MY BRIDE! WHAT BRIDE? I HAVE NO BRIDE!

AND THIS IS JANE EYRE? ARE YOU COMING FROM MILLCOTE, AND ON FOOT? YES—JUST ONE OF YOUR TRICKS: NOT TO SEND FOR A CARRIAGE, AND COME CLATTERING OVER STREET AND ROAD LIKE A COMMON MORTAL, BUT TO STEAL INTO THE VICINAGE OF YOUR HOME ALONG WITH TWILIGHT, JUST AS IF YOU WERE A DREAM OR A SHADE. WHAT THE DEUCE HAVE YOU DONE WITH YOURSELF THIS LAST MONTH?

I have been with my aunt, sir, who is dead.

A TRUE JANIAN REPLY! GOOD ANGELS BE MY GUARD! SHE COMES FROM THE OTHER WORLD—FROM THE ABODE OF PEOPLE WHO ARE DEAD; AND TELLS ME SO WHEN SHE MEETS ME ALONE HERE IN THE GLOAMING! IF I DARED, I’D TOUCH YOU, TO SEE IF YOU ARE SUBSTANCE OR SHADOW, YOU ELF!—BUT I’D AS SOON OFFER TO TAKE HOLD OF A BLUE IGNIS FATUUS LIGHT IN A MARSH. TRUANT! TRUANT! ABSENT FROM ME A WHOLE MONTH, AND FORGETTING ME QUITE, I’LL BE SWORN.