Jane Eyre

loss, besides mortar and marble, and woodwork, had followed upon it? Had life been wrecked, as well as property? If so, whose? Dreadful question: there was no one here to answer it – not even dumb sign, mute token.
    In wandering round the shattered walls and through the devastated interior, I gathered evidence that the calamity was not of late occurrence. Winter snows, I thought, had drifted through that void arch; winter rains beaten in at those hollow casements; for, amidst the drenched piles of rubbish, spring had cherished vegetation: grass and weed grew here and there between the stones and fallen rafters. And oh! where, meantime, was the hapless owner of this wreck? In what land? Under what auspices? My eye involuntarily wandered to the gray church tower near the gates, and I asked, »Is he with Damer de Rochester, sharing the shelter of his narrow marble house?«
    Some answer must be had to these questions. I could find it nowhere but at the inn, and thither ere long, I returned. The host himself brought my breakfast into the parlour. I requested him to shut the door and sit down: I had some questions to ask him. But when he complied, I scarcely knew how to begin; such horror had I of the possible answers. And yet the spectacle of desolation I had just left, prepared me in a measure for a tale of misery. The host was a respectable-looking, middle-aged man.
    »You know Thornfield Hall, of course?« I managed to say at last.
    »Yes, ma'am; I lived there once.«
    »Did you?« Not in my time, I thought: you are a stranger to me.
    »I was the late Mr. Rochester's butler,« he added.
    The late! I seemed to have received with full force, the blow I had been trying to evade.
    »The late!« I gasped. »Is he dead?«
    »I mean the present gentleman, Mr. Edward's father,« he explained. I breathed again: my blood resumed its flow. Fully assured by these words that Mr. Edward –
my
Mr. Rochester (God bless him, wherever he was!) was at least alive: was, in short, »the present gentleman.« Gladdening words! It seemed I could hear all that was to come – whatever the disclosures might be – with comparative tranquillity. Since he was not in the grave, I could bear, I thought, to learn that he was at the Antipodes.
    »Is Mr. Rochester living at Thornfield-Hall now?« I asked, knowing, of course, what the answer would be, but yet desirous of deferring the direct question as to where he really was.
    »No, ma'am – oh, no! No one is living there. I suppose you are a stranger in these parts, or you would have heard what happened last autumn, – Thornfield-Hall is quite a ruin: it was burnt down just about harvest time. A dreadful calamity! such an immense quantity of valuable property destroyed: hardly any of the furniture could be saved. The fire broke out at dead of night, and before the engines arrived from Millcote, the building was one mass of flame. It was a terrible spectacle: I witnessed it myself.«
    »At dead of night!« I muttered. Yes, that was ever the hour of fatality at Thornfield. »Was it known how it originated?« I demanded.
    »They guessed, ma'am: they guessed. Indeed, I should say it was ascertained beyond a doubt. You are not perhaps aware,« he continued, edging his chair a little nearer the table, and speaking low, »that there was a lady, – a – a lunatic, kept in the house?«
    »I have heard something of it.«
    »She was kept in very close confinement, ma'am; people even for some years was not absolutely certain of her existence. No one saw her: they only knew by rumour that such a person was at the Hall; and who or what she was it was difficult to conjecture. They said Mr. Edward had brought her from abroad; and some believed she had been his mistress. But a queer thing happened a year since – a very queer thing.«
    I feared now to hear my own story. I endeavoured to recall him to the main fact.
    »And this lady?«
    »This lady, ma'am,« he answered, »turned out to be Mr. Rochester's wife! The discovery was brought about in the strangest way. There was a young lady, a governess at the Hall, that Mr. Rochester fell in –«
    »But the fire,« I suggested.
    »I'm coming to that, ma'am – that Mr. Edward fell in love with. The servants say they never saw anybody so much in love as he was: he was after her continually. They used to watch him – servants will, you know, ma'am – and he set store on her past everything: for all, nobody but him thought her so very handsome. She was a little