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第8章 天墟尸地

　　'Yes.'

　　The hall was not dark, nor yet was it lit, only by the high-hungbronze lamp; a warm glow suffused both it and the lower steps of theoak staircase. This ruddy shine issued from the great dining-room,whose two-leaved door stood open, and showed a genial fire in thegrate, glancing on marble hearth and brass fire-irons, and revealingpurple draperies and polished furniture, in the most pleasantradiance. It revealed, too, a group near the mantelpiece: I hadscarcely caught it, and scarcely become aware of a cheerful minglingof voices, amongst which I seemed to distinguish the tones of Adele,when the door closed.

　　Bessie would rather have stayed, but she was obliged to go, becausepunctuality at meals was rigidly enforced at Gates-head Hall.

　　Her grave is in Brocklebridge churchyard: for fifteen years afterher death it was only covered by a grassy mound; but now a grey marbletablet marks the spot, inscribed with her name, and the word'Resurgam.'

　　'Were you happy when you painted these pictures?' asked Mr.Rochester presently.

　　'Jane, you don't understand these things: children must becorrected for their faults.'

　　I did so: she put her arm over me, and I nestled close to her.After a long silence, she resumed, still whispering-

　　'You live just below- do you mean at that house with thebattlements?' pointing to Thornfield Hall, on which the moon cast ahoary gleam, bringing it out distinct and pale from the woods, that,by contrast with the western sky, now seemed one mass of shadow.

　　At last both slept: the fire and the candle went out. For me, thewatches of that long night passed in ghastly wakefulness; ear, eye,and mind were alike strained by dread: such dread as children only canfeel.