Of course I did not — I had never heard of him before; but the old lady seemed to regard his existence as a universally understood fact, with which everybody must be acquainted by instinct.

“I thought,” I continued, “Thornfield belonged to you.”

“To me? Bless you, child; what an idea! To me! I am only the housekeeper — the manager. To be sure I am distantly related to the Rochesters by the mother’s side, or at least my husband was; he was a clergyman, incumbent of Hay — that little village yonder on the hill — and that church near the gates was his.

The present Mr. Rochester’s mother was a Fairfax, and second cousin to my husband: but I never presume on the connection — in fact, it