The kitchen, the butler’s pantry, the servants’ hall, the entrance hall, were equally alive; and the saloons were only left void and still when the blue sky and halcyon sunshine of the genial spring weather called their occupants out into the grounds.  Even when that weather was broken, and continuous rain set in for some days, no damp seemed cast over enjoyment:  indoor amusements only became more lively and varied, in consequence of the stop put to outdoor gaiety.

I wondered what they were going to do the first evening a change of entertainment was proposed:  they spoke of “playing charades,” but in my ignorance I did not understand the term.  The servants were called in, the dining-room tables wheeled away, the lights otherwise disposed, the chairs placed in a semicircle opposite the arch.  While Mr. Rochester and the other gentlemen directed these alterations, the ladies were running up and down stairs ringing for their maids.  Mrs. Fairfax was summoned to give information respecting the resources of the house in shawls, dresses, draperies of any kind; and certain wardrobes of the third storey were ransacked, and their contents, in the shape of brocaded and hooped petticoats, satin sacques, black modes, lace lappets, &c., were brought down in armfuls by the abigails; then a selection was made, and such things as were chosen were carried to the boudoir within the drawing-room.

Meantime, Mr. Rochester had again summoned the ladies round him, and was selecting certain of their number to be of his party.  “Miss Ingram is mine, of course,” said he:  afterwards he named the two Misses Eshton, and Mrs. Dent.  He looked at me:  I happened to be near him, as I had been fastening the clasp of Mrs. Dent’s bracelet, which had got loose.

“Will you play?” he asked.  I shook my head.  He did not insist, which I rather feared he would have done; he allowed me to return quietly to my usual seat.

He and his aids now withdrew behind the curtain:  the other party, which was headed by Colonel Dent, sat down on the crescent of chairs.  One of the gentlemen, Mr. Eshton, observing me, seemed to propose that I should be asked to join them; but Lady Ingram instantly negatived the notion.

“No,” I heard her say:  “she looks too stupid for any game of the sort.”

Ere long a bell tinkled, and the curtain drew up.  Within the arch, the bulky figure of Sir George Lynn, whom Mr. Rochester had likewise chosen, was seen enveloped in a white sheet:  before him, on a table, lay open a large book; and at his side stood Amy Eshton, draped in Mr. Rochester’s cloak, and holding a book in her hand.  Somebody, unseen, rang the bell merrily; then Adele (who had insisted on being one of her guardian’s party), bounded forward, scattering round her the contents of a basket of flowers she carried on her arm.  Then appeared the magnificent figure of Miss Ingram, clad in white, a long veil on her head, and a wreath of roses round her brow; by her side walked Mr. Rochester, and together they drew near the table.  They knelt; while Mrs. Dent and Louisa Eshton, dressed also in white, took up their stations behind them.  A ceremony followed, in dumb show, in which it was easy to recognise the pantomime of a marriage.  At its termination, Colonel Dent and his party consulted in whispers for two minutes, then the Colonel called out —