th　which　he　treated　me；　drew　me　to　him。　I　felt　at　times　as　if　he　were　my　relation　rather　than　my　master：　yet　he　was　imperious　sometimes　still；　but　I　did　not　mind　that；　I　saw　it　was　his　way。　So　happy；　so　gratified　did　I　bee　with　this　new　interest　added　to　life；　that　I　ceased　to　pine　after　kindred：　my　thin　crescent…destiny　seemed　to　enlarge；　the　blanks　of　existence　were　filled　up；　my　bodily　health　improved；　I　gathered　flesh　and　strength。

And　was　Mr。　Rochester　now　ugly　in　my　eyes？　No；　reader：　gratitude；　and　many　associations；　all　pleasurable　and　genial；　made　his　face　the　object　I　best　liked　to　see；　his　presence　in　a　room　was　more　cheering　than　the　brightest　fire。　Yet　I　had　not　forgotten　his　faults；　indeed；　I　could　not；　for　he　brought　them　frequently　before　me。　He　was　proud；　sardonic；　harsh　to　inferiority　of　every　description：　in　my　secret　soul　I　knew　that　his　great　kindness　to　me　was　balanced　by　unjust　severity　to　many　others。　He　was　moody；　too；　unaccountably　so；　I　more　than　once；　when　sent　for　to　read　to　him；　found　him　sitting　in　his　library　alone；　with　his　head　bent　on　his　folded　arms；　and；　when　he　looked　up；　a　morose；　almost　a　malignant；　scowl　blackened　his　features。　But　I　believed　that　his　moodiness；　his　harshness；　and　his　former　faults　of　morality　（I　say　former；　for　now　he　seemed　corrected　of　them）　had　their　source　in　some　cruel　cross　of　fate。　I　believed　he　was　naturally　a　man　of　better　tendencies；　higher　principles；　and　purer　tastes　than　such　as　circumstances　had　de