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."




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