子浪小说

第88部分（第2页）

“No　delusion—no　madness：　your　mind；　sir；　is　too　strong　for　delusion；　your　health　too　sound　for　frenzy。”

“And　where　is　the　speaker？　Is　it　only　a　voice？　Oh！　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；　I　arrested　his　wandering　hand；　and　prisoned　it　in　both　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　her　voice；”　I　added。　“She　is　all　here：　her　heart；　too。　God　bless　you；　sir！　I　am　glad　to　be　so　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　e　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　her　features；　but　I　cannot　be　so　blest；　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；　as　thus—and　felt　that　she　loved　me；　and　trusted　that　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；　hopeless—my　soul　athirst　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　all　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。　He　suddenly　seemed　to　arouse　himself：　the　conviction　of　the　reality　of　all　this　seized　him。

“It　is　you—is　it；　Jane？　You　are　e　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　amongst　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；　Ja！　Are　you　an　independent　woman？　A　rich　woman？”

“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　e　and　sit　in　my　parlour　when　you　want　pany　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　lameter　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　panion—to　read　to　you；　to　walk　with　you；　to　sit　with　you；　to　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。”

He　replied　not：　he　seemed　serious—abstracted；　he　sighed；　he　half…　opened　his　lips　as　if　to　speak：　he　closed　them　again。　I　felt　a　little　embarrassed。　Perhaps　I　had　too　rashly　over…leaped　conventionalities；　and　he；　like　St。　John；　saw　impropriety　in　my　inconsiderateness。　I　had　indeed　made　my　proposal　from　the　idea　that　he　wished　and　would　ask　me　to　be　his　wife：　an　expectation；　not　the　less　certain　because　unexpressed；　had　buoyed　me　up；　that　he　would　claim　me　at　once　as　his　own。　But　no　hint　to　that　effect　escaping　him　and　his　countenance　being　more　overcast；　I　suddenly　remembered　that　I　might　have　been　all　wrong；　and　was　perhaps　playing　the　fool　unwittingly；　and　I　began　gently　to　withdraw　myself　from　his　arms—but　he　eagerly　snatched　me　closer。

“No—no—Jane；　you　must　not　go。　No—I　have　touched　you；　heard　you；　felt　the　fort　of　your　presence—the　sweetness　of　your　consolation：　I　cannot　give　up　these　joys。　I　have　little　left　in　myself—I　must　have　you。　The　world　may　laugh—may　call　me　absurd；　selfish—but　it　does　not　signify。　My　very　soul　demands　you：　it　will　be　satisfied；　or　it　will　take　de

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