简爱(英文版)-第76章

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ing　him　out　of　his　melancholy　for　some　time　to　e。”
Very　early　the　next　morning　I　heard　him　up　and　astir；　wandering　from　one　room　to　another。　As　soon　as　Mary　came　doiss　Eyre　here？”　Then：　“Which　room　did　you　put　her　into？　Was　it　dry？　Is　she　up？　Go　and　ask　if　she　wants　anything；　and　when　she　will　e　down。”
I　came　down　as　soon　as　I　thought　there　was　a　prospect　of　breakfast。　Entering　the　room　very　softly；　I　had　a　view　of　him　before　he　discovered　my　presence。　It　was　mournful；　indeed；　to　witness　the　subjugation　of　that　vigorous　spirit　to　a　corporeal　infirmity。　He　sat　in　his　chair—still；　but　not　at　rest：　expectant　evidently；　the　lines　of　now　habitual　sadness　marking　his　strong　features。　His　countenance　reminded　one　of　a　lamp　quenched；　waiting　to　be　re…lit—　and　alas！　it　was　not　himself　that　could　now　kindle　the　lustre　of　animated　expression：　he　was　dependent　on　another　for　that　office！　I　had　meant　to　be　gay　and　careless；　but　the　powerlessness　of　the　strong　man　touched　my　heart　to　the　quick：　still　I　accosted　him　with　what　vivacity　I　could。
“It　is　a　bright；　sunny　morning；　sir；”　I　said。　“The　rain　is　over　and　gone；　and　there　is　a　tender　shining　after　it：　you　shall　have　a　walk　soon。”
I　had　wakened　the　glow：　his　features　beamed。
“Oh；　you　are　indeed　there；　my　skylark！　e　to　me。　You　are　not　gone：　not　vanished？　I　heard　one　of　your　kind　an　hour　ago；　singing　high　over　the　wood：　but　its　song　had　no　music　for　me；　any　more　than　the　rising　sun　had　rays。　All　the　melody　on　earth　is　concentrated　in　my　Jane’s　tongue　to　my　ear　（I　am　glad　it　is　not　naturally　a　silent　one）：　all　the　sunshine　I　can　feel　is　in　her　presence。”
The　water　stood　in　my　eyes　to　hear　this　avowal　of　his　dependence；　just　as　if　a　royal　eagle；　chained　to　a　perch；　should　be　forced　to　entreat　a　sparrow　to　bee　its　purveyor。　But　I　would　not　be　lachrymose：　I　dashed　off　the　salt　drops；　and　busied　myself　with　preparing　breakfast。
Most　of　the　morning　was　spent　in　the　open　air。　I　led　him　out　of　the　wet　and　wild　wood　into　some　cheerful　fields：　I　described　to　him　how　brilliantly　green　they　were；　how　the　flowers　and　hedges　looked　refreshed；　how　sparklingly　blue　was　the　sky。　I　sought　a　seat　for　him　in　a　hidden　and　lovely　spot；　a　dry　stump　of　a　tree；　nor　did　I　refuse　to　let　him；　when　seated；　place　me　on　his　knee。　Why　should　I；　when　both　he　and　I　were　happier　near　than　apart？　Pilot　lay　beside　us：　all　was　quiet。　He　broke　out　suddenly　while　clasping　me　in　his　arms—
“Cruel；　cruel　deserter！　Oh；　Jane；　what　did　I　feel　when　I　discovered　you　had　fled　from　Thornfield；　and　when　I　could　nowhere　find　you；　and；　after　examining　your　apartment；　ascertained　that　you　had　taken　no　money；　nor　anything　which　could　serve　as　an　equivalent！　A　pearl　necklace　I　had　given　you　lay　untouched　in　its　little　casket；　your　trunks　were　left　corded　and　locked　as　they　had　been　prepared　for　the　bridal　tour。　What　could　my　darling　do；　I　asked；　left　destitute　and　penniless？　And　what　did　she　do？　Let　me　hear　now。”
Thus　urged；　I　began　the　narrative　of　my　experience　for　the　last　year。　I　softened　considerably　what　related　to　the　three　days　of　wandering　and　starvation；　because　to　have　told　him　all　would　have　been　to　inflict　unnecessary　pain：　the　little　I　did　say　lacerated　his　faithful　heart　deeper　than　I　wished。
I　should　not　have　left　him　thus；　he　said；　without　any　means　of　making　my　way：　I　should　have　told　him　my　intention。　I　should　have　confided　in　him：　he　would　never　have　forced　me　to　be　his　mistress。　Violent　as　he　had　seemed　in　his　despair；　he；　in　truth；　loved　me　far　too　well　and　too　tenderly　to　constitute　himself　my　tyrant：　he　would　have　given　me　half　his　fortune；　without　demanding　so　much　as　a　kiss　in　return；　rather　than　I　should　have　flung　myself　friendless　on　the　wide　world。　I　had　endured；　he　was　certain；　more　than　I　had　confessed　to　him。
“Well；　whatever　my　sufferings　had　been；　they　were　very　short；”　I　answered：　and　then　I　proceeded　to　tell　him　how　I　had　been　received　at　Moor　House；　how　I　had　obtained　the　office　of　schoolmistress；　&c。　The　accession　of　fortune；　the　discovery　of　my　relations；　followed　in　due　order。　Of　course；　St。　John　Rivers’　name　came　in　frequently　in　the　progress　of　my　tale。　When　I　had　done；　that　name　was　immediately　taken　up。
“This　St。　John；　then；　is　your　cousin？”
“Yes。”
“You　have　spoken　of　him　often：　do　you　like　him？”
“He　was　a　very　good　man；　sir；　I　could　not　help　liking　him。”
“A　good　man。　Does　that　mean　a　respectable　well…conducted　man　of　fifty？　Or　what　does　it　mean？”
“St　John　was　only　twenty…nine；　sir。”
“‘Jeune　encore；’　as　the　French　say。　Is　he　a　person　of　low　stature；　phlegmatic；　and　plain。　A　person　whose　goodness　consists　rather　in　his　guiltlessness　of　vice；　than　in　his　prowess　in　virtue。”
“He　is　untiringly　active。　Great　and　exalted　deeds　are　what　he　lives　to　perform。”
“But　his　brain？　That　is　probably　rather　soft？　He　means　well：　but　you　shrug　your　shoulders　to　hear　him　talk？”
“He　talks　little；　sir：　what　he　does　say　is　ever　to　the　point。　His　brain　is　first…rate；　I　should　think　not　impressible；　but　vigorous。”
“Is　he　an　able　man；　then？”
“Truly　able。”
“A　thoroughly　educated　man？”
“St。　John　is　an　acplished　and　profound　scholar。”
“His　manners；　I　think；　you　said　are　not　to　your　taste？—priggish　and　parsonic？”
“I　never　mentioned　his　manners；　but；　unless　I　had　a　very　bad　taste；　they　must　suit　it；　they　are　polished；　calm；　and　gentlemanlike。”
“His　appearance；—I　forget　what　description　you　gave　of　his　appearance；—a　sort　of　raw　curate；　half　strangled　with　his　white　neckcloth；　and　stilted　up　on　his　thick…soled　high…lows；　eh？”
“St。　John　dresses　well。　He　is　a　handsome　man：　tall；　fair；　with　blue　eyes；　and　a　Grecian　profile。”
（Aside。）　“Damn　him！”—（To　me。）　“Did　you　like　him；　Jane？”
“Yes；　Mr。　Rochester；　I　liked　him：　but　you　asked　me　that　before。”
I　perceived；　of　course；　the　drift　of　my　interlocutor。　Jealousy　had　got　hold　of　him：　she　stung　him；　but　the　sting　was　salutary：　it　gave　him　respite　from　the　gnawing　fang　of　melancholy。　I　would　not；　therefore；　immediately　charm　the　snake。
“Perhaps　you　would　rather　not　sit　any　longer　on　my　knee；　Miss　Eyre？”　was　the　next　somewhat　unexpected　observation。
“Why　not；　Mr。　Rochester？”
“The　picture　you　have　just　drawn　is　suggestive　of　a　rather　too　overwhelming　contrast。　Your　words　have　delineated　very　prettily　a　graceful　Apollo：　he　is　present　to　your　imagination；—tall；　fair；　blue…eyed；　and　with　a　Grecian　profile。　Your　eyes　dwell　on　a　Vulcan；—a　real　blacksmith；　brown；　broad…shouldered：　and　blind　and　lame　into　the　bargain。”
“I　never　thought　of　it；　before；　but　you　certainly　are　rather　like　Vulcan；　sir。”
“Well；　you　can　leave　me；　ma’am：　but　before　you　go”　（and　he　retained　me　by　a　firmer　grasp　than　ever）；　“you　will　be　pleased　just　to　answer　me　a　question　or　two。”　He　paused。
“r。　Rochester？”
Then　followed　this　cross…examination。
“St。　John　made　you　schoolmistress　of　Morton　before　he　knew　you　were　his　cousin？”
“Yes。”
“You　would　often　see　him？　He　would　visit　the　school　sometimes？”
“Daily。”
“He　would　approve　of　your　plans；　Jane？　I　know　they　would　be　clever；　for　you　are　a　talented　creature！”
“He　approved　of　them—yes。”
“He　would　discover　many　things　in　you　he　could　not　have　expected　to　find？　Some　of　your　acplishments　are　not　ordinary。”
“I　don’t　know　about　that。”
“You　had　a　little　cottage　near　the　school；　you　say：　did　he　ever　e　there　to　see　you？”
“Now　and　then？”
“Of　an　evening？”
“Once　or　twice。”
A　pause。
“How　long　did　you　reside　with　him　and　his　sisters　after　the　cousinship　was　discovered？”
“Five　months。”
“Did　Rivers　spend　much　time　with　the　ladies　of　his　family？”
“Yes；　the　back　parlour　was　both　his　study　and　ours：　he　sat　near　the　window；　and　we　by　the　table。”
“Did　he　study　much？”
“A　good　deal。”
“What？”
“Hindostanee。”
“And　what　did　you　do　meantime？”
“I　learnt　German；　at　first。”
“Did　he　teach　you？”
“He　did　not　understand　German。”
“Did　he　teach　you　nothing？”
“A　little　Hindostanee。”
“Rivers　taught　you　Hindostanee？”
“Yes；　sir。”
“And　his　sisters　also？”
“No。”
“Only　you？”
“Only　me。”
“Did　you　ask　to　learn？”
“No。”
“He　wished　to　teach　you？”
“Yes。”
A　second　pause。
“Why　did　he　wish　it？　Of　what　use　could　Hindostanee　be　to　you？”
“He　intended　me　to　go　with　him　to　India。”
“Ah！　here　I　reach　the　root　of　the　matter。　He　wanted　you　to　marry　him？”
“He　asked　me　to　marry　him。”
“That　is　a　fiction—an　impudent　invention　to　vex　me。”
“I　beg　your　pardon；　it　is　the　literal　truth：　he　asked　me　more　than　once；　and　was　as　stiff　about　urging　his　point　as　ever　you　could　be。”
“Miss　Eyre；　I　repeat　it；　you　can　leave　me。　How　often　am　I　to　say　the　same　thing？　Why　do　you　remain　pertinaciously　perched　on　my　knee；　when　I　have　given　you　notice　to　quit？”
“Because　I　am　fortable　there。”
“No；　Jane；　you　are　not　fortable　there；　because　your　heart　is　not　with　me：　it　is　with　this　cousin—this　St。　John。　Oh；　till　this　moment；　I　thought　my　little　Jane　was　all　mine！　I　had　a　belief　she　loved　me　even　when　she　left　me：　that　was　an　atom　of　sweet　in　much　bitter。　Long　as　we　have　been　parted；　hot　tears　as　I　have　wept　over　our　separation；　I　never　thought　that　while　I　was　mourning　her；　she　was　loving　another！　But　it　is　useless　grieving。　Jane；　leave　me：　go　and　marry　Rivers。”
“Shake　me　off；　then；　sir；—push　me　away；　for　I’ll　not　leave　you　of　my　own　accord。”
“Jane；　I　ever　like　your　tone　of　voice：　it　still　renews　hope；　it　sounds　so　truthful。　When　I　hear　it；　it　carries　me　back　a　year。　I　forget　that　you　have　formed　a　new　tie。　But　I　am　not　a　fool—go—”
“Where　must　I　go；　sir？”
“Your　own　way—with　the　husband　you　have　chosen。”
“Who　is　that？”
“You　know—this　St。　John　Rivers。”
“He　is　not　my　husband；　nor　ever　will　be。　He　does　not　love　me：　I　do　not　love　him。　He　loves　（as　he　can　love；　and　that　is　not　as　you　love）　a　beautiful　young　lady　called　Rosamond。　He　wanted　to　marry　me　only　because　he　thought　I　should　make　a　suitable　missionary’s　wife；　which　she　would　not　have　done。　He　is　good　and　great；　but　severe；　and；　for　me；　cold　as　an　iceberg。　He　is　not　like　you；　sir：　I　am　not　happy　at　his　side；　nor　near　him；　nor　with　him。　He　has　no　indulgence　for　me—no　fondness。　He　sees　nothing　attractive　in　me；　not　even　youth—only　a　few　useful　mental　points。—Then　I　must　leave　you；　sir；　to　go　to　him？”
I　shuddered　involuntarily；　and　clung　instinctively　closer　to　my　blind　but　beloved　master。　He　smiled。
“What；　Jane！　Is　this　true？　Is　such　really　the　state　of　matters　between　you　and　Rivers？”
“Absolutely；　sir！　Oh；　you　need　not　be　jealous！　I　wanted　to　tease　you　a　little　to　make　you　less　sad：　I　thought　anger　would　be　better　than　grief。　But　if　you　wish　me　to　love　you；　could　you　but　see　how　much　I　do　love　you；　you　would　be　proud　and　content。　All　my　heart　is　yours；　sir：　it　belongs　to　you；　and　with　you　it　would　remain；　were　fate　to　exile　the　rest　of　me　from　your　presence　for　ever。”
Again；　as　he　kissed　me；　painful　thoughts　darkened　his　aspect。　“My　scared　vision！　My　crippled　strength！”　he　murmured　regretfully。
I　caressed；　in　order　to　soothe　him。　I　knew　of　what　he　was　thinking；　and　wanted　to　speak　for　him；　but　dared　not。　As　he　turned　aside　his　face　a　minute；　I　saw　a　tear　slide　from　under　the　sealed　eyelid；　and　trickle　down　the　manly　cheek。　My　heart　swelled。
“I　am　no　better　than　the　old　lightning…struck　chestnut…tree　in　Thornfield　orchard；”　he　remarked　ere　long。　“And　what　right　would　that　ruin　have　to　bid　a　budding　woodbine　cover　its　decay　with　freshness？”
“You　are　no　ruin；　sir—no　lightning…struck　tree：　you　are　green　and　vigorous。　Plants　will　grow　about　your　roots；　whether　you　ask　them　or　not；　because　they　take　delight　in　your　bountiful　shadow；　and　as　they　grow　they　will　lean　towards　you；　and　wind　round　you；　because　your　strength　offers　them　so　safe　a　prop。”
Again　he　smiled：　I　gave　him　fort。
“You　speak　of　friends；　Jane？”　he　asked。
“Yes；　of　friends；”　I　answered　rather　hesitatingly：　for　I　knew　I　meant　more　than　friends；　but　could　not　tell　what　other　word　to　employ。　He　helped　me。
“Ah！　Jane。　But　I　want　a　wife。”
“Do　you；　sir？”
“Yes：　is　it　news　to　you？”
“Of　course：　you　said　nothing　about　it　before。”
“Is　it　unwele　news？”
“That　depends　on　circumstances；　sir—on　your　choice。”
“Which　you　shall　make　for　me；　Jane。　I　will　abide　by　your　decision。”
“Choose　then；　sir—her　who　loves　you　best。”
“I　will　at　least　choose—her　i　love　best。　Jane；　will　you　marry　me？”
“Yes；　sir。”
“A　poor　blind　man；　whom　you　will　have　to　lead　about　by　the　hand？”
“Yes；　sir。”
“A　crippled　man；　twenty　years　older　than　you；　whom　you　will　have　to　wait　on？”
“Yes；　sir。”
“Truly；　Jane？”
“Most　truly；　sir。”
“Oh！　my　darling！　God　bless　you　and　reward　you！”
“Mr。　Rochester；　if　ever　I　did　a　good　deed　in　my　life—if　ever　I　thought　a　good　thought—if　ever　I　prayed　a　sincere　and　blameless　prayer—if　ever　I　wished　a　righteous　wish；—I　am　rewarded　now。　To　be　your　wife　is；　for　me；　to　be　as　happy　as　I　can　be　on　earth。”
“Because　you　delight　in　sacrifice。”
“Sacrifice！　What　do　I　sacrifice？　Famine　for　food；　expectation　for　content。　To　be　privileged　to　put　my　arms　round　what　I　value—to　press　my　lips　to　what　I　love—to　repose　on　what　I　trust：　is　that　to　make　a　sacrifice？　If　so；　then　certainly　I　delight　in　sacrifice。”
“And　to　bear　with　my　infirmities；　Jane：　to　overlook