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 ."