ely require a new statute:
unheard-of combinations of circumstances demand unheard-of rules."

"That sounds a dangerous maxim, sir; because one can see at once that it
is liable to abuse."

"Sententious sage! so it is: but I swear by my household gods not to
abuse it."

"You are human and fallible."

"I am: so are you--what then?"

"The human and fallible should not arrogate a power with which the divine
and perfect alone can be safely intrusted."

"What power?"

"That of saying of any strange, unsanctioned line of action,--'Let it be
right.'"

"'Let it be right'--the very words: you have pronounced them."

"_May_ it be right then," I said, as I rose, deeming it useless to
continue a discourse which was all darkness to me; and, besides, sensible
that the character of my interlocutor was beyond my penetration; at
least, beyond its present reach; and feeling the uncertainty, the vague
sense of insecurity, which accompanies a conviction of ignorance.

"Where are you going?"

"To put Adele to bed: it is past her bedtime."

"You are afraid of me, because I talk like a Sphynx."

"Your language is enigmatical, sir: but though I am bewildered, I am
certainly not afraid."

"You _are_ afraid--your self-love dreads a blunder."

"In that sense I do feel apprehensive--I have no wish to talk nonsense."

"If you did, it would be in such a grave, quiet manner, I should mistake
it for sense. Do you never laugh, Miss Eyre? Don't trouble yourself to
answer--I see you laugh rarely; but you can laugh very merrily: believe
me, you are not naturally austere, any more than I am naturally vicious.
The Lowood constraint still clings to you somewhat; controlling your
features, muffling your voice, and restricting your limbs; and you fear
in the presence of a man and a brother--or father, or master, or what you
will--to smile too gaily, speak too freely, or move too quickly: but, in
time, I think you will learn to be natural with me, as I find it
impossible to be conventional with you; and then your looks and movements
will have more vivacity and variety than they dare offer now. I see at
intervals the glance of a curious sort of bird through the close-set bars
of a cage: a vivid, restless, resolute captive is there; were it but
free, it would soar cloud-high. You are still bent on going?"

"It has struck nine, sir."

"Never mind,--wait a minute: Adele is not ready to go to bed yet. My
position, Miss Eyre, with my back