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ir 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