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PinkMonkey.com Digital Library - PinkMonkey.com Digital Library-Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte


237

would never consent to go with you.’ ‘She has consented: she has
pledged her word.’ ‘But you can’t get her there; there is no road to
the moon: it is all air; and neither you nor she can fly.’ ‘Adele, look
at that field.’ We were now outside Thornfield gates, and bowling
lightly along the smooth road to Millcote, where the dust was well
laid by the thunderstorm, and where the low hedges and lofty
timber trees on each side glistened green and rain-refreshed.

‘In that field, Adele, I was walking late one evening about a
fortnight sincethe evening of the day you helped me to make hay
in the orchard meadows; and as I was tired with raking swaths, I
sat down to rest me on a stile; and there I took out a little book and
a pencil, and began to write about a misfortune that befell me long
ago, and a wish I had for happy days to come: I was writing away
very fast, though daylight was fading from the leaf, when
something came up the path and stopped two yards off me. I
looked at it. It was a little thing with a veil of gossamer on its head.
I beckoned it to come near me; it stood soon at my knee. I never
spoke to it, and it never spoke to me, in words; but I read its eyes,
and it read mine; and our speechless colloquy was to this effect‘It
was a fairy, and come from Elf-land, it said; and its errand was to
make me happy: I must go with it out of the common world to a
lonely place-such as the moon, for instance-and it nodded its head
towards her horn, rising over Hayhill: it told me of the alabaster
cave and silver vale where we might live. I said I should like to go;
but reminded it, as you did me, that I had no wings to fly.

‘”Oh,” returned the fairy, “that does not signify! Here is a talisman
will remove all difficulties”; and she held out a pretty gold ring.
“Put it,” she said, “on the fourth finger of my left hand, and I am
yours, and you are mine; and we shall leave earth, and make our
own heaven yonder.” She nodded again at the moon.

The ring, Adele, is in my breeches-pocket, under the disguise of a
sovereign: but I mean soon to change it to a ring again.’ ‘But what
has mademoiselle to do with it? I don’t care for the fairy: you said
it was mademoiselle you would take to the moon?’ ‘Mademoiselle
is a fairy,’ he said, whispering mysteriously. Whereupon I told her
not to mind his badinage; and she, on her part, evinced a fund of
genuine French scepticism: denominating Mr. Rochester ‘un vrai
menteur,’ and assuring him that she made no account whatever of
his ‘contes de fee,’ and that ‘du reste, il n’y avait pas de fees, et
quand meme il y en avait’: she was sure they would never appear
to him, nor ever give him rings, or offer to live with him in the
moon.

The hour spent at Millcote was a somewhat harassing one to me.
Mr. Rochester obliged me to go to a certain silk warehouse: there I
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