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<- Previous | Table of Contents | Next -> Digital Library - Digital Library-Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte



AS I rose and dressed, I thought over what had happened, and
wondered if it were a dream. I could not be certain of the reality till
I had seen Mr. Rochester again, and heard him renew his words of
love and promise.

While arranging my hair, I looked at my face in the glass, and felt
it was no longer plain: there was hope in its aspect and life in its
colour; and my eyes seemed as if they had beheld the fount of
fruition, and borrowed beams from the lustrous ripple. I had often
been unwilling to look at my master, because I feared he could not
be pleased at my look; but I was sure I might lift my face to his
now, and not cool his affection by its expression. I took a plain but
clean and light summer dress from my drawer and put it on: it
seemed no attire had ever so well become me, because none had I
ever worn in so blissful a mood.

I was not surprised, when I ran down into the hall, to see that a
brilliant June morning had succeeded to the tempest of the night;
and to feel, through the open glass door, the breathing of a fresh
and fragrant breeze. Nature must be gladsome when I was so
happy. A beggar-woman and her little boy-pale, ragged objects
both-were coming up the walk, and I ran down and gave them all
the money I happened to have in my purse-some three or four
shillings: good or bad, they must partake of my jubilee. The rooks
cawed, and blither birds sang; but nothing was so merry or so
musical as my own rejoicing heart.

Mrs. Fairfax surprised me by looking out of the window with a sad
countenance, and saying gravely-‘Miss Eyre, will you come to
breakfast?’ During the meal she was quiet and cool: but I could not
undeceive her then. I must wait for my master to give explanations;
and so must she. I ate what I could, and then I hastened upstairs. I
met Adele leaving the schoolroom.

‘Where are you going? It is time for lessons.’ ‘Mr. Rochester has
sent me away to the nursery.’ ‘Where is he?’ ‘In there,’ pointing to
the apartment she had left; and I went in, and there he stood.
‘Come and bid me good-morning,’ said he. I gladly advanced; and
it was not merely a cold word now, or even a shake of the hand
that I received, but an embrace and a kiss. It seemed natural: it
seemed genial to be so well loved, so caressed by him.

‘Jane, you look blooming, and smiling, and pretty,’ said he: ‘truly
pretty this morning. Is this my pale, little elf? Is this my mustard-
seed? This little sunnyfaced girl with the dimpled cheek and rosy
lips; the satin-smooth hazel hair, and the radiant hazel eyes?’ (I had
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