APDL Eductation Resources/APDL Eductation Resources.iso/text/books/jane_eyre/CHAP_10_19

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                       CHAPTER X


HITHERTO I have recorded in detail the events of my insignificant
existence: to the first ten years of my life I have given almost as
many chapters. But this is not to be a regular autobiography: I am
only bound to invoke Memory where I know her responses will possess
some degree of interest; therefore I now pass a space of eight years
almost in silence: a few lines only are necessary to keep up the links
of connection.

When the typhus fever had fulfilled its mission of devastation at
Lowood, it gradually disappeared from thence; but not till its
virulence and the number of its victims had drawn public attention
on the school. Inquiry was made into the origin of the scourge, and by
degrees various facts came out which excited public indignation in a
high degree. The unhealthy nature of the site; the quantity and
quality of the children's food; the brackish, fetid water used in
its preparation; the pupils' wretched clothing and accommodations- all
these things were discovered, and the discovery produced a result
mortifying to Mr. Brocklehurst, but beneficial to the institution.

Several wealthy and benevolent individuals in the county subscribed
largely for the erection of a more convenient building in a better
situation; new regulations were made; improvements in diet and
clothing introduced; the funds of the school were intrusted to the
management of a committee. Mr. Brocklehurst, who, from his wealth
and family connections, could not be overlooked, still retained the
post of treasurer; but he was aided in the discharge of his duties
by gentlemen of rather more enlarged and sympathising minds: his
office of inspector, too, was shared by those who knew how to
combine reason with strictness, comfort with economy, compassion
with uprightness. The school, thus improved, became in time a truly
useful and noble institution. I remained an inmate of its walls, after
its regeneration, for eight years: six as pupil, and two as teacher;
and in both capacities I bear my testimony to its value and
importance.

During these eight years my life was uniform: but not unhappy,
because it was not inactive. I had the means of an excellent education
placed within my reach; a fondness for some of my studies, and a
desire to excel in all, together with a great delight in pleasing my
teachers, especially such as I loved, urged me on: I availed myself
fully of the advantages offered me. In time I rose to be the first
girl of the first class; then I was invested with the office of
teacher; which I discharged with zeal for two years: but at the end of
that time I altered.

Miss Temple, through all changes, had thus far continued
superintendent of the seminary: to her instruction I owed the best
part of my acquirements; her friendship and society had been my
continual solace; she had stood me in the stead of mother,
governess, and, latterly, companion. At this period she married,
removed with her husband (a clergyman, an excellent man, almost worthy
of such a wife) to a distant county, and consequently was lost to me.

From the day she left I was no longer the same: with her was gone
every settled feeling, every association that had made Lowood in
some degree a home to me. I had imbibed from her something of her
nature and much of her habits: more harmonious thoughts: what seemed
better regulated feelings had become the inmates of my mind. I had
given in allegiance to duty and order; I was quiet; I believed I was
content: to the eyes of others, usually even to my own, I appeared a
disciplined and subdued character.

But destiny, in the shape of the Rev. Mr. Nasmyth, came between
me and Miss Temple: I saw her in her travelling dress step into a
post-chaise, shortly after the marriage ceremony; I watched the chaise
mount the hill and disappear beyond its brow; and then retired to my
own room, and there spent in solitude the greatest part of the
half-holiday granted in honour of the occasion.

I walked about the chamber most of the time. I imagined myself only
to be regretting my loss, and thinking how to repair it; but when my
reflections were concluded, and I looked up and found that the
afternoon was gone, and evening far advanced, another discovery dawned
on me, namely, that in the interval I had undergone a transforming
process; that my mind had put off all it had borrowed of Miss
Temple- or rather that she had taken with her the serene atmosphere
I had been breathing in her vicinity- and that now I was left in my
natural element, and beginning to feel the stirring of old emotions.
It did not seem as if a prop were withdrawn, but rather as if a motive
were gone: it was not the power to be tranquil which had failed me,
but the reason for tranquillity was no more. My world had for some
years been in Lowood: my experience had been of its rules and systems;
now I remembered that the real world was wide, and that a varied field
of hopes and fears, of sensations and excitements, awaited those who
had courage to go forth into its expanse, to seek real knowledge of
life amidst its perils.

I went to my window, opened it, and looked out. There were the
two wings of the building; there was the garden; there were the skirts
of Lowood; there was the hilly horizon. My eye passed all other
objects to rest on those most remote, the blue peaks; it was those I
longed to surmount; all within their boundary of rock and heath seemed
prison-ground, exile limits. I traced the white road winding round the
base of one mountain, and vanishing in a gorge between two; how I
longed to follow it farther! I recalled the time when I had
travelled that very road in a coach; I remembered descending that hill
at twilight; an age seemed to have elapsed since the day which brought
me first to Lowood, and I had never quitted it since. My vacations had
all been spent at school: Mrs. Reed had never sent for me to
Gateshead; neither she nor any of her family had ever been to visit
me. I had had no communication by letter or message with the outer
world: school-rules, school-duties, school-habits and notions, and
voices, and faces, and phrases, and costumes, and preferences, and
antipathies- such was what I knew of existence. And now I felt that it
was not enough; I tired of the routine of eight years in one
afternoon. I desired liberty; for liberty I gasped; for liberty I
uttered a prayer; it seemed scattered on the wind then faintly
blowing. I abandoned it and framed a humbler supplication; for change,
stimulus: that petition, too, seemed swept off into vague space:
'Then,' I cried, half desperate, 'grant me at least a new servitude!'

Here a bell, ringing the hour of supper, called me downstairs.

I was not free to resume the interrupted chain of my reflections
till bedtime: even then a teacher who occupied the same room with me
kept me from the subject to which I longed to recur, by a prolonged
effusion of small talk. How I wished sleep would silence her. It
seemed as if, could I but go back to the idea which had last entered
my mind as I stood at the window, some inventive suggestion would rise
for my relief.

Miss Gryce snored at last; she was a heavy Welsh-woman, and till
now her habitual nasal strains had never been regarded by me in any
other light than as a nuisance; to-night I hailed the first deep notes
with satisfaction; I was debarrassed of interruption; my
half-effaced thought instantly revived.

'A new servitude! There is something in that,' I soliloquised
(mentally, be it understood; I did not talk aloud). 'I know there
is, because it does not sound too sweet; it is not like such words
as Liberty, Excitement, Enjoyment: delightful sounds truly; but no
more than sounds for me; and so hollow and fleeting that it is mere
waste of time to listen to them. But Servitude! That must be matter of
fact. Any one may serve: I have served here eight years; now all I
want is to serve elsewhere. Can I not get so much of my own will? Is
not the thing feasible? Yes- yes- the end is not so difficult; if I
had only a brain active enough to ferret out the means of attaining
it.'

I sat up in bed by way of arousing this said brain: it was a chilly
night; I covered my shoulders with a shawl, and then I proceeded to
think again with all my might.

'What do I want? A new place, in a new house, amongst new faces,
under new circumstances: I want this because it is of no use wanting
anything better. How do people do to get a new place? They apply to
friends, I suppose: I have no friends. There are many others who
have no friends, who must look about for themselves and be their own
helpers; and what is their resource?'

I could not tell: nothing answered me; I then ordered my brain to
find a response, and quickly. It worked and worked faster: I felt
the pulses throb in my head and temples; but for nearly an hour it
worked in chaos; and no result came of its efforts. Feverish with vain
labour, I got up and took a turn in the room; undrew the curtain,
noted a star or two, shivered with cold, and again crept to bed.

A kind fairy, in my absence, had surely dropped the required
suggestion on my pillow; for as I lay down, it came quietly and
naturally to my mind:- 'Those who want situations advertise; you

'How? I know nothing about advertising.'

Replies rose smooth and prompt now:-

'You must enclose the advertisement and the money to pay for it
under a cover directed to the editor of the Herald; you must put it,
the first opportunity you have, into the post at Lowton; answers
must be addressed to J. E., at the post-office there; you can go and
inquire in about a week after you send your letter, if any are come,
and act accordingly.'

This scheme I went over twice, thrice; it was then digested in my
mind; I had it in a clear practical form: I felt satisfied, and fell
asleep.

With earliest day, I was up: I had my advertisement written,
enclosed, and directed before the bell rang to rouse the school; it
ran thus:-

'A young lady accustomed to tuition' (had I not been a teacher
two years?) 'is desirous of meeting with a situation in a private
family where the children are under fourteen' (I thought that as I was
barely eighteen, it would not do to undertake the guidance of pupils
nearer my own age). 'She is qualified to teach the usual branches of a
good English education, together with French, Drawing, and Music'
(in those days, reader, this now narrow catalogue of
accomplishments, would have been held tolerably comprehensive).

This document remained locked in my drawer all day: after tea, I
asked leave of the new superintendent to go to Lowton, in order to
perform some small commissions for myself and one or two of my
fellow-teachers; permission was readily granted; I went. It was a walk
of two miles, and the evening was wet, but the days were still long; I
visited a shop or two, slipped the letter into the post-office, and
came back through heavy rain, with streaming garments, but with a
relieved heart.

The succeeding week seemed long: it came to an end at last,
however, like all sublunary things, and once more, towards the close
of a pleasant autumn day, I found myself afoot on the road to
Lowton. A picturesque track it was, by the way; lying along the side
of the beck and through the sweetest curves of the dale: but that
day I thought more of the letters, that might or might not be awaiting
me at the little burgh whither I was bound, than of the charms of
lea and water.

My ostensible errand on this occasion was to get measured for a
pair of shoes; so I discharged that business first, and when it was
done, I stepped across the clean and quiet little street from the
shoemaker's to the post-office: it was kept by an old dame, who wore
horn spectacles on her nose, and black mittens on her hands.

'Are there any letters for J. E.?' I asked.

She peered at me over her spectacles, and then she opened a
drawer and fumbled among its contents for a long time, so long that my
hopes began to falter. At last, having held a document before her
glasses for nearly five minutes, she presented it across the
counter, accompanying the act by another inquisitive and mistrustful
glance- it was for J. E.

'Is there only one?' I demanded.

'There are no more,' said she; and I put it in my pocket and turned
my face homeward: I could not open it then; rules obliged me to be
back by eight, and it was already half-past seven.

Various duties awaited me on my arrival: I had to sit with the
girls during their hour of study; then it was my turn to read prayers;
to see them to bed: afterwards I supped with the other teachers.
Even when we finally retired for the night, the inevitable Miss
Gryce was still my companion: we had only a short end of candle in our
candlestick, and I dreaded lest she should talk till it was all
burnt out; fortunately, however, the heavy supper she had eaten
produced a soporific effect: she was already snoring before I had
finished undressing. There still remained an inch of candle: I now
took out my letter; the seal was an initial F.; I broke it; the
contents were brief.
Thursday, possesses the acquirements mentioned, and if she is in a
position to give satisfactory references as to character and
competency, a situation can be offered her where there is but one
pupil, a little girl, under ten years of age; and where the salary
is thirty pounds per annum. J. E. is requested to send references,
name, address, and all particulars to the direction:-

I examined the document long: the writing was old-fashioned and
rather uncertain, like that of an elderly lady. This circumstance
was satisfactory: a private fear had haunted me, that in thus acting
for myself, and by my own guidance, I ran the risk of getting into
some scrape; and, above all things, I wished the result of my
endeavours to be respectable, proper, en regle. I now felt that an
elderly lady was no bad ingredient in the business I had on hand. Mrs.
Fairfax! I saw her in a black gown and widow's cap; frigid, perhaps,
but not uncivil: a model of elderly English respectability.
Thornfield! that, doubtless, was the name of her house: a neat orderly
spot, I was sure; though I failed in my efforts to conceive a
recollections of the map of England; yes, I saw it; both the shire and
county where I now resided: that was a recommendation to me. I
longed to go where there was life and movement: Millcote was a large
doubtless: so much the better; it would be a complete change at least.
Not that my fancy was much captivated by the idea of long chimneys and
clouds of smoke- 'but,' I argued, 'Thornfield will, probably, be a
good way from the town.'

Here the socket of the candle dropped, and the wick went out.

Next day new steps were to be taken; my plans could no longer be
confined to my own breast; I must impart them in order to achieve
their success. Having sought and obtained an audience of the
superintendent during the noontide recreation, I told her I had a
prospect of getting a new situation where the salary would be double
what I now received (for at Lowood I only got L15 per annum); and
requested she would break the matter for me to Mr. Brocklehurst, or
some of the committee, and ascertain whether they would permit me to
mention them as references. She obligingly consented to act as
mediatrix in the matter. The next day she laid the affair before Mr.
Brocklehurst, who said that Mrs. Reed must be written to, as she was
my natural guardian. A note was accordingly addressed to that lady,
who returned for answer, that 'I might do as I pleased: she had long
relinquished all interference in my affairs.' This note went the round
of the committee, and at last, after what appeared to me most
tedious delay, formal leave was given me to better my condition if I
could; and an assurance added, that as I had always conducted myself
well, both as teacher and pupil, at Lowood, a testimonial of character
and capacity, signed by the inspectors of that institution, should
forthwith be furnished me.

This testimonial I accordingly received in about a month, forwarded
a copy of it to Mrs. Fairfax, and got that lady's reply, stating
that she was satisfied, and fixing that day fortnight as the period
for my assuming the post of governess in her house.

I now busied myself in preparations: the fortnight passed
rapidly. I had not a very large wardrobe, though it was adequate to my
wants; and the last day sufficed to pack my trunk,- the same I had
brought with me eight years ago from Gateshead.

The box was corded, the card nailed on. In half an hour the carrier
was to call for it to take it to Lowton, whither I myself was to
repair at an early hour the next morning to meet the coach. I had
brushed my black stuff travelling-dress, prepared my bonnet, gloves,
and muff; sought in all my drawers to see that no article was left
behind; and now having nothing more to do, I sat down and tried to
rest. I could not; though I had been on foot all day, I could not
now repose an instant; I was too much excited. A phase of my life
was closing tonight, a new one opening to-morrow: impossible to
slumber in the interval; I must watch feverishly while the change
was being accomplished.

'Miss,' said a servant who met me in the lobby, where I was
wandering like a troubled spirit, 'a person below wishes to see you.'

'The carrier, no doubt,' I thought, and ran downstairs without
inquiry. I was passing the back-parlour or teachers' sitting-room, the
door of which was half open, to go to the kitchen, when some one ran
out-

'It's her, I am sure!- I could have told her anywhere!' cried the
individual who stopped my progress and took my hand.

I looked: I saw a woman attired like a well-dressed servant,
matronly, yet still young; very good-looking, with black hair and
eyes, and lively complexion.

'Well, who is it?' she asked, in a voice and with a smile I half
recognised; 'you've not quite forgotten me, I think, Miss Jane?'

In another second I was embracing and kissing her rapturously:
'Bessie! Bessie! Bessie!' that was all I said; whereat she half
laughed, half cried, and we both went into the parlour. By the fire
stood a little fellow of three years old, in plaid frock and trousers.

'That is my little boy,' said Bessie directly.

'Then you are married, Bessie?'

'Yes; nearly five years since to Robert Leaven, the coachman; and
I've a little girl besides Bobby there, that I've christened Jane.'

'And you don't live at Gateshead?'

'I live at the lodge: the old porter has left.'

'Well, and how do they all get on? Tell me everything about them,
Bessie: but sit down first; and, Bobby, come and sit on my knee,
will you?' but Bobby preferred sidling over to his mother.

'You're not grown so very tall, Miss Jane, nor so very stout,'
continued Mrs. Leaven. 'I daresay they've not kept you too well at
school: Miss Reed is the head and shoulders taller than you are; and
Miss Georgiana would make two of you in breadth.'

'Georgiana is handsome, I suppose, Bessie?'

'Very. She went up to London last winter with her mama, and there
everybody admired her, and a young lord fell in love with her: but his
relations were against the match; and- what do you think?- he and Miss
Georgiana made it up to run away; but they were found out and stopped.
It was Miss Reed that found them out: I believe she was envious; and
now she and her sister lead a cat and dog life together; they are
always quarrelling.'

'Well, and what of John Reed?'

'Oh, he is not doing so well as his mama could wish. He went to
college, and he got- plucked, I think they call it: and then his
uncles wanted him to be a barrister, and study the law: but he is such
a dissipated young man, they will never make much of him, I think.'

'What does he look like?'

'He is very tall: some people call him a fine-looking young man;
but he has such thick lips.'

'And Mrs. Reed?'

'Missis looks stout and well enough in the face, but I think
she's not quite easy in her mind: Mr. John's conduct does not please
her- he spends a deal of money.'

'Did she send you here, Bessie?'

'No, indeed: but I have long wanted to see you, and when I heard
that there had been a letter from you, and that you were going to
another part of the country, I thought I'd just set off, and get a
look at you before you were quite out of my reach.'

'I am afraid you are disappointed in me, Bessie.' I said this
laughing: I perceived that Bessie's glance, though it expressed
regard, did in no shape denote admiration.

'No, Miss Jane, not exactly: you are genteel enough; you look
like a lady, and it is as much as ever I expected of you: you were
no beauty as a child.'

I smiled at Bessie's frank answer: I felt that it was correct,
but I confess I was not quite indifferent to its import: at eighteen
most people wish to please, and the conviction that they have not an
exterior likely to second that desire brings anything but
gratification.

'I daresay you are clever, though,' continued Bessie, by way of
solace. 'What can you do? Can you play on the piano?'

'A little.'

There was one in the room; Bessie went and opened it, and then
asked me to sit down and give her a tune: I played a waltz or two, and
she was charmed.

'The Miss Reeds could not play as well!' said she exultingly. 'I
always said you would surpass them in learning: and can you draw?'

'That is one of my paintings over the chimney-piece.' It was a
landscape in water colours, of which I had made a present to the
superintendent, in acknowledgment of her obliging mediation with the
committee on my behalf, and which she had framed and glazed.

'Well, that is beautiful, Miss Jane! It is as fine a picture as any
Miss Reed's drawing-master could paint, let alone the young ladies
themselves, who could not come near it: and have you learnt French?'

'Yes, Bessie, I can both read it and speak it.'

'And you can work on muslin and canvas?'

'I can.'

'Oh, you are quite a lady, Miss Jane! I knew you would be: you will
get on whether your relations notice you or not. There was something I
wanted to ask you. Have you ever heard anything from your father's
kinsfolk, the Eyres?'

'Never in my life.'

'Well, you know, Missis always said they were poor and quite
despicable: and they may be poor; but I believe they are as much
gentry as the Reeds are; for one day, nearly seven years ago, a Mr.
Eyre came to Gateshead and wanted to see you; Missis said you were
at school fifty miles off; he seemed so much disappointed, for he
could not stay: he was going on a voyage to a foreign country, and the
ship was to sail from London in a day or two. He looked quite a
gentleman, and I believe he was your father's brother.'

'What foreign country was he going to, Bessie?'

'An island thousands of miles off, where they make wine- the butler
did tell me-'

'Madeira?' I suggested.

'Yes, that is it- that is the very word.'

'So he went?'

'Yes; he did not stay many minutes in the house: Missis was very
high with him; she called him afterwards a "sneaking tradesman." My
Robert believes he was a wine-merchant.'

'Very likely,' I returned; 'or perhaps clerk or agent to a
wine-merchant.'

Bessie and I conversed about old times an hour longer, and then she
was obliged to leave me: I saw her again for a few minutes the next
morning at Lowton, while I was waiting for the coach. We parted
finally at the door of the Brocklehurst Arms there, each went her
separate way; she set off for the brow of Lowood Fell to meet the
conveyance which was to take her back to Gateshead, I mounted the
vehicle which was to bear me to new duties and a new life in the
unknown environs of Millcote.

                       CHAPTER XI


A NEW chapter in a novel is something like a new scene in a play;
and when I draw up the curtain this time, reader, you must fancy you
see a room in the George Inn at Millcote, with such large figured
papering on the walls as inn rooms have; such a carpet, such
furniture, such ornaments on the mantel-piece, such prints,
including a portrait of George the Third, and another of the Prince of
Wales, and a representation of the death of Wolfe. All this is visible
to you by the light of an oil lamp hanging from the ceiling, and by
that of an excellent fire, near which I sit in my cloak and bonnet; my
muff and umbrella lie on the table, and I am warming away the numbness
and chill contracted by sixteen hours' exposure to the rawness of an
October day: I left Lowton at four o'clock A.M., and the Millcote town
clock is now just striking eight.

Reader, though I look comfortably accommodated, I am not very
tranquil in my mind. I thought when the coach stopped here there would
be some one to meet me; I looked anxiously round as I descended the
wooden steps the 'boots' placed for my convenience, expecting to
hear my name pronounced, and to see some description of carriage
waiting to convey me to Thornfield. Nothing of the sort was visible;
and when I asked a waiter if any one had been to inquire after a
Miss Eyre, I was answered in the negative: so I had no resource but to
request to be shown into a private room: and here I am waiting,
while all sorts of doubts and fears are troubling my thoughts.

It is a very strange sensation to inexperienced youth to feel
itself quite alone in the world, cut adrift from every connection,
uncertain whether the port to which it is bound can be reached, and
prevented by many impediments from returning to that it has quitted.
The charm of adventure sweetens that sensation, the glow of pride
warms it; but then the throb of fear disturbs it; and fear with me
became predominant when half an hour elapsed and still I was alone.
I bethought myself to ring the bell.

'Is there a place in this neighbourhood called Thornfield?' I asked
of the waiter who answered the summons.

'Thornfield? I don't know, ma'am; I'll inquire at the bar.' He
vanished, but reappeared instantly-

'Is your name Eyre, Miss?'

'Yes.'

'Person here waiting for you.'

I jumped up, took my muff and umbrella, and hastened into the
inn-passage: a man was standing by the open door, and in the
lamp-lit street I dimly saw a one-horse conveyance.

'This will be your luggage, I suppose?' said the man rather
abruptly when he saw me, pointing to my trunk in the passage.

'Yes.' He hoisted it on to the vehicle, which was a sort of car,
and then I got in; before he shut me up, I asked him how far it was to
Thornfield.

'A matter of six miles.'

'How long shall we be before we get there?'

'Happen an hour and a half.'

He fastened the car door, climbed to his own seat outside, and we
set off. Our progress was leisurely, and gave me ample time to
reflect; I was content to be at length so near the end of my
journey; and as I leaned back in the comfortable though not elegant
conveyance, I meditated much at my ease.

'I suppose,' thought I, 'judging from the plainness of the
servant and carriage, Mrs. Fairfax is not a very dashing person: so
much the better; I never lived amongst fine people but once, and I was
very miserable with them. I wonder if she lives alone except this
little girl; if so, and if she is in any degree amiable, I shall
surely be able to get on with her; I will do my best; it is a pity
that doing one's best does not always answer. At Lowood, indeed, I
took that resolution, kept it, and succeeded in pleasing; but with
Mrs. Reed, I remember my best was always spurned with scorn. I pray
God Mrs. Fairfax may not turn out a second Mrs. Reed; but if she does,
I am not bound to stay with her! let the worst come to the worst, I
can advertise again. How far are we on our road now, I wonder?'

I let down the window and looked out; Millcote was behind us;
judging by the number of its lights, it seemed a place of considerable
magnitude, much larger than Lowton. We were now, as far as I could
see, on a sort of common; but there were houses scattered all over the
district; I felt we were in a different region to Lowood, more
populous, less picturesque; more stirring, less romantic.

The roads were heavy, the night misty; my conductor let his horse
walk all the way, and the hour and a half extended, I verily
believe, to two hours; at last he turned in his seat and said-

'You're noan so far fro' Thornfield now.'

Again I looked out: we were passing a church; I saw its low broad
tower against the sky, and its bell was tolling a quarter; I saw a
narrow galaxy of lights too, on a hillside, marking a village or
hamlet. About ten minutes after, the driver got down and opened a pair
of gates: we passed through, and they clashed to behind us. We now
slowly ascended a drive, and came upon the long front of a house:
candlelight gleamed from one curtained bow-window; all the rest were
dark. The car stopped at the front door; it was opened by a
maid-servant; I alighted and went in.

'Will you walk this way, ma'am?' said the girl; and I followed
her across a square hall with high doors all round: she ushered me
into a room whose double illumination of fire and candle at first
dazzled me, contrasting as it did with the darkness to which my eyes
had been for two hours inured; when I could see, however, a cosy and
agreeable picture presented itself to my view.

A snug small room; a round table by a cheerful fire; an arm-chair
high-backed and old-fashioned, wherein sat the neatest imaginable
little elderly lady, in widow's cap, black silk gown, and snowy muslin
apron; exactly like what I had fancied Mrs. Fairfax, only less stately
and milder looking. She was occupied in knitting; a large cat sat
demurely at her feet; nothing in short was wanting to complete the
beau-ideal of domestic comfort. A more reassuring introduction for a
new governess could scarcely be conceived; there was no grandeur to
overwhelm, no stateliness to embarrass; and then, as I entered, the
old lady got up and promptly and kindly came forward to meet me.

'How do you do, my dear? I am afraid you have had a tedious ride;
John drives so slowly; you must be cold, come to the fire.'

'Mrs. Fairfax, I suppose?' said I.

'Yes, you are right: do sit down.'

She conducted me to her own chair, and then began to remove my
shawl and untie my bonnet-strings; I begged she would not give herself
so much trouble.

'Oh, it is no trouble; I daresay your own hands are almost numbed
with cold. Leah, make a little hot negus and cut a sandwich or two:
here are the keys of the storeroom.'

And she produced from her pocket a most housewifely bunch of
keys, and delivered them to the servant.

'Now, then, draw nearer to the fire,' she continued. 'You've
brought your luggage with you, haven't you, my dear?'

'Yes, ma'am.'

'I'll see it carried into your room,' she said, and bustled out.

'She treats me like a visitor,' thought I. 'I little expected
such a reception; I anticipated only coldness and stiffness: this is
not like what I have heard of the treatment of governesses; but I must
not exult too soon.'

She returned; with her own hands cleared her knitting apparatus and
a book or two from the table, to make room for the tray which Leah now
brought, and then herself handed me the refreshments. I felt rather
confused at being the object of more attention than I had ever
before received, and, that too, shown by my employer and superior; but
as she did not herself seem to consider she was doing anything out
of her place, I thought it better to take her civilities quietly.

'Shall I have the pleasure of seeing Miss Fairfax to-night?' I
asked, when I had partaken of what she offered me.

'What did you say, my dear? I am a little deaf,' returned the
good lady, approaching her ear to my mouth.

I repeated the question more distinctly.

'Miss Fairfax? Oh, you mean Miss Varens! Varens is the name of your
future pupil.'

'Indeed! Then she is not your daughter?'

'No,- I have no family.'

I should have followed up my first inquiry, by asking in what way
Miss Varens was connected with her; but I recollected it was not
polite to ask too many questions: besides, I was sure to hear in time.

'I am so glad,' she continued, as she sat down opposite to me,
and took the cat on her knee; 'I am so glad you are come; it will be
quite pleasant living here now with a companion. To be sure it is
pleasant at any time; for Thornfield is a fine old hall, rather
neglected of late years perhaps, but still it is a respectable
place; yet you know in winter-time one feels dreary quite alone in the
best quarters. I say alone- Leah is a nice girl to be sure, and John
and his wife are very decent people; but then you see they are only
servants, and one can't converse with them on terms of equality: one
must keep them at due distance, for fear of losing one's authority.
I'm sure last winter (it was a very severe one, if you recollect,
and when it did not snow, it rained and blew), not a creature but
the butcher and postman came to the house, from November till
February; and I really got quite melancholy with sitting night after
night alone; I had Leah in to read to me sometimes; but I don't
think the poor girl liked the task much: she felt it confining. In
spring and summer one got on better: sunshine and long days make
such a difference; and then, just at the commencement of this
autumn, little Adela Varens came and her nurse: a child makes a
house alive all at once; and now you are here I shall be quite gay.'

My heart really warmed to the worthy lady as I heard her talk;
and I drew my chair a little nearer to her, and expressed my sincere
wish that she might find my company as agreeable as she anticipated.

'But I'll not keep you sitting up late to-night,' said she; 'it
is on the stroke of twelve now, and you have been travelling all
day: you must feel tired. If you have got your feet well warmed,
I'll show you your bedroom. I've had the room next to mine prepared
for you; it is only a small apartment, but I thought you would like it
better than one of the large front chambers: to be sure they have
finer furniture, but they are so dreary and solitary, I never sleep in
them myself.'

I thanked her for her considerate choice, and as I really felt
fatigued with my long journey, expressed my readiness to retire. She
took her candle, and I followed her from the room. First she went to
see if the hall-door was fastened; having taken the key from the lock,
she led the way upstairs. The steps and banisters were of oak; the
staircase window was high and latticed; both it and the long gallery
into which the bedroom doors opened looked as if they belonged to a
church rather than a house. A very chill and vault-like air pervaded
the stairs and gallery, suggesting cheerless ideas of space and
solitude; and I was glad, when finally ushered into my chamber, to
find it of small dimensions, and furnished in ordinary, modern style.

When Mrs. Fairfax had bidden me a kind good-night, and I had
fastened my door, gazed leisurely round, and in some measure effaced
the eerie impression made by that wide hall, that dark and spacious
staircase, and that long, cold gallery, by the livelier aspect of my
little room, I remembered that, after a day of bodily fatigue and
mental anxiety, I was now at last in safe haven. The impulse of
gratitude swelled my heart, and I knelt down at the bedside, and
offered up thanks where thanks were due; not forgetting, ere I rose,
to implore aid on my further path, and the power of meriting the
kindness which seemed so frankly offered me before it was earned. My
couch had no thorns in it that night; my solitary room no fears. At
once weary and content, I slept soon and soundly: when I awoke it
was broad day.

The chamber looked such a bright little place to me as the sun
shone in between the gay blue chintz window curtains, showing
papered walls and a carpeted floor, so unlike the bare planks and
stained plaster of Lowood, that my spirits rose at the view. Externals
have a great effect on the young: I thought that a fairer era of
life was beginning for me- one that was to have its flowers and
pleasures, as well as its thorns and toils. My faculties, roused by
the change of scene, the new field offered to hope, seemed all
astir. I cannot precisely define what they expected, but it was
something pleasant: not perhaps that day or that month, but at an
indefinite future period.

I rose; I dressed myself with care: obliged to be plain- for I
had no article of attire that was not made with extreme simplicity-
I was still by nature solicitous to be neat. It was not my habit to be
disregardful of appearance or careless of the impression I made: on
the contrary, I ever wished to look as well as I could, and to
please as much as my want of beauty would permit. I sometimes
regretted that I was not handsomer; I sometimes wished to have rosy
cheeks, a straight nose, and small cherry mouth; I desired to be tall,
stately, and finely developed in figure; I felt it a misfortune that I
was so little, so pale, and had features so irregular and so marked.
And why had I these aspirations and these regrets? It would be
difficult to say: I could not then distinctly say it to myself; yet
I had a reason, and a logical, natural reason too. However, when I had
brushed my hair very smooth, and put on my black frock- which,
Quakerlike as it was, at least had the merit of fitting to a nicety-
and adjusted my clean white tucker, I thought I should do
respectably enough to appear before Mrs. Fairfax, and that my new
pupil would not at least recoil from me with antipathy. Having
opened my chamber window, and seen that I left all things straight and
neat on the toilet table, I ventured forth.

Traversing the long and matted gallery, I descended the slippery
steps of oak; then I gained the hall: I halted there a minute; I
looked at some pictures on the walls (one, I remember, represented a
grim man in a cuirass, and one a lady with powdered hair and a pearl
necklace), at a bronze lamp pendent from the ceiling, at a great clock
whose case was of oak curiously carved, and ebon black with time and
rubbing. Everything appeared very stately and imposing to me; but then
I was so little accustomed to grandeur. The hall-door, which was
half of glass, stood open; I stepped over the threshold. It was a fine
autumn morning; the early sun shone serenely on embrowned groves and
still green fields; advancing on to the lawn, I looked up and surveyed
the front of the mansion. It was three storeys high, of proportions
not vast, though considerable: a gentleman's manor-house, not a
nobleman's seat: battlements round the top gave it a picturesque look.
Its grey front stood out well from the background of a rookery,
whose cawing tenants were now on the wing: they flew over the lawn and
grounds to alight in a great meadow, from which these were separated
by a sunk fence, and where an array of mighty old thorn trees, strong,
knotty, and broad as oaks, at once explained the etymology of the
mansion's designation. Farther off were hills: not so lofty as those
round Lowood, nor so craggy, nor so like barriers of separation from
the living world; but yet quiet and lonely hills enough, and seeming
to embrace Thornfield with a seclusion I had not expected to find
existent so near the stirring locality of Millcote. A little hamlet,
whose roofs were blent with trees, straggled up the side of one of
these hills; the church of the district stood nearer Thornfield: its
old tower-top looked over a knoll between the house and gates.

I was yet enjoying the calm prospect and pleasant fresh air, yet
listening with delight to the cawing of the rooks, yet surveying the
wide, hoary front of the hall, and thinking what a great place it
was for one lonely little dame like Mrs. Fairfax to inhabit, when that
lady appeared at the door.

'What! out already?' said she. 'I see you are an early riser.' I
went up to her, and was received with an affable kiss and shake of the
hand.

'How do you like Thornfield?' she asked. I told her I liked it very
much.

'Yes,' she said, 'it is a pretty place; but I fear it will be
getting out of order, unless Mr. Rochester should take it into his
head to come and reside here permanently; or, at least, visit it
rather oftener: great houses and fine grounds require the presence
of the proprietor.'

'Mr. Rochester!' I exclaimed. 'Who is he?'

'The owner of Thornfield,' she responded quietly. 'Did you not know
he was called Rochester?'

Of course I did not- I had never heard of him before; but the old
lady seemed to regard his existence as a universally understood
fact, with which everybody must be acquainted by instinct.

'I thought,' I continued, 'Thornfield belonged to you.'

'To me? Bless you, child; what an idea! To me! I am only the
housekeeper- the manager. To be sure I am distantly related to the
Rochesters by the mother's side, or at least my husband was; he was
a clergyman, incumbent of Hay- that little village yonder on the hill-
and that church near the gates was his. The present Mr. Rochester's
mother was a Fairfax, second cousin to my husband: but I never presume
on the connection- in fact, it is nothing to me; I consider myself
quite in the light of an ordinary housekeeper: my employer is always
civil, and I expect nothing more.'

'And the little girl- my pupil!'

'She is Mr. Rochester's ward; he commissioned me to find a
believe. Here she comes, with her "bonne," as she calls her nurse.'
The enigma then was explained: this affable and kind little widow
was no great dame; but a dependant like myself. I did not like her the
worse for that; on the contrary, I felt better pleased than ever.
The equality between her and me was real; not the mere result of
condescension on her part: so much the better- my position was all the
freer.

As I was meditating on this discovery, a little girl, followed by
her attendant, came running up the lawn. I looked at my pupil, who did
not at first appear to notice me: she was quite a child, perhaps seven
or eight years old, slightly built, with a pale, small-featured
face, and a redundancy of hair falling in curls to her waist.

'Good morning, Miss Adela,' said Mrs. Fairfax. 'Come and speak to
the lady who is to teach you, and to make you a clever woman some
day.' She approached.

'C'est la ma gouvernante!' said she, pointing to me, and addressing
her nurse; who answered-

'Mais oui, certainement.'

'Are they foreigners?' I inquired, amazed at hearing the French
language.

'The nurse is a foreigner, and Adela was born on the Continent;
and, I believe, never left it till within six months ago. When she
first came here she could speak no English; now she can make shift
to talk it a little: I don't understand her, she mixes it so with
French; but you will make out her meaning very well, I daresay.'

Fortunately I had had the advantage of being taught French by a
French lady; and as I had always made a point of conversing with
Madame Pierrot as often as I could, and had besides, during the last
seven years, learnt a portion of French by heart daily- applying
myself to take pains with my accent, and imitating as closely as
possible the pronunciation of my teacher, I had acquired a certain
degree of readiness and correctness in the language, and was not
likely to be much at a loss with Mademoiselle Adela. She came and
shook hands with me when she heard that I was her governess; and as
I led her in to breakfast, I addressed some phrases to her in her
own tongue: she replied briefly at first, but after we were seated
at the table, and she had examined me some ten minutes with her
large hazel eyes, she suddenly commenced chattering fluently.

'Ah!' cried she, in French, 'you speak my language as well as Mr.
Rochester does: I can talk to you as I can to him, and so can
Sophie. She will be glad: nobody here understands her: Madame
Fairfax is all English. Sophie is my nurse; she came with me over
the sea in a great ship with a chimney that smoked- how it did smoke!-
and I was sick, and so was Sophie, and so was Mr. Rochester. Mr.
Rochester lay down on a sofa in a pretty room called the salon, and
Sophie and I had little beds in another place. I nearly fell out of
mine; it was like a shelf. And Mademoiselle- what is your name?'

'Eyre- Jane Eyre.'

'Aire? Bah! I cannot say it. Well, our ship stopped in the morning,
before it was quite daylight, at a great city- a huge city, with
very dark houses and all smoky; not at all like the pretty clean
town I came from; and Mr. Rochester carried me in his arms over a
plank to the land, and Sophie came after, and we all got into a coach,
which took us to a beautiful large house, larger than this and
finer, called an hotel. We stayed there nearly a week: I and Sophie
used to walk every day in a great green place full of trees, called
the Park; and there were many children there besides me, and a pond
with beautiful birds in it, that I fed with crumbs.'

'Can you understand her when she runs on so fast?' asked Mrs.
Fairfax.

I understood her very well, for I had been accustomed to the fluent
tongue of Madame Pierrot.

'I wish,' continued the good lady, 'you would ask her a question or
two about her parents: I wonder if she remembers them?'

'Adele,' I inquired, 'with whom did you live when you were in
that pretty clean town you spoke of?'

'I lived long ago with mama; but she is gone to the Holy Virgin.
Mama used to teach me to dance and sing, and to say verses. A great
many gentlemen and ladies came to see mama, and I used to dance before
them, or to sit on their knees and sing to them: I liked it. Shall I
let you hear me sing now?'

She had finished her breakfast, so I permitted her to give a
specimen of her accomplishments. Descending from her chair, she came
and placed herself on my knee; then, folding her little hands demurely
before her, shaking back her curls and lifting her eyes to the
ceiling, she commenced singing a song from some opera. It was the
strain of a forsaken lady, who, after bewailing the perfidy of her
lover, calls pride to her aid; desires her attendant to deck her in
her brightest jewels and richest robes, and resolves to meet the false
one that night at a ball, and prove to him, by the gaiety of her
demeanour, how little his desertion has affected her.

The subject seemed strangely chosen for an infant singer; but I
suppose the point of the exhibition lay in hearing the notes of love
and jealousy warbled with the lisp of childhood; and in very bad taste
that point was: at least I thought so.

Adele sang the canzonette tunefully enough, and with the naivete of
her age. This achieved, she jumped from my knee and said, 'Now,
Mademoiselle, I will repeat you some poetry.'

Assuming an attitude, she began 'La Ligue des Rats: fable de La
Fontaine.' She then declaimed the little piece with an attention to
punctuation and emphasis, a flexibility of voice and an
appropriateness of gesture, very unusual indeed at her age, and
which proved she had been carefully trained.

'Was it your mama who taught you that piece?' I asked.

'Yes, and she just used to say it in this way: "Qu'avez vous
donc? lui dit un de ces rats; parlez!" She made me lift my hand- so-
to remind me to raise my voice at the question. Now shall I dance
for you?'

'No, that will do: but after your mama went to the Holy Virgin,
as you say, with whom did you live then?'

'With Madame Frederic and her husband: she took care of me, but she
is nothing related to me. I think she is poor, for she had not so fine
a house as mama. I was not long there. Mr. Rochester asked me if I
would like to go and live with him in England, and I said yes; for I
knew Mr. Rochester before I knew Madame Frederic, and he was always
kind to me and gave me pretty dresses and toys: but you see he has not
kept his word, for he has brought me to England, and now he is gone
back again himself, and I never see him.'

After breakfast, Adele and I withdrew to the library, which room,
it appears, Mr. Rochester had directed should be used as the
schoolroom. Most of the books were locked up behind glass doors; but
there was one bookcase left open containing everything that could be
needed in the way of elementary works, and several volumes of light
literature, poetry, biography, travels, a few romances, etc. I suppose
he had considered that these were all the governess would require
for her private perusal; and, indeed, they contented me amply for
the present; compared with the scanty pickings I had now and then been
able to glean at Lowood, they seemed to offer an abundant harvest of
entertainment and information. In this room, too, there was a
cabinet piano, quite new and of superior tone; also an easel for
painting and a pair of globes.

I found my pupil sufficiently docile, though disinclined to
apply: she had not been used to regular occupation of any kind. I felt
it would be injudicious to confine her too much at first; so, when I
had talked to her a great deal, and got her to learn a little, and
when the morning had advanced to noon, I allowed her to return to
her nurse. I then proposed to occupy myself till dinner-time in
drawing some little sketches for her use.

As I was going upstairs to fetch my portfolio and pencils, Mrs.
Fairfax called to me: 'Your morning school-hours are over now, I
suppose,' said she. She was in a room the folding doors of which stood
open: I went in when she addressed me. It was a large, stately
apartment, with purple chairs and curtains, a Turkey carpet,
walnut-panelled walls, one vast window rich in stained glass, and a
lofty ceiling, nobly moulded. Mrs. Fairfax was dusting some vases of
fine purple spar, which stood on a sideboard.

'What a beautiful room!' I exclaimed, as I looked round; for I
had never before seen any half so imposing.

'Yes; this is the dining-room. I have just opened the window, to
let in a little air and sunshine; for everything gets so damp in
apartments that are seldom inhabited; the drawing-room yonder feels
like a vault.'

She pointed to a wide arch corresponding to the window, and hung
like it with a Tyrian-dyed curtain, now looped up. Mounting to it by
two broad steps, and looking through, I thought I caught a glimpse
of a fairy place, so bright to my novice-eyes appeared the view
beyond. Yet it was merely a very pretty drawing-room, and within it
a boudoir, both spread with white carpets, on which seemed laid
brilliant garlands of flowers; both ceiled with snowy mouldings of
white grapes and vine-leaves, beneath which glowed in rich contrast
crimson couches and ottomans; while the ornaments on the pale Parian
mantelpiece were of sparkling Bohemian glass, ruby red; and between
the windows large mirrors repeated the general blending of snow and
fire.

'In what order you keep these rooms, Mrs. Fairfax!' said I. 'No
dust, no canvas coverings: except that the air feels chilly, one would
think they were inhabited daily.'

'Why, Miss Eyre, though Mr. Rochester's visits here are rare,
they are always sudden and unexpected; and as I observed that it put
him out to find everything swathed up, and to have a bustle of
arrangement on his arrival, I thought it best to keep the rooms in
readiness.'

'Is Mr. Rochester an exacting, fastidious sort of man?'

'Not particularly so; but he has a gentleman's tastes and habits,
and he expects to have things managed in conformity to them.'

'Do you like him? Is he generally liked?'

'Oh, yes; the family have always been respected here. Almost all
the land in this neighbourhood, as far as you can see, has belonged to
the Rochesters time out of mind.'

'Well, but, leaving his land out of the question, do you like
him? Is he liked for himself?'

'I have no cause to do otherwise than like him; and I believe he is
considered a just and liberal landlord by his tenants: but he has
never lived much amongst them.'

'But has he no peculiarities? What, in short, is his character?'

'Oh! his character is unimpeachable, I suppose. He is rather
peculiar, perhaps: he has travelled a great deal, and seen a great
deal of the world, I should think. I daresay he is clever, but I never
had much conversation with him.'

'In what way is he peculiar?'

'I don't know- it is not easy to describe- nothing striking, but
you feel it when he speaks to you; you cannot be always sure whether
he is in jest or earnest, whether he is pleased or the contrary; you
don't thoroughly understand him, in short- at least, I don't: but it
is of no consequence, he is a very good master.'

This was all the account I got from Mrs. Fairfax of her employer
and mine. There are people who seem to have no notion of sketching a
character, or observing and describing salient points, either in
persons or things: the good lady evidently belonged to this class;
my queries puzzled, but did not draw her out. Mr. Rochester was Mr.
Rochester in her eyes; a gentleman, a landed proprietor- nothing more:
she inquired and searched no further, and evidently wondered at my
wish to gain a more definite notion of his identity.

When we left the dining-room she proposed to show me over the
rest of the house; and I followed her upstairs and downstairs,
admiring as I went; for all was well arranged and handsome. The
large front chambers I thought especially grand: and some of the
third-storey rooms, though dark and low, were interesting from their
air of antiquity. The furniture once appropriated to the lower
apartments had from time to time been removed here, as fashions
changed: and the imperfect light entering by their narrow casement
showed bed-steads of a hundred years old; chests in oak or walnut,
looking, with their strange carvings of palm branches and cherubs'
heads, like types of the Hebrew ark; rows of venerable chairs,
high-backed and narrow; stools still more antiquated, on whose
cushioned tops were yet apparent traces of half-effaced
embroideries, wrought by fingers that for two generations had been
coffin-dust. All these relics gave to the third storey of Thornfield
Hall the aspect of a home of the past: a shrine of memory. I liked the
hush, the gloom, the quaintness of these retreats in the day; but I by
no means coveted a night's repose on one of those wide and heavy beds:
shut in, some of them, with doors of oak; shaded, others, with wrought
old English hangings crusted with thick work, portraying effigies of
strange flowers, and stranger birds, and strangest human beings,-
all which would have looked strange, indeed, by the pallid gleam of
moonlight.

'Do the servants sleep in these rooms?' I asked.

'No; they occupy a range of smaller apartments to the back; no
one ever sleeps here: one would almost say that, if there were a ghost
at Thornfield Hall, this would be its haunt.'

'So I think: you have no ghost, then?'

'None that I ever heard of,' returned Mrs. Fairfax, smiling.

'Nor any traditions of one? no legends or ghost stories?'

'I believe not. And yet it is said the Rochesters have been
rather a violent than a quiet race in their time: perhaps, though,
that is the reason they rest tranquilly in their graves now.'

'Yes- "after life's fitful fever they sleep well,"' I muttered.
'Where are you going now, Mrs. Fairfax?' for she was moving away.

'On to the leads; will you come and see the view from thence?' I
followed still, up a very narrow staircase to the attics, and thence
by a ladder and through a trap-door to the roof of the hall. I was now
on a level with the crow colony, and could see into their nests.
Leaning over the battlements and looking far down, I surveyed the
grounds laid out like a map: the bright and velvet lawn closely
girdling the grey base of the mansion; the field, wide as a park,
dotted with its ancient timber; the wood, dun and sere, divided by a
path visibly overgrown, greener with moss than the trees were with
foliage; the church at the gates, the road, the tranquil hills, all
reposing in the autumn day's sun; the horizon bounded by a
propitious sky, azure, marbled with pearly white. No feature in the
scene was extraordinary, but all was pleasing. When I turned from it
and repassed the trap-door, I could scarcely see my way down the
ladder; the attic seemed black as a vault compared with that arch of
blue air to which I had been looking up, and to that sunlit scene of
grove, pasture, and green hill, of which the hall was the centre,
and over which I had been gazing with delight.

Mrs. Fairfax stayed behind a moment to fasten the trap-door; I,
by dint of groping, found the outlet from the attic, and proceeded
to descend the narrow garret staircase. I lingered in the long passage
to which this led, separating the front and back rooms of the third
storey: narrow, low, and dim, with only one little window at the far
end, and looking, with its two rows of small black doors all shut,
like a corridor in some Bluebeard's castle.

While I paced softly on, the last sound I expected to hear in so
still a region, a laugh, struck my ear. It was a curious laugh;
distinct, formal, mirthless. I stopped: the sound ceased, only for
an instant; it began again, louder: for at first, though distinct,
it was very low. It passed off in a clamorous peal that seemed to wake
an echo in every lonely chamber; though it originated but in one,
and I could have pointed out the door whence the accents issued.

'Mrs. Fairfax!' I called out: for I now heard her descending the
great stairs. 'Did you hear that loud laugh? Who is it?'

'Some of the servants, very likely,' she answered: 'perhaps Grace
Poole.'

'Did you hear it?' I again inquired.

'Yes, plainly: I often hear her: she sews in one of these rooms.
Sometimes Leah is with her; they are frequently noisy together.'

The laugh was repeated in its low, syllabic tone, and terminated in
an odd murmur.

'Grace!' exclaimed Mrs. Fairfax.

I really did not expect any Grace to answer; for the laugh was as
tragic, as preternatural a laugh as any I ever heard; and, but that it
was high noon, and that no circumstance of ghostliness accompanied the
curious cachinnation; but that neither scene nor season favoured fear,
I should have been superstitiously afraid. However, the event showed
me I was a fool for entertaining a sense even of surprise.

The door nearest me opened, and a servant came out,- a woman of
between thirty and forty; a set, square-made figure, red-haired, and
with a hard, plain face: any apparition less romantic or less
ghostly could scarcely be conceived.

'Too much noise, Grace,' said Mrs. Fairfax. 'Remember
directions!' Grace curtseyed silently and went in.

'She is a person we have to sew and assist Leah in her
housemaid's work,' continued the widow; 'not altogether
unobjectionable in some points, but she does well enough. By the
bye, how have you got on with your new pupil this morning?'

The conversation, thus turned on Adele, continued till we reached
the light and cheerful region below. Adele came running to meet us
in the hall, exclaiming-

'Mesdames, vous etes servies!' adding, 'J'ai bien faim, moi!'

We found dinner ready, and waiting for us in Mrs. Fairfax's room.

                      CHAPTER XII


THE promise of a smooth career, which my first calm introduction to
Thornfield Hall seemed to pledge, was not belied on a longer
acquaintance with the place and its inmates. Mrs. Fairfax turned out
to be what she appeared, a placid-tempered, kind-natured woman, of
competent education and average intelligence. My pupil was a lively
child, who had been spoilt and indulged, and therefore was sometimes
wayward; but as she was committed entirely to my care, and no
injudicious interference from any quarter ever thwarted my plans for
her improvement, she soon forgot her little freaks, and became
obedient and teachable. She had no great talents, no marked traits
of character, no peculiar development of feeling or taste which raised
her one inch above the ordinary level of childhood; but neither had
she any deficiency or vice which sunk her below it. She made
reasonable progress, entertained for me a vivacious, though perhaps
not very profound, affection; and by her simplicity, gay prattle,
and efforts to please, inspired me, in return, with a degree of
attachment sufficient to make us both content in each other's society.

This, par parenthese, will be thought cool language by persons
who entertain solemn doctrines about the angelic nature of children,
and the duty of those charged with their education to conceive for
them an idolatrous devotion: but I am not writing to flatter
parental egotism, to echo cant, or prop up humbug; I am merely telling
the truth. I felt a conscientious solicitude for Adele's welfare and
progress, and a quiet liking for her little self: just as I
cherished towards Mrs. Fairfax a thankfulness for her kindness, and
a pleasure in her society proportionate to the tranquil regard she had
for me, and the moderation of her mind and character.

Anybody may blame me who likes, when I add further, that, now and
then, when I took a walk by myself in the grounds; when I went down to
the gates and looked through them along the road; or when, while Adele
played with her nurse, and Mrs. Fairfax made jellies in the storeroom,
I climbed the three staircases, raised the trap-door of the attic, and
having reached the leads, looked out afar over sequestered field and
hill, and along dim sky-line- that then I longed for a power of vision
which might overpass that limit; which might reach the busy world,
towns, regions full of life I had heard of but never seen- that then I
desired more of practical experience than I possessed; more of
intercourse with my kind, of acquaintance with variety of character,
than was here within my reach. I valued what was good in Mrs. Fairfax,
and what was good in Adele; but I believed in the existence of other
and more vivid kinds of goodness, and what I believed in I wished to
behold.

Who blames me? Many, no doubt; and I shall be called
discontented. I could not help it: the restlessness was in my
nature; it agitated me to pain sometimes. Then my sole relief was to
walk along the corridor of the third storey, backwards and forwards,
safe in the silence and solitude of the spot, and allow my mind's
eye to dwell on whatever bright visions rose before it- and,
certainly, they were many and glowing; to let my heart be heaved by
the exultant movement, which, while it swelled it in trouble, expanded
it with life; and, best of all, to open my inward ear to a tale that
was never ended- a tale my imagination created, and narrated
continuously; quickened with all of incident, life, fire, feeling,
that I desired and had not in my actual existence.

It is in vain to say human beings ought to be satisfied with
tranquillity: they must have action; and they will make it if they
cannot find it. Millions are condemned to a stiller doom than mine,
and millions are in silent revolt against their lot. Nobody knows
how many rebellions besides political rebellions ferment in the masses
of life which people earth. Women are supposed to be very calm
generally: but women feel just as men feel; they need exercise for
their faculties, and a field for their efforts, as much as their
brothers do; they suffer from too rigid a restraint, too absolute a
stagnation, precisely as men would suffer; and it is narrow-minded
in their more privileged fellow-creatures to say that they ought to
confine themselves to making puddings and knitting stockings, to
playing on the piano and embroidering bags. It is thoughtless to
condemn them, or laugh at them, if they seek to do more or learn
more than custom has pronounced necessary for their sex.

When thus alone, I not unfrequently heard Grace Poole's laugh:
the same peal, the same low, slow ha! ha! which, when first heard, had
thrilled me: I heard, too, her eccentric murmurs; stranger than her
laugh. There were days when she was quite silent; but there were
others when I could not account for the sounds she made. Sometimes I
saw her: she would come out of her room with a basin, or a plate, or a
tray in her hand, go down to the kitchen and shortly return, generally
(oh, romantic reader, forgive me for telling the plain truth!) bearing
a pot of porter. Her appearance always acted as a damper to the
curiosity raised by her oral oddities: hard-featured and staid, she
had no point to which interest could attach. I made some attempts to
draw her into conversation, but she seemed a person of few words: a
monosyllabic reply usually cut short every effort of that sort.

The other members of the household, viz., John and his wife, Leah
the housemaid, and Sophie the French nurse, were decent people; but in
no respect remarkable; with Sophie I used to talk French, and
sometimes I asked her questions about her native country; but she
was not of a descriptive or narrative turn, and generally gave such
vapid and confused answers as were calculated rather to check than
encourage inquiry.

October, November, December passed away. One afternoon in
January, Mrs. Fairfax had begged a holiday for Adele, because she
had a cold; and, as Adele seconded the request with an ardour that
reminded me how precious occasional holidays had been to me in my
own childhood, I accorded it, deeming that I did well in showing
pliability on the point. It was a fine, calm day, though very cold;
I was tired of sitting still in the library through a whole long
morning: Mrs. Fairfax had just written a letter which was waiting to
be posted, so I put on my bonnet and cloak and volunteered to carry it
to Hay; the distance, two miles, would be a pleasant winter
afternoon walk. Having seen Adele comfortably seated in her little
chair by Mrs. Fairfax's parlour fireside, and given her her best wax
doll (which I usually kept enveloped in silver paper in a drawer) to
play with, and a story-book for a change of amusement; and having
replied to her 'Revenez bientot, ma bonne amie, ma chere Mdlle.
Jeannette,' with a kiss I set out.

The ground was hard, the air was still, my road was lonely; I
walked fast till I got warm, and then I walked slowly to enjoy and
analyse the species of pleasure brooding for me in the hour and
situation. It was three o'clock; the church bell tolled as I passed
under the belfry: the charm of the hour lay in its approaching
dimness, in the low-gliding and pale-beaming sun. I was a mile from
Thornfield, in a lane noted for wild roses in summer, for nuts and
blackberries in autumn, and even now possessing a few coral
treasures in hips and haws, but whose best winter delight lay in its
utter solitude and leafless repose. If a breath of air stirred, it
made no sound here; for there was not a holly, not an evergreen to
rustle, and the stripped hawthorn and hazel bushes were as still as
the white, worn stones which causewayed the middle of the path. Far
and wide, on each side, there were only fields, where no cattle now
browsed; and the little brown birds, which stirred occasionally in the
hedge, looked like single russet leaves that had forgotten to drop.

This lane inclined up-hill all the way to Hay; having reached the
middle, I sat down on a stile which led thence into a field. Gathering
my mantle about me, and sheltering my hands in my muff, I did not feel
the cold, though it froze keenly; as was attested by a sheet of ice
covering the causeway, where a little brooklet, now congealed, had
overflowed after a rapid thaw some days since. From my seat I could
look down on Thornfield: the grey and battlemented hall was the
principal object in the vale below me; its woods and dark rookery rose
against the, west. I lingered till the sun went down amongst the
trees, and sank crimson and clear behind them. I then turned eastward.

On the hill-top above me sat the rising moon; pale yet as a
cloud, but brightening momentarily, she looked over Hay, which, half
lost in trees, sent up a blue smoke from its few chimneys: it was
yet a mile distant, but in the absolute hush I could hear plainly
its thin murmurs of life. My ear, too, felt the flow of currents; in
what dales and depths I could not tell: but there were many hills
beyond Hay, and doubtless many becks threading their passes. That
evening calm betrayed alike the tinkle of the nearest streams, the
sough of the most remote.

A rude noise broke on these fine ripplings and whisperings, at once
so far away and so clear: a positive tramp, tramp, a metallic clatter,
which effaced the soft wave-wanderings; as, in a picture, the solid
mass of a crag, or the rough boles of a great oak, drawn in dark and
strong on the foreground, efface the aerial distance of azure hill,
sunny horizon, and blended clouds where tint melts into tint.

The din was on the causeway: a horse was coming; the windings of
the lane yet hid it, but it approached. I was just leaving the
stile; yet, as the path was narrow, I sat still to let it go by. In
those days I was young, and all sorts of fancies bright and dark
tenanted my mind: the memories of nursery stories were there amongst
other rubbish; and when they recurred, maturing youth added to them
a vigour and vividness beyond what childhood could give. As this horse
approached, and as I watched for it to appear through the dusk, I
remembered certain of Bessie's tales, wherein figured a
North-of-England spirit called a 'Gytrash,' which, in the form of
horse, mule, or large dog, haunted solitary ways, and sometimes came
upon belated travellers, as this horse was now coming upon me.

It was very near, but not yet in sight; when, in addition to the
tramp, tramp, I heard a rush under the hedge, and close down by the
hazel stems glided a great dog, whose black and white colour made
him a distinct object against the trees. It was exactly one form of
Bessie's Gytrash- a lion-like creature with long hair and a huge head:
it passed me, however, quietly enough; not staying to look up, with
strange pretercanine eyes, in my face, as I half expected it would.
The horse followed,- a tall steed, and on its back a rider. The man,
the human being, broke the spell at once. Nothing ever rode the
Gytrash: it was always alone; and goblins, to my notions, though
they might tenant the dumb carcasses of beasts, could scarce covet
shelter in the commonplace human form. No Gytrash was this,- only a
traveller taking the short cut to Millcote. He passed, and I went
on; a few steps, and I turned: a sliding sound and an exclamation of
'What the deuce is to do now?' and a clattering tumble, arrested my
attention. Man and horse were down; they had slipped on the sheet of
ice which glazed the causeway. The dog came bounding back, and
seeing his master in a predicament, and hearing the horse groan,
barked till the evening hills echoed the sound, which was deep in
proportion to his magnitude. He snuffed round the prostrate group, and
then he ran up to me; it was all he could do,- there was no other help
at hand to summon. I obeyed him, and walked down to the traveller,
by this time struggling himself free of his steed. His efforts were so
vigorous, I thought he could not be much hurt; but I asked him the
question-

'Are you injured, sir?'

I think he was swearing, but am not certain; however, he was
pronouncing some formula which prevented him from replying to me
directly.

'Can I do anything?' I asked again.

'You must just stand on one side,' he answered as he rose, first to
his knees, and then to his feet. I did; whereupon began a heaving,
stamping, clattering process, accompanied by a barking and baying
which removed me effectually some yards' distance; but I would not
be driven quite away till I saw the event. This was finally fortunate;
the horse was re-established, and the dog was silenced with a 'Down,
Pilot!' The traveller now, stooping, felt his foot and leg, as if
trying whether they were sound; apparently something ailed them, for
he halted to the stile whence I had just risen, and sat down.

I was in the mood for being useful, or at least officious, I think,
for I now drew near him again.

'If you are hurt, and want help, sir, I can fetch some one either
from Thornfield Hall or from Hay.'

'Thank you: I shall do: I have no broken bones,- only a sprain;'
and again he stood up and tried his foot, but the result extorted an
involuntary 'Ugh!'

Something of daylight still lingered, and the moon was waxing
bright: I could see him plainly. His figure was enveloped in a
riding cloak, fur collared and steel clasped; its details were not
apparent, but I traced the general points of middle height and
considerable breadth of chest. He had a dark face, with stern features
and a heavy brow; his eyes and gathered eyebrows looked ireful and
thwarted just now; he was past youth, but had not reached
middle-age; perhaps he might be thirty-five. I felt no fear of him,
and but little shyness. Had he been a handsome, heroic-looking young
gentleman, I should not have dared to stand thus questioning him
against his will, and offering my services unasked. I had hardly
ever seen a handsome youth; never in my life spoken to one. I had a
theoretical reverence and homage for beauty, elegance, gallantry,
fascination; but had I met those qualities incarnate in masculine
shape, I should have known instinctively that they neither had nor
could have sympathy with anything in me, and should have shunned
them as one would fire, lightning, or anything else that is bright but
antipathetic.

If even this stranger had smiled and been good-humoured to me
when I addressed him; if he had put off my offer of assistance gaily
and with thanks, I should have gone on my way and not felt any
vocation to renew inquiries: but the frown, the roughness of the
traveller, set me at my ease: I retained my station when he waved to
me to go, and announced-

'I cannot think of leaving you, sir, at so late an hour, in this
solitary lane, till I see you are fit to mount your horse.'

He looked at me when I said this; he had hardly turned his eyes
in my direction before.

'I should think you ought to be at home yourself,' said he, 'if you
have a home in this neighbourhood: where do you come from?'

'From just below; and I am not at all afraid of being out late when
it is moonlight: I will run over to Hay for you with pleasure, if
you wish it: indeed, I am going there to post a letter.'

'You live just below- do you mean at that house with the
battlements?' pointing to Thornfield Hall, on which the moon cast a
hoary gleam, bringing it out distinct and pale from the woods, that,
by contrast with the western sky, now seemed one mass of shadow.

'Yes, sir.'

'Whose house is it?'

'Mr. Rochester's.'

'Do you know Mr. Rochester?'

'No, I have never seen him.'

'He is not resident, then?'

'No.'

'Can you tell me where he is?'

'I cannot.'

'You are not a servant at the hall, of course. You are-' He
stopped, ran his eye over my dress, which, as usual, was quite simple:
a black merino cloak, a black beaver bonnet; neither of them half fine
enough for a lady's-maid. He seemed puzzled to decide what I was; I
helped him.

'I am the governess.'

'Ah, the governess!' he repeated; 'deuce take me, if I had not
forgotten! The governess!' and again my raiment underwent scrutiny. In
two minutes he rose from the stile: his face expressed pain when he
tried to move.

'I cannot commission you to fetch help,' he said; 'but you may help
me a little yourself, if you will be so kind.'

'Yes, sir.'

'You have not an umbrella that I can use as a stick?'

'No.'

'Try to get hold of my horse's bridle and lead him to me: you are
not afraid?'

I should have been afraid to touch a horse when alone, but when
told to do it, I was disposed to obey. I put down my muff on the
stile, and went up to the tall steed; I endeavoured to catch the
bridle, but it was a spirited thing, and would not let me come near
its head; I made effort on effort, though in vain: meantime, I was
mortally afraid of its trampling forefeet. The traveller waited and
watched for some time, and at last he laughed.

'I see,' he said, 'the mountain will never be brought to Mahomet,
so all you can do is to aid Mahomet to go to the mountain; I must
beg of you to come here.'

I came. 'Excuse me,' he continued: 'necessity compels me to make
you useful.' He laid a heavy hand on my shoulder, and leaning on me
with some stress, limped to his horse. Having once caught the
bridle, he mastered it directly and sprang to his saddle; grimacing
grimly as he made the effort, for it wrenched his sprain.

'Now,' said he, releasing his under lip from a hard bite, 'just
hand me my whip; it lies there under the hedge.'

I sought it and found it.

'Thank you; now make haste with the letter to Hay, and return as
fast as you can.'

A touch of a spurred heel made his horse first start and rear,
and then bound away; the dog rushed in his traces; all three vanished,



             'Like heath that, in the wilderness,

                The wild wind whirls away.'


I took up my muff and walked on. The incident had occurred and
was gone for me: it was an incident of no moment, no romance, no
interest in a sense; yet it marked with change one single hour of a
monotonous life. My help had been needed and claimed; I had given
it: I was pleased to have done something; trivial, transitory though
the deed was, it was yet an active thing, and I was weary of an
existence all passive. The new face, too, was like a new picture
introduced to the gallery of memory; and it was dissimilar to all
the others hanging there: firstly, because it was masculine; and,
secondly, because it was dark, strong, and stern. I had it still
before me when I entered Hay, and slipped the letter into the
post-office; I saw it as I walked fast down-hill all the way home.
When I came to the stile, I stopped a minute, looked round and
listened, with an idea that a horse's hoofs might ring on the causeway
again, and that a rider in a cloak, and a Gytrash-like Newfoundland
dog, might be again apparent: I saw only the hedge and a pollard
willow before me, rising up still and straight to meet the
moonbeams; I heard only the faintest waft of wind roaming fitful among
the trees round Thornfield, a mile distant; and when I glanced down in
the direction of the murmur, my eye, traversing the hall-front, caught
a light kindling in a window: it reminded me that I was late, and I
hurried on.

I did not like re-entering Thornfield. To pass its threshold was to
return to stagnation; to cross the silent hall, to ascend the darksome
staircase, to seek my own lonely little room, and then to meet
tranquil Mrs. Fairfax, and spend the long winter evening with her, and
her only, was to quell wholly the faint excitement wakened by my
walk,- to slip again over my faculties the viewless fetters of an
uniform and too still existence; of an existence whose very privileges
of security and ease I was becoming incapable of appreciating. What
good it would have done me at that time to have been tossed in the
storms of an uncertain struggling life, and to have been taught by
rough and bitter experience to long for the calm amidst which I now
repined! Yes, just as much good as it would do a man tired of
sitting still in a 'too easy chair' to take a long walk: and just as
natural was the wish to stir, under my circumstances, as it would be
under his.

I lingered at the gates; I lingered on the lawn; I paced
backwards and forwards on the pavement; the shutters of the glass door
were closed; I could not see into the interior; and both my eyes and
spirit seemed drawn from the gloomy house- from the grey hollow filled
with rayless cells, as it appeared to me- to that sky expanded
before me,- a blue sea absolved from taint of cloud; the moon
ascending it in solemn march; her orb seeming to look up as she left
the hill-tops, from behind which she had come, far and farther below
her, and aspired to the zenith, midnight dark in its fathomless
depth and measureless distance; and for those trembling stars that
followed her course; they made my heart tremble, my veins glow when
I viewed them. Little things recall us to earth; the clock struck in
the hall; that sufficed; I turned from moon and stars, opened a
side-door, and went in.

The hall was not dark, nor yet was it lit, only by the high-hung
bronze lamp; a warm glow suffused both it and the lower steps of the
oak staircase. This ruddy shine issued from the great dining-room,
whose two-leaved door stood open, and showed a genial fire in the
grate, glancing on marble hearth and brass fire-irons, and revealing
purple draperies and polished furniture, in the most pleasant
radiance. It revealed, too, a group near the mantelpiece: I had
scarcely caught it, and scarcely become aware of a cheerful mingling
of voices, amongst which I seemed to distinguish the tones of Adele,
when the door closed.

I hastened to Mrs. Fairfax's room; there was a fire there too,
but no candle, and no Mrs. Fairfax. Instead, all alone, sitting
upright on the rug, and gazing with gravity at the blaze, I beheld a
great black and white long-haired dog, just like the Gytrash of the
lane. It was so like it that I went forward and said- 'Pilot,' and the
thing got up and came to me and snuffed me. I caressed him, and he
wagged his great tail; but he looked an eerie creature to be alone
with, and I could not tell whence he had come. I rang the bell, for
I wanted a candle; and I wanted, too, to get an account of this
visitant. Leah entered.

'What dog is this?'

'He came with master.'

'With whom?'

'With master- Mr. Rochester- he is just arrived.'

'Indeed! and is Mrs. Fairfax with him?'

'Yes, and Miss Adele; they are in the dining-room, and John is gone
for a surgeon; for master has had an accident; his horse fell and
his ankle is sprained.'

'Did the horse fall in Hay Lane?'

'Yes, coming down-hill; it slipped on some ice.'

'Ah! Bring me a candle, will you, Leah?'

Leah brought it; she entered, followed by Mrs. Fairfax, who
repeated the news; adding that Mr. Carter the surgeon was come, and
was now with Mr. Rochester: then she hurried out to give orders
about tea, and I went upstairs to take off my things.

                      CHAPTER XIII


MR. ROCHESTER, it seems, by the surgeon's orders, went to bed early
that night; nor did he rise soon next morning. When he did come
down, it was to attend to business: his agent and some of his
tenants were arrived, and waiting to speak with him.

Adele and I had now to vacate the library: it would be in daily
requisition as a reception-room for callers. A fire was lit in an
apartment upstairs, and there I carried our books, and arranged it for
the future schoolroom. I discerned in the course of the morning that
Thornfield Hall was a changed place: no longer silent as a church,
it echoed every hour or two to a knock at the door, or a clang of
the bell: steps, too, often traversed the hall, and new voices spoke
in different keys below; a rill from the outer world was flowing
through it; it had a master: for my part, I liked it better.

Adele was not easy to teach that day; she could not apply: she kept
running to the door and looking over the banisters to see if she could
get a glimpse of Mr. Rochester; then she coined pretexts to go
downstairs, in order, as I shrewdly suspected, to visit the library,
where I knew she was not wanted; then, when I got a little angry,
and made her sit still, she continued to talk incessantly of her 'ami,
Monsieur Edouard Fairfax de Rochester,' as she dubbed him (I had not
before heard his prenomens), and to conjecture what presents he had
brought her: for it appears he had intimated the night before, that
when his luggage came from Millcote, there would be found amongst it a
little box in whose contents she had an interest.

'Et cela doit signifier,' said she, 'qu'il y aura la dedans un
cadeau pour moi, et peut-etre pour vous aussi, mademoiselle.
Monsieur a parle de vous: il m'a demande le nom de ma gouvernante,
et si elle n'etait pas une petite personne, assez mince et un peu
pale. J'ai dit qu'oui: car c'est vrai, n'est-ce pas, mademoiselle?'

I and my pupil dined as usual in Mrs. Fairfax's parlour; the
afternoon was wild and snowy, and we passed it in the schoolroom. At
dark I allowed Adele to put away books and work, and to run
downstairs; for, from the comparative silence below, and from the
cessation of appeals to the door-bell, I conjectured that Mr.
Rochester was now at liberty. Left alone, I walked to the window;
but nothing was to be seen thence: twilight and snowflakes together
thickened the air, and hid the very shrubs on the lawn. I let down the
curtain and went back to the fireside.

In the clear embers I was tracing a view, not unlike a picture I
remembered to have seen of the castle of Heidelberg, on the Rhine,
when Mrs. Fairfax came in, breaking up by her entrance the fiery
mosaic I had been piecing together, and scattering too some heavy
unwelcome thoughts that were beginning to throng on my solitude.

'Mr. Rochester would be glad if you and your pupil would take tea
with him in the drawing-room this evening,' said she: 'he has been
so much engaged all day that he could not ask to see you before.'

'When is his tea-time?' I inquired.

'Oh, at six o'clock: he keeps early hours in the country. You had
better change your frock now; I will go with you and fasten it. Here
is a candle.'

'Is it necessary to change my frock?'

'Yes, you had better: I always dress for the evening when Mr.
Rochester is here.'

This additional ceremony seemed somewhat stately; however, I
repaired to my room, and, with Mrs. Fairfax's aid, replaced my black
stuff dress by one of black silk; the best and the only additional one
I had, except one of light grey, which, in my Lowood notions of the
toilette, I thought too fine to be worn, except on first-rate
occasions.

'You want a brooch,' said Mrs. Fairfax. I had a single little pearl
ornament which Miss Temple gave me as a parting keepsake: I put it on,
and then we went downstairs. Unused as I was to strangers, it was
rather a trial to appear thus formally summoned in Mr. Rochester's
presence. I let Mrs. Fairfax precede me into the dining-room, and kept
in her shade as we crossed that apartment; and, passing the arch,
whose curtain was now dropped, entered the elegant recess beyond.

Two wax candles stood lighted on the table, and two on the
mantelpiece; basking in the light and heat of a superb fire, lay
Pilot- Adele knelt near him. Half reclined on a couch appeared Mr.
Rochester, his foot supported by the cushion; he was looking at
Adele and the dog: the fire shone full on his face. I knew my
traveller with his broad and jetty eyebrows; his square forehead, made
squarer by the horizontal sweep of his black hair. I recognised his
decisive nose, more remarkable for character than beauty; his full
nostrils, denoting, I thought, choler; his grim mouth, chin, and
jaw- yes, all three were very grim, and no mistake. His shape, now
divested of cloak, I perceived harmonised in squareness with his
physiognomy: I suppose it was a good figure in the athletic sense of
the term- broad chested and thin flanked, though neither tall nor
graceful.

Mr. Rochester must have been aware of the entrance of Mrs.
Fairfax and myself; but it appeared he was not in the mood to notice
us, for he never lifted his head as we approached.

'Here is Miss Eyre, sir,' said Mrs. Fairfax, in her quiet way. He
bowed, still not taking his eyes from the group of the dog and child.

'Let Miss Eyre be seated,' said he: and there was something in
the forced stiff bow, in the impatient yet formal tone, which seemed
further to express, 'What the deuce is it to me whether Miss Eyre be
there or not? At this moment I am not disposed to accost her.'

I sat down quite disembarrassed. A reception of finished politeness
would probably have confused me: I could not have returned or repaid
it by answering grace and elegance on my part; but harsh caprice
laid me under no obligation; on the contrary, a decent quiescence,
under the freak of manner, gave me the advantage. Besides, the
eccentricity of the proceeding was piquant: I felt interested to see
how he would go on.

He went on as a statue would, that is, he neither spoke nor
moved. Mrs. Fairfax seemed to think it necessary that some one
should be amiable, and she began to talk. Kindly, as usual- and, as
usual, rather trite- she condoled with him on the pressure of business
he had had all day; on the annoyance it must have been to him with
that painful sprain: then she commended his patience and
perseverance in going through with it.

'Madam, I should like some tea,' was the sole rejoinder she got.
She hastened to ring the bell; and when the tray came, she proceeded
to arrange the cups, spoons, etc., with assiduous celerity. I and
Adele went to the table; but the master did not leave his couch.

'Will you hand Mr. Rochester's cup?' said Mrs. Fairfax to me;
'Adele might perhaps spill it.'

I did as requested. As he took the cup from my hand, Adele,
thinking the moment propitious for making a request in my favour,
cried out-

'N'est-ce pas, monsieur, qu'il y a un cadeau pour Mademoiselle Eyre
dans votre petit coffre?'

'Who talks of cadeaux?' said he gruffly. 'Did you expect a present,
Miss Eyre? Are you fond of presents?' and he searched my face with
eyes that I saw were dark, irate, and piercing.

'I hardly know, sir; I have little experience of them: they are
generally thought pleasant things.'

'Generally thought? But what do you think?'

'I should be obliged to take time, sir, before I could give you
an answer worthy of your acceptance: a present has many faces to it,
has it not? and one should consider all, before pronouncing an opinion
as to its nature.'

'Miss Eyre, you are not so unsophisticated as Adele: she demands
a "cadeau," clamorously, the moment she sees me: you beat about the
bush.'

'Because I have less confidence in my deserts than Adele has: she
can prefer the claim of old acquaintance, and the right too of custom;
for she says you have always been in the habit of giving her
playthings; but if I had to make out a case I should be puzzled, since
I am a stranger, and have done nothing to entitle me to an
acknowledgment.'

'Oh, don't fall back on over-modesty! I have examined Adele, and
find you have taken great pains with her: she is not bright, she has
no talents; yet in a short time she has made much improvement.'

'Sir, you have now given me my "cadeau"; I am obliged to you: it is
the meed teachers most covet-praise of their pupils' progress.'

'Humph!' said Mr. Rochester, and he took his tea in silence.

'Come to the fire,' said the master, when the tray was taken
away, and Mrs. Fairfax had settled into a corner with her knitting;
while Adele was leading me by the hand round the room, showing me
the beautiful books and ornaments on the consoles and chiffonnieres.
We obeyed, as in duty bound; Adele wanted to take a seat on my knee,
but she was ordered to amuse herself with Pilot.

'You have been resident in my house three months?'

'Yes, sir.'

'And you came from-?'

'Ah! a charitable concern. How long were you there?'

'Eight years.'

'Eight years! you must be tenacious of life. I thought half the
time in such a place would have done up any constitution! No wonder
you have rather the look of another world. I marvelled where you had
got that sort of face. When you came on me in Hay Lane last night, I
thought unaccountably of fairy tales, and had half a mind to demand
whether you had bewitched my horse: I am not sure yet. Who are your
parents?'

'I have none.'

'Nor ever had, I suppose: do you remember them?'

'No.'

'I thought not. And so you were waiting for your people when you
sat on that stile?'

'For whom, sir?'

'For the men in green: it was a proper moonlight evening for
them. Did I break through one of your rings, that you spread that
damned ice on the causeway?'

I shook my head. 'The men in green all forsook England a hundred
years ago,' said I, speaking as seriously as he had done. 'And not
even in Hay Lane, or the fields about it, could you find a trace of
them. I don't think either summer or harvest, or winter moon, will
ever shine on their revels more.'

Mrs. Fairfax had dropped her knitting, and, with raised eyebrows,
seemed wondering what sort of talk this was.

'Well,' resumed Mr. Rochester, 'if you disown parents, you must
have some sort of kinsfolk: uncles and aunts?'

'No; none that I ever saw.'

'And your home?'

'I have none.'

'Where do your brothers and sisters live?'

'I have no brothers or sisters.'

'Who recommended you to come here?'

'I advertised, and Mrs. Fairfax answered my advertisement.'

'Yes,' said the good lady, who now knew what ground we were upon,
'and I am daily thankful for the choice Providence led me to make.
Miss Eyre has been an invaluable companion to me, and a kind and
careful teacher to Adele.'

'Don't trouble yourself to give her a character,' returned Mr.
Rochester: 'eulogiums will not bias me; I shall judge for myself.
She began by felling my horse.'

'Sir?' said Mrs. Fairfax.

'I have to thank her for this sprain.'

The widow looked bewildered.

'Miss Eyre, have you ever lived in a town?'

'No, sir.'

'Have you seen much society?'

'None but the pupils and teachers of Lowood, and now the inmates of
Thornfield.'

'Have you read much?'

'Only such books as came in my way; and they have not been numerous
or very learned.'

'You have lived the life of a nun: no doubt you are well drilled in
religious forms;- Brocklehurst, who I understand directs Lowood, is
a parson, is he not?'

'Yes, sir.'

'And you girls probably worshipped him, as a convent full of
religieuses would worship their director.'

'Oh, no.'

'You are very cool! No! What! a novice not worship her priest! That
sounds blasphemous.'

'I disliked Mr. Brocklehurst; and I was not alone in the feeling.
He is a harsh man; at once pompous and meddling; he cut off our
hair; and for economy's sake bought us bad needles and thread, with
which we could hardly sew.'

'That was very false economy,' remarked Mrs. Fairfax, who now again
caught the drift of the dialogue.

'And was that the head and front of his offending?' demanded Mr.
Rochester.

'He starved us when he had the sole superintendence of the
provision department, before the committee was appointed; and he bored
us with long lectures once a week, and with evening readings from
books of his own inditing, about sudden deaths and judgments, which
made us afraid to go to bed.'

'What age were you when you went to Lowood?'

'About ten.'

'And you stayed there eight years: you are now, then, eighteen?'

I assented.

'Arithmetic, you see, is useful; without its aid, I should hardly
have been able to guess your age. It is a point difficult to fix where
the features and countenance are so much at variance as in your
case. And now what did you learn at Lowood? Can you play?'

'A little.'

'Of course: that is the established answer. Go into the library-
I mean, if you please.- (Excuse my tone of command; I am used to
say, "Do this," and it is done: I cannot alter my customary habits for
one new inmate.)- Go, then, into the library; take a candle with
you; leave the door open; sit down to the piano, and play a tune.'

I departed, obeying his directions.

'Enough!' he called out in a few minutes. 'You play a little, I
see; like any other English school-girl; perhaps rather better than
some, but not well.'

I closed the piano and returned. Mr. Rochester continued-

'Adele showed me some sketches this morning, which she said were
yours. I don't know whether they were entirely of your doing; probably
a master aided you?'

'No, indeed!' I interjected.

'Ah! that pricks pride. Well, fetch me your portfolio, if you can
vouch for its contents being original; but don't pass your word unless
you are certain: I can recognise patchwork.'

'Then I will say nothing, and you shall judge for yourself, sir.'

I brought the portfolio from the library.

'Approach the table,' said he; and I wheeled it to his couch. Adele
and Mrs. Fairfax drew near to see the pictures.

'No crowding,' said Mr. Rochester: 'take the drawings from my
hand as I finish with them; but don't push your faces up to mine.'

He deliberately scrutinised each sketch and painting. Three he laid
aside; the others, when he had examined them, he swept from him.

'Take them off to the other table, Mrs. Fairfax,' said he, 'and
look at them with Adele;- you' (glancing at me) 'resume your seat, and
answer my questions. I perceive those pictures were done by one
hand: was that hand yours?'

'Yes.'

'And when did you find time to do them? They have taken much
time, and some thought.'

'I did them in the last two vacations I spent at Lowood, when I had
no other occupation.'

'Where did you get your copies?'

'Out of my head.'

'That head I see now on your shoulders?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Has it other furniture of the same kind within?'

'I should think it may have: I should hope- better.'

He spread the pictures before him, and again surveyed them
alternately.

While he is so occupied, I will tell you, reader, what they are:
and first, I must premise that they are nothing wonderful. The
subjects had, indeed, risen vividly on my mind. As I saw them with the
spiritual eye, before I attempted to embody them, they were
striking; but my hand would not second my fancy, and in each case it
had wrought out but a pale portrait of the thing I had conceived.

These pictures were in water-colours. The first represented
clouds low and livid, rolling over a swollen sea: all the distance was
in eclipse; so, too, was the foreground; or rather, the nearest
billows, for there was no land. One gleam of light lifted into
relief a half-submerged mast, on which sat a cormorant, dark and
large, with wings flecked with foam; its beak held a gold bracelet set
with gems, that I had touched with as brilliant tints as my palette
could yield, and as glittering distinctness as my pencil could impart.
Sinking below the bird and mast, a drowned corpse glanced through
the green water; a fair arm was the only limb clearly visible,
whence the bracelet had been washed or torn.

The second picture contained for foreground only the dim peak of
a hill, with grass and some leaves slanting as if by a breeze.
Beyond and above spread an expanse of sky, dark blue as at twilight:
rising into the sky was a woman's shape to the bust, portrayed in
tints as dusk and soft as I could combine. The dim forehead was
crowned with a star; the lineaments below were seen as through the
suffusion of vapour; the eyes shone dark and wild; the hair streamed
shadowy, like a beamless cloud torn by storm or by electric travail.
On the neck lay a pale reflection like moonlight; the same faint
lustre touched the train of thin clouds from which rose and bowed this
vision of the Evening Star.

The third showed the pinnacle of an iceberg piercing a polar winter
sky: a muster of northern lights reared their dim lances, close
serried, along the horizon. Throwing these into distance, rose, in the
foreground, a head,- a colossal head, inclined towards the iceberg,
and resting against it. Two thin hands, joined under the forehead, and
supporting it, drew up before the lower features a sable veil; a
brow quite bloodless, white as bone, and an eye hollow and fixed,
blank of meaning but for the glassiness of despair, alone were
visible. Above the temples, amidst wreathed turban folds of black
drapery, vague in its character and consistency as cloud, gleamed a
ring of white flame, gemmed with sparkles of a more lurid tinge.
This pale crescent was 'the likeness of a kingly crown'; what it
diademed was 'the shape which shape had none.'

'Were you happy when you painted these pictures?' asked Mr.
Rochester presently.

'I was absorbed, sir: yes, and I was happy. To paint them, in
short, was to enjoy one of the keenest pleasures I have ever known.'

'That is not saying much. Your pleasures, by your own account, have
been few; but I daresay you did exist in a kind of artist's
dreamland while you blent and arranged these strange tints. Did you
sit at them long each day?'

'I had nothing else to do, because it was the vacation, and I sat
at them from morning till noon, and from noon till night: the length
of the midsummer days favoured my inclination to apply.'

'And you felt self-satisfied with the result of your ardent
labours?'

'Far from it. I was tormented by the contrast between my idea and
my handiwork: in each case I had imagined something which I was
quite powerless to realise.'

'Not quite: you have secured the shadow of your thought; but no
more, probably. You had not enough of the artist's skill and science
to give it full being: yet the drawings are, for a school-girl,
peculiar. As to the thoughts, they are elfish. These eyes in the
Evening Star you must have seen in a dream. How could you make them
look so clear, and yet not at all brilliant? for the planet above
quells their rays. And what meaning is that in their solemn depth? And
who taught you to paint wind? There is a high gale in that sky, and on
this hill-top. Where did you see Latmos? For that is Latmos. There!
put the drawings away!'

I had scarce tied the strings of the portfolio, when, looking at
his watch, he said abruptly-

'It is nine o'clock: what are you about, Miss Eyre, to let Adele
sit up so long? Take her to bed!'

Adele went to kiss him before quitting the room: he endured the
caress, but scarcely seemed to relish it more than Pilot would have
done, nor so much.

'I wish you all good-night, now,' said he, making a movement of the
hand towards the door, in token that he was tired of our company,
and wished to dismiss us. Mrs. Fairfax folded up her knitting: I
took my portfolio: we curtseyed to him, received a frigid bow in
return, and so withdrew.

'You said Mr. Rochester was not strikingly peculiar, Mrs. Fairfax,'
I observed, when I rejoined her in her room, after putting Adele to
bed.

'Well, is he?'

'I think so: he is very changeful and abrupt.'

'True: no doubt he may appear so to a stranger, but I am so
accustomed to his manner, I never think of it; and then, if he has
peculiarities of temper, allowance should be made.'

'Why?'

'Partly because it is his nature- and we can none of us help our
nature; and partly because he has painful thoughts, no doubt, to
harass him, and make his spirits unequal.'

'What about?'

'Family troubles, for one thing.'

'But he has no family.'

'Not now, but he has had- or, at least, relatives. He lost his
elder brother a few years since.'

'His elder brother?'

'Yes. The present Mr. Rochester has not been very long in
possession of the property; only about nine years.'

'Nine years is a tolerable time. Was he so very fond of his brother
as to be still inconsolable for his loss?'

'Why, no- perhaps not. I believe there were some
misunderstandings between them. Mr. Rowland Rochester was not quite
just to Mr. Edward; and perhaps he prejudiced his father against
him. The old gentleman was fond of money, and anxious to keep the
family estate together. He did not like to diminish the property by
division, and yet he was anxious that Mr. Edward should have wealth,
too, to keep up the consequence of the name; and, soon after he was of
age, some steps were taken that were not quite fair, and made a
great deal of mischief. Old Mr. Rochester and Mr. Rowland combined
to bring Mr. Edward into what he considered a painful position, for
the sake of making his fortune: what the precise nature of that
position was I never clearly knew, but his spirit could not brook what
he had to suffer in it. He is not very forgiving: he broke with his
family, and now for many years he has led an unsettled kind of life. I
don't think he has ever been resident at Thornfield for a fortnight
together, since the death of his brother without a will left him
master of the estate; and, indeed, no wonder he shuns the old place.'

'Why should he shun it?'

'Perhaps he thinks it gloomy.'

The answer was evasive. I should have liked something clearer;
but Mrs. Fairfax either could not, or would not, give me more explicit
information of the origin and nature of Mr. Rochester's trials. She
averred they were a mystery to herself, and that what she knew was
chiefly from conjecture. It was evident, indeed, that she wished me to
drop the subject, which I did accordingly.

                      CHAPTER XIV


FOR several subsequent days I saw little of Mr. Rochester. In the
mornings he seemed much engaged with business, and, in the
afternoon, gentlemen from Millcote or the neighbourhood called, and
sometimes stayed to dine with him. When his sprain was well enough
to admit of horse exercise, he rode out a good deal; probably to
return these visits, as he generally did not come back till late at
night.

During this interval, even Adele was seldom sent for to his
presence, and all my acquaintance with him was confined to an
occasional rencontre in the hall, on the stairs, or in the gallery,
when he would sometimes pass me haughtily and coldly, just
acknowledging my presence by a distant nod or a cool glance, and
sometimes bow and smile with gentlemanlike affability. His changes
of mood did not offend me, because I saw that I had nothing to do with
their alternation; the ebb and flow depended on causes quite
disconnected with me.

One day he had had company to dinner, and had sent for my
portfolio; in order, doubtless, to exhibit its contents: the gentlemen
went away early, to attend a public meeting at Millcote, as Mrs.
Fairfax informed me; but the night being wet and inclement, Mr.
Rochester did not accompany them. Soon after they were gone he rang
the bell: a message came that I and Adele were to go downstairs. I
brushed Adele's hair and made her neat, and having ascertained that
I was myself in my usual Quaker trim, where there was nothing to
retouch- all being too close and plain, braided locks included, to
admit of disarrangement- we descended, Adele wondering whether the
petit coffre was at length come; for, owing to some mistake, its
arrival had hitherto been delayed. She was gratified: there it
stood, a little carton, on the table when we entered the
dining-room. She appeared to know it by instinct.

'Ma boite! ma boite!' exclaimed she, running towards it.

'Yes, there is your "boite" at last: take it into a corner, you
genuine daughter of Paris, and amuse yourself with disembowelling it,'
said the deep and rather sarcastic voice of Mr. Rochester,
proceeding from the depths of an immense easy-chair at the fireside.
'And mind,' he continued, 'don't bother me with any details of the
anatomical process, or any notice of the condition of the entrails:
let your operation be conducted in silence: tiens-toi tranquille,
enfant; comprends-tu?'

Adele seemed scarcely to need the warning; she had already
retired to a sofa with her treasure, and was busy untying the cord
which secured the lid. Having removed this impediment, and lifted
certain silvery envelopes of tissue paper, she merely exclaimed-

'Oh ciel! Que c'est beau!' and then remained absorbed in ecstatic
contemplation.

'Is Miss Eyre there?' now demanded the master, half rising from his
seat to look round to the door, near which I still stood.

'Ah! well, come forward; be seated here.' He drew a chair near
his own. 'I am not fond of the prattle of children,' he continued;
'for, old bachelor as I am, I have no pleasant associations
connected with their lisp. It would be intolerable to me to pass a
whole evening tete-a-tete with a brat. Don't draw that chair farther
off, Miss Eyre; sit down exactly where I placed it- if you please,
that is. Confound these civilities! I continually forget them. Nor
do I particularly affect simple-minded old ladies. By the bye, I
must have mine in mind; it won't do to neglect her; she is a
Fairfax, or wed to one; and blood is said to be thicker than water.'

He rang, and despatched an invitation to Mrs. Fairfax, who soon
arrived, knitting-basket in hand.

'Good evening, madam; I sent to you for a charitable purpose. I
have forbidden Adele to talk to me about her presents, and she is
bursting with repletion; have the goodness to serve her as auditress
and interlocutrice; it will be one of the most benevolent acts you
ever performed.'

Adele, indeed, no sooner saw Mrs. Fairfax, than she summoned her to
her sofa, and there quickly filled her lap with the porcelain, the
ivory, the waxen contents of her 'boite'; pouring out, meantime,
explanations and raptures in such broken English as she was mistress
of.

'Now I have performed the part of a good host,' pursued Mr.
Rochester, 'put my guests into the way of amusing each other, I
ought to be at liberty to attend to my own pleasure. Miss Eyre, draw
your chair still a little farther forward: you are yet too far back; I
cannot see you without disturbing my position in this comfortable
chair, which I have no mind to do.'

I did as I was bid, though I would much rather have remained
somewhat in the shade; but Mr. Rochester had such a direct way of
giving orders, it seemed a matter of course to obey him promptly.

We were, as I have said, in the dining-room: the lustre, which
had been lit for dinner, filled the room with a festal breadth of
light; the large fire was all red and clear; the purple curtains
hung rich and ample before the lofty window and loftier arch;
everything was still, save the subdued chat of Adele (she dared not
speak loud), and, filling up each pause, the beating of winter rain
against the panes.

Mr. Rochester, as he sat in his damask-covered chair, looked
different to what I had seen him look before; not quite so stern- much
less gloomy. There was a smile on his lips, and his eyes sparkled,
whether with wine or not, I am not sure; but I think it very probable.
He was, in short, in his after dinner mood; more expanded and
genial, and also more self-indulgent than the frigid and rigid
temper of the morning; still he looked preciously grim, cushioning his
massive head against the swelling back of his chair, and receiving the
light of the fire on his granite-hewn features, and in his great, dark
eyes; for he had great, dark eyes, and very fine eyes, too- not
without a certain change in their depths sometimes, which, if it was
not softness, reminded you, at least, of that feeling.

He had been looking two minutes at the fire, and I had been looking
the same length of time at him, when, turning suddenly, he caught my
gaze fastened on his physiognomy.

'You examine me, Miss Eyre,' said he: 'do you think me handsome?'

I should, if I had deliberated, have replied to this question by
something conventionally vague and polite; but the answer somehow
slipped from my tongue before I was aware- 'No, sir.'

'Ah! By my word! there is something singular about you,' said he:
'you have the air of a little nonnette; quaint, quiet, grave, and
simple, as you sit with your hands before you, and your eyes generally
bent on the carpet (except, by the bye, when they are directed
piercingly to my face; as just now, for instance); and when one asks
you a question, or makes a remark to which you are obliged to reply,
you rap out a round rejoinder, which, if not blunt, is at least
brusque. What do you mean by it?'

'Sir, I was too plain; I beg your pardon. I ought to have replied
that it was not easy to give an impromptu answer to a question about
appearances; that tastes mostly differ; and that beauty is of little
consequence, or something of that sort.'

'You ought to have replied no such thing. Beauty of little
consequence, indeed! And so, under pretence of softening the
previous outrage, of stroking and soothing me into placidity, you
stick a sly penknife under my ear! Go on: what fault do you find
with me, pray? I suppose I have all my limbs and all my features
like any other man?'

'Mr. Rochester, allow me to disown my first answer: I intended no
pointed repartee: it was only a blunder.'

'Just so: I think so: and you shall be answerable for it. Criticise
me: does my forehead not please you?'

He lifted up the sable waves of hair which lay horizontally over
his brow, and showed a solid enough mass of intellectual organs, but
an abrupt deficiency where the suave sign of benevolence should have
risen.

'Now, ma'am, am I a fool?'

'Far from it, sir. You would, perhaps, think me rude if I
inquired in return whether you are a philanthropist?'

'There again! Another stick of the penknife, when she pretended
to pat my head: and that is because I said I did not like the
society of children and old women (low be it spoken!). No, young lady,
I am not a general philanthropist; but I bear a conscience'; and he
pointed to the prominences which are said to indicate that faculty,
and which, fortunately for him, were sufficiently conspicuous; giving,
indeed, a marked breadth to the upper part of his head: 'and, besides,
I once had a kind of rude tenderness of heart. When I was as old as
you, I was a feeling fellow enough; partial to the unfledged,
unfostered, and unlucky; but Fortune has knocked me about since: she
has even kneaded me with her knuckles, and now I flatter myself I am
hard and tough as an India-rubber ball; pervious, though, through a
chink or two still, and with one sentient point in the middle of the
lump. Yes: does that leave hope for me?'

'Hope of what, sir?'

'Of my final re-transformation from India-rubber back to flesh?'

'Decidedly he has had too much wine,' I thought; and I did not know
what answer to make to his queer question: how could I tell whether he
was capable of being re-transformed?

'You looked very much puzzled, Miss Eyre; and though you are not
pretty any more than I am handsome, yet a puzzled air becomes you;
besides, it is convenient, for it keeps those searching eyes of
yours away from my physiognomy, and busies them with the worsted
flowers of the rug; so puzzle on. Young lady, I am disposed to be
gregarious and communicative tonight.'

With this announcement he rose from his chair, and stood, leaning
his arm on the marble mantelpiece: in that attitude his shape was seen
plainly as well as his face; his unusual breadth of chest,
disproportionate almost to his length of limb. I am sure most people
would have thought him an ugly man; yet there was so much
unconscious pride in his port; so much ease in his demeanour; such a
look of complete indifference to his own external appearance; so
haughty a reliance on the power of other qualities, intrinsic or
adventitious, to atone for the lack of mere personal attractiveness,
that, in looking at him, one inevitably shared the indifference,
and, even in a blind, imperfect sense, put faith in the confidence.

'I am disposed to be gregarious and communicative tonight,' he
repeated, 'and that is why I sent for you: the fire and the chandelier
were not sufficient company for me; nor would Pilot have been, for
none of these can talk. Adele is a degree better, but still far
below the mark; Mrs. Fairfax ditto; you, I am persuaded, can suit me
if you will: you puzzled me the first evening I invited you down here.
I have almost forgotten you since: other ideas have driven yours
from my head; but to-night I am resolved to be at ease; to dismiss
what importunes, and recall what pleases. It would please me now to
draw you out- to learn more of you- therefore speak.'

Instead of speaking, I smiled; and not a very complacent or
submissive smile either.

'Speak,' he urged.

'What about, sir?'

'Whatever you like. I leave both the choice of subject and the
manner of treating it entirely to yourself.'

Accordingly I sat and said nothing: 'If he expects me to talk for
the mere sake of talking and showing off, he will find he has
addressed himself to the wrong person,' I thought.

'You are dumb, Miss Eyre.'

I was dumb still. He bent his head a little towards me, and with
a single hasty glance seemed to dive into my eyes.

'Stubborn?' he said, 'and annoyed. Ah! it is consistent. I put my
request in an absurd, almost insolent form. Miss Eyre, I beg your
pardon. The fact is, once for all, I don't wish to treat you like an
inferior: that is' (correcting himself), 'I claim only such
superiority as must result from twenty years' difference in age and
a century's advance in experience. This is legitimate, et j'y tiens,
as Adele would say; and it is by virtue of this superiority, and
this alone, that I desire you to have the goodness to talk to me a
little now, and divert my thoughts, which are galled with dwelling
on one point- cankering as a rusty nail.'

He had deigned an explanation, almost an apology, and I did not
feel insensible to his condescension, and would not seem so.

'I am willing to amuse you, if I can, sir- quite willing; but I
cannot introduce a topic, because how do I know what will interest
you? Ask me questions, and I will do my best to answer them.'

'Then, in the first place, do you agree with me that I have a right
to be a little masterful, abrupt, perhaps exacting, sometimes, on
the grounds I stated, namely, that I am old enough to be your
father, and that I have battled through a varied experience with
many men of many nations, and roamed over half the globe, while you
have lived quietly with one set of people in one house?'

'Do as you please, sir.'

'That is no answer; or rather it is a very irritating, because a
very evasive one. Reply clearly.'

'I don't think, sir, you have a right to command me, merely because
you are older than I, or because you have seen more of the world
than I have; your claim to superiority depends on the use you have
made of your time and experience.'

'Humph! Promptly spoken. But I won't allow that, seeing that it
would never suit my case, as I have made an indifferent, not to say
a bad, use of both advantages. Leaving superiority out of the
question, then, you must still agree to receive my orders now and
then, without being piqued or hurt by the tone of command. Will you?'

I smiled: I thought to myself Mr. Rochester is peculiar- he seems
to forget that he pays me L30 per annum for receiving his orders.

'The smile is very well,' said he, catching instantly the passing
expression; 'but speak too.'

'I was thinking, sir, that very few masters would trouble
themselves to inquire whether or not their paid subordinates were
piqued and hurt by their orders.'

'Paid subordinates! What! you are my paid subordinate, are you?
Oh yes, I had forgotten the salary! Well then, on that mercenary
ground, will you agree to let me hector a little?'

'No, sir, not on that ground; but, on the ground that you did
forget it, and that you care whether or not a dependant is comfortable
in his dependency, I agree heartily.'

'And will you consent to dispense with a great many conventional
forms and phrases, without thinking that the omission arises from
insolence?'

'I am sure, sir, I should never mistake informality for
insolence: one I rather like, the other nothing free-born would submit
to, even for a salary.'

'Humbug! Most things free-born will submit to anything for a
salary; therefore, keep to yourself, and don't venture on generalities
of which you are intensely ignorant. However, I mentally shake hands
with you for your answer, despite its inaccuracy; and as much for
the manner in which it was said, as for the substance of the speech;
the manner was frank and sincere; one does not often see such a
manner: no, on the contrary, affectation, or coldness, or stupid,
coarse-minded misapprehension of one's meaning are the usual rewards
of candour. Not three in three thousand raw school-girl-governesses
would have answered me as you have just done. But I don't mean to
flatter you: if you are cast in a different mould to the majority,
it is no merit of yours: Nature did it. And then, after all, I go
too fast in my conclusions: for what I yet know, you may be no
better than the rest; you may have intolerable defects to
counterbalance your few good points.'

'And so may you,' I thought. My eye met his as the idea crossed
my mind: he seemed to read the glance, answering as if its import
had been spoken as well as imagined-

'Yes, yes, you are right,' said he; 'I have plenty of faults of
my own: I know it, and I don't wish to palliate them, I assure you.
God wot I need not be too severe about others; I have a past
existence, a series of deeds, a colour of life to contemplate within
my own breast, which might well call my sneers and censures from my
neighbours to myself. I started, or rather (for like other defaulters,
I like to lay half the blame on ill fortune and adverse circumstances)
was thrust on to a wrong tack at the age of one-and-twenty, and have
never recovered the right course since: but I might have been very
different; I might have been as good as you- wiser- almost as
stainless. I envy you your peace of mind, your clean conscience,
your unpolluted memory. Little girl, a memory without blot or
contamination must be an exquisite treasure- an inexhaustible source
of pure refreshment: is it not?'

'How was your memory when you were eighteen, sir?'

'All right then; limpid, salubrious: no gush of bilge water had
turned it to fetid puddle. I was your equal at eighteen- quite your
equal. Nature meant me to be, on the whole, a good man, Miss Eyre; one
of the better kind, and you see I am not so. You would say you don't
see it; at least I flatter myself I read as much in your eye
(beware, by the bye, what you express with that organ; I am quick at
interpreting its language). Then take my word for it,- I am not a
villain: you are not to suppose that- not to attribute to me any
such bad eminence; but, owing, I verily believe, rather to
circumstances than to my natural bent, I am a trite commonplace
sinner, hackneyed in all the poor petty dissipations with which the
rich and worthless try to put on life. Do you wonder that I avow
this to you? Know, that in the course of your future life you will
often find yourself elected the involuntary confidant of your
acquaintances' secrets: people will instinctively find out, as I
have done, that it is not your forte to tell of yourself, but to
listen while others talk of themselves; they will feel, too, that
you listen with no malevolent scorn of their indiscretion, but with
a kind of innate sympathy; not the less comforting and encouraging
because it is very unobtrusive in its manifestations.'

'How do you know?- how can you guess all this, sir?'

'I know it well; therefore I proceed almost as freely as if I
were writing my thoughts in a diary. You would say, I should have been
superior to circumstances; so I should- so I should; but you see I was
not. When fate wronged me, I had not the wisdom to remain cool: I
turned desperate; then I degenerated. Now, when any vicious
simpleton excites my disgust by his paltry ribaldry, I cannot
flatter myself that I am better than he: I am forced to confess that
he and I are on a level. I wish I had stood firm- God knows I do!
Dread remorse when you are tempted to err, Miss Eyre; remorse is the
poison of life.'

'Repentance is said to be its cure, sir.'

'It is not its cure. Reformation may be its cure; and I could
reform- I have strength yet for that- if- but where is the use of
thinking of it, hampered, burdened, cursed as I am? Besides, since
happiness is irrevocably denied me, I have a right to get pleasure out
of life: and I will get it, cost what it may.'

'Then you will degenerate still more, sir.'

'Possibly: yet why should I, if I can get sweet, fresh pleasure?
And I may get it as sweet and fresh as the wild honey the bee
gathers on the moor.'

'It will sting- it will taste bitter, sir.'

'How do you know?- you never tried it. How very serious- how very
solemn you look: and you are as ignorant of the matter as this cameo
head' (taking one from the mantelpiece). 'You have no right to
preach to me, you neophyte, that have not passed the porch of life,
and are absolutely unacquainted with its mysteries.'

'I only remind you of your own words, sir: you said error brought
remorse, and you pronounced remorse the poison of existence.'

'And who talks of error now? I scarcely think the notion that
flittered across my brain was an error. I believe it was an
inspiration rather than a temptation: it was very genial, very
soothing- I know that. Here it comes again! It is no devil, I assure
you; or if it be, it has put on the robes of an angel of light. I
think I must admit so fair a guest when it asks entrance to my heart.'

'Distrust it, sir; it is not a true angel.'

'Once more, how do you know? By what instinct do you pretend to
distinguish between a fallen seraph of the abyss and a messenger
from the eternal throne- between a guide and a seducer?'

'I judged by your countenance, sir, which was troubled when you
said the suggestion had returned upon you. I feel sure it will work
you more misery if you listen to it.'

'Not at all- it bears the most gracious message in the world: for
the rest, you are not my conscience-keeper, so don't make yourself
uneasy. Here, come in, bonny wanderer!'

He said this as if he spoke to a vision, viewless to any eye but
his own; then, folding his arms, which he had half extended, on his
chest, he seemed to enclose in their embrace the invisible being.

'Now,' he continued, again addressing me, 'I have received the
pilgrim- a disguised deity, as I verily believe. Already it has done
me good: my heart was a sort of charnel; it will now be a shrine.'

'To speak truth, sir, I don't understand you at all: I cannot
keep up the conversation, because it has got out of my depth. Only one
thing, I know: you said you were not as good as you should like to be,
and that you regretted your own imperfection;- one thing I can
comprehend: you intimated that to have a sullied memory was a
perpetual bane. It seems to me, that if you tried hard, you would in
time find it possible to become what you yourself would approve; and
that if from this day you began with resolution to correct your
thoughts and actions, you would in a few years have laid up a new
and stainless store of recollections, to which you might revert with
pleasure.'

'Justly thought; rightly said, Miss Eyre; and, at this moment, I am
paving hell with energy.'

'Sir?'

'I am laying down good intentions, which I believe durable as
flint. Certainly, my associates and pursuits shall be other than
they have been.'

'And better?'

'And better- so much better as pure ore is than foul dross. You
seem to doubt me; I don't doubt myself: I know what my aim is, what my
motives are; and at this moment I pass a law, unalterable as that of
the Medes and Persians, that both are right.'

'They cannot be, sir, if they require a new statute to legalise
them.'

'They are, Miss Eyre, though they absolutely require a new statute:
unheard-of combinations or circumstances demand unheard-of rules.'

'That sounds a dangerous maxim, sir; because one can see at once
that it is liable to abuse.'

'Sententious sage! so it is: but I swear by my household gods not
to abuse it.'

'You are human and fallible.'

'I am: so are you- what then?'

'The human and fallible should not arrogate a power with which
the divine and perfect alone can be safely intrusted.'

'What power?'

'That of saying of any strange, unsanctioned line of action,-
"Let it be right."'

'"Let it be right"- the very words: you have pronounced them.'

'May it be right then,' I said, as I rose, deeming it useless to
continue a discourse which was all darkness to me; and, besides,
sensible that the character of my interlocutor was beyond my
penetration; at least, beyond its present reach; and feeling the
uncertainty, the vague sense of insecurity, which accompanies a
conviction of ignorance.

'Where are you going?'

'To put Adele to bed: it is past her bedtime.'

'You are afraid of me, because I talk like a Sphynx.'

'Your language is enigmatical, sir: but though I am bewildered, I
am certainly not afraid.'

'You are afraid- your self-love dreads a blunder.'

'In that sense I do feel apprehensive- I have no wish to talk
nonsense.'

'If you did, it would be in such a grave, quiet manner, I should
mistake it for sense. Do you never laugh, Miss Eyre? Don't trouble
yourself to answer- I see you laugh rarely; but you can laugh very
merrily: believe me, you are not naturally austere, any more than I am
naturally vicious. The Lowood constraint still clings to you somewhat;
controlling your features, muffling your voice, and restricting your
limbs; and you fear in the presence of a man and a brother- or father,
or master, or what you will- to smile too gaily, speak too freely,
or move too quickly: but, in time, I think you will learn to be
natural with me, as I find it impossible to be conventional with
you; and then your looks and movements will have more vivacity and
variety than they dare offer now. I see at intervals the glance of a
curious sort of bird through the close-set bars of a cage: a vivid,
restless, resolute captive is there; were it but free, it would soar
cloud-high. You are still bent on going?'

'It has struck nine, sir.'

'Never mind,- wait a minute: Adele is not ready to go to bed yet.
My position, Miss Eyre, with my back to the fire, and my face to the
room, favours observation. While talking to you, I have also
occasionally watched Adele (I have my own reasons for thinking her a
curious study,- reasons that I may, nay, that I shall, impart to you
some day). She pulled out of her box, about ten minutes ago, a
little pink silk frock; rapture lit her face as she unfolded it;
coquetry runs in her blood, blends with her brains, and seasons the
marrow of her bones. "Il faut que je l'essaie!" cried she, "et a
l'instant meme!" and she rushed out of the room. She is now with
Sophie, undergoing a robing process: in a few minutes she will
re-enter; and I know what I shall see,- a miniature of Celine
Varens, as she used to appear on the boards at the rising of-. But
never mind that. However, my tenderest feelings are about to receive a
shock: such is my presentiment; stay now, to see whether it will be
realised.'

Ere long, Adele's little foot was heard tripping across the hall.
She entered, transformed as her guardian had predicted. A dress of
rose-coloured satin, very short, and as full in the skirt as it
could be gathered, replaced the brown frock she had previously worn; a
wreath of rosebuds circled her forehead; her feet were dressed in silk
stockings and small white satin sandals.

'Est-ce que ma robe va bien?' cried she, bounding forwards; 'et mes
souliers? et mes bas? Tenez, je crois que je vais danser!'

And spreading out her dress, she chasseed across the room; till,
having reached Mr. Rochester, she wheeled lightly round before him
on tip-toe, then dropped on one knee at his feet, exclaiming-

'Monsieur, je vous remercie mille fois de votre bonte; then rising,
she added, 'C'est comme cela que maman faisait, n'est-ce pas,
monsieur?'

'Pre-cise-ly!' was the answer; 'and, "comme cella," she charmed
my English gold out of my British breeches' pocket. I have been green,
too, Miss Eyre- ay, grass green: not a more vernal tint freshens you
now than once freshened me. My Spring is gone, however, but it has
left me that French floweret on my hands, which, in some moods, I
would fain be rid of. Not valuing now the root whence it sprang;
having found that it was of a sort which nothing but gold dust could
manure, I have but half a liking to the blossom, especially when it
looks so artificial as just now. I keep it and rear it rather on the
Roman Catholic principle of expiating numerous sins, great or small,
by one good work. I'll explain all this some day. Good-night.'

                       CHAPTER XV


MR. ROCHESTER did, on a future occasion, explain it. It was one
afternoon, when he chanced to meet me and Adele in the grounds: and
while she played with Pilot and her shuttlecock, he asked me to walk
up and down a long beech avenue within sight of her.

He then said that she was the daughter of a French opera-dancer,
Celine Varens, towards whom he had once cherished what he called a
'grande passion.' This passion Celine had professed to return with
even superior ardour. He thought himself her idol, ugly as he was:
he believed, as he said, that she preferred his 'taille d'athlete'
to the elegance of the Apollo Belvidere.

'And, Miss Eyre, so much was I flattered by this preference of
the Gallic sylph for her British gnome, that I installed her in an
hotel; gave her a complete establishment of servants, a carriage,
cashmeres, diamonds, dentelles, etc. In short, I began the process
of ruining myself in the received style, like any other spoony. I
had not, it seems, the originality to chalk out a new road to shame
and destruction, but trode the old track with stupid exactness not
to deviate an inch from the beaten centre. I had- as I deserved to
have- the fate of all other spoonies. Happening to call one evening
when Celine did not expect me, I found her out; but it was a warm
night, and I was tired with strolling through Paris, so I sat down
in her boudoir; happy to breathe the air consecrated so lately by
her presence. No,- I exaggerate; I never thought there was any
consecrating virtue about her: it was rather a sort of pastille
perfume she had left; a scent of musk and amber, than an odour of
sanctity. I was just beginning to stifle with the fumes of
conservatory flowers and sprinkled essences, when I bethought myself
to open the window and step out on to the balcony. It was moonlight
and gaslight besides, and very still and serene. The balcony was
furnished with a chair or two; I sat down, and took out a cigar,- I
will take one now, if you will excuse me.'

Here ensued a pause, filled up by the producing and lighting of a
cigar; having placed it to his lips and breathed a trail of Havannah
incense on the freezing and sunless air, he went on-

'I liked bonbons too in those days, Miss Eyre, and I was
croquant- (overlook the barbarism)- croquant chocolate comfits, and
smoking alternately, watching meantime the equipages that rolled along
the fashionable streets towards the neighbouring opera-house, when
in an elegant close carriage drawn by a beautiful pair of English
horses, and distinctly seen in the brilliant city-night, I
recognised the "voiture" I had given Celine. She was returning: of
course my heart thumped with impatience against the iron rails I leant
upon. The carriage stopped, as I had expected, at the hotel door; my
flame (that is the very word for an opera inamorata) alighted:
though muffled in a cloak- an unnecessary encumbrance, by the bye,
on so warm a June evening- I knew her instantly by her little foot,
seen peeping from the skirt of her dress, as she skipped from the
carriage step. Bending over the balcony, I was about to murmur "Mon
ange"- in a tone, of course, which should be audible to the ear of
love alone- when a figure jumped from the carriage after her;
cloaked also; but that was a spurred heel which had rung on the
pavement, and that was a hatted head which now passed under the arched
porte cochere of the hotel.

'You never felt jealousy, did you, Miss Eyre? Of course not: I need
not ask you; because you never felt love. You have both sentiments yet
to experience: your soul sleeps; the shock is yet to be given which
shall waken it. You think all existence lapses in as quiet a flow as
that in which your youth has hitherto slid away. Floating on with
closed eyes and muffled ears, you neither see the rocks bristling
not far off in the bed of the flood, nor hear the breakers boil at
their base. But I tell you- and you may mark my words- you will come
some day to a craggy pass in the channel, where the whole of life's
stream will be broken up into whirl and tumult, foam and noise: either
you will be dashed to atoms on crag points, or lifted up and borne
on by some master-wave into a calmer current- as I am now.

'I like this day; I like that sky of steel; I like the sterness and
stillness of the world under this frost. I like Thornfield, its
antiquity, its retirement, its old crow-trees and thorn-trees, its
grey facade, and lines of dark windows reflecting that metal welkin:
and yet how long have I abhorred the very thought of it, shunned it
like a great plague-house? How I do still abhor-'

He ground his teeth and was silent: he arrested his step and struck
his boot against the hard ground. Some hated thought seemed to have
him in its grip, and to hold him so tightly that he could not advance.

We were ascending the avenue when he thus paused; the hall was
before us. Lifting his eye to its battlements, he cast over them a
glare such as I never saw before or since. Pain, shame, ire,
impatience, disgust, detestation, seemed momentarily to hold a
quivering conflict in the large pupil dilating under his ebon eyebrow.
Wild was the wrestle which should be paramount; but another feeling
rose and triumphed: something hard and cynical: self-willed and
resolute: it settled his passion and petrified his countenance: he
went on-

'During the moment I was silent, Miss Eyre, I was arranging a point
with my destiny. She stood there, by that beech-trunk- a hag like
one of those who appeared to Macbeth on the heath of Forres. "You like
Thornfield?" she said, lifting her finger; and then she wrote in the
air a memento, which ran in lurid hieroglyphics all along the
house-front, between the upper and lower row of windows, "Like it if
you can? Like it if you dare!"

'"I will like it" said I; "I dare like it;" and' (he subjoined
moodily) 'I will keep my word; I will break obstacles to happiness, to
goodness- yes, goodness. I wish to be a better man than I have been,
than I am; as Job's leviathan broke the spear, the dart, and the
habergeon, hindrances which others count as iron and brass, I will
esteem but straw and rotten wood.'

Adele here ran before him with her shuttlecock. 'Away!' he cried
harshly; 'keep at a distance, child; or go in to Sophie!' Continuing
then to pursue his walk in silence, I ventured to recall him to the
point whence he had abruptly diverged-

'Did you leave the balcony, sir,' I asked, 'when Mdlle. Varens
entered?'

I almost expected a rebuff for this hardly well-timed question,
but, on the contrary, waking out of his scowling abstraction, he
turned his eyes towards me, and the shade seemed to clear off his
brow. 'Oh, I had forgotten Celine! Well, to resume. When I saw my
charmer thus come in accompanied by a cavalier, I seemed to hear a
hiss, and the green snake of jealousy, rising on undulating coils from
the moonlit balcony, glided within my waistcoat, and ate its way in
two minutes to my heart's core. Strange!' he exclaimed, suddenly
starting again from the point. 'Strange that I should choose you for
the confidant of all this, young lady; passing strange that you should
listen to me quietly, as if it were the most usual thing in the
world for a man like me to tell stories of his opera-mistresses to a
quaint, inexperienced girl like you! But the last singularity explains
the first, as I intimated once before: you, with your gravity,
considerateness, and caution were made to be the recipient of secrets.
Besides, I know what sort of a mind I have placed in communication
with my own: I know it is one not liable to take infection: it is a
peculiar mind: it is a unique one. Happily I do not mean to harm it:
but, if I did, it would not take harm from me. The more you and I
converse, the better; for while I cannot blight you, you may refresh
me.' After this digression he proceeded-

'I remained in the balcony. "They will come to her boudoir, no
doubt," thought I: "Let me prepare an ambush." So putting my hand in
through the open window, I drew the curtain over it, leaving only an
opening through which I could take observations; then I closed the
casement, all but a chink just wide enough to furnish an outlet to
lovers' whispered vows: then I stole back to my chair; and as I
resumed it the pair came in. My eye was quickly at the aperture.
Celine's chambermaid entered, lit a lamp, left it on the table, and
withdrew. The couple were thus revealed to me clearly: both removed
their cloaks, and there was "the Varens," shining in satin and
jewels,- my gifts of course,- and there was her companion in an
officer's uniform; and I knew him for a young roue of a vicomte- a
brainless and vicious youth whom I had sometimes met in society, and
had never thought of hating because I despised him so absolutely. On
recognising him, the fang of the snake Jealousy was instantly
broken; because at the same moment my love for Celine sank under an
extinguisher. A woman who could betray me for such a rival was not
worth contending for; she deserved only scorn; less, however, than
I, who had been her dupe.

'They began to talk; their conversation eased me completely:
frivolous, mercenary, heartless, and senseless, it was rather
calculated to weary than enrage a listener. A card of mine lay on
the table; this being perceived, brought my name under discussion.
Neither of them possessed energy or wit to belabour me soundly, but
they insulted me as coarsely as they could in their little way:
especially Celine, who even waxed rather brilliant on my personal
defects- deformities she termed them. Now it had been her custom to
launch out into fervent admiration of what she called my "beaute
male": wherein she differed diametrically from you, who told me
point-blank, at the second interview, that you did not think me
handsome. The contrast struck me at the time and-'

Adele here came running up again.

'Monsieur, John has just been to say that your agent has called and
wishes to see you.'

'Ah! in that case I must abridge. Opening the window, I walked in
upon them; liberated Celine from my protection; gave her notice to
vacate her hotel; offered her a purse for immediate exigencies;
disregarded screams, hysterics, prayers, protestations, convulsions;
made an appointment with the vicomte for a meeting at the Bois de
Boulogne. Next morning I had the pleasure of encountering him; left
a bullet in one of his poor etiolated arms, feeble as the wing of a
chicken in the pip, and then thought I had done with the whole crew.
But unluckily the Varens, six months before, had given me this filette
Adele, who, she affirmed, was my daughter; and perhaps she may be,
though I see no proofs of such grim paternity written in her
countenance: Pilot is more like me than she. Some years after I had
broken with the mother, she abandoned her child, and ran away to Italy
with a musician or singer. I acknowledged no natural claim on
Adele's part to be supported by me, nor do I now acknowledge any,
for I am not her father; but hearing that she was quite destitute, I
e'en took the poor thing out of the slime and mud of Paris, and
transplanted it here, to grow up clean in the wholesome soil of an
English country garden. Mrs. Fairfax found you to train it; but now
you know that it is the illegitimate offspring of a French opera-girl,
you will perhaps think differently of your post and protegee: you will
be coming to me some day with notice that you have found another
place- that you beg me to look out for a new governess, etc.- Eh?'

'No: Adele is not answerable for either her mother's faults or
yours: I have a regard for her; and now that I know she is, in a
sense, parentless- forsaken by her mother and disowned by you, sir-
I shall cling closer to her than before. How could I possibly prefer
the spoilt pet of a wealthy family, who would hate her governess as
a nuisance, to a lonely little orphan, who leans towards her as a
friend?'

'Oh, that is the light in which you view it! Well, I must go in
now; and you too: it darkens.'

But I stayed out a few minutes longer with Adele and Pilot- ran a
race with her, and played a game of battledore and shuttlecock. When
we went in, and I had removed her bonnet and coat, I took her on my
knee; kept her there an hour, allowing her to prattle as she liked:
not rebuking even some little freedoms and trivialities into which she
was apt to stray when much noticed, and which betrayed in her a
superficiality of character, inherited probably from her mother,
hardly congenial to an English mind. Still she had her merits; and I
was disposed to appreciate all that was good in her to the utmost. I
sought in her countenance and features a likeness to Mr. Rochester,
but found none: no trait, no turn of expression announced
relationship. It was a pity: if she could but have been proved to
resemble him, he would have thought more of her.

It was not till after I had withdrawn to my own chamber for the
night, that I steadily reviewed the tale Mr. Rochester had told me. As
he had said, there was probably nothing at all extraordinary in the
substance of the narrative itself: a wealthy Englishman's passion
for a French dancer, and her treachery to him, were every-day
matters enough, no doubt, in society; but there was something
decidedly strange in the paroxysm of emotion which had suddenly seized
him when he was in the act of expressing the present contentment of
his mood, and his newly revived pleasure in the old hall and its
environs. I meditated wonderingly on this incident; but gradually
quitting it, as I found it for the present inexplicable, I turned to
the consideration of my master's manner to myself. The confidence he
had thought fit to repose in me seemed a tribute to my discretion: I
regarded and accepted it as such. His deportment had now for some
weeks been more uniform towards me than at the first. I never seemed
in his way; he did not take fits of chilling hauteur: when he met me
unexpectedly, the encounter seemed welcome; he had always a word and
sometimes a smile for me: when summoned by formal invitation to his
presence, I was honoured by a cordiality of reception that made me
feel I really possessed the power to amuse him, and that these evening
conferences were sought as much for his pleasure as for my benefit.

I, indeed, talked comparatively little, but I heard him talk with
relish. It was his nature to be communicative; he liked to open to a
mind unacquainted with the world glimpses of its scenes and ways (I do
not mean its corrupt scenes and wicked ways, but such as derived their
interest from the great scale on which they were acted, the strange
novelty by which they were characterised); and I had a keen delight in
receiving the new ideas he offered, in imagining the new pictures he
portrayed, and following him in thought through the new regions he
disclosed, never startled or troubled by one noxious allusion.

The ease of his manner freed me from painful restraint: the
friendly frankness, as correct as cordial, with which he treated me,
drew me to him. I felt at times as if he were my relation rather
than my master: yet he was imperious sometimes still; but I did not
mind that; I saw it was his way. So happy, so gratified did I become
with this new interest added to life, that I ceased to pine after
kindred: my thin crescent-destiny seemed to enlarge; the blanks of
existence were filled up; my bodily health improved; I gathered
flesh and strength.

And was Mr. Rochester now ugly in my eyes? No, reader: gratitude,
and many associations, all pleasurable and genial, made his face the
object I best liked to see; his presence in a room was more cheering
than the brightest fire. Yet I had not forgotten his faults; indeed, I
could not, for he brought them frequently before me. He was proud,
sardonic, harsh to inferiority of every description: in my secret soul
I knew that his great kindness to me was balanced by unjust severity
to many others. He was moody, too; unaccountably so; I more than once,
when sent for to read to him, found him sitting in his library
alone, with his head bent on his folded arms; and, when he looked
up, a morose, almost a malignant, scowl blackened his features. But
I believed that his moodiness, his harshness, and his former faults of
morality (I say former, for now he seemed corrected of them) had their
source in some cruel cross of fate. I believed he was naturally a
man of better tendencies, higher principles, and purer tastes than
such as circumstances had developed, education instilled, or destiny
encouraged. I thought there were excellent materials in him; though
for the present they hung together somewhat spoiled and tangled. I
cannot deny that I grieved for his grief, whatever that was, and would
have given much to assuage it.

Though I had now extinguished my candle and was laid down in bed, I
could not sleep for thinking of his look when he paused in the avenue,
and told how his destiny had risen up before him, and dared him to
be happy at Thornfield.

'Why not?' I asked myself. 'What alienates him from the house? Will
he leave it again soon? Mrs. Fairfax said he seldom stayed here longer
than a fortnight at a time; and he has now been resident eight
weeks. If he does go, the change will be doleful. Suppose he should be
absent spring, summer, and autumn: how joyless sunshine and fine
days will seem!'

I hardly know whether I had slept or not after this musing; at
any rate, I started wide awake on hearing a vague murmur, peculiar and
lugubrious, which sounded, I thought, just above me. I wished I had
kept my candle burning: the night was drearily dark; my spirits were
depressed. I rose and sat up in bed, listening. The sound was hushed.

I tried again to sleep; but my heart beat anxiously: my inward
tranquillity was broken. The clock, far down in the hall, struck
two. Just then it seemed my chamber-door was touched; as if fingers
had swept the panels in groping a way along the dark gallery
outside. I said, 'Who is there?' Nothing answered. I was chilled
with fear.

All at once I remembered that it might be Pilot, who, when the
kitchen-door chanced to be left open, not unfrequently found his way
up to the threshold of Mr. Rochester's chamber: I had seen him lying
there myself in the mornings. The idea calmed me somewhat: I lay down.
Silence composes the nerves; and as an unbroken hush now reigned again
through the whole house, I began to feel the return of slumber. But it
was not fated that I should sleep that night. A dream had scarcely
approached my ear, when it fled affrighted, scared by a
marrow-freezing incident enough.

This was a demoniac laugh- low, suppressed, and deep- uttered, as
it seemed, at the very keyhole of my chamber door. The head of my
bed was near the door, and I thought at first the goblin-laugher stood
at my bedside- or rather, crouched by my pillow: but I rose, looked
round, and could see nothing; while, as I still gazed, the unnatural
sound was reiterated: and I knew it came from behind the panels. My
first impulse was to rise and fasten the bolt; my next, again to cry
out, 'Who is there?'

Something gurgled and moaned. Ere long, steps retreated up the
gallery towards the third-storey staircase: a door had lately been
made to shut in that staircase; I heard it open and close, and all was
still.

'Was that Grace Poole? and is she possessed with a devil?'
thought I. Impossible now to remain longer by myself: I must go to
Mrs. Fairfax. I hurried on my frock and a shawl; I withdrew the bolt
and opened the door with a trembling hand. There was a candle
burning just outside, and on the matting in the gallery. I was
surprised at this circumstance: but still more was I amazed to
perceive the air quite dim, as if filled with smoke; and, while
looking to the right hand and left, to find whence these blue
wreaths issued, I became further aware of a strong smell of burning.

Something creaked: it was a door ajar; and that door was Mr.
Rochester's, and the smoke rushed in a cloud from thence. I thought no
more of Mrs. Fairfax; I thought no more of Grace Poole, or the
laugh: in an instant, I was within the chamber. Tongues of flame
darted round the bed: the curtains were on fire. In the midst of blaze
and vapour, Mr. Rochester lay stretched motionless, in deep sleep.

'Wake! wake!' I cried. I shook him, but he only murmured and
turned: the smoke had stupefied him. Not a moment could be lost: the
very sheets were kindling, I rushed to his basin and ewer;
fortunately, one was wide and the other deep, and both were filled
with water. I heaved them up, deluged the bed and its occupant, flew
back to my own room, brought my own water-jug, baptized the couch
afresh, and, by God's aid, succeeded in extinguishing the flames which
were devouring it.

The hiss of the quenched element, the breakage of a pitcher which I
flung from my hand when I had emptied it, and, above all, the splash
of the shower-bath I had liberally bestowed, roused Mr. Rochester at
last. Though it was now dark, I knew he was awake; because I heard him
fulminating strange anathemas at finding himself lying in a pool of
water.

'Is there a flood?' he cried.

No, sir,' I answered; 'but there has been a fire: get up, do; you
are quenched now; I will fetch you a candle.'

'In the name of all the elves in Christendom, is that Jane Eyre?'
he demanded. 'What have you done with me, witch, sorceress? Who is
in the room besides you? Have you plotted to drown me?'

'I will fetch you a candle, sir; and, in Heaven's name, get up.
Somebody has plotted something: you cannot too soon find out who and
what it is.'

'There! I am up now; but at your peril you fetch a candle yet: wait
two minutes till I get into some dry garments, if any dry there be-
yes, here is my dressing-gown. Now run!'

I did run; I brought the candle which still remained in the
gallery. He took it from my hand, held it up, and surveyed the bed,
all blackened and scorched, the sheets drenched, the carpet round
swimming in water.

'What is it? and who did it?' he asked.

I briefly related to him what had transpired: the strange laugh I
had heard in the gallery; the step ascending to the third storey;
the smoke,- the smell of fire which had conducted me to his room; in
what state I had found matters there, and how I had deluged him with
all the water I could lay hands on.

He listened very gravely; his face, as I went on, expressed more
concern than astonishment; he did not immediately speak when I had
concluded.

'Shall I call Mrs. Fairfax?' I asked.

'Mrs. Fairfax? No; what the deuce would you call her for? What
can she do? Let her sleep unmolested.'

'Then I will fetch Leah, and wake John and his wife.'

'Not at all: just be still. You have a shawl on. If you are not
warm enough, you may take my cloak yonder; wrap it about you, and
sit down in the arm-chair: there,- I will put it on. Now place your
feet on the stool, to keep them out of the wet. I am going to leave
you a few minutes. I shall take the candle. Remain where you are
till I return; be as still as a mouse. I must pay a visit to the
second storey. Don't move, remember, or call any one.'

He went: I watched the light withdraw. He passed up the gallery
very softly, unclosed the staircase door with as little noise as
possible, shut it after him, and the last ray vanished. I was left
in total darkness. I listened for some noise, but heard nothing. A
very long time elapsed. I grew weary: it was cold, in spite of the
cloak; and then I did not see the use of staying, as I was not to
rouse the house. I was on the point of risking Mr. Rochester's
displeasure by disobeying his orders, when the light once more gleamed
dimly on the gallery wall, and I heard his unshod feet tread the
matting. 'I hope it is he,' thought I, 'and not something worse.'

He re-entered, pale and very gloomy. 'I have found it all out,'
said he, setting his candle down on the washstand; 'it is as I
thought.'

'How, sir?'

He made no reply, but stood with his arms folded, looking on the
ground. At the end of a few minutes he inquired in rather a peculiar
tone-

'I forget whether you said you saw anything when you opened your
chamber door.'

'No, sir, only the candlestick on the ground.'

'But you heard an odd laugh? You have heard that laugh before, I
should think, or something like it?'

'Yes, sir: there is a woman who sews here, called Grace Poole,- she
laughs in that way. She is a singular person.'

'Just so. Grace Poole- you have guessed it. She is, as you say,
singular- very. Well, I shall reflect on the subject. Meantime, I am
glad that you are the only person, besides myself, acquainted with the
precise details of to-night's incident. You are no talking fool: say
nothing about it. I will account for this state of affairs'
(pointing to the bed): 'and now return to your own room. I shall do
very well on the sofa in the library for the rest of the night. It
is near four:- in two hours the servants will be up.'

'Good-night, then, sir,' said I, departing.

He seemed surprised- very inconsistently so, as he had just told me
to go.

'What!' he exclaimed, 'are you quitting me already, and in that
way?'

'You said I might go, sir.'

'But not without taking leave; not without a word or two of
acknowledgment and good-will: not, in short, in that brief, dry
fashion. Why, you have saved my life!- snatched me from a horrible and
excruciating death! and you walk past me as if we were mutual
strangers! At least shake hands.'

He held out his hand; I gave him mine: he took it first in one,
then 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,
good-night!'

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.

                      CHAPTER XVI


I BOTH wished and feared to see Mr. Rochester on the day which
followed this sleepless night: I wanted to hear his voice again, yet
feared to meet his eye. During the early part of the morning, I
momentarily expected his coming; he was not in the frequent habit of
entering the schoolroom, but he did step in for a few minutes
sometimes, and I had the impression that he was sure to visit it
that day.

But the morning passed just as usual: nothing happened to interrupt
the quiet course of Adele's studies; only soon after breakfast, I
heard some bustle in the neighbourhood of Mr. Rochester's chamber,
Mrs. Fairfax's voice, and Leah's, and the cook's- that is, John's
wife- and even John's own gruff tones. There were exclamations of
'What a mercy master was not burnt in his bed!' 'It is always
dangerous to keep a candle lit at night.' 'How providential that he
had presence of mind to think of the water-jug!' 'I wonder he waked
nobody!' 'It is to be hoped he will not take cold with sleeping on the
library sofa,' etc.

To much confabulation succeeded a sound of scrubbing and setting to
rights; and when I passed the room, in going downstairs to dinner, I
saw through the open door that all was again restored to complete
order; only the bed was stripped of its hangings. Leah stood up in the
window-seat, rubbing the panes of glass dimmed with smoke. I was about
to address her, for I wished to know what account had been given of
the affair: but, on advancing, I saw a second person in the chamber- a
woman sitting on a chair by the bedside, and sewing rings to new
curtains. That woman was no other than Grace Poole.

There she sat, staid and taciturn-looking, as usual, in her brown
stuff gown, her check apron, White handkerchief, and cap. She was
intent on her work, in which her whole thoughts seemed absorbed: on
her hard forehead, and in her commonplace features, was nothing either
of the paleness or desperation one would have expected to see
marking the countenance of a woman who had attempted murder, and whose
intended victim had followed her last night to her lair, and (as I
believed), charged her with the crime she wished to perpetrate. I
was amazed-confounded. She looked up, while I still gazed at her: no
start, no increase or failure of colour betrayed emotion,
consciousness of guilt, or fear of detection. She said 'Good
morning, Miss,' in her usual phlegmatic and brief manner; and taking
up another ring and more tape, went on with her sewing.

'I will put her to some test,' thought I: 'such absolute
impenetrability is past comprehension.'

'Good morning, Grace,' I said. 'Has anything happened here? I
thought I heard the servants all talking together a while ago.'

'Only master had been reading in his bed last night; he fell asleep
with his candle lit, and the curtains got on fire; but, fortunately,
he awoke before the bedclothes or the woodwork caught, and contrived
to quench the flames with the water in the ewer.'

'A strange affair!' I said, in a low voice: then, looking at her
fixedly- 'Did Mr. Rochester wake nobody? Did no one hear him move?'

She again raised her eyes to me, and this time there was
something of consciousness in their expression. She seemed to
examine me warily; then she answered-

'The servants sleep so far off, you know, Miss, they would not be
likely to hear. Mrs. Fairfax's room and yours are the nearest to
master's; but Mrs. Fairfax said she heard nothing: when people get
elderly, they often sleep heavy.' She paused, and then added, with a
sort of assumed indifference, but still in a marked and significant
tone- 'But you are young, Miss; and I should say a light sleeper:
perhaps you may have heard a noise?'

'I did,' said I, dropping my voice, so that Leah, who was still
polishing the panes, could not hear me, 'and at first I thought it was
Pilot: but Pilot cannot laugh; and I am certain I heard a laugh, and a
strange one.'

She took a new needleful of thread, waxed it carefully, threaded
her needle with a steady hand, and then observed, with perfect
composure-

'It is hardly likely master would laugh, I should think, Miss, when
he was in such danger: you must have been dreaming.'

'I was not dreaming,' I said, with some warmth, for her brazen
coolness provoked me. Again she looked at me; and with the same
scrutinising and conscious eye.

'Have you told master that you heard a laugh?' she inquired.

'I have not had the opportunity of speaking to him this morning.'

'You did not think of opening your door and looking out into the
gallery?' she further asked.

She appeared to be cross-questioning me, attempting to draw from me
information unawares. The idea struck me that if she discovered I knew
or suspected her guilt, she would be playing off some of her malignant
pranks on me; I thought it advisable to be on my guard.

'On the contrary,' said I, 'I bolted my door.'

'Then you are not in the habit of bolting your door every night
before you get into bed?'

'Fiend! she wants to know my habits, that she may lay her plans
accordingly!' Indignation again prevailed over prudence: I replied
sharply, 'Hitherto I have often omitted to fasten the bolt: I did
not think it necessary. I was not aware any danger or annoyance was to
be dreaded at Thornfield Hall: but in future' (and I laid marked
stress on the words) 'I shall take good care to make all secure before
I venture to lie down.'

'It will be wise so to do,' was her answer: 'this neighbourhood
is as quiet as any I know, and I never heard of the hall being
attempted by robbers since it was a house; though there are hundreds
of pounds' worth of plate in the plate-closet, as is well known. And
you see, for such a large house, there are very few servants,
because master has never lived here much; and when he does come, being
a bachelor, he needs little waiting on: but I always think it best
to err on the safe side; a door is soon fastened, and it is as well to
have a drawn bolt between one and any mischief that may be about. A
deal of people, Miss, are for trusting all to Providence; but I say
Providence will not dispense with the means, though He often blesses
them when they are used discreetly.' And here she closed her harangue:
a long one for her, and uttered with the demureness of a Quakeress.

I still stood absolutely dumfoundered at what appeared to me her
miraculous self-possession, and most inscrutable hypocrisy, when the
cook entered.

'Mrs. Poole,' said she, addressing Grace, 'the servants' dinner
will soon be ready: will you come down?'

'No; just put my pint of porter and bit of pudding on a tray, and
I'll carry it upstairs.'

'You'll have some meat?'

'Just a morsel, and a taste of cheese, that's all.'

'And the sago?'

'Never mind it at present: I shall be coming down before
tea-time: I'll make it myself.'

The cook here turned to me, saying that Mrs. Fairfax was waiting
for me: so I departed.

I hardly heard Mrs. Fairfax's account of the curtain
conflagration during dinner, so much was I occupied in puzzling my
brains over the enigmatical character of Grace Poole, and still more
in pondering the problem of her position at Thornfield and questioning
why she had not been given into custody that morning, or, at the
very least, dismissed from her master's service. He had almost as much
as declared his conviction of her criminality last night: what
mysterious cause withheld him from accusing her? Why had he enjoined
me, too, to secrecy? It was strange: a bold, vindictive, and haughty
gentleman seemed somehow in the power of one of the meanest of his
dependants; so much in her power, that even when she lifted her hand
against his life, he dared not openly charge her with the attempt,
much less punish her for it.

Had Grace been young and handsome, I should have been tempted to
think that tenderer feelings than prudence or fear influenced Mr.
Rochester in her behalf; but, hard-favoured and matronly as she was,
the idea could not be admitted. 'Yet,' I reflected, 'she has been
young once; her youth would be contemporary with her master's: Mrs.
Fairfax told me once, she had lived here many years. I don't think she
can ever have been pretty; but, for aught I know, she may possess
originality and strength of character to compensate for the want of
personal advantages. Mr. Rochester is an amateur of the decided and
eccentric: Grace is eccentric at least. What if a former caprice (a
freak very possible to a nature so sudden and headstrong as his) has
delivered him into her power, and she now exercises over his actions a
secret influence, the result of his own indiscretion, which he
cannot shake off, and dare not disregard?' But, having reached this
point of conjecture, Mrs. Poole's square, flat figure, and uncomely,
dry, even coarse face, recurred so distinctly to my mind's eye, that I
thought, 'No; impossible! my supposition cannot be correct. Yet,'
suggested the secret voice which talks to us in our own hearts, 'you
are not beautiful either, and perhaps Mr. Rochester approves you: at
any rate, you have often felt as if he did; and last night- remember
his words; remember his look; remember his voice!'

I well remembered all; language, glance, and tone seemed at the
moment vividly renewed. I was now in the schoolroom; Adele was
drawing; I bent over her and directed her pencil. She looked up with a
sort of start.

'Qu'avez-vous, mademoiselle?' said she. 'Vos doigts tremblent comme
la feuille, et vos joues sont rouges: mais, rouges comme des cerises!'

'I am hot, Adele, with stooping!' She went on sketching; I went
on thinking.

I hastened to drive from my mind the hateful notion I had been
conceiving respecting Grace Poole; it disgusted me. I compared
myself with her, and found we were different. Bessie Leaven had said I
was quite a lady; and she spoke truth- I was a lady. And now I
looked much better than I did when Bessie saw me; I had more colour
and more flesh, more life, more vivacity, because I had brighter hopes
and keener enjoyments.

'Evening approaches,' said I, as I looked towards the window. 'I
have never heard Mr. Rochester's voice or step in the house to-day;
but surely I shall see him before night: I feared the meeting in the
morning; now I desire it, because expectation has been so long baffled
that it is grown impatient.'

When dusk actually closed, and when Adele left me to go and play in
the nursery with Sophie, I did most keenly desire it. I listened for
the bell to ring below; I listened for Leah coming up with a
message; I fancied sometimes I heard Mr. Rochester's own tread, and
I turned to the door, expecting it to open and admit him. The door
remained shut; darkness only came in through the window. Still it
was not late; he often sent for me at seven and eight o'clock, and
it was yet but six. Surely I should not be wholly disappointed
to-night, when I had so many things to say to him! I wanted again to
introduce the subject of Grace Poole, and to hear what he would
answer; I wanted to ask him plainly if he really believed it was she
who had made last night's hideous attempt; and if so, why he kept
her wickedness a secret. It little mattered whether my curiosity
irritated him; I knew the pleasure of vexing and soothing him by
turns; it was one I chiefly delighted in, and a sure instinct always
prevented me from going too far; beyond the verge of provocation I
never ventured; on the extreme brink I liked well to try my skill.
Retaining every minute form of respect, every propriety of my station,
I could still meet him in argument without fear or uneasy restraint;
this suited both him and me.

A tread creaked on the stairs at last. Leah made her appearance;
but it was only to intimate that tea was ready in Mrs. Fairfax's room.
Thither I repaired, glad at least to go downstairs; for that brought
me, I imagined, nearer to Mr. Rochester's presence.

'You must want your tea,' said the good lady, as I joined her; 'you
ate so little at dinner. I am afraid,' she continued, 'you are not
well to-day: you look flushed and feverish.'

'Oh, quite well! I never felt better.'

'Then you must prove it by evincing a good appetite; will you
fill the teapot while I knit off this needle?' Having completed her
task, she rose to draw down the blind, which she had hitherto kept up,
by way, I suppose, of making the most of daylight, though dusk was now
fast deepening into total obscurity.

'It is fair to-night,' said she, as she looked through the panes,
'though not starlight; Mr. Rochester has, on the whole, had a
favourable day for his journey.'

'Journey!- Is Mr. Rochester gone anywhere? I did not know he was
out.'

'Oh, he set off the moment he had breakfast! He is gone to the
Leas, Mr. Eshton's place, ten miles on the other side Millcote. I
believe there is quite a party assembled there; Lord Ingram, Sir
George Lynn, Colonel Dent, and others.'

'Do you expect him back to-night?'

'No- nor to-morrow either; I should think he is very likely to stay
a week or more: when these fine, fashionable people get together, they
are so surrounded by elegance and gaiety, so well provided with all
that can please and entertain, they are in no hurry to separate.
Gentlemen especially are often in request on such occasions; and Mr.
Rochester is so talented and so lively in society, that I believe he
is a general favourite: the ladies are very fond of him; though you
would not think his appearance calculated to recommend him
particularly in their eyes: but I suppose his acquirements and
abilities, perhaps his wealth and good blood, make amends for any
little fault of look.'

'Are there ladies at the Leas?'

'There are Mrs. Eshton and her three daughters- very elegant
young ladies indeed; and there are the Honourable Blanche and Mary
Ingram, most beautiful women, I suppose: indeed I have seen Blanche,
six or seven years since, when she was a girl of eighteen. She came
here to a Christmas ball and party Mr. Rochester gave. You should have
seen the dining-room that day- how richly it was decorated, how
brilliantly lit up! I should think there were fifty ladies and
gentlemen present- all of the first county families; and Miss Ingram
was considered the belle of the evening.'

'You saw her, you say, Mrs. Fairfax: what was she like?'

'Yes, I saw her. The dining-room doors were thrown open; and, as it
was Christmas-time, the servants were allowed to assemble in the hall,
to hear some of the ladies sing and play. Mr. Rochester would have
me to come in, and I sat down in a quiet corner and watched them. I
never saw a more splendid scene: the ladies were magnificently
dressed; most of them- at least most of the younger ones- looked
handsome; but Miss Ingram was certainly the queen.'

'And what was she like?'

'Tall, fine bust, sloping shoulders; long, graceful neck: olive
complexion, dark and clear; noble features; eyes rather like Mr.
Rochester's: large and black, and as brilliant as her jewels. And then
she had such a fine head of hair; raven-black and so becomingly
arranged: a crown of thick plaits behind, and in front the longest,
the glossiest curls I ever saw. She was dressed in pure white; an
amber-coloured scarf was passed over her shoulder and across her
breast, tied at the side, and descending in long, fringed ends below
her knee. She wore an amber-coloured flower, too, in her hair: it
contrasted well with the jetty mass of her curls.'

'She was greatly admired, of course?'

'Yes, indeed: and not only for her beauty, but for her
accomplishments. She was one of the ladies who sang: a gentleman
accompanied her on the piano. She and Mr. Rochester sang a duet.'

'Mr. Rochester? I was not aware he could sing.'

'Oh! he has a fine bass voice, and an excellent taste for music.'

'And Miss Ingram: what sort of a voice had she?'

'A very rich and powerful one: she sang delightfully; it was a
treat to listen to her;- and she played afterwards. I am no judge of
music, but Mr. Rochester is; and I heard him say her execution was
remarkably good.'

'And this beautiful and accomplished lady, she is not yet married.'

'It appears not: I fancy neither she nor her sister have very large
fortunes. Old Lord Ingram's estates were chiefly entailed, and the
eldest son came in for everything almost.'

'But I wonder no wealthy nobleman or gentleman has taken a fancy to
her: Mr. Rochester, for instance. He is rich, is he not?'

'Oh! yes. But you see there is a considerable difference in age:
Mr. Rochester is nearly forty; she is but twenty-five.'

'What of that? More unequal matches are made every day.'

'True: yet I should scarcely fancy Mr. Rochester would entertain an
idea of the sort. But you eat nothing: you have scarcely tasted
since you began tea.'

'No: I am too thirsty to eat. Will you let me have another cup?'

I was about again to revert to the probability of a union between
Mr. Rochester and the beautiful Blanche; but Adele came in, and the
conversation was turned into another channel.

When once more alone, I reviewed the information I had got;
looked into my heart, examined its thoughts and feelings, and
endeavoured to bring back with a strict hand such as had been straying
through imagination's boundless and trackless waste, into the safe
fold of common sense.

Arraigned at my own bar, Memory having given her evidence of the
hopes, wishes, sentiments I had been cherishing since last night- of
the general state of mind in which I had indulged for nearly a
fortnight past; Reason having come forward and told, in her own
quiet way, a plain, unvarnished tale, showing how I had rejected the
real, and rabidly devoured the ideal;- I pronounced judgment to this
effect:-

That a greater fool than Jane Eyre had never breathed the breath of
life; that a more fantastic idiot had never surfeited herself on sweet
lies, and swallowed poison as if it were nectar.

'You,' I said, 'a favourite with Mr. Rochester? You gifted with the
power of pleasing him? You of importance to him in any way? Go! your
folly sickens me. And you have derived pleasure from occasional tokens
of preference- equivocal tokens shown by a gentleman of family and a
man of the world to a dependant and a novice. How dared you? Poor
stupid dupe!- Could not even self-interest make you wiser? You
repeated to yourself this morning the brief scene of last night?-
Cover your face and be ashamed! He said something in praise of your
eyes, did he? Blind puppy! Open their bleared lids and look on your
own accursed senselessness! It does good to no woman to be flattered
by her superior, who cannot possibly intend to marry her; and it is
madness in all women to let a secret love kindle within them, which,
if unreturned and unknown, must devour the life that feeds it; and, if
discovered and responded to, must lead, ignis-fatuus-like, into miry
wilds whence there is no extrication.

'Listen, then, Jane Eyre, to your sentence: to-morrow, place the
glass before you, and draw in chalk your own picture, faithfully,
without softening one defect; omit no harsh line, smooth away no
displeasing irregularity; write under it, "Portrait of a Governess,
disconnected, poor, and plain."

'Afterwards, take a piece of smooth ivory- you have one prepared in
your drawing-box: take your palette, mix your freshest, finest,
clearest tints; choose your most delicate camel-hair pencils;
delineate carefully the loveliest face you can imagine; paint it in
your softest shades and sweetest hues, according to the description
given by Mrs. Fairfax of Blanche Ingram; remember the raven
ringlets, the oriental eye;- What! you revert to Mr. Rochester as a
model! Order! No snivel!- no sentiment!- no regret! I will endure only
sense and resolution. Recall the august yet harmonious lineaments, the
Grecian neck and bust; let the round and dazzling arm be visible,
and the delicate hand; omit neither diamond ring nor gold bracelet;
portray faithfully the attire, aerial lace and glistening satin,
graceful scarf and golden rose; call it "Blanche, an accomplished lady
of rank."

'Whenever, in future, you should chance to fancy Mr. Rochester
thinks well of you, take out these two pictures and compare them: say,
"Mr. Rochester might probably win that noble lady's love, if he
chose to strive for it; is it likely he would waste a serious
thought on this indigent and insignificant plebeian?"'

'I'll do it,' I resolved: and having framed this determination, I
grew calm, and fell asleep.

I kept my word. An hour or two sufficed to sketch my own portrait
in crayons; and in less than a fortnight I had completed an ivory
miniature of an imaginary Blanche Ingram. It looked a lovely face
enough, and when compared with the real head in chalk, the contrast
was as great as self-control could desire. I derived benefit from
the task: it had kept my head and hands employed, and had given
force and fixedness to the new impressions I wished to stamp indelibly
on my heart.

Ere long, I had reason to congratulate myself on the course of
wholesome discipline to which I had thus forced my feelings to submit.
Thanks to it, I was able to meet subsequent occurrences with a
decent calm, which, had they found me unprepared, I should probably
have been unequal to maintain, even externally.

                      CHAPTER XVII


A WEEK passed, and no news arrived of Mr. Rochester: ten days,
and still he did not come. Mrs. Fairfax said she should not be
surprised if he were to go straight from the Leas to London, and
thence to the Continent, and not show his face again at Thornfield for
a year to come; he had not unfrequently quitted it in a manner quite
as abrupt and unexpected. When I heard this, I was beginning to feel a
strange chill and failing at the heart. I was actually permitting
myself to experience a sickening sense of disappointment; but rallying
my wits, and recollecting my principles, I at once called my
sensations to order; and it was wonderful how I got over the temporary
blunder- how I cleared up the mistake of supposing Mr. Rochester's
movements a matter in which I had any cause to take a vital
interest. Not that I humbled myself by a slavish notion of
inferiority: on the contrary, I just said-

'You have nothing to do with the master of Thornfield, further than
to receive the salary he gives you for teaching his protegee, and to
be grateful for such respectful and kind treatment as, if you do
your duty, you have a right to expect at his hands. Be sure that is
the only tie he seriously acknowledges between you and him; so don't
make him the object of your fine feelings, your raptures, agonies, and
so forth. He is not of your order: keep to your caste, and be too
self-respecting to lavish the love of the whole heart, soul, and
strength, where such a gift is not wanted and would be despised.'

I went on with my day's business tranquilly; but ever and anon
vague suggestions kept wandering across my brain of reasons why I
should quit Thornfield; and I kept involuntarily framing
advertisements and pondering conjectures about new situations: these
thoughts I did not think it necessary to check; they might germinate
and bear fruit if they could.

Mr. Rochester had been absent upwards of a fortnight, when the post
brought Mrs. Fairfax a letter.

'It is from the master,' said she, as she looked at the
direction. 'Now I suppose we shall know whether we are to expect his
return or not.'

And while she broke the seal and perused the document, I went on
taking my coffee (we were at breakfast): it was hot, and I
attributed to that circumstance a fiery glow which suddenly rose to my
face. Why my hand shook, and why I involuntarily spilt half the
contents of my cup into my saucer, I did not choose to consider.

'Well, I sometimes think we are too quiet; but we run a chance of
being busy enough now: for a little while at least,' said Mrs.
Fairfax, still holding the note before her spectacles.

Ere I permitted myself to request an explanation, I tied the string
of Adele's pinafore, which happened to be loose: having helped her
also to another bun and refilled her mug with milk, I said
nonchalantly-

'Mr. Rochester is not likely to return soon, I suppose?'

'Indeed he is- in three days, he says: that will be next
Thursday; and not alone either. I don't know how many of the fine
people at the Leas are coming with him: he sends directions for all
the best bedrooms to be prepared; and the library and drawing-rooms
are to be cleaned out; and I am to get more kitchen hands from the
George Inn, at Millcote, and from wherever else I can; and the
ladies will bring their maids and the gentlemen their valets: so we
shall have a full house of it.' And Mrs. Fairfax swallowed her
breakfast and hastened away to commence operations.

The three days were, as she had foretold, busy enough. I had
thought all the rooms at Thornfield beautifully clean and well
arranged; but it appears I was mistaken. Three women were got to help;
and such scrubbing, such brushing, such washing of paint and beating
of carpets, such taking down and putting up of pictures, such
polishing of mirrors and lustres, such lighting of fires in
bedrooms, such airing of sheets and feather-beds on hearths, I never
beheld, either before or since. Adele ran quite wild in the midst of
it: the preparations for company and the prospect of their arrival,
seemed to throw her into ecstasies. She would have Sophie to look over
all her 'toilettes,' as she called frocks; to furbish up any that were
'passees,' and to air and arrange the new. For herself, she did
nothing but caper about in the front chambers, jump on and off the
bedsteads, and lie on the mattresses and piled-up bolsters and pillows
before the enormous fires roaring in the chimneys. From school
duties she was exonerated: Mrs. Fairfax had pressed me into her
service, and I was all day in the storeroom, helping (or hindering)
her and the cook; learning to make custards and cheese-cakes and
French pastry, to truss game and garnish dessert-dishes.

The party were expected to arrive on Thursday afternoon, in time
for dinner at six. During the intervening period I had no time to
nurse chimeras; and I believe I was as active and gay as anybody-
Adele excepted. Still, now and then, I received a damping check to
my cheerfulness; and was, in spite of myself, thrown back on the
region of doubts and portents, and dark conjectures. This was when I
chanced to see the third-storey staircase door (which of late had
always been kept locked) open slowly, and give passage to the form
of Grace Poole, in prim cap, white apron, and handkerchief; when I
watched her glide along the gallery, her quiet tread muffled in a list
slipper; when I saw her look into the bustling, topsy-turvy bedrooms,-
just say a word, perhaps, to the charwoman about the proper way to
polish a grate, or clean a marble mantelpiece, or take stains from
papered walls, and then pass on. She would thus descend to the kitchen
once a day, eat her dinner, smoke a moderate pipe on the hearth, and
go back, carrying her pot of porter with her, for her private
solace, in her own gloomy, upper haunt. Only one hour in the
twenty-four did she pass with her fellow-servants below; all the
rest of her time was spent in some low-ceiled, oaken chamber of the
second storey: there she sat and sewed- and probably laughed
drearily to herself,- as companionless as a prisoner in his dungeon.

The strangest thing of all was, that not a soul in the house,
except me, noticed her habits, or seemed to marvel at them: no one
discussed her position or employment; no one pitied her solitude or
isolation. I once, indeed, overheard part of a dialogue between Leah
and one of the charwomen, of which Grace formed the subject. Leah
had been saying something I had not caught, and the charwoman
remarked-

'She gets good wages, I guess?'

'Yes,' said Leah; 'I wish I had as good; not that mine are to
complain of,- there's no stinginess at Thornfield; but they're not one
fifth of the sum Mrs. Poole receives. And she is laying by: she goes
every quarter to the bank at Millcote. I should not wonder but she has
saved enough to keep her independent if she liked to leave; but I
suppose she's got used to the place; and then she's not forty yet, and
strong and able for anything. It is too soon for her to give up
business.'

'She is a good hand, I daresay,' said the charwoman.

'Ah!- she understands what she has to do,- nobody better,' rejoined
Leah significantly; 'and it is not every one could fill her shoes- not
for all the money she gets.'

'That it is not!' was the reply. 'I wonder whether the master-'

The charwoman was going on; but here Leah turned and perceived
me, and she instantly gave her companion a nudge.

'Doesn't she know?' I heard the woman whisper.

Leah shook her head, and the conversation was of course dropped.
All I had gathered from it amounted to this,- that there was a mystery
at Thornfield; and that from participation in that mystery I was
purposely excluded.

Thursday came: all work had been completed the previous evening;
carpets were laid down, bed-hangings festooned, radiant white
counterpanes spread, toilet tables arranged, furniture rubbed, flowers
piled in vases: both chambers and saloons looked as fresh and bright
as hands could make them. The hall, too, was scoured; and the great
carved clock, as well as the steps and banisters of the staircase,
were polished to the brightness of glass; in the dining-room, the
sideboard flashed resplendent with plate; in the drawing-room and
boudoir, vases of exotics bloomed on all sides.

Afternoon arrived: Mrs. Fairfax assumed her best black satin
gown, her gloves, and her gold watch; for it was her part to receive
the company,- to conduct the ladies to their rooms, etc. Adele, too,
would be dressed: though I thought she had little chance of being
introduced to the party that day at least. However, to please her, I
allowed Sophie to apparel her in one of her short, full muslin frocks.
For myself, I had no need to make any change; I should not be called
upon to quit my sanctum of the schoolroom; for a sanctum it was now
become to me,- 'a very pleasant refuge in time of trouble.'

It had been a mild, serene spring day- one of those days which,
towards the end of March or the beginning of April, rise shining
over the earth as heralds of summer. It was drawing to an end now; but
the evening was even warm, and I sat at work in the schoolroom with
the window open.

'It gets late,' said Mrs. Fairfax, entering in rustling state. 'I
am glad I ordered dinner an hour after the time Mr. Rochester
mentioned; for it is past six now. I have sent John down to the
gates to see if there is anything on the road: one can see a long
way from thence in the direction of Millcote.' She went to the window.
'Here he is!' said she. 'Well, John' (leaning out), 'any news?'

'They're coming, ma'am,' was the answer. 'They'll be here in ten
minutes.'

Adele flew to the window. I followed, taking care to stand on one
side, so that, screened by the curtain, I could see without being
seen.

The ten minutes John had given seemed very long, but at last wheels
were heard; four equestrians galloped up the drive, and after them
came two open carriages. Fluttering veils and waving plumes filled the
vehicles; two of the cavaliers were young, dashing-looking
gentlemen; the third was Mr. Rochester, on his black horse, Mesrour,
Pilot bounding before him; at his side rode a lady, and he and she
were the first of the party. Her purple riding-habit almost swept the,
ground, her veil streamed long on the breeze; mingling with its
transparent folds, and gleaming through them, shone rich raven
ringlets.

'Miss Ingram!' exclaimed Mrs. Fairfax, and away she hurried to
her post below.

The cavalcade, following the sweep of the drive, quickly turned the
angle of the house, and I lost sight of it. Adele now petitioned to go
down; but I took her on my knee, and gave her to understand that she
must not on any account think of venturing in sight of the ladies,
either now or at any other time, unless expressly sent for: that Mr.
Rochester would be very angry, etc. 'Some natural tears she shed' on
being told this; but as I began to look very grave, she consented at
last to wipe them.

A joyous stir was now audible in the hall: gentlemen's deep tones
and ladies' silvery accents blent harmoniously together, and
distinguishable above all, though not loud, was the sonorous voice
of the master of Thornfield Hall, welcoming his fair and gallant
guests under its roof. Then light steps ascended the stairs; and there
was a tripping through the gallery, and soft cheerful laughs, and
opening and closing doors, and, for a time, a hush.

'Elles changent de toilettes,' said Adele; who, listening
attentively, had followed every movement; and she sighed.

'Chez maman,' said she, 'quand il y avait du monde, je le suivais
partout, au salon et a leurs chambres; souvent je regardais les femmes
de chambre coiffer et habiller les dames, et c'etait si amusant: comme
cela on apprend.'

'Don't you feel hungry, Adele?'

'Mais oui, mademoiselle: voila cinq ou six heures que nous
n'avons pas mange.'

'Well now, while the ladies are in their rooms, I will venture down
and get you something to eat.'

And issuing from my asylum with precaution, I sought a backstairs
which conducted directly to the kitchen. All in that region was fire
and commotion; the soup and fish were in the last stage of projection,
and the cook hung over her crucibles in a frame of mind and body
threatening spontaneous combustion. In the servants' hall two coachmen
and three gentlemen's gentlemen stood or sat round the fire; the
abigails, I suppose, were upstairs with their mistresses; the new
servants, that had been hired from Millcote, were bustling about
everywhere. Threading this chaos, I at last reached the larder;
there I took possession of a cold chicken, a roll of bread, some
tarts, a plate or two and a knife and fork: with this booty I made a
hasty retreat. I had regained the gallery, and was just shutting the
back-door behind me, when an accelerated hum warned me that the ladies
were about to issue from their chambers. I could not proceed to the
schoolroom without passing some of their doors, and running the risk
of being surprised with my cargo of victualage; so I stood still at
this end, which, being windowless, was dark: quite dark now, for the
sun was set and twilight gathering.

Presently the chambers gave up their fair tenants one after
another: each came out gaily and airily, with dress that gleamed
lustrous through the dusk. For a moment they stood grouped together at
the other extremity of the gallery, conversing in a key of sweet
subdued vivacity: they then descended the staircase almost as
noiselessly as a bright mist rolls down a hill. Their collective
appearance had left on me an impression of high-born elegance, such as
I had never before received.

I found Adele peeping through the schoolroom door, which she held
ajar. 'What beautiful ladies!' cried she in English. 'Oh, I wish I
might go to them! Do you think Mr. Rochester will send for us by and
by, after dinner?'

'No, indeed, I don't; Mr. Rochester has something else to think
about. Never mind the ladies to-night; perhaps you will see them
to-morrow: here is your dinner.'

She was really hungry, so the chicken and tarts served to divert
her attention for a time. It was well I secured this forage, or both
she, I, and Sophie, to whom I conveyed a share of our repast, would
have run a chance of getting no dinner at all: every one downstairs
was too much engaged to think of us. The dessert was not carried out
till after nine, and at ten footmen were still running to and fro with
trays and coffee-cups. I allowed Adele to sit up much later than
usual; for she declared she could not possibly go to sleep while the
doors kept opening and shutting below, and people bustling about.
Besides, she added, a message might possibly come from Mr. Rochester
when she was undressed; 'et alors quel dommage!'

I told her stories as long as she would listen to them; and then
for a change I took her out into the gallery. The hall lamp was now
lit, and it amused her to look over the balustrade and watch the
servants passing backwards and forwards. When the evening was far
advanced, a sound of music issued from the drawing-room, whither the
piano had been removed; Adele and I sat down on the top step of the
stairs to listen. Presently a voice blent with the rich tones of the
instrument; it was a lady who sang, and very sweet her notes were. The
solo over, a duet followed, and then a glee: a joyous conversational
murmur filled up the intervals. I listened long: suddenly I discovered
that my ear was wholly intent on analysing the mingled sounds, and
trying to discriminate amidst the confusion of accents those of Mr.
Rochester; and when it caught them, which it soon did, it found a
further task in framing the tones, rendered by distance
inarticulate, into words.

The clock struck eleven. I looked at Adele, whose head leant
against my shoulder; her eyes were waxing heavy, so I took her up in
my arms and carried her off to bed. It was near one before the
gentlemen and ladies sought their chambers.

The next day was as fine as its predecessor: it was devoted by
the party to an excursion to some site in the neighbourhood. They
set out early in the forenoon, some on horseback, the rest in
carriages; I witnessed both the departure and the return. Miss Ingram,
as before, was the only lady equestrian; and, as before, Mr. Rochester
galloped at her side; the two rode a little apart from the rest. I
pointed out this circumstance to Mrs. Fairfax, who was standing at the
window with me-

'You said it was not likely they should think of being married,'
said I, 'but you see Mr. Rochester evidently prefers her to any of the
other ladies.'

'Yes, I daresay: no doubt he admires her.'

'And she him,' I added; 'look how she leans her head towards him as
if she were conversing confidentially; I wish I could see her face;
I have never had a glimpse of it yet.'

'You will see her this evening,' answered Mrs. Fairfax. 'I happened
to remark to Mr. Rochester how much Adele wished to be introduced to
the ladies, and he said: "Oh! let her come into the drawing-room after
dinner; and request Miss Eyre to accompany her."'

'Yes; he said that from mere politeness: I need not go, I am sure,'
I answered.

'Well, I observed to him that as you were unused to company, I
did not think you would like appearing before so gay a party- all
strangers; and he replied, in his quick way- "Nonsense! If she
objects, tell her it is my particular wish; and if she resists, say
I shall come and fetch her in case of contumacy."'

'I will not give him that trouble,' I answered. 'I will go, if no
better may be; but I don't like it. Shall you be there, Mrs. Fairfax?'

'No; I pleaded off, and he admitted my plea. I'll tell you how to
manage so as to avoid the embarrassment of making a formal entrance,
which is the most disagreeable part of the business. You must go
into the drawing-room while it is empty, before the ladies leave the
dinner-table; choose your seat in any quiet nook you like; you need
not stay long after the gentlemen come in, unless you please: just let
Mr. Rochester see you are there and then slip away- nobody will notice
you.'

'Will these people remain long, do you think?'

'Perhaps two or three weeks, certainly not more. After the Easter
recess, Sir George Lynn, who was lately elected member for Millcote,
will have to go up to town and take his seat; I daresay Mr.
Rochester will accompany him: it surprises me that he has already made
so protracted a stay at Thornfield.'

It was with some trepidation that I perceived the hour approach
when I was to repair with my charge to the drawing-room. Adele had
been in a state of ecstasy all day, after hearing she was to be
presented to the ladies in the evening; and it was not till Sophie
commenced the operation of dressing her that she sobered down. Then
the importance of the process quickly steadied her, and by the time
she had her curls arranged in well-smoothed, drooping clusters, her
pink satin frock put on, her long sash tied, and her lace mittens
adjusted, she looked as grave as any judge. No need to warn her not to
disarrange her attire: when she was dressed, she sat demurely down
in her little chair, taking care previously to lift up the satin skirt
for fear she should crease it, and assured me she would not stir
thence till I was ready. This I quickly was: my best dress (the
silver-grey one, purchased for Miss Temple's wedding, and never worn
since) was soon put on; my hair was soon smoothed; my sole ornament,
the pearl brooch, soon assumed. We descended.

Fortunately there was another entrance to the drawing-room than
that through the saloon where they were all seated at dinner. We found
the apartment vacant; a large fire burning silently on the marble
hearth, and wax candles shining in bright solitude, amid the exquisite
flowers with which the tables were adorned. The crimson curtain hung
before the arch: slight as was the separation this drapery formed from
the party in the adjoining saloon, they spoke in so low a key that
nothing of their conversation could be distinguished beyond a soothing
murmur.

Adele, who appeared to be still under the influence of a most
solemnising impression, sat down, without a word, on the footstool I
pointed out to her. I retired to a window-seat, and taking a book from
a table near, endeavoured to read. Adele brought her stool to my feet;
ere long she touched my knee.

'What is it, Adele?'

'Est-ce que je ne puis pas prendre une seule de ces fleurs
magnifiques, mademoiselle? Seulement pour completer ma toilette.'

'You think too much of your "toilette," Adele: but you may have a
flower.' And I took a rose from a vase and fastened it in her sash.
She sighed a sigh of ineffable satisfaction, as if her cup of
happiness were now full. I turned my face away to conceal a smile I
could not suppress: there was something ludicrous as well as painful
in the little Parisienne's earnest and innate devotion to matters of
dress.

A soft sound of rising now became audible; the curtain was swept
back from the arch; through it appeared the dining-room, with its
lit lustre pouring down light on the silver and glass of a magnificent
dessert-service covering a long table; a band of ladies stood in the
opening; they entered, and the curtain fell behind them.

There were but eight; yet, somehow, as they flocked in, they gave
the impression of a much larger number. Some of them were very tall;
many were dressed in white; and all had a sweeping amplitude of
array that seemed to magnify their persons as a mist magnifies the
moon. I rose and curtseyed to them: one or two bent their heads in
return, the others only stared at me.

They dispersed about the room, reminding me, by the lightness and
buoyancy of their movements, of a flock of white plumy birds. Some
of them threw themselves in half-reclining positions on the sofas
and ottomans: some bent over the tables and examined the flowers and
books: the rest gathered in a group round the fire: all talked in a
low but clear tone which seemed habitual to them. I knew their names
afterwards, and may as well mention them now.

First, there was Mrs. Eshton and two of her daughters. She had
evidently been a handsome woman, and was well preserved still. Of
her daughters, the eldest, Amy, was rather little: naive, and
child-like in face and manner, and piquant in form; her white muslin
dress and blue sash became her well. The second, Louisa, was taller
and more elegant in figure; with a very pretty face, of that order the
French term minois chiffone: both sisters were fair as lilies.

Lady Lynn was a large and stout personage of about forty, very
erect, very haughty-looking, richly dressed in a satin robe of
changeful sheen: her dark hair shone glossily under the shade of an
azure plume, and within the circlet of a band of gems.

Mrs. Colonel Dent was less showy; but, I thought, more lady-like.
She had a slight figure, a pale, gentle face, and fair hair. Her black
satin dress, her scarf of rich foreign lace, and her pearl
ornaments, pleased me better than the rainbow radiance of the titled
dame.

But the three most distinguished- partly, perhaps, because the
tallest figures of the band- were the Dowager Lady Ingram and her
daughters, Blanche and Mary. They were all three of the loftiest
stature of women. The Dowager might be between forty and fifty: her
shape was still fine; her hair (by candlelight at least) still
black; her teeth, too, were still apparently perfect. Most people
would have termed her a splendid woman of her age: and so she was,
no doubt, physically speaking; but then there was an expression of
almost insupportable haughtiness in her bearing and countenance. She
had Roman features and a double chin, disappearing into a throat
like a pillar: these features appeared to me not only inflated and
darkened, but even furrowed with pride; and the chin was sustained
by the same principle, in a position of almost preternatural
erectness. She had, likewise, a fierce and a hard eye: it reminded
me of Mrs. Reed's; she mouthed her words in speaking; her voice was
deep, its inflections very pompous, very dogmatical,- very
intolerable, in short. A crimson velvet robe, and a shawl turban of
some gold-wrought Indian fabric, invested her (I suppose she
thought) with a truly imperial dignity.

Blanche and Mary were of equal stature,- straight and tall as
poplars. Mary was too slim for her height, but Blanche was moulded
like a Dian. I regarded her, of course, with special interest.
First, I wished to see whether her appearance accorded with Mrs.
Fairfax's description; secondly, whether it at all resembled the fancy
miniature I had painted of her; and thirdly- it will out!- whether
it were such as I should fancy likely to suit Mr. Rochester's taste.

As far as person went, she answered point for point, both to my
picture and Mrs. Fairfax's description. The noble bust, the sloping
shoulders, the graceful neck, the dark eyes and black ringlets were
all there;- but her face? Her face was like her mother's; a youthful
unfurrowed likeness: the same low brow, the same high features, the
same pride. It was not, however, so saturnine a pride! she laughed
continually; her laugh was satirical, and so was the habitual
expression of her arched and haughty lip.

Genius is said to be self-conscious. I cannot tell whether Miss
Ingram was a genius, but she was self-conscious- remarkably
self-conscious indeed. She entered into a discourse on botany with the
gentle Mrs. Dent. It seemed Mrs. Dent had not studied that science:
though, as she said, she liked flowers, 'especially wild ones'; Miss
Ingram had, and she ran over its vocabulary with an air. I presently
perceived she was (what is vernacularly termed) trailing Mrs. Dent;
that is, playing on her ignorance: her trail might be clever, but it
was decidedly not good-natured. She played: her execution was
brilliant; she sang, her voice was fine; she talked French apart to
her mama; and she talked it well, with fluency and with a good accent.

Mary had a milder and more open countenance than Blanche; softer
features too, and a skin some shades fairer (Miss Ingram was dark as a
Spaniard)- but Mary was deficient in life: her face lacked expression,
her eye lustre; she had nothing to say, and having once taken her
seat, remained fixed like a statue in its niche. The sisters were both
attired in spotless white.

And did I now think Miss Ingram such a choice as Mr. Rochester
would be likely to make? I could not tell- I did not know his taste in
female beauty. If he liked the majestic, she was the very type of
majesty: then she was accomplished, sprightly. Most gentlemen would
admire her, I thought; and that he did admire her, I already seemed to
have obtained proof: to remove the last shade of doubt, it remained
but to see them together.

You are not to suppose, reader, that Adele has all this time been
sitting motionless on the stool at my feet: no; when the ladies
entered, she rose, advanced to meet them, made a stately reverence,
and said with gravity-

'Bon jour, mesdames.'

And Miss Ingram had looked down at her with a mocking air, and
exclaimed, 'Oh, what a little puppet!'

Lady Lynn had remarked, 'It is Mr. Rochester's ward, I suppose- the
little French girl he was speaking of.'

Mrs. Dent had kindly taken her hand, and given her a kiss. Amy
and Louisa Eshton had cried out simultaneously-

'What a love of a child!'

And then they had called her to a sofa, where she now sat,
ensconced between them, chattering alternately in French and broken
English; absorbing not only the young ladies' attention, but that of
Mrs. Eshton and Lady Lynn, and getting spoilt to her heart's content.

At last coffee is brought in, and the gentlemen are summoned. I sit
in the shade- if any shade there be in this brilliantly-lit apartment;
the window-curtain half hides me. Again the arch yawns; they come. The
collective appearance of the gentlemen, like that of the ladies, is
very imposing: they are all costumed in black; most of them are
tall, some young. Henry and Frederick Lynn are very dashing sparks
indeed; and Colonel Dent is a fine soldierly man. Mr. Eshton, the
magistrate of the district, is gentleman-like: his hair is quite
white, his eyebrows and whiskers still dark, which gives him something
of the appearance of a 'pere noble de theatre.' Lord Ingram, like
his sisters, is very tall; like them, also, he is handsome; but he
shares Mary's apathetic and listless look: he seems to have more
length of limb than vivacity of blood or vigour of brain.

And where is Mr. Rochester?

He comes in last: I am not looking at the arch, yet I see him
enter. I try to concentrate my attention on those netting-needles,
on the meshes of the purse I am forming- I wish to think only of the
work I have in my hands, to see only the silver beads and silk threads
that lie in my lap; whereas, I distinctly behold his figure, and I
inevitably recall the moment when I last saw it; just after I had
rendered him, what he deemed, an essential service, and he, holding my
hand, and looking down on my face, surveyed me with eyes that revealed
a heart full and eager to overflow; in whose emotions I had a part.
How near had I approached him at that moment! What had occurred since,
calculated to change his and my relative positions? Yet now, how
distant, how far estranged we were! So far estranged, that I did not
expect him to come and speak to me. I did not wonder, when, without
looking at me, he took a seat at the other side of the room, and began
conversing with some of the ladies.

No sooner did I see that his attention was riveted on them, and
that I might gaze without being observed, than my eyes were drawn
involuntarily to his face; I could not keep their lids under
control: they would rise, and the irids would fix on him. I looked,
and had an acute pleasure in looking,- a precious yet poignant
pleasure; pure gold, with a steely point of agony: a pleasure like
what the thirst-perishing man might feel who knows the well to which
he has crept is poisoned, yet stoops and drinks divine draughts
nevertheless.

Most true is it that 'beauty is in the eye of the gazer.' My
master's colourless, olive face, square, massive brow, broad and jetty
eyebrows, deep eyes, strong features, firm, grim mouth,- all energy,
decision, will,- were not beautiful, according to rule; but they
were more than beautiful to me; they were full of an interest, an
influence that quite mastered me,- that took my feelings from my own
power and fettered them in his. I had not intended to love him; the
reader knows I had wrought hard to extirpate from my soul the germs of
love there detected; and now, at the first renewed view of him, they
spontaneously arrived, green and strong! He made me love him without
looking at me.

I compared him with his guests. What was the gallant grace of the
Lynns, the languid elegance of Lord Ingram,- even the military
distinction of Colonel Dent, contrasted with his look of native pith
and genuine power? I had no sympathy in their appearance, their
expression: yet I could imagine that most observers would call them
attractive, handsome, imposing; while they would pronounce Mr.
Rochester at once harsh-featured and melancholy-looking. I saw them
smile, laugh- it was nothing; the light of the candles had as much
soul in it as their smile; the tinkle of the bell as much significance
as their laugh. I saw Mr. Rochester smile:- his stern features
softened; his eye grew both brilliant and gentle, its ray both
searching and sweet. He was talking, at the moment, to Louisa and
Amy Eshton. I wondered to see them receive with calm that look which
seemed to me so penetrating: I expected their eyes to fall, their
colour to rise under it; yet I was glad when I found they were in no
sense moved. 'He is not to them what he is to me,' I thought: 'he is
not of their kind. I believe he is of mine;- I am sure he is- I feel
akin to him- I understand the language of his countenance and
movements: though rank and wealth sever us widely, I have something in
my brain and heart, in my blood and nerves, that assimilates me
mentally to him. Did I say, a few days since, that I had nothing to do
with him but to receive my salary at his hands? Did I forbid myself to
think of him in any other light than as a paymaster? Blasphemy against
nature! Every good, true, vigorous feeling I have gathers
impulsively round him. I know I must conceal my sentiments: I must
smother hope; I must remember that he cannot care much for me. For
when I say that I am of his kind, I do not mean that I have his
force to influence, and his spell to attract; I mean only that I
have certain tastes and feelings in common with him. I must, then,
repeat continually that we are for ever sundered:- and yet, while I
breathe and think, I must love him.'

Coffee is handed. The ladies, since the gentlemen entered, have
become lively as larks; conversation waxes brisk and merry. Colonel
Dent and Mr. Eshton argue on politics; their wives listen. The two
proud dowagers, Lady Lynn and Lady Ingram, confabulate together. Sir
George- whom, by the bye, I have forgotten to describe,- a very big,
and very fresh-looking country gentleman, stands before their sofa,
coffee-cup in hand, and occasionally puts in a word. Mr. Frederick
Lynn has taken a seat beside Mary Ingram, and is showing her the
engravings of a splendid volume: she looks, smiles now and then, but
apparently says little. The tall and phlegmatic Lord Ingram leans with
folded arms on the chair-back of the little and lively Amy Eshton; she
glances up at him, and chatters like a wren: she likes him better than
she does Mr. Rochester. Henry Lynn has taken possession of an
ottoman at the feet of Louisa: Adele shares it with him: he is
trying to talk French with her, and Louisa laughs at his blunders.
With whom will Blanche Ingram pair? She is standing alone at the
table, bending gracefully over an album. She seems waiting to be
sought; but she will not wait too long: she herself selects a mate.

Mr. Rochester, having quitted the Eshtons, stands on the hearth
as solitary as she stands by the table: she confronts him, taking
her station on the opposite side of the mantelpiece.

'Mr. Rochester, I thought you were not fond of children?'

'Nor am I.'

'Then, what induced you to take charge of such a little doll as
that?' (pointing to Adele). 'Where did you pick her up?'

'I did not pick her up; she was left on my hands.'

'You should have sent her to school.'

'I could not afford it: schools are so dear.'

'Why, I suppose you have a governess for her: I saw a person with
her just now- is she gone? Oh, no! there she is still, behind the
window-curtain. You pay her, of course; I should think it quite as
expensive,- more so; for you have them both to keep in addition.'

I feared- or should I say, hoped?- the allusion to me would make
Mr. Rochester glance my way; and I involuntarily shrank farther into
the shade: but he never turned his eyes.

'I have not considered the subject,' said he indifferently, looking
straight before him.

'No, you men never do consider economy and common sense. You should
hear mama on the chapter of governesses: Mary and I have had, I should
think, a dozen at least in our day; half of them detestable and the
rest ridiculous, and all incubi- were they not, mama?'

'Did you speak, my own?'

The young lady thus claimed as the dowager's special property,
reiterated her question with an explanation.

'My dearest, don't mention governesses; the word makes me
nervous. I have suffered a martyrdom from their incompetency and
caprice. I thank Heaven I have now done with them!'

Mrs. Dent here bent over to the pious lady, and whispered something
in her car; I suppose, from the answer elicited, it was a reminder
that one of the anathematised race was present.

'Tant pis!' said her ladyship, 'I hope it may do her good!' Then,
in a lower tone, but still loud enough for me to hear, 'I noticed her;
I am a judge of physiognomy, and in hers I see all the faults of her
class.'

'What are they, madam?' inquired Mr. Rochester aloud.

'I will tell you in your private ear,' replied she, wagging her
turban three times with portentous significancy.

'But my curiosity will be past its appetite; it craves food now.'

'Ask Blanche; she is nearer you than I.'

'Oh, don't refer him to me, mama! I have just one word to say of
the whole tribe; they are a nuisance. Not that I ever suffered much
from them; I took care to turn the tables. What tricks Theodore and
I used to play on our Miss Wilsons, and Mrs. Greys, and Madame
Jouberts! Mary was always too sleepy to join in a plot with spirit.
The best fun was with Madame Joubert: Miss Wilson was a poor sickly
thing, lachrymose and low-spirited, not worth the trouble of
vanquishing, in short; and Mrs. Grey was coarse and insensible; no
blow took effect on her. But poor Madame Joubert! I see her yet in her
raging passions, when we had driven her to extremities- spilt our tea,
crumbled our bread and butter, tossed our books up to the ceiling, and
played a charivari with the ruler and desk, the fender and fire-irons.
Theodore, do you remember those merry days?'

'Yaas, to be sure I do,' drawled Lord Ingram; 'and the poor old
stick used to cry out "Oh you villains childs!"- and then we
sermonised her on the presumption of attempting to teach such clever
blades as we were, when she was herself so ignorant.'

'We did; and, Tedo, you know, I helped you in prosecuting (or
persecuting) your tutor, whey-faced Mr. Vining- the parson in the pip,
as we used to call him. He and Miss Wilson took the liberty of falling
in love with each other- at least Tedo and I thought so; we
surprised sundry tender glances and sighs which we interpreted as
tokens of "la belle passion," and I promise you the public soon had
the benefit of our discovery; we employed it as a sort of lever to
hoist our dead-weights from the house. Dear mama, there, as soon as
she got an inkling of the business, found out that it was of an
immoral tendency. Did you not, my lady-mother?'

'Certainly, my best. And I was quite right: depend on that: there
are a thousand reasons why liaisons between governesses and tutors
should never be tolerated a moment in any well-regulated house;
firstly-'

'Oh, gracious, mama! Spare us the enumeration! Au reste, we all
know them: danger of bad example to innocence of childhood;
distractions and consequent neglect of duty on the part of the
attached- mutual alliance and reliance; confidence thence resulting-
insolence accompanying- mutiny and general blowup. Am I right,
Baroness Ingram, of Ingram Park?'

'My lily-flower, you are right now, as always.'

'Then no more need be said: change the subject.'

Amy Eshton, not hearing or not heeding this dictum, joined in
with her soft, infantine tone: 'Louisa and I used to quiz our
governess too; but she was such a good creature, she would bear
anything: nothing put her out. She was never cross with us; was she,
Louisa?'

'No, never: we might do what we pleased; ransack her desk and her
workbox, and turn her drawers inside out; and she was so good-natured,
she would give us anything we asked for.'

'I suppose, now,' said Miss Ingram, curling her lip
sarcastically, 'we shall have an abstract of the memoirs of all the
governesses extant: in order to avert such a visitation, I again
move the introduction of a new topic. Mr. Rochester, do you second
my motion?'

'Madam, I support you on this point, as on every other.'

'Then on me be the onus of bringing it forward. Signior Eduardo,
are you in voice to-night?'

'Donna Bianca, if you command it, I will be.'

'Then, signior, I lay on you my sovereign behest to furbish up your
lungs and other vocal organs, as they will be wanted on my royal
service.'

'Who would not be the Rizzio of so divine a Mary?'

'A fig for Rizzio!' cried she, tossing her head with all its curls,
as she moved to the piano. 'It is my opinion the fiddler David must
have been an insipid sort of fellow; I like black Bothwell better:
to my mind a man is nothing without a spice of the devil in him; and
history may say what it will of James Hepburn, but I have a notion, he
was just the sort of wild, fierce, bandit hero whom I could have
consented to gift with my hand.'

'Gentlemen, you hear! Now which of you most resembles Bothwell?'
cried Mr. Rochester.

'I should say the preference lies with you,' responded Colonel
Dent.

'On my honour, I am much obliged to you,' was the reply.

Miss Ingram, who had now seated herself with proud grace at the
piano, spreading out her snowy robes in queenly amplitude, commenced a
brilliant prelude; talking meantime. She appeared to be on her high
horse to-night; both her words and her air seemed intended to excite
not only the admiration, but the amazement of her auditors: she was
evidently bent on striking them as something very dashing and daring
indeed.

'Oh, I am so sick of the young men of the present day!' exclaimed
she, rattling away at the instrument. 'Poor, puny things, not fit to
stir a step beyond papa's park gates: nor to go even so far without
mama's permission and guardianship! Creatures so absorbed in care
about their pretty faces, and their white hands, and their small feet;
as if a man had anything to do with beauty! As if loveliness were
not the special prerogative of woman- her legitimate appanage and
heritage! I grant an ugly woman is a blot on the fair face of
creation; but as to the gentlemen, let them be solicitous to possess
only strength and valour: let their motto be:- Hunt, shoot, and fight:
the rest is not worth a fillip. Such should be my device, were I a
man.'

'Whenever I marry,' she continued after a pause which none
interrupted, 'I am resolved my husband shall not be a rival, but a
foil to me. I will suffer no competitor near the throne; I shall exact
an undivided homage: his devotions shall not be shared between me
and the shape he sees in his mirror. Mr. Rochester, now sing, and I
will play for you.'

'I am all obedience,' was the response.

'Here then is a Corsair-song. Know that I doat on Corsairs; and for
that reason, sing it con spirito.'

'Commands from Miss Ingram's lips would put spirit into a mug of
milk and water.'

'Take care, then: if you don't please me, I will shame you by
showing how such things should be done.'

'That is offering a premium on incapacity: I shall now endeavour to
fail.'

'Gardez-vous en bien! If you err wilfully, I shall devise a
proportionate punishment.'

'Miss Ingram ought to be clement, for she has it in her power to
inflict a chastisement beyond mortal endurance.'

'Ha! explain!' commanded the lady.

'Pardon me, madam: no need of explanation; your own fine sense must
inform you that one of your frowns would be a sufficient substitute
for capital punishment.'

'Sing!' said she, and again touching the piano, she commenced an
accompaniment in spirited style.

'Now is my time to slip away,' thought I: but the tones that then
severed the air arrested me. Mrs. Fairfax had said Mr. Rochester
possessed a fine voice: he did- a mellow, powerful bass, into which he
threw his own feeling, his own force: finding a way through the ear to
the heart, and there waking sensation strangely. I waited till the
last deep and full vibration had expired- till the tide of talk,
checked an instant, had resumed its flow; I then quitted my
sheltered corner and made my exit by the side-door, which was
fortunately near. Thence a narrow passage led into the hall: in
crossing it, I perceived my sandal was loose; I stopped to tie it,
kneeling down for that purpose on the mat at the foot of the
staircase. I heard the dining-room door unclose; a gentleman came out;
rising hastily, I stood face to face with him: it was Mr. Rochester.

'How do you do?' he asked.

'I am very well, sir.'

'Why did you not come and speak to me in the room?'

I thought I might have retorted the question on him who put it: but
I would not take that freedom. I answered-

'I did not wish to disturb you, as you seemed engaged, sir.'

'What have you been doing during my absence?'

'Nothing particular; teaching Adele as usual.'

'And getting a good deal paler than you were- as I saw at first
sight. What is the matter?'

'Nothing at all, sir.'

'Did you take any cold that night you half drowned me?'

'Not the least.'

'Return to the drawing-room: you are deserting too early.'

'I am tired, sir.'

He looked at me for a minute.

'And a little depressed,' he said. 'What about? Tell me.'

'Nothing- nothing, sir. I am not depressed.'

'But I affirm that you are: so much depressed that a few more words
would bring tears to your eyes- indeed, they are there now, shining
and swimming; and a bead has slipped from the lash and fallen on to
the flag. If I had time, and was not in mortal dread of some prating
prig of a servant passing, I would know what all this means. Well,
to-night I excuse you; but understand that so long as my visitors
stay, I expect you to appear in the drawing-room every evening; it
is my wish; don't neglect it. Now go, and send Sophie for Adele.
Good-night, my-' He stopped, bit his lip, and abruptly left me.

                     CHAPTER XVIII


MERRY days were these at Thornfield Hall; and busy days too: how
different from the first three months of stillness, monotony, and
solitude I had passed beneath its roof! All sad feelings seemed now
driven from the house, all gloomy associations forgotten: there was
life everywhere, movement all day long. You could not now traverse the
gallery, once so hushed, nor enter the front chambers, once so
tenantless, without encountering a smart lady's-maid or a dandy valet.

The kitchen, the butler's pantry, the servants' hall, the
entrance hall, were equally alive; and the saloons were only left void
and still when the blue sky and halcyon sunshine of the genial
spring weather called their occupants out into the grounds. Even
when that weather was broken, and continuous rain set in for some
days, no damp seemed cast over enjoyment: indoor amusements only
became more lively and varied, in consequence of the stop put to
outdoor gaiety.

I wondered what they were going to do the first evening a change of
entertainment was proposed: they spoke of 'playing charades,' but in
my ignorance I did not understand the term. The servants were called
in, the dining-room tables wheeled away, the lights otherwise
disposed, the chairs placed in a semicircle opposite the arch. While
Mr. Rochester and the other gentlemen directed these alterations,
the ladies were running up and down stairs ringing for their maids.
Mrs. Fairfax was summoned to give information respecting the resources
of the house in shawls, dresses, draperies of any kind; and certain
wardrobes of the third storey were ransacked, and their contents, in
the shape of brocaded and hooped petticoats, satin sacques, black
modes, lace lappets, etc., were brought down in armfuls by the
abigails; then a selection was made, and such things as were chosen
were carried to the boudoir within the drawing-room.

Meantime, Mr. Rochester had again summoned the ladies round him,
and was selecting certain of their number to be of his party. 'Miss
Ingram is mine, of course,' said he: afterwards he named the two
Misses Eshton, and Mrs. Dent. He looked at me: I happened to be near
him, as I had been fastening the clasp of Mrs. Dent's bracelet,
which had got loose.

'Will you play?' he asked. I shook my head. He did not insist,
which I rather feared he would have done; he allowed me to return
quietly to my usual seat.

He and his aids now withdrew behind the curtain: the other party,
which was headed by Colonel Dent, sat down on the crescent of
chairs. One of the gentlemen, Mr. Eshton, observing me, seemed to
propose that I should be asked to join them; but Lady Ingram instantly
negatived the notion.

'No,' I heard her say: 'she looks too stupid for any game of the
sort.'

Ere long a bell tinkled, and the curtain drew up. Within the
arch, the bulky figure of Sir George Lynn, whom Mr. Rochester had
likewise chosen, was seen enveloped in a white sheet: before him, on a
table, lay open a large book; and at his side stood Amy Eshton, draped
in Mr. Rochester's cloak, and holding a book in her hand. Somebody,
unseen, rang the bell merrily; then Adele (who had insisted on being
one of her guardian's party), bounded forward, scattering round her
the contents of a basket of flowers she carried on her arm. Then
appeared the magnificent figure of Miss Ingram, clad in white, a
long veil on her head, and a wreath of roses round her brow; by her
side walked Mr. Rochester, and together they drew near the table. They
knelt; while Mrs. Dent and Louisa Eshton, dressed also in white,
took up their stations behind them. A ceremony followed, in dumb show,
in which it was easy to recognise the pantomime of a marriage. At
its termination, Colonel Dent, and his party consulted in whispers for
two minutes, then the Colonel called out-

'Bride!' Mr. Rochester bowed, and the curtain fell.

A considerable interval elapsed before it again rose. Its second
rising displayed a more elaborately prepared scene than the last.
The drawing-room, as I have before observed, was raised two steps
above the dining-room, and on the top of the upper step, placed a yard
or two back within the room, appeared a large marble basin, which I
recognised as an ornament of the conservatory- where it usually stood,
surrounded by exotics, and tenanted by gold fish- and whence it must
have been transported with some trouble, on account of its size and
weight.

Seated on the carpet, by the side of this basin, was seen Mr.
Rochester, costumed in shawls, with a turban on his head. His dark
eyes and swarthy skin and Paynim features suited the costume
exactly: he looked the very model of an Eastern emir, an agent or a
victim of the bowstring. Presently advanced into view Miss Ingram.
She, too, was attired in oriental fashion: a crimson scarf tied
sash-like round the waist; an embroidered handkerchief knotted about
her temples; her beautifully moulded arms bare, one of them upraised
in the act of supporting a pitcher, poised gracefully on her head.
Both her cast of form and feature, her complexion and her general air,
suggested the idea of some Israelitish princess of the patriarchal
days; and such was doubtless the character she intended to represent.

She approached the basin, and bent over it as if to fill her
pitcher; she again lifted it to her head. The personage on the
well-brink now seemed to accost her; to make some request:- 'She
hasted, let down her pitcher on her hand, and gave him to drink.' From
the bosom of his robe he then produced a casket, opened it and
showed magnificent bracelets and earrings; she acted astonishment
and admiration; kneeling, he laid the treasure at her feet;
incredulity and delight were expressed by her looks and gestures;
the stranger fastened the bracelets on her arms and the rings in her
ears. It was Eliezer and Rebecca: the camels only were wanting.

The divining party again laid their heads together: apparently they
could not agree about the word or syllable the scene illustrated.
Colonel Dent, their spokesman, demanded 'the tableau of the whole';
whereupon the curtain again descended.

On its third rising only a portion of the drawing-room was
disclosed; the rest being concealed by a screen, hung with some sort
of dark and coarse drapery. The marble basin was removed; in its place
stood a deal table and a kitchen chair: these objects were visible
by a very dim light proceeding from a horn lantern, the wax candles
being all extinguished.

Amidst this sordid scene, sat a man with his clenched hands resting
on his knees, and his eyes bent on the ground. I knew Mr. Rochester;
though the begrimed face, the disordered dress (his coat hanging loose
from one arm, as if it had been almost torn from his back in a
scuffle), the desperate and scowling countenance the rough,
bristling hair might well have disguised him. As he moved, a chain
clanked; to his wrists were attached fetters.

'Bridewell!' exclaimed Colonel Dent, and the charade was solved.

A sufficient interval having elapsed for the performers to resume
their ordinary costume, they re-entered the dining-room. Mr. Rochester
led in Miss Ingram; she was complimenting him on his acting.

'Do you know,' said she, 'that, of the three characters, I liked
you in the last best? Oh, had you but lived a few years earlier,
what a gallant gentleman-highwayman you would have made!'

'Is all the soot washed from my face?' he asked, turning it towards
her.

'Alas! yes: the more's the pity! Nothing could be more becoming
to your complexion than that ruffian's rouge.'

'You would like a hero of the road then?'

'An English hero of the road would be the next best thing to an
Italian bandit; and that could only be surpassed by a Levantine
pirate.'

'Well, whatever I am, remember you are my wife; we were married
an hour since, in the presence of all these witnesses.' She giggled,
and her colour rose.

'Now, Dent,' continued Mr. Rochester, 'it is your turn.' And as the
other party withdrew, he and his band took the vacated seats. Miss
Ingram placed herself at her leader's right hand; the other diviners
filled the chairs on each side of him and her. I did not now watch the
actors; I no longer waited with interest for the curtain to rise; my
attention was absorbed by the spectators; my eyes, erewhile fixed on
the arch, were now irresistibly attracted to the semicircle of chairs.
What charade Colonel Dent and his party played, what word they
chose, how they acquitted themselves, I no longer remember; but I
still see the consultation which followed each scene: I see Mr.
Rochester turn to Miss Ingram, and Miss Ingram to him; I see her
incline her head towards him, till the jetty curls almost touch his
shoulder and wave against his cheek; I hear their mutual
whisperings; I recall their interchanged glances; and something even
of the feeling roused by the spectacle returns in memory at this
moment.

I have told you, reader, that I had learnt to love Mr. Rochester: I
could not unlove him now, merely because I found that he had ceased to
notice me- because I might pass hours in his presence, and he would
never once turn his eyes in my direction- because I saw all his
attentions appropriated by a great lady, who scorned to touch me
with the hem of her robes as she passed; who, if ever her dark and
imperious eye fell on me by chance, would withdraw it instantly as
from an object too mean to merit observation. I could not unlove
him, because I felt sure he would soon marry this very lady- because I
read daily in her a proud security in his intentions respecting her-
because I witnessed hourly in him a style of courtship which, if
careless and choosing rather to be sought than to seek, was yet, in
its very carelessness, captivating, and in its very pride,
irresistible.

There was nothing to cool or banish love in these circumstances,
though much to create despair. Much too, you will think, reader, to
engender jealousy: if a woman, in my position, could presume to be
jealous of a woman in Miss Ingram's. But I was not jealous: or very
rarely;- the nature of the pain I suffered could not be explained by
that word. Miss Ingram was a mark beneath jealousy: she was too
inferior to excite the feeling. Pardon the seeming paradox; I mean
what I say. She was very showy, but she was not genuine: she had a
fine person, many brilliant attainments; but her mind was poor, her
heart barren by nature: nothing bloomed spontaneously on that soil; no
unforced natural fruit delighted by its freshness. She was not good;
she was not original: she used to repeat sounding phrases from
books: she never offered, nor had, an opinion of her own. She
advocated a high tone of sentiment; but she did not know the
sensations of sympathy and pity; tenderness and truth were not in her.
Too often she betrayed this, by the undue vent she gave to a
spiteful antipathy she had conceived against little Adele: pushing her
away with some contumelious epithet if she happened to approach her;
sometimes ordering her from the room, and always treating her with
coldness and acrimony. Other eyes besides mine watched these
manifestations of character- watched them closely, keenly, shrewdly.
Yes; the future bridegroom, Mr. Rochester himself, exercised over
his intended a ceaseless surveillance; and it was from this
sagacity- this guardedness of his- this perfect, clear consciousness
of his fair one's defects- this obvious absence of passion in his
sentiments towards her, that my ever-torturing pain arose.

I saw he was going to marry her, for family, perhaps political
reasons, because her rank and connections suited him; I felt he had
not given her his love, and that her qualifications were ill adapted
to win from him that treasure. This was the point- this was where
the nerve was touched and teased- this was where the fever was
sustained and fed: she could not charm him.

If she had managed the victory at once, and he had yielded and
sincerely laid his heart at her feet, I should have covered my face,
turned to the wall, and (figuratively) have died to them. If Miss
Ingram had been a good and noble woman, endowed with force, fervour,
kindness, sense, I should have had one vital struggle with two tigers-
jealousy and despair: then, my heart torn out and devoured, I should
have admired her- acknowledged her excellence, and been quiet for
the rest of my days: and the more absolute her superiority, the deeper
would have been my admiration- the more truly tranquil my
quiescence. But as matters really stood, to watch Miss Ingram's
efforts at fascinating Mr. Rochester, to witness their repeated
failure- herself unconscious that they did fail; vainly fancying
that each shaft launched hit the mark, and infatuatedly pluming
herself on success, when her pride and self-complacency repelled
further and further what she wished to allure- to witness this, was to
be at once under ceaseless excitation and ruthless restraint.

Because, when she failed, I saw how she might have succeeded.
Arrows that continually glanced off from Mr. Rochester's breast and
fell harmless at his feet, might, I knew, if shot by a surer hand,
have quivered keen in his proud heart- have called love into his stern
eye, and softness into his sardonic face; or, better still, without
weapons a silent conquest might have been won.

'Why can she not influence him more, when she is privileged to draw
so near to him?' I asked myself. 'Surely she cannot truly like him, or
not like him with true affection! If she did, she need not coin her
smiles so lavishly, flash her glances so unremittingly, manufacture
airs so elaborate, graces so multitudinous. It seems to me that she
might, by merely sitting quietly at his side, saying little and
looking less, get nigher his heart. I have seen in his face a far
different expression from that which hardens it now while she is so
vivaciously accosting him; but then it came of itself: it was not
elicited by meretricious arts and calculated manoeuvres; and one had
but to accept it- to answer what he asked without pretension, to
address him when needful without grimace- and it increased and grew
kinder and more genial, and warmed one like a fostering sunbeam. How
will she manage to please him when they are married? I do not think
she will manage it; and yet it might be managed; and his wife might, I
verily believe, be the very happiest woman the sun shines on.'

I have not yet said anything condemnatory of Mr. Rochester's
project of marrying for interest and connections. It surprised me when
I first discovered that such was his intention: I had thought him a
man unlikely to be influenced by motives so commonplace in his
choice of a wife; but the longer I considered the position, education,
etc., of the parties, the less I felt justified in judging and blaming
either him or Miss Ingram for acting in conformity to ideas and
principles instilled into them, doubtless, from their childhood. All
their class held these principles: I supposed, then, they had
reasons for holding them such as I could not fathom. It seemed to me
that, were I a gentleman like him, I would take to my bosom only
such a wife as I could love; but the very obviousness of the
advantages to the husband's own happiness offered by this plan
convinced me that there must be arguments against its general adoption
of which I was quite ignorant: otherwise I felt sure all the world
would act as I wished to act.

But in other points, as well as this, I was growing very lenient to
my master: I was forgetting all his faults, for which I had once
kept a sharp look-out. It had formerly been my endeavour to study
all sides of his character: to take the bad with the good; and from
the just weighing of both, to form an equitable judgment. Now I saw no
bad. The sarcasm that had repelled, the harshness that had startled me
once, were only like keen condiments in a choice dish: their
presence was pungent, but their absence would be felt as comparatively
insipid. And as for the vague something- was it a sinister or a
sorrowful, a designing or a desponding expression?- that opened upon a
careful observer, now and then, in his eye, and closed again before
one could fathom the strange depth partially disclosed; that something
which used to make me fear and shrink, as if I had been wandering
amongst volcanic-looking hills, and had suddenly felt the ground
quiver and seen it gape: that something, I, at intervals, beheld
still; and with throbbing heart, but not with palsied nerves.
Instead of wishing to shun, I longed only to dare- to divine it; and I
thought Miss Ingram happy, because one day she might look into the
abyss at her leisure, explore its secrets and analyse their nature.

Meantime, while I thought only of my master and his future bride-
saw only them, heard only their discourse, and considered only their
movements of importance- the rest of the party were occupied with
their own separate interests and pleasures. The Ladies Lynn and Ingram
continued to consort in solemn conferences, where they nodded their
two turbans at each other, and held up their four hands in confronting
gestures of surprise, or mystery, or horror, according to the theme on
which their gossip ran, like a pair of magnified puppets. Mild Mrs.
Dent talked with good-natured Mrs. Eshton; and the two sometimes
bestowed a courteous word or smile on me. Sir George Lynn, Colonel
Dent, and Mr. Eshton discussed politics, or county affairs, or justice
business. Lord Ingram flirted with Amy Eshton; Louisa played and
sang to and with one of the Messrs. Lynn; and Mary Ingram listened
languidly to the gallant speeches of the other. Sometimes all, as with
one consent, suspended their by-play to observe and listen to the
principal actors: for, after all, Mr. Rochester and- because closely
connected with him- Miss Ingram were the life and soul of the party.
If he was absent from the room an hour, a perceptible dulness seemed
to steal over the spirits of his guests; and his re-entrance was
sure to give a fresh impulse to the vivacity of conversation.

The want of his animating influence appeared to be peculiarly
felt one day that he had been summoned to Millcote on business, and
was not likely to return till late. The afternoon was wet: a walk
the party had proposed to take to see a gipsy camp, lately pitched
on a common beyond Hay, was consequently deferred. Some of the
gentlemen were gone to the stables: the younger ones, together with
the younger ladies, were playing billiards in the billiard-room. The
dowagers Ingram and Lynn sought solace in a quiet game at cards.
Blanche Ingram, after having repelled, by supercilious taciturnity,
some efforts of Mrs. Dent and Mrs. Eshton to draw her into
conversation, had first murmured over some sentimental tunes and
airs on the piano, and then, having fetched a novel from the
library, had flung herself in haughty listlessness on a sofa, and
prepared to beguile, by the spell of fiction, the tedious hours of
absence. The room and the house were silent: only now and then the
merriment of the billiard-players was heard from above.

It was verging on dusk, and the dock had already given warning of
the hour to dress for dinner, when little Adele, who knelt by me in
the drawing-room window-seat, suddenly exclaimed-

'Voila Monsieur Rochester, qui revient!'

I turned, and Miss Ingram darted forwards from her sofa: the
others, too, looked up from their several occupations; for at the same
time a crunching of wheels and a splashing tramp of horse-hoofs became
audible on the wet gravel. A post-chaise was approaching.

'What can possess him to come home in that style?' said Miss
Ingram. 'He rode Mesrour (the black horse), did he not, when he went
out? and Pilot was with him:- what has he done with the animals?'

As she said this, she approached her tall person and ample garments
so near the window, that I was obliged to bend back almost to the
breaking of my spine: in her eagerness she did not observe me at
first, but when she did, she curled her lip and moved to another
casement. The post-chaise stopped; the driver rang the door-bell,
and a gentleman alighted attired in travelling garb; but it was not
Mr. Rochester; it was a tall, fashionable-looking man, a stranger.

'How provoking!' exclaimed Miss Ingram: 'you tiresome monkey!'
(apostrophising Adele), 'who perched you up in the window to give
false intelligence?' and she cast on me an angry glance, as if I
were in fault.

Some parleying was audible in the hall, and soon the newcomer
entered. He bowed to Lady Ingram, as deeming her the eldest lady
present.

'It appears I come at an inopportune time, madam,' said he, 'when
my friend, Mr. Rochester, is from home; but I arrive from a very
long journey, and I think I may presume so far on old and intimate
acquaintance as to instal myself here till he returns.'

His manner was polite; his accent, in speaking, struck me as
being somewhat unusual,- not precisely foreign, but still not
altogether English: his age might be about Mr. Rochester's,- between
thirty and forty; his complexion was singularly sallow: otherwise he
was a fine-looking man, at first sight especially. On closer
examination, you detected something in his face that displeased, or
rather that failed to please. His features were regular, but too
relaxed: his eye was large and well cut, but the life looking out of
it was a tame, vacant life- at least so I thought.

The sound of the dressing-bell dispersed the party. It was not till
after dinner that I saw him again: he then seemed quite at his ease.
But I liked his physiognomy even less than before: it struck me as
being at the same time unsettled and inanimate. His eye wandered,
and had no meaning in its wandering: this gave him an odd look, such
as I never remembered to have seen. For a handsome and not an
unamiable-looking man, he repelled me exceedingly: there was no
power in that smooth-skinned face of a full oval shape: no firmness in
that aquiline nose and small cherry mouth; there was no thought on the
low, even forehead; no command in that blank, brown eye.

As I sat in my usual nook, and looked at him with the light of
the girandoles on the mantelpiece beaming full over him- for he
occupied an arm-chair drawn close to the fire and kept shrinking still
nearer, as if he were cold- I compared him with Mr. Rochester. I think
(with deference be it spoken) the contrast could not be much greater
between a sleek gander and a fierce falcon: between a meek sheep and
the rough-coated keen-eyed dog, its guardian.

He had spoken of Mr. Rochester as an old friend. A curious
friendship theirs must have been: a pointed illustration, indeed, of
the old adage that 'extremes meet.'

Two or three of the gentlemen sat near him, and I caught at times
scraps of their conversation across the room. At first I could not
make much sense of what I heard; for the discourse of Louisa Eshton
and Mary Ingram, who sat nearer to me, confused the fragmentary
sentences that reached me at intervals. These last were discussing the
stranger; they both called him 'a beautiful man.' Louisa said he was
'a love of a creature,' and she 'adored him'; and Mary instanced his
'pretty little mouth, and nice nose,' as her ideal of the charming.

'And what a sweet-tempered forehead he hast' cried Louisa,- 'so
smooth- none of those frowning irregularities I dislike so much; and
such a placid eye and smile!'

And then, to my great relief, Mr. Henry Lynn summoned them to the
other side of the room, to settle some point about the deferred
excursion to Hay Common.

I was now able to concentrate my attention on the group by the
fire, and I presently gathered that the newcomer was called Mr. Mason;
then I learned that he was but just arrived in England, and that he
came from some hot country: which was the reason, doubtless, his
face was so sallow, and that he sat so near the hearth, and wore a
surtout in the house. Presently the words Jamaica, Kingston, Spanish
Town, indicated the West Indies as his residence; and it was with no
little surprise I gathered, ere long, that he had there first seen and
become acquainted with Mr. Rochester. He spoke of his friend's dislike
of the burning heats, the hurricanes, and rainy seasons of that
region. I knew Mr. Rochester had been a traveller: Mrs. Fairfax had
said so; but I thought the continent of Europe had bounded his
wanderings; till now I had never heard a hint given of visits to
more distant shores.

I was pondering these things, when an incident, and a somewhat
unexpected one, broke the thread of my musings. Mr. Mason, shivering
as some one chanced to open the door, asked for more coal to be put on
the fire, which had burnt out its flame, though its mass of cinder
still shone hot and red. The footman who brought the coal, in going
out, stopped near Mr. Eshton's chair, and said something to him in a
low voice, of which I heard only the words, 'old woman,'- 'quite
troublesome.'

'Tell her she shall be put in the stocks if she does not take
herself off,' replied the magistrate.

'No- stop!' interrupted Colonel Dent. 'Don't send her away, Eshton;
we might turn the thing to account; better consult the ladies.' And
speaking aloud, he continued- 'Ladies, you talked of going to Hay
Common to visit the gipsy camp; Sam here says that one of the old
Mother Bunches is in the servants' hall at this moment, and insists
upon being brought in before "the quality," to tell them their
fortunes. Would you like to see her?'

'Surely, colonel,' cried Lady Ingram, 'you would not encourage such
a low impostor? Dismiss her, by all means, at once!'

'But I cannot persuade her to go away, my lady,' said the
footman; 'nor can any of the servants: Mrs. Fairfax is with her just
now, entreating her to be gone; but she has taken a chair in the
chimney-corner, and says nothing shall stir her from it till she
gets leave to come in here.'

'What does she want?' asked Mrs. Eshton.

'"To tell the gentry their fortunes," she says, ma'am; and she
swears she must and will do it.'

'What is she like?' inquired the Misses Eshton, in a breath.

'A shockingly ugly old creature, miss; almost as black as a crock.'

'Why, she's a real sorceress!' cried Frederick Lynn. 'Let us have
her in, of course.'

'To be sure,' rejoined his brother; 'it would be a thousand
pities to throw away such a chance of fun.'

'My dear boys, what are you thinking about?' exclaimed Mrs. Lynn.

'I cannot possibly countenance any such inconsistent proceeding,'
chimed in the Dowager Ingram.

'Indeed, mama, but you can- and will,' pronounced the haughty voice
of Blanche, as she turned round on the piano-stool; where till now she
had sat silent, apparently examining sundry sheets of music. 'I have a
curiosity to hear my fortune told: therefore, Sam, order the beldame
forward.'

'My darling Blanche! recollect-'

'I do- I recollect all you can suggest; and I must have my will-
quick, Sam!'

'Yes- yes- yes!' cried all the juveniles, both ladies and
gentlemen. 'Let her come- it will be excellent sport!'

The footman still lingered. 'She looks such a rough one,' said he.

'Go!' ejaculated Miss Ingram, and the man went.

Excitement instantly seized the whole party: a running fire of
raillery and jests was proceeding when Sam returned.

'She won't come now,' said he. 'She says it's not her mission to
appear before the "vulgar herd" (them's her words). I must show her
into a room by herself, and then those who wish to consult her must go
to her one by one.'

'You see now, my queenly Blanche,' began Lady Ingram, 'she
encroaches. Be advised, my angel girl- and-'

'Show her into the library, of course,' cut in the 'angel girl,'
'It is not my mission to listen to her before the vulgar herd
either: I mean to have her all to myself. Is there a fire in the
library?'

'Yes, ma'am- but she looks such a tinkler.'

'Cease that chatter, blockhead! and do my bidding.'

Again Sam vanished; and mystery, animation, expectation rose to
full flow once more.

'She's ready now,' said the footman, as he reappeared. 'She
wishes to know who will be her first visitor.'

'I think I had better just look in upon her before any of the
ladies go,' said Colonel Dent.

'Tell her, Sam, a gentleman is coming.'

Sam went and returned.

'She says, sir, that she'll have no gentlemen; they need not
trouble themselves to come near her; nor,' he added, with difficulty
suppressing a titter, 'any ladies either, except the young and
single.'

'By Jove, she has taste!' exclaimed Henry Lynn.

Miss Ingram rose solemnly: 'I go first,' she said, in a tone
which might have befitted the leader of a forlorn hope, mounting a
breach in the van of his men.

'Oh, my best! oh, my dearest! pause- reflect!' was her mama's
cry; but she swept past her in stately silence, passed through the
door which Colonel Dent held open, and we heard her enter the library.

A comparative silence ensued. Lady Ingram thought it 'le cas' to
wring her hands: which she did accordingly. Miss Mary declared she
felt, for her part, she never dared venture. Amy and Louisa Eshton
tittered under their breath, and looked a little frightened.

The minutes passed very slowly: fifteen were counted before the
library-door again opened. Miss Ingram returned to us through the
arch.

Would she laugh? Would she take it as a joke? All eyes met her with
a glance of eager curiosity, and she met all eyes with one of rebuff
and coldness; she looked neither flurried nor merry: she walked
stiffly to her seat, and took it in silence.

'Well, Blanche?' said Lord Ingram.

'What did she say, sister?' asked Mary.

'What did you think? How do you feel? Is she a real
fortune-teller?' demanded the Misses Eshton.

'Now, now, good people,' returned Miss Ingram, 'don't press upon
me. Really your organs of wonder and credulity are easily excited: you
seem, by the importance you all- my good mama included- ascribe to
this matter, absolutely to believe we have a genuine witch in the
house, who is in close alliance with the old gentleman. I have seen
a gipsy vagabond; she has practised in hackneyed fashion the science
of palmistry and told me what such people usually tell. My whim is
gratified; and now I think Mr. Eshton will do well to put the hag in
the stocks to-morrow morning, as he threatened.'

Miss Ingram took a book, leant back in her chair, and so declined
further conversation. I watched her for nearly half an hour: during
all that time she never turned a page, and her face grew momently
darker, more dissatisfied, and more sourly expressive of
disappointment. She had obviously not heard anything to her advantage:
and it seemed to me, from her prolonged fit of gloom and
taciturnity, that she herself, notwithstanding her professed
indifference, attached undue importance to whatever revelations had
been made her.

Meantime, Mary Ingram, Amy and Louisa Eshton, declared they dared
not go alone; and yet they all wished to go. A negotiation was
opened through the medium of the ambassador, Sam; and after much
pacing to and fro, till, I think, the said Sam's calves must have
ached with the exercise, permission was at last, with great
difficulty, extorted from the rigorous Sibyl, for the three to wait
upon her in a body.

Their visit was not so still as Miss Ingram's had been: we heard
hysterical giggling and little shrieks proceeding from the library;
and at the end of about twenty minutes they burst the door open, and
came running across the hall, as if they were half-scared out of their
wits.

'I am sure she is something not right!' they cried, one and all.
'She told us such things! She knows all about us!' and they sank
breathless into the various seats the gentlemen hastened to bring
them.

Pressed for further explanation, they declared she had told them of
things they had said and done when they were mere children;
described books and ornaments they had in their boudoirs at home:
keepsakes that different relations had presented to them. They
affirmed that she had even divined their thoughts, and had whispered
in the ear of each the name of the person she liked best in the world,
and informed them of what they most wished for.

Here the gentlemen interposed with earnest petitions to be
further enlightened on these two last-named points; but they got
only blushes, ejaculations, tremors, and titters, in return for
their importunity. The matrons, meantime, offered vinaigrettes and
wielded fans; and again and again reiterated the expression of their
concern that their warning had not been taken in time; and the elder
gentlemen laughed, and the younger urged their services on the
agitated fair ones.

In the midst of the tumult, and while my eyes and ears were fully
engaged in the scene before me, I heard a hem close at my elbow: I
turned, and saw Sam.

'If you please, miss, the gipsy declares that there is another
young single lady in the room who has not been to her yet, and she
swears she will not go till she has seen all. I thought it must be
you: there is no one else for it. What shall I tell her?'

'Oh, I will go by all means,' I answered: and I was glad of the
unexpected opportunity to gratify my much-excited curiosity. I slipped
out of the room, unobserved by any eye- for the company were
gathered in one mass about the trembling trio just returned- and I
closed the door quietly behind me.

'If you like, miss,' said Sam, 'I'll wait in the hall for you;
and if she frightens you, just call and I'll come in.'

'No, Sam, return to the kitchen: I am not in the least afraid.' Nor
was I; but I was a good deal interested and excited.

                      CHAPTER XIX


THE library looked tranquil enough as I entered it, and the
Sibyl- if Sibyl she were- was seated snugly enough in an easy-chair at
the chimney-corner. She had on a red cloak and a black bonnet: or
rather, a broad-brimmed gipsy hat, tied down with a striped
handkerchief under her chin. An extinguished candle stood on the
table; she was bending over the fire, and seemed reading in a little
black book, like a prayer-book, by the light of the blaze: she
muttered the words to herself, as most old women do, while she read;
she did not desist immediately on my entrance: it appeared she
wished to finish a paragraph.

I stood on the rug and warmed my hands, which were rather cold with
sitting at a distance from the drawing-room fire. I felt now as
composed as ever I did in my life: there was nothing indeed in the
gipsy's appearance to trouble one's calm. She shut her book and slowly
looked up; her hat-brim partially shaded her face, yet I could see, as
she raised it, that it was a strange one. It looked all brown and
black: elf-locks bristled out from beneath a white band which passed
under her chin, and came half over her cheeks, or rather jaws: her eye
confronted me at once, with a bold and direct gaze.

'Well, and you want your fortune told?' she said, in a voice as
decided as her glance, as harsh as her features.

'I don't care about it, mother; you may please yourself: but I
ought to warn you, I have no faith.'

'It's like your impudence to say so: I expected it of you; I
heard it in your step as you crossed the threshold.'

'Did you? You've a quick ear.'

'I have; and a quick eye and a quick brain.'

'You need them all in your trade.'

'I do; especially when I've customers like you to deal with. Why
don't you tremble?'

'I'm not cold.'

'Why don't you turn pale?'

'I am not sick.'

'Why don't you consult my art?'

'I'm not silly.'

The old crone 'nichered' a laugh under her bonnet and bandage;
she then drew out a short black pipe, and lighting it began to
smoke. Having indulged a while in this sedative, she raised her bent
body, took the pipe from her lips, and while gazing steadily at the
fire, said very deliberately-

'You are cold; you are sick; and you are silly.'

'Prove it,' I rejoined.

'I will, in few words. You are cold, because you are alone: no
contact strikes the fire from you that is in you. You are sick;
because the best of feelings, the highest and the sweetest given to
man, keeps far away from you. You are silly, because, suffer as you
may, you will not beckon it to approach, nor will you stir one step to
meet it where it waits you.'

She again put her short black pipe to her lips, and renewed her
smoking with vigour.

'You might say all that to almost any one who you knew lived as a
solitary dependant in a great house.'

'I might say it to almost any one: but would it be true of almost
any one?'

'In my circumstances.'

'Yes; just so, in your circumstances: but find me another precisely
placed as you are.'

'It would be easy to find you thousands.'

'You could scarcely find me one. If you knew it, you are peculiarly
situated: very near happiness; yes, within reach of it. The
materials are all prepared; there only wants a movement to combine
them. Chance laid them somewhat apart; let them be once approached and
bliss results.'

'I don't understand enigmas. I never could guess a riddle in my
life.'

'If you wish me to speak more plainly, show me your palm.'

'And I must cross it with silver, I suppose?'

'To be sure.'

I gave her a shilling: she put it into an old stocking-foot which
she took out of her pocket, and having tied it round and returned
it, she told me to hold out my hand. I did. She approached her face to
the palm, and pored over it without touching it.

'It is too fine,' said she. 'I can make nothing of such a hand as
that; almost without lines: besides, what is in a palm? Destiny is not
written there.'

'I believe you,' said I.

'No,' she continued, 'it is in the face: on the forehead, about the
eyes, in the eyes themselves, in the lines of the mouth. Kneel, and
lift up your head.'

'Ah! now you are coming to reality,' I said, as I obeyed her. 'I
shall begin to put some faith in you presently.'

I knelt within half a yard of her. She stirred the fire, so that
a ripple of light broke from the disturbed coal: the glare, however,
as she sat, only threw her face into deeper shadow: mine, it
illumined.

'I wonder with what feelings you came to me to-night,' she said,
when she had examined me a while. 'I wonder what thoughts are busy
in your heart during all the hours you sit in yonder room with the
fine people flitting before you like shapes in a magic-lantern: just
as little sympathetic communion passing between you and them as if
they were really mere shadows of human forms, and not the actual
substance.'

'I feel tired often, sleepy sometimes, but seldom sad.'

'Then you have some secret hope to buoy you up and please you
with whispers of the future?'

'Not I. The utmost I hope is, to save money enough out of my
earnings to set up a school some day in a little house rented by
myself.'

'A mean nutriment for the spirit to exist on: and sitting in that
window-seat (you see I know your habits)-'

'You have learned them from the servants.'

'Ah! you think yourself sharp. Well, perhaps I have: to speak
truth, I have an acquaintance with one of them, Mrs. Poole-'

I started to my feet when I heard the name.

'You have- have you?' thought I; 'there is diablerie in the
business after all, then!'

'Don't be alarmed,' continued the strange being; 'she's a safe hand
is Mrs. Poole: close and quiet; any one may repose confidence in her.
But, as I was saying: sitting in that window-seat, do you think of
nothing but your future school? Have you no present interest in any of
the company who occupy the sofas and chairs before you? Is there not
one face you study? one figure whose movements you follow with at
least curiosity?'

'I like to observe all the faces and all the figures.'

'But do you never single one from the rest-or it may be, two?'

'I do frequently; when the gestures or looks of a pair seem telling
a tale: it amuses me to watch them.'

'What tale do you like best to hear?'

'Oh, I have not much choice! They generally run on the same
theme- courtship; and promise to end in the same catastrophe-
marriage.'

'And do you like that monotonous theme?'

'Positively, I don't care about it: it is nothing to me.'

'Nothing to you? When a lady, young and full of life and health,
charming with beauty and endowed with the gifts of rank and fortune,
sits and smiles in the eyes of a gentleman you-'

'I what?'

'You know- and perhaps think well of.'

'I don't know the gentlemen here. I have scarcely interchanged a
syllable with one of them; and as to thinking well of them, I consider
some respectable, and stately, and middle-aged, and others young,
dashing, handsome, and lively: but certainly they are all at liberty
to be the recipients of whose smiles they please, without my feeling
disposed to consider the transaction of any moment to me.'

'You don't know the gentlemen here? You have not exchanged a
syllable with one of them? Will you say that of the master of the
house!'

'He is not at home.'

'A profound remark! A most ingenious quibble! He went to Millcote
this morning, and will be back here to-night or to-morrow: does that
circumstance exclude him from the list of your acquaintance- blot him,
as it were, out of existence?'

'No; but I can scarcely see what Mr. Rochester has to do with the
theme you had introduced.'

'I was talking of ladies smiling in the eyes of gentlemen; and of
late so many smiles have been shed into Mr. Rochester's eyes that they
overflow like two cups filled above the brim: have you never
remarked that?'

'Mr. Rochester has a right to enjoy the society of his guests.'

'No question about his right: but have you never observed that,
of all the tales told here about matrimony, Mr. Rochester has been
favoured with the most lively and the most continuous?'

'The eagerness of a listener quickens the tongue of a narrator.'
I said this rather to myself than to the gipsy, whose strange talk,
voice, manner, had by this time wrapped me in a kind of dream. One
unexpected sentence came from her lips after another, till I got
involved in a web of mystification; and wondered what unseen spirit
had been sitting for weeks by my heart watching its workings and
taking record of every pulse.

'Eagerness of a listener!' repeated she: 'yes; Mr. Rochester has
sat by the hour, his ear inclined to the fascinating lips that took
such delight in their task of communicating; and Mr. Rochester was
so willing to receive and looked so grateful for the pastime given
him; you have noticed this?'

'Grateful! I cannot remember detecting gratitude in his face.'

'Detecting! You have analysed, then. And what did you detect, if
not gratitude?'

I said nothing.

'You have seen love: have you not?- and, looking forward, you
have seen him married, and beheld his bride happy?'

'Humph! Not exactly. Your witch's skill is rather at fault
sometimes.'

'What the devil have you seen, then?'

'Never mind: I came here to inquire, not to confess. Is it known
that Mr. Rochester is to be married?'

'Yes; and to the beautiful Miss Ingram.'

'Shortly?'

'Appearances would warrant that conclusion: and, no doubt
(though, with an audacity that wants chastising out of you, you seem
to question it), they will be a superlatively happy pair. He must love
such a handsome, noble, witty, accomplished lady; and probably she
loves him, or, if not his person, at least his purse. I know she
considers the Rochester estate eligible to the last degree; though
(God pardon me!) I told her something on that point about an hour
ago which made her look wondrous grave: the corners of her mouth
fell half an inch. I would advise her black-aviced suitor to look out:
if another comes, with a longer or clearer rent-roll,- he's dished-'

'But, mother, I did not come to hear Mr. Rochester's fortune: I
came to hear my own; and you have told me nothing of it.'

'Your fortune is yet doubtful: when I examined your face, one trait
contradicted another. Chance has meted you a measure of happiness:
that I know. I knew it before I came here this evening. She has laid
it carefully on one side for you. I saw her do it. It depends on
yourself to stretch out your hand, and take it up: but whether you
will do so, is the problem I study. Kneel again on the rug.'

'Don't keep me long; the fire scorches me.'

I knelt. She did not stoop towards me, but only gazed, leaning back
in her chair. She began muttering,-

'The flame flickers in the eye; the eye shines like dew; it looks
soft and full of feeling; it smiles at my jargon; it is susceptible;
impression follows impression through its clear sphere; where it
ceases to smile, it is sad; an unconscious lassitude weighs on the
lid: that signifies melancholy resulting from loneliness. It turns
from me; it will not suffer further scrutiny; it seems to deny, by a
mocking glance, the truth of the discoveries I have already made,-
to disown the charge both of sensibility and chagrin: its pride and
reserve only confirm me in my opinion. The eye is favourable.

'As to the mouth, it delights at times in laughter; it is
disposed to impart all that the brain conceives; though I daresay it
would be silent on much the heart experiences. Mobile and flexible, it
was never intended to be compressed in the eternal silence of
solitude; it is a mouth which should speak much and smile often, and
have human affection for its interlocutor. That feature too is
propitious.

'I see no enemy to a fortunate issue but in the brow; and that brow
professes to say,- "I can live alone, if self-respect and
circumstances require me so to do. I need not sell my soul to buy
bliss. I have an inward treasure born with me, which can keep me alive
if all extraneous delights should be withheld, or offered only at a
price I cannot afford to give." The forehead declares, "Reason sits
firm and holds the reins, and she will not let the feelings burst away
and hurry her to wild chasms. The passions may rage furiously, like
true heathens, as they are; and the desires may imagine all sorts of
vain things: but judgment shall still have the last word in every
argument, and the casting vote in every decision. Strong wind,
earthquake-shock, and fire may pass by: but I shall follow the guiding
of that still small voice which interprets the dictates of
conscience."

'Well said, forehead; your declaration shall be respected. I have
formed my plans- right plans I deem them- and in them I have
attended to the claims of conscience, the counsels of reason. I know
how soon youth would fade and bloom perish, if, in the cup of bliss
offered, but one dreg of shame, or one flavour of remorse were
detected; and I do not want sacrifice, sorrow, dissolution- such is
not my taste. I wish to foster, not to blight- to earn gratitude,
not to wring tears of blood- no, nor of brine: my harvest must be in
smiles, in endearments, in sweet- That will do. I think I rave in a
kind of exquisite delirium. I should wish now to protract this
moment ad infinitum; but I dare not. So far I have governed myself
thoroughly. I have acted as I inwardly swore I would act; but
further might try me beyond my strength. Rise, Miss Eyre: leave me;
"the play is played out."'

Where was I? Did I wake or sleep? Had I been dreaming? Did I
dream still? The old woman's voice had changed: her accent, her
gesture, and all were familiar to me as my own face in a glass- as the
speech of my own tongue. I got up, but did not go. I looked; I stirred
the fire, and I looked again: but she drew her bonnet and her
bandage closer about her face, and again beckoned me to depart. The
flame illuminated her hand stretched out: roused now, and on the alert
for discoveries, I at once noticed that hand. It was no more the
withered limb of eld than my own; it was a rounded supple member, with
smooth fingers, symmetrically turned; a broad ring flashed on the
little finger, and stooping forward, I looked at it, and saw a gem I
had seen a hundred times before. Again I looked at the face; which was
no longer turned from me- on the contrary, the bonnet was doffed,
the bandage displaced, the head advanced.

'Well, Jane, do you know me?' asked the familiar voice.

'Only take off the red cloak, sir, and then-'

'But the string is in a knot- help me.'

'Break it, sir.'

'There, then- "Off, ye lendings!"' And Mr. Rochester stepped out of
his disguise.

'Now, sir, what a strange idea!'

'But well carried out, eh? Don't you think so?'

'With the ladies you must have managed well.'

'But not with you?'

'You did not act the character of a gipsy with me.'

'What character did I act? My own?'

'No; some unaccountable one. In short, I believe you have been
trying to draw me out- or in; you have been talking nonsense to make
me talk nonsense. It is scarcely fair, sir.'

'Do you forgive me, Jane?'

'I cannot tell till I have thought it all over. If, on
reflection, I find I have fallen into no great absurdity, I shall
try to forgive you; but it was not right.'

'Oh, you have been very correct- very careful, very sensible.'

I reflected, and thought, on the whole, I had. It was a comfort;
but, indeed, I had been on my guard almost from the beginning of the
interview. Something of masquerade I suspected. I knew gipsies and
fortune-tellers did not express themselves as this seeming old woman
had expressed herself; besides I had noted her feigned voice, her
anxiety to conceal her features. But my mind had been running on Grace
Poole- that living enigma, that mystery of mysteries, as I
considered her. I had never thought of Mr. Rochester.

'Well,' said he, 'what are you musing about? What does that grave
smile signify?'

'Wonder and self-congratulation, sir. I have your permission to
retire now, I suppose?'

'No; stay a moment; and tell me what the people in the drawing-room
yonder are doing.'

'Discussing the gipsy, I daresay.'

'Sit down!- Let me hear what they said about me.'

'I had better not stay long, sir; it must be near eleven o'clock.
Oh, are you aware, Mr. Rochester, that a stranger has arrived here
since you left this morning?'

'A stranger!- no; who can it be? I expected no one; is he gone?'

'No; he said he had known you long, and that he could take the
liberty of installing himself here till you returned.'

'The devil he did! Did he give his name?'

'His name is Mason, sir; and he comes from the West Indies; from
Spanish Town, in Jamaica, I think.'

Mr. Rochester was standing near me; he had taken my hand, as if
to lead me to a chair. As I spoke he gave my wrist a convulsive
grip; the smile on his lips froze: apparently a spasm caught his
breath.

'Mason!- the West Indies!' he said, in the tone one might fancy a
speaking automaton to enounce its single words; 'Mason!- the West
Indies!' he reiterated; and he went over the syllables three times,
growing, in the intervals of speaking, whiter than ashes: he hardly
seemed to know what he was doing.

'Do you feel ill, sir?' I inquired.

'Jane, I've got a blow; I've got a blow, Jane!' He staggered.

'Oh, lean on me, sir.'

'Jane, you offered me your shoulder once before; let me have it
now.'

'Yes, sir, yes; and my arm.'

He sat down, and made me sit beside him. Holding my hand in both
his own, he chafed it; gazing on me, at the same time, with the most
troubled and dreary look.

'My little friend!' said he, 'I wish I were in a quiet island
with only you; and trouble, and danger, and hideous recollections
removed from me.'

'Can I help you, sir?- I'd give my life to serve you.'

'Jane, if aid is wanted, I'll seek it at your hands; I promise
you that.'

'Thank you, sir. Tell me what to do,- I'll try, at least, to do
it.'

'Fetch me now, Jane, a glass of wine from the dining-room: they
will be at supper there; and tell me if Mason is with them, and what
he is doing.'

I went. I found all the party in the dining-room at supper, as
Mr. Rochester had said; they were not seated at table,- the supper was
arranged on the sideboard; each had taken what he chose, and they
stood about here and there in groups, their plates and glasses in
their hands. Every one seemed in high glee; laughter and
conversation were general and animated. Mr. Mason stood near the fire,
talking to Colonel and Mrs. Dent, and appeared as merry as any of
them. I filled a wine-glass (I saw Miss Ingram watch me frowningly
as I did so: she thought I was taking a liberty, I daresay), and I
returned to the library.

Mr. Rochester's extreme pallor had disappeared, and he looked
once more firm and stern. He took the glass from my hand.

'Here is to your health, ministrant spirit!' he said. He
swallowed the contents and returned it to me. 'What are they doing,
Jane?'

'Laughing and talking, sir.'

'They don't look grave and mysterious, as if they had heard
something strange?'

'Not at all: they are full of jests and gaiety.'

'And Mason?'

'He was laughing too.'

'If all these people came in a body and spat at me, what would
you do, Jane?'

'Turn them out of the room, sir, if I could.'

He half smiled. 'But if I were to go to them, and they only
looked at me coldly, and whispered sneeringly amongst each other,
and then dropped off and left me one by one, what then? Would you go
with them?'

'I rather think not, sir: I should have more pleasure in staying
with you.'

'To comfort me?'

'Yes, sir, to comfort you, as well as I could.'

'And if they laid you under a ban for adhering to me?'

'I, probably, should know nothing about their ban; and if I did,
I should care nothing about it.'

'Then, you could dare censure for my sake?'

'I could dare it for the sake of any friend who deserved my
adherence; as you, I am sure, do.'

'Go back now into the room; step quietly up to Mason, and whisper
in his ear that Mr. Rochester is come and wishes to see him: show
him in here and then leave me.'

'Yes, sir.'

I did his behest. The company all stared at me as I passed straight
among them. I sought Mr. Mason, delivered the message, and preceded
him from the room: I ushered him into the library, and then I went
upstairs.

At a late hour, after I had been in bed some time, I heard the
visitors repair to their chambers: I distinguished Mr. Rochester's
voice, and heard him say, 'This way, Mason; this is your room.'

He spoke cheerfully: the gay tones set my heart at ease. I was soon
asleep.