She was evidently a little disquieted at meeting a stranger so
unceremoniously, but stood her ground like a small, black, fearless
note of interrogation.

I explained at once, therefore, as best I could, how I came to be
there: described my journey, my bewilderment, and how that I knew not
into what country nor company fate had beguiled me, except that the
one was beautiful, and the other in some delightful way familiar, and
I begged her to tell me where I really was, and how far from home,
and of whom I was now beseeching forgiveness.

Her thoughts followed my every word, passing upon her face like
shadows on the sea. I have never seen a listener so completely still
and so completely engrossed in listening. And when I had finished, she
looked aside with a transient, half-sly smile, and glanced at me again
covertly, so that I could not see herself for seeing her eyes; and she
laughed lightly.

"It is indeed a strange journey," she replied. "But I fear I cannot in
the least direct you. I have never ventured my own self beyond the
woods, lest--I should penetrate too far. But you are tired and hungry.
Will you please walk on a few steps till you come to a stone seat? My
name is Rochester--Jane Rochester"--she glanced up between the hollies
with a sigh that was all but laughter--"Jane Eyre, you know."

I went on as she had bidden, and seated myself before an old, white,
many-windowed house, squatting, like an owl at noon, beneath its green
covert. In a few minutes the great dog with dripping jowl passed
almost like reality, and after him his mistress, and on her arm her
master, Mr. Rochester.