简爱(英文版)-第119部分

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I　looked　with　timorous　joy　towards　a　stately　house：　I　saw　a　blackened　ruin。
No　need　to　cower　behind　a　gate…post；　indeed！—to　peep　up　at　chamber　lattices；　fearing　life　was　astir　behind　them！　No　need　to　listen　for　doors　opening—to　fancy　steps　on　the　pavement　or　the　gravel…walk！　The　lawn；　the　grounds　were　trodden　and　waste：　the　portal　yawned　void。　The　front　was；　as　I　had　once　seen　it　in　a　dream；　but　a　well…　like　wall；　very　high　and　very　fragile…looking；　perforated　with　paneless　windows：　no　roof；　no　battlements；　no　chimneys—all　had　crashed　in。
And　there　was　the　silence　of　death　about　it：　the　solitude　of　a　lonesome　wild。　No　wonder　that　letters　addressed　to　people　here　had　never　received　an　answer：　as　well　despatch　epistles　to　a　vault　in　a　church　aisle。　The　grim　blackness　of　the　stones　told　by　what　fate　the　Hall　had　fallen—by　conflagration：　but　how　kindled？　What　story　belonged　to　this　disaster？　What　loss；　besides　mortar　and　marble　and　wood…work　had　followed　upon　it？　Had　life　been　wrecked　as　well　as　property？　If　so；　whose？　Dreadful　question：　there　was　no　one　here　to　answer　it—not　even　dumb　sign；　mute　token。
In　wandering　round　the　shattered　walls　and　through　the　devastated　interior；　I　gathered　evidence　that　the　calamity　was　not　of　late　occurrence。　Winter　snows；　I　thought；　had　drifted　through　that　void　arch；　winter　rains　beaten　in　at　those　hollow　casements；　for；　amidst　the　drenched　piles　of　rubbish；　spring　had　cherished　vegetation：　grass　and　weed　grew　here　and　there　between　the　stones　and　fallen　rafters。　And　oh！　where　meantime　was　the　hapless　owner　of　this　wreck？　In　what　land？　Under　what　auspices？　My　eye　involuntarily　wandered　to　the　grey　church　tower　near　the　gates；　and　I　asked；　“Is　he　with　Damer　de　Rochester；　sharing　the　shelter　of　his　narrow　marble　house？”
Some　answer　must　be　had　to　these　questions。　I　could　find　it　nowhere　but　at　the　inn；　and　thither；　ere　long；　I　returned。　The　host　himself　brought　my　breakfast　into　the　parlour。　I　requested　him　to　shut　the　door　and　sit　do。　But　when　he　plied；　I　scarcely　knew　how　to　begin；　such　horror　had　I　of　the　possible　answers。　And　yet　the　spectacle　of　desolation　I　had　just　left　prepared　me　in　a　measure　for　a　tale　of　misery。　The　host　was　a　respectable…looking；　middle…aged　man。
“You　know　Thornfield　Hall；　of　course？”　I　managed　to　say　at　last。
“Yes；　ma’am；　I　lived　there　once。”
“Did　you？”　Not　in　my　time；　I　thought：　you　are　a　stranger　to　me。
“I　was　the　late　Mr。　Rochester’s　butler；”　he　added。
The　late！　I　seem　to　have　received；　with　full　force；　the　blow　I　had　been　trying　to　evade。
“The　late！”　gasped。　“Is　he　dead？”
“I　mean　the　present　gentleman；　Mr。　Edward’s　father；”　he　explained。　I　breathed　again：　my　blood　resumed　its　flow。　Fully　assured　by　these　words　that　Mr。　Edward—my　Mr。　Rochester　（God　bless　him；　wherever　he　was！）—was　at　least　alive：　was；　in　short；　“the　present　gentleman。”　Gladdening　words！　It　seemed　I　could　hear　all　that　was　to　e—whatever　the　disclosures　might　be—with　parative　tranquillity。　Since　he　was　not　in　the　grave；　I　could　bear；　I　thought；　to　learn　that　he　was　at　the　Antipodes。
“Is　Mr。　Rochester　living　at　Thornfield　Hall　now？”　I　asked；　knowing；　of　course；　what　the　answer　would　be；　but　yet　desirous　of　deferring　the　direct　question　as　to　where　he　really　was。
“No；　ma’am—oh；　no！　No　one　is　living　there。　I　suppose　you　are　a　stranger　in　these　parts；　or　you　would　have　heard　what　happened　last　autumn；—Thornfield　Hall　is　quite　a　ruin：　it　was　burnt　down　just　about　harvest…time。　A　dreadful　calamity！　such　an　immense　quantity　of　valuable　property　destroyed：　hardly　any　of　the　furniture　could　be　saved。　The　fire　broke　out　at　dead　of　night；　and　before　the　engines　arrived　from　Millcote；　the　building　was　one　mass　of　flame。　It　was　a　terrible　spectacle：　I　witnessed　it　myself。”
“At　dead　of　night！”　I　muttered。　Yes；　that　was　ever　the　hour　of　fatality　at　Thornfield。　“Was　it　known　how　it　originated？”　I　demanded。
“They　guessed；　ma’am：　they　guessed。　Indeed；　I　should　say　it　was　ascertained　beyond　a　doubt。　You　are　not　perhaps　aware；”　he　continued；　edging　his　chair　a　little　nearer　the　table；　and　speaking　low；　“that　there　was　a　lady—a—a　lunatic；　kept　in　the　house？”
“I　have　heard　something　of　it。”
“She　was　kept　in　very　close　confinement；　ma’am：　people　even　for　some　years　was　not　absolutely　certain　of　her　existence。　No　one　saw　her：　they　only　knew　by　rumour　that　such　a　person　was　at　the　Hall；　and　who　or　what　she　was　it　was　difficult　to　conjecture。　They　said　Mr。　Edward　had　brought　her　from　abroad；　and　some　believed　she　had　been　his　mistress。　But　a　queer　thing　happened　a　year　since—a　very　queer　thing。”
I　feared　now　to　hear　my　own　story。　I　endeavoured　to　recall　him　to　the　main　fact。
“And　this　lady？”
“This　lady；　ma’am；”　he　answered；　“turned　out　to　be　Mr。　Rochester’s　wife！　The　discovery　was　brought　about　in　the　strangest　way。　There　was　a　young　lady；　a　governess　at　the　Hall；　that　Mr。　Rochester　fell　in—”
“But　the　fire；”　I　suggested。
“I’m　ing　to　that；　ma’am—that　Mr。　Edward　fell　in　love　with。　The　servants　say　they　never　saw　anybody　so　much　in　love　as　he　was：　he　was　after　her　continually。　They　used　to　watch　him—servants　will；　you　know；　ma’am—and　he　set　store　on　her　past　everything：　for　all；　nobody　but　him　thought　her　so　very　handsome。　She　was　a　little　small　thing；　they　say；　almost　like　a　child。　I　never　saw　her　myself；　but　I’ve　heard　Leah；　the　house…maid；　tell　of　her。　Leah　liked　her　well　enough。　Mr。　Rochester　was　about　forty；　and　this　governess　not　twenty；　and　you　see；　when　gentlemen　of　his　age　fall　in　love　with　girls；　they　are　often　like　as　if　they　were　bewitched。　Well；　he　would　marry　her。”
“You　shall　tell　me　this　part　of　the　story　another　time；”　I　said；　“but　now　I　have　a　particular　reason　for　wishing　to　hear　all　about　the　fire。　Was　it　suspected　that　this　lunatic；　Mrs。　Rochester；　had　any　hand　in　it？”
“You’ve　hit　it；　ma’am：　it’s　quite　certain　that　it　was　her；　and　nobody　but　her；　that　set　it　going。　She　had　a　woman　to　take　care　of　her　called　Mrs。　Poole—an　able　woman　in　her　line；　and　very　trustworthy；　but　for　one　fault—a　fault　mon　to　a　deal　of　them　nurses　and　matrons—she　kept　a　private　bottle　of　gin　by　her；　and　now　and　then　took　a　drop　over…much。　It　is　excusable；　for　she　had　a　hard　life　of　it：　but　still　it　was　dangerous；　for　when　Mrs。　Poole　was　fast　asleep　after　the　gin　and　water；　the　mad　lady；　who　was　as　cunning　as　a　witch；　would　take　the　keys　out　of　her　pocket；　let　herself　out　of　her　chamber；　and　go　roaming　about　the　house；　doing　any　wild　mischief　that　came　into　her　head。　They　say　she　had　nearly　burnt　her　husband　in　his　bed　once：　but　I　don’t　know　about　that。　However；　on　this　night；　she　set　fire　first　to　the　hangings　of　the　room　next　her　own；　and　then　she　got　down　to　a　lower　storey；　and　made　her　way　to　the　chamber　that　had　been　the　governess’s—（she　was　like　as　if　she　knew　somehow　how　matters　had　gone　on；　and　had　a　spite　at　her）—and　she　kindled　the　bed　there；　but　there　was　nobody　sleeping　in　it；　fortunately。　The　governess　had　run　away　two　months　before；　and　for　all　Mr。　Rochester　sought　her　as　if　she　had　been　the　most　precious　thing　he　had　in　the　world；　he　never　could　hear　a　word　of　her；　and　he　grew　savage—quite　savage　on　his　disappointment：　he　never　was　a　wild　man；　but　he　got　dangerous　after　he　lost　her。　He　would　be　alone；　too。　He　sent　Mrs。　Fairfax；　the　housekeeper；　away　to　her　friends　at　a　distance；　but　he　did　it　handsomely；　for　he　settled　an　annuity　on　her　for　life：　and　she　deserved　it—she　was　a　very　good　woman。　Miss　Adèle；　a　ward　he　had；　was　put　to　school。　He　broke　off　acquaintance　with　all　the　gentry；　and　shut　himself　up　like　a　hermit　at　the　Hall。”
“What！　did　he　not　leave　England？”
“Leave　England？　Bless　you；　no！　He　would　not　cross　the　door…stones　of　the　house；　except　at　night；　when　he　walked　just　like　a　ghost　about　the　grounds　and　in　the　orchard　as　if　he　had　lost　his　senses—　which　it　is　my　opinion　he　had；　for　a　more　spirited；　bolder；　keener　gentleman　than　he　was　before　that　midge　of　a　governess　crossed　him；　you　never　saw；　ma’am。　He　was　not　a　man　given　to　wine；　or　cards；　or　racing；　as　some　are；　and　he　was　not　so　very　handsome；　but　he　had　a　courage　and　a　will　of　his　own；　if　ever　man　had。　I　knew　him　from　a　boy；　you　see：　and　for　m