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I hardly heard Mrs。 Fairfax’s account of the curtain conflagration during dinner; so much was I occupied in puzzling my brains over the enigmatical character of Grace Poole; and still more in pondering the problem of her position at Thornfield and questioning why she had not been given into custody that morning; or; at the very least; dismissed from her master’s service。 He had almost as much as declared his conviction of her criminality last night: what mysterious cause withheld him from accusing her? Why had he enjoined me; too; to secrecy? It was strange: a bold; vindictive; and haughty gentleman seemed somehow in the power of one of the meanest of his dependants; so much in her power; that even when she lifted her hand against his life; he dared not openly charge her with the attempt; much less punish her for it。
Had Grace been young and handsome; I should have been tempted to think that tenderer feelings than prudence or fear influenced Mr。 Rochester in her behalf; but; hard…favoured and matronly as she was; the idea could not be admitted。 “Yet;” I reflected; “she has been young once; her youth would be contemporary with her master’s: Mrs。 Fairfax told me once; she had lived here many years。 I don’t think she can ever have been pretty; but; for aught I know; she may possess originality and strength of character to pensate for the want of personal advantages。 Mr。 Rochester is an amateur of the decided and eccentric: Grace is eccentric at least。 What if a former
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