"It is indeed a strange journey," she replied. "But I fear I cannot in
the least direct you. I have never ventured my own self beyond the
woods, lest--I should penetrate too far. But you are tired and hungry.
Will you please walk on a few steps till you come to a stone seat? My
name is Rochester--Jane Rochester"--she glanced up between the hollies
with a sigh that was all but laughter--"Jane Eyre, you know."
I went on as she had bidden, and seated myself before an old, white,
many-windowed house, squatting, like an owl at noon, beneath its green
covert. In a few minutes the great dog with dripping jowl passed
almost like reality, and after him his mistress, and on her arm her
master, Mr. Rochester.
There seemed a night of darkness in that scarred face, and stars
unearthly bright. He peered dimly at me, leaning heavily on Jane's
arm, his left hand plunged into the bosom of his coat. And when he was
come near, he lifted his hat to me with a kind of Spanish gravity.
"Is this the gentleman, Jane?" he enquired.
"Yes, sir."
"He's young!" he muttered.
"For otherwise he would not be here," she replied.
Pages:
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30