As I rose and dressed, I t over  be certain of ty till I er again, and heard him renew his words of love and promise.

    my face in t it s aspect and life in its colour; and my eyes seemed as if t of fruition, and borrorous ripple. I en been uno look at my master, because I feared  be pleased at my look; but I o  cool ion by its expression. I took a plain but clean and lig it on: it seemed no attire had ever so well become me, because none had I ever worn in so blissful a mood.

    I  surprised, o see t a brilliant June morning o tempest of t; and to feel, t breeze. Nature must be gladsome s boto  partake of my jubilee. t not.

    Mrs. Fairfax surprised me by looking out of tenance, and saying gravely—“Miss Eyre, o breakfast?” During t and cool: but I could not undeceive   for my master to give explanations; and so must se ened upstairs. I met Adèle leaving the schoolroom.

    “ is time for lessons.”

    “Mr. Rocer  me ao the nursery.”

    “here is he?”

    “In ting to tment s; and I  in, and tood.

    “Come and bid me good-morning,” said   merely a cold  an embrace and a kiss. It seemed natural: it seemed genial to be so well loved, so caressed by him.

    “Jane, you look blooming, and smiling, and pretty,” said ruly pretty ttle elf? Is tard-seed? ttle sunny-faced girl in-smoot  you must excuse take: for hey were new-dyed, I suppose.)

    “It is Jane Eyre, sir.”

    “Soon to be Jane Rocer,” ; not a day more. Do you ?”

    I did, and I could not quite compre: it made me giddy. t sent tronger tent  smote and stunned. It  fear.

    “You bluse, Jane:  for?”

    “Because you gave me a ne seems so strange.”

    “Yes, Mrs. Rocer,” said er—Fairfax Rocer’s girl-bride.”

    “It can never be, sir; it does not sound likely. e  born for a different destiny to t of my species: to imagine suc befalling me is a fairy tale—a day-dream.”

    “o-day. te to my banker in London to send me certain jeo your lap: for every privilege, every attention s I o marry her.”

    “O like to ural and strange: I  hem.”

    “I  t on your fore ure, at least, amped ent of nobility on ts on ts, and load th rings.”

    “No, no, sir! ts, and speak of otrain. Don’t address me as if I y; I am your plain, Quakerish governess.”

    “You are a beauty in my eyes, and a beauty just after t,—delicate and aerial.”

    “Puny and insignificant, you mean. You are dreaming, sir,—or you are sneering. For God’s sake don’t be ironical!”

    “I y, too,”  on, rain ed, because I felt rying to delude me. “I tire my Jane in satin and lace, and s h a priceless veil.”

    “And t kno an ape in a —a jay in borroricked out in stage-trappings, as myself clad in a court-lady’s robe; and I don’t call you  dearly: far too dearly to flatter you. Don’t flatter me.”

    noticing my deprecation. “take you in to Millcote, and you must cold you ake place quietly, in t you a once to toer a brief stay treasure to regions nearer to Frencalian plains; and sever is famous in old story and in modern record: saste, too, of ties; and so value  comparison hers.”

    “Sravel?—and h you, sir?”

    “You s Paris, Rome, and Naples: at Florence, Venice, and Vienna: all trodden by you: en years since, I fle, e, and rage as my companions: no er.”

    I laug  an angel,” I asserted; “and I  be one till I die: I  neit nor exact anytial of me—for you  get it, any more t it of you:  all anticipate.”

    “ do you anticipate of me?”

    “For a little ern, and I so please you: but o me, you ten by men, t period assigned as t to , after all, as a friend and companion, I o become quite distasteful to my dear master.”

    “Distasteful! and like you again! I t again: and I  only like, but love you—rutancy.”

    “Yet are you not capricious, sir?”

    “to s—ive of flatness, triviality, and pery, coarseness, and ill-temper: but to t tongue, to ter t bends but does not break—at once supple and stable, tractable and consistent—I am ever tender and true.”

    “er, sir? Did you ever love such an one?”

    “I love it now.”

    “But before me: if I, indeed, in any respect come up to your difficult standard?”

    “I never met your likeness. Jane, you please me, and you master me—you seem to submit, and I like t; and , silken skein round my finger, it sends a to my . I am influenced—conquered; and ter t I undergo criump does t inexplicable, t uncanny turn of countenance mean?”

    “I  ary), I heir charmers—”

    “You tle elfish—”

    “ talk very  nolemen acted very y as ness as suitors; and so  suit your convenience or pleasure to grant.”

    “Ask me somet to be entreated—”

    “Indeed I ion all ready.”

    “Speak! But if you look up and smile  countenance, I so  will make a fool of me.”

    “Not at all, sir; I ask only t send for t cro as  a border of gold lace round t plain pocket here.”

    “I mig: you request is granted time. I co my banker. But you  yet asked for anyt to be ry again.”

    “ell to gratify my curiosity, w.”

    urbed. “? y is a dangerous petition: it is aken a voo accord every request—”

    “But this, sir.”

    “Utter it, Jane: but I ead of a mere inquiry into, per, it e.”

    “No ate? Do you tment in land? I  me to your ?”

    “You are o all my confidence t is  for God’s sake, don’t desire a useless burden! Don’t long for poison—don’t turn out a do Eve on my hands!”

    “, sir? You  been telling me o be conquered, and  over-persuasion is to you. Don’t you tter take advantage of treat—even cry and be sulky if necessary—for the sake of a mere essay of my power?”

    “I dare you to any suc. Encroache game is up.”

    “Is it, sir? You soon give in. ern you look noonisry, I once sayled, ‘a blue-piled t.’ t will be your married look, sir, I suppose?”

    “If t ion of consorting e or salamander. But  ?”

    “t deal better ttery. I  I o ask,—ake suco make me believe you wiso marry Miss Ingram?”

    “Is t all? t is no roked my  seeing a danger averted. “I tinued, “even alttle indignant, Jane—and I  a fire-spirit you can be  last niginied against fate, and claimed your rank as my equal. Janet, by-t was you whe offer.”

    “Of course I did. But to t if you please, sir—Miss Ingram?”

    “ell, I feigned courtso render you as madly in love  ally I could call in for t end.”

    “Excellent! No one tle finger. It  in t hing of Miss Ingram’s feelings, sir?”

    “rated in one—pride; and t needs humbling. ere you jealous, Jane?”

    “Never mind, Mr. Rocer: it is in no eresting to you to kno. Ansruly once more. Do you t suffer from your dis coquetry? on’t sed?”

    “Impossible!—ed me: tinguis.”

    “You er. I am afraid your principles on some points are eccentric.”

    “My principles rained, Jane: ttle a of attention.”

    “Once again, seriously; may I enjoy t good t o me,  fearing t any one else is suffering tter pain I myself felt a while ago?”

    “t you may, my good little girl: t anot pleasant unction to my soul, Jane, a belief in your affection.”

    I turned my lips to t lay on my srust myself to say—more to express.

    “Ask sometly; “it is my deligo be entreated, and to yield.”

    I . “Communicate your intentions to Mrs. Fairfax, sir: s nigion before I see  pains me to be misjudged by so good a woman.”

    “Go to your room, and put on your bonnet,” o accompany me to Millcote ten tanding. Did s, you  ?”

    “I believe s I ten my station, and yours, sir.”

    “Station! station!—your station is in my , and on t you, now or er.—Go.”

    I  Mrs. Fairfax’s parlour, I o it. tion of Scripture—tacles . ion, suspended by Mr. Rocer’s announcement, seemed noten: e, expressed t mind stirred by uned tidings. Seeing me, s of effort to smile, and framed a feulation; but tence able.

    “I feel so astonis to say to you, Miss Eyre. I  been dreaming, imes I ting alone and fancy t  o me more t my dear een years since,  do I o do. Noell me ually true t Mr. Rocer o marry  laug me. But I really t es ago, and said t in a month you would be his wife.”

    “o me,” I replied.

    “ed him?”

    “Yes.”

    S me be. ers , liked money. oo, o marry you?”

    “ells me so.”

    S to solve the enigma.

    “It passes me!” sinued; “but no doubt, it is true since you say so.   tell: I really don’t knoy of position and fortune is often advisable in sucy years of difference in your ages.  almost be your father.”

    “No, indeed, Mrs. Fairfax!” exclaimed I, nettled; “oget for an instant. Mr. Rocer looks as young, and is as young, as some men at five-and-ty.”

    “Is it really for love o marry you?” she asked.

    I  tears rose to my eyes.

    “I am sorry to grieve you,” pursued t you are so young, and so little acquainted o put you on your guard. It is an old saying t ‘all is not gold t glitters;’ and in to be different to .”

    “er?” I said: “is it impossible t Mr. Rocer sion for me?”

    “No: you are very  you  of pet of imes  o put you on your guard: but I did not like to suggest even ty of  and sensible, I  be trusted to protect yourself.  nig tell you er eit th him.”

    “ell, never mind t noerrupted impatiently; “it is enoug all .”

    “I  in t believe me, you cannot be too careful. try and keep Mr. Rocer at a distance: distrust yourself as ion are not accustomed to marry their governesses.”

    I ruly irritated: happily, Adèle ran in.

    “Let me go,—let me go to Millcote too!” ser : to let me go mademoiselle.”

    “t I o quit my gloomy monitress. t round to t, and my master , Pilot following him backwards and forwards.

    “Adèle may accompany us, may s, sir?”

    “I told s!—I’ll have only you.”

    “Do let er, if you please: it ter.”

    “Not it: sraint.”

    e peremptory, bots antiality and uncertainty  my  t meco obey  furtrance; but as o t my face.

    “ is tter?” o go? ill it annoy you if s behind?”

    “I , sir.”

    “t, and back like a flasning!” cried o Adèle.

    S speed s.

    “After all, a single morning’s interruption  matter mucly to claim you—your ts, conversation, and company—for life.”

    Adèle, ude for my intercession: santly stoo a corner on to ern a neigoo restrictive to  fractious mood, sions, nor ask of ion.

    “Let o me,” I entreated: “srouble you, sir: ty of room on this side.”

    o sc,”  now he was smiling.

    Adèle o go to school “sans mademoiselle?”

    “Yes,” ely sans mademoiselle; for I am to take mademoiselle to te valleys among tops, and mademoiselle shere, and only me.”

    “So eat: you arve her,” observed Adèle.

    “I s: th manna, Adèle.”

    “S to warm  will she do for a fire?”

    “Fire rises out of tains: wo a peak, and lay er.”

    “Oable! And :  new ones?”

    Mr. Rocer professed to be puzzled. “ . e or a pink cloud ans a pretty enoug of a rainbow.”

    “Ster as ser musing some time: “besides, s tired of living  to go h you.”

    “Sed: she has pledged her word.”

    “But you can’t get o t is all air; and neither you nor she can fly.”

    “Adèle, look at t field.” e side tes, and boe, orm, and, imber trees on eacened green and rain- refreshed.

    “In t field, Adèle, I e one evening about a fortnigo make ired  doo rest me on a stile; and took out a little book and a pencil, and began to e about a misfortune t befell me long ago, and a ing a, t opped t it. It tle ts  to come near me; it stood soon at my knee. I never spoke to it, and it never spoke to me, in  I read its eyes, and it read mine; and our speeco t—

    “It  said; and its errand o make me  go  out of to a lonely place—sucance—and it nodded its oold me of ter cave and silver vale  reminded it, as you did me, t I o fly.

    “‘Ourned t does not signify! alisman ies;’ and s a pretty gold ring. ‘Put it,’ s  t, under t I mean soon to c to a ring again.”

    “But ? I don’t care for t ake to the moon?”

    “Mademoiselle is a fairy,” eriously. old  to mind , evinced a fund of genuine Frencicism: denominating Mr. Rocer “un vrai menteur,” and assuring  s  “du reste, il n’y avait pas de fées, et quand meme il y en avait:” so o live he moon.

    t at Millcote o go to a certain silk o defer it: no—it s of entreaties expressed in energetic  y I cores:  brilliant amet dye, and a superb pink satin. I told   as  at once: I sainly never venture to y, for ubborn as a stone, I persuaded o make an excin and pearl-grey silk. “It mig,”   see me glittering like a parterre.”

    Glad o get  of t of a jeion. As ered t back feveris, in ts, dark and brigten—tter of my uncle, Joo Mrs. Reed: ention to adopt me and make me ee. “It , “if I er, or sitting like a second Danae e to Madeira t I get ell my uncle Joo be married, and to  of one day bringing Mr. Rocer an accession of fortune, I could better endure to be kept by  relieved by t to execute t day), I ventured once more to meet my master’s and lover’s eye, inaciously souged bot an mig, besto it back to e pressure.

    “You need not look in t  my old Loo ter. I’ll be married in t of te series of coats out of tin.”

    is rico see and ? I  exctle Englisurk’s whole seraglio, gazelle-eyes, houri forms, and all!”

    tern allusion bit me again. “I’ll not stand you an incead of a seraglio,” I said; “so don’t consider me an equivalent for one. If you  line, ao tamboul  delay, and lay out in extensive slave-purc spare cas a loss to spend satisfactorily here.”

    “And ,  of black eyes?”

    “I’ll be preparing myself to go out as a missionary to preacy to t are enslaved—your es amongst t. I’ll get admitted tir up mutiny; and you, tailed basrice find yourself fettered amongst our  to cut your bonds till you er, t liberal t despot ever yet conferred.”

    “I  to be at your mercy, Jane.”

    “I ed for it . ain t  act, e its conditions.”

    “ e marriage ceremony, besides t performed at tar. You ipulate, I see, for peculiar terms—hey be?”

    “I only  an easy mind, sir; not crusions. Do you remember  be your Englisinue to act as Adèle’s governess; by t I sy pounds a year besides. I’ll furnis of t money, and you s—”

    “ell, but w?”

    “Your regard; and if I give you mine in return, t debt .”

    “ell, for cool native impudence and pure innate pride, you  your equal,” said  please you to dine o-day?” ered tes.

    “No, thank you, sir.”

    “And hank you?’ if one may inquire.”

    “I never ill—”

    “till  in half-phrases.”

    “till I can’t .”

    “Do you suppose I eat like an ogre or a g you dread being t?”

    “I ion on t, sir; but I  to go on as usual for anoth.”

    “You  once.”

    “Indeed, begging your pardon, sir, I s. I s go on  as usual. I s of your o do: you may send for me in to see me, and I’ll come t at no otime.”

    “I  a smoke, Jane, or a pinco comfort me under all tenance,’ as Adèle unately I  listen—ime notle tyrant, but it ly; and ively speaking—attaco a coucc my jewel I syne.”

    o aligered out Adèle, I entered treat upstairs.

    o ion for ermined not to spend time in a tête-à-tête conversation. I remembered o sing—good singers generally do. I  myself, and, in idious judgment, no musician, eit I deligening tice, treated o give me a song. c ime; but I averred t no time .

    “Did I like his voice?” he asked.

    “Very muc fond of pampering t susceptible vanity of  for once, and from motives of expediency, I imulate it.

    “t play t.”

    “Very ry.”

    I did try, but ly s off tool and denominated “a little bungler.” Being puso one side— t on till trees and dim lao a s air ones train:—

    “truest love t ever

    Felt at its kindled core,

    Did tart,

    tide of being pour.

    her coming was my hope each day,

    ing was my pain;

    t did eps delay

    as ice in every vein.

    I dreamed it would be nameless bliss,

    As I loved, loved to be;

    And to t did I press

    As blind as eagerly.

    But he space

    t lay our lives between,

    And dangerous as the foamy race

    Of ocean-surges green.

    And ed as a robber-path

    through wilderness or wood;

    For Mig, and oe and rath,

    Bets stood.

    I dangers dared; I hindrance scorned;

    I omens did defy:

    ever menaced, harassed, warned,

    I passed impetuous by.

    On sped my rainbo as light;

    I flew as in a dream;

    For glorious rose upon my sight

    t child of Shower and Gleam.

    Still bright on clouds of suffering dim

    S soft, solemn joy;

    Nor care I now, how dense and grim

    Disasters gather nigh.

    I care not in t s,

    though all I have rushed o’er

    Srong and fleet,

    Proclaiming vengeance sore:

    ty e srike me down,

    Rigo me,

    And grinding Migh furious frown,

    Sy.

    My love tle hand

    ith in mine,

    And vo wedlock’s sacred band

    Our nature swine.

    My love h sealing kiss,

    ito live—to die;

    I  last my nameless bliss.

    As I love—loved am I!”

    o. I quailed momentarily—t scene, daring demonstration, I  ood in peril of bot be prepared—I ongue: as y, “wo marry now?”

    “t range question to be put by his darling Jane.”

    “Indeed! I considered it a very natural and necessary one: alked of ure  did ention of dying  depend on t.”

    “O I mig for such as I.”

    “Indeed it o die ime, and not be tee.”

    “ould I forgive he selfish idea, and prove my pardon by a reconciling kiss?”

    “No: I her be excused.”

    roptle t ed to marro anzas crooned in her praise.”

    I assured urally y, and t en find me so; and t, moreover, I ermined to ss in my cer before t sort of a bargain  time to rescind it.

    “ould I be quiet and talk rationally?”

    “I  if o talking rationally, I flattered myself I  now.”

    ted, pis; “you may fume and fidget as you please: but t plan to pursue ain. I like you more t I’ll not sink into a batiment: and ee I’ll keep you from too; and, moreover, maintain by its pungent aid t distance bet conducive to our real mutual advantage.”

    From less to more, I ation; ter ired, in dudgeon, quite to t up, and saying, “I ural and ed respectful manner, I slipped out by t away.

    tem tered on, I pursued during tion; and  success. , to be sure, raty; but on tly entertained, and t a lamb-like submission and turtle- dove sensibility, isfied ed aste less.

    In otial and quiet; any ot being uncalled for: it ed and afflicted inued to send for me punctually t truck seven; terms as “love” and “darling” on   my service ,” “malicious elf,” “sprite,” “coo, I no grimaces; for a pressure of t  I decidedly preferred to anytender. Mrs. Fairfax, I sa vanisain I did ime, Mr. Rocer affirmed I ened a conduct at some period fast coming. I laug ed; “and I don’t doubt to be able to do it er: if one expedient loses its virtue, anot be devised.”

    Yet after all my task  an easy one; often I eased ure o me my  of religion, as an eclipse intervenes bet, in ture: of whom I had made an idol.