harp."

"There, sir, you are redd up and made decent. Now I'll leave you: I have
been travelling these last three days, and I believe I am tired. Good
night."

"Just one word, Jane: were there only ladies in the house where you have
been?"

I laughed and made my escape, still laughing as I ran upstairs. "A good
idea!" I thought with glee. "I see I have the means of fretting him out
of his melancholy for some time to come."

Very early the next morning I heard him up and astir, wandering from one
room to another. As soon as Mary came down I heard the question: "Is
Miss Eyre here?" Then: "Which room did you put her into? Was it dry? Is
she up? Go and ask if she wants anything; and when she will come down."

I came down as soon as I thought there was a prospect of breakfast.
Entering the room very softly, I had a view of him before he discovered
my presence. It was mournful, indeed, to witness the subjugation of that
vigorous spirit to a corporeal infirmity. He sat in his chair--still,
but not at rest: expectant evidently; the lines of now habitual sadness
marking his strong features. His countenance reminded one of a lamp
quenched, waiting to be re-lit--and alas! it was not himself that could
now kindle the lustre of animated expression: he was dependent on another
for that office! I had meant to be gay and careless, but the
powerlessness of the strong man touched my heart to the quick: still I
accosted him with what vivacity I could.

"It is a bright, sunny morning, sir," I said. "The rain is over and
gone, and there is a tender shining after it: you shall have a walk
soon."

I had wakened the glow: his features beamed.

"Oh, you are indeed there, my skylark! Come to me. You are not gone:
not vanished? I heard one of your kind an hour ago, singing high over
the wood: but its song had no music for me, any more than the rising sun
had rays. All the melody on earth is concentrated in my Jane's tongue to
my ear (I am glad it is not naturally a silent one): all the sunshine I
can feel is in her presence."

The water stood in my eyes to hear this avowal of his dependence; just as
if a royal eagle, chained to a perch, should be forced to entreat a
sparrow to become its purveyor. But I would not be lachrymose: I dashed
off the salt drops, and busied myself with preparing breakfast.

Most of the morning was spent in the open air. I led him out of the wet
and wild wood into some cheerful fields: I