This is S.
D.
Hudson Magic Jane Eyre Chapter 37 Just at this moment,
The parlour bell rang.
When you go in,
Said I,
Tell your master a person wishes to speak to him,
But do not give him your name.
I don't think Mr.
Rochester will see you,
Said Mary.
He refuses everybody.
When she returned,
I enquired what he had said.
You are to send in your name and your business,
She replied.
Then she proceeded to fill a glass with water and place it on a tray together with candles.
Is that what he rang for?
I asked.
Yes,
He always has candles brought in at dark,
Though he is blind.
Give the tray to me then and I will carry it in.
I took it from her hand and she pointed me out the parlour door.
The tray shook as I held it,
The water spilt from the glass.
My heart struck my ribs loud and fast.
Mary opened the door for me and shut it behind me.
The parlour looked gloomy.
A neglected handful of fire burned low in the grate,
And leaning over it with his head supported against the high,
Old-fashioned mantelpiece,
Appeared the blind tenant of the room.
His old dog-pilot lay on one side,
Removed out of the way,
And coiled up,
As if it were afraid of being inadvertently trodden upon.
When I came in,
Pilot pricked up his ears,
Then he jumped up with a yelp and a whine and bounded towards me.
He almost knocked the tray from my hands.
I set it down on the table,
Then patted him and said softly,
Lie down.
Mr.
Rochester turned mechanically to see what the commotion was,
But as he saw nothing,
He returned and sighed.
Give me the water,
Mary,
He said.
I approached him with a now only half-filled glass.
Pilot followed me,
Still excited.
What is the matter?
He inquired.
Down,
Pilot,
I again said.
Mr.
Rochester checked the water on the way to his lips and seemed to listen.
He drank and put the glass down.
This is you,
Mary,
Is it not?
Mary is in the kitchen,
I answered.
He put out his hand with a quick gesture,
But not seeing where I stood,
He did not touch me.
Who is this?
Who is this?
He demanded,
Trying as it seemed to see with those sightless eyes,
An availing and distressing attempt.
Answer me,
Speak again,
He ordered imperiously and aloud.
Will you have a little more water,
Sir?
I spilled half of what was in the glass,
I said.
Who is it?
What is it?
Who speaks?
Pilot knows me,
And John and Mary know I am here.
I came only this evening,
I answered.
Great God,
What delusion has come over me!
What sweet madness has seized me!
No delusion,
Sir,
No madness.
Your mind is too strong for delusion,
Your health too sound for frenzy.
And where is the speaker?
Is it only a voice?
I cannot see,
But I must feel,
Or my heart will stop and my brain burst.
Whatever,
Whoever you are,
Be perceptible to the touch,
Or I cannot live.
He groped,
And I arrested his wandering hand.
I imprisoned it in both of mine.
Her very fingers,
He cried,
Her small,
Slight fingers.
If so,
There must be more of her.
The muscular hand broke from my custody.
My arm was seized,
My shoulder,
Neck,
Waist.
I was entwined and gathered to him.
Is it Jane?
What is it?
This is her shape,
This is her size,
And this is her voice,
I added.
She is all here,
Her heart too.
God bless you,
Sir,
I am so glad to be near you again.
Jane Eyre,
Jane Eyre,
Was all he said.
My dear master,
I answered.
I am Jane Eyre,
I have found you out,
I am come back to you.
In truth,
In the flesh,
My living Jane.
You touch me,
Sir,
You hold me,
And fast enough.
I am not cold like a corpse,
Nor vacant like air,
Am I?
My living darling,
These are certainly her limbs and these are her features,
But I cannot be so blessed after all my misery.
It is a dream,
Such dreams as I have had at night.
When I have clasped her once more to my heart,
As I do now,
And kissed her,
And thus,
And felt that she loved me,
And trusted she would not leave me.
Which I never will,
Sir,
From this day.
Never will,
Says the vision.
But I always woke and found it an empty mockery,
And I was desolate and abandoned,
My life dark,
Lonely and hopeless.
My soul a thirst and forbidden to drink,
My heart famished and never to be fed.
Gentle soft dream nestling in my arms now,
You will fly too as your sisters have fled before you,
But kiss me before you go,
Embrace me,
Jane.
There,
Sir,
And there.
I pressed my lips to his once brilliant and now rayless eyes.
I swept his hair from his brow and kissed that too,
And he suddenly seemed to rouse himself.
The conviction of the reality of all this seized him.
Is it you,
Jane?
Is it you?
You will come back to me then?
I am.
And you do not lie dead in some ditch under some stream,
And you are not a pining outcast among strangers?
No,
Sir.
I am an independent woman now.
Independent?
What do you mean,
Jane?
My uncle in Madeira is dead,
And he left me five thousand pounds.
Ah,
This is practical,
This is real,
He cried.
I should never dream that.
Besides,
There is that peculiar voice of hers,
So animating and piquant,
As well as soft.
It cheers my withered heart,
It puts life into it.
What,
Janet,
Are you an independent woman,
A rich woman?
Quite rich,
Sir.
If you won't let me live with you,
I can build a house of my own close up to your door,
And you may come and sit in my parlour when you want company of an evening.
But as you are rich,
Jane,
You have now,
No doubt,
Friends who will look after you,
And not suffer you to devote yourself to a blind lamenter like me.
I told you,
I am independent,
Sir,
As well as rich.
I am my own mistress.
And you will stay with me?
Certainly,
Unless you object.
I will be your neighbour,
Your nurse,
Your housekeeper.
I find you lonely,
I will be your companion,
To read to you,
To walk with you,
To sit with you and wait on you,
To be eyes and hands to you.
Cease to look so melancholy,
My dear master.
You shall not be left desolate so long as I live.
Mr.
Rochester replied not.
He seemed serious,
Abstracted.
He sighed.
He half opened his lips as if to speak and closed them again.
I felt a little embarrassed.
Perhaps I had too rashly over-leaped conventualities.
And he,
Like St.
John,
Saw in propriety in my inconsiderateness.
I had indeed made my proposal from the idea he wished and would ask me to be his wife.
An exception,
Not the less certain,
Because unexpressed,
Had buoyed me up,
That he would claim me at once his own.
But no hint to that effect escaping him,
And his countenance becoming more overcast,
I suddenly remembered I might have been all wrong,
And I was perhaps playing the fool unwittingly,
And I began gently to withdraw myself from his arms.
