第25章

“Wouldshetakemygloves？”

“No！whatcouldshedowiththem？”

Reader，itisnotpleasanttodwellonthesedetails。Somesaythereisenjoymentinlookingbacktopainfulexperiencepast;butatthisdayIcanscarcelybeartoreviewthetimestowhichIallude:themoraldegradation，blentwiththephysicalsuffering，formtoodistressingarecollectionevertobewillinglydwelton。Iblamednoneofthosewhorepulsedme。Ifeltitwaswhatwastobeexpected，andwhatcouldnotbehelped:anordinarybeggarisfrequentlyanobjectofsuspicion;awell—dressedbeggarinevitablyso。Tobesure，whatIbeggedwasemployment;butwhosebusinesswasittoprovidemewithemployment？Not，certainly，thatofpersonswhosawmethenforthefirsttime，andwhoknewnothingaboutmycharacter。Andastothewomanwhowouldnottakemyhandkerchiefinexchangeforherbread，why，shewasright，iftheofferappearedtohersinisterortheexchangeunprofitable。Letmecondensenow。Iamsickofthesubject。

AlittlebeforedarkIpassedafarm—house，attheopendoorofwhichthefarmerwassitting，eatinghissupperofbreadandcheese。Istoppedandsaid—

“Willyougivemeapieceofbread？forIamveryhungry。”Hecastonmeaglanceofsurprise;butwithoutanswering，hecutathickslicefromhisloaf，andgaveittome。IimaginehedidnotthinkIwasabeggar，butonlyaneccentricsortoflady，whohadtakenafancytohisbrownloaf。AssoonasIwasoutofsightofhishouse，Isatdownandateit。

Icouldnothopetogetalodgingunderaroof，andsoughtitinthewoodIhavebeforealludedto。Butmynightwaswretched，myrestbroken:thegroundwasdamp，theaircold:besides，intruderspassednearmemorethanonce，andIhadagainandagaintochangemyquarters;nosenseofsafetyortranquillitybefriendedme。Towardsmorningitrained;thewholeofthefollowingdaywaswet。Donotaskme，reader，togiveaminuteaccountofthatday;asbefore，Isoughtwork;asbefore，Iwasrepulsed;asbefore，Istarved;butoncedidfoodpassmylips。AtthedoorofacottageIsawalittlegirlabouttothrowamessofcoldporridgeintoapigtrough。“Willyougivemethat？”Iasked。

Shestaredatme。“Mother！”sheexclaimed，“thereisawomanwantsmetogivehertheseporridge。”

“Welllass，”repliedavoicewithin，“giveitherifshe’sabeggar。Tpigdoesn’twantit。”

Thegirlemptiedthestiffenedmouldintomyhand，andIdevoureditravenously。

Asthewettwilightdeepened，Istoppedinasolitarybridle—path，whichIhadbeenpursuinganhourormore。

“Mystrengthisquitefailingme，”Isaidinasoliloquy。“IfeelIcannotgomuchfarther。ShallIbeanoutcastagainthisnight？Whiletheraindescendsso，mustIlaymyheadonthecold，drenchedground？IfearIcannotdootherwise:forwhowillreceiveme？Butitwillbeverydreadful，withthisfeelingofhunger，faintness，chill，andthissenseofdesolation—thistotalprostrationofhope。Inalllikelihood，though，Ishoulddiebeforemorning。AndwhycannotIreconcilemyselftotheprospectofdeath？WhydoIstruggletoretainavaluelesslife？BecauseIknow，orbelieve，Mr。Rochesterisliving:andthen，todieofwantandcoldisafatetowhichnaturecannotsubmitpassively。Oh，Providence！sustainmealittlelonger！Aid！—directme！”

Myglazedeyewanderedoverthedimandmistylandscape。IsawIhadstrayedfarfromthevillage:itwasquiteoutofsight。Theverycultivationsurroundingithaddisappeared。Ihad，bycross—waysandby—paths，oncemoredrawnnearthetractofmoorland;andnow，onlyafewfields，almostaswildandunproductiveastheheathfromwhichtheywerescarcelyreclaimed，laybetweenmeandtheduskyhill。

“Well，Iwouldratherdieyonderthaninastreetoronafrequentedroad，”Ireflected。“Andfarbetterthatcrowsandravens—ifanyravenstherebeintheseregions—shouldpickmyfleshfrommybones，thanthattheyshouldbeprisonedinaworkhousecoffinandmoulderinapauper’sgrave。”

Tothehill，then，Iturned。Ireachedit。ItremainednowonlytofindahollowwhereIcouldliedown，andfeelatleasthidden，ifnotsecure。Butallthesurfaceofthewastelookedlevel。Itshowednovariationbutoftint:green，whererushandmossovergrewthemarshes;black，wherethedrysoilboreonlyheath。Darkasitwasgetting，Icouldstillseethesechanges，thoughbutasmerealternationsoflightandshade;forcolourhadfadedwiththedaylight。

Myeyestillrovedoverthesullenswellandalongthemoor—edge，vanishingamidstthewildestscenery，whenatonedimpoint，farinamongthemarshesandtheridges，alightsprangup。“Thatisanignisfatuus，”wasmyfirstthought;andIexpecteditwouldsoonvanish。Itburnton，however，quitesteadily，neitherrecedingnoradvancing。“Isit，then，abonfirejustkindled？”Iquestioned。Iwatchedtoseewhetheritwouldspread:butno;asitdidnotdiminish，soitdidnotenlarge。“Itmaybeacandleinahouse，”Ithenconjectured;“butifso，Icanneverreachit。Itismuchtoofaraway:andwereitwithinayardofme，whatwoulditavail？Ishouldbutknockatthedoortohaveitshutinmyface。”

AndIsankdownwhereIstood，andhidmyfaceagainsttheground。Ilaystillawhile:thenight—windsweptoverthehillandoverme，anddiedmoaninginthedistance;therainfellfast，wettingmeafreshtotheskin。CouldIbuthavestiffenedtothestillfrost—thefriendlynumbnessofdeath—itmighthavepeltedon;Ishouldnothavefeltit;butmyyetlivingfleshshudderedatitschillinginfluence。Iroseerelong。

Thelightwasyetthere，shiningdimbutconstantthroughtherain。Itriedtowalkagain:Idraggedmyexhaustedlimbsslowlytowardsit。Itledmeaslantoverthehill，throughawidebog，whichwouldhavebeenimpassableinwinter，andwassplashyandshakingevennow，intheheightofsummer。HereIfelltwice;butasoftenIroseandralliedmyfaculties。Thislightwasmyforlornhope:Imustgainit。

Havingcrossedthemarsh，Isawatraceofwhiteoverthemoor。Iapproachedit;itwasaroadoratrack:itledstraightuptothelight，whichnowbeamedfromasortofknoll，amidstaclumpoftrees—firs，apparently，fromwhatIcoulddistinguishofthecharacteroftheirformsandfoliagethroughthegloom。MystarvanishedasIdrewnear:someobstaclehadintervenedbetweenmeandit。Iputoutmyhandtofeelthedarkmassbeforeme:Idiscriminatedtheroughstonesofalowwall—aboveit，somethinglikepalisades，andwithin，ahighandpricklyhedge。Igropedon。Againawhitishobjectgleamedbeforeme:itwasagate—awicket;itmovedonitshingesasItouchedit。Oneachsidestoodasablebush—hollyoryew。

Enteringthegateandpassingtheshrubs，thesilhouetteofahouserosetoview，black，low，andratherlong;buttheguidinglightshonenowhere。Allwasobscurity。Weretheinmatesretiredtorest？Ifeareditmustbeso。Inseekingthedoor，Iturnedanangle:thereshotoutthefriendlygleamagain，fromthelozengedpanesofaverysmalllatticedwindow，withinafootoftheground，madestillsmallerbythegrowthofivyorsomeothercreepingplant，whoseleavesclusteredthickovertheportionofthehousewallinwhichitwasset。Theaperturewassoscreenedandnarrow，thatcurtainorshutterhadbeendeemedunnecessary;andwhenIstoopeddownandputasidethesprayoffoliageshootingoverit，Icouldseeallwithin。Icouldseeclearlyaroomwithasandedfloor，cleanscoured;adresserofwalnut，withpewterplatesrangedinrows，reflectingtherednessandradianceofaglowingpeat—fire。Icouldseeaclock，awhitedealtable，somechairs。Thecandle，whoserayhadbeenmybeacon，burntonthetable;andbyitslightanelderlywoman，somewhatrough—looking，butscrupulouslyclean，likeallabouther，wasknittingastocking。

Inoticedtheseobjectscursorilyonly—inthemtherewasnothingextraordinary。Agroupofmoreinterestappearednearthehearth，sittingstillamidsttherosypeaceandwarmthsuffusingit。Twoyoung，gracefulwomen—ladiesineverypoint—sat，oneinalowrocking—chair，theotheronalowerstool;bothworedeepmourningofcrapeandbombazeen，whichsombregarbsingularlysetoffveryfairnecksandfaces:alargeoldpointerdogresteditsmassiveheadonthekneeofonegirl—inthelapoftheotherwascushionedablackcat。

Astrangeplacewasthishumblekitchenforsuchoccupants！Whowerethey？Theycouldnotbethedaughtersoftheelderlypersonatthetable;forshelookedlikearustic，andtheywerealldelicacyandcultivation。Ihadnowhereseensuchfacesastheirs:andyet，asIgazedonthem，Iseemedintimatewitheverylineament。Icannotcallthemhandsome—theyweretoopaleandgravefortheword:astheyeachbentoverabook，theylookedthoughtfulalmosttoseverity。Astandbetweenthemsupportedasecondcandleandtwogreatvolumes，towhichtheyfrequentlyreferred，comparingthem，seemingly，withthesmallerbookstheyheldintheirhands，likepeopleconsultingadictionarytoaidtheminthetaskoftranslation。Thisscenewasassilentasifallthefigureshadbeenshadowsandthefirelitapartmentapicture:sohushedwasit，Icouldhearthecindersfallfromthegrate，theclocktickinitsobscurecorner;andIevenfanciedIcoulddistinguishtheclick—clickofthewoman’sknitting—needles。When，therefore，avoicebrokethestrangestillnessatlast，itwasaudibleenoughtome。

“Listen，Diana，”saidoneoftheabsorbedstudents;“FranzandoldDanielaretogetherinthenight—time，andFranzistellingadreamfromwhichhehasawakenedinterror—listen！”Andinalowvoiceshereadsomething，ofwhichnotonewordwasintelligibletome;foritwasinanunknowntongue—neitherFrenchnorLatin。WhetheritwereGreekorGermanIcouldnottell。

“Thatisstrong，”shesaid，whenshehadfinished:“Irelishit。”Theothergirl，whohadliftedherheadtolistentohersister，repeated，whileshegazedatthefire，alineofwhathadbeenread。Atalaterday，Iknewthelanguageandthebook;therefore，Iwillherequotetheline:though，whenIfirstheardit，itwasonlylikeastrokeonsoundingbrasstome—conveyingnomeaning:—

“‘DatrathervorEiner，anzusehenwiedieSternenNacht。’Good！good！”sheexclaimed，whil