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I could not lay a finger anywhere but I was pricked; and now I seem to have gathered up a stray lamb in my arms. You wandered out of the fold to seek your shepherd, did you, Jane?" "I wanted you: but don't boast. Here we are at Thornfield: now let me get down." He landed me on the pavement.
I could have sobbed on a pink print frock with a cape, such as Jane Eyre might have worn at Thornfield, and on bits of unfinished needlework, simple lace collars, and water-colour sketches with which Charlotte tried to brighten the walls of her austere home.
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."
I lingered till the sun went down amongst the trees, and sank crimson and clear behind them. How admirable is this icy hush of nature in breathless expectation of the first coming of the master of Thornfield of the master of Jane herself. And yet, how simple in phrase, how pure, how Wordsworthian in its sympathy with earth even in her most bare and sober hues!
Reader, though I look comfortably accommodated, I am not very tranquil in my mind. I thought when the coach stopped here there would be some one to meet me; I looked anxiously round as I descended the wooden steps the "boots" placed for my convenience, expecting to hear my name pronounced, and to see some description of carriage waiting to convey me to Thornfield.
The charm of adventure sweetens that sensation, the glow of pride warms it; but then the throb of fear disturbs it; and fear with me became predominant when half-an-hour elapsed and still I was alone. I bethought myself to ring the bell. "Is there a place in this neighbourhood called Thornfield?" I asked of the waiter who answered the summons. "Thornfield?
We were now outside Thornfield gates, and bowling lightly along the smooth road to Millcote, where the dust was well laid by the thunderstorm, and, where the low hedges and lofty timber trees on each side glistened green and rain-refreshed.
"Jane," he recommenced, as we entered the laurel walk, and slowly strayed down in the direction of the sunk fence and the horse-chestnut, "Thornfield is a pleasant place in summer, is it not?" "Yes, sir." "You must have become in some degree attached to the house, you, who have an eye for natural beauties, and a good deal of the organ of Adhesiveness?" "I am attached to it, indeed."
LETTER: From Miss Catherine Morland to Miss Eleanor Tilney. Miss Catherine Morland, of "Northanger Abbey," gives her account of a visit to Mr. Rochester, and of his governess's peculiar behaviour. Mrs. Thornfield, Midnight
Far from desiring to publish the connection, he became as anxious to conceal it as myself. "To England, then, I conveyed her; a fearful voyage I had with such a monster in the vessel. Glad was I when I at last got her to Thornfield, and saw her safely lodged in that third-storey room, of whose secret inner cabinet she has now for ten years made a wild beast's den a goblin's cell.
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