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 become 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 come to the point.  Last 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 linnet 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 come 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 Adele 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.  Adele 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.