Disclaimer: I don't own the characters from Jane Eyre...Sniff

Note: Ok, I'm really sorry, I know it's been a long time since the last time I updated. I wanted to update during the Christmas holidays, but I went to spend Xmas at my mom's and it was pretty hectic! And then when I came back home I was met by the fact that I had to study for some final exams I had to pass (I'm a college student, so that's pretty hectic as well, lol), and when I finally got rid of those awful exams I began to write this chapter...Besides sometimes it's pretty difficult to decide whether I want to spend my WE writing a new chapter or drawing (which is my other passion), or just reading (which is my biggest passion!)...so , well, that's why it took me so long...P

I promise you that I will finish this story, I have the whole plot already in my head, I'm so eager to get to the chapter where...well, I guess I won't be telling you in advance what's gonna happen next, hehe.

Oh and thank you so much for your reviews, all of you, I love them so much!! Thanks to trueurbanite, Windinthereeds, Witchy-grrl, Cora, Sphynx87, elvespiratesandcowboysohmy, Darkened Purity, Graven Lament, Muskoka Girl, pippapear, you guys make my day every time I read your nice comments! And very special thanks to call2wrshp, I was very happy to read your kind messages!

And now, read and enjoy!

Chapter Eight

The heavy rain hammered my face as I opened the ancient door to the cottage; to say that I was as drenched as a siren would be an understatement, dear reader. Taking Mr. Rochester's hand in mine, we crossed the threshold, flooding the wooden floor beneath our feet. The cottage was silent and its darkness welcomed us, a dimness that echoed the grayish clouds raging outside, unleashing their majesty over the land, but at least there was solid roof above our heads.

Mr. Rochester, stood awkwardly near the entrance, his powerful frame quite still, as if seized by an unknown uneasiness

"We are a pitiful sight, sir." I said, playfully, in an attempt to chase my friend's discomfort. I put my fingers in his large hand, and guided him to the modest armchair near the hearth. "Sit down and rest for a while, sir; I shall light us a fire."

"Would you need me to help you with the fire?" His voice was polite, and yet he pronounced his request in a strained manner.

"There is no need, sir. Be seated...that is all I ask of you, Mr. Rochester." I answered, while lighting a candle, which I set on the table nearest to my weary guest, knowing that, in spite of his blindness, he liked to be surrounded by light when dusk came, because the shimmering flame of a candle was the only thing his injured eye could discern.

"I would not want to ruin the upholstery, Jane, wet as I am." It would not be difficult to believe him to be the survivor of a shipwreck, with his shirt adhering to his arms, clinging to his shoulders, imprisoning his wide chest, and his hair, darker than ever, impregnated with the wild wetness of the storm, giving him the air of a half-drowned man.

"Do not mind the upholstery, sir, it is but a very humble armchair", said I, and so he sat, as I went to the kitchen to retrieve some logs for the fire.

A few minutes later, a raging fire warmed the room, transmitting us a sensation of well-being, a haven of security, after the violence on the unbridled tempest. I was leaving the drawing room to go to my bedchamber so that I could get rid of my soaking garments, when my silent guest halted me.

"I suppose Rivers will come home soon", his words had a stony edge, and his features were set in a tense expression.

Then I understood why he seemed to be so ill at ease: it was awkward for Mr. Rochester to find himself under the roof of a man he did not appreciate.

"St. John will not come home tonight, sir; he has left for London, where he will spend a few days...It is a matter which concerns his ministry."

His brooding expression was a bit softened by my answer. "Why did he not take you with him, Jane? I am sure that you would like to go to town, which would be a more amusing perspective than staying here to keep company to a burdensome cripple".

"A burdensome cripple! Is that how I am supposed to call my dearest friend? For you must know that I consider you so, Mr. Rochester." A sad smile was drawn on my Edward's visage. "But I rather enjoy staying here by myself, you know; I feel free."

"Free? What do you mean, Jane? You do not feel free when you are in River's company or..."

Had I revealed too much about how I felt towards my husband? Yes, I had spoken too hastily and too candidly. I had to try to dissipate his suspicions.

"Oh no, sir. I only meant that, when St. John is absent, I cannot refrain myself from wandering freely in the wild beauty of the moors."

"I see..." But it was obvious that I had not fooled him with my poor explanation.

I hurried to my chamber, where I exchanged my dripping gown for another one of my plain, grayish frocks, before taking a small towel to dry my damp hair, which had freed itself from its confining chignon. Before returning to the drawing room, I went to St. John's bedchamber, where I took a white linen shirt, hoping that it would fit Mr. Rochester, as he was a good head taller than John.

"Would you like a cup of tea, sir?", I proposed, once I had given a towel to my friend, casting a quick glance to the dismal weather battering the window panes with the force of its anger, as the wind howled eerily. "This frightful downpour does not appear to abate...I would think it wiser for you to spend the night here, Mr. Rochester."

I felt shy all of a sudden; I was inviting him, this man I loved with despairing passion, to spend the night here, with me, in such a secluded cottage; I was flushing, or so the heat of my cheeks told me, as a sour feeling of shame rose within me; I was a married woman, and yet my blood began to race at the thought of being alone with Mr. Rochester, with no one to intrude, with no one to judge, to see. Jane Eyre, chase those impure, perfidious thoughts away! Yes, you love him, and cherish him you will until the final day of your petty life, but you have given your hand to another man, and to that man you are now tied, before God and before men.

"I am sorry to impose myself in such a way, Janet..."

"That is pure nonsense, sir. Now, if you cannot talk in a wiser manner, I shall leave you for a few moments while I prepare our tea." He remained silent, as if expecting me to leave him alone. I unfolded John's linen shirt, and took a step forward towards Mr. Rochester. "And you should change your shirt, sir, while I am in the kitchen." I gave him the garment, taking his only hand in mine, forcing his fingers to grasp the soft fabric. "Here, sir, I brought you a dry shirt." The only answer I was given was his silence; I was quitting the drawing-room when he finally spoke.

"Does it belong to Rivers?" I turned to look at him, but his dark expression was as unreadable as a starless midnight sky; crimson shadows came from the chimney, dancing wildly across his scarred left cheek, bathing his remaining, sightless eye with liquid fire, but that sole eye was dormant and I could not penetrate its profound darkness to see into my master's soul. I did not respond to Mr Rochester's question. "Do not ask me to wear his vestments, Jane" said he, and his voice was suddenly weary.

"Mr. Rochester, you cannot keep your own garments; you would surely catch your death and then where would I be?" I endeavored to speak in a light, almost merry manner, a hopeless attempt to cheer my companion up.

"I would not mind to welcome my own death, Jane" He stood up, aloof and melancholic, abandoning John's shirt on the armchair; he extended his right arm before him and took a few steps, hesitating amidst his world of blackness. I went to him, fearing that he might inadvertently walk too close to the fire; he tried to detach himself when he felt my left arm enveloping his forearm, but I held on tightly.

"Do not contemplate such dreadful ideas. Truly, I cannot bear to hear you talking about such horrible notions, sir." He turned himself towards me, and so we were facing each other; in the fiery and yet soft light of the drawing-room his dear, imperfect face showed more than ever the ravages left by the conflagration.

"You do not understand my pain, little one; you, who are so full of life, whose existence has only begun. I have led a life of solitude and shame, years of emptiness which have left me with a guilty conscience and a broken soul." He disentangled his arm from mine, and this time I did not prevent him from doing so; he brought his hand towards my head, and stroke my hair, gently combing the loose strands with his able fingers, making me stand still, halting my uneven breathing, and when his forefinger traced the lines of my plain face, my heart was near to bursting; eternity took us in its embrace while his trembling fingers danced upon my visage, barely touching me; his bowed head came to rest against my feverish forehead, then his lips grazed my right temple, not far from my ear, and his choked voice whispered: "Go, Jane. Do not let me pollute you..." He put his arms behind his back, and moved away from me, going back to the armchair.

I did not move, but I observed him being held in his prison of sadness; my husband's shirt was lying on the floor, I picked it up, knowing that Mr. Rochester would not wear it, comprehending the deep animosity he entertained towards St. John. " You think I do not understand your pain, sir, but the truth is that I feel your agony within my own breast, for I suffer as much as you do...because I lo...because I cherish you more than ever." And before he could say a thing, before my weak voice could surrender its artificial calmness to a river of threatening tears, I left him alone in the drawing-room, but even in my haste I had been able to distinguish the dramatic change my sincere words had brought upon him, upon his features, a change that resembled to the unexpected renewal of hope against all odds.

Once in the stillness of the dim kitchen I tried to regain a semblance of calmness; I felt cold, as if warmth could only be found within my master's arms; I felt numb, as if my spirit had deserted me, as if my whole being had chosen to stay wrapped around Mr. Rochester. And then I was hit by the force of the momentous revelation I had just made to my master, that confession of my undying love towards him, and even though I had tried to censure the truth I had conveyed to him, I knew that he had understood, for those words had only been a mirror to his own sentiments. I managed to prepare some tea, but my mind and my heart were restless; when our collation was ready I took a tray and disposed the cups of steaming beverage on it as well as a few pastries left from the day before.

I came into the drawing-room, and pulled a little, low table in front of the armchair where my guest was resting. "Your tea is ready, sir." I announced; I guided his hand to his cup. "Be careful, it is very hot."

"Thank you, Janet." Said my friend, and he sipped cautiously. He was now in a quiet mood, but he did not appear to be in a brooding frame of mind. For a few minutes we remained in tranquil silence, listening to the raging wind as it echoed the violent rhythm of the downpour.

"Would you read to me, Jane?" asked Mr Rochester, all of a sudden.

"Of course, sir...But, what would you like me to read to you?"

"I shall let you choose whatever you wish to read tonight, Jane. That is, if you are not too tired to humor me."

"Not at all, sir." I stared at the books lining one of the walls; those were St. Jonh's books, an endless collection of theological essays, but I knew that my master was not fond of religion, so those worn tomes would not be to his taste. I walked towards the shelves, searching for a book which Mr Rochester could appreciate. There was a faded little book in a forgotten corner, almost hidden by the heavy volumes surrounding it; I took it, fully knowing its title, for it had been given to me as a present from dear Diana Rivers; yes, this will certainly do, I thought, as a slight smile took hold of my features, almost against my will.

"All right, sir, if it is for me to choose tonight's reading then I shall choose something quite different from what I usually read to you." I wen to him and sat near his armchair, on a low stool.

"You have piqued my curiosity, elfish girl, so out with it!"

"Your curiosity is easily aroused, my dear sir. But if you long so to know what splendid story you shall hear tonight, know that I will read the Brothers Grimm's folk tales to you. Are you acquainted with them, sir?"

"What? You will read fairy tales to me?" His incredulous manner was quite amusing, and I could not prevent myself from smiling again. "Are you mocking me, little imp?"

"Why? You do not like fairy tales, Mr Rochester? Do you consider yourself to be too old for that kind of reading?" I asked, trying not to betray my mirth.

"Well, no...but...fairy tales...it has been so long since someone has read a bedtime story to me." His expression was very endearing, for he spoke like an innocent child, as a shy, boyish smile made him look years younger. "I...no, it is of no consequence; go ahead, Janet, read." His smile disappeared, and a heavy shadow descended upon his scarred visage, erasing the fleeting shadow of the smile which had freed his soul only seconds ago.

"So, let me find a story to begin with...Oh, yes, this is one of my favorite tales..." I cleared my throat, and began to read out loud. "There were once a man and a woman who had long in vain wished for a child..." It was not long before my master and I were fully engrossed in the story of Rapunzel, where castles and princes existed alongside powerful charms and evil enchantresses. Other tales followed, which invited us to the kingdom of elves, talking animals and beautiful maidens. I spent hours reading to Mr Rochester, secretly enjoying the low chuckles he would give in response to the witty dialogues written by Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm; my voice was tired, but I felt content and peaceful, as in the midst of a blissful refuge, where all my hopes had suddenly taken a real shape; I could have passed the rest of my uncertain life in this limbo of confined joy. The tall case clock down the corridor had just struck ten o'clock when I closed the book, "...and they lived together in perfect happiness."

For a few moments we did not exchange words; we were too enraptured in our own reflections. It was Mr. Rochester who spoke the first. "You do possess a remarkable talent, my little friend," he said, "you had me laughing like a madman with those bizarre accents you were capable of imitating, Janet! I thank you for those marvelous moments you have made me pass; you took me back to my early childhood, amazing witch that you are, my dear." And he smiled to me, sharing with me that special smile I had loved so well years before, when I was a mere governess under his roof, that smile which I still loved more than the brightest of fires.

"Was it your mother the one who read those tales to you, sir?" I demanded.

"Yes, it was her; she would come up to the nursery every night to read a story to me, and so I would have the most beautiful dreams. But she could not read those stories in such a vivid manner as you have just done, Jane; that is a rare gift, and I could never tire of listening to your sweet voice, little one."

"Sir, you are the most flattering person I have ever known; you speak of my plain, simple capacities as if they were the very qualities of a superior intelligence."

"And so they are, my little mustard seed." The charming, crooked smile lingered still upon his visage, transforming his features, "But you should go to bed, Janet, for I have heard the clock struck ten times...or perhaps you are waiting for me to turn my back so that you can go outside and do a magical incantation in the midst of that raging storm, in order to call your mysterious people?"

"I think I should never again read fairy tales to you, I see that they only feed your feverish imagination! And if you believe I am a fairy, which I can assure you I am not, then you surely are an ogre, Mr Rochester."

My companion laughed in a most joyful manner. "But I am an ogre, my dear, and if you do not take yourself to bed I will hold you captive for the rest of the night, and you will have to keep on delighting my ears, reading childish tales to me till dawn brakes, like a modern Shahrazad..." His sightless eye was almost alive, even though his smile had faded away, leaving behind a serene countenance. "But do have some rest, as you must be exhausted after having taken care of an invalid for an entire day; besides, your voice tells me that you are tired, little one."

"You know that I am happy in your company, sir." I did not approve of the self-deprecating fashion in which he usually referred to himself. "But you are right, I really am tired; and you must be fatigued as well, so let me take you to your chamber."

"I can very well sleep here, Jane; the armchair shall do for the night."

"It might do if you do not mind waking with a painful neck and a stiff back tomorrow morning, sir." I took his hand in mine, grabbed a candlestick in the other one, and led him in the dimness of the hallway to the spare bedchamber, not heeding his protestations. I then proceeded to light a fire that would warm the icy chamber, and rested the candlestick on a low table near the four-poster bed, not wishing to leave my guest in absolute darkness.

"There, sir; everything is ready for you to have a comfortable night."

He did not respond, but took a few steps in the blackness surrounding him, finding the edge of the bed, where he sat.

"Thank you, Jane." The words came at last, almost whispered; his head was bowed, as if avoiding me, his only eye, which was still as dark as the inky nights of tempestuous winds, was downcast. I touched his arm, lightly, for there was no need to exchange words; his shirt was still wet. Infuriating man! His stubbornness would surely kill him one day, and at this very moment he was not far from catching his untimely death, in the form of pneumonia.

"Mr Rochester, you are utterly mistaken if you believe that I shall allow you to wear those wet garments for the night." I said, as firmly as I could, trying to imagine that I was admonishing a misbehaving child, not an intimidating, grown-up man. But as I saw a frown appear on his severe brow, my determination was a bit shaken; still I said, "Sir, you really should take those clothes off, you will burn with fever within hours if you spend the night in those chilly vestments..."

"I have told you that I shan't wear his clothes..." He averted his face, his strong profile meeting my eyes; his voice did not express any feeling, but the shadow obscuring his features showed me that he was vexed.

"Yes, I have understood your unreasonable words...But at least get rid of your shirt, sir, or you will be seriously ill in a few hours." I had been a bit intimidated by his formidable character only a few seconds ago, but his obstinacy was so unnerving that I was determined to bring him to reason.

"I have also told you that life is of no consequence to me..." His arms were tightly folded against his solid chest.

"But your life is very dear to me, sir; and I won't let you throw it away in such a witless manner." He did not say a thing; his unseeing eye tried to find me but, as it was unable to do so, it turned itself to the parquet, in a brooding fashion. I knew I had won this argument."Now, if you excuse me, I shall bring you a towel so you can dry yourself..."

When I came back to him, some time later, he was still clad in his dank garments; sighing, I prepared myself to recommence our verbal discord.

"Sir, you really are stubborn..."

"I cannot do it by myself, Jane", said he, barely rising his voice, stifling my disapproving words. "A grown man who is incapable of untying his own cravat...I am useless, madam." He chuckled bitterly, as if responding to a cruel jest; the defeat in his voice oppressed my soul.

I went to him, wanting nothing more than to be of use to my dear master. "Let me help you, sir." My fingers had only brushed his silky cravat when his large hand took hold of them, halting them, imprisoning them in its unyielding, yet gentle firmness.

"Leave me, Jane...I do not want you to see...I do not wish you to behold...my ugliness...Please." Said Mr Rochester, slowly, breathing heavily, as if trying to steady himself; his hand lost its pressure around my fingers. In the partial obscurity of the bedchamber, with a wild fire burning in the chimney and a candle for only sources of light, I did not see the running tear falling from his blind eye, leaving a trail of anguish upon his raw, marred skin, but I felt it as it touched the back of my hand.

"Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, my dear sir." Were the words which my heart released at that very moment, as my own eyes began to gather tears of their own.

My unsure fingers began to untie his tightly knotted cravat; I felt Mr Rochester stiffen, but he did not reject my shaking hands. It was quite complicated to undo the luxurious, dark fabric but it finally gave way. When I pulled the cravat from around Mr Rochester's neck, my eyes were met by scarred, burned flesh, which had been hidden by the elegant garment I had unfastened; I took in the ghastly sight, acute grief filling my heart, for those scars were deeper and larger than the ones left on my master's face, and the damaged skin held no resemblance to normal skin; I averted my eyes, wanting to burst into tears, as it was unbearable to see those painful marks upon Mr Rochester's body; my beloved closed his only eye, turning his face from me to the warmth of the fireplace.

"You may go now, Jane...I can manage to do the rest." Still he refused to face me; he turned his back to me, as his fingers tried to undo the buttons of his shirt, to no avail. "Blasted thing!", was all he said.

"Here, let me help you, sir." I was in front of him once more.

"I do not need your pity, Jane." His voice was tired. "Besides, I would not want to upset your sensibilities with the repulsive flesh that lies beneath these garments; believe me, your husband's fair body has not prepared you to look upon the marred limbs of someone who has burned in Hell." His sarcasm was biting, but what pierced my heart was his restless sorrow.

"I could never pity you, Mr Rochester...you are too formidable to earn one's pity." Was my only response, and I proceeded to get him free of his linen shirt. I felt the rapid beating of his heart; he was as nervous as I was, but in his blindness he was also afraid. I freed him from his clinging shirt, baring his disfigured trunk, revealing before my unbelieving eyes the devastating reminders the fire had left upon him; his torso was a tragic sight, a crude landscape where broken skin and raw blemishes covered his chest and arms; the flickering candle near us cast its halting light on Mr Rochester, guiding my abashed gaze to the pale lacerations marring his vigorous shoulders, lacerations which were the violent souvenirs his adoptive father had given him so many years ago.

He stood still, as incapable of moving as a flawed statue; somehow, after some moments, his deep, beautiful voice came forth.

"So, Jane, do you think me handsome?", were his uttered words, tainted by a bitter irony.

"Sir...", my voice trembled, and I knew that I could speak no more because there was a well of tears overflowing within me.

"Do I hear you crying? Oh, yes, it is only normal for you to be revolted at the mere sight of my hideousness, is it not?" The affection with which he usually addressed me had disappeared, and a taunting mordancy had taken its place.

But it was his aching vulnerability that I could not bear, as my latent love for him grew in passion and in pain at the sight of his abused body and soul. Deader reader, I had to tear my eyes from his suffering form, and so I left the room, choking sobs burning my throat.

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I slept very poorly that night. It was not long before I realized that my rash reaction towards my master could be, and would be, wrongly interpreted. It is true, I had run away from Mr Rochester, I had departed with haste from his dear presence, leaving him alone with an aching past crudely marked upon his body, abandoning him in his never ending world of darkness and painful memories; he would truly believe the sight of his scarred person to be the violent force which had driven me away from him; he had already assumed that my sensibilities had been offended by his disfigurements, and so he would think that he had awaken repulsion within my heart...and yet he would be so far from the truth hidden in the deepest recesses of my soul. I had not borne to look upon his injured frame for long, of that I was guilty, but the reason which had ravished me from his side, leaving him in his hopelessness, was not related to disgust...no, if I had left in such an abrupt manner it was because of the confusion he had provoked in me, the confusion and the searing pain; it was because of the iniquitous urge I had experienced in those tense moments by his side, when the physical reminders of his distress had called forth all the tenderness I could bestow, when I had almost confessed the ferocious feelings which had been overwhelming my besieged heart for years now, those feelings I had tried so hard to stifle, the ones I had longed to quell with the freezing waters of reason and the numbing balm of moral conscience. Reader, I had been thoroughly tempted to forget the laws of men, my senses had rebelled and they would have forsaken Our Lord's Commandments if I had not fled Mr Rochester's poignant, and yet alluring presence.

Dishonor and shame were to be my companions during the restless hours of night, for I had been on the verge of openly declaring my despairing love to my beloved master, and such a revelation could only be the prelude to our downfall.

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As I left my bed, the next morning, I was greeted by beams of light filtering through the ancient curtains; there was a world of radiant beauty beyond my window; another warm, sunny day had begun, erasing the bleakness of the storm which had assailed the moors the day before. I hoped this peaceful landscape would be a heavenly sign, that the agitation which had held me prisoner during the night would go away with the dark clouds that had shadowed the land only a few hours ago.

After I had finished my toilet I headed to the kitchen, wishing to prepare breakfast; that menial task would help me to chase unwanted thoughts, for if I were to remain idle I knew that my mind would dwell upon matters which I would be wiser to avoid. As I was passing the drawing-room, I was rather surprised when I found Mr Rochester near the window, his head leaning on the window pane; he was so still one could have thought that he was admiring the artistic beauty of nature, or that he was studying the birds singing on the high branches of the tall trees that shaded the cemetery surrounding the cottage, and yet his eye had lost its luster of yore and fate had taken away its life, but for a fleeting moment I could have forgotten that he was a man forever living under a midnight sky; his dark hair reflected the golden brightness coming from the outside, and his entire being was a contrast of dark shadows touching the pureness of light; it was a scene of beautiful sadness.

"I trust I did not wake you up." asked Mr Rochester, in an inexpressive voice, as he continued to face the window. His acute ear had heard my light steps.

"No, sir, I assure you that you did not."

"It is a beautiful day outside, isn't it? I can feel the warmth of the sun, and there is a luminous radiance that even my eye discerns...I shall very much enjoy walking to Ferndean under such a limpid sky. Indeed, I am eager to go back to the manor; there are things I must attend to..."

"I enjoy having you as guest, sir; you must know that I cherish the moments we spend together, you do not need to depart in such a haste.." Those words were spoken in a hushed voice and they tasted like lies, for had not I failed him the night before when I had left him alone without a word, without an explanation? As I watched him being touched by the glorious light of the late summer's morning I felt the fear within my bosom that he would, somehow, take back the trust and friendship he had given me to replace the love we had once openly shared. "Sir, what happened last night...I would like to explain..."

"No explanations are required; I understand fully well that a scarred body such as mine can be a disturbing sight." His clenched fist was the only sign showing his inner struggle while pronouncing these words, as his voice had remained calm, almost indifferent.

"Sir, I was not disturbed..." I took a few steps towards him.

"Can you not see, Jane? Does a blind man have to lead you in the threatening uncertainty that surrounds us?" His calm demeanor was gone, the indifference in his voice had transformed itself into something akin to passion. "We will never conquer all the obstacles between us, and there are countless dangerous traps waiting for us, even in this odd friendship we have built between us. Inner pain is like a sinister menace hovering over our heads, Janet, eager to attack us, and so one of us has to suffer, one of us has to bear the weight of a grief caused by unspoken words and ignored feelings; it is all part of this truce we have implicitly agreed to. Last night..."

"Sir, last night I did not mean to...", my words were weak, for I was not quite sure what I would tell Mr Rochester in order to explain, without revealing too much, the complex feelings which had filled my being the night before.

"There is no further need to speak about it. I will only say that your sudden departure reminded me of the insurmountable abyss separating us, and believe me, it is for the better, or else...Oh, the deuce take me! It was a foolish thing indeed to spend the night here." He faced away again, as if basking in the cascading light passing through the thick window panes, but in the forlorn set of his shoulder I could read his defeat; and yet he was right, no more words should be said concerning those marking moments we had shared the night before. He had been wounded by my thoughtless response to his marred body, had he not? Oh Lord, I would have embraced Death rather than hurt my dear master, but hurt him I had, and he was now asking me to desert him in his solitary affliction.

"You had no choice, sir. You know well that it was impossible to go back to Ferndean."

"Perhaps. But today there is no raging wind nor deluge battering the moors, and so I shall go back." His profile met my eyes. "However, I am constrained to demand you to come with me, for obvious reasons..."

"And I shall be delighted to accompany you to Ferndean, Mr Rochester, but we are not leaving without having a proper breakfast."

"Breakfast? Oh, yes, you must be hungry."

"And you, sir, you are not hungry?"

"I am not in the habit of having breakfast; a cup of tea is sufficient nourishment for my body. But do eat, as I would not want to famish you before dragging you out for a long walk...that would only give you a reason to call me a heartless tyrant."

"Indeed, but I do believe that I shall behave like a tyrant myself, for I am determined to force you to have breakfast with me, sir." I passed my hand through the crook of his right arm, carefully avoiding to touch him more than it was necessary, for I was still afraid of myself, of the hidden reactions he seemed to create within me.

"You shall force me? You must be jesting, you girlish elf. What if I refuse?" I pulled him gently, but as if to illustrate his words, the tall man standing by my side refused to be moved, and my gentle tug was no match for his strength. "You cannot force me, delicate fairy that you are." His lips curved into a playful smile, which softened his serious profile very briefly, before becoming once more the stern sentinels of his guarded secrets.

"Then I shall refuse to accompany you back to Ferndean, Mr Rochester." Mr Rochester faced me this time, his only, pitch black eye fixed on my countenance, as if to gauge the earnestness held in my words.

"You insufferable child...You will make me lose my patience, Jane. Go and break your fast, but do leave me alone and aim you impishness to another human soul, for I am not in the mood to playfully bear your insolence." His voice contained the barely hidden annoyance of the Mr Rochester I had served years ago, the changing master who had taken possession of my entire being.

"And so now I am an insolent child, sir?" was my ready, unintimidated answer, for his disagreeableness was only another trait of his attractive personality.

"You have always been one, cheeky lass! But I am not an utter dolt and I do know that if I refuse to humor you, you will condemn me to go back to my abode on my own. So I am yours, madam, to do as you please with...Young despot!" The powerful arm beneath my hand lost its strength, and so I had no difficulty to tear my master away from the light pouring through the window, and to steer him towards the kitchen.

"Sir, your manners are rather lacking, not at all those expected from a distinguished gentleman."

"I never claimed to be "a distinguished gentleman", milady." His expression had not changed, but there was a note of dry humor in his words, and his arm did not shrink from my guiding touch; all was well for the time being, as our hesitant friendship had overcome the tempest.

XxXxXxXxXx

Singing larks filled the silence between us as Mr Rochester and I advanced, my arm comfortably around his, on the path leading to Ferndean. We had spoken only a few words since leaving my cottage, and those conversational attempts had been instigated by me, mainly to describe, as it was my wont, the peaceful landscape surrounding us, but seeing that my master did not respond with equal enthusiasm, I had left him alone with his meditations.

"Jane..." he said, after many a minute of silence; I turned my face to meet his visage, neglecting the wild beauty of the moors I had been observing so intently, for I wished to memorize its subtleties to display them on a future drawing. "There is a recurrent thought which refuses to leave since yesterday, you know? Oh, it has nothing to do with your hospitality, which was so gracefully bestowed upon me; it is something that concerned the conversation we had near the lake."

"I do not follow, sir..."

"Well, I realized what a detailed depiction I had given you of Ferdinand Rochester, my so-called father; you see, it had been so many years since I had last spared a thought for that infamous wretch, and yet, lately, I have understood that he and I are rather alike; I believe I do not need to tell you that I am thoroughly disgusted by that thought, Janet."

"That is absurd, sir, you are nothing like him!" I was outraged that he could contemplate such an outlandish idea, and my voice had expressed full well my sentiment.

"Let me explain my words, Jane," he affectionallly brushed my hand with his, but only for a second or so, before hastily withdrawing his fingers from my skin. "You have such a high opinion of me, my lo...my friend, and yet, God knows that I do not deserve it, nor do I deserve your trust...But you see, that man and I, we are not as different as I would like to think: Ferdinand Rochester loathed me because I was the living reminder of my mother's adultery, and for this I was mistreated with a vicious hate no child should experience; in my young days I had solemnly vowed to myself, and to my mother, that I would never turn into such a monster, but it seems that I have broken my promise; Adele, she... "

"But you have never touched Adele, sir; on the contrary, you have kept her safe, and..." Why could Mr Rochester not see that there were goodness in his heart and gentleness in his acts?

"No, Jane, you misjudge me once again; I am not an altruistic protector. I have spurned Adele for so long, only because her indiscreet mother had once wounded my youngish pride. She is not my daughter, of that I am convinced, and anyone with half a brain would agree with me; nonetheless, I took her in when her mother had abandoned her, sensing that it was the "right and honorable" thing to do; however, instead of becoming an adopted father for the poor girl, I behaved like the unfeeling owner of a worthless trifle, not caring that the child needed me to be her sole source of affection; she was only begging for the warmth of love and I responded to her with the coldness of derision; it is true that I never harmed her, but that is only because I could never touch a child with a violent hand, and yet my words and indifference must have hurt her, Jane." My beloved friend harbored a serious, strained expression; he was undoubtedly being held by the torturing grip of conscience. "We are both bastards, the little Parisian and I, brought to life by another's sins, I know what she feels in her solitude and yet I have been cruel to her...So I am no better than him, than the man who killed the father I have longed to know since my youth,and this notion has been plaguing me since the moment it entered my mind."

"Mr Rochester, your coldness towards Adele will never resemble to the meanness you endured as a child. I do agree that sometimes you were a bit disparaging to her, and I often demanded you to be kinder to the child, but, in your own fashion, you were a good guardian to your ward, and I know that Adele loves you very dearly despite your past faults." A warming smile crept upon my lips as I recalled how my young student used to prattle about her ami Monsieur Edouard Fairfax de Rochester.

"Perhaps, for she is a sweet-natured child. She used to write unending letters from school, saying that she missed me so terribly, that she would rather be by my side than surrounded by a multitude of girls...Mrs Fairfax would read those letters to me, but I never asked her to give them an answer, being the insensitive man that I am. Adele has not written to us for a long time now."

"We could write to her, sir." I was immensely touched by the concern my abrupt master was showing for his neglected ward; he was seeing beyond his own pain, he was wishing to quell a little girl's sorrow.

"No, Jane, I believe that a mere missive would not do. I was thinking about visiting her; I have not once visited her since she was placed in that boarding school."

"I think it would overjoy her to see you, Mr Rochester. It will do you good to talk to the child, sir, and she would be so grateful for your gesture."

"Precisely, that is what I have been telling myself. But I am sure you would not care to join me for such a visit, Janet, or would you?" His eye was focused on the path we followed, and his calm demeanor revealed nothing of the casually spoken words.

"I would be glad to see Adele again, sir...if you do not mind me coming with you?" His fingers took possession of my hand, keeping it in their gentle grasp for a while; my cheeks were flushed and my soul was pleased by his spontaneous caress.

"Your company is more than welcome, my little Jane; we shall go together." His kind words were like a soothing lullaby, bringing joy to my uncertain heart. "But this visit shall take us far from here, and we will not come back before two days. I wonder if Rivers will object to the fact that...well, that we shall be spending so much time together, on our own, for Mrs Fairfax will surely refrain from coming with us; what if he does not approve of it?" As if realizing for the first time that he had been holding my hand for a few moments, Mr Rochester let go of it.

My companion's words made me think of the confrontation I had had with John, the eve of his depart, when he had made clear to me that I, as his wife, would honor Our Lord by obeying my husband. As I recalled this, I felt a feeling of rebellion grow within my bosom, for I knew that God had created me to be the equal of my fellow men, giving me freedom and intellect; why could John not understand that I was not a witless creature to be ordered around?

"St. John shall not come back before a few days, Mr Rochester, but even if he were to return tomorrow, he would be sadly mistaken to think that a free woman, such as I am, is to be restrained from going where her will takes her." The words had only crossed the threshold of my lips when Mr Rochester halted his step, forcing me to come to a halt as well; his wandering eye fixed a point near my visage, as an amused expression took hold of his features, and his only hand came to rest upon my shoulder, shaking it lightly; I was not prepared to the roar of laughter that invaded my ears all of a sudden.

"The devil take me, that was the best speech I have ever heard, girl!" I was forced to laugh as well, a little emboldened by his jocular reaction, and yet feeling somewhat apologetic for the manner in which I had spoken of my husband; had I gone too far? "It really is you, my mischievous elf, you really are back; I am ecstatic to know that this marriage to a puritan minister has not bereft you of your witchy nature."

We spent some moments in a silence which was impregnated with merriment; only afterwards were we ready to resume our stroll, my hand resting on the crook of his arm, softly steering him, feeling warm when his laughter would resonate, again and again, loving how his blind eye would almost spark; perhaps my dear master had spoken true, for I knew that in his blindness he could see what I could not discern in my world of light; perhaps I was still his unchanged Jane Eyre.