波波小说

第65部分（第1页）

。　I　had　dared　and　baffled　his　fury；　I　must　elude　his　sorrow：　I　retired　to　the　door。

“You　are　going；　Jane？”

“I　am　going；　sir。”

“You　are　leaving　me？”

“Yes。”

“You　will　not　e？　You　will　not　be　my　forter；　my　rescuer？　My　deep　love；　my　wild　woe；　my　frantic　prayer；　are　all　nothing　to　you？”

What　unutterable　pathos　was　in　his　voice！　How　hard　it　was　to　reiterate　firmly；　“I　am　going。”

“Jane！”

“Mr。　Rochester！”

“Withdraw；　then；—I　consent；　but　remember；　you　leave　me　here　in　anguish。　Go　up　to　your　own　room；　think　over　all　I　have　said；　and；　Jane；　cast　a　glance　on　my　sufferings—think　of　me。”

He　turned　away；　he　threw　himself　on　his　face　on　the　sofa。　“Oh；　Jane！　my　hope—my　love—my　life！”　broke　in　anguish　from　his　lips。　Then　came　a　deep；　strong　sob。

I　had　already　gained　the　door；　but；　reader；　I　walked　back—walked　back　as　determinedly　as　I　had　retreated。　I　knelt　down　by　him；　I　turned　his　face　from　the　cushion　to　me；　I　kissed　his　cheek；　I　smoothed　his　hair　with　my　hand。

“God　bless　you；　my　dear　master！”　I　said。　“God　keep　you　from　harm　and　wrong—direct　you；　solace　you—reward　you　well　for　your　past　kindness　to　me。”

“Little　Jane’s　love　would　have　been　my　best　reward；”　he　answered；　“without　it；　my　heart　is　broken。　But　Jane　will　give　me　her　love：　yes—nobly；　generously。”

Up　the　blood　rushed　to　his　face；　forth　flashed　the　fire　from　his　eyes；　erect　he　sprang；　he　held　his　arms　out；　but　I　evaded　the　embrace；　and　at　once　quitted　the　room。

“Farewell！”　was　the　cry　of　my　heart　as　I　left　him。　Despair　added；　“Farewell　for　ever！”

That　night　I　never　thought　to　sleep；　but　a　slumber　fell　on　me　as　soon　as　I　lay　down　in　bed。　I　was　transported　in　thought　to　the　scenes　of　childhood：　I　dreamt　I　lay　in　the　red…room　at　Gateshead；　that　the　night　was　dark；　and　my　mind　impressed　with　strange　fears。　The　light　that　long　ago　had　struck　me　into　syncope；　recalled　in　this　vision；　seemed　glidingly　to　mount　the　wall；　and　tremblingly　to　pause　in　the　centre　of　the　obscured　ceiling。　I　lifted　up　my　head　to　look：　the　roof　resolved　to　clouds；　high　and　dim；　the　gleam　was　such　as　the　moon　imparts　to　vapours　she　is　about　to　sever。　I　watched　her　e—　watched　with　the　strangest　anticipation；　as　though　some　word　of　doom　were　to　be　written　on　her　disk。　She　broke　forth　as　never　moon　yet　burst　from　cloud：　a　hand　first　perated　the　sable　folds　and　waved　them　away；　then；　not　a　moon；　but　a　white　human　form　shone　in　the　azure；　inclining　a　glorious　brow　earthward。　It　gazed　and　gazed　on　me。　It　spoke　to　my　spirit：　immeasurably　distant　was　the　tone；　yet　so　near；　it　whispered　in　my　heart—

“My　daughter；　flee　temptation。”

“Mother；　I　will。”

So　I　answered　after　I　had　waked　from　the　trance…like　dream。　It　was　yet　night；　but　July　nights　are　short：　soon　after　midnight；　dawn　es。　“It　cannot　be　too　early　to　mence　the　task　I　have　to　fulfil；”　thought　I。　I　rose：　I　was　dressed；　for　I　had　taken　off　nothing　but　my　shoes。　I　knew　where　to　find　in　my　drawers　some　linen；　a　locket；　a　ring。　In　seeking　these　articles；　I　encountered　the　beads　of　a　pearl　necklace　Mr。　Rochester　had　forced　me　to　accept　a　few　days　ago。　I　left　that；　it　was　not　mine：　it　was　the　visionary　bride’s　who　had　melted　in　air。　The　other　articles　I　made　up　in　a　parcel；　my　purse；　containing　twenty　shillings　（it　was　all　I　had）；　I　put　in　my　pocket：　I　tied　on　my　straw　bon；　pinned　my　shawl；　took　the　parcel　and　my　slippers；　which　I　would　not　put　on　yet；　and　stole　from　my　room。

“Farewell；　kind　Mrs。　Fairfax！”　I　whispered；　as　I　glided　past　her　door。　“Farewell；　my　darling　Adèle！”　I　said；　as　I　glanced　towards　the　nursery。　No　thought　could　be　admitted　of　entering　to　embrace　her。　I　had　to　deceive　a　fine　ear：　for　aught　I　knew　it　might　now　be　listening。

I　would　have　got　past　Mr。　Rochester’s　chamber　without　a　pause；　but　my　heart　momentarily　stopping　its　beat　at　that　threshold；　my　foot　was　forced　to　stop　also。　No　sleep　was　there：　the　inmate　was　walking　restlessly　from　wall　to　wall；　and　again　and　again　he　sighed　while　I　listened。　There　was　a　heaven—a　temporary　heaven—in　this　room　for　me；　if　I　chose：　I　had　but　to　go　in　and　to　say—

“Mr。　Rochester；　I　will　love　you　and　live　with　you　through　life　till　death；”　and　a　fount　of　rapture　would　spring　to　my　lips。　I　thought　of　this。

That　kind　master；　who　could　not　sleep　now；　was　waiting　with　impatience　for　day。　He　would　send　for　me　in　the　morning；　I　should　be　gone。　He　would　have　me　sought　for：　vainly。　He　would　feel　himself　forsaken；　his　love　rejected：　he　would　suffer；　perhaps　grow　desperate。　I　thought　of　this　too。　My　hand　moved　towards　the　lock：　I　caught　it　back；　and　glided　on。

Drearily　I　wound　my　way　downstairs：　I　knew　what　I　had　to　do；　and　I　did　it　mechanically。　I　sought　the　key　of　the　side…door　in　the　kitchen；　I　sought；　too；　a　phial　of　oil　and　a　feather；　I　oiled　the　key　and　the　lock。　I　got　some　water；　I　got　some　bread：　for　perhaps　I　should　have　to　walk　far；　and　my　strength；　sorely　shaken　of　late；　must　not　break　down。　All　this　I　did　without　one　sound。　I　opened　the　door；　passed　out；　shut　it　softly。　Dim　dawn　glimmered　in　the　yard。　The　great　gates　were　closed　and　locked；　but　a　wicket　in　one　of　them　was　only　latched。　Through　that　I　departed：　it；　too；　I　shut；　and　now　I　was　out　of　Thornfield。

A　mile　off；　beyond　the　fields；　lay　a　road　which　stretched　in　the　contrary　direction　to　Millcote；　a　road　I　had　never　travelled；　but　often　noticed；　and　wondered　where　it　led：　thither　I　bent　my　steps。　No　reflection　was　to　be　allowed　now：　not　one　glance　was　to　be　cast　back；　not　even　one　forward。　Not　one　thought　was　to　be　given　either　to　the　past　or　the　future。　The　first　was　a　page　so　heavenly　sweet—　so　deadly　sad—that　to　read　one　line　of　it　would　dissolve　my　courage　and　break　down　my　energy。　The　last　was　an　awful　blank：　something　like　the　world　when　the　deluge　was　gone　by。

I　skirted　fields；　and　hedges；　and　lanes　till　after　sunrise。　I　believe　it　was　a　lovely　summer　morning：　I　know　my　shoes；　which　I　had　put　on　when　I　left　the　house；　were　soon　wet　with　dew。　But　I　looked　neither　to　rising　sun；　nor　smiling　sky；　nor　wakening　nature。　He　who　is　taken　out　to　pass　through　a　fair　scene　to　the　scaffold；　thinks　not　of　the　flowers　that　smile　on　his　road；　but　of　the　block　and　axe…edge；　of　the　disseverment　of　bone　and　vein；　of　the　grave　gaping　at　the　end：　and　I　thought　of　drear　flight　and　homeless　wandering—and　oh！　with　agony　I　thought　of　what　I　left。　I　could　not　help　it。　I　thought　of　him　now—in　his　room—watching　the　sunrise；　hoping　I　should　soon　e　to　say　I　would　stay　with　him　and　be　his。　I　longed　to　be　his；　I　panted　to　return：　it　was　not　too　late；　I　could　yet　spare　him　the　bitter　pang　of　bereavement。　As　yet　my　flight；　I　was　sure；　was　undiscovered。　I　could　go　back　and　be　his　forter—his　pride；　his　redeemer　from　misery；　perhaps　from　ruin。　Oh；　that　fear　of　his　self…abandonment—far　worse　than　my　abandonment—how　it　goaded　me！　It　was　a　barbed　arrow…head　in　my　breast；　it　tore　me　when　I　tried　to　extract　it；　it　sickened　me　when　remembrance　thrust　it　farther　in。　Birds　began　singing　in　brake　and　copse：　birds　were　faithful　to　their　mates；　birds　were　emblems　of　love。　What　was　I？　In　the　midst　of　my　pain　of　heart　and　frantic　effort　of　principle；　I　abhorred　myself。　I　had　no　solace　from　self…　approbation：　none　even　from　self…respect。　I　had　injured—wounded—　left　my　master。　I　was　hateful　in　my　own　eyes。　Still　I　could　not　turn；　nor　retrace　one　step。　God　must　have　led　me　on。　As　to　my　own　will　or　conscience；　impassioned　grief　had　trampled　one　and　stifled　the　other。　I　was　weeping　wildly　as　I　walked　along　my　solitary　way：　fast；　fast　I　went　like　one　delirious。　A　weakness；　beginning　inwardly；　extending　to　the　limbs；　seized　me；　and　I　fell：　I　lay　on　the　ground　some　minutes；　pressing　my　face　to　the　wet　turf。　I　had　some　fear—or　hope—that　here　I　should　die：　but　I　was　soon　up；　crawling　forwards　on　my　hands　and　knees；　and　then　again　raised　to　my　feet—as　eager　and　as　determined　as　ever　to　reach　the　road。

When　I　got　there；　I　was　forced　to　sit　to　rest　me　under　the　hedge；　and　while　I　sat；　I　heard　wheels；　and　saw　a　coach　e　on。　I　stood　up　and　lifted　my　hand；　it　stopped。　I　asked　where　it　was　going：　the　driver　named　a　place　a　long　way　off；　and　where　I　was　sure　Mr。　Rochester　had　no　connections。　I　asked　for　what　sum　he　would　take　me　there；　he　said　thirty　shillings；　I　answered　I　had　but　twenty；　well；　he　would　try　to　make　it　do。　He　further　gave　me　leave　to　get　into　the　inside；　as　the　vehicle　was　empty：　I　entered；　was　shut　in；　and　it　rolled　on　its　way。

Gentle　reader；　may　you　never　feel　what　I　then　felt！　May　your　eyes　never　shed　such　stormy；　scalding；　heart…wrung　tears　as　poured　from　mine。　May　you　never　appeal　to　Heaven　in　prayers　so　hopeless　and　so　agonised　as　in　that　hour　left　my　lips；　for　never　may　you；　like　me；　dread　to　be　the　instrument　of　evil　to　what　you　wholly　love。

Chapter　28

Two　days　are　passed。　It　is　a　summer　evening；　the　coachman　has　set　me　down　at　a　place　called　Whitcross；　he　could　take　me　no　farther　for　the　sum　I　had　given；　and　I　was　not　possessed　of　another　shilling　in　the　world。　The　coach　is　a　mile　off　by　this　time；　I　am　alone。　At　this　moment　I　discover　that　I　forgot　to　take　my　parcel　out　of　the　pocket　of　the　coach；　where　I　had　placed　it　for　safety；　there　it　remains；　there　it　must　remain；　and　now；　I　am　absolutely　destitute。

Whitcross　is　no　town；　nor　even　a　hamlet；　it　is　but　a　stone　pillar　set　up　where　four　roads　meet：　whitewashed；　I　suppose；　to　be　more　obvious　at　a　distance　and　in　darkness。　Four　arms　spring　from　its　summit：　the　nearest　town　to　which　these　point　is；　according　to　the　inscription；　distant　ten　miles；　the　farthest；　above　twenty。　From　the　well…known　names　of　these　towns　I　learn　in　what　county　I　have　lighted；　a　north…midland　shire；　dusk　with　moorland；　ridged　with　mountain：　this　I　see。　There　are　great　moors　behind　and　on　each　hand　of　me；　there　are　waves　of　mountains　far　beyond　that　deep　valley　at　my　feet。　The　population　here　must　be　thin；　and　I　see　no　passengers　on　these　roads：　they　stretch　out　east；　west；　north；　and　south—white；　broad；　lonely；　they　are　all　cut　in　the　moor；　and　the　heather　grows　deep　and　wild　to　their　very　verge。　Yet　a　chance　traveller　might　pass　by；　and　I　wish　no　eye　to　see　me　now：　strangers　would　wonder　what　I　am　doing；　lingering　here　at　the　sign…post；　evidently　objectless　and　lost。　I　might　be　questioned：　I　could　give　no　answer　but　what　would　sound　incredible　and　excite　suspicion。　Not　a　tie　holds　me　to　human　society　at　this　moment—not　a　charm　or　hope　calls　me　where　my　fellow…creatures　are—none　that　saw　me　would　have　a　kind　thought　or　a　good　wish　for　me。　I　have　no　relative　but　the　universal　mother；　Nature：　I　will　seek　her　breast　and　ask　repose。

I　struck　straight　into　the　heath；　I　held　on　to　a　hollow　I　saw　deeply　furrowing　the　brown　moorside；　I　waded　knee…deep　in　its　dark　growth；　I　turned　with　its　turnings；　and　finding　a　moss…blackened　granite　crag　in　a　hidden　angle；　I　sat　down　under　it。　High　banks　of　moor　were　about　me；　the　crag　protected　my　head：　the　sky　was　over　that。

Some　time　passed　before　I　felt　tranquil　even　here：　I　had　a　vague　dread　that　wild　cattle　might　be　near；　or　that　some　sportsman　or　poacher　might　discover　me。　If　a　gust　of　wind　swept　the　waste；　I　looked　up；　fearing　it　was　the　rush　of　a　bull；　if　a　plover　whistled；　I　imagined　it　a　man。　Finding　my　apprehensions　unfounded；　however；　and　calmed　by

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