Mr. Rochester did, on a future occasion, explain it. It was oneafternoon, when he chanced to meet me and Adele in the grounds: andwhile she played with Pilot and her shuttlecock, he asked me to walkup and down a long beech avenue within sight of her.

He then said that she was the daughter of a French opera-dancer,Celine Varens, towards whom he had once cherished what he called a"grande passion." This passion Celine had professed to return witheven superior ardour. He thought himself her idol, ugly as he was:he believed, as he said, that she preferred his "taille d'athlete"to the elegance of the Apollo Belvidere.

"And, Miss Eyre, so much was I flattered by this preference of theGallic sylph for her British gnome, that I installed her in anhotel; gave her a complete establishment of servants, a carriage,cashmeres, diamonds, dentelles, &c. In short, I began the processof ruining myself in the received style, like any other spoony. Ihad not, it seems, the originality to chalk out a new road to shameand destruction, but trode the old track with stupid exactness notto deviate an inch from the beaten centre. I had--as I deserved tohave--the fate of all other spoonies. Happening to call one eveningwhen Celine did not expect me, I found her out; but it was a warmnight, and I was tired with strolling through Paris, so I sat downin her boudoir; happy to breathe the air consecrated so lately byher presence. No,--I exaggerate; I never thought there was anyconsecrating virtue about her: it was rather a sort of pastilleperfume she had left; a scent of musk and amber, than an odour ofsanctity. I was just beginning to stifle with the fumes ofconservatory flowers and sprinkled essences, when I bethought myselfto open the window and step out on to the balcony. It was moonlightand gaslight besides, and very still and serene. The balcony wasfurnished with a chair or two; I sat down, and took out a cigar,--Iwill take one now, if you will excuse me."

Here ensued a pause, filled up by the producing and lighting of acigar; having placed it to his lips and breathed a trail of Havannahincense on the freezing and sunless air, he went on -

"I liked bonbons too in those days, Miss Eyre, and I was croquant--(overlook the barbarism)--croquant chocolate comfits, and smokingalternately, watching meantime the equipages that rolled along thefashionable streets towards the neighbouring opera-house, when in anelegant close carriage drawn by a beautiful pair of English horses,and distinctly seen in the brilliant city-night, I recognised the'voiture' I had given Celine. She was returning: of course myheart thumped with impatience against the iron rails I leant upon.The carriage stopped, as I had expected, at the hotel door; my flame(that is the very word for an opera inamorata) alighted: thoughmuffed in a cloak--an unnecessary encumbrance, by-the-bye, on sowarm a June evening--I knew her instantly by her little foot, seenpeeping from the skirt of her dress, as she skipped from thecarriage-step. Bending over the balcony, I was about to murmur 'Monange'--in a tone, of course, which should be audible to the ear oflove alone--when a figure jumped from the 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 thearched porte cochere of the hotel.

"You never felt jealousy, did you, Miss Eyre? Of course not: Ineed not ask you; because you never felt love. You have bothsentiments yet to experience: your soul sleeps; the shock is yet tobe given which shall waken it. You think all existence lapses in asquiet a flow as that in which your youth has hitherto slid away.Floating on with closed eyes and muffled ears, you neither see therocks bristling not far off in the bed of the flood, nor hear thebreakers boil at their base. But I tell you--and you may mark mywords--you will come some day to a craggy pass in the channel, wherethe whole of life's stream will be broken up into whirl and tumult,foam and noise: either you will be dashed to atoms on crag points,or lifted up 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 andstillness of the world under this frost. I like Thornfield, itsantiquity, its retirement, its old crow-trees and thorn-trees, itsgrey facade, and lines of dark windows reflecting that metal welkin:and yet how long have I abhorred the very thought of it, shunned itlike a great plague-house? How I do still abhor -"

He ground his teeth and was silent: he arrested his step and struckhis boot against the hard ground. Some hated thought seemed to havehim in its grip, and to hold him so tightly that he could notadvance.

We were ascending the avenue when he thus paused; the hall wasbefore us. Lifting his eye to its battlements, he cast over them aglare such as I never saw before or since. Pain, shame, ire,impatience, disgust, detestation, seemed momentarily to hold aquivering conflict in the large pupil dilating under his eboneyebrow. Wild was the wrestle which should be paramount; butanother feeling rose and triumphed: something hard and cynical:self-willed and resolute: it settled his passion and petrified hiscountenance: he went on -

"During the moment I was silent, Miss Eyre, I was arranging a pointwith my destiny. She stood there, by that beech-trunk--a hag likeone of those who appeared to Macbeth on the heath of Forres. 'Youlike Thornfield?' she said, lifting her finger; and then she wrotein the air a memento, which ran in lurid hieroglyphics all along thehouse-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 like it;' and" (he subjoinedmoodily) "I will keep my word; I will break obstacles to happiness,to goodness--yes, goodness. I wish to be a better man than I havebeen, than I am; as Job's leviathan broke the spear, the dart, andthe habergeon, hindrances which others count as iron and brass, Iwill esteem but straw and rotten wood."

Adele here ran before him with her shuttlecock. "Away!" he criedharshly; "keep at a distance, child; or go in to Sophie!"Continuing then to pursue his walk in silence, I ventured to recallhim to the point whence he had abruptly diverged -

"Did you leave the balcony, sir," I asked, "when Mdlle. Varensentered?"

I almost expected a rebuff for this hardly well-timed question, but,on the contrary, waking out of his scowling abstraction, he turnedhis eyes towards me, and the shade seemed to clear off his brow."Oh, I had forgotten Celine! Well, to resume. When I saw mycharmer thus come in accompanied by a cavalier, I seemed to hear ahiss, and the green snake of jealousy, rising on undulating coilsfrom the moonlit balcony, glided within my waistcoat, and ate itsway in two minutes to my heart's core. Strange!" he exclaimed,suddenly starting again from the point. "Strange that I shouldchoose you for the confidant of all this, young lady; passingstrange that you should listen to me quietly, as if it were the mostusual thing in the world for a man like me to tell stories of hisopera-mistresses to a quaint, inexperienced girl like you! But thelast singularity explains the first, as I intimated once before:you, with your gravity, considerateness, and caution were made to bethe recipient of secrets. Besides, I know what sort of a mind Ihave placed in communication with my own: I know it is one notliable to take infection: it is a peculiar mind: it is a uniqueone. Happily I do not mean to harm it: but, if I did, it would nottake harm from me. The more you and I converse, the better; forwhile I cannot blight you, you may refresh me." After thisdigression he proceeded -

"I remained in the balcony. 'They will come to her boudoir, nodoubt,' thought I: 'let me prepare an ambush.' So putting my handin through the open window, I drew the curtain over it, leaving onlyan opening through which I could take observations; then I closedthe casement, all but a chink just wide enough to furnish an outletto lovers' whispered vows: then I stole back to my chair; and as Iresumed it the pair came in. My eye was quickly at the aperture.Celine's chamber-maid entered, lit a lamp, left it on the table, andwithdrew. The couple were thus revealed to me clearly: bothremoved their cloaks, and there was 'the Varens,' shining in satinand jewels,--my gifts of course,--and there was her companion in anofficer's uniform; and I knew him for a young roue of a vicomte--abrainless and vicious youth whom I had sometimes met in society, andhad never thought of hating because I despised him so absolutely.On recognising him, the fang of the snake Jealousy was instantlybroken; because at the same moment my love for Celine sank under anextinguisher. A woman who could betray me for such a rival was notworth contending for; she deserved only scorn; less, however, thanI, who had been her dupe.

"They began to talk; their conversation eased me completely:frivolous, mercenary, heartless, and senseless, it was rathercalculated to weary than enrage a listener. A card of mine lay onthe table; this being perceived, brought my name under discussion.Neither of them possessed energy or wit to belabour me soundly, butthey insulted me as coarsely as they could in their little way:especially Celine, who even waxed rather brilliant on my personaldefects--deformities she termed them. Now it had been her custom tolaunch out into fervent admiration of what she called my 'beautemale:' wherein she differed diametrically from you, who told mepoint-blank, at the second interview, that you did not think mehandsome. The contrast struck me at the time and--"

Adele here came running up again.

"Monsieur, John has just been to say that your agent has called andwishes to see you."

"Ah! in that case I must abridge. Opening the window, I walked inupon them; liberated Celine from my protection; gave her notice tovacate her hotel; offered her a purse for immediate exigencies;disregarded screams, hysterics, prayers, protestations, convulsions;made an appointment with the vicomte for a meeting at the Bois deBoulogne. Next morning I had the pleasure of encountering him; lefta bullet in one of his poor etiolated arms, feeble as the wing of achicken in the pip, and then thought I had done with the whole crew.But unluckily the Varens, six months before, had given me thisfilette Adele, who, she affirmed, was my daughter; and perhaps shemay be, though I see no proofs of such grim paternity written in hercountenance: Pilot is more like me than she. Some years after Ihad broken with the mother, she abandoned her child, and ran away toItaly with a musician or singer. I acknowledged no natural claim onAdele's part to be supported by me, nor do I now acknowledge any,for I am not her father; but hearing that she was quite destitute, Ie'en took the poor thing out of the slime and mud of Paris, andtransplanted it here, to grow up clean in the wholesome soil of anEnglish country garden. Mrs. Fairfax found you to train it; but nowyou know that it is the illegitimate offspring of a French opera-girl, you will perhaps think differently of your post and protegee:you will be coming to me some day with notice that you have foundanother place--that you beg me to look out for a new governess, &c.--Eh?"

"No: Adele is not answerable for either her mother's faults oryours: 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 cling closer to her than before. How could I possiblyprefer the spoilt pet of a wealthy family, who would hate hergoverness as a nuisance, to a lonely little orphan, who leanstowards her as a friend?"

"Oh, that is the light in which you view it! Well, I must go innow; and you too: it darkens."

But I stayed out a few minutes longer with Adele and Pilot--ran arace with her, and played a game of battledore and shuttlecock.When we went in, and I had removed her bonnet and coat, I took heron my knee; kept her there an hour, allowing her to prattle as sheliked: not rebuking even some little freedoms and trivialities intowhich she was apt to stray when much noticed, and which betrayed inher a superficiality of character, inherited probably from hermother, hardly congenial to an English mind. Still she had hermerits; and I was disposed to appreciate all that was good in her tothe utmost. I sought in her countenance and features a likeness toMr. Rochester, but found none: no trait, no turn of expressionannounced relationship. 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 my own chamber for thenight, that I steadily reviewed the tale Mr. Rochester had told me.As he had said, there was probably nothing at all extraordinary inthe substance of the narrative itself: a wealthy Englishman'spassion for a French dancer, and her treachery to him, were every-day matters enough, no doubt, in society; but there was somethingdecidedly strange in the paroxysm of emotion which had suddenlyseized him when he was in the act of expressing the presentcontentment of his mood, and his newly revived pleasure in the oldhall and its environs. I meditated wonderingly on this incident;but gradually quitting it, as I found it for the presentinexplicable, I turned to the consideration of my master's manner tomyself. The confidence he had thought fit to repose in me seemed atribute to my discretion: I regarded and accepted it as such. Hisdeportment had now for some weeks been more uniform towards me thanat the first. I never seemed in his way; he did not take fits ofchilling hauteur: when he met me unexpectedly, the encounter seemedwelcome; he had always a word and sometimes a smile for me: whensummoned by formal invitation to his presence, I was honoured by acordiality of reception that made me feel I really possessed thepower to amuse him, and that these evening conferences were soughtas much for his pleasure as for my benefit.

I, indeed, talked comparatively little, but I heard him talk withrelish. It was his nature to be communicative; he liked to open toa mind unacquainted with the world glimpses of its scenes and ways(I do not mean its corrupt scenes and wicked ways, but such asderived their interest from the great scale on which they wereacted, the strange novelty by which they were characterised); and Ihad a keen delight in receiving the new ideas he offered, inimagining the new pictures he portrayed, and following him inthought through the new regions he disclosed, never startled ortroubled by one noxious allusion.

The ease of his manner freed me from painful restraint: thefriendly frankness, as correct as cordial, with which he treated me,drew me to him. I felt at times as if he were my relation ratherthan my master: yet he was imperious sometimes still; but I did notmind that; I saw it was his way. So happy, so gratified did Ibecome with this new interest added to life, that I ceased to pineafter kindred: my thin crescent-destiny seemed to enlarge; theblanks of existence were filled up; my bodily health improved; Igathered flesh and strength.

And was Mr. Rochester now ugly in my eyes? No, reader: gratitude,and many associations, all pleasurable and genial, made his face theobject I best liked to see; his presence in a room was more cheeringthan the brightest fire. Yet I had not forgotten his faults;indeed, I could not, for he brought them frequently before me. Hewas proud, sardonic, harsh to inferiority of every description: inmy secret soul I knew that his great kindness to me was balanced byunjust severity to many others. He was moody, too; unaccountablyso; I more than once, when sent for to read to him, found himsitting in his library alone, with his head bent on his folded arms;and, when he looked up, a morose, almost a malignant, scowlblackened his features. But I believed that his moodiness, hisharshness, and his former faults of morality (I say FORMER, for nowhe seemed corrected of them) had their source in some cruel cross offate. I believed he was naturally a man of better tendencies,higher principles, and purer tastes than such as circumstances haddeveloped, education instilled, or destiny encouraged. I thoughtthere were excellent materials in him; though for the present theyhung together somewhat spoiled and tangled. I cannot deny that Igrieved for his grief, whatever that was, and would have given muchto assuage it.

Though I had now extinguished my candle and was laid down in bed, Icould not sleep for thinking of his look when he paused in theavenue, and told how his destiny had risen up before him, and daredhim to be happy at Thornfield.

"Why not?" I asked myself. "What alienates him from the house?Will he leave it again soon? Mrs. Fairfax said he seldom stayedhere longer than a fortnight at a time; and he has now been residenteight weeks. If he does go, the change will be doleful. Suppose heshould be absent spring, summer, and autumn: how joyless sunshineand fine days will seem!"

I hardly know whether I had slept or not after this musing; at anyrate, I started wide awake on hearing a vague murmur, peculiar andlugubrious, which sounded, I thought, just above me. I wished I hadkept my candle burning: the night was drearily dark; my spiritswere depressed. I rose and sat up in bed, listening. The sound washushed.

I tried again to sleep; but my heart beat anxiously: my inwardtranquillity was broken. The clock, far down in the hall, strucktwo. Just then it seemed my chamber-door was touched; as if fingershad swept the panels in groping a way along the dark galleryoutside. I said, "Who is there?" Nothing answered. I was chilledwith fear.

All at once I remembered that it might be Pilot, who, when thekitchen-door chanced to be left open, not unfrequently found his wayup to the threshold of Mr. Rochester's chamber: I had seen himlying there myself in the mornings. The idea calmed me somewhat: Ilay down. Silence composes the nerves; and as an unbroken hush nowreigned again through the whole house, I began to feel the return ofslumber. But it was not fated that I should sleep that night. Adream 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 itseemed, at the very keyhole of my chamber door. The head of my bedwas near the door, and I thought at first the goblin-laugher stoodat my bedside--or rather, crouched by my pillow: but I rose, lookedround, and could see nothing; while, as I still gazed, the unnaturalsound was reiterated: and I knew it came from behind the panels.My first impulse was to rise and fasten the bolt; my next, again tocry out, "Who is there?"

Something gurgled and moaned. Ere long, steps retreated up thegallery towards the third-storey staircase: a door had lately beenmade to shut in that staircase; I heard it open and close, and allwas still.

"Was that Grace Poole? and is she possessed with a devil?" thoughtI. Impossible now to remain longer by myself: I must go to Mrs.Fairfax. I hurried on my frock and a shawl; I withdrew the bolt andopened the door with a trembling hand. There was a candle burningjust outside, and on the matting in the gallery. I was surprised atthis circumstance: but still more was I amazed to perceive the airquite dim, as if filled with smoke; and, while looking to the righthand and left, to find whence these blue wreaths issued, I becamefurther aware of a strong smell of burning.

Something creaked: it was a door ajar; and that door was Mr.Rochester's, and the smoke rushed in a cloud from thence. I thoughtno more of Mrs. Fairfax; I thought no more of Grace Poole, or thelaugh: in an instant, I was within the chamber. Tongues of flamedarted round the bed: the curtains were on fire. In the midst ofblaze and vapour, Mr. Rochester lay stretched motionless, in deepsleep.

"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 sheets were kindling, I rushed to his basin and ewer;fortunately, one was wide and the other deep, and both were filledwith water. I heaved them up, deluged the bed and its occupant,flew back to my own room, brought my own water-jug, baptized thecouch afresh, and, by God's aid, succeeded in extinguishing theflames which were devouring it.

The hiss of the quenched element, the breakage of a pitcher which Iflung from my hand when I had emptied it, and, above all, the splashof the shower-bath I had liberally bestowed, roused Mr. Rochester atlast. Though it was now dark, I knew he was awake; because I heardhim fulminating strange anathemas at finding himself lying in a poolof water.

"Is there a flood?" he cried.

"No, sir," I answered; "but there has been a fire: get up, do; youare quenched now; I will fetch you a candle."

"In the name of all the elves in Christendom, is that Jane Eyre?" hedemanded. "What have you done with me, witch, sorceress? Who is inthe room besides you? Have you plotted to drown me?"

"I will fetch you a candle, sir; and, in Heaven's name, get up.Somebody has plotted something: you cannot too soon find out whoand what it is."

"There! I am up now; but at your peril you fetch a candle 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 still remained in the gallery.He took it from my hand, held it up, and surveyed the bed, allblackened and scorched, the sheets drenched, the carpet roundswimming in water.

"What is it? and who did it?" he asked. I briefly related to himwhat had transpired: the strange laugh I had heard in the gallery:the step ascending to the third storey; the smoke,--the smell offire which had conducted me to his room; in what state I had foundmatters there, and how I had deluged him with all the water I couldlay hands on.

He listened very gravely; his face, as I went on, expressed moreconcern than astonishment; he did not immediately speak when I hadconcluded.

"Shall I call Mrs. Fairfax?" I asked.

"Mrs. Fairfax? No; what the deuce would you call her for? What canshe do? Let her sleep unmolested."

"Then I will fetch Leah, and wake John and his wife."

"Not at all: just be still. You have a shawl on. If you are notwarm enough, you may take my cloak yonder; wrap it about you, andsit down in the arm-chair: there,--I will put it on. Now placeyour feet on the stool, to keep them out of the wet. I am going toleave you a few minutes. I shall take the candle. Remain where youare till I return; be as still as a mouse. I must pay a visit tothe second storey. Don't move, remember, or call any one."

He went: I watched the light withdraw. He passed up the galleryvery softly, unclosed the staircase door with as little noise aspossible, shut it after him, and the last ray vanished. I was leftin total darkness. I listened for some noise, but heard nothing. Avery 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 torouse the house. I was on the point of risking Mr. Rochester'sdispleasure by disobeying his orders, when the light once moregleamed dimly on the gallery wall, and I heard his unshod feet treadthe matting. "I hope it is he," thought I, "and not somethingworse."

He re-entered, pale and very gloomy. "I have found it all out,"said he, setting his candle down on the washstand; "it is as Ithought."

"How, sir?"

He made no reply, but stood with his arms folded, looking on theground. At the end of a few minutes he inquired in rather apeculiar tone -

"I forget whether you said you saw anything when you opened yourchamber door."

"No, sir, only the candlestick on the ground."

"But you heard an odd laugh? You have heard that laugh before, Ishould think, or something like it?"

"Yes, sir: there is a woman who sews here, called Grace Poole,--shelaughs in that 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, Iam glad that you are the only person, besides myself, acquaintedwith the precise details of to-night's incident. You are no talkingfool: say nothing about it. I will account for this state ofaffairs" (pointing to the bed): "and now return to your own room.I shall do very well on the sofa in the library for the rest of thenight. It is near four:- in two hours the servants will be up."

"Good-night, then, sir," said I, departing.

He seemed surprised--very inconsistently so, as he had just told meto go.

"What!" he exclaimed, "are you quitting me already, and in thatway?"

"You said I might go, sir."

"But not without taking leave; not without a word or two ofacknowledgment and good-will: not, in short, in that brief, dryfashion. Why, you have saved my life!--snatched me from a horribleand excruciating death! and you walk past me as if we were mutualstrangers! At least shake hands."

He held out his hand; I gave him mine: he took it first in one,them in both his own.

"You have saved my life: I have a pleasure in owing you so immensea debt. I cannot say more. Nothing else that has being would havebeen tolerable to me in the character of creditor for such anobligation: but you: it is different;--I feel your benefits noburden, Jane."

He paused; gazed at me: words almost visible trembled on his lips,--but his voice was checked.

"Good-night again, sir. There is no debt, benefit, burden,obligation, in the case."

"I knew," he continued, "you would do me good in some way, at sometime;--I saw it in your eyes when I first beheld you: theirexpression and smile did not"--(again he stopped)--"did not" (heproceeded hastily) "strike delight to my very inmost heart so fornothing. People talk of natural sympathies; I have heard of goodgenii: there are grains of truth in the wildest fable. Mycherished preserver, goodnight!"

Strange energy was in his voice, strange 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 hestill retained my hand, and I could not free it. I bethought myselfof an expedient.

"I think I hear Mrs. Fairfax move, sir," said I.

"Well, leave me:" he relaxed his fingers, and I was gone.

I regained my couch, but never thought of sleep. Till morningdawned I was tossed on a buoyant but unquiet sea, where billows oftrouble rolled under surges of joy. I thought sometimes I sawbeyond its wild waters a shore, sweet as the hills of Beulah; andnow and then a freshening gale, wakened by hope, bore my spirittriumphantly towards the bourne: but I could not reach it, even infancy--a counteracting breeze blew off land, and continually droveme back. Sense would resist delirium: judgment would warn passion.Too feverish to rest, I rose as soon as day dawned.