Chapter 42 'Magic in this hour'

1 The house of Ferndean was a building of moderate size, hidden deep in a wood. Mr Rochester had often spoken of it, and had sometimes gone there. His father had bought the property for the sake of the shooting. He would have let the house, but could find no one to rent it, because of its inconvenient and unhealthy position. It therefore remained unlived-in and unfurnished, except for two or three rooms fitted up for the use of the owner when he went there to shoot.

2 It was just before dark on an evening with dull sky, cold wind, and continual light rain. I dismissed the carriage and walked the last mile. Even when within a very short distance of the house, I could see nothing of it, because the trees grew so thick and dark around it.

3 At last my way opened, and I stood in a space of enclosed ground before the house, scarcely to be seen in the faint light. There were no flowers, no garden, and all was still, except for the gentle fall of the rain.

4 'Can there be life here?' I asked myself.

5 Yes, there was life of some kind. I heard a movement. The narrow front door was opening.

6 It opened slowly. A figure came out into the twilight and stood on the step, a man without a hat, who stretched out his hand to feel whether it rained. Though it was growing dark, I recognised him—it was my master, Edward Rochester, and no other.

7 I paused, almost held my breath, and stood to watch him—to examine him, myself unseen, and ah! unable to be seen by him. It was a sudden meeting, and one in which joy was balanced by pain.

8 His form was the same strong one as ever, his walk still upright, his hair still black. Nor were his features changed. But in his face I saw a change: he looked despairing, like some wronged and caged wild beast or bird, dangerous to approach in his sorrow.

9 He came down the one step, and advanced slowly towards the grass. Then he paused, as if he did not know which way to turn. He lifted his hand and opened his eyelids, and stared blankly and with difficulty, at the sky and towards the trees. I saw that to him all was empty darkness.

10 At this moment John, the servant, approached him.

11 'Will you take my arm, sir? There is a heavy shower coming on. Hadn't you better go in?'

12 'Let me alone,' was the answer.

13 John went in without having noticed me. Mr Rochester, after trying in vain to walk about, felt his way back into the house.

14 I now approached and knocked. John's wife opened the door. She moved back as if she had seen a ghost.

15 I calmed her, and followed her into the kitchen, explaining in a few words that I had just heard what had happened since I left Thornfield. At this moment the bell in the sitting room rang.

16 The servant filled a glass with water, and placed it on a tray, together with candles.

17 'Is that what he rang for?' I asked.

18 'Yes, he always has candles brought in when it gets dark, though he is blind.'

19 'Give me the tray. I will carry it in.'

20 I took it from her hand. It shook as I held it. The water spilt from the glass, and my heart beat loud and fast. John's wife opened the door, and shut it behind me.

21 The sitting room did not look cheerful. A small, neglected fire burnt low in the fireplace, and leaning over it was the blind owner of the room. His old dog, Pilot, lay on one side, but jumped up and ran to me, almost knocking the tray from my hand. I set it on the table, and said softly, 'Lie down!' Mr Rochester turned to see what the disturbance was, but remembering his weakness, moved his head back again.

22 'Give me the water,' he said.

23 I approached him. Pilot followed me, still excited.

24 'Down, Pilot!' I said again. He paused with the water halfway to his lips, and seemed to listen. He drank and put the glass down.

25 'Who is this? Who is this?' he demanded. 'Answer me—speak again!'

26 'Pilot knows me, and John and his wife. I have just come,' I answered.

27 He put out his hand with a quick movement. Not seeing where I stood, he did not touch me. I put my hand in his.

28 'Her fingers!' he cried. 'Is it Jane?' He seized my arm, my shoulder, my waist. 'This is her shape—this is her size—'

29 'And this is her voice,' I added. 'She is all here: her heart, too. God bless you, sir! I am glad to be so near you again.'

30 'You are real? You are altogether a human being, Jane? You are certain of that?'

31 'I truly believe so, Mr Rochester.'

32 'Yet how, on this dark evening, could you rise so suddenly in my lonely room? I stretched out my hand to take a glass of water from a servant, and it was given me by you. I asked a question, and your voice spoke in my ear.'

33 'Because I came in with the tray in place of John's wife.'

34 'There is magic in this hour. Who can tell what a dark, hopeless life I have dragged on for months past? Doing nothing, expecting nothing, conscious only of an unending sorrow, and at times a mad desire to see my Jane again. How can it be that Jane is with me? Will she not go away as suddenly as she came?'

35 I was sure that a practical reply was best for him in this state of mind. I asked him when he had his supper.

36 'I never have supper.'

37 'But you shall have some tonight. I am hungry, and so are you, I expect—only you forget.'

38 Calling John's wife, I soon had a meal on the table, and a more cheerful fire. I was excited, and I talked to him during supper and for a long time after, with pleasure and ease. There was no feeling of awkwardness, no holding back of life and laughter with him. With him I was happy, because I knew I suited him. It brought light to my whole nature. Though he was blind, smiles began to light up his face, and his features lost their look of bitterness.

39 'Whom have you been with all this time, Jane?'

40 'You shall not find that out from me tonight, sir. You must wait till tomorrow. Now I'll leave you. I have been travelling these last three days, and I believe I am tired. Good night.'

41 'Just one word, Jane. Were there only ladies in the house where you have been?'

42 I laughed and went away. Here I saw the means of stirring him up and driving away his sadness.