第345页

书籍名:《简·爱(英文版)》作者：夏洛蒂·勃朗特

      'Yes;  the  back  parlour  was  both  his  study  and  ours:  he  sat  near  the

window,  and  we  by  the  table.'

      'Did  he  study  much?'

      'A  good  deal.'

      'What?'

      'Hindostanee.'

      'And  what  did  you  do  meantime?'

      'I  learnt  German,  at  first.'

      'Did  he  teach  you?'

      'He  did  not  understand  German.'

      'Did  he  teach  you  nothing?'

      'A  little  Hindostanee.'

      'Rivers  taught  you  Hindostanee?'

      'Yes,  sir.'

      'And  his  sisters  also?'

      'No.'

      'Only  you?'

      'Only  me.'

      'Did  you  ask  to  learn?'

      'No.'

      'He  wished  to  teach  you?'

      'Yes.'

      A  second  pause.

      'Why  did  he  wish  it?  Of  what  use  could  Hindostanee  be  to  you?'

      'He  intended  me  to  go  with  him  to  India.'

      'Ah!  here  I  reach  the  root  of  the  matter.  He  wanted  you  to  marry

him?'

      'He  asked  me  to  marry  him.'

      'That  is  a  fiction-  an  impudent  invention  to  vex  me.'

      'I  beg  your  pardon,  it  is  the  literal  truth:  he  asked  me  more

than  once,  and  was  as  stiff  about  urging  his  point  as  ever  you  could

be.'

      'Miss  Eyre,  I  repeat  it,  you  can  leave  me.  How  often  am  I  to  say

the  same  thing?  Why  do  you  remain  pertinaciously  perched  on  my  knee,

when  I  have  given  you  notice  to  quit?'

      'Because  I  am  comfortable  there.'

      'No,  Jane,  you  are  not  comfortable  there,  because  your  heart  is  not

with  me:  it  is  with  this  cousin-  this  St.  John.  Oh,  till  this

moment,  I  thought  my  little  Jane  was  all  mine!  I  had  a  belief  she

loved  me  even  when  she  left  me:  that  was  an  atom  of  sweet  in  much

bitter.  Long  as  we  have  been  parted,  hot  tears  as  I  have  wept  over  our

separation,  I  never  thought  that  while  I  was  mourning  her,  she  was

loving  another!  But  it  is  useless  grieving.  Jane,  leave  me:  go  and

marry  Rivers.'

      'Shake  me  off,  then,  sir,-  push  me  away,  for  I'll  not  leave  you

of  my  own  accord.'

      'Jane,  I  ever  like  your  tone  of  voice:  it  still  renews  hope,  it

sounds  so  truthful.  When  I  hear  it,  it  carries  me  back  a  year.  I

forget  that  you  have  formed  a  new  tie.  But  I  am  not  a  fool-'

      'Where  must  I  go,  sir?'

      'Your  own  way-  with  the  husband  you  have  chosen.'

      'Who  is  that?'

      'You  know-  this  St.  John  Rivers.'

      'He  is  not  my  husband,  nor  ever  will  be.  He  does  not  love  me:  I

do  not  love  him.  He  loves  (as  he  can  love,  and  that  is  not  as  you

love)  a  beautiful  young  lady  called  Rosamond.  He  wanted  to  marry  me

only  because  he  thought  I  should  make  a  suitable  missionary's  wife,

which  she  would  not  have  done.  He  is  good  and  great,  but  severe;

and,  for  me,  cold  as  an  iceberg.  He  is  not  like  you,  sir:  I  am  not

happy  at  his  side,  nor  near  him,  nor  with  him.  He  has  no  indulgence

for  me-  no  fondness.  He  sees  nothing  attractive  in  me;  not  even  youth-

only  a  few  useful  mental  points-  Then  I  must  leave  you,  sir,  to  go

to  him?'

      I  shuddered  involuntarily,  and  clung  instinctively  closer  to  my

blind  but  beloved  master.  He  smiled.

      'What,  Jane!  Is  this  true?  Is  such  really  the  state  of  matters