The manor-house of Ferndean was a building of considerable antiquity, moderate size, and no architectural pretensions, deep buried in a wood. To this house I came just ere dark on an evening marked by the characteristics of a sad sky. The last mile I performed on foot, having dismissed the chaise and driver and I hurried as fast as I could.
As I approached it, I heard a movement—the narrow front-door opened slowly and a figure came out. It was my master, Edward Fairfax Rochester.
I held my breath and stood watching him. His form was of the same strong and stalwart contour as ever, his hair was still raven black, his features were not altered or sunk, but in his countenance I saw a change. It reminded me of some wronged and fettered wild beast or bird, dangerous to approach in his sullen woe.
He descended the one step and advanced slowly and gropingly towards the grass-plat.
At this moment, John approached him from some quarter.
“Will you take my arm, sir?” he said.
“There is a heavy shower coming on, has you not better go in?”
“Let me alone,” was the answer.
John withdrew without having observed me and Mr. Rochester now groped his way back to the house too and closed the door.
I now drew near and knocked. John’s wife opened for me and she started as if she had seen a ghost.
“Mary,” I said. “How are you?”
“Is it really you, miss, come at this late hour to this lonely place?”
I answered by taking her hand and then I followed her into the kitchen, where John now sat by a good fire. I explained to them in few words that I had heard all which had happened since I left Thornfield, and that I was come to see Mr. Rochester. Just as I had finished my tale, the parlour-bell rang.
“When you go in,” I said to Mary, “tell your master that a person wishes to speak to him, but do not give my name.”
“I don’t think he will see you,” she answered. “He refuses everybody.”
When she returned, I inquired what he had said. “You are to send in your name and your business,” she replied. She then proceeded to fill a glass with water, and place it on a tray, together with candles.
“Is that what he rang for?” I asked.
“Yes, he always has candles brought in at dark, though he is blind.”
“Give the tray to me; I will carry it in.”
I took it from her hand and she pointed me out the parlour door. The tray shook as I held it and the water spilt from the glass. My heart struck my ribs loud and fast. Mary opened the door for me and shut it behind me.
This parlour looked gloomy and a neglected handful of fire burnt low in the grate. Pilot lay nearby and pricked his ears when I came in. Then he jumped up with a yelp and a whine, and bounded towards me, almost knocking the tray from my hands. I set it on the table and then patted him, and said softly, “Lie down!”
Mr. Rochester turned mechanically to see what the commotion was, but as he saw nothing, he returned and sighed.
“Give me the water, Mary,” he said.
I approached him with the now only half-filled glass, but Pilot followed me, still excited.
“What is the matter?” he inquired.
“Down, Pilot!” I again said.
Mr. Rochester drank, and put the glass down. “This is you, Mary, is it not?” he asked tentatively.
“Mary is in the kitchen,” I answered.
He put out his hand with a quick gesture, but not seeing where I stood, he did not touch me. “Who is this? Who is this?” he demanded. “Answer me!”
“Pilot knows me, and John and Mary know I am here. I came only this evening.”
“What delusion has come over me? What sweet madness has seized me?”
He groped and I arrested his wandering hand, imprisoning it in both of mine.
“Her very fingers!” he cried. “Her small, slight fingers! If so there must be more of her.”
The muscular hand broke from my custody and my arm was seized, then my shoulder, my neck, my waist, and I was gathered to him.
“Is it Jane? This is her shape—this is her size—”
“And this her voice,” I added. “She is all here—her heart too.”
“Jane Eyre! Jane Eyre,” was all he said.
“I am Jane Eyre and I have found you out. I am come back to you.”
I pressed my lips to his once brilliant and now ray-less eyes, and swept his hair from his brow, kissing that too. He suddenly seemed to arouse himself; the conviction of the reality of all this seized him.
“It is you—is it, Jane? You are come back to me then?”
“I am.”
“And you do not lie dead in some ditch under some stream? And you are not a pining outcast amongst strangers?”
“No, sir! I am an independent woman now of fortune.”
But he was too overcome to answer me.
“My Jane,” was all he uttered, touching every part of me that he could. “My Jane . . .”
“I am here and I shall never leave again.”
“You would want to stay here?” he asked, his voice dripping in hope. “With a cripple—a disgusting, vile creature as this?”
“You are not disgusting and vile, sir. I shall show you.”
I alighted from him and he would scarce have let me go, but I promised to come back. Quickly, I ushered Pilot out of the room and locked the door from the inside.
“I have dreamt of lying with you once more,” I whispered, coming back to his open arms.
“Jane, you cannot mean it.”
“I do. I love you and I always have.”
I gently ran my finger down his cheek, along the edge of his sideburn to his dark, stubbly chin. Then I carried on— down his neck, tickling his chest.
“Hush,” I whispered, ignoring his protests.
I began running the fingers of my other hand through his hair and heard him moan softly as a gentle wave of desire rolled through him. I too was experiencing the old sensation of thrills that I thought I would never feel again. Leaning forward, I lightly pressed my lips to his and felt him return my sweet kiss. A bank of yearning welled up inside me and over-flowed. I began to kiss him more fervently and forced my tongue between his teeth, tasting him. He was exactly as I remembered and I kissed him harder and harder, hungry for him.
In return, he kissed me back and ran his hand expertly over my body for he evidently remembered it well, cupping my breasts and stroking them over the fabric of my dress. I pulled off his jacket and tugged at his shirt.
“But, Jane—”
“I do not care,” I interrupted feverishly. “I want you now.”
“I want you too.”
I tore off his shirt and saw that his chest was still broad, strong, and muscular as I remembered it. I saw not his missing, wounded arm or the scars. I saw only him. Then I pulled off his breeches and his other garments and gently guided him down to the rug before the burning embers of the fire.
“Jane,” he breathed, as I kissed him again and again. I let my hands glide up and down his body, relishing the feel of him. I took his erection within my grasp and teased and tugged it mischievously. He grunted and sighed in delight and, emboldened, I ran my tongue down the length of it before delicately sucking the tip.
Leaving him gasping for more, I stood and quickly unlaced my dress, throwing off my clothing with haste. Then I sat astride him and waited as his hand searched my whole body; stroking my thighs, my hips, my stomach, and my behind tenderly. He caressed each of my breasts and thumbed my nipples until they stood hard and erect.
Then I leant forward and whilst I kissed him lightly, I tilted my hips so that he was pushed inside me.
He grunted and writhed as I thrust, and throwing my head back, I moaned quietly. I angled him to the deepest, furthest point of pleasure inside of me and rode him harder and faster, harder and faster until my whole body was throbbing with hot, delicious indulgence.
“Oh, Jane,” he panted and I knotted my fingers with his and pounded onto him.
I thrust once more and then melted into him as an intense thrill of ecstasy overtook my body and left me raw and gasping. I collapsed over him in a hazy daze of pleasure and he came inside me.
We both lay still, recovering from the release. “Jane, you should have pulled off of me,” he chided, stroking my hair as I laid my head on his chest.
“I suppose you will have to marry me now,” I said with a grin.
“Would you marry me, Jane?”
“Of course.”
“I would not sentence you to a life with this monster.”
“You do not have a choice.”
He curled his arm around me and held me tightly.
“I love you, Jane.”
“I love you too.”
And, Reader, I married him.