sewed- and probably laughed drearily to herself,- as companionless as a prisoner in his dungeon.
The strangest thing of all was, that not a soul in the house, except me, noticed her habits, or seemed to marvel at them: no one discussed her position or employment; no one pitied her solitude or isolation. I once, indeed, overheard part of a dialogue between Leah and one of the charwomen, of which Grace formed the subject. Leah had been saying something I had not caught, and the charwoman remarked-
'She gets good wages, I guess?'
'Yes,' said Leah; 'I wish I had as good; not that mine are to complain of,- there's no stinginess at Thornfield; but they're not one fifth of the sum Mrs. poole receives. And she is laying by: she goes every quarter to the bank at Millcote. I should not wonder but she has saved enough to keep her independent if she liked to leave; but I suppose she's got used to the place; and then she's not forty yet, and strong and able for anything. It is too soon for her to give up business.'
'She is a good hand, I daresay,' said the charwoman.
'Ah!- she understands what she has to do,- nobody better,' rejoined Leah significantly; 'and it is not every one could fill her shoes- not for all the money she gets.'
'That it is not!' was the reply. 'I wonder whether the master-'
The charwoman was going on; but here Leah turned and perceived me, and she instantly gave her companion a nudge.
'Doesn't she know?' I heard the woman whisper.
Leah shook her head, and the conversation was of course dropped.
All I had gathered from it amounted to this,- that there was a mystery at Thornfield; and that from participation in that mystery I was purposely excluded.
Thursday came: all work had been completed the previous evening; carpets were laid down, bed-hangings festooned, radiant white counterpanes spread, toilet tables arranged, furniture rubbed, flowers piled in vases: both chambers and saloons looked as fresh and bright as hands could make them. The hall, too, was sco
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