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Page 7
There seemed a night of darkness in that scarred face, and stars
unearthly bright. He peered dimly at me, leaning heavily on Jane's
arm, his left hand plunged into the bosom of his coat. And when he was
come near, he lifted his hat to me with a kind of Spanish gravity.
"Is this the gentleman, Jane?" he enquired.
"Yes, sir."
"He's young!" he muttered.
"For otherwise he would not be here," she replied.
"Was the gate bolted, then?" he asked.
"Mr. Rochester desires to know if you had the audacity, sir, to scale
his garden wall," Jane said, turning sharply on me. "Shall I count the
strawberries, sir?" she added over her shoulder."
"Jane, Jane!" he exclaimed testily. "I have no wish to be uncivil,
sir. We are not of the world--a mere dark satellite. I am dim; and
suspicious of strangers, as this one treacherous eye should manifest.
I'll but ask your name, sir,--there are yet a few names left, once
pleasing to my ear."
"My name is Brocken, sir--Henry Brocken," I answered.
"And--did you walk? Pah! there's the mystery! God knows how else you
could have come, unless you are a modern Ganymede. Where then's your
aquiline steed, sir? We have no neighbours here--none to stare, and
pry, and prate, and slander."
I informed him that I was as ignorant as he what power had spirited me
to his house, but that so far as obvious means went, my old horse was
probably by this time fast asleep beside the green gate at which I had
entered. Jane stood on tip-toe and whispered in his ear, and, nodding
imperiously at him, withdrew into the house.
Complete silence fell between us after her departure. The woods stood
dark and motionless in the yellow evening light. There was no sound of
wind or water, no sound of voices or footsteps; only far away the
clear, scarce-audible warbling of a sleepy bird.
"Well, sir," Mr. Rochester said suddenly, "I am bidden invite you to
pass the night here. There are stranger inhabitants than Mr. and Mrs.
Rochester in these regions you have by some means strayed into--wilder
denizens, by much; for youth's seraphic finding. Not for mine, sir, I
vow. Depart again in the morning, if you will: we shall neither of us
be displeased by then to say farewell, I dare say. I do not seek
company. My obscure shell is enough." I rose. "Sit down--sit down
again, my dear sir; there's no mischief in the truth between two men
of any world, I suppose, assuredly not of this. My wife will see to
your comfort. There! hushie now, here he floats; sit still, sit
still--I hear his wings. It is my 'Four Evangels,' sir!"
It was a sleek blackbird that had alighted and now set to singing on
the topmost twig of a lofty pear-tree near by; and with his first note
Jane reappeared. And while we listened, unstirring, to that rich,
undaunted voice, I had good opportunity to observe her, and not, I
think, without her knowledge, not even without her approval.
This, then, was the face that had returned wrath for wrath, remorse
for remorse, passion for passion to that dark egotist Jane in the
looking-glass. Yet who, thought I, could be else than beautiful with
eyes that seemed to hide in fleeting cloud a flame as pure as amber?
The arch simplicity of her gown, her small, narrow hands, the
exquisite cleverness of mouth and chin, the lovely courage and
sincerity of that yet-childish brow--it seemed even Mr. Rochester's
"Four Evangels" out of his urgent rhetoric was summoning with
reiterated persuasions, "Jane Eyre, Jane Eyre, Jane Eyre, Ja ... ne!"
Light faded from the woods; a faint wind blew cold upon our faces.
Jane took Mr. Rochester's hand and looked into his face.
She turned to me. "Will you come in, Mr. Brocken? I have seen that
your horse is made quite easy. He was fast asleep, poor fellow, as
you surmised; and, I think, dreaming; for when I proffered him a lump
of sugar, he thrust his nose into my face and breathed as if I were a
peck of corn. The candles are lit, sir; supper is ready."
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