"On a frosty winter afternoon, I rode in sight of Thornfield Hall.

Abhorred spot! I expected no peace--no pleasure there. On a stile

in Hay Lane I saw a quiet little figure sitting by itself. I passed

it as negligently as I did the pollard willow opposite to it: I had

no presentiment of what it would be to me; no inward warning that

the arbitress of my life--my genius for good or evil--waited there

in humble guise. I did not know it, even when, on the occasion of

Mesrour's accident, it came up and gravely offered me help.

Childish and slender creature! It seemed as if a linnet had hopped

to my foot and proposed to bear me on its tiny wing. I was surly;

but the thing would not go: it stood by me with strange

perseverance, and looked and spoke with a sort of authority. I must

be aided, and by that hand: and aided I was.

"When once I had pressed the frail shoulder, something new--a fresh

sap and sense--stole into my frame. It was well I had learnt that

this elf must return to me--that it belonged to my house down below-

-or I could not have felt it pass away from under my hand, and seen

it vanish behind the dim hedge, without singular regret. I heard

you come home that night, Jane, though probably you were not aware

that I thought of you or watched for you. The next day I observed

you--myself unseen--for half-an-hour, while you played with Adele in

the gallery. It was a snowy day, I recollect, and you could not go

out of doors. I was in my room; the door was ajar: I could both

listen and watch. Adele claimed your outward attention for a while;

yet I fancied your thoughts were elsewhere: but you were very

patient with her, my little Jane; you talked to her and amused her a

long time. When at last she left you, you lapsed at once into deep

reverie: you betook yourself slowly to pace the gallery. Now and

then, in passing a casement, you glanced out at the thick-falling

snow; you listened to the sobbing wind, and again you paced gently

on and dreamed. I think those day visions were not dark: there was

a pleasurable illumination in your eye occasionally, a soft

excitement in your aspect, which told of no bitter, bilious,

hypochondriac brooding: your look revealed rather the sweet musings

of youth when its spirit follows on willing wings the flight of Hope

up and on to an ideal heaven. The voice of Mrs. Fairfax, speaking

to a servant in the hall, wakened you: and how curiously you smiled

to and at yourself, Janet! There was much sense in your smile: it

was very shrewd, and seemed to make light of your own abstraction.

It seemed to say--'My fine visions are all very well, but I must not

forget they are absolutely unreal. I have a rosy sky and a green

flowery Eden in my brain; but without, I am perfectly aware, lies at

my feet a rough tract to travel, and around me gather black tempests

to encounter.' You ran downstairs and demanded of Mrs. Fairfax some

occupation: the weekly house accounts to make up, or something of

that sort, I think it was. I was vexed with you for getting out of

my sight.




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