ing　there　to　post　a　letter。”

“You　live　just　below—do　you　mean　at　that　house　with　the　battlements？”　pointing　to　Thornfield　Hall；　on　which　the　moon　cast　a　hoary　gleam；　bringing　it　out　distinct　and　pale　from　the　woods　that；　by　contrast　with　the　western　sky；　now　seemed　one　mass　of　shadow。

“Yes；　sir。”

“Whose　house　is　it？”

“Mr。　Rochester’s。”

“Do　you　know　Mr。　Rochester？”

“No；　I　have　never　seen　him。”

“He　is　not　resident；　then？”

“No。”

“Can　you　tell　me　where　he　is？”

“I　cannot。”

“You　are　not　a　servant　at　the　hall；　of　course。　You　are—”　He　stopped；　ran　his　eye　over　my　dress；　ple：　a　black　merino　cloak；　a　black　beaver　bon；　neither　of　them　half　fine　enough　for　a　lady’s…maid。　He　seemed　puzzled　to　decide　what　I　was；　I　helped　him。

“I　am　the　governess。”

“Ah；　the　governess！”　he　repeated；　“deuce　take　me；　if　I　had　not　forgotten！　The　governess！”　and　again　my　raiment　underwent　scrutiny。　In　two　minutes　he　rose　from　the　stile：　his　face　expressed　pain　when　he　tried　to　move。

“I　cannot　mission　you　to　fetch　help；”　he　said；　“but　you　may　help　me　a　little　yourself；　if　you　will　be　so　kind。”

“Yes；　sir。”

“You　have　not　an　umbrella　that　I　can　use　as　a　stick？”

“No。”

“Try　to　get　hold　of　my　horse’s　bridle　and　lead　him　to　me：　you　are　not　afraid？”

I　should　have　been　afraid　to　touch　a　horse　when　alone；　but　when　told　to　do　it；　I　was　disposed　to　obey。　I　put　down　my　muff　on　the　stile；　and　wen