“Oh; you have been very correct—very careful; very sensible。”
I reflected; and thought; on the whole; I had。 It was a fort; but; indeed; I had been on my guard almost from the beginning of the interview。 Something of masquerade I suspected。 I knew gipsies and fortune…tellers did not express themselves as this seeming old woman had expressed herself; besides I had noted her feigned voice; her anxiety to conceal her features。 But my mind had been running on Grace Poole—that living enigma; that mystery of mysteries; as I considered her。 I had never thought of Mr。 Rochester。
“Well;” said he; “what are you musing about? What does that grave smile signify?”
“Wonder and self…congratulation; sir。 I have your permission to retire now; I suppose?”
“No; stay a moment; and tell me what the people in the drawing…room yonder are doing。”
“Discussing the gipsy; I daresay。”
“Sit down!—Let me hear what they said about me。”
“I had better not stay long; sir; it must be near eleven o’clock。 Oh; are you aware; Mr。 Rochester; that a stranger has arrived here since you left this morning?”
“A stranger!—no; who can it be? I expected no one; is he gone?”
“No; he said he had known you long; and that he could take the liberty of installing himself here till you returned。”
“The devil he did! Did he give his name?”
“His name is Mason; sir; and he es from the West Indies; from Spanish Town; in Jamaica; I think。”
Mr。 Rochester was standing near me; he had taken my hand; as if to lead me to a chair。 As I spoke he gave my wrist a convulsive grip; the smile on his lips froze: apparently a spasm caught his breath。
“Mason!—the West Indies!” he said; in the tone one might fancy a speaking automaton to enounce its single words; “Mason!—the West Indies!” he reiterated; and he went over the syllables three times; growing; in the intervals of speaking; whiter than ashes: he hardly seemed to know what he was doing。
“Do you feel ill; sir?” I inquired。
“Jane; I’ve got a blow; I’ve got a blow; Jane!” He staggered。
“Oh; lean on me; sir。”
“Jane; you offered me your shoulder once before; let me have it now。”
“Yes; sir; yes; and my arm。”
He sat down; and made me sit beside him。 Holding my hand in both his own; he chafed it; gazing on me; at the same time; with the most troubled and dreary look。
“My little friend!” said he; “I wish I were in a quiet island with only you; and trouble; and danger; and hideous recollections removed from me。”
“Can I help you; sir?—I’d give my life to serve you。”
“Jane; if aid is wanted; I’ll seek it at your hands; I promise you that。”
“Thank you; sir。 Tell me what to do;—I’ll try; at least; to do it。”
“Fetch me now; Jane; a glass of wine from the dining…room: they will be at supper there; and tell me if Mason is with them; and what he is doing。”
I went。 I found all the party in the dining…room at supper; as Mr。 Rochester had said; they were not seated at table;—the supper was arranged on the sideboard; each had taken what he chose; and they stood about here and there in groups; their plates and glasses in their hands。 Every one seemed in high glee; laughter and conversation were general and animated。 Mr。 Mason stood near the fire; talking to Colonel and Mrs。 Dent; and appeared as merry as any of them。 I filled a wine…glass (I saw Miss Ingram watch me frowningly as I did so: she thought I was taking a liberty; I daresay); and I returned to the library。
Mr。 Rochester’s extreme pallor had disappeared; and he looked once more firm and stern。 He took the glass from my hand。
“Here is to your health; ministrant spirit!” he said。 He swallowed the contents and returned it to me。 “What are they doing; Jane?”
“Laughing and talking; sir。”
“They don’t look grave and mysterious; as if they had heard something strange?”
“Not at all: they are full of jests and gaiety。”
“And Mason?”
“He was laughing too。”
“If all these people came in a body and spat at me; what would you do; Jane?”
“Turn them out of the room; sir; if I could。”
He half smiled。 “But if I were to go to them;