第180章

第180章thedaylightcame.iroseatdawn.ibusiedmyselfforanhourortwowitharrangingmythingsinmychamber,drawers,andwardrobe,intheorderwhereinishouldwishtoleavethemduringabriefabsence.meantime,iheardst.johnquithisroom.hestoppedatmydoor:ifearedhewouldknock—no,butaslipofpaperwaspassedunderthedoor.itookitup.itborethesewords—

“youleftmetoosuddenlylastnight.hadyoustayedbutalittlelonger,youwouldhavelaidyourhandonthechristian’scrossandtheangel’scrown.ishallexpectyourcleardecisionwhenireturnthisdayfortnight.meantime,watchandpraythatyouenternotintotemptation:thespirit,itrust,iswilling,buttheflesh,isee,isweak.ishallprayforyouhourly.—yours,st.john.”

“myspirit,”iansweredmentally,“iswillingtodowhatisright;andmyflesh,ihope,isstrongenoughtoaccomplishthewillofheaven,whenoncethatwillisdistinctlyknowntome.atanyrate,itshallbestrongenoughtosearch—inquire—togropeanoutletfromthiscloudofdoubt,andfindtheopendayofcertainty.”

itwasthefirstofjune;yetthemorningwasovercastandchilly:rainbeatfastonmycasement.iheardthefront-dooropen,andst.johnpassout.lookingthroughthewindow,isawhimtraversethegarden.hetookthewayoverthemistymoorsinthedirectionofwhitcross—therehewouldmeetthecoach.

“inafewmorehoursishalleedyouinthattrack,cousin,”thoughti:“itoohaveacoachtomeetatwhitcross.itoohavesometoseeandaskafterinengland,beforeidepartforever.”

itwantedyettwohoursofbreakfast-time.ifilledtheintervalinwalkingsoftlyaboutmyroom,andponderingthevisitationwhichhadgivenmyplanstheirpresentbent.irecalledthatinwardsensationihadexperienced:foricouldrecallit,withallitsunspeakablestrangeness.irecalledthevoiceihadheard;againiquestionedwhenceitcame,asvainlyasbefore:itseemedinme—notintheexternalworld.iaskedwasitamerenervousimpression—adelusion?icouldnotconceiveorbelieve:itwasmorelikeaninspiration.thewondrousshockoffeelinghadcomeliketheearthquakewhichshookthefoundationsofpaulandsilas’sprison;ithadopenedthedoorsofthesoul’scellandlooseditsbands—ithadwakeneditoutofitssleep,whenceitsprangtrembling,listening,aghast;thenvibratedthriceacryonmystartledear,andinmyquakingheartandthroughmyspirit,whichneitherfearednorshook,butexultedasifinjoyovertheessofoneeffortithadbeenprivilegedtomake,independentofthecumbrousbody.

“eremanydays,”isaid,asiterminatedmymusings,“iwillknowsomethingofhimwhosevoiceseemedlastnighttosummonme.lettershaveprovedofnoavail—personalinquiryshallreplacethem.”

atbreakfastiannouncedtodianaandmarythatiwasgoingajourney,andshouldbeabsentatleastfourdays.

“alone,jane?”theyasked.

“yes;itwastoseeorhearnewsofafriendaboutwhomihadforsometimebeenuneasy.”

theymighthavesaid,asihavenodoubttheythought,thattheyhadbelievedmetobewithoutanyfriendssavethem:for,indeed,ihadoftensaidso;but,withtheirtruenaturaldelicacy,theyabstainedfromcomment,exceptthatdianaaskedmeifiwassureiwaswellenoughtotravel.ilookedverypale,sheobserved.ireplied,thatnothingailedmesaveanxietyofmind,whichihopedsoontoalleviate.

itwaseasytomakemyfurtherarrangements;foriwastroubledwithnoinquiries—nosurmises.havingonceexplainedtothemthaticouldnotnowbeexplicitaboutmyplans,theykindlyandwiselyacquiescedinthesilencewithwhichipursuedthem,accordingtometheprivilegeoffreeactionishouldundersimilarcircumstanceshaveaccordedthem.

ileftmoorhouseatthreeo’clockp.m.,andsoonafterfouristoodatthefootofthesign-postofwhitcross,waitingthearrivalofthecoachwhichwastotakemetodistantthornfield.amidstthesilenceofthosesolitaryroadsanddeserthills,ihearditapproachfromagreatdistance.itwasthesamevehiclewhence,ayearago,ihadalightedonesummereveningonthisveryspot—howdesolate,andhopeless,andobjectless!itstoppedasibeckoned.ientered—notnowobligedtopartwithmywholefortuneasthepriceofitsaccommodation.oncemoreontheroadtothornfield,ifeltlikethemessenger-pigeonflyinghome.

itwasajourneyofsix-and-thirtyhours.ihadsetoutfromwhitcrossonatuesdayafternoon,andearlyontheeedingthursdaymorningthecoachstoppedtowaterthehorsesatawaysideinn,situatedinthemidstofscenerywhosegreenhedgesandlargefieldsandlowpastoralhills(howmildoffeatureandverdantofhuecomparedwiththesternnorth-midlandmoorsofmorton!)metmyeyelikethelineamentsofaoncefamiliarface.yes,iknewthecharacterofthislandscape:iwassurewewerenearmybourne.

“howfaristhornfieldhallfromhere?”iaskedoftheostler.

“justtwomiles,ma’am,acrossthefields.”

“myjourneyisclosed,”ithoughttomyself.igotoutofthecoach,gaveaboxihadintotheostler’scharge,tobekepttillicalledforit;paidmyfare;satisfiedthecoachman,andwasgoing:thebrighteningdaygleamedonthesignoftheinn,andireadingiltletters,“therochesterarms.”myheartleaptup:iwasalreadyonmymaster’sverylands.itfellagain:thethoughtstruckit:—

“yourmasterhimselfmaybebeyondthebritishchannel,foraughtyouknow:andthen,ifheisatthornfieldhall,towardswhichyouhasten,whobesideshimisthere?hislunaticwife:andyouhavenothingtodowithhim:youdarenotspeaktohimorseekhispresence.youhavelostyourlabour—youhadbettergonofarther,”urgedthemonitor.“askinformationofthepeopleattheinn;theycangiveyouallyouseek:theycansolveyourdoubtsatonce.gouptothatman,andinquireifmr.rochesterbeathome.”