Jane Eyre

been married a year and a day, I will tell you; but not now. Are you satisfied, Jane? Do you accept my solution of the mystery?«
    I reflected, and in truth it appeared to me the only possible one: satisfied I was not, but to please him I endeavoured to appear so – relieved, I certainly did feel; so I answered him with a contented smile. And now, as it was long past one, I prepared to leave him.
    »Does not Sophie sleep with Adèle in the nursery?« he asked, as I lit my candle.
    »Yes, sir.«
    »And there is room enough in Adèle's little bed for you. You must share it with her to-night, Jane: it is no wonder that the incident you have related should make you nervous, and I would rather you did not sleep alone: promise me to go to the nursery.«
    »I shall be very glad to do so, sir.«
    »And fasten the door securely on the inside. Wake Sophie when you go up stairs, under pretence of requesting her to rouse you in good time to-morrow; for you must be dressed and have finished breakfast before eight. And now, no more sombre thoughts: chase dull care away, Janet. Don't you hear to what soft whispers the wind has fallen? and there is no more beating of rain against the window-panes: look here« (he lifted up the curtain) – »it is a lovely night!«
    It was. Half heaven was pure and stainless: the clouds, now trooping before the wind, which had shifted to the west, were filing off eastward in long, silvered columns. The moon shone peacefully.
    »Well,« said Mr. Rochester, gazing inquiringly into my eyes, »how is my Janet now?«
    »The night is serene, sir; and so am I.«
    »And you will not dream of separation and sorrow to-night; but of happy love and blissful union.«
    This prediction was but half fulfilled: I did not indeed dream of sorrow, but as little did I dream of joy; for I never slept at all. With little Adèle in my arms, I watched the slumber of childhood – so tranquil, so passionless, so innocent – and waited for the coming day: all my life was awake and astir in my frame: and as soon as the sun rose, I rose too. I remember Adèle clung to me as I left her: I remember I kissed her as I loosened her little hands from my neck; and I cried over her with strange emotion, and quitted her because I feared my sobs would break her still sound repose. She seemed the emblem of my past life; and he, I was now to array myself to meet, the dread, but adored, type of my unknown future day.
     
     
Chapter XXVI
    Sophie came at seven to dress me; she was very long indeed in accomplishing her task; so long that Mr. Rochester, grown, I suppose, impatient of my delay, sent up to ask why I did not come. She was just fastening my veil (the plain square of blond after all) to my hair with a brooch; I hurried from under her hands as soon as I could.
    »Stop!« she cried in French. »Look at yourself in the mirror: you have not taken one peep.«
    So I turned at the door: I saw a robed and veiled figure, so unlike my usual self that it seemed almost the image of a stranger. »Jane!« called a voice, and I hastened down. I was received at the foot of the stairs by Mr. Rochester.
    »Lingerer,« he said, »my brain is on fire with impatience; and you tarry so long!«
    He took me into the dining-room, surveyed me keenly all over, pronounced me »fair as a lily, and not only the pride of his life, but the desire of his eyes,« and then telling me he would give me but ten minutes to eat some breakfast, he rang the bell. One of his lately hired servants, a footman, answered it.
    »Is John getting the carriage ready?«
    »Yes, sir.«
    »Is the luggage brought down?«
    »They are bringing it down, sir.«
    »Go you to the church: see if Mr. Wood (the clergyman) and the clerk are there: return and tell me.«
    The church, as the reader knows, was but just beyond the gates; the footman soon returned.
    »Mr. Wood is in the vestry, sir, putting on his surplice.«
    »And the carriage?«
    »The horses are harnessing.«
    »We shall not want it to go to church; but it must be ready the moment we return: all the boxes and luggage arranged and strapped on, and the coachman in his seat.«
    »Yes, sir.«
    »Jane, are you ready?«
    I rose. There were no groomsmen, no bridesmaids, no relatives to wait for or marshal: none but Mr. Rochester and I. Mrs. Fairfax stood in the hall as we passed. I would fain have spoken to her, but my hand was held by a grasp of iron: I was hurried along by a stride I could hardly follow; and to look at Mr.