Лучшие романы сестер Бронте / The Best of the Brontë Sisters. Шарлотта Бронте

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      “There! you will find it scarcely more legible than a crumpled, scratched page. Read on: only make haste, for I suffer.”

      His face was very much agitated and very much flushed, and there were strong workings in the features, and strange gleams in the eyes.

      “Oh, Jane, you torture me!” he exclaimed. “With that searching and yet faithful and generous look, you torture me!”

      “How can I do that? If you are true, and your offer real, my only feelings to you must be gratitude and devotion – they cannot torture.”

      “Gratitude!” he ejaculated; and added wildly – “Jane accept me quickly. Say, Edward – give me my name – Edward – I will marry you.”

      “Are you in earnest? Do you truly love me? Do you sincerely wish me to be your wife?”

      “I do; and if an oath is necessary to satisfy you, I swear it.”

      “Then, sir, I will marry you.”

      “Edward – my little wife!”

      “Dear Edward!”

      “Come to me – come to me entirely now,” said he; and added, in his deepest tone, speaking in my ear as his cheek was laid on mine, “Make my happiness – I will make yours.”

      “God pardon me!” he subjoined ere long; “and man meddle not with me: I have her, and will hold her.”

      “There is no one to meddle, sir. I have no kindred to interfere.”

      “No – that is the best of it,” he said. And if I had loved him less I should have thought his accent and look of exultation savage; but, sitting by him, roused from the nightmare of parting – called to the paradise of union – I thought only of the bliss given me to drink in so abundant a flow. Again and again he said, “Are you happy, Jane?” And again and again I answered, “Yes.” After which he murmured, “It will atone – it will atone. Have I not found her friendless, and cold, and comfortless? Will I not guard, and cherish, and solace her? Is there not love in my heart, and constancy in my resolves? It will expiate at God’s tribunal. I know my Maker sanctions what I do. For the world’s judgment – I wash my hands thereof. For man’s opinion – I defy it.”

      But what had befallen the night? The moon was not yet set, and we were all in shadow: I could scarcely see my master’s face, near as I was. And what ailed the chestnut tree? it writhed and groaned; while wind roared in the laurel walk, and came sweeping over us.

      “We must go in,” said Mr. Rochester: “the weather changes. I could have sat with thee till morning, Jane.”

      “And so,” thought I, “could I with you.” I should have said so, perhaps, but a livid, vivid spark leapt out of a cloud at which I was looking, and there was a crack, a crash, and a close rattling peal; and I thought only of hiding my dazzled eyes against Mr. Rochester’s shoulder.

      The rain rushed down. He hurried me up the walk, through the grounds, and into the house; but we were quite wet before we could pass the threshold. He was taking off my shawl in the hall, and shaking the water out of my loosened hair, when Mrs. Fairfax emerged from her room. I did not observe her at first, nor did Mr. Rochester. The lamp was lit. The clock was on the stroke of twelve.

      “Hasten to take off your wet things,” said he; “and before you go, good-night – good-night, my darling!”

      He kissed me repeatedly. When I looked up, on leaving his arms, there stood the widow, pale, grave, and amazed. I only smiled at her, and ran upstairs. “Explanation will do for another time,” thought I. Still, when I reached my chamber, I felt a pang at the idea she should even temporarily misconstrue what she had seen. But joy soon effaced every other feeling; and loud as the wind blew, near and deep as the thunder crashed, fierce and frequent as the lightning gleamed, cataract-like as the rain fell during a storm of two hours’ duration, I experienced no fear and little awe. Mr. Rochester came thrice to my door in the course of it, to ask if I was safe and tranquil: and that was comfort, that was strength for anything.

      Before I left my bed in the morning, little Adèle came running in to tell me that the great horse-chestnut at the bottom of the orchard had been struck by lightning in the night, and half of it split away.

      Chapter XXIV

      As I rose and dressed, I thought over what had happened, and wondered if it were a dream. I could not be certain of the reality till I had seen Mr. Rochester again, and heard him renew his words of love and promise.

      While arranging my hair, I looked at my face in the glass, and felt it was no longer plain: there was hope in its aspect and life in its colour; and my eyes seemed as if they had beheld the fount of fruition, and borrowed beams from the lustrous ripple. I had often been unwilling to look at my master, because I feared he could not be pleased at my look; but I was sure I might lift my face to his now, and not cool his affection by its expression. I took a plain but clean and light summer dress from my drawer and put it on: it seemed no attire had ever so well become me, because none had I ever worn in so blissful a mood.

      I was not surprised, when I ran down into the hall, to see that a brilliant June morning had succeeded to the tempest of the night; and to feel, through the open glass door, the breathing of a fresh and fragrant breeze. Nature must be gladsome when I was so happy. A beggar-woman and her little boy – pale, ragged objects both – were coming up the walk, and I ran down and gave them all the money I happened to have in my purse – some three or four shillings: good or bad, they must partake of my jubilee. The rooks cawed, and blither birds sang; but nothing was so merry or so musical as my own rejoicing heart.

      Mrs. Fairfax surprised me by looking out of the window with a sad countenance, and saying gravely – “Miss Eyre, will you come to breakfast?” During the meal she was quiet and cool: but I could not undeceive her then. I must wait for my master to give explanations; and so must she. I ate what I could, and then I hastened upstairs. I met Adèle leaving the schoolroom.

      “Where are you going? It is time for lessons.”

      “Mr. Rochester has sent me away to the nursery.”

      “Where is he?”

      “In there,” pointing to the apartment she had left; and I went in, and there he stood.

      “Come and bid me good-morning,” said he. I gladly advanced; and it was not merely a cold word now, or even a shake of the hand that I received, but an embrace and a kiss. It seemed natural: it seemed genial to be so well loved, so caressed by him.

      “Jane, you look blooming, and smiling, and pretty,” said he: “truly pretty this morning. Is this my pale, little elf? Is this my mustard-seed? This little sunny-faced girl with the dimpled cheek and rosy lips; the satin-smooth hazel hair, and the radiant hazel eyes?” (I had green eyes, reader; but you must excuse the mistake: for him they were new-dyed, I suppose.)

      “It is Jane Eyre, sir.”

      “Soon to be Jane Rochester,” he added: “in four weeks, Janet; not a day more. Do you hear that?”

      I did, and I could not quite comprehend it: it made me giddy. The feeling, the announcement sent through СКАЧАТЬ