CHAPTER XXI Part II

Well did I remember Mrs. Reed's face, and I eagerly sought the familiar image.

It is a happy thing that time quells the longings of vengeance and hushes the promptings of rage

and aversion.

I left this woman in bitterness and hate, and I came back to her now with no other emotion

than a sort of roof for her great sufferings, and a strong yearning to forget and forgive

all injuries, to be reconciled and classed pans in amity.

The well-known face was there, stern, relentless as ever, there was that peculiar eye which

nothing could melt, and the somewhat raised in perious, despotic eyebrow.

How often had it lowered on me menace and hate, and how the recollection of childhood

tears and sorrows revived as I traced its harsh line now?

And yet I stooped down and kissed her.

She looked at me.

Is this Jane-Air, she said?

Yes, Aunt Reed, how are you, Deerond?

I had once vowed that I would never call her aunt again.

I thought it no sin to forget and break that vow now.

My fingers had fastened on her hand, which lay outside the sheet, as she pressed mine kindly.

I should at that moment have experienced true pleasure.

But unimpressionable natures are not so soon softened, nor are natural antipathy so readily

eradicated.

Mrs. Reed took her hand away, and turning her face rather from me, she remarked that the

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