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the others hanging there: firstly, because it was masculine; and,
secondly, because it was dark, strong, and stern. I had it still
before me when I entered Hay, and slipped the letter into the
post-office; I saw it as I walked fast down-hill all the way home.
When I came to the stile, I stopped a minute, looked round and
listened, with an idea that a horse's hoofs might ring on the causeway
again, and that a rider in a cloak, and a Gytrash-like Newfoundland
dog, might be again apparent: I saw only the hedge and a pollard
willow before me, rising up still and straight to meet the
moonbeams; I heard only the faintest waft of wind roaming fitful among
the trees round Thornfield, a mile distant; and when I glanced down in
the direction of the murmur, my eye, traversing the hall-front, caught
a light kindling in a window: it reminded me that I was late, and I
hurried on.
I did not like re-entering Thornfield. To pass its threshold was to
return to stagnation; to cross the silent hall, to ascend the darksome
staircase, to seek my own lonely little room, and then to meet
tranquil Mrs. Fairfax, and spend the long winter evening with her, and
her only, was to quell wholly the faint excitement wakened by my
walk,- to slip again over my faculties the viewless fetters of an
uniform and too still existence; of an existence whose very privileges
of security and ease I was becoming incapable of appreciating. What
good it would have done me at that time to have been tossed in the
storms of an uncertain struggling life, and to have been taught by
rough and bitter experience to long for the calm amidst which I now
repined! Yes, just as much good as it would do a man tired of
sitting still in a 'too easy chair' to take a long walk: and just as
natural was the wish to stir, under my circumstances, as it would be
under his.
I lingered at the gates; I lingered on the lawn; I paced
backwards and forwards on the pavement; the shutters of the glass door
were closed; I could not see into the interior; and both my eyes and
spirit seemed drawn from the gloomy house- from the grey hollow filled
with rayless cells, as it appeared to me- to that sky expanded
before me,- a blue sea absolved from taint of cloud; the moon
ascending it in solemn march; her orb seeming to look up as she left
the hill-tops, from behind which she had come, far and farther below
her, and aspired to the zenith, midnight dark in its fathomless
depth and measureless distance; and for those trembling stars that
followed her course; they made my heart tremble, my veins glow when
I viewed them. Little things recall us to earth; the clock struck in
the hall; that sufficed; I turned from moon and stars, opened a
side-door, and went in.
The hall was not dark, nor yet was it lit, only by the high-hung
bronze lamp; a warm glow suffused both it and the lower steps of the
oak staircase. This ruddy shine issued from the great dining-room,