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

Reader, though I look comfortably accommodated, I am not verytranquil in my mind. I thought when the coach stopped here therewould be some one to meet me; I looked anxiously round as Idescended the wooden steps the "boots" placed for my convenience,expecting to hear my name pronounced, and to see some description ofcarriage waiting to convey me to Thornfield. Nothing of the sortwas visible; and when I asked a waiter if any one had been toinquire after a Miss Eyre, I was answered in the negative: so I hadno resource but to request to be shown into a private room: andhere I am waiting, while all sorts of doubts and fears are troublingmy thoughts.

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

"Is there a place in this neighbourhood called Thornfield?" I askedof the waiter who answered the summons.

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

"Is your name Eyre, Miss?"

"Yes."

"Person here waiting for you."

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

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

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

"A matter of six miles."

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

"Happen an hour and a half."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A snug small room; a round table by a cheerful fire; an arm-chairhigh-backed and old-fashioned, wherein sat the neatest imaginablelittle elderly lady, in widow's cap, black silk gown, and snowymuslin apron; exactly like what I had fancied Mrs. Fairfax, onlyless stately and milder looking. She was occupied in knitting; alarge cat sat demurely at her feet; nothing in short was wanting tocomplete the beau-ideal of domestic comfort. A more reassuringintroduction for a new governess could scarcely be conceived; therewas no grandeur to overwhelm, no stateliness to embarrass; and then,as I entered, the old lady got up and promptly and kindly cameforward to meet me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, ma'am."

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

"She treats me like a visitor," thought I. "I little expected sucha reception; I anticipated only coldness and stiffness: this is notlike what I have heard of the treatment of governesses; but I mustnot exult too soon."

She returned; with her own hands cleared her knitting apparatus anda book or two from the table, to make room for the tray which Leahnow brought, and then herself handed me the refreshments. I feltrather confused at being the object of more attention than I hadever before received, and, that too, shown by my employer andsuperior; but as she did not herself seem to consider she was doinganything out of her place, I thought it better to take hercivilities quietly.

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

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

I repeated the question more distinctly.

"Miss Fairfax? Oh, you mean Miss Varens! Varens is the name ofyour future pupil."

"Indeed! Then she is not your daughter?"

"No,--I have no family."

I should have followed up my first inquiry, by asking in what wayMiss Varens was connected with her; but I recollected it was notpolite to ask too many questions: besides, I was sure to hear intime.

"I am so glad," she continued, as she sat down opposite to me, andtook the cat on her knee; "I am so glad you are come; it will bequite pleasant living here now with a companion. To be sure it ispleasant at any time; for Thornfield is a fine old hall, ratherneglected of late years perhaps, but still it is a respectableplace; yet you know in winter-time one feels dreary quite alone inthe best quarters. I say alone--Leah is a nice girl to be sure, andJohn and his wife are very decent people; but then you see they areonly servants, and one can't converse with them on terms ofequality: one must keep them at due distance, for fear of losingone's authority. I'm sure last winter (it was a very severe one, ifyou recollect, and when it did not snow, it rained and blew), not acreature but the butcher and postman came to the house, fromNovember till February; and I really got quite melancholy withsitting night after night alone; I had Leah in to read to mesometimes; but I don't think the poor girl liked the task much: shefelt it confining. In spring and summer one got on better:sunshine and long days make such a difference; and then, just at thecommencement of this autumn, little Adela Varens came and her nurse:a child makes a house alive all at once; and now you are here Ishall be quite gay."

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

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

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

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

The chamber looked such a bright little place to me as the sun shonein between the gay blue chintz window curtains, showing paperedwalls and a carpeted floor, so unlike the bare planks and stainedplaster of Lowood, that my spirits rose at the view. Externals havea great effect on the young: I thought that a fairer era of lifewas beginning for me, one that was to have its flowers andpleasures, as well as its thorns and toils. My faculties, roused bythe change of scene, the new field offered to hope, seemed allastir. I cannot precisely define what they expected, but it wassomething pleasant: not perhaps that day or that month, but at anindefinite future period.

I rose; I dressed myself with care: obliged to be plain--for I hadno article of attire that was not made with extreme simplicity--Iwas still by nature solicitous to be neat. It was not my habit tobe disregardful of appearance or careless of the impression I made:on the contrary, I ever wished to look as well as I could, and toplease as much as my want of beauty would permit. I sometimesregretted that I was not handsomer; I sometimes wished to have rosycheeks, a straight nose, and small cherry mouth; I desired to betall, stately, and finely developed in figure; I felt it amisfortune that I was so little, so pale, and had features soirregular and so marked. And why had I these aspirations and theseregrets? It would be difficult to say: I could not then distinctlysay it to myself; yet I had a reason, and a logical, natural reasontoo. However, when I had brushed my hair very smooth, and put on myblack frock--which, Quakerlike as it was, at least had the merit offitting to a nicety--and adjusted my clean white tucker, I thought Ishould do respectably enough to appear before Mrs. Fairfax, and thatmy new pupil would not at least recoil from me with antipathy.Having opened my chamber window, and seen that I left all thingsstraight and neat on the toilet table, I ventured forth.

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

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

"What! out already?" said she. "I see you are an early riser." Iwent up to her, and was received with an affable kiss and shake ofthe hand.

"How do you like Thornfield?" she asked. I told her I liked it verymuch.

"Yes," she said, "it is a pretty place; but I fear it will begetting out of order, unless Mr. Rochester should take it into hishead to come and reside here permanently; or, at least, visit itrather oftener: great houses and fine grounds require the presenceof the proprietor."

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

"The owner of Thornfield," she responded quietly. "Did you not knowhe was called Rochester?"

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

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

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

"And the little girl--my pupil!"

"She is Mr. Rochester's ward; he commissioned me to find a governessfor her. He intended to have her brought up in -shire, I believe.Here she comes, with her 'bonne,' as she calls her nurse." Theenigma then was explained: this affable and kind little widow wasno great dame; but a dependant like myself. I did not like her theworse for that; on the contrary, I felt better pleased than ever.The equality between her and me was real; not the mere result ofcondescension on her part: so much the better--my position was allthe freer.

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

"Good morning, Miss Adela," said Mrs. Fairfax. "Come and speak tothe lady who is to teach you, and to make you a clever woman someday." She approached.

"C'est le ma gouverante!" said she, pointing to me, and addressingher nurse; who answered -

"Mais oui, certainement."

"Are they foreigners?" I inquired, amazed at hearing the Frenchlanguage.

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

Fortunately I had had the advantage of being taught French by aFrench lady; and as I had always made a point of conversing withMadame Pierrot as often as I could, and had besides, during the lastseven years, learnt a portion of French by heart daily--applyingmyself to take pains with my accent, and imitating as closely aspossible the pronunciation of my teacher, I had acquired a certaindegree of readiness and correctness in the language, and was notlikely to be much at a loss with Mademoiselle Adela. She came andshook hand with me when she heard that I was her governess; and as Iled her in to breakfast, I addressed some phrases to her in her owntongue: she replied briefly at first, but after we were seated atthe table, and she had examined me some ten minutes with her largehazel eyes, she suddenly commenced chattering fluently.

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

"Eyre--Jane Eyre."

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

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

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

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

"Adele," I inquired, "with whom did you live when you were in thatpretty clean town you spoke of?"

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

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

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

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

Assuming an attitude, she began, "La Ligue des Rats: fable de LaFontaine." She then declaimed the little piece with an attention topunctuation and emphasis, a flexibility of voice and anappropriateness of gesture, very unusual indeed at her age, andwhich proved she had been carefully trained.

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

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

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

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

After breakfast, Adele and I withdrew to the library, which room, itappears, Mr. Rochester had directed should be used as theschoolroom. Most of the books were locked up behind glass doors;but there was one bookcase left open containing everything thatcould be needed in the way of elementary works, and several volumesof light literature, poetry, biography, travels, a few romances, &c.I suppose he had considered that these were all the governess wouldrequire for her private perusal; and, indeed, they contented meamply for the present; compared with the scanty pickings I had nowand then been able to glean at Lowood, they seemed to offer anabundant harvest of entertainment and information. In this room,too, there was a cabinet piano, quite new and of superior tone; alsoan easel for painting and a pair of globes.

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

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

"What a beautiful room!" I exclaimed, as I looked round; for I hadnever before seen any half so imposing.

"Yes; this is the dining-room. I have just opened the window, tolet in a little air and sunshine; for everything gets so damp inapartments that are seldom inhabited; the drawing-room yonder feelslike a vault."

She pointed to a wide arch corresponding to the window, and hunglike it with a Tyrian-dyed curtain, now looped up. Mounting to itby two broad steps, and looking through, I thought I caught aglimpse of a fairy place, so bright to my novice-eyes appeared theview beyond. Yet it was merely a very pretty drawing-room, andwithin it a boudoir, both spread with white carpets, on which seemedlaid brilliant garlands of flowers; both ceiled with snowy mouldingsof white grapes and vine-leaves, beneath which glowed in richcontrast crimson couches and ottomans; while the ornaments on thepale Pariain mantelpiece were of sparkling Bohemian glass, ruby red;and between the windows large mirrors repeated the general blendingof snow and fire.

"In what order you keep these rooms, Mrs. Fairfax!" said I. "Nodust, no canvas coverings: except that the air feels chilly, onewould think they were inhabited daily."

"Why, Miss Eyre, though Mr. Rochester's visits here are rare, theyare always sudden and unexpected; and as I observed that it put himout to find everything swathed up, and to have a bustle ofarrangement on his arrival, I thought it best to keep the rooms inreadiness."

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

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

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

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

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

"I have no cause to do otherwise than like him; and I believe he isconsidered a just and liberal landlord by his tenants: but he hasnever lived much amongst them."

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

"Oh! his character is unimpeachable, I suppose. He is ratherpeculiar, perhaps: he has travelled a great deal, and seen a greatdeal of the world, I should think. I dare say he is clever, but Inever had much conversation with him."

"In what way is he peculiar?"

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

This was all the account I got from Mrs. Fairfax of her employer andmine. There are people who seem to have no notion of sketching acharacter, or observing and describing salient points, either inpersons or things: the good lady evidently belonged to this class;my queries puzzled, but did not draw her out. Mr. Rochester was Mr.Rochester in her eyes; a gentleman, a landed proprietor--nothingmore: she inquired and searched no further, and evidently wonderedat my wish to gain a more definite notion of his identity.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Some of the servants, very likely," she answered: "perhaps GracePoole."

"Did you hear it?" I again inquired.

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

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

"Grace!" exclaimed Mrs. Fairfax.

I really did not expect any Grace to answer; for the laugh was astragic, as preternatural a laugh as any I ever heard; and, but thatit was high noon, and that no circumstance of ghostlinessaccompanied the curious cachinnation; but that neither scene norseason favoured fear, I should have been superstitiously afraid.However, the event showed me I was a fool for entertaining a senseeven of surprise.

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

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

"She is a person we have to sew and assist Leah in her housemaid'swork," continued the widow; "not altogether unobjectionable in somepoints, but she does well enough. By-the-bye, how have you got onwith your new pupil this morning?"

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

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

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