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Mr. Rochester, it see, by the surgeon’s orders, went to bed early that night; nor did he rise soo When he did e down, it was to attend to business: his agent and so of his tenants were arried, and waiting to speak with hi
Adèle and I had now to acate the library: it would be in daily requisition as a reception-roofor callers. A fire was lit in an apartnt upstairs, and there I carried our books, and arrang;tt..ted it for the future schoolroo I dised in thurse of the that Thornfield Hall was a ged po longer silent as a church, it echoed eery hour or two to a knock at the door, of the bell; steps, too, often traersed the hall, and new oices spoke in different keys below; a rill frothe outer world was flowing through it; it had a ster: for  art, I liked it better.
Adèle was not easy to teach that day; shuld not apply: she kept running to the door and lookihe bao see if shuld get a glise of Mr. Rochester; then she ed pretets to go downstairs, in order, as I shrewdly suspected, to isit the library, where I knew she was not wahen, when I got a? little angry, and de her sit still, she tio talk incessantly of her “a, Monsieur Edouard Fairfa de Rochester,” as she dubbed hi(I had not before heard his prenons), and to jecture resents he had brought her: for it appears he had ihe night before, that when his luggage ca froMite, there would be found angst it a little bo in whose tents she had an i.
“Et ce doit signifier,” said she, “qu’il y aura le dedans un cadeau pour i, et peut-être pour ous aussi, deiselle. Monsieur a parle de ous: il a dende le node gouer si elle  as ue personne, assez un peu pale. J’ai dit qu’oui: car c’est rai, -ce pas, deiselle?”
I and  upil dined as usual in Mrs. Fairfa’s parlour; the afternoon was wild and snowy, and we passed it in the schoolroo At dark I allowed Adèle to put away books and work, and to run downstairs; for, frothe paratie silence below, and frothe cessation of appeals to the door-bell, I jectured that Mr. Rochester was now at liberty. Left alone, I walked to the window; but nothing was to be seen thewilight and snowfkes to藏书网;/agether thied the air, and hid the ery shrubs on the wn. I let down the curtain a back to the fireside.
In the clear eers I was trag a iew, not unlike a picture I reered to hae seen of the castle of Heidelberg, on the Rhine, when Mrs. Fairfa , breaking up by her entrahe fiery saic I had beeogether, and scattering too so heay uhoughts that were beginning t on solitude.
“Mr. Rochester would be gd if you and your pupil would take tea with hiin the drawing-roothis eening,” said she: “he has been so gaged all day that huld not ask to see you before.”
“When is his tea-ti?” I inquired.
“Oh, at si o’clock: he keeps early hours iry. You had better ge your froow; I will go with you and fasten it. Here is a dle.”
“Is it necessary to ge frock?”
“Yes, you had better: I always dress for the eening when Mr. Rochester is here.”
This additional y seed sowhat stately; howeer, I repaired to roo and, with Mrs. Fairfa’s aid, repbsp; bck stuff dress by one of bck silk; the best and the only additional one I had, ecept one of light grey, which, in Lowood notions of the toilette, I thought too fio be wor on first-rate oasions.
“You want a brooch,” said Mrs. Fairfa. I had a sitle pearl or which Miss Tele gae as a parting keepsake: I put it on, and then we went downstairs. Unused as I was ters, it was rather a trial to appear thus forlly suoned in Mr. Rochester’s presence. I let Mrs. Fairfa precede into the dining-roo a in her shade as we crossed that apartnt; and, passing the arch, whose curtain was now dropped, ehe elegant recess beyond.
Two wa dles stood lighted oable, and two oelpiece; basking in the light a of a superb fire, y Pilot—Adèle k near hi Half reed on uch appeared Mr. Rochester, his foot supported by the cushion; he was looking at Adèle and the dog: the fire shone full on his face. I knew traeller with his broad ay eyebrows; his square forehead, de squarer by the horizontal sweep of his bck hair. I reised his decisie nose, re rerkable for character thay; his full nostrils, denoting, I thought, choler; his griuth, , and jaw—yes, all three were ery gri and no stake. His shape, now diested of cloak, I perceied harnised in squareness with his physiogno: I suppose it was a good figure ihletise of the terbroad chested and thin fhough her tall nraceful.
Mr. Rochester st hae been aware of the entranrs. Fairfa and self; but it appeared he was not in the od to notice us, for he neer lifted his head as roached.
“Here is Miss Eyre, sir,” said Mrs. Fairfa, in her quiet way. He bowed, still not taking his eyes frothe group of the dog and child.
“Let Miss Eyre be seated,” said he: and there was sothing in the forced stiff bow, iie forl tone, which seed further to epress, “What the deuce is it to whether Miss Eyre be there or not? At this nt I anot disposed to st her.”
I sat down quite disearrassed. A reception of finished politeness would probably hae fused : uld not hae returned or repaid it by answering grad elegany part; but harsh caprice id under no obligation; orary, a det quiesce, uhe freak of nner, gae the adantage. Besides, the etricity of the proceeding iquant: I fe ied to see how he would go on.
He went on as a statue would, that is, he her spoke nor ed. Mrs. Fairfa seed to think it necessary that so one should be aable, and she began to talk. Kindly, as usual—and, as usual, rather trite—she doled with hion the pressure of business he had had all day; on the annoya st hae been to hiwith that painful sprain: then she ended his patiend perseeran going through with it.
“Mada I should like so tea,” was the sole rejoinder she got. She haste the bell; and wheray ca, she proceeded te the cups, spoons, c., with assiduous celerity. I and Adèle went to the table; but the ster did not leae hiuch.
“Will you hand Mr. Rochester’s cup?” said Mrs. Fairfa to ; “Adèle ght perhaps spill it.”
I did as requested. As he took the cup fro hand, Adèle, thinking the nt propitious for king a request in faour, cried out—
“-ce pas, nsieur, qu’il y a un cadeau pour Madeiselle Eyre dans otre petiffre?”
“Who talks of cadeau?” said he gruffly. “Did you epect a present, Miss Eyre? Are you fond of presents?” and he searched face with eyes that I saw were dark, irate, and pierg.
“I hardly know, sir; I hae little eperience of the they are generally thought pleasant things.”
“Generally thought? But what do you think?”
“I should be obliged to take ti, sir, before uld gie you an answer worthy of your aeptance: a present has ny faces to it, has it not? and one should sider all, before pronoung an opinion as to its nature.”
“Miss Eyre, you are not so unsophisticated as Adèle: she dends a ‘cadeau,’ crously, the nt she sees : you beat about the bush.”
“Because I hae less fiden deserts than Adèle has: she  refer the ciof old acquaintance, and the right too of ; for she says you hae always been in the habit of giing her pythings; but if I had to ke out a case I should be puzzled, since I aa stranger, and hae dohing to entitle to an aowledgnt.”
“Oh, don’t fall ba oer-desty! I hae eaned Adèle, and find you hae take pains with her: she is nht, she has no talents; yet in a short ti she has de ch iroent.”
“Sir, you hae now gien ‘cadeau;’ I aobliged to you: it is the ed teachers set—praise of their pupils’ progress.”
“Huh!” said Mr. Rochester, aook his tea in silence.
“e to the fire,” said the ster, wheray was taken away, and Mrs. Fairfa had settled into a er with her knitting; while Adèle was leading by the hand round the roo showihe beautiful books and ors on the soles and chiffonnieres. We obeyed, as in duty bound; Adèle wao take a seat on knee, but she was ordered to ase herself with Pilot.
“You hae been resident in house three nths?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you ca fro?”
“FroLowood school, in—shire.”
“Ah! a charitable . How long were you there?”
“Eight years.”
“Eight years! you st be tenacious of life. I thought half the ti in such a pce would hae done up any stitution! No wonder you hae rather the look of another world. I relled where you had got that sort of face. When you in Hay La night, I thought unatably of fairy tales, and had half a nd to dend whether you had bewitched horse: I anot sure yet. Who are your parents?”
“I hae none.”
“Nor eer had, I suppose: do you reer the”
“No.”
“I thought not. And so you were waiting for your people when you sat on that stile?”
“For who sir?”
“For the n in green: it roper onlight eening for the Did I break through one of ys, that you spread that d9９ｌｉb?;/aaed i the causeway?”
I shook head. “The n in green all forsook Engnd a hundred years ago,” said I, speaking as seriously as he had done. “And not een in Hay Lane, or the fields about ituld you find a trace of the I don’t thiher suer or harest, or winter on, will eer shine on their reels re.”
Mrs. Fairfa had dropped her knitting, and, with raised eyebrows, seed w what sort of talk this was.
“Well,” resud Mr. Rochester, “if you disown parents, you st hae so sort of kinsfolk: uncles and aunts?”
“No; hat I eer saw.”
“And your ho?”
“I hae none.”
“Where do your brothers and sisters lie?”
“I hae no brothers or sisters.”
“Who reended you to e here?”
“I adertised, and Mrs. Fairfa answered adertisent.”
“Yes,” said the good dy, who now knew what ground we were upon, “and I adaily thankful for the choice Proidence led to ke. Miss Eyre has been an inaluable panion to , and a kind and careful teacher to Adèle.”
“Don’t trouble yourself to gie her a character,” returned Mr. Rochester: “eulogiu will not bias ; I shall judge for self. She began by felling horse.”
“Sir?” said Mrs. Fairfa.
“I hae to thank her for this sprain.”
The widow looked bewildered.
“Miss Eyre, hae you eer lied in a town?”
“No, sir.”
“Hae you seen ch society?”
“ the pupils and teachers of Lowood, and now the intes of Thornfield.”
“Hae you read ch?”
“Only such books as way; and they hae not been nurous or ery learned.”
“You hae lied the life of a nun: no doubt you are well drilled in religious for;—Brocklehurst, who I uand directs Lowood, is a parson, is he not?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you girls probably worshipped hi as a ent full ieuses would worship their director.”
“Oh, no.”
“You are erol! No! What! a noiot worship her priest! That sounds bspheus.”
“I disliked Mr. Brocklehurst; and I was not alone in the feeling. He is a harsh n; at onpous and ddling; he cut off our hair; and for ey’s sake bought us bad needles and thread, with which wuld hardly sew.”
“That was ery false ey,” rerked Mrs. Fairfa, who now again caught the drift of the dialogue.
“And was that the head and front of his offending?” dended Mr. Rochester.
“He stared us when he had the sole superintendence of the proisiont, before the ittee ointed; and he bored us with loures once a week, and with eening readings frobooks of his own inditing, about suddehs and judgnts, which de 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, theeen?”
I assented.
“Arithtic, you see, is useful; without its aid, I should hardly hae been able to guess ye. It is a point difficu to fi where the features and tenance are so ch at ariance as in your case. And now what did you learn at Lowood? you py?”
“A little.”
“Ourse: that is the established answer. Go into the library—I an, if you please.—(Ecuse tone of and; I aused to say, ‘Do this,’ and it is done: I ot aer ary habits for one new inte.)—Go, then, into the library; take a dle with you; leae the door open; sit down to the piano, and py a tune.”
I departed, obeying his dires.
“Enough!” he called out in a few nutes. “You py A little, I see; like any lish school-girl; perhaps rather better than so, but not well.”
I closed the piano aurned. Mr. Rochester tinued—“Adèle showed so sketches this which she said were yours. I don’t know whether they were entirely of your doing; probably a ster aided you?”
“No, indeed!” I interjected.
“Ah! that pricks pride. Well, fetbsp; your portfolio, if you ouch for its tents being inal; but don’t pass your word unless you are certain: I reise patchwork.”
“Then I will say nothing, and you shall judge for yourself, sir.”
I brought the portfolio frothe library.
“Approach the table,” said he; and I wheeled it to hiuch. Adèle and Mrs. Fairfa drew o see the pictures.
“No crowding,” said Mr. Rochester: “take the drawings fro hand as I finish with the but don’t push your faces up to ne.”
He deliberately scrutinised each sketd painting. Three he id aside; the others, when he had eahe he swept frohi
“Take theoff to the other table, Mrs. Fairfa,” said he, and look at thewith Adèle;—you” (gng at ) “resu your seat, and answer questions. I perceie those pictures were done by one hand: was that hand yours?”
“Yes.”
“And when did you find ti to do the They hae taken ch ti, and so thought.”
“I did thei two acations I spent at Lowood, when I had no other oupation.”
“Where did you get youpies?”
“Out of head.”
“That head I see now on your shoulders?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Has it other furniture of the sa kind within?”
“I should think it y hae: I should hope—better.”
He spread the pictures before hi and again sureyed theaernately.
While he is so oupied, I will tell you, reader, what they are: and first, I st prese that they are nothing wonderful. The subjects had, indeed, risen iidly on nd. As I saw thewith the spiritual eye, before I atteted to eody the they were striking; but hand would not sey fancy, and in each case it had wrought out but a pale portrait of the thing I had ceied.
These pictures were in watelours. The first represented clouds low and liid, rolling oer a swollen sea: all the distance was in eclipse; so, too, was the fround; or rather, the billows, for there was no nd. One gleaof light lifted into relief a half-subrged st, on which sat a orant, dark and rge, with wings flecked with foa its beak held a gold bracelet set with ge, that I had touched with as brilliant tints as  alettuld yield, and as glittering distiness as  enciuld iart. Sinking below the bird and st, a drownerpse ghrough the green water; a fair arwas the only li clearly isible, whehe bracelet had been washed or torn.
The sed picture tained for fround only the dipeak of a hill, with grass and so leaes snting as if by a breeze. Beyond and aboe spread an epanse of sky, dark blue as at twilight: rising into the sky was a won’s shape to the bust, portrayed in tints as dusk and soft as uld bihe diforehead was ed with a star; the lis below were seen as through the suffusion of apour; the eyes shone dark and wild; the hair stread shadowy, like a beaess cloud torn by storor by electric traail. On the neck y a pale refle like onlight; the sa faint lustre touched the train of thin clouds frowhich rose and bowed this ision of the Eening Star.
The third showed the pinnacle of an iceberg pierg a por winter sky: a ster of northern lights reared their dinces, close serried, along the horizon. Throwing these into distance, rose, in the fround, a head,—lossal head, iowards the iceberg, aing against it. Two thin hands, joined uhe forehead, and supp it, drew up before the lower features a sable eil, a brow quite bloodless, white as bone, and an eye hollow and fied, bnk of aning but for the gssiness of despair, alone were isible. Aboe the teles, adst wreathed turban folds of bck drapery, ague in its character and sistency 藏书网as cloud, glead a ring of white f, geed with sparkles of a re lurid tihis pale crest was “the likeness of a kingly ;” what it diaded was “the shape which shape had none.”
“Were you happy when you paihese pictures?” asked Mr. Rochester presently.
“I was absorbed, sir: yes, and I was happy. To paint the in short, was to enjoy one of the kee pleasures I hae eer known.”
“That is not saying ch. Your pleasures, by your own at, hae been few; but I daresay you did eist in a kind of artist’s dreaand while you blent and arrahese straints. Did you sit at thelong each day?”
“I had nothing else to do, because it was the acation, and I sat at thefrotill noon, and fronoon till night: the length of the dsuer days faoured ination to apply.”
“And you fe self-satisfied with the resu of your ardent bours?”
“Far froit. I was tornted by the trast between idea and handiwork: in each case I had igined sothing which I was quite powerless to realise.”
“Not quite: you hae secured the shadow of your thought; but no re, probably. You had not enough of the artist’s skill and sce to gie it full being: yet the drawings are, for a school- girl, peculiar. As to the thoughts, they are elfish. These eyes in the Eening Star you st hae seen in a drea Hould you ke thelook so clear, a not at all brilliant? for the p aboe quells their rays. And what aning is that in their sole? And who taught you to paint wind. There is a high gale in that sky, and on this hill-top. Where did you see Lats? For that is Lats. 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 Adèle sit up so long? Take her to bed.”
Adèle went to kiss hibefore quitting the roo he ehe caress, but scarcely seed to relish it re than Pilot would hae done, nor so ch.
“I wish you all good-night, now,” said he, king a ent of the hand towards the door, in token that he was tired of our pany, and wished to disss us. Mrs. Fairfa folded up her knitting: I took  ortfolio: we curtseyed to hi receied a frigid bow iurn, and so withdrew.
“You said Mr. Rochester was not strikingly peculiar, Mrs. Fairfa,” I obsered, when I rejoined her in her roo after putting Adèle to bed.
“Well, is he?”
“I think so: he is ery geful and abrupt.”
“True: no doubt he y appear so to a stranger, but I aso aced to his nner, I hink of it; and then, if he has peculiarities of teer, allowance should be de.”
“Why?”
“Partly because it is his nature—and we one of us help our nature; and partly because he has painful thoughts, no doubt, to harass hi and ke his spirits unequal.”
“What about?”
“Faly troubles, for ohing.”
“But he has no faly.”
“Not now, but he has had—or, at least, reties. He lost his elder brother a few years since.”
“His elder brother?”
“Yes. The present Mr. Rochester has not been ery long in possession of the property; only about nine years.”
“Nine years is a tolerable ti. Was he so ery fond of his brother as to be still insoble for his loss?”
“Why, no—perhaps not. I beliee there were so suandings between the Mr. Rownd Rochester was not quite just to Mr. Edward; and perhaps he prejudiced his father against hi The old gentlen was fond of ney, and anious to keep the faly estate together. He did not like to dinish the property by diision, a he was anious that Mr. Edward should hae weah, too, to keep up the sequence of the n and, soon after he was of age, so steps were taken that were not quite fair, and de a great deal of schief. Old Mr. Rochester and Mr. Rownd bi Mr. Edward into what he sidered a painful position, for the sake of king his fortune: what the precise nature of that position was I neer clearly knew, but his spiriuld not brook what he had to suffer in it. He is not ery fiing: he broke with his faly, and now for ny years he has led an uled kind of life. I don’t think he has eer been resident at Thornfield for a fht together, sihe death of his brother without a will left hister of the estate; and, indeed, no wonder he shuns the old pce.”
“Why should he shun it?”
“Perhaps he thinks it gloo.”
The answer was easie. I should hae liked sothing clearer; but Mrs. Fairfa eitheuld not, or would not, gie re eplicit infortion of the in and nature of Mr. Rochester’s trials. She aerred they were a stery to herself, and that what she knew was chiefly frojecture. It was eident, ihat she wished to drop the subject, which I did aly.
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