CHAPTER XXXVII 547
" It is you-- is it, Jane? You are come back to me then?"
" I am."
" And you do not lie dead in some ditch under some stream? And you are not a pining outcast amongst strangers?"
" No, sir! I am an independent woman now." " Independent! What do you mean, Jane?" " My uncle in Madeira is dead, and he left me five thousand pounds."
" Ah! this is practical-- this is real!" he cried: " I should never dream that. Besides, there is that peculiar voice of hers, so animating and piquant, as well as soft: it cheers my withered heart; it puts life into it.-- What, Janet! Are you an independent woman? A rich woman?"
" If you won ' t let me live with you, I can build a house of my own close up to your door, and you may come and sit in my parlour when you want company of an evening."
" But as you are rich, Jane, you have now, no doubt, friends who will look after you, and not suffer you to devote yourself to a blind lameter like me?"
" I told you I am independent, sir, as well as rich: I am my own mistress." " And you will stay with me?"
" Certainly-- unless you object. I will be your neighbour, your nurse, your housekeeper. I find you lonely: I will be your companion-- to read to you, to walk with you, to sit with you, to wait on you, to be eyes and hands to you. Cease to look so melancholy, my dear master; you shall not be left desolate, so long as I live."