"Mr. Briggs intimates that the answer to his application was not from Mr. Rochester, but from a lady: it is signed 'Alice Fairfax.'"
“布里格斯先生说,他的请求不是由罗切斯特先生,而是由一位女士回复的,上面签着‘艾丽斯·费尔法克斯。’”
I felt cold and dismayed: my worst fears then were probably true:
我觉得一时心灰意冷,最怕发生的事很可能已成事实。
he had in all probability left England and rushed in reckless desperation to some former haunt on the Continent.
他完全可能已经离开英国,走投无路之中,轻率地冲到欧洲大陆上以前常去的地方。
And what opiate for his severe sufferings -- what object for his strong passions -- had he sought there?
他在那些地方能为他巨大的痛苔找到什么麻醉剂呢?为他如火的热情找到发泄对象吗?
I dared not answer the question.
我不敢回答这个问题。
Oh, my poor master -- once almost my husband -- whom I had often called "my dear Edward!"
呵,我可怜的主人——曾经差一点成为我的丈夫——我经常称他“我亲爱的爱德华!”
"He must have been a bad man," observed Mr. Rivers.
“他准是个坏人,”里弗斯先生说。
"You don't know him -- don't pronounce an opinion upon him," I said, with warmth.
“你不了解他——别对他说三道四。”我激动地说。
"Very well," he answered quietly: "and indeed my head is otherwise occupied than with him:
“行呵,”他平心静气地答道,“其实我心里想的倒不是他。
I have my tale to finish.
我要结束我的故事。
Since you won't ask the governess's name, I must tell it of my own accord.
既然你没有问起家庭女教师的名字,那我得自己说了——慢着——
Stay! I have it here -- it is always more satisfactory to see important points written down, fairly committed to black and white."
我这儿有——看到要紧的事儿,完完全全白纸黑字写下来,往往会更使人满意。”
And the pocket-book was again deliberately produced, opened, sought through;
他再次不慌不忙地拿出那个皮夹子,把它打开,仔细翻寻起来,
from one of its compartments was extracted a shabby slip of paper, hastily torn off:
从一个夹层抽出一张原先匆忙撕下的破破烂烂的纸条。
I recognised in its texture and its stains of ultra-marine, and lake, and vermillion, the ravished margin of the portrait-cover.
我从纸条的质地和蓝一块、青一块、红一块的污渍认出来,这是被他抢去、原先盖在画上那张纸的边沿。
He got up, held it close to my eyes: and I read, traced in Indian ink, in my own handwriting,
他站起来,把纸头凑到我眼面前,我看到了用黑墨水笔写下的我手写的
the words "JANE EYRE" -- the work doubtless of some moment of abstraction.
“简·爱”两字——无疑那是不经意中留下的笔迹。