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I both wished and feared to see Mr. Rochester on the day which followed this sleepless night: I wao hear his oice agai feared to et his eye. During the early part of the I ntarily epected his ing; he was not in the frequent habit of entering the schoolroo but he did step in for a few nutes sotis, and I had the iression that he was sure to isit it that day.
But the passed just as usual: nothing happeo interrupt the quieurse of Adèle’s studies; only soon after breakfast, I heard so bustle in the neighbourhood of Mr. Rochester’s chaer, Mrs. Fairfa’s oice, and Leah’s, and thok’s—that is, John’s wife—and een John’s own gruff tohere were es of “What a rcy ster was not burnt in his bed!” “It is always dangerous to keep a dle lit at night.” “How proidential that he had presenind to think of the water-jug!” “I wonder he waked nobody!” “It is to be hoped he will not takld with sleeping on the library sofa,” c.
To ch fabution sueeded a sound of scrubbing aing thts; and when I passed the roo in going downstairs to dinner, I saw through the open door that all was agaiored to plete order; only the bed was stripped of its hangings. Leah stood up in the window-seat, rubbing the panes of gss died with ske. I was about to address her, for I wished to know what at had been gien of the affair: but, on adang, I saw a sed person in the chaer—a won sitting on a chair by the bedside, and sewing rings to new curtains. That won 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 i on her work, in which her whole thoughts seed absorbed: on her hard forehead, and in her onpce features, was nothiher of the paleness or desperation one would hae epected to see rking the tenance of a won who had atteted rder, and whose intended ictihad followed her st night to her ir, and (as I belieed), charged her with the cri she wished to perpetrate. I was azed—founded. She looked up, while I still gazed at her: no start, no increase or failure olour betrayed etion, sciousness of gui, or fear of dete. She said “Good Miss,” in her usual phlegtid brief nner; and taking up another ring aape, went on with her sewing.
“I will put her to so test,” thought I: “such absolute ierability is past prehension.”
“Good Grace,” I said. “Has anything happened here? I thought I heard the serants all talking together a while ago.”
“Only ster had been reading in his bed st night; he fell asleep with his dle lit, and the curtains got on fire; but, fortunately, he awoke before the bed-clothes or the wood-work caught, and tried to quench the fs with the water in the ewer.
“A strange affair!” I said, in a low oice: then, looking at her fiedly—“Did Mr. Rochester wake nobody? Did no one hear hie?”
She again raised her eyes to , and this ti there was sothing of sciousness in their epression. She seed to eane warily; then she answered—
“The serants sleep so far off, you know, Miss, they would not be likely to hear. Mrs. Fairfa’s rooand yours are the o ster’s; but Mrs. Fairfa said she heard nothing: when people get elderly, they often sleep heay.” She paused, and then added, with a sort of assud indifference, but still in a rked and signifit tone—“But you are young, Miss; and I should say a light sleeper: perhaps you y hae heard a noise?”
“I did,” said I, dropping oice, so that Leah, who was still polishing the panesuld not hear , “and at first I thought it ilot: but Pilot ot ugh; and I acertain I heard a ugh, and a strange one.”
She took a new needleful of thread, waed it carefully, threaded her needle with a steady hand, and then obsered, with perfeposure—
“It is hardly likely ster would ugh, I should think, Miss, when he was in such danger: You st hae been dreang.”
“I was n,” I said, with so warh, for her brazen ess prooked . Again she looked at ; and with the sa scrutinising and scious eye.
“Hae you told ster that you heard a ugh?” she inquired.
“I hae not had the opportunity of speaking to hithis ”
“You did not think of opening your door and looking out into the gallery?” sh;sa..;/sae further asked.
She appeared to be cross-questioing to draw fro infortion unawares. The idea strubsp; that if she dered I knew or suspected her gui, she would be pying of so of her lignant pranks on ; I thought it adisable to be on guard.
“Orary,” said I, “I boed door.”
“Then you are not in the habit of boing your door eery night before you get into bed?”
“Fiend! she wants to know habits, that she y y her pns aly!” Indignation again preailed oer prudence: I replied sharply, “Hitherto I hae often otted to fasten the bo: 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 id rked stress on the words) “I shall take good care to ke all secure before I eo lie down.”
“It will be wise so to do,” was her answer: “this neighbourhood is as quiet as any I know, and I neer heard of the hall being atteted by robbers si was a house; though there are hundreds of pounds’ worth of pte ie-closet, as is well known. And you see, for such a rge house, there are ery few serants, because ster has neer lied here ch; and when he does e, 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 hae a drawn bo between one and any schief that y be about. A deal of people, Miss, are for trusting all to Proidence; but I say Proidence will not dispeh the ans, though He often blesses thewhen they are used discreetly.” And here she closed her harangue: a long one for her, and uttered with the dereness of a Quakeress.
I still stood absolutely duou peared to her raculous self-possession and st inscrutable hypocrisy, when thok entered.
“Mrs. Poole,” said she, addressing Grace, “the serants’ dinner will soon be ready: will you e down?”
“No; just put  int of porter and bit of pudding on a tray, and I’ll carry it upstairs.”
“You’ll hae so at?”
“Just a rsel, and a taste of cheese, that’s all.”
“And the sago?”
“Neer nd it at present: I shall be ing down before teati: I’ll ke it self.”
Thok here turo , saying that Mrs. Fairfa was waiting for : so I departed.
I hardly heard Mrs. Fairfa’s at of the curtain fgration during dinner, so ch was I oupied in puzzling braihe enigtical character of Grace Poole, and still re in p the probleof her position at Thornfield and questioning why she had not been gien into custody that or, at the ery least, disssed froher ster’s serice. He had alst as ch as dec;rk?;/rkred his i of her ality st night: what sterious cause withheld hifroacg her? Why had he enjoined , too, to secrecy? It was strange: a bold, indictie, and haughty gentlen seed sohow in the power of one of the a of his dependants; so her power, that een when she lifted her hand against his life, he dared not openly charge her with the attet, ch less punish her for it.
Had Grace been young and handso, I should hae beeed to think that tenderer feelings than prudence or fear influenced Mr. Rochester in her behalf; but, hard-faoured and tronly as she was, the ideuld not be adtted. “Yet,” I reflected, “she has been young once; her youth would be porary with her ster’s: Mrs. Fairfa told once, she had lied here ny years. I don’t think she eer hae beey; but, fht I know, she y possess inality and strength of character to pensate for the want of personal adantages. Mr. Rochester is an ateur of the decided aric: Grace is etric at least. What if a forr caprice (a freak ery possible to a nature so sudden arong as his) has deliered hiinto her power, and she now eercises oer his as a secret influehe resu of his own indiscretion, which he ot shake off, and dare not disregard?” But, haing reached this point of jecture, Mrs. Poole’s square, ft figure, and unely, dry, eearse face, recurred so distinctly to nd’s eye, that I thought, “No; iossible! supposition ot brrect. Yet,” suggested the secret oice which talks to us in our ows, “you are not beautiful either, and perhaps Mr. Rochester approes you: at any rate, you hae ofte as if he did; and st night—reer his words; reer his look; reer his oice!”
I well reered all; nguage, gnce, and tone seed at the nt iidly renewed. I was now in the schoolroo Adèle was drawing; I bent oer her and directed her pencil. She looked up with a sort of start.
“Qu’ aez-ous, deiselle?” said she. “Vos doigts trelent e feuille, et os joues ses: is, rouges e des cerises!”
“I ahot, Adèle, with stooping!” She went og; I went on thinking.
I hasteo drie fro nd the hateful notion I had been g respeg Grace Poole; it disgusted . I pared self with her, and found we were different. Bessie Leaen had said I was quite a dy; and she spoke truth—I was a dy. And now I looked ch better than I did when Bessie saw ; I had rlour and re flesh, re life, re iacity, because I had brighter hopes and keener enjoynts.
“Eening approaches,” said I, as I looked towards the window. “I hae neer heard Mr. Rochester’s oice or step in the house to-day; but surely I shall see hibefore night: I feared the eting in the now I desire it, because epectation has been so long baffled that it is grown iatient.”
When dusk actually closed, and when Adèle left to go and py in the nursery with Sophie, I did st keenly desire it. I listened for the bell t below; I listened for Leah ing up with a ssage; I fancied sotis I heard Mr. Rochester’s own tread, and I turo the door, epeg it to open and adt hi The door reined shut; darkness only through the window. Still it was not te; he ofte for at seen a o’clock, and it was yet but si. Surely I should not be wholly disappoio- night, when I had so ny things to say to hi I wanted again to introduce the subject of Grace Poole, and to hear what he would answer; I wao ask hipinly if he really belieed it was she who had de st night’s hideous attet; and if so, why he kept her wiess a secret. It little ttered whether curiosity irritated hi I khe pleasure of eg and soothing hiby turns; it was one I chiefly delighted in, and a sure instinct alreented frogoing too far; beyond the erge of proocation I neer entured; ore brink I liked well to try skill. Retaining eery nute forof respect, eery propriety of station, uld still et hiin argunt without fear or uneasy restraint; this suited both hiand .
A tread creaked oairs at st. Leah de her appearance; but it was only to ihat tea was ready in Mrs. Fairfa’s roo Thither I repaired, gd at least to go downstairs; for that brought , I igined, o Mr. Rochester’s presence.
“You st want your tea,” said the good dy, as I joined her; “you ate so little at dinner. I aafraid,” she tinued, “you are not well to-day: you look flushed and feerish.”
“Oh, quite well! I neer fe better.”
“Then you st proe it by eing a good appetite; will you fill the teapot while I knit off this needle?” Haing pleted her task, she rose to draw down the blind, which she had hitherto kept up, by way, I suppose, of king the st 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 faourable day for his journey.”
“Journey!—Is Mr. Rochester gone anywhere? I did not know he was out.”
“Oh, he set of the nt he had breakfasted! He is goo the Leas, Mr. Eshton’s pce, ten les oher side Mite. I beliee there is quite a party asseled there; Lord Ingra Sir Gee Lynn, el Dent, and others.”
“Do you epect hiback to-night?”
“No—nor to-rrow either; I should think he is ery likely to stay a week or re: when these fine, fashionable people get together, they are so surrounded by elegand gaiety, so well proided with all that  lease aertain, they are in no hurry to separate. Gentlen especially are often in request on such oasions; and Mr. Rochester is so talented and so liely in society, that I beliee he is a general faourite: the dies are ery fond of hi though you would not think his appearance calcuted to reend hiparticurly in their eyes: but I suppose his acquirents and abilities, perhaps his weah and good blood, ke ands for any little fau of look.”
“Are there dies at the Leas?”
“There are Mrs. Eshton ahree daughters—ery elegant young dies indeed; and there are the Honourable Bnche and Mary Ingra st beautiful won, I suppose: indeed I hae seen Bnche, si or seen years since, when she was a girl of eighteen. She ca here to a Christs ball and party Mr. Rochester gae. You should hae seen the dining-roothat day—how richly it was rated, how brilliantly lit up! I should think there were fifty dies ale—all of the first ty falies; and Miss Ingrawas sidered the belle of the eening.”
“You saw her, you say, Mrs. Fairfa: what was she like?”
“Yes, I saw her. The dining-roodoors were thrown open; and, as it was Christs-ti, the serants were allowed to assele in the hall, to hear so of the dies sing and py. Mr. Rochester would hae to e in, and I sat down in a quiet er and watched the I neer saw a re splendid se: the dies were gnifitly dressed; st of theat least st of the younger ones—looked handso; but Miss Ingrawas certainly the queen.”
“And what was she like?”
“Tall, fine bust, sloping shoulders; long, graceful neck: olie pleion, dark and clear; noble features; eyes rather like Mr. Rochester’s: rge and bck, and as brilliant as her jewels. And then she had such a fine head of hair; raen-bd so beingly arranged: a of thick pits behind, and in front the lo, the glossiest curls I eer saw. She was dressed in pure white; an aeloured scarf assed oer her shoulder and across her breast, tied at the side, and desding in long, fringed ends below her knee. She wore an aeloured flower, too, in her hair: it trasted well with the jetty ss of her curls.”
“She was greatly adred, ourse?”
“Yes, indeed: and not only for her beauty, but for her aplishnts. She was on;u..;/ue of the dies who sang: a gentlen apanied her on the piano. She and Mr. Rochester sang a duet.”
“Mr. Rochester? I was not aware huld sing.”
“Oh! he has a fine bass oice, and an ecellent taste for sic.”
“And Miss Ingra what sort of a oice had she?”
“A ery rid powerful one: she sang delightfully; it was a treat to listen to her;—and she pyed afterwards. I ano judge of sic, but Mr. Rochester is; and I heard hisay her eecution was rerkably good.”
“And this beautiful and aplished dy, she is not yet rried?”
“It appears not: I faher she nor her sister hae ery rge fortunes. Old Lord Ingras estates were chiefly entailed, and the eldest son for eerything alst.”
“But I wonder hy noblelen has taken a fancy to her: Mr. Rochester, for instance. He is rich, is he not?”
“Oh! yes. But you see there is a siderable differen age: Mr. Rochester is nearly forty; she is but twenty-fie.”
“What of that? More unequal tches are de eery day.”
“True: yet I should scarcely fancy Mr. Rochester would eain an idea of the sort. But you eat nothing: you hae scarcely tasted since you began tea.”
“No: I atoo thirsty to eat. Will you let hae another cup?”
I was about again to reert to the probability of a unioween Mr. Rochester and the beautiful Bnche; but Adèle , and the ersation was turned into another el.
When once re alone, I reiewed the infortion I had got; looked into heart, eas thoughts and feelings, and endeaoured t back with a strict hand such as had been straying through igination’s boundless and trackless waste, into the safe fold of on sense.
Arraig own bar, Mery haing gien her eidence of the hopes, wishes, ses I had been cherishing si night—of the general state of nd in which I had indulged for nearly a fht past; Reason haing e forward and told, in her own quiet in, unarale, showing how I had rejected the real, and rabidly deoured the ideal;—I pronounced judgnt to this effect:—
That a greater fool than Jane Eyre had neer breathed the breath of life; that a re fantastic idiot had neer surfeited herself o lies, and swallowed poison as if it were ar.
“You,” I said, “a faourite with Mr. Rochester? You gifted with the power of pleasing hi You of iortao hiin any way? Go! your folly sis . And you hae deried pleasure frooasional tokens of preference—equiocal tokens shown by a gentlen of faly and a n of the world to a depe and a noice. How dared you? Poor stupid dupe!—uld not een self- i ke you wiser? You repeated to yourself this the brief se of st night?—er your fad be ashad! He said sothing in praise of your eyes, did he? Blind puppy! Open their bleared lids and look on your own aursed senselessness! It does good to no won to be fttered by her superior, who ot possibly io rry her; and it is dness in all won to let a secret loe kihin the which, if uurned and unknown, st deour the life that feeds it; and, if dered and respoo, st lead, ignis-fatus-like, into ry wilds whehere is rication.
“Listen, then, Jane Eyre, to your senteorrow, pce the gss before you, and draw in chalk your own picture, faithfully, without softening o; ot no harsh line, soth away no displeasing irregurity; write u, ‘Portrait of a Goerness, disected, poor, and pin.’
“Afterwards, take a pieooth iory—you hae one prepared in your drawing-bo: take your palette, your freshest, fi, clearest tints; choose your st delicate cal-hair pencils; delie carefully the loeliest face you igine; paint it in your softest shades and sweetest lines, a to the description gien by Mrs. Fairfa of Bnche Ingra reer the raen ris, the oriental eye;—What! you reert to Mr. Rochester as a del! Order! No sniel!—int!—! I will endure only sense and resolution. Recall the august yet harnious lis, the Gre ned bust; let the round and dazzling arbe isible, and the delicate hand; ot her dianold bracelet; portray faithfully the attire, aerial d glistening satin, graceful scarf and golden rose; call it ‘Bnche, an aplished dy of rank.’
“Wheneer, in future, you should ce to fancy Mr. Rochester thinks well of you, take out these two pictures and pare the say, ‘Mr. Rochester ght probably win that noble dy’s loe, if he chose to strie for it; is it likely he would waste a serious thought on this i and insignifit plebeian?’”
“I’ll do it,” I resoled: and haing frad this deternation, I grew cal and fell asleep.
I kept word. An hour or two sufficed to sketbsp; own portrait in crayons; and ihan a fht I had pleted an iory niature of an iginary Bnche Ingra It looked a loely faough, and when pared with the real head in chalk, the trast was as great as self-trould desire. I deried be frothe task: it had kept head and hands eloyed, and had gien ford fiedo the new iressions I wished to sta indelibly on heart.
Ere long, I had reason to gratute self on thurse of wholeso disciplio which I had thus forbsp; feelings to subt. Thanks to it, I was able to et subsequent ourrences with a det cal which, had they found unprepared, I should probably hae been unequal to intain, eeernally.
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