"The eagerness of a listener quickens the tongue of a narrator."

I said this rather to myself than to the gipsy，whose strange talk，voice，manner，had by this time wrapped me in a kind of dream. One unexpected sentence came from her lips after another，till I got involved in a web of mystification; and wondered what unseen spirit had been sitting for weeks by my heart watching its workings and taking record of every pulse.

"Eagerness of a listener!" repeated she: "yes; Mr. Rochester has sat by the hour，his ear inclined to the fascinating lips that took such delight in their task of municating; and Mr. Rochester was so willing to receive and looked so grateful for the pastime given him; you have noticed this?"

"Grateful! I cannot remember detecting gratitude in his face."

"Detecting! You have analysed，then. And what did you detect，if not gratitude?"

I said nothing.

"You have seen love: have you not?- and，looking forward，you have seen him married，and beheld his bride happy?"

"Humph! Not exactly. Your witch"s skill is rather at fault sometimes."

"What the devil have you seen，then?"

"Never mind: I came here to inquire，not to confess. Is it known that Mr. Rochester is to be married?"

"Yes; and to the beautiful Miss Ingram."

"Shortly?"