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We talk, I believe, all day long: to talk to each other is but a more animated and an audible thinking.

All my confidence is bestowed on him, all his confidence is devoted to me; we are precisely suited in character-perfect concord is the result.

Mr. Rochester continued blind the first two years of our union; perhaps it was that circumstance that drew us so very near-that knit us so very close: for I was then his vision, as I am still his right hand.

Literally, I was (what he often called me) the apple of his eye.

He saw nature-he saw books through me; and never did I weary of gazing for his behalf, and of putting into words the effect of field, tree, town, river, cloud, sunbeam-of the landscape before us; of the weather round us-and impressing by sound on his ear what light could no longer stamp on his eye.

Never did I weary of reading to him; never did I weary of conducting him where he wished to go: of doing for him what he wished to be done.

And there was a pleasure in my services, most full, most exquisite, even though sad-because he claimed these services without painful shame or damping humiliation.

He loved me so truly, that he knew no reluctance in profiting by my attendance: he felt I loved him so fondly, that to yield that attendance was to indulge my sweetest wishes.

One morning at the end of the two years, as I was writing a letter to his dictation, he came and bent over me, and said-"Jane, have you a glittering ornament round your neck?"

I had a gold watch-chain: I answered "Yes."

"And have you a pale blue dress on?"

I had. He informed me then, that for some time he had fancied the obscurity clouding one eye was becoming less dense; and that now he was sure of it.

He and I went up to London.

He had the advice of an eminent oculist; and he eventually recovered the sight of that one eye.

He cannot now see very distinctly: he cannot read or write much; but he can find his way without being led by the hand: the sky is no longer a blank to him-the earth no longer a void.

When his first-born was put into his arms, he could see that the boy had inherited his own eyes, as they once were-large, brilliant, and black.

On that occasion, he again, with a full heart, acknowledged that God had tempered judgment with mercy.

My Edward and I, then, are happy: and the more so, because those we most love are happy likewise.

Diana and Mary Rivers are both married: alternately, once every year, they come to see us, and we go to see them.

Diana's husband is a captain in the navy, a gallant officer and a good man.

Mary's is a clergyman, a college friend of her brother's, and, from his attainments and principles, worthy of the connection.

Both Captain Fitzjames and Mr. Wharton love their wives, and are loved by them.

As to St. John Rivers, he left England: he went to India.

He entered on the path he had marked for himself; he pursues it still.

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