it on an occasion that seemed to me of small moment； namely； my weekly visit to Morton school； and still more was I puzzled when； if the day was unfavourable； if there was snow； or rain； or high wind； and his sisters urged me not to go； he would invariably make light of their solicitude； and encourage me to acplish the task without regard to the elements。
“Jane is not such a weakling as you would make her；” he would say： “she can bear a mountain blast； or a shower； or a few flakes of snow； as well as any of us。 Her constitution is both sound and elastic；—better calculated to endure variations of climate than many more robust。”
And when I returned； sometimes a good deal tired； and not a little weather…beaten； I never dared plain； because I saw that to murmur would be to vex him： on all occasions fortitude pleased him； the reverse was a special annoyance。
One afternoon； however； I got leave to stay at home； because I really had a cold。 His sisters were gone to Morton in my stead： I sat reading Schiller； he； deciphering his crabbed Oriental scrolls。 As I exchanged a translation for an exercise； I happened to look his way： there I found myself under the influence of the ever…watchful blue eye。 How long it had been searching me through and through； and over and over； I cannot tell： so keen was it； and yet so cold； I felt for the moment superstitious—as if I were sitting in the room with something uncanny。
“Jane； what are you doing？”
“Learning German。”
“I want you to give up German and learn Hindostanee。”
“You are not in earnest？”
“In such earnest that I must have it so： and I will tell you why。”
He then went on to explain that Hindostanee was the language he was himself at present studying； that； as he advanced； he was apt to forget the mencement； that it would assist him greatly to have a pupil with whom he might again and again go over the elements； and so fix them thoroughly in his mind； that his choice had hovered for some time between me and his sisters； but that he had fixed on me because he saw I could sit at a task the longest of the three。 Would I do him this favour？ I should not； perhaps； have to make the sacrifice long； as it wanted now barely three months to his departure。
St。 John was not a man to be lightly refused： you felt that every impression made on him； either for pain or pleasure； was deep…graved and permanent。 I consented。 When Diana and Mary returned； the former found her scholar transferred from her to her brother： she laughed； and both she and Mary agreed that St。 John should never have persuaded them to such a step。 He answered quietly—
“I know it。”
I found him a very patient； very forbearing； and yet an exacting master： he expected me to do a great deal； and when I fulfilled his expectations； he； in his own way； fully testified his approbation。 By degrees； he acquired a certain influence over me that took away my liberty of mind： his praise and notice were more restraining than his indifference。 I could no longer talk or laugh freely when he was by； because a tiresomely importunate instinct reminded me that vivacity （at least in me） was distasteful to him。 I was so fully aware that only serious moods and occupations were acceptable； that in his presence every effort to sustain or follow any other became vain： I fell under a freezing spell。 When he said “go；” I went； “e；” I came； “do this；” I did it。 But I did not love my servitude： I wished； many a time； he had continued to neglect me。
One evening when； at bedtime； his sisters and I stood round him； bidding him good…night； he kissed each of them； as was his custom； and； as ； he gave me his hand。 Diana； who chanced to be in a frolicsome humour （She was not painfully controlled by his will； for hers； in another way； was as strong）； exclaimed—
“St。 John！ you used to call Jane your third sister； but you don’t treat her as such： you should kiss her too。”
She pushed me towards him。 I thought Diana very provoking； and felt unfortably confused； and while I was thus thinking and feeling； St。 John bent his head； his Greek face was brought to a level y eyes piercingly—he kissed me。 There are no such things as marble kisses or ice kisses； or I should say my ecclesiastical cousin’s salute belonged to one of these classes； but there may be experiment kisses； and his was an experiment kiss。 When given； he viewed me to learn the result； it was not striking： I am sure I did not blush； perhaps I might have turned a little pale； for I felt as if this kiss were a seal affixed to my fetters。 He never omitted the ceremony afterwards； and the gravity and quiescence with which I underwent it； seemed to invest it for him with a certain charm。
As for me； I daily wished more to please him； but to do so； I felt daily more and more that I must disown half my nature； stifle half my faculties； wrest my tastes from their original bent； force myself to the adoption of pursuits for which I had no natural vocation。 He wanted to train me to an elevation I could never reach； it racked me hourly to aspire to the standard he uplifted。 The thing was as impossible as to mould my irregular features to his correct and classic pattern； to give to my changeable green eyes the sea…blue tint and solemn lustre of his own。
Not his ascendancy alone； however； held me in thrall at present。 Of late it had been easy enough for me to look sad： a cankering evil sat at my heart and drained my happiness at its source—the evil of suspense。
Perhaps you think I had forgotten Mr。 Rochester； reader； amidst these changes of place and fortune。 Not for a moment。 His idea was still with me； because it was not a vapour sunshine could disperse； nor a sand…traced effigy storms could wash away； it was a name graven on a tablet； fated to last as long as the marble it inscribed。 The craving to know what had bee of him followed me everywhere； when I was at Morton； I re…entered my cottage every evening to think of that； and now at Moor House； I sought my bedroom each night to brood over it。
In the course of my necessary correspondence with Mr。 Briggs about the will； I had inquired if he knew anything of Mr。 Rochester’s present residence and state of health； but； as St。 John had conjectured； he was quite ignorant of all concerning him。 I then wrote to Mrs。 Fairfax； entreating information on the subject。 I had calculated with certainty on this step answering my end： I felt sure it would elicit an early answer。 I was astonished when a fortnight passed without reply； but when two months wore away； and day after day the post arrived and brought nothing for me； I fell a prey to the keenest anxiety。
I wrote again： there was a chance of my first letter having missed。 Renewed hope followed renewed effort： it shone like the former for some weeks； then； like it； it faded； flickered： not a line； not a word reached me。 When half a year wasted in vain expectancy； my hope died out； and then I felt dark indeed。
A fine spring shone round me； which I could not enjoy。 Summer approached； Diana tried to cheer me： she said I looked ill； and wished to acpany me to the sea…side。 This St。 John opposed； he said I did not want dissipation； I wanted employment； my present life was too purposeless； I required an aim； and； I suppose； by way of supplying deficiencies； he prolonged still further my lessons in Hindostanee； and greplishment： and I； like a fool； never thought of resisting him—I could not resist him。
One day I had e to my studies in lower spirits than usual； the ebb was occasioned by a poignantly felt disappointment。 Hannah had told me in the morning there was a letter for me； and when I went down to take it； almost certain that the long…looked for tidings were vouchsafed me at last； I found only an unimportant note from Mr。 Briggs on business。 The bitter check had wrung from me some tears； and now； as I sat poring over the crabbed characters and flourishing tropes of an Indian scribe； my eyes filled again。
St。 John called me to his side to read； in attempting to do this my voice failed me： words were lost in sobs。 He and I were the only occupants of the parlour： Diana was practising her music in the drawing…room； Mary was gardening—it was a very fine May day； clear； sunny； and breezy。 My panion expressed no surprise at this emotion； nor did he question me as to its cause； he only said—
“We will wait a few minutes； Jane； till you are more posed。” And while I smothered the paroxysm with all haste； he sat calm and patient； leaning on his desk； and looking like a physician watching with the eye of science an expected and fully understood crisis in a patient’s malady。 Having stifled my sobs； wiped my eyes； and muttered something about not being very well that morning； I resumed my task； and succeeded in pleting it。 St。 John put away my books and his； locked his desk； and said—
“Now； Jane； you shall take a walk； and with me。”
“I will call Diana and Mary。”
“No； I want only one panion this morning； and that must be you。 Put on your things； go out by the kitchen…door： take the road towards the head of Marsh Glen： I will join you in a moment。”
I know no medium： I never in my life have known any medium in my dealings with positive； hard characters； antagonistic to my own； between absolute submission and determined revolt。 I have always faithfully observed the one； up to the very moment of bursting； sometimes with volcanic vehemence； into the other； and as neither present circumstances warranted； nor my present mood inclined me to mutiny； I observed careful obedience to St。 John’s directions； and in ten minutes I was treading the wild track of the glen； side by side with him。
The breeze was from the west： it came over the hills； sweet with scents of heath and rush； the sky was of stainless blue； the stream descending the ravine； swelled with past spring rains； poured along plentiful and clear； catching golden gleams from the sun； and sapphire tints from the firmament。 As we advanced and left the track； we trod a soft turf； mossy fine and emerald green； minutely enamelled with a tiny white flower； and spangled with a star…like yellow blossom： the hills； meantime； shut us quite in； for the glen； towards its head； wound to their very core。
“Let us rest here；” said St。 John； as we reached the first stragglers of a battalion of rocks； guarding a sort of pass； beyond which the beck rushed down a waterfall； and where； still a little farther； the mountain shook off turf and flower； had only heath for raiment and crag for gem—where it exaggerated the wild to the savage； and exchanged the fresh for the frowning—where it guarded the forlorn hope of solitude； and a last refuge for silence。
I took a seat： St。 John stood near me。 He looked up the pass and down the hollow； his glance wandered away with the stream； and returned to traverse the unclouded heaven which coloured it： he removed his hat； let the breeze stir his hair and kiss his brow。 He seemed in munion with the genius of the haunt： with his eye he bade farewell to something。
“And I shall see it again；” he said aloud； “in dreams when I sleep by the Ganges： and again in a more remote hour—when another slumber overes me—on the shore of a darker stream！”
Strange words of a strange love！ An austere patriot’s passion for his fatherland！ He sat dow