And while we listened, unstirring, to that rich,
undaunted voice, I had good opportunity to observe her, and not, I
think, without her knowledge, not even without her approval.
This, then, was the face that had returned wrath for wrath, remorse
for remorse, passion for passion to that dark egotist Jane in the
looking-glass. Yet who, thought I, could be else than beautiful with
eyes that seemed to hide in fleeting cloud a flame as pure as amber?
The arch simplicity of her gown, her small, narrow hands, the
exquisite cleverness of mouth and chin, the lovely courage and
sincerity of that yet-childish brow--it seemed even Mr. Rochester's
"Four Evangels" out of his urgent rhetoric was summoning with
reiterated persuasions, "Jane Eyre, Jane Eyre, Jane Eyre, Ja ... ne!"
Light faded from the woods; a faint wind blew cold upon our faces.
Jane took Mr. Rochester's hand and looked into his face.
She turned to me. "Will you come in, Mr. Brocken? I have seen that
your horse is made quite easy. He was fast asleep, poor fellow, as
you surmised; and, I think, dreaming; for when I proffered him a lump
of sugar, he thrust his nose into my face and breathed as if I were a
peck of corn.
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