'That's well! Now, doctor, I shall take the liberty of
administering a dose myself, on my own responsibility. I got this
cordial at Rome, of an Italian charlatan- a fellow you would have
kicked, Carter. It is not a thing 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 on the washstand.
'That will do;- now wet the lip of the phial.'
I did so; he measured twelve drops of a crimson liquid, and
presented it to 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
was dressed now: he still looked pale, but he was no longer gory and
sullied. Mr. Rochester let him sit three minutes after he had
swallowed the liquid; 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 you will see in the yard- or just outside, for I told
him not to drive his rattling 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 of
rising; but I found the kitchen still dark and silent. The
side-passage door was fastened; I opened it with as little noise as
possible: all the yard was quiet; but the gates stood wide open, and
there was a post-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 of early morning slumbered everywhere; the
curtains were yet drawn over the servants' chamber windows; little
birds were just twittering in the blossom-blanched orchard trees,
whose boughs drooped like white garlands over the wall enclosing one
side of the yard; the carriage horses stamped from time to time in
their closed stables: all else was still.
The gentlemen now appeared. Mason, supported by Mr. Rochester and
the surgeon, seemed to walk with tolerable ease: they assisted him
into the chaise; Carter followed.
'Take care of him,' said Mr. Rochester to the latter, 'and keep him
at your house till he is quite well: I shall ride over in a day or two
to see 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: let her- ' he stopped and burst into tears.
'I do my best; and have done it, and will do it,' was the answer:
he shut up the chaise door, and the vehicle drove away.
'Yet would to God there was an end of all this!' added Mr.
Rochester, as he closed and barred the heavy yard-gates.
This done, he moved with slow step and abstracted air towards a
door in the 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 the portal and stood at it, waiting for
me.
'Come where there is some freshness, for a few moments,' he said;
'that house 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 you see it through a charmed medium: you cannot discern that
the gilding is slime and the silk draperies cobwebs; that the marble
is sordid slate, and the polished woods mere refuse chips and scaly
bark. Now here' (he pointed to the leafy enclosure we had entered)
'all is real, sweet, and pure.'
He strayed down a walk edged with box, with apple trees, pear
trees, and cherry trees on one side, and a border on the other full of
all sorts of old-fashioned flowers, stocks, sweet-williams, primroses,
pansies, mingled with southernwood, sweet-briar, and various
fragrant herbs. They were fresh now as a succession of April showers
and gleams, followed by a lovely spring morning, could make them:
the sun was just entering the dappled east, and his light illumined
the wreathed and dewy orchard trees and 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 to me.
'Thank you, sir.'
'Do you like this sunrise, Jane? That sky with its high and light
clouds which are sure to melt away as the day waxes warm- this
placid and balmy atmosphere?'
'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
alone with 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 have been a careless shepherd if I had left a lamb- my pet
lamb- so near a wolf'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
your thoughts.'
'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. To live, for me, Jane, is to stand on a crater-crust which may
crack and spue fire any day.'
'But Mr. Mason seems a man easily led. Your influence, sir, is
evidently potent with him: he will never set you at defiance or
wilfully injure you.'
'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
him how to avert the danger.'
He laughed sardonically, hastily took my hand, and as hastily threw
it from him.
'If I could do that, simpleton, where would the danger be?
Annihilated in a moment. Ever since I have known Mason, I have only
had to say to him "Do that," and the thing has been done. But I cannot
give him orders in this case: I cannot say "Beware of harming me,
Richard"; for it is imperative 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 little friend, 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
and mien, your eye and face, when you are helping me and pleasing
me- working for me, and with me, in, as you characteristically say,
"all that is right": for if I bid you do what you thought wrong, there
would be no light-footed running, no neat-handed alacrity, no lively
glance and animated complexion. My friend would then turn to me, quiet
and pale, and would say, "No, sir; that is impossible: I cannot do it,
because it is wrong"; and would become immutable as a fixed star.
Well, you too have power over me, and may injure me: yet I dare not
show you where I am vulnerable, lest, faithful and friendly as you
are, you should transfix me 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 rustic seat. Mr. Rochester took it, leaving room, however, for me:
but I stood before him.
'Sit,' he said; 'the bench is long enough for two. You don't
hesitate to take 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 the
flowers in this old garden awake and expand, and the birds fetch their
young ones' breakfast out of the Thornfield, and the early bees do
their first spell of work- I'll put a case to you, which you must
endeavour to suppose your own: but first, look at me, and tell me
you are at ease, and not 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 a girl well reared and disciplined, but a wild boy indulged
from childhood upwards; imagine yourself in a remote foreign land;
conceive that you there commit a capital error, no matter of what
nature or from what motives, but one whose consequences must follow
you through life and taint all your existence. Mind, I don't say a
crime; I am not speaking of shedding of blood or any other guilty act,
which might make the perpetrator amenable to the law: my word is
error. The results of what you have done become in time to you utterly
insupportable; you take measures to obtain relief: unusual measures,
but neither unlawful nor culpable. Still you are miserable; for hope
has quitted you on the very confines of life: your sun at noon darkens
in an eclipse, which you feel will not leave it till the time of
setting. Bitter and base associations have 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 voluntary banishment: you make a new
acquaintance- how or where no matter: you find in this stranger much
of the good and bright qualities which you have sought for twenty
years, and never before encountered; and they are all fresh,
healthy, without soil and without taint. Such society revives,
regenerates: you feel better days come back-higher wishes, purer
feelings; you desire to recommence your life, and to spend what
remains to you of days in a way more worthy of an immortal being. To
attain this end, are you justified in overleaping an obstacle of
custom-a mere conventional impediment which neither your conscience
sanctifies nor your judgment approves?'
He paused for an answer: and what was I to say? Oh, for some good
spirit to suggest a judicious and satisfactory response! Vain
aspiration! The west wind whispered in the ivy round me; but no gentle
Ariel borrowed its breath as a medium of speech: the birds sang in the
tree-tops; but their song, however sweet, was inarticulate.
Again Mr. Rochester propounded his query:
'Is the wandering and sinful, but now rest-seeking and repentant,
man justified in daring the world's opinion, in order to attach to him
for ever this gentle, gracious, genial stranger, thereby securing
his own peace of mind and regeneration of life?'
'Sir,' I answered, 'a wanderer's repose or a sinner's reformation
should never depend on a fellow-creature. Men and women die;
philosophers falter in wisdom, and Christians in goodness: if any
one you know has suffered and erred, let him look higher than his
equals for strength to amend and solace to heal.'
'But the instrument- the instrument! God, who does the work,
ordains the instrument. I have myself- I tell it you without
parable- been a worldly, dissipated, restless man; and I believe I
have found the instrument for my cure in-'
He paused: the birds went on carolling, the leaves lightly
rustling. I almost wondered they did not check their songs and
whispers to catch the suspended revelation; but they would have had to
wait many minutes- so long was the silence protracted. At last I
looked up at the tardy speaker: he was looking eagerly at me.
'Little friend,' said he, in quite a changed tone- while his face
changed too, losing all its softness and gravity, and becoming harsh
and sarcastic- 'you have noticed my tender penchant for Miss Ingram:
don't you 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 he came back he was humming a tune.
'Jane, Jane,' said he, stopping before me, 'you are quite pale with
your vigils: don't you curse me for disturbing your rest?'
'Curse you? No, sir.'
'Shake hands in confirmation of the word. What cold fingers! They
were warmer last night when I touched them at the door of the
mysterious chamber. 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
be able to sleep. Will you promise to sit up with me to bear me
company? To you 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.'
