第117章 - 简·爱 - 佚名 - 都市言情小说 - 30读书
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第117章

第117章themonthofcourtshiphadwasted:itsverylasthourswerebeingnumbered.therewasnoputtingoffthedaythatadvanced—thebridalday;andallpreparationsforitsarrivalwerecomplete.i,atleast,hadnothingmoretodo:thereweremytrunks,packed,locked,corded,rangedinarowalongthewallofmylittlechamber;to-morrow,atthistime,theywouldbefarontheirroadtolondon:andsoshouldi(d.v.),—orrather,noti,butonejanerochester,apersonwhomasyetiknewnot.thecardsofaddressaloneremainedtonailon:theylay,fourlittlesquares,inthedrawer.mr.rochesterhadhimselfwrittenthedirection,“mrs.rochester,—hotel,london,”oneach:icouldnotpersuademyselftoaffixthem,ortohavethemaffixed.mrs.rochester!shedidnotexist:shewouldnotbeborntillto-morrow,sometimeaftereighto’clocka.m.;andiwouldwaittobeassuredshehadcomeintotheworldalivebeforeiassignedtoherallthatproperty.itwasenoughthatinyondercloset,oppositemydressing-table,garmentssaidtobehershadalreadydisplacedmyblackstufflowoodfrockandstrawbonnet:fornottomeappertainedthatsuitofweddingraiment;thepearl-colouredrobe,thevapouryveilpendentfromtheusurpedportmanteau.ishuttheclosettoconcealthestrange,wraith-likeapparelitcontained;which,atthiseveninghour—nineo’clock—gaveoutcertainlyamostghostlyshimmerthroughtheshadowofmyapartment.“iwillleaveyoubyyourself,whitedream,”isaid.“iamfeverish:ihearthewindblowing:iwillgooutofdoorsandfeelit.”

itwasnotonlythehurryofpreparationthatmademefeverish;notonlytheanticipationofthegreatchange—thenewlifewhichwastocommenceto-morrow:boththesecircumstanceshadtheirshare,doubtless,inproducingthatrestless,excitedmoodwhichhurriedmeforthatthislatehourintothedarkeninggrounds:butathirdcauseinfluencedmymindmorethanthey.

ihadatheartastrangeandanxiousthought.somethinghadhappenedwhichicouldnotcomprehend;nooneknewoforhadseentheeventbutmyself:ithadtakenplacetheprecedingnight.mr.rochesterthatnightwasabsentfromhome;norwasheyetreturned:businesshadcalledhimtoasmallestateoftwoorthreefarmshepossessedthirtymilesoff—businessitwasrequisiteheshouldsettleinperson,previoustohismeditateddeparturefromengland.iwaitednowhisreturn;eagertodisburthenmymind,andtoseekofhimthesolutionoftheenigmathatperplexedme.staytillhecomes,reader;and,whenidisclosemysecrettohim,youshallsharetheconfidence.

isoughttheorchard,driventoitsshelterbythewind,whichalldayhadblownstrongandfullfromthesouth,without,however,bringingaspeckofrain.insteadofsubsidingasnightdrewon,itseemedtoaugmentitsrushanddeepenitsroar:thetreesblewsteadfastlyoneway,neverwrithinground,andscarcelytossingbacktheirboughsonceinanhour;socontinuouswasthestrainbendingtheirbranchyheadsnorthward—thecloudsdriftedfrompoletopole,fastfollowing,massonmass:noglimpseofblueskyhadbeenvisiblethatjulyday.

itwasnotwithoutacertainwildpleasureiranbeforethewind,deliveringmytroubleofmindtothemeasurelessair-torrentthunderingthroughspace.descendingthelaurelwalk,ifacedthewreckofthechestnut-tree;itstoodupblackandriven:thetrunk,splitdownthecentre,gaspedghastly.theclovenhalveswerenotbrokenfromeachother,forthefirmbaseandstrongrootskeptthemunsunderedbelow;thoughcommunityofvitalitywasdestroyed—thesapcouldflownomore:theirgreatboughsoneachsideweredead,andnextwinter’stempestswouldbesuretofelloneorbothtoearth:asyet,however,theymightbesaidtoformonetree—aruin,butanentireruin.

“youdidrighttoholdfasttoeachother,”isaid:asifthemonster-splinterswerelivingthings,andcouldhearme.“ithink,scathedasyoulook,andcharredandscorched,theremustbealittlesenseoflifeinyouyet,risingoutofthatadhesionatthefaithful,honestroots:youwillneverhavegreenleavesmore—nevermoreseebirdsmakingnestsandsingingidylsinyourboughs;thetimeofpleasureandloveisoverwithyou:butyouarenotdesolate:eachofyouhasacomradetosympathisewithhiminhisdecay.”asilookedupatthem,themoonappearedmomentarilyinthatpartoftheskywhichfilledtheirfissure;herdiskwasblood-redandhalfovercast;sheseemedtothrowonmeonebewildered,drearyglance,andburiedherselfagaininstantlyinthedeepdriftofcloud.thewindfell,forasecond,roundthornfield;butfarawayoverwoodandwater,pouredawild,melancholywail:itwassadtolistento,andiranoffagain.

hereandthereistrayedthroughtheorchard,gathereduptheappleswithwhichthegrassroundthetreerootswasthicklystrewn;theniemployedmyselfindividingtheripefromtheunripe;icarriedthemintothehouseandputthemawayinthestore-room.thenirepairedtothelibrarytoascertainwhetherthefirewaslit,for,thoughsummer,iknewonsuchagloomyeveningmr.rochesterwouldliketoseeacheerfulhearthwhenhecamein:yes,thefirehadbeenkindledsometime,andburntwell.iplacedhisarm-chairbythechimney-corner:iwheeledthetablenearit:iletdownthecurtain,andhadthecandlesbroughtinreadyforlighting.morerestlessthanever,whenihadcompletedthesearrangementsicouldnotsitstill,norevenremaininthehouse:alittletime-pieceintheroomandtheoldclockinthehallsimultaneouslystruckten.

“howlateitgrows!”isaid.“iwillrundowntothegates:itismoonlightatintervals;icanseeagoodwayontheroad.hemaybecomingnow,andtomeethimwillsavesomeminutesofsuspense.”

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