something to him whether I forgot him or not. And he had spoken of Thornfield as my home- would that it were my home!
He did not leave the stile, and I hardly liked to ask to go by. I inquired soon if he had not been to London.
‘Yes; I suppose you found that out by second-sight.’
‘Mrs. Fairfax told me in a letter.’
‘And did she inform you what I went to do?’
‘Oh, yes, sir! Everybody knew your errand.’
‘You must see the carriage, Jane, and tell me if you don’t think it will suit Mrs. Rochester exactly; and whether she won’t look like Queen Boadicea, leaning back against those purple cushions. I wish, Jane, I were a trifle better adapted to match with her externally.
Tell me now, fairy as you are- can’t you give me a charm, or a philter, or something of that sort, to make me a handsome man?’
‘It would be past the power of magic, sir’; and, in thought, I added, ‘A loving eye is all the charm needed: to such you are handsome enough; or rather your sternness has a power beyond beauty.’
Mr. Rochester had sometimes read my unspoken thoughts with an acumen to me incomprehensible: in the present instance he took no notice of my abrupt vocal response; but he smiled at me with a certain smile he had of his own, and which he used but on rare occasions. He seemed to think it too good for common purposes: it was the real sunshine of feeling- he shed it over me now.
‘Pass, Janet,’ said he, making room for me to cross the stile: ‘go up home, and stay your weary little wandering feet at a friend’s threshold.’
All I had now to do was to obey him in silence: no need for me to colloquise further. I got over the stile without a word, and meant to leave him calmly. An impulse held me fast- a