He held out his hand; I gave him mine: he took it first in one, them in both his own.
‘You have saved my life: I have a pleasure in owing you so immense a debt. I cannot say more. Nothing else that has being would have been tolerable to me in the character of creditor for such an obligation: but you: it is different;—I feel your benefits no burden, Jane.’
He paused; gazed at me: words almost visible trembled on his lips,but his voice was checked.
‘Good-night again, sir. There is no debt, benefit, burden, obligation, in the case.’
‘I knew,’ he continued, ‘you would do me good in some way, at some time;—I saw it in your eyes when I first beheld you: their expression and smile did not’—(again he stopped)—‘did not’ (he proceeded hastily) ‘strike delight to my very inmost heart so for nothing. People talk of natural sympathies; I have heard of good genii: there are grains of truth in the wildest fable. My cherished preserver, goodnight!’
Strange energy was in his voice, strange fire in his look.
‘I am glad I happened to be awake,’ I said: and then I was going.
What! you WILL go?’
‘I am cold, sir.’
‘Cold? Yes,—and standing in a pool! Go, then, Jane; go!’
But he still retained my hand, and I could not free it. I bethought myself of an expedient.
‘I think I hear Mrs. Fairfax move, sir,’ said I.
‘Well, leave me:’ he relaxed his fingers, and I was gone.
I regained my couch, but never thought of sleep. Till morning dawned I was tossed on a buoyant but unquiet sea, where billows of trouble rolled under surges of joy. I thought sometimes I saw beyond its wild waters a shore, sweet as the hills of Beulah; and now and then a freshening gale, wakened by hope, bore my spirit triumphantly towards the bourne: but I could not reach it, even in fancy—a counteracting breeze blew off land, and continually drove me back. Sense would resist delirium: judgment would warn passion. Too feverish to rest, I rose as soon as day dawned.
