4 A fire is lit

Chapter 4 A fire is lit The next day, Mrs. Fairfax told me that Mr. Rochester wished to see me in the library. The dog I'd seen earlier basked by the fire, Adèle stroking him. In the chair, firelight shining on his face, was the rider of yesterday. "Mon cadeau," Adèle was pleading.

"Your present is upstairs. Wait," he ordered. "Do you have a present for Miss Eyre also?" "Do you expect one, Miss Eyre?" His eyes, I saw, were dark and piercing. "No sir." "I've been questioning Adèle," he said. "I find you've much improved her." "Sir, that is my present," I replied, "your praise of her progress." "Hmph! What are your talents?" he asked abruptly. "Do you play the piano?" "A little." "Play now." I did so... "Enough! You certainly play a little, not well, but passable. Do you draw? Paint?" I showed him my portfolio. He examined my paintings, one of clouds over a stormy sea, another of a dark blue twilight sky in which you could just see a woman's shape, her eyes wild, and lastly, an iceberg piercing a sky lit by northern lights.

"Were you happy when you painted these?" he inquired. "Happy enough." "Have you seen these places in dreams? What is their meaning?" He caught my gaze as I put the pictures away, without answering. "You're studying me. Do you think me handsome?"

"No, sir," I replied. "You are unusual," he declared. "You appear quiet, serious, self-effacing even, yet you're direct. You look puzzled, Miss Eyre, but puzzlement becomes you. Are you hurt? What are you thinking?" "That few masters would care if their servants were hurt by their words." "I like your honesty," he said.

Ringing a bell, he told a servant to fetch Adèle's present. Eagerly she unwrapped a pink silk dress, a wreath of rosebuds, a pair of satin shoes. "Ah! I shall be très belle!" Adèle flitted away to try them on. He told me then her history. She was the unwanted daughter of a French dancer he'd befriended. Feeling sorry for the neglected child, he offered to take her and give her an English country upbringing. Adele's mother had given her away without a backward glance.

"Now you know her unlovely background, you'll leave us, I expect." "No, sir. How could I prefer some pampered rich pet to this lonely waif? I care for her more than ever." As the days slipped by, my life changed. Reader, I had never been as happy. Mr. Rochester was moody, proud, sometimes bitter, but to me, a friend always. His presence warmed me more than the brightest fire. Mrs. Fairfax said he never stayed at Thornfield more than two weeks, yet two months rushed past...