toto

<img height="500" src="http://i.imgur.com/xTMA6YO.jpg" width="500"><br /> <div align="justify"><p>fuck, this is disgusting! this is great! playboy... no, i'm not a playboy. i'm a romantic guy who still believes in lovethat's why i'm telling you "no"... toto' who lived twice did you like it? paletta! </p> <p>triple enginehas arrived in palermo! the finest of all whores,did you see her? she's got tits like a cow. can you imagine how amazingit'd be to suck on them? the blowjobs she givesare enough to resurrect the dead! have your mother give yousome money and go see her. she'll put some life in you! hey guys, paletta is coming! minico, come here! </p> <p>liuccia! hit the tin can! what a piss,this'll warm paletta up! - easy...- shit, minico! sit down there! - hurry up!- shit, minico! he's so devoted. it's his mother's necklace,bless her soul. you know how much he loved her. </p> <p>the ecce homogranted him a great favor. you dishonored! how dare you ask me for money, knowing what poverty we live in. aren't you ashamed of havinga poor old lady support you? you're like thatpimp father of yours, who hung around the tavernfrom morning till night. right up until he died,he never gave me a penny. poison yourself, you creep! </p> <p>look at the sludgethis pig iet on the floor. what's this stench? piss? pigs are better to raise than kids. stuff yourself, and let's hopeit's the last time. saint rosaliahas to grant me a favor! cascino! bring me some oil!it's burning like hell. don't iet them make a racket! easy! </p> <p>as soon as the others come down,you three can come in. cascino... did you choke on a cock hair? fuckin' hell, i'm wiped out! paletta, did you find the money? it's too good to be true! damn, what a blazing cunt! and what amazing tits you've got! you're out of this world! </p> <p>- triple engine!- you sure are beautiful! calm down! i'ii get to all of you! i can't wait to be with you! i'm here even at night. you don't have any money either? you want to do something? i'll give you a blowjob,and then you give me one. wait up! you'll end up liking it,you'll see. </p> <p>don't make me beg. why are you in such a hurry? wait a minute. you'll see how you'll like it. don't be stupid! do you see what a big heartdon nen㨠has? see what he gave the lord? do you know how miraculous it is? look how beautiful! </p> <p>i'm all yours.i'm here even at night. i'm all yours...i'm here even at night. i'll give you a blow joband you'll give me one. did you find the money? you're still coughing?how about some cock mixture? it's a simple song,a two bit song... stick a prune in your mouth! cascino, you're making moneyoff my dick! you're getting everything wet! </p> <p>how could you even thinkof going out with this weather? get off thatand go stand in corner! he sure is fit! you're all wet, sweetheart.wait a while longer, and i'ii dry you off. - whose turn is it?- mine, sweetheart. i'ii show you some fun... the bull's eye will be stretched outwhen we get to it... it's better than nothing... </p> <p>out of the way, you piece of shit! - move and i'll slit your bellies!- who are you? - we're poor devils!- fork up the money, you fat pimp! fork up the moneyyou've got on you! i only have enough moneyto eat tonight! - get this out of the bank!- leave me alone! can't you hear?empty your pockets! i feel sick!let me go home! goldilocks, see if it's hard! </p> <p>i hope you spend all this moneyon medicine! fuckin' hell, look at this! who's this old fart, your granny?she looks like you! we're leaving now, and if you yell,or make a move, we'll come back and slit your bellies! hey, is the film good? - what shall we do?- what can you do? how handsome my son was... pietrino, look how i lost you... </p> <p>right, he was so handsome...what are you crying for? is that you, fefã¨? no, aunt concetta, it's me. if that brazen bastarddares to show up, i'ii kill him right here! why are you so mean? you knowhow much your brother loved him. he loved him too. sure, these two pieces of shitdisgraced an entire family! fef㨠screwed himand the rest of us too! </p> <p>- he screwed you too!- don't talk like that! why do you alwayshave to be so stubborn, fefã¨? listen to what i'm telling you: you have to get upout of bed and go. you can't avoid it! aii those years you spent together, how can you forget them? solino, you know his brother, he's never been able to stand me. </p> <p>it'd be just like him to beat me upin front of the corpse! you don't know how... you still have to be told?after all i've done for you? and these days you couldn't stand upbecause you were so hungry and he'd hock his mother's linens? - poor wretch!- you're nothing but scum! come on, get up. open up, you faggot! madonna, madonna! </p> <p>you useless thing! if you don't paythe rent you owe me, i'ii come here and throw you outwith the rest of this garbage! but we're in mourning,mr. quattarella. he was a bigger piece of shitthan him! look what i put in my house! the whole building is disgusted! i warned you, you cocksucker! let's go. </p> <p>do you have to eat, aunt concetta? - who could eat, aunt rosalia?- you must eat, maybe just a little. send your grandson. maybe something happened to him. he's always sick, the poor thing. who's sick? he doesn't give a shitabout the dead, or you either... after all you've done for him. i don't believe that, aunt rosalia. </p> <p>he'll come, i can feel it in my heart. what heart? he's a dog who knows no master. do you rememberwhen he made you hock the few things you had? your husband's ring,bless his soul. the earringsfrom when you got married. even bastiano's wedding suit! did you ever get a penny back? </p> <p>he left you high and dry. - but he loved my son.- it was out of interest! pietrino, are we surewhat we're doing is right? i don't understand anything anymore. i'm so confused in the head. mom, what's he going to dowith all that gold six foot under? at least this will give fef㨠and ithe chance to be happy... and finally get married. being generous as he was,dad would be happy. </p> <p>then wouldn't it have been betterto inform bastiano? he would have been happy too. did you hear her? she wants to tellyour brother bastiano. if she talks, we're ruined. - he'll have our heads for this!- have no fear, my love. my mother won't say a word. and we'll be able to get married... and live happily ever after! </p> <p>my love... - dad!- damn, was he ugly! where's my grave? i can't find it! here it is! there's a mistake here. this is our grave. look further aheadand don't be offended. they're nice and heavy. </p> <p>what a terrible night, aunt concetta. he never did marry my pietrino. i'm pissing my pants! you want me dead! you're taking me thereknowing that he's crazy! - but you loved pietrino.- so what? am i supposed to die too? - he loved you though!- that's in the past now! what's down there? </p> <p>holy shit, they're dogs! - are you feeling sick?- it's just weakness... - didn't you eat?- i haven't eaten in two days. he's starving to death. i don't have any money, though. madonna, madonna... look what happened to me!who would've ever thought it? look who's coming! fefã¨, are my dick and yourbrown spot going to get together? </p> <p>go give it to your sister. eat it! fefã¨... look how handsome,he doesn't even seem dead. what a pity, aunt concetta,it's just not right. get out of here, you creeps!go act faggots at the marina! go on bastiano, never mind them, do you want to ruin yourselfover these two cunts? what are you doing, fefã¨, crying? </p> <p>how disgusting! why isn't he here yet? will you calm down, fefã¨? he'll come. pietrino is a serious guy,he's wonderful. you know i love you, i wouldn't introduce him to youif he weren't a good guy. don't worry, darling. what's he like? </p> <p>he's a handsome boy. tall... stocky... he's a model! but... money... does he have any? fefã¨, he doesn't lack a thing. he's looking for love,just like you. - is that him?- yes, just relax. </p> <p>i'm so excited! fefã¨, this is pietrino. pietrino, this is my friend. how charming! you, who have taken my heart, will be for me my only love... no, i shall not forget, i'll live only for you, </p> <p>i'll dream of you... ...when thosegolden pupils of yours, grow wide... damn, were you ugly! what are you doing? nothing! go sit down! my darling love, you're my life. i'd do anything for you. </p> <p>isn't he your brother? i'ii take care of it. faggots! you brute! let go of me! have pity on me, bastiano!he's the one molesting me! speak up, tell him! you're not my brother,you're a cain! will you give me a little cheese?i haven't eaten in two days. i'd give you poison, i would! </p> <p>you're a disgrace! if you're hereit's thanks to my old lady, who doesn't knowwhat a scum you are! you and that other faggotdisgraced an honest family! you faggot! and if you move,i'ii rip your head off! darling, why are you running away?let me catch you! my love!why are you making me suffer? i've never been so happy before,my love. </p> <p>a piece of shit like medidn't deserve such happiness. you've brought light into my life. quiet, don't say that! you're hurting me. you're such a marvellous angel. you're right, darling. let's enjoy these magic moments. i wish i could give it to you... really? is it mine, then? </p> <p>ask me anything, darling,but not this. why not? it's a long, beautiful story... bound to my dear daddy's memory. oh, darling... daddy! let's go pietrino, or it'll get darkand we won't find anything! dad, where are you taking me? can't you see, you little vulture,that everybody's gone here? </p> <p>if we're lucky we find some gold,iron, linen and other things too. wait for me there, don't move. good morning! - what a tragedy!- what can you do! come here, pietrino! who is this old lady? what did i tell you, my little vulture?look at all this gold! - what do we do with the old man?- wait, i have to get the candle! </p> <p>shut up! you bird of ill omen! - how beautiful, dad.- look how beautiful! - is it mine, then?- some day... what a touching story, darling. i'm all excited...come on. where are we going? - where are you taking me?- to a wonderful place. don't run away! come here! i'ii be your patron servant forthe rest of my life, come! </p> <p>look what's happening to me! come here! you're mine,you have to be all mine. - leave me alone!- you can't do this! - you're mine! you're mine now!- no, i don't want to! you can't say "no" now! i've become a feisty bull for you! - what do you mean to me?- the ring, again?! i already told youi can't give it to you. what are you thinking, my love?i took your pale hand... </p> <p>just in order to kiss it. don't think these terrible thoughts,my darling. i adore you, you are my passion. slowly! - what a nice little bum you have!- you're so violent! it's like a baby's. it's a little hairy,but i like it anyway. - not like that!- gentle... i'm sorry if i'm hurting you,but i'm just so excited. not like that! </p> <p>spread your ass wider,light of my life! fuck, i'm hungry! that faggot made mespit blood to get this. just the thought of hisstinking ass... but now the ring is mine and he's in hell. and tomorrow is another day. what's going on? talk! tell me what you know! </p> <p>nothing will happen to you and you can go home. i don't know anything. and if i did, i wouldn't tell you. how the fuck does he talk? who brought me thisgood for nothing idiot? revenge!i'ii get you back one day! beat my meat! and you can eat me. </p> <p>lazarus, you're better off talking. you're breaking my balls,all of you! you can beat my meat! dissolve him! give my balls a scratching. that's enough. totã²! what do you want?get off my fucking back! don't you understandthere's nothing i can do for you? </p> <p>what do you mean, nothing?you're going to leave me like this? i can't help you. go fuck yourself! go away! what the hell are you doing? - can't you see?- can't you tell he's blind?! oh, he's blind. - go now, son.- thank you, sir. you're welcome my ass! </p> <p>liuccia's so sweet! what the fuck are you doing? are you screwing my hen? give me that hen! it's mine! go spit up blood! you son of a bitch! why the blind guy and not me? you're still bugging me? i've got other things to think about,get it? </p> <p>don't you think that, like yours,my mind is stuck on... go take a hike. this hen sure is beautiful. - do you want to share it?- you're nuts, it's mine! they're so nice... - can i try them?- get lost! you want to try my wings? it bugs the shit out of me,it's a pain in the ass! what a tragedy! - they dissolved lazarus in the acid!- what the fuck do i care? </p> <p>- totã², don't abandon us!- get off my fucking back! piss off! bless you all! what did you call me for? there's nothing left of him. don't break my ballsand do what you have to do! i'ii fuck you over good! what's on your mind? come out, lazarus. </p> <p>come out, you dickhead! revenge!! i'ii get you back! you're all on my fucking back. this is my thanks? revenge! where did he go? the one time i actually do it... i haven't eaten in two days. </p> <p>are you hungry too? what the hell's happened to him? he's dead, don totã². what's wrong with this bastard? they killed him. don totã², can i tell you something? scratch my ball, first. i know who killed him. who did it? </p> <p>lazarus did it. what are you talking about?we killed him! i saw him with my own eyesrunning like a maniac. his eyes were popping out. how could that be? so? - so what?- the speech! just go home! a blow job, liuccia! </p> <p>for you, liuccia! take it! is fucking all you think about? get off my fucking backand get lost! idiot! the motherfucker even resurrectedthat piece of shit they dissolved in acid. and poor me,he's never wanted to help me. doesn't he know that i'll neverfind a woman, the way i am? now i'll show the bastard. </p> <p>- greetings, don totã².- greetings my ass. if you made me come herefor nothing, i'ii dissolve you. don totã², i know who's to blamefor this blood bath. tell me who did it. i want something, first. tell me what you want, little man. i've got just what you need! maddalena!maddalena! come here! look at that cunt! </p> <p>do you like her, gimp?you could've only dreamed of her! my bright joy... i'ii iet you screw her. have we got to wait for himmuch longer? he went to take a piss. hey guys, do you know what i say?let's eat! guys, a girl goes to see a priest. she says: "father, i have sinned.""what's wrong, my girl?" "my boyfriend nailed me... </p> <p>here in the front."and he goes: "i'ii pound it out!" you motherfuckers... i hope that turns into poison. you're sucking the blood out of me? where's the humpback? that piece of shit pimp! i'm breaking my backwhile he chases after whores. death is blind. look what nice company! </p> <p>pimp! moochers! let's begin the feast! call it a feast... go get some dog and get laid! i'm puking. get out of here! how fucking disgusting... what kind of crap are you doing?get out of here! what is he now, a faggot? </p> <p>gentlemen, the feast is over! come here, you useless thing. - do we know each other?- maybe. look what somethinglike this can do. do you know who i am? who the fuck are you? who the fuck does he think he is? you piece of shit! thanks to this idiot, </p> <p>that bastard lazarusis killing everyone. the gentleman here only caresabout eating and drinking. the lord of my cock! what do you want? i was "sent". and were you sent to ruin me? i'ii make you end upjust like the other one did. i'ii have you dissolved. he wouldn't even be goodfor glue! poor thing... </p> <p>look what happened to you! calm down! - what's down there?- crosses! what do you think of this filth? who the fuck is he? </p></div> <iframe width="560" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/KBBzmb3WllA?rel=0" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>

toto

fuck, this is disgusting! this is great! playboy... no, i'm not a playboy. i'm a romantic guy who still believes in lovethat's ...

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togel

<img height="500" src="http://i.imgur.com/tnzVNJ2.jpg" width="500"><br /> <div align="justify"><p>chapter xii the promise of a smooth career, which myfirst calm introduction to thornfield hall seemed to pledge, was not belied on alonger acquaintance with the place and its inmates. mrs. fairfax turned out to be what sheappeared, a placid-tempered, kind-natured woman, of competent education and averageintelligence. my pupil was a lively child, who had beenspoilt and indulged, and therefore was sometimes wayward; but as she was committedentirely to my care, and no injudicious interference from any quarter ever thwarted </p> <p>my plans for her improvement, she soonforgot her little freaks, and became obedient and teachable. she had no great talents, no marked traitsof character, no peculiar development of feeling or taste which raised her one inchabove the ordinary level of childhood; but neither had she any deficiency or vicewhich sunk her below it. she made reasonable progress, entertainedfor 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 bothcontent in each other's society. </p> <p>this, par parenthese, will be thoughtcool language by persons who entertain solemn doctrines about the angelic natureof children, and the duty of those charged with their education to conceive for them an idolatrous devotion: but i am notwriting to flatter parental egotism, to echo cant, or prop up humbug; i am merelytelling the truth. i felt a conscientious solicitude foradele's welfare and progress, and a quiet liking for her little self: just as icherished towards mrs. fairfax a thankfulness for her kindness, and a pleasure in her society proportionate tothe tranquil regard she had for me, and the </p> <p>moderation of her mind and character. anybody may blame me who likes, when i addfurther, that, now and then, when i took a walk by myself in the grounds; when i wentdown to the gates and looked through them along the road; or when, while adele played with her nurse, and mrs. fairfax madejellies in the storeroom, i climbed the three staircases, raised the trap-door ofthe attic, and having reached the leads, looked out afar over sequestered field and hill, and along dim sky-line--that then ilonged for a power of vision which might overpass that limit; which might reach thebusy world, towns, regions full of life i </p> <p>had heard of but never seen--that then i desired more of practical experience than ipossessed; more of intercourse with my kind, of acquaintance with variety ofcharacter, than was here within my reach. i valued what was good in mrs. fairfax, andwhat was good in adele; but i believed in the existence of other and more vivid kindsof 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 wasin my nature; it agitated me to pain </p> <p>sometimes. then my sole relief was to walk along thecorridor of the third storey, backwards and forwards, safe in the silence and solitudeof the spot, and allow my mind's eye to dwell on whatever bright visions rose before it--and, certainly, they were manyand glowing; to let my heart be heaved by the exultant movement, which, while itswelled it in trouble, expanded it with life; and, best of all, to open my inward ear to a tale that was never ended--a talemy imagination created, and narrated continuously; quickened with all ofincident, life, fire, feeling, that i </p> <p>desired and had not in my actual existence. it is in vain to say human beings ought tobe satisfied with tranquillity: they must have action; and they will make it if theycannot find it. millions are condemned to a stiller doomthan mine, and millions are in silent revolt against their lot. nobody knows how many rebellions besidespolitical rebellions ferment in the masses of life which people earth. women are supposed to be very calmgenerally: but women feel just as men feel; they need exercise for their faculties, anda field for their efforts, as much as their </p> <p>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 privilegedfellow-creatures to say that they ought to confine themselves to making puddings and knitting stockings, to playing on the pianoand embroidering bags. it is thoughtless to condemn them, or laughat them, if they seek to do more or learn more than custom has pronounced necessaryfor their sex. when thus alone, i not unfrequently heardgrace poole's laugh: the same peal, the same low, slow ha! ha! which, when firstheard, had thrilled me: i heard, too, her </p> <p>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 ofher room with a basin, or a plate, or a tray in her hand, go down to the kitchenand shortly return, generally (oh, romantic reader, forgive me for telling the plaintruth!) bearing a pot of porter. her appearance always acted as a damper tothe curiosity raised by her oral oddities: hard-featured and staid, she had no pointto which interest could attach. i made some attempts to draw her intoconversation, but she seemed a person of </p> <p>few words: a monosyllabic reply usually cutshort 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 decentpeople; but in no respect remarkable; with sophie i used to talk french, and sometimes i asked her questions about her nativecountry; but she was not of a descriptive or narrative turn, and generally gave suchvapid and confused answers as were calculated rather to check than encourageinquiry. october, november, december passed away. one afternoon in january, mrs. fairfax hadbegged a holiday for adele, because she had </p> <p>a cold; and, as adele seconded the requestwith an ardour that reminded me how precious occasional holidays had been to me in my own childhood, i accorded it, deemingthat 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. fairfaxhad 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. </p> <p>having seen adele comfortably seated in herlittle 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 change of amusement; andhaving 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, myroad was lonely; i walked fast till i got warm, and then i walked slowly to enjoy andanalyse the species of pleasure brooding for me in the hour and situation. it was three o'clock; the church belltolled as i passed under the belfry: the </p> <p>charm of the hour lay in its approachingdimness, in the low-gliding and pale- beaming sun. i was a mile from thornfield, in a lanenoted for wild roses in summer, for nuts and blackberries in autumn, and even nowpossessing a few coral treasures in hips and haws, but whose best winter delight layin its utter solitude and leafless repose. if a breath of air stirred, it made nosound here; for there was not a holly, not an evergreen to rustle, and the strippedhawthorn and hazel bushes were as still as the white, worn stones which causewayed themiddle of the path. far and wide, on each side, there were onlyfields, where no cattle now browsed; and </p> <p>the little brown birds, which stirredoccasionally in the hedge, looked like single russet leaves that had forgotten todrop. this lane inclined up-hill all the way tohay; having reached the middle, i sat down on a stile which led thence into a field. gathering my mantle about me, andsheltering my hands in my muff, i did not feel the cold, though it froze keenly; aswas attested by a sheet of ice covering the causeway, where a little brooklet, now congealed, had overflowed after a rapidthaw some days since. from my seat i could look down onthornfield: the grey and battlemented hall </p> <p>was the principal object in the vale belowme; its woods and dark rookery rose against the west. i lingered till the sun went down amongstthe trees, and sank crimson and clear behind them.i then turned eastward. on the hill-top above me sat the risingmoon; 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 couldhear plainly its thin murmurs of life. my ear, too, felt the flow of currents; inwhat dales and depths i could not tell: but </p> <p>there were many hills beyond hay, anddoubtless many becks threading their passes. that evening calm betrayed alike the tinkleof the nearest streams, the sough of the most remote. a rude noise broke on these fine ripplingsand whisperings, at once so far away and so clear: a positive tramp, tramp, a metallicclatter, which effaced the soft wave- wanderings; as, in a picture, the solid mass of a crag, or the rough boles of agreat oak, drawn in dark and strong on the foreground, efface the aerial distance ofazure hill, sunny horizon, and blended </p> <p>clouds where tint melts into tint. the din was on the causeway: a horse wascoming; the windings of the lane yet hid it, but it approached. i was just leaving the stile; yet, as thepath was narrow, i sat still to let it go by. in those days i was young, and all sorts offancies bright and dark tenanted my mind: the memories of nursery stories were thereamongst other rubbish; and when they recurred, maturing youth added to them a vigour and vividness beyond what childhoodcould give. </p> <p>as this horse approached, and as i watchedfor 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 solitaryways, and sometimes came upon belated travellers, as this horse was now comingupon 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 closedown by the hazel stems glided a great dog, whose black and white colour made him adistinct object against the trees. it was exactly one form of bessie'sgytrash--a lion-like creature with long </p> <p>hair and a huge head: it passed me,however, quietly enough; not staying to look up, with strange pretercanine eyes, inmy face, as i half expected it would. the horse followed,--a tall steed, and onits back a rider. the man, the human being, broke the spellat once. nothing ever rode the gytrash: it wasalways alone; and goblins, to my notions, though they might tenant the dumb carcassesof beasts, could scarce covet shelter in the commonplace human form. no gytrash was this,--only a travellertaking the short cut to millcote. he passed, and i went on; a few steps, andi turned: a sliding sound and an </p> <p>exclamation of "what the deuce is to donow?" and a clattering tumble, arrested my attention. man and horse were down; they had slippedon the sheet of ice which glazed the causeway. the dog came bounding back, and seeing hismaster in a predicament, and hearing the horse groan, barked till the evening hillsechoed the sound, which was deep in proportion to his magnitude. he snuffed round the prostrate group, andthen he ran up to me; it was all he could do,--there was no other help at hand tosummon. </p> <p>i obeyed him, and walked down to thetraveller, by this time struggling himself free of his steed. his efforts were so vigorous, i thought hecould not be much hurt; but i asked him the question--"are you injured, sir?" i think he was swearing, but am notcertain; however, he was pronouncing some formula which prevented him from replyingto 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. </p> <p>i did; whereupon began a heaving, stamping,clattering process, accompanied by a barking and baying which removed meeffectually some yards' distance; but i would not be driven quite away till i sawthe event. this was finally fortunate; the horse wasre-established, and the dog was silenced with a "down, pilot!" the traveller now, stooping, felt his footand leg, as if trying whether they were sound; apparently something ailed them, forhe halted to the stile whence i had just risen, and sat down. i was in the mood for being useful, or atleast officious, i think, for i now drew </p> <p>near him again. "if you are hurt, and want help, sir, i canfetch some one either from thornfield hall or from hay." "thank you: i shall do: i have no brokenbones,--only a sprain;" and again he stood up and tried his foot, but the resultextorted an involuntary "ugh!" something of daylight still lingered, andthe 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 generalpoints of middle height and considerable </p> <p>breadth of chest. he had a dark face, with stern features anda heavy brow; his eyes and gathered eyebrows looked ireful and thwarted justnow; he was past youth, but had not reached middle-age; perhaps he might be thirty-five. i felt no fear of him, and but littleshyness. had he been a handsome, heroic- lookingyoung gentleman, i should not have dared to stand thus questioning him against hiswill, 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 homagefor beauty, elegance, gallantry, </p> <p>fascination; but had i met those qualitiesincarnate in masculine shape, i should have known instinctively that they neither had nor could have sympathy with anything inme, and should have shunned them as one would fire, lightning, or anything elsethat is bright but antipathetic. if even this stranger had smiled and beengood-humoured to me when i addressed him; if he had put off my offer of assistancegaily and with thanks, i should have gone on my way and not felt any vocation to renew inquiries: but the frown, theroughness of the traveller, set me at my ease: i retained my station when he wavedto me to go, and announced-- </p> <p>"i cannot think of leaving you, sir, at solate 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 hadhardly turned his eyes in my direction before. "i should think you ought to be at homeyourself," said he, "if you have a home in this neighbourhood: where do you comefrom?" "from just below; and i am not at allafraid of being out late when it is moonlight: i will run over to hay for youwith pleasure, if you wish it: indeed, i am going there to post a letter." </p> <p>"you live just below--do you mean at thathouse with the battlements?" pointing to thornfield hall, on which the moon cast ahoary gleam, bringing it out distinct and pale from the woods that, by contrast with the western sky, now seemed one mass ofshadow. "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?" </p> <p>"i cannot.""you are not a servant at the hall, of course. you are--" he stopped, ran his eye over mydress, 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; ihelped him. "i am the governess.""ah, the governess!" he repeated; "deuce take me, if i had not forgotten! the governess!" and again my raimentunderwent scrutiny. </p> <p>in two minutes he rose from the stile: hisface expressed pain when he tried to move. "i cannot commission you to fetch help," hesaid; "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 asa 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 horsewhen alone, but when told to do it, i was disposed to obey. i put down my muff on the stile, and wentup to the tall steed; i endeavoured to </p> <p>catch the bridle, but it was a spiritedthing, and would not let me come near its head; i made effort on effort, though in vain: meantime, i was mortally afraid ofits trampling fore-feet. the traveller waited and watched for sometime, and at last he laughed. {i was mortally afraid of its tramplingforefeet: p107.jpg} "i see," he said, "the mountain will neverbe brought to mahomet, so all you can do is to aid mahomet to go to the mountain; imust beg of you to come here." i came. "excuse me," he continued: "necessitycompels me to make you useful." </p> <p>he laid a heavy hand on my shoulder, andleaning on me with some stress, limped to his horse. having once caught the bridle, he masteredit directly and sprang to his saddle; grimacing grimly as he made the effort, forit wrenched his sprain. "now," said he, releasing his under lipfrom 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 letterto hay, and return as fast as you can." a touch of a spurred heel made his horsefirst start and rear, and then bound away; the dog rushed in his traces; all threevanished, </p> <p>"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 forme: it was an incident of no moment, no romance, no interest in a sense; yet itmarked with change one single hour of a monotonous life. my help had been needed and claimed; i hadgiven it: i was pleased to have done something; trivial, transitory though thedeed was, it was yet an active thing, and i was weary of an existence all passive. the new face, too, was like a new pictureintroduced to the gallery of memory; and it </p> <p>was dissimilar to all the others hangingthere: firstly, because it was masculine; and, secondly, because it was dark, strong,and stern. i had it still before me when i enteredhay, and slipped the letter into the post- office; i saw it as i walked fast down-hillall the way home. when i came to the stile, i stopped aminute, looked round and listened, with an idea that a horse's hoofs might ring on thecauseway again, and that a rider in a cloak, and a gytrash-like newfoundland dog, might be again apparent: i saw only thehedge and a pollard willow before me, rising up still and straight to meet themoonbeams; i heard only the faintest waft </p> <p>of wind roaming fitful among the trees round thornfield, a mile distant; and wheni 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 hurriedon. i did not like re-entering thornfield. to pass its threshold was to return tostagnation; to cross the silent hall, to ascend the darksome staircase, to seek myown lonely little room, and then to meet tranquil mrs. fairfax, and spend the long winter evening with her, and her only, wasto quell wholly the faint excitement </p> <p>wakened by my walk,--to slip again over myfaculties the viewless fetters of an uniform and too still existence; of an existence whose very privileges of securityand ease i was becoming incapable of appreciating. what good it would have done me at thattime to have been tossed in the storms of an uncertain struggling life, and to havebeen taught by rough and bitter experience to long for the calm amidst which i nowrepined! yes, just as much good as it would do a mantired of sitting still in a "too easy chair" to take a long walk: and just asnatural was the wish to stir, under my </p> <p>circumstances, as it would be under his. i lingered at the gates; i lingered on thelawn; i paced backwards and forwards on the pavement; the shutters of the glass doorwere closed; i could not see into the interior; and both my eyes and spirit seemed drawn from the gloomy house--fromthe grey-hollow filled with rayless cells, as it appeared to me--to that sky expandedbefore me,--a blue sea absolved from taint of cloud; the moon ascending it in solemn march; her orb seeming to look up as sheleft the hill-tops, from behind which she had come, far and farther below her, andaspired to the zenith, midnight dark in its </p> <p>fathomless depth and measureless distance; and for those trembling stars that followedher course; they made my heart tremble, my veins glow when i viewed them. little things recall us to earth; the clockstruck 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 stepsof the oak staircase. this ruddy shine issued from the greatdining-room, whose two- leaved door stood open, and showed a genial fire in thegrate, glancing on marble hearth and brass </p> <p>fire-irons, and revealing purple draperies and polished furniture, in the mostpleasant radiance. it revealed, too, a group near themantelpiece: i had scarcely caught it, and scarcely become aware of a cheerfulmingling of voices, amongst which i seemed to distinguish the tones of adele, when thedoor closed. i hastened to mrs. fairfax's room; therewas a fire there too, but no candle, and no mrs. fairfax. instead, all alone, sitting upright on therug, and gazing with gravity at the blaze, i beheld a great black and white long-haired dog, just like the gytrash of the </p> <p>lane. it was so like it that i went forward andsaid--"pilot" and the thing got up and came to me and snuffed me. i caressed him, and he wagged his greattail; but he looked an eerie creature to be alone with, and i could not tell whence hehad come. i rang the bell, for i wanted a candle; andi wanted, too, to get an account of this visitant.leah entered. "what dog is this?" "he came with master.""with whom?" </p> <p>"with master--mr. rochester--he is justarrived." "indeed! and is mrs. fairfax with him?" "yes, and miss adele; they are in thedining-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 someice." "ah! bring me a candle will you leah?" leah brought it; she entered, followed bymrs. fairfax, who repeated the news; adding that mr. carter the surgeon was come, andwas now with mr. rochester: then she </p> <p>hurried out to give orders about tea, and iwent upstairs to take off my things. > chapter xiii mr. rochester, it seems, by the surgeon'sorders, went to bed early that night; nor did he rise soon next morning. when he did come down, it was to attend tobusiness: his agent and some of his tenants were arrived, and waiting to speak withhim. adele and i had now to vacate the library:it would be in daily requisition as a reception-room for callers. </p> <p>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 morningthat thornfield hall was a changed place: no longer silent as a church, it echoedevery 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 indifferent keys below; a rill from the outer world was flowing through it; it had amaster: for my part, i liked it better. adele was not easy to teach that day; shecould not apply: she kept running to the door and looking over the banisters to seeif she could get a glimpse of mr. </p> <p>rochester; then she coined pretexts to go downstairs, in order, as i shrewdlysuspected, to visit the library, where i knew she was not wanted; then, when i got alittle 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 whatpresents he had brought her: for it appears he had intimated the night before, that when his luggage came from millcote, therewould be found amongst it a little box in whose contents she had an interest. </p> <p>"et cela doit signifier," said she, "qu'ily aura la dedans un cadeau pour moi, et peut-etre pour vous aussi, mademoiselle. monsieur a parle de vous: il m'a demande lenom de ma gouvernante, et si elle n'etait pas une petite personne, assez mince et unpeu pale. j'ai dit qu'oui: car c'est vrai, n'est-cepas, mademoiselle?" i and my pupil dined as usual in mrs.fairfax's parlour; the afternoon was wild and snowy, and we passed it in theschoolroom. at dark i allowed adele to put away booksand work, and to run downstairs; for, from the comparative silence below, and from thecessation of appeals to the door-bell, i </p> <p>conjectured that mr. rochester was now atliberty. left alone, i walked to the window; butnothing was to be seen thence: twilight and snowflakes together thickened the air, andhid the very shrubs on the lawn. i let down the curtain and went back to thefireside. in the clear embers i was tracing a view,not unlike a picture i remembered to have seen of the castle of heidelberg, on therhine, when mrs. fairfax came in, breaking up by her entrance the fiery mosaic i had been piercing together, and scattering toosome heavy unwelcome thoughts that were beginning to throng on my solitude. </p> <p>"mr. rochester would be glad if you andyour pupil would take tea with him in the drawing-room this evening," said she: "hehas 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 hoursin the country. you had better change your frock now; iwill go with you and fasten it. here is a candle.""is it necessary to change my frock?" "yes, you had better: i always dress forthe evening when mr. rochester is here." this additional ceremony seemed somewhatstately; however, i repaired to my room, </p> <p>and, with mrs. fairfax's aid, replaced myblack stuff dress by one of black silk; the best and the only additional one i had, except one of light grey, which, in mylowood notions of the toilette, i thought too fine to be worn, except on first-rateoccasions. "you want a brooch," said mrs. fairfax. i had a single little pearl ornament whichmiss temple gave me as a parting keepsake: i put it on, and then we went downstairs. unused as i was to strangers, it was rathera trial to appear thus formally summoned in mr. rochester's presence. </p> <p>i let mrs. fairfax precede me into thedining-room, and kept in her shade as we crossed that apartment; and, passing thearch, 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 thedog: the fire shone full on his face. i knew my traveller with his broad andjetty eyebrows; his square forehead, made squarer by the horizontal sweep of hisblack hair. </p> <p>i recognised his decisive nose, moreremarkable 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, iperceived harmonised in squareness with his physiognomy: i suppose it was a good figurein the athletic sense of the term--broad chested and thin flanked, though neithertall nor graceful. mr. rochester must have been aware of theentrance of mrs. fairfax and myself; but it appeared he was not in the mood to noticeus, for he never lifted his head as we approached. </p> <p>"here is miss eyre, sir," said mrs.fairfax, in her quiet way. he bowed, still not taking his eyes fromthe group of the dog and child. "let miss eyre be seated," said he: andthere 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 bethere or not? at this moment i am not disposed to accosther." i sat down quite disembarrassed. a reception of finished politeness wouldprobably have confused me: i could not have returned or repaid it by answering graceand elegance on my part; but harsh caprice </p> <p>laid me under no obligation; on the contrary, a decent quiescence, under thefreak of manner, gave me the advantage. besides, the eccentricity of the proceedingwas piquant: i felt interested to see how he would go on. he went on as a statue would, that is, heneither spoke nor moved. mrs. fairfax seemed to think it necessarythat some one should be amiable, and she began to talk. kindly, as usual--and, as usual, rathertrite--she condoled with him on the pressure of business he had had all day; onthe annoyance it must have been to him with </p> <p>that painful sprain: then she commended his patience and perseverance in going throughwith it. "madam, i should like some tea," was thesole rejoinder she got. she hastened to ring the bell; and when thetray came, she proceeded to arrange the cups, spoons, &c., 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?" saidmrs. 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 </p> <p>request in my favour, cried out-- "n'est-ce pas, monsieur, qu'il y a uncadeau 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 searchedmy face with eyes that i saw were dark, irate, and piercing. "i hardly know, sir; i have littleexperience of them: they are generally thought pleasant things.""generally thought? but what do you think?" </p> <p>"i should be obliged to take time, sir,before i could give you an answer worthy of your acceptance: a present has many facesto it, has it not? and one should consider all, before pronouncing an opinion as toits nature." "miss eyre, you are not so unsophisticatedas adele: she demands a 'cadeau,' clamorously, the moment she sees me: youbeat about the bush." "because i have less confidence in mydeserts than adele has: she can prefer the claim of old acquaintance, and the righttoo 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 bepuzzled, since i am a stranger, and have </p> <p>done nothing to entitle me to anacknowledgment." "oh, don't fall back on over-modesty! i have examined adele, and find you havetaken great pains with her: she is not bright, she has no talents; yet in a shorttime she has made much improvement." "sir, you have now given me my 'cadeau;' iam obliged to you: it is the meed teachers most covet--praise of their pupils'progress." "humph!" said mr. rochester, and he tookhis tea in silence. "come to the fire," said the master, whenthe tray was taken away, and mrs. fairfax had settled into a corner with herknitting; while adele was leading me by the </p> <p>hand round the room, showing me the beautiful books and ornaments on theconsoles and chiffonnieres. we obeyed, as in duty bound; adele wantedto take a seat on my knee, but she was ordered to amuse herself with pilot. "you have been resident in my house threemonths?" "yes, sir.""and you came from--?" "from lowood school, in ---shire." "ah! a charitable concern.how long were you there?" "eight years.""eight years! you must be tenacious of </p> <p>life. i thought half the time in such a placewould have done up any constitution! no wonder you have rather the look ofanother world. i marvelled where you had got that sort offace. 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 hadbewitched my horse: i am not sure yet. who are your parents?" "i have none.""nor ever had, i suppose: do you remember them?""no." </p> <p>"i thought not. and so you were waiting for your peoplewhen 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, thatyou spread that damned ice on the causeway?"i shook my head. "the men in green all forsook england ahundred 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. </p> <p>i don't think either summer or harvest, orwinter 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 youdisown 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?" </p> <p>"i advertised, and mrs. fairfax answered myadvertisement." "yes," said the good lady, who now knewwhat ground we were upon, "and i am daily thankful for the choice providence led meto make. miss eyre has been an invaluable companionto me, and a kind and careful teacher to adele." "don't trouble yourself to give her acharacter," returned mr. rochester: "eulogiums will not bias me; i shall judgefor myself. she began by felling my horse." "sir?" said mrs. fairfax."i have to thank her for this sprain." </p> <p>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; andthey have not been numerous or very learned." "you have lived the life of a nun: no doubtyou are well drilled in religious forms;-- brocklehurst, who i understand directslowood, is a parson, is he not?" "yes, sir." </p> <p>"and you girls probably worshipped him, asa convent full of religieuses would worship their director.""oh, no." "you are very cool! no! what! a novice notworship 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 andmeddling; he cut off our hair; and for economy's sake bought us bad needles andthread, with which we could hardly sew." "that was very false economy," remarkedmrs. fairfax, who now again caught the drift of the dialogue."and was that the head and front of his </p> <p>offending?" demanded mr. rochester. "he starved us when he had the solesuperintendence of the provision department, before the committee wasappointed; 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. </p> <p>"arithmetic, you see, is useful; withoutits aid, i should hardly have been able to guess your age. it is a point difficult to fix where thefeatures 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 youplease.--(excuse my tone of command; i am used to say, 'do this,' and it is done: icannot alter my customary habits for one new inmate.)--go, then, into the library; </p> <p>take a candle with you; leave the dooropen; 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 otherenglish school-girl; perhaps rather better than some, but not well."i closed the piano and returned. mr. rochester continued--"adele showed mesome 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. </p> <p>"ah! that pricks pride. well, fetch me your portfolio, if you canvouch for its contents being original; but don't pass your word unless you arecertain: i can recognise patchwork." "then i will say nothing, and you shalljudge 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 thepictures. "no crowding," said mr. rochester: "takethe drawings from my hand as i finish with them; but don't push your faces up tomine." </p> <p>he deliberately scrutinised each sketch andpainting. three he laid aside; the others, when hehad 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 yourseat, and answer my questions. i perceive those pictures were done by onehand: was that hand yours?" "yes.""and when did you find time to do them? they have taken much time, and somethought." "i did them in the last two vacations ispent at lowood, when i had no other occupation." </p> <p>"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 kindwithin?" "i should think it may have: i should hope--better." he spread the pictures before him, andagain 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 onmy mind. as i saw them with the spiritual eye,before i attempted to embody them, they </p> <p>were striking; but my hand would not secondmy fancy, and in each case it had wrought out but a pale portrait of the thing i hadconceived. 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 theforeground; or rather, the nearest billows, for there was no land. one gleam of light lifted into relief ahalf-submerged mast, on which sat a cormorant, dark and large, with wingsflecked with foam; its beak held a gold bracelet set with gems, that i had touched </p> <p>with as brilliant tints as my palette couldyield, and as glittering distinctness as my pencil could impart. sinking below the bird and mast, a drownedcorpse 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 foregroundonly 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 </p> <p>could combine. the dim forehead was crowned with a star;the lineaments below were seen as through the suffusion of vapour; the eyes shonedark and wild; the hair streamed shadowy, like a beamless cloud torn by storm or byelectric travail. on the neck lay a pale reflection likemoonlight; the same faint lustre touched the train of thin clouds from which roseand bowed this vision of the evening star. the third showed the pinnacle of an icebergpiercing a polar winter sky: a muster of northern lights reared their dim lances,close serried, along the horizon. throwing these into distance, rose, in theforeground, a head,--a colossal head, </p> <p>inclined towards the iceberg, and restingagainst it. two thin hands, joined under the forehead,and supporting it, drew up before the lower features a sable veil, a brow quitebloodless, white as bone, and an eye hollow and fixed, blank of meaning but for theglassiness of despair, alone were visible. above the temples, amidst wreathed turbanfolds of black drapery, vague in its character and consistency as cloud, gleameda ring of white flame, gemmed with sparkles of a more lurid tinge. this pale crescent was "the likeness of akingly crown;" what it diademed was "the shape which shape had none.""were you happy when you painted these </p> <p>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 everknown." "that is not saying much. your pleasures, by your own account, havebeen few; but i daresay you did exist in a kind of artist's dreamland while you blentand arranged these strange tints. did you sit at them long each day?" "i had nothing else to do, because it wasthe vacation, and i sat at them from morning till noon, and from noon tillnight: the length of the midsummer days </p> <p>favoured my inclination to apply." "and you felt self-satisfied with theresult of your ardent labours?" "far from it. i was tormented by the contrast between myidea and my handiwork: in each case i had imagined something which i was quitepowerless to realise." "not quite: you have secured the shadow ofyour thought; but no more, probably. you had not enough of the artist's skilland 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 </p> <p>have seen in a dream. how could you make them look so clear, andyet 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, hesaid abruptly-- </p> <p>"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 theroom: he endured the caress, but scarcely seemed to relish it more than pilot wouldhave 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 ourcompany, and wished to dismiss us. mrs. fairfax folded up her knitting: i tookmy portfolio: we curtseyed to him, received a frigid bow in return, and so withdrew. "you said mr. rochester was not strikinglypeculiar, mrs. fairfax," i observed, when i </p> <p>rejoined her in her room, after puttingadele to bed. "well, is he?" "i think so: he is very changeful andabrupt." "true: no doubt he may appear so to astranger, but i am so accustomed to his manner, i never think of it; and then, ifhe has peculiarities of temper, allowance should be made." "why?" "partly because it is his nature--and wecan none of us help our nature; and partly because he has painful thoughts, no doubt,to harass him, and make his spirits </p> <p>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 yearssince." "his elder brother?" "yes. the present mr. rochester has notbeen 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 bestill inconsolable for his loss?" </p> <p>"why, no--perhaps not.i believe there were some misunderstandings between them. mr. rowland rochester was not quite just tomr. 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 bydivision, and yet he was anxious that mr. edward should have wealth, too, to keep upthe consequence of the name; and, soon after he was of age, some steps were taken that were not quite fair, and made a greatdeal of mischief. </p> <p>old mr. rochester and mr. rowland combinedto bring mr. edward into what he considered a painful position, for the sake of makinghis fortune: what the precise nature of that position was i never clearly knew, but his spirit could not brook what he had tosuffer in it. he is not very forgiving: he broke with hisfamily, and now for many years he has led an unsettled kind of life. i don't think he has ever been resident atthornfield for a fortnight together, since the death of his brother without a willleft him master of the estate; and, indeed, no wonder he shuns the old place." </p> <p>"why should he shun it?""perhaps he thinks it gloomy." the answer was evasive. i should have liked something clearer; butmrs. fairfax either could not, or would not, give me more explicit information ofthe 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 meto drop the subject, which i did accordingly. </p> <p>chapter xiv for several subsequent days i saw little ofmr. rochester. in the mornings he seemed much engaged withbusiness, 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 ofhorse exercise, he rode out a good deal; probably to return these visits, as hegenerally did not come back till late at night. during this interval, even adele was seldomsent for to his presence, and all my acquaintance with him was confined to anoccasional rencontre in the hall, on the </p> <p>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 andsmile 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 flowdepended on causes quite disconnected with me. one day he had had company to dinner, andhad sent for my portfolio; in order, doubtless, to exhibit its contents: thegentlemen went away early, to attend a public meeting at millcote, as mrs. fairfax </p> <p>informed me; but the night being wet andinclement, 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 wasnothing to retouch--all being too close and plain, braided locks included, to admit of disarrangement--we descended, adelewondering whether the petit coffre was at length come; for, owing to some mistake,its arrival had hitherto been delayed. </p> <p>she was gratified: there it stood, a littlecarton, 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: takeit into a corner, you genuine daughter of paris, and amuse yourself withdisembowelling it," said the deep and rather sarcastic voice of mr. rochester, proceeding from the depths of an immenseeasy-chair at the fireside. "and mind," he continued, "don't bother mewith any details of the anatomical process, or any notice of the condition of theentrails: let your operation be conducted </p> <p>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 cordwhich secured the lid. having removed this impediment, and liftedcertain silvery envelopes of tissue paper, she merely exclaimed--"oh ciel! que c'est beau!" and then remained absorbedin ecstatic contemplation. "is miss eyre there?" now demanded themaster, half rising from his seat to look round to the door, near which i stillstood. "ah! well, come forward; be seated here." </p> <p>he drew a chair near his own."i am not fond of the prattle of children," he continued; "for, old bachelor as i am, ihave no pleasant associations connected with their lisp. it would be intolerable to me to pass awhole evening tete-a-tete with a brat. don't draw that chair farther off, misseyre; 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-mindedold ladies. by-the-bye, i must have mine in mind; itwon't do to neglect her; she is a fairfax, </p> <p>or wed to one; and blood is said to bethicker than water." he rang, and despatched an invitation tomrs. 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 abouther presents, and she is bursting with repletion: have the goodness to serve heras auditress and interlocutrice; it will be one of the most benevolent acts you everperformed." adele, indeed, no sooner saw mrs. fairfax,than she summoned her to her sofa, and there quickly filled her lap with theporcelain, the ivory, the waxen contents of </p> <p>her "boite;" pouring out, meantime, explanations and raptures in such brokenenglish as she was mistress of. "now i have performed the part of a goodhost," 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 littlefarther forward: you are yet too far back; i cannot see you without disturbing myposition in this comfortable chair, which i have no mind to do." i did as i was bid, though i would muchrather have remained somewhat in the shade; </p> <p>but mr. rochester had such a direct way ofgiving 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 festalbreadth of light; the large fire was all red and clear; the purple curtains hung rich and ample before the lofty window andloftier arch; everything was still, save the subdued chat of adele (she dared notspeak loud), and, filling up each pause, the beating of winter rain against thepanes. mr. rochester, as he sat in his damask-covered chair, looked different to what i </p> <p>had seen him look before; not quite sostern--much less gloomy. there was a smile on his lips, and his eyessparkled, 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 rigidtemper of the morning; still he looked preciously grim, cushioning his massive head against the swelling back of hischair, and receiving the light of the fire on his granite- hewn features, and in hisgreat, dark eyes; for he had great, dark eyes, and very fine eyes, too--not without </p> <p>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 thefire, and i had been looking the same length of time at him, when, turningsuddenly, he caught my gaze fastened on his physiognomy. "you examine me, miss eyre," said he: "doyou think me handsome?" i should, if i had deliberated, havereplied to this question by something conventionally vague and polite; but theanswer somehow slipped from my tongue before i was aware--"no, sir." </p> <p>"ah! by my word! there is somethingsingular 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 whenone 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 noteasy to give an impromptu answer to a </p> <p>question about appearances; that tastesmostly 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 theprevious outrage, of stroking and soothing me into placidity, you stick a sly penknifeunder my ear! go on: what fault do you find with me,pray? i suppose i have all my limbs and all myfeatures like any other man?" "mr. rochester, allow me to disown my firstanswer: i intended no pointed repartee: it was only a blunder.""just so: i think so: and you shall be </p> <p>answerable for it. criticise me: does my forehead not pleaseyou?" he lifted up the sable waves of hair whichlay 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 iinquired in return whether you are a philanthropist?" "there again! </p> <p>another stick of the penknife, when shepretended to pat my head: and that is because i said i did not like the societyof children and old women (low be it spoken!). no, young lady, i am not a generalphilanthropist; but i bear a conscience;" and he pointed to the prominences which aresaid to indicate that faculty, and which, fortunately for him, were sufficiently conspicuous; giving, indeed, a markedbreadth to the upper part of his head: "and, besides, i once had a kind of rudetenderness of heart. when i was as old as you, i was a feelingfellow enough, partial to the unfledged, </p> <p>unfostered, and unlucky; but fortune hasknocked me about since: she has even kneaded me with her knuckles, and now i flatter myself i am hard and tough as anindia-rubber ball; pervious, though, through a chink or two still, and with onesentient 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," ithought; and i did not know what answer to make to his queer question: how could itell whether he was capable of being re- </p> <p>transformed? "you looked very much puzzled, miss eyre;and though you are not pretty any more than i am handsome, yet a puzzled air becomesyou; besides, it is convenient, for it keeps those searching eyes of yours away from my physiognomy, and busies them withthe worsted flowers of the rug; so puzzle on.young lady, i am disposed to be gregarious and communicative to-night." with this announcement he rose from hischair, and stood, leaning his arm on the marble mantelpiece: in that attitude hisshape was seen plainly as well as his face; </p> <p>his unusual breadth of chest, disproportionate almost to his length oflimb. i am sure most people would have thoughthim an ugly man; yet there was so much unconscious pride in his port; so much easein his demeanour; such a look of complete indifference to his own external appearance; so haughty a reliance on thepower of other qualities, intrinsic or adventitious, to atone for the lack of merepersonal attractiveness, that, in looking at him, one inevitably shared the indifference, and, even in a blind,imperfect sense, put faith in the </p> <p>confidence. "i am disposed to be gregarious andcommunicative to-night," he repeated, "and that is why i sent for you: the fire andthe chandelier were not sufficient company for me; nor would pilot have been, for noneof these can talk. adele is a degree better, but still farbelow the mark; mrs. fairfax ditto; you, i am persuaded, can suit me if you will: youpuzzled me the first evening i invited you down here. i have almost forgotten you since: otherideas have driven yours from my head; but to-night i am resolved to be at ease; todismiss what importunes, and recall what </p> <p>pleases. it would please me now to draw you out--tolearn more of you--therefore speak." instead of speaking, i smiled; and not avery complacent or submissive smile either. "speak," he urged. "what about, sir?""whatever you like. i leave both the choice of subject and themanner of treating it entirely to yourself." accordingly i sat and said nothing: "if heexpects me to talk for the mere sake of talking and showing off, he will find hehas addressed himself to the wrong person," </p> <p>i thought. "you are dumb, miss eyre."i was dumb still. he bent his head a little towards me, andwith 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, almostinsolent form. miss eyre, i beg your pardon. the fact is, once for all, i don't wish totreat you like an inferior: that is" (correcting himself), "i claim only suchsuperiority as must result from twenty </p> <p>years' difference in age and a century'sadvance in experience. this is legitimate, et j'y tiens, asadele would say; and it is by virtue of this superiority, and this alone, that idesire you to have the goodness to talk to me a little now, and divert my thoughts, which are galled with dwelling on onepoint--cankering as a rusty nail." he had deigned an explanation, almost anapology, 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 willinterest you? </p> <p>ask me questions, and i will do my best toanswer them." "then, in the first place, do you agreewith 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 variedexperience with many men of many nations, and roamed over half the globe, while youhave 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." </p> <p>"i don't think, sir, you have a right tocommand me, merely because you are older than i, or because you have seen more ofthe world than i have; your claim to superiority depends on the use you havemade of your time and experience." "humph!promptly spoken. but i won't allow that, seeing that itwould never suit my case, as i have made an indifferent, not to say a bad, use of bothadvantages. leaving superiority out of the question,then, you must still agree to receive my orders now and then, without being piquedor hurt by the tone of command. will you?" </p> <p>i smiled: i thought to myself mr. rochesteris peculiar--he seems to forget that he pays me 30 pounds per annum for receivinghis orders. "the smile is very well," said he, catchinginstantly the passing expression; "but speak too." "i was thinking, sir, that very few masterswould trouble themselves to inquire whether or not their paid subordinates were piquedand 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, willyou agree to let me hector a little?" </p> <p>"no, sir, not on that ground; but, on theground that you did forget it, and that you care whether or not a dependent iscomfortable in his dependency, i agree heartily." "and will you consent to dispense with agreat many conventional forms and phrases, without thinking that the omission arisesfrom insolence?" "i am sure, sir, i should never mistakeinformality for insolence: one i rather like, the other nothing free-born wouldsubmit to, even for a salary." "humbug! most things free-born will submit toanything for a salary; therefore, keep to </p> <p>yourself, and don't venture on generalitiesof which you are intensely ignorant. however, i mentally shake hands with youfor your answer, despite its inaccuracy; and as much for the manner in which it wassaid, as for the substance of the speech; the manner was frank and sincere; one does not often see such a manner: no, on thecontrary, affectation, or coldness, or stupid, coarse-minded misapprehension ofone'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. </p> <p>but i don't mean to flatter you: if you arecast 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 myconclusions: for what i yet know, you may be no better than the rest; you may haveintolerable 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 asif its import had been spoken as well as imagined-- "yes, yes, you are right," said he; "i haveplenty of faults of my own: i know it, and </p> <p>i don't wish to palliate them, i assureyou. god wot i need not be too severe aboutothers; i have a past existence, a series of deeds, a colour of life to contemplatewithin my own breast, which might well call my sneers and censures from my neighboursto myself. i started, or rather (for like otherdefaulters, i like to lay half the blame on ill fortune and adverse circumstances) wasthrust on to a wrong tack at the age of one-and-twenty, and have never recovered the right course since: but i might havebeen very different; i might have been as good as you--wiser--almost as stainless.i envy you your peace of mind, your clean </p> <p>conscience, your unpolluted memory. little girl, a memory without blot orcontamination must be an exquisite treasure--an inexhaustible source of purerefreshment: is it not?" "how was your memory when you wereeighteen, sir?" "all right then; limpid, salubrious: nogush of bilge water had turned it to fetid puddle. i was your equal at eighteen--quite yourequal. nature meant me to be, on the whole, a goodman, miss eyre; one of the better kind, and you see i am not so. </p> <p>you would say you don't see it; at least iflatter myself i read as much in your eye (beware, by-the-bye, what you express withthat organ; i am quick at interpreting its language). then take my word for it,--i am not avillain: 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 inall 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 futurelife you will often find yourself elected </p> <p>the involuntary confidant of youracquaintances' secrets: people will instinctively find out, as i have done, that it is not your forte to tell ofyourself, but to listen while others talk of themselves; they will feel, too, thatyou listen with no malevolent scorn of their indiscretion, but with a kind of innate sympathy; not the less comfortingand 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 almostas freely as if i were writing my thoughts </p> <p>in a diary. you would say, i should have been superiorto circumstances; so i should--so i should; but you see i was not. when fate wronged me, i had not the wisdomto remain cool: i turned desperate; then i degenerated. now, when any vicious simpleton excites mydisgust by his paltry ribaldry, i cannot flatter myself that i am better than he: iam 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, </p> <p>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 couldreform--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 irrevocablydenied me, i have a right to get pleasure out of life: and i will get it, cost whatit may." "then you will degenerate still more, sir." "possibly: yet why should i, if i can getsweet, fresh pleasure? and i may get it as sweet and fresh as thewild honey the bee gathers on the moor." </p> <p>"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 asthis cameo head" (taking one from the mantelpiece). "you have no right to preach to me, youneophyte, that have not passed the porch of life, and are absolutely unacquainted withits mysteries." "i only remind you of your own words, sir:you said error brought remorse, and you pronounced remorse the poison ofexistence." "and who talks of error now? </p> <p>i scarcely think the notion that flitteredacross my brain was an error. i believe it was an inspiration rather thana 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 oflight. i think i must admit so fair a guest whenit 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 todistinguish between a fallen seraph of the abyss and a messenger from the eternalthrone--between a guide and a seducer?" </p> <p>"i judged by your countenance, sir, whichwas 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 graciousmessage in the world: for the rest, you are not my conscience-keeper, so don't makeyourself 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 halfextended, on his chest, he seemed to enclose in their embrace the invisiblebeing. </p> <p>"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 asort of charnel; it will now be a shrine." "to speak truth, sir, i don't understandyou at all: i cannot keep up the conversation, because it has got out of mydepth. only one thing, i know: you said you werenot 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 aperpetual bane. it seems to me, that if you tried hard, youwould in time find it possible to become </p> <p>what you yourself would approve; and thatif from this day you began with resolution to correct your thoughts and actions, you would in a few years have laid up a new andstainless 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 ibelieve durable as flint. certainly, my associates and pursuits shallbe other than they have been." "and better?" </p> <p>"and better--so much better as pure ore isthan 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 newstatute to legalise them." "they are, miss eyre, though theyabsolutely require a new statute: unheard- of combinations of circumstances demandunheard-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 </p> <p>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 arrogatea 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 beright.'" "'let it be right'--the very words: youhave pronounced them." "may it be right then," i said, as irose, deeming it useless to continue a discourse which was all darkness to me;and, besides, sensible that the character </p> <p>of my interlocutor was beyond my penetration; at least, beyond its presentreach; and feeling the uncertainty, the vague sense of insecurity, whichaccompanies a conviction of ignorance. "where are you going?" "to put adele to bed: it is past herbedtime." "you are afraid of me, because i talk likea sphynx." "your language is enigmatical, sir: butthough i am bewildered, i am certainly not afraid.""you are afraid--your self-love dreads a blunder." </p> <p>"in that sense i do feel apprehensive--ihave 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 youlaugh rarely; but you can laugh very merrily: believe me, you are not naturallyaustere, any more than i am naturally vicious. the lowood constraint still clings to yousomewhat; controlling your features, muffling your voice, and restricting yourlimbs; and you fear in the presence of a </p> <p>man and a brother--or father, or master, or what you will--to smile too gaily, speaktoo freely, or move too quickly: but, in time, i think you will learn to be naturalwith me, as i find it impossible to be conventional with you; and then your looks and movements will have more vivacity andvariety than they dare offer now. i see at intervals the glance of a curioussort of bird through the close-set bars of a cage: a vivid, restless, resolute captiveis there; were it but free, it would soar cloud-high. you are still bent on going?""it has struck nine, sir." </p> <p>"never mind,--wait a minute: adele is notready to go to bed yet. my position, miss eyre, with my back to thefire, and my face to the room, favours observation. while talking to you, i have alsooccasionally 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 tenminutes 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 herbones. </p> <p>'il faut que je l'essaie!' cried she, 'et al'instant meme!' and she rushed out of the room. she is now with sophie, undergoing a robingprocess: in a few minutes she will re- enter; and i know what i shall see,--aminiature of celine varens, as she used to appear on the boards at the rising of--butnever mind that. however, my tenderest feelings are about toreceive a shock: such is my presentiment; stay now, to see whether it will berealised." ere long, adele's little foot was heardtripping across the hall. she entered, transformed as her guardianhad predicted. </p> <p>a dress of rose-coloured satin, very short,and as full in the skirt as it could be gathered, replaced the brown frock she hadpreviously worn; a wreath of rosebuds circled her forehead; her feet were dressed in silk stockings and small white satinsandals. "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 chasseedacross the room till, having reached mr. rochester, she wheeled lightly round beforehim on tip-toe, then dropped on one knee at </p> <p>his feet, exclaiming-- "monsieur, je vous remercie mille fois devotre bonte;" then rising, she added, "c'est comme cela que maman faisait, n'est-ce pas, monsieur?" "pre-cise-ly!" was the answer; "and, 'commecela,' 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 leftme that french floweret on my hands, which, in some moods, i would fain be rid of. </p> <p>not valuing now the root whence it sprang;having found that it was of a sort which nothing but gold dust could manure, i havebut half a liking to the blossom, especially when it looks so artificial asjust now. i keep it and rear it rather on the romancatholic 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 tomeet me and adele in the grounds: and while </p> <p>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 afrench opera-dancer, celine varens, towards whom he had once cherished what he called a"grande passion." this passion celine had professed to returnwith even superior ardour. he thought himself her idol, ugly as hewas: he believed, as he said, that she preferred his "taille d'athlete" to theelegance of the apollo belvidere. "and, miss eyre, so much was i flattered bythis preference of the gallic sylph for her british gnome, that i installed her in anhotel; gave her a complete establishment of </p> <p>servants, a carriage, cashmeres, diamonds,dentelles, &c. in short, i began the process of ruiningmyself in the received style, like any other spoony. i had not, it seems, the originality tochalk out a new road to shame and destruction, but trode the old track withstupid exactness not to deviate an inch from the beaten centre. i had--as i deserved to have--the fate ofall other spoonies. happening to call one evening when celinedid not expect me, i found her out; but it was a warm night, and i was tired withstrolling through paris, so i sat down in </p> <p>her boudoir; happy to breathe the airconsecrated so lately by her presence. no,--i exaggerate; i never thought therewas any consecrating virtue about her: it was rather a sort of pastille perfume shehad left; a scent of musk and amber, than an odour of sanctity. i was just beginning to stifle with thefumes of conservatory flowers and sprinkled essences, when i bethought myself to openthe window and step out on to the balcony. it was moonlight and gaslight besides, andvery still and serene. the balcony was furnished with a chair ortwo; i sat down, and took out a cigar,--i will take one now, if you will excuse me." </p> <p>here ensued a pause, filled up by theproducing and lighting of a cigar; having placed it to his lips and breathed a trailof havannah incense on the freezing and sunless air, he went on-- "i liked bonbons too in those days, misseyre, and i was croquant--(overlook the barbarism)--croquant chocolate comfits,and smoking alternately, watching meantime the equipages that rolled along the fashionable streets towards theneighbouring opera-house, when in an elegant close carriage drawn by a beautifulpair of english horses, and distinctly seen in the brilliant city-night, i recognisedthe 'voiture' i had given celine. </p> <p>she was returning: of course my heartthumped with impatience against the iron rails i leant upon. the carriage stopped, as i had expected, atthe hotel door; my flame (that is the very word for an opera inamorata) alighted:though muffed in a cloak--an unnecessary encumbrance, by-the-bye, on so warm a june evening--i knew her instantly by her littlefoot, seen peeping from the skirt of her dress, as she skipped from the carriage-step. bending over the balcony, i was about tomurmur 'mon ange'--in a tone, of course, which should be audible to the ear of lovealone--when a figure jumped from the </p> <p>carriage after her; cloaked also; but that was a spurred heel which had rung on thepavement, and that was a hatted head which now passed under the arched porte cochereof the hotel. "you never felt jealousy, did you, misseyre? of course not: i need not ask you; becauseyou 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 quieta flow as that in which your youth has hitherto slid away. </p> <p>floating on with closed eyes and muffledears, you neither see the rocks bristling not far off in the bed of the flood, norhear 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'sstream will be broken up into whirl and tumult, foam and noise: either you will be dashed to atoms on crag points, or liftedup 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 sternness and stillness of the world under this frost. </p> <p>i like thornfield, its antiquity, itsretirement, its old crow-trees and thorn- trees, its grey facade, and lines of darkwindows reflecting that metal welkin: and yet how long have i abhorred the very thought of it, shunned it like a greatplague-house? how i do still abhor--" he ground his teeth and was silent: hearrested his step and struck his boot against the hard ground. some hated thought seemed to have him inits grip, and to hold him so tightly that he could not advance.we were ascending the avenue when he thus </p> <p>paused; the hall was before us. lifting his eye to its battlements, he castover 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 pupildilating under his ebon eyebrow. wild was the wrestle which should beparamount; but another feeling rose and triumphed: something hard and cynical:self-willed and resolute: it settled his passion and petrified his countenance: hewent on-- "during the moment i was silent, miss eyre,i was arranging a point with my destiny. </p> <p>she stood there, by that beech-trunk--a haglike one of those who appeared to macbeth on the heath of forres. 'you like thornfield?' she said, liftingher finger; and then she wrote in the air a memento, which ran in lurid hieroglyphicsall along the house-front, between the upper and lower row of windows, 'like it ifyou can! like it if you dare!' "'i will like it,' said i; 'i dare likeit;' and" (he subjoined moodily) "i will keep my word; i will break obstacles tohappiness, to goodness--yes, goodness. i wish to be a better man than i have been,than i am; as job's leviathan broke the </p> <p>spear, the dart, and the habergeon,hindrances which others count as iron and brass, i will esteem but straw and rottenwood." adele here ran before him with hershuttlecock. "away!" he cried harshly; "keep at adistance, child; or go in to sophie!" continuing then to pursue his walk insilence, 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 hardlywell-timed question, but, on the contrary, </p> <p>waking out of his scowling abstraction, heturned 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 inaccompanied 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'score. strange!" he exclaimed, suddenly startingagain from the point. "strange that i should choose you for theconfidant of all this, young lady; passing </p> <p>strange that you should listen to mequietly, as if it were the most usual thing in the world for a man like me to tell stories of his opera-mistresses to aquaint, inexperienced girl like you! but the last singularity explains thefirst, as i intimated once before: you, with your gravity, considerateness, andcaution were made to be the recipient of secrets. besides, i know what sort of a mind i haveplaced in communication with my own: i know it is one not liable to take infection: itis a peculiar mind: it is a unique one. happily i do not mean to harm it: but, if idid, it would not take harm from me. </p> <p>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 openwindow, i drew the curtain over it, leaving only an opening through which i could takeobservations; then i closed the casement, all but a chink just wide enough to furnish an outlet to lovers' whispered vows: then istole back to my chair; and as i resumed it the pair came in.my eye was quickly at the aperture. </p> <p>celine's chamber-maid entered, lit a lamp,left it on the table, and withdrew. the couple were thus revealed to meclearly: both removed their cloaks, and there was 'the varens,' shining in satinand jewels,--my gifts of course,--and there was her companion in an officer's uniform; and i knew him for a young roue of avicomte--a brainless and vicious youth whom i had sometimes met in society, and hadnever thought of hating because i despised him so absolutely. on recognising him, the fang of the snakejealousy was instantly broken; because at the same moment my love for celine sankunder an extinguisher. </p> <p>a woman who could betray me for such arival was not worth contending for; she deserved only scorn; less, however, than i,who had been her dupe. "they began to talk; their conversationeased me completely: frivolous, mercenary, heartless, and senseless, it was rathercalculated to weary than enrage a listener. a card of mine lay on the table; this beingperceived, brought my name under discussion. neither of them possessed energy or wit tobelabour me soundly, but they insulted me as coarsely as they could in their littleway: especially celine, who even waxed rather brilliant on my personal defects--deformities she termed them. </p> <p>now it had been her custom to launch outinto fervent admiration of what she called my 'beaute male:' wherein she differeddiametrically from you, who told me point- blank, at the second interview, that youdid 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 thatyour 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 hera purse for immediate exigencies; disregarded screams, hysterics, prayers, </p> <p>protestations, convulsions; made anappointment with the vicomte for a meeting at the bois de boulogne. next morning i had the pleasure ofencountering him; left a bullet in one of his poor etiolated arms, feeble as the wingof a chicken in the pip, and then thought i had done with the whole crew. but unluckily the varens, six monthsbefore, had given me this filette adele, who, she affirmed, was my daughter; andperhaps she may be, though i see no proofs of such grim paternity written in her countenance: pilot is more like me thanshe. </p> <p>some years after i had broken with themother, she abandoned her child, and ran away to italy with a musician or singer. i acknowledged no natural claim on adele'spart 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 nowyou know that it is the illegitimate offspring of a french opera-girl, you willperhaps think differently of your post and </p> <p>protegee: you will be coming to me some day with notice that you have found anotherplace--that you beg me to look out for a new governess, &c.--eh?" "no: adele is not answerable for either hermother's faults or yours: i have a regard for her; and now that i know she is, in asense, parentless--forsaken by her mother and disowned by you, sir--i shall clingcloser to her than before. how could i possibly prefer the spoilt petof a wealthy family, who would hate her governess as a nuisance, to a lonely littleorphan, who leans towards her as a friend?" "oh, that is the light in which you viewit! </p> <p>well, i must go in now; and you too: itdarkens." but i stayed out a few minutes longer withadele and pilot--ran a race with her, and played a game of battledore andshuttlecock. when we went in, and i had removed herbonnet and coat, i took her on my knee; kept her there an hour, allowing her toprattle as she liked: not rebuking even some little freedoms and trivialities into which she was apt to stray when muchnoticed, and which betrayed in her a superficiality of character, inheritedprobably from her mother, hardly congenial to an english mind. </p> <p>still she had her merits; and i wasdisposed to appreciate all that was good in her to the utmost. i sought in her countenance and features alikeness to mr. rochester, but found none: no trait, no turn of expression announcedrelationship. it was a pity: if she could but have beenproved to resemble him, he would have thought more of her. it was not till after i had withdrawn to myown chamber for the night, that i steadily reviewed the tale mr. rochester had toldme. as he had said, there was probably nothingat all extraordinary in the substance of </p> <p>the narrative itself: a wealthyenglishman's passion for a french dancer, and her treachery to him, were every-day matters enough, no doubt, in society; butthere was something decidedly strange in the paroxysm of emotion which had suddenlyseized him when he was in the act of expressing the present contentment of his mood, and his newly revived pleasure in theold hall and its environs. i meditated wonderingly on this incident;but gradually quitting it, as i found it for the present inexplicable, i turned tothe consideration of my master's manner to myself. </p> <p>the confidence he had thought fit to reposein 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 takefits 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 acordiality 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 mybenefit. </p> <p>i, indeed, talked comparatively little, buti heard him talk with relish. it was his nature to be communicative; heliked 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 theywere acted, the strange novelty by which they were characterised); and i had a keendelight in receiving the new ideas he offered, in imagining the new pictures he portrayed, and following him in thoughtthrough the new regions he disclosed, never startled or troubled by one noxiousallusion. </p> <p>the ease of his manner freed me frompainful restraint: the friendly frankness, as correct as cordial, with which hetreated me, drew me to him. i felt at times as if he were my relationrather than my master: yet he was imperious sometimes still; but i did not mind that; isaw it was his way. so happy, so gratified did i become withthis new interest added to life, that i ceased to pine after kindred: my thincrescent-destiny seemed to enlarge; the blanks of existence were filled up; my bodily health improved; i gathered fleshand strength. and was mr. rochester now ugly in my eyes? </p> <p>no, reader: gratitude, and manyassociations, all pleasurable and genial, made his face the object i best liked tosee; 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 toinferiority of every description: in my secret soul i knew that his great kindnessto me was balanced by unjust severity to many others. he was moody, too; unaccountably so; i morethan once, when sent for to read to him, </p> <p>found him sitting in his library alone,with his head bent on his folded arms; and, when he looked up, a morose, almost amalignant, scowl blackened his features. but i believed that his moodiness, hisharshness, and his former faults of morality (i say former, for now he seemedcorrected of them) had their source in some cruel cross of fate. i believed he was naturally a man of bettertendencies, higher principles, and purer tastes than such as circumstances haddeveloped, education instilled, or destiny encouraged. i thought there were excellent materials inhim; though for the present they hung </p> <p>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 andwas laid down in bed, i could not sleep for thinking of his look when he paused in theavenue, and told how his destiny had risen up before him, and dared him to be happy atthornfield. "why not?"i asked myself. "what alienates him from the house? will he leave it again soon?mrs. fairfax said he seldom stayed here </p> <p>longer than a fortnight at a time; and hehas 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 notafter 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: thenight was drearily dark; my spirits were depressed.i rose and sat up in bed, listening. </p> <p>the sound was hushed. i tried again to sleep; but my heart beatanxiously: my inward tranquillity was broken.the clock, far down in the hall, struck two. just then it seemed my chamber-door wastouched; as if fingers had swept the panels in groping a way along the dark galleryoutside. i said, "who is there?" nothing answered.i was chilled with fear. all at once i remembered that it might bepilot, who, when the kitchen- door chanced </p> <p>to be left open, not unfrequently found hisway up to the threshold of mr. rochester's chamber: i had seen him lying there myselfin the mornings. the idea calmed me somewhat: i lay down. silence composes the nerves; and as anunbroken hush now reigned again through the whole house, i began to feel the return ofslumber. but it was not fated that i should sleepthat 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 </p> <p>very keyhole of my chamber door. the head of my bed was near the door, and ithought at first the goblin-laugher stood at my bedside--or rather, crouched by mypillow: but i rose, looked round, and could see nothing; while, as i still gazed, the unnatural sound was reiterated: and i knewit came from behind the panels. my first impulse was to rise and fasten thebolt; my next, again to cry out, "who is there?" something gurgled and moaned. ere long, steps retreated up the gallerytowards the third-storey staircase: a door </p> <p>had lately been made to shut in thatstaircase; i heard it open and close, and all was still. "was that grace poole? and is she possessedwith 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; iwithdrew 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: butstill more was i amazed to perceive the air quite dim, as if filled with smoke; and,while looking to the right hand and left, </p> <p>to find whence these blue wreaths issued, i became further aware of a strong smell ofburning. something creaked: it was a door ajar; andthat door was mr. rochester's, and the smoke rushed in a cloud from thence. i thought no more of mrs. fairfax; ithought no more of grace poole, or the laugh: in an instant, i was within thechamber. tongues of flame darted round the bed: thecurtains were on fire. in the midst of blaze and vapour, mr.rochester lay stretched motionless, in deep sleep. </p> <p>"wake! wake!"i cried. i shook him, but he only murmured andturned: the smoke had stupefied him. not a moment could be lost: the very sheetswere kindling, i rushed to his basin and ewer; fortunately, one was wide and theother deep, and both were filled with water. i heaved them up, deluged the bed and itsoccupant, flew back to my own room, brought my own water-jug, baptized the couchafresh, and, by god's aid, succeeded in extinguishing the flames which weredevouring it. the hiss of the quenched element, thebreakage of a pitcher which i flung from my </p> <p>hand when i had emptied it, and, above all,the splash of the shower-bath i had liberally bestowed, roused mr. rochester atlast. though it was now dark, i knew he wasawake; because i heard him fulminating strange anathemas at finding himself lyingin a pool of water. "is there a flood?" he cried. "no, sir," i answered; "but there has beena fire: get up, do; you are quenched now; i will fetch you a candle." "in the name of all the elves inchristendom, is that jane eyre?" he demanded."what have you done with me, witch, </p> <p>sorceress? who is in the room besides you?have you plotted to drown me?" "i will fetch you a candle, sir; and, inheaven's name, get up. somebody has plotted something: you cannottoo soon find out who and what it is." "there! i am up now; but at your peril you fetch acandle yet: wait two minutes till i get into some dry garments, if any dry therebe--yes, here is my dressing-gown. now run!" i did run; i brought the candle which stillremained in the gallery. </p> <p>he took it from my hand, held it up, andsurveyed the bed, all blackened and scorched, the sheets drenched, the carpetround swimming in water. "what is it? and who did it?" he asked. i briefly related to him what hadtranspired: the strange laugh i had heard in the gallery: the step ascending to thethird storey; the smoke,--the smell of fire which had conducted me to his room; in what state i had found matters there, and how ihad deluged him with all the water i could lay hands on.{"what is it and who did it?" he asked: p140.jpg} </p> <p>he listened very gravely; his face, as iwent on, expressed more concern than astonishment; he did not immediately speakwhen 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 andhis wife." "not at all: just be still.you have a shawl on. if you are not warm enough, you may take mycloak yonder; wrap it about you, and sit </p> <p>down in the arm-chair: there,--i will putit on. now place your feet on the stool, to keepthem 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 asstill 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, andthe last ray vanished. i was left in total darkness. </p> <p>i listened for some noise, but heardnothing. a very long time elapsed. i grew weary: it was cold, in spite of thecloak; 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 gleameddimly on the gallery wall, and i heard his unshod feet tread the matting. "i hope it is he," thought i, "and notsomething worse." he re-entered, pale and very gloomy. </p> <p>"i have found it all out," said he, settinghis candle down on the washstand; "it is as i thought.""how, sir?" he made no reply, but stood with his armsfolded, looking on the ground. at the end of a few minutes he inquired inrather a peculiar tone-- "i forget whether you said you saw anythingwhen you opened your chamber door." "no, sir, only the candlestick on theground." "but you heard an odd laugh? you have heard that laugh before, i shouldthink, or something like it?" "yes, sir: there is a woman who sews here,called grace poole,--she laughs in that </p> <p>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 onlyperson, 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 </p> <p>library for the rest of the night. it is near four:--in two hours the servantswill 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 mealready, and in that way?" "you said i might go, sir." "but not without taking leave; not withouta word or two of acknowledgment and good- will: not, in short, in that brief, dryfashion. why, you have saved my life!--snatched mefrom a horrible and excruciating death! and </p> <p>you walk past me as if we were mutualstrangers! at least shake hands." he held out his hand; i gave him mine: hetook it first in one, them in both his own. "you have saved my life: i have a pleasurein owing you so immense a debt. i cannot say more. nothing else that has being would have beentolerable 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 almostvisible trembled on his lips,--but his </p> <p>voice was checked."good-night again, sir. there is no debt, benefit, burden,obligation, in the case." "i knew," he continued, "you would do megood in some way, at some time;--i saw it in your eyes when i first beheld you: theirexpression and smile did not"--(again he stopped)--"did not" (he proceeded hastily) "strike delight to my very inmost heart sofor nothing. people talk of natural sympathies; i haveheard of good genii: there are grains of truth in the wildest fable. my cherished preserver, goodnight!"strange energy was in his voice, strange </p> <p>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 couldnot 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. </p> <p>i regained my couch, but never thought ofsleep. till morning dawned i was tossed on abuoyant but unquiet sea, where billows of trouble rolled under surges of joy. i thought sometimes i saw beyond its wildwaters 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--acounteracting breeze blew off land, and continually drove me back.sense would resist delirium: judgment would warn passion. </p> <p>too feverish to rest, i rose as soon as daydawned. chapter xvi i both wished and feared to see mr.rochester on the day which followed this sleepless night: i wanted to hear his voiceagain, yet feared to meet his eye. during the early part of the morning, imomentarily expected his coming; he was not in the frequent habit of entering theschoolroom, but he did step in for a few minutes sometimes, and i had the impressionthat 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 afterbreakfast, i heard some bustle in the </p> <p>neighbourhood of mr. rochester's chamber, mrs. fairfax's voice, and leah's, and thecook'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 candlelit at night." "how providential that he had presence ofmind to think of the water-jug!" "i wonder he waked nobody!" "it is to be hoped he will not take coldwith sleeping on the library sofa," &c. to much confabulation succeeded a sound ofscrubbing and setting to rights; and when i </p> <p>passed the room, in going downstairs todinner, 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, rubbingthe panes of glass dimmed with smoke. i was about to address her, for i wished toknow what account had been given of the affair: but, on advancing, i saw a secondperson in the chamber--a woman sitting on a chair by the bedside, and sewing rings tonew 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. </p> <p>she was intent on her work, in which herwhole 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 hadattempted 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 colourbetrayed emotion, consciousness of guilt, or fear of detection. </p> <p>she said "good morning, miss," in her usualphlegmatic and brief manner; and taking up another ring and more tape, went on withher 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 talkingtogether a while ago." "only master had been reading in his bedlast night; he fell asleep with his candle lit, and the curtains got on fire; but,fortunately, he awoke before the bed- clothes or the wood-work caught, and </p> <p>contrived to quench the flames with thewater in the ewer." "a strange affair!" i said, in a low voice: then, looking ather fixedly--"did mr. rochester wake nobody?did no one hear him move?" she again raised her eyes to me, and thistime 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 thenearest to master's; but mrs. fairfax said </p> <p>she heard nothing: when people get elderly,they often sleep heavy." she paused, and then added, with a sort ofassumed 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 thatleah, who was still polishing the panes, could not hear me, "and at first i thoughtit was pilot: but pilot cannot laugh; and i am certain i heard a laugh, and a strangeone." she took a new needleful of thread, waxedit carefully, threaded her needle with a steady hand, and then observed, withperfect composure-- </p> <p>"it is hardly likely master would laugh, ishould think, miss, when he was in such danger: you must have been dreaming." "i was not dreaming," i said, with somewarmth, 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 alaugh?" she inquired. "i have not had the opportunity of speakingto him this morning." "you did not think of opening your door andlooking out into the gallery?" she further asked. </p> <p>she appeared to be cross-questioning me,attempting to draw from me information unawares. the idea struck me that if she discovered iknew or suspected her guilt, she would be playing of some of her malignant pranks onme; i thought it advisable to be on my guard. "on the contrary," said i, "i bolted mydoor." "then you are not in the habit of boltingyour door every night before you get into bed?" "fiend! she wants to know my habits, thatshe may lay her plans accordingly!" </p> <p>indignation again prevailed over prudence:i replied sharply, "hitherto i have often omitted to fasten the bolt: i did not thinkit necessary. i was not aware any danger or annoyance wasto be dreaded at thornfield hall: but in future" (and i laid marked stress on thewords) "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 beingattempted by robbers since it was a house; though there are hundreds of pounds' worth of plate in the plate-closet, as is wellknown. </p> <p>and you see, for such a large house, thereare very few servants, because master has never lived here much; and when he doescome, being a bachelor, he needs little waiting on: but i always think it best to err on the safe side; a door is soonfastened, and it is as well to have a drawn bolt between one and any mischief that maybe about. a deal of people, miss, are for trustingall to providence; but i say providence will not dispense with the means, though heoften blesses them when they are used discreetly." and here she closed her harangue: a longone for her, and uttered with the </p> <p>demureness of a quakeress. i still stood absolutely dumfoundered atwhat 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 ofpudding 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?" </p> <p>"never mind it at present: i shall becoming down before teatime: i'll make it myself." the cook here turned to me, saying thatmrs. fairfax was waiting for me: so i departed. i hardly heard mrs. fairfax's account ofthe curtain conflagration during dinner, so much was i occupied in puzzling my brainsover the enigmatical character of grace poole, and still more in pondering the problem of her position at thornfield andquestioning why she had not been given into custody that morning, or, at the veryleast, dismissed from her master's service. </p> <p>he had almost as much as declared hisconviction of her criminality last night: what mysterious cause withheld him fromaccusing her? why had he enjoined me, too, to secrecy? it was strange: a bold, vindictive, andhaughty gentleman seemed somehow in the power of one of the meanest of hisdependants; so much in her power, that even when she lifted her hand against his life, he dared not openly charge her with theattempt, much less punish her for it. had grace been young and handsome, i shouldhave been tempted to think that tenderer feelings than prudence or fear influencedmr. rochester in her behalf; but, hard- </p> <p>favoured and matronly as she was, the ideacould not be admitted. "yet," i reflected, "she has been youngonce; 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 beenpretty; but, for aught i know, she may possess originality and strength ofcharacter to compensate for the want of personal advantages. mr. rochester is an amateur of the decidedand eccentric: grace is eccentric at least. what if a former caprice (a freak verypossible to a nature so sudden and headstrong as his) has delivered him intoher power, and she now exercises over his </p> <p>actions a secret influence, the result of his own indiscretion, which he cannot shakeoff, and dare not disregard?" but, having reached this point ofconjecture, mrs. poole's square, flat figure, and uncomely, dry, even coarseface, recurred so distinctly to my mind's eye, that i thought, "no; impossible! mysupposition cannot be correct. yet," suggested the secret voice whichtalks to us in our own hearts, "you are not beautiful either, and perhaps mr. rochesterapproves you: at any rate, you have often felt as if he did; and last night--remember his words; remember his look; remember hisvoice!" </p> <p>i well remembered all; language, glance,and tone seemed at the moment vividly renewed. i was now in the schoolroom; adele wasdrawing; 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, etvos 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 thehateful notion i had been conceiving </p> <p>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 didwhen 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 lookedtowards the window. "i have never heard mr. rochester's voiceor step in the house to-day; but surely i shall see him before night: i feared themeeting in the morning; now i desire it, </p> <p>because expectation has been so longbaffled that it is grown impatient." when dusk actually closed, and when adeleleft me to go and play in the nursery with sophie, i did most keenly desire it. i listened for the bell to ring below; ilistened for leah coming up with a message; i fancied sometimes i heard mr. rochester'sown tread, and i turned to the door, expecting it to open and admit him. the door remained shut; darkness only camein through the window. still it was not late; he often sent for meat seven and eight o'clock, and it was yet but six. </p> <p>surely i should not be wholly disappointedto-night, when i had so many things to say to him! i wanted again to introduce the subject ofgrace poole, and to hear what he would answer; i wanted to ask him plainly if hereally 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 curiosityirritated him; i knew the pleasure of vexing and soothing him by turns; it wasone i chiefly delighted in, and a sure instinct always prevented me from going too far; beyond the verge of provocation inever ventured; on the extreme brink i </p> <p>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 oruneasy restraint; this suited both him and 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 godownstairs; for that brought me, i imagined, nearer to mr. rochester'spresence. "you must want your tea," said the goodlady, as i joined her; "you ate so little at dinner. </p> <p>i am afraid," she continued, "you are notwell to- day: you look flushed and feverish.""oh, quite well! i never felt better." "then you must prove it by evincing a goodappetite; will you fill the teapot while i knit off this needle?" having completed her task, she rose to drawdown the blind, which she had hitherto kept up, by way, i suppose, of making the mostof daylight, though dusk was now fast deepening into total obscurity. "it is fair to-night," said she, as shelooked through the panes, "though not </p> <p>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 breakfasted!he is gone to the leas, mr. eshton's place, ten miles on the other side millcote. i believe there is quite a party assembledthere; lord ingram, sir george lynn, colonel dent, and others.""do you expect him back to-night?" "no--nor to-morrow either; i should thinkhe is very likely to stay a week or more: when these fine, fashionable people gettogether, they are so surrounded by </p> <p>elegance and gaiety, so well provided with all that can please and entertain, they arein no hurry to separate. gentlemen especially are often in requeston such occasions; and mr. rochester is so talented and so lively in society, that ibelieve he is a general favourite: the ladies are very fond of him; though you would not think his appearance calculatedto recommend him particularly in their eyes: but i suppose his acquirements andabilities, perhaps his wealth and good blood, make amends for any little fault oflook." "are there ladies at the leas?" </p> <p>"there are mrs. eshton and her threedaughters--very elegant young ladies indeed; and there are the honourableblanche and mary ingram, most beautiful women, i suppose: indeed i have seen blanche, six or seven years since, when shewas a girl of eighteen. she came here to a christmas ball and partymr. rochester gave. you should have seen the dining-room thatday--how richly it was decorated, how brilliantly lit up! i should think there were fifty ladies andgentlemen present--all of the first county families; and miss ingram was consideredthe belle of the evening." </p> <p>"you saw her, you say, mrs. fairfax: whatwas 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, tohear some of the ladies sing and play. mr. rochester would have me to come in, andi sat down in a quiet corner and watched i never saw a more splendid scene: theladies 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?" </p> <p>"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 frontthe 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. </p> <p>she wore an amber-coloured flower, too, inher 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: agentleman 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 anexcellent taste for music." "and miss ingram: what sort of a voice hadshe?" "a very rich and powerful one: she sangdelightfully; it was a treat to listen to </p> <p>her;--and she played afterwards. i am no judge of music, but mr. rochesteris; 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 norher sister have very large fortunes. old lord ingram's estates were chieflyentailed, and the eldest son came in for everything almost." "but i wonder no wealthy nobleman orgentleman has taken a fancy to her: mr. rochester, for instance.he is rich, is he not?" </p> <p>"oh! yes. but you see there is a considerabledifference 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 theprobability of a union between mr. </p> <p>rochester and the beautiful blanche; butadele came in, and the conversation was turned into another channel. when once more alone, i reviewed theinformation 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 tracklesswaste, into the safe fold of common sense. arraigned at my own bar, memory havinggiven her evidence of the hopes, wishes, sentiments i had been cherishing since lastnight--of the general state of mind in which i had indulged for nearly a fortnight </p> <p>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 hadnever breathed the breath of life; that a more fantastic idiot had never surfeitedherself 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 pleasinghim? you of importance to him in any way? </p> <p>go! your folly sickens me. and you have derived pleasure fromoccasional tokens of preference--equivocal tokens shown by a gentleman of family and aman of the world to a dependent and a novice. how dared you?poor stupid dupe!--could not even self- interest make you wiser? you repeated to yourself this morning thebrief scene of last night?--cover your face and be ashamed!he said something in praise of your eyes, did he? </p> <p>blind puppy!open their bleared lids and look on your own accursed senselessness! it does good to no woman to be flattered byher superior, who cannot possibly intend to marry her; and it is madness in all womento let a secret love kindle within them, which, if unreturned and unknown, must devour the life that feeds it; and, ifdiscovered and responded to, must lead, ignis-fatus-like, into miry wilds whencethere 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 </p> <p>line, smooth away no displeasing irregularity; write under it, 'portrait ofa 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 canimagine; paint it in your softest shades and sweetest lines, according to thedescription given by mrs. fairfax of blanche ingram; remember the raven </p> <p>ringlets, the oriental eye;--what! yourevert to mr. rochester as a model! order!no snivel!--no sentiment!--no regret! i will endure only sense and resolution. recall the august yet harmoniouslineaments, the grecian neck and bust; let the round and dazzling arm be visible, andthe delicate hand; omit neither diamond ring nor gold bracelet; portray faithfully the attire, aerial lace and glisteningsatin, graceful scarf and golden rose; call it 'blanche, an accomplished lady of rank.' "whenever, in future, you should chance tofancy mr. rochester thinks well of you, </p> <p>take out these two pictures and comparethem: say, 'mr. rochester might probably win that noble lady's love, if he chose to strive for it; is it likely he would wastea serious thought on this indigent and insignificant plebeian?'" "i'll do it," i resolved: and having framedthis determination, i grew calm, and fell asleep.i kept my word. an hour or two sufficed to sketch my ownportrait in crayons; and in less than a fortnight i had completed an ivoryminiature of an imaginary blanche ingram. it looked a lovely face enough, and whencompared with the real head in chalk, the </p> <p>contrast was as great as self- controlcould desire. i derived benefit from the task: it hadkept my head and hands employed, and had given force and fixedness to the newimpressions i wished to stamp indelibly on my heart. ere long, i had reason to congratulatemyself on the course of wholesome discipline to which i had thus forced myfeelings to submit. thanks to it, i was able to meet subsequentoccurrences with a decent calm, which, had they found me unprepared, i should probablyhave been unequal to maintain, even externally. </p> <p></p></div> <iframe width="560" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/XaXD-whi4g4?rel=0" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>

togel

chapter xii the promise of a smooth career, which myfirst calm introduction to thornfield hall seemed to pledge, was not belied on alonger ...

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