"No--no--Jane; you must not go. No--I have touched you, heard you,

felt the comfort of your presence--the sweetness of your

consolation: I cannot give up these joys. I have little left in

myself--I must have you. The world may laugh--may call me absurd,

selfish--but it does not signify. My very soul demands you: it

will be satisfied, or it will take deadly vengeance on its frame."

"Well, sir, I will stay with you: I have said so."

"Yes--but you understand one thing by staying with me; and I

understand another. You, perhaps, could make up your mind to be

about my hand and chair--to wait on me as a kind little nurse (for

you have an affectionate heart and a generous spirit, which prompt

you to make sacrifices for those you pity), and that ought to

suffice for me no doubt. I suppose I should now entertain none but

fatherly feelings for you: do you think so? Come--tell me."

"I will think what you like, sir: I am content to be only your

nurse, if you think it better."

"But you cannot always be my nurse, Janet: you are young--you must

marry one day."

"I don't care about being married."

"You should care, Janet: if I were what I once was, I would try to

make you care--but--a sightless block!"

He relapsed again into gloom. I, on the contrary, became more

cheerful, and took fresh courage: these last words gave me an

insight as to where the difficulty lay; and as it was no difficulty

with me, I felt quite relieved from my previous embarrassment. I

resumed a livelier vein of conversation.

"It is time some one undertook to rehumanise you," said I, parting

his thick and long uncut locks; "for I see you are being

metamorphosed into a lion, or something of that sort. You have a

'faux air' of Nebuchadnezzar in the fields about you, that is

certain: your hair reminds me of eagles' feathers; whether your

nails are grown like birds' claws or not, I have not yet noticed."

"On this arm, I have neither hand nor nails," he said, drawing the

mutilated limb from his breast, and showing it to me. "It is a mere

stump--a ghastly sight! Don't you think so, Jane?"

"It is a pity to see it; and a pity to see your eyes--and the scar

of fire on your forehead: and the worst of it is, one is in danger

of loving you too well for all this; and making too much of you."




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