There seemed a night of darkness in that scarred face, and stars
unearthly bright. He peered dimly at me, leaning heavily on Jane's
arm, his left hand plunged into the bosom of his coat. And when he was
come near, he lifted his hat to me with a kind of Spanish gravity.

"Is this the gentleman, Jane?" he enquired.

"Yes, sir."

"He's young!" he muttered.

"For otherwise he would not be here," she replied.

"Was the gate bolted, then?" he asked.

"Mr. Rochester desires to know if you had the audacity, sir, to scale
his garden wall," Jane said, turning sharply on me. "Shall I count the
strawberries, sir?" she added over her shoulder."

"Jane, Jane!" he exclaimed testily. "I have no wish to be uncivil,
sir. We are not of the world--a mere dark satellite. I am dim; and
suspicious of strangers, as this one treacherous eye should manifest.
I'll but ask your name, sir,--there are yet a few names left, once
pleasing to my ear."

"My name is Brocken, sir--Henry Brocken," I answered.

"And--did you walk? Pah! there's the mystery! God knows how else you
could have come, unless you are a modern Ganymede. Where then's your