Jane Eyre 簡愛 12

IT was near Christmas by the time all was settled: the season of general holiday approached. I now closed Morton school, taking care that the parting should not be barren on my side. Good fortune opens the hand as well as the heart wonderfully; and to give somewhat when we have largely received, is but to afford a vent to the unusual ebullition of the sensations. I had long felt with pleasure that many of my rustic scholars liked me, and when we parted, that consciousness was confirmed: they manifested their affection plainly and strongly. Deep was my gratification to find I had really a place in their unsophisticated hearts: I promised them that never a week should pass in future that I did not visit them, and give them an hour's teaching in their school.Mr. Rivers came up as, having seen the classes, now numbering sixty girls, file out before me, and locked the door, I stood with the key in my hand, exchanging a few words of special farewell with some half-dozen of my best scholars: as decent, respectable, modest, and well-informed young women as could be found in the ranks of the British peasantry. And that is saying a great deal; for after all, the British peasantry are the best taught, best mannered, most self-respecting of any in Europe: since those days I have seen paysannes and Bauerinnen; and the best of them seemed to me ignorant, coarse, and besotted, compared with my Morton girls.

'Do you consider you have got your reward for a season of exertion?' asked Mr. Rivers, when they were gone. 'Does not the consciousness of having done some real good in your day and generation give pleasure?'

'Doubtless.'

'And you have only toiled a few months! Would not a life devoted to the task of regenerating your race be well spent?'

'Yes,' I said; 'but I could not go on for ever so: I want to enjoy my own faculties as well as to cultivate those of other people. I must enjoy them now; don't recall either my mind or body to the school; I am out of it and disposed for full holiday.'

He looked grave. 'What now? What sudden eagerness is this you evince? What are you going to do?'

'To be active: as active as I can. And first I must beg you to set Hannah at liberty, and get somebody else to wait on you.'

'Do you want her?'

'Yes, to go with me to Moor House. Diana and Mary will be at home in a week, and I want to have everything in order against their arrival.'

'I understand. I thought you were for flying off on some excursion.

It is better so: Hannah shall go with you.'

'Tell her to be ready by to-morrow then; and here is the schoolroom key: I will give you the key of my cottage in the morning.'

He took it. 'You give it up very gleefully,' said he; 'I don't quite understand your light-heartedness, because I cannot tell what employment you propose to yourself as a substitute for the one you are relinquishing. What aim, what purpose, what ambition in life have you now?'

'My first aim will be to clean down (do you comprehend the full force of the expression?)- to clean down Moor House from chamber to cellar; my next to rub it up with bees-wax, oil, and an indefinite number of cloths, till it glitters again; my third, to arrange every chair, table, bed, carpet, with mathematical precision; afterwards I shall go near to ruin you in coals and peat to keep up good fires in every room; and lastly, the two days preceding that on which your sisters are expected will be devoted by Hannah and me to such a beating of eggs, sorting of currants, grating of spices, compounding of Christmas cakes, chopping up of materials for mince-pies, and solemnising of other culinary rites, as words can convey but an inadequate notion of to the uninitiated like you. My purpose, in short, is to have all things in an absolutely perfect state of readiness for Diana and Mary before next Thursday; and my ambition is to give them a beau-ideal of a welcome when they come.' St. John smiled slightly: still he was dissatisfied.

'It is all very well for the present,' said he; 'but seriously, I trust that when the first flush of vivacity is over, you will look a little higher than domestic endearments and household joys.'

'I mean, on the contrary, to be busy.'

'Jane, I excuse you for the present: two months' grace I allow you for the full enjoyment of your new position, and for pleasing yourself with this late-found charm of relationship; but then, I hope you will begin to look beyond Moor House and Morton, and sisterly society, and the selfish calm and sensual comfort of civilised affluence. I hope your energies will then once more trouble you with their strength.'

I looked at him with surprise. 'St. John,' I said, 'I think you are almost wicked to talk so. I am disposed to be as content as a queen, and you try to stir me up to restlessness! To what end?'

'To the end of turning to profit the talents which God has committed to your keeping; and of which He will surely one day demand a strict account. Jane, I shall watch you closely and anxiously- I warn you of that. And try to restrain the disproportionate fervour with which you throw yourself into commonplace home pleasures. Don't cling so tenaciously to ties of the flesh; save your constancy and ardour for an adequate cause; forbear to waste them on trite transient objects. Do you hear, Jane?'

'Yes; just as if you were speaking Greek. I feel I have adequate cause to be happy, and I will be happy. Good-bye!'

Happy at Moor House I was, and hard I worked; and so did Hannah: she was charmed to see how jovial I could be amidst the bustle of a house turned topsy-turvy- how I could brush, and dust, and clean, and cook. And really, after a day or two of confusion worse confounded, it was delightful by degrees to invoke order from the to purchase some new furniture: my cousins having given me carte blanche to effect what alterations I pleased, and a sum having been set aside for that purpose. The ordinary sitting-room and bedrooms I left much as they were: for I knew Diana and Mary would derive more pleasure from seeing again the old homely tables, and chairs, and beds, than from the spectacle of the smartest innovations. Still some novelty was necessary, to give to their return the piquancy with which I wished it to be invested. Dark handsome new carpets and curtains, an arrangement of some carefully selected antique ornaments in porcelain and bronze, new coverings, and mirrors, and dressing-cases, for the toilet-tables, answered the end: they looked fresh without being glaring. A spare parlour and bedroom I refurnished entirely, with old mahogany and crimson upholstery: I laid canvas on the passage, and carpets on the stairs. When all was finished, I thought Moor House as complete a model of bright modest snugness within, as it was, at this season, a specimen of wintry waste and desert dreariness without.

The eventful Thursday at length came. They were expected about dark, and ere dusk fires were lit upstairs and below; the kitchen was in perfect trim; Hannah and I were dressed, and all was in readiness.

St. John arrived first. I had entreated him to keep quite clear of the house till everything was arranged: and, indeed, the bare idea of the commotion, at once sordid and trivial, going on within its walls sufficed to scare him to estrangement. He found me in the kitchen, watching the progress of certain cakes for tea, then baking. Approaching the hearth, he asked, 'If I was at last satisfied with housemaid's work?' I answered by inviting him to accompany me on a general inspection of the result of my labours. With some difficulty, I got him to make the tour of the house. He just looked in at the doors I opened; and when he had wandered upstairs and downstairs, he said I must have gone through a great deal of fatigue and trouble to have effected such considerable changes in so short a time: but not a syllable did he utter indicating pleasure in the improved aspect of his abode.

This silence damped me. I thought perhaps the alterations had disturbed some old associations he valued. I inquired whether this was the case: no doubt in a somewhat crestfallen tone.

'Not at all; he had, on the contrary, remarked that I had scrupulously respected every association: he feared, indeed, I must have bestowed more thought on the matter than it was worth. How many minutes, for instance, had I devoted to studying the arrangement of this very room?- By the bye, could I tell him where such a book was?'

I showed him the volume on the shelf: he took it down, and withdrawing to his accustomed window recess, he began to read it.

Now, I did not like this, reader. St. John was a good man; but I began to feel he had spoken truth of himself when he said he was hard and cold. The humanities and amenities of life had no attraction for him- its peaceful enjoyments no charm. Literally, he lived only to aspire- after what was good and great, certainly; but still he would never rest, nor approve of others resting round him. As I looked at his lofty forehead, still and pale as a white stone- at his fine lineaments fixed in study- I comprehended all at once that he would hardly make a good husband: that it would be a trying thing to be his wife. I understood, as by inspiration, the nature of his love for Miss Oliver; I agreed with him that it was but a love of the senses. I comprehended how he should despise himself for the feverish influence it exercised over him; how he should wish to stifle and destroy it; how he should mistrust its ever conducing permanently to his happiness or hers. I saw he was of the material from which nature hews her heroes- Christian and Pagan- her lawgivers, her statesmen, her conquerors: a steadfast bulwark for great interests to rest upon; but, at the fireside, too often a cold cumbrous column, gloomy and out of place.

'This parlour is not his sphere,' I reflected: 'the Himalayan ridge or Caffre bush, even the plague-cursed Guinea Coast swamp would suit him better. Well may he eschew the calm of domestic life; it is not his element: there his faculties stagnate- they cannot develop or appear to advantage. It is in scenes of strife and danger- where courage is proved, and energy exercised, and fortitude tasked- that he will speak and move, the leader and superior. A merry child would have the advantage of him on this hearth. He is right to choose a missionary's career- I see it now.'

'They are coming! they are coming!' cried Hannah, throwing open the parlour door. At the same moment old Carlo barked joyfully. Out I ran.

It was now dark; but a rumbling of wheels was audible. Hannah soon had a lantern lit. The vehicle had stopped at the wicket; the driver opened the door: first one well-known form, then another, stepped out.

In a minute I had my face under their bonnets, in contact first with Mary's soft cheek, then with Diana's flowing curls. They laughed- kissed me- then Hannah: patted Carlo, who was half wild with delight; asked eagerly if all was well; and being assured in the affirmative, hastened into the house.

They were stiff with their long and jolting drive from Whitcross, and chilled with the frosty night air; but their pleasant countenances expanded to the cheerful firelight. While the driver and Hannah brought in the boxes, they demanded St. John. At this moment he advanced from the parlour. They both threw their arms round his neck at once. He gave each one quiet kiss, said in a low tone a few words of welcome, stood a while to be talked to, and then, intimating that he supposed they would soon rejoin him in the parlour, withdrew there as to a place of refuge.

I had lit their candles to go upstairs, but Diana had first to give hospitable orders respecting the driver; this done, both followed me. They were delighted with the renovation and decorations of their rooms; with the new drapery, and fresh carpets, and rich tinted china vases: they expressed their gratification ungrudgingly. I had the pleasure of feeling that my arrangements met their wishes exactly, and that what I had done added a vivid charm to their joyous return home.

Sweet was that evening. My cousins, full of exhilaration, were so eloquent in narrative and comment, that their fluency covered St. John's taciturnity: he was sincerely glad to see his sisters; but in their glow of fervour and flow of joy he could not sympathise. The event of the day- that is, the return of Diana and Mary- pleased him; but the accompaniments of that event, the glad tumult, the garrulous glee of reception irked him: I saw he wished the calmer morrow was come. In the very meridian of the night's enjoyment, about an hour after tea, a rap was heard at the door. Hannah entered with the intimation that 'a poor lad was come, at that unlikely time, to fetch Mr. Rivers to see his mother, who was drawing away.'

'Where does she live, Hannah?'

'Clear up at Whitcross Brow, almost four miles off, and moor and moss all the way.'

'Tell him I will go.'

'I'm sure, sir, you had better not. It's the worst road to travel after dark that can be: there's no track at all over the bog. And then it is such a bitter night- the keenest wind you ever felt. You had better send word, sir, that you will be there in the morning.'

But he was already in the passage, putting on his cloak; and without one objection, one murmur, he departed. It was then nine o'clock: he did not return till midnight. Starved and tired enough he was: but he looked happier than when he set out. He had performed an act of duty; made an exertion; felt his own strength to do and deny, and was on better terms with himself.

I am afraid the whole of the ensuing week tried his patience. It was Christmas week: we took to no settled employment, but spent it in a sort of merry domestic dissipation. The air of the moors, the freedom of home, the dawn of prosperity, acted on Diana and Mary's spirits like some life-giving elixir: they were gay from morning till noon, and from noon till night. They could always talk; and their discourse, witty, pithy, original, had such charms for me, that I preferred listening to, and sharing in it, to doing anything else. St. John did not rebuke our vivacity; but he escaped from it: he was seldom in the house; his parish was large, the population scattered, and he found daily business in visiting the sick and poor in its different districts.

One morning at breakfast, Diana, after looking a little pensive for some minutes, asked him, 'If his plans were yet unchanged.'

'Unchanged and unchangeable,' was the reply. And he proceeded to inform us that his departure from England was now definitely fixed for the ensuing year.

'And Rosamond Oliver?' suggested Mary, the words seeming to escape her lips involuntarily: for no sooner had she uttered them, than she made a gesture as if wishing to recall them. St. John had a book in his hand- it was his unsocial custom to read at meals- he closed it, and looked up.

'Rosamond Oliver,' said he, 'is about to be married to Mr. Granby, one of the best connected and most estimable residents in from her father yesterday.'

His sisters looked at each other and at me; we all three looked at him: he was serene as glass.

'The match must have been got up hastily,' said Diana: 'they cannot have known each other long.'

But where there are no obstacles to a union, as in the present case, where the connection is in every point desirable, delays are Frederic gives up to them, can be refitted for their reception.'

The first time I found St. John alone after this communication, I felt tempted to inquire if the event distressed him: but he seemed so little to need sympathy, that, so far from venturing to offer him more, I experienced some shame at the recollection of what I had already hazarded. Besides, I was out of practice in talking to him: his reserve was again frozen over, and my frankness was congealed beneath it. He had not kept his promise of treating me like his sisters; he continually made little, chilling differences between us, which did not at all tend to the development of cordiality: in short, now that I was acknowledged his kinswoman, and lived under the same roof with him, I felt the distance between us to be far greater than when he had known me only as the village schoolmistress. When I remembered how far I had once been admitted to his confidence, I could hardly comprehend his present frigidity.

Such being the case, I felt not a little surprised when he raised his head suddenly from the desk over which he was stooping, and said- 'You see, Jane, the battle is fought and the victory won.'

Startled at being thus addressed, I did not immediately reply: after a moment's hesitation I answered-

'But are you sure you are not in the position of those conquerors whose triumphs have cost them too dear? Would not such another ruin you?'

'I think not; and if I were, it does not much signify; I shall never be called upon to contend for such another. The event of the conflict is decisive: my way is now clear; I thank God for it!' So saying, he returned to his papers and his silence.

As our mutual happiness (i.e., Diana's, Mary's, and mine) settled into a quieter character, and we resumed our usual habits and regular studies, St. John stayed more at home: he sat with us in the same room, sometimes for hours together. While Mary drew, Diana pursued a course of encyclopaedic reading she had (to my awe and amazement) undertaken, and I fagged away at German, he pondered a mystic lore of his own: that of some Eastern tongue, the acquisition of which he thought necessary to his plans.

Thus engaged, he appeared, sitting in his own recess, quiet and absorbed enough; but that blue eye of his had a habit of leaving the outlandish-looking grammar, and wandering over, and sometimes fixing upon us, his fellow-students, with a curious intensity of observation: if caught, it would be instantly withdrawn; yet ever and anon, it returned searchingly to our table. I wondered what it meant: I wondered, too, at the punctual satisfaction he never failed to exhibit on an occasion that seemed to me of small moment, namely, my weekly visit to Morton school; and still more was I puzzled when, if the day was unfavourable, if there was snow, or rain, or high wind, and his sisters urged me not to go, he would invariably make light of their solicitude, and encourage me to accomplish the task without regard to the elements.

'Jane is not such a weakling as you would make her,' he would say: 'she can bear a mountain blast, or a shower, or a few flakes of snow, as well as any of us. Her constitution is both sound and elastic;- better calculated to endure variations of climate than many more robust.'

And when I returned, sometimes a good deal tired, and not a little weather-beaten, I never dared complain, because I saw that to murmur would be to vex him: on all occasions fortitude pleased him; the reverse was a special annoyance.

One afternoon, however, I got leave to stay at home, because I really had a cold. His sisters were gone to Morton in my stead: I sat reading Schiller; he, deciphering his crabbed Oriental scrolls. As I exchanged a translation for an exercise, I happened to look his way: there I found myself under the influence of the ever-watchful blue eye. How long it had been searching me through and through, and over and over, I cannot tell: so keen was it, and yet so cold, I felt for the moment superstitious- as if I were sitting in the room with something uncanny.

'Jane, what are you doing?'

'Learning German.'

'I want you to give up German and learn Hindostanee.'

'You are not in earnest?'

'In such earnest that I must have it so: and I will tell you why.'

He then went on to explain that Hindostanee was the language he was himself at present studying; that, as he advanced, he was apt to forget the commencement; that it would assist him greatly to have a pupil with whom he might again and again go over the elements, and so fix them thoroughly in his mind; that his choice had hovered for some time between me and his sisters; but that he had fixed on me because he saw I could sit at a task the longest of the three. Would I do him this favour? I should not, perhaps, have to make the sacrifice long, as it wanted now barely three months to his departure.

St. John was not a man to be lightly refused: you felt that every impression made on him, either for pain or pleasure, was deep-graved and permanent. I consented. When Diana and Mary returned, the former found her scholar transferred from her to her brother: she laughed, and both she and Mary agreed that St. John should never have persuaded them to such a step. He answered quietly-

'I know it.'

I found him a very patient, very forbearing, and yet an exacting master: he expected me to do a great deal; and when I fulfilled his expectations, he, in his own way, fully testified his approbation.

By degrees, he acquired a certain influence over me that took away my liberty of mind: his praise and notice were more restraining than his indifference. I could no longer talk or laugh freely when he was by, because a tiresomely importunate instinct reminded me that vivacity (at least in me) was distasteful to him. I was so fully aware that only serious moods and occupations were acceptable, that in his presence every effort to sustain or follow any other became vain: I fell under a freezing spell. When he said 'go,' I went; 'come,' I came; 'do this,' I did it. But I did not love my servitude: I wished, many a time, he had continued to neglect me.

One evening when, at bedtime, his sisters and I stood round him, bidding him good-night, he kissed each of them, as was his custom; and, as was equally his custom, he gave me his hand. Diana, who chanced to be in a frolicsome humour (she was not painfully controlled by his will; for hers, in another way, was as strong), exclaimed- 'St. John! you used to call Jane your third sister, but you don't treat her as such: you should kiss her too.'

She pushed me towards him. I thought Diana very provoking, and felt uncomfortably confused; and while I was thus thinking and feeling, St. John bent his head; his Greek face was brought to a level with mine, his eyes questioned my eyes piercingly- he kissed me. There are no such things as marble kisses or ice kisses, or I should say my ecclesiastical cousin's salute belonged to one of these classes; but there may be experiment kisses, and his was an experiment kiss. When given, he viewed me to learn the result; it was not striking: I am sure I did not blush; perhaps I might have turned a little pale, for I felt as if this kiss were a seal affixed to my fetters. He never omitted the ceremony afterwards, and the gravity and quiescence with which I underwent it, seemed to invest it for him with a certain charm.

As for me, I daily wished more to please him; but to do so, I felt daily more and more that I must disown half my nature, stifle half my faculties, wrest my tastes from their original bent, force myself to the adoption of pursuits for which I had no natural vocation. He wanted to train me to an elevation I could never reach; it racked me hourly to aspire to the standard he uplifted. The thing was as impossible as to mould my irregular features to his correct and classic pattern, to give to my changeable green eyes the sea-blue tint and solemn lustre of his own.

Not his ascendancy alone, however, held me in thrall at present. Of late it had been easy enough for me to look sad: a cankering evil sat in my heart and drained my happiness at its source- the evil of suspense.

Perhaps you think I had forgotten Mr. Rochester, reader, amidst these changes of place and fortune. Not for a moment. His idea was still with me, because it was not a vapour sunshine could disperse, nor a sand-traced effigy storms could wash away; it was a name graven on a tablet, fated to last as long as the marble it inscribed. The craving to know what had become of him followed me everywhere; when I was at Morton, I re-entered my cottage every evening to think of that; and now at Moor House, I sought my bedroom each night to brood over it.

In the course of my necessary correspondence with Mr. Briggs about the will, I had inquired if he knew anything of Mr. Rochester's present residence and state of health; but, as St. John had conjectured, he was quite ignorant of all concerning him. I then wrote to Mrs. Fairfax, entreating information on the subject. I had calculated with certainty on this step answering my end: I felt sure it would elicit an early answer. I was astonished when a fortnight passed without reply; but when two months wore away, and day after day the post arrived and brought nothing for me, I fell a prey to the keenest anxiety.

I wrote again: there was a chance of my first letter having missed.

Renewed hope followed renewed effort: it shone like the former for some weeks, then, like it, it faded, flickered: not a line, not a word reached me. When half a year wasted in vain expectancy, my hope died out, and then I felt dark indeed.

A fine spring shone round me, which I could not enjoy. Summer approached; Diana tried to cheer me: she said I looked ill, and wished to accompany me to the sea-side. This St. John opposed; he said I did not want dissipation, I wanted employment; my present life was too purposeless, I required an aim; and, I suppose, by way of supplying deficiencies, he prolonged still further my lessons in Hindostanee, and grew more urgent in requiring their accomplishment: and I, like a fool, never thought of resisting him- I could not resist him.

One day I had come to my studies in lower spirits than usual; the ebb was occasioned by a poignantly felt disappointment. Hannah had told me in the morning there was a letter for me, and when I went down to take it, almost certain that the long-looked-for tidings were vouchsafed me at last, I found only an unimportant note from Mr. Briggs on business. The bitter check had wrung from me some tears; and now, as I sat poring over the crabbed characters and flourishing tropes of an Indian scribe, my eyes filled again.

St. John called me to his side to read; in attempting to do this my voice failed me: words were lost in sobs. He and I were the only occupants of the parlour: Diana was practising her music in the drawing-room, Mary was gardening- it was a very fine May day, clear, sunny, and breezy. My companion expressed no surprise at this emotion, nor did he question me as to its cause; he only said-

'We will wait a few minutes, Jane, till you are more composed.' And while I smothered the paroxysm with all haste, he sat calm and patient, leaning on his desk, and looking like a physician watching with the eye of science an expected and fully understood crisis in a patient's malady. Having stifled my sobs, wiped my eyes, and muttered something about not being very well that morning, I resumed my task, and succeeded in completing it. St. John put away my books and his, locked his desk, and said-

'Now, Jane, you shall take a walk; and with me.'

'I will call Diana and Mary.'

'No; I want only one companion this morning, and that must be you. Put on your things; go out by the kitchen-door: take the road towards the head of Marsh Glen: I will join you in a moment.'

I know no medium: I never in my life have known any medium in my dealings with positive, hard characters, antagonistic to my own, between absolute submission and determined revolt. I have always faithfully observed the one, up to the very moment of bursting, sometimes with volcanic vehemence, into the other; and as neither present circumstances warranted, nor my present mood inclined me to mutiny, I observed careful obedience to St. John's directions; and in ten minutes I was treading the wild track of the glen, side by side with him.

The breeze was from the west: it came over the hills, sweet with scents of heath and rush; the sky was of stainless blue; the stream descending the ravine, swelled with past spring rains, poured along plentiful and clear, catching golden gleams from the sun, and sapphire tints from the firmament. As we advanced and left the track, we trod a soft turf, mossy fine and emerald green, minutely enamelled with a tiny white flower, and spangled with a star-like yellow blossom: the hills, meantime, shut us quite in; for the glen, towards its head, wound to their very core.

'Let us rest here,' said St. John, as we reached the first stragglers of a battalion of rocks, guarding a sort of pass, beyond which the beck rushed down a waterfall; and where, still a little farther, the mountain shook off turf and flower, had only heath for raiment and crag for gem- where it exaggerated the wild to the savage, and exchanged the fresh for the frowning- where it guarded the forlorn hope of solitude, and a last refuge for silence.

I took a seat: St. John stood near me. He looked up the pass and down the hollow; his glance wandered away with the stream, and returned to traverse the unclouded heaven which coloured it: he removed his hat, let the breeze stir his hair and kiss his brow. He seemed in communion with the genius of the haunt: with his eye he bade farewell to something.

'And I shall see it again,' he said aloud, 'in dreams when I sleep by the Ganges: and again in a more remote hour- when another slumber overcomes me- on the shore of a darker stream!'

Strange words of a strange love! An austere patriot's passion for his fatherland! He sat down; for half an hour we never spoke; neither he to me nor I to him: that interval past, he recommenced-

'Jane, I go in six weeks; I have taken my berth in an East Indiaman which sails on the 20th of June.'

'God will protect you; for you have undertaken His work,' I answered.

'Yes,' said he, 'there is my glory and joy. I am the servant of an infallible Master. I am not going out under human guidance, subject to the defective laws and erring control of my feeble fellow-worms: my king, my lawgiver, my captain, is the All-perfect. It seems strange to me that all round me do not burn to enlist under the same banner,- to join in the same enterprise.'

'All have not Your powers, and it would be folly for the feeble to wish to march with the strong.'

'I do not speak to the feeble, or think of them: I address only such as are worthy of the work, and competent to accomplish it.'

'Those are few in number, and difficult to discover.'

'You say truly; but when found, it is right to stir them up- to urge and exhort them to the effort- to show them what their gifts are, and why they were given- to speak Heaven's message in their ear,- to offer them, direct from God, a place in the ranks of His chosen.'

'If they are really qualified for the task, will not their own hearts be the first to inform them of it?'

I felt as if an awful charm was framing round and gathering over me: I trembled to hear some fatal word spoken which would at once declare and rivet the spell.

'And what does your heart say?' demanded St. John.

'My heart is mute- my heart is mute,' I answered, struck and thrilled.

'Then I must speak for it,' continued the deep, relentless voice.

'Jane, come with me to India: come as my helpmeet and fellow-labourer.'

The glen and sky spun round: the hills heaved! It was as if I had heard a summons from Heaven- as if a visionary messenger, like him of Macedonia, had enounced, 'Come over and help us!' But I was no apostle,- I could not behold the herald,- I could not receive his call.

'Oh, St. John!' I cried, 'have some mercy!'

I appealed to one who, in the discharge of what he believed his duty, knew neither mercy nor remorse. He continued-

'God and nature intended you for a missionary's wife. It is not personal, but mental endowments they have given you: you are formed for labour, not for love. A missionary's wife you must- shall be.

You shall be mine: I claim you- not for my pleasure, but for my Sovereign's service.'

'I am not fit for it: I have no vocation,' I said.

He had calculated on these first objections: he was not irritated by them. Indeed, as he leaned back against the crag behind him, folded his arms on his chest, and fixed his countenance, I saw he was prepared for a long and trying opposition, and had taken in a stock of patience to last him to its close- resolved, however, that that close should be conquest for him.

'Humility, Jane,' said he, 'is the groundwork of Christian virtues: you say right that you are not fit for the work. Who is fit for it? Or who, that ever was truly called, believed himself worthy of the summons? I, for instance, am but dust and ashes. With St. Paul, I acknowledge myself the chiefest of sinners; but I do not suffer this sense of my personal vileness to daunt me. I know my Leader: that He is just as well as mighty; and while He has chosen a feeble instrument to perform a great task, He will, from the boundless stores of His providence, supply the inadequacy of the means to the end. Think like me, Jane- trust like me. It is the Rock of Ages I ask you to lean on: do not doubt but it will bear the weight of your human weakness.'

'I do not understand a missionary life: I have never studied missionary labours.'

'There I, humble as I am, can give you the aid you want: I can set you your task from hour to hour; stand by you always; help you from moment to moment. This I could do in the beginning: soon (for I know your powers) you would be as strong and apt as myself, and would not require my help.'

'But my powers- where are they for this undertaking? I do not feel them. Nothing speaks or stirs in me while you talk. I am sensible of no light kindling- no life quickening- no voice counselling or cheering. Oh, I wish I could make you see how much my mind is at this moment like a rayless dungeon, with one shrinking fear fettered in its depths- the fear of being persuaded by you to attempt what I cannot accomplish!'

'I have an answer for you- hear it. I have watched you ever since we first met: I have made you my study for ten months. I have proved you in that time by sundry tests: and what have I seen and elicited?

In the village school I found you could perform well, punctually, uprightly, labour uncongenial to your habits and inclinations; I saw you could perform it with capacity and tact: you could win while you controlled. In the calm with which you learnt you had become suddenly rich, I read a mind clear of the vice of Demas:- lucre had no undue power over you. In the resolute readiness with which you cut your wealth into four shares, keeping but one to yourself, and relinquishing the three others to the claim of abstract justice, I recognised a soul that revelled in the flame and excitement of sacrifice. In the tractability with which, at my wish, you forsook a study in which you were interested, and adopted another because it interested me; in the untiring assiduity with which you have since persevered in it- in the unflagging energy and unshaken temper with which you have met its difficulties- I acknowledge the complement of the qualities I seek. Jane, you are docile, diligent, disinterested, faithful, constant, and courageous; very gentle, and very heroic: cease to mistrust yourself- I can trust you unreservedly. As a conductress of Indian schools, and a helper amongst Indian women, your assistance will be to me invaluable.'

My iron shroud contracted round me; persuasion advanced with slow, sure step. Shut my eyes as I would, these last words of his succeeded in making the way, which had seemed blocked up, comparatively clear. My work, which had appeared so vague, so hopelessly diffuse, condensed itself as he proceeded, and assumed a definite form under his shaping hand. He waited for an answer. I demanded a quarter of an hour to think, before I again hazarded a reply.

'Very willingly,' he rejoined; and rising, he strode a little distance up the pass, threw himself down on a swell of heath, and there lay still.

'I can do what he wants me to do: I am forced to see and acknowledge that,' I meditated,- 'that is, if life be spared me. But I feel mine is not the existence to be long protracted under an Indian sun. What then? He does not care for that: when my time came to die, he would resign me, in all serenity and sanctity, to the God who gave me. The case is very plain before me. In leaving England, I should leave a loved but empty land- Mr. Rochester is not there; and if he were, what is, what can that ever be to me? My business is to live without him now: nothing so absurd, so weak as to drag on from day to day, as if I were waiting some impossible change in circumstances, which might reunite me to him. Of course (as St. John once said) I must seek another interest in life to replace the one lost: is not the occupation he now offers me truly the most glorious man can adopt or God assign? Is it not, by its noble cares and sublime results, the one best calculated to fill the void left by uptorn affections and demolished hopes? I believe I must say, Yes- and yet I shudder. Alas! If I join St. John, I abandon half myself: if I go to India, I go to premature death. And how will the interval between leaving England for India, and India for the grave, be filled? Oh, I know well! That, too, is very clear to my vision. By straining to satisfy St. John till my sinews ache, I shall satisfy him- to the finest central point and farthest outward circle of his expectations. If I do go with him- if I do make the sacrifice he urges, I will make it absolutely: I will throw all on the altar- heart, vitals, the entire victim. He will never love me; but he shall approve me; I will show him energies he has not yet seen, resources he has never suspected. Yes, I can work as hard as he can, and with as little grudging.

'Consent, then, to his demand is possible: but for one item- one dreadful item. It is- that he asks me to be his wife, and has no more of a husband's heart for me than that frowning giant of a rock, down which the stream is foaming in yonder gorge. He prizes me as a soldier would a good weapon, and that is all. Unmarried to him, this would never grieve me; but can I let him complete his calculations- coolly put into practice his plans- go through the wedding ceremony?

Can I receive from him the bridal ring, endure all the forms of love (which I doubt not he would scrupulously observe) and know that the spirit was quite absent? Can I bear the consciousness that every endearment he bestows is a sacrifice made on principle? No: such a martyrdom would be monstrous. I will never undergo it. As his sister, I might accompany him- not as his wife: I will tell him so.'

I looked towards the knoll: there he lay, still as a prostrate column; his face turned to me: his eye beaming watchful and keen. He started to his feet and approached me.

'I am ready to go to India, if I may go free.'

'Your answer requires a commentary,' he said; 'it is not clear.'

'You have hitherto been my adopted brother- I, your adopted sister: let us continue as such: you and I had better not marry.'

He shook his head. 'Adopted fraternity will not do in this case. If you were my real sister it would be different: I should take you, and seek no wife. But as it is, either our union must be consecrated and sealed by marriage, or it cannot exist: practical obstacles oppose themselves to any other plan. Do you not see it, Jane? Consider a moment- your strong sense will guide you.'

I did consider; and still my sense, such as it was, directed me only to the fact that we did not love each other as man and wife should: and therefore it inferred we ought not to marry. I said so.

'St. John,' I returned, 'I regard you as a brother- you, me as a sister: so let us continue.'

'We cannot- we cannot,' he answered, with short, sharp determination: 'it would not do. You have said you will go with me to India: remember- you have said that.'

'Conditionally.'

'Well- well. To the main point- the departure with me from England, the co-operation with me in my future labours- you do not object.

You have already as good as put your hand to the plough: you are too consistent to withdraw it. You have but one end to keep in view- how the work you have undertaken can best be done. Simplify your complicated interests, feelings, thoughts, wishes, aims; merge all considerations in one purpose: that of fulfilling with effect- with power- the mission of your great Master. To do so, you must have a coadjutor: not a brother- that is a loose tie- but a husband. I, too, do not want a sister: a sister might any day be taken from me.

I want a wife: the sole helpmeet I can influence efficiently in life, and retain absolutely till death.'

I shuddered as he spoke: I felt his influence in my marrow- his hold on my limbs.

'Seek one elsewhere than in me, St. John: seek one fitted to you.'

'One fitted to my purpose, you mean- fitted to my vocation. Again I tell you it is not the insignificant private individual- the mere man, with the man's selfish senses- I wish to mate: it is the missionary.'

'And I will give the missionary my energies- it is all he wants- but not myself: that would be only adding the husk and shell to the kernel. For them he has no use: I retain them.'

'You cannot- you ought not. Do you think God will be satisfied with half an oblation? Will He accept a mutilated sacrifice? It is the cause of God I advocate: it is under His standard I enlist you. I cannot accept on His behalf a divided allegiance: it must be entire.'

'Oh! I will give my heart to God,' I said. 'You do not want it.'

I will not swear, reader, that there was not something of repressed sarcasm both in the tone in which I uttered this sentence, and in the feeling that accompanied it. I had silently feared St. John till now, because I had not understood him. He had held me in awe, because he had held me in doubt. How much of him was saint, how much mortal, I could not heretofore tell: but revelations were being made in this conference: the analysis of his nature was proceeding before my eyes. I saw his fallibilities: I comprehended them. I understood that, sitting there where I did, on the bank of heath, and with that handsome form before me, I sat at the feet of a man, erring as I. The veil fell from his hardness and despotism. Having felt in him the presence of these qualities, I felt his imperfection and  took courage. I was with an equal- one with whom I might argue- one whom, if I saw good, I might resist.

He was silent after I had uttered the last sentence, and I presently risked an upward glance at his countenance. His eye, bent on me, expressed at once stern surprise and keen inquiry. 'Is she sarcastic, and sarcastic to me!' it seemed to say. 'What does this signify?'

'Do not let us forget that this is a solemn matter,' he said ere long; 'one of which we may neither think nor talk lightly without sin.

I trust, Jane, you are in earnest when you say you will give your heart to God: it is all I want. Once wrench your heart from man, and fix it on your Maker, the advancement of that Maker's spiritual kingdom on earth will be your chief delight and endeavour; you will be ready to do at once whatever furthers that end. You will see what impetus would be given to your efforts and mine by our physical and mental union in marriage: the only union that gives a character of permanent conformity to the destinies and designs of human beings; and, passing over all minor caprices- all trivial difficulties and delicacies of feeling- all scruple about the degree, kind, strength or tenderness of mere personal inclination- you will hasten to enter into that union at once.'

'Shall I?' I said briefly; and I looked at his features,  beautiful in their harmony, but strangely formidable in their still severity; at his brow, commanding but not open; at his eyes, bright and deep and searching, but never soft; at his tall imposing figure; and fancied myself in idea his wife. Oh! it would never do! As his curate, his comrade, all would be right: I would cross oceans with him in that capacity; toil under Eastern suns, in Asian deserts with him in that office; admire and emulate his courage and devotion and vigour; accommodate quietly to his masterhood; smile undisturbed at his ineradicable ambition; discriminate the Christian from the man: profoundly esteem the one, and freely forgive the other. I should suffer often, no doubt, attached to him only in this capacity: my body would be under rather a stringent yoke, but my heart and mind would be free. I should still have my unblighted self to turn to: my natural unenslaved feelings with which to communicate in moments of loneliness. There would be recesses in my mind which would be only mine, to which he never came, and sentiments growing there fresh and sheltered which his austerity could never blight, nor his measured warrior-march trample down: but as his wife- at his side always, and always restrained, and always checked- forced to keep the fire of my nature continually low, to compel it to burn inwardly and never utter a cry, though the imprisoned flame consumed vital after vital- this would be unendurable.

'St. John!' I exclaimed, when I had got so far in my meditation.

'Well?' he answered icily.

'I repeat I freely consent to go with you as your fellow-missionary, but not as your wife; I cannot marry you and become part of you.'

'A part of me you must become,' he answered steadily: 'otherwise the whole bargain is void. How can I, a man not yet thirty, take out with me to India a girl of nineteen, unless she be married to me?

How can we be for ever together- sometimes in solitudes, sometimes amidst savage tribes- and unwed?'

'Very well,' I said shortly; 'under the circumstances, quite as well as if I were either your real sister, or a man and a clergyman like yourself.'

'It is known that you are not my sister; I cannot introduce you as such: to attempt it would be to fasten injurious suspicions on us both. And for the rest, though you have a man's vigorous brain, you have a woman's heart and- it would not do.'

'It would do,' I affirmed with some disdain, 'perfectly well. I have a woman's heart, but not where you are concerned; for you I have only a comrade's constancy; a fellow-soldier's frankness, fidelity, fraternity, if you like; a neophyte's respect and submission to his hierophant: nothing more- don't fear.'

'It is what I want,' he said, speaking to himself; 'it is just what I want. And there are obstacles in the way: they must be hewn down.

Jane, you would not repent marrying me- be certain of that; we must be married. I repeat it: there is no other way; and undoubtedly enough of love would follow upon marriage to render the union right even in your eyes.'

'I scorn your idea of love,' I could not help saying, as I rose up and stood before him, leaning my back against the rock. 'I scorn the counterfeit sentiment you offer: yes, St. John, and I scorn you when you offer it.'

He looked at me fixedly, compressing his well-cut lips while he did so. Whether he was incensed or surprised, or what, it was not easy to tell: he could command his countenance thoroughly.

'I scarcely expected to hear that expression from you,' he said: 'I think I have done and uttered nothing to deserve scorn.'

I was touched by his gentle tone, and overawed by his high, calm mien.

'Forgive me the words, St. John; but it is your own fault that I have been roused to speak so unguardedly. You have introduced a topic on which our natures are at variance- a topic we should never discuss: the very name of love is an apple of discord between us. If the reality were required, what should we do? How should we feel? My dear cousin, abandon your scheme of marriage- forget it.'

'No,' said he; 'it is a long-cherished scheme, and the only one which can secure my great end: but I shall urge you no further at present. To-morrow, I leave home for Cambridge: I have many friends there to whom I should wish to say farewell. I shall be absent a fortnight- take that space of time to consider my offer: and do not forget that if you reject it, it is not me you deny, but God.

Through my means, He opens to you a noble career; as my wife only can you enter upon it. Refuse to be my wife, and you limit yourself for ever to a track of selfish ease and barren obscurity. Tremble lest in that case you should be numbered with those who have denied the faith, and are worse than infidels!'

He had done. Turning from me, he once more 'Looked to river, looked to hill.'

But this time his feelings were all pent in his heart: I was not worthy to hear them uttered. As I walked by his side homeward, I read well in his iron silence all he felt towards me: the disappointment of an austere and despotic nature, which has met resistance where it expected submission- the disapprobation of a cool, inflexible judgment, which has detected in another feelings and views in which it has no power to sympathise: in short, as a man, he would have wished to coerce me into obedience: it was only as a sincere Christian he bore so patiently with my perversity, and allowed so long a space for reflection and repentance.

That night, after he had kissed his sisters, he thought proper to forget even to shake hands with me, but left the room in silence. I- who, though I had no love, had much friendship for him- was hurt by the marked omission: so much hurt that tears started to my eyes.

'I see you and St. John have been quarrelling, Jane,' said Diana, 'during your walk on the moor. But go after him; he is now lingering in the passage expecting you- he will make it up.'

I have not much pride under such circumstances: I would always rather be happy than dignified; and I ran after him- he stood at the foot of the stairs.

'Good-night, St. John,' said I.

'Good-night, Jane,' he replied calmly.

'Then shake hands,' I added.

What a cold, loose touch he impressed on my fingers! He was deeply displeased by what had occurred that day; cordiality would not warm, nor tears move him. No happy reconciliation was to be had with him- no cheering smile or generous word: but still the Christian was patient and placid; and when I asked him if he forgave me, he answered that he was not in the habit of cherishing the remembrance of vexation; that he had nothing to forgive, not having been offended.

And with that answer he left me. I would much rather he had knocked me down.一切都办妥的时候已临近圣诞节了，普天下人的假日季节就要到来。于是我关闭了莫尔顿学校，并注意自己不空着手告别。交上好运不但使人心境愉快，而且出手也格外大方了。我们把大宗所得分些给别人，是为自己不平常的激动之情提供一个渲泄的机会。我早就愉快地感到，我的很多农村学生都喜欢我。离别时，这种感觉得到了证实。她们的感情很强烈，也很外露。我发现自己确实已在她们纯扑的心灵中占据了一个位置，我深为满意。我答应以后每周都去看她们，在学校中给她们上一小时课。

里弗斯先生来了——看到现在这些班级的六十个学生，在我前面鱼贯而出，看我锁上了门——这时我手拿钥匙站着，跟五六个最好的学生，特意交换几句告别的话。这些年轻姑娘之正派、可敬、谦逊和有知识，堪与英国农民阶层中的任何人媲美。这话很有份量，因为英国农民同欧洲的任何农民相比较，毕竟是最有教养、最有礼貌、最为自尊的。打从那时以来，我见过一些paysannes和Bauerinnen，比之莫尔顿的姑娘，就是最出色的也显得无知、粗俗和糊涂。

“你认为自己这一时期的努力已经得到报偿了吗？”她们走掉后里弗斯先生问。“你觉得在自己风华正茂的岁月，做些真正的好事是一种愉快吗？”

“毫无疑问。”

“而你还只辛苦了几个月，如果你的一生致力于提高自己的民族岂不是很值得吗？”“是呀，”我说，“但我不能永远这么干下去。我不但要培养别人的能力，而且也要发挥自己的能力。现在就得发挥。别让我再把身心都投进学校，我已经摆脱，一心只想度假了。”

他神情很严肃。“怎么啦？你突然显得那么急切，这是什么意思？你打算干什么呢？”

“要活跃起来，要尽我所能活跃起来，首先我得求你让汉娜走，另找别人服侍你。”

“你要她吗？”

“是的。让她同我一起去沼泽居。黛安娜和玛丽一周之后就回家，我要把一切都拾掇得整整齐齐，迎接她们到来。”

“我理解。我还以为你要去远游呢。不过这样也好，汉娜跟你走。”

“那么通知她明天以前作好准备。这是教室钥匙。明天早上我会把小屋的钥匙交给你。”

他拿了钥匙。“你高高兴兴地歇手了，”他说，“我并不十分理解你轻松的心情，因为我不知道你放弃这项工作后，要找什么工作来代替。现在你生活中的目标、目的和雄心是什么？”

“我的第一个目标是清理（你理解这个词的全部力量吗？），把沼泽居从房间到地窖清理一遍；第二个目标是用蜂蜡、油和数不清的布头把房子擦得锃亮；第三个目标是按数学的精密度来安排每一件椅子、桌子、床和地毯，再后我要差不多耗尽你的煤和泥炭，把每个房间都生起熊熊的炉火来。最后，你妹妹们预计到达之前的两天，汉娜和我要大打其鸡蛋，细拣葡萄干，研磨调料，做圣诞饼，剁肉馅饼料子，隆重操持其他烹饪习俗。对你这样的门外汉，连语言也难以充分表达这番忙碌。总之，我的目的是下星期四黛安娜和玛丽到家之前，使一切都安排得妥妥贴贴。我的雄心就是她们到时给予最理想的欢迎。”

圣.约翰微微一笑，仍不满意。

“眼下说来这都不错，”他说，“不过认真地说，我相信第一阵快活的冲动过后，你的眼界不会局限于家人的亲热和家庭的欢乐。”

“人世间最好的东西，”我打断了他说。

“不，简，这个世界不是享乐的天地，别去想把它变成这样，或者变成休憩的乐园，不要懈怠懒惰。”

“恰恰相反，我的意思是要大忙一番。”

“简，我暂时谅解你，给你两个月的宽限，充分享受你新职位的乐趣，也为最近找到亲戚而陶醉一番。但以后，我希望你开始把眼光放远些，不要光盯着沼泽居和莫尔顿，盯着姐妹圈子，盯着自己的宁静，盯着文明富裕所带来的肉体享受。我希望到那时你的充沛精力会再次让你不安。”

我惊讶地看着他。“圣.约翰，”我说，“我认为你这样说是近乎恶毒了。我本希望象女皇那样称心如意，而你却要弄得我不得安宁！你安的什么心？”

“我的用心是要使上帝赋予你的才能发挥作用，有一天他肯定会对此严加盘问的。简，我会密切而焦急地注意你——我提醒你——要竭力抑制你对庸俗的家庭乐趣所过分流露的热情。不要那么苦苦依恋肉体的关系，把你的坚毅和热诚留给一项适当的事业，不要将它浪费在平凡而短暂的事情上。听见了吗，简？”

“听见了，就仿佛你在说希腊文。我觉得我有充分理由感到愉快，我一定会愉快的。再见！”

我在沼泽居很愉快，也干得很起劲，汉娜也一样，她看着我在一片混乱的房子里会忙得乐不可支，看着我会那么扫呀，摔呀，清理呀，烧呀，忙个不停，简直看得入了迷。真的，过了那么一两天最乱的日子后，我们很高兴地从自己所制造的混乱中，逐步恢复了秩序。在此之前我上了Ｓ城，购买了一些新家具，我的表兄表姐们全权委托我，随我高兴对房间的布置作什么改动，并且拿出一笔钱来派这个用处。普通的起居室和寝室我大体保持原样，因为我知道，黛安娜和玛丽又一次看到朴实的桌子、椅子和床，会比看到最时髦的整修更愉快。不过赋予某些新意还是必要的，使她们回家的时候有一种我所希望的生气。添上黑色漂亮的新地毯、新窗帘、几件经过精心挑选的、古色古香的瓷器和铜器摆设，还有新床罩、镜子和化妆台上的化妆盒等等，便达到了这一目的。它们看上去鲜艳而不耀眼。一间空余的客厅和寝室，用旧红木家具和大红套子重新布置了一下。我在过道上铺了帆布，楼梯上铺了地毯。一切都完成以后，我想在这个季节里沼泽居既是室内光亮舒适的典范，又是室外寒冬枯叶、荒芜凄凉的标本。

不平凡的星期四终于到来了。估计她们约摸天黑时到。黄昏前楼上楼下都生了火，厨房里清清爽爽。汉娜和我都穿戴好了，一切都已收拾停当。

圣.约翰先到。我求他等全都布置好了再进房子。说真的，光想想四壁之内又肮脏又琐碎乱哄哄的样子，足以吓得他躲得远远的。他看见我在厨房里，照管着正在烘烤的茶点用饼，便走近炉子问道，“你是不是终于对女仆的活儿感到满意了？”作为回答，我邀请他陪我全面察看一下我劳动的成果。我好不容易说动他到房子里去走一走，他也不过是往我替他打开的门里瞧了一瞧。他楼上楼下转了一圈后说，准是费了很大一番劳累和麻烦，才能在那么短时间内带来如此可观的变化。但他只字未提住处面貌改变后给他带来了什么愉快。

他的沉默很使我扫兴。我想也许这些更动扰乱了他所珍惜的某些往事的联想。我问他是不是这么回事，当然语气有点儿灰心丧气。

“一点也没有。相反，我认为你悉心考虑了每种联想。说真的，我担心你在这上面花的心思太多了，不值得。譬如说吧，你花了多少时间来考虑布置这间房间？——随便问一下，你知道某本书在哪儿吗？”

我把书架上的那本书指给他看。他取了下来，像往常一样躲到窗子凹陷处，读了起来。

此刻，我不大喜欢这种举动，读者。圣.约翰是个好人，但我开始觉得他说自己冷酷无情时，他说的是真话。人的美德和人生的欢乐对他没有吸引力——平静的享受也不具魅力。他活着纯粹是为了向往——当然是向往优秀伟大的东西。但他永远不会休息，也不赞成周围的人休息。当我瞧着他白石一般苍白平静的高耸额头——瞧着他陷入沉思的漂亮面容时，我立刻明白他很难成为一个好丈夫，做他的妻子是件够折磨人的事。我恍然领悟到他对奥利弗小姐之爱的实质是什么。我同意他的看法，这不过是一种感官的爱。我理解他怎么会因为这种爱给他带来的狂热影响而鄙视自己，怎么会希望抑杀和毁灭它，而不相信爱会永远有助于他或她的幸福。我明白他是一块大自然可以从中雕刻出英雄来的材料——基督教徒和异教徒英雄——法典制定者、政治家、征服者。他是可以寄托巨大利益的坚强堡垒，但是在火炉旁边，却总是一根冰冷笨重的柱子，阴郁沉闷，格格不入。

“这间客厅不是他的天地，”我沉思道：“喜马拉雅山谷或者南非丛林，甚至瘟疫流行的几内亚海岸的沼泽，才是他用武之地。他满可以放弃宁静的家庭生活。家庭不是他活动的环境，在这里他的官能会变得迟钝，难以施展或显露。在充满斗争和危险的环境中——显示勇气，发挥能力，考验韧性的地方，——他才会像一个首领和长官那样说活和行动。而在火炉边，一个快乐的孩子也会比他强。他选择传教士的经历是正确的——现在我明白了”。

“她们来啦！她们来啦！”汉娜砰地打开客厅门嚷道。与此同时，老卡罗高兴地吠叫起来。我跑了出去，此刻天已经黑了，但听得见嘎嘎的车轮声。汉娜立刻点上了提灯。车子在小门边停了下来，车夫开了门，一位熟悉的身躯走了出来，接着又出来了另一位。刹那之间我的面孔便埋进了她的帽子底下，先是触碰了玛丽柔软的脸，随后是黛安娜飘洒的卷发。她们大笑着——吻了吻我——随后吻了汉娜，拍了拍卡罗，卡罗乐得差点发了疯。她们急着问是否一切都好，得到肯定的回答后，便匆匆进了屋。

他们被惠特克劳斯到这里的长途颠簸弄得四肢僵硬，被夜间的寒气冻坏了。但是见了令人振奋的火光便绽开了愉快的笑靥。车夫和汉娜忙着把箱子拿进屋的时候，她们问起了圣.约翰。这时圣.约翰从客厅里走了出来。她们俩立刻搂住了他的脖子，他静静地给了各人一个吻，低声地说了几句欢迎的话，站了一会儿让她们同他交谈，随后便说估计她们很快会同他在客厅会面，像躲进避难所一样钻进了客厅。

我点了蜡烛好让她们上楼去，但黛安娜得先周到地叮嘱车夫，随后两人在我后面跟着。她们对房间的整修和装饰，对新的帷幔、新的地毯和色泽鲜艳的瓷花瓶都很满意，慷慨地表示了感激。我感到很高兴，我的安排完全符合她们的愿望，我所做的为她们愉快的家园之行增添了生动的魅力。

那是个可爱的夜晚。兴高彩烈的表姐们，又是叙述又是议论，滔滔不绝，她们的畅谈掩盖了圣.约翰的沉默。看到妹妹们，他由衷地感到高兴，但是她们闪烁的热情，流动的喜悦都无法引起他的共鸣。那天的大事——就是黛安娜和玛丽的归来——谈他感到很愉快，但伴随而来快乐的喧哗，喋喋不休、欣喜万分的接待，使他感到厌倦。我明白他希望宁静的第二天快点到来。用完茶点后一个小时，那晚的欢乐到达了极致，这时却响起来了一阵敲门声，汉娜进来报告说，“一个可怜的少年来得真不是时候，要请里弗斯先生去看看她的母亲，她快要死了。”

“她住在哪儿，汉娜？”

“一直要到惠特克劳斯坡呢，差不多有四英里路，一路都是沼泽和青苔。”

“告诉他我就去。”

“先生，我想你还是别去好。天黑以后走这样的路是最糟糕的，整个沼泽地都没有路，而且又碰上了天气这么恶劣的晚上——风从来没有刮得那么大，你还是传个话，先生，明天上那儿去。”

但他已经在过道上了，披上了斗篷，没有反对，没有怨言，便出发了，那时候已经九点。他到了半夜才回来，尽管四肢冻僵，身子疲乏，却显得比出发时还愉快。他完成了一项职责，作了一次努力，感到自己有克己献身的魄力，自我感觉好了不少。

我担心接下来的一整周使他很不耐烦。那是圣诞周，我们不干正经事儿，却沉浸在家庭的欢闹之中。荒原的空气，家里的自由自在的气氛，生活富裕的曙光，对黛安娜和玛丽的心灵，犹如起死回生的长生不老药。从上午到下午，从下午到晚上，她们都寻欢作乐。她们总能谈个不休，她们的交谈机智、精辟、富有独创，对我的吸引力很大。我喜欢倾听，喜欢参与，甚过干一切别的事情。圣.约翰对我们的说笑并无非议，但避之不迭。他很少在家，他的教区大，人口分散，访问不同地区的贫苦人家，便成了每天的例行公事。

一天早晨吃早饭的时候，黛安娜闷闷不乐了一阵子后问道，“你的计划没有改变吗？”“没有改变，也不可