Mr. Rochester had given me only a week's leave of absence, yet a month passed before I departed from Gateshead. Eliza and Georgiana needed my assistance—with sewing and packing and other household tasks—in order to begin their new lives. As I will have no occasion to speak of my cousins again, I might as well mention here that Georgiana eventually married a wealthy, older man in London. Eliza traveled to France, where she became a nun and is now the mother superior of a convent.
While I was away, I heard from Mrs. Fairfax. She wrote that the houseguests had dispersed and Mr. Rochester had left for London three weeks ago. Mrs. Fairfax surmised that he had gone to make arrangements for his wedding because he was talking about purchasing a new carriage. From what everybody had said, and from what she had seen, she believed that the event would shortly take place. But the idea of his marrying Blanche Ingram still seemed strange to her.
"I have no doubt that he will marry Miss Ingram," I said to myself. My question was, where would I go when he did?
I dreamed of Miss Ingram all that night. In one particularly vivid dream, I saw her closing the gates of Thornfield against me and pointing down the road. Mr. Rochester looked on with his arms folded and smiled scornfully at both of us.
My journey back to Thornfield seemed very tedious. Once there, how long would I stay? Not long, I was sure. I had not notified Mrs. Fairfax of the exact date of my arrival because I didn't want a carriage to meet me at Millcote. After leaving my trunk at the inn to be sent on later, I took the old road to Thornfield. It was a little-used road, running mainly through fields, where the haymakers were at work on this mild June evening. As I walked along, I felt glad. In fact, I was so happy that I stopped once to ask myself what this joy meant and to remind myself that I was not returning to my home.
"To be sure, Mrs. Fairfax will smile and welcome you," I said to myself. "And little Adele will clap her hands and jump up to greet you. But you know very well that you are thinking of someone else and that he is not thinking of you."
Still, for me, it was enough just to see Mr. Rochester again. And so I ran to be with him while I could before I was parted from him forever.
I had only a field or two to cross, and then I would reach the gates of Thornfield. How full the hedges were of roses! But I had no time to gather any flowers because I wanted to be at the house. I passed a tall hedge, shooting flowering branches across the path. I saw a narrow stile with stone steps, and I saw—Mr. Rochester! He was sitting there, a book and pencil in his hand, writing.
Well, he was not a ghost. But all my nerves were unstrung, and I had to fight to master my emotions. What did this mean? I did not think I would tremble like this when I saw him or lose my voice or ability to move. There was no need to make an absolute fool of myself; I could go another way to the house. But it was too late. He had seen me.
"There you are, appearing out of nowhere like a fairy! Welcome home!" he cried as he put down his book and pencil. "Absent from me a whole month and forgetting me too, I'll swear."
I knew there would be pleasure in meeting my master again even though he would soon cease being my master. His words seemed to imply that it mattered to him whether I forgot him or not. And he spoke of Thornfield as my home. If only it were my home! I struggled to appear calm.
"Did you have a good trip to London, sir?"
"Yes, how did you know about that?"
"Mrs. Fairfax told me in a letter."
"And did she tell you what I went there to do?"
"Oh yes, sir! Everybody knew your errand."
"You must see the new carriage, Jane, and tell me how you think it will suit Mrs. Rochester. Don't you think she'll look like a queen riding in it? I wish I were as handsome as she is beautiful. Fairy that you are, can't you give me a charm to make me a handsome man?"
To him I said, "That's beyond the power of magic." But to myself I added, "A loving eye is all that's needed to see that you're handsome enough."
Mr. Rochester gave me a smile that he rarely used. He seemed to think it too good for everyday purposes, but he shed it over me now like sunshine.
"Pass, Jane," he said, making room for me to cross the stile. "Go home and rest your traveling feet at a friend's doorway."
All I had to do was to obey him in silence, but after I crossed the stile, a force turned me around.
"Thank you, Mr. Rochester, for your great kindness. I am strangely glad to get back again to you. Wherever you are is my home—my only home."
I walked on so fast that even he couldn't have overtaken me if he'd tried.
Two weeks of dubious calm followed my return. Nothing was said of Mr. Rochester's impending marriage, and I saw no preparations going on for such an event. Almost every day I asked Mrs. Fairfax if she had heard of any plans, but her answer was always in the negative. Once she'd actually asked him when he was going to bring home his bride, and he'd answered her only with a joke and an odd look.
One thing especially surprised me: there were no visits back and forth between Mr. Rochester and Blanche Ingram. To be sure, Ingram Park was twenty miles away, but that was only a morning's ride for a horseman such as Mr. Rochester. I began to cherish hopes that the match had been broken off, that one or both parties had changed their minds.
Meanwhile never had Mr. Rochester called me more frequently to his presence. Never had he been kinder to me, and—alas, dear reader!—never had I loved him so well.