This prediction was but half fulfilled: I did
not indeed dream of sorrow, but as little did I dream
of joy; for I never slept at all. With little
Adele in my arms, I watched the slumber of childhood
— so tranquil, so passionless, so innocent
— and waited for the coming day:
all my life was awake and astir in my frame:
and as soon as the sun rose I rose too. I remember
Adele clung to me as I left her: I remember
I kissed her as I loosened her little hands from my
neck; and I cried over her with strange emotion, and
quitted her because I feared my sobs would break her
still sound repose. She seemed the emblem of
my past life; and he I was now to array myself to
meet, the dread, but adored, type of my unknown future
day.
CHAPTER XXVI
Sophie came at seven to dress me: she was very
long indeed in accomplishing her task; so long that
Mr. Rochester, grown, I suppose, impatient of my delay,
sent up to ask why I did not come. She was just
fastening my veil (the plain square of blond after
all) to my hair with a brooch; I hurried from under
her hands as soon as I could.
“Stop!” she cried in French. “Look
at yourself in the mirror: you have not taken
one peep.”
So I turned at the door: I saw a robed and veiled
figure, so unlike my usual self that it seemed almost
the image of a stranger. “Jane!”
called a voice, and I hastened down. I was received
at the foot of the stairs by Mr. Rochester.
“Lingerer!” he said, “my brain
is on fire with impatience, and you tarry so long!”
He took me into the dining-room, surveyed me keenly
all over, pronounced me “fair as a lily, and
not only the pride of his life, but the desire of
his eyes,” and then telling me he would give
me but ten minutes to eat some breakfast, he rang
the bell. One of his lately hired servants,
a footman, answered it.
“Is John getting the carriage ready?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Is the luggage brought down?”
“They are bringing it down, sir.”
“Go you to the church: see if Mr. Wood
(the clergyman) and the clerk are there: return
and tell me.”
The church, as the reader knows, was but just beyond
the gates; the footman soon returned.
“Mr. Wood is in the vestry, sir, putting on
his surplice.”
“And the carriage?”
“The horses are harnessing.”
“We shall not want it to go to church; but it
must be ready the moment we return: all the
boxes and luggage arranged and strapped on, and the
coachman in his seat.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Jane, are you ready?”
I rose. There were no groomsmen, no bridesmaids,
no relatives to wait for or marshal: none but
Mr. Rochester and I. Mrs. Fairfax stood in the hall
as we passed. I would fain have spoken to her,
but my hand was held by a grasp of iron: I was
hurried along by a stride I could hardly follow; and
to look at Mr. Rochester’s face was to feel
that not a second of delay would be tolerated for any
purpose. I wonder what other bridegroom ever
looked as he did — so bent up to a purpose,
so grimly resolute: or who, under such steadfast
brows, ever revealed such flaming and flashing eyes.
