波波小说

第47部分（第1页）

rdon　for　offences　by　me　unmitted。　I　looked　into　a　certain　corner　near；　half…expecting　to　see　the　slim　outline　of　a　once　dreaded　switch　which　used　to　lurk　there；　waiting　to　leap　out　imp…like　and　lace　my　quivering　palm　or　shrinking　neck。　I　approached　the　bed；　I　opened　the　curtains　and　leant　over　the　high…piled　pillows。

Well　did　I　remember　Mrs。　Reed’s　face；　and　I　eagerly　sought　the　familiar　image。　It　is　a　happy　thing　that　time　quells　the　longings　of　vengeance　and　hushes　the　promptings　of　rage　and　aversion。　I　had　left　this　woman　in　bitterness　and　hate；　and　I　came　back　to　her　now　with　no　other　emotion　than　a　sort　of　ruth　for　her　great　sufferings；　and　a　strong　yearning　to　forget　and　forgive　all　injuries—to　be　reconciled　and　clasp　hands　in　amity。

The　well…known　face　was　there：　stern；　relentless　as　ever—there　was　that　peculiar　eye　which　nothing　could　melt；　and　the　somewhat　raised；　imperious；　despotic　eyebrow。　How　often　had　it　lowered　on　me　menace　and　hate！　and　how　the　recollection　of　childhood’s　terrors　and　sorrows　revived　as　I　traced　its　harsh　line　now！　And　yet　I　stooped　down　and　kissed　her：　she　looked　at　me。

“Is　this　Jane　Eyre？”　she　said。

“Yes；　Aunt　Reed。　How　are　you；　dear　aunt？”

I　had　once　vowed　that　I　would　never　call　her　aunt　again：　I　thought　it　no　sin　to　forget　and　break　that　vow　now。　My　fingers　had　fastened　on　her　hand　which　lay　outside　the　sheet：　had　she　pressed　mine　kindly；　I　should　at　that　moment　have　experienced　true　pleasure。　But　unimpressionable　natures　are　not　so　soon　softened；　nor　are　natural　antipathies　so　readily　eradicated。　Mrs。　Reed　took　her　hand　away；　and；　turning　her　face　rather　from　me；　she　remarked　that　the　night　was　warm。　Again　she　regarded　me　so　icily；　I　felt　at　once　that　her　opinion　of　me—her　feeling　towards　me—was　unchanged　and　unchangeable。　I　knew　by　her　stony　eye—opaque　to　tenderness；　indissoluble　to　tears—that　she　was　resolved　to　consider　me　bad　to　the　last；　because　to　believe　me　good　would　give　her　no　generous　pleasure：　only　a　sense　of　mortification。

I　felt　pain；　and　then　I　felt　ire；　and　then　I　felt　a　determination　to　subdue　her—to　be　her　mistress　in　spite　both　of　her　nature　and　her　will。　My　tears　had　risen；　just　as　in　childhood：　I　ordered　them　back　to　their　source。　I　brought　a　chair　to　the　bed…head：　I　sat　down　and　leaned　over　the　pillow。

“You　sent　for　me；”　I　said；　“and　I　am　here；　and　it　is　my　intention　to　stay　till　I　see　how　you　get　on。”

“Oh；　of　course！　You　have　seen　my　daughters？”

“Yes。”

“Well；　you　may　tell　them　I　wish　you　to　stay　till　I　can　talk　some　things　over　with　you　I　have　on　my　mind：　to…night　it　is　too　late；　and　I　have　a　difficulty　in　recalling　them。　But　there　was　something　I　wished　to　say—let　me　see—”

The　wandering　look　and　changed　utterance　told　what　wreck　had　taken　place　in　her　once　vigorous　frame。　Turning　restlessly；　she　drew　the　bedclothes　round　her；　my　elbow；　resting　on　a　corner　of　the　quilt；　fixed　it　down：　she　was　at　once　irritated。

“Sit　up！”　said　she；　“don’t　annoy　me　with　holding　the　clothes　fast。　Are　you　Jane　Eyre？”

“I　am　Jane　Eyre。”

“I　have　had　more　trouble　with　that　child　than　any　one　would　believe。　Such　a　burden　to　be　left　on　my　hands—and　so　much　annoyance　as　she　caused　me；　daily　and　hourly；　with　her　inprehensible　disposition；　and　her　sudden　starts　of　temper；　and　her　continual；　unnatural　watchings　of　one’s　movements！　I　declare　she　talked　to　me　once　like　something　mad；　or　like　a　fiend—no　child　ever　spoke　or　looked　as　she　did；　I　was　glad　to　get　her　away　from　the　house。　What　did　they　do　with　her　at　Lowood？　The　fever　broke　out　there；　and　many　of　the　pupils　died。　She；　however；　did　not　die：　but　I　said　she　did—I　wish　she　had　died！”

“A　strange　wish；　Mrs。　Reed；　why　do　you　hate　her　so？”

“I　had　a　dislike　to　her　mother　always；　for　she　was　my　husband’s　only　sister；　and　a　great　favourite　with　him：　he　opposed　the　family’s　disowning　her　when　she　made　her　low　marriage；　and　when　news　came　of　her　death；　he　wept　like　a　simpleton。　He　would　send　for　the　baby；　though　I　entreated　him　rather　to　put　it　out　to　nurse　and　pay　for　its　maintenance。　I　hated　it　the　first　time　I　set　my　eyes　on　it—a　sickly；　whining；　pining　thing！　It　would　wail　in　its　cradle　all　night　long—not　screaming　heartily　like　any　other　child；　but　whimpering　and　moaning。　Reed　pitied　it；　and　he　used　to　nurse　it　and　notice　it　as　if　it　had　been　his　own：　more；　indeed；　than　he　ever　noticed　his　own　at　that　age。　He　would　try　to　make　my　children　friendly　to　the　little　beggar：　the　darlings　could　not　bear　it；　and　he　was　angry　with　them　when　they　showed　their　dislike。　In　his　last　illness；　he　had　it　brought　continually　to　his　bedside；　and　but　an　hour　before　he　died；　he　bound　me　by　vow　to　keep　the　creature。　I　would　as　soon　have　been　charged　with　a　pauper　brat　out　of　a　workhouse：　but　he　was　weak；　naturally　weak。　John　does　not　at　all　resemble　his　father；　and　I　am　glad　of　it：　John　is　like　me　and　like　my　brothers—he　is　quite　a　Gibson。　Oh；　I　wish　he　would　cease　tormenting　me　with　letters　for　money？　I　have　no　more　money　to　give　him：　we　are　getting　poor。　I　must　send　away　half　the　servants　and　shut　up　part　of　the　house；　or　let　it　off。　I　can　never　submit　to　do　that—yet　how　are　we　to　get　on？　Two…thirds　of　my　ine　goes　in　paying　the　interest　of　mortgages。　John　gambles　dreadfully；　and　always　loses—poor　boy！　He　is　beset　by　sharpers：　John　is　sunk　and　degraded—his　look　is　frightful—I　feel　ashamed　for　him　when　I　see　him。”

She　was　getting　much　excited。　“I　think　I　had　better　leave　her　now；”　said　I　to　Bessie；　who　stood　on　the　other　side　of　the　bed。

“Perhaps　you　had；　Miss：　but　she　often　talks　in　this　way　towards　night—in　the　morning　she　is　calmer。”

I　rose。　“Stop！”　exclaimed　Mrs。　Reed；　“there　is　another　thing　I　wished　to　say。　He　threatens　me—he　continually　threatens　me　with　his　own　death；　or　mine：　and　I　dream　sometimes　that　I　see　him　laid　out　with　a　great　wound　in　his　throat；　or　with　a　swollen　and　blackened　face。　I　am　e　to　a　strange　pass：　I　have　heavy　troubles。　What　is　to　be　done？　How　is　the　money　to　be　had？”

Bessie　now　endeavoured　to　persuade　her　to　take　a　sedative　draught：　she　succeeded　with　difficulty。　Soon　after；　Mrs。　Reed　grew　more　posed；　and　sank　into　a　dozing　state。　I　then　left　her。

More　than　ten　days　elapsed　before　I　had　again　any　conversation　with　her。　She　continued　either　delirious　or　lethargic；　and　the　doctor　forbade　everything　which　could　painfully　excite　her。　Meantime；　I　got　on　as　well　as　I　could　with　Georgiana　and　Eliza。　They　were　very　cold；　indeed；　at　first。　Eliza　would　sit　half　the　day　sewing；　reading；　or　writing；　and　scarcely　utter　a　word　either　to　me　or　her　sister。　Georgiana　would　chatter　nonsense　to　her　canary　bird　by　the　hour；　and　take　no　notice　of　me。　But　I　was　determined　not　to　seem　at　a　loss　for　occupation　or　amusement：　I　had　brought　my　drawing　materials　with　me；　and　they　served　me　for　both。

Provided　with　a　case　of　pencils；　and　some　sheets　of　paper；　I　used　to　take　a　seat　apart　from　them；　near　the　window；　and　busy　myself　in　sketching　fancy　vigtes；　representing　any　scene　that　happened　momentarily　to　shape　itself　in　the　ever…shifting　kaleidoscope　of　imagination：　a　glimpse　of　sea　between　two　rocks；　the　rising　moon；　and　a　ship　crossing　its　disk；　a　group　of　reeds　and　water…flags；　and　a　naiad’s　head；　crowned　with　lotus…flowers；　rising　out　of　them；　an　elf　sitting　in　a　hedge…sparrow’s　nest；　under　a　wreath　of　hawthorn…　bloom

One　morning　I　fell　to　sketching　a　face：　what　sort　of　a　face　it　was　to　be；　I　did　not　care　or　know。　I　took　a　soft　black　pencil；　gave　it　a　broad　point；　and　worked　away。　Soon　I　had　traced　on　the　paper　a　broad　and　prominent　forehead　and　a　square　lower　outline　of　visage：　that　contour　gave　me　pleasure；　my　fingers　proceeded　actively　to　fill　it　with　features。　Strongly…marked　horizontal　eyebrows　must　be　traced　under　that　brow；　then　followed；　naturally；　a　well…defined　nose；　with　a　straight　ridge　and　full　nostrils；　then　a　flexible…　looking　mouth；　by　no　means　narrow；　then　a　firm　chin；　with　a　decided　cleft　down　the　middle　of　it：　of　course；　some　black　whiskers　were　wanted；　and　some　jetty　hair；　tufted　on　the　temples；　and　waved　above　the　forehead。　Now　for　the　eyes：　I　had　left　them　to　the　last；　because　they　required　the　most　careful　working。　I　drew　them　large；　I　shaped　them　well：　the　eyelashes　I　traced　long　and　sombre；　the　irids　lustrous　and　large。　“Good！　but　not　quite　the　thing；”　I　thought；　as　I　surveyed　the　effect：　“they　want　more　force　and　spirit；”　and　I　wrought　the　shades　blacker；　that　the　lights　might　flash　more　brilliantly—a　happy　touch　or　two　secured　success。　There；　I　had　a　friend’s　face　under　my　gaze；　and　what　did　it　signify　that　those　young　ladies　turned　their　backs　on　me？　I　looked　at　it；　I　smiled　at　the　speaking　likeness：　I　was　absorbed　and　content。

“Is　that　a　portrait　of　some　one　you　know？”　asked　Eliza；　who　had　approached　me　unnoticed。　I　responded　that　it　was　merely　a　fancy　head；　and　hurried　it　beneath　the　other　sheets。　Of　course；　I　lied：　it　was；　in　fact；　a　very　faithful　representation　of　Mr。　Rochester。　But　what　was　that　to　her；　or　to　any　one　but　myself？　Georgiana　also　advanced　to　look。　The　other　drawings　pleased　her　much；　but　she　called　that　“an　ugly　man。”　They　both　seemed　surprised　at　my　skill。　I　offered　to　sketch　their　portraits；　and　each；　in　turn；　sat　for　a　pencil　outline。　Then　Georgiana　produced　her　album。　I　promised　to　contribute　a　water…colour　drawing：　this　put　her　at　once　into　good　humour。　She　proposed　a　walk　in　the　grounds。　Before　we　had　been　out　two　hours；　we　were　deep　in　a　confidential　conversation：　she　had　favoured　me　with　a　description　of　the　brilliant　winter　she　had　spent　in　London　two　seasons　ago—of　the　admiration　she　had　there　excited—　the　attention　she　had　received；　and　I　even　got　hints　of　the　titled　conquest　she　had　made。　In　the　course　of　the　afternoon　and　evening　these　hints　were　enlarged　on：　various　soft　conversations　were　reported；　and　sentimental　scenes　represented；　and；　in　short；　a　volume　of　a　novel　of　fashionable　life　was　that　day　improvised　by　her　for　my　benefit。　The　munications　were　renewed　from　day　to　day：　they　always　ran　on　the　same　theme—herself；　her　loves；　and　woes。　It　was　strange　she　never　once　adverted　either　to　her　mother’s　illness；　or　her　brother’s　death；　or　the　present　gloomy　state　of　the　family　prospects。　Her　mind　seemed　wholly　taken　up　with　reminiscences　of　past　gaiety；　and　aspirations　after　dissipations　to　e。　She　passed　about　five　minutes　each　day　in　her　mother’s　sick…room；　and　no　more。

Eliza　still　spoke　little：　she　had　evidently　no　time　to　talk。　I　never　saw　a　busier　person　than　she　seemed　to　be；　yet　it　was　difficult　to　say　what　she　did：　or　rather；　to　discover　any　result　of　her　diligence。　She　had　an　alarm　to　call　her　up　early。　I　know　not　how　she　occupied　herself　before　breakfast；　but　after　that　meal　she　divided　her　time　into　regular　portions；　and　each　hour　had　its　allotted　task。　Three　times　a　day　she　studied　a　little　book；　which　I　found；　on　inspection；　was　a　mon　Prayer　Book。　I　asked　her　once　what　was　the　great　attraction　of　that　volume；　and　she　said；　“the　Rubric。”　Three　hours　she　gave　to　stitching；　with　gold　thread；　the　border　of　a　square　crimson　cloth；　almost　large　enough　for　a　carpet。　In　answer　to　my　inquiries　after　the　use　of　this　article；　she　informed　me　it　was　a　covering　for　the　altar　of　a　new　church　lately　erected　near　Gatesh

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