But no- eventide is as pleasant to him as to me，and this antique garden as attractive; and he strolls on，now lifting the gooseberry-tree branches to look at the fruit，large as plums，with which they are laden; now taking a ripe cherry from the wall; now stooping towards a knot of flowers，either to inhale their fragrance or to admire the dew-beads on their petals. A great moth goes humming by me; it alights on a plant at Mr. Rochester"s foot: he sees it，and bends to examine it.

"Now，he has his back towards me," thought I，"and he is occupied too; perhaps，if I walk softly，I can slip away unnoticed."

I trode on an edging of turf that the crackle of the pebbly gravel might not betray me: he was standing among the beds at a yard or two distant from where I had to pass; the moth apparently engaged him. "I shall get by very well," I meditated. As I crossed his shadow，thrown long over the garden by the moon，not yet risen high，he said quietly，without turning-

"Jane，e and look at this fellow."