ed　that　hand。　It　was　no　more　the　withered　limb　of　eld　than　my　own；　it　was　a　rounded　supple　member；　with　smooth　fingers；　symmetrically　turned；　a　broad　ring　flashed　on　the　little　finger；　and　stooping　forward；　I　looked　at　it；　and　saw　a　gem　I　had　seen　a　hundred　times　before。　Again　I　looked　at　the　face；　which　was　no　longer　turned　from　me—on　the　contrary；　the　bon　was　doffed；　the　bandage　displaced；　the　head　advanced。

“Well；　Jane；　do　you　know　me？”　asked　the　familiar　voice。

“Only　take　off　the　red　cloak；　sir；　and　then—”

“But　the　string　is　in　a　knot—help　me。”

“Break　it；　sir。”

“There；　then—‘Off；　ye　lendings！’”　And　Mr。　Rochester　stepped　out　of　his　disguise。

“Now；　sir；　what　a　strange　idea！”

“But　well　carried　out；　eh？　Don’t　you　think　so？”

“With　the　ladies　you　must　have　managed　well。”

“But　not　with　you？”

“You　did　not　act　the　character　of　a　gipsy　with　me。”

“What　character　did　I　act？　My　own？”

“No；　some　unaccountable　one。　In　short；　I　believe　you　have　been　trying　to　draw　me　out—or　in；　you　have　been　talking　nonsense　to　make　me　talk　nonsense。　It　is　scarcely　fair；　sir。”

“Do　you　forgive　me；　Jane？”

“I　cannot　tell　till　I　have　thought　it　all　over。　If；　on　reflection；　I　find　I　have　fallen　into　no　great　absurdity；　I　shall　try　to　forgive　you；　but　it　was　not　right。”

“Oh；　you　have　been　very　correct—very　careful；　very　sensible。”

I　reflected；　and　thought；　on　the　whole；　I　had。　It　was　a　fort；　but；　inde