I BOTH wished and feared to see Mr. Rochester on the day which followed this sleepless night: I wanted to hear his voice again，yet feared to meet his eye. During the early part of the morning，I momentarily expected his ing; he was not in the frequent habit of entering the schoolroom，but he did step in for a few minutes sometimes，and I had the impression that he was sure to visit it that day.

But the morning passed just as usual: nothing happened to interrupt the quiet course of Adele's studies; only soon after breakfast，I heard some bustle in the neighbourhood of Mr. Rochester's chamber，Mrs. Fairfax's voice，and Leah's，and the cook's- that is，John's wife- and even John's own gruff tones. There were exclamations of 'What a mercy master was not burnt in his bed!' 'It is always dangerous to keep a candle lit at night.' 'How providential that he had presence of mind to think of the water-jug!' 'I wonder he waked nobody!' 'It is to be hoped he will not take cold with sleeping on the library sofa,' etc.

To much confabulation succeeded a sound of scrubbing and setting to rights; and when I passed the room，in going downstairs to dinner，I saw through the open door that all was again restored to plete order; only the bed was stripped of its hangings. Leah stood up in the window-seat，rubbing the panes of glass dimmed with smoke. I was about to address her，for I wished to know what account had been given of the affair: but，on advancing，I saw a second person in the chamber- a woman sitting on a chair by the bedside，and sewing rings to new curtains. That woman was no other than Grace poole.

There she sat，staid and taciturn-looking，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 impenetrability is past prehension.'