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第60部分（第1页）

。　Were　I　not　morally　certain　that　your　uncle　will　be　dead　ere　you　reach　Madeira；　I　would　advise　you　to　acpany　Mr。　Mason　back；　but　as　it　is；　I　think　you　had　better　remain　in　England　till　you　can　hear　further；　either　from　or　of　Mr。　Eyre。　Have　we　anything　else　to　stay　for？”　he　inquired　of　Mr。　Mason。

“No；　no—let　us　be　gone；”　was　the　anxious　reply；　and　without　waiting　to　take　leave　of　Mr。　Rochester；　they　made　their　exit　at　the　hall　door。　The　clergyman　stayed　to　exchange　a　few　sentences；　either　of　admonition　or　reproof；　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I　heard　him　go　as　I　stood　at　the　half…open　door　of　my　own　room；　to　which　I　had　now　withdrawn。　The　house　cleared；　I　shut　myself　in；　fastened　the　bolt　that　none　might　intrude；　and　proceeded—not　to　weep；　not　to　mourn；　I　was　yet　too　calm　for　that；　but—mechanically　to　take　off　the　wedding　dress；　and　replace　it　by　the　stuff　gown　I　had　worn　yesterday；　as　I　thought；　for　the　last　time。　I　then　sat　down：　I　felt　weak　and　tired。　I　leaned　my　arms　on　a　table；　and　my　head　dropped　on　them。　And　now　I　thought：　till　now　I　had　only　heard；　seen；　moved—followed　up　and　down　where　I　was　led　or　dragged—watched　event　rush　on　event；　disclosure　open　beyond　disclosure：　but　now；　I　thought。

The　morning　had　been　a　quiet　morning　enough—all　except　the　brief　scene　with　the　lunatic：　the　transaction　in　the　church　had　not　been　noisy；　there　was　no　explosion　of　passion；　no　loud　altercation；　no　dispute；　no　defiance　or　challenge；　no　tears；　no　sobs：　a　few　words　had　been　spoken；　a　calmly　pronounced　objection　to　the　marriage　made；　some　stern；　short　questions　put　by　Mr。　Rochester；　answers；　explanations　given；　evidence　adduced；　an　open　admission　of　the　truth　had　been　uttered　by　my　master；　then　the　living　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　was　the　Jane　Eyre　of　yesterday？—where　was　her　life？—where　were　her　prospects？

Jane　Eyre；　who　had　been　an　ardent；　expectant　woman—almost　a　bride；　was　a　cold；　solitary　girl　again：　her　life　was　pale；　her　prospects　were　desolate。　A　Christmas　frost　had　e　at　midsummer；　a　white　December　storm　had　whirled　over　June；　ice　glazed　the　ripe　apples；　drifts　crushed　the　blowing　roses；　on　hayfield　and　cornfield　lay　a　frozen　shroud：　lanes　which　last　night　blushed　full　of　flowers；　to…　day　were　pathless　with　untrodden　snow；　and　the　woods；　which　twelve　hours　since　waved　leafy　and　flagrant　as　groves　between　the　tropics；　now　spread；　waste；　wild；　and　white　as　pine…forests　in　wintry　Norway。　My　hopes　were　all　dead—struck　with　a　subtle　doom；　such　as；　in　one　night；　fell　on　all　the　first…born　in　the　land　of　Egypt。　I　looked　on　my　cherished　wishes；　yesterday　so　blooming　and　glowing；　they　lay　stark；　chill；　livid　corpses　that　could　never　revive。　I　looked　at　my　love：　that　feeling　which　was　my　master’s—which　he　had　created；　it　shivered　in　my　heart；　like　a　suffering　child　in　a　cold　cradle；　sickness　and　anguish　had　seized　it；　it　could　not　seek　Mr。　Rochester’s　arms—it　could　not　derive　warmth　from　his　breast。　Oh；　never　more　could　it　turn　to　him；　for　faith　was　blighted—confidence　destroyed！　Mr。　Rochester　was　not　to　me　what　he　had　been；　for　he　was　not　what　I　had　thought　him。　I　would　not　ascribe　vice　to　him；　I　would　not　say　he　had　betrayed　me；　but　the　attribute　of　stainless　truth　was　gone　from　his　idea；　and　from　his　presence　I　must　go：　THAT　I　perceived　well。　When—how—whither；　I　could　not　yet　discern；　but　he　himself；　I　doubted　not；　would　hurry　me　from　Thornfield。　Real　affection；　it　seemed；　he　could　not　have　for　me；　it　had　been　only　fitful　passion：　that　was　balked；　he　would　want　me　no　more。　I　should　fear　even　to　cross　his　path　now：　my　view　must　be　hateful　to　him。　Oh；　how　blind　had　been　my　eyes！　How　weak　my　conduct！

My　eyes　were　covered　and　closed：　eddying　darkness　seemed　to　swim　round　me；　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…up　bed　of　a　great　river；　I　heard　a　flood　loosened　in　remote　mountains；　and　felt　the　torrent　e：　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…like　within　me—a　remembrance　of　God：　it　begot　an　unuttered　prayer：　these　words　went　wandering　up　and　down　in　my　rayless　mind；　as　something　that　should　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　I　had　neither　joined　my　hands；　nor　bent　my　knees；　nor　moved　my　lips—it　came：　in　full　heavy　swing　the　torrent　poured　over　me。　The　whole　consciousness　of　my　life　lorn；　my　love　lost；　my　hope　quenched；　my　faith　death…struck；　swayed　full　and　mighty　above　me　in　one　sullen　mass。　That　bitter　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；　the　floods　overflowed　me。”

Chapter　27

Some　time　in　the　afternoon　I　raised　my　head；　and　looking　round　and　seeing　the　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　words　now。　“That　I　am　not　Edward　Rochester’s　bride　is　the　least　part　of　my　woe；”　I　alleged：　“that　I　have　wakened　out　of　most　glorious　dreams；　and　found　them　all　void　and　vain；　is　a　horror　I　could　bear　and　master；　but　that　I　must　leave　him　decidedly；　instantly；　entirely；　is　intolerable。　I　cannot　do　it。”

But；　then；　a　voice　within　me　averred　that　I　could　do　it　and　foretold　that　I　should　do　it。　I　wrestled　with　my　own　resolution：　I　wanted　to　be　weak　that　I　might　avoid　the　awful　passage　of　further　suffering　I　saw　laid　out　for　me；　and　Conscience；　turned　tyrant；　held　Passion　by　the　throat；　told　her　tauntingly；　she　had　yet　but　dipped　her　dainty　foot　in　the　slough；　and　swore　that　with　that　arm　of　iron　he　would　thrust　her　down　to　unsounded　depths　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　shall　yourself　pluck　out　your　right　eye；　yourself　cut　off　your　right　hand：　your　heart　shall　be　the　victim；　and　you　the　priest　to　transfix　it。”

I　rose　up　suddenly；　terror…struck　at　the　solitude　which　so　ruthless　a　judge　haunted；—at　the　silence　which　so　awful　a　voice　filled。　My　head　swam　as　I　stood　erect。　I　perceived　that　I　was　sickening　from　excitement　and　inanition；　neither　meat　nor　drink　had　passed　my　lips　that　day；　for　I　had　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　I　was；　or　to　invite　me　to　e　down：　not　even　little　Adèle　had　tapped　at　the　door；　not　even　Mrs。　Fairfax　had　sought　me。　“Friends　always　forget　those　whom　fortune　forsakes；”　I　murmured；　as　I　undrew　the　bolt　and　passed　out。　I　stumbled　over　an　obstacle：　my　head　was　still　dizzy；　my　sight　was　dim；　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—I　was　supported　by　Mr。　Rochester；　who　sat　in　a　chair　across　my　chamber　threshold。

“You　e　out　at　last；”　he　said。　“Well；　I　have　been　waiting　for　you　long；　and　listening：　yet　not　one　movement　have　I　heard；　nor　one　sob：　five　minutes　more　of　that　death…like　hush；　and　I　should　have　forced　the　lock　like　a　burglar。　So　you　shun　me？—you　shut　yourself　up　and　grieve　alone！　I　would　rather　you　had　e　and　upbraided　me　with　vehemence。　You　are　passionate。　I　expected　a　scene　of　some　kind。　I　was　prepared　for　the　hot　rain　of　tears；　only　I　wanted　them　to　be　shed　on　my　breast：　now　a　senseless　floor　has　received　them；　or　your　drenched　handkerchief。　But　I　err：　you　have　not　wept　at　all！　I　see　a　white　cheek　and　a　faded　eye；　but　no　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　I　have　placed　you；　and　regard　me　with　a　weary；　passive　look。”

“Jane；　I　never　meant　to　wound　you　thus。　If　the　man　who　had　but　one　little　ewe　lamb　that　was　dear　to　him　as　a　daughter；　that　ate　of　his　bread　and　drank　of　his　cup；　and　lay　in　his　bosom；　had　by　some　mistake　slaughtered　it　at　the　shambles；　he　would　not　have　rued　his　bloody　blunder　more　than　I　now　rue　mine。　Will　you　ever　forgive　me？”

Reader；　I　forgave　him　at　the　moment　and　on　the　spot。　There　was　such　deep　remorse　in　his　eye；　such　true　pity　in　his　tone；　such　manly　energy　in　his　manner；　and　besides；　there　was　such　unchanged　love　in　his　whole　look　and　mien—I　forgave　him　all：　yet　not　in　words；　not　outwardly；　only　at　my　heart’s　core。

“You　know　I　am　a　scoundrel；　Jane？”　ere　long　he　inquired　wistfully—　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　of　shuddering　sigh；　and　taking　me　in　his　arms；　carried　me　downstairs。　At　first　I　did　not　know　to　what　room　he　had　borne　me；　all　was　cloudy　to　my　glazed　sight：　presently　I　felt　the　reviving　warmth　of　a　fire；　for；　summer　as　it　was；　I　had　bee　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　soon　myself。　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　be　well　for　me；”　I　thought；　“then　I　should　not　have　to　make　the　effort　of　cracking　my　heart…strings　in　rending　them　from　among　Mr。　Rochester’s。　I　must　leave　him；　it　appears。　I　do　not　want　to　leave　him—I　cannot　leave　him。”

“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；　and　looked　at　me　attentively。　Suddenly　he　turned　away；　with　an　inarticulate　exclamation；　full　of　passionate　emotion　of　some　kind；　he　walked　fast　through　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　and　put　his　aside。

“What！—How　is　this？”　he　exclaimed　hastily。　“Oh；　I　know！　you　won’t　kiss　the　husband　of　Bertha　Mason？　You　consider　my　arms　filled　and　my　embraces　appropriated？”

“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　answer　for　you—Because　I　have　a　wife　already；　you　would　reply。—I　guess　rightly？”

“Yes。”

“If　you　think　so；　you　must　have　a　strange　opinion　of　me；　you　must　regard　me　as　a　plotting　profligate—a　base　and　low　rake　who　has　been　simulating　disinterested　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　to　that？　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；　you　cannot　yet　accustom　yourself　to　accuse　and　revile　me；　and　besides

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