Джейн Эйр / Jane Eyre

“She says there is another unmarried young lady here, whom she wishes to speak to,” he said. He looked at me. “Miss Eyre, she must mean you.”

By now I was intrigued by what the others had said, and I was glad of the unexpected opportunity to gratify my curiosity. I slipped out of the room, unobserved by any eye, and closed the door behind me. I was a good deal interested and excited.

Chapter 20

It was silent in the library, where the gypsy was sitting in an armchair in the corner. She had on a red cloak, a black bonnet, and a handkerchief that was tied under her chin. I could not see much of her face, but when she glanced up at me, I could see that she was indeed very ugly. She had thick, heavy features, and hair on her cheeks.

“Well, and do you want your fortune told?” she asked, in a harsh voice.

“I don’t care about it, mother; you may please yourself, but I should warn you, I have no faith.”

“I expected such an answer of you,” she croaked. “You pretend you don’t care about things, but you do. You have secret desires and hopes. Don’t you, my dear?”

I smiled. “Perhaps.”

“Of course you do. And you can have the happiness you seek – it’s waiting for you – but you must reach for it, you must take it for yourself.”

“Since you can see the future,” I said, “perhaps you can answer me this. Is Mr. Rochester to be married?”

“Ah yes,” she said excitedly, “to the beautiful Miss Ingram. But he doesn’t have as much money as she thought. I told her that half an hour since, and her face fell. If she finds a richer man, she’ll drop him.”

“And what about me?” I said. “What does my future hold?”

“Let me look at your face, and I will read it,” she said, more gently, and I knelt down on the rug before her. She looked at me closely.

“There’s much to read here,” she said, turning my cheek in her rough hand. “An eye that flickers with fire, and sees clearly. A mouth that speaks what the brain conceives, but hides what the heart feels. It should smile more often. And a forehead, firm and calm, that speaks of reason and common sense. Whatever passions may burn within you, good judgement shall always have the last word.”

She was silent for a moment. “And that is how it shall be,” she said at last. “I must ignore passion, and stick to my plans. You do think I am doing the right thing, don’t you, Jane, in getting married?”

I stared at the gypsy in amazement. The voice had changed – it was much deeper and more relaxed.

Then Mr. Rochester reached up and pulled the hat and hankerchief from his face. I stared in shock.

“Can you forgive me, Jane?” he asked. He held out his hand again – how could I not have recognized it before? I saw, now, the ring he wore on his little finger – a ring I had seen a hundred times.

I got up and stepped away. “I don’t know,” I said.

I was racking my brains, wondering if I had embarrassed myself by anything I had said.

“Please, Jane,” he pleaded. “It was wrong of me. You have nothing to be ashamed of.” It was as if he really could read my mind. “I just wanted to know what… what did the others think? What did they say?”

But I was still in a state of shock. “I had better go,” I said hastily. “Dinner will be ready.” Then I suddenly remembered Mr. Mason. “Oh, are you aware, Mr. Rochester, that a stranger has arrived here since you left this morning?”

“A stranger! – no; who can it be? I expected no one; is he gone?”

“No; he said he had known you long and decided to wait until you returned.”

“Did he give his name?”

“His name is Mason, sir; and he comes from the West Indies; from Spanish Town, in Jamaica, I think.”

“Mason! – the West Indies!” The smile on Mr. Rochester’s lips froze. Apparently a spasm caught his breath.

“Sir?” I said, coming back to him. “Are you well? Can I do anything to help?”

“Jane, you offered me your shoulder once before; let me have it now.”

“Yes, sir, and my arm.”

He sat down, and made me sit beside him.

“Fetch me now, Jane, a glass of wine from the dining-room: they will be at supper there; and tell me if Mason is with them, and what he is doing.”

All guests, including Mason, were laughing and talking. I returned to Mr. Rochester and informed him about it. He drank wine, thanked me and went to join the party.

At a late hour I heard Mr. Rochester say, “This way, Mason; this is your room.”

The gay tones of his voice set my heart at ease. I was soon asleep.

Chapter 21

I had forgotten to draw my curtain, which I usually did, and when the moon, which was full that night, came around to the back of the house, it shone right into my room and woke me up. I climbed out of bed and went to the window, pausing for a moment in the still silence to admire the moon’s perfect, pale face in the sky.

Suddenly, a terrible, savage scream ripped the night apart. Good God! What a cry! It echoed the length of Thornfield Hall, then died away, leaving me fixed to the spot, my arm half-raised and trembling.

The scream had come from the attic room and the sounds of a struggle followed it.