Jane Eyre

He had done. Turning from me, he once more

"Looked to river, looked to hill."

But this time his feelings were all pent in his heart: I was not

worthy to hear them uttered. As I walked by his side homeward, I

read well in his iron silence all he felt towards me: the

disappointment of an austere and despotic nature, which has met

resistance where it expected submission--the disapprobation of a

cool, inflexible judgment, which has detected in another feelings

and views in which it has no power to sympathise: in short, as a

man, he would have wished to coerce me into obedience: it was only

as a sincere Christian he bore so patiently with my perversity, and

allowed so long a space for reflection and repentance.

That night, after he had kissed his sisters, he thought proper to

forget even to shake hands with me, but left the room in silence.

I--who, though I had no love, had much friendship for him--was hurt

by the marked omission: so much hurt that tears started to my eyes.

"I see you and St. John have been quarrelling, Jane," said Diana,

"during your walk on the moor. But go after him; he is now

lingering in the passage expecting you--he will make it up."

I have not much pride under such circumstances: I would always

rather be happy than dignified; and I ran after him--he stood at the

foot of the stairs.

"Good-night, St. John," said I.

"Good-night, Jane," he replied calmly.

"Then shake hands," I added.

What a cold, loose touch, he impressed on my fingers! He was deeply

displeased by what had occurred that day; cordiality would not warm,

nor tears move him. No happy reconciliation was to be had with him-

-no cheering smile or generous word: but still the Christian was

patient and placid; and when I asked him if he forgave me, he

answered that he was not in the habit of cherishing the remembrance

of vexation; that he had nothing to forgive, not having been

offended.

And with that answer he left me. I would much rather he had knocked

me down.