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- Джэйн Эйр
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"
Nor
any
traditions
of
one
?
no
legends
or
ghost
stories
?
"
"
I
believe
not
.
And
yet
it
is
said
the
Rochesters
have
been
rather
a
violent
than
a
quiet
race
in
their
time
:
perhaps
,
though
,
that
is
the
reason
they
rest
tranquilly
in
their
graves
now
.
"
"
Yes
--
'
after
life
's
fitful
fever
they
sleep
well
,
'
"
I
muttered
.
"
Where
are
you
going
now
,
Mrs.
Fairfax
?
"
for
she
was
moving
away
.
"
On
to
the
leads
;
will
you
come
and
see
the
view
from
thence
?
"
I
followed
still
,
up
a
very
narrow
staircase
to
the
attics
,
and
thence
by
a
ladder
and
through
a
trap-door
to
the
roof
of
the
hall
.
I
was
now
on
a
level
with
the
crow
colony
,
and
could
see
into
their
nests
.
Leaning
over
the
battlements
and
looking
far
down
,
I
surveyed
the
grounds
laid
out
like
a
map
:
the
bright
and
velvet
lawn
closely
girdling
the
grey
base
of
the
mansion
;
the
field
,
wide
as
a
park
,
dotted
with
its
ancient
timber
;
the
wood
,
dun
and
sere
,
divided
by
a
path
visibly
overgrown
,
greener
with
moss
than
the
trees
were
with
foliage
;
the
church
at
the
gates
,
the
road
,
the
tranquil
hills
,
all
reposing
in
the
autumn
day
's
sun
;
the
horizon
bounded
by
a
propitious
sky
,
azure
,
marbled
with
pearly
white
.
No
feature
in
the
scene
was
extraordinary
,
but
all
was
pleasing
.
When
I
turned
from
it
and
repassed
the
trap-door
,
I
could
scarcely
see
my
way
down
the
ladder
;
the
attic
seemed
black
as
a
vault
compared
with
that
arch
of
blue
air
to
which
I
had
been
looking
up
,
and
to
that
sunlit
scene
of
grove
,
pasture
,
and
green
hill
,
of
which
the
hall
was
the
centre
,
and
over
which
I
had
been
gazing
with
delight
.
Mrs.
Fairfax
stayed
behind
a
moment
to
fasten
the
trap-door
;
I
,
by
drift
of
groping
,
found
the
outlet
from
the
attic
,
and
proceeded
to
descend
the
narrow
garret
staircase
.
I
lingered
in
the
long
passage
to
which
this
led
,
separating
the
front
and
back
rooms
of
the
third
storey
:
narrow
,
low
,
and
dim
,
with
only
one
little
window
at
the
far
end
,
and
looking
,
with
its
two
rows
of
small
black
doors
all
shut
,
like
a
corridor
in
some
Bluebeard
's
castle
.
While
I
paced
softly
on
,
the
last
sound
I
expected
to
hear
in
so
still
a
region
,
a
laugh
,
struck
my
ear
.
It
was
a
curious
laugh
;
distinct
,
formal
,
mirthless
.
I
stopped
:
the
sound
ceased
,
only
for
an
instant
;
it
began
again
,
louder
:
for
at
first
,
though
distinct
,
it
was
very
low
.
It
passed
off
in
a
clamorous
peal
that
seemed
to
wake
an
echo
in
every
lonely
chamber
;
though
it
originated
but
in
one
,
and
I
could
have
pointed
out
the
door
whence
the
accents
issued
.
"
Mrs.
Fairfax
!
"
I
called
out
:
for
I
now
heard
her
descending
the
great
stairs
.
"
Did
you
hear
that
loud
laugh
?
Who
is
it
?
"
"
Some
of
the
servants
,
very
likely
,
"
she
answered
:
"
perhaps
Grace
Poole
.
"
