"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 arouse 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?"

"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 yourself to a blind

lameter like me?"

"I told you I am independent, sir, as well as rich: I am my own

mistress."

"And you will stay with me?"

"Certainly--unless you object. I will be your neighbour, your

nurse, your housekeeper. I find you lonely: I will be your

companion--to read to you, to walk with you, to sit with you, to

wait on you, to be eyes and hands to you. Cease to look so

melancholy, my dear master; you shall not be left desolate, so long

as I live."

He replied not: he seemed serious--abstracted; he sighed; he half-

opened his lips as if to speak: he closed them again. I felt a

little embarrassed. Perhaps I had too rashly over-leaped

conventionalities; and he, like St. John, saw impropriety in my

inconsiderateness. I had indeed made my proposal from the idea that

he wished and would ask me to be his wife: an expectation, not the

less certain because unexpressed, had buoyed me up, that he would

claim me at once as his own. But no hint to that effect escaping

him and his countenance becoming more overcast, I suddenly

remembered that I might have been all wrong, and was perhaps playing

the fool unwittingly; and I began gently to withdraw myself from his

arms--but he eagerly snatched me closer.




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