Thursday; and not alone either. I don't know how many
of the fine people at the Leas are coming with him: he sends
directions for all the best bed-rooms to be prepared; and
the library and drawing-rooms are to be cleaned out; and I
am to get more kitchen hands from the George Inn, at Mill-
cote, and from wherever else I can; and the ladies will bring
their maids and the gentlemen their valets: so we shall have
a full house of it." And Mrs. Fairfax swallowed her breakfast
and hastened away to commence operations.

The three days were, as she had foretold, busy enough. I
had thought all the rooms at Thornfield beautifully clean
and well arranged: but it appears I was mistaken. Three
women were got to help; and such scrubbing, such brushing,
such washing of paint and beating of carpets, such taking
down and putting up of pictures, such polishing of mirrors
and lustres, such lighting of fires in bed-rooms, such airing
of sheets and feather-beds on hearths, I never beheld, either
before or since. Adèle ran quite wild in the midst of it: the
preparations for company and the prospect of their arrival,
seemed to throw her into ecstasies. She would have Sophie
to look over all her "toilettes," as she called frocks; to
furbish up any that were "passées," and to air and arrange
the new. For herself, she did nothing but caper about in the
front chambers, jump on and off the bedsteads, and lie on
the mattresses and piled-up bolsters and pillows before the
enormous fires roaring in the chimneys. From school duties
she was exonerated: Mrs. Fairfax had pressed me into her
service, and I was all day in the store-room, helping (or
hindering) her and the cook; learning to make custards and
cheesecakes and French pastry, to truss game and garnish
dessert-dishes.

The party were expected to arrive on Thursday afternoon,
in time for dinner at six. During the intervening period I
had no time to nurse chimeras; and I believe I was as active
and gay as anybody— Adèle excepted. Still, now and then,
I received a damping check to my cheerfulness; and was, in
spite of myself, thrown back on the region of doubts and
portents, and dark conjectures. This was when I chanced to
see the third story staircase door (which of late had always
been kept locked) open slowly, and give passage to the form
of Grace Poole, in prim cap, white apron, and handkerchief;
when I watched her glide along the gallery, her quiet tread
muffled in a list slipper; when I saw her look into the

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