prompt:
Chapter: A week passed, and no news arrived of Mr. Rochester: ten days, and still
he did not come.  Mrs. Fairfax said she should not be surprised if he
were to go straight from the Leas to London, and thence to the Continent,
and not show his face again at Thornfield for a year to come; he had not
unfrequently quitted it in a manner quite as abrupt and unexpected.  When
I heard this, I was beginning to feel a strange chill and failing at the
heart.  I was actually permitting myself to experience a sickening sense
of disappointment; but rallying my wits, and recollecting my principles,
I at once called my sensations to order; and it was wonderful how I got
over the temporary blunder--how I cleared up the mistake of supposing Mr.
Rochester's movements a matter in which I had any cause to take a vital
interest.  Not that I humbled myself by a slavish notion of inferiority:
on the contrary, I just said--

"You have nothing to do with the master of Thornfield, further than to
receive the salary he gives you for teaching his protegee, and to be
grateful for such respectful and kind treatment as, if you do your duty,
you have a right to expect at his hands.  Be sure that is the only tie he
seriously acknowledges between you and him; so don't make him the object
of your fine feelings, your raptures, agonies, and so forth.  He is not
of your order: keep to your caste, and be too self-respecting to lavish
the love of the whole heart, soul, and strength, where such a gift is not
wanted and would be despised."

I went on with my day's business tranquilly; but ever and anon vague
suggestions kept wandering across my brain of reasons why I should quit
Thornfield; and I kept involuntarily framing advertisements and pondering
conjectures about new situations: these thoughts I did not think to
check; they might germinate and bear fruit if they could.

Mr. Rochester had been absent upwards of a fortnight, when the post
brought Mrs. Fairfax a letter.

"It is from the master," said she, as she looked at the direction.  "Now
I suppose we shall know whether we are to expect his return or not."

And while she broke the seal and perused the document, I went on taking
my coffee (we were at breakfast): it was hot, and I attributed to that
circumstance a fiery glow which suddenly rose to my face.  Why my hand
shook, and why I involuntarily spilt half the contents of my cup into my
saucer, I did not choose to consider.

"Well, I sometimes think we are too quiet; but we run a chance of being
busy enough now: for a little while at least," said Mrs. Fairfax, still
holding the note before her spectacles.

Ere I permitted myself to request an explanation, I tied the string of
Adele's pinafore, which happened to be loose: having helped her also to
another bun and refilled her mug with milk, I said, nonchalantly--

"Mr. Rochester is not likely to return soon, I suppose?"

"Indeed he is--in three days, he says: that will be next Thursday; and
not alone either.  I don't know how many of the fine people at the Leas
are coming with him: he sends directions for all the best bedrooms to be
prepared; and the library and drawing-rooms are to be cleaned out; I am
to get more kitchen hands from the George Inn, at Millcote, and from
wherever else I can; and the ladies will bring their maids and the
gentlemen their valets: so we shall have a full house of it."  And Mrs.
Fairfax swallowed her breakfast and hastened away to commence operations.

The three days were, as she had foretold, busy enough.  I had thought all
the rooms at Thornfield beautifully clean and well arranged; but it
appears I was mistaken.  Three women were got to help; and such
scrubbing, such brushing, such washing of paint and beating of carpets,
such taking down and putting up of pictures, such polishing of mirrors
and lustres, such lighting of fires in bedrooms, such airing of sheets
and feather-beds on hearths, I never beheld, either before or since.
Adele ran quite wild in the midst of it: the preparations for company and
the prospect of their arrival, seemed to throw her into ecstasies.  She
would have Sophie to look over all her "toilettes," as she called frocks;
to furbish up any that were "_passees_," and to air and arrange the new.
For herself, she did nothing but caper about in the front chambers, jump
on and off the bedsteads, and lie on the mattresses and piled-up bolsters
and pillows before the enormous fires roaring in the chimneys.  From
school duties she was exonerated: Mrs. Fairfax had pressed me into her
service, and I was all day in the storeroom, helping (or hindering) her
and the cook; learning to make custards and cheese-cakes and French
pastry, to truss game and garnish desert-dishes.

The party were expected to arrive on Thursday afternoon, in time for
dinner at six.  During the intervening period I had no time to nurse
chimeras; and I believe I was as active and gay as anybody--Adele
excepted.  Still, now and then, I received a damping check to my
cheerfulness; and was, in spite of myself, thrown back on the region of
doubts and portents, and dark conjectures.  This was when I chanced to
see the third-storey staircase door (which of late had always been kept
locked) open slowly, and give passage to the form of Grace Poole, in prim
cap, white apron, and handkerchief; when I watched her glide along the
gallery, her quiet tread muffled in a list slipper; when I saw her look
into the bustling, topsy-turvy bedrooms,--just say a word, perhaps, to
the charwoman about the proper way to polish a grate, or clean a marble
mantelpiece, or take stains from papered walls, and then pass on.  She
would thus descend to the kitchen once a day, eat her dinner, smoke a
moderate pipe on the hearth, and go back, carrying her pot of porter with
her, for her private solace, in her own gloomy, upper haunt.  Only one
hour in the twenty-four did she pass with her fellow-servants below; all
the rest of her time was spent in some low-ceiled, oaken chamber of the
second storey: there she sat and sewed--and probably laughed drearily to
herself,--as companionless as a prisoner in his dungeon.

The strangest thing of all was, that not a soul in the house, except me,
noticed her habits, or seemed to marvel at them: no one discussed her
position or employment; no one pitied her solitude or isolation.  I once,
indeed, overheard part of a dialogue between Leah and one of the
charwomen, of which Grace formed the subject.  Leah had been saying
something I had not caught, and the charwoman remarked--

"She gets good wages, I guess?"

"Yes," said Leah; "I wish I had as good; not that mine are to complain
of,--there's no stinginess at Thornfield; but they're not one fifth of
the sum Mrs. Poole receives.  And she is laying by: she goes every
quarter to the bank at Millcote.  I should not wonder but she has saved
enough to keep her independent if she liked to leave; but I suppose she's
got used to the place; and then she's not forty yet, and strong and able
for anything.  It is too soon for her to give up business."

"She is a good hand, I daresay," said the charwoman.

"Ah!--she understands what she has to do,--nobody better," rejoined Leah
significantly; "and it is not every one could fill her shoes--not for all
the money she gets."

"That it is not!" was the reply.  "I wonder whether the master--"

The charwoman was going on; but here Leah turned and perceived me, and
she instantly gave her companion a nudge.

"Doesn't she know?" I heard the woman whisper.

Leah shook her head, and the conversation was of course dropped.  All I
had gathered from it amounted to this,--that there was a mystery at
Thornfield; and that from participation in that mystery I was purposely
excluded.

Thursday came: all work had been completed the previous evening; carpets
were laid down, bed-hangings festooned, radiant white counterpanes
spread, toilet tables arranged, furniture rubbed, flowers piled in vases:
both chambers and saloons looked as fresh and bright as hands could make
them.  The hall, too, was scoured; and the great carved clock, as well as
the steps and banisters of the staircase, were polished to the brightness
of glass; in the dining-room, the sideboard flashed resplendent with
plate; in the drawing-room and boudoir, vases of exotics bloomed on all
sides.

Afternoon arrived: Mrs. Fairfax assumed her best black satin gown, her
gloves, and her gold watch; for it was her part to receive the
company,--to conduct the ladies to their rooms, &c.  Adele, too, would be
dressed: though I thought she had little chance of being introduced to
the party that day at least.  However, to please her, I allowed Sophie to
apparel her in one of her short, full muslin frocks.  For myself, I had
no need to make any change; I should not be called upon to quit my
sanctum of the schoolroom; for a sanctum it was now become to me,--"a
very pleasant refuge in time of trouble."

It had been a mild, serene spring day--one of those days which, towards
the end of March or the beginning of April, rise shining over the earth
as heralds of summer.  It was drawing to an end now; but the evening was
even warm, and I sat at work in the schoolroom with the window open.

"It gets late," said Mrs. Fairfax, entering in rustling state.  "I am
glad I ordered dinner an hour after the time Mr. Rochester mentioned; for
it is past six now.  I have sent John down to the gates to see if there
is anything on the road: one can see a long way from thence in the
direction of Millcote."  She went to the window.  "Here he is!" said she.
"Well, John" (leaning out), "any news?"

"They're coming, ma'am," was the answer.  "They'll be here in ten
minutes."

Adele flew to the window.  I followed, taking care to stand on one side,
so that, screened by the curtain, I could see without being seen.

The ten minutes John had given seemed very long, but at last wheels were
heard; four equestrians galloped up the drive, and after them came two
open carriages.  Fluttering veils and waving plumes filled the vehicles;
two of the cavaliers were young, dashing-looking gentlemen; the third was
Mr. Rochester, on his black horse, Mesrour, Pilot bounding before him; at
his side rode a lady, and he and she were the first of the party.  Her
purple riding-habit almost swept the ground, her veil streamed long on
the breeze; mingling with its transparent folds, and gleaming through
them, shone rich raven ringlets.

"Miss Ingram!" exclaimed Mrs. Fairfax, and away she hurried to her post
below.

The cavalcade, following the sweep of the drive, quickly turned the angle
of the house, and I lost sight of it.  Adele now petitioned to go down;
but I took her on my knee, and gave her to understand that she must not
on any account think of venturing in sight of the ladies, either now or
at any other time, unless expressly sent for: that Mr. Rochester would be
very angry, &c.  "Some natural tears she shed" on being told this; but as
I began to look very grave, she consented at last to wipe them.

A joyous stir was now audible in the hall: gentlemen's deep tones and
ladies' silvery accents blent harmoniously together, and distinguishable
above all, though not loud, was the sonorous voice of the master of
Thornfield Hall, welcoming his fair and gallant guests under its roof.
Then light steps ascended the stairs; and there was a tripping through
the gallery, and soft cheerful laughs, and opening and closing doors,
and, for a time, a hush.

"Elles changent de toilettes," said Adele; who, listening attentively,
had followed every movement; and she sighed.

"Chez maman," said she, "quand il y avait du monde, je le suivais
partout, au salon et a leurs chambres; souvent je regardais les femmes de
chambre coiffer et habiller les dames, et c'etait si amusant: comme cela
on apprend."

"Don't you feel hungry, Adele?"

"Mais oui, mademoiselle: voila cinq ou six heures que nous n'avons pas
mange."

"Well now, while the ladies are in their rooms, I will venture down and
get you something to eat."

And issuing from my asylum with precaution, I sought a back-stairs which
conducted directly to the kitchen.  All in that region was fire and
commotion; the soup and fish were in the last stage of projection, and
the cook hung over her crucibles in a frame of mind and body threatening
spontaneous combustion.  In the servants' hall two coachmen and three
gentlemen's gentlemen stood or sat round the fire; the abigails, I
suppose, were upstairs with their mistresses; the new servants, that had
been hired from Millcote, were bustling about everywhere.  Threading this
chaos, I at last reached the larder; there I took possession of a cold
chicken, a roll of bread, some tarts, a plate or two and a knife and
fork: with this booty I made a hasty retreat.  I had regained the
gallery, and was just shutting the back-door behind me, when an
accelerated hum warned me that the ladies were about to issue from their
chambers.  I could not proceed to the schoolroom without passing some of
their doors, and running the risk of being surprised with my cargo of
victualage; so I stood still at this end, which, being windowless, was
dark: quite dark now, for the sun was set and twilight gathering.

Presently the chambers gave up their fair tenants one after another: each
came out gaily and airily, with dress that gleamed lustrous through the
dusk.  For a moment they stood grouped together at the other extremity of
the gallery, conversing in a key of sweet subdued vivacity: they then
descended the staircase almost as noiselessly as a bright mist rolls down
a hill.  Their collective appearance had left on me an impression of high-
born elegance, such as I had never before received.

I found Adele peeping through the schoolroom door, which she held ajar.
"What beautiful ladies!" cried she in English.  "Oh, I wish I might go to
them!  Do you think Mr. Rochester will send for us by-and-bye, after
dinner?"

"No, indeed, I don't; Mr. Rochester has something else to think about.
Never mind the ladies to-night; perhaps you will see them to-morrow: here
is your dinner."

She was really hungry, so the chicken and tarts served to divert her
attention for a time.  It was well I secured this forage, or both she, I,
and Sophie, to whom I conveyed a share of our repast, would have run a
chance of getting no dinner at all: every one downstairs was too much
engaged to think of us.  The dessert was not carried out till after nine
and at ten footmen were still running to and fro with trays and coffee-
cups.  I allowed Adele to sit up much later than usual; for she declared
she could not possibly go to sleep while the doors kept opening and
shutting below, and people bustling about.  Besides, she added, a message
might possibly come from Mr. Rochester when she was undressed; "et alors
quel dommage!"

I told her stories as long as she would listen to them; and then for a
change I took her out into the gallery.  The hall lamp was now lit, and
it amused her to look over the balustrade and watch the servants passing
backwards and forwards.  When the evening was far advanced, a sound of
music issued from the drawing-room, whither the piano had been removed;
Adele and I sat down on the top step of the stairs to listen.  Presently
a voice blent with the rich tones of the instrument; it was a lady who
sang, and very sweet her notes were.  The solo over, a duet followed, and
then a glee: a joyous conversational murmur filled up the intervals.  I
listened long: suddenly I discovered that my ear was wholly intent on
analysing the mingled sounds, and trying to discriminate amidst the
confusion of accents those of Mr. Rochester; and when it caught them,
which it soon did, it found a further task in framing the tones, rendered
by distance inarticulate, into words.

The clock struck eleven.  I looked at Adele, whose head leant against my
shoulder; her eyes were waxing heavy, so I took her up in my arms and
carried her off to bed.  It was near one before the gentlemen and ladies
sought their chambers.

The next day was as fine as its predecessor: it was devoted by the party
to an excursion to some site in the neighbourhood.  They set out early in
the forenoon, some on horseback, the rest in carriages; I witnessed both
the departure and the return.  Miss Ingram, as before, was the only lady
equestrian; and, as before, Mr. Rochester galloped at her side; the two
rode a little apart from the rest.  I pointed out this circumstance to
Mrs. Fairfax, who was standing at the window with me--

"You said it was not likely they should think of being married," said I,
"but you see Mr. Rochester evidently prefers her to any of the other
ladies."

"Yes, I daresay: no doubt he admires her."

"And she him," I added; "look how she leans her head towards him as if
she were conversing confidentially; I wish I could see her face; I have
never had a glimpse of it yet."

"You will see her this evening," answered Mrs. Fairfax.  "I happened to
remark to Mr. Rochester how much Adele wished to be introduced to the
ladies, and he said: 'Oh! let her come into the drawing-room after
dinner; and request Miss Eyre to accompany her.'"

"Yes; he said that from mere politeness: I need not go, I am sure," I
answered.

"Well, I observed to him that as you were unused to company, I did not
think you would like appearing before so gay a party--all strangers; and
he replied, in his quick way--'Nonsense!  If she objects, tell her it is
my particular wish; and if she resists, say I shall come and fetch her in
case of contumacy.'"

"I will not give him that trouble," I answered.  "I will go, if no better
may be; but I don't like it.  Shall you be there, Mrs. Fairfax?"

"No; I pleaded off, and he admitted my plea.  I'll tell you how to manage
so as to avoid the embarrassment of making a formal entrance, which is
the most disagreeable part of the business.  You must go into the drawing-
room while it is empty, before the ladies leave the dinner-table; choose
your seat in any quiet nook you like; you need not stay long after the
gentlemen come in, unless you please: just let Mr. Rochester see you are
there and then slip away--nobody will notice you."

"Will these people remain long, do you think?"

"Perhaps two or three weeks, certainly not more.  After the Easter
recess, Sir George Lynn, who was lately elected member for Millcote, will
have to go up to town and take his seat; I daresay Mr. Rochester will
accompany him: it surprises me that he has already made so protracted a
stay at Thornfield."

It was with some trepidation that I perceived the hour approach when I
was to repair with my charge to the drawing-room.  Adele had been in a
state of ecstasy all day, after hearing she was to be presented to the
ladies in the evening; and it was not till Sophie commenced the operation
of dressing her that she sobered down.  Then the importance of the
process quickly steadied her, and by the time she had her curls arranged
in well-smoothed, drooping clusters, her pink satin frock put on, her
long sash tied, and her lace mittens adjusted, she looked as grave as any
judge.  No need to warn her not to disarrange her attire: when she was
dressed, she sat demurely down in her little chair, taking care
previously to lift up the satin skirt for fear she should crease it, and
assured me she would not stir thence till I was ready.  This I quickly
was: my best dress (the silver-grey one, purchased for Miss Temple's
wedding, and never worn since) was soon put on; my hair was soon
smoothed; my sole ornament, the pearl brooch, soon assumed.  We
descended.

Fortunately there was another entrance to the drawing-room than that
through the saloon where they were all seated at dinner.  We found the
apartment vacant; a large fire burning silently on the marble hearth, and
wax candles shining in bright solitude, amid the exquisite flowers with
which the tables were adorned.  The crimson curtain hung before the arch:
slight as was the separation this drapery formed from the party in the
adjoining saloon, they spoke in so low a key that nothing of their
conversation could be distinguished beyond a soothing murmur.

Adele, who appeared to be still under the influence of a most solemnising
impression, sat down, without a word, on the footstool I pointed out to
her.  I retired to a window-seat, and taking a book from a table near,
endeavoured to read.  Adele brought her stool to my feet; ere long she
touched my knee.

"What is it, Adele?"

"Est-ce que je ne puis pas prendrie une seule de ces fleurs magnifiques,
mademoiselle?  Seulement pour completer ma toilette."

"You think too much of your 'toilette,' Adele: but you may have a
flower."  And I took a rose from a vase and fastened it in her sash.  She
sighed a sigh of ineffable satisfaction, as if her cup of happiness were
now full.  I turned my face away to conceal a smile I could not suppress:
there was something ludicrous as well as painful in the little
Parisienne's earnest and innate devotion to matters of dress.

A soft sound of rising now became audible; the curtain was swept back
from the arch; through it appeared the dining-room, with its lit lustre
pouring down light on the silver and glass of a magnificent
dessert-service covering a long table; a band of ladies stood in the
opening; they entered, and the curtain fell behind them.

There were but eight; yet, somehow, as they flocked in, they gave the
impression of a much larger number.  Some of them were very tall; many
were dressed in white; and all had a sweeping amplitude of array that
seemed to magnify their persons as a mist magnifies the moon.  I rose and
curtseyed to them: one or two bent their heads in return, the others only
stared at me.

They dispersed about the room, reminding me, by the lightness and
buoyancy of their movements, of a flock of white plumy birds.  Some of
them threw themselves in half-reclining positions on the sofas and
ottomans: some bent over the tables and examined the flowers and books:
the rest gathered in a group round the fire: all talked in a low but
clear tone which seemed habitual to them.  I knew their names afterwards,
and may as well mention them now.

First, there was Mrs. Eshton and two of her daughters.  She had evidently
been a handsome woman, and was well preserved still.  Of her daughters,
the eldest, Amy, was rather little: naive, and child-like in face and
manner, and piquant in form; her white muslin dress and blue sash became
her well.  The second, Louisa, was taller and more elegant in figure;
with a very pretty face, of that order the French term _minois chiffone_:
both sisters were fair as lilies.

Lady Lynn was a large and stout personage of about forty, very erect,
very haughty-looking, richly dressed in a satin robe of changeful sheen:
her dark hair shone glossily under the shade of an azure plume, and
within the circlet of a band of gems.

Mrs. Colonel Dent was less showy; but, I thought, more lady-like.  She
had a slight figure, a pale, gentle face, and fair hair.  Her black satin
dress, her scarf of rich foreign lace, and her pearl ornaments, pleased
me better than the rainbow radiance of the titled dame.

But the three most distinguished--partly, perhaps, because the tallest
figures of the band--were the Dowager Lady Ingram and her daughters,
Blanche and Mary.  They were all three of the loftiest stature of women.
The Dowager might be between forty and fifty: her shape was still fine;
her hair (by candle-light at least) still black; her teeth, too, were
still apparently perfect.  Most people would have termed her a splendid
woman of her age: and so she was, no doubt, physically speaking; but then
there was an expression of almost insupportable haughtiness in her
bearing and countenance.  She had Roman features and a double chin,
disappearing into a throat like a pillar: these features appeared to me
not only inflated and darkened, but even furrowed with pride; and the
chin was sustained by the same principle, in a position of almost
preternatural erectness.  She had, likewise, a fierce and a hard eye: it
reminded me of Mrs. Reed's; she mouthed her words in speaking; her voice
was deep, its inflections very pompous, very dogmatical,--very
intolerable, in short.  A crimson velvet robe, and a shawl turban of some
gold-wrought Indian fabric, invested her (I suppose she thought) with a
truly imperial dignity.

Blanche and Mary were of equal stature,--straight and tall as poplars.
Mary was too slim for her height, but Blanche was moulded like a Dian.  I
regarded her, of course, with special interest.  First, I wished to see
whether her appearance accorded with Mrs. Fairfax's description;
secondly, whether it at all resembled the fancy miniature I had painted
of her; and thirdly--it will out!--whether it were such as I should fancy
likely to suit Mr. Rochester's taste.

As far as person went, she answered point for point, both to my picture
and Mrs. Fairfax's description.  The noble bust, the sloping shoulders,
the graceful neck, the dark eyes and black ringlets were all there;--but
her face?  Her face was like her mother's; a youthful unfurrowed
likeness: the same low brow, the same high features, the same pride.  It
was not, however, so saturnine a pride! she laughed continually; her
laugh was satirical, and so was the habitual expression of her arched and
haughty lip.

Genius is said to be self-conscious.  I cannot tell whether Miss Ingram
was a genius, but she was self-conscious--remarkably self-conscious
indeed.  She entered into a discourse on botany with the gentle Mrs.
Dent.  It seemed Mrs. Dent had not studied that science: though, as she
said, she liked flowers, "especially wild ones;" Miss Ingram had, and she
ran over its vocabulary with an air.  I presently perceived she was (what
is vernacularly termed) _trailing_ Mrs. Dent; that is, playing on her
ignorance--her _trail_ might be clever, but it was decidedly not good-
natured.  She played: her execution was brilliant; she sang: her voice
was fine; she talked French apart to her mamma; and she talked it well,
with fluency and with a good accent.

Mary had a milder and more open countenance than Blanche; softer features
too, and a skin some shades fairer (Miss Ingram was dark as a
Spaniard)--but Mary was deficient in life: her face lacked expression,
her eye lustre; she had nothing to say, and having once taken her seat,
remained fixed like a statue in its niche.  The sisters were both attired
in spotless white.

And did I now think Miss Ingram such a choice as Mr. Rochester would be
likely to make?  I could not tell--I did not know his taste in female
beauty.  If he liked the majestic, she was the very type of majesty: then
she was accomplished, sprightly.  Most gentlemen would admire her, I
thought; and that he _did_ admire her, I already seemed to have obtained
proof: to remove the last shade of doubt, it remained but to see them
together.

You are not to suppose, reader, that Adele has all this time been sitting
motionless on the stool at my feet: no; when the ladies entered, she
rose, advanced to meet them, made a stately reverence, and said with
gravity--

"Bon jour, mesdames."

And Miss Ingram had looked down at her with a mocking air, and exclaimed,
"Oh, what a little puppet!"

Lady Lynn had remarked, "It is Mr. Rochester's ward, I suppose--the
little French girl he was speaking of."

Mrs. Dent had kindly taken her hand, and given her a kiss.

Amy and Louisa Eshton had cried out simultaneously--"What a love of a
child!"

And then they had called her to a sofa, where she now sat, ensconced
between them, chattering alternately in French and broken English;
absorbing not only the young ladies' attention, but that of Mrs. Eshton
and Lady Lynn, and getting spoilt to her heart's content.

At last coffee is brought in, and the gentlemen are summoned.  I sit in
the shade--if any shade there be in this brilliantly-lit apartment; the
window-curtain half hides me.  Again the arch yawns; they come.  The
collective appearance of the gentlemen, like that of the ladies, is very
imposing: they are all costumed in black; most of them are tall, some
young.  Henry and Frederick Lynn are very dashing sparks indeed; and
Colonel Dent is a fine soldierly man.  Mr. Eshton, the magistrate of the
district, is gentleman-like: his hair is quite white, his eyebrows and
whiskers still dark, which gives him something of the appearance of a
"pere noble de theatre."  Lord Ingram, like his sisters, is very tall;
like them, also, he is handsome; but he shares Mary's apathetic and
listless look: he seems to have more length of limb than vivacity of
blood or vigour of brain.

And where is Mr. Rochester?

He comes in last: I am not looking at the arch, yet I see him enter.  I
try to concentrate my attention on those netting-needles, on the meshes
of the purse I am forming--I wish to think only of the work I have in my
hands, to see only the silver beads and silk threads that lie in my lap;
whereas, I distinctly behold his figure, and I inevitably recall the
moment when I last saw it; just after I had rendered him, what he deemed,
an essential service, and he, holding my hand, and looking down on my
face, surveyed me with eyes that revealed a heart full and eager to
overflow; in whose emotions I had a part.  How near had I approached him
at that moment!  What had occurred since, calculated to change his and my
relative positions?  Yet now, how distant, how far estranged we were!  So
far estranged, that I did not expect him to come and speak to me.  I did
not wonder, when, without looking at me, he took a seat at the other side
of the room, and began conversing with some of the ladies.

No sooner did I see that his attention was riveted on them, and that I
might gaze without being observed, than my eyes were drawn involuntarily
to his face; I could not keep their lids under control: they would rise,
and the irids would fix on him.  I looked, and had an acute pleasure in
looking,--a precious yet poignant pleasure; pure gold, with a steely
point of agony: a pleasure like what the thirst-perishing man might feel
who knows the well to which he has crept is poisoned, yet stoops and
drinks divine draughts nevertheless.

Most true is it that "beauty is in the eye of the gazer."  My master's
colourless, olive face, square, massive brow, broad and jetty eyebrows,
deep eyes, strong features, firm, grim mouth,--all energy, decision,
will,--were not beautiful, according to rule; but they were more than
beautiful to me; they were full of an interest, an influence that quite
mastered me,--that took my feelings from my own power and fettered them
in his.  I had not intended to love him; the reader knows I had wrought
hard to extirpate from my soul the germs of love there detected; and now,
at the first renewed view of him, they spontaneously arrived, green and
strong!  He made me love him without looking at me.

I compared him with his guests.  What was the gallant grace of the Lynns,
the languid elegance of Lord Ingram,--even the military distinction of
Colonel Dent, contrasted with his look of native pith and genuine power?
I had no sympathy in their appearance, their expression: yet I could
imagine that most observers would call them attractive, handsome,
imposing; while they would pronounce Mr. Rochester at once harsh-featured
and melancholy-looking.  I saw them smile, laugh--it was nothing; the
light of the candles had as much soul in it as their smile; the tinkle of
the bell as much significance as their laugh.  I saw Mr. Rochester
smile:--his stern features softened; his eye grew both brilliant and
gentle, its ray both searching and sweet.  He was talking, at the moment,
to Louisa and Amy Eshton.  I wondered to see them receive with calm that
look which seemed to me so penetrating: I expected their eyes to fall,
their colour to rise under it; yet I was glad when I found they were in
no sense moved.  "He is not to them what he is to me," I thought: "he is
not of their kind.  I believe he is of mine;--I am sure he is--I feel
akin to him--I understand the language of his countenance and movements:
though rank and wealth sever us widely, I have something in my brain and
heart, in my blood and nerves, that assimilates me mentally to him.  Did
I say, a few days since, that I had nothing to do with him but to receive
my salary at his hands?  Did I forbid myself to think of him in any other
light than as a paymaster?  Blasphemy against nature!  Every good, true,
vigorous feeling I have gathers impulsively round him.  I know I must
conceal my sentiments: I must smother hope; I must remember that he
cannot care much for me.  For when I say that I am of his kind, I do not
mean that I have his force to influence, and his spell to attract; I mean
only that I have certain tastes and feelings in common with him.  I must,
then, repeat continually that we are for ever sundered:--and yet, while I
breathe and think, I must love him."

Coffee is handed.  The ladies, since the gentlemen entered, have become
lively as larks; conversation waxes brisk and merry.  Colonel Dent and
Mr. Eshton argue on politics; their wives listen.  The two proud
dowagers, Lady Lynn and Lady Ingram, confabulate together.  Sir
George--whom, by-the-bye, I have forgotten to describe,--a very big, and
very fresh-looking country gentleman, stands before their sofa, coffee-
cup in hand, and occasionally puts in a word.  Mr. Frederick Lynn has
taken a seat beside Mary Ingram, and is showing her the engravings of a
splendid volume: she looks, smiles now and then, but apparently says
little.  The tall and phlegmatic Lord Ingram leans with folded arms on
the chair-back of the little and lively Amy Eshton; she glances up at
him, and chatters like a wren: she likes him better than she does Mr.
Rochester.  Henry Lynn has taken possession of an ottoman at the feet of
Louisa: Adele shares it with him: he is trying to talk French with her,
and Louisa laughs at his blunders.  With whom will Blanche Ingram pair?
She is standing alone at the table, bending gracefully over an album.  She
seems waiting to be sought; but she will not wait too long: she herself
selects a mate.

Mr. Rochester, having quitted the Eshtons, stands on the hearth as
solitary as she stands by the table: she confronts him, taking her
station on the opposite side of the mantelpiece.

"Mr. Rochester, I thought you were not fond of children?"

"Nor am I."

"Then, what induced you to take charge of such a little doll as that?"
(pointing to Adele).  "Where did you pick her up?"

"I did not pick her up; she was left on my hands."

"You should have sent her to school."

"I could not afford it: schools are so dear."

"Why, I suppose you have a governess for her: I saw a person with her
just now--is she gone?  Oh, no! there she is still, behind the window-
curtain.  You pay her, of course; I should think it quite as
expensive,--more so; for you have them both to keep in addition."

I feared--or should I say, hoped?--the allusion to me would make Mr.
Rochester glance my way; and I involuntarily shrank farther into the
shade: but he never turned his eyes.

"I have not considered the subject," said he indifferently, looking
straight before him.

"No, you men never do consider economy and common sense.  You should hear
mama on the chapter of governesses: Mary and I have had, I should think,
a dozen at least in our day; half of them detestable and the rest
ridiculous, and all incubi--were they not, mama?"

"Did you speak, my own?"

The young lady thus claimed as the dowager's special property, reiterated
her question with an explanation.

"My dearest, don't mention governesses; the word makes me nervous.  I
have suffered a martyrdom from their incompetency and caprice.  I thank
Heaven I have now done with them!"

Mrs. Dent here bent over to the pious lady and whispered something in her
ear; I suppose, from the answer elicited, it was a reminder that one of
the anathematised race was present.

"Tant pis!" said her Ladyship, "I hope it may do her good!"  Then, in a
lower tone, but still loud enough for me to hear, "I noticed her; I am a
judge of physiognomy, and in hers I see all the faults of her class."

"What are they, madam?" inquired Mr. Rochester aloud.

"I will tell you in your private ear," replied she, wagging her turban
three times with portentous significancy.

"But my curiosity will be past its appetite; it craves food now."

"Ask Blanche; she is nearer you than I."

"Oh, don't refer him to me, mama!  I have just one word to say of the
whole tribe; they are a nuisance.  Not that I ever suffered much from
them; I took care to turn the tables.  What tricks Theodore and I used to
play on our Miss Wilsons, and Mrs. Greys, and Madame Jouberts!  Mary was
always too sleepy to join in a plot with spirit.  The best fun was with
Madame Joubert: Miss Wilson was a poor sickly thing, lachrymose and low-
spirited, not worth the trouble of vanquishing, in short; and Mrs. Grey
was coarse and insensible; no blow took effect on her.  But poor Madame
Joubert!  I see her yet in her raging passions, when we had driven her to
extremities--spilt our tea, crumbled our bread and butter, tossed our
books up to the ceiling, and played a charivari with the ruler and desk,
the fender and fire-irons.  Theodore, do you remember those merry days?"

"Yaas, to be sure I do," drawled Lord Ingram; "and the poor old stick
used to cry out 'Oh you villains childs!'--and then we sermonised her on
the presumption of attempting to teach such clever blades as we were,
when she was herself so ignorant."

"We did; and, Tedo, you know, I helped you in prosecuting (or
persecuting) your tutor, whey-faced Mr. Vining--the parson in the pip, as
we used to call him.  He and Miss Wilson took the liberty of falling in
love with each other--at least Tedo and I thought so; we surprised sundry
tender glances and sighs which we interpreted as tokens of 'la belle
passion,' and I promise you the public soon had the benefit of our
discovery; we employed it as a sort of lever to hoist our dead-weights
from the house.  Dear mama, there, as soon as she got an inkling of the
business, found out that it was of an immoral tendency.  Did you not, my
lady-mother?"

"Certainly, my best.  And I was quite right: depend on that: there are a
thousand reasons why liaisons between governesses and tutors should never
be tolerated a moment in any well-regulated house; firstly--"

"Oh, gracious, mama!  Spare us the enumeration!  _Au reste_, we all know
them: danger of bad example to innocence of childhood; distractions and
consequent neglect of duty on the part of the attached--mutual alliance
and reliance; confidence thence resulting--insolence accompanying--mutiny
and general blow-up.  Am I right, Baroness Ingram, of Ingram Park?"

"My lily-flower, you are right now, as always."

"Then no more need be said: change the subject."

Amy Eshton, not hearing or not heeding this dictum, joined in with her
soft, infantine tone: "Louisa and I used to quiz our governess too; but
she was such a good creature, she would bear anything: nothing put her
out.  She was never cross with us; was she, Louisa?"

"No, never: we might do what we pleased; ransack her desk and her
workbox, and turn her drawers inside out; and she was so good-natured,
she would give us anything we asked for."

"I suppose, now," said Miss Ingram, curling her lip sarcastically, "we
shall have an abstract of the memoirs of all the governesses extant: in
order to avert such a visitation, I again move the introduction of a new
topic.  Mr. Rochester, do you second my motion?"

"Madam, I support you on this point, as on every other."

"Then on me be the onus of bringing it forward.  Signior Eduardo, are you
in voice to-night?"

"Donna Bianca, if you command it, I will be."

"Then, signior, I lay on you my sovereign behest to furbish up your lungs
and other vocal organs, as they will be wanted on my royal service."

"Who would not be the Rizzio of so divine a Mary?"

"A fig for Rizzio!" cried she, tossing her head with all its curls, as
she moved to the piano.  "It is my opinion the fiddler David must have
been an insipid sort of fellow; I like black Bothwell better: to my mind
a man is nothing without a spice of the devil in him; and history may say
what it will of James Hepburn, but I have a notion, he was just the sort
of wild, fierce, bandit hero whom I could have consented to gift with my
hand."

"Gentlemen, you hear!  Now which of you most resembles Bothwell?" cried
Mr. Rochester.

"I should say the preference lies with you," responded Colonel Dent.

"On my honour, I am much obliged to you," was the reply.

Miss Ingram, who had now seated herself with proud grace at the piano,
spreading out her snowy robes in queenly amplitude, commenced a brilliant
prelude; talking meantime.  She appeared to be on her high horse
to-night; both her words and her air seemed intended to excite not only
the admiration, but the amazement of her auditors: she was evidently bent
on striking them as something very dashing and daring indeed.

"Oh, I am so sick of the young men of the present day!" exclaimed she,
rattling away at the instrument.  "Poor, puny things, not fit to stir a
step beyond papa's park gates: nor to go even so far without mama's
permission and guardianship!  Creatures so absorbed in care about their
pretty faces, and their white hands, and their small feet; as if a man
had anything to do with beauty!  As if loveliness were not the special
prerogative of woman--her legitimate appanage and heritage!  I grant an
ugly _woman_ is a blot on the fair face of creation; but as to the
_gentlemen_, let them be solicitous to possess only strength and valour:
let their motto be:--Hunt, shoot, and fight: the rest is not worth a
fillip.  Such should be my device, were I a man."

"Whenever I marry," she continued after a pause which none interrupted,
"I am resolved my husband shall not be a rival, but a foil to me.  I will
suffer no competitor near the throne; I shall exact an undivided homage:
his devotions shall not be shared between me and the shape he sees in his
mirror.  Mr. Rochester, now sing, and I will play for you."

"I am all obedience," was the response.

"Here then is a Corsair-song.  Know that I doat on Corsairs; and for that
reason, sing it _con spirito_."

"Commands from Miss Ingram's lips would put spirit into a mug of milk and
water."

"Take care, then: if you don't please me, I will shame you by showing how
such things _should_ be done."

"That is offering a premium on incapacity: I shall now endeavour to
fail."

"Gardez-vous en bien!  If you err wilfully, I shall devise a
proportionate punishment."

"Miss Ingram ought to be clement, for she has it in her power to inflict
a chastisement beyond mortal endurance."

"Ha! explain!" commanded the lady.

"Pardon me, madam: no need of explanation; your own fine sense must
inform you that one of your frowns would be a sufficient substitute for
capital punishment."

"Sing!" said she, and again touching the piano, she commenced an
accompaniment in spirited style.

"Now is my time to slip away," thought I: but the tones that then severed
the air arrested me.  Mrs. Fairfax had said Mr. Rochester possessed a
fine voice: he did--a mellow, powerful bass, into which he threw his own
feeling, his own force; finding a way through the ear to the heart, and
there waking sensation strangely.  I waited till the last deep and full
vibration had expired--till the tide of talk, checked an instant, had
resumed its flow; I then quitted my sheltered corner and made my exit by
the side-door, which was fortunately near.  Thence a narrow passage led
into the hall: in crossing it, I perceived my sandal was loose; I stopped
to tie it, kneeling down for that purpose on the mat at the foot of the
staircase.  I heard the dining-room door unclose; a gentleman came out;
rising hastily, I stood face to face with him: it was Mr. Rochester.

"How do you do?" he asked.

"I am very well, sir."

"Why did you not come and speak to me in the room?"

I thought I might have retorted the question on him who put it: but I
would not take that freedom.  I answered--

"I did not wish to disturb you, as you seemed engaged, sir."

"What have you been doing during my absence?"

"Nothing particular; teaching Adele as usual."

"And getting a good deal paler than you were--as I saw at first sight.
What is the matter?"

"Nothing at all, sir."

"Did you take any cold that night you half drowned me?"

"Not the least."

"Return to the drawing-room: you are deserting too early."

"I am tired, sir."

He looked at me for a minute.

"And a little depressed," he said.  "What about?  Tell me."

"Nothing--nothing, sir.  I am not depressed."

"But I affirm that you are: so much depressed that a few more words would
bring tears to your eyes--indeed, they are there now, shining and
swimming; and a bead has slipped from the lash and fallen on to the flag.
If I had time, and was not in mortal dread of some prating prig of a
servant passing, I would know what all this means.  Well, to-night I
excuse you; but understand that so long as my visitors stay, I expect you
to appear in the drawing-room every evening; it is my wish; don't neglect
it.  Now go, and send Sophie for Adele.  Good-night, my--"  He stopped,
bit his lip, and abruptly left me.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: Mr. Rochester remains away from Thornfield for the next few days, and Jane begins to experience a sickening sense of disappointment. However, she keeps reminding herself that Mr. Rochester is nothing more than her employer. Soon Mrs. Fairfax receives a letter from Mr. Rochester, asking her to make arrangements to accommodate his guests in style, as there are to be visitors at Thornfield. Accordingly, the next three days are spent in cleaning and preparing the place. Jane is as busy as the rest of the household. The sight of Grace Poole, however, throws her on her guard. When the guests arrive, Jane sees Blanche Ingram for the first time. From the second day of their stay, Mr. Rochester insists on Jane accompanying Adele to the drawing room. Jane enters while the drawing room is still empty and takes a corner seat. The ladies present are Mrs. Eshton and her two daughters, Amy and Louisa, Lady Lynn, Mrs. Colonel Dent and the Dowager Lady Ingram with her daughters, Blanche and Mary. Later, the gentlemen also enter. They include Frederick Lynn, Colonel Dent, Mr. Eshton, the magistrate, and the young Lord Ingram. While Mr. Rochester enjoys himself interacting with his guests, Jane keeps gazing at him unnoticed. Blanche commands Mr. Rochester to sing. Jane remains long enough to hear him and then slips away quietly. Soon she finds herself face to face with Mr. Rochester. He makes inquiries about her health and finding her distressed, excuses her from returning to the drawing room.


prompt:
Chapter: Merry days were these at Thornfield Hall; and busy days too: how
different from the first three months of stillness, monotony, and
solitude I had passed beneath its roof!  All sad feelings seemed now
driven from the house, all gloomy associations forgotten: there was life
everywhere, movement all day long.  You could not now traverse the
gallery, once so hushed, nor enter the front chambers, once so
tenantless, without encountering a smart lady's-maid or a dandy valet.

The kitchen, the butler's pantry, the servants' hall, the entrance hall,
were equally alive; and the saloons were only left void and still when
the blue sky and halcyon sunshine of the genial spring weather called
their occupants out into the grounds.  Even when that weather was broken,
and continuous rain set in for some days, no damp seemed cast over
enjoyment: indoor amusements only became more lively and varied, in
consequence of the stop put to outdoor gaiety.

I wondered what they were going to do the first evening a change of
entertainment was proposed: they spoke of "playing charades," but in my
ignorance I did not understand the term.  The servants were called in,
the dining-room tables wheeled away, the lights otherwise disposed, the
chairs placed in a semicircle opposite the arch.  While Mr. Rochester and
the other gentlemen directed these alterations, the ladies were running
up and down stairs ringing for their maids.  Mrs. Fairfax was summoned to
give information respecting the resources of the house in shawls,
dresses, draperies of any kind; and certain wardrobes of the third storey
were ransacked, and their contents, in the shape of brocaded and hooped
petticoats, satin sacques, black modes, lace lappets, &c., were brought
down in armfuls by the abigails; then a selection was made, and such
things as were chosen were carried to the boudoir within the
drawing-room.

Meantime, Mr. Rochester had again summoned the ladies round him, and was
selecting certain of their number to be of his party.  "Miss Ingram is
mine, of course," said he: afterwards he named the two Misses Eshton, and
Mrs. Dent.  He looked at me: I happened to be near him, as I had been
fastening the clasp of Mrs. Dent's bracelet, which had got loose.

"Will you play?" he asked.  I shook my head.  He did not insist, which I
rather feared he would have done; he allowed me to return quietly to my
usual seat.

He and his aids now withdrew behind the curtain: the other party, which
was headed by Colonel Dent, sat down on the crescent of chairs.  One of
the gentlemen, Mr. Eshton, observing me, seemed to propose that I should
be asked to join them; but Lady Ingram instantly negatived the notion.

"No," I heard her say: "she looks too stupid for any game of the sort."

Ere long a bell tinkled, and the curtain drew up.  Within the arch, the
bulky figure of Sir George Lynn, whom Mr. Rochester had likewise chosen,
was seen enveloped in a white sheet: before him, on a table, lay open a
large book; and at his side stood Amy Eshton, draped in Mr. Rochester's
cloak, and holding a book in her hand.  Somebody, unseen, rang the bell
merrily; then Adele (who had insisted on being one of her guardian's
party), bounded forward, scattering round her the contents of a basket of
flowers she carried on her arm.  Then appeared the magnificent figure of
Miss Ingram, clad in white, a long veil on her head, and a wreath of
roses round her brow; by her side walked Mr. Rochester, and together they
drew near the table.  They knelt; while Mrs. Dent and Louisa Eshton,
dressed also in white, took up their stations behind them.  A ceremony
followed, in dumb show, in which it was easy to recognise the pantomime
of a marriage.  At its termination, Colonel Dent and his party consulted
in whispers for two minutes, then the Colonel called out--

"Bride!" Mr. Rochester bowed, and the curtain fell.

A considerable interval elapsed before it again rose.  Its second rising
displayed a more elaborately prepared scene than the last.  The drawing-
room, as I have before observed, was raised two steps above the dining-
room, and on the top of the upper step, placed a yard or two back within
the room, appeared a large marble basin--which I recognised as an
ornament of the conservatory--where it usually stood, surrounded by
exotics, and tenanted by gold fish--and whence it must have been
transported with some trouble, on account of its size and weight.

Seated on the carpet, by the side of this basin, was seen Mr. Rochester,
costumed in shawls, with a turban on his head.  His dark eyes and swarthy
skin and Paynim features suited the costume exactly: he looked the very
model of an Eastern emir, an agent or a victim of the bowstring.
Presently advanced into view Miss Ingram.  She, too, was attired in
oriental fashion: a crimson scarf tied sash-like round the waist: an
embroidered handkerchief knotted about her temples; her
beautifully-moulded arms bare, one of them upraised in the act of
supporting a pitcher, poised gracefully on her head.  Both her cast of
form and feature, her complexion and her general air, suggested the idea
of some Israelitish princess of the patriarchal days; and such was
doubtless the character she intended to represent.

She approached the basin, and bent over it as if to fill her pitcher; she
again lifted it to her head.  The personage on the well-brink now seemed
to accost her; to make some request:--"She hasted, let down her pitcher
on her hand, and gave him to drink."  From the bosom of his robe he then
produced a casket, opened it and showed magnificent bracelets and
earrings; she acted astonishment and admiration; kneeling, he laid the
treasure at her feet; incredulity and delight were expressed by her looks
and gestures; the stranger fastened the bracelets on her arms and the
rings in her ears.  It was Eliezer and Rebecca: the camels only were
wanting.

The divining party again laid their heads together: apparently they could
not agree about the word or syllable the scene illustrated.  Colonel
Dent, their spokesman, demanded "the tableau of the whole;" whereupon the
curtain again descended.

On its third rising only a portion of the drawing-room was disclosed; the
rest being concealed by a screen, hung with some sort of dark and coarse
drapery.  The marble basin was removed; in its place, stood a deal table
and a kitchen chair: these objects were visible by a very dim light
proceeding from a horn lantern, the wax candles being all extinguished.

Amidst this sordid scene, sat a man with his clenched hands resting on
his knees, and his eyes bent on the ground.  I knew Mr. Rochester; though
the begrimed face, the disordered dress (his coat hanging loose from one
arm, as if it had been almost torn from his back in a scuffle), the
desperate and scowling countenance, the rough, bristling hair might well
have disguised him.  As he moved, a chain clanked; to his wrists were
attached fetters.

"Bridewell!" exclaimed Colonel Dent, and the charade was solved.

A sufficient interval having elapsed for the performers to resume their
ordinary costume, they re-entered the dining-room.  Mr. Rochester led in
Miss Ingram; she was complimenting him on his acting.

"Do you know," said she, "that, of the three characters, I liked you in
the last best?  Oh, had you but lived a few years earlier, what a gallant
gentleman-highwayman you would have made!"

"Is all the soot washed from my face?" he asked, turning it towards her.

"Alas! yes: the more's the pity!  Nothing could be more becoming to your
complexion than that ruffian's rouge."

"You would like a hero of the road then?"

"An English hero of the road would be the next best thing to an Italian
bandit; and that could only be surpassed by a Levantine pirate."

"Well, whatever I am, remember you are my wife; we were married an hour
since, in the presence of all these witnesses."  She giggled, and her
colour rose.

"Now, Dent," continued Mr. Rochester, "it is your turn."  And as the
other party withdrew, he and his band took the vacated seats.  Miss
Ingram placed herself at her leader's right hand; the other diviners
filled the chairs on each side of him and her.  I did not now watch the
actors; I no longer waited with interest for the curtain to rise; my
attention was absorbed by the spectators; my eyes, erewhile fixed on the
arch, were now irresistibly attracted to the semicircle of chairs.  What
charade Colonel Dent and his party played, what word they chose, how they
acquitted themselves, I no longer remember; but I still see the
consultation which followed each scene: I see Mr. Rochester turn to Miss
Ingram, and Miss Ingram to him; I see her incline her head towards him,
till the jetty curls almost touch his shoulder and wave against his
cheek; I hear their mutual whisperings; I recall their interchanged
glances; and something even of the feeling roused by the spectacle
returns in memory at this moment.

I have told you, reader, that I had learnt to love Mr. Rochester: I could
not unlove him now, merely because I found that he had ceased to notice
me--because I might pass hours in his presence, and he would never once
turn his eyes in my direction--because I saw all his attentions
appropriated by a great lady, who scorned to touch me with the hem of her
robes as she passed; who, if ever her dark and imperious eye fell on me
by chance, would withdraw it instantly as from an object too mean to
merit observation.  I could not unlove him, because I felt sure he would
soon marry this very lady--because I read daily in her a proud security
in his intentions respecting her--because I witnessed hourly in him a
style of courtship which, if careless and choosing rather to be sought
than to seek, was yet, in its very carelessness, captivating, and in its
very pride, irresistible.

There was nothing to cool or banish love in these circumstances, though
much to create despair.  Much too, you will think, reader, to engender
jealousy: if a woman, in my position, could presume to be jealous of a
woman in Miss Ingram's.  But I was not jealous: or very rarely;--the
nature of the pain I suffered could not be explained by that word.  Miss
Ingram was a mark beneath jealousy: she was too inferior to excite the
feeling.  Pardon the seeming paradox; I mean what I say.  She was very
showy, but she was not genuine: she had a fine person, many brilliant
attainments; but her mind was poor, her heart barren by nature: nothing
bloomed spontaneously on that soil; no unforced natural fruit delighted
by its freshness.  She was not good; she was not original: she used to
repeat sounding phrases from books: she never offered, nor had, an
opinion of her own.  She advocated a high tone of sentiment; but she did
not know the sensations of sympathy and pity; tenderness and truth were
not in her.  Too often she betrayed this, by the undue vent she gave to a
spiteful antipathy she had conceived against little Adele: pushing her
away with some contumelious epithet if she happened to approach her;
sometimes ordering her from the room, and always treating her with
coldness and acrimony.  Other eyes besides mine watched these
manifestations of character--watched them closely, keenly, shrewdly.  Yes;
the future bridegroom, Mr. Rochester himself, exercised over his intended
a ceaseless surveillance; and it was from this sagacity--this guardedness
of his--this perfect, clear consciousness of his fair one's defects--this
obvious absence of passion in his sentiments towards her, that my ever-
torturing pain arose.

I saw he was going to marry her, for family, perhaps political reasons,
because her rank and connections suited him; I felt he had not given her
his love, and that her qualifications were ill adapted to win from him
that treasure.  This was the point--this was where the nerve was touched
and teased--this was where the fever was sustained and fed: _she could
not charm him_.

If she had managed the victory at once, and he had yielded and sincerely
laid his heart at her feet, I should have covered my face, turned to the
wall, and (figuratively) have died to them.  If Miss Ingram had been a
good and noble woman, endowed with force, fervour, kindness, sense, I
should have had one vital struggle with two tigers--jealousy and despair:
then, my heart torn out and devoured, I should have admired
her--acknowledged her excellence, and been quiet for the rest of my days:
and the more absolute her superiority, the deeper would have been my
admiration--the more truly tranquil my quiescence.  But as matters really
stood, to watch Miss Ingram's efforts at fascinating Mr. Rochester, to
witness their repeated failure--herself unconscious that they did fail;
vainly fancying that each shaft launched hit the mark, and infatuatedly
pluming herself on success, when her pride and self-complacency repelled
further and further what she wished to allure--to witness _this_, was to
be at once under ceaseless excitation and ruthless restraint.

Because, when she failed, I saw how she might have succeeded.  Arrows
that continually glanced off from Mr. Rochester's breast and fell
harmless at his feet, might, I knew, if shot by a surer hand, have
quivered keen in his proud heart--have called love into his stern eye,
and softness into his sardonic face; or, better still, without weapons a
silent conquest might have been won.

"Why can she not influence him more, when she is privileged to draw so
near to him?" I asked myself.  "Surely she cannot truly like him, or not
like him with true affection!  If she did, she need not coin her smiles
so lavishly, flash her glances so unremittingly, manufacture airs so
elaborate, graces so multitudinous.  It seems to me that she might, by
merely sitting quietly at his side, saying little and looking less, get
nigher his heart.  I have seen in his face a far different expression
from that which hardens it now while she is so vivaciously accosting him;
but then it came of itself: it was not elicited by meretricious arts and
calculated manoeuvres; and one had but to accept it--to answer what he
asked without pretension, to address him when needful without grimace--and
it increased and grew kinder and more genial, and warmed one like a
fostering sunbeam.  How will she manage to please him when they are
married?  I do not think she will manage it; and yet it might be managed;
and his wife might, I verily believe, be the very happiest woman the sun
shines on."

I have not yet said anything condemnatory of Mr. Rochester's project of
marrying for interest and connections.  It surprised me when I first
discovered that such was his intention: I had thought him a man unlikely
to be influenced by motives so commonplace in his choice of a wife; but
the longer I considered the position, education, &c., of the parties, the
less I felt justified in judging and blaming either him or Miss Ingram
for acting in conformity to ideas and principles instilled into them,
doubtless, from their childhood.  All their class held these principles:
I supposed, then, they had reasons for holding them such as I could not
fathom.  It seemed to me that, were I a gentleman like him, I would take
to my bosom only such a wife as I could love; but the very obviousness of
the advantages to the husband's own happiness offered by this plan
convinced me that there must be arguments against its general adoption of
which I was quite ignorant: otherwise I felt sure all the world would act
as I wished to act.

But in other points, as well as this, I was growing very lenient to my
master: I was forgetting all his faults, for which I had once kept a
sharp look-out.  It had formerly been my endeavour to study all sides of
his character: to take the bad with the good; and from the just weighing
of both, to form an equitable judgment.  Now I saw no bad.  The sarcasm
that had repelled, the harshness that had startled me once, were only
like keen condiments in a choice dish: their presence was pungent, but
their absence would be felt as comparatively insipid.  And as for the
vague something--was it a sinister or a sorrowful, a designing or a
desponding expression?--that opened upon a careful observer, now and
then, in his eye, and closed again before one could fathom the strange
depth partially disclosed; that something which used to make me fear and
shrink, as if I had been wandering amongst volcanic-looking hills, and
had suddenly felt the ground quiver and seen it gape: that something, I,
at intervals, beheld still; and with throbbing heart, but not with
palsied nerves.  Instead of wishing to shun, I longed only to dare--to
divine it; and I thought Miss Ingram happy, because one day she might
look into the abyss at her leisure, explore its secrets and analyse their
nature.

Meantime, while I thought only of my master and his future bride--saw
only them, heard only their discourse, and considered only their
movements of importance--the rest of the party were occupied with their
own separate interests and pleasures.  The Ladies Lynn and Ingram
continued to consort in solemn conferences, where they nodded their two
turbans at each other, and held up their four hands in confronting
gestures of surprise, or mystery, or horror, according to the theme on
which their gossip ran, like a pair of magnified puppets.  Mild Mrs. Dent
talked with good-natured Mrs. Eshton; and the two sometimes bestowed a
courteous word or smile on me.  Sir George Lynn, Colonel Dent, and Mr.
Eshton discussed politics, or county affairs, or justice business.  Lord
Ingram flirted with Amy Eshton; Louisa played and sang to and with one of
the Messrs. Lynn; and Mary Ingram listened languidly to the gallant
speeches of the other.  Sometimes all, as with one consent, suspended
their by-play to observe and listen to the principal actors: for, after
all, Mr. Rochester and--because closely connected with him--Miss Ingram
were the life and soul of the party.  If he was absent from the room an
hour, a perceptible dulness seemed to steal over the spirits of his
guests; and his re-entrance was sure to give a fresh impulse to the
vivacity of conversation.

The want of his animating influence appeared to be peculiarly felt one
day that he had been summoned to Millcote on business, and was not likely
to return till late.  The afternoon was wet: a walk the party had
proposed to take to see a gipsy camp, lately pitched on a common beyond
Hay, was consequently deferred.  Some of the gentlemen were gone to the
stables: the younger ones, together with the younger ladies, were playing
billiards in the billiard-room.  The dowagers Ingram and Lynn sought
solace in a quiet game at cards.  Blanche Ingram, after having repelled,
by supercilious taciturnity, some efforts of Mrs. Dent and Mrs. Eshton to
draw her into conversation, had first murmured over some sentimental
tunes and airs on the piano, and then, having fetched a novel from the
library, had flung herself in haughty listlessness on a sofa, and
prepared to beguile, by the spell of fiction, the tedious hours of
absence.  The room and the house were silent: only now and then the
merriment of the billiard-players was heard from above.

It was verging on dusk, and the clock had already given warning of the
hour to dress for dinner, when little Adele, who knelt by me in the
drawing-room window-seat, suddenly exclaimed--

"Voila, Monsieur Rochester, qui revient!"

I turned, and Miss Ingram darted forwards from her sofa: the others, too,
looked up from their several occupations; for at the same time a
crunching of wheels and a splashing tramp of horse-hoofs became audible
on the wet gravel.  A post-chaise was approaching.

"What can possess him to come home in that style?" said Miss Ingram.  "He
rode Mesrour (the black horse), did he not, when he went out? and Pilot
was with him:--what has he done with the animals?"

As she said this, she approached her tall person and ample garments so
near the window, that I was obliged to bend back almost to the breaking
of my spine: in her eagerness she did not observe me at first, but when
she did, she curled her lip and moved to another casement.  The
post-chaise stopped; the driver rang the door-bell, and a gentleman
alighted attired in travelling garb; but it was not Mr. Rochester; it was
a tall, fashionable-looking man, a stranger.

"How provoking!" exclaimed Miss Ingram: "you tiresome monkey!"
(apostrophising Adele), "who perched you up in the window to give false
intelligence?" and she cast on me an angry glance, as if I were in fault.

Some parleying was audible in the hall, and soon the new-comer entered.
He bowed to Lady Ingram, as deeming her the eldest lady present.

"It appears I come at an inopportune time, madam," said he, "when my
friend, Mr. Rochester, is from home; but I arrive from a very long
journey, and I think I may presume so far on old and intimate
acquaintance as to instal myself here till he returns."

His manner was polite; his accent, in speaking, struck me as being
somewhat unusual,--not precisely foreign, but still not altogether
English: his age might be about Mr. Rochester's,--between thirty and
forty; his complexion was singularly sallow: otherwise he was a
fine-looking man, at first sight especially.  On closer examination, you
detected something in his face that displeased, or rather that failed to
please.  His features were regular, but too relaxed: his eye was large
and well cut, but the life looking out of it was a tame, vacant life--at
least so I thought.

The sound of the dressing-bell dispersed the party.  It was not till
after dinner that I saw him again: he then seemed quite at his ease.  But
I liked his physiognomy even less than before: it struck me as being at
the same time unsettled and inanimate.  His eye wandered, and had no
meaning in its wandering: this gave him an odd look, such as I never
remembered to have seen.  For a handsome and not an unamiable-looking
man, he repelled me exceedingly: there was no power in that
smooth-skinned face of a full oval shape: no firmness in that aquiline
nose and small cherry mouth; there was no thought on the low, even
forehead; no command in that blank, brown eye.

As I sat in my usual nook, and looked at him with the light of the
girandoles on the mantelpiece beaming full over him--for he occupied an
arm-chair drawn close to the fire, and kept shrinking still nearer, as if
he were cold, I compared him with Mr. Rochester.  I think (with deference
be it spoken) the contrast could not be much greater between a sleek
gander and a fierce falcon: between a meek sheep and the rough-coated
keen-eyed dog, its guardian.

He had spoken of Mr. Rochester as an old friend.  A curious friendship
theirs must have been: a pointed illustration, indeed, of the old adage
that "extremes meet."

Two or three of the gentlemen sat near him, and I caught at times scraps
of their conversation across the room.  At first I could not make much
sense of what I heard; for the discourse of Louisa Eshton and Mary
Ingram, who sat nearer to me, confused the fragmentary sentences that
reached me at intervals.  These last were discussing the stranger; they
both called him "a beautiful man."  Louisa said he was "a love of a
creature," and she "adored him;" and Mary instanced his "pretty little
mouth, and nice nose," as her ideal of the charming.

"And what a sweet-tempered forehead he has!" cried Louisa,--"so
smooth--none of those frowning irregularities I dislike so much; and such
a placid eye and smile!"

And then, to my great relief, Mr. Henry Lynn summoned them to the other
side of the room, to settle some point about the deferred excursion to
Hay Common.

I was now able to concentrate my attention on the group by the fire, and
I presently gathered that the new-comer was called Mr. Mason; then I
learned that he was but just arrived in England, and that he came from
some hot country: which was the reason, doubtless, his face was so
sallow, and that he sat so near the hearth, and wore a surtout in the
house.  Presently the words Jamaica, Kingston, Spanish Town, indicated
the West Indies as his residence; and it was with no little surprise I
gathered, ere long, that he had there first seen and become acquainted
with Mr. Rochester.  He spoke of his friend's dislike of the burning
heats, the hurricanes, and rainy seasons of that region.  I knew Mr.
Rochester had been a traveller: Mrs. Fairfax had said so; but I thought
the continent of Europe had bounded his wanderings; till now I had never
heard a hint given of visits to more distant shores.

I was pondering these things, when an incident, and a somewhat unexpected
one, broke the thread of my musings.  Mr. Mason, shivering as some one
chanced to open the door, asked for more coal to be put on the fire,
which had burnt out its flame, though its mass of cinder still shone hot
and red.  The footman who brought the coal, in going out, stopped near
Mr. Eshton's chair, and said something to him in a low voice, of which I
heard only the words, "old woman,"--"quite troublesome."

"Tell her she shall be put in the stocks if she does not take herself
off," replied the magistrate.

"No--stop!" interrupted Colonel Dent.  "Don't send her away, Eshton; we
might turn the thing to account; better consult the ladies."  And
speaking aloud, he continued--"Ladies, you talked of going to Hay Common
to visit the gipsy camp; Sam here says that one of the old Mother Bunches
is in the servants' hall at this moment, and insists upon being brought
in before 'the quality,' to tell them their fortunes.  Would you like to
see her?"

"Surely, colonel," cried Lady Ingram, "you would not encourage such a low
impostor?  Dismiss her, by all means, at once!"

"But I cannot persuade her to go away, my lady," said the footman; "nor
can any of the servants: Mrs. Fairfax is with her just now, entreating
her to be gone; but she has taken a chair in the chimney-corner, and says
nothing shall stir her from it till she gets leave to come in here."

"What does she want?" asked Mrs. Eshton.

"'To tell the gentry their fortunes,' she says, ma'am; and she swears she
must and will do it."

"What is she like?" inquired the Misses Eshton, in a breath.

"A shockingly ugly old creature, miss; almost as black as a crock."

"Why, she's a real sorceress!" cried Frederick Lynn.  "Let us have her
in, of course."

"To be sure," rejoined his brother; "it would be a thousand pities to
throw away such a chance of fun."

"My dear boys, what are you thinking about?" exclaimed Mrs. Lynn.

"I cannot possibly countenance any such inconsistent proceeding," chimed
in the Dowager Ingram.

"Indeed, mama, but you can--and will," pronounced the haughty voice of
Blanche, as she turned round on the piano-stool; where till now she had
sat silent, apparently examining sundry sheets of music.  "I have a
curiosity to hear my fortune told: therefore, Sam, order the beldame
forward."

"My darling Blanche! recollect--"

"I do--I recollect all you can suggest; and I must have my will--quick,
Sam!"

"Yes--yes--yes!" cried all the juveniles, both ladies and gentlemen.  "Let
her come--it will be excellent sport!"

The footman still lingered.  "She looks such a rough one," said he.

"Go!" ejaculated Miss Ingram, and the man went.

Excitement instantly seized the whole party: a running fire of raillery
and jests was proceeding when Sam returned.

"She won't come now," said he.  "She says it's not her mission to appear
before the 'vulgar herd' (them's her words).  I must show her into a room
by herself, and then those who wish to consult her must go to her one by
one."

"You see now, my queenly Blanche," began Lady Ingram, "she encroaches.  Be
advised, my angel girl--and--"

"Show her into the library, of course," cut in the "angel girl."  "It is
not my mission to listen to her before the vulgar herd either: I mean to
have her all to myself.  Is there a fire in the library?"

"Yes, ma'am--but she looks such a tinkler."

"Cease that chatter, blockhead! and do my bidding."

Again Sam vanished; and mystery, animation, expectation rose to full flow
once more.

"She's ready now," said the footman, as he reappeared.  "She wishes to
know who will be her first visitor."

"I think I had better just look in upon her before any of the ladies go,"
said Colonel Dent.

"Tell her, Sam, a gentleman is coming."

Sam went and returned.

"She says, sir, that she'll have no gentlemen; they need not trouble
themselves to come near her; nor," he added, with difficulty suppressing
a titter, "any ladies either, except the young, and single."

"By Jove, she has taste!" exclaimed Henry Lynn.

Miss Ingram rose solemnly: "I go first," she said, in a tone which might
have befitted the leader of a forlorn hope, mounting a breach in the van
of his men.

"Oh, my best! oh, my dearest! pause--reflect!" was her mama's cry; but
she swept past her in stately silence, passed through the door which
Colonel Dent held open, and we heard her enter the library.

A comparative silence ensued.  Lady Ingram thought it "le cas" to wring
her hands: which she did accordingly.  Miss Mary declared she felt, for
her part, she never dared venture.  Amy and Louisa Eshton tittered under
their breath, and looked a little frightened.

The minutes passed very slowly: fifteen were counted before the library-
door again opened.  Miss Ingram returned to us through the arch.

Would she laugh?  Would she take it as a joke?  All eyes met her with a
glance of eager curiosity, and she met all eyes with one of rebuff and
coldness; she looked neither flurried nor merry: she walked stiffly to
her seat, and took it in silence.

"Well, Blanche?" said Lord Ingram.

"What did she say, sister?" asked Mary.

"What did you think?  How do you feel?--Is she a real fortune-teller?"
demanded the Misses Eshton.

"Now, now, good people," returned Miss Ingram, "don't press upon me.
Really your organs of wonder and credulity are easily excited: you seem,
by the importance of you all--my good mama included--ascribe to this
matter, absolutely to believe we have a genuine witch in the house, who
is in close alliance with the old gentleman.  I have seen a gipsy
vagabond; she has practised in hackneyed fashion the science of palmistry
and told me what such people usually tell.  My whim is gratified; and now
I think Mr. Eshton will do well to put the hag in the stocks to-morrow
morning, as he threatened."

Miss Ingram took a book, leant back in her chair, and so declined further
conversation.  I watched her for nearly half-an-hour: during all that
time she never turned a page, and her face grew momently darker, more
dissatisfied, and more sourly expressive of disappointment.  She had
obviously not heard anything to her advantage: and it seemed to me, from
her prolonged fit of gloom and taciturnity, that she herself,
notwithstanding her professed indifference, attached undue importance to
whatever revelations had been made her.

{During all that time she never turned a page: p184.jpg}

Meantime, Mary Ingram, Amy and Louisa Eshton, declared they dared not go
alone; and yet they all wished to go.  A negotiation was opened through
the medium of the ambassador, Sam; and after much pacing to and fro,
till, I think, the said Sam's calves must have ached with the exercise,
permission was at last, with great difficulty, extorted from the rigorous
Sibyl, for the three to wait upon her in a body.

Their visit was not so still as Miss Ingram's had been: we heard
hysterical giggling and little shrieks proceeding from the library; and
at the end of about twenty minutes they burst the door open, and came
running across the hall, as if they were half-scared out of their wits.

"I am sure she is something not right!" they cried, one and all.  "She
told us such things!  She knows all about us!" and they sank breathless
into the various seats the gentlemen hastened to bring them.

Pressed for further explanation, they declared she had told them of
things they had said and done when they were mere children; described
books and ornaments they had in their boudoirs at home: keepsakes that
different relations had presented to them.  They affirmed that she had
even divined their thoughts, and had whispered in the ear of each the
name of the person she liked best in the world, and informed them of what
they most wished for.

Here the gentlemen interposed with earnest petitions to be further
enlightened on these two last-named points; but they got only blushes,
ejaculations, tremors, and titters, in return for their importunity.  The
matrons, meantime, offered vinaigrettes and wielded fans; and again and
again reiterated the expression of their concern that their warning had
not been taken in time; and the elder gentlemen laughed, and the younger
urged their services on the agitated fair ones.

In the midst of the tumult, and while my eyes and ears were fully engaged
in the scene before me, I heard a hem close at my elbow: I turned, and
saw Sam.

"If you please, miss, the gipsy declares that there is another young
single lady in the room who has not been to her yet, and she swears she
will not go till she has seen all.  I thought it must be you: there is no
one else for it.  What shall I tell her?"

"Oh, I will go by all means," I answered: and I was glad of the
unexpected opportunity to gratify my much-excited curiosity.  I slipped
out of the room, unobserved by any eye--for the company were gathered in
one mass about the trembling trio just returned--and I closed the door
quietly behind me.

"If you like, miss," said Sam, "I'll wait in the hall for you; and if she
frightens you, just call and I'll come in."

"No, Sam, return to the kitchen: I am not in the least afraid."  Nor was
I; but I was a good deal interested and excited.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: The gloomy atmosphere of Thornfield changes, yielding to cheerfulness and activity. When it rains continuously for some days, the guests find indoor amusements. One evening, the guests decide to play charades, and Jane watches them from a distance. She finds it impossible to give up her love for Mr. Rochester. She also realizes that Mr. Rochester is not in love with Blanche. In spite of this, it appears that he intends to marry her. One day, Mr. Rochester is called away on business to Millcote, and the guests become restless. A carriage comes to the house, and Adele cheerfully announces that it is the master. This pleases Blanche, but Adele is mistaken. The person who arrives is a Mr. Mason, who claims to have been Mr. Rochester's good friend and who has just returned from the West Indies. Blanche snaps at Adele for her mistake. Soon afterward, the footman announces the arrival of old Mother Bunches, a gypsy woman. This strange woman is willing to tell the fortunes of the young ladies present. Blanche is the first to want to know about her future and rushes off to consult with the gypsy. However, she is extremely disappointed with what she learns and refuses to disclose the gypsy's prediction to the other guests. She returns to the room in a huff and pretends to begin reading a novel. Mary, Amy and Louisa also have their fortunes told. They are evidently impressed by the gypsy's knowledge of their past. The gypsy refuses to leave without first seeing Jane. Evidently, Jane is not intimidated and is even eager to encounter this strange fortune- teller.