"All day yesterday I was very busy, and very happy in my ceaseless
bustle; for I am not, as you seem to think, troubled by any haunting
fears about the new sphere, et cetera: I think it a glorious thing
to have the hope of living with you, because I love you. No, sir,
don't caress me now--let me talk undisturbed. Yesterday I trusted
well in Providence, and believed that events were working together
for your good and mine: it was a fine day, if you recollect--the
calmness of the air and sky forbade apprehensions respecting your
safety or comfort on your journey. I walked a little while on the
pavement after tea, thinking of you; and I beheld you in imagination
so near me, I scarcely missed your actual presence. I thought of
the life that lay before me--YOUR life, sir--an existence more
expansive and stirring than my own: as much more so as the depths
of the sea to which the brook runs are than the shallows of its own
strait channel. I wondered why moralists call this world a dreary
wilderness: for me it blossomed like a rose. Just at sunset, the
air turned cold and the sky cloudy: I went in, Sophie called me
upstairs to look at my wedding-dress, which they had just brought;
and under it in the box I found your present--the veil which, in
your princely extravagance, you sent for from London: resolved, I
suppose, since I would not have jewels, to cheat me into accepting
something as costly. I smiled as I unfolded it, and devised how I
would tease you about your aristocratic tastes, and your efforts to
masque your plebeian bride in the attributes of a peeress. I though
how I would carry down to you the square of unembroidered blond I
had myself prepared as a covering for my low-born head, and ask if
that was not good enough for a woman who could bring her husband
neither fortune, beauty, nor connections. I saw plainly how you
would look; and heard your impetuous republican answers, and your
haughty disavowal of any necessity on your part to augment your
wealth, or elevate your standing, by marrying either a purse or a
coronet."
"How well you read me, you witch!" interposed Mr. Rochester: "but
what did you find in the veil besides its embroidery? Did you find
poison, or a dagger, that you look so mournful now?"
"No, no, sir; besides the delicacy and richness of the fabric, I
found nothing save Fairfax Rochester's pride; and that did not scare
me, because I am used to the sight of the demon. But, sir, as it
grew dark, the wind rose: it blew yesterday evening, not as it
blows now--wild and high--but 'with a sullen, moaning sound' far
more eerie. I wished you were at home. I came into this room, and
the sight of the empty chair and fireless hearth chilled me. For
some time after I went to bed, I could not sleep--a sense of anxious
excitement distressed me. The gale still rising, seemed to my ear
to muffle a mournful under-sound; whether in the house or abroad I
could not at first tell, but it recurred, doubtful yet doleful at
every lull; at last I made out it must be some dog howling at a
distance. I was glad when it ceased. On sleeping, I continued in
dreams the idea of a dark and gusty night. I continued also the
wish to be with you, and experienced a strange, regretful
consciousness of some barrier dividing us. During all my first
sleep, I was following the windings of an unknown road; total
obscurity environed me; rain pelted me; I was burdened with the
charge of a little child: a very small creature, too young and
feeble to walk, and which shivered in my cold arms, and wailed
piteously in my ear. I thought, sir, that you were on the road a
long way before me; and I strained every nerve to overtake you, and
made effort on effort to utter your name and entreat you to stop--
but my movements were fettered, and my voice still died away
inarticulate; while you, I felt, withdrew farther and farther every
moment."