hat　of　the　snow…drift　I　almost　stuck　fast　in　to…night。　Charity　carried　the　friendless　thing　to　the　house　of　its　rich　maternal　relations；　it　was　reared　by　an　aunt…in…law；　called　（I　e　to　names　now）　Mrs。　Reed　of　Gateshead。　You　start—did　you　hear　a　noise？　I　daresay　it　is　only　a　rat　scrambling　along　the　rafters　of　the　adjoining　schoolroom：　it　was　a　barn　before　I　had　it　repaired　and　altered；　and　barns　are　generally　haunted　by　rats。—To　proceed。　Mrs。　Reed　kept　the　orphan　ten　years：　whether　it　was　happy　or　not　with　her；　I　cannot　say；　never　having　been　told；　but　at　the　end　of　that　time　she　transferred　it　to　a　place　you　know—being　no　other　than　Lowood　School；　where　you　so　long　resided　yourself。　It　seems　her　career　there　was　very　honourable：　from　a　pupil；　she　became　a　teacher；　like　yourself—really　it　strikes　me　there　are　parallel　points　in　her　history　and　yours—she　left　it　to　be　a　governess：　there；　again；　your　fates　were　analogous；　she　undertook　the　education　of　the　ward　of　a　certain　Mr。　Rochester。”

“Mr。　Rivers！”　I　interrupted。

“I　can　guess　your　feelings；”　he　said；　“but　restrain　them　for　a　while：　I　have　nearly　finished；　hear　me　to　the　end。　Of　Mr。　Rochester’s　character　I　know　nothing；　but　the　one　fact　that　he　professed　to　offer　honourable　marriage　to　this　young　girl；　and　that　at　the　very　altar　she　discovered　he　had　a　wife　yet　alive；　though　a　lunatic。　What　his　subsequent　conduct　and　proposals　were　is　a　matter　of　pure　conjecture；　but　when　an　event　transpired　which　rendered　inq