ing；　as　usual；　in　her　brown　stuff　gown；　her　check　apron；　white　handkerchief；　and　cap。　She　was　intent　on　her　work；　in　which　her　whole　thoughts　seemed　absorbed：　on　her　hard　forehead；　and　in　her　monplace　features；　was　nothing　either　of　the　paleness　or　desperation　one　would　have　expected　to　see　marking　the　countenance　of　a　woman　who　had　attempted　murder；　and　whose　intended　victim　had　followed　her　last　night　to　her　lair；　and　（as　I　believed）；　charged　her　with　the　crime　she　wished　to　perpetrate。　I　was　amazed—confounded。　She　looked　up；　while　I　still　gazed　at　her：　no　start；　no　increase　or　failure　of　colour　betrayed　emotion；　consciousness　of　guilt；　or　fear　of　detection。　She　said　“Good　morning；　Miss；”　in　her　usual　phlegmatic　and　brief　manner；　and　taking　up　another　ring　and　more　tape；　went　on　with　her　sewing。

“I　will　put　her　to　some　test；”　thought　I：　“such　absolute　imperability　is　past　prehension。”

“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　the