I did. Mr. Rochester, reading my countenance, saw I had done so. His fury was wrought to the highest: he must yield to it for a moment, whatever followed; he crossed the floor and seized my arm and grasped my waist. He seemed to devour me with his flaming glance: physically, I felt, at the moment, powerless as stubble exposed to the draught and glow of a furnace: mentally, I still possessed my soul, and with it the certainty of ultimate safety. The soul, fortunately, has an interpreter- often an unconscious, but still a truthful interpreter- in the eye. My eye rose to his; and while I looked in his fierce face I gave an involuntary sigh; his gripe was painful, and my overtaxed strength almost exhausted.
‘Never,’ said he, as he ground his teeth, ‘never was anything at once so frail and so indomitable. A mere reed she feels in my hand!’ (And he shook me with the force of his hold.) ‘I could bend her with my finger and thumb: and what good would it do if I bent, if I uptore, if I crushed her? Consider that eye: consider the resolute, wild, free thing looking out of it, defying me, with more than courage- with a stern triumph. Whatever I do with its cage, I cannot get at it- the savage, beautiful creature! If I tear, if I rend the slight prison, my outrage will only let the captive loose. Conqueror I might be of the house; but the inmate would escape to heaven before I could call myself possessor of its clay dwelling-place. And it is you, spirit- with will and energy, and virtue and purity- that I want: not alone your brittle frame. Of yourself you could come with soft flight and nestle against my heart, if you would: seized against your will, you will elude the grasp like an essence- you will vanish ere I inhale your fragrance. Oh! come, Jane, come!’
As he said this, he released me from his clutch, and only looked at me. The look was far worse to resist than the frantic strain: only an idiot, however, would have succumbed now. I had dared and baffled his fury; I must elude his sorrow: retired to the door.
‘You are going, Jane?’
‘I am going, sir.’
‘You are leaving me?’
‘Yes.’
‘You will not come? You will not be my comforter, my rescuer? My deep love, my wild woe, my frantic prayer, are all nothing to you?’
What unutterable pathos was in his voice! How hard it was to reiterate firmly, ‘I am going.’
‘Jane!’
‘Mr. Rochester!’
‘Withdraw, then,- I consent; but remember, you leave me here in anguish. Go up to your own room; think over all I have said, and, Jane, cast a glance on my sufferings- think of me.’
He turned away; he threw himself on his face on the sofa. ‘Oh, Jane! my hope- my love- my life!’ broke in anguish from his lips. Then came a deep, strong sob.
I had already gained the door; but, reader, I walked back- walked back as determinedly as I had retreated. I knelt down by him; I turned his face from the cushion to me; I kissed his cheek; I smoothed his hair with my hand.
‘God bless you, my dear master!’ I said. ‘God keep you from harm and wrong- direct you, solace you- reward you well for your past kindness to me.’
‘Little Jane’s love would have been my best reward,’ he answered; ‘without it, my heart is broken. But Jane will give me her love: yes- nobly, generously.’
Up the blood rushed to his face; forth flashed the fire from his eyes; erect he sprang; he held his arms out; but I evaded the embrace, and at once quitted the room.
‘Farewell!’ was the cry of my heart as I left him. Despair added, ‘Farewell for ever!’
. . . . . .
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本文作者：简爱
原文链接：Jane Eyre-Chapter 27
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