Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte Deluxe Edition Chapter 11.

A new chapter in a novel is something like a new scene in a play;
and when I draw up the curtain this time, reader, you must fancy you
see a room in the George Inn at Millcote, with such large figured
papering on the walls as inn rooms have; such a carpet, such
furniture, such ornaments on the mantelpiece, such prints, including
a portrait of George the Third, and another of the Prince of Wales,
and a representation of the death of Wolfe. All this is visible
to you by the light of an oil lamp hanging from the ceiling, and
by that of an excellent fire, near which I sit in my cloak and
bonnet; my muff and umbrella lie on the table, and I am warming
away the numbness and chill contracted by sixteen hours' exposure
to the rawness of an October day: I left Lowton at four o'clock
a.m., and the Millcote town clock is now just striking eight.

Reader, though I look comfortably accommodated, I am not very tranquil
in my mind. I thought when the coach stopped here there would be
some one to meet me; I looked anxiously round as I descended the
wooden steps the "boots" placed for my convenience, expecting to
hear my name pronounced, and to see some description of carriage
waiting to convey me to Thornfield. Nothing of the sort was
visible; and when I asked a waiter if any one had been to inquire after
a Miss Eyre, I was answered in the negative: so I had no resource
but to request to be shown into a private room: and here I am
waiting, while all sorts of doubts and fears are troubling my thoughts.


It is a very strange sensation to inexperienced youth to feel
itself quite alone in the world, cut adrift from every connection,
uncertain whether the port to which it is bound can be reached,
and prevented by many impediments from returning to that it has
quitted. The charm of adventure sweetens that sensation, the glow
of pride warms it; but then the throb of fear disturbs it; and fear
with me became predominant when halfanhour elapsed and still I
was alone. I bethought myself to ring the bell.

"Is there a place in this neighbourhood called Thornfield?" I asked of the waiter who
answered the summons."Thornfield? I don't know, ma'am; I'll inquire at the
bar." He vanished, but reappeared instantly "Is your name Eyre, Miss?" "Yes."
"Person here waiting for you." I jumped up, took my muff and umbrella, and hastened
into the inn passage: a man was standing by the open door, and in the lamplit
street I dimly saw a one horse conveyance."This will be your luggage, I suppose?"
said the man rather abruptly when he saw me, pointing to my trunk in the passage.

"Yes." He hoisted it on to the vehicle, which was a sort of car, and then
I got in; before he shut me up, I asked him how far it was to Thornfield.
"A matter of six miles." "How long shall we be before we get there?"
"Happen an hour and a half." He fastened the car door, climbed to his
own seat outside, and we set off. Our progress was leisurely, and gave
me ample time to reflect; I was content to be at length so near the end
of my journey; and as I leaned back in the comfortable though not elegant
conveyance, I meditated much at my ease.

"I suppose," thought I, "judging from the plainness of the servant
and carriage, Mrs. Fairfax is not a very dashing person: so much
the better; I never lived amongst fine people but once, and I was
very miserable with them. I wonder if she lives alone except this
little girl; if so, and if she is in any degree amiable, I shall surely be
able to get on with her; I will do my best; it is a pity that doing one's
best does not always answer. At Lowood, indeed, I took that resolution,
kept it, and succeeded in pleasing; but with Mrs. Reed, I remember my best
was always spurned with scorn. I pray god Mrs. Fairfax may not turn out a second
Mrs. Reed; but if she does, I am not bound to stay with her! Let the worst come to
the worst, I can advertise again. How far are we on our road now, I wonder?"


I let down the window and looked out; Millcote was behind us; judging
by the number of its lights, it seemed a place of considerable
magnitude, much larger than Lowton. We were now, as far as I could
see, on a sort of common; but there were houses scattered all over
the district; I felt we were in a different region to Lowood, more
populous, less picturesque; more stirring, less romantic.
The roads were heavy, the night misty; my conductor let his horse
walk all the way, and the hour and a half extended, I verily
believe, to two hours; at last he turned in his seat and said
"You're noan so far fro' Thornfield now."

Again I looked out: we were passing a church; I saw its low broad
tower against the sky, and its bell was tolling a quarter; I saw
a narrow galaxy of lights too, on a hillside, marking a village or
hamlet. About ten minutes after, the driver got down and opened a
pair of gates: we passed through, and they clashed to behind us.
We now slowly ascended a drive, and came upon the long front of a
house: candlelight gleamed from one curtained bowwindow; all the
rest were dark. The car stopped at the front door; it was opened
by a maidservant; I alighted and went in.

"Will you walk this way, ma'am?" said the girl; and I followed
her across a square hall with high doors all round: she ushered me
into a room whose double illumination of fire and candle at first
dazzled me, contrasting as it did with the darkness to which my
eyes had been for two hours inured; when I could see, however, a
cosy and agreeable picture presented itself to my view.

A snug small room; a round table by a cheerful fire; an armchair
highbacked and oldfashioned, wherein sat the neatest imaginable
little elderly lady, in widow's cap, black silk gown, and snowy
muslin apron; exactly like what I had fancied Mrs. Fairfax, only
less stately and milder looking. She was occupied in knitting; a
large cat sat demurely at her feet; nothing in short was wanting
to complete the beauideal of domestic comfort. A more reassuring
introduction for a new governess could scarcely be conceived;
there was no grandeur to overwhelm, no stateliness to embarrass;
and then, as I entered, the old lady got up and promptly and kindly
came forward to meet me.

"How do you do, my dear? I am afraid you have had a tedious ride;
John drives so slowly; you must be cold, come to the fire.""Mrs. Fairfax,
I suppose?" said I. "Yes, you are right: do sit down." She conducted
me to her own chair, and then began to remove my shawl and untie my
bonnetstrings; I begged she would not give herself so much trouble.
"Oh, it is no trouble; I dare say your own hands are almost numbed
with cold. Leah, make a little hot negus and cut a sandwich or
two: here are the keys of the storeroom."

And she produced from her pocket a most housewifely bunch of keys,
and delivered them to the servant. "Now, then, draw nearer to the fire," she
continued. "You've brought your luggage with you, haven't you, my dear?"
"Yes, ma'am." "I'll see it carried into your room," she said, and bustled out.
"She treats me like a visitor," thought I. "I little expected such a reception;
I anticipated only coldness and stiffness: this is not like what I have heard
of the treatment of governesses; but I must not exult too soon."

She returned; with her own hands cleared her knitting apparatus
and a book or two from the table, to make room for the tray which
Leah now brought, and then herself handed me the refreshments. I felt
rather confused at being the object of more attention than I had ever
before received, and, that too, shown by my employer and superior;
but as she did not herself seem to consider she was doing anything out
of her place, I thought it better to take her civilities quietly. "Shall I
have the pleasure of seeing Miss Fairfax tonight?" I asked, when I had
partaken of what she offered me. "What did you say, my dear?
I am a little deaf," returned the good lady, approaching her
ear to my mouth. I repeated the question more distinctly.


"Miss Fairfax? Oh, you mean Miss Varens! Varens is the name of
your future pupil." "Indeed! Then she is not your daughter?"
"No, I have no family." I should have followed up my first inquiry,
by asking in what way Miss Varens was connected with her; but I
recollected it was not polite to ask too many questions: besides,
I was sure to hear in time.

"I am so glad," she continued, as she sat down opposite to me, and
took the cat on her knee; "I am so glad you are come; it will be
quite pleasant living here now with a companion. To be sure it
is pleasant at any time; for Thornfield is a fine old hall, rather
neglected of late years perhaps, but still it is a respectable place;
yet you know in wintertime one feels dreary quite alone in the best
quarters. I say alone, Leah is a nice girl to be sure, and John and
his wife are very decent people; but then you see they are only
servants, and one can't converse with them on terms of equality: one
must keep them at due distance, for fear of losing one's authority.

I'm sure last winter (it was a very severe one, if you recollect, and
when it did not snow, it rained and blew), not a creature but the
butcher and postman came to the house, from November till
February; and I really got quite melancholy with sitting night after
night alone; I had Leah in to read to me sometimes; but I don't think
the poor girl liked the task much: she felt it confining. In spring
and summer one got on better: sunshine and long days make such
a difference; and then, just at the commencement of this autumn,
little Adela Varens came and her nurse: a child makes a house
alive all at once; and now you are here I shall be quite gay."

My heart really warmed to the worthy lady as I heard her talk; and
I drew my chair a little nearer to her, and expressed my sincere
wish that she might find my company as agreeable as she anticipated.
"But I'll not keep you sitting up late tonight," said she; "it is on the stroke
of twelve now, and you have been travelling all day: you must feel
tired. If you have got your feet well warmed, I'll show you your
bedroom. I've had the room next to mine prepared for you; it is only
a small apartment, but I thought you would like it better than one
of the large front chambers: to be sure they have finer furniture,
but they are so dreary and solitary, I never sleep in them myself."


I thanked her for her considerate choice, and as I really felt
fatigued with my long journey, expressed my readiness to retire.
She took her candle, and I followed her from the room. First she
went to see if the halldoor was fastened; having taken the key
from the lock, she led the way upstairs. The steps and banisters
were of oak; the staircase window was high and latticed; both it
and the long gallery into which the bedroom doors opened looked
as if they belonged to a church rather than a house. A very chill
and vaultlike air pervaded the stairs and gallery, suggesting cheerless
ideas of space and solitude; and I was glad, when finally ushered
into my chamber, to find it of small dimensions, and furnished in
ordinary, modern style.

When Mrs. Fairfax had bidden me a kind goodnight, and I had fastened
my door, gazed leisurely round, and in some measure effaced the
eerie impression made by that wide hall, that dark and spacious
staircase, and that long, cold gallery, by the livelier aspect of
my little room, I remembered that, after a day of bodily fatigue
and mental anxiety, I was now at last in safe haven. The impulse
of gratitude swelled my heart, and I knelt down at the bedside,
and offered up thanks where thanks were due; not forgetting, ere I
rose, to implore aid on my further path, and the power of meriting
the kindness which seemed so frankly offered me before it was
earned. My couch had no thorns in it that night; my solitary room
no fears. At once weary and content, I slept soon and soundly:
when I awoke it was broad day.

The chamber looked such a bright little place to me as the sun shone
in between the gay blue chintz window curtains, showing papered
walls and a carpeted floor, so unlike the bare planks and stained
plaster of Lowood, that my spirits rose at the view. Externals
have a great effect on the young: I thought that a fairer era of
life was beginning for me, one that was to have its flowers and
pleasures, as well as its thorns and toils. My faculties, roused
by the change of scene, the new field offered to hope, seemed all
astir. I cannot precisely define what they expected, but it was
something pleasant: not perhaps that day or that month, but at an
indefinite future period.

I rose; I dressed myself with care: obliged to be plain for I
had no article of attire that was not made with extreme simplicity
I was still by nature solicitous to be neat. It was not my habit
to be disregardful of appearance or careless of the impression I
made: on the contrary, I ever wished to look as well as I could,
and to please as much as my want of beauty would permit. I sometimes
regretted that I was not handsomer; I sometimes wished to have rosy
cheeks, a straight nose, and small cherry mouth; I desired to be
tall, stately, and finely developed in figure; I felt it a misfortune
that I was so little, so pale, and had features so irregular and
so marked. And why had I these aspirations and these regrets?
It would be difficult to say: I could not then distinctly say it
to myself; yet I had a reason, and a logical, natural reason too.

However, when I had brushed my hair very smooth, and put on my
black frock which, Quakerlike as it was, at least had the merit of
fitting to a nicety and adjusted my clean white tucker, I thought
I should do respectably enough to appear before Mrs. Fairfax, and
that my new pupil would not at least recoil from me with antipathy.
Having opened my chamber window, and seen that I left all things
straight and neat on the toilet table, I ventured forth.

Traversing the long and matted gallery, I descended the slippery
steps of oak; then I gained the hall: I halted there a minute; I
looked at some pictures on the walls (one, I remember, represented
a grim man in a cuirass, and one a lady with powdered hair and a
pearl necklace), at a bronze lamp pendent from the ceiling, at a great
clock whose case was of oak curiously carved, and ebon black with
time and rubbing. Everything appeared very stately and imposing to
me; but then I was so little accustomed to grandeur. The halldoor,
which was half of glass, stood open; I stepped over the threshold.

It was a fine autumn morning; the early sun shone serenely on
embrowned groves and still green fields; advancing on to the lawn,
I looked up and surveyed the front of the mansion. It was three
storeys high, of proportions not vast, though considerable: a
gentleman's manorhouse, not a nobleman's seat: battlements round
the top gave it a picturesque look. Its grey front stood out well
from the background of a rookery, whose cawing tenants were now on
the wing: they flew over the lawn and grounds to alight in a great
meadow, from which these were separated by a sunk fence, and where
an array of mighty old thorn trees, strong, knotty, and broad as
oaks, at once explained the etymology of the mansion's designation.

Farther off were hills: not so lofty as those round Lowood, nor so
craggy, nor so like barriers of separation from the living world;
but yet quiet and lonely hills enough, and seeming to embrace
Thornfield with a seclusion I had not expected to find existent
so near the stirring locality of Millcote. A little hamlet, whose
roofs were blent with trees, straggled up the side of one of these
hills; the church of the district stood nearer Thornfield: its
old towertop looked over a knoll between the house and gates.

I was yet enjoying the calm prospect and pleasant fresh air, yet
listening with delight to the cawing of the rooks, yet surveying
the wide, hoary front of the hall, and thinking what a great place
it was for one lonely little dame like Mrs. Fairfax to inhabit,
when that lady appeared at the door. "What! out already?" said she.
"I see you are an early riser." I went up to her, and was received
with an affable kiss and shake of the hand.

"How do you like Thornfield?" she asked. I told her I liked it
very much. "Yes," she said, "it is a pretty place; but I fear it will be
getting out of order, unless Mr. Rochester should take it into his
head to come and reside here permanently; or, at least, visit it
rather oftener: great houses and fine grounds require the presence
of the proprietor." "Mr. Rochester!" I exclaimed. "Who is he?"
"The owner of Thornfield," she responded quietly. "Did you not
know he was called Rochester?"

Of course I did not I had never heard of him before; but the
old lady seemed to regard his existence as a universally understood
fact, with which everybody must be acquainted by instinct.
"I thought," I continued, "Thornfield belonged to you."

"To me? Bless you, child; what an idea! To me! I am only the
housekeeper the manager. To be sure I am distantly related to
the Rochesters by the mother's side, or at least my husband was;
he was a clergyman, incumbent of Hay that little village yonder
on the hill and that church near the gates was his. The present
Mr. Rochester's mother was a Fairfax, and second cousin to my
husband: but I never presume on the connection in fact, it is
nothing to me; I consider myself quite in the light of an ordinary
housekeeper: my employer is always civil, and I expect nothing more."
"And the little girl my pupil!"

"She is Mr. Rochester's ward; he commissioned me to find a governess
for her. He intended to have her brought up in shire, I believe. Here
she comes, with her 'bonne,' as she calls her nurse." The enigma then
was explained: this affable and kind little widow was no great dame;
but a dependant like myself. I did not like her the worse for that; on
the contrary, I felt better pleased than ever. The equality between
her and me was real; not the mere result of condescension on
her part: so much the better my position was all the freer.


As I was meditating on this discovery, a little girl, followed by
her attendant, came running up the lawn. I looked at my pupil,
who did not at first appear to notice me: she was quite a child,
perhaps seven or eight years old, slightly built, with a pale,
smallfeatured face, and a redundancy of hair falling in curls to
her waist. "Good morning, Miss Adela," said Mrs. Fairfax.
"Come and speak to the lady who is to teach you, and to make
you a clever woman someday." She approached. "C'est le ma
gouverante!" said she, pointing to me, and addressing
her nurse; who answered "Mais oui, certainement."



"Are they foreigners?" I inquired, amazed at hearing the French
language. "The nurse is a foreigner, and Adela was born on the
Continent; and, I believe, never left it till within six months ago.
When she first came here she could speak no English; now she can
make shift to talk it a little: I don't understand her, she mixes it so with
French; but you will make out her meaning very well, I dare say."


Fortunately I had had the advantage of being taught French by a
French lady; and as I had always made a point of conversing with
Madame Pierrot as often as I could, and had besides, during the last
seven years, learnt a portion of French by heart daily applying
myself to take pains with my accent, and imitating as closely as
possible the pronunciation of my teacher, I had acquired a certain
degree of readiness and correctness in the language, and was not
likely to be much at a loss with Mademoiselle Adela. She came and
shook hand with me when she heard that I was her governess; and as
I led her in to breakfast, I addressed some phrases to her in her
own tongue: she replied briefly at first, but after we were seated
at the table, and she had examined me some ten minutes with her
large hazel eyes, she suddenly commenced chattering fluently.

"Ah!" cried she, in French, "you speak my language as well as
Mr. Rochester does: I can talk to you as I can to him, and so can
Sophie. She will be glad: nobody here understands her: Madame
Fairfax is all English. Sophie is my nurse; she came with me over
the sea in a great ship with a chimney that smoked how it did
smoke! and I was sick, and so was Sophie, and so was Mr. Rochester.
Mr. Rochester lay down on a sofa in a pretty room called the salon,
and Sophie and I had little beds in another place. I nearly fell out
of mine; it was like a shelf. And Mademoiselle what is your name?"

"Eyre, Jane Eyre."

"Aire? Bah! I cannot say it. Well, our ship stopped in the
morning, before it was quite daylight, at a great city a huge
city, with very dark houses and all smoky; not at all like the
pretty clean town I came from; and Mr. Rochester carried me in his
arms over a plank to the land, and Sophie came after, and we all
got into a coach, which took us to a beautiful large house, larger
than this and finer, called an hotel. We stayed there nearly a
week: I and Sophie used to walk every day in a great green place
full of trees, called the Park; and there were many children there
besides me, and a pond with beautiful birds in it, that I fed with crumbs."


"Can you understand her when she runs on so fast?" asked Mrs.
Fairfax. I understood her very well, for I had been accustomed
to the fluent tongue of Madame Pierrot. "I wish," continued the good
lady, "you would ask her a question or two about her parents:
I wonder if she remembers them?" "Adele," I inquired, "with whom
did you live when you were in that pretty clean town you spoke of?"


"I lived long ago with mama; but she is gone to the Holy Virgin.
Mama used to teach me to dance and sing, and to say verses. A
great many gentlemen and ladies came to see mama, and I used to
dance before them, or to sit on their knees and sing to them: I
liked it. Shall I let you hear me sing now?"

She had finished her breakfast, so I permitted her to give a specimen
of her accomplishments. Descending from her chair, she came and
placed herself on my knee; then, folding her little hands demurely
before her, shaking back her curls and lifting her eyes to the
ceiling, she commenced singing a song from some opera. It was the
strain of a forsaken lady, who, after bewailing the perfidy of her
lover, calls pride to her aid; desires her attendant to deck her
in her brightest jewels and richest robes, and resolves to meet the
false one that night at a ball, and prove to him, by the gaiety of
her demeanour, how little his desertion has affected her.

The subject seemed strangely chosen for an infant singer; but I suppose
the point of the exhibition lay in hearing the notes of love and
jealousy warbled with the lisp of childhood; and in very bad taste that
point was: at least I thought so. Adele sang the canzonette tunefully enough,
and with the naivete of her age. This achieved, she jumped from my
knee and said, "Now, Mademoiselle, I will repeat you some poetry."


Assuming an attitude, she began, "La Ligue des Rats: fable de La
Fontaine." She then declaimed the little piece with an attention
to punctuation and emphasis, a flexibility of voice and an
appropriateness of gesture, very unusual indeed at her age, and
which proved she had been carefully trained. "Was it your mama
who taught you that piece?" I asked. "Yes, and she just used to
say it in this way: 'Qu' avez vous donc? lui dit un de ces rats; parlez!'
She made me lift my hand so to remind me to raise my voice
at the question. Now shall I dance for you?"


"No, that will do: but after your mama went to the Holy Virgin,
as you say, with whom did you live then?"

"With Madame Frederic and her husband: she took care of me, but
she is nothing related to me. I think she is poor, for she had
not so fine a house as mama. I was not long there. Mr. Rochester
asked me if I would like to go and live with him in England, and I
said yes; for I knew Mr. Rochester before I knew Madame Frederic,
and he was always kind to me and gave me pretty dresses and toys:
but you see he has not kept his word, for he has brought me to
England, and now he is gone back again himself, and I never see him."


After breakfast, Adele and I withdrew to the library, which room,
it appears, Mr. Rochester had directed should be used as the
schoolroom. Most of the books were locked up behind glass doors;
but there was one bookcase left open containing everything that
could be needed in the way of elementary works, and several volumes
of light literature, poetry, biography, travels, a few romances,
etc. I suppose he had considered that these were all the governess
would require for her private perusal; and, indeed, they contented
me amply for the present; compared with the scanty pickings I had
now and then been able to glean at Lowood, they seemed to offer an
abundant harvest of entertainment and information. In this room,
too, there was a cabinet piano, quite new and of superior tone;
also an easel for painting and a pair of globes.

I found my pupil sufficiently docile, though disinclined to apply:
she had not been used to regular occupation of any kind. I felt
it would be injudicious to confine her too much at first; so, when
I had talked to her a great deal, and got her to learn a little,
and when the morning had advanced to noon, I allowed her to return
to her nurse. I then proposed to occupy myself till dinnertime
in drawing some little sketches for her use.

As I was going upstairs to fetch my portfolio and pencils, Mrs.
Fairfax called to me: "Your morning schoolhours are over now, I
suppose," said she. She was in a room the folding doors of which
stood open: I went in when she addressed me. It was a large,
stately apartment, with purple chairs and curtains, a Turkey carpet,
walnut panelled walls, one vast window rich in slanted glass, and
a lofty ceiling, nobly moulded. Mrs. Fairfax was dusting some
vases of fine purple spar, which stood on a sideboard.

"What a beautiful room!" I exclaimed, as I looked round; for I
had never before seen any half so imposing. "Yes; this is the
diningroom. I have just opened the window, to let in a little air
and sunshine; for everything gets so damp in apartments that are
seldom inhabited; the drawingroom yonder feels like a vault."


She pointed to a wide arch corresponding to the window, and hung like
it with a Tyrian dyed curtain, now looped up. Mounting to it by
two broad steps, and looking through, I thought I caught a glimpse
of a fairy place, so bright to my novice eyes appeared the view
beyond. Yet it was merely a very pretty drawingroom, and within
it a boudoir, both spread with white carpets, on which seemed laid
brilliant garlands of flowers; both ceiled with snowy mouldings of
white grapes and vineleaves, beneath which glowed in rich contrast
crimson couches and ottomans; while the ornaments on the pale
Parisian mantelpiece were of sparkling Bohemian glass, ruby red;
and between the windows large mirrors repeated the general blending
of snow and fire.

"In what order you keep these rooms, Mrs. Fairfax!" said I. "No
dust, no canvas coverings: except that the air feels chilly, one
would think they were inhabited daily."

"Why, Miss Eyre, though Mr. Rochester's visits here are rare, they
are always sudden and unexpected; and as I observed that it put him
out to find everything swathed up, and to have a bustle of arrangement
on his arrival, I thought it best to keep the rooms in readiness."
"Is Mr. Rochester an exacting, fastidious sort of man?"
"Not particularly so; but he has a gentleman's tastes and habits,
and he expects to have things managed in conformity to them."

"Do you like him? Is he generally liked?" "Oh, yes; the family
have always been respected here. Almost all the land in this
neighbourhood, as far as you can see, has belonged
to the Rochesters time out of mind."

"Well, but, leaving his land out of the question, do you like him?
Is he liked for himself?" "I have no cause to do otherwise than
like him; and I believe he is considered a just and liberal landlord
by his tenants: but he has never lived much amongst them."

"But has he no peculiarities? What, in short, is his character?"
"Oh! his character is unimpeachable, I suppose. He is rather
peculiar, perhaps: he has travelled a great deal, and seen a great
deal of the world, I should think. I dare say he is clever, but I never
had much conversation with him." "In what way is he peculiar?"



"I don't know it is not easy to describe nothing striking,
but you feel it when he speaks to you; you cannot be always sure
whether he is in jest or earnest, whether he is pleased or the
contrary; you don't thoroughly understand him, in short at least,
I don't: but it is of no consequence, he is a very good master."

This was all the account I got from Mrs. Fairfax of her employer
and mine. There are people who seem to have no notion of sketching
a character, or observing and describing salient points, either in
persons or things: the good lady evidently belonged to this class;
my queries puzzled, but did not draw her out. Mr. Rochester was
Mr. Rochester in her eyes; a gentleman, a landed proprietor
nothing more: she inquired and searched no further, and evidently
wondered at my wish to gain a more definite notion of his identity.

When we left the diningroom, she proposed to show me over the rest
of the house; and I followed her upstairs and downstairs, admiring
as I went; for all was well arranged and handsome. The large front
chambers I thought especially grand: and some of the third storey
rooms, though dark and low, were interesting from their air of
antiquity. The furniture once appropriated to the lower apartments
had from time to time been removed here, as fashions changed:
and the imperfect light entering by their narrow casement showed
bedsteads of a hundred years old; chests in oak or walnut, looking,
with their strange carvings of palm branches and cherubs' heads,
like types of the Hebrew ark; rows of venerable chairs, highbacked
and narrow; stools still more antiquated, on whose cushioned tops
were yet apparent traces of half effaced embroideries, wrought by
fingers that for two generations had been coffin dust.

All these relics gave to the third storey of Thornfield Hall the
aspect of a home of the past: a shrine of memory. I liked the hush, the
gloom, the quaintness of these retreats in the day; but I by no means coveted
a night's repose on one of those wide and heavy beds: shut in, some
of them, with doors of oak; shaded, others, with wrought old English
hangings crusted with thick work, portraying effigies of strange
flowers, and stranger birds, and strangest human beings, all which
would have looked strange, indeed, by the pallid gleam of moonlight.


"Do the servants sleep in these rooms?" I asked. "No; they occupy
a range of smaller apartments to the back; no one ever sleeps here:
one would almost say that, if there were a ghost at Thornfield Hall,
this would be its haunt." "So I think: you have no ghost, then?"
"None that I ever heard of," returned Mrs. Fairfax, smiling.
"Nor any traditions of one? no legends or ghost stories?"
"I believe not. And yet it is said the Rochesters have been rather
a violent than a quiet race in their time: perhaps, though, that
is the reason they rest tranquilly in their graves now."
"Yes 'after life's fitful fever they sleep well,'" I muttered. "Where are
you going now, Mrs. Fairfax?" for she was moving away.

"On to the leads; will you come and see the view from thence?" I
followed still, up a very narrow staircase to the attics, and thence
by a ladder and through a trapdoor to the roof of the hall. I
was now on a level with the crow colony, and could see into their
nests. Leaning over the battlements and looking far down, I
surveyed the grounds laid out like a map: the bright and velvet
lawn closely girdling the grey base of the mansion; the field,
wide as a park, dotted with its ancient timber; the wood, dun and
sere, divided by a path visibly overgrown, greener with moss than
the trees were with foliage; the church at the gates, the road, the
tranquil hills, all reposing in the autumn day's sun; the horizon
bounded by a propitious sky, azure, marbled with pearly white.

No feature in the scene was extraordinary, but all was pleasing. When
I turned from it and repassed the trapdoor, I could scarcely see
my way down the ladder; the attic seemed black as a vault compared
with that arch of blue air to which I had been looking up, and to
that sunlit scene of grove, pasture, and green hill, of which the
hall was the centre, and over which I had been gazing with delight.

Mrs. Fairfax stayed behind a moment to fasten the trapdoor; I, by
drift of groping, found the outlet from the attic, and proceeded
to descend the narrow garret staircase. I lingered in the long
passage to which this led, separating the front and back rooms of
the third storey: narrow, low, and dim, with only one little window
at the far end, and looking, with its two rows of small black doors
all shut, like a corridor in some Bluebeard's castle.

While I paced softly on, the last sound I expected to hear in so
still a region, a laugh, struck my ear. It was a curious laugh;
distinct, formal, mirthless. I stopped: the sound ceased, only
for an instant; it began again, louder: for at first, though distinct,
it was very low. It passed off in a clamorous peal that seemed to
wake an echo in every lonely chamber; though it originated but in
one, and I could have pointed out the door whence the accents issued.

"Mrs. Fairfax!" I called out: for I now heard her descending the
great stairs. "Did you hear that loud laugh? Who is it?" "Some of
the servants, very likely," she answered: "perhaps Grace Poole."
"Did you hear it?" I again inquired. "Yes, plainly: I often hear her:
she sews in one of these rooms. Sometimes Leah is with her;
they are frequently noisy together." The laugh was repeated in its
low, syllabic tone, and terminated in an odd murmur. "Grace!"
exclaimed Mrs. Fairfax. I really did not expect any Grace to answer;
for the laugh was as tragic, as preternatural a laugh as any I ever
heard; and, but that it was high noon, and that no circumstance of
ghostliness accompanied the curious cachinnation; but that neither
scene nor season favoured fear, I should have been superstitiously
afraid. However, the event showed me I was a fool for
entertaining a sense even of surprise.

The door nearest me opened, and a servant came out, a woman of
between thirty and forty; a set, squaremade figure, redhaired, and
with a hard, plain face: any apparition less romantic or less ghostly
could scarcely be conceived. "Too much noise, Grace," said Mrs.
Fairfax. "Remember directions!" Grace curtseyed silently and went in.


"She is a person we have to sew and assist Leah in her housemaid's
work," continued the widow; "not altogether unobjectionable in some
points, but she does well enough. By the bye, how have you got on
with your new pupil this morning?" The conversation, thus turned
on Adele, continued till we reached the light and cheerful region
below. Adele came running to meet us in the hall, exclaiming
"Mesdames, vous etes servies!" adding, "J'ai bien faim, moi!"
We found dinner ready, and waiting for us in Mrs. Fairfax's room.

Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte Deluxe Edition Chapter 12.>