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cankering　them：　now　I　see　myself　stretched　on　an　ottoman　in　the　drawing…room　at　Vale　Hall　at　my　bride　Rosamond　Oliver’s　feet：　she　is　talking　to　me　with　her　sweet　voice—gazing　down　on　me　with　those　eyes　your　skilful　hand　has　copied　so　well—smiling　at　me　with　these　coral　lips。　She　is　mine—I　am　hers—this　present　life　and　passing　world　suffice　to　me。　Hush！　say　nothing—my　heart　is　full　of　delight—my　senses　are　entranced—let　the　time　I　marked　pass　in　peace。”
I　humoured　him：　the　watch　ticked　on：　he　breathed　fast　and　low：　I　stood　silent。　Amidst　this　hush　the　quartet　sped；　he　replaced　the　watch；　laid　the　picture　down；　rose；　and　stood　on　the　hearth。
“Now；”　said　he；　“that　little　space　was　given　to　delirium　and　delusion。　I　rested　my　temples　on　the　breast　of　temptation；　and　put　my　neck　voluntarily　under　her　yoke　of　flowers。　I　tasted　her　cup。　The　pillow　was　burning：　there　is　an　asp　in　the　garland：　the　wine　has　a　bitter　taste：　her　promises　are　hollow—her　offers　false：　I　see　and　know　all　this。”
I　gazed　at　him　in　wonder。
“It　is　strange；”　pursued　he；　“that　while　I　love　Rosamond　Oliver　so　wildly—with　all　the　intensity；　indeed；　of　a　first　passion；　the　object　of　which　is　exquisitely　beautiful；　graceful；　fascinating—I　experience　at　the　same　time　a　calm；　unwarped　consciousness　that　she　would　not　make　me　a　good　wife；　that　she　is　not　the　partner　suited　to　me；　that　I　should　discover　this　within　a　year　after　marriage；　and　that　to　twelve　months’　rapture　would　succeed　a　lifetime　of　regret。　This　I　know。”
“Strange　indeed！”　I　could　not　help　ejaculating。
“While　something　in　me；”　he　went　on；　“is　acutely　sensible　to　her　charms；　something　else　is　as　deeply　impressed　with　her　defects：　they　are　such　that　she　could　sympathise　in　nothing　I　aspired　to—co…　operate　in　nothing　I　undertook。　Rosamond　a　sufferer；　a　labourer；　a　female　apostle？　Rosamond　a　missionary’s　wife？　No！”
“But　you　need　not　be　a　missionary。　You　might　relinquish　that　scheme。”
“Relinquish！　What！　my　vocation？　My　great　work？　My　foundation　laid　on　earth　for　a　mansion　in　heaven？　My　hopes　of　being　numbered　in　the　band　who　have　merged　all　ambitions　in　the　glorious　one　of　bettering　their　race—of　carrying　knowledge　into　the　realms　of　ignorance—of　substituting　peace　for　war—freedom　for　bondage—religion　for　superstition—the　hope　of　heaven　for　the　fear　of　hell？　Must　I　relinquish　that？　It　is　dearer　than　the　blood　in　my　veins。　It　is　what　I　have　to　look　forward　to；　and　to　live　for。”
After　a　considerable　pause；　I　said—“And　Miss　Oliver？　Are　her　disappointment　and　sorrow　of　no　interest　to　you？”
“Miss　Oliver　is　ever　surrounded　by　suitors　and　flatterers：　in　less　than　a　month；　my　image　will　be　effaced　from　her　heart。　She　will　forget　me；　and　will　marry；　probably；　some　one　who　will　make　her　far　happier　than　I　should　do。”
“You　speak　coolly　enough；　but　you　suffer　in　the　conflict。　You　are　wasting　away。”
“No。　If　I　get　a　little　thin；　it　is　with　anxiety　about　my　prospects；　yet　unsettled—my　departure；　continually　procrastinated。　Only　this　morning；　I　received　intelligence　that　the　successor；　whose　arrival　I　have　been　so　long　expecting；　cannot　be　ready　to　replace　me　for　three　months　to　e　yet；　and　perhaps　the　three　months　may　extend　to　six。”
“You　tremble　and　bee　flushed　whenever　Miss　Oliver　enters　the　schoolroom。”
Again　the　surprised　expression　crossed　his　face。　He　had　not　imagined　that　a　woman　would　dare　to　speak　so　to　a　man。　For　me；　I　felt　at　home　in　this　sort　of　discourse。　I　could　never　rest　in　munication　with　strong；　discreet；　and　refined　minds；　whether　male　or　female；　till　I　had　passed　the　outworks　of　conventional　reserve；　and　crossed　the　threshold　of　confidence；　and　won　a　place　by　their　heart’s　very　hearthstone。
“You　are　original；”　said　he；　“and　not　timid。　There　is　something　brave　in　your　spirit；　as　well　as　perating　in　your　eye；　but　allow　me　to　assure　you　that　you　partially　misinterpret　my　emotions。　You　think　them　more　profound　and　potent　than　they　are。　You　give　me　a　larger　allowance　of　sympathy　than　I　have　a　just　claim　to。　When　I　colour；　and　when　I　shade　before　Miss　Oliver；　I　do　not　pity　myself。　I　scorn　the　weakness。　I　know　it　is　ignoble：　a　mere　fever　of　the　flesh：　not；　I　declare；　the　convulsion　of　the　soul。　That　is　just　as　fixed　as　a　rock；　firm　set　in　the　depths　of　a　restless　sea。　Know　me　to　be　what　I　am—a　cold　hard　man。”
I　smiled　incredulously。
“You　have　taken　my　confidence　by　storm；”　he　continued；　“and　now　it　is　much　at　your　service。　I　am　simply；　in　my　original　state—　stripped　of　that　blood…bleached　robe　with　which　Christianity　covers　human　deformity—a　cold；　hard；　ambitious　man。　Natural　affection　only；　of　all　the　sentiments；　has　permanent　power　over　me。　Reason；　and　not　feeling；　is　my　guide；　my　ambition　is　unlimited：　my　desire　to　rise　higher；　to　do　more　than　others；　insatiable。　I　honour　endurance；　perseverance；　industry；　talent；　because　these　are　the　means　by　which　men　achieve　great　ends　and　mount　to　lofty　eminence。　I　watch　your　career　with　interest；　because　I　consider　you　a　specimen　of　a　diligent；　orderly；　energetic　woman：　not　because　I　deeply　passionate　what　you　have　gone　through；　or　what　you　still　suffer。”
“You　would　describe　yourself　as　a　mere　pagan　philosopher；”　I　said。
“No。　There　is　this　difference　between　me　and　deistic　philosophers：　I　believe；　and　I　believe　the　Gospel。　You　missed　your　epithet。　I　am　not　a　pagan；　but　a　Christian　philosopher—a　follower　of　the　sect　of　Jesus。　As　His　disciple　I　adopt　His　pure；　His　merciful；　His　benignant　doctrines。　I　advocate　them：　I　am　sworn　to　spread　them。　Won　in　youth　to　religion；　she　has　cultivated　my　original　qualities　thus：…　From　the　minute　germ；　natural　affection；　she　has　developed　the　overshadowing　tree；　philanthropy。　From　the　wild　stringy　root　of　human　uprightness；　she　has　reared　a　due　sense　of　the　Divine　justice。　Of　the　ambition　to　win　power　and　renown　for　my　wretched　self；　she　has　formed　the　ambition　to　spread　my　Master’s　kingdom；　to　achieve　victories　for　the　standard　of　the　cross。　So　much　has　religion　done　for　me；　turning　the　original　materials　to　the　best　account；　pruning　and　training　nature。　But　she　could　not　eradicate　nature：　nor　will　it　be　eradicated　‘till　this　mortal　shall　put　on　immortality。’”
Having　said　this；　he　took　his　hat；　which　lay　on　the　table　beside　my　palette。　Once　more　he　looked　at　the　portrait。
“She　IS　lovely；”　he　murmured。　“She　is　well　named　the　Rose　of　the　World；　indeed！”
“And　may　I　not　paint　one　like　it　for　you？”
“Cui　bono？　No。”
He　drew　over　the　picture　the　sheet　of　thin　paper　on　which　I　was　accustomed　to　rest　my　hand　in　painting；　to　prevent　the　cardboard　from　being　sullied。　What　he　suddenly　saw　on　this　blank　paper；　it　was　impossible　for　me　to　tell；　but　something　had　caught　his　eye。　He　took　it　up　with　a　snatch；　he　looked　at　the　edge；　then　shot　a　glance　at　me；　inexpressibly　peculiar；　and　quite　inprehensible：　a　glance　that　seemed　to　take　and　make　note　of　every　point　in　my　shape；　face；　and　dress；　for　it　traversed　all；　quick；　keen　as　lightning。　His　lips　parted；　as　if　to　speak：　but　he　checked　the　ing　sentence；　whatever　it　was。
“What　is　the　matter？”　I　asked。
“Nothing　in　the　world；”　was　the　reply；　and；　replacing　the　paper；　I　saw　him　dexterously　tear　a　narrow　slip　from　the　margin。　It　disappeared　in　his　glove；　and；　with　one　hasty　nod　and　“good…　afternoon；”　he　vanished。
“Well！”　I　exclaimed；　using　an　expression　of　the　district；　“that　caps　the　globe；　however！”
I；　in　my　turn；　scrutinised　the　paper；　but　saw　nothing　on　it　save　a　few　dingy　stains　of　paint　where　I　had　tried　the　tint　in　my　pencil。　I　pondered　the　mystery　a　minute　or　two；　but　finding　it　insolvable；　and　being　certain　it　could　not　be　of　much　moment；　I　dismissed；　and　soon　forgot　it。
Chapter　34
When　Mr。　St。　John　went；　it　was　beginning　to　snow；　the　whirling　storm　continued　all　night。　The　next　day　a　keen　wind　brought　fresh　and　blinding　falls；　by　twilight　the　valley　was　drifted　up　and　almost　impassable。　I　had　closed　my　shutter；　laid　a　mat　to　the　door　to　prevent　the　snow　from　blowing　in　under　it；　trimmed　my　fire；　and　after　sitting　nearly　an　hour　on　the　hearth　listening　to　the　muffled　fury　of　the　tempest；　I　lit　a　candle；　took　down　“Marmion；”　and　beginning—
“Day　set　on　Norham’s　castled　steep；
And　Tweed’s　fair　river　broad　and　deep；
And　Cheviot’s　mountains　lone；
The　massive　towers；　the　donjon　keep；
The　flanking　walls　that　round　them　sweep；
In　yellow　lustre　shone”—
I　soon　forgot　storm　in　music。
I　heard　a　noise：　the　wind；　I　thought；　shook　the　door。　No；　it　was　St。　John　Rivers；　who；　lifting　the　latch；　came　in　out　of　the　frozen　hurricane—the　howling　darkness—and　stood　before　me：　the　cloak　that　covered　his　tall　figure　all　white　as　a　glacier。　I　was　almost　in　consternation；　so　little　had　I　expected　any　guest　from　the　blocked…up　vale　that　night。
“Any　ill　news？”　I　demanded。　“Has　anything　happened？”
“No。　How　very　easily　alarmed　you　are？”　he　answered；　removing　his　cloak　and　hanging　it　up　against　the　door；　towards　which　he　again　coolly　pushed　the　mat　which　his　entrance　had　deranged。　He　stamped　the　snow　from　his　boots。
“I　shall　sully　the　purity　of　your　floor；”　said　he；　“but　you　must　excuse　me　for　once。”　Then　he　approached　the　fire。　“I　have　had　hard　work　to　get　here；　I　assure　you；”　he　observed；　as　he　warmed　his　hands　over　the　flame。　“One　drift　took　me　up　to　the　waist；　happily　the　snow　is　quite　soft　yet。”
“But　why　are　you　e？”　I　could　not　forbear　saying。
“Rather　an　inhospitable　question　to　put　to　a　visitor；　but　since　you　ask　it；　I　answer　simply　to　have　a　little　talk　with　you；　I　got　tired　of　my　mute　books　and　empty　rooms。　Besides；　since　yesterday　I　have　experienced　the　excitement　of　a　person　to　whom　a　tale　has　been　half…　told；　and　who　is　impatient　to　hear　the　sequel。”
He　sat　down。　I　recalled　his　singular　conduct　of　yesterday；　and　really　I　began　to　fear　his　wits　were　touched。　If　he　were　insane；　however；　his　was　a　very　cool　and　collected　insanity：　I　had　never　seen　that　handsome…featured　face　of　his　look　more　like　chiselled　marble　than　it　did　just　now；　as　he　put　aside　his　snow…wet　hair　from　his　forehead　and　let　the　firelight　shine　free　on　his　pale　brow　and　cheek　as　pale；　where　it　grieved　me　to　discover　the　hollow　trace　of　care　or　sorrow　now　so　plainly　graved。　I　waited；　expecting　he　would　say　something　I　could　at　least　prehend；　but　his　hand　was　now　at　his　chin；　his　finger　on　his　lip：　he　was　thinking。　It　struck　me　that　his　hand　looked　wasted　like　his　face。　A　perhaps　uncalled…for　gush　of　pity　came　over　my　heart：　I　was　moved　to　say—
“I　wish　Diana　or　Mary　would　e　and　live　with　you：　it　is　too　bad　that　you　should　be　quite　alone；　and　you　are　recklessly　rash　about　your　own　health。”
“Not　at　all；”　said　he：　“I　care　for　myself　when　necessary。　I　am　well　now。　What　do　you　see　amiss　in　me？”
This　was　said　with　a　careless；　abstracted　indifference；　which　showed　that　my　solicitude　was；　at　least　in　his　opinion；　wholly　superfluous。　I　was　silenced。
He　still　slowly　moved　his　finger　over　his　upper　lip；　and　still　his　eye　dwelt　dreamily　on　the　glowing　grate；　thinking　it　urgent　to　say　something；　I　asked　him　presently　if　he　felt　any　cold　draught　from　the　door；　which　was　behind　him。
“No；　no！”　he　responded　shortly　and　somewhat　testily。
“Well；”　I　reflected；　“if　you　won’t　talk；　you　may　be　still；　I’ll　let　you　alone　now；　and　return　to　my　book。”
So　I　snuffed　the　candle　and　resumed　the　perusal　of　“Marmion。”　He　soon　stirred；　my　eye　was　instantly　drawn　to　his　movements；　he　only　took　out　a　morocco　pocket…book；　thence　produced　a　letter；　which　he　read　in　silence；　folded　it；　put　it　back；　relapsed　into　meditation。　It　was　vain　to　try　to　read　with　such　an　inscrutable　fixture　before　me；　nor　could　I；　in　impatience；　consent　to　be　dumb；　he　might　rebuff　me　if　my　he　liked；　but　talk　I　would。
“Have　you　heard　from　Diana　and　Mary　lately？”
“Not　since　the　letter　I　showed　you　a　week　ago。”
“There　has　not　been　any　change　made　about　your　own　arrangements？　You　will　not　be　summoned　to　leave　England　sooner　than　you　expected？”
“I　fear　not；　indeed：　such　chance　is　too　good　to　befall　me。”　Baffled　so　far；　I　changed　my　ground。　I　bethought　myself　to　talk　about　the　school　and　my　scholars。
“Mary　Garrett’s　mother　is　better；　and　Mary　came　back　to　the　school　this　morning；　and　I　shall　have　four　new　girls　next　week　from　the　Foundry　Close—they　would　h