Джейн Эйр / Jane Eyre

As we went on, my companion asked me about, and the conversation about the girl continued till we reached the light and cheerful region downstairs.

Adle met us there, and we found dinner ready, and waiting for us in Mrs. Fairfax’s room.

Chapter 13

The promise of a smooth career was coming true. Never before had I been granted such a pleasant existence.[22] Mrs. Fairfax turned out to be what she appeared, a calm woman of average intelligence. My pupil was a lively child, spoilt but teachable and obedient. She made progress, and her efforts to please me inspired me, thus, we were both content in each other’s society.

Yet now and then, when I was left alone and took a walk by myself in the grounds or climbed up to the attic to admire the view, I longed for the busy world, towns, regions full of life. I desired more of practical experience than I possessed and more people around me to talk to. Then my only relief was to walk along the corridor of the third storey, backwards and forwards, safe in the silence and solitude, and to open my inward ear to a tale that was never ended – a tale my imagination created, a tale full of incident, life, fire, feeling, that I desired and had not in my actual life.

When I was near the attic, I often heard Grace Poole’s laugh – the same low, slow ha! ha! which was followed by her eccentric murmurs. Sometimes I saw her, and I could not believe that woman, who had no point to which interest could attach, could produce such sounds.

October, November and December passed away. One afternoon in January, Mrs. Fairfax asked for a holiday for Adèle, because she had a cold, and I agreed.

It was a fine, calm day, though very cold. I was tired of sitting still in the library through a whole long morning and, as Mrs. Fairfax had just written a letter, I volunteered to carry it to Hay and post it. The distance of two miles could become a pleasant winter afternoon walk.

I walked fast till I got warm. Then I walked slowly, and as my road was all uphill, after a mile or so I stopped to rest. A sheet of ice lay across the track where a stream had run over it and frozen solid. From where I was, I could see Thornfield, with its dark battlements and woods. Looking the other way, I saw chimney smoke rising from the houses at the top of the hill. Behind them, the moon was rising. I stayed there in absolute peace, listening to the faint sound of the rivers in the valley.

Just as I was about to set off again, I heard the metallic clatter of horses’ hooves approaching. I couldn’t see anything, as the lane was narrow and winding, but someone was certainly coming. I stood back to let them pass.

When the noise was close, but there was still no one in sight, I was startled to see a huge dog sniffing right next to me. It was brown and white, with a long coat, and such a large, hairy head that it reminded me of a lion. I shrank back, but the dog ran past without even looking at me. Almost at once the rider galloped past too – a man on a tall, sturdy horse – and I continued my journey.

Then I heard a scraping sound, and the man cursing. I turned back to see that both horse and rider were on the ground: they had slipped on the ice I had been looking at.[23] The dog sniffed around them, then came up to me, barking. I followed him back down the track.

“Are you injured, sir?” I asked. “Can I do anything?”

“You must just stand on one side,” he answered as he rose, first to his knees, and then to his feet. The he helped the horse. Meanwhile, the dog was barking and leaping around, and was at last silenced with a ‘Down, Pilot!’.

Luckily, the horse was unharmed. But the rider felt his foot and leg and limped.

“If you are hurt, and want help, sir, I can fetch someone either from Thornfield Hall or from Hay.”

“Thank you, but have no broken bones, – only a sprain,” he said. As he stood up and tried his foot, he gave an involuntary ‘Ugh!’

The sun had no set yet, and I could see him clearly. His figure was enveloped in a riding cloak, but I traced middle height and a considerable breadth of chest. He had a dark face, with stern features, he was past youth, but had not reached middle-age, and I concluded he was about thirty-five. I felt no fear of him, probably just little shyness. He was not a handsome, heroic-looking young gentleman, he had not smiled and been good-humoured to me. If he had, I would have long been gone. But now when he waved to me to go, I announced, “I cannot think of leaving you, sir, at so late an hour till I see you are fit to mount your horse.”

He looked at me when I said this; he had hardly turned his eyes in my direction before.

“I should think you ought to be at home yourself [20],” he said. “If you have a home in this neighbourhood, where do you come from?’”

“From just below. And I will run over to Hay for you with pleasure, if you wish it. Indeed, I am going there to post a letter.”

“You live just below – do you mean at that house?” he pointed to Thornfield Hall.

“Yes, sir.”

“Whose house is it?”