strait waistcoat—your grasp, even in fury, would have a charm for me: if you flew at me as wildly as that woman did this morning, I should receive you in an embrace, at least as fond as it would be restrictive. I should not shrink from you with disgust as I did from her: in your quiet moments you should have no watcher and no nurse but me; and I could hang over you with untiring tenderness, though you gave me no smile in return; and never weary of gazing into your eyes, though they had no longer a ray of recognition for me.—But why do I follow that train of ideas? I was talking of removing you from Thornfield. All, you know, is prepared for prompt departure: tomorrow you shall go. I only ask you to endure one more night under this roof, Jane; and then, farewell to its miseries and terrors forever! I have a place to repair to, which will be a secure sanctuary from hateful reminiscences, from unwelcome intrusion—even from falsehood and slander.”
“And take Adèle with you, sir,” I interrupted; “she will be a companion for you.”
“What do you mean, Jane? I told you I would send Adèle to school; and what do I want with a child for a companion, and not my own child—a French dancer’s bastard? Why do you importune me about her! I say, why do you assign Adèle to me for a companion?”
“You spoke of a retirement, sir; and retirement and solitude are dull: too dull for you.”
“Solitude! solitude!” he reiterated with irritation. “I see I must come to an explanation. I don’t know what sphynx-like expression is forming in your countenance. You are to share my solitude. Do you understand?”
I shook my head: it required a degree of courage, excited as he was becoming, even to risk that mute sign of