波波小说

第41部分（第1页）

continuous？”

“The　eagerness　of　a　listener　quickens　the　tongue　of　a　narrator。”　I　said　this　rather　to　myself　than　to　the　gipsy；　whose　strange　talk；　voice；　manner；　had　by　this　time　wrapped　me　in　a　kind　of　dream。　One　unexpected　sentence　came　from　her　lips　after　another；　till　I　got　involved　in　a　web　of　mystification；　and　wondered　what　unseen　spirit　had　been　sitting　for　weeks　by　my　heart　watching　its　workings　and　taking　record　of　every　pulse。

“Eagerness　of　a　listener！”　repeated　she：　“yes；　Mr。　Rochester　has　sat　by　the　hour；　his　ear　inclined　to　the　fascinating　lips　that　took　such　delight　in　their　task　of　municating；　and　Mr。　Rochester　was　so　willing　to　receive　and　looked　so　grateful　for　the　pastime　given　him；　you　have　noticed　this？”

“Grateful！　I　cannot　remember　detecting　gratitude　in　his　face。”

“Detecting！　You　have　analysed；　then。　And　what　did　you　detect；　if　not　gratitude？”

I　said　nothing。

“You　have　seen　love：　have　you　not？—and；　looking　forward；　you　have　seen　him　married；　and　beheld　his　bride　happy？”

“Humph！　Not　exactly。　Your　witch’s　skill　is　rather　at　fault　sometimes。”

“What　the　devil　have　you　seen；　then？”

“Never　mind：　I　came　here　to　inquire；　not　to　confess。　Is　it　known　that　Mr。　Rochester　is　to　be　married？”

“Yes；　and　to　the　beautiful　Miss　Ingram。”

“Shortly？”

“Appearances　would　warrant　that　conclusion：　and；　no　doubt　（though；　with　an　audacity　that　wants　chastising　out　of　you；　you　seem　to　question　it）；　they　will　be　a　superlatively　happy　pair。　He　must　love　such　a　handsome；　noble；　witty；　acplished　lady；　and　probably　she　loves　him；　or；　if　not　his　person；　at　least　his　purse。　I　know　she　considers　the　Rochester　estate　eligible　to　the　last　degree；　though　（God　pardon　me！）　I　told　her　something　on　that　point　about　an　hour　ago　which　made　her　look　wondrous　grave：　the　corners　of　her　mouth　fell　half　an　inch。　I　would　advise　her　blackaviced　suitor　to　look　out：　if　another　es；　with　a　longer　or　clearer　rent…roll；—he’s　dished—”

“But；　mother；　I　did　not　e　to　hear　Mr。　Rochester’s　fortune：　I　came　to　hear　my　own；　and　you　have　told　me　nothing　of　it。”

“Your　fortune　is　yet　doubtful：　when　I　examined　your　face；　one　trait　contradicted　another。　Chance　has　meted　you　a　measure　of　happiness：　that　I　know。　I　knew　it　before　I　came　here　this　evening。　She　has　laid　it　carefully　on　one　side　for　you。　I　saw　her　do　it。　It　depends　on　yourself　to　stretch　out　your　hand；　and　take　it　up：　but　whether　you　will　do　so；　is　the　problem　I　study。　Kneel　again　on　the　rug。”

“Don’t　keep　me　long；　the　fire　scorches　me。”

I　knelt。　She　did　not　stoop　towards　me；　but　only　gazed；　leaning　back　in　her　chair。　She　began　muttering；—

“The　flame　flickers　in　the　eye；　the　eye　shines　like　dew；　it　looks　soft　and　full　of　feeling；　it　smiles　at　my　jargon：　it　is　susceptible；　impression　follows　impression　through　its　clear　sphere；　where　it　ceases　to　smile；　it　is　sad；　an　unconscious　lassitude　weighs　on　the　lid：　that　signifies　melancholy　resulting　from　loneliness。　It　turns　from　me；　it　will　not　suffer　further　scrutiny；　it　seems　to　deny；　by　a　mocking　glance；　the　truth　of　the　discoveries　I　have　already　made；—to　disown　the　charge　both　of　sensibility　and　chagrin：　its　pride　and　reserve　only　confirm　me　in　my　opinion。　The　eye　is　favourable。

“As　to　the　mouth；　it　delights　at　times　in　laughter；　it　is　disposed　to　impart　all　that　the　brain　conceives；　though　I　daresay　it　would　be　silent　on　much　the　heart　experiences。　Mobile　and　flexible；　it　was　never　intended　to　be　pressed　in　the　eternal　silence　of　solitude：　it　is　a　mouth　which　should　speak　much　and　smile　often；　and　have　human　affection　for　its　interlocutor。　That　feature　too　is　propitious。

“I　see　no　enemy　to　a　fortunate　issue　but　in　the　brow；　and　that　brow　professes　to　say；—‘I　can　live　alone；　if　self…respect；　and　circumstances　require　me　so　to　do。　I　need　not　sell　my　soul　to　buy　bliss。　I　have　an　inward　treasure　born　with　me；　which　can　keep　me　alive　if　all　extraneous　delights　should　be　withheld；　or　offered　only　at　a　price　I　cannot　afford　to　give。’　The　forehead　declares；　‘Reason　sits　firm　and　holds　the　reins；　and　she　will　not　let　the　feelings　burst　away　and　hurry　her　to　wild　chasms。　The　passions　may　rage　furiously；　like　true　heathens；　as　they　are；　and　the　desires　may　imagine　all　sorts　of　vain　things：　but　judgment　shall　still　have　the　last　word　in　every　argument；　and　the　casting　vote　in　every　decision。　Strong　wind；　earthquake…shock；　and　fire　may　pass　by：　but　I　shall　follow　the　guiding　of　that　still　small　voice　which　interprets　the　dictates　of　conscience。’

“Well　said；　forehead；　your　declaration　shall　be　respected。　I　have　formed　my　plans—right　plans　I　deem　them—and　in　them　I　have　attended　to　the　claims　of　conscience；　the　counsels　of　reason。　I　know　how　soon　youth　would　fade　and　bloom　perish；　if；　in　the　cup　of　bliss　offered；　but　one　dreg　of　shame；　or　one　flavour　of　remorse　were　detected；　and　I　do　not　want　sacrifice；　sorrow；　dissolution—such　is　not　my　taste。　I　wish　to　foster；　not　to　blight—to　earn　gratitude；　not　to　wring　tears　of　blood—no；　nor　of　brine：　my　harvest　must　be　in　smiles；　in　endearments；　in　sweet—　That　will　do。　I　think　I　rave　in　a　kind　of　exquisite　delirium。　I　should　wish　now　to　protract　this　moment　ad　infinitum；　but　I　dare　not。　So　far　I　have　governed　myself　thoroughly。　I　have　acted　as　I　inwardly　swore　I　would　act；　but　further　might　try　me　beyond　my　strength。　Rise；　Miss　Eyre：　leave　me；　the　play　is　played　out’。”

Where　was　I？　Did　I　wake　or　sleep？　Had　I　been　dreaming？　Did　I　dream　still？　The　old　woman’s　voice　had　changed：　her　accent；　her　gesture；　and　all　were　familiar　to　me　as　my　own　face　in　a　glass—as　the　speech　of　my　own　tongue。　I　got　up；　but　did　not　go。　I　looked；　I　stirred　the　fire；　and　I　looked　again：　but　she　drew　her　bon　and　her　bandage　closer　about　her　face；　and　again　beckoned　me　to　depart。　The　flame　illuminated　her　hand　stretched　out：　roused　now；　and　on　the　alert　for　discoveries；　I　at　once　noticed　that　hand。　It　was　no　more　the　withered　limb　of　eld　than　my　own；　it　was　a　rounded　supple　member；　with　smooth　fingers；　symmetrically　turned；　a　broad　ring　flashed　on　the　little　finger；　and　stooping　forward；　I　looked　at　it；　and　saw　a　gem　I　had　seen　a　hundred　times　before。　Again　I　looked　at　the　face；　which　was　no　longer　turned　from　me—on　the　contrary；　the　bon　was　doffed；　the　bandage　displaced；　the　head　advanced。

“Well；　Jane；　do　you　know　me？”　asked　the　familiar　voice。

“Only　take　off　the　red　cloak；　sir；　and　then—”

“But　the　string　is　in　a　knot—help　me。”

“Break　it；　sir。”

“There；　then—‘Off；　ye　lendings！’”　And　Mr。　Rochester　stepped　out　of　his　disguise。

“Now；　sir；　what　a　strange　idea！”

“But　well　carried　out；　eh？　Don’t　you　think　so？”

“With　the　ladies　you　must　have　managed　well。”

“But　not　with　you？”

“You　did　not　act　the　character　of　a　gipsy　with　me。”

“What　character　did　I　act？　My　own？”

“No；　some　unaccountable　one。　In　short；　I　believe　you　have　been　trying　to　draw　me　out—or　in；　you　have　been　talking　nonsense　to　make　me　talk　nonsense。　It　is　scarcely　fair；　sir。”

“Do　you　forgive　me；　Jane？”

“I　cannot　tell　till　I　have　thought　it　all　over。　If；　on　reflection；　I　find　I　have　fallen　into　no　great　absurdity；　I　shall　try　to　forgive　you；　but　it　was　not　right。”

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