Had Grace been young and handsome, I should have been tempted to

think 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 been

young once; her youth would be contemporary with her master's: Mrs.

Fairfax told me once, she had lived here many years. I don't think

she can ever have been pretty; but, for aught I know, she may

possess originality and strength of character to compensate for the

want of personal advantages. Mr. Rochester is an amateur of the

decided and eccentric: Grace is eccentric at least. What if a

former caprice (a freak very possible to a nature so sudden and

headstrong as his) has delivered him into her power, and she now

exercises over his actions a secret influence, the result of his own

indiscretion, 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 so

distinctly to my mind's eye, that I thought, "No; impossible! my

supposition cannot be correct. Yet," suggested the secret voice

which talks to us in our own hearts, "you are not beautiful either,

and perhaps Mr. Rochester approves you: at any rate, you have often

felt as if he did; and last night--remember his words; remember his

look; remember his voice!"

I well remembered all; language, glance, and tone seemed at the

moment vividly renewed. I was now in the schoolroom; Adele was

drawing; I bent over her and directed her pencil. She looked up

with a sort of start.

"Qu' avez-vous, mademoiselle?" said she. "Vos doigts tremblent

comme la feuille, et vos joues sont rouges: mais, rouges comme des

cerises!"

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

thinking.

I hastened to drive from my mind the hateful notion I had been

conceiving respecting Grace Poole; it disgusted me. I compared

myself with her, and found we were different. Bessie Leaven had

said I was quite a lady; and she spoke truth--I was a lady. And now

I looked much better than I did when Bessie saw me; I had more

colour and more flesh, more life, more vivacity, because I had

brighter hopes and keener enjoyments.

"Evening approaches," said I, as I looked towards the window. "I

have 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 in

the morning; now I desire it, because expectation has been so long

baffled that it is grown impatient."




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