"Good-night, then, sir," said I, departing.
He seemed surprised--very inconsistently so, as he had just told me
to go.
"What!" he exclaimed, "are you quitting me already, and in that
way?"
"You said I might go, sir."
"But not without taking leave; not without a word or two of
acknowledgment and good-will: not, in short, in that brief, dry
fashion. Why, you have saved my life!--snatched me from a horrible
and excruciating death! and you walk past me as if we were mutual
strangers! At least shake hands."
He held out his hand; I gave him mine: he took it first in one,
them in both his own.
"You have saved my life: I have a pleasure in owing you so immense
a debt. I cannot say more. Nothing else that has being would have
been tolerable to me in the character of creditor for such an
obligation: but you: it is different;--I feel your benefits no
burden, Jane."
He paused; gazed at me: words almost visible trembled on his lips,-
-but his voice was checked.
"Good-night again, sir. There is no debt, benefit, burden,
obligation, in the case."
"I knew," he continued, "you would do me good in some way, at some
time;--I saw it in your eyes when I first beheld you: their
expression and smile did not"--(again he stopped)--"did not" (he
proceeded hastily) "strike delight to my very inmost heart so for
nothing. People talk of natural sympathies; I have heard of good
genii: there are grains of truth in the wildest fable. My
cherished preserver, goodnight!"
Strange energy was in his voice, strange fire in his look.
"I am glad I happened to be awake," I said: and then I was going.
"What! you WILL go?"
"I am cold, sir."
"Cold? Yes,--and standing in a pool! Go, then, Jane; go!" But he
still retained my hand, and I could not free it. I bethought myself
of an expedient.
"I think I hear Mrs. Fairfax move, sir," said I.
"Well, leave me:" he relaxed his fingers, and I was gone.
I regained my couch, but never thought of sleep. Till morning
dawned I was tossed on a buoyant but unquiet sea, where billows of
trouble rolled under surges of joy. I thought sometimes I saw
beyond its wild waters a shore, sweet as the hills of Beulah; and
now and then a freshening gale, wakened by hope, bore my spirit
triumphantly towards the bourne: but I could not reach it, even in
fancy--a counteracting breeze blew off land, and continually drove
me back. Sense would resist delirium: judgment would warn passion.
Too feverish to rest, I rose as soon as day dawned.
This is a text from Jane Eyre, the book.
What does Jane's respomse to Mr Rochester show about her view of herself.
1 answer
1 answer