简爱(英文版)-第34部分

快捷操作: 按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页 按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页 按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部! 如果本书没有阅读完，想下次继续接着阅读，可使用上方 "收藏到我的浏览器" 功能 和 "加入书签" 功能！


　for　it。”
“And　so　have　I；　sir；”　I　returned；　putting　my　hands　and　my　purse　behind　me。　“I　could　not　spare　the　money　on　any　account。”
“Little　niggard！”　said　he；　“refusing　me　a　pecuniary　request！　Give　me　five　pounds；　Jane。”
“Not　five　shillings；　sir；　nor　five　pence。”
“Just　let　me　look　at　the　cash。”
“No；　sir；　you　are　not　to　be　trusted。”
“Jane！”
“Sir？”
“Promise　me　one　thing。”
“I’ll　promise　you　anything；　sir；　that　I　think　I　am　likely　to　perform。”
“Not　to　advertise：　and　to　trust　this　quest　of　a　situation　to　me。　I’ll　find　you　one　in　time。”
“I　shall　be　glad　so　to　do；　sir；　if　you；　in　your　turn；　will　promise　that　I　and　Adèle　shall　be　both　safe　out　of　the　house　before　your　bride　enters　it。”
“Very　well！　very　well！　I’ll　pledge　my　word　on　it。　You　go　to…　morrow；　then？”
“Yes；　sir；　early。”
“Shall　you　e　down　to　the　drawing…room　after　dinner？”
“No；　sir；　I　must　prepare　for　the　journey。”
“Then　you　and　I　must　bid　good…bye　for　a　little　while？”
“I　suppose　so；　sir。”
“And　how　do　people　perform　that　ceremony　of　parting；　Jane？　Teach　me；　I’m　not　quite　up　to　it。”
“They　say；　Farewell；　or　any　other　form　they　prefer。”
“Then　say　it。”
“Farewell；　Mr。　Rochester；　for　the　present。”
“What　must　I　say？”
“The　same；　if　you　like；　sir。”
“Farewell；　Miss　Eyre；　for　the　present；　is　that　all？”
“Yes？”
“It　seems　stingy；　to　my　notions；　and　dry；　and　unfriendly。　I　should　like　something　else：　a　little　addition　to　the　rite。　If　one　shook　hands；　for　instance；　but　no—that　would　not　content　me　either。　So　you’ll　do　no　more　than　say　Farewell；　Jane？”
“It　is　enough；　sir：　as　much　good…will　may　be　conveyed　in　one　hearty　word　as　in　many。”
“Very　likely；　but　it　is　blank　and　cool—‘Farewell。’”
“How　long　is　he　going　to　stand　with　his　back　against　that　door？”　I　asked　myself；　“I　want　to　mence　my　packing。”　The　dinner…bell　rang；　and　suddenly　away　he　bolted；　without　another　syllable：　I　saw　him　no　more　during　the　day；　and　was　off　before　he　had　risen　in　the　morning。
I　reached　the　lodge　at　Gateshead　about　five　o’clock　in　the　afternoon　of　the　first　of　May：　I　stepped　in　there　before　going　up　to　the　hall。　It　was　very　clean　and　neat：　the　ornamental　windows　were　hung　with　little　white　curtains；　the　floor　was　spotless；　the　grate　and　fire…irons　were　burnished　bright；　and　the　fire　burnt　clear。　Bessie　sat　on　the　hearth；　nursing　her　last…born；　and　Robert　and　his　sister　played　quietly　in　a　corner。
“Bless　you！—I　knew　you　would　e！”　exclaimed　Mrs。　Leaven；　as　I　entered。
“Yes；　Bessie；”　said　I；　after　I　had　kissed　her；　“and　I　trust　I　am　not　too　late。　How　is　Mrs。　Reed？—Alive　still；　I　hope。”
“Yes；　she　is　alive；　and　more　sensible　and　collected　than　she　was。　The　doctor　says　she　may　linger　a　week　or　two　yet；　but　he　hardly　thinks　she　will　finally　recover。”
“Has　she　mentioned　me　lately？”
“She　was　talking　of　you　only　this　morning；　and　wishing　you　would　e；　but　she　is　sleeping　now；　or　was　ten　minutes　ago；　when　I　was　up　at　the　house。　She　generally　lies　in　a　kind　of　lethargy　all　the　afternoon；　and　wakes　up　about　six　or　seven。　Will　you　rest　yourself　here　an　hour；　Miss；　and　then　I　will　go　up　with　you？”
Robert　here　entered；　and　Bessie　laid　her　sleeping　child　in　the　cradle　and　went　to　wele　him：　afterwards　she　insisted　on　my　taking　off　my　bon　and　having　some　tea；　for　she　said　I　looked　pale　and　tired。　I　was　glad　to　accept　her　hospitality；　and　I　submitted　to　be　relieved　of　my　travelling　garb　just　as　passively　as　I　used　to　let　her　undress　me　when　a　child。
Old　times　crowded　fast　back　on　me　as　I　watched　her　bustling　about—　setting　out　the　tea…tray　with　her　best　china；　cutting　bread　and　butter；　toasting　a　tea…cake；　and；　between　whiles；　giving　little　Robert　or　Jane　an　occasional　tap　or　push；　just　as　she　used　to　give　me　in　former　days。　Bessie　had　retained　her　quick　temper　as　well　as　her　light　foot　and　good　looks。
Tea　ready；　I　was　going　to　approach　the　table；　but　she　desired　me　to　sit　still；　quite　in　her　old　peremptory　tones。　I　must　be　served　at　the　fireside；　she　said；　and　she　placed　before　me　a　little　round　stand　with　my　cup　and　a　plate　of　toast；　absolutely　as　she　used　to　acmodate　me　with　some　privately　purloined　dainty　on　a　nursery　chair：　and　I　smiled　and　obeyed　her　as　in　bygone　days。
She　wanted　to　know　if　I　was　happy　at　Thornfield　Hall；　and　what　sort　of　a　person　the　mistress　was；　and　when　I　told　her　there　was　only　a　master；　whether　he　was　a　nice　gentleman；　and　if　I　liked　him。　I　told　her　he　rather　an　ugly　man；　but　quite　a　gentleman；　and　that　he　treated　me　kindly；　and　I　was　content。　Then　I　went　on　to　describe　to　her　the　gay　pany　that　had　lately　been　staying　at　the　house；　and　to　these　details　Bessie　listened　with　interest：　they　were　precisely　of　the　kind　she　relished。
In　such　conversation　an　hour　was　soon　gone：　Bessie　restored　to　me　my　bon；　&c。；　and；　acpanied　by　her；　I　quitted　the　lodge　for　the　hall。　It　was　also　acpanied　by　her　that　I　had；　nearly　nine　years　ago；　walked　down　the　path　I　was　now　ascending。　On　a　dark；　misty；　raw　morning　in　January；　I　had　left　a　hostile　roof　with　a　desperate　and　embittered　heart—a　sense　of　outlawry　and　almost　of　reprobation—to　seek　the　chilly　harbourage　of　Lowood：　that　bourne　so　far　away　and　unexplored。　The　same　hostile　roof　now　again　rose　before　me：　my　prospects　were　doubtful　yet；　and　I　had　yet　an　aching　heart。　I　still　felt　as　a　wanderer　on　the　face　of　the　earth；　but　I　experienced　firmer　trust　in　myself　and　my　own　powers；　and　less　withering　dread　of　oppression。　The　gaping　wound　of　my　wrongs；　too；　was　now　quite　healed；　and　the　flame　of　resentment　extinguished。
“You　shall　go　into　the　breakfast…room　first；”　said　Bessie；　as　she　preceded　me　through　the　hall；　“the　young　ladies　will　be　there。”
In　another　moment　I　was　within　that　apartment。　There　was　every　article　of　furniture　looking　just　as　it　did　on　the　morning　I　was　first　introduced　to　Mr。　Brocklehurst：　the　very　rug　he　had　stood　upon　still　covered　the　hearth。　Glancing　at　the　bookcases；　I　thought　I　could　distinguish　the　two　volumes　of　Bewick’s　British　Birds　occupying　their　old　place　on　the　third　shelf；　and　Gulliver’s　Travels　and　the　Arabian　Nights　ranged　just　above。　The　inanimate　objects　were　not　changed；　but　the　living　things　had　altered　past　recognition。
Two　young　ladies　appeared　before　me；　one　very　tall；　almost　as　tall　as　Miss　Ingram—very　thin　too；　with　a　sallow　face　and　severe　mien。　There　was　something　ascetic　in　her　look；　which　was　augmented　by　the　extreme　plainness　of　a　straight…skirted；　black；　stuff　dress；　a　starched　linen　collar；　hair　bed　away　from　the　temples；　and　the　nun…like　ornament　of　a　string　of　ebony　beads　and　a　crucifix。　This　I　felt　sure　was　Eliza；　though　I　could　trace　little　resemblance　to　her　former　self　in　that　elongated　and　colourless　visage。
The　other　was　as　certainly　Georgiana：　but　not　the　Georgiana　I　remembered—the　slim　and　fairy…like　girl　of　eleven。　This　was　a　full…blown；　very　plump　damsel；　fair　as　waxwork；　with　handsome　and　regular　features；　languishing　blue　eyes；　and　ringleted　yellow　hair。　The　hue　of　her　dress　was　black　too；　but　its　fashion　was　so　different　from　her　sister’s—so　much　more　flowing　and　being—it　looked　as　stylish　as　the　other’s　looked　puritanical。
In　each　of　the　sisters　there　was　one　trait　of　the　mother—and　only　one；　the　thin　and　pallid　elder　daughter　had　her　parent’s　Cairngorm　eye：　the　blooming　and　luxuriant　younger　girl　had　her　contour　of　jaw　and　chin—perhaps　a　little　softened；　but　still　imparting　an　indescribable　hardness　to　the　countenance　otherwise　so　voluptuous　and　buxom。
Both　ladies；　as　I　advanced；　rose　to　wele　me；　and　both　addressed　me　by　the　name　of　“Miss　Eyre。”　Eliza’s　greeting　was　delivered　in　a　short；　abrupt　voice；　without　a　smile；　and　then　she　sat　down　again；　fixed　her　eyes　on　the　fire；　and　seemed　to　forget　me。　Georgiana　added　to　her　“How　d’ye　do？”　several　monplaces　about　my　journey；　the　weather；　and　so　on；　uttered　in　rather　a　drawling　tone：　and　acpanied　by　sundry　side…glances　that　measured　me　from　head　to　foot—now　traversing　the　folds　of　my　drab　merino　pelisse；　and　now　lingering　on　the　plain　trimming　of　my　cottage　bon。　Young　ladies　have　a　remarkable　way　of　letting　you　know　that　they　think　you　a　“quiz”　without　actually　saying　the　words。　A　certain　superciliousness　of　look；　coolness　of　manner；　nonchalance　of　tone；　express　fully　their　sentiments　on　the　point；　without　mitting　them　by　any　positive　rudeness　in　word　or　deed。
A　sneer；　however；　whether　covert　or　open；　had　now　no　longer　that　power　over　me　it　once　possessed：　as　I　sat　between　my　cousins；　I　was　surprised　to　find　how　easy　I　felt　under　the　total　neglect　of　the　one　and　the　semi…sarcastic　attentions　of　the　other—Eliza　did　not　mortify；　nor　Georgiana　ruffle　me。　The　fact　was；　I　had　other　things　to　think　about；　within　the　last　few　months　feelings　had　been　stirred　in　me　so　much　more　potent　than　any　they　could　raise—pains　and　pleasures　so　much　more　acute　and　exquisite　had　been　excited　than　any　it　was　in　their　power　to　inflict　or　bestow—that　their　airs　gave　me　no　concern　either　for　good　or　bad。
“How　is　Mrs。　Reed？”　I　asked　soon；　looking　calmly　at　Georgiana；　who　thought　fit　to　bridle　at　the　direct　address；　as　if　it　were　an　unexpected　liberty。
“Mrs。　Reed？　Ah！　mama；　you　mean；　she　is　extremely　poorly：　I　doubt　if　you　can　see　her　to…night。”
“If；”　said　I；　“you　would　just　step　upstairs　and　tell　her　I　am　e；　I　should　be　much　obliged　to　you。”
Georgiana　almost　started；　and　she　opened　her　blue　eyes　wild　and　wide。　“I　know　she　had　a　particular　wish　to　see　me；”　I　added；　“and　I　would　not　defer　attending　to　her　desire　longer　than　is　absolutely　necessary。”
“Mama　dislikes　being　disturbed　in　an　evening；”　remarked　Eliza。　I　soon　rose；　quietly　took　off　my　bon　and　gloves；　uninvited；　and　said　I　would　just　step　out　to　Bessie—who　was；　I　dared　say；　in　the　kitchen—and　ask　her　to　ascertain　whether　Mrs。　Reed　was　disposed　to　receive　me　or　not　to…night。　I　went；　and　having　found　Bessie　and　despatched　her　on　my　errand；　I　proceeded　to　take　further　measures。　It　had　heretofore　been　my　habit　always　to　shrink　from　arrogance：　received　as　I　had　been　to…day；　I　should；　a　year　ago；　have　resolved　to　quit　Gateshead　the　very　next　morning；　now；　it　was　disclosed　to　me　all　at　once　that　that　would　be　a　foolish　plan。　I　had　taken　a　journey　of　a　hundred　miles　to　see　my　aunt；　and　I　must　stay　with　her　till　she　was　better—or　dead：　as　to　her　daughters’　pride　or　folly；　I　must　put　it　on　one　side；　make　myself　independent　of　it。　So　I　addressed　the　housekeeper；　asked　her　to　show　me　a　room；　told　her　I　should　probably　be　a　visitor　here　for　a　week　or　two；　had　my　trunk　conveyed　to　my　chamber；　and　followed　it　thither　myself：　I　met　Bessie　on　the　landing。
“Missis　is　awake；”　said　she；　“I　have　told　her　you　are　here：　e　and　let　us　see　if　she　will　know　you。”
I　did　not　need　to　be　guided　to　the　well…known　room；　to　which　I　had　so　often　been　summoned　for　chastisement　or　reprimand　in　former　days。　I　hastened　before　Bessie；　I　softly　opened　the　door：　a　shaded　light　stood　on　the　table；　for　it　was　now　getting　dark。　There　was　the　great　four…post　bed　with　amber　hangings　as　of　old；　there　the　toilet…　table；　the　armchair；　and　the　footstool；　at　which　I　had　a　hundred　times　been　sentenced　to　kneel；　to　ask　pardon　for　offences　by　me　unmitted。　I　looked　into　a　certain　corner　near；　half…expecting　to　see　the　slim　outline　of　a　once　dreaded　switch　which　used　to　lurk　there；　waiting　to　leap　out　imp…like　and　lace　my　quivering　palm　or　shrinking　neck。　I　approached　the　bed；　I　opened　the　curtains　and　leant　over　the　high…piled　pillows。
Well　did　I　remember　Mrs。　Reed’s　face；　and　I　eagerly　sought　the　familiar　image。　It　is　a　happy　thing　that　time　quells　the　longings　of　vengeance　and　hushes　the　promptings　of　rage　and　aversion。　I　had　left　this　woman　in　bitterness　and　hate；　and　I　came　back　to　her　now　with　no　other　emotion　than　a　sort　of　ruth　for　her　great　sufferings；　and　a　strong　yearning　to　forget　and　forgive　all　injuries—to　be　reconciled　and　clasp　hands　in　amity。
The　well…known　face　was　there：　stern；　relentless　as　ever—there　was　that　peculiar　eye　which　nothing　could　melt；　and　the　somewhat　raised；　imperious；　despotic　eyebrow。　How　often　had　it　lowered　on　me　menace　and　hate！　and　how　the　recollection　of　childhood’s　terrors　and　sorrows　revived　as　I　traced　its　harsh　line　now！　And　yet　I　stooped　down　and　kissed　her：　she　looked　at　me。
“Is　this　Jane　Eyre？”　she　said。
“Yes；　Aunt　Reed。　How　are　you；　dear　aunt？”
I　had　once　vowed　that　I　would　never　call　her　aunt　again：　I　thought　it　no　sin　to　forget　and　break　that　vow　now。　My　fingers　had　fastened　on　her　hand　which　lay　outside　the　sheet：　had　she　pressed　mine　kindly；　I　should　at　that　moment　have　experienced　true　pleasure。　But　unimpressionable　natures　are　not　so　soon　softened；　nor　are　natural　antipathies　so　readily　eradicated。　Mrs。　Reed　took　her　hand　away；　and；　turning　her　face　rather　from　me；　she　remarked　that　the　night　was　warm。　Again　she　regarded　me　so　icily；　I　felt　at　once　that　her　opinion　of　me—her　feeling　towards　me—was　unchanged　and　unchangeable。　I　knew　by　her　stony　eye—opaque　to　tenderness；　indissoluble　to　tears—that　she　was　resolved　to　consider　me　bad　to　the　last；　because　to　believe　me　good　would　give　her　no　generous　pleasure：　only　a　sense　of　mortification。
I　felt　pain；　and　then　I　felt　ire；　and　then　I　felt　a　determination　to　subdue　her—to　be　her　mistress　in　spite　both　of　her　nature　and　her　will。　My　tears　had　risen；　just　as　in　childhood：　I　ordered　them　back　to　their　source。　I　brought　a　chair　to　the　bed…head：　I　sat　down　and　leaned　over　the　pillow。
“You　sent　for　me；”　I　said；　“and　I　am　here；　and　it　is　my　intention　to　stay　till　I　see　how　you　get　on。”
“Oh；　of　course！　You　have　seen　my　daughters？”
“Yes。”
“Well；　you　may　tell　them　I　wish　you　to　stay　till　I　can　talk　some　things　over　with　you　I　have　on　my　mind：　to…night　it　is　too　late；　and　I　have　a　difficulty　in　recalling　them。　But　there　was　something　I　wished　to　say—let　me　see—”
The　wandering　look　and　changed　utterance　told　what　wreck　had　taken　place　in　her　once　vigorous　frame。　Turning　restlessly；　she　drew　the　bedclothes　round　her；　my　elbow；　resting　on　a　corner　of　the　quilt；　fixed　it　down：　she　was　at　once　irritated。
“Sit　up！”　said　she；　“don’t　annoy　me　with　holding　the　clothes　fast。　Are　you　Jane　Eyre？”
“I　am　Jane　Eyre。”
“I　have　had　more　trouble　with　that　child　than　any　one　would　believe。　Such　a　burden　to　be　left　on　my　hands—and　so　much　annoyance　as　she　caused　me；　daily　and　hourly；　with　her　inprehensible　disposition；　and　her　sudden　starts　of　temper；　and　her　continual；　unnatural　watchings　of　one’s　movements！　I　declare　she　talked　to　me　once　like　something　mad；　or　like　a　fiend—no　child　ever　spoke　or　looked　as　she　did；　I　was　glad　to　get　her　away　from　the　house。　What　did　they　do　with　her　at　Lowood？　The　fever　broke　out　there；　and　many　of　the　pupils　died。　She；　however；　did　not　die：　but　I　said　she　did—I　wish　she　had　died！”
“A　strange　wish；　Mrs。　Reed；　why　do　you　hate　her　so？”
“I　had　a　dislike　to　her　mother　always；　for　she　was　my　husband’s　only　sister；　and　a　great　favourite　with　him：　he　opposed　the　family’s　disowning　her　when　she　made　her　low　marriage；　and　when　news　came　of　her　death；　he　wept　like　a　simpleton。　He　would　send　for　the　baby；　though　I　entreated　him　rather　to　put　it　out　to　nurse　and　pay　for　its　maintenance。　I　hated　it　the　first　time　I　set　my　eyes　on　it—a　sickly；　whining；　pining　thing！　It　would　wail　in　its