"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 communicating; 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?"