JANE EYREAN AUTOBIOGRAPHY

BYCHARLOTTE BRONTE

_ILLUSTRATED BY F. H. TOWNSEND_

LondonSERVICE & PATON5 HENRIETTA STREET1897

_The Illustrations__in this Volume are the copyright of_SERVICE & PATON, _London_

TOW. M. THACKERAY, ESQ. , This WorkIS RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED

BYTHE AUTHOR

PREFACE

A preface to the first edition of "Jane Eyre" being unnecessary, I gavenone: this second edition demands a few words both of acknowledgment andmiscellaneous remark. 

My thanks are due in three quarters. 

To the Public, for the indulgent ear it has inclined to a plain tale withfew pretensions. 

To the Press, for the fair field its honest suffrage has opened to anobscure aspirant. 

To my Publishers, for the aid their tact, their energy, their practicalsense and frank liberality have afforded an unknown and unrecommendedAuthor. 

The Press and the Public are but vague personifications for me, and Imust thank them in vague terms; but my Publishers are definite: so arecertain generous critics who have encouraged me as only large-hearted andhigh-minded men know how to encourage a struggling stranger; to them, _i. E. _, to my Publishers and the select Reviewers, I say cordially, Gentlemen, I thank you from my heart. 

Having thus acknowledged what I owe those who have aided and approved me, I turn to another class; a small one, so far as I know, but not, therefore, to be overlooked. I mean the timorous or carping few whodoubt the tendency of such books as "Jane Eyre:" in whose eyes whateveris unusual is wrong; whose ears detect in each protest againstbigotry--that parent of crime--an insult to piety, that regent of God onearth. I would suggest to such doubters certain obvious distinctions; Iwould remind them of certain simple truths. 

Conventionality is not morality. Self-righteousness is not religion. Toattack the first is not to assail the last. To pluck the mask from theface of the Pharisee, is not to lift an impious hand to the Crown ofThorns. 

These things and deeds are diametrically opposed: they are as distinct asis vice from virtue. Men too often confound them: they should not beconfounded: appearance should not be mistaken for truth; narrow humandoctrines, that only tend to elate and magnify a few, should not besubstituted for the world-redeeming creed of Christ. There is--I repeatit--a difference; and it is a good, and not a bad action to mark broadlyand clearly the line of separation between them. 

The world may not like to see these ideas dissevered, for it has beenaccustomed to blend them; finding it convenient to make external showpass for sterling worth--to let white-washed walls vouch for cleanshrines. It may hate him who dares to scrutinise and expose--to rase thegilding, and show base metal under it--to penetrate the sepulchre, andreveal charnel relics: but hate as it will, it is indebted to him. 

Ahab did not like Micaiah, because he never prophesied good concerninghim, but evil; probably he liked the sycophant son of Chenaannah better;yet might Ahab have escaped a bloody death, had he but stopped his earsto flattery, and opened them to faithful counsel. 

There is a man in our own days whose words are not framed to tickledelicate ears: who, to my thinking, comes before the great ones ofsociety, much as the son of Imlah came before the throned Kings of Judahand Israel; and who speaks truth as deep, with a power as prophet-likeand as vital--a mien as dauntless and as daring. Is the satirist of"Vanity Fair" admired in high places? I cannot tell; but I think if someof those amongst whom he hurls the Greek fire of his sarcasm, and overwhom he flashes the levin-brand of his denunciation, were to take hiswarnings in time--they or their seed might yet escape a fatalRimoth-Gilead. 

Why have I alluded to this man? I have alluded to him, Reader, because Ithink I see in him an intellect profounder and more unique than hiscontemporaries have yet recognised; because I regard him as the firstsocial regenerator of the day--as the very master of that working corpswho would restore to rectitude the warped system of things; because Ithink no commentator on his writings has yet found the comparison thatsuits him, the terms which rightly characterise his talent. They say heis like Fielding: they talk of his wit, humour, comic powers. Heresembles Fielding as an eagle does a vulture: Fielding could stoop oncarrion, but Thackeray never does. His wit is bright, his humourattractive, but both bear the same relation to his serious genius thatthe mere lambent sheet-lightning playing under the edge of the summer-cloud does to the electric death-spark hid in its womb. Finally, I havealluded to Mr. Thackeray, because to him--if he will accept the tributeof a total stranger--I have dedicated this second edition of "JANE EYRE. "

CURRER BELL. 

_December_ 21_st_, 1847. 

NOTE TO THE THIRD EDITION

I avail myself of the opportunity which a third edition of "Jane Eyre"affords me, of again addressing a word to the Public, to explain that myclaim to the title of novelist rests on this one work alone. If, therefore, the authorship of other works of fiction has been attributedto me, an honour is awarded where it is not merited; and consequently, denied where it is justly due. 

This explanation will serve to rectify mistakes which may already havebeen made, and to prevent future errors. 

CURRER BELL. 

_April_ 13_th_, 1848. 

CHAPTER I

There was no possibility of taking a walk that day. We had beenwandering, indeed, in the leafless shrubbery an hour in the morning; butsince dinner (Mrs. Reed, when there was no company, dined early) the coldwinter wind had brought with it clouds so sombre, and a rain sopenetrating, that further out-door exercise was now out of the question. 

I was glad of it: I never liked long walks, especially on chillyafternoons: dreadful to me was the coming home in the raw twilight, withnipped fingers and toes, and a heart saddened by the chidings of Bessie, the nurse, and humbled by the consciousness of my physical inferiority toEliza, John, and Georgiana Reed. 

The said Eliza, John, and Georgiana were now clustered round their mamain the drawing-room: she lay reclined on a sofa by the fireside, and withher darlings about her (for the time neither quarrelling nor crying)looked perfectly happy. Me, she had dispensed from joining the group;saying, "She regretted to be under the necessity of keeping me at adistance; but that until she heard from Bessie, and could discover by herown observation, that I was endeavouring in good earnest to acquire amore sociable and childlike disposition, a more attractive and sprightlymanner--something lighter, franker, more natural, as it were--she reallymust exclude me from privileges intended only for contented, happy, little children. "

"What does Bessie say I have done?" I asked. 

"Jane, I don't like cavillers or questioners; besides, there is somethingtruly forbidding in a child taking up her elders in that manner. Beseated somewhere; and until you can speak pleasantly, remain silent. "

A breakfast-room adjoined the drawing-room, I slipped in there. Itcontained a bookcase: I soon possessed myself of a volume, taking carethat it should be one stored with pictures. I mounted into the window-seat: gathering up my feet, I sat cross-legged, like a Turk; and, havingdrawn the red moreen curtain nearly close, I was shrined in doubleretirement. 

Folds of scarlet drapery shut in my view to the right hand; to the leftwere the clear panes of glass, protecting, but not separating me from thedrear November day. At intervals, while turning over the leaves of mybook, I studied the aspect of that winter afternoon. Afar, it offered apale blank of mist and cloud; near a scene of wet lawn and storm-beatshrub, with ceaseless rain sweeping away wildly before a long andlamentable blast. 

I returned to my book--Bewick's History of British Birds: the letterpressthereof I cared little for, generally speaking; and yet there werecertain introductory pages that, child as I was, I could not pass quiteas a blank. They were those which treat of the haunts of sea-fowl; of"the solitary rocks and promontories" by them only inhabited; of thecoast of Norway, studded with isles from its southern extremity, theLindeness, or Naze, to the North Cape--

 "Where the Northern Ocean, in vast whirls, Boils round the naked, melancholy isles Of farthest Thule; and the Atlantic surge Pours in among the stormy Hebrides. "

Nor could I pass unnoticed the suggestion of the bleak shores of Lapland, Siberia, Spitzbergen, Nova Zembla, Iceland, Greenland, with "the vastsweep of the Arctic Zone, and those forlorn regions of dreary space, --thatreservoir of frost and snow, where firm fields of ice, the accumulationof centuries of winters, glazed in Alpine heights above heights, surroundthe pole, and concentre the multiplied rigours of extreme cold. " Ofthese death-white realms I formed an idea of my own: shadowy, like allthe half-comprehended notions that float dim through children's brains, but strangely impressive. The words in these introductory pagesconnected themselves with the succeeding vignettes, and gave significanceto the rock standing up alone in a sea of billow and spray; to the brokenboat stranded on a desolate coast; to the cold and ghastly moon glancingthrough bars of cloud at a wreck just sinking. 

I cannot tell what sentiment haunted the quite solitary churchyard, withits inscribed headstone; its gate, its two trees, its low horizon, girdled by a broken wall, and its newly-risen crescent, attesting thehour of eventide. 

The two ships becalmed on a torpid sea, I believed to be marine phantoms. 

The fiend pinning down the thief's pack behind him, I passed overquickly: it was an object of terror. 

So was the black horned thing seated aloof on a rock, surveying a distantcrowd surrounding a gallows. 

Each picture told a story; mysterious often to my undevelopedunderstanding and imperfect feelings, yet ever profoundly interesting: asinteresting as the tales Bessie sometimes narrated on winter evenings, when she chanced to be in good humour; and when, having brought herironing-table to the nursery hearth, she allowed us to sit about it, andwhile she got up Mrs. Reed's lace frills, and crimped her nightcapborders, fed our eager attention with passages of love and adventuretaken from old fairy tales and other ballads; or (as at a later period Idiscovered) from the pages of Pamela, and Henry, Earl of Moreland. 

With Bewick on my knee, I was then happy: happy at least in my way. Ifeared nothing but interruption, and that came too soon. The breakfast-room door opened. 

"Boh! Madam Mope!" cried the voice of John Reed; then he paused: hefound the room apparently empty. 

"Where the dickens is she!" he continued. "Lizzy! Georgy! (calling tohis sisters) Joan is not here: tell mama she is run out into the rain--badanimal!"

"It is well I drew the curtain, " thought I; and I wished fervently hemight not discover my hiding-place: nor would John Reed have found it outhimself; he was not quick either of vision or conception; but Eliza justput her head in at the door, and said at once--

"She is in the window-seat, to be sure, Jack. "

And I came out immediately, for I trembled at the idea of being draggedforth by the said Jack. 

"What do you want?" I asked, with awkward diffidence. 

"Say, 'What do you want, Master Reed?'" was the answer. "I want you tocome here;" and seating himself in an arm-chair, he intimated by agesture that I was to approach and stand before him. 

John Reed was a schoolboy of fourteen years old; four years older than I, for I was but ten: large and stout for his age, with a dingy andunwholesome skin; thick lineaments in a spacious visage, heavy limbs andlarge extremities. He gorged himself habitually at table, which made himbilious, and gave him a dim and bleared eye and flabby cheeks. He oughtnow to have been at school; but his mama had taken him home for a monthor two, "on account of his delicate health. " Mr. Miles, the master, affirmed that he would do very well if he had fewer cakes and sweetmeatssent him from home; but the mother's heart turned from an opinion soharsh, and inclined rather to the more refined idea that John'ssallowness was owing to over-application and, perhaps, to pining afterhome. 

John had not much affection for his mother and sisters, and an antipathyto me. He bullied and punished me; not two or three times in the week, nor once or twice in the day, but continually: every nerve I had fearedhim, and every morsel of flesh in my bones shrank when he came near. There were moments when I was bewildered by the terror he inspired, because I had no appeal whatever against either his menaces or hisinflictions; the servants did not like to offend their young master bytaking my part against him, and Mrs. Reed was blind and deaf on thesubject: she never saw him strike or heard him abuse me, though he didboth now and then in her very presence, more frequently, however, behindher back. 

Habitually obedient to John, I came up to his chair: he spent some threeminutes in thrusting out his tongue at me as far as he could withoutdamaging the roots: I knew he would soon strike, and while dreading theblow, I mused on the disgusting and ugly appearance of him who wouldpresently deal it. I wonder if he read that notion in my face; for, allat once, without speaking, he struck suddenly and strongly. I tottered, and on regaining my equilibrium retired back a step or two from hischair. 

"That is for your impudence in answering mama awhile since, " said he, "and for your sneaking way of getting behind curtains, and for the lookyou had in your eyes two minutes since, you rat!"

Accustomed to John Reed's abuse, I never had an idea of replying to it;my care was how to endure the blow which would certainly follow theinsult. 

"What were you doing behind the curtain?" he asked. 

"I was reading. "

"Show the book. "

I returned to the window and fetched it thence. 

"You have no business to take our books; you are a dependent, mama says;you have no money; your father left you none; you ought to beg, and notto live here with gentlemen's children like us, and eat the same meals wedo, and wear clothes at our mama's expense. Now, I'll teach you torummage my bookshelves: for they _are_ mine; all the house belongs to me, or will do in a few years. Go and stand by the door, out of the way ofthe mirror and the windows. "

I did so, not at first aware what was his intention; but when I saw himlift and poise the book and stand in act to hurl it, I instinctivelystarted aside with a cry of alarm: not soon enough, however; the volumewas flung, it hit me, and I fell, striking my head against the door andcutting it. The cut bled, the pain was sharp: my terror had passed itsclimax; other feelings succeeded. 

"Wicked and cruel boy!" I said. "You are like a murderer--you are like aslave-driver--you are like the Roman emperors!"

I had read Goldsmith's History of Rome, and had formed my opinion ofNero, Caligula, &c. Also I had drawn parallels in silence, which I neverthought thus to have declared aloud. 

"What! what!" he cried. "Did she say that to me? Did you hear her, Eliza and Georgiana? Won't I tell mama? but first--"

He ran headlong at me: I felt him grasp my hair and my shoulder: he hadclosed with a desperate thing. I really saw in him a tyrant, a murderer. I felt a drop or two of blood from my head trickle down my neck, and wassensible of somewhat pungent suffering: these sensations for the timepredominated over fear, and I received him in frantic sort. I don't verywell know what I did with my hands, but he called me "Rat! Rat!" andbellowed out aloud. Aid was near him: Eliza and Georgiana had run forMrs. Reed, who was gone upstairs: she now came upon the scene, followedby Bessie and her maid Abbot. We were parted: I heard the words--

"Dear! dear! What a fury to fly at Master John!"

"Did ever anybody see such a picture of passion!"

Then Mrs. Reed subjoined--

"Take her away to the red-room, and lock her in there. " Four hands wereimmediately laid upon me, and I was borne upstairs. 

CHAPTER II

I resisted all the way: a new thing for me, and a circumstance whichgreatly strengthened the bad opinion Bessie and Miss Abbot were disposedto entertain of me. The fact is, I was a trifle beside myself; or rather_out_ of myself, as the French would say: I was conscious that a moment'smutiny had already rendered me liable to strange penalties, and, like anyother rebel slave, I felt resolved, in my desperation, to go all lengths. 

"Hold her arms, Miss Abbot: she's like a mad cat. "

"For shame! for shame!" cried the lady's-maid. "What shocking conduct, Miss Eyre, to strike a young gentleman, your benefactress's son! Youryoung master. "

"Master! How is he my master? Am I a servant?"

"No; you are less than a servant, for you do nothing for your keep. There, sit down, and think over your wickedness. "

They had got me by this time into the apartment indicated by Mrs. Reed, and had thrust me upon a stool: my impulse was to rise from it like aspring; their two pair of hands arrested me instantly. 

"If you don't sit still, you must be tied down, " said Bessie. "MissAbbot, lend me your garters; she would break mine directly. "

Miss Abbot turned to divest a stout leg of the necessary ligature. Thispreparation for bonds, and the additional ignominy it inferred, took alittle of the excitement out of me. 

"Don't take them off, " I cried; "I will not stir. "

In guarantee whereof, I attached myself to my seat by my hands. 

"Mind you don't, " said Bessie; and when she had ascertained that I wasreally subsiding, she loosened her hold of me; then she and Miss Abbotstood with folded arms, looking darkly and doubtfully on my face, asincredulous of my sanity. 

"She never did so before, " at last said Bessie, turning to the Abigail. 

"But it was always in her, " was the reply. "I've told Missis often myopinion about the child, and Missis agreed with me. She's an underhandlittle thing: I never saw a girl of her age with so much cover. "

Bessie answered not; but ere long, addressing me, she said--"You ought tobe aware, Miss, that you are under obligations to Mrs. Reed: she keepsyou: if she were to turn you off, you would have to go to the poorhouse. "

I had nothing to say to these words: they were not new to me: my veryfirst recollections of existence included hints of the same kind. Thisreproach of my dependence had become a vague sing-song in my ear: verypainful and crushing, but only half intelligible. Miss Abbot joined in--

"And you ought not to think yourself on an equality with the Misses Reedand Master Reed, because Missis kindly allows you to be brought up withthem. They will have a great deal of money, and you will have none: itis your place to be humble, and to try to make yourself agreeable tothem. "

"What we tell you is for your good, " added Bessie, in no harsh voice, "you should try to be useful and pleasant, then, perhaps, you would havea home here; but if you become passionate and rude, Missis will send youaway, I am sure. "

"Besides, " said Miss Abbot, "God will punish her: He might strike herdead in the midst of her tantrums, and then where would she go? Come, Bessie, we will leave her: I wouldn't have her heart for anything. Sayyour prayers, Miss Eyre, when you are by yourself; for if you don'trepent, something bad might be permitted to come down the chimney andfetch you away. "

They went, shutting the door, and locking it behind them. 

The red-room was a square chamber, very seldom slept in, I might saynever, indeed, unless when a chance influx of visitors at Gateshead Hallrendered it necessary to turn to account all the accommodation itcontained: yet it was one of the largest and stateliest chambers in themansion. A bed supported on massive pillars of mahogany, hung withcurtains of deep red damask, stood out like a tabernacle in the centre;the two large windows, with their blinds always drawn down, were halfshrouded in festoons and falls of similar drapery; the carpet was red;the table at the foot of the bed was covered with a crimson cloth; thewalls were a soft fawn colour with a blush of pink in it; the wardrobe, the toilet-table, the chairs were of darkly polished old mahogany. Outof these deep surrounding shades rose high, and glared white, the piled-up mattresses and pillows of the bed, spread with a snowy Marseillescounterpane. Scarcely less prominent was an ample cushioned easy-chairnear the head of the bed, also white, with a footstool before it; andlooking, as I thought, like a pale throne. 

This room was chill, because it seldom had a fire; it was silent, becauseremote from the nursery and kitchen; solemn, because it was known to beso seldom entered. The house-maid alone came here on Saturdays, to wipefrom the mirrors and the furniture a week's quiet dust: and Mrs. Reedherself, at far intervals, visited it to review the contents of a certainsecret drawer in the wardrobe, where were stored divers parchments, herjewel-casket, and a miniature of her deceased husband; and in those lastwords lies the secret of the red-room--the spell which kept it so lonelyin spite of its grandeur. 

Mr. Reed had been dead nine years: it was in this chamber he breathed hislast; here he lay in state; hence his coffin was borne by theundertaker's men; and, since that day, a sense of dreary consecration hadguarded it from frequent intrusion. 

My seat, to which Bessie and the bitter Miss Abbot had left me riveted, was a low ottoman near the marble chimney-piece; the bed rose before me;to my right hand there was the high, dark wardrobe, with subdued, brokenreflections varying the gloss of its panels; to my left were the muffledwindows; a great looking-glass between them repeated the vacant majestyof the bed and room. I was not quite sure whether they had locked thedoor; and when I dared move, I got up and went to see. Alas! yes: nojail was ever more secure. Returning, I had to cross before the looking-glass; my fascinated glance involuntarily explored the depth it revealed. All looked colder and darker in that visionary hollow than in reality:and the strange little figure there gazing at me, with a white face andarms specking the gloom, and glittering eyes of fear moving where allelse was still, had the effect of a real spirit: I thought it like one ofthe tiny phantoms, half fairy, half imp, Bessie's evening storiesrepresented as coming out of lone, ferny dells in moors, and appearingbefore the eyes of belated travellers. I returned to my stool. 

Superstition was with me at that moment; but it was not yet her hour forcomplete victory: my blood was still warm; the mood of the revolted slavewas still bracing me with its bitter vigour; I had to stem a rapid rushof retrospective thought before I quailed to the dismal present. 

All John Reed's violent tyrannies, all his sisters' proud indifference, all his mother's aversion, all the servants' partiality, turned up in mydisturbed mind like a dark deposit in a turbid well. Why was I alwayssuffering, always browbeaten, always accused, for ever condemned? Whycould I never please? Why was it useless to try to win any one's favour?Eliza, who was headstrong and selfish, was respected. Georgiana, who hada spoiled temper, a very acrid spite, a captious and insolent carriage, was universally indulged. Her beauty, her pink cheeks and golden curls, seemed to give delight to all who looked at her, and to purchaseindemnity for every fault. John no one thwarted, much less punished;though he twisted the necks of the pigeons, killed the little pea-chicks, set the dogs at the sheep, stripped the hothouse vines of their fruit, and broke the buds off the choicest plants in the conservatory: he calledhis mother "old girl, " too; sometimes reviled her for her dark skin, similar to his own; bluntly disregarded her wishes; not unfrequently toreand spoiled her silk attire; and he was still "her own darling. " I daredcommit no fault: I strove to fulfil every duty; and I was termed naughtyand tiresome, sullen and sneaking, from morning to noon, and from noon tonight. 

My head still ached and bled with the blow and fall I had received: noone had reproved John for wantonly striking me; and because I had turnedagainst him to avert farther irrational violence, I was loaded withgeneral opprobrium. 

"Unjust!--unjust!" said my reason, forced by the agonising stimulus intoprecocious though transitory power: and Resolve, equally wrought up, instigated some strange expedient to achieve escape from insupportableoppression--as running away, or, if that could not be effected, nevereating or drinking more, and letting myself die. 

What a consternation of soul was mine that dreary afternoon! How all mybrain was in tumult, and all my heart in insurrection! Yet in whatdarkness, what dense ignorance, was the mental battle fought! I couldnot answer the ceaseless inward question--_why_ I thus suffered; now, atthe distance of--I will not say how many years, I see it clearly. 

I was a discord in Gateshead Hall: I was like nobody there; I had nothingin harmony with Mrs. Reed or her children, or her chosen vassalage. Ifthey did not love me, in fact, as little did I love them. They were notbound to regard with affection a thing that could not sympathise with oneamongst them; a heterogeneous thing, opposed to them in temperament, incapacity, in propensities; a useless thing, incapable of serving theirinterest, or adding to their pleasure; a noxious thing, cherishing thegerms of indignation at their treatment, of contempt of their judgment. Iknow that had I been a sanguine, brilliant, careless, exacting, handsome, romping child--though equally dependent and friendless--Mrs. Reed wouldhave endured my presence more complacently; her children would haveentertained for me more of the cordiality of fellow-feeling; the servantswould have been less prone to make me the scapegoat of the nursery. 

Daylight began to forsake the red-room; it was past four o'clock, and thebeclouded afternoon was tending to drear twilight. I heard the rainstill beating continuously on the staircase window, and the wind howlingin the grove behind the hall; I grew by degrees cold as a stone, and thenmy courage sank. My habitual mood of humiliation, self-doubt, forlorndepression, fell damp on the embers of my decaying ire. All said I waswicked, and perhaps I might be so; what thought had I been but justconceiving of starving myself to death? That certainly was a crime: andwas I fit to die? Or was the vault under the chancel of Gateshead Churchan inviting bourne? In such vault I had been told did Mr. Reed lieburied; and led by this thought to recall his idea, I dwelt on it withgathering dread. I could not remember him; but I knew that he was my ownuncle--my mother's brother--that he had taken me when a parentless infantto his house; and that in his last moments he had required a promise ofMrs. Reed that she would rear and maintain me as one of her own children. Mrs. Reed probably considered she had kept this promise; and so she had, I dare say, as well as her nature would permit her; but how could shereally like an interloper not of her race, and unconnected with her, after her husband's death, by any tie? It must have been most irksome tofind herself bound by a hard-wrung pledge to stand in the stead of aparent to a strange child she could not love, and to see an uncongenialalien permanently intruded on her own family group. 

A singular notion dawned upon me. I doubted not--never doubted--that ifMr. Reed had been alive he would have treated me kindly; and now, as Isat looking at the white bed and overshadowed walls--occasionally alsoturning a fascinated eye towards the dimly gleaning mirror--I began torecall what I had heard of dead men, troubled in their graves by theviolation of their last wishes, revisiting the earth to punish theperjured and avenge the oppressed; and I thought Mr. Reed's spirit, harassed by the wrongs of his sister's child, might quit itsabode--whether in the church vault or in the unknown world of thedeparted--and rise before me in this chamber. I wiped my tears andhushed my sobs, fearful lest any sign of violent grief might waken apreternatural voice to comfort me, or elicit from the gloom some haloedface, bending over me with strange pity. This idea, consolatory intheory, I felt would be terrible if realised: with all my might Iendeavoured to stifle it--I endeavoured to be firm. Shaking my hair frommy eyes, I lifted my head and tried to look boldly round the dark room;at this moment a light gleamed on the wall. Was it, I asked myself, aray from the moon penetrating some aperture in the blind? No; moonlightwas still, and this stirred; while I gazed, it glided up to the ceilingand quivered over my head. I can now conjecture readily that this streakof light was, in all likelihood, a gleam from a lantern carried by someone across the lawn: but then, prepared as my mind was for horror, shakenas my nerves were by agitation, I thought the swift darting beam was aherald of some coming vision from another world. My heart beat thick, myhead grew hot; a sound filled my ears, which I deemed the rushing ofwings; something seemed near me; I was oppressed, suffocated: endurancebroke down; I rushed to the door and shook the lock in desperate effort. Steps came running along the outer passage; the key turned, Bessie andAbbot entered. 

"Miss Eyre, are you ill?" said Bessie. 

"What a dreadful noise! it went quite through me!" exclaimed Abbot. 

"Take me out! Let me go into the nursery!" was my cry. 

"What for? Are you hurt? Have you seen something?" again demandedBessie. 

"Oh! I saw a light, and I thought a ghost would come. " I had now gothold of Bessie's hand, and she did not snatch it from me. 

"She has screamed out on purpose, " declared Abbot, in some disgust. "Andwhat a scream! If she had been in great pain one would have excused it, but she only wanted to bring us all here: I know her naughty tricks. "

"What is all this?" demanded another voice peremptorily; and Mrs. Reedcame along the corridor, her cap flying wide, her gown rustling stormily. "Abbot and Bessie, I believe I gave orders that Jane Eyre should be leftin the red-room till I came to her myself. "

"Miss Jane screamed so loud, ma'am, " pleaded Bessie. 

"Let her go, " was the only answer. "Loose Bessie's hand, child: youcannot succeed in getting out by these means, be assured. I abhorartifice, particularly in children; it is my duty to show you that trickswill not answer: you will now stay here an hour longer, and it is only oncondition of perfect submission and stillness that I shall liberate youthen. "

"O aunt! have pity! Forgive me! I cannot endure it--let me be punishedsome other way! I shall be killed if--"

"Silence! This violence is all most repulsive:" and so, no doubt, shefelt it. I was a precocious actress in her eyes; she sincerely looked onme as a compound of virulent passions, mean spirit, and dangerousduplicity. 

Bessie and Abbot having retreated, Mrs. Reed, impatient of my now franticanguish and wild sobs, abruptly thrust me back and locked me in, withoutfarther parley. I heard her sweeping away; and soon after she was gone, I suppose I had a species of fit: unconsciousness closed the scene. 

CHAPTER III

The next thing I remember is, waking up with a feeling as if I had had afrightful nightmare, and seeing before me a terrible red glare, crossedwith thick black bars. I heard voices, too, speaking with a hollowsound, and as if muffled by a rush of wind or water: agitation, uncertainty, and an all-predominating sense of terror confused myfaculties. Ere long, I became aware that some one was handling me;lifting me up and supporting me in a sitting posture, and that moretenderly than I had ever been raised or upheld before. I rested my headagainst a pillow or an arm, and felt easy. 

In five minutes more the cloud of bewilderment dissolved: I knew quitewell that I was in my own bed, and that the red glare was the nurseryfire. It was night: a candle burnt on the table; Bessie stood at the bed-foot with a basin in her hand, and a gentleman sat in a chair near mypillow, leaning over me. 

I felt an inexpressible relief, a soothing conviction of protection andsecurity, when I knew that there was a stranger in the room, anindividual not belonging to Gateshead, and not related to Mrs. Reed. Turning from Bessie (though her presence was far less obnoxious to methan that of Abbot, for instance, would have been), I scrutinised theface of the gentleman: I knew him; it was Mr. Lloyd, an apothecary, sometimes called in by Mrs. Reed when the servants were ailing: forherself and the children she employed a physician. 

"Well, who am I?" he asked. 

I pronounced his name, offering him at the same time my hand: he took it, smiling and saying, "We shall do very well by-and-by. " Then he laid medown, and addressing Bessie, charged her to be very careful that I wasnot disturbed during the night. Having given some further directions, and intimates that he should call again the next day, he departed; to mygrief: I felt so sheltered and befriended while he sat in the chair nearmy pillow; and as he closed the door after him, all the room darkened andmy heart again sank: inexpressible sadness weighed it down. 

"Do you feel as if you should sleep, Miss?" asked Bessie, rather softly. 

Scarcely dared I answer her; for I feared the next sentence might berough. "I will try. "

"Would you like to drink, or could you eat anything?"

"No, thank you, Bessie. "

"Then I think I shall go to bed, for it is past twelve o'clock; but youmay call me if you want anything in the night. "

Wonderful civility this! It emboldened me to ask a question. 

"Bessie, what is the matter with me? Am I ill?"

"You fell sick, I suppose, in the red-room with crying; you'll be bettersoon, no doubt. "

Bessie went into the housemaid's apartment, which was near. I heard hersay--

"Sarah, come and sleep with me in the nursery; I daren't for my life bealone with that poor child to-night: she might die; it's such a strangething she should have that fit: I wonder if she saw anything. Missis wasrather too hard. "

Sarah came back with her; they both went to bed; they were whisperingtogether for half-an-hour before they fell asleep. I caught scraps oftheir conversation, from which I was able only too distinctly to inferthe main subject discussed. 

"Something passed her, all dressed in white, and vanished"--"A greatblack dog behind him"--"Three loud raps on the chamber door"--"A light inthe churchyard just over his grave, " &c. &c. 

At last both slept: the fire and the candle went out. For me, thewatches of that long night passed in ghastly wakefulness; strained bydread: such dread as children only can feel. 

No severe or prolonged bodily illness followed this incident of the red-room; it only gave my nerves a shock of which I feel the reverberation tothis day. Yes, Mrs. Reed, to you I owe some fearful pangs of mentalsuffering, but I ought to forgive you, for you knew not what you did:while rending my heart-strings, you thought you were only uprooting mybad propensities. 

Next day, by noon, I was up and dressed, and sat wrapped in a shawl bythe nursery hearth. I felt physically weak and broken down: but my worseailment was an unutterable wretchedness of mind: a wretchedness whichkept drawing from me silent tears; no sooner had I wiped one salt dropfrom my cheek than another followed. Yet, I thought, I ought to havebeen happy, for none of the Reeds were there, they were all gone out inthe carriage with their mama. Abbot, too, was sewing in another room, and Bessie, as she moved hither and thither, putting away toys andarranging drawers, addressed to me every now and then a word of unwontedkindness. This state of things should have been to me a paradise ofpeace, accustomed as I was to a life of ceaseless reprimand and thanklessfagging; but, in fact, my racked nerves were now in such a state that nocalm could soothe, and no pleasure excite them agreeably. 

Bessie had been down into the kitchen, and she brought up with her a tarton a certain brightly painted china plate, whose bird of paradise, nestling in a wreath of convolvuli and rosebuds, had been wont to stir inme a most enthusiastic sense of admiration; and which plate I had oftenpetitioned to be allowed to take in my hand in order to examine it moreclosely, but had always hitherto been deemed unworthy of such aprivilege. This precious vessel was now placed on my knee, and I wascordially invited to eat the circlet of delicate pastry upon it. Vainfavour! coming, like most other favours long deferred and often wishedfor, too late! I could not eat the tart; and the plumage of the bird, the tints of the flowers, seemed strangely faded: I put both plate andtart away. Bessie asked if I would have a book: the word _book_ acted asa transient stimulus, and I begged her to fetch Gulliver's Travels fromthe library. This book I had again and again perused with delight. Iconsidered it a narrative of facts, and discovered in it a vein ofinterest deeper than what I found in fairy tales: for as to the elves, having sought them in vain among foxglove leaves and bells, undermushrooms and beneath the ground-ivy mantling old wall-nooks, I had atlength made up my mind to the sad truth, that they were all gone out ofEngland to some savage country where the woods were wilder and thicker, and the population more scant; whereas, Lilliput and Brobdignag being, inmy creed, solid parts of the earth's surface, I doubted not that I mightone day, by taking a long voyage, see with my own eyes the little fields, houses, and trees, the diminutive people, the tiny cows, sheep, and birdsof the one realm; and the corn-fields forest-high, the mighty mastiffs, the monster cats, the tower-like men and women, of the other. Yet, whenthis cherished volume was now placed in my hand--when I turned over itsleaves, and sought in its marvellous pictures the charm I had, till now, never failed to find--all was eerie and dreary; the giants were gauntgoblins, the pigmies malevolent and fearful imps, Gulliver a mostdesolate wanderer in most dread and dangerous regions. I closed thebook, which I dared no longer peruse, and put it on the table, beside theuntasted tart. 

Bessie had now finished dusting and tidying the room, and having washedher hands, she opened a certain little drawer, full of splendid shreds ofsilk and satin, and began making a new bonnet for Georgiana's doll. Meantime she sang: her song was--

 "In the days when we went gipsying, A long time ago. "

I had often heard the song before, and always with lively delight; forBessie had a sweet voice, --at least, I thought so. But now, though hervoice was still sweet, I found in its melody an indescribable sadness. Sometimes, preoccupied with her work, she sang the refrain very low, verylingeringly; "A long time ago" came out like the saddest cadence of afuneral hymn. She passed into another ballad, this time a really dolefulone. 

 "My feet they are sore, and my limbs they are weary; Long is the way, and the mountains are wild; Soon will the twilight close moonless and dreary Over the path of the poor orphan child. 

 Why did they send me so far and so lonely, Up where the moors spread and grey rocks are piled? Men are hard-hearted, and kind angels only Watch o'er the steps of a poor orphan child. 

 Yet distant and soft the night breeze is blowing, Clouds there are none, and clear stars beam mild, God, in His mercy, protection is showing, Comfort and hope to the poor orphan child. 

 Ev'n should I fall o'er the broken bridge passing, Or stray in the marshes, by false lights beguiled, Still will my Father, with promise and blessing, Take to His bosom the poor orphan child. 

 There is a thought that for strength should avail me, Though both of shelter and kindred despoiled; Heaven is a home, and a rest will not fail me; God is a friend to the poor orphan child. "

"Come, Miss Jane, don't cry, " said Bessie as she finished. She might aswell have said to the fire, "don't burn!" but how could she divine themorbid suffering to which I was a prey? In the course of the morning Mr. Lloyd came again. 

"What, already up!" said he, as he entered the nursery. "Well, nurse, how is she?"

Bessie answered that I was doing very well. 

"Then she ought to look more cheerful. Come here, Miss Jane: your nameis Jane, is it not?"

"Yes, sir, Jane Eyre. "

"Well, you have been crying, Miss Jane Eyre; can you tell me what about?Have you any pain?"

"No, sir. "

"Oh! I daresay she is crying because she could not go out with Missis inthe carriage, " interposed Bessie. 

"Surely not! why, she is too old for such pettishness. "

I thought so too; and my self-esteem being wounded by the false charge, Ianswered promptly, "I never cried for such a thing in my life: I hategoing out in the carriage. I cry because I am miserable. "

"Oh fie, Miss!" said Bessie. 

The good apothecary appeared a little puzzled. I was standing beforehim; he fixed his eyes on me very steadily: his eyes were small and grey;not very bright, but I dare say I should think them shrewd now: he had ahard-featured yet good-natured looking face. Having considered me atleisure, he said--

"What made you ill yesterday?"

"She had a fall, " said Bessie, again putting in her word. 

"Fall! why, that is like a baby again! Can't she manage to walk at herage? She must be eight or nine years old. "

"I was knocked down, " was the blunt explanation, jerked out of me byanother pang of mortified pride; "but that did not make me ill, " I added;while Mr. Lloyd helped himself to a pinch of snuff. 

As he was returning the box to his waistcoat pocket, a loud bell rang forthe servants' dinner; he knew what it was. "That's for you, nurse, " saidhe; "you can go down; I'll give Miss Jane a lecture till you come back. "

Bessie would rather have stayed, but she was obliged to go, becausepunctuality at meals was rigidly enforced at Gateshead Hall. 

"The fall did not make you ill; what did, then?" pursued Mr. Lloyd whenBessie was gone. 

"I was shut up in a room where there is a ghost till after dark. "

I saw Mr. Lloyd smile and frown at the same time. 

"Ghost! What, you are a baby after all! You are afraid of ghosts?"

"Of Mr. Reed's ghost I am: he died in that room, and was laid out there. Neither Bessie nor any one else will go into it at night, if they canhelp it; and it was cruel to shut me up alone without a candle, --so cruelthat I think I shall never forget it. "

"Nonsense! And is it that makes you so miserable? Are you afraid now indaylight?"

"No: but night will come again before long: and besides, --I amunhappy, --very unhappy, for other things. "

"What other things? Can you tell me some of them?"

How much I wished to reply fully to this question! How difficult it wasto frame any answer! Children can feel, but they cannot analyse theirfeelings; and if the analysis is partially effected in thought, they knownot how to express the result of the process in words. Fearful, however, of losing this first and only opportunity of relieving my grief byimparting it, I, after a disturbed pause, contrived to frame a meagre, though, as far as it went, true response. 

"For one thing, I have no father or mother, brothers or sisters. "

"You have a kind aunt and cousins. "

Again I paused; then bunglingly enounced--

"But John Reed knocked me down, and my aunt shut me up in the red-room. "

Mr. Lloyd a second time produced his snuff-box. 

"Don't you think Gateshead Hall a very beautiful house?" asked he. "Areyou not very thankful to have such a fine place to live at?"

"It is not my house, sir; and Abbot says I have less right to be herethan a servant. "

"Pooh! you can't be silly enough to wish to leave such a splendid place?"

"If I had anywhere else to go, I should be glad to leave it; but I cannever get away from Gateshead till I am a woman. "

"Perhaps you may--who knows? Have you any relations besides Mrs. Reed?"

"I think not, sir. "

"None belonging to your father?"

"I don't know. I asked Aunt Reed once, and she said possibly I mighthave some poor, low relations called Eyre, but she knew nothing aboutthem. "

"If you had such, would you like to go to them?"

I reflected. Poverty looks grim to grown people; still more so tochildren: they have not much idea of industrious, working, respectablepoverty; they think of the word only as connected with ragged clothes, scanty food, fireless grates, rude manners, and debasing vices: povertyfor me was synonymous with degradation. 

"No; I should not like to belong to poor people, " was my reply. 

"Not even if they were kind to you?"

I shook my head: I could not see how poor people had the means of beingkind; and then to learn to speak like them, to adopt their manners, to beuneducated, to grow up like one of the poor women I saw sometimes nursingtheir children or washing their clothes at the cottage doors of thevillage of Gateshead: no, I was not heroic enough to purchase liberty atthe price of caste. 

"But are your relatives so very poor? Are they working people?"

"I cannot tell; Aunt Reed says if I have any, they must be a beggarlyset: I should not like to go a begging. "

"Would you like to go to school?"

Again I reflected: I scarcely knew what school was: Bessie sometimesspoke of it as a place where young ladies sat in the stocks, worebackboards, and were expected to be exceedingly genteel and precise: JohnReed hated his school, and abused his master; but John Reed's tastes wereno rule for mine, and if Bessie's accounts of school-discipline (gatheredfrom the young ladies of a family where she had lived before coming toGateshead) were somewhat appalling, her details of certainaccomplishments attained by these same young ladies were, I thought, equally attractive. She boasted of beautiful paintings of landscapes andflowers by them executed; of songs they could sing and pieces they couldplay, of purses they could net, of French books they could translate;till my spirit was moved to emulation as I listened. Besides, schoolwould be a complete change: it implied a long journey, an entireseparation from Gateshead, an entrance into a new life. 

"I should indeed like to go to school, " was the audible conclusion of mymusings. 

"Well, well! who knows what may happen?" said Mr. Lloyd, as he got up. "The child ought to have change of air and scene, " he added, speaking tohimself; "nerves not in a good state. "

Bessie now returned; at the same moment the carriage was heard rolling upthe gravel-walk. 

"Is that your mistress, nurse?" asked Mr. Lloyd. "I should like to speakto her before I go. "

Bessie invited him to walk into the breakfast-room, and led the way out. In the interview which followed between him and Mrs. Reed, I presume, from after-occurrences, that the apothecary ventured to recommend mybeing sent to school; and the recommendation was no doubt readily enoughadopted; for as Abbot said, in discussing the subject with Bessie whenboth sat sewing in the nursery one night, after I was in bed, and, asthey thought, asleep, "Missis was, she dared say, glad enough to get ridof such a tiresome, ill-conditioned child, who always looked as if shewere watching everybody, and scheming plots underhand. " Abbot, I think, gave me credit for being a sort of infantine Guy Fawkes. 

On that same occasion I learned, for the first time, from Miss Abbot'scommunications to Bessie, that my father had been a poor clergyman; thatmy mother had married him against the wishes of her friends, whoconsidered the match beneath her; that my grandfather Reed was soirritated at her disobedience, he cut her off without a shilling; thatafter my mother and father had been married a year, the latter caught thetyphus fever while visiting among the poor of a large manufacturing townwhere his curacy was situated, and where that disease was then prevalent:that my mother took the infection from him, and both died within a monthof each other. 

Bessie, when she heard this narrative, sighed and said, "Poor Miss Janeis to be pitied, too, Abbot. "

"Yes, " responded Abbot; "if she were a nice, pretty child, one mightcompassionate her forlornness; but one really cannot care for such alittle toad as that. "

"Not a great deal, to be sure, " agreed Bessie: "at any rate, a beautylike Miss Georgiana would be more moving in the same condition. "

"Yes, I doat on Miss Georgiana!" cried the fervent Abbot. "Littledarling!--with her long curls and her blue eyes, and such a sweet colouras she has; just as if she were painted!--Bessie, I could fancy a Welshrabbit for supper. "

"So could I--with a roast onion. Come, we'll go down. " They went. 

CHAPTER IV

From my discourse with Mr. Lloyd, and from the above reported conferencebetween Bessie and Abbot, I gathered enough of hope to suffice as amotive for wishing to get well: a change seemed near, --I desired andwaited it in silence. It tarried, however: days and weeks passed: I hadregained my normal state of health, but no new allusion was made to thesubject over which I brooded. Mrs. Reed surveyed me at times with asevere eye, but seldom addressed me: since my illness, she had drawn amore marked line of separation than ever between me and her own children;appointing me a small closet to sleep in by myself, condemning me to takemy meals alone, and pass all my time in the nursery, while my cousinswere constantly in the drawing-room. Not a hint, however, did she dropabout sending me to school: still I felt an instinctive certainty thatshe would not long endure me under the same roof with her; for herglance, now more than ever, when turned on me, expressed an insuperableand rooted aversion. 

Eliza and Georgiana, evidently acting according to orders, spoke to me aslittle as possible: John thrust his tongue in his cheek whenever he sawme, and once attempted chastisement; but as I instantly turned againsthim, roused by the same sentiment of deep ire and desperate revolt whichhad stirred my corruption before, he thought it better to desist, and ranfrom me tittering execrations, and vowing I had burst his nose. I hadindeed levelled at that prominent feature as hard a blow as my knucklescould inflict; and when I saw that either that or my look daunted him, Ihad the greatest inclination to follow up my advantage to purpose; but hewas already with his mama. I heard him in a blubbering tone commence thetale of how "that nasty Jane Eyre" had flown at him like a mad cat: hewas stopped rather harshly--

"Don't talk to me about her, John: I told you not to go near her; she isnot worthy of notice; I do not choose that either you or your sistersshould associate with her. "

Here, leaning over the banister, I cried out suddenly, and without at alldeliberating on my words--

"They are not fit to associate with me. "

Mrs. Reed was rather a stout woman; but, on hearing this strange andaudacious declaration, she ran nimbly up the stair, swept me like awhirlwind into the nursery, and crushing me down on the edge of my crib, dared me in an emphatic voice to rise from that place, or utter onesyllable during the remainder of the day. 

"What would Uncle Reed say to you, if he were alive?" was my scarcelyvoluntary demand. I say scarcely voluntary, for it seemed as if mytongue pronounced words without my will consenting to their utterance:something spoke out of me over which I had no control. 

"What?" said Mrs. Reed under her breath: her usually cold composed greyeye became troubled with a look like fear; she took her hand from my arm, and gazed at me as if she really did not know whether I were child orfiend. I was now in for it. 

"My Uncle Reed is in heaven, and can see all you do and think; and so canpapa and mama: they know how you shut me up all day long, and how youwish me dead. "

Mrs. Reed soon rallied her spirits: she shook me most soundly, she boxedboth my ears, and then left me without a word. Bessie supplied thehiatus by a homily of an hour's length, in which she proved beyond adoubt that I was the most wicked and abandoned child ever reared under aroof. I half believed her; for I felt indeed only bad feelings surgingin my breast. 

November, December, and half of January passed away. Christmas and theNew Year had been celebrated at Gateshead with the usual festive cheer;presents had been interchanged, dinners and evening parties given. Fromevery enjoyment I was, of course, excluded: my share of the gaietyconsisted in witnessing the daily apparelling of Eliza and Georgiana, andseeing them descend to the drawing-room, dressed out in thin muslinfrocks and scarlet sashes, with hair elaborately ringletted; andafterwards, in listening to the sound of the piano or the harp playedbelow, to the passing to and fro of the butler and footman, to thejingling of glass and china as refreshments were handed, to the brokenhum of conversation as the drawing-room door opened and closed. Whentired of this occupation, I would retire from the stairhead to thesolitary and silent nursery: there, though somewhat sad, I was notmiserable. To speak truth, I had not the least wish to go into company, for in company I was very rarely noticed; and if Bessie had but been kindand companionable, I should have deemed it a treat to spend the eveningsquietly with her, instead of passing them under the formidable eye ofMrs. Reed, in a room full of ladies and gentlemen. But Bessie, as soonas she had dressed her young ladies, used to take herself off to thelively regions of the kitchen and housekeeper's room, generally bearingthe candle along with her. I then sat with my doll on my knee till thefire got low, glancing round occasionally to make sure that nothing worsethan myself haunted the shadowy room; and when the embers sank to a dullred, I undressed hastily, tugging at knots and strings as I best might, and sought shelter from cold and darkness in my crib. To this crib Ialways took my doll; human beings must love something, and, in the dearthof worthier objects of affection, I contrived to find a pleasure inloving and cherishing a faded graven image, shabby as a miniaturescarecrow. It puzzles me now to remember with what absurd sincerity Idoated on this little toy, half fancying it alive and capable ofsensation. I could not sleep unless it was folded in my night-gown; andwhen it lay there safe and warm, I was comparatively happy, believing itto be happy likewise. 

Long did the hours seem while I waited the departure of the company, andlistened for the sound of Bessie's step on the stairs: sometimes shewould come up in the interval to seek her thimble or her scissors, orperhaps to bring me something by way of supper--a bun or acheese-cake--then she would sit on the bed while I ate it, and when I hadfinished, she would tuck the clothes round me, and twice she kissed me, and said, "Good night, Miss Jane. " When thus gentle, Bessie seemed to methe best, prettiest, kindest being in the world; and I wished mostintensely that she would always be so pleasant and amiable, and neverpush me about, or scold, or task me unreasonably, as she was too oftenwont to do. Bessie Lee must, I think, have been a girl of good naturalcapacity, for she was smart in all she did, and had a remarkable knack ofnarrative; so, at least, I judge from the impression made on me by hernursery tales. She was pretty too, if my recollections of her face andperson are correct. I remember her as a slim young woman, with blackhair, dark eyes, very nice features, and good, clear complexion; but shehad a capricious and hasty temper, and indifferent ideas of principle orjustice: still, such as she was, I preferred her to any one else atGateshead Hall. 

It was the fifteenth of January, about nine o'clock in the morning:Bessie was gone down to breakfast; my cousins had not yet been summonedto their mama; Eliza was putting on her bonnet and warm garden-coat to goand feed her poultry, an occupation of which she was fond: and not lessso of selling the eggs to the housekeeper and hoarding up the money shethus obtained. She had a turn for traffic, and a marked propensity forsaving; shown not only in the vending of eggs and chickens, but also indriving hard bargains with the gardener about flower-roots, seeds, andslips of plants; that functionary having orders from Mrs. Reed to buy ofhis young lady all the products of her parterre she wished to sell: andEliza would have sold the hair off her head if she could have made ahandsome profit thereby. As to her money, she first secreted it in oddcorners, wrapped in a rag or an old curl-paper; but some of these hoardshaving been discovered by the housemaid, Eliza, fearful of one day losingher valued treasure, consented to intrust it to her mother, at a usuriousrate of interest--fifty or sixty per cent. ; which interest she exactedevery quarter, keeping her accounts in a little book with anxiousaccuracy. 

Georgiana sat on a high stool, dressing her hair at the glass, andinterweaving her curls with artificial flowers and faded feathers, ofwhich she had found a store in a drawer in the attic. I was making mybed, having received strict orders from Bessie to get it arranged beforeshe returned (for Bessie now frequently employed me as a sort of under-nurserymaid, to tidy the room, dust the chairs, &c. ). Having spread thequilt and folded my night-dress, I went to the window-seat to put inorder some picture-books and doll's house furniture scattered there; anabrupt command from Georgiana to let her playthings alone (for the tinychairs and mirrors, the fairy plates and cups, were her property) stoppedmy proceedings; and then, for lack of other occupation, I fell tobreathing on the frost-flowers with which the window was fretted, andthus clearing a space in the glass through which I might look out on thegrounds, where all was still and petrified under the influence of a hardfrost. 

From this window were visible the porter's lodge and the carriage-road, and just as I had dissolved so much of the silver-white foliage veilingthe panes as left room to look out, I saw the gates thrown open and acarriage roll through. I watched it ascending the drive withindifference; carriages often came to Gateshead, but none ever broughtvisitors in whom I was interested; it stopped in front of the house, thedoor-bell rang loudly, the new-comer was admitted. All this beingnothing to me, my vacant attention soon found livelier attraction in thespectacle of a little hungry robin, which came and chirruped on the twigsof the leafless cherry-tree nailed against the wall near the casement. The remains of my breakfast of bread and milk stood on the table, andhaving crumbled a morsel of roll, I was tugging at the sash to put outthe crumbs on the window-sill, when Bessie came running upstairs into thenursery. 

"Miss Jane, take off your pinafore; what are you doing there? Have youwashed your hands and face this morning?" I gave another tug before Ianswered, for I wanted the bird to be secure of its bread: the sashyielded; I scattered the crumbs, some on the stone sill, some on thecherry-tree bough, then, closing the window, I replied--

"No, Bessie; I have only just finished dusting. "

"Troublesome, careless child! and what are you doing now? You look quitered, as if you had been about some mischief: what were you opening thewindow for?"

I was spared the trouble of answering, for Bessie seemed in too great ahurry to listen to explanations; she hauled me to the washstand, inflicted a merciless, but happily brief scrub on my face and hands withsoap, water, and a coarse towel; disciplined my head with a bristlybrush, denuded me of my pinafore, and then hurrying me to the top of thestairs, bid me go down directly, as I was wanted in the breakfast-room. 

I would have asked who wanted me: I would have demanded if Mrs. Reed wasthere; but Bessie was already gone, and had closed the nursery-door uponme. I slowly descended. For nearly three months, I had never beencalled to Mrs. Reed's presence; restricted so long to the nursery, thebreakfast, dining, and drawing-rooms were become for me awful regions, onwhich it dismayed me to intrude. 

I now stood in the empty hall; before me was the breakfast-room door, andI stopped, intimidated and trembling. What a miserable little poltroonhad fear, engendered of unjust punishment, made of me in those days! Ifeared to return to the nursery, and feared to go forward to the parlour;ten minutes I stood in agitated hesitation; the vehement ringing of thebreakfast-room bell decided me; I _must_ enter. 

"Who could want me?" I asked inwardly, as with both hands I turned thestiff door-handle, which, for a second or two, resisted my efforts. "Whatshould I see besides Aunt Reed in the apartment?--a man or a woman?" Thehandle turned, the door unclosed, and passing through and curtseying low, I looked up at--a black pillar!--such, at least, appeared to me, at firstsight, the straight, narrow, sable-clad shape standing erect on the rug:the grim face at the top was like a carved mask, placed above the shaftby way of capital. 

Mrs. Reed occupied her usual seat by the fireside; she made a signal tome to approach; I did so, and she introduced me to the stony strangerwith the words: "This is the little girl respecting whom I applied toyou. "

_He_, for it was a man, turned his head slowly towards where I stood, andhaving examined me with the two inquisitive-looking grey eyes whichtwinkled under a pair of bushy brows, said solemnly, and in a bass voice, "Her size is small: what is her age?"

"Ten years. "

"So much?" was the doubtful answer; and he prolonged his scrutiny forsome minutes. Presently he addressed me--"Your name, little girl?"

"Jane Eyre, sir. "

In uttering these words I looked up: he seemed to me a tall gentleman;but then I was very little; his features were large, and they and all thelines of his frame were equally harsh and prim. 

"Well, Jane Eyre, and are you a good child?"

Impossible to reply to this in the affirmative: my little world held acontrary opinion: I was silent. Mrs. Reed answered for me by anexpressive shake of the head, adding soon, "Perhaps the less said on thatsubject the better, Mr. Brocklehurst. "

"Sorry indeed to hear it! she and I must have some talk;" and bendingfrom the perpendicular, he installed his person in the arm-chair oppositeMrs. Reed's. "Come here, " he said. 

I stepped across the rug; he placed me square and straight before him. What a face he had, now that it was almost on a level with mine! what agreat nose! and what a mouth! and what large prominent teeth!

"No sight so sad as that of a naughty child, " he began, "especially anaughty little girl. Do you know where the wicked go after death?"

"They go to hell, " was my ready and orthodox answer. 

"And what is hell? Can you tell me that?"

"A pit full of fire. "

"And should you like to fall into that pit, and to be burning there forever?"

"No, sir. "

"What must you do to avoid it?"

I deliberated a moment; my answer, when it did come, was objectionable:"I must keep in good health, and not die. "

"How can you keep in good health? Children younger than you die daily. Iburied a little child of five years old only a day or two since, --a goodlittle child, whose soul is now in heaven. It is to be feared the samecould not be said of you were you to be called hence. "

Not being in a condition to remove his doubt, I only cast my eyes down onthe two large feet planted on the rug, and sighed, wishing myself farenough away. 

"I hope that sigh is from the heart, and that you repent of ever havingbeen the occasion of discomfort to your excellent benefactress. "

"Benefactress! benefactress!" said I inwardly: "they all call Mrs. Reedmy benefactress; if so, a benefactress is a disagreeable thing. "

"Do you say your prayers night and morning?" continued my interrogator. 

"Yes, sir. "

"Do you read your Bible?"

"Sometimes. "

"With pleasure? Are you fond of it?"

"I like Revelations, and the book of Daniel, and Genesis and Samuel, anda little bit of Exodus, and some parts of Kings and Chronicles, and Joband Jonah. "

"And the Psalms? I hope you like them?"

"No, sir. "

"No? oh, shocking! I have a little boy, younger than you, who knows sixPsalms by heart: and when you ask him which he would rather have, agingerbread-nut to eat or a verse of a Psalm to learn, he says: 'Oh! theverse of a Psalm! angels sing Psalms;' says he, 'I wish to be a littleangel here below;' he then gets two nuts in recompense for his infantpiety. "

"Psalms are not interesting, " I remarked. 

"That proves you have a wicked heart; and you must pray to God to changeit: to give you a new and clean one: to take away your heart of stone andgive you a heart of flesh. "

I was about to propound a question, touching the manner in which thatoperation of changing my heart was to be performed, when Mrs. Reedinterposed, telling me to sit down; she then proceeded to carry on theconversation herself. 

"Mr. Brocklehurst, I believe I intimated in the letter which I wrote toyou three weeks ago, that this little girl has not quite the characterand disposition I could wish: should you admit her into Lowood school, Ishould be glad if the superintendent and teachers were requested to keepa strict eye on her, and, above all, to guard against her worst fault, atendency to deceit. I mention this in your hearing, Jane, that you maynot attempt to impose on Mr. Brocklehurst. "

Well might I dread, well might I dislike Mrs. Reed; for it was her natureto wound me cruelly; never was I happy in her presence; however carefullyI obeyed, however strenuously I strove to please her, my efforts werestill repulsed and repaid by such sentences as the above. Now, utteredbefore a stranger, the accusation cut me to the heart; I dimly perceivedthat she was already obliterating hope from the new phase of existencewhich she destined me to enter; I felt, though I could not have expressedthe feeling, that she was sowing aversion and unkindness along my futurepath; I saw myself transformed under Mr. Brocklehurst's eye into anartful, noxious child, and what could I do to remedy the injury?

"Nothing, indeed, " thought I, as I struggled to repress a sob, andhastily wiped away some tears, the impotent evidences of my anguish. 

"Deceit is, indeed, a sad fault in a child, " said Mr. Brocklehurst; "itis akin to falsehood, and all liars will have their portion in the lakeburning with fire and brimstone; she shall, however, be watched, Mrs. Reed. I will speak to Miss Temple and the teachers. "

"I should wish her to be brought up in a manner suiting her prospects, "continued my benefactress; "to be made useful, to be kept humble: as forthe vacations, she will, with your permission, spend them always atLowood. "

"Your decisions are perfectly judicious, madam, " returned Mr. Brocklehurst. "Humility is a Christian grace, and one peculiarlyappropriate to the pupils of Lowood; I, therefore, direct that especialcare shall be bestowed on its cultivation amongst them. I have studiedhow best to mortify in them the worldly sentiment of pride; and, only theother day, I had a pleasing proof of my success. My second daughter, Augusta, went with her mama to visit the school, and on her return sheexclaimed: 'Oh, dear papa, how quiet and plain all the girls at Lowoodlook, with their hair combed behind their ears, and their long pinafores, and those little holland pockets outside their frocks--they are almostlike poor people's children! and, ' said she, 'they looked at my dress andmama's, as if they had never seen a silk gown before. '"

"This is the state of things I quite approve, " returned Mrs. Reed; "had Isought all England over, I could scarcely have found a system moreexactly fitting a child like Jane Eyre. Consistency, my dear Mr. Brocklehurst; I advocate consistency in all things. "

"Consistency, madam, is the first of Christian duties; and it has beenobserved in every arrangement connected with the establishment of Lowood:plain fare, simple attire, unsophisticated accommodations, hardy andactive habits; such is the order of the day in the house and itsinhabitants. "

"Quite right, sir. I may then depend upon this child being received as apupil at Lowood, and there being trained in conformity to her positionand prospects?"

"Madam, you may: she shall be placed in that nursery of chosen plants, and I trust she will show herself grateful for the inestimable privilegeof her election. "

"I will send her, then, as soon as possible, Mr. Brocklehurst; for, Iassure you, I feel anxious to be relieved of a responsibility that wasbecoming too irksome. "

"No doubt, no doubt, madam; and now I wish you good morning. I shallreturn to Brocklehurst Hall in the course of a week or two: my goodfriend, the Archdeacon, will not permit me to leave him sooner. I shallsend Miss Temple notice that she is to expect a new girl, so that therewill be no difficulty about receiving her. Good-bye. "

"Good-bye, Mr. Brocklehurst; remember me to Mrs. And Miss Brocklehurst, and to Augusta and Theodore, and Master Broughton Brocklehurst. "

"I will, madam. Little girl, here is a book entitled the 'Child'sGuide, ' read it with prayer, especially that part containing 'An accountof the awfully sudden death of Martha G---, a naughty child addicted tofalsehood and deceit. '"

With these words Mr. Brocklehurst put into my hand a thin pamphlet sewnin a cover, and having rung for his carriage, he departed. 

Mrs. Reed and I were left alone: some minutes passed in silence; she wassewing, I was watching her. Mrs. Reed might be at that time some six orseven and thirty; she was a woman of robust frame, square-shouldered andstrong-limbed, not tall, and, though stout, not obese: she had a somewhatlarge face, the under jaw being much developed and very solid; her browwas low, her chin large and prominent, mouth and nose sufficientlyregular; under her light eyebrows glimmered an eye devoid of ruth; herskin was dark and opaque, her hair nearly flaxen; her constitution wassound as a bell--illness never came near her; she was an exact, clevermanager; her household and tenantry were thoroughly under her control;her children only at times defied her authority and laughed it to scorn;she dressed well, and had a presence and port calculated to set offhandsome attire. 

Sitting on a low stool, a few yards from her arm-chair, I examined herfigure; I perused her features. In my hand I held the tract containingthe sudden death of the Liar, to which narrative my attention had beenpointed as to an appropriate warning. What had just passed; what Mrs. Reed had said concerning me to Mr. Brocklehurst; the whole tenor of theirconversation, was recent, raw, and stinging in my mind; I had felt everyword as acutely as I had heard it plainly, and a passion of resentmentfomented now within me. 

Mrs. Reed looked up from her work; her eye settled on mine, her fingersat the same time suspended their nimble movements. 

"Go out of the room; return to the nursery, " was her mandate. My look orsomething else must have struck her as offensive, for she spoke withextreme though suppressed irritation. I got up, I went to the door; Icame back again; I walked to the window, across the room, then close upto her. 

_Speak_ I must: I had been trodden on severely, and _must_ turn: but how?What strength had I to dart retaliation at my antagonist? I gathered myenergies and launched them in this blunt sentence--

"I am not deceitful: if I were, I should say I loved you; but I declare Ido not love you: I dislike you the worst of anybody in the world exceptJohn Reed; and this book about the liar, you may give to your girl, Georgiana, for it is she who tells lies, and not I. "

Mrs. Reed's hands still lay on her work inactive: her eye of icecontinued to dwell freezingly on mine. 

"What more have you to say?" she asked, rather in the tone in which aperson might address an opponent of adult age than such as is ordinarilyused to a child. 

That eye of hers, that voice stirred every antipathy I had. Shaking fromhead to foot, thrilled with ungovernable excitement, I continued--

"I am glad you are no relation of mine: I will never call you aunt againas long as I live. I will never come to see you when I am grown up; andif any one asks me how I liked you, and how you treated me, I will saythe very thought of you makes me sick, and that you treated me withmiserable cruelty. "

"How dare you affirm that, Jane Eyre?"

"How dare I, Mrs. Reed? How dare I? Because it is the _truth_. Youthink I have no feelings, and that I can do without one bit of love orkindness; but I cannot live so: and you have no pity. I shall rememberhow you thrust me back--roughly and violently thrust me back--into thered-room, and locked me up there, to my dying day; though I was in agony;though I cried out, while suffocating with distress, 'Have mercy! Havemercy, Aunt Reed!' And that punishment you made me suffer because yourwicked boy struck me--knocked me down for nothing. I will tell anybodywho asks me questions, this exact tale. People think you a good woman, but you are bad, hard-hearted. _You_ are deceitful!"

{How dare I, Mrs. Ried? How dare I? Because it is the truth: p30. Jpg}

Ere I had finished this reply, my soul began to expand, to exult, withthe strangest sense of freedom, of triumph, I ever felt. It seemed as ifan invisible bond had burst, and that I had struggled out into unhoped-for liberty. Not without cause was this sentiment: Mrs. Reed lookedfrightened; her work had slipped from her knee; she was lifting up herhands, rocking herself to and fro, and even twisting her face as if shewould cry. 

"Jane, you are under a mistake: what is the matter with you? Why do youtremble so violently? Would you like to drink some water?"

"No, Mrs. Reed. "

"Is there anything else you wish for, Jane? I assure you, I desire to beyour friend. "

"Not you. You told Mr. Brocklehurst I had a bad character, a deceitfuldisposition; and I'll let everybody at Lowood know what you are, and whatyou have done. "

"Jane, you don't understand these things: children must be corrected fortheir faults. "

"Deceit is not my fault!" I cried out in a savage, high voice. 

"But you are passionate, Jane, that you must allow: and now return to thenursery--there's a dear--and lie down a little. "

"I am not your dear; I cannot lie down: send me to school soon, Mrs. Reed, for I hate to live here. "

"I will indeed send her to school soon, " murmured Mrs. Reed _sotto voce_;and gathering up her work, she abruptly quitted the apartment. 

I was left there alone--winner of the field. It was the hardest battle Ihad fought, and the first victory I had gained: I stood awhile on therug, where Mr. Brocklehurst had stood, and I enjoyed my conqueror'ssolitude. First, I smiled to myself and felt elate; but this fiercepleasure subsided in me as fast as did the accelerated throb of mypulses. A child cannot quarrel with its elders, as I had done; cannotgive its furious feelings uncontrolled play, as I had given mine, withoutexperiencing afterwards the pang of remorse and the chill of reaction. Aridge of lighted heath, alive, glancing, devouring, would have been ameet emblem of my mind when I accused and menaced Mrs. Reed: the sameridge, black and blasted after the flames are dead, would haverepresented as meetly my subsequent condition, when half-an-hour'ssilence and reflection had shown me the madness of my conduct, and thedreariness of my hated and hating position. 

Something of vengeance I had tasted for the first time; as aromatic wineit seemed, on swallowing, warm and racy: its after-flavour, metallic andcorroding, gave me a sensation as if I had been poisoned. Willinglywould I now have gone and asked Mrs. Reed's pardon; but I knew, partlyfrom experience and partly from instinct, that was the way to make herrepulse me with double scorn, thereby re-exciting every turbulent impulseof my nature. 

I would fain exercise some better faculty than that of fierce speaking;fain find nourishment for some less fiendish feeling than that of sombreindignation. I took a book--some Arabian tales; I sat down andendeavoured to read. I could make no sense of the subject; my ownthoughts swam always between me and the page I had usually foundfascinating. I opened the glass-door in the breakfast-room: theshrubbery was quite still: the black frost reigned, unbroken by sun orbreeze, through the grounds. I covered my head and arms with the skirtof my frock, and went out to walk in a part of the plantation which wasquite sequestrated; but I found no pleasure in the silent trees, thefalling fir-cones, the congealed relics of autumn, russet leaves, sweptby past winds in heaps, and now stiffened together. I leaned against agate, and looked into an empty field where no sheep were feeding, wherethe short grass was nipped and blanched. It was a very grey day; a mostopaque sky, "onding on snaw, " canopied all; thence flakes felt itintervals, which settled on the hard path and on the hoary lea withoutmelting. I stood, a wretched child enough, whispering to myself over andover again, "What shall I do?--what shall I do?"

All at once I heard a clear voice call, "Miss Jane! where are you? Cometo lunch!"

It was Bessie, I knew well enough; but I did not stir; her light stepcame tripping down the path. 

"You naughty little thing!" she said. "Why don't you come when you arecalled?"

Bessie's presence, compared with the thoughts over which I had beenbrooding, seemed cheerful; even though, as usual, she was somewhat cross. The fact is, after my conflict with and victory over Mrs. Reed, I was notdisposed to care much for the nursemaid's transitory anger; and I _was_disposed to bask in her youthful lightness of heart. I just put my twoarms round her and said, "Come, Bessie! don't scold. "

The action was more frank and fearless than any I was habituated toindulge in: somehow it pleased her. 

"You are a strange child, Miss Jane, " she said, as she looked down at me;"a little roving, solitary thing: and you are going to school, Isuppose?"

I nodded. 

"And won't you be sorry to leave poor Bessie?"

"What does Bessie care for me? She is always scolding me. "

"Because you're such a queer, frightened, shy little thing. You shouldbe bolder. "

"What! to get more knocks?"

"Nonsense! But you are rather put upon, that's certain. My mother said, when she came to see me last week, that she would not like a little oneof her own to be in your place. --Now, come in, and I've some good newsfor you. "

"I don't think you have, Bessie. "

"Child! what do you mean? What sorrowful eyes you fix on me! Well, butMissis and the young ladies and Master John are going out to tea thisafternoon, and you shall have tea with me. I'll ask cook to bake you alittle cake, and then you shall help me to look over your drawers; for Iam soon to pack your trunk. Missis intends you to leave Gateshead in aday or two, and you shall choose what toys you like to take with you. "

"Bessie, you must promise not to scold me any more till I go. "

"Well, I will; but mind you are a very good girl, and don't be afraid ofme. Don't start when I chance to speak rather sharply; it's soprovoking. "

"I don't think I shall ever be afraid of you again, Bessie, because Ihave got used to you, and I shall soon have another set of people todread. "

"If you dread them they'll dislike you. "

"As you do, Bessie?"

"I don't dislike you, Miss; I believe I am fonder of you than of all theothers. "

"You don't show it. "

"You little sharp thing! you've got quite a new way of talking. Whatmakes you so venturesome and hardy?"

"Why, I shall soon be away from you, and besides"--I was going to saysomething about what had passed between me and Mrs. Reed, but on secondthoughts I considered it better to remain silent on that head. 

"And so you're glad to leave me?"

"Not at all, Bessie; indeed, just now I'm rather sorry. "

"Just now! and rather! How coolly my little lady says it! I dare saynow if I were to ask you for a kiss you wouldn't give it me: you'd sayyou'd _rather_ not. "

"I'll kiss you and welcome: bend your head down. " Bessie stooped; wemutually embraced, and I followed her into the house quite comforted. That afternoon lapsed in peace and harmony; and in the evening Bessietold me some of her most enchanting stories, and sang me some of hersweetest songs. Even for me life had its gleams of sunshine. 

CHAPTER V

Five o'clock had hardly struck on the morning of the 19th of January, when Bessie brought a candle into my closet and found me already up andnearly dressed. I had risen half-an-hour before her entrance, and hadwashed my face, and put on my clothes by the light of a half-moon justsetting, whose rays streamed through the narrow window near my crib. Iwas to leave Gateshead that day by a coach which passed the lodge gatesat six a. M. Bessie was the only person yet risen; she had lit a fire inthe nursery, where she now proceeded to make my breakfast. Few childrencan eat when excited with the thoughts of a journey; nor could I. Bessie, having pressed me in vain to take a few spoonfuls of the boiled milk andbread she had prepared for me, wrapped up some biscuits in a paper andput them into my bag; then she helped me on with my pelisse and bonnet, and wrapping herself in a shawl, she and I left the nursery. As wepassed Mrs. Reed's bedroom, she said, "Will you go in and bid Missis good-bye?"

"No, Bessie: she came to my crib last night when you were gone down tosupper, and said I need not disturb her in the morning, or my cousinseither; and she told me to remember that she had always been my bestfriend, and to speak of her and be grateful to her accordingly. "

"What did you say, Miss?"

"Nothing: I covered my face with the bedclothes, and turned from her tothe wall. "

"That was wrong, Miss Jane. "

"It was quite right, Bessie. Your Missis has not been my friend: she hasbeen my foe. "

"O Miss Jane! don't say so!"

"Good-bye to Gateshead!" cried I, as we passed through the hall and wentout at the front door. 

The moon was set, and it was very dark; Bessie carried a lantern, whoselight glanced on wet steps and gravel road sodden by a recent thaw. Rawand chill was the winter morning: my teeth chattered as I hastened downthe drive. There was a light in the porter's lodge: when we reached it, we found the porter's wife just kindling her fire: my trunk, which hadbeen carried down the evening before, stood corded at the door. Itwanted but a few minutes of six, and shortly after that hour had struck, the distant roll of wheels announced the coming coach; I went to the doorand watched its lamps approach rapidly through the gloom. 

"Is she going by herself?" asked the porter's wife. 

"Yes. "

"And how far is it?"

"Fifty miles. "

"What a long way! I wonder Mrs. Reed is not afraid to trust her so faralone. "

The coach drew up; there it was at the gates with its four horses and itstop laden with passengers: the guard and coachman loudly urged haste; mytrunk was hoisted up; I was taken from Bessie's neck, to which I clungwith kisses. 

"Be sure and take good care of her, " cried she to the guard, as he liftedme into the inside. 

"Ay, ay!" was the answer: the door was slapped to, a voice exclaimed "Allright, " and on we drove. Thus was I severed from Bessie and Gateshead;thus whirled away to unknown, and, as I then deemed, remote andmysterious regions. 

I remember but little of the journey; I only know that the day seemed tome of a preternatural length, and that we appeared to travel overhundreds of miles of road. We passed through several towns, and in one, a very large one, the coach stopped; the horses were taken out, and thepassengers alighted to dine. I was carried into an inn, where the guardwanted me to have some dinner; but, as I had no appetite, he left me inan immense room with a fireplace at each end, a chandelier pendent fromthe ceiling, and a little red gallery high up against the wall filledwith musical instruments. Here I walked about for a long time, feelingvery strange, and mortally apprehensive of some one coming in andkidnapping me; for I believed in kidnappers, their exploits havingfrequently figured in Bessie's fireside chronicles. At last the guardreturned; once more I was stowed away in the coach, my protector mountedhis own seat, sounded his hollow horn, and away we rattled over the"stony street" of L-. 

The afternoon came on wet and somewhat misty: as it waned into dusk, Ibegan to feel that we were getting very far indeed from Gateshead: weceased to pass through towns; the country changed; great grey hillsheaved up round the horizon: as twilight deepened, we descended a valley, dark with wood, and long after night had overclouded the prospect, Iheard a wild wind rushing amongst trees. 

Lulled by the sound, I at last dropped asleep; I had not long slumberedwhen the sudden cessation of motion awoke me; the coach-door was open, and a person like a servant was standing at it: I saw her face and dressby the light of the lamps. 

"Is there a little girl called Jane Eyre here?" she asked. I answered"Yes, " and was then lifted out; my trunk was handed down, and the coachinstantly drove away. 

I was stiff with long sitting, and bewildered with the noise and motionof the coach: Gathering my faculties, I looked about me. Rain, wind, anddarkness filled the air; nevertheless, I dimly discerned a wall before meand a door open in it; through this door I passed with my new guide: sheshut and locked it behind her. There was now visible a house orhouses--for the building spread far--with many windows, and lightsburning in some; we went up a broad pebbly path, splashing wet, and wereadmitted at a door; then the servant led me through a passage into a roomwith a fire, where she left me alone. 

I stood and warmed my numbed fingers over the blaze, then I looked round;there was no candle, but the uncertain light from the hearth showed, byintervals, papered walls, carpet, curtains, shining mahogany furniture:it was a parlour, not so spacious or splendid as the drawing-room atGateshead, but comfortable enough. I was puzzling to make out thesubject of a picture on the wall, when the door opened, and an individualcarrying a light entered; another followed close behind. 

The first was a tall lady with dark hair, dark eyes, and a pale and largeforehead; her figure was partly enveloped in a shawl, her countenance wasgrave, her bearing erect. 

"The child is very young to be sent alone, " said she, putting her candledown on the table. She considered me attentively for a minute or two, then further added--

"She had better be put to bed soon; she looks tired: are you tired?" sheasked, placing her hand on my shoulder. 

"A little, ma'am. "

"And hungry too, no doubt: let her have some supper before she goes tobed, Miss Miller. Is this the first time you have left your parents tocome to school, my little girl?"

I explained to her that I had no parents. She inquired how long they hadbeen dead: then how old I was, what was my name, whether I could read, write, and sew a little: then she touched my cheek gently with herforefinger, and saying, "She hoped I should be a good child, " dismissedme along with Miss Miller. 

The lady I had left might be about twenty-nine; the one who went with meappeared some years younger: the first impressed me by her voice, look, and air. Miss Miller was more ordinary; ruddy in complexion, though of acareworn countenance; hurried in gait and action, like one who had alwaysa multiplicity of tasks on hand: she looked, indeed, what I afterwardsfound she really was, an under-teacher. Led by her, I passed fromcompartment to compartment, from passage to passage, of a large andirregular building; till, emerging from the total and somewhat drearysilence pervading that portion of the house we had traversed, we cameupon the hum of many voices, and presently entered a wide, long room, with great deal tables, two at each end, on each of which burnt a pair ofcandles, and seated all round on benches, a congregation of girls ofevery age, from nine or ten to twenty. Seen by the dim light of thedips, their number to me appeared countless, though not in realityexceeding eighty; they were uniformly dressed in brown stuff frocks ofquaint fashion, and long holland pinafores. It was the hour of study;they were engaged in conning over their to-morrow's task, and the hum Ihad heard was the combined result of their whispered repetitions. 

Miss Miller signed to me to sit on a bench near the door, then walking upto the top of the long room she cried out--

"Monitors, collect the lesson-books and put them away!"

Four tall girls arose from different tables, and going round, gatheredthe books and removed them. Miss Miller again gave the word of command--

"Monitors, fetch the supper-trays!"

The tall girls went out and returned presently, each bearing a tray, withportions of something, I knew not what, arranged thereon, and a pitcherof water and mug in the middle of each tray. The portions were handedround; those who liked took a draught of the water, the mug being commonto all. When it came to my turn, I drank, for I was thirsty, but did nottouch the food, excitement and fatigue rendering me incapable of eating:I now saw, however, that it was a thin oaten cake shared into fragments. 

The meal over, prayers were read by Miss Miller, and the classes filedoff, two and two, upstairs. Overpowered by this time with weariness, Iscarcely noticed what sort of a place the bedroom was, except that, likethe schoolroom, I saw it was very long. To-night I was to be MissMiller's bed-fellow; she helped me to undress: when laid down I glancedat the long rows of beds, each of which was quickly filled with twooccupants; in ten minutes the single light was extinguished, and amidstsilence and complete darkness I fell asleep. 

The night passed rapidly. I was too tired even to dream; I only onceawoke to hear the wind rave in furious gusts, and the rain fall intorrents, and to be sensible that Miss Miller had taken her place by myside. When I again unclosed my eyes, a loud bell was ringing; the girlswere up and dressing; day had not yet begun to dawn, and a rushlight ortwo burned in the room. I too rose reluctantly; it was bitter cold, andI dressed as well as I could for shivering, and washed when there was abasin at liberty, which did not occur soon, as there was but one basin tosix girls, on the stands down the middle of the room. Again the bellrang: all formed in file, two and two, and in that order descended thestairs and entered the cold and dimly lit schoolroom: here prayers wereread by Miss Miller; afterwards she called out--

"Form classes!"

A great tumult succeeded for some minutes, during which Miss Millerrepeatedly exclaimed, "Silence!" and "Order!" When it subsided, I sawthem all drawn up in four semicircles, before four chairs, placed at thefour tables; all held books in their hands, and a great book, like aBible, lay on each table, before the vacant seat. A pause of someseconds succeeded, filled up by the low, vague hum of numbers; MissMiller walked from class to class, hushing this indefinite sound. 

A distant bell tinkled: immediately three ladies entered the room, eachwalked to a table and took her seat. Miss Miller assumed the fourthvacant chair, which was that nearest the door, and around which thesmallest of the children were assembled: to this inferior class I wascalled, and placed at the bottom of it. 

Business now began, the day's Collect was repeated, then certain texts ofScripture were said, and to these succeeded a protracted reading ofchapters in the Bible, which lasted an hour. By the time that exercisewas terminated, day had fully dawned. The indefatigable bell now soundedfor the fourth time: the classes were marshalled and marched into anotherroom to breakfast: how glad I was to behold a prospect of gettingsomething to eat! I was now nearly sick from inanition, having taken solittle the day before. 

The refectory was a great, low-ceiled, gloomy room; on two long tablessmoked basins of something hot, which, however, to my dismay, sent forthan odour far from inviting. I saw a universal manifestation ofdiscontent when the fumes of the repast met the nostrils of thosedestined to swallow it; from the van of the procession, the tall girls ofthe first class, rose the whispered words--

"Disgusting! The porridge is burnt again!"

"Silence!" ejaculated a voice; not that of Miss Miller, but one of theupper teachers, a little and dark personage, smartly dressed, but ofsomewhat morose aspect, who installed herself at the top of one table, while a more buxom lady presided at the other. I looked in vain for herI had first seen the night before; she was not visible: Miss Milleroccupied the foot of the table where I sat, and a strange, foreign-looking, elderly lady, the French teacher, as I afterwards found, took the corresponding seat at the other board. A long grace was saidand a hymn sung; then a servant brought in some tea for the teachers, andthe meal began. 

Ravenous, and now very faint, I devoured a spoonful or two of my portionwithout thinking of its taste; but the first edge of hunger blunted, Iperceived I had got in hand a nauseous mess; burnt porridge is almost asbad as rotten potatoes; famine itself soon sickens over it. The spoonswere moved slowly: I saw each girl taste her food and try to swallow it;but in most cases the effort was soon relinquished. Breakfast was over, and none had breakfasted. Thanks being returned for what we had not got, and a second hymn chanted, the refectory was evacuated for theschoolroom. I was one of the last to go out, and in passing the tables, I saw one teacher take a basin of the porridge and taste it; she lookedat the others; all their countenances expressed displeasure, and one ofthem, the stout one, whispered--

"Abominable stuff! How shameful!"

A quarter of an hour passed before lessons again began, during which theschoolroom was in a glorious tumult; for that space of time it seemed tobe permitted to talk loud and more freely, and they used their privilege. The whole conversation ran on the breakfast, which one and all abusedroundly. Poor things! it was the sole consolation they had. Miss Millerwas now the only teacher in the room: a group of great girls standingabout her spoke with serious and sullen gestures. I heard the name ofMr. Brocklehurst pronounced by some lips; at which Miss Miller shook herhead disapprovingly; but she made no great effort to check the generalwrath; doubtless she shared in it. 

A clock in the schoolroom struck nine; Miss Miller left her circle, andstanding in the middle of the room, cried--

"Silence! To your seats!"

Discipline prevailed: in five minutes the confused throng was resolvedinto order, and comparative silence quelled the Babel clamour of tongues. The upper teachers now punctually resumed their posts: but still, allseemed to wait. Ranged on benches down the sides of the room, the eightygirls sat motionless and erect; a quaint assemblage they appeared, allwith plain locks combed from their faces, not a curl visible; in browndresses, made high and surrounded by a narrow tucker about the throat, with little pockets of holland (shaped something like a Highlander'spurse) tied in front of their frocks, and destined to serve the purposeof a work-bag: all, too, wearing woollen stockings and country-madeshoes, fastened with brass buckles. Above twenty of those clad in thiscostume were full-grown girls, or rather young women; it suited them ill, and gave an air of oddity even to the prettiest. 

I was still looking at them, and also at intervals examining theteachers--none of whom precisely pleased me; for the stout one was alittle coarse, the dark one not a little fierce, the foreigner harsh andgrotesque, and Miss Miller, poor thing! looked purple, weather-beaten, and over-worked--when, as my eye wandered from face to face, the wholeschool rose simultaneously, as if moved by a common spring. 

What was the matter? I had heard no order given: I was puzzled. Ere Ihad gathered my wits, the classes were again seated: but as all eyes werenow turned to one point, mine followed the general direction, andencountered the personage who had received me last night. She stood atthe bottom of the long room, on the hearth; for there was a fire at eachend; she surveyed the two rows of girls silently and gravely. MissMiller approaching, seemed to ask her a question, and having received heranswer, went back to her place, and said aloud--

"Monitor of the first class, fetch the globes!"

While the direction was being executed, the lady consulted moved slowlyup the room. I suppose I have a considerable organ of veneration, for Iretain yet the sense of admiring awe with which my eyes traced her steps. Seen now, in broad daylight, she looked tall, fair, and shapely; browneyes with a benignant light in their irids, and a fine pencilling of longlashes round, relieved the whiteness of her large front; on each of hertemples her hair, of a very dark brown, was clustered in round curls, according to the fashion of those times, when neither smooth bands norlong ringlets were in vogue; her dress, also in the mode of the day, wasof purple cloth, relieved by a sort of Spanish trimming of black velvet;a gold watch (watches were not so common then as now) shone at hergirdle. Let the reader add, to complete the picture, refined features; acomplexion, if pale, clear; and a stately air and carriage, and he willhave, at least, as clearly as words can give it, a correct idea of theexterior of Miss Temple--Maria Temple, as I afterwards saw the namewritten in a prayer-book intrusted to me to carry to church. 

The superintendent of Lowood (for such was this lady) having taken herseat before a pair of globes placed on one of the tables, summoned thefirst class round her, and commenced giving a lesson on geography; thelower classes were called by the teachers: repetitions in history, grammar, &c. , went on for an hour; writing and arithmetic succeeded, andmusic lessons were given by Miss Temple to some of the elder girls. Theduration of each lesson was measured by the clock, which at last strucktwelve. The superintendent rose--

"I have a word to address to the pupils, " said she. 

The tumult of cessation from lessons was already breaking forth, but itsank at her voice. She went on--

"You had this morning a breakfast which you could not eat; you must behungry:--I have ordered that a lunch of bread and cheese shall be servedto all. "

The teachers looked at her with a sort of surprise. 

"It is to be done on my responsibility, " she added, in an explanatorytone to them, and immediately afterwards left the room. 

The bread and cheese was presently brought in and distributed, to thehigh delight and refreshment of the whole school. The order was nowgiven "To the garden!" Each put on a coarse straw bonnet, with stringsof coloured calico, and a cloak of grey frieze. I was similarlyequipped, and, following the stream, I made my way into the open air. 

The garden was a wide inclosure, surrounded with walls so high as toexclude every glimpse of prospect; a covered verandah ran down one side, and broad walks bordered a middle space divided into scores of littlebeds: these beds were assigned as gardens for the pupils to cultivate, and each bed had an owner. When full of flowers they would doubtlesslook pretty; but now, at the latter end of January, all was wintry blightand brown decay. I shuddered as I stood and looked round me: it was aninclement day for outdoor exercise; not positively rainy, but darkened bya drizzling yellow fog; all under foot was still soaking wet with thefloods of yesterday. The stronger among the girls ran about and engagedin active games, but sundry pale and thin ones herded together forshelter and warmth in the verandah; and amongst these, as the dense mistpenetrated to their shivering frames, I heard frequently the sound of ahollow cough. 

As yet I had spoken to no one, nor did anybody seem to take notice of me;I stood lonely enough: but to that feeling of isolation I was accustomed;it did not oppress me much. I leant against a pillar of the verandah, drew my grey mantle close about me, and, trying to forget the cold whichnipped me without, and the unsatisfied hunger which gnawed me within, delivered myself up to the employment of watching and thinking. Myreflections were too undefined and fragmentary to merit record: I hardlyyet knew where I was; Gateshead and my past life seemed floated away toan immeasurable distance; the present was vague and strange, and of thefuture I could form no conjecture. I looked round the convent-likegarden, and then up at the house--a large building, half of which seemedgrey and old, the other half quite new. The new part, containing theschoolroom and dormitory, was lit by mullioned and latticed windows, which gave it a church-like aspect; a stone tablet over the door borethis inscription:--

"Lowood Institution. --This portion was rebuilt A. D. ---, by NaomiBrocklehurst, of Brocklehurst Hall, in this county. " "Let your light soshine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify yourFather which is in heaven. "--St. Matt. V. 16. 

I read these words over and over again: I felt that an explanationbelonged to them, and was unable fully to penetrate their import. I wasstill pondering the signification of "Institution, " and endeavouring tomake out a connection between the first words and the verse of Scripture, when the sound of a cough close behind me made me turn my head. I saw agirl sitting on a stone bench near; she was bent over a book, on theperusal of which she seemed intent: from where I stood I could see thetitle--it was "Rasselas;" a name that struck me as strange, andconsequently attractive. In turning a leaf she happened to look up, andI said to her directly--

"Is your book interesting?" I had already formed the intention of askingher to lend it to me some day. 

"I like it, " she answered, after a pause of a second or two, during whichshe examined me. 

"What is it about?" I continued. I hardly know where I found thehardihood thus to open a conversation with a stranger; the step wascontrary to my nature and habits: but I think her occupation touched achord of sympathy somewhere; for I too liked reading, though of afrivolous and childish kind; I could not digest or comprehend the seriousor substantial. 

"You may look at it, " replied the girl, offering me the book. 

I did so; a brief examination convinced me that the contents were lesstaking than the title: "Rasselas" looked dull to my trifling taste; I sawnothing about fairies, nothing about genii; no bright variety seemedspread over the closely-printed pages. I returned it to her; shereceived it quietly, and without saying anything she was about to relapseinto her former studious mood: again I ventured to disturb her--

"Can you tell me what the writing on that stone over the door means? Whatis Lowood Institution?"

"This house where you are come to live. "

"And why do they call it Institution? Is it in any way different fromother schools?"

"It is partly a charity-school: you and I, and all the rest of us, arecharity-children. I suppose you are an orphan: are not either yourfather or your mother dead?"

"Both died before I can remember. "

"Well, all the girls here have lost either one or both parents, and thisis called an institution for educating orphans. "

"Do we pay no money? Do they keep us for nothing?"

"We pay, or our friends pay, fifteen pounds a year for each. "

"Then why do they call us charity-children?"

"Because fifteen pounds is not enough for board and teaching, and thedeficiency is supplied by subscription. "

"Who subscribes?"

"Different benevolent-minded ladies and gentlemen in this neighbourhoodand in London. "

"Who was Naomi Brocklehurst?"

"The lady who built the new part of this house as that tablet records, and whose son overlooks and directs everything here. "

"Why?"

"Because he is treasurer and manager of the establishment. "

"Then this house does not belong to that tall lady who wears a watch, andwho said we were to have some bread and cheese?"

"To Miss Temple? Oh, no! I wish it did: she has to answer to Mr. Brocklehurst for all she does. Mr. Brocklehurst buys all our food andall our clothes. "

"Does he live here?"

"No--two miles off, at a large hall. "

"Is he a good man?"

"He is a clergyman, and is said to do a great deal of good. "

"Did you say that tall lady was called Miss Temple?"

"Yes. "

"And what are the other teachers called?"

"The one with red cheeks is called Miss Smith; she attends to the work, and cuts out--for we make our own clothes, our frocks, and pelisses, andeverything; the little one with black hair is Miss Scatcherd; she teacheshistory and grammar, and hears the second class repetitions; and the onewho wears a shawl, and has a pocket-handkerchief tied to her side with ayellow ribband, is Madame Pierrot: she comes from Lisle, in France, andteaches French. "

"Do you like the teachers?"

"Well enough. "

"Do you like the little black one, and the Madame ---?--I cannotpronounce her name as you do. "

"Miss Scatcherd is hasty--you must take care not to offend her; MadamePierrot is not a bad sort of person. "

"But Miss Temple is the best--isn't she?"

"Miss Temple is very good and very clever; she is above the rest, becauseshe knows far more than they do. "

"Have you been long here?"

"Two years. "

"Are you an orphan?"

"My mother is dead. "

"Are you happy here?"

"You ask rather too many questions. I have given you answers enough forthe present: now I want to read. "

But at that moment the summons sounded for dinner; all re-entered thehouse. The odour which now filled the refectory was scarcely moreappetising than that which had regaled our nostrils at breakfast: thedinner was served in two huge tin-plated vessels, whence rose a strongsteam redolent of rancid fat. I found the mess to consist of indifferentpotatoes and strange shreds of rusty meat, mixed and cooked together. Ofthis preparation a tolerably abundant plateful was apportioned to eachpupil. I ate what I could, and wondered within myself whether everyday's fare would be like this. 

After dinner, we immediately adjourned to the schoolroom: lessonsrecommenced, and were continued till five o'clock. 

The only marked event of the afternoon was, that I saw the girl with whomI had conversed in the verandah dismissed in disgrace by Miss Scatcherdfrom a history class, and sent to stand in the middle of the largeschoolroom. The punishment seemed to me in a high degree ignominious, especially for so great a girl--she looked thirteen or upwards. Iexpected she would show signs of great distress and shame; but to mysurprise she neither wept nor blushed: composed, though grave, she stood, the central mark of all eyes. "How can she bear it so quietly--sofirmly?" I asked of myself. "Were I in her place, it seems to me Ishould wish the earth to open and swallow me up. She looks as if shewere thinking of something beyond her punishment--beyond her situation:of something not round her nor before her. I have heard of day-dreams--isshe in a day-dream now? Her eyes are fixed on the floor, but I am surethey do not see it--her sight seems turned in, gone down into her heart:she is looking at what she can remember, I believe; not at what is reallypresent. I wonder what sort of a girl she is--whether good or naughty. "

Soon after five p. M. We had another meal, consisting of a small mug ofcoffee, and half-a-slice of brown bread. I devoured my bread and drankmy coffee with relish; but I should have been glad of as much more--I wasstill hungry. Half-an-hour's recreation succeeded, then study; then theglass of water and the piece of oat-cake, prayers, and bed. Such was myfirst day at Lowood. 

CHAPTER VI

The next day commenced as before, getting up and dressing by rushlight;but this morning we were obliged to dispense with the ceremony ofwashing; the water in the pitchers was frozen. A change had taken placein the weather the preceding evening, and a keen north-east wind, whistling through the crevices of our bedroom windows all night long, hadmade us shiver in our beds, and turned the contents of the ewers to ice. 

Before the long hour and a half of prayers and Bible-reading was over, Ifelt ready to perish with cold. Breakfast-time came at last, and thismorning the porridge was not burnt; the quality was eatable, the quantitysmall. How small my portion seemed! I wished it had been doubled. 

In the course of the day I was enrolled a member of the fourth class, andregular tasks and occupations were assigned me: hitherto, I had only beena spectator of the proceedings at Lowood; I was now to become an actortherein. At first, being little accustomed to learn by heart, thelessons appeared to me both long and difficult; the frequent change fromtask to task, too, bewildered me; and I was glad when, about threeo'clock in the afternoon, Miss Smith put into my hands a border of muslintwo yards long, together with needle, thimble, &c. , and sent me to sit ina quiet corner of the schoolroom, with directions to hem the same. Atthat hour most of the others were sewing likewise; but one class stillstood round Miss Scatcherd's chair reading, and as all was quiet, thesubject of their lessons could be heard, together with the manner inwhich each girl acquitted herself, and the animadversions orcommendations of Miss Scatcherd on the performance. It was Englishhistory: among the readers I observed my acquaintance of the verandah: atthe commencement of the lesson, her place had been at the top of theclass, but for some error of pronunciation, or some inattention to stops, she was suddenly sent to the very bottom. Even in that obscure position, Miss Scatcherd continued to make her an object of constant notice: shewas continually addressing to her such phrases as the following:--

"Burns" (such it seems was her name: the girls here were all called bytheir surnames, as boys are elsewhere), "Burns, you are standing on theside of your shoe; turn your toes out immediately. " "Burns, you pokeyour chin most unpleasantly; draw it in. " "Burns, I insist on yourholding your head up; I will not have you before me in that attitude, "&c. &c. 

A chapter having been read through twice, the books were closed and thegirls examined. The lesson had comprised part of the reign of CharlesI. , and there were sundry questions about tonnage and poundage and ship-money, which most of them appeared unable to answer; still, every littledifficulty was solved instantly when it reached Burns: her memory seemedto have retained the substance of the whole lesson, and she was readywith answers on every point. I kept expecting that Miss Scatcherd wouldpraise her attention; but, instead of that, she suddenly cried out--

"You dirty, disagreeable girl! you have never cleaned your nails thismorning!"

Burns made no answer: I wondered at her silence. "Why, " thought I, "doesshe not explain that she could neither clean her nails nor wash her face, as the water was frozen?"

My attention was now called off by Miss Smith desiring me to hold a skeinof thread: while she was winding it, she talked to me from time to time, asking whether I had ever been at school before, whether I could mark, stitch, knit, &c. ; till she dismissed me, I could not pursue myobservations on Miss Scatcherd's movements. When I returned to my seat, that lady was just delivering an order of which I did not catch theimport; but Burns immediately left the class, and going into the smallinner room where the books were kept, returned in half a minute, carryingin her hand a bundle of twigs tied together at one end. This ominoustool she presented to Miss Scatcherd with a respectful curtesy; then shequietly, and without being told, unloosed her pinafore, and the teacherinstantly and sharply inflicted on her neck a dozen strokes with thebunch of twigs. Not a tear rose to Burns' eye; and, while I paused frommy sewing, because my fingers quivered at this spectacle with a sentimentof unavailing and impotent anger, not a feature of her pensive facealtered its ordinary expression. 

"Hardened girl!" exclaimed Miss Scatcherd; "nothing can correct you ofyour slatternly habits: carry the rod away. "

Burns obeyed: I looked at her narrowly as she emerged from thebook-closet; she was just putting back her handkerchief into her pocket, and the trace of a tear glistened on her thin cheek. 

The play-hour in the evening I thought the pleasantest fraction of theday at Lowood: the bit of bread, the draught of coffee swallowed at fiveo'clock had revived vitality, if it had not satisfied hunger: the longrestraint of the day was slackened; the schoolroom felt warmer than inthe morning--its fires being allowed to burn a little more brightly, tosupply, in some measure, the place of candles, not yet introduced: theruddy gloaming, the licensed uproar, the confusion of many voices gaveone a welcome sense of liberty. 

On the evening of the day on which I had seen Miss Scatcherd flog herpupil, Burns, I wandered as usual among the forms and tables and laughinggroups without a companion, yet not feeling lonely: when I passed thewindows, I now and then lifted a blind, and looked out; it snowed fast, adrift was already forming against the lower panes; putting my ear closeto the window, I could distinguish from the gleeful tumult within, thedisconsolate moan of the wind outside. 

Probably, if I had lately left a good home and kind parents, this wouldhave been the hour when I should most keenly have regretted theseparation; that wind would then have saddened my heart; this obscurechaos would have disturbed my peace! as it was, I derived from both astrange excitement, and reckless and feverish, I wished the wind to howlmore wildly, the gloom to deepen to darkness, and the confusion to riseto clamour. 

Jumping over forms, and creeping under tables, I made my way to one ofthe fire-places; there, kneeling by the high wire fender, I found Burns, absorbed, silent, abstracted from all round her by the companionship of abook, which she read by the dim glare of the embers. 

"Is it still 'Rasselas'?" I asked, coming behind her. 

"Yes, " she said, "and I have just finished it. "

And in five minutes more she shut it up. I was glad of this. "Now, "thought I, "I can perhaps get her to talk. " I sat down by her on thefloor. 

"What is your name besides Burns?"

"Helen. "

"Do you come a long way from here?"

"I come from a place farther north, quite on the borders of Scotland. "

"Will you ever go back?"

"I hope so; but nobody can be sure of the future. "

"You must wish to leave Lowood?"

"No! why should I? I was sent to Lowood to get an education; and itwould be of no use going away until I have attained that object. "

"But that teacher, Miss Scatcherd, is so cruel to you?"

"Cruel? Not at all! She is severe: she dislikes my faults. "

"And if I were in your place I should dislike her; I should resist her. If she struck me with that rod, I should get it from her hand; I shouldbreak it under her nose. "

"Probably you would do nothing of the sort: but if you did, Mr. Brocklehurst would expel you from the school; that would be a great griefto your relations. It is far better to endure patiently a smart whichnobody feels but yourself, than to commit a hasty action whose evilconsequences will extend to all connected with you; and besides, theBible bids us return good for evil. "

"But then it seems disgraceful to be flogged, and to be sent to stand inthe middle of a room full of people; and you are such a great girl: I amfar younger than you, and I could not bear it. "

"Yet it would be your duty to bear it, if you could not avoid it: it isweak and silly to say you _cannot bear_ what it is your fate to berequired to bear. "

I heard her with wonder: I could not comprehend this doctrine ofendurance; and still less could I understand or sympathise with theforbearance she expressed for her chastiser. Still I felt that HelenBurns considered things by a light invisible to my eyes. I suspected shemight be right and I wrong; but I would not ponder the matter deeply;like Felix, I put it off to a more convenient season. 

"You say you have faults, Helen: what are they? To me you seem verygood. "

"Then learn from me, not to judge by appearances: I am, as Miss Scatcherdsaid, slatternly; I seldom put, and never keep, things, in order; I amcareless; I forget rules; I read when I should learn my lessons; I haveno method; and sometimes I say, like you, I cannot _bear_ to be subjectedto systematic arrangements. This is all very provoking to MissScatcherd, who is naturally neat, punctual, and particular. "

"And cross and cruel, " I added; but Helen Burns would not admit myaddition: she kept silence. 

"Is Miss Temple as severe to you as Miss Scatcherd?"

At the utterance of Miss Temple's name, a soft smile flitted over hergrave face. 

"Miss Temple is full of goodness; it pains her to be severe to any one, even the worst in the school: she sees my errors, and tells me of themgently; and, if I do anything worthy of praise, she gives me my meedliberally. One strong proof of my wretchedly defective nature is, thateven her expostulations, so mild, so rational, have not influence to cureme of my faults; and even her praise, though I value it most highly, cannot stimulate me to continued care and foresight. "

"That is curious, " said I, "it is so easy to be careful. "

"For _you_ I have no doubt it is. I observed you in your class thismorning, and saw you were closely attentive: your thoughts never seemedto wander while Miss Miller explained the lesson and questioned you. Now, mine continually rove away; when I should be listening to Miss Scatcherd, and collecting all she says with assiduity, often I lose the very soundof her voice; I fall into a sort of dream. Sometimes I think I am inNorthumberland, and that the noises I hear round me are the bubbling of alittle brook which runs through Deepden, near our house;--then, when itcomes to my turn to reply, I have to be awakened; and having heardnothing of what was read for listening to the visionary brook, I have noanswer ready. "

"Yet how well you replied this afternoon. "

"It was mere chance; the subject on which we had been reading hadinterested me. This afternoon, instead of dreaming of Deepden, I waswondering how a man who wished to do right could act so unjustly andunwisely as Charles the First sometimes did; and I thought what a pity itwas that, with his integrity and conscientiousness, he could see nofarther than the prerogatives of the crown. If he had but been able tolook to a distance, and see how what they call the spirit of the age wastending! Still, I like Charles--I respect him--I pity him, poor murderedking! Yes, his enemies were the worst: they shed blood they had no rightto shed. How dared they kill him!"

Helen was talking to herself now: she had forgotten I could not very wellunderstand her--that I was ignorant, or nearly so, of the subject shediscussed. I recalled her to my level. 

"And when Miss Temple teaches you, do your thoughts wander then?"

"No, certainly, not often; because Miss Temple has generally something tosay which is newer than my own reflections; her language is singularlyagreeable to me, and the information she communicates is often just whatI wished to gain. "

"Well, then, with Miss Temple you are good?"

"Yes, in a passive way: I make no effort; I follow as inclination guidesme. There is no merit in such goodness. "

"A great deal: you are good to those who are good to you. It is all Iever desire to be. If people were always kind and obedient to those whoare cruel and unjust, the wicked people would have it all their own way:they would never feel afraid, and so they would never alter, but wouldgrow worse and worse. When we are struck at without a reason, we shouldstrike back again very hard; I am sure we should--so hard as to teach theperson who struck us never to do it again. "

"You will change your mind, I hope, when you grow older: as yet you arebut a little untaught girl. "

"But I feel this, Helen; I must dislike those who, whatever I do toplease them, persist in disliking me; I must resist those who punish meunjustly. It is as natural as that I should love those who show meaffection, or submit to punishment when I feel it is deserved. "

"Heathens and savage tribes hold that doctrine, but Christians andcivilised nations disown it. "

"How? I don't understand. "

"It is not violence that best overcomes hate--nor vengeance that mostcertainly heals injury. "

"What then?"

"Read the New Testament, and observe what Christ says, and how He acts;make His word your rule, and His conduct your example. "

"What does He say?"

"Love your enemies; bless them that curse you; do good to them that hateyou and despitefully use you. "

"Then I should love Mrs. Reed, which I cannot do; I should bless her sonJohn, which is impossible. "

In her turn, Helen Burns asked me to explain, and I proceeded forthwithto pour out, in my own way, the tale of my sufferings and resentments. Bitter and truculent when excited, I spoke as I felt, without reserve orsoftening. 

Helen heard me patiently to the end: I expected she would then make aremark, but she said nothing. 

"Well, " I asked impatiently, "is not Mrs. Reed a hard-hearted, badwoman?"

"She has been unkind to you, no doubt; because you see, she dislikes yourcast of character, as Miss Scatcherd does mine; but how minutely youremember all she has done and said to you! What a singularly deepimpression her injustice seems to have made on your heart! No ill-usageso brands its record on my feelings. Would you not be happier if youtried to forget her severity, together with the passionate emotions itexcited? Life appears to me too short to be spent in nursing animosityor registering wrongs. We are, and must be, one and all, burdened withfaults in this world: but the time will soon come when, I trust, we shallput them off in putting off our corruptible bodies; when debasement andsin will fall from us with this cumbrous frame of flesh, and only thespark of the spirit will remain, --the impalpable principle of light andthought, pure as when it left the Creator to inspire the creature: whenceit came it will return; perhaps again to be communicated to some beinghigher than man--perhaps to pass through gradations of glory, from thepale human soul to brighten to the seraph! Surely it will never, on thecontrary, be suffered to degenerate from man to fiend? No; I cannotbelieve that: I hold another creed: which no one ever taught me, andwhich I seldom mention; but in which I delight, and to which I cling: forit extends hope to all: it makes Eternity a rest--a mighty home, not aterror and an abyss. Besides, with this creed, I can so clearlydistinguish between the criminal and his crime; I can so sincerelyforgive the first while I abhor the last: with this creed revenge neverworries my heart, degradation never too deeply disgusts me, injusticenever crushes me too low: I live in calm, looking to the end. "

Helen's head, always drooping, sank a little lower as she finished thissentence. I saw by her look she wished no longer to talk to me, butrather to converse with her own thoughts. She was not allowed much timefor meditation: a monitor, a great rough girl, presently came up, exclaiming in a strong Cumberland accent--

"Helen Burns, if you don't go and put your drawer in order, and fold upyour work this minute, I'll tell Miss Scatcherd to come and look at it!"

Helen sighed as her reverie fled, and getting up, obeyed the monitorwithout reply as without delay. 

CHAPTER VII

My first quarter at Lowood seemed an age; and not the golden age either;it comprised an irksome struggle with difficulties in habituating myselfto new rules and unwonted tasks. The fear of failure in these pointsharassed me worse than the physical hardships of my lot; though thesewere no trifles. 

During January, February, and part of March, the deep snows, and, aftertheir melting, the almost impassable roads, prevented our stirring beyondthe garden walls, except to go to church; but within these limits we hadto pass an hour every day in the open air. Our clothing was insufficientto protect us from the severe cold: we had no boots, the snow got intoour shoes and melted there: our ungloved hands became numbed and coveredwith chilblains, as were our feet: I remember well the distractingirritation I endured from this cause every evening, when my feetinflamed; and the torture of thrusting the swelled, raw, and stiff toesinto my shoes in the morning. Then the scanty supply of food wasdistressing: with the keen appetites of growing children, we had scarcelysufficient to keep alive a delicate invalid. From this deficiency ofnourishment resulted an abuse, which pressed hardly on the youngerpupils: whenever the famished great girls had an opportunity, they wouldcoax or menace the little ones out of their portion. Many a time I haveshared between two claimants the precious morsel of brown breaddistributed at tea-time; and after relinquishing to a third half thecontents of my mug of coffee, I have swallowed the remainder with anaccompaniment of secret tears, forced from me by the exigency of hunger. 

Sundays were dreary days in that wintry season. We had to walk two milesto Brocklebridge Church, where our patron officiated. We set out cold, we arrived at church colder: during the morning service we became almostparalysed. It was too far to return to dinner, and an allowance of coldmeat and bread, in the same penurious proportion observed in our ordinarymeals, was served round between the services. 

At the close of the afternoon service we returned by an exposed and hillyroad, where the bitter winter wind, blowing over a range of snowy summitsto the north, almost flayed the skin from our faces. 

I can remember Miss Temple walking lightly and rapidly along our droopingline, her plaid cloak, which the frosty wind fluttered, gathered closeabout her, and encouraging us, by precept and example, to keep up ourspirits, and march forward, as she said, "like stalwart soldiers. " Theother teachers, poor things, were generally themselves too much dejectedto attempt the task of cheering others. 

How we longed for the light and heat of a blazing fire when we got back!But, to the little ones at least, this was denied: each hearth in theschoolroom was immediately surrounded by a double row of great girls, andbehind them the younger children crouched in groups, wrapping theirstarved arms in their pinafores. 

A little solace came at tea-time, in the shape of a double ration ofbread--a whole, instead of a half, slice--with the delicious addition ofa thin scrape of butter: it was the hebdomadal treat to which we alllooked forward from Sabbath to Sabbath. I generally contrived to reservea moiety of this bounteous repast for myself; but the remainder I wasinvariably obliged to part with. 

The Sunday evening was spent in repeating, by heart, the ChurchCatechism, and the fifth, sixth, and seventh chapters of St. Matthew; andin listening to a long sermon, read by Miss Miller, whose irrepressibleyawns attested her weariness. A frequent interlude of these performanceswas the enactment of the part of Eutychus by some half-dozen of littlegirls, who, overpowered with sleep, would fall down, if not out of thethird loft, yet off the fourth form, and be taken up half dead. Theremedy was, to thrust them forward into the centre of the schoolroom, andoblige them to stand there till the sermon was finished. Sometimes theirfeet failed them, and they sank together in a heap; they were thenpropped up with the monitors' high stools. 

I have not yet alluded to the visits of Mr. Brocklehurst; and indeed thatgentleman was from home during the greater part of the first month aftermy arrival; perhaps prolonging his stay with his friend the archdeacon:his absence was a relief to me. I need not say that I had my own reasonsfor dreading his coming: but come he did at last. 

One afternoon (I had then been three weeks at Lowood), as I was sittingwith a slate in my hand, puzzling over a sum in long division, my eyes, raised in abstraction to the window, caught sight of a figure justpassing: I recognised almost instinctively that gaunt outline; and when, two minutes after, all the school, teachers included, rose _en masse_, itwas not necessary for me to look up in order to ascertain whose entrancethey thus greeted. A long stride measured the schoolroom, and presentlybeside Miss Temple, who herself had risen, stood the same black columnwhich had frowned on me so ominously from the hearthrug of Gateshead. Inow glanced sideways at this piece of architecture. Yes, I was right: itwas Mr. Brocklehurst, buttoned up in a surtout, and looking longer, narrower, and more rigid than ever. 

I had my own reasons for being dismayed at this apparition; too well Iremembered the perfidious hints given by Mrs. Reed about my disposition, &c. ; the promise pledged by Mr. Brocklehurst to apprise Miss Temple andthe teachers of my vicious nature. All along I had been dreading thefulfilment of this promise, --I had been looking out daily for the "ComingMan, " whose information respecting my past life and conversation was tobrand me as a bad child for ever: now there he was. 

He stood at Miss Temple's side; he was speaking low in her ear: I did notdoubt he was making disclosures of my villainy; and I watched her eyewith painful anxiety, expecting every moment to see its dark orb turn onme a glance of repugnance and contempt. I listened too; and as Ihappened to be seated quite at the top of the room, I caught most of whathe said: its import relieved me from immediate apprehension. 

"I suppose, Miss Temple, the thread I bought at Lowton will do; it struckme that it would be just of the quality for the calico chemises, and Isorted the needles to match. You may tell Miss Smith that I forgot tomake a memorandum of the darning needles, but she shall have some paperssent in next week; and she is not, on any account, to give out more thanone at a time to each pupil: if they have more, they are apt to becareless and lose them. And, O ma'am! I wish the woollen stockings werebetter looked to!--when I was here last, I went into the kitchen-gardenand examined the clothes drying on the line; there was a quantity ofblack hose in a very bad state of repair: from the size of the holes inthem I was sure they had not been well mended from time to time. "

He paused. 

"Your directions shall be attended to, sir, " said Miss Temple. 

"And, ma'am, " he continued, "the laundress tells me some of the girlshave two clean tuckers in the week: it is too much; the rules limit themto one. "

"I think I can explain that circumstance, sir. Agnes and CatherineJohnstone were invited to take tea with some friends at Lowton lastThursday, and I gave them leave to put on clean tuckers for theoccasion. "

Mr. Brocklehurst nodded. 

"Well, for once it may pass; but please not to let the circumstance occurtoo often. And there is another thing which surprised me; I find, insettling accounts with the housekeeper, that a lunch, consisting of breadand cheese, has twice been served out to the girls during the pastfortnight. How is this? I looked over the regulations, and I find nosuch meal as lunch mentioned. Who introduced this innovation? and bywhat authority?"

"I must be responsible for the circumstance, sir, " replied Miss Temple:"the breakfast was so ill prepared that the pupils could not possibly eatit; and I dared not allow them to remain fasting till dinner-time. "

"Madam, allow me an instant. You are aware that my plan in bringing upthese girls is, not to accustom them to habits of luxury and indulgence, but to render them hardy, patient, self-denying. Should any littleaccidental disappointment of the appetite occur, such as the spoiling ofa meal, the under or the over dressing of a dish, the incident ought notto be neutralised by replacing with something more delicate the comfortlost, thus pampering the body and obviating the aim of this institution;it ought to be improved to the spiritual edification of the pupils, byencouraging them to evince fortitude under temporary privation. A briefaddress on those occasions would not be mistimed, wherein a judiciousinstructor would take the opportunity of referring to the sufferings ofthe primitive Christians; to the torments of martyrs; to the exhortationsof our blessed Lord Himself, calling upon His disciples to take up theircross and follow Him; to His warnings that man shall not live by breadalone, but by every word that proceedeth out of the mouth of God; to Hisdivine consolations, "If ye suffer hunger or thirst for My sake, happyare ye. " Oh, madam, when you put bread and cheese, instead of burntporridge, into these children's mouths, you may indeed feed their vilebodies, but you little think how you starve their immortal souls!"

Mr. Brocklehurst again paused--perhaps overcome by his feelings. MissTemple had looked down when he first began to speak to her; but she nowgazed straight before her, and her face, naturally pale as marble, appeared to be assuming also the coldness and fixity of that material;especially her mouth, closed as if it would have required a sculptor'schisel to open it, and her brow settled gradually into petrifiedseverity. 

Meantime, Mr. Brocklehurst, standing on the hearth with his hands behindhis back, majestically surveyed the whole school. Suddenly his eye gavea blink, as if it had met something that either dazzled or shocked itspupil; turning, he said in more rapid accents than he had hitherto used--

"Miss Temple, Miss Temple, what--_what_ is that girl with curled hair?Red hair, ma'am, curled--curled all over?" And extending his cane hepointed to the awful object, his hand shaking as he did so. 

"It is Julia Severn, " replied Miss Temple, very quietly. 

"Julia Severn, ma'am! And why has she, or any other, curled hair? Why, in defiance of every precept and principle of this house, does sheconform to the world so openly--here in an evangelical, charitableestablishment--as to wear her hair one mass of curls?"

"Julia's hair curls naturally, " returned Miss Temple, still more quietly. 

"Naturally! Yes, but we are not to conform to nature; I wish these girlsto be the children of Grace: and why that abundance? I have again andagain intimated that I desire the hair to be arranged closely, modestly, plainly. Miss Temple, that girl's hair must be cut off entirely; I willsend a barber to-morrow: and I see others who have far too much of theexcrescence--that tall girl, tell her to turn round. Tell all the firstform to rise up and direct their faces to the wall. "

Miss Temple passed her handkerchief over her lips, as if to smooth awaythe involuntary smile that curled them; she gave the order, however, andwhen the first class could take in what was required of them, theyobeyed. Leaning a little back on my bench, I could see the looks andgrimaces with which they commented on this manoeuvre: it was a pity Mr. Brocklehurst could not see them too; he would perhaps have felt that, whatever he might do with the outside of the cup and platter, the insidewas further beyond his interference than he imagined. 

He scrutinised the reverse of these living medals some five minutes, thenpronounced sentence. These words fell like the knell of doom--

"All those top-knots must be cut off. "

Miss Temple seemed to remonstrate. 

"Madam, " he pursued, "I have a Master to serve whose kingdom is not ofthis world: my mission is to mortify in these girls the lusts of theflesh; to teach them to clothe themselves with shame-facedness andsobriety, not with braided hair and costly apparel; and each of the youngpersons before us has a string of hair twisted in plaits which vanityitself might have woven; these, I repeat, must be cut off; think of thetime wasted, of--"

Mr. Brocklehurst was here interrupted: three other visitors, ladies, nowentered the room. They ought to have come a little sooner to have heardhis lecture on dress, for they were splendidly attired in velvet, silk, and furs. The two younger of the trio (fine girls of sixteen andseventeen) had grey beaver hats, then in fashion, shaded with ostrichplumes, and from under the brim of this graceful head-dress fell aprofusion of light tresses, elaborately curled; the elder lady wasenveloped in a costly velvet shawl, trimmed with ermine, and she wore afalse front of French curls. 

These ladies were deferentially received by Miss Temple, as Mrs. And theMisses Brocklehurst, and conducted to seats of honour at the top of theroom. It seems they had come in the carriage with their reverendrelative, and had been conducting a rummaging scrutiny of the roomupstairs, while he transacted business with the housekeeper, questionedthe laundress, and lectured the superintendent. They now proceeded toaddress divers remarks and reproofs to Miss Smith, who was charged withthe care of the linen and the inspection of the dormitories: but I had notime to listen to what they said; other matters called off and enchantedmy attention. 

Hitherto, while gathering up the discourse of Mr. Brocklehurst and MissTemple, I had not, at the same time, neglected precautions to secure mypersonal safety; which I thought would be effected, if I could only eludeobservation. To this end, I had sat well back on the form, and whileseeming to be busy with my sum, had held my slate in such a manner as toconceal my face: I might have escaped notice, had not my treacherousslate somehow happened to slip from my hand, and falling with anobtrusive crash, directly drawn every eye upon me; I knew it was all overnow, and, as I stooped to pick up the two fragments of slate, I ralliedmy forces for the worst. It came. 

"A careless girl!" said Mr. Brocklehurst, and immediately after--"It isthe new pupil, I perceive. " And before I could draw breath, "I must notforget I have a word to say respecting her. " Then aloud: how loud itseemed to me! "Let the child who broke her slate come forward!"

Of my own accord I could not have stirred; I was paralysed: but the twogreat girls who sit on each side of me, set me on my legs and pushed metowards the dread judge, and then Miss Temple gently assisted me to hisvery feet, and I caught her whispered counsel--

"Don't be afraid, Jane, I saw it was an accident; you shall not bepunished. "

The kind whisper went to my heart like a dagger. 

"Another minute, and she will despise me for a hypocrite, " thought I; andan impulse of fury against Reed, Brocklehurst, and Co. Bounded in mypulses at the conviction. I was no Helen Burns. 

"Fetch that stool, " said Mr. Brocklehurst, pointing to a very high onefrom which a monitor had just risen: it was brought. 

"Place the child upon it. "

And I was placed there, by whom I don't know: I was in no condition tonote particulars; I was only aware that they had hoisted me up to theheight of Mr. Brocklehurst's nose, that he was within a yard of me, andthat a spread of shot orange and purple silk pelisses and a cloud ofsilvery plumage extended and waved below me. 

Mr. Brocklehurst hemmed. 

"Ladies, " said he, turning to his family, "Miss Temple, teachers, andchildren, you all see this girl?"

Of course they did; for I felt their eyes directed like burning-glassesagainst my scorched skin. 

"You see she is yet young; you observe she possesses the ordinary form ofchildhood; God has graciously given her the shape that He has given toall of us; no signal deformity points her out as a marked character. Whowould think that the Evil One had already found a servant and agent inher? Yet such, I grieve to say, is the case. "

A pause--in which I began to steady the palsy of my nerves, and to feelthat the Rubicon was passed; and that the trial, no longer to be shirked, must be firmly sustained. 

"My dear children, " pursued the black marble clergyman, with pathos, "this is a sad, a melancholy occasion; for it becomes my duty to warnyou, that this girl, who might be one of God's own lambs, is a littlecastaway: not a member of the true flock, but evidently an interloper andan alien. You must be on your guard against her; you must shun herexample; if necessary, avoid her company, exclude her from your sports, and shut her out from your converse. Teachers, you must watch her: keepyour eyes on her movements, weigh well her words, scrutinise her actions, punish her body to save her soul: if, indeed, such salvation be possible, for (my tongue falters while I tell it) this girl, this child, the nativeof a Christian land, worse than many a little heathen who says itsprayers to Brahma and kneels before Juggernaut--this girl is--a liar!"

Now came a pause of ten minutes, during which I, by this time in perfectpossession of my wits, observed all the female Brocklehursts producetheir pocket-handkerchiefs and apply them to their optics, while theelderly lady swayed herself to and fro, and the two younger oneswhispered, "How shocking!" Mr. Brocklehurst resumed. 

"This I learned from her benefactress; from the pious and charitable ladywho adopted her in her orphan state, reared her as her own daughter, andwhose kindness, whose generosity the unhappy girl repaid by aningratitude so bad, so dreadful, that at last her excellent patroness wasobliged to separate her from her own young ones, fearful lest her viciousexample should contaminate their purity: she has sent her here to behealed, even as the Jews of old sent their diseased to the troubled poolof Bethesda; and, teachers, superintendent, I beg of you not to allow thewaters to stagnate round her. "

With this sublime conclusion, Mr. Brocklehurst adjusted the top button ofhis surtout, muttered something to his family, who rose, bowed to MissTemple, and then all the great people sailed in state from the room. Turning at the door, my judge said--

"Let her stand half-an-hour longer on that stool, and let no one speak toher during the remainder of the day. "

There was I, then, mounted aloft; I, who had said I could not bear theshame of standing on my natural feet in the middle of the room, was nowexposed to general view on a pedestal of infamy. What my sensations wereno language can describe; but just as they all rose, stifling my breathand constricting my throat, a girl came up and passed me: in passing, shelifted her eyes. What a strange light inspired them! What anextraordinary sensation that ray sent through me! How the new feelingbore me up! It was as if a martyr, a hero, had passed a slave or victim, and imparted strength in the transit. I mastered the rising hysteria, lifted up my head, and took a firm stand on the stool. Helen Burns askedsome slight question about her work of Miss Smith, was chidden for thetriviality of the inquiry, returned to her place, and smiled at me as sheagain went by. What a smile! I remember it now, and I know that it wasthe effluence of fine intellect, of true courage; it lit up her markedlineaments, her thin face, her sunken grey eye, like a reflection fromthe aspect of an angel. Yet at that moment Helen Burns wore on her arm"the untidy badge;" scarcely an hour ago I had heard her condemned byMiss Scatcherd to a dinner of bread and water on the morrow because shehad blotted an exercise in copying it out. Such is the imperfect natureof man! such spots are there on the disc of the clearest planet; and eyeslike Miss Scatcherd's can only see those minute defects, and are blind tothe full brightness of the orb. 

CHAPTER VIII

Ere the half-hour ended, five o'clock struck; school was dismissed, andall were gone into the refectory to tea. I now ventured to descend: itwas deep dusk; I retired into a corner and sat down on the floor. Thespell by which I had been so far supported began to dissolve; reactiontook place, and soon, so overwhelming was the grief that seized me, Isank prostrate with my face to the ground. Now I wept: Helen Burns wasnot here; nothing sustained me; left to myself I abandoned myself, and mytears watered the boards. I had meant to be so good, and to do so muchat Lowood: to make so many friends, to earn respect and win affection. Already I had made visible progress: that very morning I had reached thehead of my class; Miss Miller had praised me warmly; Miss Temple hadsmiled approbation; she had promised to teach me drawing, and to let melearn French, if I continued to make similar improvement two monthslonger: and then I was well received by my fellow-pupils; treated as anequal by those of my own age, and not molested by any; now, here I layagain crushed and trodden on; and could I ever rise more?

"Never, " I thought; and ardently I wished to die. While sobbing out thiswish in broken accents, some one approached: I started up--again HelenBurns was near me; the fading fires just showed her coming up the long, vacant room; she brought my coffee and bread. 

"Come, eat something, " she said; but I put both away from me, feeling asif a drop or a crumb would have choked me in my present condition. Helenregarded me, probably with surprise: I could not now abate my agitation, though I tried hard; I continued to weep aloud. She sat down on theground near me, embraced her knees with her arms, and rested her headupon them; in that attitude she remained silent as an Indian. I was thefirst who spoke--

"Helen, why do you stay with a girl whom everybody believes to be aliar?"

"Everybody, Jane? Why, there are only eighty people who have heard youcalled so, and the world contains hundreds of millions. "

"But what have I to do with millions? The eighty, I know, despise me. "

"Jane, you are mistaken: probably not one in the school either despisesor dislikes you: many, I am sure, pity you much. "

"How can they pity me after what Mr. Brocklehurst has said?"

"Mr. Brocklehurst is not a god: nor is he even a great and admired man:he is little liked here; he never took steps to make himself liked. Hadhe treated you as an especial favourite, you would have found enemies, declared or covert, all around you; as it is, the greater number wouldoffer you sympathy if they dared. Teachers and pupils may look coldly onyou for a day or two, but friendly feelings are concealed in theirhearts; and if you persevere in doing well, these feelings will ere longappear so much the more evidently for their temporary suppression. Besides, Jane"--she paused. 

"Well, Helen?" said I, putting my hand into hers: she chafed my fingersgently to warm them, and went on--

"If all the world hated you, and believed you wicked, while your ownconscience approved you, and absolved you from guilt, you would not bewithout friends. "

"No; I know I should think well of myself; but that is not enough: ifothers don't love me I would rather die than live--I cannot bear to besolitary and hated, Helen. Look here; to gain some real affection fromyou, or Miss Temple, or any other whom I truly love, I would willinglysubmit to have the bone of my arm broken, or to let a bull toss me, or tostand behind a kicking horse, and let it dash its hoof at my chest--"

"Hush, Jane! you think too much of the love of human beings; you are tooimpulsive, too vehement; the sovereign hand that created your frame, andput life into it, has provided you with other resources than your feebleself, or than creatures feeble as you. Besides this earth, and besidesthe race of men, there is an invisible world and a kingdom of spirits:that world is round us, for it is everywhere; and those spirits watch us, for they are commissioned to guard us; and if we were dying in pain andshame, if scorn smote us on all sides, and hatred crushed us, angels seeour tortures, recognise our innocence (if innocent we be: as I know youare of this charge which Mr. Brocklehurst has weakly and pompouslyrepeated at second-hand from Mrs. Reed; for I read a sincere nature inyour ardent eyes and on your clear front), and God waits only theseparation of spirit from flesh to crown us with a full reward. Why, then, should we ever sink overwhelmed with distress, when life is so soonover, and death is so certain an entrance to happiness--to glory?"

I was silent; Helen had calmed me; but in the tranquillity she impartedthere was an alloy of inexpressible sadness. I felt the impression ofwoe as she spoke, but I could not tell whence it came; and when, havingdone speaking, she breathed a little fast and coughed a short cough, Imomentarily forgot my own sorrows to yield to a vague concern for her. 

Resting my head on Helen's shoulder, I put my arms round her waist; shedrew me to her, and we reposed in silence. We had not sat long thus, when another person came in. Some heavy clouds, swept from the sky by arising wind, had left the moon bare; and her light, streaming in througha window near, shone full both on us and on the approaching figure, whichwe at once recognised as Miss Temple. 

"I came on purpose to find you, Jane Eyre, " said she; "I want you in myroom; and as Helen Burns is with you, she may come too. "

We went; following the superintendent's guidance, we had to thread someintricate passages, and mount a staircase before we reached herapartment; it contained a good fire, and looked cheerful. Miss Templetold Helen Burns to be seated in a low arm-chair on one side of thehearth, and herself taking another, she called me to her side. 

"Is it all over?" she asked, looking down at my face. "Have you criedyour grief away?"

"I am afraid I never shall do that. "

"Why?"

"Because I have been wrongly accused; and you, ma'am, and everybody else, will now think me wicked. "

"We shall think you what you prove yourself to be, my child. Continue toact as a good girl, and you will satisfy us. "

"Shall I, Miss Temple?"

"You will, " said she, passing her arm round me. "And now tell me who isthe lady whom Mr. Brocklehurst called your benefactress?"

"Mrs. Reed, my uncle's wife. My uncle is dead, and he left me to hercare. "

"Did she not, then, adopt you of her own accord?"

"No, ma'am; she was sorry to have to do it: but my uncle, as I have oftenheard the servants say, got her to promise before he died that she wouldalways keep me. "

"Well now, Jane, you know, or at least I will tell you, that when acriminal is accused, he is always allowed to speak in his own defence. You have been charged with falsehood; defend yourself to me as well asyou can. Say whatever your memory suggests is true; but add nothing andexaggerate nothing. "

I resolved, in the depth of my heart, that I would be most moderate--mostcorrect; and, having reflected a few minutes in order to arrangecoherently what I had to say, I told her all the story of my sadchildhood. Exhausted by emotion, my language was more subdued than itgenerally was when it developed that sad theme; and mindful of Helen'swarnings against the indulgence of resentment, I infused into thenarrative far less of gall and wormwood than ordinary. Thus restrainedand simplified, it sounded more credible: I felt as I went on that MissTemple fully believed me. 

In the course of the tale I had mentioned Mr. Lloyd as having come to seeme after the fit: for I never forgot the, to me, frightful episode of thered-room: in detailing which, my excitement was sure, in some degree, tobreak bounds; for nothing could soften in my recollection the spasm ofagony which clutched my heart when Mrs. Reed spurned my wild supplicationfor pardon, and locked me a second time in the dark and haunted chamber. 

I had finished: Miss Temple regarded me a few minutes in silence; shethen said--

"I know something of Mr. Lloyd; I shall write to him; if his reply agreeswith your statement, you shall be publicly cleared from every imputation;to me, Jane, you are clear now. "

She kissed me, and still keeping me at her side (where I was wellcontented to stand, for I derived a child's pleasure from thecontemplation of her face, her dress, her one or two ornaments, her whiteforehead, her clustered and shining curls, and beaming dark eyes), sheproceeded to address Helen Burns. 

"How are you to-night, Helen? Have you coughed much to-day?"

"Not quite so much, I think, ma'am. "

"And the pain in your chest?"

"It is a little better. "

Miss Temple got up, took her hand and examined her pulse; then shereturned to her own seat: as she resumed it, I heard her sigh low. Shewas pensive a few minutes, then rousing herself, she said cheerfully--

"But you two are my visitors to-night; I must treat you as such. " Sherang her bell. 

"Barbara, " she said to the servant who answered it, "I have not yet hadtea; bring the tray and place cups for these two young ladies. "

And a tray was soon brought. How pretty, to my eyes, did the china cupsand bright teapot look, placed on the little round table near the fire!How fragrant was the steam of the beverage, and the scent of the toast!of which, however, I, to my dismay (for I was beginning to be hungry)discerned only a very small portion: Miss Temple discerned it too. 

"Barbara, " said she, "can you not bring a little more bread and butter?There is not enough for three. "

Barbara went out: she returned soon--

"Madam, Mrs. Harden says she has sent up the usual quantity. "

Mrs. Harden, be it observed, was the housekeeper: a woman after Mr. Brocklehurst's own heart, made up of equal parts of whalebone and iron. 

"Oh, very well!" returned Miss Temple; "we must make it do, Barbara, Isuppose. " And as the girl withdrew she added, smiling, "Fortunately, Ihave it in my power to supply deficiencies for this once. "

Having invited Helen and me to approach the table, and placed before eachof us a cup of tea with one delicious but thin morsel of toast, she gotup, unlocked a drawer, and taking from it a parcel wrapped in paper, disclosed presently to our eyes a good-sized seed-cake. 

"I meant to give each of you some of this to take with you, " said she, "but as there is so little toast, you must have it now, " and sheproceeded to cut slices with a generous hand. 

We feasted that evening as on nectar and ambrosia; and not the leastdelight of the entertainment was the smile of gratification with whichour hostess regarded us, as we satisfied our famished appetites on thedelicate fare she liberally supplied. 

Tea over and the tray removed, she again summoned us to the fire; we satone on each side of her, and now a conversation followed between her andHelen, which it was indeed a privilege to be admitted to hear. 

Miss Temple had always something of serenity in her air, of state in hermien, of refined propriety in her language, which precluded deviationinto the ardent, the excited, the eager: something which chastened thepleasure of those who looked on her and listened to her, by a controllingsense of awe; and such was my feeling now: but as to Helen Burns, I wasstruck with wonder. 

The refreshing meal, the brilliant fire, the presence and kindness of herbeloved instructress, or, perhaps, more than all these, something in herown unique mind, had roused her powers within her. They woke, theykindled: first, they glowed in the bright tint of her cheek, which tillthis hour I had never seen but pale and bloodless; then they shone in theliquid lustre of her eyes, which had suddenly acquired a beauty moresingular than that of Miss Temple's--a beauty neither of fine colour norlong eyelash, nor pencilled brow, but of meaning, of movement, ofradiance. Then her soul sat on her lips, and language flowed, from whatsource I cannot tell. Has a girl of fourteen a heart large enough, vigorous enough, to hold the swelling spring of pure, full, fervideloquence? Such was the characteristic of Helen's discourse on that, tome, memorable evening; her spirit seemed hastening to live within a verybrief span as much as many live during a protracted existence. 

They conversed of things I had never heard of; of nations and times past;of countries far away; of secrets of nature discovered or guessed at:they spoke of books: how many they had read! What stores of knowledgethey possessed! Then they seemed so familiar with French names andFrench authors: but my amazement reached its climax when Miss Templeasked Helen if she sometimes snatched a moment to recall the Latin herfather had taught her, and taking a book from a shelf, bade her read andconstrue a page of Virgil; and Helen obeyed, my organ of venerationexpanding at every sounding line. She had scarcely finished ere the bellannounced bedtime! no delay could be admitted; Miss Temple embraced usboth, saying, as she drew us to her heart--

"God bless you, my children!"

Helen she held a little longer than me: she let her go more reluctantly;it was Helen her eye followed to the door; it was for her she a secondtime breathed a sad sigh; for her she wiped a tear from her cheek. 

On reaching the bedroom, we heard the voice of Miss Scatcherd: she wasexamining drawers; she had just pulled out Helen Burns's, and when weentered Helen was greeted with a sharp reprimand, and told that to-morrowshe should have half-a-dozen of untidily folded articles pinned to hershoulder. 

"My things were indeed in shameful disorder, " murmured Helen to me, in alow voice: "I intended to have arranged them, but I forgot. "

Next morning, Miss Scatcherd wrote in conspicuous characters on a pieceof pasteboard the word "Slattern, " and bound it like a phylactery roundHelen's large, mild, intelligent, and benign-looking forehead. She woreit till evening, patient, unresentful, regarding it as a deservedpunishment. The moment Miss Scatcherd withdrew after afternoon school, Iran to Helen, tore it off, and thrust it into the fire: the fury of whichshe was incapable had been burning in my soul all day, and tears, hot andlarge, had continually been scalding my cheek; for the spectacle of hersad resignation gave me an intolerable pain at the heart. 

About a week subsequently to the incidents above narrated, Miss Temple, who had written to Mr. Lloyd, received his answer: it appeared that whathe said went to corroborate my account. Miss Temple, having assembledthe whole school, announced that inquiry had been made into the chargesalleged against Jane Eyre, and that she was most happy to be able topronounce her completely cleared from every imputation. The teachersthen shook hands with me and kissed me, and a murmur of pleasure ranthrough the ranks of my companions. 

Thus relieved of a grievous load, I from that hour set to work afresh, resolved to pioneer my way through every difficulty: I toiled hard, andmy success was proportionate to my efforts; my memory, not naturallytenacious, improved with practice; exercise sharpened my wits; in a fewweeks I was promoted to a higher class; in less than two months I wasallowed to commence French and drawing. I learned the first two tensesof the verb _Etre_, and sketched my first cottage (whose walls, by-the-bye, outrivalled in slope those of the leaning tower of Pisa), on thesame day. That night, on going to bed, I forgot to prepare inimagination the Barmecide supper of hot roast potatoes, or white breadand new milk, with which I was wont to amuse my inward cravings: Ifeasted instead on the spectacle of ideal drawings, which I saw in thedark; all the work of my own hands: freely pencilled houses and trees, picturesque rocks and ruins, Cuyp-like groups of cattle, sweet paintingsof butterflies hovering over unblown roses, of birds picking at ripecherries, of wren's nests enclosing pearl-like eggs, wreathed about withyoung ivy sprays. I examined, too, in thought, the possibility of myever being able to translate currently a certain little French storywhich Madame Pierrot had that day shown me; nor was that problem solvedto my satisfaction ere I fell sweetly asleep. 

Well has Solomon said--"Better is a dinner of herbs where love is, than astalled ox and hatred therewith. "

I would not now have exchanged Lowood with all its privations forGateshead and its daily luxuries. 

CHAPTER IX

But the privations, or rather the hardships, of Lowood lessened. Springdrew on: she was indeed already come; the frosts of winter had ceased;its snows were melted, its cutting winds ameliorated. My wretched feet, flayed and swollen to lameness by the sharp air of January, began to healand subside under the gentler breathings of April; the nights andmornings no longer by their Canadian temperature froze the very blood inour veins; we could now endure the play-hour passed in the garden:sometimes on a sunny day it began even to be pleasant and genial, and agreenness grew over those brown beds, which, freshening daily, suggestedthe thought that Hope traversed them at night, and left each morningbrighter traces of her steps. Flowers peeped out amongst the leaves;snow-drops, crocuses, purple auriculas, and golden-eyed pansies. OnThursday afternoons (half-holidays) we now took walks, and found stillsweeter flowers opening by the wayside, under the hedges. 

I discovered, too, that a great pleasure, an enjoyment which the horizononly bounded, lay all outside the high and spike-guarded walls of ourgarden: this pleasure consisted in prospect of noble summits girdling agreat hill-hollow, rich in verdure and shadow; in a bright beck, full ofdark stones and sparkling eddies. How different had this scene lookedwhen I viewed it laid out beneath the iron sky of winter, stiffened infrost, shrouded with snow!--when mists as chill as death wandered to theimpulse of east winds along those purple peaks, and rolled down "ing" andholm till they blended with the frozen fog of the beck! That beck itselfwas then a torrent, turbid and curbless: it tore asunder the wood, andsent a raving sound through the air, often thickened with wild rain orwhirling sleet; and for the forest on its banks, _that_ showed only ranksof skeletons. 

April advanced to May: a bright serene May it was; days of blue sky, placid sunshine, and soft western or southern gales filled up itsduration. And now vegetation matured with vigour; Lowood shook loose itstresses; it became all green, all flowery; its great elm, ash, and oakskeletons were restored to majestic life; woodland plants sprang upprofusely in its recesses; unnumbered varieties of moss filled itshollows, and it made a strange ground-sunshine out of the wealth of itswild primrose plants: I have seen their pale gold gleam in overshadowedspots like scatterings of the sweetest lustre. All this I enjoyed oftenand fully, free, unwatched, and almost alone: for this unwonted libertyand pleasure there was a cause, to which it now becomes my task toadvert. 

Have I not described a pleasant site for a dwelling, when I speak of itas bosomed in hill and wood, and rising from the verge of a stream?Assuredly, pleasant enough: but whether healthy or not is anotherquestion. 

That forest-dell, where Lowood lay, was the cradle of fog and fog-bredpestilence; which, quickening with the quickening spring, crept into theOrphan Asylum, breathed typhus through its crowded schoolroom anddormitory, and, ere May arrived, transformed the seminary into anhospital. 

Semi-starvation and neglected colds had predisposed most of the pupils toreceive infection: forty-five out of the eighty girls lay ill at onetime. Classes were broken up, rules relaxed. The few who continued wellwere allowed almost unlimited license; because the medical attendantinsisted on the necessity of frequent exercise to keep them in health:and had it been otherwise, no one had leisure to watch or restrain them. Miss Temple's whole attention was absorbed by the patients: she lived inthe sick-room, never quitting it except to snatch a few hours' rest atnight. The teachers were fully occupied with packing up and making othernecessary preparations for the departure of those girls who werefortunate enough to have friends and relations able and willing to removethem from the seat of contagion. Many, already smitten, went home onlyto die: some died at the school, and were buried quietly and quickly, thenature of the malady forbidding delay. 

While disease had thus become an inhabitant of Lowood, and death itsfrequent visitor; while there was gloom and fear within its walls; whileits rooms and passages steamed with hospital smells, the drug and thepastille striving vainly to overcome the effluvia of mortality, thatbright May shone unclouded over the bold hills and beautiful woodland outof doors. Its garden, too, glowed with flowers: hollyhocks had sprung uptall as trees, lilies had opened, tulips and roses were in bloom; theborders of the little beds were gay with pink thrift and crimson doubledaisies; the sweetbriars gave out, morning and evening, their scent ofspice and apples; and these fragrant treasures were all useless for mostof the inmates of Lowood, except to furnish now and then a handful ofherbs and blossoms to put in a coffin. 

But I, and the rest who continued well, enjoyed fully the beauties of thescene and season; they let us ramble in the wood, like gipsies, frommorning till night; we did what we liked, went where we liked: we livedbetter too. Mr. Brocklehurst and his family never came near Lowood now:household matters were not scrutinised into; the cross housekeeper wasgone, driven away by the fear of infection; her successor, who had beenmatron at the Lowton Dispensary, unused to the ways of her new abode, provided with comparative liberality. Besides, there were fewer to feed;the sick could eat little; our breakfast-basins were better filled; whenthere was no time to prepare a regular dinner, which often happened, shewould give us a large piece of cold pie, or a thick slice of bread andcheese, and this we carried away with us to the wood, where we each chosethe spot we liked best, and dined sumptuously. 

My favourite seat was a smooth and broad stone, rising white and dry fromthe very middle of the beck, and only to be got at by wading through thewater; a feat I accomplished barefoot. The stone was just broad enoughto accommodate, comfortably, another girl and me, at that time my chosencomrade--one Mary Ann Wilson; a shrewd, observant personage, whosesociety I took pleasure in, partly because she was witty and original, and partly because she had a manner which set me at my ease. Some yearsolder than I, she knew more of the world, and could tell me many things Iliked to hear: with her my curiosity found gratification: to my faultsalso she gave ample indulgence, never imposing curb or rein on anything Isaid. She had a turn for narrative, I for analysis; she liked to inform, I to question; so we got on swimmingly together, deriving muchentertainment, if not much improvement, from our mutual intercourse. 

And where, meantime, was Helen Burns? Why did I not spend these sweetdays of liberty with her? Had I forgotten her? or was I so worthless asto have grown tired of her pure society? Surely the Mary Ann Wilson Ihave mentioned was inferior to my first acquaintance: she could only tellme amusing stories, and reciprocate any racy and pungent gossip I choseto indulge in; while, if I have spoken truth of Helen, she was qualifiedto give those who enjoyed the privilege of her converse a taste of farhigher things. 

True, reader; and I knew and felt this: and though I am a defectivebeing, with many faults and few redeeming points, yet I never tired ofHelen Burns; nor ever ceased to cherish for her a sentiment ofattachment, as strong, tender, and respectful as any that ever animatedmy heart. How could it be otherwise, when Helen, at all times and underall circumstances, evinced for me a quiet and faithful friendship, whichill-humour never soured, nor irritation never troubled? But Helen wasill at present: for some weeks she had been removed from my sight to Iknew not what room upstairs. She was not, I was told, in the hospitalportion of the house with the fever patients; for her complaint wasconsumption, not typhus: and by consumption I, in my ignorance, understood something mild, which time and care would be sure toalleviate. 

I was confirmed in this idea by the fact of her once or twice comingdownstairs on very warm sunny afternoons, and being taken by Miss Templeinto the garden; but, on these occasions, I was not allowed to go andspeak to her; I only saw her from the schoolroom window, and then notdistinctly; for she was much wrapped up, and sat at a distance under theverandah. 

One evening, in the beginning of June, I had stayed out very late withMary Ann in the wood; we had, as usual, separated ourselves from theothers, and had wandered far; so far that we lost our way, and had to askit at a lonely cottage, where a man and woman lived, who looked after aherd of half-wild swine that fed on the mast in the wood. When we gotback, it was after moonrise: a pony, which we knew to be the surgeon's, was standing at the garden door. Mary Ann remarked that she supposedsome one must be very ill, as Mr. Bates had been sent for at that time ofthe evening. She went into the house; I stayed behind a few minutes toplant in my garden a handful of roots I had dug up in the forest, andwhich I feared would wither if I left them till the morning. This done, I lingered yet a little longer: the flowers smelt so sweet as the dewfell; it was such a pleasant evening, so serene, so warm; the stillglowing west promised so fairly another fine day on the morrow; the moonrose with such majesty in the grave east. I was noting these things andenjoying them as a child might, when it entered my mind as it had neverdone before:--

"How sad to be lying now on a sick bed, and to be in danger of dying!This world is pleasant--it would be dreary to be called from it, and tohave to go who knows where?"

And then my mind made its first earnest effort to comprehend what hadbeen infused into it concerning heaven and hell; and for the first timeit recoiled, baffled; and for the first time glancing behind, on eachside, and before it, it saw all round an unfathomed gulf: it felt the onepoint where it stood--the present; all the rest was formless cloud andvacant depth; and it shuddered at the thought of tottering, and plungingamid that chaos. While pondering this new idea, I heard the front dooropen; Mr. Bates came out, and with him was a nurse. After she had seenhim mount his horse and depart, she was about to close the door, but Iran up to her. 

"How is Helen Burns?"

"Very poorly, " was the answer. 

"Is it her Mr. Bates has been to see?"

"Yes. "

"And what does he say about her?"

"He says she'll not be here long. "

This phrase, uttered in my hearing yesterday, would have only conveyedthe notion that she was about to be removed to Northumberland, to her ownhome. I should not have suspected that it meant she was dying; but Iknew instantly now! It opened clear on my comprehension that Helen Burnswas numbering her last days in this world, and that she was going to betaken to the region of spirits, if such region there were. I experienceda shock of horror, then a strong thrill of grief, then a desire--anecessity to see her; and I asked in what room she lay. 

"She is in Miss Temple's room, " said the nurse. 

"May I go up and speak to her?"

"Oh no, child! It is not likely; and now it is time for you to come in;you'll catch the fever if you stop out when the dew is falling. "

The nurse closed the front door; I went in by the side entrance which ledto the schoolroom: I was just in time; it was nine o'clock, and MissMiller was calling the pupils to go to bed. 

It might be two hours later, probably near eleven, when I--not havingbeen able to fall asleep, and deeming, from the perfect silence of thedormitory, that my companions were all wrapt in profound repose--rosesoftly, put on my frock over my night-dress, and, without shoes, creptfrom the apartment, and set off in quest of Miss Temple's room. It wasquite at the other end of the house; but I knew my way; and the light ofthe unclouded summer moon, entering here and there at passage windows, enabled me to find it without difficulty. An odour of camphor and burntvinegar warned me when I came near the fever room: and I passed its doorquickly, fearful lest the nurse who sat up all night should hear me. Idreaded being discovered and sent back; for I _must_ see Helen, --I mustembrace her before she died, --I must give her one last kiss, exchangewith her one last word. 

Having descended a staircase, traversed a portion of the house below, andsucceeded in opening and shutting, without noise, two doors, I reachedanother flight of steps; these I mounted, and then just opposite to mewas Miss Temple's room. A light shone through the keyhole and from underthe door; a profound stillness pervaded the vicinity. Coming near, Ifound the door slightly ajar; probably to admit some fresh air into theclose abode of sickness. Indisposed to hesitate, and full of impatientimpulses--soul and senses quivering with keen throes--I put it back andlooked in. My eye sought Helen, and feared to find death. 

Close by Miss Temple's bed, and half covered with its white curtains, there stood a little crib. I saw the outline of a form under theclothes, but the face was hid by the hangings: the nurse I had spoken toin the garden sat in an easy-chair asleep; an unsnuffed candle burntdimly on the table. Miss Temple was not to be seen: I knew afterwardsthat she had been called to a delirious patient in the fever-room. Iadvanced; then paused by the crib side: my hand was on the curtain, but Ipreferred speaking before I withdrew it. I still recoiled at the dreadof seeing a corpse. 

"Helen!" I whispered softly, "are you awake?"

She stirred herself, put back the curtain, and I saw her face, pale, wasted, but quite composed: she looked so little changed that my fear wasinstantly dissipated. 

"Can it be you, Jane?" she asked, in her own gentle voice. 

"Oh!" I thought, "she is not going to die; they are mistaken: she couldnot speak and look so calmly if she were. "

I got on to her crib and kissed her: her forehead was cold, and her cheekboth cold and thin, and so were her hand and wrist; but she smiled as ofold. 

"Why are you come here, Jane? It is past eleven o'clock: I heard itstrike some minutes since. "

"I came to see you, Helen: I heard you were very ill, and I could notsleep till I had spoken to you. "

"You came to bid me good-bye, then: you are just in time probably. "

"Are you going somewhere, Helen? Are you going home?"

"Yes; to my long home--my last home. "

"No, no, Helen!" I stopped, distressed. While I tried to devour mytears, a fit of coughing seized Helen; it did not, however, wake thenurse; when it was over, she lay some minutes exhausted; then shewhispered--

"Jane, your little feet are bare; lie down and cover yourself with myquilt. "

I did so: she put her arm over me, and I nestled close to her. After along silence, she resumed, still whispering--

"I am very happy, Jane; and when you hear that I am dead, you must besure and not grieve: there is nothing to grieve about. We all must dieone day, and the illness which is removing me is not painful; it isgentle and gradual: my mind is at rest. I leave no one to regret memuch: I have only a father; and he is lately married, and will not missme. By dying young, I shall escape great sufferings. I had notqualities or talents to make my way very well in the world: I should havebeen continually at fault. "

"But where are you going to, Helen? Can you see? Do you know?"

"I believe; I have faith: I am going to God. "

"Where is God? What is God?"

"My Maker and yours, who will never destroy what He created. I relyimplicitly on His power, and confide wholly in His goodness: I count thehours till that eventful one arrives which shall restore me to Him, reveal Him to me. "

"You are sure, then, Helen, that there is such a place as heaven, andthat our souls can get to it when we die?"

"I am sure there is a future state; I believe God is good; I can resignmy immortal part to Him without any misgiving. God is my father; God ismy friend: I love Him; I believe He loves me. "

"And shall I see you again, Helen, when I die?"

"You will come to the same region of happiness: be received by the samemighty, universal Parent, no doubt, dear Jane. "

Again I questioned, but this time only in thought. "Where is thatregion? Does it exist?" And I clasped my arms closer round Helen; sheseemed dearer to me than ever; I felt as if I could not let her go; I laywith my face hidden on her neck. Presently she said, in the sweetesttone--

"How comfortable I am! That last fit of coughing has tired me a little;I feel as if I could sleep: but don't leave me, Jane; I like to have younear me. "

"I'll stay with you, _dear_ Helen: no one shall take me away. "

"Are you warm, darling?"

"Yes. "

"Good-night, Jane. "

"Good-night, Helen. "

She kissed me, and I her, and we both soon slumbered. 

When I awoke it was day: an unusual movement roused me; I looked up; Iwas in somebody's arms; the nurse held me; she was carrying me throughthe passage back to the dormitory. I was not reprimanded for leaving mybed; people had something else to think about; no explanation wasafforded then to my many questions; but a day or two afterwards I learnedthat Miss Temple, on returning to her own room at dawn, had found me laidin the little crib; my face against Helen Burns's shoulder, my arms roundher neck. I was asleep, and Helen was--dead. 

Her grave is in Brocklebridge churchyard: for fifteen years after herdeath it was only covered by a grassy mound; but now a grey marble tabletmarks the spot, inscribed with her name, and the word "Resurgam. "

CHAPTER X

Hitherto I have recorded in detail the events of my insignificantexistence: to the first ten years of my life I have given almost as manychapters. But this is not to be a regular autobiography. I am onlybound to invoke Memory where I know her responses will possess somedegree of interest; therefore I now pass a space of eight years almost insilence: a few lines only are necessary to keep up the links ofconnection. 

When the typhus fever had fulfilled its mission of devastation at Lowood, it gradually disappeared from thence; but not till its virulence and thenumber of its victims had drawn public attention on the school. Inquirywas made into the origin of the scourge, and by degrees various factscame out which excited public indignation in a high degree. Theunhealthy nature of the site; the quantity and quality of the children'sfood; the brackish, fetid water used in its preparation; the pupils'wretched clothing and accommodations--all these things were discovered, and the discovery produced a result mortifying to Mr. Brocklehurst, butbeneficial to the institution. 

Several wealthy and benevolent individuals in the county subscribedlargely for the erection of a more convenient building in a bettersituation; new regulations were made; improvements in diet and clothingintroduced; the funds of the school were intrusted to the management of acommittee. Mr. Brocklehurst, who, from his wealth and familyconnections, could not be overlooked, still retained the post oftreasurer; but he was aided in the discharge of his duties by gentlemenof rather more enlarged and sympathising minds: his office of inspector, too, was shared by those who knew how to combine reason with strictness, comfort with economy, compassion with uprightness. The school, thusimproved, became in time a truly useful and noble institution. Iremained an inmate of its walls, after its regeneration, for eight years:six as pupil, and two as teacher; and in both capacities I bear mytestimony to its value and importance. 

During these eight years my life was uniform: but not unhappy, because itwas not inactive. I had the means of an excellent education placedwithin my reach; a fondness for some of my studies, and a desire to excelin all, together with a great delight in pleasing my teachers, especiallysuch as I loved, urged me on: I availed myself fully of the advantagesoffered me. In time I rose to be the first girl of the first class; thenI was invested with the office of teacher; which I discharged with zealfor two years: but at the end of that time I altered. 

Miss Temple, through all changes, had thus far continued superintendentof the seminary: to her instruction I owed the best part of myacquirements; her friendship and society had been my continual solace;she had stood me in the stead of mother, governess, and, latterly, companion. At this period she married, removed with her husband (aclergyman, an excellent man, almost worthy of such a wife) to a distantcounty, and consequently was lost to me. 

From the day she left I was no longer the same: with her was gone everysettled feeling, every association that had made Lowood in some degree ahome to me. I had imbibed from her something of her nature and much ofher habits: more harmonious thoughts: what seemed better regulatedfeelings had become the inmates of my mind. I had given in allegiance toduty and order; I was quiet; I believed I was content: to the eyes ofothers, usually even to my own, I appeared a disciplined and subduedcharacter. 

But destiny, in the shape of the Rev. Mr. Nasmyth, came between me andMiss Temple: I saw her in her travelling dress step into a post-chaise, shortly after the marriage ceremony; I watched the chaise mount the hilland disappear beyond its brow; and then retired to my own room, and therespent in solitude the greatest part of the half-holiday granted in honourof the occasion. 

I walked about the chamber most of the time. I imagined myself only tobe regretting my loss, and thinking how to repair it; but when myreflections were concluded, and I looked up and found that the afternoonwas gone, and evening far advanced, another discovery dawned on me, namely, that in the interval I had undergone a transforming process; thatmy mind had put off all it had borrowed of Miss Temple--or rather thatshe had taken with her the serene atmosphere I had been breathing in hervicinity--and that now I was left in my natural element, and beginning tofeel the stirring of old emotions. It did not seem as if a prop werewithdrawn, but rather as if a motive were gone: it was not the power tobe tranquil which had failed me, but the reason for tranquillity was nomore. My world had for some years been in Lowood: my experience had beenof its rules and systems; now I remembered that the real world was wide, and that a varied field of hopes and fears, of sensations andexcitements, awaited those who had courage to go forth into its expanse, to seek real knowledge of life amidst its perils. 

I went to my window, opened it, and looked out. There were the two wingsof the building; there was the garden; there were the skirts of Lowood;there was the hilly horizon. My eye passed all other objects to rest onthose most remote, the blue peaks; it was those I longed to surmount; allwithin their boundary of rock and heath seemed prison-ground, exilelimits. I traced the white road winding round the base of one mountain, and vanishing in a gorge between two; how I longed to follow it farther!I recalled the time when I had travelled that very road in a coach; Iremembered descending that hill at twilight; an age seemed to haveelapsed since the day which brought me first to Lowood, and I had neverquitted it since. My vacations had all been spent at school: Mrs. Reedhad never sent for me to Gateshead; neither she nor any of her family hadever been to visit me. I had had no communication by letter or messagewith the outer world: school-rules, school-duties, school-habits andnotions, and voices, and faces, and phrases, and costumes, andpreferences, and antipathies--such was what I knew of existence. And nowI felt that it was not enough; I tired of the routine of eight years inone afternoon. I desired liberty; for liberty I gasped; for liberty Iuttered a prayer; it seemed scattered on the wind then faintly blowing. Iabandoned it and framed a humbler supplication; for change, stimulus:that petition, too, seemed swept off into vague space: "Then, " I cried, half desperate, "grant me at least a new servitude!"

Here a bell, ringing the hour of supper, called me downstairs. 

I was not free to resume the interrupted chain of my reflections tillbedtime: even then a teacher who occupied the same room with me kept mefrom the subject to which I longed to recur, by a prolonged effusion ofsmall talk. How I wished sleep would silence her. It seemed as if, could I but go back to the idea which had last entered my mind as I stoodat the window, some inventive suggestion would rise for my relief. 

Miss Gryce snored at last; she was a heavy Welshwoman, and till now herhabitual nasal strains had never been regarded by me in any other lightthan as a nuisance; to-night I hailed the first deep notes withsatisfaction; I was debarrassed of interruption; my half-effaced thoughtinstantly revived. 

"A new servitude! There is something in that, " I soliloquised (mentally, be it understood; I did not talk aloud), "I know there is, because itdoes not sound too sweet; it is not like such words as Liberty, Excitement, Enjoyment: delightful sounds truly; but no more than soundsfor me; and so hollow and fleeting that it is mere waste of time tolisten to them. But Servitude! That must be matter of fact. Any onemay serve: I have served here eight years; now all I want is to serveelsewhere. Can I not get so much of my own will? Is not the thingfeasible? Yes--yes--the end is not so difficult; if I had only a brainactive enough to ferret out the means of attaining it. "

I sat up in bed by way of arousing this said brain: it was a chillynight; I covered my shoulders with a shawl, and then I proceeded _tothink_ again with all my might. 

"What do I want? A new place, in a new house, amongst new faces, undernew circumstances: I want this because it is of no use wanting anythingbetter. How do people do to get a new place? They apply to friends, Isuppose: I have no friends. There are many others who have no friends, who must look about for themselves and be their own helpers; and what istheir resource?"

I could not tell: nothing answered me; I then ordered my brain to find aresponse, and quickly. It worked and worked faster: I felt the pulsesthrob in my head and temples; but for nearly an hour it worked in chaos;and no result came of its efforts. Feverish with vain labour, I got upand took a turn in the room; undrew the curtain, noted a star or two, shivered with cold, and again crept to bed. 

A kind fairy, in my absence, had surely dropped the required suggestionon my pillow; for as I lay down, it came quietly and naturally to mymind. --"Those who want situations advertise; you must advertise in the_---shire Herald_. "

"How? I know nothing about advertising. "

Replies rose smooth and prompt now:--

"You must enclose the advertisement and the money to pay for it under acover directed to the editor of the _Herald_; you must put it, the firstopportunity you have, into the post at Lowton; answers must be addressedto J. E. , at the post-office there; you can go and inquire in about a weekafter you send your letter, if any are come, and act accordingly. "

This scheme I went over twice, thrice; it was then digested in my mind; Ihad it in a clear practical form: I felt satisfied, and fell asleep. 

With earliest day, I was up: I had my advertisement written, enclosed, and directed before the bell rang to rouse the school; it ran thus:--

"A young lady accustomed to tuition" (had I not been a teacher twoyears?) "is desirous of meeting with a situation in a private familywhere the children are under fourteen (I thought that as I was barelyeighteen, it would not do to undertake the guidance of pupils nearer myown age). She is qualified to teach the usual branches of a good Englisheducation, together with French, Drawing, and Music" (in those days, reader, this now narrow catalogue of accomplishments, would have beenheld tolerably comprehensive). "Address, J. E. , Post-office, Lowton, ---shire. "

This document remained locked in my drawer all day: after tea, I askedleave of the new superintendent to go to Lowton, in order to perform somesmall commissions for myself and one or two of my fellow-teachers;permission was readily granted; I went. It was a walk of two miles, andthe evening was wet, but the days were still long; I visited a shop ortwo, slipped the letter into the post-office, and came back through heavyrain, with streaming garments, but with a relieved heart. 

The succeeding week seemed long: it came to an end at last, however, likeall sublunary things, and once more, towards the close of a pleasantautumn day, I found myself afoot on the road to Lowton. A picturesquetrack it was, by the way; lying along the side of the beck and throughthe sweetest curves of the dale: but that day I thought more of theletters, that might or might not be awaiting me at the little burghwhither I was bound, than of the charms of lea and water. 

My ostensible errand on this occasion was to get measured for a pair ofshoes; so I discharged that business first, and when it was done, Istepped across the clean and quiet little street from the shoemaker's tothe post-office: it was kept by an old dame, who wore horn spectacles onher nose, and black mittens on her hands. 

"Are there any letters for J. E. ?" I asked. 

She peered at me over her spectacles, and then she opened a drawer andfumbled among its contents for a long time, so long that my hopes beganto falter. At last, having held a document before her glasses for nearlyfive minutes, she presented it across the counter, accompanying the actby another inquisitive and mistrustful glance--it was for J. E. 

"Is there only one?" I demanded. 

"There are no more, " said she; and I put it in my pocket and turned myface homeward: I could not open it then; rules obliged me to be back byeight, and it was already half-past seven. 

Various duties awaited me on my arrival. I had to sit with the girlsduring their hour of study; then it was my turn to read prayers; to seethem to bed: afterwards I supped with the other teachers. Even when wefinally retired for the night, the inevitable Miss Gryce was still mycompanion: we had only a short end of candle in our candlestick, and Idreaded lest she should talk till it was all burnt out; fortunately, however, the heavy supper she had eaten produced a soporific effect: shewas already snoring before I had finished undressing. There stillremained an inch of candle: I now took out my letter; the seal was aninitial F. ; I broke it; the contents were brief. 

"If J. E. , who advertised in the _---shire Herald_ of last Thursday, possesses the acquirements mentioned, and if she is in a position to givesatisfactory references as to character and competency, a situation canbe offered her where there is but one pupil, a little girl, under tenyears of age; and where the salary is thirty pounds per annum. J. E. Isrequested to send references, name, address, and all particulars to thedirection:--

"Mrs. Fairfax, Thornfield, near Millcote, ---shire. "

I examined the document long: the writing was old-fashioned and ratheruncertain, like that of an elderly lady. This circumstance wassatisfactory: a private fear had haunted me, that in thus acting formyself, and by my own guidance, I ran the risk of getting into somescrape; and, above all things, I wished the result of my endeavours to berespectable, proper, _en regle_. I now felt that an elderly lady was nobad ingredient in the business I had on hand. Mrs. Fairfax! I saw herin a black gown and widow's cap; frigid, perhaps, but not uncivil: amodel of elderly English respectability. Thornfield! that, doubtless, was the name of her house: a neat orderly spot, I was sure; though Ifailed in my efforts to conceive a correct plan of the premises. Millcote, ---shire; I brushed up my recollections of the map of England, yes, I saw it; both the shire and the town. ---shire was seventy milesnearer London than the remote county where I now resided: that was arecommendation to me. I longed to go where there was life and movement:Millcote was a large manufacturing town on the banks of the A-; a busyplace enough, doubtless: so much the better; it would be a completechange at least. Not that my fancy was much captivated by the idea oflong chimneys and clouds of smoke--"but, " I argued, "Thornfield will, probably, be a good way from the town. "

Here the socket of the candle dropped, and the wick went out. 

Next day new steps were to be taken; my plans could no longer be confinedto my own breast; I must impart them in order to achieve their success. Having sought and obtained an audience of the superintendent during thenoontide recreation, I told her I had a prospect of getting a newsituation where the salary would be double what I now received (for atLowood I only got 15 pounds per annum); and requested she would break thematter for me to Mr. Brocklehurst, or some of the committee, andascertain whether they would permit me to mention them as references. Sheobligingly consented to act as mediatrix in the matter. The next day shelaid the affair before Mr. Brocklehurst, who said that Mrs. Reed must bewritten to, as she was my natural guardian. A note was accordinglyaddressed to that lady, who returned for answer, that "I might do as Ipleased: she had long relinquished all interference in my affairs. " Thisnote went the round of the committee, and at last, after what appeared tome most tedious delay, formal leave was given me to better my conditionif I could; and an assurance added, that as I had always conducted myselfwell, both as teacher and pupil, at Lowood, a testimonial of characterand capacity, signed by the inspectors of that institution, shouldforthwith be furnished me. 

This testimonial I accordingly received in about a month, forwarded acopy of it to Mrs. Fairfax, and got that lady's reply, stating that shewas satisfied, and fixing that day fortnight as the period for myassuming the post of governess in her house. 

I now busied myself in preparations: the fortnight passed rapidly. I hadnot a very large wardrobe, though it was adequate to my wants; and thelast day sufficed to pack my trunk, --the same I had brought with me eightyears ago from Gateshead. 

The box was corded, the card nailed on. In half-an-hour the carrier wasto call for it to take it to Lowton, whither I myself was to repair at anearly hour the next morning to meet the coach. I had brushed my blackstuff travelling-dress, prepared my bonnet, gloves, and muff; sought inall my drawers to see that no article was left behind; and now havingnothing more to do, I sat down and tried to rest. I could not; though Ihad been on foot all day, I could not now repose an instant; I was toomuch excited. A phase of my life was closing to-night, a new one openingto-morrow: impossible to slumber in the interval; I must watch feverishlywhile the change was being accomplished. 

"Miss, " said a servant who met me in the lobby, where I was wanderinglike a troubled spirit, "a person below wishes to see you. "

"The carrier, no doubt, " I thought, and ran downstairs without inquiry. Iwas passing the back-parlour or teachers' sitting-room, the door of whichwas half open, to go to the kitchen, when some one ran out--

"It's her, I am sure!--I could have told her anywhere!" cried theindividual who stopped my progress and took my hand. 

I looked: I saw a woman attired like a well-dressed servant, matronly, yet still young; very good-looking, with black hair and eyes, and livelycomplexion. 

"Well, who is it?" she asked, in a voice and with a smile I halfrecognised; "you've not quite forgotten me, I think, Miss Jane?"

In another second I was embracing and kissing her rapturously: "Bessie!Bessie! Bessie!" that was all I said; whereat she half laughed, halfcried, and we both went into the parlour. By the fire stood a littlefellow of three years old, in plaid frock and trousers. 

"That is my little boy, " said Bessie directly. 

"Then you are married, Bessie?"

"Yes; nearly five years since to Robert Leaven, the coachman; and I've alittle girl besides Bobby there, that I've christened Jane. "

"And you don't live at Gateshead?"

"I live at the lodge: the old porter has left. "

"Well, and how do they all get on? Tell me everything about them, Bessie: but sit down first; and, Bobby, come and sit on my knee, willyou?" but Bobby preferred sidling over to his mother. 

"You're not grown so very tall, Miss Jane, nor so very stout, " continuedMrs. Leaven. "I dare say they've not kept you too well at school: MissReed is the head and shoulders taller than you are; and Miss Georgianawould make two of you in breadth. "

"Georgiana is handsome, I suppose, Bessie?"

"Very. She went up to London last winter with her mama, and thereeverybody admired her, and a young lord fell in love with her: but hisrelations were against the match; and--what do you think?--he and MissGeorgiana made it up to run away; but they were found out and stopped. Itwas Miss Reed that found them out: I believe she was envious; and now sheand her sister lead a cat and dog life together; they are alwaysquarrelling--"

"Well, and what of John Reed?"

"Oh, he is not doing so well as his mama could wish. He went to college, and he got--plucked, I think they call it: and then his uncles wanted himto be a barrister, and study the law: but he is such a dissipated youngman, they will never make much of him, I think. "

"What does he look like?"

"He is very tall: some people call him a fine-looking young man; but hehas such thick lips. "

"And Mrs. Reed?"

"Missis looks stout and well enough in the face, but I think she's notquite easy in her mind: Mr. John's conduct does not please her--he spendsa deal of money. "

"Did she send you here, Bessie?"

"No, indeed: but I have long wanted to see you, and when I heard thatthere had been a letter from you, and that you were going to another partof the country, I thought I'd just set off, and get a look at you beforeyou were quite out of my reach. "

"I am afraid you are disappointed in me, Bessie. " I said this laughing:I perceived that Bessie's glance, though it expressed regard, did in noshape denote admiration. 

"No, Miss Jane, not exactly: you are genteel enough; you look like alady, and it is as much as ever I expected of you: you were no beauty asa child. "

I smiled at Bessie's frank answer: I felt that it was correct, but Iconfess I was not quite indifferent to its import: at eighteen mostpeople wish to please, and the conviction that they have not an exteriorlikely to second that desire brings anything but gratification. 

"I dare say you are clever, though, " continued Bessie, by way of solace. "What can you do? Can you play on the piano?"

"A little. "

There was one in the room; Bessie went and opened it, and then asked meto sit down and give her a tune: I played a waltz or two, and she wascharmed. 

"The Miss Reeds could not play as well!" said she exultingly. "I alwayssaid you would surpass them in learning: and can you draw?"

"That is one of my paintings over the chimney-piece. " It was a landscapein water colours, of which I had made a present to the superintendent, inacknowledgment of her obliging mediation with the committee on my behalf, and which she had framed and glazed. 

"Well, that is beautiful, Miss Jane! It is as fine a picture as any MissReed's drawing-master could paint, let alone the young ladies themselves, who could not come near it: and have you learnt French?"

"Yes, Bessie, I can both read it and speak it. "

"And you can work on muslin and canvas?"

"I can. "

"Oh, you are quite a lady, Miss Jane! I knew you would be: you will geton whether your relations notice you or not. There was something Iwanted to ask you. Have you ever heard anything from your father'skinsfolk, the Eyres?"

"Never in my life. "

"Well, you know Missis always said they were poor and quite despicable:and they may be poor; but I believe they are as much gentry as the Reedsare; for one day, nearly seven years ago, a Mr. Eyre came to Gatesheadand wanted to see you; Missis said you were at school fifty miles off; heseemed so much disappointed, for he could not stay: he was going on avoyage to a foreign country, and the ship was to sail from London in aday or two. He looked quite a gentleman, and I believe he was yourfather's brother. "

"What foreign country was he going to, Bessie?"

"An island thousands of miles off, where they make wine--the butler didtell me--"

"Madeira?" I suggested. 

"Yes, that is it--that is the very word. "

"So he went?"

"Yes; he did not stay many minutes in the house: Missis was very highwith him; she called him afterwards a 'sneaking tradesman. ' My Robertbelieves he was a wine-merchant. "

"Very likely, " I returned; "or perhaps clerk or agent to awine-merchant. "

Bessie and I conversed about old times an hour longer, and then she wasobliged to leave me: I saw her again for a few minutes the next morningat Lowton, while I was waiting for the coach. We parted finally at thedoor of the Brocklehurst Arms there: each went her separate way; she setoff for the brow of Lowood Fell to meet the conveyance which was to takeher back to Gateshead, I mounted the vehicle which was to bear me to newduties and a new life in the unknown environs of Millcote. 

CHAPTER XI

A new chapter in a novel is something like a new scene in a play; andwhen I draw up the curtain this time, reader, you must fancy you see aroom in the George Inn at Millcote, with such large figured papering onthe walls as inn rooms have; such a carpet, such furniture, suchornaments on the mantelpiece, such prints, including a portrait of Georgethe Third, and another of the Prince of Wales, and a representation ofthe death of Wolfe. All this is visible to you by the light of an oillamp hanging from the ceiling, and by that of an excellent fire, nearwhich I sit in my cloak and bonnet; my muff and umbrella lie on thetable, and I am warming away the numbness and chill contracted by sixteenhours' exposure to the rawness of an October day: I left Lowton at fouro'clock a. M. , and the Millcote town clock is now just striking eight. 

Reader, though I look comfortably accommodated, I am not very tranquil inmy mind. I thought when the coach stopped here there would be some oneto meet me; I looked anxiously round as I descended the wooden steps the"boots" placed for my convenience, expecting to hear my name pronounced, and to see some description of carriage waiting to convey me toThornfield. Nothing of the sort was visible; and when I asked a waiterif any one had been to inquire after a Miss Eyre, I was answered in thenegative: so I had no resource but to request to be shown into a privateroom: and here I am waiting, while all sorts of doubts and fears aretroubling my thoughts. 

It is a very strange sensation to inexperienced youth to feel itselfquite alone in the world, cut adrift from every connection, uncertainwhether the port to which it is bound can be reached, and prevented bymany impediments from returning to that it has quitted. The charm ofadventure sweetens that sensation, the glow of pride warms it; but thenthe throb of fear disturbs it; and fear with me became predominant whenhalf-an-hour elapsed and still I was alone. I bethought myself to ringthe bell. 

"Is there a place in this neighbourhood called Thornfield?" I asked ofthe waiter who answered the summons. 

"Thornfield? I don't know, ma'am; I'll inquire at the bar. " Hevanished, but reappeared instantly--

"Is your name Eyre, Miss?"

"Yes. "

"Person here waiting for you. "

I jumped up, took my muff and umbrella, and hastened into theinn-passage: a man was standing by the open door, and in the lamp-litstreet I dimly saw a one-horse conveyance. 

"This will be your luggage, I suppose?" said the man rather abruptly whenhe saw me, pointing to my trunk in the passage. 

"Yes. " He hoisted it on to the vehicle, which was a sort of car, andthen I got in; before he shut me up, I asked him how far it was toThornfield. 

"A matter of six miles. "

"How long shall we be before we get there?"

"Happen an hour and a half. "

He fastened the car door, climbed to his own seat outside, and we setoff. Our progress was leisurely, and gave me ample time to reflect; Iwas content to be at length so near the end of my journey; and as Ileaned back in the comfortable though not elegant conveyance, I meditatedmuch at my ease. 

"I suppose, " thought I, "judging from the plainness of the servant andcarriage, Mrs. Fairfax is not a very dashing person: so much the better;I never lived amongst fine people but once, and I was very miserable withthem. I wonder if she lives alone except this little girl; if so, and ifshe is in any degree amiable, I shall surely be able to get on with her;I will do my best; it is a pity that doing one's best does not alwaysanswer. At Lowood, indeed, I took that resolution, kept it, andsucceeded in pleasing; but with Mrs. Reed, I remember my best was alwaysspurned with scorn. I pray God Mrs. Fairfax may not turn out a secondMrs. Reed; but if she does, I am not bound to stay with her! let theworst come to the worst, I can advertise again. How far are we on ourroad now, I wonder?"

I let down the window and looked out; Millcote was behind us; judging bythe number of its lights, it seemed a place of considerable magnitude, much larger than Lowton. We were now, as far as I could see, on a sortof common; but there were houses scattered all over the district; I feltwe were in a different region to Lowood, more populous, less picturesque;more stirring, less romantic. 

The roads were heavy, the night misty; my conductor let his horse walkall the way, and the hour and a half extended, I verily believe, to twohours; at last he turned in his seat and said--

"You're noan so far fro' Thornfield now. "

Again I looked out: we were passing a church; I saw its low broad toweragainst the sky, and its bell was tolling a quarter; I saw a narrowgalaxy of lights too, on a hillside, marking a village or hamlet. Aboutten minutes after, the driver got down and opened a pair of gates: wepassed through, and they clashed to behind us. We now slowly ascended adrive, and came upon the long front of a house: candlelight gleamed fromone curtained bow-window; all the rest were dark. The car stopped at thefront door; it was opened by a maid-servant; I alighted and went in. 

"Will you walk this way, ma'am?" said the girl; and I followed her acrossa square hall with high doors all round: she ushered me into a room whosedouble illumination of fire and candle at first dazzled me, contrastingas it did with the darkness to which my eyes had been for two hoursinured; when I could see, however, a cosy and agreeable picture presenteditself to my view. 

A snug small room; a round table by a cheerful fire; an arm-chair high-backed and old-fashioned, wherein sat the neatest imaginable littleelderly lady, in widow's cap, black silk gown, and snowy muslin apron;exactly like what I had fancied Mrs. Fairfax, only less stately andmilder looking. She was occupied in knitting; a large cat sat demurelyat her feet; nothing in short was wanting to complete the beau-ideal ofdomestic comfort. A more reassuring introduction for a new governesscould scarcely be conceived; there was no grandeur to overwhelm, nostateliness to embarrass; and then, as I entered, the old lady got up andpromptly and kindly came forward to meet me. 

"How do you do, my dear? I am afraid you have had a tedious ride; Johndrives so slowly; you must be cold, come to the fire. "

"Mrs. Fairfax, I suppose?" said I. 

"Yes, you are right: do sit down. "

She conducted me to her own chair, and then began to remove my shawl anduntie my bonnet-strings; I begged she would not give herself so muchtrouble. 

"Oh, it is no trouble; I dare say your own hands are almost numbed withcold. Leah, make a little hot negus and cut a sandwich or two: here arethe keys of the storeroom. "

And she produced from her pocket a most housewifely bunch of keys, anddelivered them to the servant. 

"Now, then, draw nearer to the fire, " she continued. "You've broughtyour luggage with you, haven't you, my dear?"

"Yes, ma'am. "

"I'll see it carried into your room, " she said, and bustled out. 

"She treats me like a visitor, " thought I. "I little expected such areception; I anticipated only coldness and stiffness: this is not likewhat I have heard of the treatment of governesses; but I must not exulttoo soon. "

She returned; with her own hands cleared her knitting apparatus and abook or two from the table, to make room for the tray which Leah nowbrought, and then herself handed me the refreshments. I felt ratherconfused at being the object of more attention than I had ever beforereceived, and, that too, shown by my employer and superior; but as shedid not herself seem to consider she was doing anything out of her place, I thought it better to take her civilities quietly. 

"Shall I have the pleasure of seeing Miss Fairfax to-night?" I asked, when I had partaken of what she offered me. 

"What did you say, my dear? I am a little deaf, " returned the good lady, approaching her ear to my mouth. 

I repeated the question more distinctly. 

"Miss Fairfax? Oh, you mean Miss Varens! Varens is the name of yourfuture pupil. "

"Indeed! Then she is not your daughter?"

"No, --I have no family. "

I should have followed up my first inquiry, by asking in what way MissVarens was connected with her; but I recollected it was not polite to asktoo many questions: besides, I was sure to hear in time. 

"I am so glad, " she continued, as she sat down opposite to me, and tookthe cat on her knee; "I am so glad you are come; it will be quitepleasant living here now with a companion. To be sure it is pleasant atany time; for Thornfield is a fine old hall, rather neglected of lateyears perhaps, but still it is a respectable place; yet you know inwinter-time one feels dreary quite alone in the best quarters. I sayalone--Leah is a nice girl to be sure, and John and his wife are verydecent people; but then you see they are only servants, and one can'tconverse with them on terms of equality: one must keep them at duedistance, for fear of losing one's authority. I'm sure last winter (itwas a very severe one, if you recollect, and when it did not snow, itrained and blew), not a creature but the butcher and postman came to thehouse, from November till February; and I really got quite melancholywith sitting night after night alone; I had Leah in to read to mesometimes; but I don't think the poor girl liked the task much: she feltit confining. In spring and summer one got on better: sunshine and longdays make such a difference; and then, just at the commencement of thisautumn, little Adela Varens came and her nurse: a child makes a housealive all at once; and now you are here I shall be quite gay. "

My heart really warmed to the worthy lady as I heard her talk; and I drewmy chair a little nearer to her, and expressed my sincere wish that shemight find my company as agreeable as she anticipated. 

"But I'll not keep you sitting up late to-night, " said she; "it is on thestroke of twelve now, and you have been travelling all day: you must feeltired. If you have got your feet well warmed, I'll show you yourbedroom. I've had the room next to mine prepared for you; it is only asmall apartment, but I thought you would like it better than one of thelarge front chambers: to be sure they have finer furniture, but they areso dreary and solitary, I never sleep in them myself. "

I thanked her for her considerate choice, and as I really felt fatiguedwith my long journey, expressed my readiness to retire. She took hercandle, and I followed her from the room. First she went to see if thehall-door was fastened; having taken the key from the lock, she led theway upstairs. The steps and banisters were of oak; the staircase windowwas high and latticed; both it and the long gallery into which thebedroom doors opened looked as if they belonged to a church rather than ahouse. A very chill and vault-like air pervaded the stairs and gallery, suggesting cheerless ideas of space and solitude; and I was glad, whenfinally ushered into my chamber, to find it of small dimensions, andfurnished in ordinary, modern style. 

When Mrs. Fairfax had bidden me a kind good-night, and I had fastened mydoor, gazed leisurely round, and in some measure effaced the eerieimpression made by that wide hall, that dark and spacious staircase, andthat long, cold gallery, by the livelier aspect of my little room, Iremembered that, after a day of bodily fatigue and mental anxiety, I wasnow at last in safe haven. The impulse of gratitude swelled my heart, and I knelt down at the bedside, and offered up thanks where thanks weredue; not forgetting, ere I rose, to implore aid on my further path, andthe power of meriting the kindness which seemed so frankly offered mebefore it was earned. My couch had no thorns in it that night; mysolitary room no fears. At once weary and content, I slept soon andsoundly: when I awoke it was broad day. 

The chamber looked such a bright little place to me as the sun shone inbetween the gay blue chintz window curtains, showing papered walls and acarpeted floor, so unlike the bare planks and stained plaster of Lowood, that my spirits rose at the view. Externals have a great effect on theyoung: I thought that a fairer era of life was beginning for me, one thatwas to have its flowers and pleasures, as well as its thorns and toils. My faculties, roused by the change of scene, the new field offered tohope, seemed all astir. I cannot precisely define what they expected, but it was something pleasant: not perhaps that day or that month, but atan indefinite future period. 

I rose; I dressed myself with care: obliged to be plain--for I had noarticle of attire that was not made with extreme simplicity--I was stillby nature solicitous to be neat. It was not my habit to be disregardfulof appearance or careless of the impression I made: on the contrary, Iever wished to look as well as I could, and to please as much as my wantof beauty would permit. I sometimes regretted that I was not handsomer;I sometimes wished to have rosy cheeks, a straight nose, and small cherrymouth; I desired to be tall, stately, and finely developed in figure; Ifelt it a misfortune that I was so little, so pale, and had features soirregular and so marked. And why had I these aspirations and theseregrets? It would be difficult to say: I could not then distinctly sayit to myself; yet I had a reason, and a logical, natural reason too. However, when I had brushed my hair very smooth, and put on my blackfrock--which, Quakerlike as it was, at least had the merit of fitting toa nicety--and adjusted my clean white tucker, I thought I should dorespectably enough to appear before Mrs. Fairfax, and that my new pupilwould not at least recoil from me with antipathy. Having opened mychamber window, and seen that I left all things straight and neat on thetoilet table, I ventured forth. 

Traversing the long and matted gallery, I descended the slippery steps ofoak; then I gained the hall: I halted there a minute; I looked at somepictures on the walls (one, I remember, represented a grim man in acuirass, and one a lady with powdered hair and a pearl necklace), at abronze lamp pendent from the ceiling, at a great clock whose case was ofoak curiously carved, and ebon black with time and rubbing. Everythingappeared very stately and imposing to me; but then I was so littleaccustomed to grandeur. The hall-door, which was half of glass, stoodopen; I stepped over the threshold. It was a fine autumn morning; theearly sun shone serenely on embrowned groves and still green fields;advancing on to the lawn, I looked up and surveyed the front of themansion. It was three storeys high, of proportions not vast, thoughconsiderable: a gentleman's manor-house, not a nobleman's seat:battlements round the top gave it a picturesque look. Its grey frontstood out well from the background of a rookery, whose cawing tenantswere now on the wing: they flew over the lawn and grounds to alight in agreat meadow, from which these were separated by a sunk fence, and wherean array of mighty old thorn trees, strong, knotty, and broad as oaks, atonce explained the etymology of the mansion's designation. Farther offwere hills: not so lofty as those round Lowood, nor so craggy, nor solike barriers of separation from the living world; but yet quiet andlonely hills enough, and seeming to embrace Thornfield with a seclusion Ihad not expected to find existent so near the stirring locality ofMillcote. A little hamlet, whose roofs were blent with trees, straggledup the side of one of these hills; the church of the district stoodnearer Thornfield: its old tower-top looked over a knoll between thehouse and gates. 

I was yet enjoying the calm prospect and pleasant fresh air, yetlistening with delight to the cawing of the rooks, yet surveying thewide, hoary front of the hall, and thinking what a great place it was forone lonely little dame like Mrs. Fairfax to inhabit, when that ladyappeared at the door. 

"What! out already?" said she. "I see you are an early riser. " I wentup to her, and was received with an affable kiss and shake of the hand. 

"How do you like Thornfield?" she asked. I told her I liked it verymuch. 

"Yes, " she said, "it is a pretty place; but I fear it will be getting outof order, unless Mr. Rochester should take it into his head to come andreside here permanently; or, at least, visit it rather oftener: greathouses and fine grounds require the presence of the proprietor. "

"Mr. Rochester!" I exclaimed. "Who is he?"

"The owner of Thornfield, " she responded quietly. "Did you not know hewas called Rochester?"

Of course I did not--I had never heard of him before; but the old ladyseemed to regard his existence as a universally understood fact, withwhich everybody must be acquainted by instinct. 

"I thought, " I continued, "Thornfield belonged to you. "

"To me? Bless you, child; what an idea! To me! I am only thehousekeeper--the manager. To be sure I am distantly related to theRochesters by the mother's side, or at least my husband was; he was aclergyman, incumbent of Hay--that little village yonder on the hill--andthat church near the gates was his. The present Mr. Rochester's motherwas a Fairfax, and second cousin to my husband: but I never presume onthe connection--in fact, it is nothing to me; I consider myself quite inthe light of an ordinary housekeeper: my employer is always civil, and Iexpect nothing more. "

"And the little girl--my pupil!"

"She is Mr. Rochester's ward; he commissioned me to find a governess forher. He intended to have her brought up in ---shire, I believe. Hereshe comes, with her 'bonne, ' as she calls her nurse. " The enigma thenwas explained: this affable and kind little widow was no great dame; buta dependant like myself. I did not like her the worse for that; on thecontrary, I felt better pleased than ever. The equality between her andme was real; not the mere result of condescension on her part: so muchthe better--my position was all the freer. 

As I was meditating on this discovery, a little girl, followed by herattendant, came running up the lawn. I looked at my pupil, who did notat first appear to notice me: she was quite a child, perhaps seven oreight years old, slightly built, with a pale, small-featured face, and aredundancy of hair falling in curls to her waist. 

"Good morning, Miss Adela, " said Mrs. Fairfax. "Come and speak to thelady who is to teach you, and to make you a clever woman some day. " Sheapproached. 

"C'est la ma gouverante!" said she, pointing to me, and addressing hernurse; who answered--

"Mais oui, certainement. "

"Are they foreigners?" I inquired, amazed at hearing the French language. 

"The nurse is a foreigner, and Adela was born on the Continent; and, Ibelieve, never left it till within six months ago. When she first camehere she could speak no English; now she can make shift to talk it alittle: I don't understand her, she mixes it so with French; but you willmake out her meaning very well, I dare say. "

Fortunately I had had the advantage of being taught French by a Frenchlady; and as I had always made a point of conversing with Madame Pierrotas often as I could, and had besides, during the last seven years, learnta portion of French by heart daily--applying myself to take pains with myaccent, and imitating as closely as possible the pronunciation of myteacher, I had acquired a certain degree of readiness and correctness inthe language, and was not likely to be much at a loss with MademoiselleAdela. She came and shook hand with me when she heard that I was hergoverness; and as I led her in to breakfast, I addressed some phrases toher in her own tongue: she replied briefly at first, but after we wereseated at the table, and she had examined me some ten minutes with herlarge hazel eyes, she suddenly commenced chattering fluently. 

"Ah!" cried she, in French, "you speak my language as well as Mr. Rochester does: I can talk to you as I can to him, and so can Sophie. Shewill be glad: nobody here understands her: Madame Fairfax is all English. Sophie is my nurse; she came with me over the sea in a great ship with achimney that smoked--how it did smoke!--and I was sick, and so wasSophie, and so was Mr. Rochester. Mr. Rochester lay down on a sofa in apretty room called the salon, and Sophie and I had little beds in anotherplace. I nearly fell out of mine; it was like a shelf. AndMademoiselle--what is your name?"

"Eyre--Jane Eyre. "

"Aire? Bah! I cannot say it. Well, our ship stopped in the morning, before it was quite daylight, at a great city--a huge city, with verydark houses and all smoky; not at all like the pretty clean town I camefrom; and Mr. Rochester carried me in his arms over a plank to the land, and Sophie came after, and we all got into a coach, which took us to abeautiful large house, larger than this and finer, called an hotel. Westayed there nearly a week: I and Sophie used to walk every day in agreat green place full of trees, called the Park; and there were manychildren there besides me, and a pond with beautiful birds in it, that Ifed with crumbs. "

"Can you understand her when she runs on so fast?" asked Mrs. Fairfax. 

I understood her very well, for I had been accustomed to the fluenttongue of Madame Pierrot. 

"I wish, " continued the good lady, "you would ask her a question or twoabout her parents: I wonder if she remembers them?"

"Adele, " I inquired, "with whom did you live when you were in that prettyclean town you spoke of?"

"I lived long ago with mama; but she is gone to the Holy Virgin. Mamaused to teach me to dance and sing, and to say verses. A great manygentlemen and ladies came to see mama, and I used to dance before them, or to sit on their knees and sing to them: I liked it. Shall I let youhear me sing now?"

She had finished her breakfast, so I permitted her to give a specimen ofher accomplishments. Descending from her chair, she came and placedherself on my knee; then, folding her little hands demurely before her, shaking back her curls and lifting her eyes to the ceiling, she commencedsinging a song from some opera. It was the strain of a forsaken lady, who, after bewailing the perfidy of her lover, calls pride to her aid;desires her attendant to deck her in her brightest jewels and richestrobes, and resolves to meet the false one that night at a ball, and proveto him, by the gaiety of her demeanour, how little his desertion hasaffected her. 

The subject seemed strangely chosen for an infant singer; but I supposethe point of the exhibition lay in hearing the notes of love and jealousywarbled with the lisp of childhood; and in very bad taste that point was:at least I thought so. 

Adele sang the canzonette tunefully enough, and with the _naivete_ of herage. This achieved, she jumped from my knee and said, "Now, Mademoiselle, I will repeat you some poetry. "

Assuming an attitude, she began, "La Ligue des Rats: fable de LaFontaine. " She then declaimed the little piece with an attention topunctuation and emphasis, a flexibility of voice and an appropriatenessof gesture, very unusual indeed at her age, and which proved she had beencarefully trained. 

"Was it your mama who taught you that piece?" I asked. 

"Yes, and she just used to say it in this way: 'Qu' avez vous donc? luidit un de ces rats; parlez!' She made me lift my hand--so--to remind meto raise my voice at the question. Now shall I dance for you?"

"No, that will do: but after your mama went to the Holy Virgin, as yousay, with whom did you live then?"

"With Madame Frederic and her husband: she took care of me, but she isnothing related to me. I think she is poor, for she had not so fine ahouse as mama. I was not long there. Mr. Rochester asked me if I wouldlike to go and live with him in England, and I said yes; for I knew Mr. Rochester before I knew Madame Frederic, and he was always kind to me andgave me pretty dresses and toys: but you see he has not kept his word, for he has brought me to England, and now he is gone back again himself, and I never see him. "

After breakfast, Adele and I withdrew to the library, which room, itappears, Mr. Rochester had directed should be used as the schoolroom. Most of the books were locked up behind glass doors; but there was onebookcase left open containing everything that could be needed in the wayof elementary works, and several volumes of light literature, poetry, biography, travels, a few romances, &c. I suppose he had considered thatthese were all the governess would require for her private perusal; and, indeed, they contented me amply for the present; compared with the scantypickings I had now and then been able to glean at Lowood, they seemed tooffer an abundant harvest of entertainment and information. In thisroom, too, there was a cabinet piano, quite new and of superior tone;also an easel for painting and a pair of globes. 

I found my pupil sufficiently docile, though disinclined to apply: shehad not been used to regular occupation of any kind. I felt it would beinjudicious to confine her too much at first; so, when I had talked toher a great deal, and got her to learn a little, and when the morning hadadvanced to noon, I allowed her to return to her nurse. I then proposedto occupy myself till dinner-time in drawing some little sketches for heruse. 

As I was going upstairs to fetch my portfolio and pencils, Mrs. Fairfaxcalled to me: "Your morning school-hours are over now, I suppose, " saidshe. She was in a room the folding-doors of which stood open: I went inwhen she addressed me. It was a large, stately apartment, with purplechairs and curtains, a Turkey carpet, walnut-panelled walls, one vastwindow rich in slanted glass, and a lofty ceiling, nobly moulded. Mrs. Fairfax was dusting some vases of fine purple spar, which stood on asideboard. 

"What a beautiful room!" I exclaimed, as I looked round; for I had neverbefore seen any half so imposing. 

"Yes; this is the dining-room. I have just opened the window, to let ina little air and sunshine; for everything gets so damp in apartments thatare seldom inhabited; the drawing-room yonder feels like a vault. "

She pointed to a wide arch corresponding to the window, and hung like itwith a Tyrian-dyed curtain, now looped up. Mounting to it by two broadsteps, and looking through, I thought I caught a glimpse of a fairyplace, so bright to my novice-eyes appeared the view beyond. Yet it wasmerely a very pretty drawing-room, and within it a boudoir, both spreadwith white carpets, on which seemed laid brilliant garlands of flowers;both ceiled with snowy mouldings of white grapes and vine-leaves, beneathwhich glowed in rich contrast crimson couches and ottomans; while theornaments on the pale Parian mantelpiece were of sparkling Bohemianglass, ruby red; and between the windows large mirrors repeated thegeneral blending of snow and fire. 

"In what order you keep these rooms, Mrs. Fairfax!" said I. "No dust, nocanvas coverings: except that the air feels chilly, one would think theywere inhabited daily. "

"Why, Miss Eyre, though Mr. Rochester's visits here are rare, they arealways sudden and unexpected; and as I observed that it put him out tofind everything swathed up, and to have a bustle of arrangement on hisarrival, I thought it best to keep the rooms in readiness. "

"Is Mr. Rochester an exacting, fastidious sort of man?"

"Not particularly so; but he has a gentleman's tastes and habits, and heexpects to have things managed in conformity to them. "

"Do you like him? Is he generally liked?"

"Oh, yes; the family have always been respected here. Almost all theland in this neighbourhood, as far as you can see, has belonged to theRochesters time out of mind. "

"Well, but, leaving his land out of the question, do you like him? Is heliked for himself?"

"I have no cause to do otherwise than like him; and I believe he isconsidered a just and liberal landlord by his tenants: but he has neverlived much amongst them. "

"But has he no peculiarities? What, in short, is his character?"

"Oh! his character is unimpeachable, I suppose. He is rather peculiar, perhaps: he has travelled a great deal, and seen a great deal of theworld, I should think. I dare say he is clever, but I never had muchconversation with him. "

"In what way is he peculiar?"

"I don't know--it is not easy to describe--nothing striking, but you feelit when he speaks to you; you cannot be always sure whether he is in jestor earnest, whether he is pleased or the contrary; you don't thoroughlyunderstand him, in short--at least, I don't: but it is of no consequence, he is a very good master. "

This was all the account I got from Mrs. Fairfax of her employer andmine. There are people who seem to have no notion of sketching acharacter, or observing and describing salient points, either in personsor things: the good lady evidently belonged to this class; my queriespuzzled, but did not draw her out. Mr. Rochester was Mr. Rochester inher eyes; a gentleman, a landed proprietor--nothing more: she inquiredand searched no further, and evidently wondered at my wish to gain a moredefinite notion of his identity. 

When we left the dining-room, she proposed to show me over the rest ofthe house; and I followed her upstairs and downstairs, admiring as Iwent; for all was well arranged and handsome. The large front chambers Ithought especially grand: and some of the third-storey rooms, though darkand low, were interesting from their air of antiquity. The furnitureonce appropriated to the lower apartments had from time to time beenremoved here, as fashions changed: and the imperfect light entering bytheir narrow casement showed bedsteads of a hundred years old; chests inoak or walnut, looking, with their strange carvings of palm branches andcherubs' heads, like types of the Hebrew ark; rows of venerable chairs, high-backed and narrow; stools still more antiquated, on whose cushionedtops were yet apparent traces of half-effaced embroideries, wrought byfingers that for two generations had been coffin-dust. All these relicsgave to the third storey of Thornfield Hall the aspect of a home of thepast: a shrine of memory. I liked the hush, the gloom, the quaintness ofthese retreats in the day; but I by no means coveted a night's repose onone of those wide and heavy beds: shut in, some of them, with doors ofoak; shaded, others, with wrought old English hangings crusted with thickwork, portraying effigies of strange flowers, and stranger birds, andstrangest human beings, --all which would have looked strange, indeed, bythe pallid gleam of moonlight. 

"Do the servants sleep in these rooms?" I asked. 

"No; they occupy a range of smaller apartments to the back; no one eversleeps here: one would almost say that, if there were a ghost atThornfield Hall, this would be its haunt. "

"So I think: you have no ghost, then?"

"None that I ever heard of, " returned Mrs. Fairfax, smiling. 

"Nor any traditions of one? no legends or ghost stories?"

"I believe not. And yet it is said the Rochesters have been rather aviolent than a quiet race in their time: perhaps, though, that is thereason they rest tranquilly in their graves now. "

"Yes--'after life's fitful fever they sleep well, '" I muttered. "Whereare you going now, Mrs. Fairfax?" for she was moving away. 

"On to the leads; will you come and see the view from thence?" Ifollowed still, up a very narrow staircase to the attics, and thence by aladder and through a trap-door to the roof of the hall. I was now on alevel with the crow colony, and could see into their nests. Leaning overthe battlements and looking far down, I surveyed the grounds laid outlike a map: the bright and velvet lawn closely girdling the grey base ofthe mansion; the field, wide as a park, dotted with its ancient timber;the wood, dun and sere, divided by a path visibly overgrown, greener withmoss than the trees were with foliage; the church at the gates, the road, the tranquil hills, all reposing in the autumn day's sun; the horizonbounded by a propitious sky, azure, marbled with pearly white. Nofeature in the scene was extraordinary, but all was pleasing. When Iturned from it and repassed the trap-door, I could scarcely see my waydown the ladder; the attic seemed black as a vault compared with thatarch of blue air to which I had been looking up, and to that sunlit sceneof grove, pasture, and green hill, of which the hall was the centre, andover which I had been gazing with delight. 

Mrs. Fairfax stayed behind a moment to fasten the trap-door; I, by driftof groping, found the outlet from the attic, and proceeded to descend thenarrow garret staircase. I lingered in the long passage to which thisled, separating the front and back rooms of the third storey: narrow, low, and dim, with only one little window at the far end, and looking, with its two rows of small black doors all shut, like a corridor in someBluebeard's castle. 

While I paced softly on, the last sound I expected to hear in so still aregion, a laugh, struck my ear. It was a curious laugh; distinct, formal, mirthless. I stopped: the sound ceased, only for an instant; itbegan again, louder: for at first, though distinct, it was very low. Itpassed off in a clamorous peal that seemed to wake an echo in everylonely chamber; though it originated but in one, and I could have pointedout the door whence the accents issued. 

"Mrs. Fairfax!" I called out: for I now heard her descending the greatstairs. "Did you hear that loud laugh? Who is it?"

"Some of the servants, very likely, " she answered: "perhaps Grace Poole. "

"Did you hear it?" I again inquired. 

"Yes, plainly: I often hear her: she sews in one of these rooms. Sometimes Leah is with her; they are frequently noisy together. "

The laugh was repeated in its low, syllabic tone, and terminated in anodd murmur. 

"Grace!" exclaimed Mrs. Fairfax. 

I really did not expect any Grace to answer; for the laugh was as tragic, as preternatural a laugh as any I ever heard; and, but that it was highnoon, and that no circumstance of ghostliness accompanied the curiouscachinnation; but that neither scene nor season favoured fear, I shouldhave been superstitiously afraid. However, the event showed me I was afool for entertaining a sense even of surprise. 

The door nearest me opened, and a servant came out, --a woman of betweenthirty and forty; a set, square-made figure, red-haired, and with a hard, plain face: any apparition less romantic or less ghostly could scarcelybe conceived. 

"Too much noise, Grace, " said Mrs. Fairfax. "Remember directions!" Gracecurtseyed silently and went in. 

"She is a person we have to sew and assist Leah in her housemaid's work, "continued the widow; "not altogether unobjectionable in some points, butshe does well enough. By-the-bye, how have you got on with your newpupil this morning?"

The conversation, thus turned on Adele, continued till we reached thelight and cheerful region below. Adele came running to meet us in thehall, exclaiming--

"Mesdames, vous etes servies!" adding, "J'ai bien faim, moi!"

We found dinner ready, and waiting for us in Mrs. Fairfax's room. 

CHAPTER XII

The promise of a smooth career, which my first calm introduction toThornfield Hall seemed to pledge, was not belied on a longer acquaintancewith the place and its inmates. Mrs. Fairfax turned out to be what sheappeared, a placid-tempered, kind-natured woman, of competent educationand average intelligence. My pupil was a lively child, who had beenspoilt and indulged, and therefore was sometimes wayward; but as she wascommitted entirely to my care, and no injudicious interference from anyquarter ever thwarted my plans for her improvement, she soon forgot herlittle freaks, and became obedient and teachable. She had no greattalents, no marked traits of character, no peculiar development offeeling or taste which raised her one inch above the ordinary level ofchildhood; but neither had she any deficiency or vice which sunk herbelow it. She made reasonable progress, entertained for me a vivacious, though perhaps not very profound, affection; and by her simplicity, gayprattle, and efforts to please, inspired me, in return, with a degree ofattachment sufficient to make us both content in each other's society. 

This, _par parenthese_, will be thought cool language by persons whoentertain solemn doctrines about the angelic nature of children, and theduty of those charged with their education to conceive for them anidolatrous devotion: but I am not writing to flatter parental egotism, toecho cant, or prop up humbug; I am merely telling the truth. I felt aconscientious solicitude for Adele's welfare and progress, and a quietliking for her little self: just as I cherished towards Mrs. Fairfax athankfulness for her kindness, and a pleasure in her societyproportionate to the tranquil regard she had for me, and the moderationof her mind and character. 

Anybody may blame me who likes, when I add further, that, now and then, when I took a walk by myself in the grounds; when I went down to thegates and looked through them along the road; or when, while Adele playedwith her nurse, and Mrs. Fairfax made jellies in the storeroom, I climbedthe three staircases, raised the trap-door of the attic, and havingreached the leads, looked out afar over sequestered field and hill, andalong dim sky-line--that then I longed for a power of vision which mightoverpass that limit; which might reach the busy world, towns, regionsfull of life I had heard of but never seen--that then I desired more ofpractical experience than I possessed; more of intercourse with my kind, of acquaintance with variety of character, than was here within my reach. I valued what was good in Mrs. Fairfax, and what was good in Adele; but Ibelieved in the existence of other and more vivid kinds of goodness, andwhat I believed in I wished to behold. 

Who blames me? Many, no doubt; and I shall be called discontented. Icould not help it: the restlessness was in my nature; it agitated me topain sometimes. Then my sole relief was to walk along the corridor ofthe third storey, backwards and forwards, safe in the silence andsolitude of the spot, and allow my mind's eye to dwell on whatever brightvisions rose before it--and, certainly, they were many and glowing; tolet my heart be heaved by the exultant movement, which, while it swelledit in trouble, expanded it with life; and, best of all, to open my inwardear to a tale that was never ended--a tale my imagination created, andnarrated continuously; quickened with all of incident, life, fire, feeling, that I desired and had not in my actual existence. 

It is in vain to say human beings ought to be satisfied withtranquillity: they must have action; and they will make it if they cannotfind it. Millions are condemned to a stiller doom than mine, andmillions are in silent revolt against their lot. Nobody knows how manyrebellions besides political rebellions ferment in the masses of lifewhich people earth. Women are supposed to be very calm generally: butwomen feel just as men feel; they need exercise for their faculties, anda field for their efforts, as much as their brothers do; they suffer fromtoo rigid a restraint, too absolute a stagnation, precisely as men wouldsuffer; and it is narrow-minded in their more privileged fellow-creaturesto say that they ought to confine themselves to making puddings andknitting stockings, to playing on the piano and embroidering bags. It isthoughtless to condemn them, or laugh at them, if they seek to do more orlearn more than custom has pronounced necessary for their sex. 

When thus alone, I not unfrequently heard Grace Poole's laugh: the samepeal, the same low, slow ha! ha! which, when first heard, had thrilledme: I heard, too, her eccentric murmurs; stranger than her laugh. Therewere days when she was quite silent; but there were others when I couldnot account for the sounds she made. Sometimes I saw her: she would comeout of her room with a basin, or a plate, or a tray in her hand, go downto the kitchen and shortly return, generally (oh, romantic reader, forgive me for telling the plain truth!) bearing a pot of porter. Herappearance always acted as a damper to the curiosity raised by her oraloddities: hard-featured and staid, she had no point to which interestcould attach. I made some attempts to draw her into conversation, butshe seemed a person of few words: a monosyllabic reply usually cut shortevery effort of that sort. 

The other members of the household, viz. , John and his wife, Leah thehousemaid, and Sophie the French nurse, were decent people; but in norespect remarkable; with Sophie I used to talk French, and sometimes Iasked her questions about her native country; but she was not of adescriptive or narrative turn, and generally gave such vapid and confusedanswers as were calculated rather to check than encourage inquiry. 

October, November, December passed away. One afternoon in January, Mrs. Fairfax had begged a holiday for Adele, because she had a cold; and, asAdele seconded the request with an ardour that reminded me how preciousoccasional holidays had been to me in my own childhood, I accorded it, deeming that I did well in showing pliability on the point. It was afine, calm day, though very cold; I was tired of sitting still in thelibrary through a whole long morning: Mrs. Fairfax had just written aletter which was waiting to be posted, so I put on my bonnet and cloakand volunteered to carry it to Hay; the distance, two miles, would be apleasant winter afternoon walk. Having seen Adele comfortably seated inher little chair by Mrs. Fairfax's parlour fireside, and given her herbest wax doll (which I usually kept enveloped in silver paper in adrawer) to play with, and a story-book for change of amusement; andhaving replied to her "Revenez bientot, ma bonne amie, ma chere Mdlle. Jeannette, " with a kiss I set out. 

The ground was hard, the air was still, my road was lonely; I walked fasttill I got warm, and then I walked slowly to enjoy and analyse thespecies of pleasure brooding for me in the hour and situation. It wasthree o'clock; the church bell tolled as I passed under the belfry: thecharm of the hour lay in its approaching dimness, in the low-gliding andpale-beaming sun. I was a mile from Thornfield, in a lane noted for wildroses in summer, for nuts and blackberries in autumn, and even nowpossessing a few coral treasures in hips and haws, but whose best winterdelight lay in its utter solitude and leafless repose. If a breath ofair stirred, it made no sound here; for there was not a holly, not anevergreen to rustle, and the stripped hawthorn and hazel bushes were asstill as the white, worn stones which causewayed the middle of the path. Far and wide, on each side, there were only fields, where no cattle nowbrowsed; and the little brown birds, which stirred occasionally in thehedge, looked like single russet leaves that had forgotten to drop. 

This lane inclined up-hill all the way to Hay; having reached the middle, I sat down on a stile which led thence into a field. Gathering my mantleabout me, and sheltering my hands in my muff, I did not feel the cold, though it froze keenly; as was attested by a sheet of ice covering thecauseway, where a little brooklet, now congealed, had overflowed after arapid thaw some days since. From my seat I could look down onThornfield: the grey and battlemented hall was the principal object inthe vale below me; its woods and dark rookery rose against the west. Ilingered till the sun went down amongst the trees, and sank crimson andclear behind them. I then turned eastward. 

On the hill-top above me sat the rising moon; pale yet as a cloud, butbrightening momentarily, she looked over Hay, which, half lost in trees, sent up a blue smoke from its few chimneys: it was yet a mile distant, but in the absolute hush I could hear plainly its thin murmurs of life. My ear, too, felt the flow of currents; in what dales and depths I couldnot tell: but there were many hills beyond Hay, and doubtless many becksthreading their passes. That evening calm betrayed alike the tinkle ofthe nearest streams, the sough of the most remote. 

A rude noise broke on these fine ripplings and whisperings, at once sofar away and so clear: a positive tramp, tramp, a metallic clatter, whicheffaced the soft wave-wanderings; as, in a picture, the solid mass of acrag, or the rough boles of a great oak, drawn in dark and strong on theforeground, efface the aerial distance of azure hill, sunny horizon, andblended clouds where tint melts into tint. 

The din was on the causeway: a horse was coming; the windings of the laneyet hid it, but it approached. I was just leaving the stile; yet, as thepath was narrow, I sat still to let it go by. In those days I was young, and all sorts of fancies bright and dark tenanted my mind: the memoriesof nursery stories were there amongst other rubbish; and when theyrecurred, maturing youth added to them a vigour and vividness beyond whatchildhood could give. As this horse approached, and as I watched for itto appear through the dusk, I remembered certain of Bessie's tales, wherein figured a North-of-England spirit called a "Gytrash, " which, inthe form of horse, mule, or large dog, haunted solitary ways, andsometimes came upon belated travellers, as this horse was now coming uponme. 

It was very near, but not yet in sight; when, in addition to the tramp, tramp, I heard a rush under the hedge, and close down by the hazel stemsglided a great dog, whose black and white colour made him a distinctobject against the trees. It was exactly one form of Bessie's Gytrash--alion-like creature with long hair and a huge head: it passed me, however, quietly enough; not staying to look up, with strange pretercanine eyes, in my face, as I half expected it would. The horse followed, --a tallsteed, and on its back a rider. The man, the human being, broke thespell at once. Nothing ever rode the Gytrash: it was always alone; andgoblins, to my notions, though they might tenant the dumb carcasses ofbeasts, could scarce covet shelter in the commonplace human form. NoGytrash was this, --only a traveller taking the short cut to Millcote. Hepassed, and I went on; a few steps, and I turned: a sliding sound and anexclamation of "What the deuce is to do now?" and a clattering tumble, arrested my attention. Man and horse were down; they had slipped on thesheet of ice which glazed the causeway. The dog came bounding back, andseeing his master in a predicament, and hearing the horse groan, barkedtill the evening hills echoed the sound, which was deep in proportion tohis magnitude. He snuffed round the prostrate group, and then he ran upto me; it was all he could do, --there was no other help at hand tosummon. I obeyed him, and walked down to the traveller, by this timestruggling himself free of his steed. His efforts were so vigorous, Ithought he could not be much hurt; but I asked him the question--

"Are you injured, sir?"

I think he was swearing, but am not certain; however, he was pronouncingsome formula which prevented him from replying to me directly. 

"Can I do anything?" I asked again. 

"You must just stand on one side, " he answered as he rose, first to hisknees, and then to his feet. I did; whereupon began a heaving, stamping, clattering process, accompanied by a barking and baying which removed meeffectually some yards' distance; but I would not be driven quite awaytill I saw the event. This was finally fortunate; the horse wasre-established, and the dog was silenced with a "Down, Pilot!" Thetraveller now, stooping, felt his foot and leg, as if trying whether theywere sound; apparently something ailed them, for he halted to the stilewhence I had just risen, and sat down. 

I was in the mood for being useful, or at least officious, I think, for Inow drew near him again. 

"If you are hurt, and want help, sir, I can fetch some one either fromThornfield Hall or from Hay. "

"Thank you: I shall do: I have no broken bones, --only a sprain;" andagain he stood up and tried his foot, but the result extorted aninvoluntary "Ugh!"

Something of daylight still lingered, and the moon was waxing bright: Icould see him plainly. His figure was enveloped in a riding cloak, furcollared and steel clasped; its details were not apparent, but I tracedthe general points of middle height and considerable breadth of chest. Hehad a dark face, with stern features and a heavy brow; his eyes andgathered eyebrows looked ireful and thwarted just now; he was past youth, but had not reached middle-age; perhaps he might be thirty-five. I feltno fear of him, and but little shyness. Had he been a handsome, heroic-looking young gentleman, I should not have dared to stand thusquestioning him against his will, and offering my services unasked. Ihad hardly ever seen a handsome youth; never in my life spoken to one. Ihad a theoretical reverence and homage for beauty, elegance, gallantry, fascination; but had I met those qualities incarnate in masculine shape, I should have known instinctively that they neither had nor could havesympathy with anything in me, and should have shunned them as one wouldfire, lightning, or anything else that is bright but antipathetic. 

If even this stranger had smiled and been good-humoured to me when Iaddressed him; if he had put off my offer of assistance gaily and withthanks, I should have gone on my way and not felt any vocation to renewinquiries: but the frown, the roughness of the traveller, set me at myease: I retained my station when he waved to me to go, and announced--

"I cannot think of leaving you, sir, at so late an hour, in this solitarylane, till I see you are fit to mount your horse. "

He looked at me when I said this; he had hardly turned his eyes in mydirection before. 

"I should think you ought to be at home yourself, " said he, "if you havea home in this neighbourhood: where do you come from?"

"From just below; and I am not at all afraid of being out late when it ismoonlight: I will run over to Hay for you with pleasure, if you wish it:indeed, I am going there to post a letter. "

"You live just below--do you mean at that house with the battlements?"pointing to Thornfield Hall, on which the moon cast a hoary gleam, bringing it out distinct and pale from the woods that, by contrast withthe western sky, now seemed one mass of shadow. 

"Yes, sir. "

"Whose house is it?"

"Mr. Rochester's. "

"Do you know Mr. Rochester?"

"No, I have never seen him. "

"He is not resident, then?"

"No. "

"Can you tell me where he is?"

"I cannot. "

"You are not a servant at the hall, of course. You are--" He stopped, ran his eye over my dress, which, as usual, was quite simple: a blackmerino cloak, a black beaver bonnet; neither of them half fine enough fora lady's-maid. He seemed puzzled to decide what I was; I helped him. 

"I am the governess. "

"Ah, the governess!" he repeated; "deuce take me, if I had not forgotten!The governess!" and again my raiment underwent scrutiny. In two minuteshe rose from the stile: his face expressed pain when he tried to move. 

"I cannot commission you to fetch help, " he said; "but you may help me alittle yourself, if you will be so kind. "

"Yes, sir. "

"You have not an umbrella that I can use as a stick?"

"No. "

"Try to get hold of my horse's bridle and lead him to me: you are notafraid?"

I should have been afraid to touch a horse when alone, but when told todo it, I was disposed to obey. I put down my muff on the stile, and wentup to the tall steed; I endeavoured to catch the bridle, but it was aspirited thing, and would not let me come near its head; I made effort oneffort, though in vain: meantime, I was mortally afraid of its tramplingfore-feet. The traveller waited and watched for some time, and at lasthe laughed. 

{I was mortally afraid of its trampling forefeet: p107. Jpg}

"I see, " he said, "the mountain will never be brought to Mahomet, so allyou can do is to aid Mahomet to go to the mountain; I must beg of you tocome here. "

I came. "Excuse me, " he continued: "necessity compels me to make youuseful. " He laid a heavy hand on my shoulder, and leaning on me withsome stress, limped to his horse. Having once caught the bridle, hemastered it directly and sprang to his saddle; grimacing grimly as hemade the effort, for it wrenched his sprain. 

"Now, " said he, releasing his under lip from a hard bite, "just hand memy whip; it lies there under the hedge. "

I sought it and found it. 

"Thank you; now make haste with the letter to Hay, and return as fast asyou can. "

A touch of a spurred heel made his horse first start and rear, and thenbound away; the dog rushed in his traces; all three vanished, "Like heath that, in the wilderness, The wild wind whirls away. "

I took up my muff and walked on. The incident had occurred and was gonefor me: it _was_ an incident of no moment, no romance, no interest in asense; yet it marked with change one single hour of a monotonous life. Myhelp had been needed and claimed; I had given it: I was pleased to havedone something; trivial, transitory though the deed was, it was yet anactive thing, and I was weary of an existence all passive. The new face, too, was like a new picture introduced to the gallery of memory; and itwas dissimilar to all the others hanging there: firstly, because it wasmasculine; and, secondly, because it was dark, strong, and stern. I hadit still before me when I entered Hay, and slipped the letter into thepost-office; I saw it as I walked fast down-hill all the way home. WhenI came to the stile, I stopped a minute, looked round and listened, withan idea that a horse's hoofs might ring on the causeway again, and that arider in a cloak, and a Gytrash-like Newfoundland dog, might be againapparent: I saw only the hedge and a pollard willow before me, rising upstill and straight to meet the moonbeams; I heard only the faintest waftof wind roaming fitful among the trees round Thornfield, a mile distant;and when I glanced down in the direction of the murmur, my eye, traversing the hall-front, caught a light kindling in a window: itreminded me that I was late, and I hurried on. 

I did not like re-entering Thornfield. To pass its threshold was toreturn to stagnation; to cross the silent hall, to ascend the darksomestaircase, to seek my own lonely little room, and then to meet tranquilMrs. Fairfax, and spend the long winter evening with her, and her only, was to quell wholly the faint excitement wakened by my walk, --to slipagain over my faculties the viewless fetters of an uniform and too stillexistence; of an existence whose very privileges of security and ease Iwas becoming incapable of appreciating. What good it would have done meat that time to have been tossed in the storms of an uncertain strugglinglife, and to have been taught by rough and bitter experience to long forthe calm amidst which I now repined! Yes, just as much good as it woulddo a man tired of sitting still in a "too easy chair" to take a longwalk: and just as natural was the wish to stir, under my circumstances, as it would be under his. 

I lingered at the gates; I lingered on the lawn; I paced backwards andforwards on the pavement; the shutters of the glass door were closed; Icould not see into the interior; and both my eyes and spirit seemed drawnfrom the gloomy house--from the grey-hollow filled with rayless cells, asit appeared to me--to that sky expanded before me, --a blue sea absolvedfrom taint of cloud; the moon ascending it in solemn march; her orbseeming to look up as she left the hill-tops, from behind which she hadcome, far and farther below her, and aspired to the zenith, midnight darkin its fathomless depth and measureless distance; and for those tremblingstars that followed her course; they made my heart tremble, my veins glowwhen I viewed them. Little things recall us to earth; the clock struckin the hall; that sufficed; I turned from moon and stars, opened a side-door, and went in. 

The hall was not dark, nor yet was it lit, only by the high-hung bronzelamp; a warm glow suffused both it and the lower steps of the oakstaircase. This ruddy shine issued from the great dining-room, whose two-leaved door stood open, and showed a genial fire in the grate, glancingon marble hearth and brass fire-irons, and revealing purple draperies andpolished furniture, in the most pleasant radiance. It revealed, too, agroup near the mantelpiece: I had scarcely caught it, and scarcely becomeaware of a cheerful mingling of voices, amongst which I seemed todistinguish the tones of Adele, when the door closed. 

I hastened to Mrs. Fairfax's room; there was a fire there too, but nocandle, and no Mrs. Fairfax. Instead, all alone, sitting upright on therug, and gazing with gravity at the blaze, I beheld a great black andwhite long-haired dog, just like the Gytrash of the lane. It was so likeit that I went forward and said--"Pilot" and the thing got up and came tome and snuffed me. I caressed him, and he wagged his great tail; but helooked an eerie creature to be alone with, and I could not tell whence hehad come. I rang the bell, for I wanted a candle; and I wanted, too, toget an account of this visitant. Leah entered. 

"What dog is this?"

"He came with master. "

"With whom?"

"With master--Mr. Rochester--he is just arrived. "

"Indeed! and is Mrs. Fairfax with him?"

"Yes, and Miss Adele; they are in the dining-room, and John is gone for asurgeon; for master has had an accident; his horse fell and his ankle issprained. "

"Did the horse fall in Hay Lane?"

"Yes, coming down-hill; it slipped on some ice. "

"Ah! Bring me a candle will you Leah?"

Leah brought it; she entered, followed by Mrs. Fairfax, who repeated thenews; adding that Mr. Carter the surgeon was come, and was now with Mr. Rochester: then she hurried out to give orders about tea, and I wentupstairs to take off my things. 

CHAPTER XIII

Mr. Rochester, it seems, by the surgeon's orders, went to bed early thatnight; nor did he rise soon next morning. When he did come down, it wasto attend to business: his agent and some of his tenants were arrived, and waiting to speak with him. 

Adele and I had now to vacate the library: it would be in dailyrequisition as a reception-room for callers. A fire was lit in anapartment upstairs, and there I carried our books, and arranged it forthe future schoolroom. I discerned in the course of the morning thatThornfield Hall was a changed place: no longer silent as a church, itechoed every hour or two to a knock at the door, or a clang of the bell;steps, too, often traversed the hall, and new voices spoke in differentkeys below; a rill from the outer world was flowing through it; it had amaster: for my part, I liked it better. 

Adele was not easy to teach that day; she could not apply: she keptrunning to the door and looking over the banisters to see if she couldget a glimpse of Mr. Rochester; then she coined pretexts to godownstairs, in order, as I shrewdly suspected, to visit the library, where I knew she was not wanted; then, when I got a little angry, andmade her sit still, she continued to talk incessantly of her "ami, Monsieur Edouard Fairfax _de_ Rochester, " as she dubbed him (I had notbefore heard his prenomens), and to conjecture what presents he hadbrought her: for it appears he had intimated the night before, that whenhis luggage came from Millcote, there would be found amongst it a littlebox in whose contents she had an interest. 

"Et cela doit signifier, " said she, "qu'il y aura la dedans un cadeaupour moi, et peut-etre pour vous aussi, mademoiselle. Monsieur a parlede vous: il m'a demande le nom de ma gouvernante, et si elle n'etait pasune petite personne, assez mince et un peu pale. J'ai dit qu'oui: carc'est vrai, n'est-ce pas, mademoiselle?"

I and my pupil dined as usual in Mrs. Fairfax's parlour; the afternoonwas wild and snowy, and we passed it in the schoolroom. At dark Iallowed Adele to put away books and work, and to run downstairs; for, from the comparative silence below, and from the cessation of appeals tothe door-bell, I conjectured that Mr. Rochester was now at liberty. Leftalone, I walked to the window; but nothing was to be seen thence:twilight and snowflakes together thickened the air, and hid the veryshrubs on the lawn. I let down the curtain and went back to thefireside. 

In the clear embers I was tracing a view, not unlike a picture Iremembered to have seen of the castle of Heidelberg, on the Rhine, whenMrs. Fairfax came in, breaking up by her entrance the fiery mosaic I hadbeen piercing together, and scattering too some heavy unwelcome thoughtsthat were beginning to throng on my solitude. 

"Mr. Rochester would be glad if you and your pupil would take tea withhim in the drawing-room this evening, " said she: "he has been so muchengaged all day that he could not ask to see you before. "

"When is his tea-time?" I inquired. 

"Oh, at six o'clock: he keeps early hours in the country. You had betterchange your frock now; I will go with you and fasten it. Here is acandle. "

"Is it necessary to change my frock?"

"Yes, you had better: I always dress for the evening when Mr. Rochesteris here. "

This additional ceremony seemed somewhat stately; however, I repaired tomy room, and, with Mrs. Fairfax's aid, replaced my black stuff dress byone of black silk; the best and the only additional one I had, except oneof light grey, which, in my Lowood notions of the toilette, I thought toofine to be worn, except on first-rate occasions. 

"You want a brooch, " said Mrs. Fairfax. I had a single little pearlornament which Miss Temple gave me as a parting keepsake: I put it on, and then we went downstairs. Unused as I was to strangers, it was rathera trial to appear thus formally summoned in Mr. Rochester's presence. Ilet Mrs. Fairfax precede me into the dining-room, and kept in her shadeas we crossed that apartment; and, passing the arch, whose curtain wasnow dropped, entered the elegant recess beyond. 

Two wax candles stood lighted on the table, and two on the mantelpiece;basking in the light and heat of a superb fire, lay Pilot--Adele kneltnear him. Half reclined on a couch appeared Mr. Rochester, his footsupported by the cushion; he was looking at Adele and the dog: the fireshone full on his face. I knew my traveller with his broad and jettyeyebrows; his square forehead, made squarer by the horizontal sweep ofhis black hair. I recognised his decisive nose, more remarkable forcharacter than beauty; his full nostrils, denoting, I thought, choler;his grim mouth, chin, and jaw--yes, all three were very grim, and nomistake. His shape, now divested of cloak, I perceived harmonised insquareness with his physiognomy: I suppose it was a good figure in theathletic sense of the term--broad chested and thin flanked, thoughneither tall nor graceful. 

Mr. Rochester must have been aware of the entrance of Mrs. Fairfax andmyself; but it appeared he was not in the mood to notice us, for he neverlifted his head as we approached. 

"Here is Miss Eyre, sir, " said Mrs. Fairfax, in her quiet way. He bowed, still not taking his eyes from the group of the dog and child. 

"Let Miss Eyre be seated, " said he: and there was something in the forcedstiff bow, in the impatient yet formal tone, which seemed further toexpress, "What the deuce is it to me whether Miss Eyre be there or not?At this moment I am not disposed to accost her. "

I sat down quite disembarrassed. A reception of finished politenesswould probably have confused me: I could not have returned or repaid itby answering grace and elegance on my part; but harsh caprice laid meunder no obligation; on the contrary, a decent quiescence, under thefreak of manner, gave me the advantage. Besides, the eccentricity of theproceeding was piquant: I felt interested to see how he would go on. 

He went on as a statue would, that is, he neither spoke nor moved. Mrs. Fairfax seemed to think it necessary that some one should be amiable, andshe began to talk. Kindly, as usual--and, as usual, rather trite--shecondoled with him on the pressure of business he had had all day; on theannoyance it must have been to him with that painful sprain: then shecommended his patience and perseverance in going through with it. 

"Madam, I should like some tea, " was the sole rejoinder she got. Shehastened to ring the bell; and when the tray came, she proceeded toarrange the cups, spoons, &c. , with assiduous celerity. I and Adele wentto the table; but the master did not leave his couch. 

"Will you hand Mr. Rochester's cup?" said Mrs. Fairfax to me; "Adelemight perhaps spill it. "

I did as requested. As he took the cup from my hand, Adele, thinking themoment propitious for making a request in my favour, cried out--

"N'est-ce pas, monsieur, qu'il y a un cadeau pour Mademoiselle Eyre dansvotre petit coffre?"

"Who talks of cadeaux?" said he gruffly. "Did you expect a present, MissEyre? Are you fond of presents?" and he searched my face with eyes thatI saw were dark, irate, and piercing. 

"I hardly know, sir; I have little experience of them: they are generallythought pleasant things. "

"Generally thought? But what do _you_ think?"

"I should be obliged to take time, sir, before I could give you an answerworthy of your acceptance: a present has many faces to it, has it not?and one should consider all, before pronouncing an opinion as to itsnature. "

"Miss Eyre, you are not so unsophisticated as Adele: she demands a'cadeau, ' clamorously, the moment she sees me: you beat about the bush. "

"Because I have less confidence in my deserts than Adele has: she canprefer the claim of old acquaintance, and the right too of custom; forshe says you have always been in the habit of giving her playthings; butif I had to make out a case I should be puzzled, since I am a stranger, and have done nothing to entitle me to an acknowledgment. "

"Oh, don't fall back on over-modesty! I have examined Adele, and findyou have taken great pains with her: she is not bright, she has notalents; yet in a short time she has made much improvement. "

"Sir, you have now given me my 'cadeau;' I am obliged to you: it is themeed teachers most covet--praise of their pupils' progress. "

"Humph!" said Mr. Rochester, and he took his tea in silence. 

"Come to the fire, " said the master, when the tray was taken away, andMrs. Fairfax had settled into a corner with her knitting; while Adele wasleading me by the hand round the room, showing me the beautiful books andornaments on the consoles and chiffonnieres. We obeyed, as in dutybound; Adele wanted to take a seat on my knee, but she was ordered toamuse herself with Pilot. 

"You have been resident in my house three months?"

"Yes, sir. "

"And you came from--?"

"From Lowood school, in ---shire. "

"Ah! a charitable concern. How long were you there?"

"Eight years. "

"Eight years! you must be tenacious of life. I thought half the time insuch a place would have done up any constitution! No wonder you haverather the look of another world. I marvelled where you had got thatsort of face. When you came on me in Hay Lane last night, I thoughtunaccountably of fairy tales, and had half a mind to demand whether youhad bewitched my horse: I am not sure yet. Who are your parents?"

"I have none. "

"Nor ever had, I suppose: do you remember them?"

"No. "

"I thought not. And so you were waiting for your people when you sat onthat stile?"

"For whom, sir?"

"For the men in green: it was a proper moonlight evening for them. Did Ibreak through one of your rings, that you spread that damned ice on thecauseway?"

I shook my head. "The men in green all forsook England a hundred yearsago, " said I, speaking as seriously as he had done. "And not even in HayLane, or the fields about it, could you find a trace of them. I don'tthink either summer or harvest, or winter moon, will ever shine on theirrevels more. "

Mrs. Fairfax had dropped her knitting, and, with raised eyebrows, seemedwondering what sort of talk this was. 

"Well, " resumed Mr. Rochester, "if you disown parents, you must have somesort of kinsfolk: uncles and aunts?"

"No; none that I ever saw. "

"And your home?"

"I have none. "

"Where do your brothers and sisters live?"

"I have no brothers or sisters. "

"Who recommended you to come here?"

"I advertised, and Mrs. Fairfax answered my advertisement. "

"Yes, " said the good lady, who now knew what ground we were upon, "and Iam daily thankful for the choice Providence led me to make. Miss Eyrehas been an invaluable companion to me, and a kind and careful teacher toAdele. "

"Don't trouble yourself to give her a character, " returned Mr. Rochester:"eulogiums will not bias me; I shall judge for myself. She began byfelling my horse. "

"Sir?" said Mrs. Fairfax. 

"I have to thank her for this sprain. "

The widow looked bewildered. 

"Miss Eyre, have you ever lived in a town?"

"No, sir. "

"Have you seen much society?"

"None but the pupils and teachers of Lowood, and now the inmates ofThornfield. "

"Have you read much?"

"Only such books as came in my way; and they have not been numerous orvery learned. "

"You have lived the life of a nun: no doubt you are well drilled inreligious forms;--Brocklehurst, who I understand directs Lowood, is aparson, is he not?"

"Yes, sir. "

"And you girls probably worshipped him, as a convent full of religieuseswould worship their director. "

"Oh, no. "

"You are very cool! No! What! a novice not worship her priest! Thatsounds blasphemous. "

"I disliked Mr. Brocklehurst; and I was not alone in the feeling. He isa harsh man; at once pompous and meddling; he cut off our hair; and foreconomy's sake bought us bad needles and thread, with which we couldhardly sew. "

"That was very false economy, " remarked Mrs. Fairfax, who now againcaught the drift of the dialogue. 

"And was that the head and front of his offending?" demanded Mr. Rochester. 

"He starved us when he had the sole superintendence of the provisiondepartment, before the committee was appointed; and he bored us with longlectures once a week, and with evening readings from books of his owninditing, about sudden deaths and judgments, which made us afraid to goto bed. "

"What age were you when you went to Lowood?"

"About ten. "

"And you stayed there eight years: you are now, then, eighteen?"

I assented. 

"Arithmetic, you see, is useful; without its aid, I should hardly havebeen able to guess your age. It is a point difficult to fix where thefeatures and countenance are so much at variance as in your case. Andnow what did you learn at Lowood? Can you play?"

"A little. "

"Of course: that is the established answer. Go into the library--I mean, if you please. --(Excuse my tone of command; I am used to say, 'Do this, 'and it is done: I cannot alter my customary habits for one newinmate. )--Go, then, into the library; take a candle with you; leave thedoor open; sit down to the piano, and play a tune. "

I departed, obeying his directions. 

"Enough!" he called out in a few minutes. "You play _a little_, I see;like any other English school-girl; perhaps rather better than some, butnot well. "

I closed the piano and returned. Mr. Rochester continued--"Adele showedme some sketches this morning, which she said were yours. I don't knowwhether they were entirely of your doing; probably a master aided you?"

"No, indeed!" I interjected. 

"Ah! that pricks pride. Well, fetch me your portfolio, if you can vouchfor its contents being original; but don't pass your word unless you arecertain: I can recognise patchwork. "

"Then I will say nothing, and you shall judge for yourself, sir. "

I brought the portfolio from the library. 

"Approach the table, " said he; and I wheeled it to his couch. Adele andMrs. Fairfax drew near to see the pictures. 

"No crowding, " said Mr. Rochester: "take the drawings from my hand as Ifinish with them; but don't push your faces up to mine. "

He deliberately scrutinised each sketch and painting. Three he laidaside; the others, when he had examined them, he swept from him. 

"Take them off to the other table, Mrs. Fairfax, " said he, "and look atthem with Adele;--you" (glancing at me) "resume your seat, and answer myquestions. I perceive those pictures were done by one hand: was thathand yours?"

"Yes. "

"And when did you find time to do them? They have taken much time, andsome thought. "

"I did them in the last two vacations I spent at Lowood, when I had noother occupation. "

"Where did you get your copies?"

"Out of my head. "

"That head I see now on your shoulders?"

"Yes, sir. "

"Has it other furniture of the same kind within?"

"I should think it may have: I should hope--better. "

He spread the pictures before him, and again surveyed them alternately. 

While he is so occupied, I will tell you, reader, what they are: andfirst, I must premise that they are nothing wonderful. The subjects had, indeed, risen vividly on my mind. As I saw them with the spiritual eye, before I attempted to embody them, they were striking; but my hand wouldnot second my fancy, and in each case it had wrought out but a paleportrait of the thing I had conceived. 

These pictures were in water-colours. The first represented clouds lowand livid, rolling over a swollen sea: all the distance was in eclipse;so, too, was the foreground; or rather, the nearest billows, for therewas no land. One gleam of light lifted into relief a half-submergedmast, on which sat a cormorant, dark and large, with wings flecked withfoam; its beak held a gold bracelet set with gems, that I had touchedwith as brilliant tints as my palette could yield, and as glitteringdistinctness as my pencil could impart. Sinking below the bird and mast, a drowned corpse glanced through the green water; a fair arm was the onlylimb clearly visible, whence the bracelet had been washed or torn. 

The second picture contained for foreground only the dim peak of a hill, with grass and some leaves slanting as if by a breeze. Beyond and abovespread an expanse of sky, dark blue as at twilight: rising into the skywas a woman's shape to the bust, portrayed in tints as dusk and soft as Icould combine. The dim forehead was crowned with a star; the lineamentsbelow were seen as through the suffusion of vapour; the eyes shone darkand wild; the hair streamed shadowy, like a beamless cloud torn by stormor by electric travail. On the neck lay a pale reflection likemoonlight; the same faint lustre touched the train of thin clouds fromwhich rose and bowed this vision of the Evening Star. 

The third showed the pinnacle of an iceberg piercing a polar winter sky:a muster of northern lights reared their dim lances, close serried, alongthe horizon. Throwing these into distance, rose, in the foreground, ahead, --a colossal head, inclined towards the iceberg, and resting againstit. Two thin hands, joined under the forehead, and supporting it, drewup before the lower features a sable veil, a brow quite bloodless, whiteas bone, and an eye hollow and fixed, blank of meaning but for theglassiness of despair, alone were visible. Above the temples, amidstwreathed turban folds of black drapery, vague in its character andconsistency as cloud, gleamed a ring of white flame, gemmed with sparklesof a more lurid tinge. This pale crescent was "the likeness of a kinglycrown;" what it diademed was "the shape which shape had none. "

"Were you happy when you painted these pictures?" asked Mr. Rochesterpresently. 

"I was absorbed, sir: yes, and I was happy. To paint them, in short, wasto enjoy one of the keenest pleasures I have ever known. "

"That is not saying much. Your pleasures, by your own account, have beenfew; but I daresay you did exist in a kind of artist's dreamland whileyou blent and arranged these strange tints. Did you sit at them longeach day?"

"I had nothing else to do, because it was the vacation, and I sat at themfrom morning till noon, and from noon till night: the length of themidsummer days favoured my inclination to apply. "

"And you felt self-satisfied with the result of your ardent labours?"

"Far from it. I was tormented by the contrast between my idea and myhandiwork: in each case I had imagined something which I was quitepowerless to realise. "

"Not quite: you have secured the shadow of your thought; but no more, probably. You had not enough of the artist's skill and science to giveit full being: yet the drawings are, for a school-girl, peculiar. As tothe thoughts, they are elfish. These eyes in the Evening Star you musthave seen in a dream. How could you make them look so clear, and yet notat all brilliant? for the planet above quells their rays. And whatmeaning is that in their solemn depth? And who taught you to paint wind?There is a high gale in that sky, and on this hill-top. Where did yousee Latmos? For that is Latmos. There! put the drawings away!"

I had scarce tied the strings of the portfolio, when, looking at hiswatch, he said abruptly--

"It is nine o'clock: what are you about, Miss Eyre, to let Adele sit upso long? Take her to bed. "

Adele went to kiss him before quitting the room: he endured the caress, but scarcely seemed to relish it more than Pilot would have done, nor somuch. 

"I wish you all good-night, now, " said he, making a movement of the handtowards the door, in token that he was tired of our company, and wishedto dismiss us. Mrs. Fairfax folded up her knitting: I took my portfolio:we curtseyed to him, received a frigid bow in return, and so withdrew. 

"You said Mr. Rochester was not strikingly peculiar, Mrs. Fairfax, " Iobserved, when I rejoined her in her room, after putting Adele to bed. 

"Well, is he?"

"I think so: he is very changeful and abrupt. "

"True: no doubt he may appear so to a stranger, but I am so accustomed tohis manner, I never think of it; and then, if he has peculiarities oftemper, allowance should be made. "

"Why?"

"Partly because it is his nature--and we can none of us help our nature;and partly because he has painful thoughts, no doubt, to harass him, andmake his spirits unequal. "

"What about?"

"Family troubles, for one thing. "

"But he has no family. "

"Not now, but he has had--or, at least, relatives. He lost his elderbrother a few years since. "

"His _elder_ brother?"

"Yes. The present Mr. Rochester has not been very long in possession ofthe property; only about nine years. "

"Nine years is a tolerable time. Was he so very fond of his brother asto be still inconsolable for his loss?"

"Why, no--perhaps not. I believe there were some misunderstandingsbetween them. Mr. Rowland Rochester was not quite just to Mr. Edward;and perhaps he prejudiced his father against him. The old gentleman wasfond of money, and anxious to keep the family estate together. He didnot like to diminish the property by division, and yet he was anxiousthat Mr. Edward should have wealth, too, to keep up the consequence ofthe name; and, soon after he was of age, some steps were taken that werenot quite fair, and made a great deal of mischief. Old Mr. Rochester andMr. Rowland combined to bring Mr. Edward into what he considered apainful position, for the sake of making his fortune: what the precisenature of that position was I never clearly knew, but his spirit couldnot brook what he had to suffer in it. He is not very forgiving: hebroke with his family, and now for many years he has led an unsettledkind of life. I don't think he has ever been resident at Thornfield fora fortnight together, since the death of his brother without a will lefthim master of the estate; and, indeed, no wonder he shuns the old place. "

"Why should he shun it?"

"Perhaps he thinks it gloomy. "

The answer was evasive. I should have liked something clearer; but Mrs. Fairfax either could not, or would not, give me more explicit informationof the origin and nature of Mr. Rochester's trials. She averred theywere a mystery to herself, and that what she knew was chiefly fromconjecture. It was evident, indeed, that she wished me to drop thesubject, which I did accordingly. 

CHAPTER XIV

For several subsequent days I saw little of Mr. Rochester. In themornings he seemed much engaged with business, and, in the afternoon, gentlemen from Millcote or the neighbourhood called, and sometimes stayedto dine with him. When his sprain was well enough to admit of horseexercise, he rode out a good deal; probably to return these visits, as hegenerally did not come back till late at night. 

During this interval, even Adele was seldom sent for to his presence, andall my acquaintance with him was confined to an occasional rencontre inthe hall, on the stairs, or in the gallery, when he would sometimes passme haughtily and coldly, just acknowledging my presence by a distant nodor a cool glance, and sometimes bow and smile with gentlemanlikeaffability. His changes of mood did not offend me, because I saw that Ihad nothing to do with their alternation; the ebb and flow depended oncauses quite disconnected with me. 

One day he had had company to dinner, and had sent for my portfolio; inorder, doubtless, to exhibit its contents: the gentlemen went away early, to attend a public meeting at Millcote, as Mrs. Fairfax informed me; butthe night being wet and inclement, Mr. Rochester did not accompany them. Soon after they were gone he rang the bell: a message came that I andAdele were to go downstairs. I brushed Adele's hair and made her neat, and having ascertained that I was myself in my usual Quaker trim, wherethere was nothing to retouch--all being too close and plain, braidedlocks included, to admit of disarrangement--we descended, Adele wonderingwhether the _petit coffre_ was at length come; for, owing to somemistake, its arrival had hitherto been delayed. She was gratified: thereit stood, a little carton, on the table when we entered the dining-room. She appeared to know it by instinct. 

"Ma boite! ma boite!" exclaimed she, running towards it. 

"Yes, there is your 'boite' at last: take it into a corner, you genuinedaughter of Paris, and amuse yourself with disembowelling it, " said thedeep and rather sarcastic voice of Mr. Rochester, proceeding from thedepths of an immense easy-chair at the fireside. "And mind, " hecontinued, "don't bother me with any details of the anatomical process, or any notice of the condition of the entrails: let your operation beconducted in silence: tiens-toi tranquille, enfant; comprends-tu?"

Adele seemed scarcely to need the warning--she had already retired to asofa with her treasure, and was busy untying the cord which secured thelid. Having removed this impediment, and lifted certain silveryenvelopes of tissue paper, she merely exclaimed--

"Oh ciel! Que c'est beau!" and then remained absorbed in ecstaticcontemplation. 

"Is Miss Eyre there?" now demanded the master, half rising from his seatto look round to the door, near which I still stood. 

"Ah! well, come forward; be seated here. " He drew a chair near his own. "I am not fond of the prattle of children, " he continued; "for, oldbachelor as I am, I have no pleasant associations connected with theirlisp. It would be intolerable to me to pass a whole evening_tete-a-tete_ with a brat. Don't draw that chair farther off, Miss Eyre;sit down exactly where I placed it--if you please, that is. Confoundthese civilities! I continually forget them. Nor do I particularlyaffect simple-minded old ladies. By-the-bye, I must have mine in mind;it won't do to neglect her; she is a Fairfax, or wed to one; and blood issaid to be thicker than water. "

He rang, and despatched an invitation to Mrs. Fairfax, who soon arrived, knitting-basket in hand. 

"Good evening, madam; I sent to you for a charitable purpose. I haveforbidden Adele to talk to me about her presents, and she is burstingwith repletion: have the goodness to serve her as auditress andinterlocutrice; it will be one of the most benevolent acts you everperformed. "

Adele, indeed, no sooner saw Mrs. Fairfax, than she summoned her to hersofa, and there quickly filled her lap with the porcelain, the ivory, thewaxen contents of her "boite;" pouring out, meantime, explanations andraptures in such broken English as she was mistress of. 

"Now I have performed the part of a good host, " pursued Mr. Rochester, "put my guests into the way of amusing each other, I ought to be atliberty to attend to my own pleasure. Miss Eyre, draw your chair still alittle farther forward: you are yet too far back; I cannot see youwithout disturbing my position in this comfortable chair, which I have nomind to do. "

I did as I was bid, though I would much rather have remained somewhat inthe shade; but Mr. Rochester had such a direct way of giving orders, itseemed a matter of course to obey him promptly. 

We were, as I have said, in the dining-room: the lustre, which had beenlit for dinner, filled the room with a festal breadth of light; the largefire was all red and clear; the purple curtains hung rich and amplebefore the lofty window and loftier arch; everything was still, save thesubdued chat of Adele (she dared not speak loud), and, filling up eachpause, the beating of winter rain against the panes. 

Mr. Rochester, as he sat in his damask-covered chair, looked different towhat I had seen him look before; not quite so stern--much less gloomy. There was a smile on his lips, and his eyes sparkled, whether with wineor not, I am not sure; but I think it very probable. He was, in short, in his after-dinner mood; more expanded and genial, and also more self-indulgent than the frigid and rigid temper of the morning; still helooked preciously grim, cushioning his massive head against the swellingback of his chair, and receiving the light of the fire on his granite-hewn features, and in his great, dark eyes; for he had great, dark eyes, and very fine eyes, too--not without a certain change in their depthssometimes, which, if it was not softness, reminded you, at least, of thatfeeling. 

He had been looking two minutes at the fire, and I had been looking thesame length of time at him, when, turning suddenly, he caught my gazefastened on his physiognomy. 

"You examine me, Miss Eyre, " said he: "do you think me handsome?"

I should, if I had deliberated, have replied to this question bysomething conventionally vague and polite; but the answer somehow slippedfrom my tongue before I was aware--"No, sir. "

"Ah! By my word! there is something singular about you, " said he: "youhave the air of a little _nonnette_; quaint, quiet, grave, and simple, asyou sit with your hands before you, and your eyes generally bent on thecarpet (except, by-the-bye, when they are directed piercingly to my face;as just now, for instance); and when one asks you a question, or makes aremark to which you are obliged to reply, you rap out a round rejoinder, which, if not blunt, is at least brusque. What do you mean by it?"

"Sir, I was too plain; I beg your pardon. I ought to have replied thatit was not easy to give an impromptu answer to a question aboutappearances; that tastes mostly differ; and that beauty is of littleconsequence, or something of that sort. "

"You ought to have replied no such thing. Beauty of little consequence, indeed! And so, under pretence of softening the previous outrage, ofstroking and soothing me into placidity, you stick a sly penknife undermy ear! Go on: what fault do you find with me, pray? I suppose I haveall my limbs and all my features like any other man?"

"Mr. Rochester, allow me to disown my first answer: I intended no pointedrepartee: it was only a blunder. "

"Just so: I think so: and you shall be answerable for it. Criticise me:does my forehead not please you?"

He lifted up the sable waves of hair which lay horizontally over hisbrow, and showed a solid enough mass of intellectual organs, but anabrupt deficiency where the suave sign of benevolence should have risen. 

"Now, ma'am, am I a fool?"

"Far from it, sir. You would, perhaps, think me rude if I inquired inreturn whether you are a philanthropist?"

"There again! Another stick of the penknife, when she pretended to patmy head: and that is because I said I did not like the society ofchildren and old women (low be it spoken!). No, young lady, I am not ageneral philanthropist; but I bear a conscience;" and he pointed to theprominences which are said to indicate that faculty, and which, fortunately for him, were sufficiently conspicuous; giving, indeed, amarked breadth to the upper part of his head: "and, besides, I once had akind of rude tenderness of heart. When I was as old as you, I was afeeling fellow enough, partial to the unfledged, unfostered, and unlucky;but Fortune has knocked me about since: she has even kneaded me with herknuckles, and now I flatter myself I am hard and tough as an India-rubberball; pervious, though, through a chink or two still, and with onesentient point in the middle of the lump. Yes: does that leave hope forme?"

"Hope of what, sir?"

"Of my final re-transformation from India-rubber back to flesh?"

"Decidedly he has had too much wine, " I thought; and I did not know whatanswer to make to his queer question: how could I tell whether he wascapable of being re-transformed?

"You looked very much puzzled, Miss Eyre; and though you are not prettyany more than I am handsome, yet a puzzled air becomes you; besides, itis convenient, for it keeps those searching eyes of yours away from myphysiognomy, and busies them with the worsted flowers of the rug; sopuzzle on. Young lady, I am disposed to be gregarious and communicativeto-night. "

With this announcement he rose from his chair, and stood, leaning his armon the marble mantelpiece: in that attitude his shape was seen plainly aswell as his face; his unusual breadth of chest, disproportionate almostto his length of limb. I am sure most people would have thought him anugly man; yet there was so much unconscious pride in his port; so muchease in his demeanour; such a look of complete indifference to his ownexternal appearance; so haughty a reliance on the power of otherqualities, intrinsic or adventitious, to atone for the lack of merepersonal attractiveness, that, in looking at him, one inevitably sharedthe indifference, and, even in a blind, imperfect sense, put faith in theconfidence. 

"I am disposed to be gregarious and communicative to-night, " he repeated, "and that is why I sent for you: the fire and the chandelier were notsufficient company for me; nor would Pilot have been, for none of thesecan talk. Adele is a degree better, but still far below the mark; Mrs. Fairfax ditto; you, I am persuaded, can suit me if you will: you puzzledme the first evening I invited you down here. I have almost forgottenyou since: other ideas have driven yours from my head; but to-night I amresolved to be at ease; to dismiss what importunes, and recall whatpleases. It would please me now to draw you out--to learn more ofyou--therefore speak. "

Instead of speaking, I smiled; and not a very complacent or submissivesmile either. 

"Speak, " he urged. 

"What about, sir?"

"Whatever you like. I leave both the choice of subject and the manner oftreating it entirely to yourself. "

Accordingly I sat and said nothing: "If he expects me to talk for themere sake of talking and showing off, he will find he has addressedhimself to the wrong person, " I thought. 

"You are dumb, Miss Eyre. "

I was dumb still. He bent his head a little towards me, and with asingle hasty glance seemed to dive into my eyes. 

"Stubborn?" he said, "and annoyed. Ah! it is consistent. I put myrequest in an absurd, almost insolent form. Miss Eyre, I beg yourpardon. The fact is, once for all, I don't wish to treat you like aninferior: that is" (correcting himself), "I claim only such superiorityas must result from twenty years' difference in age and a century'sadvance in experience. This is legitimate, _et j'y tiens_, as Adelewould say; and it is by virtue of this superiority, and this alone, thatI desire you to have the goodness to talk to me a little now, and divertmy thoughts, which are galled with dwelling on one point--cankering as arusty nail. "

He had deigned an explanation, almost an apology, and I did not feelinsensible to his condescension, and would not seem so. 

"I am willing to amuse you, if I can, sir--quite willing; but I cannotintroduce a topic, because how do I know what will interest you? Ask mequestions, and I will do my best to answer them. "

"Then, in the first place, do you agree with me that I have a right to bea little masterful, abrupt, perhaps exacting, sometimes, on the grounds Istated, namely, that I am old enough to be your father, and that I havebattled through a varied experience with many men of many nations, androamed over half the globe, while you have lived quietly with one set ofpeople in one house?"

"Do as you please, sir. "

"That is no answer; or rather it is a very irritating, because a veryevasive one. Reply clearly. "

"I don't think, sir, you have a right to command me, merely because youare older than I, or because you have seen more of the world than I have;your claim to superiority depends on the use you have made of your timeand experience. "

"Humph! Promptly spoken. But I won't allow that, seeing that it wouldnever suit my case, as I have made an indifferent, not to say a bad, useof both advantages. Leaving superiority out of the question, then, youmust still agree to receive my orders now and then, without being piquedor hurt by the tone of command. Will you?"

I smiled: I thought to myself Mr. Rochester _is_ peculiar--he seems toforget that he pays me 30 pounds per annum for receiving his orders. 

"The smile is very well, " said he, catching instantly the passingexpression; "but speak too. "

"I was thinking, sir, that very few masters would trouble themselves toinquire whether or not their paid subordinates were piqued and hurt bytheir orders. "

"Paid subordinates! What! you are my paid subordinate, are you? Oh yes, I had forgotten the salary! Well then, on that mercenary ground, willyou agree to let me hector a little?"

"No, sir, not on that ground; but, on the ground that you did forget it, and that you care whether or not a dependent is comfortable in hisdependency, I agree heartily. "

"And will you consent to dispense with a great many conventional formsand phrases, without thinking that the omission arises from insolence?"

"I am sure, sir, I should never mistake informality for insolence: one Irather like, the other nothing free-born would submit to, even for asalary. "

"Humbug! Most things free-born will submit to anything for a salary;therefore, keep to yourself, and don't venture on generalities of whichyou are intensely ignorant. However, I mentally shake hands with you foryour answer, despite its inaccuracy; and as much for the manner in whichit was said, as for the substance of the speech; the manner was frank andsincere; one does not often see such a manner: no, on the contrary, affectation, or coldness, or stupid, coarse-minded misapprehension ofone's meaning are the usual rewards of candour. Not three in threethousand raw school-girl-governesses would have answered me as you havejust done. But I don't mean to flatter you: if you are cast in adifferent mould to the majority, it is no merit of yours: Nature did it. And then, after all, I go too fast in my conclusions: for what I yetknow, you may be no better than the rest; you may have intolerabledefects to counterbalance your few good points. "

"And so may you, " I thought. My eye met his as the idea crossed my mind:he seemed to read the glance, answering as if its import had been spokenas well as imagined--

"Yes, yes, you are right, " said he; "I have plenty of faults of my own: Iknow it, and I don't wish to palliate them, I assure you. God wot I neednot be too severe about others; I have a past existence, a series ofdeeds, a colour of life to contemplate within my own breast, which mightwell call my sneers and censures from my neighbours to myself. Istarted, or rather (for like other defaulters, I like to lay half theblame on ill fortune and adverse circumstances) was thrust on to a wrongtack at the age of one-and-twenty, and have never recovered the rightcourse since: but I might have been very different; I might have been asgood as you--wiser--almost as stainless. I envy you your peace of mind, your clean conscience, your unpolluted memory. Little girl, a memorywithout blot or contamination must be an exquisite treasure--aninexhaustible source of pure refreshment: is it not?"

"How was your memory when you were eighteen, sir?"

"All right then; limpid, salubrious: no gush of bilge water had turned itto fetid puddle. I was your equal at eighteen--quite your equal. Naturemeant me to be, on the whole, a good man, Miss Eyre; one of the betterkind, and you see I am not so. You would say you don't see it; at leastI flatter myself I read as much in your eye (beware, by-the-bye, what youexpress with that organ; I am quick at interpreting its language). Thentake my word for it, --I am not a villain: you are not to suppose that--notto attribute to me any such bad eminence; but, owing, I verily believe, rather to circumstances than to my natural bent, I am a trite commonplacesinner, hackneyed in all the poor petty dissipations with which the richand worthless try to put on life. Do you wonder that I avow this to you?Know, that in the course of your future life you will often find yourselfelected the involuntary confidant of your acquaintances' secrets: peoplewill instinctively find out, as I have done, that it is not your forte totell of yourself, but to listen while others talk of themselves; theywill feel, too, that you listen with no malevolent scorn of theirindiscretion, but with a kind of innate sympathy; not the less comfortingand encouraging because it is very unobtrusive in its manifestations. "

"How do you know?--how can you guess all this, sir?"

"I know it well; therefore I proceed almost as freely as if I werewriting my thoughts in a diary. You would say, I should have beensuperior to circumstances; so I should--so I should; but you see I wasnot. When fate wronged me, I had not the wisdom to remain cool: I turneddesperate; then I degenerated. Now, when any vicious simpleton excitesmy disgust by his paltry ribaldry, I cannot flatter myself that I ambetter than he: I am forced to confess that he and I are on a level. Iwish I had stood firm--God knows I do! Dread remorse when you aretempted to err, Miss Eyre; remorse is the poison of life. "

"Repentance is said to be its cure, sir. "

"It is not its cure. Reformation may be its cure; and I could reform--Ihave strength yet for that--if--but where is the use of thinking of it, hampered, burdened, cursed as I am? Besides, since happiness isirrevocably denied me, I have a right to get pleasure out of life: and I_will_ get it, cost what it may. "

"Then you will degenerate still more, sir. "

"Possibly: yet why should I, if I can get sweet, fresh pleasure? And Imay get it as sweet and fresh as the wild honey the bee gathers on themoor. "

"It will sting--it will taste bitter, sir. "

"How do you know?--you never tried it. How very serious--how very solemnyou look: and you are as ignorant of the matter as this cameo head"(taking one from the mantelpiece). "You have no right to preach to me, you neophyte, that have not passed the porch of life, and are absolutelyunacquainted with its mysteries. "

"I only remind you of your own words, sir: you said error broughtremorse, and you pronounced remorse the poison of existence. "

"And who talks of error now? I scarcely think the notion that flitteredacross my brain was an error. I believe it was an inspiration ratherthan a temptation: it was very genial, very soothing--I know that. Hereit comes again! It is no devil, I assure you; or if it be, it has put onthe robes of an angel of light. I think I must admit so fair a guestwhen it asks entrance to my heart. "

"Distrust it, sir; it is not a true angel. "

"Once more, how do you know? By what instinct do you pretend todistinguish between a fallen seraph of the abyss and a messenger from theeternal throne--between a guide and a seducer?"

"I judged by your countenance, sir, which was troubled when you said thesuggestion had returned upon you. I feel sure it will work you moremisery if you listen to it. "

"Not at all--it bears the most gracious message in the world: for therest, you are not my conscience-keeper, so don't make yourself uneasy. Here, come in, bonny wanderer!"

He said this as if he spoke to a vision, viewless to any eye but his own;then, folding his arms, which he had half extended, on his chest, heseemed to enclose in their embrace the invisible being. 

"Now, " he continued, again addressing me, "I have received the pilgrim--adisguised deity, as I verily believe. Already it has done me good: myheart was a sort of charnel; it will now be a shrine. "

"To speak truth, sir, I don't understand you at all: I cannot keep up theconversation, because it has got out of my depth. Only one thing, Iknow: you said you were not as good as you should like to be, and thatyou regretted your own imperfection;--one thing I can comprehend: youintimated that to have a sullied memory was a perpetual bane. It seemsto me, that if you tried hard, you would in time find it possible tobecome what you yourself would approve; and that if from this day youbegan with resolution to correct your thoughts and actions, you would ina few years have laid up a new and stainless store of recollections, towhich you might revert with pleasure. "

"Justly thought; rightly said, Miss Eyre; and, at this moment, I ampaving hell with energy. "

"Sir?"

"I am laying down good intentions, which I believe durable as flint. Certainly, my associates and pursuits shall be other than they havebeen. "

"And better?"

"And better--so much better as pure ore is than foul dross. You seem todoubt me; I don't doubt myself: I know what my aim is, what my motivesare; and at this moment I pass a law, unalterable as that of the Medesand Persians, that both are right. "

"They cannot be, sir, if they require a new statute to legalise them. "

"They are, Miss Eyre, though they absolutely require a new statute:unheard-of combinations of circumstances demand unheard-of rules. "

"That sounds a dangerous maxim, sir; because one can see at once that itis liable to abuse. "

"Sententious sage! so it is: but I swear by my household gods not toabuse it. "

"You are human and fallible. "

"I am: so are you--what then?"

"The human and fallible should not arrogate a power with which the divineand perfect alone can be safely intrusted. "

"What power?"

"That of saying of any strange, unsanctioned line of action, --'Let it beright. '"

"'Let it be right'--the very words: you have pronounced them. "

"_May_ it be right then, " I said, as I rose, deeming it useless tocontinue a discourse which was all darkness to me; and, besides, sensiblethat the character of my interlocutor was beyond my penetration; atleast, beyond its present reach; and feeling the uncertainty, the vaguesense of insecurity, which accompanies a conviction of ignorance. 

"Where are you going?"

"To put Adele to bed: it is past her bedtime. "

"You are afraid of me, because I talk like a Sphynx. "

"Your language is enigmatical, sir: but though I am bewildered, I amcertainly not afraid. "

"You _are_ afraid--your self-love dreads a blunder. "

"In that sense I do feel apprehensive--I have no wish to talk nonsense. "

"If you did, it would be in such a grave, quiet manner, I should mistakeit for sense. Do you never laugh, Miss Eyre? Don't trouble yourself toanswer--I see you laugh rarely; but you can laugh very merrily: believeme, you are not naturally austere, any more than I am naturally vicious. The Lowood constraint still clings to you somewhat; controlling yourfeatures, muffling your voice, and restricting your limbs; and you fearin the presence of a man and a brother--or father, or master, or what youwill--to smile too gaily, speak too freely, or move too quickly: but, intime, I think you will learn to be natural with me, as I find itimpossible to be conventional with you; and then your looks and movementswill have more vivacity and variety than they dare offer now. I see atintervals the glance of a curious sort of bird through the close-set barsof a cage: a vivid, restless, resolute captive is there; were it butfree, it would soar cloud-high. You are still bent on going?"

"It has struck nine, sir. "

"Never mind, --wait a minute: Adele is not ready to go to bed yet. Myposition, Miss Eyre, with my back to the fire, and my face to the room, favours observation. While talking to you, I have also occasionallywatched Adele (I have my own reasons for thinking her a curiousstudy, --reasons that I may, nay, that I shall, impart to you some day). She pulled out of her box, about ten minutes ago, a little pink silkfrock; rapture lit her face as she unfolded it; coquetry runs in herblood, blends with her brains, and seasons the marrow of her bones. 'Ilfaut que je l'essaie!' cried she, 'et a l'instant meme!' and she rushedout of the room. She is now with Sophie, undergoing a robing process: ina few minutes she will re-enter; and I know what I shall see, --aminiature of Celine Varens, as she used to appear on the boards at therising of--But never mind that. However, my tenderest feelings are aboutto receive a shock: such is my presentiment; stay now, to see whether itwill be realised. "

Ere long, Adele's little foot was heard tripping across the hall. Sheentered, transformed as her guardian had predicted. A dress ofrose-coloured satin, very short, and as full in the skirt as it could begathered, replaced the brown frock she had previously worn; a wreath ofrosebuds circled her forehead; her feet were dressed in silk stockingsand small white satin sandals. 

"Est-ce que ma robe va bien?" cried she, bounding forwards; "et messouliers? et mes bas? Tenez, je crois que je vais danser!"

And spreading out her dress, she chasseed across the room till, havingreached Mr. Rochester, she wheeled lightly round before him on tip-toe, then dropped on one knee at his feet, exclaiming--

"Monsieur, je vous remercie mille fois de votre bonte;" then rising, sheadded, "C'est comme cela que maman faisait, n'est-ce pas, monsieur?"

"Pre-cise-ly!" was the answer; "and, 'comme cela, ' she charmed my Englishgold out of my British breeches' pocket. I have been green, too, MissEyre, --ay, grass green: not a more vernal tint freshens you now than oncefreshened me. My Spring is gone, however, but it has left me that Frenchfloweret on my hands, which, in some moods, I would fain be rid of. Notvaluing now the root whence it sprang; having found that it was of a sortwhich nothing but gold dust could manure, I have but half a liking to theblossom, especially when it looks so artificial as just now. I keep itand rear it rather on the Roman Catholic principle of expiating numeroussins, great or small, by one good work. I'll explain all this some day. Good-night. "

CHAPTER XV

Mr. Rochester did, on a future occasion, explain it. It was oneafternoon, when he chanced to meet me and Adele in the grounds: and whileshe played with Pilot and her shuttlecock, he asked me to walk up anddown a long beech avenue within sight of her. 

He then said that she was the daughter of a French opera-dancer, CelineVarens, towards whom he had once cherished what he called a "_grandepassion_. " This passion Celine had professed to return with evensuperior ardour. He thought himself her idol, ugly as he was: hebelieved, as he said, that she preferred his "_taille d'athlete_" to theelegance of the Apollo Belvidere. 

"And, Miss Eyre, so much was I flattered by this preference of the Gallicsylph for her British gnome, that I installed her in an hotel; gave her acomplete establishment of servants, a carriage, cashmeres, diamonds, dentelles, &c. In short, I began the process of ruining myself in thereceived style, like any other spoony. I had not, it seems, theoriginality to chalk out a new road to shame and destruction, but trodethe old track with stupid exactness not to deviate an inch from thebeaten centre. I had--as I deserved to have--the fate of all otherspoonies. Happening to call one evening when Celine did not expect me, Ifound her out; but it was a warm night, and I was tired with strollingthrough Paris, so I sat down in her boudoir; happy to breathe the airconsecrated so lately by her presence. No, --I exaggerate; I neverthought there was any consecrating virtue about her: it was rather a sortof pastille perfume she had left; a scent of musk and amber, than anodour of sanctity. I was just beginning to stifle with the fumes ofconservatory flowers and sprinkled essences, when I bethought myself toopen the window and step out on to the balcony. It was moonlight andgaslight besides, and very still and serene. The balcony was furnishedwith a chair or two; I sat down, and took out a cigar, --I will take onenow, if you will excuse me. "

Here ensued a pause, filled up by the producing and lighting of a cigar;having placed it to his lips and breathed a trail of Havannah incense onthe freezing and sunless air, he went on--

"I liked bonbons too in those days, Miss Eyre, and I was_croquant_--(overlook the barbarism)--_croquant_ chocolate comfits, andsmoking alternately, watching meantime the equipages that rolled alongthe fashionable streets towards the neighbouring opera-house, when in anelegant close carriage drawn by a beautiful pair of English horses, anddistinctly seen in the brilliant city-night, I recognised the 'voiture' Ihad given Celine. She was returning: of course my heart thumped withimpatience against the iron rails I leant upon. The carriage stopped, asI had expected, at the hotel door; my flame (that is the very word for anopera inamorata) alighted: though muffed in a cloak--an unnecessaryencumbrance, by-the-bye, on so warm a June evening--I knew her instantlyby her little foot, seen peeping from the skirt of her dress, as sheskipped from the carriage-step. Bending over the balcony, I was about tomurmur 'Mon ange'--in a tone, of course, which should be audible to theear of love alone--when a figure jumped from the carriage after her;cloaked also; but that was a spurred heel which had rung on the pavement, and that was a hatted head which now passed under the arched _portecochere_ of the hotel. 

"You never felt jealousy, did you, Miss Eyre? Of course not: I need notask you; because you never felt love. You have both sentiments yet toexperience: your soul sleeps; the shock is yet to be given which shallwaken it. You think all existence lapses in as quiet a flow as that inwhich your youth has hitherto slid away. Floating on with closed eyesand muffled ears, you neither see the rocks bristling not far off in thebed of the flood, nor hear the breakers boil at their base. But I tellyou--and you may mark my words--you will come some day to a craggy passin the channel, where the whole of life's stream will be broken up intowhirl and tumult, foam and noise: either you will be dashed to atoms oncrag points, or lifted up and borne on by some master-wave into a calmercurrent--as I am now. 

"I like this day; I like that sky of steel; I like the sternness andstillness of the world under this frost. I like Thornfield, itsantiquity, its retirement, its old crow-trees and thorn-trees, its greyfacade, and lines of dark windows reflecting that metal welkin: and yethow long have I abhorred the very thought of it, shunned it like a greatplague-house? How I do still abhor--"

He ground his teeth and was silent: he arrested his step and struck hisboot against the hard ground. Some hated thought seemed to have him inits grip, and to hold him so tightly that he could not advance. 

We were ascending the avenue when he thus paused; the hall was before us. Lifting his eye to its battlements, he cast over them a glare such as Inever saw before or since. Pain, shame, ire, impatience, disgust, detestation, seemed momentarily to hold a quivering conflict in the largepupil dilating under his ebon eyebrow. Wild was the wrestle which shouldbe paramount; but another feeling rose and triumphed: something hard andcynical: self-willed and resolute: it settled his passion and petrifiedhis countenance: he went on--

"During the moment I was silent, Miss Eyre, I was arranging a point withmy destiny. She stood there, by that beech-trunk--a hag like one ofthose who appeared to Macbeth on the heath of Forres. 'You likeThornfield?' she said, lifting her finger; and then she wrote in the aira memento, which ran in lurid hieroglyphics all along the house-front, between the upper and lower row of windows, 'Like it if you can! Like itif you dare!'

"'I will like it, ' said I; 'I dare like it;' and" (he subjoined moodily)"I will keep my word; I will break obstacles to happiness, togoodness--yes, goodness. I wish to be a better man than I have been, than I am; as Job's leviathan broke the spear, the dart, and thehabergeon, hindrances which others count as iron and brass, I will esteembut straw and rotten wood. "

Adele here ran before him with her shuttlecock. "Away!" he criedharshly; "keep at a distance, child; or go in to Sophie!" Continuingthen to pursue his walk in silence, I ventured to recall him to the pointwhence he had abruptly diverged--

"Did you leave the balcony, sir, " I asked, "when Mdlle. Varens entered?"

I almost expected a rebuff for this hardly well-timed question, but, onthe contrary, waking out of his scowling abstraction, he turned his eyestowards me, and the shade seemed to clear off his brow. "Oh, I hadforgotten Celine! Well, to resume. When I saw my charmer thus come inaccompanied by a cavalier, I seemed to hear a hiss, and the green snakeof jealousy, rising on undulating coils from the moonlit balcony, glidedwithin my waistcoat, and ate its way in two minutes to my heart's core. Strange!" he exclaimed, suddenly starting again from the point. "Strangethat I should choose you for the confidant of all this, young lady;passing strange that you should listen to me quietly, as if it were themost usual thing in the world for a man like me to tell stories of hisopera-mistresses to a quaint, inexperienced girl like you! But the lastsingularity explains the first, as I intimated once before: you, withyour gravity, considerateness, and caution were made to be the recipientof secrets. Besides, I know what sort of a mind I have placed incommunication with my own: I know it is one not liable to take infection:it is a peculiar mind: it is a unique one. Happily I do not mean to harmit: but, if I did, it would not take harm from me. The more you and Iconverse, the better; for while I cannot blight you, you may refresh me. "After this digression he proceeded--

"I remained in the balcony. 'They will come to her boudoir, no doubt, 'thought I: 'let me prepare an ambush. ' So putting my hand in through theopen window, I drew the curtain over it, leaving only an opening throughwhich I could take observations; then I closed the casement, all but achink just wide enough to furnish an outlet to lovers' whispered vows:then I stole back to my chair; and as I resumed it the pair came in. Myeye was quickly at the aperture. Celine's chamber-maid entered, lit alamp, left it on the table, and withdrew. The couple were thus revealedto me clearly: both removed their cloaks, and there was 'the Varens, 'shining in satin and jewels, --my gifts of course, --and there was hercompanion in an officer's uniform; and I knew him for a young roue of avicomte--a brainless and vicious youth whom I had sometimes met insociety, and had never thought of hating because I despised him soabsolutely. On recognising him, the fang of the snake Jealousy wasinstantly broken; because at the same moment my love for Celine sankunder an extinguisher. A woman who could betray me for such a rival wasnot worth contending for; she deserved only scorn; less, however, than I, who had been her dupe. 

"They began to talk; their conversation eased me completely: frivolous, mercenary, heartless, and senseless, it was rather calculated to wearythan enrage a listener. A card of mine lay on the table; this beingperceived, brought my name under discussion. Neither of them possessedenergy or wit to belabour me soundly, but they insulted me as coarsely asthey could in their little way: especially Celine, who even waxed ratherbrilliant on my personal defects--deformities she termed them. Now ithad been her custom to launch out into fervent admiration of what shecalled my '_beaute male_:' wherein she differed diametrically from you, who told me point-blank, at the second interview, that you did not thinkme handsome. The contrast struck me at the time and--"

Adele here came running up again. 

"Monsieur, John has just been to say that your agent has called andwishes to see you. "

"Ah! in that case I must abridge. Opening the window, I walked in uponthem; liberated Celine from my protection; gave her notice to vacate herhotel; offered her a purse for immediate exigencies; disregarded screams, hysterics, prayers, protestations, convulsions; made an appointment withthe vicomte for a meeting at the Bois de Boulogne. Next morning I hadthe pleasure of encountering him; left a bullet in one of his pooretiolated arms, feeble as the wing of a chicken in the pip, and thenthought I had done with the whole crew. But unluckily the Varens, sixmonths before, had given me this filette Adele, who, she affirmed, was mydaughter; and perhaps she may be, though I see no proofs of such grimpaternity written in her countenance: Pilot is more like me than she. Some years after I had broken with the mother, she abandoned her child, and ran away to Italy with a musician or singer. I acknowledged nonatural claim on Adele's part to be supported by me, nor do I nowacknowledge any, for I am not her father; but hearing that she was quitedestitute, I e'en took the poor thing out of the slime and mud of Paris, and transplanted it here, to grow up clean in the wholesome soil of anEnglish country garden. Mrs. Fairfax found you to train it; but now youknow that it is the illegitimate offspring of a French opera-girl, youwill perhaps think differently of your post and protegee: you will becoming to me some day with notice that you have found another place--thatyou beg me to look out for a new governess, &c. --Eh?"

"No: Adele is not answerable for either her mother's faults or yours: Ihave a regard for her; and now that I know she is, in a sense, parentless--forsaken by her mother and disowned by you, sir--I shallcling closer to her than before. How could I possibly prefer the spoiltpet of a wealthy family, who would hate her governess as a nuisance, to alonely little orphan, who leans towards her as a friend?"

"Oh, that is the light in which you view it! Well, I must go in now; andyou too: it darkens. "

But I stayed out a few minutes longer with Adele and Pilot--ran a racewith her, and played a game of battledore and shuttlecock. When we wentin, and I had removed her bonnet and coat, I took her on my knee; kepther there an hour, allowing her to prattle as she liked: not rebukingeven some little freedoms and trivialities into which she was apt tostray when much noticed, and which betrayed in her a superficiality ofcharacter, inherited probably from her mother, hardly congenial to anEnglish mind. Still she had her merits; and I was disposed to appreciateall that was good in her to the utmost. I sought in her countenance andfeatures a likeness to Mr. Rochester, but found none: no trait, no turnof expression announced relationship. It was a pity: if she could buthave been proved to resemble him, he would have thought more of her. 

It was not till after I had withdrawn to my own chamber for the night, that I steadily reviewed the tale Mr. Rochester had told me. As he hadsaid, there was probably nothing at all extraordinary in the substance ofthe narrative itself: a wealthy Englishman's passion for a French dancer, and her treachery to him, were every-day matters enough, no doubt, insociety; but there was something decidedly strange in the paroxysm ofemotion which had suddenly seized him when he was in the act ofexpressing the present contentment of his mood, and his newly revivedpleasure in the old hall and its environs. I meditated wonderingly onthis incident; but gradually quitting it, as I found it for the presentinexplicable, I turned to the consideration of my master's manner tomyself. The confidence he had thought fit to repose in me seemed atribute to my discretion: I regarded and accepted it as such. Hisdeportment had now for some weeks been more uniform towards me than atthe first. I never seemed in his way; he did not take fits of chillinghauteur: when he met me unexpectedly, the encounter seemed welcome; hehad always a word and sometimes a smile for me: when summoned by formalinvitation to his presence, I was honoured by a cordiality of receptionthat made me feel I really possessed the power to amuse him, and thatthese evening conferences were sought as much for his pleasure as for mybenefit. 

I, indeed, talked comparatively little, but I heard him talk with relish. It was his nature to be communicative; he liked to open to a mindunacquainted with the world glimpses of its scenes and ways (I do notmean its corrupt scenes and wicked ways, but such as derived theirinterest from the great scale on which they were acted, the strangenovelty by which they were characterised); and I had a keen delight inreceiving the new ideas he offered, in imagining the new pictures heportrayed, and following him in thought through the new regions hedisclosed, never startled or troubled by one noxious allusion. 

The ease of his manner freed me from painful restraint: the friendlyfrankness, as correct as cordial, with which he treated me, drew me tohim. I felt at times as if he were my relation rather than my master:yet he was imperious sometimes still; but I did not mind that; I saw itwas his way. So happy, so gratified did I become with this new interestadded to life, that I ceased to pine after kindred: my thincrescent-destiny seemed to enlarge; the blanks of existence were filledup; my bodily health improved; I gathered flesh and strength. 

And was Mr. Rochester now ugly in my eyes? No, reader: gratitude, andmany associations, all pleasurable and genial, made his face the object Ibest liked to see; his presence in a room was more cheering than thebrightest fire. Yet I had not forgotten his faults; indeed, I could not, for he brought them frequently before me. He was proud, sardonic, harshto inferiority of every description: in my secret soul I knew that hisgreat kindness to me was balanced by unjust severity to many others. Hewas moody, too; unaccountably so; I more than once, when sent for to readto him, found him sitting in his library alone, with his head bent on hisfolded arms; and, when he looked up, a morose, almost a malignant, scowlblackened his features. But I believed that his moodiness, hisharshness, and his former faults of morality (I say _former_, for now heseemed corrected of them) had their source in some cruel cross of fate. Ibelieved he was naturally a man of better tendencies, higher principles, and purer tastes than such as circumstances had developed, educationinstilled, or destiny encouraged. I thought there were excellentmaterials in him; though for the present they hung together somewhatspoiled and tangled. I cannot deny that I grieved for his grief, whatever that was, and would have given much to assuage it. 

Though I had now extinguished my candle and was laid down in bed, I couldnot sleep for thinking of his look when he paused in the avenue, and toldhow his destiny had risen up before him, and dared him to be happy atThornfield. 

"Why not?" I asked myself. "What alienates him from the house? Will heleave it again soon? Mrs. Fairfax said he seldom stayed here longer thana fortnight at a time; and he has now been resident eight weeks. If hedoes go, the change will be doleful. Suppose he should be absent spring, summer, and autumn: how joyless sunshine and fine days will seem!"

I hardly know whether I had slept or not after this musing; at any rate, I started wide awake on hearing a vague murmur, peculiar and lugubrious, which sounded, I thought, just above me. I wished I had kept my candleburning: the night was drearily dark; my spirits were depressed. I roseand sat up in bed, listening. The sound was hushed. 

I tried again to sleep; but my heart beat anxiously: my inwardtranquillity was broken. The clock, far down in the hall, struck two. Just then it seemed my chamber-door was touched; as if fingers had sweptthe panels in groping a way along the dark gallery outside. I said, "Whois there?" Nothing answered. I was chilled with fear. 

All at once I remembered that it might be Pilot, who, when the kitchen-door chanced to be left open, not unfrequently found his way up to thethreshold of Mr. Rochester's chamber: I had seen him lying there myselfin the mornings. The idea calmed me somewhat: I lay down. Silencecomposes the nerves; and as an unbroken hush now reigned again throughthe whole house, I began to feel the return of slumber. But it was notfated that I should sleep that night. A dream had scarcely approached myear, when it fled affrighted, scared by a marrow-freezing incidentenough. 

This was a demoniac laugh--low, suppressed, and deep--uttered, as itseemed, at the very keyhole of my chamber door. The head of my bed wasnear the door, and I thought at first the goblin-laugher stood at mybedside--or rather, crouched by my pillow: but I rose, looked round, andcould see nothing; while, as I still gazed, the unnatural sound wasreiterated: and I knew it came from behind the panels. My first impulsewas to rise and fasten the bolt; my next, again to cry out, "Who isthere?"

Something gurgled and moaned. Ere long, steps retreated up the gallerytowards the third-storey staircase: a door had lately been made to shutin that staircase; I heard it open and close, and all was still. 

"Was that Grace Poole? and is she possessed with a devil?" thought I. Impossible now to remain longer by myself: I must go to Mrs. Fairfax. Ihurried on my frock and a shawl; I withdrew the bolt and opened the doorwith a trembling hand. There was a candle burning just outside, and onthe matting in the gallery. I was surprised at this circumstance: butstill more was I amazed to perceive the air quite dim, as if filled withsmoke; and, while looking to the right hand and left, to find whencethese blue wreaths issued, I became further aware of a strong smell ofburning. 

Something creaked: it was a door ajar; and that door was Mr. Rochester's, and the smoke rushed in a cloud from thence. I thought no more of Mrs. Fairfax; I thought no more of Grace Poole, or the laugh: in an instant, Iwas within the chamber. Tongues of flame darted round the bed: thecurtains were on fire. In the midst of blaze and vapour, Mr. Rochesterlay stretched motionless, in deep sleep. 

"Wake! wake!" I cried. I shook him, but he only murmured and turned: thesmoke had stupefied him. Not a moment could be lost: the very sheetswere kindling, I rushed to his basin and ewer; fortunately, one was wideand the other deep, and both were filled with water. I heaved them up, deluged the bed and its occupant, flew back to my own room, brought myown water-jug, baptized the couch afresh, and, by God's aid, succeeded inextinguishing the flames which were devouring it. 

The hiss of the quenched element, the breakage of a pitcher which I flungfrom my hand when I had emptied it, and, above all, the splash of theshower-bath I had liberally bestowed, roused Mr. Rochester at last. Though it was now dark, I knew he was awake; because I heard himfulminating strange anathemas at finding himself lying in a pool ofwater. 

"Is there a flood?" he cried. 

"No, sir, " I answered; "but there has been a fire: get up, do; you arequenched now; I will fetch you a candle. "

"In the name of all the elves in Christendom, is that Jane Eyre?" hedemanded. "What have you done with me, witch, sorceress? Who is in theroom besides you? Have you plotted to drown me?"

"I will fetch you a candle, sir; and, in Heaven's name, get up. Somebodyhas plotted something: you cannot too soon find out who and what it is. "

"There! I am up now; but at your peril you fetch a candle yet: wait twominutes till I get into some dry garments, if any dry there be--yes, hereis my dressing-gown. Now run!"

I did run; I brought the candle which still remained in the gallery. Hetook it from my hand, held it up, and surveyed the bed, all blackened andscorched, the sheets drenched, the carpet round swimming in water. 

"What is it? and who did it?" he asked. I briefly related to him whathad transpired: the strange laugh I had heard in the gallery: the stepascending to the third storey; the smoke, --the smell of fire which hadconducted me to his room; in what state I had found matters there, andhow I had deluged him with all the water I could lay hands on. 

{"What is it and who did it?" he asked: p140. Jpg}

He listened very gravely; his face, as I went on, expressed more concernthan astonishment; he did not immediately speak when I had concluded. 

"Shall I call Mrs. Fairfax?" I asked. 

"Mrs. Fairfax? No; what the deuce would you call her for? What can shedo? Let her sleep unmolested. "

"Then I will fetch Leah, and wake John and his wife. "

"Not at all: just be still. You have a shawl on. If you are not warmenough, you may take my cloak yonder; wrap it about you, and sit down inthe arm-chair: there, --I will put it on. Now place your feet on thestool, to keep them out of the wet. I am going to leave you a fewminutes. I shall take the candle. Remain where you are till I return;be as still as a mouse. I must pay a visit to the second storey. Don'tmove, remember, or call any one. "

He went: I watched the light withdraw. He passed up the gallery verysoftly, unclosed the staircase door with as little noise as possible, shut it after him, and the last ray vanished. I was left in totaldarkness. I listened for some noise, but heard nothing. A very longtime elapsed. I grew weary: it was cold, in spite of the cloak; and thenI did not see the use of staying, as I was not to rouse the house. I wason the point of risking Mr. Rochester's displeasure by disobeying hisorders, when the light once more gleamed dimly on the gallery wall, and Iheard his unshod feet tread the matting. "I hope it is he, " thought I, "and not something worse. "

He re-entered, pale and very gloomy. "I have found it all out, " said he, setting his candle down on the washstand; "it is as I thought. "

"How, sir?"

He made no reply, but stood with his arms folded, looking on the ground. At the end of a few minutes he inquired in rather a peculiar tone--

"I forget whether you said you saw anything when you opened your chamberdoor. "

"No, sir, only the candlestick on the ground. "

"But you heard an odd laugh? You have heard that laugh before, I shouldthink, or something like it?"

"Yes, sir: there is a woman who sews here, called Grace Poole, --shelaughs in that way. She is a singular person. "

"Just so. Grace Poole--you have guessed it. She is, as you say, singular--very. Well, I shall reflect on the subject. Meantime, I amglad that you are the only person, besides myself, acquainted with theprecise details of to-night's incident. You are no talking fool: saynothing about it. I will account for this state of affairs" (pointing tothe bed): "and now return to your own room. I shall do very well on thesofa in the library for the rest of the night. It is near four:--in twohours the servants will be up. "

"Good-night, then, sir, " said I, departing. 

He seemed surprised--very inconsistently so, as he had just told me togo. 

"What!" he exclaimed, "are you quitting me already, and in that way?"

"You said I might go, sir. "

"But not without taking leave; not without a word or two ofacknowledgment and good-will: not, in short, in that brief, dry fashion. Why, you have saved my life!--snatched me from a horrible andexcruciating death! and you walk past me as if we were mutual strangers!At least shake hands. "

He held out his hand; I gave him mine: he took it first in one, them inboth his own. 

"You have saved my life: I have a pleasure in owing you so immense adebt. I cannot say more. Nothing else that has being would have beentolerable to me in the character of creditor for such an obligation: butyou: it is different;--I feel your benefits no burden, Jane. "

He paused; gazed at me: words almost visible trembled on his lips, --buthis voice was checked. 

"Good-night again, sir. There is no debt, benefit, burden, obligation, in the case. "

"I knew, " he continued, "you would do me good in some way, at sometime;--I saw it in your eyes when I first beheld you: their expressionand smile did not"--(again he stopped)--"did not" (he proceeded hastily)"strike delight to my very inmost heart so for nothing. People talk ofnatural sympathies; I have heard of good genii: there are grains of truthin the wildest fable. My cherished preserver, goodnight!"

Strange energy was in his voice, strange fire in his look. 

"I am glad I happened to be awake, " I said: and then I was going. 

"What! you _will_ go?"

"I am cold, sir. "

"Cold? Yes, --and standing in a pool! Go, then, Jane; go!" But he stillretained my hand, and I could not free it. I bethought myself of anexpedient. 

"I think I hear Mrs. Fairfax move, sir, " said I. 

"Well, leave me:" he relaxed his fingers, and I was gone. 

I regained my couch, but never thought of sleep. Till morning dawned Iwas tossed on a buoyant but unquiet sea, where billows of trouble rolledunder surges of joy. I thought sometimes I saw beyond its wild waters ashore, sweet as the hills of Beulah; and now and then a freshening gale, wakened by hope, bore my spirit triumphantly towards the bourne: but Icould not reach it, even in fancy--a counteracting breeze blew off land, and continually drove me back. Sense would resist delirium: judgmentwould warn passion. Too feverish to rest, I rose as soon as day dawned. 

CHAPTER XVI

I both wished and feared to see Mr. Rochester on the day which followedthis sleepless night: I wanted to hear his voice again, yet feared tomeet his eye. During the early part of the morning, I momentarilyexpected his coming; he was not in the frequent habit of entering theschoolroom, but he did step in for a few minutes sometimes, and I had theimpression that he was sure to visit it that day. 

But the morning passed just as usual: nothing happened to interrupt thequiet course of Adele's studies; only soon after breakfast, I heard somebustle in the neighbourhood of Mr. Rochester's chamber, Mrs. Fairfax'svoice, and Leah's, and the cook's--that is, John's wife--and even John'sown gruff tones. There were exclamations of "What a mercy master was notburnt in his bed!" "It is always dangerous to keep a candle lit atnight. " "How providential that he had presence of mind to think of thewater-jug!" "I wonder he waked nobody!" "It is to be hoped he will nottake cold with sleeping on the library sofa, " &c. 

To much confabulation succeeded a sound of scrubbing and setting torights; and when I passed the room, in going downstairs to dinner, I sawthrough the open door that all was again restored to complete order; onlythe bed was stripped of its hangings. Leah stood up in the window-seat, rubbing the panes of glass dimmed with smoke. I was about to addressher, for I wished to know what account had been given of the affair: but, on advancing, I saw a second person in the chamber--a woman sitting on achair by the bedside, and sewing rings to new curtains. That woman wasno other than Grace Poole. 

There she sat, staid and taciturn-looking, as usual, in her brown stuffgown, her check apron, white handkerchief, and cap. She was intent onher work, in which her whole thoughts seemed absorbed: on her hardforehead, and in her commonplace features, was nothing either of thepaleness or desperation one would have expected to see marking thecountenance of a woman who had attempted murder, and whose intendedvictim had followed her last night to her lair, and (as I believed), charged her with the crime she wished to perpetrate. I wasamazed--confounded. She looked up, while I still gazed at her: no start, no increase or failure of colour betrayed emotion, consciousness ofguilt, or fear of detection. She said "Good morning, Miss, " in her usualphlegmatic and brief manner; and taking up another ring and more tape, went on with her sewing. 

"I will put her to some test, " thought I: "such absolute impenetrabilityis past comprehension. "

"Good morning, Grace, " I said. "Has anything happened here? I thought Iheard the servants all talking together a while ago. "

"Only master had been reading in his bed last night; he fell asleep withhis candle lit, and the curtains got on fire; but, fortunately, he awokebefore the bed-clothes or the wood-work caught, and contrived to quenchthe flames with the water in the ewer. "

"A strange affair!" I said, in a low voice: then, looking at herfixedly--"Did Mr. Rochester wake nobody? Did no one hear him move?"

She again raised her eyes to me, and this time there was something ofconsciousness in their expression. She seemed to examine me warily; thenshe answered--

"The servants sleep so far off, you know, Miss, they would not be likelyto hear. Mrs. Fairfax's room and yours are the nearest to master's; butMrs. Fairfax said she heard nothing: when people get elderly, they oftensleep heavy. " She paused, and then added, with a sort of assumedindifference, but still in a marked and significant tone--"But you areyoung, Miss; and I should say a light sleeper: perhaps you may have hearda noise?"

"I did, " said I, dropping my voice, so that Leah, who was still polishingthe panes, could not hear me, "and at first I thought it was Pilot: butPilot cannot laugh; and I am certain I heard a laugh, and a strange one. "

She took a new needleful of thread, waxed it carefully, threaded herneedle with a steady hand, and then observed, with perfect composure--

"It is hardly likely master would laugh, I should think, Miss, when hewas in such danger: You must have been dreaming. "

"I was not dreaming, " I said, with some warmth, for her brazen coolnessprovoked me. Again she looked at me; and with the same scrutinising andconscious eye. 

"Have you told master that you heard a laugh?" she inquired. 

"I have not had the opportunity of speaking to him this morning. "

"You did not think of opening your door and looking out into thegallery?" she further asked. 

She appeared to be cross-questioning me, attempting to draw from meinformation unawares. The idea struck me that if she discovered I knewor suspected her guilt, she would be playing of some of her malignantpranks on me; I thought it advisable to be on my guard. 

"On the contrary, " said I, "I bolted my door. "

"Then you are not in the habit of bolting your door every night beforeyou get into bed?"

"Fiend! she wants to know my habits, that she may lay her plansaccordingly!" Indignation again prevailed over prudence: I repliedsharply, "Hitherto I have often omitted to fasten the bolt: I did notthink it necessary. I was not aware any danger or annoyance was to bedreaded at Thornfield Hall: but in future" (and I laid marked stress onthe words) "I shall take good care to make all secure before I venture tolie down. "

"It will be wise so to do, " was her answer: "this neighbourhood is asquiet as any I know, and I never heard of the hall being attempted byrobbers since it was a house; though there are hundreds of pounds' worthof plate in the plate-closet, as is well known. And you see, for such alarge house, there are very few servants, because master has never livedhere much; and when he does come, being a bachelor, he needs littlewaiting on: but I always think it best to err on the safe side; a door issoon fastened, and it is as well to have a drawn bolt between one and anymischief that may be about. A deal of people, Miss, are for trusting allto Providence; but I say Providence will not dispense with the means, though He often blesses them when they are used discreetly. " And hereshe closed her harangue: a long one for her, and uttered with thedemureness of a Quakeress. 

I still stood absolutely dumfoundered at what appeared to me hermiraculous self-possession and most inscrutable hypocrisy, when the cookentered. 

"Mrs. Poole, " said she, addressing Grace, "the servants' dinner will soonbe ready: will you come down?"

"No; just put my pint of porter and bit of pudding on a tray, and I'llcarry it upstairs. "

"You'll have some meat?"

"Just a morsel, and a taste of cheese, that's all. "

"And the sago?"

"Never mind it at present: I shall be coming down before teatime: I'llmake it myself. "

The cook here turned to me, saying that Mrs. Fairfax was waiting for me:so I departed. 

I hardly heard Mrs. Fairfax's account of the curtain conflagration duringdinner, so much was I occupied in puzzling my brains over the enigmaticalcharacter of Grace Poole, and still more in pondering the problem of herposition at Thornfield and questioning why she had not been given intocustody that morning, or, at the very least, dismissed from her master'sservice. He had almost as much as declared his conviction of hercriminality last night: what mysterious cause withheld him from accusingher? Why had he enjoined me, too, to secrecy? It was strange: a bold, vindictive, and haughty gentleman seemed somehow in the power of one ofthe meanest of his dependants; so much in her power, that even when shelifted her hand against his life, he dared not openly charge her with theattempt, much less punish her for it. 

Had Grace been young and handsome, I should have been tempted to thinkthat tenderer feelings than prudence or fear influenced Mr. Rochester inher behalf; but, hard-favoured and matronly as she was, the idea couldnot be admitted. "Yet, " I reflected, "she has been young once; her youthwould be contemporary with her master's: Mrs. Fairfax told me once, shehad lived here many years. I don't think she can ever have been pretty;but, for aught I know, she may possess originality and strength ofcharacter to compensate for the want of personal advantages. Mr. Rochester is an amateur of the decided and eccentric: Grace is eccentricat least. What if a former caprice (a freak very possible to a nature sosudden and headstrong as his) has delivered him into her power, and shenow exercises over his actions a secret influence, the result of his ownindiscretion, which he cannot shake off, and dare not disregard?" But, having reached this point of conjecture, Mrs. Poole's square, flatfigure, and uncomely, dry, even coarse face, recurred so distinctly to mymind's eye, that I thought, "No; impossible! my supposition cannot becorrect. Yet, " suggested the secret voice which talks to us in our ownhearts, "you are not beautiful either, and perhaps Mr. Rochester approvesyou: at any rate, you have often felt as if he did; and lastnight--remember his words; remember his look; remember his voice!"

I well remembered all; language, glance, and tone seemed at the momentvividly renewed. I was now in the schoolroom; Adele was drawing; I bentover her and directed her pencil. She looked up with a sort of start. 

"Qu' avez-vous, mademoiselle?" said she. "Vos doigts tremblent comme lafeuille, et vos joues sont rouges: mais, rouges comme des cerises!"

"I am hot, Adele, with stooping!" She went on sketching; I went onthinking. 

I hastened to drive from my mind the hateful notion I had been conceivingrespecting Grace Poole; it disgusted me. I compared myself with her, andfound we were different. Bessie Leaven had said I was quite a lady; andshe spoke truth--I was a lady. And now I looked much better than I didwhen Bessie saw me; I had more colour and more flesh, more life, morevivacity, because I had brighter hopes and keener enjoyments. 

"Evening approaches, " said I, as I looked towards the window. "I havenever heard Mr. Rochester's voice or step in the house to-day; but surelyI shall see him before night: I feared the meeting in the morning; now Idesire it, because expectation has been so long baffled that it is grownimpatient. "

When dusk actually closed, and when Adele left me to go and play in thenursery with Sophie, I did most keenly desire it. I listened for thebell to ring below; I listened for Leah coming up with a message; Ifancied sometimes I heard Mr. Rochester's own tread, and I turned to thedoor, expecting it to open and admit him. The door remained shut;darkness only came in through the window. Still it was not late; heoften sent for me at seven and eight o'clock, and it was yet but six. Surely I should not be wholly disappointed to-night, when I had so manythings to say to him! I wanted again to introduce the subject of GracePoole, and to hear what he would answer; I wanted to ask him plainly ifhe really believed it was she who had made last night's hideous attempt;and if so, why he kept her wickedness a secret. It little matteredwhether my curiosity irritated him; I knew the pleasure of vexing andsoothing him by turns; it was one I chiefly delighted in, and a sureinstinct always prevented me from going too far; beyond the verge ofprovocation I never ventured; on the extreme brink I liked well to try myskill. Retaining every minute form of respect, every propriety of mystation, I could still meet him in argument without fear or uneasyrestraint; this suited both him and me. 

A tread creaked on the stairs at last. Leah made her appearance; but itwas only to intimate that tea was ready in Mrs. Fairfax's room. ThitherI repaired, glad at least to go downstairs; for that brought me, Iimagined, nearer to Mr. Rochester's presence. 

"You must want your tea, " said the good lady, as I joined her; "you ateso little at dinner. I am afraid, " she continued, "you are not well to-day: you look flushed and feverish. "

"Oh, quite well! I never felt better. "

"Then you must prove it by evincing a good appetite; will you fill theteapot while I knit off this needle?" Having completed her task, sherose to draw down the blind, which she had hitherto kept up, by way, Isuppose, of making the most of daylight, though dusk was now fastdeepening into total obscurity. 

"It is fair to-night, " said she, as she looked through the panes, "thoughnot starlight; Mr. Rochester has, on the whole, had a favourable day forhis journey. "

"Journey!--Is Mr. Rochester gone anywhere? I did not know he was out. "

"Oh, he set off the moment he had breakfasted! He is gone to the Leas, Mr. Eshton's place, ten miles on the other side Millcote. I believethere is quite a party assembled there; Lord Ingram, Sir George Lynn, Colonel Dent, and others. "

"Do you expect him back to-night?"

"No--nor to-morrow either; I should think he is very likely to stay aweek or more: when these fine, fashionable people get together, they areso surrounded by elegance and gaiety, so well provided with all that canplease and entertain, they are in no hurry to separate. Gentlemenespecially are often in request on such occasions; and Mr. Rochester isso talented and so lively in society, that I believe he is a generalfavourite: the ladies are very fond of him; though you would not thinkhis appearance calculated to recommend him particularly in their eyes:but I suppose his acquirements and abilities, perhaps his wealth and goodblood, make amends for any little fault of look. "

"Are there ladies at the Leas?"

"There are Mrs. Eshton and her three daughters--very elegant young ladiesindeed; and there are the Honourable Blanche and Mary Ingram, mostbeautiful women, I suppose: indeed I have seen Blanche, six or sevenyears since, when she was a girl of eighteen. She came here to aChristmas ball and party Mr. Rochester gave. You should have seen thedining-room that day--how richly it was decorated, how brilliantly litup! I should think there were fifty ladies and gentlemen present--all ofthe first county families; and Miss Ingram was considered the belle ofthe evening. "

"You saw her, you say, Mrs. Fairfax: what was she like?"

"Yes, I saw her. The dining-room doors were thrown open; and, as it wasChristmas-time, the servants were allowed to assemble in the hall, tohear some of the ladies sing and play. Mr. Rochester would have me tocome in, and I sat down in a quiet corner and watched them. I never sawa more splendid scene: the ladies were magnificently dressed; most ofthem--at least most of the younger ones--looked handsome; but Miss Ingramwas certainly the queen. "

"And what was she like?"

"Tall, fine bust, sloping shoulders; long, graceful neck: olivecomplexion, dark and clear; noble features; eyes rather like Mr. Rochester's: large and black, and as brilliant as her jewels. And thenshe had such a fine head of hair; raven-black and so becomingly arranged:a crown of thick plaits behind, and in front the longest, the glossiestcurls I ever saw. She was dressed in pure white; an amber-coloured scarfwas passed over her shoulder and across her breast, tied at the side, anddescending in long, fringed ends below her knee. She wore anamber-coloured flower, too, in her hair: it contrasted well with thejetty mass of her curls. "

"She was greatly admired, of course?"

"Yes, indeed: and not only for her beauty, but for her accomplishments. She was one of the ladies who sang: a gentleman accompanied her on thepiano. She and Mr. Rochester sang a duet. "

"Mr. Rochester? I was not aware he could sing. "

"Oh! he has a fine bass voice, and an excellent taste for music. "

"And Miss Ingram: what sort of a voice had she?"

"A very rich and powerful one: she sang delightfully; it was a treat tolisten to her;--and she played afterwards. I am no judge of music, butMr. Rochester is; and I heard him say her execution was remarkably good. "

"And this beautiful and accomplished lady, she is not yet married?"

"It appears not: I fancy neither she nor her sister have very largefortunes. Old Lord Ingram's estates were chiefly entailed, and theeldest son came in for everything almost. "

"But I wonder no wealthy nobleman or gentleman has taken a fancy to her:Mr. Rochester, for instance. He is rich, is he not?"

"Oh! yes. But you see there is a considerable difference in age: Mr. Rochester is nearly forty; she is but twenty-five. "

"What of that? More unequal matches are made every day. "

"True: yet I should scarcely fancy Mr. Rochester would entertain an ideaof the sort. But you eat nothing: you have scarcely tasted since youbegan tea. "

"No: I am too thirsty to eat. Will you let me have another cup?"

I was about again to revert to the probability of a union between Mr. Rochester and the beautiful Blanche; but Adele came in, and theconversation was turned into another channel. 

When once more alone, I reviewed the information I had got; looked intomy heart, examined its thoughts and feelings, and endeavoured to bringback with a strict hand such as had been straying through imagination'sboundless and trackless waste, into the safe fold of common sense. 

Arraigned at my own bar, Memory having given her evidence of the hopes, wishes, sentiments I had been cherishing since last night--of the generalstate of mind in which I had indulged for nearly a fortnight past; Reasonhaving come forward and told, in her own quiet way a plain, unvarnishedtale, showing how I had rejected the real, and rabidly devoured theideal;--I pronounced judgment to this effect:--

That a greater fool than Jane Eyre had never breathed the breath of life;that a more fantastic idiot had never surfeited herself on sweet lies, and swallowed poison as if it were nectar. 

"_You_, " I said, "a favourite with Mr. Rochester? _You_ gifted with thepower of pleasing him? _You_ of importance to him in any way? Go! yourfolly sickens me. And you have derived pleasure from occasional tokensof preference--equivocal tokens shown by a gentleman of family and a manof the world to a dependent and a novice. How dared you? Poor stupiddupe!--Could not even self-interest make you wiser? You repeated toyourself this morning the brief scene of last night?--Cover your face andbe ashamed! He said something in praise of your eyes, did he? Blindpuppy! Open their bleared lids and look on your own accursedsenselessness! It does good to no woman to be flattered by her superior, who cannot possibly intend to marry her; and it is madness in all womento let a secret love kindle within them, which, if unreturned andunknown, must devour the life that feeds it; and, if discovered andresponded to, must lead, _ignis-fatus_-like, into miry wilds whence thereis no extrication. 

"Listen, then, Jane Eyre, to your sentence: to-morrow, place the glassbefore you, and draw in chalk your own picture, faithfully, withoutsoftening one defect; omit no harsh line, smooth away no displeasingirregularity; write under it, 'Portrait of a Governess, disconnected, poor, and plain. '

"Afterwards, take a piece of smooth ivory--you have one prepared in yourdrawing-box: take your palette, mix your freshest, finest, clearesttints; choose your most delicate camel-hair pencils; delineate carefullythe loveliest face you can imagine; paint it in your softest shades andsweetest lines, according to the description given by Mrs. Fairfax ofBlanche Ingram; remember the raven ringlets, the oriental eye;--What! yourevert to Mr. Rochester as a model! Order! No snivel!--no sentiment!--noregret! I will endure only sense and resolution. Recall the august yetharmonious lineaments, the Grecian neck and bust; let the round anddazzling arm be visible, and the delicate hand; omit neither diamond ringnor gold bracelet; portray faithfully the attire, aerial lace andglistening satin, graceful scarf and golden rose; call it 'Blanche, anaccomplished lady of rank. '

"Whenever, in future, you should chance to fancy Mr. Rochester thinkswell of you, take out these two pictures and compare them: say, 'Mr. Rochester might probably win that noble lady's love, if he chose tostrive for it; is it likely he would waste a serious thought on thisindigent and insignificant plebeian?'"

"I'll do it, " I resolved: and having framed this determination, I grewcalm, and fell asleep. 

I kept my word. An hour or two sufficed to sketch my own portrait incrayons; and in less than a fortnight I had completed an ivory miniatureof an imaginary Blanche Ingram. It looked a lovely face enough, and whencompared with the real head in chalk, the contrast was as great as self-control could desire. I derived benefit from the task: it had kept myhead and hands employed, and had given force and fixedness to the newimpressions I wished to stamp indelibly on my heart. 

Ere long, I had reason to congratulate myself on the course of wholesomediscipline to which I had thus forced my feelings to submit. Thanks toit, I was able to meet subsequent occurrences with a decent calm, which, had they found me unprepared, I should probably have been unequal tomaintain, even externally. 

CHAPTER XVII

A week passed, and no news arrived of Mr. Rochester: ten days, and stillhe did not come. Mrs. Fairfax said she should not be surprised if hewere to go straight from the Leas to London, and thence to the Continent, and not show his face again at Thornfield for a year to come; he had notunfrequently quitted it in a manner quite as abrupt and unexpected. WhenI heard this, I was beginning to feel a strange chill and failing at theheart. I was actually permitting myself to experience a sickening senseof disappointment; but rallying my wits, and recollecting my principles, I at once called my sensations to order; and it was wonderful how I gotover the temporary blunder--how I cleared up the mistake of supposing Mr. Rochester's movements a matter in which I had any cause to take a vitalinterest. Not that I humbled myself by a slavish notion of inferiority:on the contrary, I just said--

"You have nothing to do with the master of Thornfield, further than toreceive the salary he gives you for teaching his protegee, and to begrateful for such respectful and kind treatment as, if you do your duty, you have a right to expect at his hands. Be sure that is the only tie heseriously acknowledges between you and him; so don't make him the objectof your fine feelings, your raptures, agonies, and so forth. He is notof your order: keep to your caste, and be too self-respecting to lavishthe love of the whole heart, soul, and strength, where such a gift is notwanted and would be despised. "

I went on with my day's business tranquilly; but ever and anon vaguesuggestions kept wandering across my brain of reasons why I should quitThornfield; and I kept involuntarily framing advertisements and ponderingconjectures about new situations: these thoughts I did not think tocheck; they might germinate and bear fruit if they could. 

Mr. Rochester had been absent upwards of a fortnight, when the postbrought Mrs. Fairfax a letter. 

"It is from the master, " said she, as she looked at the direction. "NowI suppose we shall know whether we are to expect his return or not. "

And while she broke the seal and perused the document, I went on takingmy coffee (we were at breakfast): it was hot, and I attributed to thatcircumstance a fiery glow which suddenly rose to my face. Why my handshook, and why I involuntarily spilt half the contents of my cup into mysaucer, I did not choose to consider. 

"Well, I sometimes think we are too quiet; but we run a chance of beingbusy enough now: for a little while at least, " said Mrs. Fairfax, stillholding the note before her spectacles. 

Ere I permitted myself to request an explanation, I tied the string ofAdele's pinafore, which happened to be loose: having helped her also toanother bun and refilled her mug with milk, I said, nonchalantly--

"Mr. Rochester is not likely to return soon, I suppose?"

"Indeed he is--in three days, he says: that will be next Thursday; andnot alone either. I don't know how many of the fine people at the Leasare coming with him: he sends directions for all the best bedrooms to beprepared; and the library and drawing-rooms are to be cleaned out; I amto get more kitchen hands from the George Inn, at Millcote, and fromwherever else I can; and the ladies will bring their maids and thegentlemen their valets: so we shall have a full house of it. " And Mrs. Fairfax swallowed her breakfast and hastened away to commence operations. 

The three days were, as she had foretold, busy enough. I had thought allthe rooms at Thornfield beautifully clean and well arranged; but itappears I was mistaken. Three women were got to help; and suchscrubbing, such brushing, such washing of paint and beating of carpets, such taking down and putting up of pictures, such polishing of mirrorsand lustres, such lighting of fires in bedrooms, such airing of sheetsand feather-beds on hearths, I never beheld, either before or since. Adele ran quite wild in the midst of it: the preparations for company andthe prospect of their arrival, seemed to throw her into ecstasies. Shewould have Sophie to look over all her "toilettes, " as she called frocks;to furbish up any that were "_passees_, " and to air and arrange the new. For herself, she did nothing but caper about in the front chambers, jumpon and off the bedsteads, and lie on the mattresses and piled-up bolstersand pillows before the enormous fires roaring in the chimneys. Fromschool duties she was exonerated: Mrs. Fairfax had pressed me into herservice, and I was all day in the storeroom, helping (or hindering) herand the cook; learning to make custards and cheese-cakes and Frenchpastry, to truss game and garnish desert-dishes. 

The party were expected to arrive on Thursday afternoon, in time fordinner at six. During the intervening period I had no time to nursechimeras; and I believe I was as active and gay as anybody--Adeleexcepted. Still, now and then, I received a damping check to mycheerfulness; and was, in spite of myself, thrown back on the region ofdoubts and portents, and dark conjectures. This was when I chanced tosee the third-storey staircase door (which of late had always been keptlocked) open slowly, and give passage to the form of Grace Poole, in primcap, white apron, and handkerchief; when I watched her glide along thegallery, her quiet tread muffled in a list slipper; when I saw her lookinto the bustling, topsy-turvy bedrooms, --just say a word, perhaps, tothe charwoman about the proper way to polish a grate, or clean a marblemantelpiece, or take stains from papered walls, and then pass on. Shewould thus descend to the kitchen once a day, eat her dinner, smoke amoderate pipe on the hearth, and go back, carrying her pot of porter withher, for her private solace, in her own gloomy, upper haunt. Only onehour in the twenty-four did she pass with her fellow-servants below; allthe rest of her time was spent in some low-ceiled, oaken chamber of thesecond storey: there she sat and sewed--and probably laughed drearily toherself, --as companionless as a prisoner in his dungeon. 

The strangest thing of all was, that not a soul in the house, except me, noticed her habits, or seemed to marvel at them: no one discussed herposition or employment; no one pitied her solitude or isolation. I once, indeed, overheard part of a dialogue between Leah and one of thecharwomen, of which Grace formed the subject. Leah had been sayingsomething I had not caught, and the charwoman remarked--

"She gets good wages, I guess?"

"Yes, " said Leah; "I wish I had as good; not that mine are to complainof, --there's no stinginess at Thornfield; but they're not one fifth ofthe sum Mrs. Poole receives. And she is laying by: she goes everyquarter to the bank at Millcote. I should not wonder but she has savedenough to keep her independent if she liked to leave; but I suppose she'sgot used to the place; and then she's not forty yet, and strong and ablefor anything. It is too soon for her to give up business. "

"She is a good hand, I daresay, " said the charwoman. 

"Ah!--she understands what she has to do, --nobody better, " rejoined Leahsignificantly; "and it is not every one could fill her shoes--not for allthe money she gets. "

"That it is not!" was the reply. "I wonder whether the master--"

The charwoman was going on; but here Leah turned and perceived me, andshe instantly gave her companion a nudge. 

"Doesn't she know?" I heard the woman whisper. 

Leah shook her head, and the conversation was of course dropped. All Ihad gathered from it amounted to this, --that there was a mystery atThornfield; and that from participation in that mystery I was purposelyexcluded. 

Thursday came: all work had been completed the previous evening; carpetswere laid down, bed-hangings festooned, radiant white counterpanesspread, toilet tables arranged, furniture rubbed, flowers piled in vases:both chambers and saloons looked as fresh and bright as hands could makethem. The hall, too, was scoured; and the great carved clock, as well asthe steps and banisters of the staircase, were polished to the brightnessof glass; in the dining-room, the sideboard flashed resplendent withplate; in the drawing-room and boudoir, vases of exotics bloomed on allsides. 

Afternoon arrived: Mrs. Fairfax assumed her best black satin gown, hergloves, and her gold watch; for it was her part to receive thecompany, --to conduct the ladies to their rooms, &c. Adele, too, would bedressed: though I thought she had little chance of being introduced tothe party that day at least. However, to please her, I allowed Sophie toapparel her in one of her short, full muslin frocks. For myself, I hadno need to make any change; I should not be called upon to quit mysanctum of the schoolroom; for a sanctum it was now become to me, --"avery pleasant refuge in time of trouble. "

It had been a mild, serene spring day--one of those days which, towardsthe end of March or the beginning of April, rise shining over the earthas heralds of summer. It was drawing to an end now; but the evening waseven warm, and I sat at work in the schoolroom with the window open. 

"It gets late, " said Mrs. Fairfax, entering in rustling state. "I amglad I ordered dinner an hour after the time Mr. Rochester mentioned; forit is past six now. I have sent John down to the gates to see if thereis anything on the road: one can see a long way from thence in thedirection of Millcote. " She went to the window. "Here he is!" said she. "Well, John" (leaning out), "any news?"

"They're coming, ma'am, " was the answer. "They'll be here in tenminutes. "

Adele flew to the window. I followed, taking care to stand on one side, so that, screened by the curtain, I could see without being seen. 

The ten minutes John had given seemed very long, but at last wheels wereheard; four equestrians galloped up the drive, and after them came twoopen carriages. Fluttering veils and waving plumes filled the vehicles;two of the cavaliers were young, dashing-looking gentlemen; the third wasMr. Rochester, on his black horse, Mesrour, Pilot bounding before him; athis side rode a lady, and he and she were the first of the party. Herpurple riding-habit almost swept the ground, her veil streamed long onthe breeze; mingling with its transparent folds, and gleaming throughthem, shone rich raven ringlets. 

"Miss Ingram!" exclaimed Mrs. Fairfax, and away she hurried to her postbelow. 

The cavalcade, following the sweep of the drive, quickly turned the angleof the house, and I lost sight of it. Adele now petitioned to go down;but I took her on my knee, and gave her to understand that she must noton any account think of venturing in sight of the ladies, either now orat any other time, unless expressly sent for: that Mr. Rochester would bevery angry, &c. "Some natural tears she shed" on being told this; but asI began to look very grave, she consented at last to wipe them. 

A joyous stir was now audible in the hall: gentlemen's deep tones andladies' silvery accents blent harmoniously together, and distinguishableabove all, though not loud, was the sonorous voice of the master ofThornfield Hall, welcoming his fair and gallant guests under its roof. Then light steps ascended the stairs; and there was a tripping throughthe gallery, and soft cheerful laughs, and opening and closing doors, and, for a time, a hush. 

"Elles changent de toilettes, " said Adele; who, listening attentively, had followed every movement; and she sighed. 

"Chez maman, " said she, "quand il y avait du monde, je le suivaispartout, au salon et a leurs chambres; souvent je regardais les femmes dechambre coiffer et habiller les dames, et c'etait si amusant: comme celaon apprend. "

"Don't you feel hungry, Adele?"

"Mais oui, mademoiselle: voila cinq ou six heures que nous n'avons pasmange. "

"Well now, while the ladies are in their rooms, I will venture down andget you something to eat. "

And issuing from my asylum with precaution, I sought a back-stairs whichconducted directly to the kitchen. All in that region was fire andcommotion; the soup and fish were in the last stage of projection, andthe cook hung over her crucibles in a frame of mind and body threateningspontaneous combustion. In the servants' hall two coachmen and threegentlemen's gentlemen stood or sat round the fire; the abigails, Isuppose, were upstairs with their mistresses; the new servants, that hadbeen hired from Millcote, were bustling about everywhere. Threading thischaos, I at last reached the larder; there I took possession of a coldchicken, a roll of bread, some tarts, a plate or two and a knife andfork: with this booty I made a hasty retreat. I had regained thegallery, and was just shutting the back-door behind me, when anaccelerated hum warned me that the ladies were about to issue from theirchambers. I could not proceed to the schoolroom without passing some oftheir doors, and running the risk of being surprised with my cargo ofvictualage; so I stood still at this end, which, being windowless, wasdark: quite dark now, for the sun was set and twilight gathering. 

Presently the chambers gave up their fair tenants one after another: eachcame out gaily and airily, with dress that gleamed lustrous through thedusk. For a moment they stood grouped together at the other extremity ofthe gallery, conversing in a key of sweet subdued vivacity: they thendescended the staircase almost as noiselessly as a bright mist rolls downa hill. Their collective appearance had left on me an impression of high-born elegance, such as I had never before received. 

I found Adele peeping through the schoolroom door, which she held ajar. "What beautiful ladies!" cried she in English. "Oh, I wish I might go tothem! Do you think Mr. Rochester will send for us by-and-bye, afterdinner?"

"No, indeed, I don't; Mr. Rochester has something else to think about. Never mind the ladies to-night; perhaps you will see them to-morrow: hereis your dinner. "

She was really hungry, so the chicken and tarts served to divert herattention for a time. It was well I secured this forage, or both she, I, and Sophie, to whom I conveyed a share of our repast, would have run achance of getting no dinner at all: every one downstairs was too muchengaged to think of us. The dessert was not carried out till after nineand at ten footmen were still running to and fro with trays and coffee-cups. I allowed Adele to sit up much later than usual; for she declaredshe could not possibly go to sleep while the doors kept opening andshutting below, and people bustling about. Besides, she added, a messagemight possibly come from Mr. Rochester when she was undressed; "et alorsquel dommage!"

I told her stories as long as she would listen to them; and then for achange I took her out into the gallery. The hall lamp was now lit, andit amused her to look over the balustrade and watch the servants passingbackwards and forwards. When the evening was far advanced, a sound ofmusic issued from the drawing-room, whither the piano had been removed;Adele and I sat down on the top step of the stairs to listen. Presentlya voice blent with the rich tones of the instrument; it was a lady whosang, and very sweet her notes were. The solo over, a duet followed, andthen a glee: a joyous conversational murmur filled up the intervals. Ilistened long: suddenly I discovered that my ear was wholly intent onanalysing the mingled sounds, and trying to discriminate amidst theconfusion of accents those of Mr. Rochester; and when it caught them, which it soon did, it found a further task in framing the tones, renderedby distance inarticulate, into words. 

The clock struck eleven. I looked at Adele, whose head leant against myshoulder; her eyes were waxing heavy, so I took her up in my arms andcarried her off to bed. It was near one before the gentlemen and ladiessought their chambers. 

The next day was as fine as its predecessor: it was devoted by the partyto an excursion to some site in the neighbourhood. They set out early inthe forenoon, some on horseback, the rest in carriages; I witnessed boththe departure and the return. Miss Ingram, as before, was the only ladyequestrian; and, as before, Mr. Rochester galloped at her side; the tworode a little apart from the rest. I pointed out this circumstance toMrs. Fairfax, who was standing at the window with me--

"You said it was not likely they should think of being married, " said I, "but you see Mr. Rochester evidently prefers her to any of the otherladies. "

"Yes, I daresay: no doubt he admires her. "

"And she him, " I added; "look how she leans her head towards him as ifshe were conversing confidentially; I wish I could see her face; I havenever had a glimpse of it yet. "

"You will see her this evening, " answered Mrs. Fairfax. "I happened toremark to Mr. Rochester how much Adele wished to be introduced to theladies, and he said: 'Oh! let her come into the drawing-room afterdinner; and request Miss Eyre to accompany her. '"

"Yes; he said that from mere politeness: I need not go, I am sure, " Ianswered. 

"Well, I observed to him that as you were unused to company, I did notthink you would like appearing before so gay a party--all strangers; andhe replied, in his quick way--'Nonsense! If she objects, tell her it ismy particular wish; and if she resists, say I shall come and fetch her incase of contumacy. '"

"I will not give him that trouble, " I answered. "I will go, if no bettermay be; but I don't like it. Shall you be there, Mrs. Fairfax?"

"No; I pleaded off, and he admitted my plea. I'll tell you how to manageso as to avoid the embarrassment of making a formal entrance, which isthe most disagreeable part of the business. You must go into the drawing-room while it is empty, before the ladies leave the dinner-table; chooseyour seat in any quiet nook you like; you need not stay long after thegentlemen come in, unless you please: just let Mr. Rochester see you arethere and then slip away--nobody will notice you. "

"Will these people remain long, do you think?"

"Perhaps two or three weeks, certainly not more. After the Easterrecess, Sir George Lynn, who was lately elected member for Millcote, willhave to go up to town and take his seat; I daresay Mr. Rochester willaccompany him: it surprises me that he has already made so protracted astay at Thornfield. "

It was with some trepidation that I perceived the hour approach when Iwas to repair with my charge to the drawing-room. Adele had been in astate of ecstasy all day, after hearing she was to be presented to theladies in the evening; and it was not till Sophie commenced the operationof dressing her that she sobered down. Then the importance of theprocess quickly steadied her, and by the time she had her curls arrangedin well-smoothed, drooping clusters, her pink satin frock put on, herlong sash tied, and her lace mittens adjusted, she looked as grave as anyjudge. No need to warn her not to disarrange her attire: when she wasdressed, she sat demurely down in her little chair, taking carepreviously to lift up the satin skirt for fear she should crease it, andassured me she would not stir thence till I was ready. This I quicklywas: my best dress (the silver-grey one, purchased for Miss Temple'swedding, and never worn since) was soon put on; my hair was soonsmoothed; my sole ornament, the pearl brooch, soon assumed. Wedescended. 

Fortunately there was another entrance to the drawing-room than thatthrough the saloon where they were all seated at dinner. We found theapartment vacant; a large fire burning silently on the marble hearth, andwax candles shining in bright solitude, amid the exquisite flowers withwhich the tables were adorned. The crimson curtain hung before the arch:slight as was the separation this drapery formed from the party in theadjoining saloon, they spoke in so low a key that nothing of theirconversation could be distinguished beyond a soothing murmur. 

Adele, who appeared to be still under the influence of a most solemnisingimpression, sat down, without a word, on the footstool I pointed out toher. I retired to a window-seat, and taking a book from a table near, endeavoured to read. Adele brought her stool to my feet; ere long shetouched my knee. 

"What is it, Adele?"

"Est-ce que je ne puis pas prendrie une seule de ces fleurs magnifiques, mademoiselle? Seulement pour completer ma toilette. "

"You think too much of your 'toilette, ' Adele: but you may have aflower. " And I took a rose from a vase and fastened it in her sash. Shesighed a sigh of ineffable satisfaction, as if her cup of happiness werenow full. I turned my face away to conceal a smile I could not suppress:there was something ludicrous as well as painful in the littleParisienne's earnest and innate devotion to matters of dress. 

A soft sound of rising now became audible; the curtain was swept backfrom the arch; through it appeared the dining-room, with its lit lustrepouring down light on the silver and glass of a magnificentdessert-service covering a long table; a band of ladies stood in theopening; they entered, and the curtain fell behind them. 

There were but eight; yet, somehow, as they flocked in, they gave theimpression of a much larger number. Some of them were very tall; manywere dressed in white; and all had a sweeping amplitude of array thatseemed to magnify their persons as a mist magnifies the moon. I rose andcurtseyed to them: one or two bent their heads in return, the others onlystared at me. 

They dispersed about the room, reminding me, by the lightness andbuoyancy of their movements, of a flock of white plumy birds. Some ofthem threw themselves in half-reclining positions on the sofas andottomans: some bent over the tables and examined the flowers and books:the rest gathered in a group round the fire: all talked in a low butclear tone which seemed habitual to them. I knew their names afterwards, and may as well mention them now. 

First, there was Mrs. Eshton and two of her daughters. She had evidentlybeen a handsome woman, and was well preserved still. Of her daughters, the eldest, Amy, was rather little: naive, and child-like in face andmanner, and piquant in form; her white muslin dress and blue sash becameher well. The second, Louisa, was taller and more elegant in figure;with a very pretty face, of that order the French term _minois chiffone_:both sisters were fair as lilies. 

Lady Lynn was a large and stout personage of about forty, very erect, very haughty-looking, richly dressed in a satin robe of changeful sheen:her dark hair shone glossily under the shade of an azure plume, andwithin the circlet of a band of gems. 

Mrs. Colonel Dent was less showy; but, I thought, more lady-like. Shehad a slight figure, a pale, gentle face, and fair hair. Her black satindress, her scarf of rich foreign lace, and her pearl ornaments, pleasedme better than the rainbow radiance of the titled dame. 

But the three most distinguished--partly, perhaps, because the tallestfigures of the band--were the Dowager Lady Ingram and her daughters, Blanche and Mary. They were all three of the loftiest stature of women. The Dowager might be between forty and fifty: her shape was still fine;her hair (by candle-light at least) still black; her teeth, too, werestill apparently perfect. Most people would have termed her a splendidwoman of her age: and so she was, no doubt, physically speaking; but thenthere was an expression of almost insupportable haughtiness in herbearing and countenance. She had Roman features and a double chin, disappearing into a throat like a pillar: these features appeared to menot only inflated and darkened, but even furrowed with pride; and thechin was sustained by the same principle, in a position of almostpreternatural erectness. She had, likewise, a fierce and a hard eye: itreminded me of Mrs. Reed's; she mouthed her words in speaking; her voicewas deep, its inflections very pompous, very dogmatical, --veryintolerable, in short. A crimson velvet robe, and a shawl turban of somegold-wrought Indian fabric, invested her (I suppose she thought) with atruly imperial dignity. 

Blanche and Mary were of equal stature, --straight and tall as poplars. Mary was too slim for her height, but Blanche was moulded like a Dian. Iregarded her, of course, with special interest. First, I wished to seewhether her appearance accorded with Mrs. Fairfax's description;secondly, whether it at all resembled the fancy miniature I had paintedof her; and thirdly--it will out!--whether it were such as I should fancylikely to suit Mr. Rochester's taste. 

As far as person went, she answered point for point, both to my pictureand Mrs. Fairfax's description. The noble bust, the sloping shoulders, the graceful neck, the dark eyes and black ringlets were all there;--buther face? Her face was like her mother's; a youthful unfurrowedlikeness: the same low brow, the same high features, the same pride. Itwas not, however, so saturnine a pride! she laughed continually; herlaugh was satirical, and so was the habitual expression of her arched andhaughty lip. 

Genius is said to be self-conscious. I cannot tell whether Miss Ingramwas a genius, but she was self-conscious--remarkably self-consciousindeed. She entered into a discourse on botany with the gentle Mrs. Dent. It seemed Mrs. Dent had not studied that science: though, as shesaid, she liked flowers, "especially wild ones;" Miss Ingram had, and sheran over its vocabulary with an air. I presently perceived she was (whatis vernacularly termed) _trailing_ Mrs. Dent; that is, playing on herignorance--her _trail_ might be clever, but it was decidedly not good-natured. She played: her execution was brilliant; she sang: her voicewas fine; she talked French apart to her mamma; and she talked it well, with fluency and with a good accent. 

Mary had a milder and more open countenance than Blanche; softer featurestoo, and a skin some shades fairer (Miss Ingram was dark as aSpaniard)--but Mary was deficient in life: her face lacked expression, her eye lustre; she had nothing to say, and having once taken her seat, remained fixed like a statue in its niche. The sisters were both attiredin spotless white. 

And did I now think Miss Ingram such a choice as Mr. Rochester would belikely to make? I could not tell--I did not know his taste in femalebeauty. If he liked the majestic, she was the very type of majesty: thenshe was accomplished, sprightly. Most gentlemen would admire her, Ithought; and that he _did_ admire her, I already seemed to have obtainedproof: to remove the last shade of doubt, it remained but to see themtogether. 

You are not to suppose, reader, that Adele has all this time been sittingmotionless on the stool at my feet: no; when the ladies entered, sherose, advanced to meet them, made a stately reverence, and said withgravity--

"Bon jour, mesdames. "

And Miss Ingram had looked down at her with a mocking air, and exclaimed, "Oh, what a little puppet!"

Lady Lynn had remarked, "It is Mr. Rochester's ward, I suppose--thelittle French girl he was speaking of. "

Mrs. Dent had kindly taken her hand, and given her a kiss. 

Amy and Louisa Eshton had cried out simultaneously--"What a love of achild!"

And then they had called her to a sofa, where she now sat, ensconcedbetween them, chattering alternately in French and broken English;absorbing not only the young ladies' attention, but that of Mrs. Eshtonand Lady Lynn, and getting spoilt to her heart's content. 

At last coffee is brought in, and the gentlemen are summoned. I sit inthe shade--if any shade there be in this brilliantly-lit apartment; thewindow-curtain half hides me. Again the arch yawns; they come. Thecollective appearance of the gentlemen, like that of the ladies, is veryimposing: they are all costumed in black; most of them are tall, someyoung. Henry and Frederick Lynn are very dashing sparks indeed; andColonel Dent is a fine soldierly man. Mr. Eshton, the magistrate of thedistrict, is gentleman-like: his hair is quite white, his eyebrows andwhiskers still dark, which gives him something of the appearance of a"pere noble de theatre. " Lord Ingram, like his sisters, is very tall;like them, also, he is handsome; but he shares Mary's apathetic andlistless look: he seems to have more length of limb than vivacity ofblood or vigour of brain. 

And where is Mr. Rochester?

He comes in last: I am not looking at the arch, yet I see him enter. Itry to concentrate my attention on those netting-needles, on the meshesof the purse I am forming--I wish to think only of the work I have in myhands, to see only the silver beads and silk threads that lie in my lap;whereas, I distinctly behold his figure, and I inevitably recall themoment when I last saw it; just after I had rendered him, what he deemed, an essential service, and he, holding my hand, and looking down on myface, surveyed me with eyes that revealed a heart full and eager tooverflow; in whose emotions I had a part. How near had I approached himat that moment! What had occurred since, calculated to change his and myrelative positions? Yet now, how distant, how far estranged we were! Sofar estranged, that I did not expect him to come and speak to me. I didnot wonder, when, without looking at me, he took a seat at the other sideof the room, and began conversing with some of the ladies. 

No sooner did I see that his attention was riveted on them, and that Imight gaze without being observed, than my eyes were drawn involuntarilyto his face; I could not keep their lids under control: they would rise, and the irids would fix on him. I looked, and had an acute pleasure inlooking, --a precious yet poignant pleasure; pure gold, with a steelypoint of agony: a pleasure like what the thirst-perishing man might feelwho knows the well to which he has crept is poisoned, yet stoops anddrinks divine draughts nevertheless. 

Most true is it that "beauty is in the eye of the gazer. " My master'scolourless, olive face, square, massive brow, broad and jetty eyebrows, deep eyes, strong features, firm, grim mouth, --all energy, decision, will, --were not beautiful, according to rule; but they were more thanbeautiful to me; they were full of an interest, an influence that quitemastered me, --that took my feelings from my own power and fettered themin his. I had not intended to love him; the reader knows I had wroughthard to extirpate from my soul the germs of love there detected; and now, at the first renewed view of him, they spontaneously arrived, green andstrong! He made me love him without looking at me. 

I compared him with his guests. What was the gallant grace of the Lynns, the languid elegance of Lord Ingram, --even the military distinction ofColonel Dent, contrasted with his look of native pith and genuine power?I had no sympathy in their appearance, their expression: yet I couldimagine that most observers would call them attractive, handsome, imposing; while they would pronounce Mr. Rochester at once harsh-featuredand melancholy-looking. I saw them smile, laugh--it was nothing; thelight of the candles had as much soul in it as their smile; the tinkle ofthe bell as much significance as their laugh. I saw Mr. Rochestersmile:--his stern features softened; his eye grew both brilliant andgentle, its ray both searching and sweet. He was talking, at the moment, to Louisa and Amy Eshton. I wondered to see them receive with calm thatlook which seemed to me so penetrating: I expected their eyes to fall, their colour to rise under it; yet I was glad when I found they were inno sense moved. "He is not to them what he is to me, " I thought: "he isnot of their kind. I believe he is of mine;--I am sure he is--I feelakin to him--I understand the language of his countenance and movements:though rank and wealth sever us widely, I have something in my brain andheart, in my blood and nerves, that assimilates me mentally to him. DidI say, a few days since, that I had nothing to do with him but to receivemy salary at his hands? Did I forbid myself to think of him in any otherlight than as a paymaster? Blasphemy against nature! Every good, true, vigorous feeling I have gathers impulsively round him. I know I mustconceal my sentiments: I must smother hope; I must remember that hecannot care much for me. For when I say that I am of his kind, I do notmean that I have his force to influence, and his spell to attract; I meanonly that I have certain tastes and feelings in common with him. I must, then, repeat continually that we are for ever sundered:--and yet, while Ibreathe and think, I must love him. "

Coffee is handed. The ladies, since the gentlemen entered, have becomelively as larks; conversation waxes brisk and merry. Colonel Dent andMr. Eshton argue on politics; their wives listen. The two prouddowagers, Lady Lynn and Lady Ingram, confabulate together. SirGeorge--whom, by-the-bye, I have forgotten to describe, --a very big, andvery fresh-looking country gentleman, stands before their sofa, coffee-cup in hand, and occasionally puts in a word. Mr. Frederick Lynn hastaken a seat beside Mary Ingram, and is showing her the engravings of asplendid volume: she looks, smiles now and then, but apparently sayslittle. The tall and phlegmatic Lord Ingram leans with folded arms onthe chair-back of the little and lively Amy Eshton; she glances up athim, and chatters like a wren: she likes him better than she does Mr. Rochester. Henry Lynn has taken possession of an ottoman at the feet ofLouisa: Adele shares it with him: he is trying to talk French with her, and Louisa laughs at his blunders. With whom will Blanche Ingram pair?She is standing alone at the table, bending gracefully over an album. Sheseems waiting to be sought; but she will not wait too long: she herselfselects a mate. 

Mr. Rochester, having quitted the Eshtons, stands on the hearth assolitary as she stands by the table: she confronts him, taking herstation on the opposite side of the mantelpiece. 

"Mr. Rochester, I thought you were not fond of children?"

"Nor am I. "

"Then, what induced you to take charge of such a little doll as that?"(pointing to Adele). "Where did you pick her up?"

"I did not pick her up; she was left on my hands. "

"You should have sent her to school. "

"I could not afford it: schools are so dear. "

"Why, I suppose you have a governess for her: I saw a person with herjust now--is she gone? Oh, no! there she is still, behind the window-curtain. You pay her, of course; I should think it quite asexpensive, --more so; for you have them both to keep in addition. "

I feared--or should I say, hoped?--the allusion to me would make Mr. Rochester glance my way; and I involuntarily shrank farther into theshade: but he never turned his eyes. 

"I have not considered the subject, " said he indifferently, lookingstraight before him. 

"No, you men never do consider economy and common sense. You should hearmama on the chapter of governesses: Mary and I have had, I should think, a dozen at least in our day; half of them detestable and the restridiculous, and all incubi--were they not, mama?"

"Did you speak, my own?"

The young lady thus claimed as the dowager's special property, reiteratedher question with an explanation. 

"My dearest, don't mention governesses; the word makes me nervous. Ihave suffered a martyrdom from their incompetency and caprice. I thankHeaven I have now done with them!"

Mrs. Dent here bent over to the pious lady and whispered something in herear; I suppose, from the answer elicited, it was a reminder that one ofthe anathematised race was present. 

"Tant pis!" said her Ladyship, "I hope it may do her good!" Then, in alower tone, but still loud enough for me to hear, "I noticed her; I am ajudge of physiognomy, and in hers I see all the faults of her class. "

"What are they, madam?" inquired Mr. Rochester aloud. 

"I will tell you in your private ear, " replied she, wagging her turbanthree times with portentous significancy. 

"But my curiosity will be past its appetite; it craves food now. "

"Ask Blanche; she is nearer you than I. "

"Oh, don't refer him to me, mama! I have just one word to say of thewhole tribe; they are a nuisance. Not that I ever suffered much fromthem; I took care to turn the tables. What tricks Theodore and I used toplay on our Miss Wilsons, and Mrs. Greys, and Madame Jouberts! Mary wasalways too sleepy to join in a plot with spirit. The best fun was withMadame Joubert: Miss Wilson was a poor sickly thing, lachrymose and low-spirited, not worth the trouble of vanquishing, in short; and Mrs. Greywas coarse and insensible; no blow took effect on her. But poor MadameJoubert! I see her yet in her raging passions, when we had driven her toextremities--spilt our tea, crumbled our bread and butter, tossed ourbooks up to the ceiling, and played a charivari with the ruler and desk, the fender and fire-irons. Theodore, do you remember those merry days?"

"Yaas, to be sure I do, " drawled Lord Ingram; "and the poor old stickused to cry out 'Oh you villains childs!'--and then we sermonised her onthe presumption of attempting to teach such clever blades as we were, when she was herself so ignorant. "

"We did; and, Tedo, you know, I helped you in prosecuting (orpersecuting) your tutor, whey-faced Mr. Vining--the parson in the pip, aswe used to call him. He and Miss Wilson took the liberty of falling inlove with each other--at least Tedo and I thought so; we surprised sundrytender glances and sighs which we interpreted as tokens of 'la bellepassion, ' and I promise you the public soon had the benefit of ourdiscovery; we employed it as a sort of lever to hoist our dead-weightsfrom the house. Dear mama, there, as soon as she got an inkling of thebusiness, found out that it was of an immoral tendency. Did you not, mylady-mother?"

"Certainly, my best. And I was quite right: depend on that: there are athousand reasons why liaisons between governesses and tutors should neverbe tolerated a moment in any well-regulated house; firstly--"

"Oh, gracious, mama! Spare us the enumeration! _Au reste_, we all knowthem: danger of bad example to innocence of childhood; distractions andconsequent neglect of duty on the part of the attached--mutual allianceand reliance; confidence thence resulting--insolence accompanying--mutinyand general blow-up. Am I right, Baroness Ingram, of Ingram Park?"

"My lily-flower, you are right now, as always. "

"Then no more need be said: change the subject. "

Amy Eshton, not hearing or not heeding this dictum, joined in with hersoft, infantine tone: "Louisa and I used to quiz our governess too; butshe was such a good creature, she would bear anything: nothing put herout. She was never cross with us; was she, Louisa?"

"No, never: we might do what we pleased; ransack her desk and herworkbox, and turn her drawers inside out; and she was so good-natured, she would give us anything we asked for. "

"I suppose, now, " said Miss Ingram, curling her lip sarcastically, "weshall have an abstract of the memoirs of all the governesses extant: inorder to avert such a visitation, I again move the introduction of a newtopic. Mr. Rochester, do you second my motion?"

"Madam, I support you on this point, as on every other. "

"Then on me be the onus of bringing it forward. Signior Eduardo, are youin voice to-night?"

"Donna Bianca, if you command it, I will be. "

"Then, signior, I lay on you my sovereign behest to furbish up your lungsand other vocal organs, as they will be wanted on my royal service. "

"Who would not be the Rizzio of so divine a Mary?"

"A fig for Rizzio!" cried she, tossing her head with all its curls, asshe moved to the piano. "It is my opinion the fiddler David must havebeen an insipid sort of fellow; I like black Bothwell better: to my minda man is nothing without a spice of the devil in him; and history may saywhat it will of James Hepburn, but I have a notion, he was just the sortof wild, fierce, bandit hero whom I could have consented to gift with myhand. "

"Gentlemen, you hear! Now which of you most resembles Bothwell?" criedMr. Rochester. 

"I should say the preference lies with you, " responded Colonel Dent. 

"On my honour, I am much obliged to you, " was the reply. 

Miss Ingram, who had now seated herself with proud grace at the piano, spreading out her snowy robes in queenly amplitude, commenced a brilliantprelude; talking meantime. She appeared to be on her high horseto-night; both her words and her air seemed intended to excite not onlythe admiration, but the amazement of her auditors: she was evidently benton striking them as something very dashing and daring indeed. 

"Oh, I am so sick of the young men of the present day!" exclaimed she, rattling away at the instrument. "Poor, puny things, not fit to stir astep beyond papa's park gates: nor to go even so far without mama'spermission and guardianship! Creatures so absorbed in care about theirpretty faces, and their white hands, and their small feet; as if a manhad anything to do with beauty! As if loveliness were not the specialprerogative of woman--her legitimate appanage and heritage! I grant anugly _woman_ is a blot on the fair face of creation; but as to the_gentlemen_, let them be solicitous to possess only strength and valour:let their motto be:--Hunt, shoot, and fight: the rest is not worth afillip. Such should be my device, were I a man. "

"Whenever I marry, " she continued after a pause which none interrupted, "I am resolved my husband shall not be a rival, but a foil to me. I willsuffer no competitor near the throne; I shall exact an undivided homage:his devotions shall not be shared between me and the shape he sees in hismirror. Mr. Rochester, now sing, and I will play for you. "

"I am all obedience, " was the response. 

"Here then is a Corsair-song. Know that I doat on Corsairs; and for thatreason, sing it _con spirito_. "

"Commands from Miss Ingram's lips would put spirit into a mug of milk andwater. "

"Take care, then: if you don't please me, I will shame you by showing howsuch things _should_ be done. "

"That is offering a premium on incapacity: I shall now endeavour tofail. "

"Gardez-vous en bien! If you err wilfully, I shall devise aproportionate punishment. "

"Miss Ingram ought to be clement, for she has it in her power to inflicta chastisement beyond mortal endurance. "

"Ha! explain!" commanded the lady. 

"Pardon me, madam: no need of explanation; your own fine sense mustinform you that one of your frowns would be a sufficient substitute forcapital punishment. "

"Sing!" said she, and again touching the piano, she commenced anaccompaniment in spirited style. 

"Now is my time to slip away, " thought I: but the tones that then severedthe air arrested me. Mrs. Fairfax had said Mr. Rochester possessed afine voice: he did--a mellow, powerful bass, into which he threw his ownfeeling, his own force; finding a way through the ear to the heart, andthere waking sensation strangely. I waited till the last deep and fullvibration had expired--till the tide of talk, checked an instant, hadresumed its flow; I then quitted my sheltered corner and made my exit bythe side-door, which was fortunately near. Thence a narrow passage ledinto the hall: in crossing it, I perceived my sandal was loose; I stoppedto tie it, kneeling down for that purpose on the mat at the foot of thestaircase. I heard the dining-room door unclose; a gentleman came out;rising hastily, I stood face to face with him: it was Mr. Rochester. 

"How do you do?" he asked. 

"I am very well, sir. "

"Why did you not come and speak to me in the room?"

I thought I might have retorted the question on him who put it: but Iwould not take that freedom. I answered--

"I did not wish to disturb you, as you seemed engaged, sir. "

"What have you been doing during my absence?"

"Nothing particular; teaching Adele as usual. "

"And getting a good deal paler than you were--as I saw at first sight. What is the matter?"

"Nothing at all, sir. "

"Did you take any cold that night you half drowned me?"

"Not the least. "

"Return to the drawing-room: you are deserting too early. "

"I am tired, sir. "

He looked at me for a minute. 

"And a little depressed, " he said. "What about? Tell me. "

"Nothing--nothing, sir. I am not depressed. "

"But I affirm that you are: so much depressed that a few more words wouldbring tears to your eyes--indeed, they are there now, shining andswimming; and a bead has slipped from the lash and fallen on to the flag. If I had time, and was not in mortal dread of some prating prig of aservant passing, I would know what all this means. Well, to-night Iexcuse you; but understand that so long as my visitors stay, I expect youto appear in the drawing-room every evening; it is my wish; don't neglectit. Now go, and send Sophie for Adele. Good-night, my--" He stopped, bit his lip, and abruptly left me. 

CHAPTER XVIII

Merry days were these at Thornfield Hall; and busy days too: howdifferent from the first three months of stillness, monotony, andsolitude I had passed beneath its roof! All sad feelings seemed nowdriven from the house, all gloomy associations forgotten: there was lifeeverywhere, movement all day long. You could not now traverse thegallery, once so hushed, nor enter the front chambers, once sotenantless, without encountering a smart lady's-maid or a dandy valet. 

The kitchen, the butler's pantry, the servants' hall, the entrance hall, were equally alive; and the saloons were only left void and still whenthe blue sky and halcyon sunshine of the genial spring weather calledtheir occupants out into the grounds. Even when that weather was broken, and continuous rain set in for some days, no damp seemed cast overenjoyment: indoor amusements only became more lively and varied, inconsequence of the stop put to outdoor gaiety. 

I wondered what they were going to do the first evening a change ofentertainment was proposed: they spoke of "playing charades, " but in myignorance I did not understand the term. The servants were called in, the dining-room tables wheeled away, the lights otherwise disposed, thechairs placed in a semicircle opposite the arch. While Mr. Rochester andthe other gentlemen directed these alterations, the ladies were runningup and down stairs ringing for their maids. Mrs. Fairfax was summoned togive information respecting the resources of the house in shawls, dresses, draperies of any kind; and certain wardrobes of the third storeywere ransacked, and their contents, in the shape of brocaded and hoopedpetticoats, satin sacques, black modes, lace lappets, &c. , were broughtdown in armfuls by the abigails; then a selection was made, and suchthings as were chosen were carried to the boudoir within thedrawing-room. 

Meantime, Mr. Rochester had again summoned the ladies round him, and wasselecting certain of their number to be of his party. "Miss Ingram ismine, of course, " said he: afterwards he named the two Misses Eshton, andMrs. Dent. He looked at me: I happened to be near him, as I had beenfastening the clasp of Mrs. Dent's bracelet, which had got loose. 

"Will you play?" he asked. I shook my head. He did not insist, which Irather feared he would have done; he allowed me to return quietly to myusual seat. 

He and his aids now withdrew behind the curtain: the other party, whichwas headed by Colonel Dent, sat down on the crescent of chairs. One ofthe gentlemen, Mr. Eshton, observing me, seemed to propose that I shouldbe asked to join them; but Lady Ingram instantly negatived the notion. 

"No, " I heard her say: "she looks too stupid for any game of the sort. "

Ere long a bell tinkled, and the curtain drew up. Within the arch, thebulky figure of Sir George Lynn, whom Mr. Rochester had likewise chosen, was seen enveloped in a white sheet: before him, on a table, lay open alarge book; and at his side stood Amy Eshton, draped in Mr. Rochester'scloak, and holding a book in her hand. Somebody, unseen, rang the bellmerrily; then Adele (who had insisted on being one of her guardian'sparty), bounded forward, scattering round her the contents of a basket offlowers she carried on her arm. Then appeared the magnificent figure ofMiss Ingram, clad in white, a long veil on her head, and a wreath ofroses round her brow; by her side walked Mr. Rochester, and together theydrew near the table. They knelt; while Mrs. Dent and Louisa Eshton, dressed also in white, took up their stations behind them. A ceremonyfollowed, in dumb show, in which it was easy to recognise the pantomimeof a marriage. At its termination, Colonel Dent and his party consultedin whispers for two minutes, then the Colonel called out--

"Bride!" Mr. Rochester bowed, and the curtain fell. 

A considerable interval elapsed before it again rose. Its second risingdisplayed a more elaborately prepared scene than the last. The drawing-room, as I have before observed, was raised two steps above the dining-room, and on the top of the upper step, placed a yard or two back withinthe room, appeared a large marble basin--which I recognised as anornament of the conservatory--where it usually stood, surrounded byexotics, and tenanted by gold fish--and whence it must have beentransported with some trouble, on account of its size and weight. 

Seated on the carpet, by the side of this basin, was seen Mr. Rochester, costumed in shawls, with a turban on his head. His dark eyes and swarthyskin and Paynim features suited the costume exactly: he looked the verymodel of an Eastern emir, an agent or a victim of the bowstring. Presently advanced into view Miss Ingram. She, too, was attired inoriental fashion: a crimson scarf tied sash-like round the waist: anembroidered handkerchief knotted about her temples; herbeautifully-moulded arms bare, one of them upraised in the act ofsupporting a pitcher, poised gracefully on her head. Both her cast ofform and feature, her complexion and her general air, suggested the ideaof some Israelitish princess of the patriarchal days; and such wasdoubtless the character she intended to represent. 

She approached the basin, and bent over it as if to fill her pitcher; sheagain lifted it to her head. The personage on the well-brink now seemedto accost her; to make some request:--"She hasted, let down her pitcheron her hand, and gave him to drink. " From the bosom of his robe he thenproduced a casket, opened it and showed magnificent bracelets andearrings; she acted astonishment and admiration; kneeling, he laid thetreasure at her feet; incredulity and delight were expressed by her looksand gestures; the stranger fastened the bracelets on her arms and therings in her ears. It was Eliezer and Rebecca: the camels only werewanting. 

The divining party again laid their heads together: apparently they couldnot agree about the word or syllable the scene illustrated. ColonelDent, their spokesman, demanded "the tableau of the whole;" whereupon thecurtain again descended. 

On its third rising only a portion of the drawing-room was disclosed; therest being concealed by a screen, hung with some sort of dark and coarsedrapery. The marble basin was removed; in its place, stood a deal tableand a kitchen chair: these objects were visible by a very dim lightproceeding from a horn lantern, the wax candles being all extinguished. 

Amidst this sordid scene, sat a man with his clenched hands resting onhis knees, and his eyes bent on the ground. I knew Mr. Rochester; thoughthe begrimed face, the disordered dress (his coat hanging loose from onearm, as if it had been almost torn from his back in a scuffle), thedesperate and scowling countenance, the rough, bristling hair might wellhave disguised him. As he moved, a chain clanked; to his wrists wereattached fetters. 

"Bridewell!" exclaimed Colonel Dent, and the charade was solved. 

A sufficient interval having elapsed for the performers to resume theirordinary costume, they re-entered the dining-room. Mr. Rochester led inMiss Ingram; she was complimenting him on his acting. 

"Do you know, " said she, "that, of the three characters, I liked you inthe last best? Oh, had you but lived a few years earlier, what a gallantgentleman-highwayman you would have made!"

"Is all the soot washed from my face?" he asked, turning it towards her. 

"Alas! yes: the more's the pity! Nothing could be more becoming to yourcomplexion than that ruffian's rouge. "

"You would like a hero of the road then?"

"An English hero of the road would be the next best thing to an Italianbandit; and that could only be surpassed by a Levantine pirate. "

"Well, whatever I am, remember you are my wife; we were married an hoursince, in the presence of all these witnesses. " She giggled, and hercolour rose. 

"Now, Dent, " continued Mr. Rochester, "it is your turn. " And as theother party withdrew, he and his band took the vacated seats. MissIngram placed herself at her leader's right hand; the other divinersfilled the chairs on each side of him and her. I did not now watch theactors; I no longer waited with interest for the curtain to rise; myattention was absorbed by the spectators; my eyes, erewhile fixed on thearch, were now irresistibly attracted to the semicircle of chairs. Whatcharade Colonel Dent and his party played, what word they chose, how theyacquitted themselves, I no longer remember; but I still see theconsultation which followed each scene: I see Mr. Rochester turn to MissIngram, and Miss Ingram to him; I see her incline her head towards him, till the jetty curls almost touch his shoulder and wave against hischeek; I hear their mutual whisperings; I recall their interchangedglances; and something even of the feeling roused by the spectaclereturns in memory at this moment. 

I have told you, reader, that I had learnt to love Mr. Rochester: I couldnot unlove him now, merely because I found that he had ceased to noticeme--because I might pass hours in his presence, and he would never onceturn his eyes in my direction--because I saw all his attentionsappropriated by a great lady, who scorned to touch me with the hem of herrobes as she passed; who, if ever her dark and imperious eye fell on meby chance, would withdraw it instantly as from an object too mean tomerit observation. I could not unlove him, because I felt sure he wouldsoon marry this very lady--because I read daily in her a proud securityin his intentions respecting her--because I witnessed hourly in him astyle of courtship which, if careless and choosing rather to be soughtthan to seek, was yet, in its very carelessness, captivating, and in itsvery pride, irresistible. 

There was nothing to cool or banish love in these circumstances, thoughmuch to create despair. Much too, you will think, reader, to engenderjealousy: if a woman, in my position, could presume to be jealous of awoman in Miss Ingram's. But I was not jealous: or very rarely;--thenature of the pain I suffered could not be explained by that word. MissIngram was a mark beneath jealousy: she was too inferior to excite thefeeling. Pardon the seeming paradox; I mean what I say. She was veryshowy, but she was not genuine: she had a fine person, many brilliantattainments; but her mind was poor, her heart barren by nature: nothingbloomed spontaneously on that soil; no unforced natural fruit delightedby its freshness. She was not good; she was not original: she used torepeat sounding phrases from books: she never offered, nor had, anopinion of her own. She advocated a high tone of sentiment; but she didnot know the sensations of sympathy and pity; tenderness and truth werenot in her. Too often she betrayed this, by the undue vent she gave to aspiteful antipathy she had conceived against little Adele: pushing heraway with some contumelious epithet if she happened to approach her;sometimes ordering her from the room, and always treating her withcoldness and acrimony. Other eyes besides mine watched thesemanifestations of character--watched them closely, keenly, shrewdly. Yes;the future bridegroom, Mr. Rochester himself, exercised over his intendeda ceaseless surveillance; and it was from this sagacity--this guardednessof his--this perfect, clear consciousness of his fair one's defects--thisobvious absence of passion in his sentiments towards her, that my ever-torturing pain arose. 

I saw he was going to marry her, for family, perhaps political reasons, because her rank and connections suited him; I felt he had not given herhis love, and that her qualifications were ill adapted to win from himthat treasure. This was the point--this was where the nerve was touchedand teased--this was where the fever was sustained and fed: _she couldnot charm him_. 

If she had managed the victory at once, and he had yielded and sincerelylaid his heart at her feet, I should have covered my face, turned to thewall, and (figuratively) have died to them. If Miss Ingram had been agood and noble woman, endowed with force, fervour, kindness, sense, Ishould have had one vital struggle with two tigers--jealousy and despair:then, my heart torn out and devoured, I should have admiredher--acknowledged her excellence, and been quiet for the rest of my days:and the more absolute her superiority, the deeper would have been myadmiration--the more truly tranquil my quiescence. But as matters reallystood, to watch Miss Ingram's efforts at fascinating Mr. Rochester, towitness their repeated failure--herself unconscious that they did fail;vainly fancying that each shaft launched hit the mark, and infatuatedlypluming herself on success, when her pride and self-complacency repelledfurther and further what she wished to allure--to witness _this_, was tobe at once under ceaseless excitation and ruthless restraint. 

Because, when she failed, I saw how she might have succeeded. Arrowsthat continually glanced off from Mr. Rochester's breast and fellharmless at his feet, might, I knew, if shot by a surer hand, havequivered keen in his proud heart--have called love into his stern eye, and softness into his sardonic face; or, better still, without weapons asilent conquest might have been won. 

"Why can she not influence him more, when she is privileged to draw sonear to him?" I asked myself. "Surely she cannot truly like him, or notlike him with true affection! If she did, she need not coin her smilesso lavishly, flash her glances so unremittingly, manufacture airs soelaborate, graces so multitudinous. It seems to me that she might, bymerely sitting quietly at his side, saying little and looking less, getnigher his heart. I have seen in his face a far different expressionfrom that which hardens it now while she is so vivaciously accosting him;but then it came of itself: it was not elicited by meretricious arts andcalculated manoeuvres; and one had but to accept it--to answer what heasked without pretension, to address him when needful without grimace--andit increased and grew kinder and more genial, and warmed one like afostering sunbeam. How will she manage to please him when they aremarried? I do not think she will manage it; and yet it might be managed;and his wife might, I verily believe, be the very happiest woman the sunshines on. "

I have not yet said anything condemnatory of Mr. Rochester's project ofmarrying for interest and connections. It surprised me when I firstdiscovered that such was his intention: I had thought him a man unlikelyto be influenced by motives so commonplace in his choice of a wife; butthe longer I considered the position, education, &c. , of the parties, theless I felt justified in judging and blaming either him or Miss Ingramfor acting in conformity to ideas and principles instilled into them, doubtless, from their childhood. All their class held these principles:I supposed, then, they had reasons for holding them such as I could notfathom. It seemed to me that, were I a gentleman like him, I would taketo my bosom only such a wife as I could love; but the very obviousness ofthe advantages to the husband's own happiness offered by this planconvinced me that there must be arguments against its general adoption ofwhich I was quite ignorant: otherwise I felt sure all the world would actas I wished to act. 

But in other points, as well as this, I was growing very lenient to mymaster: I was forgetting all his faults, for which I had once kept asharp look-out. It had formerly been my endeavour to study all sides ofhis character: to take the bad with the good; and from the just weighingof both, to form an equitable judgment. Now I saw no bad. The sarcasmthat had repelled, the harshness that had startled me once, were onlylike keen condiments in a choice dish: their presence was pungent, buttheir absence would be felt as comparatively insipid. And as for thevague something--was it a sinister or a sorrowful, a designing or adesponding expression?--that opened upon a careful observer, now andthen, in his eye, and closed again before one could fathom the strangedepth partially disclosed; that something which used to make me fear andshrink, as if I had been wandering amongst volcanic-looking hills, andhad suddenly felt the ground quiver and seen it gape: that something, I, at intervals, beheld still; and with throbbing heart, but not withpalsied nerves. Instead of wishing to shun, I longed only to dare--todivine it; and I thought Miss Ingram happy, because one day she mightlook into the abyss at her leisure, explore its secrets and analyse theirnature. 

Meantime, while I thought only of my master and his future bride--sawonly them, heard only their discourse, and considered only theirmovements of importance--the rest of the party were occupied with theirown separate interests and pleasures. The Ladies Lynn and Ingramcontinued to consort in solemn conferences, where they nodded their twoturbans at each other, and held up their four hands in confrontinggestures of surprise, or mystery, or horror, according to the theme onwhich their gossip ran, like a pair of magnified puppets. Mild Mrs. Denttalked with good-natured Mrs. Eshton; and the two sometimes bestowed acourteous word or smile on me. Sir George Lynn, Colonel Dent, and Mr. Eshton discussed politics, or county affairs, or justice business. LordIngram flirted with Amy Eshton; Louisa played and sang to and with one ofthe Messrs. Lynn; and Mary Ingram listened languidly to the gallantspeeches of the other. Sometimes all, as with one consent, suspendedtheir by-play to observe and listen to the principal actors: for, afterall, Mr. Rochester and--because closely connected with him--Miss Ingramwere the life and soul of the party. If he was absent from the room anhour, a perceptible dulness seemed to steal over the spirits of hisguests; and his re-entrance was sure to give a fresh impulse to thevivacity of conversation. 

The want of his animating influence appeared to be peculiarly felt oneday that he had been summoned to Millcote on business, and was not likelyto return till late. The afternoon was wet: a walk the party hadproposed to take to see a gipsy camp, lately pitched on a common beyondHay, was consequently deferred. Some of the gentlemen were gone to thestables: the younger ones, together with the younger ladies, were playingbilliards in the billiard-room. The dowagers Ingram and Lynn soughtsolace in a quiet game at cards. Blanche Ingram, after having repelled, by supercilious taciturnity, some efforts of Mrs. Dent and Mrs. Eshton todraw her into conversation, had first murmured over some sentimentaltunes and airs on the piano, and then, having fetched a novel from thelibrary, had flung herself in haughty listlessness on a sofa, andprepared to beguile, by the spell of fiction, the tedious hours ofabsence. The room and the house were silent: only now and then themerriment of the billiard-players was heard from above. 

It was verging on dusk, and the clock had already given warning of thehour to dress for dinner, when little Adele, who knelt by me in thedrawing-room window-seat, suddenly exclaimed--

"Voila, Monsieur Rochester, qui revient!"

I turned, and Miss Ingram darted forwards from her sofa: the others, too, looked up from their several occupations; for at the same time acrunching of wheels and a splashing tramp of horse-hoofs became audibleon the wet gravel. A post-chaise was approaching. 

"What can possess him to come home in that style?" said Miss Ingram. "Herode Mesrour (the black horse), did he not, when he went out? and Pilotwas with him:--what has he done with the animals?"

As she said this, she approached her tall person and ample garments sonear the window, that I was obliged to bend back almost to the breakingof my spine: in her eagerness she did not observe me at first, but whenshe did, she curled her lip and moved to another casement. Thepost-chaise stopped; the driver rang the door-bell, and a gentlemanalighted attired in travelling garb; but it was not Mr. Rochester; it wasa tall, fashionable-looking man, a stranger. 

"How provoking!" exclaimed Miss Ingram: "you tiresome monkey!"(apostrophising Adele), "who perched you up in the window to give falseintelligence?" and she cast on me an angry glance, as if I were in fault. 

Some parleying was audible in the hall, and soon the new-comer entered. He bowed to Lady Ingram, as deeming her the eldest lady present. 

"It appears I come at an inopportune time, madam, " said he, "when myfriend, Mr. Rochester, is from home; but I arrive from a very longjourney, and I think I may presume so far on old and intimateacquaintance as to instal myself here till he returns. "

His manner was polite; his accent, in speaking, struck me as beingsomewhat unusual, --not precisely foreign, but still not altogetherEnglish: his age might be about Mr. Rochester's, --between thirty andforty; his complexion was singularly sallow: otherwise he was afine-looking man, at first sight especially. On closer examination, youdetected something in his face that displeased, or rather that failed toplease. His features were regular, but too relaxed: his eye was largeand well cut, but the life looking out of it was a tame, vacant life--atleast so I thought. 

The sound of the dressing-bell dispersed the party. It was not tillafter dinner that I saw him again: he then seemed quite at his ease. ButI liked his physiognomy even less than before: it struck me as being atthe same time unsettled and inanimate. His eye wandered, and had nomeaning in its wandering: this gave him an odd look, such as I neverremembered to have seen. For a handsome and not an unamiable-lookingman, he repelled me exceedingly: there was no power in thatsmooth-skinned face of a full oval shape: no firmness in that aquilinenose and small cherry mouth; there was no thought on the low, evenforehead; no command in that blank, brown eye. 

As I sat in my usual nook, and looked at him with the light of thegirandoles on the mantelpiece beaming full over him--for he occupied anarm-chair drawn close to the fire, and kept shrinking still nearer, as ifhe were cold, I compared him with Mr. Rochester. I think (with deferencebe it spoken) the contrast could not be much greater between a sleekgander and a fierce falcon: between a meek sheep and the rough-coatedkeen-eyed dog, its guardian. 

He had spoken of Mr. Rochester as an old friend. A curious friendshiptheirs must have been: a pointed illustration, indeed, of the old adagethat "extremes meet. "

Two or three of the gentlemen sat near him, and I caught at times scrapsof their conversation across the room. At first I could not make muchsense of what I heard; for the discourse of Louisa Eshton and MaryIngram, who sat nearer to me, confused the fragmentary sentences thatreached me at intervals. These last were discussing the stranger; theyboth called him "a beautiful man. " Louisa said he was "a love of acreature, " and she "adored him;" and Mary instanced his "pretty littlemouth, and nice nose, " as her ideal of the charming. 

"And what a sweet-tempered forehead he has!" cried Louisa, --"sosmooth--none of those frowning irregularities I dislike so much; and sucha placid eye and smile!"

And then, to my great relief, Mr. Henry Lynn summoned them to the otherside of the room, to settle some point about the deferred excursion toHay Common. 

I was now able to concentrate my attention on the group by the fire, andI presently gathered that the new-comer was called Mr. Mason; then Ilearned that he was but just arrived in England, and that he came fromsome hot country: which was the reason, doubtless, his face was sosallow, and that he sat so near the hearth, and wore a surtout in thehouse. Presently the words Jamaica, Kingston, Spanish Town, indicatedthe West Indies as his residence; and it was with no little surprise Igathered, ere long, that he had there first seen and become acquaintedwith Mr. Rochester. He spoke of his friend's dislike of the burningheats, the hurricanes, and rainy seasons of that region. I knew Mr. Rochester had been a traveller: Mrs. Fairfax had said so; but I thoughtthe continent of Europe had bounded his wanderings; till now I had neverheard a hint given of visits to more distant shores. 

I was pondering these things, when an incident, and a somewhat unexpectedone, broke the thread of my musings. Mr. Mason, shivering as some onechanced to open the door, asked for more coal to be put on the fire, which had burnt out its flame, though its mass of cinder still shone hotand red. The footman who brought the coal, in going out, stopped nearMr. Eshton's chair, and said something to him in a low voice, of which Iheard only the words, "old woman, "--"quite troublesome. "

"Tell her she shall be put in the stocks if she does not take herselfoff, " replied the magistrate. 

"No--stop!" interrupted Colonel Dent. "Don't send her away, Eshton; wemight turn the thing to account; better consult the ladies. " Andspeaking aloud, he continued--"Ladies, you talked of going to Hay Commonto visit the gipsy camp; Sam here says that one of the old Mother Bunchesis in the servants' hall at this moment, and insists upon being broughtin before 'the quality, ' to tell them their fortunes. Would you like tosee her?"

"Surely, colonel, " cried Lady Ingram, "you would not encourage such a lowimpostor? Dismiss her, by all means, at once!"

"But I cannot persuade her to go away, my lady, " said the footman; "norcan any of the servants: Mrs. Fairfax is with her just now, entreatingher to be gone; but she has taken a chair in the chimney-corner, and saysnothing shall stir her from it till she gets leave to come in here. "

"What does she want?" asked Mrs. Eshton. 

"'To tell the gentry their fortunes, ' she says, ma'am; and she swears shemust and will do it. "

"What is she like?" inquired the Misses Eshton, in a breath. 

"A shockingly ugly old creature, miss; almost as black as a crock. "

"Why, she's a real sorceress!" cried Frederick Lynn. "Let us have herin, of course. "

"To be sure, " rejoined his brother; "it would be a thousand pities tothrow away such a chance of fun. "

"My dear boys, what are you thinking about?" exclaimed Mrs. Lynn. 

"I cannot possibly countenance any such inconsistent proceeding, " chimedin the Dowager Ingram. 

"Indeed, mama, but you can--and will, " pronounced the haughty voice ofBlanche, as she turned round on the piano-stool; where till now she hadsat silent, apparently examining sundry sheets of music. "I have acuriosity to hear my fortune told: therefore, Sam, order the beldameforward. "

"My darling Blanche! recollect--"

"I do--I recollect all you can suggest; and I must have my will--quick, Sam!"

"Yes--yes--yes!" cried all the juveniles, both ladies and gentlemen. "Lether come--it will be excellent sport!"

The footman still lingered. "She looks such a rough one, " said he. 

"Go!" ejaculated Miss Ingram, and the man went. 

Excitement instantly seized the whole party: a running fire of railleryand jests was proceeding when Sam returned. 

"She won't come now, " said he. "She says it's not her mission to appearbefore the 'vulgar herd' (them's her words). I must show her into a roomby herself, and then those who wish to consult her must go to her one byone. "

"You see now, my queenly Blanche, " began Lady Ingram, "she encroaches. Beadvised, my angel girl--and--"

"Show her into the library, of course, " cut in the "angel girl. " "It isnot my mission to listen to her before the vulgar herd either: I mean tohave her all to myself. Is there a fire in the library?"

"Yes, ma'am--but she looks such a tinkler. "

"Cease that chatter, blockhead! and do my bidding. "

Again Sam vanished; and mystery, animation, expectation rose to full flowonce more. 

"She's ready now, " said the footman, as he reappeared. "She wishes toknow who will be her first visitor. "

"I think I had better just look in upon her before any of the ladies go, "said Colonel Dent. 

"Tell her, Sam, a gentleman is coming. "

Sam went and returned. 

"She says, sir, that she'll have no gentlemen; they need not troublethemselves to come near her; nor, " he added, with difficulty suppressinga titter, "any ladies either, except the young, and single. "

"By Jove, she has taste!" exclaimed Henry Lynn. 

Miss Ingram rose solemnly: "I go first, " she said, in a tone which mighthave befitted the leader of a forlorn hope, mounting a breach in the vanof his men. 

"Oh, my best! oh, my dearest! pause--reflect!" was her mama's cry; butshe swept past her in stately silence, passed through the door whichColonel Dent held open, and we heard her enter the library. 

A comparative silence ensued. Lady Ingram thought it "le cas" to wringher hands: which she did accordingly. Miss Mary declared she felt, forher part, she never dared venture. Amy and Louisa Eshton tittered undertheir breath, and looked a little frightened. 

The minutes passed very slowly: fifteen were counted before the library-door again opened. Miss Ingram returned to us through the arch. 

Would she laugh? Would she take it as a joke? All eyes met her with aglance of eager curiosity, and she met all eyes with one of rebuff andcoldness; she looked neither flurried nor merry: she walked stiffly toher seat, and took it in silence. 

"Well, Blanche?" said Lord Ingram. 

"What did she say, sister?" asked Mary. 

"What did you think? How do you feel?--Is she a real fortune-teller?"demanded the Misses Eshton. 

"Now, now, good people, " returned Miss Ingram, "don't press upon me. Really your organs of wonder and credulity are easily excited: you seem, by the importance of you all--my good mama included--ascribe to thismatter, absolutely to believe we have a genuine witch in the house, whois in close alliance with the old gentleman. I have seen a gipsyvagabond; she has practised in hackneyed fashion the science of palmistryand told me what such people usually tell. My whim is gratified; and nowI think Mr. Eshton will do well to put the hag in the stocks to-morrowmorning, as he threatened. "

Miss Ingram took a book, leant back in her chair, and so declined furtherconversation. I watched her for nearly half-an-hour: during all thattime she never turned a page, and her face grew momently darker, moredissatisfied, and more sourly expressive of disappointment. She hadobviously not heard anything to her advantage: and it seemed to me, fromher prolonged fit of gloom and taciturnity, that she herself, notwithstanding her professed indifference, attached undue importance towhatever revelations had been made her. 

{During all that time she never turned a page: p184. Jpg}

Meantime, Mary Ingram, Amy and Louisa Eshton, declared they dared not goalone; and yet they all wished to go. A negotiation was opened throughthe medium of the ambassador, Sam; and after much pacing to and fro, till, I think, the said Sam's calves must have ached with the exercise, permission was at last, with great difficulty, extorted from the rigorousSibyl, for the three to wait upon her in a body. 

Their visit was not so still as Miss Ingram's had been: we heardhysterical giggling and little shrieks proceeding from the library; andat the end of about twenty minutes they burst the door open, and camerunning across the hall, as if they were half-scared out of their wits. 

"I am sure she is something not right!" they cried, one and all. "Shetold us such things! She knows all about us!" and they sank breathlessinto the various seats the gentlemen hastened to bring them. 

Pressed for further explanation, they declared she had told them ofthings they had said and done when they were mere children; describedbooks and ornaments they had in their boudoirs at home: keepsakes thatdifferent relations had presented to them. They affirmed that she hadeven divined their thoughts, and had whispered in the ear of each thename of the person she liked best in the world, and informed them of whatthey most wished for. 

Here the gentlemen interposed with earnest petitions to be furtherenlightened on these two last-named points; but they got only blushes, ejaculations, tremors, and titters, in return for their importunity. Thematrons, meantime, offered vinaigrettes and wielded fans; and again andagain reiterated the expression of their concern that their warning hadnot been taken in time; and the elder gentlemen laughed, and the youngerurged their services on the agitated fair ones. 

In the midst of the tumult, and while my eyes and ears were fully engagedin the scene before me, I heard a hem close at my elbow: I turned, andsaw Sam. 

"If you please, miss, the gipsy declares that there is another youngsingle lady in the room who has not been to her yet, and she swears shewill not go till she has seen all. I thought it must be you: there is noone else for it. What shall I tell her?"

"Oh, I will go by all means, " I answered: and I was glad of theunexpected opportunity to gratify my much-excited curiosity. I slippedout of the room, unobserved by any eye--for the company were gathered inone mass about the trembling trio just returned--and I closed the doorquietly behind me. 

"If you like, miss, " said Sam, "I'll wait in the hall for you; and if shefrightens you, just call and I'll come in. "

"No, Sam, return to the kitchen: I am not in the least afraid. " Nor wasI; but I was a good deal interested and excited. 

CHAPTER XIX

The library looked tranquil enough as I entered it, and the Sibyl--ifSibyl she were--was seated snugly enough in an easy-chair at the chimney-corner. She had on a red cloak and a black bonnet: or rather, a broad-brimmed gipsy hat, tied down with a striped handkerchief under her chin. An extinguished candle stood on the table; she was bending over the fire, and seemed reading in a little black book, like a prayer-book, by thelight of the blaze: she muttered the words to herself, as most old womendo, while she read; she did not desist immediately on my entrance: itappeared she wished to finish a paragraph. 

I stood on the rug and warmed my hands, which were rather cold withsitting at a distance from the drawing-room fire. I felt now as composedas ever I did in my life: there was nothing indeed in the gipsy'sappearance to trouble one's calm. She shut her book and slowly lookedup; her hat-brim partially shaded her face, yet I could see, as sheraised it, that it was a strange one. It looked all brown and black: elf-locks bristled out from beneath a white band which passed under her chin, and came half over her cheeks, or rather jaws: her eye confronted me atonce, with a bold and direct gaze. 

"Well, and you want your fortune told?" she said, in a voice as decidedas her glance, as harsh as her features. 

"I don't care about it, mother; you may please yourself: but I ought towarn you, I have no faith. "

"It's like your impudence to say so: I expected it of you; I heard it inyour step as you crossed the threshold. "

"Did you? You've a quick ear. "

"I have; and a quick eye and a quick brain. "

"You need them all in your trade. "

"I do; especially when I've customers like you to deal with. Why don'tyou tremble?"

"I'm not cold. "

"Why don't you turn pale?"

"I am not sick. "

"Why don't you consult my art?"

"I'm not silly. "

The old crone "nichered" a laugh under her bonnet and bandage; she thendrew out a short black pipe, and lighting it began to smoke. Havingindulged a while in this sedative, she raised her bent body, took thepipe from her lips, and while gazing steadily at the fire, said verydeliberately--"You are cold; you are sick; and you are silly. "

"Prove it, " I rejoined. 

"I will, in few words. You are cold, because you are alone: no contactstrikes the fire from you that is in you. You are sick; because the bestof feelings, the highest and the sweetest given to man, keeps far awayfrom you. You are silly, because, suffer as you may, you will not beckonit to approach, nor will you stir one step to meet it where it waitsyou. "

She again put her short black pipe to her lips, and renewed her smokingwith vigour. 

"You might say all that to almost any one who you knew lived as asolitary dependent in a great house. "

"I might say it to almost any one: but would it be true of almost anyone?"

"In my circumstances. "

"Yes; just so, in _your_ circumstances: but find me another preciselyplaced as you are. "

"It would be easy to find you thousands. "

"You could scarcely find me one. If you knew it, you are peculiarlysituated: very near happiness; yes, within reach of it. The materialsare all prepared; there only wants a movement to combine them. Chancelaid them somewhat apart; let them be once approached and bliss results. "

"I don't understand enigmas. I never could guess a riddle in my life. "

"If you wish me to speak more plainly, show me your palm. "

"And I must cross it with silver, I suppose?"

"To be sure. "

I gave her a shilling: she put it into an old stocking-foot which shetook out of her pocket, and having tied it round and returned it, shetold me to hold out my hand. I did. She approached her face to thepalm, and pored over it without touching it. 

"It is too fine, " said she. "I can make nothing of such a hand as that;almost without lines: besides, what is in a palm? Destiny is not writtenthere. "

"I believe you, " said I. 

"No, " she continued, "it is in the face: on the forehead, about the eyes, in the lines of the mouth. Kneel, and lift up your head. "

"Ah! now you are coming to reality, " I said, as I obeyed her. "I shallbegin to put some faith in you presently. "

I knelt within half a yard of her. She stirred the fire, so that aripple of light broke from the disturbed coal: the glare, however, as shesat, only threw her face into deeper shadow: mine, it illumined. 

"I wonder with what feelings you came to me to-night, " she said, when shehad examined me a while. "I wonder what thoughts are busy in your heartduring all the hours you sit in yonder room with the fine people flittingbefore you like shapes in a magic-lantern: just as little sympatheticcommunion passing between you and them as if they were really mereshadows of human forms, and not the actual substance. "

"I feel tired often, sleepy sometimes, but seldom sad. "

"Then you have some secret hope to buoy you up and please you withwhispers of the future?"

"Not I. The utmost I hope is, to save money enough out of my earnings toset up a school some day in a little house rented by myself. "

"A mean nutriment for the spirit to exist on: and sitting in that window-seat (you see I know your habits )--"

"You have learned them from the servants. "

"Ah! you think yourself sharp. Well, perhaps I have: to speak truth, Ihave an acquaintance with one of them, Mrs. Poole--"

I started to my feet when I heard the name. 

"You have--have you?" thought I; "there is diablerie in the businessafter all, then!"

"Don't be alarmed, " continued the strange being; "she's a safe hand isMrs. Poole: close and quiet; any one may repose confidence in her. But, as I was saying: sitting in that window-seat, do you think of nothing butyour future school? Have you no present interest in any of the companywho occupy the sofas and chairs before you? Is there not one face youstudy? one figure whose movements you follow with at least curiosity?"

"I like to observe all the faces and all the figures. "

"But do you never single one from the rest--or it may be, two?"

"I do frequently; when the gestures or looks of a pair seem telling atale: it amuses me to watch them. "

"What tale do you like best to hear?"

"Oh, I have not much choice! They generally run on the sametheme--courtship; and promise to end in the same catastrophe--marriage. "

"And do you like that monotonous theme?"

"Positively, I don't care about it: it is nothing to me. "

"Nothing to you? When a lady, young and full of life and health, charming with beauty and endowed with the gifts of rank and fortune, sitsand smiles in the eyes of a gentleman you--"

"I what?"

"You know--and perhaps think well of. "

"I don't know the gentlemen here. I have scarcely interchanged asyllable with one of them; and as to thinking well of them, I considersome respectable, and stately, and middle-aged, and others young, dashing, handsome, and lively: but certainly they are all at liberty tobe the recipients of whose smiles they please, without my feelingdisposed to consider the transaction of any moment to me. "

"You don't know the gentlemen here? You have not exchanged a syllablewith one of them? Will you say that of the master of the house!"

"He is not at home. "

"A profound remark! A most ingenious quibble! He went to Millcote thismorning, and will be back here to-night or to-morrow: does thatcircumstance exclude him from the list of your acquaintance--blot him, asit were, out of existence?"

"No; but I can scarcely see what Mr. Rochester has to do with the themeyou had introduced. "

"I was talking of ladies smiling in the eyes of gentlemen; and of late somany smiles have been shed into Mr. Rochester's eyes that they overflowlike two cups filled above the brim: have you never remarked that?"

"Mr. Rochester has a right to enjoy the society of his guests. "

"No question about his right: but have you never observed that, of allthe tales told here about matrimony, Mr. Rochester has been favoured withthe most lively and the most continuous?"

"The eagerness of a listener quickens the tongue of a narrator. " I saidthis rather to myself than to the gipsy, whose strange talk, voice, manner, had by this time wrapped me in a kind of dream. One unexpectedsentence came from her lips after another, till I got involved in a webof mystification; and wondered what unseen spirit had been sitting forweeks by my heart watching its workings and taking record of every pulse. 

"Eagerness of a listener!" repeated she: "yes; Mr. Rochester has sat bythe hour, his ear inclined to the fascinating lips that took such delightin their task of communicating; and Mr. Rochester was so willing toreceive and looked so grateful for the pastime given him; you havenoticed this?"

"Grateful! I cannot remember detecting gratitude in his face. "

"Detecting! You have analysed, then. And what did you detect, if notgratitude?"

I said nothing. 

"You have seen love: have you not?--and, looking forward, you have seenhim married, and beheld his bride happy?"

"Humph! Not exactly. Your witch's skill is rather at fault sometimes. "

"What the devil have you seen, then?"

"Never mind: I came here to inquire, not to confess. Is it known thatMr. Rochester is to be married?"

"Yes; and to the beautiful Miss Ingram. "

"Shortly?"

"Appearances would warrant that conclusion: and, no doubt (though, withan audacity that wants chastising out of you, you seem to question it), they will be a superlatively happy pair. He must love such a handsome, noble, witty, accomplished lady; and probably she loves him, or, if nothis person, at least his purse. I know she considers the Rochesterestate eligible to the last degree; though (God pardon me!) I told hersomething on that point about an hour ago which made her look wondrousgrave: the corners of her mouth fell half an inch. I would advise herblackaviced suitor to look out: if another comes, with a longer orclearer rent-roll, --he's dished--"

"But, mother, I did not come to hear Mr. Rochester's fortune: I came tohear my own; and you have told me nothing of it. "

"Your fortune is yet doubtful: when I examined your face, one traitcontradicted another. Chance has meted you a measure of happiness: thatI know. I knew it before I came here this evening. She has laid itcarefully on one side for you. I saw her do it. It depends on yourselfto stretch out your hand, and take it up: but whether you will do so, isthe problem I study. Kneel again on the rug. "

"Don't keep me long; the fire scorches me. "

{She did not stoop towards me, but only gazed, leaning back in her chair:p190. Jpg}

I knelt. She did not stoop towards me, but only gazed, leaning back inher chair. She began muttering, --

"The flame flickers in the eye; the eye shines like dew; it looks softand full of feeling; it smiles at my jargon: it is susceptible;impression follows impression through its clear sphere; where it ceasesto smile, it is sad; an unconscious lassitude weighs on the lid: thatsignifies melancholy resulting from loneliness. It turns from me; itwill not suffer further scrutiny; it seems to deny, by a mocking glance, the truth of the discoveries I have already made, --to disown the chargeboth of sensibility and chagrin: its pride and reserve only confirm me inmy opinion. The eye is favourable. 

"As to the mouth, it delights at times in laughter; it is disposed toimpart all that the brain conceives; though I daresay it would be silenton much the heart experiences. Mobile and flexible, it was neverintended to be compressed in the eternal silence of solitude: it is amouth which should speak much and smile often, and have human affectionfor its interlocutor. That feature too is propitious. 

"I see no enemy to a fortunate issue but in the brow; and that browprofesses to say, --'I can live alone, if self-respect, and circumstancesrequire me so to do. I need not sell my soul to buy bliss. I have aninward treasure born with me, which can keep me alive if all extraneousdelights should be withheld, or offered only at a price I cannot affordto give. ' The forehead declares, 'Reason sits firm and holds the reins, and she will not let the feelings burst away and hurry her to wildchasms. The passions may rage furiously, like true heathens, as theyare; and the desires may imagine all sorts of vain things: but judgmentshall still have the last word in every argument, and the casting vote inevery decision. Strong wind, earthquake-shock, and fire may pass by: butI shall follow the guiding of that still small voice which interprets thedictates of conscience. '

"Well said, forehead; your declaration shall be respected. I have formedmy plans--right plans I deem them--and in them I have attended to theclaims of conscience, the counsels of reason. I know how soon youthwould fade and bloom perish, if, in the cup of bliss offered, but onedreg of shame, or one flavour of remorse were detected; and I do not wantsacrifice, sorrow, dissolution--such is not my taste. I wish to foster, not to blight--to earn gratitude, not to wring tears of blood--no, nor ofbrine: my harvest must be in smiles, in endearments, in sweet--That willdo. I think I rave in a kind of exquisite delirium. I should wish nowto protract this moment _ad infinitum_; but I dare not. So far I havegoverned myself thoroughly. I have acted as I inwardly swore I wouldact; but further might try me beyond my strength. Rise, Miss Eyre: leaveme; the play is played out'. "

Where was I? Did I wake or sleep? Had I been dreaming? Did I dreamstill? The old woman's voice had changed: her accent, her gesture, andall were familiar to me as my own face in a glass--as the speech of myown tongue. I got up, but did not go. I looked; I stirred the fire, andI looked again: but she drew her bonnet and her bandage closer about herface, and again beckoned me to depart. The flame illuminated her handstretched out: roused now, and on the alert for discoveries, I at oncenoticed that hand. It was no more the withered limb of eld than my own;it was a rounded supple member, with smooth fingers, symmetricallyturned; a broad ring flashed on the little finger, and stooping forward, I looked at it, and saw a gem I had seen a hundred times before. Again Ilooked at the face; which was no longer turned from me--on the contrary, the bonnet was doffed, the bandage displaced, the head advanced. 

"Well, Jane, do you know me?" asked the familiar voice. 

"Only take off the red cloak, sir, and then--"

"But the string is in a knot--help me. "

"Break it, sir. "

"There, then--'Off, ye lendings!'" And Mr. Rochester stepped out of hisdisguise. 

"Now, sir, what a strange idea!"

"But well carried out, eh? Don't you think so?"

"With the ladies you must have managed well. "

"But not with you?"

"You did not act the character of a gipsy with me. "

"What character did I act? My own?"

"No; some unaccountable one. In short, I believe you have been trying todraw me out--or in; you have been talking nonsense to make me talknonsense. It is scarcely fair, sir. "

"Do you forgive me, Jane?"

"I cannot tell till I have thought it all over. If, on reflection, Ifind I have fallen into no great absurdity, I shall try to forgive you;but it was not right. "

"Oh, you have been very correct--very careful, very sensible. "

I reflected, and thought, on the whole, I had. It was a comfort; but, indeed, I had been on my guard almost from the beginning of theinterview. Something of masquerade I suspected. I knew gipsies andfortune-tellers did not express themselves as this seeming old woman hadexpressed herself; besides I had noted her feigned voice, her anxiety toconceal her features. But my mind had been running on Grace Poole--thatliving enigma, that mystery of mysteries, as I considered her. I hadnever thought of Mr. Rochester. 

"Well, " said he, "what are you musing about? What does that grave smilesignify?"

"Wonder and self-congratulation, sir. I have your permission to retirenow, I suppose?"

"No; stay a moment; and tell me what the people in the drawing-roomyonder are doing. "

"Discussing the gipsy, I daresay. "

"Sit down!--Let me hear what they said about me. "

"I had better not stay long, sir; it must be near eleven o'clock. Oh, are you aware, Mr. Rochester, that a stranger has arrived here since youleft this morning?"

"A stranger!--no; who can it be? I expected no one; is he gone?"

"No; he said he had known you long, and that he could take the liberty ofinstalling himself here till you returned. "

"The devil he did! Did he give his name?"

"His name is Mason, sir; and he comes from the West Indies; from SpanishTown, in Jamaica, I think. "

Mr. Rochester was standing near me; he had taken my hand, as if to leadme to a chair. As I spoke he gave my wrist a convulsive grip; the smileon his lips froze: apparently a spasm caught his breath. 

"Mason!--the West Indies!" he said, in the tone one might fancy aspeaking automaton to enounce its single words; "Mason!--the WestIndies!" he reiterated; and he went over the syllables three times, growing, in the intervals of speaking, whiter than ashes: he hardlyseemed to know what he was doing. 

"Do you feel ill, sir?" I inquired. 

"Jane, I've got a blow; I've got a blow, Jane!" He staggered. 

"Oh, lean on me, sir. "

"Jane, you offered me your shoulder once before; let me have it now. "

"Yes, sir, yes; and my arm. "

He sat down, and made me sit beside him. Holding my hand in both hisown, he chafed it; gazing on me, at the same time, with the most troubledand dreary look. 

"My little friend!" said he, "I wish I were in a quiet island with onlyyou; and trouble, and danger, and hideous recollections removed from me. "

"Can I help you, sir?--I'd give my life to serve you. "

"Jane, if aid is wanted, I'll seek it at your hands; I promise you that. "

"Thank you, sir. Tell me what to do, --I'll try, at least, to do it. "

"Fetch me now, Jane, a glass of wine from the dining-room: they will beat supper there; and tell me if Mason is with them, and what he isdoing. "

I went. I found all the party in the dining-room at supper, as Mr. Rochester had said; they were not seated at table, --the supper wasarranged on the sideboard; each had taken what he chose, and they stoodabout here and there in groups, their plates and glasses in their hands. Every one seemed in high glee; laughter and conversation were general andanimated. Mr. Mason stood near the fire, talking to Colonel and Mrs. Dent, and appeared as merry as any of them. I filled a wine-glass (I sawMiss Ingram watch me frowningly as I did so: she thought I was taking aliberty, I daresay), and I returned to the library. 

Mr. Rochester's extreme pallor had disappeared, and he looked once morefirm and stern. He took the glass from my hand. 

"Here is to your health, ministrant spirit!" he said. He swallowed thecontents and returned it to me. "What are they doing, Jane?"

"Laughing and talking, sir. "

"They don't look grave and mysterious, as if they had heard somethingstrange?"

"Not at all: they are full of jests and gaiety. "

"And Mason?"

"He was laughing too. "

"If all these people came in a body and spat at me, what would you do, Jane?"

"Turn them out of the room, sir, if I could. "

He half smiled. "But if I were to go to them, and they only looked at mecoldly, and whispered sneeringly amongst each other, and then dropped offand left me one by one, what then? Would you go with them?"

"I rather think not, sir: I should have more pleasure in staying withyou. "

"To comfort me?"

"Yes, sir, to comfort you, as well as I could. "

"And if they laid you under a ban for adhering to me?"

"I, probably, should know nothing about their ban; and if I did, I shouldcare nothing about it. "

"Then, you could dare censure for my sake?"

"I could dare it for the sake of any friend who deserved my adherence; asyou, I am sure, do. "

"Go back now into the room; step quietly up to Mason, and whisper in hisear that Mr. Rochester is come and wishes to see him: show him in hereand then leave me. "

"Yes, sir. "

I did his behest. The company all stared at me as I passed straightamong them. I sought Mr. Mason, delivered the message, and preceded himfrom the room: I ushered him into the library, and then I went upstairs. 

At a late hour, after I had been in bed some time, I heard the visitorsrepair to their chambers: I distinguished Mr. Rochester's voice, andheard him say, "This way, Mason; this is your room. "

He spoke cheerfully: the gay tones set my heart at ease. I was soonasleep. 

CHAPTER XX

I had forgotten to draw my curtain, which I usually did, and also to letdown my window-blind. The consequence was, that when the moon, which wasfull and bright (for the night was fine), came in her course to thatspace in the sky opposite my casement, and looked in at me through theunveiled panes, her glorious gaze roused me. Awaking in the dead ofnight, I opened my eyes on her disk--silver-white and crystal clear. Itwas beautiful, but too solemn; I half rose, and stretched my arm to drawthe curtain. 

Good God! What a cry!

The night--its silence--its rest, was rent in twain by a savage, a sharp, a shrilly sound that ran from end to end of Thornfield Hall. 

My pulse stopped: my heart stood still; my stretched arm was paralysed. The cry died, and was not renewed. Indeed, whatever being uttered thatfearful shriek could not soon repeat it: not the widest-winged condor onthe Andes could, twice in succession, send out such a yell from the cloudshrouding his eyrie. The thing delivering such utterance must rest ereit could repeat the effort. 

It came out of the third storey; for it passed overhead. Andoverhead--yes, in the room just above my chamber-ceiling--I now heard astruggle: a deadly one it seemed from the noise; and a half-smotheredvoice shouted--

"Help! help! help!" three times rapidly. 

"Will no one come?" it cried; and then, while the staggering and stampingwent on wildly, I distinguished through plank and plaster:--

"Rochester! Rochester! for God's sake, come!"

A chamber-door opened: some one ran, or rushed, along the gallery. Another step stamped on the flooring above and something fell; and therewas silence. 

I had put on some clothes, though horror shook all my limbs; I issuedfrom my apartment. The sleepers were all aroused: ejaculations, terrified murmurs sounded in every room; door after door unclosed; onelooked out and another looked out; the gallery filled. Gentlemen andladies alike had quitted their beds; and "Oh! what is it?"--"Who ishurt?"--"What has happened?"--"Fetch a light!"--"Is it fire?"--"Are thererobbers?"--"Where shall we run?" was demanded confusedly on all hands. But for the moonlight they would have been in complete darkness. Theyran to and fro; they crowded together: some sobbed, some stumbled: theconfusion was inextricable. 

"Where the devil is Rochester?" cried Colonel Dent. "I cannot find himin his bed. "

"Here! here!" was shouted in return. "Be composed, all of you: I'mcoming. "

And the door at the end of the gallery opened, and Mr. Rochester advancedwith a candle: he had just descended from the upper storey. One of theladies ran to him directly; she seized his arm: it was Miss Ingram. 

"What awful event has taken place?" said she. "Speak! let us know theworst at once!"

"But don't pull me down or strangle me, " he replied: for the MissesEshton were clinging about him now; and the two dowagers, in vast whitewrappers, were bearing down on him like ships in full sail. 

"All's right!--all's right!" he cried. "It's a mere rehearsal of MuchAdo about Nothing. Ladies, keep off, or I shall wax dangerous. "

And dangerous he looked: his black eyes darted sparks. Calming himselfby an effort, he added--

"A servant has had the nightmare; that is all. She's an excitable, nervous person: she construed her dream into an apparition, or somethingof that sort, no doubt; and has taken a fit with fright. Now, then, Imust see you all back into your rooms; for, till the house is settled, she cannot be looked after. Gentlemen, have the goodness to set theladies the example. Miss Ingram, I am sure you will not fail in evincingsuperiority to idle terrors. Amy and Louisa, return to your nests like apair of doves, as you are. Mesdames" (to the dowagers), "you will takecold to a dead certainty, if you stay in this chill gallery any longer. "

And so, by dint of alternate coaxing and commanding, he contrived to getthem all once more enclosed in their separate dormitories. I did notwait to be ordered back to mine, but retreated unnoticed, as unnoticed Ihad left it. 

Not, however, to go to bed: on the contrary, I began and dressed myselfcarefully. The sounds I had heard after the scream, and the words thathad been uttered, had probably been heard only by me; for they hadproceeded from the room above mine: but they assured me that it was not aservant's dream which had thus struck horror through the house; and thatthe explanation Mr. Rochester had given was merely an invention framed topacify his guests. I dressed, then, to be ready for emergencies. Whendressed, I sat a long time by the window looking out over the silentgrounds and silvered fields and waiting for I knew not what. It seemedto me that some event must follow the strange cry, struggle, and call. 

No: stillness returned: each murmur and movement ceased gradually, and inabout an hour Thornfield Hall was again as hushed as a desert. It seemedthat sleep and night had resumed their empire. Meantime the moondeclined: she was about to set. Not liking to sit in the cold anddarkness, I thought I would lie down on my bed, dressed as I was. I leftthe window, and moved with little noise across the carpet; as I stoopedto take off my shoes, a cautious hand tapped low at the door. 

"Am I wanted?" I asked. 

"Are you up?" asked the voice I expected to hear, viz. , my master's. 

"Yes, sir. "

"And dressed?"

"Yes. "

"Come out, then, quietly. "

I obeyed. Mr. Rochester stood in the gallery holding a light. 

"I want you, " he said: "come this way: take your time, and make nonoise. "

My slippers were thin: I could walk the matted floor as softly as a cat. He glided up the gallery and up the stairs, and stopped in the dark, lowcorridor of the fateful third storey: I had followed and stood at hisside. 

"Have you a sponge in your room?" he asked in a whisper. 

"Yes, sir. "

"Have you any salts--volatile salts?"

"Yes. "

"Go back and fetch both. "

I returned, sought the sponge on the washstand, the salts in my drawer, and once more retraced my steps. He still waited; he held a key in hishand: approaching one of the small, black doors, he put it in the lock;he paused, and addressed me again. 

"You don't turn sick at the sight of blood?"

"I think I shall not: I have never been tried yet. "

I felt a thrill while I answered him; but no coldness, and no faintness. 

"Just give me your hand, " he said: "it will not do to risk a faintingfit. "

I put my fingers into his. "Warm and steady, " was his remark: he turnedthe key and opened the door. 

I saw a room I remembered to have seen before, the day Mrs. Fairfaxshowed me over the house: it was hung with tapestry; but the tapestry wasnow looped up in one part, and there was a door apparent, which had thenbeen concealed. This door was open; a light shone out of the roomwithin: I heard thence a snarling, snatching sound, almost like a dogquarrelling. Mr. Rochester, putting down his candle, said to me, "Wait aminute, " and he went forward to the inner apartment. A shout of laughtergreeted his entrance; noisy at first, and terminating in Grace Poole'sown goblin ha! ha! _She_ then was there. He made some sort ofarrangement without speaking, though I heard a low voice address him: hecame out and closed the door behind him. 

"Here, Jane!" he said; and I walked round to the other side of a largebed, which with its drawn curtains concealed a considerable portion ofthe chamber. An easy-chair was near the bed-head: a man sat in it, dressed with the exception of his coat; he was still; his head leantback; his eyes were closed. Mr. Rochester held the candle over him; Irecognised in his pale and seemingly lifeless face--the stranger, Mason:I saw too that his linen on one side, and one arm, was almost soaked inblood. 

"Hold the candle, " said Mr. Rochester, and I took it: he fetched a basinof water from the washstand: "Hold that, " said he. I obeyed. He tookthe sponge, dipped it in, and moistened the corpse-like face; he askedfor my smelling-bottle, and applied it to the nostrils. Mr. Masonshortly unclosed his eyes; he groaned. Mr. Rochester opened the shirt ofthe wounded man, whose arm and shoulder were bandaged: he sponged awayblood, trickling fast down. 

"Is there immediate danger?" murmured Mr. Mason. 

"Pooh! No--a mere scratch. Don't be so overcome, man: bear up! I'llfetch a surgeon for you now, myself: you'll be able to be removed bymorning, I hope. Jane, " he continued. 

"Sir?"

"I shall have to leave you in this room with this gentleman, for an hour, or perhaps two hours: you will sponge the blood as I do when it returns:if he feels faint, you will put the glass of water on that stand to hislips, and your salts to his nose. You will not speak to him on anypretext--and--Richard, it will be at the peril of your life if you speakto her: open your lips--agitate yourself--and I'll not answer for theconsequences. "

Again the poor man groaned; he looked as if he dared not move; fear, either of death or of something else, appeared almost to paralyse him. Mr. Rochester put the now bloody sponge into my hand, and I proceeded touse it as he had done. He watched me a second, then saying, "Remember!--No conversation, " he left the room. I experienced a strangefeeling as the key grated in the lock, and the sound of his retreatingstep ceased to be heard. 

Here then I was in the third storey, fastened into one of its mysticcells; night around me; a pale and bloody spectacle under my eyes andhands; a murderess hardly separated from me by a single door: yes--thatwas appalling--the rest I could bear; but I shuddered at the thought ofGrace Poole bursting out upon me. 

I must keep to my post, however. I must watch this ghastlycountenance--these blue, still lips forbidden to unclose--these eyes nowshut, now opening, now wandering through the room, now fixing on me, andever glazed with the dulness of horror. I must dip my hand again andagain in the basin of blood and water, and wipe away the trickling gore. I must see the light of the unsnuffed candle wane on my employment; theshadows darken on the wrought, antique tapestry round me, and grow blackunder the hangings of the vast old bed, and quiver strangely over thedoors of a great cabinet opposite--whose front, divided into twelvepanels, bore, in grim design, the heads of the twelve apostles, eachenclosed in its separate panel as in a frame; while above them at the toprose an ebon crucifix and a dying Christ. 

According as the shifting obscurity and flickering gleam hovered here orglanced there, it was now the bearded physician, Luke, that bent hisbrow; now St. John's long hair that waved; and anon the devilish face ofJudas, that grew out of the panel, and seemed gathering life andthreatening a revelation of the arch-traitor--of Satan himself--in hissubordinate's form. 

Amidst all this, I had to listen as well as watch: to listen for themovements of the wild beast or the fiend in yonder side den. But sinceMr. Rochester's visit it seemed spellbound: all the night I heard butthree sounds at three long intervals, --a step creak, a momentary renewalof the snarling, canine noise, and a deep human groan. 

Then my own thoughts worried me. What crime was this that livedincarnate in this sequestered mansion, and could neither be expelled norsubdued by the owner?--what mystery, that broke out now in fire and nowin blood, at the deadest hours of night? What creature was it, that, masked in an ordinary woman's face and shape, uttered the voice, now of amocking demon, and anon of a carrion-seeking bird of prey?

And this man I bent over--this commonplace, quiet stranger--how had hebecome involved in the web of horror? and why had the Fury flown at him?What made him seek this quarter of the house at an untimely season, whenhe should have been asleep in bed? I had heard Mr. Rochester assign himan apartment below--what brought him here! And why, now, was he so tameunder the violence or treachery done him? Why did he so quietly submitto the concealment Mr. Rochester enforced? Why _did_ Mr. Rochesterenforce this concealment? His guest had been outraged, his own life on aformer occasion had been hideously plotted against; and both attempts hesmothered in secrecy and sank in oblivion! Lastly, I saw Mr. Mason wassubmissive to Mr. Rochester; that the impetuous will of the latter heldcomplete sway over the inertness of the former: the few words which hadpassed between them assured me of this. It was evident that in theirformer intercourse, the passive disposition of the one had beenhabitually influenced by the active energy of the other: whence then hadarisen Mr. Rochester's dismay when he heard of Mr. Mason's arrival? Whyhad the mere name of this unresisting individual--whom his word nowsufficed to control like a child--fallen on him, a few hours since, as athunderbolt might fall on an oak?

Oh! I could not forget his look and his paleness when he whispered:"Jane, I have got a blow--I have got a blow, Jane. " I could not forgethow the arm had trembled which he rested on my shoulder: and it was nolight matter which could thus bow the resolute spirit and thrill thevigorous frame of Fairfax Rochester. 

"When will he come? When will he come?" I cried inwardly, as the nightlingered and lingered--as my bleeding patient drooped, moaned, sickened:and neither day nor aid arrived. I had, again and again, held the waterto Mason's white lips; again and again offered him the stimulating salts:my efforts seemed ineffectual: either bodily or mental suffering, or lossof blood, or all three combined, were fast prostrating his strength. Hemoaned so, and looked so weak, wild, and lost, I feared he was dying; andI might not even speak to him. 

The candle, wasted at last, went out; as it expired, I perceived streaksof grey light edging the window curtains: dawn was then approaching. Presently I heard Pilot bark far below, out of his distant kennel in thecourtyard: hope revived. Nor was it unwarranted: in five minutes morethe grating key, the yielding lock, warned me my watch was relieved. Itcould not have lasted more than two hours: many a week has seemedshorter. 

Mr. Rochester entered, and with him the surgeon he had been to fetch. 

"Now, Carter, be on the alert, " he said to this last: "I give you buthalf-an-hour for dressing the wound, fastening the bandages, getting thepatient downstairs and all. "

"But is he fit to move, sir?"

"No doubt of it; it is nothing serious; he is nervous, his spirits mustbe kept up. Come, set to work. "

Mr. Rochester drew back the thick curtain, drew up the holland blind, letin all the daylight he could; and I was surprised and cheered to see howfar dawn was advanced: what rosy streaks were beginning to brighten theeast. Then he approached Mason, whom the surgeon was already handling. 

"Now, my good fellow, how are you?" he asked. 

"She's done for me, I fear, " was the faint reply. 

"Not a whit!--courage! This day fortnight you'll hardly be a pin theworse of it: you've lost a little blood; that's all. Carter, assure himthere's no danger. "

"I can do that conscientiously, " said Carter, who had now undone thebandages; "only I wish I could have got here sooner: he would not havebled so much--but how is this? The flesh on the shoulder is torn as wellas cut. This wound was not done with a knife: there have been teethhere!"

"She bit me, " he murmured. "She worried me like a tigress, whenRochester got the knife from her. "

"You should not have yielded: you should have grappled with her at once, "said Mr. Rochester. 

"But under such circumstances, what could one do?" returned Mason. "Oh, it was frightful!" he added, shuddering. "And I did not expect it: shelooked so quiet at first. "

"I warned you, " was his friend's answer; "I said--be on your guard whenyou go near her. Besides, you might have waited till to-morrow, and hadme with you: it was mere folly to attempt the interview to-night, andalone. "

"I thought I could have done some good. "

"You thought! you thought! Yes, it makes me impatient to hear you: but, however, you have suffered, and are likely to suffer enough for nottaking my advice; so I'll say no more. Carter--hurry!--hurry! The sunwill soon rise, and I must have him off. "

"Directly, sir; the shoulder is just bandaged. I must look to this otherwound in the arm: she has had her teeth here too, I think. "

"She sucked the blood: she said she'd drain my heart, " said Mason. 

I saw Mr. Rochester shudder: a singularly marked expression of disgust, horror, hatred, warped his countenance almost to distortion; but he onlysaid--

"Come, be silent, Richard, and never mind her gibberish: don't repeatit. "

"I wish I could forget it, " was the answer. 

"You will when you are out of the country: when you get back to SpanishTown, you may think of her as dead and buried--or rather, you need notthink of her at all. "

"Impossible to forget this night!"

"It is not impossible: have some energy, man. You thought you were asdead as a herring two hours since, and you are all alive and talking now. There!--Carter has done with you or nearly so; I'll make you decent in atrice. Jane" (he turned to me for the first time since his re-entrance), "take this key: go down into my bedroom, and walk straight forward intomy dressing-room: open the top drawer of the wardrobe and take out aclean shirt and neck-handkerchief: bring them here; and be nimble. "

I went; sought the repository he had mentioned, found the articles named, and returned with them. 

"Now, " said he, "go to the other side of the bed while I order histoilet; but don't leave the room: you may be wanted again. "

I retired as directed. 

"Was anybody stirring below when you went down, Jane?" inquired Mr. Rochester presently. 

"No, sir; all was very still. "

"We shall get you off cannily, Dick: and it will be better, both for yoursake, and for that of the poor creature in yonder. I have striven longto avoid exposure, and I should not like it to come at last. Here, Carter, help him on with his waist-coat. Where did you leave your furredcloak? You can't travel a mile without that, I know, in this damned coldclimate. In your room?--Jane, run down to Mr. Mason's room, --the onenext mine, --and fetch a cloak you will see there. "

Again I ran, and again returned, bearing an immense mantle lined andedged with fur. 

"Now, I've another errand for you, " said my untiring master; "you mustaway to my room again. What a mercy you are shod with velvet, Jane!--aclod-hopping messenger would never do at this juncture. You must openthe middle drawer of my toilet-table and take out a little phial and alittle glass you will find there, --quick!"

I flew thither and back, bringing the desired vessels. 

"That's well! Now, doctor, I shall take the liberty of administering adose myself, on my own responsibility. I got this cordial at Rome, of anItalian charlatan--a fellow you would have kicked, Carter. It is not athing to be used indiscriminately, but it is good upon occasion: as now, for instance. Jane, a little water. "

He held out the tiny glass, and I half filled it from the water-bottle onthe washstand. 

"That will do;--now wet the lip of the phial. "

I did so; he measured twelve drops of a crimson liquid, and presented itto Mason. 

"Drink, Richard: it will give you the heart you lack, for an hour or so. "

"But will it hurt me?--is it inflammatory?"

"Drink! drink! drink!"

Mr. Mason obeyed, because it was evidently useless to resist. He wasdressed now: he still looked pale, but he was no longer gory and sullied. Mr. Rochester let him sit three minutes after he had swallowed theliquid; he then took his arm--

"Now I am sure you can get on your feet, " he said--"try. "

The patient rose. 

"Carter, take him under the other shoulder. Be of good cheer, Richard;step out--that's it!"

"I do feel better, " remarked Mr. Mason. 

"I am sure you do. Now, Jane, trip on before us away to the backstairs;unbolt the side-passage door, and tell the driver of the post-chaise youwill see in the yard--or just outside, for I told him not to drive hisrattling wheels over the pavement--to be ready; we are coming: and, Jane, if any one is about, come to the foot of the stairs and hem. "

It was by this time half-past five, and the sun was on the point ofrising; but I found the kitchen still dark and silent. The side-passagedoor was fastened; I opened it with as little noise as possible: all theyard was quiet; but the gates stood wide open, and there was apost-chaise, with horses ready harnessed, and driver seated on the box, stationed outside. I approached him, and said the gentlemen were coming;he nodded: then I looked carefully round and listened. The stillness ofearly morning slumbered everywhere; the curtains were yet drawn over theservants' chamber windows; little birds were just twittering in theblossom-blanched orchard trees, whose boughs drooped like white garlandsover the wall enclosing one side of the yard; the carriage horses stampedfrom time to time in their closed stables: all else was still. 

The gentlemen now appeared. Mason, supported by Mr. Rochester and thesurgeon, seemed to walk with tolerable ease: they assisted him into thechaise; Carter followed. 

"Take care of him, " said Mr. Rochester to the latter, "and keep him atyour house till he is quite well: I shall ride over in a day or two tosee how he gets on. Richard, how is it with you?"

"The fresh air revives me, Fairfax. "

"Leave the window open on his side, Carter; there is no wind--good-bye, Dick. "

"Fairfax--"

"Well what is it?"

"Let her be taken care of; let her be treated as tenderly as may be: lether--" he stopped and burst into tears. 

"I do my best; and have done it, and will do it, " was the answer: he shutup the chaise door, and the vehicle drove away. 

"Yet would to God there was an end of all this!" added Mr. Rochester, ashe closed and barred the heavy yard-gates. 

This done, he moved with slow step and abstracted air towards a door inthe wall bordering the orchard. I, supposing he had done with me, prepared to return to the house; again, however, I heard him call "Jane!"He had opened feel portal and stood at it, waiting for me. 

"Come where there is some freshness, for a few moments, " he said; "thathouse is a mere dungeon: don't you feel it so?"

"It seems to me a splendid mansion, sir. "

"The glamour of inexperience is over your eyes, " he answered; "and yousee it through a charmed medium: you cannot discern that the gilding isslime and the silk draperies cobwebs; that the marble is sordid slate, and the polished woods mere refuse chips and scaly bark. Now _here_" (hepointed to the leafy enclosure we had entered) "all is real, sweet, andpure. "

He strayed down a walk edged with box, with apple trees, pear trees, andcherry trees on one side, and a border on the other full of all sorts ofold-fashioned flowers, stocks, sweet-williams, primroses, pansies, mingled with southernwood, sweet-briar, and various fragrant herbs. Theywere fresh now as a succession of April showers and gleams, followed by alovely spring morning, could make them: the sun was just entering thedappled east, and his light illumined the wreathed and dewy orchard treesand shone down the quiet walks under them. 

"Jane, will you have a flower?"

He gathered a half-blown rose, the first on the bush, and offered it tome. 

"Thank you, sir. "

"Do you like this sunrise, Jane? That sky with its high and light cloudswhich are sure to melt away as the day waxes warm--this placid and balmlyatmosphere?"

"I do, very much. "

"You have passed a strange night, Jane. "

"Yes, sir. "

"And it has made you look pale--were you afraid when I left you alonewith Mason?"

"I was afraid of some one coming out of the inner room. "

"But I had fastened the door--I had the key in my pocket: I should havebeen a careless shepherd if I had left a lamb--my pet lamb--so near awolf's den, unguarded: you were safe. "

"Will Grace Poole live here still, sir?"

"Oh yes! don't trouble your head about her--put the thing out of yourthoughts. "

"Yet it seems to me your life is hardly secure while she stays. "

"Never fear--I will take care of myself. "

"Is the danger you apprehended last night gone by now, sir?"

"I cannot vouch for that till Mason is out of England: nor even then. Tolive, for me, Jane, is to stand on a crater-crust which may crack andspue fire any day. "

"But Mr. Mason seems a man easily led. Your influence, sir, is evidentlypotent with him: he will never set you at defiance or wilfully injureyou. "

"Oh, no! Mason will not defy me; nor, knowing it, will he hurt me--but, unintentionally, he might in a moment, by one careless word, deprive me, if not of life, yet for ever of happiness. "

"Tell him to be cautious, sir: let him know what you fear, and show himhow to avert the danger. "

He laughed sardonically, hastily took my hand, and as hastily threw itfrom him. 

"If I could do that, simpleton, where would the danger be? Annihilatedin a moment. Ever since I have known Mason, I have only had to say tohim 'Do that, ' and the thing has been done. But I cannot give him ordersin this case: I cannot say 'Beware of harming me, Richard;' for it isimperative that I should keep him ignorant that harm to me is possible. Now you look puzzled; and I will puzzle you further. You are my littlefriend, are you not?"

"I like to serve you, sir, and to obey you in all that is right. "

"Precisely: I see you do. I see genuine contentment in your gait andmien, your eye and face, when you are helping me and pleasing me--workingfor me, and with me, in, as you characteristically say, '_all that isright_:' for if I bid you do what you thought wrong, there would be nolight-footed running, no neat-handed alacrity, no lively glance andanimated complexion. My friend would then turn to me, quiet and pale, and would say, 'No, sir; that is impossible: I cannot do it, because itis wrong;' and would become immutable as a fixed star. Well, you toohave power over me, and may injure me: yet I dare not show you where I amvulnerable, lest, faithful and friendly as you are, you should transfixme at once. "

"If you have no more to fear from Mr. Mason than you have from me, sir, you are very safe. "

"God grant it may be so! Here, Jane, is an arbour; sit down. "

The arbour was an arch in the wall, lined with ivy; it contained a rusticseat. Mr. Rochester took it, leaving room, however, for me: but I stoodbefore him. 

"Sit, " he said; "the bench is long enough for two. You don't hesitate totake a place at my side, do you? Is that wrong, Jane?"

I answered him by assuming it: to refuse would, I felt, have been unwise. 

"Now, my little friend, while the sun drinks the dew--while all theflowers in this old garden awake and expand, and the birds fetch theiryoung ones' breakfast out of the Thornfield, and the early bees do theirfirst spell of work--I'll put a case to you, which you must endeavour tosuppose your own: but first, look at me, and tell me you are at ease, andnot fearing that I err in detaining you, or that you err in staying. "

"No, sir; I am content. "

"Well then, Jane, call to aid your fancy:--suppose you were no longer agirl well reared and disciplined, but a wild boy indulged from childhoodupwards; imagine yourself in a remote foreign land; conceive that youthere commit a capital error, no matter of what nature or from whatmotives, but one whose consequences must follow you through life andtaint all your existence. Mind, I don't say a _crime_; I am not speakingof shedding of blood or any other guilty act, which might make theperpetrator amenable to the law: my word is _error_. The results of whatyou have done become in time to you utterly insupportable; you takemeasures to obtain relief: unusual measures, but neither unlawful norculpable. Still you are miserable; for hope has quitted you on the veryconfines of life: your sun at noon darkens in an eclipse, which you feelwill not leave it till the time of setting. Bitter and base associationshave become the sole food of your memory: you wander here and there, seeking rest in exile: happiness in pleasure--I mean in heartless, sensual pleasure--such as dulls intellect and blights feeling. Heart-weary and soul-withered, you come home after years of voluntarybanishment: you make a new acquaintance--how or where no matter: you findin this stranger much of the good and bright qualities which you havesought for twenty years, and never before encountered; and they are allfresh, healthy, without soil and without taint. Such society revives, regenerates: you feel better days come back--higher wishes, purerfeelings; you desire to recommence your life, and to spend what remainsto you of days in a way more worthy of an immortal being. To attain thisend, are you justified in overleaping an obstacle of custom--a mereconventional impediment which neither your conscience sanctifies nor yourjudgment approves?"

He paused for an answer: and what was I to say? Oh, for some good spiritto suggest a judicious and satisfactory response! Vain aspiration! Thewest wind whispered in the ivy round me; but no gentle Ariel borrowed itsbreath as a medium of speech: the birds sang in the tree-tops; but theirsong, however sweet, was inarticulate. 

Again Mr. Rochester propounded his query:

"Is the wandering and sinful, but now rest-seeking and repentant, manjustified in daring the world's opinion, in order to attach to him forever this gentle, gracious, genial stranger, thereby securing his ownpeace of mind and regeneration of life?"

"Sir, " I answered, "a wanderer's repose or a sinner's reformation shouldnever depend on a fellow-creature. Men and women die; philosophersfalter in wisdom, and Christians in goodness: if any one you know hassuffered and erred, let him look higher than his equals for strength toamend and solace to heal. "

"But the instrument--the instrument! God, who does the work, ordains theinstrument. I have myself--I tell it you without parable--been aworldly, dissipated, restless man; and I believe I have found theinstrument for my cure in--"

He paused: the birds went on carolling, the leaves lightly rustling. Ialmost wondered they did not check their songs and whispers to catch thesuspended revelation; but they would have had to wait many minutes--solong was the silence protracted. At last I looked up at the tardyspeaker: he was looking eagerly at me. 

"Little friend, " said he, in quite a changed tone--while his face changedtoo, losing all its softness and gravity, and becoming harsh andsarcastic--"you have noticed my tender penchant for Miss Ingram: don'tyou think if I married her she would regenerate me with a vengeance?"

He got up instantly, went quite to the other end of the walk, and when hecame back he was humming a tune. 

"Jane, Jane, " said he, stopping before me, "you are quite pale with yourvigils: don't you curse me for disturbing your rest?"

"Curse you? No, sir. "

"Shake hands in confirmation of the word. What cold fingers! They werewarmer last night when I touched them at the door of the mysteriouschamber. Jane, when will you watch with me again?"

"Whenever I can be useful, sir. "

"For instance, the night before I am married! I am sure I shall not beable to sleep. Will you promise to sit up with me to bear me company? Toyou I can talk of my lovely one: for now you have seen her and know her. "

"Yes, sir. "

"She's a rare one, is she not, Jane?"

"Yes, sir. "

"A strapper--a real strapper, Jane: big, brown, and buxom; with hair justsuch as the ladies of Carthage must have had. Bless me! there's Dent andLynn in the stables! Go in by the shrubbery, through that wicket. "

As I went one way, he went another, and I heard him in the yard, sayingcheerfully--

"Mason got the start of you all this morning; he was gone before sunrise:I rose at four to see him off. "

CHAPTER XXI

Presentiments are strange things! and so are sympathies; and so aresigns; and the three combined make one mystery to which humanity has notyet found the key. I never laughed at presentiments in my life, becauseI have had strange ones of my own. Sympathies, I believe, exist (forinstance, between far-distant, long-absent, wholly estranged relativesasserting, notwithstanding their alienation, the unity of the source towhich each traces his origin) whose workings baffle mortal comprehension. And signs, for aught we know, may be but the sympathies of Nature withman. 

When I was a little girl, only six years old, I one night heard BessieLeaven say to Martha Abbot that she had been dreaming about a littlechild; and that to dream of children was a sure sign of trouble, eitherto one's self or one's kin. The saying might have worn out of my memory, had not a circumstance immediately followed which served indelibly to fixit there. The next day Bessie was sent for home to the deathbed of herlittle sister. 

Of late I had often recalled this saying and this incident; for duringthe past week scarcely a night had gone over my couch that had notbrought with it a dream of an infant, which I sometimes hushed in myarms, sometimes dandled on my knee, sometimes watched playing withdaisies on a lawn, or again, dabbling its hands in running water. It wasa wailing child this night, and a laughing one the next: now it nestledclose to me, and now it ran from me; but whatever mood the apparitionevinced, whatever aspect it wore, it failed not for seven successivenights to meet me the moment I entered the land of slumber. 

I did not like this iteration of one idea--this strange recurrence of oneimage, and I grew nervous as bedtime approached and the hour of thevision drew near. It was from companionship with this baby-phantom I hadbeen roused on that moonlight night when I heard the cry; and it was onthe afternoon of the day following I was summoned downstairs by a messagethat some one wanted me in Mrs. Fairfax's room. On repairing thither, Ifound a man waiting for me, having the appearance of a gentleman'sservant: he was dressed in deep mourning, and the hat he held in his handwas surrounded with a crape band. 

"I daresay you hardly remember me, Miss, " he said, rising as I entered;"but my name is Leaven: I lived coachman with Mrs. Reed when you were atGateshead, eight or nine years since, and I live there still. "

"Oh, Robert! how do you do? I remember you very well: you used to giveme a ride sometimes on Miss Georgiana's bay pony. And how is Bessie? Youare married to Bessie?"

"Yes, Miss: my wife is very hearty, thank you; she brought me anotherlittle one about two months since--we have three now--and both mother andchild are thriving. "

"And are the family well at the house, Robert?"

"I am sorry I can't give you better news of them, Miss: they are verybadly at present--in great trouble. "

"I hope no one is dead, " I said, glancing at his black dress. He toolooked down at the crape round his hat and replied--

"Mr. John died yesterday was a week, at his chambers in London. "

"Mr. John?"

"Yes. "

"And how does his mother bear it?"

"Why, you see, Miss Eyre, it is not a common mishap: his life has beenvery wild: these last three years he gave himself up to strange ways, andhis death was shocking. "

"I heard from Bessie he was not doing well. "

"Doing well! He could not do worse: he ruined his health and his estateamongst the worst men and the worst women. He got into debt and intojail: his mother helped him out twice, but as soon as he was free hereturned to his old companions and habits. His head was not strong: theknaves he lived amongst fooled him beyond anything I ever heard. He camedown to Gateshead about three weeks ago and wanted missis to give up allto him. Missis refused: her means have long been much reduced by hisextravagance; so he went back again, and the next news was that he wasdead. How he died, God knows!--they say he killed himself. "

I was silent: the things were frightful. Robert Leaven resumed--

"Missis had been out of health herself for some time: she had got verystout, but was not strong with it; and the loss of money and fear ofpoverty were quite breaking her down. The information about Mr. John'sdeath and the manner of it came too suddenly: it brought on a stroke. Shewas three days without speaking; but last Tuesday she seemed ratherbetter: she appeared as if she wanted to say something, and kept makingsigns to my wife and mumbling. It was only yesterday morning, however, that Bessie understood she was pronouncing your name; and at last shemade out the words, 'Bring Jane--fetch Jane Eyre: I want to speak toher. ' Bessie is not sure whether she is in her right mind, or meansanything by the words; but she told Miss Reed and Miss Georgiana, andadvised them to send for you. The young ladies put it off at first; buttheir mother grew so restless, and said, 'Jane, Jane, ' so many times, that at last they consented. I left Gateshead yesterday: and if you canget ready, Miss, I should like to take you back with me early to-morrowmorning. "

"Yes, Robert, I shall be ready: it seems to me that I ought to go. "

"I think so too, Miss. Bessie said she was sure you would not refuse:but I suppose you will have to ask leave before you can get off?"

"Yes; and I will do it now;" and having directed him to the servants'hall, and recommended him to the care of John's wife, and the attentionsof John himself, I went in search of Mr. Rochester. 

He was not in any of the lower rooms; he was not in the yard, thestables, or the grounds. I asked Mrs. Fairfax if she had seen him;--yes:she believed he was playing billiards with Miss Ingram. To the billiard-room I hastened: the click of balls and the hum of voices resoundedthence; Mr. Rochester, Miss Ingram, the two Misses Eshton, and theiradmirers, were all busied in the game. It required some courage todisturb so interesting a party; my errand, however, was one I could notdefer, so I approached the master where he stood at Miss Ingram's side. She turned as I drew near, and looked at me haughtily: her eyes seemed todemand, "What can the creeping creature want now?" and when I said, in alow voice, "Mr. Rochester, " she made a movement as if tempted to order meaway. I remember her appearance at the moment--it was very graceful andvery striking: she wore a morning robe of sky-blue crape; a gauzy azurescarf was twisted in her hair. She had been all animation with the game, and irritated pride did not lower the expression of her haughtylineaments. 

"Does that person want you?" she inquired of Mr. Rochester; and Mr. Rochester turned to see who the "person" was. He made a curiousgrimace--one of his strange and equivocal demonstrations--threw down hiscue and followed me from the room. 

"Well, Jane?" he said, as he rested his back against the schoolroom door, which he had shut. 

"If you please, sir, I want leave of absence for a week or two. "

"What to do?--where to go?"

"To see a sick lady who has sent for me. "

"What sick lady?--where does she live?"

"At Gateshead; in ---shire. "

"-shire? That is a hundred miles off! Who may she be that sends forpeople to see her that distance?"

"Her name is Reed, sir--Mrs. Reed. "

"Reed of Gateshead? There was a Reed of Gateshead, a magistrate. "

"It is his widow, sir. "

"And what have you to do with her? How do you know her?"

"Mr. Reed was my uncle--my mother's brother. "

"The deuce he was! You never told me that before: you always said youhad no relations. "

"None that would own me, sir. Mr. Reed is dead, and his wife cast meoff. "

"Why?"

"Because I was poor, and burdensome, and she disliked me. "

"But Reed left children?--you must have cousins? Sir George Lynn wastalking of a Reed of Gateshead yesterday, who, he said, was one of theveriest rascals on town; and Ingram was mentioning a Georgiana Reed ofthe same place, who was much admired for her beauty a season or two agoin London. "

"John Reed is dead, too, sir: he ruined himself and half-ruined hisfamily, and is supposed to have committed suicide. The news so shockedhis mother that it brought on an apoplectic attack. "

"And what good can you do her? Nonsense, Jane! I would never think ofrunning a hundred miles to see an old lady who will, perhaps, be deadbefore you reach her: besides, you say she cast you off. "

"Yes, sir, but that is long ago; and when her circumstances were verydifferent: I could not be easy to neglect her wishes now. "

"How long will you stay?"

"As short a time as possible, sir. "

"Promise me only to stay a week--"

"I had better not pass my word: I might be obliged to break it. "

"At all events you _will_ come back: you will not be induced under anypretext to take up a permanent residence with her?"

"Oh, no! I shall certainly return if all be well. "

"And who goes with you? You don't travel a hundred miles alone. "

"No, sir, she has sent her coachman. "

"A person to be trusted?"

"Yes, sir, he has lived ten years in the family. "

Mr. Rochester meditated. "When do you wish to go?"

"Early to-morrow morning, sir. "

"Well, you must have some money; you can't travel without money, and Idaresay you have not much: I have given you no salary yet. How much haveyou in the world, Jane?" he asked, smiling. 

I drew out my purse; a meagre thing it was. "Five shillings, sir. " Hetook the purse, poured the hoard into his palm, and chuckled over it asif its scantiness amused him. Soon he produced his pocket-book: "Here, "said he, offering me a note; it was fifty pounds, and he owed me butfifteen. I told him I had no change. 

"I don't want change; you know that. Take your wages. "

I declined accepting more than was my due. He scowled at first; then, asif recollecting something, he said--

"Right, right! Better not give you all now: you would, perhaps, stayaway three months if you had fifty pounds. There are ten; is it notplenty?"

"Yes, sir, but now you owe me five. "

"Come back for it, then; I am your banker for forty pounds. "

"Mr. Rochester, I may as well mention another matter of business to youwhile I have the opportunity. "

"Matter of business? I am curious to hear it. "

"You have as good as informed me, sir, that you are going shortly to bemarried?"

"Yes; what then?"

"In that case, sir, Adele ought to go to school: I am sure you willperceive the necessity of it. "

"To get her out of my bride's way, who might otherwise walk over herrather too emphatically? There's sense in the suggestion; not a doubt ofit. Adele, as you say, must go to school; and you, of course, must marchstraight to--the devil?"

"I hope not, sir; but I must seek another situation somewhere. "

"In course!" he exclaimed, with a twang of voice and a distortion offeatures equally fantastic and ludicrous. He looked at me some minutes. 

"And old Madam Reed, or the Misses, her daughters, will be solicited byyou to seek a place, I suppose?"

"No, sir; I am not on such terms with my relatives as would justify me inasking favours of them--but I shall advertise. "

"You shall walk up the pyramids of Egypt!" he growled. "At your perilyou advertise! I wish I had only offered you a sovereign instead of tenpounds. Give me back nine pounds, Jane; I've a use for it. "

"And so have I, sir, " I returned, putting my hands and my purse behindme. "I could not spare the money on any account. "

"Little niggard!" said he, "refusing me a pecuniary request! Give mefive pounds, Jane. "

"Not five shillings, sir; nor five pence. "

"Just let me look at the cash. "

"No, sir; you are not to be trusted. "

"Jane!"

"Sir?"

"Promise me one thing. "

"I'll promise you anything, sir, that I think I am likely to perform. "

"Not to advertise: and to trust this quest of a situation to me. I'llfind you one in time. "

"I shall be glad so to do, sir, if you, in your turn, will promise that Iand Adele shall be both safe out of the house before your bride entersit. "

"Very well! very well! I'll pledge my word on it. You go to-morrow, then?"

"Yes, sir; early. "

"Shall you come down to the drawing-room after dinner?"

"No, sir, I must prepare for the journey. "

"Then you and I must bid good-bye for a little while?"

"I suppose so, sir. "

"And how do people perform that ceremony of parting, Jane? Teach me; I'mnot quite up to it. "

"They say, Farewell, or any other form they prefer. "

"Then say it. "

"Farewell, Mr. Rochester, for the present. "

"What must I say?"

"The same, if you like, sir. "

"Farewell, Miss Eyre, for the present; is that all?"

"Yes?"

"It seems stingy, to my notions, and dry, and unfriendly. I should likesomething else: a little addition to the rite. If one shook hands, forinstance; but no--that would not content me either. So you'll do no morethan say Farewell, Jane?"

"It is enough, sir: as much good-will may be conveyed in one hearty wordas in many. "

"Very likely; but it is blank and cool--'Farewell. '"

"How long is he going to stand with his back against that door?" I askedmyself; "I want to commence my packing. " The dinner-bell rang, andsuddenly away he bolted, without another syllable: I saw him no moreduring the day, and was off before he had risen in the morning. 

I reached the lodge at Gateshead about five o'clock in the afternoon ofthe first of May: I stepped in there before going up to the hall. It wasvery clean and neat: the ornamental windows were hung with little whitecurtains; the floor was spotless; the grate and fire-irons were burnishedbright, and the fire burnt clear. Bessie sat on the hearth, nursing herlast-born, and Robert and his sister played quietly in a corner. 

"Bless you!--I knew you would come!" exclaimed Mrs. Leaven, as I entered. 

"Yes, Bessie, " said I, after I had kissed her; "and I trust I am not toolate. How is Mrs. Reed?--Alive still, I hope. "

"Yes, she is alive; and more sensible and collected than she was. Thedoctor says she may linger a week or two yet; but he hardly thinks shewill finally recover. "

"Has she mentioned me lately?"

"She was talking of you only this morning, and wishing you would come, but she is sleeping now, or was ten minutes ago, when I was up at thehouse. She generally lies in a kind of lethargy all the afternoon, andwakes up about six or seven. Will you rest yourself here an hour, Miss, and then I will go up with you?"

Robert here entered, and Bessie laid her sleeping child in the cradle andwent to welcome him: afterwards she insisted on my taking off my bonnetand having some tea; for she said I looked pale and tired. I was glad toaccept her hospitality; and I submitted to be relieved of my travellinggarb just as passively as I used to let her undress me when a child. 

Old times crowded fast back on me as I watched her bustling about--settingout the tea-tray with her best china, cutting bread and butter, toastinga tea-cake, and, between whiles, giving little Robert or Jane anoccasional tap or push, just as she used to give me in former days. Bessie had retained her quick temper as well as her light foot and goodlooks. 

Tea ready, I was going to approach the table; but she desired me to sitstill, quite in her old peremptory tones. I must be served at thefireside, she said; and she placed before me a little round stand with mycup and a plate of toast, absolutely as she used to accommodate me withsome privately purloined dainty on a nursery chair: and I smiled andobeyed her as in bygone days. 

She wanted to know if I was happy at Thornfield Hall, and what sort of aperson the mistress was; and when I told her there was only a master, whether he was a nice gentleman, and if I liked him. I told her he wasrather an ugly man, but quite a gentleman; and that he treated me kindly, and I was content. Then I went on to describe to her the gay companythat had lately been staying at the house; and to these details Bessielistened with interest: they were precisely of the kind she relished. 

In such conversation an hour was soon gone: Bessie restored to me mybonnet, &c. , and, accompanied by her, I quitted the lodge for the hall. It was also accompanied by her that I had, nearly nine years ago, walkeddown the path I was now ascending. On a dark, misty, raw morning inJanuary, I had left a hostile roof with a desperate and embitteredheart--a sense of outlawry and almost of reprobation--to seek the chillyharbourage of Lowood: that bourne so far away and unexplored. The samehostile roof now again rose before me: my prospects were doubtful yet;and I had yet an aching heart. I still felt as a wanderer on the face ofthe earth; but I experienced firmer trust in myself and my own powers, and less withering dread of oppression. The gaping wound of my wrongs, too, was now quite healed; and the flame of resentment extinguished. 

"You shall go into the breakfast-room first, " said Bessie, as shepreceded me through the hall; "the young ladies will be there. "

In another moment I was within that apartment. There was every articleof furniture looking just as it did on the morning I was first introducedto Mr. Brocklehurst: the very rug he had stood upon still covered thehearth. Glancing at the bookcases, I thought I could distinguish the twovolumes of Bewick's British Birds occupying their old place on the thirdshelf, and Gulliver's Travels and the Arabian Nights ranged just above. The inanimate objects were not changed; but the living things had alteredpast recognition. 

Two young ladies appeared before me; one very tall, almost as tall asMiss Ingram--very thin too, with a sallow face and severe mien. Therewas something ascetic in her look, which was augmented by the extremeplainness of a straight-skirted, black, stuff dress, a starched linencollar, hair combed away from the temples, and the nun-like ornament of astring of ebony beads and a crucifix. This I felt sure was Eliza, thoughI could trace little resemblance to her former self in that elongated andcolourless visage. 

The other was as certainly Georgiana: but not the Georgiana Iremembered--the slim and fairy-like girl of eleven. This was afull-blown, very plump damsel, fair as waxwork, with handsome and regularfeatures, languishing blue eyes, and ringleted yellow hair. The hue ofher dress was black too; but its fashion was so different from hersister's--so much more flowing and becoming--it looked as stylish as theother's looked puritanical. 

In each of the sisters there was one trait of the mother--and only one;the thin and pallid elder daughter had her parent's Cairngorm eye: theblooming and luxuriant younger girl had her contour of jaw andchin--perhaps a little softened, but still imparting an indescribablehardness to the countenance otherwise so voluptuous and buxom. 

Both ladies, as I advanced, rose to welcome me, and both addressed me bythe name of "Miss Eyre. " Eliza's greeting was delivered in a short, abrupt voice, without a smile; and then she sat down again, fixed hereyes on the fire, and seemed to forget me. Georgiana added to her "Howd'ye do?" several commonplaces about my journey, the weather, and so on, uttered in rather a drawling tone: and accompanied by sundry side-glancesthat measured me from head to foot--now traversing the folds of my drabmerino pelisse, and now lingering on the plain trimming of my cottagebonnet. Young ladies have a remarkable way of letting you know that theythink you a "quiz" without actually saying the words. A certainsuperciliousness of look, coolness of manner, nonchalance of tone, express fully their sentiments on the point, without committing them byany positive rudeness in word or deed. 

A sneer, however, whether covert or open, had now no longer that powerover me it once possessed: as I sat between my cousins, I was surprisedto find how easy I felt under the total neglect of the one and the semi-sarcastic attentions of the other--Eliza did not mortify, nor Georgianaruffle me. The fact was, I had other things to think about; within thelast few months feelings had been stirred in me so much more potent thanany they could raise--pains and pleasures so much more acute andexquisite had been excited than any it was in their power to inflict orbestow--that their airs gave me no concern either for good or bad. 

"How is Mrs. Reed?" I asked soon, looking calmly at Georgiana, whothought fit to bridle at the direct address, as if it were an unexpectedliberty. 

"Mrs. Reed? Ah! mama, you mean; she is extremely poorly: I doubt if youcan see her to-night. "

"If, " said I, "you would just step upstairs and tell her I am come, Ishould be much obliged to you. "

Georgiana almost started, and she opened her blue eyes wild and wide. "Iknow she had a particular wish to see me, " I added, "and I would notdefer attending to her desire longer than is absolutely necessary. "

"Mama dislikes being disturbed in an evening, " remarked Eliza. I soonrose, quietly took off my bonnet and gloves, uninvited, and said I wouldjust step out to Bessie--who was, I dared say, in the kitchen--and askher to ascertain whether Mrs. Reed was disposed to receive me or not to-night. I went, and having found Bessie and despatched her on my errand, I proceeded to take further measures. It had heretofore been my habitalways to shrink from arrogance: received as I had been to-day, I should, a year ago, have resolved to quit Gateshead the very next morning; now, it was disclosed to me all at once that that would be a foolish plan. Ihad taken a journey of a hundred miles to see my aunt, and I must staywith her till she was better--or dead: as to her daughters' pride orfolly, I must put it on one side, make myself independent of it. So Iaddressed the housekeeper; asked her to show me a room, told her I shouldprobably be a visitor here for a week or two, had my trunk conveyed to mychamber, and followed it thither myself: I met Bessie on the landing. 

"Missis is awake, " said she; "I have told her you are here: come and letus see if she will know you. "

I did not need to be guided to the well-known room, to which I had sooften been summoned for chastisement or reprimand in former days. Ihastened before Bessie; I softly opened the door: a shaded light stood onthe table, for it was now getting dark. There was the great four-postbed with amber hangings as of old; there the toilet-table, the armchair, and the footstool, at which I had a hundred times been sentenced tokneel, to ask pardon for offences by me uncommitted. I looked into acertain corner near, half-expecting to see the slim outline of a oncedreaded switch which used to lurk there, waiting to leap out imp-like andlace my quivering palm or shrinking neck. I approached the bed; I openedthe curtains and leant over the high-piled pillows. 

Well did I remember Mrs. Reed's face, and I eagerly sought the familiarimage. It is a happy thing that time quells the longings of vengeanceand hushes the promptings of rage and aversion. I had left this woman inbitterness and hate, and I came back to her now with no other emotionthan a sort of ruth for her great sufferings, and a strong yearning toforget and forgive all injuries--to be reconciled and clasp hands inamity. 

The well-known face was there: stern, relentless as ever--there was thatpeculiar eye which nothing could melt, and the somewhat raised, imperious, despotic eyebrow. How often had it lowered on me menace andhate! and how the recollection of childhood's terrors and sorrows revivedas I traced its harsh line now! And yet I stooped down and kissed her:she looked at me. 

"Is this Jane Eyre?" she said. 

"Yes, Aunt Reed. How are you, dear aunt?"

I had once vowed that I would never call her aunt again: I thought it nosin to forget and break that vow now. My fingers had fastened on herhand which lay outside the sheet: had she pressed mine kindly, I shouldat that moment have experienced true pleasure. But unimpressionablenatures are not so soon softened, nor are natural antipathies so readilyeradicated. Mrs. Reed took her hand away, and, turning her face ratherfrom me, she remarked that the night was warm. Again she regarded me soicily, I felt at once that her opinion of me--her feeling towards me--wasunchanged and unchangeable. I knew by her stony eye--opaque totenderness, indissoluble to tears--that she was resolved to consider mebad to the last; because to believe me good would give her no generouspleasure: only a sense of mortification. 

I felt pain, and then I felt ire; and then I felt a determination tosubdue her--to be her mistress in spite both of her nature and her will. My tears had risen, just as in childhood: I ordered them back to theirsource. I brought a chair to the bed-head: I sat down and leaned overthe pillow. 

"You sent for me, " I said, "and I am here; and it is my intention to staytill I see how you get on. "

"Oh, of course! You have seen my daughters?"

"Yes. "

"Well, you may tell them I wish you to stay till I can talk some thingsover with you I have on my mind: to-night it is too late, and I have adifficulty in recalling them. But there was something I wished tosay--let me see--"

The wandering look and changed utterance told what wreck had taken placein her once vigorous frame. Turning restlessly, she drew the bedclothesround her; my elbow, resting on a corner of the quilt, fixed it down: shewas at once irritated. 

"Sit up!" said she; "don't annoy me with holding the clothes fast. Areyou Jane Eyre?"

"I am Jane Eyre. "

"I have had more trouble with that child than any one would believe. Sucha burden to be left on my hands--and so much annoyance as she caused me, daily and hourly, with her incomprehensible disposition, and her suddenstarts of temper, and her continual, unnatural watchings of one'smovements! I declare she talked to me once like something mad, or like afiend--no child ever spoke or looked as she did; I was glad to get heraway from the house. What did they do with her at Lowood? The feverbroke out there, and many of the pupils died. She, however, did not die:but I said she did--I wish she had died!"

"A strange wish, Mrs. Reed; why do you hate her so?"

"I had a dislike to her mother always; for she was my husband's onlysister, and a great favourite with him: he opposed the family's disowningher when she made her low marriage; and when news came of her death, hewept like a simpleton. He would send for the baby; though I entreatedhim rather to put it out to nurse and pay for its maintenance. I hatedit the first time I set my eyes on it--a sickly, whining, pining thing!It would wail in its cradle all night long--not screaming heartily likeany other child, but whimpering and moaning. Reed pitied it; and he usedto nurse it and notice it as if it had been his own: more, indeed, thanhe ever noticed his own at that age. He would try to make my childrenfriendly to the little beggar: the darlings could not bear it, and he wasangry with them when they showed their dislike. In his last illness, hehad it brought continually to his bedside; and but an hour before hedied, he bound me by vow to keep the creature. I would as soon have beencharged with a pauper brat out of a workhouse: but he was weak, naturallyweak. John does not at all resemble his father, and I am glad of it:John is like me and like my brothers--he is quite a Gibson. Oh, I wishhe would cease tormenting me with letters for money? I have no moremoney to give him: we are getting poor. I must send away half theservants and shut up part of the house; or let it off. I can neversubmit to do that--yet how are we to get on? Two-thirds of my incomegoes in paying the interest of mortgages. John gambles dreadfully, andalways loses--poor boy! He is beset by sharpers: John is sunk anddegraded--his look is frightful--I feel ashamed for him when I see him. "

She was getting much excited. "I think I had better leave her now, " saidI to Bessie, who stood on the other side of the bed. 

"Perhaps you had, Miss: but she often talks in this way towards night--inthe morning she is calmer. "

I rose. "Stop!" exclaimed Mrs. Reed, "there is another thing I wished tosay. He threatens me--he continually threatens me with his own death, ormine: and I dream sometimes that I see him laid out with a great wound inhis throat, or with a swollen and blackened face. I am come to a strangepass: I have heavy troubles. What is to be done? How is the money to behad?"

Bessie now endeavoured to persuade her to take a sedative draught: shesucceeded with difficulty. Soon after, Mrs. Reed grew more composed, andsank into a dozing state. I then left her. 

More than ten days elapsed before I had again any conversation with her. She continued either delirious or lethargic; and the doctor forbadeeverything which could painfully excite her. Meantime, I got on as wellas I could with Georgiana and Eliza. They were very cold, indeed, atfirst. Eliza would sit half the day sewing, reading, or writing, andscarcely utter a word either to me or her sister. Georgiana wouldchatter nonsense to her canary bird by the hour, and take no notice ofme. But I was determined not to seem at a loss for occupation oramusement: I had brought my drawing materials with me, and they served mefor both. 

Provided with a case of pencils, and some sheets of paper, I used to takea seat apart from them, near the window, and busy myself in sketchingfancy vignettes, representing any scene that happened momentarily toshape itself in the ever-shifting kaleidoscope of imagination: a glimpseof sea between two rocks; the rising moon, and a ship crossing its disk;a group of reeds and water-flags, and a naiad's head, crowned with lotus-flowers, rising out of them; an elf sitting in a hedge-sparrow's nest, under a wreath of hawthorn-bloom. 

One morning I fell to sketching a face: what sort of a face it was to be, I did not care or know. I took a soft black pencil, gave it a broadpoint, and worked away. Soon I had traced on the paper a broad andprominent forehead and a square lower outline of visage: that contourgave me pleasure; my fingers proceeded actively to fill it with features. Strongly-marked horizontal eyebrows must be traced under that brow; thenfollowed, naturally, a well-defined nose, with a straight ridge and fullnostrils; then a flexible-looking mouth, by no means narrow; then a firmchin, with a decided cleft down the middle of it: of course, some blackwhiskers were wanted, and some jetty hair, tufted on the temples, andwaved above the forehead. Now for the eyes: I had left them to the last, because they required the most careful working. I drew them large; Ishaped them well: the eyelashes I traced long and sombre; the iridslustrous and large. "Good! but not quite the thing, " I thought, as Isurveyed the effect: "they want more force and spirit;" and I wrought theshades blacker, that the lights might flash more brilliantly--a happytouch or two secured success. There, I had a friend's face under mygaze; and what did it signify that those young ladies turned their backson me? I looked at it; I smiled at the speaking likeness: I was absorbedand content. 

"Is that a portrait of some one you know?" asked Eliza, who hadapproached me unnoticed. I responded that it was merely a fancy head, and hurried it beneath the other sheets. Of course, I lied: it was, infact, a very faithful representation of Mr. Rochester. But what was thatto her, or to any one but myself? Georgiana also advanced to look. Theother drawings pleased her much, but she called that "an ugly man. " Theyboth seemed surprised at my skill. I offered to sketch their portraits;and each, in turn, sat for a pencil outline. Then Georgiana produced heralbum. I promised to contribute a water-colour drawing: this put her atonce into good humour. She proposed a walk in the grounds. Before wehad been out two hours, we were deep in a confidential conversation: shehad favoured me with a description of the brilliant winter she had spentin London two seasons ago--of the admiration she had there excited--theattention she had received; and I even got hints of the titled conquestshe had made. In the course of the afternoon and evening these hintswere enlarged on: various soft conversations were reported, andsentimental scenes represented; and, in short, a volume of a novel offashionable life was that day improvised by her for my benefit. Thecommunications were renewed from day to day: they always ran on the sametheme--herself, her loves, and woes. It was strange she never onceadverted either to her mother's illness, or her brother's death, or thepresent gloomy state of the family prospects. Her mind seemed whollytaken up with reminiscences of past gaiety, and aspirations afterdissipations to come. She passed about five minutes each day in hermother's sick-room, and no more. 

Eliza still spoke little: she had evidently no time to talk. I never sawa busier person than she seemed to be; yet it was difficult to say whatshe did: or rather, to discover any result of her diligence. She had analarm to call her up early. I know not how she occupied herself beforebreakfast, but after that meal she divided her time into regularportions, and each hour had its allotted task. Three times a day shestudied a little book, which I found, on inspection, was a Common PrayerBook. I asked her once what was the great attraction of that volume, andshe said, "the Rubric. " Three hours she gave to stitching, with goldthread, the border of a square crimson cloth, almost large enough for acarpet. In answer to my inquiries after the use of this article, sheinformed me it was a covering for the altar of a new church latelyerected near Gateshead. Two hours she devoted to her diary; two toworking by herself in the kitchen-garden; and one to the regulation ofher accounts. She seemed to want no company; no conversation. I believeshe was happy in her way: this routine sufficed for her; and nothingannoyed her so much as the occurrence of any incident which forced her tovary its clockwork regularity. 

She told me one evening, when more disposed to be communicative thanusual, that John's conduct, and the threatened ruin of the family, hadbeen a source of profound affliction to her: but she had now, she said, settled her mind, and formed her resolution. Her own fortune she hadtaken care to secure; and when her mother died--and it was whollyimprobable, she tranquilly remarked, that she should either recover orlinger long--she would execute a long-cherished project: seek aretirement where punctual habits would be permanently secured fromdisturbance, and place safe barriers between herself and a frivolousworld. I asked if Georgiana would accompany her. 

"Of course not. Georgiana and she had nothing in common: they never hadhad. She would not be burdened with her society for any consideration. Georgiana should take her own course; and she, Eliza, would take hers. "

Georgiana, when not unburdening her heart to me, spent most of her timein lying on the sofa, fretting about the dulness of the house, andwishing over and over again that her aunt Gibson would send her aninvitation up to town. "It would be so much better, " she said, "if shecould only get out of the way for a month or two, till all was over. " Idid not ask what she meant by "all being over, " but I suppose shereferred to the expected decease of her mother and the gloomy sequel offuneral rites. Eliza generally took no more notice of her sister'sindolence and complaints than if no such murmuring, lounging object hadbeen before her. One day, however, as she put away her account-book andunfolded her embroidery, she suddenly took her up thus--

"Georgiana, a more vain and absurd animal than you was certainly neverallowed to cumber the earth. You had no right to be born, for you makeno use of life. Instead of living for, in, and with yourself, as areasonable being ought, you seek only to fasten your feebleness on someother person's strength: if no one can be found willing to burden her orhimself with such a fat, weak, puffy, useless thing, you cry out that youare ill-treated, neglected, miserable. Then, too, existence for you mustbe a scene of continual change and excitement, or else the world is adungeon: you must be admired, you must be courted, you must beflattered--you must have music, dancing, and society--or you languish, you die away. Have you no sense to devise a system which will make youindependent of all efforts, and all wills, but your own? Take one day;share it into sections; to each section apportion its task: leave nostray unemployed quarters of an hour, ten minutes, five minutes--includeall; do each piece of business in its turn with method, with rigidregularity. The day will close almost before you are aware it has begun;and you are indebted to no one for helping you to get rid of one vacantmoment: you have had to seek no one's company, conversation, sympathy, forbearance; you have lived, in short, as an independent being ought todo. Take this advice: the first and last I shall offer you; then youwill not want me or any one else, happen what may. Neglect it--go on asheretofore, craving, whining, and idling--and suffer the results of youridiocy, however bad and insuperable they may be. I tell you thisplainly; and listen: for though I shall no more repeat what I am nowabout to say, I shall steadily act on it. After my mother's death, Iwash my hands of you: from the day her coffin is carried to the vault inGateshead Church, you and I will be as separate as if we had never knowneach other. You need not think that because we chanced to be born of thesame parents, I shall suffer you to fasten me down by even the feeblestclaim: I can tell you this--if the whole human race, ourselves excepted, were swept away, and we two stood alone on the earth, I would leave youin the old world, and betake myself to the new. "

She closed her lips. 

"You might have spared yourself the trouble of delivering that tirade, "answered Georgiana. "Everybody knows you are the most selfish, heartlesscreature in existence: and _I_ know your spiteful hatred towards me: Ihave had a specimen of it before in the trick you played me about LordEdwin Vere: you could not bear me to be raised above you, to have atitle, to be received into circles where you dare not show your face, andso you acted the spy and informer, and ruined my prospects for ever. "Georgiana took out her handkerchief and blew her nose for an hourafterwards; Eliza sat cold, impassable, and assiduously industrious. 

True, generous feeling is made small account of by some, but here weretwo natures rendered, the one intolerably acrid, the other despicablysavourless for the want of it. Feeling without judgment is a washydraught indeed; but judgment untempered by feeling is too bitter andhusky a morsel for human deglutition. 

It was a wet and windy afternoon: Georgiana had fallen asleep on the sofaover the perusal of a novel; Eliza was gone to attend a saint's-dayservice at the new church--for in matters of religion she was a rigidformalist: no weather ever prevented the punctual discharge of what sheconsidered her devotional duties; fair or foul, she went to church thriceevery Sunday, and as often on week-days as there were prayers. 

I bethought myself to go upstairs and see how the dying woman sped, wholay there almost unheeded: the very servants paid her but a remittentattention: the hired nurse, being little looked after, would slip out ofthe room whenever she could. Bessie was faithful; but she had her ownfamily to mind, and could only come occasionally to the hall. I foundthe sick-room unwatched, as I had expected: no nurse was there; thepatient lay still, and seemingly lethargic; her livid face sunk in thepillows: the fire was dying in the grate. I renewed the fuel, re-arranged the bedclothes, gazed awhile on her who could not now gaze onme, and then I moved away to the window. 

The rain beat strongly against the panes, the wind blew tempestuously:"One lies there, " I thought, "who will soon be beyond the war of earthlyelements. Whither will that spirit--now struggling to quit its materialtenement--flit when at length released?"

In pondering the great mystery, I thought of Helen Burns, recalled herdying words--her faith--her doctrine of the equality of disembodiedsouls. I was still listening in thought to her well-rememberedtones--still picturing her pale and spiritual aspect, her wasted face andsublime gaze, as she lay on her placid deathbed, and whispered herlonging to be restored to her divine Father's bosom--when a feeble voicemurmured from the couch behind: "Who is that?"

I knew Mrs. Reed had not spoken for days: was she reviving? I went up toher. 

"It is I, Aunt Reed. "

"Who--I?" was her answer. "Who are you?" looking at me with surprise anda sort of alarm, but still not wildly. "You are quite a stranger tome--where is Bessie?"

"She is at the lodge, aunt. "

"Aunt, " she repeated. "Who calls me aunt? You are not one of theGibsons; and yet I know you--that face, and the eyes and forehead, arequiet familiar to me: you are like--why, you are like Jane Eyre!"

I said nothing: I was afraid of occasioning some shock by declaring myidentity. 

"Yet, " said she, "I am afraid it is a mistake: my thoughts deceive me. Iwished to see Jane Eyre, and I fancy a likeness where none exists:besides, in eight years she must be so changed. " I now gently assuredher that I was the person she supposed and desired me to be: and seeingthat I was understood, and that her senses were quite collected, Iexplained how Bessie had sent her husband to fetch me from Thornfield. 

"I am very ill, I know, " she said ere long. "I was trying to turn myselfa few minutes since, and find I cannot move a limb. It is as well Ishould ease my mind before I die: what we think little of in health, burdens us at such an hour as the present is to me. Is the nurse here?or is there no one in the room but you?"

I assured her we were alone. 

"Well, I have twice done you a wrong which I regret now. One was inbreaking the promise which I gave my husband to bring you up as my ownchild; the other--" she stopped. "After all, it is of no greatimportance, perhaps, " she murmured to herself: "and then I may getbetter; and to humble myself so to her is painful. "

She made an effort to alter her position, but failed: her face changed;she seemed to experience some inward sensation--the precursor, perhaps, of the last pang. 

"Well, I must get it over. Eternity is before me: I had better tellher. --Go to my dressing-case, open it, and take out a letter you will seethere. "

I obeyed her directions. "Read the letter, " she said. 

It was short, and thus conceived:--

 "Madam, --Will you have the goodness to send me the address of my niece, Jane Eyre, and to tell me how she is? It is my intention to write shortly and desire her to come to me at Madeira. Providence has blessed my endeavours to secure a competency; and as I am unmarried and childless, I wish to adopt her during my life, and bequeath her at my death whatever I may have to leave. --I am, Madam, &c. , &c. , "JOHN EYRE, Madeira. "

It was dated three years back. 

"Why did I never hear of this?" I asked. 

"Because I disliked you too fixedly and thoroughly ever to lend a hand inlifting you to prosperity. I could not forget your conduct to me, Jane--the fury with which you once turned on me; the tone in which youdeclared you abhorred me the worst of anybody in the world; theunchildlike look and voice with which you affirmed that the very thoughtof me made you sick, and asserted that I had treated you with miserablecruelty. I could not forget my own sensations when you thus started upand poured out the venom of your mind: I felt fear as if an animal that Ihad struck or pushed had looked up at me with human eyes and cursed me ina man's voice. --Bring me some water! Oh, make haste!"

"Dear Mrs. Reed, " said I, as I offered her the draught she required, "think no more of all this, let it pass away from your mind. Forgive mefor my passionate language: I was a child then; eight, nine years havepassed since that day. "

She heeded nothing of what I said; but when she had tasted the water anddrawn breath, she went on thus--

"I tell you I could not forget it; and I took my revenge: for you to beadopted by your uncle, and placed in a state of ease and comfort, waswhat I could not endure. I wrote to him; I said I was sorry for hisdisappointment, but Jane Eyre was dead: she had died of typhus fever atLowood. Now act as you please: write and contradict my assertion--exposemy falsehood as soon as you like. You were born, I think, to be mytorment: my last hour is racked by the recollection of a deed which, butfor you, I should never have been tempted to commit. "

"If you could but be persuaded to think no more of it, aunt, and toregard me with kindness and forgiveness"

"You have a very bad disposition, " said she, "and one to this day I feelit impossible to understand: how for nine years you could be patient andquiescent under any treatment, and in the tenth break out all fire andviolence, I can never comprehend. "

"My disposition is not so bad as you think: I am passionate, but notvindictive. Many a time, as a little child, I should have been glad tolove you if you would have let me; and I long earnestly to be reconciledto you now: kiss me, aunt. "

I approached my cheek to her lips: she would not touch it. She said Ioppressed her by leaning over the bed, and again demanded water. As Ilaid her down--for I raised her and supported her on my arm while shedrank--I covered her ice-cold and clammy hand with mine: the feeblefingers shrank from my touch--the glazing eyes shunned my gaze. 

"Love me, then, or hate me, as you will, " I said at last, "you have myfull and free forgiveness: ask now for God's, and be at peace. "

Poor, suffering woman! it was too late for her to make now the effort tochange her habitual frame of mind: living, she had ever hated me--dying, she must hate me still. 

The nurse now entered, and Bessie followed. I yet lingered half-an-hourlonger, hoping to see some sign of amity: but she gave none. She wasfast relapsing into stupor; nor did her mind again rally: at twelveo'clock that night she died. I was not present to close her eyes, norwere either of her daughters. They came to tell us the next morning thatall was over. She was by that time laid out. Eliza and I went to lookat her: Georgiana, who had burst out into loud weeping, said she darednot go. There was stretched Sarah Reed's once robust and active frame, rigid and still: her eye of flint was covered with its cold lid; her browand strong traits wore yet the impress of her inexorable soul. A strangeand solemn object was that corpse to me. I gazed on it with gloom andpain: nothing soft, nothing sweet, nothing pitying, or hopeful, orsubduing did it inspire; only a grating anguish for _her_ woes--not _my_loss--and a sombre tearless dismay at the fearfulness of death in such aform. 

Eliza surveyed her parent calmly. After a silence of some minutes sheobserved--

"With her constitution she should have lived to a good old age: her lifewas shortened by trouble. " And then a spasm constricted her mouth for aninstant: as it passed away she turned and left the room, and so did I. Neither of us had dropt a tear. 

CHAPTER XXII

Mr. Rochester had given me but one week's leave of absence: yet a monthelapsed before I quitted Gateshead. I wished to leave immediately afterthe funeral, but Georgiana entreated me to stay till she could get off toLondon, whither she was now at last invited by her uncle, Mr. Gibson, whohad come down to direct his sister's interment and settle the familyaffairs. Georgiana said she dreaded being left alone with Eliza; fromher she got neither sympathy in her dejection, support in her fears, noraid in her preparations; so I bore with her feeble-minded wailings andselfish lamentations as well as I could, and did my best in sewing forher and packing her dresses. It is true, that while I worked, she wouldidle; and I thought to myself, "If you and I were destined to live alwaystogether, cousin, we would commence matters on a different footing. Ishould not settle tamely down into being the forbearing party; I shouldassign you your share of labour, and compel you to accomplish it, or elseit should be left undone: I should insist, also, on your keeping some ofthose drawling, half-insincere complaints hushed in your own breast. Itis only because our connection happens to be very transitory, and comesat a peculiarly mournful season, that I consent thus to render it sopatient and compliant on my part. "

At last I saw Georgiana off; but now it was Eliza's turn to request me tostay another week. Her plans required all her time and attention, shesaid; she was about to depart for some unknown bourne; and all day longshe stayed in her own room, her door bolted within, filling trunks, emptying drawers, burning papers, and holding no communication with anyone. She wished me to look after the house, to see callers, and answernotes of condolence. 

One morning she told me I was at liberty. "And, " she added, "I amobliged to you for your valuable services and discreet conduct! There issome difference between living with such an one as you and withGeorgiana: you perform your own part in life and burden no one. To-morrow, " she continued, "I set out for the Continent. I shall take upmy abode in a religious house near Lisle--a nunnery you would call it;there I shall be quiet and unmolested. I shall devote myself for a timeto the examination of the Roman Catholic dogmas, and to a careful studyof the workings of their system: if I find it to be, as I half suspect itis, the one best calculated to ensure the doing of all things decentlyand in order, I shall embrace the tenets of Rome and probably take theveil. "

I neither expressed surprise at this resolution nor attempted to dissuadeher from it. "The vocation will fit you to a hair, " I thought: "muchgood may it do you!"

When we parted, she said: "Good-bye, cousin Jane Eyre; I wish you well:you have some sense. "

I then returned: "You are not without sense, cousin Eliza; but what youhave, I suppose, in another year will be walled up alive in a Frenchconvent. However, it is not my business, and so it suits you, I don'tmuch care. "

"You are in the right, " said she; and with these words we each went ourseparate way. As I shall not have occasion to refer either to her or hersister again, I may as well mention here, that Georgiana made anadvantageous match with a wealthy worn-out man of fashion, and that Elizaactually took the veil, and is at this day superior of the convent whereshe passed the period of her novitiate, and which she endowed with herfortune. 

How people feel when they are returning home from an absence, long orshort, I did not know: I had never experienced the sensation. I hadknown what it was to come back to Gateshead when a child after a longwalk, to be scolded for looking cold or gloomy; and later, what it was tocome back from church to Lowood, to long for a plenteous meal and a goodfire, and to be unable to get either. Neither of these returnings wasvery pleasant or desirable: no magnet drew me to a given point, increasing in its strength of attraction the nearer I came. The returnto Thornfield was yet to be tried. 

My journey seemed tedious--very tedious: fifty miles one day, a nightspent at an inn; fifty miles the next day. During the first twelve hoursI thought of Mrs. Reed in her last moments; I saw her disfigured anddiscoloured face, and heard her strangely altered voice. I mused on thefuneral day, the coffin, the hearse, the black train of tenants andservants--few was the number of relatives--the gaping vault, the silentchurch, the solemn service. Then I thought of Eliza and Georgiana; Ibeheld one the cynosure of a ball-room, the other the inmate of a conventcell; and I dwelt on and analysed their separate peculiarities of personand character. The evening arrival at the great town of--scattered thesethoughts; night gave them quite another turn: laid down on my traveller'sbed, I left reminiscence for anticipation. 

I was going back to Thornfield: but how long was I to stay there? Notlong; of that I was sure. I had heard from Mrs. Fairfax in the interimof my absence: the party at the hall was dispersed; Mr. Rochester hadleft for London three weeks ago, but he was then expected to return in afortnight. Mrs. Fairfax surmised that he was gone to make arrangementsfor his wedding, as he had talked of purchasing a new carriage: she saidthe idea of his marrying Miss Ingram still seemed strange to her; butfrom what everybody said, and from what she had herself seen, she couldno longer doubt that the event would shortly take place. "You would bestrangely incredulous if you did doubt it, " was my mental comment. "Idon't doubt it. "

The question followed, "Where was I to go?" I dreamt of Miss Ingram allthe night: in a vivid morning dream I saw her closing the gates ofThornfield against me and pointing me out another road; and Mr. Rochesterlooked on with his arms folded--smiling sardonically, as it seemed, atboth her and me. 

I had not notified to Mrs. Fairfax the exact day of my return; for I didnot wish either car or carriage to meet me at Millcote. I proposed towalk the distance quietly by myself; and very quietly, after leaving mybox in the ostler's care, did I slip away from the George Inn, about sixo'clock of a June evening, and take the old road to Thornfield: a roadwhich lay chiefly through fields, and was now little frequented. 

It was not a bright or splendid summer evening, though fair and soft: thehaymakers were at work all along the road; and the sky, though far fromcloudless, was such as promised well for the future: its blue--where bluewas visible--was mild and settled, and its cloud strata high and thin. The west, too, was warm: no watery gleam chilled it--it seemed as ifthere was a fire lit, an altar burning behind its screen of marbledvapour, and out of apertures shone a golden redness. 

I felt glad as the road shortened before me: so glad that I stopped onceto ask myself what that joy meant: and to remind reason that it was notto my home I was going, or to a permanent resting-place, or to a placewhere fond friends looked out for me and waited my arrival. "Mrs. Fairfax will smile you a calm welcome, to be sure, " said I; "and littleAdele will clap her hands and jump to see you: but you know very well youare thinking of another than they, and that he is not thinking of you. "

But what is so headstrong as youth? What so blind as inexperience? Theseaffirmed that it was pleasure enough to have the privilege of againlooking on Mr. Rochester, whether he looked on me or not; and theyadded--"Hasten! hasten! be with him while you may: but a few more days orweeks, at most, and you are parted from him for ever!" And then Istrangled a new-born agony--a deformed thing which I could not persuademyself to own and rear--and ran on. 

They are making hay, too, in Thornfield meadows: or rather, the labourersare just quitting their work, and returning home with their rakes ontheir shoulders, now, at the hour I arrive. I have but a field or two totraverse, and then I shall cross the road and reach the gates. How fullthe hedges are of roses! But I have no time to gather any; I want to beat the house. I passed a tall briar, shooting leafy and flowery branchesacross the path; I see the narrow stile with stone steps; and I see--Mr. Rochester sitting there, a book and a pencil in his hand; he is writing. 

Well, he is not a ghost; yet every nerve I have is unstrung: for a momentI am beyond my own mastery. What does it mean? I did not think I shouldtremble in this way when I saw him, or lose my voice or the power ofmotion in his presence. I will go back as soon as I can stir: I need notmake an absolute fool of myself. I know another way to the house. Itdoes not signify if I knew twenty ways; for he has seen me. 

"Hillo!" he cries; and he puts up his book and his pencil. "There youare! Come on, if you please. "

I suppose I do come on; though in what fashion I know not; being scarcelycognisant of my movements, and solicitous only to appear calm; and, aboveall, to control the working muscles of my face--which I feel rebelinsolently against my will, and struggle to express what I had resolvedto conceal. But I have a veil--it is down: I may make shift yet tobehave with decent composure. 

"And this is Jane Eyre? Are you coming from Millcote, and on foot?Yes--just one of your tricks: not to send for a carriage, and comeclattering over street and road like a common mortal, but to steal intothe vicinage of your home along with twilight, just as if you were adream or a shade. What the deuce have you done with yourself this lastmonth?"

"I have been with my aunt, sir, who is dead. "

"A true Janian reply! Good angels be my guard! She comes from the otherworld--from the abode of people who are dead; and tells me so when shemeets me alone here in the gloaming! If I dared, I'd touch you, to seeif you are substance or shadow, you elf!--but I'd as soon offer to takehold of a blue _ignis fatuus_ light in a marsh. Truant! truant!" headded, when he had paused an instant. "Absent from me a whole month, andforgetting me quite, I'll be sworn!"

I knew there would be pleasure in meeting my master again, even thoughbroken by the fear that he was so soon to cease to be my master, and bythe knowledge that I was nothing to him: but there was ever in Mr. Rochester (so at least I thought) such a wealth of the power ofcommunicating happiness, that to taste but of the crumbs he scattered tostray and stranger birds like me, was to feast genially. His last wordswere balm: they seemed to imply that it imported something to him whetherI forgot him or not. And he had spoken of Thornfield as my home--wouldthat it were my home!

He did not leave the stile, and I hardly liked to ask to go by. Iinquired soon if he had not been to London. 

"Yes; I suppose you found that out by second-sight. "

"Mrs. Fairfax told me in a letter. "

"And did she inform you what I went to do?"

"Oh, yes, sir! Everybody knew your errand. "

"You must see the carriage, Jane, and tell me if you don't think it willsuit Mrs. Rochester exactly; and whether she won't look like QueenBoadicea, leaning back against those purple cushions. I wish, Jane, Iwere a trifle better adapted to match with her externally. Tell me now, fairy as you are--can't you give me a charm, or a philter, or somethingof that sort, to make me a handsome man?"

"It would be past the power of magic, sir;" and, in thought, I added, "Aloving eye is all the charm needed: to such you are handsome enough; orrather your sternness has a power beyond beauty. "

Mr. Rochester had sometimes read my unspoken thoughts with an acumen tome incomprehensible: in the present instance he took no notice of myabrupt vocal response; but he smiled at me with a certain smile he had ofhis own, and which he used but on rare occasions. He seemed to think ittoo good for common purposes: it was the real sunshine of feeling--heshed it over me now. 

"Pass, Janet, " said he, making room for me to cross the stile: "go uphome, and stay your weary little wandering feet at a friend's threshold. "

All I had now to do was to obey him in silence: no need for me tocolloquise further. I got over the stile without a word, and meant toleave him calmly. An impulse held me fast--a force turned me round. Isaid--or something in me said for me, and in spite of me--

"Thank you, Mr. Rochester, for your great kindness. I am strangely gladto get back again to you: and wherever you are is my home--my only home. "

I walked on so fast that even he could hardly have overtaken me had hetried. Little Adele was half wild with delight when she saw me. Mrs. Fairfax received me with her usual plain friendliness. Leah smiled, andeven Sophie bid me "bon soir" with glee. This was very pleasant; thereis no happiness like that of being loved by your fellow-creatures, andfeeling that your presence is an addition to their comfort. 

I that evening shut my eyes resolutely against the future: I stopped mycars against the voice that kept warning me of near separation and cominggrief. When tea was over and Mrs. Fairfax had taken her knitting, and Ihad assumed a low seat near her, and Adele, kneeling on the carpet, hadnestled close up to me, and a sense of mutual affection seemed tosurround us with a ring of golden peace, I uttered a silent prayer thatwe might not be parted far or soon; but when, as we thus sat, Mr. Rochester entered, unannounced, and looking at us, seemed to takepleasure in the spectacle of a group so amicable--when he said hesupposed the old lady was all right now that she had got her adopteddaughter back again, and added that he saw Adele was "prete a croquer sapetite maman Anglaise"--I half ventured to hope that he would, even afterhis marriage, keep us together somewhere under the shelter of hisprotection, and not quite exiled from the sunshine of his presence. 

A fortnight of dubious calm succeeded my return to Thornfield Hall. Nothing was said of the master's marriage, and I saw no preparation goingon for such an event. Almost every day I asked Mrs. Fairfax if she hadyet heard anything decided: her answer was always in the negative. Onceshe said she had actually put the question to Mr. Rochester as to when hewas going to bring his bride home; but he had answered her only by a jokeand one of his queer looks, and she could not tell what to make of him. 

One thing specially surprised me, and that was, there were no journeyingsbackward and forward, no visits to Ingram Park: to be sure it was twentymiles off, on the borders of another county; but what was that distanceto an ardent lover? To so practised and indefatigable a horseman as Mr. Rochester, it would be but a morning's ride. I began to cherish hopes Ihad no right to conceive: that the match was broken off; that rumour hadbeen mistaken; that one or both parties had changed their minds. I usedto look at my master's face to see if it were sad or fierce; but I couldnot remember the time when it had been so uniformly clear of clouds orevil feelings. If, in the moments I and my pupil spent with him, Ilacked spirits and sank into inevitable dejection, he became even gay. Never had he called me more frequently to his presence; never been kinderto me when there--and, alas! never had I loved him so well. 

CHAPTER XXIII

A splendid Midsummer shone over England: skies so pure, suns so radiantas were then seen in long succession, seldom favour even singly, our wave-girt land. It was as if a band of Italian days had come from the South, like a flock of glorious passenger birds, and lighted to rest them on thecliffs of Albion. The hay was all got in; the fields round Thornfieldwere green and shorn; the roads white and baked; the trees were in theirdark prime; hedge and wood, full-leaved and deeply tinted, contrastedwell with the sunny hue of the cleared meadows between. 

On Midsummer-eve, Adele, weary with gathering wild strawberries in HayLane half the day, had gone to bed with the sun. I watched her dropasleep, and when I left her, I sought the garden. 

It was now the sweetest hour of the twenty-four:--"Day its fervid fireshad wasted, " and dew fell cool on panting plain and scorched summit. Where the sun had gone down in simple state--pure of the pomp ofclouds--spread a solemn purple, burning with the light of red jewel andfurnace flame at one point, on one hill-peak, and extending high andwide, soft and still softer, over half heaven. The east had its owncharm or fine deep blue, and its own modest gem, a casino and solitarystar: soon it would boast the moon; but she was yet beneath the horizon. 

I walked a while on the pavement; but a subtle, well-known scent--that ofa cigar--stole from some window; I saw the library casement open ahandbreadth; I knew I might be watched thence; so I went apart into theorchard. No nook in the grounds more sheltered and more Eden-like; itwas full of trees, it bloomed with flowers: a very high wall shut it outfrom the court, on one side; on the other, a beech avenue screened itfrom the lawn. At the bottom was a sunk fence; its sole separation fromlonely fields: a winding walk, bordered with laurels and terminating in agiant horse-chestnut, circled at the base by a seat, led down to thefence. Here one could wander unseen. While such honey-dew fell, suchsilence reigned, such gloaming gathered, I felt as if I could haunt suchshade for ever; but in threading the flower and fruit parterres at theupper part of the enclosure, enticed there by the light the now risingmoon cast on this more open quarter, my step is stayed--not by sound, notby sight, but once more by a warning fragrance. 

Sweet-briar and southernwood, jasmine, pink, and rose have long beenyielding their evening sacrifice of incense: this new scent is neither ofshrub nor flower; it is--I know it well--it is Mr. Rochester's cigar. Ilook round and I listen. I see trees laden with ripening fruit. I heara nightingale warbling in a wood half a mile off; no moving form isvisible, no coming step audible; but that perfume increases: I must flee. I make for the wicket leading to the shrubbery, and I see Mr. Rochesterentering. I step aside into the ivy recess; he will not stay long: hewill soon return whence he came, and if I sit still he will never see me. 

But no--eventide is as pleasant to him as to me, and this antique gardenas attractive; and he strolls on, now lifting the gooseberry-treebranches to look at the fruit, large as plums, with which they are laden;now taking a ripe cherry from the wall; now stooping towards a knot offlowers, either to inhale their fragrance or to admire the dew-beads ontheir petals. A great moth goes humming by me; it alights on a plant atMr. Rochester's foot: he sees it, and bends to examine it. 

"Now, he has his back towards me, " thought I, "and he is occupied too;perhaps, if I walk softly, I can slip away unnoticed. "

I trode on an edging of turf that the crackle of the pebbly gravel mightnot betray me: he was standing among the beds at a yard or two distantfrom where I had to pass; the moth apparently engaged him. "I shall getby very well, " I meditated. As I crossed his shadow, thrown long overthe garden by the moon, not yet risen high, he said quietly, withoutturning--

"Jane, come and look at this fellow. "

I had made no noise: he had not eyes behind--could his shadow feel? Istarted at first, and then I approached him. 

"Look at his wings, " said he, "he reminds me rather of a West Indianinsect; one does not often see so large and gay a night-rover in England;there! he is flown. "

The moth roamed away. I was sheepishly retreating also; but Mr. Rochester followed me, and when we reached the wicket, he said--

"Turn back: on so lovely a night it is a shame to sit in the house; andsurely no one can wish to go to bed while sunset is thus at meeting withmoonrise. "

It is one of my faults, that though my tongue is sometimes prompt enoughat an answer, there are times when it sadly fails me in framing anexcuse; and always the lapse occurs at some crisis, when a facile word orplausible pretext is specially wanted to get me out of painfulembarrassment. I did not like to walk at this hour alone with Mr. Rochester in the shadowy orchard; but I could not find a reason to allegefor leaving him. I followed with lagging step, and thoughts busily benton discovering a means of extrication; but he himself looked so composedand so grave also, I became ashamed of feeling any confusion: the evil--ifevil existent or prospective there was--seemed to lie with me only; hismind was unconscious and quiet. 

"Jane, " he recommenced, as we entered the laurel walk, and slowly strayeddown in the direction of the sunk fence and the horse-chestnut, "Thornfield is a pleasant place in summer, is it not?"

"Yes, sir. "

"You must have become in some degree attached to the house, --you, whohave an eye for natural beauties, and a good deal of the organ ofAdhesiveness?"

"I am attached to it, indeed. "

"And though I don't comprehend how it is, I perceive you have acquired adegree of regard for that foolish little child Adele, too; and even forsimple dame Fairfax?"

"Yes, sir; in different ways, I have an affection for both. "

"And would be sorry to part with them?"

"Yes. "

"Pity!" he said, and sighed and paused. "It is always the way of eventsin this life, " he continued presently: "no sooner have you got settled ina pleasant resting-place, than a voice calls out to you to rise and moveon, for the hour of repose is expired. "

"Must I move on, sir?" I asked. "Must I leave Thornfield?"

"I believe you must, Jane. I am sorry, Janet, but I believe indeed youmust. "

This was a blow: but I did not let it prostrate me. 

"Well, sir, I shall be ready when the order to march comes. "

"It is come now--I must give it to-night. "

"Then you _are_ going to be married, sir?"

"Ex-act-ly--pre-cise-ly: with your usual acuteness, you have hit the nailstraight on the head. "

"Soon, sir?"

"Very soon, my--that is, Miss Eyre: and you'll remember, Jane, the firsttime I, or Rumour, plainly intimated to you that it was my intention toput my old bachelor's neck into the sacred noose, to enter into the holyestate of matrimony--to take Miss Ingram to my bosom, in short (she's anextensive armful: but that's not to the point--one can't have too much ofsuch a very excellent thing as my beautiful Blanche): well, as I wassaying--listen to me, Jane! You're not turning your head to look aftermore moths, are you? That was only a lady-clock, child, 'flying awayhome. ' I wish to remind you that it was you who first said to me, withthat discretion I respect in you--with that foresight, prudence, andhumility which befit your responsible and dependent position--that incase I married Miss Ingram, both you and little Adele had better trotforthwith. I pass over the sort of slur conveyed in this suggestion onthe character of my beloved; indeed, when you are far away, Janet, I'lltry to forget it: I shall notice only its wisdom; which is such that Ihave made it my law of action. Adele must go to school; and you, MissEyre, must get a new situation. "

"Yes, sir, I will advertise immediately: and meantime, I suppose--" I wasgoing to say, "I suppose I may stay here, till I find another shelter tobetake myself to:" but I stopped, feeling it would not do to risk a longsentence, for my voice was not quite under command. 

"In about a month I hope to be a bridegroom, " continued Mr. Rochester;"and in the interim, I shall myself look out for employment and an asylumfor you. "

"Thank you, sir; I am sorry to give--"

"Oh, no need to apologise! I consider that when a dependent does herduty as well as you have done yours, she has a sort of claim upon heremployer for any little assistance he can conveniently render her; indeedI have already, through my future mother-in-law, heard of a place that Ithink will suit: it is to undertake the education of the five daughtersof Mrs. Dionysius O'Gall of Bitternutt Lodge, Connaught, Ireland. You'lllike Ireland, I think: they're such warm-hearted people there, they say. "

"It is a long way off, sir. "

"No matter--a girl of your sense will not object to the voyage or thedistance. "

"Not the voyage, but the distance: and then the sea is a barrier--"

"From what, Jane?"

"From England and from Thornfield: and--"

"Well?"

"From _you_, sir. "

I said this almost involuntarily, and, with as little sanction of freewill, my tears gushed out. I did not cry so as to be heard, however; Iavoided sobbing. The thought of Mrs. O'Gall and Bitternutt Lodge struckcold to my heart; and colder the thought of all the brine and foam, destined, as it seemed, to rush between me and the master at whose side Inow walked, and coldest the remembrance of the wider ocean--wealth, caste, custom intervened between me and what I naturally and inevitablyloved. 

"It is a long way, " I again said. 

"It is, to be sure; and when you get to Bitternutt Lodge, Connaught, Ireland, I shall never see you again, Jane: that's morally certain. Inever go over to Ireland, not having myself much of a fancy for thecountry. We have been good friends, Jane; have we not?"

"Yes, sir. "

"And when friends are on the eve of separation, they like to spend thelittle time that remains to them close to each other. Come! we'll talkover the voyage and the parting quietly half-an-hour or so, while thestars enter into their shining life up in heaven yonder: here is thechestnut tree: here is the bench at its old roots. Come, we will sitthere in peace to-night, though we should never more be destined to sitthere together. " He seated me and himself. 

"It is a long way to Ireland, Janet, and I am sorry to send my littlefriend on such weary travels: but if I can't do better, how is it to behelped? Are you anything akin to me, do you think, Jane?"

I could risk no sort of answer by this time: my heart was still. 

"Because, " he said, "I sometimes have a queer feeling with regard toyou--especially when you are near me, as now: it is as if I had a stringsomewhere under my left ribs, tightly and inextricably knotted to asimilar string situated in the corresponding quarter of your littleframe. And if that boisterous Channel, and two hundred miles or so ofland come broad between us, I am afraid that cord of communion will besnapt; and then I've a nervous notion I should take to bleeding inwardly. As for you, --you'd forget me. "

"That I _never_ should, sir: you know--" Impossible to proceed. 

"Jane, do you hear that nightingale singing in the wood? Listen!"

In listening, I sobbed convulsively; for I could repress what I enduredno longer; I was obliged to yield, and I was shaken from head to footwith acute distress. When I did speak, it was only to express animpetuous wish that I had never been born, or never come to Thornfield. 

"Because you are sorry to leave it?"

The vehemence of emotion, stirred by grief and love within me, wasclaiming mastery, and struggling for full sway, and asserting a right topredominate, to overcome, to live, rise, and reign at last: yes, --and tospeak. 

"I grieve to leave Thornfield: I love Thornfield:--I love it, because Ihave lived in it a full and delightful life, --momentarily at least. Ihave not been trampled on. I have not been petrified. I have not beenburied with inferior minds, and excluded from every glimpse of communionwith what is bright and energetic and high. I have talked, face to face, with what I reverence, with what I delight in, --with an original, avigorous, an expanded mind. I have known you, Mr. Rochester; and itstrikes me with terror and anguish to feel I absolutely must be torn fromyou for ever. I see the necessity of departure; and it is like lookingon the necessity of death. "

"Where do you see the necessity?" he asked suddenly. 

"Where? You, sir, have placed it before me. "

"In what shape?"

"In the shape of Miss Ingram; a noble and beautiful woman, --your bride. "

"My bride! What bride? I have no bride!"

"But you will have. "

"Yes;--I will!--I will!" He set his teeth. 

"Then I must go:--you have said it yourself. "

"No: you must stay! I swear it--and the oath shall be kept. "

"I tell you I must go!" I retorted, roused to something like passion. "Doyou think I can stay to become nothing to you? Do you think I am anautomaton?--a machine without feelings? and can bear to have my morsel ofbread snatched from my lips, and my drop of living water dashed from mycup? Do you think, because I am poor, obscure, plain, and little, I amsoulless and heartless? You think wrong!--I have as much soul asyou, --and full as much heart! And if God had gifted me with some beautyand much wealth, I should have made it as hard for you to leave me, as itis now for me to leave you. I am not talking to you now through themedium of custom, conventionalities, nor even of mortal flesh;--it is myspirit that addresses your spirit; just as if both had passed through thegrave, and we stood at God's feet, equal, --as we are!"

"As we are!" repeated Mr. Rochester--"so, " he added, enclosing me in hisarms. Gathering me to his breast, pressing his lips on my lips: "so, Jane!"

"Yes, so, sir, " I rejoined: "and yet not so; for you are a married man--oras good as a married man, and wed to one inferior to you--to one withwhom you have no sympathy--whom I do not believe you truly love; for Ihave seen and heard you sneer at her. I would scorn such a union:therefore I am better than you--let me go!"

"Where, Jane? To Ireland?"

"Yes--to Ireland. I have spoken my mind, and can go anywhere now. "

"Jane, be still; don't struggle so, like a wild frantic bird that isrending its own plumage in its desperation. "

"I am no bird; and no net ensnares me; I am a free human being with anindependent will, which I now exert to leave you. "

Another effort set me at liberty, and I stood erect before him. 

"And your will shall decide your destiny, " he said: "I offer you my hand, my heart, and a share of all my possessions. "

"You play a farce, which I merely laugh at. "

"I ask you to pass through life at my side--to be my second self, andbest earthly companion. "

"For that fate you have already made your choice, and must abide by it. "

"Jane, be still a few moments: you are over-excited: I will be stilltoo. "

A waft of wind came sweeping down the laurel-walk, and trembled throughthe boughs of the chestnut: it wandered away--away--to an indefinitedistance--it died. The nightingale's song was then the only voice of thehour: in listening to it, I again wept. Mr. Rochester sat quiet, lookingat me gently and seriously. Some time passed before he spoke; he at lastsaid--

"Come to my side, Jane, and let us explain and understand one another. "

"I will never again come to your side: I am torn away now, and cannotreturn. "

"But, Jane, I summon you as my wife: it is you only I intend to marry. "

I was silent: I thought he mocked me. 

"Come, Jane--come hither. "

"Your bride stands between us. "

He rose, and with a stride reached me. 

"My bride is here, " he said, again drawing me to him, "because my equalis here, and my likeness. Jane, will you marry me?"

Still I did not answer, and still I writhed myself from his grasp: for Iwas still incredulous. 

"Do you doubt me, Jane?"

"Entirely. "

"You have no faith in me?"

"Not a whit. "

"Am I a liar in your eyes?" he asked passionately. "Little sceptic, you_shall_ be convinced. What love have I for Miss Ingram? None: and thatyou know. What love has she for me? None: as I have taken pains toprove: I caused a rumour to reach her that my fortune was not a third ofwhat was supposed, and after that I presented myself to see the result;it was coldness both from her and her mother. I would not--I couldnot--marry Miss Ingram. You--you strange, you almost unearthly thing!--Ilove as my own flesh. You--poor and obscure, and small and plain as youare--I entreat to accept me as a husband. "

"What, me!" I ejaculated, beginning in his earnestness--and especially inhis incivility--to credit his sincerity: "me who have not a friend in theworld but you--if you are my friend: not a shilling but what you havegiven me?"

"You, Jane, I must have you for my own--entirely my own. Will you bemine? Say yes, quickly. "

"Mr. Rochester, let me look at your face: turn to the moonlight. "

"Why?"

"Because I want to read your countenance--turn!"

"There! you will find it scarcely more legible than a crumpled, scratchedpage. Read on: only make haste, for I suffer. "

His face was very much agitated and very much flushed, and there werestrong workings in the features, and strange gleams in the eyes. 

"Oh, Jane, you torture me!" he exclaimed. "With that searching and yetfaithful and generous look, you torture me!"

"How can I do that? If you are true, and your offer real, my onlyfeelings to you must be gratitude and devotion--they cannot torture. "

"Gratitude!" he ejaculated; and added wildly--"Jane accept me quickly. Say, Edward--give me my name--Edward--I will marry you. "

"Are you in earnest? Do you truly love me? Do you sincerely wish me tobe your wife?"

"I do; and if an oath is necessary to satisfy you, I swear it. "

"Then, sir, I will marry you. "

"Edward--my little wife!"

"Dear Edward!"

"Come to me--come to me entirely now, " said he; and added, in his deepesttone, speaking in my ear as his cheek was laid on mine, "Make myhappiness--I will make yours. "

"God pardon me!" he subjoined ere long; "and man meddle not with me: Ihave her, and will hold her. "

"There is no one to meddle, sir. I have no kindred to interfere. "

"No--that is the best of it, " he said. And if I had loved him less Ishould have thought his accent and look of exultation savage; but, sitting by him, roused from the nightmare of parting--called to theparadise of union--I thought only of the bliss given me to drink in soabundant a flow. Again and again he said, "Are you happy, Jane?" Andagain and again I answered, "Yes. " After which he murmured, "It willatone--it will atone. Have I not found her friendless, and cold, andcomfortless? Will I not guard, and cherish, and solace her? Is therenot love in my heart, and constancy in my resolves? It will expiate atGod's tribunal. I know my Maker sanctions what I do. For the world'sjudgment--I wash my hands thereof. For man's opinion--I defy it. "

But what had befallen the night? The moon was not yet set, and we wereall in shadow: I could scarcely see my master's face, near as I was. Andwhat ailed the chestnut tree? it writhed and groaned; while wind roaredin the laurel walk, and came sweeping over us. 

"We must go in, " said Mr. Rochester: "the weather changes. I could havesat with thee till morning, Jane. "

"And so, " thought I, "could I with you. " I should have said so, perhaps, but a livid, vivid spark leapt out of a cloud at which I was looking, andthere was a crack, a crash, and a close rattling peal; and I thought onlyof hiding my dazzled eyes against Mr. Rochester's shoulder. 

The rain rushed down. He hurried me up the walk, through the grounds, and into the house; but we were quite wet before we could pass thethreshold. He was taking off my shawl in the hall, and shaking the waterout of my loosened hair, when Mrs. Fairfax emerged from her room. I didnot observe her at first, nor did Mr. Rochester. The lamp was lit. Theclock was on the stroke of twelve. 

"Hasten to take off your wet things, " said he; "and before you go, good-night--good-night, my darling!"

He kissed me repeatedly. When I looked up, on leaving his arms, therestood the widow, pale, grave, and amazed. I only smiled at her, and ranupstairs. "Explanation will do for another time, " thought I. Still, when I reached my chamber, I felt a pang at the idea she should eventemporarily misconstrue what she had seen. But joy soon effaced everyother feeling; and loud as the wind blew, near and deep as the thundercrashed, fierce and frequent as the lightning gleamed, cataract-like asthe rain fell during a storm of two hours' duration, I experienced nofear and little awe. Mr. Rochester came thrice to my door in the courseof it, to ask if I was safe and tranquil: and that was comfort, that wasstrength for anything. 

Before I left my bed in the morning, little Adele came running in to tellme that the great horse-chestnut at the bottom of the orchard had beenstruck by lightning in the night, and half of it split away. 

CHAPTER XXIV

As I rose and dressed, I thought over what had happened, and wondered ifit were a dream. I could not be certain of the reality till I had seenMr. Rochester again, and heard him renew his words of love and promise. 

While arranging my hair, I looked at my face in the glass, and felt itwas no longer plain: there was hope in its aspect and life in its colour;and my eyes seemed as if they had beheld the fount of fruition, andborrowed beams from the lustrous ripple. I had often been unwilling tolook at my master, because I feared he could not be pleased at my look;but I was sure I might lift my face to his now, and not cool hisaffection by its expression. I took a plain but clean and light summerdress from my drawer and put it on: it seemed no attire had ever so wellbecome me, because none had I ever worn in so blissful a mood. 

I was not surprised, when I ran down into the hall, to see that abrilliant June morning had succeeded to the tempest of the night; and tofeel, through the open glass door, the breathing of a fresh and fragrantbreeze. Nature must be gladsome when I was so happy. A beggar-woman andher little boy--pale, ragged objects both--were coming up the walk, and Iran down and gave them all the money I happened to have in my purse--somethree or four shillings: good or bad, they must partake of my jubilee. The rooks cawed, and blither birds sang; but nothing was so merry or somusical as my own rejoicing heart. 

Mrs. Fairfax surprised me by looking out of the window with a sadcountenance, and saying gravely--"Miss Eyre, will you come to breakfast?"During the meal she was quiet and cool: but I could not undeceive herthen. I must wait for my master to give explanations; and so must she. Iate what I could, and then I hastened upstairs. I met Adele leaving theschoolroom. 

"Where are you going? It is time for lessons. "

"Mr. Rochester has sent me away to the nursery. "

"Where is he?"

"In there, " pointing to the apartment she had left; and I went in, andthere he stood. 

"Come and bid me good-morning, " said he. I gladly advanced; and it wasnot merely a cold word now, or even a shake of the hand that I received, but an embrace and a kiss. It seemed natural: it seemed genial to be sowell loved, so caressed by him. 

"Jane, you look blooming, and smiling, and pretty, " said he: "trulypretty this morning. Is this my pale, little elf? Is this my mustard-seed? This little sunny-faced girl with the dimpled cheek and rosy lips;the satin-smooth hazel hair, and the radiant hazel eyes?" (I had greeneyes, reader; but you must excuse the mistake: for him they werenew-dyed, I suppose. )

"It is Jane Eyre, sir. "

"Soon to be Jane Rochester, " he added: "in four weeks, Janet; not a daymore. Do you hear that?"

I did, and I could not quite comprehend it: it made me giddy. Thefeeling, the announcement sent through me, was something stronger thanwas consistent with joy--something that smote and stunned. It was, Ithink almost fear. 

"You blushed, and now you are white, Jane: what is that for?"

"Because you gave me a new name--Jane Rochester; and it seems sostrange. "

"Yes, Mrs. Rochester, " said he; "young Mrs. Rochester--FairfaxRochester's girl-bride. "

"It can never be, sir; it does not sound likely. Human beings neverenjoy complete happiness in this world. I was not born for a differentdestiny to the rest of my species: to imagine such a lot befalling me isa fairy tale--a day-dream. "

"Which I can and will realise. I shall begin to-day. This morning Iwrote to my banker in London to send me certain jewels he has in hiskeeping, --heirlooms for the ladies of Thornfield. In a day or two I hopeto pour them into your lap: for every privilege, every attention shall beyours that I would accord a peer's daughter, if about to marry her. "

"Oh, sir!--never rain jewels! I don't like to hear them spoken of. Jewels for Jane Eyre sounds unnatural and strange: I would rather nothave them. "

"I will myself put the diamond chain round your neck, and the circlet onyour forehead, --which it will become: for nature, at least, has stampedher patent of nobility on this brow, Jane; and I will clasp the braceletson these fine wrists, and load these fairy-like fingers with rings. "

"No, no, sir! think of other subjects, and speak of other things, and inanother strain. Don't address me as if I were a beauty; I am your plain, Quakerish governess. "

"You are a beauty in my eyes, and a beauty just after the desire of myheart, --delicate and aerial. "

"Puny and insignificant, you mean. You are dreaming, sir, --or you aresneering. For God's sake don't be ironical!"

"I will make the world acknowledge you a beauty, too, " he went on, whileI really became uneasy at the strain he had adopted, because I felt hewas either deluding himself or trying to delude me. "I will attire myJane in satin and lace, and she shall have roses in her hair; and I willcover the head I love best with a priceless veil. "

"And then you won't know me, sir; and I shall not be your Jane Eyre anylonger, but an ape in a harlequin's jacket--a jay in borrowed plumes. Iwould as soon see you, Mr. Rochester, tricked out in stage-trappings, asmyself clad in a court-lady's robe; and I don't call you handsome, sir, though I love you most dearly: far too dearly to flatter you. Don'tflatter me. "

He pursued his theme, however, without noticing my deprecation. "Thisvery day I shall take you in the carriage to Millcote, and you mustchoose some dresses for yourself. I told you we shall be married in fourweeks. The wedding is to take place quietly, in the church down belowyonder; and then I shall waft you away at once to town. After a briefstay there, I shall bear my treasure to regions nearer the sun: to Frenchvineyards and Italian plains; and she shall see whatever is famous in oldstory and in modern record: she shall taste, too, of the life of cities;and she shall learn to value herself by just comparison with others. "

"Shall I travel?--and with you, sir?"

"You shall sojourn at Paris, Rome, and Naples: at Florence, Venice, andVienna: all the ground I have wandered over shall be re-trodden by you:wherever I stamped my hoof, your sylph's foot shall step also. Ten yearssince, I flew through Europe half mad; with disgust, hate, and rage as mycompanions: now I shall revisit it healed and cleansed, with a very angelas my comforter. "

I laughed at him as he said this. "I am not an angel, " I asserted; "andI will not be one till I die: I will be myself. Mr. Rochester, you mustneither expect nor exact anything celestial of me--for you will not getit, any more than I shall get it of you: which I do not at allanticipate. "

"What do you anticipate of me?"

"For a little while you will perhaps be as you are now, --a very littlewhile; and then you will turn cool; and then you will be capricious; andthen you will be stern, and I shall have much ado to please you: but whenyou get well used to me, you will perhaps like me again, --_like_ me, Isay, not _love_ me. I suppose your love will effervesce in six months, or less. I have observed in books written by men, that period assignedas the farthest to which a husband's ardour extends. Yet, after all, asa friend and companion, I hope never to become quite distasteful to mydear master. "

"Distasteful! and like you again! I think I shall like you again, andyet again: and I will make you confess I do not only _like_, but _love_you--with truth, fervour, constancy. "

"Yet are you not capricious, sir?"

"To women who please me only by their faces, I am the very devil when Ifind out they have neither souls nor hearts--when they open to me aperspective of flatness, triviality, and perhaps imbecility, coarseness, and ill-temper: but to the clear eye and eloquent tongue, to the soulmade of fire, and the character that bends but does not break--at oncesupple and stable, tractable and consistent--I am ever tender and true. "

"Had you ever experience of such a character, sir? Did you ever lovesuch an one?"

"I love it now. "

"But before me: if I, indeed, in any respect come up to your difficultstandard?"

"I never met your likeness. Jane, you please me, and you master me--youseem to submit, and I like the sense of pliancy you impart; and while Iam twining the soft, silken skein round my finger, it sends a thrill upmy arm to my heart. I am influenced--conquered; and the influence issweeter than I can express; and the conquest I undergo has a witcherybeyond any triumph I can win. Why do you smile, Jane? What does thatinexplicable, that uncanny turn of countenance mean?"

"I was thinking, sir (you will excuse the idea; it was involuntary), Iwas thinking of Hercules and Samson with their charmers--"

"You were, you little elfish--"

"Hush, sir! You don't talk very wisely just now; any more than thosegentlemen acted very wisely. However, had they been married, they wouldno doubt by their severity as husbands have made up for their softness assuitors; and so will you, I fear. I wonder how you will answer me a yearhence, should I ask a favour it does not suit your convenience orpleasure to grant. "

"Ask me something now, Jane, --the least thing: I desire to be entreated--"

"Indeed I will, sir; I have my petition all ready. "

"Speak! But if you look up and smile with that countenance, I shallswear concession before I know to what, and that will make a fool of me. "

"Not at all, sir; I ask only this: don't send for the jewels, and don'tcrown me with roses: you might as well put a border of gold lace roundthat plain pocket handkerchief you have there. "

"I might as well 'gild refined gold. ' I know it: your request is grantedthen--for the time. I will remand the order I despatched to my banker. But you have not yet asked for anything; you have prayed a gift to bewithdrawn: try again. "

"Well then, sir, have the goodness to gratify my curiosity, which is muchpiqued on one point. "

He looked disturbed. "What? what?" he said hastily. "Curiosity is adangerous petition: it is well I have not taken a vow to accord everyrequest--"

"But there can be no danger in complying with this, sir. "

"Utter it, Jane: but I wish that instead of a mere inquiry into, perhaps, a secret, it was a wish for half my estate. "

"Now, King Ahasuerus! What do I want with half your estate? Do youthink I am a Jew-usurer, seeking good investment in land? I would muchrather have all your confidence. You will not exclude me from yourconfidence if you admit me to your heart?"

"You are welcome to all my confidence that is worth having, Jane; but forGod's sake, don't desire a useless burden! Don't long for poison--don'tturn out a downright Eve on my hands!"

"Why not, sir? You have just been telling me how much you liked to beconquered, and how pleasant over-persuasion is to you. Don't you think Ihad better take advantage of the confession, and begin and coax andentreat--even cry and be sulky if necessary--for the sake of a mere essayof my power?"

"I dare you to any such experiment. Encroach, presume, and the game isup. "

"Is it, sir? You soon give in. How stern you look now! Your eyebrowshave become as thick as my finger, and your forehead resembles what, insome very astonishing poetry, I once saw styled, 'a blue-piledthunderloft. ' That will be your married look, sir, I suppose?"

"If that will be _your_ married look, I, as a Christian, will soon giveup the notion of consorting with a mere sprite or salamander. But whathad you to ask, thing, --out with it?"

"There, you are less than civil now; and I like rudeness a great dealbetter than flattery. I had rather be a _thing_ than an angel. This iswhat I have to ask, --Why did you take such pains to make me believe youwished to marry Miss Ingram?"

"Is that all? Thank God it is no worse!" And now he unknit his blackbrows; looked down, smiling at me, and stroked my hair, as if wellpleased at seeing a danger averted. "I think I may confess, " hecontinued, "even although I should make you a little indignant, Jane--andI have seen what a fire-spirit you can be when you are indignant. Youglowed in the cool moonlight last night, when you mutinied against fate, and claimed your rank as my equal. Janet, by-the-bye, it was you whomade me the offer. "

"Of course I did. But to the point if you please, sir--Miss Ingram?"

"Well, I feigned courtship of Miss Ingram, because I wished to render youas madly in love with me as I was with you; and I knew jealousy would bethe best ally I could call in for the furtherance of that end. "

"Excellent! Now you are small--not one whit bigger than the end of mylittle finger. It was a burning shame and a scandalous disgrace to actin that way. Did you think nothing of Miss Ingram's feelings, sir?"

"Her feelings are concentrated in one--pride; and that needs humbling. Were you jealous, Jane?"

"Never mind, Mr. Rochester: it is in no way interesting to you to knowthat. Answer me truly once more. Do you think Miss Ingram will notsuffer from your dishonest coquetry? Won't she feel forsaken anddeserted?"

"Impossible!--when I told you how she, on the contrary, deserted me: theidea of my insolvency cooled, or rather extinguished, her flame in amoment. "

"You have a curious, designing mind, Mr. Rochester. I am afraid yourprinciples on some points are eccentric. "

"My principles were never trained, Jane: they may have grown a littleawry for want of attention. "

"Once again, seriously; may I enjoy the great good that has beenvouchsafed to me, without fearing that any one else is suffering thebitter pain I myself felt a while ago?"

"That you may, my good little girl: there is not another being in theworld has the same pure love for me as yourself--for I lay that pleasantunction to my soul, Jane, a belief in your affection. "

I turned my lips to the hand that lay on my shoulder. I loved him verymuch--more than I could trust myself to say--more than words had power toexpress. 

"Ask something more, " he said presently; "it is my delight to beentreated, and to yield. "

I was again ready with my request. "Communicate your intentions to Mrs. Fairfax, sir: she saw me with you last night in the hall, and she wasshocked. Give her some explanation before I see her again. It pains meto be misjudged by so good a woman. "

"Go to your room, and put on your bonnet, " he replied. "I mean you toaccompany me to Millcote this morning; and while you prepare for thedrive, I will enlighten the old lady's understanding. Did she think, Janet, you had given the world for love, and considered it well lost?"

"I believe she thought I had forgotten my station, and yours, sir. "

"Station! station!--your station is in my heart, and on the necks ofthose who would insult you, now or hereafter. --Go. "

I was soon dressed; and when I heard Mr. Rochester quit Mrs. Fairfax'sparlour, I hurried down to it. The old lady, had been reading hermorning portion of Scripture--the Lesson for the day; her Bible lay openbefore her, and her spectacles were upon it. Her occupation, suspendedby Mr. Rochester's announcement, seemed now forgotten: her eyes, fixed onthe blank wall opposite, expressed the surprise of a quiet mind stirredby unwonted tidings. Seeing me, she roused herself: she made a sort ofeffort to smile, and framed a few words of congratulation; but the smileexpired, and the sentence was abandoned unfinished. She put up herspectacles, shut the Bible, and pushed her chair back from the table. 

"I feel so astonished, " she began, "I hardly know what to say to you, Miss Eyre. I have surely not been dreaming, have I? Sometimes I halffall asleep when I am sitting alone and fancy things that have neverhappened. It has seemed to me more than once when I have been in a doze, that my dear husband, who died fifteen years since, has come in and satdown beside me; and that I have even heard him call me by my name, Alice, as he used to do. Now, can you tell me whether it is actually true thatMr. Rochester has asked you to marry him? Don't laugh at me. But Ireally thought he came in here five minutes ago, and said that in a monthyou would be his wife. "

"He has said the same thing to me, " I replied. 

"He has! Do you believe him? Have you accepted him?"

"Yes. "

She looked at me bewildered. "I could never have thought it. He is aproud man: all the Rochesters were proud: and his father, at least, likedmoney. He, too, has always been called careful. He means to marry you?"

"He tells me so. "

She surveyed my whole person: in her eyes I read that they had therefound no charm powerful enough to solve the enigma. 

"It passes me!" she continued; "but no doubt, it is true since you sayso. How it will answer, I cannot tell: I really don't know. Equality ofposition and fortune is often advisable in such cases; and there aretwenty years of difference in your ages. He might almost be yourfather. "

"No, indeed, Mrs. Fairfax!" exclaimed I, nettled; "he is nothing like myfather! No one, who saw us together, would suppose it for an instant. Mr. Rochester looks as young, and is as young, as some men at five-and-twenty. "

"Is it really for love he is going to marry you?" she asked. 

I was so hurt by her coldness and scepticism, that the tears rose to myeyes. 

"I am sorry to grieve you, " pursued the widow; "but you are so young, andso little acquainted with men, I wished to put you on your guard. It isan old saying that 'all is not gold that glitters;' and in this case I dofear there will be something found to be different to what either you orI expect. "

"Why?--am I a monster?" I said: "is it impossible that Mr. Rochestershould have a sincere affection for me?"

"No: you are very well; and much improved of late; and Mr. Rochester, Idaresay, is fond of you. I have always noticed that you were a sort ofpet of his. There are times when, for your sake, I have been a littleuneasy at his marked preference, and have wished to put you on yourguard: but I did not like to suggest even the possibility of wrong. Iknew such an idea would shock, perhaps offend you; and you were sodiscreet, and so thoroughly modest and sensible, I hoped you might betrusted to protect yourself. Last night I cannot tell you what Isuffered when I sought all over the house, and could find you nowhere, nor the master either; and then, at twelve o'clock, saw you come in withhim. "

"Well, never mind that now, " I interrupted impatiently; "it is enoughthat all was right. "

"I hope all will be right in the end, " she said: "but believe me, youcannot be too careful. Try and keep Mr. Rochester at a distance:distrust yourself as well as him. Gentlemen in his station are notaccustomed to marry their governesses. "

I was growing truly irritated: happily, Adele ran in. 

"Let me go, --let me go to Millcote too!" she cried. "Mr. Rochesterwon't: though there is so much room in the new carriage. Beg him to letme go mademoiselle. "

"That I will, Adele;" and I hastened away with her, glad to quit mygloomy monitress. The carriage was ready: they were bringing it round tothe front, and my master was pacing the pavement, Pilot following himbackwards and forwards. 

"Adele may accompany us, may she not, sir?"

"I told her no. I'll have no brats!--I'll have only you. "

"Do let her go, Mr. Rochester, if you please: it would be better. "

"Not it: she will be a restraint. "

He was quite peremptory, both in look and voice. The chill of Mrs. Fairfax's warnings, and the damp of her doubts were upon me: something ofunsubstantiality and uncertainty had beset my hopes. I half lost thesense of power over him. I was about mechanically to obey him, withoutfurther remonstrance; but as he helped me into the carriage, he looked atmy face. 

"What is the matter?" he asked; "all the sunshine is gone. Do you reallywish the bairn to go? Will it annoy you if she is left behind?"

"I would far rather she went, sir. "

"Then off for your bonnet, and back like a flash of lightning!" cried heto Adele. 

She obeyed him with what speed she might. 

"After all, a single morning's interruption will not matter much, " saidhe, "when I mean shortly to claim you--your thoughts, conversation, andcompany--for life. "

Adele, when lifted in, commenced kissing me, by way of expressing hergratitude for my intercession: she was instantly stowed away into acorner on the other side of him. She then peeped round to where I sat;so stern a neighbour was too restrictive to him, in his present fractiousmood, she dared whisper no observations, nor ask of him any information. 

"Let her come to me, " I entreated: "she will, perhaps, trouble you, sir:there is plenty of room on this side. "

He handed her over as if she had been a lapdog. "I'll send her to schoolyet, " he said, but now he was smiling. 

Adele heard him, and asked if she was to go to school "sansmademoiselle?"

"Yes, " he replied, "absolutely sans mademoiselle; for I am to takemademoiselle to the moon, and there I shall seek a cave in one of thewhite valleys among the volcano-tops, and mademoiselle shall live with methere, and only me. "

"She will have nothing to eat: you will starve her, " observed Adele. 

"I shall gather manna for her morning and night: the plains and hillsidesin the moon are bleached with manna, Adele. "

"She will want to warm herself: what will she do for a fire?"

"Fire rises out of the lunar mountains: when she is cold, I'll carry herup to a peak, and lay her down on the edge of a crater. "

"Oh, qu' elle y sera mal--peu comfortable! And her clothes, they willwear out: how can she get new ones?"

Mr. Rochester professed to be puzzled. "Hem!" said he. "What would youdo, Adele? Cudgel your brains for an expedient. How would a white or apink cloud answer for a gown, do you think? And one could cut a prettyenough scarf out of a rainbow. "

"She is far better as she is, " concluded Adele, after musing some time:"besides, she would get tired of living with only you in the moon. If Iwere mademoiselle, I would never consent to go with you. "

"She has consented: she has pledged her word. "

"But you can't get her there; there is no road to the moon: it is allair; and neither you nor she can fly. "

"Adele, look at that field. " We were now outside Thornfield gates, andbowling lightly along the smooth road to Millcote, where the dust waswell laid by the thunderstorm, and, where the low hedges and lofty timbertrees on each side glistened green and rain-refreshed. 

"In that field, Adele, I was walking late one evening about a fortnightsince--the evening of the day you helped me to make hay in the orchardmeadows; and, as I was tired with raking swaths, I sat down to rest me ona stile; and there I took out a little book and a pencil, and began towrite about a misfortune that befell me long ago, and a wish I had forhappy days to come: I was writing away very fast, though daylight wasfading from the leaf, when something came up the path and stopped twoyards off me. I looked at it. It was a little thing with a veil ofgossamer on its head. I beckoned it to come near me; it stood soon at myknee. I never spoke to it, and it never spoke to me, in words; but Iread its eyes, and it read mine; and our speechless colloquy was to thiseffect--

"It was a fairy, and come from Elf-land, it said; and its errand was tomake me happy: I must go with it out of the common world to a lonelyplace--such as the moon, for instance--and it nodded its head towards herhorn, rising over Hay-hill: it told me of the alabaster cave and silvervale where we might live. I said I should like to go; but reminded it, as you did me, that I had no wings to fly. 

"'Oh, ' returned the fairy, 'that does not signify! Here is a talismanwill remove all difficulties;' and she held out a pretty gold ring. 'Putit, ' she said, 'on the fourth finger of my left hand, and I am yours, andyou are mine; and we shall leave earth, and make our own heaven yonder. 'She nodded again at the moon. The ring, Adele, is in my breeches-pocket, under the disguise of a sovereign: but I mean soon to change it to a ringagain. "

"But what has mademoiselle to do with it? I don't care for the fairy:you said it was mademoiselle you would take to the moon?"

"Mademoiselle is a fairy, " he said, whispering mysteriously. Whereupon Itold her not to mind his badinage; and she, on her part, evinced a fundof genuine French scepticism: denominating Mr. Rochester "un vraimenteur, " and assuring him that she made no account whatever of his"contes de fee, " and that "du reste, il n'y avait pas de fees, et quandmeme il y en avait:" she was sure they would never appear to him, norever give him rings, or offer to live with him in the moon. 

The hour spent at Millcote was a somewhat harassing one to me. Mr. Rochester obliged me to go to a certain silk warehouse: there I wasordered to choose half-a-dozen dresses. I hated the business, I beggedleave to defer it: no--it should be gone through with now. By dint ofentreaties expressed in energetic whispers, I reduced the half-dozen totwo: these however, he vowed he would select himself. With anxiety Iwatched his eye rove over the gay stores: he fixed on a rich silk of themost brilliant amethyst dye, and a superb pink satin. I told him in anew series of whispers, that he might as well buy me a gold gown and asilver bonnet at once: I should certainly never venture to wear hischoice. With infinite difficulty, for he was stubborn as a stone, Ipersuaded him to make an exchange in favour of a sober black satin andpearl-grey silk. "It might pass for the present, " he said; "but he wouldyet see me glittering like a parterre. "

Glad was I to get him out of the silk warehouse, and then out of ajewellers shop: the more he bought me, the more my cheek burned with asense of annoyance and degradation. As we re-entered the carriage, and Isat back feverish and fagged, I remembered what, in the hurry of events, dark and bright, I had wholly forgotten--the letter of my uncle, JohnEyre, to Mrs. Reed: his intention to adopt me and make me his legatee. "It would, indeed, be a relief, " I thought, "if I had ever so small anindependency; I never can bear being dressed like a doll by Mr. Rochester, or sitting like a second Danae with the golden shower fallingdaily round me. I will write to Madeira the moment I get home, and tellmy uncle John I am going to be married, and to whom: if I had but aprospect of one day bringing Mr. Rochester an accession of fortune, Icould better endure to be kept by him now. " And somewhat relieved bythis idea (which I failed not to execute that day), I ventured once moreto meet my master's and lover's eye, which most pertinaciously soughtmine, though I averted both face and gaze. He smiled; and I thought hissmile was such as a sultan might, in a blissful and fond moment, bestowon a slave his gold and gems had enriched: I crushed his hand, which wasever hunting mine, vigorously, and thrust it back to him red with thepassionate pressure. 

"You need not look in that way, " I said; "if you do, I'll wear nothingbut my old Lowood frocks to the end of the chapter. I'll be married inthis lilac gingham: you may make a dressing-gown for yourself out of thepearl-grey silk, and an infinite series of waistcoats out of the blacksatin. "

He chuckled; he rubbed his hands. "Oh, it is rich to see and hear her?"he exclaimed. "Is she original? Is she piquant? I would not exchangethis one little English girl for the Grand Turk's whole seraglio, gazelle-eyes, houri forms, and all!"

The Eastern allusion bit me again. "I'll not stand you an inch in thestead of a seraglio, " I said; "so don't consider me an equivalent forone. If you have a fancy for anything in that line, away with you, sir, to the bazaars of Stamboul without delay, and lay out in extensive slave-purchases some of that spare cash you seem at a loss to spendsatisfactorily here. "

"And what will you do, Janet, while I am bargaining for so many tons offlesh and such an assortment of black eyes?"

"I'll be preparing myself to go out as a missionary to preach liberty tothem that are enslaved--your harem inmates amongst the rest. I'll getadmitted there, and I'll stir up mutiny; and you, three-tailed bashaw asyou are, sir, shall in a trice find yourself fettered amongst our hands:nor will I, for one, consent to cut your bonds till you have signed acharter, the most liberal that despot ever yet conferred. "

"I would consent to be at your mercy, Jane. "

"I would have no mercy, Mr. Rochester, if you supplicated for it with aneye like that. While you looked so, I should be certain that whatevercharter you might grant under coercion, your first act, when released, would be to violate its conditions. "

"Why, Jane, what would you have? I fear you will compel me to go througha private marriage ceremony, besides that performed at the altar. Youwill stipulate, I see, for peculiar terms--what will they be?"

"I only want an easy mind, sir; not crushed by crowded obligations. Doyou remember what you said of Celine Varens?--of the diamonds, thecashmeres you gave her? I will not be your English Celine Varens. Ishall continue to act as Adele's governess; by that I shall earn my boardand lodging, and thirty pounds a year besides. I'll furnish my ownwardrobe out of that money, and you shall give me nothing but--"

"Well, but what?"

"Your regard; and if I give you mine in return, that debt will be quit. "

"Well, for cool native impudence and pure innate pride, you haven't yourequal, " said he. We were now approaching Thornfield. "Will it pleaseyou to dine with me to-day?" he asked, as we re-entered the gates. 

"No, thank you, sir. "

"And what for, 'no, thank you?' if one may inquire. "

"I never have dined with you, sir: and I see no reason why I should now:till--"

"Till what? You delight in half-phrases. "

"Till I can't help it. "

"Do you suppose I eat like an ogre or a ghoul, that you dread being thecompanion of my repast?"

"I have formed no supposition on the subject, sir; but I want to go on asusual for another month. "

"You will give up your governessing slavery at once. "

"Indeed, begging your pardon, sir, I shall not. I shall just go on withit as usual. I shall keep out of your way all day, as I have beenaccustomed to do: you may send for me in the evening, when you feeldisposed to see me, and I'll come then; but at no other time. "

"I want a smoke, Jane, or a pinch of snuff, to comfort me under all this, 'pour me donner une contenance, ' as Adele would say; and unfortunately Ihave neither my cigar-case, nor my snuff-box. But listen--whisper. Itis your time now, little tyrant, but it will be mine presently; and whenonce I have fairly seized you, to have and to hold, I'lljust--figuratively speaking--attach you to a chain like this" (touchinghis watch-guard). "Yes, bonny wee thing, I'll wear you in my bosom, lestmy jewel I should tyne. "

He said this as he helped me to alight from the carriage, and while heafterwards lifted out Adele, I entered the house, and made good myretreat upstairs. 

He duly summoned me to his presence in the evening. I had prepared anoccupation for him; for I was determined not to spend the whole time in a_tete-a-tete_ conversation. I remembered his fine voice; I knew he likedto sing--good singers generally do. I was no vocalist myself, and, inhis fastidious judgment, no musician, either; but I delighted inlistening when the performance was good. No sooner had twilight, thathour of romance, began to lower her blue and starry banner over thelattice, than I rose, opened the piano, and entreated him, for the loveof heaven, to give me a song. He said I was a capricious witch, and thathe would rather sing another time; but I averred that no time was likethe present. 

"Did I like his voice?" he asked. 

"Very much. " I was not fond of pampering that susceptible vanity of his;but for once, and from motives of expediency, I would e'en soothe andstimulate it. 

"Then, Jane, you must play the accompaniment. "

"Very well, sir, I will try. "

I did try, but was presently swept off the stool and denominated "alittle bungler. " Being pushed unceremoniously to one side--which wasprecisely what I wished--he usurped my place, and proceeded to accompanyhimself: for he could play as well as sing. I hied me to thewindow-recess. And while I sat there and looked out on the still treesand dim lawn, to a sweet air was sung in mellow tones the followingstrain:--

 "The truest love that ever heart Felt at its kindled core, Did through each vein, in quickened start, The tide of being pour. 

 Her coming was my hope each day, Her parting was my pain; The chance that did her steps delay Was ice in every vein. 

 I dreamed it would be nameless bliss, As I loved, loved to be; And to this object did I press As blind as eagerly. 

 But wide as pathless was the space That lay our lives between, And dangerous as the foamy race Of ocean-surges green. 

 And haunted as a robber-path Through wilderness or wood; For Might and Right, and Woe and Wrath, Between our spirits stood. 

 I dangers dared; I hindrance scorned; I omens did defy: Whatever menaced, harassed, warned, I passed impetuous by. 

 On sped my rainbow, fast as light; I flew as in a dream; For glorious rose upon my sight That child of Shower and Gleam. 

 Still bright on clouds of suffering dim Shines that soft, solemn joy; Nor care I now, how dense and grim Disasters gather nigh. 

 I care not in this moment sweet, Though all I have rushed o'er Should come on pinion, strong and fleet, Proclaiming vengeance sore:

 Though haughty Hate should strike me down, Right, bar approach to me, And grinding Might, with furious frown, Swear endless enmity. 

 My love has placed her little hand With noble faith in mine, And vowed that wedlock's sacred band Our nature shall entwine. 

 My love has sworn, with sealing kiss, With me to live--to die; I have at last my nameless bliss. As I love--loved am I!"

He rose and came towards me, and I saw his face all kindled, and his fullfalcon-eye flashing, and tenderness and passion in every lineament. Iquailed momentarily--then I rallied. Soft scene, daring demonstration, Iwould not have; and I stood in peril of both: a weapon of defence must beprepared--I whetted my tongue: as he reached me, I asked with asperity, "whom he was going to marry now?"

"That was a strange question to be put by his darling Jane. "

"Indeed! I considered it a very natural and necessary one: he had talkedof his future wife dying with him. What did he mean by such a paganidea? _I_ had no intention of dying with him--he might depend on that. "

"Oh, all he longed, all he prayed for, was that I might live with him!Death was not for such as I. "

"Indeed it was: I had as good a right to die when my time came as he had:but I should bide that time, and not be hurried away in a suttee. "

"Would I forgive him for the selfish idea, and prove my pardon by areconciling kiss?"

"No: I would rather be excused. "

Here I heard myself apostrophised as a "hard little thing;" and it wasadded, "any other woman would have been melted to marrow at hearing suchstanzas crooned in her praise. "

I assured him I was naturally hard--very flinty, and that he would oftenfind me so; and that, moreover, I was determined to show him diversrugged points in my character before the ensuing four weeks elapsed: heshould know fully what sort of a bargain he had made, while there was yettime to rescind it. 

"Would I be quiet and talk rationally?"

"I would be quiet if he liked, and as to talking rationally, I flatteredmyself I was doing that now. "

He fretted, pished, and pshawed. "Very good, " I thought; "you may fumeand fidget as you please: but this is the best plan to pursue with you, Iam certain. I like you more than I can say; but I'll not sink into abathos of sentiment: and with this needle of repartee I'll keep you fromthe edge of the gulf too; and, moreover, maintain by its pungent aid thatdistance between you and myself most conducive to our real mutualadvantage. "

From less to more, I worked him up to considerable irritation; then, after he had retired, in dudgeon, quite to the other end of the room, Igot up, and saying, "I wish you good-night, sir, " in my natural andwonted respectful manner, I slipped out by the side-door and got away. 

The system thus entered on, I pursued during the whole season ofprobation; and with the best success. He was kept, to be sure, rathercross and crusty; but on the whole I could see he was excellentlyentertained, and that a lamb-like submission and turtle-dove sensibility, while fostering his despotism more, would have pleased his judgment, satisfied his common-sense, and even suited his taste less. 

In other people's presence I was, as formerly, deferential and quiet; anyother line of conduct being uncalled for: it was only in the eveningconferences I thus thwarted and afflicted him. He continued to send forme punctually the moment the clock struck seven; though when I appearedbefore him now, he had no such honeyed terms as "love" and "darling" onhis lips: the best words at my service were "provoking puppet, ""malicious elf, " "sprite, " "changeling, " &c. For caresses, too, I nowgot grimaces; for a pressure of the hand, a pinch on the arm; for a kisson the cheek, a severe tweak of the ear. It was all right: at present Idecidedly preferred these fierce favours to anything more tender. Mrs. Fairfax, I saw, approved me: her anxiety on my account vanished;therefore I was certain I did well. Meantime, Mr. Rochester affirmed Iwas wearing him to skin and bone, and threatened awful vengeance for mypresent conduct at some period fast coming. I laughed in my sleeve athis menaces. "I can keep you in reasonable check now, " I reflected; "andI don't doubt to be able to do it hereafter: if one expedient loses itsvirtue, another must be devised. "

Yet after all my task was not an easy one; often I would rather havepleased than teased him. My future husband was becoming to me my wholeworld; and more than the world: almost my hope of heaven. He stoodbetween me and every thought of religion, as an eclipse intervenesbetween man and the broad sun. I could not, in those days, see God forHis creature: of whom I had made an idol. 

CHAPTER XXV

The month of courtship had wasted: its very last hours were beingnumbered. There was no putting off the day that advanced--the bridalday; and all preparations for its arrival were complete. _I_, at least, had nothing more to do: there were my trunks, packed, locked, corded, ranged in a row along the wall of my little chamber; to-morrow, at thistime, they would be far on their road to London: and so should I(D. V. ), --or rather, not I, but one Jane Rochester, a person whom as yet Iknew not. The cards of address alone remained to nail on: they lay, fourlittle squares, in the drawer. Mr. Rochester had himself written thedirection, "Mrs. Rochester, --- Hotel, London, " on each: I could notpersuade myself to affix them, or to have them affixed. Mrs. Rochester!She did not exist: she would not be born till to-morrow, some time aftereight o'clock a. M. ; and I would wait to be assured she had come into theworld alive before I assigned to her all that property. It was enoughthat in yonder closet, opposite my dressing-table, garments said to behers had already displaced my black stuff Lowood frock and straw bonnet:for not to me appertained that suit of wedding raiment; thepearl-coloured robe, the vapoury veil pendent from the usurpedportmanteau. I shut the closet to conceal the strange, wraith-likeapparel it contained; which, at this evening hour--nine o'clock--gave outcertainly a most ghostly shimmer through the shadow of my apartment. "Iwill leave you by yourself, white dream, " I said. "I am feverish: I hearthe wind blowing: I will go out of doors and feel it. "

It was not only the hurry of preparation that made me feverish; not onlythe anticipation of the great change--the new life which was to commenceto-morrow: both these circumstances had their share, doubtless, inproducing that restless, excited mood which hurried me forth at this latehour into the darkening grounds: but a third cause influenced my mindmore than they. 

I had at heart a strange and anxious thought. Something had happenedwhich I could not comprehend; no one knew of or had seen the event butmyself: it had taken place the preceding night. Mr. Rochester that nightwas absent from home; nor was he yet returned: business had called him toa small estate of two or three farms he possessed thirty milesoff--business it was requisite he should settle in person, previous tohis meditated departure from England. I waited now his return; eager todisburthen my mind, and to seek of him the solution of the enigma thatperplexed me. Stay till he comes, reader; and, when I disclose my secretto him, you shall share the confidence. 

I sought the orchard, driven to its shelter by the wind, which all dayhad blown strong and full from the south, without, however, bringing aspeck of rain. Instead of subsiding as night drew on, it seemed toaugment its rush and deepen its roar: the trees blew steadfastly one way, never writhing round, and scarcely tossing back their boughs once in anhour; so continuous was the strain bending their branchy headsnorthward--the clouds drifted from pole to pole, fast following, mass onmass: no glimpse of blue sky had been visible that July day. 

It was not without a certain wild pleasure I ran before the wind, delivering my trouble of mind to the measureless air-torrent thunderingthrough space. Descending the laurel walk, I faced the wreck of thechestnut-tree; it stood up black and riven: the trunk, split down thecentre, gasped ghastly. The cloven halves were not broken from eachother, for the firm base and strong roots kept them unsundered below;though community of vitality was destroyed--the sap could flow no more:their great boughs on each side were dead, and next winter's tempestswould be sure to fell one or both to earth: as yet, however, they mightbe said to form one tree--a ruin, but an entire ruin. 

"You did right to hold fast to each other, " I said: as if the monster-splinters were living things, and could hear me. "I think, scathed asyou look, and charred and scorched, there must be a little sense of lifein you yet, rising out of that adhesion at the faithful, honest roots:you will never have green leaves more--never more see birds making nestsand singing idyls in your boughs; the time of pleasure and love is overwith you: but you are not desolate: each of you has a comrade tosympathise with him in his decay. " As I looked up at them, the moonappeared momentarily in that part of the sky which filled their fissure;her disk was blood-red and half overcast; she seemed to throw on me onebewildered, dreary glance, and buried herself again instantly in the deepdrift of cloud. The wind fell, for a second, round Thornfield; but faraway over wood and water, poured a wild, melancholy wail: it was sad tolisten to, and I ran off again. 

Here and there I strayed through the orchard, gathered up the apples withwhich the grass round the tree roots was thickly strewn; then I employedmyself in dividing the ripe from the unripe; I carried them into thehouse and put them away in the store-room. Then I repaired to thelibrary to ascertain whether the fire was lit, for, though summer, I knewon such a gloomy evening Mr. Rochester would like to see a cheerfulhearth when he came in: yes, the fire had been kindled some time, andburnt well. I placed his arm-chair by the chimney-corner: I wheeled thetable near it: I let down the curtain, and had the candles brought inready for lighting. More restless than ever, when I had completed thesearrangements I could not sit still, nor even remain in the house: alittle time-piece in the room and the old clock in the hallsimultaneously struck ten. 

"How late it grows!" I said. "I will run down to the gates: it ismoonlight at intervals; I can see a good way on the road. He may becoming now, and to meet him will save some minutes of suspense. "

The wind roared high in the great trees which embowered the gates; butthe road as far as I could see, to the right hand and the left, was allstill and solitary: save for the shadows of clouds crossing it atintervals as the moon looked out, it was but a long pale line, unvariedby one moving speck. 

A puerile tear dimmed my eye while I looked--a tear of disappointment andimpatience; ashamed of it, I wiped it away. I lingered; the moon shutherself wholly within her chamber, and drew close her curtain of densecloud: the night grew dark; rain came driving fast on the gale. 

"I wish he would come! I wish he would come!" I exclaimed, seized withhypochondriac foreboding. I had expected his arrival before tea; now itwas dark: what could keep him? Had an accident happened? The event oflast night again recurred to me. I interpreted it as a warning ofdisaster. I feared my hopes were too bright to be realised; and I hadenjoyed so much bliss lately that I imagined my fortune had passed itsmeridian, and must now decline. 

"Well, I cannot return to the house, " I thought; "I cannot sit by thefireside, while he is abroad in inclement weather: better tire my limbsthan strain my heart; I will go forward and meet him. "

I set out; I walked fast, but not far: ere I had measured a quarter of amile, I heard the tramp of hoofs; a horseman came on, full gallop; a dogran by his side. Away with evil presentiment! It was he: here he was, mounted on Mesrour, followed by Pilot. He saw me; for the moon hadopened a blue field in the sky, and rode in it watery bright: he took hishat off, and waved it round his head. I now ran to meet him. 

"There!" he exclaimed, as he stretched out his hand and bent from thesaddle: "You can't do without me, that is evident. Step on my boot-toe;give me both hands: mount!"

I obeyed: joy made me agile: I sprang up before him. A hearty kissing Igot for a welcome, and some boastful triumph, which I swallowed as wellas I could. He checked himself in his exultation to demand, "But isthere anything the matter, Janet, that you come to meet me at such anhour? Is there anything wrong?"

"No, but I thought you would never come. I could not bear to wait in thehouse for you, especially with this rain and wind. "

"Rain and wind, indeed! Yes, you are dripping like a mermaid; pull mycloak round you: but I think you are feverish, Jane: both your cheek andhand are burning hot. I ask again, is there anything the matter?"

"Nothing now; I am neither afraid nor unhappy. "

"Then you have been both?"

"Rather: but I'll tell you all about it by-and-bye, sir; and I daresayyou will only laugh at me for my pains. "

"I'll laugh at you heartily when to-morrow is past; till then I dare not:my prize is not certain. This is you, who have been as slippery as aneel this last month, and as thorny as a briar-rose? I could not lay afinger anywhere but I was pricked; and now I seem to have gathered up astray lamb in my arms. You wandered out of the fold to seek yourshepherd, did you, Jane?"

"I wanted you: but don't boast. Here we are at Thornfield: now let meget down. "

He landed me on the pavement. As John took his horse, and he followed meinto the hall, he told me to make haste and put something dry on, andthen return to him in the library; and he stopped me, as I made for thestaircase, to extort a promise that I would not be long: nor was I long;in five minutes I rejoined him. I found him at supper. 

"Take a seat and bear me company, Jane: please God, it is the last mealbut one you will eat at Thornfield Hall for a long time. "

I sat down near him, but told him I could not eat. "Is it because youhave the prospect of a journey before you, Jane? Is it the thoughts ofgoing to London that takes away your appetite?"

"I cannot see my prospects clearly to-night, sir; and I hardly know whatthoughts I have in my head. Everything in life seems unreal. "

"Except me: I am substantial enough--touch me. "

"You, sir, are the most phantom-like of all: you are a mere dream. "

He held out his hand, laughing. "Is that a dream?" said he, placing itclose to my eyes. He had a rounded, muscular, and vigorous hand, as wellas a long, strong arm. 

"Yes; though I touch it, it is a dream, " said I, as I put it down frombefore my face. "Sir, have you finished supper?"

"Yes, Jane. "

I rang the bell and ordered away the tray. When we were again alone, Istirred the fire, and then took a low seat at my master's knee. 

"It is near midnight, " I said. 

"Yes: but remember, Jane, you promised to wake with me the night beforemy wedding. "

"I did; and I will keep my promise, for an hour or two at least: I haveno wish to go to bed. "

"Are all your arrangements complete?"

"All, sir. "

"And on my part likewise, " he returned, "I have settled everything; andwe shall leave Thornfield to-morrow, within half-an-hour after our returnfrom church. "

"Very well, sir. "

"With what an extraordinary smile you uttered that word--'very well, 'Jane! What a bright spot of colour you have on each cheek! and howstrangely your eyes glitter! Are you well?"

"I believe I am. "

"Believe! What is the matter? Tell me what you feel. "

"I could not, sir: no words could tell you what I feel. I wish thispresent hour would never end: who knows with what fate the next may comecharged?"

"This is hypochondria, Jane. You have been over-excited, orover-fatigued. "

"Do you, sir, feel calm and happy?"

"Calm?--no: but happy--to the heart's core. "

I looked up at him to read the signs of bliss in his face: it was ardentand flushed. 

"Give me your confidence, Jane, " he said: "relieve your mind of anyweight that oppresses it, by imparting it to me. What do you fear?--thatI shall not prove a good husband?"

"It is the idea farthest from my thoughts. "

"Are you apprehensive of the new sphere you are about to enter?--of thenew life into which you are passing?"

"No. "

"You puzzle me, Jane: your look and tone of sorrowful audacity perplexand pain me. I want an explanation. "

"Then, sir, listen. You were from home last night?"

"I was: I know that; and you hinted a while ago at something which hadhappened in my absence:--nothing, probably, of consequence; but, inshort, it has disturbed you. Let me hear it. Mrs. Fairfax has saidsomething, perhaps? or you have overheard the servants talk?--yoursensitive self-respect has been wounded?"

"No, sir. " It struck twelve--I waited till the time-piece had concludedits silver chime, and the clock its hoarse, vibrating stroke, and then Iproceeded. 

"All day yesterday I was very busy, and very happy in my ceaselessbustle; for I am not, as you seem to think, troubled by any hauntingfears about the new sphere, et cetera: I think it a glorious thing tohave the hope of living with you, because I love you. No, sir, don'tcaress me now--let me talk undisturbed. Yesterday I trusted well inProvidence, and believed that events were working together for your goodand mine: it was a fine day, if you recollect--the calmness of the airand sky forbade apprehensions respecting your safety or comfort on yourjourney. I walked a little while on the pavement after tea, thinking ofyou; and I beheld you in imagination so near me, I scarcely missed youractual presence. I thought of the life that lay before me--_your_ life, sir--an existence more expansive and stirring than my own: as much moreso as the depths of the sea to which the brook runs are than the shallowsof its own strait channel. I wondered why moralists call this world adreary wilderness: for me it blossomed like a rose. Just at sunset, theair turned cold and the sky cloudy: I went in, Sophie called me upstairsto look at my wedding-dress, which they had just brought; and under it inthe box I found your present--the veil which, in your princelyextravagance, you sent for from London: resolved, I suppose, since Iwould not have jewels, to cheat me into accepting something as costly. Ismiled as I unfolded it, and devised how I would tease you about youraristocratic tastes, and your efforts to masque your plebeian bride inthe attributes of a peeress. I thought how I would carry down to you thesquare of unembroidered blond I had myself prepared as a covering for mylow-born head, and ask if that was not good enough for a woman who couldbring her husband neither fortune, beauty, nor connections. I sawplainly how you would look; and heard your impetuous republican answers, and your haughty disavowal of any necessity on your part to augment yourwealth, or elevate your standing, by marrying either a purse or acoronet. "

"How well you read me, you witch!" interposed Mr. Rochester: "but whatdid you find in the veil besides its embroidery? Did you find poison, ora dagger, that you look so mournful now?"

"No, no, sir; besides the delicacy and richness of the fabric, I foundnothing save Fairfax Rochester's pride; and that did not scare me, because I am used to the sight of the demon. But, sir, as it grew dark, the wind rose: it blew yesterday evening, not as it blows now--wild andhigh--but 'with a sullen, moaning sound' far more eerie. I wished youwere at home. I came into this room, and the sight of the empty chairand fireless hearth chilled me. For some time after I went to bed, Icould not sleep--a sense of anxious excitement distressed me. The galestill rising, seemed to my ear to muffle a mournful under-sound; whetherin the house or abroad I could not at first tell, but it recurred, doubtful yet doleful at every lull; at last I made out it must be somedog howling at a distance. I was glad when it ceased. On sleeping, Icontinued in dreams the idea of a dark and gusty night. I continued alsothe wish to be with you, and experienced a strange, regretfulconsciousness of some barrier dividing us. During all my first sleep, Iwas following the windings of an unknown road; total obscurity environedme; rain pelted me; I was burdened with the charge of a little child: avery small creature, too young and feeble to walk, and which shivered inmy cold arms, and wailed piteously in my ear. I thought, sir, that youwere on the road a long way before me; and I strained every nerve toovertake you, and made effort on effort to utter your name and entreatyou to stop--but my movements were fettered, and my voice still died awayinarticulate; while you, I felt, withdrew farther and farther everymoment. "

"And these dreams weigh on your spirits now, Jane, when I am close toyou? Little nervous subject! Forget visionary woe, and think only ofreal happiness! You say you love me, Janet: yes--I will not forget that;and you cannot deny it. _Those_ words did not die inarticulate on yourlips. I heard them clear and soft: a thought too solemn perhaps, butsweet as music--'I think it is a glorious thing to have the hope ofliving with you, Edward, because I love you. ' Do you love me, Jane?--repeat it. "

"I do, sir--I do, with my whole heart. "

"Well, " he said, after some minutes' silence, "it is strange; but thatsentence has penetrated my breast painfully. Why? I think because yousaid it with such an earnest, religious energy, and because your upwardgaze at me now is the very sublime of faith, truth, and devotion: it istoo much as if some spirit were near me. Look wicked, Jane: as you knowwell how to look: coin one of your wild, shy, provoking smiles; tell meyou hate me--tease me, vex me; do anything but move me: I would rather beincensed than saddened. "

"I will tease you and vex you to your heart's content, when I havefinished my tale: but hear me to the end. "

"I thought, Jane, you had told me all. I thought I had found the sourceof your melancholy in a dream. "

I shook my head. "What! is there more? But I will not believe it to beanything important. I warn you of incredulity beforehand. Go on. "

The disquietude of his air, the somewhat apprehensive impatience of hismanner, surprised me: but I proceeded. 

"I dreamt another dream, sir: that Thornfield Hall was a dreary ruin, theretreat of bats and owls. I thought that of all the stately frontnothing remained but a shell-like wall, very high and veryfragile-looking. I wandered, on a moonlight night, through the grass-grown enclosure within: here I stumbled over a marble hearth, and thereover a fallen fragment of cornice. Wrapped up in a shawl, I stillcarried the unknown little child: I might not lay it down anywhere, however tired were my arms--however much its weight impeded my progress, I must retain it. I heard the gallop of a horse at a distance on theroad; I was sure it was you; and you were departing for many years andfor a distant country. I climbed the thin wall with frantic periloushaste, eager to catch one glimpse of you from the top: the stones rolledfrom under my feet, the ivy branches I grasped gave way, the child clunground my neck in terror, and almost strangled me; at last I gained thesummit. I saw you like a speck on a white track, lessening every moment. The blast blew so strong I could not stand. I sat down on the narrowledge; I hushed the scared infant in my lap: you turned an angle of theroad: I bent forward to take a last look; the wall crumbled; I wasshaken; the child rolled from my knee, I lost my balance, fell, andwoke. "

"Now, Jane, that is all. "

"All the preface, sir; the tale is yet to come. On waking, a gleamdazzled my eyes; I thought--Oh, it is daylight! But I was mistaken; itwas only candlelight. Sophie, I supposed, had come in. There was alight in the dressing-table, and the door of the closet, where, beforegoing to bed, I had hung my wedding-dress and veil, stood open; I heard arustling there. I asked, 'Sophie, what are you doing?' No one answered;but a form emerged from the closet; it took the light, held it aloft, andsurveyed the garments pendent from the portmanteau. 'Sophie! Sophie!' Iagain cried: and still it was silent. I had risen up in bed, I bentforward: first surprise, then bewilderment, came over me; and then myblood crept cold through my veins. Mr. Rochester, this was not Sophie, it was not Leah, it was not Mrs. Fairfax: it was not--no, I was sure ofit, and am still--it was not even that strange woman, Grace Poole. "

"It must have been one of them, " interrupted my master. 

"No, sir, I solemnly assure you to the contrary. The shape standingbefore me had never crossed my eyes within the precincts of ThornfieldHall before; the height, the contour were new to me. "

"Describe it, Jane. "

"It seemed, sir, a woman, tall and large, with thick and dark hairhanging long down her back. I know not what dress she had on: it waswhite and straight; but whether gown, sheet, or shroud, I cannot tell. "

"Did you see her face?"

"Not at first. But presently she took my veil from its place; she heldit up, gazed at it long, and then she threw it over her own head, andturned to the mirror. At that moment I saw the reflection of the visageand features quite distinctly in the dark oblong glass. "

"And how were they?"

"Fearful and ghastly to me--oh, sir, I never saw a face like it! It wasa discoloured face--it was a savage face. I wish I could forget the rollof the red eyes and the fearful blackened inflation of the lineaments!"

"Ghosts are usually pale, Jane. "

"This, sir, was purple: the lips were swelled and dark; the browfurrowed: the black eyebrows widely raised over the bloodshot eyes. ShallI tell you of what it reminded me?"

"You may. "

"Of the foul German spectre--the Vampyre. "

"Ah!--what did it do?"

"Sir, it removed my veil from its gaunt head, rent it in two parts, andflinging both on the floor, trampled on them. "

{It removed my veil from its gaunt head, rent it in two parts, andflinging both on the floor, trampled on them: p272. Jpg}

"Afterwards?"

"It drew aside the window-curtain and looked out; perhaps it saw dawnapproaching, for, taking the candle, it retreated to the door. Just atmy bedside, the figure stopped: the fiery eyes glared upon me--she thrustup her candle close to my face, and extinguished it under my eyes. I wasaware her lurid visage flamed over mine, and I lost consciousness: forthe second time in my life--only the second time--I became insensiblefrom terror. "

"Who was with you when you revived?"

"No one, sir, but the broad day. I rose, bathed my head and face inwater, drank a long draught; felt that though enfeebled I was not ill, and determined that to none but you would I impart this vision. Now, sir, tell me who and what that woman was?"

"The creature of an over-stimulated brain; that is certain. I must becareful of you, my treasure: nerves like yours were not made for roughhandling. "

"Sir, depend on it, my nerves were not in fault; the thing was real: thetransaction actually took place. "

"And your previous dreams, were they real too? Is Thornfield Hall aruin? Am I severed from you by insuperable obstacles? Am I leaving youwithout a tear--without a kiss--without a word?"

"Not yet. "

"Am I about to do it? Why, the day is already commenced which is to bindus indissolubly; and when we are once united, there shall be norecurrence of these mental terrors: I guarantee that. "

"Mental terrors, sir! I wish I could believe them to be only such: Iwish it more now than ever; since even you cannot explain to me themystery of that awful visitant. "

"And since I cannot do it, Jane, it must have been unreal. "

"But, sir, when I said so to myself on rising this morning, and when Ilooked round the room to gather courage and comfort from the cheerfulaspect of each familiar object in full daylight, there--on the carpet--Isaw what gave the distinct lie to my hypothesis, --the veil, torn from topto bottom in two halves!"

I felt Mr. Rochester start and shudder; he hastily flung his arms roundme. "Thank God!" he exclaimed, "that if anything malignant did come nearyou last night, it was only the veil that was harmed. Oh, to think whatmight have happened!"

He drew his breath short, and strained me so close to him, I couldscarcely pant. After some minutes' silence, he continued, cheerily--

"Now, Janet, I'll explain to you all about it. It was half dream, halfreality. A woman did, I doubt not, enter your room: and that womanwas--must have been--Grace Poole. You call her a strange being yourself:from all you know, you have reason so to call her--what did she do to me?what to Mason? In a state between sleeping and waking, you noticed herentrance and her actions; but feverish, almost delirious as you were, youascribed to her a goblin appearance different from her own: the longdishevelled hair, the swelled black face, the exaggerated stature, werefigments of imagination; results of nightmare: the spiteful tearing ofthe veil was real: and it is like her. I see you would ask why I keepsuch a woman in my house: when we have been married a year and a day, Iwill tell you; but not now. Are you satisfied, Jane? Do you accept mysolution of the mystery?"

I reflected, and in truth it appeared to me the only possible one:satisfied I was not, but to please him I endeavoured to appearso--relieved, I certainly did feel; so I answered him with a contentedsmile. And now, as it was long past one, I prepared to leave him. 

"Does not Sophie sleep with Adele in the nursery?" he asked, as I lit mycandle. 

"Yes, sir. "

"And there is room enough in Adele's little bed for you. You must shareit with her to-night, Jane: it is no wonder that the incident you haverelated should make you nervous, and I would rather you did not sleepalone: promise me to go to the nursery. "

"I shall be very glad to do so, sir. "

"And fasten the door securely on the inside. Wake Sophie when you goupstairs, under pretence of requesting her to rouse you in good time to-morrow; for you must be dressed and have finished breakfast before eight. And now, no more sombre thoughts: chase dull care away, Janet. Don't youhear to what soft whispers the wind has fallen? and there is no morebeating of rain against the window-panes: look here" (he lifted up thecurtain)--"it is a lovely night!"

It was. Half heaven was pure and stainless: the clouds, now troopingbefore the wind, which had shifted to the west, were filing off eastwardin long, silvered columns. The moon shone peacefully. 

"Well, " said Mr. Rochester, gazing inquiringly into my eyes, "how is myJanet now?"

"The night is serene, sir; and so am I. "

"And you will not dream of separation and sorrow to-night; but of happylove and blissful union. "

This prediction was but half fulfilled: I did not indeed dream of sorrow, but as little did I dream of joy; for I never slept at all. With littleAdele in my arms, I watched the slumber of childhood--so tranquil, sopassionless, so innocent--and waited for the coming day: all my life wasawake and astir in my frame: and as soon as the sun rose I rose too. Iremember Adele clung to me as I left her: I remember I kissed her as Iloosened her little hands from my neck; and I cried over her with strangeemotion, and quitted her because I feared my sobs would break her stillsound repose. She seemed the emblem of my past life; and here I was nowto array myself to meet, the dread, but adored, type of my unknown futureday. 

CHAPTER XXVI

Sophie came at seven to dress me: she was very long indeed inaccomplishing her task; so long that Mr. Rochester, grown, I suppose, impatient of my delay, sent up to ask why I did not come. She was justfastening my veil (the plain square of blond after all) to my hair with abrooch; I hurried from under her hands as soon as I could. 

"Stop!" she cried in French. "Look at yourself in the mirror: you havenot taken one peep. "

So I turned at the door: I saw a robed and veiled figure, so unlike myusual self that it seemed almost the image of a stranger. "Jane!" calleda voice, and I hastened down. I was received at the foot of the stairsby Mr. Rochester. 

"Lingerer!" he said, "my brain is on fire with impatience, and you tarryso long!"

He took me into the dining-room, surveyed me keenly all over, pronouncedme "fair as a lily, and not only the pride of his life, but the desire ofhis eyes, " and then telling me he would give me but ten minutes to eatsome breakfast, he rang the bell. One of his lately hired servants, afootman, answered it. 

"Is John getting the carriage ready?"

"Yes, sir. "

"Is the luggage brought down?"

"They are bringing it down, sir. "

"Go you to the church: see if Mr. Wood (the clergyman) and the clerk arethere: return and tell me. "

The church, as the reader knows, was but just beyond the gates; thefootman soon returned. 

"Mr. Wood is in the vestry, sir, putting on his surplice. "

"And the carriage?"

"The horses are harnessing. "

"We shall not want it to go to church; but it must be ready the moment wereturn: all the boxes and luggage arranged and strapped on, and thecoachman in his seat. "

"Yes, sir. "

"Jane, are you ready?"

I rose. There were no groomsmen, no bridesmaids, no relatives to waitfor or marshal: none but Mr. Rochester and I. Mrs. Fairfax stood in thehall as we passed. I would fain have spoken to her, but my hand washeld by a grasp of iron: I was hurried along by a stride I could hardlyfollow; and to look at Mr. Rochester's face was to feel that not a secondof delay would be tolerated for any purpose. I wonder what otherbridegroom ever looked as he did--so bent up to a purpose, so grimlyresolute: or who, under such steadfast brows, ever revealed such flamingand flashing eyes. 

I know not whether the day was fair or foul; in descending the drive, Igazed neither on sky nor earth: my heart was with my eyes; and bothseemed migrated into Mr. Rochester's frame. I wanted to see theinvisible thing on which, as we went along, he appeared to fasten aglance fierce and fell. I wanted to feel the thoughts whose force heseemed breasting and resisting. 

At the churchyard wicket he stopped: he discovered I was quite out ofbreath. "Am I cruel in my love?" he said. "Delay an instant: lean onme, Jane. "

And now I can recall the picture of the grey old house of God rising calmbefore me, of a rook wheeling round the steeple, of a ruddy morning skybeyond. I remember something, too, of the green grave-mounds; and I havenot forgotten, either, two figures of strangers straying amongst the lowhillocks and reading the mementoes graven on the few mossy head-stones. Inoticed them, because, as they saw us, they passed round to the back ofthe church; and I doubted not they were going to enter by the side-aisledoor and witness the ceremony. By Mr. Rochester they were not observed;he was earnestly looking at my face from which the blood had, I daresay, momentarily fled: for I felt my forehead dewy, and my cheeks and lipscold. When I rallied, which I soon did, he walked gently with me up thepath to the porch. 

We entered the quiet and humble temple; the priest waited in his whitesurplice at the lowly altar, the clerk beside him. All was still: twoshadows only moved in a remote corner. My conjecture had been correct:the strangers had slipped in before us, and they now stood by the vaultof the Rochesters, their backs towards us, viewing through the rails theold time-stained marble tomb, where a kneeling angel guarded the remainsof Damer de Rochester, slain at Marston Moor in the time of the civilwars, and of Elizabeth, his wife. 

Our place was taken at the communion rails. Hearing a cautious stepbehind me, I glanced over my shoulder: one of the strangers--a gentleman, evidently--was advancing up the chancel. The service began. Theexplanation of the intent of matrimony was gone through; and then theclergyman came a step further forward, and, bending slightly towards Mr. Rochester, went on. 

"I require and charge you both (as ye will answer at the dreadful day ofjudgment, when the secrets of all hearts shall be disclosed), that ifeither of you know any impediment why ye may not lawfully be joinedtogether in matrimony, ye do now confess it; for be ye well assured thatso many as are coupled together otherwise than God's Word doth allow, arenot joined together by God, neither is their matrimony lawful. "

He paused, as the custom is. When is the pause after that sentence everbroken by reply? Not, perhaps, once in a hundred years. And theclergyman, who had not lifted his eyes from his book, and had held hisbreath but for a moment, was proceeding: his hand was already stretchedtowards Mr. Rochester, as his lips unclosed to ask, "Wilt thou have thiswoman for thy wedded wife?"--when a distinct and near voice said--

"The marriage cannot go on: I declare the existence of an impediment. "

The clergyman looked up at the speaker and stood mute; the clerk did thesame; Mr. Rochester moved slightly, as if an earthquake had rolled underhis feet: taking a firmer footing, and not turning his head or eyes, hesaid, "Proceed. "

Profound silence fell when he had uttered that word, with deep but lowintonation. Presently Mr. Wood said--

"I cannot proceed without some investigation into what has been asserted, and evidence of its truth or falsehood. "

"The ceremony is quite broken off, " subjoined the voice behind us. "I amin a condition to prove my allegation: an insuperable impediment to thismarriage exists. "

Mr. Rochester heard, but heeded not: he stood stubborn and rigid, makingno movement but to possess himself of my hand. What a hot and stronggrasp he had! and how like quarried marble was his pale, firm, massivefront at this moment! How his eye shone, still watchful, and yet wildbeneath!

Mr. Wood seemed at a loss. "What is the nature of the impediment?" heasked. "Perhaps it may be got over--explained away?"

"Hardly, " was the answer. "I have called it insuperable, and I speakadvisedly. "

The speaker came forward and leaned on the rails. He continued, utteringeach word distinctly, calmly, steadily, but not loudly--

"It simply consists in the existence of a previous marriage. Mr. Rochester has a wife now living. "

My nerves vibrated to those low-spoken words as they had never vibratedto thunder--my blood felt their subtle violence as it had never feltfrost or fire; but I was collected, and in no danger of swooning. Ilooked at Mr. Rochester: I made him look at me. His whole face wascolourless rock: his eye was both spark and flint. He disavowed nothing:he seemed as if he would defy all things. Without speaking, withoutsmiling, without seeming to recognise in me a human being, he only twinedmy waist with his arm and riveted me to his side. 

"Who are you?" he asked of the intruder. 

"My name is Briggs, a solicitor of --- Street, London. "

"And you would thrust on me a wife?"

"I would remind you of your lady's existence, sir, which the lawrecognises, if you do not. "

"Favour me with an account of her--with her name, her parentage, herplace of abode. "

"Certainly. " Mr. Briggs calmly took a paper from his pocket, and readout in a sort of official, nasal voice:--

"'I affirm and can prove that on the 20th of October A. D. --- (a date offifteen years back), Edward Fairfax Rochester, of Thornfield Hall, in thecounty of ---, and of Ferndean Manor, in ---shire, England, was marriedto my sister, Bertha Antoinetta Mason, daughter of Jonas Mason, merchant, and of Antoinetta his wife, a Creole, at --- church, Spanish Town, Jamaica. The record of the marriage will be found in the register ofthat church--a copy of it is now in my possession. Signed, RichardMason. '"

"That--if a genuine document--may prove I have been married, but it doesnot prove that the woman mentioned therein as my wife is still living. "

"She was living three months ago, " returned the lawyer. 

"How do you know?"

"I have a witness to the fact, whose testimony even you, sir, willscarcely controvert. "

"Produce him--or go to hell. "

"I will produce him first--he is on the spot. Mr. Mason, have thegoodness to step forward. "

Mr. Rochester, on hearing the name, set his teeth; he experienced, too, asort of strong convulsive quiver; near to him as I was, I felt thespasmodic movement of fury or despair run through his frame. The secondstranger, who had hitherto lingered in the background, now drew near; apale face looked over the solicitor's shoulder--yes, it was Masonhimself. Mr. Rochester turned and glared at him. His eye, as I haveoften said, was a black eye: it had now a tawny, nay, a bloody light inits gloom; and his face flushed--olive cheek and hueless foreheadreceived a glow as from spreading, ascending heart-fire: and he stirred, lifted his strong arm--he could have struck Mason, dashed him on thechurch-floor, shocked by ruthless blow the breath from his body--butMason shrank away, and cried faintly, "Good God!" Contempt fell cool onMr. Rochester--his passion died as if a blight had shrivelled it up: heonly asked--"What have _you_ to say?"

An inaudible reply escaped Mason's white lips. 

"The devil is in it if you cannot answer distinctly. I again demand, what have you to say?"

"Sir--sir, " interrupted the clergyman, "do not forget you are in a sacredplace. " Then addressing Mason, he inquired gently, "Are you aware, sir, whether or not this gentleman's wife is still living?"

"Courage, " urged the lawyer, --"speak out. "

"She is now living at Thornfield Hall, " said Mason, in more articulatetones: "I saw her there last April. I am her brother. "

"At Thornfield Hall!" ejaculated the clergyman. "Impossible! I am anold resident in this neighbourhood, sir, and I never heard of a Mrs. Rochester at Thornfield Hall. "

I saw a grim smile contort Mr. Rochester's lips, and he muttered--

"No, by God! I took care that none should hear of it--or of her underthat name. " He mused--for ten minutes he held counsel with himself: heformed his resolve, and announced it--

"Enough! all shall bolt out at once, like the bullet from the barrel. Wood, close your book and take off your surplice; John Green (to theclerk), leave the church: there will be no wedding to-day. " The manobeyed. 

Mr. Rochester continued, hardily and recklessly: "Bigamy is an uglyword!--I meant, however, to be a bigamist; but fate has out-manoeuvredme, or Providence has checked me, --perhaps the last. I am little betterthan a devil at this moment; and, as my pastor there would tell me, deserve no doubt the sternest judgments of God, even to the quenchlessfire and deathless worm. Gentlemen, my plan is broken up:--what thislawyer and his client say is true: I have been married, and the woman towhom I was married lives! You say you never heard of a Mrs. Rochester atthe house up yonder, Wood; but I daresay you have many a time inclinedyour ear to gossip about the mysterious lunatic kept there under watchand ward. Some have whispered to you that she is my bastard half-sister:some, my cast-off mistress. I now inform you that she is my wife, whom Imarried fifteen years ago, --Bertha Mason by name; sister of this resolutepersonage, who is now, with his quivering limbs and white cheeks, showingyou what a stout heart men may bear. Cheer up, Dick!--never fear me!--I'dalmost as soon strike a woman as you. Bertha Mason is mad; and she cameof a mad family; idiots and maniacs through three generations! Hermother, the Creole, was both a madwoman and a drunkard!--as I found outafter I had wed the daughter: for they were silent on family secretsbefore. Bertha, like a dutiful child, copied her parent in both points. I had a charming partner--pure, wise, modest: you can fancy I was a happyman. I went through rich scenes! Oh! my experience has been heavenly, if you only knew it! But I owe you no further explanation. Briggs, Wood, Mason, I invite you all to come up to the house and visit Mrs. Poole's patient, and _my wife_! You shall see what sort of a being I wascheated into espousing, and judge whether or not I had a right to breakthe compact, and seek sympathy with something at least human. Thisgirl, " he continued, looking at me, "knew no more than you, Wood, of thedisgusting secret: she thought all was fair and legal and never dreamtshe was going to be entrapped into a feigned union with a defraudedwretch, already bound to a bad, mad, and embruted partner! Come all ofyou--follow!"

Still holding me fast, he left the church: the three gentlemen cameafter. At the front door of the hall we found the carriage. 

"Take it back to the coach-house, John, " said Mr. Rochester coolly; "itwill not be wanted to-day. "

At our entrance, Mrs. Fairfax, Adele, Sophie, Leah, advanced to meet andgreet us. 

"To the right-about--every soul!" cried the master; "away with yourcongratulations! Who wants them? Not I!--they are fifteen years toolate!"

He passed on and ascended the stairs, still holding my hand, and stillbeckoning the gentlemen to follow him, which they did. We mounted thefirst staircase, passed up the gallery, proceeded to the third storey:the low, black door, opened by Mr. Rochester's master-key, admitted us tothe tapestried room, with its great bed and its pictorial cabinet. 

"You know this place, Mason, " said our guide; "she bit and stabbed youhere. "

He lifted the hangings from the wall, uncovering the second door: this, too, he opened. In a room without a window, there burnt a fire guardedby a high and strong fender, and a lamp suspended from the ceiling by achain. Grace Poole bent over the fire, apparently cooking something in asaucepan. In the deep shade, at the farther end of the room, a figureran backwards and forwards. What it was, whether beast or human being, one could not, at first sight, tell: it grovelled, seemingly, on allfours; it snatched and growled like some strange wild animal: but it wascovered with clothing, and a quantity of dark, grizzled hair, wild as amane, hid its head and face. 

"Good-morrow, Mrs. Poole!" said Mr. Rochester. "How are you? and how isyour charge to-day?"

"We're tolerable, sir, I thank you, " replied Grace, lifting the boilingmess carefully on to the hob: "rather snappish, but not 'rageous. "

A fierce cry seemed to give the lie to her favourable report: the clothedhyena rose up, and stood tall on its hind-feet. 

"Ah! sir, she sees you!" exclaimed Grace: "you'd better not stay. "

"Only a few moments, Grace: you must allow me a few moments. "

"Take care then, sir!--for God's sake, take care!"

The maniac bellowed: she parted her shaggy locks from her visage, andgazed wildly at her visitors. I recognised well that purple face, --thosebloated features. Mrs. Poole advanced. 

"Keep out of the way, " said Mr. Rochester, thrusting her aside: "she hasno knife now, I suppose, and I'm on my guard. "

"One never knows what she has, sir: she is so cunning: it is not inmortal discretion to fathom her craft. "

"We had better leave her, " whispered Mason. 

"Go to the devil!" was his brother-in-law's recommendation. 

"'Ware!" cried Grace. The three gentlemen retreated simultaneously. Mr. Rochester flung me behind him: the lunatic sprang and grappled his throatviciously, and laid her teeth to his cheek: they struggled. She was abig woman, in stature almost equalling her husband, and corpulentbesides: she showed virile force in the contest--more than once shealmost throttled him, athletic as he was. He could have settled her witha well-planted blow; but he would not strike: he would only wrestle. Atlast he mastered her arms; Grace Poole gave him a cord, and he pinionedthem behind her: with more rope, which was at hand, he bound her to achair. The operation was performed amidst the fiercest yells and themost convulsive plunges. Mr. Rochester then turned to the spectators: helooked at them with a smile both acrid and desolate. 

"That is _my wife_, " said he. "Such is the sole conjugal embrace I amever to know--such are the endearments which are to solace my leisurehours! And _this_ is what I wished to have" (laying his hand on myshoulder): "this young girl, who stands so grave and quiet at the mouthof hell, looking collectedly at the gambols of a demon, I wanted her justas a change after that fierce ragout. Wood and Briggs, look at thedifference! Compare these clear eyes with the red balls yonder--thisface with that mask--this form with that bulk; then judge me, priest ofthe gospel and man of the law, and remember with what judgment ye judgeye shall be judged! Off with you now. I must shut up my prize. "

We all withdrew. Mr. Rochester stayed a moment behind us, to give somefurther order to Grace Poole. The solicitor addressed me as he descendedthe stair. 

"You, madam, " said he, "are cleared from all blame: your uncle will beglad to hear it--if, indeed, he should be still living--when Mr. Masonreturns to Madeira. "

"My uncle! What of him? Do you know him?"

"Mr. Mason does. Mr. Eyre has been the Funchal correspondent of hishouse for some years. When your uncle received your letter intimatingthe contemplated union between yourself and Mr. Rochester, Mr. Mason, whowas staying at Madeira to recruit his health, on his way back to Jamaica, happened to be with him. Mr. Eyre mentioned the intelligence; for heknew that my client here was acquainted with a gentleman of the name ofRochester. Mr. Mason, astonished and distressed as you may suppose, revealed the real state of matters. Your uncle, I am sorry to say, isnow on a sick bed; from which, considering the nature of hisdisease--decline--and the stage it has reached, it is unlikely he willever rise. He could not then hasten to England himself, to extricate youfrom the snare into which you had fallen, but he implored Mr. Mason tolose no time in taking steps to prevent the false marriage. He referredhim to me for assistance. I used all despatch, and am thankful I was nottoo late: as you, doubtless, must be also. Were I not morally certainthat your uncle will be dead ere you reach Madeira, I would advise you toaccompany Mr. Mason back; but as it is, I think you had better remain inEngland till you can hear further, either from or of Mr. Eyre. Have weanything else to stay for?" he inquired of Mr. Mason. 

"No, no--let us be gone, " was the anxious reply; and without waiting totake leave of Mr. Rochester, they made their exit at the hall door. Theclergyman stayed to exchange a few sentences, either of admonition orreproof, with his haughty parishioner; this duty done, he too departed. 

I heard him go as I stood at the half-open door of my own room, to whichI had now withdrawn. The house cleared, I shut myself in, fastened thebolt that none might intrude, and proceeded--not to weep, not to mourn, Iwas yet too calm for that, but--mechanically to take off the weddingdress, and replace it by the stuff gown I had worn yesterday, as Ithought, for the last time. I then sat down: I felt weak and tired. Ileaned my arms on a table, and my head dropped on them. And now Ithought: till now I had only heard, seen, moved--followed up and downwhere I was led or dragged--watched event rush on event, disclosure openbeyond disclosure: but _now_, _I thought_. 

The morning had been a quiet morning enough--all except the brief scenewith the lunatic: the transaction in the church had not been noisy; therewas no explosion of passion, no loud altercation, no dispute, no defianceor challenge, no tears, no sobs: a few words had been spoken, a calmlypronounced objection to the marriage made; some stern, short questionsput by Mr. Rochester; answers, explanations given, evidence adduced; anopen admission of the truth had been uttered by my master; then theliving proof had been seen; the intruders were gone, and all was over. 

I was in my own room as usual--just myself, without obvious change:nothing had smitten me, or scathed me, or maimed me. And yet where wasthe Jane Eyre of yesterday?--where was her life?--where were herprospects?

Jane Eyre, who had been an ardent, expectant woman--almost a bride, was acold, solitary girl again: her life was pale; her prospects weredesolate. A Christmas frost had come at midsummer; a white Decemberstorm had whirled over June; ice glazed the ripe apples, drifts crushedthe blowing roses; on hayfield and cornfield lay a frozen shroud: laneswhich last night blushed full of flowers, to-day were pathless withuntrodden snow; and the woods, which twelve hours since waved leafy andflagrant as groves between the tropics, now spread, waste, wild, andwhite as pine-forests in wintry Norway. My hopes were all dead--struckwith a subtle doom, such as, in one night, fell on all the first-born inthe land of Egypt. I looked on my cherished wishes, yesterday soblooming and glowing; they lay stark, chill, livid corpses that couldnever revive. I looked at my love: that feeling which was mymaster's--which he had created; it shivered in my heart, like a sufferingchild in a cold cradle; sickness and anguish had seized it; it could notseek Mr. Rochester's arms--it could not derive warmth from his breast. Oh, never more could it turn to him; for faith was blighted--confidencedestroyed! Mr. Rochester was not to me what he had been; for he was notwhat I had thought him. I would not ascribe vice to him; I would not sayhe had betrayed me; but the attribute of stainless truth was gone fromhis idea, and from his presence I must go: _that_ I perceived well. When--how--whither, I could not yet discern; but he himself, I doubtednot, would hurry me from Thornfield. Real affection, it seemed, he couldnot have for me; it had been only fitful passion: that was balked; hewould want me no more. I should fear even to cross his path now: my viewmust be hateful to him. Oh, how blind had been my eyes! How weak myconduct!

My eyes were covered and closed: eddying darkness seemed to swim roundme, and reflection came in as black and confused a flow. Self-abandoned, relaxed, and effortless, I seemed to have laid me down in the dried-upbed of a great river; I heard a flood loosened in remote mountains, andfelt the torrent come: to rise I had no will, to flee I had no strength. I lay faint, longing to be dead. One idea only still throbbed life-likewithin me--a remembrance of God: it begot an unuttered prayer: thesewords went wandering up and down in my rayless mind, as something thatshould be whispered, but no energy was found to express them--

"Be not far from me, for trouble is near: there is none to help. "

It was near: and as I had lifted no petition to Heaven to avert it--as Ihad neither joined my hands, nor bent my knees, nor moved my lips--itcame: in full heavy swing the torrent poured over me. The wholeconsciousness of my life lorn, my love lost, my hope quenched, my faithdeath-struck, swayed full and mighty above me in one sullen mass. Thatbitter hour cannot be described: in truth, "the waters came into my soul;I sank in deep mire: I felt no standing; I came into deep waters; thefloods overflowed me. "

CHAPTER XXVII

Some time in the afternoon I raised my head, and looking round and seeingthe western sun gilding the sign of its decline on the wall, I asked, "What am I to do?"

But the answer my mind gave--"Leave Thornfield at once"--was so prompt, so dread, that I stopped my ears. I said I could not bear such wordsnow. "That I am not Edward Rochester's bride is the least part of mywoe, " I alleged: "that I have wakened out of most glorious dreams, andfound them all void and vain, is a horror I could bear and master; butthat I must leave him decidedly, instantly, entirely, is intolerable. Icannot do it. "

But, then, a voice within me averred that I could do it and foretold thatI should do it. I wrestled with my own resolution: I wanted to be weakthat I might avoid the awful passage of further suffering I saw laid outfor me; and Conscience, turned tyrant, held Passion by the throat, toldher tauntingly, she had yet but dipped her dainty foot in the slough, andswore that with that arm of iron he would thrust her down to unsoundeddepths of agony. 

"Let me be torn away, " then I cried. "Let another help me!"

"No; you shall tear yourself away, none shall help you: you shallyourself pluck out your right eye; yourself cut off your right hand: yourheart shall be the victim, and you the priest to transfix it. "

I rose up suddenly, terror-struck at the solitude which so ruthless ajudge haunted, --at the silence which so awful a voice filled. My headswam as I stood erect. I perceived that I was sickening from excitementand inanition; neither meat nor drink had passed my lips that day, for Ihad taken no breakfast. And, with a strange pang, I now reflected that, long as I had been shut up here, no message had been sent to ask how Iwas, or to invite me to come down: not even little Adele had tapped atthe door; not even Mrs. Fairfax had sought me. "Friends always forgetthose whom fortune forsakes, " I murmured, as I undrew the bolt and passedout. I stumbled over an obstacle: my head was still dizzy, my sight wasdim, and my limbs were feeble. I could not soon recover myself. I fell, but not on to the ground: an outstretched arm caught me. I looked up--Iwas supported by Mr. Rochester, who sat in a chair across my chamberthreshold. 

"You come out at last, " he said. "Well, I have been waiting for youlong, and listening: yet not one movement have I heard, nor one sob: fiveminutes more of that death-like hush, and I should have forced the locklike a burglar. So you shun me?--you shut yourself up and grieve alone!I would rather you had come and upbraided me with vehemence. You arepassionate. I expected a scene of some kind. I was prepared for the hotrain of tears; only I wanted them to be shed on my breast: now asenseless floor has received them, or your drenched handkerchief. But Ierr: you have not wept at all! I see a white cheek and a faded eye, butno trace of tears. I suppose, then, your heart has been weeping blood?"

"Well, Jane! not a word of reproach? Nothing bitter--nothing poignant?Nothing to cut a feeling or sting a passion? You sit quietly where Ihave placed you, and regard me with a weary, passive look. "

"Jane, I never meant to wound you thus. If the man who had but onelittle ewe lamb that was dear to him as a daughter, that ate of his breadand drank of his cup, and lay in his bosom, had by some mistakeslaughtered it at the shambles, he would not have rued his bloody blundermore than I now rue mine. Will you ever forgive me?"

Reader, I forgave him at the moment and on the spot. There was such deepremorse in his eye, such true pity in his tone, such manly energy in hismanner; and besides, there was such unchanged love in his whole look andmien--I forgave him all: yet not in words, not outwardly; only at myheart's core. 

"You know I am a scoundrel, Jane?" ere long he inquiredwistfully--wondering, I suppose, at my continued silence and tameness, the result rather of weakness than of will. 

"Yes, sir. "

"Then tell me so roundly and sharply--don't spare me. "

"I cannot: I am tired and sick. I want some water. " He heaved a sort ofshuddering sigh, and taking me in his arms, carried me downstairs. Atfirst I did not know to what room he had borne me; all was cloudy to myglazed sight: presently I felt the reviving warmth of a fire; for, summeras it was, I had become icy cold in my chamber. He put wine to my lips;I tasted it and revived; then I ate something he offered me, and was soonmyself. I was in the library--sitting in his chair--he was quite near. "If I could go out of life now, without too sharp a pang, it would bewell for me, " I thought; "then I should not have to make the effort ofcracking my heart-strings in rending them from among Mr. Rochester's. Imust leave him, it appears. I do not want to leave him--I cannot leavehim. "

"How are you now, Jane?"

"Much better, sir; I shall be well soon. "

"Taste the wine again, Jane. "

I obeyed him; then he put the glass on the table, stood before me, andlooked at me attentively. Suddenly he turned away, with an inarticulateexclamation, full of passionate emotion of some kind; he walked fastthrough the room and came back; he stooped towards me as if to kiss me;but I remembered caresses were now forbidden. I turned my face away andput his aside. 

"What!--How is this?" he exclaimed hastily. "Oh, I know! you won't kissthe husband of Bertha Mason? You consider my arms filled and my embracesappropriated?"

"At any rate, there is neither room nor claim for me, sir. "

"Why, Jane? I will spare you the trouble of much talking; I will answerfor you--Because I have a wife already, you would reply. --I guessrightly?"

"Yes. "

"If you think so, you must have a strange opinion of me; you must regardme as a plotting profligate--a base and low rake who has been simulatingdisinterested love in order to draw you into a snare deliberately laid, and strip you of honour and rob you of self-respect. What do you say tothat? I see you can say nothing in the first place, you are faint still, and have enough to do to draw your breath; in the second place, youcannot yet accustom yourself to accuse and revile me, and besides, theflood-gates of tears are opened, and they would rush out if you spokemuch; and you have no desire to expostulate, to upbraid, to make a scene:you are thinking how _to act_--_talking_ you consider is of no use. Iknow you--I am on my guard. "

"Sir, I do not wish to act against you, " I said; and my unsteady voicewarned me to curtail my sentence. 

"Not in your sense of the word, but in mine you are scheming to destroyme. You have as good as said that I am a married man--as a married manyou will shun me, keep out of my way: just now you have refused to kissme. You intend to make yourself a complete stranger to me: to live underthis roof only as Adele's governess; if ever I say a friendly word toyou, if ever a friendly feeling inclines you again to me, you willsay, --'That man had nearly made me his mistress: I must be ice and rockto him;' and ice and rock you will accordingly become. "

I cleared and steadied my voice to reply: "All is changed about me, sir;I must change too--there is no doubt of that; and to avoid fluctuationsof feeling, and continual combats with recollections and associations, there is only one way--Adele must have a new governess, sir. "

"Oh, Adele will go to school--I have settled that already; nor do I meanto torment you with the hideous associations and recollections ofThornfield Hall--this accursed place--this tent of Achan--this insolentvault, offering the ghastliness of living death to the light of the opensky--this narrow stone hell, with its one real fiend, worse than a legionof such as we imagine. Jane, you shall not stay here, nor will I. I waswrong ever to bring you to Thornfield Hall, knowing as I did how it washaunted. I charged them to conceal from you, before I ever saw you, allknowledge of the curse of the place; merely because I feared Adele neverwould have a governess to stay if she knew with what inmate she washoused, and my plans would not permit me to remove the maniacelsewhere--though I possess an old house, Ferndean Manor, even moreretired and hidden than this, where I could have lodged her safelyenough, had not a scruple about the unhealthiness of the situation, inthe heart of a wood, made my conscience recoil from the arrangement. Probably those damp walls would soon have eased me of her charge: but toeach villain his own vice; and mine is not a tendency to indirectassassination, even of what I most hate. 

"Concealing the mad-woman's neighbourhood from you, however, wassomething like covering a child with a cloak and laying it down near aupas-tree: that demon's vicinage is poisoned, and always was. But I'llshut up Thornfield Hall: I'll nail up the front door and board the lowerwindows: I'll give Mrs. Poole two hundred a year to live here with _mywife_, as you term that fearful hag: Grace will do much for money, andshe shall have her son, the keeper at Grimsby Retreat, to bear hercompany and be at hand to give her aid in the paroxysms, when _my wife_is prompted by her familiar to burn people in their beds at night, tostab them, to bite their flesh from their bones, and so on--"

"Sir, " I interrupted him, "you are inexorable for that unfortunate lady:you speak of her with hate--with vindictive antipathy. It is cruel--shecannot help being mad. "

"Jane, my little darling (so I will call you, for so you are), you don'tknow what you are talking about; you misjudge me again: it is not becauseshe is mad I hate her. If you were mad, do you think I should hate you?"

"I do indeed, sir. "

"Then you are mistaken, and you know nothing about me, and nothing aboutthe sort of love of which I am capable. Every atom of your flesh is asdear to me as my own: in pain and sickness it would still be dear. Yourmind is my treasure, and if it were broken, it would be my treasurestill: if you raved, my arms should confine you, and not a straitwaistcoat--your grasp, even in fury, would have a charm for me: if youflew at me as wildly as that woman did this morning, I should receive youin an embrace, at least as fond as it would be restrictive. I should notshrink from you with disgust as I did from her: in your quiet moments youshould have no watcher and no nurse but me; and I could hang over youwith untiring tenderness, though you gave me no smile in return; andnever weary of gazing into your eyes, though they had no longer a ray ofrecognition for me. --But why do I follow that train of ideas? I wastalking of removing you from Thornfield. All, you know, is prepared forprompt departure: to-morrow you shall go. I only ask you to endure onemore night under this roof, Jane; and then, farewell to its miseries andterrors for ever! I have a place to repair to, which will be a securesanctuary from hateful reminiscences, from unwelcome intrusion--even fromfalsehood and slander. "

"And take Adele with you, sir, " I interrupted; "she will be a companionfor you. "

"What do you mean, Jane? I told you I would send Adele to school; andwhat do I want with a child for a companion, and not my own child, --aFrench dancer's bastard? Why do you importune me about her! I say, whydo you assign Adele to me for a companion?"

"You spoke of a retirement, sir; and retirement and solitude are dull:too dull for you. "

"Solitude! solitude!" he reiterated with irritation. "I see I must cometo an explanation. I don't know what sphynx-like expression is formingin your countenance. You are to share my solitude. Do you understand?"

I shook my head: it required a degree of courage, excited as he wasbecoming, even to risk that mute sign of dissent. He had been walkingfast about the room, and he stopped, as if suddenly rooted to one spot. He looked at me long and hard: I turned my eyes from him, fixed them onthe fire, and tried to assume and maintain a quiet, collected aspect. 

"Now for the hitch in Jane's character, " he said at last, speaking morecalmly than from his look I had expected him to speak. "The reel of silkhas run smoothly enough so far; but I always knew there would come a knotand a puzzle: here it is. Now for vexation, and exasperation, andendless trouble! By God! I long to exert a fraction of Samson'sstrength, and break the entanglement like tow!"

He recommenced his walk, but soon again stopped, and this time justbefore me. 

"Jane! will you hear reason?" (he stooped and approached his lips to myear); "because, if you won't, I'll try violence. " His voice was hoarse;his look that of a man who is just about to burst an insufferable bondand plunge headlong into wild license. I saw that in another moment, andwith one impetus of frenzy more, I should be able to do nothing with him. The present--the passing second of time--was all I had in which tocontrol and restrain him--a movement of repulsion, flight, fear wouldhave sealed my doom, --and his. But I was not afraid: not in the least. Ifelt an inward power; a sense of influence, which supported me. Thecrisis was perilous; but not without its charm: such as the Indian, perhaps, feels when he slips over the rapid in his canoe. I took hold ofhis clenched hand, loosened the contorted fingers, and said to him, soothingly--

"Sit down; I'll talk to you as long as you like, and hear all you have tosay, whether reasonable or unreasonable. "

He sat down: but he did not get leave to speak directly. I had beenstruggling with tears for some time: I had taken great pains to repressthem, because I knew he would not like to see me weep. Now, however, Iconsidered it well to let them flow as freely and as long as they liked. If the flood annoyed him, so much the better. So I gave way and criedheartily. 

Soon I heard him earnestly entreating me to be composed. I said I couldnot while he was in such a passion. 

"But I am not angry, Jane: I only love you too well; and you had steeledyour little pale face with such a resolute, frozen look, I could notendure it. Hush, now, and wipe your eyes. "

His softened voice announced that he was subdued; so I, in my turn, became calm. Now he made an effort to rest his head on my shoulder, butI would not permit it. Then he would draw me to him: no. 

"Jane! Jane!" he said, in such an accent of bitter sadness it thrilledalong every nerve I had; "you don't love me, then? It was only mystation, and the rank of my wife, that you valued? Now that you think medisqualified to become your husband, you recoil from my touch as if Iwere some toad or ape. "

These words cut me: yet what could I do or I say? I ought probably tohave done or said nothing; but I was so tortured by a sense of remorse atthus hurting his feelings, I could not control the wish to drop balmwhere I had wounded. 

"I _do_ love you, " I said, "more than ever: but I must not show orindulge the feeling: and this is the last time I must express it. "

"The last time, Jane! What! do you think you can live with me, and seeme daily, and yet, if you still love me, be always cold and distant?"

"No, sir; that I am certain I could not; and therefore I see there is butone way: but you will be furious if I mention it. "

"Oh, mention it! If I storm, you have the art of weeping. "

"Mr. Rochester, I must leave you. "

"For how long, Jane? For a few minutes, while you smooth your hair--whichis somewhat dishevelled; and bathe your face--which looks feverish?"

"I must leave Adele and Thornfield. I must part with you for my wholelife: I must begin a new existence among strange faces and strangescenes. "

"Of course: I told you you should. I pass over the madness about partingfrom me. You mean you must become a part of me. As to the newexistence, it is all right: you shall yet be my wife: I am not married. You shall be Mrs. Rochester--both virtually and nominally. I shall keeponly to you so long as you and I live. You shall go to a place I have inthe south of France: a whitewashed villa on the shores of theMediterranean. There you shall live a happy, and guarded, and mostinnocent life. Never fear that I wish to lure you into error--to makeyou my mistress. Why did you shake your head? Jane, you must bereasonable, or in truth I shall again become frantic. "

His voice and hand quivered: his large nostrils dilated; his eye blazed:still I dared to speak. 

"Sir, your wife is living: that is a fact acknowledged this morning byyourself. If I lived with you as you desire, I should then be yourmistress: to say otherwise is sophistical--is false. "

"Jane, I am not a gentle-tempered man--you forget that: I am not long-enduring; I am not cool and dispassionate. Out of pity to me andyourself, put your finger on my pulse, feel how it throbs, and--beware!"

He bared his wrist, and offered it to me: the blood was forsaking hischeek and lips, they were growing livid; I was distressed on all hands. To agitate him thus deeply, by a resistance he so abhorred, was cruel: toyield was out of the question. I did what human beings do instinctivelywhen they are driven to utter extremity--looked for aid to one higherthan man: the words "God help me!" burst involuntarily from my lips. 

"I am a fool!" cried Mr. Rochester suddenly. "I keep telling her I amnot married, and do not explain to her why. I forget she knows nothingof the character of that woman, or of the circumstances attending myinfernal union with her. Oh, I am certain Jane will agree with me inopinion, when she knows all that I know! Just put your hand in mine, Janet--that I may have the evidence of touch as well as sight, to proveyou are near me--and I will in a few words show you the real state of thecase. Can you listen to me?"

"Yes, sir; for hours if you will. "

"I ask only minutes. Jane, did you ever hear or know that I was not theeldest son of my house: that I had once a brother older than I?"

"I remember Mrs. Fairfax told me so once. "

"And did you ever hear that my father was an avaricious, grasping man?"

"I have understood something to that effect. "

"Well, Jane, being so, it was his resolution to keep the propertytogether; he could not bear the idea of dividing his estate and leavingme a fair portion: all, he resolved, should go to my brother, Rowland. Yet as little could he endure that a son of his should be a poor man. Imust be provided for by a wealthy marriage. He sought me a partnerbetimes. Mr. Mason, a West India planter and merchant, was his oldacquaintance. He was certain his possessions were real and vast: he madeinquiries. Mr. Mason, he found, had a son and daughter; and he learnedfrom him that he could and would give the latter a fortune of thirtythousand pounds: that sufficed. When I left college, I was sent out toJamaica, to espouse a bride already courted for me. My father saidnothing about her money; but he told me Miss Mason was the boast ofSpanish Town for her beauty: and this was no lie. I found her a finewoman, in the style of Blanche Ingram: tall, dark, and majestic. Herfamily wished to secure me because I was of a good race; and so did she. They showed her to me in parties, splendidly dressed. I seldom saw heralone, and had very little private conversation with her. She flatteredme, and lavishly displayed for my pleasure her charms andaccomplishments. All the men in her circle seemed to admire her and envyme. I was dazzled, stimulated: my senses were excited; and beingignorant, raw, and inexperienced, I thought I loved her. There is nofolly so besotted that the idiotic rivalries of society, the prurience, the rashness, the blindness of youth, will not hurry a man to itscommission. Her relatives encouraged me; competitors piqued me; sheallured me: a marriage was achieved almost before I knew where I was. Oh, I have no respect for myself when I think of that act!--an agony ofinward contempt masters me. I never loved, I never esteemed, I did noteven know her. I was not sure of the existence of one virtue in hernature: I had marked neither modesty, nor benevolence, nor candour, norrefinement in her mind or manners--and, I married her:--gross, grovelling, mole-eyed blockhead that I was! With less sin I mighthave--But let me remember to whom I am speaking. "

"My bride's mother I had never seen: I understood she was dead. Thehoneymoon over, I learned my mistake; she was only mad, and shut up in alunatic asylum. There was a younger brother, too--a complete dumb idiot. The elder one, whom you have seen (and whom I cannot hate, whilst I abhorall his kindred, because he has some grains of affection in his feeblemind, shown in the continued interest he takes in his wretched sister, and also in a dog-like attachment he once bore me), will probably be inthe same state one day. My father and my brother Rowland knew all this;but they thought only of the thirty thousand pounds, and joined in theplot against me. "

"These were vile discoveries; but except for the treachery ofconcealment, I should have made them no subject of reproach to my wife, even when I found her nature wholly alien to mine, her tastes obnoxiousto me, her cast of mind common, low, narrow, and singularly incapable ofbeing led to anything higher, expanded to anything larger--when I foundthat I could not pass a single evening, nor even a single hour of the daywith her in comfort; that kindly conversation could not be sustainedbetween us, because whatever topic I started, immediately received fromher a turn at once coarse and trite, perverse and imbecile--when Iperceived that I should never have a quiet or settled household, becauseno servant would bear the continued outbreaks of her violent andunreasonable temper, or the vexations of her absurd, contradictory, exacting orders--even then I restrained myself: I eschewed upbraiding, Icurtailed remonstrance; I tried to devour my repentance and disgust insecret; I repressed the deep antipathy I felt. 

"Jane, I will not trouble you with abominable details: some strong wordsshall express what I have to say. I lived with that woman upstairs fouryears, and before that time she had tried me indeed: her characterripened and developed with frightful rapidity; her vices sprang up fastand rank: they were so strong, only cruelty could check them, and I wouldnot use cruelty. What a pigmy intellect she had, and what giantpropensities! How fearful were the curses those propensities entailed onme! Bertha Mason, the true daughter of an infamous mother, dragged methrough all the hideous and degrading agonies which must attend a manbound to a wife at once intemperate and unchaste. 

"My brother in the interval was dead, and at the end of the four years myfather died too. I was rich enough now--yet poor to hideous indigence: anature the most gross, impure, depraved I ever saw, was associated withmine, and called by the law and by society a part of me. And I could notrid myself of it by any legal proceedings: for the doctors now discoveredthat _my wife_ was mad--her excesses had prematurely developed the germsof insanity. Jane, you don't like my narrative; you look almostsick--shall I defer the rest to another day?"

"No, sir, finish it now; I pity you--I do earnestly pity you. "

"Pity, Jane, from some people is a noxious and insulting sort of tribute, which one is justified in hurling back in the teeth of those who offerit; but that is the sort of pity native to callous, selfish hearts; it isa hybrid, egotistical pain at hearing of woes, crossed with ignorantcontempt for those who have endured them. But that is not your pity, Jane; it is not the feeling of which your whole face is full at thismoment--with which your eyes are now almost overflowing--with which yourheart is heaving--with which your hand is trembling in mine. Your pity, my darling, is the suffering mother of love: its anguish is the verynatal pang of the divine passion. I accept it, Jane; let the daughterhave free advent--my arms wait to receive her. "

"Now, sir, proceed; what did you do when you found she was mad?"

"Jane, I approached the verge of despair; a remnant of self-respect wasall that intervened between me and the gulf. In the eyes of the world, Iwas doubtless covered with grimy dishonour; but I resolved to be clean inmy own sight--and to the last I repudiated the contamination of hercrimes, and wrenched myself from connection with her mental defects. Still, society associated my name and person with hers; I yet saw her andheard her daily: something of her breath (faugh!) mixed with the air Ibreathed; and besides, I remembered I had once been her husband--thatrecollection was then, and is now, inexpressibly odious to me; moreover, I knew that while she lived I could never be the husband of another andbetter wife; and, though five years my senior (her family and her fatherhad lied to me even in the particular of her age), she was likely to liveas long as I, being as robust in frame as she was infirm in mind. Thus, at the age of twenty-six, I was hopeless. 

"One night I had been awakened by her yells--(since the medical men hadpronounced her mad, she had, of course, been shut up)--it was a fieryWest Indian night; one of the description that frequently precede thehurricanes of those climates. Being unable to sleep in bed, I got up andopened the window. The air was like sulphur-steams--I could find norefreshment anywhere. Mosquitoes came buzzing in and hummed sullenlyround the room; the sea, which I could hear from thence, rumbled dulllike an earthquake--black clouds were casting up over it; the moon wassetting in the waves, broad and red, like a hot cannon-ball--she threwher last bloody glance over a world quivering with the ferment oftempest. I was physically influenced by the atmosphere and scene, and myears were filled with the curses the maniac still shrieked out; whereinshe momentarily mingled my name with such a tone of demon-hate, with suchlanguage!--no professed harlot ever had a fouler vocabulary than she:though two rooms off, I heard every word--the thin partitions of the WestIndia house opposing but slight obstruction to her wolfish cries. 

"'This life, ' said I at last, 'is hell: this is the air--those are thesounds of the bottomless pit! I have a right to deliver myself from itif I can. The sufferings of this mortal state will leave me with theheavy flesh that now cumbers my soul. Of the fanatic's burning eternityI have no fear: there is not a future state worse than this presentone--let me break away, and go home to God!'

"I said this whilst I knelt down at, and unlocked a trunk which containeda brace of loaded pistols: I mean to shoot myself. I only entertainedthe intention for a moment; for, not being insane, the crisis ofexquisite and unalloyed despair, which had originated the wish and designof self-destruction, was past in a second. 

"A wind fresh from Europe blew over the ocean and rushed through the opencasement: the storm broke, streamed, thundered, blazed, and the air grewpure. I then framed and fixed a resolution. While I walked under thedripping orange-trees of my wet garden, and amongst its drenchedpomegranates and pine-apples, and while the refulgent dawn of the tropicskindled round me--I reasoned thus, Jane--and now listen; for it was trueWisdom that consoled me in that hour, and showed me the right path tofollow. 

"The sweet wind from Europe was still whispering in the refreshed leaves, and the Atlantic was thundering in glorious liberty; my heart, dried upand scorched for a long time, swelled to the tone, and filled with livingblood--my being longed for renewal--my soul thirsted for a pure draught. I saw hope revive--and felt regeneration possible. From a flowery archat the bottom of my garden I gazed over the sea--bluer than the sky: theold world was beyond; clear prospects opened thus:--

"'Go, ' said Hope, 'and live again in Europe: there it is not known what asullied name you bear, nor what a filthy burden is bound to you. You maytake the maniac with you to England; confine her with due attendance andprecautions at Thornfield: then travel yourself to what clime you will, and form what new tie you like. That woman, who has so abused your long-suffering, so sullied your name, so outraged your honour, so blightedyour youth, is not your wife, nor are you her husband. See that she iscared for as her condition demands, and you have done all that God andhumanity require of you. Let her identity, her connection with yourself, be buried in oblivion: you are bound to impart them to no living being. Place her in safety and comfort: shelter her degradation with secrecy, and leave her. '

"I acted precisely on this suggestion. My father and brother had notmade my marriage known to their acquaintance; because, in the very firstletter I wrote to apprise them of the union--having already begun toexperience extreme disgust of its consequences, and, from the familycharacter and constitution, seeing a hideous future opening to me--Iadded an urgent charge to keep it secret: and very soon the infamousconduct of the wife my father had selected for me was such as to make himblush to own her as his daughter-in-law. Far from desiring to publishthe connection, he became as anxious to conceal it as myself. 

"To England, then, I conveyed her; a fearful voyage I had with such amonster in the vessel. Glad was I when I at last got her to Thornfield, and saw her safely lodged in that third-storey room, of whose secretinner cabinet she has now for ten years made a wild beast's den--agoblin's cell. I had some trouble in finding an attendant for her, as itwas necessary to select one on whose fidelity dependence could be placed;for her ravings would inevitably betray my secret: besides, she had lucidintervals of days--sometimes weeks--which she filled up with abuse of me. At last I hired Grace Poole from the Grimbsy Retreat. She and thesurgeon, Carter (who dressed Mason's wounds that night he was stabbed andworried), are the only two I have ever admitted to my confidence. Mrs. Fairfax may indeed have suspected something, but she could have gained noprecise knowledge as to facts. Grace has, on the whole, proved a goodkeeper; though, owing partly to a fault of her own, of which it appearsnothing can cure her, and which is incident to her harassing profession, her vigilance has been more than once lulled and baffled. The lunatic isboth cunning and malignant; she has never failed to take advantage of herguardian's temporary lapses; once to secrete the knife with which shestabbed her brother, and twice to possess herself of the key of her cell, and issue therefrom in the night-time. On the first of these occasions, she perpetrated the attempt to burn me in my bed; on the second, she paidthat ghastly visit to you. I thank Providence, who watched over you, that she then spent her fury on your wedding apparel, which perhapsbrought back vague reminiscences of her own bridal days: but on whatmight have happened, I cannot endure to reflect. When I think of thething which flew at my throat this morning, hanging its black and scarletvisage over the nest of my dove, my blood curdles--"

"And what, sir, " I asked, while he paused, "did you do when you hadsettled her here? Where did you go?"

"What did I do, Jane? I transformed myself into a will-o'-the-wisp. Where did I go? I pursued wanderings as wild as those of theMarch-spirit. I sought the Continent, and went devious through all itslands. My fixed desire was to seek and find a good and intelligentwoman, whom I could love: a contrast to the fury I left at Thornfield--"

"But you could not marry, sir. "

"I had determined and was convinced that I could and ought. It was notmy original intention to deceive, as I have deceived you. I meant totell my tale plainly, and make my proposals openly: and it appeared to meso absolutely rational that I should be considered free to love and beloved, I never doubted some woman might be found willing and able tounderstand my case and accept me, in spite of the curse with which I wasburdened. "

"Well, sir?"

"When you are inquisitive, Jane, you always make me smile. You open youreyes like an eager bird, and make every now and then a restless movement, as if answers in speech did not flow fast enough for you, and you wantedto read the tablet of one's heart. But before I go on, tell me what youmean by your 'Well, sir?' It is a small phrase very frequent with you;and which many a time has drawn me on and on through interminable talk: Idon't very well know why. "

"I mean, --What next? How did you proceed? What came of such an event?"

"Precisely! and what do you wish to know now?"

"Whether you found any one you liked: whether you asked her to marry you;and what she said. "

"I can tell you whether I found any one I liked, and whether I asked herto marry me: but what she said is yet to be recorded in the book of Fate. For ten long years I roved about, living first in one capital, thenanother: sometimes in St. Petersburg; oftener in Paris; occasionally inRome, Naples, and Florence. Provided with plenty of money and thepassport of an old name, I could choose my own society: no circles wereclosed against me. I sought my ideal of a woman amongst English ladies, French countesses, Italian signoras, and German grafinnen. I could notfind her. Sometimes, for a fleeting moment, I thought I caught a glance, heard a tone, beheld a form, which announced the realisation of my dream:but I was presently undeserved. You are not to suppose that I desiredperfection, either of mind or person. I longed only for what suitedme--for the antipodes of the Creole: and I longed vainly. Amongst themall I found not one whom, had I been ever so free, I--warned as I was ofthe risks, the horrors, the loathings of incongruous unions--would haveasked to marry me. Disappointment made me reckless. I trieddissipation--never debauchery: that I hated, and hate. That was myIndian Messalina's attribute: rooted disgust at it and her restrained memuch, even in pleasure. Any enjoyment that bordered on riot seemed toapproach me to her and her vices, and I eschewed it. 

"Yet I could not live alone; so I tried the companionship of mistresses. The first I chose was Celine Varens--another of those steps which make aman spurn himself when he recalls them. You already know what she was, and how my liaison with her terminated. She had two successors: anItalian, Giacinta, and a German, Clara; both considered singularlyhandsome. What was their beauty to me in a few weeks? Giacinta wasunprincipled and violent: I tired of her in three months. Clara washonest and quiet; but heavy, mindless, and unimpressible: not one whit tomy taste. I was glad to give her a sufficient sum to set her up in agood line of business, and so get decently rid of her. But, Jane, I seeby your face you are not forming a very favourable opinion of me justnow. You think me an unfeeling, loose-principled rake: don't you?"

"I don't like you so well as I have done sometimes, indeed, sir. Did itnot seem to you in the least wrong to live in that way, first with onemistress and then another? You talk of it as a mere matter of course. "

"It was with me; and I did not like it. It was a grovelling fashion ofexistence: I should never like to return to it. Hiring a mistress is thenext worse thing to buying a slave: both are often by nature, and alwaysby position, inferior: and to live familiarly with inferiors isdegrading. I now hate the recollection of the time I passed with Celine, Giacinta, and Clara. "

I felt the truth of these words; and I drew from them the certaininference, that if I were so far to forget myself and all the teachingthat had ever been instilled into me, as--under any pretext--with anyjustification--through any temptation--to become the successor of thesepoor girls, he would one day regard me with the same feeling which now inhis mind desecrated their memory. I did not give utterance to thisconviction: it was enough to feel it. I impressed it on my heart, thatit might remain there to serve me as aid in the time of trial. 

"Now, Jane, why don't you say 'Well, sir?' I have not done. You arelooking grave. You disapprove of me still, I see. But let me come tothe point. Last January, rid of all mistresses--in a harsh, bitter frameof mind, the result of a useless, roving, lonely life--corroded withdisappointment, sourly disposed against all men, and especially againstall womankind (for I began to regard the notion of an intellectual, faithful, loving woman as a mere dream), recalled by business, I cameback to England. 

"On a frosty winter afternoon, I rode in sight of Thornfield Hall. Abhorred spot! I expected no peace--no pleasure there. On a stile inHay Lane I saw a quiet little figure sitting by itself. I passed it asnegligently as I did the pollard willow opposite to it: I had nopresentiment of what it would be to me; no inward warning that thearbitress of my life--my genius for good or evil--waited there in humbleguise. I did not know it, even when, on the occasion of Mesrour'saccident, it came up and gravely offered me help. Childish and slendercreature! It seemed as if a linnet had hopped to my foot and proposed tobear me on its tiny wing. I was surly; but the thing would not go: itstood by me with strange perseverance, and looked and spoke with a sortof authority. I must be aided, and by that hand: and aided I was. 

"When once I had pressed the frail shoulder, something new--a fresh sapand sense--stole into my frame. It was well I had learnt that this elfmust return to me--that it belonged to my house down below--or I couldnot have felt it pass away from under my hand, and seen it vanish behindthe dim hedge, without singular regret. I heard you come home thatnight, Jane, though probably you were not aware that I thought of you orwatched for you. The next day I observed you--myself unseen--for half-an-hour, while you played with Adele in the gallery. It was a snowy day, Irecollect, and you could not go out of doors. I was in my room; the doorwas ajar: I could both listen and watch. Adele claimed your outwardattention for a while; yet I fancied your thoughts were elsewhere: butyou were very patient with her, my little Jane; you talked to her andamused her a long time. When at last she left you, you lapsed at onceinto deep reverie: you betook yourself slowly to pace the gallery. Nowand then, in passing a casement, you glanced out at the thick-fallingsnow; you listened to the sobbing wind, and again you paced gently on anddreamed. I think those day visions were not dark: there was apleasurable illumination in your eye occasionally, a soft excitement inyour aspect, which told of no bitter, bilious, hypochondriac brooding:your look revealed rather the sweet musings of youth when its spiritfollows on willing wings the flight of Hope up and on to an ideal heaven. The voice of Mrs. Fairfax, speaking to a servant in the hall, wakenedyou: and how curiously you smiled to and at yourself, Janet! There wasmuch sense in your smile: it was very shrewd, and seemed to make light ofyour own abstraction. It seemed to say--'My fine visions are all verywell, but I must not forget they are absolutely unreal. I have a rosysky and a green flowery Eden in my brain; but without, I am perfectlyaware, lies at my feet a rough tract to travel, and around me gatherblack tempests to encounter. ' You ran downstairs and demanded of Mrs. Fairfax some occupation: the weekly house accounts to make up, orsomething of that sort, I think it was. I was vexed with you for gettingout of my sight. 

"Impatiently I waited for evening, when I might summon you to mypresence. An unusual--to me--a perfectly new character I suspected wasyours: I desired to search it deeper and know it better. You entered theroom with a look and air at once shy and independent: you were quaintlydressed--much as you are now. I made you talk: ere long I found you fullof strange contrasts. Your garb and manner were restricted by rule; yourair was often diffident, and altogether that of one refined by nature, but absolutely unused to society, and a good deal afraid of makingherself disadvantageously conspicuous by some solecism or blunder; yetwhen addressed, you lifted a keen, a daring, and a glowing eye to yourinterlocutor's face: there was penetration and power in each glance yougave; when plied by close questions, you found ready and round answers. Very soon you seemed to get used to me: I believe you felt the existenceof sympathy between you and your grim and cross master, Jane; for it wasastonishing to see how quickly a certain pleasant ease tranquillised yourmanner: snarl as I would, you showed no surprise, fear, annoyance, ordispleasure at my moroseness; you watched me, and now and then smiled atme with a simple yet sagacious grace I cannot describe. I was at oncecontent and stimulated with what I saw: I liked what I had seen, andwished to see more. Yet, for a long time, I treated you distantly, andsought your company rarely. I was an intellectual epicure, and wished toprolong the gratification of making this novel and piquant acquaintance:besides, I was for a while troubled with a haunting fear that if Ihandled the flower freely its bloom would fade--the sweet charm offreshness would leave it. I did not then know that it was no transitoryblossom, but rather the radiant resemblance of one, cut in anindestructible gem. Moreover, I wished to see whether you would seek meif I shunned you--but you did not; you kept in the schoolroom as still asyour own desk and easel; if by chance I met you, you passed me as soon, and with as little token of recognition, as was consistent with respect. Your habitual expression in those days, Jane, was a thoughtful look; notdespondent, for you were not sickly; but not buoyant, for you had littlehope, and no actual pleasure. I wondered what you thought of me, or ifyou ever thought of me, and resolved to find this out. 

"I resumed my notice of you. There was something glad in your glance, and genial in your manner, when you conversed: I saw you had a socialheart; it was the silent schoolroom--it was the tedium of your life--thatmade you mournful. I permitted myself the delight of being kind to you;kindness stirred emotion soon: your face became soft in expression, yourtones gentle; I liked my name pronounced by your lips in a grateful happyaccent. I used to enjoy a chance meeting with you, Jane, at this time:there was a curious hesitation in your manner: you glanced at me with aslight trouble--a hovering doubt: you did not know what my caprice mightbe--whether I was going to play the master and be stern, or the friendand be benignant. I was now too fond of you often to simulate the firstwhim; and, when I stretched my hand out cordially, such bloom and lightand bliss rose to your young, wistful features, I had much ado often toavoid straining you then and there to my heart. "

"Don't talk any more of those days, sir, " I interrupted, furtivelydashing away some tears from my eyes; his language was torture to me; forI knew what I must do--and do soon--and all these reminiscences, andthese revelations of his feelings only made my work more difficult. 

"No, Jane, " he returned: "what necessity is there to dwell on the Past, when the Present is so much surer--the Future so much brighter?"

I shuddered to hear the infatuated assertion. 

"You see now how the case stands--do you not?" he continued. "After ayouth and manhood passed half in unutterable misery and half in drearysolitude, I have for the first time found what I can truly love--I havefound you. You are my sympathy--my better self--my good angel. I ambound to you with a strong attachment. I think you good, gifted, lovely:a fervent, a solemn passion is conceived in my heart; it leans to you, draws you to my centre and spring of life, wraps my existence about you, and, kindling in pure, powerful flame, fuses you and me in one. 

"It was because I felt and knew this, that I resolved to marry you. Totell me that I had already a wife is empty mockery: you know now that Ihad but a hideous demon. I was wrong to attempt to deceive you; but Ifeared a stubbornness that exists in your character. I feared earlyinstilled prejudice: I wanted to have you safe before hazardingconfidences. This was cowardly: I should have appealed to your noblenessand magnanimity at first, as I do now--opened to you plainly my life ofagony--described to you my hunger and thirst after a higher and worthierexistence--shown to you, not my _resolution_ (that word is weak), but myresistless _bent_ to love faithfully and well, where I am faithfully andwell loved in return. Then I should have asked you to accept my pledgeof fidelity and to give me yours. Jane--give it me now. "

A pause. 

"Why are you silent, Jane?"

I was experiencing an ordeal: a hand of fiery iron grasped my vitals. Terrible moment: full of struggle, blackness, burning! Not a human beingthat ever lived could wish to be loved better than I was loved; and himwho thus loved me I absolutely worshipped: and I must renounce love andidol. One drear word comprised my intolerable duty--"Depart!"

"Jane, you understand what I want of you? Just this promise--'I will beyours, Mr. Rochester. '"

"Mr. Rochester, I will _not_ be yours. "

Another long silence. 

"Jane!" recommenced he, with a gentleness that broke me down with grief, and turned me stone-cold with ominous terror--for this still voice wasthe pant of a lion rising--"Jane, do you mean to go one way in the world, and to let me go another?"

"I do. "

"Jane" (bending towards and embracing me), "do you mean it now?"

"I do. "

"And now?" softly kissing my forehead and cheek. 

"I do, " extricating myself from restraint rapidly and completely. 

"Oh, Jane, this is bitter! This--this is wicked. It would not be wickedto love me. "

"It would to obey you. "

A wild look raised his brows--crossed his features: he rose; but heforebore yet. I laid my hand on the back of a chair for support: Ishook, I feared--but I resolved. 

"One instant, Jane. Give one glance to my horrible life when you aregone. All happiness will be torn away with you. What then is left? Fora wife I have but the maniac upstairs: as well might you refer me to somecorpse in yonder churchyard. What shall I do, Jane? Where turn for acompanion and for some hope?"

"Do as I do: trust in God and yourself. Believe in heaven. Hope to meetagain there. "

"Then you will not yield?"

"No. "

"Then you condemn me to live wretched and to die accursed?" His voicerose. 

"I advise you to live sinless, and I wish you to die tranquil. "

"Then you snatch love and innocence from me? You fling me back on lustfor a passion--vice for an occupation?"

"Mr. Rochester, I no more assign this fate to you than I grasp at it formyself. We were born to strive and endure--you as well as I: do so. Youwill forget me before I forget you. "

"You make me a liar by such language: you sully my honour. I declared Icould not change: you tell me to my face I shall change soon. And what adistortion in your judgment, what a perversity in your ideas, is provedby your conduct! Is it better to drive a fellow-creature to despair thanto transgress a mere human law, no man being injured by the breach? foryou have neither relatives nor acquaintances whom you need fear to offendby living with me?"

This was true: and while he spoke my very conscience and reason turnedtraitors against me, and charged me with crime in resisting him. Theyspoke almost as loud as Feeling: and that clamoured wildly. "Oh, comply!" it said. "Think of his misery; think of his danger--look at hisstate when left alone; remember his headlong nature; consider therecklessness following on despair--soothe him; save him; love him; tellhim you love him and will be his. Who in the world cares for _you_? orwho will be injured by what you do?"

Still indomitable was the reply--"_I_ care for myself. The moresolitary, the more friendless, the more unsustained I am, the more I willrespect myself. I will keep the law given by God; sanctioned by man. Iwill hold to the principles received by me when I was sane, and notmad--as I am now. Laws and principles are not for the times when thereis no temptation: they are for such moments as this, when body and soulrise in mutiny against their rigour; stringent are they; inviolate theyshall be. If at my individual convenience I might break them, what wouldbe their worth? They have a worth--so I have always believed; and if Icannot believe it now, it is because I am insane--quite insane: with myveins running fire, and my heart beating faster than I can count itsthrobs. Preconceived opinions, foregone determinations, are all I haveat this hour to stand by: there I plant my foot. "

I did. Mr. Rochester, reading my countenance, saw I had done so. Hisfury was wrought to the highest: he must yield to it for a moment, whatever followed; he crossed the floor and seized my arm and grasped mywaist. He seemed to devour me with his flaming glance: physically, Ifelt, at the moment, powerless as stubble exposed to the draught and glowof a furnace: mentally, I still possessed my soul, and with it thecertainty of ultimate safety. The soul, fortunately, has aninterpreter--often an unconscious, but still a truthful interpreter--inthe eye. My eye rose to his; and while I looked in his fierce face Igave an involuntary sigh; his gripe was painful, and my over-taxedstrength almost exhausted. 

"Never, " said he, as he ground his teeth, "never was anything at once sofrail and so indomitable. A mere reed she feels in my hand!" (And heshook me with the force of his hold. ) "I could bend her with my fingerand thumb: and what good would it do if I bent, if I uptore, if I crushedher? Consider that eye: consider the resolute, wild, free thing lookingout of it, defying me, with more than courage--with a stern triumph. Whatever I do with its cage, I cannot get at it--the savage, beautifulcreature! If I tear, if I rend the slight prison, my outrage will onlylet the captive loose. Conqueror I might be of the house; but the inmatewould escape to heaven before I could call myself possessor of its claydwelling-place. And it is you, spirit--with will and energy, and virtueand purity--that I want: not alone your brittle frame. Of yourself youcould come with soft flight and nestle against my heart, if you would:seized against your will, you will elude the grasp like an essence--youwill vanish ere I inhale your fragrance. Oh! come, Jane, come!"

As he said this, he released me from his clutch, and only looked at me. The look was far worse to resist than the frantic strain: only an idiot, however, would have succumbed now. I had dared and baffled his fury; Imust elude his sorrow: I retired to the door. 

"You are going, Jane?"

"I am going, sir. "

"You are leaving me?"

"Yes. "

"You will not come? You will not be my comforter, my rescuer? My deeplove, my wild woe, my frantic prayer, are all nothing to you?"

What unutterable pathos was in his voice! How hard it was to reiteratefirmly, "I am going. "

"Jane!"

"Mr. Rochester!"

"Withdraw, then, --I consent; but remember, you leave me here in anguish. Go up to your own room; think over all I have said, and, Jane, cast aglance on my sufferings--think of me. "

He turned away; he threw himself on his face on the sofa. "Oh, Jane! myhope--my love--my life!" broke in anguish from his lips. Then came adeep, strong sob. 

I had already gained the door; but, reader, I walked back--walked back asdeterminedly as I had retreated. I knelt down by him; I turned his facefrom the cushion to me; I kissed his cheek; I smoothed his hair with myhand. 

"God bless you, my dear master!" I said. "God keep you from harm andwrong--direct you, solace you--reward you well for your past kindness tome. "

"Little Jane's love would have been my best reward, " he answered;"without it, my heart is broken. But Jane will give me her love:yes--nobly, generously. "

Up the blood rushed to his face; forth flashed the fire from his eyes;erect he sprang; he held his arms out; but I evaded the embrace, and atonce quitted the room. 

"Farewell!" was the cry of my heart as I left him. Despair added, "Farewell for ever!"

* * * * *

That night I never thought to sleep; but a slumber fell on me as soon asI lay down in bed. I was transported in thought to the scenes ofchildhood: I dreamt I lay in the red-room at Gateshead; that the nightwas dark, and my mind impressed with strange fears. The light that longago had struck me into syncope, recalled in this vision, seemed glidinglyto mount the wall, and tremblingly to pause in the centre of the obscuredceiling. I lifted up my head to look: the roof resolved to clouds, highand dim; the gleam was such as the moon imparts to vapours she is aboutto sever. I watched her come--watched with the strangest anticipation;as though some word of doom were to be written on her disk. She brokeforth as never moon yet burst from cloud: a hand first penetrated thesable folds and waved them away; then, not a moon, but a white human formshone in the azure, inclining a glorious brow earthward. It gazed andgazed on me. It spoke to my spirit: immeasurably distant was the tone, yet so near, it whispered in my heart--

"My daughter, flee temptation. "

"Mother, I will. "

So I answered after I had waked from the trance-like dream. It was yetnight, but July nights are short: soon after midnight, dawn comes. "Itcannot be too early to commence the task I have to fulfil, " thought I. Irose: I was dressed; for I had taken off nothing but my shoes. I knewwhere to find in my drawers some linen, a locket, a ring. In seekingthese articles, I encountered the beads of a pearl necklace Mr. Rochesterhad forced me to accept a few days ago. I left that; it was not mine: itwas the visionary bride's who had melted in air. The other articles Imade up in a parcel; my purse, containing twenty shillings (it was all Ihad), I put in my pocket: I tied on my straw bonnet, pinned my shawl, took the parcel and my slippers, which I would not put on yet, and stolefrom my room. 

"Farewell, kind Mrs. Fairfax!" I whispered, as I glided past her door. "Farewell, my darling Adele!" I said, as I glanced towards the nursery. No thought could be admitted of entering to embrace her. I had todeceive a fine ear: for aught I knew it might now be listening. 

I would have got past Mr. Rochester's chamber without a pause; but myheart momentarily stopping its beat at that threshold, my foot was forcedto stop also. No sleep was there: the inmate was walking restlessly fromwall to wall; and again and again he sighed while I listened. There wasa heaven--a temporary heaven--in this room for me, if I chose: I had butto go in and to say--

"Mr. Rochester, I will love you and live with you through life tilldeath, " and a fount of rapture would spring to my lips. I thought ofthis. 

That kind master, who could not sleep now, was waiting with impatiencefor day. He would send for me in the morning; I should be gone. Hewould have me sought for: vainly. He would feel himself forsaken; hislove rejected: he would suffer; perhaps grow desperate. I thought ofthis too. My hand moved towards the lock: I caught it back, and glidedon. 

Drearily I wound my way downstairs: I knew what I had to do, and I did itmechanically. I sought the key of the side-door in the kitchen; Isought, too, a phial of oil and a feather; I oiled the key and the lock. I got some water, I got some bread: for perhaps I should have to walkfar; and my strength, sorely shaken of late, must not break down. Allthis I did without one sound. I opened the door, passed out, shut itsoftly. Dim dawn glimmered in the yard. The great gates were closed andlocked; but a wicket in one of them was only latched. Through that Ideparted: it, too, I shut; and now I was out of Thornfield. 

A mile off, beyond the fields, lay a road which stretched in the contrarydirection to Millcote; a road I had never travelled, but often noticed, and wondered where it led: thither I bent my steps. No reflection was tobe allowed now: not one glance was to be cast back; not even one forward. Not one thought was to be given either to the past or the future. Thefirst was a page so heavenly sweet--so deadly sad--that to read one lineof it would dissolve my courage and break down my energy. The last wasan awful blank: something like the world when the deluge was gone by. 

I skirted fields, and hedges, and lanes till after sunrise. I believe itwas a lovely summer morning: I know my shoes, which I had put on when Ileft the house, were soon wet with dew. But I looked neither to risingsun, nor smiling sky, nor wakening nature. He who is taken out to passthrough a fair scene to the scaffold, thinks not of the flowers thatsmile on his road, but of the block and axe-edge; of the disseverment ofbone and vein; of the grave gaping at the end: and I thought of drearflight and homeless wandering--and oh! with agony I thought of what Ileft. I could not help it. I thought of him now--in his room--watchingthe sunrise; hoping I should soon come to say I would stay with him andbe his. I longed to be his; I panted to return: it was not too late; Icould yet spare him the bitter pang of bereavement. As yet my flight, Iwas sure, was undiscovered. I could go back and be his comforter--hispride; his redeemer from misery, perhaps from ruin. Oh, that fear of hisself-abandonment--far worse than my abandonment--how it goaded me! Itwas a barbed arrow-head in my breast; it tore me when I tried to extractit; it sickened me when remembrance thrust it farther in. Birds begansinging in brake and copse: birds were faithful to their mates; birdswere emblems of love. What was I? In the midst of my pain of heart andfrantic effort of principle, I abhorred myself. I had no solace fromself-approbation: none even from self-respect. I hadinjured--wounded--left my master. I was hateful in my own eyes. Still Icould not turn, nor retrace one step. God must have led me on. As to myown will or conscience, impassioned grief had trampled one and stifledthe other. I was weeping wildly as I walked along my solitary way: fast, fast I went like one delirious. A weakness, beginning inwardly, extending to the limbs, seized me, and I fell: I lay on the ground someminutes, pressing my face to the wet turf. I had some fear--or hope--thathere I should die: but I was soon up; crawling forwards on my hands andknees, and then again raised to my feet--as eager and as determined asever to reach the road. 

When I got there, I was forced to sit to rest me under the hedge; andwhile I sat, I heard wheels, and saw a coach come on. I stood up andlifted my hand; it stopped. I asked where it was going: the driver nameda place a long way off, and where I was sure Mr. Rochester had noconnections. I asked for what sum he would take me there; he said thirtyshillings; I answered I had but twenty; well, he would try to make it do. He further gave me leave to get into the inside, as the vehicle wasempty: I entered, was shut in, and it rolled on its way. 

Gentle reader, may you never feel what I then felt! May your eyes nevershed such stormy, scalding, heart-wrung tears as poured from mine. Mayyou never appeal to Heaven in prayers so hopeless and so agonised as inthat hour left my lips; for never may you, like me, dread to be theinstrument of evil to what you wholly love. 

CHAPTER XXVIII

Two days are passed. It is a summer evening; the coachman has set medown at a place called Whitcross; he could take me no farther for the sumI had given, and I was not possessed of another shilling in the world. The coach is a mile off by this time; I am alone. At this moment Idiscover that I forgot to take my parcel out of the pocket of the coach, where I had placed it for safety; there it remains, there it must remain;and now, I am absolutely destitute. 

Whitcross is no town, nor even a hamlet; it is but a stone pillar set upwhere four roads meet: whitewashed, I suppose, to be more obvious at adistance and in darkness. Four arms spring from its summit: the nearesttown to which these point is, according to the inscription, distant tenmiles; the farthest, above twenty. From the well-known names of thesetowns I learn in what county I have lighted; a north-midland shire, duskwith moorland, ridged with mountain: this I see. There are great moorsbehind and on each hand of me; there are waves of mountains far beyondthat deep valley at my feet. The population here must be thin, and I seeno passengers on these roads: they stretch out east, west, north, andsouth--white, broad, lonely; they are all cut in the moor, and theheather grows deep and wild to their very verge. Yet a chance travellermight pass by; and I wish no eye to see me now: strangers would wonderwhat I am doing, lingering here at the sign-post, evidently objectlessand lost. I might be questioned: I could give no answer but what wouldsound incredible and excite suspicion. Not a tie holds me to humansociety at this moment--not a charm or hope calls me where myfellow-creatures are--none that saw me would have a kind thought or agood wish for me. I have no relative but the universal mother, Nature: Iwill seek her breast and ask repose. 

I struck straight into the heath; I held on to a hollow I saw deeplyfurrowing the brown moorside; I waded knee-deep in its dark growth; Iturned with its turnings, and finding a moss-blackened granite crag in ahidden angle, I sat down under it. High banks of moor were about me; thecrag protected my head: the sky was over that. 

Some time passed before I felt tranquil even here: I had a vague dreadthat wild cattle might be near, or that some sportsman or poacher mightdiscover me. If a gust of wind swept the waste, I looked up, fearing itwas the rush of a bull; if a plover whistled, I imagined it a man. Finding my apprehensions unfounded, however, and calmed by the deepsilence that reigned as evening declined at nightfall, I took confidence. As yet I had not thought; I had only listened, watched, dreaded; now Iregained the faculty of reflection. 

What was I to do? Where to go? Oh, intolerable questions, when I coulddo nothing and go nowhere!--when a long way must yet be measured by myweary, trembling limbs before I could reach human habitation--when coldcharity must be entreated before I could get a lodging: reluctantsympathy importuned, almost certain repulse incurred, before my talecould be listened to, or one of my wants relieved!

I touched the heath: it was dry, and yet warm with the heat of the summerday. I looked at the sky; it was pure: a kindly star twinkled just abovethe chasm ridge. The dew fell, but with propitious softness; no breezewhispered. Nature seemed to me benign and good; I thought she loved me, outcast as I was; and I, who from man could anticipate only mistrust, rejection, insult, clung to her with filial fondness. To-night, atleast, I would be her guest, as I was her child: my mother would lodge mewithout money and without price. I had one morsel of bread yet: theremnant of a roll I had bought in a town we passed through at noon with astray penny--my last coin. I saw ripe bilberries gleaming here andthere, like jet beads in the heath: I gathered a handful and ate themwith the bread. My hunger, sharp before, was, if not satisfied, appeasedby this hermit's meal. I said my evening prayers at its conclusion, andthen chose my couch. 

{I said my evening prayers: p311. Jpg}

Beside the crag the heath was very deep: when I lay down my feet wereburied in it; rising high on each side, it left only a narrow space forthe night-air to invade. I folded my shawl double, and spread it over mefor a coverlet; a low, mossy swell was my pillow. Thus lodged, I wasnot, at least--at the commencement of the night, cold. 

My rest might have been blissful enough, only a sad heart broke it. Itplained of its gaping wounds, its inward bleeding, its riven chords. Ittrembled for Mr. Rochester and his doom; it bemoaned him with bitterpity; it demanded him with ceaseless longing; and, impotent as a birdwith both wings broken, it still quivered its shattered pinions in vainattempts to seek him. 

Worn out with this torture of thought, I rose to my knees. Night wascome, and her planets were risen: a safe, still night: too serene for thecompanionship of fear. We know that God is everywhere; but certainly wefeel His presence most when His works are on the grandest scale spreadbefore us; and it is in the unclouded night-sky, where His worlds wheeltheir silent course, that we read clearest His infinitude, Hisomnipotence, His omnipresence. I had risen to my knees to pray for Mr. Rochester. Looking up, I, with tear-dimmed eyes, saw the mighty Milky-way. Remembering what it was--what countless systems there swept spacelike a soft trace of light--I felt the might and strength of God. Surewas I of His efficiency to save what He had made: convinced I grew thatneither earth should perish, nor one of the souls it treasured. I turnedmy prayer to thanksgiving: the Source of Life was also the Saviour ofspirits. Mr. Rochester was safe; he was God's, and by God would he beguarded. I again nestled to the breast of the hill; and ere long insleep forgot sorrow. 

But next day, Want came to me pale and bare. Long after the little birdshad left their nests; long after bees had come in the sweet prime of dayto gather the heath honey before the dew was dried--when the long morningshadows were curtailed, and the sun filled earth and sky--I got up, and Ilooked round me. 

What a still, hot, perfect day! What a golden desert this spreadingmoor! Everywhere sunshine. I wished I could live in it and on it. Isaw a lizard run over the crag; I saw a bee busy among the sweetbilberries. I would fain at the moment have become bee or lizard, that Imight have found fitting nutriment, permanent shelter here. But I was ahuman being, and had a human being's wants: I must not linger where therewas nothing to supply them. I rose; I looked back at the bed I had left. Hopeless of the future, I wished but this--that my Maker had that nightthought good to require my soul of me while I slept; and that this wearyframe, absolved by death from further conflict with fate, had now but todecay quietly, and mingle in peace with the soil of this wilderness. Life, however, was yet in my possession, with all its requirements, andpains, and responsibilities. The burden must be carried; the wantprovided for; the suffering endured; the responsibility fulfilled. I setout. 

Whitcross regained, I followed a road which led from the sun, now ferventand high. By no other circumstance had I will to decide my choice. Iwalked a long time, and when I thought I had nearly done enough, andmight conscientiously yield to the fatigue that almost overpoweredme--might relax this forced action, and, sitting down on a stone I sawnear, submit resistlessly to the apathy that clogged heart and limb--Iheard a bell chime--a church bell. 

I turned in the direction of the sound, and there, amongst the romantichills, whose changes and aspect I had ceased to note an hour ago, I saw ahamlet and a spire. All the valley at my right hand was full of pasture-fields, and cornfields, and wood; and a glittering stream ran zig-zagthrough the varied shades of green, the mellowing grain, the sombrewoodland, the clear and sunny lea. Recalled by the rumbling of wheels tothe road before me, I saw a heavily-laden waggon labouring up the hill, and not far beyond were two cows and their drover. Human life and humanlabour were near. I must struggle on: strive to live and bend to toillike the rest. 

About two o'clock p. M. I entered the village. At the bottom of its onestreet there was a little shop with some cakes of bread in the window. Icoveted a cake of bread. With that refreshment I could perhaps regain adegree of energy: without it, it would be difficult to proceed. The wishto have some strength and some vigour returned to me as soon as I wasamongst my fellow-beings. I felt it would be degrading to faint withhunger on the causeway of a hamlet. Had I nothing about me I could offerin exchange for one of these rolls? I considered. I had a small silkhandkerchief tied round my throat; I had my gloves. I could hardly tellhow men and women in extremities of destitution proceeded. I did notknow whether either of these articles would be accepted: probably theywould not; but I must try. 

I entered the shop: a woman was there. Seeing a respectably-dressedperson, a lady as she supposed, she came forward with civility. Howcould she serve me? I was seized with shame: my tongue would not utterthe request I had prepared. I dared not offer her the half-worn gloves, the creased handkerchief: besides, I felt it would be absurd. I onlybegged permission to sit down a moment, as I was tired. Disappointed inthe expectation of a customer, she coolly acceded to my request. Shepointed to a seat; I sank into it. I felt sorely urged to weep; butconscious how unseasonable such a manifestation would be, I restrainedit. Soon I asked her "if there were any dressmaker or plain-workwoman inthe village?"

"Yes; two or three. Quite as many as there was employment for. "

I reflected. I was driven to the point now. I was brought face to facewith Necessity. I stood in the position of one without a resource, without a friend, without a coin. I must do something. What? I mustapply somewhere. Where?

"Did she know of any place in the neighbourhood where a servant waswanted?"

"Nay; she couldn't say. "

"What was the chief trade in this place? What did most of the peopledo?"

"Some were farm labourers; a good deal worked at Mr. Oliver'sneedle-factory, and at the foundry. "

"Did Mr. Oliver employ women?"

"Nay; it was men's work. "

"And what do the women do?"

"I knawn't, " was the answer. "Some does one thing, and some another. Poor folk mun get on as they can. "

She seemed to be tired of my questions: and, indeed, what claim had I toimportune her? A neighbour or two came in; my chair was evidentlywanted. I took leave. 

I passed up the street, looking as I went at all the houses to the righthand and to the left; but I could discover no pretext, nor see aninducement to enter any. I rambled round the hamlet, going sometimes toa little distance and returning again, for an hour or more. Muchexhausted, and suffering greatly now for want of food, I turned asideinto a lane and sat down under the hedge. Ere many minutes had elapsed, I was again on my feet, however, and again searching something--aresource, or at least an informant. A pretty little house stood at thetop of the lane, with a garden before it, exquisitely neat andbrilliantly blooming. I stopped at it. What business had I to approachthe white door or touch the glittering knocker? In what way could itpossibly be the interest of the inhabitants of that dwelling to serve me?Yet I drew near and knocked. A mild-looking, cleanly-attired young womanopened the door. In such a voice as might be expected from a hopelessheart and fainting frame--a voice wretchedly low and faltering--I askedif a servant was wanted here?

"No, " said she; "we do not keep a servant. "

"Can you tell me where I could get employment of any kind?" I continued. "I am a stranger, without acquaintance in this place. I want some work:no matter what. "

But it was not her business to think for me, or to seek a place for me:besides, in her eyes, how doubtful must have appeared my character, position, tale. She shook her head, she "was sorry she could give me noinformation, " and the white door closed, quite gently and civilly: but itshut me out. If she had held it open a little longer, I believe I shouldhave begged a piece of bread; for I was now brought low. 

I could not bear to return to the sordid village, where, besides, noprospect of aid was visible. I should have longed rather to deviate to awood I saw not far off, which appeared in its thick shade to offerinviting shelter; but I was so sick, so weak, so gnawed with nature'scravings, instinct kept me roaming round abodes where there was a chanceof food. Solitude would be no solitude--rest no rest--while the vulture, hunger, thus sank beak and talons in my side. 

I drew near houses; I left them, and came back again, and again Iwandered away: always repelled by the consciousness of having no claim toask--no right to expect interest in my isolated lot. Meantime, theafternoon advanced, while I thus wandered about like a lost and starvingdog. In crossing a field, I saw the church spire before me: I hastenedtowards it. Near the churchyard, and in the middle of a garden, stood awell-built though small house, which I had no doubt was the parsonage. Iremembered that strangers who arrive at a place where they have nofriends, and who want employment, sometimes apply to the clergyman forintroduction and aid. It is the clergyman's function to help--at leastwith advice--those who wished to help themselves. I seemed to havesomething like a right to seek counsel here. Renewing then my courage, and gathering my feeble remains of strength, I pushed on. I reached thehouse, and knocked at the kitchen-door. An old woman opened: I asked wasthis the parsonage?

"Yes. "

"Was the clergyman in?"

"No. "

"Would he be in soon?"

"No, he was gone from home. "

"To a distance?"

"Not so far--happen three mile. He had been called away by the suddendeath of his father: he was at Marsh End now, and would very likely staythere a fortnight longer. "

"Was there any lady of the house?"

"Nay, there was naught but her, and she was housekeeper;" and of her, reader, I could not bear to ask the relief for want of which I wassinking; I could not yet beg; and again I crawled away. 

Once more I took off my handkerchief--once more I thought of the cakes ofbread in the little shop. Oh, for but a crust! for but one mouthful toallay the pang of famine! Instinctively I turned my face again to thevillage; I found the shop again, and I went in; and though others werethere besides the woman I ventured the request--"Would she give me a rollfor this handkerchief?"

She looked at me with evident suspicion: "Nay, she never sold stuff i'that way. "

Almost desperate, I asked for half a cake; she again refused. "How couldshe tell where I had got the handkerchief?" she said. 

"Would she take my gloves?"

"No! what could she do with them?"

Reader, it is not pleasant to dwell on these details. Some say there isenjoyment in looking back to painful experience past; but at this day Ican scarcely bear to review the times to which I allude: the moraldegradation, blent with the physical suffering, form too distressing arecollection ever to be willingly dwelt on. I blamed none of those whorepulsed me. I felt it was what was to be expected, and what could notbe helped: an ordinary beggar is frequently an object of suspicion; awell-dressed beggar inevitably so. To be sure, what I begged wasemployment; but whose business was it to provide me with employment? Not, certainly, that of persons who saw me then for the first time, and whoknew nothing about my character. And as to the woman who would not takemy handkerchief in exchange for her bread, why, she was right, if theoffer appeared to her sinister or the exchange unprofitable. Let mecondense now. I am sick of the subject. 

A little before dark I passed a farm-house, at the open door of which thefarmer was sitting, eating his supper of bread and cheese. I stopped andsaid--

"Will you give me a piece of bread? for I am very hungry. " He cast on mea glance of surprise; but without answering, he cut a thick slice fromhis loaf, and gave it to me. I imagine he did not think I was a beggar, but only an eccentric sort of lady, who had taken a fancy to his brownloaf. As soon as I was out of sight of his house, I sat down and ate it. 

I could not hope to get a lodging under a roof, and sought it in the woodI have before alluded to. But my night was wretched, my rest broken: theground was damp, the air cold: besides, intruders passed near me morethan once, and I had again and again to change my quarters; no sense ofsafety or tranquillity befriended me. Towards morning it rained; thewhole of the following day was wet. Do not ask me, reader, to give aminute account of that day; as before, I sought work; as before, I wasrepulsed; as before, I starved; but once did food pass my lips. At thedoor of a cottage I saw a little girl about to throw a mess of coldporridge into a pig trough. "Will you give me that?" I asked. 

{"Will you give me that?" I asked: p316. Jpg}

She stared at me. "Mother!" she exclaimed, "there is a woman wants me togive her these porridge. "

"Well lass, " replied a voice within, "give it her if she's a beggar. T'pig doesn't want it. "

The girl emptied the stiffened mould into my hand, and I devoured itravenously. 

As the wet twilight deepened, I stopped in a solitary bridle-path, whichI had been pursuing an hour or more. 

"My strength is quite failing me, " I said in a soliloquy. "I feel Icannot go much farther. Shall I be an outcast again this night? Whilethe rain descends so, must I lay my head on the cold, drenched ground? Ifear I cannot do otherwise: for who will receive me? But it will be verydreadful, with this feeling of hunger, faintness, chill, and this senseof desolation--this total prostration of hope. In all likelihood, though, I should die before morning. And why cannot I reconcile myselfto the prospect of death? Why do I struggle to retain a valueless life?Because I know, or believe, Mr. Rochester is living: and then, to die ofwant and cold is a fate to which nature cannot submit passively. Oh, Providence! sustain me a little longer! Aid!--direct me!"

My glazed eye wandered over the dim and misty landscape. I saw I hadstrayed far from the village: it was quite out of sight. The verycultivation surrounding it had disappeared. I had, by cross-ways and by-paths, once more drawn near the tract of moorland; and now, only a fewfields, almost as wild and unproductive as the heath from which they werescarcely reclaimed, lay between me and the dusky hill. 

"Well, I would rather die yonder than in a street or on a frequentedroad, " I reflected. "And far better that crows and ravens--if any ravensthere be in these regions--should pick my flesh from my bones, than thatthey should be prisoned in a workhouse coffin and moulder in a pauper'sgrave. "

To the hill, then, I turned. I reached it. It remained now only to finda hollow where I could lie down, and feel at least hidden, if not secure. But all the surface of the waste looked level. It showed no variationbut of tint: green, where rush and moss overgrew the marshes; black, where the dry soil bore only heath. Dark as it was getting, I couldstill see these changes, though but as mere alternations of light andshade; for colour had faded with the daylight. 

My eye still roved over the sullen swell and along the moor-edge, vanishing amidst the wildest scenery, when at one dim point, far in amongthe marshes and the ridges, a light sprang up. "That is an _ignisfatuus_, " was my first thought; and I expected it would soon vanish. Itburnt on, however, quite steadily, neither receding nor advancing. "Isit, then, a bonfire just kindled?" I questioned. I watched to seewhether it would spread: but no; as it did not diminish, so it did notenlarge. "It may be a candle in a house, " I then conjectured; "but ifso, I can never reach it. It is much too far away: and were it within ayard of me, what would it avail? I should but knock at the door to haveit shut in my face. "

And I sank down where I stood, and hid my face against the ground. I laystill a while: the night-wind swept over the hill and over me, and diedmoaning in the distance; the rain fell fast, wetting me afresh to theskin. Could I but have stiffened to the still frost--the friendlynumbness of death--it might have pelted on; I should not have felt it;but my yet living flesh shuddered at its chilling influence. I rose erelong. 

The light was yet there, shining dim but constant through the rain. Itried to walk again: I dragged my exhausted limbs slowly towards it. Itled me aslant over the hill, through a wide bog, which would have beenimpassable in winter, and was splashy and shaking even now, in the heightof summer. Here I fell twice; but as often I rose and rallied myfaculties. This light was my forlorn hope: I must gain it. 

Having crossed the marsh, I saw a trace of white over the moor. Iapproached it; it was a road or a track: it led straight up to the light, which now beamed from a sort of knoll, amidst a clump of trees--firs, apparently, from what I could distinguish of the character of their formsand foliage through the gloom. My star vanished as I drew near: someobstacle had intervened between me and it. I put out my hand to feel thedark mass before me: I discriminated the rough stones of a low wall--aboveit, something like palisades, and within, a high and prickly hedge. Igroped on. Again a whitish object gleamed before me: it was a gate--awicket; it moved on its hinges as I touched it. On each side stood asable bush-holly or yew. 

Entering the gate and passing the shrubs, the silhouette of a house roseto view, black, low, and rather long; but the guiding light shonenowhere. All was obscurity. Were the inmates retired to rest? I fearedit must be so. In seeking the door, I turned an angle: there shot outthe friendly gleam again, from the lozenged panes of a very smalllatticed window, within a foot of the ground, made still smaller by thegrowth of ivy or some other creeping plant, whose leaves clustered thickover the portion of the house wall in which it was set. The aperture wasso screened and narrow, that curtain or shutter had been deemedunnecessary; and when I stooped down and put aside the spray of foliageshooting over it, I could see all within. I could see clearly a roomwith a sanded floor, clean scoured; a dresser of walnut, with pewterplates ranged in rows, reflecting the redness and radiance of a glowingpeat-fire. I could see a clock, a white deal table, some chairs. Thecandle, whose ray had been my beacon, burnt on the table; and by itslight an elderly woman, somewhat rough-looking, but scrupulously clean, like all about her, was knitting a stocking. 

I noticed these objects cursorily only--in them there was nothingextraordinary. A group of more interest appeared near the hearth, sitting still amidst the rosy peace and warmth suffusing it. Two young, graceful women--ladies in every point--sat, one in a low rocking-chair, the other on a lower stool; both wore deep mourning of crape andbombazeen, which sombre garb singularly set off very fair necks andfaces: a large old pointer dog rested its massive head on the knee of onegirl--in the lap of the other was cushioned a black cat. 

A strange place was this humble kitchen for such occupants! Who werethey? They could not be the daughters of the elderly person at thetable; for she looked like a rustic, and they were all delicacy andcultivation. I had nowhere seen such faces as theirs: and yet, as Igazed on them, I seemed intimate with every lineament. I cannot callthem handsome--they were too pale and grave for the word: as they eachbent over a book, they looked thoughtful almost to severity. A standbetween them supported a second candle and two great volumes, to whichthey frequently referred, comparing them, seemingly, with the smallerbooks they held in their hands, like people consulting a dictionary toaid them in the task of translation. This scene was as silent as if allthe figures had been shadows and the firelit apartment a picture: sohushed was it, I could hear the cinders fall from the grate, the clocktick in its obscure corner; and I even fancied I could distinguish theclick-click of the woman's knitting-needles. When, therefore, a voicebroke the strange stillness at last, it was audible enough to me. 

"Listen, Diana, " said one of the absorbed students; "Franz and old Danielare together in the night-time, and Franz is telling a dream from whichhe has awakened in terror--listen!" And in a low voice she readsomething, of which not one word was intelligible to me; for it was in anunknown tongue--neither French nor Latin. Whether it were Greek orGerman I could not tell. 

"That is strong, " she said, when she had finished: "I relish it. " Theother girl, who had lifted her head to listen to her sister, repeated, while she gazed at the fire, a line of what had been read. At a laterday, I knew the language and the book; therefore, I will here quote theline: though, when I first heard it, it was only like a stroke onsounding brass to me--conveying no meaning:--

"'Da trat hervor Einer, anzusehen wie die Sternen Nacht. ' Good! good!"she exclaimed, while her dark and deep eye sparkled. "There you have adim and mighty archangel fitly set before you! The line is worth ahundred pages of fustian. 'Ich wage die Gedanken in der Schale meinesZornes und die Werke mit dem Gewichte meines Grimms. ' I like it!"

Both were again silent. 

"Is there ony country where they talk i' that way?" asked the old woman, looking up from her knitting. 

"Yes, Hannah--a far larger country than England, where they talk in noother way. "

"Well, for sure case, I knawn't how they can understand t' one t'other:and if either o' ye went there, ye could tell what they said, I guess?"

"We could probably tell something of what they said, but not all--for weare not as clever as you think us, Hannah. We don't speak German, and wecannot read it without a dictionary to help us. "

"And what good does it do you?"

"We mean to teach it some time--or at least the elements, as they say;and then we shall get more money than we do now. "

"Varry like: but give ower studying; ye've done enough for to-night. "

"I think we have: at least I'm tired. Mary, are you?"

"Mortally: after all, it's tough work fagging away at a language with nomaster but a lexicon. "

"It is, especially such a language as this crabbed but glorious Deutsch. I wonder when St. John will come home. "

"Surely he will not be long now: it is just ten (looking at a little goldwatch she drew from her girdle). It rains fast, Hannah: will you havethe goodness to look at the fire in the parlour?"

The woman rose: she opened a door, through which I dimly saw a passage:soon I heard her stir a fire in an inner room; she presently came back. 

"Ah, childer!" said she, "it fair troubles me to go into yond' room now:it looks so lonesome wi' the chair empty and set back in a corner. "

She wiped her eyes with her apron: the two girls, grave before, lookedsad now. 

"But he is in a better place, " continued Hannah: "we shouldn't wish himhere again. And then, nobody need to have a quieter death nor he had. "

"You say he never mentioned us?" inquired one of the ladies. 

"He hadn't time, bairn: he was gone in a minute, was your father. He hadbeen a bit ailing like the day before, but naught to signify; and whenMr. St. John asked if he would like either o' ye to be sent for, he fairlaughed at him. He began again with a bit of a heaviness in his head thenext day--that is, a fortnight sin'--and he went to sleep and niverwakened: he wor a'most stark when your brother went into t' chamber andfand him. Ah, childer! that's t' last o' t' old stock--for ye and Mr. St. John is like of different soart to them 'at's gone; for all yourmother wor mich i' your way, and a'most as book-learned. She wor thepictur' o' ye, Mary: Diana is more like your father. "

I thought them so similar I could not tell where the old servant (forsuch I now concluded her to be) saw the difference. Both were faircomplexioned and slenderly made; both possessed faces full of distinctionand intelligence. One, to be sure, had hair a shade darker than theother, and there was a difference in their style of wearing it; Mary'spale brown locks were parted and braided smooth: Diana's duskier tressescovered her neck with thick curls. The clock struck ten. 

"Ye'll want your supper, I am sure, " observed Hannah; "and so will Mr. St. John when he comes in. "

And she proceeded to prepare the meal. The ladies rose; they seemedabout to withdraw to the parlour. Till this moment, I had been so intenton watching them, their appearance and conversation had excited in me sokeen an interest, I had half-forgotten my own wretched position: now itrecurred to me. More desolate, more desperate than ever, it seemed fromcontrast. And how impossible did it appear to touch the inmates of thishouse with concern on my behalf; to make them believe in the truth of mywants and woes--to induce them to vouchsafe a rest for my wanderings! AsI groped out the door, and knocked at it hesitatingly, I felt that lastidea to be a mere chimera. Hannah opened. 

"What do you want?" she inquired, in a voice of surprise, as she surveyedme by the light of the candle she held. 

"May I speak to your mistresses?" I said. 

"You had better tell me what you have to say to them. Where do you comefrom?"

"I am a stranger. "

"What is your business here at this hour?"

"I want a night's shelter in an out-house or anywhere, and a morsel ofbread to eat. "

Distrust, the very feeling I dreaded, appeared in Hannah's face. "I'llgive you a piece of bread, " she said, after a pause; "but we can't takein a vagrant to lodge. It isn't likely. "

"Do let me speak to your mistresses. "

"No, not I. What can they do for you? You should not be roving aboutnow; it looks very ill. "

"But where shall I go if you drive me away? What shall I do?"

"Oh, I'll warrant you know where to go and what to do. Mind you don't dowrong, that's all. Here is a penny; now go--"

"A penny cannot feed me, and I have no strength to go farther. Don'tshut the door:--oh, don't, for God's sake!"

"I must; the rain is driving in--"

"Tell the young ladies. Let me see them--"

"Indeed, I will not. You are not what you ought to be, or you wouldn'tmake such a noise. Move off. "

"But I must die if I am turned away. "

"Not you. I'm fear'd you have some ill plans agate, that bring you aboutfolk's houses at this time o' night. If you've anyfollowers--housebreakers or such like--anywhere near, you may tell themwe are not by ourselves in the house; we have a gentleman, and dogs, andguns. " Here the honest but inflexible servant clapped the door to andbolted it within. 

This was the climax. A pang of exquisite suffering--a throe of truedespair--rent and heaved my heart. Worn out, indeed, I was; not anotherstep could I stir. I sank on the wet doorstep: I groaned--I wrung myhands--I wept in utter anguish. Oh, this spectre of death! Oh, thislast hour, approaching in such horror! Alas, this isolation--thisbanishment from my kind! Not only the anchor of hope, but the footing offortitude was gone--at least for a moment; but the last I soonendeavoured to regain. 

"I can but die, " I said, "and I believe in God. Let me try to wait Hiswill in silence. "

These words I not only thought, but uttered; and thrusting back all mymisery into my heart, I made an effort to compel it to remain there--dumband still. 

"All men must die, " said a voice quite close at hand; "but all are notcondemned to meet a lingering and premature doom, such as yours would beif you perished here of want. "

"Who or what speaks?" I asked, terrified at the unexpected sound, andincapable now of deriving from any occurrence a hope of aid. A form wasnear--what form, the pitch-dark night and my enfeebled vision preventedme from distinguishing. With a loud long knock, the new-comer appealedto the door. 

"Is it you, Mr. St. John?" cried Hannah. 

"Yes--yes; open quickly. "

"Well, how wet and cold you must be, such a wild night as it is! Comein--your sisters are quite uneasy about you, and I believe there are badfolks about. There has been a beggar-woman--I declare she is not goneyet!--laid down there. Get up! for shame! Move off, I say!"

"Hush, Hannah! I have a word to say to the woman. You have done yourduty in excluding, now let me do mine in admitting her. I was near, andlistened to both you and her. I think this is a peculiar case--I must atleast examine into it. Young woman, rise, and pass before me into thehouse. "

{Hush, Hannah; I have a word to say to the woman: p323. Jpg}

With difficulty I obeyed him. Presently I stood within that clean, bright kitchen--on the very hearth--trembling, sickening; conscious of anaspect in the last degree ghastly, wild, and weather-beaten. The twoladies, their brother, Mr. St. John, the old servant, were all gazing atme. 

"St. John, who is it?" I heard one ask. 

"I cannot tell: I found her at the door, " was the reply. 

"She does look white, " said Hannah. 

"As white as clay or death, " was responded. "She will fall: let hersit. "

And indeed my head swam: I dropped, but a chair received me. I stillpossessed my senses, though just now I could not speak. 

"Perhaps a little water would restore her. Hannah, fetch some. But sheis worn to nothing. How very thin, and how very bloodless!"

"A mere spectre!"

"Is she ill, or only famished?"

"Famished, I think. Hannah, is that milk? Give it me, and a piece ofbread. "

Diana (I knew her by the long curls which I saw drooping between me andthe fire as she bent over me) broke some bread, dipped it in milk, andput it to my lips. Her face was near mine: I saw there was pity in it, and I felt sympathy in her hurried breathing. In her simple words, too, the same balm-like emotion spoke: "Try to eat. "

"Yes--try, " repeated Mary gently; and Mary's hand removed my soddenbonnet and lifted my head. I tasted what they offered me: feebly atfirst, eagerly soon. 

"Not too much at first--restrain her, " said the brother; "she has hadenough. " And he withdrew the cup of milk and the plate of bread. 

"A little more, St. John--look at the avidity in her eyes. "

"No more at present, sister. Try if she can speak now--ask her hername. "

I felt I could speak, and I answered--"My name is Jane Elliott. " Anxiousas ever to avoid discovery, I had before resolved to assume an _alias_. 

"And where do you live? Where are your friends?"

I was silent. 

"Can we send for any one you know?"

I shook my head. 

"What account can you give of yourself?"

Somehow, now that I had once crossed the threshold of this house, andonce was brought face to face with its owners, I felt no longer outcast, vagrant, and disowned by the wide world. I dared to put off themendicant--to resume my natural manner and character. I began once moreto know myself; and when Mr. St. John demanded an account--which atpresent I was far too weak to render--I said after a brief pause--

"Sir, I can give you no details to-night. "

"But what, then, " said he, "do you expect me to do for you?"

"Nothing, " I replied. My strength sufficed for but short answers. Dianatook the word--

"Do you mean, " she asked, "that we have now given you what aid yourequire? and that we may dismiss you to the moor and the rainy night?"

I looked at her. She had, I thought, a remarkable countenance, instinctboth with power and goodness. I took sudden courage. Answering hercompassionate gaze with a smile, I said--"I will trust you. If I were amasterless and stray dog, I know that you would not turn me from yourhearth to-night: as it is, I really have no fear. Do with me and for meas you like; but excuse me from much discourse--my breath is short--Ifeel a spasm when I speak. " All three surveyed me, and all three weresilent. 

"Hannah, " said Mr. St. John, at last, "let her sit there at present, andask her no questions; in ten minutes more, give her the remainder of thatmilk and bread. Mary and Diana, let us go into the parlour and talk thematter over. "

They withdrew. Very soon one of the ladies returned--I could not tellwhich. A kind of pleasant stupor was stealing over me as I sat by thegenial fire. In an undertone she gave some directions to Hannah. Erelong, with the servant's aid, I contrived to mount a staircase; mydripping clothes were removed; soon a warm, dry bed received me. Ithanked God--experienced amidst unutterable exhaustion a glow of gratefuljoy--and slept. 

CHAPTER XXIX

The recollection of about three days and nights succeeding this is verydim in my mind. I can recall some sensations felt in that interval; butfew thoughts framed, and no actions performed. I knew I was in a smallroom and in a narrow bed. To that bed I seemed to have grown; I lay onit motionless as a stone; and to have torn me from it would have beenalmost to kill me. I took no note of the lapse of time--of the changefrom morning to noon, from noon to evening. I observed when any oneentered or left the apartment: I could even tell who they were; I couldunderstand what was said when the speaker stood near to me; but I couldnot answer; to open my lips or move my limbs was equally impossible. Hannah, the servant, was my most frequent visitor. Her coming disturbedme. I had a feeling that she wished me away: that she did not understandme or my circumstances; that she was prejudiced against me. Diana andMary appeared in the chamber once or twice a day. They would whispersentences of this sort at my bedside--

"It is very well we took her in. "

"Yes; she would certainly have been found dead at the door in the morninghad she been left out all night. I wonder what she has gone through?"

"Strange hardships, I imagine--poor, emaciated, pallid wanderer?"

"She is not an uneducated person, I should think, by her manner ofspeaking; her accent was quite pure; and the clothes she took off, thoughsplashed and wet, were little worn and fine. "

"She has a peculiar face; fleshless and haggard as it is, I rather likeit; and when in good health and animated, I can fancy her physiognomywould be agreeable. "

Never once in their dialogues did I hear a syllable of regret at thehospitality they had extended to me, or of suspicion of, or aversion to, myself. I was comforted. 

Mr. St. John came but once: he looked at me, and said my state oflethargy was the result of reaction from excessive and protractedfatigue. He pronounced it needless to send for a doctor: nature, he wassure, would manage best, left to herself. He said every nerve had beenoverstrained in some way, and the whole system must sleep torpid a while. There was no disease. He imagined my recovery would be rapid enough whenonce commenced. These opinions he delivered in a few words, in a quiet, low voice; and added, after a pause, in the tone of a man littleaccustomed to expansive comment, "Rather an unusual physiognomy;certainly, not indicative of vulgarity or degradation. "

"Far otherwise, " responded Diana. "To speak truth, St. John, my heartrather warms to the poor little soul. I wish we may be able to benefither permanently. "

"That is hardly likely, " was the reply. "You will find she is some younglady who has had a misunderstanding with her friends, and has probablyinjudiciously left them. We may, perhaps, succeed in restoring her tothem, if she is not obstinate: but I trace lines of force in her facewhich make me sceptical of her tractability. " He stood considering mesome minutes; then added, "She looks sensible, but not at all handsome. "

"She is so ill, St. John. "

"Ill or well, she would always be plain. The grace and harmony of beautyare quite wanting in those features. "

On the third day I was better; on the fourth, I could speak, move, risein bed, and turn. Hannah had brought me some gruel and dry toast, about, as I supposed, the dinner-hour. I had eaten with relish: the food wasgood--void of the feverish flavour which had hitherto poisoned what I hadswallowed. When she left me, I felt comparatively strong and revived:ere long satiety of repose and desire for action stirred me. I wished torise; but what could I put on? Only my damp and bemired apparel; inwhich I had slept on the ground and fallen in the marsh. I felt ashamedto appear before my benefactors so clad. I was spared the humiliation. 

On a chair by the bedside were all my own things, clean and dry. Myblack silk frock hung against the wall. The traces of the bog wereremoved from it; the creases left by the wet smoothed out: it was quitedecent. My very shoes and stockings were purified and renderedpresentable. There were the means of washing in the room, and a comb andbrush to smooth my hair. After a weary process, and resting every fiveminutes, I succeeded in dressing myself. My clothes hung loose on me;for I was much wasted, but I covered deficiencies with a shawl, and oncemore, clean and respectable looking--no speck of the dirt, no trace ofthe disorder I so hated, and which seemed so to degrade me, left--I creptdown a stone staircase with the aid of the banisters, to a narrow lowpassage, and found my way presently to the kitchen. 

It was full of the fragrance of new bread and the warmth of a generousfire. Hannah was baking. Prejudices, it is well known, are mostdifficult to eradicate from the heart whose soil has never been loosenedor fertilised by education: they grow there, firm as weeds among stones. Hannah had been cold and stiff, indeed, at the first: latterly she hadbegun to relent a little; and when she saw me come in tidy andwell-dressed, she even smiled. 

"What, you have got up!" she said. "You are better, then. You may sityou down in my chair on the hearthstone, if you will. "

She pointed to the rocking-chair: I took it. She bustled about, examining me every now and then with the corner of her eye. Turning tome, as she took some loaves from the oven, she asked bluntly--

"Did you ever go a-begging afore you came here?"

I was indignant for a moment; but remembering that anger was out of thequestion, and that I had indeed appeared as a beggar to her, I answeredquietly, but still not without a certain marked firmness--

"You are mistaken in supposing me a beggar. I am no beggar; any morethan yourself or your young ladies. "

After a pause she said, "I dunnut understand that: you've like no house, nor no brass, I guess?"

"The want of house or brass (by which I suppose you mean money) does notmake a beggar in your sense of the word. "

"Are you book-learned?" she inquired presently. 

"Yes, very. "

"But you've never been to a boarding-school?"

"I was at a boarding-school eight years. "

She opened her eyes wide. "Whatever cannot ye keep yourself for, then?"

"I have kept myself; and, I trust, shall keep myself again. What are yougoing to do with these gooseberries?" I inquired, as she brought out abasket of the fruit. 

"Mak' 'em into pies. "

"Give them to me and I'll pick them. "

"Nay; I dunnut want ye to do nought. "

"But I must do something. Let me have them. "

She consented; and she even brought me a clean towel to spread over mydress, "lest, " as she said, "I should mucky it. "

"Ye've not been used to sarvant's wark, I see by your hands, " sheremarked. "Happen ye've been a dressmaker?"

"No, you are wrong. And now, never mind what I have been: don't troubleyour head further about me; but tell me the name of the house where weare. "

"Some calls it Marsh End, and some calls it Moor House. "

"And the gentleman who lives here is called Mr. St. John?"

"Nay; he doesn't live here: he is only staying a while. When he is athome, he is in his own parish at Morton. "

"That village a few miles off?

"Aye. "

"And what is he?"

"He is a parson. "

I remembered the answer of the old housekeeper at the parsonage, when Ihad asked to see the clergyman. "This, then, was his father'sresidence?"

"Aye; old Mr. Rivers lived here, and his father, and grandfather, andgurt (great) grandfather afore him. "

"The name, then, of that gentleman, is Mr. St. John Rivers?"

"Aye; St. John is like his kirstened name. "

"And his sisters are called Diana and Mary Rivers?"

"Yes. "

"Their father is dead?"

"Dead three weeks sin' of a stroke. "

"They have no mother?"

"The mistress has been dead this mony a year. "

"Have you lived with the family long?"

"I've lived here thirty year. I nursed them all three. "

"That proves you must have been an honest and faithful servant. I willsay so much for you, though you have had the incivility to call me abeggar. "

She again regarded me with a surprised stare. "I believe, " she said, "Iwas quite mista'en in my thoughts of you: but there is so mony cheatsgoes about, you mun forgie me. "

"And though, " I continued, rather severely, "you wished to turn me fromthe door, on a night when you should not have shut out a dog. "

"Well, it was hard: but what can a body do? I thought more o' th'childer nor of mysel: poor things! They've like nobody to tak' care on'em but me. I'm like to look sharpish. "

I maintained a grave silence for some minutes. 

"You munnut think too hardly of me, " she again remarked. 

"But I do think hardly of you, " I said; "and I'll tell you why--not somuch because you refused to give me shelter, or regarded me as animpostor, as because you just now made it a species of reproach that Ihad no 'brass' and no house. Some of the best people that ever livedhave been as destitute as I am; and if you are a Christian, you ought notto consider poverty a crime. "

"No more I ought, " said she: "Mr. St. John tells me so too; and I see Iwor wrang--but I've clear a different notion on you now to what I had. You look a raight down dacent little crater. "

"That will do--I forgive you now. Shake hands. "

She put her floury and horny hand into mine; another and heartier smileillumined her rough face, and from that moment we were friends. 

Hannah was evidently fond of talking. While I picked the fruit, and shemade the paste for the pies, she proceeded to give me sundry detailsabout her deceased master and mistress, and "the childer, " as she calledthe young people. 

Old Mr. Rivers, she said, was a plain man enough, but a gentleman, and ofas ancient a family as could be found. Marsh End had belonged to theRivers ever since it was a house: and it was, she affirmed, "aboon twohundred year old--for all it looked but a small, humble place, naught tocompare wi' Mr. Oliver's grand hall down i' Morton Vale. But she couldremember Bill Oliver's father a journeyman needlemaker; and th' Riverswor gentry i' th' owd days o' th' Henrys, as onybody might see by lookinginto th' registers i' Morton Church vestry. " Still, she allowed, "theowd maister was like other folk--naught mich out o' t' common way: starkmad o' shooting, and farming, and sich like. " The mistress wasdifferent. She was a great reader, and studied a deal; and the "bairns"had taken after her. There was nothing like them in these parts, norever had been; they had liked learning, all three, almost from the timethey could speak; and they had always been "of a mak' of their own. " Mr. St. John, when he grew up, would go to college and be a parson; and thegirls, as soon as they left school, would seek places as governesses: forthey had told her their father had some years ago lost a great deal ofmoney by a man he had trusted turning bankrupt; and as he was now notrich enough to give them fortunes, they must provide for themselves. Theyhad lived very little at home for a long while, and were only come now tostay a few weeks on account of their father's death; but they did so likeMarsh End and Morton, and all these moors and hills about. They had beenin London, and many other grand towns; but they always said there was noplace like home; and then they were so agreeable with each other--neverfell out nor "threaped. " She did not know where there was such a familyfor being united. 

Having finished my task of gooseberry picking, I asked where the twoladies and their brother were now. 

"Gone over to Morton for a walk; but they would be back in half-an-hourto tea. "

They returned within the time Hannah had allotted them: they entered bythe kitchen door. Mr. St. John, when he saw me, merely bowed and passedthrough; the two ladies stopped: Mary, in a few words, kindly and calmlyexpressed the pleasure she felt in seeing me well enough to be able tocome down; Diana took my hand: she shook her head at me. 

"You should have waited for my leave to descend, " she said. "You stilllook very pale--and so thin! Poor child!--poor girl!"

Diana had a voice toned, to my ear, like the cooing of a dove. Shepossessed eyes whose gaze I delighted to encounter. Her whole faceseemed to me full of charm. Mary's countenance was equallyintelligent--her features equally pretty; but her expression was morereserved, and her manners, though gentle, more distant. Diana looked andspoke with a certain authority: she had a will, evidently. It was mynature to feel pleasure in yielding to an authority supported like hers, and to bend, where my conscience and self-respect permitted, to an activewill. 

"And what business have you here?" she continued. "It is not your place. Mary and I sit in the kitchen sometimes, because at home we like to befree, even to license--but you are a visitor, and must go into theparlour. "

"I am very well here. "

"Not at all, with Hannah bustling about and covering you with flour. "

"Besides, the fire is too hot for you, " interposed Mary. 

"To be sure, " added her sister. "Come, you must be obedient. " And stillholding my hand she made me rise, and led me into the inner room. 

"Sit there, " she said, placing me on the sofa, "while we take our thingsoff and get the tea ready; it is another privilege we exercise in ourlittle moorland home--to prepare our own meals when we are so inclined, or when Hannah is baking, brewing, washing, or ironing. "

She closed the door, leaving me solus with Mr. St. John, who satopposite, a book or newspaper in his hand. I examined first, theparlour, and then its occupant. 

The parlour was rather a small room, very plainly furnished, yetcomfortable, because clean and neat. The old-fashioned chairs were verybright, and the walnut-wood table was like a looking-glass. A fewstrange, antique portraits of the men and women of other days decoratedthe stained walls; a cupboard with glass doors contained some books andan ancient set of china. There was no superfluous ornament in theroom--not one modern piece of furniture, save a brace of workboxes and alady's desk in rosewood, which stood on a side-table:everything--including the carpet and curtains--looked at once well wornand well saved. 

Mr. St. John--sitting as still as one of the dusty pictures on the walls, keeping his eyes fixed on the page he perused, and his lips mutelysealed--was easy enough to examine. Had he been a statue instead of aman, he could not have been easier. He was young--perhaps from twenty-eight to thirty--tall, slender; his face riveted the eye; it was like aGreek face, very pure in outline: quite a straight, classic nose; quitean Athenian mouth and chin. It is seldom, indeed, an English face comesso near the antique models as did his. He might well be a little shockedat the irregularity of my lineaments, his own being so harmonious. Hiseyes were large and blue, with brown lashes; his high forehead, colourless as ivory, was partially streaked over by careless locks offair hair. 

This is a gentle delineation, is it not, reader? Yet he whom itdescribes scarcely impressed one with the idea of a gentle, a yielding, an impressible, or even of a placid nature. Quiescent as he now sat, there was something about his nostril, his mouth, his brow, which, to myperceptions, indicated elements within either restless, or hard, oreager. He did not speak to me one word, nor even direct to me oneglance, till his sisters returned. Diana, as she passed in and out, inthe course of preparing tea, brought me a little cake, baked on the topof the oven. 

"Eat that now, " she said: "you must be hungry. Hannah says you have hadnothing but some gruel since breakfast. "

I did not refuse it, for my appetite was awakened and keen. Mr. Riversnow closed his book, approached the table, and, as he took a seat, fixedhis blue pictorial-looking eyes full on me. There was an unceremoniousdirectness, a searching, decided steadfastness in his gaze now, whichtold that intention, and not diffidence, had hitherto kept it avertedfrom the stranger. 

"You are very hungry, " he said. 

"I am, sir. " It is my way--it always was my way, by instinct--ever tomeet the brief with brevity, the direct with plainness. 

"It is well for you that a low fever has forced you to abstain for thelast three days: there would have been danger in yielding to the cravingsof your appetite at first. Now you may eat, though still notimmoderately. "

"I trust I shall not eat long at your expense, sir, " was my very clumsily-contrived, unpolished answer. 

"No, " he said coolly: "when you have indicated to us the residence ofyour friends, we can write to them, and you may be restored to home. "

"That, I must plainly tell you, is out of my power to do; beingabsolutely without home and friends. "

The three looked at me, but not distrustfully; I felt there was nosuspicion in their glances: there was more of curiosity. I speakparticularly of the young ladies. St. John's eyes, though clear enoughin a literal sense, in a figurative one were difficult to fathom. Heseemed to use them rather as instruments to search other people'sthoughts, than as agents to reveal his own: the which combination ofkeenness and reserve was considerably more calculated to embarrass thanto encourage. 

"Do you mean to say, " he asked, "that you are completely isolated fromevery connection?"

"I do. Not a tie links me to any living thing: not a claim do I possessto admittance under any roof in England. "

"A most singular position at your age!"

Here I saw his glance directed to my hands, which were folded on thetable before me. I wondered what he sought there: his words soonexplained the quest. 

"You have never been married? You are a spinster?"

Diana laughed. "Why, she can't be above seventeen or eighteen years old, St. John, " said she. 

"I am near nineteen: but I am not married. No. "

I felt a burning glow mount to my face; for bitter and agitatingrecollections were awakened by the allusion to marriage. They all sawthe embarrassment and the emotion. Diana and Mary relieved me by turningtheir eyes elsewhere than to my crimsoned visage; but the colder andsterner brother continued to gaze, till the trouble he had excited forcedout tears as well as colour. 

"Where did you last reside?" he now asked. 

"You are too inquisitive, St. John, " murmured Mary in a low voice; but heleaned over the table and required an answer by a second firm andpiercing look. 

"The name of the place where, and of the person with whom I lived, is mysecret, " I replied concisely. 

"Which, if you like, you have, in my opinion, a right to keep, both fromSt. John and every other questioner, " remarked Diana. 

"Yet if I know nothing about you or your history, I cannot help you, " hesaid. "And you need help, do you not?"

"I need it, and I seek it so far, sir, that some true philanthropist willput me in the way of getting work which I can do, and the remunerationfor which will keep me, if but in the barest necessaries of life. "

"I know not whether I am a true philanthropist; yet I am willing to aidyou to the utmost of my power in a purpose so honest. First, then, tellme what you have been accustomed to do, and what you _can_ do. "

I had now swallowed my tea. I was mightily refreshed by the beverage; asmuch so as a giant with wine: it gave new tone to my unstrung nerves, andenabled me to address this penetrating young judge steadily. 

"Mr. Rivers, " I said, turning to him, and looking at him, as he looked atme, openly and without diffidence, "you and your sisters have done me agreat service--the greatest man can do his fellow-being; you have rescuedme, by your noble hospitality, from death. This benefit conferred givesyou an unlimited claim on my gratitude, and a claim, to a certain extent, on my confidence. I will tell you as much of the history of the wandereryou have harboured, as I can tell without compromising my own peace ofmind--my own security, moral and physical, and that of others. 

"I am an orphan, the daughter of a clergyman. My parents died before Icould know them. I was brought up a dependant; educated in a charitableinstitution. I will even tell you the name of the establishment, where Ipassed six years as a pupil, and two as a teacher--Lowood Orphan Asylum, ---shire: you will have heard of it, Mr. Rivers?--the Rev. RobertBrocklehurst is the treasurer. "

"I have heard of Mr. Brocklehurst, and I have seen the school. "

"I left Lowood nearly a year since to become a private governess. Iobtained a good situation, and was happy. This place I was obliged toleave four days before I came here. The reason of my departure I cannotand ought not to explain: it would be useless, dangerous, and would soundincredible. No blame attached to me: I am as free from culpability asany one of you three. Miserable I am, and must be for a time; for thecatastrophe which drove me from a house I had found a paradise was of astrange and direful nature. I observed but two points in planning mydeparture--speed, secrecy: to secure these, I had to leave behind meeverything I possessed except a small parcel; which, in my hurry andtrouble of mind, I forgot to take out of the coach that brought me toWhitcross. To this neighbourhood, then, I came, quite destitute. Islept two nights in the open air, and wandered about two days withoutcrossing a threshold: but twice in that space of time did I taste food;and it was when brought by hunger, exhaustion, and despair almost to thelast gasp, that you, Mr. Rivers, forbade me to perish of want at yourdoor, and took me under the shelter of your roof. I know all yoursisters have done for me since--for I have not been insensible during myseeming torpor--and I owe to their spontaneous, genuine, genialcompassion as large a debt as to your evangelical charity. "

"Don't make her talk any more now, St. John, " said Diana, as I paused;"she is evidently not yet fit for excitement. Come to the sofa and sitdown now, Miss Elliott. "

I gave an involuntary half start at hearing the _alias_: I had forgottenmy new name. Mr. Rivers, whom nothing seemed to escape, noticed it atonce. 

"You said your name was Jane Elliott?" he observed. 

"I did say so; and it is the name by which I think it expedient to becalled at present, but it is not my real name, and when I hear it, itsounds strange to me. "

"Your real name you will not give?"

"No: I fear discovery above all things; and whatever disclosure wouldlead to it, I avoid. "

"You are quite right, I am sure, " said Diana. "Now do, brother, let herbe at peace a while. "

But when St. John had mused a few moments he recommenced as imperturbablyand with as much acumen as ever. 

"You would not like to be long dependent on our hospitality--you wouldwish, I see, to dispense as soon as may be with my sisters' compassion, and, above all, with my _charity_ (I am quite sensible of the distinctiondrawn, nor do I resent it--it is just): you desire to be independent ofus?"

"I do: I have already said so. Show me how to work, or how to seek work:that is all I now ask; then let me go, if it be but to the meanestcottage; but till then, allow me to stay here: I dread another essay ofthe horrors of homeless destitution. "

"Indeed you _shall_ stay here, " said Diana, putting her white hand on myhead. "You _shall_, " repeated Mary, in the tone of undemonstrativesincerity which seemed natural to her. 

"My sisters, you see, have a pleasure in keeping you, " said Mr. St. John, "as they would have a pleasure in keeping and cherishing a half-frozenbird, some wintry wind might have driven through their casement. I feelmore inclination to put you in the way of keeping yourself, and shallendeavour to do so; but observe, my sphere is narrow. I am but theincumbent of a poor country parish: my aid must be of the humblest sort. And if you are inclined to despise the day of small things, seek somemore efficient succour than such as I can offer. "

"She has already said that she is willing to do anything honest she cando, " answered Diana for me; "and you know, St. John, she has no choice ofhelpers: she is forced to put up with such crusty people as you. "

"I will be a dressmaker; I will be a plain-workwoman; I will be aservant, a nurse-girl, if I can be no better, " I answered. 

"Right, " said Mr. St. John, quite coolly. "If such is your spirit, Ipromise to aid you, in my own time and way. "

He now resumed the book with which he had been occupied before tea. Isoon withdrew, for I had talked as much, and sat up as long, as mypresent strength would permit. 

CHAPTER XXX

The more I knew of the inmates of Moor House, the better I liked them. Ina few days I had so far recovered my health that I could sit up all day, and walk out sometimes. I could join with Diana and Mary in all theiroccupations; converse with them as much as they wished, and aid them whenand where they would allow me. There was a reviving pleasure in thisintercourse, of a kind now tasted by me for the first time--the pleasurearising from perfect congeniality of tastes, sentiments, and principles. 

I liked to read what they liked to read: what they enjoyed, delighted me;what they approved, I reverenced. They loved their sequestered home. I, too, in the grey, small, antique structure, with its low roof, itslatticed casements, its mouldering walls, its avenue of aged firs--allgrown aslant under the stress of mountain winds; its garden, dark withyew and holly--and where no flowers but of the hardiest species wouldbloom--found a charm both potent and permanent. They clung to the purplemoors behind and around their dwelling--to the hollow vale into which thepebbly bridle-path leading from their gate descended, and which woundbetween fern-banks first, and then amongst a few of the wildest littlepasture-fields that ever bordered a wilderness of heath, or gavesustenance to a flock of grey moorland sheep, with their little mossy-faced lambs:--they clung to this scene, I say, with a perfect enthusiasmof attachment. I could comprehend the feeling, and share both itsstrength and truth. I saw the fascination of the locality. I felt theconsecration of its loneliness: my eye feasted on the outline of swelland sweep--on the wild colouring communicated to ridge and dell by moss, by heath-bell, by flower-sprinkled turf, by brilliant bracken, and mellowgranite crag. These details were just to me what they were to them--somany pure and sweet sources of pleasure. The strong blast and the softbreeze; the rough and the halcyon day; the hours of sunrise and sunset;the moonlight and the clouded night, developed for me, in these regions, the same attraction as for them--wound round my faculties the same spellthat entranced theirs. 

Indoors we agreed equally well. They were both more accomplished andbetter read than I was; but with eagerness I followed in the path ofknowledge they had trodden before me. I devoured the books they lent me:then it was full satisfaction to discuss with them in the evening what Ihad perused during the day. Thought fitted thought; opinion met opinion:we coincided, in short, perfectly. 

If in our trio there was a superior and a leader, it was Diana. Physically, she far excelled me: she was handsome; she was vigorous. Inher animal spirits there was an affluence of life and certainty of flow, such as excited my wonder, while it baffled my comprehension. I couldtalk a while when the evening commenced, but the first gush of vivacityand fluency gone, I was fain to sit on a stool at Diana's feet, to restmy head on her knee, and listen alternately to her and Mary, while theysounded thoroughly the topic on which I had but touched. Diana offeredto teach me German. I liked to learn of her: I saw the part ofinstructress pleased and suited her; that of scholar pleased and suitedme no less. Our natures dovetailed: mutual affection--of the strongestkind--was the result. They discovered I could draw: their pencils andcolour-boxes were immediately at my service. My skill, greater in thisone point than theirs, surprised and charmed them. Mary would sit andwatch me by the hour together: then she would take lessons; and a docile, intelligent, assiduous pupil she made. Thus occupied, and mutuallyentertained, days passed like hours, and weeks like days. 

As to Mr. St John, the intimacy which had arisen so naturally and rapidlybetween me and his sisters did not extend to him. One reason of thedistance yet observed between us was, that he was comparatively seldom athome: a large proportion of his time appeared devoted to visiting thesick and poor among the scattered population of his parish. 

No weather seemed to hinder him in these pastoral excursions: rain orfair, he would, when his hours of morning study were over, take his hat, and, followed by his father's old pointer, Carlo, go out on his missionof love or duty--I scarcely know in which light he regarded it. Sometimes, when the day was very unfavourable, his sisters wouldexpostulate. He would then say, with a peculiar smile, more solemn thancheerful--

"And if I let a gust of wind or a sprinkling of rain turn me aside fromthese easy tasks, what preparation would such sloth be for the future Ipropose to myself?"

Diana and Mary's general answer to this question was a sigh, and someminutes of apparently mournful meditation. 

But besides his frequent absences, there was another barrier tofriendship with him: he seemed of a reserved, an abstracted, and even ofa brooding nature. Zealous in his ministerial labours, blameless in hislife and habits, he yet did not appear to enjoy that mental serenity, that inward content, which should be the reward of every sincereChristian and practical philanthropist. Often, of an evening, when hesat at the window, his desk and papers before him, he would cease readingor writing, rest his chin on his hand, and deliver himself up to I knownot what course of thought; but that it was perturbed and exciting mightbe seen in the frequent flash and changeful dilation of his eye. 

I think, moreover, that Nature was not to him that treasury of delight itwas to his sisters. He expressed once, and but once in my hearing, astrong sense of the rugged charm of the hills, and an inborn affectionfor the dark roof and hoary walls he called his home; but there was moreof gloom than pleasure in the tone and words in which the sentiment wasmanifested; and never did he seem to roam the moors for the sake of theirsoothing silence--never seek out or dwell upon the thousand peacefuldelights they could yield. 

Incommunicative as he was, some time elapsed before I had an opportunityof gauging his mind. I first got an idea of its calibre when I heard himpreach in his own church at Morton. I wish I could describe that sermon:but it is past my power. I cannot even render faithfully the effect itproduced on me. 

It began calm--and indeed, as far as delivery and pitch of voice went, itwas calm to the end: an earnestly felt, yet strictly restrained zealbreathed soon in the distinct accents, and prompted the nervous language. This grew to force--compressed, condensed, controlled. The heart wasthrilled, the mind astonished, by the power of the preacher: neither weresoftened. Throughout there was a strange bitterness; an absence ofconsolatory gentleness; stern allusions to Calvinisticdoctrines--election, predestination, reprobation--were frequent; and eachreference to these points sounded like a sentence pronounced for doom. When he had done, instead of feeling better, calmer, more enlightened byhis discourse, I experienced an inexpressible sadness; for it seemed tome--I know not whether equally so to others--that the eloquence to whichI had been listening had sprung from a depth where lay turbid dregs ofdisappointment--where moved troubling impulses of insatiate yearnings anddisquieting aspirations. I was sure St. John Rivers--pure-lived, conscientious, zealous as he was--had not yet found that peace of Godwhich passeth all understanding: he had no more found it, I thought, thanhad I with my concealed and racking regrets for my broken idol and lostelysium--regrets to which I have latterly avoided referring, but whichpossessed me and tyrannised over me ruthlessly. 

Meantime a month was gone. Diana and Mary were soon to leave Moor House, and return to the far different life and scene which awaited them, asgovernesses in a large, fashionable, south-of-England city, where eachheld a situation in families by whose wealthy and haughty members theywere regarded only as humble dependants, and who neither knew nor soughtout their innate excellences, and appreciated only their acquiredaccomplishments as they appreciated the skill of their cook or the tasteof their waiting-woman. Mr. St. John had said nothing to me yet aboutthe employment he had promised to obtain for me; yet it became urgentthat I should have a vocation of some kind. One morning, being leftalone with him a few minutes in the parlour, I ventured to approach thewindow-recess--which his table, chair, and desk consecrated as a kind ofstudy--and I was going to speak, though not very well knowing in whatwords to frame my inquiry--for it is at all times difficult to break theice of reserve glassing over such natures as his--when he saved me thetrouble by being the first to commence a dialogue. 

Looking up as I drew near--"You have a question to ask of me?" he said. 

"Yes; I wish to know whether you have heard of any service I can offermyself to undertake?"

"I found or devised something for you three weeks ago; but as you seemedboth useful and happy here--as my sisters had evidently become attachedto you, and your society gave them unusual pleasure--I deemed itinexpedient to break in on your mutual comfort till their approachingdeparture from Marsh End should render yours necessary. "

"And they will go in three days now?" I said. 

"Yes; and when they go, I shall return to the parsonage at Morton: Hannahwill accompany me; and this old house will be shut up. "

I waited a few moments, expecting he would go on with the subject firstbroached: but he seemed to have entered another train of reflection: hislook denoted abstraction from me and my business. I was obliged torecall him to a theme which was of necessity one of close and anxiousinterest to me. 

"What is the employment you had in view, Mr. Rivers? I hope this delaywill not have increased the difficulty of securing it. "

"Oh, no; since it is an employment which depends only on me to give, andyou to accept. "

He again paused: there seemed a reluctance to continue. I grewimpatient: a restless movement or two, and an eager and exacting glancefastened on his face, conveyed the feeling to him as effectually as wordscould have done, and with less trouble. 

"You need be in no hurry to hear, " he said: "let me frankly tell you, Ihave nothing eligible or profitable to suggest. Before I explain, recall, if you please, my notice, clearly given, that if I helped you, itmust be as the blind man would help the lame. I am poor; for I findthat, when I have paid my father's debts, all the patrimony remaining tome will be this crumbling grange, the row of scathed firs behind, and thepatch of moorish soil, with the yew-trees and holly-bushes in front. Iam obscure: Rivers is an old name; but of the three sole descendants ofthe race, two earn the dependant's crust among strangers, and the thirdconsiders himself an alien from his native country--not only for life, but in death. Yes, and deems, and is bound to deem, himself honoured bythe lot, and aspires but after the day when the cross of separation fromfleshly ties shall be laid on his shoulders, and when the Head of thatchurch-militant of whose humblest members he is one, shall give the word, 'Rise, follow Me!'"

St. John said these words as he pronounced his sermons, with a quiet, deep voice; with an unflushed cheek, and a coruscating radiance ofglance. He resumed--

"And since I am myself poor and obscure, I can offer you but a service ofpoverty and obscurity. _You_ may even think it degrading--for I see nowyour habits have been what the world calls refined: your tastes lean tothe ideal, and your society has at least been amongst the educated; but_I_ consider that no service degrades which can better our race. I holdthat the more arid and unreclaimed the soil where the Christianlabourer's task of tillage is appointed him--the scantier the meed histoil brings--the higher the honour. His, under such circumstances, isthe destiny of the pioneer; and the first pioneers of the Gospel were theApostles--their captain was Jesus, the Redeemer, Himself. "

"Well?" I said, as he again paused--"proceed. "

He looked at me before he proceeded: indeed, he seemed leisurely to readmy face, as if its features and lines were characters on a page. Theconclusions drawn from this scrutiny he partially expressed in hissucceeding observations. 

"I believe you will accept the post I offer you, " said he, "and hold itfor a while: not permanently, though: any more than I could permanentlykeep the narrow and narrowing--the tranquil, hidden office of Englishcountry incumbent; for in your nature is an alloy as detrimental torepose as that in mine, though of a different kind. "

"Do explain, " I urged, when he halted once more. 

"I will; and you shall hear how poor the proposal is, --how trivial--howcramping. I shall not stay long at Morton, now that my father is dead, and that I am my own master. I shall leave the place probably in thecourse of a twelve-month; but while I do stay, I will exert myself to theutmost for its improvement. Morton, when I came to it two years ago, hadno school: the children of the poor were excluded from every hope ofprogress. I established one for boys: I mean now to open a second schoolfor girls. I have hired a building for the purpose, with a cottage oftwo rooms attached to it for the mistress's house. Her salary will bethirty pounds a year: her house is already furnished, very simply, butsufficiently, by the kindness of a lady, Miss Oliver; the only daughterof the sole rich man in my parish--Mr. Oliver, the proprietor of a needle-factory and iron-foundry in the valley. The same lady pays for theeducation and clothing of an orphan from the workhouse, on condition thatshe shall aid the mistress in such menial offices connected with her ownhouse and the school as her occupation of teaching will prevent herhaving time to discharge in person. Will you be this mistress?"

He put the question rather hurriedly; he seemed half to expect anindignant, or at least a disdainful rejection of the offer: not knowingall my thoughts and feelings, though guessing some, he could not tell inwhat light the lot would appear to me. In truth it was humble--but thenit was sheltered, and I wanted a safe asylum: it was plodding--but then, compared with that of a governess in a rich house, it was independent;and the fear of servitude with strangers entered my soul like iron: itwas not ignoble--not unworthy--not mentally degrading, I made mydecision. 

"I thank you for the proposal, Mr. Rivers, and I accept it with all myheart. "

"But you comprehend me?" he said. "It is a village school: your scholarswill be only poor girls--cottagers' children--at the best, farmers'daughters. Knitting, sewing, reading, writing, ciphering, will be allyou will have to teach. What will you do with your accomplishments?What, with the largest portion of your mind--sentiments--tastes?"

"Save them till they are wanted. They will keep. "

"You know what you undertake, then?"

"I do. "

He now smiled: and not a bitter or a sad smile, but one well pleased anddeeply gratified. 

"And when will you commence the exercise of your function?"

"I will go to my house to-morrow, and open the school, if you like, nextweek. "

"Very well: so be it. "

He rose and walked through the room. Standing still, he again looked atme. He shook his head. 

"What do you disapprove of, Mr. Rivers?" I asked. 

"You will not stay at Morton long: no, no!"

"Why? What is your reason for saying so?"

"I read it in your eye; it is not of that description which promises themaintenance of an even tenor in life. "

"I am not ambitious. "

He started at the word "ambitious. " He repeated, "No. What made youthink of ambition? Who is ambitious? I know I am: but how did you findit out?"

"I was speaking of myself. "

"Well, if you are not ambitious, you are--" He paused. 

"What?"

"I was going to say, impassioned: but perhaps you would havemisunderstood the word, and been displeased. I mean, that humanaffections and sympathies have a most powerful hold on you. I am sureyou cannot long be content to pass your leisure in solitude, and todevote your working hours to a monotonous labour wholly void of stimulus:any more than I can be content, " he added, with emphasis, "to live hereburied in morass, pent in with mountains--my nature, that God gave me, contravened; my faculties, heaven-bestowed, paralysed--made useless. Youhear now how I contradict myself. I, who preached contentment with ahumble lot, and justified the vocation even of hewers of wood and drawersof water in God's service--I, His ordained minister, almost rave in myrestlessness. Well, propensities and principles must be reconciled bysome means. "

He left the room. In this brief hour I had learnt more of him than inthe whole previous month: yet still he puzzled me. 

Diana and Mary Rivers became more sad and silent as the day approachedfor leaving their brother and their home. They both tried to appear asusual; but the sorrow they had to struggle against was one that could notbe entirely conquered or concealed. Diana intimated that this would be adifferent parting from any they had ever yet known. It would probably, as far as St. John was concerned, be a parting for years: it might be aparting for life. 

"He will sacrifice all to his long-framed resolves, " she said: "naturalaffection and feelings more potent still. St. John looks quiet, Jane;but he hides a fever in his vitals. You would think him gentle, yet insome things he is inexorable as death; and the worst of it is, myconscience will hardly permit me to dissuade him from his severedecision: certainly, I cannot for a moment blame him for it. It isright, noble, Christian: yet it breaks my heart!" And the tears gushedto her fine eyes. Mary bent her head low over her work. 

"We are now without father: we shall soon be without home and brother, "she murmured. 

At that moment a little accident supervened, which seemed decreed by fatepurposely to prove the truth of the adage, that "misfortunes never comesingly, " and to add to their distresses the vexing one of the slipbetween the cup and the lip. St. John passed the window reading aletter. He entered. 

"Our uncle John is dead, " said he. 

Both the sisters seemed struck: not shocked or appalled; the tidingsappeared in their eyes rather momentous than afflicting. 

"Dead?" repeated Diana. 

"Yes. "

She riveted a searching gaze on her brother's face. "And what then?" shedemanded, in a low voice. 

"What then, Die?" he replied, maintaining a marble immobility of feature. "What then? Why--nothing. Read. "

He threw the letter into her lap. She glanced over it, and handed it toMary. Mary perused it in silence, and returned it to her brother. Allthree looked at each other, and all three smiled--a dreary, pensive smileenough. 

"Amen! We can yet live, " said Diana at last. 

"At any rate, it makes us no worse off than we were before, " remarkedMary. 

"Only it forces rather strongly on the mind the picture of what _mighthave been_, " said Mr. Rivers, "and contrasts it somewhat too vividly withwhat _is_. "

He folded the letter, locked it in his desk, and again went out. 

For some minutes no one spoke. Diana then turned to me. 

"Jane, you will wonder at us and our mysteries, " she said, "and think ushard-hearted beings not to be more moved at the death of so near arelation as an uncle; but we have never seen him or known him. He was mymother's brother. My father and he quarrelled long ago. It was by hisadvice that my father risked most of his property in the speculation thatruined him. Mutual recrimination passed between them: they parted inanger, and were never reconciled. My uncle engaged afterwards in moreprosperous undertakings: it appears he realised a fortune of twentythousand pounds. He was never married, and had no near kindred butourselves and one other person, not more closely related than we. Myfather always cherished the idea that he would atone for his error byleaving his possessions to us; that letter informs us that he hasbequeathed every penny to the other relation, with the exception ofthirty guineas, to be divided between St. John, Diana, and Mary Rivers, for the purchase of three mourning rings. He had a right, of course, todo as he pleased: and yet a momentary damp is cast on the spirits by thereceipt of such news. Mary and I would have esteemed ourselves rich witha thousand pounds each; and to St. John such a sum would have beenvaluable, for the good it would have enabled him to do. "

This explanation given, the subject was dropped, and no further referencemade to it by either Mr. Rivers or his sisters. The next day I leftMarsh End for Morton. The day after, Diana and Mary quitted it fordistant B-. In a week, Mr. Rivers and Hannah repaired to the parsonage:and so the old grange was abandoned. 

CHAPTER XXXI

My home, then, when I at last find a home, --is a cottage; a little roomwith whitewashed walls and a sanded floor, containing four painted chairsand a table, a clock, a cupboard, with two or three plates and dishes, and a set of tea-things in delf. Above, a chamber of the same dimensionsas the kitchen, with a deal bedstead and chest of drawers; small, yet toolarge to be filled with my scanty wardrobe: though the kindness of mygentle and generous friends has increased that, by a modest stock of suchthings as are necessary. 

It is evening. I have dismissed, with the fee of an orange, the littleorphan who serves me as a handmaid. I am sitting alone on the hearth. This morning, the village school opened. I had twenty scholars. Butthree of the number can read: none write or cipher. Several knit, and afew sew a little. They speak with the broadest accent of the district. At present, they and I have a difficulty in understanding each other'slanguage. Some of them are unmannered, rough, intractable, as well asignorant; but others are docile, have a wish to learn, and evince adisposition that pleases me. I must not forget that these coarsely-cladlittle peasants are of flesh and blood as good as the scions of gentlestgenealogy; and that the germs of native excellence, refinement, intelligence, kind feeling, are as likely to exist in their hearts as inthose of the best-born. My duty will be to develop these germs: surely Ishall find some happiness in discharging that office. Much enjoyment Ido not expect in the life opening before me: yet it will, doubtless, if Iregulate my mind, and exert my powers as I ought, yield me enough to liveon from day to day. 

Was I very gleeful, settled, content, during the hours I passed in yonderbare, humble schoolroom this morning and afternoon? Not to deceivemyself, I must reply--No: I felt desolate to a degree. I felt--yes, idiot that I am--I felt degraded. I doubted I had taken a step whichsank instead of raising me in the scale of social existence. I wasweakly dismayed at the ignorance, the poverty, the coarseness of all Iheard and saw round me. But let me not hate and despise myself too muchfor these feelings; I know them to be wrong--that is a great step gained;I shall strive to overcome them. To-morrow, I trust, I shall get thebetter of them partially; and in a few weeks, perhaps, they will be quitesubdued. In a few months, it is possible, the happiness of seeingprogress, and a change for the better in my scholars may substitutegratification for disgust. 

Meantime, let me ask myself one question--Which is better?--To havesurrendered to temptation; listened to passion; made no painful effort--nostruggle;--but to have sunk down in the silken snare; fallen asleep onthe flowers covering it; wakened in a southern clime, amongst theluxuries of a pleasure villa: to have been now living in France, Mr. Rochester's mistress; delirious with his love half my time--for hewould--oh, yes, he would have loved me well for a while. He _did_ loveme--no one will ever love me so again. I shall never more know the sweethomage given to beauty, youth, and grace--for never to any one else shallI seem to possess these charms. He was fond and proud of me--it is whatno man besides will ever be. --But where am I wandering, and what am Isaying, and above all, feeling? Whether is it better, I ask, to be aslave in a fool's paradise at Marseilles--fevered with delusive bliss onehour--suffocating with the bitterest tears of remorse and shame thenext--or to be a village-schoolmistress, free and honest, in a breezymountain nook in the healthy heart of England?

Yes; I feel now that I was right when I adhered to principle and law, andscorned and crushed the insane promptings of a frenzied moment. Goddirected me to a correct choice: I thank His providence for the guidance!

Having brought my eventide musings to this point, I rose, went to mydoor, and looked at the sunset of the harvest-day, and at the quietfields before my cottage, which, with the school, was distant half a milefrom the village. The birds were singing their last strains--

 "The air was mild, the dew was balm. "

While I looked, I thought myself happy, and was surprised to find myselfere long weeping--and why? For the doom which had reft me from adhesionto my master: for him I was no more to see; for the desperate grief andfatal fury--consequences of my departure--which might now, perhaps, bedragging him from the path of right, too far to leave hope of ultimaterestoration thither. At this thought, I turned my face aside from thelovely sky of eve and lonely vale of Morton--I say _lonely_, for in thatbend of it visible to me there was no building apparent save the churchand the parsonage, half-hid in trees, and, quite at the extremity, theroof of Vale Hall, where the rich Mr. Oliver and his daughter lived. Ihid my eyes, and leant my head against the stone frame of my door; butsoon a slight noise near the wicket which shut in my tiny garden from themeadow beyond it made me look up. A dog--old Carlo, Mr. Rivers' pointer, as I saw in a moment--was pushing the gate with his nose, and St. Johnhimself leant upon it with folded arms; his brow knit, his gaze, gravealmost to displeasure, fixed on me. I asked him to come in. 

"No, I cannot stay; I have only brought you a little parcel my sistersleft for you. I think it contains a colour-box, pencils, and paper. "

I approached to take it: a welcome gift it was. He examined my face, Ithought, with austerity, as I came near: the traces of tears weredoubtless very visible upon it. 

"Have you found your first day's work harder than you expected?" heasked. 

"Oh, no! On the contrary, I think in time I shall get on with myscholars very well. "

"But perhaps your accommodations--your cottage--your furniture--havedisappointed your expectations? They are, in truth, scanty enough; but--"I interrupted--

"My cottage is clean and weather-proof; my furniture sufficient andcommodious. All I see has made me thankful, not despondent. I am notabsolutely such a fool and sensualist as to regret the absence of acarpet, a sofa, and silver plate; besides, five weeks ago I had nothing--Iwas an outcast, a beggar, a vagrant; now I have acquaintance, a home, abusiness. I wonder at the goodness of God; the generosity of my friends;the bounty of my lot. I do not repine. "

"But you feel solitude an oppression? The little house there behind youis dark and empty. "

"I have hardly had time yet to enjoy a sense of tranquillity, much lessto grow impatient under one of loneliness. "

"Very well; I hope you feel the content you express: at any rate, yourgood sense will tell you that it is too soon yet to yield to thevacillating fears of Lot's wife. What you had left before I saw you, ofcourse I do not know; but I counsel you to resist firmly every temptationwhich would incline you to look back: pursue your present careersteadily, for some months at least. "

"It is what I mean to do, " I answered. St. John continued--

"It is hard work to control the workings of inclination and turn the bentof nature; but that it may be done, I know from experience. God hasgiven us, in a measure, the power to make our own fate; and when ourenergies seem to demand a sustenance they cannot get--when our willstrains after a path we may not follow--we need neither starve frominanition, nor stand still in despair: we have but to seek anothernourishment for the mind, as strong as the forbidden food it longed totaste--and perhaps purer; and to hew out for the adventurous foot a roadas direct and broad as the one Fortune has blocked up against us, ifrougher than it. 

"A year ago I was myself intensely miserable, because I thought I hadmade a mistake in entering the ministry: its uniform duties wearied me todeath. I burnt for the more active life of the world--for the moreexciting toils of a literary career--for the destiny of an artist, author, orator; anything rather than that of a priest: yes, the heart ofa politician, of a soldier, of a votary of glory, a lover of renown, aluster after power, beat under my curate's surplice. I considered; mylife was so wretched, it must be changed, or I must die. After a seasonof darkness and struggling, light broke and relief fell: my crampedexistence all at once spread out to a plain without bounds--my powersheard a call from heaven to rise, gather their full strength, spreadtheir wings, and mount beyond ken. God had an errand for me; to bearwhich afar, to deliver it well, skill and strength, courage andeloquence, the best qualifications of soldier, statesman, and orator, were all needed: for these all centre in the good missionary. 

"A missionary I resolved to be. From that moment my state of mindchanged; the fetters dissolved and dropped from every faculty, leavingnothing of bondage but its galling soreness--which time only can heal. Myfather, indeed, imposed the determination, but since his death, I havenot a legitimate obstacle to contend with; some affairs settled, asuccessor for Morton provided, an entanglement or two of the feelingsbroken through or cut asunder--a last conflict with human weakness, inwhich I know I shall overcome, because I have vowed that I _will_overcome--and I leave Europe for the East. "

He said this, in his peculiar, subdued, yet emphatic voice; looking, whenhe had ceased speaking, not at me, but at the setting sun, at which Ilooked too. Both he and I had our backs towards the path leading up thefield to the wicket. We had heard no step on that grass-grown track; thewater running in the vale was the one lulling sound of the hour andscene; we might well then start when a gay voice, sweet as a silver bell, exclaimed--

"Good evening, Mr. Rivers. And good evening, old Carlo. Your dog isquicker to recognise his friends than you are, sir; he pricked his earsand wagged his tail when I was at the bottom of the field, and you haveyour back towards me now. "

It was true. Though Mr. Rivers had started at the first of those musicalaccents, as if a thunderbolt had split a cloud over his head, he stoodyet, at the close of the sentence, in the same attitude in which thespeaker had surprised him--his arm resting on the gate, his face directedtowards the west. He turned at last, with measured deliberation. Avision, as it seemed to me, had risen at his side. There appeared, within three feet of him, a form clad in pure white--a youthful, gracefulform: full, yet fine in contour; and when, after bending to caress Carlo, it lifted up its head, and threw back a long veil, there bloomed underhis glance a face of perfect beauty. Perfect beauty is a strongexpression; but I do not retrace or qualify it: as sweet features as everthe temperate clime of Albion moulded; as pure hues of rose and lily asever her humid gales and vapoury skies generated and screened, justified, in this instance, the term. No charm was wanting, no defect wasperceptible; the young girl had regular and delicate lineaments; eyesshaped and coloured as we see them in lovely pictures, large, and dark, and full; the long and shadowy eyelash which encircles a fine eye with sosoft a fascination; the pencilled brow which gives such clearness; thewhite smooth forehead, which adds such repose to the livelier beauties oftint and ray; the cheek oval, fresh, and smooth; the lips, fresh too, ruddy, healthy, sweetly formed; the even and gleaming teeth without flaw;the small dimpled chin; the ornament of rich, plenteous tresses--alladvantages, in short, which, combined, realise the ideal of beauty, werefully hers. I wondered, as I looked at this fair creature: I admired herwith my whole heart. Nature had surely formed her in a partial mood;and, forgetting her usual stinted step-mother dole of gifts, had endowedthis, her darling, with a grand-dame's bounty. 

What did St. John Rivers think of this earthly angel? I naturally askedmyself that question as I saw him turn to her and look at her; and, asnaturally, I sought the answer to the inquiry in his countenance. He hadalready withdrawn his eye from the Peri, and was looking at a humble tuftof daisies which grew by the wicket. 

"A lovely evening, but late for you to be out alone, " he said, as hecrushed the snowy heads of the closed flowers with his foot. 

"Oh, I only came home from S-" (she mentioned the name of a large townsome twenty miles distant) "this afternoon. Papa told me you had openedyour school, and that the new mistress was come; and so I put on mybonnet after tea, and ran up the valley to see her: this is she?"pointing to me. 

"It is, " said St. John. 

"Do you think you shall like Morton?" she asked of me, with a direct andnaive simplicity of tone and manner, pleasing, if child-like. 

"I hope I shall. I have many inducements to do so. "

"Did you find your scholars as attentive as you expected?"

"Quite. "

"Do you like your house?"

"Very much. "

"Have I furnished it nicely?"

"Very nicely, indeed. "

"And made a good choice of an attendant for you in Alice Wood?"

"You have indeed. She is teachable and handy. " (This then, I thought, is Miss Oliver, the heiress; favoured, it seems, in the gifts of fortune, as well as in those of nature! What happy combination of the planetspresided over her birth, I wonder?)

"I shall come up and help you to teach sometimes, " she added. "It willbe a change for me to visit you now and then; and I like a change. Mr. Rivers, I have been _so_ gay during my stay at S-. Last night, or ratherthis morning, I was dancing till two o'clock. The ---th regiment arestationed there since the riots; and the officers are the most agreeablemen in the world: they put all our young knife-grinders and scissormerchants to shame. "

It seemed to me that Mr. St. John's under lip protruded, and his upperlip curled a moment. His mouth certainly looked a good deal compressed, and the lower part of his face unusually stern and square, as thelaughing girl gave him this information. He lifted his gaze, too, fromthe daisies, and turned it on her. An unsmiling, a searching, a meaninggaze it was. She answered it with a second laugh, and laughter wellbecame her youth, her roses, her dimples, her bright eyes. 

As he stood, mute and grave, she again fell to caressing Carlo. "PoorCarlo loves me, " said she. "_He_ is not stern and distant to hisfriends; and if he could speak, he would not be silent. "

As she patted the dog's head, bending with native grace before his youngand austere master, I saw a glow rise to that master's face. I saw hissolemn eye melt with sudden fire, and flicker with resistless emotion. Flushed and kindled thus, he looked nearly as beautiful for a man as shefor a woman. His chest heaved once, as if his large heart, weary ofdespotic constriction, had expanded, despite the will, and made avigorous bound for the attainment of liberty. But he curbed it, I think, as a resolute rider would curb a rearing steed. He responded neither byword nor movement to the gentle advances made him. 

"Papa says you never come to see us now, " continued Miss Oliver, lookingup. "You are quite a stranger at Vale Hall. He is alone this evening, and not very well: will you return with me and visit him?"

"It is not a seasonable hour to intrude on Mr. Oliver, " answered St. John. 

"Not a seasonable hour! But I declare it is. It is just the hour whenpapa most wants company: when the works are closed and he has no businessto occupy him. Now, Mr. Rivers, _do_ come. Why are you so very shy, andso very sombre?" She filled up the hiatus his silence left by a reply ofher own. 

"I forgot!" she exclaimed, shaking her beautiful curled head, as ifshocked at herself. "I am so giddy and thoughtless! _Do_ excuse me. Ithad slipped my memory that you have good reasons to be indisposed forjoining in my chatter. Diana and Mary have left you, and Moor House isshut up, and you are so lonely. I am sure I pity you. Do come and seepapa. "

"Not to-night, Miss Rosamond, not to-night. "

Mr. St. John spoke almost like an automaton: himself only knew the effortit cost him thus to refuse. 

"Well, if you are so obstinate, I will leave you; for I dare not stay anylonger: the dew begins to fall. Good evening!"

She held out her hand. He just touched it. "Good evening!" he repeated, in a voice low and hollow as an echo. She turned, but in a momentreturned. 

"Are you well?" she asked. Well might she put the question: his face wasblanched as her gown. 

"Quite well, " he enunciated; and, with a bow, he left the gate. She wentone way; he another. She turned twice to gaze after him as she trippedfairy-like down the field; he, as he strode firmly across, never turnedat all. 

This spectacle of another's suffering and sacrifice rapt my thoughts fromexclusive meditation on my own. Diana Rivers had designated her brother"inexorable as death. " She had not exaggerated. 

CHAPTER XXXII

I continued the labours of the village-school as actively and faithfullyas I could. It was truly hard work at first. Some time elapsed before, with all my efforts, I could comprehend my scholars and their nature. Wholly untaught, with faculties quite torpid, they seemed to mehopelessly dull; and, at first sight, all dull alike: but I soon found Iwas mistaken. There was a difference amongst them as amongst theeducated; and when I got to know them, and they me, this differencerapidly developed itself. Their amazement at me, my language, my rules, and ways, once subsided, I found some of these heavy-looking, gapingrustics wake up into sharp-witted girls enough. Many showed themselvesobliging, and amiable too; and I discovered amongst them not a fewexamples of natural politeness, and innate self-respect, as well as ofexcellent capacity, that won both my goodwill and my admiration. Thesesoon took a pleasure in doing their work well, in keeping their personsneat, in learning their tasks regularly, in acquiring quiet and orderlymanners. The rapidity of their progress, in some instances, was evensurprising; and an honest and happy pride I took in it: besides, I beganpersonally to like some of the best girls; and they liked me. I hadamongst my scholars several farmers' daughters: young women grown, almost. These could already read, write, and sew; and to them I taughtthe elements of grammar, geography, history, and the finer kinds ofneedlework. I found estimable characters amongst them--charactersdesirous of information and disposed for improvement--with whom I passedmany a pleasant evening hour in their own homes. Their parents then (thefarmer and his wife) loaded me with attentions. There was an enjoymentin accepting their simple kindness, and in repaying it by aconsideration--a scrupulous regard to their feelings--to which they werenot, perhaps, at all times accustomed, and which both charmed andbenefited them; because, while it elevated them in their own eyes, itmade them emulous to merit the deferential treatment they received. 

I felt I became a favourite in the neighbourhood. Whenever I went out, Iheard on all sides cordial salutations, and was welcomed with friendlysmiles. To live amidst general regard, though it be but the regard ofworking people, is like "sitting in sunshine, calm and sweet;" sereneinward feelings bud and bloom under the ray. At this period of my life, my heart far oftener swelled with thankfulness than sank with dejection:and yet, reader, to tell you all, in the midst of this calm, this usefulexistence--after a day passed in honourable exertion amongst my scholars, an evening spent in drawing or reading contentedly alone--I used to rushinto strange dreams at night: dreams many-coloured, agitated, full of theideal, the stirring, the stormy--dreams where, amidst unusual scenes, charged with adventure, with agitating risk and romantic chance, I stillagain and again met Mr. Rochester, always at some exciting crisis; andthen the sense of being in his arms, hearing his voice, meeting his eye, touching his hand and cheek, loving him, being loved by him--the hope ofpassing a lifetime at his side, would be renewed, with all its firstforce and fire. Then I awoke. Then I recalled where I was, and howsituated. Then I rose up on my curtainless bed, trembling and quivering;and then the still, dark night witnessed the convulsion of despair, andheard the burst of passion. By nine o'clock the next morning I waspunctually opening the school; tranquil, settled, prepared for the steadyduties of the day. 

Rosamond Oliver kept her word in coming to visit me. Her call at theschool was generally made in the course of her morning ride. She wouldcanter up to the door on her pony, followed by a mounted livery servant. Anything more exquisite than her appearance, in her purple habit, withher Amazon's cap of black velvet placed gracefully above the long curlsthat kissed her cheek and floated to her shoulders, can scarcely beimagined: and it was thus she would enter the rustic building, and glidethrough the dazzled ranks of the village children. She generally came atthe hour when Mr. Rivers was engaged in giving his daily catechisinglesson. Keenly, I fear, did the eye of the visitress pierce the youngpastor's heart. A sort of instinct seemed to warn him of her entrance, even when he did not see it; and when he was looking quite away from thedoor, if she appeared at it, his cheek would glow, and his marble-seemingfeatures, though they refused to relax, changed indescribably, and intheir very quiescence became expressive of a repressed fervour, strongerthan working muscle or darting glance could indicate. 

Of course, she knew her power: indeed, he did not, because he could not, conceal it from her. In spite of his Christian stoicism, when she wentup and addressed him, and smiled gaily, encouragingly, even fondly in hisface, his hand would tremble and his eye burn. He seemed to say, withhis sad and resolute look, if he did not say it with his lips, "I loveyou, and I know you prefer me. It is not despair of success that keepsme dumb. If I offered my heart, I believe you would accept it. But thatheart is already laid on a sacred altar: the fire is arranged round it. It will soon be no more than a sacrifice consumed. "

And then she would pout like a disappointed child; a pensive cloud wouldsoften her radiant vivacity; she would withdraw her hand hastily fromhis, and turn in transient petulance from his aspect, at once so heroicand so martyr-like. St. John, no doubt, would have given the world tofollow, recall, retain her, when she thus left him; but he would not giveone chance of heaven, nor relinquish, for the elysium of her love, onehope of the true, eternal Paradise. Besides, he could not bind all thathe had in his nature--the rover, the aspirant, the poet, the priest--inthe limits of a single passion. He could not--he would not--renounce hiswild field of mission warfare for the parlours and the peace of ValeHall. I learnt so much from himself in an inroad I once, despite hisreserve, had the daring to make on his confidence. 

Miss Oliver already honoured me with frequent visits to my cottage. Ihad learnt her whole character, which was without mystery or disguise:she was coquettish but not heartless; exacting, but not worthlesslyselfish. She had been indulged from her birth, but was not absolutelyspoilt. She was hasty, but good-humoured; vain (she could not help it, when every glance in the glass showed her such a flush of loveliness), but not affected; liberal-handed; innocent of the pride of wealth;ingenuous; sufficiently intelligent; gay, lively, and unthinking: she wasvery charming, in short, even to a cool observer of her own sex like me;but she was not profoundly interesting or thoroughly impressive. A verydifferent sort of mind was hers from that, for instance, of the sistersof St. John. Still, I liked her almost as I liked my pupil Adele; exceptthat, for a child whom we have watched over and taught, a closeraffection is engendered than we can give an equally attractive adultacquaintance. 

She had taken an amiable caprice to me. She said I was like Mr. Rivers, only, certainly, she allowed, "not one-tenth so handsome, though I was anice neat little soul enough, but he was an angel. " I was, however, good, clever, composed, and firm, like him. I was a _lusus naturae_, sheaffirmed, as a village schoolmistress: she was sure my previous history, if known, would make a delightful romance. 

One evening, while, with her usual child-like activity, and thoughtlessyet not offensive inquisitiveness, she was rummaging the cupboard and thetable-drawer of my little kitchen, she discovered first two French books, a volume of Schiller, a German grammar and dictionary, and then mydrawing-materials and some sketches, including a pencil-head of a prettylittle cherub-like girl, one of my scholars, and sundry views fromnature, taken in the Vale of Morton and on the surrounding moors. Shewas first transfixed with surprise, and then electrified with delight. 

"Had I done these pictures? Did I know French and German? What alove--what a miracle I was! I drew better than her master in the firstschool in S-. Would I sketch a portrait of her, to show to papa?"

"With pleasure, " I replied; and I felt a thrill of artist-delight at theidea of copying from so perfect and radiant a model. She had then on adark-blue silk dress; her arms and her neck were bare; her only ornamentwas her chestnut tresses, which waved over her shoulders with all thewild grace of natural curls. I took a sheet of fine card-board, and drewa careful outline. I promised myself the pleasure of colouring it; and, as it was getting late then, I told her she must come and sit anotherday. 

She made such a report of me to her father, that Mr. Oliver himselfaccompanied her next evening--a tall, massive-featured, middle-aged, andgrey-headed man, at whose side his lovely daughter looked like a brightflower near a hoary turret. He appeared a taciturn, and perhaps a proudpersonage; but he was very kind to me. The sketch of Rosamond's portraitpleased him highly: he said I must make a finished picture of it. Heinsisted, too, on my coming the next day to spend the evening at ValeHall. 

I went. I found it a large, handsome residence, showing abundantevidences of wealth in the proprietor. Rosamond was full of glee andpleasure all the time I stayed. Her father was affable; and when heentered into conversation with me after tea, he expressed in strong termshis approbation of what I had done in Morton school, and said he onlyfeared, from what he saw and heard, I was too good for the place, andwould soon quit it for one more suitable. 

"Indeed, " cried Rosamond, "she is clever enough to be a governess in ahigh family, papa. "

I thought I would far rather be where I am than in any high family in theland. Mr. Oliver spoke of Mr. Rivers--of the Rivers family--with greatrespect. He said it was a very old name in that neighbourhood; that theancestors of the house were wealthy; that all Morton had once belonged tothem; that even now he considered the representative of that house might, if he liked, make an alliance with the best. He accounted it a pity thatso fine and talented a young man should have formed the design of goingout as a missionary; it was quite throwing a valuable life away. Itappeared, then, that her father would throw no obstacle in the way ofRosamond's union with St. John. Mr. Oliver evidently regarded the youngclergyman's good birth, old name, and sacred profession as sufficientcompensation for the want of fortune. 

It was the 5th of November, and a holiday. My little servant, afterhelping me to clean my house, was gone, well satisfied with the fee of apenny for her aid. All about me was spotless and bright--scoured floor, polished grate, and well-rubbed chairs. I had also made myself neat, andhad now the afternoon before me to spend as I would. 

The translation of a few pages of German occupied an hour; then I got mypalette and pencils, and fell to the more soothing, because easieroccupation, of completing Rosamond Oliver's miniature. The head wasfinished already: there was but the background to tint and the drapery toshade off; a touch of carmine, too, to add to the ripe lips--a soft curlhere and there to the tresses--a deeper tinge to the shadow of the lashunder the azured eyelid. I was absorbed in the execution of these nicedetails, when, after one rapid tap, my door unclosed, admitting St. JohnRivers. 

"I am come to see how you are spending your holiday, " he said. "Not, Ihope, in thought? No, that is well: while you draw you will not feellonely. You see, I mistrust you still, though you have borne upwonderfully so far. I have brought you a book for evening solace, " andhe laid on the table a new publication--a poem: one of those genuineproductions so often vouchsafed to the fortunate public of those days--thegolden age of modern literature. Alas! the readers of our era are lessfavoured. But courage! I will not pause either to accuse or repine. Iknow poetry is not dead, nor genius lost; nor has Mammon gained powerover either, to bind or slay: they will both assert their existence, their presence, their liberty and strength again one day. Powerfulangels, safe in heaven! they smile when sordid souls triumph, and feebleones weep over their destruction. Poetry destroyed? Genius banished?No! Mediocrity, no: do not let envy prompt you to the thought. No; theynot only live, but reign and redeem: and without their divine influencespread everywhere, you would be in hell--the hell of your own meanness. 

While I was eagerly glancing at the bright pages of "Marmion" (for"Marmion" it was), St. John stooped to examine my drawing. His tallfigure sprang erect again with a start: he said nothing. I looked up athim: he shunned my eye. I knew his thoughts well, and could read hisheart plainly; at the moment I felt calmer and cooler than he: I had thentemporarily the advantage of him, and I conceived an inclination to dohim some good, if I could. 

"With all his firmness and self-control, " thought I, "he tasks himselftoo far: locks every feeling and pang within--expresses, confesses, imparts nothing. I am sure it would benefit him to talk a little aboutthis sweet Rosamond, whom he thinks he ought not to marry: I will makehim talk. "

I said first, "Take a chair, Mr. Rivers. " But he answered, as he alwaysdid, that he could not stay. "Very well, " I responded, mentally, "standif you like; but you shall not go just yet, I am determined: solitude isat least as bad for you as it is for me. I'll try if I cannot discoverthe secret spring of your confidence, and find an aperture in that marblebreast through which I can shed one drop of the balm of sympathy. "

"Is this portrait like?" I asked bluntly. 

"Like! Like whom? I did not observe it closely. "

"You did, Mr. Rivers. "

He almost started at my sudden and strange abruptness: he looked at meastonished. "Oh, that is nothing yet, " I muttered within. "I don't meanto be baffled by a little stiffness on your part; I'm prepared to go toconsiderable lengths. " I continued, "You observed it closely anddistinctly; but I have no objection to your looking at it again, " and Irose and placed it in his hand. 

"A well-executed picture, " he said; "very soft, clear colouring; verygraceful and correct drawing. "

"Yes, yes; I know all that. But what of the resemblance? Who is itlike?"

Mastering some hesitation, he answered, "Miss Oliver, I presume. "

"Of course. And now, sir, to reward you for the accurate guess, I willpromise to paint you a careful and faithful duplicate of this verypicture, provided you admit that the gift would be acceptable to you. Idon't wish to throw away my time and trouble on an offering you woulddeem worthless. "

He continued to gaze at the picture: the longer he looked, the firmer heheld it, the more he seemed to covet it. "It is like!" he murmured; "theeye is well managed: the colour, light, expression, are perfect. Itsmiles!"

"Would it comfort, or would it wound you to have a similar painting? Tellme that. When you are at Madagascar, or at the Cape, or in India, wouldit be a consolation to have that memento in your possession? or would thesight of it bring recollections calculated to enervate and distress?"

He now furtively raised his eyes: he glanced at me, irresolute, disturbed: he again surveyed the picture. 

"That I should like to have it is certain: whether it would be judiciousor wise is another question. "

Since I had ascertained that Rosamond really preferred him, and that herfather was not likely to oppose the match, I--less exalted in my viewsthan St. John--had been strongly disposed in my own heart to advocatetheir union. It seemed to me that, should he become the possessor of Mr. Oliver's large fortune, he might do as much good with it as if he wentand laid his genius out to wither, and his strength to waste, under atropical sun. With this persuasion I now answered--

"As far as I can see, it would be wiser and more judicious if you were totake to yourself the original at once. "

By this time he had sat down: he had laid the picture on the table beforehim, and with his brow supported on both hands, hung fondly over it. Idiscerned he was now neither angry nor shocked at my audacity. I saweven that to be thus frankly addressed on a subject he had deemedunapproachable--to hear it thus freely handled--was beginning to be feltby him as a new pleasure--an unhoped-for relief. Reserved people oftenreally need the frank discussion of their sentiments and griefs more thanthe expansive. The sternest-seeming stoic is human after all; and to"burst" with boldness and good-will into "the silent sea" of their soulsis often to confer on them the first of obligations. 

"She likes you, I am sure, " said I, as I stood behind his chair, "and herfather respects you. Moreover, she is a sweet girl--rather thoughtless;but you would have sufficient thought for both yourself and her. Youought to marry her. "

"_Does_ she like me?" he asked. 

"Certainly; better than she likes any one else. She talks of youcontinually: there is no subject she enjoys so much or touches upon sooften. "

"It is very pleasant to hear this, " he said--"very: go on for anotherquarter of an hour. " And he actually took out his watch and laid it uponthe table to measure the time. 

"But where is the use of going on, " I asked, "when you are probablypreparing some iron blow of contradiction, or forging a fresh chain tofetter your heart?"

"Don't imagine such hard things. Fancy me yielding and melting, as I amdoing: human love rising like a freshly opened fountain in my mind andoverflowing with sweet inundation all the field I have so carefully andwith such labour prepared--so assiduously sown with the seeds of goodintentions, of self-denying plans. And now it is deluged with anectarous flood--the young germs swamped--delicious poison cankeringthem: now I see myself stretched on an ottoman in the drawing-room atVale Hall at my bride Rosamond Oliver's feet: she is talking to me withher sweet voice--gazing down on me with those eyes your skilful hand hascopied so well--smiling at me with these coral lips. She is mine--I amhers--this present life and passing world suffice to me. Hush! saynothing--my heart is full of delight--my senses are entranced--let thetime I marked pass in peace. "

I humoured him: the watch ticked on: he breathed fast and low: I stoodsilent. Amidst this hush the quartet sped; he replaced the watch, laidthe picture down, rose, and stood on the hearth. 

"Now, " said he, "that little space was given to delirium and delusion. Irested my temples on the breast of temptation, and put my neckvoluntarily under her yoke of flowers. I tasted her cup. The pillow wasburning: there is an asp in the garland: the wine has a bitter taste: herpromises are hollow--her offers false: I see and know all this. "

I gazed at him in wonder. 

"It is strange, " pursued he, "that while I love Rosamond Oliver sowildly--with all the intensity, indeed, of a first passion, the object ofwhich is exquisitely beautiful, graceful, fascinating--I experience atthe same time a calm, unwarped consciousness that she would not make me agood wife; that she is not the partner suited to me; that I shoulddiscover this within a year after marriage; and that to twelve months'rapture would succeed a lifetime of regret. This I know. "

"Strange indeed!" I could not help ejaculating. 

"While something in me, " he went on, "is acutely sensible to her charms, something else is as deeply impressed with her defects: they are suchthat she could sympathise in nothing I aspired to--co-operate in nothingI undertook. Rosamond a sufferer, a labourer, a female apostle? Rosamonda missionary's wife? No!"

"But you need not be a missionary. You might relinquish that scheme. "

"Relinquish! What! my vocation? My great work? My foundation laid onearth for a mansion in heaven? My hopes of being numbered in the bandwho have merged all ambitions in the glorious one of bettering theirrace--of carrying knowledge into the realms of ignorance--of substitutingpeace for war--freedom for bondage--religion for superstition--the hopeof heaven for the fear of hell? Must I relinquish that? It is dearerthan the blood in my veins. It is what I have to look forward to, and tolive for. "

After a considerable pause, I said--"And Miss Oliver? Are herdisappointment and sorrow of no interest to you?"

"Miss Oliver is ever surrounded by suitors and flatterers: in less than amonth, my image will be effaced from her heart. She will forget me; andwill marry, probably, some one who will make her far happier than Ishould do. "

"You speak coolly enough; but you suffer in the conflict. You arewasting away. "

"No. If I get a little thin, it is with anxiety about my prospects, yetunsettled--my departure, continually procrastinated. Only this morning, I received intelligence that the successor, whose arrival I have been solong expecting, cannot be ready to replace me for three months to comeyet; and perhaps the three months may extend to six. "

"You tremble and become flushed whenever Miss Oliver enters theschoolroom. "

Again the surprised expression crossed his face. He had not imaginedthat a woman would dare to speak so to a man. For me, I felt at home inthis sort of discourse. I could never rest in communication with strong, discreet, and refined minds, whether male or female, till I had passedthe outworks of conventional reserve, and crossed the threshold ofconfidence, and won a place by their heart's very hearthstone. 

"You are original, " said he, "and not timid. There is something brave inyour spirit, as well as penetrating in your eye; but allow me to assureyou that you partially misinterpret my emotions. You think them moreprofound and potent than they are. You give me a larger allowance ofsympathy than I have a just claim to. When I colour, and when I shadebefore Miss Oliver, I do not pity myself. I scorn the weakness. I knowit is ignoble: a mere fever of the flesh: not, I declare, the convulsionof the soul. _That_ is just as fixed as a rock, firm set in the depthsof a restless sea. Know me to be what I am--a cold hard man. "

I smiled incredulously. 

"You have taken my confidence by storm, " he continued, "and now it ismuch at your service. I am simply, in my original state--stripped ofthat blood-bleached robe with which Christianity covers human deformity--acold, hard, ambitious man. Natural affection only, of all thesentiments, has permanent power over me. Reason, and not feeling, is myguide; my ambition is unlimited: my desire to rise higher, to do morethan others, insatiable. I honour endurance, perseverance, industry, talent; because these are the means by which men achieve great ends andmount to lofty eminence. I watch your career with interest, because Iconsider you a specimen of a diligent, orderly, energetic woman: notbecause I deeply compassionate what you have gone through, or what youstill suffer. "

"You would describe yourself as a mere pagan philosopher, " I said. 

"No. There is this difference between me and deistic philosophers: Ibelieve; and I believe the Gospel. You missed your epithet. I am not apagan, but a Christian philosopher--a follower of the sect of Jesus. AsHis disciple I adopt His pure, His merciful, His benignant doctrines. Iadvocate them: I am sworn to spread them. Won in youth to religion, shehas cultivated my original qualities thus:--From the minute germ, naturalaffection, she has developed the overshadowing tree, philanthropy. Fromthe wild stringy root of human uprightness, she has reared a due sense ofthe Divine justice. Of the ambition to win power and renown for mywretched self, she has formed the ambition to spread my Master's kingdom;to achieve victories for the standard of the cross. So much has religiondone for me; turning the original materials to the best account; pruningand training nature. But she could not eradicate nature: nor will it beeradicated 'till this mortal shall put on immortality. '"

Having said this, he took his hat, which lay on the table beside mypalette. Once more he looked at the portrait. 

"She _is_ lovely, " he murmured. "She is well named the Rose of theWorld, indeed!"

"And may I not paint one like it for you?"

"_Cui bono_? No. "

He drew over the picture the sheet of thin paper on which I wasaccustomed to rest my hand in painting, to prevent the cardboard frombeing sullied. What he suddenly saw on this blank paper, it wasimpossible for me to tell; but something had caught his eye. He took itup with a snatch; he looked at the edge; then shot a glance at me, inexpressibly peculiar, and quite incomprehensible: a glance that seemedto take and make note of every point in my shape, face, and dress; for ittraversed all, quick, keen as lightning. His lips parted, as if tospeak: but he checked the coming sentence, whatever it was. 

"What is the matter?" I asked. 

"Nothing in the world, " was the reply; and, replacing the paper, I sawhim dexterously tear a narrow slip from the margin. It disappeared inhis glove; and, with one hasty nod and "good-afternoon, " he vanished. 

"Well!" I exclaimed, using an expression of the district, "that caps theglobe, however!"

I, in my turn, scrutinised the paper; but saw nothing on it save a fewdingy stains of paint where I had tried the tint in my pencil. Ipondered the mystery a minute or two; but finding it insolvable, andbeing certain it could not be of much moment, I dismissed, and soonforgot it. 

CHAPTER XXXIII

When Mr. St. John went, it was beginning to snow; the whirling stormcontinued all night. The next day a keen wind brought fresh and blindingfalls; by twilight the valley was drifted up and almost impassable. Ihad closed my shutter, laid a mat to the door to prevent the snow fromblowing in under it, trimmed my fire, and after sitting nearly an hour onthe hearth listening to the muffled fury of the tempest, I lit a candle, took down "Marmion, " and beginning--

 "Day set on Norham's castled steep, And Tweed's fair river broad and deep, And Cheviot's mountains lone; The massive towers, the donjon keep, The flanking walls that round them sweep, In yellow lustre shone"--

I soon forgot storm in music. 

I heard a noise: the wind, I thought, shook the door. No; it was St. John Rivers, who, lifting the latch, came in out of the frozenhurricane--the howling darkness--and stood before me: the cloak thatcovered his tall figure all white as a glacier. I was almost inconsternation, so little had I expected any guest from the blocked-upvale that night. 

"Any ill news?" I demanded. "Has anything happened?"

"No. How very easily alarmed you are!" he answered, removing his cloakand hanging it up against the door, towards which he again coolly pushedthe mat which his entrance had deranged. He stamped the snow from hisboots. 

"I shall sully the purity of your floor, " said he, "but you must excuseme for once. " Then he approached the fire. "I have had hard work to gethere, I assure you, " he observed, as he warmed his hands over the flame. "One drift took me up to the waist; happily the snow is quite soft yet. "

"But why are you come?" I could not forbear saying. 

"Rather an inhospitable question to put to a visitor; but since you askit, I answer simply to have a little talk with you; I got tired of mymute books and empty rooms. Besides, since yesterday I have experiencedthe excitement of a person to whom a tale has been half-told, and who isimpatient to hear the sequel. "

He sat down. I recalled his singular conduct of yesterday, and really Ibegan to fear his wits were touched. If he were insane, however, his wasa very cool and collected insanity: I had never seen thathandsome-featured face of his look more like chiselled marble than it didjust now, as he put aside his snow-wet hair from his forehead and let thefirelight shine free on his pale brow and cheek as pale, where it grievedme to discover the hollow trace of care or sorrow now so plainly graved. I waited, expecting he would say something I could at least comprehend;but his hand was now at his chin, his finger on his lip: he was thinking. It struck me that his hand looked wasted like his face. A perhapsuncalled-for gush of pity came over my heart: I was moved to say--

"I wish Diana or Mary would come and live with you: it is too bad thatyou should be quite alone; and you are recklessly rash about your ownhealth. "

"Not at all, " said he: "I care for myself when necessary. I am well now. What do you see amiss in me?"

This was said with a careless, abstracted indifference, which showed thatmy solicitude was, at least in his opinion, wholly superfluous. I wassilenced. 

He still slowly moved his finger over his upper lip, and still his eyedwelt dreamily on the glowing grate; thinking it urgent to say something, I asked him presently if he felt any cold draught from the door, whichwas behind him. 

"No, no!" he responded shortly and somewhat testily. 

"Well, " I reflected, "if you won't talk, you may be still; I'll let youalone now, and return to my book. "

So I snuffed the candle and resumed the perusal of "Marmion. " He soonstirred; my eye was instantly drawn to his movements; he only took out amorocco pocket-book, thence produced a letter, which he read in silence, folded it, put it back, relapsed into meditation. It was vain to try toread with such an inscrutable fixture before me; nor could I, inimpatience, consent to be dumb; he might rebuff me if he liked, but talkI would. 

"Have you heard from Diana and Mary lately?"

"Not since the letter I showed you a week ago. "

"There has not been any change made about your own arrangements? Youwill not be summoned to leave England sooner than you expected?"

"I fear not, indeed: such chance is too good to befall me. " Baffled sofar, I changed my ground. I bethought myself to talk about the schooland my scholars. 

"Mary Garrett's mother is better, and Mary came back to the school thismorning, and I shall have four new girls next week from the FoundryClose--they would have come to-day but for the snow. "

"Indeed!"

"Mr. Oliver pays for two. "

"Does he?"

"He means to give the whole school a treat at Christmas. "

"I know. "

"Was it your suggestion?"

"No. "

"Whose, then?"

"His daughter's, I think. "

"It is like her: she is so good-natured. "

"Yes. "

Again came the blank of a pause: the clock struck eight strokes. Itaroused him; he uncrossed his legs, sat erect, turned to me. 

"Leave your book a moment, and come a little nearer the fire, " he said. 

Wondering, and of my wonder finding no end, I complied. 

"Half-an-hour ago, " he pursued, "I spoke of my impatience to hear thesequel of a tale: on reflection, I find the matter will be better managedby my assuming the narrator's part, and converting you into a listener. Before commencing, it is but fair to warn you that the story will soundsomewhat hackneyed in your ears; but stale details often regain a degreeof freshness when they pass through new lips. For the rest, whethertrite or novel, it is short. 

"Twenty years ago, a poor curate--never mind his name at this moment--fellin love with a rich man's daughter; she fell in love with him, andmarried him, against the advice of all her friends, who consequentlydisowned her immediately after the wedding. Before two years passed, therash pair were both dead, and laid quietly side by side under one slab. (I have seen their grave; it formed part of the pavement of a hugechurchyard surrounding the grim, soot-black old cathedral of an overgrownmanufacturing town in ---shire. ) They left a daughter, which, at itsvery birth, Charity received in her lap--cold as that of the snow-drift Ialmost stuck fast in to-night. Charity carried the friendless thing tothe house of its rich maternal relations; it was reared by an aunt-in-law, called (I come to names now) Mrs. Reed of Gateshead. You start--didyou hear a noise? I daresay it is only a rat scrambling along therafters of the adjoining schoolroom: it was a barn before I had itrepaired and altered, and barns are generally haunted by rats. --Toproceed. Mrs. Reed kept the orphan ten years: whether it was happy ornot with her, I cannot say, never having been told; but at the end ofthat time she transferred it to a place you know--being no other thanLowood School, where you so long resided yourself. It seems her careerthere was very honourable: from a pupil, she became a teacher, likeyourself--really it strikes me there are parallel points in her historyand yours--she left it to be a governess: there, again, your fates wereanalogous; she undertook the education of the ward of a certain Mr. Rochester. "

"Mr. Rivers!" I interrupted. 

"I can guess your feelings, " he said, "but restrain them for a while: Ihave nearly finished; hear me to the end. Of Mr. Rochester's character Iknow nothing, but the one fact that he professed to offer honourablemarriage to this young girl, and that at the very altar she discovered hehad a wife yet alive, though a lunatic. What his subsequent conduct andproposals were is a matter of pure conjecture; but when an eventtranspired which rendered inquiry after the governess necessary, it wasdiscovered she was gone--no one could tell when, where, or how. She hadleft Thornfield Hall in the night; every research after her course hadbeen vain: the country had been scoured far and wide; no vestige ofinformation could be gathered respecting her. Yet that she should befound is become a matter of serious urgency: advertisements have been putin all the papers; I myself have received a letter from one Mr. Briggs, asolicitor, communicating the details I have just imparted. Is it not anodd tale?"

"Just tell me this, " said I, "and since you know so much, you surely cantell it me--what of Mr. Rochester? How and where is he? What is hedoing? Is he well?"

"I am ignorant of all concerning Mr. Rochester: the letter never mentionshim but to narrate the fraudulent and illegal attempt I have adverted to. You should rather ask the name of the governess--the nature of the eventwhich requires her appearance. "

"Did no one go to Thornfield Hall, then? Did no one see Mr. Rochester?"

"I suppose not. "

"But they wrote to him?"

"Of course. "

"And what did he say? Who has his letters?"

"Mr. Briggs intimates that the answer to his application was not from Mr. Rochester, but from a lady: it is signed 'Alice Fairfax. '"

I felt cold and dismayed: my worst fears then were probably true: he hadin all probability left England and rushed in reckless desperation tosome former haunt on the Continent. And what opiate for his severesufferings--what object for his strong passions--had he sought there? Idared not answer the question. Oh, my poor master--once almost myhusband--whom I had often called "my dear Edward!"

"He must have been a bad man, " observed Mr. Rivers. 

"You don't know him--don't pronounce an opinion upon him, " I said, withwarmth. 

"Very well, " he answered quietly: "and indeed my head is otherwiseoccupied than with him: I have my tale to finish. Since you won't askthe governess's name, I must tell it of my own accord. Stay! I have ithere--it is always more satisfactory to see important points writtendown, fairly committed to black and white. "

And the pocket-book was again deliberately produced, opened, soughtthrough; from one of its compartments was extracted a shabby slip ofpaper, hastily torn off: I recognised in its texture and its stains ofultra-marine, and lake, and vermillion, the ravished margin of theportrait-cover. He got up, held it close to my eyes: and I read, tracedin Indian ink, in my own handwriting, the words "JANE EYRE"--the workdoubtless of some moment of abstraction. 

"Briggs wrote to me of a Jane Eyre:" he said, "the advertisementsdemanded a Jane Eyre: I knew a Jane Elliott. --I confess I had mysuspicions, but it was only yesterday afternoon they were at onceresolved into certainty. You own the name and renounce the _alias_?"

"Yes--yes; but where is Mr. Briggs? He perhaps knows more of Mr. Rochester than you do. "

"Briggs is in London. I should doubt his knowing anything at all aboutMr. Rochester; it is not in Mr. Rochester he is interested. Meantime, you forget essential points in pursuing trifles: you do not inquire whyMr. Briggs sought after you--what he wanted with you. "

"Well, what did he want?"

"Merely to tell you that your uncle, Mr. Eyre of Madeira, is dead; thathe has left you all his property, and that you are now rich--merelythat--nothing more. "

"I!--rich?"

"Yes, you, rich--quite an heiress. "

Silence succeeded. 

"You must prove your identity of course, " resumed St. John presently: "astep which will offer no difficulties; you can then enter on immediatepossession. Your fortune is vested in the English funds; Briggs has thewill and the necessary documents. "

Here was a new card turned up! It is a fine thing, reader, to be liftedin a moment from indigence to wealth--a very fine thing; but not a matterone can comprehend, or consequently enjoy, all at once. And then thereare other chances in life far more thrilling and rapture-giving: _this_is solid, an affair of the actual world, nothing ideal about it: all itsassociations are solid and sober, and its manifestations are the same. One does not jump, and spring, and shout hurrah! at hearing one has got afortune; one begins to consider responsibilities, and to ponder business;on a base of steady satisfaction rise certain grave cares, and we containourselves, and brood over our bliss with a solemn brow. 

Besides, the words Legacy, Bequest, go side by side with the words, Death, Funeral. My uncle I had heard was dead--my only relative; eversince being made aware of his existence, I had cherished the hope of oneday seeing him: now, I never should. And then this money came only tome: not to me and a rejoicing family, but to my isolated self. It was agrand boon doubtless; and independence would be glorious--yes, I feltthat--that thought swelled my heart. 

"You unbend your forehead at last, " said Mr. Rivers. "I thought Medusahad looked at you, and that you were turning to stone. Perhaps now youwill ask how much you are worth?"

"How much am I worth?"

"Oh, a trifle! Nothing of course to speak of--twenty thousand pounds, Ithink they say--but what is that?"

"Twenty thousand pounds?"

Here was a new stunner--I had been calculating on four or five thousand. This news actually took my breath for a moment: Mr. St. John, whom I hadnever heard laugh before, laughed now. 

"Well, " said he, "if you had committed a murder, and I had told you yourcrime was discovered, you could scarcely look more aghast. "

"It is a large sum--don't you think there is a mistake?"

"No mistake at all. "

"Perhaps you have read the figures wrong--it may be two thousand!"

"It is written in letters, not figures, --twenty thousand. "

I again felt rather like an individual of but average gastronomicalpowers sitting down to feast alone at a table spread with provisions fora hundred. Mr. Rivers rose now and put his cloak on. 

"If it were not such a very wild night, " he said, "I would send Hannahdown to keep you company: you look too desperately miserable to be leftalone. But Hannah, poor woman! could not stride the drifts so well as I:her legs are not quite so long: so I must e'en leave you to your sorrows. Good-night. "

He was lifting the latch: a sudden thought occurred to me. "Stop oneminute!" I cried. 

"Well?"

"It puzzles me to know why Mr. Briggs wrote to you about me; or how heknew you, or could fancy that you, living in such an out-of-the-wayplace, had the power to aid in my discovery. "

"Oh! I am a clergyman, " he said; "and the clergy are often appealed toabout odd matters. " Again the latch rattled. 

"No; that does not satisfy me!" I exclaimed: and indeed there wassomething in the hasty and unexplanatory reply which, instead ofallaying, piqued my curiosity more than ever. 

"It is a very strange piece of business, " I added; "I must know moreabout it. "

"Another time. "

"No; to-night!--to-night!" and as he turned from the door, I placedmyself between it and him. He looked rather embarrassed. 

"You certainly shall not go till you have told me all, " I said. 

"I would rather not just now. "

"You shall!--you must!"

"I would rather Diana or Mary informed you. "

Of course these objections wrought my eagerness to a climax: gratified itmust be, and that without delay; and I told him so. 

"But I apprised you that I was a hard man, " said he, "difficult topersuade. "

"And I am a hard woman, --impossible to put off. "

{And I am a hard woman, --impossible to put off: p369. Jpg}

"And then, " he pursued, "I am cold: no fervour infects me. "

"Whereas I am hot, and fire dissolves ice. The blaze there has thawedall the snow from your cloak; by the same token, it has streamed on to myfloor, and made it like a trampled street. As you hope ever to beforgiven, Mr. Rivers, the high crime and misdemeanour of spoiling asanded kitchen, tell me what I wish to know. "

"Well, then, " he said, "I yield; if not to your earnestness, to yourperseverance: as stone is worn by continual dropping. Besides, you mustknow some day, --as well now as later. Your name is Jane Eyre?"

"Of course: that was all settled before. "

"You are not, perhaps, aware that I am your namesake?--that I waschristened St. John Eyre Rivers?"

"No, indeed! I remember now seeing the letter E. Comprised in yourinitials written in books you have at different times lent me; but Inever asked for what name it stood. But what then? Surely--"

I stopped: I could not trust myself to entertain, much less to express, the thought that rushed upon me--that embodied itself, --that, in asecond, stood out a strong, solid probability. Circumstances knitthemselves, fitted themselves, shot into order: the chain that had beenlying hitherto a formless lump of links was drawn out straight, --everyring was perfect, the connection complete. I knew, by instinct, how thematter stood, before St. John had said another word; but I cannot expectthe reader to have the same intuitive perception, so I must repeat hisexplanation. 

"My mother's name was Eyre; she had two brothers; one a clergyman, whomarried Miss Jane Reed, of Gateshead; the other, John Eyre, Esq. , merchant, late of Funchal, Madeira. Mr. Briggs, being Mr. Eyre'ssolicitor, wrote to us last August to inform us of our uncle's death, andto say that he had left his property to his brother the clergyman'sorphan daughter, overlooking us, in consequence of a quarrel, neverforgiven, between him and my father. He wrote again a few weeks since, to intimate that the heiress was lost, and asking if we knew anything ofher. A name casually written on a slip of paper has enabled me to findher out. You know the rest. " Again he was going, but I set my backagainst the door. 

"Do let me speak, " I said; "let me have one moment to draw breath andreflect. " I paused--he stood before me, hat in hand, looking composedenough. I resumed--

"Your mother was my father's sister?"

"Yes. "

"My aunt, consequently?"

He bowed. 

"My uncle John was your uncle John? You, Diana, and Mary are hissister's children, as I am his brother's child?"

"Undeniably. "

"You three, then, are my cousins; half our blood on each side flows fromthe same source?"

"We are cousins; yes. "

I surveyed him. It seemed I had found a brother: one I could be proudof, --one I could love; and two sisters, whose qualities were such, that, when I knew them but as mere strangers, they had inspired me with genuineaffection and admiration. The two girls, on whom, kneeling down on thewet ground, and looking through the low, latticed window of Moor Housekitchen, I had gazed with so bitter a mixture of interest and despair, were my near kinswomen; and the young and stately gentleman who had foundme almost dying at his threshold was my blood relation. Gloriousdiscovery to a lonely wretch! This was wealth indeed!--wealth to theheart!--a mine of pure, genial affections. This was a blessing, bright, vivid, and exhilarating;--not like the ponderous gift of gold: rich andwelcome enough in its way, but sobering from its weight. I now clappedmy hands in sudden joy--my pulse bounded, my veins thrilled. 

"Oh, I am glad!--I am glad!" I exclaimed. 

St. John smiled. "Did I not say you neglected essential points to pursuetrifles?" he asked. "You were serious when I told you you had got afortune; and now, for a matter of no moment, you are excited. "

"What can you mean? It may be of no moment to you; you have sisters anddon't care for a cousin; but I had nobody; and now three relations, --ortwo, if you don't choose to be counted, --are born into my worldfull-grown. I say again, I am glad!"

I walked fast through the room: I stopped, half suffocated with thethoughts that rose faster than I could receive, comprehend, settlethem:--thoughts of what might, could, would, and should be, and that erelong. I looked at the blank wall: it seemed a sky thick with ascendingstars, --every one lit me to a purpose or delight. Those who had saved mylife, whom, till this hour, I had loved barrenly, I could now benefit. They were under a yoke, --I could free them: they were scattered, --I couldreunite them: the independence, the affluence which was mine, might betheirs too. Were we not four? Twenty thousand pounds shared equallywould be five thousand each, justice--enough and to spare: justice wouldbe done, --mutual happiness secured. Now the wealth did not weigh on me:now it was not a mere bequest of coin, --it was a legacy of life, hope, enjoyment. 

How I looked while these ideas were taking my spirit by storm, I cannottell; but I perceived soon that Mr. Rivers had placed a chair behind me, and was gently attempting to make me sit down on it. He also advised meto be composed; I scorned the insinuation of helplessness anddistraction, shook off his hand, and began to walk about again. 

"Write to Diana and Mary to-morrow, " I said, "and tell them to come homedirectly. Diana said they would both consider themselves rich with athousand pounds, so with five thousand they will do very well. "

"Tell me where I can get you a glass of water, " said St. John; "you mustreally make an effort to tranquillise your feelings. "

"Nonsense! and what sort of an effect will the bequest have on you? Willit keep you in England, induce you to marry Miss Oliver, and settle downlike an ordinary mortal?"

"You wander: your head becomes confused. I have been too abrupt incommunicating the news; it has excited you beyond your strength. "

"Mr. Rivers! you quite put me out of patience: I am rational enough; itis you who misunderstand, or rather who affect to misunderstand. "

"Perhaps, if you explained yourself a little more fully, I shouldcomprehend better. "

"Explain! What is there to explain? You cannot fail to see that twentythousand pounds, the sum in question, divided equally between the nephewand three nieces of our uncle, will give five thousand to each? What Iwant is, that you should write to your sisters and tell them of thefortune that has accrued to them. "

"To you, you mean. "

"I have intimated my view of the case: I am incapable of taking anyother. I am not brutally selfish, blindly unjust, or fiendishlyungrateful. Besides, I am resolved I will have a home and connections. Ilike Moor House, and I will live at Moor House; I like Diana and Mary, and I will attach myself for life to Diana and Mary. It would please andbenefit me to have five thousand pounds; it would torment and oppress meto have twenty thousand; which, moreover, could never be mine in justice, though it might in law. I abandon to you, then, what is absolutelysuperfluous to me. Let there be no opposition, and no discussion aboutit; let us agree amongst each other, and decide the point at once. "

"This is acting on first impulses; you must take days to consider such amatter, ere your word can be regarded as valid. "

"Oh! if all you doubt is my sincerity, I am easy: you see the justice ofthe case?"

"I _do_ see a certain justice; but it is contrary to all custom. Besides, the entire fortune is your right: my uncle gained it by his own efforts;he was free to leave it to whom he would: he left it to you. After all, justice permits you to keep it: you may, with a clear conscience, consider it absolutely your own. "

"With me, " said I, "it is fully as much a matter of feeling as ofconscience: I must indulge my feelings; I so seldom have had anopportunity of doing so. Were you to argue, object, and annoy me for ayear, I could not forego the delicious pleasure of which I have caught aglimpse--that of repaying, in part, a mighty obligation, and winning tomyself lifelong friends. "

"You think so now, " rejoined St. John, "because you do not know what itis to possess, nor consequently to enjoy wealth: you cannot form a notionof the importance twenty thousand pounds would give you; of the place itwould enable you to take in society; of the prospects it would open toyou: you cannot--"

"And you, " I interrupted, "cannot at all imagine the craving I have forfraternal and sisterly love. I never had a home, I never had brothers orsisters; I must and will have them now: you are not reluctant to admit meand own me, are you?"

"Jane, I will be your brother--my sisters will be your sisters--withoutstipulating for this sacrifice of your just rights. "

"Brother? Yes; at the distance of a thousand leagues! Sisters? Yes;slaving amongst strangers! I, wealthy--gorged with gold I never earnedand do not merit! You, penniless! Famous equality and fraternisation!Close union! Intimate attachment!"

"But, Jane, your aspirations after family ties and domestic happiness maybe realised otherwise than by the means you contemplate: you may marry. "

"Nonsense, again! Marry! I don't want to marry, and never shall marry. "

"That is saying too much: such hazardous affirmations are a proof of theexcitement under which you labour. "

"It is not saying too much: I know what I feel, and how averse are myinclinations to the bare thought of marriage. No one would take me forlove; and I will not be regarded in the light of a mere moneyspeculation. And I do not want a stranger--unsympathising, alien, different from me; I want my kindred: those with whom I have full fellow-feeling. Say again you will be my brother: when you uttered the words Iwas satisfied, happy; repeat them, if you can, repeat them sincerely. "

"I think I can. I know I have always loved my own sisters; and I know onwhat my affection for them is grounded, --respect for their worth andadmiration of their talents. You too have principle and mind: yourtastes and habits resemble Diana's and Mary's; your presence is alwaysagreeable to me; in your conversation I have already for some time founda salutary solace. I feel I can easily and naturally make room in myheart for you, as my third and youngest sister. "

"Thank you: that contents me for to-night. Now you had better go; for ifyou stay longer, you will perhaps irritate me afresh by some mistrustfulscruple. "

"And the school, Miss Eyre? It must now be shut up, I suppose?"

"No. I will retain my post of mistress till you get a substitute. "

He smiled approbation: we shook hands, and he took leave. 

I need not narrate in detail the further struggles I had, and arguments Iused, to get matters regarding the legacy settled as I wished. My taskwas a very hard one; but, as I was absolutely resolved--as my cousins sawat length that my mind was really and immutably fixed on making a justdivision of the property--as they must in their own hearts have felt theequity of the intention; and must, besides, have been innately consciousthat in my place they would have done precisely what I wished to do--theyyielded at length so far as to consent to put the affair to arbitration. The judges chosen were Mr. Oliver and an able lawyer: both coincided inmy opinion: I carried my point. The instruments of transfer were drawnout: St. John, Diana, Mary, and I, each became possessed of a competency. 

CHAPTER XXXIV

It was near Christmas by the time all was settled: the season of generalholiday approached. I now closed Morton school, taking care that theparting should not be barren on my side. Good fortune opens the hand aswell as the heart wonderfully; and to give somewhat when we have largelyreceived, is but to afford a vent to the unusual ebullition of thesensations. I had long felt with pleasure that many of my rusticscholars liked me, and when we parted, that consciousness was confirmed:they manifested their affection plainly and strongly. Deep was mygratification to find I had really a place in their unsophisticatedhearts: I promised them that never a week should pass in future that Idid not visit them, and give them an hour's teaching in their school. 

Mr. Rivers came up as, having seen the classes, now numbering sixtygirls, file out before me, and locked the door, I stood with the key inmy hand, exchanging a few words of special farewell with some half-dozenof my best scholars: as decent, respectable, modest, and well-informedyoung women as could be found in the ranks of the British peasantry. Andthat is saying a great deal; for after all, the British peasantry are thebest taught, best mannered, most self-respecting of any in Europe: sincethose days I have seen paysannes and Bauerinnen; and the best of themseemed to me ignorant, coarse, and besotted, compared with my Mortongirls. 

"Do you consider you have got your reward for a season of exertion?"asked Mr. Rivers, when they were gone. "Does not the consciousness ofhaving done some real good in your day and generation give pleasure?"

"Doubtless. "

"And you have only toiled a few months! Would not a life devoted to thetask of regenerating your race be well spent?"

"Yes, " I said; "but I could not go on for ever so: I want to enjoy my ownfaculties as well as to cultivate those of other people. I must enjoythem now; don't recall either my mind or body to the school; I am out ofit and disposed for full holiday. "

He looked grave. "What now? What sudden eagerness is this you evince?What are you going to do?"

"To be active: as active as I can. And first I must beg you to setHannah at liberty, and get somebody else to wait on you. "

"Do you want her?"

"Yes, to go with me to Moor House. Diana and Mary will be at home in aweek, and I want to have everything in order against their arrival. "

"I understand. I thought you were for flying off on some excursion. Itis better so: Hannah shall go with you. "

"Tell her to be ready by to-morrow then; and here is the schoolroom key:I will give you the key of my cottage in the morning. "

He took it. "You give it up very gleefully, " said he; "I don't quiteunderstand your light-heartedness, because I cannot tell what employmentyou propose to yourself as a substitute for the one you arerelinquishing. What aim, what purpose, what ambition in life have younow?"

"My first aim will be to _clean down_ (do you comprehend the full forceof the expression?)--to _clean down_ Moor House from chamber to cellar;my next to rub it up with bees-wax, oil, and an indefinite number ofcloths, till it glitters again; my third, to arrange every chair, table, bed, carpet, with mathematical precision; afterwards I shall go near toruin you in coals and peat to keep up good fires in every room; andlastly, the two days preceding that on which your sisters are expectedwill be devoted by Hannah and me to such a beating of eggs, sorting ofcurrants, grating of spices, compounding of Christmas cakes, chopping upof materials for mince-pies, and solemnising of other culinary rites, aswords can convey but an inadequate notion of to the uninitiated like you. My purpose, in short, is to have all things in an absolutely perfectstate of readiness for Diana and Mary before next Thursday; and myambition is to give them a beau-ideal of a welcome when they come. "

St. John smiled slightly: still he was dissatisfied. 

"It is all very well for the present, " said he; "but seriously, I trustthat when the first flush of vivacity is over, you will look a littlehigher than domestic endearments and household joys. "

"The best things the world has!" I interrupted. 

"No, Jane, no: this world is not the scene of fruition; do not attempt tomake it so: nor of rest; do not turn slothful. "

"I mean, on the contrary, to be busy. "

"Jane, I excuse you for the present: two months' grace I allow you forthe full enjoyment of your new position, and for pleasing yourself withthis late-found charm of relationship; but _then_, I hope you will beginto look beyond Moor House and Morton, and sisterly society, and theselfish calm and sensual comfort of civilised affluence. I hope yourenergies will then once more trouble you with their strength. "

I looked at him with surprise. "St. John, " I said, "I think you arealmost wicked to talk so. I am disposed to be as content as a queen, andyou try to stir me up to restlessness! To what end?"

"To the end of turning to profit the talents which God has committed toyour keeping; and of which He will surely one day demand a strictaccount. Jane, I shall watch you closely and anxiously--I warn you ofthat. And try to restrain the disproportionate fervour with which youthrow yourself into commonplace home pleasures. Don't cling sotenaciously to ties of the flesh; save your constancy and ardour for anadequate cause; forbear to waste them on trite transient objects. Do youhear, Jane?"

"Yes; just as if you were speaking Greek. I feel I have adequate causeto be happy, and I _will_ be happy. Goodbye!"

Happy at Moor House I was, and hard I worked; and so did Hannah: she wascharmed to see how jovial I could be amidst the bustle of a house turnedtopsy-turvy--how I could brush, and dust, and clean, and cook. Andreally, after a day or two of confusion worse confounded, it wasdelightful by degrees to invoke order from the chaos ourselves had made. I had previously taken a journey to S--- to purchase some new furniture:my cousins having given me _carte blanche_ to effect what alterations Ipleased, and a sum having been set aside for that purpose. The ordinarysitting-room and bedrooms I left much as they were: for I knew Diana andMary would derive more pleasure from seeing again the old homely tables, and chairs, and beds, than from the spectacle of the smartestinnovations. Still some novelty was necessary, to give to their returnthe piquancy with which I wished it to be invested. Dark handsome newcarpets and curtains, an arrangement of some carefully selected antiqueornaments in porcelain and bronze, new coverings, and mirrors, anddressing-cases, for the toilet tables, answered the end: they lookedfresh without being glaring. A spare parlour and bedroom I refurnishedentirely, with old mahogany and crimson upholstery: I laid canvas on thepassage, and carpets on the stairs. When all was finished, I thoughtMoor House as complete a model of bright modest snugness within, as itwas, at this season, a specimen of wintry waste and desert drearinesswithout. 

The eventful Thursday at length came. They were expected about dark, andere dusk fires were lit upstairs and below; the kitchen was in perfecttrim; Hannah and I were dressed, and all was in readiness. 

St. John arrived first. I had entreated him to keep quite clear of thehouse till everything was arranged: and, indeed, the bare idea of thecommotion, at once sordid and trivial, going on within its walls sufficedto scare him to estrangement. He found me in the kitchen, watching theprogress of certain cakes for tea, then baking. Approaching the hearth, he asked, "If I was at last satisfied with housemaid's work?" I answeredby inviting him to accompany me on a general inspection of the result ofmy labours. With some difficulty, I got him to make the tour of thehouse. He just looked in at the doors I opened; and when he had wanderedupstairs and downstairs, he said I must have gone through a great deal offatigue and trouble to have effected such considerable changes in soshort a time: but not a syllable did he utter indicating pleasure in theimproved aspect of his abode. 

This silence damped me. I thought perhaps the alterations had disturbedsome old associations he valued. I inquired whether this was the case:no doubt in a somewhat crest-fallen tone. 

"Not at all; he had, on the contrary, remarked that I had scrupulouslyrespected every association: he feared, indeed, I must have bestowed morethought on the matter than it was worth. How many minutes, for instance, had I devoted to studying the arrangement of this very room?--By-the-bye, could I tell him where such a book was?"

I showed him the volume on the shelf: he took it down, and withdrawing tohis accustomed window recess, he began to read it. 

Now, I did not like this, reader. St. John was a good man; but I beganto feel he had spoken truth of himself when he said he was hard and cold. The humanities and amenities of life had no attraction for him--itspeaceful enjoyments no charm. Literally, he lived only to aspire--afterwhat was good and great, certainly; but still he would never rest, norapprove of others resting round him. As I looked at his lofty forehead, still and pale as a white stone--at his fine lineaments fixed in study--Icomprehended all at once that he would hardly make a good husband: thatit would be a trying thing to be his wife. I understood, as byinspiration, the nature of his love for Miss Oliver; I agreed with himthat it was but a love of the senses. I comprehended how he shoulddespise himself for the feverish influence it exercised over him; how heshould wish to stifle and destroy it; how he should mistrust its everconducting permanently to his happiness or hers. I saw he was of thematerial from which nature hews her heroes--Christian and Pagan--herlawgivers, her statesmen, her conquerors: a steadfast bulwark for greatinterests to rest upon; but, at the fireside, too often a cold cumbrouscolumn, gloomy and out of place. 

"This parlour is not his sphere, " I reflected: "the Himalayan ridge orCaffre bush, even the plague-cursed Guinea Coast swamp would suit himbetter. Well may he eschew the calm of domestic life; it is not hiselement: there his faculties stagnate--they cannot develop or appear toadvantage. It is in scenes of strife and danger--where courage isproved, and energy exercised, and fortitude tasked--that he will speakand move, the leader and superior. A merry child would have theadvantage of him on this hearth. He is right to choose a missionary'scareer--I see it now. "

"They are coming! they are coming!" cried Hannah, throwing open theparlour door. At the same moment old Carlo barked joyfully. Out I ran. It was now dark; but a rumbling of wheels was audible. Hannah soon had alantern lit. The vehicle had stopped at the wicket; the driver openedthe door: first one well-known form, then another, stepped out. In aminute I had my face under their bonnets, in contact first with Mary'ssoft cheek, then with Diana's flowing curls. They laughed--kissedme--then Hannah: patted Carlo, who was half wild with delight; askedeagerly if all was well; and being assured in the affirmative, hastenedinto the house. 

They were stiff with their long and jolting drive from Whitcross, andchilled with the frosty night air; but their pleasant countenancesexpanded to the cheerful firelight. While the driver and Hannah broughtin the boxes, they demanded St. John. At this moment he advanced fromthe parlour. They both threw their arms round his neck at once. He gaveeach one quiet kiss, said in a low tone a few words of welcome, stood awhile to be talked to, and then, intimating that he supposed they wouldsoon rejoin him in the parlour, withdrew there as to a place of refuge. 

I had lit their candles to go upstairs, but Diana had first to givehospitable orders respecting the driver; this done, both followed me. They were delighted with the renovation and decorations of their rooms;with the new drapery, and fresh carpets, and rich tinted china vases:they expressed their gratification ungrudgingly. I had the pleasure offeeling that my arrangements met their wishes exactly, and that what Ihad done added a vivid charm to their joyous return home. 

Sweet was that evening. My cousins, full of exhilaration, were soeloquent in narrative and comment, that their fluency covered St. John'staciturnity: he was sincerely glad to see his sisters; but in their glowof fervour and flow of joy he could not sympathise. The event of theday--that is, the return of Diana and Mary--pleased him; but theaccompaniments of that event, the glad tumult, the garrulous glee ofreception irked him: I saw he wished the calmer morrow was come. In thevery meridian of the night's enjoyment, about an hour after tea, a rapwas heard at the door. Hannah entered with the intimation that "a poorlad was come, at that unlikely time, to fetch Mr. Rivers to see hismother, who was drawing away. "

"Where does she live, Hannah?"

"Clear up at Whitcross Brow, almost four miles off, and moor and moss allthe way. "

"Tell him I will go. "

"I'm sure, sir, you had better not. It's the worst road to travel afterdark that can be: there's no track at all over the bog. And then it issuch a bitter night--the keenest wind you ever felt. You had better sendword, sir, that you will be there in the morning. "

But he was already in the passage, putting on his cloak; and without oneobjection, one murmur, he departed. It was then nine o'clock: he did notreturn till midnight. Starved and tired enough he was: but he lookedhappier than when he set out. He had performed an act of duty; made anexertion; felt his own strength to do and deny, and was on better termswith himself. 

I am afraid the whole of the ensuing week tried his patience. It wasChristmas week: we took to no settled employment, but spent it in a sortof merry domestic dissipation. The air of the moors, the freedom ofhome, the dawn of prosperity, acted on Diana and Mary's spirits like somelife-giving elixir: they were gay from morning till noon, and from noontill night. They could always talk; and their discourse, witty, pithy, original, had such charms for me, that I preferred listening to, andsharing in it, to doing anything else. St. John did not rebuke ourvivacity; but he escaped from it: he was seldom in the house; his parishwas large, the population scattered, and he found daily business invisiting the sick and poor in its different districts. 

One morning at breakfast, Diana, after looking a little pensive for someminutes, asked him, "If his plans were yet unchanged. "

"Unchanged and unchangeable, " was the reply. And he proceeded to informus that his departure from England was now definitively fixed for theensuing year. 

"And Rosamond Oliver?" suggested Mary, the words seeming to escape herlips involuntarily: for no sooner had she uttered them, than she made agesture as if wishing to recall them. St. John had a book in his hand--itwas his unsocial custom to read at meals--he closed it, and looked up. 

"Rosamond Oliver, " said he, "is about to be married to Mr. Granby, one ofthe best connected and most estimable residents in S-, grandson and heirto Sir Frederic Granby: I had the intelligence from her fatheryesterday. "

His sisters looked at each other and at me; we all three looked at him:he was serene as glass. 

"The match must have been got up hastily, " said Diana: "they cannot haveknown each other long. "

"But two months: they met in October at the county ball at S-. But wherethere are no obstacles to a union, as in the present case, where theconnection is in every point desirable, delays are unnecessary: they willbe married as soon as S--- Place, which Sir Frederic gives up to them, can he refitted for their reception. "

The first time I found St. John alone after this communication, I felttempted to inquire if the event distressed him: but he seemed so littleto need sympathy, that, so far from venturing to offer him more, Iexperienced some shame at the recollection of what I had alreadyhazarded. Besides, I was out of practice in talking to him: his reservewas again frozen over, and my frankness was congealed beneath it. He hadnot kept his promise of treating me like his sisters; he continually madelittle chilling differences between us, which did not at all tend to thedevelopment of cordiality: in short, now that I was acknowledged hiskinswoman, and lived under the same roof with him, I felt the distancebetween us to be far greater than when he had known me only as thevillage schoolmistress. When I remembered how far I had once beenadmitted to his confidence, I could hardly comprehend his presentfrigidity. 

Such being the case, I felt not a little surprised when he raised hishead suddenly from the desk over which he was stooping, and said--

"You see, Jane, the battle is fought and the victory won. "

Startled at being thus addressed, I did not immediately reply: after amoment's hesitation I answered--

"But are you sure you are not in the position of those conquerors whosetriumphs have cost them too dear? Would not such another ruin you?"

"I think not; and if I were, it does not much signify; I shall never becalled upon to contend for such another. The event of the conflict isdecisive: my way is now clear; I thank God for it!" So saying, hereturned to his papers and his silence. 

As our mutual happiness (_i. E. _, Diana's, Mary's, and mine) settled intoa quieter character, and we resumed our usual habits and regular studies, St. John stayed more at home: he sat with us in the same room, sometimesfor hours together. While Mary drew, Diana pursued a course ofencyclopaedic reading she had (to my awe and amazement) undertaken, and Ifagged away at German, he pondered a mystic lore of his own: that of someEastern tongue, the acquisition of which he thought necessary to hisplans. 

Thus engaged, he appeared, sitting in his own recess, quiet and absorbedenough; but that blue eye of his had a habit of leaving the outlandish-looking grammar, and wandering over, and sometimes fixing upon us, hisfellow-students, with a curious intensity of observation: if caught, itwould be instantly withdrawn; yet ever and anon, it returned searchinglyto our table. I wondered what it meant: I wondered, too, at the punctualsatisfaction he never failed to exhibit on an occasion that seemed to meof small moment, namely, my weekly visit to Morton school; and still morewas I puzzled when, if the day was unfavourable, if there was snow, orrain, or high wind, and his sisters urged me not to go, he wouldinvariably make light of their solicitude, and encourage me to accomplishthe task without regard to the elements. 

"Jane is not such a weakling as you would make her, " he would say: "shecan bear a mountain blast, or a shower, or a few flakes of snow, as wellas any of us. Her constitution is both sound and elastic;--bettercalculated to endure variations of climate than many more robust. "

And when I returned, sometimes a good deal tired, and not a littleweather-beaten, I never dared complain, because I saw that to murmurwould be to vex him: on all occasions fortitude pleased him; the reversewas a special annoyance. 

One afternoon, however, I got leave to stay at home, because I really hada cold. His sisters were gone to Morton in my stead: I sat readingSchiller; he, deciphering his crabbed Oriental scrolls. As I exchanged atranslation for an exercise, I happened to look his way: there I foundmyself under the influence of the ever-watchful blue eye. How long ithad been searching me through and through, and over and over, I cannottell: so keen was it, and yet so cold, I felt for the momentsuperstitious--as if I were sitting in the room with something uncanny. 

"Jane, what are you doing?"

"Learning German. "

"I want you to give up German and learn Hindostanee. "

"You are not in earnest?"

"In such earnest that I must have it so: and I will tell you why. "

He then went on to explain that Hindostanee was the language he washimself at present studying; that, as he advanced, he was apt to forgetthe commencement; that it would assist him greatly to have a pupil withwhom he might again and again go over the elements, and so fix themthoroughly in his mind; that his choice had hovered for some time betweenme and his sisters; but that he had fixed on me because he saw I couldsit at a task the longest of the three. Would I do him this favour? Ishould not, perhaps, have to make the sacrifice long, as it wanted nowbarely three months to his departure. 

St. John was not a man to be lightly refused: you felt that everyimpression made on him, either for pain or pleasure, was deep-graved andpermanent. I consented. When Diana and Mary returned, the former foundher scholar transferred from her to her brother: she laughed, and bothshe and Mary agreed that St. John should never have persuaded them tosuch a step. He answered quietly--

"I know it. "

I found him a very patient, very forbearing, and yet an exacting master:he expected me to do a great deal; and when I fulfilled his expectations, he, in his own way, fully testified his approbation. By degrees, heacquired a certain influence over me that took away my liberty of mind:his praise and notice were more restraining than his indifference. Icould no longer talk or laugh freely when he was by, because a tiresomelyimportunate instinct reminded me that vivacity (at least in me) wasdistasteful to him. I was so fully aware that only serious moods andoccupations were acceptable, that in his presence every effort to sustainor follow any other became vain: I fell under a freezing spell. When hesaid "go, " I went; "come, " I came; "do this, " I did it. But I did notlove my servitude: I wished, many a time, he had continued to neglect me. 

One evening when, at bedtime, his sisters and I stood round him, biddinghim good-night, he kissed each of them, as was his custom; and, as wasequally his custom, he gave me his hand. Diana, who chanced to be in afrolicsome humour (_she_ was not painfully controlled by his will; forhers, in another way, was as strong), exclaimed--

"St. John! you used to call Jane your third sister, but you don't treather as such: you should kiss her too. "

She pushed me towards him. I thought Diana very provoking, and feltuncomfortably confused; and while I was thus thinking and feeling, St. John bent his head; his Greek face was brought to a level with mine, hiseyes questioned my eyes piercingly--he kissed me. There are no suchthings as marble kisses or ice kisses, or I should say my ecclesiasticalcousin's salute belonged to one of these classes; but there may beexperiment kisses, and his was an experiment kiss. When given, he viewedme to learn the result; it was not striking: I am sure I did not blush;perhaps I might have turned a little pale, for I felt as if this kisswere a seal affixed to my fetters. He never omitted the ceremonyafterwards, and the gravity and quiescence with which I underwent it, seemed to invest it for him with a certain charm. 

As for me, I daily wished more to please him; but to do so, I felt dailymore and more that I must disown half my nature, stifle half myfaculties, wrest my tastes from their original bent, force myself to theadoption of pursuits for which I had no natural vocation. He wanted totrain me to an elevation I could never reach; it racked me hourly toaspire to the standard he uplifted. The thing was as impossible as tomould my irregular features to his correct and classic pattern, to giveto my changeable green eyes the sea-blue tint and solemn lustre of hisown. 

Not his ascendancy alone, however, held me in thrall at present. Of lateit had been easy enough for me to look sad: a cankering evil sat at myheart and drained my happiness at its source--the evil of suspense. 

Perhaps you think I had forgotten Mr. Rochester, reader, amidst thesechanges of place and fortune. Not for a moment. His idea was still withme, because it was not a vapour sunshine could disperse, nor asand-traced effigy storms could wash away; it was a name graven on atablet, fated to last as long as the marble it inscribed. The craving toknow what had become of him followed me everywhere; when I was at Morton, I re-entered my cottage every evening to think of that; and now at MoorHouse, I sought my bedroom each night to brood over it. 

In the course of my necessary correspondence with Mr. Briggs about thewill, I had inquired if he knew anything of Mr. Rochester's presentresidence and state of health; but, as St. John had conjectured, he wasquite ignorant of all concerning him. I then wrote to Mrs. Fairfax, entreating information on the subject. I had calculated with certaintyon this step answering my end: I felt sure it would elicit an earlyanswer. I was astonished when a fortnight passed without reply; but whentwo months wore away, and day after day the post arrived and broughtnothing for me, I fell a prey to the keenest anxiety. 

I wrote again: there was a chance of my first letter having missed. Renewed hope followed renewed effort: it shone like the former for someweeks, then, like it, it faded, flickered: not a line, not a word reachedme. When half a year wasted in vain expectancy, my hope died out, andthen I felt dark indeed. 

A fine spring shone round me, which I could not enjoy. Summerapproached; Diana tried to cheer me: she said I looked ill, and wished toaccompany me to the sea-side. This St. John opposed; he said I did notwant dissipation, I wanted employment; my present life was toopurposeless, I required an aim; and, I suppose, by way of supplyingdeficiencies, he prolonged still further my lessons in Hindostanee, andgrew more urgent in requiring their accomplishment: and I, like a fool, never thought of resisting him--I could not resist him. 

One day I had come to my studies in lower spirits than usual; the ebb wasoccasioned by a poignantly felt disappointment. Hannah had told me inthe morning there was a letter for me, and when I went down to take it, almost certain that the long-looked for tidings were vouchsafed me atlast, I found only an unimportant note from Mr. Briggs on business. Thebitter check had wrung from me some tears; and now, as I sat poring overthe crabbed characters and flourishing tropes of an Indian scribe, myeyes filled again. 

St. John called me to his side to read; in attempting to do this my voicefailed me: words were lost in sobs. He and I were the only occupants ofthe parlour: Diana was practising her music in the drawing-room, Mary wasgardening--it was a very fine May day, clear, sunny, and breezy. Mycompanion expressed no surprise at this emotion, nor did he question meas to its cause; he only said--

"We will wait a few minutes, Jane, till you are more composed. " Andwhile I smothered the paroxysm with all haste, he sat calm and patient, leaning on his desk, and looking like a physician watching with the eyeof science an expected and fully understood crisis in a patient's malady. Having stifled my sobs, wiped my eyes, and muttered something about notbeing very well that morning, I resumed my task, and succeeded incompleting it. St. John put away my books and his, locked his desk, andsaid--

"Now, Jane, you shall take a walk; and with me. "

"I will call Diana and Mary. "

"No; I want only one companion this morning, and that must be you. Puton your things; go out by the kitchen-door: take the road towards thehead of Marsh Glen: I will join you in a moment. "

I know no medium: I never in my life have known any medium in my dealingswith positive, hard characters, antagonistic to my own, between absolutesubmission and determined revolt. I have always faithfully observed theone, up to the very moment of bursting, sometimes with volcanicvehemence, into the other; and as neither present circumstanceswarranted, nor my present mood inclined me to mutiny, I observed carefulobedience to St. John's directions; and in ten minutes I was treading thewild track of the glen, side by side with him. 

The breeze was from the west: it came over the hills, sweet with scentsof heath and rush; the sky was of stainless blue; the stream descendingthe ravine, swelled with past spring rains, poured along plentiful andclear, catching golden gleams from the sun, and sapphire tints from thefirmament. As we advanced and left the track, we trod a soft turf, mossyfine and emerald green, minutely enamelled with a tiny white flower, andspangled with a star-like yellow blossom: the hills, meantime, shut usquite in; for the glen, towards its head, wound to their very core. 

"Let us rest here, " said St. John, as we reached the first stragglers ofa battalion of rocks, guarding a sort of pass, beyond which the beckrushed down a waterfall; and where, still a little farther, the mountainshook off turf and flower, had only heath for raiment and crag forgem--where it exaggerated the wild to the savage, and exchanged the freshfor the frowning--where it guarded the forlorn hope of solitude, and alast refuge for silence. 

I took a seat: St. John stood near me. He looked up the pass and downthe hollow; his glance wandered away with the stream, and returned totraverse the unclouded heaven which coloured it: he removed his hat, letthe breeze stir his hair and kiss his brow. He seemed in communion withthe genius of the haunt: with his eye he bade farewell to something. 

"And I shall see it again, " he said aloud, "in dreams when I sleep by theGanges: and again in a more remote hour--when another slumber overcomesme--on the shore of a darker stream!"

Strange words of a strange love! An austere patriot's passion for hisfatherland! He sat down; for half-an-hour we never spoke; neither he tome nor I to him: that interval past, he recommenced--

"Jane, I go in six weeks; I have taken my berth in an East Indiaman whichsails on the 20th of June. "

"God will protect you; for you have undertaken His work, " I answered. 

"Yes, " said he, "there is my glory and joy. I am the servant of aninfallible Master. I am not going out under human guidance, subject tothe defective laws and erring control of my feeble fellow-worms: my king, my lawgiver, my captain, is the All-perfect. It seems strange to me thatall round me do not burn to enlist under the same banner, --to join in thesame enterprise. "

"All have not your powers, and it would be folly for the feeble to wishto march with the strong. "

"I do not speak to the feeble, or think of them: I address only such asare worthy of the work, and competent to accomplish it. "

"Those are few in number, and difficult to discover. "

"You say truly; but when found, it is right to stir them up--to urge andexhort them to the effort--to show them what their gifts are, and whythey were given--to speak Heaven's message in their ear, --to offer them, direct from God, a place in the ranks of His chosen. "

"If they are really qualified for the task, will not their own hearts bethe first to inform them of it?"

I felt as if an awful charm was framing round and gathering over me: Itrembled to hear some fatal word spoken which would at once declare andrivet the spell. 

"And what does _your_ heart say?" demanded St. John. 

"My heart is mute, --my heart is mute, " I answered, struck and thrilled. 

"Then I must speak for it, " continued the deep, relentless voice. "Jane, come with me to India: come as my helpmeet and fellow-labourer. "

The glen and sky spun round: the hills heaved! It was as if I had hearda summons from Heaven--as if a visionary messenger, like him ofMacedonia, had enounced, "Come over and help us!" But I was noapostle, --I could not behold the herald, --I could not receive his call. 

"Oh, St. John!" I cried, "have some mercy!"

I appealed to one who, in the discharge of what he believed his duty, knew neither mercy nor remorse. He continued--

"God and nature intended you for a missionary's wife. It is notpersonal, but mental endowments they have given you: you are formed forlabour, not for love. A missionary's wife you must--shall be. You shallbe mine: I claim you--not for my pleasure, but for my Sovereign'sservice. "

"I am not fit for it: I have no vocation, " I said. 

He had calculated on these first objections: he was not irritated bythem. Indeed, as he leaned back against the crag behind him, folded hisarms on his chest, and fixed his countenance, I saw he was prepared for along and trying opposition, and had taken in a stock of patience to lasthim to its close--resolved, however, that that close should be conquestfor him. 

"Humility, Jane, " said he, "is the groundwork of Christian virtues: yousay right that you are not fit for the work. Who is fit for it? Or who, that ever was truly called, believed himself worthy of the summons? I, for instance, am but dust and ashes. With St. Paul, I acknowledge myselfthe chiefest of sinners; but I do not suffer this sense of my personalvileness to daunt me. I know my Leader: that He is just as well asmighty; and while He has chosen a feeble instrument to perform a greattask, He will, from the boundless stores of His providence, supply theinadequacy of the means to the end. Think like me, Jane--trust like me. It is the Rock of Ages I ask you to lean on: do not doubt but it willbear the weight of your human weakness. "

"I do not understand a missionary life: I have never studied missionarylabours. "

"There I, humble as I am, can give you the aid you want: I can set youyour task from hour to hour; stand by you always; help you from moment tomoment. This I could do in the beginning: soon (for I know your powers)you would be as strong and apt as myself, and would not require my help. "

"But my powers--where are they for this undertaking? I do not feel them. Nothing speaks or stirs in me while you talk. I am sensible of no lightkindling--no life quickening--no voice counselling or cheering. Oh, Iwish I could make you see how much my mind is at this moment like arayless dungeon, with one shrinking fear fettered in its depths--the fearof being persuaded by you to attempt what I cannot accomplish!"

"I have an answer for you--hear it. I have watched you ever since wefirst met: I have made you my study for ten months. I have proved you inthat time by sundry tests: and what have I seen and elicited? In thevillage school I found you could perform well, punctually, uprightly, labour uncongenial to your habits and inclinations; I saw you couldperform it with capacity and tact: you could win while you controlled. Inthe calm with which you learnt you had become suddenly rich, I read amind clear of the vice of Demas:--lucre had no undue power over you. Inthe resolute readiness with which you cut your wealth into four shares, keeping but one to yourself, and relinquishing the three others to theclaim of abstract justice, I recognised a soul that revelled in the flameand excitement of sacrifice. In the tractability with which, at my wish, you forsook a study in which you were interested, and adopted anotherbecause it interested me; in the untiring assiduity with which you havesince persevered in it--in the unflagging energy and unshaken temper withwhich you have met its difficulties--I acknowledge the complement of thequalities I seek. Jane, you are docile, diligent, disinterested, faithful, constant, and courageous; very gentle, and very heroic: ceaseto mistrust yourself--I can trust you unreservedly. As a conductress ofIndian schools, and a helper amongst Indian women, your assistance willbe to me invaluable. "

My iron shroud contracted round me; persuasion advanced with slow surestep. Shut my eyes as I would, these last words of his succeeded inmaking the way, which had seemed blocked up, comparatively clear. Mywork, which had appeared so vague, so hopelessly diffuse, condenseditself as he proceeded, and assumed a definite form under his shapinghand. He waited for an answer. I demanded a quarter of an hour tothink, before I again hazarded a reply. 

"Very willingly, " he rejoined; and rising, he strode a little distance upthe pass, threw himself down on a swell of heath, and there lay still. 

{He threw himself down on a swell of heath, and there lay still:p389. Jpg}

"I _can_ do what he wants me to do: I am forced to see and acknowledgethat, " I meditated, --"that is, if life be spared me. But I feel mine isnot the existence to be long protracted under an Indian sun. What then?He does not care for that: when my time came to die, he would resign me, in all serenity and sanctity, to the God who gave me. The case is veryplain before me. In leaving England, I should leave a loved but emptyland--Mr. Rochester is not there; and if he were, what is, what can thatever be to me? My business is to live without him now: nothing soabsurd, so weak as to drag on from day to day, as if I were waiting someimpossible change in circumstances, which might reunite me to him. Ofcourse (as St. John once said) I must seek another interest in life toreplace the one lost: is not the occupation he now offers me truly themost glorious man can adopt or God assign? Is it not, by its noble caresand sublime results, the one best calculated to fill the void left byuptorn affections and demolished hopes? I believe I must say, Yes--andyet I shudder. Alas! If I join St. John, I abandon half myself: if I goto India, I go to premature death. And how will the interval betweenleaving England for India, and India for the grave, be filled? Oh, Iknow well! That, too, is very clear to my vision. By straining tosatisfy St. John till my sinews ache, I _shall_ satisfy him--to thefinest central point and farthest outward circle of his expectations. IfI _do_ go with him--if I _do_ make the sacrifice he urges, I will make itabsolutely: I will throw all on the altar--heart, vitals, the entirevictim. He will never love me; but he shall approve me; I will show himenergies he has not yet seen, resources he has never suspected. Yes, Ican work as hard as he can, and with as little grudging. 

"Consent, then, to his demand is possible: but for one item--one dreadfulitem. It is--that he asks me to be his wife, and has no more of ahusband's heart for me than that frowning giant of a rock, down which thestream is foaming in yonder gorge. He prizes me as a soldier would agood weapon; and that is all. Unmarried to him, this would never grieveme; but can I let him complete his calculations--coolly put into practicehis plans--go through the wedding ceremony? Can I receive from him thebridal ring, endure all the forms of love (which I doubt not he wouldscrupulously observe) and know that the spirit was quite absent? Can Ibear the consciousness that every endearment he bestows is a sacrificemade on principle? No: such a martyrdom would be monstrous. I willnever undergo it. As his sister, I might accompany him--not as his wife:I will tell him so. "

I looked towards the knoll: there he lay, still as a prostrate column;his face turned to me: his eye beaming watchful and keen. He started tohis feet and approached me. 

"I am ready to go to India, if I may go free. "

"Your answer requires a commentary, " he said; "it is not clear. "

"You have hitherto been my adopted brother--I, your adopted sister: letus continue as such: you and I had better not marry. "

He shook his head. "Adopted fraternity will not do in this case. If youwere my real sister it would be different: I should take you, and seek nowife. But as it is, either our union must be consecrated and sealed bymarriage, or it cannot exist: practical obstacles oppose themselves toany other plan. Do you not see it, Jane? Consider a moment--your strongsense will guide you. "

I did consider; and still my sense, such as it was, directed me only tothe fact that we did not love each other as man and wife should: andtherefore it inferred we ought not to marry. I said so. "St. John, " Ireturned, "I regard you as a brother--you, me as a sister: so let uscontinue. "

"We cannot--we cannot, " he answered, with short, sharp determination: "itwould not do. You have said you will go with me to India: remember--youhave said that. "

"Conditionally. "

"Well--well. To the main point--the departure with me from England, theco-operation with me in my future labours--you do not object. You havealready as good as put your hand to the plough: you are too consistent towithdraw it. You have but one end to keep in view--how the work you haveundertaken can best be done. Simplify your complicated interests, feelings, thoughts, wishes, aims; merge all considerations in onepurpose: that of fulfilling with effect--with power--the mission of yourgreat Master. To do so, you must have a coadjutor: not a brother--thatis a loose tie--but a husband. I, too, do not want a sister: a sistermight any day be taken from me. I want a wife: the sole helpmeet I caninfluence efficiently in life, and retain absolutely till death. "

I shuddered as he spoke: I felt his influence in my marrow--his hold onmy limbs. 

"Seek one elsewhere than in me, St. John: seek one fitted to you. "

"One fitted to my purpose, you mean--fitted to my vocation. Again I tellyou it is not the insignificant private individual--the mere man, withthe man's selfish senses--I wish to mate: it is the missionary. "

"And I will give the missionary my energies--it is all he wants--but notmyself: that would be only adding the husk and shell to the kernel. Forthem he has no use: I retain them. "

"You cannot--you ought not. Do you think God will be satisfied with halfan oblation? Will He accept a mutilated sacrifice? It is the cause ofGod I advocate: it is under His standard I enlist you. I cannot accepton His behalf a divided allegiance: it must be entire. "

"Oh! I will give my heart to God, " I said. "_You_ do not want it. "

I will not swear, reader, that there was not something of repressedsarcasm both in the tone in which I uttered this sentence, and in thefeeling that accompanied it. I had silently feared St. John till now, because I had not understood him. He had held me in awe, because he hadheld me in doubt. How much of him was saint, how much mortal, I couldnot heretofore tell: but revelations were being made in this conference:the analysis of his nature was proceeding before my eyes. I saw hisfallibilities: I comprehended them. I understood that, sitting therewhere I did, on the bank of heath, and with that handsome form before me, I sat at the feet of a man, caring as I. The veil fell from his hardnessand despotism. Having felt in him the presence of these qualities, Ifelt his imperfection and took courage. I was with an equal--one withwhom I might argue--one whom, if I saw good, I might resist. 

He was silent after I had uttered the last sentence, and I presentlyrisked an upward glance at his countenance. 

His eye, bent on me, expressed at once stern surprise and keen inquiry. "Is she sarcastic, and sarcastic to _me_!" it seemed to say. "What doesthis signify?"

"Do not let us forget that this is a solemn matter, " he said ere long;"one of which we may neither think nor talk lightly without sin. Itrust, Jane, you are in earnest when you say you will serve your heart toGod: it is all I want. Once wrench your heart from man, and fix it onyour Maker, the advancement of that Maker's spiritual kingdom on earthwill be your chief delight and endeavour; you will be ready to do at oncewhatever furthers that end. You will see what impetus would be given toyour efforts and mine by our physical and mental union in marriage: theonly union that gives a character of permanent conformity to thedestinies and designs of human beings; and, passing over all minorcaprices--all trivial difficulties and delicacies of feeling--all scrupleabout the degree, kind, strength or tenderness of mere personalinclination--you will hasten to enter into that union at once. "

"Shall I?" I said briefly; and I looked at his features, beautiful intheir harmony, but strangely formidable in their still severity; at hisbrow, commanding but not open; at his eyes, bright and deep andsearching, but never soft; at his tall imposing figure; and fanciedmyself in idea _his wife_. Oh! it would never do! As his curate, hiscomrade, all would be right: I would cross oceans with him in thatcapacity; toil under Eastern suns, in Asian deserts with him in thatoffice; admire and emulate his courage and devotion and vigour;accommodate quietly to his masterhood; smile undisturbed at hisineradicable ambition; discriminate the Christian from the man:profoundly esteem the one, and freely forgive the other. I should sufferoften, no doubt, attached to him only in this capacity: my body would beunder rather a stringent yoke, but my heart and mind would be free. Ishould still have my unblighted self to turn to: my natural unenslavedfeelings with which to communicate in moments of loneliness. There wouldbe recesses in my mind which would be only mine, to which he never came, and sentiments growing there fresh and sheltered which his austeritycould never blight, nor his measured warrior-march trample down: but ashis wife--at his side always, and always restrained, and alwayschecked--forced to keep the fire of my nature continually low, to compelit to burn inwardly and never utter a cry, though the imprisoned flameconsumed vital after vital--_this_ would be unendurable. 

"St. John!" I exclaimed, when I had got so far in my meditation. 

"Well?" he answered icily. 

"I repeat I freely consent to go with you as your fellow-missionary, butnot as your wife; I cannot marry you and become part of you. "

"A part of me you must become, " he answered steadily; "otherwise thewhole bargain is void. How can I, a man not yet thirty, take out with meto India a girl of nineteen, unless she be married to me? How can we befor ever together--sometimes in solitudes, sometimes amidst savagetribes--and unwed?"

"Very well, " I said shortly; "under the circumstances, quite as well asif I were either your real sister, or a man and a clergyman likeyourself. "

"It is known that you are not my sister; I cannot introduce you as such:to attempt it would be to fasten injurious suspicions on us both. Andfor the rest, though you have a man's vigorous brain, you have a woman'sheart and--it would not do. "

"It would do, " I affirmed with some disdain, "perfectly well. I have awoman's heart, but not where you are concerned; for you I have only acomrade's constancy; a fellow-soldier's frankness, fidelity, fraternity, if you like; a neophyte's respect and submission to his hierophant:nothing more--don't fear. "

"It is what I want, " he said, speaking to himself; "it is just what Iwant. And there are obstacles in the way: they must be hewn down. Jane, you would not repent marrying me--be certain of that; we _must_ bemarried. I repeat it: there is no other way; and undoubtedly enough oflove would follow upon marriage to render the union right even in youreyes. "

"I scorn your idea of love, " I could not help saying, as I rose up andstood before him, leaning my back against the rock. "I scorn thecounterfeit sentiment you offer: yes, St. John, and I scorn you when youoffer it. "

He looked at me fixedly, compressing his well-cut lips while he did so. Whether he was incensed or surprised, or what, it was not easy to tell:he could command his countenance thoroughly. 

"I scarcely expected to hear that expression from you, " he said: "I thinkI have done and uttered nothing to deserve scorn. "

I was touched by his gentle tone, and overawed by his high, calm mien. 

"Forgive me the words, St. John; but it is your own fault that I havebeen roused to speak so unguardedly. You have introduced a topic onwhich our natures are at variance--a topic we should never discuss: thevery name of love is an apple of discord between us. If the reality wererequired, what should we do? How should we feel? My dear cousin, abandon your scheme of marriage--forget it. "

"No, " said he; "it is a long-cherished scheme, and the only one which cansecure my great end: but I shall urge you no further at present. To-morrow, I leave home for Cambridge: I have many friends there to whomI should wish to say farewell. I shall be absent a fortnight--take thatspace of time to consider my offer: and do not forget that if you rejectit, it is not me you deny, but God. Through my means, He opens to you anoble career; as my wife only can you enter upon it. Refuse to be mywife, and you limit yourself for ever to a track of selfish ease andbarren obscurity. Tremble lest in that case you should be numbered withthose who have denied the faith, and are worse than infidels!"

He had done. Turning from me, he once more

 "Looked to river, looked to hill. "

But this time his feelings were all pent in his heart: I was not worthyto hear them uttered. As I walked by his side homeward, I read well inhis iron silence all he felt towards me: the disappointment of an austereand despotic nature, which has met resistance where it expectedsubmission--the disapprobation of a cool, inflexible judgment, which hasdetected in another feelings and views in which it has no power tosympathise: in short, as a man, he would have wished to coerce me intoobedience: it was only as a sincere Christian he bore so patiently withmy perversity, and allowed so long a space for reflection and repentance. 

That night, after he had kissed his sisters, he thought proper to forgeteven to shake hands with me, but left the room in silence. I--who, though I had no love, had much friendship for him--was hurt by the markedomission: so much hurt that tears started to my eyes. 

"I see you and St. John have been quarrelling, Jane, " said Diana, "duringyour walk on the moor. But go after him; he is now lingering in thepassage expecting you--he will make it up. "

I have not much pride under such circumstances: I would always rather behappy than dignified; and I ran after him--he stood at the foot of thestairs. 

"Good-night, St. John, " said I. 

"Good-night, Jane, " he replied calmly. 

"Then shake hands, " I added. 

What a cold, loose touch, he impressed on my fingers! He was deeplydispleased by what had occurred that day; cordiality would not warm, nortears move him. No happy reconciliation was to be had with him--nocheering smile or generous word: but still the Christian was patient andplacid; and when I asked him if he forgave me, he answered that he wasnot in the habit of cherishing the remembrance of vexation; that he hadnothing to forgive, not having been offended. 

And with that answer he left me. I would much rather he had knocked medown. 

CHAPTER XXXV

He did not leave for Cambridge the next day, as he had said he would. Hedeferred his departure a whole week, and during that time he made me feelwhat severe punishment a good yet stern, a conscientious yet implacableman can inflict on one who has offended him. Without one overt act ofhostility, one upbraiding word, he contrived to impress me momently withthe conviction that I was put beyond the pale of his favour. 

Not that St. John harboured a spirit of unchristian vindictiveness--notthat he would have injured a hair of my head, if it had been fully in hispower to do so. Both by nature and principle, he was superior to themean gratification of vengeance: he had forgiven me for saying I scornedhim and his love, but he had not forgotten the words; and as long as heand I lived he never would forget them. I saw by his look, when heturned to me, that they were always written on the air between me andhim; whenever I spoke, they sounded in my voice to his ear, and theirecho toned every answer he gave me. 

He did not abstain from conversing with me: he even called me as usualeach morning to join him at his desk; and I fear the corrupt man withinhim had a pleasure unimparted to, and unshared by, the pure Christian, inevincing with what skill he could, while acting and speaking apparentlyjust as usual, extract from every deed and every phrase the spirit ofinterest and approval which had formerly communicated a certain austerecharm to his language and manner. To me, he was in reality become nolonger flesh, but marble; his eye was a cold, bright, blue gem; histongue a speaking instrument--nothing more. 

All this was torture to me--refined, lingering torture. It kept up aslow fire of indignation and a trembling trouble of grief, which harassedand crushed me altogether. I felt how--if I were his wife, this goodman, pure as the deep sunless source, could soon kill me, without drawingfrom my veins a single drop of blood, or receiving on his own crystalconscience the faintest stain of crime. Especially I felt this when Imade any attempt to propitiate him. No ruth met my ruth. _He_experienced no suffering from estrangement--no yearning afterreconciliation; and though, more than once, my fast falling tearsblistered the page over which we both bent, they produced no more effecton him than if his heart had been really a matter of stone or metal. Tohis sisters, meantime, he was somewhat kinder than usual: as if afraidthat mere coldness would not sufficiently convince me how completely Iwas banished and banned, he added the force of contrast; and this I amsure he did not by force, but on principle. 

The night before he left home, happening to see him walking in the gardenabout sunset, and remembering, as I looked at him, that this man, alienated as he now was, had once saved my life, and that we were nearrelations, I was moved to make a last attempt to regain his friendship. Iwent out and approached him as he stood leaning over the little gate; Ispoke to the point at once. 

"St. John, I am unhappy because you are still angry with me. Let us befriends. "

"I hope we are friends, " was the unmoved reply; while he still watchedthe rising of the moon, which he had been contemplating as I approached. 

"No, St. John, we are not friends as we were. You know that. "

"Are we not? That is wrong. For my part, I wish you no ill and allgood. "

"I believe you, St. John; for I am sure you are incapable of wishing anyone ill; but, as I am your kinswoman, I should desire somewhat more ofaffection than that sort of general philanthropy you extend to merestrangers. "

"Of course, " he said. "Your wish is reasonable, and I am far fromregarding you as a stranger. "

This, spoken in a cool, tranquil tone, was mortifying and bafflingenough. Had I attended to the suggestions of pride and ire, I shouldimmediately have left him; but something worked within me more stronglythan those feelings could. I deeply venerated my cousin's talent andprinciple. His friendship was of value to me: to lose it tried meseverely. I would not so soon relinquish the attempt to reconquer it. 

"Must we part in this way, St. John? And when you go to India, will youleave me so, without a kinder word than you have yet spoken?"

He now turned quite from the moon and faced me. 

"When I go to India, Jane, will I leave you! What! do you not go toIndia?"

"You said I could not unless I married you. "

"And you will not marry me! You adhere to that resolution?"

Reader, do you know, as I do, what terror those cold people can put intothe ice of their questions? How much of the fall of the avalanche is intheir anger? of the breaking up of the frozen sea in their displeasure?

"No. St. John, I will not marry you. I adhere to my resolution. "

The avalanche had shaken and slid a little forward, but it did not yetcrash down. 

"Once more, why this refusal?" he asked. 

"Formerly, " I answered, "because you did not love me; now, I reply, because you almost hate me. If I were to marry you, you would kill me. You are killing me now. "

His lips and cheeks turned white--quite white. 

"_I should kill you_--_I am killing you_? Your words are such as oughtnot to be used: violent, unfeminine, and untrue. They betray anunfortunate state of mind: they merit severe reproof: they would seeminexcusable, but that it is the duty of man to forgive his fellow evenuntil seventy-and-seven times. "

I had finished the business now. While earnestly wishing to erase fromhis mind the trace of my former offence, I had stamped on that tenacioussurface another and far deeper impression, I had burnt it in. 

"Now you will indeed hate me, " I said. "It is useless to attempt toconciliate you: I see I have made an eternal enemy of you. "

A fresh wrong did these words inflict: the worse, because they touched onthe truth. That bloodless lip quivered to a temporary spasm. I knew thesteely ire I had whetted. I was heart-wrung. 

"You utterly misinterpret my words, " I said, at once seizing his hand: "Ihave no intention to grieve or pain you--indeed, I have not. "

Most bitterly he smiled--most decidedly he withdrew his hand from mine. "And now you recall your promise, and will not go to India at all, Ipresume?" said he, after a considerable pause. 

"Yes, I will, as your assistant, " I answered. 

A very long silence succeeded. What struggle there was in him betweenNature and Grace in this interval, I cannot tell: only singular gleamsscintillated in his eyes, and strange shadows passed over his face. Hespoke at last. 

"I before proved to you the absurdity of a single woman of your ageproposing to accompany abroad a single man of mine. I proved it to youin such terms as, I should have thought, would have prevented your everagain alluding to the plan. That you have done so, I regret--for yoursake. "

I interrupted him. Anything like a tangible reproach gave me courage atonce. "Keep to common sense, St. John: you are verging on nonsense. Youpretend to be shocked by what I have said. You are not really shocked:for, with your superior mind, you cannot be either so dull or soconceited as to misunderstand my meaning. I say again, I will be yourcurate, if you like, but never your wife. "

Again he turned lividly pale; but, as before, controlled his passionperfectly. He answered emphatically but calmly--

"A female curate, who is not my wife, would never suit me. With me, then, it seems, you cannot go: but if you are sincere in your offer, Iwill, while in town, speak to a married missionary, whose wife needs acoadjutor. Your own fortune will make you independent of the Society'said; and thus you may still be spared the dishonour of breaking yourpromise and deserting the band you engaged to join. "

Now I never had, as the reader knows, either given any formal promise orentered into any engagement; and this language was all much too hard andmuch too despotic for the occasion. I replied--

"There is no dishonour, no breach of promise, no desertion in the case. Iam not under the slightest obligation to go to India, especially withstrangers. With you I would have ventured much, because I admire, confide in, and, as a sister, I love you; but I am convinced that, gowhen and with whom I would, I should not live long in that climate. "

"Ah! you are afraid of yourself, " he said, curling his lip. 

"I am. God did not give me my life to throw away; and to do as you wishme would, I begin to think, be almost equivalent to committing suicide. Moreover, before I definitively resolve on quitting England, I will knowfor certain whether I cannot be of greater use by remaining in it than byleaving it. "

"What do you mean?"

"It would be fruitless to attempt to explain; but there is a point onwhich I have long endured painful doubt, and I can go nowhere till bysome means that doubt is removed. "

"I know where your heart turns and to what it clings. The interest youcherish is lawless and unconsecrated. Long since you ought to havecrushed it: now you should blush to allude to it. You think of Mr. Rochester?"

It was true. I confessed it by silence. 

"Are you going to seek Mr. Rochester?"

"I must find out what is become of him. "

"It remains for me, then, " he said, "to remember you in my prayers, andto entreat God for you, in all earnestness, that you may not indeedbecome a castaway. I had thought I recognised in you one of the chosen. But God sees not as man sees: _His_ will be done--"

He opened the gate, passed through it, and strayed away down the glen. Hewas soon out of sight. 

On re-entering the parlour, I found Diana standing at the window, lookingvery thoughtful. Diana was a great deal taller than I: she put her handon my shoulder, and, stooping, examined my face. 

"Jane, " she said, "you are always agitated and pale now. I am sure thereis something the matter. Tell me what business St. John and you have onhands. I have watched you this half hour from the window; you mustforgive my being such a spy, but for a long time I have fancied I hardlyknow what. St. John is a strange being--"

She paused--I did not speak: soon she resumed--

"That brother of mine cherishes peculiar views of some sort respectingyou, I am sure: he has long distinguished you by a notice and interest henever showed to any one else--to what end? I wish he loved you--does he, Jane?"

I put her cool hand to my hot forehead; "No, Die, not one whit. "

"Then why does he follow you so with his eyes, and get you so frequentlyalone with him, and keep you so continually at his side? Mary and I hadboth concluded he wished you to marry him. "

"He does--he has asked me to be his wife. "

Diana clapped her hands. "That is just what we hoped and thought! Andyou will marry him, Jane, won't you? And then he will stay in England. "

"Far from that, Diana; his sole idea in proposing to me is to procure afitting fellow-labourer in his Indian toils. "

"What! He wishes you to go to India?"

"Yes. "

"Madness!" she exclaimed. "You would not live three months there, I amcertain. You never shall go: you have not consented, have you, Jane?"

"I have refused to marry him--"

"And have consequently displeased him?" she suggested. 

"Deeply: he will never forgive me, I fear: yet I offered to accompany himas his sister. "

"It was frantic folly to do so, Jane. Think of the task youundertook--one of incessant fatigue, where fatigue kills even the strong, and you are weak. St. John--you know him--would urge you toimpossibilities: with him there would be no permission to rest during thehot hours; and unfortunately, I have noticed, whatever he exacts, youforce yourself to perform. I am astonished you found courage to refusehis hand. You do not love him then, Jane?"

"Not as a husband. "

"Yet he is a handsome fellow. "

"And I am so plain, you see, Die. We should never suit. "

"Plain! You? Not at all. You are much too pretty, as well as too good, to be grilled alive in Calcutta. " And again she earnestly conjured me togive up all thoughts of going out with her brother. 

"I must indeed, " I said; "for when just now I repeated the offer ofserving him for a deacon, he expressed himself shocked at my want ofdecency. He seemed to think I had committed an impropriety in proposingto accompany him unmarried: as if I had not from the first hoped to findin him a brother, and habitually regarded him as such. "

"What makes you say he does not love you, Jane?"

"You should hear himself on the subject. He has again and againexplained that it is not himself, but his office he wishes to mate. Hehas told me I am formed for labour--not for love: which is true, nodoubt. But, in my opinion, if I am not formed for love, it follows thatI am not formed for marriage. Would it not be strange, Die, to bechained for life to a man who regarded one but as a useful tool?"

"Insupportable--unnatural--out of the question!"

"And then, " I continued, "though I have only sisterly affection for himnow, yet, if forced to be his wife, I can imagine the possibility ofconceiving an inevitable, strange, torturing kind of love for him, because he is so talented; and there is often a certain heroic grandeurin his look, manner, and conversation. In that case, my lot would becomeunspeakably wretched. He would not want me to love him; and if I showedthe feeling, he would make me sensible that it was a superfluity, unrequired by him, unbecoming in me. I know he would. "

"And yet St. John is a good man, " said Diana. 

"He is a good and a great man; but he forgets, pitilessly, the feelingsand claims of little people, in pursuing his own large views. It isbetter, therefore, for the insignificant to keep out of his way, lest, inhis progress, he should trample them down. Here he comes! I will leaveyou, Diana. " And I hastened upstairs as I saw him entering the garden. 

But I was forced to meet him again at supper. During that meal heappeared just as composed as usual. I had thought he would hardly speakto me, and I was certain he had given up the pursuit of his matrimonialscheme: the sequel showed I was mistaken on both points. He addressed meprecisely in his ordinary manner, or what had, of late, been his ordinarymanner--one scrupulously polite. No doubt he had invoked the help of theHoly Spirit to subdue the anger I had roused in him, and now believed hehad forgiven me once more. 

For the evening reading before prayers, he selected the twenty-firstchapter of Revelation. It was at all times pleasant to listen while fromhis lips fell the words of the Bible: never did his fine voice sound atonce so sweet and full--never did his manner become so impressive in itsnoble simplicity, as when he delivered the oracles of God: and to-nightthat voice took a more solemn tone--that manner a more thrillingmeaning--as he sat in the midst of his household circle (the May moonshining in through the uncurtained window, and rendering almostunnecessary the light of the candle on the table): as he sat there, bending over the great old Bible, and described from its page the visionof the new heaven and the new earth--told how God would come to dwellwith men, how He would wipe away all tears from their eyes, and promisedthat there should be no more death, neither sorrow nor crying, nor anymore pain, because the former things were passed away. 

The succeeding words thrilled me strangely as he spoke them: especiallyas I felt, by the slight, indescribable alteration in sound, that inuttering them, his eye had turned on me. 

"He that overcometh shall inherit all things; and I will be his God, andhe shall be my son. But, " was slowly, distinctly read, "the fearful, theunbelieving, &c. , shall have their part in the lake which burneth withfire and brimstone, which is the second death. "

Henceforward, I knew what fate St. John feared for me. 

A calm, subdued triumph, blent with a longing earnestness, marked hisenunciation of the last glorious verses of that chapter. The readerbelieved his name was already written in the Lamb's book of life, and heyearned after the hour which should admit him to the city to which thekings of the earth bring their glory and honour; which has no need of sunor moon to shine in it, because the glory of God lightens it, and theLamb is the light thereof. 

In the prayer following the chapter, all his energy gathered--all hisstern zeal woke: he was in deep earnest, wrestling with God, and resolvedon a conquest. He supplicated strength for the weak-hearted; guidancefor wanderers from the fold: a return, even at the eleventh hour, forthose whom the temptations of the world and the flesh were luring fromthe narrow path. He asked, he urged, he claimed the boon of a brandsnatched from the burning. Earnestness is ever deeply solemn: first, asI listened to that prayer, I wondered at his; then, when it continued androse, I was touched by it, and at last awed. He felt the greatness andgoodness of his purpose so sincerely: others who heard him plead for it, could not but feel it too. 

The prayer over, we took leave of him: he was to go at a very early hourin the morning. Diana and Mary having kissed him, left the room--incompliance, I think, with a whispered hint from him: I tendered my hand, and wished him a pleasant journey. 

"Thank you, Jane. As I said, I shall return from Cambridge in afortnight: that space, then, is yet left you for reflection. If Ilistened to human pride, I should say no more to you of marriage with me;but I listen to my duty, and keep steadily in view my first aim--to doall things to the glory of God. My Master was long-suffering: so will Ibe. I cannot give you up to perdition as a vessel of wrath:repent--resolve, while there is yet time. Remember, we are bid to workwhile it is day--warned that 'the night cometh when no man shall work. 'Remember the fate of Dives, who had his good things in this life. Godgive you strength to choose that better part which shall not be takenfrom you!"

He laid his hand on my head as he uttered the last words. He had spokenearnestly, mildly: his look was not, indeed, that of a lover beholdinghis mistress, but it was that of a pastor recalling his wanderingsheep--or better, of a guardian angel watching the soul for which he isresponsible. All men of talent, whether they be men of feeling or not;whether they be zealots, or aspirants, or despots--provided only they besincere--have their sublime moments, when they subdue and rule. I feltveneration for St. John--veneration so strong that its impetus thrust meat once to the point I had so long shunned. I was tempted to ceasestruggling with him--to rush down the torrent of his will into the gulfof his existence, and there lose my own. I was almost as hard beset byhim now as I had been once before, in a different way, by another. I wasa fool both times. To have yielded then would have been an error ofprinciple; to have yielded now would have been an error of judgment. SoI think at this hour, when I look back to the crisis through the quietmedium of time: I was unconscious of folly at the instant. 

I stood motionless under my hierophant's touch. My refusals wereforgotten--my fears overcome--my wrestlings paralysed. TheImpossible--_i. E. _, my marriage with St. John--was fast becoming thePossible. All was changing utterly with a sudden sweep. Religioncalled--Angels beckoned--God commanded--life rolled together like ascroll--death's gates opening, showed eternity beyond: it seemed, thatfor safety and bliss there, all here might be sacrificed in a second. Thedim room was full of visions. 

"Could you decide now?" asked the missionary. The inquiry was put ingentle tones: he drew me to him as gently. Oh, that gentleness! how farmore potent is it than force! I could resist St. John's wrath: I grewpliant as a reed under his kindness. Yet I knew all the time, if Iyielded now, I should not the less be made to repent, some day, of myformer rebellion. His nature was not changed by one hour of solemnprayer: it was only elevated. 

"I could decide if I were but certain, " I answered: "were I but convincedthat it is God's will I should marry you, I could vow to marry you hereand now--come afterwards what would!"

"My prayers are heard!" ejaculated St. John. He pressed his hand firmeron my head, as if he claimed me: he surrounded me with his arm, _almost_as if he loved me (I say _almost_--I knew the difference--for I had feltwhat it was to be loved; but, like him, I had now put love out of thequestion, and thought only of duty). I contended with my inward dimnessof vision, before which clouds yet rolled. I sincerely, deeply, fervently longed to do what was right; and only that. "Show me, show methe path!" I entreated of Heaven. I was excited more than I had everbeen; and whether what followed was the effect of excitement the readershall judge. 

All the house was still; for I believe all, except St. John and myself, were now retired to rest. The one candle was dying out: the room wasfull of moonlight. My heart beat fast and thick: I heard its throb. Suddenly it stood still to an inexpressible feeling that thrilled itthrough, and passed at once to my head and extremities. The feeling wasnot like an electric shock, but it was quite as sharp, as strange, asstartling: it acted on my senses as if their utmost activity hitherto hadbeen but torpor, from which they were now summoned and forced to wake. They rose expectant: eye and ear waited while the flesh quivered on mybones. 

"What have you heard? What do you see?" asked St. John. I saw nothing, but I heard a voice somewhere cry--

"Jane! Jane! Jane!"--nothing more. 

"O God! what is it?" I gasped. 

I might have said, "Where is it?" for it did not seem in the room--nor inthe house--nor in the garden; it did not come out of the air--nor fromunder the earth--nor from overhead. I had heard it--where, or whence, for ever impossible to know! And it was the voice of a human being--aknown, loved, well-remembered voice--that of Edward Fairfax Rochester;and it spoke in pain and woe, wildly, eerily, urgently. 

"I am coming!" I cried. "Wait for me! Oh, I will come!" I flew to thedoor and looked into the passage: it was dark. I ran out into thegarden: it was void. 

"Where are you?" I exclaimed. 

The hills beyond Marsh Glen sent the answer faintly back--"Where areyou?" I listened. The wind sighed low in the firs: all was moorlandloneliness and midnight hush. 

"Down superstition!" I commented, as that spectre rose up black by theblack yew at the gate. "This is not thy deception, nor thy witchcraft:it is the work of nature. She was roused, and did--no miracle--but herbest. "

I broke from St. John, who had followed, and would have detained me. Itwas _my_ time to assume ascendency. _My_ powers were in play and inforce. I told him to forbear question or remark; I desired him to leaveme: I must and would be alone. He obeyed at once. Where there is energyto command well enough, obedience never fails. I mounted to my chamber;locked myself in; fell on my knees; and prayed in my way--a different wayto St. John's, but effective in its own fashion. I seemed to penetratevery near a Mighty Spirit; and my soul rushed out in gratitude at Hisfeet. I rose from the thanksgiving--took a resolve--and lay down, unscared, enlightened--eager but for the daylight. 

CHAPTER XXXVI

The daylight came. I rose at dawn. I busied myself for an hour or twowith arranging my things in my chamber, drawers, and wardrobe, in theorder wherein I should wish to leave them during a brief absence. Meantime, I heard St. John quit his room. He stopped at my door: Ifeared he would knock--no, but a slip of paper was passed under the door. I took it up. It bore these words--

"You left me too suddenly last night. Had you stayed but a littlelonger, you would have laid your hand on the Christian's cross and theangel's crown. I shall expect your clear decision when I return this dayfortnight. Meantime, watch and pray that you enter not into temptation:the spirit, I trust, is willing, but the flesh, I see, is weak. I shallpray for you hourly. --Yours, ST. JOHN. "

"My spirit, " I answered mentally, "is willing to do what is right; and myflesh, I hope, is strong enough to accomplish the will of Heaven, whenonce that will is distinctly known to me. At any rate, it shall bestrong enough to search--inquire--to grope an outlet from this cloud ofdoubt, and find the open day of certainty. "

It was the first of June; yet the morning was overcast and chilly: rainbeat fast on my casement. I heard the front-door open, and St. John passout. Looking through the window, I saw him traverse the garden. He tookthe way over the misty moors in the direction of Whitcross--there hewould meet the coach. 

"In a few more hours I shall succeed you in that track, cousin, " thoughtI: "I too have a coach to meet at Whitcross. I too have some to see andask after in England, before I depart for ever. "

It wanted yet two hours of breakfast-time. I filled the interval inwalking softly about my room, and pondering the visitation which hadgiven my plans their present bent. I recalled that inward sensation Ihad experienced: for I could recall it, with all its unspeakablestrangeness. I recalled the voice I had heard; again I questioned whenceit came, as vainly as before: it seemed in _me_--not in the externalworld. I asked was it a mere nervous impression--a delusion? I couldnot conceive or believe: it was more like an inspiration. The wondrousshock of feeling had come like the earthquake which shook the foundationsof Paul and Silas's prison; it had opened the doors of the soul's celland loosed its bands--it had wakened it out of its sleep, whence itsprang trembling, listening, aghast; then vibrated thrice a cry on mystartled ear, and in my quaking heart and through my spirit, whichneither feared nor shook, but exulted as if in joy over the success ofone effort it had been privileged to make, independent of the cumbrousbody. 

"Ere many days, " I said, as I terminated my musings, "I will knowsomething of him whose voice seemed last night to summon me. Lettershave proved of no avail--personal inquiry shall replace them. "

At breakfast I announced to Diana and Mary that I was going a journey, and should be absent at least four days. 

"Alone, Jane?" they asked. 

"Yes; it was to see or hear news of a friend about whom I had for sometime been uneasy. "

They might have said, as I have no doubt they thought, that they hadbelieved me to be without any friends save them: for, indeed, I had oftensaid so; but, with their true natural delicacy, they abstained fromcomment, except that Diana asked me if I was sure I was well enough totravel. I looked very pale, she observed. I replied, that nothing ailedme save anxiety of mind, which I hoped soon to alleviate. 

It was easy to make my further arrangements; for I was troubled with noinquiries--no surmises. Having once explained to them that I could notnow be explicit about my plans, they kindly and wisely acquiesced in thesilence with which I pursued them, according to me the privilege of freeaction I should under similar circumstances have accorded them. 

I left Moor House at three o'clock p. M. , and soon after four I stood atthe foot of the sign-post of Whitcross, waiting the arrival of the coachwhich was to take me to distant Thornfield. Amidst the silence of thosesolitary roads and desert hills, I heard it approach from a greatdistance. It was the same vehicle whence, a year ago, I had alighted onesummer evening on this very spot--how desolate, and hopeless, andobjectless! It stopped as I beckoned. I entered--not now obliged topart with my whole fortune as the price of its accommodation. Once moreon the road to Thornfield, I felt like the messenger-pigeon flying home. 

It was a journey of six-and-thirty hours. I had set out from Whitcrosson a Tuesday afternoon, and early on the succeeding Thursday morning thecoach stopped to water the horses at a wayside inn, situated in the midstof scenery whose green hedges and large fields and low pastoral hills(how mild of feature and verdant of hue compared with the stern North-Midland moors of Morton!) met my eye like the lineaments of a oncefamiliar face. Yes, I knew the character of this landscape: I was surewe were near my bourne. 

"How far is Thornfield Hall from here?" I asked of the ostler. 

"Just two miles, ma'am, across the fields. "

"My journey is closed, " I thought to myself. I got out of the coach, gave a box I had into the ostler's charge, to be kept till I called forit; paid my fare; satisfied the coachman, and was going: the brighteningday gleamed on the sign of the inn, and I read in gilt letters, "TheRochester Arms. " My heart leapt up: I was already on my master's verylands. It fell again: the thought struck it:--

"Your master himself may be beyond the British Channel, for aught youknow: and then, if he is at Thornfield Hall, towards which you hasten, who besides him is there? His lunatic wife: and you have nothing to dowith him: you dare not speak to him or seek his presence. You have lostyour labour--you had better go no farther, " urged the monitor. "Askinformation of the people at the inn; they can give you all you seek:they can solve your doubts at once. Go up to that man, and inquire ifMr. Rochester be at home. "

The suggestion was sensible, and yet I could not force myself to act onit. I so dreaded a reply that would crush me with despair. To prolongdoubt was to prolong hope. I might yet once more see the Hall under theray of her star. There was the stile before me--the very fields throughwhich I had hurried, blind, deaf, distracted with a revengeful furytracking and scourging me, on the morning I fled from Thornfield: ere Iwell knew what course I had resolved to take, I was in the midst of them. How fast I walked! How I ran sometimes! How I looked forward to catchthe first view of the well-known woods! With what feelings I welcomedsingle trees I knew, and familiar glimpses of meadow and hill betweenthem!

At last the woods rose; the rookery clustered dark; a loud cawing brokethe morning stillness. Strange delight inspired me: on I hastened. Another field crossed--a lane threaded--and there were the courtyardwalls--the back offices: the house itself, the rookery still hid. "Myfirst view of it shall be in front, " I determined, "where its boldbattlements will strike the eye nobly at once, and where I can single outmy master's very window: perhaps he will be standing at it--he risesearly: perhaps he is now walking in the orchard, or on the pavement infront. Could I but see him!--but a moment! Surely, in that case, Ishould not be so mad as to run to him? I cannot tell--I am not certain. And if I did--what then? God bless him! What then? Who would be hurtby my once more tasting the life his glance can give me? I rave: perhapsat this moment he is watching the sun rise over the Pyrenees, or on thetideless sea of the south. "

I had coasted along the lower wall of the orchard--turned its angle:there was a gate just there, opening into the meadow, between two stonepillars crowned by stone balls. From behind one pillar I could peepround quietly at the full front of the mansion. I advanced my head withprecaution, desirous to ascertain if any bedroom window-blinds were yetdrawn up: battlements, windows, long front--all from this shelteredstation were at my command. 

The crows sailing overhead perhaps watched me while I took this survey. Iwonder what they thought. They must have considered I was very carefuland timid at first, and that gradually I grew very bold and reckless. Apeep, and then a long stare; and then a departure from my niche and astraying out into the meadow; and a sudden stop full in front of thegreat mansion, and a protracted, hardy gaze towards it. "Whataffectation of diffidence was this at first?" they might have demanded;"what stupid regardlessness now?"

Hear an illustration, reader. 

A lover finds his mistress asleep on a mossy bank; he wishes to catch aglimpse of her fair face without waking her. He steals softly over thegrass, careful to make no sound; he pauses--fancying she has stirred: hewithdraws: not for worlds would he be seen. All is still: he againadvances: he bends above her; a light veil rests on her features: helifts it, bends lower; now his eyes anticipate the vision of beauty--warm, and blooming, and lovely, in rest. How hurried was their first glance!But how they fix! How he starts! How he suddenly and vehemently claspsin both arms the form he dared not, a moment since, touch with hisfinger! How he calls aloud a name, and drops his burden, and gazes on itwildly! He thus grasps and cries, and gazes, because he no longer fearsto waken by any sound he can utter--by any movement he can make. Hethought his love slept sweetly: he finds she is stone dead. 

I looked with timorous joy towards a stately house: I saw a blackenedruin. 

No need to cower behind a gate-post, indeed!--to peep up at chamberlattices, fearing life was astir behind them! No need to listen fordoors opening--to fancy steps on the pavement or the gravel-walk! Thelawn, the grounds were trodden and waste: the portal yawned void. Thefront was, as I had once seen it in a dream, but a well-like wall, veryhigh and very fragile-looking, perforated with paneless windows: no roof, no battlements, no chimneys--all had crashed in. 

And there was the silence of death about it: the solitude of a lonesomewild. No wonder that letters addressed to people here had never receivedan answer: as well despatch epistles to a vault in a church aisle. Thegrim blackness of the stones told by what fate the Hall had fallen--byconflagration: but how kindled? What story belonged to this disaster?What loss, besides mortar and marble and wood-work had followed upon it?Had life been wrecked as well as property? If so, whose? Dreadfulquestion: there was no one here to answer it--not even dumb sign, mutetoken. 

In wandering round the shattered walls and through the devastatedinterior, I gathered evidence that the calamity was not of lateoccurrence. Winter snows, I thought, had drifted through that void arch, winter rains beaten in at those hollow casements; for, amidst thedrenched piles of rubbish, spring had cherished vegetation: grass andweed grew here and there between the stones and fallen rafters. And oh!where meantime was the hapless owner of this wreck? In what land? Underwhat auspices? My eye involuntarily wandered to the grey church towernear the gates, and I asked, "Is he with Damer de Rochester, sharing theshelter of his narrow marble house?"

Some answer must be had to these questions. I could find it nowhere butat the inn, and thither, ere long, I returned. The host himself broughtmy breakfast into the parlour. I requested him to shut the door and sitdown: I had some questions to ask him. But when he complied, I scarcelyknew how to begin; such horror had I of the possible answers. And yetthe spectacle of desolation I had just left prepared me in a measure fora tale of misery. The host was a respectable-looking, middle-aged man. 

"You know Thornfield Hall, of course?" I managed to say at last. 

"Yes, ma'am; I lived there once. "

"Did you?" Not in my time, I thought: you are a stranger to me. 

"I was the late Mr. Rochester's butler, " he added. 

The late! I seem to have received, with full force, the blow I had beentrying to evade. 

"The late!" I gasped. "Is he dead?"

"I mean the present gentleman, Mr. Edward's father, " he explained. Ibreathed again: my blood resumed its flow. Fully assured by these wordsthat Mr. Edward--_my_ Mr. Rochester (God bless him, wherever he was!)--wasat least alive: was, in short, "the present gentleman. " Gladdeningwords! It seemed I could hear all that was to come--whatever thedisclosures might be--with comparative tranquillity. Since he was not inthe grave, I could bear, I thought, to learn that he was at theAntipodes. 

"Is Mr. Rochester living at Thornfield Hall now?" I asked, knowing, ofcourse, what the answer would be, but yet desirous of deferring thedirect question as to where he really was. 

"No, ma'am--oh, no! No one is living there. I suppose you are astranger in these parts, or you would have heard what happened lastautumn, --Thornfield Hall is quite a ruin: it was burnt down just aboutharvest-time. A dreadful calamity! such an immense quantity of valuableproperty destroyed: hardly any of the furniture could be saved. The firebroke out at dead of night, and before the engines arrived from Millcote, the building was one mass of flame. It was a terrible spectacle: Iwitnessed it myself. "

"At dead of night!" I muttered. Yes, that was ever the hour of fatalityat Thornfield. "Was it known how it originated?" I demanded. 

"They guessed, ma'am: they guessed. Indeed, I should say it wasascertained beyond a doubt. You are not perhaps aware, " he continued, edging his chair a little nearer the table, and speaking low, "that therewas a lady--a--a lunatic, kept in the house?"

"I have heard something of it. "

"She was kept in very close confinement, ma'am: people even for someyears was not absolutely certain of her existence. No one saw her: theyonly knew by rumour that such a person was at the Hall; and who or whatshe was it was difficult to conjecture. They said Mr. Edward had broughther from abroad, and some believed she had been his mistress. But aqueer thing happened a year since--a very queer thing. "

I feared now to hear my own story. I endeavoured to recall him to themain fact. 

"And this lady?"

"This lady, ma'am, " he answered, "turned out to be Mr. Rochester's wife!The discovery was brought about in the strangest way. There was a younglady, a governess at the Hall, that Mr. Rochester fell in--"

"But the fire, " I suggested. 

"I'm coming to that, ma'am--that Mr. Edward fell in love with. Theservants say they never saw anybody so much in love as he was: he wasafter her continually. They used to watch him--servants will, you know, ma'am--and he set store on her past everything: for all, nobody but himthought her so very handsome. She was a little small thing, they say, almost like a child. I never saw her myself; but I've heard Leah, thehouse-maid, tell of her. Leah liked her well enough. Mr. Rochester wasabout forty, and this governess not twenty; and you see, when gentlemenof his age fall in love with girls, they are often like as if they werebewitched. Well, he would marry her. "

"You shall tell me this part of the story another time, " I said; "but nowI have a particular reason for wishing to hear all about the fire. Wasit suspected that this lunatic, Mrs. Rochester, had any hand in it?"

"You've hit it, ma'am: it's quite certain that it was her, and nobody buther, that set it going. She had a woman to take care of her called Mrs. Poole--an able woman in her line, and very trustworthy, but for onefault--a fault common to a deal of them nurses and matrons--she _kept aprivate bottle of gin by her_, and now and then took a drop over-much. Itis excusable, for she had a hard life of it: but still it was dangerous;for when Mrs. Poole was fast asleep after the gin and water, the madlady, who was as cunning as a witch, would take the keys out of herpocket, let herself out of her chamber, and go roaming about the house, doing any wild mischief that came into her head. They say she had nearlyburnt her husband in his bed once: but I don't know about that. However, on this night, she set fire first to the hangings of the room next herown, and then she got down to a lower storey, and made her way to thechamber that had been the governess's--(she was like as if she knewsomehow how matters had gone on, and had a spite at her)--and she kindledthe bed there; but there was nobody sleeping in it, fortunately. Thegoverness had run away two months before; and for all Mr. Rochestersought her as if she had been the most precious thing he had in theworld, he never could hear a word of her; and he grew savage--quitesavage on his disappointment: he never was a wild man, but he gotdangerous after he lost her. He would be alone, too. He sent Mrs. Fairfax, the housekeeper, away to her friends at a distance; but he didit handsomely, for he settled an annuity on her for life: and shedeserved it--she was a very good woman. Miss Adele, a ward he had, wasput to school. He broke off acquaintance with all the gentry, and shuthimself up like a hermit at the Hall. "

"What! did he not leave England?"

"Leave England? Bless you, no! He would not cross the door-stones ofthe house, except at night, when he walked just like a ghost about thegrounds and in the orchard as if he had lost his senses--which it is myopinion he had; for a more spirited, bolder, keener gentleman than he wasbefore that midge of a governess crossed him, you never saw, ma'am. Hewas not a man given to wine, or cards, or racing, as some are, and he wasnot so very handsome; but he had a courage and a will of his own, if everman had. I knew him from a boy, you see: and for my part, I have oftenwished that Miss Eyre had been sunk in the sea before she came toThornfield Hall. "

"Then Mr. Rochester was at home when the fire broke out?"

"Yes, indeed was he; and he went up to the attics when all was burningabove and below, and got the servants out of their beds and helped themdown himself, and went back to get his mad wife out of her cell. Andthen they called out to him that she was on the roof, where she wasstanding, waving her arms, above the battlements, and shouting out tillthey could hear her a mile off: I saw her and heard her with my own eyes. She was a big woman, and had long black hair: we could see it streamingagainst the flames as she stood. I witnessed, and several morewitnessed, Mr. Rochester ascend through the sky-light on to the roof; weheard him call 'Bertha!' We saw him approach her; and then, ma'am, sheyelled and gave a spring, and the next minute she lay smashed on thepavement. "

{The next minute she lay smashed on the pavement: p413. Jpg}

"Dead?"

"Dead! Ay, dead as the stones on which her brains and blood werescattered. "

"Good God!"

"You may well say so, ma'am: it was frightful!"

He shuddered. 

"And afterwards?" I urged. 

"Well, ma'am, afterwards the house was burnt to the ground: there areonly some bits of walls standing now. "

"Were any other lives lost?"

"No--perhaps it would have been better if there had. "

"What do you mean?"

"Poor Mr. Edward!" he ejaculated, "I little thought ever to have seen it!Some say it was a just judgment on him for keeping his first marriagesecret, and wanting to take another wife while he had one living: but Ipity him, for my part. "

"You said he was alive?" I exclaimed. 

"Yes, yes: he is alive; but many think he had better be dead. "

"Why? How?" My blood was again running cold. "Where is he?" Idemanded. "Is he in England?"

"Ay--ay--he's in England; he can't get out of England, I fancy--he's afixture now. "

What agony was this! And the man seemed resolved to protract it. 

"He is stone-blind, " he said at last. "Yes, he is stone-blind, is Mr. Edward. "

I had dreaded worse. I had dreaded he was mad. I summoned strength toask what had caused this calamity. 

"It was all his own courage, and a body may say, his kindness, in a way, ma'am: he wouldn't leave the house till every one else was out beforehim. As he came down the great staircase at last, after Mrs. Rochesterhad flung herself from the battlements, there was a great crash--allfell. He was taken out from under the ruins, alive, but sadly hurt: abeam had fallen in such a way as to protect him partly; but one eye wasknocked out, and one hand so crushed that Mr. Carter, the surgeon, had toamputate it directly. The other eye inflamed: he lost the sight of thatalso. He is now helpless, indeed--blind and a cripple. "

"Where is he? Where does he now live?"

"At Ferndean, a manor-house on a farm he has, about thirty miles off:quite a desolate spot. "

"Who is with him?"

"Old John and his wife: he would have none else. He is quite brokendown, they say. "

"Have you any sort of conveyance?"

"We have a chaise, ma'am, a very handsome chaise. "

"Let it be got ready instantly; and if your post-boy can drive me toFerndean before dark this day, I'll pay both you and him twice the hireyou usually demand. "

CHAPTER XXXVII

The manor-house of Ferndean was a building of considerable antiquity, moderate size, and no architectural pretensions, deep buried in a wood. Ihad heard of it before. Mr. Rochester often spoke of it, and sometimeswent there. His father had purchased the estate for the sake of the gamecovers. He would have let the house, but could find no tenant, inconsequence of its ineligible and insalubrious site. Ferndean thenremained uninhabited and unfurnished, with the exception of some two orthree rooms fitted up for the accommodation of the squire when he wentthere in the season to shoot. 

To this house I came just ere dark on an evening marked by thecharacteristics of sad sky, cold gale, and continued small penetratingrain. The last mile I performed on foot, having dismissed the chaise anddriver with the double remuneration I had promised. Even when within avery short distance of the manor-house, you could see nothing of it, sothick and dark grew the timber of the gloomy wood about it. Iron gatesbetween granite pillars showed me where to enter, and passing throughthem, I found myself at once in the twilight of close-ranked trees. Therewas a grass-grown track descending the forest aisle between hoar andknotty shafts and under branched arches. I followed it, expecting soonto reach the dwelling; but it stretched on and on, it would far andfarther: no sign of habitation or grounds was visible. 

I thought I had taken a wrong direction and lost my way. The darkness ofnatural as well as of sylvan dusk gathered over me. I looked round insearch of another road. There was none: all was interwoven stem, columnar trunk, dense summer foliage--no opening anywhere. 

I proceeded: at last my way opened, the trees thinned a little; presentlyI beheld a railing, then the house--scarce, by this dim light, distinguishable from the trees; so dank and green were its decayingwalls. Entering a portal, fastened only by a latch, I stood amidst aspace of enclosed ground, from which the wood swept away in a semicircle. There were no flowers, no garden-beds; only a broad gravel-walk girdlinga grass-plat, and this set in the heavy frame of the forest. The housepresented two pointed gables in its front; the windows were latticed andnarrow: the front door was narrow too, one step led up to it. The wholelooked, as the host of the Rochester Arms had said, "quite a desolatespot. " It was as still as a church on a week-day: the pattering rain onthe forest leaves was the only sound audible in its vicinage. 

"Can there be life here?" I asked. 

Yes, life of some kind there was; for I heard a movement--that narrowfront-door was unclosing, and some shape was about to issue from thegrange. 

It opened slowly: a figure came out into the twilight and stood on thestep; a man without a hat: he stretched forth his hand as if to feelwhether it rained. Dusk as it was, I had recognised him--it was mymaster, Edward Fairfax Rochester, and no other. 

I stayed my step, almost my breath, and stood to watch him--to examinehim, myself unseen, and alas! to him invisible. It was a sudden meeting, and one in which rapture was kept well in check by pain. I had nodifficulty in restraining my voice from exclamation, my step from hastyadvance. 

His form was of the same strong and stalwart contour as ever: his portwas still erect, his hair was still raven black; nor were his featuresaltered or sunk: not in one year's space, by any sorrow, could hisathletic strength be quelled or his vigorous prime blighted. But in hiscountenance I saw a change: that looked desperate and brooding--thatreminded me of some wronged and fettered wild beast or bird, dangerous toapproach in his sullen woe. The caged eagle, whose gold-ringed eyescruelty has extinguished, might look as looked that sightless Samson. 

And, reader, do you think I feared him in his blind ferocity?--if you do, you little know me. A soft hope blest with my sorrow that soon I shoulddare to drop a kiss on that brow of rock, and on those lips so sternlysealed beneath it: but not yet. I would not accost him yet. 

He descended the one step, and advanced slowly and gropingly towards thegrass-plat. Where was his daring stride now? Then he paused, as if heknew not which way to turn. He lifted his hand and opened his eyelids;gazed blank, and with a straining effort, on the sky, and toward theamphitheatre of trees: one saw that all to him was void darkness. Hestretched his right hand (the left arm, the mutilated one, he kept hiddenin his bosom); he seemed to wish by touch to gain an idea of what layaround him: he met but vacancy still; for the trees were some yards offwhere he stood. He relinquished the endeavour, folded his arms, andstood quiet and mute in the rain, now falling fast on his uncovered head. At this moment John approached him from some quarter. 

"Will you take my arm, sir?" he said; "there is a heavy shower coming on:had you not better go in?"

"Let me alone, " was the answer. 

John withdrew without having observed me. Mr. Rochester now tried towalk about: vainly, --all was too uncertain. He groped his way back tothe house, and, re-entering it, closed the door. 

I now drew near and knocked: John's wife opened for me. "Mary, " I said, "how are you?"

She started as if she had seen a ghost: I calmed her. To her hurried "Isit really you, miss, come at this late hour to this lonely place?" Ianswered by taking her hand; and then I followed her into the kitchen, where John now sat by a good fire. I explained to them, in few words, that I had heard all which had happened since I left Thornfield, and thatI was come to see Mr. Rochester. I asked John to go down to the turn-pike-house, where I had dismissed the chaise, and bring my trunk, which Ihad left there: and then, while I removed my bonnet and shawl, Iquestioned Mary as to whether I could be accommodated at the Manor Housefor the night; and finding that arrangements to that effect, thoughdifficult, would not be impossible, I informed her I should stay. Justat this moment the parlour-bell rang. 

"When you go in, " said I, "tell your master that a person wishes to speakto him, but do not give my name. "

"I don't think he will see you, " she answered; "he refuses everybody. "

When she returned, I inquired what he had said. "You are to send in yourname and your business, " she replied. She then proceeded to fill a glasswith water, and place it on a tray, together with candles. 

"Is that what he rang for?" I asked. 

"Yes: he always has candles brought in at dark, though he is blind. "

"Give the tray to me; I will carry it in. "

I took it from her hand: she pointed me out the parlour door. The trayshook as I held it; the water spilt from the glass; my heart struck myribs loud and fast. Mary opened the door for me, and shut it behind me. 

This parlour looked gloomy: a neglected handful of fire burnt low in thegrate; and, leaning over it, with his head supported against the high, old-fashioned mantelpiece, appeared the blind tenant of the room. Hisold dog, Pilot, lay on one side, removed out of the way, and coiled up asif afraid of being inadvertently trodden upon. Pilot pricked up his earswhen I came in: then he jumped up with a yelp and a whine, and boundedtowards me: he almost knocked the tray from my hands. I set it on thetable; then patted him, and said softly, "Lie down!" Mr. Rochesterturned mechanically to _see_ what the commotion was: but as he _saw_nothing, he returned and sighed. 

"Give me the water, Mary, " he said. 

I approached him with the now only half-filled glass; Pilot followed me, still excited. 

"What is the matter?" he inquired. 

"Down, Pilot!" I again said. He checked the water on its way to hislips, and seemed to listen: he drank, and put the glass down. "This isyou, Mary, is it not?"

"Mary is in the kitchen, " I answered. 

He put out his hand with a quick gesture, but not seeing where I stood, he did not touch me. "Who is this? Who is this?" he demanded, trying, as it seemed, to _see_ with those sightless eyes--unavailing anddistressing attempt! "Answer me--speak again!" he ordered, imperiouslyand aloud. 

"Will you have a little more water, sir? I spilt half of what was in theglass, " I said. 

"_Who_ is it? _What_ is it? Who speaks?"

"Pilot knows me, and John and Mary know I am here. I came only thisevening, " I answered. 

"Great God!--what delusion has come over me? What sweet madness hasseized me?"

"No delusion--no madness: your mind, sir, is too strong for delusion, your health too sound for frenzy. "

"And where is the speaker? Is it only a voice? Oh! I _cannot_ see, butI must feel, or my heart will stop and my brain burst. Whatever--whoeveryou are--be perceptible to the touch or I cannot live!"

He groped; I arrested his wandering hand, and prisoned it in both mine. 

"Her very fingers!" he cried; "her small, slight fingers! If so theremust be more of her. "

The muscular hand broke from my custody; my arm was seized, myshoulder--neck--waist--I was entwined and gathered to him. 

"Is it Jane? _What_ is it? This is her shape--this is her size--"

"And this her voice, " I added. "She is all here: her heart, too. Godbless you, sir! I am glad to be so near you again. "

"Jane Eyre!--Jane Eyre, " was all he said. 

"My dear master, " I answered, "I am Jane Eyre: I have found you out--I amcome back to you. "

"In truth?--in the flesh? My living Jane?"

"You touch me, sir, --you hold me, and fast enough: I am not cold like acorpse, nor vacant like air, am I?"

"My living darling! These are certainly her limbs, and these herfeatures; but I cannot be so blest, after all my misery. It is a dream;such dreams as I have had at night when I have clasped her once more tomy heart, as I do now; and kissed her, as thus--and felt that she lovedme, and trusted that she would not leave me. "

"Which I never will, sir, from this day. "

"Never will, says the vision? But I always woke and found it an emptymockery; and I was desolate and abandoned--my life dark, lonely, hopeless--my soul athirst and forbidden to drink--my heart famished andnever to be fed. Gentle, soft dream, nestling in my arms now, you willfly, too, as your sisters have all fled before you: but kiss me beforeyou go--embrace me, Jane. "

"There, sir--and there!"'

I pressed my lips to his once brilliant and now rayless eyes--I swept hishair from his brow, and kissed that too. He suddenly seemed to arousehimself: the conviction of the reality of all this seized him. 

"It is you--is it, Jane? You are come back to me then?"

"I am. "

"And you do not lie dead in some ditch under some stream? And you arenot a pining outcast amongst strangers?"

"No, sir! I am an independent woman now. "

"Independent! What do you mean, Jane?"

"My uncle in Madeira is dead, and he left me five thousand pounds. "

"Ah! this is practical--this is real!" he cried: "I should never dreamthat. Besides, there is that peculiar voice of hers, so animating andpiquant, as well as soft: it cheers my withered heart; it puts life intoit. --What, Janet! Are you an independent woman? A rich woman?"

"If you won't let me live with you, I can build a house of my own closeup to your door, and you may come and sit in my parlour when you wantcompany of an evening. "

"But as you are rich, Jane, you have now, no doubt, friends who will lookafter you, and not suffer you to devote yourself to a blind lameter likeme?"

"I told you I am independent, sir, as well as rich: I am my ownmistress. "

"And you will stay with me?"

"Certainly--unless you object. I will be your neighbour, your nurse, your housekeeper. I find you lonely: I will be your companion--to readto you, to walk with you, to sit with you, to wait on you, to be eyes andhands to you. Cease to look so melancholy, my dear master; you shall notbe left desolate, so long as I live. "

He replied not: he seemed serious--abstracted; he sighed; he half-openedhis lips as if to speak: he closed them again. I felt a littleembarrassed. Perhaps I had too rashly over-leaped conventionalities; andhe, like St. John, saw impropriety in my inconsiderateness. I had indeedmade my proposal from the idea that he wished and would ask me to be hiswife: an expectation, not the less certain because unexpressed, hadbuoyed me up, that he would claim me at once as his own. But no hint tothat effect escaping him and his countenance becoming more overcast, Isuddenly remembered that I might have been all wrong, and was perhapsplaying the fool unwittingly; and I began gently to withdraw myself fromhis arms--but he eagerly snatched me closer. 

"No--no--Jane; you must not go. No--I have touched you, heard you, feltthe comfort of your presence--the sweetness of your consolation: I cannotgive up these joys. I have little left in myself--I must have you. Theworld may laugh--may call me absurd, selfish--but it does not signify. Myvery soul demands you: it will be satisfied, or it will take deadlyvengeance on its frame. "

"Well, sir, I will stay with you: I have said so. "

"Yes--but you understand one thing by staying with me; and I understandanother. You, perhaps, could make up your mind to be about my hand andchair--to wait on me as a kind little nurse (for you have an affectionateheart and a generous spirit, which prompt you to make sacrifices forthose you pity), and that ought to suffice for me no doubt. I suppose Ishould now entertain none but fatherly feelings for you: do you think so?Come--tell me. "

"I will think what you like, sir: I am content to be only your nurse, ifyou think it better. "

"But you cannot always be my nurse, Janet: you are young--you must marryone day. "

"I don't care about being married. "

"You should care, Janet: if I were what I once was, I would try to makeyou care--but--a sightless block!"

He relapsed again into gloom. I, on the contrary, became more cheerful, and took fresh courage: these last words gave me an insight as to wherethe difficulty lay; and as it was no difficulty with me, I felt quiterelieved from my previous embarrassment. I resumed a livelier vein ofconversation. 

"It is time some one undertook to rehumanise you, " said I, parting histhick and long uncut locks; "for I see you are being metamorphosed into alion, or something of that sort. You have a 'faux air' of Nebuchadnezzarin the fields about you, that is certain: your hair reminds me of eagles'feathers; whether your nails are grown like birds' claws or not, I havenot yet noticed. "

"On this arm, I have neither hand nor nails, " he said, drawing themutilated limb from his breast, and showing it to me. "It is a merestump--a ghastly sight! Don't you think so, Jane?"

"It is a pity to see it; and a pity to see your eyes--and the scar offire on your forehead: and the worst of it is, one is in danger of lovingyou too well for all this; and making too much of you. "

"I thought you would be revolted, Jane, when you saw my arm, and mycicatrised visage. "

"Did you? Don't tell me so--lest I should say something disparaging toyour judgment. Now, let me leave you an instant, to make a better fire, and have the hearth swept up. Can you tell when there is a good fire?"

"Yes; with the right eye I see a glow--a ruddy haze. "

"And you see the candles?"

"Very dimly--each is a luminous cloud. "

"Can you see me?"

"No, my fairy: but I am only too thankful to hear and feel you. "

"When do you take supper?"

"I never take supper. "

"But you shall have some to-night. I am hungry: so are you, I daresay, only you forget. "

Summoning Mary, I soon had the room in more cheerful order: I preparedhim, likewise, a comfortable repast. My spirits were excited, and withpleasure and ease I talked to him during supper, and for a long timeafter. There was no harassing restraint, no repressing of glee andvivacity with him; for with him I was at perfect ease, because I knew Isuited him; all I said or did seemed either to console or revive him. Delightful consciousness! It brought to life and light my whole nature:in his presence I thoroughly lived; and he lived in mine. Blind as hewas, smiles played over his face, joy dawned on his forehead: hislineaments softened and warmed. 

After supper, he began to ask me many questions, of where I had been, what I had been doing, how I had found him out; but I gave him only verypartial replies: it was too late to enter into particulars that night. Besides, I wished to touch no deep-thrilling chord--to open no fresh wellof emotion in his heart: my sole present aim was to cheer him. Cheered, as I have said, he was: and yet but by fits. If a moment's silence brokethe conversation, he would turn restless, touch me, then say, "Jane. "

"You are altogether a human being, Jane? You are certain of that?"

{You are altogether a human being, Jane? You are certain of that?:p422. Jpg}

"I conscientiously believe so, Mr. Rochester. "

"Yet how, on this dark and doleful evening, could you so suddenly rise onmy lone hearth? I stretched my hand to take a glass of water from ahireling, and it was given me by you: I asked a question, expectingJohn's wife to answer me, and your voice spoke at my ear. "

"Because I had come in, in Mary's stead, with the tray. "

"And there is enchantment in the very hour I am now spending with you. Who can tell what a dark, dreary, hopeless life I have dragged on formonths past? Doing nothing, expecting nothing; merging night in day;feeling but the sensation of cold when I let the fire go out, of hungerwhen I forgot to eat: and then a ceaseless sorrow, and, at times, a verydelirium of desire to behold my Jane again. Yes: for her restoration Ilonged, far more than for that of my lost sight. How can it be that Janeis with me, and says she loves me? Will she not depart as suddenly asshe came? To-morrow, I fear I shall find her no more. "

A commonplace, practical reply, out of the train of his own disturbedideas, was, I was sure, the best and most reassuring for him in thisframe of mind. I passed my finger over his eyebrows, and remarked thatthey were scorched, and that I would apply something which would makethem grow as broad and black as ever. 

"Where is the use of doing me good in any way, beneficent spirit, when, at some fatal moment, you will again desert me--passing like a shadow, whither and how to me unknown, and for me remaining afterwardsundiscoverable?

"Have you a pocket-comb about you, sir?"

"What for, Jane?"

"Just to comb out this shaggy black mane. I find you rather alarming, when I examine you close at hand: you talk of my being a fairy, but I amsure, you are more like a brownie. "

"Am I hideous, Jane?"

"Very, sir: you always were, you know. "

"Humph! The wickedness has not been taken out of you, wherever you havesojourned. "

"Yet I have been with good people; far better than you: a hundred timesbetter people; possessed of ideas and views you never entertained in yourlife: quite more refined and exalted. "

"Who the deuce have you been with?"

"If you twist in that way you will make me pull the hair out of yourhead; and then I think you will cease to entertain doubts of mysubstantiality. "

"Who have you been with, Jane?"

"You shall not get it out of me to-night, sir; you must wait tillto-morrow; to leave my tale half told, will, you know, be a sort ofsecurity that I shall appear at your breakfast table to finish it. Bythe bye, I must mind not to rise on your hearth with only a glass ofwater then: I must bring an egg at the least, to say nothing of friedham. "

"You mocking changeling--fairy-born and human-bred! You make me feel asI have not felt these twelve months. If Saul could have had you for hisDavid, the evil spirit would have been exorcised without the aid of theharp. "

"There, sir, you are redd up and made decent. Now I'll leave you: I havebeen travelling these last three days, and I believe I am tired. Goodnight. "

"Just one word, Jane: were there only ladies in the house where you havebeen?"

I laughed and made my escape, still laughing as I ran upstairs. "A goodidea!" I thought with glee. "I see I have the means of fretting him outof his melancholy for some time to come. "

Very early the next morning I heard him up and astir, wandering from oneroom to another. As soon as Mary came down I heard the question: "IsMiss Eyre here?" Then: "Which room did you put her into? Was it dry? Isshe up? Go and ask if she wants anything; and when she will come down. "

I came down as soon as I thought there was a prospect of breakfast. Entering the room very softly, I had a view of him before he discoveredmy presence. It was mournful, indeed, to witness the subjugation of thatvigorous spirit to a corporeal infirmity. He sat in his chair--still, but not at rest: expectant evidently; the lines of now habitual sadnessmarking his strong features. His countenance reminded one of a lampquenched, waiting to be re-lit--and alas! it was not himself that couldnow kindle the lustre of animated expression: he was dependent on anotherfor that office! I had meant to be gay and careless, but thepowerlessness of the strong man touched my heart to the quick: still Iaccosted him with what vivacity I could. 

"It is a bright, sunny morning, sir, " I said. "The rain is over andgone, and there is a tender shining after it: you shall have a walksoon. "

I had wakened the glow: his features beamed. 

"Oh, you are indeed there, my skylark! Come to me. You are not gone:not vanished? I heard one of your kind an hour ago, singing high overthe wood: but its song had no music for me, any more than the rising sunhad rays. All the melody on earth is concentrated in my Jane's tongue tomy ear (I am glad it is not naturally a silent one): all the sunshine Ican feel is in her presence. "

The water stood in my eyes to hear this avowal of his dependence; just asif a royal eagle, chained to a perch, should be forced to entreat asparrow to become its purveyor. But I would not be lachrymose: I dashedoff the salt drops, and busied myself with preparing breakfast. 

Most of the morning was spent in the open air. I led him out of the wetand wild wood into some cheerful fields: I described to him howbrilliantly green they were; how the flowers and hedges looked refreshed;how sparklingly blue was the sky. I sought a seat for him in a hiddenand lovely spot, a dry stump of a tree; nor did I refuse to let him, whenseated, place me on his knee. Why should I, when both he and I werehappier near than apart? Pilot lay beside us: all was quiet. He brokeout suddenly while clasping me in his arms--

"Cruel, cruel deserter! Oh, Jane, what did I feel when I discovered youhad fled from Thornfield, and when I could nowhere find you; and, afterexamining your apartment, ascertained that you had taken no money, noranything which could serve as an equivalent! A pearl necklace I hadgiven you lay untouched in its little casket; your trunks were leftcorded and locked as they had been prepared for the bridal tour. Whatcould my darling do, I asked, left destitute and penniless? And what didshe do? Let me hear now. "

Thus urged, I began the narrative of my experience for the last year. Isoftened considerably what related to the three days of wandering andstarvation, because to have told him all would have been to inflictunnecessary pain: the little I did say lacerated his faithful heartdeeper than I wished. 

I should not have left him thus, he said, without any means of making myway: I should have told him my intention. I should have confided in him:he would never have forced me to be his mistress. Violent as he hadseemed in his despair, he, in truth, loved me far too well and tootenderly to constitute himself my tyrant: he would have given me half hisfortune, without demanding so much as a kiss in return, rather than Ishould have flung myself friendless on the wide world. I had endured, hewas certain, more than I had confessed to him. 

"Well, whatever my sufferings had been, they were very short, " Ianswered: and then I proceeded to tell him how I had been received atMoor House; how I had obtained the office of schoolmistress, &c. Theaccession of fortune, the discovery of my relations, followed in dueorder. Of course, St. John Rivers' name came in frequently in theprogress of my tale. When I had done, that name was immediately takenup. 

"This St. John, then, is your cousin?"

"Yes. "

"You have spoken of him often: do you like him?"

"He was a very good man, sir; I could not help liking him. "

"A good man. Does that mean a respectable well-conducted man of fifty?Or what does it mean?"

"St John was only twenty-nine, sir. "

"'_Jeune encore_, ' as the French say. Is he a person of low stature, phlegmatic, and plain. A person whose goodness consists rather in hisguiltlessness of vice, than in his prowess in virtue. "

"He is untiringly active. Great and exalted deeds are what he lives toperform. "

"But his brain? That is probably rather soft? He means well: but youshrug your shoulders to hear him talk?"

"He talks little, sir: what he does say is ever to the point. His brainis first-rate, I should think not impressible, but vigorous. "

"Is he an able man, then?"

"Truly able. "

"A thoroughly educated man?"

"St. John is an accomplished and profound scholar. "

"His manners, I think, you said are not to your taste?--priggish andparsonic?"

"I never mentioned his manners; but, unless I had a very bad taste, theymust suit it; they are polished, calm, and gentlemanlike. "

"His appearance, --I forget what description you gave of his appearance;--asort of raw curate, half strangled with his white neckcloth, and stiltedup on his thick-soled high-lows, eh?"

"St. John dresses well. He is a handsome man: tall, fair, with blueeyes, and a Grecian profile. "

(Aside. ) "Damn him!"--(To me. ) "Did you like him, Jane?"

"Yes, Mr. Rochester, I liked him: but you asked me that before. "

I perceived, of course, the drift of my interlocutor. Jealousy had gothold of him: she stung him; but the sting was salutary: it gave himrespite from the gnawing fang of melancholy. I would not, therefore, immediately charm the snake. 

"Perhaps you would rather not sit any longer on my knee, Miss Eyre?" wasthe next somewhat unexpected observation. 

"Why not, Mr. Rochester?"

"The picture you have just drawn is suggestive of a rather toooverwhelming contrast. Your words have delineated very prettily agraceful Apollo: he is present to your imagination, --tall, fair, blue-eyed, and with a Grecian profile. Your eyes dwell on a Vulcan, --a realblacksmith, brown, broad-shouldered: and blind and lame into thebargain. "

"I never thought of it, before; but you certainly are rather like Vulcan, sir. "

"Well, you can leave me, ma'am: but before you go" (and he retained me bya firmer grasp than ever), "you will be pleased just to answer me aquestion or two. " He paused. 

"What questions, Mr. Rochester?"

Then followed this cross-examination. 

"St. John made you schoolmistress of Morton before he knew you were hiscousin?"

"Yes. "

"You would often see him? He would visit the school sometimes?"

"Daily. "

"He would approve of your plans, Jane? I know they would be clever, foryou are a talented creature!"

"He approved of them--yes. "

"He would discover many things in you he could not have expected to find?Some of your accomplishments are not ordinary. "

"I don't know about that. "

"You had a little cottage near the school, you say: did he ever comethere to see you?"

"Now and then?"

"Of an evening?"

"Once or twice. "

A pause. 

"How long did you reside with him and his sisters after the cousinshipwas discovered?"

"Five months. "

"Did Rivers spend much time with the ladies of his family?"

"Yes; the back parlour was both his study and ours: he sat near thewindow, and we by the table. "

"Did he study much?"

"A good deal. "

"What?"

"Hindostanee. "

"And what did you do meantime?"

"I learnt German, at first. "

"Did he teach you?"

"He did not understand German. "

"Did he teach you nothing?"

"A little Hindostanee. "

"Rivers taught you Hindostanee?"

"Yes, sir. "

"And his sisters also?"

"No. "

"Only you?"

"Only me. "

"Did you ask to learn?"

"No. "

"He wished to teach you?"

"Yes. "

A second pause. 

"Why did he wish it? Of what use could Hindostanee be to you?"

"He intended me to go with him to India. "

"Ah! here I reach the root of the matter. He wanted you to marry him?"

"He asked me to marry him. "

"That is a fiction--an impudent invention to vex me. "

"I beg your pardon, it is the literal truth: he asked me more than once, and was as stiff about urging his point as ever you could be. "

"Miss Eyre, I repeat it, you can leave me. How often am I to say thesame thing? Why do you remain pertinaciously perched on my knee, when Ihave given you notice to quit?"

"Because I am comfortable there. "

"No, Jane, you are not comfortable there, because your heart is not withme: it is with this cousin--this St. John. Oh, till this moment, Ithought my little Jane was all mine! I had a belief she loved me evenwhen she left me: that was an atom of sweet in much bitter. Long as wehave been parted, hot tears as I have wept over our separation, I neverthought that while I was mourning her, she was loving another! But it isuseless grieving. Jane, leave me: go and marry Rivers. "

"Shake me off, then, sir, --push me away, for I'll not leave you of my ownaccord. "

"Jane, I ever like your tone of voice: it still renews hope, it sounds sotruthful. When I hear it, it carries me back a year. I forget that youhave formed a new tie. But I am not a fool--go--"

"Where must I go, sir?"

"Your own way--with the husband you have chosen. "

"Who is that?"

"You know--this St. John Rivers. "

"He is not my husband, nor ever will be. He does not love me: I do notlove him. He loves (as he _can_ love, and that is not as you love) abeautiful young lady called Rosamond. He wanted to marry me only becausehe thought I should make a suitable missionary's wife, which she wouldnot have done. He is good and great, but severe; and, for me, cold as aniceberg. He is not like you, sir: I am not happy at his side, nor nearhim, nor with him. He has no indulgence for me--no fondness. He seesnothing attractive in me; not even youth--only a few useful mentalpoints. --Then I must leave you, sir, to go to him?"

I shuddered involuntarily, and clung instinctively closer to my blind butbeloved master. He smiled. 

"What, Jane! Is this true? Is such really the state of matters betweenyou and Rivers?"

"Absolutely, sir! Oh, you need not be jealous! I wanted to tease you alittle to make you less sad: I thought anger would be better than grief. But if you wish me to love you, could you but see how much I _do_ loveyou, you would be proud and content. All my heart is yours, sir: itbelongs to you; and with you it would remain, were fate to exile the restof me from your presence for ever. "

Again, as he kissed me, painful thoughts darkened his aspect. 

"My seared vision! My crippled strength!" he murmured regretfully. 

I caressed, in order to soothe him. I knew of what he was thinking, andwanted to speak for him, but dared not. As he turned aside his face aminute, I saw a tear slide from under the sealed eyelid, and trickle downthe manly cheek. My heart swelled. 

"I am no better than the old lightning-struck chestnut-tree in Thornfieldorchard, " he remarked ere long. "And what right would that ruin have tobid a budding woodbine cover its decay with freshness?"

"You are no ruin, sir--no lightning-struck tree: you are green andvigorous. Plants will grow about your roots, whether you ask them ornot, because they take delight in your bountiful shadow; and as they growthey will lean towards you, and wind round you, because your strengthoffers them so safe a prop. "

Again he smiled: I gave him comfort. 

"You speak of friends, Jane?" he asked. 

"Yes, of friends, " I answered rather hesitatingly: for I knew I meantmore than friends, but could not tell what other word to employ. Hehelped me. 

"Ah! Jane. But I want a wife. "

"Do you, sir?"

"Yes: is it news to you?"

"Of course: you said nothing about it before. "

"Is it unwelcome news?"

"That depends on circumstances, sir--on your choice. "

"Which you shall make for me, Jane. I will abide by your decision. "

"Choose then, sir--_her who loves you best_. "

"I will at least choose--_her I love best_. Jane, will you marry me?"

"Yes, sir. "

"A poor blind man, whom you will have to lead about by the hand?"

"Yes, sir. "

"A crippled man, twenty years older than you, whom you will have to waiton?"

"Yes, sir. "

"Truly, Jane?"

"Most truly, sir. "

"Oh! my darling! God bless you and reward you!"

"Mr. Rochester, if ever I did a good deed in my life--if ever I thought agood thought--if ever I prayed a sincere and blameless prayer--if ever Iwished a righteous wish, --I am rewarded now. To be your wife is, for me, to be as happy as I can be on earth. "

"Because you delight in sacrifice. "

"Sacrifice! What do I sacrifice? Famine for food, expectation forcontent. To be privileged to put my arms round what I value--to press mylips to what I love--to repose on what I trust: is that to make asacrifice? If so, then certainly I delight in sacrifice. "

"And to bear with my infirmities, Jane: to overlook my deficiencies. "

"Which are none, sir, to me. I love you better now, when I can really beuseful to you, than I did in your state of proud independence, when youdisdained every part but that of the giver and protector. "

"Hitherto I have hated to be helped--to be led: henceforth, I feel Ishall hate it no more. I did not like to put my hand into a hireling's, but it is pleasant to feel it circled by Jane's little fingers. Ipreferred utter loneliness to the constant attendance of servants; butJane's soft ministry will be a perpetual joy. Jane suits me: do I suither?"

"To the finest fibre of my nature, sir. "

"The case being so, we have nothing in the world to wait for: we must bemarried instantly. "

He looked and spoke with eagerness: his old impetuosity was rising. 

"We must become one flesh without any delay, Jane: there is but thelicence to get--then we marry. "

"Mr. Rochester, I have just discovered the sun is far declined from itsmeridian, and Pilot is actually gone home to his dinner. Let me look atyour watch. "

"Fasten it into your girdle, Janet, and keep it henceforward: I have nouse for it. "

"It is nearly four o'clock in the afternoon, sir. Don't you feelhungry?"

"The third day from this must be our wedding-day, Jane. Never mind fineclothes and jewels, now: all that is not worth a fillip. "

"The sun has dried up all the rain-drops, sir. The breeze is still: itis quite hot. "

"Do you know, Jane, I have your little pearl necklace at this momentfastened round my bronze scrag under my cravat? I have worn it since theday I lost my only treasure, as a memento of her. "

"We will go home through the wood: that will be the shadiest way. "

He pursued his own thoughts without heeding me. 

"Jane! you think me, I daresay, an irreligious dog: but my heart swellswith gratitude to the beneficent God of this earth just now. He sees notas man sees, but far clearer: judges not as man judges, but far morewisely. I did wrong: I would have sullied my innocent flower--breathedguilt on its purity: the Omnipotent snatched it from me. I, in my stiff-necked rebellion, almost cursed the dispensation: instead of bending tothe decree, I defied it. Divine justice pursued its course; disasterscame thick on me: I was forced to pass through the valley of the shadowof death. _His_ chastisements are mighty; and one smote me which hashumbled me for ever. You know I was proud of my strength: but what is itnow, when I must give it over to foreign guidance, as a child does itsweakness? Of late, Jane--only--only of late--I began to see andacknowledge the hand of God in my doom. I began to experience remorse, repentance; the wish for reconcilement to my Maker. I began sometimes topray: very brief prayers they were, but very sincere. 

"Some days since: nay, I can number them--four; it was last Monday night, a singular mood came over me: one in which grief replaced frenzy--sorrow, sullenness. I had long had the impression that since I could nowherefind you, you must be dead. Late that night--perhaps it might be betweeneleven and twelve o'clock--ere I retired to my dreary rest, I supplicatedGod, that, if it seemed good to Him, I might soon be taken from thislife, and admitted to that world to come, where there was still hope ofrejoining Jane. 

"I was in my own room, and sitting by the window, which was open: itsoothed me to feel the balmy night-air; though I could see no stars andonly by a vague, luminous haze, knew the presence of a moon. I longedfor thee, Janet! Oh, I longed for thee both with soul and flesh! Iasked of God, at once in anguish and humility, if I had not been longenough desolate, afflicted, tormented; and might not soon taste bliss andpeace once more. That I merited all I endured, I acknowledged--that Icould scarcely endure more, I pleaded; and the alpha and omega of myheart's wishes broke involuntarily from my lips in the words--'Jane!Jane! Jane!'"

"Did you speak these words aloud?"

"I did, Jane. If any listener had heard me, he would have thought memad: I pronounced them with such frantic energy. "

"And it was last Monday night, somewhere near midnight?"

"Yes; but the time is of no consequence: what followed is the strangepoint. You will think me superstitious, --some superstition I have in myblood, and always had: nevertheless, this is true--true at least it isthat I heard what I now relate. 

"As I exclaimed 'Jane! Jane! Jane!' a voice--I cannot tell whence thevoice came, but I know whose voice it was--replied, 'I am coming: waitfor me;' and a moment after, went whispering on the wind the words--'Whereare you?'

"I'll tell you, if I can, the idea, the picture these words opened to mymind: yet it is difficult to express what I want to express. Ferndean isburied, as you see, in a heavy wood, where sound falls dull, and diesunreverberating. 'Where are you?' seemed spoken amongst mountains; for Iheard a hill-sent echo repeat the words. Cooler and fresher at themoment the gale seemed to visit my brow: I could have deemed that in somewild, lone scene, I and Jane were meeting. In spirit, I believe we musthave met. You no doubt were, at that hour, in unconscious sleep, Jane:perhaps your soul wandered from its cell to comfort mine; for those wereyour accents--as certain as I live--they were yours!"

Reader, it was on Monday night--near midnight--that I too had receivedthe mysterious summons: those were the very words by which I replied toit. I listened to Mr. Rochester's narrative, but made no disclosure inreturn. The coincidence struck me as too awful and inexplicable to becommunicated or discussed. If I told anything, my tale would be such asmust necessarily make a profound impression on the mind of my hearer: andthat mind, yet from its sufferings too prone to gloom, needed not thedeeper shade of the supernatural. I kept these things then, and ponderedthem in my heart. 

"You cannot now wonder, " continued my master, "that when you rose upon meso unexpectedly last night, I had difficulty in believing you any otherthan a mere voice and vision, something that would melt to silence andannihilation, as the midnight whisper and mountain echo had meltedbefore. Now, I thank God! I know it to be otherwise. Yes, I thankGod!"

He put me off his knee, rose, and reverently lifting his hat from hisbrow, and bending his sightless eyes to the earth, he stood in mutedevotion. Only the last words of the worship were audible. 

"I thank my Maker, that, in the midst of judgment, he has rememberedmercy. I humbly entreat my Redeemer to give me strength to leadhenceforth a purer life than I have done hitherto!"

Then he stretched his hand out to be led. I took that dear hand, held ita moment to my lips, then let it pass round my shoulder: being so muchlower of stature than he, I served both for his prop and guide. Weentered the wood, and wended homeward. 

CHAPTER XXXVIII--CONCLUSION

Reader, I married him. A quiet wedding we had: he and I, the parson andclerk, were alone present. When we got back from church, I went into thekitchen of the manor-house, where Mary was cooking the dinner and Johncleaning the knives, and I said--

"Mary, I have been married to Mr. Rochester this morning. " Thehousekeeper and her husband were both of that decent phlegmatic order ofpeople, to whom one may at any time safely communicate a remarkable pieceof news without incurring the danger of having one's ears pierced by someshrill ejaculation, and subsequently stunned by a torrent of wordywonderment. Mary did look up, and she did stare at me: the ladle withwhich she was basting a pair of chickens roasting at the fire, did forsome three minutes hang suspended in air; and for the same space of timeJohn's knives also had rest from the polishing process: but Mary, bendingagain over the roast, said only--

"Have you, Miss? Well, for sure!"

A short time after she pursued--"I seed you go out with the master, but Ididn't know you were gone to church to be wed;" and she basted away. John, when I turned to him, was grinning from ear to ear. 

"I telled Mary how it would be, " he said: "I knew what Mr. Edward" (Johnwas an old servant, and had known his master when he was the cadet of thehouse, therefore, he often gave him his Christian name)--"I knew what Mr. Edward would do; and I was certain he would not wait long neither: andhe's done right, for aught I know. I wish you joy, Miss!" and hepolitely pulled his forelock. 

"Thank you, John. Mr. Rochester told me to give you and Mary this. " Iput into his hand a five-pound note. Without waiting to hear more, Ileft the kitchen. In passing the door of that sanctum some time after, Icaught the words--

"She'll happen do better for him nor ony o't' grand ladies. " And again, "If she ben't one o' th' handsomest, she's noan faal and varrygood-natured; and i' his een she's fair beautiful, onybody may see that. "

I wrote to Moor House and to Cambridge immediately, to say what I haddone: fully explaining also why I had thus acted. Diana and Maryapproved the step unreservedly. Diana announced that she would just giveme time to get over the honeymoon, and then she would come and see me. 

"She had better not wait till then, Jane, " said Mr. Rochester, when Iread her letter to him; "if she does, she will be too late, for ourhoneymoon will shine our life long: its beams will only fade over yourgrave or mine. "

How St. John received the news, I don't know: he never answered theletter in which I communicated it: yet six months after he wrote to me, without, however, mentioning Mr. Rochester's name or alluding to mymarriage. His letter was then calm, and, though very serious, kind. Hehas maintained a regular, though not frequent, correspondence ever since:he hopes I am happy, and trusts I am not of those who live without God inthe world, and only mind earthly things. 

You have not quite forgotten little Adele, have you, reader? I had not;I soon asked and obtained leave of Mr. Rochester, to go and see her atthe school where he had placed her. Her frantic joy at beholding meagain moved me much. She looked pale and thin: she said she was nothappy. I found the rules of the establishment were too strict, itscourse of study too severe for a child of her age: I took her home withme. I meant to become her governess once more, but I soon found thisimpracticable; my time and cares were now required by another--my husbandneeded them all. So I sought out a school conducted on a more indulgentsystem, and near enough to permit of my visiting her often, and bringingher home sometimes. I took care she should never want for anything thatcould contribute to her comfort: she soon settled in her new abode, became very happy there, and made fair progress in her studies. As shegrew up, a sound English education corrected in a great measure herFrench defects; and when she left school, I found in her a pleasing andobliging companion: docile, good-tempered, and well-principled. By hergrateful attention to me and mine, she has long since well repaid anylittle kindness I ever had it in my power to offer her. 

My tale draws to its close: one word respecting my experience of marriedlife, and one brief glance at the fortunes of those whose names have mostfrequently recurred in this narrative, and I have done. 

I have now been married ten years. I know what it is to live entirelyfor and with what I love best on earth. I hold myself supremelyblest--blest beyond what language can express; because I am my husband'slife as fully as he is mine. No woman was ever nearer to her mate than Iam: ever more absolutely bone of his bone and flesh of his flesh. I knowno weariness of my Edward's society: he knows none of mine, any more thanwe each do of the pulsation of the heart that beats in our separatebosoms; consequently, we are ever together. To be together is for us tobe at once as free as in solitude, as gay as in company. We talk, Ibelieve, all day long: to talk to each other is but a more animated andan audible thinking. All my confidence is bestowed on him, all hisconfidence is devoted to me; we are precisely suited in character--perfectconcord is the result. 

Mr. Rochester continued blind the first two years of our union; perhapsit was that circumstance that drew us so very near--that knit us so veryclose: for I was then his vision, as I am still his right hand. Literally, I was (what he often called me) the apple of his eye. He sawnature--he saw books through me; and never did I weary of gazing for hisbehalf, and of putting into words the effect of field, tree, town, river, cloud, sunbeam--of the landscape before us; of the weather round us--andimpressing by sound on his ear what light could no longer stamp on hiseye. Never did I weary of reading to him; never did I weary ofconducting him where he wished to go: of doing for him what he wished tobe done. And there was a pleasure in my services, most full, mostexquisite, even though sad--because he claimed these services withoutpainful shame or damping humiliation. He loved me so truly, that he knewno reluctance in profiting by my attendance: he felt I loved him sofondly, that to yield that attendance was to indulge my sweetest wishes. 

One morning at the end of the two years, as I was writing a letter to hisdictation, he came and bent over me, and said--"Jane, have you aglittering ornament round your neck?"

I had a gold watch-chain: I answered "Yes. "

"And have you a pale blue dress on?"

{And have you a pale blue dress on?: p435. Jpg}

I had. He informed me then, that for some time he had fancied theobscurity clouding one eye was becoming less dense; and that now he wassure of it. 

He and I went up to London. He had the advice of an eminent oculist; andhe eventually recovered the sight of that one eye. He cannot now seevery distinctly: he cannot read or write much; but he can find his waywithout being led by the hand: the sky is no longer a blank to him--theearth no longer a void. When his first-born was put into his arms, hecould see that the boy had inherited his own eyes, as they oncewere--large, brilliant, and black. On that occasion, he again, with afull heart, acknowledged that God had tempered judgment with mercy. 

My Edward and I, then, are happy: and the more so, because those we mostlove are happy likewise. Diana and Mary Rivers are both married:alternately, once every year, they come to see us, and we go to see them. Diana's husband is a captain in the navy, a gallant officer and a goodman. Mary's is a clergyman, a college friend of her brother's, and, fromhis attainments and principles, worthy of the connection. Both CaptainFitzjames and Mr. Wharton love their wives, and are loved by them. 

As to St. John Rivers, he left England: he went to India. He entered onthe path he had marked for himself; he pursues it still. A moreresolute, indefatigable pioneer never wrought amidst rocks and dangers. Firm, faithful, and devoted, full of energy, and zeal, and truth, helabours for his race; he clears their painful way to improvement; he hewsdown like a giant the prejudices of creed and caste that encumber it. Hemay be stern; he may be exacting; he may be ambitious yet; but his is thesternness of the warrior Greatheart, who guards his pilgrim convoy fromthe onslaught of Apollyon. His is the exaction of the apostle, whospeaks but for Christ, when he says--"Whosoever will come after me, lethim deny himself, and take up his cross and follow me. " His is theambition of the high master-spirit, which aims to fill a place in thefirst rank of those who are redeemed from the earth--who stand withoutfault before the throne of God, who share the last mighty victories ofthe Lamb, who are called, and chosen, and faithful. 

St. John is unmarried: he never will marry now. Himself has hithertosufficed to the toil, and the toil draws near its close: his glorious sunhastens to its setting. The last letter I received from him drew from myeyes human tears, and yet filled my heart with divine joy: he anticipatedhis sure reward, his incorruptible crown. I know that a stranger's handwill write to me next, to say that the good and faithful servant has beencalled at length into the joy of his Lord. And why weep for this? Nofear of death will darken St. John's last hour: his mind will beunclouded, his heart will be undaunted, his hope will be sure, his faithsteadfast. His own words are a pledge of this--

"My Master, " he says, "has forewarned me. Daily He announces moredistinctly, --'Surely I come quickly!' and hourly I more eagerlyrespond, --'Amen; even so come, Lord Jesus!'"