I both wished and feared to see Mr. Rochester on the day whichfollowed this sleepless night: I wanted to hear his voice again,yet feared to meet his eye. During the early part of the morning, Imomentarily expected his coming; he was not in the frequent habit ofentering the schoolroom, but he did step in for a few minutessometimes, and I had the impression that he was sure to visit itthat day.

But the morning passed just as usual: nothing happened to interruptthe quiet course of Adele's studies; only soon after breakfast, Iheard some bustle in the neighbourhood of Mr. Rochester's chamber,Mrs. Fairfax's voice, and Leah's, and the cook's--that is, John'swife--and even John's own gruff tones. There were exclamations of"What a mercy master was not burnt in his bed!" "It is alwaysdangerous to keep a candle lit at night." "How providential that hehad presence of mind to think of the water-jug!" "I wonder he wakednobody!" "It is to be hoped he will not take cold with sleeping onthe library sofa," &c.

To much confabulation succeeded a sound of scrubbing and setting torights; and when I passed the room, in going downstairs to dinner, Isaw through the open door that all was again restored to completeorder; only the bed was stripped of its hangings. Leah stood up inthe window-seat, rubbing the panes of glass dimmed with smoke. Iwas about to address her, for I wished to know what account had beengiven of the affair: but, on advancing, I saw a second person inthe chamber--a woman sitting on a chair by the bedside, and sewingrings to new curtains. That woman was no other than Grace Poole.

There she sat, staid and taciturn-looking, as usual, in her brownstuff gown, her check apron, white handkerchief, and cap. She wasintent on her work, in which her whole thoughts seemed absorbed: onher hard forehead, and in her commonplace features, was nothingeither of the paleness or desperation one would have expected to seemarking the countenance of a woman who had attempted murder, andwhose intended victim had followed her last night to her lair, and(as I believed), charged her with the crime she wished toperpetrate. I was amazed--confounded. She looked up, while I stillgazed at her: no start, no increase or failure of colour betrayedemotion, consciousness of guilt, or fear of detection. She said"Good morning, Miss," in her usual phlegmatic and brief manner; andtaking up another ring and more tape, went on with her sewing.

"I will put her to some test," thought I: "such absoluteimpenetrability is past comprehension."

"Good morning, Grace," I said. "Has anything happened here? Ithought I heard the servants all talking together a while ago."

"Only master had been reading in his bed last night; he fell asleepwith his candle lit, and the curtains got on fire; but, fortunately,he awoke before the bed-clothes or the wood-work caught, andcontrived to quench the flames with the water in the ewer.

"A strange affair!" I said, in a low voice: then, looking at herfixedly--"Did Mr. Rochester wake nobody? Did no one hear him move?"

She again raised her eyes to me, and this time there was somethingof consciousness in their expression. She seemed to examine mewarily; then she answered -

"The servants sleep so far off, you know, Miss, they would not belikely to hear. Mrs. Fairfax's room and yours are the nearest tomaster's; but Mrs. Fairfax said she heard nothing: when people getelderly, they often sleep heavy." She paused, and then added, witha sort of assumed indifference, but still in a marked andsignificant tone--"But you are young, Miss; and I should say a lightsleeper: perhaps you may have heard a noise?"

"I did," said I, dropping my voice, so that Leah, who was stillpolishing the panes, could not hear me, "and at first I thought itwas Pilot: but Pilot cannot laugh; and I am certain I heard alaugh, and a strange one."

She took a new needleful of thread, waxed it carefully, threaded herneedle with a steady hand, and then observed, with perfect composure-

"It is hardly likely master would laugh, I should think, Miss, whenhe was in such danger: You must have been dreaming."

"I was not dreaming," I said, with some warmth, for her brazencoolness provoked me. Again she looked at me; and with the samescrutinising and conscious eye.

"Have you told master that you heard a laugh?" she inquired.

"I have not had the opportunity of speaking to him this morning."

"You did not think of opening your door and looking out into thegallery?" she further asked.

She appeared to be cross-questioning me, attempting to draw from meinformation unawares. The idea struck me that if she discovered Iknew or suspected her guilt, she would be playing of some of hermalignant pranks on me; I thought it advisable to be on my guard.

"On the contrary," said I, "I bolted my door."

"Then you are not in the habit of bolting your door every nightbefore you get into bed?"

"Fiend! she wants to know my habits, that she may lay her plansaccordingly!" Indignation again prevailed over prudence: I repliedsharply, "Hitherto I have often omitted to fasten the bolt: I didnot think it necessary. I was not aware any danger or annoyance wasto be dreaded at Thornfield Hall: but in future" (and I laid markedstress on the words) "I shall take good care to make all securebefore I venture to lie down."

"It will be wise so to do," was her answer: "this neighbourhood isas quiet as any I know, and I never heard of the hall beingattempted by robbers since it was a house; though there are hundredsof pounds' worth of plate in the plate-closet, as is well known.And you see, for such a large house, there are very few servants,because master has never lived here much; and when he does come,being a bachelor, he needs little waiting on: but I always think itbest to err on the safe side; a door is soon fastened, and it is aswell to have a drawn bolt between one and any mischief that may beabout. A deal of people, Miss, are for trusting all to Providence;but I say Providence will not dispense with the means, though Heoften blesses them when they are used discreetly." And here sheclosed her harangue: a long one for her, and uttered with thedemureness of a Quakeress.

I still stood absolutely dumfoundered at what appeared to me hermiraculous self-possession and most inscrutable hypocrisy, when thecook entered.

"Mrs. Poole," said she, addressing Grace, "the servants' dinner willsoon be ready: will you come down?"

"No; just put my pint of porter and bit of pudding on a tray, andI'll carry it upstairs."

"You'll have some meat?"

"Just a morsel, and a taste of cheese, that's all."

"And the sago?"

"Never mind it at present: I shall be coming down before teatime:I'll make it myself."

The cook here turned to me, saying that Mrs. Fairfax was waiting forme: so I departed.

I hardly heard Mrs. Fairfax's account of the curtain conflagrationduring dinner, so much was I occupied in puzzling my brains over theenigmatical character of Grace Poole, and still more in ponderingthe problem of her position at Thornfield and questioning why shehad not been given into custody that morning, or, at the very least,dismissed from her master's service. He had almost as much asdeclared his conviction of her criminality last night: whatmysterious cause withheld him from accusing her? Why had heenjoined me, too, to secrecy? It was strange: a bold, vindictive,and haughty gentleman seemed somehow in the power of one of themeanest of his dependants; so much in her power, that even when shelifted her hand against his life, he dared not openly charge herwith the attempt, much less punish her for it.

Had Grace been young and handsome, I should have been tempted tothink that tenderer feelings than prudence or fear influenced Mr.Rochester in her behalf; but, hard-favoured and matronly as she was,the idea could not be admitted. "Yet," I reflected, "she has beenyoung once; her youth would be contemporary with her master's: Mrs.Fairfax told me once, she had lived here many years. I don't thinkshe can ever have been pretty; but, for aught I know, she maypossess originality and strength of character to compensate for thewant of personal advantages. Mr. Rochester is an amateur of thedecided and eccentric: Grace is eccentric at least. What if aformer caprice (a freak very possible to a nature so sudden andheadstrong as his) has delivered him into her power, and she nowexercises over his actions a secret influence, the result of his ownindiscretion, which he cannot shake off, and dare not disregard?"But, having reached this point of conjecture, Mrs. Poole's square,flat figure, and uncomely, dry, even coarse face, recurred sodistinctly to my mind's eye, that I thought, "No; impossible! mysupposition cannot be correct. Yet," suggested the secret voicewhich talks to us in our own hearts, "you are not beautiful either,and perhaps Mr. Rochester approves you: at any rate, you have oftenfelt as if he did; and last night--remember his words; remember hislook; remember his voice!"

I well remembered all; language, glance, and tone seemed at themoment vividly renewed. I was now in the schoolroom; Adele wasdrawing; I bent over her and directed her pencil. She looked upwith a sort of start.

"Qu' avez-vous, mademoiselle?" said she. "Vos doigts tremblentcomme la feuille, et vos joues sont rouges: mais, rouges comme descerises!"

"I am hot, Adele, with stooping!" She went on sketching; I went onthinking.

I hastened to drive from my mind the hateful notion I had beenconceiving respecting Grace Poole; it disgusted me. I comparedmyself with her, and found we were different. Bessie Leaven hadsaid I was quite a lady; and she spoke truth--I was a lady. And nowI looked much better than I did when Bessie saw me; I had morecolour and more flesh, more life, more vivacity, because I hadbrighter hopes and keener enjoyments.

"Evening approaches," said I, as I looked towards the window. "Ihave never heard Mr. Rochester's voice or step in the house to-day;but surely I shall see him before night: I feared the meeting inthe morning; now I desire it, because expectation has been so longbaffled that it is grown impatient."

When dusk actually closed, and when Adele left me to go and play inthe nursery with Sophie, I did most keenly desire it. I listenedfor the bell to ring below; I listened for Leah coming up with amessage; I fancied sometimes I heard Mr. Rochester's own tread, andI turned to the door, expecting it to open and admit him. The doorremained shut; darkness only came in through the window. Still itwas not late; he often sent for me at seven and eight o'clock, andit was yet but six. Surely I should not be wholly disappointed to-night, when I had so many things to say to him! I wanted again tointroduce the subject of Grace Poole, and to hear what he wouldanswer; I wanted to ask him plainly if he really believed it was shewho had made last night's hideous attempt; and if so, why he kepther wickedness a secret. It little mattered whether my curiosityirritated him; I knew the pleasure of vexing and soothing him byturns; it was one I chiefly delighted in, and a sure instinct alwaysprevented me from going too far; beyond the verge of provocation Inever ventured; on the extreme brink I liked well to try my skill.Retaining every minute form of respect, every propriety of mystation, I could still meet him in argument without fear or uneasyrestraint; this suited both him and me.

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'sroom. Thither I repaired, glad at least to go downstairs; for thatbrought me, I imagined, nearer to Mr. Rochester's presence.

"You must want your tea," said the good lady, as I joined her; "youate so little at dinner. 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 good appetite; will you fillthe teapot while I knit off this needle?" Having completed hertask, she rose to draw down the blind, which she had hitherto keptup, by way, I suppose, of making the most of daylight, though duskwas now fast deepening into total obscurity.

"It is fair to-night," said she, as she looked through the panes,"though not starlight; Mr. Rochester has, on the whole, had afavourable day for his journey."

"Journey!--Is Mr. Rochester gone anywhere? I did not know he wasout."

"Oh, he set of the moment he had breakfasted! He is gone to theLeas, Mr. Eshton's place, ten miles on the other side Millcote. Ibelieve there is quite a party assembled there; Lord Ingram, SirGeorge Lynn, Colonel Dent, and others."

"Do you expect him back to-night?"

"No--nor to-morrow either; I should think he is very likely to staya week or more: when these fine, fashionable people get together,they are so surrounded by elegance and gaiety, so well provided withall that can please and entertain, they are in no hurry to separate.Gentlemen especially are often in request on such occasions; and Mr.Rochester is so talented and so lively in society, that I believe heis a general favourite: the ladies are very fond of him; though youwould not think his appearance calculated to recommend himparticularly in their eyes: but I suppose his acquirements andabilities, perhaps his wealth and good blood, make amends for anylittle fault of look."

"Are there ladies at the Leas?"

"There are Mrs. Eshton and her three daughters--very elegant youngladies indeed; and there are the Honourable Blanche and Mary Ingram,most beautiful women, I suppose: indeed I have seen Blanche, six orseven years since, when she was a girl of eighteen. She came hereto a Christmas ball and party Mr. Rochester gave. You should haveseen the dining-room that day--how richly it was decorated, howbrilliantly lit up! I should think there were fifty ladies andgentlemen present--all of the first county families; and Miss Ingramwas considered the belle of the evening."

"You saw her, you say, Mrs. Fairfax: what was she like?"

"Yes, I saw her. The dining-room doors were thrown open; and, as itwas Christmas-time, the servants were allowed to assemble in thehall, to hear some of the ladies sing and play. Mr. Rochester wouldhave me to come in, and I sat down in a quiet corner and watchedthem. I never saw a more splendid scene: the ladies weremagnificently dressed; most of them--at least most of the youngerones--looked handsome; but Miss Ingram was certainly the queen."

"And what was she like?"

"Tall, fine bust, sloping shoulders; long, graceful neck: olivecomplexion, dark and clear; noble features; eyes rather like Mr.Rochester's: large and black, and as brilliant as her jewels. Andthen she had such a fine head of hair; raven-black and so becominglyarranged: a crown of thick plaits behind, and in front the longest,the glossiest curls I ever saw. She was dressed in pure white; anamber-coloured scarf was passed over her shoulder and across herbreast, tied at the side, and descending in long, fringed ends belowher knee. She wore an amber-coloured flower, too, in her hair: itcontrasted well with the jetty mass of her curls."

"She was greatly admired, of course?"

"Yes, indeed: and not only for her beauty, but for heraccomplishments. She was one of the ladies who sang: a gentlemanaccompanied 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 an excellent taste for music."

"And Miss Ingram: what sort of a voice had she?"

"A very rich and powerful one: she sang delightfully; it was atreat to listen to her;--and she played afterwards. I am no judgeof music, but Mr. Rochester is; and I heard him say her executionwas remarkably good."

"And this beautiful and accomplished lady, she is not yet married?"

"It appears not: I fancy neither she nor her sister have very largefortunes. Old Lord Ingram's estates were chiefly entailed, and theeldest son came in for everything almost."

"But I wonder no wealthy nobleman or gentleman has taken a fancy toher: Mr. Rochester, for instance. He is rich, is he not?"

"Oh! yes. But you see there is a considerable difference 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 anidea of the sort. But you eat nothing: you have scarcely tastedsince you began tea."

"No: I am too thirsty to eat. Will you let me have another cup?"

I was about again to revert to the probability of a union betweenMr. Rochester and the beautiful Blanche; but Adele came in, and theconversation was turned into another channel.

When once more alone, I reviewed the information I had got; lookedinto my heart, examined its thoughts and feelings, and endeavouredto bring back with a strict hand such as had been straying throughimagination's boundless and trackless waste, into the safe fold ofcommon sense.

Arraigned at my own bar, Memory having given her evidence of thehopes, wishes, sentiments I had been cherishing since last night--ofthe general state of mind in which I had indulged for nearly afortnight past; Reason having come forward and told, in her ownquiet way a plain, unvarnished tale, showing how I had rejected thereal, and rabidly devoured the ideal;--I pronounced judgment to thiseffect:-

That a greater fool than Jane Eyre had never breathed the breath oflife; that a more fantastic idiot had never surfeited herself onsweet lies, and swallowed poison as if it were nectar.

"YOU," I said, "a favourite with Mr. Rochester? YOU gifted with thepower of pleasing him? YOU of importance to him in any way? Go!your folly sickens me. And you have derived pleasure fromoccasional tokens of preference--equivocal tokens shown by agentleman of family and a man of the world to a dependent and anovice. 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 saidsomething in praise of your eyes, did he? Blind puppy! Open theirbleared lids and look on your own accursed senselessness! It doesgood to no woman to be flattered by her superior, who cannotpossibly intend to marry her; and it is madness in all women to leta secret love kindle within them, which, if unreturned and unknown,must devour the life that feeds it; and, if discovered and respondedto, must lead, ignis-fatus-like, into miry wilds whence there is noextrication.

"Listen, then, Jane Eyre, to your sentence: tomorrow, place theglass before you, and draw in chalk your own picture, faithfully,without softening one defect; omit no harsh line, smooth away nodispleasing irregularity; write under it, 'Portrait of a Governess,disconnected, poor, and plain.'

"Afterwards, take a piece of smooth ivory--you have one prepared inyour drawing-box: take your palette, mix your freshest, finest,clearest tints; choose your most delicate camel-hair pencils;delineate carefully the loveliest face you can imagine; paint it inyour softest shades and sweetest lines, according to the descriptiongiven by Mrs. Fairfax of Blanche Ingram; remember the ravenringlets, the oriental eye;--What! you revert to Mr. Rochester as amodel! Order! No snivel!--no sentiment!--no regret! I will endureonly sense and resolution. Recall the august yet harmoniouslineaments, the Grecian neck and bust; let the round and dazzlingarm be visible, and the delicate hand; omit neither diamond ring norgold bracelet; portray faithfully the attire, aerial lace andglistening satin, graceful scarf and golden rose; call it 'Blanche,an accomplished lady of rank.'

"Whenever, in future, you should chance to fancy Mr. Rochesterthinks well of you, take out these two pictures and compare them:say, 'Mr. Rochester might probably win that noble lady's love, if hechose to strive for it; is it likely he would waste a seriousthought on this indigent and insignificant plebeian?'"

"I'll do it," I resolved: and having framed this determination, Igrew calm, and fell asleep.

I kept my word. An hour or two sufficed to sketch my own portraitin crayons; and in less than a fortnight I had completed an ivoryminiature of an imaginary Blanche Ingram. It looked a lovely faceenough, and when compared with the real head in chalk, the contrastwas as great as self-control could desire. I derived benefit fromthe task: it had kept my head and hands employed, and had givenforce and fixedness to the new impressions I wished to stampindelibly on my heart.

Ere long, I had reason to congratulate myself on the course ofwholesome discipline to which I had thus forced my feelings tosubmit. Thanks to it, I was able to meet subsequent occurrenceswith a decent calm, which, had they found me unprepared, I shouldprobably have been unequal to maintain, even externally.