Hello.
Welcome to Sleep Stories with Steph,
Your go-to romantic podcast that guarantees you a calm and entertaining transition into a great night's sleep.
Come with me as we immerse ourselves in a romantic journey to a time long since forgotten.
But before we begin,
Let's take a moment to focus on where we are now.
Take a deep breath in through your nose and let it out with a long sigh.
That's it.
Now close your eyes and feel yourself sink deeper into the support beneath you.
It is time to relax and fully let go.
There is nothing you need to be doing now and nowhere you need to go.
Happy listening.
This is S.
D.
Hudson-Magic.
Jane Eyre Volume 2 Chapter 22 Mr.
Rochester had given me but one week's leave of absence,
Yet a month elapsed before I quitted Kate's head.
I wished to leave immediately after the funeral,
But Georgiana entreated me to stay till she could get off to London,
Whether she was now at last invited by her uncle,
Mr.
Gibson,
Who had come down to settle his sister's internment and settle the family affairs.
Georgiana said she dreaded being left alone with Eliza.
From her she got neither sympathy in her dejection,
Support in her fears,
Nor aid in her preparations.
So I bore with her feeble-minded quailings and selfish lamentations as well as I could,
And did my best in sewing for her and packing her dresses.
It is true that while I work she would idle.
And I thought to myself,
If you and I were destined to live always together,
We would commence matters on a different footing.
I should not settle tamely down to being the forbearing party.
I should assign you your share of labour and compel you to accomplish it,
Or else it should be left undone.
At last I saw Georgiana off,
But now it was Eliza's turn to request me to stay another week.
Her plans required all her time and attention,
She said.
She was about to depart for some unknown bourne,
And all day long she stayed in her own room,
Her door bolted within,
Filling trunks,
Emptying drawers,
Burning papers,
And holding no communication with anyone.
She wished me to look after the house,
To see callers and answer notes of condolence.
One morning she told me I was at liberty.
And,
She added,
I am obliged to you for your valuable services and discreet conduct.
There is some difference between living with such a one as you and with Georgiana.
You perform your own part in life and burden no one.
Tomorrow I set out for the continent,
She continued.
I shall take up my abode in a religious house near Lille,
A nunnery,
You would call it.
There I shall be quiet and unmolested.
I shall devote myself for a time to the examination of the Roman Catholic dogmas and to a careful study of the workings of their system.
I shall embrace the tenets of Rome and probably take the veil.
I neither expressed surprise at this resolution nor attempted to dissuade her from it.
The vocation will fit you to a hair,
I thought.
Much good may it do you.
When we parted,
She said,
Goodbye,
Cousin Jane Eyre.
I wish you well.
You have some sense.
I then returned.
You are not without sense,
Cousin Eliza.
What you have,
I suppose,
In another year will be walled up alive in a French convent.
However,
It's not my business.
And so it suits you.
I don't much care.
You are in the right,
Said she.
And with these words we each went our separate way.
As I shall not have occasion to refer either to her or her sister again,
I may as well mention here that Georgiana made an advantageous match with a wealthy worn-out man of fashion and that Eliza actually took the veil and is at this day superior of the convent which she endowed with her fortune.
How people felt when they were turning home from an absence long or short,
I did not know.
I had never experienced the sensation.
I had known what it was like to come back to Gateshead when a child after a long walk,
To long for a plenteous meal and a good fire and be unable to get either.
Neither of these returnings were very pleasant or desirable.
No magnet drew me to a given point,
Increasing in its strength of attraction the nearer I came.
The return to Thornfield was yet to be tried.
My journey seemed tedious.
Fifty miles one day,
A night spent at an inn.
Fifty miles the next day.
During the first twelve hours,
I thought of Mrs.
Reed in her last moments.
I saw her disfigured and discoloured face and heard her strangely altered voice.
I was going back to Thornfield.
But how long was I to stay there?
Not long,
Of that I was sure.
I had heard from Mrs.
Fairfax in the interim of my absence the party at the hall was dispersed.
Mr.
Rochester had left for London three weeks ago,
But he was then expected to return in a fortnight.
Mrs.
Fairfax surmised he was gone to make arrangements for his wedding,
As he had talked of buying a new carriage.
She said the idea of his marrying Miss Ingram still seemed strange to her.
But from what everybody else said and from what she had herself seen,
She could no longer doubt the event would take place.
The question followed.
Where was I to go?
I had not notified to Mrs.
Fairfax the exact day of my return,
For I did not wish either car or carriage to meet me.
I proposed to walk the distance from Millcote quietly by myself.
And after leaving my box care,
Did I slip away from the George Inn about six o'clock and take the old road to Thornfield.
It was not a bright or splendid June evening,
Although fair and soft.
The haymakers were at work along the road,
And the sky,
Though far from cloudless,
Was such as promised well for the future.
I felt glad as the road shortened before me,
So glad I stopped once to ask myself what that joy meant,
And to remind reason that it was not to my home I was going,
Or to a permanent resting place,
Or to a place where fond friends looked out for me and waited my arrival.
Mrs.
Fairfax will smile you a calm welcome to be sure,
Said I to myself,
And little Adele will clap her hands and jump to see you.
But you know very well you are thinking of another than they,
And that he is not thinking of you.
I had now but a field or two to traverse,
And then I would cross the road and reach the gates.
I passed a tall briar,
Shooting leafy and flowery branches across the path.
I saw the narrow stile with stone steps.
And there,
Sitting with a book and a pencil in his hand,
Was Mr.
Rochester.
Every nerve I had was unstrung.
For a moment I was beyond my own mastery.
What did it mean?
I did not think I should tremble in this way when I saw him,
Or lose my voice,
Or the power of motion.
Hello!
He cried,
And he put up his book and his pencil.
There you are.
Come on,
If you please.
I did come,
Though in what fashion I knew not,
Being scarcely cognizant of my movements,
And solicitous only to appear calm.
And this is Jane Eyre,
He said.
Are you coming from Millcote and on foot?
Yes,
Just one of your tricks,
Not to send for a carriage and come clattering over street and road like a common mortal.
What the deuce have you done with yourself this last month?
I have been with my answer,
Who is dead.
A true Janian reply.
Good angels be my guard!
She comes from the other world,
From the abode of people who are dead,
And tells me so when she meets me alone here in the gloaming.
If I dared I'd touch you,
To see if you were substance or shadow,
You elf.
But I'd soon offer to take hold for a blue light in a march.
Truant,
He added,
When he paused an instance,
Absent for me from a whole month,
And forgetting me quite,
I'll be sworn.
I knew there would be pleasure in meeting my master again,
Even though,
Broken by the fear he was so soon to cease to be my master.
His last words were balm.
They seemed to imply it imported something to him,
Whether I forgot him or not.
And he had spoken of Thornfield as my home.
Would that it were my home!
I inquired soon if he had not been to London.
Yes,
I suppose you found that out by second sight.
Mrs.
Fairfax told me in a letter.
And did she inform you what I went to do?
Oh,
Yes,
Sir.
Everybody knew your errand.
You must see the carriage,
Jane,
And tell me if you don't think it will suit Mrs.
Rochester exactly,
And whether she will look like Queen Bodicea leaning back against those purple cushions.
I wish,
Jane,
I were a trifle better adapted to match with her externally.
Tell me now,
Fair as you are,
Can't you give me a charm,
Or something of that sort,
To make me a handsome man?
It would be past the power of magic,
Sir,
Said I,
And then I thought.
A loving eye is all the charm needed.
To such you are handsome enough,
Or rather your sternness has a power beyond beauty.
Now,
Jane,
Said he,
Making room for me to cross the style,
Go up home and stay your weary little wandering feet at a friend's threshold.
Thank you,
Mr.
Rochester,
I said,
For your great kindness.
I'm strangely glad to get back again to you.
And wherever you are is my home.
My only home.
My only home.
I walked on so fast that even he could hardly have overtaken me,
Had he tried.
Little Adele was half wild with delight when she saw me,
And Mrs.
Fairfax received me with her usual plain friendliness.
Leah smiled,
And even Sophie bid me bonsoir with glee.
This was very pleasant.
There is no happiness like that of being loved by your fellow creatures,
And feeling that your presence is an addition to their comfort.
That evening I shut my eyes resolutely against the future.
I stopped my ears against the voice that kept warning me of near separation and coming grief.
And when tea was over and Mrs.
Fairfax had taken her knitting,
And I had assumed a low seat near her,
And Adele,
Kneeling on the carpet,
Had nestled close up to me,
A sense of mutual affection surrounding us with a ring of gold and peace,
I uttered a silent prayer that we might not be parted far too soon.
But when we thus sat,
Mr.
Rochester entered,
Unannounced,
And seemed to take pleasure in the spectacle of a group so amicable.
And I half ventured to hope he would,
Even after his marriage,
Keep us together somewhere under the shelter of his protection,
And not quite exiled from the sunshine of his presence.
Alas,
Never had I loved him so well.
