The month of courtship had wasted: its very last hours were beingnumbered. There was no putting off the day that advanced--thebridal day; and all preparations for its arrival were complete. I,at least, had nothing more to do: there were my trunks, packed,locked, corded, ranged in a row along the wall of my little chamber;to-morrow, at this time, they would be far on their road to London:and so should I (D.V.),--or rather, not I, but one Jane Rochester, aperson whom as yet I knew not. The cards of address alone remainedto nail on: they lay, four little squares, in the drawer. Mr.Rochester had himself written the direction, "Mrs. Rochester,--Hotel, London," on each: I could not persuade myself to affix them,or to have them affixed. Mrs. Rochester! She did not exist: shewould not be born till to-morrow, some time after eight o'clocka.m.; and I would wait to be assured she had come into the worldalive before I assigned to her all that property. It was enoughthat in yonder closet, opposite my dressing-table, garments said tobe hers had already displaced my black stuff Lowood frock and strawbonnet: for not to me appertained that suit of wedding raiment; thepearl-coloured robe, the vapoury veil pendent from the usurpedportmanteau. I shut the closet to conceal the strange, wraith-likeapparel it contained; which, at this evening hour--nine o'clock--gave out certainly a most ghostly shimmer through the shadow of myapartment. "I will leave you by yourself, white dream," I said. "Iam feverish: I hear the wind blowing: I will go out of doors andfeel it."

It was not only the hurry of preparation that made me feverish; notonly the anticipation of the great change--the new life which was tocommence to-morrow: both these circumstances had their share,doubtless, in producing that restless, excited mood which hurried meforth at this late hour into the darkening grounds: but a thirdcause influenced my mind more than they.

I had at heart a strange and anxious thought. Something hadhappened which I could not comprehend; no one knew of or had seenthe event but myself: it had taken place the preceding night. Mr.Rochester that night was absent from home; nor was he yet returned:business had called him to a small estate of two or three farms hepossessed thirty miles off--business it was requisite he shouldsettle in person, previous to his meditated departure from England.I waited now his return; eager to disburthen my mind, and to seek ofhim the solution of the enigma that perplexed me. Stay till hecomes, reader; and, when I disclose my secret to him, you shallshare the confidence.

I sought the orchard, driven to its shelter by the wind, which allday had blown strong and full from the south, without, however,bringing a speck of rain. Instead of subsiding as night drew on, itseemed to augment its rush and deepen its roar: the trees blewsteadfastly one way, never writhing round, and scarcely tossing backtheir boughs once in an hour; so continuous was the strain bendingtheir branchy heads northward--the clouds drifted from pole to pole,fast following, mass on mass: no glimpse of blue sky had beenvisible that July day.

It was not without a certain wild pleasure I ran before the wind,delivering my trouble of mind to the measureless air-torrentthundering through space. Descending the laurel walk, I faced thewreck of the chestnut-tree; it stood up black and riven: the trunk,split down the centre, gasped ghastly. The cloven halves were notbroken from each other, for the firm base and strong roots kept themunsundered below; though community of vitality was destroyed--thesap could flow no more: their great boughs on each side were dead,and next winter's tempests would be sure to fell one or both toearth: as yet, however, they might be said to form one tree--aruin, but an entire ruin.

"You did right to hold fast to each other," I said: as if themonster-splinters were living things, and could hear me. "I think,scathed as you look, and charred and scorched, there must be alittle sense of life in you yet, rising out of that adhesion at thefaithful, honest roots: you will never have green leaves more--never more see birds making nests and singing idyls in your boughs;the time of pleasure and love is over with you: but you are notdesolate: each of you has a comrade to sympathise with him in hisdecay." As I looked up at them, the moon appeared momentarily inthat part of the sky which filled their fissure; her disk was blood-red and half overcast; she seemed to throw on me one bewildered,dreary glance, and buried herself again instantly in the deep driftof cloud. The wind fell, for a second, round Thornfield; but faraway over wood and water, poured a wild, melancholy wail: it wassad to listen to, and I ran off again.

Here and there I strayed through the orchard, gathered up the appleswith which the grass round the tree roots was thickly strewn; then Iemployed myself in dividing the ripe from the unripe; I carried theminto the house and put them away in the store-room. Then I repairedto the library to ascertain whether the fire was lit, for, thoughsummer, I knew on such a gloomy evening Mr. Rochester would like tosee a cheerful hearth when he came in: yes, the fire had beenkindled some time, and burnt well. I placed his arm-chair by thechimney-corner: I wheeled the table near it: I let down thecurtain, and had the candles brought in ready for lighting. Morerestless than ever, when I had completed these arrangements I couldnot sit still, nor even remain in the house: a little time-piece inthe room and the old clock in the hall simultaneously struck ten.

"How late it grows!" I said. "I will run down to the gates: it ismoonlight at intervals; I can see a good way on the road. He may becoming now, and to meet him will save some minutes of suspense."

The wind roared high in the great trees which embowered the gates;but the road as far as I could see, to the right hand and the left,was all still and solitary: save for the shadows of clouds crossingit at intervals as the moon looked out, it was but a long pale line,unvaried by one moving speck.

A puerile tear dimmed my eye while I looked--a tear ofdisappointment and impatience; ashamed of it, I wiped it away. Ilingered; the moon shut herself wholly within her chamber, and drewclose her curtain of dense cloud: the night grew dark; rain camedriving fast on the gale.

"I wish he would come! I wish he would come!" I exclaimed, seizedwith hypochondriac foreboding. I had expected his arrival beforetea; now it was dark: what could keep him? Had an accidenthappened? The event of last night again recurred to me. Iinterpreted it as a warning of disaster. I feared my hopes were toobright to be realised; and I had enjoyed so much bliss lately that Iimagined my fortune had passed its meridian, and must now decline.

"Well, I cannot return to the house," I thought; "I cannot sit bythe fireside, while he is abroad in inclement weather: better tiremy limbs than strain my heart; I will go forward and meet him."

I set out; I walked fast, but not far: ere I had measured a quarterof a mile, I heard the tramp of hoofs; a horseman came on, fullgallop; a dog ran by his side. Away with evil presentiment! It washe: here he was, mounted on Mesrour, followed by Pilot. He saw me;for the moon had opened a blue field in the sky, and rode in itwatery bright: he took his hat off, and waved it round his head. Inow ran to meet him.

"There!" he exclaimed, as he stretched out his hand and bent fromthe saddle: "You can't do without me, that is evident. Step on myboot-toe; give me both hands: mount!"

I obeyed: joy made me agile: I sprang up before him. A heartykissing I got for a welcome, and some boastful triumph, which Iswallowed as well as I could. He checked himself in his exultationto demand, "But is there anything the matter, Janet, that you cometo meet me at such an hour? Is there anything wrong?"

"No, but I thought you would never come. I could not bear to waitin the house for you, especially with this rain and wind."

"Rain and wind, indeed! Yes, you are dripping like a mermaid; pullmy cloak round you: but I think you are feverish, Jane: both yourcheek and hand are burning hot. I ask again, is there anything thematter?

"Nothing now; I am neither afraid nor unhappy."

"Then you have been both?"

"Rather: but I'll tell you all about it by-and-bye, sir; and Idaresay you will only laugh at me for my pains."

"I'll laugh at you heartily when to-morrow is past; till then I darenot: my prize is not certain. This is you, who have been asslippery as an eel this last month, and as thorny as a briar-rose?I could not lay a finger anywhere but I was pricked; and now I seemto have gathered up a stray lamb in my arms. You wandered out ofthe fold to seek your shepherd, did you, Jane?"

"I wanted you: but don't boast. Here we are at Thornfield: nowlet me get down."

He landed me on the pavement. As John took his horse, and hefollowed me into the hall, he told me to make haste and putsomething dry on, and then return to him in the library; and hestopped me, as I made for the staircase, to extort a promise that Iwould not be long: nor was I long; in five minutes I rejoined him.I found him at supper.

"Take a seat and bear me company, Jane: please God, it is the lastmeal but one you will eat at Thornfield Hall for a long time."

I sat down near him, but told him I could not eat. "Is it becauseyou have the prospect of a journey before you, Jane? Is it thethoughts of going to London that takes away your appetite?"

"I cannot see my prospects clearly to-night, sir; and I hardly knowwhat thoughts I have in my head. Everything in life seems unreal."

"Except me: I am substantial enough--touch me."

"You, sir, are the most phantom-like of all: you are a mere dream."

He held out his hand, laughing. "Is that a dream?" said he, placingit close to my eyes. He had a rounded, muscular, and vigorous hand,as well as a long, strong arm.

"Yes; though I touch it, it is a dream," said I, as I put it downfrom before my face. "Sir, have you finished supper?"

"Yes, Jane."

I rang the bell and ordered away the tray. When we were againalone, I stirred the fire, and then took a low seat at my master'sknee.

"It is near midnight," I said.

"Yes: but remember, Jane, you promised to wake with me the nightbefore my wedding."

"I did; and I will keep my promise, for an hour or two at least: Ihave no wish to go to bed."

"Are all your arrangements complete?"

"All, sir."

"And on my part likewise," he returned, "I have settled everything;and we shall leave Thornfield to-morrow, within half-an-hour afterour return from church."

"Very well, sir."

"With what an extraordinary smile you uttered that word--'verywell,' Jane! What a bright spot of colour you have on each cheek!and how strangely your eyes glitter! Are you well?"

"I believe I am."

"Believe! What is the matter? Tell me what you feel."

"I could not, sir: no words could tell you what I feel. I wishthis present hour would never end: who knows with what fate thenext may come charged?"

"This is hypochondria, Jane. You have been over-excited, or over-fatigued."

"Do you, sir, feel calm and happy?"

"Calm?--no: but happy--to the heart's core."

I looked up at him to read the signs of bliss in his face: it wasardent and flushed.

"Give me your confidence, Jane," he said: "relieve your mind of anyweight that oppresses it, by imparting it to me. What do you fear?--that I shall not prove a good husband?"

"It is the idea farthest from my thoughts."

"Are you apprehensive of the new sphere you are about to enter?--ofthe new life into which you are passing?"

"No."

"You puzzle me, Jane: your look and tone of sorrowful audacityperplex and pain me. I want an explanation."

"Then, sir, listen. You were from home last night?"

"I was: I know that; and you hinted a while ago at something whichhad happened in my absence:- nothing, probably, of consequence; but,in short, it has disturbed you. Let me hear it. Mrs. Fairfax hassaid something, perhaps? or you have overheard the servants talk?--your sensitive self-respect has been wounded?"

"No, sir." It struck twelve--I waited till the time-piece hadconcluded its silver chime, and the clock its hoarse, vibrittingstroke, and then I proceeded.

"All day yesterday I was very busy, and very happy in my ceaselessbustle; for I am not, as you seem to think, troubled by any hauntingfears about the new sphere, et cetera: I think it a glorious thingto have the hope of living with you, because I love you. No, sir,don't caress me now--let me talk undisturbed. Yesterday I trustedwell in Providence, and believed that events were working togetherfor your good and mine: it was a fine day, if you recollect--thecalmness of the air and sky forbade apprehensions respecting yoursafety or comfort on your journey. I walked a little while on thepavement after tea, thinking of you; and I beheld you in imaginationso near me, I scarcely missed your actual presence. I thought ofthe life that lay before me--YOUR life, sir--an existence moreexpansive and stirring than my own: as much more so as the depthsof the sea to which the brook runs are than the shallows of its ownstrait channel. I wondered why moralists call this world a drearywilderness: for me it blossomed like a rose. Just at sunset, theair turned cold and the sky cloudy: I went in, Sophie called meupstairs to look at my wedding-dress, which they had just brought;and under it in the box I found your present--the veil which, inyour princely extravagance, you sent for from London: resolved, Isuppose, since I would not have jewels, to cheat me into acceptingsomething as costly. I smiled as I unfolded it, and devised how Iwould tease you about your aristocratic tastes, and your efforts tomasque your plebeian bride in the attributes of a peeress. I thoughhow I would carry down to you the square of unembroidered blond Ihad myself prepared as a covering for my low-born head, and ask ifthat was not good enough for a woman who could bring her husbandneither fortune, beauty, nor connections. I saw plainly how youwould look; and heard your impetuous republican answers, and yourhaughty disavowal of any necessity on your part to augment yourwealth, or elevate your standing, by marrying either a purse or acoronet."

"How well you read me, you witch!" interposed Mr. Rochester: "butwhat did you find in the veil besides its embroidery? Did you findpoison, or a dagger, that you look so mournful now?"

"No, no, sir; besides the delicacy and richness of the fabric, Ifound nothing save Fairfax Rochester's pride; and that did not scareme, because I am used to the sight of the demon. But, sir, as itgrew dark, the wind rose: it blew yesterday evening, not as itblows now--wild and high--but 'with a sullen, moaning sound' farmore eerie. I wished you were at home. I came into this room, andthe sight of the empty chair and fireless hearth chilled me. Forsome time after I went to bed, I could not sleep--a sense of anxiousexcitement distressed me. The gale still rising, seemed to my earto muffle a mournful under-sound; whether in the house or abroad Icould not at first tell, but it recurred, doubtful yet doleful atevery lull; at last I made out it must be some dog howling at adistance. I was glad when it ceased. On sleeping, I continued indreams the idea of a dark and gusty night. I continued also thewish to be with you, and experienced a strange, regretfulconsciousness of some barrier dividing us. During all my firstsleep, I was following the windings of an unknown road; totalobscurity environed me; rain pelted me; I was burdened with thecharge of a little child: a very small creature, too young andfeeble to walk, and which shivered in my cold arms, and wailedpiteously in my ear. I thought, sir, that you were on the road along way before me; and I strained every nerve to overtake you, andmade effort on effort to utter your name and entreat you to stop--but my movements were fettered, and my voice still died awayinarticulate; while you, I felt, withdrew farther and farther everymoment."

"And these dreams weigh on your spirits now, Jane, when I am closeto you? Little nervous subject! Forget visionary woe, and thinkonly of real happiness! You say you love me, Janet: yes--I willnot forget that; and you cannot deny it. THOSE words did not dieinarticulate on your lips. I heard them clear and soft: a thoughttoo solemn perhaps, but sweet as music--'I think it is a gloriousthing to have the hope of living with you, Edward, because I loveyou.' Do you love me, Jane?--repeat it."

"I do, sir--I do, with my whole heart."

"Well," he said, after some minutes' silence, "it is strange; butthat sentence has penetrated by breast painfully. Why? I thinkbecause you said it with such an earnest, religious energy, andbecause your upward gaze at me now is the very sublime of faith,truth, and devotion: it is too much as if some spirit were near me.Look wicked, Jane: as you know well how to look: coin one of yourwild, shy, provoking smiles; tell me you hate me--tease me, vex me;do anything but move me: I would rather be incensed than saddened."

"I will tease you and vex you to your heart's content, when I havefinished my tale: but hear me to the end."

"I thought, Jane, you had told me all. I thought I had found thesource of your melancholy in a dream."

I shook my head. "What! is there more? But I will not believe itto be anything important. I warn you of incredulity beforehand. Goon."

The disquietude of his air, the somewhat apprehensive impatience ofhis manner, surprised me: but I proceeded.

"I dreamt another dream, sir: that Thornfield Hall was a drearyruin, the retreat of bats and owls. I thought that of all thestately front nothing remained but a shell-like wall, very high andvery fragile-looking. I wandered, on a moonlight night, through thegrass-grown enclosure within: here I stumbled over a marble hearth,and there over a fallen fragment of cornice. Wrapped up in a shawl,I still carried the unknown little child: I might not lay it downanywhere, however tired were my arms--however much its weightimpeded my progress, I must retain it. I heard the gallop of ahorse at a distance on the road; I was sure it was you; and you weredeparting for many years and for a distant country. I climbed thethin wall with frantic perilous haste, eager to catch one glimpse ofyou from the top: the stones rolled from under my feet, the ivybranches I grasped gave way, the child clung round my neck interror, and almost strangled me; at last I gained the summit. I sawyou like a speck on a white track, lessening every moment. Theblast blew so strong I could not stand. I sat down on the narrowledge; I hushed the scared infant in my lap: you turned an angle ofthe road: I bent forward to take a last look; the wall crumbled; Iwas shaken; the child rolled from my knee, I lost my balance, fell,and woke."

"Now, Jane, that is all."

"All the preface, sir; the tale is yet to come. On waking, a gleamdazzled my eyes; I thought--Oh, it is daylight! But I was mistaken;it was only candlelight. Sophie, I supposed, had come in. Therewas a light in the dressing-table, and the door of the closet,where, before going to bed, I had hung my wedding-dress and veil,stood open; I heard a rustling there. I asked, 'Sophie, what areyou doing?' No one answered; but a form emerged from the closet; ittook the light, held it aloft, and surveyed the garments pendentfrom the portmanteau. 'Sophie! Sophie!' I again cried: and stillit was silent. I had risen up in bed, I bent forward: firstsurprise, then bewilderment, came over me; and then my blood creptcold through my veins. Mr. Rochester, this was not Sophie, it wasnot Leah, it was not Mrs. Fairfax: it was not--no, I was sure ofit, and am still--it was not even that strange woman, Grace Poole."

"It must have been one of them," interrupted my master.

"No, sir, I solemnly assure you to the contrary. The shape standingbefore me had never crossed my eyes within the precincts ofThornfield Hall before; the height, the contour were new to me."

"Describe it, Jane."

"It seemed, sir, a woman, tall and large, with thick and dark hairhanging long down her back. I know not what dress she had on: itwas white and straight; but whether gown, sheet, or shroud, I cannottell."

"Did you see her face?"

"Not at first. But presently she took my veil from its place; sheheld it up, gazed at it long, and then she threw it over her ownhead, and turned to the mirror. At that moment I saw the reflectionof the visage and features quite distinctly in the dark oblongglass."

"And how were they?"

"Fearful and ghastly to me--oh, sir, I never saw a face like it! Itwas a discoloured face--it was a savage face. I wish I could forgetthe roll of the red eyes and the fearful blackened inflation of thelineaments!"

"Ghosts are usually pale, Jane."

"This, sir, was purple: the lips were swelled and dark; the browfurrowed: the black eyebrows widely raised over the bloodshot eyes.Shall I tell you of what it reminded me?"

"You may."

"Of the foul German spectre--the Vampyre."

"Ah!--what did it do?"

"Sir, it removed my veil from its gaunt head, rent it in two parts,and flinging both on the floor, trampled on them."

"Afterwards?"

"It drew aside the window-curtain and looked out; perhaps it sawdawn approaching, for, taking the candle, it retreated to the door.Just at my bedside, the figure stopped: the fiery eyes glared uponme--she thrust up her candle close to my face, and extinguished itunder my eyes. I was aware her lurid visage flamed over mine, and Ilost consciousness: for the second time in my life--only the secondtime--I became insensible from terror."

"Who was with you when you revived?"

"No one, sir, but the broad day. I rose, bathed my head and face inwater, drank a long draught; felt that though enfeebled I was notill, and determined that to none but you would I impart this vision.Now, sir, tell me who and what that woman was?"

"The creature of an over-stimulated brain; that is certain. I mustbe careful of you, my treasure: nerves like yours were not made forrough handling."

"Sir, depend on it, my nerves were not in fault; the thing was real:the transaction actually took place."

"And your previous dreams, were they real too? Is Thornfield Hall aruin? Am I severed from you by insuperable obstacles? Am I leavingyou without a tear--without a kiss--without a word?"

"Not yet."

"Am I about to do it? Why, the day is already commenced which is tobind us indissolubly; and when we are once united, there shall be norecurrence of these mental terrors: I guarantee that."

"Mental terrors, sir! I wish I could believe them to be only such:I wish it more now than ever; since even you cannot explain to methe mystery of that awful visitant."

"And since I cannot do it, Jane, it must have been unreal."

"But, sir, when I said so to myself on rising this morning, and whenI looked round the room to gather courage and comfort from thecheerful aspect of each familiar object in full daylight, there--onthe carpet--I saw what gave the distinct lie to my hypothesis,--theveil, torn from top to bottom in two halves!"

I felt Mr. Rochester start and shudder; he hastily flung his armsround me. "Thank God!" he exclaimed, "that if anything malignantdid come near you last night, it was only the veil that was harmed.Oh, to think what might have happened!"

He drew his breath short, and strained me so close to him, I couldscarcely pant. After some minutes' silence, he continued, cheerily-

"Now, Janet, I'll explain to you all about it. It was half dream,half reality. A woman did, I doubt not, enter your room: and thatwoman was--must have been--Grace Poole. You call her a strangebeing yourself: from all you know, you have reason so to call her--what did she do to me? what to Mason? In a state between sleepingand waking, you noticed her entrance and her actions; but feverish,almost delirious as you were, you ascribed to her a goblinappearance different from her own: the long dishevelled hair, theswelled black face, the exaggerated stature, were figments ofimagination; results of nightmare: the spiteful tearing of the veilwas real: and it is like her. I see you would ask why I keep sucha woman in my house: when we have been married a year and a day, Iwill tell you; but not now. Are you satisfied, Jane? Do you acceptmy solution of the mystery?"

I reflected, and in truth it appeared to me the only possible one:satisfied I was not, but to please him I endeavoured to appear so--relieved, I certainly did feel; so I answered him with a contentedsmile. And now, as it was long past one, I prepared to leave him.

"Does not Sophie sleep with Adele in the nursery?" he asked, as Ilit my candle.

"Yes, sir."

"And there is room enough in Adele's little bed for you. You mustshare it with her to-night, Jane: it is no wonder that the incidentyou have related should make you nervous, and I would rather you didnot sleep alone: promise me to go to the nursery."

"I shall be very glad to do so, sir."

"And fasten the door securely on the inside. Wake Sophie when yougo upstairs, under pretence of requesting her to rouse you in goodtime to-morrow; for you must be dressed and have finished breakfastbefore eight. And now, no more sombre thoughts: chase dull careaway, Janet. Don't you hear to what soft whispers the wind hasfallen? and there is no more beating of rain against the window-panes: look here" (he lifted up the curtain)--"it is a lovelynight!"

It was. Half heaven was pure and stainless: the clouds, nowtrooping before the wind, which had shifted to the west, were filingoff eastward in long, silvered columns. The moon shone peacefully.

"Well," said Mr. Rochester, gazing inquiringly into my eyes, "how ismy Janet now?"

"The night is serene, sir; and so am I."

"And you will not dream of separation and sorrow to-night; but ofhappy love and blissful union."

This prediction was but half fulfilled: I did not indeed dream ofsorrow, but as little did I dream of joy; for I never slept at all.With little Adele in my arms, I watched the slumber of childhood--sotranquil, so passionless, so innocent--and waited for the comingday: all my life was awake and astir in my frame: and as soon asthe sun rose I rose too. I remember Adele clung to me as I lefther: I remember I kissed her as I loosened her little hands from myneck; and I cried over her with strange emotion, and quitted herbecause I feared my sobs would break her still sound repose. Sheseemed the emblem of my past life; and he I was now to array myselfto meet, the dread, but adored, type of my unknown future day.