III
_Thou art so true, that thoughts of thee suffice To make dreams truth, and fables histories._
--JOHN DONNE.
I dismounted and, with the nose of my beast in my bosom, stood awhilegazing, in the half-dream weariness brings, across the valley at thedense forests that covered the hills. And while thus standing,doubtful whether to knock at the little gate or to ride on, it beganto open, and a great particoloured dog looked out on us. There wascertainly something unusual in the aspect of this animal, for thoughhe lifted on us grave and sagacious eyes, he scarcely seemed to seeus, manifested neither pleasure nor disapproval, neither wagged histail to give us welcome nor yawned to display his armament. He seemeda kind of dream-dog, a dog one sees without zeal, and sees againpartly with the eye, but most in recollection.
Thus however we stood, stranger, horse, and dog, till a morose voicecalled somewhere from beyond, "Pilot, sir, come here, Pilot." Semi-dogor no, he knew his master. Whereupon, tying up my dejected Rosinanteto a ring in the gateway, I followed boldly after "Pilot" into thatsequestered garden.
Meanwhile, however, he had disappeared--down a thick green alley tothe left, I supposed. So I went forward by a clearer path, and when Ihad advanced a few paces, met face to face a lady whose dark eyesseemed strangely familiar to me.
She was evidently a little disquieted at meeting a stranger sounceremoniously, but stood her ground like a small, black, fearlessnote of interrogation.
I explained at once, therefore, as best I could, how I came to bethere: described my journey, my bewilderment, and how that I knew notinto what country nor company fate had beguiled me, except that theone was beautiful, and the other in some delightful way familiar, andI begged her to tell me where I really was, and how far from home,and of whom I was now beseeching forgiveness.
Her thoughts followed my every word, passing upon her face likeshadows on the sea. I have never seen a listener so completely stilland so completely engrossed in listening. And when I had finished, shelooked aside with a transient, half-sly smile, and glanced at me againcovertly, so that I could not see herself for seeing her eyes; and shelaughed lightly.
"It is indeed a strange journey," she replied. "But I fear I cannot inthe least direct you. I have never ventured my own self beyond thewoods, lest--I should penetrate too far. But you are tired and hungry.Will you please walk on a few steps till you come to a stone seat? Myname is Rochester--Jane Rochester"--she glanced up between the hollieswith a sigh that was all but laughter--"Jane Eyre, you know."
I went on as she had bidden, and seated myself before an old, white,many-windowed house, squatting, like an owl at noon, beneath its greencovert. In a few minutes the great dog with dripping jowl passedalmost like reality, and after him his mistress, and on her arm hermaster, Mr. Rochester.
There seemed a night of darkness in that scarred face, and starsunearthly bright. He peered dimly at me, leaning heavily on Jane'sarm, his left hand plunged into the bosom of his coat. And when he wascome near, he lifted his hat to me with a kind of Spanish gravity.
"Is this the gentleman, Jane?" he enquired.
"Yes, sir."
"He's young!" he muttered.
"For otherwise he would not be here," she replied.
"Was the gate bolted, then?" he asked.
"Mr. Rochester desires to know if you had the audacity, sir, to scalehis garden wall," Jane said, turning sharply on me. "Shall I count thestrawberries, sir?" she added over her shoulder."
"Jane, Jane!" he exclaimed testily. "I have no wish to be uncivil,sir. We are not of the world--a mere dark satellite. I am dim; andsuspicious of strangers, as this one treacherous eye should manifest.I'll but ask your name, sir,--there are yet a few names left, oncepleasing to my ear."
"My name is Brocken, sir--Henry Brocken," I answered.
"And--did you walk? Pah! there's the mystery! God knows how else youcould have come, unless you are a modern Ganymede. Where then's youraquiline steed, sir? We have no neighbours here--none to stare, andpry, and prate, and slander."
I informed him that I was as ignorant as he what power had spirited meto his house, but that so far as obvious means went, my old horse wasprobably by this time fast asleep beside the green gate at which I hadentered. Jane stood on tip-toe and whispered in his ear, and, noddingimperiously at him, withdrew into the house.
Complete silence fell between us after her departure. The woods stooddark and motionless in the yellow evening light. There was no sound ofwind or water, no sound of voices or footsteps; only far away theclear, scarce-audible warbling of a sleepy bird.
"Well, sir," Mr. Rochester said suddenly, "I am bidden invite you topass the night here. There are stranger inhabitants than Mr. and Mrs.Rochester in these regions you have by some means strayed into--wilderdenizens, by much; for youth's seraphic finding. Not for mine, sir, Ivow. Depart again in the morning, if you will: we shall neither of usbe displeased by then to say farewell, I dare say. I do not seekcompany. My obscure shell is enough." I rose. "Sit down--sit downagain, my dear sir; there's no mischief in the truth between two menof any world, I suppose, assuredly not of this. My wife will see toyour comfort. There! hushie now, here he floats; sit still, sitstill--I hear his wings. It is my 'Four Evangels,' sir!"
It was a sleek blackbird that had alighted and now set to singing onthe topmost twig of a lofty pear-tree near by; and with his first noteJane reappeared. And while we listened, unstirring, to that rich,undaunted voice, I had good opportunity to observe her, and not, Ithink, without her knowledge, not even without her approval.
This, then, was the face that had returned wrath for wrath, remorsefor remorse, passion for passion to that dark egotist Jane in thelooking-glass. Yet who, thought I, could be else than beautiful witheyes that seemed to hide in fleeting cloud a flame as pure as amber?The arch simplicity of her gown, her small, narrow hands, theexquisite cleverness of mouth and chin, the lovely courage andsincerity of that yet-childish brow--it seemed even Mr. Rochester's"Four Evangels" out of his urgent rhetoric was summoning withreiterated persuasions, "Jane Eyre, Jane Eyre, Jane Eyre, Ja ... ne!"
Light faded from the woods; a faint wind blew cold upon our faces.Jane took Mr. Rochester's hand and looked into his face.
She turned to me. "Will you come in, Mr. Brocken? I have seen thatyour horse is made quite easy. He was fast asleep, poor fellow, asyou surmised; and, I think, dreaming; for when I proffered him a lumpof sugar, he thrust his nose into my face and breathed as if I were apeck of corn. The candles are lit, sir; supper is ready."
We went in slowly, and Jane bolted the door. "But who it is that canbe bolted out," she said, "I know not; though there's much to bolt in.I have stood here, Mr. Brocken, on darker nights as still as this, andhave heard what seemed to be the sea breaking, far away, leagues uponleagues beyond the forests--the gush forward, the protracted, heavyretreat,--listened till I could have wept to think that it was only myown poor furious heart beating. You may imagine, then, I push thebolts home."
"But why, Jane--why?" cried Mr. Rochester incredulously. "Violentfancies, child!"
"Why, sir, it was, I say, not the sea I heard, but a trickling tideone icy tap might stay, if it found but entry there."
"You talk wildly, Jane--wildly, wildly; the air's afloat withlisteners; so it seems, so it seems. Had I but one clear lamp in thisdark face!"
We sat down in the candle-lit twilight to supper. It was to me likethe supper of a child, taken at peace in the clear beams, ere hedescend into the shadow of sleep.
They sat, try as I would not to observe them, hand touching handthroughout the meal. But to me it was as if one might sit to eatbefore a great mountain ruffled with pines, and perpetually clamorouswith torrents. All that Mr. Rochester said, every gesture, these werebut the ghosts of words and movements. Behind them, gloomy,imperturbable, withdrawn, slumbered a strange, smouldering power. Ibegan to see how very hotly Jane must love him, she who loved aboveall things storm, the winds of the equinox, the illimitab
le night-sky.
She begged him to take a little wine with me, and filled his glasstill it burned like a ruby between their hands.
"It paints both our hands!" she cried glancing up at him.
"Ay, Janet," he answered; "but where is yours?"
"And what goal will you make for when you leave us," she enquired ofme. "_Is_ there anywhere else?" she added, lifting her slim eyebrows.
"I shall put trust in Chance," I replied, "which at least is steadfastin change. So long as it does not guide me back, I care not how farforward I go."
"You are right," she answered; "that is a puissant battlecry, here andhereafter."
Mr. Rochester rose hastily from his chair. "The candles irk me, Jane.I would like to be alone. Excuse me, sir." He left the room.
Jane lifted a dark curtain and beckoned me to bring the lights. Shesat down before a little piano and desired me to sit beside her. Andwhile she played, I know not what, but only it seemed old,well-remembered airs her mood suggested, she asked me many questions.
"And am I indeed only like that poor mad thing you thought Jane Eyre?"she said, "or did you read between?"
I answered that it was not her words, not even her thoughts, not evenher poetry that was to me Jane Eyre.
"What then is left of me?" she enquired, stooping her eyes over thekeys and smiling darkly. "Am I indeed so evanescent, a wintry wraith?"
"Well," I said, "Jane Eyre is left."
She pressed her lips together. "I see," she said brightly. "But then,was I not detestable too? so stubborn, so wilful, so demented,so--vain?"
"You were vain," I answered, "because--"
"Well?" she said, and the melody died out, and the lower voices of hermusic complained softly on.
"For a barrier," I answered.
"A barrier?" she cried.
"Why, yes," I said, "a barrier against cant, and flummery, andcoldness, and pride, and against--why, against your own vanity too."
"That's really very clever--penetrating," she said; "and I reallydesired to know, not because I did not know already, but to know Iknew all. You are a perspicacious observer, Mr. Brocken; and to bethat is to be alive in a world of the moribund. But then too how highone must soar at times; for one must ever condescend in order toobserve faithfully. At any rate, to observe all one must range at analtitude above all."
"And so," I said, "you have taken your praise from me--"
"But you are a man, and I a woman: we look with differing eyes, eachsex to the other, and perceive by contrast. Else--why, how else couldyou forgive my presumption? He sees me as an eagle sees the creepingtortoise. I see him as the moon the sun, never weary of gazing. Iborrow his radiance to observe him by. But I weary you with mygarrulous tongue.... Have you no plan at all in your journey? 'Tis notthe dangers, but to me the endless restlessness of such aventure--that 'Oh, where shall wisdom be found?'... Will you notpause?--stay with us a few days to consider again this rash journey?To each his world: it is surely perilous to transgress its fixedboundaries."
"Who knows?" I cried, rather arrogantly perhaps. "The sorcery thatlured me hither may carry me as lightly back. But I have tasted honeyand covet the hive."
She glanced sidelong at me with that stealthy gravity that lay underall her lightness.
"That delicious Rosinante!" she exclaimed softly.... "And I reallybelieve too _I_ must be the honey--or is it Mr. Rochester? Ah! Mr.Brocken, they call it wasp-honey when it is so bitter that it blistersthe lips." She talked on gaily, as if she had forgotten I was but astranger until now. Yet none the less she perceived presently my eyesever and again fixed upon the little brooch of faintest gold hair ather throat, and flinched and paled, playing on in silence.
"Take the whole past," she continued abruptly, "spread it out beforeyou, with all its just defeats, all its broken faith, and overweeninghopes, its beauty, and fear, and love, and its loss--its loss; thenturn and say: this, this only, this duller heart, these duller eyes,this contumacious spirit is all that is left--myself. Oh! who couldwish to one so dear a destiny so dark?" She rose hastily from thepiano. "Did I hear Mr. Rochester's step by the window?" she said.
I crossed the room and looked out into the night. The brightening moonhung golden in the dark clearness of the sky. Mr. Rochester stoodmotionless, Napoleon-wise, beneath the black, unstirring foliage. Andbefore I could turn, Jane had begun to sing:--
You take my heart with tears; I battle uselessly; Reft of all hopes and doubts and fears, Lie quietly.
You veil my heart with cloud; Since faith is dim and blind, I can but grope perplex'd and bow'd, Seek till I find.
Yet bonds are life to me; How else could I perceive The love in each wild artery That bids me live?
Jane's was not a rich voice, nor very sweet, and yet I fancied noother voice than this could plead and argue quite so clearly and withsuch nimble insistency--neither of bird, nor child, nor brook;because, I suppose, it was the voice of Jane Eyre, and all that wasJane's seemed Jane's only.
The music ceased, the accompaniment died away; but Mr. Rochester stoodimmobile yet--a little darker night in that much deeper. When Iturned, Jane was gone from the room. I sat down, my face towards thestill candles, as one who is awake, yet dreams on. The faint scent ofthe earth through the open window; the heavy, sombre furniture; thedaintiness and the alertness in the many flowers and few womanlygew-gaws: these too I shall remember in a tranquillity that cannotchange.
A sudden, trembling glimmer at the window lit the garden and,instantaneously, the distant hills; lit also the figures of Jane andMr. Rochester beneath the trees. They entered the house, and once moreJane drew the bolts against that phantom fear. A tinge of scarletstood in her cheeks, an added lustre in her eyes. They were strangelovers, these two--like frost upon a cypress tree; yet summer lay allaround us.
I bade them good night and ascended to the little room prepared forme. There was a great pincushion on the sprigged and portly toilettable, and I laboured till the constellations had changed beyond mywindow, in printing from a box of tiny pins upon that lavenderedmound, "Ave, Ave, atque Vale!"
Far in the night a dreadful sound woke me. I rose and looked out ofthe window, and heard again, deep and reverberating, Pilot baying Iknow not what light minions of the moon. The Great Bear wheeledfaintly clear in the dark zenith, but the borders of the east weregrey as glass; and far away a fierce hound was answering from hisecho-place in the gloom, as if the dread dog of Acheron kept post uponthe hills.
A light tap woke me in the sunlight, and a lighter voice. Mr.Rochester took breakfast with us in a gloomy old dressing-room, moodyand taciturn, unpacified by sleep. But Jane, whimsical and deft, hadtied a yellow ribbon in the darkness of her hair.
Rosinante awaited me at the little green gate, eyeing forlornly thesteep valley at her feet. And I rode on. The gate was shut on me; andMr. Rochester again, perhaps, at his black ease.
I had jogged on, with that peculiar gravity age brings to equinehoofs, about a mile, when the buttress of a thick wall came into viewabutting on the lane, and perched thereon what at first I deemed acoloured figment of the mist that festooned the branches and clungalong the turf. But when I drew near I saw it was indeed a child, pinkand gold and palest blue. And she raised changeling hands at me, andlaughed and danced and chattered like the drops upon a waterfall; andclear as if a tiny bell had jingled I heard her cry.
And my heart smote me heavily since I had of my own courtesy notremembered Adele.