line, unvaried by one moving speck.
A puerile tear dimmed my eye while I looked- a tear of
disappointment and impatience; ashamed of it, I wiped it away. I
lingered; the moon shut herself wholly within her chamber, and drew
close her curtain of dense cloud: the night grew dark; rain came
driving fast on the gale.
'I wish he would come! I wish he would come!' I exclaimed, seized
with hypochondriac foreboding. I had expected his arrival before
tea; now it was dark: what could keep him? Had an accident happened?
The event of last night again recurred to me. I interpreted it as a
warning of disaster. I feared my hopes were too bright to be realised;
and I had enjoyed so much bliss lately that I imagined my fortune
had passed its meridian, and must now decline.
'Well, I cannot return to the house,' I thought; 'I cannot sit by
the fireside, while he is abroad in inclement weather: better tire
my limbs than 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 a mile, I heard the tramp of hoofs; a horseman came on, full
gallop; a dog ran 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 had opened a blue field in the sky, and rode in it watery bright:
he took his hat 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
the saddle: '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 I got for a welcome, and some boastful triumph, which I
swallowed as well as I could. He checked himself in his exultation
to demand, 'But is there anything the matter, Janet, that you come
to meet me at such an hour? Is there anything wrong?'
'No, but I thought you would never come. I could not bear to wait
in the house for you, especially with this rain and wind.'
'Rain and wind, indeed! Yes, you are dripping like a mermaid;
pull my cloak round you: but I think you are feverish, Jane: both your
cheek and hand 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 by, sir; and I
daresay you 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 an eel this last month, and as thorny as a briar-rose? I
could not lay a finger anywhere but I was pricked; and now I seem to
have gathered up a stray lamb in my arms. You wandered out of the fold
to seek your shepherd, did you, Jane?'
'I wanted you: but don't boast. Here we are at Thornfield: now
let me get down.'
He landed me on the pavement. As John took his horse, and he
followed me into the hall, he told me to make haste and put
something dry on, and then return to him in the library; and he
stopped me, as I made for the staircase, 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 meal but 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 you have the prospect of a journey before you, Jane?
Is it the thoughts of going to London that takes away your appetite?'
'I cannot see my prospects clearly to-night, sir; and I hardly know
what thoughts 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
it close to my eyes. He had a rounded, muscular, and vigorous hand, as
well as a long, strong arm.
'Yes; though I touch it, it is a dream,' said I, as I put it down
from before my face. 'Sir, have you finished supper?'
'Yes, Jane.'
I rang the bell and ordered away the tray. When we were again
alone, I stirred 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
before my wedding.'
'I did; and I will keep my promise, for an hour or two at least:
I have no wish to go to bed.'
'Are all your arrangements complete?'
'All, sir.'
'And on my part likewise,' he returned, 'I have settled everything;
and we shall leave Thornfield to-morrow, within half an hour after our
return from 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 how strangely 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 this
present hour would never end: who knows with what fate the next day
may come charged?'
'This is hypochondria, Jane. You have been over-excited, or
over-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
ardent and flushed.
'Give me your confidence, Jane,' he said: 'relieve your mind of any
weight that oppresses it, by imparting it to me. What do you fear?-
that I 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
the new life into which you are passing?'
'No.'
'You puzzle me, Jane: your look and tone of sorrowful audacity
perplex and 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 had happened in my absence:- nothing, probably, of
consequence; but, in short, it has disturbed you. Let me hear it. Mrs.
Fairfax has said something, perhaps? or you have overheard the
servants talk?- your sensitive self-respect has been wounded?'
'No, sir.' It struck twelve- I waited till the timepiece had
concluded its silver chime, and the clock its hoarse, vibrating
stroke, and then I proceeded.
'All day yesterday I was very busy, and very happy in my
ceaseless bustle; for I am not, as you seem to think, troubled by
any haunting fears about the new sphere, et cetera: I think it a
glorious thing to have the hope of living with you, because I love
you. No, sir, don't caress me now- let me talk undisturbed.
Yesterday I trusted well in Providence, and believed that events
were working together for your good and mine: it was a fine day, if
you recollect- the calmness of the air and sky forbade apprehensions
respecting your safety or comfort on your journey. I walked a little
while on the pavement after tea, thinking of you; and I beheld you
in imagination so near me, I scarcely missed your actual presence. I
thought of the life that lay before me- your life, sir- an existence
more expansive and stirring than my own: as much more so as the depths
of the sea to which the brook runs are than the shallows of its own
strait channel. I wondered why moralists call this world a dreary
wilderness: for me it blossomed like a rose. Just at sunset, the air
turned cold and the sky cloudy: I went in, Sophie called me upstairs
to look at my wedding-dress, which they had just brought; and under it
in the box I found your present- the veil which, in your princely
extravagance, you sent for from London: resolved, I suppose, since I
would not have jewels, to cheat me into accepting something as costly.
I smiled as I unfolded it, and devised how I would tease you about
your aristocratic tastes, and your efforts to masque your plebeian
bride in the attributes of a peeress. I thought how I would carry down
to you the square of unembroidered blond I had myself prepared as a
covering for my low-born head, and ask if that was not good enough for
a woman who could bring her husband neither fortune, beauty, nor
connections. I saw plainly how you would look; and heard your
impetuous republican answers, and your haughty disavowal of any
necessity on your part to augment your wealth, or elevate your
standing, by marrying either a purse or a coronet.'
'How well you read me, you witch!' interposed Mr. Rochester: 'but
what did you find in the veil besides its embroidery? Did you find
poison, or a dagger, that you look so mournful now?'
'No, no, sir; besides the delicacy and richness of the fabric, I
found nothing 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 and high- but "with a sullen, moaning sound" far more eerie.
I wished you were at home. I came into this room, and the sight of the
empty chair and fireless hearth chilled me. For some time after I went
to bed, I could not sleep- a sense of anxious excitement distressed
me. The gale still rising, seemed to my ear to muffle a mournful
under-sound; whether in 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 some dog howling at a distance. I was glad when it
ceased. On sleeping, I continued in dreams the idea of a dark and
gusty night. I continued also the wish to be with you, and experienced
a strange, regretful consciousness of some barrier dividing us. During
all my first sleep, I was following the windings of an unknown road;
total obscurity environed me; rain pelted me; I was burdened with
the charge of a little child: a very small creature, too young and
feeble to walk, and which shivered in my cold arms, and wailed
piteously in my ear. I thought, sir, that you were on the road a
long way before me; and I strained every nerve to overtake you, and
made effort on effort to utter your name and entreat you to stop-
but my movements were fettered, and my voice still died away
inarticulate; while you, I felt, withdrew farther and farther every
moment.'
'And these dreams weigh on your spirits now, Jane, when I am
close to you? Little nervous subject! Forget visionary woe, and
think only of real 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 your lips. I heard them clear and soft: a
thought too solemn perhaps, but sweet as music- "I think it is a
glorious thing to have the hope of living 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
that sentence has penetrated my breast painfully. Why? I think because
you said it with such an earnest, religious energy, and because your
upward gaze at me now is the very sublime of faith, truth, and
devotion: it is too much as if some spirit were near me. Look
wicked, Jane: as you know well how to look: coin one of your wild,
shy, provoking smiles, tell me you hate me- tease me, vex me; do
anything but move me: I would rather be incensed than saddened.'
'I will tease you and vex you to your heart's content, when I
have finished my tale: but hear me to the end.'
'I thought, Jane, you had told me all. I thought I had found the
source of your melancholy in a dream.'
I shook my head. 'What! is there more? But I will not believe it to
be anything important. I warn you of incredulity beforehand. Go on.'
The disquietude of his air, the somewhat apprehensive impatience of
his manner, surprised me: but I proceeded.
'I dreamt another dream, sir: that Thornfield Hall was a dreary
ruin, the retreat of bats and owls. I thought that of all the
stately front nothing remained but a shell-like wall, very high and
very fragile-looking. I wandered, on a moonlight night, through the
grass-grown enclosure within: here I stumbled over a marble hearth,
and there over a fallen fragment of cornice. Wrapped up in a shawl,
I still carried 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 the road; I was sure it was you; and you were
departing for many years and for a distant country. I climbed the thin
wall with frantic perilous haste, eager to catch one glimpse of you
from the top: the stones rolled from under my feet, the ivy branches I
grasped gave way, the child clung round my neck in terror, and
almost strangled me; at last I gained the summit. 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 narrow ledge; I hushed the
scared infant in my lap: you turned an angle of the road: I bent
forward to take a last look; the wall crumbled; I was shaken; the
child rolled from my knee, I lost my balance, fell, and woke.'
'Now, Jane, that is all.'
