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 may come charged?’
‘This is hypochondria,6 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 twelve7 – 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