ot　that　sort　of　face。　When　you　came　on　me　in　Hay　Lane　last　night；　I　thought　unaccountably　of　fairy　tales；　and　had　half　a　mind　to　demand　whether　you　had　bewitched　my　horse：　I　am　not　sure　yet。　Who　are　your　parents？”

“I　have　none。”

“Nor　ever　had；　I　suppose：　do　you　remember　them？”

“No。”

“I　thought　not。　And　so　you　were　waiting　for　your　people　when　you　sat　on　that　stile？”

“For　whom；　sir？”

“For　the　men　in　green：　it　was　a　proper　moonlight　evening　for　them。　Did　I　break　through　one　of　your　rings；　that　you　spread　that　damned　ice　on　the　causeway？”

I　shook　my　head。　“The　men　in　green　all　forsook　England　a　hundred　years　ago；”　said　I；　speaking　as　seriously　as　he　had　done。　“And　not　even　in　Hay　Lane；　or　the　fields　about　it；　could　you　find　a　trace　of　them。　I　don’t　think　either　summer　or　harvest；　or　winter　moon；　will　ever　shine　on　their　revels　more。”

Mrs。　Fairfax　had　dropped　her　knitting；　and；　with　raised　eyebrows；　seemed　wondering　what　sort　of　talk　this　was。

“Well；”　resumed　Mr。　Rochester；　“if　you　disown　parents；　you　must　have　some　sort　of　kinsfolk：　uncles　and　aunts？”

“No；　none　that　I　ever　saw。”

“And　your　home？”

“I　have　none。”

“Where　do　your　brothers　and　sisters　live？”

“I　have　no　brothers　or　sisters。”

“Who　remended　you　to　e　here？”

“I　advertised；　and　Mrs。　Fairfax　answered　my　advertisement。”

“Yes；”　said　the　good　lady；　who　now　knew　what　ground　we　were　upon；　“and　I　am　daily　thankful　for　the　choice　Providence　led　me　to　make。　Miss　Eyre　has　been　an　invaluable　panion　to　me；　and　a　kind　and　careful　teacher　to　Adèle。”

“Don’t　trouble　yourself　to　give　her　a　character；”　returned　Mr。　Rochester：　“eulogiums　will　not　bias　me；　I　shall　judge　for　myself。　She　began　by　felling　my　horse。”