o
lose no time in taking steps to prevent the false marriage. He referred
him to me for assistance, I used all dispatch, and am thankful I was not
too late: as you, doubtless, must be also. Were I not morally certain
that your uncle will be dead ere you reach Madeira, I would advise you
to accompany Mr. Mason back; but as it is, I think you had better remain
in England till you can hear further, either from or of Mr. Eyre. Have
we anything else to stay for?" he inquired of Mr. Mason.

"No, no; let us be gone," was the anxious reply; and without waiting to
take leave of Mr. Rochester, they made their exit at the hall door. The
clergyman stayed to exchange a few sentences, either of admonition or
reproof, with his haughty parishioner: this duty done, he too departed.

I heard him go as I stood at the half-open door of my own room, to which
I had now withdrawn. The house cleared, I shut myself in, fastened the
bolt that none might intrude, and proceeded--not to weep, not to mourn,
I was yet too calm for that, but--mechanically to take off the
wedding-dress, and replace if by the stuff gown I had worn yesterday, as
I thought for the last time. I then sat down: I felt weak and tired. I
leaned my arms on a table, and my head dropped on them. And now I
thought: till now I had only heard, seen, moved--followed up and down
where I was led or dragged--watched event rush on event, disclosure open
beyond disclosure; but _now I thought_.

The morning had been a quiet morning enough--all except the brief scene
with the lunatic. The transaction in the church had not been noisy;
there was no explosion of passion, no loud altercation, no dispute, no
defiance or challenge, no tears, no sobs: a few words had been spoken, a
calmly pronounced objection to the marriage made; some stern, short
questions put by Mr. Rochester; answers, explanations given, evidence
adduced; an open admission of the truth had been uttered by my master:
then the living proof had been seen; the intruders were gone, and
all was over.

I was in my own room as usual--just myself, without obvious change;
nothing had smitten me, or scathed me, or maimed me. And yet where was
the Jane Eyre of yesterday? where was her life? where were her
prospects?

Jane Eyre, who had been an ardent, expectant woman--almost a bride--was
a cold, solitary girl again: her life was pale; her prospects were
desolate. A Christmas frost had come at midsummer; a white December
storm had wh