The candles are lit, sir; supper is ready."
We went in slowly, and Jane bolted the door. "But who it is that can
be bolted out," she said, "I know not; though there's much to bolt in.
I have stood here, Mr. Brocken, on darker nights as still as this, and
have heard what seemed to be the sea breaking, far away, leagues upon
leagues beyond the forests--the gush forward, the protracted, heavy
retreat,--listened till I could have wept to think that it was only my
own poor furious heart beating. You may imagine, then, I push the
bolts home."
"But why, Jane--why?" cried Mr. Rochester incredulously. "Violent
fancies, child!"
"Why, sir, it was, I say, not the sea I heard, but a trickling tide
one icy tap might stay, if it found but entry there."
"You talk wildly, Jane--wildly, wildly; the air's afloat with
listeners; so it seems, so it seems. Had I but one clear lamp in this
dark face!"
We sat down in the candle-lit twilight to supper. It was to me like
the supper of a child, taken at peace in the clear beams, ere he
descend into the shadow of sleep.
They sat, try as I would not to observe them, hand touching hand
throughout the meal.
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