I　hardly　heard　Mrs。　Fairfax’s　account　of　the　curtain　conflagration　during　dinner；　so　much　was　I　occupied　in　puzzling　my　brains　over　the　enigmatical　character　of　Grace　Poole；　and　still　more　in　pondering　the　problem　of　her　position　at　Thornfield　and　questioning　why　she　had　not　been　given　into　custody　that　morning；　or；　at　the　very　least；　dismissed　from　her　master’s　service。　He　had　almost　as　much　as　declared　his　conviction　of　her　criminality　last　night：　what　mysterious　cause　withheld　him　from　accusing　her？　Why　had　he　enjoined　me；　too；　to　secrecy？　It　was　strange：　a　bold；　vindictive；　and　haughty　gentleman　seemed　somehow　in　the　power　of　one　of　the　meanest　of　his　dependants；　so　much　in　her　power；　that　even　when　she　lifted　her　hand　against　his　life；　he　dared　not　openly　charge　her　with　the　attempt；　much　less　punish　her　for　it。

Had　Grace　been　young　and　handsome；　I　should　have　been　tempted　to　think　that　tenderer　feelings　than　prudence　or　fear　influenced　Mr。　Rochester　in　her　behalf；　but；　hard…favoured　and　matronly　as　she　was；　the　idea　could　not　be　admitted。　“Yet；”　I　reflected；　“she　has　been　young　once；　her　youth　would　be　contemporary　with　her　master’s：　Mrs。　Fairfax　told　me　once；　she　had　lived　here　many　years。　I　don’t　think　she　can　ever　have　been　pretty；　but；　for　aught　I　know；　she　may　possess　originality　and　strength　of　character　to　pensate　for　the　want　of　personal　advantages。　Mr。　Rochester　is　an　amateur　of　the　decided　and　eccentric：　Grace　is　eccentric　at　least。　What　if　a　former