Prologue
„Is he still in there?", John asked as he entered the house.
Mary nodded. „John, I´m starting to get really worried about him. He doesn´t leave that room, he barely eats anything and if you try to talk to him, it seems like he doesn´t hear you at all..."
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Edward Fairfax Rochester was sitting in an ample armchair in the best room of Ferndean, a half-full bottle of absinthe standing next to him, a glass in his hand. There was a fire in the fireplace, but apart from that no candle was burning, no shaft of sunlight entered the room, the windows were covered. But Mr. Rochester wasn´t aware of any of that. He dwelt on his comfortless thoughts...
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Oh Jane, my angel, where are you? What have I done to you? What a fool I have been to deceive you...
Oh, when I remember the look upon your face the moment you found about my wife... The pain, the grief...
I realized I lost you at that instant. You would never become involved with a man who was already married. No, not Jane Eyre, the most decent woman I have ever known...
But instead of hating me, instead of shouting at me, you just looked at me with these true, soft eyes which were filled with tears and I could feel my heart break at that sight. I made you cry, me, though I had sworn myself never to hurt or to disappoint you , but to be there for you, to make you happy. I begged you to forgive me, assured you, that we would find a way to be together, but you wouldn´t answer my desperate pleas, you wouldn´t even let me touch you, let me be close to you; that was all I´ve ever longed for...
And now, now you are gone. Not only do my eyes not see light anymore, my soul and my heart don´t, either. For with you, all that has enlightened my life has vanished also...
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One single tear ran down his cheek. He drank one more glass of absinthe, trying to drown his pain in alcohol, trying to forget all about the woman he loved.