In Charlotte Brontë’s masterpiece, Jane Eyre returns to Thornfield after the long separation enforced by a painful adventure. She learns, upon revisiting the old familiar scenes, of the destruction of Thornfield Hall by fire, and of the violent death of the maniac wife. She finds that the lonely and sightless Rochester is an occupant of Ferndean manor-house, and she glides quietly into his parlor unannounced: “‘This is you, Mary, is it not?’ “‘Mary is in the kitchen,’ I answered. “He put out his hand with a quick gesture, but, not seeing where I stood, he did not touch me. ‘Who is this? who is this?’ he demanded, trying, as it seemed, to _see_ with those sightless eyes,—unavailing and distressing attempt! ‘Answer me,—speak again!’ he ordered, imperiously and aloud. “‘Will you have a little more water, sir? I spilled half of what was in the glass,’ I said. “‘_Who_ is it? _What_ is it? Who speaks?’ “‘Pilot knows me, and John and Mary know I am here; I came only this evening,’ I answered. “‘Great God! what delusion has come over me? What sweet madness has seized me?’ “‘No delusion, no madness; your mind, sir, is too strong for delusion, your health too sound for frenzy.’ “‘And where is this speaker? Is it only a voice? Oh! I _cannot_ see, but I must feel, or my heart will stop, and my brain burst. Whatever—whoever you are—be perceptible to the touch, or I cannot live.’ “He groped; I arrested his wandering hand and prisoned it in both mine. “‘Her very fingers!’ he cried; ‘her small slight fingers! If so, there must be more of her.’ “The muscular hand broke from my custody; my arm was seized, my shoulder, neck, waist—I was entwined and gathered to him. “‘Is it Jane? _What_ is it? This is her shape,—this is her size——’ “‘And this is her voice,’ I added. ‘She is all here; her heart, too. God bless you, sir! I am glad to be so near you again.’ “‘Jane Eyre! Jane Eyre!’ was all he said. “‘My dear master,’ I answered, ‘I am Jane Eyre; I have found you out. I am come back to you.’ “‘In truth? In the flesh? My living Jane?’ “‘You touch me, sir,—you hold me, and fast enough; I am not cold like a corpse, nor vacant like air, am I?’ “‘My living darling! These are certainly her limbs, and these her features; but I cannot be so blessed after all my misery. It is a dream; such dreams as I have had at night, when I clasped her once more to my heart, as I do now; and kissed her as thus—and felt that she loved me, and trusted she would not leave me.’ “‘Which I never will, sir, from this day.’ “‘Never will, says the vision! But I always woke and found it an empty mockery; and I was desolate and abandoned,—my life dark, lonely, hopeless,—my soul athirst and forbidden to drink,—my heart famished and never to be fed. Gentle, soft dream, nestling in my arms now, you will fly, too, as your sisters have all fled before you; but kiss me before you go,—embrace me, Jane.’ “‘There, sir; and there!’