know what to say to you,
Miss Eyre. I have surely not been dreaming, have I? Sometimes I half
fall asleep when I am sitting alone and fancy things that have never
happened. It has seemed to me more than once when I have been in a doze,
that my dear husband, who died fifteen years since, has come in and sat
down beside me; and that I have even heard him call me by my name, Alice,
as he used to do. Now, can you tell me whether it is actually true that
Mr. Rochester has asked you to marry him? Don't laugh at me. But I
really thought he came in here five minutes ago, and said that in a month
you would be his wife."

"He has said the same thing to me," I replied.

"He has! Do you believe him? Have you accepted him?"

"Yes."

She looked at me bewildered. "I could never have thought it. He is a
proud man: all the Rochesters were proud: and his father, at least, liked
money. He, too, has always been called careful. He means to marry you?"

"He tells me so."

She surveyed my whole person: in her eyes I read that they had there
found no charm powerful enough to solve the enigma.

"It passes me!" she continued; "but no doubt, it is true since you say
so. How it will answer, I cannot tell: I really don't know. Equality of
position and fortune is often advisable in such cases; and there are
twenty years of difference in your ages. He might almost be your
father."

"No, indeed, Mrs. Fairfax!" exclaimed I, nettled; "he is nothing like my
father! No one, who saw us together, would suppose it for an instant.
Mr. Rochester looks as young, and is as young, as some men at five-and-
twenty."

"Is it really for love he is going to marry you?" she asked.

I was so hurt by her coldness and scepticism, that the tears rose to my
eyes.

"I am sorry to grieve you," pursued the widow; "but you are so young, and
so little acquainted with men, I wished to put you on your guard. It is
an old saying that 'all is not gold that glitters;' and in this case I do
fear there will be something found to be different to what either you or
I expect."

"Why?--am I a monster?" I said: "is it impossible that Mr. Rochester
should have a sincere affection for me?"

"No: you are very well; and much improved of late; and Mr. Rochester, I
daresay, is fond of you. I have always noticed that you were a sort of
pet of his. There are times when, for your sake, I have been a little
uneasy at his marked preference, and have wished to put y