Chapter 37
The manor-house of Ferndean was a building of considerable antiquity, moderate size, and no architectural pretensions, deep buried in a wood.
…that narrow front-door was unclosing, and some shape was about to issue from the grange. / ...a figure came out into the twilight and stood on the step; a man without a hat: he stretched forth his hand as if to feel whether it rained. Dusk as it was, I had recognised him—it was my master, Edward Fairfax Rochester, and no other. / I stayed my step, almost my breath, and stood to watch him—to examine him, myself unseen, and alas! to him invisible…. / His form was of the same strong and stalwart contour as ever: his port was still erect, his hair was still raven black; nor were his features altered or sunk: not in one year’s space, by any sorrow, could his athletic strength be quelled or his vigorous prime blighted. But in his countenance I saw a change: that looked desperate and brooding—that reminded me of some wronged and fettered wild beast or bird, dangerous to approach in his sullen woe. The caged eagle, whose gold-ringed eyes cruelty has extinguished, might look as looked that sightless Samson. / … He descended the one step, and advanced slowly and gropingly towards the grass-plat. Where was his daring stride now?.... He stretched his right hand (the left arm, the mutilated one, he kept hidden in his bosom); he seemed to wish by touch to gain an idea of what lay around him: he met but vacancy still; for the trees were some yards off where he stood.  He relinquished the endeavour, folded his arms, and stood quiet and mute in the rain, now falling fast on his uncovered head.

This parlour looked gloomy: a neglected handful of fire burnt low in the grate; and, leaning over it, with his head supported against the high, old-fashioned mantelpiece, appeared the blind tenant of the room. His old dog, Pilot, lay on one side, removed out of the way, and coiled up as if afraid of being inadvertently trodden upon.
Pilot pricked up his ears when I came in: then he jumped up with a yelp and a whine, and bounded towards me: he almost knocked the tray from my hands. I set it on the table; then patted him, and said softly, “Lie down!”  Mr. Rochester turned mechanically to see what the commotion was: but as he saw nothing, he returned and sighed. / “Give me the water, Mary,” he said.
"Have you a pocket-comb about you, sir?” / “What for, Jane?” / “Just to comb out this shaggy black mane. I find you rather alarming, when I examine you close at hand: you talk of my being a fairy, but I am sure, you are more like a brownie.” / “Am I hideous, Jane?” / “Very, sir: you always were, you know.” / “Humph!  The wickedness has not been taken out of you, wherever you have sojourned.” / “Yet I have been with good people; far better than you: a hundred times better people; possessed of ideas and views you never entertained in your life: quite more refined and exalted.” / “Who the deuce have you been with?” / “If you twist in that way you will make me pull the hair out of your head; and then I think you will cease to entertain doubts of my substantiality.” / “Who have you been with, Jane?” / “You shall not get it out of me to-night, sir; you must wait till to-morrow; to leave my tale half told, will, you know, be a sort of security that I shall appear at your breakfast table to finish it. By the bye, I must mind not to rise on your hearth with only a glass of water then: I must bring an egg at the least, to say nothing of fried ham.” /“You mocking changeling—fairy-born and human-bred! You make me feel as I have not felt these twelve months...." 
"His appearance,—I forget what description you gave of his appearance;—a sort of raw curate, half strangled with his white neckcloth, and stilted up on his thick-soled high-lows, eh?” /“St. John dresses well. He is a handsome man: tall, fair, with blue eyes, and a Grecian profile.” / (Aside.)  “Damn him!”—(To me.) “Did you like him, Jane?” /“Yes, Mr. Rochester, I liked him: but you asked me that before.” /I perceived, of course, the drift of my interlocutor. Jealousy had got hold of him: she stung him; but the sting was salutary: it gave him respite from the gnawing fang of melancholy. I would not, therefore, immediately charm the snake. /“Perhaps you would rather not sit any longer on my knee, Miss Eyre?” was the next somewhat unexpected observation. /“Why not, Mr. Rochester?” /“The picture you have just drawn is suggestive of a rather too overwhelming contrast. Your words have delineated very prettily a graceful Apollo...tall, fair, blue-eyed, and with a Grecian profile. Your eyes dwell on a Vulcan,—a real blacksmith, brown, broad-shouldered: and blind and lame into the bargain.”

He put me off his knee, rose, and reverently lifting his hat from his brow, and bending his sightless eyes to the earth, he stood in mute devotion. Only the last words of the worship were audible. / “I thank my Maker, that, in the midst of judgment, he has remembered mercy. I humbly entreat my Redeemer to give me strength to lead henceforth a purer life than I have done hitherto!” /Then he stretched his hand out to be led.  I took that dear hand, held it a moment to my lips, then let it pass round my shoulder: being so much lower of stature than he, I served both for his prop and guide. We entered the wood, and wended homeward.