FOR several subsequent days I saw little of Mr. Rochester. In the

mornings he seemed much engaged with business, and, in the

afternoon, gentlemen from Millcote or the neighbourhood called, and

sometimes stayed to dine with him. When his sprain was well enough

to admit of horse exercise, he rode out a good deal; probably to

return these visits, as he generally did not come back till late at

night.

   During this interval, even Adele was seldom sent for to his

presence, and all my acquaintance with him was confined to an

occasional rencontre in the hall, on the stairs, or in the gallery,

when he would sometimes pass me haughtily and coldly, just

acknowledging my presence by a distant nod or a cool glance, and

sometimes bow and smile with gentlemanlike affability. His changes

of mood did not offend me, because I saw that I had nothing to do with

their alternation; the ebb and flow depended on causes quite

disconnected with me.

   One day he had had company to dinner, and had sent for my

portfolio; in order, doubtless, to exhibit its contents: the gentlemen

went away early, to attend a public meeting at Millcote, as Mrs.

Fairfax informed me; but the night being wet and inclement, Mr.

Rochester did not accompany them. Soon after they were gone he rang

the bell: a message came that I and Adele were to go downstairs. I

brushed Adele's hair and made her neat, and having ascertained that

I was myself in my usual Quaker trim, where there was nothing to

retouch- all being too close and plain, braided locks included, to

admit of disarrangement- we descended, Adele wondering whether the

petit coffre was at length come; for, owing to some mistake, its

arrival had hitherto been delayed. She was gratified: there it

stood, a little carton, on the table when we entered the

dining-room. She appeared to know it by instinct.

   'Ma boite! ma boite!' exclaimed she, running towards it.

   'Yes, there is your "boite" at last: take it into a corner, you

genuine daughter of Paris, and amuse yourself with disembowelling it,'

said the deep and rather sarcastic voice of Mr. Rochester,

proceeding from the depths of an immense easy-chair at the fireside.

'And mind,' he continued, 'don't bother me with any details of the

anatomical process, or any notice of the condition of the entrails:

let your operation be conducted in silence: tiens-toi tranquille,

enfant; comprends-tu?'

   Adele seemed scarcely to need the warning; she had already

retired to a sofa with her treasure, and was busy untying the cord

which secured the lid. Having removed this impediment, and lifted

certain silvery envelopes of tissue paper, she merely exclaimed-

   'Oh ciel! Que c'est beau!' and then remained absorbed in ecstatic

contemplation.

   'Is Miss Eyre there?' now demanded the master, half rising from his

seat to look round to the door, near which I still stood.

   'Ah! well, come forward; be seated here.' He drew a chair near

his own. 'I am not fond of the prattle of children,' he continued;

'for, old bachelor as I am, I have no pleasant associations

connected with their lisp. It would be intolerable to me to pass a

whole evening tete-a-tete with a brat. Don't draw that chair farther

off, Miss Eyre; sit down exactly where I placed it- if you please,

that is. Confound these civilities! I continually forget them. Nor

do I particularly affect simple-minded old ladies. By the bye, I

must have mine in mind; it won't do to neglect her; she is a

Fairfax, or wed to one; and blood is said to be thicker than water.'

   He rang, and despatched an invitation to Mrs. Fairfax, who soon

arrived, knitting-basket in hand.

   'Good evening, madam; I sent to you for a charitable purpose. I

have forbidden Adele to talk to me about her presents, and she is

bursting with repletion; have the goodness to serve her as auditress

and interlocutrice; it will be one of the most benevolent acts you

ever performed.'

   Adele, indeed, no sooner saw Mrs. Fairfax, than she summoned her to

her sofa, and there quickly filled her lap with the porcelain, the

ivory, the waxen contents of her 'boite'; pouring out, meantime,

explanations and raptures in such broken English as she was mistress

of.

   'Now I have performed the part of a good host,' pursued Mr.

Rochester, 'put my guests into the way of amusing each other, I

ought to be at liberty to attend to my own pleasure. Miss Eyre, draw

your chair still a little farther forward: you are yet too far back; I

cannot see you without disturbing my position in this comfortable

chair, which I have no mind to do.'

   I did as I was bid, though I would much rather have remained

somewhat in the shade; but Mr. Rochester had such a direct way of

giving orders, it seemed a matter of course to obey him promptly.

   We were, as I have said, in the dining-room: the lustre, which

had been lit for dinner, filled the room with a festal breadth of

light; the large fire was all red and clear; the purple curtains

hung rich and ample before the lofty window and loftier arch;

everything was still, save the subdued chat of Adele (she dared not

speak loud), and, filling up each pause, the beating of winter rain

against the panes.

   Mr. Rochester, as he sat in his damask-covered chair, looked

different to what I had seen him look before; not quite so stern- much

less gloomy. There was a smile on his lips, and his eyes sparkled,

whether with wine or not, I am not sure; but I think it very probable.

He was, in short, in his after dinner mood; more expanded and

genial, and also more self-indulgent than the frigid and rigid

temper of the morning; still he looked preciously grim, cushioning his

massive head against the swelling back of his chair, and receiving the

light of the fire on his granite-hewn features, and in his great, dark

eyes; for he had great, dark eyes, and very fine eyes, too- not

without a certain change in their depths sometimes, which, if it was

not softness, reminded you, at least, of that feeling.

   He had been looking two minutes at the fire, and I had been looking

the same length of time at him, when, turning suddenly, he caught my

gaze fastened on his physiognomy.

   'You examine me, Miss Eyre,' said he: 'do you think me handsome?'

   I should, if I had deliberated, have replied to this question by

something conventionally vague and polite; but the answer somehow

slipped from my tongue before I was aware- 'No, sir.'

   'Ah! By my word! there is something singular about you,' said he:

'you have the air of a little nonnette; quaint, quiet, grave, and

simple, as you sit with your hands before you, and your eyes generally

bent on the carpet (except, by the bye, when they are directed

piercingly to my face; as just now, for instance); and when one asks

you a question, or makes a remark to which you are obliged to reply,

you rap out a round rejoinder, which, if not blunt, is at least

brusque. What do you mean by it?'

   'Sir, I was too plain; I beg your pardon. I ought to have replied

that it was not easy to give an impromptu answer to a question about

appearances; that tastes mostly differ; and that beauty is of little

consequence, or something of that sort.'

   'You ought to have replied no such thing. Beauty of little

consequence, indeed! And so, under pretence of softening the

previous outrage, of stroking and soothing me into placidity, you

stick a sly penknife under my ear! Go on: what fault do you find

with me, pray? I suppose I have all my limbs and all my features

like any other man?'

   'Mr. Rochester, allow me to disown my first answer: I intended no

pointed repartee: it was only a blunder.'

   'Just so: I think so: and you shall be answerable for it. Criticise

me: does my forehead not please you?'

   He lifted up the sable waves of hair which lay horizontally over

his brow, and showed a solid enough mass of intellectual organs, but

an abrupt deficiency where the suave sign of benevolence should have

risen.

   'Now, ma'am, am I a fool?'

   'Far from it, sir. You would, perhaps, think me rude if I

inquired in return whether you are a philanthropist?'

   'There again! Another stick of the penknife, when she pretended

to pat my head: and that is because I said I did not like the

society of children and old women (low be it spoken!). No, young lady,

I am not a general philanthropist; but I bear a conscience'; and he

pointed to the prominences which are said to indicate that faculty,

and which, fortunately for him, were sufficiently conspicuous; giving,

indeed, a marked breadth to the upper part of his head: 'and, besides,

I once had a kind of rude tenderness of heart. When I was as old as

you, I was a feeling fellow enough; partial to the unfledged,

unfostered, and unlucky; but Fortune has knocked me about since: she

has even kneaded me with her knuckles, and now I flatter myself I am

hard and tough as an India-rubber ball; pervious, though, through a

chink or two still, and with one sentient point in the middle of the

lump. Yes: does that leave hope for me?'

   'Hope of what, sir?'

   'Of my final re-transformation from India-rubber back to flesh?'

   'Decidedly he has had too much wine,' I thought; and I did not know

what answer to make to his queer question: how could I tell whether he

was capable of being re-transformed?

   'You looked very much puzzled, Miss Eyre; and though you are not

pretty any more than I am handsome, yet a puzzled air becomes you;

besides, it is convenient, for it keeps those searching eyes of

yours away from my physiognomy, and busies them with the worsted

flowers of the rug; so puzzle on. Young lady, I am disposed to be

gregarious and communicative tonight.'

   With this announcement he rose from his chair, and stood, leaning

his arm on the marble mantelpiece: in that attitude his shape was seen

plainly as well as his face; his unusual breadth of chest,

disproportionate almost to his length of limb. I am sure most people

would have thought him an ugly man; yet there was so much

unconscious pride in his port; so much ease in his demeanour; such a

look of complete indifference to his own external appearance; so

haughty a reliance on the power of other qualities, intrinsic or

adventitious, to atone for the lack of mere personal attractiveness,

that, in looking at him, one inevitably shared the indifference,

and, even in a blind, imperfect sense, put faith in the confidence.

   'I am disposed to be gregarious and communicative tonight,' he

repeated, 'and that is why I sent for you: the fire and the chandelier

were not sufficient company for me; nor would Pilot have been, for

none of these can talk. Adele is a degree better, but still far

below the mark; Mrs. Fairfax ditto; you, I am persuaded, can suit me

if you will: you puzzled me the first evening I invited you down here.

I have almost forgotten you since: other ideas have driven yours

from my head; but to-night I am resolved to be at ease; to dismiss

what importunes, and recall what pleases. It would please me now to

draw you out- to learn more of you- therefore speak.'

   Instead of speaking, I smiled; and not a very complacent or

submissive smile either.

   'Speak,' he urged.

   'What about, sir?'

   'Whatever you like. I leave both the choice of subject and the

manner of treating it entirely to yourself.'

   Accordingly I sat and said nothing: 'If he expects me to talk for

the mere sake of talking and showing off, he will find he has

addressed himself to the wrong person,' I thought.

   'You are dumb, Miss Eyre.'

   I was dumb still. He bent his head a little towards me, and with

a single hasty glance seemed to dive into my eyes.

   'Stubborn?' he said, 'and annoyed. Ah! it is consistent. I put my

request in an absurd, almost insolent form. Miss Eyre, I beg your

pardon. The fact is, once for all, I don't wish to treat you like an

inferior: that is' (correcting himself), 'I claim only such

superiority as must result from twenty years' difference in age and

a century's advance in experience. This is legitimate, et j'y tiens,

as Adele would say; and it is by virtue of this superiority, and

this alone, that I desire you to have the goodness to talk to me a

little now, and divert my thoughts, which are galled with dwelling

on one point- cankering as a rusty nail.'

   He had deigned an explanation, almost an apology, and I did not

feel insensible to his condescension, and would not seem so.

   'I am willing to amuse you, if I can, sir- quite willing; but I

cannot introduce a topic, because how do I know what will interest

you? Ask me questions, and I will do my best to answer them.'

   'Then, in the first place, do you agree with me that I have a right

to be a little masterful, abrupt, perhaps exacting, sometimes, on

the grounds I stated, namely, that I am old enough to be your

father, and that I have battled through a varied experience with

many men of many nations, and roamed over half the globe, while you

have lived quietly with one set of people in one house?'

   'Do as you please, sir.'

   'That is no answer; or rather it is a very irritating, because a

very evasive one. Reply clearly.'

   'I don't think, sir, you have a right to command me, merely because

you are older than I, or because you have seen more of the world

than I have; your claim to superiority depends on the use you have

made of your time and experience.'

   'Humph! Promptly spoken. But I won't allow that, seeing that it

would never suit my case, as I have made an indifferent, not to say

a bad, use of both advantages. Leaving superiority out of the

question, then, you must still agree to receive my orders now and

then, without being piqued or hurt by the tone of command. Will you?'

   I smiled: I thought to myself Mr. Rochester is peculiar- he seems

to forget that he pays me L30 per annum for receiving his orders.

   'The smile is very well,' said he, catching instantly the passing

expression; 'but speak too.'

   'I was thinking, sir, that very few masters would trouble

themselves to inquire whether or not their paid subordinates were

piqued and hurt by their orders.'

   'Paid subordinates! What! you are my paid subordinate, are you?

Oh yes, I had forgotten the salary! Well then, on that mercenary

ground, will you agree to let me hector a little?'

   'No, sir, not on that ground; but, on the ground that you did

forget it, and that you care whether or not a dependant is comfortable

in his dependency, I agree heartily.'

   'And will you consent to dispense with a great many conventional

forms and phrases, without thinking that the omission arises from

insolence?'

   'I am sure, sir, I should never mistake informality for

insolence: one I rather like, the other nothing free-born would submit

to, even for a salary.'

   'Humbug! Most things free-born will submit to anything for a

salary; therefore, keep to yourself, and don't venture on generalities

of which you are intensely ignorant. However, I mentally shake hands

with you for your answer, despite its inaccuracy; and as much for

the manner in which it was said, as for the substance of the speech;

the manner was frank and sincere; one does not often see such a

manner: no, on the contrary, affectation, or coldness, or stupid,

coarse-minded misapprehension of one's meaning are the usual rewards

of candour. Not three in three thousand raw school-girl-governesses

would have answered me as you have just done. But I don't mean to

flatter you: if you are cast in a different mould to the majority,

it is no merit of yours: Nature did it. And then, after all, I go

too fast in my conclusions: for what I yet know, you may be no

better than the rest; you may have intolerable defects to

counterbalance your few good points.'

   'And so may you,' I thought. My eye met his as the idea crossed

my mind: he seemed to read the glance, answering as if its import

had been spoken as well as imagined-

   'Yes, yes, you are right,' said he; 'I have plenty of faults of

my own: I know it, and I don't wish to palliate them, I assure you.

God wot I need not be too severe about others; I have a past

existence, a series of deeds, a colour of life to contemplate within

my own breast, which might well call my sneers and censures from my

neighbours to myself. I started, or rather (for like other defaulters,

I like to lay half the blame on ill fortune and adverse circumstances)

was thrust on to a wrong tack at the age of one-and-twenty, and have

never recovered the right course since: but I might have been very

different; I might have been as good as you- wiser- almost as

stainless. I envy you your peace of mind, your clean conscience,

your unpolluted memory. Little girl, a memory without blot or

contamination must be an exquisite treasure- an inexhaustible source

of pure refreshment: is it not?'

   'How was your memory when you were eighteen, sir?'

   'All right then; limpid, salubrious: no gush of bilge water had

turned it to fetid puddle. I was your equal at eighteen- quite your

equal. Nature meant me to be, on the whole, a good man, Miss Eyre; one

of the better kind, and you see I am not so. You would say you don't

see it; at least I flatter myself I read as much in your eye

(beware, by the bye, what you express with that organ; I am quick at

interpreting its language). Then take my word for it,- I am not a

villain: you are not to suppose that- not to attribute to me any

such bad eminence; but, owing, I verily believe, rather to

circumstances than to my natural bent, I am a trite commonplace

sinner, hackneyed in all the poor petty dissipations with which the

rich and worthless try to put on life. Do you wonder that I avow

this to you? Know, that in the course of your future life you will

often find yourself elected the involuntary confidant of your

acquaintances' secrets: people will instinctively find out, as I

have done, that it is not your forte to tell of yourself, but to

listen while others talk of themselves; they will feel, too, that

you listen with no malevolent scorn of their indiscretion, but with

a kind of innate sympathy; not the less comforting and encouraging

because it is very unobtrusive in its manifestations.'

   'How do you know?- how can you guess all this, sir?'

   'I know it well; therefore I proceed almost as freely as if I

were writing my thoughts in a diary. You would say, I should have been

superior to circumstances; so I should- so I should; but you see I was

not. When fate wronged me, I had not the wisdom to remain cool: I

turned desperate; then I degenerated. Now, when any vicious

simpleton excites my disgust by his paltry ribaldry, I cannot

flatter myself that I am better than he: I am forced to confess that

he and I are on a level. I wish I had stood firm- God knows I do!

Dread remorse when you are tempted to err, Miss Eyre; remorse is the

poison of life.'

   'Repentance is said to be its cure, sir.'

   'It is not its cure. Reformation may be its cure; and I could

reform- I have strength yet for that- if- but where is the use of

thinking of it, hampered, burdened, cursed as I am? Besides, since

happiness is irrevocably denied me, I have a right to get pleasure out

of life: and I will get it, cost what it may.'

   'Then you will degenerate still more, sir.'

   'Possibly: yet why should I, if I can get sweet, fresh pleasure?

And I may get it as sweet and fresh as the wild honey the bee

gathers on the moor.'

   'It will sting- it will taste bitter, sir.'

   'How do you know?- you never tried it. How very serious- how very

solemn you look: and you are as ignorant of the matter as this cameo

head' (taking one from the mantelpiece). 'You have no right to

preach to me, you neophyte, that have not passed the porch of life,

and are absolutely unacquainted with its mysteries.'

   'I only remind you of your own words, sir: you said error brought

remorse, and you pronounced remorse the poison of existence.'

   'And who talks of error now? I scarcely think the notion that

flittered across my brain was an error. I believe it was an

inspiration rather than a temptation: it was very genial, very

soothing- I know that. Here it comes again! It is no devil, I assure

you; or if it be, it has put on the robes of an angel of light. I

think I must admit so fair a guest when it asks entrance to my heart.'

   'Distrust it, sir; it is not a true angel.'

   'Once more, how do you know? By what instinct do you pretend to

distinguish between a fallen seraph of the abyss and a messenger

from the eternal throne- between a guide and a seducer?'

   'I judged by your countenance, sir, which was troubled when you

said the suggestion had returned upon you. I feel sure it will work

you more misery if you listen to it.'

   'Not at all- it bears the most gracious message in the world: for

the rest, you are not my conscience-keeper, so don't make yourself

uneasy. Here, come in, bonny wanderer!'

   He said this as if he spoke to a vision, viewless to any eye but

his own; then, folding his arms, which he had half extended, on his

chest, he seemed to enclose in their embrace the invisible being.

   'Now,' he continued, again addressing me, 'I have received the

pilgrim- a disguised deity, as I verily believe. Already it has done

me good: my heart was a sort of charnel; it will now be a shrine.'

   'To speak truth, sir, I don't understand you at all: I cannot

keep up the conversation, because it has got out of my depth. Only one

thing, I know: you said you were not as good as you should like to be,

and that you regretted your own imperfection;- one thing I can

comprehend: you intimated that to have a sullied memory was a

perpetual bane. It seems to me, that if you tried hard, you would in

time find it possible to become what you yourself would approve; and

that if from this day you began with resolution to correct your

thoughts and actions, you would in a few years have laid up a new

and stainless store of recollections, to which you might revert with

pleasure.'

   'Justly thought; rightly said, Miss Eyre; and, at this moment, I am

paving hell with energy.'

   'Sir?'

   'I am laying down good intentions, which I believe durable as

flint. Certainly, my associates and pursuits shall be other than

they have been.'

   'And better?'

   'And better- so much better as pure ore is than foul dross. You

seem to doubt me; I don't doubt myself: I know what my aim is, what my

motives are; and at this moment I pass a law, unalterable as that of

the Medes and Persians, that both are right.'

   'They cannot be, sir, if they require a new statute to legalise

them.'

   'They are, Miss Eyre, though they absolutely require a new statute:

unheard-of combinations or circumstances demand unheard-of rules.'

   'That sounds a dangerous maxim, sir; because one can see at once

that it is liable to abuse.'

   'Sententious sage! so it is: but I swear by my household gods not

to abuse it.'

   'You are human and fallible.'

   'I am: so are you- what then?'

   'The human and fallible should not arrogate a power with which

the divine and perfect alone can be safely intrusted.'

   'What power?'

   'That of saying of any strange, unsanctioned line of action,-

"Let it be right."'

   '"Let it be right"- the very words: you have pronounced them.'

   'May it be right then,' I said, as I rose, deeming it useless to

continue a discourse which was all darkness to me; and, besides,

sensible that the character of my interlocutor was beyond my

penetration; at least, beyond its present reach; and feeling the

uncertainty, the vague sense of insecurity, which accompanies a

conviction of ignorance.

   'Where are you going?'

   'To put Adele to bed: it is past her bedtime.'

   'You are afraid of me, because I talk like a Sphynx.'

   'Your language is enigmatical, sir: but though I am bewildered, I

am certainly not afraid.'

   'You are afraid- your self-love dreads a blunder.'

   'In that sense I do feel apprehensive- I have no wish to talk

nonsense.'

   'If you did, it would be in such a grave, quiet manner, I should

mistake it for sense. Do you never laugh, Miss Eyre? Don't trouble

yourself to answer- I see you laugh rarely; but you can laugh very

merrily: believe me, you are not naturally austere, any more than I am

naturally vicious. The Lowood constraint still clings to you somewhat;

controlling your features, muffling your voice, and restricting your

limbs; and you fear in the presence of a man and a brother- or father,

or master, or what you will- to smile too gaily, speak too freely,

or move too quickly: but, in time, I think you will learn to be

natural with me, as I find it impossible to be conventional with

you; and then your looks and movements will have more vivacity and

variety than they dare offer now. I see at intervals the glance of a

curious sort of bird through the close-set bars of a cage: a vivid,

restless, resolute captive is there; were it but free, it would soar

cloud-high. You are still bent on going?'

   'It has struck nine, sir.'

   'Never mind,- wait a minute: Adele is not ready to go to bed yet.

My position, Miss Eyre, with my back to the fire, and my face to the

room, favours observation. While talking to you, I have also

occasionally watched Adele (I have my own reasons for thinking her a

curious study,- reasons that I may, nay, that I shall, impart to you

some day). She pulled out of her box, about ten minutes ago, a

little pink silk frock; rapture lit her face as she unfolded it;

coquetry runs in her blood, blends with her brains, and seasons the

marrow of her bones. "Il faut que je l'essaie!" cried she, "et a

l'instant meme!" and she rushed out of the room. She is now with

Sophie, undergoing a robing process: in a few minutes she will

re-enter; and I know what I shall see,- a miniature of Celine

Varens, as she used to appear on the boards at the rising of-. But

never mind that. However, my tenderest feelings are about to receive a

shock: such is my presentiment; stay now, to see whether it will be

realised.'

   Ere long, Adele's little foot was heard tripping across the hall.

She entered, transformed as her guardian had predicted. A dress of

rose-coloured satin, very short, and as full in the skirt as it

could be gathered, replaced the brown frock she had previously worn; a

wreath of rosebuds circled her forehead; her feet were dressed in silk

stockings and small white satin sandals.

   'Est-ce que ma robe va bien?' cried she, bounding forwards; 'et mes

souliers? et mes bas? Tenez, je crois que je vais danser!'

   And spreading out her dress, she chasseed across the room; till,

having reached Mr. Rochester, she wheeled lightly round before him

on tip-toe, then dropped on one knee at his feet, exclaiming-

   'Monsieur, je vous remercie mille fois de votre bonte; then rising,

she added, 'C'est comme cela que maman faisait, n'est-ce pas,

monsieur?'

   'Pre-cise-ly!' was the answer; 'and, "comme cella," she charmed

my English gold out of my British breeches' pocket. I have been green,

too, Miss Eyre- ay, grass green: not a more vernal tint freshens you

now than once freshened me. My Spring is gone, however, but it has

left me that French floweret on my hands, which, in some moods, I

would fain be rid of. Not valuing now the root whence it sprang;

having found that it was of a sort which nothing but gold dust could

manure, I have but half a liking to the blossom, especially when it

looks so artificial as just now. I keep it and rear it rather on the

Roman Catholic principle of expiating numerous sins, great or small,

by one good work. I'll explain all this some day. Good-night.'