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uardian’s　temporary　lapses；　once　to　secrete　the　knife　with　which　she　stabbed　her　brother；　and　twice　to　possess　herself　of　the　key　of　her　cell；　and　issue　therefrom　in　the　night…time。　On　the　first　of　these　occasions；　she　perpetrated　the　attempt　to　burn　me　in　my　bed；　on　the　second；　she　paid　that　ghastly　visit　to　you。　I　thank　Providence；　who　watched　over　you；　that　she　then　spent　her　fury　on　your　wedding　apparel；　which　perhaps　brought　back　vague　reminiscences　of　her　own　bridal　days：　but　on　what　might　have　happened；　I　cannot　endure　to　reflect。　When　I　think　of　the　thing　which　flew　at　my　throat　this　morning；　hanging　its　black　and　scarlet　visage　over　the　nest　of　my　dove；　my　blood　curdles
“And　what；　sir；”　I　asked；　while　he　paused；　“did　you　do　when　you　had　settled　her　here？　Where　did　you　go？”
“What　did　I　do；　Jane？　I　transformed　myself　into　a　will…o’…the…wisp。　Where　did　I　go？　I　pursued　wanderings　as　wild　as　those　of　the　March…　spirit。　I　sought　the　Continent；　and　went　devious　through　all　its　lands。　My　fixed　desire　was　to　seek　and　find　a　good　and　intelligent　woman；　whom　I　could　love：　a　contrast　to　the　fury　I　left　at　Thornfield—”
“But　you　could　not　marry；　sir。”
“I　had　determined　and　was　convinced　that　I　could　and　ought。　It　was　not　my　original　intention　to　deceive；　as　I　have　deceived　you。　I　meant　to　tell　my　tale　plainly；　and　make　my　proposals　openly：　and　it　appeared　to　me　so　absolutely　rational　that　I　should　be　considered　free　to　love　and　be　loved；　I　never　doubted　some　woman　might　be　found　willing　and　able　to　understand　my　case　and　accept　me；　in　spite　of　the　curse　with　which　I　was　burdened。”
“Well；　sir？”
“When　you　are　inquisitive；　Jane；　you　always　make　me　smile。　You　open　your　eyes　like　an　eager　bird；　and　make　every　now　and　then　a　restless　movement；　as　if　answers　in　speech　did　not　flow　fast　enough　for　you；　and　you　wanted　to　read　the　tablet　of　one’s　heart。　But　before　I　go　on；　tell　me　what　you　mean　by　your　‘Well；　sir？’　It　is　a　small　phrase　very　frequent　with　you；　and　which　many　a　time　has　drawn　me　on　and　on　through　interminable　talk：　I　don’t　very　well　know　why。”
“I　mean；—What　next？　How　did　you　proceed？　What　came　of　such　an　event？”
“Precisely！　and　what　do　you　wish　to　know　now？”
“Whether　you　found　any　one　you　liked：　whether　you　asked　her　to　marry　you；　and　what　she　said。”
“I　can　tell　you　whether　I　found　any　one　I　liked；　and　whether　I　asked　her　to　marry　me：　but　what　she　said　is　yet　to　be　recorded　in　the　book　of　Fate。　For　ten　long　years　I　roved　about；　living　first　in　one　capital；　then　another：　sometimes　in　St。　Petersburg；　oftener　in　Paris；　occasionally　in　Rome；　Naples；　and　Florence。　Provided　with　plenty　of　money　and　the　passport　of　an　old　name；　I　could　choose　my　own　society：　no　circles　were　closed　against　me。　I　sought　my　ideal　of　a　woman　amongst　English　ladies；　French　countesses；　Italian　signoras；　and　German　grafinnen。　I　could　not　find　her。　Sometimes；　for　a　fleeting　moment；　I　thought　I　caught　a　glance；　heard　a　tone；　beheld　a　form；　which　announced　the　realisation　of　my　dream：　but　I　was　presently　undeserved。　You　are　not　to　suppose　that　I　desired　perfection；　either　of　mind　or　person。　I　longed　only　for　what　suited　me—for　the　antipodes　of　the　Creole：　and　I　longed　vainly。　Amongst　them　all　I　found　not　one　whom；　had　I　been　ever　so　free；　I—warned　as　I　was　of　the　risks；　the　horrors；　the　loathings　of　incongruous　unions—would　have　asked　to　marry　me。　Disappointment　made　me　reckless。　I　tried　dissipation—never　debauchery：　that　I　hated；　and　hate。　That　was　my　Indian　Messalina’s　attribute：　rooted　disgust　at　it　and　her　restrained　me　much；　even　in　pleasure。　Any　enjoyment　that　bordered　on　riot　seemed　to　approach　me　to　her　and　her　vices；　and　I　eschewed　it。
“Yet　I　could　not　live　alone；　so　I　tried　the　panionship　of　mistresses。　The　first　I　chose　was　Céline　Varens—another　of　those　steps　which　make　a　man　spurn　himself　when　he　recalls　them。　You　already　know　what　she　was；　and　how　my　liaison　with　her　terminated。　She　had　two　successors：　an　Italian；　Giacinta；　and　a　German；　Clara；　both　considered　singularly　handsome。　What　was　their　beauty　to　me　in　a　few　weeks？　Giacinta　was　unprincipled　and　violent：　I　tired　of　her　in　three　months。　Clara　indless；　and　unimpressible：　not　one　whit　to　my　taste。　I　was　glad　to　give　her　a　sufficient　sum　to　set　her　up　in　a　good　line　of　business；　and　so　get　decently　rid　of　her。　But；　Jane；　I　see　by　your　face　you　are　not　forming　a　very　favourable　opinion　of　me　just　now。　You　think　me　an　unfeeling；　loose…principled　rake：　don’t　you？”
“I　don’t　like　you　so　well　as　I　have　done　sometimes；　indeed；　sir。　Did　it　not　seem　to　you　in　the　least　wrong　to　live　in　that　way；　first　with　one　mistress　and　then　another？　You　talk　of　it　as　a　mere　matter　of　course。”
“It　was　with　me；　and　I　did　not　like　it。　It　was　a　grovelling　fashion　of　existence：　I　should　never　like　to　return　to　it。　Hiring　a　mistress　is　the　next　worse　thing　to　buying　a　slave：　both　are　often　by　nature；　and　always　by　position；　inferior：　and　to　live　familiarly　with　inferiors　is　degrading。　I　now　hate　the　recollection　of　the　time　I　passed　with　Céline；　Giacinta；　and　Clara。”
I　felt　the　truth　of　these　words；　and　I　drew　from　them　the　certain　inference；　that　if　I　were　so　far　to　forget　myself　and　all　the　teaching　that　had　ever　been　instilled　into　me；　as—under　any　pretext—with　any　justification—through　any　temptation—to　bee　the　successor　of　these　poor　girls；　he　would　one　day　regard　me　with　the　same　feeling　which　now　in　his　mind　desecrated　their　memory。　I　did　not　give　utterance　to　this　conviction：　it　was　enough　to　feel　it。　I　impressed　it　on　my　heart；　that　it　might　remain　there　to　serve　me　as　aid　in　the　time　of　trial。
“Now；　Jane；　why　don’t　you　say　‘Well；　sir？’　I　have　not　done。　You　are　looking　grave。　You　disapprove　of　me　still；　I　see。　But　let　me　e　to　the　point。　　January；　rid　of　all　mistresses—in　a　harsh；　bitter　frame　of　mind；　the　result　of　a　useless；　roving；　lonely　life—　corroded　with　disappointment；　sourly　disposed　against　all　men；　and　especially　against　all　womankind　（for　I　began　to　regard　the　notion　of　an　intellectual；　faithful；　loving　woman　as　a　mere　dream）；　recalled　by　business；　I　came　back　to　England。
“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　lin　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　e　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　Adèle　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。　Adèle　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；　Ja！　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。
“Impatiently　I　waited　for　evening；　when　I　might　summon　you　to　my　presence。　An　unusual—to　me—a　perfectly　new　character　I　suspected　was　yours：　I　desired　to　search　it　deeper　and　know　it　better。　You　entered　the　room　with　a　look　and　air　at　once　shy　and　independent：　you　uch　as　you　are　now。　I　made　you　talk：　ere　long　I　found　you　full　of　strange　contrasts。　Your　garb　and　manner　were　restricted　by　rule；　your　air　was　often　diffident；　and　altogether　that　of　one　refined　by　nature；　but　absolutely　unused　to　society；　and　a　good　deal　afraid　of　making　herself　disadvantageously　conspicuous　by　some　solecism　or　blunder；　yet　when　addressed；　you　lifted　a　keen；　a　daring；　and　a　glowing　eye　to　your　interlocutor’s　face：　there　was　peration　and　power　in　each　glance　you　gave；　when　plied　by　close　questions；　you　found　ready　and　round　answers。　Very　soon　you　seemed　to　get　used　to　me：　I　believe　you　felt　the　existence　of　sympathy　between　you　and　your　grim　and　cross　master；　Jane；　for　it　was　astonishing　to　see　how　quickly　a　certain　pleasant　ease　tranquillised　your　manner：　snarl　as　I　would；　you　showed　no　surprise；　fear；　annoyance；　or　displeasure　at　my　moroseness；　you　watched　me；　and　now　and　then　smiled　at　me　with　a　simple　yet　sagacious　grace　I　cannot　describe。　I　was　at　once　content　and　stimulated　with　what　I　saw：　I　liked　what　I　had　seen；　and　wished　to　see　more。　Yet；　for　a　long　time；　I　treated　you　distantly；　and　sought　your　pany　rarely。　I　was　an　intellectual　epicure；　and　wished　to　prolong　the　gratification　of　making　this　novel　and　piquant　acquaintance：　besides；　I　was　for　a　while　troubled　with　a　haunting　fear　that　if　I　handled　the　flower　freely　its　bloom　would　fade—the　sweet　charm　of　freshness　would　leave　it。　I　did　not　then　know　that　it　was　no　transitory　blossom；　but　rather　the　radiant　resemblance　of　one；　cut　in　an　indestructible　gem。　Moreover；　I　wished　to　see　whether　you　would　seek　me　if　I　shunned　you—but　you　did　not；　you　kept　in　the　schoolroom　as　still　as　your　own　desk　and　easel；　if　by　chance　I　met　you；　you　passed　me　as　soon；　and　with　as　little　token　of　recognition；　as　was　consistent　with　respect。　Your　habitual　expression　in　those　days；　Jane；　was　a　thoughtful　look；　not　despondent；　for　you　were　not　sickly；　but　not　buoyant；　for　you　had　little　hope；　and　no　actual　pleasure。　I　wondered　what　you　thought　of　me；　or　if　you　ever　thought　of　me；　and　resolved　to　find　this　out。
“I　resumed　my　notice　of　you。　There　was　something　glad　in　your　glance；　and　genial　in　your　manner；　when　you　conversed：　I　saw　you　had　a　social　heart；　it　was　the　silent　schoolroom—it　was　the　tedium　of　your　life—that　made　you　mournful。　I　permitted　myself　the　delight　of　being　kind　to　you；　kindness　stirred　emotion　soon：　your　face　became　soft　in　expression；　your　tones　gentle；　I　liked　my　name　pronounced　by　your　lips　in　a　grateful　happy　accent。　I　used　to　enjoy　a　chance　meeting　with　you；　Jane；　at　this　time：　there　was　a　curious　hesitation　in　your　manner：　you　glanced　at　me　with　a　slight　trouble—a　hovering　doubt：　you　did　not　know　what　my　caprice　might　be—　whether　I　was　going　to　play　the　master　and　be　stern；　or　the　friend　and　be　benignant。　I　was　now　too　fond　of　you　often　to　simulate　the　firs