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 pronouncedremorse 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.'