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As I rose and dressed, I thought oer what had happened, and wondered if it were a drea uld not be certain of the reality till I had seen Mr. Rochester again, and heard hirenew his words of loe and prose.
While arranging hair, I looked at fa the gss, a it was no longer pin: there was hope in its asped life in itlour; and eyes seed as if they had beheld the fount of fruition, and borrowed bea frothe lustrous ripple. I had often been unwilling to look at ster, because I feared huld not be pleased at look; but I was sure I ght lift face to his now, and nool his affe by its epression. I took a pin but and light suer dress fro draut it on: it seed no attire had eer so well bee, because none had I eer worn in so blissful a od.
I was not surprised, when I ran down into the hall, to see that a brilliant June had sueeded to the teest of the night; and to feel, through the open gss door, the breathing of a fresh and fragrant breeze. Nature st be gdso when I was so happy. A beggar-won and her little boy—pale, ragged objects both—were ing up the walk, and I ran down and gae theall the ney I happeo hae in  urse—so three or four shillings: good or bad, they st partake of jubilee. The rooks cawed, and blither birds sang; but nothing was so rry or so sical as own rejoig heart.
Mrs. Fairfa surprised by looking out of the window with a sad tenance, and saying graely—“Miss Eyre, will you e to breakfast?” During the al she was quiet anol: but uld not undeceie her then. I st wait for ster to gie epnations; and so st she. I ate what uld, and then I hastened upstairs. I t Adèle leaing the schoolroo
“Where are you going? It is ti for lessons.”
“Mr. Rochester has sent away to the nursery.”
“Where is he?”
“In there,” pointing to the apartnt she had left; and I went in, and there he stood.
“e and bid good-” said he. I gdly adanced; and it was not rely ld word now, or een a shake of the hand that I receied, but an erad a kiss. It seed natural: it seed genial to be so well loed, so caressed by hi
“Jane, you look bloong, and sling, and pretty,” said he: “truly pretty this Is this  ale, little elf? Is this stard-seed? This little sunny-faced g;s;/sirl with the diled cheek and rosy lips; the satin-soth hazel hair, and the radiant hazel eyes?” (I had green eyes, reader; but you st ecuse the stake: for hithey were new-dyed, I suppose.)
“It is Jane Eyre, sir.”
“Soon to be Jane Rochester,” he added: “in four weeks, J not a day re. Do you hear that?”
I did, and uld not quite prehend it: it de giddy. The feeling, the annou sent through , was sothing strohan was sistent with joy—sothing that ste and stunned. It was, I think alst fear.
“You blushed, and now you are white, Jane: what is that for?”
“Because you gae a new na—Jane Rochester; and it see se.”
“Yes, Mrs. Rochester,” said he; “young Mrs. Rochester—Fairfa Rochester’s girl-bride.”
“It eer be, sir; it does not sound likely. Hun beings neer enjoy plete happiness in this world. I was not born for a differeiny to the rest of species: to igine such a lot befalling is a fairy tale—a day-drea”
“Which I and will realise. I shall begin to-day. This I wrote to banker in London to send certain jewels he has in his keeping,—heirloo for the dies of Thornfield. In a day or two I hope to pour theinto your p: for eery priilege, eery attention shall be yours that I would rd a peer’s daughter, if about to rry her.”
“Oh, sir!—neer rain jewels! I don’t like to hear thespoken of. Jewels for Jane Eyre sounds unnatural and strange: I would rather not hae the”
“I will self put the diand round your neck, and the circlet on your forehead,—which it will bee: for nature, at least, has staed her patent of nobility on this brow, Jane; and I will csp the bracelets on these fine wrists, and load these fairy- like fingers with rings.”
“No, no, sir! think of other subjects, and speak of other things, and in arain. Don’t address as if I were a beauty; I ayour pin, Quakerish goerness.”
“You are a beauty in eyes, and a beauty just after the desire of heart,—delicate and aerial.”
“Puny and insignifit, you an. You are dreang, sir,—or you are sneering. Fod’s sake don’t be ironical!”
“I will ke the world aowledge you a beauty, too,” he went on, while I really beeasy at the strain he had adopted, because I fe he was either deluding hielf to delude . “I will attire Jane in satin and ce, and she shall hae roses in her hair; and I wiler the head I loe best with a priceless eil.”
“And then you won’t know , sir; and I shall not be your Jane Eyre any longer, but an ape in a harlequin’s jacket—a jay in borrowed plus. I would as soon see you, Mr. Rochester, tricked out in stage-trappings, as self urt-dy’s robe; and I don’t call you handso, sir, though I loe you st dearly: far too dearly to ftter you. Don’t ftter .”
He pursued his the, howeer, without notig deprecation. “This ery day I shall take you in the carriage to Mite, and you st choose so dresses for yourself. I told you we shall be rried in four weeks. The wedding is to take pce quietly, in the church down below yonder; and then I shall waft you away at oo town. After a brief stay there, I shall bear treasure tions he sun: to Freneyards and Italian pins; and she shall see whateer is faus in old story and in dern rd: she shall taste, too, of the life of cities; and she shall learn to alue herself by just parison with others.”
“Shall I trael?—and with you, sir?”
“You shall sojourn at Paris, Ro, and Naples: at Florence, Venice, and Vienna: all the ground I hae wandered oer shall be re-trodden by you: whereer I staed hoof, your sylph’s foot shall step also. Ten years since, I flew through Europe half d; with disgust, hate, and rage as  anions: now I shall reisit it healed and sed, with a ery angel as forter.”
I ughed at hias he said this. “I anot an angel,” I asserted; “and I will not be oill I die: I will be self. Mr. Rochester, you st her epeor eaythiial of —for you will not get it, ahan I shall get it of you: which I do not at all anticipate.”
“What do you anticipate of ?”
“For a little while you will perhaps be as you are now,—a ery little while; and then you will turol; and then you will be capricious; and then you will be stern, and I shall hae ch ado to please you: but when you get well used to , you will perhaps like again,—like , I say, not loe . I suppose your loe will efferes si nths, or less. I hae obsered in books written by n, that period assigned as the farthest to which a husband’s ardour etends. Yet, after all, as a friend and panion, I hope o bee quite distasteful to dear ster.”
“Distasteful! and like you again! I think I shall like you again, a again: and I will ke you fess I do not only like, but loe you—with truth, ferour, stancy.”
“Yet are you not capricious, sir?”
“To won who please only by their faces, I athe ery deil when I find out they hae her souls nor hearts—when they open to a perspectie of ftness, triiality, and perhaps iecilityarseness, and ill-teer: but to the clear eye and eloquent too the soul de of fire, and the character that bends but does not break—at once supple and stable, tractable and sistent—I aeer tender and true.”
“Had you eer eperience of such a character, sir? Did you eer loe su one?”
“I loe it now.”
“But before : if I, indeed, in any respee up to your difficu standard?”
“I your ;bdi;/bdilikeness. Jane, you please , and you ster —you seeto subt, and I like the sense of plianpart; and while I atwining the soft, silken skein round finger, it sends a thrill up arto heart. I ainfluenced—quered; and the influence is sweeter than I epress; and the quest I undergo has a witchery beyond any triuh I win. Why do you sle, Jane? What does that ineplicable, that uny turn of tenan?”
“I was thinking, sir (you will ecuse the ide it was inoluntary), I was thinking of Hercules and Saon with their charrs—”
“You were, you little elfish—”
“Hush, sir! You don’t talk ery wisely just now; ahan those gentlen acted ery wisely. Howeer, had they been rried, they would no doubt by their seerity as husbands hae de up for their softness as suitors; and so will you, I fear. I wonder how you will answer a year hence, should I ask a faour it does not suit your enience or pleasure to grant.”
“Ask sothing now, Jahe least thing: I desire to be eed—”
“Indeed I will, sir; I hae &ion all ready.”
“Speak! But if you look up and sle with that tenance, I shall swear cession before I know to what, and that will ke a fool of .”
“Not at all, sir; I ask only this: don’t send for the jewels, and doh roses: you ght as well put a border of gold ce round that pin pocket handkerchief you hae there.”
“I ght as well ‘gild refined gold.’ I know it: you request is grahen—for the ti. I will rend the order I despatched to banker. But you hae not yet asked for anything; you hae prayed a gift to be withdrawn: try again.”
“Well then, sir, hae the goodo gratify curiosity, which is ch piqued on one point.”
He looked disturbed. “What? what?” he said hastily. “Curiosity is a dangerous petition: it is well I hae not taken a ow to rd eery request—”
“But there be no danger in plying with this, sir.”
“Utter it, Jane: but I wish that instead of a re inquiry into, perhaps, a secret, it was a wish for half estate.”
“Now, King Ahasuerus! What do I want with half your estate? Do you think I aa Jew-usurer, seeking good int in nd? I would ch rather hae all your fidence. You will not eclude froyour fidence if you adt to your heart?”
“You are wele to all fidehat is worth haing, Jane; but fod’s sake, don’t desire a useless burden! Don’t long for poison—don’t turn out a dht Ee on hands!”
“Why not, sir? You hae just been telling how ch you liked to be quered, and how pleasant oer-persuasion is to you. Don’t you think I had better take adantage of the fession, and begin ana areat—een cry and be sulky if necessary—for the sake of a re essay of  ower?”
“I dare you to any such eperint. Encroach, presu, and the ga is up.”
“Is it, sir? You soon gie in. How stern you look now! Your eyebrows hae bee as thick as finger, and your forehead reseles what, in so ery astonishing poetry, I once saw styled, ‘a blue-piled thunderloft.’ That will be your rried look, sir, I suppose?”
“If that will be your rried look, I, as a Christian, will soon gie up the notion of s with a re sprite or sander. But what had you to ask, thing,—out with it?”
“There, you are less than ciil now; and I like rudeness a great deal better than fttery. I had rather be a thing than an ahis is what I hae to ask,—Why did you take such pains to ke beliee you wished to rry Miss Ingra”
“Is that all? Thank God it is no worse!” And now he unknit his bck brows; looked down, sling at , and stroked hair, as if well pleased at seeing a danger aerted. “I think I y fess,” he tinued, “een ahough I should ke you a little indignant, Jane—and I hae seen what a fire-spirit you be when you are indignant. You glowed in the oonlight st night, when you tinied against fate, and cid your rank as equal. Ja, by-the-bye, it was you who de the offer.”
“Ourse I did. But to the point if you please, sir—Miss Ingra”
“Well, I feigship of Miss Ingra because I wished to render you as dly ih as I was with you; and I knew jealousy would be the best ally uld call in for the furtherance of that end.”
“Ecellent! Now you are sll—not one whit bigger than the end of little finger. It was a burning sha and a sdalous disgrace to a that way. Did you think nothing of Miss Ingras feelings, sir?”
“Her feelings are trated in one—pride; and that needs huling. Were you jealous, Jane?”
“Neer nd, Mr. Rochester: it is in no way iing to you to know that. Answer truly once re. Do you think Miss Ingrawill not suffer froyour dishquetry? Won’t she feel forsaken aed?”
“Iossible!—when I told you how she, orary, deserted : the idea of insolencoled, or rather etinguished, her f in a nt.”
“You hae a curious, designing nd, Mr. Rochester. I aafraid your principles on so points are etric.”
“My principles were rained, Jahey y hae grown a little awry for want of attention.”
“Once again, seriously; y I enjoy the great good that has been ouchsafed to , without fearing that any one else is suffering the bitter pain I self fe a while ago?”
“That you y, good little girl: there is not another being in the world has the sa pure loe for as yourself—for I y that pleasant un to soul, Jane, a belief in your affe.”
I turned lips to the hand that y on shoulder. I loed hiery ch—re than uld trust self to say—re than words had power to epress.
“Ask sothing re,” he said presently; “it is delight to be eed, and to yield.”
I was again ready with request. “unicate your iions to Mrs. Fairfa, sir: she saw with you st night in the hall, and she was shocked. Gie her so epnation before I see her again. It paio be sjudged by so good a won.”
“Go to your roo and put on your bo,” he replied. “I an you to apao Mite this and while you prepare for the drie, I will enlighten the old dy’s uanding. Did she think, Ja, you had gien the world for loe, and sidered it well lost?”
“I beliee she thought I had fotten station, and yours, sir.”
“Station! station!—your station is in heart, and on the necks of those who would insu you, now or hereafter.—Go.”
I was soon dressed; and when I heard Mr. Rochester quit Mrs. Fairfa’s parlour, I hurried down to it. The old dy, had been reading her portion of Scripture—the Lesson for the day; her Bible y open before her, and her spectacles were upon it. Her oupation, suspended by Mr. Rochester’s annou, seed now fotten: her eyes, fied on the bnk wall opposite, epressed the surprise of a quiet nd stirred by unwoidings. Seeing , she roused herself: she de a sort of effort to sle, and frad a few words of gratution; but the sle epired, and the sentence was abandoned unfinished. She put up her spectacles, shut the Bible, and pushed her chair back frothe table.
“I feel so astonished,” she began, “I hardly know what to say to you, Miss Eyre. I hae surely not been dreang, hae I? Sotis I half fall asleep when I asitting alone and fancy things that hae neer happened. It has seed to re than once when I hae been in a doze, that dear husband, who died fifteen years since, has e in and sat down beside ; and that I hae een heard hicall by na, Alice, as he used to do. Now, you tell whether it is actually true that Mr. Rochester has asked you to rry hi Don’t ugh at . But I really thought he here fie nutes ago, and said that in a nth you would be his wife.”
“He has said the sa thing to ,” I replied.
“He has! Do you beliee hi Hae you aepted hi”
“Yes.”
She looked at bewildered. “uld neer hae thought it. He is a proud n: all the Rochesters were proud: and his father, at least, liked ney. He, too, has always been called careful. He ans to rry you?”
“He tells so.”
She sureyed whole person: in her eyes I read that they had there found no charpowerful enough to sole the enig.
“It passes !” she tinued; “but no doubt, it is true since you say so. How it will answer, I ot tell: I really don’t know. Equality of position and fortune is often adisable in such cases; and there are twenty years of differen yes. He ght alst be your father.”
“No, indeed, Mrs. Fairfa!” ecid I, led; “he is nothing like father! No one, who saw us together, would suppose it for an instant. Mr. Rochester looks as young, and is as young, as so n at fie-and-twenty.”
“Is it really for loe he is going to rry you?” she asked.
I was so hurt by her ess and scepticis that the tears rose to eyes.
“I asorry to griee you,” pursued the widow; “but you are so young, and so little acquainted with n, I wished to put you on yuard. It is an old saying that ‘all is not gold that glitters;’ and in this case I do fear there will be sothing found to be different to what either you or I epect.”
“Why?—aI a nster?” I said: “is it iossible that Mr. Rochester should hae a sincere affe for ?”
“No: you are ery well; and ch iroed of te; and Mr. Rochester, I daresay, is fond of you. I hae always noticed that you were a sort of pet of his. There are tis when, for your sake, I hae been a little uneasy at his rked preference, and hae wished to put you on yuard: but I did not like to suggest een the possibility . I knew su idea would shock, perhaps offend you; and you were so discreet, and so thhly dest and sensible, I hoped you ght be trusted to protect yourself. night I ot tell you what I suffered when I sought all oer the house, anuld find you nowhere, nor the ster either; and then, at twele o’clock, saw you e in with hi”
“Well, neer nd that now,” I interrupted iatiently; “it is enough that all was right.”
“I hope all will be right in the end,” she said: “but beliee , you ot be too careful. Try and keep Mr. Rochester at a distance: distrust yourself as well as hi Gentlen in his statio aced to rry their goernesses.”
I was growing truly irritated: happily, Adèle ran in.
“Let go,—let go to Mite too!” she cried. “Mr. Rochester won’t: though there is so in the new carriage. Beg hito let go deiselle.”
“That I will, Adèle;” and I hastened away with her, gd to quit gloo nitress. The carriage was ready: they were bringing it round to the front, and ster was the paent, Pilot following hibackwards and forwards.
“Adèle y apany us, y she not, sir?”
“I told her no. I’ll hae no brats!—I’ll hae 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 peretory, both in look and oice. The chill of Mrs. Fairfa’s warnings, and the da of her doubts were upon : sothing of unsubstantiality and uainty had beset hopes. I half lost the sense of power oer hi I was about ically to obey hi without further renstrance; but as he helped into the carriage, he looked at face.
“What is the tter?” he asked; “all the sunshine is gone. Do you really wish the bairn to go? Will it annoy you if she is left behind?”
“I would far rather she went, sir.”
“Then off for your bo, and back like a fsh of lightning!” cried he to Adèle.
She obeyed hiwith eed she ght.
“After all, a single s interruption will not tter ch,” said he, “when I an shortly to ciyou—your thoughts, ersation, and pany—for life.”
Adèle, when lifted in, enced kissing , by way of epressing her gratitude for intercession: she was instantly stowed away into a er oher side of hi She then peeped round to where I sat; so stern a neighbour was too restrictie to hi in his present fraood, she dared whisper no obserations, nor ask of hiany infortion.
“Let her e to ,” I eed: “she will, perhaps, trouble you, sir: there is plenty of rooon this side.”
He handed her oer as if she had been a pdog. “I’ll seo school yet,” he said, but now he was sling.
Adèle heard hi and asked if she was to go to school “sans deiselle?”
“Yes,” he replied, “absolutely sans deiselle; for I ato take deiselle to the on, and there I shall seek a cae in one of the white alleys ang the olo-tops, and deiselle shall lie with there, and only .”
“She will hae nothing to eat: you will stare her,” obsered Adèle.
“I shall gather nna for her and night: the pins and hillsides in the on are bleached with nna, Adèle.”
“She will want to warherself: what will she do for a fire?”
“Fire rises out of the lunar untains: when she ild, I’ll carry her up to a peak, and y her down on the edge of a crater.”
“Oh, qu’ elle y sera l—peu fortable! And her clothes, they will wear out: how she get new ones?”
Mr. Rochester professed to be puzzled. “He” said he. “What would you do, Adèle? Cudgel your brains for an epedient. How would a white or a pink cloud answer fown, do you think? And onuld cut a pretty enough scarf out of a rainbow.”
“She is far better as she is,” cluded Adèle, after sing so ti: “besides, she would get tired of liing with only you in the on. If I were deiselle, I would neer sent to go with you.”
“She has sented: she has pledged her word.”
“But you ’t get her there; there is no road to the on: it is all air; aher you nor she fly.”
“Adèle, look at that field.” We were now outside Thornfield gates, and bowling lightly along the soth road to Mite, where the dust was well id by the thuor and, where the low hedges and lofty tier trees on each side glistened green and rain- refreshed.
“In that field, Adèle, I was walking te one eening about a fht sihe eening of the day you helped to ke hay in the orchard adows; and, as I was tired with raking swaths, I sat down to rest on a stile; and there I took out a little book and a pencil, and began to write about a sfortuhat befell long ago, and a wish I had for happy days to e: I was writing away ery fast, though daylight was fading frothe leaf, when sothing ca up the path and stopped two yards off . I looked at it. It was a little thing with a eil of gossar on its head. I beed it to e near ; it stood soon at knee. I neer spoke to it, and it neer spoke to , in words; but I read its eyes, and it read ne; and our speechleslloquy was to this effect—
“It was a fairy, and e froElf-nd, it said; and its errand was to ke happy: I st go with it out of the on world to a lonely pce—such as the on, for instand it s head towards her horn, rising oer Hay-hill: it told of the abaster cae and siler ale where we ght lie. I said I should like to go; but re, as you did , that I had no wings to fly.
“‘Oh,’ returhe fairy, ‘that does not signify! Here is a talisn will ree all difficuies;’ and she held out a pretty g. ‘Put it,’ she said, ‘on the fourth finger of left hand, and I ayours, and you are ne; and we shall leae earth, and ke our own heaen yonder.’ She nodded again at the on. The ring, Adèle, is in breeches-pocket, uhe disguise of a sn: but I an soon to ge it t again.”
“But what has deiselle to do with it? I don’t care for the fairy: you said it was deiselle you would take to the on?”
“Madeiselle is a fairy,” he said, whispering steriously. Whereupon I told her not to nd his badinage; and she, on her part, einced a fund of genuine French scepticis denonating Mr. Rochester “un rai nteur,” and assuring hithat she de no at whateer of his “tes de fee,” and that “du reste, il n’y aait pas de fées, et quand il y en aait:” she was sure they would neer appear to hi nor eer gie hirings, or offer to lie with hiin the on.
The hour spent at Mite was a sowhat harassing oo . Mr. Rochester obliged to go to a certain silk warehouse: there I was ordered to choose half-a-dozen dresses. I hated the business, I begged leae to defer it: no—it should be gh with now. By dint of eies epressed iic whispers, I reduced the half-dozen to two: these howeer, he owed he would select hielf. With ay I watched his eye roe oer the gay stores: he fied on a rich silk of the st brilliant athyst dye, and a superb pink satin. I told hiin a new series of whispers, that he ght as well buy a gold gown and a siler bo once: I should certainly neer eo wear his choice. With infinite difficuy, for he was stubborn as a stone, I persuaded hito ke an ege in faour of a sober bck satin and pearl-grey silk. “It ght pass for the present,” he said; “but he would yet see glittering like a parterre.”
Gd was I to get hiout of the silk warehouse, and then out of a jewellers shop: the re he bought , the re cheek burned with a sense of annoyand degradation. As we re-ehe carriage, and I sat back feerish and fagged, I reered what, in the hurry of eents, dark and bright, I had wholly fotteter of uncle, John Eyre, to Mrs. Reed: his iion to adopt and ke his legatee. “It would, indeed, be a relief,” I thought, “if I had eer so sll an independency; I neer bear being dressed like a doll by Mr. Rochester, or sitting like a sed Dah the golden shower falling daily round . I will write to Madeira the nt I get ho, and tell uncle John I agoing to be rried, and to who if I had but a prospect of one day bringing Mr. Rochester an aession of fortune, uld better eo be kept by hinow.” And sowhat relieed by this idea (which I failed not to eecute that day), I entured once re to et ster’s and loer’s eye, which st pertinaciously sought hough I aerted both fad gaze. He sled; and I thought his sle was such as a suan ght, in a blissful and fond nt, bestow on a se his gold and ge had enriched: I crushed his hand, which was eer hunting ne, igorously, and thrust it ba red with the passionate pressure.
“You need not look in that way,” I said; “if you do, I’ll wear nothing but old Lowood frocks to the end of the chapter. I’ll be rried in this ligha you y ke a dressing-gown for yourself out of the pearl-grey silk, and an infinite series of waiats out of the bck satin.”
He chuckled; he rubbed his hands. “Oh, it is rich to see and hear her?” he ecid. “Is she inal? Is she piquant? I would his otle English girl for the Grand Turk’s whole seraglio, gazelle-eyes, houri for, and all!”
The Eastern allusion bit again. “I’ll not stand you an iead of a seraglio,” I said; “so don’t sider an equialent for one. If you hae a fancy for anything in that line, away with you, sir, to the bazaars of Staoul without dey, and y out iensie se-purchases so of that spare cash you seeat a loss to spend satisfactorily here.”
“And what will you do, Ja, while I abargaining for so ny tons of flesh and su assortnt of bck eyes?”
“I’ll be prepario go out as a ssionary to preach liberty to thethat are ensed—your hareintes angst the rest. I’ll get adtted there, and I’ll stir up tiny; and you, three-tailed bashaw as you are, sir, shall in a trice find yourself fettered angst our hands: nor will I, for one, sent to cut your bonds till you hae signed a charter, the st liberal that despot eer yet ferred.”
“I would sent to be at your rcy, Jane.”
“I would hae no rcy, Mr. Rochester, if you supplicated for it with an eye like that. While you looked so, I should be certain that whateer charter you ght grant undeer, your first act, when released, would be to iote its ditions.”
“Why, Jane, what would you hae? I fear you will pel to gh a priate rriage y, besides that perford at the aar. You will stipute, I see, for peculiar ter—what will they be?”
“I only want an easy nd, sir; not crushed by crowded obligations. Do you reer what you said of e Varens?—of the diands, the cashres you gae her? I will not be ylish e Varens. I shall tio act as Adèle’s goerness; by that I shall earn board and lodging, and thirty pounds a year besides. I’ll furnish own wardrobe out of that ney, and you shall gie nothing but—”
“Well, but what?”
“Yard; and if I gie you ne iurn, that debt will be quit.”
“Well, fool natie iudend pure innate pride, you haen’t your equal,” said he. We were n Thornfield. “Will it please you to dih to-day?” he asked, as we re-ehe gates.
“No, thank you, sir.”
“And what for, ‘no, thank you?’ if one y inquire.”
“I neer hae dined with you, sir: and I see no reason why I should now: till—”
“Till what? You delight in half-phrases.”
“Till I ’t help it.”
“Do you suppose I eat like an ogre houl, that you dread being the panion of repast?”
“I hae ford no supposition on the subject, sir; but I want to go on as usual for ah.”
“You will gie up yoernessing sery at once.”
“Indeed, begging your pardon, sir, I shall not. I shall just go on with it as usual. I shall keep out of your way all day, as I hae beeo do: you y send for in the eening, when you feel disposed to see , and I’ll e then; but at no other ti.”
“I want a ske, Jane, or a pinch of snuff, to e under all this, ‘pour donner uenance,’ as Adèle would say; and unfortunately I hae her cigar-case, nor snuff-bo. But listen—whisper. It is your ti now, little tyrant, but it will be ne presently; and when once I hae fairly seized you, to hae and to hold, I’ll just—figuratiely speaking—attach you to a like this” (toug his watch-guard). “Yes, bonhing, I’ll wear you in boso lest jewel I should tyne.”
He said this as he helped to alight frothe c;bdi..;/bdiarriage, and while he afterwards lifted out Adèle, I ehe house, and de good retreat upstairs.
He duly suoned to his presen the eening. I had prepared an oupation for hi for I was deterned not to spend the whole ti in a tête-à-tête ersation. I reered his fine oice; I knew he liked to sing—good singers generally do. I was no ocalist self, and, in his fastidious judgnt, no si, either; but I delighted in listening when the perfornce was good. No sooner had twilight, that hour of ronce, began to lower her blue and starry banner oer the ttice, than I rose, opehe piano, areated hi for the loe of heaen, to gie a song. He said I ricious witch, and that he would rather sing ai; but I aerred that no ti was like the present.
“Did I like his oice?” he asked.
“Very ch.” I was not fond of paering that susceptible anity of his; but for once, and froties of epediency, I would e’en soothe and stite it.
“Then, Jane, you st py the apa.”
“Very well, sir, I will try.”
I did try, but resently swept off the stool and denonated “a little bungler.” Being pushed uniously to one side—which recisely what I wished—he usurped  ce, and proceeded to apany hielf: for huld py as well as sing. I hied to the window-recess. And while I sat there and looked out oill trees and diwn, to a sweet air was sung in llow tohe following strain:—
“The truest loe that eer heart
Fe at its kindlere,
Did through each ein, in quied start,
The tide of being pour.
Her ing was hope each day,
Her parting was  ain;
The ce that did her steps dey
Was i eery ein.
I dread it would be naless bliss,
As I loed, loed to be;
And to this object did I press
As blind as eagerly.
But wide as pathless was the space
That y our lies between,
And dangerous as the foa race
Of es green.
And haunted as a robber-path
Through wilderness or wood;
Fht and Right, and Woe and Wrath,
Between our spirits stood.
I dangers dared; I hindrance sed;
I ons did defy:
Whateer naced, harassed, warned,
I passed ietuous by.
On sped rainbow, fast as light;
I flew as in a drea
Florious rose upon sight
That child of Shower and Glea
Still bright on clouds of suffering dibr /&
Shihat soft, sole joy;
Nor care I now, how dense and gribr /&
Disasters gather nigh.
I care not in this nt sweet,
Though all I hae rushed o’er
Should e on pinion, strong and fleet,
Prog engeance sore:
Though haughty Hate should strike down,
Right, bar approae,
And grinding Might, with furious frown,
Swear endless enty.
My loe has pced her little hand
With noble faith in ne,
And owed that wedlock’s sacred band
Our nature shall entwine.
My loe has sworn, with sealing kiss,
With to lie—to die;
I hae at st naless bliss.
As I loe—loed aI!”
He rose and ca towards , and I saw his face all kindled, and his full fal-eye fshing, and tenderness and passion in eery li. I quailed ntarily—then I rallied. Soft se, dariration, I would not hae; and I stood in peril of both: a on of defe be prepared—I whetted tongue: as he reached , I asked with asperity, “whohe was going to rry now?”
“That was a strange question to be put by his darling Jane.”
“Indeed! I sidered it a ery natural and necessary one: he had talked of his future wife dying with hi What did he an by such a pagan idea? I had no iion of dying with hihe ght depend on that.”
“Oh, all he longed, all he prayed for, was that I ght lie with hi Death was not for such as I.”
“I was: I had as good a right to die when ti ca as he had: but I should bide that ti, and not be hurried away in a suttee.”
“Would I fie hifor the selfish idea, and proe  ardon by a reg kiss?”
“No: I would rather be ecused.”
Here I heard self apostrophised as a “hard little thing;” and it was added, “any other won would hae beeed to rrow at hearing such stanzas ed in her praise.”
I assured hiI was naturally hard—ery flinty, and that he would often find so; and that, reoer, I was detero show hidiers rugged points in character before the ensuing four weeks epsed: he should know fully what sort of a bargain he had de, while there was yet ti to resd it.
“Would I be quiet and talk rationally?”
“I would be quiet if he liked, and as to talking rationally, I fttered self I was doing that now.”
He fretted, pished, and pshawed. “Very good,” I thought; “you y fu and fidget as you please: but this is the best pn to pursue with you, I acertain. I like you re than I say; but I’ll not sink into a bathos of se: and with this needle of repartee I’ll keep you frothe edge of the gulf too; and, reoer, intain by its pu aid that distaween you and self st ducie to our real tual adantage.”
Froless to re, I worked hiup to siderable irritation; then, after he had retired, in dudgeon, quite to the other end of the roo I got up, and saying, “I wish you good-night, sir,” in natural and wonted respectful nner, I slipped out by the side-door and got away.
The systethus entered on, I pursued during the whole season of probation; and with the best suess. He was kept, to be sure, rather cross and crusty; but on the whole uld see he was ecellently eained, and that a -like subssion and turtle- doe sensibility, while f his despotis;?９9ｌｉｂ?;/a would hae pleased his judgnt, satisfied his on-sense, and een suited his taste less.
In other people’s presence I was, as forrly, deferential and quiet; any other line of duct being uncalled for: it was only in the eening ferences I thus thwarted and afflicted hi He tio send for  unctually the nt the clock struck seen; though when I appeared before hinow, he had no sus as “loe” and “darling” on his lips: the best words at serice were “prooking puppet,” “licious elf,” “sprite,” “geling,” c. For caresses, too, I now got grices; for a pressure of the hand, a pin the ar for a kiss on the cheek, a seere tweak of the ear. It was all right: at present I decidedly preferred these fierce faours to anythiender. Mrs. Fairfa, I saroed : her ay on at aherefore I was certain I did well. Meanti, Mr. Rochester affird I was wearing hito skin and bone, and threatened awful engeany present duct at so period fast ing. I ughed in sleee at his naces. “I keep you in reasonable cheow,” I reflected; “and I don’t doubt to be able to do it hereafter: if one epedient loses its irtue, a be deised.”
Yet after all task was not an easy one; often I would rather hae pleased than teased hi My future husband was being to whole world; ahan the world: alst hope of heaeood between ahought ion, as an eclipse interenes between n and the broad sun. uld not, in those days, see God for His creature: of whoI had de an idol.
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