Jane Eyre

my bride's way; who might otherwise walk over her rather too emphatically. There's sense in the suggestion; not a doubt of it: Adèle, as you say, must go to school; and you, of course, must march straight to – the devil?«
    »I hope not, sir: but I must seek another situation somewhere.«
    »In course!« he exclaimed, with a twang of voice and a distortion of features equally fantastic and ludicrous. He looked at me some minutes.
    »And old Madam Reed, or the Misses, her daughters, will be solicited by you to seek a place, I suppose?«
    »No, sir; I am not on such terms with my relatives as would justify me in asking favours of them – but I shall advertise.«
    »You shall walk up the pyramids of Egypt!« he growled. »At your peril you advertise! I wish I had only offered you a sovereign instead of ten pounds. Give me back nine pounds, Jane; I've a use for it.«
    »And so have I, sir,« I returned, putting my hands and my purse behind me. »I could not spare the money on any account.«
    »Little niggard!« said he, »refusing me a pecuniary request! Give me five pounds, Jane.«
    »Not five shillings, sir; nor five pence.«
    »Just let me look at the cash.«
    »No, sir; you are not to be trusted.«
    »Jane!«
    »Sir?«
    »Promise me one thing.«
    »I'll promise you anything, sir, that I think I am likely to perform.«
    »Not to advertise: and to trust this quest of a situation to me. I'll find you one in time.«
    »I shall be glad so to do, sir, if you, in your turn, will promise that I and Adèle shall be both safe out of the house before your bride enters it.«
    »Very well! very well! I'll pledge my word on it. You go to-morrow, then?«
    »Yes, sir; early.«
    »Shall you come down to the drawing-room after dinner?«
    »No, sir, I must prepare for the journey.«
    »Then you and I must bid good-bye for a little while?«
    »I suppose so, sir.«
    »And how do people perform that ceremony of parting, Jane? Teach me; I'm not quite up to it.«
    »They say, Farewell; or any other form they prefer.«
    »Then say it.«
    »Farewell, Mr. Rochester, for the present.«
    »What must I say?«
    »The same, if you like, sir.«
    »Farewell, Miss Eyre, for the present: is that all?«
    »Yes.«
    »It seems stingy, to my notions, and dry, and unfriendly. I should like something else: a little addition to the rite. If one shook hands, for instance; but no, – that would not content me either. So you'll do no more than say Farewell, Jane?«
    »It is enough, sir: as much good-will may be conveyed in one hearty word as in many.«
    »Very likely; but it is blank and cool – ›farewell.‹«
    »How long is he going to stand with his back against that door?« I asked myself; »I want to commence my packing.« The dinner-bell rang, and suddenly away he bolted, without another syllable: I saw him no more during the day, and was off before he had risen in the morning.
    I reached the lodge at Gateshead about five o'clock in the afternoon of the first of May: I stepped in there before going up to the hall. It was very clean and neat: the ornamental windows were hung with little white curtains; the floor was spotless; the grate and fire-irons were burnished bright, and the fire burnt clear. Bessie sat on the hearth, nursing her last-born, and Robert and his sister played quietly in a corner.
    »Bless you! – I knew you would come!« exclaimed Mrs. Leaven, as I entered.
    »Yes, Bessie,« said I, after I had kissed her; »and I trust I am not too late. How is Mrs. Reed? – Alive still, I hope.«
    »Yes, she is alive; and more sensible and collected than she was. The doctor says she may linger a week or two yet; but he hardly thinks she will finally recover.«
    »Has she mentioned me lately?«
    »She was talking of you only this morning, and wishing you would come: but she is sleeping now; or was ten minutes ago, when I was up at the house. She generally lies in a kind of lethargy all the afternoon, and wakes up about six or seven. Will you rest yourself here an hour, Miss, and then I will go up with you?«
    Robert here entered, and Bessie laid her sleeping child in the cradle and went to welcome him: afterwards she insisted on my taking off my bonnet and having some tea; for she said I looked pale and tired. I was glad to accept her hospitality; and I submitted to be relieved of my travelling garb just as passively as I used to let her undress me when a child.
    Old times crowded fast back on me as I watched her bustling about – setting out