He walked for a long time around his lands as a soft, misty rain coming in off the moors hovered cold around his face. After walking for some time he reached a stone wall near one of his fields. Some of his tenants were busily herding sheep within. One of these tenants approached him.
'Good day t'ye, Mr. Rochester, sir,' he said, tugging his forelock.
'Good day George, and how goes it?' he said.
'Ah fine, sir. But what takes you out on a cold morning like this, and yesterday be your wedding day?'
'Obviously word travels slowly- it had to be postponed,' said Mr. Rochester, added hastily.
'Oh!' said the farmer, 'Now it all makes sense. Son was sayin' 'e saw Miss Eyre this mornin' by the road t' Whitcross right early.'
'The road to Whitcross? It looks like I've been going about this the wrong way. I thought I might catch her on her walk.'
'Naw,' said the farmer. 'Naw, she ne taked naw walk, sir. Son saw 'er climb int' th' coach.'
'The coach!' exclaimed Mr. Rochester. 'What coach?!'
'Aye, the coach to Whitcross. She caught it right early.'
'No, I don't believe-' Mr. Rochester stood still on the road, watching the long stretch he had already covered and in the distance, past the hall, the road continuing blankly over the moorland.
His eyes grew wide and wild as he slowly walked down the road. He dropped his parcel and began to run. He ran down the road, then, leaping the bounds, charged over the rought moorland, straight for the looping highway. He clambored over the rockey waste, roughly pushing aside the brambles, the short trees in his path. His breath grew ragged, he threw off his cloak and continued on, mile after mile.
Panting, he settled exhausted upon a stone high above the moor, where he could see the road, still miles away. 'Jane,' he panted. 'Where- why?!' he spat. He looked at himself in a pool of water forming in the stone. He was drawn, pale, ragged and desperate. 'You're a fool!' he said at length, and splashed the water from him. 'Hah!' he scoffed. 'After all this time Edward Fairfax can still play a role- play it to the hilt! Hah! You?' He drawled to himself, 'you find a woman to love you, eh? Well, see now! You great baby! See what it was that she truly wanted- position and wealth!'
He threw his arms up over his head. 'Oh! But she won't accept gifts and has lived poor her entire life, you say? A ploy! And you fell for it- again! Hah hah!' He laughed roughly as staggered against the granite. 'Oh, I am frantic. I must calm my blasted nerves, or this sprite will destroy me!' For a moment he sat, staring at the ground until he again errupted. 'Is this the crown given to those you pursue virtue? Suffering and more pain?! I've tried the path of sin and it led me to a place very much like this. Yes, it was Paris. Hah!' he laughed a wild, savage laugh.
He sat for hours in silence. Shivering, the sting of the cold wind on his face brought him out of his mourning. He slowly arose. 'Jane,' he said to the wind. 'I would have been content. I could have survived with you only as my friend, to never have you as my own. But this I cannot bear,' he said quietly and as a fact. 'To know that I am a fraud, a hated fraud in your eyes. That I must own,' he said with effort. 'I should have said something.'
'Good day t'ye, Mr. Rochester, sir,' he said, tugging his forelock.
'Good day George, and how goes it?' he said.
'Ah fine, sir. But what takes you out on a cold morning like this, and yesterday be your wedding day?'
'Obviously word travels slowly- it had to be postponed,' said Mr. Rochester, added hastily.
'Oh!' said the farmer, 'Now it all makes sense. Son was sayin' 'e saw Miss Eyre this mornin' by the road t' Whitcross right early.'
'The road to Whitcross? It looks like I've been going about this the wrong way. I thought I might catch her on her walk.'
'Naw,' said the farmer. 'Naw, she ne taked naw walk, sir. Son saw 'er climb int' th' coach.'
'The coach!' exclaimed Mr. Rochester. 'What coach?!'
'Aye, the coach to Whitcross. She caught it right early.'
'No, I don't believe-' Mr. Rochester stood still on the road, watching the long stretch he had already covered and in the distance, past the hall, the road continuing blankly over the moorland.
His eyes grew wide and wild as he slowly walked down the road. He dropped his parcel and began to run. He ran down the road, then, leaping the bounds, charged over the rought moorland, straight for the looping highway. He clambored over the rockey waste, roughly pushing aside the brambles, the short trees in his path. His breath grew ragged, he threw off his cloak and continued on, mile after mile.
Panting, he settled exhausted upon a stone high above the moor, where he could see the road, still miles away. 'Jane,' he panted. 'Where- why?!' he spat. He looked at himself in a pool of water forming in the stone. He was drawn, pale, ragged and desperate. 'You're a fool!' he said at length, and splashed the water from him. 'Hah!' he scoffed. 'After all this time Edward Fairfax can still play a role- play it to the hilt! Hah! You?' He drawled to himself, 'you find a woman to love you, eh? Well, see now! You great baby! See what it was that she truly wanted- position and wealth!'
He threw his arms up over his head. 'Oh! But she won't accept gifts and has lived poor her entire life, you say? A ploy! And you fell for it- again! Hah hah!' He laughed roughly as staggered against the granite. 'Oh, I am frantic. I must calm my blasted nerves, or this sprite will destroy me!' For a moment he sat, staring at the ground until he again errupted. 'Is this the crown given to those you pursue virtue? Suffering and more pain?! I've tried the path of sin and it led me to a place very much like this. Yes, it was Paris. Hah!' he laughed a wild, savage laugh.
He sat for hours in silence. Shivering, the sting of the cold wind on his face brought him out of his mourning. He slowly arose. 'Jane,' he said to the wind. 'I would have been content. I could have survived with you only as my friend, to never have you as my own. But this I cannot bear,' he said quietly and as a fact. 'To know that I am a fraud, a hated fraud in your eyes. That I must own,' he said with effort. 'I should have said something.'