China oil paintings

AS I rose and dressed, I thought over what had happened, and
wondered if it were a dream. I could not be certain of the reality
till I had seen Mr. Rochester again, and heard him renew his words
of love and promise.
While arranging my hair, I looked at my face in the glass, and felt
it was no longer plain: there was hope in its aspect and life in its
colour; and my eyes seemed as if they had beheld the fount of
fruition, and borrowed beams from the lustrous ripple. I had often
been unwilling to look at my master, because I feared he could not
be pleased at my look; but I was sure I might lift my face to his now,
and not cool his affection by its expression. I took a plain but clean
and light summer dress from my drawer and put it on: it seemed no
attire had ever so well become me, because none had I ever worn in
so blissful a mood.
I was not surprised, when I ran down into the hall, to see that a
brilliant June morning had succeeded to the tempest of the night;
and to feel, through the open glass door, the breathing of a fresh and
fragrant breeze. Nature must be gladsome when I was so happy. A
beggar-woman and her little boy- pale, ragged objects both- were