《简爱(英文版)》第158章

ise　over　the　Pyrenees；　or　on　the　tideless　sea　of　the　south。”
I　had　coasted　along　the　lower　wall　of　the　orchard—turned　its　angle：　there　was　a　gate　just　there；　opening　into　the　meadow；　between　two　stone　pillars　crowned　by　stone　balls。　From　behind　one　pillar　I　could　peep　round　quietly　at　the　full　front　of　the　mansion。　I　advanced　my　head　with　precaution；　desirous　to　ascertain　if　any　bedroom　window…blinds　were　yet　drawn　up：　battlements；　windows；　long　front—all　from　this　sheltered　station　were　at　my　mand。
The　crows　sailing　overhead　perhaps　watched　me　while　I　took　this　survey。　I　wonder　what　they　thought。　They　must　have　considered　I　was　very　careful　and　timid　at　first；　and　that　gradually　I　grew　very　bold　and　reckless。　A　peep；　and　then　a　long　stare；　and　then　a　departure　from　my　niche　and　a　straying　out　into　the　meadow；　and　a　sudden　stop　full　in　front　of　the　great　mansion；　and　a　protracted；　hardy　gaze　towards　it。　“What　affectation　of　diffidence　was　this　at　first？”　they　might　have　demanded；　“what　stupid　regardlessness　now？”
Hear　an　illustration；　reader。
A　lover　finds　his　mistress　asleep　on　a　mossy　bank；　he　wishes　to　catch　a　glimpse　of　her　fair　face　without　waking　her。　He　steals　softly　over　the　grass；　careful　to　make　no　sound；　he　pauses—fancying　she　has　stirred：　he　withdraws：　not　for　worlds　would　he　be　seen。　All　is　still：　he　again　advances：　he　bends　above　her；　a　light　veil　rests　on　her　features：　he　lifts　it；　bends　lower；　now　his　eyes　anticipate　the　vision　of　beauty—warm；　and　blooming；　and　lovely；　in　rest。　How　hurried　was　their　first　glance！　But　how　they　fix！　How　he　starts！　How　he　suddenly　and　vehemently　clasps　in　both　arms　the　form　he　dared　not；　a　moment　since；　touch　with　his　finger！　How　he　calls　aloud　a　name；　and　drops　his　burden；　and　gazes　on　it　wildly！　He　thus　grasps　and　cries；　and　gazes；　because　he　no　longer　fears　to　waken　by　any　sound　he　can　utter—by　any　movement　he　can　make。　He　thought　his　love　slept　sweetly：　he　finds　she　is　stone　dead。
I　looked　with　timorous　joy　towards　a　stately　house：　I　saw　a　blackened　ruin。
No　need　to　cower　behind　a　gate…post；　indeed！—to　peep　up　at　chamber　lattices；　fearing　life　was　astir　behind　them！　No　need　to　listen　for　doors　opening—to　fancy　steps　on　the　pavement　or　the　gravel…walk！　The　lawn；　the　grounds　were　trodden　and　waste：　the　portal　yawned　void。　The　front　was；　as　I　had　once　seen　it　in　a　dream；　but　a　well…　like　wall；　very　high　and　very　fragile…looking；　perforated　with　paneless　windows：　no　roof；　no　battlements；　no　chimneys—all　had　crashed　in。
And　there　was　the　silence　of　death　about　it：　the　solitude　of　a　lonesome　wild。　No　wonder　that　letters　addressed　to　people　here　had　never　received　an　answer：　as　well　despatch　epistles　to　a　vault　in　a　church　aisle。　The　grim　blackness　of　the　stones　told　by　what　fate　the　Hall　had　fallen—by　conflagration：　but　how　kindled？　What　story　belonged　to　this　disaster？　What　loss；　besides　mortar　and　marble　and　wood…work　had　followed　upon　it？　Had　life　been　wrecked　as　well　as　property？　If　so；　whose？　Dreadful　question：　there　was　no　one　here　to　answer　it—not　even　dumb　sign；　mute　token。
In　wandering　round　the　shattered　walls　and　through　the　devastated　interior；　I　gathered　evidence　that　the　calamity　was　not　of　late　occurrence。　Winter　snows；　I　thought；　had　drifted　through　that　void　arch；　winter　rains　beaten　in　at　those　hollow　casements；　for；　amidst　the　drenched　piles　of　rubbish；　spring　had　cherished　vegetation：　grass　and　weed　grew　here　and　there　between　the　stones　and　fallen　rafters。　And　oh！　where　meantime　was　the　hapless　owner　of　this　wreck？　In　what　land？　Under　what　auspices？　My　eye　involuntarily　wandered　to　the　grey　church　tower　near　the　gates；　and　I　asked；　“Is　he　with　Damer　de　Rochester；　sharing　the　shelter　of　his　narrow　marble　house？”
Some　answer　must　be　had　to　these　questions。　I　could　find　it　nowhere　but　at　the　inn；　and　thither；　ere　long；　I　returned。　The　host　himself　brought　my　breakfast　into　the　parlour。　I　requested　him　to　shut　the　door　and　sit　do。　But　when　he　plied；　I　scarcely　knew　how　to　begin；　such　horror　had　I　of　the　possible　answers。　And　yet　the　spectacle　of　desolation　I　had　just　left　prepared　me　in　a　measure　for　a　tale　of　misery。　The　host　was　a　respectable…looking；　middle…aged　man。
“You　know　Thornfield　Hall；　of　course？”　I　managed　to　say　at　last。
“Yes；　ma’am；　I　lived　there　once。”
“Did　you？”　Not　in　my　time；　I　thought：　you　are　a　stranger　to　me。
“I　was　the　late　Mr。　Rochester’s　butler；”　he　added。
The　late！　I　seem　to　have　received；　with　full　force；　the　blow　I　had　been　trying　to　evade。
“The　late！”　gasped。　“Is　he　dead？”
“I　mean　the　present　gentleman；　Mr。　Edward’s　father；”　he　explained。　I　breathed　again：　my　blood　resumed　its　flow。　Fully　assured　by　these　words　that　Mr。　Edward—my　Mr。　Rochester　（God　bless　him；　wherever　he　was！）—was　at　least　alive：　was；　in　short；　“the　present　gentleman。”　Gladdening　words！　It　seemed　I　could　hear　all　that　was　to　e—whatever　the　disclosures　might　be—with　parative　tranquillity。　Since　he　was　not　in　the　grave；　I　could　bear；　I　thought；　to　learn　that　he　was　at　the　Antipodes。
“Is　Mr。　Rochester　living　at　Thornfield　Hall　now？”　I　asked；　knowing；　of　course；　what　the　answer　would　be；　but　yet　desirous　of　deferring　the　direct　question　as　to　where　he　really　was。
“No；　ma’am—oh；　no！　No　one　is　living　there。　I　suppose　you　are　a　stranger　in　these　parts；　or　you　would　have　heard　what　happened　last　autumn；—Thornfield　Hall　is　quite　a　ruin：　it　was　burnt　down　just　about　harvest…time。　A　dreadful　calamity！　such　an　immense　quantity　of　valuable　property　destroyed：　hardly　any　of　the　furniture　could　be　saved。　The　fire　broke　out　at　dead　of　night；　and　before　the　engines　arrived　from　Millcote；　the　building　was　one　mass　of　flame。　It　was　a　terrible　spectacle：　I　witnessed　it　myself。”
“At　dead　of　night！”　I　muttered。　Yes；　that　was　ever　the　hour　of　fatality　at　Thornfield。　“Was　it　known　how　it　originated？”　I　demanded。
“They　guessed；　ma’am：　they　guessed。　Indeed；　I　should　say　it　was　ascertained　beyond　a　doubt。　You　are　not　perhaps　aware；”　he　continued；　edging　his　chair　a　little　nearer　the　table；　and　speaking　low；　“that　there　was　a　lady—a—a　lunatic；　kept　in　the　house？”
“I　have　heard　something　of　it。”
“She　was　kept　in　very　c