rs。　Fairfax　had　dropped　her　knitting；　and；　with　raised　eyebrows；　seemed　wondering　what　sort　of　talk　this　was。

“Well；”　resumed　Mr。　Rochester；　“if　you　disown　parents；　you　must　have　some　sort　of　kinsfolk：　uncles　and　aunts？”

“No；　none　that　I　ever　saw。”

“And　your　home？”

“I　have　none。”

“Where　do　your　brothers　and　sisters　live？”

“I　have　no　brothers　or　sisters。”

“Who　remended　you　to　e　here？”

“I　advertised；　and　Mrs。　Fairfax　answered　my　advertisement。”

“Yes；”　said　the　good　lady；　who　now　knew　what　ground　we　were　upon；　“and　I　am　daily　thankful　for　the　choice　Providence　led　me　to　make。　Miss　Eyre　has　been　an　invaluable　panion　to　me；　and　a　kind　and　careful　teacher　to　Adèle。”

“Don’t　trouble　yourself　to　give　her　a　character；”　returned　Mr。　Rochester：　“eulogiums　will　not　bias　me；　I　shall　judge　for　myself。　She　began　by　felling　my　horse。”

“Sir？”　said　Mrs。　Fairfax。

“I　have　to　thank　her　for　this　sprain。”

The　widow　looked　bewildered。

“Miss　Eyre；　have　you　ever　lived　in　a　town？”

“No；　sir。”

“Have　you　seen　much　society？”

“None　but　the　pupils　and　teachers　of　Lowood；　and　now　the　inmates　of　Thornfield。”

“Have　you　read　much？”

“Only　such　books　as　came　in　my　way；　and　they　have　not　been　numerous　or　very　learned。”

“You　have　lived　the　life　of　a　nun：　no　doubt　you　are　well　drilled　in　religious　forms；—Brocklehurst；　who　I　understand　directs　Lowood；　is　a　parson；　is　he　not？”