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This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 567 pages of information about Jane Eyre.

“I will put her to some test,” thought I:  “such absolute impenetrability is past comprehension.”

“Good morning, Grace,” I said.  “Has anything happened here?  I thought I heard the servants all talking together a while ago.”

“Only master had been reading in his bed last night; he fell asleep with his candle lit, and the curtains got on fire; but, fortunately, he awoke before the bed-clothes or the wood-work caught, and contrived to quench the flames with the water in the ewer.”

“A strange affair!” I said, in a low voice:  then, looking at her fixedly —­ “Did Mr. Rochester wake nobody?  Did no one hear him move?”

She again raised her eyes to me, and this time there was something of consciousness in their expression.  She seemed to examine me warily; then she answered —

“The servants sleep so far off, you know, Miss, they would not be likely to hear.  Mrs. Fairfax’s room and yours are the nearest to master’s; but Mrs. Fairfax said she heard nothing:  when people get elderly, they often sleep heavy.”  She paused, and then added, with a sort of assumed indifference, but still in a marked and significant tone —­ “But you are young, Miss; and I should say a light sleeper:  perhaps you may have heard a noise?”

“I did,” said I, dropping my voice, so that Leah, who was still polishing the panes, could not hear me, “and at first I thought it was Pilot:  but Pilot cannot laugh; and I am certain I heard a laugh, and a strange one.”

She took a new needleful of thread, waxed it carefully, threaded her needle with a steady hand, and then observed, with perfect composure —

“It is hardly likely master would laugh, I should think, Miss, when he was in such danger:  You must have been dreaming.”

“I was not dreaming,” I said, with some warmth, for her brazen coolness provoked me.  Again she looked at me; and with the same scrutinising and conscious eye.

“Have you told master that you heard a laugh?” she inquired.

“I have not had the opportunity of speaking to him this morning.”

“You did not think of opening your door and looking out into the gallery?” she further asked.

She appeared to be cross-questioning me, attempting to draw from me information unawares.  The idea struck me that if she discovered I knew or suspected her guilt, she would be playing of some of her malignant pranks on me; I thought it advisable to be on my guard.

“On the contrary,” said I, “I bolted my door.”

“Then you are not in the habit of bolting your door every night before you get into bed?”

“Fiend! she wants to know my habits, that she may lay her plans accordingly!” Indignation again prevailed over prudence:  I replied sharply, “Hitherto I have often omitted to fasten the bolt:  I did not think it necessary.  I was not aware any danger or annoyance was to be dreaded at Thornfield Hall:  but in future” (and I laid marked stress on the words) “I shall take good care to make all secure before I venture to lie down.”

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