Сборник лучших произведений английской классической литературы. Уровень 3

“I like its worn stone, and the old thorn trees. And yet, how I've struggled to stay away, how I've hated the thought of…” He fell silent, staring up at Thornfield's windows. As I watched, I saw a range of feelings pass across his face: first a kind of impatience, then disgust and hatred, followed by guilt and pain. Finally, he hardened his features into stony determination, and said, “It's time to go in.”

After a while Mr. Rochester, who had previously been nothing but an employer to me, became my friend.

As time went on, he became less moody, and was always pleased to see me. He often wanted to talk, he trusted me and treated me as his equal, even though I was still a governess paid thirty pounds a year.

I had called him plain and even ugly, but his was the face I now most wanted to see. Thanks to him I forgot about my loneliness. Now I had all the intelligent conversation I had longed for, and I enjoyed it as much as I could. I laughed more, and my complexion looked brighter and healthier.

I guess, I could say I was really happy then.

As all other people in the world Mr. Rochester had his faults. He could be rude and harsh, moody and sarcastic. But he was good at heart. And whatever sorrows and troubles tormented him, I wanted desperately to help him.

Late that night, I lay in bed wide awake thinking about Mr. Rochester. I thought about the way he had looked up at the house, seeming to suffer such agony. Eight weeks had passed since he arrived; but Mrs. Fairfax had told me he hardly ever came to Thornfield for more than a fortnight.

Was he leaving soon? Spring was nearly here, and summer and autumn lay ahead. How lonely they would be for me if he went away! What was it, I wondered, that made it so hard for him to be here?

I blew out my candle, but just as I was drifting off, I heard something that made me start awake again-a low, murmuring noise, very close by. I sat up suddenly, alert and listening. After a while, I heard the clock in the hallway strike two. Just then, it seemed that someone, or something, walked past the door of my room.

“Who is there?” I asked. Then I remembered Pilot. Perhaps the kitchen door had been left open, and he had come upstairs to look for his master. This calmed me down, and I turned over again to sleep.

And there it was again! The dreadful low laugh I had heard so many times in the attic passageway! Now it seemed to be right outside my door, almost as if it came in through the keyhole.