Jane Eyre Ch 17 Audiobook by Charlotte Brontë

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 Lees 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 protégé, 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 it 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 Lee's 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 beading of carpets, such taking down and putting up of pictures, such polishing of mirrors and lustres, such lighting of fires and bedrooms, such airing of sheets and feather-beds on hearths, I never beheld, either before or since. Adèle 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 toilets, as she called frocks, to furbish up any that were passé, 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 cheesecakes 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. Adèle accepted. 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-story staircase door, which of late had always been kept locked, open slowly, and give passage to the form of Grace Pool, 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-sealed, oaken chamber of the third-story. 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 in good hand, I dare say,' said the charwoman. "'Ah, she understands what she has to do. Nobody better,' rejoined Leah significantly. "'And it is not everyone could fill her shoes. Not for all the money she gets.' "'That it is not,' was the reply. "'I wonder whether, 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 place 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.' Adèle 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, Miss Roy, 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. Adèle 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 inside 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. The 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. "'Elle a changé du toilette," said Adèle, who, listening attentively, had followed every movement, and she sighed. "'Chez maman," said she, "'quand il y avait tout le monde, je l'ai suivé partout, au salon et à l'ur-chambre, souvent de regarder les formes du chambre-coffre et habiter le don, et c'est si amusant, comme c'est l'honneur prendre.'" "'Don't you feel hungry, Adèle?' "'Mais oui, mademoiselle, voilà cinq ou six heures. Voilà cinq ou six heures que nous n'avons pas mangé.'" "'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 back stairs which conducted directly to the kitchen, and 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. Everyone 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.' "'Adele killed the mosh!' 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 analyzing 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 sight in the neighborhood. 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 dare say. 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 dare say 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. Adèle 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-gray 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 together. 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. Adèle, who appeared to be still under the influence of a most solemnizing 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, endeavored to read. Adèle brought her stool to my feet. Ere long she touched my knee. What is it, Adèle? You think too much of your toilet, Adèle, 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 was 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 Parisian'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 luster pointing 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 a ray that seemed to magnify their persons as a mist magnifies the moon. I rose and curtsied 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. Ashton 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, naïve and childlike 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 chiffonné. 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 over 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 ladylike. 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 woman. 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 molded like a Diane. 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 seems 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 was 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 luster. 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 Adèle 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, "'Bonjour, madame." 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 lady's attention but that of Mrs. Eshton and Lady Lynn, and getting spoiled 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 and black. Most of them are tall, some young. Henry and Frederick Lynn are very dashing sparks indeed, and Colonel Dent is a fine soldiery man. Mr. Eshton, the magistrate of the district, is gentlemanlike. His hair is quite white, his eyebrows and whiskers still dark, which gives him something of the appearance of a Père Noble du Théâtre. 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 vigor of brain. And where is Mr. Rochester? He comes in at 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 I had 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 look, 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 it is that beauty is in the eye of the gazer. My master's colorless 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 have wrought hard to extirpate from my soul the germs of love there detected. And now, at the first renewed view of him, they spontaneously revived 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 Linds, 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's 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 color 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 forever sundered. And yet, while I breathe and think I must love him. Coffee is handed. The ladies, since the gentleman entered, have become lively as larks. Conversation waxes brisk and merry. Colonel Dent and Mr. Ashton argue on politics. Their wives listen. The two proud dowagers, Lady Lynn and Lady Ingram, confabulate together. Sir George, whom, by the by, 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 had 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 Ashton. 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 Ashtons, 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 illusion to me would make Mr. Rochester glance my way, and I involuntarily shrank further into the shade. But he never turned his eyes. I have not considered the subject, he said 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. Oh, the 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 the pious lady and whispered something in her ear. I suppose from the answer elicited it was a reminder that one of the anathematized race was present. "'Tampis,' 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 significance. "'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 Joubert. 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, lacrimose 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, crumpled our bread and butter, tossed our books up to the ceiling, and played chivalry with the ruler and desk, the fender and fire-irons. Theodore, do you remember those merry days?' "'Yas, to be sure I do,' drawled Lord Ingram. And the poor old stick used to cry out, "'Oh, you villain's childs!' And then we sermonized her on the presumption of attempting to teach such clever blades as we were, when she was herself so ignorant. We did, and Tido, you know I helped you in prosecuting, or persecuting, your tutor,' way-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, Tido 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, O gracious Mama, spare us the enumeration. All rest, 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 blow-up. 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 Ashton, 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 work-box 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 lips 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 refurbish 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 here! 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 intent 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 oppinage 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 dote on Corsairs and, for that reason, sing it conspirito. 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 willfully, 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 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 his 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 in 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 is slipped from the lash and fallen onto the flag. If I had time, and was not in mortal dread of some pratting 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 Adèle. Good-night, my—' He stopped, bit his lip, and abruptly left me."