Jane Eyre

on one side, removed out of the way, and coiled up as if afraid of being inadvertently trodden upon. Pilot pricked up his ears when I came in; then he jumped up with a yelp and a whine, and bounded towards me: he almost knocked the tray from my hands. I set it on the table; then patted him, and said softly, »Lie down!« Mr. Rochester turned mechanically to
see
what the commotion was: but as he
saw
nothing, he returned and sighed.
    »Give me the water, Mary,« he said.
    I approached him with the now only half-filled glass: Pilot followed me, still excited.
    »What is the matter?« he inquired.
    »Down, Pilot!« I again said. He checked the water on its way to his lips, and seemed to listen: he drank, and put the glass down. »This is you, Mary, is it not?«
    »Mary is in the kitchen,« I answered.
    He put out his hand with a quick gesture, but not seeing where I stood, he did not touch me. »Who is this? Who is this?« he demanded, trying, as it seemed, to
see
with those sightless eyes – unavailing and distressing attempt! »Answer me – speak again!« he ordered, imperiously and aloud.
    »Will you have a little more water, sir? I spilt half of what was in the glass,« I said.
    »
Who
is it?
What
is it? Who speaks?«
    »Pilot knows me, and John and Mary know I am here. I came only this evening,« I answered.
    »Great God! – what delusion has come over me? What sweet madness has seized me?«
    »No delusion – no madness: your mind, sir, is too strong for delusion, your health too sound for frenzy.«
    »And where is the speaker? Is it only a voice? Oh! I
cannot
see, but I must feel, or my heart will stop and my brain burst. Whatever – whoever you are – be perceptible to the touch or I cannot live!«
    He groped; I arrested his wandering hand, and prisoned it in both mine.
    »Her very fingers!« he cried; »her small, slight angers! If so, there must be more of her.«
    The muscular hand broke from my custody; my arm was seized, my shoulder – neck – waist – I was entwined and gathered to him.
    »Is it Jane?
What
is it? This is her shape – this is her size –«
    »And this her voice,« I added. »She is all here: her heart, too. God bless you, sir! I am glad to be so near you again.«
    »Jane Eyre! – Jane Eyre,« was all he said.
    »My dear master,« I answered, »I am Jane Eyre: I have found you out – I am come back to you.«
    »In truth? – in the flesh? My living Jane?«
    »You touch me, sir, – you hold me, and fast enough: I am not cold like a corpse, nor vacant like air, am I?«
    »My living darling! These are certainly her limbs, and these her features: but I cannot be so blest after all my misery. It is a dream: such dreams as I have had at night when I have clasped her once more to my heart, as I do now; and kissed her, as thus – and felt that she loved me, and trusted that she would not leave me.«
    »Which I never will, sir, from this day.«
    »Never will, says the vision? But I always woke and found it an empty mockery; and I was desolate and abandoned – my life dark, lonely, hopeless – my soul athirst and forbidden to drink – my heart famished and never to be fed. Gentle, soft dream, nestling in my arms now, you will fly, too; as your sisters have all fled before you: but kiss me before you go – embrace me, Jane.«
    »There, sir – and there!«
    I pressed my lips to his once brilliant and now rayless eyes – I swept his hair from his brow, and kissed that too. He suddenly seemed to rouse himself: the conviction of the reality of all this seized him.
    »It is you – is it, Jane? You are come back to me then?«
    »I am.«
    »And you do not lie dead in some ditch, under some stream? And you are not a pining outcast amongst strangers?«
    »No, sir; I am an independent woman now.«
    »Independent! What do you mean, Jane?«
    »My uncle in Madeira is dead, and he left me five thousand pounds.«
    »Ah, this is practical – this is real!« he cried: »I should never dream that. Besides, there is that peculiar voice of hers, so animating and piquant, as well as soft: it cheers my withered heart; it puts life into it. – What, Janet! Are you an independent woman? A rich woman?«
    »Quite rich, sir. If you won't let me live with you, I can build a house of my own close up to your door, and you may come and sit in my parlour when you want company of an evening.«
    »But as you are rich, Jane, you have now, no doubt, friends who will look after you, and not suffer you to devote