In what land? Under what auspices? My eye involuntarily wandered to the grey church tower near the gates，and I asked，"Is he with Damer de Rochester，sharing the shelter of his narrow marble house?"

Some answer must be had to these questions. I could find it nowhere but at the inn，and thither，ere long，I returned. The host himself brought my breakfast into the parlour. I requested him to shut the door and sit down: I had some questions to ask him. But when he plied，I scarcely knew how to begin; such horror had I of the possible answers. And yet the spectacle of desolation I had just left prepared me in a measure for a tale of misery. The host was a respectable-looking，middle-aged man.

"You know Thornfield Hall，of course?" I managed to say at last.

"Yes，ma"am; I lived there once."

"Did you?" Not in my time，I thought: you are a stranger to me.

"I was the late Mr. Rochester"s butler," he added.

The late! I seem to have received，with full force，the blow I had been trying to evade.

"The late!" I gasped. "Is he dead?"

"I mean the present gentleman，Mr. Edward"s father," he explained. I breathed again: my blood resumed its flow. Fully assured by these words that Mr. Edward- my Mr. Rochester (God bless him，wherever he was!)- was at least alive: was，in short，"the present gentleman." Gladdening words! It seemed I could hear all that was to e- whatever the disclosures might be- with parative tranquillity. Since he was not in the grave，I could bear，I thought，to learn that he was at the Antipodes.

"Is Mr. Rochester living at Thornfield Hall now?" I asked，knowing，of course，what the answer would be，but yet desirous of deferring the direct question as to where he really was.