eyes of fear moving where all\r
+else was still, had the effect of a real spirit: I thought it like one of\r
+the tiny phantoms, half fairy, half imp, Bessie's evening stories\r
+represented as coming out of lone, ferny dells in moors, and appearing\r
+before the eyes of belated travellers. I returned to my stool.\r
+\r
+Superstition was with me at that moment; but it was not yet her hour for\r
+complete victory: my blood was still warm; the mood of the revolted slave\r
+was still bracing me with its bitter vigour; I had to stem a rapid rush\r
+of retrospective thought before I quailed to the dismal present.\r
+\r
+All John Reed's violent tyrannies, all his sisters' proud indifference,\r
+all his mother's aversion, all the servants' partiality, turned up in my\r
+disturbed mind like a dark deposit in a turbid well. Why was I always\r
+suffering, always browbeaten, always accused, for ever condemned? Why\r
+could I never please? Why was it useless to try to win any one's favour?\r
+Eliza, who was headstrong and selfish, was respected. Georgiana, who had\r
+a spoiled temper, a very acrid spite, a captious and insolent carriage,\r
+was universally indulged. Her beauty, her pink cheeks and golden curls,\r
+seemed to give delight to all who looked at her, and to purchase\r
+indemnity for every fault. John no one thwarted, much less punished;\r
+though he twisted the necks of the pigeons, killed the little pea-chicks,\r
+set the dogs at the sheep, stripped the hothouse vines of their fruit,\r
+and broke the buds off the choicest plants in the conservatory: he called\r
+his mother "old girl," too; sometimes reviled her for her dark skin,\r
+similar to his own; bluntly disregarded her wishes; not unfrequently tore\r
+and spoiled her silk attire; and he was still "her own darling." I dared\r
+commit no fault: I strove to fulfil every duty; and I was termed naughty\r
+and tiresome, sullen and sneaking, from morning to noon, and from noon to\r
+night.\r
+\r
+My head still ached and bled with the blow and fall I had received: no\r
+one had reproved John for wantonly striking me; and because I had turned\r
+against him to avert farther irrational violence, I was loaded with\r
+general opprobrium.\r
+\r
+"Unjust!--unjust!" said my reason, forced by the agonising stimulus into\r
+precocious though transitory power: and Resolve, equally wrought up,\r
+instigated some strange expedient to achieve escape from insupportable\r
+oppression--as running away, or, if that could not be effected, never\r
+eating or drinking more, and letting myself die.\r
+\r
+What a consternation of soul was mine that dreary afternoon! How all my\r
+brain was in tumult, and all my heart in insurrection! Yet in what\r
+darkness, what dense ignorance, was the mental battle fought! I could\r
+not answer the ceaseless inward question--_why_ I thus suffered; now, at\r
+the distance of--I will not say how many years, I see it clearly.\r
+\r
+I was a discord in Gateshead Hall: I was like nobody there; I had nothing\r
+in harmony with Mrs. Reed or her children, or her chosen vassalage. If\r
+they did not love me, in fact, as little did I love them. They were not\r
+bound to regard with affection a thing that could not sympathise with one\r
+amongst them; a heterogeneous thing, opposed to them in temperament, in\r
+capacity, in propensities; a useless thing, incapable of serving their\r
+interest, or adding to their pleasure; a noxious thing, cherishing the\r
+germs of indignation at their treatment, of contempt of their judgment. I\r
+know that had I been a sanguine, brilliant, careless, exacting, handsome,\r
+romping child--though equally dependent and friendless--Mrs. Reed would\r
+have endured my presence more complacently; her children would have\r
+entertained for me more of the cordiality of fellow-feeling; the servants\r
+would have been less prone to make me the scapegoat of the nursery.\r
+\r
+Daylight began to forsake the red-room; it was past four o'clock, and the\r
+beclouded afternoon was tending to drear twilight. I heard the rain\r
+still beating continuously on the staircase window, and the wind howling\r
+in the grove behind the hall; I grew by degrees cold as a stone, and then\r
+my courage sank. My habitual mood of humiliation, self-doubt, forlorn\r
+depression, fell damp on the embers of my decaying ire. All said I was\r
+wicked, and perhaps I might be so; what thought had I been but just\r
+conceiving of starving myself to death? That certainly was a crime: and\r
+was I fit to die? Or was the vault under the chancel of Gateshead Church\r
+an inviting bourne? In such vault I had been told did Mr. Reed lie\r
+buried; and led by this thought to recall his idea, I dwelt on it with\r
+gathering dread. I could not remember him; but I knew that he was my own\r
+uncle--my mother's brother--that he had taken me when a parentless infant\r
+to his house; and that in his last moments he had required a promise of\r
+Mrs. Reed that she would rear and maintain me as one of her own children.\r
+Mrs. Reed probably considered she had kept this promise; and so she had,\r
+I dare say, as well as her nature would permit her; but how could she\r
+really like an interloper not of her race, and unconnected with her,\r
+after her husband's death, by any tie? It must have been most irksome to\r
+find herself bound by a hard-wrung pledge to stand in the stead of a\r
+parent to a strange child she could not love, and to see an uncongenial\r
+alien permanently intruded on her own family group.\r
+\r
+A singular notion dawned upon me. I doubted not--never doubted--that if\r
+Mr. Reed had been alive he would have treated me kindly; and now, as I\r
+sat looking at the white bed and overshadowed walls--occasionally also\r
+turning a fascinated eye towards the dimly gleaning mirror--I began to\r
+recall what I had heard of dead men, troubled in their graves by the\r
+violation of their last wishes, revisiting the earth to punish the\r
+perjured and avenge the oppressed; and I thought Mr. Reed's spirit,\r
+harassed by the wrongs of his sister's child, might quit its\r
+abode--whether in the church vault or in the unknown world of the\r
+departed--and rise before me in this chamber. I wiped my tears and\r
+hushed my sobs, fearful lest any sign of violent grief might waken a\r
+preternatural voice to comfort me, or elicit from the gloom some haloed\r
+face, bending over me with strange pity. This idea, consolatory in\r
+theory, I felt would be terrible if realised: with all my might I\r
+endeavoured to stifle it--I endeavoured to be firm. Shaking my hair from\r
+my eyes, I lifted my head and tried to look boldly round the dark room;\r
+at this moment a light gleamed on the wall. Was it, I asked myself, a\r
+ray from the moon penetrating some aperture in the blind? No; moonlight\r
+was still, and this stirred; while I gazed, it glided up to the ceiling\r
+and quivered over my head. I can now conjecture readily that this streak\r
+of light was, in all likelihood, a gleam from a lantern carried by some\r
+one across the lawn: but then, prepared as my mind was for horror, shaken\r
+as my nerves were by agitation, I thought the swift darting beam was a\r
+herald of some coming vision from another world. My heart beat thick, my\r
+head grew hot; a sound filled my ears, which I deemed the rushing of\r
+wings; something seemed near me; I was oppressed, suffocated: endurance\r
+broke down; I rushed to the door and shook the lock in desperate effort.\r
+Steps came running along the outer passage; the key turned, Bessie and\r
+Abbot entered.\r
+\r
+"Miss Eyre, are you ill?" said Bessie.\r
+\r
+"What a dreadful noise! it went quite through me!" exclaimed Abbot.\r
+\r
+"Take me out! Let me go into the nursery!" was my cry.\r
+\r
+"What for? Are you hurt? Have you seen something?" again demanded\r
+Bessie.\r
+\r
+"Oh! I saw a light, and I thought a ghost would come." I had now got\r
+hold of Bessie's hand, and she did not snatch it from me.\r
+\r
+"She has screamed out on purpose," declared Abbot, in some disgust. "And\r
+what a scream! If she had been in great pain one would have excused it,\r
+but she only wanted to bring us all here: I know her naughty tricks."\r
+\r
+"What is all this?" demanded another voice peremptorily; and Mrs. Reed\r
+came along the corridor, her cap flying wide, her gown rustling stormily.\r
+"Abbot and Bessie, I believe I gave orders that Jane Eyre should be left\r
+in the red-room till I came to her myself."\r
+\r
+"Miss Jane screamed so loud, ma'am," pleaded Bessie.\r
+\r
+"Let her go," was the only answer. "Loose Bessie's hand, child: you\r
+cannot succeed in getting out by these means, be assured. I abhor\r
+artifice, particularly in children; it is my duty to show you that tricks\r
+will not answer: you will now stay here an hour longer, and it is only on\r
+condition of perfect submission and stillness that I shall liberate you\r
+then."\r
+\r
+"O aunt! have pity! Forgive me! I cannot endure it--let me be punished\r
+some other way! I shall be killed if--"\r
+\r
+"Silence! This violence is all most repulsive:" and so, no doubt, she\r
+felt it. I was a precocious actress in her eyes; she sincerely looked on\r
+me as a compound of virulent passions, mean spirit, and dangerous\r
+duplicity.\r
+\r
+Bessie and Abbot having retreated, Mrs. Reed, impatient of my now frantic\r
+anguish and wild sobs, abruptly thrust me back and locked me in, without\r
+farther parley. I heard her sweeping away; and soon after she was gone,\r
+I suppose I had a species of fit: unconsciousness closed the scene.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER III\r
+\r
+\r
+The next thing I remember is, waking up with a feeling as if I had had a\r
+frightful nightmare, and seeing before me a terrible red glare, crossed\r
+with thick black bars. I heard voices, too, speaking with a hollow\r
+sound, and as if muffled by a rush of wind or water: agitation,\r
+uncertainty, and an all-predominating sense of terror confused my\r
+faculties. Ere long, I became aware that some one was handling me;\r
+lifting me up and supporting me in a sitting posture, and that more\r
+tenderly than I had ever been raised or upheld before. I rested my head\r
+against a pillow or an arm, and felt easy.\r
+\r
+In five minutes more the cloud of bewilderment dissolved: I knew quite\r
+well that I was in my own bed, and that the red glare was the nursery\r
+fire. It was night: a candle burnt on the table; Bessie stood at the bed-\r
+foot with a basin in her hand, and a gentleman sat in a chair near my\r
+pillow, leaning over me.\r
+\r
+I felt an inexpressible relief, a soothing conviction of protection and\r
+security, when I knew that there was a stranger in the room, an\r
+individual not belonging to Gateshead, and not related to Mrs. Reed.\r
+Turning from Bessie (though her presence was far less obnoxious to me\r
+than that of Abbot, for instance, would have been), I scrutinised the\r
+face of the gentleman: I knew him; it was Mr. Lloyd, an apothecary,\r
+sometimes called in by Mrs. Reed when the servants were ailing: for\r
+herself and the children she employed a physician.\r
+\r
+"Well, who am I?" he asked.\r
+\r
+I pronounced his name, offering him at the same time my hand: he took it,\r
+smiling and saying, "We shall do very well by-and-by." Then he laid me\r
+down, and addressing Bessie, charged her to be very careful that I was\r
+not disturbed during the night. Having given some further directions,\r
+and intimates that he should call again the next day, he departed; to my\r
+grief: I felt so sheltered and befriended while he sat in the chair near\r
+my pillow; and as he closed the door after him, all the room darkened and\r
+my heart again sank: inexpressible sadness weighed it down.\r
+\r
+"Do you feel as if you should sleep, Miss?" asked Bessie, rather softly.\r
+\r
+Scarcely dared I answer her; for I feared the next sentence might be\r
+rough. "I will try."\r
+\r
+"Would you like to drink, or could you eat anything?"\r
+\r
+"No, thank you, Bessie."\r
+\r
+"Then I think I shall go to bed, for it is past twelve o'clock; but you\r
+may call me if you want anything in the night."\r
+\r
+Wonderful civility this! It emboldened me to ask a question.\r
+\r
+"Bessie, what is the matter with me? Am I ill?"\r
+\r
+"You fell sick, I suppose, in the red-room with crying; you'll be better\r
+soon, no doubt."\r
+\r
+Bessie went into the housemaid's apartment, which was near. I heard her\r
+say--\r
+\r
+"Sarah, come and sleep with me in the nursery; I daren't for my life be\r
+alone with that poor child to-night: she might die; it's such a strange\r
+thing she should have that fit: I wonder if she saw anything. Missis was\r
+rather too hard."\r
+\r
+Sarah came back with her; they both went to bed; they were whispering\r
+together for half-an-hour before they fell asleep. I caught scraps of\r
+their conversation, from which I was able only too distinctly to infer\r
+the main subject discussed.\r
+\r
+"Something passed her, all dressed in white, and vanished"--"A great\r
+black dog behind him"--"Three loud raps on the chamber door"--"A light in\r
+the churchyard just over his grave," etc., etc.\r
+\r
+At last both slept: the fire and the candle went out. For me, the\r
+watches of that long night passed in ghastly wakefulness; strained by\r
+dread: such dread as children only can feel.\r
+\r
+No severe or prolonged bodily illness followed this incident of the red-\r
+room; it only gave my nerves a shock of which I feel the reverberation to\r
+this day. Yes, Mrs. Reed, to you I owe some fearful pangs of mental\r
+suffering, but I ought to forgive you, for you knew not what you did:\r
+while rending my heart-strings, you thought you were only uprooting my\r
+bad propensities.\r
+\r
+Next day, by noon, I was up and dressed, and sat wrapped in a shawl by\r
+the nursery hearth. I felt physically weak and broken down: but my worse\r
+ailment was an unutterable wretchedness of mind: a wretchedness which\r
+kept drawing from me silent tears; no sooner had I wiped one salt drop\r
+from my cheek than another followed. Yet, I thought, I ought to have\r
+been happy, for none of the Reeds were there, they were all gone out in\r
+the carriage with their mama. Abbot, too, was sewing in another room,\r
+and Bessie, as she moved hither and thither, putting away toys and\r
+arranging drawers, addressed to me every now and then a word of unwonted\r
+kindness. This state of things should have been to me a paradise of\r
+peace, accustomed as I was to a life of ceaseless reprimand and thankless\r
+fagging; but, in fact, my racked nerves were now in such a state that no\r
+calm could soothe, and no pleasure excite them agreeably.\r
+\r
+Bessie had been down into the kitchen, and she brought up with her a tart\r
+on a certain brightly painted china plate, whose bird of paradise,\r
+nestling in a wreath of convolvuli and rosebuds, had been wont to stir in\r
+me a most enthusiastic sense of admiration; and which plate I had often\r
+petitioned to be allowed to take in my hand in order to examine it more\r
+closely, but had always hitherto been deemed unworthy of such a\r
+privilege. This precious vessel was now placed on my knee, and I was\r
+cordially invited to eat the circlet of delicate pastry upon it. Vain\r
+favour! coming, like most other favours long deferred and often wished\r
+for, too late! I could not eat the tart; and the plumage of the bird,\r
+the tints of the flowers, seemed strangely faded: I put both plate and\r
+tart away. Bessie asked if I would have a book: the word _book_ acted as\r
+a transient stimulus, and I begged her to fetch Gulliver's Travels from\r
+the library. This book I had again and again perused with delight. I\r
+considered it a narrative of facts, and discovered in it a vein of\r
+interest deeper than what I found in fairy tales: for as to the elves,\r
+having sought them in vain among foxglove leaves and bells, under\r
+mushrooms and beneath the ground-ivy mantling old wall-nooks, I had at\r
+length made up my mind to the sad truth, that they were all gone out of\r
+England to some savage country where the woods were wilder and thicker,\r
+and the population more scant; whereas, Lilliput and Brobdignag being, in\r
+my creed, solid parts of the earth's surface, I doubted not that I might\r
+one day, by taking a long voyage, see with my own eyes the little fields,\r
+houses, and trees, the diminutive people, the tiny cows, sheep, and birds\r
+of the one realm; and the corn-fields forest-high, the mighty mastiffs,\r
+the monster cats, the tower-like men and women, of the other. Yet, when\r
+this cherished volume was now placed in my hand--when I turned over its\r
+leaves, and sought in its marvellous pictures the charm I had, till now,\r
+never failed to find--all was eerie and dreary; the giants were gaunt\r
+goblins, the pigmies malevolent and fearful imps, Gulliver a most\r
+desolate wanderer in most dread and dangerous regions. I closed the\r
+book, which I dared no longer peruse, and put it on the table, beside the\r
+untasted tart.\r
+\r
+Bessie had now finished dusting and tidying the room, and having washed\r
+her hands, she opened a certain little drawer, full of splendid shreds of\r
+silk and satin, and began making a new bonnet for Georgiana's doll.\r
+Meantime she sang: her song was--\r
+\r
+ "In the days when we went gipsying,\r
+ A long time ago."\r
+\r
+I had often heard the song before, and always with lively delight; for\r
+Bessie had a sweet voice,--at least, I thought so. But now, though her\r
+voice was still sweet, I found in its melody an indescribable sadness.\r
+Sometimes, preoccupied with her work, she sang the refrain very low, very\r
+lingeringly; "A long time ago" came out like the saddest cadence of a\r
+funeral hymn. She passed into another ballad, this time a really doleful\r
+one.\r
+\r
+ "My feet they are sore, and my limbs they are weary;\r
+ Long is the way, and the mountains are wild;\r
+ Soon will the twilight close moonless and dreary\r
+ Over the path of the poor orphan child.\r
+\r
+ Why did they send me so far and so lonely,\r
+ Up where the moors spread and grey rocks are piled?\r
+ Men are hard-hearted, and kind angels only\r
+ Watch o'er the steps of a poor orphan child.\r
+\r
+ Yet distant and soft the night breeze is blowing,\r
+ Clouds there are none, and clear stars beam mild,\r
+ God, in His mercy, protection is showing,\r
+ Comfort and hope to the poor orphan child.\r
+\r
+ Ev'n should I fall o'er the broken bridge passing,\r
+ Or stray in the marshes, by false lights beguiled,\r
+ Still will my Father, with promise and blessing,\r
+ Take to His bosom the poor orphan child.\r
+\r
+ There is a thought that for strength should avail me,\r
+ Though both of shelter and kindred despoiled;\r
+ Heaven is a home, and a rest will not fail me;\r
+ God is a friend to the poor orphan child."\r
+\r
+"Come, Miss Jane, don't cry," said Bessie as she finished. She might as\r
+well have said to the fire, "don't burn!" but how could she divine the\r
+morbid suffering to which I was a prey? In the course of the morning Mr.\r
+Lloyd came again.\r
+\r
+"What, already up!" said he, as he entered the nursery. "Well, nurse,\r
+how is she?"\r
+\r
+Bessie answered that I was doing very well.\r
+\r
+"Then she ought to look more cheerful. Come here, Miss Jane: your name\r
+is Jane, is it not?"\r
+\r
+"Yes, sir, Jane Eyre."\r
+\r
+"Well, you have been crying, Miss Jane Eyre; can you tell me what about?\r
+Have you any pain?"\r
+\r
+"No, sir."\r
+\r
+"Oh! I daresay she is crying because she could not go out with Missis in\r
+the carriage," interposed Bessie.\r
+\r
+"Surely not! why, she is too old for such pettishness."\r
+\r
+I thought so too; and my self-esteem being wounded by the false charge, I\r
+answered promptly, "I never cried for such a thing in my life: I hate\r
+going out in the carriage. I cry because I am miserable."\r
+\r
+"Oh fie, Miss!" said Bessie.\r
+\r
+The good apothecary appeared a little puzzled. I was standing before\r
+him; he fixed his eyes on me very steadily: his eyes were small and grey;\r
+not very bright, but I dare say I should think them shrewd now: he had a\r
+hard-featured yet good-natured looking face. Having considered me at\r
+leisure, he said--\r
+\r
+"What made you ill yesterday?"\r
+\r
+"She had a fall," said Bessie, again putting in her word.\r
+\r
+"Fall! why, that is like a baby again! Can't she manage to walk at her\r
+age? She must be eight or nine years old."\r
+\r
+"I was knocked down," was the blunt explanation, jerked out of me by\r
+another pang of mortified pride; "but that did not make me ill," I added;\r
+while Mr. Lloyd helped himself to a pinch of snuff.\r
+\r
+As he was returning the box to his waistcoat pocket, a loud bell rang for\r
+the servants' dinner; he knew what it was. "That's for you, nurse," said\r
+he; "you can go down; I'll give Miss Jane a lecture till you come back."\r
+\r
+Bessie would rather have stayed, but she was obliged to go, because\r
+punctuality at meals was rigidly enforced at Gateshead Hall.\r
+\r
+"The fall did not make you ill; what did, then?" pursued Mr. Lloyd when\r
+Bessie was gone.\r
+\r
+"I was shut up in a room where there is a ghost till after dark."\r
+\r
+I saw Mr. Lloyd smile and frown at the same time.\r
+\r
+"Ghost! What, you are a baby after all! You are afraid of ghosts?"\r
+\r
+"Of Mr. Reed's ghost I am: he died in that room, and was laid out there.\r
+Neither Bessie nor any one else will go into it at night, if they can\r
+help it; and it was cruel to shut me up alone without a candle,--so cruel\r
+that I think I shall never forget it."\r
+\r
+"Nonsense! And is it that makes you so miserable? Are you afraid now in\r
+daylight?"\r
+\r
+"No: but night will come again before long: and besides,--I am\r
+unhappy,--very unhappy, for other things."\r
+\r
+"What other things? Can you tell me some of them?"\r
+\r
+How much I wished to reply fully to this question! How difficult it was\r
+to frame any answer! Children can feel, but they cannot analyse their\r
+feelings; and if the analysis is partially effected in thought, they know\r
+not how to express the result of the process in words. Fearful, however,\r
+of losing this first and only opportunity of relieving my grief by\r
+imparting it, I, after a disturbed pause, contrived to frame a meagre,\r
+though, as far as it went, true response.\r
+\r
+"For one thing, I have no father or mother, brothers or sisters."\r
+\r
+"You have a kind aunt and cousins."\r
+\r
+Again I paused; then bunglingly enounced--\r
+\r
+"But John Reed knocked me down, and my aunt shut me up in the red-room."\r
+\r
+Mr. Lloyd a second time produced his snuff-box.\r
+\r
+"Don't you think Gateshead Hall a very beautiful house?" asked he. "Are\r
+you not very thankful to have such a fine place to live at?"\r
+\r
+"It is not my house, sir; and Abbot says I have less right to be here\r
+than a servant."\r
+\r
+"Pooh! you can't be silly enough to wish to leave such a splendid place?"\r
+\r
+"If I had anywhere else to go, I should be glad to leave it; but I can\r
+never get away from Gateshead till I am a woman."\r
+\r
+"Perhaps you may--who knows? Have you any relations besides Mrs. Reed?"\r
+\r
+"I think not, sir."\r
+\r
+"None belonging to your father?"\r
+\r
+"I don't know. I asked Aunt Reed once, and she said possibly I might\r
+have some poor, low relations called Eyre, but she knew nothing about\r
+them."\r
+\r
+"If you had such, would you like to go to them?"\r
+\r
+I reflected. Poverty looks grim to grown people; still more so to\r
+children: they have not much idea of industrious, working, respectable\r
+poverty; they think of the word only as connected with ragged clothes,\r
+scanty food, fireless grates, rude manners, and debasing vices: poverty\r
+for me was synonymous with degradation.\r
+\r
+"No; I should not like to belong to poor people," was my reply.\r
+\r
+"Not even if they were kind to you?"\r
+\r
+I shook my head: I could not see how poor people had the means of being\r
+kind; and then to learn to speak like them, to adopt their manners, to be\r
+uneducated, to grow up like one of the poor women I saw sometimes nursing\r
+their children or washing their clothes at the cottage doors of the\r
+village of Gateshead: no, I was not heroic enough to purchase liberty at\r
+the price of caste.\r
+\r
+"But are your relatives so very poor? Are they working people?"\r
+\r
+"I cannot tell; Aunt Reed says if I have any, they must be a beggarly\r
+set: I should not like to go a begging."\r
+\r
+"Would you like to go to school?"\r
+\r
+Again I reflected: I scarcely knew what school was: Bessie sometimes\r
+spoke of it as a place where young ladies sat in the stocks, wore\r
+backboards, and were expected to be exceedingly genteel and precise: John\r
+Reed hated his school, and abused his master; but John Reed's tastes were\r
+no rule for mine, and if Bessie's accounts of school-discipline (gathered\r
+from the young ladies of a family where she had lived before coming to\r
+Gateshead) were somewhat appalling, her details of certain\r
+accomplishments attained by these same young ladies were, I thought,\r
+equally attractive. She boasted of beautiful paintings of landscapes and\r
+flowers by them executed; of songs they could sing and pieces they could\r
+play, of purses they could net, of French books they could translate;\r
+till my spirit was moved to emulation as I listened. Besides, school\r
+would be a complete change: it implied a long journey, an entire\r
+separation from Gateshead, an entrance into a new life.\r
+\r
+"I should indeed like to go to school," was the audible conclusion of my\r
+musings.\r
+\r
+"Well, well! who knows what may happen?" said Mr. Lloyd, as he got up.\r
+"The child ought to have change of air and scene," he added, speaking to\r
+himself; "nerves not in a good state."\r
+\r
+Bessie now returned; at the same moment the carriage was heard rolling up\r
+the gravel-walk.\r
+\r
+"Is that your mistress, nurse?" asked Mr. Lloyd. "I should like to speak\r
+to her before I go."\r
+\r
+Bessie invited him to walk into the breakfast-room, and led the way out.\r
+In the interview which followed between him and Mrs. Reed, I presume,\r
+from after-occurrences, that the apothecary ventured to recommend my\r
+being sent to school; and the recommendation was no doubt readily enough\r
+adopted; for as Abbot said, in discussing the subject with Bessie when\r
+both sat sewing in the nursery one night, after I was in bed, and, as\r
+they thought, asleep, "Missis was, she dared say, glad enough to get rid\r
+of such a tiresome, ill-conditioned child, who always looked as if she\r
+were watching everybody, and scheming plots underhand." Abbot, I think,\r
+gave me credit for being a sort of infantine Guy Fawkes.\r
+\r
+On that same occasion I learned, for the first time, from Miss Abbot's\r
+communications to Bessie, that my father had been a poor clergyman; that\r
+my mother had married him against the wishes of her friends, who\r
+considered the match beneath her; that my grandfather Reed was so\r
+irritated at her disobedience, he cut her off without a shilling; that\r
+after my mother and father had been married a year, the latter caught the\r
+typhus fever while visiting among the poor of a large manufacturing town\r
+where his curacy was situated, and where that disease was then prevalent:\r
+that my mother took the infection from him, and both died within a month\r
+of each other.\r
+\r
+Bessie, when she heard this narrative, sighed and said, "Poor Miss Jane\r
+is to be pitied, too, Abbot."\r
+\r
+"Yes," responded Abbot; "if she were a nice, pretty child, one might\r
+compassionate her forlornness; but one really cannot care for such a\r
+little toad as that."\r
+\r
+"Not a great deal, to be sure," agreed Bessie: "at any rate, a beauty\r
+like Miss Georgiana would be more moving in the same condition."\r
+\r
+"Yes, I doat on Miss Georgiana!" cried the fervent Abbot. "Little\r
+darling!--with her long curls and her blue eyes, and such a sweet colour\r
+as she has; just as if she were painted!--Bessie, I could fancy a Welsh\r
+rabbit for supper."\r
+\r
+"So could I--with a roast onion. Come, we'll go down." They went.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER IV\r
+\r
+\r
+From my discourse with Mr. Lloyd, and from the above reported conference\r
+between Bessie and Abbot, I gathered enough of hope to suffice as a\r
+motive for wishing to get well: a change seemed near,--I desired and\r
+waited it in silence. It tarried, however: days and weeks passed: I had\r
+regained my normal state of health, but no new allusion was made to the\r
+subject over which I brooded. Mrs. Reed surveyed me at times with a\r
+severe eye, but seldom addressed me: since my illness, she had drawn a\r
+more marked line of separation than ever between me and her own children;\r
+appointing me a small closet to sleep in by myself, condemning me to take\r
+my meals alone, and pass all my time in the nursery, while my cousins\r
+were constantly in the drawing-room. Not a hint, however, did she drop\r
+about sending me to school: still I felt an instinctive certainty that\r
+she would not long endure me under the same roof with her; for her\r
+glance, now more than ever, when turned on me, expressed an insuperable\r
+and rooted aversion.\r
+\r
+Eliza and Georgiana, evidently acting according to orders, spoke to me as\r
+little as possible: John thrust his tongue in his cheek whenever he saw\r
+me, and once attempted chastisement; but as I instantly turned against\r
+him, roused by the same sentiment of deep ire and desperate revolt which\r
+had stirred my corruption before, he thought it better to desist, and ran\r
+from me tittering execrations, and vowing I had burst his nose. I had\r
+indeed levelled at that prominent feature as hard a blow as my knuckles\r
+could inflict; and when I saw that either that or my look daunted him, I\r
+had the greatest inclination to follow up my advantage to purpose; but he\r
+was already with his mama. I heard him in a blubbering tone commence the\r
+tale of how "that nasty Jane Eyre" had flown at him like a mad cat: he\r
+was stopped rather harshly--\r
+\r
+"Don't talk to me about her, John: I told you not to go near her; she is\r
+not worthy of notice; I do not choose that either you or your sisters\r
+should associate with her."\r
+\r
+Here, leaning over the banister, I cried out suddenly, and without at all\r
+deliberating on my words--\r
+\r
+"They are not fit to associate with me."\r
+\r
+Mrs. Reed was rather a stout woman; but, on hearing this strange and\r
+audacious declaration, she ran nimbly up the stair, swept me like a\r
+whirlwind into the nursery, and crushing me down on the edge of my crib,\r
+dared me in an emphatic voice to rise from that place, or utter one\r
+syllable during the remainder of the day.\r
+\r
+"What would Uncle Reed say to you, if he were alive?" was my scarcely\r
+voluntary demand. I say scarcely voluntary, for it seemed as if my\r
+tongue pronounced words without my will consenting to their utterance:\r
+something spoke out of me over which I had no control.\r
+\r
+"What?" said Mrs. Reed under her breath: her usually cold composed grey\r
+eye became troubled with a look like fear; she took her hand from my arm,\r
+and gazed at me as if she really did not know whether I were child or\r
+fiend. I was now in for it.\r
+\r
+"My Uncle Reed is in heaven, and can see all you do and think; and so can\r
+papa and mama: they know how you shut me up all day long, and how you\r
+wish me dead."\r
+\r
+Mrs. Reed soon rallied her spirits: she shook me most soundly, she boxed\r
+both my ears, and then left me without a word. Bessie supplied the\r
+hiatus by a homily of an hour's length, in which she proved beyond a\r
+doubt that I was the most wicked and abandoned child ever reared under a\r
+roof. I half believed her; for I felt indeed only bad feelings surging\r
+in my breast.\r
+\r
+November, December, and half of January passed away. Christmas and the\r
+New Year had been celebrated at Gateshead with the usual festive cheer;\r
+presents had been interchanged, dinners and evening parties given. From\r
+every enjoyment I was, of course, excluded: my share of the gaiety\r
+consisted in witnessing the daily apparelling of Eliza and Georgiana, and\r
+seeing them descend to the drawing-room, dressed out in thin muslin\r
+frocks and scarlet sashes, with hair elaborately ringletted; and\r
+afterwards, in listening to the sound of the piano or the harp played\r
+below, to the passing to and fro of the butler and footman, to the\r
+jingling of glass and china as refreshments were handed, to the broken\r
+hum of conversation as the drawing-room door opened and closed. When\r
+tired of this occupation, I would retire from the stairhead to the\r
+solitary and silent nursery: there, though somewhat sad, I was not\r
+miserable. To speak truth, I had not the least wish to go into company,\r
+for in company I was very rarely noticed; and if Bessie had but been kind\r
+and companionable, I should have deemed it a treat to spend the evenings\r
+quietly with her, instead of passing them under the formidable eye of\r
+Mrs. Reed, in a room full of ladies and gentlemen. But Bessie, as soon\r
+as she had dressed her young ladies, used to take herself off to the\r
+lively regions of the kitchen and housekeeper's room, generally bearing\r
+the candle along with her. I then sat with my doll on my knee till the\r
+fire got low, glancing round occasionally to make sure that nothing worse\r
+than myself haunted the shadowy room; and when the embers sank to a dull\r
+red, I undressed hastily, tugging at knots and strings as I best might,\r
+and sought shelter from cold and darkness in my crib. To this crib I\r
+always took my doll; human beings must love something, and, in the dearth\r
+of worthier objects of affection, I contrived to find a pleasure in\r
+loving and cherishing a faded graven image, shabby as a miniature\r
+scarecrow. It puzzles me now to remember with what absurd sincerity I\r
+doated on this little toy, half fancying it alive and capable of\r
+sensation. I could not sleep unless it was folded in my night-gown; and\r
+when it lay there safe and warm, I was comparatively happy, believing it\r
+to be happy likewise.\r
+\r
+Long did the hours seem while I waited the departure of the company, and\r
+listened for the sound of Bessie's step on the stairs: sometimes she\r
+would come up in the interval to seek her thimble or her scissors, or\r
+perhaps to bring me something by way of supper--a bun or a\r
+cheese-cake--then she would sit on the bed while I ate it, and when I had\r
+finished, she would tuck the clothes round me, and twice she kissed me,\r
+and said, "Good night, Miss Jane." When thus gentle, Bessie seemed to me\r
+the best, prettiest, kindest being in the world; and I wished most\r
+intensely that she would always be so pleasant and amiable, and never\r
+push me about, or scold, or task me unreasonably, as she was too often\r
+wont to do. Bessie Lee must, I think, have been a girl of good natural\r
+capacity, for she was smart in all she did, and had a remarkable knack of\r
+narrative; so, at least, I judge from the impression made on me by her\r
+nursery tales. She was pretty too, if my recollections of her face and\r
+person are correct. I remember her as a slim young woman, with black\r
+hair, dark eyes, very nice features, and good, clear complexion; but she\r
+had a capricious and hasty temper, and indifferent ideas of principle or\r
+justice: still, such as she was, I preferred her to any one else at\r
+Gateshead Hall.\r
+\r
+It was the fifteenth of January, about nine o'clock in the morning:\r
+Bessie was gone down to breakfast; my cousins had not yet been summoned\r
+to their mama; Eliza was putting on her bonnet and warm garden-coat to go\r
+and feed her poultry, an occupation of which she was fond: and not less\r
+so of selling the eggs to the housekeeper and hoarding up the money she\r
+thus obtained. She had a turn for traffic, and a marked propensity for\r
+saving; shown not only in the vending of eggs and chickens, but also in\r
+driving hard bargains with the gardener about flower-roots, seeds, and\r
+slips of plants; that functionary having orders from Mrs. Reed to buy of\r
+his young lady all the products of her parterre she wished to sell: and\r
+Eliza would have sold the hair off her head if she could have made a\r
+handsome profit thereby. As to her money, she first secreted it in odd\r
+corners, wrapped in a rag or an old curl-paper; but some of these hoards\r
+having been discovered by the housemaid, Eliza, fearful of one day losing\r
+her valued treasure, consented to intrust it to her mother, at a usurious\r
+rate of interest--fifty or sixty per cent.; which interest she exacted\r
+every quarter, keeping her accounts in a little book with anxious\r
+accuracy.\r
+\r
+Georgiana sat on a high stool, dressing her hair at the glass, and\r
+interweaving her curls with artificial flowers and faded feathers, of\r
+which she had found a store in a drawer in the attic. I was making my\r
+bed, having received strict orders from Bessie to get it arranged before\r
+she returned (for Bessie now frequently employed me as a sort of under-\r
+nurserymaid, to tidy the room, dust the chairs, &c.). Having spread the\r
+quilt and folded my night-dress, I went to the window-seat to put in\r
+order some picture-books and doll's house furniture scattered there; an\r
+abrupt command from Georgiana to let her playthings alone (for the tiny\r
+chairs and mirrors, the fairy plates and cups, were her property) stopped\r
+my proceedings; and then, for lack of other occupation, I fell to\r
+breathing on the frost-flowers with which the window was fretted, and\r
+thus clearing a space in the glass through which I might look out on the\r
+grounds, where all was still and petrified under the influence of a hard\r
+frost.\r
+\r
+From this window were visible the porter's lodge and the carriage-road,\r
+and just as I had dissolved so much of the silver-white foliage veiling\r
+the panes as left room to look out, I saw the gates thrown open and a\r
+carriage roll through. I watched it ascending the drive with\r
+indifference; carriages often came to Gateshead, but none ever brought\r
+visitors in whom I was interested; it stopped in front of the house, the\r
+door-bell rang loudly, the new-comer was admitted. All this being\r
+nothing to me, my vacant attention soon found livelier attraction in the\r
+spectacle of a little hungry robin, which came and chirruped on the twigs\r
+of the leafless cherry-tree nailed against the wall near the casement.\r
+The remains of my breakfast of bread and milk stood on the table, and\r
+having crumbled a morsel of roll, I was tugging at the sash to put out\r
+the crumbs on the window-sill, when Bessie came running upstairs into the\r
+nursery.\r
+\r
+"Miss Jane, take off your pinafore; what are you doing there? Have you\r
+washed your hands and face this morning?" I gave another tug before I\r
+answered, for I wanted the bird to be secure of its bread: the sash\r
+yielded; I scattered the crumbs, some on the stone sill, some on the\r
+cherry-tree bough, then, closing the window, I replied--\r
+\r
+"No, Bessie; I have only just finished dusting."\r
+\r
+"Troublesome, careless child! and what are you doing now? You look quite\r
+red, as if you had been about some mischief: what were you opening the\r
+window for?"\r
+\r
+I was spared the trouble of answering, for Bessie seemed in too great a\r
+hurry to listen to explanations; she hauled me to the washstand,\r
+inflicted a merciless, but happily brief scrub on my face and hands with\r
+soap, water, and a coarse towel; disciplined my head with a bristly\r
+brush, denuded me of my pinafore, and then hurrying me to the top of the\r
+stairs, bid me go down directly, as I was wanted in the breakfast-room.\r
+\r
+I would have asked who wanted me: I would have demanded if Mrs. Reed was\r
+there; but Bessie was already gone, and had closed the nursery-door upon\r
+me. I slowly descended. For nearly three months, I had never been\r
+called to Mrs. Reed's presence; restricted so long to the nursery, the\r
+breakfast, dining, and drawing-rooms were become for me awful regions, on\r
+which it dismayed me to intrude.\r
+\r
+I now stood in the empty hall; before me was the breakfast-room door, and\r
+I stopped, intimidated and trembling. What a miserable little poltroon\r
+had fear, engendered of unjust punishment, made of me in those days! I\r
+feared to return to the nursery, and feared to go forward to the parlour;\r
+ten minutes I stood in agitated hesitation; the vehement ringing of the\r
+breakfast-room bell decided me; I _must_ enter.\r
+\r
+"Who could want me?" I asked inwardly, as with both hands I turned the\r
+stiff door-handle, which, for a second or two, resisted my efforts. "What\r
+should I see besides Aunt Reed in the apartment?--a man or a woman?" The\r
+handle turned, the door unclosed, and passing through and curtseying low,\r
+I looked up at--a black pillar!--such, at least, appeared to me, at first\r
+sight, the straight, narrow, sable-clad shape standing erect on the rug:\r
+the grim face at the top was like a carved mask, placed above the shaft\r
+by way of capital.\r
+\r
+Mrs. Reed occupied her usual seat by the fireside; she made a signal to\r
+me to approach; I did so, and she introduced me to the stony stranger\r
+with the words: "This is the little girl respecting whom I applied to\r
+you."\r
+\r
+_He_, for it was a man, turned his head slowly towards where I stood, and\r
+having examined me with the two inquisitive-looking grey eyes which\r
+twinkled under a pair of bushy brows, said solemnly, and in a bass voice,\r
+"Her size is small: what is her age?"\r
+\r
+"Ten years."\r
+\r
+"So much?" was the doubtful answer; and he prolonged his scrutiny for\r
+some minutes. Presently he addressed me--"Your name, little girl?"\r
+\r
+"Jane Eyre, sir."\r
+\r
+In uttering these words I looked up: he seemed to me a tall gentleman;\r
+but then I was very little; his features were large, and they and all the\r
+lines of his frame were equally harsh and prim.\r
+\r
+"Well, Jane Eyre, and are you a good child?"\r
+\r
+Impossible to reply to this in the affirmative: my little world held a\r
+contrary opinion: I was silent. Mrs. Reed answered for me by an\r
+expressive shake of the head, adding soon, "Perhaps the less said on that\r
+subject the better, Mr. Brocklehurst."\r
+\r
+"Sorry indeed to hear it! she and I must have some talk;" and bending\r
+from the perpendicular, he installed his person in the arm-chair opposite\r
+Mrs. Reed's. "Come here," he said.\r
+\r
+I stepped across the rug; he placed me square and straight before him.\r
+What a face he had, now that it was almost on a level with mine! what a\r
+great nose! and what a mouth! and what large prominent teeth!\r
+\r
+"No sight so sad as that of a naughty child," he began, "especially a\r
+naughty little girl. Do you know where the wicked go after death?"\r
+\r
+"They go to hell," was my ready and orthodox answer.\r
+\r
+"And what is hell? Can you tell me that?"\r
+\r
+"A pit full of fire."\r
+\r
+"And should you like to fall into that pit, and to be burning there for\r
+ever?"\r
+\r
+"No, sir."\r
+\r
+"What must you do to avoid it?"\r
+\r
+I deliberated a moment; my answer, when it did come, was objectionable:\r
+"I must keep in good health, and not die."\r
+\r
+"How can you keep in good health? Children younger than you die daily. I\r
+buried a little child of five years old only a day or two since,--a good\r
+little child, whose soul is now in heaven. It is to be feared the same\r
+could not be said of you were you to be called hence."\r
+\r
+Not being in a condition to remove his doubt, I only cast my eyes down on\r
+the two large feet planted on the rug, and sighed, wishing myself far\r
+enough away.\r
+\r
+"I hope that sigh is from the heart, and that you repent of ever having\r
+been the occasion of discomfort to your excellent benefactress."\r
+\r
+"Benefactress! benefactress!" said I inwardly: "they all call Mrs. Reed\r
+my benefactress; if so, a benefactress is a disagreeable thing."\r
+\r
+"Do you say your prayers night and morning?" continued my interrogator.\r
+\r
+"Yes, sir."\r
+\r
+"Do you read your Bible?"\r
+\r
+"Sometimes."\r
+\r
+"With pleasure? Are you fond of it?"\r
+\r
+"I like Revelations, and the book of Daniel, and Genesis and Samuel, and\r
+a little bit of Exodus, and some parts of Kings and Chronicles, and Job\r
+and Jonah."\r
+\r
+"And the Psalms? I hope you like them?"\r
+\r
+"No, sir."\r
+\r
+"No? oh, shocking! I have a little boy, younger than you, who knows six\r
+Psalms by heart: and when you ask him which he would rather have, a\r
+gingerbread-nut to eat or a verse of a Psalm to learn, he says: 'Oh! the\r
+verse of a Psalm! angels sing Psalms;' says he, 'I wish to be a little\r
+angel here below;' he then gets two nuts in recompense for his infant\r
+piety."\r
+\r
+"Psalms are not interesting," I remarked.\r
+\r
+"That proves you have a wicked heart; and you must pray to God to change\r
+it: to give you a new and clean one: to take away your heart of stone and\r
+give you a heart of flesh."\r
+\r
+I was about to propound a question, touching the manner in which that\r
+operation of changing my heart was to be performed, when Mrs. Reed\r
+interposed, telling me to sit down; she then proceeded to carry on the\r
+conversation herself.\r
+\r
+"Mr. Brocklehurst, I believe I intimated in the letter which I wrote to\r
+you three weeks ago, that this little girl has not quite the character\r
+and disposition I could wish: should you admit her into Lowood school, I\r
+should be glad if the superintendent and teachers were requested to keep\r
+a strict eye on her, and, above all, to guard against her worst fault, a\r
+tendency to deceit. I mention this in your hearing, Jane, that you may\r
+not attempt to impose on Mr. Brocklehurst."\r
+\r
+Well might I dread, well might I dislike Mrs. Reed; for it was her nature\r
+to wound me cruelly; never was I happy in her presence; however carefully\r
+I obeyed, however strenuously I strove to please her, my efforts were\r
+still repulsed and repaid by such sentences as the above. Now, uttered\r
+before a stranger, the accusation cut me to the heart; I dimly perceived\r
+that she was already obliterating hope from the new phase of existence\r
+which she destined me to enter; I felt, though I could not have expressed\r
+the feeling, that she was sowing aversion and unkindness along my future\r
+path; I saw myself transformed under Mr. Brocklehurst's eye into an\r
+artful, noxious child, and what could I do to remedy the injury?\r
+\r
+"Nothing, indeed," thought I, as I struggled to repress a sob, and\r
+hastily wiped away some tears, the impotent evidences of my anguish.\r
+\r
+"Deceit is, indeed, a sad fault in a child," said Mr. Brocklehurst; "it\r
+is akin to falsehood, and all liars will have their portion in the lake\r
+burning with fire and brimstone; she shall, however, be watched, Mrs.\r
+Reed. I will speak to Miss Temple and the teachers."\r
+\r
+"I should wish her to be brought up in a manner suiting her prospects,"\r
+continued my benefactress; "to be made useful, to be kept humble: as for\r
+the vacations, she will, with your permission, spend them always at\r
+Lowood."\r
+\r
+"Your decisions are perfectly judicious, madam," returned Mr.\r
+Brocklehurst. "Humility is a Christian grace, and one peculiarly\r
+appropriate to the pupils of Lowood; I, therefore, direct that especial\r
+care shall be bestowed on its cultivation amongst them. I have studied\r
+how best to mortify in them the worldly sentiment of pride; and, only the\r
+other day, I had a pleasing proof of my success. My second daughter,\r
+Augusta, went with her mama to visit the school, and on her return she\r
+exclaimed: 'Oh, dear papa, how quiet and plain all the girls at Lowood\r
+look, with their hair combed behind their ears, and their long pinafores,\r
+and those little holland pockets outside their frocks--they are almost\r
+like poor people's children! and,' said she, 'they looked at my dress and\r
+mama's, as if they had never seen a silk gown before.'"\r
+\r
+"This is the state of things I quite approve," returned Mrs. Reed; "had I\r
+sought all England over, I could scarcely have found a system more\r
+exactly fitting a child like Jane Eyre. Consistency, my dear Mr.\r
+Brocklehurst; I advocate consistency in all things."\r
+\r
+"Consistency, madam, is the first of Christian duties; and it has been\r
+observed in every arrangement connected with the establishment of Lowood:\r
+plain fare, simple attire, unsophisticated accommodations, hardy and\r
+active habits; such is the order of the day in the house and its\r
+inhabitants."\r
+\r
+"Quite right, sir. I may then depend upon this child being received as a\r
+pupil at Lowood, and there being trained in conformity to her position\r
+and prospects?"\r
+\r
+"Madam, you may: she shall be placed in that nursery of chosen plants,\r
+and I trust she will show herself grateful for the inestimable privilege\r
+of her election."\r
+\r
+"I will send her, then, as soon as possible, Mr. Brocklehurst; for, I\r
+assure you, I feel anxious to be relieved of a responsibility that was\r
+becoming too irksome."\r
+\r
+"No doubt, no doubt, madam; and now I wish you good morning. I shall\r
+return to Brocklehurst Hall in the course of a week or two: my good\r
+friend, the Archdeacon, will not permit me to leave him sooner. I shall\r
+send Miss Temple notice that she is to expect a new girl, so that there\r
+will be no difficulty about receiving her. Good-bye."\r
+\r
+"Good-bye, Mr. Brocklehurst; remember me to Mrs. and Miss Brocklehurst,\r
+and to Augusta and Theodore, and Master Broughton Brocklehurst."\r
+\r
+"I will, madam. Little girl, here is a book entitled the 'Child's\r
+Guide,' read it with prayer, especially that part containing 'An account\r
+of the awfully sudden death of Martha G---, a naughty child addicted to\r
+falsehood and deceit.'"\r
+\r
+With these words Mr. Brocklehurst put into my hand a thin pamphlet sewn\r
+in a cover, and having rung for his carriage, he departed.\r
+\r
+Mrs. Reed and I were left alone: some minutes passed in silence; she was\r
+sewing, I was watching her. Mrs. Reed might be at that time some six or\r
+seven and thirty; she was a woman of robust frame, square-shouldered and\r
+strong-limbed, not tall, and, though stout, not obese: she had a somewhat\r
+large face, the under jaw being much developed and very solid; her brow\r
+was low, her chin large and prominent, mouth and nose sufficiently\r
+regular; under her light eyebrows glimmered an eye devoid of ruth; her\r
+skin was dark and opaque, her hair nearly flaxen; her constitution was\r
+sound as a bell--illness never came near her; she was an exact, clever\r
+manager; her household and tenantry were thoroughly under her control;\r
+her children only at times defied her authority and laughed it to scorn;\r
+she dressed well, and had a presence and port calculated to set off\r
+handsome attire.\r
+\r
+Sitting on a low stool, a few yards from her arm-chair, I examined her\r
+figure; I perused her features. In my hand I held the tract containing\r
+the sudden death of the Liar, to which narrative my attention had been\r
+pointed as to an appropriate warning. What had just passed; what Mrs.\r
+Reed had said concerning me to Mr. Brocklehurst; the whole tenor of their\r
+conversation, was recent, raw, and stinging in my mind; I had felt every\r
+word as acutely as I had heard it plainly, and a passion of resentment\r
+fomented now within me.\r
+\r
+Mrs. Reed looked up from her work; her eye settled on mine, her fingers\r
+at the same time suspended their nimble movements.\r
+\r
+"Go out of the room; return to the nursery," was her mandate. My look or\r
+something else must have struck her as offensive, for she spoke with\r
+extreme though suppressed irritation. I got up, I went to the door; I\r
+came back again; I walked to the window, across the room, then close up\r
+to her.\r
+\r
+_Speak_ I must: I had been trodden on severely, and _must_ turn: but how?\r
+What strength had I to dart retaliation at my antagonist? I gathered my\r
+energies and launched them in this blunt sentence--\r
+\r
+"I am not deceitful: if I were, I should say I loved you; but I declare I\r
+do not love you: I dislike you the worst of anybody in the world except\r
+John Reed; and this book about the liar, you may give to your girl,\r
+Georgiana, for it is she who tells lies, and not I."\r
+\r
+Mrs. Reed's hands still lay on her work inactive: her eye of ice\r
+continued to dwell freezingly on mine.\r
+\r
+"What more have you to say?" she asked, rather in the tone in which a\r
+person might address an opponent of adult age than such as is ordinarily\r
+used to a child.\r
+\r
+That eye of hers, that voice stirred every antipathy I had. Shaking from\r
+head to foot, thrilled with ungovernable excitement, I continued--\r
+\r
+"I am glad you are no relation of mine: I will never call you aunt again\r
+as long as I live. I will never come to see you when I am grown up; and\r
+if any one asks me how I liked you, and how you treated me, I will say\r
+the very thought of you makes me sick, and that you treated me with\r
+miserable cruelty."\r
+\r
+"How dare you affirm that, Jane Eyre?"\r
+\r
+"How dare I, Mrs. Reed? How dare I? Because it is the _truth_. You\r
+think I have no feelings, and that I can do without one bit of love or\r
+kindness; but I cannot live so: and you have no pity. I shall remember\r
+how you thrust me back--roughly and violently thrust me back--into the\r
+red-room, and locked me up there, to my dying day; though I was in agony;\r
+though I cried out, while suffocating with distress, 'Have mercy! Have\r
+mercy, Aunt Reed!' And that punishment you made me suffer because your\r
+wicked boy struck me--knocked me down for nothing. I will tell anybody\r
+who asks me questions, this exact tale. People think you a good woman,\r
+but you are bad, hard-hearted. _You_ are deceitful!"\r
+\r
+{How dare I, Mrs. Reed? How dare I? Because it is the truth: p30.jpg}\r
+\r
+Ere I had finished this reply, my soul began to expand, to exult, with\r
+the strangest sense of freedom, of triumph, I ever felt. It seemed as if\r
+an invisible bond had burst, and that I had struggled out into unhoped-\r
+for liberty. Not without cause was this sentiment: Mrs. Reed looked\r
+frightened; her work had slipped from her knee; she was lifting up her\r
+hands, rocking herself to and fro, and even twisting her face as if she\r
+would cry.\r
+\r
+"Jane, you are under a mistake: what is the matter with you? Why do you\r
+tremble so violently? Would you like to drink some water?"\r
+\r
+"No, Mrs. Reed."\r
+\r
+"Is there anything else you wish for, Jane? I assure you, I desire to be\r
+your friend."\r
+\r
+"Not you. You told Mr. Brocklehurst I had a bad character, a deceitful\r
+disposition; and I'll let everybody at Lowood know what you are, and what\r
+you have done."\r
+\r
+"Jane, you don't understand these things: children must be corrected for\r
+their faults."\r
+\r
+"Deceit is not my fault!" I cried out in a savage, high voice.\r
+\r
+"But you are passionate, Jane, that you must allow: and now return to the\r
+nursery--there's a dear--and lie down a little."\r
+\r
+"I am not your dear; I cannot lie down: send me to school soon, Mrs.\r
+Reed, for I hate to live here."\r
+\r
+"I will indeed send her to school soon," murmured Mrs. Reed _sotto voce_;\r
+and gathering up her work, she abruptly quitted the apartment.\r
+\r
+I was left there alone--winner of the field. It was the hardest battle I\r
+had fought, and the first victory I had gained: I stood awhile on the\r
+rug, where Mr. Brocklehurst had stood, and I enjoyed my conqueror's\r
+solitude. First, I smiled to myself and felt elate; but this fierce\r
+pleasure subsided in me as fast as did the accelerated throb of my\r
+pulses. A child cannot quarrel with its elders, as I had done; cannot\r
+give its furious feelings uncontrolled play, as I had given mine, without\r
+experiencing afterwards the pang of remorse and the chill of reaction. A\r
+ridge of lighted heath, alive, glancing, devouring, would have been a\r
+meet emblem of my mind when I accused and menaced Mrs. Reed: the same\r
+ridge, black and blasted after the flames are dead, would have\r
+represented as meetly my subsequent condition, when half-an-hour's\r
+silence and reflection had shown me the madness of my conduct, and the\r
+dreariness of my hated and hating position.\r
+\r
+Something of vengeance I had tasted for the first time; as aromatic wine\r
+it seemed, on swallowing, warm and racy: its after-flavour, metallic and\r
+corroding, gave me a sensation as if I had been poisoned. Willingly\r
+would I now have gone and asked Mrs. Reed's pardon; but I knew, partly\r
+from experience and partly from instinct, that was the way to make her\r
+repulse me with double scorn, thereby re-exciting every turbulent impulse\r
+of my nature.\r
+\r
+I would fain exercise some better faculty than that of fierce speaking;\r
+fain find nourishment for some less fiendish feeling than that of sombre\r
+indignation. I took a book--some Arabian tales; I sat down and\r
+endeavoured to read. I could make no sense of the subject; my own\r
+thoughts swam always between me and the page I had usually found\r
+fascinating. I opened the glass-door in the breakfast-room: the\r
+shrubbery was quite still: the black frost reigned, unbroken by sun or\r
+breeze, through the grounds. I covered my head and arms with the skirt\r
+of my frock, and went out to walk in a part of the plantation which was\r
+quite sequestrated; but I found no pleasure in the silent trees, the\r
+falling fir-cones, the congealed relics of autumn, russet leaves, swept\r
+by past winds in heaps, and now stiffened together. I leaned against a\r
+gate, and looked into an empty field where no sheep were feeding, where\r
+the short grass was nipped and blanched. It was a very grey day; a most\r
+opaque sky, "onding on snaw," canopied all; thence flakes felt it\r
+intervals, which settled on the hard path and on the hoary lea without\r
+melting. I stood, a wretched child enough, whispering to myself over and\r
+over again, "What shall I do?--what shall I do?"\r
+\r
+All at once I heard a clear voice call, "Miss Jane! where are you? Come\r
+to lunch!"\r
+\r
+It was Bessie, I knew well enough; but I did not stir; her light step\r
+came tripping down the path.\r
+\r
+"You naughty little thing!" she said. "Why don't you come when you are\r
+called?"\r
+\r
+Bessie's presence, compared with the thoughts over which I had been\r
+brooding, seemed cheerful; even though, as usual, she was somewhat cross.\r
+The fact is, after my conflict with and victory over Mrs. Reed, I was not\r
+disposed to care much for the nursemaid's transitory anger; and I _was_\r
+disposed to bask in her youthful lightness of heart. I just put my two\r
+arms round her and said, "Come, Bessie! don't scold."\r
+\r
+The action was more frank and fearless than any I was habituated to\r
+indulge in: somehow it pleased her.\r
+\r
+"You are a strange child, Miss Jane," she said, as she looked down at me;\r
+"a little roving, solitary thing: and you are going to school, I\r
+suppose?"\r
+\r
+I nodded.\r
+\r
+"And won't you be sorry to leave poor Bessie?"\r
+\r
+"What does Bessie care for me? She is always scolding me."\r
+\r
+"Because you're such a queer, frightened, shy little thing. You should\r
+be bolder."\r
+\r
+"What! to get more knocks?"\r
+\r
+"Nonsense! But you are rather put upon, that's certain. My mother said,\r
+when she came to see me last week, that she would not like a little one\r
+of her own to be in your place.--Now, come in, and I've some good news\r
+for you."\r
+\r
+"I don't think you have, Bessie."\r
+\r
+"Child! what do you mean? What sorrowful eyes you fix on me! Well, but\r
+Missis and the young ladies and Master John are going out to tea this\r
+afternoon, and you shall have tea with me. I'll ask cook to bake you a\r
+little cake, and then you shall help me to look over your drawers; for I\r
+am soon to pack your trunk. Missis intends you to leave Gateshead in a\r
+day or two, and you shall choose what toys you like to take with you."\r
+\r
+"Bessie, you must promise not to scold me any more till I go."\r
+\r
+"Well, I will; but mind you are a very good girl, and don't be afraid of\r
+me. Don't start when I chance to speak rather sharply; it's so\r
+provoking."\r
+\r
+"I don't think I shall ever be afraid of you again, Bessie, because I\r
+have got used to you, and I shall soon have another set of people to\r
+dread."\r
+\r
+"If you dread them they'll dislike you."\r
+\r
+"As you do, Bessie?"\r
+\r
+"I don't dislike you, Miss; I believe I am fonder of you than of all the\r
+others."\r
+\r
+"You don't show it."\r
+\r
+"You little sharp thing! you've got quite a new way of talking. What\r
+makes you so venturesome and hardy?"\r
+\r
+"Why, I shall soon be away from you, and besides"--I was going to say\r
+something about what had passed between me and Mrs. Reed, but on second\r
+thoughts I considered it better to remain silent on that head.\r
+\r
+"And so you're glad to leave me?"\r
+\r
+"Not at all, Bessie; indeed, just now I'm rather sorry."\r
+\r
+"Just now! and rather! How coolly my little lady says it! I dare say\r
+now if I were to ask you for a kiss you wouldn't give it me: you'd say\r
+you'd _rather_ not."\r
+\r
+"I'll kiss you and welcome: bend your head down." Bessie stooped; we\r
+mutually embraced, and I followed her into the house quite comforted.\r
+That afternoon lapsed in peace and harmony; and in the evening Bessie\r
+told me some of her most enchanting stories, and sang me some of her\r
+sweetest songs. Even for me life had its gleams of sunshine.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER V\r
+\r
+\r
+Five o'clock had hardly struck on the morning of the 19th of January,\r
+when Bessie brought a candle into my closet and found me already up and\r
+nearly dressed. I had risen half-an-hour before her entrance, and had\r
+washed my face, and put on my clothes by the light of a half-moon just\r
+setting, whose rays streamed through the narrow window near my crib. I\r
+was to leave Gateshead that day by a coach which passed the lodge gates\r
+at six a.m. Bessie was the only person yet risen; she had lit a fire in\r
+the nursery, where she now proceeded to make my breakfast. Few children\r
+can eat when excited with the thoughts of a journey; nor could I. Bessie,\r
+having pressed me in vain to take a few spoonfuls of the boiled milk and\r
+bread she had prepared for me, wrapped up some biscuits in a paper and\r
+put them into my bag; then she helped me on with my pelisse and bonnet,\r
+and wrapping herself in a shawl, she and I left the nursery. As we\r
+passed Mrs. Reed's bedroom, she said, "Will you go in and bid Missis good-\r
+bye?"\r
+\r
+"No, Bessie: she came to my crib last night when you were gone down to\r
+supper, and said I need not disturb her in the morning, or my cousins\r
+either; and she told me to remember that she had always been my best\r
+friend, and to speak of her and be grateful to her accordingly."\r
+\r
+"What did you say, Miss?"\r
+\r
+"Nothing: I covered my face with the bedclothes, and turned from her to\r
+the wall."\r
+\r
+"That was wrong, Miss Jane."\r
+\r
+"It was quite right, Bessie. Your Missis has not been my friend: she has\r
+been my foe."\r
+\r
+"O Miss Jane! don't say so!"\r
+\r
+"Good-bye to Gateshead!" cried I, as we passed through the hall and went\r
+out at the front door.\r
+\r
+The moon was set, and it was very dark; Bessie carried a lantern, whose\r
+light glanced on wet steps and gravel road sodden by a recent thaw. Raw\r
+and chill was the winter morning: my teeth chattered as I hastened down\r
+the drive. There was a light in the porter's lodge: when we reached it,\r
+we found the porter's wife just kindling her fire: my trunk, which had\r
+been carried down the evening before, stood corded at the door. It\r
+wanted but a few minutes of six, and shortly after that hour had struck,\r
+the distant roll of wheels announced the coming coach; I went to the door\r
+and watched its lamps approach rapidly through the gloom.\r
+\r
+"Is she going by herself?" asked the porter's wife.\r
+\r
+"Yes."\r
+\r
+"And how far is it?"\r
+\r
+"Fifty miles."\r
+\r
+"What a long way! I wonder Mrs. Reed is not afraid to trust her so far\r
+alone."\r
+\r
+The coach drew up; there it was at the gates with its four horses and its\r
+top laden with passengers: the guard and coachman loudly urged haste; my\r
+trunk was hoisted up; I was taken from Bessie's neck, to which I clung\r
+with kisses.\r
+\r
+"Be sure and take good care of her," cried she to the guard, as he lifted\r
+me into the inside.\r
+\r
+"Ay, ay!" was the answer: the door was slapped to, a voice exclaimed "All\r
+right," and on we drove. Thus was I severed from Bessie and Gateshead;\r
+thus whirled away to unknown, and, as I then deemed, remote and\r
+mysterious regions.\r
+\r
+I remember but little of the journey; I only know that the day seemed to\r
+me of a preternatural length, and that we appeared to travel over\r
+hundreds of miles of road. We passed through several towns, and in one,\r
+a very large one, the coach stopped; the horses were taken out, and the\r
+passengers alighted to dine. I was carried into an inn, where the guard\r
+wanted me to have some dinner; but, as I had no appetite, he left me in\r
+an immense room with a fireplace at each end, a chandelier pendent from\r
+the ceiling, and a little red gallery high up against the wall filled\r
+with musical instruments. Here I walked about for a long time, feeling\r
+very strange, and mortally apprehensive of some one coming in and\r
+kidnapping me; for I believed in kidnappers, their exploits having\r
+frequently figured in Bessie's fireside chronicles. At last the guard\r
+returned; once more I was stowed away in the coach, my protector mounted\r
+his own seat, sounded his hollow horn, and away we rattled over the\r
+"stony street" of L-.\r
+\r
+The afternoon came on wet and somewhat misty: as it waned into dusk, I\r
+began to feel that we were getting very far indeed from Gateshead: we\r
+ceased to pass through towns; the country changed; great grey hills\r
+heaved up round the horizon: as twilight deepened, we descended a valley,\r
+dark with wood, and long after night had overclouded the prospect, I\r
+heard a wild wind rushing amongst trees.\r
+\r
+Lulled by the sound, I at last dropped asleep; I had not long slumbered\r
+when the sudden cessation of motion awoke me; the coach-door was open,\r
+and a person like a servant was standing at it: I saw her face and dress\r
+by the light of the lamps.\r
+\r
+"Is there a little girl called Jane Eyre here?" she asked. I answered\r
+"Yes," and was then lifted out; my trunk was handed down, and the coach\r
+instantly drove away.\r
+\r
+I was stiff with long sitting, and bewildered with the noise and motion\r
+of the coach: Gathering my faculties, I looked about me. Rain, wind, and\r
+darkness filled the air; nevertheless, I dimly discerned a wall before me\r
+and a door open in it; through this door I passed with my new guide: she\r
+shut and locked it behind her. There was now visible a house or\r
+houses--for the building spread far--with many windows, and lights\r
+burning in some; we went up a broad pebbly path, splashing wet, and were\r
+admitted at a door; then the servant led me through a passage into a room\r
+with a fire, where she left me alone.\r
+\r
+I stood and warmed my numbed fingers over the blaze, then I looked round;\r
+there was no candle, but the uncertain light from the hearth showed, by\r
+intervals, papered walls, carpet, curtains, shining mahogany furniture:\r
+it was a parlour, not so spacious or splendid as the drawing-room at\r
+Gateshead, but comfortable enough. I was puzzling to make out the\r
+subject of a picture on the wall, when the door opened, and an individual\r
+carrying a light entered; another followed close behind.\r
+\r
+The first was a tall lady with dark hair, dark eyes, and a pale and large\r
+forehead; her figure was partly enveloped in a shawl, her countenance was\r
+grave, her bearing erect.\r
+\r
+"The child is very young to be sent alone," said she, putting her candle\r
+down on the table. She considered me attentively for a minute or two,\r
+then further added--\r
+\r
+"She had better be put to bed soon; she looks tired: are you tired?" she\r
+asked, placing her hand on my shoulder.\r
+\r
+"A little, ma'am."\r
+\r
+"And hungry too, no doubt: let her have some supper before she goes to\r
+bed, Miss Miller. Is this the first time you have left your parents to\r
+come to school, my little girl?"\r
+\r
+I explained to her that I had no parents. She inquired how long they had\r
+been dead: then how old I was, what was my name, whether I could read,\r
+write, and sew a little: then she touched my cheek gently with her\r
+forefinger, and saying, "She hoped I should be a good child," dismissed\r
+me along with Miss Miller.\r
+\r
+The lady I had left might be about twenty-nine; the one who went with me\r
+appeared some years younger: the first impressed me by her voice, look,\r
+and air. Miss Miller was more ordinary; ruddy in complexion, though of a\r
+careworn countenance; hurried in gait and action, like one who had always\r
+a multiplicity of tasks on hand: she looked, indeed, what I afterwards\r
+found she really was, an under-teacher. Led by her, I passed from\r
+compartment to compartment, from passage to passage, of a large and\r
+irregular building; till, emerging from the total and somewhat dreary\r
+silence pervading that portion of the house we had traversed, we came\r
+upon the hum of many voices, and presently entered a wide, long room,\r
+with great deal tables, two at each end, on each of which burnt a pair of\r
+candles, and seated all round on benches, a congregation of girls of\r
+every age, from nine or ten to twenty. Seen by the dim light of the\r
+dips, their number to me appeared countless, though not in reality\r
+exceeding eighty; they were uniformly dressed in brown stuff frocks of\r
+quaint fashion, and long holland pinafores. It was the hour of study;\r
+they were engaged in conning over their to-morrow's task, and the hum I\r
+had heard was the combined result of their whispered repetitions.\r
+\r
+Miss Miller signed to me to sit on a bench near the door, then walking up\r
+to the top of the long room she cried out--\r
+\r
+"Monitors, collect the lesson-books and put them away!"\r
+\r
+Four tall girls arose from different tables, and going round, gathered\r
+the books and removed them. Miss Miller again gave the word of command--\r
+\r
+"Monitors, fetch the supper-trays!"\r
+\r
+The tall girls went out and returned presently, each bearing a tray, with\r
+portions of something, I knew not what, arranged thereon, and a pitcher\r
+of water and mug in the middle of each tray. The portions were handed\r
+round; those who liked took a draught of the water, the mug being common\r
+to all. When it came to my turn, I drank, for I was thirsty, but did not\r
+touch the food, excitement and fatigue rendering me incapable of eating:\r
+I now saw, however, that it was a thin oaten cake shared into fragments.\r
+\r
+The meal over, prayers were read by Miss Miller, and the classes filed\r
+off, two and two, upstairs. Overpowered by this time with weariness, I\r
+scarcely noticed what sort of a place the bedroom was, except that, like\r
+the schoolroom, I saw it was very long. To-night I was to be Miss\r
+Miller's bed-fellow; she helped me to undress: when laid down I glanced\r
+at the long rows of beds, each of which was quickly filled with two\r
+occupants; in ten minutes the single light was extinguished, and amidst\r
+silence and complete darkness I fell asleep.\r
+\r
+The night passed rapidly. I was too tired even to dream; I only once\r
+awoke to hear the wind rave in furious gusts, and the rain fall in\r
+torrents, and to be sensible that Miss Miller had taken her place by my\r
+side. When I again unclosed my eyes, a loud bell was ringing; the girls\r
+were up and dressing; day had not yet begun to dawn, and a rushlight or\r
+two burned in the room. I too rose reluctantly; it was bitter cold, and\r
+I dressed as well as I could for shivering, and washed when there was a\r
+basin at liberty, which did not occur soon, as there was but one basin to\r
+six girls, on the stands down the middle of the room. Again the bell\r
+rang: all formed in file, two and two, and in that order descended the\r
+stairs and entered the cold and dimly lit schoolroom: here prayers were\r
+read by Miss Miller; afterwards she called out--\r
+\r
+"Form classes!"\r
+\r
+A great tumult succeeded for some minutes, during which Miss Miller\r
+repeatedly exclaimed, "Silence!" and "Order!" When it subsided, I saw\r
+them all drawn up in four semicircles, before four chairs, placed at the\r
+four tables; all held books in their hands, and a great book, like a\r
+Bible, lay on each table, before the vacant seat. A pause of some\r
+seconds succeeded, filled up by the low, vague hum of numbers; Miss\r
+Miller walked from class to class, hushing this indefinite sound.\r
+\r
+A distant bell tinkled: immediately three ladies entered the room, each\r
+walked to a table and took her seat. Miss Miller assumed the fourth\r
+vacant chair, which was that nearest the door, and around which the\r
+smallest of the children were assembled: to this inferior class I was\r
+called, and placed at the bottom of it.\r
+\r
+Business now began, the day's Collect was repeated, then certain texts of\r
+Scripture were said, and to these succeeded a protracted reading of\r
+chapters in the Bible, which lasted an hour. By the time that exercise\r
+was terminated, day had fully dawned. The indefatigable bell now sounded\r
+for the fourth time: the classes were marshalled and marched into another\r
+room to breakfast: how glad I was to behold a prospect of getting\r
+something to eat! I was now nearly sick from inanition, having taken so\r
+little the day before.\r
+\r
+The refectory was a great, low-ceiled, gloomy room; on two long tables\r
+smoked basins of something hot, which, however, to my dismay, sent forth\r
+an odour far from inviting. I saw a universal manifestation of\r
+discontent when the fumes of the repast met the nostrils of those\r
+destined to swallow it; from the van of the procession, the tall girls of\r
+the first class, rose the whispered words--\r
+\r
+"Disgusting! The porridge is burnt again!"\r
+\r
+"Silence!" ejaculated a voice; not that of Miss Miller, but one of the\r
+upper teachers, a little and dark personage, smartly dressed, but of\r
+somewhat morose aspect, who installed herself at the top of one table,\r
+while a more buxom lady presided at the other. I looked in vain for her\r
+I had first seen the night before; she was not visible: Miss Miller\r
+occupied the foot of the table where I sat, and a strange,\r
+foreign-looking, elderly lady, the French teacher, as I afterwards found,\r
+took the corresponding seat at the other board. A long grace was said\r
+and a hymn sung; then a servant brought in some tea for the teachers, and\r
+the meal began.\r
+\r
+Ravenous, and now very faint, I devoured a spoonful or two of my portion\r
+without thinking of its taste; but the first edge of hunger blunted, I\r
+perceived I had got in hand a nauseous mess; burnt porridge is almost as\r
+bad as rotten potatoes; famine itself soon sickens over it. The spoons\r
+were moved slowly: I saw each girl taste her food and try to swallow it;\r
+but in most cases the effort was soon relinquished. Breakfast was over,\r
+and none had breakfasted. Thanks being returned for what we had not got,\r
+and a second hymn chanted, the refectory was evacuated for the\r
+schoolroom. I was one of the last to go out, and in passing the tables,\r
+I saw one teacher take a basin of the porridge and taste it; she looked\r
+at the others; all their countenances expressed displeasure, and one of\r
+them, the stout one, whispered--\r
+\r
+"Abominable stuff! How shameful!"\r
+\r
+A quarter of an hour passed before lessons again began, during which the\r
+schoolroom was in a glorious tumult; for that space of time it seemed to\r
+be permitted to talk loud and more freely, and they used their privilege.\r
+The whole conversation ran on the breakfast, which one and all abused\r
+roundly. Poor things! it was the sole consolation they had. Miss Miller\r
+was now the only teacher in the room: a group of great girls standing\r
+about her spoke with serious and sullen gestures. I heard the name of\r
+Mr. Brocklehurst pronounced by some lips; at which Miss Miller shook her\r
+head disapprovingly; but she made no great effort to check the general\r
+wrath; doubtless she shared in it.\r
+\r
+A clock in the schoolroom struck nine; Miss Miller left her circle, and\r
+standing in the middle of the room, cried--\r
+\r
+"Silence! To your seats!"\r
+\r
+Discipline prevailed: in five minutes the confused throng was resolved\r
+into order, and comparative silence quelled the Babel clamour of tongues.\r
+The upper teachers now punctually resumed their posts: but still, all\r
+seemed to wait. Ranged on benches down the sides of the room, the eighty\r
+girls sat motionless and erect; a quaint assemblage they appeared, all\r
+with plain locks combed from their faces, not a curl visible; in brown\r
+dresses, made high and surrounded by a narrow tucker about the throat,\r
+with little pockets of holland (shaped something like a Highlander's\r
+purse) tied in front of their frocks, and destined to serve the purpose\r
+of a work-bag: all, too, wearing woollen stockings and country-made\r
+shoes, fastened with brass buckles. Above twenty of those clad in this\r
+costume were full-grown girls, or rather young women; it suited them ill,\r
+and gave an air of oddity even to the prettiest.\r
+\r
+I was still looking at them, and also at intervals examining the\r
+teachers--none of whom precisely pleased me; for the stout one was a\r
+little coarse, the dark one not a little fierce, the foreigner harsh and\r
+grotesque, and Miss Miller, poor thing! looked purple, weather-beaten,\r
+and over-worked--when, as my eye wandered from face to face, the whole\r
+school rose simultaneously, as if moved by a common spring.\r
+\r
+What was the matter? I had heard no order given: I was puzzled. Ere I\r
+had gathered my wits, the classes were again seated: but as all eyes were\r
+now turned to one point, mine followed the general direction, and\r
+encountered the personage who had received me last night. She stood at\r
+the bottom of the long room, on the hearth; for there was a fire at each\r
+end; she surveyed the two rows of girls silently and gravely. Miss\r
+Miller approaching, seemed to ask her a question, and having received her\r
+answer, went back to her place, and said aloud--\r
+\r
+"Monitor of the first class, fetch the globes!"\r
+\r
+While the direction was being executed, the lady consulted moved slowly\r
+up the room. I suppose I have a considerable organ of veneration, for I\r
+retain yet the sense of admiring awe with which my eyes traced her steps.\r
+Seen now, in broad daylight, she looked tall, fair, and shapely; brown\r
+eyes with a benignant light in their irids, and a fine pencilling of long\r
+lashes round, relieved the whiteness of her large front; on each of her\r
+temples her hair, of a very dark brown, was clustered in round curls,\r
+according to the fashion of those times, when neither smooth bands nor\r
+long ringlets were in vogue; her dress, also in the mode of the day, was\r
+of purple cloth, relieved by a sort of Spanish trimming of black velvet;\r
+a gold watch (watches were not so common then as now) shone at her\r
+girdle. Let the reader add, to complete the picture, refined features; a\r
+complexion, if pale, clear; and a stately air and carriage, and he will\r
+have, at least, as clearly as words can give it, a correct idea of the\r
+exterior of Miss Temple--Maria Temple, as I afterwards saw the name\r
+written in a prayer-book intrusted to me to carry to church.\r
+\r
+The superintendent of Lowood (for such was this lady) having taken her\r
+seat before a pair of globes placed on one of the tables, summoned the\r
+first class round her, and commenced giving a lesson on geography; the\r
+lower classes were called by the teachers: repetitions in history,\r
+grammar, &c., went on for an hour; writing and arithmetic succeeded, and\r
+music lessons were given by Miss Temple to some of the elder girls. The\r
+duration of each lesson was measured by the clock, which at last struck\r
+twelve. The superintendent rose--\r
+\r
+"I have a word to address to the pupils," said she.\r
+\r
+The tumult of cessation from lessons was already breaking forth, but it\r
+sank at her voice. She went on--\r
+\r
+"You had this morning a breakfast which you could not eat; you must be\r
+hungry:--I have ordered that a lunch of bread and cheese shall be served\r
+to all."\r
+\r
+The teachers looked at her with a sort of surprise.\r
+\r
+"It is to be done on my responsibility," she added, in an explanatory\r
+tone to them, and immediately afterwards left the room.\r
+\r
+The bread and cheese was presently brought in and distributed, to the\r
+high delight and refreshment of the whole school. The order was now\r
+given "To the garden!" Each put on a coarse straw bonnet, with strings\r
+of coloured calico, and a cloak of grey frieze. I was similarly\r
+equipped, and, following the stream, I made my way into the open air.\r
+\r
+The garden was a wide inclosure, surrounded with walls so high as to\r
+exclude every glimpse of prospect; a covered verandah ran down one side,\r
+and broad walks bordered a middle space divided into scores of little\r
+beds: these beds were assigned as gardens for the pupils to cultivate,\r
+and each bed had an owner. When full of flowers they would doubtless\r
+look pretty; but now, at the latter end of January, all was wintry blight\r
+and brown decay. I shuddered as I stood and looked round me: it was an\r
+inclement day for outdoor exercise; not positively rainy, but darkened by\r
+a drizzling yellow fog; all under foot was still soaking wet with the\r
+floods of yesterday. The stronger among the girls ran about and engaged\r
+in active games, but sundry pale and thin ones herded together for\r
+shelter and warmth in the verandah; and amongst these, as the dense mist\r
+penetrated to their shivering frames, I heard frequently the sound of a\r
+hollow cough.\r
+\r
+As yet I had spoken to no one, nor did anybody seem to take notice of me;\r
+I stood lonely enough: but to that feeling of isolation I was accustomed;\r
+it did not oppress me much. I leant against a pillar of the verandah,\r
+drew my grey mantle close about me, and, trying to forget the cold which\r
+nipped me without, and the unsatisfied hunger which gnawed me within,\r
+delivered myself up to the employment of watching and thinking. My\r
+reflections were too undefined and fragmentary to merit record: I hardly\r
+yet knew where I was; Gateshead and my past life seemed floated away to\r
+an immeasurable distance; the present was vague and strange, and of the\r
+future I could form no conjecture. I looked round the convent-like\r
+garden, and then up at the house--a large building, half of which seemed\r
+grey and old, the other half quite new. The new part, containing the\r
+schoolroom and dormitory, was lit by mullioned and latticed windows,\r
+which gave it a church-like aspect; a stone tablet over the door bore\r
+this inscription:--\r
+\r
+"Lowood Institution.--This portion was rebuilt A.D. ---, by Naomi\r
+Brocklehurst, of Brocklehurst Hall, in this county." "Let your light so\r
+shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your\r
+Father which is in heaven."--St. Matt. v. 16.\r
+\r
+I read these words over and over again: I felt that an explanation\r
+belonged to them, and was unable fully to penetrate their import. I was\r
+still pondering the signification of "Institution," and endeavouring to\r
+make out a connection between the first words and the verse of Scripture,\r
+when the sound of a cough close behind me made me turn my head. I saw a\r
+girl sitting on a stone bench near; she was bent over a book, on the\r
+perusal of which she seemed intent: from where I stood I could see the\r
+title--it was "Rasselas;" a name that struck me as strange, and\r
+consequently attractive. In turning a leaf she happened to look up, and\r
+I said to her directly--\r
+\r
+"Is your book interesting?" I had already formed the intention of asking\r
+her to lend it to me some day.\r
+\r
+"I like it," she answered, after a pause of a second or two, during which\r
+she examined me.\r
+\r
+"What is it about?" I continued. I hardly know where I found the\r
+hardihood thus to open a conversation with a stranger; the step was\r
+contrary to my nature and habits: but I think her occupation touched a\r
+chord of sympathy somewhere; for I too liked reading, though of a\r
+frivolous and childish kind; I could not digest or comprehend the serious\r
+or substantial.\r
+\r
+"You may look at it," replied the girl, offering me the book.\r
+\r
+I did so; a brief examination convinced me that the contents were less\r
+taking than the title: "Rasselas" looked dull to my trifling taste; I saw\r
+nothing about fairies, nothing about genii; no bright variety seemed\r
+spread over the closely-printed pages. I returned it to her; she\r
+received it quietly, and without saying anything she was about to relapse\r
+into her former studious mood: again I ventured to disturb her--\r
+\r
+"Can you tell me what the writing on that stone over the door means? What\r
+is Lowood Institution?"\r
+\r
+"This house where you are come to live."\r
+\r
+"And why do they call it Institution? Is it in any way different from\r
+other schools?"\r
+\r
+"It is partly a charity-school: you and I, and all the rest of us, are\r
+charity-children. I suppose you are an orphan: are not either your\r
+father or your mother dead?"\r
+\r
+"Both died before I can remember."\r
+\r
+"Well, all the girls here have lost either one or both parents, and this\r
+is called an institution for educating orphans."\r
+\r
+"Do we pay no money? Do they keep us for nothing?"\r
+\r
+"We pay, or our friends pay, fifteen pounds a year for each."\r
+\r
+"Then why do they call us charity-children?"\r
+\r
+"Because fifteen pounds is not enough for board and teaching, and the\r
+deficiency is supplied by subscription."\r
+\r
+"Who subscribes?"\r
+\r
+"Different benevolent-minded ladies and gentlemen in this neighbourhood\r
+and in London."\r
+\r
+"Who was Naomi Brocklehurst?"\r
+\r
+"The lady who built the new part of this house as that tablet records,\r
+and whose son overlooks and directs everything here."\r
+\r
+"Why?"\r
+\r
+"Because he is treasurer and manager of the establishment."\r
+\r
+"Then this house does not belong to that tall lady who wears a watch, and\r
+who said we were to have some bread and cheese?"\r
+\r
+"To Miss Temple? Oh, no! I wish it did: she has to answer to Mr.\r
+Brocklehurst for all she does. Mr. Brocklehurst buys all our food and\r
+all our clothes."\r
+\r
+"Does he live here?"\r
+\r
+"No--two miles off, at a large hall."\r
+\r
+"Is he a good man?"\r
+\r
+"He is a clergyman, and is said to do a great deal of good."\r
+\r
+"Did you say that tall lady was called Miss Temple?"\r
+\r
+"Yes."\r
+\r
+"And what are the other teachers called?"\r
+\r
+"The one with red cheeks is called Miss Smith; she attends to the work,\r
+and cuts out--for we make our own clothes, our frocks, and pelisses, and\r
+everything; the little one with black hair is Miss Scatcherd; she teaches\r
+history and grammar, and hears the second class repetitions; and the one\r
+who wears a shawl, and has a pocket-handkerchief tied to her side with a\r
+yellow ribband, is Madame Pierrot: she comes from Lisle, in France, and\r
+teaches French."\r
+\r
+"Do you like the teachers?"\r
+\r
+"Well enough."\r
+\r
+"Do you like the little black one, and the Madame ---?--I cannot\r
+pronounce her name as you do."\r
+\r
+"Miss Scatcherd is hasty--you must take care not to offend her; Madame\r
+Pierrot is not a bad sort of person."\r
+\r
+"But Miss Temple is the best--isn't she?"\r
+\r
+"Miss Temple is very good and very clever; she is above the rest, because\r
+she knows far more than they do."\r
+\r
+"Have you been long here?"\r
+\r
+"Two years."\r
+\r
+"Are you an orphan?"\r
+\r
+"My mother is dead."\r
+\r
+"Are you happy here?"\r
+\r
+"You ask rather too many questions. I have given you answers enough for\r
+the present: now I want to read."\r
+\r
+But at that moment the summons sounded for dinner; all re-entered the\r
+house. The odour which now filled the refectory was scarcely more\r
+appetising than that which had regaled our nostrils at breakfast: the\r
+dinner was served in two huge tin-plated vessels, whence rose a strong\r
+steam redolent of rancid fat. I found the mess to consist of indifferent\r
+potatoes and strange shreds of rusty meat, mixed and cooked together. Of\r
+this preparation a tolerably abundant plateful was apportioned to each\r
+pupil. I ate what I could, and wondered within myself whether every\r
+day's fare would be like this.\r
+\r
+After dinner, we immediately adjourned to the schoolroom: lessons\r
+recommenced, and were continued till five o'clock.\r
+\r
+The only marked event of the afternoon was, that I saw the girl with whom\r
+I had conversed in the verandah dismissed in disgrace by Miss Scatcherd\r
+from a history class, and sent to stand in the middle of the large\r
+schoolroom. The punishment seemed to me in a high degree ignominious,\r
+especially for so great a girl--she looked thirteen or upwards. I\r
+expected she would show signs of great distress and shame; but to my\r
+surprise she neither wept nor blushed: composed, though grave, she stood,\r
+the central mark of all eyes. "How can she bear it so quietly--so\r
+firmly?" I asked of myself. "Were I in her place, it seems to me I\r
+should wish the earth to open and swallow me up. She looks as if she\r
+were thinking of something beyond her punishment--beyond her situation:\r
+of something not round her nor before her. I have heard of day-dreams--is\r
+she in a day-dream now? Her eyes are fixed on the floor, but I am sure\r
+they do not see it--her sight seems turned in, gone down into her heart:\r
+she is looking at what she can remember, I believe; not at what is really\r
+present. I wonder what sort of a girl she is--whether good or naughty."\r
+\r
+Soon after five p.m. we had another meal, consisting of a small mug of\r
+coffee, and half-a-slice of brown bread. I devoured my bread and drank\r
+my coffee with relish; but I should have been glad of as much more--I was\r
+still hungry. Half-an-hour's recreation succeeded, then study; then the\r
+glass of water and the piece of oat-cake, prayers, and bed. Such was my\r
+first day at Lowood.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER VI\r
+\r
+\r
+The next day commenced as before, getting up and dressing by rushlight;\r
+but this morning we were obliged to dispense with the ceremony of\r
+washing; the water in the pitchers was frozen. A change had taken place\r
+in the weather the preceding evening, and a keen north-east wind,\r
+whistling through the crevices of our bedroom windows all night long, had\r
+made us shiver in our beds, and turned the contents of the ewers to ice.\r
+\r
+Before the long hour and a half of prayers and Bible-reading was over, I\r
+felt ready to perish with cold. Breakfast-time came at last, and this\r
+morning the porridge was not burnt; the quality was eatable, the quantity\r
+small. How small my portion seemed! I wished it had been doubled.\r
+\r
+In the course of the day I was enrolled a member of the fourth class, and\r
+regular tasks and occupations were assigned me: hitherto, I had only been\r
+a spectator of the proceedings at Lowood; I was now to become an actor\r
+therein. At first, being little accustomed to learn by heart, the\r
+lessons appeared to me both long and difficult; the frequent change from\r
+task to task, too, bewildered me; and I was glad when, about three\r
+o'clock in the afternoon, Miss Smith put into my hands a border of muslin\r
+two yards long, together with needle, thimble, &c., and sent me to sit in\r
+a quiet corner of the schoolroom, with directions to hem the same. At\r
+that hour most of the others were sewing likewise; but one class still\r
+stood round Miss Scatcherd's chair reading, and as all was quiet, the\r
+subject of their lessons could be heard, together with the manner in\r
+which each girl acquitted herself, and the animadversions or\r
+commendations of Miss Scatcherd on the performance. It was English\r
+history: among the readers I observed my acquaintance of the verandah: at\r
+the commencement of the lesson, her place had been at the top of the\r
+class, but for some error of pronunciation, or some inattention to stops,\r
+she was suddenly sent to the very bottom. Even in that obscure position,\r
+Miss Scatcherd continued to make her an object of constant notice: she\r
+was continually addressing to her such phrases as the following:--\r
+\r
+"Burns" (such it seems was her name: the girls here were all called by\r
+their surnames, as boys are elsewhere), "Burns, you are standing on the\r
+side of your shoe; turn your toes out immediately." "Burns, you poke\r
+your chin most unpleasantly; draw it in." "Burns, I insist on your\r
+holding your head up; I will not have you before me in that attitude,"\r
+&c. &c.\r
+\r
+A chapter having been read through twice, the books were closed and the\r
+girls examined. The lesson had comprised part of the reign of Charles\r
+I., and there were sundry questions about tonnage and poundage and ship-\r
+money, which most of them appeared unable to answer; still, every little\r
+difficulty was solved instantly when it reached Burns: her memory seemed\r
+to have retained the substance of the whole lesson, and she was ready\r
+with answers on every point. I kept expecting that Miss Scatcherd would\r
+praise her attention; but, instead of that, she suddenly cried out--\r
+\r
+"You dirty, disagreeable girl! you have never cleaned your nails this\r
+morning!"\r
+\r
+Burns made no answer: I wondered at her silence. "Why," thought I, "does\r
+she not explain that she could neither clean her nails nor wash her face,\r
+as the water was frozen?"\r
+\r
+My attention was now called off by Miss Smith desiring me to hold a skein\r
+of thread: while she was winding it, she talked to me from time to time,\r
+asking whether I had ever been at school before, whether I could mark,\r
+stitch, knit, &c.; till she dismissed me, I could not pursue my\r
+observations on Miss Scatcherd's movements. When I returned to my seat,\r
+that lady was just delivering an order of which I did not catch the\r
+import; but Burns immediately left the class, and going into the small\r
+inner room where the books were kept, returned in half a minute, carrying\r
+in her hand a bundle of twigs tied together at one end. This ominous\r
+tool she presented to Miss Scatcherd with a respectful curtesy; then she\r
+quietly, and without being told, unloosed her pinafore, and the teacher\r
+instantly and sharply inflicted on her neck a dozen strokes with the\r
+bunch of twigs. Not a tear rose to Burns' eye; and, while I paused from\r
+my sewing, because my fingers quivered at this spectacle with a sentiment\r
+of unavailing and impotent anger, not a feature of her pensive face\r
+altered its ordinary expression.\r
+\r
+"Hardened girl!" exclaimed Miss Scatcherd; "nothing can correct you of\r
+your slatternly habits: carry the rod away."\r
+\r
+Burns obeyed: I looked at her narrowly as she emerged from the\r
+book-closet; she was just putting back her handkerchief into her pocket,\r
+and the trace of a tear glistened on her thin cheek.\r
+\r
+The play-hour in the evening I thought the pleasantest fraction of the\r
+day at Lowood: the bit of bread, the draught of coffee swallowed at five\r
+o'clock had revived vitality, if it had not satisfied hunger: the long\r
+restraint of the day was slackened; the schoolroom felt warmer than in\r
+the morning--its fires being allowed to burn a little more brightly, to\r
+supply, in some measure, the place of candles, not yet introduced: the\r
+ruddy gloaming, the licensed uproar, the confusion of many voices gave\r
+one a welcome sense of liberty.\r
+\r
+On the evening of the day on which I had seen Miss Scatcherd flog her\r
+pupil, Burns, I wandered as usual among the forms and tables and laughing\r
+groups without a companion, yet not feeling lonely: when I passed the\r
+windows, I now and then lifted a blind, and looked out; it snowed fast, a\r
+drift was already forming against the lower panes; putting my ear close\r
+to the window, I could distinguish from the gleeful tumult within, the\r
+disconsolate moan of the wind outside.\r
+\r
+Probably, if I had lately left a good home and kind parents, this would\r
+have been the hour when I should most keenly have regretted the\r
+separation; that wind would then have saddened my heart; this obscure\r
+chaos would have disturbed my peace! as it was, I derived from both a\r
+strange excitement, and reckless and feverish, I wished the wind to howl\r
+more wildly, the gloom to deepen to darkness, and the confusion to rise\r
+to clamour.\r
+\r
+Jumping over forms, and creeping under tables, I made my way to one of\r
+the fire-places; there, kneeling by the high wire fender, I found Burns,\r
+absorbed, silent, abstracted from all round her by the companionship of a\r
+book, which she read by the dim glare of the embers.\r
+\r
+"Is it still 'Rasselas'?" I asked, coming behind her.\r
+\r
+"Yes," she said, "and I have just finished it."\r
+\r
+And in five minutes more she shut it up. I was glad of this. "Now,"\r
+thought I, "I can perhaps get her to talk." I sat down by her on the\r
+floor.\r
+\r
+"What is your name besides Burns?"\r
+\r
+"Helen."\r
+\r
+"Do you come a long way from here?"\r
+\r
+"I come from a place farther north, quite on the borders of Scotland."\r
+\r
+"Will you ever go back?"\r
+\r
+"I hope so; but nobody can be sure of the future."\r
+\r
+"You must wish to leave Lowood?"\r
+\r
+"No! why should I? I was sent to Lowood to get an education; and it\r
+would be of no use going away until I have attained that object."\r
+\r
+"But that teacher, Miss Scatcherd, is so cruel to you?"\r
+\r
+"Cruel? Not at all! She is severe: she dislikes my faults."\r
+\r
+"And if I were in your place I should dislike her; I should resist her.\r
+If she struck me with that rod, I should get it from her hand; I should\r
+break it under her nose."\r
+\r
+"Probably you would do nothing of the sort: but if you did, Mr.\r
+Brocklehurst would expel you from the school; that would be a great grief\r
+to your relations. It is far better to endure patiently a smart which\r
+nobody feels but yourself, than to commit a hasty action whose evil\r
+consequences will extend to all connected with you; and besides, the\r
+Bible bids us return good for evil."\r
+\r
+"But then it seems disgraceful to be flogged, and to be sent to stand in\r
+the middle of a room full of people; and you are such a great girl: I am\r
+far younger than you, and I could not bear it."\r
+\r
+"Yet it would be your duty to bear it, if you could not avoid it: it is\r
+weak and silly to say you _cannot bear_ what it is your fate to be\r
+required to bear."\r
+\r
+I heard her with wonder: I could not comprehend this doctrine of\r
+endurance; and still less could I understand or sympathise with the\r
+forbearance she expressed for her chastiser. Still I felt that Helen\r
+Burns considered things by a light invisible to my eyes. I suspected she\r
+might be right and I wrong; but I would not ponder the matter deeply;\r
+like Felix, I put it off to a more convenient season.\r
+\r
+"You say you have faults, Helen: what are they? To me you seem very\r
+good."\r
+\r
+"Then learn from me, not to judge by appearances: I am, as Miss Scatcherd\r
+said, slatternly; I seldom put, and never keep, things, in order; I am\r
+careless; I forget rules; I read when I should learn my lessons; I have\r
+no method; and sometimes I say, like you, I cannot _bear_ to be subjected\r
+to systematic arrangements. This is all very provoking to Miss\r
+Scatcherd, who is naturally neat, punctual, and particular."\r
+\r
+"And cross and cruel," I added; but Helen Burns would not admit my\r
+addition: she kept silence.\r
+\r
+"Is Miss Temple as severe to you as Miss Scatcherd?"\r
+\r
+At the utterance of Miss Temple's name, a soft smile flitted over her\r
+grave face.\r
+\r
+"Miss Temple is full of goodness; it pains her to be severe to any one,\r
+even the worst in the school: she sees my errors, and tells me of them\r
+gently; and, if I do anything worthy of praise, she gives me my meed\r
+liberally. One strong proof of my wretchedly defective nature is, that\r
+even her expostulations, so mild, so rational, have not influence to cure\r
+me of my faults; and even her praise, though I value it most highly,\r
+cannot stimulate me to continued care and foresight."\r
+\r
+"That is curious," said I, "it is so easy to be careful."\r
+\r
+"For _you_ I have no doubt it is. I observed you in your class this\r
+morning, and saw you were closely attentive: your thoughts never seemed\r
+to wander while Miss Miller explained the lesson and questioned you. Now,\r
+mine continually rove away; when I should be listening to Miss Scatcherd,\r
+and collecting all she says with assiduity, often I lose the very sound\r
+of her voice; I fall into a sort of dream. Sometimes I think I am in\r
+Northumberland, and that the noises I hear round me are the bubbling of a\r
+little brook which runs through Deepden, near our house;--then, when it\r
+comes to my turn to reply, I have to be awakened; and having heard\r
+nothing of what was read for listening to the visionary brook, I have no\r
+answer ready."\r
+\r
+"Yet how well you replied this afternoon."\r
+\r
+"It was mere chance; the subject on which we had been reading had\r
+interested me. This afternoon, instead of dreaming of Deepden, I was\r
+wondering how a man who wished to do right could act so unjustly and\r
+unwisely as Charles the First sometimes did; and I thought what a pity it\r
+was that, with his integrity and conscientiousness, he could see no\r
+farther than the prerogatives of the crown. If he had but been able to\r
+look to a distance, and see how what they call the spirit of the age was\r
+tending! Still, I like Charles--I respect him--I pity him, poor murdered\r
+king! Yes, his enemies were the worst: they shed blood they had no right\r
+to shed. How dared they kill him!"\r
+\r
+Helen was talking to herself now: she had forgotten I could not very well\r
+understand her--that I was ignorant, or nearly so, of the subject she\r
+discussed. I recalled her to my level.\r
+\r
+"And when Miss Temple teaches you, do your thoughts wander then?"\r
+\r
+"No, certainly, not often; because Miss Temple has generally something to\r
+say which is newer than my own reflections; her language is singularly\r
+agreeable to me, and the information she communicates is often just what\r
+I wished to gain."\r
+\r
+"Well, then, with Miss Temple you are good?"\r
+\r
+"Yes, in a passive way: I make no effort; I follow as inclination guides\r
+me. There is no merit in such goodness."\r
+\r
+"A great deal: you are good to those who are good to you. It is all I\r
+ever desire to be. If people were always kind and obedient to those who\r
+are cruel and unjust, the wicked people would have it all their own way:\r
+they would never feel afraid, and so they would never alter, but would\r
+grow worse and worse. When we are struck at without a reason, we should\r
+strike back again very hard; I am sure we should--so hard as to teach the\r
+person who struck us never to do it again."\r
+\r
+"You will change your mind, I hope, when you grow older: as yet you are\r
+but a little untaught girl."\r
+\r
+"But I feel this, Helen; I must dislike those who, whatever I do to\r
+please them, persist in disliking me; I must resist those who punish me\r
+unjustly. It is as natural as that I should love those who show me\r
+affection, or submit to punishment when I feel it is deserved."\r
+\r
+"Heathens and savage tribes hold that doctrine, but Christians and\r
+civilised nations disown it."\r
+\r
+"How? I don't understand."\r
+\r
+"It is not violence that best overcomes hate--nor vengeance that most\r
+certainly heals injury."\r
+\r
+"What then?"\r
+\r
+"Read the New Testament, and observe what Christ says, and how He acts;\r
+make His word your rule, and His conduct your example."\r
+\r
+"What does He say?"\r
+\r
+"Love your enemies; bless them that curse you; do good to them that hate\r
+you and despitefully use you."\r
+\r
+"Then I should love Mrs. Reed, which I cannot do; I should bless her son\r
+John, which is impossible."\r
+\r
+In her turn, Helen Burns asked me to explain, and I proceeded forthwith\r
+to pour out, in my own way, the tale of my sufferings and resentments.\r
+Bitter and truculent when excited, I spoke as I felt, without reserve or\r
+softening.\r
+\r
+Helen heard me patiently to the end: I expected she would then make a\r
+remark, but she said nothing.\r
+\r
+"Well," I asked impatiently, "is not Mrs. Reed a hard-hearted, bad\r
+woman?"\r
+\r
+"She has been unkind to you, no doubt; because you see, she dislikes your\r
+cast of character, as Miss Scatcherd does mine; but how minutely you\r
+remember all she has done and said to you! What a singularly deep\r
+impression her injustice seems to have made on your heart! No ill-usage\r
+so brands its record on my feelings. Would you not be happier if you\r
+tried to forget her severity, together with the passionate emotions it\r
+excited? Life appears to me too short to be spent in nursing animosity\r
+or registering wrongs. We are, and must be, one and all, burdened with\r
+faults in this world: but the time will soon come when, I trust, we shall\r
+put them off in putting off our corruptible bodies; when debasement and\r
+sin will fall from us with this cumbrous frame of flesh, and only the\r
+spark of the spirit will remain,--the impalpable principle of light and\r
+thought, pure as when it left the Creator to inspire the creature: whence\r
+it came it will return; perhaps again to be communicated to some being\r
+higher than man--perhaps to pass through gradations of glory, from the\r
+pale human soul to brighten to the seraph! Surely it will never, on the\r
+contrary, be suffered to degenerate from man to fiend? No; I cannot\r
+believe that: I hold another creed: which no one ever taught me, and\r
+which I seldom mention; but in which I delight, and to which I cling: for\r
+it extends hope to all: it makes Eternity a rest--a mighty home, not a\r
+terror and an abyss. Besides, with this creed, I can so clearly\r
+distinguish between the criminal and his crime; I can so sincerely\r
+forgive the first while I abhor the last: with this creed revenge never\r
+worries my heart, degradation never too deeply disgusts me, injustice\r
+never crushes me too low: I live in calm, looking to the end."\r
+\r
+Helen's head, always drooping, sank a little lower as she finished this\r
+sentence. I saw by her look she wished no longer to talk to me, but\r
+rather to converse with her own thoughts. She was not allowed much time\r
+for meditation: a monitor, a great rough girl, presently came up,\r
+exclaiming in a strong Cumberland accent--\r
+\r
+"Helen Burns, if you don't go and put your drawer in order, and fold up\r
+your work this minute, I'll tell Miss Scatcherd to come and look at it!"\r
+\r
+Helen sighed as her reverie fled, and getting up, obeyed the monitor\r
+without reply as without delay.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER VII\r
+\r
+\r
+My first quarter at Lowood seemed an age; and not the golden age either;\r
+it comprised an irksome struggle with difficulties in habituating myself\r
+to new rules and unwonted tasks. The fear of failure in these points\r
+harassed me worse than the physical hardships of my lot; though these\r
+were no trifles.\r
+\r
+During January, February, and part of March, the deep snows, and, after\r
+their melting, the almost impassable roads, prevented our stirring beyond\r
+the garden walls, except to go to church; but within these limits we had\r
+to pass an hour every day in the open air. Our clothing was insufficient\r
+to protect us from the severe cold: we had no boots, the snow got into\r
+our shoes and melted there: our ungloved hands became numbed and covered\r
+with chilblains, as were our feet: I remember well the distracting\r
+irritation I endured from this cause every evening, when my feet\r
+inflamed; and the torture of thrusting the swelled, raw, and stiff toes\r
+into my shoes in the morning. Then the scanty supply of food was\r
+distressing: with the keen appetites of growing children, we had scarcely\r
+sufficient to keep alive a delicate invalid. From this deficiency of\r
+nourishment resulted an abuse, which pressed hardly on the younger\r
+pupils: whenever the famished great girls had an opportunity, they would\r
+coax or menace the little ones out of their portion. Many a time I have\r
+shared between two claimants the precious morsel of brown bread\r
+distributed at tea-time; and after relinquishing to a third half the\r
+contents of my mug of coffee, I have swallowed the remainder with an\r
+accompaniment of secret tears, forced from me by the exigency of hunger.\r
+\r
+Sundays were dreary days in that wintry season. We had to walk two miles\r
+to Brocklebridge Church, where our patron officiated. We set out cold,\r
+we arrived at church colder: during the morning service we became almost\r
+paralysed. It was too far to return to dinner, and an allowance of cold\r
+meat and bread, in the same penurious proportion observed in our ordinary\r
+meals, was served round between the services.\r
+\r
+At the close of the afternoon service we returned by an exposed and hilly\r
+road, where the bitter winter wind, blowing over a range of snowy summits\r
+to the north, almost flayed the skin from our faces.\r
+\r
+I can remember Miss Temple walking lightly and rapidly along our drooping\r
+line, her plaid cloak, which the frosty wind fluttered, gathered close\r
+about her, and encouraging us, by precept and example, to keep up our\r
+spirits, and march forward, as she said, "like stalwart soldiers." The\r
+other teachers, poor things, were generally themselves too much dejected\r
+to attempt the task of cheering others.\r
+\r
+How we longed for the light and heat of a blazing fire when we got back!\r
+But, to the little ones at least, this was denied: each hearth in the\r
+schoolroom was immediately surrounded by a double row of great girls, and\r
+behind them the younger children crouched in groups, wrapping their\r
+starved arms in their pinafores.\r
+\r
+A little solace came at tea-time, in the shape of a double ration of\r
+bread--a whole, instead of a half, slice--with the delicious addition of\r
+a thin scrape of butter: it was the hebdomadal treat to which we all\r
+looked forward from Sabbath to Sabbath. I generally contrived to reserve\r
+a moiety of this bounteous repast for myself; but the remainder I was\r
+invariably obliged to part with.\r
+\r
+The Sunday evening was spent in repeating, by heart, the Church\r
+Catechism, and the fifth, sixth, and seventh chapters of St. Matthew; and\r
+in listening to a long sermon, read by Miss Miller, whose irrepressible\r
+yawns attested her weariness. A frequent interlude of these performances\r
+was the enactment of the part of Eutychus by some half-dozen of little\r
+girls, who, overpowered with sleep, would fall down, if not out of the\r
+third loft, yet off the fourth form, and be taken up half dead. The\r
+remedy was, to thrust them forward into the centre of the schoolroom, and\r
+oblige them to stand there till the sermon was finished. Sometimes their\r
+feet failed them, and they sank together in a heap; they were then\r
+propped up with the monitors' high stools.\r
+\r
+I have not yet alluded to the visits of Mr. Brocklehurst; and indeed that\r
+gentleman was from home during the greater part of the first month after\r
+my arrival; perhaps prolonging his stay with his friend the archdeacon:\r
+his absence was a relief to me. I need not say that I had my own reasons\r
+for dreading his coming: but come he did at last.\r
+\r
+One afternoon (I had then been three weeks at Lowood), as I was sitting\r
+with a slate in my hand, puzzling over a sum in long division, my eyes,\r
+raised in abstraction to the window, caught sight of a figure just\r
+passing: I recognised almost instinctively that gaunt outline; and when,\r
+two minutes after, all the school, teachers included, rose _en masse_, it\r
+was not necessary for me to look up in order to ascertain whose entrance\r
+they thus greeted. A long stride measured the schoolroom, and presently\r
+beside Miss Temple, who herself had risen, stood the same black column\r
+which had frowned on me so ominously from the hearthrug of Gateshead. I\r
+now glanced sideways at this piece of architecture. Yes, I was right: it\r
+was Mr. Brocklehurst, buttoned up in a surtout, and looking longer,\r
+narrower, and more rigid than ever.\r
+\r
+I had my own reasons for being dismayed at this apparition; too well I\r
+remembered the perfidious hints given by Mrs. Reed about my disposition,\r
+&c.; the promise pledged by Mr. Brocklehurst to apprise Miss Temple and\r
+the teachers of my vicious nature. All along I had been dreading the\r
+fulfilment of this promise,--I had been looking out daily for the "Coming\r
+Man," whose information respecting my past life and conversation was to\r
+brand me as a bad child for ever: now there he was.\r
+\r
+He stood at Miss Temple's side; he was speaking low in her ear: I did not\r
+doubt he was making disclosures of my villainy; and I watched her eye\r
+with painful anxiety, expecting every moment to see its dark orb turn on\r
+me a glance of repugnance and contempt. I listened too; and as I\r
+happened to be seated quite at the top of the room, I caught most of what\r
+he said: its import relieved me from immediate apprehension.\r
+\r
+"I suppose, Miss Temple, the thread I bought at Lowton will do; it struck\r
+me that it would be just of the quality for the calico chemises, and I\r
+sorted the needles to match. You may tell Miss Smith that I forgot to\r
+make a memorandum of the darning needles, but she shall have some papers\r
+sent in next week; and she is not, on any account, to give out more than\r
+one at a time to each pupil: if they have more, they are apt to be\r
+careless and lose them. And, O ma'am! I wish the woollen stockings were\r
+better looked to!--when I was here last, I went into the kitchen-garden\r
+and examined the clothes drying on the line; there was a quantity of\r
+black hose in a very bad state of repair: from the size of the holes in\r
+them I was sure they had not been well mended from time to time."\r
+\r
+He paused.\r
+\r
+"Your directions shall be attended to, sir," said Miss Temple.\r
+\r
+"And, ma'am," he continued, "the laundress tells me some of the girls\r
+have two clean tuckers in the week: it is too much; the rules limit them\r
+to one."\r
+\r
+"I think I can explain that circumstance, sir. Agnes and Catherine\r
+Johnstone were invited to take tea with some friends at Lowton last\r
+Thursday, and I gave them leave to put on clean tuckers for the\r
+occasion."\r
+\r
+Mr. Brocklehurst nodded.\r
+\r
+"Well, for once it may pass; but please not to let the circumstance occur\r
+too often. And there is another thing which surprised me; I find, in\r
+settling accounts with the housekeeper, that a lunch, consisting of bread\r
+and cheese, has twice been served out to the girls during the past\r
+fortnight. How is this? I looked over the regulations, and I find no\r
+such meal as lunch mentioned. Who introduced this innovation? and by\r
+what authority?"\r
+\r
+"I must be responsible for the circumstance, sir," replied Miss Temple:\r
+"the breakfast was so ill prepared that the pupils could not possibly eat\r
+it; and I dared not allow them to remain fasting till dinner-time."\r
+\r
+"Madam, allow me an instant. You are aware that my plan in bringing up\r
+these girls is, not to accustom them to habits of luxury and indulgence,\r
+but to render them hardy, patient, self-denying. Should any little\r
+accidental disappointment of the appetite occur, such as the spoiling of\r
+a meal, the under or the over dressing of a dish, the incident ought not\r
+to be neutralised by replacing with something more delicate the comfort\r
+lost, thus pampering the body and obviating the aim of this institution;\r
+it ought to be improved to the spiritual edification of the pupils, by\r
+encouraging them to evince fortitude under temporary privation. A brief\r
+address on those occasions would not be mistimed, wherein a judicious\r
+instructor would take the opportunity of referring to the sufferings of\r
+the primitive Christians; to the torments of martyrs; to the exhortations\r
+of our blessed Lord Himself, calling upon His disciples to take up their\r
+cross and follow Him; to His warnings that man shall not live by bread\r
+alone, but by every word that proceedeth out of the mouth of God; to His\r
+divine consolations, "If ye suffer hunger or thirst for My sake, happy\r
+are ye." Oh, madam, when you put bread and cheese, instead of burnt\r
+porridge, into these children's mouths, you may indeed feed their vile\r
+bodies, but you little think how you starve their immortal souls!"\r
+\r
+Mr. Brocklehurst again paused--perhaps overcome by his feelings. Miss\r
+Temple had looked down when he first began to speak to her; but she now\r
+gazed straight before her, and her face, naturally pale as marble,\r
+appeared to be assuming also the coldness and fixity of that material;\r
+especially her mouth, closed as if it would have required a sculptor's\r
+chisel to open it, and her brow settled gradually into petrified\r
+severity.\r
+\r
+Meantime, Mr. Brocklehurst, standing on the hearth with his hands behind\r
+his back, majestically surveyed the whole school. Suddenly his eye gave\r
+a blink, as if it had met something that either dazzled or shocked its\r
+pupil; turning, he said in more rapid accents than he had hitherto used--\r
+\r
+"Miss Temple, Miss Temple, what--_what_ is that girl with curled hair?\r
+Red hair, ma'am, curled--curled all over?" And extending his cane he\r
+pointed to the awful object, his hand shaking as he did so.\r
+\r
+"It is Julia Severn," replied Miss Temple, very quietly.\r
+\r
+"Julia Severn, ma'am! And why has she, or any other, curled hair? Why,\r
+in defiance of every precept and principle of this house, does she\r
+conform to the world so openly--here in an evangelical, charitable\r
+establishment--as to wear her hair one mass of curls?"\r
+\r
+"Julia's hair curls naturally," returned Miss Temple, still more quietly.\r
+\r
+"Naturally! Yes, but we are not to conform to nature; I wish these girls\r
+to be the children of Grace: and why that abundance? I have again and\r
+again intimated that I desire the hair to be arranged closely, modestly,\r
+plainly. Miss Temple, that girl's hair must be cut off entirely; I will\r
+send a barber to-morrow: and I see others who have far too much of the\r
+excrescence--that tall girl, tell her to turn round. Tell all the first\r
+form to rise up and direct their faces to the wall."\r
+\r
+Miss Temple passed her handkerchief over her lips, as if to smooth away\r
+the involuntary smile that curled them; she gave the order, however, and\r
+when the first class could take in what was required of them, they\r
+obeyed. Leaning a little back on my bench, I could see the looks and\r
+grimaces with which they commented on this manoeuvre: it was a pity Mr.\r
+Brocklehurst could not see them too; he would perhaps have felt that,\r
+whatever he might do with the outside of the cup and platter, the inside\r
+was further beyond his interference than he imagined.\r
+\r
+He scrutinised the reverse of these living medals some five minutes, then\r
+pronounced sentence. These words fell like the knell of doom--\r
+\r
+"All those top-knots must be cut off."\r
+\r
+Miss Temple seemed to remonstrate.\r
+\r
+"Madam," he pursued, "I have a Master to serve whose kingdom is not of\r
+this world: my mission is to mortify in these girls the lusts of the\r
+flesh; to teach them to clothe themselves with shame-facedness and\r
+sobriety, not with braided hair and costly apparel; and each of the young\r
+persons before us has a string of hair twisted in plaits which vanity\r
+itself might have woven; these, I repeat, must be cut off; think of the\r
+time wasted, of--"\r
+\r
+Mr. Brocklehurst was here interrupted: three other visitors, ladies, now\r
+entered the room. They ought to have come a little sooner to have heard\r
+his lecture on dress, for they were splendidly attired in velvet, silk,\r
+and furs. The two younger of the trio (fine girls of sixteen and\r
+seventeen) had grey beaver hats, then in fashion, shaded with ostrich\r
+plumes, and from under the brim of this graceful head-dress fell a\r
+profusion of light tresses, elaborately curled; the elder lady was\r
+enveloped in a costly velvet shawl, trimmed with ermine, and she wore a\r
+false front of French curls.\r
+\r
+These ladies were deferentially received by Miss Temple, as Mrs. and the\r
+Misses Brocklehurst, and conducted to seats of honour at the top of the\r
+room. It seems they had come in the carriage with their reverend\r
+relative, and had been conducting a rummaging scrutiny of the room\r
+upstairs, while he transacted business with the housekeeper, questioned\r
+the laundress, and lectured the superintendent. They now proceeded to\r
+address divers remarks and reproofs to Miss Smith, who was charged with\r
+the care of the linen and the inspection of the dormitories: but I had no\r
+time to listen to what they said; other matters called off and enchanted\r
+my attention.\r
+\r
+Hitherto, while gathering up the discourse of Mr. Brocklehurst and Miss\r
+Temple, I had not, at the same time, neglected precautions to secure my\r
+personal safety; which I thought would be effected, if I could only elude\r
+observation. To this end, I had sat well back on the form, and while\r
+seeming to be busy with my sum, had held my slate in such a manner as to\r
+conceal my face: I might have escaped notice, had not my treacherous\r
+slate somehow happened to slip from my hand, and falling with an\r
+obtrusive crash, directly drawn every eye upon me; I knew it was all over\r
+now, and, as I stooped to pick up the two fragments of slate, I rallied\r
+my forces for the worst. It came.\r
+\r
+"A careless girl!" said Mr. Brocklehurst, and immediately after--"It is\r
+the new pupil, I perceive." And before I could draw breath, "I must not\r
+forget I have a word to say respecting her." Then aloud: how loud it\r
+seemed to me! "Let the child who broke her slate come forward!"\r
+\r
+Of my own accord I could not have stirred; I was paralysed: but the two\r
+great girls who sit on each side of me, set me on my legs and pushed me\r
+towards the dread judge, and then Miss Temple gently assisted me to his\r
+very feet, and I caught her whispered counsel--\r
+\r
+"Don't be afraid, Jane, I saw it was an accident; you shall not be\r
+punished."\r
+\r
+The kind whisper went to my heart like a dagger.\r
+\r
+"Another minute, and she will despise me for a hypocrite," thought I; and\r
+an impulse of fury against Reed, Brocklehurst, and Co. bounded in my\r
+pulses at the conviction. I was no Helen Burns.\r
+\r
+"Fetch that stool," said Mr. Brocklehurst, pointing to a very high one\r
+from which a monitor had just risen: it was brought.\r
+\r
+"Place the child upon it."\r
+\r
+And I was placed there, by whom I don't know: I was in no condition to\r
+note particulars; I was only aware that they had hoisted me up to the\r
+height of Mr. Brocklehurst's nose, that he was within a yard of me, and\r
+that a spread of shot orange and purple silk pelisses and a cloud of\r
+silvery plumage extended and waved below me.\r
+\r
+Mr. Brocklehurst hemmed.\r
+\r
+"Ladies," said he, turning to his family, "Miss Temple, teachers, and\r
+children, you all see this girl?"\r
+\r
+Of course they did; for I felt their eyes directed like burning-glasses\r
+against my scorched skin.\r
+\r
+"You see she is yet young; you observe she possesses the ordinary form of\r
+childhood; God has graciously given her the shape that He has given to\r
+all of us; no signal deformity points her out as a marked character. Who\r
+would think that the Evil One had already found a servant and agent in\r
+her? Yet such, I grieve to say, is the case."\r
+\r
+A pause--in which I began to steady the palsy of my nerves, and to feel\r
+that the Rubicon was passed; and that the trial, no longer to be shirked,\r
+must be firmly sustained.\r
+\r
+"My dear children," pursued the black marble clergyman, with pathos,\r
+"this is a sad, a melancholy occasion; for it becomes my duty to warn\r
+you, that this girl, who might be one of God's own lambs, is a little\r
+castaway: not a member of the true flock, but evidently an interloper and\r
+an alien. You must be on your guard against her; you must shun her\r
+example; if necessary, avoid her company, exclude her from your sports,\r
+and shut her out from your converse. Teachers, you must watch her: keep\r
+your eyes on her movements, weigh well her words, scrutinise her actions,\r
+punish her body to save her soul: if, indeed, such salvation be possible,\r
+for (my tongue falters while I tell it) this girl, this child, the native\r
+of a Christian land, worse than many a little heathen who says its\r
+prayers to Brahma and kneels before Juggernaut--this girl is--a liar!"\r
+\r
+Now came a pause of ten minutes, during which I, by this time in perfect\r
+possession of my wits, observed all the female Brocklehursts produce\r
+their pocket-handkerchiefs and apply them to their optics, while the\r
+elderly lady swayed herself to and fro, and the two younger ones\r
+whispered, "How shocking!" Mr. Brocklehurst resumed.\r
+\r
+"This I learned from her benefactress; from the pious and charitable lady\r
+who adopted her in her orphan state, reared her as her own daughter, and\r
+whose kindness, whose generosity the unhappy girl repaid by an\r
+ingratitude so bad, so dreadful, that at last her excellent patroness was\r
+obliged to separate her from her own young ones, fearful lest her vicious\r
+example should contaminate their purity: she has sent her here to be\r
+healed, even as the Jews of old sent their diseased to the troubled pool\r
+of Bethesda; and, teachers, superintendent, I beg of you not to allow the\r
+waters to stagnate round her."\r
+\r
+With this sublime conclusion, Mr. Brocklehurst adjusted the top button of\r
+his surtout, muttered something to his family, who rose, bowed to Miss\r
+Temple, and then all the great people sailed in state from the room.\r
+Turning at the door, my judge said--\r
+\r
+"Let her stand half-an-hour longer on that stool, and let no one speak to\r
+her during the remainder of the day."\r
+\r
+There was I, then, mounted aloft; I, who had said I could not bear the\r
+shame of standing on my natural feet in the middle of the room, was now\r
+exposed to general view on a pedestal of infamy. What my sensations were\r
+no language can describe; but just as they all rose, stifling my breath\r
+and constricting my throat, a girl came up and passed me: in passing, she\r
+lifted her eyes. What a strange light inspired them! What an\r
+extraordinary sensation that ray sent through me! How the new feeling\r
+bore me up! It was as if a martyr, a hero, had passed a slave or victim,\r
+and imparted strength in the transit. I mastered the rising hysteria,\r
+lifted up my head, and took a firm stand on the stool. Helen Burns asked\r
+some slight question about her work of Miss Smith, was chidden for the\r
+triviality of the inquiry, returned to her place, and smiled at me as she\r
+again went by. What a smile! I remember it now, and I know that it was\r
+the effluence of fine intellect, of true courage; it lit up her marked\r
+lineaments, her thin face, her sunken grey eye, like a reflection from\r
+the aspect of an angel. Yet at that moment Helen Burns wore on her arm\r
+"the untidy badge;" scarcely an hour ago I had heard her condemned by\r
+Miss Scatcherd to a dinner of bread and water on the morrow because she\r
+had blotted an exercise in copying it out. Such is the imperfect nature\r
+of man! such spots are there on the disc of the clearest planet; and eyes\r
+like Miss Scatcherd's can only see those minute defects, and are blind to\r
+the full brightness of the orb.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER VIII\r
+\r
+\r
+Ere the half-hour ended, five o'clock struck; school was dismissed, and\r
+all were gone into the refectory to tea. I now ventured to descend: it\r
+was deep dusk; I retired into a corner and sat down on the floor. The\r
+spell by which I had been so far supported began to dissolve; reaction\r
+took place, and soon, so overwhelming was the grief that seized me, I\r
+sank prostrate with my face to the ground. Now I wept: Helen Burns was\r
+not here; nothing sustained me; left to myself I abandoned myself, and my\r
+tears watered the boards. I had meant to be so good, and to do so much\r
+at Lowood: to make so many friends, to earn respect and win affection.\r
+Already I had made visible progress: that very morning I had reached the\r
+head of my class; Miss Miller had praised me warmly; Miss Temple had\r
+smiled approbation; she had promised to teach me drawing, and to let me\r
+learn French, if I continued to make similar improvement two months\r
+longer: and then I was well received by my fellow-pupils; treated as an\r
+equal by those of my own age, and not molested by any; now, here I lay\r
+again crushed and trodden on; and could I ever rise more?\r
+\r
+"Never," I thought; and ardently I wished to die. While sobbing out this\r
+wish in broken accents, some one approached: I started up--again Helen\r
+Burns was near me; the fading fires just showed her coming up the long,\r
+vacant room; she brought my coffee and bread.\r
+\r
+"Come, eat something," she said; but I put both away from me, feeling as\r
+if a drop or a crumb would have choked me in my present condition. Helen\r
+regarded me, probably with surprise: I could not now abate my agitation,\r
+though I tried hard; I continued to weep aloud. She sat down on the\r
+ground near me, embraced her knees with her arms, and rested her head\r
+upon them; in that attitude she remained silent as an Indian. I was the\r
+first who spoke--\r
+\r
+"Helen, why do you stay with a girl whom everybody believes to be a\r
+liar?"\r
+\r
+"Everybody, Jane? Why, there are only eighty people who have heard you\r
+called so, and the world contains hundreds of millions."\r
+\r
+"But what have I to do with millions? The eighty, I know, despise me."\r
+\r
+"Jane, you are mistaken: probably not one in the school either despises\r
+or dislikes you: many, I am sure, pity you much."\r
+\r
+"How can they pity me after what Mr. Brocklehurst has said?"\r
+\r
+"Mr. Brocklehurst is not a god: nor is he even a great and admired man:\r
+he is little liked here; he never took steps to make himself liked. Had\r
+he treated you as an especial favourite, you would have found enemies,\r
+declared or covert, all around you; as it is, the greater number would\r
+offer you sympathy if they dared. Teachers and pupils may look coldly on\r
+you for a day or two, but friendly feelings are concealed in their\r
+hearts; and if you persevere in doing well, these feelings will ere long\r
+appear so much the more evidently for their temporary suppression.\r
+Besides, Jane"--she paused.\r
+\r
+"Well, Helen?" said I, putting my hand into hers: she chafed my fingers\r
+gently to warm them, and went on--\r
+\r
+"If all the world hated you, and believed you wicked, while your own\r
+conscience approved you, and absolved you from guilt, you would not be\r
+without friends."\r
+\r
+"No; I know I should think well of myself; but that is not enough: if\r
+others don't love me I would rather die than live--I cannot bear to be\r
+solitary and hated, Helen. Look here; to gain some real affection from\r
+you, or Miss Temple, or any other whom I truly love, I would willingly\r
+submit to have the bone of my arm broken, or to let a bull toss me, or to\r
+stand behind a kicking horse, and let it dash its hoof at my chest--"\r
+\r
+"Hush, Jane! you think too much of the love of human beings; you are too\r
+impulsive, too vehement; the sovereign hand that created your frame, and\r
+put life into it, has provided you with other resources than your feeble\r
+self, or than creatures feeble as you. Besides this earth, and besides\r
+the race of men, there is an invisible world and a kingdom of spirits:\r
+that world is round us, for it is everywhere; and those spirits watch us,\r
+for they are commissioned to guard us; and if we were dying in pain and\r
+shame, if scorn smote us on all sides, and hatred crushed us, angels see\r
+our tortures, recognise our innocence (if innocent we be: as I know you\r
+are of this charge which Mr. Brocklehurst has weakly and pompously\r
+repeated at second-hand from Mrs. Reed; for I read a sincere nature in\r
+your ardent eyes and on your clear front), and God waits only the\r
+separation of spirit from flesh to crown us with a full reward. Why,\r
+then, should we ever sink overwhelmed with distress, when life is so soon\r
+over, and death is so certain an entrance to happiness--to glory?"\r
+\r
+I was silent; Helen had calmed me; but in the tranquillity she imparted\r
+there was an alloy of inexpressible sadness. I felt the impression of\r
+woe as she spoke, but I could not tell whence it came; and when, having\r
+done speaking, she breathed a little fast and coughed a short cough, I\r
+momentarily forgot my own sorrows to yield to a vague concern for her.\r
+\r
+Resting my head on Helen's shoulder, I put my arms round her waist; she\r
+drew me to her, and we reposed in silence. We had not sat long thus,\r
+when another person came in. Some heavy clouds, swept from the sky by a\r
+rising wind, had left the moon bare; and her light, streaming in through\r
+a window near, shone full both on us and on the approaching figure, which\r
+we at once recognised as Miss Temple.\r
+\r
+"I came on purpose to find you, Jane Eyre," said she; "I want you in my\r
+room; and as Helen Burns is with you, she may come too."\r
+\r
+We went; following the superintendent's guidance, we had to thread some\r
+intricate passages, and mount a staircase before we reached her\r
+apartment; it contained a good fire, and looked cheerful. Miss Temple\r
+told Helen Burns to be seated in a low arm-chair on one side of the\r
+hearth, and herself taking another, she called me to her side.\r
+\r
+"Is it all over?" she asked, looking down at my face. "Have you cried\r
+your grief away?"\r
+\r
+"I am afraid I never shall do that."\r
+\r
+"Why?"\r
+\r
+"Because I have been wrongly accused; and you, ma'am, and everybody else,\r
+will now think me wicked."\r
+\r
+"We shall think you what you prove yourself to be, my child. Continue to\r
+act as a good girl, and you will satisfy us."\r
+\r
+"Shall I, Miss Temple?"\r
+\r
+"You will," said she, passing her arm round me. "And now tell me who is\r
+the lady whom Mr. Brocklehurst called your benefactress?"\r
+\r
+"Mrs. Reed, my uncle's wife. My uncle is dead, and he left me to her\r
+care."\r
+\r
+"Did she not, then, adopt you of her own accord?"\r
+\r
+"No, ma'am; she was sorry to have to do it: but my uncle, as I have often\r
+heard the servants say, got her to promise before he died that she would\r
+always keep me."\r
+\r
+"Well now, Jane, you know, or at least I will tell you, that when a\r
+criminal is accused, he is always allowed to speak in his own defence.\r
+You have been charged with falsehood; defend yourself to me as well as\r
+you can. Say whatever your memory suggests is true; but add nothing and\r
+exaggerate nothing."\r
+\r
+I resolved, in the depth of my heart, that I would be most moderate--most\r
+correct; and, having reflected a few minutes in order to arrange\r
+coherently what I had to say, I told her all the story of my sad\r
+childhood. Exhausted by emotion, my language was more subdued than it\r
+generally was when it developed that sad theme; and mindful of Helen's\r
+warnings against the indulgence of resentment, I infused into the\r
+narrative far less of gall and wormwood than ordinary. Thus restrained\r
+and simplified, it sounded more credible: I felt as I went on that Miss\r
+Temple fully believed me.\r
+\r
+In the course of the tale I had mentioned Mr. Lloyd as having come to see\r
+me after the fit: for I never forgot the, to me, frightful episode of the\r
+red-room: in detailing which, my excitement was sure, in some degree, to\r
+break bounds; for nothing could soften in my recollection the spasm of\r
+agony which clutched my heart when Mrs. Reed spurned my wild supplication\r
+for pardon, and locked me a second time in the dark and haunted chamber.\r
+\r
+I had finished: Miss Temple regarded me a few minutes in silence; she\r
+then said--\r
+\r
+"I know something of Mr. Lloyd; I shall write to him; if his reply agrees\r
+with your statement, you shall be publicly cleared from every imputation;\r
+to me, Jane, you are clear now."\r
+\r
+She kissed me, and still keeping me at her side (where I was well\r
+contented to stand, for I derived a child's pleasure from the\r
+contemplation of her face, her dress, her one or two ornaments, her white\r
+forehead, her clustered and shining curls, and beaming dark eyes), she\r
+proceeded to address Helen Burns.\r
+\r
+"How are you to-night, Helen? Have you coughed much to-day?"\r
+\r
+"Not quite so much, I think, ma'am."\r
+\r
+"And the pain in your chest?"\r
+\r
+"It is a little better."\r
+\r
+Miss Temple got up, took her hand and examined her pulse; then she\r
+returned to her own seat: as she resumed it, I heard her sigh low. She\r
+was pensive a few minutes, then rousing herself, she said cheerfully--\r
+\r
+"But you two are my visitors to-night; I must treat you as such." She\r
+rang her bell.\r
+\r
+"Barbara," she said to the servant who answered it, "I have not yet had\r
+tea; bring the tray and place cups for these two young ladies."\r
+\r
+And a tray was soon brought. How pretty, to my eyes, did the china cups\r
+and bright teapot look, placed on the little round table near the fire!\r
+How fragrant was the steam of the beverage, and the scent of the toast!\r
+of which, however, I, to my dismay (for I was beginning to be hungry)\r
+discerned only a very small portion: Miss Temple discerned it too.\r
+\r
+"Barbara," said she, "can you not bring a little more bread and butter?\r
+There is not enough for three."\r
+\r
+Barbara went out: she returned soon--\r
+\r
+"Madam, Mrs. Harden says she has sent up the usual quantity."\r
+\r
+Mrs. Harden, be it observed, was the housekeeper: a woman after Mr.\r
+Brocklehurst's own heart, made up of equal parts of whalebone and iron.\r
+\r
+"Oh, very well!" returned Miss Temple; "we must make it do, Barbara, I\r
+suppose." And as the girl withdrew she added, smiling, "Fortunately, I\r
+have it in my power to supply deficiencies for this once."\r
+\r
+Having invited Helen and me to approach the table, and placed before each\r
+of us a cup of tea with one delicious but thin morsel of toast, she got\r
+up, unlocked a drawer, and taking from it a parcel wrapped in paper,\r
+disclosed presently to our eyes a good-sized seed-cake.\r
+\r
+"I meant to give each of you some of this to take with you," said she,\r
+"but as there is so little toast, you must have it now," and she\r
+proceeded to cut slices with a generous hand.\r
+\r
+We feasted that evening as on nectar and ambrosia; and not the least\r
+delight of the entertainment was the smile of gratification with which\r
+our hostess regarded us, as we satisfied our famished appetites on the\r
+delicate fare she liberally supplied.\r
+\r
+Tea over and the tray removed, she again summoned us to the fire; we sat\r
+one on each side of her, and now a conversation followed between her and\r
+Helen, which it was indeed a privilege to be admitted to hear.\r
+\r
+Miss Temple had always something of serenity in her air, of state in her\r
+mien, of refined propriety in her language, which precluded deviation\r
+into the ardent, the excited, the eager: something which chastened the\r
+pleasure of those who looked on her and listened to her, by a controlling\r
+sense of awe; and such was my feeling now: but as to Helen Burns, I was\r
+struck with wonder.\r
+\r
+The refreshing meal, the brilliant fire, the presence and kindness of her\r
+beloved instructress, or, perhaps, more than all these, something in her\r
+own unique mind, had roused her powers within her. They woke, they\r
+kindled: first, they glowed in the bright tint of her cheek, which till\r
+this hour I had never seen but pale and bloodless; then they shone in the\r
+liquid lustre of her eyes, which had suddenly acquired a beauty more\r
+singular than that of Miss Temple's--a beauty neither of fine colour nor\r
+long eyelash, nor pencilled brow, but of meaning, of movement, of\r
+radiance. Then her soul sat on her lips, and language flowed, from what\r
+source I cannot tell. Has a girl of fourteen a heart large enough,\r
+vigorous enough, to hold the swelling spring of pure, full, fervid\r
+eloquence? Such was the characteristic of Helen's discourse on that, to\r
+me, memorable evening; her spirit seemed hastening to live within a very\r
+brief span as much as many live during a protracted existence.\r
+\r
+They conversed of things I had never heard of; of nations and times past;\r
+of countries far away; of secrets of nature discovered or guessed at:\r
+they spoke of books: how many they had read! What stores of knowledge\r
+they possessed! Then they seemed so familiar with French names and\r
+French authors: but my amazement reached its climax when Miss Temple\r
+asked Helen if she sometimes snatched a moment to recall the Latin her\r
+father had taught her, and taking a book from a shelf, bade her read and\r
+construe a page of Virgil; and Helen obeyed, my organ of veneration\r
+expanding at every sounding line. She had scarcely finished ere the bell\r
+announced bedtime! no delay could be admitted; Miss Temple embraced us\r
+both, saying, as she drew us to her heart--\r
+\r
+"God bless you, my children!"\r
+\r
+Helen she held a little longer than me: she let her go more reluctantly;\r
+it was Helen her eye followed to the door; it was for her she a second\r
+time breathed a sad sigh; for her she wiped a tear from her cheek.\r
+\r
+On reaching the bedroom, we heard the voice of Miss Scatcherd: she was\r
+examining drawers; she had just pulled out Helen Burns's, and when we\r
+entered Helen was greeted with a sharp reprimand, and told that to-morrow\r
+she should have half-a-dozen of untidily folded articles pinned to her\r
+shoulder.\r
+\r
+"My things were indeed in shameful disorder," murmured Helen to me, in a\r
+low voice: "I intended to have arranged them, but I forgot."\r
+\r
+Next morning, Miss Scatcherd wrote in conspicuous characters on a piece\r
+of pasteboard the word "Slattern," and bound it like a phylactery round\r
+Helen's large, mild, intelligent, and benign-looking forehead. She wore\r
+it till evening, patient, unresentful, regarding it as a deserved\r
+punishment. The moment Miss Scatcherd withdrew after afternoon school, I\r
+ran to Helen, tore it off, and thrust it into the fire: the fury of which\r
+she was incapable had been burning in my soul all day, and tears, hot and\r
+large, had continually been scalding my cheek; for the spectacle of her\r
+sad resignation gave me an intolerable pain at the heart.\r
+\r
+About a week subsequently to the incidents above narrated, Miss Temple,\r
+who had written to Mr. Lloyd, received his answer: it appeared that what\r
+he said went to corroborate my account. Miss Temple, having assembled\r
+the whole school, announced that inquiry had been made into the charges\r
+alleged against Jane Eyre, and that she was most happy to be able to\r
+pronounce her completely cleared from every imputation. The teachers\r
+then shook hands with me and kissed me, and a murmur of pleasure ran\r
+through the ranks of my companions.\r
+\r
+Thus relieved of a grievous load, I from that hour set to work afresh,\r
+resolved to pioneer my way through every difficulty: I toiled hard, and\r
+my success was proportionate to my efforts; my memory, not naturally\r
+tenacious, improved with practice; exercise sharpened my wits; in a few\r
+weeks I was promoted to a higher class; in less than two months I was\r
+allowed to commence French and drawing. I learned the first two tenses\r
+of the verb _Etre_, and sketched my first cottage (whose walls, by-the-\r
+bye, outrivalled in slope those of the leaning tower of Pisa), on the\r
+same day. That night, on going to bed, I forgot to prepare in\r
+imagination the Barmecide supper of hot roast potatoes, or white bread\r
+and new milk, with which I was wont to amuse my inward cravings: I\r
+feasted instead on the spectacle of ideal drawings, which I saw in the\r
+dark; all the work of my own hands: freely pencilled houses and trees,\r
+picturesque rocks and ruins, Cuyp-like groups of cattle, sweet paintings\r
+of butterflies hovering over unblown roses, of birds picking at ripe\r
+cherries, of wren's nests enclosing pearl-like eggs, wreathed about with\r
+young ivy sprays. I examined, too, in thought, the possibility of my\r
+ever being able to translate currently a certain little French story\r
+which Madame Pierrot had that day shown me; nor was that problem solved\r
+to my satisfaction ere I fell sweetly asleep.\r
+\r
+Well has Solomon said--"Better is a dinner of herbs where love is, than a\r
+stalled ox and hatred therewith."\r
+\r
+I would not now have exchanged Lowood with all its privations for\r
+Gateshead and its daily luxuries.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER IX\r
+\r
+\r
+But the privations, or rather the hardships, of Lowood lessened. Spring\r
+drew on: she was indeed already come; the frosts of winter had ceased;\r
+its snows were melted, its cutting winds ameliorated. My wretched feet,\r
+flayed and swollen to lameness by the sharp air of January, began to heal\r
+and subside under the gentler breathings of April; the nights and\r
+mornings no longer by their Canadian temperature froze the very blood in\r
+our veins; we could now endure the play-hour passed in the garden:\r
+sometimes on a sunny day it began even to be pleasant and genial, and a\r
+greenness grew over those brown beds, which, freshening daily, suggested\r
+the thought that Hope traversed them at night, and left each morning\r
+brighter traces of her steps. Flowers peeped out amongst the leaves;\r
+snow-drops, crocuses, purple auriculas, and golden-eyed pansies. On\r
+Thursday afternoons (half-holidays) we now took walks, and found still\r
+sweeter flowers opening by the wayside, under the hedges.\r
+\r
+I discovered, too, that a great pleasure, an enjoyment which the horizon\r
+only bounded, lay all outside the high and spike-guarded walls of our\r
+garden: this pleasure consisted in prospect of noble summits girdling a\r
+great hill-hollow, rich in verdure and shadow; in a bright beck, full of\r
+dark stones and sparkling eddies. How different had this scene looked\r
+when I viewed it laid out beneath the iron sky of winter, stiffened in\r
+frost, shrouded with snow!--when mists as chill as death wandered to the\r
+impulse of east winds along those purple peaks, and rolled down "ing" and\r
+holm till they blended with the frozen fog of the beck! That beck itself\r
+was then a torrent, turbid and curbless: it tore asunder the wood, and\r
+sent a raving sound through the air, often thickened with wild rain or\r
+whirling sleet; and for the forest on its banks, _that_ showed only ranks\r
+of skeletons.\r
+\r
+April advanced to May: a bright serene May it was; days of blue sky,\r
+placid sunshine, and soft western or southern gales filled up its\r
+duration. And now vegetation matured with vigour; Lowood shook loose its\r
+tresses; it became all green, all flowery; its great elm, ash, and oak\r
+skeletons were restored to majestic life; woodland plants sprang up\r
+profusely in its recesses; unnumbered varieties of moss filled its\r
+hollows, and it made a strange ground-sunshine out of the wealth of its\r
+wild primrose plants: I have seen their pale gold gleam in overshadowed\r
+spots like scatterings of the sweetest lustre. All this I enjoyed often\r
+and fully, free, unwatched, and almost alone: for this unwonted liberty\r
+and pleasure there was a cause, to which it now becomes my task to\r
+advert.\r
+\r
+Have I not described a pleasant site for a dwelling, when I speak of it\r
+as bosomed in hill and wood, and rising from the verge of a stream?\r
+Assuredly, pleasant enough: but whether healthy or not is another\r
+question.\r
+\r
+That forest-dell, where Lowood lay, was the cradle of fog and fog-bred\r
+pestilence; which, quickening with the quickening spring, crept into the\r
+Orphan Asylum, breathed typhus through its crowded schoolroom and\r
+dormitory, and, ere May arrived, transformed the seminary into an\r
+hospital.\r
+\r
+Semi-starvation and neglected colds had predisposed most of the pupils to\r
+receive infection: forty-five out of the eighty girls lay ill at one\r
+time. Classes were broken up, rules relaxed. The few who continued well\r
+were allowed almost unlimited license; because the medical attendant\r
+insisted on the necessity of frequent exercise to keep them in health:\r
+and had it been otherwise, no one had leisure to watch or restrain them.\r
+Miss Temple's whole attention was absorbed by the patients: she lived in\r
+the sick-room, never quitting it except to snatch a few hours' rest at\r
+night. The teachers were fully occupied with packing up and making other\r
+necessary preparations for the departure of those girls who were\r
+fortunate enough to have friends and relations able and willing to remove\r
+them from the seat of contagion. Many, already smitten, went home only\r
+to die: some died at the school, and were buried quietly and quickly, the\r
+nature of the malady forbidding delay.\r
+\r
+While disease had thus become an inhabitant of Lowood, and death its\r
+frequent visitor; while there was gloom and fear within its walls; while\r
+its rooms and passages steamed with hospital smells, the drug and the\r
+pastille striving vainly to overcome the effluvia of mortality, that\r
+bright May shone unclouded over the bold hills and beautiful woodland out\r
+of doors. Its garden, too, glowed with flowers: hollyhocks had sprung up\r
+tall as trees, lilies had opened, tulips and roses were in bloom; the\r
+borders of the little beds were gay with pink thrift and crimson double\r
+daisies; the sweetbriars gave out, morning and evening, their scent of\r
+spice and apples; and these fragrant treasures were all useless for most\r
+of the inmates of Lowood, except to furnish now and then a handful of\r
+herbs and blossoms to put in a coffin.\r
+\r
+But I, and the rest who continued well, enjoyed fully the beauties of the\r
+scene and season; they let us ramble in the wood, like gipsies, from\r
+morning till night; we did what we liked, went where we liked: we lived\r
+better too. Mr. Brocklehurst and his family never came near Lowood now:\r
+household matters were not scrutinised into; the cross housekeeper was\r
+gone, driven away by the fear of infection; her successor, who had been\r
+matron at the Lowton Dispensary, unused to the ways of her new abode,\r
+provided with comparative liberality. Besides, there were fewer to feed;\r
+the sick could eat little; our breakfast-basins were better filled; when\r
+there was no time to prepare a regular dinner, which often happened, she\r
+would give us a large piece of cold pie, or a thick slice of bread and\r
+cheese, and this we carried away with us to the wood, where we each chose\r
+the spot we liked best, and dined sumptuously.\r
+\r
+My favourite seat was a smooth and broad stone, rising white and dry from\r
+the very middle of the beck, and only to be got at by wading through the\r
+water; a feat I accomplished barefoot. The stone was just broad enough\r
+to accommodate, comfortably, another girl and me, at that time my chosen\r
+comrade--one Mary Ann Wilson; a shrewd, observant personage, whose\r
+society I took pleasure in, partly because she was witty and original,\r
+and partly because she had a manner which set me at my ease. Some years\r
+older than I, she knew more of the world, and could tell me many things I\r
+liked to hear: with her my curiosity found gratification: to my faults\r
+also she gave ample indulgence, never imposing curb or rein on anything I\r
+said. She had a turn for narrative, I for analysis; she liked to inform,\r
+I to question; so we got on swimmingly together, deriving much\r
+entertainment, if not much improvement, from our mutual intercourse.\r
+\r
+And where, meantime, was Helen Burns? Why did I not spend these sweet\r
+days of liberty with her? Had I forgotten her? or was I so worthless as\r
+to have grown tired of her pure society? Surely the Mary Ann Wilson I\r
+have mentioned was inferior to my first acquaintance: she could only tell\r
+me amusing stories, and reciprocate any racy and pungent gossip I chose\r
+to indulge in; while, if I have spoken truth of Helen, she was qualified\r
+to give those who enjoyed the privilege of her converse a taste of far\r
+higher things.\r
+\r
+True, reader; and I knew and felt this: and though I am a defective\r
+being, with many faults and few redeeming points, yet I never tired of\r
+Helen Burns; nor ever ceased to cherish for her a sentiment of\r
+attachment, as strong, tender, and respectful as any that ever animated\r
+my heart. How could it be otherwise, when Helen, at all times and under\r
+all circumstances, evinced for me a quiet and faithful friendship, which\r
+ill-humour never soured, nor irritation never troubled? But Helen was\r
+ill at present: for some weeks she had been removed from my sight to I\r
+knew not what room upstairs. She was not, I was told, in the hospital\r
+portion of the house with the fever patients; for her complaint was\r
+consumption, not typhus: and by consumption I, in my ignorance,\r
+understood something mild, which time and care would be sure to\r
+alleviate.\r
+\r
+I was confirmed in this idea by the fact of her once or twice coming\r
+downstairs on very warm sunny afternoons, and being taken by Miss Temple\r
+into the garden; but, on these occasions, I was not allowed to go and\r
+speak to her; I only saw her from the schoolroom window, and then not\r
+distinctly; for she was much wrapped up, and sat at a distance under the\r
+verandah.\r
+\r
+One evening, in the beginning of June, I had stayed out very late with\r
+Mary Ann in the wood; we had, as usual, separated ourselves from the\r
+others, and had wandered far; so far that we lost our way, and had to ask\r
+it at a lonely cottage, where a man and woman lived, who looked after a\r
+herd of half-wild swine that fed on the mast in the wood. When we got\r
+back, it was after moonrise: a pony, which we knew to be the surgeon's,\r
+was standing at the garden door. Mary Ann remarked that she supposed\r
+some one must be very ill, as Mr. Bates had been sent for at that time of\r
+the evening. She went into the house; I stayed behind a few minutes to\r
+plant in my garden a handful of roots I had dug up in the forest, and\r
+which I feared would wither if I left them till the morning. This done,\r
+I lingered yet a little longer: the flowers smelt so sweet as the dew\r
+fell; it was such a pleasant evening, so serene, so warm; the still\r
+glowing west promised so fairly another fine day on the morrow; the moon\r
+rose with such majesty in the grave east. I was noting these things and\r
+enjoying them as a child might, when it entered my mind as it had never\r
+done before:--\r
+\r
+"How sad to be lying now on a sick bed, and to be in danger of dying!\r
+This world is pleasant--it would be dreary to be called from it, and to\r
+have to go who knows where?"\r
+\r
+And then my mind made its first earnest effort to comprehend what had\r
+been infused into it concerning heaven and hell; and for the first time\r
+it recoiled, baffled; and for the first time glancing behind, on each\r
+side, and before it, it saw all round an unfathomed gulf: it felt the one\r
+point where it stood--the present; all the rest was formless cloud and\r
+vacant depth; and it shuddered at the thought of tottering, and plunging\r
+amid that chaos. While pondering this new idea, I heard the front door\r
+open; Mr. Bates came out, and with him was a nurse. After she had seen\r
+him mount his horse and depart, she was about to close the door, but I\r
+ran up to her.\r
+\r
+"How is Helen Burns?"\r
+\r
+"Very poorly," was the answer.\r
+\r
+"Is it her Mr. Bates has been to see?"\r
+\r
+"Yes."\r
+\r
+"And what does he say about her?"\r
+\r
+"He says she'll not be here long."\r
+\r
+This phrase, uttered in my hearing yesterday, would have only conveyed\r
+the notion that she was about to be removed to Northumberland, to her own\r
+home. I should not have suspected that it meant she was dying; but I\r
+knew instantly now! It opened clear on my comprehension that Helen Burns\r
+was numbering her last days in this world, and that she was going to be\r
+taken to the region of spirits, if such region there were. I experienced\r
+a shock of horror, then a strong thrill of grief, then a desire--a\r
+necessity to see her; and I asked in what room she lay.\r
+\r
+"She is in Miss Temple's room," said the nurse.\r
+\r
+"May I go up and speak to her?"\r
+\r
+"Oh no, child! It is not likely; and now it is time for you to come in;\r
+you'll catch the fever if you stop out when the dew is falling."\r
+\r
+The nurse closed the front door; I went in by the side entrance which led\r
+to the schoolroom: I was just in time; it was nine o'clock, and Miss\r
+Miller was calling the pupils to go to bed.\r
+\r
+It might be two hours later, probably near eleven, when I--not having\r
+been able to fall asleep, and deeming, from the perfect silence of the\r
+dormitory, that my companions were all wrapt in profound repose--rose\r
+softly, put on my frock over my night-dress, and, without shoes, crept\r
+from the apartment, and set off in quest of Miss Temple's room. It was\r
+quite at the other end of the house; but I knew my way; and the light of\r
+the unclouded summer moon, entering here and there at passage windows,\r
+enabled me to find it without difficulty. An odour of camphor and burnt\r
+vinegar warned me when I came near the fever room: and I passed its door\r
+quickly, fearful lest the nurse who sat up all night should hear me. I\r
+dreaded being discovered and sent back; for I _must_ see Helen,--I must\r
+embrace her before she died,--I must give her one last kiss, exchange\r
+with her one last word.\r
+\r
+Having descended a staircase, traversed a portion of the house below, and\r
+succeeded in opening and shutting, without noise, two doors, I reached\r
+another flight of steps; these I mounted, and then just opposite to me\r
+was Miss Temple's room. A light shone through the keyhole and from under\r
+the door; a profound stillness pervaded the vicinity. Coming near, I\r
+found the door slightly ajar; probably to admit some fresh air into the\r
+close abode of sickness. Indisposed to hesitate, and full of impatient\r
+impulses--soul and senses quivering with keen throes--I put it back and\r
+looked in. My eye sought Helen, and feared to find death.\r
+\r
+Close by Miss Temple's bed, and half covered with its white curtains,\r
+there stood a little crib. I saw the outline of a form under the\r
+clothes, but the face was hid by the hangings: the nurse I had spoken to\r
+in the garden sat in an easy-chair asleep; an unsnuffed candle burnt\r
+dimly on the table. Miss Temple was not to be seen: I knew afterwards\r
+that she had been called to a delirious patient in the fever-room. I\r
+advanced; then paused by the crib side: my hand was on the curtain, but I\r
+preferred speaking before I withdrew it. I still recoiled at the dread\r
+of seeing a corpse.\r
+\r
+"Helen!" I whispered softly, "are you awake?"\r
+\r
+She stirred herself, put back the curtain, and I saw her face, pale,\r
+wasted, but quite composed: she looked so little changed that my fear was\r
+instantly dissipated.\r
+\r
+"Can it be you, Jane?" she asked, in her own gentle voice.\r
+\r
+"Oh!" I thought, "she is not going to die; they are mistaken: she could\r
+not speak and look so calmly if she were."\r
+\r
+I got on to her crib and kissed her: her forehead was cold, and her cheek\r
+both cold and thin, and so were her hand and wrist; but she smiled as of\r
+old.\r
+\r
+"Why are you come here, Jane? It is past eleven o'clock: I heard it\r
+strike some minutes since."\r
+\r
+"I came to see you, Helen: I heard you were very ill, and I could not\r
+sleep till I had spoken to you."\r
+\r
+"You came to bid me good-bye, then: you are just in time probably."\r
+\r
+"Are you going somewhere, Helen? Are you going home?"\r
+\r
+"Yes; to my long home--my last home."\r
+\r
+"No, no, Helen!" I stopped, distressed. While I tried to devour my\r
+tears, a fit of coughing seized Helen; it did not, however, wake the\r
+nurse; when it was over, she lay some minutes exhausted; then she\r
+whispered--\r
+\r
+"Jane, your little feet are bare; lie down and cover yourself with my\r
+quilt."\r
+\r
+I did so: she put her arm over me, and I nestled close to her. After a\r
+long silence, she resumed, still whispering--\r
+\r
+"I am very happy, Jane; and when you hear that I am dead, you must be\r
+sure and not grieve: there is nothing to grieve about. We all must die\r
+one day, and the illness which is removing me is not painful; it is\r
+gentle and gradual: my mind is at rest. I leave no one to regret me\r
+much: I have only a father; and he is lately married, and will not miss\r
+me. By dying young, I shall escape great sufferings. I had not\r
+qualities or talents to make my way very well in the world: I should have\r
+been continually at fault."\r
+\r
+"But where are you going to, Helen? Can you see? Do you know?"\r
+\r
+"I believe; I have faith: I am going to God."\r
+\r
+"Where is God? What is God?"\r
+\r
+"My Maker and yours, who will never destroy what He created. I rely\r
+implicitly on His power, and confide wholly in His goodness: I count the\r
+hours till that eventful one arrives which shall restore me to Him,\r
+reveal Him to me."\r
+\r
+"You are sure, then, Helen, that there is such a place as heaven, and\r
+that our souls can get to it when we die?"\r
+\r
+"I am sure there is a future state; I believe God is good; I can resign\r
+my immortal part to Him without any misgiving. God is my father; God is\r
+my friend: I love Him; I believe He loves me."\r
+\r
+"And shall I see you again, Helen, when I die?"\r
+\r
+"You will come to the same region of happiness: be received by the same\r
+mighty, universal Parent, no doubt, dear Jane."\r
+\r
+Again I questioned, but this time only in thought. "Where is that\r
+region? Does it exist?" And I clasped my arms closer round Helen; she\r
+seemed dearer to me than ever; I felt as if I could not let her go; I lay\r
+with my face hidden on her neck. Presently she said, in the sweetest\r
+tone--\r
+\r
+"How comfortable I am! That last fit of coughing has tired me a little;\r
+I feel as if I could sleep: but don't leave me, Jane; I like to have you\r
+near me."\r
+\r
+"I'll stay with you, _dear_ Helen: no one shall take me away."\r
+\r
+"Are you warm, darling?"\r
+\r
+"Yes."\r
+\r
+"Good-night, Jane."\r
+\r
+"Good-night, Helen."\r
+\r
+She kissed me, and I her, and we both soon slumbered.\r
+\r
+When I awoke it was day: an unusual movement roused me; I looked up; I\r
+was in somebody's arms; the nurse held me; she was carrying me through\r
+the passage back to the dormitory. I was not reprimanded for leaving my\r
+bed; people had something else to think about; no explanation was\r
+afforded then to my many questions; but a day or two afterwards I learned\r
+that Miss Temple, on returning to her own room at dawn, had found me laid\r
+in the little crib; my face against Helen Burns's shoulder, my arms round\r
+her neck. I was asleep, and Helen was--dead.\r
+\r
+Her grave is in Brocklebridge churchyard: for fifteen years after her\r
+death it was only covered by a grassy mound; but now a grey marble tablet\r
+marks the spot, inscribed with her name, and the word "Resurgam."\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER X\r
+\r
+\r
+Hitherto I have recorded in detail the events of my insignificant\r
+existence: to the first ten years of my life I have given almost as many\r
+chapters. But this is not to be a regular autobiography. I am only\r
+bound to invoke Memory where I know her responses will possess some\r
+degree of interest; therefore I now pass a space of eight years almost in\r
+silence: a few lines only are necessary to keep up the links of\r
+connection.\r
+\r
+When the typhus fever had fulfilled its mission of devastation at Lowood,\r
+it gradually disappeared from thence; but not till its virulence and the\r
+number of its victims had drawn public attention on the school. Inquiry\r
+was made into the origin of the scourge, and by degrees various facts\r
+came out which excited public indignation in a high degree. The\r
+unhealthy nature of the site; the quantity and quality of the children's\r
+food; the brackish, fetid water used in its preparation; the pupils'\r
+wretched clothing and accommodations--all these things were discovered,\r
+and the discovery produced a result mortifying to Mr. Brocklehurst, but\r
+beneficial to the institution.\r
+\r
+Several wealthy and benevolent individuals in the county subscribed\r
+largely for the erection of a more convenient building in a better\r
+situation; new regulations were made; improvements in diet and clothing\r
+introduced; the funds of the school were intrusted to the management of a\r
+committee. Mr. Brocklehurst, who, from his wealth and family\r
+connections, could not be overlooked, still retained the post of\r
+treasurer; but he was aided in the discharge of his duties by gentlemen\r
+of rather more enlarged and sympathising minds: his office of inspector,\r
+too, was shared by those who knew how to combine reason with strictness,\r
+comfort with economy, compassion with uprightness. The school, thus\r
+improved, became in time a truly useful and noble institution. I\r
+remained an inmate of its walls, after its regeneration, for eight years:\r
+six as pupil, and two as teacher; and in both capacities I bear my\r
+testimony to its value and importance.\r
+\r
+During these eight years my life was uniform: but not unhappy, because it\r
+was not inactive. I had the means of an excellent education placed\r
+within my reach; a fondness for some of my studies, and a desire to excel\r
+in all, together with a great delight in pleasing my teachers, especially\r
+such as I loved, urged me on: I availed myself fully of the advantages\r
+offered me. In time I rose to be the first girl of the first class; then\r
+I was invested with the office of teacher; which I discharged with zeal\r
+for two years: but at the end of that time I altered.\r
+\r
+Miss Temple, through all changes, had thus far continued superintendent\r
+of the seminary: to her instruction I owed the best part of my\r
+acquirements; her friendship and society had been my continual solace;\r
+she had stood me in the stead of mother, governess, and, latterly,\r
+companion. At this period she married, removed with her husband (a\r
+clergyman, an excellent man, almost worthy of such a wife) to a distant\r
+county, and consequently was lost to me.\r
+\r
+From the day she left I was no longer the same: with her was gone every\r
+settled feeling, every association that had made Lowood in some degree a\r
+home to me. I had imbibed from her something of her nature and much of\r
+her habits: more harmonious thoughts: what seemed better regulated\r
+feelings had become the inmates of my mind. I had given in allegiance to\r
+duty and order; I was quiet; I believed I was content: to the eyes of\r
+others, usually even to my own, I appeared a disciplined and subdued\r
+character.\r
+\r
+But destiny, in the shape of the Rev. Mr. Nasmyth, came between me and\r
+Miss Temple: I saw her in her travelling dress step into a post-chaise,\r
+shortly after the marriage ceremony; I watched the chaise mount the hill\r
+and disappear beyond its brow; and then retired to my own room, and there\r
+spent in solitude the greatest part of the half-holiday granted in honour\r
+of the occasion.\r
+\r
+I walked about the chamber most of the time. I imagined myself only to\r
+be regretting my loss, and thinking how to repair it; but when my\r
+reflections were concluded, and I looked up and found that the afternoon\r
+was gone, and evening far advanced, another discovery dawned on me,\r
+namely, that in the interval I had undergone a transforming process; that\r
+my mind had put off all it had borrowed of Miss Temple--or rather that\r
+she had taken with her the serene atmosphere I had been breathing in her\r
+vicinity--and that now I was left in my natural element, and beginning to\r
+feel the stirring of old emotions. It did not seem as if a prop were\r
+withdrawn, but rather as if a motive were gone: it was not the power to\r
+be tranquil which had failed me, but the reason for tranquillity was no\r
+more. My world had for some years been in Lowood: my experience had been\r
+of its rules and systems; now I remembered that the real world was wide,\r
+and that a varied field of hopes and fears, of sensations and\r
+excitements, awaited those who had courage to go forth into its expanse,\r
+to seek real knowledge of life amidst its perils.\r
+\r
+I went to my window, opened it, and looked out. There were the two wings\r
+of the building; there was the garden; there were the skirts of Lowood;\r
+there was the hilly horizon. My eye passed all other objects to rest on\r
+those most remote, the blue peaks; it was those I longed to surmount; all\r
+within their boundary of rock and heath seemed prison-ground, exile\r
+limits. I traced the white road winding round the base of one mountain,\r
+and vanishing in a gorge between two; how I longed to follow it farther!\r
+I recalled the time when I had travelled that very road in a coach; I\r
+remembered descending that hill at twilight; an age seemed to have\r
+elapsed since the day which brought me first to Lowood, and I had never\r
+quitted it since. My vacations had all been spent at school: Mrs. Reed\r
+had never sent for me to Gateshead; neither she nor any of her family had\r
+ever been to visit me. I had had no communication by letter or message\r
+with the outer world: school-rules, school-duties, school-habits and\r
+notions, and voices, and faces, and phrases, and costumes, and\r
+preferences, and antipathies--such was what I knew of existence. And now\r
+I felt that it was not enough; I tired of the routine of eight years in\r
+one afternoon. I desired liberty; for liberty I gasped; for liberty I\r
+uttered a prayer; it seemed scattered on the wind then faintly blowing. I\r
+abandoned it and framed a humbler supplication; for change, stimulus:\r
+that petition, too, seemed swept off into vague space: "Then," I cried,\r
+half desperate, "grant me at least a new servitude!"\r
+\r
+Here a bell, ringing the hour of supper, called me downstairs.\r
+\r
+I was not free to resume the interrupted chain of my reflections till\r
+bedtime: even then a teacher who occupied the same room with me kept me\r
+from the subject to which I longed to recur, by a prolonged effusion of\r
+small talk. How I wished sleep would silence her. It seemed as if,\r
+could I but go back to the idea which had last entered my mind as I stood\r
+at the window, some inventive suggestion would rise for my relief.\r
+\r
+Miss Gryce snored at last; she was a heavy Welshwoman, and till now her\r
+habitual nasal strains had never been regarded by me in any other light\r
+than as a nuisance; to-night I hailed the first deep notes with\r
+satisfaction; I was debarrassed of interruption; my half-effaced thought\r
+instantly revived.\r
+\r
+"A new servitude! There is something in that," I soliloquised (mentally,\r
+be it understood; I did not talk aloud), "I know there is, because it\r
+does not sound too sweet; it is not like such words as Liberty,\r
+Excitement, Enjoyment: delightful sounds truly; but no more than sounds\r
+for me; and so hollow and fleeting that it is mere waste of time to\r
+listen to them. But Servitude! That must be matter of fact. Any one\r
+may serve: I have served here eight years; now all I want is to serve\r
+elsewhere. Can I not get so much of my own will? Is not the thing\r
+feasible? Yes--yes--the end is not so difficult; if I had only a brain\r
+active enough to ferret out the means of attaining it."\r
+\r
+I sat up in bed by way of arousing this said brain: it was a chilly\r
+night; I covered my shoulders with a shawl, and then I proceeded _to\r
+think_ again with all my might.\r
+\r
+"What do I want? A new place, in a new house, amongst new faces, under\r
+new circumstances: I want this because it is of no use wanting anything\r
+better. How do people do to get a new place? They apply to friends, I\r
+suppose: I have no friends. There are many others who have no friends,\r
+who must look about for themselves and be their own helpers; and what is\r
+their resource?"\r
+\r
+I could not tell: nothing answered me; I then ordered my brain to find a\r
+response, and quickly. It worked and worked faster: I felt the pulses\r
+throb in my head and temples; but for nearly an hour it worked in chaos;\r
+and no result came of its efforts. Feverish with vain labour, I got up\r
+and took a turn in the room; undrew the curtain, noted a star or two,\r
+shivered with cold, and again crept to bed.\r
+\r
+A kind fairy, in my absence, had surely dropped the required suggestion\r
+on my pillow; for as I lay down, it came quietly and naturally to my\r
+mind.--"Those who want situations advertise; you must advertise in the\r
+_---shire Herald_."\r
+\r
+"How? I know nothing about advertising."\r
+\r
+Replies rose smooth and prompt now:--\r
+\r
+"You must enclose the advertisement and the money to pay for it under a\r
+cover directed to the editor of the _Herald_; you must put it, the first\r
+opportunity you have, into the post at Lowton; answers must be addressed\r
+to J.E., at the post-office there; you can go and inquire in about a week\r
+after you send your letter, if any are come, and act accordingly."\r
+\r
+This scheme I went over twice, thrice; it was then digested in my mind; I\r
+had it in a clear practical form: I felt satisfied, and fell asleep.\r
+\r
+With earliest day, I was up: I had my advertisement written, enclosed,\r
+and directed before the bell rang to rouse the school; it ran thus:--\r
+\r
+"A young lady accustomed to tuition" (had I not been a teacher two\r
+years?) "is desirous of meeting with a situation in a private family\r
+where the children are under fourteen" (I thought that as I was barely\r
+eighteen, it would not do to undertake the guidance of pupils nearer my\r
+own age). "She is qualified to teach the usual branches of a good English\r
+education, together with French, Drawing, and Music" (in those days,\r
+reader, this now narrow catalogue of accomplishments, would have been\r
+held tolerably comprehensive). "Address, J.E., Post-office, Lowton, ---\r
+shire."\r
+\r
+This document remained locked in my drawer all day: after tea, I asked\r
+leave of the new superintendent to go to Lowton, in order to perform some\r
+small commissions for myself and one or two of my fellow-teachers;\r
+permission was readily granted; I went. It was a walk of two miles, and\r
+the evening was wet, but the days were still long; I visited a shop or\r
+two, slipped the letter into the post-office, and came back through heavy\r
+rain, with streaming garments, but with a relieved heart.\r
+\r
+The succeeding week seemed long: it came to an end at last, however, like\r
+all sublunary things, and once more, towards the close of a pleasant\r
+autumn day, I found myself afoot on the road to Lowton. A picturesque\r
+track it was, by the way; lying along the side of the beck and through\r
+the sweetest curves of the dale: but that day I thought more of the\r
+letters, that might or might not be awaiting me at the little burgh\r
+whither I was bound, than of the charms of lea and water.\r
+\r
+My ostensible errand on this occasion was to get measured for a pair of\r
+shoes; so I discharged that business first, and when it was done, I\r
+stepped across the clean and quiet little street from the shoemaker's to\r
+the post-office: it was kept by an old dame, who wore horn spectacles on\r
+her nose, and black mittens on her hands.\r
+\r
+"Are there any letters for J.E.?" I asked.\r
+\r
+She peered at me over her spectacles, and then she opened a drawer and\r
+fumbled among its contents for a long time, so long that my hopes began\r
+to falter. At last, having held a document before her glasses for nearly\r
+five minutes, she presented it across the counter, accompanying the act\r
+by another inquisitive and mistrustful glance--it was for J.E.\r
+\r
+"Is there only one?" I demanded.\r
+\r
+"There are no more," said she; and I put it in my pocket and turned my\r
+face homeward: I could not open it then; rules obliged me to be back by\r
+eight, and it was already half-past seven.\r
+\r
+Various duties awaited me on my arrival. I had to sit with the girls\r
+during their hour of study; then it was my turn to read prayers; to see\r
+them to bed: afterwards I supped with the other teachers. Even when we\r
+finally retired for the night, the inevitable Miss Gryce was still my\r
+companion: we had only a short end of candle in our candlestick, and I\r
+dreaded lest she should talk till it was all burnt out; fortunately,\r
+however, the heavy supper she had eaten produced a soporific effect: she\r
+was already snoring before I had finished undressing. There still\r
+remained an inch of candle: I now took out my letter; the seal was an\r
+initial F.; I broke it; the contents were brief.\r
+\r
+"If J.E., who advertised in the _---shire Herald_ of last Thursday,\r
+possesses the acquirements mentioned, and if she is in a position to give\r
+satisfactory references as to character and competency, a situation can\r
+be offered her where there is but one pupil, a little girl, under ten\r
+years of age; and where the salary is thirty pounds per annum. J.E. is\r
+requested to send references, name, address, and all particulars to the\r
+direction:--\r
+\r
+"Mrs. Fairfax, Thornfield, near Millcote, ---shire."\r
+\r
+I examined the document long: the writing was old-fashioned and rather\r
+uncertain, like that of an elderly lady. This circumstance was\r
+satisfactory: a private fear had haunted me, that in thus acting for\r
+myself, and by my own guidance, I ran the risk of getting into some\r
+scrape; and, above all things, I wished the result of my endeavours to be\r
+respectable, proper, _en regle_. I now felt that an elderly lady was no\r
+bad ingredient in the business I had on hand. Mrs. Fairfax! I saw her\r
+in a black gown and widow's cap; frigid, perhaps, but not uncivil: a\r
+model of elderly English respectability. Thornfield! that, doubtless,\r
+was the name of her house: a neat orderly spot, I was sure; though I\r
+failed in my efforts to conceive a correct plan of the premises.\r
+Millcote, ---shire; I brushed up my recollections of the map of England,\r
+yes, I saw it; both the shire and the town. ---shire was seventy miles\r
+nearer London than the remote county where I now resided: that was a\r
+recommendation to me. I longed to go where there was life and movement:\r
+Millcote was a large manufacturing town on the banks of the A-; a busy\r
+place enough, doubtless: so much the better; it would be a complete\r
+change at least. Not that my fancy was much captivated by the idea of\r
+long chimneys and clouds of smoke--"but," I argued, "Thornfield will,\r
+probably, be a good way from the town."\r
+\r
+Here the socket of the candle dropped, and the wick went out.\r
+\r
+Next day new steps were to be taken; my plans could no longer be confined\r
+to my own breast; I must impart them in order to achieve their success.\r
+Having sought and obtained an audience of the superintendent during the\r
+noontide recreation, I told her I had a prospect of getting a new\r
+situation where the salary would be double what I now received (for at\r
+Lowood I only got 15 pounds per annum); and requested she would break the\r
+matter for me to Mr. Brocklehurst, or some of the committee, and\r
+ascertain whether they would permit me to mention them as references. She\r
+obligingly consented to act as mediatrix in the matter. The next day she\r
+laid the affair before Mr. Brocklehurst, who said that Mrs. Reed must be\r
+written to, as she was my natural guardian. A note was accordingly\r
+addressed to that lady, who returned for answer, that "I might do as I\r
+pleased: she had long relinquished all interference in my affairs." This\r
+note went the round of the committee, and at last, after what appeared to\r
+me most tedious delay, formal leave was given me to better my condition\r
+if I could; and an assurance added, that as I had always conducted myself\r
+well, both as teacher and pupil, at Lowood, a testimonial of character\r
+and capacity, signed by the inspectors of that institution, should\r
+forthwith be furnished me.\r
+\r
+This testimonial I accordingly received in about a month, forwarded a\r
+copy of it to Mrs. Fairfax, and got that lady's reply, stating that she\r
+was satisfied, and fixing that day fortnight as the period for my\r
+assuming the post of governess in her house.\r
+\r
+I now busied myself in preparations: the fortnight passed rapidly. I had\r
+not a very large wardrobe, though it was adequate to my wants; and the\r
+last day sufficed to pack my trunk,--the same I had brought with me eight\r
+years ago from Gateshead.\r
+\r
+The box was corded, the card nailed on. In half-an-hour the carrier was\r
+to call for it to take it to Lowton, whither I myself was to repair at an\r
+early hour the next morning to meet the coach. I had brushed my black\r
+stuff travelling-dress, prepared my bonnet, gloves, and muff; sought in\r
+all my drawers to see that no article was left behind; and now having\r
+nothing more to do, I sat down and tried to rest. I could not; though I\r
+had been on foot all day, I could not now repose an instant; I was too\r
+much excited. A phase of my life was closing to-night, a new one opening\r
+to-morrow: impossible to slumber in the interval; I must watch feverishly\r
+while the change was being accomplished.\r
+\r
+"Miss," said a servant who met me in the lobby, where I was wandering\r
+like a troubled spirit, "a person below wishes to see you."\r
+\r
+"The carrier, no doubt," I thought, and ran downstairs without inquiry. I\r
+was passing the back-parlour or teachers' sitting-room, the door of which\r
+was half open, to go to the kitchen, when some one ran out--\r
+\r
+"It's her, I am sure!--I could have told her anywhere!" cried the\r
+individual who stopped my progress and took my hand.\r
+\r
+I looked: I saw a woman attired like a well-dressed servant, matronly,\r
+yet still young; very good-looking, with black hair and eyes, and lively\r
+complexion.\r
+\r
+"Well, who is it?" she asked, in a voice and with a smile I half\r
+recognised; "you've not quite forgotten me, I think, Miss Jane?"\r
+\r
+In another second I was embracing and kissing her rapturously: "Bessie!\r
+Bessie! Bessie!" that was all I said; whereat she half laughed, half\r
+cried, and we both went into the parlour. By the fire stood a little\r
+fellow of three years old, in plaid frock and trousers.\r
+\r
+"That is my little boy," said Bessie directly.\r
+\r
+"Then you are married, Bessie?"\r
+\r
+"Yes; nearly five years since to Robert Leaven, the coachman; and I've a\r
+little girl besides Bobby there, that I've christened Jane."\r
+\r
+"And you don't live at Gateshead?"\r
+\r
+"I live at the lodge: the old porter has left."\r
+\r
+"Well, and how do they all get on? Tell me everything about them,\r
+Bessie: but sit down first; and, Bobby, come and sit on my knee, will\r
+you?" but Bobby preferred sidling over to his mother.\r
+\r
+"You're not grown so very tall, Miss Jane, nor so very stout," continued\r
+Mrs. Leaven. "I dare say they've not kept you too well at school: Miss\r
+Reed is the head and shoulders taller than you are; and Miss Georgiana\r
+would make two of you in breadth."\r
+\r
+"Georgiana is handsome, I suppose, Bessie?"\r
+\r
+"Very. She went up to London last winter with her mama, and there\r
+everybody admired her, and a young lord fell in love with her: but his\r
+relations were against the match; and--what do you think?--he and Miss\r
+Georgiana made it up to run away; but they were found out and stopped. It\r
+was Miss Reed that found them out: I believe she was envious; and now she\r
+and her sister lead a cat and dog life together; they are always\r
+quarrelling--"\r
+\r
+"Well, and what of John Reed?"\r
+\r
+"Oh, he is not doing so well as his mama could wish. He went to college,\r
+and he got--plucked, I think they call it: and then his uncles wanted him\r
+to be a barrister, and study the law: but he is such a dissipated young\r
+man, they will never make much of him, I think."\r
+\r
+"What does he look like?"\r
+\r
+"He is very tall: some people call him a fine-looking young man; but he\r
+has such thick lips."\r
+\r
+"And Mrs. Reed?"\r
+\r
+"Missis looks stout and well enough in the face, but I think she's not\r
+quite easy in her mind: Mr. John's conduct does not please her--he spends\r
+a deal of money."\r
+\r
+"Did she send you here, Bessie?"\r
+\r
+"No, indeed: but I have long wanted to see you, and when I heard that\r
+there had been a letter from you, and that you were going to another part\r
+of the country, I thought I'd just set off, and get a look at you before\r
+you were quite out of my reach."\r
+\r
+"I am afraid you are disappointed in me, Bessie." I said this laughing:\r
+I perceived that Bessie's glance, though it expressed regard, did in no\r
+shape denote admiration.\r
+\r
+"No, Miss Jane, not exactly: you are genteel enough; you look like a\r
+lady, and it is as much as ever I expected of you: you were no beauty as\r
+a child."\r
+\r
+I smiled at Bessie's frank answer: I felt that it was correct, but I\r
+confess I was not quite indifferent to its import: at eighteen most\r
+people wish to please, and the conviction that they have not an exterior\r
+likely to second that desire brings anything but gratification.\r
+\r
+"I dare say you are clever, though," continued Bessie, by way of solace.\r
+"What can you do? Can you play on the piano?"\r
+\r
+"A little."\r
+\r
+There was one in the room; Bessie went and opened it, and then asked me\r
+to sit down and give her a tune: I played a waltz or two, and she was\r
+charmed.\r
+\r
+"The Miss Reeds could not play as well!" said she exultingly. "I always\r
+said you would surpass them in learning: and can you draw?"\r
+\r
+"That is one of my paintings over the chimney-piece." It was a landscape\r
+in water colours, of which I had made a present to the superintendent, in\r
+acknowledgment of her obliging mediation with the committee on my behalf,\r
+and which she had framed and glazed.\r
+\r
+"Well, that is beautiful, Miss Jane! It is as fine a picture as any Miss\r
+Reed's drawing-master could paint, let alone the young ladies themselves,\r
+who could not come near it: and have you learnt French?"\r
+\r
+"Yes, Bessie, I can both read it and speak it."\r
+\r
+"And you can work on muslin and canvas?"\r
+\r
+"I can."\r
+\r
+"Oh, you are quite a lady, Miss Jane! I knew you would be: you will get\r
+on whether your relations notice you or not. There was something I\r
+wanted to ask you. Have you ever heard anything from your father's\r
+kinsfolk, the Eyres?"\r
+\r
+"Never in my life."\r
+\r
+"Well, you know Missis always said they were poor and quite despicable:\r
+and they may be poor; but I believe they are as much gentry as the Reeds\r
+are; for one day, nearly seven years ago, a Mr. Eyre came to Gateshead\r
+and wanted to see you; Missis said you were at school fifty miles off; he\r
+seemed so much disappointed, for he could not stay: he was going on a\r
+voyage to a foreign country, and the ship was to sail from London in a\r
+day or two. He looked quite a gentleman, and I believe he was your\r
+father's brother."\r
+\r
+"What foreign country was he going to, Bessie?"\r
+\r
+"An island thousands of miles off, where they make wine--the butler did\r
+tell me--"\r
+\r
+"Madeira?" I suggested.\r
+\r
+"Yes, that is it--that is the very word."\r
+\r
+"So he went?"\r
+\r
+"Yes; he did not stay many minutes in the house: Missis was very high\r
+with him; she called him afterwards a 'sneaking tradesman.' My Robert\r
+believes he was a wine-merchant."\r
+\r
+"Very likely," I returned; "or perhaps clerk or agent to a\r
+wine-merchant."\r
+\r
+Bessie and I conversed about old times an hour longer, and then she was\r
+obliged to leave me: I saw her again for a few minutes the next morning\r
+at Lowton, while I was waiting for the coach. We parted finally at the\r
+door of the Brocklehurst Arms there: each went her separate way; she set\r
+off for the brow of Lowood Fell to meet the conveyance which was to take\r
+her back to Gateshead, I mounted the vehicle which was to bear me to new\r
+duties and a new life in the unknown environs of Millcote.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER XI\r
+\r
+\r
+A new chapter in a novel is something like a new scene in a play; and\r
+when I draw up the curtain this time, reader, you must fancy you see a\r
+room in the George Inn at Millcote, with such large figured papering on\r
+the walls as inn rooms have; such a carpet, such furniture, such\r
+ornaments on the mantelpiece, such prints, including a portrait of George\r
+the Third, and another of the Prince of Wales, and a representation of\r
+the death of Wolfe. All this is visible to you by the light of an oil\r
+lamp hanging from the ceiling, and by that of an excellent fire, near\r
+which I sit in my cloak and bonnet; my muff and umbrella lie on the\r
+table, and I am warming away the numbness and chill contracted by sixteen\r
+hours' exposure to the rawness of an October day: I left Lowton at four\r
+o'clock a.m., and the Millcote town clock is now just striking eight.\r
+\r
+Reader, though I look comfortably accommodated, I am not very tranquil in\r
+my mind. I thought when the coach stopped here there would be some one\r
+to meet me; I looked anxiously round as I descended the wooden steps the\r
+"boots" placed for my convenience, expecting to hear my name pronounced,\r
+and to see some description of carriage waiting to convey me to\r
+Thornfield. Nothing of the sort was visible; and when I asked a waiter\r
+if any one had been to inquire after a Miss Eyre, I was answered in the\r
+negative: so I had no resource but to request to be shown into a private\r
+room: and here I am waiting, while all sorts of doubts and fears are\r
+troubling my thoughts.\r
+\r
+It is a very strange sensation to inexperienced youth to feel itself\r
+quite alone in the world, cut adrift from every connection, uncertain\r
+whether the port to which it is bound can be reached, and prevented by\r
+many impediments from returning to that it has quitted. The charm of\r
+adventure sweetens that sensation, the glow of pride warms it; but then\r
+the throb of fear disturbs it; and fear with me became predominant when\r
+half-an-hour elapsed and still I was alone. I bethought myself to ring\r
+the bell.\r
+\r
+"Is there a place in this neighbourhood called Thornfield?" I asked of\r
+the waiter who answered the summons.\r
+\r
+"Thornfield? I don't know, ma'am; I'll inquire at the bar." He\r
+vanished, but reappeared instantly--\r
+\r
+"Is your name Eyre, Miss?"\r
+\r
+"Yes."\r
+\r
+"Person here waiting for you."\r
+\r
+I jumped up, took my muff and umbrella, and hastened into the\r
+inn-passage: a man was standing by the open door, and in the lamp-lit\r
+street I dimly saw a one-horse conveyance.\r
+\r
+"This will be your luggage, I suppose?" said the man rather abruptly when\r
+he saw me, pointing to my trunk in the passage.\r
+\r
+"Yes." He hoisted it on to the vehicle, which was a sort of car, and\r
+then I got in; before he shut me up, I asked him how far it was to\r
+Thornfield.\r
+\r
+"A matter of six miles."\r
+\r
+"How long shall we be before we get there?"\r
+\r
+"Happen an hour and a half."\r
+\r
+He fastened the car door, climbed to his own seat outside, and we set\r
+off. Our progress was leisurely, and gave me ample time to reflect; I\r
+was content to be at length so near the end of my journey; and as I\r
+leaned back in the comfortable though not elegant conveyance, I meditated\r
+much at my ease.\r
+\r
+"I suppose," thought I, "judging from the plainness of the servant and\r
+carriage, Mrs. Fairfax is not a very dashing person: so much the better;\r
+I never lived amongst fine people but once, and I was very miserable with\r
+them. I wonder if she lives alone except this little girl; if so, and if\r
+she is in any degree amiable, I shall surely be able to get on with her;\r
+I will do my best; it is a pity that doing one's best does not always\r
+answer. At Lowood, indeed, I took that resolution, kept it, and\r
+succeeded in pleasing; but with Mrs. Reed, I remember my best was always\r
+spurned with scorn. I pray God Mrs. Fairfax may not turn out a second\r
+Mrs. Reed; but if she does, I am not bound to stay with her! let the\r
+worst come to the worst, I can advertise again. How far are we on our\r
+road now, I wonder?"\r
+\r
+I let down the window and looked out; Millcote was behind us; judging by\r
+the number of its lights, it seemed a place of considerable magnitude,\r
+much larger than Lowton. We were now, as far as I could see, on a sort\r
+of common; but there were houses scattered all over the district; I felt\r
+we were in a different region to Lowood, more populous, less picturesque;\r
+more stirring, less romantic.\r
+\r
+The roads were heavy, the night misty; my conductor let his horse walk\r
+all the way, and the hour and a half extended, I verily believe, to two\r
+hours; at last he turned in his seat and said--\r
+\r
+"You're noan so far fro' Thornfield now."\r
+\r
+Again I looked out: we were passing a church; I saw its low broad tower\r
+against the sky, and its bell was tolling a quarter; I saw a narrow\r
+galaxy of lights too, on a hillside, marking a village or hamlet. About\r
+ten minutes after, the driver got down and opened a pair of gates: we\r
+passed through, and they clashed to behind us. We now slowly ascended a\r
+drive, and came upon the long front of a house: candlelight gleamed from\r
+one curtained bow-window; all the rest were dark. The car stopped at the\r
+front door; it was opened by a maid-servant; I alighted and went in.\r
+\r
+"Will you walk this way, ma'am?" said the girl; and I followed her across\r
+a square hall with high doors all round: she ushered me into a room whose\r
+double illumination of fire and candle at first dazzled me, contrasting\r
+as it did with the darkness to which my eyes had been for two hours\r
+inured; when I could see, however, a cosy and agreeable picture presented\r
+itself to my view.\r
+\r
+A snug small room; a round table by a cheerful fire; an arm-chair high-\r
+backed and old-fashioned, wherein sat the neatest imaginable little\r
+elderly lady, in widow's cap, black silk gown, and snowy muslin apron;\r
+exactly like what I had fancied Mrs. Fairfax, only less stately and\r
+milder looking. She was occupied in knitting; a large cat sat demurely\r
+at her feet; nothing in short was wanting to complete the beau-ideal of\r
+domestic comfort. A more reassuring introduction for a new governess\r
+could scarcely be conceived; there was no grandeur to overwhelm, no\r
+stateliness to embarrass; and then, as I entered, the old lady got up and\r
+promptly and kindly came forward to meet me.\r
+\r
+"How do you do, my dear? I am afraid you have had a tedious ride; John\r
+drives so slowly; you must be cold, come to the fire."\r
+\r
+"Mrs. Fairfax, I suppose?" said I.\r
+\r
+"Yes, you are right: do sit down."\r
+\r
+She conducted me to her own chair, and then began to remove my shawl and\r
+untie my bonnet-strings; I begged she would not give herself so much\r
+trouble.\r
+\r
+"Oh, it is no trouble; I dare say your own hands are almost numbed with\r
+cold. Leah, make a little hot negus and cut a sandwich or two: here are\r
+the keys of the storeroom."\r
+\r
+And she produced from her pocket a most housewifely bunch of keys, and\r
+delivered them to the servant.\r
+\r
+"Now, then, draw nearer to the fire," she continued. "You've brought\r
+your luggage with you, haven't you, my dear?"\r
+\r
+"Yes, ma'am."\r
+\r
+"I'll see it carried into your room," she said, and bustled out.\r
+\r
+"She treats me like a visitor," thought I. "I little expected such a\r
+reception; I anticipated only coldness and stiffness: this is not like\r
+what I have heard of the treatment of governesses; but I must not exult\r
+too soon."\r
+\r
+She returned; with her own hands cleared her knitting apparatus and a\r
+book or two from the table, to make room for the tray which Leah now\r
+brought, and then herself handed me the refreshments. I felt rather\r
+confused at being the object of more attention than I had ever before\r
+received, and, that too, shown by my employer and superior; but as she\r
+did not herself seem to consider she was doing anything out of her place,\r
+I thought it better to take her civilities quietly.\r
+\r
+"Shall I have the pleasure of seeing Miss Fairfax to-night?" I asked,\r
+when I had partaken of what she offered me.\r
+\r
+"What did you say, my dear? I am a little deaf," returned the good lady,\r
+approaching her ear to my mouth.\r
+\r
+I repeated the question more distinctly.\r
+\r
+"Miss Fairfax? Oh, you mean Miss Varens! Varens is the name of your\r
+future pupil."\r
+\r
+"Indeed! Then she is not your daughter?"\r
+\r
+"No,--I have no family."\r
+\r
+I should have followed up my first inquiry, by asking in what way Miss\r
+Varens was connected with her; but I recollected it was not polite to ask\r
+too many questions: besides, I was sure to hear in time.\r
+\r
+"I am so glad," she continued, as she sat down opposite to me, and took\r
+the cat on her knee; "I am so glad you are come; it will be quite\r
+pleasant living here now with a companion. To be sure it is pleasant at\r
+any time; for Thornfield is a fine old hall, rather neglected of late\r
+years perhaps, but still it is a respectable place; yet you know in\r
+winter-time one feels dreary quite alone in the best quarters. I say\r
+alone--Leah is a nice girl to be sure, and John and his wife are very\r
+decent people; but then you see they are only servants, and one can't\r
+converse with them on terms of equality: one must keep them at due\r
+distance, for fear of losing one's authority. I'm sure last winter (it\r
+was a very severe one, if you recollect, and when it did not snow, it\r
+rained and blew), not a creature but the butcher and postman came to the\r
+house, from November till February; and I really got quite melancholy\r
+with sitting night after night alone; I had Leah in to read to me\r
+sometimes; but I don't think the poor girl liked the task much: she felt\r
+it confining. In spring and summer one got on better: sunshine and long\r
+days make such a difference; and then, just at the commencement of this\r
+autumn, little Adela Varens came and her nurse: a child makes a house\r
+alive all at once; and now you are here I shall be quite gay."\r
+\r
+My heart really warmed to the worthy lady as I heard her talk; and I drew\r
+my chair a little nearer to her, and expressed my sincere wish that she\r
+might find my company as agreeable as she anticipated.\r
+\r
+"But I'll not keep you sitting up late to-night," said she; "it is on the\r
+stroke of twelve now, and you have been travelling all day: you must feel\r
+tired. If you have got your feet well warmed, I'll show you your\r
+bedroom. I've had the room next to mine prepared for you; it is only a\r
+small apartment, but I thought you would like it better than one of the\r
+large front chambers: to be sure they have finer furniture, but they are\r
+so dreary and solitary, I never sleep in them myself."\r
+\r
+I thanked her for her considerate choice, and as I really felt fatigued\r
+with my long journey, expressed my readiness to retire. She took her\r
+candle, and I followed her from the room. First she went to see if the\r
+hall-door was fastened; having taken the key from the lock, she led the\r
+way upstairs. The steps and banisters were of oak; the staircase window\r
+was high and latticed; both it and the long gallery into which the\r
+bedroom doors opened looked as if they belonged to a church rather than a\r
+house. A very chill and vault-like air pervaded the stairs and gallery,\r
+suggesting cheerless ideas of space and solitude; and I was glad, when\r
+finally ushered into my chamber, to find it of small dimensions, and\r
+furnished in ordinary, modern style.\r
+\r
+When Mrs. Fairfax had bidden me a kind good-night, and I had fastened my\r
+door, gazed leisurely round, and in some measure effaced the eerie\r
+impression made by that wide hall, that dark and spacious staircase, and\r
+that long, cold gallery, by the livelier aspect of my little room, I\r
+remembered that, after a day of bodily fatigue and mental anxiety, I was\r
+now at last in safe haven. The impulse of gratitude swelled my heart,\r
+and I knelt down at the bedside, and offered up thanks where thanks were\r
+due; not forgetting, ere I rose, to implore aid on my further path, and\r
+the power of meriting the kindness which seemed so frankly offered me\r
+before it was earned. My couch had no thorns in it that night; my\r
+solitary room no fears. At once weary and content, I slept soon and\r
+soundly: when I awoke it was broad day.\r
+\r
+The chamber looked such a bright little place to me as the sun shone in\r
+between the gay blue chintz window curtains, showing papered walls and a\r
+carpeted floor, so unlike the bare planks and stained plaster of Lowood,\r
+that my spirits rose at the view. Externals have a great effect on the\r
+young: I thought that a fairer era of life was beginning for me, one that\r
+was to have its flowers and pleasures, as well as its thorns and toils.\r
+My faculties, roused by the change of scene, the new field offered to\r
+hope, seemed all astir. I cannot precisely define what they expected,\r
+but it was something pleasant: not perhaps that day or that month, but at\r
+an indefinite future period.\r
+\r
+I rose; I dressed myself with care: obliged to be plain--for I had no\r
+article of attire that was not made with extreme simplicity--I was still\r
+by nature solicitous to be neat. It was not my habit to be disregardful\r
+of appearance or careless of the impression I made: on the contrary, I\r
+ever wished to look as well as I could, and to please as much as my want\r
+of beauty would permit. I sometimes regretted that I was not handsomer;\r
+I sometimes wished to have rosy cheeks, a straight nose, and small cherry\r
+mouth; I desired to be tall, stately, and finely developed in figure; I\r
+felt it a misfortune that I was so little, so pale, and had features so\r
+irregular and so marked. And why had I these aspirations and these\r
+regrets? It would be difficult to say: I could not then distinctly say\r
+it to myself; yet I had a reason, and a logical, natural reason too.\r
+However, when I had brushed my hair very smooth, and put on my black\r
+frock--which, Quakerlike as it was, at least had the merit of fitting to\r
+a nicety--and adjusted my clean white tucker, I thought I should do\r
+respectably enough to appear before Mrs. Fairfax, and that my new pupil\r
+would not at least recoil from me with antipathy. Having opened my\r
+chamber window, and seen that I left all things straight and neat on the\r
+toilet table, I ventured forth.\r
+\r
+Traversing the long and matted gallery, I descended the slippery steps of\r
+oak; then I gained the hall: I halted there a minute; I looked at some\r
+pictures on the walls (one, I remember, represented a grim man in a\r
+cuirass, and one a lady with powdered hair and a pearl necklace), at a\r
+bronze lamp pendent from the ceiling, at a great clock whose case was of\r
+oak curiously carved, and ebon black with time and rubbing. Everything\r
+appeared very stately and imposing to me; but then I was so little\r
+accustomed to grandeur. The hall-door, which was half of glass, stood\r
+open; I stepped over the threshold. It was a fine autumn morning; the\r
+early sun shone serenely on embrowned groves and still green fields;\r
+advancing on to the lawn, I looked up and surveyed the front of the\r
+mansion. It was three storeys high, of proportions not vast, though\r
+considerable: a gentleman's manor-house, not a nobleman's seat:\r
+battlements round the top gave it a picturesque look. Its grey front\r
+stood out well from the background of a rookery, whose cawing tenants\r
+were now on the wing: they flew over the lawn and grounds to alight in a\r
+great meadow, from which these were separated by a sunk fence, and where\r
+an array of mighty old thorn trees, strong, knotty, and broad as oaks, at\r
+once explained the etymology of the mansion's designation. Farther off\r
+were hills: not so lofty as those round Lowood, nor so craggy, nor so\r
+like barriers of separation from the living world; but yet quiet and\r
+lonely hills enough, and seeming to embrace Thornfield with a seclusion I\r
+had not expected to find existent so near the stirring locality of\r
+Millcote. A little hamlet, whose roofs were blent with trees, straggled\r
+up the side of one of these hills; the church of the district stood\r
+nearer Thornfield: its old tower-top looked over a knoll between the\r
+house and gates.\r
+\r
+I was yet enjoying the calm prospect and pleasant fresh air, yet\r
+listening with delight to the cawing of the rooks, yet surveying the\r
+wide, hoary front of the hall, and thinking what a great place it was for\r
+one lonely little dame like Mrs. Fairfax to inhabit, when that lady\r
+appeared at the door.\r
+\r
+"What! out already?" said she. "I see you are an early riser." I went\r
+up to her, and was received with an affable kiss and shake of the hand.\r
+\r
+"How do you like Thornfield?" she asked. I told her I liked it very\r
+much.\r
+\r
+"Yes," she said, "it is a pretty place; but I fear it will be getting out\r
+of order, unless Mr. Rochester should take it into his head to come and\r
+reside here permanently; or, at least, visit it rather oftener: great\r
+houses and fine grounds require the presence of the proprietor."\r
+\r
+"Mr. Rochester!" I exclaimed. "Who is he?"\r
+\r
+"The owner of Thornfield," she responded quietly. "Did you not know he\r
+was called Rochester?"\r
+\r
+Of course I did not--I had never heard of him before; but the old lady\r
+seemed to regard his existence as a universally understood fact, with\r
+which everybody must be acquainted by instinct.\r
+\r
+"I thought," I continued, "Thornfield belonged to you."\r
+\r
+"To me? Bless you, child; what an idea! To me! I am only the\r
+housekeeper--the manager. To be sure I am distantly related to the\r
+Rochesters by the mother's side, or at least my husband was; he was a\r
+clergyman, incumbent of Hay--that little village yonder on the hill--and\r
+that church near the gates was his. The present Mr. Rochester's mother\r
+was a Fairfax, and second cousin to my husband: but I never presume on\r
+the connection--in fact, it is nothing to me; I consider myself quite in\r
+the light of an ordinary housekeeper: my employer is always civil, and I\r
+expect nothing more."\r
+\r
+"And the little girl--my pupil!"\r
+\r
+"She is Mr. Rochester's ward; he commissioned me to find a governess for\r
+her. He intended to have her brought up in ---shire, I believe. Here\r
+she comes, with her 'bonne,' as she calls her nurse." The enigma then\r
+was explained: this affable and kind little widow was no great dame; but\r
+a dependant like myself. I did not like her the worse for that; on the\r
+contrary, I felt better pleased than ever. The equality between her and\r
+me was real; not the mere result of condescension on her part: so much\r
+the better--my position was all the freer.\r
+\r
+As I was meditating on this discovery, a little girl, followed by her\r
+attendant, came running up the lawn. I looked at my pupil, who did not\r
+at first appear to notice me: she was quite a child, perhaps seven or\r
+eight years old, slightly built, with a pale, small-featured face, and a\r
+redundancy of hair falling in curls to her waist.\r
+\r
+"Good morning, Miss Adela," said Mrs. Fairfax. "Come and speak to the\r
+lady who is to teach you, and to make you a clever woman some day." She\r
+approached.\r
+\r
+"C'est la ma gouverante!" said she, pointing to me, and addressing her\r
+nurse; who answered--\r
+\r
+"Mais oui, certainement."\r
+\r
+"Are they foreigners?" I inquired, amazed at hearing the French language.\r
+\r
+"The nurse is a foreigner, and Adela was born on the Continent; and, I\r
+believe, never left it till within six months ago. When she first came\r
+here she could speak no English; now she can make shift to talk it a\r
+little: I don't understand her, she mixes it so with French; but you will\r
+make out her meaning very well, I dare say."\r
+\r
+Fortunately I had had the advantage of being taught French by a French\r
+lady; and as I had always made a point of conversing with Madame Pierrot\r
+as often as I could, and had besides, during the last seven years, learnt\r
+a portion of French by heart daily--applying myself to take pains with my\r
+accent, and imitating as closely as possible the pronunciation of my\r
+teacher, I had acquired a certain degree of readiness and correctness in\r
+the language, and was not likely to be much at a loss with Mademoiselle\r
+Adela. She came and shook hand with me when she heard that I was her\r
+governess; and as I led her in to breakfast, I addressed some phrases to\r
+her in her own tongue: she replied briefly at first, but after we were\r
+seated at the table, and she had examined me some ten minutes with her\r
+large hazel eyes, she suddenly commenced chattering fluently.\r
+\r
+"Ah!" cried she, in French, "you speak my language as well as Mr.\r
+Rochester does: I can talk to you as I can to him, and so can Sophie. She\r
+will be glad: nobody here understands her: Madame Fairfax is all English.\r
+Sophie is my nurse; she came with me over the sea in a great ship with a\r
+chimney that smoked--how it did smoke!--and I was sick, and so was\r
+Sophie, and so was Mr. Rochester. Mr. Rochester lay down on a sofa in a\r
+pretty room called the salon, and Sophie and I had little beds in another\r
+place. I nearly fell out of mine; it was like a shelf. And\r
+Mademoiselle--what is your name?"\r
+\r
+"Eyre--Jane Eyre."\r
+\r
+"Aire? Bah! I cannot say it. Well, our ship stopped in the morning,\r
+before it was quite daylight, at a great city--a huge city, with very\r
+dark houses and all smoky; not at all like the pretty clean town I came\r
+from; and Mr. Rochester carried me in his arms over a plank to the land,\r
+and Sophie came after, and we all got into a coach, which took us to a\r
+beautiful large house, larger than this and finer, called an hotel. We\r
+stayed there nearly a week: I and Sophie used to walk every day in a\r
+great green place full of trees, called the Park; and there were many\r
+children there besides me, and a pond with beautiful birds in it, that I\r
+fed with crumbs."\r
+\r
+"Can you understand her when she runs on so fast?" asked Mrs. Fairfax.\r
+\r
+I understood her very well, for I had been accustomed to the fluent\r
+tongue of Madame Pierrot.\r
+\r
+"I wish," continued the good lady, "you would ask her a question or two\r
+about her parents: I wonder if she remembers them?"\r
+\r
+"Adele," I inquired, "with whom did you live when you were in that pretty\r
+clean town you spoke of?"\r
+\r
+"I lived long ago with mama; but she is gone to the Holy Virgin. Mama\r
+used to teach me to dance and sing, and to say verses. A great many\r
+gentlemen and ladies came to see mama, and I used to dance before them,\r
+or to sit on their knees and sing to them: I liked it. Shall I let you\r
+hear me sing now?"\r
+\r
+She had finished her breakfast, so I permitted her to give a specimen of\r
+her accomplishments. Descending from her chair, she came and placed\r
+herself on my knee; then, folding her little hands demurely before her,\r
+shaking back her curls and lifting her eyes to the ceiling, she commenced\r
+singing a song from some opera. It was the strain of a forsaken lady,\r
+who, after bewailing the perfidy of her lover, calls pride to her aid;\r
+desires her attendant to deck her in her brightest jewels and richest\r
+robes, and resolves to meet the false one that night at a ball, and prove\r
+to him, by the gaiety of her demeanour, how little his desertion has\r
+affected her.\r
+\r
+The subject seemed strangely chosen for an infant singer; but I suppose\r
+the point of the exhibition lay in hearing the notes of love and jealousy\r
+warbled with the lisp of childhood; and in very bad taste that point was:\r
+at least I thought so.\r
+\r
+Adele sang the canzonette tunefully enough, and with the _naivete_ of her\r
+age. This achieved, she jumped from my knee and said, "Now,\r
+Mademoiselle, I will repeat you some poetry."\r
+\r
+Assuming an attitude, she began, "La Ligue des Rats: fable de La\r
+Fontaine." She then declaimed the little piece with an attention to\r
+punctuation and emphasis, a flexibility of voice and an appropriateness\r
+of gesture, very unusual indeed at her age, and which proved she had been\r
+carefully trained.\r
+\r
+"Was it your mama who taught you that piece?" I asked.\r
+\r
+"Yes, and she just used to say it in this way: 'Qu' avez vous donc? lui\r
+dit un de ces rats; parlez!' She made me lift my hand--so--to remind me\r
+to raise my voice at the question. Now shall I dance for you?"\r
+\r
+"No, that will do: but after your mama went to the Holy Virgin, as you\r
+say, with whom did you live then?"\r
+\r
+"With Madame Frederic and her husband: she took care of me, but she is\r
+nothing related to me. I think she is poor, for she had not so fine a\r
+house as mama. I was not long there. Mr. Rochester asked me if I would\r
+like to go and live with him in England, and I said yes; for I knew Mr.\r
+Rochester before I knew Madame Frederic, and he was always kind to me and\r
+gave me pretty dresses and toys: but you see he has not kept his word,\r
+for he has brought me to England, and now he is gone back again himself,\r
+and I never see him."\r
+\r
+After breakfast, Adele and I withdrew to the library, which room, it\r
+appears, Mr. Rochester had directed should be used as the schoolroom.\r
+Most of the books were locked up behind glass doors; but there was one\r
+bookcase left open containing everything that could be needed in the way\r
+of elementary works, and several volumes of light literature, poetry,\r
+biography, travels, a few romances, &c. I suppose he had considered that\r
+these were all the governess would require for her private perusal; and,\r
+indeed, they contented me amply for the present; compared with the scanty\r
+pickings I had now and then been able to glean at Lowood, they seemed to\r
+offer an abundant harvest of entertainment and information. In this\r
+room, too, there was a cabinet piano, quite new and of superior tone;\r
+also an easel for painting and a pair of globes.\r
+\r
+I found my pupil sufficiently docile, though disinclined to apply: she\r
+had not been used to regular occupation of any kind. I felt it would be\r
+injudicious to confine her too much at first; so, when I had talked to\r
+her a great deal, and got her to learn a little, and when the morning had\r
+advanced to noon, I allowed her to return to her nurse. I then proposed\r
+to occupy myself till dinner-time in drawing some little sketches for her\r
+use.\r
+\r
+As I was going upstairs to fetch my portfolio and pencils, Mrs. Fairfax\r
+called to me: "Your morning school-hours are over now, I suppose," said\r
+she. She was in a room the folding-doors of which stood open: I went in\r
+when she addressed me. It was a large, stately apartment, with purple\r
+chairs and curtains, a Turkey carpet, walnut-panelled walls, one vast\r
+window rich in slanted glass, and a lofty ceiling, nobly moulded. Mrs.\r
+Fairfax was dusting some vases of fine purple spar, which stood on a\r
+sideboard.\r
+\r
+"What a beautiful room!" I exclaimed, as I looked round; for I had never\r
+before seen any half so imposing.\r
+\r
+"Yes; this is the dining-room. I have just opened the window, to let in\r
+a little air and sunshine; for everything gets so damp in apartments that\r
+are seldom inhabited; the drawing-room yonder feels like a vault."\r
+\r
+She pointed to a wide arch corresponding to the window, and hung like it\r
+with a Tyrian-dyed curtain, now looped up. Mounting to it by two broad\r
+steps, and looking through, I thought I caught a glimpse of a fairy\r
+place, so bright to my novice-eyes appeared the view beyond. Yet it was\r
+merely a very pretty drawing-room, and within it a boudoir, both spread\r
+with white carpets, on which seemed laid brilliant garlands of flowers;\r
+both ceiled with snowy mouldings of white grapes and vine-leaves, beneath\r
+which glowed in rich contrast crimson couches and ottomans; while the\r
+ornaments on the pale Parian mantelpiece were of sparkling Bohemian\r
+glass, ruby red; and between the windows large mirrors repeated the\r
+general blending of snow and fire.\r
+\r
+"In what order you keep these rooms, Mrs. Fairfax!" said I. "No dust, no\r
+canvas coverings: except that the air feels chilly, one would think they\r
+were inhabited daily."\r
+\r
+"Why, Miss Eyre, though Mr. Rochester's visits here are rare, they are\r
+always sudden and unexpected; and as I observed that it put him out to\r
+find everything swathed up, and to have a bustle of arrangement on his\r
+arrival, I thought it best to keep the rooms in readiness."\r
+\r
+"Is Mr. Rochester an exacting, fastidious sort of man?"\r
+\r
+"Not particularly so; but he has a gentleman's tastes and habits, and he\r
+expects to have things managed in conformity to them."\r
+\r
+"Do you like him? Is he generally liked?"\r
+\r
+"Oh, yes; the family have always been respected here. Almost all the\r
+land in this neighbourhood, as far as you can see, has belonged to the\r
+Rochesters time out of mind."\r
+\r
+"Well, but, leaving his land out of the question, do you like him? Is he\r
+liked for himself?"\r
+\r
+"I have no cause to do otherwise than like him; and I believe he is\r
+considered a just and liberal landlord by his tenants: but he has never\r
+lived much amongst them."\r
+\r
+"But has he no peculiarities? What, in short, is his character?"\r
+\r
+"Oh! his character is unimpeachable, I suppose. He is rather peculiar,\r
+perhaps: he has travelled a great deal, and seen a great deal of the\r
+world, I should think. I dare say he is clever, but I never had much\r
+conversation with him."\r
+\r
+"In what way is he peculiar?"\r
+\r
+"I don't know--it is not easy to describe--nothing striking, but you feel\r
+it when he speaks to you; you cannot be always sure whether he is in jest\r
+or earnest, whether he is pleased or the contrary; you don't thoroughly\r
+understand him, in short--at least, I don't: but it is of no consequence,\r
+he is a very good master."\r
+\r
+This was all the account I got from Mrs. Fairfax of her employer and\r
+mine. There are people who seem to have no notion of sketching a\r
+character, or observing and describing salient points, either in persons\r
+or things: the good lady evidently belonged to this class; my queries\r
+puzzled, but did not draw her out. Mr. Rochester was Mr. Rochester in\r
+her eyes; a gentleman, a landed proprietor--nothing more: she inquired\r
+and searched no further, and evidently wondered at my wish to gain a more\r
+definite notion of his identity.\r
+\r
+When we left the dining-room, she proposed to show me over the rest of\r
+the house; and I followed her upstairs and downstairs, admiring as I\r
+went; for all was well arranged and handsome. The large front chambers I\r
+thought especially grand: and some of the third-storey rooms, though dark\r
+and low, were interesting from their air of antiquity. The furniture\r
+once appropriated to the lower apartments had from time to time been\r
+removed here, as fashions changed: and the imperfect light entering by\r
+their narrow casement showed bedsteads of a hundred years old; chests in\r
+oak or walnut, looking, with their strange carvings of palm branches and\r
+cherubs' heads, like types of the Hebrew ark; rows of venerable chairs,\r
+high-backed and narrow; stools still more antiquated, on whose cushioned\r
+tops were yet apparent traces of half-effaced embroideries, wrought by\r
+fingers that for two generations had been coffin-dust. All these relics\r
+gave to the third storey of Thornfield Hall the aspect of a home of the\r
+past: a shrine of memory. I liked the hush, the gloom, the quaintness of\r
+these retreats in the day; but I by no means coveted a night's repose on\r
+one of those wide and heavy beds: shut in, some of them, with doors of\r
+oak; shaded, others, with wrought old English hangings crusted with thick\r
+work, portraying effigies of strange flowers, and stranger birds, and\r
+strangest human beings,--all which would have looked strange, indeed, by\r
+the pallid gleam of moonlight.\r
+\r
+"Do the servants sleep in these rooms?" I asked.\r
+\r
+"No; they occupy a range of smaller apartments to the back; no one ever\r
+sleeps here: one would almost say that, if there were a ghost at\r
+Thornfield Hall, this would be its haunt."\r
+\r
+"So I think: you have no ghost, then?"\r
+\r
+"None that I ever heard of," returned Mrs. Fairfax, smiling.\r
+\r
+"Nor any traditions of one? no legends or ghost stories?"\r
+\r
+"I believe not. And yet it is said the Rochesters have been rather a\r
+violent than a quiet race in their time: perhaps, though, that is the\r
+reason they rest tranquilly in their graves now."\r
+\r
+"Yes--'after life's fitful fever they sleep well,'" I muttered. "Where\r
+are you going now, Mrs. Fairfax?" for she was moving away.\r
+\r
+"On to the leads; will you come and see the view from thence?" I\r
+followed still, up a very narrow staircase to the attics, and thence by a\r
+ladder and through a trap-door to the roof of the hall. I was now on a\r
+level with the crow colony, and could see into their nests. Leaning over\r
+the battlements and looking far down, I surveyed the grounds laid out\r
+like a map: the bright and velvet lawn closely girdling the grey base of\r
+the mansion; the field, wide as a park, dotted with its ancient timber;\r
+the wood, dun and sere, divided by a path visibly overgrown, greener with\r
+moss than the trees were with foliage; the church at the gates, the road,\r
+the tranquil hills, all reposing in the autumn day's sun; the horizon\r
+bounded by a propitious sky, azure, marbled with pearly white. No\r
+feature in the scene was extraordinary, but all was pleasing. When I\r
+turned from it and repassed the trap-door, I could scarcely see my way\r
+down the ladder; the attic seemed black as a vault compared with that\r
+arch of blue air to which I had been looking up, and to that sunlit scene\r
+of grove, pasture, and green hill, of which the hall was the centre, and\r
+over which I had been gazing with delight.\r
+\r
+Mrs. Fairfax stayed behind a moment to fasten the trap-door; I, by drift\r
+of groping, found the outlet from the attic, and proceeded to descend the\r
+narrow garret staircase. I lingered in the long passage to which this\r
+led, separating the front and back rooms of the third storey: narrow,\r
+low, and dim, with only one little window at the far end, and looking,\r
+with its two rows of small black doors all shut, like a corridor in some\r
+Bluebeard's castle.\r
+\r
+While I paced softly on, the last sound I expected to hear in so still a\r
+region, a laugh, struck my ear. It was a curious laugh; distinct,\r
+formal, mirthless. I stopped: the sound ceased, only for an instant; it\r
+began again, louder: for at first, though distinct, it was very low. It\r
+passed off in a clamorous peal that seemed to wake an echo in every\r
+lonely chamber; though it originated but in one, and I could have pointed\r
+out the door whence the accents issued.\r
+\r
+"Mrs. Fairfax!" I called out: for I now heard her descending the great\r
+stairs. "Did you hear that loud laugh? Who is it?"\r
+\r
+"Some of the servants, very likely," she answered: "perhaps Grace Poole."\r
+\r
+"Did you hear it?" I again inquired.\r
+\r
+"Yes, plainly: I often hear her: she sews in one of these rooms.\r
+Sometimes Leah is with her; they are frequently noisy together."\r
+\r
+The laugh was repeated in its low, syllabic tone, and terminated in an\r
+odd murmur.\r
+\r
+"Grace!" exclaimed Mrs. Fairfax.\r
+\r
+I really did not expect any Grace to answer; for the laugh was as tragic,\r
+as preternatural a laugh as any I ever heard; and, but that it was high\r
+noon, and that no circumstance of ghostliness accompanied the curious\r
+cachinnation; but that neither scene nor season favoured fear, I should\r
+have been superstitiously afraid. However, the event showed me I was a\r
+fool for entertaining a sense even of surprise.\r
+\r
+The door nearest me opened, and a servant came out,--a woman of between\r
+thirty and forty; a set, square-made figure, red-haired, and with a hard,\r
+plain face: any apparition less romantic or less ghostly could scarcely\r
+be conceived.\r
+\r
+"Too much noise, Grace," said Mrs. Fairfax. "Remember directions!" Grace\r
+curtseyed silently and went in.\r
+\r
+"She is a person we have to sew and assist Leah in her housemaid's work,"\r
+continued the widow; "not altogether unobjectionable in some points, but\r
+she does well enough. By-the-bye, how have you got on with your new\r
+pupil this morning?"\r
+\r
+The conversation, thus turned on Adele, continued till we reached the\r
+light and cheerful region below. Adele came running to meet us in the\r
+hall, exclaiming--\r
+\r
+"Mesdames, vous etes servies!" adding, "J'ai bien faim, moi!"\r
+\r
+We found dinner ready, and waiting for us in Mrs. Fairfax's room.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER XII\r
+\r
+\r
+The promise of a smooth career, which my first calm introduction to\r
+Thornfield Hall seemed to pledge, was not belied on a longer acquaintance\r
+with the place and its inmates. Mrs. Fairfax turned out to be what she\r
+appeared, a placid-tempered, kind-natured woman, of competent education\r
+and average intelligence. My pupil was a lively child, who had been\r
+spoilt and indulged, and therefore was sometimes wayward; but as she was\r
+committed entirely to my care, and no injudicious interference from any\r
+quarter ever thwarted my plans for her improvement, she soon forgot her\r
+little freaks, and became obedient and teachable. She had no great\r
+talents, no marked traits of character, no peculiar development of\r
+feeling or taste which raised her one inch above the ordinary level of\r
+childhood; but neither had she any deficiency or vice which sunk her\r
+below it. She made reasonable progress, entertained for me a vivacious,\r
+though perhaps not very profound, affection; and by her simplicity, gay\r
+prattle, and efforts to please, inspired me, in return, with a degree of\r
+attachment sufficient to make us both content in each other's society.\r
+\r
+This, _par parenthese_, will be thought cool language by persons who\r
+entertain solemn doctrines about the angelic nature of children, and the\r
+duty of those charged with their education to conceive for them an\r
+idolatrous devotion: but I am not writing to flatter parental egotism, to\r
+echo cant, or prop up humbug; I am merely telling the truth. I felt a\r
+conscientious solicitude for Adele's welfare and progress, and a quiet\r
+liking for her little self: just as I cherished towards Mrs. Fairfax a\r
+thankfulness for her kindness, and a pleasure in her society\r
+proportionate to the tranquil regard she had for me, and the moderation\r
+of her mind and character.\r
+\r
+Anybody may blame me who likes, when I add further, that, now and then,\r
+when I took a walk by myself in the grounds; when I went down to the\r
+gates and looked through them along the road; or when, while Adele played\r
+with her nurse, and Mrs. Fairfax made jellies in the storeroom, I climbed\r
+the three staircases, raised the trap-door of the attic, and having\r
+reached the leads, looked out afar over sequestered field and hill, and\r
+along dim sky-line--that then I longed for a power of vision which might\r
+overpass that limit; which might reach the busy world, towns, regions\r
+full of life I had heard of but never seen--that then I desired more of\r
+practical experience than I possessed; more of intercourse with my kind,\r
+of acquaintance with variety of character, than was here within my reach.\r
+I valued what was good in Mrs. Fairfax, and what was good in Adele; but I\r
+believed in the existence of other and more vivid kinds of goodness, and\r
+what I believed in I wished to behold.\r
+\r
+Who blames me? Many, no doubt; and I shall be called discontented. I\r
+could not help it: the restlessness was in my nature; it agitated me to\r
+pain sometimes. Then my sole relief was to walk along the corridor of\r
+the third storey, backwards and forwards, safe in the silence and\r
+solitude of the spot, and allow my mind's eye to dwell on whatever bright\r
+visions rose before it--and, certainly, they were many and glowing; to\r
+let my heart be heaved by the exultant movement, which, while it swelled\r
+it in trouble, expanded it with life; and, best of all, to open my inward\r
+ear to a tale that was never ended--a tale my imagination created, and\r
+narrated continuously; quickened with all of incident, life, fire,\r
+feeling, that I desired and had not in my actual existence.\r
+\r
+It is in vain to say human beings ought to be satisfied with\r
+tranquillity: they must have action; and they will make it if they cannot\r
+find it. Millions are condemned to a stiller doom than mine, and\r
+millions are in silent revolt against their lot. Nobody knows how many\r
+rebellions besides political rebellions ferment in the masses of life\r
+which people earth. Women are supposed to be very calm generally: but\r
+women feel just as men feel; they need exercise for their faculties, and\r
+a field for their efforts, as much as their brothers do; they suffer from\r
+too rigid a restraint, too absolute a stagnation, precisely as men would\r
+suffer; and it is narrow-minded in their more privileged fellow-creatures\r
+to say that they ought to confine themselves to making puddings and\r
+knitting stockings, to playing on the piano and embroidering bags. It is\r
+thoughtless to condemn them, or laugh at them, if they seek to do more or\r
+learn more than custom has pronounced necessary for their sex.\r
+\r
+When thus alone, I not unfrequently heard Grace Poole's laugh: the same\r
+peal, the same low, slow ha! ha! which, when first heard, had thrilled\r
+me: I heard, too, her eccentric murmurs; stranger than her laugh. There\r
+were days when she was quite silent; but there were others when I could\r
+not account for the sounds she made. Sometimes I saw her: she would come\r
+out of her room with a basin, or a plate, or a tray in her hand, go down\r
+to the kitchen and shortly return, generally (oh, romantic reader,\r
+forgive me for telling the plain truth!) bearing a pot of porter. Her\r
+appearance always acted as a damper to the curiosity raised by her oral\r
+oddities: hard-featured and staid, she had no point to which interest\r
+could attach. I made some attempts to draw her into conversation, but\r
+she seemed a person of few words: a monosyllabic reply usually cut short\r
+every effort of that sort.\r
+\r
+The other members of the household, viz., John and his wife, Leah the\r
+housemaid, and Sophie the French nurse, were decent people; but in no\r
+respect remarkable; with Sophie I used to talk French, and sometimes I\r
+asked her questions about her native country; but she was not of a\r
+descriptive or narrative turn, and generally gave such vapid and confused\r
+answers as were calculated rather to check than encourage inquiry.\r
+\r
+October, November, December passed away. One afternoon in January, Mrs.\r
+Fairfax had begged a holiday for Adele, because she had a cold; and, as\r
+Adele seconded the request with an ardour that reminded me how precious\r
+occasional holidays had been to me in my own childhood, I accorded it,\r
+deeming that I did well in showing pliability on the point. It was a\r
+fine, calm day, though very cold; I was tired of sitting still in the\r
+library through a whole long morning: Mrs. Fairfax had just written a\r
+letter which was waiting to be posted, so I put on my bonnet and cloak\r
+and volunteered to carry it to Hay; the distance, two miles, would be a\r
+pleasant winter afternoon walk. Having seen Adele comfortably seated in\r
+her little chair by Mrs. Fairfax's parlour fireside, and given her her\r
+best wax doll (which I usually kept enveloped in silver paper in a\r
+drawer) to play with, and a story-book for change of amusement; and\r
+having replied to her "Revenez bientot, ma bonne amie, ma chere Mdlle.\r
+Jeannette," with a kiss I set out.\r
+\r
+The ground was hard, the air was still, my road was lonely; I walked fast\r
+till I got warm, and then I walked slowly to enjoy and analyse the\r
+species of pleasure brooding for me in the hour and situation. It was\r
+three o'clock; the church bell tolled as I passed under the belfry: the\r
+charm of the hour lay in its approaching dimness, in the low-gliding and\r
+pale-beaming sun. I was a mile from Thornfield, in a lane noted for wild\r
+roses in summer, for nuts and blackberries in autumn, and even now\r
+possessing a few coral treasures in hips and haws, but whose best winter\r
+delight lay in its utter solitude and leafless repose. If a breath of\r
+air stirred, it made no sound here; for there was not a holly, not an\r
+evergreen to rustle, and the stripped hawthorn and hazel bushes were as\r
+still as the white, worn stones which causewayed the middle of the path.\r
+Far and wide, on each side, there were only fields, where no cattle now\r
+browsed; and the little brown birds, which stirred occasionally in the\r
+hedge, looked like single russet leaves that had forgotten to drop.\r
+\r
+This lane inclined up-hill all the way to Hay; having reached the middle,\r
+I sat down on a stile which led thence into a field. Gathering my mantle\r
+about me, and sheltering my hands in my muff, I did not feel the cold,\r
+though it froze keenly; as was attested by a sheet of ice covering the\r
+causeway, where a little brooklet, now congealed, had overflowed after a\r
+rapid thaw some days since. From my seat I could look down on\r
+Thornfield: the grey and battlemented hall was the principal object in\r
+the vale below me; its woods and dark rookery rose against the west. I\r
+lingered till the sun went down amongst the trees, and sank crimson and\r
+clear behind them. I then turned eastward.\r
+\r
+On the hill-top above me sat the rising moon; pale yet as a cloud, but\r
+brightening momentarily, she looked over Hay, which, half lost in trees,\r
+sent up a blue smoke from its few chimneys: it was yet a mile distant,\r
+but in the absolute hush I could hear plainly its thin murmurs of life.\r
+My ear, too, felt the flow of currents; in what dales and depths I could\r
+not tell: but there were many hills beyond Hay, and doubtless many becks\r
+threading their passes. That evening calm betrayed alike the tinkle of\r
+the nearest streams, the sough of the most remote.\r
+\r
+A rude noise broke on these fine ripplings and whisperings, at once so\r
+far away and so clear: a positive tramp, tramp, a metallic clatter, which\r
+effaced the soft wave-wanderings; as, in a picture, the solid mass of a\r
+crag, or the rough boles of a great oak, drawn in dark and strong on the\r
+foreground, efface the aerial distance of azure hill, sunny horizon, and\r
+blended clouds where tint melts into tint.\r
+\r
+The din was on the causeway: a horse was coming; the windings of the lane\r
+yet hid it, but it approached. I was just leaving the stile; yet, as the\r
+path was narrow, I sat still to let it go by. In those days I was young,\r
+and all sorts of fancies bright and dark tenanted my mind: the memories\r
+of nursery stories were there amongst other rubbish; and when they\r
+recurred, maturing youth added to them a vigour and vividness beyond what\r
+childhood could give. As this horse approached, and as I watched for it\r
+to appear through the dusk, I remembered certain of Bessie's tales,\r
+wherein figured a North-of-England spirit called a "Gytrash," which, in\r
+the form of horse, mule, or large dog, haunted solitary ways, and\r
+sometimes came upon belated travellers, as this horse was now coming upon\r
+me.\r
+\r
+It was very near, but not yet in sight; when, in addition to the tramp,\r
+tramp, I heard a rush under the hedge, and close down by the hazel stems\r
+glided a great dog, whose black and white colour made him a distinct\r
+object against the trees. It was exactly one form of Bessie's Gytrash--a\r
+lion-like creature with long hair and a huge head: it passed me, however,\r
+quietly enough; not staying to look up, with strange pretercanine eyes,\r
+in my face, as I half expected it would. The horse followed,--a tall\r
+steed, and on its back a rider. The man, the human being, broke the\r
+spell at once. Nothing ever rode the Gytrash: it was always alone; and\r
+goblins, to my notions, though they might tenant the dumb carcasses of\r
+beasts, could scarce covet shelter in the commonplace human form. No\r
+Gytrash was this,--only a traveller taking the short cut to Millcote. He\r
+passed, and I went on; a few steps, and I turned: a sliding sound and an\r
+exclamation of "What the deuce is to do now?" and a clattering tumble,\r
+arrested my attention. Man and horse were down; they had slipped on the\r
+sheet of ice which glazed the causeway. The dog came bounding back, and\r
+seeing his master in a predicament, and hearing the horse groan, barked\r
+till the evening hills echoed the sound, which was deep in proportion to\r
+his magnitude. He snuffed round the prostrate group, and then he ran up\r
+to me; it was all he could do,--there was no other help at hand to\r
+summon. I obeyed him, and walked down to the traveller, by this time\r
+struggling himself free of his steed. His efforts were so vigorous, I\r
+thought he could not be much hurt; but I asked him the question--\r
+\r
+"Are you injured, sir?"\r
+\r
+I think he was swearing, but am not certain; however, he was pronouncing\r
+some formula which prevented him from replying to me directly.\r
+\r
+"Can I do anything?" I asked again.\r
+\r
+"You must just stand on one side," he answered as he rose, first to his\r
+knees, and then to his feet. I did; whereupon began a heaving, stamping,\r
+clattering process, accompanied by a barking and baying which removed me\r
+effectually some yards' distance; but I would not be driven quite away\r
+till I saw the event. This was finally fortunate; the horse was\r
+re-established, and the dog was silenced with a "Down, Pilot!" The\r
+traveller now, stooping, felt his foot and leg, as if trying whether they\r
+were sound; apparently something ailed them, for he halted to the stile\r
+whence I had just risen, and sat down.\r
+\r
+I was in the mood for being useful, or at least officious, I think, for I\r
+now drew near him again.\r
+\r
+"If you are hurt, and want help, sir, I can fetch some one either from\r
+Thornfield Hall or from Hay."\r
+\r
+"Thank you: I shall do: I have no broken bones,--only a sprain;" and\r
+again he stood up and tried his foot, but the result extorted an\r
+involuntary "Ugh!"\r
+\r
+Something of daylight still lingered, and the moon was waxing bright: I\r
+could see him plainly. His figure was enveloped in a riding cloak, fur\r
+collared and steel clasped; its details were not apparent, but I traced\r
+the general points of middle height and considerable breadth of chest. He\r
+had a dark face, with stern features and a heavy brow; his eyes and\r
+gathered eyebrows looked ireful and thwarted just now; he was past youth,\r
+but had not reached middle-age; perhaps he might be thirty-five. I felt\r
+no fear of him, and but little shyness. Had he been a handsome, heroic-\r
+looking young gentleman, I should not have dared to stand thus\r
+questioning him against his will, and offering my services unasked. I\r
+had hardly ever seen a handsome youth; never in my life spoken to one. I\r
+had a theoretical reverence and homage for beauty, elegance, gallantry,\r
+fascination; but had I met those qualities incarnate in masculine shape,\r
+I should have known instinctively that they neither had nor could have\r
+sympathy with anything in me, and should have shunned them as one would\r
+fire, lightning, or anything else that is bright but antipathetic.\r
+\r
+If even this stranger had smiled and been good-humoured to me when I\r
+addressed him; if he had put off my offer of assistance gaily and with\r
+thanks, I should have gone on my way and not felt any vocation to renew\r
+inquiries: but the frown, the roughness of the traveller, set me at my\r
+ease: I retained my station when he waved to me to go, and announced--\r
+\r
+"I cannot think of leaving you, sir, at so late an hour, in this solitary\r
+lane, till I see you are fit to mount your horse."\r
+\r
+He looked at me when I said this; he had hardly turned his eyes in my\r
+direction before.\r
+\r
+"I should think you ought to be at home yourself," said he, "if you have\r
+a home in this neighbourhood: where do you come from?"\r
+\r
+"From just below; and I am not at all afraid of being out late when it is\r
+moonlight: I will run over to Hay for you with pleasure, if you wish it:\r
+indeed, I am going there to post a letter."\r
+\r
+"You live just below--do you mean at that house with the battlements?"\r
+pointing to Thornfield Hall, on which the moon cast a hoary gleam,\r
+bringing it out distinct and pale from the woods that, by contrast with\r
+the western sky, now seemed one mass of shadow.\r
+\r
+"Yes, sir."\r
+\r
+"Whose house is it?"\r
+\r
+"Mr. Rochester's."\r
+\r
+"Do you know Mr. Rochester?"\r
+\r
+"No, I have never seen him."\r
+\r
+"He is not resident, then?"\r
+\r
+"No."\r
+\r
+"Can you tell me where he is?"\r
+\r
+"I cannot."\r
+\r
+"You are not a servant at the hall, of course. You are--" He stopped,\r
+ran his eye over my dress, which, as usual, was quite simple: a black\r
+merino cloak, a black beaver bonnet; neither of them half fine enough for\r
+a lady's-maid. He seemed puzzled to decide what I was; I helped him.\r
+\r
+"I am the governess."\r
+\r
+"Ah, the governess!" he repeated; "deuce take me, if I had not forgotten!\r
+The governess!" and again my raiment underwent scrutiny. In two minutes\r
+he rose from the stile: his face expressed pain when he tried to move.\r
+\r
+"I cannot commission you to fetch help," he said; "but you may help me a\r
+little yourself, if you will be so kind."\r
+\r
+"Yes, sir."\r
+\r
+"You have not an umbrella that I can use as a stick?"\r
+\r
+"No."\r
+\r
+"Try to get hold of my horse's bridle and lead him to me: you are not\r
+afraid?"\r
+\r
+I should have been afraid to touch a horse when alone, but when told to\r
+do it, I was disposed to obey. I put down my muff on the stile, and went\r
+up to the tall steed; I endeavoured to catch the bridle, but it was a\r
+spirited thing, and would not let me come near its head; I made effort on\r
+effort, though in vain: meantime, I was mortally afraid of its trampling\r
+fore-feet. The traveller waited and watched for some time, and at last\r
+he laughed.\r
+\r
+{I was mortally afraid of its trampling forefeet: p107.jpg}\r
+\r
+"I see," he said, "the mountain will never be brought to Mahomet, so all\r
+you can do is to aid Mahomet to go to the mountain; I must beg of you to\r
+come here."\r
+\r
+I came. "Excuse me," he continued: "necessity compels me to make you\r
+useful." He laid a heavy hand on my shoulder, and leaning on me with\r
+some stress, limped to his horse. Having once caught the bridle, he\r
+mastered it directly and sprang to his saddle; grimacing grimly as he\r
+made the effort, for it wrenched his sprain.\r
+\r
+"Now," said he, releasing his under lip from a hard bite, "just hand me\r
+my whip; it lies there under the hedge."\r
+\r
+I sought it and found it.\r
+\r
+"Thank you; now make haste with the letter to Hay, and return as fast as\r
+you can."\r
+\r
+A touch of a spurred heel made his horse first start and rear, and then\r
+bound away; the dog rushed in his traces; all three vanished,\r
+\r
+ "Like heath that, in the wilderness,\r
+ The wild wind whirls away."\r
+\r
+I took up my muff and walked on. The incident had occurred and was gone\r
+for me: it _was_ an incident of no moment, no romance, no interest in a\r
+sense; yet it marked with change one single hour of a monotonous life. My\r
+help had been needed and claimed; I had given it: I was pleased to have\r
+done something; trivial, transitory though the deed was, it was yet an\r
+active thing, and I was weary of an existence all passive. The new face,\r
+too, was like a new picture introduced to the gallery of memory; and it\r
+was dissimilar to all the others hanging there: firstly, because it was\r
+masculine; and, secondly, because it was dark, strong, and stern. I had\r
+it still before me when I entered Hay, and slipped the letter into the\r
+post-office; I saw it as I walked fast down-hill all the way home. When\r
+I came to the stile, I stopped a minute, looked round and listened, with\r
+an idea that a horse's hoofs might ring on the causeway again, and that a\r
+rider in a cloak, and a Gytrash-like Newfoundland dog, might be again\r
+apparent: I saw only the hedge and a pollard willow before me, rising up\r
+still and straight to meet the moonbeams; I heard only the faintest waft\r
+of wind roaming fitful among the trees round Thornfield, a mile distant;\r
+and when I glanced down in the direction of the murmur, my eye,\r
+traversing the hall-front, caught a light kindling in a window: it\r
+reminded me that I was late, and I hurried on.\r
+\r
+I did not like re-entering Thornfield. To pass its threshold was to\r
+return to stagnation; to cross the silent hall, to ascend the darksome\r
+staircase, to seek my own lonely little room, and then to meet tranquil\r
+Mrs. Fairfax, and spend the long winter evening with her, and her only,\r
+was to quell wholly the faint excitement wakened by my walk,--to slip\r
+again over my faculties the viewless fetters of an uniform and too still\r
+existence; of an existence whose very privileges of security and ease I\r
+was becoming incapable of appreciating. What good it would have done me\r
+at that time to have been tossed in the storms of an uncertain struggling\r
+life, and to have been taught by rough and bitter experience to long for\r
+the calm amidst which I now repined! Yes, just as much good as it would\r
+do a man tired of sitting still in a "too easy chair" to take a long\r
+walk: and just as natural was the wish to stir, under my circumstances,\r
+as it would be under his.\r
+\r
+I lingered at the gates; I lingered on the lawn; I paced backwards and\r
+forwards on the pavement; the shutters of the glass door were closed; I\r
+could not see into the interior; and both my eyes and spirit seemed drawn\r
+from the gloomy house--from the grey-hollow filled with rayless cells, as\r
+it appeared to me--to that sky expanded before me,--a blue sea absolved\r
+from taint of cloud; the moon ascending it in solemn march; her orb\r
+seeming to look up as she left the hill-tops, from behind which she had\r
+come, far and farther below her, and aspired to the zenith, midnight dark\r
+in its fathomless depth and measureless distance; and for those trembling\r
+stars that followed her course; they made my heart tremble, my veins glow\r
+when I viewed them. Little things recall us to earth; the clock struck\r
+in the hall; that sufficed; I turned from moon and stars, opened a side-\r
+door, and went in.\r
+\r
+The hall was not dark, nor yet was it lit, only by the high-hung bronze\r
+lamp; a warm glow suffused both it and the lower steps of the oak\r
+staircase. This ruddy shine issued from the great dining-room, whose two-\r
+leaved door stood open, and showed a genial fire in the grate, glancing\r
+on marble hearth and brass fire-irons, and revealing purple draperies and\r
+polished furniture, in the most pleasant radiance. It revealed, too, a\r
+group near the mantelpiece: I had scarcely caught it, and scarcely become\r
+aware of a cheerful mingling of voices, amongst which I seemed to\r
+distinguish the tones of Adele, when the door closed.\r
+\r
+I hastened to Mrs. Fairfax's room; there was a fire there too, but no\r
+candle, and no Mrs. Fairfax. Instead, all alone, sitting upright on the\r
+rug, and gazing with gravity at the blaze, I beheld a great black and\r
+white long-haired dog, just like the Gytrash of the lane. It was so like\r
+it that I went forward and said--"Pilot" and the thing got up and came to\r
+me and snuffed me. I caressed him, and he wagged his great tail; but he\r
+looked an eerie creature to be alone with, and I could not tell whence he\r
+had come. I rang the bell, for I wanted a candle; and I wanted, too, to\r
+get an account of this visitant. Leah entered.\r
+\r
+"What dog is this?"\r
+\r
+"He came with master."\r
+\r
+"With whom?"\r
+\r
+"With master--Mr. Rochester--he is just arrived."\r
+\r
+"Indeed! and is Mrs. Fairfax with him?"\r
+\r
+"Yes, and Miss Adele; they are in the dining-room, and John is gone for a\r
+surgeon; for master has had an accident; his horse fell and his ankle is\r
+sprained."\r
+\r
+"Did the horse fall in Hay Lane?"\r
+\r
+"Yes, coming down-hill; it slipped on some ice."\r
+\r
+"Ah! Bring me a candle will you Leah?"\r
+\r
+Leah brought it; she entered, followed by Mrs. Fairfax, who repeated the\r
+news; adding that Mr. Carter the surgeon was come, and was now with Mr.\r
+Rochester: then she hurried out to give orders about tea, and I went\r
+upstairs to take off my things.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER XIII\r
+\r
+\r
+Mr. Rochester, it seems, by the surgeon's orders, went to bed early that\r
+night; nor did he rise soon next morning. When he did come down, it was\r
+to attend to business: his agent and some of his tenants were arrived,\r
+and waiting to speak with him.\r
+\r
+Adele and I had now to vacate the library: it would be in daily\r
+requisition as a reception-room for callers. A fire was lit in an\r
+apartment upstairs, and there I carried our books, and arranged it for\r
+the future schoolroom. I discerned in the course of the morning that\r
+Thornfield Hall was a changed place: no longer silent as a church, it\r
+echoed every hour or two to a knock at the door, or a clang of the bell;\r
+steps, too, often traversed the hall, and new voices spoke in different\r
+keys below; a rill from the outer world was flowing through it; it had a\r
+master: for my part, I liked it better.\r
+\r
+Adele was not easy to teach that day; she could not apply: she kept\r
+running to the door and looking over the banisters to see if she could\r
+get a glimpse of Mr. Rochester; then she coined pretexts to go\r
+downstairs, in order, as I shrewdly suspected, to visit the library,\r
+where I knew she was not wanted; then, when I got a little angry, and\r
+made her sit still, she continued to talk incessantly of her "ami,\r
+Monsieur Edouard Fairfax _de_ Rochester," as she dubbed him (I had not\r
+before heard his prenomens), and to conjecture what presents he had\r
+brought her: for it appears he had intimated the night before, that when\r
+his luggage came from Millcote, there would be found amongst it a little\r
+box in whose contents she had an interest.\r
+\r
+"Et cela doit signifier," said she, "qu'il y aura la dedans un cadeau\r
+pour moi, et peut-etre pour vous aussi, mademoiselle. Monsieur a parle\r
+de vous: il m'a demande le nom de ma gouvernante, et si elle n'etait pas\r
+une petite personne, assez mince et un peu pale. J'ai dit qu'oui: car\r
+c'est vrai, n'est-ce pas, mademoiselle?"\r
+\r
+I and my pupil dined as usual in Mrs. Fairfax's parlour; the afternoon\r
+was wild and snowy, and we passed it in the schoolroom. At dark I\r
+allowed Adele to put away books and work, and to run downstairs; for,\r
+from the comparative silence below, and from the cessation of appeals to\r
+the door-bell, I conjectured that Mr. Rochester was now at liberty. Left\r
+alone, I walked to the window; but nothing was to be seen thence:\r
+twilight and snowflakes together thickened the air, and hid the very\r
+shrubs on the lawn. I let down the curtain and went back to the\r
+fireside.\r
+\r
+In the clear embers I was tracing a view, not unlike a picture I\r
+remembered to have seen of the castle of Heidelberg, on the Rhine, when\r
+Mrs. Fairfax came in, breaking up by her entrance the fiery mosaic I had\r
+been piercing together, and scattering too some heavy unwelcome thoughts\r
+that were beginning to throng on my solitude.\r
+\r
+"Mr. Rochester would be glad if you and your pupil would take tea with\r
+him in the drawing-room this evening," said she: "he has been so much\r
+engaged all day that he could not ask to see you before."\r
+\r
+"When is his tea-time?" I inquired.\r
+\r
+"Oh, at six o'clock: he keeps early hours in the country. You had better\r
+change your frock now; I will go with you and fasten it. Here is a\r
+candle."\r
+\r
+"Is it necessary to change my frock?"\r
+\r
+"Yes, you had better: I always dress for the evening when Mr. Rochester\r
+is here."\r
+\r
+This additional ceremony seemed somewhat stately; however, I repaired to\r
+my room, and, with Mrs. Fairfax's aid, replaced my black stuff dress by\r
+one of black silk; the best and the only additional one I had, except one\r
+of light grey, which, in my Lowood notions of the toilette, I thought too\r
+fine to be worn, except on first-rate occasions.\r
+\r
+"You want a brooch," said Mrs. Fairfax. I had a single little pearl\r
+ornament which Miss Temple gave me as a parting keepsake: I put it on,\r
+and then we went downstairs. Unused as I was to strangers, it was rather\r
+a trial to appear thus formally summoned in Mr. Rochester's presence. I\r
+let Mrs. Fairfax precede me into the dining-room, and kept in her shade\r
+as we crossed that apartment; and, passing the arch, whose curtain was\r
+now dropped, entered the elegant recess beyond.\r
+\r
+Two wax candles stood lighted on the table, and two on the mantelpiece;\r
+basking in the light and heat of a superb fire, lay Pilot--Adele knelt\r
+near him. Half reclined on a couch appeared Mr. Rochester, his foot\r
+supported by the cushion; he was looking at Adele and the dog: the fire\r
+shone full on his face. I knew my traveller with his broad and jetty\r
+eyebrows; his square forehead, made squarer by the horizontal sweep of\r
+his black hair. I recognised his decisive nose, more remarkable for\r
+character than beauty; his full nostrils, denoting, I thought, choler;\r
+his grim mouth, chin, and jaw--yes, all three were very grim, and no\r
+mistake. His shape, now divested of cloak, I perceived harmonised in\r
+squareness with his physiognomy: I suppose it was a good figure in the\r
+athletic sense of the term--broad chested and thin flanked, though\r
+neither tall nor graceful.\r
+\r
+Mr. Rochester must have been aware of the entrance of Mrs. Fairfax and\r
+myself; but it appeared he was not in the mood to notice us, for he never\r
+lifted his head as we approached.\r
+\r
+"Here is Miss Eyre, sir," said Mrs. Fairfax, in her quiet way. He bowed,\r
+still not taking his eyes from the group of the dog and child.\r
+\r
+"Let Miss Eyre be seated," said he: and there was something in the forced\r
+stiff bow, in the impatient yet formal tone, which seemed further to\r
+express, "What the deuce is it to me whether Miss Eyre be there or not?\r
+At this moment I am not disposed to accost her."\r
+\r
+I sat down quite disembarrassed. A reception of finished politeness\r
+would probably have confused me: I could not have returned or repaid it\r
+by answering grace and elegance on my part; but harsh caprice laid me\r
+under no obligation; on the contrary, a decent quiescence, under the\r
+freak of manner, gave me the advantage. Besides, the eccentricity of the\r
+proceeding was piquant: I felt interested to see how he would go on.\r
+\r
+He went on as a statue would, that is, he neither spoke nor moved. Mrs.\r
+Fairfax seemed to think it necessary that some one should be amiable, and\r
+she began to talk. Kindly, as usual--and, as usual, rather trite--she\r
+condoled with him on the pressure of business he had had all day; on the\r
+annoyance it must have been to him with that painful sprain: then she\r
+commended his patience and perseverance in going through with it.\r
+\r
+"Madam, I should like some tea," was the sole rejoinder she got. She\r
+hastened to ring the bell; and when the tray came, she proceeded to\r
+arrange the cups, spoons, &c., with assiduous celerity. I and Adele went\r
+to the table; but the master did not leave his couch.\r
+\r
+"Will you hand Mr. Rochester's cup?" said Mrs. Fairfax to me; "Adele\r
+might perhaps spill it."\r
+\r
+I did as requested. As he took the cup from my hand, Adele, thinking the\r
+moment propitious for making a request in my favour, cried out--\r
+\r
+"N'est-ce pas, monsieur, qu'il y a un cadeau pour Mademoiselle Eyre dans\r
+votre petit coffre?"\r
+\r
+"Who talks of cadeaux?" said he gruffly. "Did you expect a present, Miss\r
+Eyre? Are you fond of presents?" and he searched my face with eyes that\r
+I saw were dark, irate, and piercing.\r
+\r
+"I hardly know, sir; I have little experience of them: they are generally\r
+thought pleasant things."\r
+\r
+"Generally thought? But what do _you_ think?"\r
+\r
+"I should be obliged to take time, sir, before I could give you an answer\r
+worthy of your acceptance: a present has many faces to it, has it not?\r
+and one should consider all, before pronouncing an opinion as to its\r
+nature."\r
+\r
+"Miss Eyre, you are not so unsophisticated as Adele: she demands a\r
+'cadeau,' clamorously, the moment she sees me: you beat about the bush."\r
+\r
+"Because I have less confidence in my deserts than Adele has: she can\r
+prefer the claim of old acquaintance, and the right too of custom; for\r
+she says you have always been in the habit of giving her playthings; but\r
+if I had to make out a case I should be puzzled, since I am a stranger,\r
+and have done nothing to entitle me to an acknowledgment."\r
+\r
+"Oh, don't fall back on over-modesty! I have examined Adele, and find\r
+you have taken great pains with her: she is not bright, she has no\r
+talents; yet in a short time she has made much improvement."\r
+\r
+"Sir, you have now given me my 'cadeau;' I am obliged to you: it is the\r
+meed teachers most covet--praise of their pupils' progress."\r
+\r
+"Humph!" said Mr. Rochester, and he took his tea in silence.\r
+\r
+"Come to the fire," said the master, when the tray was taken away, and\r
+Mrs. Fairfax had settled into a corner with her knitting; while Adele was\r
+leading me by the hand round the room, showing me the beautiful books and\r
+ornaments on the consoles and chiffonnieres. We obeyed, as in duty\r
+bound; Adele wanted to take a seat on my knee, but she was ordered to\r
+amuse herself with Pilot.\r
+\r
+"You have been resident in my house three months?"\r
+\r
+"Yes, sir."\r
+\r
+"And you came from--?"\r
+\r
+"From Lowood school, in ---shire."\r
+\r
+"Ah! a charitable concern. How long were you there?"\r
+\r
+"Eight years."\r
+\r
+"Eight years! you must be tenacious of life. I thought half the time in\r
+such a place would have done up any constitution! No wonder you have\r
+rather the look of another world. I marvelled where you had got that\r
+sort of face. When you came on me in Hay Lane last night, I thought\r
+unaccountably of fairy tales, and had half a mind to demand whether you\r
+had bewitched my horse: I am not sure yet. Who are your parents?"\r
+\r
+"I have none."\r
+\r
+"Nor ever had, I suppose: do you remember them?"\r
+\r
+"No."\r
+\r
+"I thought not. And so you were waiting for your people when you sat on\r
+that stile?"\r
+\r
+"For whom, sir?"\r
+\r
+"For the men in green: it was a proper moonlight evening for them. Did I\r
+break through one of your rings, that you spread that damned ice on the\r
+causeway?"\r
+\r
+I shook my head. "The men in green all forsook England a hundred years\r
+ago," said I, speaking as seriously as he had done. "And not even in Hay\r
+Lane, or the fields about it, could you find a trace of them. I don't\r
+think either summer or harvest, or winter moon, will ever shine on their\r
+revels more."\r
+\r
+Mrs. Fairfax had dropped her knitting, and, with raised eyebrows, seemed\r
+wondering what sort of talk this was.\r
+\r
+"Well," resumed Mr. Rochester, "if you disown parents, you must have some\r
+sort of kinsfolk: uncles and aunts?"\r
+\r
+"No; none that I ever saw."\r
+\r
+"And your home?"\r
+\r
+"I have none."\r
+\r
+"Where do your brothers and sisters live?"\r
+\r
+"I have no brothers or sisters."\r
+\r
+"Who recommended you to come here?"\r
+\r
+"I advertised, and Mrs. Fairfax answered my advertisement."\r
+\r
+"Yes," said the good lady, who now knew what ground we were upon, "and I\r
+am daily thankful for the choice Providence led me to make. Miss Eyre\r
+has been an invaluable companion to me, and a kind and careful teacher to\r
+Adele."\r
+\r
+"Don't trouble yourself to give her a character," returned Mr. Rochester:\r
+"eulogiums will not bias me; I shall judge for myself. She began by\r
+felling my horse."\r
+\r
+"Sir?" said Mrs. Fairfax.\r
+\r
+"I have to thank her for this sprain."\r
+\r
+The widow looked bewildered.\r
+\r
+"Miss Eyre, have you ever lived in a town?"\r
+\r
+"No, sir."\r
+\r
+"Have you seen much society?"\r
+\r
+"None but the pupils and teachers of Lowood, and now the inmates of\r
+Thornfield."\r
+\r
+"Have you read much?"\r
+\r
+"Only such books as came in my way; and they have not been numerous or\r
+very learned."\r
+\r
+"You have lived the life of a nun: no doubt you are well drilled in\r
+religious forms;--Brocklehurst, who I understand directs Lowood, is a\r
+parson, is he not?"\r
+\r
+"Yes, sir."\r
+\r
+"And you girls probably worshipped him, as a convent full of religieuses\r
+would worship their director."\r
+\r
+"Oh, no."\r
+\r
+"You are very cool! No! What! a novice not worship her priest! That\r
+sounds blasphemous."\r
+\r
+"I disliked Mr. Brocklehurst; and I was not alone in the feeling. He is\r
+a harsh man; at once pompous and meddling; he cut off our hair; and for\r
+economy's sake bought us bad needles and thread, with which we could\r
+hardly sew."\r
+\r
+"That was very false economy," remarked Mrs. Fairfax, who now again\r
+caught the drift of the dialogue.\r
+\r
+"And was that the head and front of his offending?" demanded Mr.\r
+Rochester.\r
+\r
+"He starved us when he had the sole superintendence of the provision\r
+department, before the committee was appointed; and he bored us with long\r
+lectures once a week, and with evening readings from books of his own\r
+inditing, about sudden deaths and judgments, which made us afraid to go\r
+to bed."\r
+\r
+"What age were you when you went to Lowood?"\r
+\r
+"About ten."\r
+\r
+"And you stayed there eight years: you are now, then, eighteen?"\r
+\r
+I assented.\r
+\r
+"Arithmetic, you see, is useful; without its aid, I should hardly have\r
+been able to guess your age. It is a point difficult to fix where the\r
+features and countenance are so much at variance as in your case. And\r
+now what did you learn at Lowood? Can you play?"\r
+\r
+"A little."\r
+\r
+"Of course: that is the established answer. Go into the library--I mean,\r
+if you please.--(Excuse my tone of command; I am used to say, 'Do this,'\r
+and it is done: I cannot alter my customary habits for one new\r
+inmate.)--Go, then, into the library; take a candle with you; leave the\r
+door open; sit down to the piano, and play a tune."\r
+\r
+I departed, obeying his directions.\r
+\r
+"Enough!" he called out in a few minutes. "You play _a little_, I see;\r
+like any other English school-girl; perhaps rather better than some, but\r
+not well."\r
+\r
+I closed the piano and returned. Mr. Rochester continued--"Adele showed\r
+me some sketches this morning, which she said were yours. I don't know\r
+whether they were entirely of your doing; probably a master aided you?"\r
+\r
+"No, indeed!" I interjected.\r
+\r
+"Ah! that pricks pride. Well, fetch me your portfolio, if you can vouch\r
+for its contents being original; but don't pass your word unless you are\r
+certain: I can recognise patchwork."\r
+\r
+"Then I will say nothing, and you shall judge for yourself, sir."\r
+\r
+I brought the portfolio from the library.\r
+\r
+"Approach the table," said he; and I wheeled it to his couch. Adele and\r
+Mrs. Fairfax drew near to see the pictures.\r
+\r
+"No crowding," said Mr. Rochester: "take the drawings from my hand as I\r
+finish with them; but don't push your faces up to mine."\r
+\r
+He deliberately scrutinised each sketch and painting. Three he laid\r
+aside; the others, when he had examined them, he swept from him.\r
+\r
+"Take them off to the other table, Mrs. Fairfax," said he, "and look at\r
+them with Adele;--you" (glancing at me) "resume your seat, and answer my\r
+questions. I perceive those pictures were done by one hand: was that\r
+hand yours?"\r
+\r
+"Yes."\r
+\r
+"And when did you find time to do them? They have taken much time, and\r
+some thought."\r
+\r
+"I did them in the last two vacations I spent at Lowood, when I had no\r
+other occupation."\r
+\r
+"Where did you get your copies?"\r
+\r
+"Out of my head."\r
+\r
+"That head I see now on your shoulders?"\r
+\r
+"Yes, sir."\r
+\r
+"Has it other furniture of the same kind within?"\r
+\r
+"I should think it may have: I should hope--better."\r
+\r
+He spread the pictures before him, and again surveyed them alternately.\r
+\r
+While he is so occupied, I will tell you, reader, what they are: and\r
+first, I must premise that they are nothing wonderful. The subjects had,\r
+indeed, risen vividly on my mind. As I saw them with the spiritual eye,\r
+before I attempted to embody them, they were striking; but my hand would\r
+not second my fancy, and in each case it had wrought out but a pale\r
+portrait of the thing I had conceived.\r
+\r
+These pictures were in water-colours. The first represented clouds low\r
+and livid, rolling over a swollen sea: all the distance was in eclipse;\r
+so, too, was the foreground; or rather, the nearest billows, for there\r
+was no land. One gleam of light lifted into relief a half-submerged\r
+mast, on which sat a cormorant, dark and large, with wings flecked with\r
+foam; its beak held a gold bracelet set with gems, that I had touched\r
+with as brilliant tints as my palette could yield, and as glittering\r
+distinctness as my pencil could impart. Sinking below the bird and mast,\r
+a drowned corpse glanced through the green water; a fair arm was the only\r
+limb clearly visible, whence the bracelet had been washed or torn.\r
+\r
+The second picture contained for foreground only the dim peak of a hill,\r
+with grass and some leaves slanting as if by a breeze. Beyond and above\r
+spread an expanse of sky, dark blue as at twilight: rising into the sky\r
+was a woman's shape to the bust, portrayed in tints as dusk and soft as I\r
+could combine. The dim forehead was crowned with a star; the lineaments\r
+below were seen as through the suffusion of vapour; the eyes shone dark\r
+and wild; the hair streamed shadowy, like a beamless cloud torn by storm\r
+or by electric travail. On the neck lay a pale reflection like\r
+moonlight; the same faint lustre touched the train of thin clouds from\r
+which rose and bowed this vision of the Evening Star.\r
+\r
+The third showed the pinnacle of an iceberg piercing a polar winter sky:\r
+a muster of northern lights reared their dim lances, close serried, along\r
+the horizon. Throwing these into distance, rose, in the foreground, a\r
+head,--a colossal head, inclined towards the iceberg, and resting against\r
+it. Two thin hands, joined under the forehead, and supporting it, drew\r
+up before the lower features a sable veil, a brow quite bloodless, white\r
+as bone, and an eye hollow and fixed, blank of meaning but for the\r
+glassiness of despair, alone were visible. Above the temples, amidst\r
+wreathed turban folds of black drapery, vague in its character and\r
+consistency as cloud, gleamed a ring of white flame, gemmed with sparkles\r
+of a more lurid tinge. This pale crescent was "the likeness of a kingly\r
+crown;" what it diademed was "the shape which shape had none."\r
+\r
+"Were you happy when you painted these pictures?" asked Mr. Rochester\r
+presently.\r
+\r
+"I was absorbed, sir: yes, and I was happy. To paint them, in short, was\r
+to enjoy one of the keenest pleasures I have ever known."\r
+\r
+"That is not saying much. Your pleasures, by your own account, have been\r
+few; but I daresay you did exist in a kind of artist's dreamland while\r
+you blent and arranged these strange tints. Did you sit at them long\r
+each day?"\r
+\r
+"I had nothing else to do, because it was the vacation, and I sat at them\r
+from morning till noon, and from noon till night: the length of the\r
+midsummer days favoured my inclination to apply."\r
+\r
+"And you felt self-satisfied with the result of your ardent labours?"\r
+\r
+"Far from it. I was tormented by the contrast between my idea and my\r
+handiwork: in each case I had imagined something which I was quite\r
+powerless to realise."\r
+\r
+"Not quite: you have secured the shadow of your thought; but no more,\r
+probably. You had not enough of the artist's skill and science to give\r
+it full being: yet the drawings are, for a school-girl, peculiar. As to\r
+the thoughts, they are elfish. These eyes in the Evening Star you must\r
+have seen in a dream. How could you make them look so clear, and yet not\r
+at all brilliant? for the planet above quells their rays. And what\r
+meaning is that in their solemn depth? And who taught you to paint wind?\r
+There is a high gale in that sky, and on this hill-top. Where did you\r
+see Latmos? For that is Latmos. There! put the drawings away!"\r
+\r
+I had scarce tied the strings of the portfolio, when, looking at his\r
+watch, he said abruptly--\r
+\r
+"It is nine o'clock: what are you about, Miss Eyre, to let Adele sit up\r
+so long? Take her to bed."\r
+\r
+Adele went to kiss him before quitting the room: he endured the caress,\r
+but scarcely seemed to relish it more than Pilot would have done, nor so\r
+much.\r
+\r
+"I wish you all good-night, now," said he, making a movement of the hand\r
+towards the door, in token that he was tired of our company, and wished\r
+to dismiss us. Mrs. Fairfax folded up her knitting: I took my portfolio:\r
+we curtseyed to him, received a frigid bow in return, and so withdrew.\r
+\r
+"You said Mr. Rochester was not strikingly peculiar, Mrs. Fairfax," I\r
+observed, when I rejoined her in her room, after putting Adele to bed.\r
+\r
+"Well, is he?"\r
+\r
+"I think so: he is very changeful and abrupt."\r
+\r
+"True: no doubt he may appear so to a stranger, but I am so accustomed to\r
+his manner, I never think of it; and then, if he has peculiarities of\r
+temper, allowance should be made."\r
+\r
+"Why?"\r
+\r
+"Partly because it is his nature--and we can none of us help our nature;\r
+and partly because he has painful thoughts, no doubt, to harass him, and\r
+make his spirits unequal."\r
+\r
+"What about?"\r
+\r
+"Family troubles, for one thing."\r
+\r
+"But he has no family."\r
+\r
+"Not now, but he has had--or, at least, relatives. He lost his elder\r
+brother a few years since."\r
+\r
+"His _elder_ brother?"\r
+\r
+"Yes. The present Mr. Rochester has not been very long in possession of\r
+the property; only about nine years."\r
+\r
+"Nine years is a tolerable time. Was he so very fond of his brother as\r
+to be still inconsolable for his loss?"\r
+\r
+"Why, no--perhaps not. I believe there were some misunderstandings\r
+between them. Mr. Rowland Rochester was not quite just to Mr. Edward;\r
+and perhaps he prejudiced his father against him. The old gentleman was\r
+fond of money, and anxious to keep the family estate together. He did\r
+not like to diminish the property by division, and yet he was anxious\r
+that Mr. Edward should have wealth, too, to keep up the consequence of\r
+the name; and, soon after he was of age, some steps were taken that were\r
+not quite fair, and made a great deal of mischief. Old Mr. Rochester and\r
+Mr. Rowland combined to bring Mr. Edward into what he considered a\r
+painful position, for the sake of making his fortune: what the precise\r
+nature of that position was I never clearly knew, but his spirit could\r
+not brook what he had to suffer in it. He is not very forgiving: he\r
+broke with his family, and now for many years he has led an unsettled\r
+kind of life. I don't think he has ever been resident at Thornfield for\r
+a fortnight together, since the death of his brother without a will left\r
+him master of the estate; and, indeed, no wonder he shuns the old place."\r
+\r
+"Why should he shun it?"\r
+\r
+"Perhaps he thinks it gloomy."\r
+\r
+The answer was evasive. I should have liked something clearer; but Mrs.\r
+Fairfax either could not, or would not, give me more explicit information\r
+of the origin and nature of Mr. Rochester's trials. She averred they\r
+were a mystery to herself, and that what she knew was chiefly from\r
+conjecture. It was evident, indeed, that she wished me to drop the\r
+subject, which I did accordingly.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER XIV\r
+\r
+\r
+For several subsequent days I saw little of Mr. Rochester. In the\r
+mornings he seemed much engaged with business, and, in the afternoon,\r
+gentlemen from Millcote or the neighbourhood called, and sometimes stayed\r
+to dine with him. When his sprain was well enough to admit of horse\r
+exercise, he rode out a good deal; probably to return these visits, as he\r
+generally did not come back till late at night.\r
+\r
+During this interval, even Adele was seldom sent for to his presence, and\r
+all my acquaintance with him was confined to an occasional rencontre in\r
+the hall, on the stairs, or in the gallery, when he would sometimes pass\r
+me haughtily and coldly, just acknowledging my presence by a distant nod\r
+or a cool glance, and sometimes bow and smile with gentlemanlike\r
+affability. His changes of mood did not offend me, because I saw that I\r
+had nothing to do with their alternation; the ebb and flow depended on\r
+causes quite disconnected with me.\r
+\r
+One day he had had company to dinner, and had sent for my portfolio; in\r
+order, doubtless, to exhibit its contents: the gentlemen went away early,\r
+to attend a public meeting at Millcote, as Mrs. Fairfax informed me; but\r
+the night being wet and inclement, Mr. Rochester did not accompany them.\r
+Soon after they were gone he rang the bell: a message came that I and\r
+Adele were to go downstairs. I brushed Adele's hair and made her neat,\r
+and having ascertained that I was myself in my usual Quaker trim, where\r
+there was nothing to retouch--all being too close and plain, braided\r
+locks included, to admit of disarrangement--we descended, Adele wondering\r
+whether the _petit coffre_ was at length come; for, owing to some\r
+mistake, its arrival had hitherto been delayed. She was gratified: there\r
+it stood, a little carton, on the table when we entered the dining-room.\r
+She appeared to know it by instinct.\r
+\r
+"Ma boite! ma boite!" exclaimed she, running towards it.\r
+\r
+"Yes, there is your 'boite' at last: take it into a corner, you genuine\r
+daughter of Paris, and amuse yourself with disembowelling it," said the\r
+deep and rather sarcastic voice of Mr. Rochester, proceeding from the\r
+depths of an immense easy-chair at the fireside. "And mind," he\r
+continued, "don't bother me with any details of the anatomical process,\r
+or any notice of the condition of the entrails: let your operation be\r
+conducted in silence: tiens-toi tranquille, enfant; comprends-tu?"\r
+\r
+Adele seemed scarcely to need the warning--she had already retired to a\r
+sofa with her treasure, and was busy untying the cord which secured the\r
+lid. Having removed this impediment, and lifted certain silvery\r
+envelopes of tissue paper, she merely exclaimed--\r
+\r
+"Oh ciel! Que c'est beau!" and then remained absorbed in ecstatic\r
+contemplation.\r
+\r
+"Is Miss Eyre there?" now demanded the master, half rising from his seat\r
+to look round to the door, near which I still stood.\r
+\r
+"Ah! well, come forward; be seated here." He drew a chair near his own.\r
+"I am not fond of the prattle of children," he continued; "for, old\r
+bachelor as I am, I have no pleasant associations connected with their\r
+lisp. It would be intolerable to me to pass a whole evening\r
+_tete-a-tete_ with a brat. Don't draw that chair farther off, Miss Eyre;\r
+sit down exactly where I placed it--if you please, that is. Confound\r
+these civilities! I continually forget them. Nor do I particularly\r
+affect simple-minded old ladies. By-the-bye, I must have mine in mind;\r
+it won't do to neglect her; she is a Fairfax, or wed to one; and blood is\r
+said to be thicker than water."\r
+\r
+He rang, and despatched an invitation to Mrs. Fairfax, who soon arrived,\r
+knitting-basket in hand.\r
+\r
+"Good evening, madam; I sent to you for a charitable purpose. I have\r
+forbidden Adele to talk to me about her presents, and she is bursting\r
+with repletion: have the goodness to serve her as auditress and\r
+interlocutrice; it will be one of the most benevolent acts you ever\r
+performed."\r
+\r
+Adele, indeed, no sooner saw Mrs. Fairfax, than she summoned her to her\r
+sofa, and there quickly filled her lap with the porcelain, the ivory, the\r
+waxen contents of her "boite;" pouring out, meantime, explanations and\r
+raptures in such broken English as she was mistress of.\r
+\r
+"Now I have performed the part of a good host," pursued Mr. Rochester,\r
+"put my guests into the way of amusing each other, I ought to be at\r
+liberty to attend to my own pleasure. Miss Eyre, draw your chair still a\r
+little farther forward: you are yet too far back; I cannot see you\r
+without disturbing my position in this comfortable chair, which I have no\r
+mind to do."\r
+\r
+I did as I was bid, though I would much rather have remained somewhat in\r
+the shade; but Mr. Rochester had such a direct way of giving orders, it\r
+seemed a matter of course to obey him promptly.\r
+\r
+We were, as I have said, in the dining-room: the lustre, which had been\r
+lit for dinner, filled the room with a festal breadth of light; the large\r
+fire was all red and clear; the purple curtains hung rich and ample\r
+before the lofty window and loftier arch; everything was still, save the\r
+subdued chat of Adele (she dared not speak loud), and, filling up each\r
+pause, the beating of winter rain against the panes.\r
+\r
+Mr. Rochester, as he sat in his damask-covered chair, looked different to\r
+what I had seen him look before; not quite so stern--much less gloomy.\r
+There was a smile on his lips, and his eyes sparkled, whether with wine\r
+or not, I am not sure; but I think it very probable. He was, in short,\r
+in his after-dinner mood; more expanded and genial, and also more self-\r
+indulgent than the frigid and rigid temper of the morning; still he\r
+looked preciously grim, cushioning his massive head against the swelling\r
+back of his chair, and receiving the light of the fire on his granite-\r
+hewn features, and in his great, dark eyes; for he had great, dark eyes,\r
+and very fine eyes, too--not without a certain change in their depths\r
+sometimes, which, if it was not softness, reminded you, at least, of that\r
+feeling.\r
+\r
+He had been looking two minutes at the fire, and I had been looking the\r
+same length of time at him, when, turning suddenly, he caught my gaze\r
+fastened on his physiognomy.\r
+\r
+"You examine me, Miss Eyre," said he: "do you think me handsome?"\r
+\r
+I should, if I had deliberated, have replied to this question by\r
+something conventionally vague and polite; but the answer somehow slipped\r
+from my tongue before I was aware--"No, sir."\r
+\r
+"Ah! By my word! there is something singular about you," said he: "you\r
+have the air of a little _nonnette_; quaint, quiet, grave, and simple, as\r
+you sit with your hands before you, and your eyes generally bent on the\r
+carpet (except, by-the-bye, when they are directed piercingly to my face;\r
+as just now, for instance); and when one asks you a question, or makes a\r
+remark to which you are obliged to reply, you rap out a round rejoinder,\r
+which, if not blunt, is at least brusque. What do you mean by it?"\r
+\r
+"Sir, I was too plain; I beg your pardon. I ought to have replied that\r
+it was not easy to give an impromptu answer to a question about\r
+appearances; that tastes mostly differ; and that beauty is of little\r
+consequence, or something of that sort."\r
+\r
+"You ought to have replied no such thing. Beauty of little consequence,\r
+indeed! And so, under pretence of softening the previous outrage, of\r
+stroking and soothing me into placidity, you stick a sly penknife under\r
+my ear! Go on: what fault do you find with me, pray? I suppose I have\r
+all my limbs and all my features like any other man?"\r
+\r
+"Mr. Rochester, allow me to disown my first answer: I intended no pointed\r
+repartee: it was only a blunder."\r
+\r
+"Just so: I think so: and you shall be answerable for it. Criticise me:\r
+does my forehead not please you?"\r
+\r
+He lifted up the sable waves of hair which lay horizontally over his\r
+brow, and showed a solid enough mass of intellectual organs, but an\r
+abrupt deficiency where the suave sign of benevolence should have risen.\r
+\r
+"Now, ma'am, am I a fool?"\r
+\r
+"Far from it, sir. You would, perhaps, think me rude if I inquired in\r
+return whether you are a philanthropist?"\r
+\r
+"There again! Another stick of the penknife, when she pretended to pat\r
+my head: and that is because I said I did not like the society of\r
+children and old women (low be it spoken!). No, young lady, I am not a\r
+general philanthropist; but I bear a conscience;" and he pointed to the\r
+prominences which are said to indicate that faculty, and which,\r
+fortunately for him, were sufficiently conspicuous; giving, indeed, a\r
+marked breadth to the upper part of his head: "and, besides, I once had a\r
+kind of rude tenderness of heart. When I was as old as you, I was a\r
+feeling fellow enough, partial to the unfledged, unfostered, and unlucky;\r
+but Fortune has knocked me about since: she has even kneaded me with her\r
+knuckles, and now I flatter myself I am hard and tough as an India-rubber\r
+ball; pervious, though, through a chink or two still, and with one\r
+sentient point in the middle of the lump. Yes: does that leave hope for\r
+me?"\r
+\r
+"Hope of what, sir?"\r
+\r
+"Of my final re-transformation from India-rubber back to flesh?"\r
+\r
+"Decidedly he has had too much wine," I thought; and I did not know what\r
+answer to make to his queer question: how could I tell whether he was\r
+capable of being re-transformed?\r
+\r
+"You looked very much puzzled, Miss Eyre; and though you are not pretty\r
+any more than I am handsome, yet a puzzled air becomes you; besides, it\r
+is convenient, for it keeps those searching eyes of yours away from my\r
+physiognomy, and busies them with the worsted flowers of the rug; so\r
+puzzle on. Young lady, I am disposed to be gregarious and communicative\r
+to-night."\r
+\r
+With this announcement he rose from his chair, and stood, leaning his arm\r
+on the marble mantelpiece: in that attitude his shape was seen plainly as\r
+well as his face; his unusual breadth of chest, disproportionate almost\r
+to his length of limb. I am sure most people would have thought him an\r
+ugly man; yet there was so much unconscious pride in his port; so much\r
+ease in his demeanour; such a look of complete indifference to his own\r
+external appearance; so haughty a reliance on the power of other\r
+qualities, intrinsic or adventitious, to atone for the lack of mere\r
+personal attractiveness, that, in looking at him, one inevitably shared\r
+the indifference, and, even in a blind, imperfect sense, put faith in the\r
+confidence.\r
+\r
+"I am disposed to be gregarious and communicative to-night," he repeated,\r
+"and that is why I sent for you: the fire and the chandelier were not\r
+sufficient company for me; nor would Pilot have been, for none of these\r
+can talk. Adele is a degree better, but still far below the mark; Mrs.\r
+Fairfax ditto; you, I am persuaded, can suit me if you will: you puzzled\r
+me the first evening I invited you down here. I have almost forgotten\r
+you since: other ideas have driven yours from my head; but to-night I am\r
+resolved to be at ease; to dismiss what importunes, and recall what\r
+pleases. It would please me now to draw you out--to learn more of\r
+you--therefore speak."\r
+\r
+Instead of speaking, I smiled; and not a very complacent or submissive\r
+smile either.\r
+\r
+"Speak," he urged.\r
+\r
+"What about, sir?"\r
+\r
+"Whatever you like. I leave both the choice of subject and the manner of\r
+treating it entirely to yourself."\r
+\r
+Accordingly I sat and said nothing: "If he expects me to talk for the\r
+mere sake of talking and showing off, he will find he has addressed\r
+himself to the wrong person," I thought.\r
+\r
+"You are dumb, Miss Eyre."\r
+\r
+I was dumb still. He bent his head a little towards me, and with a\r
+single hasty glance seemed to dive into my eyes.\r
+\r
+"Stubborn?" he said, "and annoyed. Ah! it is consistent. I put my\r
+request in an absurd, almost insolent form. Miss Eyre, I beg your\r
+pardon. The fact is, once for all, I don't wish to treat you like an\r
+inferior: that is" (correcting himself), "I claim only such superiority\r
+as must result from twenty years' difference in age and a century's\r
+advance in experience. This is legitimate, _et j'y tiens_, as Adele\r
+would say; and it is by virtue of this superiority, and this alone, that\r
+I desire you to have the goodness to talk to me a little now, and divert\r
+my thoughts, which are galled with dwelling on one point--cankering as a\r
+rusty nail."\r
+\r
+He had deigned an explanation, almost an apology, and I did not feel\r
+insensible to his condescension, and would not seem so.\r
+\r
+"I am willing to amuse you, if I can, sir--quite willing; but I cannot\r
+introduce a topic, because how do I know what will interest you? Ask me\r
+questions, and I will do my best to answer them."\r
+\r
+"Then, in the first place, do you agree with me that I have a right to be\r
+a little masterful, abrupt, perhaps exacting, sometimes, on the grounds I\r
+stated, namely, that I am old enough to be your father, and that I have\r
+battled through a varied experience with many men of many nations, and\r
+roamed over half the globe, while you have lived quietly with one set of\r
+people in one house?"\r
+\r
+"Do as you please, sir."\r
+\r
+"That is no answer; or rather it is a very irritating, because a very\r
+evasive one. Reply clearly."\r
+\r
+"I don't think, sir, you have a right to command me, merely because you\r
+are older than I, or because you have seen more of the world than I have;\r
+your claim to superiority depends on the use you have made of your time\r
+and experience."\r
+\r
+"Humph! Promptly spoken. But I won't allow that, seeing that it would\r
+never suit my case, as I have made an indifferent, not to say a bad, use\r
+of both advantages. Leaving superiority out of the question, then, you\r
+must still agree to receive my orders now and then, without being piqued\r
+or hurt by the tone of command. Will you?"\r
+\r
+I smiled: I thought to myself Mr. Rochester _is_ peculiar--he seems to\r
+forget that he pays me 30 pounds per annum for receiving his orders.\r
+\r
+"The smile is very well," said he, catching instantly the passing\r
+expression; "but speak too."\r
+\r
+"I was thinking, sir, that very few masters would trouble themselves to\r
+inquire whether or not their paid subordinates were piqued and hurt by\r
+their orders."\r
+\r
+"Paid subordinates! What! you are my paid subordinate, are you? Oh yes,\r
+I had forgotten the salary! Well then, on that mercenary ground, will\r
+you agree to let me hector a little?"\r
+\r
+"No, sir, not on that ground; but, on the ground that you did forget it,\r
+and that you care whether or not a dependent is comfortable in his\r
+dependency, I agree heartily."\r
+\r
+"And will you consent to dispense with a great many conventional forms\r
+and phrases, without thinking that the omission arises from insolence?"\r
+\r
+"I am sure, sir, I should never mistake informality for insolence: one I\r
+rather like, the other nothing free-born would submit to, even for a\r
+salary."\r
+\r
+"Humbug! Most things free-born will submit to anything for a salary;\r
+therefore, keep to yourself, and don't venture on generalities of which\r
+you are intensely ignorant. However, I mentally shake hands with you for\r
+your answer, despite its inaccuracy; and as much for the manner in which\r
+it was said, as for the substance of the speech; the manner was frank and\r
+sincere; one does not often see such a manner: no, on the contrary,\r
+affectation, or coldness, or stupid, coarse-minded misapprehension of\r
+one's meaning are the usual rewards of candour. Not three in three\r
+thousand raw school-girl-governesses would have answered me as you have\r
+just done. But I don't mean to flatter you: if you are cast in a\r
+different mould to the majority, it is no merit of yours: Nature did it.\r
+And then, after all, I go too fast in my conclusions: for what I yet\r
+know, you may be no better than the rest; you may have intolerable\r
+defects to counterbalance your few good points."\r
+\r
+"And so may you," I thought. My eye met his as the idea crossed my mind:\r
+he seemed to read the glance, answering as if its import had been spoken\r
+as well as imagined--\r
+\r
+"Yes, yes, you are right," said he; "I have plenty of faults of my own: I\r
+know it, and I don't wish to palliate them, I assure you. God wot I need\r
+not be too severe about others; I have a past existence, a series of\r
+deeds, a colour of life to contemplate within my own breast, which might\r
+well call my sneers and censures from my neighbours to myself. I\r
+started, or rather (for like other defaulters, I like to lay half the\r
+blame on ill fortune and adverse circumstances) was thrust on to a wrong\r
+tack at the age of one-and-twenty, and have never recovered the right\r
+course since: but I might have been very different; I might have been as\r
+good as you--wiser--almost as stainless. I envy you your peace of mind,\r
+your clean conscience, your unpolluted memory. Little girl, a memory\r
+without blot or contamination must be an exquisite treasure--an\r
+inexhaustible source of pure refreshment: is it not?"\r
+\r
+"How was your memory when you were eighteen, sir?"\r
+\r
+"All right then; limpid, salubrious: no gush of bilge water had turned it\r
+to fetid puddle. I was your equal at eighteen--quite your equal. Nature\r
+meant me to be, on the whole, a good man, Miss Eyre; one of the better\r
+kind, and you see I am not so. You would say you don't see it; at least\r
+I flatter myself I read as much in your eye (beware, by-the-bye, what you\r
+express with that organ; I am quick at interpreting its language). Then\r
+take my word for it,--I am not a villain: you are not to suppose that--not\r
+to attribute to me any such bad eminence; but, owing, I verily believe,\r
+rather to circumstances than to my natural bent, I am a trite commonplace\r
+sinner, hackneyed in all the poor petty dissipations with which the rich\r
+and worthless try to put on life. Do you wonder that I avow this to you?\r
+Know, that in the course of your future life you will often find yourself\r
+elected the involuntary confidant of your acquaintances' secrets: people\r
+will instinctively find out, as I have done, that it is not your forte to\r
+tell of yourself, but to listen while others talk of themselves; they\r
+will feel, too, that you listen with no malevolent scorn of their\r
+indiscretion, but with a kind of innate sympathy; not the less comforting\r
+and encouraging because it is very unobtrusive in its manifestations."\r
+\r
+"How do you know?--how can you guess all this, sir?"\r
+\r
+"I know it well; therefore I proceed almost as freely as if I were\r
+writing my thoughts in a diary. You would say, I should have been\r
+superior to circumstances; so I should--so I should; but you see I was\r
+not. When fate wronged me, I had not the wisdom to remain cool: I turned\r
+desperate; then I degenerated. Now, when any vicious simpleton excites\r
+my disgust by his paltry ribaldry, I cannot flatter myself that I am\r
+better than he: I am forced to confess that he and I are on a level. I\r
+wish I had stood firm--God knows I do! Dread remorse when you are\r
+tempted to err, Miss Eyre; remorse is the poison of life."\r
+\r
+"Repentance is said to be its cure, sir."\r
+\r
+"It is not its cure. Reformation may be its cure; and I could reform--I\r
+have strength yet for that--if--but where is the use of thinking of it,\r
+hampered, burdened, cursed as I am? Besides, since happiness is\r
+irrevocably denied me, I have a right to get pleasure out of life: and I\r
+_will_ get it, cost what it may."\r
+\r
+"Then you will degenerate still more, sir."\r
+\r
+"Possibly: yet why should I, if I can get sweet, fresh pleasure? And I\r
+may get it as sweet and fresh as the wild honey the bee gathers on the\r
+moor."\r
+\r
+"It will sting--it will taste bitter, sir."\r
+\r
+"How do you know?--you never tried it. How very serious--how very solemn\r
+you look: and you are as ignorant of the matter as this cameo head"\r
+(taking one from the mantelpiece). "You have no right to preach to me,\r
+you neophyte, that have not passed the porch of life, and are absolutely\r
+unacquainted with its mysteries."\r
+\r
+"I only remind you of your own words, sir: you said error brought\r
+remorse, and you pronounced remorse the poison of existence."\r
+\r
+"And who talks of error now? I scarcely think the notion that flittered\r
+across my brain was an error. I believe it was an inspiration rather\r
+than a temptation: it was very genial, very soothing--I know that. Here\r
+it comes again! It is no devil, I assure you; or if it be, it has put on\r
+the robes of an angel of light. I think I must admit so fair a guest\r
+when it asks entrance to my heart."\r
+\r
+"Distrust it, sir; it is not a true angel."\r
+\r
+"Once more, how do you know? By what instinct do you pretend to\r
+distinguish between a fallen seraph of the abyss and a messenger from the\r
+eternal throne--between a guide and a seducer?"\r
+\r
+"I judged by your countenance, sir, which was troubled when you said the\r
+suggestion had returned upon you. I feel sure it will work you more\r
+misery if you listen to it."\r
+\r
+"Not at all--it bears the most gracious message in the world: for the\r
+rest, you are not my conscience-keeper, so don't make yourself uneasy.\r
+Here, come in, bonny wanderer!"\r
+\r
+He said this as if he spoke to a vision, viewless to any eye but his own;\r
+then, folding his arms, which he had half extended, on his chest, he\r
+seemed to enclose in their embrace the invisible being.\r
+\r
+"Now," he continued, again addressing me, "I have received the pilgrim--a\r
+disguised deity, as I verily believe. Already it has done me good: my\r
+heart was a sort of charnel; it will now be a shrine."\r
+\r
+"To speak truth, sir, I don't understand you at all: I cannot keep up the\r
+conversation, because it has got out of my depth. Only one thing, I\r
+know: you said you were not as good as you should like to be, and that\r
+you regretted your own imperfection;--one thing I can comprehend: you\r
+intimated that to have a sullied memory was a perpetual bane. It seems\r
+to me, that if you tried hard, you would in time find it possible to\r
+become what you yourself would approve; and that if from this day you\r
+began with resolution to correct your thoughts and actions, you would in\r
+a few years have laid up a new and stainless store of recollections, to\r
+which you might revert with pleasure."\r
+\r
+"Justly thought; rightly said, Miss Eyre; and, at this moment, I am\r
+paving hell with energy."\r
+\r
+"Sir?"\r
+\r
+"I am laying down good intentions, which I believe durable as flint.\r
+Certainly, my associates and pursuits shall be other than they have\r
+been."\r
+\r
+"And better?"\r
+\r
+"And better--so much better as pure ore is than foul dross. You seem to\r
+doubt me; I don't doubt myself: I know what my aim is, what my motives\r
+are; and at this moment I pass a law, unalterable as that of the Medes\r
+and Persians, that both are right."\r
+\r
+"They cannot be, sir, if they require a new statute to legalise them."\r
+\r
+"They are, Miss Eyre, though they absolutely require a new statute:\r
+unheard-of combinations of circumstances demand unheard-of rules."\r
+\r
+"That sounds a dangerous maxim, sir; because one can see at once that it\r
+is liable to abuse."\r
+\r
+"Sententious sage! so it is: but I swear by my household gods not to\r
+abuse it."\r
+\r
+"You are human and fallible."\r
+\r
+"I am: so are you--what then?"\r
+\r
+"The human and fallible should not arrogate a power with which the divine\r
+and perfect alone can be safely intrusted."\r
+\r
+"What power?"\r
+\r
+"That of saying of any strange, unsanctioned line of action,--'Let it be\r
+right.'"\r
+\r
+"'Let it be right'--the very words: you have pronounced them."\r
+\r
+"_May_ it be right then," I said, as I rose, deeming it useless to\r
+continue a discourse which was all darkness to me; and, besides, sensible\r
+that the character of my interlocutor was beyond my penetration; at\r
+least, beyond its present reach; and feeling the uncertainty, the vague\r
+sense of insecurity, which accompanies a conviction of ignorance.\r
+\r
+"Where are you going?"\r
+\r
+"To put Adele to bed: it is past her bedtime."\r
+\r
+"You are afraid of me, because I talk like a Sphynx."\r
+\r
+"Your language is enigmatical, sir: but though I am bewildered, I am\r
+certainly not afraid."\r
+\r
+"You _are_ afraid--your self-love dreads a blunder."\r
+\r
+"In that sense I do feel apprehensive--I have no wish to talk nonsense."\r
+\r
+"If you did, it would be in such a grave, quiet manner, I should mistake\r
+it for sense. Do you never laugh, Miss Eyre? Don't trouble yourself to\r
+answer--I see you laugh rarely; but you can laugh very merrily: believe\r
+me, you are not naturally austere, any more than I am naturally vicious.\r
+The Lowood constraint still clings to you somewhat; controlling your\r
+features, muffling your voice, and restricting your limbs; and you fear\r
+in the presence of a man and a brother--or father, or master, or what you\r
+will--to smile too gaily, speak too freely, or move too quickly: but, in\r
+time, I think you will learn to be natural with me, as I find it\r
+impossible to be conventional with you; and then your looks and movements\r
+will have more vivacity and variety than they dare offer now. I see at\r
+intervals the glance of a curious sort of bird through the close-set bars\r
+of a cage: a vivid, restless, resolute captive is there; were it but\r
+free, it would soar cloud-high. You are still bent on going?"\r
+\r
+"It has struck nine, sir."\r
+\r
+"Never mind,--wait a minute: Adele is not ready to go to bed yet. My\r
+position, Miss Eyre, with my back to the fire, and my face to the room,\r
+favours observation. While talking to you, I have also occasionally\r
+watched Adele (I have my own reasons for thinking her a curious\r
+study,--reasons that I may, nay, that I shall, impart to you some day).\r
+She pulled out of her box, about ten minutes ago, a little pink silk\r
+frock; rapture lit her face as she unfolded it; coquetry runs in her\r
+blood, blends with her brains, and seasons the marrow of her bones. 'Il\r
+faut que je l'essaie!' cried she, 'et a l'instant meme!' and she rushed\r
+out of the room. She is now with Sophie, undergoing a robing process: in\r
+a few minutes she will re-enter; and I know what I shall see,--a\r
+miniature of Celine Varens, as she used to appear on the boards at the\r
+rising of--But never mind that. However, my tenderest feelings are about\r
+to receive a shock: such is my presentiment; stay now, to see whether it\r
+will be realised."\r
+\r
+Ere long, Adele's little foot was heard tripping across the hall. She\r
+entered, transformed as her guardian had predicted. A dress of\r
+rose-coloured satin, very short, and as full in the skirt as it could be\r
+gathered, replaced the brown frock she had previously worn; a wreath of\r
+rosebuds circled her forehead; her feet were dressed in silk stockings\r
+and small white satin sandals.\r
+\r
+"Est-ce que ma robe va bien?" cried she, bounding forwards; "et mes\r
+souliers? et mes bas? Tenez, je crois que je vais danser!"\r
+\r
+And spreading out her dress, she chasseed across the room till, having\r
+reached Mr. Rochester, she wheeled lightly round before him on tip-toe,\r
+then dropped on one knee at his feet, exclaiming--\r
+\r
+"Monsieur, je vous remercie mille fois de votre bonte;" then rising, she\r
+added, "C'est comme cela que maman faisait, n'est-ce pas, monsieur?"\r
+\r
+"Pre-cise-ly!" was the answer; "and, 'comme cela,' she charmed my English\r
+gold out of my British breeches' pocket. I have been green, too, Miss\r
+Eyre,--ay, grass green: not a more vernal tint freshens you now than once\r
+freshened me. My Spring is gone, however, but it has left me that French\r
+floweret on my hands, which, in some moods, I would fain be rid of. Not\r
+valuing now the root whence it sprang; having found that it was of a sort\r
+which nothing but gold dust could manure, I have but half a liking to the\r
+blossom, especially when it looks so artificial as just now. I keep it\r
+and rear it rather on the Roman Catholic principle of expiating numerous\r
+sins, great or small, by one good work. I'll explain all this some day.\r
+Good-night."\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER XV\r
+\r
+\r
+Mr. Rochester did, on a future occasion, explain it. It was one\r
+afternoon, when he chanced to meet me and Adele in the grounds: and while\r
+she played with Pilot and her shuttlecock, he asked me to walk up and\r
+down a long beech avenue within sight of her.\r
+\r
+He then said that she was the daughter of a French opera-dancer, Celine\r
+Varens, towards whom he had once cherished what he called a "_grande\r
+passion_." This passion Celine had professed to return with even\r
+superior ardour. He thought himself her idol, ugly as he was: he\r
+believed, as he said, that she preferred his "_taille d'athlete_" to the\r
+elegance of the Apollo Belvidere.\r
+\r
+"And, Miss Eyre, so much was I flattered by this preference of the Gallic\r
+sylph for her British gnome, that I installed her in an hotel; gave her a\r
+complete establishment of servants, a carriage, cashmeres, diamonds,\r
+dentelles, &c. In short, I began the process of ruining myself in the\r
+received style, like any other spoony. I had not, it seems, the\r
+originality to chalk out a new road to shame and destruction, but trode\r
+the old track with stupid exactness not to deviate an inch from the\r
+beaten centre. I had--as I deserved to have--the fate of all other\r
+spoonies. Happening to call one evening when Celine did not expect me, I\r
+found her out; but it was a warm night, and I was tired with strolling\r
+through Paris, so I sat down in her boudoir; happy to breathe the air\r
+consecrated so lately by her presence. No,--I exaggerate; I never\r
+thought there was any consecrating virtue about her: it was rather a sort\r
+of pastille perfume she had left; a scent of musk and amber, than an\r
+odour of sanctity. I was just beginning to stifle with the fumes of\r
+conservatory flowers and sprinkled essences, when I bethought myself to\r
+open the window and step out on to the balcony. It was moonlight and\r
+gaslight besides, and very still and serene. The balcony was furnished\r
+with a chair or two; I sat down, and took out a cigar,--I will take one\r
+now, if you will excuse me."\r
+\r
+Here ensued a pause, filled up by the producing and lighting of a cigar;\r
+having placed it to his lips and breathed a trail of Havannah incense on\r
+the freezing and sunless air, he went on--\r
+\r
+"I liked bonbons too in those days, Miss Eyre, and I was\r
+_croquant_--(overlook the barbarism)--_croquant_ chocolate comfits, and\r
+smoking alternately, watching meantime the equipages that rolled along\r
+the fashionable streets towards the neighbouring opera-house, when in an\r
+elegant close carriage drawn by a beautiful pair of English horses, and\r
+distinctly seen in the brilliant city-night, I recognised the 'voiture' I\r
+had given Celine. She was returning: of course my heart thumped with\r
+impatience against the iron rails I leant upon. The carriage stopped, as\r
+I had expected, at the hotel door; my flame (that is the very word for an\r
+opera inamorata) alighted: though muffed in a cloak--an unnecessary\r
+encumbrance, by-the-bye, on so warm a June evening--I knew her instantly\r
+by her little foot, seen peeping from the skirt of her dress, as she\r
+skipped from the carriage-step. Bending over the balcony, I was about to\r
+murmur 'Mon ange'--in a tone, of course, which should be audible to the\r
+ear of love alone--when a figure jumped from the carriage after her;\r
+cloaked also; but that was a spurred heel which had rung on the pavement,\r
+and that was a hatted head which now passed under the arched _porte\r
+cochere_ of the hotel.\r
+\r
+"You never felt jealousy, did you, Miss Eyre? Of course not: I need not\r
+ask you; because you never felt love. You have both sentiments yet to\r
+experience: your soul sleeps; the shock is yet to be given which shall\r
+waken it. You think all existence lapses in as quiet a flow as that in\r
+which your youth has hitherto slid away. Floating on with closed eyes\r
+and muffled ears, you neither see the rocks bristling not far off in the\r
+bed of the flood, nor hear the breakers boil at their base. But I tell\r
+you--and you may mark my words--you will come some day to a craggy pass\r
+in the channel, where the whole of life's stream will be broken up into\r
+whirl and tumult, foam and noise: either you will be dashed to atoms on\r
+crag points, or lifted up and borne on by some master-wave into a calmer\r
+current--as I am now.\r
+\r
+"I like this day; I like that sky of steel; I like the sternness and\r
+stillness of the world under this frost. I like Thornfield, its\r
+antiquity, its retirement, its old crow-trees and thorn-trees, its grey\r
+facade, and lines of dark windows reflecting that metal welkin: and yet\r
+how long have I abhorred the very thought of it, shunned it like a great\r
+plague-house? How I do still abhor--"\r
+\r
+He ground his teeth and was silent: he arrested his step and struck his\r
+boot against the hard ground. Some hated thought seemed to have him in\r
+its grip, and to hold him so tightly that he could not advance.\r
+\r
+We were ascending the avenue when he thus paused; the hall was before us.\r
+Lifting his eye to its battlements, he cast over them a glare such as I\r
+never saw before or since. Pain, shame, ire, impatience, disgust,\r
+detestation, seemed momentarily to hold a quivering conflict in the large\r
+pupil dilating under his ebon eyebrow. Wild was the wrestle which should\r
+be paramount; but another feeling rose and triumphed: something hard and\r
+cynical: self-willed and resolute: it settled his passion and petrified\r
+his countenance: he went on--\r
+\r
+"During the moment I was silent, Miss Eyre, I was arranging a point with\r
+my destiny. She stood there, by that beech-trunk--a hag like one of\r
+those who appeared to Macbeth on the heath of Forres. 'You like\r
+Thornfield?' she said, lifting her finger; and then she wrote in the air\r
+a memento, which ran in lurid hieroglyphics all along the house-front,\r
+between the upper and lower row of windows, 'Like it if you can! Like it\r
+if you dare!'\r
+\r
+"'I will like it,' said I; 'I dare like it;' and" (he subjoined moodily)\r
+"I will keep my word; I will break obstacles to happiness, to\r
+goodness--yes, goodness. I wish to be a better man than I have been,\r
+than I am; as Job's leviathan broke the spear, the dart, and the\r
+habergeon, hindrances which others count as iron and brass, I will esteem\r
+but straw and rotten wood."\r
+\r
+Adele here ran before him with her shuttlecock. "Away!" he cried\r
+harshly; "keep at a distance, child; or go in to Sophie!" Continuing\r
+then to pursue his walk in silence, I ventured to recall him to the point\r
+whence he had abruptly diverged--\r
+\r
+"Did you leave the balcony, sir," I asked, "when Mdlle. Varens entered?"\r
+\r
+I almost expected a rebuff for this hardly well-timed question, but, on\r
+the contrary, waking out of his scowling abstraction, he turned his eyes\r
+towards me, and the shade seemed to clear off his brow. "Oh, I had\r
+forgotten Celine! Well, to resume. When I saw my charmer thus come in\r
+accompanied by a cavalier, I seemed to hear a hiss, and the green snake\r
+of jealousy, rising on undulating coils from the moonlit balcony, glided\r
+within my waistcoat, and ate its way in two minutes to my heart's core.\r
+Strange!" he exclaimed, suddenly starting again from the point. "Strange\r
+that I should choose you for the confidant of all this, young lady;\r
+passing strange that you should listen to me quietly, as if it were the\r
+most usual thing in the world for a man like me to tell stories of his\r
+opera-mistresses to a quaint, inexperienced girl like you! But the last\r
+singularity explains the first, as I intimated once before: you, with\r
+your gravity, considerateness, and caution were made to be the recipient\r
+of secrets. Besides, I know what sort of a mind I have placed in\r
+communication with my own: I know it is one not liable to take infection:\r
+it is a peculiar mind: it is a unique one. Happily I do not mean to harm\r
+it: but, if I did, it would not take harm from me. The more you and I\r
+converse, the better; for while I cannot blight you, you may refresh me."\r
+After this digression he proceeded--\r
+\r
+"I remained in the balcony. 'They will come to her boudoir, no doubt,'\r
+thought I: 'let me prepare an ambush.' So putting my hand in through the\r
+open window, I drew the curtain over it, leaving only an opening through\r
+which I could take observations; then I closed the casement, all but a\r
+chink just wide enough to furnish an outlet to lovers' whispered vows:\r
+then I stole back to my chair; and as I resumed it the pair came in. My\r
+eye was quickly at the aperture. Celine's chamber-maid entered, lit a\r
+lamp, left it on the table, and withdrew. The couple were thus revealed\r
+to me clearly: both removed their cloaks, and there was 'the Varens,'\r
+shining in satin and jewels,--my gifts of course,--and there was her\r
+companion in an officer's uniform; and I knew him for a young roue of a\r
+vicomte--a brainless and vicious youth whom I had sometimes met in\r
+society, and had never thought of hating because I despised him so\r
+absolutely. On recognising him, the fang of the snake Jealousy was\r
+instantly broken; because at the same moment my love for Celine sank\r
+under an extinguisher. A woman who could betray me for such a rival was\r
+not worth contending for; she deserved only scorn; less, however, than I,\r
+who had been her dupe.\r
+\r
+"They began to talk; their conversation eased me completely: frivolous,\r
+mercenary, heartless, and senseless, it was rather calculated to weary\r
+than enrage a listener. A card of mine lay on the table; this being\r
+perceived, brought my name under discussion. Neither of them possessed\r
+energy or wit to belabour me soundly, but they insulted me as coarsely as\r
+they could in their little way: especially Celine, who even waxed rather\r
+brilliant on my personal defects--deformities she termed them. Now it\r
+had been her custom to launch out into fervent admiration of what she\r
+called my '_beaute male_:' wherein she differed diametrically from you,\r
+who told me point-blank, at the second interview, that you did not think\r
+me handsome. The contrast struck me at the time and--"\r
+\r
+Adele here came running up again.\r
+\r
+"Monsieur, John has just been to say that your agent has called and\r
+wishes to see you."\r
+\r
+"Ah! in that case I must abridge. Opening the window, I walked in upon\r
+them; liberated Celine from my protection; gave her notice to vacate her\r
+hotel; offered her a purse for immediate exigencies; disregarded screams,\r
+hysterics, prayers, protestations, convulsions; made an appointment with\r
+the vicomte for a meeting at the Bois de Boulogne. Next morning I had\r
+the pleasure of encountering him; left a bullet in one of his poor\r
+etiolated arms, feeble as the wing of a chicken in the pip, and then\r
+thought I had done with the whole crew. But unluckily the Varens, six\r
+months before, had given me this filette Adele, who, she affirmed, was my\r
+daughter; and perhaps she may be, though I see no proofs of such grim\r
+paternity written in her countenance: Pilot is more like me than she.\r
+Some years after I had broken with the mother, she abandoned her child,\r
+and ran away to Italy with a musician or singer. I acknowledged no\r
+natural claim on Adele's part to be supported by me, nor do I now\r
+acknowledge any, for I am not her father; but hearing that she was quite\r
+destitute, I e'en took the poor thing out of the slime and mud of Paris,\r
+and transplanted it here, to grow up clean in the wholesome soil of an\r
+English country garden. Mrs. Fairfax found you to train it; but now you\r
+know that it is the illegitimate offspring of a French opera-girl, you\r
+will perhaps think differently of your post and protegee: you will be\r
+coming to me some day with notice that you have found another place--that\r
+you beg me to look out for a new governess, &c.--Eh?"\r
+\r
+"No: Adele is not answerable for either her mother's faults or yours: I\r
+have a regard for her; and now that I know she is, in a sense,\r
+parentless--forsaken by her mother and disowned by you, sir--I shall\r
+cling closer to her than before. How could I possibly prefer the spoilt\r
+pet of a wealthy family, who would hate her governess as a nuisance, to a\r
+lonely little orphan, who leans towards her as a friend?"\r
+\r
+"Oh, that is the light in which you view it! Well, I must go in now; and\r
+you too: it darkens."\r
+\r
+But I stayed out a few minutes longer with Adele and Pilot--ran a race\r
+with her, and played a game of battledore and shuttlecock. When we went\r
+in, and I had removed her bonnet and coat, I took her on my knee; kept\r
+her there an hour, allowing her to prattle as she liked: not rebuking\r
+even some little freedoms and trivialities into which she was apt to\r
+stray when much noticed, and which betrayed in her a superficiality of\r
+character, inherited probably from her mother, hardly congenial to an\r
+English mind. Still she had her merits; and I was disposed to appreciate\r
+all that was good in her to the utmost. I sought in her countenance and\r
+features a likeness to Mr. Rochester, but found none: no trait, no turn\r
+of expression announced relationship. It was a pity: if she could but\r
+have been proved to resemble him, he would have thought more of her.\r
+\r
+It was not till after I had withdrawn to my own chamber for the night,\r
+that I steadily reviewed the tale Mr. Rochester had told me. As he had\r
+said, there was probably nothing at all extraordinary in the substance of\r
+the narrative itself: a wealthy Englishman's passion for a French dancer,\r
+and her treachery to him, were every-day matters enough, no doubt, in\r
+society; but there was something decidedly strange in the paroxysm of\r
+emotion which had suddenly seized him when he was in the act of\r
+expressing the present contentment of his mood, and his newly revived\r
+pleasure in the old hall and its environs. I meditated wonderingly on\r
+this incident; but gradually quitting it, as I found it for the present\r
+inexplicable, I turned to the consideration of my master's manner to\r
+myself. The confidence he had thought fit to repose in me seemed a\r
+tribute to my discretion: I regarded and accepted it as such. His\r
+deportment had now for some weeks been more uniform towards me than at\r
+the first. I never seemed in his way; he did not take fits of chilling\r
+hauteur: when he met me unexpectedly, the encounter seemed welcome; he\r
+had always a word and sometimes a smile for me: when summoned by formal\r
+invitation to his presence, I was honoured by a cordiality of reception\r
+that made me feel I really possessed the power to amuse him, and that\r
+these evening conferences were sought as much for his pleasure as for my\r
+benefit.\r
+\r
+I, indeed, talked comparatively little, but I heard him talk with relish.\r
+It was his nature to be communicative; he liked to open to a mind\r
+unacquainted with the world glimpses of its scenes and ways (I do not\r
+mean its corrupt scenes and wicked ways, but such as derived their\r
+interest from the great scale on which they were acted, the strange\r
+novelty by which they were characterised); and I had a keen delight in\r
+receiving the new ideas he offered, in imagining the new pictures he\r
+portrayed, and following him in thought through the new regions he\r
+disclosed, never startled or troubled by one noxious allusion.\r
+\r
+The ease of his manner freed me from painful restraint: the friendly\r
+frankness, as correct as cordial, with which he treated me, drew me to\r
+him. I felt at times as if he were my relation rather than my master:\r
+yet he was imperious sometimes still; but I did not mind that; I saw it\r
+was his way. So happy, so gratified did I become with this new interest\r
+added to life, that I ceased to pine after kindred: my thin\r
+crescent-destiny seemed to enlarge; the blanks of existence were filled\r
+up; my bodily health improved; I gathered flesh and strength.\r
+\r
+And was Mr. Rochester now ugly in my eyes? No, reader: gratitude, and\r
+many associations, all pleasurable and genial, made his face the object I\r
+best liked to see; his presence in a room was more cheering than the\r
+brightest fire. Yet I had not forgotten his faults; indeed, I could not,\r
+for he brought them frequently before me. He was proud, sardonic, harsh\r
+to inferiority of every description: in my secret soul I knew that his\r
+great kindness to me was balanced by unjust severity to many others. He\r
+was moody, too; unaccountably so; I more than once, when sent for to read\r
+to him, found him sitting in his library alone, with his head bent on his\r
+folded arms; and, when he looked up, a morose, almost a malignant, scowl\r
+blackened his features. But I believed that his moodiness, his\r
+harshness, and his former faults of morality (I say _former_, for now he\r
+seemed corrected of them) had their source in some cruel cross of fate. I\r
+believed he was naturally a man of better tendencies, higher principles,\r
+and purer tastes than such as circumstances had developed, education\r
+instilled, or destiny encouraged. I thought there were excellent\r
+materials in him; though for the present they hung together somewhat\r
+spoiled and tangled. I cannot deny that I grieved for his grief,\r
+whatever that was, and would have given much to assuage it.\r
+\r
+Though I had now extinguished my candle and was laid down in bed, I could\r
+not sleep for thinking of his look when he paused in the avenue, and told\r
+how his destiny had risen up before him, and dared him to be happy at\r
+Thornfield.\r
+\r
+"Why not?" I asked myself. "What alienates him from the house? Will he\r
+leave it again soon? Mrs. Fairfax said he seldom stayed here longer than\r
+a fortnight at a time; and he has now been resident eight weeks. If he\r
+does go, the change will be doleful. Suppose he should be absent spring,\r
+summer, and autumn: how joyless sunshine and fine days will seem!"\r
+\r
+I hardly know whether I had slept or not after this musing; at any rate,\r
+I started wide awake on hearing a vague murmur, peculiar and lugubrious,\r
+which sounded, I thought, just above me. I wished I had kept my candle\r
+burning: the night was drearily dark; my spirits were depressed. I rose\r
+and sat up in bed, listening. The sound was hushed.\r
+\r
+I tried again to sleep; but my heart beat anxiously: my inward\r
+tranquillity was broken. The clock, far down in the hall, struck two.\r
+Just then it seemed my chamber-door was touched; as if fingers had swept\r
+the panels in groping a way along the dark gallery outside. I said, "Who\r
+is there?" Nothing answered. I was chilled with fear.\r
+\r
+All at once I remembered that it might be Pilot, who, when the kitchen-\r
+door chanced to be left open, not unfrequently found his way up to the\r
+threshold of Mr. Rochester's chamber: I had seen him lying there myself\r
+in the mornings. The idea calmed me somewhat: I lay down. Silence\r
+composes the nerves; and as an unbroken hush now reigned again through\r
+the whole house, I began to feel the return of slumber. But it was not\r
+fated that I should sleep that night. A dream had scarcely approached my\r
+ear, when it fled affrighted, scared by a marrow-freezing incident\r
+enough.\r
+\r
+This was a demoniac laugh--low, suppressed, and deep--uttered, as it\r
+seemed, at the very keyhole of my chamber door. The head of my bed was\r
+near the door, and I thought at first the goblin-laugher stood at my\r
+bedside--or rather, crouched by my pillow: but I rose, looked round, and\r
+could see nothing; while, as I still gazed, the unnatural sound was\r
+reiterated: and I knew it came from behind the panels. My first impulse\r
+was to rise and fasten the bolt; my next, again to cry out, "Who is\r
+there?"\r
+\r
+Something gurgled and moaned. Ere long, steps retreated up the gallery\r
+towards the third-storey staircase: a door had lately been made to shut\r
+in that staircase; I heard it open and close, and all was still.\r
+\r
+"Was that Grace Poole? and is she possessed with a devil?" thought I.\r
+Impossible now to remain longer by myself: I must go to Mrs. Fairfax. I\r
+hurried on my frock and a shawl; I withdrew the bolt and opened the door\r
+with a trembling hand. There was a candle burning just outside, and on\r
+the matting in the gallery. I was surprised at this circumstance: but\r
+still more was I amazed to perceive the air quite dim, as if filled with\r
+smoke; and, while looking to the right hand and left, to find whence\r
+these blue wreaths issued, I became further aware of a strong smell of\r
+burning.\r
+\r
+Something creaked: it was a door ajar; and that door was Mr. Rochester's,\r
+and the smoke rushed in a cloud from thence. I thought no more of Mrs.\r
+Fairfax; I thought no more of Grace Poole, or the laugh: in an instant, I\r
+was within the chamber. Tongues of flame darted round the bed: the\r
+curtains were on fire. In the midst of blaze and vapour, Mr. Rochester\r
+lay stretched motionless, in deep sleep.\r
+\r
+"Wake! wake!" I cried. I shook him, but he only murmured and turned: the\r
+smoke had stupefied him. Not a moment could be lost: the very sheets\r
+were kindling, I rushed to his basin and ewer; fortunately, one was wide\r
+and the other deep, and both were filled with water. I heaved them up,\r
+deluged the bed and its occupant, flew back to my own room, brought my\r
+own water-jug, baptized the couch afresh, and, by God's aid, succeeded in\r
+extinguishing the flames which were devouring it.\r
+\r
+The hiss of the quenched element, the breakage of a pitcher which I flung\r
+from my hand when I had emptied it, and, above all, the splash of the\r
+shower-bath I had liberally bestowed, roused Mr. Rochester at last.\r
+Though it was now dark, I knew he was awake; because I heard him\r
+fulminating strange anathemas at finding himself lying in a pool of\r
+water.\r
+\r
+"Is there a flood?" he cried.\r
+\r
+"No, sir," I answered; "but there has been a fire: get up, do; you are\r
+quenched now; I will fetch you a candle."\r
+\r
+"In the name of all the elves in Christendom, is that Jane Eyre?" he\r
+demanded. "What have you done with me, witch, sorceress? Who is in the\r
+room besides you? Have you plotted to drown me?"\r
+\r
+"I will fetch you a candle, sir; and, in Heaven's name, get up. Somebody\r
+has plotted something: you cannot too soon find out who and what it is."\r
+\r
+"There! I am up now; but at your peril you fetch a candle yet: wait two\r
+minutes till I get into some dry garments, if any dry there be--yes, here\r
+is my dressing-gown. Now run!"\r
+\r
+I did run; I brought the candle which still remained in the gallery. He\r
+took it from my hand, held it up, and surveyed the bed, all blackened and\r
+scorched, the sheets drenched, the carpet round swimming in water.\r
+\r
+"What is it? and who did it?" he asked. I briefly related to him what\r
+had transpired: the strange laugh I had heard in the gallery: the step\r
+ascending to the third storey; the smoke,--the smell of fire which had\r
+conducted me to his room; in what state I had found matters there, and\r
+how I had deluged him with all the water I could lay hands on.\r
+\r
+{"What is it and who did it?" he asked: p140.jpg}\r
+\r
+He listened very gravely; his face, as I went on, expressed more concern\r
+than astonishment; he did not immediately speak when I had concluded.\r
+\r
+"Shall I call Mrs. Fairfax?" I asked.\r
+\r
+"Mrs. Fairfax? No; what the deuce would you call her for? What can she\r
+do? Let her sleep unmolested."\r
+\r
+"Then I will fetch Leah, and wake John and his wife."\r
+\r
+"Not at all: just be still. You have a shawl on. If you are not warm\r
+enough, you may take my cloak yonder; wrap it about you, and sit down in\r
+the arm-chair: there,--I will put it on. Now place your feet on the\r
+stool, to keep them out of the wet. I am going to leave you a few\r
+minutes. I shall take the candle. Remain where you are till I return;\r
+be as still as a mouse. I must pay a visit to the second storey. Don't\r
+move, remember, or call any one."\r
+\r
+He went: I watched the light withdraw. He passed up the gallery very\r
+softly, unclosed the staircase door with as little noise as possible,\r
+shut it after him, and the last ray vanished. I was left in total\r
+darkness. I listened for some noise, but heard nothing. A very long\r
+time elapsed. I grew weary: it was cold, in spite of the cloak; and then\r
+I did not see the use of staying, as I was not to rouse the house. I was\r
+on the point of risking Mr. Rochester's displeasure by disobeying his\r
+orders, when the light once more gleamed dimly on the gallery wall, and I\r
+heard his unshod feet tread the matting. "I hope it is he," thought I,\r
+"and not something worse."\r
+\r
+He re-entered, pale and very gloomy. "I have found it all out," said he,\r
+setting his candle down on the washstand; "it is as I thought."\r
+\r
+"How, sir?"\r
+\r
+He made no reply, but stood with his arms folded, looking on the ground.\r
+At the end of a few minutes he inquired in rather a peculiar tone--\r
+\r
+"I forget whether you said you saw anything when you opened your chamber\r
+door."\r
+\r
+"No, sir, only the candlestick on the ground."\r
+\r
+"But you heard an odd laugh? You have heard that laugh before, I should\r
+think, or something like it?"\r
+\r
+"Yes, sir: there is a woman who sews here, called Grace Poole,--she\r
+laughs in that way. She is a singular person."\r
+\r
+"Just so. Grace Poole--you have guessed it. She is, as you say,\r
+singular--very. Well, I shall reflect on the subject. Meantime, I am\r
+glad that you are the only person, besides myself, acquainted with the\r
+precise details of to-night's incident. You are no talking fool: say\r
+nothing about it. I will account for this state of affairs" (pointing to\r
+the bed): "and now return to your own room. I shall do very well on the\r
+sofa in the library for the rest of the night. It is near four:--in two\r
+hours the servants will be up."\r
+\r
+"Good-night, then, sir," said I, departing.\r
+\r
+He seemed surprised--very inconsistently so, as he had just told me to\r
+go.\r
+\r
+"What!" he exclaimed, "are you quitting me already, and in that way?"\r
+\r
+"You said I might go, sir."\r
+\r
+"But not without taking leave; not without a word or two of\r
+acknowledgment and good-will: not, in short, in that brief, dry fashion.\r
+Why, you have saved my life!--snatched me from a horrible and\r
+excruciating death! and you walk past me as if we were mutual strangers!\r
+At least shake hands."\r
+\r
+He held out his hand; I gave him mine: he took it first in one, them in\r
+both his own.\r
+\r
+"You have saved my life: I have a pleasure in owing you so immense a\r
+debt. I cannot say more. Nothing else that has being would have been\r
+tolerable to me in the character of creditor for such an obligation: but\r
+you: it is different;--I feel your benefits no burden, Jane."\r
+\r
+He paused; gazed at me: words almost visible trembled on his lips,--but\r
+his voice was checked.\r
+\r
+"Good-night again, sir. There is no debt, benefit, burden, obligation,\r
+in the case."\r
+\r
+"I knew," he continued, "you would do me good in some way, at some\r
+time;--I saw it in your eyes when I first beheld you: their expression\r
+and smile did not"--(again he stopped)--"did not" (he proceeded hastily)\r
+"strike delight to my very inmost heart so for nothing. People talk of\r
+natural sympathies; I have heard of good genii: there are grains of truth\r
+in the wildest fable. My cherished preserver, goodnight!"\r
+\r
+Strange energy was in his voice, strange fire in his look.\r
+\r
+"I am glad I happened to be awake," I said: and then I was going.\r
+\r
+"What! you _will_ go?"\r
+\r
+"I am cold, sir."\r
+\r
+"Cold? Yes,--and standing in a pool! Go, then, Jane; go!" But he still\r
+retained my hand, and I could not free it. I bethought myself of an\r
+expedient.\r
+\r
+"I think I hear Mrs. Fairfax move, sir," said I.\r
+\r
+"Well, leave me:" he relaxed his fingers, and I was gone.\r
+\r
+I regained my couch, but never thought of sleep. Till morning dawned I\r
+was tossed on a buoyant but unquiet sea, where billows of trouble rolled\r
+under surges of joy. I thought sometimes I saw beyond its wild waters a\r
+shore, sweet as the hills of Beulah; and now and then a freshening gale,\r
+wakened by hope, bore my spirit triumphantly towards the bourne: but I\r
+could not reach it, even in fancy--a counteracting breeze blew off land,\r
+and continually drove me back. Sense would resist delirium: judgment\r
+would warn passion. Too feverish to rest, I rose as soon as day dawned.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER XVI\r
+\r
+\r
+I both wished and feared to see Mr. Rochester on the day which followed\r
+this sleepless night: I wanted to hear his voice again, yet feared to\r
+meet his eye. During the early part of the morning, I momentarily\r
+expected his coming; he was not in the frequent habit of entering the\r
+schoolroom, but he did step in for a few minutes sometimes, and I had the\r
+impression that he was sure to visit it that day.\r
+\r
+But the morning passed just as usual: nothing happened to interrupt the\r
+quiet course of Adele's studies; only soon after breakfast, I heard some\r
+bustle in the neighbourhood of Mr. Rochester's chamber, Mrs. Fairfax's\r
+voice, and Leah's, and the cook's--that is, John's wife--and even John's\r
+own gruff tones. There were exclamations of "What a mercy master was not\r
+burnt in his bed!" "It is always dangerous to keep a candle lit at\r
+night." "How providential that he had presence of mind to think of the\r
+water-jug!" "I wonder he waked nobody!" "It is to be hoped he will not\r
+take cold with sleeping on the library sofa," &c.\r
+\r
+To much confabulation succeeded a sound of scrubbing and setting to\r
+rights; and when I passed the room, in going downstairs to dinner, I saw\r
+through the open door that all was again restored to complete order; only\r
+the bed was stripped of its hangings. Leah stood up in the window-seat,\r
+rubbing the panes of glass dimmed with smoke. I was about to address\r
+her, for I wished to know what account had been given of the affair: but,\r
+on advancing, I saw a second person in the chamber--a woman sitting on a\r
+chair by the bedside, and sewing rings to new curtains. That woman was\r
+no other than Grace Poole.\r
+\r
+There she sat, staid and taciturn-looking, as usual, in her brown stuff\r
+gown, her check apron, white handkerchief, and cap. She was intent on\r
+her work, in which her whole thoughts seemed absorbed: on her hard\r
+forehead, and in her commonplace features, was nothing either of the\r
+paleness or desperation one would have expected to see marking the\r
+countenance of a woman who had attempted murder, and whose intended\r
+victim had followed her last night to her lair, and (as I believed),\r
+charged her with the crime she wished to perpetrate. I was\r
+amazed--confounded. She looked up, while I still gazed at her: no start,\r
+no increase or failure of colour betrayed emotion, consciousness of\r
+guilt, or fear of detection. She said "Good morning, Miss," in her usual\r
+phlegmatic and brief manner; and taking up another ring and more tape,\r
+went on with her sewing.\r
+\r
+"I will put her to some test," thought I: "such absolute impenetrability\r
+is past comprehension."\r
+\r
+"Good morning, Grace," I said. "Has anything happened here? I thought I\r
+heard the servants all talking together a while ago."\r
+\r
+"Only master had been reading in his bed last night; he fell asleep with\r
+his candle lit, and the curtains got on fire; but, fortunately, he awoke\r
+before the bed-clothes or the wood-work caught, and contrived to quench\r
+the flames with the water in the ewer."\r
+\r
+"A strange affair!" I said, in a low voice: then, looking at her\r
+fixedly--"Did Mr. Rochester wake nobody? Did no one hear him move?"\r
+\r
+She again raised her eyes to me, and this time there was something of\r
+consciousness in their expression. She seemed to examine me warily; then\r
+she answered--\r
+\r
+"The servants sleep so far off, you know, Miss, they would not be likely\r
+to hear. Mrs. Fairfax's room and yours are the nearest to master's; but\r
+Mrs. Fairfax said she heard nothing: when people get elderly, they often\r
+sleep heavy." She paused, and then added, with a sort of assumed\r
+indifference, but still in a marked and significant tone--"But you are\r
+young, Miss; and I should say a light sleeper: perhaps you may have heard\r
+a noise?"\r
+\r
+"I did," said I, dropping my voice, so that Leah, who was still polishing\r
+the panes, could not hear me, "and at first I thought it was Pilot: but\r
+Pilot cannot laugh; and I am certain I heard a laugh, and a strange one."\r
+\r
+She took a new needleful of thread, waxed it carefully, threaded her\r
+needle with a steady hand, and then observed, with perfect composure--\r
+\r
+"It is hardly likely master would laugh, I should think, Miss, when he\r
+was in such danger: You must have been dreaming."\r
+\r
+"I was not dreaming," I said, with some warmth, for her brazen coolness\r
+provoked me. Again she looked at me; and with the same scrutinising and\r
+conscious eye.\r
+\r
+"Have you told master that you heard a laugh?" she inquired.\r
+\r
+"I have not had the opportunity of speaking to him this morning."\r
+\r
+"You did not think of opening your door and looking out into the\r
+gallery?" she further asked.\r
+\r
+She appeared to be cross-questioning me, attempting to draw from me\r
+information unawares. The idea struck me that if she discovered I knew\r
+or suspected her guilt, she would be playing of some of her malignant\r
+pranks on me; I thought it advisable to be on my guard.\r
+\r
+"On the contrary," said I, "I bolted my door."\r
+\r
+"Then you are not in the habit of bolting your door every night before\r
+you get into bed?"\r
+\r
+"Fiend! she wants to know my habits, that she may lay her plans\r
+accordingly!" Indignation again prevailed over prudence: I replied\r
+sharply, "Hitherto I have often omitted to fasten the bolt: I did not\r
+think it necessary. I was not aware any danger or annoyance was to be\r
+dreaded at Thornfield Hall: but in future" (and I laid marked stress on\r
+the words) "I shall take good care to make all secure before I venture to\r
+lie down."\r
+\r
+"It will be wise so to do," was her answer: "this neighbourhood is as\r
+quiet as any I know, and I never heard of the hall being attempted by\r
+robbers since it was a house; though there are hundreds of pounds' worth\r
+of plate in the plate-closet, as is well known. And you see, for such a\r
+large house, there are very few servants, because master has never lived\r
+here much; and when he does come, being a bachelor, he needs little\r
+waiting on: but I always think it best to err on the safe side; a door is\r
+soon fastened, and it is as well to have a drawn bolt between one and any\r
+mischief that may be about. A deal of people, Miss, are for trusting all\r
+to Providence; but I say Providence will not dispense with the means,\r
+though He often blesses them when they are used discreetly." And here\r
+she closed her harangue: a long one for her, and uttered with the\r
+demureness of a Quakeress.\r
+\r
+I still stood absolutely dumfoundered at what appeared to me her\r
+miraculous self-possession and most inscrutable hypocrisy, when the cook\r
+entered.\r
+\r
+"Mrs. Poole," said she, addressing Grace, "the servants' dinner will soon\r
+be ready: will you come down?"\r
+\r
+"No; just put my pint of porter and bit of pudding on a tray, and I'll\r
+carry it upstairs."\r
+\r
+"You'll have some meat?"\r
+\r
+"Just a morsel, and a taste of cheese, that's all."\r
+\r
+"And the sago?"\r
+\r
+"Never mind it at present: I shall be coming down before teatime: I'll\r
+make it myself."\r
+\r
+The cook here turned to me, saying that Mrs. Fairfax was waiting for me:\r
+so I departed.\r
+\r
+I hardly heard Mrs. Fairfax's account of the curtain conflagration during\r
+dinner, so much was I occupied in puzzling my brains over the enigmatical\r
+character of Grace Poole, and still more in pondering the problem of her\r
+position at Thornfield and questioning why she had not been given into\r
+custody that morning, or, at the very least, dismissed from her master's\r
+service. He had almost as much as declared his conviction of her\r
+criminality last night: what mysterious cause withheld him from accusing\r
+her? Why had he enjoined me, too, to secrecy? It was strange: a bold,\r
+vindictive, and haughty gentleman seemed somehow in the power of one of\r
+the meanest of his dependants; so much in her power, that even when she\r
+lifted her hand against his life, he dared not openly charge her with the\r
+attempt, much less punish her for it.\r
+\r
+Had Grace been young and handsome, I should have been tempted to think\r
+that tenderer feelings than prudence or fear influenced Mr. Rochester in\r
+her behalf; but, hard-favoured and matronly as she was, the idea could\r
+not be admitted. "Yet," I reflected, "she has been young once; her youth\r
+would be contemporary with her master's: Mrs. Fairfax told me once, she\r
+had lived here many years. I don't think she can ever have been pretty;\r
+but, for aught I know, she may possess originality and strength of\r
+character to compensate for the want of personal advantages. Mr.\r
+Rochester is an amateur of the decided and eccentric: Grace is eccentric\r
+at least. What if a former caprice (a freak very possible to a nature so\r
+sudden and headstrong as his) has delivered him into her power, and she\r
+now exercises over his actions a secret influence, the result of his own\r
+indiscretion, which he cannot shake off, and dare not disregard?" But,\r
+having reached this point of conjecture, Mrs. Poole's square, flat\r
+figure, and uncomely, dry, even coarse face, recurred so distinctly to my\r
+mind's eye, that I thought, "No; impossible! my supposition cannot be\r
+correct. Yet," suggested the secret voice which talks to us in our own\r
+hearts, "you are not beautiful either, and perhaps Mr. Rochester approves\r
+you: at any rate, you have often felt as if he did; and last\r
+night--remember his words; remember his look; remember his voice!"\r
+\r
+I well remembered all; language, glance, and tone seemed at the moment\r
+vividly renewed. I was now in the schoolroom; Adele was drawing; I bent\r
+over her and directed her pencil. She looked up with a sort of start.\r
+\r
+"Qu' avez-vous, mademoiselle?" said she. "Vos doigts tremblent comme la\r
+feuille, et vos joues sont rouges: mais, rouges comme des cerises!"\r
+\r
+"I am hot, Adele, with stooping!" She went on sketching; I went on\r
+thinking.\r
+\r
+I hastened to drive from my mind the hateful notion I had been conceiving\r
+respecting Grace Poole; it disgusted me. I compared myself with her, and\r
+found we were different. Bessie Leaven had said I was quite a lady; and\r
+she spoke truth--I was a lady. And now I looked much better than I did\r
+when Bessie saw me; I had more colour and more flesh, more life, more\r
+vivacity, because I had brighter hopes and keener enjoyments.\r
+\r
+"Evening approaches," said I, as I looked towards the window. "I have\r
+never heard Mr. Rochester's voice or step in the house to-day; but surely\r
+I shall see him before night: I feared the meeting in the morning; now I\r
+desire it, because expectation has been so long baffled that it is grown\r
+impatient."\r
+\r
+When dusk actually closed, and when Adele left me to go and play in the\r
+nursery with Sophie, I did most keenly desire it. I listened for the\r
+bell to ring below; I listened for Leah coming up with a message; I\r
+fancied sometimes I heard Mr. Rochester's own tread, and I turned to the\r
+door, expecting it to open and admit him. The door remained shut;\r
+darkness only came in through the window. Still it was not late; he\r
+often sent for me at seven and eight o'clock, and it was yet but six.\r
+Surely I should not be wholly disappointed to-night, when I had so many\r
+things to say to him! I wanted again to introduce the subject of Grace\r
+Poole, and to hear what he would answer; I wanted to ask him plainly if\r
+he really believed it was she who had made last night's hideous attempt;\r
+and if so, why he kept her wickedness a secret. It little mattered\r
+whether my curiosity irritated him; I knew the pleasure of vexing and\r
+soothing him by turns; it was one I chiefly delighted in, and a sure\r
+instinct always prevented me from going too far; beyond the verge of\r
+provocation I never ventured; on the extreme brink I liked well to try my\r
+skill. Retaining every minute form of respect, every propriety of my\r
+station, I could still meet him in argument without fear or uneasy\r
+restraint; this suited both him and me.\r
+\r
+A tread creaked on the stairs at last. Leah made her appearance; but it\r
+was only to intimate that tea was ready in Mrs. Fairfax's room. Thither\r
+I repaired, glad at least to go downstairs; for that brought me, I\r
+imagined, nearer to Mr. Rochester's presence.\r
+\r
+"You must want your tea," said the good lady, as I joined her; "you ate\r
+so little at dinner. I am afraid," she continued, "you are not well to-\r
+day: you look flushed and feverish."\r
+\r
+"Oh, quite well! I never felt better."\r
+\r
+"Then you must prove it by evincing a good appetite; will you fill the\r
+teapot while I knit off this needle?" Having completed her task, she\r
+rose to draw down the blind, which she had hitherto kept up, by way, I\r
+suppose, of making the most of daylight, though dusk was now fast\r
+deepening into total obscurity.\r
+\r
+"It is fair to-night," said she, as she looked through the panes, "though\r
+not starlight; Mr. Rochester has, on the whole, had a favourable day for\r
+his journey."\r
+\r
+"Journey!--Is Mr. Rochester gone anywhere? I did not know he was out."\r
+\r
+"Oh, he set off the moment he had breakfasted! He is gone to the Leas,\r
+Mr. Eshton's place, ten miles on the other side Millcote. I believe\r
+there is quite a party assembled there; Lord Ingram, Sir George Lynn,\r
+Colonel Dent, and others."\r
+\r
+"Do you expect him back to-night?"\r
+\r
+"No--nor to-morrow either; I should think he is very likely to stay a\r
+week or more: when these fine, fashionable people get together, they are\r
+so surrounded by elegance and gaiety, so well provided with all that can\r
+please and entertain, they are in no hurry to separate. Gentlemen\r
+especially are often in request on such occasions; and Mr. Rochester is\r
+so talented and so lively in society, that I believe he is a general\r
+favourite: the ladies are very fond of him; though you would not think\r
+his appearance calculated to recommend him particularly in their eyes:\r
+but I suppose his acquirements and abilities, perhaps his wealth and good\r
+blood, make amends for any little fault of look."\r
+\r
+"Are there ladies at the Leas?"\r
+\r
+"There are Mrs. Eshton and her three daughters--very elegant young ladies\r
+indeed; and there are the Honourable Blanche and Mary Ingram, most\r
+beautiful women, I suppose: indeed I have seen Blanche, six or seven\r
+years since, when she was a girl of eighteen. She came here to a\r
+Christmas ball and party Mr. Rochester gave. You should have seen the\r
+dining-room that day--how richly it was decorated, how brilliantly lit\r
+up! I should think there were fifty ladies and gentlemen present--all of\r
+the first county families; and Miss Ingram was considered the belle of\r
+the evening."\r
+\r
+"You saw her, you say, Mrs. Fairfax: what was she like?"\r
+\r
+"Yes, I saw her. The dining-room doors were thrown open; and, as it was\r
+Christmas-time, the servants were allowed to assemble in the hall, to\r
+hear some of the ladies sing and play. Mr. Rochester would have me to\r
+come in, and I sat down in a quiet corner and watched them. I never saw\r
+a more splendid scene: the ladies were magnificently dressed; most of\r
+them--at least most of the younger ones--looked handsome; but Miss Ingram\r
+was certainly the queen."\r
+\r
+"And what was she like?"\r
+\r
+"Tall, fine bust, sloping shoulders; long, graceful neck: olive\r
+complexion, dark and clear; noble features; eyes rather like Mr.\r
+Rochester's: large and black, and as brilliant as her jewels. And then\r
+she had such a fine head of hair; raven-black and so becomingly arranged:\r
+a crown of thick plaits behind, and in front the longest, the glossiest\r
+curls I ever saw. She was dressed in pure white; an amber-coloured scarf\r
+was passed over her shoulder and across her breast, tied at the side, and\r
+descending in long, fringed ends below her knee. She wore an\r
+amber-coloured flower, too, in her hair: it contrasted well with the\r
+jetty mass of her curls."\r
+\r
+"She was greatly admired, of course?"\r
+\r
+"Yes, indeed: and not only for her beauty, but for her accomplishments.\r
+She was one of the ladies who sang: a gentleman accompanied her on the\r
+piano. She and Mr. Rochester sang a duet."\r
+\r
+"Mr. Rochester? I was not aware he could sing."\r
+\r
+"Oh! he has a fine bass voice, and an excellent taste for music."\r
+\r
+"And Miss Ingram: what sort of a voice had she?"\r
+\r
+"A very rich and powerful one: she sang delightfully; it was a treat to\r
+listen to her;--and she played afterwards. I am no judge of music, but\r
+Mr. Rochester is; and I heard him say her execution was remarkably good."\r
+\r
+"And this beautiful and accomplished lady, she is not yet married?"\r
+\r
+"It appears not: I fancy neither she nor her sister have very large\r
+fortunes. Old Lord Ingram's estates were chiefly entailed, and the\r
+eldest son came in for everything almost."\r
+\r
+"But I wonder no wealthy nobleman or gentleman has taken a fancy to her:\r
+Mr. Rochester, for instance. He is rich, is he not?"\r
+\r
+"Oh! yes. But you see there is a considerable difference in age: Mr.\r
+Rochester is nearly forty; she is but twenty-five."\r
+\r
+"What of that? More unequal matches are made every day."\r
+\r
+"True: yet I should scarcely fancy Mr. Rochester would entertain an idea\r
+of the sort. But you eat nothing: you have scarcely tasted since you\r
+began tea."\r
+\r
+"No: I am too thirsty to eat. Will you let me have another cup?"\r
+\r
+I was about again to revert to the probability of a union between Mr.\r
+Rochester and the beautiful Blanche; but Adele came in, and the\r
+conversation was turned into another channel.\r
+\r
+When once more alone, I reviewed the information I had got; looked into\r
+my heart, examined its thoughts and feelings, and endeavoured to bring\r
+back with a strict hand such as had been straying through imagination's\r
+boundless and trackless waste, into the safe fold of common sense.\r
+\r
+Arraigned at my own bar, Memory having given her evidence of the hopes,\r
+wishes, sentiments I had been cherishing since last night--of the general\r
+state of mind in which I had indulged for nearly a fortnight past; Reason\r
+having come forward and told, in her own quiet way a plain, unvarnished\r
+tale, showing how I had rejected the real, and rabidly devoured the\r
+ideal;--I pronounced judgment to this effect:--\r
+\r
+That a greater fool than Jane Eyre had never breathed the breath of life;\r
+that a more fantastic idiot had never surfeited herself on sweet lies,\r
+and swallowed poison as if it were nectar.\r
+\r
+"_You_," I said, "a favourite with Mr. Rochester? _You_ gifted with the\r
+power of pleasing him? _You_ of importance to him in any way? Go! your\r
+folly sickens me. And you have derived pleasure from occasional tokens\r
+of preference--equivocal tokens shown by a gentleman of family and a man\r
+of the world to a dependent and a novice. How dared you? Poor stupid\r
+dupe!--Could not even self-interest make you wiser? You repeated to\r
+yourself this morning the brief scene of last night?--Cover your face and\r
+be ashamed! He said something in praise of your eyes, did he? Blind\r
+puppy! Open their bleared lids and look on your own accursed\r
+senselessness! It does good to no woman to be flattered by her superior,\r
+who cannot possibly intend to marry her; and it is madness in all women\r
+to let a secret love kindle within them, which, if unreturned and\r
+unknown, must devour the life that feeds it; and, if discovered and\r
+responded to, must lead, _ignis-fatuus_-like, into miry wilds whence there\r
+is no extrication.\r
+\r
+"Listen, then, Jane Eyre, to your sentence: to-morrow, place the glass\r
+before you, and draw in chalk your own picture, faithfully, without\r
+softening one defect; omit no harsh line, smooth away no displeasing\r
+irregularity; write under it, 'Portrait of a Governess, disconnected,\r
+poor, and plain.'\r
+\r
+"Afterwards, take a piece of smooth ivory--you have one prepared in your\r
+drawing-box: take your palette, mix your freshest, finest, clearest\r
+tints; choose your most delicate camel-hair pencils; delineate carefully\r
+the loveliest face you can imagine; paint it in your softest shades and\r
+sweetest lines, according to the description given by Mrs. Fairfax of\r
+Blanche Ingram; remember the raven ringlets, the oriental eye;--What! you\r
+revert to Mr. Rochester as a model! Order! No snivel!--no sentiment!--no\r
+regret! I will endure only sense and resolution. Recall the august yet\r
+harmonious lineaments, the Grecian neck and bust; let the round and\r
+dazzling arm be visible, and the delicate hand; omit neither diamond ring\r
+nor gold bracelet; portray faithfully the attire, aerial lace and\r
+glistening satin, graceful scarf and golden rose; call it 'Blanche, an\r
+accomplished lady of rank.'\r
+\r
+"Whenever, in future, you should chance to fancy Mr. Rochester thinks\r
+well of you, take out these two pictures and compare them: say, 'Mr.\r
+Rochester might probably win that noble lady's love, if he chose to\r
+strive for it; is it likely he would waste a serious thought on this\r
+indigent and insignificant plebeian?'"\r
+\r
+"I'll do it," I resolved: and having framed this determination, I grew\r
+calm, and fell asleep.\r
+\r
+I kept my word. An hour or two sufficed to sketch my own portrait in\r
+crayons; and in less than a fortnight I had completed an ivory miniature\r
+of an imaginary Blanche Ingram. It looked a lovely face enough, and when\r
+compared with the real head in chalk, the contrast was as great as self-\r
+control could desire. I derived benefit from the task: it had kept my\r
+head and hands employed, and had given force and fixedness to the new\r
+impressions I wished to stamp indelibly on my heart.\r
+\r
+Ere long, I had reason to congratulate myself on the course of wholesome\r
+discipline to which I had thus forced my feelings to submit. Thanks to\r
+it, I was able to meet subsequent occurrences with a decent calm, which,\r
+had they found me unprepared, I should probably have been unequal to\r
+maintain, even externally.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER XVII\r
+\r
+\r
+A week passed, and no news arrived of Mr. Rochester: ten days, and still\r
+he did not come. Mrs. Fairfax said she should not be surprised if he\r
+were to go straight from the Leas to London, and thence to the Continent,\r
+and not show his face again at Thornfield for a year to come; he had not\r
+unfrequently quitted it in a manner quite as abrupt and unexpected. When\r
+I heard this, I was beginning to feel a strange chill and failing at the\r
+heart. I was actually permitting myself to experience a sickening sense\r
+of disappointment; but rallying my wits, and recollecting my principles,\r
+I at once called my sensations to order; and it was wonderful how I got\r
+over the temporary blunder--how I cleared up the mistake of supposing Mr.\r
+Rochester's movements a matter in which I had any cause to take a vital\r
+interest. Not that I humbled myself by a slavish notion of inferiority:\r
+on the contrary, I just said--\r
+\r
+"You have nothing to do with the master of Thornfield, further than to\r
+receive the salary he gives you for teaching his protegee, and to be\r
+grateful for such respectful and kind treatment as, if you do your duty,\r
+you have a right to expect at his hands. Be sure that is the only tie he\r
+seriously acknowledges between you and him; so don't make him the object\r
+of your fine feelings, your raptures, agonies, and so forth. He is not\r
+of your order: keep to your caste, and be too self-respecting to lavish\r
+the love of the whole heart, soul, and strength, where such a gift is not\r
+wanted and would be despised."\r
+\r
+I went on with my day's business tranquilly; but ever and anon vague\r
+suggestions kept wandering across my brain of reasons why I should quit\r
+Thornfield; and I kept involuntarily framing advertisements and pondering\r
+conjectures about new situations: these thoughts I did not think to\r
+check; they might germinate and bear fruit if they could.\r
+\r
+Mr. Rochester had been absent upwards of a fortnight, when the post\r
+brought Mrs. Fairfax a letter.\r
+\r
+"It is from the master," said she, as she looked at the direction. "Now\r
+I suppose we shall know whether we are to expect his return or not."\r
+\r
+And while she broke the seal and perused the document, I went on taking\r
+my coffee (we were at breakfast): it was hot, and I attributed to that\r
+circumstance a fiery glow which suddenly rose to my face. Why my hand\r
+shook, and why I involuntarily spilt half the contents of my cup into my\r
+saucer, I did not choose to consider.\r
+\r
+"Well, I sometimes think we are too quiet; but we run a chance of being\r
+busy enough now: for a little while at least," said Mrs. Fairfax, still\r
+holding the note before her spectacles.\r
+\r
+Ere I permitted myself to request an explanation, I tied the string of\r
+Adele's pinafore, which happened to be loose: having helped her also to\r
+another bun and refilled her mug with milk, I said, nonchalantly--\r
+\r
+"Mr. Rochester is not likely to return soon, I suppose?"\r
+\r
+"Indeed he is--in three days, he says: that will be next Thursday; and\r
+not alone either. I don't know how many of the fine people at the Leas\r
+are coming with him: he sends directions for all the best bedrooms to be\r
+prepared; and the library and drawing-rooms are to be cleaned out; I am\r
+to get more kitchen hands from the George Inn, at Millcote, and from\r
+wherever else I can; and the ladies will bring their maids and the\r
+gentlemen their valets: so we shall have a full house of it." And Mrs.\r
+Fairfax swallowed her breakfast and hastened away to commence operations.\r
+\r
+The three days were, as she had foretold, busy enough. I had thought all\r
+the rooms at Thornfield beautifully clean and well arranged; but it\r
+appears I was mistaken. Three women were got to help; and such\r
+scrubbing, such brushing, such washing of paint and beating of carpets,\r
+such taking down and putting up of pictures, such polishing of mirrors\r
+and lustres, such lighting of fires in bedrooms, such airing of sheets\r
+and feather-beds on hearths, I never beheld, either before or since.\r
+Adele ran quite wild in the midst of it: the preparations for company and\r
+the prospect of their arrival, seemed to throw her into ecstasies. She\r
+would have Sophie to look over all her "toilettes," as she called frocks;\r
+to furbish up any that were "_passees_," and to air and arrange the new.\r
+For herself, she did nothing but caper about in the front chambers, jump\r
+on and off the bedsteads, and lie on the mattresses and piled-up bolsters\r
+and pillows before the enormous fires roaring in the chimneys. From\r
+school duties she was exonerated: Mrs. Fairfax had pressed me into her\r
+service, and I was all day in the storeroom, helping (or hindering) her\r
+and the cook; learning to make custards and cheese-cakes and French\r
+pastry, to truss game and garnish desert-dishes.\r
+\r
+The party were expected to arrive on Thursday afternoon, in time for\r
+dinner at six. During the intervening period I had no time to nurse\r
+chimeras; and I believe I was as active and gay as anybody--Adele\r
+excepted. Still, now and then, I received a damping check to my\r
+cheerfulness; and was, in spite of myself, thrown back on the region of\r
+doubts and portents, and dark conjectures. This was when I chanced to\r
+see the third-storey staircase door (which of late had always been kept\r
+locked) open slowly, and give passage to the form of Grace Poole, in prim\r
+cap, white apron, and handkerchief; when I watched her glide along the\r
+gallery, her quiet tread muffled in a list slipper; when I saw her look\r
+into the bustling, topsy-turvy bedrooms,--just say a word, perhaps, to\r
+the charwoman about the proper way to polish a grate, or clean a marble\r
+mantelpiece, or take stains from papered walls, and then pass on. She\r
+would thus descend to the kitchen once a day, eat her dinner, smoke a\r
+moderate pipe on the hearth, and go back, carrying her pot of porter with\r
+her, for her private solace, in her own gloomy, upper haunt. Only one\r
+hour in the twenty-four did she pass with her fellow-servants below; all\r
+the rest of her time was spent in some low-ceiled, oaken chamber of the\r
+second storey: there she sat and sewed--and probably laughed drearily to\r
+herself,--as companionless as a prisoner in his dungeon.\r
+\r
+The strangest thing of all was, that not a soul in the house, except me,\r
+noticed her habits, or seemed to marvel at them: no one discussed her\r
+position or employment; no one pitied her solitude or isolation. I once,\r
+indeed, overheard part of a dialogue between Leah and one of the\r
+charwomen, of which Grace formed the subject. Leah had been saying\r
+something I had not caught, and the charwoman remarked--\r
+\r
+"She gets good wages, I guess?"\r
+\r
+"Yes," said Leah; "I wish I had as good; not that mine are to complain\r
+of,--there's no stinginess at Thornfield; but they're not one fifth of\r
+the sum Mrs. Poole receives. And she is laying by: she goes every\r
+quarter to the bank at Millcote. I should not wonder but she has saved\r
+enough to keep her independent if she liked to leave; but I suppose she's\r
+got used to the place; and then she's not forty yet, and strong and able\r
+for anything. It is too soon for her to give up business."\r
+\r
+"She is a good hand, I daresay," said the charwoman.\r
+\r
+"Ah!--she understands what she has to do,--nobody better," rejoined Leah\r
+significantly; "and it is not every one could fill her shoes--not for all\r
+the money she gets."\r
+\r
+"That it is not!" was the reply. "I wonder whether the master--"\r
+\r
+The charwoman was going on; but here Leah turned and perceived me, and\r
+she instantly gave her companion a nudge.\r
+\r
+"Doesn't she know?" I heard the woman whisper.\r
+\r
+Leah shook her head, and the conversation was of course dropped. All I\r
+had gathered from it amounted to this,--that there was a mystery at\r
+Thornfield; and that from participation in that mystery I was purposely\r
+excluded.\r
+\r
+Thursday came: all work had been completed the previous evening; carpets\r
+were laid down, bed-hangings festooned, radiant white counterpanes\r
+spread, toilet tables arranged, furniture rubbed, flowers piled in vases:\r
+both chambers and saloons looked as fresh and bright as hands could make\r
+them. The hall, too, was scoured; and the great carved clock, as well as\r
+the steps and banisters of the staircase, were polished to the brightness\r
+of glass; in the dining-room, the sideboard flashed resplendent with\r
+plate; in the drawing-room and boudoir, vases of exotics bloomed on all\r
+sides.\r
+\r
+Afternoon arrived: Mrs. Fairfax assumed her best black satin gown, her\r
+gloves, and her gold watch; for it was her part to receive the\r
+company,--to conduct the ladies to their rooms, &c. Adele, too, would be\r
+dressed: though I thought she had little chance of being introduced to\r
+the party that day at least. However, to please her, I allowed Sophie to\r
+apparel her in one of her short, full muslin frocks. For myself, I had\r
+no need to make any change; I should not be called upon to quit my\r
+sanctum of the schoolroom; for a sanctum it was now become to me,--"a\r
+very pleasant refuge in time of trouble."\r
+\r
+It had been a mild, serene spring day--one of those days which, towards\r
+the end of March or the beginning of April, rise shining over the earth\r
+as heralds of summer. It was drawing to an end now; but the evening was\r
+even warm, and I sat at work in the schoolroom with the window open.\r
+\r
+"It gets late," said Mrs. Fairfax, entering in rustling state. "I am\r
+glad I ordered dinner an hour after the time Mr. Rochester mentioned; for\r
+it is past six now. I have sent John down to the gates to see if there\r
+is anything on the road: one can see a long way from thence in the\r
+direction of Millcote." She went to the window. "Here he is!" said she.\r
+"Well, John" (leaning out), "any news?"\r
+\r
+"They're coming, ma'am," was the answer. "They'll be here in ten\r
+minutes."\r
+\r
+Adele flew to the window. I followed, taking care to stand on one side,\r
+so that, screened by the curtain, I could see without being seen.\r
+\r
+The ten minutes John had given seemed very long, but at last wheels were\r
+heard; four equestrians galloped up the drive, and after them came two\r
+open carriages. Fluttering veils and waving plumes filled the vehicles;\r
+two of the cavaliers were young, dashing-looking gentlemen; the third was\r
+Mr. Rochester, on his black horse, Mesrour, Pilot bounding before him; at\r
+his side rode a lady, and he and she were the first of the party. Her\r
+purple riding-habit almost swept the ground, her veil streamed long on\r
+the breeze; mingling with its transparent folds, and gleaming through\r
+them, shone rich raven ringlets.\r
+\r
+"Miss Ingram!" exclaimed Mrs. Fairfax, and away she hurried to her post\r
+below.\r
+\r
+The cavalcade, following the sweep of the drive, quickly turned the angle\r
+of the house, and I lost sight of it. Adele now petitioned to go down;\r
+but I took her on my knee, and gave her to understand that she must not\r
+on any account think of venturing in sight of the ladies, either now or\r
+at any other time, unless expressly sent for: that Mr. Rochester would be\r
+very angry, &c. "Some natural tears she shed" on being told this; but as\r
+I began to look very grave, she consented at last to wipe them.\r
+\r
+A joyous stir was now audible in the hall: gentlemen's deep tones and\r
+ladies' silvery accents blent harmoniously together, and distinguishable\r
+above all, though not loud, was the sonorous voice of the master of\r
+Thornfield Hall, welcoming his fair and gallant guests under its roof.\r
+Then light steps ascended the stairs; and there was a tripping through\r
+the gallery, and soft cheerful laughs, and opening and closing doors,\r
+and, for a time, a hush.\r
+\r
+"Elles changent de toilettes," said Adele; who, listening attentively,\r
+had followed every movement; and she sighed.\r
+\r
+"Chez maman," said she, "quand il y avait du monde, je le suivais\r
+partout, au salon et a leurs chambres; souvent je regardais les femmes de\r
+chambre coiffer et habiller les dames, et c'etait si amusant: comme cela\r
+on apprend."\r
+\r
+"Don't you feel hungry, Adele?"\r
+\r
+"Mais oui, mademoiselle: voila cinq ou six heures que nous n'avons pas\r
+mange."\r
+\r
+"Well now, while the ladies are in their rooms, I will venture down and\r
+get you something to eat."\r
+\r
+And issuing from my asylum with precaution, I sought a back-stairs which\r
+conducted directly to the kitchen. All in that region was fire and\r
+commotion; the soup and fish were in the last stage of projection, and\r
+the cook hung over her crucibles in a frame of mind and body threatening\r
+spontaneous combustion. In the servants' hall two coachmen and three\r
+gentlemen's gentlemen stood or sat round the fire; the abigails, I\r
+suppose, were upstairs with their mistresses; the new servants, that had\r
+been hired from Millcote, were bustling about everywhere. Threading this\r
+chaos, I at last reached the larder; there I took possession of a cold\r
+chicken, a roll of bread, some tarts, a plate or two and a knife and\r
+fork: with this booty I made a hasty retreat. I had regained the\r
+gallery, and was just shutting the back-door behind me, when an\r
+accelerated hum warned me that the ladies were about to issue from their\r
+chambers. I could not proceed to the schoolroom without passing some of\r
+their doors, and running the risk of being surprised with my cargo of\r
+victualage; so I stood still at this end, which, being windowless, was\r
+dark: quite dark now, for the sun was set and twilight gathering.\r
+\r
+Presently the chambers gave up their fair tenants one after another: each\r
+came out gaily and airily, with dress that gleamed lustrous through the\r
+dusk. For a moment they stood grouped together at the other extremity of\r
+the gallery, conversing in a key of sweet subdued vivacity: they then\r
+descended the staircase almost as noiselessly as a bright mist rolls down\r
+a hill. Their collective appearance had left on me an impression of high-\r
+born elegance, such as I had never before received.\r
+\r
+I found Adele peeping through the schoolroom door, which she held ajar.\r
+"What beautiful ladies!" cried she in English. "Oh, I wish I might go to\r
+them! Do you think Mr. Rochester will send for us by-and-bye, after\r
+dinner?"\r
+\r
+"No, indeed, I don't; Mr. Rochester has something else to think about.\r
+Never mind the ladies to-night; perhaps you will see them to-morrow: here\r
+is your dinner."\r
+\r
+She was really hungry, so the chicken and tarts served to divert her\r
+attention for a time. It was well I secured this forage, or both she, I,\r
+and Sophie, to whom I conveyed a share of our repast, would have run a\r
+chance of getting no dinner at all: every one downstairs was too much\r
+engaged to think of us. The dessert was not carried out till after nine\r
+and at ten footmen were still running to and fro with trays and coffee-\r
+cups. I allowed Adele to sit up much later than usual; for she declared\r
+she could not possibly go to sleep while the doors kept opening and\r
+shutting below, and people bustling about. Besides, she added, a message\r
+might possibly come from Mr. Rochester when she was undressed; "et alors\r
+quel dommage!"\r
+\r
+I told her stories as long as she would listen to them; and then for a\r
+change I took her out into the gallery. The hall lamp was now lit, and\r
+it amused her to look over the balustrade and watch the servants passing\r
+backwards and forwards. When the evening was far advanced, a sound of\r
+music issued from the drawing-room, whither the piano had been removed;\r
+Adele and I sat down on the top step of the stairs to listen. Presently\r
+a voice blent with the rich tones of the instrument; it was a lady who\r
+sang, and very sweet her notes were. The solo over, a duet followed, and\r
+then a glee: a joyous conversational murmur filled up the intervals. I\r
+listened long: suddenly I discovered that my ear was wholly intent on\r
+analysing the mingled sounds, and trying to discriminate amidst the\r
+confusion of accents those of Mr. Rochester; and when it caught them,\r
+which it soon did, it found a further task in framing the tones, rendered\r
+by distance inarticulate, into words.\r
+\r
+The clock struck eleven. I looked at Adele, whose head leant against my\r
+shoulder; her eyes were waxing heavy, so I took her up in my arms and\r
+carried her off to bed. It was near one before the gentlemen and ladies\r
+sought their chambers.\r
+\r
+The next day was as fine as its predecessor: it was devoted by the party\r
+to an excursion to some site in the neighbourhood. They set out early in\r
+the forenoon, some on horseback, the rest in carriages; I witnessed both\r
+the departure and the return. Miss Ingram, as before, was the only lady\r
+equestrian; and, as before, Mr. Rochester galloped at her side; the two\r
+rode a little apart from the rest. I pointed out this circumstance to\r
+Mrs. Fairfax, who was standing at the window with me--\r
+\r
+"You said it was not likely they should think of being married," said I,\r
+"but you see Mr. Rochester evidently prefers her to any of the other\r
+ladies."\r
+\r
+"Yes, I daresay: no doubt he admires her."\r
+\r
+"And she him," I added; "look how she leans her head towards him as if\r
+she were conversing confidentially; I wish I could see her face; I have\r
+never had a glimpse of it yet."\r
+\r
+"You will see her this evening," answered Mrs. Fairfax. "I happened to\r
+remark to Mr. Rochester how much Adele wished to be introduced to the\r
+ladies, and he said: 'Oh! let her come into the drawing-room after\r
+dinner; and request Miss Eyre to accompany her.'"\r
+\r
+"Yes; he said that from mere politeness: I need not go, I am sure," I\r
+answered.\r
+\r
+"Well, I observed to him that as you were unused to company, I did not\r
+think you would like appearing before so gay a party--all strangers; and\r
+he replied, in his quick way--'Nonsense! If she objects, tell her it is\r
+my particular wish; and if she resists, say I shall come and fetch her in\r
+case of contumacy.'"\r
+\r
+"I will not give him that trouble," I answered. "I will go, if no better\r
+may be; but I don't like it. Shall you be there, Mrs. Fairfax?"\r
+\r
+"No; I pleaded off, and he admitted my plea. I'll tell you how to manage\r
+so as to avoid the embarrassment of making a formal entrance, which is\r
+the most disagreeable part of the business. You must go into the drawing-\r
+room while it is empty, before the ladies leave the dinner-table; choose\r
+your seat in any quiet nook you like; you need not stay long after the\r
+gentlemen come in, unless you please: just let Mr. Rochester see you are\r
+there and then slip away--nobody will notice you."\r
+\r
+"Will these people remain long, do you think?"\r
+\r
+"Perhaps two or three weeks, certainly not more. After the Easter\r
+recess, Sir George Lynn, who was lately elected member for Millcote, will\r
+have to go up to town and take his seat; I daresay Mr. Rochester will\r
+accompany him: it surprises me that he has already made so protracted a\r
+stay at Thornfield."\r
+\r
+It was with some trepidation that I perceived the hour approach when I\r
+was to repair with my charge to the drawing-room. Adele had been in a\r
+state of ecstasy all day, after hearing she was to be presented to the\r
+ladies in the evening; and it was not till Sophie commenced the operation\r
+of dressing her that she sobered down. Then the importance of the\r
+process quickly steadied her, and by the time she had her curls arranged\r
+in well-smoothed, drooping clusters, her pink satin frock put on, her\r
+long sash tied, and her lace mittens adjusted, she looked as grave as any\r
+judge. No need to warn her not to disarrange her attire: when she was\r
+dressed, she sat demurely down in her little chair, taking care\r
+previously to lift up the satin skirt for fear she should crease it, and\r
+assured me she would not stir thence till I was ready. This I quickly\r
+was: my best dress (the silver-grey one, purchased for Miss Temple's\r
+wedding, and never worn since) was soon put on; my hair was soon\r
+smoothed; my sole ornament, the pearl brooch, soon assumed. We\r
+descended.\r
+\r
+Fortunately there was another entrance to the drawing-room than that\r
+through the saloon where they were all seated at dinner. We found the\r
+apartment vacant; a large fire burning silently on the marble hearth, and\r
+wax candles shining in bright solitude, amid the exquisite flowers with\r
+which the tables were adorned. The crimson curtain hung before the arch:\r
+slight as was the separation this drapery formed from the party in the\r
+adjoining saloon, they spoke in so low a key that nothing of their\r
+conversation could be distinguished beyond a soothing murmur.\r
+\r
+Adele, who appeared to be still under the influence of a most solemnising\r
+impression, sat down, without a word, on the footstool I pointed out to\r
+her. I retired to a window-seat, and taking a book from a table near,\r
+endeavoured to read. Adele brought her stool to my feet; ere long she\r
+touched my knee.\r
+\r
+"What is it, Adele?"\r
+\r
+"Est-ce que je ne puis pas prendrie une seule de ces fleurs magnifiques,\r
+mademoiselle? Seulement pour completer ma toilette."\r
+\r
+"You think too much of your 'toilette,' Adele: but you may have a\r
+flower." And I took a rose from a vase and fastened it in her sash. She\r
+sighed a sigh of ineffable satisfaction, as if her cup of happiness were\r
+now full. I turned my face away to conceal a smile I could not suppress:\r
+there was something ludicrous as well as painful in the little\r
+Parisienne's earnest and innate devotion to matters of dress.\r
+\r
+A soft sound of rising now became audible; the curtain was swept back\r
+from the arch; through it appeared the dining-room, with its lit lustre\r
+pouring down light on the silver and glass of a magnificent\r
+dessert-service covering a long table; a band of ladies stood in the\r
+opening; they entered, and the curtain fell behind them.\r
+\r
+There were but eight; yet, somehow, as they flocked in, they gave the\r
+impression of a much larger number. Some of them were very tall; many\r
+were dressed in white; and all had a sweeping amplitude of array that\r
+seemed to magnify their persons as a mist magnifies the moon. I rose and\r
+curtseyed to them: one or two bent their heads in return, the others only\r
+stared at me.\r
+\r
+They dispersed about the room, reminding me, by the lightness and\r
+buoyancy of their movements, of a flock of white plumy birds. Some of\r
+them threw themselves in half-reclining positions on the sofas and\r
+ottomans: some bent over the tables and examined the flowers and books:\r
+the rest gathered in a group round the fire: all talked in a low but\r
+clear tone which seemed habitual to them. I knew their names afterwards,\r
+and may as well mention them now.\r
+\r
+First, there was Mrs. Eshton and two of her daughters. She had evidently\r
+been a handsome woman, and was well preserved still. Of her daughters,\r
+the eldest, Amy, was rather little: naive, and child-like in face and\r
+manner, and piquant in form; her white muslin dress and blue sash became\r
+her well. The second, Louisa, was taller and more elegant in figure;\r
+with a very pretty face, of that order the French term _minois chiffone_:\r
+both sisters were fair as lilies.\r
+\r
+Lady Lynn was a large and stout personage of about forty, very erect,\r
+very haughty-looking, richly dressed in a satin robe of changeful sheen:\r
+her dark hair shone glossily under the shade of an azure plume, and\r
+within the circlet of a band of gems.\r
+\r
+Mrs. Colonel Dent was less showy; but, I thought, more lady-like. She\r
+had a slight figure, a pale, gentle face, and fair hair. Her black satin\r
+dress, her scarf of rich foreign lace, and her pearl ornaments, pleased\r
+me better than the rainbow radiance of the titled dame.\r
+\r
+But the three most distinguished--partly, perhaps, because the tallest\r
+figures of the band--were the Dowager Lady Ingram and her daughters,\r
+Blanche and Mary. They were all three of the loftiest stature of women.\r
+The Dowager might be between forty and fifty: her shape was still fine;\r
+her hair (by candle-light at least) still black; her teeth, too, were\r
+still apparently perfect. Most people would have termed her a splendid\r
+woman of her age: and so she was, no doubt, physically speaking; but then\r
+there was an expression of almost insupportable haughtiness in her\r
+bearing and countenance. She had Roman features and a double chin,\r
+disappearing into a throat like a pillar: these features appeared to me\r
+not only inflated and darkened, but even furrowed with pride; and the\r
+chin was sustained by the same principle, in a position of almost\r
+preternatural erectness. She had, likewise, a fierce and a hard eye: it\r
+reminded me of Mrs. Reed's; she mouthed her words in speaking; her voice\r
+was deep, its inflections very pompous, very dogmatical,--very\r
+intolerable, in short. A crimson velvet robe, and a shawl turban of some\r
+gold-wrought Indian fabric, invested her (I suppose she thought) with a\r
+truly imperial dignity.\r
+\r
+Blanche and Mary were of equal stature,--straight and tall as poplars.\r
+Mary was too slim for her height, but Blanche was moulded like a Dian. I\r
+regarded her, of course, with special interest. First, I wished to see\r
+whether her appearance accorded with Mrs. Fairfax's description;\r
+secondly, whether it at all resembled the fancy miniature I had painted\r
+of her; and thirdly--it will out!--whether it were such as I should fancy\r
+likely to suit Mr. Rochester's taste.\r
+\r
+As far as person went, she answered point for point, both to my picture\r
+and Mrs. Fairfax's description. The noble bust, the sloping shoulders,\r
+the graceful neck, the dark eyes and black ringlets were all there;--but\r
+her face? Her face was like her mother's; a youthful unfurrowed\r
+likeness: the same low brow, the same high features, the same pride. It\r
+was not, however, so saturnine a pride! she laughed continually; her\r
+laugh was satirical, and so was the habitual expression of her arched and\r
+haughty lip.\r
+\r
+Genius is said to be self-conscious. I cannot tell whether Miss Ingram\r
+was a genius, but she was self-conscious--remarkably self-conscious\r
+indeed. She entered into a discourse on botany with the gentle Mrs.\r
+Dent. It seemed Mrs. Dent had not studied that science: though, as she\r
+said, she liked flowers, "especially wild ones;" Miss Ingram had, and she\r
+ran over its vocabulary with an air. I presently perceived she was (what\r
+is vernacularly termed) _trailing_ Mrs. Dent; that is, playing on her\r
+ignorance--her _trail_ might be clever, but it was decidedly not good-\r
+natured. She played: her execution was brilliant; she sang: her voice\r
+was fine; she talked French apart to her mamma; and she talked it well,\r
+with fluency and with a good accent.\r
+\r
+Mary had a milder and more open countenance than Blanche; softer features\r
+too, and a skin some shades fairer (Miss Ingram was dark as a\r
+Spaniard)--but Mary was deficient in life: her face lacked expression,\r
+her eye lustre; she had nothing to say, and having once taken her seat,\r
+remained fixed like a statue in its niche. The sisters were both attired\r
+in spotless white.\r
+\r
+And did I now think Miss Ingram such a choice as Mr. Rochester would be\r
+likely to make? I could not tell--I did not know his taste in female\r
+beauty. If he liked the majestic, she was the very type of majesty: then\r
+she was accomplished, sprightly. Most gentlemen would admire her, I\r
+thought; and that he _did_ admire her, I already seemed to have obtained\r
+proof: to remove the last shade of doubt, it remained but to see them\r
+together.\r
+\r
+You are not to suppose, reader, that Adele has all this time been sitting\r
+motionless on the stool at my feet: no; when the ladies entered, she\r
+rose, advanced to meet them, made a stately reverence, and said with\r
+gravity--\r
+\r
+"Bon jour, mesdames."\r
+\r
+And Miss Ingram had looked down at her with a mocking air, and exclaimed,\r
+"Oh, what a little puppet!"\r
+\r
+Lady Lynn had remarked, "It is Mr. Rochester's ward, I suppose--the\r
+little French girl he was speaking of."\r
+\r
+Mrs. Dent had kindly taken her hand, and given her a kiss.\r
+\r
+Amy and Louisa Eshton had cried out simultaneously--"What a love of a\r
+child!"\r
+\r
+And then they had called her to a sofa, where she now sat, ensconced\r
+between them, chattering alternately in French and broken English;\r
+absorbing not only the young ladies' attention, but that of Mrs. Eshton\r
+and Lady Lynn, and getting spoilt to her heart's content.\r
+\r
+At last coffee is brought in, and the gentlemen are summoned. I sit in\r
+the shade--if any shade there be in this brilliantly-lit apartment; the\r
+window-curtain half hides me. Again the arch yawns; they come. The\r
+collective appearance of the gentlemen, like that of the ladies, is very\r
+imposing: they are all costumed in black; most of them are tall, some\r
+young. Henry and Frederick Lynn are very dashing sparks indeed; and\r
+Colonel Dent is a fine soldierly man. Mr. Eshton, the magistrate of the\r
+district, is gentleman-like: his hair is quite white, his eyebrows and\r
+whiskers still dark, which gives him something of the appearance of a\r
+"pere noble de theatre." Lord Ingram, like his sisters, is very tall;\r
+like them, also, he is handsome; but he shares Mary's apathetic and\r
+listless look: he seems to have more length of limb than vivacity of\r
+blood or vigour of brain.\r
+\r
+And where is Mr. Rochester?\r
+\r
+He comes in last: I am not looking at the arch, yet I see him enter. I\r
+try to concentrate my attention on those netting-needles, on the meshes\r
+of the purse I am forming--I wish to think only of the work I have in my\r
+hands, to see only the silver beads and silk threads that lie in my lap;\r
+whereas, I distinctly behold his figure, and I inevitably recall the\r
+moment when I last saw it; just after I had rendered him, what he deemed,\r
+an essential service, and he, holding my hand, and looking down on my\r
+face, surveyed me with eyes that revealed a heart full and eager to\r
+overflow; in whose emotions I had a part. How near had I approached him\r
+at that moment! What had occurred since, calculated to change his and my\r
+relative positions? Yet now, how distant, how far estranged we were! So\r
+far estranged, that I did not expect him to come and speak to me. I did\r
+not wonder, when, without looking at me, he took a seat at the other side\r
+of the room, and began conversing with some of the ladies.\r
+\r
+No sooner did I see that his attention was riveted on them, and that I\r
+might gaze without being observed, than my eyes were drawn involuntarily\r
+to his face; I could not keep their lids under control: they would rise,\r
+and the irids would fix on him. I looked, and had an acute pleasure in\r
+looking,--a precious yet poignant pleasure; pure gold, with a steely\r
+point of agony: a pleasure like what the thirst-perishing man might feel\r
+who knows the well to which he has crept is poisoned, yet stoops and\r
+drinks divine draughts nevertheless.\r
+\r
+Most true is it that "beauty is in the eye of the gazer." My master's\r
+colourless, olive face, square, massive brow, broad and jetty eyebrows,\r
+deep eyes, strong features, firm, grim mouth,--all energy, decision,\r
+will,--were not beautiful, according to rule; but they were more than\r
+beautiful to me; they were full of an interest, an influence that quite\r
+mastered me,--that took my feelings from my own power and fettered them\r
+in his. I had not intended to love him; the reader knows I had wrought\r
+hard to extirpate from my soul the germs of love there detected; and now,\r
+at the first renewed view of him, they spontaneously arrived, green and\r
+strong! He made me love him without looking at me.\r
+\r
+I compared him with his guests. What was the gallant grace of the Lynns,\r
+the languid elegance of Lord Ingram,--even the military distinction of\r
+Colonel Dent, contrasted with his look of native pith and genuine power?\r
+I had no sympathy in their appearance, their expression: yet I could\r
+imagine that most observers would call them attractive, handsome,\r
+imposing; while they would pronounce Mr. Rochester at once harsh-featured\r
+and melancholy-looking. I saw them smile, laugh--it was nothing; the\r
+light of the candles had as much soul in it as their smile; the tinkle of\r
+the bell as much significance as their laugh. I saw Mr. Rochester\r
+smile:--his stern features softened; his eye grew both brilliant and\r
+gentle, its ray both searching and sweet. He was talking, at the moment,\r
+to Louisa and Amy Eshton. I wondered to see them receive with calm that\r
+look which seemed to me so penetrating: I expected their eyes to fall,\r
+their colour to rise under it; yet I was glad when I found they were in\r
+no sense moved. "He is not to them what he is to me," I thought: "he is\r
+not of their kind. I believe he is of mine;--I am sure he is--I feel\r
+akin to him--I understand the language of his countenance and movements:\r
+though rank and wealth sever us widely, I have something in my brain and\r
+heart, in my blood and nerves, that assimilates me mentally to him. Did\r
+I say, a few days since, that I had nothing to do with him but to receive\r
+my salary at his hands? Did I forbid myself to think of him in any other\r
+light than as a paymaster? Blasphemy against nature! Every good, true,\r
+vigorous feeling I have gathers impulsively round him. I know I must\r
+conceal my sentiments: I must smother hope; I must remember that he\r
+cannot care much for me. For when I say that I am of his kind, I do not\r
+mean that I have his force to influence, and his spell to attract; I mean\r
+only that I have certain tastes and feelings in common with him. I must,\r
+then, repeat continually that we are for ever sundered:--and yet, while I\r
+breathe and think, I must love him."\r
+\r
+Coffee is handed. The ladies, since the gentlemen entered, have become\r
+lively as larks; conversation waxes brisk and merry. Colonel Dent and\r
+Mr. Eshton argue on politics; their wives listen. The two proud\r
+dowagers, Lady Lynn and Lady Ingram, confabulate together. Sir\r
+George--whom, by-the-bye, I have forgotten to describe,--a very big, and\r
+very fresh-looking country gentleman, stands before their sofa, coffee-\r
+cup in hand, and occasionally puts in a word. Mr. Frederick Lynn has\r
+taken a seat beside Mary Ingram, and is showing her the engravings of a\r
+splendid volume: she looks, smiles now and then, but apparently says\r
+little. The tall and phlegmatic Lord Ingram leans with folded arms on\r
+the chair-back of the little and lively Amy Eshton; she glances up at\r
+him, and chatters like a wren: she likes him better than she does Mr.\r
+Rochester. Henry Lynn has taken possession of an ottoman at the feet of\r
+Louisa: Adele shares it with him: he is trying to talk French with her,\r
+and Louisa laughs at his blunders. With whom will Blanche Ingram pair?\r
+She is standing alone at the table, bending gracefully over an album. She\r
+seems waiting to be sought; but she will not wait too long: she herself\r
+selects a mate.\r
+\r
+Mr. Rochester, having quitted the Eshtons, stands on the hearth as\r
+solitary as she stands by the table: she confronts him, taking her\r
+station on the opposite side of the mantelpiece.\r
+\r
+"Mr. Rochester, I thought you were not fond of children?"\r
+\r
+"Nor am I."\r
+\r
+"Then, what induced you to take charge of such a little doll as that?"\r
+(pointing to Adele). "Where did you pick her up?"\r
+\r
+"I did not pick her up; she was left on my hands."\r
+\r
+"You should have sent her to school."\r
+\r
+"I could not afford it: schools are so dear."\r
+\r
+"Why, I suppose you have a governess for her: I saw a person with her\r
+just now--is she gone? Oh, no! there she is still, behind the window-\r
+curtain. You pay her, of course; I should think it quite as\r
+expensive,--more so; for you have them both to keep in addition."\r
+\r
+I feared--or should I say, hoped?--the allusion to me would make Mr.\r
+Rochester glance my way; and I involuntarily shrank farther into the\r
+shade: but he never turned his eyes.\r
+\r
+"I have not considered the subject," said he indifferently, looking\r
+straight before him.\r
+\r
+"No, you men never do consider economy and common sense. You should hear\r
+mama on the chapter of governesses: Mary and I have had, I should think,\r
+a dozen at least in our day; half of them detestable and the rest\r
+ridiculous, and all incubi--were they not, mama?"\r
+\r
+"Did you speak, my own?"\r
+\r
+The young lady thus claimed as the dowager's special property, reiterated\r
+her question with an explanation.\r
+\r
+"My dearest, don't mention governesses; the word makes me nervous. I\r
+have suffered a martyrdom from their incompetency and caprice. I thank\r
+Heaven I have now done with them!"\r
+\r
+Mrs. Dent here bent over to the pious lady and whispered something in her\r
+ear; I suppose, from the answer elicited, it was a reminder that one of\r
+the anathematised race was present.\r
+\r
+"Tant pis!" said her Ladyship, "I hope it may do her good!" Then, in a\r
+lower tone, but still loud enough for me to hear, "I noticed her; I am a\r
+judge of physiognomy, and in hers I see all the faults of her class."\r
+\r
+"What are they, madam?" inquired Mr. Rochester aloud.\r
+\r
+"I will tell you in your private ear," replied she, wagging her turban\r
+three times with portentous significancy.\r
+\r
+"But my curiosity will be past its appetite; it craves food now."\r
+\r
+"Ask Blanche; she is nearer you than I."\r
+\r
+"Oh, don't refer him to me, mama! I have just one word to say of the\r
+whole tribe; they are a nuisance. Not that I ever suffered much from\r
+them; I took care to turn the tables. What tricks Theodore and I used to\r
+play on our Miss Wilsons, and Mrs. Greys, and Madame Jouberts! Mary was\r
+always too sleepy to join in a plot with spirit. The best fun was with\r
+Madame Joubert: Miss Wilson was a poor sickly thing, lachrymose and low-\r
+spirited, not worth the trouble of vanquishing, in short; and Mrs. Grey\r
+was coarse and insensible; no blow took effect on her. But poor Madame\r
+Joubert! I see her yet in her raging passions, when we had driven her to\r
+extremities--spilt our tea, crumbled our bread and butter, tossed our\r
+books up to the ceiling, and played a charivari with the ruler and desk,\r
+the fender and fire-irons. Theodore, do you remember those merry days?"\r
+\r
+"Yaas, to be sure I do," drawled Lord Ingram; "and the poor old stick\r
+used to cry out 'Oh you villains childs!'--and then we sermonised her on\r
+the presumption of attempting to teach such clever blades as we were,\r
+when she was herself so ignorant."\r
+\r
+"We did; and, Tedo, you know, I helped you in prosecuting (or\r
+persecuting) your tutor, whey-faced Mr. Vining--the parson in the pip, as\r
+we used to call him. He and Miss Wilson took the liberty of falling in\r
+love with each other--at least Tedo and I thought so; we surprised sundry\r
+tender glances and sighs which we interpreted as tokens of 'la belle\r
+passion,' and I promise you the public soon had the benefit of our\r
+discovery; we employed it as a sort of lever to hoist our dead-weights\r
+from the house. Dear mama, there, as soon as she got an inkling of the\r
+business, found out that it was of an immoral tendency. Did you not, my\r
+lady-mother?"\r
+\r
+"Certainly, my best. And I was quite right: depend on that: there are a\r
+thousand reasons why liaisons between governesses and tutors should never\r
+be tolerated a moment in any well-regulated house; firstly--"\r
+\r
+"Oh, gracious, mama! Spare us the enumeration! _Au reste_, we all know\r
+them: danger of bad example to innocence of childhood; distractions and\r
+consequent neglect of duty on the part of the attached--mutual alliance\r
+and reliance; confidence thence resulting--insolence accompanying--mutiny\r
+and general blow-up. Am I right, Baroness Ingram, of Ingram Park?"\r
+\r
+"My lily-flower, you are right now, as always."\r
+\r
+"Then no more need be said: change the subject."\r
+\r
+Amy Eshton, not hearing or not heeding this dictum, joined in with her\r
+soft, infantine tone: "Louisa and I used to quiz our governess too; but\r
+she was such a good creature, she would bear anything: nothing put her\r
+out. She was never cross with us; was she, Louisa?"\r
+\r
+"No, never: we might do what we pleased; ransack her desk and her\r
+workbox, and turn her drawers inside out; and she was so good-natured,\r
+she would give us anything we asked for."\r
+\r
+"I suppose, now," said Miss Ingram, curling her lip sarcastically, "we\r
+shall have an abstract of the memoirs of all the governesses extant: in\r
+order to avert such a visitation, I again move the introduction of a new\r
+topic. Mr. Rochester, do you second my motion?"\r
+\r
+"Madam, I support you on this point, as on every other."\r
+\r
+"Then on me be the onus of bringing it forward. Signior Eduardo, are you\r
+in voice to-night?"\r
+\r
+"Donna Bianca, if you command it, I will be."\r
+\r
+"Then, signior, I lay on you my sovereign behest to furbish up your lungs\r
+and other vocal organs, as they will be wanted on my royal service."\r
+\r
+"Who would not be the Rizzio of so divine a Mary?"\r
+\r
+"A fig for Rizzio!" cried she, tossing her head with all its curls, as\r
+she moved to the piano. "It is my opinion the fiddler David must have\r
+been an insipid sort of fellow; I like black Bothwell better: to my mind\r
+a man is nothing without a spice of the devil in him; and history may say\r
+what it will of James Hepburn, but I have a notion, he was just the sort\r
+of wild, fierce, bandit hero whom I could have consented to gift with my\r
+hand."\r
+\r
+"Gentlemen, you hear! Now which of you most resembles Bothwell?" cried\r
+Mr. Rochester.\r
+\r
+"I should say the preference lies with you," responded Colonel Dent.\r
+\r
+"On my honour, I am much obliged to you," was the reply.\r
+\r
+Miss Ingram, who had now seated herself with proud grace at the piano,\r
+spreading out her snowy robes in queenly amplitude, commenced a brilliant\r
+prelude; talking meantime. She appeared to be on her high horse\r
+to-night; both her words and her air seemed intended to excite not only\r
+the admiration, but the amazement of her auditors: she was evidently bent\r
+on striking them as something very dashing and daring indeed.\r
+\r
+"Oh, I am so sick of the young men of the present day!" exclaimed she,\r
+rattling away at the instrument. "Poor, puny things, not fit to stir a\r
+step beyond papa's park gates: nor to go even so far without mama's\r
+permission and guardianship! Creatures so absorbed in care about their\r
+pretty faces, and their white hands, and their small feet; as if a man\r
+had anything to do with beauty! As if loveliness were not the special\r
+prerogative of woman--her legitimate appanage and heritage! I grant an\r
+ugly _woman_ is a blot on the fair face of creation; but as to the\r
+_gentlemen_, let them be solicitous to possess only strength and valour:\r
+let their motto be:--Hunt, shoot, and fight: the rest is not worth a\r
+fillip. Such should be my device, were I a man."\r
+\r
+"Whenever I marry," she continued after a pause which none interrupted,\r
+"I am resolved my husband shall not be a rival, but a foil to me. I will\r
+suffer no competitor near the throne; I shall exact an undivided homage:\r
+his devotions shall not be shared between me and the shape he sees in his\r
+mirror. Mr. Rochester, now sing, and I will play for you."\r
+\r
+"I am all obedience," was the response.\r
+\r
+"Here then is a Corsair-song. Know that I doat on Corsairs; and for that\r
+reason, sing it _con spirito_."\r
+\r
+"Commands from Miss Ingram's lips would put spirit into a mug of milk and\r
+water."\r
+\r
+"Take care, then: if you don't please me, I will shame you by showing how\r
+such things _should_ be done."\r
+\r
+"That is offering a premium on incapacity: I shall now endeavour to\r
+fail."\r
+\r
+"Gardez-vous en bien! If you err wilfully, I shall devise a\r
+proportionate punishment."\r
+\r
+"Miss Ingram ought to be clement, for she has it in her power to inflict\r
+a chastisement beyond mortal endurance."\r
+\r
+"Ha! explain!" commanded the lady.\r
+\r
+"Pardon me, madam: no need of explanation; your own fine sense must\r
+inform you that one of your frowns would be a sufficient substitute for\r
+capital punishment."\r
+\r
+"Sing!" said she, and again touching the piano, she commenced an\r
+accompaniment in spirited style.\r
+\r
+"Now is my time to slip away," thought I: but the tones that then severed\r
+the air arrested me. Mrs. Fairfax had said Mr. Rochester possessed a\r
+fine voice: he did--a mellow, powerful bass, into which he threw his own\r
+feeling, his own force; finding a way through the ear to the heart, and\r
+there waking sensation strangely. I waited till the last deep and full\r
+vibration had expired--till the tide of talk, checked an instant, had\r
+resumed its flow; I then quitted my sheltered corner and made my exit by\r
+the side-door, which was fortunately near. Thence a narrow passage led\r
+into the hall: in crossing it, I perceived my sandal was loose; I stopped\r
+to tie it, kneeling down for that purpose on the mat at the foot of the\r
+staircase. I heard the dining-room door unclose; a gentleman came out;\r
+rising hastily, I stood face to face with him: it was Mr. Rochester.\r
+\r
+"How do you do?" he asked.\r
+\r
+"I am very well, sir."\r
+\r
+"Why did you not come and speak to me in the room?"\r
+\r
+I thought I might have retorted the question on him who put it: but I\r
+would not take that freedom. I answered--\r
+\r
+"I did not wish to disturb you, as you seemed engaged, sir."\r
+\r
+"What have you been doing during my absence?"\r
+\r
+"Nothing particular; teaching Adele as usual."\r
+\r
+"And getting a good deal paler than you were--as I saw at first sight.\r
+What is the matter?"\r
+\r
+"Nothing at all, sir."\r
+\r
+"Did you take any cold that night you half drowned me?"\r
+\r
+"Not the least."\r
+\r
+"Return to the drawing-room: you are deserting too early."\r
+\r
+"I am tired, sir."\r
+\r
+He looked at me for a minute.\r
+\r
+"And a little depressed," he said. "What about? Tell me."\r
+\r
+"Nothing--nothing, sir. I am not depressed."\r
+\r
+"But I affirm that you are: so much depressed that a few more words would\r
+bring tears to your eyes--indeed, they are there now, shining and\r
+swimming; and a bead has slipped from the lash and fallen on to the flag.\r
+If I had time, and was not in mortal dread of some prating prig of a\r
+servant passing, I would know what all this means. Well, to-night I\r
+excuse you; but understand that so long as my visitors stay, I expect you\r
+to appear in the drawing-room every evening; it is my wish; don't neglect\r
+it. Now go, and send Sophie for Adele. Good-night, my--" He stopped,\r
+bit his lip, and abruptly left me.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER XVIII\r
+\r
+\r
+Merry days were these at Thornfield Hall; and busy days too: how\r
+different from the first three months of stillness, monotony, and\r
+solitude I had passed beneath its roof! All sad feelings seemed now\r
+driven from the house, all gloomy associations forgotten: there was life\r
+everywhere, movement all day long. You could not now traverse the\r
+gallery, once so hushed, nor enter the front chambers, once so\r
+tenantless, without encountering a smart lady's-maid or a dandy valet.\r
+\r
+The kitchen, the butler's pantry, the servants' hall, the entrance hall,\r
+were equally alive; and the saloons were only left void and still when\r
+the blue sky and halcyon sunshine of the genial spring weather called\r
+their occupants out into the grounds. Even when that weather was broken,\r
+and continuous rain set in for some days, no damp seemed cast over\r
+enjoyment: indoor amusements only became more lively and varied, in\r
+consequence of the stop put to outdoor gaiety.\r
+\r
+I wondered what they were going to do the first evening a change of\r
+entertainment was proposed: they spoke of "playing charades," but in my\r
+ignorance I did not understand the term. The servants were called in,\r
+the dining-room tables wheeled away, the lights otherwise disposed, the\r
+chairs placed in a semicircle opposite the arch. While Mr. Rochester and\r
+the other gentlemen directed these alterations, the ladies were running\r
+up and down stairs ringing for their maids. Mrs. Fairfax was summoned to\r
+give information respecting the resources of the house in shawls,\r
+dresses, draperies of any kind; and certain wardrobes of the third storey\r
+were ransacked, and their contents, in the shape of brocaded and hooped\r
+petticoats, satin sacques, black modes, lace lappets, &c., were brought\r
+down in armfuls by the abigails; then a selection was made, and such\r
+things as were chosen were carried to the boudoir within the\r
+drawing-room.\r
+\r
+Meantime, Mr. Rochester had again summoned the ladies round him, and was\r
+selecting certain of their number to be of his party. "Miss Ingram is\r
+mine, of course," said he: afterwards he named the two Misses Eshton, and\r
+Mrs. Dent. He looked at me: I happened to be near him, as I had been\r
+fastening the clasp of Mrs. Dent's bracelet, which had got loose.\r
+\r
+"Will you play?" he asked. I shook my head. He did not insist, which I\r
+rather feared he would have done; he allowed me to return quietly to my\r
+usual seat.\r
+\r
+He and his aids now withdrew behind the curtain: the other party, which\r
+was headed by Colonel Dent, sat down on the crescent of chairs. One of\r
+the gentlemen, Mr. Eshton, observing me, seemed to propose that I should\r
+be asked to join them; but Lady Ingram instantly negatived the notion.\r
+\r
+"No," I heard her say: "she looks too stupid for any game of the sort."\r
+\r
+Ere long a bell tinkled, and the curtain drew up. Within the arch, the\r
+bulky figure of Sir George Lynn, whom Mr. Rochester had likewise chosen,\r
+was seen enveloped in a white sheet: before him, on a table, lay open a\r
+large book; and at his side stood Amy Eshton, draped in Mr. Rochester's\r
+cloak, and holding a book in her hand. Somebody, unseen, rang the bell\r
+merrily; then Adele (who had insisted on being one of her guardian's\r
+party), bounded forward, scattering round her the contents of a basket of\r
+flowers she carried on her arm. Then appeared the magnificent figure of\r
+Miss Ingram, clad in white, a long veil on her head, and a wreath of\r
+roses round her brow; by her side walked Mr. Rochester, and together they\r
+drew near the table. They knelt; while Mrs. Dent and Louisa Eshton,\r
+dressed also in white, took up their stations behind them. A ceremony\r
+followed, in dumb show, in which it was easy to recognise the pantomime\r
+of a marriage. At its termination, Colonel Dent and his party consulted\r
+in whispers for two minutes, then the Colonel called out--\r
+\r
+"Bride!" Mr. Rochester bowed, and the curtain fell.\r
+\r
+A considerable interval elapsed before it again rose. Its second rising\r
+displayed a more elaborately prepared scene than the last. The drawing-\r
+room, as I have before observed, was raised two steps above the dining-\r
+room, and on the top of the upper step, placed a yard or two back within\r
+the room, appeared a large marble basin--which I recognised as an\r
+ornament of the conservatory--where it usually stood, surrounded by\r
+exotics, and tenanted by gold fish--and whence it must have been\r
+transported with some trouble, on account of its size and weight.\r
+\r
+Seated on the carpet, by the side of this basin, was seen Mr. Rochester,\r
+costumed in shawls, with a turban on his head. His dark eyes and swarthy\r
+skin and Paynim features suited the costume exactly: he looked the very\r
+model of an Eastern emir, an agent or a victim of the bowstring.\r
+Presently advanced into view Miss Ingram. She, too, was attired in\r
+oriental fashion: a crimson scarf tied sash-like round the waist: an\r
+embroidered handkerchief knotted about her temples; her\r
+beautifully-moulded arms bare, one of them upraised in the act of\r
+supporting a pitcher, poised gracefully on her head. Both her cast of\r
+form and feature, her complexion and her general air, suggested the idea\r
+of some Israelitish princess of the patriarchal days; and such was\r
+doubtless the character she intended to represent.\r
+\r
+She approached the basin, and bent over it as if to fill her pitcher; she\r
+again lifted it to her head. The personage on the well-brink now seemed\r
+to accost her; to make some request:--"She hasted, let down her pitcher\r
+on her hand, and gave him to drink." From the bosom of his robe he then\r
+produced a casket, opened it and showed magnificent bracelets and\r
+earrings; she acted astonishment and admiration; kneeling, he laid the\r
+treasure at her feet; incredulity and delight were expressed by her looks\r
+and gestures; the stranger fastened the bracelets on her arms and the\r
+rings in her ears. It was Eliezer and Rebecca: the camels only were\r
+wanting.\r
+\r
+The divining party again laid their heads together: apparently they could\r
+not agree about the word or syllable the scene illustrated. Colonel\r
+Dent, their spokesman, demanded "the tableau of the whole;" whereupon the\r
+curtain again descended.\r
+\r
+On its third rising only a portion of the drawing-room was disclosed; the\r
+rest being concealed by a screen, hung with some sort of dark and coarse\r
+drapery. The marble basin was removed; in its place, stood a deal table\r
+and a kitchen chair: these objects were visible by a very dim light\r
+proceeding from a horn lantern, the wax candles being all extinguished.\r
+\r
+Amidst this sordid scene, sat a man with his clenched hands resting on\r
+his knees, and his eyes bent on the ground. I knew Mr. Rochester; though\r
+the begrimed face, the disordered dress (his coat hanging loose from one\r
+arm, as if it had been almost torn from his back in a scuffle), the\r
+desperate and scowling countenance, the rough, bristling hair might well\r
+have disguised him. As he moved, a chain clanked; to his wrists were\r
+attached fetters.\r
+\r
+"Bridewell!" exclaimed Colonel Dent, and the charade was solved.\r
+\r
+A sufficient interval having elapsed for the performers to resume their\r
+ordinary costume, they re-entered the dining-room. Mr. Rochester led in\r
+Miss Ingram; she was complimenting him on his acting.\r
+\r
+"Do you know," said she, "that, of the three characters, I liked you in\r
+the last best? Oh, had you but lived a few years earlier, what a gallant\r
+gentleman-highwayman you would have made!"\r
+\r
+"Is all the soot washed from my face?" he asked, turning it towards her.\r
+\r
+"Alas! yes: the more's the pity! Nothing could be more becoming to your\r
+complexion than that ruffian's rouge."\r
+\r
+"You would like a hero of the road then?"\r
+\r
+"An English hero of the road would be the next best thing to an Italian\r
+bandit; and that could only be surpassed by a Levantine pirate."\r
+\r
+"Well, whatever I am, remember you are my wife; we were married an hour\r
+since, in the presence of all these witnesses." She giggled, and her\r
+colour rose.\r
+\r
+"Now, Dent," continued Mr. Rochester, "it is your turn." And as the\r
+other party withdrew, he and his band took the vacated seats. Miss\r
+Ingram placed herself at her leader's right hand; the other diviners\r
+filled the chairs on each side of him and her. I did not now watch the\r
+actors; I no longer waited with interest for the curtain to rise; my\r
+attention was absorbed by the spectators; my eyes, erewhile fixed on the\r
+arch, were now irresistibly attracted to the semicircle of chairs. What\r
+charade Colonel Dent and his party played, what word they chose, how they\r
+acquitted themselves, I no longer remember; but I still see the\r
+consultation which followed each scene: I see Mr. Rochester turn to Miss\r
+Ingram, and Miss Ingram to him; I see her incline her head towards him,\r
+till the jetty curls almost touch his shoulder and wave against his\r
+cheek; I hear their mutual whisperings; I recall their interchanged\r
+glances; and something even of the feeling roused by the spectacle\r
+returns in memory at this moment.\r
+\r
+I have told you, reader, that I had learnt to love Mr. Rochester: I could\r
+not unlove him now, merely because I found that he had ceased to notice\r
+me--because I might pass hours in his presence, and he would never once\r
+turn his eyes in my direction--because I saw all his attentions\r
+appropriated by a great lady, who scorned to touch me with the hem of her\r
+robes as she passed; who, if ever her dark and imperious eye fell on me\r
+by chance, would withdraw it instantly as from an object too mean to\r
+merit observation. I could not unlove him, because I felt sure he would\r
+soon marry this very lady--because I read daily in her a proud security\r
+in his intentions respecting her--because I witnessed hourly in him a\r
+style of courtship which, if careless and choosing rather to be sought\r
+than to seek, was yet, in its very carelessness, captivating, and in its\r
+very pride, irresistible.\r
+\r
+There was nothing to cool or banish love in these circumstances, though\r
+much to create despair. Much too, you will think, reader, to engender\r
+jealousy: if a woman, in my position, could presume to be jealous of a\r
+woman in Miss Ingram's. But I was not jealous: or very rarely;--the\r
+nature of the pain I suffered could not be explained by that word. Miss\r
+Ingram was a mark beneath jealousy: she was too inferior to excite the\r
+feeling. Pardon the seeming paradox; I mean what I say. She was very\r
+showy, but she was not genuine: she had a fine person, many brilliant\r
+attainments; but her mind was poor, her heart barren by nature: nothing\r
+bloomed spontaneously on that soil; no unforced natural fruit delighted\r
+by its freshness. She was not good; she was not original: she used to\r
+repeat sounding phrases from books: she never offered, nor had, an\r
+opinion of her own. She advocated a high tone of sentiment; but she did\r
+not know the sensations of sympathy and pity; tenderness and truth were\r
+not in her. Too often she betrayed this, by the undue vent she gave to a\r
+spiteful antipathy she had conceived against little Adele: pushing her\r
+away with some contumelious epithet if she happened to approach her;\r
+sometimes ordering her from the room, and always treating her with\r
+coldness and acrimony. Other eyes besides mine watched these\r
+manifestations of character--watched them closely, keenly, shrewdly. Yes;\r
+the future bridegroom, Mr. Rochester himself, exercised over his intended\r
+a ceaseless surveillance; and it was from this sagacity--this guardedness\r
+of his--this perfect, clear consciousness of his fair one's defects--this\r
+obvious absence of passion in his sentiments towards her, that my ever-\r
+torturing pain arose.\r
+\r
+I saw he was going to marry her, for family, perhaps political reasons,\r
+because her rank and connections suited him; I felt he had not given her\r
+his love, and that her qualifications were ill adapted to win from him\r
+that treasure. This was the point--this was where the nerve was touched\r
+and teased--this was where the fever was sustained and fed: _she could\r
+not charm him_.\r
+\r
+If she had managed the victory at once, and he had yielded and sincerely\r
+laid his heart at her feet, I should have covered my face, turned to the\r
+wall, and (figuratively) have died to them. If Miss Ingram had been a\r
+good and noble woman, endowed with force, fervour, kindness, sense, I\r
+should have had one vital struggle with two tigers--jealousy and despair:\r
+then, my heart torn out and devoured, I should have admired\r
+her--acknowledged her excellence, and been quiet for the rest of my days:\r
+and the more absolute her superiority, the deeper would have been my\r
+admiration--the more truly tranquil my quiescence. But as matters really\r
+stood, to watch Miss Ingram's efforts at fascinating Mr. Rochester, to\r
+witness their repeated failure--herself unconscious that they did fail;\r
+vainly fancying that each shaft launched hit the mark, and infatuatedly\r
+pluming herself on success, when her pride and self-complacency repelled\r
+further and further what she wished to allure--to witness _this_, was to\r
+be at once under ceaseless excitation and ruthless restraint.\r
+\r
+Because, when she failed, I saw how she might have succeeded. Arrows\r
+that continually glanced off from Mr. Rochester's breast and fell\r
+harmless at his feet, might, I knew, if shot by a surer hand, have\r
+quivered keen in his proud heart--have called love into his stern eye,\r
+and softness into his sardonic face; or, better still, without weapons a\r
+silent conquest might have been won.\r
+\r
+"Why can she not influence him more, when she is privileged to draw so\r
+near to him?" I asked myself. "Surely she cannot truly like him, or not\r
+like him with true affection! If she did, she need not coin her smiles\r
+so lavishly, flash her glances so unremittingly, manufacture airs so\r
+elaborate, graces so multitudinous. It seems to me that she might, by\r
+merely sitting quietly at his side, saying little and looking less, get\r
+nigher his heart. I have seen in his face a far different expression\r
+from that which hardens it now while she is so vivaciously accosting him;\r
+but then it came of itself: it was not elicited by meretricious arts and\r
+calculated manoeuvres; and one had but to accept it--to answer what he\r
+asked without pretension, to address him when needful without grimace--and\r
+it increased and grew kinder and more genial, and warmed one like a\r
+fostering sunbeam. How will she manage to please him when they are\r
+married? I do not think she will manage it; and yet it might be managed;\r
+and his wife might, I verily believe, be the very happiest woman the sun\r
+shines on."\r
+\r
+I have not yet said anything condemnatory of Mr. Rochester's project of\r
+marrying for interest and connections. It surprised me when I first\r
+discovered that such was his intention: I had thought him a man unlikely\r
+to be influenced by motives so commonplace in his choice of a wife; but\r
+the longer I considered the position, education, &c., of the parties, the\r
+less I felt justified in judging and blaming either him or Miss Ingram\r
+for acting in conformity to ideas and principles instilled into them,\r
+doubtless, from their childhood. All their class held these principles:\r
+I supposed, then, they had reasons for holding them such as I could not\r
+fathom. It seemed to me that, were I a gentleman like him, I would take\r
+to my bosom only such a wife as I could love; but the very obviousness of\r
+the advantages to the husband's own happiness offered by this plan\r
+convinced me that there must be arguments against its general adoption of\r
+which I was quite ignorant: otherwise I felt sure all the world would act\r
+as I wished to act.\r
+\r
+But in other points, as well as this, I was growing very lenient to my\r
+master: I was forgetting all his faults, for which I had once kept a\r
+sharp look-out. It had formerly been my endeavour to study all sides of\r
+his character: to take the bad with the good; and from the just weighing\r
+of both, to form an equitable judgment. Now I saw no bad. The sarcasm\r
+that had repelled, the harshness that had startled me once, were only\r
+like keen condiments in a choice dish: their presence was pungent, but\r
+their absence would be felt as comparatively insipid. And as for the\r
+vague something--was it a sinister or a sorrowful, a designing or a\r
+desponding expression?--that opened upon a careful observer, now and\r
+then, in his eye, and closed again before one could fathom the strange\r
+depth partially disclosed; that something which used to make me fear and\r
+shrink, as if I had been wandering amongst volcanic-looking hills, and\r
+had suddenly felt the ground quiver and seen it gape: that something, I,\r
+at intervals, beheld still; and with throbbing heart, but not with\r
+palsied nerves. Instead of wishing to shun, I longed only to dare--to\r
+divine it; and I thought Miss Ingram happy, because one day she might\r
+look into the abyss at her leisure, explore its secrets and analyse their\r
+nature.\r
+\r
+Meantime, while I thought only of my master and his future bride--saw\r
+only them, heard only their discourse, and considered only their\r
+movements of importance--the rest of the party were occupied with their\r
+own separate interests and pleasures. The Ladies Lynn and Ingram\r
+continued to consort in solemn conferences, where they nodded their two\r
+turbans at each other, and held up their four hands in confronting\r
+gestures of surprise, or mystery, or horror, according to the theme on\r
+which their gossip ran, like a pair of magnified puppets. Mild Mrs. Dent\r
+talked with good-natured Mrs. Eshton; and the two sometimes bestowed a\r
+courteous word or smile on me. Sir George Lynn, Colonel Dent, and Mr.\r
+Eshton discussed politics, or county affairs, or justice business. Lord\r
+Ingram flirted with Amy Eshton; Louisa played and sang to and with one of\r
+the Messrs. Lynn; and Mary Ingram listened languidly to the gallant\r
+speeches of the other. Sometimes all, as with one consent, suspended\r
+their by-play to observe and listen to the principal actors: for, after\r
+all, Mr. Rochester and--because closely connected with him--Miss Ingram\r
+were the life and soul of the party. If he was absent from the room an\r
+hour, a perceptible dulness seemed to steal over the spirits of his\r
+guests; and his re-entrance was sure to give a fresh impulse to the\r
+vivacity of conversation.\r
+\r
+The want of his animating influence appeared to be peculiarly felt one\r
+day that he had been summoned to Millcote on business, and was not likely\r
+to return till late. The afternoon was wet: a walk the party had\r
+proposed to take to see a gipsy camp, lately pitched on a common beyond\r
+Hay, was consequently deferred. Some of the gentlemen were gone to the\r
+stables: the younger ones, together with the younger ladies, were playing\r
+billiards in the billiard-room. The dowagers Ingram and Lynn sought\r
+solace in a quiet game at cards. Blanche Ingram, after having repelled,\r
+by supercilious taciturnity, some efforts of Mrs. Dent and Mrs. Eshton to\r
+draw her into conversation, had first murmured over some sentimental\r
+tunes and airs on the piano, and then, having fetched a novel from the\r
+library, had flung herself in haughty listlessness on a sofa, and\r
+prepared to beguile, by the spell of fiction, the tedious hours of\r
+absence. The room and the house were silent: only now and then the\r
+merriment of the billiard-players was heard from above.\r
+\r
+It was verging on dusk, and the clock had already given warning of the\r
+hour to dress for dinner, when little Adele, who knelt by me in the\r
+drawing-room window-seat, suddenly exclaimed--\r
+\r
+"Voila, Monsieur Rochester, qui revient!"\r
+\r
+I turned, and Miss Ingram darted forwards from her sofa: the others, too,\r
+looked up from their several occupations; for at the same time a\r
+crunching of wheels and a splashing tramp of horse-hoofs became audible\r
+on the wet gravel. A post-chaise was approaching.\r
+\r
+"What can possess him to come home in that style?" said Miss Ingram. "He\r
+rode Mesrour (the black horse), did he not, when he went out? and Pilot\r
+was with him:--what has he done with the animals?"\r
+\r
+As she said this, she approached her tall person and ample garments so\r
+near the window, that I was obliged to bend back almost to the breaking\r
+of my spine: in her eagerness she did not observe me at first, but when\r
+she did, she curled her lip and moved to another casement. The\r
+post-chaise stopped; the driver rang the door-bell, and a gentleman\r
+alighted attired in travelling garb; but it was not Mr. Rochester; it was\r
+a tall, fashionable-looking man, a stranger.\r
+\r
+"How provoking!" exclaimed Miss Ingram: "you tiresome monkey!"\r
+(apostrophising Adele), "who perched you up in the window to give false\r
+intelligence?" and she cast on me an angry glance, as if I were in fault.\r
+\r
+Some parleying was audible in the hall, and soon the new-comer entered.\r
+He bowed to Lady Ingram, as deeming her the eldest lady present.\r
+\r
+"It appears I come at an inopportune time, madam," said he, "when my\r
+friend, Mr. Rochester, is from home; but I arrive from a very long\r
+journey, and I think I may presume so far on old and intimate\r
+acquaintance as to instal myself here till he returns."\r
+\r
+His manner was polite; his accent, in speaking, struck me as being\r
+somewhat unusual,--not precisely foreign, but still not altogether\r
+English: his age might be about Mr. Rochester's,--between thirty and\r
+forty; his complexion was singularly sallow: otherwise he was a\r
+fine-looking man, at first sight especially. On closer examination, you\r
+detected something in his face that displeased, or rather that failed to\r
+please. His features were regular, but too relaxed: his eye was large\r
+and well cut, but the life looking out of it was a tame, vacant life--at\r
+least so I thought.\r
+\r
+The sound of the dressing-bell dispersed the party. It was not till\r
+after dinner that I saw him again: he then seemed quite at his ease. But\r
+I liked his physiognomy even less than before: it struck me as being at\r
+the same time unsettled and inanimate. His eye wandered, and had no\r
+meaning in its wandering: this gave him an odd look, such as I never\r
+remembered to have seen. For a handsome and not an unamiable-looking\r
+man, he repelled me exceedingly: there was no power in that\r
+smooth-skinned face of a full oval shape: no firmness in that aquiline\r
+nose and small cherry mouth; there was no thought on the low, even\r
+forehead; no command in that blank, brown eye.\r
+\r
+As I sat in my usual nook, and looked at him with the light of the\r
+girandoles on the mantelpiece beaming full over him--for he occupied an\r
+arm-chair drawn close to the fire, and kept shrinking still nearer, as if\r
+he were cold, I compared him with Mr. Rochester. I think (with deference\r
+be it spoken) the contrast could not be much greater between a sleek\r
+gander and a fierce falcon: between a meek sheep and the rough-coated\r
+keen-eyed dog, its guardian.\r
+\r
+He had spoken of Mr. Rochester as an old friend. A curious friendship\r
+theirs must have been: a pointed illustration, indeed, of the old adage\r
+that "extremes meet."\r
+\r
+Two or three of the gentlemen sat near him, and I caught at times scraps\r
+of their conversation across the room. At first I could not make much\r
+sense of what I heard; for the discourse of Louisa Eshton and Mary\r
+Ingram, who sat nearer to me, confused the fragmentary sentences that\r
+reached me at intervals. These last were discussing the stranger; they\r
+both called him "a beautiful man." Louisa said he was "a love of a\r
+creature," and she "adored him;" and Mary instanced his "pretty little\r
+mouth, and nice nose," as her ideal of the charming.\r
+\r
+"And what a sweet-tempered forehead he has!" cried Louisa,--"so\r
+smooth--none of those frowning irregularities I dislike so much; and such\r
+a placid eye and smile!"\r
+\r
+And then, to my great relief, Mr. Henry Lynn summoned them to the other\r
+side of the room, to settle some point about the deferred excursion to\r
+Hay Common.\r
+\r
+I was now able to concentrate my attention on the group by the fire, and\r
+I presently gathered that the new-comer was called Mr. Mason; then I\r
+learned that he was but just arrived in England, and that he came from\r
+some hot country: which was the reason, doubtless, his face was so\r
+sallow, and that he sat so near the hearth, and wore a surtout in the\r
+house. Presently the words Jamaica, Kingston, Spanish Town, indicated\r
+the West Indies as his residence; and it was with no little surprise I\r
+gathered, ere long, that he had there first seen and become acquainted\r
+with Mr. Rochester. He spoke of his friend's dislike of the burning\r
+heats, the hurricanes, and rainy seasons of that region. I knew Mr.\r
+Rochester had been a traveller: Mrs. Fairfax had said so; but I thought\r
+the continent of Europe had bounded his wanderings; till now I had never\r
+heard a hint given of visits to more distant shores.\r
+\r
+I was pondering these things, when an incident, and a somewhat unexpected\r
+one, broke the thread of my musings. Mr. Mason, shivering as some one\r
+chanced to open the door, asked for more coal to be put on the fire,\r
+which had burnt out its flame, though its mass of cinder still shone hot\r
+and red. The footman who brought the coal, in going out, stopped near\r
+Mr. Eshton's chair, and said something to him in a low voice, of which I\r
+heard only the words, "old woman,"--"quite troublesome."\r
+\r
+"Tell her she shall be put in the stocks if she does not take herself\r
+off," replied the magistrate.\r
+\r
+"No--stop!" interrupted Colonel Dent. "Don't send her away, Eshton; we\r
+might turn the thing to account; better consult the ladies." And\r
+speaking aloud, he continued--"Ladies, you talked of going to Hay Common\r
+to visit the gipsy camp; Sam here says that one of the old Mother Bunches\r
+is in the servants' hall at this moment, and insists upon being brought\r
+in before 'the quality,' to tell them their fortunes. Would you like to\r
+see her?"\r
+\r
+"Surely, colonel," cried Lady Ingram, "you would not encourage such a low\r
+impostor? Dismiss her, by all means, at once!"\r
+\r
+"But I cannot persuade her to go away, my lady," said the footman; "nor\r
+can any of the servants: Mrs. Fairfax is with her just now, entreating\r
+her to be gone; but she has taken a chair in the chimney-corner, and says\r
+nothing shall stir her from it till she gets leave to come in here."\r
+\r
+"What does she want?" asked Mrs. Eshton.\r
+\r
+"'To tell the gentry their fortunes,' she says, ma'am; and she swears she\r
+must and will do it."\r
+\r
+"What is she like?" inquired the Misses Eshton, in a breath.\r
+\r
+"A shockingly ugly old creature, miss; almost as black as a crock."\r
+\r
+"Why, she's a real sorceress!" cried Frederick Lynn. "Let us have her\r
+in, of course."\r
+\r
+"To be sure," rejoined his brother; "it would be a thousand pities to\r
+throw away such a chance of fun."\r
+\r
+"My dear boys, what are you thinking about?" exclaimed Mrs. Lynn.\r
+\r
+"I cannot possibly countenance any such inconsistent proceeding," chimed\r
+in the Dowager Ingram.\r
+\r
+"Indeed, mama, but you can--and will," pronounced the haughty voice of\r
+Blanche, as she turned round on the piano-stool; where till now she had\r
+sat silent, apparently examining sundry sheets of music. "I have a\r
+curiosity to hear my fortune told: therefore, Sam, order the beldame\r
+forward."\r
+\r
+"My darling Blanche! recollect--"\r
+\r
+"I do--I recollect all you can suggest; and I must have my will--quick,\r
+Sam!"\r
+\r
+"Yes--yes--yes!" cried all the juveniles, both ladies and gentlemen. "Let\r
+her come--it will be excellent sport!"\r
+\r
+The footman still lingered. "She looks such a rough one," said he.\r
+\r
+"Go!" ejaculated Miss Ingram, and the man went.\r
+\r
+Excitement instantly seized the whole party: a running fire of raillery\r
+and jests was proceeding when Sam returned.\r
+\r
+"She won't come now," said he. "She says it's not her mission to appear\r
+before the 'vulgar herd' (them's her words). I must show her into a room\r
+by herself, and then those who wish to consult her must go to her one by\r
+one."\r
+\r
+"You see now, my queenly Blanche," began Lady Ingram, "she encroaches. Be\r
+advised, my angel girl--and--"\r
+\r
+"Show her into the library, of course," cut in the "angel girl." "It is\r
+not my mission to listen to her before the vulgar herd either: I mean to\r
+have her all to myself. Is there a fire in the library?"\r
+\r
+"Yes, ma'am--but she looks such a tinkler."\r
+\r
+"Cease that chatter, blockhead! and do my bidding."\r
+\r
+Again Sam vanished; and mystery, animation, expectation rose to full flow\r
+once more.\r
+\r
+"She's ready now," said the footman, as he reappeared. "She wishes to\r
+know who will be her first visitor."\r
+\r
+"I think I had better just look in upon her before any of the ladies go,"\r
+said Colonel Dent.\r
+\r
+"Tell her, Sam, a gentleman is coming."\r
+\r
+Sam went and returned.\r
+\r
+"She says, sir, that she'll have no gentlemen; they need not trouble\r
+themselves to come near her; nor," he added, with difficulty suppressing\r
+a titter, "any ladies either, except the young, and single."\r
+\r
+"By Jove, she has taste!" exclaimed Henry Lynn.\r
+\r
+Miss Ingram rose solemnly: "I go first," she said, in a tone which might\r
+have befitted the leader of a forlorn hope, mounting a breach in the van\r
+of his men.\r
+\r
+"Oh, my best! oh, my dearest! pause--reflect!" was her mama's cry; but\r
+she swept past her in stately silence, passed through the door which\r
+Colonel Dent held open, and we heard her enter the library.\r
+\r
+A comparative silence ensued. Lady Ingram thought it "le cas" to wring\r
+her hands: which she did accordingly. Miss Mary declared she felt, for\r
+her part, she never dared venture. Amy and Louisa Eshton tittered under\r
+their breath, and looked a little frightened.\r
+\r
+The minutes passed very slowly: fifteen were counted before the library-\r
+door again opened. Miss Ingram returned to us through the arch.\r
+\r
+Would she laugh? Would she take it as a joke? All eyes met her with a\r
+glance of eager curiosity, and she met all eyes with one of rebuff and\r
+coldness; she looked neither flurried nor merry: she walked stiffly to\r
+her seat, and took it in silence.\r
+\r
+"Well, Blanche?" said Lord Ingram.\r
+\r
+"What did she say, sister?" asked Mary.\r
+\r
+"What did you think? How do you feel?--Is she a real fortune-teller?"\r
+demanded the Misses Eshton.\r
+\r
+"Now, now, good people," returned Miss Ingram, "don't press upon me.\r
+Really your organs of wonder and credulity are easily excited: you seem,\r
+by the importance of you all--my good mama included--ascribe to this\r
+matter, absolutely to believe we have a genuine witch in the house, who\r
+is in close alliance with the old gentleman. I have seen a gipsy\r
+vagabond; she has practised in hackneyed fashion the science of palmistry\r
+and told me what such people usually tell. My whim is gratified; and now\r
+I think Mr. Eshton will do well to put the hag in the stocks to-morrow\r
+morning, as he threatened."\r
+\r
+Miss Ingram took a book, leant back in her chair, and so declined further\r
+conversation. I watched her for nearly half-an-hour: during all that\r
+time she never turned a page, and her face grew momently darker, more\r
+dissatisfied, and more sourly expressive of disappointment. She had\r
+obviously not heard anything to her advantage: and it seemed to me, from\r
+her prolonged fit of gloom and taciturnity, that she herself,\r
+notwithstanding her professed indifference, attached undue importance to\r
+whatever revelations had been made her.\r
+\r
+{During all that time she never turned a page: p184.jpg}\r
+\r
+Meantime, Mary Ingram, Amy and Louisa Eshton, declared they dared not go\r
+alone; and yet they all wished to go. A negotiation was opened through\r
+the medium of the ambassador, Sam; and after much pacing to and fro,\r
+till, I think, the said Sam's calves must have ached with the exercise,\r
+permission was at last, with great difficulty, extorted from the rigorous\r
+Sibyl, for the three to wait upon her in a body.\r
+\r
+Their visit was not so still as Miss Ingram's had been: we heard\r
+hysterical giggling and little shrieks proceeding from the library; and\r
+at the end of about twenty minutes they burst the door open, and came\r
+running across the hall, as if they were half-scared out of their wits.\r
+\r
+"I am sure she is something not right!" they cried, one and all. "She\r
+told us such things! She knows all about us!" and they sank breathless\r
+into the various seats the gentlemen hastened to bring them.\r
+\r
+Pressed for further explanation, they declared she had told them of\r
+things they had said and done when they were mere children; described\r
+books and ornaments they had in their boudoirs at home: keepsakes that\r
+different relations had presented to them. They affirmed that she had\r
+even divined their thoughts, and had whispered in the ear of each the\r
+name of the person she liked best in the world, and informed them of what\r
+they most wished for.\r
+\r
+Here the gentlemen interposed with earnest petitions to be further\r
+enlightened on these two last-named points; but they got only blushes,\r
+ejaculations, tremors, and titters, in return for their importunity. The\r
+matrons, meantime, offered vinaigrettes and wielded fans; and again and\r
+again reiterated the expression of their concern that their warning had\r
+not been taken in time; and the elder gentlemen laughed, and the younger\r
+urged their services on the agitated fair ones.\r
+\r
+In the midst of the tumult, and while my eyes and ears were fully engaged\r
+in the scene before me, I heard a hem close at my elbow: I turned, and\r
+saw Sam.\r
+\r
+"If you please, miss, the gipsy declares that there is another young\r
+single lady in the room who has not been to her yet, and she swears she\r
+will not go till she has seen all. I thought it must be you: there is no\r
+one else for it. What shall I tell her?"\r
+\r
+"Oh, I will go by all means," I answered: and I was glad of the\r
+unexpected opportunity to gratify my much-excited curiosity. I slipped\r
+out of the room, unobserved by any eye--for the company were gathered in\r
+one mass about the trembling trio just returned--and I closed the door\r
+quietly behind me.\r
+\r
+"If you like, miss," said Sam, "I'll wait in the hall for you; and if she\r
+frightens you, just call and I'll come in."\r
+\r
+"No, Sam, return to the kitchen: I am not in the least afraid." Nor was\r
+I; but I was a good deal interested and excited.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER XIX\r
+\r
+\r
+The library looked tranquil enough as I entered it, and the Sibyl--if\r
+Sibyl she were--was seated snugly enough in an easy-chair at the chimney-\r
+corner. She had on a red cloak and a black bonnet: or rather, a broad-\r
+brimmed gipsy hat, tied down with a striped handkerchief under her chin.\r
+An extinguished candle stood on the table; she was bending over the fire,\r
+and seemed reading in a little black book, like a prayer-book, by the\r
+light of the blaze: she muttered the words to herself, as most old women\r
+do, while she read; she did not desist immediately on my entrance: it\r
+appeared she wished to finish a paragraph.\r
+\r
+I stood on the rug and warmed my hands, which were rather cold with\r
+sitting at a distance from the drawing-room fire. I felt now as composed\r
+as ever I did in my life: there was nothing indeed in the gipsy's\r
+appearance to trouble one's calm. She shut her book and slowly looked\r
+up; her hat-brim partially shaded her face, yet I could see, as she\r
+raised it, that it was a strange one. It looked all brown and black: elf-\r
+locks bristled out from beneath a white band which passed under her chin,\r
+and came half over her cheeks, or rather jaws: her eye confronted me at\r
+once, with a bold and direct gaze.\r
+\r
+"Well, and you want your fortune told?" she said, in a voice as decided\r
+as her glance, as harsh as her features.\r
+\r
+"I don't care about it, mother; you may please yourself: but I ought to\r
+warn you, I have no faith."\r
+\r
+"It's like your impudence to say so: I expected it of you; I heard it in\r
+your step as you crossed the threshold."\r
+\r
+"Did you? You've a quick ear."\r
+\r
+"I have; and a quick eye and a quick brain."\r
+\r
+"You need them all in your trade."\r
+\r
+"I do; especially when I've customers like you to deal with. Why don't\r
+you tremble?"\r
+\r
+"I'm not cold."\r
+\r
+"Why don't you turn pale?"\r
+\r
+"I am not sick."\r
+\r
+"Why don't you consult my art?"\r
+\r
+"I'm not silly."\r
+\r
+The old crone "nichered" a laugh under her bonnet and bandage; she then\r
+drew out a short black pipe, and lighting it began to smoke. Having\r
+indulged a while in this sedative, she raised her bent body, took the\r
+pipe from her lips, and while gazing steadily at the fire, said very\r
+deliberately--"You are cold; you are sick; and you are silly."\r
+\r
+"Prove it," I rejoined.\r
+\r
+"I will, in few words. You are cold, because you are alone: no contact\r
+strikes the fire from you that is in you. You are sick; because the best\r
+of feelings, the highest and the sweetest given to man, keeps far away\r
+from you. You are silly, because, suffer as you may, you will not beckon\r
+it to approach, nor will you stir one step to meet it where it waits\r
+you."\r
+\r
+She again put her short black pipe to her lips, and renewed her smoking\r
+with vigour.\r
+\r
+"You might say all that to almost any one who you knew lived as a\r
+solitary dependent in a great house."\r
+\r
+"I might say it to almost any one: but would it be true of almost any\r
+one?"\r
+\r
+"In my circumstances."\r
+\r
+"Yes; just so, in _your_ circumstances: but find me another precisely\r
+placed as you are."\r
+\r
+"It would be easy to find you thousands."\r
+\r
+"You could scarcely find me one. If you knew it, you are peculiarly\r
+situated: very near happiness; yes, within reach of it. The materials\r
+are all prepared; there only wants a movement to combine them. Chance\r
+laid them somewhat apart; let them be once approached and bliss results."\r
+\r
+"I don't understand enigmas. I never could guess a riddle in my life."\r
+\r
+"If you wish me to speak more plainly, show me your palm."\r
+\r
+"And I must cross it with silver, I suppose?"\r
+\r
+"To be sure."\r
+\r
+I gave her a shilling: she put it into an old stocking-foot which she\r
+took out of her pocket, and having tied it round and returned it, she\r
+told me to hold out my hand. I did. She approached her face to the\r
+palm, and pored over it without touching it.\r
+\r
+"It is too fine," said she. "I can make nothing of such a hand as that;\r
+almost without lines: besides, what is in a palm? Destiny is not written\r
+there."\r
+\r
+"I believe you," said I.\r
+\r
+"No," she continued, "it is in the face: on the forehead, about the eyes,\r
+in the lines of the mouth. Kneel, and lift up your head."\r
+\r
+"Ah! now you are coming to reality," I said, as I obeyed her. "I shall\r
+begin to put some faith in you presently."\r
+\r
+I knelt within half a yard of her. She stirred the fire, so that a\r
+ripple of light broke from the disturbed coal: the glare, however, as she\r
+sat, only threw her face into deeper shadow: mine, it illumined.\r
+\r
+"I wonder with what feelings you came to me to-night," she said, when she\r
+had examined me a while. "I wonder what thoughts are busy in your heart\r
+during all the hours you sit in yonder room with the fine people flitting\r
+before you like shapes in a magic-lantern: just as little sympathetic\r
+communion passing between you and them as if they were really mere\r
+shadows of human forms, and not the actual substance."\r
+\r
+"I feel tired often, sleepy sometimes, but seldom sad."\r
+\r
+"Then you have some secret hope to buoy you up and please you with\r
+whispers of the future?"\r
+\r
+"Not I. The utmost I hope is, to save money enough out of my earnings to\r
+set up a school some day in a little house rented by myself."\r
+\r
+"A mean nutriment for the spirit to exist on: and sitting in that window-\r
+seat (you see I know your habits )--"\r
+\r
+"You have learned them from the servants."\r
+\r
+"Ah! you think yourself sharp. Well, perhaps I have: to speak truth, I\r
+have an acquaintance with one of them, Mrs. Poole--"\r
+\r
+I started to my feet when I heard the name.\r
+\r
+"You have--have you?" thought I; "there is diablerie in the business\r
+after all, then!"\r
+\r
+"Don't be alarmed," continued the strange being; "she's a safe hand is\r
+Mrs. Poole: close and quiet; any one may repose confidence in her. But,\r
+as I was saying: sitting in that window-seat, do you think of nothing but\r
+your future school? Have you no present interest in any of the company\r
+who occupy the sofas and chairs before you? Is there not one face you\r
+study? one figure whose movements you follow with at least curiosity?"\r
+\r
+"I like to observe all the faces and all the figures."\r
+\r
+"But do you never single one from the rest--or it may be, two?"\r
+\r
+"I do frequently; when the gestures or looks of a pair seem telling a\r
+tale: it amuses me to watch them."\r
+\r
+"What tale do you like best to hear?"\r
+\r
+"Oh, I have not much choice! They generally run on the same\r
+theme--courtship; and promise to end in the same catastrophe--marriage."\r
+\r
+"And do you like that monotonous theme?"\r
+\r
+"Positively, I don't care about it: it is nothing to me."\r
+\r
+"Nothing to you? When a lady, young and full of life and health,\r
+charming with beauty and endowed with the gifts of rank and fortune, sits\r
+and smiles in the eyes of a gentleman you--"\r
+\r
+"I what?"\r
+\r
+"You know--and perhaps think well of."\r
+\r
+"I don't know the gentlemen here. I have scarcely interchanged a\r
+syllable with one of them; and as to thinking well of them, I consider\r
+some respectable, and stately, and middle-aged, and others young,\r
+dashing, handsome, and lively: but certainly they are all at liberty to\r
+be the recipients of whose smiles they please, without my feeling\r
+disposed to consider the transaction of any moment to me."\r
+\r
+"You don't know the gentlemen here? You have not exchanged a syllable\r
+with one of them? Will you say that of the master of the house!"\r
+\r
+"He is not at home."\r
+\r
+"A profound remark! A most ingenious quibble! He went to Millcote this\r
+morning, and will be back here to-night or to-morrow: does that\r
+circumstance exclude him from the list of your acquaintance--blot him, as\r
+it were, out of existence?"\r
+\r
+"No; but I can scarcely see what Mr. Rochester has to do with the theme\r
+you had introduced."\r
+\r
+"I was talking of ladies smiling in the eyes of gentlemen; and of late so\r
+many smiles have been shed into Mr. Rochester's eyes that they overflow\r
+like two cups filled above the brim: have you never remarked that?"\r
+\r
+"Mr. Rochester has a right to enjoy the society of his guests."\r
+\r
+"No question about his right: but have you never observed that, of all\r
+the tales told here about matrimony, Mr. Rochester has been favoured with\r
+the most lively and the most continuous?"\r
+\r
+"The eagerness of a listener quickens the tongue of a narrator." I said\r
+this rather to myself than to the gipsy, whose strange talk, voice,\r
+manner, had by this time wrapped me in a kind of dream. One unexpected\r
+sentence came from her lips after another, till I got involved in a web\r
+of mystification; and wondered what unseen spirit had been sitting for\r
+weeks by my heart watching its workings and taking record of every pulse.\r
+\r
+"Eagerness of a listener!" repeated she: "yes; Mr. Rochester has sat by\r
+the hour, his ear inclined to the fascinating lips that took such delight\r
+in their task of communicating; and Mr. Rochester was so willing to\r
+receive and looked so grateful for the pastime given him; you have\r
+noticed this?"\r
+\r
+"Grateful! I cannot remember detecting gratitude in his face."\r
+\r
+"Detecting! You have analysed, then. And what did you detect, if not\r
+gratitude?"\r
+\r
+I said nothing.\r
+\r
+"You have seen love: have you not?--and, looking forward, you have seen\r
+him married, and beheld his bride happy?"\r
+\r
+"Humph! Not exactly. Your witch's skill is rather at fault sometimes."\r
+\r
+"What the devil have you seen, then?"\r
+\r
+"Never mind: I came here to inquire, not to confess. Is it known that\r
+Mr. Rochester is to be married?"\r
+\r
+"Yes; and to the beautiful Miss Ingram."\r
+\r
+"Shortly?"\r
+\r
+"Appearances would warrant that conclusion: and, no doubt (though, with\r
+an audacity that wants chastising out of you, you seem to question it),\r
+they will be a superlatively happy pair. He must love such a handsome,\r
+noble, witty, accomplished lady; and probably she loves him, or, if not\r
+his person, at least his purse. I know she considers the Rochester\r
+estate eligible to the last degree; though (God pardon me!) I told her\r
+something on that point about an hour ago which made her look wondrous\r
+grave: the corners of her mouth fell half an inch. I would advise her\r
+blackaviced suitor to look out: if another comes, with a longer or\r
+clearer rent-roll,--he's dished--"\r
+\r
+"But, mother, I did not come to hear Mr. Rochester's fortune: I came to\r
+hear my own; and you have told me nothing of it."\r
+\r
+"Your fortune is yet doubtful: when I examined your face, one trait\r
+contradicted another. Chance has meted you a measure of happiness: that\r
+I know. I knew it before I came here this evening. She has laid it\r
+carefully on one side for you. I saw her do it. It depends on yourself\r
+to stretch out your hand, and take it up: but whether you will do so, is\r
+the problem I study. Kneel again on the rug."\r
+\r
+"Don't keep me long; the fire scorches me."\r
+\r
+{She did not stoop towards me, but only gazed, leaning back in her chair:\r
+p190.jpg}\r
+\r
+I knelt. She did not stoop towards me, but only gazed, leaning back in\r
+her chair. She began muttering,--\r
+\r
+"The flame flickers in the eye; the eye shines like dew; it looks soft\r
+and full of feeling; it smiles at my jargon: it is susceptible;\r
+impression follows impression through its clear sphere; where it ceases\r
+to smile, it is sad; an unconscious lassitude weighs on the lid: that\r
+signifies melancholy resulting from loneliness. It turns from me; it\r
+will not suffer further scrutiny; it seems to deny, by a mocking glance,\r
+the truth of the discoveries I have already made,--to disown the charge\r
+both of sensibility and chagrin: its pride and reserve only confirm me in\r
+my opinion. The eye is favourable.\r
+\r
+"As to the mouth, it delights at times in laughter; it is disposed to\r
+impart all that the brain conceives; though I daresay it would be silent\r
+on much the heart experiences. Mobile and flexible, it was never\r
+intended to be compressed in the eternal silence of solitude: it is a\r
+mouth which should speak much and smile often, and have human affection\r
+for its interlocutor. That feature too is propitious.\r
+\r
+"I see no enemy to a fortunate issue but in the brow; and that brow\r
+professes to say,--'I can live alone, if self-respect, and circumstances\r
+require me so to do. I need not sell my soul to buy bliss. I have an\r
+inward treasure born with me, which can keep me alive if all extraneous\r
+delights should be withheld, or offered only at a price I cannot afford\r
+to give.' The forehead declares, 'Reason sits firm and holds the reins,\r
+and she will not let the feelings burst away and hurry her to wild\r
+chasms. The passions may rage furiously, like true heathens, as they\r
+are; and the desires may imagine all sorts of vain things: but judgment\r
+shall still have the last word in every argument, and the casting vote in\r
+every decision. Strong wind, earthquake-shock, and fire may pass by: but\r
+I shall follow the guiding of that still small voice which interprets the\r
+dictates of conscience.'\r
+\r
+"Well said, forehead; your declaration shall be respected. I have formed\r
+my plans--right plans I deem them--and in them I have attended to the\r
+claims of conscience, the counsels of reason. I know how soon youth\r
+would fade and bloom perish, if, in the cup of bliss offered, but one\r
+dreg of shame, or one flavour of remorse were detected; and I do not want\r
+sacrifice, sorrow, dissolution--such is not my taste. I wish to foster,\r
+not to blight--to earn gratitude, not to wring tears of blood--no, nor of\r
+brine: my harvest must be in smiles, in endearments, in sweet--That will\r
+do. I think I rave in a kind of exquisite delirium. I should wish now\r
+to protract this moment _ad infinitum_; but I dare not. So far I have\r
+governed myself thoroughly. I have acted as I inwardly swore I would\r
+act; but further might try me beyond my strength. Rise, Miss Eyre: leave\r
+me; the play is played out'."\r
+\r
+Where was I? Did I wake or sleep? Had I been dreaming? Did I dream\r
+still? The old woman's voice had changed: her accent, her gesture, and\r
+all were familiar to me as my own face in a glass--as the speech of my\r
+own tongue. I got up, but did not go. I looked; I stirred the fire, and\r
+I looked again: but she drew her bonnet and her bandage closer about her\r
+face, and again beckoned me to depart. The flame illuminated her hand\r
+stretched out: roused now, and on the alert for discoveries, I at once\r
+noticed that hand. It was no more the withered limb of eld than my own;\r
+it was a rounded supple member, with smooth fingers, symmetrically\r
+turned; a broad ring flashed on the little finger, and stooping forward,\r
+I looked at it, and saw a gem I had seen a hundred times before. Again I\r
+looked at the face; which was no longer turned from me--on the contrary,\r
+the bonnet was doffed, the bandage displaced, the head advanced.\r
+\r
+"Well, Jane, do you know me?" asked the familiar voice.\r
+\r
+"Only take off the red cloak, sir, and then--"\r
+\r
+"But the string is in a knot--help me."\r
+\r
+"Break it, sir."\r
+\r
+"There, then--'Off, ye lendings!'" And Mr. Rochester stepped out of his\r
+disguise.\r
+\r
+"Now, sir, what a strange idea!"\r
+\r
+"But well carried out, eh? Don't you think so?"\r
+\r
+"With the ladies you must have managed well."\r
+\r
+"But not with you?"\r
+\r
+"You did not act the character of a gipsy with me."\r
+\r
+"What character did I act? My own?"\r
+\r
+"No; some unaccountable one. In short, I believe you have been trying to\r
+draw me out--or in; you have been talking nonsense to make me talk\r
+nonsense. It is scarcely fair, sir."\r
+\r
+"Do you forgive me, Jane?"\r
+\r
+"I cannot tell till I have thought it all over. If, on reflection, I\r
+find I have fallen into no great absurdity, I shall try to forgive you;\r
+but it was not right."\r
+\r
+"Oh, you have been very correct--very careful, very sensible."\r
+\r
+I reflected, and thought, on the whole, I had. It was a comfort; but,\r
+indeed, I had been on my guard almost from the beginning of the\r
+interview. Something of masquerade I suspected. I knew gipsies and\r
+fortune-tellers did not express themselves as this seeming old woman had\r
+expressed herself; besides I had noted her feigned voice, her anxiety to\r
+conceal her features. But my mind had been running on Grace Poole--that\r
+living enigma, that mystery of mysteries, as I considered her. I had\r
+never thought of Mr. Rochester.\r
+\r
+"Well," said he, "what are you musing about? What does that grave smile\r
+signify?"\r
+\r
+"Wonder and self-congratulation, sir. I have your permission to retire\r
+now, I suppose?"\r
+\r
+"No; stay a moment; and tell me what the people in the drawing-room\r
+yonder are doing."\r
+\r
+"Discussing the gipsy, I daresay."\r
+\r
+"Sit down!--Let me hear what they said about me."\r
+\r
+"I had better not stay long, sir; it must be near eleven o'clock. Oh,\r
+are you aware, Mr. Rochester, that a stranger has arrived here since you\r
+left this morning?"\r
+\r
+"A stranger!--no; who can it be? I expected no one; is he gone?"\r
+\r
+"No; he said he had known you long, and that he could take the liberty of\r
+installing himself here till you returned."\r
+\r
+"The devil he did! Did he give his name?"\r
+\r
+"His name is Mason, sir; and he comes from the West Indies; from Spanish\r
+Town, in Jamaica, I think."\r
+\r
+Mr. Rochester was standing near me; he had taken my hand, as if to lead\r
+me to a chair. As I spoke he gave my wrist a convulsive grip; the smile\r
+on his lips froze: apparently a spasm caught his breath.\r
+\r
+"Mason!--the West Indies!" he said, in the tone one might fancy a\r
+speaking automaton to enounce its single words; "Mason!--the West\r
+Indies!" he reiterated; and he went over the syllables three times,\r
+growing, in the intervals of speaking, whiter than ashes: he hardly\r
+seemed to know what he was doing.\r
+\r
+"Do you feel ill, sir?" I inquired.\r
+\r
+"Jane, I've got a blow; I've got a blow, Jane!" He staggered.\r
+\r
+"Oh, lean on me, sir."\r
+\r
+"Jane, you offered me your shoulder once before; let me have it now."\r
+\r
+"Yes, sir, yes; and my arm."\r
+\r
+He sat down, and made me sit beside him. Holding my hand in both his\r
+own, he chafed it; gazing on me, at the same time, with the most troubled\r
+and dreary look.\r
+\r
+"My little friend!" said he, "I wish I were in a quiet island with only\r
+you; and trouble, and danger, and hideous recollections removed from me."\r
+\r
+"Can I help you, sir?--I'd give my life to serve you."\r
+\r
+"Jane, if aid is wanted, I'll seek it at your hands; I promise you that."\r
+\r
+"Thank you, sir. Tell me what to do,--I'll try, at least, to do it."\r
+\r
+"Fetch me now, Jane, a glass of wine from the dining-room: they will be\r
+at supper there; and tell me if Mason is with them, and what he is\r
+doing."\r
+\r
+I went. I found all the party in the dining-room at supper, as Mr.\r
+Rochester had said; they were not seated at table,--the supper was\r
+arranged on the sideboard; each had taken what he chose, and they stood\r
+about here and there in groups, their plates and glasses in their hands.\r
+Every one seemed in high glee; laughter and conversation were general and\r
+animated. Mr. Mason stood near the fire, talking to Colonel and Mrs.\r
+Dent, and appeared as merry as any of them. I filled a wine-glass (I saw\r
+Miss Ingram watch me frowningly as I did so: she thought I was taking a\r
+liberty, I daresay), and I returned to the library.\r
+\r
+Mr. Rochester's extreme pallor had disappeared, and he looked once more\r
+firm and stern. He took the glass from my hand.\r
+\r
+"Here is to your health, ministrant spirit!" he said. He swallowed the\r
+contents and returned it to me. "What are they doing, Jane?"\r
+\r
+"Laughing and talking, sir."\r
+\r
+"They don't look grave and mysterious, as if they had heard something\r
+strange?"\r
+\r
+"Not at all: they are full of jests and gaiety."\r
+\r
+"And Mason?"\r
+\r
+"He was laughing too."\r
+\r
+"If all these people came in a body and spat at me, what would you do,\r
+Jane?"\r
+\r
+"Turn them out of the room, sir, if I could."\r
+\r
+He half smiled. "But if I were to go to them, and they only looked at me\r
+coldly, and whispered sneeringly amongst each other, and then dropped off\r
+and left me one by one, what then? Would you go with them?"\r
+\r
+"I rather think not, sir: I should have more pleasure in staying with\r
+you."\r
+\r
+"To comfort me?"\r
+\r
+"Yes, sir, to comfort you, as well as I could."\r
+\r
+"And if they laid you under a ban for adhering to me?"\r
+\r
+"I, probably, should know nothing about their ban; and if I did, I should\r
+care nothing about it."\r
+\r
+"Then, you could dare censure for my sake?"\r
+\r
+"I could dare it for the sake of any friend who deserved my adherence; as\r
+you, I am sure, do."\r
+\r
+"Go back now into the room; step quietly up to Mason, and whisper in his\r
+ear that Mr. Rochester is come and wishes to see him: show him in here\r
+and then leave me."\r
+\r
+"Yes, sir."\r
+\r
+I did his behest. The company all stared at me as I passed straight\r
+among them. I sought Mr. Mason, delivered the message, and preceded him\r
+from the room: I ushered him into the library, and then I went upstairs.\r
+\r
+At a late hour, after I had been in bed some time, I heard the visitors\r
+repair to their chambers: I distinguished Mr. Rochester's voice, and\r
+heard him say, "This way, Mason; this is your room."\r
+\r
+He spoke cheerfully: the gay tones set my heart at ease. I was soon\r
+asleep.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER XX\r
+\r
+\r
+I had forgotten to draw my curtain, which I usually did, and also to let\r
+down my window-blind. The consequence was, that when the moon, which was\r
+full and bright (for the night was fine), came in her course to that\r
+space in the sky opposite my casement, and looked in at me through the\r
+unveiled panes, her glorious gaze roused me. Awaking in the dead of\r
+night, I opened my eyes on her disk--silver-white and crystal clear. It\r
+was beautiful, but too solemn; I half rose, and stretched my arm to draw\r
+the curtain.\r
+\r
+Good God! What a cry!\r
+\r
+The night--its silence--its rest, was rent in twain by a savage, a sharp,\r
+a shrilly sound that ran from end to end of Thornfield Hall.\r
+\r
+My pulse stopped: my heart stood still; my stretched arm was paralysed.\r
+The cry died, and was not renewed. Indeed, whatever being uttered that\r
+fearful shriek could not soon repeat it: not the widest-winged condor on\r
+the Andes could, twice in succession, send out such a yell from the cloud\r
+shrouding his eyrie. The thing delivering such utterance must rest ere\r
+it could repeat the effort.\r
+\r
+It came out of the third storey; for it passed overhead. And\r
+overhead--yes, in the room just above my chamber-ceiling--I now heard a\r
+struggle: a deadly one it seemed from the noise; and a half-smothered\r
+voice shouted--\r
+\r
+"Help! help! help!" three times rapidly.\r
+\r
+"Will no one come?" it cried; and then, while the staggering and stamping\r
+went on wildly, I distinguished through plank and plaster:--\r
+\r
+"Rochester! Rochester! for God's sake, come!"\r
+\r
+A chamber-door opened: some one ran, or rushed, along the gallery.\r
+Another step stamped on the flooring above and something fell; and there\r
+was silence.\r
+\r
+I had put on some clothes, though horror shook all my limbs; I issued\r
+from my apartment. The sleepers were all aroused: ejaculations,\r
+terrified murmurs sounded in every room; door after door unclosed; one\r
+looked out and another looked out; the gallery filled. Gentlemen and\r
+ladies alike had quitted their beds; and "Oh! what is it?"--"Who is\r
+hurt?"--"What has happened?"--"Fetch a light!"--"Is it fire?"--"Are there\r
+robbers?"--"Where shall we run?" was demanded confusedly on all hands.\r
+But for the moonlight they would have been in complete darkness. They\r
+ran to and fro; they crowded together: some sobbed, some stumbled: the\r
+confusion was inextricable.\r
+\r
+"Where the devil is Rochester?" cried Colonel Dent. "I cannot find him\r
+in his bed."\r
+\r
+"Here! here!" was shouted in return. "Be composed, all of you: I'm\r
+coming."\r
+\r
+And the door at the end of the gallery opened, and Mr. Rochester advanced\r
+with a candle: he had just descended from the upper storey. One of the\r
+ladies ran to him directly; she seized his arm: it was Miss Ingram.\r
+\r
+"What awful event has taken place?" said she. "Speak! let us know the\r
+worst at once!"\r
+\r
+"But don't pull me down or strangle me," he replied: for the Misses\r
+Eshton were clinging about him now; and the two dowagers, in vast white\r
+wrappers, were bearing down on him like ships in full sail.\r
+\r
+"All's right!--all's right!" he cried. "It's a mere rehearsal of Much\r
+Ado about Nothing. Ladies, keep off, or I shall wax dangerous."\r
+\r
+And dangerous he looked: his black eyes darted sparks. Calming himself\r
+by an effort, he added--\r
+\r
+"A servant has had the nightmare; that is all. She's an excitable,\r
+nervous person: she construed her dream into an apparition, or something\r
+of that sort, no doubt; and has taken a fit with fright. Now, then, I\r
+must see you all back into your rooms; for, till the house is settled,\r
+she cannot be looked after. Gentlemen, have the goodness to set the\r
+ladies the example. Miss Ingram, I am sure you will not fail in evincing\r
+superiority to idle terrors. Amy and Louisa, return to your nests like a\r
+pair of doves, as you are. Mesdames" (to the dowagers), "you will take\r
+cold to a dead certainty, if you stay in this chill gallery any longer."\r
+\r
+And so, by dint of alternate coaxing and commanding, he contrived to get\r
+them all once more enclosed in their separate dormitories. I did not\r
+wait to be ordered back to mine, but retreated unnoticed, as unnoticed I\r
+had left it.\r
+\r
+Not, however, to go to bed: on the contrary, I began and dressed myself\r
+carefully. The sounds I had heard after the scream, and the words that\r
+had been uttered, had probably been heard only by me; for they had\r
+proceeded from the room above mine: but they assured me that it was not a\r
+servant's dream which had thus struck horror through the house; and that\r
+the explanation Mr. Rochester had given was merely an invention framed to\r
+pacify his guests. I dressed, then, to be ready for emergencies. When\r
+dressed, I sat a long time by the window looking out over the silent\r
+grounds and silvered fields and waiting for I knew not what. It seemed\r
+to me that some event must follow the strange cry, struggle, and call.\r
+\r
+No: stillness returned: each murmur and movement ceased gradually, and in\r
+about an hour Thornfield Hall was again as hushed as a desert. It seemed\r
+that sleep and night had resumed their empire. Meantime the moon\r
+declined: she was about to set. Not liking to sit in the cold and\r
+darkness, I thought I would lie down on my bed, dressed as I was. I left\r
+the window, and moved with little noise across the carpet; as I stooped\r
+to take off my shoes, a cautious hand tapped low at the door.\r
+\r
+"Am I wanted?" I asked.\r
+\r
+"Are you up?" asked the voice I expected to hear, viz., my master's.\r
+\r
+"Yes, sir."\r
+\r
+"And dressed?"\r
+\r
+"Yes."\r
+\r
+"Come out, then, quietly."\r
+\r
+I obeyed. Mr. Rochester stood in the gallery holding a light.\r
+\r
+"I want you," he said: "come this way: take your time, and make no\r
+noise."\r
+\r
+My slippers were thin: I could walk the matted floor as softly as a cat.\r
+He glided up the gallery and up the stairs, and stopped in the dark, low\r
+corridor of the fateful third storey: I had followed and stood at his\r
+side.\r
+\r
+"Have you a sponge in your room?" he asked in a whisper.\r
+\r
+"Yes, sir."\r
+\r
+"Have you any salts--volatile salts?"\r
+\r
+"Yes."\r
+\r
+"Go back and fetch both."\r
+\r
+I returned, sought the sponge on the washstand, the salts in my drawer,\r
+and once more retraced my steps. He still waited; he held a key in his\r
+hand: approaching one of the small, black doors, he put it in the lock;\r
+he paused, and addressed me again.\r
+\r
+"You don't turn sick at the sight of blood?"\r
+\r
+"I think I shall not: I have never been tried yet."\r
+\r
+I felt a thrill while I answered him; but no coldness, and no faintness.\r
+\r
+"Just give me your hand," he said: "it will not do to risk a fainting\r
+fit."\r
+\r
+I put my fingers into his. "Warm and steady," was his remark: he turned\r
+the key and opened the door.\r
+\r
+I saw a room I remembered to have seen before, the day Mrs. Fairfax\r
+showed me over the house: it was hung with tapestry; but the tapestry was\r
+now looped up in one part, and there was a door apparent, which had then\r
+been concealed. This door was open; a light shone out of the room\r
+within: I heard thence a snarling, snatching sound, almost like a dog\r
+quarrelling. Mr. Rochester, putting down his candle, said to me, "Wait a\r
+minute," and he went forward to the inner apartment. A shout of laughter\r
+greeted his entrance; noisy at first, and terminating in Grace Poole's\r
+own goblin ha! ha! _She_ then was there. He made some sort of\r
+arrangement without speaking, though I heard a low voice address him: he\r
+came out and closed the door behind him.\r
+\r
+"Here, Jane!" he said; and I walked round to the other side of a large\r
+bed, which with its drawn curtains concealed a considerable portion of\r
+the chamber. An easy-chair was near the bed-head: a man sat in it,\r
+dressed with the exception of his coat; he was still; his head leant\r
+back; his eyes were closed. Mr. Rochester held the candle over him; I\r
+recognised in his pale and seemingly lifeless face--the stranger, Mason:\r
+I saw too that his linen on one side, and one arm, was almost soaked in\r
+blood.\r
+\r
+"Hold the candle," said Mr. Rochester, and I took it: he fetched a basin\r
+of water from the washstand: "Hold that," said he. I obeyed. He took\r
+the sponge, dipped it in, and moistened the corpse-like face; he asked\r
+for my smelling-bottle, and applied it to the nostrils. Mr. Mason\r
+shortly unclosed his eyes; he groaned. Mr. Rochester opened the shirt of\r
+the wounded man, whose arm and shoulder were bandaged: he sponged away\r
+blood, trickling fast down.\r
+\r
+"Is there immediate danger?" murmured Mr. Mason.\r
+\r
+"Pooh! No--a mere scratch. Don't be so overcome, man: bear up! I'll\r
+fetch a surgeon for you now, myself: you'll be able to be removed by\r
+morning, I hope. Jane," he continued.\r
+\r
+"Sir?"\r
+\r
+"I shall have to leave you in this room with this gentleman, for an hour,\r
+or perhaps two hours: you will sponge the blood as I do when it returns:\r
+if he feels faint, you will put the glass of water on that stand to his\r
+lips, and your salts to his nose. You will not speak to him on any\r
+pretext--and--Richard, it will be at the peril of your life if you speak\r
+to her: open your lips--agitate yourself--and I'll not answer for the\r
+consequences."\r
+\r
+Again the poor man groaned; he looked as if he dared not move; fear,\r
+either of death or of something else, appeared almost to paralyse him.\r
+Mr. Rochester put the now bloody sponge into my hand, and I proceeded to\r
+use it as he had done. He watched me a second, then saying,\r
+"Remember!--No conversation," he left the room. I experienced a strange\r
+feeling as the key grated in the lock, and the sound of his retreating\r
+step ceased to be heard.\r
+\r
+Here then I was in the third storey, fastened into one of its mystic\r
+cells; night around me; a pale and bloody spectacle under my eyes and\r
+hands; a murderess hardly separated from me by a single door: yes--that\r
+was appalling--the rest I could bear; but I shuddered at the thought of\r
+Grace Poole bursting out upon me.\r
+\r
+I must keep to my post, however. I must watch this ghastly\r
+countenance--these blue, still lips forbidden to unclose--these eyes now\r
+shut, now opening, now wandering through the room, now fixing on me, and\r
+ever glazed with the dulness of horror. I must dip my hand again and\r
+again in the basin of blood and water, and wipe away the trickling gore.\r
+I must see the light of the unsnuffed candle wane on my employment; the\r
+shadows darken on the wrought, antique tapestry round me, and grow black\r
+under the hangings of the vast old bed, and quiver strangely over the\r
+doors of a great cabinet opposite--whose front, divided into twelve\r
+panels, bore, in grim design, the heads of the twelve apostles, each\r
+enclosed in its separate panel as in a frame; while above them at the top\r
+rose an ebon crucifix and a dying Christ.\r
+\r
+According as the shifting obscurity and flickering gleam hovered here or\r
+glanced there, it was now the bearded physician, Luke, that bent his\r
+brow; now St. John's long hair that waved; and anon the devilish face of\r
+Judas, that grew out of the panel, and seemed gathering life and\r
+threatening a revelation of the arch-traitor--of Satan himself--in his\r
+subordinate's form.\r
+\r
+Amidst all this, I had to listen as well as watch: to listen for the\r
+movements of the wild beast or the fiend in yonder side den. But since\r
+Mr. Rochester's visit it seemed spellbound: all the night I heard but\r
+three sounds at three long intervals,--a step creak, a momentary renewal\r
+of the snarling, canine noise, and a deep human groan.\r
+\r
+Then my own thoughts worried me. What crime was this that lived\r
+incarnate in this sequestered mansion, and could neither be expelled nor\r
+subdued by the owner?--what mystery, that broke out now in fire and now\r
+in blood, at the deadest hours of night? What creature was it, that,\r
+masked in an ordinary woman's face and shape, uttered the voice, now of a\r
+mocking demon, and anon of a carrion-seeking bird of prey?\r
+\r
+And this man I bent over--this commonplace, quiet stranger--how had he\r
+become involved in the web of horror? and why had the Fury flown at him?\r
+What made him seek this quarter of the house at an untimely season, when\r
+he should have been asleep in bed? I had heard Mr. Rochester assign him\r
+an apartment below--what brought him here! And why, now, was he so tame\r
+under the violence or treachery done him? Why did he so quietly submit\r
+to the concealment Mr. Rochester enforced? Why _did_ Mr. Rochester\r
+enforce this concealment? His guest had been outraged, his own life on a\r
+former occasion had been hideously plotted against; and both attempts he\r
+smothered in secrecy and sank in oblivion! Lastly, I saw Mr. Mason was\r
+submissive to Mr. Rochester; that the impetuous will of the latter held\r
+complete sway over the inertness of the former: the few words which had\r
+passed between them assured me of this. It was evident that in their\r
+former intercourse, the passive disposition of the one had been\r
+habitually influenced by the active energy of the other: whence then had\r
+arisen Mr. Rochester's dismay when he heard of Mr. Mason's arrival? Why\r
+had the mere name of this unresisting individual--whom his word now\r
+sufficed to control like a child--fallen on him, a few hours since, as a\r
+thunderbolt might fall on an oak?\r
+\r
+Oh! I could not forget his look and his paleness when he whispered:\r
+"Jane, I have got a blow--I have got a blow, Jane." I could not forget\r
+how the arm had trembled which he rested on my shoulder: and it was no\r
+light matter which could thus bow the resolute spirit and thrill the\r
+vigorous frame of Fairfax Rochester.\r
+\r
+"When will he come? When will he come?" I cried inwardly, as the night\r
+lingered and lingered--as my bleeding patient drooped, moaned, sickened:\r
+and neither day nor aid arrived. I had, again and again, held the water\r
+to Mason's white lips; again and again offered him the stimulating salts:\r
+my efforts seemed ineffectual: either bodily or mental suffering, or loss\r
+of blood, or all three combined, were fast prostrating his strength. He\r
+moaned so, and looked so weak, wild, and lost, I feared he was dying; and\r
+I might not even speak to him.\r
+\r
+The candle, wasted at last, went out; as it expired, I perceived streaks\r
+of grey light edging the window curtains: dawn was then approaching.\r
+Presently I heard Pilot bark far below, out of his distant kennel in the\r
+courtyard: hope revived. Nor was it unwarranted: in five minutes more\r
+the grating key, the yielding lock, warned me my watch was relieved. It\r
+could not have lasted more than two hours: many a week has seemed\r
+shorter.\r
+\r
+Mr. Rochester entered, and with him the surgeon he had been to fetch.\r
+\r
+"Now, Carter, be on the alert," he said to this last: "I give you but\r
+half-an-hour for dressing the wound, fastening the bandages, getting the\r
+patient downstairs and all."\r
+\r
+"But is he fit to move, sir?"\r
+\r
+"No doubt of it; it is nothing serious; he is nervous, his spirits must\r
+be kept up. Come, set to work."\r
+\r
+Mr. Rochester drew back the thick curtain, drew up the holland blind, let\r
+in all the daylight he could; and I was surprised and cheered to see how\r
+far dawn was advanced: what rosy streaks were beginning to brighten the\r
+east. Then he approached Mason, whom the surgeon was already handling.\r
+\r
+"Now, my good fellow, how are you?" he asked.\r
+\r
+"She's done for me, I fear," was the faint reply.\r
+\r
+"Not a whit!--courage! This day fortnight you'll hardly be a pin the\r
+worse of it: you've lost a little blood; that's all. Carter, assure him\r
+there's no danger."\r
+\r
+"I can do that conscientiously," said Carter, who had now undone the\r
+bandages; "only I wish I could have got here sooner: he would not have\r
+bled so much--but how is this? The flesh on the shoulder is torn as well\r
+as cut. This wound was not done with a knife: there have been teeth\r
+here!"\r
+\r
+"She bit me," he murmured. "She worried me like a tigress, when\r
+Rochester got the knife from her."\r
+\r
+"You should not have yielded: you should have grappled with her at once,"\r
+said Mr. Rochester.\r
+\r
+"But under such circumstances, what could one do?" returned Mason. "Oh,\r
+it was frightful!" he added, shuddering. "And I did not expect it: she\r
+looked so quiet at first."\r
+\r
+"I warned you," was his friend's answer; "I said--be on your guard when\r
+you go near her. Besides, you might have waited till to-morrow, and had\r
+me with you: it was mere folly to attempt the interview to-night, and\r
+alone."\r
+\r
+"I thought I could have done some good."\r
+\r
+"You thought! you thought! Yes, it makes me impatient to hear you: but,\r
+however, you have suffered, and are likely to suffer enough for not\r
+taking my advice; so I'll say no more. Carter--hurry!--hurry! The sun\r
+will soon rise, and I must have him off."\r
+\r
+"Directly, sir; the shoulder is just bandaged. I must look to this other\r
+wound in the arm: she has had her teeth here too, I think."\r
+\r
+"She sucked the blood: she said she'd drain my heart," said Mason.\r
+\r
+I saw Mr. Rochester shudder: a singularly marked expression of disgust,\r
+horror, hatred, warped his countenance almost to distortion; but he only\r
+said--\r
+\r
+"Come, be silent, Richard, and never mind her gibberish: don't repeat\r
+it."\r
+\r
+"I wish I could forget it," was the answer.\r
+\r
+"You will when you are out of the country: when you get back to Spanish\r
+Town, you may think of her as dead and buried--or rather, you need not\r
+think of her at all."\r
+\r
+"Impossible to forget this night!"\r
+\r
+"It is not impossible: have some energy, man. You thought you were as\r
+dead as a herring two hours since, and you are all alive and talking now.\r
+There!--Carter has done with you or nearly so; I'll make you decent in a\r
+trice. Jane" (he turned to me for the first time since his re-entrance),\r
+"take this key: go down into my bedroom, and walk straight forward into\r
+my dressing-room: open the top drawer of the wardrobe and take out a\r
+clean shirt and neck-handkerchief: bring them here; and be nimble."\r
+\r
+I went; sought the repository he had mentioned, found the articles named,\r
+and returned with them.\r
+\r
+"Now," said he, "go to the other side of the bed while I order his\r
+toilet; but don't leave the room: you may be wanted again."\r
+\r
+I retired as directed.\r
+\r
+"Was anybody stirring below when you went down, Jane?" inquired Mr.\r
+Rochester presently.\r
+\r
+"No, sir; all was very still."\r
+\r
+"We shall get you off cannily, Dick: and it will be better, both for your\r
+sake, and for that of the poor creature in yonder. I have striven long\r
+to avoid exposure, and I should not like it to come at last. Here,\r
+Carter, help him on with his waist-coat. Where did you leave your furred\r
+cloak? You can't travel a mile without that, I know, in this damned cold\r
+climate. In your room?--Jane, run down to Mr. Mason's room,--the one\r
+next mine,--and fetch a cloak you will see there."\r
+\r
+Again I ran, and again returned, bearing an immense mantle lined and\r
+edged with fur.\r
+\r
+"Now, I've another errand for you," said my untiring master; "you must\r
+away to my room again. What a mercy you are shod with velvet, Jane!--a\r
+clod-hopping messenger would never do at this juncture. You must open\r
+the middle drawer of my toilet-table and take out a little phial and a\r
+little glass you will find there,--quick!"\r
+\r
+I flew thither and back, bringing the desired vessels.\r
+\r
+"That's well! Now, doctor, I shall take the liberty of administering a\r
+dose myself, on my own responsibility. I got this cordial at Rome, of an\r
+Italian charlatan--a fellow you would have kicked, Carter. It is not a\r
+thing to be used indiscriminately, but it is good upon occasion: as now,\r
+for instance. Jane, a little water."\r
+\r
+He held out the tiny glass, and I half filled it from the water-bottle on\r
+the washstand.\r
+\r
+"That will do;--now wet the lip of the phial."\r
+\r
+I did so; he measured twelve drops of a crimson liquid, and presented it\r
+to Mason.\r
+\r
+"Drink, Richard: it will give you the heart you lack, for an hour or so."\r
+\r
+"But will it hurt me?--is it inflammatory?"\r
+\r
+"Drink! drink! drink!"\r
+\r
+Mr. Mason obeyed, because it was evidently useless to resist. He was\r
+dressed now: he still looked pale, but he was no longer gory and sullied.\r
+Mr. Rochester let him sit three minutes after he had swallowed the\r
+liquid; he then took his arm--\r
+\r
+"Now I am sure you can get on your feet," he said--"try."\r
+\r
+The patient rose.\r
+\r
+"Carter, take him under the other shoulder. Be of good cheer, Richard;\r
+step out--that's it!"\r
+\r
+"I do feel better," remarked Mr. Mason.\r
+\r
+"I am sure you do. Now, Jane, trip on before us away to the backstairs;\r
+unbolt the side-passage door, and tell the driver of the post-chaise you\r
+will see in the yard--or just outside, for I told him not to drive his\r
+rattling wheels over the pavement--to be ready; we are coming: and, Jane,\r
+if any one is about, come to the foot of the stairs and hem."\r
+\r
+It was by this time half-past five, and the sun was on the point of\r
+rising; but I found the kitchen still dark and silent. The side-passage\r
+door was fastened; I opened it with as little noise as possible: all the\r
+yard was quiet; but the gates stood wide open, and there was a\r
+post-chaise, with horses ready harnessed, and driver seated on the box,\r
+stationed outside. I approached him, and said the gentlemen were coming;\r
+he nodded: then I looked carefully round and listened. The stillness of\r
+early morning slumbered everywhere; the curtains were yet drawn over the\r
+servants' chamber windows; little birds were just twittering in the\r
+blossom-blanched orchard trees, whose boughs drooped like white garlands\r
+over the wall enclosing one side of the yard; the carriage horses stamped\r
+from time to time in their closed stables: all else was still.\r
+\r
+The gentlemen now appeared. Mason, supported by Mr. Rochester and the\r
+surgeon, seemed to walk with tolerable ease: they assisted him into the\r
+chaise; Carter followed.\r
+\r
+"Take care of him," said Mr. Rochester to the latter, "and keep him at\r
+your house till he is quite well: I shall ride over in a day or two to\r
+see how he gets on. Richard, how is it with you?"\r
+\r
+"The fresh air revives me, Fairfax."\r
+\r
+"Leave the window open on his side, Carter; there is no wind--good-bye,\r
+Dick."\r
+\r
+"Fairfax--"\r
+\r
+"Well what is it?"\r
+\r
+"Let her be taken care of; let her be treated as tenderly as may be: let\r
+her--" he stopped and burst into tears.\r
+\r
+"I do my best; and have done it, and will do it," was the answer: he shut\r
+up the chaise door, and the vehicle drove away.\r
+\r
+"Yet would to God there was an end of all this!" added Mr. Rochester, as\r
+he closed and barred the heavy yard-gates.\r
+\r
+This done, he moved with slow step and abstracted air towards a door in\r
+the wall bordering the orchard. I, supposing he had done with me,\r
+prepared to return to the house; again, however, I heard him call "Jane!"\r
+He had opened the portal and stood at it, waiting for me.\r
+\r
+"Come where there is some freshness, for a few moments," he said; "that\r
+house is a mere dungeon: don't you feel it so?"\r
+\r
+"It seems to me a splendid mansion, sir."\r
+\r
+"The glamour of inexperience is over your eyes," he answered; "and you\r
+see it through a charmed medium: you cannot discern that the gilding is\r
+slime and the silk draperies cobwebs; that the marble is sordid slate,\r
+and the polished woods mere refuse chips and scaly bark. Now _here_" (he\r
+pointed to the leafy enclosure we had entered) "all is real, sweet, and\r
+pure."\r
+\r
+He strayed down a walk edged with box, with apple trees, pear trees, and\r
+cherry trees on one side, and a border on the other full of all sorts of\r
+old-fashioned flowers, stocks, sweet-williams, primroses, pansies,\r
+mingled with southernwood, sweet-briar, and various fragrant herbs. They\r
+were fresh now as a succession of April showers and gleams, followed by a\r
+lovely spring morning, could make them: the sun was just entering the\r
+dappled east, and his light illumined the wreathed and dewy orchard trees\r
+and shone down the quiet walks under them.\r
+\r
+"Jane, will you have a flower?"\r
+\r
+He gathered a half-blown rose, the first on the bush, and offered it to\r
+me.\r
+\r
+"Thank you, sir."\r
+\r
+"Do you like this sunrise, Jane? That sky with its high and light clouds\r
+which are sure to melt away as the day waxes warm--this placid and balmly\r
+atmosphere?"\r
+\r
+"I do, very much."\r
+\r
+"You have passed a strange night, Jane."\r
+\r
+"Yes, sir."\r
+\r
+"And it has made you look pale--were you afraid when I left you alone\r
+with Mason?"\r
+\r
+"I was afraid of some one coming out of the inner room."\r
+\r
+"But I had fastened the door--I had the key in my pocket: I should have\r
+been a careless shepherd if I had left a lamb--my pet lamb--so near a\r
+wolf's den, unguarded: you were safe."\r
+\r
+"Will Grace Poole live here still, sir?"\r
+\r
+"Oh yes! don't trouble your head about her--put the thing out of your\r
+thoughts."\r
+\r
+"Yet it seems to me your life is hardly secure while she stays."\r
+\r
+"Never fear--I will take care of myself."\r
+\r
+"Is the danger you apprehended last night gone by now, sir?"\r
+\r
+"I cannot vouch for that till Mason is out of England: nor even then. To\r
+live, for me, Jane, is to stand on a crater-crust which may crack and\r
+spue fire any day."\r
+\r
+"But Mr. Mason seems a man easily led. Your influence, sir, is evidently\r
+potent with him: he will never set you at defiance or wilfully injure\r
+you."\r
+\r
+"Oh, no! Mason will not defy me; nor, knowing it, will he hurt me--but,\r
+unintentionally, he might in a moment, by one careless word, deprive me,\r
+if not of life, yet for ever of happiness."\r
+\r
+"Tell him to be cautious, sir: let him know what you fear, and show him\r
+how to avert the danger."\r
+\r
+He laughed sardonically, hastily took my hand, and as hastily threw it\r
+from him.\r
+\r
+"If I could do that, simpleton, where would the danger be? Annihilated\r
+in a moment. Ever since I have known Mason, I have only had to say to\r
+him 'Do that,' and the thing has been done. But I cannot give him orders\r
+in this case: I cannot say 'Beware of harming me, Richard;' for it is\r
+imperative that I should keep him ignorant that harm to me is possible.\r
+Now you look puzzled; and I will puzzle you further. You are my little\r
+friend, are you not?"\r
+\r
+"I like to serve you, sir, and to obey you in all that is right."\r
+\r
+"Precisely: I see you do. I see genuine contentment in your gait and\r
+mien, your eye and face, when you are helping me and pleasing me--working\r
+for me, and with me, in, as you characteristically say, '_all that is\r
+right_:' for if I bid you do what you thought wrong, there would be no\r
+light-footed running, no neat-handed alacrity, no lively glance and\r
+animated complexion. My friend would then turn to me, quiet and pale,\r
+and would say, 'No, sir; that is impossible: I cannot do it, because it\r
+is wrong;' and would become immutable as a fixed star. Well, you too\r
+have power over me, and may injure me: yet I dare not show you where I am\r
+vulnerable, lest, faithful and friendly as you are, you should transfix\r
+me at once."\r
+\r
+"If you have no more to fear from Mr. Mason than you have from me, sir,\r
+you are very safe."\r
+\r
+"God grant it may be so! Here, Jane, is an arbour; sit down."\r
+\r
+The arbour was an arch in the wall, lined with ivy; it contained a rustic\r
+seat. Mr. Rochester took it, leaving room, however, for me: but I stood\r
+before him.\r
+\r
+"Sit," he said; "the bench is long enough for two. You don't hesitate to\r
+take a place at my side, do you? Is that wrong, Jane?"\r
+\r
+I answered him by assuming it: to refuse would, I felt, have been unwise.\r
+\r
+"Now, my little friend, while the sun drinks the dew--while all the\r
+flowers in this old garden awake and expand, and the birds fetch their\r
+young ones' breakfast out of the Thornfield, and the early bees do their\r
+first spell of work--I'll put a case to you, which you must endeavour to\r
+suppose your own: but first, look at me, and tell me you are at ease, and\r
+not fearing that I err in detaining you, or that you err in staying."\r
+\r
+"No, sir; I am content."\r
+\r
+"Well then, Jane, call to aid your fancy:--suppose you were no longer a\r
+girl well reared and disciplined, but a wild boy indulged from childhood\r
+upwards; imagine yourself in a remote foreign land; conceive that you\r
+there commit a capital error, no matter of what nature or from what\r
+motives, but one whose consequences must follow you through life and\r
+taint all your existence. Mind, I don't say a _crime_; I am not speaking\r
+of shedding of blood or any other guilty act, which might make the\r
+perpetrator amenable to the law: my word is _error_. The results of what\r
+you have done become in time to you utterly insupportable; you take\r
+measures to obtain relief: unusual measures, but neither unlawful nor\r
+culpable. Still you are miserable; for hope has quitted you on the very\r
+confines of life: your sun at noon darkens in an eclipse, which you feel\r
+will not leave it till the time of setting. Bitter and base associations\r
+have become the sole food of your memory: you wander here and there,\r
+seeking rest in exile: happiness in pleasure--I mean in heartless,\r
+sensual pleasure--such as dulls intellect and blights feeling.\r
+Heart-weary and soul-withered, you come home after years of voluntary\r
+banishment: you make a new acquaintance--how or where no matter: you find\r
+in this stranger much of the good and bright qualities which you have\r
+sought for twenty years, and never before encountered; and they are all\r
+fresh, healthy, without soil and without taint. Such society revives,\r
+regenerates: you feel better days come back--higher wishes, purer\r
+feelings; you desire to recommence your life, and to spend what remains\r
+to you of days in a way more worthy of an immortal being. To attain this\r
+end, are you justified in overleaping an obstacle of custom--a mere\r
+conventional impediment which neither your conscience sanctifies nor your\r
+judgment approves?"\r
+\r
+He paused for an answer: and what was I to say? Oh, for some good spirit\r
+to suggest a judicious and satisfactory response! Vain aspiration! The\r
+west wind whispered in the ivy round me; but no gentle Ariel borrowed its\r
+breath as a medium of speech: the birds sang in the tree-tops; but their\r
+song, however sweet, was inarticulate.\r
+\r
+Again Mr. Rochester propounded his query:\r
+\r
+"Is the wandering and sinful, but now rest-seeking and repentant, man\r
+justified in daring the world's opinion, in order to attach to him for\r
+ever this gentle, gracious, genial stranger, thereby securing his own\r
+peace of mind and regeneration of life?"\r
+\r
+"Sir," I answered, "a wanderer's repose or a sinner's reformation should\r
+never depend on a fellow-creature. Men and women die; philosophers\r
+falter in wisdom, and Christians in goodness: if any one you know has\r
+suffered and erred, let him look higher than his equals for strength to\r
+amend and solace to heal."\r
+\r
+"But the instrument--the instrument! God, who does the work, ordains the\r
+instrument. I have myself--I tell it you without parable--been a\r
+worldly, dissipated, restless man; and I believe I have found the\r
+instrument for my cure in--"\r
+\r
+He paused: the birds went on carolling, the leaves lightly rustling. I\r
+almost wondered they did not check their songs and whispers to catch the\r
+suspended revelation; but they would have had to wait many minutes--so\r
+long was the silence protracted. At last I looked up at the tardy\r
+speaker: he was looking eagerly at me.\r
+\r
+"Little friend," said he, in quite a changed tone--while his face changed\r
+too, losing all its softness and gravity, and becoming harsh and\r
+sarcastic--"you have noticed my tender penchant for Miss Ingram: don't\r
+you think if I married her she would regenerate me with a vengeance?"\r
+\r
+He got up instantly, went quite to the other end of the walk, and when he\r
+came back he was humming a tune.\r
+\r
+"Jane, Jane," said he, stopping before me, "you are quite pale with your\r
+vigils: don't you curse me for disturbing your rest?"\r
+\r
+"Curse you? No, sir."\r
+\r
+"Shake hands in confirmation of the word. What cold fingers! They were\r
+warmer last night when I touched them at the door of the mysterious\r
+chamber. Jane, when will you watch with me again?"\r
+\r
+"Whenever I can be useful, sir."\r
+\r
+"For instance, the night before I am married! I am sure I shall not be\r
+able to sleep. Will you promise to sit up with me to bear me company? To\r
+you I can talk of my lovely one: for now you have seen her and know her."\r
+\r
+"Yes, sir."\r
+\r
+"She's a rare one, is she not, Jane?"\r
+\r
+"Yes, sir."\r
+\r
+"A strapper--a real strapper, Jane: big, brown, and buxom; with hair just\r
+such as the ladies of Carthage must have had. Bless me! there's Dent and\r
+Lynn in the stables! Go in by the shrubbery, through that wicket."\r
+\r
+As I went one way, he went another, and I heard him in the yard, saying\r
+cheerfully--\r
+\r
+"Mason got the start of you all this morning; he was gone before sunrise:\r
+I rose at four to see him off."\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER XXI\r
+\r
+\r
+Presentiments are strange things! and so are sympathies; and so are\r
+signs; and the three combined make one mystery to which humanity has not\r
+yet found the key. I never laughed at presentiments in my life, because\r
+I have had strange ones of my own. Sympathies, I believe, exist (for\r
+instance, between far-distant, long-absent, wholly estranged relatives\r
+asserting, notwithstanding their alienation, the unity of the source to\r
+which each traces his origin) whose workings baffle mortal comprehension.\r
+And signs, for aught we know, may be but the sympathies of Nature with\r
+man.\r
+\r
+When I was a little girl, only six years old, I one night heard Bessie\r
+Leaven say to Martha Abbot that she had been dreaming about a little\r
+child; and that to dream of children was a sure sign of trouble, either\r
+to one's self or one's kin. The saying might have worn out of my memory,\r
+had not a circumstance immediately followed which served indelibly to fix\r
+it there. The next day Bessie was sent for home to the deathbed of her\r
+little sister.\r
+\r
+Of late I had often recalled this saying and this incident; for during\r
+the past week scarcely a night had gone over my couch that had not\r
+brought with it a dream of an infant, which I sometimes hushed in my\r
+arms, sometimes dandled on my knee, sometimes watched playing with\r
+daisies on a lawn, or again, dabbling its hands in running water. It was\r
+a wailing child this night, and a laughing one the next: now it nestled\r
+close to me, and now it ran from me; but whatever mood the apparition\r
+evinced, whatever aspect it wore, it failed not for seven successive\r
+nights to meet me the moment I entered the land of slumber.\r
+\r
+I did not like this iteration of one idea--this strange recurrence of one\r
+image, and I grew nervous as bedtime approached and the hour of the\r
+vision drew near. It was from companionship with this baby-phantom I had\r
+been roused on that moonlight night when I heard the cry; and it was on\r
+the afternoon of the day following I was summoned downstairs by a message\r
+that some one wanted me in Mrs. Fairfax's room. On repairing thither, I\r
+found a man waiting for me, having the appearance of a gentleman's\r
+servant: he was dressed in deep mourning, and the hat he held in his hand\r
+was surrounded with a crape band.\r
+\r
+"I daresay you hardly remember me, Miss," he said, rising as I entered;\r
+"but my name is Leaven: I lived coachman with Mrs. Reed when you were at\r
+Gateshead, eight or nine years since, and I live there still."\r
+\r
+"Oh, Robert! how do you do? I remember you very well: you used to give\r
+me a ride sometimes on Miss Georgiana's bay pony. And how is Bessie? You\r
+are married to Bessie?"\r
+\r
+"Yes, Miss: my wife is very hearty, thank you; she brought me another\r
+little one about two months since--we have three now--and both mother and\r
+child are thriving."\r
+\r
+"And are the family well at the house, Robert?"\r
+\r
+"I am sorry I can't give you better news of them, Miss: they are very\r
+badly at present--in great trouble."\r
+\r
+"I hope no one is dead," I said, glancing at his black dress. He too\r
+looked down at the crape round his hat and replied--\r
+\r
+"Mr. John died yesterday was a week, at his chambers in London."\r
+\r
+"Mr. John?"\r
+\r
+"Yes."\r
+\r
+"And how does his mother bear it?"\r
+\r
+"Why, you see, Miss Eyre, it is not a common mishap: his life has been\r
+very wild: these last three years he gave himself up to strange ways, and\r
+his death was shocking."\r
+\r
+"I heard from Bessie he was not doing well."\r
+\r
+"Doing well! He could not do worse: he ruined his health and his estate\r
+amongst the worst men and the worst women. He got into debt and into\r
+jail: his mother helped him out twice, but as soon as he was free he\r
+returned to his old companions and habits. His head was not strong: the\r
+knaves he lived amongst fooled him beyond anything I ever heard. He came\r
+down to Gateshead about three weeks ago and wanted missis to give up all\r
+to him. Missis refused: her means have long been much reduced by his\r
+extravagance; so he went back again, and the next news was that he was\r
+dead. How he died, God knows!--they say he killed himself."\r
+\r
+I was silent: the things were frightful. Robert Leaven resumed--\r
+\r
+"Missis had been out of health herself for some time: she had got very\r
+stout, but was not strong with it; and the loss of money and fear of\r
+poverty were quite breaking her down. The information about Mr. John's\r
+death and the manner of it came too suddenly: it brought on a stroke. She\r
+was three days without speaking; but last Tuesday she seemed rather\r
+better: she appeared as if she wanted to say something, and kept making\r
+signs to my wife and mumbling. It was only yesterday morning, however,\r
+that Bessie understood she was pronouncing your name; and at last she\r
+made out the words, 'Bring Jane--fetch Jane Eyre: I want to speak to\r
+her.' Bessie is not sure whether she is in her right mind, or means\r
+anything by the words; but she told Miss Reed and Miss Georgiana, and\r
+advised them to send for you. The young ladies put it off at first; but\r
+their mother grew so restless, and said, 'Jane, Jane,' so many times,\r
+that at last they consented. I left Gateshead yesterday: and if you can\r
+get ready, Miss, I should like to take you back with me early to-morrow\r
+morning."\r
+\r
+"Yes, Robert, I shall be ready: it seems to me that I ought to go."\r
+\r
+"I think so too, Miss. Bessie said she was sure you would not refuse:\r
+but I suppose you will have to ask leave before you can get off?"\r
+\r
+"Yes; and I will do it now;" and having directed him to the servants'\r
+hall, and recommended him to the care of John's wife, and the attentions\r
+of John himself, I went in search of Mr. Rochester.\r
+\r
+He was not in any of the lower rooms; he was not in the yard, the\r
+stables, or the grounds. I asked Mrs. Fairfax if she had seen him;--yes:\r
+she believed he was playing billiards with Miss Ingram. To the billiard-\r
+room I hastened: the click of balls and the hum of voices resounded\r
+thence; Mr. Rochester, Miss Ingram, the two Misses Eshton, and their\r
+admirers, were all busied in the game. It required some courage to\r
+disturb so interesting a party; my errand, however, was one I could not\r
+defer, so I approached the master where he stood at Miss Ingram's side.\r
+She turned as I drew near, and looked at me haughtily: her eyes seemed to\r
+demand, "What can the creeping creature want now?" and when I said, in a\r
+low voice, "Mr. Rochester," she made a movement as if tempted to order me\r
+away. I remember her appearance at the moment--it was very graceful and\r
+very striking: she wore a morning robe of sky-blue crape; a gauzy azure\r
+scarf was twisted in her hair. She had been all animation with the game,\r
+and irritated pride did not lower the expression of her haughty\r
+lineaments.\r
+\r
+"Does that person want you?" she inquired of Mr. Rochester; and Mr.\r
+Rochester turned to see who the "person" was. He made a curious\r
+grimace--one of his strange and equivocal demonstrations--threw down his\r
+cue and followed me from the room.\r
+\r
+"Well, Jane?" he said, as he rested his back against the schoolroom door,\r
+which he had shut.\r
+\r
+"If you please, sir, I want leave of absence for a week or two."\r
+\r
+"What to do?--where to go?"\r
+\r
+"To see a sick lady who has sent for me."\r
+\r
+"What sick lady?--where does she live?"\r
+\r
+"At Gateshead; in ---shire."\r
+\r
+"-shire? That is a hundred miles off! Who may she be that sends for\r
+people to see her that distance?"\r
+\r
+"Her name is Reed, sir--Mrs. Reed."\r
+\r
+"Reed of Gateshead? There was a Reed of Gateshead, a magistrate."\r
+\r
+"It is his widow, sir."\r
+\r
+"And what have you to do with her? How do you know her?"\r
+\r
+"Mr. Reed was my uncle--my mother's brother."\r
+\r
+"The deuce he was! You never told me that before: you always said you\r
+had no relations."\r
+\r
+"None that would own me, sir. Mr. Reed is dead, and his wife cast me\r
+off."\r
+\r
+"Why?"\r
+\r
+"Because I was poor, and burdensome, and she disliked me."\r
+\r
+"But Reed left children?--you must have cousins? Sir George Lynn was\r
+talking of a Reed of Gateshead yesterday, who, he said, was one of the\r
+veriest rascals on town; and Ingram was mentioning a Georgiana Reed of\r
+the same place, who was much admired for her beauty a season or two ago\r
+in London."\r
+\r
+"John Reed is dead, too, sir: he ruined himself and half-ruined his\r
+family, and is supposed to have committed suicide. The news so shocked\r
+his mother that it brought on an apoplectic attack."\r
+\r
+"And what good can you do her? Nonsense, Jane! I would never think of\r
+running a hundred miles to see an old lady who will, perhaps, be dead\r
+before you reach her: besides, you say she cast you off."\r
+\r
+"Yes, sir, but that is long ago; and when her circumstances were very\r
+different: I could not be easy to neglect her wishes now."\r
+\r
+"How long will you stay?"\r
+\r
+"As short a time as possible, sir."\r
+\r
+"Promise me only to stay a week--"\r
+\r
+"I had better not pass my word: I might be obliged to break it."\r
+\r
+"At all events you _will_ come back: you will not be induced under any\r
+pretext to take up a permanent residence with her?"\r
+\r
+"Oh, no! I shall certainly return if all be well."\r
+\r
+"And who goes with you? You don't travel a hundred miles alone."\r
+\r
+"No, sir, she has sent her coachman."\r
+\r
+"A person to be trusted?"\r
+\r
+"Yes, sir, he has lived ten years in the family."\r
+\r
+Mr. Rochester meditated. "When do you wish to go?"\r
+\r
+"Early to-morrow morning, sir."\r
+\r
+"Well, you must have some money; you can't travel without money, and I\r
+daresay you have not much: I have given you no salary yet. How much have\r
+you in the world, Jane?" he asked, smiling.\r
+\r
+I drew out my purse; a meagre thing it was. "Five shillings, sir." He\r
+took the purse, poured the hoard into his palm, and chuckled over it as\r
+if its scantiness amused him. Soon he produced his pocket-book: "Here,"\r
+said he, offering me a note; it was fifty pounds, and he owed me but\r
+fifteen. I told him I had no change.\r
+\r
+"I don't want change; you know that. Take your wages."\r
+\r
+I declined accepting more than was my due. He scowled at first; then, as\r
+if recollecting something, he said--\r
+\r
+"Right, right! Better not give you all now: you would, perhaps, stay\r
+away three months if you had fifty pounds. There are ten; is it not\r
+plenty?"\r
+\r
+"Yes, sir, but now you owe me five."\r
+\r
+"Come back for it, then; I am your banker for forty pounds."\r
+\r
+"Mr. Rochester, I may as well mention another matter of business to you\r
+while I have the opportunity."\r
+\r
+"Matter of business? I am curious to hear it."\r
+\r
+"You have as good as informed me, sir, that you are going shortly to be\r
+married?"\r
+\r
+"Yes; what then?"\r
+\r
+"In that case, sir, Adele ought to go to school: I am sure you will\r
+perceive the necessity of it."\r
+\r
+"To get her out of my bride's way, who might otherwise walk over her\r
+rather too emphatically? There's sense in the suggestion; not a doubt of\r
+it. Adele, as you say, must go to school; and you, of course, must march\r
+straight to--the devil?"\r
+\r
+"I hope not, sir; but I must seek another situation somewhere."\r
+\r
+"In course!" he exclaimed, with a twang of voice and a distortion of\r
+features equally fantastic and ludicrous. He looked at me some minutes.\r
+\r
+"And old Madam Reed, or the Misses, her daughters, will be solicited by\r
+you to seek a place, I suppose?"\r
+\r
+"No, sir; I am not on such terms with my relatives as would justify me in\r
+asking favours of them--but I shall advertise."\r
+\r
+"You shall walk up the pyramids of Egypt!" he growled. "At your peril\r
+you advertise! I wish I had only offered you a sovereign instead of ten\r
+pounds. Give me back nine pounds, Jane; I've a use for it."\r
+\r
+"And so have I, sir," I returned, putting my hands and my purse behind\r
+me. "I could not spare the money on any account."\r
+\r
+"Little niggard!" said he, "refusing me a pecuniary request! Give me\r
+five pounds, Jane."\r
+\r
+"Not five shillings, sir; nor five pence."\r
+\r
+"Just let me look at the cash."\r
+\r
+"No, sir; you are not to be trusted."\r
+\r
+"Jane!"\r
+\r
+"Sir?"\r
+\r
+"Promise me one thing."\r
+\r
+"I'll promise you anything, sir, that I think I am likely to perform."\r
+\r
+"Not to advertise: and to trust this quest of a situation to me. I'll\r
+find you one in time."\r
+\r
+"I shall be glad so to do, sir, if you, in your turn, will promise that I\r
+and Adele shall be both safe out of the house before your bride enters\r
+it."\r
+\r
+"Very well! very well! I'll pledge my word on it. You go to-morrow,\r
+then?"\r
+\r
+"Yes, sir; early."\r
+\r
+"Shall you come down to the drawing-room after dinner?"\r
+\r
+"No, sir, I must prepare for the journey."\r
+\r
+"Then you and I must bid good-bye for a little while?"\r
+\r
+"I suppose so, sir."\r
+\r
+"And how do people perform that ceremony of parting, Jane? Teach me; I'm\r
+not quite up to it."\r
+\r
+"They say, Farewell, or any other form they prefer."\r
+\r
+"Then say it."\r
+\r
+"Farewell, Mr. Rochester, for the present."\r
+\r
+"What must I say?"\r
+\r
+"The same, if you like, sir."\r
+\r
+"Farewell, Miss Eyre, for the present; is that all?"\r
+\r
+"Yes?"\r
+\r
+"It seems stingy, to my notions, and dry, and unfriendly. I should like\r
+something else: a little addition to the rite. If one shook hands, for\r
+instance; but no--that would not content me either. So you'll do no more\r
+than say Farewell, Jane?"\r
+\r
+"It is enough, sir: as much good-will may be conveyed in one hearty word\r
+as in many."\r
+\r
+"Very likely; but it is blank and cool--'Farewell.'"\r
+\r
+"How long is he going to stand with his back against that door?" I asked\r
+myself; "I want to commence my packing." The dinner-bell rang, and\r
+suddenly away he bolted, without another syllable: I saw him no more\r
+during the day, and was off before he had risen in the morning.\r
+\r
+I reached the lodge at Gateshead about five o'clock in the afternoon of\r
+the first of May: I stepped in there before going up to the hall. It was\r
+very clean and neat: the ornamental windows were hung with little white\r
+curtains; the floor was spotless; the grate and fire-irons were burnished\r
+bright, and the fire burnt clear. Bessie sat on the hearth, nursing her\r
+last-born, and Robert and his sister played quietly in a corner.\r
+\r
+"Bless you!--I knew you would come!" exclaimed Mrs. Leaven, as I entered.\r
+\r
+"Yes, Bessie," said I, after I had kissed her; "and I trust I am not too\r
+late. How is Mrs. Reed?--Alive still, I hope."\r
+\r
+"Yes, she is alive; and more sensible and collected than she was. The\r
+doctor says she may linger a week or two yet; but he hardly thinks she\r
+will finally recover."\r
+\r
+"Has she mentioned me lately?"\r
+\r
+"She was talking of you only this morning, and wishing you would come,\r
+but she is sleeping now, or was ten minutes ago, when I was up at the\r
+house. She generally lies in a kind of lethargy all the afternoon, and\r
+wakes up about six or seven. Will you rest yourself here an hour, Miss,\r
+and then I will go up with you?"\r
+\r
+Robert here entered, and Bessie laid her sleeping child in the cradle and\r
+went to welcome him: afterwards she insisted on my taking off my bonnet\r
+and having some tea; for she said I looked pale and tired. I was glad to\r
+accept her hospitality; and I submitted to be relieved of my travelling\r
+garb just as passively as I used to let her undress me when a child.\r
+\r
+Old times crowded fast back on me as I watched her bustling about--setting\r
+out the tea-tray with her best china, cutting bread and butter, toasting\r
+a tea-cake, and, between whiles, giving little Robert or Jane an\r
+occasional tap or push, just as she used to give me in former days.\r
+Bessie had retained her quick temper as well as her light foot and good\r
+looks.\r
+\r
+Tea ready, I was going to approach the table; but she desired me to sit\r
+still, quite in her old peremptory tones. I must be served at the\r
+fireside, she said; and she placed before me a little round stand with my\r
+cup and a plate of toast, absolutely as she used to accommodate me with\r
+some privately purloined dainty on a nursery chair: and I smiled and\r
+obeyed her as in bygone days.\r
+\r
+She wanted to know if I was happy at Thornfield Hall, and what sort of a\r
+person the mistress was; and when I told her there was only a master,\r
+whether he was a nice gentleman, and if I liked him. I told her he was\r
+rather an ugly man, but quite a gentleman; and that he treated me kindly,\r
+and I was content. Then I went on to describe to her the gay company\r
+that had lately been staying at the house; and to these details Bessie\r
+listened with interest: they were precisely of the kind she relished.\r
+\r
+In such conversation an hour was soon gone: Bessie restored to me my\r
+bonnet, &c., and, accompanied by her, I quitted the lodge for the hall.\r
+It was also accompanied by her that I had, nearly nine years ago, walked\r
+down the path I was now ascending. On a dark, misty, raw morning in\r
+January, I had left a hostile roof with a desperate and embittered\r
+heart--a sense of outlawry and almost of reprobation--to seek the chilly\r
+harbourage of Lowood: that bourne so far away and unexplored. The same\r
+hostile roof now again rose before me: my prospects were doubtful yet;\r
+and I had yet an aching heart. I still felt as a wanderer on the face of\r
+the earth; but I experienced firmer trust in myself and my own powers,\r
+and less withering dread of oppression. The gaping wound of my wrongs,\r
+too, was now quite healed; and the flame of resentment extinguished.\r
+\r
+"You shall go into the breakfast-room first," said Bessie, as she\r
+preceded me through the hall; "the young ladies will be there."\r
+\r
+In another moment I was within that apartment. There was every article\r
+of furniture looking just as it did on the morning I was first introduced\r
+to Mr. Brocklehurst: the very rug he had stood upon still covered the\r
+hearth. Glancing at the bookcases, I thought I could distinguish the two\r
+volumes of Bewick's British Birds occupying their old place on the third\r
+shelf, and Gulliver's Travels and the Arabian Nights ranged just above.\r
+The inanimate objects were not changed; but the living things had altered\r
+past recognition.\r
+\r
+Two young ladies appeared before me; one very tall, almost as tall as\r
+Miss Ingram--very thin too, with a sallow face and severe mien. There\r
+was something ascetic in her look, which was augmented by the extreme\r
+plainness of a straight-skirted, black, stuff dress, a starched linen\r
+collar, hair combed away from the temples, and the nun-like ornament of a\r
+string of ebony beads and a crucifix. This I felt sure was Eliza, though\r
+I could trace little resemblance to her former self in that elongated and\r
+colourless visage.\r
+\r
+The other was as certainly Georgiana: but not the Georgiana I\r
+remembered--the slim and fairy-like girl of eleven. This was a\r
+full-blown, very plump damsel, fair as waxwork, with handsome and regular\r
+features, languishing blue eyes, and ringleted yellow hair. The hue of\r
+her dress was black too; but its fashion was so different from her\r
+sister's--so much more flowing and becoming--it looked as stylish as the\r
+other's looked puritanical.\r
+\r
+In each of the sisters there was one trait of the mother--and only one;\r
+the thin and pallid elder daughter had her parent's Cairngorm eye: the\r
+blooming and luxuriant younger girl had her contour of jaw and\r
+chin--perhaps a little softened, but still imparting an indescribable\r
+hardness to the countenance otherwise so voluptuous and buxom.\r
+\r
+Both ladies, as I advanced, rose to welcome me, and both addressed me by\r
+the name of "Miss Eyre." Eliza's greeting was delivered in a short,\r
+abrupt voice, without a smile; and then she sat down again, fixed her\r
+eyes on the fire, and seemed to forget me. Georgiana added to her "How\r
+d'ye do?" several commonplaces about my journey, the weather, and so on,\r
+uttered in rather a drawling tone: and accompanied by sundry side-glances\r
+that measured me from head to foot--now traversing the folds of my drab\r
+merino pelisse, and now lingering on the plain trimming of my cottage\r
+bonnet. Young ladies have a remarkable way of letting you know that they\r
+think you a "quiz" without actually saying the words. A certain\r
+superciliousness of look, coolness of manner, nonchalance of tone,\r
+express fully their sentiments on the point, without committing them by\r
+any positive rudeness in word or deed.\r
+\r
+A sneer, however, whether covert or open, had now no longer that power\r
+over me it once possessed: as I sat between my cousins, I was surprised\r
+to find how easy I felt under the total neglect of the one and the semi-\r
+sarcastic attentions of the other--Eliza did not mortify, nor Georgiana\r
+ruffle me. The fact was, I had other things to think about; within the\r
+last few months feelings had been stirred in me so much more potent than\r
+any they could raise--pains and pleasures so much more acute and\r
+exquisite had been excited than any it was in their power to inflict or\r
+bestow--that their airs gave me no concern either for good or bad.\r
+\r
+"How is Mrs. Reed?" I asked soon, looking calmly at Georgiana, who\r
+thought fit to bridle at the direct address, as if it were an unexpected\r
+liberty.\r
+\r
+"Mrs. Reed? Ah! mama, you mean; she is extremely poorly: I doubt if you\r
+can see her to-night."\r
+\r
+"If," said I, "you would just step upstairs and tell her I am come, I\r
+should be much obliged to you."\r
+\r
+Georgiana almost started, and she opened her blue eyes wild and wide. "I\r
+know she had a particular wish to see me," I added, "and I would not\r
+defer attending to her desire longer than is absolutely necessary."\r
+\r
+"Mama dislikes being disturbed in an evening," remarked Eliza. I soon\r
+rose, quietly took off my bonnet and gloves, uninvited, and said I would\r
+just step out to Bessie--who was, I dared say, in the kitchen--and ask\r
+her to ascertain whether Mrs. Reed was disposed to receive me or not to-\r
+night. I went, and having found Bessie and despatched her on my errand,\r
+I proceeded to take further measures. It had heretofore been my habit\r
+always to shrink from arrogance: received as I had been to-day, I should,\r
+a year ago, have resolved to quit Gateshead the very next morning; now,\r
+it was disclosed to me all at once that that would be a foolish plan. I\r
+had taken a journey of a hundred miles to see my aunt, and I must stay\r
+with her till she was better--or dead: as to her daughters' pride or\r
+folly, I must put it on one side, make myself independent of it. So I\r
+addressed the housekeeper; asked her to show me a room, told her I should\r
+probably be a visitor here for a week or two, had my trunk conveyed to my\r
+chamber, and followed it thither myself: I met Bessie on the landing.\r
+\r
+"Missis is awake," said she; "I have told her you are here: come and let\r
+us see if she will know you."\r
+\r
+I did not need to be guided to the well-known room, to which I had so\r
+often been summoned for chastisement or reprimand in former days. I\r
+hastened before Bessie; I softly opened the door: a shaded light stood on\r
+the table, for it was now getting dark. There was the great four-post\r
+bed with amber hangings as of old; there the toilet-table, the armchair,\r
+and the footstool, at which I had a hundred times been sentenced to\r
+kneel, to ask pardon for offences by me uncommitted. I looked into a\r
+certain corner near, half-expecting to see the slim outline of a once\r
+dreaded switch which used to lurk there, waiting to leap out imp-like and\r
+lace my quivering palm or shrinking neck. I approached the bed; I opened\r
+the curtains and leant over the high-piled pillows.\r
+\r
+Well did I remember Mrs. Reed's face, and I eagerly sought the familiar\r
+image. It is a happy thing that time quells the longings of vengeance\r
+and hushes the promptings of rage and aversion. I had left this woman in\r
+bitterness and hate, and I came back to her now with no other emotion\r
+than a sort of ruth for her great sufferings, and a strong yearning to\r
+forget and forgive all injuries--to be reconciled and clasp hands in\r
+amity.\r
+\r
+The well-known face was there: stern, relentless as ever--there was that\r
+peculiar eye which nothing could melt, and the somewhat raised,\r
+imperious, despotic eyebrow. How often had it lowered on me menace and\r
+hate! and how the recollection of childhood's terrors and sorrows revived\r
+as I traced its harsh line now! And yet I stooped down and kissed her:\r
+she looked at me.\r
+\r
+"Is this Jane Eyre?" she said.\r
+\r
+"Yes, Aunt Reed. How are you, dear aunt?"\r
+\r
+I had once vowed that I would never call her aunt again: I thought it no\r
+sin to forget and break that vow now. My fingers had fastened on her\r
+hand which lay outside the sheet: had she pressed mine kindly, I should\r
+at that moment have experienced true pleasure. But unimpressionable\r
+natures are not so soon softened, nor are natural antipathies so readily\r
+eradicated. Mrs. Reed took her hand away, and, turning her face rather\r
+from me, she remarked that the night was warm. Again she regarded me so\r
+icily, I felt at once that her opinion of me--her feeling towards me--was\r
+unchanged and unchangeable. I knew by her stony eye--opaque to\r
+tenderness, indissoluble to tears--that she was resolved to consider me\r
+bad to the last; because to believe me good would give her no generous\r
+pleasure: only a sense of mortification.\r
+\r
+I felt pain, and then I felt ire; and then I felt a determination to\r
+subdue her--to be her mistress in spite both of her nature and her will.\r
+My tears had risen, just as in childhood: I ordered them back to their\r
+source. I brought a chair to the bed-head: I sat down and leaned over\r
+the pillow.\r
+\r
+"You sent for me," I said, "and I am here; and it is my intention to stay\r
+till I see how you get on."\r
+\r
+"Oh, of course! You have seen my daughters?"\r
+\r
+"Yes."\r
+\r
+"Well, you may tell them I wish you to stay till I can talk some things\r
+over with you I have on my mind: to-night it is too late, and I have a\r
+difficulty in recalling them. But there was something I wished to\r
+say--let me see--"\r
+\r
+The wandering look and changed utterance told what wreck had taken place\r
+in her once vigorous frame. Turning restlessly, she drew the bedclothes\r
+round her; my elbow, resting on a corner of the quilt, fixed it down: she\r
+was at once irritated.\r
+\r
+"Sit up!" said she; "don't annoy me with holding the clothes fast. Are\r
+you Jane Eyre?"\r
+\r
+"I am Jane Eyre."\r
+\r
+"I have had more trouble with that child than any one would believe. Such\r
+a burden to be left on my hands--and so much annoyance as she caused me,\r
+daily and hourly, with her incomprehensible disposition, and her sudden\r
+starts of temper, and her continual, unnatural watchings of one's\r
+movements! I declare she talked to me once like something mad, or like a\r
+fiend--no child ever spoke or looked as she did; I was glad to get her\r
+away from the house. What did they do with her at Lowood? The fever\r
+broke out there, and many of the pupils died. She, however, did not die:\r
+but I said she did--I wish she had died!"\r
+\r
+"A strange wish, Mrs. Reed; why do you hate her so?"\r
+\r
+"I had a dislike to her mother always; for she was my husband's only\r
+sister, and a great favourite with him: he opposed the family's disowning\r
+her when she made her low marriage; and when news came of her death, he\r
+wept like a simpleton. He would send for the baby; though I entreated\r
+him rather to put it out to nurse and pay for its maintenance. I hated\r
+it the first time I set my eyes on it--a sickly, whining, pining thing!\r
+It would wail in its cradle all night long--not screaming heartily like\r
+any other child, but whimpering and moaning. Reed pitied it; and he used\r
+to nurse it and notice it as if it had been his own: more, indeed, than\r
+he ever noticed his own at that age. He would try to make my children\r
+friendly to the little beggar: the darlings could not bear it, and he was\r
+angry with them when they showed their dislike. In his last illness, he\r
+had it brought continually to his bedside; and but an hour before he\r
+died, he bound me by vow to keep the creature. I would as soon have been\r
+charged with a pauper brat out of a workhouse: but he was weak, naturally\r
+weak. John does not at all resemble his father, and I am glad of it:\r
+John is like me and like my brothers--he is quite a Gibson. Oh, I wish\r
+he would cease tormenting me with letters for money? I have no more\r
+money to give him: we are getting poor. I must send away half the\r
+servants and shut up part of the house; or let it off. I can never\r
+submit to do that--yet how are we to get on? Two-thirds of my income\r
+goes in paying the interest of mortgages. John gambles dreadfully, and\r
+always loses--poor boy! He is beset by sharpers: John is sunk and\r
+degraded--his look is frightful--I feel ashamed for him when I see him."\r
+\r
+She was getting much excited. "I think I had better leave her now," said\r
+I to Bessie, who stood on the other side of the bed.\r
+\r
+"Perhaps you had, Miss: but she often talks in this way towards night--in\r
+the morning she is calmer."\r
+\r
+I rose. "Stop!" exclaimed Mrs. Reed, "there is another thing I wished to\r
+say. He threatens me--he continually threatens me with his own death, or\r
+mine: and I dream sometimes that I see him laid out with a great wound in\r
+his throat, or with a swollen and blackened face. I am come to a strange\r
+pass: I have heavy troubles. What is to be done? How is the money to be\r
+had?"\r
+\r
+Bessie now endeavoured to persuade her to take a sedative draught: she\r
+succeeded with difficulty. Soon after, Mrs. Reed grew more composed, and\r
+sank into a dozing state. I then left her.\r
+\r
+More than ten days elapsed before I had again any conversation with her.\r
+She continued either delirious or lethargic; and the doctor forbade\r
+everything which could painfully excite her. Meantime, I got on as well\r
+as I could with Georgiana and Eliza. They were very cold, indeed, at\r
+first. Eliza would sit half the day sewing, reading, or writing, and\r
+scarcely utter a word either to me or her sister. Georgiana would\r
+chatter nonsense to her canary bird by the hour, and take no notice of\r
+me. But I was determined not to seem at a loss for occupation or\r
+amusement: I had brought my drawing materials with me, and they served me\r
+for both.\r
+\r
+Provided with a case of pencils, and some sheets of paper, I used to take\r
+a seat apart from them, near the window, and busy myself in sketching\r
+fancy vignettes, representing any scene that happened momentarily to\r
+shape itself in the ever-shifting kaleidoscope of imagination: a glimpse\r
+of sea between two rocks; the rising moon, and a ship crossing its disk;\r
+a group of reeds and water-flags, and a naiad's head, crowned with lotus-\r
+flowers, rising out of them; an elf sitting in a hedge-sparrow's nest,\r
+under a wreath of hawthorn-bloom.\r
+\r
+One morning I fell to sketching a face: what sort of a face it was to be,\r
+I did not care or know. I took a soft black pencil, gave it a broad\r
+point, and worked away. Soon I had traced on the paper a broad and\r
+prominent forehead and a square lower outline of visage: that contour\r
+gave me pleasure; my fingers proceeded actively to fill it with features.\r
+Strongly-marked horizontal eyebrows must be traced under that brow; then\r
+followed, naturally, a well-defined nose, with a straight ridge and full\r
+nostrils; then a flexible-looking mouth, by no means narrow; then a firm\r
+chin, with a decided cleft down the middle of it: of course, some black\r
+whiskers were wanted, and some jetty hair, tufted on the temples, and\r
+waved above the forehead. Now for the eyes: I had left them to the last,\r
+because they required the most careful working. I drew them large; I\r
+shaped them well: the eyelashes I traced long and sombre; the irids\r
+lustrous and large. "Good! but not quite the thing," I thought, as I\r
+surveyed the effect: "they want more force and spirit;" and I wrought the\r
+shades blacker, that the lights might flash more brilliantly--a happy\r
+touch or two secured success. There, I had a friend's face under my\r
+gaze; and what did it signify that those young ladies turned their backs\r
+on me? I looked at it; I smiled at the speaking likeness: I was absorbed\r
+and content.\r
+\r
+"Is that a portrait of some one you know?" asked Eliza, who had\r
+approached me unnoticed. I responded that it was merely a fancy head,\r
+and hurried it beneath the other sheets. Of course, I lied: it was, in\r
+fact, a very faithful representation of Mr. Rochester. But what was that\r
+to her, or to any one but myself? Georgiana also advanced to look. The\r
+other drawings pleased her much, but she called that "an ugly man." They\r
+both seemed surprised at my skill. I offered to sketch their portraits;\r
+and each, in turn, sat for a pencil outline. Then Georgiana produced her\r
+album. I promised to contribute a water-colour drawing: this put her at\r
+once into good humour. She proposed a walk in the grounds. Before we\r
+had been out two hours, we were deep in a confidential conversation: she\r
+had favoured me with a description of the brilliant winter she had spent\r
+in London two seasons ago--of the admiration she had there excited--the\r
+attention she had received; and I even got hints of the titled conquest\r
+she had made. In the course of the afternoon and evening these hints\r
+were enlarged on: various soft conversations were reported, and\r
+sentimental scenes represented; and, in short, a volume of a novel of\r
+fashionable life was that day improvised by her for my benefit. The\r
+communications were renewed from day to day: they always ran on the same\r
+theme--herself, her loves, and woes. It was strange she never once\r
+adverted either to her mother's illness, or her brother's death, or the\r
+present gloomy state of the family prospects. Her mind seemed wholly\r
+taken up with reminiscences of past gaiety, and aspirations after\r
+dissipations to come. She passed about five minutes each day in her\r
+mother's sick-room, and no more.\r
+\r
+Eliza still spoke little: she had evidently no time to talk. I never saw\r
+a busier person than she seemed to be; yet it was difficult to say what\r
+she did: or rather, to discover any result of her diligence. She had an\r
+alarm to call her up early. I know not how she occupied herself before\r
+breakfast, but after that meal she divided her time into regular\r
+portions, and each hour had its allotted task. Three times a day she\r
+studied a little book, which I found, on inspection, was a Common Prayer\r
+Book. I asked her once what was the great attraction of that volume, and\r
+she said, "the Rubric." Three hours she gave to stitching, with gold\r
+thread, the border of a square crimson cloth, almost large enough for a\r
+carpet. In answer to my inquiries after the use of this article, she\r
+informed me it was a covering for the altar of a new church lately\r
+erected near Gateshead. Two hours she devoted to her diary; two to\r
+working by herself in the kitchen-garden; and one to the regulation of\r
+her accounts. She seemed to want no company; no conversation. I believe\r
+she was happy in her way: this routine sufficed for her; and nothing\r
+annoyed her so much as the occurrence of any incident which forced her to\r
+vary its clockwork regularity.\r
+\r
+She told me one evening, when more disposed to be communicative than\r
+usual, that John's conduct, and the threatened ruin of the family, had\r
+been a source of profound affliction to her: but she had now, she said,\r
+settled her mind, and formed her resolution. Her own fortune she had\r
+taken care to secure; and when her mother died--and it was wholly\r
+improbable, she tranquilly remarked, that she should either recover or\r
+linger long--she would execute a long-cherished project: seek a\r
+retirement where punctual habits would be permanently secured from\r
+disturbance, and place safe barriers between herself and a frivolous\r
+world. I asked if Georgiana would accompany her.\r
+\r
+"Of course not. Georgiana and she had nothing in common: they never had\r
+had. She would not be burdened with her society for any consideration.\r
+Georgiana should take her own course; and she, Eliza, would take hers."\r
+\r
+Georgiana, when not unburdening her heart to me, spent most of her time\r
+in lying on the sofa, fretting about the dulness of the house, and\r
+wishing over and over again that her aunt Gibson would send her an\r
+invitation up to town. "It would be so much better," she said, "if she\r
+could only get out of the way for a month or two, till all was over." I\r
+did not ask what she meant by "all being over," but I suppose she\r
+referred to the expected decease of her mother and the gloomy sequel of\r
+funeral rites. Eliza generally took no more notice of her sister's\r
+indolence and complaints than if no such murmuring, lounging object had\r
+been before her. One day, however, as she put away her account-book and\r
+unfolded her embroidery, she suddenly took her up thus--\r
+\r
+"Georgiana, a more vain and absurd animal than you was certainly never\r
+allowed to cumber the earth. You had no right to be born, for you make\r
+no use of life. Instead of living for, in, and with yourself, as a\r
+reasonable being ought, you seek only to fasten your feebleness on some\r
+other person's strength: if no one can be found willing to burden her or\r
+himself with such a fat, weak, puffy, useless thing, you cry out that you\r
+are ill-treated, neglected, miserable. Then, too, existence for you must\r
+be a scene of continual change and excitement, or else the world is a\r
+dungeon: you must be admired, you must be courted, you must be\r
+flattered--you must have music, dancing, and society--or you languish,\r
+you die away. Have you no sense to devise a system which will make you\r
+independent of all efforts, and all wills, but your own? Take one day;\r
+share it into sections; to each section apportion its task: leave no\r
+stray unemployed quarters of an hour, ten minutes, five minutes--include\r
+all; do each piece of business in its turn with method, with rigid\r
+regularity. The day will close almost before you are aware it has begun;\r
+and you are indebted to no one for helping you to get rid of one vacant\r
+moment: you have had to seek no one's company, conversation, sympathy,\r
+forbearance; you have lived, in short, as an independent being ought to\r
+do. Take this advice: the first and last I shall offer you; then you\r
+will not want me or any one else, happen what may. Neglect it--go on as\r
+heretofore, craving, whining, and idling--and suffer the results of your\r
+idiocy, however bad and insuperable they may be. I tell you this\r
+plainly; and listen: for though I shall no more repeat what I am now\r
+about to say, I shall steadily act on it. After my mother's death, I\r
+wash my hands of you: from the day her coffin is carried to the vault in\r
+Gateshead Church, you and I will be as separate as if we had never known\r
+each other. You need not think that because we chanced to be born of the\r
+same parents, I shall suffer you to fasten me down by even the feeblest\r
+claim: I can tell you this--if the whole human race, ourselves excepted,\r
+were swept away, and we two stood alone on the earth, I would leave you\r
+in the old world, and betake myself to the new."\r
+\r
+She closed her lips.\r
+\r
+"You might have spared yourself the trouble of delivering that tirade,"\r
+answered Georgiana. "Everybody knows you are the most selfish, heartless\r
+creature in existence: and _I_ know your spiteful hatred towards me: I\r
+have had a specimen of it before in the trick you played me about Lord\r
+Edwin Vere: you could not bear me to be raised above you, to have a\r
+title, to be received into circles where you dare not show your face, and\r
+so you acted the spy and informer, and ruined my prospects for ever."\r
+Georgiana took out her handkerchief and blew her nose for an hour\r
+afterwards; Eliza sat cold, impassable, and assiduously industrious.\r
+\r
+True, generous feeling is made small account of by some, but here were\r
+two natures rendered, the one intolerably acrid, the other despicably\r
+savourless for the want of it. Feeling without judgment is a washy\r
+draught indeed; but judgment untempered by feeling is too bitter and\r
+husky a morsel for human deglutition.\r
+\r
+It was a wet and windy afternoon: Georgiana had fallen asleep on the sofa\r
+over the perusal of a novel; Eliza was gone to attend a saint's-day\r
+service at the new church--for in matters of religion she was a rigid\r
+formalist: no weather ever prevented the punctual discharge of what she\r
+considered her devotional duties; fair or foul, she went to church thrice\r
+every Sunday, and as often on week-days as there were prayers.\r
+\r
+I bethought myself to go upstairs and see how the dying woman sped, who\r
+lay there almost unheeded: the very servants paid her but a remittent\r
+attention: the hired nurse, being little looked after, would slip out of\r
+the room whenever she could. Bessie was faithful; but she had her own\r
+family to mind, and could only come occasionally to the hall. I found\r
+the sick-room unwatched, as I had expected: no nurse was there; the\r
+patient lay still, and seemingly lethargic; her livid face sunk in the\r
+pillows: the fire was dying in the grate. I renewed the fuel,\r
+re-arranged the bedclothes, gazed awhile on her who could not now gaze on\r
+me, and then I moved away to the window.\r
+\r
+The rain beat strongly against the panes, the wind blew tempestuously:\r
+"One lies there," I thought, "who will soon be beyond the war of earthly\r
+elements. Whither will that spirit--now struggling to quit its material\r
+tenement--flit when at length released?"\r
+\r
+In pondering the great mystery, I thought of Helen Burns, recalled her\r
+dying words--her faith--her doctrine of the equality of disembodied\r
+souls. I was still listening in thought to her well-remembered\r
+tones--still picturing her pale and spiritual aspect, her wasted face and\r
+sublime gaze, as she lay on her placid deathbed, and whispered her\r
+longing to be restored to her divine Father's bosom--when a feeble voice\r
+murmured from the couch behind: "Who is that?"\r
+\r
+I knew Mrs. Reed had not spoken for days: was she reviving? I went up to\r
+her.\r
+\r
+"It is I, Aunt Reed."\r
+\r
+"Who--I?" was her answer. "Who are you?" looking at me with surprise and\r
+a sort of alarm, but still not wildly. "You are quite a stranger to\r
+me--where is Bessie?"\r
+\r
+"She is at the lodge, aunt."\r
+\r
+"Aunt," she repeated. "Who calls me aunt? You are not one of the\r
+Gibsons; and yet I know you--that face, and the eyes and forehead, are\r
+quiet familiar to me: you are like--why, you are like Jane Eyre!"\r
+\r
+I said nothing: I was afraid of occasioning some shock by declaring my\r
+identity.\r
+\r
+"Yet," said she, "I am afraid it is a mistake: my thoughts deceive me. I\r
+wished to see Jane Eyre, and I fancy a likeness where none exists:\r
+besides, in eight years she must be so changed." I now gently assured\r
+her that I was the person she supposed and desired me to be: and seeing\r
+that I was understood, and that her senses were quite collected, I\r
+explained how Bessie had sent her husband to fetch me from Thornfield.\r
+\r
+"I am very ill, I know," she said ere long. "I was trying to turn myself\r
+a few minutes since, and find I cannot move a limb. It is as well I\r
+should ease my mind before I die: what we think little of in health,\r
+burdens us at such an hour as the present is to me. Is the nurse here?\r
+or is there no one in the room but you?"\r
+\r
+I assured her we were alone.\r
+\r
+"Well, I have twice done you a wrong which I regret now. One was in\r
+breaking the promise which I gave my husband to bring you up as my own\r
+child; the other--" she stopped. "After all, it is of no great\r
+importance, perhaps," she murmured to herself: "and then I may get\r
+better; and to humble myself so to her is painful."\r
+\r
+She made an effort to alter her position, but failed: her face changed;\r
+she seemed to experience some inward sensation--the precursor, perhaps,\r
+of the last pang.\r
+\r
+"Well, I must get it over. Eternity is before me: I had better tell\r
+her.--Go to my dressing-case, open it, and take out a letter you will see\r
+there."\r
+\r
+I obeyed her directions. "Read the letter," she said.\r
+\r
+It was short, and thus conceived:--\r
+\r
+ "Madam,--Will you have the goodness to send me the address of my\r
+ niece, Jane Eyre, and to tell me how she is? It is my intention to\r
+ write shortly and desire her to come to me at Madeira. Providence has\r
+ blessed my endeavours to secure a competency; and as I am unmarried\r
+ and childless, I wish to adopt her during my life, and bequeath her at\r
+ my death whatever I may have to leave.--I am, Madam, &c., &c.,\r
+\r
+ "JOHN EYRE, Madeira."\r
+\r
+It was dated three years back.\r
+\r
+"Why did I never hear of this?" I asked.\r
+\r
+"Because I disliked you too fixedly and thoroughly ever to lend a hand in\r
+lifting you to prosperity. I could not forget your conduct to me,\r
+Jane--the fury with which you once turned on me; the tone in which you\r
+declared you abhorred me the worst of anybody in the world; the\r
+unchildlike look and voice with which you affirmed that the very thought\r
+of me made you sick, and asserted that I had treated you with miserable\r
+cruelty. I could not forget my own sensations when you thus started up\r
+and poured out the venom of your mind: I felt fear as if an animal that I\r
+had struck or pushed had looked up at me with human eyes and cursed me in\r
+a man's voice.--Bring me some water! Oh, make haste!"\r
+\r
+"Dear Mrs. Reed," said I, as I offered her the draught she required,\r
+"think no more of all this, let it pass away from your mind. Forgive me\r
+for my passionate language: I was a child then; eight, nine years have\r
+passed since that day."\r
+\r
+She heeded nothing of what I said; but when she had tasted the water and\r
+drawn breath, she went on thus--\r
+\r
+"I tell you I could not forget it; and I took my revenge: for you to be\r
+adopted by your uncle, and placed in a state of ease and comfort, was\r
+what I could not endure. I wrote to him; I said I was sorry for his\r
+disappointment, but Jane Eyre was dead: she had died of typhus fever at\r
+Lowood. Now act as you please: write and contradict my assertion--expose\r
+my falsehood as soon as you like. You were born, I think, to be my\r
+torment: my last hour is racked by the recollection of a deed which, but\r
+for you, I should never have been tempted to commit."\r
+\r
+"If you could but be persuaded to think no more of it, aunt, and to\r
+regard me with kindness and forgiveness"\r
+\r
+"You have a very bad disposition," said she, "and one to this day I feel\r
+it impossible to understand: how for nine years you could be patient and\r
+quiescent under any treatment, and in the tenth break out all fire and\r
+violence, I can never comprehend."\r
+\r
+"My disposition is not so bad as you think: I am passionate, but not\r
+vindictive. Many a time, as a little child, I should have been glad to\r
+love you if you would have let me; and I long earnestly to be reconciled\r
+to you now: kiss me, aunt."\r
+\r
+I approached my cheek to her lips: she would not touch it. She said I\r
+oppressed her by leaning over the bed, and again demanded water. As I\r
+laid her down--for I raised her and supported her on my arm while she\r
+drank--I covered her ice-cold and clammy hand with mine: the feeble\r
+fingers shrank from my touch--the glazing eyes shunned my gaze.\r
+\r
+"Love me, then, or hate me, as you will," I said at last, "you have my\r
+full and free forgiveness: ask now for God's, and be at peace."\r
+\r
+Poor, suffering woman! it was too late for her to make now the effort to\r
+change her habitual frame of mind: living, she had ever hated me--dying,\r
+she must hate me still.\r
+\r
+The nurse now entered, and Bessie followed. I yet lingered half-an-hour\r
+longer, hoping to see some sign of amity: but she gave none. She was\r
+fast relapsing into stupor; nor did her mind again rally: at twelve\r
+o'clock that night she died. I was not present to close her eyes, nor\r
+were either of her daughters. They came to tell us the next morning that\r
+all was over. She was by that time laid out. Eliza and I went to look\r
+at her: Georgiana, who had burst out into loud weeping, said she dared\r
+not go. There was stretched Sarah Reed's once robust and active frame,\r
+rigid and still: her eye of flint was covered with its cold lid; her brow\r
+and strong traits wore yet the impress of her inexorable soul. A strange\r
+and solemn object was that corpse to me. I gazed on it with gloom and\r
+pain: nothing soft, nothing sweet, nothing pitying, or hopeful, or\r
+subduing did it inspire; only a grating anguish for _her_ woes--not _my_\r
+loss--and a sombre tearless dismay at the fearfulness of death in such a\r
+form.\r
+\r
+Eliza surveyed her parent calmly. After a silence of some minutes she\r
+observed--\r
+\r
+"With her constitution she should have lived to a good old age: her life\r
+was shortened by trouble." And then a spasm constricted her mouth for an\r
+instant: as it passed away she turned and left the room, and so did I.\r
+Neither of us had dropt a tear.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER XXII\r
+\r
+\r
+Mr. Rochester had given me but one week's leave of absence: yet a month\r
+elapsed before I quitted Gateshead. I wished to leave immediately after\r
+the funeral, but Georgiana entreated me to stay till she could get off to\r
+London, whither she was now at last invited by her uncle, Mr. Gibson, who\r
+had come down to direct his sister's interment and settle the family\r
+affairs. Georgiana said she dreaded being left alone with Eliza; from\r
+her she got neither sympathy in her dejection, support in her fears, nor\r
+aid in her preparations; so I bore with her feeble-minded wailings and\r
+selfish lamentations as well as I could, and did my best in sewing for\r
+her and packing her dresses. It is true, that while I worked, she would\r
+idle; and I thought to myself, "If you and I were destined to live always\r
+together, cousin, we would commence matters on a different footing. I\r
+should not settle tamely down into being the forbearing party; I should\r
+assign you your share of labour, and compel you to accomplish it, or else\r
+it should be left undone: I should insist, also, on your keeping some of\r
+those drawling, half-insincere complaints hushed in your own breast. It\r
+is only because our connection happens to be very transitory, and comes\r
+at a peculiarly mournful season, that I consent thus to render it so\r
+patient and compliant on my part."\r
+\r
+At last I saw Georgiana off; but now it was Eliza's turn to request me to\r
+stay another week. Her plans required all her time and attention, she\r
+said; she was about to depart for some unknown bourne; and all day long\r
+she stayed in her own room, her door bolted within, filling trunks,\r
+emptying drawers, burning papers, and holding no communication with any\r
+one. She wished me to look after the house, to see callers, and answer\r
+notes of condolence.\r
+\r
+One morning she told me I was at liberty. "And," she added, "I am\r
+obliged to you for your valuable services and discreet conduct! There is\r
+some difference between living with such an one as you and with\r
+Georgiana: you perform your own part in life and burden no one.\r
+To-morrow," she continued, "I set out for the Continent. I shall take up\r
+my abode in a religious house near Lisle--a nunnery you would call it;\r
+there I shall be quiet and unmolested. I shall devote myself for a time\r
+to the examination of the Roman Catholic dogmas, and to a careful study\r
+of the workings of their system: if I find it to be, as I half suspect it\r
+is, the one best calculated to ensure the doing of all things decently\r
+and in order, I shall embrace the tenets of Rome and probably take the\r
+veil."\r
+\r
+I neither expressed surprise at this resolution nor attempted to dissuade\r
+her from it. "The vocation will fit you to a hair," I thought: "much\r
+good may it do you!"\r
+\r
+When we parted, she said: "Good-bye, cousin Jane Eyre; I wish you well:\r
+you have some sense."\r
+\r
+I then returned: "You are not without sense, cousin Eliza; but what you\r
+have, I suppose, in another year will be walled up alive in a French\r
+convent. However, it is not my business, and so it suits you, I don't\r
+much care."\r
+\r
+"You are in the right," said she; and with these words we each went our\r
+separate way. As I shall not have occasion to refer either to her or her\r
+sister again, I may as well mention here, that Georgiana made an\r
+advantageous match with a wealthy worn-out man of fashion, and that Eliza\r
+actually took the veil, and is at this day superior of the convent where\r
+she passed the period of her novitiate, and which she endowed with her\r
+fortune.\r
+\r
+How people feel when they are returning home from an absence, long or\r
+short, I did not know: I had never experienced the sensation. I had\r
+known what it was to come back to Gateshead when a child after a long\r
+walk, to be scolded for looking cold or gloomy; and later, what it was to\r
+come back from church to Lowood, to long for a plenteous meal and a good\r
+fire, and to be unable to get either. Neither of these returnings was\r
+very pleasant or desirable: no magnet drew me to a given point,\r
+increasing in its strength of attraction the nearer I came. The return\r
+to Thornfield was yet to be tried.\r
+\r
+My journey seemed tedious--very tedious: fifty miles one day, a night\r
+spent at an inn; fifty miles the next day. During the first twelve hours\r
+I thought of Mrs. Reed in her last moments; I saw her disfigured and\r
+discoloured face, and heard her strangely altered voice. I mused on the\r
+funeral day, the coffin, the hearse, the black train of tenants and\r
+servants--few was the number of relatives--the gaping vault, the silent\r
+church, the solemn service. Then I thought of Eliza and Georgiana; I\r
+beheld one the cynosure of a ball-room, the other the inmate of a convent\r
+cell; and I dwelt on and analysed their separate peculiarities of person\r
+and character. The evening arrival at the great town of--scattered these\r
+thoughts; night gave them quite another turn: laid down on my traveller's\r
+bed, I left reminiscence for anticipation.\r
+\r
+I was going back to Thornfield: but how long was I to stay there? Not\r
+long; of that I was sure. I had heard from Mrs. Fairfax in the interim\r
+of my absence: the party at the hall was dispersed; Mr. Rochester had\r
+left for London three weeks ago, but he was then expected to return in a\r
+fortnight. Mrs. Fairfax surmised that he was gone to make arrangements\r
+for his wedding, as he had talked of purchasing a new carriage: she said\r
+the idea of his marrying Miss Ingram still seemed strange to her; but\r
+from what everybody said, and from what she had herself seen, she could\r
+no longer doubt that the event would shortly take place. "You would be\r
+strangely incredulous if you did doubt it," was my mental comment. "I\r
+don't doubt it."\r
+\r
+The question followed, "Where was I to go?" I dreamt of Miss Ingram all\r
+the night: in a vivid morning dream I saw her closing the gates of\r
+Thornfield against me and pointing me out another road; and Mr. Rochester\r
+looked on with his arms folded--smiling sardonically, as it seemed, at\r
+both her and me.\r
+\r
+I had not notified to Mrs. Fairfax the exact day of my return; for I did\r
+not wish either car or carriage to meet me at Millcote. I proposed to\r
+walk the distance quietly by myself; and very quietly, after leaving my\r
+box in the ostler's care, did I slip away from the George Inn, about six\r
+o'clock of a June evening, and take the old road to Thornfield: a road\r
+which lay chiefly through fields, and was now little frequented.\r
+\r
+It was not a bright or splendid summer evening, though fair and soft: the\r
+haymakers were at work all along the road; and the sky, though far from\r
+cloudless, was such as promised well for the future: its blue--where blue\r
+was visible--was mild and settled, and its cloud strata high and thin.\r
+The west, too, was warm: no watery gleam chilled it--it seemed as if\r
+there was a fire lit, an altar burning behind its screen of marbled\r
+vapour, and out of apertures shone a golden redness.\r
+\r
+I felt glad as the road shortened before me: so glad that I stopped once\r
+to ask myself what that joy meant: and to remind reason that it was not\r
+to my home I was going, or to a permanent resting-place, or to a place\r
+where fond friends looked out for me and waited my arrival. "Mrs.\r
+Fairfax will smile you a calm welcome, to be sure," said I; "and little\r
+Adele will clap her hands and jump to see you: but you know very well you\r
+are thinking of another than they, and that he is not thinking of you."\r
+\r
+But what is so headstrong as youth? What so blind as inexperience? These\r
+affirmed that it was pleasure enough to have the privilege of again\r
+looking on Mr. Rochester, whether he looked on me or not; and they\r
+added--"Hasten! hasten! be with him while you may: but a few more days or\r
+weeks, at most, and you are parted from him for ever!" And then I\r
+strangled a new-born agony--a deformed thing which I could not persuade\r
+myself to own and rear--and ran on.\r
+\r
+They are making hay, too, in Thornfield meadows: or rather, the labourers\r
+are just quitting their work, and returning home with their rakes on\r
+their shoulders, now, at the hour I arrive. I have but a field or two to\r
+traverse, and then I shall cross the road and reach the gates. How full\r
+the hedges are of roses! But I have no time to gather any; I want to be\r
+at the house. I passed a tall briar, shooting leafy and flowery branches\r
+across the path; I see the narrow stile with stone steps; and I see--Mr.\r
+Rochester sitting there, a book and a pencil in his hand; he is writing.\r
+\r
+Well, he is not a ghost; yet every nerve I have is unstrung: for a moment\r
+I am beyond my own mastery. What does it mean? I did not think I should\r
+tremble in this way when I saw him, or lose my voice or the power of\r
+motion in his presence. I will go back as soon as I can stir: I need not\r
+make an absolute fool of myself. I know another way to the house. It\r
+does not signify if I knew twenty ways; for he has seen me.\r
+\r
+"Hillo!" he cries; and he puts up his book and his pencil. "There you\r
+are! Come on, if you please."\r
+\r
+I suppose I do come on; though in what fashion I know not; being scarcely\r
+cognisant of my movements, and solicitous only to appear calm; and, above\r
+all, to control the working muscles of my face--which I feel rebel\r
+insolently against my will, and struggle to express what I had resolved\r
+to conceal. But I have a veil--it is down: I may make shift yet to\r
+behave with decent composure.\r
+\r
+"And this is Jane Eyre? Are you coming from Millcote, and on foot?\r
+Yes--just one of your tricks: not to send for a carriage, and come\r
+clattering over street and road like a common mortal, but to steal into\r
+the vicinage of your home along with twilight, just as if you were a\r
+dream or a shade. What the deuce have you done with yourself this last\r
+month?"\r
+\r
+"I have been with my aunt, sir, who is dead."\r
+\r
+"A true Janian reply! Good angels be my guard! She comes from the other\r
+world--from the abode of people who are dead; and tells me so when she\r
+meets me alone here in the gloaming! If I dared, I'd touch you, to see\r
+if you are substance or shadow, you elf!--but I'd as soon offer to take\r
+hold of a blue _ignis fatuus_ light in a marsh. Truant! truant!" he\r
+added, when he had paused an instant. "Absent from me a whole month, and\r
+forgetting me quite, I'll be sworn!"\r
+\r
+I knew there would be pleasure in meeting my master again, even though\r
+broken by the fear that he was so soon to cease to be my master, and by\r
+the knowledge that I was nothing to him: but there was ever in Mr.\r
+Rochester (so at least I thought) such a wealth of the power of\r
+communicating happiness, that to taste but of the crumbs he scattered to\r
+stray and stranger birds like me, was to feast genially. His last words\r
+were balm: they seemed to imply that it imported something to him whether\r
+I forgot him or not. And he had spoken of Thornfield as my home--would\r
+that it were my home!\r
+\r
+He did not leave the stile, and I hardly liked to ask to go by. I\r
+inquired soon if he had not been to London.\r
+\r
+"Yes; I suppose you found that out by second-sight."\r
+\r
+"Mrs. Fairfax told me in a letter."\r
+\r
+"And did she inform you what I went to do?"\r
+\r
+"Oh, yes, sir! Everybody knew your errand."\r
+\r
+"You must see the carriage, Jane, and tell me if you don't think it will\r
+suit Mrs. Rochester exactly; and whether she won't look like Queen\r
+Boadicea, leaning back against those purple cushions. I wish, Jane, I\r
+were a trifle better adapted to match with her externally. Tell me now,\r
+fairy as you are--can't you give me a charm, or a philter, or something\r
+of that sort, to make me a handsome man?"\r
+\r
+"It would be past the power of magic, sir;" and, in thought, I added, "A\r
+loving eye is all the charm needed: to such you are handsome enough; or\r
+rather your sternness has a power beyond beauty."\r
+\r
+Mr. Rochester had sometimes read my unspoken thoughts with an acumen to\r
+me incomprehensible: in the present instance he took no notice of my\r
+abrupt vocal response; but he smiled at me with a certain smile he had of\r
+his own, and which he used but on rare occasions. He seemed to think it\r
+too good for common purposes: it was the real sunshine of feeling--he\r
+shed it over me now.\r
+\r
+"Pass, Janet," said he, making room for me to cross the stile: "go up\r
+home, and stay your weary little wandering feet at a friend's threshold."\r
+\r
+All I had now to do was to obey him in silence: no need for me to\r
+colloquise further. I got over the stile without a word, and meant to\r
+leave him calmly. An impulse held me fast--a force turned me round. I\r
+said--or something in me said for me, and in spite of me--\r
+\r
+"Thank you, Mr. Rochester, for your great kindness. I am strangely glad\r
+to get back again to you: and wherever you are is my home--my only home."\r
+\r
+I walked on so fast that even he could hardly have overtaken me had he\r
+tried. Little Adele was half wild with delight when she saw me. Mrs.\r
+Fairfax received me with her usual plain friendliness. Leah smiled, and\r
+even Sophie bid me "bon soir" with glee. This was very pleasant; there\r
+is no happiness like that of being loved by your fellow-creatures, and\r
+feeling that your presence is an addition to their comfort.\r
+\r
+I that evening shut my eyes resolutely against the future: I stopped my\r
+ears against the voice that kept warning me of near separation and coming\r
+grief. When tea was over and Mrs. Fairfax had taken her knitting, and I\r
+had assumed a low seat near her, and Adele, kneeling on the carpet, had\r
+nestled close up to me, and a sense of mutual affection seemed to\r
+surround us with a ring of golden peace, I uttered a silent prayer that\r
+we might not be parted far or soon; but when, as we thus sat, Mr.\r
+Rochester entered, unannounced, and looking at us, seemed to take\r
+pleasure in the spectacle of a group so amicable--when he said he\r
+supposed the old lady was all right now that she had got her adopted\r
+daughter back again, and added that he saw Adele was "prete a croquer sa\r
+petite maman Anglaise"--I half ventured to hope that he would, even after\r
+his marriage, keep us together somewhere under the shelter of his\r
+protection, and not quite exiled from the sunshine of his presence.\r
+\r
+A fortnight of dubious calm succeeded my return to Thornfield Hall.\r
+Nothing was said of the master's marriage, and I saw no preparation going\r
+on for such an event. Almost every day I asked Mrs. Fairfax if she had\r
+yet heard anything decided: her answer was always in the negative. Once\r
+she said she had actually put the question to Mr. Rochester as to when he\r
+was going to bring his bride home; but he had answered her only by a joke\r
+and one of his queer looks, and she could not tell what to make of him.\r
+\r
+One thing specially surprised me, and that was, there were no journeyings\r
+backward and forward, no visits to Ingram Park: to be sure it was twenty\r
+miles off, on the borders of another county; but what was that distance\r
+to an ardent lover? To so practised and indefatigable a horseman as Mr.\r
+Rochester, it would be but a morning's ride. I began to cherish hopes I\r
+had no right to conceive: that the match was broken off; that rumour had\r
+been mistaken; that one or both parties had changed their minds. I used\r
+to look at my master's face to see if it were sad or fierce; but I could\r
+not remember the time when it had been so uniformly clear of clouds or\r
+evil feelings. If, in the moments I and my pupil spent with him, I\r
+lacked spirits and sank into inevitable dejection, he became even gay.\r
+Never had he called me more frequently to his presence; never been kinder\r
+to me when there--and, alas! never had I loved him so well.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER XXIII\r
+\r
+\r
+A splendid Midsummer shone over England: skies so pure, suns so radiant\r
+as were then seen in long succession, seldom favour even singly, our wave-\r
+girt land. It was as if a band of Italian days had come from the South,\r
+like a flock of glorious passenger birds, and lighted to rest them on the\r
+cliffs of Albion. The hay was all got in; the fields round Thornfield\r
+were green and shorn; the roads white and baked; the trees were in their\r
+dark prime; hedge and wood, full-leaved and deeply tinted, contrasted\r
+well with the sunny hue of the cleared meadows between.\r
+\r
+On Midsummer-eve, Adele, weary with gathering wild strawberries in Hay\r
+Lane half the day, had gone to bed with the sun. I watched her drop\r
+asleep, and when I left her, I sought the garden.\r
+\r
+It was now the sweetest hour of the twenty-four:--"Day its fervid fires\r
+had wasted," and dew fell cool on panting plain and scorched summit.\r
+Where the sun had gone down in simple state--pure of the pomp of\r
+clouds--spread a solemn purple, burning with the light of red jewel and\r
+furnace flame at one point, on one hill-peak, and extending high and\r
+wide, soft and still softer, over half heaven. The east had its own\r
+charm or fine deep blue, and its own modest gem, a casino and solitary\r
+star: soon it would boast the moon; but she was yet beneath the horizon.\r
+\r
+I walked a while on the pavement; but a subtle, well-known scent--that of\r
+a cigar--stole from some window; I saw the library casement open a\r
+handbreadth; I knew I might be watched thence; so I went apart into the\r
+orchard. No nook in the grounds more sheltered and more Eden-like; it\r
+was full of trees, it bloomed with flowers: a very high wall shut it out\r
+from the court, on one side; on the other, a beech avenue screened it\r
+from the lawn. At the bottom was a sunk fence; its sole separation from\r
+lonely fields: a winding walk, bordered with laurels and terminating in a\r
+giant horse-chestnut, circled at the base by a seat, led down to the\r
+fence. Here one could wander unseen. While such honey-dew fell, such\r
+silence reigned, such gloaming gathered, I felt as if I could haunt such\r
+shade for ever; but in threading the flower and fruit parterres at the\r
+upper part of the enclosure, enticed there by the light the now rising\r
+moon cast on this more open quarter, my step is stayed--not by sound, not\r
+by sight, but once more by a warning fragrance.\r
+\r
+Sweet-briar and southernwood, jasmine, pink, and rose have long been\r
+yielding their evening sacrifice of incense: this new scent is neither of\r
+shrub nor flower; it is--I know it well--it is Mr. Rochester's cigar. I\r
+look round and I listen. I see trees laden with ripening fruit. I hear\r
+a nightingale warbling in a wood half a mile off; no moving form is\r
+visible, no coming step audible; but that perfume increases: I must flee.\r
+I make for the wicket leading to the shrubbery, and I see Mr. Rochester\r
+entering. I step aside into the ivy recess; he will not stay long: he\r
+will soon return whence he came, and if I sit still he will never see me.\r
+\r
+But no--eventide is as pleasant to him as to me, and this antique garden\r
+as attractive; and he strolls on, now lifting the gooseberry-tree\r
+branches to look at the fruit, large as plums, with which they are laden;\r
+now taking a ripe cherry from the wall; now stooping towards a knot of\r
+flowers, either to inhale their fragrance or to admire the dew-beads on\r
+their petals. A great moth goes humming by me; it alights on a plant at\r
+Mr. Rochester's foot: he sees it, and bends to examine it.\r
+\r
+"Now, he has his back towards me," thought I, "and he is occupied too;\r
+perhaps, if I walk softly, I can slip away unnoticed."\r
+\r
+I trode on an edging of turf that the crackle of the pebbly gravel might\r
+not betray me: he was standing among the beds at a yard or two distant\r
+from where I had to pass; the moth apparently engaged him. "I shall get\r
+by very well," I meditated. As I crossed his shadow, thrown long over\r
+the garden by the moon, not yet risen high, he said quietly, without\r
+turning--\r
+\r
+"Jane, come and look at this fellow."\r
+\r
+I had made no noise: he had not eyes behind--could his shadow feel? I\r
+started at first, and then I approached him.\r
+\r
+"Look at his wings," said he, "he reminds me rather of a West Indian\r
+insect; one does not often see so large and gay a night-rover in England;\r
+there! he is flown."\r
+\r
+The moth roamed away. I was sheepishly retreating also; but Mr.\r
+Rochester followed me, and when we reached the wicket, he said--\r
+\r
+"Turn back: on so lovely a night it is a shame to sit in the house; and\r
+surely no one can wish to go to bed while sunset is thus at meeting with\r
+moonrise."\r
+\r
+It is one of my faults, that though my tongue is sometimes prompt enough\r
+at an answer, there are times when it sadly fails me in framing an\r
+excuse; and always the lapse occurs at some crisis, when a facile word or\r
+plausible pretext is specially wanted to get me out of painful\r
+embarrassment. I did not like to walk at this hour alone with Mr.\r
+Rochester in the shadowy orchard; but I could not find a reason to allege\r
+for leaving him. I followed with lagging step, and thoughts busily bent\r
+on discovering a means of extrication; but he himself looked so composed\r
+and so grave also, I became ashamed of feeling any confusion: the evil--if\r
+evil existent or prospective there was--seemed to lie with me only; his\r
+mind was unconscious and quiet.\r
+\r
+"Jane," he recommenced, as we entered the laurel walk, and slowly strayed\r
+down in the direction of the sunk fence and the horse-chestnut,\r
+"Thornfield is a pleasant place in summer, is it not?"\r
+\r
+"Yes, sir."\r
+\r
+"You must have become in some degree attached to the house,--you, who\r
+have an eye for natural beauties, and a good deal of the organ of\r
+Adhesiveness?"\r
+\r
+"I am attached to it, indeed."\r
+\r
+"And though I don't comprehend how it is, I perceive you have acquired a\r
+degree of regard for that foolish little child Adele, too; and even for\r
+simple dame Fairfax?"\r
+\r
+"Yes, sir; in different ways, I have an affection for both."\r
+\r
+"And would be sorry to part with them?"\r
+\r
+"Yes."\r
+\r
+"Pity!" he said, and sighed and paused. "It is always the way of events\r
+in this life," he continued presently: "no sooner have you got settled in\r
+a pleasant resting-place, than a voice calls out to you to rise and move\r
+on, for the hour of repose is expired."\r
+\r
+"Must I move on, sir?" I asked. "Must I leave Thornfield?"\r
+\r
+"I believe you must, Jane. I am sorry, Janet, but I believe indeed you\r
+must."\r
+\r
+This was a blow: but I did not let it prostrate me.\r
+\r
+"Well, sir, I shall be ready when the order to march comes."\r
+\r
+"It is come now--I must give it to-night."\r
+\r
+"Then you _are_ going to be married, sir?"\r
+\r
+"Ex-act-ly--pre-cise-ly: with your usual acuteness, you have hit the nail\r
+straight on the head."\r
+\r
+"Soon, sir?"\r
+\r
+"Very soon, my--that is, Miss Eyre: and you'll remember, Jane, the first\r
+time I, or Rumour, plainly intimated to you that it was my intention to\r
+put my old bachelor's neck into the sacred noose, to enter into the holy\r
+estate of matrimony--to take Miss Ingram to my bosom, in short (she's an\r
+extensive armful: but that's not to the point--one can't have too much of\r
+such a very excellent thing as my beautiful Blanche): well, as I was\r
+saying--listen to me, Jane! You're not turning your head to look after\r
+more moths, are you? That was only a lady-clock, child, 'flying away\r
+home.' I wish to remind you that it was you who first said to me, with\r
+that discretion I respect in you--with that foresight, prudence, and\r
+humility which befit your responsible and dependent position--that in\r
+case I married Miss Ingram, both you and little Adele had better trot\r
+forthwith. I pass over the sort of slur conveyed in this suggestion on\r
+the character of my beloved; indeed, when you are far away, Janet, I'll\r
+try to forget it: I shall notice only its wisdom; which is such that I\r
+have made it my law of action. Adele must go to school; and you, Miss\r
+Eyre, must get a new situation."\r
+\r
+"Yes, sir, I will advertise immediately: and meantime, I suppose--" I was\r
+going to say, "I suppose I may stay here, till I find another shelter to\r
+betake myself to:" but I stopped, feeling it would not do to risk a long\r
+sentence, for my voice was not quite under command.\r
+\r
+"In about a month I hope to be a bridegroom," continued Mr. Rochester;\r
+"and in the interim, I shall myself look out for employment and an asylum\r
+for you."\r
+\r
+"Thank you, sir; I am sorry to give--"\r
+\r
+"Oh, no need to apologise! I consider that when a dependent does her\r
+duty as well as you have done yours, she has a sort of claim upon her\r
+employer for any little assistance he can conveniently render her; indeed\r
+I have already, through my future mother-in-law, heard of a place that I\r
+think will suit: it is to undertake the education of the five daughters\r
+of Mrs. Dionysius O'Gall of Bitternutt Lodge, Connaught, Ireland. You'll\r
+like Ireland, I think: they're such warm-hearted people there, they say."\r
+\r
+"It is a long way off, sir."\r
+\r
+"No matter--a girl of your sense will not object to the voyage or the\r
+distance."\r
+\r
+"Not the voyage, but the distance: and then the sea is a barrier--"\r
+\r
+"From what, Jane?"\r
+\r
+"From England and from Thornfield: and--"\r
+\r
+"Well?"\r
+\r
+"From _you_, sir."\r
+\r
+I said this almost involuntarily, and, with as little sanction of free\r
+will, my tears gushed out. I did not cry so as to be heard, however; I\r
+avoided sobbing. The thought of Mrs. O'Gall and Bitternutt Lodge struck\r
+cold to my heart; and colder the thought of all the brine and foam,\r
+destined, as it seemed, to rush between me and the master at whose side I\r
+now walked, and coldest the remembrance of the wider ocean--wealth,\r
+caste, custom intervened between me and what I naturally and inevitably\r
+loved.\r
+\r
+"It is a long way," I again said.\r
+\r
+"It is, to be sure; and when you get to Bitternutt Lodge, Connaught,\r
+Ireland, I shall never see you again, Jane: that's morally certain. I\r
+never go over to Ireland, not having myself much of a fancy for the\r
+country. We have been good friends, Jane; have we not?"\r
+\r
+"Yes, sir."\r
+\r
+"And when friends are on the eve of separation, they like to spend the\r
+little time that remains to them close to each other. Come! we'll talk\r
+over the voyage and the parting quietly half-an-hour or so, while the\r
+stars enter into their shining life up in heaven yonder: here is the\r
+chestnut tree: here is the bench at its old roots. Come, we will sit\r
+there in peace to-night, though we should never more be destined to sit\r
+there together." He seated me and himself.\r
+\r
+"It is a long way to Ireland, Janet, and I am sorry to send my little\r
+friend on such weary travels: but if I can't do better, how is it to be\r
+helped? Are you anything akin to me, do you think, Jane?"\r
+\r
+I could risk no sort of answer by this time: my heart was still.\r
+\r
+"Because," he said, "I sometimes have a queer feeling with regard to\r
+you--especially when you are near me, as now: it is as if I had a string\r
+somewhere under my left ribs, tightly and inextricably knotted to a\r
+similar string situated in the corresponding quarter of your little\r
+frame. And if that boisterous Channel, and two hundred miles or so of\r
+land come broad between us, I am afraid that cord of communion will be\r
+snapt; and then I've a nervous notion I should take to bleeding inwardly.\r
+As for you,--you'd forget me."\r
+\r
+"That I _never_ should, sir: you know--" Impossible to proceed.\r
+\r
+"Jane, do you hear that nightingale singing in the wood? Listen!"\r
+\r
+In listening, I sobbed convulsively; for I could repress what I endured\r
+no longer; I was obliged to yield, and I was shaken from head to foot\r
+with acute distress. When I did speak, it was only to express an\r
+impetuous wish that I had never been born, or never come to Thornfield.\r
+\r
+"Because you are sorry to leave it?"\r
+\r
+The vehemence of emotion, stirred by grief and love within me, was\r
+claiming mastery, and struggling for full sway, and asserting a right to\r
+predominate, to overcome, to live, rise, and reign at last: yes,--and to\r
+speak.\r
+\r
+"I grieve to leave Thornfield: I love Thornfield:--I love it, because I\r
+have lived in it a full and delightful life,--momentarily at least. I\r
+have not been trampled on. I have not been petrified. I have not been\r
+buried with inferior minds, and excluded from every glimpse of communion\r
+with what is bright and energetic and high. I have talked, face to face,\r
+with what I reverence, with what I delight in,--with an original, a\r
+vigorous, an expanded mind. I have known you, Mr. Rochester; and it\r
+strikes me with terror and anguish to feel I absolutely must be torn from\r
+you for ever. I see the necessity of departure; and it is like looking\r
+on the necessity of death."\r
+\r
+"Where do you see the necessity?" he asked suddenly.\r
+\r
+"Where? You, sir, have placed it before me."\r
+\r
+"In what shape?"\r
+\r
+"In the shape of Miss Ingram; a noble and beautiful woman,--your bride."\r
+\r
+"My bride! What bride? I have no bride!"\r
+\r
+"But you will have."\r
+\r
+"Yes;--I will!--I will!" He set his teeth.\r
+\r
+"Then I must go:--you have said it yourself."\r
+\r
+"No: you must stay! I swear it--and the oath shall be kept."\r
+\r
+"I tell you I must go!" I retorted, roused to something like passion. "Do\r
+you think I can stay to become nothing to you? Do you think I am an\r
+automaton?--a machine without feelings? and can bear to have my morsel of\r
+bread snatched from my lips, and my drop of living water dashed from my\r
+cup? Do you think, because I am poor, obscure, plain, and little, I am\r
+soulless and heartless? You think wrong!--I have as much soul as\r
+you,--and full as much heart! And if God had gifted me with some beauty\r
+and much wealth, I should have made it as hard for you to leave me, as it\r
+is now for me to leave you. I am not talking to you now through the\r
+medium of custom, conventionalities, nor even of mortal flesh;--it is my\r
+spirit that addresses your spirit; just as if both had passed through the\r
+grave, and we stood at God's feet, equal,--as we are!"\r
+\r
+"As we are!" repeated Mr. Rochester--"so," he added, enclosing me in his\r
+arms. Gathering me to his breast, pressing his lips on my lips: "so,\r
+Jane!"\r
+\r
+"Yes, so, sir," I rejoined: "and yet not so; for you are a married man--or\r
+as good as a married man, and wed to one inferior to you--to one with\r
+whom you have no sympathy--whom I do not believe you truly love; for I\r
+have seen and heard you sneer at her. I would scorn such a union:\r
+therefore I am better than you--let me go!"\r
+\r
+"Where, Jane? To Ireland?"\r
+\r
+"Yes--to Ireland. I have spoken my mind, and can go anywhere now."\r
+\r
+"Jane, be still; don't struggle so, like a wild frantic bird that is\r
+rending its own plumage in its desperation."\r
+\r
+"I am no bird; and no net ensnares me; I am a free human being with an\r
+independent will, which I now exert to leave you."\r
+\r
+Another effort set me at liberty, and I stood erect before him.\r
+\r
+"And your will shall decide your destiny," he said: "I offer you my hand,\r
+my heart, and a share of all my possessions."\r
+\r
+"You play a farce, which I merely laugh at."\r
+\r
+"I ask you to pass through life at my side--to be my second self, and\r
+best earthly companion."\r
+\r
+"For that fate you have already made your choice, and must abide by it."\r
+\r
+"Jane, be still a few moments: you are over-excited: I will be still\r
+too."\r
+\r
+A waft of wind came sweeping down the laurel-walk, and trembled through\r
+the boughs of the chestnut: it wandered away--away--to an indefinite\r
+distance--it died. The nightingale's song was then the only voice of the\r
+hour: in listening to it, I again wept. Mr. Rochester sat quiet, looking\r
+at me gently and seriously. Some time passed before he spoke; he at last\r
+said--\r
+\r
+"Come to my side, Jane, and let us explain and understand one another."\r
+\r
+"I will never again come to your side: I am torn away now, and cannot\r
+return."\r
+\r
+"But, Jane, I summon you as my wife: it is you only I intend to marry."\r
+\r
+I was silent: I thought he mocked me.\r
+\r
+"Come, Jane--come hither."\r
+\r
+"Your bride stands between us."\r
+\r
+He rose, and with a stride reached me.\r
+\r
+"My bride is here," he said, again drawing me to him, "because my equal\r
+is here, and my likeness. Jane, will you marry me?"\r
+\r
+Still I did not answer, and still I writhed myself from his grasp: for I\r
+was still incredulous.\r
+\r
+"Do you doubt me, Jane?"\r
+\r
+"Entirely."\r
+\r
+"You have no faith in me?"\r
+\r
+"Not a whit."\r
+\r
+"Am I a liar in your eyes?" he asked passionately. "Little sceptic, you\r
+_shall_ be convinced. What love have I for Miss Ingram? None: and that\r
+you know. What love has she for me? None: as I have taken pains to\r
+prove: I caused a rumour to reach her that my fortune was not a third of\r
+what was supposed, and after that I presented myself to see the result;\r
+it was coldness both from her and her mother. I would not--I could\r
+not--marry Miss Ingram. You--you strange, you almost unearthly thing!--I\r
+love as my own flesh. You--poor and obscure, and small and plain as you\r
+are--I entreat to accept me as a husband."\r
+\r
+"What, me!" I ejaculated, beginning in his earnestness--and especially in\r
+his incivility--to credit his sincerity: "me who have not a friend in the\r
+world but you--if you are my friend: not a shilling but what you have\r
+given me?"\r
+\r
+"You, Jane, I must have you for my own--entirely my own. Will you be\r
+mine? Say yes, quickly."\r
+\r
+"Mr. Rochester, let me look at your face: turn to the moonlight."\r
+\r
+"Why?"\r
+\r
+"Because I want to read your countenance--turn!"\r
+\r
+"There! you will find it scarcely more legible than a crumpled, scratched\r
+page. Read on: only make haste, for I suffer."\r
+\r
+His face was very much agitated and very much flushed, and there were\r
+strong workings in the features, and strange gleams in the eyes.\r
+\r
+"Oh, Jane, you torture me!" he exclaimed. "With that searching and yet\r
+faithful and generous look, you torture me!"\r
+\r
+"How can I do that? If you are true, and your offer real, my only\r
+feelings to you must be gratitude and devotion--they cannot torture."\r
+\r
+"Gratitude!" he ejaculated; and added wildly--"Jane accept me quickly.\r
+Say, Edward--give me my name--Edward--I will marry you."\r
+\r
+"Are you in earnest? Do you truly love me? Do you sincerely wish me to\r
+be your wife?"\r
+\r
+"I do; and if an oath is necessary to satisfy you, I swear it."\r
+\r
+"Then, sir, I will marry you."\r
+\r
+"Edward--my little wife!"\r
+\r
+"Dear Edward!"\r
+\r
+"Come to me--come to me entirely now," said he; and added, in his deepest\r
+tone, speaking in my ear as his cheek was laid on mine, "Make my\r
+happiness--I will make yours."\r
+\r
+"God pardon me!" he subjoined ere long; "and man meddle not with me: I\r
+have her, and will hold her."\r
+\r
+"There is no one to meddle, sir. I have no kindred to interfere."\r
+\r
+"No--that is the best of it," he said. And if I had loved him less I\r
+should have thought his accent and look of exultation savage; but,\r
+sitting by him, roused from the nightmare of parting--called to the\r
+paradise of union--I thought only of the bliss given me to drink in so\r
+abundant a flow. Again and again he said, "Are you happy, Jane?" And\r
+again and again I answered, "Yes." After which he murmured, "It will\r
+atone--it will atone. Have I not found her friendless, and cold, and\r
+comfortless? Will I not guard, and cherish, and solace her? Is there\r
+not love in my heart, and constancy in my resolves? It will expiate at\r
+God's tribunal. I know my Maker sanctions what I do. For the world's\r
+judgment--I wash my hands thereof. For man's opinion--I defy it."\r
+\r
+But what had befallen the night? The moon was not yet set, and we were\r
+all in shadow: I could scarcely see my master's face, near as I was. And\r
+what ailed the chestnut tree? it writhed and groaned; while wind roared\r
+in the laurel walk, and came sweeping over us.\r
+\r
+"We must go in," said Mr. Rochester: "the weather changes. I could have\r
+sat with thee till morning, Jane."\r
+\r
+"And so," thought I, "could I with you." I should have said so, perhaps,\r
+but a livid, vivid spark leapt out of a cloud at which I was looking, and\r
+there was a crack, a crash, and a close rattling peal; and I thought only\r
+of hiding my dazzled eyes against Mr. Rochester's shoulder.\r
+\r
+The rain rushed down. He hurried me up the walk, through the grounds,\r
+and into the house; but we were quite wet before we could pass the\r
+threshold. He was taking off my shawl in the hall, and shaking the water\r
+out of my loosened hair, when Mrs. Fairfax emerged from her room. I did\r
+not observe her at first, nor did Mr. Rochester. The lamp was lit. The\r
+clock was on the stroke of twelve.\r
+\r
+"Hasten to take off your wet things," said he; "and before you go, good-\r
+night--good-night, my darling!"\r
+\r
+He kissed me repeatedly. When I looked up, on leaving his arms, there\r
+stood the widow, pale, grave, and amazed. I only smiled at her, and ran\r
+upstairs. "Explanation will do for another time," thought I. Still,\r
+when I reached my chamber, I felt a pang at the idea she should even\r
+temporarily misconstrue what she had seen. But joy soon effaced every\r
+other feeling; and loud as the wind blew, near and deep as the thunder\r
+crashed, fierce and frequent as the lightning gleamed, cataract-like as\r
+the rain fell during a storm of two hours' duration, I experienced no\r
+fear and little awe. Mr. Rochester came thrice to my door in the course\r
+of it, to ask if I was safe and tranquil: and that was comfort, that was\r
+strength for anything.\r
+\r
+Before I left my bed in the morning, little Adele came running in to tell\r
+me that the great horse-chestnut at the bottom of the orchard had been\r
+struck by lightning in the night, and half of it split away.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER XXIV\r
+\r
+\r
+As I rose and dressed, I thought over what had happened, and wondered if\r
+it were a dream. I could not be certain of the reality till I had seen\r
+Mr. Rochester again, and heard him renew his words of love and promise.\r
+\r
+While arranging my hair, I looked at my face in the glass, and felt it\r
+was no longer plain: there was hope in its aspect and life in its colour;\r
+and my eyes seemed as if they had beheld the fount of fruition, and\r
+borrowed beams from the lustrous ripple. I had often been unwilling to\r
+look at my master, because I feared he could not be pleased at my look;\r
+but I was sure I might lift my face to his now, and not cool his\r
+affection by its expression. I took a plain but clean and light summer\r
+dress from my drawer and put it on: it seemed no attire had ever so well\r
+become me, because none had I ever worn in so blissful a mood.\r
+\r
+I was not surprised, when I ran down into the hall, to see that a\r
+brilliant June morning had succeeded to the tempest of the night; and to\r
+feel, through the open glass door, the breathing of a fresh and fragrant\r
+breeze. Nature must be gladsome when I was so happy. A beggar-woman and\r
+her little boy--pale, ragged objects both--were coming up the walk, and I\r
+ran down and gave them all the money I happened to have in my purse--some\r
+three or four shillings: good or bad, they must partake of my jubilee.\r
+The rooks cawed, and blither birds sang; but nothing was so merry or so\r
+musical as my own rejoicing heart.\r
+\r
+Mrs. Fairfax surprised me by looking out of the window with a sad\r
+countenance, and saying gravely--"Miss Eyre, will you come to breakfast?"\r
+During the meal she was quiet and cool: but I could not undeceive her\r
+then. I must wait for my master to give explanations; and so must she. I\r
+ate what I could, and then I hastened upstairs. I met Adele leaving the\r
+schoolroom.\r
+\r
+"Where are you going? It is time for lessons."\r
+\r
+"Mr. Rochester has sent me away to the nursery."\r
+\r
+"Where is he?"\r
+\r
+"In there," pointing to the apartment she had left; and I went in, and\r
+there he stood.\r
+\r
+"Come and bid me good-morning," said he. I gladly advanced; and it was\r
+not merely a cold word now, or even a shake of the hand that I received,\r
+but an embrace and a kiss. It seemed natural: it seemed genial to be so\r
+well loved, so caressed by him.\r
+\r
+"Jane, you look blooming, and smiling, and pretty," said he: "truly\r
+pretty this morning. Is this my pale, little elf? Is this my mustard-\r
+seed? This little sunny-faced girl with the dimpled cheek and rosy lips;\r
+the satin-smooth hazel hair, and the radiant hazel eyes?" (I had green\r
+eyes, reader; but you must excuse the mistake: for him they were\r
+new-dyed, I suppose.)\r
+\r
+"It is Jane Eyre, sir."\r
+\r
+"Soon to be Jane Rochester," he added: "in four weeks, Janet; not a day\r
+more. Do you hear that?"\r
+\r
+I did, and I could not quite comprehend it: it made me giddy. The\r
+feeling, the announcement sent through me, was something stronger than\r
+was consistent with joy--something that smote and stunned. It was, I\r
+think almost fear.\r
+\r
+"You blushed, and now you are white, Jane: what is that for?"\r
+\r
+"Because you gave me a new name--Jane Rochester; and it seems so\r
+strange."\r
+\r
+"Yes, Mrs. Rochester," said he; "young Mrs. Rochester--Fairfax\r
+Rochester's girl-bride."\r
+\r
+"It can never be, sir; it does not sound likely. Human beings never\r
+enjoy complete happiness in this world. I was not born for a different\r
+destiny to the rest of my species: to imagine such a lot befalling me is\r
+a fairy tale--a day-dream."\r
+\r
+"Which I can and will realise. I shall begin to-day. This morning I\r
+wrote to my banker in London to send me certain jewels he has in his\r
+keeping,--heirlooms for the ladies of Thornfield. In a day or two I hope\r
+to pour them into your lap: for every privilege, every attention shall be\r
+yours that I would accord a peer's daughter, if about to marry her."\r
+\r
+"Oh, sir!--never rain jewels! I don't like to hear them spoken of.\r
+Jewels for Jane Eyre sounds unnatural and strange: I would rather not\r
+have them."\r
+\r
+"I will myself put the diamond chain round your neck, and the circlet on\r
+your forehead,--which it will become: for nature, at least, has stamped\r
+her patent of nobility on this brow, Jane; and I will clasp the bracelets\r
+on these fine wrists, and load these fairy-like fingers with rings."\r
+\r
+"No, no, sir! think of other subjects, and speak of other things, and in\r
+another strain. Don't address me as if I were a beauty; I am your plain,\r
+Quakerish governess."\r
+\r
+"You are a beauty in my eyes, and a beauty just after the desire of my\r
+heart,--delicate and aerial."\r
+\r
+"Puny and insignificant, you mean. You are dreaming, sir,--or you are\r
+sneering. For God's sake don't be ironical!"\r
+\r
+"I will make the world acknowledge you a beauty, too," he went on, while\r
+I really became uneasy at the strain he had adopted, because I felt he\r
+was either deluding himself or trying to delude me. "I will attire my\r
+Jane in satin and lace, and she shall have roses in her hair; and I will\r
+cover the head I love best with a priceless veil."\r
+\r
+"And then you won't know me, sir; and I shall not be your Jane Eyre any\r
+longer, but an ape in a harlequin's jacket--a jay in borrowed plumes. I\r
+would as soon see you, Mr. Rochester, tricked out in stage-trappings, as\r
+myself clad in a court-lady's robe; and I don't call you handsome, sir,\r
+though I love you most dearly: far too dearly to flatter you. Don't\r
+flatter me."\r
+\r
+He pursued his theme, however, without noticing my deprecation. "This\r
+very day I shall take you in the carriage to Millcote, and you must\r
+choose some dresses for yourself. I told you we shall be married in four\r
+weeks. The wedding is to take place quietly, in the church down below\r
+yonder; and then I shall waft you away at once to town. After a brief\r
+stay there, I shall bear my treasure to regions nearer the sun: to French\r
+vineyards and Italian plains; and she shall see whatever is famous in old\r
+story and in modern record: she shall taste, too, of the life of cities;\r
+and she shall learn to value herself by just comparison with others."\r
+\r
+"Shall I travel?--and with you, sir?"\r
+\r
+"You shall sojourn at Paris, Rome, and Naples: at Florence, Venice, and\r
+Vienna: all the ground I have wandered over shall be re-trodden by you:\r
+wherever I stamped my hoof, your sylph's foot shall step also. Ten years\r
+since, I flew through Europe half mad; with disgust, hate, and rage as my\r
+companions: now I shall revisit it healed and cleansed, with a very angel\r
+as my comforter."\r
+\r
+I laughed at him as he said this. "I am not an angel," I asserted; "and\r
+I will not be one till I die: I will be myself. Mr. Rochester, you must\r
+neither expect nor exact anything celestial of me--for you will not get\r
+it, any more than I shall get it of you: which I do not at all\r
+anticipate."\r
+\r
+"What do you anticipate of me?"\r
+\r
+"For a little while you will perhaps be as you are now,--a very little\r
+while; and then you will turn cool; and then you will be capricious; and\r
+then you will be stern, and I shall have much ado to please you: but when\r
+you get well used to me, you will perhaps like me again,--_like_ me, I\r
+say, not _love_ me. I suppose your love will effervesce in six months,\r
+or less. I have observed in books written by men, that period assigned\r
+as the farthest to which a husband's ardour extends. Yet, after all, as\r
+a friend and companion, I hope never to become quite distasteful to my\r
+dear master."\r
+\r
+"Distasteful! and like you again! I think I shall like you again, and\r
+yet again: and I will make you confess I do not only _like_, but _love_\r
+you--with truth, fervour, constancy."\r
+\r
+"Yet are you not capricious, sir?"\r
+\r
+"To women who please me only by their faces, I am the very devil when I\r
+find out they have neither souls nor hearts--when they open to me a\r
+perspective of flatness, triviality, and perhaps imbecility, coarseness,\r
+and ill-temper: but to the clear eye and eloquent tongue, to the soul\r
+made of fire, and the character that bends but does not break--at once\r
+supple and stable, tractable and consistent--I am ever tender and true."\r
+\r
+"Had you ever experience of such a character, sir? Did you ever love\r
+such an one?"\r
+\r
+"I love it now."\r
+\r
+"But before me: if I, indeed, in any respect come up to your difficult\r
+standard?"\r
+\r
+"I never met your likeness. Jane, you please me, and you master me--you\r
+seem to submit, and I like the sense of pliancy you impart; and while I\r
+am twining the soft, silken skein round my finger, it sends a thrill up\r
+my arm to my heart. I am influenced--conquered; and the influence is\r
+sweeter than I can express; and the conquest I undergo has a witchery\r
+beyond any triumph I can win. Why do you smile, Jane? What does that\r
+inexplicable, that uncanny turn of countenance mean?"\r
+\r
+"I was thinking, sir (you will excuse the idea; it was involuntary), I\r
+was thinking of Hercules and Samson with their charmers--"\r
+\r
+"You were, you little elfish--"\r
+\r
+"Hush, sir! You don't talk very wisely just now; any more than those\r
+gentlemen acted very wisely. However, had they been married, they would\r
+no doubt by their severity as husbands have made up for their softness as\r
+suitors; and so will you, I fear. I wonder how you will answer me a year\r
+hence, should I ask a favour it does not suit your convenience or\r
+pleasure to grant."\r
+\r
+"Ask me something now, Jane,--the least thing: I desire to be entreated--"\r
+\r
+"Indeed I will, sir; I have my petition all ready."\r
+\r
+"Speak! But if you look up and smile with that countenance, I shall\r
+swear concession before I know to what, and that will make a fool of me."\r
+\r
+"Not at all, sir; I ask only this: don't send for the jewels, and don't\r
+crown me with roses: you might as well put a border of gold lace round\r
+that plain pocket handkerchief you have there."\r
+\r
+"I might as well 'gild refined gold.' I know it: your request is granted\r
+then--for the time. I will remand the order I despatched to my banker.\r
+But you have not yet asked for anything; you have prayed a gift to be\r
+withdrawn: try again."\r
+\r
+"Well then, sir, have the goodness to gratify my curiosity, which is much\r
+piqued on one point."\r
+\r
+He looked disturbed. "What? what?" he said hastily. "Curiosity is a\r
+dangerous petition: it is well I have not taken a vow to accord every\r
+request--"\r
+\r
+"But there can be no danger in complying with this, sir."\r
+\r
+"Utter it, Jane: but I wish that instead of a mere inquiry into, perhaps,\r
+a secret, it was a wish for half my estate."\r
+\r
+"Now, King Ahasuerus! What do I want with half your estate? Do you\r
+think I am a Jew-usurer, seeking good investment in land? I would much\r
+rather have all your confidence. You will not exclude me from your\r
+confidence if you admit me to your heart?"\r
+\r
+"You are welcome to all my confidence that is worth having, Jane; but for\r
+God's sake, don't desire a useless burden! Don't long for poison--don't\r
+turn out a downright Eve on my hands!"\r
+\r
+"Why not, sir? You have just been telling me how much you liked to be\r
+conquered, and how pleasant over-persuasion is to you. Don't you think I\r
+had better take advantage of the confession, and begin and coax and\r
+entreat--even cry and be sulky if necessary--for the sake of a mere essay\r
+of my power?"\r
+\r
+"I dare you to any such experiment. Encroach, presume, and the game is\r
+up."\r
+\r
+"Is it, sir? You soon give in. How stern you look now! Your eyebrows\r
+have become as thick as my finger, and your forehead resembles what, in\r
+some very astonishing poetry, I once saw styled, 'a blue-piled\r
+thunderloft.' That will be your married look, sir, I suppose?"\r
+\r
+"If that will be _your_ married look, I, as a Christian, will soon give\r
+up the notion of consorting with a mere sprite or salamander. But what\r
+had you to ask, thing,--out with it?"\r
+\r
+"There, you are less than civil now; and I like rudeness a great deal\r
+better than flattery. I had rather be a _thing_ than an angel. This is\r
+what I have to ask,--Why did you take such pains to make me believe you\r
+wished to marry Miss Ingram?"\r
+\r
+"Is that all? Thank God it is no worse!" And now he unknit his black\r
+brows; looked down, smiling at me, and stroked my hair, as if well\r
+pleased at seeing a danger averted. "I think I may confess," he\r
+continued, "even although I should make you a little indignant, Jane--and\r
+I have seen what a fire-spirit you can be when you are indignant. You\r
+glowed in the cool moonlight last night, when you mutinied against fate,\r
+and claimed your rank as my equal. Janet, by-the-bye, it was you who\r
+made me the offer."\r
+\r
+"Of course I did. But to the point if you please, sir--Miss Ingram?"\r
+\r
+"Well, I feigned courtship of Miss Ingram, because I wished to render you\r
+as madly in love with me as I was with you; and I knew jealousy would be\r
+the best ally I could call in for the furtherance of that end."\r
+\r
+"Excellent! Now you are small--not one whit bigger than the end of my\r
+little finger. It was a burning shame and a scandalous disgrace to act\r
+in that way. Did you think nothing of Miss Ingram's feelings, sir?"\r
+\r
+"Her feelings are concentrated in one--pride; and that needs humbling.\r
+Were you jealous, Jane?"\r
+\r
+"Never mind, Mr. Rochester: it is in no way interesting to you to know\r
+that. Answer me truly once more. Do you think Miss Ingram will not\r
+suffer from your dishonest coquetry? Won't she feel forsaken and\r
+deserted?"\r
+\r
+"Impossible!--when I told you how she, on the contrary, deserted me: the\r
+idea of my insolvency cooled, or rather extinguished, her flame in a\r
+moment."\r
+\r
+"You have a curious, designing mind, Mr. Rochester. I am afraid your\r
+principles on some points are eccentric."\r
+\r
+"My principles were never trained, Jane: they may have grown a little\r
+awry for want of attention."\r
+\r
+"Once again, seriously; may I enjoy the great good that has been\r
+vouchsafed to me, without fearing that any one else is suffering the\r
+bitter pain I myself felt a while ago?"\r
+\r
+"That you may, my good little girl: there is not another being in the\r
+world has the same pure love for me as yourself--for I lay that pleasant\r
+unction to my soul, Jane, a belief in your affection."\r
+\r
+I turned my lips to the hand that lay on my shoulder. I loved him very\r
+much--more than I could trust myself to say--more than words had power to\r
+express.\r
+\r
+"Ask something more," he said presently; "it is my delight to be\r
+entreated, and to yield."\r
+\r
+I was again ready with my request. "Communicate your intentions to Mrs.\r
+Fairfax, sir: she saw me with you last night in the hall, and she was\r
+shocked. Give her some explanation before I see her again. It pains me\r
+to be misjudged by so good a woman."\r
+\r
+"Go to your room, and put on your bonnet," he replied. "I mean you to\r
+accompany me to Millcote this morning; and while you prepare for the\r
+drive, I will enlighten the old lady's understanding. Did she think,\r
+Janet, you had given the world for love, and considered it well lost?"\r
+\r
+"I believe she thought I had forgotten my station, and yours, sir."\r
+\r
+"Station! station!--your station is in my heart, and on the necks of\r
+those who would insult you, now or hereafter.--Go."\r
+\r
+I was soon dressed; and when I heard Mr. Rochester quit Mrs. Fairfax's\r
+parlour, I hurried down to it. The old lady, had been reading her\r
+morning portion of Scripture--the Lesson for the day; her Bible lay open\r
+before her, and her spectacles were upon it. Her occupation, suspended\r
+by Mr. Rochester's announcement, seemed now forgotten: her eyes, fixed on\r
+the blank wall opposite, expressed the surprise of a quiet mind stirred\r
+by unwonted tidings. Seeing me, she roused herself: she made a sort of\r
+effort to smile, and framed a few words of congratulation; but the smile\r
+expired, and the sentence was abandoned unfinished. She put up her\r
+spectacles, shut the Bible, and pushed her chair back from the table.\r
+\r
+"I feel so astonished," she began, "I hardly know what to say to you,\r
+Miss Eyre. I have surely not been dreaming, have I? Sometimes I half\r
+fall asleep when I am sitting alone and fancy things that have never\r
+happened. It has seemed to me more than once when I have been in a doze,\r
+that my dear husband, who died fifteen years since, has come in and sat\r
+down beside me; and that I have even heard him call me by my name, Alice,\r
+as he used to do. Now, can you tell me whether it is actually true that\r
+Mr. Rochester has asked you to marry him? Don't laugh at me. But I\r
+really thought he came in here five minutes ago, and said that in a month\r
+you would be his wife."\r
+\r
+"He has said the same thing to me," I replied.\r
+\r
+"He has! Do you believe him? Have you accepted him?"\r
+\r
+"Yes."\r
+\r
+She looked at me bewildered. "I could never have thought it. He is a\r
+proud man: all the Rochesters were proud: and his father, at least, liked\r
+money. He, too, has always been called careful. He means to marry you?"\r
+\r
+"He tells me so."\r
+\r
+She surveyed my whole person: in her eyes I read that they had there\r
+found no charm powerful enough to solve the enigma.\r
+\r
+"It passes me!" she continued; "but no doubt, it is true since you say\r
+so. How it will answer, I cannot tell: I really don't know. Equality of\r
+position and fortune is often advisable in such cases; and there are\r
+twenty years of difference in your ages. He might almost be your\r
+father."\r
+\r
+"No, indeed, Mrs. Fairfax!" exclaimed I, nettled; "he is nothing like my\r
+father! No one, who saw us together, would suppose it for an instant.\r
+Mr. Rochester looks as young, and is as young, as some men at five-and-\r
+twenty."\r
+\r
+"Is it really for love he is going to marry you?" she asked.\r
+\r
+I was so hurt by her coldness and scepticism, that the tears rose to my\r
+eyes.\r
+\r
+"I am sorry to grieve you," pursued the widow; "but you are so young, and\r
+so little acquainted with men, I wished to put you on your guard. It is\r
+an old saying that 'all is not gold that glitters;' and in this case I do\r
+fear there will be something found to be different to what either you or\r
+I expect."\r
+\r
+"Why?--am I a monster?" I said: "is it impossible that Mr. Rochester\r
+should have a sincere affection for me?"\r
+\r
+"No: you are very well; and much improved of late; and Mr. Rochester, I\r
+daresay, is fond of you. I have always noticed that you were a sort of\r
+pet of his. There are times when, for your sake, I have been a little\r
+uneasy at his marked preference, and have wished to put you on your\r
+guard: but I did not like to suggest even the possibility of wrong. I\r
+knew such an idea would shock, perhaps offend you; and you were so\r
+discreet, and so thoroughly modest and sensible, I hoped you might be\r
+trusted to protect yourself. Last night I cannot tell you what I\r
+suffered when I sought all over the house, and could find you nowhere,\r
+nor the master either; and then, at twelve o'clock, saw you come in with\r
+him."\r
+\r
+"Well, never mind that now," I interrupted impatiently; "it is enough\r
+that all was right."\r
+\r
+"I hope all will be right in the end," she said: "but believe me, you\r
+cannot be too careful. Try and keep Mr. Rochester at a distance:\r
+distrust yourself as well as him. Gentlemen in his station are not\r
+accustomed to marry their governesses."\r
+\r
+I was growing truly irritated: happily, Adele ran in.\r
+\r
+"Let me go,--let me go to Millcote too!" she cried. "Mr. Rochester\r
+won't: though there is so much room in the new carriage. Beg him to let\r
+me go mademoiselle."\r
+\r
+"That I will, Adele;" and I hastened away with her, glad to quit my\r
+gloomy monitress. The carriage was ready: they were bringing it round to\r
+the front, and my master was pacing the pavement, Pilot following him\r
+backwards and forwards.\r
+\r
+"Adele may accompany us, may she not, sir?"\r
+\r
+"I told her no. I'll have no brats!--I'll have only you."\r
+\r
+"Do let her go, Mr. Rochester, if you please: it would be better."\r
+\r
+"Not it: she will be a restraint."\r
+\r
+He was quite peremptory, both in look and voice. The chill of Mrs.\r
+Fairfax's warnings, and the damp of her doubts were upon me: something of\r
+unsubstantiality and uncertainty had beset my hopes. I half lost the\r
+sense of power over him. I was about mechanically to obey him, without\r
+further remonstrance; but as he helped me into the carriage, he looked at\r
+my face.\r
+\r
+"What is the matter?" he asked; "all the sunshine is gone. Do you really\r
+wish the bairn to go? Will it annoy you if she is left behind?"\r
+\r
+"I would far rather she went, sir."\r
+\r
+"Then off for your bonnet, and back like a flash of lightning!" cried he\r
+to Adele.\r
+\r
+She obeyed him with what speed she might.\r
+\r
+"After all, a single morning's interruption will not matter much," said\r
+he, "when I mean shortly to claim you--your thoughts, conversation, and\r
+company--for life."\r
+\r
+Adele, when lifted in, commenced kissing me, by way of expressing her\r
+gratitude for my intercession: she was instantly stowed away into a\r
+corner on the other side of him. She then peeped round to where I sat;\r
+so stern a neighbour was too restrictive to him, in his present fractious\r
+mood, she dared whisper no observations, nor ask of him any information.\r
+\r
+"Let her come to me," I entreated: "she will, perhaps, trouble you, sir:\r
+there is plenty of room on this side."\r
+\r
+He handed her over as if she had been a lapdog. "I'll send her to school\r
+yet," he said, but now he was smiling.\r
+\r
+Adele heard him, and asked if she was to go to school "sans\r
+mademoiselle?"\r
+\r
+"Yes," he replied, "absolutely sans mademoiselle; for I am to take\r
+mademoiselle to the moon, and there I shall seek a cave in one of the\r
+white valleys among the volcano-tops, and mademoiselle shall live with me\r
+there, and only me."\r
+\r
+"She will have nothing to eat: you will starve her," observed Adele.\r
+\r
+"I shall gather manna for her morning and night: the plains and hillsides\r
+in the moon are bleached with manna, Adele."\r
+\r
+"She will want to warm herself: what will she do for a fire?"\r
+\r
+"Fire rises out of the lunar mountains: when she is cold, I'll carry her\r
+up to a peak, and lay her down on the edge of a crater."\r
+\r
+"Oh, qu' elle y sera mal--peu comfortable! And her clothes, they will\r
+wear out: how can she get new ones?"\r
+\r
+Mr. Rochester professed to be puzzled. "Hem!" said he. "What would you\r
+do, Adele? Cudgel your brains for an expedient. How would a white or a\r
+pink cloud answer for a gown, do you think? And one could cut a pretty\r
+enough scarf out of a rainbow."\r
+\r
+"She is far better as she is," concluded Adele, after musing some time:\r
+"besides, she would get tired of living with only you in the moon. If I\r
+were mademoiselle, I would never consent to go with you."\r
+\r
+"She has consented: she has pledged her word."\r
+\r
+"But you can't get her there; there is no road to the moon: it is all\r
+air; and neither you nor she can fly."\r
+\r
+"Adele, look at that field." We were now outside Thornfield gates, and\r
+bowling lightly along the smooth road to Millcote, where the dust was\r
+well laid by the thunderstorm, and, where the low hedges and lofty timber\r
+trees on each side glistened green and rain-refreshed.\r
+\r
+"In that field, Adele, I was walking late one evening about a fortnight\r
+since--the evening of the day you helped me to make hay in the orchard\r
+meadows; and, as I was tired with raking swaths, I sat down to rest me on\r
+a stile; and there I took out a little book and a pencil, and began to\r
+write about a misfortune that befell me long ago, and a wish I had for\r
+happy days to come: I was writing away very fast, though daylight was\r
+fading from the leaf, when something came up the path and stopped two\r
+yards off me. I looked at it. It was a little thing with a veil of\r
+gossamer on its head. I beckoned it to come near me; it stood soon at my\r
+knee. I never spoke to it, and it never spoke to me, in words; but I\r
+read its eyes, and it read mine; and our speechless colloquy was to this\r
+effect--\r
+\r
+"It was a fairy, and come from Elf-land, it said; and its errand was to\r
+make me happy: I must go with it out of the common world to a lonely\r
+place--such as the moon, for instance--and it nodded its head towards her\r
+horn, rising over Hay-hill: it told me of the alabaster cave and silver\r
+vale where we might live. I said I should like to go; but reminded it,\r
+as you did me, that I had no wings to fly.\r
+\r
+"'Oh,' returned the fairy, 'that does not signify! Here is a talisman\r
+will remove all difficulties;' and she held out a pretty gold ring. 'Put\r
+it,' she said, 'on the fourth finger of my left hand, and I am yours, and\r
+you are mine; and we shall leave earth, and make our own heaven yonder.'\r
+She nodded again at the moon. The ring, Adele, is in my breeches-pocket,\r
+under the disguise of a sovereign: but I mean soon to change it to a ring\r
+again."\r
+\r
+"But what has mademoiselle to do with it? I don't care for the fairy:\r
+you said it was mademoiselle you would take to the moon?"\r
+\r
+"Mademoiselle is a fairy," he said, whispering mysteriously. Whereupon I\r
+told her not to mind his badinage; and she, on her part, evinced a fund\r
+of genuine French scepticism: denominating Mr. Rochester "un vrai\r
+menteur," and assuring him that she made no account whatever of his\r
+"contes de fee," and that "du reste, il n'y avait pas de fees, et quand\r
+meme il y en avait:" she was sure they would never appear to him, nor\r
+ever give him rings, or offer to live with him in the moon.\r
+\r
+The hour spent at Millcote was a somewhat harassing one to me. Mr.\r
+Rochester obliged me to go to a certain silk warehouse: there I was\r
+ordered to choose half-a-dozen dresses. I hated the business, I begged\r
+leave to defer it: no--it should be gone through with now. By dint of\r
+entreaties expressed in energetic whispers, I reduced the half-dozen to\r
+two: these however, he vowed he would select himself. With anxiety I\r
+watched his eye rove over the gay stores: he fixed on a rich silk of the\r
+most brilliant amethyst dye, and a superb pink satin. I told him in a\r
+new series of whispers, that he might as well buy me a gold gown and a\r
+silver bonnet at once: I should certainly never venture to wear his\r
+choice. With infinite difficulty, for he was stubborn as a stone, I\r
+persuaded him to make an exchange in favour of a sober black satin and\r
+pearl-grey silk. "It might pass for the present," he said; "but he would\r
+yet see me glittering like a parterre."\r
+\r
+Glad was I to get him out of the silk warehouse, and then out of a\r
+jewellers shop: the more he bought me, the more my cheek burned with a\r
+sense of annoyance and degradation. As we re-entered the carriage, and I\r
+sat back feverish and fagged, I remembered what, in the hurry of events,\r
+dark and bright, I had wholly forgotten--the letter of my uncle, John\r
+Eyre, to Mrs. Reed: his intention to adopt me and make me his legatee.\r
+"It would, indeed, be a relief," I thought, "if I had ever so small an\r
+independency; I never can bear being dressed like a doll by Mr.\r
+Rochester, or sitting like a second Danae with the golden shower falling\r
+daily round me. I will write to Madeira the moment I get home, and tell\r
+my uncle John I am going to be married, and to whom: if I had but a\r
+prospect of one day bringing Mr. Rochester an accession of fortune, I\r
+could better endure to be kept by him now." And somewhat relieved by\r
+this idea (which I failed not to execute that day), I ventured once more\r
+to meet my master's and lover's eye, which most pertinaciously sought\r
+mine, though I averted both face and gaze. He smiled; and I thought his\r
+smile was such as a sultan might, in a blissful and fond moment, bestow\r
+on a slave his gold and gems had enriched: I crushed his hand, which was\r
+ever hunting mine, vigorously, and thrust it back to him red with the\r
+passionate pressure.\r
+\r
+"You need not look in that way," I said; "if you do, I'll wear nothing\r
+but my old Lowood frocks to the end of the chapter. I'll be married in\r
+this lilac gingham: you may make a dressing-gown for yourself out of the\r
+pearl-grey silk, and an infinite series of waistcoats out of the black\r
+satin."\r
+\r
+He chuckled; he rubbed his hands. "Oh, it is rich to see and hear her?"\r
+he exclaimed. "Is she original? Is she piquant? I would not exchange\r
+this one little English girl for the Grand Turk's whole seraglio, gazelle-\r
+eyes, houri forms, and all!"\r
+\r
+The Eastern allusion bit me again. "I'll not stand you an inch in the\r
+stead of a seraglio," I said; "so don't consider me an equivalent for\r
+one. If you have a fancy for anything in that line, away with you, sir,\r
+to the bazaars of Stamboul without delay, and lay out in extensive slave-\r
+purchases some of that spare cash you seem at a loss to spend\r
+satisfactorily here."\r
+\r
+"And what will you do, Janet, while I am bargaining for so many tons of\r
+flesh and such an assortment of black eyes?"\r
+\r
+"I'll be preparing myself to go out as a missionary to preach liberty to\r
+them that are enslaved--your harem inmates amongst the rest. I'll get\r
+admitted there, and I'll stir up mutiny; and you, three-tailed bashaw as\r
+you are, sir, shall in a trice find yourself fettered amongst our hands:\r
+nor will I, for one, consent to cut your bonds till you have signed a\r
+charter, the most liberal that despot ever yet conferred."\r
+\r
+"I would consent to be at your mercy, Jane."\r
+\r
+"I would have no mercy, Mr. Rochester, if you supplicated for it with an\r
+eye like that. While you looked so, I should be certain that whatever\r
+charter you might grant under coercion, your first act, when released,\r
+would be to violate its conditions."\r
+\r
+"Why, Jane, what would you have? I fear you will compel me to go through\r
+a private marriage ceremony, besides that performed at the altar. You\r
+will stipulate, I see, for peculiar terms--what will they be?"\r
+\r
+"I only want an easy mind, sir; not crushed by crowded obligations. Do\r
+you remember what you said of Celine Varens?--of the diamonds, the\r
+cashmeres you gave her? I will not be your English Celine Varens. I\r
+shall continue to act as Adele's governess; by that I shall earn my board\r
+and lodging, and thirty pounds a year besides. I'll furnish my own\r
+wardrobe out of that money, and you shall give me nothing but--"\r
+\r
+"Well, but what?"\r
+\r
+"Your regard; and if I give you mine in return, that debt will be quit."\r
+\r
+"Well, for cool native impudence and pure innate pride, you haven't your\r
+equal," said he. We were now approaching Thornfield. "Will it please\r
+you to dine with me to-day?" he asked, as we re-entered the gates.\r
+\r
+"No, thank you, sir."\r
+\r
+"And what for, 'no, thank you?' if one may inquire."\r
+\r
+"I never have dined with you, sir: and I see no reason why I should now:\r
+till--"\r
+\r
+"Till what? You delight in half-phrases."\r
+\r
+"Till I can't help it."\r
+\r
+"Do you suppose I eat like an ogre or a ghoul, that you dread being the\r
+companion of my repast?"\r
+\r
+"I have formed no supposition on the subject, sir; but I want to go on as\r
+usual for another month."\r
+\r
+"You will give up your governessing slavery at once."\r
+\r
+"Indeed, begging your pardon, sir, I shall not. I shall just go on with\r
+it as usual. I shall keep out of your way all day, as I have been\r
+accustomed to do: you may send for me in the evening, when you feel\r
+disposed to see me, and I'll come then; but at no other time."\r
+\r
+"I want a smoke, Jane, or a pinch of snuff, to comfort me under all this,\r
+'pour me donner une contenance,' as Adele would say; and unfortunately I\r
+have neither my cigar-case, nor my snuff-box. But listen--whisper. It\r
+is your time now, little tyrant, but it will be mine presently; and when\r
+once I have fairly seized you, to have and to hold, I'll\r
+just--figuratively speaking--attach you to a chain like this" (touching\r
+his watch-guard). "Yes, bonny wee thing, I'll wear you in my bosom, lest\r
+my jewel I should tyne."\r
+\r
+He said this as he helped me to alight from the carriage, and while he\r
+afterwards lifted out Adele, I entered the house, and made good my\r
+retreat upstairs.\r
+\r
+He duly summoned me to his presence in the evening. I had prepared an\r
+occupation for him; for I was determined not to spend the whole time in a\r
+_tete-a-tete_ conversation. I remembered his fine voice; I knew he liked\r
+to sing--good singers generally do. I was no vocalist myself, and, in\r
+his fastidious judgment, no musician, either; but I delighted in\r
+listening when the performance was good. No sooner had twilight, that\r
+hour of romance, began to lower her blue and starry banner over the\r
+lattice, than I rose, opened the piano, and entreated him, for the love\r
+of heaven, to give me a song. He said I was a capricious witch, and that\r
+he would rather sing another time; but I averred that no time was like\r
+the present.\r
+\r
+"Did I like his voice?" he asked.\r
+\r
+"Very much." I was not fond of pampering that susceptible vanity of his;\r
+but for once, and from motives of expediency, I would e'en soothe and\r
+stimulate it.\r
+\r
+"Then, Jane, you must play the accompaniment."\r
+\r
+"Very well, sir, I will try."\r
+\r
+I did try, but was presently swept off the stool and denominated "a\r
+little bungler." Being pushed unceremoniously to one side--which was\r
+precisely what I wished--he usurped my place, and proceeded to accompany\r
+himself: for he could play as well as sing. I hied me to the\r
+window-recess. And while I sat there and looked out on the still trees\r
+and dim lawn, to a sweet air was sung in mellow tones the following\r
+strain:--\r
+\r
+ "The truest love that ever heart\r
+ Felt at its kindled core,\r
+ Did through each vein, in quickened start,\r
+ The tide of being pour.\r
+\r
+ Her coming was my hope each day,\r
+ Her parting was my pain;\r
+ The chance that did her steps delay\r
+ Was ice in every vein.\r
+\r
+ I dreamed it would be nameless bliss,\r
+ As I loved, loved to be;\r
+ And to this object did I press\r
+ As blind as eagerly.\r
+\r
+ But wide as pathless was the space\r
+ That lay our lives between,\r
+ And dangerous as the foamy race\r
+ Of ocean-surges green.\r
+\r
+ And haunted as a robber-path\r
+ Through wilderness or wood;\r
+ For Might and Right, and Woe and Wrath,\r
+ Between our spirits stood.\r
+\r
+ I dangers dared; I hindrance scorned;\r
+ I omens did defy:\r
+ Whatever menaced, harassed, warned,\r
+ I passed impetuous by.\r
+\r
+ On sped my rainbow, fast as light;\r
+ I flew as in a dream;\r
+ For glorious rose upon my sight\r
+ That child of Shower and Gleam.\r
+\r
+ Still bright on clouds of suffering dim\r
+ Shines that soft, solemn joy;\r
+ Nor care I now, how dense and grim\r
+ Disasters gather nigh.\r
+\r
+ I care not in this moment sweet,\r
+ Though all I have rushed o'er\r
+ Should come on pinion, strong and fleet,\r
+ Proclaiming vengeance sore:\r
+\r
+ Though haughty Hate should strike me down,\r
+ Right, bar approach to me,\r
+ And grinding Might, with furious frown,\r
+ Swear endless enmity.\r
+\r
+ My love has placed her little hand\r
+ With noble faith in mine,\r
+ And vowed that wedlock's sacred band\r
+ Our nature shall entwine.\r
+\r
+ My love has sworn, with sealing kiss,\r
+ With me to live--to die;\r
+ I have at last my nameless bliss.\r
+ As I love--loved am I!"\r
+\r
+He rose and came towards me, and I saw his face all kindled, and his full\r
+falcon-eye flashing, and tenderness and passion in every lineament. I\r
+quailed momentarily--then I rallied. Soft scene, daring demonstration, I\r
+would not have; and I stood in peril of both: a weapon of defence must be\r
+prepared--I whetted my tongue: as he reached me, I asked with asperity,\r
+"whom he was going to marry now?"\r
+\r
+"That was a strange question to be put by his darling Jane."\r
+\r
+"Indeed! I considered it a very natural and necessary one: he had talked\r
+of his future wife dying with him. What did he mean by such a pagan\r
+idea? _I_ had no intention of dying with him--he might depend on that."\r
+\r
+"Oh, all he longed, all he prayed for, was that I might live with him!\r
+Death was not for such as I."\r
+\r
+"Indeed it was: I had as good a right to die when my time came as he had:\r
+but I should bide that time, and not be hurried away in a suttee."\r
+\r
+"Would I forgive him for the selfish idea, and prove my pardon by a\r
+reconciling kiss?"\r
+\r
+"No: I would rather be excused."\r
+\r
+Here I heard myself apostrophised as a "hard little thing;" and it was\r
+added, "any other woman would have been melted to marrow at hearing such\r
+stanzas crooned in her praise."\r
+\r
+I assured him I was naturally hard--very flinty, and that he would often\r
+find me so; and that, moreover, I was determined to show him divers\r
+rugged points in my character before the ensuing four weeks elapsed: he\r
+should know fully what sort of a bargain he had made, while there was yet\r
+time to rescind it.\r
+\r
+"Would I be quiet and talk rationally?"\r
+\r
+"I would be quiet if he liked, and as to talking rationally, I flattered\r
+myself I was doing that now."\r
+\r
+He fretted, pished, and pshawed. "Very good," I thought; "you may fume\r
+and fidget as you please: but this is the best plan to pursue with you, I\r
+am certain. I like you more than I can say; but I'll not sink into a\r
+bathos of sentiment: and with this needle of repartee I'll keep you from\r
+the edge of the gulf too; and, moreover, maintain by its pungent aid that\r
+distance between you and myself most conducive to our real mutual\r
+advantage."\r
+\r
+From less to more, I worked him up to considerable irritation; then,\r
+after he had retired, in dudgeon, quite to the other end of the room, I\r
+got up, and saying, "I wish you good-night, sir," in my natural and\r
+wonted respectful manner, I slipped out by the side-door and got away.\r
+\r
+The system thus entered on, I pursued during the whole season of\r
+probation; and with the best success. He was kept, to be sure, rather\r
+cross and crusty; but on the whole I could see he was excellently\r
+entertained, and that a lamb-like submission and turtle-dove sensibility,\r
+while fostering his despotism more, would have pleased his judgment,\r
+satisfied his common-sense, and even suited his taste less.\r
+\r
+In other people's presence I was, as formerly, deferential and quiet; any\r
+other line of conduct being uncalled for: it was only in the evening\r
+conferences I thus thwarted and afflicted him. He continued to send for\r
+me punctually the moment the clock struck seven; though when I appeared\r
+before him now, he had no such honeyed terms as "love" and "darling" on\r
+his lips: the best words at my service were "provoking puppet,"\r
+"malicious elf," "sprite," "changeling," &c. For caresses, too, I now\r
+got grimaces; for a pressure of the hand, a pinch on the arm; for a kiss\r
+on the cheek, a severe tweak of the ear. It was all right: at present I\r
+decidedly preferred these fierce favours to anything more tender. Mrs.\r
+Fairfax, I saw, approved me: her anxiety on my account vanished;\r
+therefore I was certain I did well. Meantime, Mr. Rochester affirmed I\r
+was wearing him to skin and bone, and threatened awful vengeance for my\r
+present conduct at some period fast coming. I laughed in my sleeve at\r
+his menaces. "I can keep you in reasonable check now," I reflected; "and\r
+I don't doubt to be able to do it hereafter: if one expedient loses its\r
+virtue, another must be devised."\r
+\r
+Yet after all my task was not an easy one; often I would rather have\r
+pleased than teased him. My future husband was becoming to me my whole\r
+world; and more than the world: almost my hope of heaven. He stood\r
+between me and every thought of religion, as an eclipse intervenes\r
+between man and the broad sun. I could not, in those days, see God for\r
+His creature: of whom I had made an idol.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER XXV\r
+\r
+\r
+The month of courtship had wasted: its very last hours were being\r
+numbered. There was no putting off the day that advanced--the bridal\r
+day; and all preparations for its arrival were complete. _I_, at least,\r
+had nothing more to do: there were my trunks, packed, locked, corded,\r
+ranged in a row along the wall of my little chamber; to-morrow, at this\r
+time, they would be far on their road to London: and so should I\r
+(D.V.),--or rather, not I, but one Jane Rochester, a person whom as yet I\r
+knew not. The cards of address alone remained to nail on: they lay, four\r
+little squares, in the drawer. Mr. Rochester had himself written the\r
+direction, "Mrs. Rochester, --- Hotel, London," on each: I could not\r
+persuade myself to affix them, or to have them affixed. Mrs. Rochester!\r
+She did not exist: she would not be born till to-morrow, some time after\r
+eight o'clock a.m.; and I would wait to be assured she had come into the\r
+world alive before I assigned to her all that property. It was enough\r
+that in yonder closet, opposite my dressing-table, garments said to be\r
+hers had already displaced my black stuff Lowood frock and straw bonnet:\r
+for not to me appertained that suit of wedding raiment; the\r
+pearl-coloured robe, the vapoury veil pendent from the usurped\r
+portmanteau. I shut the closet to conceal the strange, wraith-like\r
+apparel it contained; which, at this evening hour--nine o'clock--gave out\r
+certainly a most ghostly shimmer through the shadow of my apartment. "I\r
+will leave you by yourself, white dream," I said. "I am feverish: I hear\r
+the wind blowing: I will go out of doors and feel it."\r
+\r
+It was not only the hurry of preparation that made me feverish; not only\r
+the anticipation of the great change--the new life which was to commence\r
+to-morrow: both these circumstances had their share, doubtless, in\r
+producing that restless, excited mood which hurried me forth at this late\r
+hour into the darkening grounds: but a third cause influenced my mind\r
+more than they.\r
+\r
+I had at heart a strange and anxious thought. Something had happened\r
+which I could not comprehend; no one knew of or had seen the event but\r
+myself: it had taken place the preceding night. Mr. Rochester that night\r
+was absent from home; nor was he yet returned: business had called him to\r
+a small estate of two or three farms he possessed thirty miles\r
+off--business it was requisite he should settle in person, previous to\r
+his meditated departure from England. I waited now his return; eager to\r
+disburthen my mind, and to seek of him the solution of the enigma that\r
+perplexed me. Stay till he comes, reader; and, when I disclose my secret\r
+to him, you shall share the confidence.\r
+\r
+I sought the orchard, driven to its shelter by the wind, which all day\r
+had blown strong and full from the south, without, however, bringing a\r
+speck of rain. Instead of subsiding as night drew on, it seemed to\r
+augment its rush and deepen its roar: the trees blew steadfastly one way,\r
+never writhing round, and scarcely tossing back their boughs once in an\r
+hour; so continuous was the strain bending their branchy heads\r
+northward--the clouds drifted from pole to pole, fast following, mass on\r
+mass: no glimpse of blue sky had been visible that July day.\r
+\r
+It was not without a certain wild pleasure I ran before the wind,\r
+delivering my trouble of mind to the measureless air-torrent thundering\r
+through space. Descending the laurel walk, I faced the wreck of the\r
+chestnut-tree; it stood up black and riven: the trunk, split down the\r
+centre, gasped ghastly. The cloven halves were not broken from each\r
+other, for the firm base and strong roots kept them unsundered below;\r
+though community of vitality was destroyed--the sap could flow no more:\r
+their great boughs on each side were dead, and next winter's tempests\r
+would be sure to fell one or both to earth: as yet, however, they might\r
+be said to form one tree--a ruin, but an entire ruin.\r
+\r
+"You did right to hold fast to each other," I said: as if the monster-\r
+splinters were living things, and could hear me. "I think, scathed as\r
+you look, and charred and scorched, there must be a little sense of life\r
+in you yet, rising out of that adhesion at the faithful, honest roots:\r
+you will never have green leaves more--never more see birds making nests\r
+and singing idyls in your boughs; the time of pleasure and love is over\r
+with you: but you are not desolate: each of you has a comrade to\r
+sympathise with him in his decay." As I looked up at them, the moon\r
+appeared momentarily in that part of the sky which filled their fissure;\r
+her disk was blood-red and half overcast; she seemed to throw on me one\r
+bewildered, dreary glance, and buried herself again instantly in the deep\r
+drift of cloud. The wind fell, for a second, round Thornfield; but far\r
+away over wood and water, poured a wild, melancholy wail: it was sad to\r
+listen to, and I ran off again.\r
+\r
+Here and there I strayed through the orchard, gathered up the apples with\r
+which the grass round the tree roots was thickly strewn; then I employed\r
+myself in dividing the ripe from the unripe; I carried them into the\r
+house and put them away in the store-room. Then I repaired to the\r
+library to ascertain whether the fire was lit, for, though summer, I knew\r
+on such a gloomy evening Mr. Rochester would like to see a cheerful\r
+hearth when he came in: yes, the fire had been kindled some time, and\r
+burnt well. I placed his arm-chair by the chimney-corner: I wheeled the\r
+table near it: I let down the curtain, and had the candles brought in\r
+ready for lighting. More restless than ever, when I had completed these\r
+arrangements I could not sit still, nor even remain in the house: a\r
+little time-piece in the room and the old clock in the hall\r
+simultaneously struck ten.\r
+\r
+"How late it grows!" I said. "I will run down to the gates: it is\r
+moonlight at intervals; I can see a good way on the road. He may be\r
+coming now, and to meet him will save some minutes of suspense."\r
+\r
+The wind roared high in the great trees which embowered the gates; but\r
+the road as far as I could see, to the right hand and the left, was all\r
+still and solitary: save for the shadows of clouds crossing it at\r
+intervals as the moon looked out, it was but a long pale line, unvaried\r
+by one moving speck.\r
+\r
+A puerile tear dimmed my eye while I looked--a tear of disappointment and\r
+impatience; ashamed of it, I wiped it away. I lingered; the moon shut\r
+herself wholly within her chamber, and drew close her curtain of dense\r
+cloud: the night grew dark; rain came driving fast on the gale.\r
+\r
+"I wish he would come! I wish he would come!" I exclaimed, seized with\r
+hypochondriac foreboding. I had expected his arrival before tea; now it\r
+was dark: what could keep him? Had an accident happened? The event of\r
+last night again recurred to me. I interpreted it as a warning of\r
+disaster. I feared my hopes were too bright to be realised; and I had\r
+enjoyed so much bliss lately that I imagined my fortune had passed its\r
+meridian, and must now decline.\r
+\r
+"Well, I cannot return to the house," I thought; "I cannot sit by the\r
+fireside, while he is abroad in inclement weather: better tire my limbs\r
+than strain my heart; I will go forward and meet him."\r
+\r
+I set out; I walked fast, but not far: ere I had measured a quarter of a\r
+mile, I heard the tramp of hoofs; a horseman came on, full gallop; a dog\r
+ran by his side. Away with evil presentiment! It was he: here he was,\r
+mounted on Mesrour, followed by Pilot. He saw me; for the moon had\r
+opened a blue field in the sky, and rode in it watery bright: he took his\r
+hat off, and waved it round his head. I now ran to meet him.\r
+\r
+"There!" he exclaimed, as he stretched out his hand and bent from the\r
+saddle: "You can't do without me, that is evident. Step on my boot-toe;\r
+give me both hands: mount!"\r
+\r
+I obeyed: joy made me agile: I sprang up before him. A hearty kissing I\r
+got for a welcome, and some boastful triumph, which I swallowed as well\r
+as I could. He checked himself in his exultation to demand, "But is\r
+there anything the matter, Janet, that you come to meet me at such an\r
+hour? Is there anything wrong?"\r
+\r
+"No, but I thought you would never come. I could not bear to wait in the\r
+house for you, especially with this rain and wind."\r
+\r
+"Rain and wind, indeed! Yes, you are dripping like a mermaid; pull my\r
+cloak round you: but I think you are feverish, Jane: both your cheek and\r
+hand are burning hot. I ask again, is there anything the matter?"\r
+\r
+"Nothing now; I am neither afraid nor unhappy."\r
+\r
+"Then you have been both?"\r
+\r
+"Rather: but I'll tell you all about it by-and-bye, sir; and I daresay\r
+you will only laugh at me for my pains."\r
+\r
+"I'll laugh at you heartily when to-morrow is past; till then I dare not:\r
+my prize is not certain. This is you, who have been as slippery as an\r
+eel this last month, and as thorny as a briar-rose? I could not lay a\r
+finger anywhere but I was pricked; and now I seem to have gathered up a\r
+stray lamb in my arms. You wandered out of the fold to seek your\r
+shepherd, did you, Jane?"\r
+\r
+"I wanted you: but don't boast. Here we are at Thornfield: now let me\r
+get down."\r
+\r
+He landed me on the pavement. As John took his horse, and he followed me\r
+into the hall, he told me to make haste and put something dry on, and\r
+then return to him in the library; and he stopped me, as I made for the\r
+staircase, to extort a promise that I would not be long: nor was I long;\r
+in five minutes I rejoined him. I found him at supper.\r
+\r
+"Take a seat and bear me company, Jane: please God, it is the last meal\r
+but one you will eat at Thornfield Hall for a long time."\r
+\r
+I sat down near him, but told him I could not eat. "Is it because you\r
+have the prospect of a journey before you, Jane? Is it the thoughts of\r
+going to London that takes away your appetite?"\r
+\r
+"I cannot see my prospects clearly to-night, sir; and I hardly know what\r
+thoughts I have in my head. Everything in life seems unreal."\r
+\r
+"Except me: I am substantial enough--touch me."\r
+\r
+"You, sir, are the most phantom-like of all: you are a mere dream."\r
+\r
+He held out his hand, laughing. "Is that a dream?" said he, placing it\r
+close to my eyes. He had a rounded, muscular, and vigorous hand, as well\r
+as a long, strong arm.\r
+\r
+"Yes; though I touch it, it is a dream," said I, as I put it down from\r
+before my face. "Sir, have you finished supper?"\r
+\r
+"Yes, Jane."\r
+\r
+I rang the bell and ordered away the tray. When we were again alone, I\r
+stirred the fire, and then took a low seat at my master's knee.\r
+\r
+"It is near midnight," I said.\r
+\r
+"Yes: but remember, Jane, you promised to wake with me the night before\r
+my wedding."\r
+\r
+"I did; and I will keep my promise, for an hour or two at least: I have\r
+no wish to go to bed."\r
+\r
+"Are all your arrangements complete?"\r
+\r
+"All, sir."\r
+\r
+"And on my part likewise," he returned, "I have settled everything; and\r
+we shall leave Thornfield to-morrow, within half-an-hour after our return\r
+from church."\r
+\r
+"Very well, sir."\r
+\r
+"With what an extraordinary smile you uttered that word--'very well,'\r
+Jane! What a bright spot of colour you have on each cheek! and how\r
+strangely your eyes glitter! Are you well?"\r
+\r
+"I believe I am."\r
+\r
+"Believe! What is the matter? Tell me what you feel."\r
+\r
+"I could not, sir: no words could tell you what I feel. I wish this\r
+present hour would never end: who knows with what fate the next may come\r
+charged?"\r
+\r
+"This is hypochondria, Jane. You have been over-excited, or\r
+over-fatigued."\r
+\r
+"Do you, sir, feel calm and happy?"\r
+\r
+"Calm?--no: but happy--to the heart's core."\r
+\r
+I looked up at him to read the signs of bliss in his face: it was ardent\r
+and flushed.\r
+\r
+"Give me your confidence, Jane," he said: "relieve your mind of any\r
+weight that oppresses it, by imparting it to me. What do you fear?--that\r
+I shall not prove a good husband?"\r
+\r
+"It is the idea farthest from my thoughts."\r
+\r
+"Are you apprehensive of the new sphere you are about to enter?--of the\r
+new life into which you are passing?"\r
+\r
+"No."\r
+\r
+"You puzzle me, Jane: your look and tone of sorrowful audacity perplex\r
+and pain me. I want an explanation."\r
+\r
+"Then, sir, listen. You were from home last night?"\r
+\r
+"I was: I know that; and you hinted a while ago at something which had\r
+happened in my absence:--nothing, probably, of consequence; but, in\r
+short, it has disturbed you. Let me hear it. Mrs. Fairfax has said\r
+something, perhaps? or you have overheard the servants talk?--your\r
+sensitive self-respect has been wounded?"\r
+\r
+"No, sir." It struck twelve--I waited till the time-piece had concluded\r
+its silver chime, and the clock its hoarse, vibrating stroke, and then I\r
+proceeded.\r
+\r
+"All day yesterday I was very busy, and very happy in my ceaseless\r
+bustle; for I am not, as you seem to think, troubled by any haunting\r
+fears about the new sphere, et cetera: I think it a glorious thing to\r
+have the hope of living with you, because I love you. No, sir, don't\r
+caress me now--let me talk undisturbed. Yesterday I trusted well in\r
+Providence, and believed that events were working together for your good\r
+and mine: it was a fine day, if you recollect--the calmness of the air\r
+and sky forbade apprehensions respecting your safety or comfort on your\r
+journey. I walked a little while on the pavement after tea, thinking of\r
+you; and I beheld you in imagination so near me, I scarcely missed your\r
+actual presence. I thought of the life that lay before me--_your_ life,\r
+sir--an existence more expansive and stirring than my own: as much more\r
+so as the depths of the sea to which the brook runs are than the shallows\r
+of its own strait channel. I wondered why moralists call this world a\r
+dreary wilderness: for me it blossomed like a rose. Just at sunset, the\r
+air turned cold and the sky cloudy: I went in, Sophie called me upstairs\r
+to look at my wedding-dress, which they had just brought; and under it in\r
+the box I found your present--the veil which, in your princely\r
+extravagance, you sent for from London: resolved, I suppose, since I\r
+would not have jewels, to cheat me into accepting something as costly. I\r
+smiled as I unfolded it, and devised how I would tease you about your\r
+aristocratic tastes, and your efforts to masque your plebeian bride in\r
+the attributes of a peeress. I thought how I would carry down to you the\r
+square of unembroidered blond I had myself prepared as a covering for my\r
+low-born head, and ask if that was not good enough for a woman who could\r
+bring her husband neither fortune, beauty, nor connections. I saw\r
+plainly how you would look; and heard your impetuous republican answers,\r
+and your haughty disavowal of any necessity on your part to augment your\r
+wealth, or elevate your standing, by marrying either a purse or a\r
+coronet."\r
+\r
+"How well you read me, you witch!" interposed Mr. Rochester: "but what\r
+did you find in the veil besides its embroidery? Did you find poison, or\r
+a dagger, that you look so mournful now?"\r
+\r
+"No, no, sir; besides the delicacy and richness of the fabric, I found\r
+nothing save Fairfax Rochester's pride; and that did not scare me,\r
+because I am used to the sight of the demon. But, sir, as it grew dark,\r
+the wind rose: it blew yesterday evening, not as it blows now--wild and\r
+high--but 'with a sullen, moaning sound' far more eerie. I wished you\r
+were at home. I came into this room, and the sight of the empty chair\r
+and fireless hearth chilled me. For some time after I went to bed, I\r
+could not sleep--a sense of anxious excitement distressed me. The gale\r
+still rising, seemed to my ear to muffle a mournful under-sound; whether\r
+in the house or abroad I could not at first tell, but it recurred,\r
+doubtful yet doleful at every lull; at last I made out it must be some\r
+dog howling at a distance. I was glad when it ceased. On sleeping, I\r
+continued in dreams the idea of a dark and gusty night. I continued also\r
+the wish to be with you, and experienced a strange, regretful\r
+consciousness of some barrier dividing us. During all my first sleep, I\r
+was following the windings of an unknown road; total obscurity environed\r
+me; rain pelted me; I was burdened with the charge of a little child: a\r
+very small creature, too young and feeble to walk, and which shivered in\r
+my cold arms, and wailed piteously in my ear. I thought, sir, that you\r
+were on the road a long way before me; and I strained every nerve to\r
+overtake you, and made effort on effort to utter your name and entreat\r
+you to stop--but my movements were fettered, and my voice still died away\r
+inarticulate; while you, I felt, withdrew farther and farther every\r
+moment."\r
+\r
+"And these dreams weigh on your spirits now, Jane, when I am close to\r
+you? Little nervous subject! Forget visionary woe, and think only of\r
+real happiness! You say you love me, Janet: yes--I will not forget that;\r
+and you cannot deny it. _Those_ words did not die inarticulate on your\r
+lips. I heard them clear and soft: a thought too solemn perhaps, but\r
+sweet as music--'I think it is a glorious thing to have the hope of\r
+living with you, Edward, because I love you.' Do you love me,\r
+Jane?--repeat it."\r
+\r
+"I do, sir--I do, with my whole heart."\r
+\r
+"Well," he said, after some minutes' silence, "it is strange; but that\r
+sentence has penetrated my breast painfully. Why? I think because you\r
+said it with such an earnest, religious energy, and because your upward\r
+gaze at me now is the very sublime of faith, truth, and devotion: it is\r
+too much as if some spirit were near me. Look wicked, Jane: as you know\r
+well how to look: coin one of your wild, shy, provoking smiles; tell me\r
+you hate me--tease me, vex me; do anything but move me: I would rather be\r
+incensed than saddened."\r
+\r
+"I will tease you and vex you to your heart's content, when I have\r
+finished my tale: but hear me to the end."\r
+\r
+"I thought, Jane, you had told me all. I thought I had found the source\r
+of your melancholy in a dream."\r
+\r
+I shook my head. "What! is there more? But I will not believe it to be\r
+anything important. I warn you of incredulity beforehand. Go on."\r
+\r
+The disquietude of his air, the somewhat apprehensive impatience of his\r
+manner, surprised me: but I proceeded.\r
+\r
+"I dreamt another dream, sir: that Thornfield Hall was a dreary ruin, the\r
+retreat of bats and owls. I thought that of all the stately front\r
+nothing remained but a shell-like wall, very high and very\r
+fragile-looking. I wandered, on a moonlight night, through the grass-\r
+grown enclosure within: here I stumbled over a marble hearth, and there\r
+over a fallen fragment of cornice. Wrapped up in a shawl, I still\r
+carried the unknown little child: I might not lay it down anywhere,\r
+however tired were my arms--however much its weight impeded my progress,\r
+I must retain it. I heard the gallop of a horse at a distance on the\r
+road; I was sure it was you; and you were departing for many years and\r
+for a distant country. I climbed the thin wall with frantic perilous\r
+haste, eager to catch one glimpse of you from the top: the stones rolled\r
+from under my feet, the ivy branches I grasped gave way, the child clung\r
+round my neck in terror, and almost strangled me; at last I gained the\r
+summit. I saw you like a speck on a white track, lessening every moment.\r
+The blast blew so strong I could not stand. I sat down on the narrow\r
+ledge; I hushed the scared infant in my lap: you turned an angle of the\r
+road: I bent forward to take a last look; the wall crumbled; I was\r
+shaken; the child rolled from my knee, I lost my balance, fell, and\r
+woke."\r
+\r
+"Now, Jane, that is all."\r
+\r
+"All the preface, sir; the tale is yet to come. On waking, a gleam\r
+dazzled my eyes; I thought--Oh, it is daylight! But I was mistaken; it\r
+was only candlelight. Sophie, I supposed, had come in. There was a\r
+light in the dressing-table, and the door of the closet, where, before\r
+going to bed, I had hung my wedding-dress and veil, stood open; I heard a\r
+rustling there. I asked, 'Sophie, what are you doing?' No one answered;\r
+but a form emerged from the closet; it took the light, held it aloft, and\r
+surveyed the garments pendent from the portmanteau. 'Sophie! Sophie!' I\r
+again cried: and still it was silent. I had risen up in bed, I bent\r
+forward: first surprise, then bewilderment, came over me; and then my\r
+blood crept cold through my veins. Mr. Rochester, this was not Sophie,\r
+it was not Leah, it was not Mrs. Fairfax: it was not--no, I was sure of\r
+it, and am still--it was not even that strange woman, Grace Poole."\r
+\r
+"It must have been one of them," interrupted my master.\r
+\r
+"No, sir, I solemnly assure you to the contrary. The shape standing\r
+before me had never crossed my eyes within the precincts of Thornfield\r
+Hall before; the height, the contour were new to me."\r
+\r
+"Describe it, Jane."\r
+\r
+"It seemed, sir, a woman, tall and large, with thick and dark hair\r
+hanging long down her back. I know not what dress she had on: it was\r
+white and straight; but whether gown, sheet, or shroud, I cannot tell."\r
+\r
+"Did you see her face?"\r
+\r
+"Not at first. But presently she took my veil from its place; she held\r
+it up, gazed at it long, and then she threw it over her own head, and\r
+turned to the mirror. At that moment I saw the reflection of the visage\r
+and features quite distinctly in the dark oblong glass."\r
+\r
+"And how were they?"\r
+\r
+"Fearful and ghastly to me--oh, sir, I never saw a face like it! It was\r
+a discoloured face--it was a savage face. I wish I could forget the roll\r
+of the red eyes and the fearful blackened inflation of the lineaments!"\r
+\r
+"Ghosts are usually pale, Jane."\r
+\r
+"This, sir, was purple: the lips were swelled and dark; the brow\r
+furrowed: the black eyebrows widely raised over the bloodshot eyes. Shall\r
+I tell you of what it reminded me?"\r
+\r
+"You may."\r
+\r
+"Of the foul German spectre--the Vampyre."\r
+\r
+"Ah!--what did it do?"\r
+\r
+"Sir, it removed my veil from its gaunt head, rent it in two parts, and\r
+flinging both on the floor, trampled on them."\r
+\r
+{It removed my veil from its gaunt head, rent it in two parts, and\r
+flinging both on the floor, trampled on them: p272.jpg}\r
+\r
+"Afterwards?"\r
+\r
+"It drew aside the window-curtain and looked out; perhaps it saw dawn\r
+approaching, for, taking the candle, it retreated to the door. Just at\r
+my bedside, the figure stopped: the fiery eyes glared upon me--she thrust\r
+up her candle close to my face, and extinguished it under my eyes. I was\r
+aware her lurid visage flamed over mine, and I lost consciousness: for\r
+the second time in my life--only the second time--I became insensible\r
+from terror."\r
+\r
+"Who was with you when you revived?"\r
+\r
+"No one, sir, but the broad day. I rose, bathed my head and face in\r
+water, drank a long draught; felt that though enfeebled I was not ill,\r
+and determined that to none but you would I impart this vision. Now,\r
+sir, tell me who and what that woman was?"\r
+\r
+"The creature of an over-stimulated brain; that is certain. I must be\r
+careful of you, my treasure: nerves like yours were not made for rough\r
+handling."\r
+\r
+"Sir, depend on it, my nerves were not in fault; the thing was real: the\r
+transaction actually took place."\r
+\r
+"And your previous dreams, were they real too? Is Thornfield Hall a\r
+ruin? Am I severed from you by insuperable obstacles? Am I leaving you\r
+without a tear--without a kiss--without a word?"\r
+\r
+"Not yet."\r
+\r
+"Am I about to do it? Why, the day is already commenced which is to bind\r
+us indissolubly; and when we are once united, there shall be no\r
+recurrence of these mental terrors: I guarantee that."\r
+\r
+"Mental terrors, sir! I wish I could believe them to be only such: I\r
+wish it more now than ever; since even you cannot explain to me the\r
+mystery of that awful visitant."\r
+\r
+"And since I cannot do it, Jane, it must have been unreal."\r
+\r
+"But, sir, when I said so to myself on rising this morning, and when I\r
+looked round the room to gather courage and comfort from the cheerful\r
+aspect of each familiar object in full daylight, there--on the carpet--I\r
+saw what gave the distinct lie to my hypothesis,--the veil, torn from top\r
+to bottom in two halves!"\r
+\r
+I felt Mr. Rochester start and shudder; he hastily flung his arms round\r
+me. "Thank God!" he exclaimed, "that if anything malignant did come near\r
+you last night, it was only the veil that was harmed. Oh, to think what\r
+might have happened!"\r
+\r
+He drew his breath short, and strained me so close to him, I could\r
+scarcely pant. After some minutes' silence, he continued, cheerily--\r
+\r
+"Now, Janet, I'll explain to you all about it. It was half dream, half\r
+reality. A woman did, I doubt not, enter your room: and that woman\r
+was--must have been--Grace Poole. You call her a strange being yourself:\r
+from all you know, you have reason so to call her--what did she do to me?\r
+what to Mason? In a state between sleeping and waking, you noticed her\r
+entrance and her actions; but feverish, almost delirious as you were, you\r
+ascribed to her a goblin appearance different from her own: the long\r
+dishevelled hair, the swelled black face, the exaggerated stature, were\r
+figments of imagination; results of nightmare: the spiteful tearing of\r
+the veil was real: and it is like her. I see you would ask why I keep\r
+such a woman in my house: when we have been married a year and a day, I\r
+will tell you; but not now. Are you satisfied, Jane? Do you accept my\r
+solution of the mystery?"\r
+\r
+I reflected, and in truth it appeared to me the only possible one:\r
+satisfied I was not, but to please him I endeavoured to appear\r
+so--relieved, I certainly did feel; so I answered him with a contented\r
+smile. And now, as it was long past one, I prepared to leave him.\r
+\r
+"Does not Sophie sleep with Adele in the nursery?" he asked, as I lit my\r
+candle.\r
+\r
+"Yes, sir."\r
+\r
+"And there is room enough in Adele's little bed for you. You must share\r
+it with her to-night, Jane: it is no wonder that the incident you have\r
+related should make you nervous, and I would rather you did not sleep\r
+alone: promise me to go to the nursery."\r
+\r
+"I shall be very glad to do so, sir."\r
+\r
+"And fasten the door securely on the inside. Wake Sophie when you go\r
+upstairs, under pretence of requesting her to rouse you in good time to-\r
+morrow; for you must be dressed and have finished breakfast before eight.\r
+And now, no more sombre thoughts: chase dull care away, Janet. Don't you\r
+hear to what soft whispers the wind has fallen? and there is no more\r
+beating of rain against the window-panes: look here" (he lifted up the\r
+curtain)--"it is a lovely night!"\r
+\r
+It was. Half heaven was pure and stainless: the clouds, now trooping\r
+before the wind, which had shifted to the west, were filing off eastward\r
+in long, silvered columns. The moon shone peacefully.\r
+\r
+"Well," said Mr. Rochester, gazing inquiringly into my eyes, "how is my\r
+Janet now?"\r
+\r
+"The night is serene, sir; and so am I."\r
+\r
+"And you will not dream of separation and sorrow to-night; but of happy\r
+love and blissful union."\r
+\r
+This prediction was but half fulfilled: I did not indeed dream of sorrow,\r
+but as little did I dream of joy; for I never slept at all. With little\r
+Adele in my arms, I watched the slumber of childhood--so tranquil, so\r
+passionless, so innocent--and waited for the coming day: all my life was\r
+awake and astir in my frame: and as soon as the sun rose I rose too. I\r
+remember Adele clung to me as I left her: I remember I kissed her as I\r
+loosened her little hands from my neck; and I cried over her with strange\r
+emotion, and quitted her because I feared my sobs would break her still\r
+sound repose. She seemed the emblem of my past life; and here I was now\r
+to array myself to meet, the dread, but adored, type of my unknown future\r
+day.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER XXVI\r
+\r
+\r
+Sophie came at seven to dress me: she was very long indeed in\r
+accomplishing her task; so long that Mr. Rochester, grown, I suppose,\r
+impatient of my delay, sent up to ask why I did not come. She was just\r
+fastening my veil (the plain square of blond after all) to my hair with a\r
+brooch; I hurried from under her hands as soon as I could.\r
+\r
+"Stop!" she cried in French. "Look at yourself in the mirror: you have\r
+not taken one peep."\r
+\r
+So I turned at the door: I saw a robed and veiled figure, so unlike my\r
+usual self that it seemed almost the image of a stranger. "Jane!" called\r
+a voice, and I hastened down. I was received at the foot of the stairs\r
+by Mr. Rochester.\r
+\r
+"Lingerer!" he said, "my brain is on fire with impatience, and you tarry\r
+so long!"\r
+\r
+He took me into the dining-room, surveyed me keenly all over, pronounced\r
+me "fair as a lily, and not only the pride of his life, but the desire of\r
+his eyes," and then telling me he would give me but ten minutes to eat\r
+some breakfast, he rang the bell. One of his lately hired servants, a\r
+footman, answered it.\r
+\r
+"Is John getting the carriage ready?"\r
+\r
+"Yes, sir."\r
+\r
+"Is the luggage brought down?"\r
+\r
+"They are bringing it down, sir."\r
+\r
+"Go you to the church: see if Mr. Wood (the clergyman) and the clerk are\r
+there: return and tell me."\r
+\r
+The church, as the reader knows, was but just beyond the gates; the\r
+footman soon returned.\r
+\r
+"Mr. Wood is in the vestry, sir, putting on his surplice."\r
+\r
+"And the carriage?"\r
+\r
+"The horses are harnessing."\r
+\r
+"We shall not want it to go to church; but it must be ready the moment we\r
+return: all the boxes and luggage arranged and strapped on, and the\r
+coachman in his seat."\r
+\r
+"Yes, sir."\r
+\r
+"Jane, are you ready?"\r
+\r
+I rose. There were no groomsmen, no bridesmaids, no relatives to wait\r
+for or marshal: none but Mr. Rochester and I. Mrs. Fairfax stood in the\r
+hall as we passed. I would fain have spoken to her, but my hand was\r
+held by a grasp of iron: I was hurried along by a stride I could hardly\r
+follow; and to look at Mr. Rochester's face was to feel that not a second\r
+of delay would be tolerated for any purpose. I wonder what other\r
+bridegroom ever looked as he did--so bent up to a purpose, so grimly\r
+resolute: or who, under such steadfast brows, ever revealed such flaming\r
+and flashing eyes.\r
+\r
+I know not whether the day was fair or foul; in descending the drive, I\r
+gazed neither on sky nor earth: my heart was with my eyes; and both\r
+seemed migrated into Mr. Rochester's frame. I wanted to see the\r
+invisible thing on which, as we went along, he appeared to fasten a\r
+glance fierce and fell. I wanted to feel the thoughts whose force he\r
+seemed breasting and resisting.\r
+\r
+At the churchyard wicket he stopped: he discovered I was quite out of\r
+breath. "Am I cruel in my love?" he said. "Delay an instant: lean on\r
+me, Jane."\r
+\r
+And now I can recall the picture of the grey old house of God rising calm\r
+before me, of a rook wheeling round the steeple, of a ruddy morning sky\r
+beyond. I remember something, too, of the green grave-mounds; and I have\r
+not forgotten, either, two figures of strangers straying amongst the low\r
+hillocks and reading the mementoes graven on the few mossy head-stones. I\r
+noticed them, because, as they saw us, they passed round to the back of\r
+the church; and I doubted not they were going to enter by the side-aisle\r
+door and witness the ceremony. By Mr. Rochester they were not observed;\r
+he was earnestly looking at my face from which the blood had, I daresay,\r
+momentarily fled: for I felt my forehead dewy, and my cheeks and lips\r
+cold. When I rallied, which I soon did, he walked gently with me up the\r
+path to the porch.\r
+\r
+We entered the quiet and humble temple; the priest waited in his white\r
+surplice at the lowly altar, the clerk beside him. All was still: two\r
+shadows only moved in a remote corner. My conjecture had been correct:\r
+the strangers had slipped in before us, and they now stood by the vault\r
+of the Rochesters, their backs towards us, viewing through the rails the\r
+old time-stained marble tomb, where a kneeling angel guarded the remains\r
+of Damer de Rochester, slain at Marston Moor in the time of the civil\r
+wars, and of Elizabeth, his wife.\r
+\r
+Our place was taken at the communion rails. Hearing a cautious step\r
+behind me, I glanced over my shoulder: one of the strangers--a gentleman,\r
+evidently--was advancing up the chancel. The service began. The\r
+explanation of the intent of matrimony was gone through; and then the\r
+clergyman came a step further forward, and, bending slightly towards Mr.\r
+Rochester, went on.\r
+\r
+"I require and charge you both (as ye will answer at the dreadful day of\r
+judgment, when the secrets of all hearts shall be disclosed), that if\r
+either of you know any impediment why ye may not lawfully be joined\r
+together in matrimony, ye do now confess it; for be ye well assured that\r
+so many as are coupled together otherwise than God's Word doth allow, are\r
+not joined together by God, neither is their matrimony lawful."\r
+\r
+He paused, as the custom is. When is the pause after that sentence ever\r
+broken by reply? Not, perhaps, once in a hundred years. And the\r
+clergyman, who had not lifted his eyes from his book, and had held his\r
+breath but for a moment, was proceeding: his hand was already stretched\r
+towards Mr. Rochester, as his lips unclosed to ask, "Wilt thou have this\r
+woman for thy wedded wife?"--when a distinct and near voice said--\r
+\r
+"The marriage cannot go on: I declare the existence of an impediment."\r
+\r
+The clergyman looked up at the speaker and stood mute; the clerk did the\r
+same; Mr. Rochester moved slightly, as if an earthquake had rolled under\r
+his feet: taking a firmer footing, and not turning his head or eyes, he\r
+said, "Proceed."\r
+\r
+Profound silence fell when he had uttered that word, with deep but low\r
+intonation. Presently Mr. Wood said--\r
+\r
+"I cannot proceed without some investigation into what has been asserted,\r
+and evidence of its truth or falsehood."\r
+\r
+"The ceremony is quite broken off," subjoined the voice behind us. "I am\r
+in a condition to prove my allegation: an insuperable impediment to this\r
+marriage exists."\r
+\r
+Mr. Rochester heard, but heeded not: he stood stubborn and rigid, making\r
+no movement but to possess himself of my hand. What a hot and strong\r
+grasp he had! and how like quarried marble was his pale, firm, massive\r
+front at this moment! How his eye shone, still watchful, and yet wild\r
+beneath!\r
+\r
+Mr. Wood seemed at a loss. "What is the nature of the impediment?" he\r
+asked. "Perhaps it may be got over--explained away?"\r
+\r
+"Hardly," was the answer. "I have called it insuperable, and I speak\r
+advisedly."\r
+\r
+The speaker came forward and leaned on the rails. He continued, uttering\r
+each word distinctly, calmly, steadily, but not loudly--\r
+\r
+"It simply consists in the existence of a previous marriage. Mr.\r
+Rochester has a wife now living."\r
+\r
+My nerves vibrated to those low-spoken words as they had never vibrated\r
+to thunder--my blood felt their subtle violence as it had never felt\r
+frost or fire; but I was collected, and in no danger of swooning. I\r
+looked at Mr. Rochester: I made him look at me. His whole face was\r
+colourless rock: his eye was both spark and flint. He disavowed nothing:\r
+he seemed as if he would defy all things. Without speaking, without\r
+smiling, without seeming to recognise in me a human being, he only twined\r
+my waist with his arm and riveted me to his side.\r
+\r
+"Who are you?" he asked of the intruder.\r
+\r
+"My name is Briggs, a solicitor of --- Street, London."\r
+\r
+"And you would thrust on me a wife?"\r
+\r
+"I would remind you of your lady's existence, sir, which the law\r
+recognises, if you do not."\r
+\r
+"Favour me with an account of her--with her name, her parentage, her\r
+place of abode."\r
+\r
+"Certainly." Mr. Briggs calmly took a paper from his pocket, and read\r
+out in a sort of official, nasal voice:--\r
+\r
+"'I affirm and can prove that on the 20th of October A.D. --- (a date of\r
+fifteen years back), Edward Fairfax Rochester, of Thornfield Hall, in the\r
+county of ---, and of Ferndean Manor, in ---shire, England, was married\r
+to my sister, Bertha Antoinetta Mason, daughter of Jonas Mason, merchant,\r
+and of Antoinetta his wife, a Creole, at --- church, Spanish Town,\r
+Jamaica. The record of the marriage will be found in the register of\r
+that church--a copy of it is now in my possession. Signed, Richard\r
+Mason.'"\r
+\r
+"That--if a genuine document--may prove I have been married, but it does\r
+not prove that the woman mentioned therein as my wife is still living."\r
+\r
+"She was living three months ago," returned the lawyer.\r
+\r
+"How do you know?"\r
+\r
+"I have a witness to the fact, whose testimony even you, sir, will\r
+scarcely controvert."\r
+\r
+"Produce him--or go to hell."\r
+\r
+"I will produce him first--he is on the spot. Mr. Mason, have the\r
+goodness to step forward."\r
+\r
+Mr. Rochester, on hearing the name, set his teeth; he experienced, too, a\r
+sort of strong convulsive quiver; near to him as I was, I felt the\r
+spasmodic movement of fury or despair run through his frame. The second\r
+stranger, who had hitherto lingered in the background, now drew near; a\r
+pale face looked over the solicitor's shoulder--yes, it was Mason\r
+himself. Mr. Rochester turned and glared at him. His eye, as I have\r
+often said, was a black eye: it had now a tawny, nay, a bloody light in\r
+its gloom; and his face flushed--olive cheek and hueless forehead\r
+received a glow as from spreading, ascending heart-fire: and he stirred,\r
+lifted his strong arm--he could have struck Mason, dashed him on the\r
+church-floor, shocked by ruthless blow the breath from his body--but\r
+Mason shrank away, and cried faintly, "Good God!" Contempt fell cool on\r
+Mr. Rochester--his passion died as if a blight had shrivelled it up: he\r
+only asked--"What have _you_ to say?"\r
+\r
+An inaudible reply escaped Mason's white lips.\r
+\r
+"The devil is in it if you cannot answer distinctly. I again demand,\r
+what have you to say?"\r
+\r
+"Sir--sir," interrupted the clergyman, "do not forget you are in a sacred\r
+place." Then addressing Mason, he inquired gently, "Are you aware, sir,\r
+whether or not this gentleman's wife is still living?"\r
+\r
+"Courage," urged the lawyer,--"speak out."\r
+\r
+"She is now living at Thornfield Hall," said Mason, in more articulate\r
+tones: "I saw her there last April. I am her brother."\r
+\r
+"At Thornfield Hall!" ejaculated the clergyman. "Impossible! I am an\r
+old resident in this neighbourhood, sir, and I never heard of a Mrs.\r
+Rochester at Thornfield Hall."\r
+\r
+I saw a grim smile contort Mr. Rochester's lips, and he muttered--\r
+\r
+"No, by God! I took care that none should hear of it--or of her under\r
+that name." He mused--for ten minutes he held counsel with himself: he\r
+formed his resolve, and announced it--\r
+\r
+"Enough! all shall bolt out at once, like the bullet from the barrel.\r
+Wood, close your book and take off your surplice; John Green (to the\r
+clerk), leave the church: there will be no wedding to-day." The man\r
+obeyed.\r
+\r
+Mr. Rochester continued, hardily and recklessly: "Bigamy is an ugly\r
+word!--I meant, however, to be a bigamist; but fate has out-manoeuvred\r
+me, or Providence has checked me,--perhaps the last. I am little better\r
+than a devil at this moment; and, as my pastor there would tell me,\r
+deserve no doubt the sternest judgments of God, even to the quenchless\r
+fire and deathless worm. Gentlemen, my plan is broken up:--what this\r
+lawyer and his client say is true: I have been married, and the woman to\r
+whom I was married lives! You say you never heard of a Mrs. Rochester at\r
+the house up yonder, Wood; but I daresay you have many a time inclined\r
+your ear to gossip about the mysterious lunatic kept there under watch\r
+and ward. Some have whispered to you that she is my bastard half-sister:\r
+some, my cast-off mistress. I now inform you that she is my wife, whom I\r
+married fifteen years ago,--Bertha Mason by name; sister of this resolute\r
+personage, who is now, with his quivering limbs and white cheeks, showing\r
+you what a stout heart men may bear. Cheer up, Dick!--never fear me!--I'd\r
+almost as soon strike a woman as you. Bertha Mason is mad; and she came\r
+of a mad family; idiots and maniacs through three generations! Her\r
+mother, the Creole, was both a madwoman and a drunkard!--as I found out\r
+after I had wed the daughter: for they were silent on family secrets\r
+before. Bertha, like a dutiful child, copied her parent in both points.\r
+I had a charming partner--pure, wise, modest: you can fancy I was a happy\r
+man. I went through rich scenes! Oh! my experience has been heavenly,\r
+if you only knew it! But I owe you no further explanation. Briggs,\r
+Wood, Mason, I invite you all to come up to the house and visit Mrs.\r
+Poole's patient, and _my wife_! You shall see what sort of a being I was\r
+cheated into espousing, and judge whether or not I had a right to break\r
+the compact, and seek sympathy with something at least human. This\r
+girl," he continued, looking at me, "knew no more than you, Wood, of the\r
+disgusting secret: she thought all was fair and legal and never dreamt\r
+she was going to be entrapped into a feigned union with a defrauded\r
+wretch, already bound to a bad, mad, and embruted partner! Come all of\r
+you--follow!"\r
+\r
+Still holding me fast, he left the church: the three gentlemen came\r
+after. At the front door of the hall we found the carriage.\r
+\r
+"Take it back to the coach-house, John," said Mr. Rochester coolly; "it\r
+will not be wanted to-day."\r
+\r
+At our entrance, Mrs. Fairfax, Adele, Sophie, Leah, advanced to meet and\r
+greet us.\r
+\r
+"To the right-about--every soul!" cried the master; "away with your\r
+congratulations! Who wants them? Not I!--they are fifteen years too\r
+late!"\r
+\r
+He passed on and ascended the stairs, still holding my hand, and still\r
+beckoning the gentlemen to follow him, which they did. We mounted the\r
+first staircase, passed up the gallery, proceeded to the third storey:\r
+the low, black door, opened by Mr. Rochester's master-key, admitted us to\r
+the tapestried room, with its great bed and its pictorial cabinet.\r
+\r
+"You know this place, Mason," said our guide; "she bit and stabbed you\r
+here."\r
+\r
+He lifted the hangings from the wall, uncovering the second door: this,\r
+too, he opened. In a room without a window, there burnt a fire guarded\r
+by a high and strong fender, and a lamp suspended from the ceiling by a\r
+chain. Grace Poole bent over the fire, apparently cooking something in a\r
+saucepan. In the deep shade, at the farther end of the room, a figure\r
+ran backwards and forwards. What it was, whether beast or human being,\r
+one could not, at first sight, tell: it grovelled, seemingly, on all\r
+fours; it snatched and growled like some strange wild animal: but it was\r
+covered with clothing, and a quantity of dark, grizzled hair, wild as a\r
+mane, hid its head and face.\r
+\r
+"Good-morrow, Mrs. Poole!" said Mr. Rochester. "How are you? and how is\r
+your charge to-day?"\r
+\r
+"We're tolerable, sir, I thank you," replied Grace, lifting the boiling\r
+mess carefully on to the hob: "rather snappish, but not 'rageous."\r
+\r
+A fierce cry seemed to give the lie to her favourable report: the clothed\r
+hyena rose up, and stood tall on its hind-feet.\r
+\r
+"Ah! sir, she sees you!" exclaimed Grace: "you'd better not stay."\r
+\r
+"Only a few moments, Grace: you must allow me a few moments."\r
+\r
+"Take care then, sir!--for God's sake, take care!"\r
+\r
+The maniac bellowed: she parted her shaggy locks from her visage, and\r
+gazed wildly at her visitors. I recognised well that purple face,--those\r
+bloated features. Mrs. Poole advanced.\r
+\r
+"Keep out of the way," said Mr. Rochester, thrusting her aside: "she has\r
+no knife now, I suppose, and I'm on my guard."\r
+\r
+"One never knows what she has, sir: she is so cunning: it is not in\r
+mortal discretion to fathom her craft."\r
+\r
+"We had better leave her," whispered Mason.\r
+\r
+"Go to the devil!" was his brother-in-law's recommendation.\r
+\r
+"'Ware!" cried Grace. The three gentlemen retreated simultaneously. Mr.\r
+Rochester flung me behind him: the lunatic sprang and grappled his throat\r
+viciously, and laid her teeth to his cheek: they struggled. She was a\r
+big woman, in stature almost equalling her husband, and corpulent\r
+besides: she showed virile force in the contest--more than once she\r
+almost throttled him, athletic as he was. He could have settled her with\r
+a well-planted blow; but he would not strike: he would only wrestle. At\r
+last he mastered her arms; Grace Poole gave him a cord, and he pinioned\r
+them behind her: with more rope, which was at hand, he bound her to a\r
+chair. The operation was performed amidst the fiercest yells and the\r
+most convulsive plunges. Mr. Rochester then turned to the spectators: he\r
+looked at them with a smile both acrid and desolate.\r
+\r
+"That is _my wife_," said he. "Such is the sole conjugal embrace I am\r
+ever to know--such are the endearments which are to solace my leisure\r
+hours! And _this_ is what I wished to have" (laying his hand on my\r
+shoulder): "this young girl, who stands so grave and quiet at the mouth\r
+of hell, looking collectedly at the gambols of a demon, I wanted her just\r
+as a change after that fierce ragout. Wood and Briggs, look at the\r
+difference! Compare these clear eyes with the red balls yonder--this\r
+face with that mask--this form with that bulk; then judge me, priest of\r
+the gospel and man of the law, and remember with what judgment ye judge\r
+ye shall be judged! Off with you now. I must shut up my prize."\r
+\r
+We all withdrew. Mr. Rochester stayed a moment behind us, to give some\r
+further order to Grace Poole. The solicitor addressed me as he descended\r
+the stair.\r
+\r
+"You, madam," said he, "are cleared from all blame: your uncle will be\r
+glad to hear it--if, indeed, he should be still living--when Mr. Mason\r
+returns to Madeira."\r
+\r
+"My uncle! What of him? Do you know him?"\r
+\r
+"Mr. Mason does. Mr. Eyre has been the Funchal correspondent of his\r
+house for some years. When your uncle received your letter intimating\r
+the contemplated union between yourself and Mr. Rochester, Mr. Mason, who\r
+was staying at Madeira to recruit his health, on his way back to Jamaica,\r
+happened to be with him. Mr. Eyre mentioned the intelligence; for he\r
+knew that my client here was acquainted with a gentleman of the name of\r
+Rochester. Mr. Mason, astonished and distressed as you may suppose,\r
+revealed the real state of matters. Your uncle, I am sorry to say, is\r
+now on a sick bed; from which, considering the nature of his\r
+disease--decline--and the stage it has reached, it is unlikely he will\r
+ever rise. He could not then hasten to England himself, to extricate you\r
+from the snare into which you had fallen, but he implored Mr. Mason to\r
+lose no time in taking steps to prevent the false marriage. He referred\r
+him to me for assistance. I used all despatch, and am thankful I was not\r
+too late: as you, doubtless, must be also. Were I not morally certain\r
+that your uncle will be dead ere you reach Madeira, I would advise you to\r
+accompany Mr. Mason back; but as it is, I think you had better remain in\r
+England till you can hear further, either from or of Mr. Eyre. Have we\r
+anything else to stay for?" he inquired of Mr. Mason.\r
+\r
+"No, no--let us be gone," was the anxious reply; and without waiting to\r
+take leave of Mr. Rochester, they made their exit at the hall door. The\r
+clergyman stayed to exchange a few sentences, either of admonition or\r
+reproof, with his haughty parishioner; this duty done, he too departed.\r
+\r
+I heard him go as I stood at the half-open door of my own room, to which\r
+I had now withdrawn. The house cleared, I shut myself in, fastened the\r
+bolt that none might intrude, and proceeded--not to weep, not to mourn, I\r
+was yet too calm for that, but--mechanically to take off the wedding\r
+dress, and replace it by the stuff gown I had worn yesterday, as I\r
+thought, for the last time. I then sat down: I felt weak and tired. I\r
+leaned my arms on a table, and my head dropped on them. And now I\r
+thought: till now I had only heard, seen, moved--followed up and down\r
+where I was led or dragged--watched event rush on event, disclosure open\r
+beyond disclosure: but _now_, _I thought_.\r
+\r
+The morning had been a quiet morning enough--all except the brief scene\r
+with the lunatic: the transaction in the church had not been noisy; there\r
+was no explosion of passion, no loud altercation, no dispute, no defiance\r
+or challenge, no tears, no sobs: a few words had been spoken, a calmly\r
+pronounced objection to the marriage made; some stern, short questions\r
+put by Mr. Rochester; answers, explanations given, evidence adduced; an\r
+open admission of the truth had been uttered by my master; then the\r
+living proof had been seen; the intruders were gone, and all was over.\r
+\r
+I was in my own room as usual--just myself, without obvious change:\r
+nothing had smitten me, or scathed me, or maimed me. And yet where was\r
+the Jane Eyre of yesterday?--where was her life?--where were her\r
+prospects?\r
+\r
+Jane Eyre, who had been an ardent, expectant woman--almost a bride, was a\r
+cold, solitary girl again: her life was pale; her prospects were\r
+desolate. A Christmas frost had come at midsummer; a white December\r
+storm had whirled over June; ice glazed the ripe apples, drifts crushed\r
+the blowing roses; on hayfield and cornfield lay a frozen shroud: lanes\r
+which last night blushed full of flowers, to-day were pathless with\r
+untrodden snow; and the woods, which twelve hours since waved leafy and\r
+flagrant as groves between the tropics, now spread, waste, wild, and\r
+white as pine-forests in wintry Norway. My hopes were all dead--struck\r
+with a subtle doom, such as, in one night, fell on all the first-born in\r
+the land of Egypt. I looked on my cherished wishes, yesterday so\r
+blooming and glowing; they lay stark, chill, livid corpses that could\r
+never revive. I looked at my love: that feeling which was my\r
+master's--which he had created; it shivered in my heart, like a suffering\r
+child in a cold cradle; sickness and anguish had seized it; it could not\r
+seek Mr. Rochester's arms--it could not derive warmth from his breast.\r
+Oh, never more could it turn to him; for faith was blighted--confidence\r
+destroyed! Mr. Rochester was not to me what he had been; for he was not\r
+what I had thought him. I would not ascribe vice to him; I would not say\r
+he had betrayed me; but the attribute of stainless truth was gone from\r
+his idea, and from his presence I must go: _that_ I perceived well.\r
+When--how--whither, I could not yet discern; but he himself, I doubted\r
+not, would hurry me from Thornfield. Real affection, it seemed, he could\r
+not have for me; it had been only fitful passion: that was balked; he\r
+would want me no more. I should fear even to cross his path now: my view\r
+must be hateful to him. Oh, how blind had been my eyes! How weak my\r
+conduct!\r
+\r
+My eyes were covered and closed: eddying darkness seemed to swim round\r
+me, and reflection came in as black and confused a flow. Self-abandoned,\r
+relaxed, and effortless, I seemed to have laid me down in the dried-up\r
+bed of a great river; I heard a flood loosened in remote mountains, and\r
+felt the torrent come: to rise I had no will, to flee I had no strength.\r
+I lay faint, longing to be dead. One idea only still throbbed life-like\r
+within me--a remembrance of God: it begot an unuttered prayer: these\r
+words went wandering up and down in my rayless mind, as something that\r
+should be whispered, but no energy was found to express them--\r
+\r
+"Be not far from me, for trouble is near: there is none to help."\r
+\r
+It was near: and as I had lifted no petition to Heaven to avert it--as I\r
+had neither joined my hands, nor bent my knees, nor moved my lips--it\r
+came: in full heavy swing the torrent poured over me. The whole\r
+consciousness of my life lorn, my love lost, my hope quenched, my faith\r
+death-struck, swayed full and mighty above me in one sullen mass. That\r
+bitter hour cannot be described: in truth, "the waters came into my soul;\r
+I sank in deep mire: I felt no standing; I came into deep waters; the\r
+floods overflowed me."\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER XXVII\r
+\r
+\r
+Some time in the afternoon I raised my head, and looking round and seeing\r
+the western sun gilding the sign of its decline on the wall, I asked,\r
+"What am I to do?"\r
+\r
+But the answer my mind gave--"Leave Thornfield at once"--was so prompt,\r
+so dread, that I stopped my ears. I said I could not bear such words\r
+now. "That I am not Edward Rochester's bride is the least part of my\r
+woe," I alleged: "that I have wakened out of most glorious dreams, and\r
+found them all void and vain, is a horror I could bear and master; but\r
+that I must leave him decidedly, instantly, entirely, is intolerable. I\r
+cannot do it."\r
+\r
+But, then, a voice within me averred that I could do it and foretold that\r
+I should do it. I wrestled with my own resolution: I wanted to be weak\r
+that I might avoid the awful passage of further suffering I saw laid out\r
+for me; and Conscience, turned tyrant, held Passion by the throat, told\r
+her tauntingly, she had yet but dipped her dainty foot in the slough, and\r
+swore that with that arm of iron he would thrust her down to unsounded\r
+depths of agony.\r
+\r
+"Let me be torn away," then I cried. "Let another help me!"\r
+\r
+"No; you shall tear yourself away, none shall help you: you shall\r
+yourself pluck out your right eye; yourself cut off your right hand: your\r
+heart shall be the victim, and you the priest to transfix it."\r
+\r
+I rose up suddenly, terror-struck at the solitude which so ruthless a\r
+judge haunted,--at the silence which so awful a voice filled. My head\r
+swam as I stood erect. I perceived that I was sickening from excitement\r
+and inanition; neither meat nor drink had passed my lips that day, for I\r
+had taken no breakfast. And, with a strange pang, I now reflected that,\r
+long as I had been shut up here, no message had been sent to ask how I\r
+was, or to invite me to come down: not even little Adele had tapped at\r
+the door; not even Mrs. Fairfax had sought me. "Friends always forget\r
+those whom fortune forsakes," I murmured, as I undrew the bolt and passed\r
+out. I stumbled over an obstacle: my head was still dizzy, my sight was\r
+dim, and my limbs were feeble. I could not soon recover myself. I fell,\r
+but not on to the ground: an outstretched arm caught me. I looked up--I\r
+was supported by Mr. Rochester, who sat in a chair across my chamber\r
+threshold.\r
+\r
+"You come out at last," he said. "Well, I have been waiting for you\r
+long, and listening: yet not one movement have I heard, nor one sob: five\r
+minutes more of that death-like hush, and I should have forced the lock\r
+like a burglar. So you shun me?--you shut yourself up and grieve alone!\r
+I would rather you had come and upbraided me with vehemence. You are\r
+passionate. I expected a scene of some kind. I was prepared for the hot\r
+rain of tears; only I wanted them to be shed on my breast: now a\r
+senseless floor has received them, or your drenched handkerchief. But I\r
+err: you have not wept at all! I see a white cheek and a faded eye, but\r
+no trace of tears. I suppose, then, your heart has been weeping blood?"\r
+\r
+"Well, Jane! not a word of reproach? Nothing bitter--nothing poignant?\r
+Nothing to cut a feeling or sting a passion? You sit quietly where I\r
+have placed you, and regard me with a weary, passive look."\r
+\r
+"Jane, I never meant to wound you thus. If the man who had but one\r
+little ewe lamb that was dear to him as a daughter, that ate of his bread\r
+and drank of his cup, and lay in his bosom, had by some mistake\r
+slaughtered it at the shambles, he would not have rued his bloody blunder\r
+more than I now rue mine. Will you ever forgive me?"\r
+\r
+Reader, I forgave him at the moment and on the spot. There was such deep\r
+remorse in his eye, such true pity in his tone, such manly energy in his\r
+manner; and besides, there was such unchanged love in his whole look and\r
+mien--I forgave him all: yet not in words, not outwardly; only at my\r
+heart's core.\r
+\r
+"You know I am a scoundrel, Jane?" ere long he inquired\r
+wistfully--wondering, I suppose, at my continued silence and tameness,\r
+the result rather of weakness than of will.\r
+\r
+"Yes, sir."\r
+\r
+"Then tell me so roundly and sharply--don't spare me."\r
+\r
+"I cannot: I am tired and sick. I want some water." He heaved a sort of\r
+shuddering sigh, and taking me in his arms, carried me downstairs. At\r
+first I did not know to what room he had borne me; all was cloudy to my\r
+glazed sight: presently I felt the reviving warmth of a fire; for, summer\r
+as it was, I had become icy cold in my chamber. He put wine to my lips;\r
+I tasted it and revived; then I ate something he offered me, and was soon\r
+myself. I was in the library--sitting in his chair--he was quite near.\r
+"If I could go out of life now, without too sharp a pang, it would be\r
+well for me," I thought; "then I should not have to make the effort of\r
+cracking my heart-strings in rending them from among Mr. Rochester's. I\r
+must leave him, it appears. I do not want to leave him--I cannot leave\r
+him."\r
+\r
+"How are you now, Jane?"\r
+\r
+"Much better, sir; I shall be well soon."\r
+\r
+"Taste the wine again, Jane."\r
+\r
+I obeyed him; then he put the glass on the table, stood before me, and\r
+looked at me attentively. Suddenly he turned away, with an inarticulate\r
+exclamation, full of passionate emotion of some kind; he walked fast\r
+through the room and came back; he stooped towards me as if to kiss me;\r
+but I remembered caresses were now forbidden. I turned my face away and\r
+put his aside.\r
+\r
+"What!--How is this?" he exclaimed hastily. "Oh, I know! you won't kiss\r
+the husband of Bertha Mason? You consider my arms filled and my embraces\r
+appropriated?"\r
+\r
+"At any rate, there is neither room nor claim for me, sir."\r
+\r
+"Why, Jane? I will spare you the trouble of much talking; I will answer\r
+for you--Because I have a wife already, you would reply.--I guess\r
+rightly?"\r
+\r
+"Yes."\r
+\r
+"If you think so, you must have a strange opinion of me; you must regard\r
+me as a plotting profligate--a base and low rake who has been simulating\r
+disinterested love in order to draw you into a snare deliberately laid,\r
+and strip you of honour and rob you of self-respect. What do you say to\r
+that? I see you can say nothing in the first place, you are faint still,\r
+and have enough to do to draw your breath; in the second place, you\r
+cannot yet accustom yourself to accuse and revile me, and besides, the\r
+flood-gates of tears are opened, and they would rush out if you spoke\r
+much; and you have no desire to expostulate, to upbraid, to make a scene:\r
+you are thinking how _to act_--_talking_ you consider is of no use. I\r
+know you--I am on my guard."\r
+\r
+"Sir, I do not wish to act against you," I said; and my unsteady voice\r
+warned me to curtail my sentence.\r
+\r
+"Not in your sense of the word, but in mine you are scheming to destroy\r
+me. You have as good as said that I am a married man--as a married man\r
+you will shun me, keep out of my way: just now you have refused to kiss\r
+me. You intend to make yourself a complete stranger to me: to live under\r
+this roof only as Adele's governess; if ever I say a friendly word to\r
+you, if ever a friendly feeling inclines you again to me, you will\r
+say,--'That man had nearly made me his mistress: I must be ice and rock\r
+to him;' and ice and rock you will accordingly become."\r
+\r
+I cleared and steadied my voice to reply: "All is changed about me, sir;\r
+I must change too--there is no doubt of that; and to avoid fluctuations\r
+of feeling, and continual combats with recollections and associations,\r
+there is only one way--Adele must have a new governess, sir."\r
+\r
+"Oh, Adele will go to school--I have settled that already; nor do I mean\r
+to torment you with the hideous associations and recollections of\r
+Thornfield Hall--this accursed place--this tent of Achan--this insolent\r
+vault, offering the ghastliness of living death to the light of the open\r
+sky--this narrow stone hell, with its one real fiend, worse than a legion\r
+of such as we imagine. Jane, you shall not stay here, nor will I. I was\r
+wrong ever to bring you to Thornfield Hall, knowing as I did how it was\r
+haunted. I charged them to conceal from you, before I ever saw you, all\r
+knowledge of the curse of the place; merely because I feared Adele never\r
+would have a governess to stay if she knew with what inmate she was\r
+housed, and my plans would not permit me to remove the maniac\r
+elsewhere--though I possess an old house, Ferndean Manor, even more\r
+retired and hidden than this, where I could have lodged her safely\r
+enough, had not a scruple about the unhealthiness of the situation, in\r
+the heart of a wood, made my conscience recoil from the arrangement.\r
+Probably those damp walls would soon have eased me of her charge: but to\r
+each villain his own vice; and mine is not a tendency to indirect\r
+assassination, even of what I most hate.\r
+\r
+"Concealing the mad-woman's neighbourhood from you, however, was\r
+something like covering a child with a cloak and laying it down near a\r
+upas-tree: that demon's vicinage is poisoned, and always was. But I'll\r
+shut up Thornfield Hall: I'll nail up the front door and board the lower\r
+windows: I'll give Mrs. Poole two hundred a year to live here with _my\r
+wife_, as you term that fearful hag: Grace will do much for money, and\r
+she shall have her son, the keeper at Grimsby Retreat, to bear her\r
+company and be at hand to give her aid in the paroxysms, when _my wife_\r
+is prompted by her familiar to burn people in their beds at night, to\r
+stab them, to bite their flesh from their bones, and so on--"\r
+\r
+"Sir," I interrupted him, "you are inexorable for that unfortunate lady:\r
+you speak of her with hate--with vindictive antipathy. It is cruel--she\r
+cannot help being mad."\r
+\r
+"Jane, my little darling (so I will call you, for so you are), you don't\r
+know what you are talking about; you misjudge me again: it is not because\r
+she is mad I hate her. If you were mad, do you think I should hate you?"\r
+\r
+"I do indeed, sir."\r
+\r
+"Then you are mistaken, and you know nothing about me, and nothing about\r
+the sort of love of which I am capable. Every atom of your flesh is as\r
+dear to me as my own: in pain and sickness it would still be dear. Your\r
+mind is my treasure, and if it were broken, it would be my treasure\r
+still: if you raved, my arms should confine you, and not a strait\r
+waistcoat--your grasp, even in fury, would have a charm for me: if you\r
+flew at me as wildly as that woman did this morning, I should receive you\r
+in an embrace, at least as fond as it would be restrictive. I should not\r
+shrink from you with disgust as I did from her: in your quiet moments you\r
+should have no watcher and no nurse but me; and I could hang over you\r
+with untiring tenderness, though you gave me no smile in return; and\r
+never weary of gazing into your eyes, though they had no longer a ray of\r
+recognition for me.--But why do I follow that train of ideas? I was\r
+talking of removing you from Thornfield. All, you know, is prepared for\r
+prompt departure: to-morrow you shall go. I only ask you to endure one\r
+more night under this roof, Jane; and then, farewell to its miseries and\r
+terrors for ever! I have a place to repair to, which will be a secure\r
+sanctuary from hateful reminiscences, from unwelcome intrusion--even from\r
+falsehood and slander."\r
+\r
+"And take Adele with you, sir," I interrupted; "she will be a companion\r
+for you."\r
+\r
+"What do you mean, Jane? I told you I would send Adele to school; and\r
+what do I want with a child for a companion, and not my own child,--a\r
+French dancer's bastard? Why do you importune me about her! I say, why\r
+do you assign Adele to me for a companion?"\r
+\r
+"You spoke of a retirement, sir; and retirement and solitude are dull:\r
+too dull for you."\r
+\r
+"Solitude! solitude!" he reiterated with irritation. "I see I must come\r
+to an explanation. I don't know what sphynx-like expression is forming\r
+in your countenance. You are to share my solitude. Do you understand?"\r
+\r
+I shook my head: it required a degree of courage, excited as he was\r
+becoming, even to risk that mute sign of dissent. He had been walking\r
+fast about the room, and he stopped, as if suddenly rooted to one spot.\r
+He looked at me long and hard: I turned my eyes from him, fixed them on\r
+the fire, and tried to assume and maintain a quiet, collected aspect.\r
+\r
+"Now for the hitch in Jane's character," he said at last, speaking more\r
+calmly than from his look I had expected him to speak. "The reel of silk\r
+has run smoothly enough so far; but I always knew there would come a knot\r
+and a puzzle: here it is. Now for vexation, and exasperation, and\r
+endless trouble! By God! I long to exert a fraction of Samson's\r
+strength, and break the entanglement like tow!"\r
+\r
+He recommenced his walk, but soon again stopped, and this time just\r
+before me.\r
+\r
+"Jane! will you hear reason?" (he stooped and approached his lips to my\r
+ear); "because, if you won't, I'll try violence." His voice was hoarse;\r
+his look that of a man who is just about to burst an insufferable bond\r
+and plunge headlong into wild license. I saw that in another moment, and\r
+with one impetus of frenzy more, I should be able to do nothing with him.\r
+The present--the passing second of time--was all I had in which to\r
+control and restrain him--a movement of repulsion, flight, fear would\r
+have sealed my doom,--and his. But I was not afraid: not in the least. I\r
+felt an inward power; a sense of influence, which supported me. The\r
+crisis was perilous; but not without its charm: such as the Indian,\r
+perhaps, feels when he slips over the rapid in his canoe. I took hold of\r
+his clenched hand, loosened the contorted fingers, and said to him,\r
+soothingly--\r
+\r
+"Sit down; I'll talk to you as long as you like, and hear all you have to\r
+say, whether reasonable or unreasonable."\r
+\r
+He sat down: but he did not get leave to speak directly. I had been\r
+struggling with tears for some time: I had taken great pains to repress\r
+them, because I knew he would not like to see me weep. Now, however, I\r
+considered it well to let them flow as freely and as long as they liked.\r
+If the flood annoyed him, so much the better. So I gave way and cried\r
+heartily.\r
+\r
+Soon I heard him earnestly entreating me to be composed. I said I could\r
+not while he was in such a passion.\r
+\r
+"But I am not angry, Jane: I only love you too well; and you had steeled\r
+your little pale face with such a resolute, frozen look, I could not\r
+endure it. Hush, now, and wipe your eyes."\r
+\r
+His softened voice announced that he was subdued; so I, in my turn,\r
+became calm. Now he made an effort to rest his head on my shoulder, but\r
+I would not permit it. Then he would draw me to him: no.\r
+\r
+"Jane! Jane!" he said, in such an accent of bitter sadness it thrilled\r
+along every nerve I had; "you don't love me, then? It was only my\r
+station, and the rank of my wife, that you valued? Now that you think me\r
+disqualified to become your husband, you recoil from my touch as if I\r
+were some toad or ape."\r
+\r
+These words cut me: yet what could I do or I say? I ought probably to\r
+have done or said nothing; but I was so tortured by a sense of remorse at\r
+thus hurting his feelings, I could not control the wish to drop balm\r
+where I had wounded.\r
+\r
+"I _do_ love you," I said, "more than ever: but I must not show or\r
+indulge the feeling: and this is the last time I must express it."\r
+\r
+"The last time, Jane! What! do you think you can live with me, and see\r
+me daily, and yet, if you still love me, be always cold and distant?"\r
+\r
+"No, sir; that I am certain I could not; and therefore I see there is but\r
+one way: but you will be furious if I mention it."\r
+\r
+"Oh, mention it! If I storm, you have the art of weeping."\r
+\r
+"Mr. Rochester, I must leave you."\r
+\r
+"For how long, Jane? For a few minutes, while you smooth your hair--which\r
+is somewhat dishevelled; and bathe your face--which looks feverish?"\r
+\r
+"I must leave Adele and Thornfield. I must part with you for my whole\r
+life: I must begin a new existence among strange faces and strange\r
+scenes."\r
+\r
+"Of course: I told you you should. I pass over the madness about parting\r
+from me. You mean you must become a part of me. As to the new\r
+existence, it is all right: you shall yet be my wife: I am not married.\r
+You shall be Mrs. Rochester--both virtually and nominally. I shall keep\r
+only to you so long as you and I live. You shall go to a place I have in\r
+the south of France: a whitewashed villa on the shores of the\r
+Mediterranean. There you shall live a happy, and guarded, and most\r
+innocent life. Never fear that I wish to lure you into error--to make\r
+you my mistress. Why did you shake your head? Jane, you must be\r
+reasonable, or in truth I shall again become frantic."\r
+\r
+His voice and hand quivered: his large nostrils dilated; his eye blazed:\r
+still I dared to speak.\r
+\r
+"Sir, your wife is living: that is a fact acknowledged this morning by\r
+yourself. If I lived with you as you desire, I should then be your\r
+mistress: to say otherwise is sophistical--is false."\r
+\r
+"Jane, I am not a gentle-tempered man--you forget that: I am not long-\r
+enduring; I am not cool and dispassionate. Out of pity to me and\r
+yourself, put your finger on my pulse, feel how it throbs, and--beware!"\r
+\r
+He bared his wrist, and offered it to me: the blood was forsaking his\r
+cheek and lips, they were growing livid; I was distressed on all hands.\r
+To agitate him thus deeply, by a resistance he so abhorred, was cruel: to\r
+yield was out of the question. I did what human beings do instinctively\r
+when they are driven to utter extremity--looked for aid to one higher\r
+than man: the words "God help me!" burst involuntarily from my lips.\r
+\r
+"I am a fool!" cried Mr. Rochester suddenly. "I keep telling her I am\r
+not married, and do not explain to her why. I forget she knows nothing\r
+of the character of that woman, or of the circumstances attending my\r
+infernal union with her. Oh, I am certain Jane will agree with me in\r
+opinion, when she knows all that I know! Just put your hand in mine,\r
+Janet--that I may have the evidence of touch as well as sight, to prove\r
+you are near me--and I will in a few words show you the real state of the\r
+case. Can you listen to me?"\r
+\r
+"Yes, sir; for hours if you will."\r
+\r
+"I ask only minutes. Jane, did you ever hear or know that I was not the\r
+eldest son of my house: that I had once a brother older than I?"\r
+\r
+"I remember Mrs. Fairfax told me so once."\r
+\r
+"And did you ever hear that my father was an avaricious, grasping man?"\r
+\r
+"I have understood something to that effect."\r
+\r
+"Well, Jane, being so, it was his resolution to keep the property\r
+together; he could not bear the idea of dividing his estate and leaving\r
+me a fair portion: all, he resolved, should go to my brother, Rowland.\r
+Yet as little could he endure that a son of his should be a poor man. I\r
+must be provided for by a wealthy marriage. He sought me a partner\r
+betimes. Mr. Mason, a West India planter and merchant, was his old\r
+acquaintance. He was certain his possessions were real and vast: he made\r
+inquiries. Mr. Mason, he found, had a son and daughter; and he learned\r
+from him that he could and would give the latter a fortune of thirty\r
+thousand pounds: that sufficed. When I left college, I was sent out to\r
+Jamaica, to espouse a bride already courted for me. My father said\r
+nothing about her money; but he told me Miss Mason was the boast of\r
+Spanish Town for her beauty: and this was no lie. I found her a fine\r
+woman, in the style of Blanche Ingram: tall, dark, and majestic. Her\r
+family wished to secure me because I was of a good race; and so did she.\r
+They showed her to me in parties, splendidly dressed. I seldom saw her\r
+alone, and had very little private conversation with her. She flattered\r
+me, and lavishly displayed for my pleasure her charms and\r
+accomplishments. All the men in her circle seemed to admire her and envy\r
+me. I was dazzled, stimulated: my senses were excited; and being\r
+ignorant, raw, and inexperienced, I thought I loved her. There is no\r
+folly so besotted that the idiotic rivalries of society, the prurience,\r
+the rashness, the blindness of youth, will not hurry a man to its\r
+commission. Her relatives encouraged me; competitors piqued me; she\r
+allured me: a marriage was achieved almost before I knew where I was. Oh,\r
+I have no respect for myself when I think of that act!--an agony of\r
+inward contempt masters me. I never loved, I never esteemed, I did not\r
+even know her. I was not sure of the existence of one virtue in her\r
+nature: I had marked neither modesty, nor benevolence, nor candour, nor\r
+refinement in her mind or manners--and, I married her:--gross,\r
+grovelling, mole-eyed blockhead that I was! With less sin I might\r
+have--But let me remember to whom I am speaking."\r
+\r
+"My bride's mother I had never seen: I understood she was dead. The\r
+honeymoon over, I learned my mistake; she was only mad, and shut up in a\r
+lunatic asylum. There was a younger brother, too--a complete dumb idiot.\r
+The elder one, whom you have seen (and whom I cannot hate, whilst I abhor\r
+all his kindred, because he has some grains of affection in his feeble\r
+mind, shown in the continued interest he takes in his wretched sister,\r
+and also in a dog-like attachment he once bore me), will probably be in\r
+the same state one day. My father and my brother Rowland knew all this;\r
+but they thought only of the thirty thousand pounds, and joined in the\r
+plot against me."\r
+\r
+"These were vile discoveries; but except for the treachery of\r
+concealment, I should have made them no subject of reproach to my wife,\r
+even when I found her nature wholly alien to mine, her tastes obnoxious\r
+to me, her cast of mind common, low, narrow, and singularly incapable of\r
+being led to anything higher, expanded to anything larger--when I found\r
+that I could not pass a single evening, nor even a single hour of the day\r
+with her in comfort; that kindly conversation could not be sustained\r
+between us, because whatever topic I started, immediately received from\r
+her a turn at once coarse and trite, perverse and imbecile--when I\r
+perceived that I should never have a quiet or settled household, because\r
+no servant would bear the continued outbreaks of her violent and\r
+unreasonable temper, or the vexations of her absurd, contradictory,\r
+exacting orders--even then I restrained myself: I eschewed upbraiding, I\r
+curtailed remonstrance; I tried to devour my repentance and disgust in\r
+secret; I repressed the deep antipathy I felt.\r
+\r
+"Jane, I will not trouble you with abominable details: some strong words\r
+shall express what I have to say. I lived with that woman upstairs four\r
+years, and before that time she had tried me indeed: her character\r
+ripened and developed with frightful rapidity; her vices sprang up fast\r
+and rank: they were so strong, only cruelty could check them, and I would\r
+not use cruelty. What a pigmy intellect she had, and what giant\r
+propensities! How fearful were the curses those propensities entailed on\r
+me! Bertha Mason, the true daughter of an infamous mother, dragged me\r
+through all the hideous and degrading agonies which must attend a man\r
+bound to a wife at once intemperate and unchaste.\r
+\r
+"My brother in the interval was dead, and at the end of the four years my\r
+father died too. I was rich enough now--yet poor to hideous indigence: a\r
+nature the most gross, impure, depraved I ever saw, was associated with\r
+mine, and called by the law and by society a part of me. And I could not\r
+rid myself of it by any legal proceedings: for the doctors now discovered\r
+that _my wife_ was mad--her excesses had prematurely developed the germs\r
+of insanity. Jane, you don't like my narrative; you look almost\r
+sick--shall I defer the rest to another day?"\r
+\r
+"No, sir, finish it now; I pity you--I do earnestly pity you."\r
+\r
+"Pity, Jane, from some people is a noxious and insulting sort of tribute,\r
+which one is justified in hurling back in the teeth of those who offer\r
+it; but that is the sort of pity native to callous, selfish hearts; it is\r
+a hybrid, egotistical pain at hearing of woes, crossed with ignorant\r
+contempt for those who have endured them. But that is not your pity,\r
+Jane; it is not the feeling of which your whole face is full at this\r
+moment--with which your eyes are now almost overflowing--with which your\r
+heart is heaving--with which your hand is trembling in mine. Your pity,\r
+my darling, is the suffering mother of love: its anguish is the very\r
+natal pang of the divine passion. I accept it, Jane; let the daughter\r
+have free advent--my arms wait to receive her."\r
+\r
+"Now, sir, proceed; what did you do when you found she was mad?"\r
+\r
+"Jane, I approached the verge of despair; a remnant of self-respect was\r
+all that intervened between me and the gulf. In the eyes of the world, I\r
+was doubtless covered with grimy dishonour; but I resolved to be clean in\r
+my own sight--and to the last I repudiated the contamination of her\r
+crimes, and wrenched myself from connection with her mental defects.\r
+Still, society associated my name and person with hers; I yet saw her and\r
+heard her daily: something of her breath (faugh!) mixed with the air I\r
+breathed; and besides, I remembered I had once been her husband--that\r
+recollection was then, and is now, inexpressibly odious to me; moreover,\r
+I knew that while she lived I could never be the husband of another and\r
+better wife; and, though five years my senior (her family and her father\r
+had lied to me even in the particular of her age), she was likely to live\r
+as long as I, being as robust in frame as she was infirm in mind. Thus,\r
+at the age of twenty-six, I was hopeless.\r
+\r
+"One night I had been awakened by her yells--(since the medical men had\r
+pronounced her mad, she had, of course, been shut up)--it was a fiery\r
+West Indian night; one of the description that frequently precede the\r
+hurricanes of those climates. Being unable to sleep in bed, I got up and\r
+opened the window. The air was like sulphur-steams--I could find no\r
+refreshment anywhere. Mosquitoes came buzzing in and hummed sullenly\r
+round the room; the sea, which I could hear from thence, rumbled dull\r
+like an earthquake--black clouds were casting up over it; the moon was\r
+setting in the waves, broad and red, like a hot cannon-ball--she threw\r
+her last bloody glance over a world quivering with the ferment of\r
+tempest. I was physically influenced by the atmosphere and scene, and my\r
+ears were filled with the curses the maniac still shrieked out; wherein\r
+she momentarily mingled my name with such a tone of demon-hate, with such\r
+language!--no professed harlot ever had a fouler vocabulary than she:\r
+though two rooms off, I heard every word--the thin partitions of the West\r
+India house opposing but slight obstruction to her wolfish cries.\r
+\r
+"'This life,' said I at last, 'is hell: this is the air--those are the\r
+sounds of the bottomless pit! I have a right to deliver myself from it\r
+if I can. The sufferings of this mortal state will leave me with the\r
+heavy flesh that now cumbers my soul. Of the fanatic's burning eternity\r
+I have no fear: there is not a future state worse than this present\r
+one--let me break away, and go home to God!'\r
+\r
+"I said this whilst I knelt down at, and unlocked a trunk which contained\r
+a brace of loaded pistols: I mean to shoot myself. I only entertained\r
+the intention for a moment; for, not being insane, the crisis of\r
+exquisite and unalloyed despair, which had originated the wish and design\r
+of self-destruction, was past in a second.\r
+\r
+"A wind fresh from Europe blew over the ocean and rushed through the open\r
+casement: the storm broke, streamed, thundered, blazed, and the air grew\r
+pure. I then framed and fixed a resolution. While I walked under the\r
+dripping orange-trees of my wet garden, and amongst its drenched\r
+pomegranates and pine-apples, and while the refulgent dawn of the tropics\r
+kindled round me--I reasoned thus, Jane--and now listen; for it was true\r
+Wisdom that consoled me in that hour, and showed me the right path to\r
+follow.\r
+\r
+"The sweet wind from Europe was still whispering in the refreshed leaves,\r
+and the Atlantic was thundering in glorious liberty; my heart, dried up\r
+and scorched for a long time, swelled to the tone, and filled with living\r
+blood--my being longed for renewal--my soul thirsted for a pure draught.\r
+I saw hope revive--and felt regeneration possible. From a flowery arch\r
+at the bottom of my garden I gazed over the sea--bluer than the sky: the\r
+old world was beyond; clear prospects opened thus:--\r
+\r
+"'Go,' said Hope, 'and live again in Europe: there it is not known what a\r
+sullied name you bear, nor what a filthy burden is bound to you. You may\r
+take the maniac with you to England; confine her with due attendance and\r
+precautions at Thornfield: then travel yourself to what clime you will,\r
+and form what new tie you like. That woman, who has so abused your long-\r
+suffering, so sullied your name, so outraged your honour, so blighted\r
+your youth, is not your wife, nor are you her husband. See that she is\r
+cared for as her condition demands, and you have done all that God and\r
+humanity require of you. Let her identity, her connection with yourself,\r
+be buried in oblivion: you are bound to impart them to no living being.\r
+Place her in safety and comfort: shelter her degradation with secrecy,\r
+and leave her.'\r
+\r
+"I acted precisely on this suggestion. My father and brother had not\r
+made my marriage known to their acquaintance; because, in the very first\r
+letter I wrote to apprise them of the union--having already begun to\r
+experience extreme disgust of its consequences, and, from the family\r
+character and constitution, seeing a hideous future opening to me--I\r
+added an urgent charge to keep it secret: and very soon the infamous\r
+conduct of the wife my father had selected for me was such as to make him\r
+blush to own her as his daughter-in-law. Far from desiring to publish\r
+the connection, he became as anxious to conceal it as myself.\r
+\r
+"To England, then, I conveyed her; a fearful voyage I had with such a\r
+monster in the vessel. Glad was I when I at last got her to Thornfield,\r
+and saw her safely lodged in that third-storey room, of whose secret\r
+inner cabinet she has now for ten years made a wild beast's den--a\r
+goblin's cell. I had some trouble in finding an attendant for her, as it\r
+was necessary to select one on whose fidelity dependence could be placed;\r
+for her ravings would inevitably betray my secret: besides, she had lucid\r
+intervals of days--sometimes weeks--which she filled up with abuse of me.\r
+At last I hired Grace Poole from the Grimbsy Retreat. She and the\r
+surgeon, Carter (who dressed Mason's wounds that night he was stabbed and\r
+worried), are the only two I have ever admitted to my confidence. Mrs.\r
+Fairfax may indeed have suspected something, but she could have gained no\r
+precise knowledge as to facts. Grace has, on the whole, proved a good\r
+keeper; though, owing partly to a fault of her own, of which it appears\r
+nothing can cure her, and which is incident to her harassing profession,\r
+her vigilance has been more than once lulled and baffled. The lunatic is\r
+both cunning and malignant; she has never failed to take advantage of her\r
+guardian's temporary lapses; once to secrete the knife with which she\r
+stabbed her brother, and twice to possess herself of the key of her cell,\r
+and issue therefrom in the night-time. On the first of these occasions,\r
+she perpetrated the attempt to burn me in my bed; on the second, she paid\r
+that ghastly visit to you. I thank Providence, who watched over you,\r
+that she then spent her fury on your wedding apparel, which perhaps\r
+brought back vague reminiscences of her own bridal days: but on what\r
+might have happened, I cannot endure to reflect. When I think of the\r
+thing which flew at my throat this morning, hanging its black and scarlet\r
+visage over the nest of my dove, my blood curdles--"\r
+\r
+"And what, sir," I asked, while he paused, "did you do when you had\r
+settled her here? Where did you go?"\r
+\r
+"What did I do, Jane? I transformed myself into a will-o'-the-wisp.\r
+Where did I go? I pursued wanderings as wild as those of the\r
+March-spirit. I sought the Continent, and went devious through all its\r
+lands. My fixed desire was to seek and find a good and intelligent\r
+woman, whom I could love: a contrast to the fury I left at Thornfield--"\r
+\r
+"But you could not marry, sir."\r
+\r
+"I had determined and was convinced that I could and ought. It was not\r
+my original intention to deceive, as I have deceived you. I meant to\r
+tell my tale plainly, and make my proposals openly: and it appeared to me\r
+so absolutely rational that I should be considered free to love and be\r
+loved, I never doubted some woman might be found willing and able to\r
+understand my case and accept me, in spite of the curse with which I was\r
+burdened."\r
+\r
+"Well, sir?"\r
+\r
+"When you are inquisitive, Jane, you always make me smile. You open your\r
+eyes like an eager bird, and make every now and then a restless movement,\r
+as if answers in speech did not flow fast enough for you, and you wanted\r
+to read the tablet of one's heart. But before I go on, tell me what you\r
+mean by your 'Well, sir?' It is a small phrase very frequent with you;\r
+and which many a time has drawn me on and on through interminable talk: I\r
+don't very well know why."\r
+\r
+"I mean,--What next? How did you proceed? What came of such an event?"\r
+\r
+"Precisely! and what do you wish to know now?"\r
+\r
+"Whether you found any one you liked: whether you asked her to marry you;\r
+and what she said."\r
+\r
+"I can tell you whether I found any one I liked, and whether I asked her\r
+to marry me: but what she said is yet to be recorded in the book of Fate.\r
+For ten long years I roved about, living first in one capital, then\r
+another: sometimes in St. Petersburg; oftener in Paris; occasionally in\r
+Rome, Naples, and Florence. Provided with plenty of money and the\r
+passport of an old name, I could choose my own society: no circles were\r
+closed against me. I sought my ideal of a woman amongst English ladies,\r
+French countesses, Italian signoras, and German grafinnen. I could not\r
+find her. Sometimes, for a fleeting moment, I thought I caught a glance,\r
+heard a tone, beheld a form, which announced the realisation of my dream:\r
+but I was presently undeserved. You are not to suppose that I desired\r
+perfection, either of mind or person. I longed only for what suited\r
+me--for the antipodes of the Creole: and I longed vainly. Amongst them\r
+all I found not one whom, had I been ever so free, I--warned as I was of\r
+the risks, the horrors, the loathings of incongruous unions--would have\r
+asked to marry me. Disappointment made me reckless. I tried\r
+dissipation--never debauchery: that I hated, and hate. That was my\r
+Indian Messalina's attribute: rooted disgust at it and her restrained me\r
+much, even in pleasure. Any enjoyment that bordered on riot seemed to\r
+approach me to her and her vices, and I eschewed it.\r
+\r
+"Yet I could not live alone; so I tried the companionship of mistresses.\r
+The first I chose was Celine Varens--another of those steps which make a\r
+man spurn himself when he recalls them. You already know what she was,\r
+and how my liaison with her terminated. She had two successors: an\r
+Italian, Giacinta, and a German, Clara; both considered singularly\r
+handsome. What was their beauty to me in a few weeks? Giacinta was\r
+unprincipled and violent: I tired of her in three months. Clara was\r
+honest and quiet; but heavy, mindless, and unimpressible: not one whit to\r
+my taste. I was glad to give her a sufficient sum to set her up in a\r
+good line of business, and so get decently rid of her. But, Jane, I see\r
+by your face you are not forming a very favourable opinion of me just\r
+now. You think me an unfeeling, loose-principled rake: don't you?"\r
+\r
+"I don't like you so well as I have done sometimes, indeed, sir. Did it\r
+not seem to you in the least wrong to live in that way, first with one\r
+mistress and then another? You talk of it as a mere matter of course."\r
+\r
+"It was with me; and I did not like it. It was a grovelling fashion of\r
+existence: I should never like to return to it. Hiring a mistress is the\r
+next worse thing to buying a slave: both are often by nature, and always\r
+by position, inferior: and to live familiarly with inferiors is\r
+degrading. I now hate the recollection of the time I passed with Celine,\r
+Giacinta, and Clara."\r
+\r
+I felt the truth of these words; and I drew from them the certain\r
+inference, that if I were so far to forget myself and all the teaching\r
+that had ever been instilled into me, as--under any pretext--with any\r
+justification--through any temptation--to become the successor of these\r
+poor girls, he would one day regard me with the same feeling which now in\r
+his mind desecrated their memory. I did not give utterance to this\r
+conviction: it was enough to feel it. I impressed it on my heart, that\r
+it might remain there to serve me as aid in the time of trial.\r
+\r
+"Now, Jane, why don't you say 'Well, sir?' I have not done. You are\r
+looking grave. You disapprove of me still, I see. But let me come to\r
+the point. Last January, rid of all mistresses--in a harsh, bitter frame\r
+of mind, the result of a useless, roving, lonely life--corroded with\r
+disappointment, sourly disposed against all men, and especially against\r
+all womankind (for I began to regard the notion of an intellectual,\r
+faithful, loving woman as a mere dream), recalled by business, I came\r
+back to England.\r
+\r
+"On a frosty winter afternoon, I rode in sight of Thornfield Hall.\r
+Abhorred spot! I expected no peace--no pleasure there. On a stile in\r
+Hay Lane I saw a quiet little figure sitting by itself. I passed it as\r
+negligently as I did the pollard willow opposite to it: I had no\r
+presentiment of what it would be to me; no inward warning that the\r
+arbitress of my life--my genius for good or evil--waited there in humble\r
+guise. I did not know it, even when, on the occasion of Mesrour's\r
+accident, it came up and gravely offered me help. Childish and slender\r
+creature! It seemed as if a linnet had hopped to my foot and proposed to\r
+bear me on its tiny wing. I was surly; but the thing would not go: it\r
+stood by me with strange perseverance, and looked and spoke with a sort\r
+of authority. I must be aided, and by that hand: and aided I was.\r
+\r
+"When once I had pressed the frail shoulder, something new--a fresh sap\r
+and sense--stole into my frame. It was well I had learnt that this elf\r
+must return to me--that it belonged to my house down below--or I could\r
+not have felt it pass away from under my hand, and seen it vanish behind\r
+the dim hedge, without singular regret. I heard you come home that\r
+night, Jane, though probably you were not aware that I thought of you or\r
+watched for you. The next day I observed you--myself unseen--for half-an-\r
+hour, while you played with Adele in the gallery. It was a snowy day, I\r
+recollect, and you could not go out of doors. I was in my room; the door\r
+was ajar: I could both listen and watch. Adele claimed your outward\r
+attention for a while; yet I fancied your thoughts were elsewhere: but\r
+you were very patient with her, my little Jane; you talked to her and\r
+amused her a long time. When at last she left you, you lapsed at once\r
+into deep reverie: you betook yourself slowly to pace the gallery. Now\r
+and then, in passing a casement, you glanced out at the thick-falling\r
+snow; you listened to the sobbing wind, and again you paced gently on and\r
+dreamed. I think those day visions were not dark: there was a\r
+pleasurable illumination in your eye occasionally, a soft excitement in\r
+your aspect, which told of no bitter, bilious, hypochondriac brooding:\r
+your look revealed rather the sweet musings of youth when its spirit\r
+follows on willing wings the flight of Hope up and on to an ideal heaven.\r
+The voice of Mrs. Fairfax, speaking to a servant in the hall, wakened\r
+you: and how curiously you smiled to and at yourself, Janet! There was\r
+much sense in your smile: it was very shrewd, and seemed to make light of\r
+your own abstraction. It seemed to say--'My fine visions are all very\r
+well, but I must not forget they are absolutely unreal. I have a rosy\r
+sky and a green flowery Eden in my brain; but without, I am perfectly\r
+aware, lies at my feet a rough tract to travel, and around me gather\r
+black tempests to encounter.' You ran downstairs and demanded of Mrs.\r
+Fairfax some occupation: the weekly house accounts to make up, or\r
+something of that sort, I think it was. I was vexed with you for getting\r
+out of my sight.\r
+\r
+"Impatiently I waited for evening, when I might summon you to my\r
+presence. An unusual--to me--a perfectly new character I suspected was\r
+yours: I desired to search it deeper and know it better. You entered the\r
+room with a look and air at once shy and independent: you were quaintly\r
+dressed--much as you are now. I made you talk: ere long I found you full\r
+of strange contrasts. Your garb and manner were restricted by rule; your\r
+air was often diffident, and altogether that of one refined by nature,\r
+but absolutely unused to society, and a good deal afraid of making\r
+herself disadvantageously conspicuous by some solecism or blunder; yet\r
+when addressed, you lifted a keen, a daring, and a glowing eye to your\r
+interlocutor's face: there was penetration and power in each glance you\r
+gave; when plied by close questions, you found ready and round answers.\r
+Very soon you seemed to get used to me: I believe you felt the existence\r
+of sympathy between you and your grim and cross master, Jane; for it was\r
+astonishing to see how quickly a certain pleasant ease tranquillised your\r
+manner: snarl as I would, you showed no surprise, fear, annoyance, or\r
+displeasure at my moroseness; you watched me, and now and then smiled at\r
+me with a simple yet sagacious grace I cannot describe. I was at once\r
+content and stimulated with what I saw: I liked what I had seen, and\r
+wished to see more. Yet, for a long time, I treated you distantly, and\r
+sought your company rarely. I was an intellectual epicure, and wished to\r
+prolong the gratification of making this novel and piquant acquaintance:\r
+besides, I was for a while troubled with a haunting fear that if I\r
+handled the flower freely its bloom would fade--the sweet charm of\r
+freshness would leave it. I did not then know that it was no transitory\r
+blossom, but rather the radiant resemblance of one, cut in an\r
+indestructible gem. Moreover, I wished to see whether you would seek me\r
+if I shunned you--but you did not; you kept in the schoolroom as still as\r
+your own desk and easel; if by chance I met you, you passed me as soon,\r
+and with as little token of recognition, as was consistent with respect.\r
+Your habitual expression in those days, Jane, was a thoughtful look; not\r
+despondent, for you were not sickly; but not buoyant, for you had little\r
+hope, and no actual pleasure. I wondered what you thought of me, or if\r
+you ever thought of me, and resolved to find this out.\r
+\r
+"I resumed my notice of you. There was something glad in your glance,\r
+and genial in your manner, when you conversed: I saw you had a social\r
+heart; it was the silent schoolroom--it was the tedium of your life--that\r
+made you mournful. I permitted myself the delight of being kind to you;\r
+kindness stirred emotion soon: your face became soft in expression, your\r
+tones gentle; I liked my name pronounced by your lips in a grateful happy\r
+accent. I used to enjoy a chance meeting with you, Jane, at this time:\r
+there was a curious hesitation in your manner: you glanced at me with a\r
+slight trouble--a hovering doubt: you did not know what my caprice might\r
+be--whether I was going to play the master and be stern, or the friend\r
+and be benignant. I was now too fond of you often to simulate the first\r
+whim; and, when I stretched my hand out cordially, such bloom and light\r
+and bliss rose to your young, wistful features, I had much ado often to\r
+avoid straining you then and there to my heart."\r
+\r
+"Don't talk any more of those days, sir," I interrupted, furtively\r
+dashing away some tears from my eyes; his language was torture to me; for\r
+I knew what I must do--and do soon--and all these reminiscences, and\r
+these revelations of his feelings only made my work more difficult.\r
+\r
+"No, Jane," he returned: "what necessity is there to dwell on the Past,\r
+when the Present is so much surer--the Future so much brighter?"\r
+\r
+I shuddered to hear the infatuated assertion.\r
+\r
+"You see now how the case stands--do you not?" he continued. "After a\r
+youth and manhood passed half in unutterable misery and half in dreary\r
+solitude, I have for the first time found what I can truly love--I have\r
+found you. You are my sympathy--my better self--my good angel. I am\r
+bound to you with a strong attachment. I think you good, gifted, lovely:\r
+a fervent, a solemn passion is conceived in my heart; it leans to you,\r
+draws you to my centre and spring of life, wraps my existence about you,\r
+and, kindling in pure, powerful flame, fuses you and me in one.\r
+\r
+"It was because I felt and knew this, that I resolved to marry you. To\r
+tell me that I had already a wife is empty mockery: you know now that I\r
+had but a hideous demon. I was wrong to attempt to deceive you; but I\r
+feared a stubbornness that exists in your character. I feared early\r
+instilled prejudice: I wanted to have you safe before hazarding\r
+confidences. This was cowardly: I should have appealed to your nobleness\r
+and magnanimity at first, as I do now--opened to you plainly my life of\r
+agony--described to you my hunger and thirst after a higher and worthier\r
+existence--shown to you, not my _resolution_ (that word is weak), but my\r
+resistless _bent_ to love faithfully and well, where I am faithfully and\r
+well loved in return. Then I should have asked you to accept my pledge\r
+of fidelity and to give me yours. Jane--give it me now."\r
+\r
+A pause.\r
+\r
+"Why are you silent, Jane?"\r
+\r
+I was experiencing an ordeal: a hand of fiery iron grasped my vitals.\r
+Terrible moment: full of struggle, blackness, burning! Not a human being\r
+that ever lived could wish to be loved better than I was loved; and him\r
+who thus loved me I absolutely worshipped: and I must renounce love and\r
+idol. One drear word comprised my intolerable duty--"Depart!"\r
+\r
+"Jane, you understand what I want of you? Just this promise--'I will be\r
+yours, Mr. Rochester.'"\r
+\r
+"Mr. Rochester, I will _not_ be yours."\r
+\r
+Another long silence.\r
+\r
+"Jane!" recommenced he, with a gentleness that broke me down with grief,\r
+and turned me stone-cold with ominous terror--for this still voice was\r
+the pant of a lion rising--"Jane, do you mean to go one way in the world,\r
+and to let me go another?"\r
+\r
+"I do."\r
+\r
+"Jane" (bending towards and embracing me), "do you mean it now?"\r
+\r
+"I do."\r
+\r
+"And now?" softly kissing my forehead and cheek.\r
+\r
+"I do," extricating myself from restraint rapidly and completely.\r
+\r
+"Oh, Jane, this is bitter! This--this is wicked. It would not be wicked\r
+to love me."\r
+\r
+"It would to obey you."\r
+\r
+A wild look raised his brows--crossed his features: he rose; but he\r
+forebore yet. I laid my hand on the back of a chair for support: I\r
+shook, I feared--but I resolved.\r
+\r
+"One instant, Jane. Give one glance to my horrible life when you are\r
+gone. All happiness will be torn away with you. What then is left? For\r
+a wife I have but the maniac upstairs: as well might you refer me to some\r
+corpse in yonder churchyard. What shall I do, Jane? Where turn for a\r
+companion and for some hope?"\r
+\r
+"Do as I do: trust in God and yourself. Believe in heaven. Hope to meet\r
+again there."\r
+\r
+"Then you will not yield?"\r
+\r
+"No."\r
+\r
+"Then you condemn me to live wretched and to die accursed?" His voice\r
+rose.\r
+\r
+"I advise you to live sinless, and I wish you to die tranquil."\r
+\r
+"Then you snatch love and innocence from me? You fling me back on lust\r
+for a passion--vice for an occupation?"\r
+\r
+"Mr. Rochester, I no more assign this fate to you than I grasp at it for\r
+myself. We were born to strive and endure--you as well as I: do so. You\r
+will forget me before I forget you."\r
+\r
+"You make me a liar by such language: you sully my honour. I declared I\r
+could not change: you tell me to my face I shall change soon. And what a\r
+distortion in your judgment, what a perversity in your ideas, is proved\r
+by your conduct! Is it better to drive a fellow-creature to despair than\r
+to transgress a mere human law, no man being injured by the breach? for\r
+you have neither relatives nor acquaintances whom you need fear to offend\r
+by living with me?"\r
+\r
+This was true: and while he spoke my very conscience and reason turned\r
+traitors against me, and charged me with crime in resisting him. They\r
+spoke almost as loud as Feeling: and that clamoured wildly. "Oh,\r
+comply!" it said. "Think of his misery; think of his danger--look at his\r
+state when left alone; remember his headlong nature; consider the\r
+recklessness following on despair--soothe him; save him; love him; tell\r
+him you love him and will be his. Who in the world cares for _you_? or\r
+who will be injured by what you do?"\r
+\r
+Still indomitable was the reply--"_I_ care for myself. The more\r
+solitary, the more friendless, the more unsustained I am, the more I will\r
+respect myself. I will keep the law given by God; sanctioned by man. I\r
+will hold to the principles received by me when I was sane, and not\r
+mad--as I am now. Laws and principles are not for the times when there\r
+is no temptation: they are for such moments as this, when body and soul\r
+rise in mutiny against their rigour; stringent are they; inviolate they\r
+shall be. If at my individual convenience I might break them, what would\r
+be their worth? They have a worth--so I have always believed; and if I\r
+cannot believe it now, it is because I am insane--quite insane: with my\r
+veins running fire, and my heart beating faster than I can count its\r
+throbs. Preconceived opinions, foregone determinations, are all I have\r
+at this hour to stand by: there I plant my foot."\r
+\r
+I did. Mr. Rochester, reading my countenance, saw I had done so. His\r
+fury was wrought to the highest: he must yield to it for a moment,\r
+whatever followed; he crossed the floor and seized my arm and grasped my\r
+waist. He seemed to devour me with his flaming glance: physically, I\r
+felt, at the moment, powerless as stubble exposed to the draught and glow\r
+of a furnace: mentally, I still possessed my soul, and with it the\r
+certainty of ultimate safety. The soul, fortunately, has an\r
+interpreter--often an unconscious, but still a truthful interpreter--in\r
+the eye. My eye rose to his; and while I looked in his fierce face I\r
+gave an involuntary sigh; his gripe was painful, and my over-taxed\r
+strength almost exhausted.\r
+\r
+"Never," said he, as he ground his teeth, "never was anything at once so\r
+frail and so indomitable. A mere reed she feels in my hand!" (And he\r
+shook me with the force of his hold.) "I could bend her with my finger\r
+and thumb: and what good would it do if I bent, if I uptore, if I crushed\r
+her? Consider that eye: consider the resolute, wild, free thing looking\r
+out of it, defying me, with more than courage--with a stern triumph.\r
+Whatever I do with its cage, I cannot get at it--the savage, beautiful\r
+creature! If I tear, if I rend the slight prison, my outrage will only\r
+let the captive loose. Conqueror I might be of the house; but the inmate\r
+would escape to heaven before I could call myself possessor of its clay\r
+dwelling-place. And it is you, spirit--with will and energy, and virtue\r
+and purity--that I want: not alone your brittle frame. Of yourself you\r
+could come with soft flight and nestle against my heart, if you would:\r
+seized against your will, you will elude the grasp like an essence--you\r
+will vanish ere I inhale your fragrance. Oh! come, Jane, come!"\r
+\r
+As he said this, he released me from his clutch, and only looked at me.\r
+The look was far worse to resist than the frantic strain: only an idiot,\r
+however, would have succumbed now. I had dared and baffled his fury; I\r
+must elude his sorrow: I retired to the door.\r
+\r
+"You are going, Jane?"\r
+\r
+"I am going, sir."\r
+\r
+"You are leaving me?"\r
+\r
+"Yes."\r
+\r
+"You will not come? You will not be my comforter, my rescuer? My deep\r
+love, my wild woe, my frantic prayer, are all nothing to you?"\r
+\r
+What unutterable pathos was in his voice! How hard it was to reiterate\r
+firmly, "I am going."\r
+\r
+"Jane!"\r
+\r
+"Mr. Rochester!"\r
+\r
+"Withdraw, then,--I consent; but remember, you leave me here in anguish.\r
+Go up to your own room; think over all I have said, and, Jane, cast a\r
+glance on my sufferings--think of me."\r
+\r
+He turned away; he threw himself on his face on the sofa. "Oh, Jane! my\r
+hope--my love--my life!" broke in anguish from his lips. Then came a\r
+deep, strong sob.\r
+\r
+I had already gained the door; but, reader, I walked back--walked back as\r
+determinedly as I had retreated. I knelt down by him; I turned his face\r
+from the cushion to me; I kissed his cheek; I smoothed his hair with my\r
+hand.\r
+\r
+"God bless you, my dear master!" I said. "God keep you from harm and\r
+wrong--direct you, solace you--reward you well for your past kindness to\r
+me."\r
+\r
+"Little Jane's love would have been my best reward," he answered;\r
+"without it, my heart is broken. But Jane will give me her love:\r
+yes--nobly, generously."\r
+\r
+Up the blood rushed to his face; forth flashed the fire from his eyes;\r
+erect he sprang; he held his arms out; but I evaded the embrace, and at\r
+once quitted the room.\r
+\r
+"Farewell!" was the cry of my heart as I left him. Despair added,\r
+"Farewell for ever!"\r
+\r
+* * * * *\r
+\r
+That night I never thought to sleep; but a slumber fell on me as soon as\r
+I lay down in bed. I was transported in thought to the scenes of\r
+childhood: I dreamt I lay in the red-room at Gateshead; that the night\r
+was dark, and my mind impressed with strange fears. The light that long\r
+ago had struck me into syncope, recalled in this vision, seemed glidingly\r
+to mount the wall, and tremblingly to pause in the centre of the obscured\r
+ceiling. I lifted up my head to look: the roof resolved to clouds, high\r
+and dim; the gleam was such as the moon imparts to vapours she is about\r
+to sever. I watched her come--watched with the strangest anticipation;\r
+as though some word of doom were to be written on her disk. She broke\r
+forth as never moon yet burst from cloud: a hand first penetrated the\r
+sable folds and waved them away; then, not a moon, but a white human form\r
+shone in the azure, inclining a glorious brow earthward. It gazed and\r
+gazed on me. It spoke to my spirit: immeasurably distant was the tone,\r
+yet so near, it whispered in my heart--\r
+\r
+"My daughter, flee temptation."\r
+\r
+"Mother, I will."\r
+\r
+So I answered after I had waked from the trance-like dream. It was yet\r
+night, but July nights are short: soon after midnight, dawn comes. "It\r
+cannot be too early to commence the task I have to fulfil," thought I. I\r
+rose: I was dressed; for I had taken off nothing but my shoes. I knew\r
+where to find in my drawers some linen, a locket, a ring. In seeking\r
+these articles, I encountered the beads of a pearl necklace Mr. Rochester\r
+had forced me to accept a few days ago. I left that; it was not mine: it\r
+was the visionary bride's who had melted in air. The other articles I\r
+made up in a parcel; my purse, containing twenty shillings (it was all I\r
+had), I put in my pocket: I tied on my straw bonnet, pinned my shawl,\r
+took the parcel and my slippers, which I would not put on yet, and stole\r
+from my room.\r
+\r
+"Farewell, kind Mrs. Fairfax!" I whispered, as I glided past her door.\r
+"Farewell, my darling Adele!" I said, as I glanced towards the nursery.\r
+No thought could be admitted of entering to embrace her. I had to\r
+deceive a fine ear: for aught I knew it might now be listening.\r
+\r
+I would have got past Mr. Rochester's chamber without a pause; but my\r
+heart momentarily stopping its beat at that threshold, my foot was forced\r
+to stop also. No sleep was there: the inmate was walking restlessly from\r
+wall to wall; and again and again he sighed while I listened. There was\r
+a heaven--a temporary heaven--in this room for me, if I chose: I had but\r
+to go in and to say--\r
+\r
+"Mr. Rochester, I will love you and live with you through life till\r
+death," and a fount of rapture would spring to my lips. I thought of\r
+this.\r
+\r
+That kind master, who could not sleep now, was waiting with impatience\r
+for day. He would send for me in the morning; I should be gone. He\r
+would have me sought for: vainly. He would feel himself forsaken; his\r
+love rejected: he would suffer; perhaps grow desperate. I thought of\r
+this too. My hand moved towards the lock: I caught it back, and glided\r
+on.\r
+\r
+Drearily I wound my way downstairs: I knew what I had to do, and I did it\r
+mechanically. I sought the key of the side-door in the kitchen; I\r
+sought, too, a phial of oil and a feather; I oiled the key and the lock.\r
+I got some water, I got some bread: for perhaps I should have to walk\r
+far; and my strength, sorely shaken of late, must not break down. All\r
+this I did without one sound. I opened the door, passed out, shut it\r
+softly. Dim dawn glimmered in the yard. The great gates were closed and\r
+locked; but a wicket in one of them was only latched. Through that I\r
+departed: it, too, I shut; and now I was out of Thornfield.\r
+\r
+A mile off, beyond the fields, lay a road which stretched in the contrary\r
+direction to Millcote; a road I had never travelled, but often noticed,\r
+and wondered where it led: thither I bent my steps. No reflection was to\r
+be allowed now: not one glance was to be cast back; not even one forward.\r
+Not one thought was to be given either to the past or the future. The\r
+first was a page so heavenly sweet--so deadly sad--that to read one line\r
+of it would dissolve my courage and break down my energy. The last was\r
+an awful blank: something like the world when the deluge was gone by.\r
+\r
+I skirted fields, and hedges, and lanes till after sunrise. I believe it\r
+was a lovely summer morning: I know my shoes, which I had put on when I\r
+left the house, were soon wet with dew. But I looked neither to rising\r
+sun, nor smiling sky, nor wakening nature. He who is taken out to pass\r
+through a fair scene to the scaffold, thinks not of the flowers that\r
+smile on his road, but of the block and axe-edge; of the disseverment of\r
+bone and vein; of the grave gaping at the end: and I thought of drear\r
+flight and homeless wandering--and oh! with agony I thought of what I\r
+left. I could not help it. I thought of him now--in his room--watching\r
+the sunrise; hoping I should soon come to say I would stay with him and\r
+be his. I longed to be his; I panted to return: it was not too late; I\r
+could yet spare him the bitter pang of bereavement. As yet my flight, I\r
+was sure, was undiscovered. I could go back and be his comforter--his\r
+pride; his redeemer from misery, perhaps from ruin. Oh, that fear of his\r
+self-abandonment--far worse than my abandonment--how it goaded me! It\r
+was a barbed arrow-head in my breast; it tore me when I tried to extract\r
+it; it sickened me when remembrance thrust it farther in. Birds began\r
+singing in brake and copse: birds were faithful to their mates; birds\r
+were emblems of love. What was I? In the midst of my pain of heart and\r
+frantic effort of principle, I abhorred myself. I had no solace from\r
+self-approbation: none even from self-respect. I had\r
+injured--wounded--left my master. I was hateful in my own eyes. Still I\r
+could not turn, nor retrace one step. God must have led me on. As to my\r
+own will or conscience, impassioned grief had trampled one and stifled\r
+the other. I was weeping wildly as I walked along my solitary way: fast,\r
+fast I went like one delirious. A weakness, beginning inwardly,\r
+extending to the limbs, seized me, and I fell: I lay on the ground some\r
+minutes, pressing my face to the wet turf. I had some fear--or hope--that\r
+here I should die: but I was soon up; crawling forwards on my hands and\r
+knees, and then again raised to my feet--as eager and as determined as\r
+ever to reach the road.\r
+\r
+When I got there, I was forced to sit to rest me under the hedge; and\r
+while I sat, I heard wheels, and saw a coach come on. I stood up and\r
+lifted my hand; it stopped. I asked where it was going: the driver named\r
+a place a long way off, and where I was sure Mr. Rochester had no\r
+connections. I asked for what sum he would take me there; he said thirty\r
+shillings; I answered I had but twenty; well, he would try to make it do.\r
+He further gave me leave to get into the inside, as the vehicle was\r
+empty: I entered, was shut in, and it rolled on its way.\r
+\r
+Gentle reader, may you never feel what I then felt! May your eyes never\r
+shed such stormy, scalding, heart-wrung tears as poured from mine. May\r
+you never appeal to Heaven in prayers so hopeless and so agonised as in\r
+that hour left my lips; for never may you, like me, dread to be the\r
+instrument of evil to what you wholly love.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER XXVIII\r
+\r
+\r
+Two days are passed. It is a summer evening; the coachman has set me\r
+down at a place called Whitcross; he could take me no farther for the sum\r
+I had given, and I was not possessed of another shilling in the world.\r
+The coach is a mile off by this time; I am alone. At this moment I\r
+discover that I forgot to take my parcel out of the pocket of the coach,\r
+where I had placed it for safety; there it remains, there it must remain;\r
+and now, I am absolutely destitute.\r
+\r
+Whitcross is no town, nor even a hamlet; it is but a stone pillar set up\r
+where four roads meet: whitewashed, I suppose, to be more obvious at a\r
+distance and in darkness. Four arms spring from its summit: the nearest\r
+town to which these point is, according to the inscription, distant ten\r
+miles; the farthest, above twenty. From the well-known names of these\r
+towns I learn in what county I have lighted; a north-midland shire, dusk\r
+with moorland, ridged with mountain: this I see. There are great moors\r
+behind and on each hand of me; there are waves of mountains far beyond\r
+that deep valley at my feet. The population here must be thin, and I see\r
+no passengers on these roads: they stretch out east, west, north, and\r
+south--white, broad, lonely; they are all cut in the moor, and the\r
+heather grows deep and wild to their very verge. Yet a chance traveller\r
+might pass by; and I wish no eye to see me now: strangers would wonder\r
+what I am doing, lingering here at the sign-post, evidently objectless\r
+and lost. I might be questioned: I could give no answer but what would\r
+sound incredible and excite suspicion. Not a tie holds me to human\r
+society at this moment--not a charm or hope calls me where my\r
+fellow-creatures are--none that saw me would have a kind thought or a\r
+good wish for me. I have no relative but the universal mother, Nature: I\r
+will seek her breast and ask repose.\r
+\r
+I struck straight into the heath; I held on to a hollow I saw deeply\r
+furrowing the brown moorside; I waded knee-deep in its dark growth; I\r
+turned with its turnings, and finding a moss-blackened granite crag in a\r
+hidden angle, I sat down under it. High banks of moor were about me; the\r
+crag protected my head: the sky was over that.\r
+\r
+Some time passed before I felt tranquil even here: I had a vague dread\r
+that wild cattle might be near, or that some sportsman or poacher might\r
+discover me. If a gust of wind swept the waste, I looked up, fearing it\r
+was the rush of a bull; if a plover whistled, I imagined it a man.\r
+Finding my apprehensions unfounded, however, and calmed by the deep\r
+silence that reigned as evening declined at nightfall, I took confidence.\r
+As yet I had not thought; I had only listened, watched, dreaded; now I\r
+regained the faculty of reflection.\r
+\r
+What was I to do? Where to go? Oh, intolerable questions, when I could\r
+do nothing and go nowhere!--when a long way must yet be measured by my\r
+weary, trembling limbs before I could reach human habitation--when cold\r
+charity must be entreated before I could get a lodging: reluctant\r
+sympathy importuned, almost certain repulse incurred, before my tale\r
+could be listened to, or one of my wants relieved!\r
+\r
+I touched the heath: it was dry, and yet warm with the heat of the summer\r
+day. I looked at the sky; it was pure: a kindly star twinkled just above\r
+the chasm ridge. The dew fell, but with propitious softness; no breeze\r
+whispered. Nature seemed to me benign and good; I thought she loved me,\r
+outcast as I was; and I, who from man could anticipate only mistrust,\r
+rejection, insult, clung to her with filial fondness. To-night, at\r
+least, I would be her guest, as I was her child: my mother would lodge me\r
+without money and without price. I had one morsel of bread yet: the\r
+remnant of a roll I had bought in a town we passed through at noon with a\r
+stray penny--my last coin. I saw ripe bilberries gleaming here and\r
+there, like jet beads in the heath: I gathered a handful and ate them\r
+with the bread. My hunger, sharp before, was, if not satisfied, appeased\r
+by this hermit's meal. I said my evening prayers at its conclusion, and\r
+then chose my couch.\r
+\r
+{I said my evening prayers: p311.jpg}\r
+\r
+Beside the crag the heath was very deep: when I lay down my feet were\r
+buried in it; rising high on each side, it left only a narrow space for\r
+the night-air to invade. I folded my shawl double, and spread it over me\r
+for a coverlet; a low, mossy swell was my pillow. Thus lodged, I was\r
+not, at least--at the commencement of the night, cold.\r
+\r
+My rest might have been blissful enough, only a sad heart broke it. It\r
+plained of its gaping wounds, its inward bleeding, its riven chords. It\r
+trembled for Mr. Rochester and his doom; it bemoaned him with bitter\r
+pity; it demanded him with ceaseless longing; and, impotent as a bird\r
+with both wings broken, it still quivered its shattered pinions in vain\r
+attempts to seek him.\r
+\r
+Worn out with this torture of thought, I rose to my knees. Night was\r
+come, and her planets were risen: a safe, still night: too serene for the\r
+companionship of fear. We know that God is everywhere; but certainly we\r
+feel His presence most when His works are on the grandest scale spread\r
+before us; and it is in the unclouded night-sky, where His worlds wheel\r
+their silent course, that we read clearest His infinitude, His\r
+omnipotence, His omnipresence. I had risen to my knees to pray for Mr.\r
+Rochester. Looking up, I, with tear-dimmed eyes, saw the mighty Milky-\r
+way. Remembering what it was--what countless systems there swept space\r
+like a soft trace of light--I felt the might and strength of God. Sure\r
+was I of His efficiency to save what He had made: convinced I grew that\r
+neither earth should perish, nor one of the souls it treasured. I turned\r
+my prayer to thanksgiving: the Source of Life was also the Saviour of\r
+spirits. Mr. Rochester was safe; he was God's, and by God would he be\r
+guarded. I again nestled to the breast of the hill; and ere long in\r
+sleep forgot sorrow.\r
+\r
+But next day, Want came to me pale and bare. Long after the little birds\r
+had left their nests; long after bees had come in the sweet prime of day\r
+to gather the heath honey before the dew was dried--when the long morning\r
+shadows were curtailed, and the sun filled earth and sky--I got up, and I\r
+looked round me.\r
+\r
+What a still, hot, perfect day! What a golden desert this spreading\r
+moor! Everywhere sunshine. I wished I could live in it and on it. I\r
+saw a lizard run over the crag; I saw a bee busy among the sweet\r
+bilberries. I would fain at the moment have become bee or lizard, that I\r
+might have found fitting nutriment, permanent shelter here. But I was a\r
+human being, and had a human being's wants: I must not linger where there\r
+was nothing to supply them. I rose; I looked back at the bed I had left.\r
+Hopeless of the future, I wished but this--that my Maker had that night\r
+thought good to require my soul of me while I slept; and that this weary\r
+frame, absolved by death from further conflict with fate, had now but to\r
+decay quietly, and mingle in peace with the soil of this wilderness.\r
+Life, however, was yet in my possession, with all its requirements, and\r
+pains, and responsibilities. The burden must be carried; the want\r
+provided for; the suffering endured; the responsibility fulfilled. I set\r
+out.\r
+\r
+Whitcross regained, I followed a road which led from the sun, now fervent\r
+and high. By no other circumstance had I will to decide my choice. I\r
+walked a long time, and when I thought I had nearly done enough, and\r
+might conscientiously yield to the fatigue that almost overpowered\r
+me--might relax this forced action, and, sitting down on a stone I saw\r
+near, submit resistlessly to the apathy that clogged heart and limb--I\r
+heard a bell chime--a church bell.\r
+\r
+I turned in the direction of the sound, and there, amongst the romantic\r
+hills, whose changes and aspect I had ceased to note an hour ago, I saw a\r
+hamlet and a spire. All the valley at my right hand was full of pasture-\r
+fields, and cornfields, and wood; and a glittering stream ran zig-zag\r
+through the varied shades of green, the mellowing grain, the sombre\r
+woodland, the clear and sunny lea. Recalled by the rumbling of wheels to\r
+the road before me, I saw a heavily-laden waggon labouring up the hill,\r
+and not far beyond were two cows and their drover. Human life and human\r
+labour were near. I must struggle on: strive to live and bend to toil\r
+like the rest.\r
+\r
+About two o'clock p.m. I entered the village. At the bottom of its one\r
+street there was a little shop with some cakes of bread in the window. I\r
+coveted a cake of bread. With that refreshment I could perhaps regain a\r
+degree of energy: without it, it would be difficult to proceed. The wish\r
+to have some strength and some vigour returned to me as soon as I was\r
+amongst my fellow-beings. I felt it would be degrading to faint with\r
+hunger on the causeway of a hamlet. Had I nothing about me I could offer\r
+in exchange for one of these rolls? I considered. I had a small silk\r
+handkerchief tied round my throat; I had my gloves. I could hardly tell\r
+how men and women in extremities of destitution proceeded. I did not\r
+know whether either of these articles would be accepted: probably they\r
+would not; but I must try.\r
+\r
+I entered the shop: a woman was there. Seeing a respectably-dressed\r
+person, a lady as she supposed, she came forward with civility. How\r
+could she serve me? I was seized with shame: my tongue would not utter\r
+the request I had prepared. I dared not offer her the half-worn gloves,\r
+the creased handkerchief: besides, I felt it would be absurd. I only\r
+begged permission to sit down a moment, as I was tired. Disappointed in\r
+the expectation of a customer, she coolly acceded to my request. She\r
+pointed to a seat; I sank into it. I felt sorely urged to weep; but\r
+conscious how unseasonable such a manifestation would be, I restrained\r
+it. Soon I asked her "if there were any dressmaker or plain-workwoman in\r
+the village?"\r
+\r
+"Yes; two or three. Quite as many as there was employment for."\r
+\r
+I reflected. I was driven to the point now. I was brought face to face\r
+with Necessity. I stood in the position of one without a resource,\r
+without a friend, without a coin. I must do something. What? I must\r
+apply somewhere. Where?\r
+\r
+"Did she know of any place in the neighbourhood where a servant was\r
+wanted?"\r
+\r
+"Nay; she couldn't say."\r
+\r
+"What was the chief trade in this place? What did most of the people\r
+do?"\r
+\r
+"Some were farm labourers; a good deal worked at Mr. Oliver's\r
+needle-factory, and at the foundry."\r
+\r
+"Did Mr. Oliver employ women?"\r
+\r
+"Nay; it was men's work."\r
+\r
+"And what do the women do?"\r
+\r
+"I knawn't," was the answer. "Some does one thing, and some another.\r
+Poor folk mun get on as they can."\r
+\r
+She seemed to be tired of my questions: and, indeed, what claim had I to\r
+importune her? A neighbour or two came in; my chair was evidently\r
+wanted. I took leave.\r
+\r
+I passed up the street, looking as I went at all the houses to the right\r
+hand and to the left; but I could discover no pretext, nor see an\r
+inducement to enter any. I rambled round the hamlet, going sometimes to\r
+a little distance and returning again, for an hour or more. Much\r
+exhausted, and suffering greatly now for want of food, I turned aside\r
+into a lane and sat down under the hedge. Ere many minutes had elapsed,\r
+I was again on my feet, however, and again searching something--a\r
+resource, or at least an informant. A pretty little house stood at the\r
+top of the lane, with a garden before it, exquisitely neat and\r
+brilliantly blooming. I stopped at it. What business had I to approach\r
+the white door or touch the glittering knocker? In what way could it\r
+possibly be the interest of the inhabitants of that dwelling to serve me?\r
+Yet I drew near and knocked. A mild-looking, cleanly-attired young woman\r
+opened the door. In such a voice as might be expected from a hopeless\r
+heart and fainting frame--a voice wretchedly low and faltering--I asked\r
+if a servant was wanted here?\r
+\r
+"No," said she; "we do not keep a servant."\r
+\r
+"Can you tell me where I could get employment of any kind?" I continued.\r
+"I am a stranger, without acquaintance in this place. I want some work:\r
+no matter what."\r
+\r
+But it was not her business to think for me, or to seek a place for me:\r
+besides, in her eyes, how doubtful must have appeared my character,\r
+position, tale. She shook her head, she "was sorry she could give me no\r
+information," and the white door closed, quite gently and civilly: but it\r
+shut me out. If she had held it open a little longer, I believe I should\r
+have begged a piece of bread; for I was now brought low.\r
+\r
+I could not bear to return to the sordid village, where, besides, no\r
+prospect of aid was visible. I should have longed rather to deviate to a\r
+wood I saw not far off, which appeared in its thick shade to offer\r
+inviting shelter; but I was so sick, so weak, so gnawed with nature's\r
+cravings, instinct kept me roaming round abodes where there was a chance\r
+of food. Solitude would be no solitude--rest no rest--while the vulture,\r
+hunger, thus sank beak and talons in my side.\r
+\r
+I drew near houses; I left them, and came back again, and again I\r
+wandered away: always repelled by the consciousness of having no claim to\r
+ask--no right to expect interest in my isolated lot. Meantime, the\r
+afternoon advanced, while I thus wandered about like a lost and starving\r
+dog. In crossing a field, I saw the church spire before me: I hastened\r
+towards it. Near the churchyard, and in the middle of a garden, stood a\r
+well-built though small house, which I had no doubt was the parsonage. I\r
+remembered that strangers who arrive at a place where they have no\r
+friends, and who want employment, sometimes apply to the clergyman for\r
+introduction and aid. It is the clergyman's function to help--at least\r
+with advice--those who wished to help themselves. I seemed to have\r
+something like a right to seek counsel here. Renewing then my courage,\r
+and gathering my feeble remains of strength, I pushed on. I reached the\r
+house, and knocked at the kitchen-door. An old woman opened: I asked was\r
+this the parsonage?\r
+\r
+"Yes."\r
+\r
+"Was the clergyman in?"\r
+\r
+"No."\r
+\r
+"Would he be in soon?"\r
+\r
+"No, he was gone from home."\r
+\r
+"To a distance?"\r
+\r
+"Not so far--happen three mile. He had been called away by the sudden\r
+death of his father: he was at Marsh End now, and would very likely stay\r
+there a fortnight longer."\r
+\r
+"Was there any lady of the house?"\r
+\r
+"Nay, there was naught but her, and she was housekeeper;" and of her,\r
+reader, I could not bear to ask the relief for want of which I was\r
+sinking; I could not yet beg; and again I crawled away.\r
+\r
+Once more I took off my handkerchief--once more I thought of the cakes of\r
+bread in the little shop. Oh, for but a crust! for but one mouthful to\r
+allay the pang of famine! Instinctively I turned my face again to the\r
+village; I found the shop again, and I went in; and though others were\r
+there besides the woman I ventured the request--"Would she give me a roll\r
+for this handkerchief?"\r
+\r
+She looked at me with evident suspicion: "Nay, she never sold stuff i'\r
+that way."\r
+\r
+Almost desperate, I asked for half a cake; she again refused. "How could\r
+she tell where I had got the handkerchief?" she said.\r
+\r
+"Would she take my gloves?"\r
+\r
+"No! what could she do with them?"\r
+\r
+Reader, it is not pleasant to dwell on these details. Some say there is\r
+enjoyment in looking back to painful experience past; but at this day I\r
+can scarcely bear to review the times to which I allude: the moral\r
+degradation, blent with the physical suffering, form too distressing a\r
+recollection ever to be willingly dwelt on. I blamed none of those who\r
+repulsed me. I felt it was what was to be expected, and what could not\r
+be helped: an ordinary beggar is frequently an object of suspicion; a\r
+well-dressed beggar inevitably so. To be sure, what I begged was\r
+employment; but whose business was it to provide me with employment? Not,\r
+certainly, that of persons who saw me then for the first time, and who\r
+knew nothing about my character. And as to the woman who would not take\r
+my handkerchief in exchange for her bread, why, she was right, if the\r
+offer appeared to her sinister or the exchange unprofitable. Let me\r
+condense now. I am sick of the subject.\r
+\r
+A little before dark I passed a farm-house, at the open door of which the\r
+farmer was sitting, eating his supper of bread and cheese. I stopped and\r
+said--\r
+\r
+"Will you give me a piece of bread? for I am very hungry." He cast on me\r
+a glance of surprise; but without answering, he cut a thick slice from\r
+his loaf, and gave it to me. I imagine he did not think I was a beggar,\r
+but only an eccentric sort of lady, who had taken a fancy to his brown\r
+loaf. As soon as I was out of sight of his house, I sat down and ate it.\r
+\r
+I could not hope to get a lodging under a roof, and sought it in the wood\r
+I have before alluded to. But my night was wretched, my rest broken: the\r
+ground was damp, the air cold: besides, intruders passed near me more\r
+than once, and I had again and again to change my quarters; no sense of\r
+safety or tranquillity befriended me. Towards morning it rained; the\r
+whole of the following day was wet. Do not ask me, reader, to give a\r
+minute account of that day; as before, I sought work; as before, I was\r
+repulsed; as before, I starved; but once did food pass my lips. At the\r
+door of a cottage I saw a little girl about to throw a mess of cold\r
+porridge into a pig trough. "Will you give me that?" I asked.\r
+\r
+{"Will you give me that?" I asked: p316.jpg}\r
+\r
+She stared at me. "Mother!" she exclaimed, "there is a woman wants me to\r
+give her these porridge."\r
+\r
+"Well lass," replied a voice within, "give it her if she's a beggar. T'\r
+pig doesn't want it."\r
+\r
+The girl emptied the stiffened mould into my hand, and I devoured it\r
+ravenously.\r
+\r
+As the wet twilight deepened, I stopped in a solitary bridle-path, which\r
+I had been pursuing an hour or more.\r
+\r
+"My strength is quite failing me," I said in a soliloquy. "I feel I\r
+cannot go much farther. Shall I be an outcast again this night? While\r
+the rain descends so, must I lay my head on the cold, drenched ground? I\r
+fear I cannot do otherwise: for who will receive me? But it will be very\r
+dreadful, with this feeling of hunger, faintness, chill, and this sense\r
+of desolation--this total prostration of hope. In all likelihood,\r
+though, I should die before morning. And why cannot I reconcile myself\r
+to the prospect of death? Why do I struggle to retain a valueless life?\r
+Because I know, or believe, Mr. Rochester is living: and then, to die of\r
+want and cold is a fate to which nature cannot submit passively. Oh,\r
+Providence! sustain me a little longer! Aid!--direct me!"\r
+\r
+My glazed eye wandered over the dim and misty landscape. I saw I had\r
+strayed far from the village: it was quite out of sight. The very\r
+cultivation surrounding it had disappeared. I had, by cross-ways and by-\r
+paths, once more drawn near the tract of moorland; and now, only a few\r
+fields, almost as wild and unproductive as the heath from which they were\r
+scarcely reclaimed, lay between me and the dusky hill.\r
+\r
+"Well, I would rather die yonder than in a street or on a frequented\r
+road," I reflected. "And far better that crows and ravens--if any ravens\r
+there be in these regions--should pick my flesh from my bones, than that\r
+they should be prisoned in a workhouse coffin and moulder in a pauper's\r
+grave."\r
+\r
+To the hill, then, I turned. I reached it. It remained now only to find\r
+a hollow where I could lie down, and feel at least hidden, if not secure.\r
+But all the surface of the waste looked level. It showed no variation\r
+but of tint: green, where rush and moss overgrew the marshes; black,\r
+where the dry soil bore only heath. Dark as it was getting, I could\r
+still see these changes, though but as mere alternations of light and\r
+shade; for colour had faded with the daylight.\r
+\r
+My eye still roved over the sullen swell and along the moor-edge,\r
+vanishing amidst the wildest scenery, when at one dim point, far in among\r
+the marshes and the ridges, a light sprang up. "That is an _ignis\r
+fatuus_," was my first thought; and I expected it would soon vanish. It\r
+burnt on, however, quite steadily, neither receding nor advancing. "Is\r
+it, then, a bonfire just kindled?" I questioned. I watched to see\r
+whether it would spread: but no; as it did not diminish, so it did not\r
+enlarge. "It may be a candle in a house," I then conjectured; "but if\r
+so, I can never reach it. It is much too far away: and were it within a\r
+yard of me, what would it avail? I should but knock at the door to have\r
+it shut in my face."\r
+\r
+And I sank down where I stood, and hid my face against the ground. I lay\r
+still a while: the night-wind swept over the hill and over me, and died\r
+moaning in the distance; the rain fell fast, wetting me afresh to the\r
+skin. Could I but have stiffened to the still frost--the friendly\r
+numbness of death--it might have pelted on; I should not have felt it;\r
+but my yet living flesh shuddered at its chilling influence. I rose ere\r
+long.\r
+\r
+The light was yet there, shining dim but constant through the rain. I\r
+tried to walk again: I dragged my exhausted limbs slowly towards it. It\r
+led me aslant over the hill, through a wide bog, which would have been\r
+impassable in winter, and was splashy and shaking even now, in the height\r
+of summer. Here I fell twice; but as often I rose and rallied my\r
+faculties. This light was my forlorn hope: I must gain it.\r
+\r
+Having crossed the marsh, I saw a trace of white over the moor. I\r
+approached it; it was a road or a track: it led straight up to the light,\r
+which now beamed from a sort of knoll, amidst a clump of trees--firs,\r
+apparently, from what I could distinguish of the character of their forms\r
+and foliage through the gloom. My star vanished as I drew near: some\r
+obstacle had intervened between me and it. I put out my hand to feel the\r
+dark mass before me: I discriminated the rough stones of a low wall--above\r
+it, something like palisades, and within, a high and prickly hedge. I\r
+groped on. Again a whitish object gleamed before me: it was a gate--a\r
+wicket; it moved on its hinges as I touched it. On each side stood a\r
+sable bush-holly or yew.\r
+\r
+Entering the gate and passing the shrubs, the silhouette of a house rose\r
+to view, black, low, and rather long; but the guiding light shone\r
+nowhere. All was obscurity. Were the inmates retired to rest? I feared\r
+it must be so. In seeking the door, I turned an angle: there shot out\r
+the friendly gleam again, from the lozenged panes of a very small\r
+latticed window, within a foot of the ground, made still smaller by the\r
+growth of ivy or some other creeping plant, whose leaves clustered thick\r
+over the portion of the house wall in which it was set. The aperture was\r
+so screened and narrow, that curtain or shutter had been deemed\r
+unnecessary; and when I stooped down and put aside the spray of foliage\r
+shooting over it, I could see all within. I could see clearly a room\r
+with a sanded floor, clean scoured; a dresser of walnut, with pewter\r
+plates ranged in rows, reflecting the redness and radiance of a glowing\r
+peat-fire. I could see a clock, a white deal table, some chairs. The\r
+candle, whose ray had been my beacon, burnt on the table; and by its\r
+light an elderly woman, somewhat rough-looking, but scrupulously clean,\r
+like all about her, was knitting a stocking.\r
+\r
+I noticed these objects cursorily only--in them there was nothing\r
+extraordinary. A group of more interest appeared near the hearth,\r
+sitting still amidst the rosy peace and warmth suffusing it. Two young,\r
+graceful women--ladies in every point--sat, one in a low rocking-chair,\r
+the other on a lower stool; both wore deep mourning of crape and\r
+bombazeen, which sombre garb singularly set off very fair necks and\r
+faces: a large old pointer dog rested its massive head on the knee of one\r
+girl--in the lap of the other was cushioned a black cat.\r
+\r
+A strange place was this humble kitchen for such occupants! Who were\r
+they? They could not be the daughters of the elderly person at the\r
+table; for she looked like a rustic, and they were all delicacy and\r
+cultivation. I had nowhere seen such faces as theirs: and yet, as I\r
+gazed on them, I seemed intimate with every lineament. I cannot call\r
+them handsome--they were too pale and grave for the word: as they each\r
+bent over a book, they looked thoughtful almost to severity. A stand\r
+between them supported a second candle and two great volumes, to which\r
+they frequently referred, comparing them, seemingly, with the smaller\r
+books they held in their hands, like people consulting a dictionary to\r
+aid them in the task of translation. This scene was as silent as if all\r
+the figures had been shadows and the firelit apartment a picture: so\r
+hushed was it, I could hear the cinders fall from the grate, the clock\r
+tick in its obscure corner; and I even fancied I could distinguish the\r
+click-click of the woman's knitting-needles. When, therefore, a voice\r
+broke the strange stillness at last, it was audible enough to me.\r
+\r
+"Listen, Diana," said one of the absorbed students; "Franz and old Daniel\r
+are together in the night-time, and Franz is telling a dream from which\r
+he has awakened in terror--listen!" And in a low voice she read\r
+something, of which not one word was intelligible to me; for it was in an\r
+unknown tongue--neither French nor Latin. Whether it were Greek or\r
+German I could not tell.\r
+\r
+"That is strong," she said, when she had finished: "I relish it." The\r
+other girl, who had lifted her head to listen to her sister, repeated,\r
+while she gazed at the fire, a line of what had been read. At a later\r
+day, I knew the language and the book; therefore, I will here quote the\r
+line: though, when I first heard it, it was only like a stroke on\r
+sounding brass to me--conveying no meaning:--\r
+\r
+"'Da trat hervor Einer, anzusehen wie die Sternen Nacht.' Good! good!"\r
+she exclaimed, while her dark and deep eye sparkled. "There you have a\r
+dim and mighty archangel fitly set before you! The line is worth a\r
+hundred pages of fustian. 'Ich wage die Gedanken in der Schale meines\r
+Zornes und die Werke mit dem Gewichte meines Grimms.' I like it!"\r
+\r
+Both were again silent.\r
+\r
+"Is there ony country where they talk i' that way?" asked the old woman,\r
+looking up from her knitting.\r
+\r
+"Yes, Hannah--a far larger country than England, where they talk in no\r
+other way."\r
+\r
+"Well, for sure case, I knawn't how they can understand t' one t'other:\r
+and if either o' ye went there, ye could tell what they said, I guess?"\r
+\r
+"We could probably tell something of what they said, but not all--for we\r
+are not as clever as you think us, Hannah. We don't speak German, and we\r
+cannot read it without a dictionary to help us."\r
+\r
+"And what good does it do you?"\r
+\r
+"We mean to teach it some time--or at least the elements, as they say;\r
+and then we shall get more money than we do now."\r
+\r
+"Varry like: but give ower studying; ye've done enough for to-night."\r
+\r
+"I think we have: at least I'm tired. Mary, are you?"\r
+\r
+"Mortally: after all, it's tough work fagging away at a language with no\r
+master but a lexicon."\r
+\r
+"It is, especially such a language as this crabbed but glorious Deutsch.\r
+I wonder when St. John will come home."\r
+\r
+"Surely he will not be long now: it is just ten (looking at a little gold\r
+watch she drew from her girdle). It rains fast, Hannah: will you have\r
+the goodness to look at the fire in the parlour?"\r
+\r
+The woman rose: she opened a door, through which I dimly saw a passage:\r
+soon I heard her stir a fire in an inner room; she presently came back.\r
+\r
+"Ah, childer!" said she, "it fair troubles me to go into yond' room now:\r
+it looks so lonesome wi' the chair empty and set back in a corner."\r
+\r
+She wiped her eyes with her apron: the two girls, grave before, looked\r
+sad now.\r
+\r
+"But he is in a better place," continued Hannah: "we shouldn't wish him\r
+here again. And then, nobody need to have a quieter death nor he had."\r
+\r
+"You say he never mentioned us?" inquired one of the ladies.\r
+\r
+"He hadn't time, bairn: he was gone in a minute, was your father. He had\r
+been a bit ailing like the day before, but naught to signify; and when\r
+Mr. St. John asked if he would like either o' ye to be sent for, he fair\r
+laughed at him. He began again with a bit of a heaviness in his head the\r
+next day--that is, a fortnight sin'--and he went to sleep and niver\r
+wakened: he wor a'most stark when your brother went into t' chamber and\r
+fand him. Ah, childer! that's t' last o' t' old stock--for ye and Mr.\r
+St. John is like of different soart to them 'at's gone; for all your\r
+mother wor mich i' your way, and a'most as book-learned. She wor the\r
+pictur' o' ye, Mary: Diana is more like your father."\r
+\r
+I thought them so similar I could not tell where the old servant (for\r
+such I now concluded her to be) saw the difference. Both were fair\r
+complexioned and slenderly made; both possessed faces full of distinction\r
+and intelligence. One, to be sure, had hair a shade darker than the\r
+other, and there was a difference in their style of wearing it; Mary's\r
+pale brown locks were parted and braided smooth: Diana's duskier tresses\r
+covered her neck with thick curls. The clock struck ten.\r
+\r
+"Ye'll want your supper, I am sure," observed Hannah; "and so will Mr.\r
+St. John when he comes in."\r
+\r
+And she proceeded to prepare the meal. The ladies rose; they seemed\r
+about to withdraw to the parlour. Till this moment, I had been so intent\r
+on watching them, their appearance and conversation had excited in me so\r
+keen an interest, I had half-forgotten my own wretched position: now it\r
+recurred to me. More desolate, more desperate than ever, it seemed from\r
+contrast. And how impossible did it appear to touch the inmates of this\r
+house with concern on my behalf; to make them believe in the truth of my\r
+wants and woes--to induce them to vouchsafe a rest for my wanderings! As\r
+I groped out the door, and knocked at it hesitatingly, I felt that last\r
+idea to be a mere chimera. Hannah opened.\r
+\r
+"What do you want?" she inquired, in a voice of surprise, as she surveyed\r
+me by the light of the candle she held.\r
+\r
+"May I speak to your mistresses?" I said.\r
+\r
+"You had better tell me what you have to say to them. Where do you come\r
+from?"\r
+\r
+"I am a stranger."\r
+\r
+"What is your business here at this hour?"\r
+\r
+"I want a night's shelter in an out-house or anywhere, and a morsel of\r
+bread to eat."\r
+\r
+Distrust, the very feeling I dreaded, appeared in Hannah's face. "I'll\r
+give you a piece of bread," she said, after a pause; "but we can't take\r
+in a vagrant to lodge. It isn't likely."\r
+\r
+"Do let me speak to your mistresses."\r
+\r
+"No, not I. What can they do for you? You should not be roving about\r
+now; it looks very ill."\r
+\r
+"But where shall I go if you drive me away? What shall I do?"\r
+\r
+"Oh, I'll warrant you know where to go and what to do. Mind you don't do\r
+wrong, that's all. Here is a penny; now go--"\r
+\r
+"A penny cannot feed me, and I have no strength to go farther. Don't\r
+shut the door:--oh, don't, for God's sake!"\r
+\r
+"I must; the rain is driving in--"\r
+\r
+"Tell the young ladies. Let me see them--"\r
+\r
+"Indeed, I will not. You are not what you ought to be, or you wouldn't\r
+make such a noise. Move off."\r
+\r
+"But I must die if I am turned away."\r
+\r
+"Not you. I'm fear'd you have some ill plans agate, that bring you about\r
+folk's houses at this time o' night. If you've any\r
+followers--housebreakers or such like--anywhere near, you may tell them\r
+we are not by ourselves in the house; we have a gentleman, and dogs, and\r
+guns." Here the honest but inflexible servant clapped the door to and\r
+bolted it within.\r
+\r
+This was the climax. A pang of exquisite suffering--a throe of true\r
+despair--rent and heaved my heart. Worn out, indeed, I was; not another\r
+step could I stir. I sank on the wet doorstep: I groaned--I wrung my\r
+hands--I wept in utter anguish. Oh, this spectre of death! Oh, this\r
+last hour, approaching in such horror! Alas, this isolation--this\r
+banishment from my kind! Not only the anchor of hope, but the footing of\r
+fortitude was gone--at least for a moment; but the last I soon\r
+endeavoured to regain.\r
+\r
+"I can but die," I said, "and I believe in God. Let me try to wait His\r
+will in silence."\r
+\r
+These words I not only thought, but uttered; and thrusting back all my\r
+misery into my heart, I made an effort to compel it to remain there--dumb\r
+and still.\r
+\r
+"All men must die," said a voice quite close at hand; "but all are not\r
+condemned to meet a lingering and premature doom, such as yours would be\r
+if you perished here of want."\r
+\r
+"Who or what speaks?" I asked, terrified at the unexpected sound, and\r
+incapable now of deriving from any occurrence a hope of aid. A form was\r
+near--what form, the pitch-dark night and my enfeebled vision prevented\r
+me from distinguishing. With a loud long knock, the new-comer appealed\r
+to the door.\r
+\r
+"Is it you, Mr. St. John?" cried Hannah.\r
+\r
+"Yes--yes; open quickly."\r
+\r
+"Well, how wet and cold you must be, such a wild night as it is! Come\r
+in--your sisters are quite uneasy about you, and I believe there are bad\r
+folks about. There has been a beggar-woman--I declare she is not gone\r
+yet!--laid down there. Get up! for shame! Move off, I say!"\r
+\r
+"Hush, Hannah! I have a word to say to the woman. You have done your\r
+duty in excluding, now let me do mine in admitting her. I was near, and\r
+listened to both you and her. I think this is a peculiar case--I must at\r
+least examine into it. Young woman, rise, and pass before me into the\r
+house."\r
+\r
+{Hush, Hannah; I have a word to say to the woman: p323.jpg}\r
+\r
+With difficulty I obeyed him. Presently I stood within that clean,\r
+bright kitchen--on the very hearth--trembling, sickening; conscious of an\r
+aspect in the last degree ghastly, wild, and weather-beaten. The two\r
+ladies, their brother, Mr. St. John, the old servant, were all gazing at\r
+me.\r
+\r
+"St. John, who is it?" I heard one ask.\r
+\r
+"I cannot tell: I found her at the door," was the reply.\r
+\r
+"She does look white," said Hannah.\r
+\r
+"As white as clay or death," was responded. "She will fall: let her\r
+sit."\r
+\r
+And indeed my head swam: I dropped, but a chair received me. I still\r
+possessed my senses, though just now I could not speak.\r
+\r
+"Perhaps a little water would restore her. Hannah, fetch some. But she\r
+is worn to nothing. How very thin, and how very bloodless!"\r
+\r
+"A mere spectre!"\r
+\r
+"Is she ill, or only famished?"\r
+\r
+"Famished, I think. Hannah, is that milk? Give it me, and a piece of\r
+bread."\r
+\r
+Diana (I knew her by the long curls which I saw drooping between me and\r
+the fire as she bent over me) broke some bread, dipped it in milk, and\r
+put it to my lips. Her face was near mine: I saw there was pity in it,\r
+and I felt sympathy in her hurried breathing. In her simple words, too,\r
+the same balm-like emotion spoke: "Try to eat."\r
+\r
+"Yes--try," repeated Mary gently; and Mary's hand removed my sodden\r
+bonnet and lifted my head. I tasted what they offered me: feebly at\r
+first, eagerly soon.\r
+\r
+"Not too much at first--restrain her," said the brother; "she has had\r
+enough." And he withdrew the cup of milk and the plate of bread.\r
+\r
+"A little more, St. John--look at the avidity in her eyes."\r
+\r
+"No more at present, sister. Try if she can speak now--ask her her\r
+name."\r
+\r
+I felt I could speak, and I answered--"My name is Jane Elliott." Anxious\r
+as ever to avoid discovery, I had before resolved to assume an _alias_.\r
+\r
+"And where do you live? Where are your friends?"\r
+\r
+I was silent.\r
+\r
+"Can we send for any one you know?"\r
+\r
+I shook my head.\r
+\r
+"What account can you give of yourself?"\r
+\r
+Somehow, now that I had once crossed the threshold of this house, and\r
+once was brought face to face with its owners, I felt no longer outcast,\r
+vagrant, and disowned by the wide world. I dared to put off the\r
+mendicant--to resume my natural manner and character. I began once more\r
+to know myself; and when Mr. St. John demanded an account--which at\r
+present I was far too weak to render--I said after a brief pause--\r
+\r
+"Sir, I can give you no details to-night."\r
+\r
+"But what, then," said he, "do you expect me to do for you?"\r
+\r
+"Nothing," I replied. My strength sufficed for but short answers. Diana\r
+took the word--\r
+\r
+"Do you mean," she asked, "that we have now given you what aid you\r
+require? and that we may dismiss you to the moor and the rainy night?"\r
+\r
+I looked at her. She had, I thought, a remarkable countenance, instinct\r
+both with power and goodness. I took sudden courage. Answering her\r
+compassionate gaze with a smile, I said--"I will trust you. If I were a\r
+masterless and stray dog, I know that you would not turn me from your\r
+hearth to-night: as it is, I really have no fear. Do with me and for me\r
+as you like; but excuse me from much discourse--my breath is short--I\r
+feel a spasm when I speak." All three surveyed me, and all three were\r
+silent.\r
+\r
+"Hannah," said Mr. St. John, at last, "let her sit there at present, and\r
+ask her no questions; in ten minutes more, give her the remainder of that\r
+milk and bread. Mary and Diana, let us go into the parlour and talk the\r
+matter over."\r
+\r
+They withdrew. Very soon one of the ladies returned--I could not tell\r
+which. A kind of pleasant stupor was stealing over me as I sat by the\r
+genial fire. In an undertone she gave some directions to Hannah. Ere\r
+long, with the servant's aid, I contrived to mount a staircase; my\r
+dripping clothes were removed; soon a warm, dry bed received me. I\r
+thanked God--experienced amidst unutterable exhaustion a glow of grateful\r
+joy--and slept.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER XXIX\r
+\r
+\r
+The recollection of about three days and nights succeeding this is very\r
+dim in my mind. I can recall some sensations felt in that interval; but\r
+few thoughts framed, and no actions performed. I knew I was in a small\r
+room and in a narrow bed. To that bed I seemed to have grown; I lay on\r
+it motionless as a stone; and to have torn me from it would have been\r
+almost to kill me. I took no note of the lapse of time--of the change\r
+from morning to noon, from noon to evening. I observed when any one\r
+entered or left the apartment: I could even tell who they were; I could\r
+understand what was said when the speaker stood near to me; but I could\r
+not answer; to open my lips or move my limbs was equally impossible.\r
+Hannah, the servant, was my most frequent visitor. Her coming disturbed\r
+me. I had a feeling that she wished me away: that she did not understand\r
+me or my circumstances; that she was prejudiced against me. Diana and\r
+Mary appeared in the chamber once or twice a day. They would whisper\r
+sentences of this sort at my bedside--\r
+\r
+"It is very well we took her in."\r
+\r
+"Yes; she would certainly have been found dead at the door in the morning\r
+had she been left out all night. I wonder what she has gone through?"\r
+\r
+"Strange hardships, I imagine--poor, emaciated, pallid wanderer?"\r
+\r
+"She is not an uneducated person, I should think, by her manner of\r
+speaking; her accent was quite pure; and the clothes she took off, though\r
+splashed and wet, were little worn and fine."\r
+\r
+"She has a peculiar face; fleshless and haggard as it is, I rather like\r
+it; and when in good health and animated, I can fancy her physiognomy\r
+would be agreeable."\r
+\r
+Never once in their dialogues did I hear a syllable of regret at the\r
+hospitality they had extended to me, or of suspicion of, or aversion to,\r
+myself. I was comforted.\r
+\r
+Mr. St. John came but once: he looked at me, and said my state of\r
+lethargy was the result of reaction from excessive and protracted\r
+fatigue. He pronounced it needless to send for a doctor: nature, he was\r
+sure, would manage best, left to herself. He said every nerve had been\r
+overstrained in some way, and the whole system must sleep torpid a while.\r
+There was no disease. He imagined my recovery would be rapid enough when\r
+once commenced. These opinions he delivered in a few words, in a quiet,\r
+low voice; and added, after a pause, in the tone of a man little\r
+accustomed to expansive comment, "Rather an unusual physiognomy;\r
+certainly, not indicative of vulgarity or degradation."\r
+\r
+"Far otherwise," responded Diana. "To speak truth, St. John, my heart\r
+rather warms to the poor little soul. I wish we may be able to benefit\r
+her permanently."\r
+\r
+"That is hardly likely," was the reply. "You will find she is some young\r
+lady who has had a misunderstanding with her friends, and has probably\r
+injudiciously left them. We may, perhaps, succeed in restoring her to\r
+them, if she is not obstinate: but I trace lines of force in her face\r
+which make me sceptical of her tractability." He stood considering me\r
+some minutes; then added, "She looks sensible, but not at all handsome."\r
+\r
+"She is so ill, St. John."\r
+\r
+"Ill or well, she would always be plain. The grace and harmony of beauty\r
+are quite wanting in those features."\r
+\r
+On the third day I was better; on the fourth, I could speak, move, rise\r
+in bed, and turn. Hannah had brought me some gruel and dry toast, about,\r
+as I supposed, the dinner-hour. I had eaten with relish: the food was\r
+good--void of the feverish flavour which had hitherto poisoned what I had\r
+swallowed. When she left me, I felt comparatively strong and revived:\r
+ere long satiety of repose and desire for action stirred me. I wished to\r
+rise; but what could I put on? Only my damp and bemired apparel; in\r
+which I had slept on the ground and fallen in the marsh. I felt ashamed\r
+to appear before my benefactors so clad. I was spared the humiliation.\r
+\r
+On a chair by the bedside were all my own things, clean and dry. My\r
+black silk frock hung against the wall. The traces of the bog were\r
+removed from it; the creases left by the wet smoothed out: it was quite\r
+decent. My very shoes and stockings were purified and rendered\r
+presentable. There were the means of washing in the room, and a comb and\r
+brush to smooth my hair. After a weary process, and resting every five\r
+minutes, I succeeded in dressing myself. My clothes hung loose on me;\r
+for I was much wasted, but I covered deficiencies with a shawl, and once\r
+more, clean and respectable looking--no speck of the dirt, no trace of\r
+the disorder I so hated, and which seemed so to degrade me, left--I crept\r
+down a stone staircase with the aid of the banisters, to a narrow low\r
+passage, and found my way presently to the kitchen.\r
+\r
+It was full of the fragrance of new bread and the warmth of a generous\r
+fire. Hannah was baking. Prejudices, it is well known, are most\r
+difficult to eradicate from the heart whose soil has never been loosened\r
+or fertilised by education: they grow there, firm as weeds among stones.\r
+Hannah had been cold and stiff, indeed, at the first: latterly she had\r
+begun to relent a little; and when she saw me come in tidy and\r
+well-dressed, she even smiled.\r
+\r
+"What, you have got up!" she said. "You are better, then. You may sit\r
+you down in my chair on the hearthstone, if you will."\r
+\r
+She pointed to the rocking-chair: I took it. She bustled about,\r
+examining me every now and then with the corner of her eye. Turning to\r
+me, as she took some loaves from the oven, she asked bluntly--\r
+\r
+"Did you ever go a-begging afore you came here?"\r
+\r
+I was indignant for a moment; but remembering that anger was out of the\r
+question, and that I had indeed appeared as a beggar to her, I answered\r
+quietly, but still not without a certain marked firmness--\r
+\r
+"You are mistaken in supposing me a beggar. I am no beggar; any more\r
+than yourself or your young ladies."\r
+\r
+After a pause she said, "I dunnut understand that: you've like no house,\r
+nor no brass, I guess?"\r
+\r
+"The want of house or brass (by which I suppose you mean money) does not\r
+make a beggar in your sense of the word."\r
+\r
+"Are you book-learned?" she inquired presently.\r
+\r
+"Yes, very."\r
+\r
+"But you've never been to a boarding-school?"\r
+\r
+"I was at a boarding-school eight years."\r
+\r
+She opened her eyes wide. "Whatever cannot ye keep yourself for, then?"\r
+\r
+"I have kept myself; and, I trust, shall keep myself again. What are you\r
+going to do with these gooseberries?" I inquired, as she brought out a\r
+basket of the fruit.\r
+\r
+"Mak' 'em into pies."\r
+\r
+"Give them to me and I'll pick them."\r
+\r
+"Nay; I dunnut want ye to do nought."\r
+\r
+"But I must do something. Let me have them."\r
+\r
+She consented; and she even brought me a clean towel to spread over my\r
+dress, "lest," as she said, "I should mucky it."\r
+\r
+"Ye've not been used to sarvant's wark, I see by your hands," she\r
+remarked. "Happen ye've been a dressmaker?"\r
+\r
+"No, you are wrong. And now, never mind what I have been: don't trouble\r
+your head further about me; but tell me the name of the house where we\r
+are."\r
+\r
+"Some calls it Marsh End, and some calls it Moor House."\r
+\r
+"And the gentleman who lives here is called Mr. St. John?"\r
+\r
+"Nay; he doesn't live here: he is only staying a while. When he is at\r
+home, he is in his own parish at Morton."\r
+\r
+"That village a few miles off?\r
+\r
+"Aye."\r
+\r
+"And what is he?"\r
+\r
+"He is a parson."\r
+\r
+I remembered the answer of the old housekeeper at the parsonage, when I\r
+had asked to see the clergyman. "This, then, was his father's\r
+residence?"\r
+\r
+"Aye; old Mr. Rivers lived here, and his father, and grandfather, and\r
+gurt (great) grandfather afore him."\r
+\r
+"The name, then, of that gentleman, is Mr. St. John Rivers?"\r
+\r
+"Aye; St. John is like his kirstened name."\r
+\r
+"And his sisters are called Diana and Mary Rivers?"\r
+\r
+"Yes."\r
+\r
+"Their father is dead?"\r
+\r
+"Dead three weeks sin' of a stroke."\r
+\r
+"They have no mother?"\r
+\r
+"The mistress has been dead this mony a year."\r
+\r
+"Have you lived with the family long?"\r
+\r
+"I've lived here thirty year. I nursed them all three."\r
+\r
+"That proves you must have been an honest and faithful servant. I will\r
+say so much for you, though you have had the incivility to call me a\r
+beggar."\r
+\r
+She again regarded me with a surprised stare. "I believe," she said, "I\r
+was quite mista'en in my thoughts of you: but there is so mony cheats\r
+goes about, you mun forgie me."\r
+\r
+"And though," I continued, rather severely, "you wished to turn me from\r
+the door, on a night when you should not have shut out a dog."\r
+\r
+"Well, it was hard: but what can a body do? I thought more o' th'\r
+childer nor of mysel: poor things! They've like nobody to tak' care on\r
+'em but me. I'm like to look sharpish."\r
+\r
+I maintained a grave silence for some minutes.\r
+\r
+"You munnut think too hardly of me," she again remarked.\r
+\r
+"But I do think hardly of you," I said; "and I'll tell you why--not so\r
+much because you refused to give me shelter, or regarded me as an\r
+impostor, as because you just now made it a species of reproach that I\r
+had no 'brass' and no house. Some of the best people that ever lived\r
+have been as destitute as I am; and if you are a Christian, you ought not\r
+to consider poverty a crime."\r
+\r
+"No more I ought," said she: "Mr. St. John tells me so too; and I see I\r
+wor wrang--but I've clear a different notion on you now to what I had.\r
+You look a raight down dacent little crater."\r
+\r
+"That will do--I forgive you now. Shake hands."\r
+\r
+She put her floury and horny hand into mine; another and heartier smile\r
+illumined her rough face, and from that moment we were friends.\r
+\r
+Hannah was evidently fond of talking. While I picked the fruit, and she\r
+made the paste for the pies, she proceeded to give me sundry details\r
+about her deceased master and mistress, and "the childer," as she called\r
+the young people.\r
+\r
+Old Mr. Rivers, she said, was a plain man enough, but a gentleman, and of\r
+as ancient a family as could be found. Marsh End had belonged to the\r
+Rivers ever since it was a house: and it was, she affirmed, "aboon two\r
+hundred year old--for all it looked but a small, humble place, naught to\r
+compare wi' Mr. Oliver's grand hall down i' Morton Vale. But she could\r
+remember Bill Oliver's father a journeyman needlemaker; and th' Rivers\r
+wor gentry i' th' owd days o' th' Henrys, as onybody might see by looking\r
+into th' registers i' Morton Church vestry." Still, she allowed, "the\r
+owd maister was like other folk--naught mich out o' t' common way: stark\r
+mad o' shooting, and farming, and sich like." The mistress was\r
+different. She was a great reader, and studied a deal; and the "bairns"\r
+had taken after her. There was nothing like them in these parts, nor\r
+ever had been; they had liked learning, all three, almost from the time\r
+they could speak; and they had always been "of a mak' of their own." Mr.\r
+St. John, when he grew up, would go to college and be a parson; and the\r
+girls, as soon as they left school, would seek places as governesses: for\r
+they had told her their father had some years ago lost a great deal of\r
+money by a man he had trusted turning bankrupt; and as he was now not\r
+rich enough to give them fortunes, they must provide for themselves. They\r
+had lived very little at home for a long while, and were only come now to\r
+stay a few weeks on account of their father's death; but they did so like\r
+Marsh End and Morton, and all these moors and hills about. They had been\r
+in London, and many other grand towns; but they always said there was no\r
+place like home; and then they were so agreeable with each other--never\r
+fell out nor "threaped." She did not know where there was such a family\r
+for being united.\r
+\r
+Having finished my task of gooseberry picking, I asked where the two\r
+ladies and their brother were now.\r
+\r
+"Gone over to Morton for a walk; but they would be back in half-an-hour\r
+to tea."\r
+\r
+They returned within the time Hannah had allotted them: they entered by\r
+the kitchen door. Mr. St. John, when he saw me, merely bowed and passed\r
+through; the two ladies stopped: Mary, in a few words, kindly and calmly\r
+expressed the pleasure she felt in seeing me well enough to be able to\r
+come down; Diana took my hand: she shook her head at me.\r
+\r
+"You should have waited for my leave to descend," she said. "You still\r
+look very pale--and so thin! Poor child!--poor girl!"\r
+\r
+Diana had a voice toned, to my ear, like the cooing of a dove. She\r
+possessed eyes whose gaze I delighted to encounter. Her whole face\r
+seemed to me full of charm. Mary's countenance was equally\r
+intelligent--her features equally pretty; but her expression was more\r
+reserved, and her manners, though gentle, more distant. Diana looked and\r
+spoke with a certain authority: she had a will, evidently. It was my\r
+nature to feel pleasure in yielding to an authority supported like hers,\r
+and to bend, where my conscience and self-respect permitted, to an active\r
+will.\r
+\r
+"And what business have you here?" she continued. "It is not your place.\r
+Mary and I sit in the kitchen sometimes, because at home we like to be\r
+free, even to license--but you are a visitor, and must go into the\r
+parlour."\r
+\r
+"I am very well here."\r
+\r
+"Not at all, with Hannah bustling about and covering you with flour."\r
+\r
+"Besides, the fire is too hot for you," interposed Mary.\r
+\r
+"To be sure," added her sister. "Come, you must be obedient." And still\r
+holding my hand she made me rise, and led me into the inner room.\r
+\r
+"Sit there," she said, placing me on the sofa, "while we take our things\r
+off and get the tea ready; it is another privilege we exercise in our\r
+little moorland home--to prepare our own meals when we are so inclined,\r
+or when Hannah is baking, brewing, washing, or ironing."\r
+\r
+She closed the door, leaving me solus with Mr. St. John, who sat\r
+opposite, a book or newspaper in his hand. I examined first, the\r
+parlour, and then its occupant.\r
+\r
+The parlour was rather a small room, very plainly furnished, yet\r
+comfortable, because clean and neat. The old-fashioned chairs were very\r
+bright, and the walnut-wood table was like a looking-glass. A few\r
+strange, antique portraits of the men and women of other days decorated\r
+the stained walls; a cupboard with glass doors contained some books and\r
+an ancient set of china. There was no superfluous ornament in the\r
+room--not one modern piece of furniture, save a brace of workboxes and a\r
+lady's desk in rosewood, which stood on a side-table:\r
+everything--including the carpet and curtains--looked at once well worn\r
+and well saved.\r
+\r
+Mr. St. John--sitting as still as one of the dusty pictures on the walls,\r
+keeping his eyes fixed on the page he perused, and his lips mutely\r
+sealed--was easy enough to examine. Had he been a statue instead of a\r
+man, he could not have been easier. He was young--perhaps from twenty-\r
+eight to thirty--tall, slender; his face riveted the eye; it was like a\r
+Greek face, very pure in outline: quite a straight, classic nose; quite\r
+an Athenian mouth and chin. It is seldom, indeed, an English face comes\r
+so near the antique models as did his. He might well be a little shocked\r
+at the irregularity of my lineaments, his own being so harmonious. His\r
+eyes were large and blue, with brown lashes; his high forehead,\r
+colourless as ivory, was partially streaked over by careless locks of\r
+fair hair.\r
+\r
+This is a gentle delineation, is it not, reader? Yet he whom it\r
+describes scarcely impressed one with the idea of a gentle, a yielding,\r
+an impressible, or even of a placid nature. Quiescent as he now sat,\r
+there was something about his nostril, his mouth, his brow, which, to my\r
+perceptions, indicated elements within either restless, or hard, or\r
+eager. He did not speak to me one word, nor even direct to me one\r
+glance, till his sisters returned. Diana, as she passed in and out, in\r
+the course of preparing tea, brought me a little cake, baked on the top\r
+of the oven.\r
+\r
+"Eat that now," she said: "you must be hungry. Hannah says you have had\r
+nothing but some gruel since breakfast."\r
+\r
+I did not refuse it, for my appetite was awakened and keen. Mr. Rivers\r
+now closed his book, approached the table, and, as he took a seat, fixed\r
+his blue pictorial-looking eyes full on me. There was an unceremonious\r
+directness, a searching, decided steadfastness in his gaze now, which\r
+told that intention, and not diffidence, had hitherto kept it averted\r
+from the stranger.\r
+\r
+"You are very hungry," he said.\r
+\r
+"I am, sir." It is my way--it always was my way, by instinct--ever to\r
+meet the brief with brevity, the direct with plainness.\r
+\r
+"It is well for you that a low fever has forced you to abstain for the\r
+last three days: there would have been danger in yielding to the cravings\r
+of your appetite at first. Now you may eat, though still not\r
+immoderately."\r
+\r
+"I trust I shall not eat long at your expense, sir," was my very clumsily-\r
+contrived, unpolished answer.\r
+\r
+"No," he said coolly: "when you have indicated to us the residence of\r
+your friends, we can write to them, and you may be restored to home."\r
+\r
+"That, I must plainly tell you, is out of my power to do; being\r
+absolutely without home and friends."\r
+\r
+The three looked at me, but not distrustfully; I felt there was no\r
+suspicion in their glances: there was more of curiosity. I speak\r
+particularly of the young ladies. St. John's eyes, though clear enough\r
+in a literal sense, in a figurative one were difficult to fathom. He\r
+seemed to use them rather as instruments to search other people's\r
+thoughts, than as agents to reveal his own: the which combination of\r
+keenness and reserve was considerably more calculated to embarrass than\r
+to encourage.\r
+\r
+"Do you mean to say," he asked, "that you are completely isolated from\r
+every connection?"\r
+\r
+"I do. Not a tie links me to any living thing: not a claim do I possess\r
+to admittance under any roof in England."\r
+\r
+"A most singular position at your age!"\r
+\r
+Here I saw his glance directed to my hands, which were folded on the\r
+table before me. I wondered what he sought there: his words soon\r
+explained the quest.\r
+\r
+"You have never been married? You are a spinster?"\r
+\r
+Diana laughed. "Why, she can't be above seventeen or eighteen years old,\r
+St. John," said she.\r
+\r
+"I am near nineteen: but I am not married. No."\r
+\r
+I felt a burning glow mount to my face; for bitter and agitating\r
+recollections were awakened by the allusion to marriage. They all saw\r
+the embarrassment and the emotion. Diana and Mary relieved me by turning\r
+their eyes elsewhere than to my crimsoned visage; but the colder and\r
+sterner brother continued to gaze, till the trouble he had excited forced\r
+out tears as well as colour.\r
+\r
+"Where did you last reside?" he now asked.\r
+\r
+"You are too inquisitive, St. John," murmured Mary in a low voice; but he\r
+leaned over the table and required an answer by a second firm and\r
+piercing look.\r
+\r
+"The name of the place where, and of the person with whom I lived, is my\r
+secret," I replied concisely.\r
+\r
+"Which, if you like, you have, in my opinion, a right to keep, both from\r
+St. John and every other questioner," remarked Diana.\r
+\r
+"Yet if I know nothing about you or your history, I cannot help you," he\r
+said. "And you need help, do you not?"\r
+\r
+"I need it, and I seek it so far, sir, that some true philanthropist will\r
+put me in the way of getting work which I can do, and the remuneration\r
+for which will keep me, if but in the barest necessaries of life."\r
+\r
+"I know not whether I am a true philanthropist; yet I am willing to aid\r
+you to the utmost of my power in a purpose so honest. First, then, tell\r
+me what you have been accustomed to do, and what you _can_ do."\r
+\r
+I had now swallowed my tea. I was mightily refreshed by the beverage; as\r
+much so as a giant with wine: it gave new tone to my unstrung nerves, and\r
+enabled me to address this penetrating young judge steadily.\r
+\r
+"Mr. Rivers," I said, turning to him, and looking at him, as he looked at\r
+me, openly and without diffidence, "you and your sisters have done me a\r
+great service--the greatest man can do his fellow-being; you have rescued\r
+me, by your noble hospitality, from death. This benefit conferred gives\r
+you an unlimited claim on my gratitude, and a claim, to a certain extent,\r
+on my confidence. I will tell you as much of the history of the wanderer\r
+you have harboured, as I can tell without compromising my own peace of\r
+mind--my own security, moral and physical, and that of others.\r
+\r
+"I am an orphan, the daughter of a clergyman. My parents died before I\r
+could know them. I was brought up a dependant; educated in a charitable\r
+institution. I will even tell you the name of the establishment, where I\r
+passed six years as a pupil, and two as a teacher--Lowood Orphan Asylum,\r
+---shire: you will have heard of it, Mr. Rivers?--the Rev. Robert\r
+Brocklehurst is the treasurer."\r
+\r
+"I have heard of Mr. Brocklehurst, and I have seen the school."\r
+\r
+"I left Lowood nearly a year since to become a private governess. I\r
+obtained a good situation, and was happy. This place I was obliged to\r
+leave four days before I came here. The reason of my departure I cannot\r
+and ought not to explain: it would be useless, dangerous, and would sound\r
+incredible. No blame attached to me: I am as free from culpability as\r
+any one of you three. Miserable I am, and must be for a time; for the\r
+catastrophe which drove me from a house I had found a paradise was of a\r
+strange and direful nature. I observed but two points in planning my\r
+departure--speed, secrecy: to secure these, I had to leave behind me\r
+everything I possessed except a small parcel; which, in my hurry and\r
+trouble of mind, I forgot to take out of the coach that brought me to\r
+Whitcross. To this neighbourhood, then, I came, quite destitute. I\r
+slept two nights in the open air, and wandered about two days without\r
+crossing a threshold: but twice in that space of time did I taste food;\r
+and it was when brought by hunger, exhaustion, and despair almost to the\r
+last gasp, that you, Mr. Rivers, forbade me to perish of want at your\r
+door, and took me under the shelter of your roof. I know all your\r
+sisters have done for me since--for I have not been insensible during my\r
+seeming torpor--and I owe to their spontaneous, genuine, genial\r
+compassion as large a debt as to your evangelical charity."\r
+\r
+"Don't make her talk any more now, St. John," said Diana, as I paused;\r
+"she is evidently not yet fit for excitement. Come to the sofa and sit\r
+down now, Miss Elliott."\r
+\r
+I gave an involuntary half start at hearing the _alias_: I had forgotten\r
+my new name. Mr. Rivers, whom nothing seemed to escape, noticed it at\r
+once.\r
+\r
+"You said your name was Jane Elliott?" he observed.\r
+\r
+"I did say so; and it is the name by which I think it expedient to be\r
+called at present, but it is not my real name, and when I hear it, it\r
+sounds strange to me."\r
+\r
+"Your real name you will not give?"\r
+\r
+"No: I fear discovery above all things; and whatever disclosure would\r
+lead to it, I avoid."\r
+\r
+"You are quite right, I am sure," said Diana. "Now do, brother, let her\r
+be at peace a while."\r
+\r
+But when St. John had mused a few moments he recommenced as imperturbably\r
+and with as much acumen as ever.\r
+\r
+"You would not like to be long dependent on our hospitality--you would\r
+wish, I see, to dispense as soon as may be with my sisters' compassion,\r
+and, above all, with my _charity_ (I am quite sensible of the distinction\r
+drawn, nor do I resent it--it is just): you desire to be independent of\r
+us?"\r
+\r
+"I do: I have already said so. Show me how to work, or how to seek work:\r
+that is all I now ask; then let me go, if it be but to the meanest\r
+cottage; but till then, allow me to stay here: I dread another essay of\r
+the horrors of homeless destitution."\r
+\r
+"Indeed you _shall_ stay here," said Diana, putting her white hand on my\r
+head. "You _shall_," repeated Mary, in the tone of undemonstrative\r
+sincerity which seemed natural to her.\r
+\r
+"My sisters, you see, have a pleasure in keeping you," said Mr. St. John,\r
+"as they would have a pleasure in keeping and cherishing a half-frozen\r
+bird, some wintry wind might have driven through their casement. I feel\r
+more inclination to put you in the way of keeping yourself, and shall\r
+endeavour to do so; but observe, my sphere is narrow. I am but the\r
+incumbent of a poor country parish: my aid must be of the humblest sort.\r
+And if you are inclined to despise the day of small things, seek some\r
+more efficient succour than such as I can offer."\r
+\r
+"She has already said that she is willing to do anything honest she can\r
+do," answered Diana for me; "and you know, St. John, she has no choice of\r
+helpers: she is forced to put up with such crusty people as you."\r
+\r
+"I will be a dressmaker; I will be a plain-workwoman; I will be a\r
+servant, a nurse-girl, if I can be no better," I answered.\r
+\r
+"Right," said Mr. St. John, quite coolly. "If such is your spirit, I\r
+promise to aid you, in my own time and way."\r
+\r
+He now resumed the book with which he had been occupied before tea. I\r
+soon withdrew, for I had talked as much, and sat up as long, as my\r
+present strength would permit.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER XXX\r
+\r
+\r
+The more I knew of the inmates of Moor House, the better I liked them. In\r
+a few days I had so far recovered my health that I could sit up all day,\r
+and walk out sometimes. I could join with Diana and Mary in all their\r
+occupations; converse with them as much as they wished, and aid them when\r
+and where they would allow me. There was a reviving pleasure in this\r
+intercourse, of a kind now tasted by me for the first time--the pleasure\r
+arising from perfect congeniality of tastes, sentiments, and principles.\r
+\r
+I liked to read what they liked to read: what they enjoyed, delighted me;\r
+what they approved, I reverenced. They loved their sequestered home. I,\r
+too, in the grey, small, antique structure, with its low roof, its\r
+latticed casements, its mouldering walls, its avenue of aged firs--all\r
+grown aslant under the stress of mountain winds; its garden, dark with\r
+yew and holly--and where no flowers but of the hardiest species would\r
+bloom--found a charm both potent and permanent. They clung to the purple\r
+moors behind and around their dwelling--to the hollow vale into which the\r
+pebbly bridle-path leading from their gate descended, and which wound\r
+between fern-banks first, and then amongst a few of the wildest little\r
+pasture-fields that ever bordered a wilderness of heath, or gave\r
+sustenance to a flock of grey moorland sheep, with their little mossy-\r
+faced lambs:--they clung to this scene, I say, with a perfect enthusiasm\r
+of attachment. I could comprehend the feeling, and share both its\r
+strength and truth. I saw the fascination of the locality. I felt the\r
+consecration of its loneliness: my eye feasted on the outline of swell\r
+and sweep--on the wild colouring communicated to ridge and dell by moss,\r
+by heath-bell, by flower-sprinkled turf, by brilliant bracken, and mellow\r
+granite crag. These details were just to me what they were to them--so\r
+many pure and sweet sources of pleasure. The strong blast and the soft\r
+breeze; the rough and the halcyon day; the hours of sunrise and sunset;\r
+the moonlight and the clouded night, developed for me, in these regions,\r
+the same attraction as for them--wound round my faculties the same spell\r
+that entranced theirs.\r
+\r
+Indoors we agreed equally well. They were both more accomplished and\r
+better read than I was; but with eagerness I followed in the path of\r
+knowledge they had trodden before me. I devoured the books they lent me:\r
+then it was full satisfaction to discuss with them in the evening what I\r
+had perused during the day. Thought fitted thought; opinion met opinion:\r
+we coincided, in short, perfectly.\r
+\r
+If in our trio there was a superior and a leader, it was Diana.\r
+Physically, she far excelled me: she was handsome; she was vigorous. In\r
+her animal spirits there was an affluence of life and certainty of flow,\r
+such as excited my wonder, while it baffled my comprehension. I could\r
+talk a while when the evening commenced, but the first gush of vivacity\r
+and fluency gone, I was fain to sit on a stool at Diana's feet, to rest\r
+my head on her knee, and listen alternately to her and Mary, while they\r
+sounded thoroughly the topic on which I had but touched. Diana offered\r
+to teach me German. I liked to learn of her: I saw the part of\r
+instructress pleased and suited her; that of scholar pleased and suited\r
+me no less. Our natures dovetailed: mutual affection--of the strongest\r
+kind--was the result. They discovered I could draw: their pencils and\r
+colour-boxes were immediately at my service. My skill, greater in this\r
+one point than theirs, surprised and charmed them. Mary would sit and\r
+watch me by the hour together: then she would take lessons; and a docile,\r
+intelligent, assiduous pupil she made. Thus occupied, and mutually\r
+entertained, days passed like hours, and weeks like days.\r
+\r
+As to Mr. St John, the intimacy which had arisen so naturally and rapidly\r
+between me and his sisters did not extend to him. One reason of the\r
+distance yet observed between us was, that he was comparatively seldom at\r
+home: a large proportion of his time appeared devoted to visiting the\r
+sick and poor among the scattered population of his parish.\r
+\r
+No weather seemed to hinder him in these pastoral excursions: rain or\r
+fair, he would, when his hours of morning study were over, take his hat,\r
+and, followed by his father's old pointer, Carlo, go out on his mission\r
+of love or duty--I scarcely know in which light he regarded it.\r
+Sometimes, when the day was very unfavourable, his sisters would\r
+expostulate. He would then say, with a peculiar smile, more solemn than\r
+cheerful--\r
+\r
+"And if I let a gust of wind or a sprinkling of rain turn me aside from\r
+these easy tasks, what preparation would such sloth be for the future I\r
+propose to myself?"\r
+\r
+Diana and Mary's general answer to this question was a sigh, and some\r
+minutes of apparently mournful meditation.\r
+\r
+But besides his frequent absences, there was another barrier to\r
+friendship with him: he seemed of a reserved, an abstracted, and even of\r
+a brooding nature. Zealous in his ministerial labours, blameless in his\r
+life and habits, he yet did not appear to enjoy that mental serenity,\r
+that inward content, which should be the reward of every sincere\r
+Christian and practical philanthropist. Often, of an evening, when he\r
+sat at the window, his desk and papers before him, he would cease reading\r
+or writing, rest his chin on his hand, and deliver himself up to I know\r
+not what course of thought; but that it was perturbed and exciting might\r
+be seen in the frequent flash and changeful dilation of his eye.\r
+\r
+I think, moreover, that Nature was not to him that treasury of delight it\r
+was to his sisters. He expressed once, and but once in my hearing, a\r
+strong sense of the rugged charm of the hills, and an inborn affection\r
+for the dark roof and hoary walls he called his home; but there was more\r
+of gloom than pleasure in the tone and words in which the sentiment was\r
+manifested; and never did he seem to roam the moors for the sake of their\r
+soothing silence--never seek out or dwell upon the thousand peaceful\r
+delights they could yield.\r
+\r
+Incommunicative as he was, some time elapsed before I had an opportunity\r
+of gauging his mind. I first got an idea of its calibre when I heard him\r
+preach in his own church at Morton. I wish I could describe that sermon:\r
+but it is past my power. I cannot even render faithfully the effect it\r
+produced on me.\r
+\r
+It began calm--and indeed, as far as delivery and pitch of voice went, it\r
+was calm to the end: an earnestly felt, yet strictly restrained zeal\r
+breathed soon in the distinct accents, and prompted the nervous language.\r
+This grew to force--compressed, condensed, controlled. The heart was\r
+thrilled, the mind astonished, by the power of the preacher: neither were\r
+softened. Throughout there was a strange bitterness; an absence of\r
+consolatory gentleness; stern allusions to Calvinistic\r
+doctrines--election, predestination, reprobation--were frequent; and each\r
+reference to these points sounded like a sentence pronounced for doom.\r
+When he had done, instead of feeling better, calmer, more enlightened by\r
+his discourse, I experienced an inexpressible sadness; for it seemed to\r
+me--I know not whether equally so to others--that the eloquence to which\r
+I had been listening had sprung from a depth where lay turbid dregs of\r
+disappointment--where moved troubling impulses of insatiate yearnings and\r
+disquieting aspirations. I was sure St. John Rivers--pure-lived,\r
+conscientious, zealous as he was--had not yet found that peace of God\r
+which passeth all understanding: he had no more found it, I thought, than\r
+had I with my concealed and racking regrets for my broken idol and lost\r
+elysium--regrets to which I have latterly avoided referring, but which\r
+possessed me and tyrannised over me ruthlessly.\r
+\r
+Meantime a month was gone. Diana and Mary were soon to leave Moor House,\r
+and return to the far different life and scene which awaited them, as\r
+governesses in a large, fashionable, south-of-England city, where each\r
+held a situation in families by whose wealthy and haughty members they\r
+were regarded only as humble dependants, and who neither knew nor sought\r
+out their innate excellences, and appreciated only their acquired\r
+accomplishments as they appreciated the skill of their cook or the taste\r
+of their waiting-woman. Mr. St. John had said nothing to me yet about\r
+the employment he had promised to obtain for me; yet it became urgent\r
+that I should have a vocation of some kind. One morning, being left\r
+alone with him a few minutes in the parlour, I ventured to approach the\r
+window-recess--which his table, chair, and desk consecrated as a kind of\r
+study--and I was going to speak, though not very well knowing in what\r
+words to frame my inquiry--for it is at all times difficult to break the\r
+ice of reserve glassing over such natures as his--when he saved me the\r
+trouble by being the first to commence a dialogue.\r
+\r
+Looking up as I drew near--"You have a question to ask of me?" he said.\r
+\r
+"Yes; I wish to know whether you have heard of any service I can offer\r
+myself to undertake?"\r
+\r
+"I found or devised something for you three weeks ago; but as you seemed\r
+both useful and happy here--as my sisters had evidently become attached\r
+to you, and your society gave them unusual pleasure--I deemed it\r
+inexpedient to break in on your mutual comfort till their approaching\r
+departure from Marsh End should render yours necessary."\r
+\r
+"And they will go in three days now?" I said.\r
+\r
+"Yes; and when they go, I shall return to the parsonage at Morton: Hannah\r
+will accompany me; and this old house will be shut up."\r
+\r
+I waited a few moments, expecting he would go on with the subject first\r
+broached: but he seemed to have entered another train of reflection: his\r
+look denoted abstraction from me and my business. I was obliged to\r
+recall him to a theme which was of necessity one of close and anxious\r
+interest to me.\r
+\r
+"What is the employment you had in view, Mr. Rivers? I hope this delay\r
+will not have increased the difficulty of securing it."\r
+\r
+"Oh, no; since it is an employment which depends only on me to give, and\r
+you to accept."\r
+\r
+He again paused: there seemed a reluctance to continue. I grew\r
+impatient: a restless movement or two, and an eager and exacting glance\r
+fastened on his face, conveyed the feeling to him as effectually as words\r
+could have done, and with less trouble.\r
+\r
+"You need be in no hurry to hear," he said: "let me frankly tell you, I\r
+have nothing eligible or profitable to suggest. Before I explain,\r
+recall, if you please, my notice, clearly given, that if I helped you, it\r
+must be as the blind man would help the lame. I am poor; for I find\r
+that, when I have paid my father's debts, all the patrimony remaining to\r
+me will be this crumbling grange, the row of scathed firs behind, and the\r
+patch of moorish soil, with the yew-trees and holly-bushes in front. I\r
+am obscure: Rivers is an old name; but of the three sole descendants of\r
+the race, two earn the dependant's crust among strangers, and the third\r
+considers himself an alien from his native country--not only for life,\r
+but in death. Yes, and deems, and is bound to deem, himself honoured by\r
+the lot, and aspires but after the day when the cross of separation from\r
+fleshly ties shall be laid on his shoulders, and when the Head of that\r
+church-militant of whose humblest members he is one, shall give the word,\r
+'Rise, follow Me!'"\r
+\r
+St. John said these words as he pronounced his sermons, with a quiet,\r
+deep voice; with an unflushed cheek, and a coruscating radiance of\r
+glance. He resumed--\r
+\r
+"And since I am myself poor and obscure, I can offer you but a service of\r
+poverty and obscurity. _You_ may even think it degrading--for I see now\r
+your habits have been what the world calls refined: your tastes lean to\r
+the ideal, and your society has at least been amongst the educated; but\r
+_I_ consider that no service degrades which can better our race. I hold\r
+that the more arid and unreclaimed the soil where the Christian\r
+labourer's task of tillage is appointed him--the scantier the meed his\r
+toil brings--the higher the honour. His, under such circumstances, is\r
+the destiny of the pioneer; and the first pioneers of the Gospel were the\r
+Apostles--their captain was Jesus, the Redeemer, Himself."\r
+\r
+"Well?" I said, as he again paused--"proceed."\r
+\r
+He looked at me before he proceeded: indeed, he seemed leisurely to read\r
+my face, as if its features and lines were characters on a page. The\r
+conclusions drawn from this scrutiny he partially expressed in his\r
+succeeding observations.\r
+\r
+"I believe you will accept the post I offer you," said he, "and hold it\r
+for a while: not permanently, though: any more than I could permanently\r
+keep the narrow and narrowing--the tranquil, hidden office of English\r
+country incumbent; for in your nature is an alloy as detrimental to\r
+repose as that in mine, though of a different kind."\r
+\r
+"Do explain," I urged, when he halted once more.\r
+\r
+"I will; and you shall hear how poor the proposal is,--how trivial--how\r
+cramping. I shall not stay long at Morton, now that my father is dead,\r
+and that I am my own master. I shall leave the place probably in the\r
+course of a twelve-month; but while I do stay, I will exert myself to the\r
+utmost for its improvement. Morton, when I came to it two years ago, had\r
+no school: the children of the poor were excluded from every hope of\r
+progress. I established one for boys: I mean now to open a second school\r
+for girls. I have hired a building for the purpose, with a cottage of\r
+two rooms attached to it for the mistress's house. Her salary will be\r
+thirty pounds a year: her house is already furnished, very simply, but\r
+sufficiently, by the kindness of a lady, Miss Oliver; the only daughter\r
+of the sole rich man in my parish--Mr. Oliver, the proprietor of a needle-\r
+factory and iron-foundry in the valley. The same lady pays for the\r
+education and clothing of an orphan from the workhouse, on condition that\r
+she shall aid the mistress in such menial offices connected with her own\r
+house and the school as her occupation of teaching will prevent her\r
+having time to discharge in person. Will you be this mistress?"\r
+\r
+He put the question rather hurriedly; he seemed half to expect an\r
+indignant, or at least a disdainful rejection of the offer: not knowing\r
+all my thoughts and feelings, though guessing some, he could not tell in\r
+what light the lot would appear to me. In truth it was humble--but then\r
+it was sheltered, and I wanted a safe asylum: it was plodding--but then,\r
+compared with that of a governess in a rich house, it was independent;\r
+and the fear of servitude with strangers entered my soul like iron: it\r
+was not ignoble--not unworthy--not mentally degrading, I made my\r
+decision.\r
+\r
+"I thank you for the proposal, Mr. Rivers, and I accept it with all my\r
+heart."\r
+\r
+"But you comprehend me?" he said. "It is a village school: your scholars\r
+will be only poor girls--cottagers' children--at the best, farmers'\r
+daughters. Knitting, sewing, reading, writing, ciphering, will be all\r
+you will have to teach. What will you do with your accomplishments?\r
+What, with the largest portion of your mind--sentiments--tastes?"\r
+\r
+"Save them till they are wanted. They will keep."\r
+\r
+"You know what you undertake, then?"\r
+\r
+"I do."\r
+\r
+He now smiled: and not a bitter or a sad smile, but one well pleased and\r
+deeply gratified.\r
+\r
+"And when will you commence the exercise of your function?"\r
+\r
+"I will go to my house to-morrow, and open the school, if you like, next\r
+week."\r
+\r
+"Very well: so be it."\r
+\r
+He rose and walked through the room. Standing still, he again looked at\r
+me. He shook his head.\r
+\r
+"What do you disapprove of, Mr. Rivers?" I asked.\r
+\r
+"You will not stay at Morton long: no, no!"\r
+\r
+"Why? What is your reason for saying so?"\r
+\r
+"I read it in your eye; it is not of that description which promises the\r
+maintenance of an even tenor in life."\r
+\r
+"I am not ambitious."\r
+\r
+He started at the word "ambitious." He repeated, "No. What made you\r
+think of ambition? Who is ambitious? I know I am: but how did you find\r
+it out?"\r
+\r
+"I was speaking of myself."\r
+\r
+"Well, if you are not ambitious, you are--" He paused.\r
+\r
+"What?"\r
+\r
+"I was going to say, impassioned: but perhaps you would have\r
+misunderstood the word, and been displeased. I mean, that human\r
+affections and sympathies have a most powerful hold on you. I am sure\r
+you cannot long be content to pass your leisure in solitude, and to\r
+devote your working hours to a monotonous labour wholly void of stimulus:\r
+any more than I can be content," he added, with emphasis, "to live here\r
+buried in morass, pent in with mountains--my nature, that God gave me,\r
+contravened; my faculties, heaven-bestowed, paralysed--made useless. You\r
+hear now how I contradict myself. I, who preached contentment with a\r
+humble lot, and justified the vocation even of hewers of wood and drawers\r
+of water in God's service--I, His ordained minister, almost rave in my\r
+restlessness. Well, propensities and principles must be reconciled by\r
+some means."\r
+\r
+He left the room. In this brief hour I had learnt more of him than in\r
+the whole previous month: yet still he puzzled me.\r
+\r
+Diana and Mary Rivers became more sad and silent as the day approached\r
+for leaving their brother and their home. They both tried to appear as\r
+usual; but the sorrow they had to struggle against was one that could not\r
+be entirely conquered or concealed. Diana intimated that this would be a\r
+different parting from any they had ever yet known. It would probably,\r
+as far as St. John was concerned, be a parting for years: it might be a\r
+parting for life.\r
+\r
+"He will sacrifice all to his long-framed resolves," she said: "natural\r
+affection and feelings more potent still. St. John looks quiet, Jane;\r
+but he hides a fever in his vitals. You would think him gentle, yet in\r
+some things he is inexorable as death; and the worst of it is, my\r
+conscience will hardly permit me to dissuade him from his severe\r
+decision: certainly, I cannot for a moment blame him for it. It is\r
+right, noble, Christian: yet it breaks my heart!" And the tears gushed\r
+to her fine eyes. Mary bent her head low over her work.\r
+\r
+"We are now without father: we shall soon be without home and brother,"\r
+she murmured.\r
+\r
+At that moment a little accident supervened, which seemed decreed by fate\r
+purposely to prove the truth of the adage, that "misfortunes never come\r
+singly," and to add to their distresses the vexing one of the slip\r
+between the cup and the lip. St. John passed the window reading a\r
+letter. He entered.\r
+\r
+"Our uncle John is dead," said he.\r
+\r
+Both the sisters seemed struck: not shocked or appalled; the tidings\r
+appeared in their eyes rather momentous than afflicting.\r
+\r
+"Dead?" repeated Diana.\r
+\r
+"Yes."\r
+\r
+She riveted a searching gaze on her brother's face. "And what then?" she\r
+demanded, in a low voice.\r
+\r
+"What then, Die?" he replied, maintaining a marble immobility of feature.\r
+"What then? Why--nothing. Read."\r
+\r
+He threw the letter into her lap. She glanced over it, and handed it to\r
+Mary. Mary perused it in silence, and returned it to her brother. All\r
+three looked at each other, and all three smiled--a dreary, pensive smile\r
+enough.\r
+\r
+"Amen! We can yet live," said Diana at last.\r
+\r
+"At any rate, it makes us no worse off than we were before," remarked\r
+Mary.\r
+\r
+"Only it forces rather strongly on the mind the picture of what _might\r
+have been_," said Mr. Rivers, "and contrasts it somewhat too vividly with\r
+what _is_."\r
+\r
+He folded the letter, locked it in his desk, and again went out.\r
+\r
+For some minutes no one spoke. Diana then turned to me.\r
+\r
+"Jane, you will wonder at us and our mysteries," she said, "and think us\r
+hard-hearted beings not to be more moved at the death of so near a\r
+relation as an uncle; but we have never seen him or known him. He was my\r
+mother's brother. My father and he quarrelled long ago. It was by his\r
+advice that my father risked most of his property in the speculation that\r
+ruined him. Mutual recrimination passed between them: they parted in\r
+anger, and were never reconciled. My uncle engaged afterwards in more\r
+prosperous undertakings: it appears he realised a fortune of twenty\r
+thousand pounds. He was never married, and had no near kindred but\r
+ourselves and one other person, not more closely related than we. My\r
+father always cherished the idea that he would atone for his error by\r
+leaving his possessions to us; that letter informs us that he has\r
+bequeathed every penny to the other relation, with the exception of\r
+thirty guineas, to be divided between St. John, Diana, and Mary Rivers,\r
+for the purchase of three mourning rings. He had a right, of course, to\r
+do as he pleased: and yet a momentary damp is cast on the spirits by the\r
+receipt of such news. Mary and I would have esteemed ourselves rich with\r
+a thousand pounds each; and to St. John such a sum would have been\r
+valuable, for the good it would have enabled him to do."\r
+\r
+This explanation given, the subject was dropped, and no further reference\r
+made to it by either Mr. Rivers or his sisters. The next day I left\r
+Marsh End for Morton. The day after, Diana and Mary quitted it for\r
+distant B-. In a week, Mr. Rivers and Hannah repaired to the parsonage:\r
+and so the old grange was abandoned.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER XXXI\r
+\r
+\r
+My home, then, when I at last find a home,--is a cottage; a little room\r
+with whitewashed walls and a sanded floor, containing four painted chairs\r
+and a table, a clock, a cupboard, with two or three plates and dishes,\r
+and a set of tea-things in delf. Above, a chamber of the same dimensions\r
+as the kitchen, with a deal bedstead and chest of drawers; small, yet too\r
+large to be filled with my scanty wardrobe: though the kindness of my\r
+gentle and generous friends has increased that, by a modest stock of such\r
+things as are necessary.\r
+\r
+It is evening. I have dismissed, with the fee of an orange, the little\r
+orphan who serves me as a handmaid. I am sitting alone on the hearth.\r
+This morning, the village school opened. I had twenty scholars. But\r
+three of the number can read: none write or cipher. Several knit, and a\r
+few sew a little. They speak with the broadest accent of the district.\r
+At present, they and I have a difficulty in understanding each other's\r
+language. Some of them are unmannered, rough, intractable, as well as\r
+ignorant; but others are docile, have a wish to learn, and evince a\r
+disposition that pleases me. I must not forget that these coarsely-clad\r
+little peasants are of flesh and blood as good as the scions of gentlest\r
+genealogy; and that the germs of native excellence, refinement,\r
+intelligence, kind feeling, are as likely to exist in their hearts as in\r
+those of the best-born. My duty will be to develop these germs: surely I\r
+shall find some happiness in discharging that office. Much enjoyment I\r
+do not expect in the life opening before me: yet it will, doubtless, if I\r
+regulate my mind, and exert my powers as I ought, yield me enough to live\r
+on from day to day.\r
+\r
+Was I very gleeful, settled, content, during the hours I passed in yonder\r
+bare, humble schoolroom this morning and afternoon? Not to deceive\r
+myself, I must reply--No: I felt desolate to a degree. I felt--yes,\r
+idiot that I am--I felt degraded. I doubted I had taken a step which\r
+sank instead of raising me in the scale of social existence. I was\r
+weakly dismayed at the ignorance, the poverty, the coarseness of all I\r
+heard and saw round me. But let me not hate and despise myself too much\r
+for these feelings; I know them to be wrong--that is a great step gained;\r
+I shall strive to overcome them. To-morrow, I trust, I shall get the\r
+better of them partially; and in a few weeks, perhaps, they will be quite\r
+subdued. In a few months, it is possible, the happiness of seeing\r
+progress, and a change for the better in my scholars may substitute\r
+gratification for disgust.\r
+\r
+Meantime, let me ask myself one question--Which is better?--To have\r
+surrendered to temptation; listened to passion; made no painful effort--no\r
+struggle;--but to have sunk down in the silken snare; fallen asleep on\r
+the flowers covering it; wakened in a southern clime, amongst the\r
+luxuries of a pleasure villa: to have been now living in France, Mr.\r
+Rochester's mistress; delirious with his love half my time--for he\r
+would--oh, yes, he would have loved me well for a while. He _did_ love\r
+me--no one will ever love me so again. I shall never more know the sweet\r
+homage given to beauty, youth, and grace--for never to any one else shall\r
+I seem to possess these charms. He was fond and proud of me--it is what\r
+no man besides will ever be.--But where am I wandering, and what am I\r
+saying, and above all, feeling? Whether is it better, I ask, to be a\r
+slave in a fool's paradise at Marseilles--fevered with delusive bliss one\r
+hour--suffocating with the bitterest tears of remorse and shame the\r
+next--or to be a village-schoolmistress, free and honest, in a breezy\r
+mountain nook in the healthy heart of England?\r
+\r
+Yes; I feel now that I was right when I adhered to principle and law, and\r
+scorned and crushed the insane promptings of a frenzied moment. God\r
+directed me to a correct choice: I thank His providence for the guidance!\r
+\r
+Having brought my eventide musings to this point, I rose, went to my\r
+door, and looked at the sunset of the harvest-day, and at the quiet\r
+fields before my cottage, which, with the school, was distant half a mile\r
+from the village. The birds were singing their last strains--\r
+\r
+ "The air was mild, the dew was balm."\r
+\r
+While I looked, I thought myself happy, and was surprised to find myself\r
+ere long weeping--and why? For the doom which had reft me from adhesion\r
+to my master: for him I was no more to see; for the desperate grief and\r
+fatal fury--consequences of my departure--which might now, perhaps, be\r
+dragging him from the path of right, too far to leave hope of ultimate\r
+restoration thither. At this thought, I turned my face aside from the\r
+lovely sky of eve and lonely vale of Morton--I say _lonely_, for in that\r
+bend of it visible to me there was no building apparent save the church\r
+and the parsonage, half-hid in trees, and, quite at the extremity, the\r
+roof of Vale Hall, where the rich Mr. Oliver and his daughter lived. I\r
+hid my eyes, and leant my head against the stone frame of my door; but\r
+soon a slight noise near the wicket which shut in my tiny garden from the\r
+meadow beyond it made me look up. A dog--old Carlo, Mr. Rivers' pointer,\r
+as I saw in a moment--was pushing the gate with his nose, and St. John\r
+himself leant upon it with folded arms; his brow knit, his gaze, grave\r
+almost to displeasure, fixed on me. I asked him to come in.\r
+\r
+"No, I cannot stay; I have only brought you a little parcel my sisters\r
+left for you. I think it contains a colour-box, pencils, and paper."\r
+\r
+I approached to take it: a welcome gift it was. He examined my face, I\r
+thought, with austerity, as I came near: the traces of tears were\r
+doubtless very visible upon it.\r
+\r
+"Have you found your first day's work harder than you expected?" he\r
+asked.\r
+\r
+"Oh, no! On the contrary, I think in time I shall get on with my\r
+scholars very well."\r
+\r
+"But perhaps your accommodations--your cottage--your furniture--have\r
+disappointed your expectations? They are, in truth, scanty enough; but--"\r
+I interrupted--\r
+\r
+"My cottage is clean and weather-proof; my furniture sufficient and\r
+commodious. All I see has made me thankful, not despondent. I am not\r
+absolutely such a fool and sensualist as to regret the absence of a\r
+carpet, a sofa, and silver plate; besides, five weeks ago I had nothing--I\r
+was an outcast, a beggar, a vagrant; now I have acquaintance, a home, a\r
+business. I wonder at the goodness of God; the generosity of my friends;\r
+the bounty of my lot. I do not repine."\r
+\r
+"But you feel solitude an oppression? The little house there behind you\r
+is dark and empty."\r
+\r
+"I have hardly had time yet to enjoy a sense of tranquillity, much less\r
+to grow impatient under one of loneliness."\r
+\r
+"Very well; I hope you feel the content you express: at any rate, your\r
+good sense will tell you that it is too soon yet to yield to the\r
+vacillating fears of Lot's wife. What you had left before I saw you, of\r
+course I do not know; but I counsel you to resist firmly every temptation\r
+which would incline you to look back: pursue your present career\r
+steadily, for some months at least."\r
+\r
+"It is what I mean to do," I answered. St. John continued--\r
+\r
+"It is hard work to control the workings of inclination and turn the bent\r
+of nature; but that it may be done, I know from experience. God has\r
+given us, in a measure, the power to make our own fate; and when our\r
+energies seem to demand a sustenance they cannot get--when our will\r
+strains after a path we may not follow--we need neither starve from\r
+inanition, nor stand still in despair: we have but to seek another\r
+nourishment for the mind, as strong as the forbidden food it longed to\r
+taste--and perhaps purer; and to hew out for the adventurous foot a road\r
+as direct and broad as the one Fortune has blocked up against us, if\r
+rougher than it.\r
+\r
+"A year ago I was myself intensely miserable, because I thought I had\r
+made a mistake in entering the ministry: its uniform duties wearied me to\r
+death. I burnt for the more active life of the world--for the more\r
+exciting toils of a literary career--for the destiny of an artist,\r
+author, orator; anything rather than that of a priest: yes, the heart of\r
+a politician, of a soldier, of a votary of glory, a lover of renown, a\r
+luster after power, beat under my curate's surplice. I considered; my\r
+life was so wretched, it must be changed, or I must die. After a season\r
+of darkness and struggling, light broke and relief fell: my cramped\r
+existence all at once spread out to a plain without bounds--my powers\r
+heard a call from heaven to rise, gather their full strength, spread\r
+their wings, and mount beyond ken. God had an errand for me; to bear\r
+which afar, to deliver it well, skill and strength, courage and\r
+eloquence, the best qualifications of soldier, statesman, and orator,\r
+were all needed: for these all centre in the good missionary.\r
+\r
+"A missionary I resolved to be. From that moment my state of mind\r
+changed; the fetters dissolved and dropped from every faculty, leaving\r
+nothing of bondage but its galling soreness--which time only can heal. My\r
+father, indeed, imposed the determination, but since his death, I have\r
+not a legitimate obstacle to contend with; some affairs settled, a\r
+successor for Morton provided, an entanglement or two of the feelings\r
+broken through or cut asunder--a last conflict with human weakness, in\r
+which I know I shall overcome, because I have vowed that I _will_\r
+overcome--and I leave Europe for the East."\r
+\r
+He said this, in his peculiar, subdued, yet emphatic voice; looking, when\r
+he had ceased speaking, not at me, but at the setting sun, at which I\r
+looked too. Both he and I had our backs towards the path leading up the\r
+field to the wicket. We had heard no step on that grass-grown track; the\r
+water running in the vale was the one lulling sound of the hour and\r
+scene; we might well then start when a gay voice, sweet as a silver bell,\r
+exclaimed--\r
+\r
+"Good evening, Mr. Rivers. And good evening, old Carlo. Your dog is\r
+quicker to recognise his friends than you are, sir; he pricked his ears\r
+and wagged his tail when I was at the bottom of the field, and you have\r
+your back towards me now."\r
+\r
+It was true. Though Mr. Rivers had started at the first of those musical\r
+accents, as if a thunderbolt had split a cloud over his head, he stood\r
+yet, at the close of the sentence, in the same attitude in which the\r
+speaker had surprised him--his arm resting on the gate, his face directed\r
+towards the west. He turned at last, with measured deliberation. A\r
+vision, as it seemed to me, had risen at his side. There appeared,\r
+within three feet of him, a form clad in pure white--a youthful, graceful\r
+form: full, yet fine in contour; and when, after bending to caress Carlo,\r
+it lifted up its head, and threw back a long veil, there bloomed under\r
+his glance a face of perfect beauty. Perfect beauty is a strong\r
+expression; but I do not retrace or qualify it: as sweet features as ever\r
+the temperate clime of Albion moulded; as pure hues of rose and lily as\r
+ever her humid gales and vapoury skies generated and screened, justified,\r
+in this instance, the term. No charm was wanting, no defect was\r
+perceptible; the young girl had regular and delicate lineaments; eyes\r
+shaped and coloured as we see them in lovely pictures, large, and dark,\r
+and full; the long and shadowy eyelash which encircles a fine eye with so\r
+soft a fascination; the pencilled brow which gives such clearness; the\r
+white smooth forehead, which adds such repose to the livelier beauties of\r
+tint and ray; the cheek oval, fresh, and smooth; the lips, fresh too,\r
+ruddy, healthy, sweetly formed; the even and gleaming teeth without flaw;\r
+the small dimpled chin; the ornament of rich, plenteous tresses--all\r
+advantages, in short, which, combined, realise the ideal of beauty, were\r
+fully hers. I wondered, as I looked at this fair creature: I admired her\r
+with my whole heart. Nature had surely formed her in a partial mood;\r
+and, forgetting her usual stinted step-mother dole of gifts, had endowed\r
+this, her darling, with a grand-dame's bounty.\r
+\r
+What did St. John Rivers think of this earthly angel? I naturally asked\r
+myself that question as I saw him turn to her and look at her; and, as\r
+naturally, I sought the answer to the inquiry in his countenance. He had\r
+already withdrawn his eye from the Peri, and was looking at a humble tuft\r
+of daisies which grew by the wicket.\r
+\r
+"A lovely evening, but late for you to be out alone," he said, as he\r
+crushed the snowy heads of the closed flowers with his foot.\r
+\r
+"Oh, I only came home from S-" (she mentioned the name of a large town\r
+some twenty miles distant) "this afternoon. Papa told me you had opened\r
+your school, and that the new mistress was come; and so I put on my\r
+bonnet after tea, and ran up the valley to see her: this is she?"\r
+pointing to me.\r
+\r
+"It is," said St. John.\r
+\r
+"Do you think you shall like Morton?" she asked of me, with a direct and\r
+naive simplicity of tone and manner, pleasing, if child-like.\r
+\r
+"I hope I shall. I have many inducements to do so."\r
+\r
+"Did you find your scholars as attentive as you expected?"\r
+\r
+"Quite."\r
+\r
+"Do you like your house?"\r
+\r
+"Very much."\r
+\r
+"Have I furnished it nicely?"\r
+\r
+"Very nicely, indeed."\r
+\r
+"And made a good choice of an attendant for you in Alice Wood?"\r
+\r
+"You have indeed. She is teachable and handy." (This then, I thought,\r
+is Miss Oliver, the heiress; favoured, it seems, in the gifts of fortune,\r
+as well as in those of nature! What happy combination of the planets\r
+presided over her birth, I wonder?)\r
+\r
+"I shall come up and help you to teach sometimes," she added. "It will\r
+be a change for me to visit you now and then; and I like a change. Mr.\r
+Rivers, I have been _so_ gay during my stay at S-. Last night, or rather\r
+this morning, I was dancing till two o'clock. The ---th regiment are\r
+stationed there since the riots; and the officers are the most agreeable\r
+men in the world: they put all our young knife-grinders and scissor\r
+merchants to shame."\r
+\r
+It seemed to me that Mr. St. John's under lip protruded, and his upper\r
+lip curled a moment. His mouth certainly looked a good deal compressed,\r
+and the lower part of his face unusually stern and square, as the\r
+laughing girl gave him this information. He lifted his gaze, too, from\r
+the daisies, and turned it on her. An unsmiling, a searching, a meaning\r
+gaze it was. She answered it with a second laugh, and laughter well\r
+became her youth, her roses, her dimples, her bright eyes.\r
+\r
+As he stood, mute and grave, she again fell to caressing Carlo. "Poor\r
+Carlo loves me," said she. "_He_ is not stern and distant to his\r
+friends; and if he could speak, he would not be silent."\r
+\r
+As she patted the dog's head, bending with native grace before his young\r
+and austere master, I saw a glow rise to that master's face. I saw his\r
+solemn eye melt with sudden fire, and flicker with resistless emotion.\r
+Flushed and kindled thus, he looked nearly as beautiful for a man as she\r
+for a woman. His chest heaved once, as if his large heart, weary of\r
+despotic constriction, had expanded, despite the will, and made a\r
+vigorous bound for the attainment of liberty. But he curbed it, I think,\r
+as a resolute rider would curb a rearing steed. He responded neither by\r
+word nor movement to the gentle advances made him.\r
+\r
+"Papa says you never come to see us now," continued Miss Oliver, looking\r
+up. "You are quite a stranger at Vale Hall. He is alone this evening,\r
+and not very well: will you return with me and visit him?"\r
+\r
+"It is not a seasonable hour to intrude on Mr. Oliver," answered St.\r
+John.\r
+\r
+"Not a seasonable hour! But I declare it is. It is just the hour when\r
+papa most wants company: when the works are closed and he has no business\r
+to occupy him. Now, Mr. Rivers, _do_ come. Why are you so very shy, and\r
+so very sombre?" She filled up the hiatus his silence left by a reply of\r
+her own.\r
+\r
+"I forgot!" she exclaimed, shaking her beautiful curled head, as if\r
+shocked at herself. "I am so giddy and thoughtless! _Do_ excuse me. It\r
+had slipped my memory that you have good reasons to be indisposed for\r
+joining in my chatter. Diana and Mary have left you, and Moor House is\r
+shut up, and you are so lonely. I am sure I pity you. Do come and see\r
+papa."\r
+\r
+"Not to-night, Miss Rosamond, not to-night."\r
+\r
+Mr. St. John spoke almost like an automaton: himself only knew the effort\r
+it cost him thus to refuse.\r
+\r
+"Well, if you are so obstinate, I will leave you; for I dare not stay any\r
+longer: the dew begins to fall. Good evening!"\r
+\r
+She held out her hand. He just touched it. "Good evening!" he repeated,\r
+in a voice low and hollow as an echo. She turned, but in a moment\r
+returned.\r
+\r
+"Are you well?" she asked. Well might she put the question: his face was\r
+blanched as her gown.\r
+\r
+"Quite well," he enunciated; and, with a bow, he left the gate. She went\r
+one way; he another. She turned twice to gaze after him as she tripped\r
+fairy-like down the field; he, as he strode firmly across, never turned\r
+at all.\r
+\r
+This spectacle of another's suffering and sacrifice rapt my thoughts from\r
+exclusive meditation on my own. Diana Rivers had designated her brother\r
+"inexorable as death." She had not exaggerated.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER XXXII\r
+\r
+\r
+I continued the labours of the village-school as actively and faithfully\r
+as I could. It was truly hard work at first. Some time elapsed before,\r
+with all my efforts, I could comprehend my scholars and their nature.\r
+Wholly untaught, with faculties quite torpid, they seemed to me\r
+hopelessly dull; and, at first sight, all dull alike: but I soon found I\r
+was mistaken. There was a difference amongst them as amongst the\r
+educated; and when I got to know them, and they me, this difference\r
+rapidly developed itself. Their amazement at me, my language, my rules,\r
+and ways, once subsided, I found some of these heavy-looking, gaping\r
+rustics wake up into sharp-witted girls enough. Many showed themselves\r
+obliging, and amiable too; and I discovered amongst them not a few\r
+examples of natural politeness, and innate self-respect, as well as of\r
+excellent capacity, that won both my goodwill and my admiration. These\r
+soon took a pleasure in doing their work well, in keeping their persons\r
+neat, in learning their tasks regularly, in acquiring quiet and orderly\r
+manners. The rapidity of their progress, in some instances, was even\r
+surprising; and an honest and happy pride I took in it: besides, I began\r
+personally to like some of the best girls; and they liked me. I had\r
+amongst my scholars several farmers' daughters: young women grown,\r
+almost. These could already read, write, and sew; and to them I taught\r
+the elements of grammar, geography, history, and the finer kinds of\r
+needlework. I found estimable characters amongst them--characters\r
+desirous of information and disposed for improvement--with whom I passed\r
+many a pleasant evening hour in their own homes. Their parents then (the\r
+farmer and his wife) loaded me with attentions. There was an enjoyment\r
+in accepting their simple kindness, and in repaying it by a\r
+consideration--a scrupulous regard to their feelings--to which they were\r
+not, perhaps, at all times accustomed, and which both charmed and\r
+benefited them; because, while it elevated them in their own eyes, it\r
+made them emulous to merit the deferential treatment they received.\r
+\r
+I felt I became a favourite in the neighbourhood. Whenever I went out, I\r
+heard on all sides cordial salutations, and was welcomed with friendly\r
+smiles. To live amidst general regard, though it be but the regard of\r
+working people, is like "sitting in sunshine, calm and sweet;" serene\r
+inward feelings bud and bloom under the ray. At this period of my life,\r
+my heart far oftener swelled with thankfulness than sank with dejection:\r
+and yet, reader, to tell you all, in the midst of this calm, this useful\r
+existence--after a day passed in honourable exertion amongst my scholars,\r
+an evening spent in drawing or reading contentedly alone--I used to rush\r
+into strange dreams at night: dreams many-coloured, agitated, full of the\r
+ideal, the stirring, the stormy--dreams where, amidst unusual scenes,\r
+charged with adventure, with agitating risk and romantic chance, I still\r
+again and again met Mr. Rochester, always at some exciting crisis; and\r
+then the sense of being in his arms, hearing his voice, meeting his eye,\r
+touching his hand and cheek, loving him, being loved by him--the hope of\r
+passing a lifetime at his side, would be renewed, with all its first\r
+force and fire. Then I awoke. Then I recalled where I was, and how\r
+situated. Then I rose up on my curtainless bed, trembling and quivering;\r
+and then the still, dark night witnessed the convulsion of despair, and\r
+heard the burst of passion. By nine o'clock the next morning I was\r
+punctually opening the school; tranquil, settled, prepared for the steady\r
+duties of the day.\r
+\r
+Rosamond Oliver kept her word in coming to visit me. Her call at the\r
+school was generally made in the course of her morning ride. She would\r
+canter up to the door on her pony, followed by a mounted livery servant.\r
+Anything more exquisite than her appearance, in her purple habit, with\r
+her Amazon's cap of black velvet placed gracefully above the long curls\r
+that kissed her cheek and floated to her shoulders, can scarcely be\r
+imagined: and it was thus she would enter the rustic building, and glide\r
+through the dazzled ranks of the village children. She generally came at\r
+the hour when Mr. Rivers was engaged in giving his daily catechising\r
+lesson. Keenly, I fear, did the eye of the visitress pierce the young\r
+pastor's heart. A sort of instinct seemed to warn him of her entrance,\r
+even when he did not see it; and when he was looking quite away from the\r
+door, if she appeared at it, his cheek would glow, and his marble-seeming\r
+features, though they refused to relax, changed indescribably, and in\r
+their very quiescence became expressive of a repressed fervour, stronger\r
+than working muscle or darting glance could indicate.\r
+\r
+Of course, she knew her power: indeed, he did not, because he could not,\r
+conceal it from her. In spite of his Christian stoicism, when she went\r
+up and addressed him, and smiled gaily, encouragingly, even fondly in his\r
+face, his hand would tremble and his eye burn. He seemed to say, with\r
+his sad and resolute look, if he did not say it with his lips, "I love\r
+you, and I know you prefer me. It is not despair of success that keeps\r
+me dumb. If I offered my heart, I believe you would accept it. But that\r
+heart is already laid on a sacred altar: the fire is arranged round it.\r
+It will soon be no more than a sacrifice consumed."\r
+\r
+And then she would pout like a disappointed child; a pensive cloud would\r
+soften her radiant vivacity; she would withdraw her hand hastily from\r
+his, and turn in transient petulance from his aspect, at once so heroic\r
+and so martyr-like. St. John, no doubt, would have given the world to\r
+follow, recall, retain her, when she thus left him; but he would not give\r
+one chance of heaven, nor relinquish, for the elysium of her love, one\r
+hope of the true, eternal Paradise. Besides, he could not bind all that\r
+he had in his nature--the rover, the aspirant, the poet, the priest--in\r
+the limits of a single passion. He could not--he would not--renounce his\r
+wild field of mission warfare for the parlours and the peace of Vale\r
+Hall. I learnt so much from himself in an inroad I once, despite his\r
+reserve, had the daring to make on his confidence.\r
+\r
+Miss Oliver already honoured me with frequent visits to my cottage. I\r
+had learnt her whole character, which was without mystery or disguise:\r
+she was coquettish but not heartless; exacting, but not worthlessly\r
+selfish. She had been indulged from her birth, but was not absolutely\r
+spoilt. She was hasty, but good-humoured; vain (she could not help it,\r
+when every glance in the glass showed her such a flush of loveliness),\r
+but not affected; liberal-handed; innocent of the pride of wealth;\r
+ingenuous; sufficiently intelligent; gay, lively, and unthinking: she was\r
+very charming, in short, even to a cool observer of her own sex like me;\r
+but she was not profoundly interesting or thoroughly impressive. A very\r
+different sort of mind was hers from that, for instance, of the sisters\r
+of St. John. Still, I liked her almost as I liked my pupil Adele; except\r
+that, for a child whom we have watched over and taught, a closer\r
+affection is engendered than we can give an equally attractive adult\r
+acquaintance.\r
+\r
+She had taken an amiable caprice to me. She said I was like Mr. Rivers,\r
+only, certainly, she allowed, "not one-tenth so handsome, though I was a\r
+nice neat little soul enough, but he was an angel." I was, however,\r
+good, clever, composed, and firm, like him. I was a _lusus naturae_, she\r
+affirmed, as a village schoolmistress: she was sure my previous history,\r
+if known, would make a delightful romance.\r
+\r
+One evening, while, with her usual child-like activity, and thoughtless\r
+yet not offensive inquisitiveness, she was rummaging the cupboard and the\r
+table-drawer of my little kitchen, she discovered first two French books,\r
+a volume of Schiller, a German grammar and dictionary, and then my\r
+drawing-materials and some sketches, including a pencil-head of a pretty\r
+little cherub-like girl, one of my scholars, and sundry views from\r
+nature, taken in the Vale of Morton and on the surrounding moors. She\r
+was first transfixed with surprise, and then electrified with delight.\r
+\r
+"Had I done these pictures? Did I know French and German? What a\r
+love--what a miracle I was! I drew better than her master in the first\r
+school in S-. Would I sketch a portrait of her, to show to papa?"\r
+\r
+"With pleasure," I replied; and I felt a thrill of artist-delight at the\r
+idea of copying from so perfect and radiant a model. She had then on a\r
+dark-blue silk dress; her arms and her neck were bare; her only ornament\r
+was her chestnut tresses, which waved over her shoulders with all the\r
+wild grace of natural curls. I took a sheet of fine card-board, and drew\r
+a careful outline. I promised myself the pleasure of colouring it; and,\r
+as it was getting late then, I told her she must come and sit another\r
+day.\r
+\r
+She made such a report of me to her father, that Mr. Oliver himself\r
+accompanied her next evening--a tall, massive-featured, middle-aged, and\r
+grey-headed man, at whose side his lovely daughter looked like a bright\r
+flower near a hoary turret. He appeared a taciturn, and perhaps a proud\r
+personage; but he was very kind to me. The sketch of Rosamond's portrait\r
+pleased him highly: he said I must make a finished picture of it. He\r
+insisted, too, on my coming the next day to spend the evening at Vale\r
+Hall.\r
+\r
+I went. I found it a large, handsome residence, showing abundant\r
+evidences of wealth in the proprietor. Rosamond was full of glee and\r
+pleasure all the time I stayed. Her father was affable; and when he\r
+entered into conversation with me after tea, he expressed in strong terms\r
+his approbation of what I had done in Morton school, and said he only\r
+feared, from what he saw and heard, I was too good for the place, and\r
+would soon quit it for one more suitable.\r
+\r
+"Indeed," cried Rosamond, "she is clever enough to be a governess in a\r
+high family, papa."\r
+\r
+I thought I would far rather be where I am than in any high family in the\r
+land. Mr. Oliver spoke of Mr. Rivers--of the Rivers family--with great\r
+respect. He said it was a very old name in that neighbourhood; that the\r
+ancestors of the house were wealthy; that all Morton had once belonged to\r
+them; that even now he considered the representative of that house might,\r
+if he liked, make an alliance with the best. He accounted it a pity that\r
+so fine and talented a young man should have formed the design of going\r
+out as a missionary; it was quite throwing a valuable life away. It\r
+appeared, then, that her father would throw no obstacle in the way of\r
+Rosamond's union with St. John. Mr. Oliver evidently regarded the young\r
+clergyman's good birth, old name, and sacred profession as sufficient\r
+compensation for the want of fortune.\r
+\r
+It was the 5th of November, and a holiday. My little servant, after\r
+helping me to clean my house, was gone, well satisfied with the fee of a\r
+penny for her aid. All about me was spotless and bright--scoured floor,\r
+polished grate, and well-rubbed chairs. I had also made myself neat, and\r
+had now the afternoon before me to spend as I would.\r
+\r
+The translation of a few pages of German occupied an hour; then I got my\r
+palette and pencils, and fell to the more soothing, because easier\r
+occupation, of completing Rosamond Oliver's miniature. The head was\r
+finished already: there was but the background to tint and the drapery to\r
+shade off; a touch of carmine, too, to add to the ripe lips--a soft curl\r
+here and there to the tresses--a deeper tinge to the shadow of the lash\r
+under the azured eyelid. I was absorbed in the execution of these nice\r
+details, when, after one rapid tap, my door unclosed, admitting St. John\r
+Rivers.\r
+\r
+"I am come to see how you are spending your holiday," he said. "Not, I\r
+hope, in thought? No, that is well: while you draw you will not feel\r
+lonely. You see, I mistrust you still, though you have borne up\r
+wonderfully so far. I have brought you a book for evening solace," and\r
+he laid on the table a new publication--a poem: one of those genuine\r
+productions so often vouchsafed to the fortunate public of those days--the\r
+golden age of modern literature. Alas! the readers of our era are less\r
+favoured. But courage! I will not pause either to accuse or repine. I\r
+know poetry is not dead, nor genius lost; nor has Mammon gained power\r
+over either, to bind or slay: they will both assert their existence,\r
+their presence, their liberty and strength again one day. Powerful\r
+angels, safe in heaven! they smile when sordid souls triumph, and feeble\r
+ones weep over their destruction. Poetry destroyed? Genius banished?\r
+No! Mediocrity, no: do not let envy prompt you to the thought. No; they\r
+not only live, but reign and redeem: and without their divine influence\r
+spread everywhere, you would be in hell--the hell of your own meanness.\r
+\r
+While I was eagerly glancing at the bright pages of "Marmion" (for\r
+"Marmion" it was), St. John stooped to examine my drawing. His tall\r
+figure sprang erect again with a start: he said nothing. I looked up at\r
+him: he shunned my eye. I knew his thoughts well, and could read his\r
+heart plainly; at the moment I felt calmer and cooler than he: I had then\r
+temporarily the advantage of him, and I conceived an inclination to do\r
+him some good, if I could.\r
+\r
+"With all his firmness and self-control," thought I, "he tasks himself\r
+too far: locks every feeling and pang within--expresses, confesses,\r
+imparts nothing. I am sure it would benefit him to talk a little about\r
+this sweet Rosamond, whom he thinks he ought not to marry: I will make\r
+him talk."\r
+\r
+I said first, "Take a chair, Mr. Rivers." But he answered, as he always\r
+did, that he could not stay. "Very well," I responded, mentally, "stand\r
+if you like; but you shall not go just yet, I am determined: solitude is\r
+at least as bad for you as it is for me. I'll try if I cannot discover\r
+the secret spring of your confidence, and find an aperture in that marble\r
+breast through which I can shed one drop of the balm of sympathy."\r
+\r
+"Is this portrait like?" I asked bluntly.\r
+\r
+"Like! Like whom? I did not observe it closely."\r
+\r
+"You did, Mr. Rivers."\r
+\r
+He almost started at my sudden and strange abruptness: he looked at me\r
+astonished. "Oh, that is nothing yet," I muttered within. "I don't mean\r
+to be baffled by a little stiffness on your part; I'm prepared to go to\r
+considerable lengths." I continued, "You observed it closely and\r
+distinctly; but I have no objection to your looking at it again," and I\r
+rose and placed it in his hand.\r
+\r
+"A well-executed picture," he said; "very soft, clear colouring; very\r
+graceful and correct drawing."\r
+\r
+"Yes, yes; I know all that. But what of the resemblance? Who is it\r
+like?"\r
+\r
+Mastering some hesitation, he answered, "Miss Oliver, I presume."\r
+\r
+"Of course. And now, sir, to reward you for the accurate guess, I will\r
+promise to paint you a careful and faithful duplicate of this very\r
+picture, provided you admit that the gift would be acceptable to you. I\r
+don't wish to throw away my time and trouble on an offering you would\r
+deem worthless."\r
+\r
+He continued to gaze at the picture: the longer he looked, the firmer he\r
+held it, the more he seemed to covet it. "It is like!" he murmured; "the\r
+eye is well managed: the colour, light, expression, are perfect. It\r
+smiles!"\r
+\r
+"Would it comfort, or would it wound you to have a similar painting? Tell\r
+me that. When you are at Madagascar, or at the Cape, or in India, would\r
+it be a consolation to have that memento in your possession? or would the\r
+sight of it bring recollections calculated to enervate and distress?"\r
+\r
+He now furtively raised his eyes: he glanced at me, irresolute,\r
+disturbed: he again surveyed the picture.\r
+\r
+"That I should like to have it is certain: whether it would be judicious\r
+or wise is another question."\r
+\r
+Since I had ascertained that Rosamond really preferred him, and that her\r
+father was not likely to oppose the match, I--less exalted in my views\r
+than St. John--had been strongly disposed in my own heart to advocate\r
+their union. It seemed to me that, should he become the possessor of Mr.\r
+Oliver's large fortune, he might do as much good with it as if he went\r
+and laid his genius out to wither, and his strength to waste, under a\r
+tropical sun. With this persuasion I now answered--\r
+\r
+"As far as I can see, it would be wiser and more judicious if you were to\r
+take to yourself the original at once."\r
+\r
+By this time he had sat down: he had laid the picture on the table before\r
+him, and with his brow supported on both hands, hung fondly over it. I\r
+discerned he was now neither angry nor shocked at my audacity. I saw\r
+even that to be thus frankly addressed on a subject he had deemed\r
+unapproachable--to hear it thus freely handled--was beginning to be felt\r
+by him as a new pleasure--an unhoped-for relief. Reserved people often\r
+really need the frank discussion of their sentiments and griefs more than\r
+the expansive. The sternest-seeming stoic is human after all; and to\r
+"burst" with boldness and good-will into "the silent sea" of their souls\r
+is often to confer on them the first of obligations.\r
+\r
+"She likes you, I am sure," said I, as I stood behind his chair, "and her\r
+father respects you. Moreover, she is a sweet girl--rather thoughtless;\r
+but you would have sufficient thought for both yourself and her. You\r
+ought to marry her."\r
+\r
+"_Does_ she like me?" he asked.\r
+\r
+"Certainly; better than she likes any one else. She talks of you\r
+continually: there is no subject she enjoys so much or touches upon so\r
+often."\r
+\r
+"It is very pleasant to hear this," he said--"very: go on for another\r
+quarter of an hour." And he actually took out his watch and laid it upon\r
+the table to measure the time.\r
+\r
+"But where is the use of going on," I asked, "when you are probably\r
+preparing some iron blow of contradiction, or forging a fresh chain to\r
+fetter your heart?"\r
+\r
+"Don't imagine such hard things. Fancy me yielding and melting, as I am\r
+doing: human love rising like a freshly opened fountain in my mind and\r
+overflowing with sweet inundation all the field I have so carefully and\r
+with such labour prepared--so assiduously sown with the seeds of good\r
+intentions, of self-denying plans. And now it is deluged with a\r
+nectarous flood--the young germs swamped--delicious poison cankering\r
+them: now I see myself stretched on an ottoman in the drawing-room at\r
+Vale Hall at my bride Rosamond Oliver's feet: she is talking to me with\r
+her sweet voice--gazing down on me with those eyes your skilful hand has\r
+copied so well--smiling at me with these coral lips. She is mine--I am\r
+hers--this present life and passing world suffice to me. Hush! say\r
+nothing--my heart is full of delight--my senses are entranced--let the\r
+time I marked pass in peace."\r
+\r
+I humoured him: the watch ticked on: he breathed fast and low: I stood\r
+silent. Amidst this hush the quartet sped; he replaced the watch, laid\r
+the picture down, rose, and stood on the hearth.\r
+\r
+"Now," said he, "that little space was given to delirium and delusion. I\r
+rested my temples on the breast of temptation, and put my neck\r
+voluntarily under her yoke of flowers. I tasted her cup. The pillow was\r
+burning: there is an asp in the garland: the wine has a bitter taste: her\r
+promises are hollow--her offers false: I see and know all this."\r
+\r
+I gazed at him in wonder.\r
+\r
+"It is strange," pursued he, "that while I love Rosamond Oliver so\r
+wildly--with all the intensity, indeed, of a first passion, the object of\r
+which is exquisitely beautiful, graceful, fascinating--I experience at\r
+the same time a calm, unwarped consciousness that she would not make me a\r
+good wife; that she is not the partner suited to me; that I should\r
+discover this within a year after marriage; and that to twelve months'\r
+rapture would succeed a lifetime of regret. This I know."\r
+\r
+"Strange indeed!" I could not help ejaculating.\r
+\r
+"While something in me," he went on, "is acutely sensible to her charms,\r
+something else is as deeply impressed with her defects: they are such\r
+that she could sympathise in nothing I aspired to--co-operate in nothing\r
+I undertook. Rosamond a sufferer, a labourer, a female apostle? Rosamond\r
+a missionary's wife? No!"\r
+\r
+"But you need not be a missionary. You might relinquish that scheme."\r
+\r
+"Relinquish! What! my vocation? My great work? My foundation laid on\r
+earth for a mansion in heaven? My hopes of being numbered in the band\r
+who have merged all ambitions in the glorious one of bettering their\r
+race--of carrying knowledge into the realms of ignorance--of substituting\r
+peace for war--freedom for bondage--religion for superstition--the hope\r
+of heaven for the fear of hell? Must I relinquish that? It is dearer\r
+than the blood in my veins. It is what I have to look forward to, and to\r
+live for."\r
+\r
+After a considerable pause, I said--"And Miss Oliver? Are her\r
+disappointment and sorrow of no interest to you?"\r
+\r
+"Miss Oliver is ever surrounded by suitors and flatterers: in less than a\r
+month, my image will be effaced from her heart. She will forget me; and\r
+will marry, probably, some one who will make her far happier than I\r
+should do."\r
+\r
+"You speak coolly enough; but you suffer in the conflict. You are\r
+wasting away."\r
+\r
+"No. If I get a little thin, it is with anxiety about my prospects, yet\r
+unsettled--my departure, continually procrastinated. Only this morning,\r
+I received intelligence that the successor, whose arrival I have been so\r
+long expecting, cannot be ready to replace me for three months to come\r
+yet; and perhaps the three months may extend to six."\r
+\r
+"You tremble and become flushed whenever Miss Oliver enters the\r
+schoolroom."\r
+\r
+Again the surprised expression crossed his face. He had not imagined\r
+that a woman would dare to speak so to a man. For me, I felt at home in\r
+this sort of discourse. I could never rest in communication with strong,\r
+discreet, and refined minds, whether male or female, till I had passed\r
+the outworks of conventional reserve, and crossed the threshold of\r
+confidence, and won a place by their heart's very hearthstone.\r
+\r
+"You are original," said he, "and not timid. There is something brave in\r
+your spirit, as well as penetrating in your eye; but allow me to assure\r
+you that you partially misinterpret my emotions. You think them more\r
+profound and potent than they are. You give me a larger allowance of\r
+sympathy than I have a just claim to. When I colour, and when I shade\r
+before Miss Oliver, I do not pity myself. I scorn the weakness. I know\r
+it is ignoble: a mere fever of the flesh: not, I declare, the convulsion\r
+of the soul. _That_ is just as fixed as a rock, firm set in the depths\r
+of a restless sea. Know me to be what I am--a cold hard man."\r
+\r
+I smiled incredulously.\r
+\r
+"You have taken my confidence by storm," he continued, "and now it is\r
+much at your service. I am simply, in my original state--stripped of\r
+that blood-bleached robe with which Christianity covers human deformity--a\r
+cold, hard, ambitious man. Natural affection only, of all the\r
+sentiments, has permanent power over me. Reason, and not feeling, is my\r
+guide; my ambition is unlimited: my desire to rise higher, to do more\r
+than others, insatiable. I honour endurance, perseverance, industry,\r
+talent; because these are the means by which men achieve great ends and\r
+mount to lofty eminence. I watch your career with interest, because I\r
+consider you a specimen of a diligent, orderly, energetic woman: not\r
+because I deeply compassionate what you have gone through, or what you\r
+still suffer."\r
+\r
+"You would describe yourself as a mere pagan philosopher," I said.\r
+\r
+"No. There is this difference between me and deistic philosophers: I\r
+believe; and I believe the Gospel. You missed your epithet. I am not a\r
+pagan, but a Christian philosopher--a follower of the sect of Jesus. As\r
+His disciple I adopt His pure, His merciful, His benignant doctrines. I\r
+advocate them: I am sworn to spread them. Won in youth to religion, she\r
+has cultivated my original qualities thus:--From the minute germ, natural\r
+affection, she has developed the overshadowing tree, philanthropy. From\r
+the wild stringy root of human uprightness, she has reared a due sense of\r
+the Divine justice. Of the ambition to win power and renown for my\r
+wretched self, she has formed the ambition to spread my Master's kingdom;\r
+to achieve victories for the standard of the cross. So much has religion\r
+done for me; turning the original materials to the best account; pruning\r
+and training nature. But she could not eradicate nature: nor will it be\r
+eradicated 'till this mortal shall put on immortality.'"\r
+\r
+Having said this, he took his hat, which lay on the table beside my\r
+palette. Once more he looked at the portrait.\r
+\r
+"She _is_ lovely," he murmured. "She is well named the Rose of the\r
+World, indeed!"\r
+\r
+"And may I not paint one like it for you?"\r
+\r
+"_Cui bono_? No."\r
+\r
+He drew over the picture the sheet of thin paper on which I was\r
+accustomed to rest my hand in painting, to prevent the cardboard from\r
+being sullied. What he suddenly saw on this blank paper, it was\r
+impossible for me to tell; but something had caught his eye. He took it\r
+up with a snatch; he looked at the edge; then shot a glance at me,\r
+inexpressibly peculiar, and quite incomprehensible: a glance that seemed\r
+to take and make note of every point in my shape, face, and dress; for it\r
+traversed all, quick, keen as lightning. His lips parted, as if to\r
+speak: but he checked the coming sentence, whatever it was.\r
+\r
+"What is the matter?" I asked.\r
+\r
+"Nothing in the world," was the reply; and, replacing the paper, I saw\r
+him dexterously tear a narrow slip from the margin. It disappeared in\r
+his glove; and, with one hasty nod and "good-afternoon," he vanished.\r
+\r
+"Well!" I exclaimed, using an expression of the district, "that caps the\r
+globe, however!"\r
+\r
+I, in my turn, scrutinised the paper; but saw nothing on it save a few\r
+dingy stains of paint where I had tried the tint in my pencil. I\r
+pondered the mystery a minute or two; but finding it insolvable, and\r
+being certain it could not be of much moment, I dismissed, and soon\r
+forgot it.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER XXXIII\r
+\r
+\r
+When Mr. St. John went, it was beginning to snow; the whirling storm\r
+continued all night. The next day a keen wind brought fresh and blinding\r
+falls; by twilight the valley was drifted up and almost impassable. I\r
+had closed my shutter, laid a mat to the door to prevent the snow from\r
+blowing in under it, trimmed my fire, and after sitting nearly an hour on\r
+the hearth listening to the muffled fury of the tempest, I lit a candle,\r
+took down "Marmion," and beginning--\r
+\r
+ "Day set on Norham's castled steep,\r
+ And Tweed's fair river broad and deep,\r
+ And Cheviot's mountains lone;\r
+ The massive towers, the donjon keep,\r
+ The flanking walls that round them sweep,\r
+ In yellow lustre shone"--\r
+\r
+I soon forgot storm in music.\r
+\r
+I heard a noise: the wind, I thought, shook the door. No; it was St.\r
+John Rivers, who, lifting the latch, came in out of the frozen\r
+hurricane--the howling darkness--and stood before me: the cloak that\r
+covered his tall figure all white as a glacier. I was almost in\r
+consternation, so little had I expected any guest from the blocked-up\r
+vale that night.\r
+\r
+"Any ill news?" I demanded. "Has anything happened?"\r
+\r
+"No. How very easily alarmed you are!" he answered, removing his cloak\r
+and hanging it up against the door, towards which he again coolly pushed\r
+the mat which his entrance had deranged. He stamped the snow from his\r
+boots.\r
+\r
+"I shall sully the purity of your floor," said he, "but you must excuse\r
+me for once." Then he approached the fire. "I have had hard work to get\r
+here, I assure you," he observed, as he warmed his hands over the flame.\r
+"One drift took me up to the waist; happily the snow is quite soft yet."\r
+\r
+"But why are you come?" I could not forbear saying.\r
+\r
+"Rather an inhospitable question to put to a visitor; but since you ask\r
+it, I answer simply to have a little talk with you; I got tired of my\r
+mute books and empty rooms. Besides, since yesterday I have experienced\r
+the excitement of a person to whom a tale has been half-told, and who is\r
+impatient to hear the sequel."\r
+\r
+He sat down. I recalled his singular conduct of yesterday, and really I\r
+began to fear his wits were touched. If he were insane, however, his was\r
+a very cool and collected insanity: I had never seen that\r
+handsome-featured face of his look more like chiselled marble than it did\r
+just now, as he put aside his snow-wet hair from his forehead and let the\r
+firelight shine free on his pale brow and cheek as pale, where it grieved\r
+me to discover the hollow trace of care or sorrow now so plainly graved.\r
+I waited, expecting he would say something I could at least comprehend;\r
+but his hand was now at his chin, his finger on his lip: he was thinking.\r
+It struck me that his hand looked wasted like his face. A perhaps\r
+uncalled-for gush of pity came over my heart: I was moved to say--\r
+\r
+"I wish Diana or Mary would come and live with you: it is too bad that\r
+you should be quite alone; and you are recklessly rash about your own\r
+health."\r
+\r
+"Not at all," said he: "I care for myself when necessary. I am well now.\r
+What do you see amiss in me?"\r
+\r
+This was said with a careless, abstracted indifference, which showed that\r
+my solicitude was, at least in his opinion, wholly superfluous. I was\r
+silenced.\r
+\r
+He still slowly moved his finger over his upper lip, and still his eye\r
+dwelt dreamily on the glowing grate; thinking it urgent to say something,\r
+I asked him presently if he felt any cold draught from the door, which\r
+was behind him.\r
+\r
+"No, no!" he responded shortly and somewhat testily.\r
+\r
+"Well," I reflected, "if you won't talk, you may be still; I'll let you\r
+alone now, and return to my book."\r
+\r
+So I snuffed the candle and resumed the perusal of "Marmion." He soon\r
+stirred; my eye was instantly drawn to his movements; he only took out a\r
+morocco pocket-book, thence produced a letter, which he read in silence,\r
+folded it, put it back, relapsed into meditation. It was vain to try to\r
+read with such an inscrutable fixture before me; nor could I, in\r
+impatience, consent to be dumb; he might rebuff me if he liked, but talk\r
+I would.\r
+\r
+"Have you heard from Diana and Mary lately?"\r
+\r
+"Not since the letter I showed you a week ago."\r
+\r
+"There has not been any change made about your own arrangements? You\r
+will not be summoned to leave England sooner than you expected?"\r
+\r
+"I fear not, indeed: such chance is too good to befall me." Baffled so\r
+far, I changed my ground. I bethought myself to talk about the school\r
+and my scholars.\r
+\r
+"Mary Garrett's mother is better, and Mary came back to the school this\r
+morning, and I shall have four new girls next week from the Foundry\r
+Close--they would have come to-day but for the snow."\r
+\r
+"Indeed!"\r
+\r
+"Mr. Oliver pays for two."\r
+\r
+"Does he?"\r
+\r
+"He means to give the whole school a treat at Christmas."\r
+\r
+"I know."\r
+\r
+"Was it your suggestion?"\r
+\r
+"No."\r
+\r
+"Whose, then?"\r
+\r
+"His daughter's, I think."\r
+\r
+"It is like her: she is so good-natured."\r
+\r
+"Yes."\r
+\r
+Again came the blank of a pause: the clock struck eight strokes. It\r
+aroused him; he uncrossed his legs, sat erect, turned to me.\r
+\r
+"Leave your book a moment, and come a little nearer the fire," he said.\r
+\r
+Wondering, and of my wonder finding no end, I complied.\r
+\r
+"Half-an-hour ago," he pursued, "I spoke of my impatience to hear the\r
+sequel of a tale: on reflection, I find the matter will be better managed\r
+by my assuming the narrator's part, and converting you into a listener.\r
+Before commencing, it is but fair to warn you that the story will sound\r
+somewhat hackneyed in your ears; but stale details often regain a degree\r
+of freshness when they pass through new lips. For the rest, whether\r
+trite or novel, it is short.\r
+\r
+"Twenty years ago, a poor curate--never mind his name at this moment--fell\r
+in love with a rich man's daughter; she fell in love with him, and\r
+married him, against the advice of all her friends, who consequently\r
+disowned her immediately after the wedding. Before two years passed, the\r
+rash pair were both dead, and laid quietly side by side under one slab.\r
+(I have seen their grave; it formed part of the pavement of a huge\r
+churchyard surrounding the grim, soot-black old cathedral of an overgrown\r
+manufacturing town in ---shire.) They left a daughter, which, at its\r
+very birth, Charity received in her lap--cold as that of the snow-drift I\r
+almost stuck fast in to-night. Charity carried the friendless thing to\r
+the house of its rich maternal relations; it was reared by an aunt-in-\r
+law, called (I come to names now) Mrs. Reed of Gateshead. You start--did\r
+you hear a noise? I daresay it is only a rat scrambling along the\r
+rafters of the adjoining schoolroom: it was a barn before I had it\r
+repaired and altered, and barns are generally haunted by rats.--To\r
+proceed. Mrs. Reed kept the orphan ten years: whether it was happy or\r
+not with her, I cannot say, never having been told; but at the end of\r
+that time she transferred it to a place you know--being no other than\r
+Lowood School, where you so long resided yourself. It seems her career\r
+there was very honourable: from a pupil, she became a teacher, like\r
+yourself--really it strikes me there are parallel points in her history\r
+and yours--she left it to be a governess: there, again, your fates were\r
+analogous; she undertook the education of the ward of a certain Mr.\r
+Rochester."\r
+\r
+"Mr. Rivers!" I interrupted.\r
+\r
+"I can guess your feelings," he said, "but restrain them for a while: I\r
+have nearly finished; hear me to the end. Of Mr. Rochester's character I\r
+know nothing, but the one fact that he professed to offer honourable\r
+marriage to this young girl, and that at the very altar she discovered he\r
+had a wife yet alive, though a lunatic. What his subsequent conduct and\r
+proposals were is a matter of pure conjecture; but when an event\r
+transpired which rendered inquiry after the governess necessary, it was\r
+discovered she was gone--no one could tell when, where, or how. She had\r
+left Thornfield Hall in the night; every research after her course had\r
+been vain: the country had been scoured far and wide; no vestige of\r
+information could be gathered respecting her. Yet that she should be\r
+found is become a matter of serious urgency: advertisements have been put\r
+in all the papers; I myself have received a letter from one Mr. Briggs, a\r
+solicitor, communicating the details I have just imparted. Is it not an\r
+odd tale?"\r
+\r
+"Just tell me this," said I, "and since you know so much, you surely can\r
+tell it me--what of Mr. Rochester? How and where is he? What is he\r
+doing? Is he well?"\r
+\r
+"I am ignorant of all concerning Mr. Rochester: the letter never mentions\r
+him but to narrate the fraudulent and illegal attempt I have adverted to.\r
+You should rather ask the name of the governess--the nature of the event\r
+which requires her appearance."\r
+\r
+"Did no one go to Thornfield Hall, then? Did no one see Mr. Rochester?"\r
+\r
+"I suppose not."\r
+\r
+"But they wrote to him?"\r
+\r
+"Of course."\r
+\r
+"And what did he say? Who has his letters?"\r
+\r
+"Mr. Briggs intimates that the answer to his application was not from Mr.\r
+Rochester, but from a lady: it is signed 'Alice Fairfax.'"\r
+\r
+I felt cold and dismayed: my worst fears then were probably true: he had\r
+in all probability left England and rushed in reckless desperation to\r
+some former haunt on the Continent. And what opiate for his severe\r
+sufferings--what object for his strong passions--had he sought there? I\r
+dared not answer the question. Oh, my poor master--once almost my\r
+husband--whom I had often called "my dear Edward!"\r
+\r
+"He must have been a bad man," observed Mr. Rivers.\r
+\r
+"You don't know him--don't pronounce an opinion upon him," I said, with\r
+warmth.\r
+\r
+"Very well," he answered quietly: "and indeed my head is otherwise\r
+occupied than with him: I have my tale to finish. Since you won't ask\r
+the governess's name, I must tell it of my own accord. Stay! I have it\r
+here--it is always more satisfactory to see important points written\r
+down, fairly committed to black and white."\r
+\r
+And the pocket-book was again deliberately produced, opened, sought\r
+through; from one of its compartments was extracted a shabby slip of\r
+paper, hastily torn off: I recognised in its texture and its stains of\r
+ultra-marine, and lake, and vermillion, the ravished margin of the\r
+portrait-cover. He got up, held it close to my eyes: and I read, traced\r
+in Indian ink, in my own handwriting, the words "JANE EYRE"--the work\r
+doubtless of some moment of abstraction.\r
+\r
+"Briggs wrote to me of a Jane Eyre:" he said, "the advertisements\r
+demanded a Jane Eyre: I knew a Jane Elliott.--I confess I had my\r
+suspicions, but it was only yesterday afternoon they were at once\r
+resolved into certainty. You own the name and renounce the _alias_?"\r
+\r
+"Yes--yes; but where is Mr. Briggs? He perhaps knows more of Mr.\r
+Rochester than you do."\r
+\r
+"Briggs is in London. I should doubt his knowing anything at all about\r
+Mr. Rochester; it is not in Mr. Rochester he is interested. Meantime,\r
+you forget essential points in pursuing trifles: you do not inquire why\r
+Mr. Briggs sought after you--what he wanted with you."\r
+\r
+"Well, what did he want?"\r
+\r
+"Merely to tell you that your uncle, Mr. Eyre of Madeira, is dead; that\r
+he has left you all his property, and that you are now rich--merely\r
+that--nothing more."\r
+\r
+"I!--rich?"\r
+\r
+"Yes, you, rich--quite an heiress."\r
+\r
+Silence succeeded.\r
+\r
+"You must prove your identity of course," resumed St. John presently: "a\r
+step which will offer no difficulties; you can then enter on immediate\r
+possession. Your fortune is vested in the English funds; Briggs has the\r
+will and the necessary documents."\r
+\r
+Here was a new card turned up! It is a fine thing, reader, to be lifted\r
+in a moment from indigence to wealth--a very fine thing; but not a matter\r
+one can comprehend, or consequently enjoy, all at once. And then there\r
+are other chances in life far more thrilling and rapture-giving: _this_\r
+is solid, an affair of the actual world, nothing ideal about it: all its\r
+associations are solid and sober, and its manifestations are the same.\r
+One does not jump, and spring, and shout hurrah! at hearing one has got a\r
+fortune; one begins to consider responsibilities, and to ponder business;\r
+on a base of steady satisfaction rise certain grave cares, and we contain\r
+ourselves, and brood over our bliss with a solemn brow.\r
+\r
+Besides, the words Legacy, Bequest, go side by side with the words,\r
+Death, Funeral. My uncle I had heard was dead--my only relative; ever\r
+since being made aware of his existence, I had cherished the hope of one\r
+day seeing him: now, I never should. And then this money came only to\r
+me: not to me and a rejoicing family, but to my isolated self. It was a\r
+grand boon doubtless; and independence would be glorious--yes, I felt\r
+that--that thought swelled my heart.\r
+\r
+"You unbend your forehead at last," said Mr. Rivers. "I thought Medusa\r
+had looked at you, and that you were turning to stone. Perhaps now you\r
+will ask how much you are worth?"\r
+\r
+"How much am I worth?"\r
+\r
+"Oh, a trifle! Nothing of course to speak of--twenty thousand pounds, I\r
+think they say--but what is that?"\r
+\r
+"Twenty thousand pounds?"\r
+\r
+Here was a new stunner--I had been calculating on four or five thousand.\r
+This news actually took my breath for a moment: Mr. St. John, whom I had\r
+never heard laugh before, laughed now.\r
+\r
+"Well," said he, "if you had committed a murder, and I had told you your\r
+crime was discovered, you could scarcely look more aghast."\r
+\r
+"It is a large sum--don't you think there is a mistake?"\r
+\r
+"No mistake at all."\r
+\r
+"Perhaps you have read the figures wrong--it may be two thousand!"\r
+\r
+"It is written in letters, not figures,--twenty thousand."\r
+\r
+I again felt rather like an individual of but average gastronomical\r
+powers sitting down to feast alone at a table spread with provisions for\r
+a hundred. Mr. Rivers rose now and put his cloak on.\r
+\r
+"If it were not such a very wild night," he said, "I would send Hannah\r
+down to keep you company: you look too desperately miserable to be left\r
+alone. But Hannah, poor woman! could not stride the drifts so well as I:\r
+her legs are not quite so long: so I must e'en leave you to your sorrows.\r
+Good-night."\r
+\r
+He was lifting the latch: a sudden thought occurred to me. "Stop one\r
+minute!" I cried.\r
+\r
+"Well?"\r
+\r
+"It puzzles me to know why Mr. Briggs wrote to you about me; or how he\r
+knew you, or could fancy that you, living in such an out-of-the-way\r
+place, had the power to aid in my discovery."\r
+\r
+"Oh! I am a clergyman," he said; "and the clergy are often appealed to\r
+about odd matters." Again the latch rattled.\r
+\r
+"No; that does not satisfy me!" I exclaimed: and indeed there was\r
+something in the hasty and unexplanatory reply which, instead of\r
+allaying, piqued my curiosity more than ever.\r
+\r
+"It is a very strange piece of business," I added; "I must know more\r
+about it."\r
+\r
+"Another time."\r
+\r
+"No; to-night!--to-night!" and as he turned from the door, I placed\r
+myself between it and him. He looked rather embarrassed.\r
+\r
+"You certainly shall not go till you have told me all," I said.\r
+\r
+"I would rather not just now."\r
+\r
+"You shall!--you must!"\r
+\r
+"I would rather Diana or Mary informed you."\r
+\r
+Of course these objections wrought my eagerness to a climax: gratified it\r
+must be, and that without delay; and I told him so.\r
+\r
+"But I apprised you that I was a hard man," said he, "difficult to\r
+persuade."\r
+\r
+"And I am a hard woman,--impossible to put off."\r
+\r
+{And I am a hard woman,--impossible to put off: p369.jpg}\r
+\r
+"And then," he pursued, "I am cold: no fervour infects me."\r
+\r
+"Whereas I am hot, and fire dissolves ice. The blaze there has thawed\r
+all the snow from your cloak; by the same token, it has streamed on to my\r
+floor, and made it like a trampled street. As you hope ever to be\r
+forgiven, Mr. Rivers, the high crime and misdemeanour of spoiling a\r
+sanded kitchen, tell me what I wish to know."\r
+\r
+"Well, then," he said, "I yield; if not to your earnestness, to your\r
+perseverance: as stone is worn by continual dropping. Besides, you must\r
+know some day,--as well now as later. Your name is Jane Eyre?"\r
+\r
+"Of course: that was all settled before."\r
+\r
+"You are not, perhaps, aware that I am your namesake?--that I was\r
+christened St. John Eyre Rivers?"\r
+\r
+"No, indeed! I remember now seeing the letter E. comprised in your\r
+initials written in books you have at different times lent me; but I\r
+never asked for what name it stood. But what then? Surely--"\r
+\r
+I stopped: I could not trust myself to entertain, much less to express,\r
+the thought that rushed upon me--that embodied itself,--that, in a\r
+second, stood out a strong, solid probability. Circumstances knit\r
+themselves, fitted themselves, shot into order: the chain that had been\r
+lying hitherto a formless lump of links was drawn out straight,--every\r
+ring was perfect, the connection complete. I knew, by instinct, how the\r
+matter stood, before St. John had said another word; but I cannot expect\r
+the reader to have the same intuitive perception, so I must repeat his\r
+explanation.\r
+\r
+"My mother's name was Eyre; she had two brothers; one a clergyman, who\r
+married Miss Jane Reed, of Gateshead; the other, John Eyre, Esq.,\r
+merchant, late of Funchal, Madeira. Mr. Briggs, being Mr. Eyre's\r
+solicitor, wrote to us last August to inform us of our uncle's death, and\r
+to say that he had left his property to his brother the clergyman's\r
+orphan daughter, overlooking us, in consequence of a quarrel, never\r
+forgiven, between him and my father. He wrote again a few weeks since,\r
+to intimate that the heiress was lost, and asking if we knew anything of\r
+her. A name casually written on a slip of paper has enabled me to find\r
+her out. You know the rest." Again he was going, but I set my back\r
+against the door.\r
+\r
+"Do let me speak," I said; "let me have one moment to draw breath and\r
+reflect." I paused--he stood before me, hat in hand, looking composed\r
+enough. I resumed--\r
+\r
+"Your mother was my father's sister?"\r
+\r
+"Yes."\r
+\r
+"My aunt, consequently?"\r
+\r
+He bowed.\r
+\r
+"My uncle John was your uncle John? You, Diana, and Mary are his\r
+sister's children, as I am his brother's child?"\r
+\r
+"Undeniably."\r
+\r
+"You three, then, are my cousins; half our blood on each side flows from\r
+the same source?"\r
+\r
+"We are cousins; yes."\r
+\r
+I surveyed him. It seemed I had found a brother: one I could be proud\r
+of,--one I could love; and two sisters, whose qualities were such, that,\r
+when I knew them but as mere strangers, they had inspired me with genuine\r
+affection and admiration. The two girls, on whom, kneeling down on the\r
+wet ground, and looking through the low, latticed window of Moor House\r
+kitchen, I had gazed with so bitter a mixture of interest and despair,\r
+were my near kinswomen; and the young and stately gentleman who had found\r
+me almost dying at his threshold was my blood relation. Glorious\r
+discovery to a lonely wretch! This was wealth indeed!--wealth to the\r
+heart!--a mine of pure, genial affections. This was a blessing, bright,\r
+vivid, and exhilarating;--not like the ponderous gift of gold: rich and\r
+welcome enough in its way, but sobering from its weight. I now clapped\r
+my hands in sudden joy--my pulse bounded, my veins thrilled.\r
+\r
+"Oh, I am glad!--I am glad!" I exclaimed.\r
+\r
+St. John smiled. "Did I not say you neglected essential points to pursue\r
+trifles?" he asked. "You were serious when I told you you had got a\r
+fortune; and now, for a matter of no moment, you are excited."\r
+\r
+"What can you mean? It may be of no moment to you; you have sisters and\r
+don't care for a cousin; but I had nobody; and now three relations,--or\r
+two, if you don't choose to be counted,--are born into my world\r
+full-grown. I say again, I am glad!"\r
+\r
+I walked fast through the room: I stopped, half suffocated with the\r
+thoughts that rose faster than I could receive, comprehend, settle\r
+them:--thoughts of what might, could, would, and should be, and that ere\r
+long. I looked at the blank wall: it seemed a sky thick with ascending\r
+stars,--every one lit me to a purpose or delight. Those who had saved my\r
+life, whom, till this hour, I had loved barrenly, I could now benefit.\r
+They were under a yoke,--I could free them: they were scattered,--I could\r
+reunite them: the independence, the affluence which was mine, might be\r
+theirs too. Were we not four? Twenty thousand pounds shared equally\r
+would be five thousand each, justice--enough and to spare: justice would\r
+be done,--mutual happiness secured. Now the wealth did not weigh on me:\r
+now it was not a mere bequest of coin,--it was a legacy of life, hope,\r
+enjoyment.\r
+\r
+How I looked while these ideas were taking my spirit by storm, I cannot\r
+tell; but I perceived soon that Mr. Rivers had placed a chair behind me,\r
+and was gently attempting to make me sit down on it. He also advised me\r
+to be composed; I scorned the insinuation of helplessness and\r
+distraction, shook off his hand, and began to walk about again.\r
+\r
+"Write to Diana and Mary to-morrow," I said, "and tell them to come home\r
+directly. Diana said they would both consider themselves rich with a\r
+thousand pounds, so with five thousand they will do very well."\r
+\r
+"Tell me where I can get you a glass of water," said St. John; "you must\r
+really make an effort to tranquillise your feelings."\r
+\r
+"Nonsense! and what sort of an effect will the bequest have on you? Will\r
+it keep you in England, induce you to marry Miss Oliver, and settle down\r
+like an ordinary mortal?"\r
+\r
+"You wander: your head becomes confused. I have been too abrupt in\r
+communicating the news; it has excited you beyond your strength."\r
+\r
+"Mr. Rivers! you quite put me out of patience: I am rational enough; it\r
+is you who misunderstand, or rather who affect to misunderstand."\r
+\r
+"Perhaps, if you explained yourself a little more fully, I should\r
+comprehend better."\r
+\r
+"Explain! What is there to explain? You cannot fail to see that twenty\r
+thousand pounds, the sum in question, divided equally between the nephew\r
+and three nieces of our uncle, will give five thousand to each? What I\r
+want is, that you should write to your sisters and tell them of the\r
+fortune that has accrued to them."\r
+\r
+"To you, you mean."\r
+\r
+"I have intimated my view of the case: I am incapable of taking any\r
+other. I am not brutally selfish, blindly unjust, or fiendishly\r
+ungrateful. Besides, I am resolved I will have a home and connections. I\r
+like Moor House, and I will live at Moor House; I like Diana and Mary,\r
+and I will attach myself for life to Diana and Mary. It would please and\r
+benefit me to have five thousand pounds; it would torment and oppress me\r
+to have twenty thousand; which, moreover, could never be mine in justice,\r
+though it might in law. I abandon to you, then, what is absolutely\r
+superfluous to me. Let there be no opposition, and no discussion about\r
+it; let us agree amongst each other, and decide the point at once."\r
+\r
+"This is acting on first impulses; you must take days to consider such a\r
+matter, ere your word can be regarded as valid."\r
+\r
+"Oh! if all you doubt is my sincerity, I am easy: you see the justice of\r
+the case?"\r
+\r
+"I _do_ see a certain justice; but it is contrary to all custom. Besides,\r
+the entire fortune is your right: my uncle gained it by his own efforts;\r
+he was free to leave it to whom he would: he left it to you. After all,\r
+justice permits you to keep it: you may, with a clear conscience,\r
+consider it absolutely your own."\r
+\r
+"With me," said I, "it is fully as much a matter of feeling as of\r
+conscience: I must indulge my feelings; I so seldom have had an\r
+opportunity of doing so. Were you to argue, object, and annoy me for a\r
+year, I could not forego the delicious pleasure of which I have caught a\r
+glimpse--that of repaying, in part, a mighty obligation, and winning to\r
+myself lifelong friends."\r
+\r
+"You think so now," rejoined St. John, "because you do not know what it\r
+is to possess, nor consequently to enjoy wealth: you cannot form a notion\r
+of the importance twenty thousand pounds would give you; of the place it\r
+would enable you to take in society; of the prospects it would open to\r
+you: you cannot--"\r
+\r
+"And you," I interrupted, "cannot at all imagine the craving I have for\r
+fraternal and sisterly love. I never had a home, I never had brothers or\r
+sisters; I must and will have them now: you are not reluctant to admit me\r
+and own me, are you?"\r
+\r
+"Jane, I will be your brother--my sisters will be your sisters--without\r
+stipulating for this sacrifice of your just rights."\r
+\r
+"Brother? Yes; at the distance of a thousand leagues! Sisters? Yes;\r
+slaving amongst strangers! I, wealthy--gorged with gold I never earned\r
+and do not merit! You, penniless! Famous equality and fraternisation!\r
+Close union! Intimate attachment!"\r
+\r
+"But, Jane, your aspirations after family ties and domestic happiness may\r
+be realised otherwise than by the means you contemplate: you may marry."\r
+\r
+"Nonsense, again! Marry! I don't want to marry, and never shall marry."\r
+\r
+"That is saying too much: such hazardous affirmations are a proof of the\r
+excitement under which you labour."\r
+\r
+"It is not saying too much: I know what I feel, and how averse are my\r
+inclinations to the bare thought of marriage. No one would take me for\r
+love; and I will not be regarded in the light of a mere money\r
+speculation. And I do not want a stranger--unsympathising, alien,\r
+different from me; I want my kindred: those with whom I have full fellow-\r
+feeling. Say again you will be my brother: when you uttered the words I\r
+was satisfied, happy; repeat them, if you can, repeat them sincerely."\r
+\r
+"I think I can. I know I have always loved my own sisters; and I know on\r
+what my affection for them is grounded,--respect for their worth and\r
+admiration of their talents. You too have principle and mind: your\r
+tastes and habits resemble Diana's and Mary's; your presence is always\r
+agreeable to me; in your conversation I have already for some time found\r
+a salutary solace. I feel I can easily and naturally make room in my\r
+heart for you, as my third and youngest sister."\r
+\r
+"Thank you: that contents me for to-night. Now you had better go; for if\r
+you stay longer, you will perhaps irritate me afresh by some mistrustful\r
+scruple."\r
+\r
+"And the school, Miss Eyre? It must now be shut up, I suppose?"\r
+\r
+"No. I will retain my post of mistress till you get a substitute."\r
+\r
+He smiled approbation: we shook hands, and he took leave.\r
+\r
+I need not narrate in detail the further struggles I had, and arguments I\r
+used, to get matters regarding the legacy settled as I wished. My task\r
+was a very hard one; but, as I was absolutely resolved--as my cousins saw\r
+at length that my mind was really and immutably fixed on making a just\r
+division of the property--as they must in their own hearts have felt the\r
+equity of the intention; and must, besides, have been innately conscious\r
+that in my place they would have done precisely what I wished to do--they\r
+yielded at length so far as to consent to put the affair to arbitration.\r
+The judges chosen were Mr. Oliver and an able lawyer: both coincided in\r
+my opinion: I carried my point. The instruments of transfer were drawn\r
+out: St. John, Diana, Mary, and I, each became possessed of a competency.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER XXXIV\r
+\r
+\r
+It was near Christmas by the time all was settled: the season of general\r
+holiday approached. I now closed Morton school, taking care that the\r
+parting should not be barren on my side. Good fortune opens the hand as\r
+well as the heart wonderfully; and to give somewhat when we have largely\r
+received, is but to afford a vent to the unusual ebullition of the\r
+sensations. I had long felt with pleasure that many of my rustic\r
+scholars liked me, and when we parted, that consciousness was confirmed:\r
+they manifested their affection plainly and strongly. Deep was my\r
+gratification to find I had really a place in their unsophisticated\r
+hearts: I promised them that never a week should pass in future that I\r
+did not visit them, and give them an hour's teaching in their school.\r
+\r
+Mr. Rivers came up as, having seen the classes, now numbering sixty\r
+girls, file out before me, and locked the door, I stood with the key in\r
+my hand, exchanging a few words of special farewell with some half-dozen\r
+of my best scholars: as decent, respectable, modest, and well-informed\r
+young women as could be found in the ranks of the British peasantry. And\r
+that is saying a great deal; for after all, the British peasantry are the\r
+best taught, best mannered, most self-respecting of any in Europe: since\r
+those days I have seen paysannes and Bauerinnen; and the best of them\r
+seemed to me ignorant, coarse, and besotted, compared with my Morton\r
+girls.\r
+\r
+"Do you consider you have got your reward for a season of exertion?"\r
+asked Mr. Rivers, when they were gone. "Does not the consciousness of\r
+having done some real good in your day and generation give pleasure?"\r
+\r
+"Doubtless."\r
+\r
+"And you have only toiled a few months! Would not a life devoted to the\r
+task of regenerating your race be well spent?"\r
+\r
+"Yes," I said; "but I could not go on for ever so: I want to enjoy my own\r
+faculties as well as to cultivate those of other people. I must enjoy\r
+them now; don't recall either my mind or body to the school; I am out of\r
+it and disposed for full holiday."\r
+\r
+He looked grave. "What now? What sudden eagerness is this you evince?\r
+What are you going to do?"\r
+\r
+"To be active: as active as I can. And first I must beg you to set\r
+Hannah at liberty, and get somebody else to wait on you."\r
+\r
+"Do you want her?"\r
+\r
+"Yes, to go with me to Moor House. Diana and Mary will be at home in a\r
+week, and I want to have everything in order against their arrival."\r
+\r
+"I understand. I thought you were for flying off on some excursion. It\r
+is better so: Hannah shall go with you."\r
+\r
+"Tell her to be ready by to-morrow then; and here is the schoolroom key:\r
+I will give you the key of my cottage in the morning."\r
+\r
+He took it. "You give it up very gleefully," said he; "I don't quite\r
+understand your light-heartedness, because I cannot tell what employment\r
+you propose to yourself as a substitute for the one you are\r
+relinquishing. What aim, what purpose, what ambition in life have you\r
+now?"\r
+\r
+"My first aim will be to _clean down_ (do you comprehend the full force\r
+of the expression?)--to _clean down_ Moor House from chamber to cellar;\r
+my next to rub it up with bees-wax, oil, and an indefinite number of\r
+cloths, till it glitters again; my third, to arrange every chair, table,\r
+bed, carpet, with mathematical precision; afterwards I shall go near to\r
+ruin you in coals and peat to keep up good fires in every room; and\r
+lastly, the two days preceding that on which your sisters are expected\r
+will be devoted by Hannah and me to such a beating of eggs, sorting of\r
+currants, grating of spices, compounding of Christmas cakes, chopping up\r
+of materials for mince-pies, and solemnising of other culinary rites, as\r
+words can convey but an inadequate notion of to the uninitiated like you.\r
+My purpose, in short, is to have all things in an absolutely perfect\r
+state of readiness for Diana and Mary before next Thursday; and my\r
+ambition is to give them a beau-ideal of a welcome when they come."\r
+\r
+St. John smiled slightly: still he was dissatisfied.\r
+\r
+"It is all very well for the present," said he; "but seriously, I trust\r
+that when the first flush of vivacity is over, you will look a little\r
+higher than domestic endearments and household joys."\r
+\r
+"The best things the world has!" I interrupted.\r
+\r
+"No, Jane, no: this world is not the scene of fruition; do not attempt to\r
+make it so: nor of rest; do not turn slothful."\r
+\r
+"I mean, on the contrary, to be busy."\r
+\r
+"Jane, I excuse you for the present: two months' grace I allow you for\r
+the full enjoyment of your new position, and for pleasing yourself with\r
+this late-found charm of relationship; but _then_, I hope you will begin\r
+to look beyond Moor House and Morton, and sisterly society, and the\r
+selfish calm and sensual comfort of civilised affluence. I hope your\r
+energies will then once more trouble you with their strength."\r
+\r
+I looked at him with surprise. "St. John," I said, "I think you are\r
+almost wicked to talk so. I am disposed to be as content as a queen, and\r
+you try to stir me up to restlessness! To what end?"\r
+\r
+"To the end of turning to profit the talents which God has committed to\r
+your keeping; and of which He will surely one day demand a strict\r
+account. Jane, I shall watch you closely and anxiously--I warn you of\r
+that. And try to restrain the disproportionate fervour with which you\r
+throw yourself into commonplace home pleasures. Don't cling so\r
+tenaciously to ties of the flesh; save your constancy and ardour for an\r
+adequate cause; forbear to waste them on trite transient objects. Do you\r
+hear, Jane?"\r
+\r
+"Yes; just as if you were speaking Greek. I feel I have adequate cause\r
+to be happy, and I _will_ be happy. Goodbye!"\r
+\r
+Happy at Moor House I was, and hard I worked; and so did Hannah: she was\r
+charmed to see how jovial I could be amidst the bustle of a house turned\r
+topsy-turvy--how I could brush, and dust, and clean, and cook. And\r
+really, after a day or two of confusion worse confounded, it was\r
+delightful by degrees to invoke order from the chaos ourselves had made.\r
+I had previously taken a journey to S--- to purchase some new furniture:\r
+my cousins having given me _carte blanche_ to effect what alterations I\r
+pleased, and a sum having been set aside for that purpose. The ordinary\r
+sitting-room and bedrooms I left much as they were: for I knew Diana and\r
+Mary would derive more pleasure from seeing again the old homely tables,\r
+and chairs, and beds, than from the spectacle of the smartest\r
+innovations. Still some novelty was necessary, to give to their return\r
+the piquancy with which I wished it to be invested. Dark handsome new\r
+carpets and curtains, an arrangement of some carefully selected antique\r
+ornaments in porcelain and bronze, new coverings, and mirrors, and\r
+dressing-cases, for the toilet tables, answered the end: they looked\r
+fresh without being glaring. A spare parlour and bedroom I refurnished\r
+entirely, with old mahogany and crimson upholstery: I laid canvas on the\r
+passage, and carpets on the stairs. When all was finished, I thought\r
+Moor House as complete a model of bright modest snugness within, as it\r
+was, at this season, a specimen of wintry waste and desert dreariness\r
+without.\r
+\r
+The eventful Thursday at length came. They were expected about dark, and\r
+ere dusk fires were lit upstairs and below; the kitchen was in perfect\r
+trim; Hannah and I were dressed, and all was in readiness.\r
+\r
+St. John arrived first. I had entreated him to keep quite clear of the\r
+house till everything was arranged: and, indeed, the bare idea of the\r
+commotion, at once sordid and trivial, going on within its walls sufficed\r
+to scare him to estrangement. He found me in the kitchen, watching the\r
+progress of certain cakes for tea, then baking. Approaching the hearth,\r
+he asked, "If I was at last satisfied with housemaid's work?" I answered\r
+by inviting him to accompany me on a general inspection of the result of\r
+my labours. With some difficulty, I got him to make the tour of the\r
+house. He just looked in at the doors I opened; and when he had wandered\r
+upstairs and downstairs, he said I must have gone through a great deal of\r
+fatigue and trouble to have effected such considerable changes in so\r
+short a time: but not a syllable did he utter indicating pleasure in the\r
+improved aspect of his abode.\r
+\r
+This silence damped me. I thought perhaps the alterations had disturbed\r
+some old associations he valued. I inquired whether this was the case:\r
+no doubt in a somewhat crest-fallen tone.\r
+\r
+"Not at all; he had, on the contrary, remarked that I had scrupulously\r
+respected every association: he feared, indeed, I must have bestowed more\r
+thought on the matter than it was worth. How many minutes, for instance,\r
+had I devoted to studying the arrangement of this very room?--By-the-bye,\r
+could I tell him where such a book was?"\r
+\r
+I showed him the volume on the shelf: he took it down, and withdrawing to\r
+his accustomed window recess, he began to read it.\r
+\r
+Now, I did not like this, reader. St. John was a good man; but I began\r
+to feel he had spoken truth of himself when he said he was hard and cold.\r
+The humanities and amenities of life had no attraction for him--its\r
+peaceful enjoyments no charm. Literally, he lived only to aspire--after\r
+what was good and great, certainly; but still he would never rest, nor\r
+approve of others resting round him. As I looked at his lofty forehead,\r
+still and pale as a white stone--at his fine lineaments fixed in study--I\r
+comprehended all at once that he would hardly make a good husband: that\r
+it would be a trying thing to be his wife. I understood, as by\r
+inspiration, the nature of his love for Miss Oliver; I agreed with him\r
+that it was but a love of the senses. I comprehended how he should\r
+despise himself for the feverish influence it exercised over him; how he\r
+should wish to stifle and destroy it; how he should mistrust its ever\r
+conducting permanently to his happiness or hers. I saw he was of the\r
+material from which nature hews her heroes--Christian and Pagan--her\r
+lawgivers, her statesmen, her conquerors: a steadfast bulwark for great\r
+interests to rest upon; but, at the fireside, too often a cold cumbrous\r
+column, gloomy and out of place.\r
+\r
+"This parlour is not his sphere," I reflected: "the Himalayan ridge or\r
+Caffre bush, even the plague-cursed Guinea Coast swamp would suit him\r
+better. Well may he eschew the calm of domestic life; it is not his\r
+element: there his faculties stagnate--they cannot develop or appear to\r
+advantage. It is in scenes of strife and danger--where courage is\r
+proved, and energy exercised, and fortitude tasked--that he will speak\r
+and move, the leader and superior. A merry child would have the\r
+advantage of him on this hearth. He is right to choose a missionary's\r
+career--I see it now."\r
+\r
+"They are coming! they are coming!" cried Hannah, throwing open the\r
+parlour door. At the same moment old Carlo barked joyfully. Out I ran.\r
+It was now dark; but a rumbling of wheels was audible. Hannah soon had a\r
+lantern lit. The vehicle had stopped at the wicket; the driver opened\r
+the door: first one well-known form, then another, stepped out. In a\r
+minute I had my face under their bonnets, in contact first with Mary's\r
+soft cheek, then with Diana's flowing curls. They laughed--kissed\r
+me--then Hannah: patted Carlo, who was half wild with delight; asked\r
+eagerly if all was well; and being assured in the affirmative, hastened\r
+into the house.\r
+\r
+They were stiff with their long and jolting drive from Whitcross, and\r
+chilled with the frosty night air; but their pleasant countenances\r
+expanded to the cheerful firelight. While the driver and Hannah brought\r
+in the boxes, they demanded St. John. At this moment he advanced from\r
+the parlour. They both threw their arms round his neck at once. He gave\r
+each one quiet kiss, said in a low tone a few words of welcome, stood a\r
+while to be talked to, and then, intimating that he supposed they would\r
+soon rejoin him in the parlour, withdrew there as to a place of refuge.\r
+\r
+I had lit their candles to go upstairs, but Diana had first to give\r
+hospitable orders respecting the driver; this done, both followed me.\r
+They were delighted with the renovation and decorations of their rooms;\r
+with the new drapery, and fresh carpets, and rich tinted china vases:\r
+they expressed their gratification ungrudgingly. I had the pleasure of\r
+feeling that my arrangements met their wishes exactly, and that what I\r
+had done added a vivid charm to their joyous return home.\r
+\r
+Sweet was that evening. My cousins, full of exhilaration, were so\r
+eloquent in narrative and comment, that their fluency covered St. John's\r
+taciturnity: he was sincerely glad to see his sisters; but in their glow\r
+of fervour and flow of joy he could not sympathise. The event of the\r
+day--that is, the return of Diana and Mary--pleased him; but the\r
+accompaniments of that event, the glad tumult, the garrulous glee of\r
+reception irked him: I saw he wished the calmer morrow was come. In the\r
+very meridian of the night's enjoyment, about an hour after tea, a rap\r
+was heard at the door. Hannah entered with the intimation that "a poor\r
+lad was come, at that unlikely time, to fetch Mr. Rivers to see his\r
+mother, who was drawing away."\r
+\r
+"Where does she live, Hannah?"\r
+\r
+"Clear up at Whitcross Brow, almost four miles off, and moor and moss all\r
+the way."\r
+\r
+"Tell him I will go."\r
+\r
+"I'm sure, sir, you had better not. It's the worst road to travel after\r
+dark that can be: there's no track at all over the bog. And then it is\r
+such a bitter night--the keenest wind you ever felt. You had better send\r
+word, sir, that you will be there in the morning."\r
+\r
+But he was already in the passage, putting on his cloak; and without one\r
+objection, one murmur, he departed. It was then nine o'clock: he did not\r
+return till midnight. Starved and tired enough he was: but he looked\r
+happier than when he set out. He had performed an act of duty; made an\r
+exertion; felt his own strength to do and deny, and was on better terms\r
+with himself.\r
+\r
+I am afraid the whole of the ensuing week tried his patience. It was\r
+Christmas week: we took to no settled employment, but spent it in a sort\r
+of merry domestic dissipation. The air of the moors, the freedom of\r
+home, the dawn of prosperity, acted on Diana and Mary's spirits like some\r
+life-giving elixir: they were gay from morning till noon, and from noon\r
+till night. They could always talk; and their discourse, witty, pithy,\r
+original, had such charms for me, that I preferred listening to, and\r
+sharing in it, to doing anything else. St. John did not rebuke our\r
+vivacity; but he escaped from it: he was seldom in the house; his parish\r
+was large, the population scattered, and he found daily business in\r
+visiting the sick and poor in its different districts.\r
+\r
+One morning at breakfast, Diana, after looking a little pensive for some\r
+minutes, asked him, "If his plans were yet unchanged."\r
+\r
+"Unchanged and unchangeable," was the reply. And he proceeded to inform\r
+us that his departure from England was now definitively fixed for the\r
+ensuing year.\r
+\r
+"And Rosamond Oliver?" suggested Mary, the words seeming to escape her\r
+lips involuntarily: for no sooner had she uttered them, than she made a\r
+gesture as if wishing to recall them. St. John had a book in his hand--it\r
+was his unsocial custom to read at meals--he closed it, and looked up.\r
+\r
+"Rosamond Oliver," said he, "is about to be married to Mr. Granby, one of\r
+the best connected and most estimable residents in S-, grandson and heir\r
+to Sir Frederic Granby: I had the intelligence from her father\r
+yesterday."\r
+\r
+His sisters looked at each other and at me; we all three looked at him:\r
+he was serene as glass.\r
+\r
+"The match must have been got up hastily," said Diana: "they cannot have\r
+known each other long."\r
+\r
+"But two months: they met in October at the county ball at S-. But where\r
+there are no obstacles to a union, as in the present case, where the\r
+connection is in every point desirable, delays are unnecessary: they will\r
+be married as soon as S--- Place, which Sir Frederic gives up to them,\r
+can he refitted for their reception."\r
+\r
+The first time I found St. John alone after this communication, I felt\r
+tempted to inquire if the event distressed him: but he seemed so little\r
+to need sympathy, that, so far from venturing to offer him more, I\r
+experienced some shame at the recollection of what I had already\r
+hazarded. Besides, I was out of practice in talking to him: his reserve\r
+was again frozen over, and my frankness was congealed beneath it. He had\r
+not kept his promise of treating me like his sisters; he continually made\r
+little chilling differences between us, which did not at all tend to the\r
+development of cordiality: in short, now that I was acknowledged his\r
+kinswoman, and lived under the same roof with him, I felt the distance\r
+between us to be far greater than when he had known me only as the\r
+village schoolmistress. When I remembered how far I had once been\r
+admitted to his confidence, I could hardly comprehend his present\r
+frigidity.\r
+\r
+Such being the case, I felt not a little surprised when he raised his\r
+head suddenly from the desk over which he was stooping, and said--\r
+\r
+"You see, Jane, the battle is fought and the victory won."\r
+\r
+Startled at being thus addressed, I did not immediately reply: after a\r
+moment's hesitation I answered--\r
+\r
+"But are you sure you are not in the position of those conquerors whose\r
+triumphs have cost them too dear? Would not such another ruin you?"\r
+\r
+"I think not; and if I were, it does not much signify; I shall never be\r
+called upon to contend for such another. The event of the conflict is\r
+decisive: my way is now clear; I thank God for it!" So saying, he\r
+returned to his papers and his silence.\r
+\r
+As our mutual happiness (_i.e._, Diana's, Mary's, and mine) settled into\r
+a quieter character, and we resumed our usual habits and regular studies,\r
+St. John stayed more at home: he sat with us in the same room, sometimes\r
+for hours together. While Mary drew, Diana pursued a course of\r
+encyclopaedic reading she had (to my awe and amazement) undertaken, and I\r
+fagged away at German, he pondered a mystic lore of his own: that of some\r
+Eastern tongue, the acquisition of which he thought necessary to his\r
+plans.\r
+\r
+Thus engaged, he appeared, sitting in his own recess, quiet and absorbed\r
+enough; but that blue eye of his had a habit of leaving the outlandish-\r
+looking grammar, and wandering over, and sometimes fixing upon us, his\r
+fellow-students, with a curious intensity of observation: if caught, it\r
+would be instantly withdrawn; yet ever and anon, it returned searchingly\r
+to our table. I wondered what it meant: I wondered, too, at the punctual\r
+satisfaction he never failed to exhibit on an occasion that seemed to me\r
+of small moment, namely, my weekly visit to Morton school; and still more\r
+was I puzzled when, if the day was unfavourable, if there was snow, or\r
+rain, or high wind, and his sisters urged me not to go, he would\r
+invariably make light of their solicitude, and encourage me to accomplish\r
+the task without regard to the elements.\r
+\r
+"Jane is not such a weakling as you would make her," he would say: "she\r
+can bear a mountain blast, or a shower, or a few flakes of snow, as well\r
+as any of us. Her constitution is both sound and elastic;--better\r
+calculated to endure variations of climate than many more robust."\r
+\r
+And when I returned, sometimes a good deal tired, and not a little\r
+weather-beaten, I never dared complain, because I saw that to murmur\r
+would be to vex him: on all occasions fortitude pleased him; the reverse\r
+was a special annoyance.\r
+\r
+One afternoon, however, I got leave to stay at home, because I really had\r
+a cold. His sisters were gone to Morton in my stead: I sat reading\r
+Schiller; he, deciphering his crabbed Oriental scrolls. As I exchanged a\r
+translation for an exercise, I happened to look his way: there I found\r
+myself under the influence of the ever-watchful blue eye. How long it\r
+had been searching me through and through, and over and over, I cannot\r
+tell: so keen was it, and yet so cold, I felt for the moment\r
+superstitious--as if I were sitting in the room with something uncanny.\r
+\r
+"Jane, what are you doing?"\r
+\r
+"Learning German."\r
+\r
+"I want you to give up German and learn Hindostanee."\r
+\r
+"You are not in earnest?"\r
+\r
+"In such earnest that I must have it so: and I will tell you why."\r
+\r
+He then went on to explain that Hindostanee was the language he was\r
+himself at present studying; that, as he advanced, he was apt to forget\r
+the commencement; that it would assist him greatly to have a pupil with\r
+whom he might again and again go over the elements, and so fix them\r
+thoroughly in his mind; that his choice had hovered for some time between\r
+me and his sisters; but that he had fixed on me because he saw I could\r
+sit at a task the longest of the three. Would I do him this favour? I\r
+should not, perhaps, have to make the sacrifice long, as it wanted now\r
+barely three months to his departure.\r
+\r
+St. John was not a man to be lightly refused: you felt that every\r
+impression made on him, either for pain or pleasure, was deep-graved and\r
+permanent. I consented. When Diana and Mary returned, the former found\r
+her scholar transferred from her to her brother: she laughed, and both\r
+she and Mary agreed that St. John should never have persuaded them to\r
+such a step. He answered quietly--\r
+\r
+"I know it."\r
+\r
+I found him a very patient, very forbearing, and yet an exacting master:\r
+he expected me to do a great deal; and when I fulfilled his expectations,\r
+he, in his own way, fully testified his approbation. By degrees, he\r
+acquired a certain influence over me that took away my liberty of mind:\r
+his praise and notice were more restraining than his indifference. I\r
+could no longer talk or laugh freely when he was by, because a tiresomely\r
+importunate instinct reminded me that vivacity (at least in me) was\r
+distasteful to him. I was so fully aware that only serious moods and\r
+occupations were acceptable, that in his presence every effort to sustain\r
+or follow any other became vain: I fell under a freezing spell. When he\r
+said "go," I went; "come," I came; "do this," I did it. But I did not\r
+love my servitude: I wished, many a time, he had continued to neglect me.\r
+\r
+One evening when, at bedtime, his sisters and I stood round him, bidding\r
+him good-night, he kissed each of them, as was his custom; and, as was\r
+equally his custom, he gave me his hand. Diana, who chanced to be in a\r
+frolicsome humour (_she_ was not painfully controlled by his will; for\r
+hers, in another way, was as strong), exclaimed--\r
+\r
+"St. John! you used to call Jane your third sister, but you don't treat\r
+her as such: you should kiss her too."\r
+\r
+She pushed me towards him. I thought Diana very provoking, and felt\r
+uncomfortably confused; and while I was thus thinking and feeling, St.\r
+John bent his head; his Greek face was brought to a level with mine, his\r
+eyes questioned my eyes piercingly--he kissed me. There are no such\r
+things as marble kisses or ice kisses, or I should say my ecclesiastical\r
+cousin's salute belonged to one of these classes; but there may be\r
+experiment kisses, and his was an experiment kiss. When given, he viewed\r
+me to learn the result; it was not striking: I am sure I did not blush;\r
+perhaps I might have turned a little pale, for I felt as if this kiss\r
+were a seal affixed to my fetters. He never omitted the ceremony\r
+afterwards, and the gravity and quiescence with which I underwent it,\r
+seemed to invest it for him with a certain charm.\r
+\r
+As for me, I daily wished more to please him; but to do so, I felt daily\r
+more and more that I must disown half my nature, stifle half my\r
+faculties, wrest my tastes from their original bent, force myself to the\r
+adoption of pursuits for which I had no natural vocation. He wanted to\r
+train me to an elevation I could never reach; it racked me hourly to\r
+aspire to the standard he uplifted. The thing was as impossible as to\r
+mould my irregular features to his correct and classic pattern, to give\r
+to my changeable green eyes the sea-blue tint and solemn lustre of his\r
+own.\r
+\r
+Not his ascendancy alone, however, held me in thrall at present. Of late\r
+it had been easy enough for me to look sad: a cankering evil sat at my\r
+heart and drained my happiness at its source--the evil of suspense.\r
+\r
+Perhaps you think I had forgotten Mr. Rochester, reader, amidst these\r
+changes of place and fortune. Not for a moment. His idea was still with\r
+me, because it was not a vapour sunshine could disperse, nor a\r
+sand-traced effigy storms could wash away; it was a name graven on a\r
+tablet, fated to last as long as the marble it inscribed. The craving to\r
+know what had become of him followed me everywhere; when I was at Morton,\r
+I re-entered my cottage every evening to think of that; and now at Moor\r
+House, I sought my bedroom each night to brood over it.\r
+\r
+In the course of my necessary correspondence with Mr. Briggs about the\r
+will, I had inquired if he knew anything of Mr. Rochester's present\r
+residence and state of health; but, as St. John had conjectured, he was\r
+quite ignorant of all concerning him. I then wrote to Mrs. Fairfax,\r
+entreating information on the subject. I had calculated with certainty\r
+on this step answering my end: I felt sure it would elicit an early\r
+answer. I was astonished when a fortnight passed without reply; but when\r
+two months wore away, and day after day the post arrived and brought\r
+nothing for me, I fell a prey to the keenest anxiety.\r
+\r
+I wrote again: there was a chance of my first letter having missed.\r
+Renewed hope followed renewed effort: it shone like the former for some\r
+weeks, then, like it, it faded, flickered: not a line, not a word reached\r
+me. When half a year wasted in vain expectancy, my hope died out, and\r
+then I felt dark indeed.\r
+\r
+A fine spring shone round me, which I could not enjoy. Summer\r
+approached; Diana tried to cheer me: she said I looked ill, and wished to\r
+accompany me to the sea-side. This St. John opposed; he said I did not\r
+want dissipation, I wanted employment; my present life was too\r
+purposeless, I required an aim; and, I suppose, by way of supplying\r
+deficiencies, he prolonged still further my lessons in Hindostanee, and\r
+grew more urgent in requiring their accomplishment: and I, like a fool,\r
+never thought of resisting him--I could not resist him.\r
+\r
+One day I had come to my studies in lower spirits than usual; the ebb was\r
+occasioned by a poignantly felt disappointment. Hannah had told me in\r
+the morning there was a letter for me, and when I went down to take it,\r
+almost certain that the long-looked for tidings were vouchsafed me at\r
+last, I found only an unimportant note from Mr. Briggs on business. The\r
+bitter check had wrung from me some tears; and now, as I sat poring over\r
+the crabbed characters and flourishing tropes of an Indian scribe, my\r
+eyes filled again.\r
+\r
+St. John called me to his side to read; in attempting to do this my voice\r
+failed me: words were lost in sobs. He and I were the only occupants of\r
+the parlour: Diana was practising her music in the drawing-room, Mary was\r
+gardening--it was a very fine May day, clear, sunny, and breezy. My\r
+companion expressed no surprise at this emotion, nor did he question me\r
+as to its cause; he only said--\r
+\r
+"We will wait a few minutes, Jane, till you are more composed." And\r
+while I smothered the paroxysm with all haste, he sat calm and patient,\r
+leaning on his desk, and looking like a physician watching with the eye\r
+of science an expected and fully understood crisis in a patient's malady.\r
+Having stifled my sobs, wiped my eyes, and muttered something about not\r
+being very well that morning, I resumed my task, and succeeded in\r
+completing it. St. John put away my books and his, locked his desk, and\r
+said--\r
+\r
+"Now, Jane, you shall take a walk; and with me."\r
+\r
+"I will call Diana and Mary."\r
+\r
+"No; I want only one companion this morning, and that must be you. Put\r
+on your things; go out by the kitchen-door: take the road towards the\r
+head of Marsh Glen: I will join you in a moment."\r
+\r
+I know no medium: I never in my life have known any medium in my dealings\r
+with positive, hard characters, antagonistic to my own, between absolute\r
+submission and determined revolt. I have always faithfully observed the\r
+one, up to the very moment of bursting, sometimes with volcanic\r
+vehemence, into the other; and as neither present circumstances\r
+warranted, nor my present mood inclined me to mutiny, I observed careful\r
+obedience to St. John's directions; and in ten minutes I was treading the\r
+wild track of the glen, side by side with him.\r
+\r
+The breeze was from the west: it came over the hills, sweet with scents\r
+of heath and rush; the sky was of stainless blue; the stream descending\r
+the ravine, swelled with past spring rains, poured along plentiful and\r
+clear, catching golden gleams from the sun, and sapphire tints from the\r
+firmament. As we advanced and left the track, we trod a soft turf, mossy\r
+fine and emerald green, minutely enamelled with a tiny white flower, and\r
+spangled with a star-like yellow blossom: the hills, meantime, shut us\r
+quite in; for the glen, towards its head, wound to their very core.\r
+\r
+"Let us rest here," said St. John, as we reached the first stragglers of\r
+a battalion of rocks, guarding a sort of pass, beyond which the beck\r
+rushed down a waterfall; and where, still a little farther, the mountain\r
+shook off turf and flower, had only heath for raiment and crag for\r
+gem--where it exaggerated the wild to the savage, and exchanged the fresh\r
+for the frowning--where it guarded the forlorn hope of solitude, and a\r
+last refuge for silence.\r
+\r
+I took a seat: St. John stood near me. He looked up the pass and down\r
+the hollow; his glance wandered away with the stream, and returned to\r
+traverse the unclouded heaven which coloured it: he removed his hat, let\r
+the breeze stir his hair and kiss his brow. He seemed in communion with\r
+the genius of the haunt: with his eye he bade farewell to something.\r
+\r
+"And I shall see it again," he said aloud, "in dreams when I sleep by the\r
+Ganges: and again in a more remote hour--when another slumber overcomes\r
+me--on the shore of a darker stream!"\r
+\r
+Strange words of a strange love! An austere patriot's passion for his\r
+fatherland! He sat down; for half-an-hour we never spoke; neither he to\r
+me nor I to him: that interval past, he recommenced--\r
+\r
+"Jane, I go in six weeks; I have taken my berth in an East Indiaman which\r
+sails on the 20th of June."\r
+\r
+"God will protect you; for you have undertaken His work," I answered.\r
+\r
+"Yes," said he, "there is my glory and joy. I am the servant of an\r
+infallible Master. I am not going out under human guidance, subject to\r
+the defective laws and erring control of my feeble fellow-worms: my king,\r
+my lawgiver, my captain, is the All-perfect. It seems strange to me that\r
+all round me do not burn to enlist under the same banner,--to join in the\r
+same enterprise."\r
+\r
+"All have not your powers, and it would be folly for the feeble to wish\r
+to march with the strong."\r
+\r
+"I do not speak to the feeble, or think of them: I address only such as\r
+are worthy of the work, and competent to accomplish it."\r
+\r
+"Those are few in number, and difficult to discover."\r
+\r
+"You say truly; but when found, it is right to stir them up--to urge and\r
+exhort them to the effort--to show them what their gifts are, and why\r
+they were given--to speak Heaven's message in their ear,--to offer them,\r
+direct from God, a place in the ranks of His chosen."\r
+\r
+"If they are really qualified for the task, will not their own hearts be\r
+the first to inform them of it?"\r
+\r
+I felt as if an awful charm was framing round and gathering over me: I\r
+trembled to hear some fatal word spoken which would at once declare and\r
+rivet the spell.\r
+\r
+"And what does _your_ heart say?" demanded St. John.\r
+\r
+"My heart is mute,--my heart is mute," I answered, struck and thrilled.\r
+\r
+"Then I must speak for it," continued the deep, relentless voice. "Jane,\r
+come with me to India: come as my helpmeet and fellow-labourer."\r
+\r
+The glen and sky spun round: the hills heaved! It was as if I had heard\r
+a summons from Heaven--as if a visionary messenger, like him of\r
+Macedonia, had enounced, "Come over and help us!" But I was no\r
+apostle,--I could not behold the herald,--I could not receive his call.\r
+\r
+"Oh, St. John!" I cried, "have some mercy!"\r
+\r
+I appealed to one who, in the discharge of what he believed his duty,\r
+knew neither mercy nor remorse. He continued--\r
+\r
+"God and nature intended you for a missionary's wife. It is not\r
+personal, but mental endowments they have given you: you are formed for\r
+labour, not for love. A missionary's wife you must--shall be. You shall\r
+be mine: I claim you--not for my pleasure, but for my Sovereign's\r
+service."\r
+\r
+"I am not fit for it: I have no vocation," I said.\r
+\r
+He had calculated on these first objections: he was not irritated by\r
+them. Indeed, as he leaned back against the crag behind him, folded his\r
+arms on his chest, and fixed his countenance, I saw he was prepared for a\r
+long and trying opposition, and had taken in a stock of patience to last\r
+him to its close--resolved, however, that that close should be conquest\r
+for him.\r
+\r
+"Humility, Jane," said he, "is the groundwork of Christian virtues: you\r
+say right that you are not fit for the work. Who is fit for it? Or who,\r
+that ever was truly called, believed himself worthy of the summons? I,\r
+for instance, am but dust and ashes. With St. Paul, I acknowledge myself\r
+the chiefest of sinners; but I do not suffer this sense of my personal\r
+vileness to daunt me. I know my Leader: that He is just as well as\r
+mighty; and while He has chosen a feeble instrument to perform a great\r
+task, He will, from the boundless stores of His providence, supply the\r
+inadequacy of the means to the end. Think like me, Jane--trust like me.\r
+It is the Rock of Ages I ask you to lean on: do not doubt but it will\r
+bear the weight of your human weakness."\r
+\r
+"I do not understand a missionary life: I have never studied missionary\r
+labours."\r
+\r
+"There I, humble as I am, can give you the aid you want: I can set you\r
+your task from hour to hour; stand by you always; help you from moment to\r
+moment. This I could do in the beginning: soon (for I know your powers)\r
+you would be as strong and apt as myself, and would not require my help."\r
+\r
+"But my powers--where are they for this undertaking? I do not feel them.\r
+Nothing speaks or stirs in me while you talk. I am sensible of no light\r
+kindling--no life quickening--no voice counselling or cheering. Oh, I\r
+wish I could make you see how much my mind is at this moment like a\r
+rayless dungeon, with one shrinking fear fettered in its depths--the fear\r
+of being persuaded by you to attempt what I cannot accomplish!"\r
+\r
+"I have an answer for you--hear it. I have watched you ever since we\r
+first met: I have made you my study for ten months. I have proved you in\r
+that time by sundry tests: and what have I seen and elicited? In the\r
+village school I found you could perform well, punctually, uprightly,\r
+labour uncongenial to your habits and inclinations; I saw you could\r
+perform it with capacity and tact: you could win while you controlled. In\r
+the calm with which you learnt you had become suddenly rich, I read a\r
+mind clear of the vice of Demas:--lucre had no undue power over you. In\r
+the resolute readiness with which you cut your wealth into four shares,\r
+keeping but one to yourself, and relinquishing the three others to the\r
+claim of abstract justice, I recognised a soul that revelled in the flame\r
+and excitement of sacrifice. In the tractability with which, at my wish,\r
+you forsook a study in which you were interested, and adopted another\r
+because it interested me; in the untiring assiduity with which you have\r
+since persevered in it--in the unflagging energy and unshaken temper with\r
+which you have met its difficulties--I acknowledge the complement of the\r
+qualities I seek. Jane, you are docile, diligent, disinterested,\r
+faithful, constant, and courageous; very gentle, and very heroic: cease\r
+to mistrust yourself--I can trust you unreservedly. As a conductress of\r
+Indian schools, and a helper amongst Indian women, your assistance will\r
+be to me invaluable."\r
+\r
+My iron shroud contracted round me; persuasion advanced with slow sure\r
+step. Shut my eyes as I would, these last words of his succeeded in\r
+making the way, which had seemed blocked up, comparatively clear. My\r
+work, which had appeared so vague, so hopelessly diffuse, condensed\r
+itself as he proceeded, and assumed a definite form under his shaping\r
+hand. He waited for an answer. I demanded a quarter of an hour to\r
+think, before I again hazarded a reply.\r
+\r
+"Very willingly," he rejoined; and rising, he strode a little distance up\r
+the pass, threw himself down on a swell of heath, and there lay still.\r
+\r
+{He threw himself down on a swell of heath, and there lay still:\r
+p389.jpg}\r
+\r
+"I _can_ do what he wants me to do: I am forced to see and acknowledge\r
+that," I meditated,--"that is, if life be spared me. But I feel mine is\r
+not the existence to be long protracted under an Indian sun. What then?\r
+He does not care for that: when my time came to die, he would resign me,\r
+in all serenity and sanctity, to the God who gave me. The case is very\r
+plain before me. In leaving England, I should leave a loved but empty\r
+land--Mr. Rochester is not there; and if he were, what is, what can that\r
+ever be to me? My business is to live without him now: nothing so\r
+absurd, so weak as to drag on from day to day, as if I were waiting some\r
+impossible change in circumstances, which might reunite me to him. Of\r
+course (as St. John once said) I must seek another interest in life to\r
+replace the one lost: is not the occupation he now offers me truly the\r
+most glorious man can adopt or God assign? Is it not, by its noble cares\r
+and sublime results, the one best calculated to fill the void left by\r
+uptorn affections and demolished hopes? I believe I must say, Yes--and\r
+yet I shudder. Alas! If I join St. John, I abandon half myself: if I go\r
+to India, I go to premature death. And how will the interval between\r
+leaving England for India, and India for the grave, be filled? Oh, I\r
+know well! That, too, is very clear to my vision. By straining to\r
+satisfy St. John till my sinews ache, I _shall_ satisfy him--to the\r
+finest central point and farthest outward circle of his expectations. If\r
+I _do_ go with him--if I _do_ make the sacrifice he urges, I will make it\r
+absolutely: I will throw all on the altar--heart, vitals, the entire\r
+victim. He will never love me; but he shall approve me; I will show him\r
+energies he has not yet seen, resources he has never suspected. Yes, I\r
+can work as hard as he can, and with as little grudging.\r
+\r
+"Consent, then, to his demand is possible: but for one item--one dreadful\r
+item. It is--that he asks me to be his wife, and has no more of a\r
+husband's heart for me than that frowning giant of a rock, down which the\r
+stream is foaming in yonder gorge. He prizes me as a soldier would a\r
+good weapon; and that is all. Unmarried to him, this would never grieve\r
+me; but can I let him complete his calculations--coolly put into practice\r
+his plans--go through the wedding ceremony? Can I receive from him the\r
+bridal ring, endure all the forms of love (which I doubt not he would\r
+scrupulously observe) and know that the spirit was quite absent? Can I\r
+bear the consciousness that every endearment he bestows is a sacrifice\r
+made on principle? No: such a martyrdom would be monstrous. I will\r
+never undergo it. As his sister, I might accompany him--not as his wife:\r
+I will tell him so."\r
+\r
+I looked towards the knoll: there he lay, still as a prostrate column;\r
+his face turned to me: his eye beaming watchful and keen. He started to\r
+his feet and approached me.\r
+\r
+"I am ready to go to India, if I may go free."\r
+\r
+"Your answer requires a commentary," he said; "it is not clear."\r
+\r
+"You have hitherto been my adopted brother--I, your adopted sister: let\r
+us continue as such: you and I had better not marry."\r
+\r
+He shook his head. "Adopted fraternity will not do in this case. If you\r
+were my real sister it would be different: I should take you, and seek no\r
+wife. But as it is, either our union must be consecrated and sealed by\r
+marriage, or it cannot exist: practical obstacles oppose themselves to\r
+any other plan. Do you not see it, Jane? Consider a moment--your strong\r
+sense will guide you."\r
+\r
+I did consider; and still my sense, such as it was, directed me only to\r
+the fact that we did not love each other as man and wife should: and\r
+therefore it inferred we ought not to marry. I said so. "St. John," I\r
+returned, "I regard you as a brother--you, me as a sister: so let us\r
+continue."\r
+\r
+"We cannot--we cannot," he answered, with short, sharp determination: "it\r
+would not do. You have said you will go with me to India: remember--you\r
+have said that."\r
+\r
+"Conditionally."\r
+\r
+"Well--well. To the main point--the departure with me from England, the\r
+co-operation with me in my future labours--you do not object. You have\r
+already as good as put your hand to the plough: you are too consistent to\r
+withdraw it. You have but one end to keep in view--how the work you have\r
+undertaken can best be done. Simplify your complicated interests,\r
+feelings, thoughts, wishes, aims; merge all considerations in one\r
+purpose: that of fulfilling with effect--with power--the mission of your\r
+great Master. To do so, you must have a coadjutor: not a brother--that\r
+is a loose tie--but a husband. I, too, do not want a sister: a sister\r
+might any day be taken from me. I want a wife: the sole helpmeet I can\r
+influence efficiently in life, and retain absolutely till death."\r
+\r
+I shuddered as he spoke: I felt his influence in my marrow--his hold on\r
+my limbs.\r
+\r
+"Seek one elsewhere than in me, St. John: seek one fitted to you."\r
+\r
+"One fitted to my purpose, you mean--fitted to my vocation. Again I tell\r
+you it is not the insignificant private individual--the mere man, with\r
+the man's selfish senses--I wish to mate: it is the missionary."\r
+\r
+"And I will give the missionary my energies--it is all he wants--but not\r
+myself: that would be only adding the husk and shell to the kernel. For\r
+them he has no use: I retain them."\r
+\r
+"You cannot--you ought not. Do you think God will be satisfied with half\r
+an oblation? Will He accept a mutilated sacrifice? It is the cause of\r
+God I advocate: it is under His standard I enlist you. I cannot accept\r
+on His behalf a divided allegiance: it must be entire."\r
+\r
+"Oh! I will give my heart to God," I said. "_You_ do not want it."\r
+\r
+I will not swear, reader, that there was not something of repressed\r
+sarcasm both in the tone in which I uttered this sentence, and in the\r
+feeling that accompanied it. I had silently feared St. John till now,\r
+because I had not understood him. He had held me in awe, because he had\r
+held me in doubt. How much of him was saint, how much mortal, I could\r
+not heretofore tell: but revelations were being made in this conference:\r
+the analysis of his nature was proceeding before my eyes. I saw his\r
+fallibilities: I comprehended them. I understood that, sitting there\r
+where I did, on the bank of heath, and with that handsome form before me,\r
+I sat at the feet of a man, caring as I. The veil fell from his hardness\r
+and despotism. Having felt in him the presence of these qualities, I\r
+felt his imperfection and took courage. I was with an equal--one with\r
+whom I might argue--one whom, if I saw good, I might resist.\r
+\r
+He was silent after I had uttered the last sentence, and I presently\r
+risked an upward glance at his countenance.\r
+\r
+His eye, bent on me, expressed at once stern surprise and keen inquiry.\r
+"Is she sarcastic, and sarcastic to _me_!" it seemed to say. "What does\r
+this signify?"\r
+\r
+"Do not let us forget that this is a solemn matter," he said ere long;\r
+"one of which we may neither think nor talk lightly without sin. I\r
+trust, Jane, you are in earnest when you say you will serve your heart to\r
+God: it is all I want. Once wrench your heart from man, and fix it on\r
+your Maker, the advancement of that Maker's spiritual kingdom on earth\r
+will be your chief delight and endeavour; you will be ready to do at once\r
+whatever furthers that end. You will see what impetus would be given to\r
+your efforts and mine by our physical and mental union in marriage: the\r
+only union that gives a character of permanent conformity to the\r
+destinies and designs of human beings; and, passing over all minor\r
+caprices--all trivial difficulties and delicacies of feeling--all scruple\r
+about the degree, kind, strength or tenderness of mere personal\r
+inclination--you will hasten to enter into that union at once."\r
+\r
+"Shall I?" I said briefly; and I looked at his features, beautiful in\r
+their harmony, but strangely formidable in their still severity; at his\r
+brow, commanding but not open; at his eyes, bright and deep and\r
+searching, but never soft; at his tall imposing figure; and fancied\r
+myself in idea _his wife_. Oh! it would never do! As his curate, his\r
+comrade, all would be right: I would cross oceans with him in that\r
+capacity; toil under Eastern suns, in Asian deserts with him in that\r
+office; admire and emulate his courage and devotion and vigour;\r
+accommodate quietly to his masterhood; smile undisturbed at his\r
+ineradicable ambition; discriminate the Christian from the man:\r
+profoundly esteem the one, and freely forgive the other. I should suffer\r
+often, no doubt, attached to him only in this capacity: my body would be\r
+under rather a stringent yoke, but my heart and mind would be free. I\r
+should still have my unblighted self to turn to: my natural unenslaved\r
+feelings with which to communicate in moments of loneliness. There would\r
+be recesses in my mind which would be only mine, to which he never came,\r
+and sentiments growing there fresh and sheltered which his austerity\r
+could never blight, nor his measured warrior-march trample down: but as\r
+his wife--at his side always, and always restrained, and always\r
+checked--forced to keep the fire of my nature continually low, to compel\r
+it to burn inwardly and never utter a cry, though the imprisoned flame\r
+consumed vital after vital--_this_ would be unendurable.\r
+\r
+"St. John!" I exclaimed, when I had got so far in my meditation.\r
+\r
+"Well?" he answered icily.\r
+\r
+"I repeat I freely consent to go with you as your fellow-missionary, but\r
+not as your wife; I cannot marry you and become part of you."\r
+\r
+"A part of me you must become," he answered steadily; "otherwise the\r
+whole bargain is void. How can I, a man not yet thirty, take out with me\r
+to India a girl of nineteen, unless she be married to me? How can we be\r
+for ever together--sometimes in solitudes, sometimes amidst savage\r
+tribes--and unwed?"\r
+\r
+"Very well," I said shortly; "under the circumstances, quite as well as\r
+if I were either your real sister, or a man and a clergyman like\r
+yourself."\r
+\r
+"It is known that you are not my sister; I cannot introduce you as such:\r
+to attempt it would be to fasten injurious suspicions on us both. And\r
+for the rest, though you have a man's vigorous brain, you have a woman's\r
+heart and--it would not do."\r
+\r
+"It would do," I affirmed with some disdain, "perfectly well. I have a\r
+woman's heart, but not where you are concerned; for you I have only a\r
+comrade's constancy; a fellow-soldier's frankness, fidelity, fraternity,\r
+if you like; a neophyte's respect and submission to his hierophant:\r
+nothing more--don't fear."\r
+\r
+"It is what I want," he said, speaking to himself; "it is just what I\r
+want. And there are obstacles in the way: they must be hewn down. Jane,\r
+you would not repent marrying me--be certain of that; we _must_ be\r
+married. I repeat it: there is no other way; and undoubtedly enough of\r
+love would follow upon marriage to render the union right even in your\r
+eyes."\r
+\r
+"I scorn your idea of love," I could not help saying, as I rose up and\r
+stood before him, leaning my back against the rock. "I scorn the\r
+counterfeit sentiment you offer: yes, St. John, and I scorn you when you\r
+offer it."\r
+\r
+He looked at me fixedly, compressing his well-cut lips while he did so.\r
+Whether he was incensed or surprised, or what, it was not easy to tell:\r
+he could command his countenance thoroughly.\r
+\r
+"I scarcely expected to hear that expression from you," he said: "I think\r
+I have done and uttered nothing to deserve scorn."\r
+\r
+I was touched by his gentle tone, and overawed by his high, calm mien.\r
+\r
+"Forgive me the words, St. John; but it is your own fault that I have\r
+been roused to speak so unguardedly. You have introduced a topic on\r
+which our natures are at variance--a topic we should never discuss: the\r
+very name of love is an apple of discord between us. If the reality were\r
+required, what should we do? How should we feel? My dear cousin,\r
+abandon your scheme of marriage--forget it."\r
+\r
+"No," said he; "it is a long-cherished scheme, and the only one which can\r
+secure my great end: but I shall urge you no further at present.\r
+To-morrow, I leave home for Cambridge: I have many friends there to whom\r
+I should wish to say farewell. I shall be absent a fortnight--take that\r
+space of time to consider my offer: and do not forget that if you reject\r
+it, it is not me you deny, but God. Through my means, He opens to you a\r
+noble career; as my wife only can you enter upon it. Refuse to be my\r
+wife, and you limit yourself for ever to a track of selfish ease and\r
+barren obscurity. Tremble lest in that case you should be numbered with\r
+those who have denied the faith, and are worse than infidels!"\r
+\r
+He had done. Turning from me, he once more\r
+\r
+ "Looked to river, looked to hill."\r
+\r
+But this time his feelings were all pent in his heart: I was not worthy\r
+to hear them uttered. As I walked by his side homeward, I read well in\r
+his iron silence all he felt towards me: the disappointment of an austere\r
+and despotic nature, which has met resistance where it expected\r
+submission--the disapprobation of a cool, inflexible judgment, which has\r
+detected in another feelings and views in which it has no power to\r
+sympathise: in short, as a man, he would have wished to coerce me into\r
+obedience: it was only as a sincere Christian he bore so patiently with\r
+my perversity, and allowed so long a space for reflection and repentance.\r
+\r
+That night, after he had kissed his sisters, he thought proper to forget\r
+even to shake hands with me, but left the room in silence. I--who,\r
+though I had no love, had much friendship for him--was hurt by the marked\r
+omission: so much hurt that tears started to my eyes.\r
+\r
+"I see you and St. John have been quarrelling, Jane," said Diana, "during\r
+your walk on the moor. But go after him; he is now lingering in the\r
+passage expecting you--he will make it up."\r
+\r
+I have not much pride under such circumstances: I would always rather be\r
+happy than dignified; and I ran after him--he stood at the foot of the\r
+stairs.\r
+\r
+"Good-night, St. John," said I.\r
+\r
+"Good-night, Jane," he replied calmly.\r
+\r
+"Then shake hands," I added.\r
+\r
+What a cold, loose touch, he impressed on my fingers! He was deeply\r
+displeased by what had occurred that day; cordiality would not warm, nor\r
+tears move him. No happy reconciliation was to be had with him--no\r
+cheering smile or generous word: but still the Christian was patient and\r
+placid; and when I asked him if he forgave me, he answered that he was\r
+not in the habit of cherishing the remembrance of vexation; that he had\r
+nothing to forgive, not having been offended.\r
+\r
+And with that answer he left me. I would much rather he had knocked me\r
+down.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER XXXV\r
+\r
+\r
+He did not leave for Cambridge the next day, as he had said he would. He\r
+deferred his departure a whole week, and during that time he made me feel\r
+what severe punishment a good yet stern, a conscientious yet implacable\r
+man can inflict on one who has offended him. Without one overt act of\r
+hostility, one upbraiding word, he contrived to impress me momently with\r
+the conviction that I was put beyond the pale of his favour.\r
+\r
+Not that St. John harboured a spirit of unchristian vindictiveness--not\r
+that he would have injured a hair of my head, if it had been fully in his\r
+power to do so. Both by nature and principle, he was superior to the\r
+mean gratification of vengeance: he had forgiven me for saying I scorned\r
+him and his love, but he had not forgotten the words; and as long as he\r
+and I lived he never would forget them. I saw by his look, when he\r
+turned to me, that they were always written on the air between me and\r
+him; whenever I spoke, they sounded in my voice to his ear, and their\r
+echo toned every answer he gave me.\r
+\r
+He did not abstain from conversing with me: he even called me as usual\r
+each morning to join him at his desk; and I fear the corrupt man within\r
+him had a pleasure unimparted to, and unshared by, the pure Christian, in\r
+evincing with what skill he could, while acting and speaking apparently\r
+just as usual, extract from every deed and every phrase the spirit of\r
+interest and approval which had formerly communicated a certain austere\r
+charm to his language and manner. To me, he was in reality become no\r
+longer flesh, but marble; his eye was a cold, bright, blue gem; his\r
+tongue a speaking instrument--nothing more.\r
+\r
+All this was torture to me--refined, lingering torture. It kept up a\r
+slow fire of indignation and a trembling trouble of grief, which harassed\r
+and crushed me altogether. I felt how--if I were his wife, this good\r
+man, pure as the deep sunless source, could soon kill me, without drawing\r
+from my veins a single drop of blood, or receiving on his own crystal\r
+conscience the faintest stain of crime. Especially I felt this when I\r
+made any attempt to propitiate him. No ruth met my ruth. _He_\r
+experienced no suffering from estrangement--no yearning after\r
+reconciliation; and though, more than once, my fast falling tears\r
+blistered the page over which we both bent, they produced no more effect\r
+on him than if his heart had been really a matter of stone or metal. To\r
+his sisters, meantime, he was somewhat kinder than usual: as if afraid\r
+that mere coldness would not sufficiently convince me how completely I\r
+was banished and banned, he added the force of contrast; and this I am\r
+sure he did not by force, but on principle.\r
+\r
+The night before he left home, happening to see him walking in the garden\r
+about sunset, and remembering, as I looked at him, that this man,\r
+alienated as he now was, had once saved my life, and that we were near\r
+relations, I was moved to make a last attempt to regain his friendship. I\r
+went out and approached him as he stood leaning over the little gate; I\r
+spoke to the point at once.\r
+\r
+"St. John, I am unhappy because you are still angry with me. Let us be\r
+friends."\r
+\r
+"I hope we are friends," was the unmoved reply; while he still watched\r
+the rising of the moon, which he had been contemplating as I approached.\r
+\r
+"No, St. John, we are not friends as we were. You know that."\r
+\r
+"Are we not? That is wrong. For my part, I wish you no ill and all\r
+good."\r
+\r
+"I believe you, St. John; for I am sure you are incapable of wishing any\r
+one ill; but, as I am your kinswoman, I should desire somewhat more of\r
+affection than that sort of general philanthropy you extend to mere\r
+strangers."\r
+\r
+"Of course," he said. "Your wish is reasonable, and I am far from\r
+regarding you as a stranger."\r
+\r
+This, spoken in a cool, tranquil tone, was mortifying and baffling\r
+enough. Had I attended to the suggestions of pride and ire, I should\r
+immediately have left him; but something worked within me more strongly\r
+than those feelings could. I deeply venerated my cousin's talent and\r
+principle. His friendship was of value to me: to lose it tried me\r
+severely. I would not so soon relinquish the attempt to reconquer it.\r
+\r
+"Must we part in this way, St. John? And when you go to India, will you\r
+leave me so, without a kinder word than you have yet spoken?"\r
+\r
+He now turned quite from the moon and faced me.\r
+\r
+"When I go to India, Jane, will I leave you! What! do you not go to\r
+India?"\r
+\r
+"You said I could not unless I married you."\r
+\r
+"And you will not marry me! You adhere to that resolution?"\r
+\r
+Reader, do you know, as I do, what terror those cold people can put into\r
+the ice of their questions? How much of the fall of the avalanche is in\r
+their anger? of the breaking up of the frozen sea in their displeasure?\r
+\r
+"No. St. John, I will not marry you. I adhere to my resolution."\r
+\r
+The avalanche had shaken and slid a little forward, but it did not yet\r
+crash down.\r
+\r
+"Once more, why this refusal?" he asked.\r
+\r
+"Formerly," I answered, "because you did not love me; now, I reply,\r
+because you almost hate me. If I were to marry you, you would kill me.\r
+You are killing me now."\r
+\r
+His lips and cheeks turned white--quite white.\r
+\r
+"_I should kill you_--_I am killing you_? Your words are such as ought\r
+not to be used: violent, unfeminine, and untrue. They betray an\r
+unfortunate state of mind: they merit severe reproof: they would seem\r
+inexcusable, but that it is the duty of man to forgive his fellow even\r
+until seventy-and-seven times."\r
+\r
+I had finished the business now. While earnestly wishing to erase from\r
+his mind the trace of my former offence, I had stamped on that tenacious\r
+surface another and far deeper impression, I had burnt it in.\r
+\r
+"Now you will indeed hate me," I said. "It is useless to attempt to\r
+conciliate you: I see I have made an eternal enemy of you."\r
+\r
+A fresh wrong did these words inflict: the worse, because they touched on\r
+the truth. That bloodless lip quivered to a temporary spasm. I knew the\r
+steely ire I had whetted. I was heart-wrung.\r
+\r
+"You utterly misinterpret my words," I said, at once seizing his hand: "I\r
+have no intention to grieve or pain you--indeed, I have not."\r
+\r
+Most bitterly he smiled--most decidedly he withdrew his hand from mine.\r
+"And now you recall your promise, and will not go to India at all, I\r
+presume?" said he, after a considerable pause.\r
+\r
+"Yes, I will, as your assistant," I answered.\r
+\r
+A very long silence succeeded. What struggle there was in him between\r
+Nature and Grace in this interval, I cannot tell: only singular gleams\r
+scintillated in his eyes, and strange shadows passed over his face. He\r
+spoke at last.\r
+\r
+"I before proved to you the absurdity of a single woman of your age\r
+proposing to accompany abroad a single man of mine. I proved it to you\r
+in such terms as, I should have thought, would have prevented your ever\r
+again alluding to the plan. That you have done so, I regret--for your\r
+sake."\r
+\r
+I interrupted him. Anything like a tangible reproach gave me courage at\r
+once. "Keep to common sense, St. John: you are verging on nonsense. You\r
+pretend to be shocked by what I have said. You are not really shocked:\r
+for, with your superior mind, you cannot be either so dull or so\r
+conceited as to misunderstand my meaning. I say again, I will be your\r
+curate, if you like, but never your wife."\r
+\r
+Again he turned lividly pale; but, as before, controlled his passion\r
+perfectly. He answered emphatically but calmly--\r
+\r
+"A female curate, who is not my wife, would never suit me. With me,\r
+then, it seems, you cannot go: but if you are sincere in your offer, I\r
+will, while in town, speak to a married missionary, whose wife needs a\r
+coadjutor. Your own fortune will make you independent of the Society's\r
+aid; and thus you may still be spared the dishonour of breaking your\r
+promise and deserting the band you engaged to join."\r
+\r
+Now I never had, as the reader knows, either given any formal promise or\r
+entered into any engagement; and this language was all much too hard and\r
+much too despotic for the occasion. I replied--\r
+\r
+"There is no dishonour, no breach of promise, no desertion in the case. I\r
+am not under the slightest obligation to go to India, especially with\r
+strangers. With you I would have ventured much, because I admire,\r
+confide in, and, as a sister, I love you; but I am convinced that, go\r
+when and with whom I would, I should not live long in that climate."\r
+\r
+"Ah! you are afraid of yourself," he said, curling his lip.\r
+\r
+"I am. God did not give me my life to throw away; and to do as you wish\r
+me would, I begin to think, be almost equivalent to committing suicide.\r
+Moreover, before I definitively resolve on quitting England, I will know\r
+for certain whether I cannot be of greater use by remaining in it than by\r
+leaving it."\r
+\r
+"What do you mean?"\r
+\r
+"It would be fruitless to attempt to explain; but there is a point on\r
+which I have long endured painful doubt, and I can go nowhere till by\r
+some means that doubt is removed."\r
+\r
+"I know where your heart turns and to what it clings. The interest you\r
+cherish is lawless and unconsecrated. Long since you ought to have\r
+crushed it: now you should blush to allude to it. You think of Mr.\r
+Rochester?"\r
+\r
+It was true. I confessed it by silence.\r
+\r
+"Are you going to seek Mr. Rochester?"\r
+\r
+"I must find out what is become of him."\r
+\r
+"It remains for me, then," he said, "to remember you in my prayers, and\r
+to entreat God for you, in all earnestness, that you may not indeed\r
+become a castaway. I had thought I recognised in you one of the chosen.\r
+But God sees not as man sees: _His_ will be done--"\r
+\r
+He opened the gate, passed through it, and strayed away down the glen. He\r
+was soon out of sight.\r
+\r
+On re-entering the parlour, I found Diana standing at the window, looking\r
+very thoughtful. Diana was a great deal taller than I: she put her hand\r
+on my shoulder, and, stooping, examined my face.\r
+\r
+"Jane," she said, "you are always agitated and pale now. I am sure there\r
+is something the matter. Tell me what business St. John and you have on\r
+hands. I have watched you this half hour from the window; you must\r
+forgive my being such a spy, but for a long time I have fancied I hardly\r
+know what. St. John is a strange being--"\r
+\r
+She paused--I did not speak: soon she resumed--\r
+\r
+"That brother of mine cherishes peculiar views of some sort respecting\r
+you, I am sure: he has long distinguished you by a notice and interest he\r
+never showed to any one else--to what end? I wish he loved you--does he,\r
+Jane?"\r
+\r
+I put her cool hand to my hot forehead; "No, Die, not one whit."\r
+\r
+"Then why does he follow you so with his eyes, and get you so frequently\r
+alone with him, and keep you so continually at his side? Mary and I had\r
+both concluded he wished you to marry him."\r
+\r
+"He does--he has asked me to be his wife."\r
+\r
+Diana clapped her hands. "That is just what we hoped and thought! And\r
+you will marry him, Jane, won't you? And then he will stay in England."\r
+\r
+"Far from that, Diana; his sole idea in proposing to me is to procure a\r
+fitting fellow-labourer in his Indian toils."\r
+\r
+"What! He wishes you to go to India?"\r
+\r
+"Yes."\r
+\r
+"Madness!" she exclaimed. "You would not live three months there, I am\r
+certain. You never shall go: you have not consented, have you, Jane?"\r
+\r
+"I have refused to marry him--"\r
+\r
+"And have consequently displeased him?" she suggested.\r
+\r
+"Deeply: he will never forgive me, I fear: yet I offered to accompany him\r
+as his sister."\r
+\r
+"It was frantic folly to do so, Jane. Think of the task you\r
+undertook--one of incessant fatigue, where fatigue kills even the strong,\r
+and you are weak. St. John--you know him--would urge you to\r
+impossibilities: with him there would be no permission to rest during the\r
+hot hours; and unfortunately, I have noticed, whatever he exacts, you\r
+force yourself to perform. I am astonished you found courage to refuse\r
+his hand. You do not love him then, Jane?"\r
+\r
+"Not as a husband."\r
+\r
+"Yet he is a handsome fellow."\r
+\r
+"And I am so plain, you see, Die. We should never suit."\r
+\r
+"Plain! You? Not at all. You are much too pretty, as well as too good,\r
+to be grilled alive in Calcutta." And again she earnestly conjured me to\r
+give up all thoughts of going out with her brother.\r
+\r
+"I must indeed," I said; "for when just now I repeated the offer of\r
+serving him for a deacon, he expressed himself shocked at my want of\r
+decency. He seemed to think I had committed an impropriety in proposing\r
+to accompany him unmarried: as if I had not from the first hoped to find\r
+in him a brother, and habitually regarded him as such."\r
+\r
+"What makes you say he does not love you, Jane?"\r
+\r
+"You should hear himself on the subject. He has again and again\r
+explained that it is not himself, but his office he wishes to mate. He\r
+has told me I am formed for labour--not for love: which is true, no\r
+doubt. But, in my opinion, if I am not formed for love, it follows that\r
+I am not formed for marriage. Would it not be strange, Die, to be\r
+chained for life to a man who regarded one but as a useful tool?"\r
+\r
+"Insupportable--unnatural--out of the question!"\r
+\r
+"And then," I continued, "though I have only sisterly affection for him\r
+now, yet, if forced to be his wife, I can imagine the possibility of\r
+conceiving an inevitable, strange, torturing kind of love for him,\r
+because he is so talented; and there is often a certain heroic grandeur\r
+in his look, manner, and conversation. In that case, my lot would become\r
+unspeakably wretched. He would not want me to love him; and if I showed\r
+the feeling, he would make me sensible that it was a superfluity,\r
+unrequired by him, unbecoming in me. I know he would."\r
+\r
+"And yet St. John is a good man," said Diana.\r
+\r
+"He is a good and a great man; but he forgets, pitilessly, the feelings\r
+and claims of little people, in pursuing his own large views. It is\r
+better, therefore, for the insignificant to keep out of his way, lest, in\r
+his progress, he should trample them down. Here he comes! I will leave\r
+you, Diana." And I hastened upstairs as I saw him entering the garden.\r
+\r
+But I was forced to meet him again at supper. During that meal he\r
+appeared just as composed as usual. I had thought he would hardly speak\r
+to me, and I was certain he had given up the pursuit of his matrimonial\r
+scheme: the sequel showed I was mistaken on both points. He addressed me\r
+precisely in his ordinary manner, or what had, of late, been his ordinary\r
+manner--one scrupulously polite. No doubt he had invoked the help of the\r
+Holy Spirit to subdue the anger I had roused in him, and now believed he\r
+had forgiven me once more.\r
+\r
+For the evening reading before prayers, he selected the twenty-first\r
+chapter of Revelation. It was at all times pleasant to listen while from\r
+his lips fell the words of the Bible: never did his fine voice sound at\r
+once so sweet and full--never did his manner become so impressive in its\r
+noble simplicity, as when he delivered the oracles of God: and to-night\r
+that voice took a more solemn tone--that manner a more thrilling\r
+meaning--as he sat in the midst of his household circle (the May moon\r
+shining in through the uncurtained window, and rendering almost\r
+unnecessary the light of the candle on the table): as he sat there,\r
+bending over the great old Bible, and described from its page the vision\r
+of the new heaven and the new earth--told how God would come to dwell\r
+with men, how He would wipe away all tears from their eyes, and promised\r
+that there should be no more death, neither sorrow nor crying, nor any\r
+more pain, because the former things were passed away.\r
+\r
+The succeeding words thrilled me strangely as he spoke them: especially\r
+as I felt, by the slight, indescribable alteration in sound, that in\r
+uttering them, his eye had turned on me.\r
+\r
+"He that overcometh shall inherit all things; and I will be his God, and\r
+he shall be my son. But," was slowly, distinctly read, "the fearful, the\r
+unbelieving, &c., shall have their part in the lake which burneth with\r
+fire and brimstone, which is the second death."\r
+\r
+Henceforward, I knew what fate St. John feared for me.\r
+\r
+A calm, subdued triumph, blent with a longing earnestness, marked his\r
+enunciation of the last glorious verses of that chapter. The reader\r
+believed his name was already written in the Lamb's book of life, and he\r
+yearned after the hour which should admit him to the city to which the\r
+kings of the earth bring their glory and honour; which has no need of sun\r
+or moon to shine in it, because the glory of God lightens it, and the\r
+Lamb is the light thereof.\r
+\r
+In the prayer following the chapter, all his energy gathered--all his\r
+stern zeal woke: he was in deep earnest, wrestling with God, and resolved\r
+on a conquest. He supplicated strength for the weak-hearted; guidance\r
+for wanderers from the fold: a return, even at the eleventh hour, for\r
+those whom the temptations of the world and the flesh were luring from\r
+the narrow path. He asked, he urged, he claimed the boon of a brand\r
+snatched from the burning. Earnestness is ever deeply solemn: first, as\r
+I listened to that prayer, I wondered at his; then, when it continued and\r
+rose, I was touched by it, and at last awed. He felt the greatness and\r
+goodness of his purpose so sincerely: others who heard him plead for it,\r
+could not but feel it too.\r
+\r
+The prayer over, we took leave of him: he was to go at a very early hour\r
+in the morning. Diana and Mary having kissed him, left the room--in\r
+compliance, I think, with a whispered hint from him: I tendered my hand,\r
+and wished him a pleasant journey.\r
+\r
+"Thank you, Jane. As I said, I shall return from Cambridge in a\r
+fortnight: that space, then, is yet left you for reflection. If I\r
+listened to human pride, I should say no more to you of marriage with me;\r
+but I listen to my duty, and keep steadily in view my first aim--to do\r
+all things to the glory of God. My Master was long-suffering: so will I\r
+be. I cannot give you up to perdition as a vessel of wrath:\r
+repent--resolve, while there is yet time. Remember, we are bid to work\r
+while it is day--warned that 'the night cometh when no man shall work.'\r
+Remember the fate of Dives, who had his good things in this life. God\r
+give you strength to choose that better part which shall not be taken\r
+from you!"\r
+\r
+He laid his hand on my head as he uttered the last words. He had spoken\r
+earnestly, mildly: his look was not, indeed, that of a lover beholding\r
+his mistress, but it was that of a pastor recalling his wandering\r
+sheep--or better, of a guardian angel watching the soul for which he is\r
+responsible. All men of talent, whether they be men of feeling or not;\r
+whether they be zealots, or aspirants, or despots--provided only they be\r
+sincere--have their sublime moments, when they subdue and rule. I felt\r
+veneration for St. John--veneration so strong that its impetus thrust me\r
+at once to the point I had so long shunned. I was tempted to cease\r
+struggling with him--to rush down the torrent of his will into the gulf\r
+of his existence, and there lose my own. I was almost as hard beset by\r
+him now as I had been once before, in a different way, by another. I was\r
+a fool both times. To have yielded then would have been an error of\r
+principle; to have yielded now would have been an error of judgment. So\r
+I think at this hour, when I look back to the crisis through the quiet\r
+medium of time: I was unconscious of folly at the instant.\r
+\r
+I stood motionless under my hierophant's touch. My refusals were\r
+forgotten--my fears overcome--my wrestlings paralysed. The\r
+Impossible--_i.e._, my marriage with St. John--was fast becoming the\r
+Possible. All was changing utterly with a sudden sweep. Religion\r
+called--Angels beckoned--God commanded--life rolled together like a\r
+scroll--death's gates opening, showed eternity beyond: it seemed, that\r
+for safety and bliss there, all here might be sacrificed in a second. The\r
+dim room was full of visions.\r
+\r
+"Could you decide now?" asked the missionary. The inquiry was put in\r
+gentle tones: he drew me to him as gently. Oh, that gentleness! how far\r
+more potent is it than force! I could resist St. John's wrath: I grew\r
+pliant as a reed under his kindness. Yet I knew all the time, if I\r
+yielded now, I should not the less be made to repent, some day, of my\r
+former rebellion. His nature was not changed by one hour of solemn\r
+prayer: it was only elevated.\r
+\r
+"I could decide if I were but certain," I answered: "were I but convinced\r
+that it is God's will I should marry you, I could vow to marry you here\r
+and now--come afterwards what would!"\r
+\r
+"My prayers are heard!" ejaculated St. John. He pressed his hand firmer\r
+on my head, as if he claimed me: he surrounded me with his arm, _almost_\r
+as if he loved me (I say _almost_--I knew the difference--for I had felt\r
+what it was to be loved; but, like him, I had now put love out of the\r
+question, and thought only of duty). I contended with my inward dimness\r
+of vision, before which clouds yet rolled. I sincerely, deeply,\r
+fervently longed to do what was right; and only that. "Show me, show me\r
+the path!" I entreated of Heaven. I was excited more than I had ever\r
+been; and whether what followed was the effect of excitement the reader\r
+shall judge.\r
+\r
+All the house was still; for I believe all, except St. John and myself,\r
+were now retired to rest. The one candle was dying out: the room was\r
+full of moonlight. My heart beat fast and thick: I heard its throb.\r
+Suddenly it stood still to an inexpressible feeling that thrilled it\r
+through, and passed at once to my head and extremities. The feeling was\r
+not like an electric shock, but it was quite as sharp, as strange, as\r
+startling: it acted on my senses as if their utmost activity hitherto had\r
+been but torpor, from which they were now summoned and forced to wake.\r
+They rose expectant: eye and ear waited while the flesh quivered on my\r
+bones.\r
+\r
+"What have you heard? What do you see?" asked St. John. I saw nothing,\r
+but I heard a voice somewhere cry--\r
+\r
+"Jane! Jane! Jane!"--nothing more.\r
+\r
+"O God! what is it?" I gasped.\r
+\r
+I might have said, "Where is it?" for it did not seem in the room--nor in\r
+the house--nor in the garden; it did not come out of the air--nor from\r
+under the earth--nor from overhead. I had heard it--where, or whence,\r
+for ever impossible to know! And it was the voice of a human being--a\r
+known, loved, well-remembered voice--that of Edward Fairfax Rochester;\r
+and it spoke in pain and woe, wildly, eerily, urgently.\r
+\r
+"I am coming!" I cried. "Wait for me! Oh, I will come!" I flew to the\r
+door and looked into the passage: it was dark. I ran out into the\r
+garden: it was void.\r
+\r
+"Where are you?" I exclaimed.\r
+\r
+The hills beyond Marsh Glen sent the answer faintly back--"Where are\r
+you?" I listened. The wind sighed low in the firs: all was moorland\r
+loneliness and midnight hush.\r
+\r
+"Down superstition!" I commented, as that spectre rose up black by the\r
+black yew at the gate. "This is not thy deception, nor thy witchcraft:\r
+it is the work of nature. She was roused, and did--no miracle--but her\r
+best."\r
+\r
+I broke from St. John, who had followed, and would have detained me. It\r
+was _my_ time to assume ascendency. _My_ powers were in play and in\r
+force. I told him to forbear question or remark; I desired him to leave\r
+me: I must and would be alone. He obeyed at once. Where there is energy\r
+to command well enough, obedience never fails. I mounted to my chamber;\r
+locked myself in; fell on my knees; and prayed in my way--a different way\r
+to St. John's, but effective in its own fashion. I seemed to penetrate\r
+very near a Mighty Spirit; and my soul rushed out in gratitude at His\r
+feet. I rose from the thanksgiving--took a resolve--and lay down,\r
+unscared, enlightened--eager but for the daylight.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER XXXVI\r
+\r
+\r
+The daylight came. I rose at dawn. I busied myself for an hour or two\r
+with arranging my things in my chamber, drawers, and wardrobe, in the\r
+order wherein I should wish to leave them during a brief absence.\r
+Meantime, I heard St. John quit his room. He stopped at my door: I\r
+feared he would knock--no, but a slip of paper was passed under the door.\r
+I took it up. It bore these words--\r
+\r
+"You left me too suddenly last night. Had you stayed but a little\r
+longer, you would have laid your hand on the Christian's cross and the\r
+angel's crown. I shall expect your clear decision when I return this day\r
+fortnight. Meantime, watch and pray that you enter not into temptation:\r
+the spirit, I trust, is willing, but the flesh, I see, is weak. I shall\r
+pray for you hourly.--Yours, ST. JOHN."\r
+\r
+"My spirit," I answered mentally, "is willing to do what is right; and my\r
+flesh, I hope, is strong enough to accomplish the will of Heaven, when\r
+once that will is distinctly known to me. At any rate, it shall be\r
+strong enough to search--inquire--to grope an outlet from this cloud of\r
+doubt, and find the open day of certainty."\r
+\r
+It was the first of June; yet the morning was overcast and chilly: rain\r
+beat fast on my casement. I heard the front-door open, and St. John pass\r
+out. Looking through the window, I saw him traverse the garden. He took\r
+the way over the misty moors in the direction of Whitcross--there he\r
+would meet the coach.\r
+\r
+"In a few more hours I shall succeed you in that track, cousin," thought\r
+I: "I too have a coach to meet at Whitcross. I too have some to see and\r
+ask after in England, before I depart for ever."\r
+\r
+It wanted yet two hours of breakfast-time. I filled the interval in\r
+walking softly about my room, and pondering the visitation which had\r
+given my plans their present bent. I recalled that inward sensation I\r
+had experienced: for I could recall it, with all its unspeakable\r
+strangeness. I recalled the voice I had heard; again I questioned whence\r
+it came, as vainly as before: it seemed in _me_--not in the external\r
+world. I asked was it a mere nervous impression--a delusion? I could\r
+not conceive or believe: it was more like an inspiration. The wondrous\r
+shock of feeling had come like the earthquake which shook the foundations\r
+of Paul and Silas's prison; it had opened the doors of the soul's cell\r
+and loosed its bands--it had wakened it out of its sleep, whence it\r
+sprang trembling, listening, aghast; then vibrated thrice a cry on my\r
+startled ear, and in my quaking heart and through my spirit, which\r
+neither feared nor shook, but exulted as if in joy over the success of\r
+one effort it had been privileged to make, independent of the cumbrous\r
+body.\r
+\r
+"Ere many days," I said, as I terminated my musings, "I will know\r
+something of him whose voice seemed last night to summon me. Letters\r
+have proved of no avail--personal inquiry shall replace them."\r
+\r
+At breakfast I announced to Diana and Mary that I was going a journey,\r
+and should be absent at least four days.\r
+\r
+"Alone, Jane?" they asked.\r
+\r
+"Yes; it was to see or hear news of a friend about whom I had for some\r
+time been uneasy."\r
+\r
+They might have said, as I have no doubt they thought, that they had\r
+believed me to be without any friends save them: for, indeed, I had often\r
+said so; but, with their true natural delicacy, they abstained from\r
+comment, except that Diana asked me if I was sure I was well enough to\r
+travel. I looked very pale, she observed. I replied, that nothing ailed\r
+me save anxiety of mind, which I hoped soon to alleviate.\r
+\r
+It was easy to make my further arrangements; for I was troubled with no\r
+inquiries--no surmises. Having once explained to them that I could not\r
+now be explicit about my plans, they kindly and wisely acquiesced in the\r
+silence with which I pursued them, according to me the privilege of free\r
+action I should under similar circumstances have accorded them.\r
+\r
+I left Moor House at three o'clock p.m., and soon after four I stood at\r
+the foot of the sign-post of Whitcross, waiting the arrival of the coach\r
+which was to take me to distant Thornfield. Amidst the silence of those\r
+solitary roads and desert hills, I heard it approach from a great\r
+distance. It was the same vehicle whence, a year ago, I had alighted one\r
+summer evening on this very spot--how desolate, and hopeless, and\r
+objectless! It stopped as I beckoned. I entered--not now obliged to\r
+part with my whole fortune as the price of its accommodation. Once more\r
+on the road to Thornfield, I felt like the messenger-pigeon flying home.\r
+\r
+It was a journey of six-and-thirty hours. I had set out from Whitcross\r
+on a Tuesday afternoon, and early on the succeeding Thursday morning the\r
+coach stopped to water the horses at a wayside inn, situated in the midst\r
+of scenery whose green hedges and large fields and low pastoral hills\r
+(how mild of feature and verdant of hue compared with the stern North-\r
+Midland moors of Morton!) met my eye like the lineaments of a once\r
+familiar face. Yes, I knew the character of this landscape: I was sure\r
+we were near my bourne.\r
+\r
+"How far is Thornfield Hall from here?" I asked of the ostler.\r
+\r
+"Just two miles, ma'am, across the fields."\r
+\r
+"My journey is closed," I thought to myself. I got out of the coach,\r
+gave a box I had into the ostler's charge, to be kept till I called for\r
+it; paid my fare; satisfied the coachman, and was going: the brightening\r
+day gleamed on the sign of the inn, and I read in gilt letters, "The\r
+Rochester Arms." My heart leapt up: I was already on my master's very\r
+lands. It fell again: the thought struck it:--\r
+\r
+"Your master himself may be beyond the British Channel, for aught you\r
+know: and then, if he is at Thornfield Hall, towards which you hasten,\r
+who besides him is there? His lunatic wife: and you have nothing to do\r
+with him: you dare not speak to him or seek his presence. You have lost\r
+your labour--you had better go no farther," urged the monitor. "Ask\r
+information of the people at the inn; they can give you all you seek:\r
+they can solve your doubts at once. Go up to that man, and inquire if\r
+Mr. Rochester be at home."\r
+\r
+The suggestion was sensible, and yet I could not force myself to act on\r
+it. I so dreaded a reply that would crush me with despair. To prolong\r
+doubt was to prolong hope. I might yet once more see the Hall under the\r
+ray of her star. There was the stile before me--the very fields through\r
+which I had hurried, blind, deaf, distracted with a revengeful fury\r
+tracking and scourging me, on the morning I fled from Thornfield: ere I\r
+well knew what course I had resolved to take, I was in the midst of them.\r
+How fast I walked! How I ran sometimes! How I looked forward to catch\r
+the first view of the well-known woods! With what feelings I welcomed\r
+single trees I knew, and familiar glimpses of meadow and hill between\r
+them!\r
+\r
+At last the woods rose; the rookery clustered dark; a loud cawing broke\r
+the morning stillness. Strange delight inspired me: on I hastened.\r
+Another field crossed--a lane threaded--and there were the courtyard\r
+walls--the back offices: the house itself, the rookery still hid. "My\r
+first view of it shall be in front," I determined, "where its bold\r
+battlements will strike the eye nobly at once, and where I can single out\r
+my master's very window: perhaps he will be standing at it--he rises\r
+early: perhaps he is now walking in the orchard, or on the pavement in\r
+front. Could I but see him!--but a moment! Surely, in that case, I\r
+should not be so mad as to run to him? I cannot tell--I am not certain.\r
+And if I did--what then? God bless him! What then? Who would be hurt\r
+by my once more tasting the life his glance can give me? I rave: perhaps\r
+at this moment he is watching the sun rise over the Pyrenees, or on the\r
+tideless sea of the south."\r
+\r
+I had coasted along the lower wall of the orchard--turned its angle:\r
+there was a gate just there, opening into the meadow, between two stone\r
+pillars crowned by stone balls. From behind one pillar I could peep\r
+round quietly at the full front of the mansion. I advanced my head with\r
+precaution, desirous to ascertain if any bedroom window-blinds were yet\r
+drawn up: battlements, windows, long front--all from this sheltered\r
+station were at my command.\r
+\r
+The crows sailing overhead perhaps watched me while I took this survey. I\r
+wonder what they thought. They must have considered I was very careful\r
+and timid at first, and that gradually I grew very bold and reckless. A\r
+peep, and then a long stare; and then a departure from my niche and a\r
+straying out into the meadow; and a sudden stop full in front of the\r
+great mansion, and a protracted, hardy gaze towards it. "What\r
+affectation of diffidence was this at first?" they might have demanded;\r
+"what stupid regardlessness now?"\r
+\r
+Hear an illustration, reader.\r
+\r
+A lover finds his mistress asleep on a mossy bank; he wishes to catch a\r
+glimpse of her fair face without waking her. He steals softly over the\r
+grass, careful to make no sound; he pauses--fancying she has stirred: he\r
+withdraws: not for worlds would he be seen. All is still: he again\r
+advances: he bends above her; a light veil rests on her features: he\r
+lifts it, bends lower; now his eyes anticipate the vision of beauty--warm,\r
+and blooming, and lovely, in rest. How hurried was their first glance!\r
+But how they fix! How he starts! How he suddenly and vehemently clasps\r
+in both arms the form he dared not, a moment since, touch with his\r
+finger! How he calls aloud a name, and drops his burden, and gazes on it\r
+wildly! He thus grasps and cries, and gazes, because he no longer fears\r
+to waken by any sound he can utter--by any movement he can make. He\r
+thought his love slept sweetly: he finds she is stone dead.\r
+\r
+I looked with timorous joy towards a stately house: I saw a blackened\r
+ruin.\r
+\r
+No need to cower behind a gate-post, indeed!--to peep up at chamber\r
+lattices, fearing life was astir behind them! No need to listen for\r
+doors opening--to fancy steps on the pavement or the gravel-walk! The\r
+lawn, the grounds were trodden and waste: the portal yawned void. The\r
+front was, as I had once seen it in a dream, but a well-like wall, very\r
+high and very fragile-looking, perforated with paneless windows: no roof,\r
+no battlements, no chimneys--all had crashed in.\r
+\r
+And there was the silence of death about it: the solitude of a lonesome\r
+wild. No wonder that letters addressed to people here had never received\r
+an answer: as well despatch epistles to a vault in a church aisle. The\r
+grim blackness of the stones told by what fate the Hall had fallen--by\r
+conflagration: but how kindled? What story belonged to this disaster?\r
+What loss, besides mortar and marble and wood-work had followed upon it?\r
+Had life been wrecked as well as property? If so, whose? Dreadful\r
+question: there was no one here to answer it--not even dumb sign, mute\r
+token.\r
+\r
+In wandering round the shattered walls and through the devastated\r
+interior, I gathered evidence that the calamity was not of late\r
+occurrence. Winter snows, I thought, had drifted through that void arch,\r
+winter rains beaten in at those hollow casements; for, amidst the\r
+drenched piles of rubbish, spring had cherished vegetation: grass and\r
+weed grew here and there between the stones and fallen rafters. And oh!\r
+where meantime was the hapless owner of this wreck? In what land? Under\r
+what auspices? My eye involuntarily wandered to the grey church tower\r
+near the gates, and I asked, "Is he with Damer de Rochester, sharing the\r
+shelter of his narrow marble house?"\r
+\r
+Some answer must be had to these questions. I could find it nowhere but\r
+at the inn, and thither, ere long, I returned. The host himself brought\r
+my breakfast into the parlour. I requested him to shut the door and sit\r
+down: I had some questions to ask him. But when he complied, I scarcely\r
+knew how to begin; such horror had I of the possible answers. And yet\r
+the spectacle of desolation I had just left prepared me in a measure for\r
+a tale of misery. The host was a respectable-looking, middle-aged man.\r
+\r
+"You know Thornfield Hall, of course?" I managed to say at last.\r
+\r
+"Yes, ma'am; I lived there once."\r
+\r
+"Did you?" Not in my time, I thought: you are a stranger to me.\r
+\r
+"I was the late Mr. Rochester's butler," he added.\r
+\r
+The late! I seem to have received, with full force, the blow I had been\r
+trying to evade.\r
+\r
+"The late!" I gasped. "Is he dead?"\r
+\r
+"I mean the present gentleman, Mr. Edward's father," he explained. I\r
+breathed again: my blood resumed its flow. Fully assured by these words\r
+that Mr. Edward--_my_ Mr. Rochester (God bless him, wherever he was!)--was\r
+at least alive: was, in short, "the present gentleman." Gladdening\r
+words! It seemed I could hear all that was to come--whatever the\r
+disclosures might be--with comparative tranquillity. Since he was not in\r
+the grave, I could bear, I thought, to learn that he was at the\r
+Antipodes.\r
+\r
+"Is Mr. Rochester living at Thornfield Hall now?" I asked, knowing, of\r
+course, what the answer would be, but yet desirous of deferring the\r
+direct question as to where he really was.\r
+\r
+"No, ma'am--oh, no! No one is living there. I suppose you are a\r
+stranger in these parts, or you would have heard what happened last\r
+autumn,--Thornfield Hall is quite a ruin: it was burnt down just about\r
+harvest-time. A dreadful calamity! such an immense quantity of valuable\r
+property destroyed: hardly any of the furniture could be saved. The fire\r
+broke out at dead of night, and before the engines arrived from Millcote,\r
+the building was one mass of flame. It was a terrible spectacle: I\r
+witnessed it myself."\r
+\r
+"At dead of night!" I muttered. Yes, that was ever the hour of fatality\r
+at Thornfield. "Was it known how it originated?" I demanded.\r
+\r
+"They guessed, ma'am: they guessed. Indeed, I should say it was\r
+ascertained beyond a doubt. You are not perhaps aware," he continued,\r
+edging his chair a little nearer the table, and speaking low, "that there\r
+was a lady--a--a lunatic, kept in the house?"\r
+\r
+"I have heard something of it."\r
+\r
+"She was kept in very close confinement, ma'am: people even for some\r
+years was not absolutely certain of her existence. No one saw her: they\r
+only knew by rumour that such a person was at the Hall; and who or what\r
+she was it was difficult to conjecture. They said Mr. Edward had brought\r
+her from abroad, and some believed she had been his mistress. But a\r
+queer thing happened a year since--a very queer thing."\r
+\r
+I feared now to hear my own story. I endeavoured to recall him to the\r
+main fact.\r
+\r
+"And this lady?"\r
+\r
+"This lady, ma'am," he answered, "turned out to be Mr. Rochester's wife!\r
+The discovery was brought about in the strangest way. There was a young\r
+lady, a governess at the Hall, that Mr. Rochester fell in--"\r
+\r
+"But the fire," I suggested.\r
+\r
+"I'm coming to that, ma'am--that Mr. Edward fell in love with. The\r
+servants say they never saw anybody so much in love as he was: he was\r
+after her continually. They used to watch him--servants will, you know,\r
+ma'am--and he set store on her past everything: for all, nobody but him\r
+thought her so very handsome. She was a little small thing, they say,\r
+almost like a child. I never saw her myself; but I've heard Leah, the\r
+house-maid, tell of her. Leah liked her well enough. Mr. Rochester was\r
+about forty, and this governess not twenty; and you see, when gentlemen\r
+of his age fall in love with girls, they are often like as if they were\r
+bewitched. Well, he would marry her."\r
+\r
+"You shall tell me this part of the story another time," I said; "but now\r
+I have a particular reason for wishing to hear all about the fire. Was\r
+it suspected that this lunatic, Mrs. Rochester, had any hand in it?"\r
+\r
+"You've hit it, ma'am: it's quite certain that it was her, and nobody but\r
+her, that set it going. She had a woman to take care of her called Mrs.\r
+Poole--an able woman in her line, and very trustworthy, but for one\r
+fault--a fault common to a deal of them nurses and matrons--she _kept a\r
+private bottle of gin by her_, and now and then took a drop over-much. It\r
+is excusable, for she had a hard life of it: but still it was dangerous;\r
+for when Mrs. Poole was fast asleep after the gin and water, the mad\r
+lady, who was as cunning as a witch, would take the keys out of her\r
+pocket, let herself out of her chamber, and go roaming about the house,\r
+doing any wild mischief that came into her head. They say she had nearly\r
+burnt her husband in his bed once: but I don't know about that. However,\r
+on this night, she set fire first to the hangings of the room next her\r
+own, and then she got down to a lower storey, and made her way to the\r
+chamber that had been the governess's--(she was like as if she knew\r
+somehow how matters had gone on, and had a spite at her)--and she kindled\r
+the bed there; but there was nobody sleeping in it, fortunately. The\r
+governess had run away two months before; and for all Mr. Rochester\r
+sought her as if she had been the most precious thing he had in the\r
+world, he never could hear a word of her; and he grew savage--quite\r
+savage on his disappointment: he never was a wild man, but he got\r
+dangerous after he lost her. He would be alone, too. He sent Mrs.\r
+Fairfax, the housekeeper, away to her friends at a distance; but he did\r
+it handsomely, for he settled an annuity on her for life: and she\r
+deserved it--she was a very good woman. Miss Adele, a ward he had, was\r
+put to school. He broke off acquaintance with all the gentry, and shut\r
+himself up like a hermit at the Hall."\r
+\r
+"What! did he not leave England?"\r
+\r
+"Leave England? Bless you, no! He would not cross the door-stones of\r
+the house, except at night, when he walked just like a ghost about the\r
+grounds and in the orchard as if he had lost his senses--which it is my\r
+opinion he had; for a more spirited, bolder, keener gentleman than he was\r
+before that midge of a governess crossed him, you never saw, ma'am. He\r
+was not a man given to wine, or cards, or racing, as some are, and he was\r
+not so very handsome; but he had a courage and a will of his own, if ever\r
+man had. I knew him from a boy, you see: and for my part, I have often\r
+wished that Miss Eyre had been sunk in the sea before she came to\r
+Thornfield Hall."\r
+\r
+"Then Mr. Rochester was at home when the fire broke out?"\r
+\r
+"Yes, indeed was he; and he went up to the attics when all was burning\r
+above and below, and got the servants out of their beds and helped them\r
+down himself, and went back to get his mad wife out of her cell. And\r
+then they called out to him that she was on the roof, where she was\r
+standing, waving her arms, above the battlements, and shouting out till\r
+they could hear her a mile off: I saw her and heard her with my own eyes.\r
+She was a big woman, and had long black hair: we could see it streaming\r
+against the flames as she stood. I witnessed, and several more\r
+witnessed, Mr. Rochester ascend through the sky-light on to the roof; we\r
+heard him call 'Bertha!' We saw him approach her; and then, ma'am, she\r
+yelled and gave a spring, and the next minute she lay smashed on the\r
+pavement."\r
+\r
+{The next minute she lay smashed on the pavement: p413.jpg}\r
+\r
+"Dead?"\r
+\r
+"Dead! Ay, dead as the stones on which her brains and blood were\r
+scattered."\r
+\r
+"Good God!"\r
+\r
+"You may well say so, ma'am: it was frightful!"\r
+\r
+He shuddered.\r
+\r
+"And afterwards?" I urged.\r
+\r
+"Well, ma'am, afterwards the house was burnt to the ground: there are\r
+only some bits of walls standing now."\r
+\r
+"Were any other lives lost?"\r
+\r
+"No--perhaps it would have been better if there had."\r
+\r
+"What do you mean?"\r
+\r
+"Poor Mr. Edward!" he ejaculated, "I little thought ever to have seen it!\r
+Some say it was a just judgment on him for keeping his first marriage\r
+secret, and wanting to take another wife while he had one living: but I\r
+pity him, for my part."\r
+\r
+"You said he was alive?" I exclaimed.\r
+\r
+"Yes, yes: he is alive; but many think he had better be dead."\r
+\r
+"Why? How?" My blood was again running cold. "Where is he?" I\r
+demanded. "Is he in England?"\r
+\r
+"Ay--ay--he's in England; he can't get out of England, I fancy--he's a\r
+fixture now."\r
+\r
+What agony was this! And the man seemed resolved to protract it.\r
+\r
+"He is stone-blind," he said at last. "Yes, he is stone-blind, is Mr.\r
+Edward."\r
+\r
+I had dreaded worse. I had dreaded he was mad. I summoned strength to\r
+ask what had caused this calamity.\r
+\r
+"It was all his own courage, and a body may say, his kindness, in a way,\r
+ma'am: he wouldn't leave the house till every one else was out before\r
+him. As he came down the great staircase at last, after Mrs. Rochester\r
+had flung herself from the battlements, there was a great crash--all\r
+fell. He was taken out from under the ruins, alive, but sadly hurt: a\r
+beam had fallen in such a way as to protect him partly; but one eye was\r
+knocked out, and one hand so crushed that Mr. Carter, the surgeon, had to\r
+amputate it directly. The other eye inflamed: he lost the sight of that\r
+also. He is now helpless, indeed--blind and a cripple."\r
+\r
+"Where is he? Where does he now live?"\r
+\r
+"At Ferndean, a manor-house on a farm he has, about thirty miles off:\r
+quite a desolate spot."\r
+\r
+"Who is with him?"\r
+\r
+"Old John and his wife: he would have none else. He is quite broken\r
+down, they say."\r
+\r
+"Have you any sort of conveyance?"\r
+\r
+"We have a chaise, ma'am, a very handsome chaise."\r
+\r
+"Let it be got ready instantly; and if your post-boy can drive me to\r
+Ferndean before dark this day, I'll pay both you and him twice the hire\r
+you usually demand."\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER XXXVII\r
+\r
+\r
+The manor-house of Ferndean was a building of considerable antiquity,\r
+moderate size, and no architectural pretensions, deep buried in a wood. I\r
+had heard of it before. Mr. Rochester often spoke of it, and sometimes\r
+went there. His father had purchased the estate for the sake of the game\r
+covers. He would have let the house, but could find no tenant, in\r
+consequence of its ineligible and insalubrious site. Ferndean then\r
+remained uninhabited and unfurnished, with the exception of some two or\r
+three rooms fitted up for the accommodation of the squire when he went\r
+there in the season to shoot.\r
+\r
+To this house I came just ere dark on an evening marked by the\r
+characteristics of sad sky, cold gale, and continued small penetrating\r
+rain. The last mile I performed on foot, having dismissed the chaise and\r
+driver with the double remuneration I had promised. Even when within a\r
+very short distance of the manor-house, you could see nothing of it, so\r
+thick and dark grew the timber of the gloomy wood about it. Iron gates\r
+between granite pillars showed me where to enter, and passing through\r
+them, I found myself at once in the twilight of close-ranked trees. There\r
+was a grass-grown track descending the forest aisle between hoar and\r
+knotty shafts and under branched arches. I followed it, expecting soon\r
+to reach the dwelling; but it stretched on and on, it wound far and\r
+farther: no sign of habitation or grounds was visible.\r
+\r
+I thought I had taken a wrong direction and lost my way. The darkness of\r
+natural as well as of sylvan dusk gathered over me. I looked round in\r
+search of another road. There was none: all was interwoven stem,\r
+columnar trunk, dense summer foliage--no opening anywhere.\r
+\r
+I proceeded: at last my way opened, the trees thinned a little; presently\r
+I beheld a railing, then the house--scarce, by this dim light,\r
+distinguishable from the trees; so dank and green were its decaying\r
+walls. Entering a portal, fastened only by a latch, I stood amidst a\r
+space of enclosed ground, from which the wood swept away in a semicircle.\r
+There were no flowers, no garden-beds; only a broad gravel-walk girdling\r
+a grass-plat, and this set in the heavy frame of the forest. The house\r
+presented two pointed gables in its front; the windows were latticed and\r
+narrow: the front door was narrow too, one step led up to it. The whole\r
+looked, as the host of the Rochester Arms had said, "quite a desolate\r
+spot." It was as still as a church on a week-day: the pattering rain on\r
+the forest leaves was the only sound audible in its vicinage.\r
+\r
+"Can there be life here?" I asked.\r
+\r
+Yes, life of some kind there was; for I heard a movement--that narrow\r
+front-door was unclosing, and some shape was about to issue from the\r
+grange.\r
+\r
+It opened slowly: a figure came out into the twilight and stood on the\r
+step; a man without a hat: he stretched forth his hand as if to feel\r
+whether it rained. Dusk as it was, I had recognised him--it was my\r
+master, Edward Fairfax Rochester, and no other.\r
+\r
+I stayed my step, almost my breath, and stood to watch him--to examine\r
+him, myself unseen, and alas! to him invisible. It was a sudden meeting,\r
+and one in which rapture was kept well in check by pain. I had no\r
+difficulty in restraining my voice from exclamation, my step from hasty\r
+advance.\r
+\r
+His form was of the same strong and stalwart contour as ever: his port\r
+was still erect, his hair was still raven black; nor were his features\r
+altered or sunk: not in one year's space, by any sorrow, could his\r
+athletic strength be quelled or his vigorous prime blighted. But in his\r
+countenance I saw a change: that looked desperate and brooding--that\r
+reminded me of some wronged and fettered wild beast or bird, dangerous to\r
+approach in his sullen woe. The caged eagle, whose gold-ringed eyes\r
+cruelty has extinguished, might look as looked that sightless Samson.\r
+\r
+And, reader, do you think I feared him in his blind ferocity?--if you do,\r
+you little know me. A soft hope blest with my sorrow that soon I should\r
+dare to drop a kiss on that brow of rock, and on those lips so sternly\r
+sealed beneath it: but not yet. I would not accost him yet.\r
+\r
+He descended the one step, and advanced slowly and gropingly towards the\r
+grass-plat. Where was his daring stride now? Then he paused, as if he\r
+knew not which way to turn. He lifted his hand and opened his eyelids;\r
+gazed blank, and with a straining effort, on the sky, and toward the\r
+amphitheatre of trees: one saw that all to him was void darkness. He\r
+stretched his right hand (the left arm, the mutilated one, he kept hidden\r
+in his bosom); he seemed to wish by touch to gain an idea of what lay\r
+around him: he met but vacancy still; for the trees were some yards off\r
+where he stood. He relinquished the endeavour, folded his arms, and\r
+stood quiet and mute in the rain, now falling fast on his uncovered head.\r
+At this moment John approached him from some quarter.\r
+\r
+"Will you take my arm, sir?" he said; "there is a heavy shower coming on:\r
+had you not better go in?"\r
+\r
+"Let me alone," was the answer.\r
+\r
+John withdrew without having observed me. Mr. Rochester now tried to\r
+walk about: vainly,--all was too uncertain. He groped his way back to\r
+the house, and, re-entering it, closed the door.\r
+\r
+I now drew near and knocked: John's wife opened for me. "Mary," I said,\r
+"how are you?"\r
+\r
+She started as if she had seen a ghost: I calmed her. To her hurried "Is\r
+it really you, miss, come at this late hour to this lonely place?" I\r
+answered by taking her hand; and then I followed her into the kitchen,\r
+where John now sat by a good fire. I explained to them, in few words,\r
+that I had heard all which had happened since I left Thornfield, and that\r
+I was come to see Mr. Rochester. I asked John to go down to the turn-\r
+pike-house, where I had dismissed the chaise, and bring my trunk, which I\r
+had left there: and then, while I removed my bonnet and shawl, I\r
+questioned Mary as to whether I could be accommodated at the Manor House\r
+for the night; and finding that arrangements to that effect, though\r
+difficult, would not be impossible, I informed her I should stay. Just\r
+at this moment the parlour-bell rang.\r
+\r
+"When you go in," said I, "tell your master that a person wishes to speak\r
+to him, but do not give my name."\r
+\r
+"I don't think he will see you," she answered; "he refuses everybody."\r
+\r
+When she returned, I inquired what he had said. "You are to send in your\r
+name and your business," she replied. She then proceeded to fill a glass\r
+with water, and place it on a tray, together with candles.\r
+\r
+"Is that what he rang for?" I asked.\r
+\r
+"Yes: he always has candles brought in at dark, though he is blind."\r
+\r
+"Give the tray to me; I will carry it in."\r
+\r
+I took it from her hand: she pointed me out the parlour door. The tray\r
+shook as I held it; the water spilt from the glass; my heart struck my\r
+ribs loud and fast. Mary opened the door for me, and shut it behind me.\r
+\r
+This parlour looked gloomy: a neglected handful of fire burnt low in the\r
+grate; and, leaning over it, with his head supported against the high,\r
+old-fashioned mantelpiece, appeared the blind tenant of the room. His\r
+old dog, Pilot, lay on one side, removed out of the way, and coiled up as\r
+if afraid of being inadvertently trodden upon. Pilot pricked up his ears\r
+when I came in: then he jumped up with a yelp and a whine, and bounded\r
+towards me: he almost knocked the tray from my hands. I set it on the\r
+table; then patted him, and said softly, "Lie down!" Mr. Rochester\r
+turned mechanically to _see_ what the commotion was: but as he _saw_\r
+nothing, he returned and sighed.\r
+\r
+"Give me the water, Mary," he said.\r
+\r
+I approached him with the now only half-filled glass; Pilot followed me,\r
+still excited.\r
+\r
+"What is the matter?" he inquired.\r
+\r
+"Down, Pilot!" I again said. He checked the water on its way to his\r
+lips, and seemed to listen: he drank, and put the glass down. "This is\r
+you, Mary, is it not?"\r
+\r
+"Mary is in the kitchen," I answered.\r
+\r
+He put out his hand with a quick gesture, but not seeing where I stood,\r
+he did not touch me. "Who is this? Who is this?" he demanded, trying,\r
+as it seemed, to _see_ with those sightless eyes--unavailing and\r
+distressing attempt! "Answer me--speak again!" he ordered, imperiously\r
+and aloud.\r
+\r
+"Will you have a little more water, sir? I spilt half of what was in the\r
+glass," I said.\r
+\r
+"_Who_ is it? _What_ is it? Who speaks?"\r
+\r
+"Pilot knows me, and John and Mary know I am here. I came only this\r
+evening," I answered.\r
+\r
+"Great God!--what delusion has come over me? What sweet madness has\r
+seized me?"\r
+\r
+"No delusion--no madness: your mind, sir, is too strong for delusion,\r
+your health too sound for frenzy."\r
+\r
+"And where is the speaker? Is it only a voice? Oh! I _cannot_ see, but\r
+I must feel, or my heart will stop and my brain burst. Whatever--whoever\r
+you are--be perceptible to the touch or I cannot live!"\r
+\r
+He groped; I arrested his wandering hand, and prisoned it in both mine.\r
+\r
+"Her very fingers!" he cried; "her small, slight fingers! If so there\r
+must be more of her."\r
+\r
+The muscular hand broke from my custody; my arm was seized, my\r
+shoulder--neck--waist--I was entwined and gathered to him.\r
+\r
+"Is it Jane? _What_ is it? This is her shape--this is her size--"\r
+\r
+"And this her voice," I added. "She is all here: her heart, too. God\r
+bless you, sir! I am glad to be so near you again."\r
+\r
+"Jane Eyre!--Jane Eyre," was all he said.\r
+\r
+"My dear master," I answered, "I am Jane Eyre: I have found you out--I am\r
+come back to you."\r
+\r
+"In truth?--in the flesh? My living Jane?"\r
+\r
+"You touch me, sir,--you hold me, and fast enough: I am not cold like a\r
+corpse, nor vacant like air, am I?"\r
+\r
+"My living darling! These are certainly her limbs, and these her\r
+features; but I cannot be so blest, after all my misery. It is a dream;\r
+such dreams as I have had at night when I have clasped her once more to\r
+my heart, as I do now; and kissed her, as thus--and felt that she loved\r
+me, and trusted that she would not leave me."\r
+\r
+"Which I never will, sir, from this day."\r
+\r
+"Never will, says the vision? But I always woke and found it an empty\r
+mockery; and I was desolate and abandoned--my life dark, lonely,\r
+hopeless--my soul athirst and forbidden to drink--my heart famished and\r
+never to be fed. Gentle, soft dream, nestling in my arms now, you will\r
+fly, too, as your sisters have all fled before you: but kiss me before\r
+you go--embrace me, Jane."\r
+\r
+"There, sir--and there!"'\r
+\r
+I pressed my lips to his once brilliant and now rayless eyes--I swept his\r
+hair from his brow, and kissed that too. He suddenly seemed to arouse\r
+himself: the conviction of the reality of all this seized him.\r
+\r
+"It is you--is it, Jane? You are come back to me then?"\r
+\r
+"I am."\r
+\r
+"And you do not lie dead in some ditch under some stream? And you are\r
+not a pining outcast amongst strangers?"\r
+\r
+"No, sir! I am an independent woman now."\r
+\r
+"Independent! What do you mean, Jane?"\r
+\r
+"My uncle in Madeira is dead, and he left me five thousand pounds."\r
+\r
+"Ah! this is practical--this is real!" he cried: "I should never dream\r
+that. Besides, there is that peculiar voice of hers, so animating and\r
+piquant, as well as soft: it cheers my withered heart; it puts life into\r
+it.--What, Janet! Are you an independent woman? A rich woman?"\r
+\r
+"If you won't let me live with you, I can build a house of my own close\r
+up to your door, and you may come and sit in my parlour when you want\r
+company of an evening."\r
+\r
+"But as you are rich, Jane, you have now, no doubt, friends who will look\r
+after you, and not suffer you to devote yourself to a blind lameter like\r
+me?"\r
+\r
+"I told you I am independent, sir, as well as rich: I am my own\r
+mistress."\r
+\r
+"And you will stay with me?"\r
+\r
+"Certainly--unless you object. I will be your neighbour, your nurse,\r
+your housekeeper. I find you lonely: I will be your companion--to read\r
+to you, to walk with you, to sit with you, to wait on you, to be eyes and\r
+hands to you. Cease to look so melancholy, my dear master; you shall not\r
+be left desolate, so long as I live."\r
+\r
+He replied not: he seemed serious--abstracted; he sighed; he half-opened\r
+his lips as if to speak: he closed them again. I felt a little\r
+embarrassed. Perhaps I had too rashly over-leaped conventionalities; and\r
+he, like St. John, saw impropriety in my inconsiderateness. I had indeed\r
+made my proposal from the idea that he wished and would ask me to be his\r
+wife: an expectation, not the less certain because unexpressed, had\r
+buoyed me up, that he would claim me at once as his own. But no hint to\r
+that effect escaping him and his countenance becoming more overcast, I\r
+suddenly remembered that I might have been all wrong, and was perhaps\r
+playing the fool unwittingly; and I began gently to withdraw myself from\r
+his arms--but he eagerly snatched me closer.\r
+\r
+"No--no--Jane; you must not go. No--I have touched you, heard you, felt\r
+the comfort of your presence--the sweetness of your consolation: I cannot\r
+give up these joys. I have little left in myself--I must have you. The\r
+world may laugh--may call me absurd, selfish--but it does not signify. My\r
+very soul demands you: it will be satisfied, or it will take deadly\r
+vengeance on its frame."\r
+\r
+"Well, sir, I will stay with you: I have said so."\r
+\r
+"Yes--but you understand one thing by staying with me; and I understand\r
+another. You, perhaps, could make up your mind to be about my hand and\r
+chair--to wait on me as a kind little nurse (for you have an affectionate\r
+heart and a generous spirit, which prompt you to make sacrifices for\r
+those you pity), and that ought to suffice for me no doubt. I suppose I\r
+should now entertain none but fatherly feelings for you: do you think so?\r
+Come--tell me."\r
+\r
+"I will think what you like, sir: I am content to be only your nurse, if\r
+you think it better."\r
+\r
+"But you cannot always be my nurse, Janet: you are young--you must marry\r
+one day."\r
+\r
+"I don't care about being married."\r
+\r
+"You should care, Janet: if I were what I once was, I would try to make\r
+you care--but--a sightless block!"\r
+\r
+He relapsed again into gloom. I, on the contrary, became more cheerful,\r
+and took fresh courage: these last words gave me an insight as to where\r
+the difficulty lay; and as it was no difficulty with me, I felt quite\r
+relieved from my previous embarrassment. I resumed a livelier vein of\r
+conversation.\r
+\r
+"It is time some one undertook to rehumanise you," said I, parting his\r
+thick and long uncut locks; "for I see you are being metamorphosed into a\r
+lion, or something of that sort. You have a 'faux air' of Nebuchadnezzar\r
+in the fields about you, that is certain: your hair reminds me of eagles'\r
+feathers; whether your nails are grown like birds' claws or not, I have\r
+not yet noticed."\r
+\r
+"On this arm, I have neither hand nor nails," he said, drawing the\r
+mutilated limb from his breast, and showing it to me. "It is a mere\r
+stump--a ghastly sight! Don't you think so, Jane?"\r
+\r
+"It is a pity to see it; and a pity to see your eyes--and the scar of\r
+fire on your forehead: and the worst of it is, one is in danger of loving\r
+you too well for all this; and making too much of you."\r
+\r
+"I thought you would be revolted, Jane, when you saw my arm, and my\r
+cicatrised visage."\r
+\r
+"Did you? Don't tell me so--lest I should say something disparaging to\r
+your judgment. Now, let me leave you an instant, to make a better fire,\r
+and have the hearth swept up. Can you tell when there is a good fire?"\r
+\r
+"Yes; with the right eye I see a glow--a ruddy haze."\r
+\r
+"And you see the candles?"\r
+\r
+"Very dimly--each is a luminous cloud."\r
+\r
+"Can you see me?"\r
+\r
+"No, my fairy: but I am only too thankful to hear and feel you."\r
+\r
+"When do you take supper?"\r
+\r
+"I never take supper."\r
+\r
+"But you shall have some to-night. I am hungry: so are you, I daresay,\r
+only you forget."\r
+\r
+Summoning Mary, I soon had the room in more cheerful order: I prepared\r
+him, likewise, a comfortable repast. My spirits were excited, and with\r
+pleasure and ease I talked to him during supper, and for a long time\r
+after. There was no harassing restraint, no repressing of glee and\r
+vivacity with him; for with him I was at perfect ease, because I knew I\r
+suited him; all I said or did seemed either to console or revive him.\r
+Delightful consciousness! It brought to life and light my whole nature:\r
+in his presence I thoroughly lived; and he lived in mine. Blind as he\r
+was, smiles played over his face, joy dawned on his forehead: his\r
+lineaments softened and warmed.\r
+\r
+After supper, he began to ask me many questions, of where I had been,\r
+what I had been doing, how I had found him out; but I gave him only very\r
+partial replies: it was too late to enter into particulars that night.\r
+Besides, I wished to touch no deep-thrilling chord--to open no fresh well\r
+of emotion in his heart: my sole present aim was to cheer him. Cheered,\r
+as I have said, he was: and yet but by fits. If a moment's silence broke\r
+the conversation, he would turn restless, touch me, then say, "Jane."\r
+\r
+"You are altogether a human being, Jane? You are certain of that?"\r
+\r
+{You are altogether a human being, Jane? You are certain of that?:\r
+p422.jpg}\r
+\r
+"I conscientiously believe so, Mr. Rochester."\r
+\r
+"Yet how, on this dark and doleful evening, could you so suddenly rise on\r
+my lone hearth? I stretched my hand to take a glass of water from a\r
+hireling, and it was given me by you: I asked a question, expecting\r
+John's wife to answer me, and your voice spoke at my ear."\r
+\r
+"Because I had come in, in Mary's stead, with the tray."\r
+\r
+"And there is enchantment in the very hour I am now spending with you.\r
+Who can tell what a dark, dreary, hopeless life I have dragged on for\r
+months past? Doing nothing, expecting nothing; merging night in day;\r
+feeling but the sensation of cold when I let the fire go out, of hunger\r
+when I forgot to eat: and then a ceaseless sorrow, and, at times, a very\r
+delirium of desire to behold my Jane again. Yes: for her restoration I\r
+longed, far more than for that of my lost sight. How can it be that Jane\r
+is with me, and says she loves me? Will she not depart as suddenly as\r
+she came? To-morrow, I fear I shall find her no more."\r
+\r
+A commonplace, practical reply, out of the train of his own disturbed\r
+ideas, was, I was sure, the best and most reassuring for him in this\r
+frame of mind. I passed my finger over his eyebrows, and remarked that\r
+they were scorched, and that I would apply something which would make\r
+them grow as broad and black as ever.\r
+\r
+"Where is the use of doing me good in any way, beneficent spirit, when,\r
+at some fatal moment, you will again desert me--passing like a shadow,\r
+whither and how to me unknown, and for me remaining afterwards\r
+undiscoverable?\r
+\r
+"Have you a pocket-comb about you, sir?"\r
+\r
+"What for, Jane?"\r
+\r
+"Just to comb out this shaggy black mane. I find you rather alarming,\r
+when I examine you close at hand: you talk of my being a fairy, but I am\r
+sure, you are more like a brownie."\r
+\r
+"Am I hideous, Jane?"\r
+\r
+"Very, sir: you always were, you know."\r
+\r
+"Humph! The wickedness has not been taken out of you, wherever you have\r
+sojourned."\r
+\r
+"Yet I have been with good people; far better than you: a hundred times\r
+better people; possessed of ideas and views you never entertained in your\r
+life: quite more refined and exalted."\r
+\r
+"Who the deuce have you been with?"\r
+\r
+"If you twist in that way you will make me pull the hair out of your\r
+head; and then I think you will cease to entertain doubts of my\r
+substantiality."\r
+\r
+"Who have you been with, Jane?"\r
+\r
+"You shall not get it out of me to-night, sir; you must wait till\r
+to-morrow; to leave my tale half told, will, you know, be a sort of\r
+security that I shall appear at your breakfast table to finish it. By\r
+the bye, I must mind not to rise on your hearth with only a glass of\r
+water then: I must bring an egg at the least, to say nothing of fried\r
+ham."\r
+\r
+"You mocking changeling--fairy-born and human-bred! You make me feel as\r
+I have not felt these twelve months. If Saul could have had you for his\r
+David, the evil spirit would have been exorcised without the aid of the\r
+harp."\r
+\r
+"There, sir, you are redd up and made decent. Now I'll leave you: I have\r
+been travelling these last three days, and I believe I am tired. Good\r
+night."\r
+\r
+"Just one word, Jane: were there only ladies in the house where you have\r
+been?"\r
+\r
+I laughed and made my escape, still laughing as I ran upstairs. "A good\r
+idea!" I thought with glee. "I see I have the means of fretting him out\r
+of his melancholy for some time to come."\r
+\r
+Very early the next morning I heard him up and astir, wandering from one\r
+room to another. As soon as Mary came down I heard the question: "Is\r
+Miss Eyre here?" Then: "Which room did you put her into? Was it dry? Is\r
+she up? Go and ask if she wants anything; and when she will come down."\r
+\r
+I came down as soon as I thought there was a prospect of breakfast.\r
+Entering the room very softly, I had a view of him before he discovered\r
+my presence. It was mournful, indeed, to witness the subjugation of that\r
+vigorous spirit to a corporeal infirmity. He sat in his chair--still,\r
+but not at rest: expectant evidently; the lines of now habitual sadness\r
+marking his strong features. His countenance reminded one of a lamp\r
+quenched, waiting to be re-lit--and alas! it was not himself that could\r
+now kindle the lustre of animated expression: he was dependent on another\r
+for that office! I had meant to be gay and careless, but the\r
+powerlessness of the strong man touched my heart to the quick: still I\r
+accosted him with what vivacity I could.\r
+\r
+"It is a bright, sunny morning, sir," I said. "The rain is over and\r
+gone, and there is a tender shining after it: you shall have a walk\r
+soon."\r
+\r
+I had wakened the glow: his features beamed.\r
+\r
+"Oh, you are indeed there, my skylark! Come to me. You are not gone:\r
+not vanished? I heard one of your kind an hour ago, singing high over\r
+the wood: but its song had no music for me, any more than the rising sun\r
+had rays. All the melody on earth is concentrated in my Jane's tongue to\r
+my ear (I am glad it is not naturally a silent one): all the sunshine I\r
+can feel is in her presence."\r
+\r
+The water stood in my eyes to hear this avowal of his dependence; just as\r
+if a royal eagle, chained to a perch, should be forced to entreat a\r
+sparrow to become its purveyor. But I would not be lachrymose: I dashed\r
+off the salt drops, and busied myself with preparing breakfast.\r
+\r
+Most of the morning was spent in the open air. I led him out of the wet\r
+and wild wood into some cheerful fields: I described to him how\r
+brilliantly green they were; how the flowers and hedges looked refreshed;\r
+how sparklingly blue was the sky. I sought a seat for him in a hidden\r
+and lovely spot, a dry stump of a tree; nor did I refuse to let him, when\r
+seated, place me on his knee. Why should I, when both he and I were\r
+happier near than apart? Pilot lay beside us: all was quiet. He broke\r
+out suddenly while clasping me in his arms--\r
+\r
+"Cruel, cruel deserter! Oh, Jane, what did I feel when I discovered you\r
+had fled from Thornfield, and when I could nowhere find you; and, after\r
+examining your apartment, ascertained that you had taken no money, nor\r
+anything which could serve as an equivalent! A pearl necklace I had\r
+given you lay untouched in its little casket; your trunks were left\r
+corded and locked as they had been prepared for the bridal tour. What\r
+could my darling do, I asked, left destitute and penniless? And what did\r
+she do? Let me hear now."\r
+\r
+Thus urged, I began the narrative of my experience for the last year. I\r
+softened considerably what related to the three days of wandering and\r
+starvation, because to have told him all would have been to inflict\r
+unnecessary pain: the little I did say lacerated his faithful heart\r
+deeper than I wished.\r
+\r
+I should not have left him thus, he said, without any means of making my\r
+way: I should have told him my intention. I should have confided in him:\r
+he would never have forced me to be his mistress. Violent as he had\r
+seemed in his despair, he, in truth, loved me far too well and too\r
+tenderly to constitute himself my tyrant: he would have given me half his\r
+fortune, without demanding so much as a kiss in return, rather than I\r
+should have flung myself friendless on the wide world. I had endured, he\r
+was certain, more than I had confessed to him.\r
+\r
+"Well, whatever my sufferings had been, they were very short," I\r
+answered: and then I proceeded to tell him how I had been received at\r
+Moor House; how I had obtained the office of schoolmistress, &c. The\r
+accession of fortune, the discovery of my relations, followed in due\r
+order. Of course, St. John Rivers' name came in frequently in the\r
+progress of my tale. When I had done, that name was immediately taken\r
+up.\r
+\r
+"This St. John, then, is your cousin?"\r
+\r
+"Yes."\r
+\r
+"You have spoken of him often: do you like him?"\r
+\r
+"He was a very good man, sir; I could not help liking him."\r
+\r
+"A good man. Does that mean a respectable well-conducted man of fifty?\r
+Or what does it mean?"\r
+\r
+"St John was only twenty-nine, sir."\r
+\r
+"'_Jeune encore_,' as the French say. Is he a person of low stature,\r
+phlegmatic, and plain. A person whose goodness consists rather in his\r
+guiltlessness of vice, than in his prowess in virtue."\r
+\r
+"He is untiringly active. Great and exalted deeds are what he lives to\r
+perform."\r
+\r
+"But his brain? That is probably rather soft? He means well: but you\r
+shrug your shoulders to hear him talk?"\r
+\r
+"He talks little, sir: what he does say is ever to the point. His brain\r
+is first-rate, I should think not impressible, but vigorous."\r
+\r
+"Is he an able man, then?"\r
+\r
+"Truly able."\r
+\r
+"A thoroughly educated man?"\r
+\r
+"St. John is an accomplished and profound scholar."\r
+\r
+"His manners, I think, you said are not to your taste?--priggish and\r
+parsonic?"\r
+\r
+"I never mentioned his manners; but, unless I had a very bad taste, they\r
+must suit it; they are polished, calm, and gentlemanlike."\r
+\r
+"His appearance,--I forget what description you gave of his appearance;--a\r
+sort of raw curate, half strangled with his white neckcloth, and stilted\r
+up on his thick-soled high-lows, eh?"\r
+\r
+"St. John dresses well. He is a handsome man: tall, fair, with blue\r
+eyes, and a Grecian profile."\r
+\r
+(Aside.) "Damn him!"--(To me.) "Did you like him, Jane?"\r
+\r
+"Yes, Mr. Rochester, I liked him: but you asked me that before."\r
+\r
+I perceived, of course, the drift of my interlocutor. Jealousy had got\r
+hold of him: she stung him; but the sting was salutary: it gave him\r
+respite from the gnawing fang of melancholy. I would not, therefore,\r
+immediately charm the snake.\r
+\r
+"Perhaps you would rather not sit any longer on my knee, Miss Eyre?" was\r
+the next somewhat unexpected observation.\r
+\r
+"Why not, Mr. Rochester?"\r
+\r
+"The picture you have just drawn is suggestive of a rather too\r
+overwhelming contrast. Your words have delineated very prettily a\r
+graceful Apollo: he is present to your imagination,--tall, fair, blue-\r
+eyed, and with a Grecian profile. Your eyes dwell on a Vulcan,--a real\r
+blacksmith, brown, broad-shouldered: and blind and lame into the\r
+bargain."\r
+\r
+"I never thought of it, before; but you certainly are rather like Vulcan,\r
+sir."\r
+\r
+"Well, you can leave me, ma'am: but before you go" (and he retained me by\r
+a firmer grasp than ever), "you will be pleased just to answer me a\r
+question or two." He paused.\r
+\r
+"What questions, Mr. Rochester?"\r
+\r
+Then followed this cross-examination.\r
+\r
+"St. John made you schoolmistress of Morton before he knew you were his\r
+cousin?"\r
+\r
+"Yes."\r
+\r
+"You would often see him? He would visit the school sometimes?"\r
+\r
+"Daily."\r
+\r
+"He would approve of your plans, Jane? I know they would be clever, for\r
+you are a talented creature!"\r
+\r
+"He approved of them--yes."\r
+\r
+"He would discover many things in you he could not have expected to find?\r
+Some of your accomplishments are not ordinary."\r
+\r
+"I don't know about that."\r
+\r
+"You had a little cottage near the school, you say: did he ever come\r
+there to see you?"\r
+\r
+"Now and then?"\r
+\r
+"Of an evening?"\r
+\r
+"Once or twice."\r
+\r
+A pause.\r
+\r
+"How long did you reside with him and his sisters after the cousinship\r
+was discovered?"\r
+\r
+"Five months."\r
+\r
+"Did Rivers spend much time with the ladies of his family?"\r
+\r
+"Yes; the back parlour was both his study and ours: he sat near the\r
+window, and we by the table."\r
+\r
+"Did he study much?"\r
+\r
+"A good deal."\r
+\r
+"What?"\r
+\r
+"Hindostanee."\r
+\r
+"And what did you do meantime?"\r
+\r
+"I learnt German, at first."\r
+\r
+"Did he teach you?"\r
+\r
+"He did not understand German."\r
+\r
+"Did he teach you nothing?"\r
+\r
+"A little Hindostanee."\r
+\r
+"Rivers taught you Hindostanee?"\r
+\r
+"Yes, sir."\r
+\r
+"And his sisters also?"\r
+\r
+"No."\r
+\r
+"Only you?"\r
+\r
+"Only me."\r
+\r
+"Did you ask to learn?"\r
+\r
+"No."\r
+\r
+"He wished to teach you?"\r
+\r
+"Yes."\r
+\r
+A second pause.\r
+\r
+"Why did he wish it? Of what use could Hindostanee be to you?"\r
+\r
+"He intended me to go with him to India."\r
+\r
+"Ah! here I reach the root of the matter. He wanted you to marry him?"\r
+\r
+"He asked me to marry him."\r
+\r
+"That is a fiction--an impudent invention to vex me."\r
+\r
+"I beg your pardon, it is the literal truth: he asked me more than once,\r
+and was as stiff about urging his point as ever you could be."\r
+\r
+"Miss Eyre, I repeat it, you can leave me. How often am I to say the\r
+same thing? Why do you remain pertinaciously perched on my knee, when I\r
+have given you notice to quit?"\r
+\r
+"Because I am comfortable there."\r
+\r
+"No, Jane, you are not comfortable there, because your heart is not with\r
+me: it is with this cousin--this St. John. Oh, till this moment, I\r
+thought my little Jane was all mine! I had a belief she loved me even\r
+when she left me: that was an atom of sweet in much bitter. Long as we\r
+have been parted, hot tears as I have wept over our separation, I never\r
+thought that while I was mourning her, she was loving another! But it is\r
+useless grieving. Jane, leave me: go and marry Rivers."\r
+\r
+"Shake me off, then, sir,--push me away, for I'll not leave you of my own\r
+accord."\r
+\r
+"Jane, I ever like your tone of voice: it still renews hope, it sounds so\r
+truthful. When I hear it, it carries me back a year. I forget that you\r
+have formed a new tie. But I am not a fool--go--"\r
+\r
+"Where must I go, sir?"\r
+\r
+"Your own way--with the husband you have chosen."\r
+\r
+"Who is that?"\r
+\r
+"You know--this St. John Rivers."\r
+\r
+"He is not my husband, nor ever will be. He does not love me: I do not\r
+love him. He loves (as he _can_ love, and that is not as you love) a\r
+beautiful young lady called Rosamond. He wanted to marry me only because\r
+he thought I should make a suitable missionary's wife, which she would\r
+not have done. He is good and great, but severe; and, for me, cold as an\r
+iceberg. He is not like you, sir: I am not happy at his side, nor near\r
+him, nor with him. He has no indulgence for me--no fondness. He sees\r
+nothing attractive in me; not even youth--only a few useful mental\r
+points.--Then I must leave you, sir, to go to him?"\r
+\r
+I shuddered involuntarily, and clung instinctively closer to my blind but\r
+beloved master. He smiled.\r
+\r
+"What, Jane! Is this true? Is such really the state of matters between\r
+you and Rivers?"\r
+\r
+"Absolutely, sir! Oh, you need not be jealous! I wanted to tease you a\r
+little to make you less sad: I thought anger would be better than grief.\r
+But if you wish me to love you, could you but see how much I _do_ love\r
+you, you would be proud and content. All my heart is yours, sir: it\r
+belongs to you; and with you it would remain, were fate to exile the rest\r
+of me from your presence for ever."\r
+\r
+Again, as he kissed me, painful thoughts darkened his aspect.\r
+\r
+"My seared vision! My crippled strength!" he murmured regretfully.\r
+\r
+I caressed, in order to soothe him. I knew of what he was thinking, and\r
+wanted to speak for him, but dared not. As he turned aside his face a\r
+minute, I saw a tear slide from under the sealed eyelid, and trickle down\r
+the manly cheek. My heart swelled.\r
+\r
+"I am no better than the old lightning-struck chestnut-tree in Thornfield\r
+orchard," he remarked ere long. "And what right would that ruin have to\r
+bid a budding woodbine cover its decay with freshness?"\r
+\r
+"You are no ruin, sir--no lightning-struck tree: you are green and\r
+vigorous. Plants will grow about your roots, whether you ask them or\r
+not, because they take delight in your bountiful shadow; and as they grow\r
+they will lean towards you, and wind round you, because your strength\r
+offers them so safe a prop."\r
+\r
+Again he smiled: I gave him comfort.\r
+\r
+"You speak of friends, Jane?" he asked.\r
+\r
+"Yes, of friends," I answered rather hesitatingly: for I knew I meant\r
+more than friends, but could not tell what other word to employ. He\r
+helped me.\r
+\r
+"Ah! Jane. But I want a wife."\r
+\r
+"Do you, sir?"\r
+\r
+"Yes: is it news to you?"\r
+\r
+"Of course: you said nothing about it before."\r
+\r
+"Is it unwelcome news?"\r
+\r
+"That depends on circumstances, sir--on your choice."\r
+\r
+"Which you shall make for me, Jane. I will abide by your decision."\r
+\r
+"Choose then, sir--_her who loves you best_."\r
+\r
+"I will at least choose--_her I love best_. Jane, will you marry me?"\r
+\r
+"Yes, sir."\r
+\r
+"A poor blind man, whom you will have to lead about by the hand?"\r
+\r
+"Yes, sir."\r
+\r
+"A crippled man, twenty years older than you, whom you will have to wait\r
+on?"\r
+\r
+"Yes, sir."\r
+\r
+"Truly, Jane?"\r
+\r
+"Most truly, sir."\r
+\r
+"Oh! my darling! God bless you and reward you!"\r
+\r
+"Mr. Rochester, if ever I did a good deed in my life--if ever I thought a\r
+good thought--if ever I prayed a sincere and blameless prayer--if ever I\r
+wished a righteous wish,--I am rewarded now. To be your wife is, for me,\r
+to be as happy as I can be on earth."\r
+\r
+"Because you delight in sacrifice."\r
+\r
+"Sacrifice! What do I sacrifice? Famine for food, expectation for\r
+content. To be privileged to put my arms round what I value--to press my\r
+lips to what I love--to repose on what I trust: is that to make a\r
+sacrifice? If so, then certainly I delight in sacrifice."\r
+\r
+"And to bear with my infirmities, Jane: to overlook my deficiencies."\r
+\r
+"Which are none, sir, to me. I love you better now, when I can really be\r
+useful to you, than I did in your state of proud independence, when you\r
+disdained every part but that of the giver and protector."\r
+\r
+"Hitherto I have hated to be helped--to be led: henceforth, I feel I\r
+shall hate it no more. I did not like to put my hand into a hireling's,\r
+but it is pleasant to feel it circled by Jane's little fingers. I\r
+preferred utter loneliness to the constant attendance of servants; but\r
+Jane's soft ministry will be a perpetual joy. Jane suits me: do I suit\r
+her?"\r
+\r
+"To the finest fibre of my nature, sir."\r
+\r
+"The case being so, we have nothing in the world to wait for: we must be\r
+married instantly."\r
+\r
+He looked and spoke with eagerness: his old impetuosity was rising.\r
+\r
+"We must become one flesh without any delay, Jane: there is but the\r
+licence to get--then we marry."\r
+\r
+"Mr. Rochester, I have just discovered the sun is far declined from its\r
+meridian, and Pilot is actually gone home to his dinner. Let me look at\r
+your watch."\r
+\r
+"Fasten it into your girdle, Janet, and keep it henceforward: I have no\r
+use for it."\r
+\r
+"It is nearly four o'clock in the afternoon, sir. Don't you feel\r
+hungry?"\r
+\r
+"The third day from this must be our wedding-day, Jane. Never mind fine\r
+clothes and jewels, now: all that is not worth a fillip."\r
+\r
+"The sun has dried up all the rain-drops, sir. The breeze is still: it\r
+is quite hot."\r
+\r
+"Do you know, Jane, I have your little pearl necklace at this moment\r
+fastened round my bronze scrag under my cravat? I have worn it since the\r
+day I lost my only treasure, as a memento of her."\r
+\r
+"We will go home through the wood: that will be the shadiest way."\r
+\r
+He pursued his own thoughts without heeding me.\r
+\r
+"Jane! you think me, I daresay, an irreligious dog: but my heart swells\r
+with gratitude to the beneficent God of this earth just now. He sees not\r
+as man sees, but far clearer: judges not as man judges, but far more\r
+wisely. I did wrong: I would have sullied my innocent flower--breathed\r
+guilt on its purity: the Omnipotent snatched it from me. I, in my stiff-\r
+necked rebellion, almost cursed the dispensation: instead of bending to\r
+the decree, I defied it. Divine justice pursued its course; disasters\r
+came thick on me: I was forced to pass through the valley of the shadow\r
+of death. _His_ chastisements are mighty; and one smote me which has\r
+humbled me for ever. You know I was proud of my strength: but what is it\r
+now, when I must give it over to foreign guidance, as a child does its\r
+weakness? Of late, Jane--only--only of late--I began to see and\r
+acknowledge the hand of God in my doom. I began to experience remorse,\r
+repentance; the wish for reconcilement to my Maker. I began sometimes to\r
+pray: very brief prayers they were, but very sincere.\r
+\r
+"Some days since: nay, I can number them--four; it was last Monday night,\r
+a singular mood came over me: one in which grief replaced frenzy--sorrow,\r
+sullenness. I had long had the impression that since I could nowhere\r
+find you, you must be dead. Late that night--perhaps it might be between\r
+eleven and twelve o'clock--ere I retired to my dreary rest, I supplicated\r
+God, that, if it seemed good to Him, I might soon be taken from this\r
+life, and admitted to that world to come, where there was still hope of\r
+rejoining Jane.\r
+\r
+"I was in my own room, and sitting by the window, which was open: it\r
+soothed me to feel the balmy night-air; though I could see no stars and\r
+only by a vague, luminous haze, knew the presence of a moon. I longed\r
+for thee, Janet! Oh, I longed for thee both with soul and flesh! I\r
+asked of God, at once in anguish and humility, if I had not been long\r
+enough desolate, afflicted, tormented; and might not soon taste bliss and\r
+peace once more. That I merited all I endured, I acknowledged--that I\r
+could scarcely endure more, I pleaded; and the alpha and omega of my\r
+heart's wishes broke involuntarily from my lips in the words--'Jane!\r
+Jane! Jane!'"\r
+\r
+"Did you speak these words aloud?"\r
+\r
+"I did, Jane. If any listener had heard me, he would have thought me\r
+mad: I pronounced them with such frantic energy."\r
+\r
+"And it was last Monday night, somewhere near midnight?"\r
+\r
+"Yes; but the time is of no consequence: what followed is the strange\r
+point. You will think me superstitious,--some superstition I have in my\r
+blood, and always had: nevertheless, this is true--true at least it is\r
+that I heard what I now relate.\r
+\r
+"As I exclaimed 'Jane! Jane! Jane!' a voice--I cannot tell whence the\r
+voice came, but I know whose voice it was--replied, 'I am coming: wait\r
+for me;' and a moment after, went whispering on the wind the words--'Where\r
+are you?'\r
+\r
+"I'll tell you, if I can, the idea, the picture these words opened to my\r
+mind: yet it is difficult to express what I want to express. Ferndean is\r
+buried, as you see, in a heavy wood, where sound falls dull, and dies\r
+unreverberating. 'Where are you?' seemed spoken amongst mountains; for I\r
+heard a hill-sent echo repeat the words. Cooler and fresher at the\r
+moment the gale seemed to visit my brow: I could have deemed that in some\r
+wild, lone scene, I and Jane were meeting. In spirit, I believe we must\r
+have met. You no doubt were, at that hour, in unconscious sleep, Jane:\r
+perhaps your soul wandered from its cell to comfort mine; for those were\r
+your accents--as certain as I live--they were yours!"\r
+\r
+Reader, it was on Monday night--near midnight--that I too had received\r
+the mysterious summons: those were the very words by which I replied to\r
+it. I listened to Mr. Rochester's narrative, but made no disclosure in\r
+return. The coincidence struck me as too awful and inexplicable to be\r
+communicated or discussed. If I told anything, my tale would be such as\r
+must necessarily make a profound impression on the mind of my hearer: and\r
+that mind, yet from its sufferings too prone to gloom, needed not the\r
+deeper shade of the supernatural. I kept these things then, and pondered\r
+them in my heart.\r
+\r
+"You cannot now wonder," continued my master, "that when you rose upon me\r
+so unexpectedly last night, I had difficulty in believing you any other\r
+than a mere voice and vision, something that would melt to silence and\r
+annihilation, as the midnight whisper and mountain echo had melted\r
+before. Now, I thank God! I know it to be otherwise. Yes, I thank\r
+God!"\r
+\r
+He put me off his knee, rose, and reverently lifting his hat from his\r
+brow, and bending his sightless eyes to the earth, he stood in mute\r
+devotion. Only the last words of the worship were audible.\r
+\r
+"I thank my Maker, that, in the midst of judgment, he has remembered\r
+mercy. I humbly entreat my Redeemer to give me strength to lead\r
+henceforth a purer life than I have done hitherto!"\r
+\r
+Then he stretched his hand out to be led. I took that dear hand, held it\r
+a moment to my lips, then let it pass round my shoulder: being so much\r
+lower of stature than he, I served both for his prop and guide. We\r
+entered the wood, and wended homeward.\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+\r
+CHAPTER XXXVIII--CONCLUSION\r
+\r
+\r
+Reader, I married him. A quiet wedding we had: he and I, the parson and\r
+clerk, were alone present. When we got back from church, I went into the\r
+kitchen of the manor-house, where Mary was cooking the dinner and John\r
+cleaning the knives, and I said--\r
+\r
+"Mary, I have been married to Mr. Rochester this morning." The\r
+housekeeper and her husband were both of that decent phlegmatic order of\r
+people, to whom one may at any time safely communicate a remarkable piece\r
+of news without incurring the danger of having one's ears pierced by some\r
+shrill ejaculation, and subsequently stunned by a torrent of wordy\r
+wonderment. Mary did look up, and she did stare at me: the ladle with\r
+which she was basting a pair of chickens roasting at the fire, did for\r
+some three minutes hang suspended in air; and for the same space of time\r
+John's knives also had rest from the polishing process: but Mary, bending\r
+again over the roast, said only--\r
+\r
+"Have you, Miss? Well, for sure!"\r
+\r
+A short time after she pursued--"I seed you go out with the master, but I\r
+didn't know you were gone to church to be wed;" and she basted away.\r
+John, when I turned to him, was grinning from ear to ear.\r
+\r
+"I telled Mary how it would be," he said: "I knew what Mr. Edward" (John\r
+was an old servant, and had known his master when he was the cadet of the\r
+house, therefore, he often gave him his Christian name)--"I knew what Mr.\r
+Edward would do; and I was certain he would not wait long neither: and\r
+he's done right, for aught I know. I wish you joy, Miss!" and he\r
+politely pulled his forelock.\r
+\r
+"Thank you, John. Mr. Rochester told me to give you and Mary this." I\r
+put into his hand a five-pound note. Without waiting to hear more, I\r
+left the kitchen. In passing the door of that sanctum some time after, I\r
+caught the words--\r
+\r
+"She'll happen do better for him nor ony o't' grand ladies." And again,\r
+"If she ben't one o' th' handsomest, she's noan faal and varry\r
+good-natured; and i' his een she's fair beautiful, onybody may see that."\r
+\r
+I wrote to Moor House and to Cambridge immediately, to say what I had\r
+done: fully explaining also why I had thus acted. Diana and Mary\r
+approved the step unreservedly. Diana announced that she would just give\r
+me time to get over the honeymoon, and then she would come and see me.\r
+\r
+"She had better not wait till then, Jane," said Mr. Rochester, when I\r
+read her letter to him; "if she does, she will be too late, for our\r
+honeymoon will shine our life long: its beams will only fade over your\r
+grave or mine."\r
+\r
+How St. John received the news, I don't know: he never answered the\r
+letter in which I communicated it: yet six months after he wrote to me,\r
+without, however, mentioning Mr. Rochester's name or alluding to my\r
+marriage. His letter was then calm, and, though very serious, kind. He\r
+has maintained a regular, though not frequent, correspondence ever since:\r
+he hopes I am happy, and trusts I am not of those who live without God in\r
+the world, and only mind earthly things.\r
+\r
+You have not quite forgotten little Adele, have you, reader? I had not;\r
+I soon asked and obtained leave of Mr. Rochester, to go and see her at\r
+the school where he had placed her. Her frantic joy at beholding me\r
+again moved me much. She looked pale and thin: she said she was not\r
+happy. I found the rules of the establishment were too strict, its\r
+course of study too severe for a child of her age: I took her home with\r
+me. I meant to become her governess once more, but I soon found this\r
+impracticable; my time and cares were now required by another--my husband\r
+needed them all. So I sought out a school conducted on a more indulgent\r
+system, and near enough to permit of my visiting her often, and bringing\r
+her home sometimes. I took care she should never want for anything that\r
+could contribute to her comfort: she soon settled in her new abode,\r
+became very happy there, and made fair progress in her studies. As she\r
+grew up, a sound English education corrected in a great measure her\r
+French defects; and when she left school, I found in her a pleasing and\r
+obliging companion: docile, good-tempered, and well-principled. By her\r
+grateful attention to me and mine, she has long since well repaid any\r
+little kindness I ever had it in my power to offer her.\r
+\r
+My tale draws to its close: one word respecting my experience of married\r
+life, and one brief glance at the fortunes of those whose names have most\r
+frequently recurred in this narrative, and I have done.\r
+\r
+I have now been married ten years. I know what it is to live entirely\r
+for and with what I love best on earth. I hold myself supremely\r
+blest--blest beyond what language can express; because I am my husband's\r
+life as fully as he is mine. No woman was ever nearer to her mate than I\r
+am: ever more absolutely bone of his bone and flesh of his flesh. I know\r
+no weariness of my Edward's society: he knows none of mine, any more than\r
+we each do of the pulsation of the heart that beats in our separate\r
+bosoms; consequently, we are ever together. To be together is for us to\r
+be at once as free as in solitude, as gay as in company. We talk, I\r
+believe, all day long: to talk to each other is but a more animated and\r
+an audible thinking. All my confidence is bestowed on him, all his\r
+confidence is devoted to me; we are precisely suited in character--perfect\r
+concord is the result.\r
+\r
+Mr. Rochester continued blind the first two years of our union; perhaps\r
+it was that circumstance that drew us so very near--that knit us so very\r
+close: for I was then his vision, as I am still his right hand.\r
+Literally, I was (what he often called me) the apple of his eye. He saw\r
+nature--he saw books through me; and never did I weary of gazing for his\r
+behalf, and of putting into words the effect of field, tree, town, river,\r
+cloud, sunbeam--of the landscape before us; of the weather round us--and\r
+impressing by sound on his ear what light could no longer stamp on his\r
+eye. Never did I weary of reading to him; never did I weary of\r
+conducting him where he wished to go: of doing for him what he wished to\r
+be done. And there was a pleasure in my services, most full, most\r
+exquisite, even though sad--because he claimed these services without\r
+painful shame or damping humiliation. He loved me so truly, that he knew\r
+no reluctance in profiting by my attendance: he felt I loved him so\r
+fondly, that to yield that attendance was to indulge my sweetest wishes.\r
+\r
+One morning at the end of the two years, as I was writing a letter to his\r
+dictation, he came and bent over me, and said--"Jane, have you a\r
+glittering ornament round your neck?"\r
+\r
+I had a gold watch-chain: I answered "Yes."\r
+\r
+"And have you a pale blue dress on?"\r
+\r
+{And have you a pale blue dress on?: p435.jpg}\r
+\r
+I had. He informed me then, that for some time he had fancied the\r
+obscurity clouding one eye was becoming less dense; and that now he was\r
+sure of it.\r
+\r
+He and I went up to London. He had the advice of an eminent oculist; and\r
+he eventually recovered the sight of that one eye. He cannot now see\r
+very distinctly: he cannot read or write much; but he can find his way\r
+without being led by the hand: the sky is no longer a blank to him--the\r
+earth no longer a void. When his first-born was put into his arms, he\r
+could see that the boy had inherited his own eyes, as they once\r
+were--large, brilliant, and black. On that occasion, he again, with a\r
+full heart, acknowledged that God had tempered judgment with mercy.\r
+\r
+My Edward and I, then, are happy: and the more so, because those we most\r
+love are happy likewise. Diana and Mary Rivers are both married:\r
+alternately, once every year, they come to see us, and we go to see them.\r
+Diana's husband is a captain in the navy, a gallant officer and a good\r
+man. Mary's is a clergyman, a college friend of her brother's, and, from\r
+his attainments and principles, worthy of the connection. Both Captain\r
+Fitzjames and Mr. Wharton love their wives, and are loved by them.\r
+\r
+As to St. John Rivers, he left England: he went to India. He entered on\r
+the path he had marked for himself; he pursues it still. A more\r
+resolute, indefatigable pioneer never wrought amidst rocks and dangers.\r
+Firm, faithful, and devoted, full of energy, and zeal, and truth, he\r
+labours for his race; he clears their painful way to improvement; he hews\r
+down like a giant the prejudices of creed and caste that encumber it. He\r
+may be stern; he may be exacting; he may be ambitious yet; but his is the\r
+sternness of the warrior Greatheart, who guards his pilgrim convoy from\r
+the onslaught of Apollyon. His is the exaction of the apostle, who\r
+speaks but for Christ, when he says--"Whosoever will come after me, let\r
+him deny himself, and take up his cross and follow me." His is the\r
+ambition of the high master-spirit, which aims to fill a place in the\r
+first rank of those who are redeemed from the earth--who stand without\r
+fault before the throne of God, who share the last mighty victories of\r
+the Lamb, who are called, and chosen, and faithful.\r
+\r
+St. John is unmarried: he never will marry now. Himself has hitherto\r
+sufficed to the toil, and the toil draws near its close: his glorious sun\r
+hastens to its setting. The last letter I received from him drew from my\r
+eyes human tears, and yet filled my heart with divine joy: he anticipated\r
+his sure reward, his incorruptible crown. I know that a stranger's hand\r
+will write to me next, to say that the good and faithful servant has been\r
+called at length into the joy of his Lord. And why weep for this? No\r
+fear of death will darken St. John's last hour: his mind will be\r
+unclouded, his heart will be undaunted, his hope will be sure, his faith\r
+steadfast. His own words are a pledge of this--\r
+\r
+"My Master," he says, "has forewarned me. Daily He announces more\r
+distinctly,--'Surely I come quickly!' and hourly I more eagerly\r
+respond,--'Amen; even so come, Lord Jesus!'"\r
projects / gender-roles-text-analysis.git / blobdiff