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THE  HAWORTH  EDITION 


JANE   EYRE 


FIRST  EDITION  (Smith,  Elder  6-  Co.)      .„     184? 

HAWORTH  EDITION  ON  THIN  PAPER 
FIRST  ISSUED  (John  Murray)  .«     January,  1924 
Reprinted  -»         ..         ..  May,  1925 

Reprinted  ••         . .          . .         August,  1927 

Reprinted  February,  1930 

Reprinted  October,  1932 


Printed  in  Great  Britain  at  THE  BALLANTYNB  PRESS 

SroTTi&wooDE,  BALLANTYNE  ft  Co.  LTD 

Colchester   London  &  Eton 


INTRODUCTION 

TO 

JANE   EYRE 


'  JANE  EYBB  '  was  first  published  in  October  1847.  Half 
a  century —since  this  tale  of  the  North  by  an  unknown 
writer  stole  upon  London,  and,  in  the  very  midst  of  the 
serial  publication  of  *  Vanity  Fair,'  took  the  town  by 
storm,  obtaining  for  its  author  in  the  course  of  a  few 
weeks  a  success  which,  as  the  creator  of  Becky  Sharp 
afterwards  said  to  her,  a  little  sadly  and  sharply,  'it 
took  me  the  work  of  ten  years  to  achieve.' 

Half  a  century,  in  the  view  of  the  Roman  Church,  is 
often  hardly  sufficient  to  decide  evon  the  first  step  in  the 
process  of  canonisation  ;  it  is  generally  amply  sufficient 
to  decide  all  matters  of  literary  rank  and  permanence. 
How  has  the  verdict  gone  in  the  case  of  Currer  Bell  ? 
Have  these  fifty  years  '  cut  all  meaning  from  the  name/ 
or  have  they  but  tilled  it  with  a  fuller  content,  wreathed  it 
with  memories  and  associations  that  will  for  ever  keep  it 
luminous  and  delightful  amid  the  dim  tracts  of  the  past  ? 

Judging  by  the  books  that  have  been  written  and  read 
in  recent  years,  by  the  common  verdict  as  to  the  Bronte 
sisters,  their  story,  and  their  work,  which  prevails, 


x  JANE  EYKE 

almost  without  exception,  in  the  literary  criticism  of 
the  present  day  ;  by  the  tone  of  personal  tenderness, 
even  of  passionate  homage,  in  which  many  writers  speak 
of  Charlotte  and  of  Emily  ;  and  by  the  increasing  recog- 
nition which  their  books  have  obtained  abroad,  one  may 
say  with  some  confidence  that  the  name  and  memory 
of  the  Brontes  were  never  more  alive  than  now,  that 
*  Honour  and  Fame  have  got  about  their  graves '  for  good 
and  all,  and  that  Charlotte  and  Emily  Bronte  are  no  less 
secure,  at  any  rate,  than  Jane  Austen  or  George  Eliot  or 
Mrs.  Browning  of  literary  recollection  in  the  time  to  come. 

But  if  the  Brontes  live,  their  books  live  also.  There 
are  some  names  of  the  past  —Byron  —Voltaire  -  that 
are  far  greater  now,  more  full  of  magic  and  of  spell, 
than  the  books  associated  with  them  —  that  are,  in  fact, 
separable  from  the  books,  and  could  almost  live  on 
without  them.  But  Charlotte  Bronte  is  Jane  Eyre  and 
Lucy  Snowe.  You  cannot  think  of  her  apart  from 
what  she  has  written,  and  everything  that  she  wrote 
has  the  challenging, quality  of  personal  emotion  or  of 
passion,  moving  in  a  narrow  range  among  very  concrete 
things,  and  intimately  fused  throughout  with  the  in- 
cidents and  feelings  of  one  small,  intense  experience : 
so  that,  if  one  finds,  as  one  does  find  abundantly,  that 
the  Brontes  are  remembered,  it  must  be  that  their 
books  are  read,  that  people  still  sit  up  into  the  night 
with  '  Jane  Eyre,'  and  are  still  as  angry  as  they  were 
at  the  first,  that  they  can  get  no  one  to  assure  them  of 
Paul  Emmanuel's  safe  return. 

So  it  must  be ;  and  so,  indeed,  the  personal  experi- 


INTEODUCTION  xi 

ence  of  most  of  us  can  vouch  that  it  is.  Nevertheless, 
here  and  there  one  may  hear  a  protesting  voice.  Here 
and  there  a  reader— and  generally  a  reader  of  more 
subtlety  and  range  than  his  fellows —struck  with  the 
union  of  certain  extravagances  and  certain  dogmatisms  in 
Charlotte  Bronte's  work,  with  the  weakness  of  Anne's  and 
the  crudity  of  Emily's,  will  dare  to  say, '  Not  at  all !  The 
vitality  of  the  Bronte  fame  does  not  mean  primarily  the 
vitality  of  the  Bronta  books.  It  is  a  vitality  which  springs 
from  the  English  love  of  the  pathetic  and  the  picturesque, 
and  the  English  tendency  to  subordinate  matters  of  art 
to  matters  of  sentiment.  Mrs.  Gaskell,  herself  an  ac- 
complished novelist,  wrote  an  account  of  these  lonely 
girls  on  a  Yorkshire  moor,  struggling  with  poverty  and 
consumption,  developing  genius  in  the  very  wrestle  with 
death,  taking  the  heaven  of  fame  by  violence,  and 
perishing  in  the  effort.  She  showed  them  to  us  oppressed 
by  poverty  and  by  daily  contact  with  a  vicious  brother, 
and  yet,  through  it  all,  remaining  dutiful,  loving,  and 
virtuous,  as  the  good  English  public  likes  them  to  be : 
she  described  the  deaths  —the  piteous  deaths  -  of  two  of 
the  sisters  in  the  very  moment,  or  on  the  very  threshold, 
of  success,  and,  finally,  her  narrative  brought  us  to  the 
death  of  Charlotte  herself  -Charlotte  snatched  from 
happiness  and  from  motherhood,  after  one  brief  yecir  of 
married  life  :  and  so  skilful  is  the  telling,  so  touching 
the  story,  that  the  great  English  heart  goes  out  to  it, 
and  forthwith  the  Bronte  books  must  be  books  of  genius, 
because  the  Brontes  are  so  interesting  and  their  story 
so  tragic.' 


xii  JANE  EYBE 

Perhaps  this  explanation  is  put  forward  to  account 
rather  for  the  continuance  of  the  Brontes'  fame  than  for 
their  original  success.  Such  a  critic  would  admit  that 
'  Jane  Eyre  '  is  at  least  a  vivid  and  exciting  story ;  that 
'  Villette '  has  at  least  passages  of  extraordinary 
brilliance :  but  he  will  obstinately  maintain,  none  the 
less,  that  other  bookb  now  forgotten,  have  had  as  much, 
and  that  the  Bronte  '  legend '  has  unfairly  strengthened 
the  claim  of  the  Bronte  stories  upon  posterity. 

Let  us  see  how  such  a  contention  stands  in  the 
case  of  '  Jane  Kyre.'  '  Jane  Eyre  '•—  to  run  through  a 
summary  of  the  plot  -is  the  story  of  an  orphan  girl, 
reared  at  a  Charity  School  amid  many  hardships,  going 
out  into  the  world  as  a  governess,  and  falling  in  love 
with  her  employer,  Mr.  Rochester.  She  yields  herself  to 
her  own  passion  and  to  his  masterful  love-making  with 
an  eager,  an  over-eager  abandonment.  The  wedding- 
day  is  fixed ;  the  small  marriage  party  assembles.  But 
in  the  very  church,  and  at  the  moment  of  the  ceremony, 
it  is  revealed  to  Jane  Eyre  that  Mr.  Rochester  has  a 
wife  living,  a  frenzied  lunatic  who  has  been  confined  for 
months  in  a  corner  of  the  same  house  where  she  and 
Rochester  have  had  their  daily  dwelling ;  that  Rochester 
has  deliberately  entrapped  her,  and  that  she  stands  on 
the  edge  of  an  abyss.  The  marriage  party  breaks  up  in 
confusion  ;  and  Rochester's  next  endeavour  is  to  per- 
suade the  stunned  and  miserable  Jane  to  scout  law  and 
convention,  and  fly  with  him  to  love  and  foreign  parts. 
He  shows  her  the  lunatic,  in  all  the  odious  horror  of  her 
state,  and  Jane  forgives  him  on  the  spot,  having  never 


INTBODUCTION  xiii 

indeed,  so  far  as  appears,  felt  any  deep  resentment  of 
his  conduct.  Nevertheless,  she  summons  up  courage  to 
leave  him.  She  steals  away  by  night,  and,  after  days  of 
wandering  and  starvation,  she  finds  a  home  with  the 
Rivers  family,  who  ultimately  turn  out  to  be  her  cousins. 
St.  John  Kivers,  the  brother  of  the  family,  an  Evan- 
gelical clergyman  possessed  with  a  fanatical  enthusiasm 
for  missionary  life,  observes  the  girl's  strong  and 
energetic  nature,  and  makes  up  his  mind  to  marry  her, 
not  in  the  least  because  he  loves  her,  but  because  he 
thinks  her  fitted  to  be  a  missionary's  wife.  Her  will  is 
on  the  point  of  yielding  to  his,  when  she  hears  a 
mysterious  midnight  call  from  Rochester;  she  hurries 
back  to  her  master,  to  find  him  blinded  and  maimed  by 
the  fire  which  has  destroyed  his  house  and  his  mad  wife 
together  ;  and  of  course  the  end  is  happiness. 

Now  certainly  there  never  was  a  plot,  which  pre- 
tended to  be  a  plot,  of  looser  texture  than  that  of  '  Jane 
Eyre.'  It  abounds  with  absurdities  and  inconsistencies. 
The  critics  of  Charlotte  Bronte's  time  had  no  difficulty 
in  pointing  them  out ;  they  lie,  indeed,  on  the  surface 
for  all  to  see.  That  such  incidents  should  have  happened 
to  Jane  Eyre  in  Mr.  Rochester's  house  as  did  happen, 
without  awakening  her  suspicions;  that  the  existence 
of  a  lunatic  should  have  been  commonly  known  to  all 
the  servants  of  the  house,  yet  wholly  concealed  from 
the  governess ;  that  Mr.  Rochester  should  have  been  a 
man  of  honour  and  generosity,  a  man  with  whom  not 
only  Jane  Eyre,  but  clearly  the  writer  herself,  is  in 
love,  and  yet  capable  of  deliberately  betraying  and 

A2 


xiv  JANE  EYBE 

deceiving  a  girl  of  twenty  placed  in  a  singularly  help- 
less position  ;  —these  are  the  fundamental  puzzles  of  the 
story.  Mrs.  Fairfax  is  a  mystery  throughoiit.  How, 
knowing  what  she  did,  did  she  not  inevitably  know 
more? — what  was  her  real  relation  to  Eochester ?— to 
Jane  Eyre?  These  are  questions  that  no  one  can 
answer  -  out  of  the  four  corners  of  the  book.  The 
country-house  party  ib  a  tissue  of  extravagance  through- 
out ;  the  sarcasms  and  brutalities  of  the  beautiful 
Miss  Ingram  are  no  more  credible  than  the  manners 
assumed  by  the  aristocratic  Eochester  from  the  begin- 
ning towards  his  ward's  governess,  or  the  amazing 
freedom  with  which  he  pours  into  the  ears  of  the  same 
governess  -  a  virtuous  girl  of  twenty,  who  has  been  no 
more  than  a  few  weeks  under  his  roof —the  story  of  his 
relations  with  Adele's  mother. 

Turn  to  the  early  scenes,  for  instance,  between  Jane 
and  Eochester.  They  have  been  '  several  days  '  under 
the  same  roof ;  it  is  Jane's  second  interview  with  her 
employer.  Mr.  Eochester,  in  Sultan  fashion,  sends  for 
her  and  her  pupil  after  dinner.  He  sits  silent,  while 
Jane's  quick  eye  takes  note  of  him.  Suddenly  he  turns 
upon  her. 

'  You  examine  me,  Miss  Eyre/  said  he ;  'do  you  think  me 
handsome  ? ' 

Jane,  taken  by  surprise,  delivers  a  stout  negative, 
whereupon  her  employer,  in  caprice  or  pique,  pursues 
the  subject  further : 

« Criticise  me :  does  my  forehead  not  please  you? ' 


INTRODUCTION  xv 

He  lifted  up  the  sable  waves  of  hair  which  lay  horizon- 
tally over  his  brow,  and  showed  a  solid  enough  mass  of 
intellectual  organs,  but  an  abrupt  deficiency  where  the  suave 
sign  of  benevolence  should  have  risen. 

'  Now,  ma'am,  am  I  a  fool  ? ' 

Poor  Jane  gets  out  of  the  dilemma  as  best  she  can, 
and  gradually  this  astonishing  gentleman  thaws,  be- 
comes conversational  and  kind.  And  this  is  how  he 
puts  the  little  governess  at  her  ease : — 

You  look  very  much  puzzled,  Miss  Eyre ;  and  though 
you  are  not  pretty,  any  more  than  I  am  handsome,  yet  a 
puzzled  air  becomes  you ;  besides,  it  is  convenient,  for  it 
keeps  those  searching  eyes  of  yours  away  from  my  phy- 
siognomy, and  busies  them  with  the  worsted  flowers  of  the 
rug ;  so  puzzle  on.  Young  lady,  I  am  disposed  to  be  gre- 
garious and  communicative  to-night.' 

1  Young  lady,  I  am  disposed  to  be  gregarious  and 
communicative  to-night ! '  Not  even  c  Mr.  Eawjester f 
could  exceed  this.  Parody  has  nothing  to  add. 

The  country-house  party  is  equally  far  from  any- 
thing known,  either  to  realistic  or 'romantic  truth,  even 
to  the  truth  as  it  existed  in  the  days  of  '  Jane  Eyre's ' 
Quarterly  Reviewer  and  the  Cowan  Bridge  School. 
Listen  to  the  badinage  of  the  beautiful  and  accomplished 
Miss  Ingram.  She  is  making  brutal  fun  of  governesses, 
in  order  to  be  overheard  by  the  shy  and  shrinking 
Jane  behind  the  window-curtain.  Miss  Ingram,  it 
should  be  remarked,  has  never  seen  Jane  before,  has 
no  grievance  against  her,  and  can  only  be  supposed 
to  be  displaying  the  aristocratic  temper  as  such.  It 


xvi  JANE  EYEE 

pleases  her  to  describe  a  love  affair  that  her  childhood 
had  discovered  between  her  own  governess  and  her 
brother's  tutor.  She  tells  how  she  and  her  precious 
brothers  and  sisters  employed  it — the  love  affair — 'as 
a  sort  of  lever  to  hoist  our  dead-weights  from  the 
house.' 

' .  .  .  Dear  mamma,  there,  as  soon  as  she  got  an  inkling 
of  the  business,  found  out  that  it  was  of  an  immoral  tendency. 
Did  you  not,  my  lady-mother  ? ' 

'  Certainly,  my  best.  And  I  was  quite  right,  depend  on 
that;  there  are  a  thousand  reasons  why  liaisons  between 
governesses  and  tutors  should  never  be  tolerated  a  moment 
in  any  well-regulated  house  ;  firstly ' 

'  Oh,  gracious,  mamma  !  spare  us  the  enumeration  I  Au 
reste,  we  all  know  them :  danger  of  bad  example  to  the 
innocence  of  childhood — distractions  and  consequent  neglect 
of  duty— on  the  part  of  the  attached— mutual  alliance  and 
rehanco  ;  confidence  thence  resulting — insolence  accompany- 
ing— mutiny  and  general  blow-up.  Am  I  right,  Baroness 
Ingram,  of  Ingram  Park  ? ' 

Baroness  Ingram,  of  Ingram  Park  I 
But  Miss  Ingram*  can  also  show  herself  as  the  gay 
and  sprightly  trifler  with  Bochester's  well-bred  homage. 

1  Whenever  I  marry,'  she  continued,  after  a  pause  which 
none  interrupted,  '  I  am  resolved  that  my  husband  shall 
not  be  a  rival,  but  a  foil.  Mr.  Kochester,  now  sing,  and  I 
will  play  for  you.1 

4 1  am  all  obedience,'  was  the  response. 

1  Here,  then,  is  a  Corsair-song.  Know  that  I  doat  on 
Corsairs ;  and  for  that  reason  sing  it  "  con  spirito."  ' 

1  Commands  from  Miss  Ingram's  lips  would  put  spirit 
into  a  mug  of  milk  and  water.' 


INTBODUCTION  xvii 

And  so  on.  The  whole  scene  from  beginning  to  end 
is  a  piece  of  heavy  grotesque,  without  either  the  truth 
or  the  fun  of  good  satire.  It  was  these  pages,  of  course, 
and  certain  others  like  them  in  the  book,  that  set  George 
Henry  Lewes  preaching  the  '  mild  eyes/  the  '  truth,'  and 
1  finish  *  of  Miss  Austen  to  the  new  and  stormy  genius 
which  had  produced  'Jane  Eyre/  And  one  may  see, 
perhaps,  in  Charlotte's  soreness,  in  the  very  vehemence 
that  she  shows  under  this  particular  criticism,  that, 
secretly,  the  shaft  has  gone  home.  She  is,  after  all, 
infinitely  shrewd,  sensitive,  and,  in  the  end,  just.  She 
wrote  a  petulant  letter  to  Mr.  Lewes  ;  but  she  sent  for 
1  Pride  and  Prejudice,'  which  she  had  never  read,  and 
the  probability  is  that,  in  spite  of  a  natural  antipathy, 
her  quick  eye  took  note  at  once  of  the  fineness  of  stroke 
that  goes  to  caricature  itself  in  that  immortal  book ;  that 
she  pondered  Mr.  Collins  and  Lady  Catharine  de  Burgh  ; 
and  that  in  the  comparative  ease  and  urbanity  which 
marked  the  painting  of  manners  in '  Shirley,'  the  influence 
of  her  tilt  with  Lewes  counts  for  something. 

As  to  the  other  weaknesses  of  plot  and  conception, 
they  are  very  obvious  and  very  simple.  The  '  arrange- 
ments '  by  which  Jane  Eyre  is  led  to  find  a  home  in  the 
Eivers  household,  and  becomes  at  once  her  uncle's 
heiress,  and  the  good  angel  of  her  newly  discovered 
cousins ;  the  device  of  the  phantom  voice  that  recalls 
her  to  Rochester's  side ;  the  fire  that  destroys  the  mad 
wife,  and  delivers  into  Jane's  hands  a  subdued  and 
helpless  Rochester ;— all  these  belong  to  that  more 
mechanical  and  external  sort  of  plot-making,  which  the 


xviii  JANE  EYRE 

modern  novelist  of  feeling  and  passion  —  as  distinguished 
from  the  novelist  of  adventure  -  prides  himself  on 
renouncing.  To  him  the  painting  of  a  situation  like 
that,  say,  in  Benjamin  Constant's  '  Adolphe ' — infinitely 
true,  and  wholly  insoluble— where  the  writer  scorns  to 
apply  any  coercive  framework,  any  rough-and-ready 
'  plot '  to  his  material,  is  the  admirable  and  important 
thing.  The  true  subject  of  *  Jane  Eyre '  is  the  courage 
with  which  a  friendless  and  loving  girl  confronts  her 
own  passion,  and,  in  the  interest  of  some  strange  social 
instinct  which  she  knows  as  *  duty/  which  she  cannot 
explain  and  can  only  obey,  tramples  her  love  underfoot, 
and  goes  out  miserable  into  the  world.  Beside  this  wrestle 
of  the  human  will,  everything  else  is  trivial  or  vulgar. 
The  various  expedients— legacies,  uncles,  fires,  and  coin- 
cidences—by which  Jane  Eyre  is  ultimately  brought  to 
happiness,  cheapen  and  degrade  the  book  without  con- 
vincing the  reader.  In  fact— to  return  to  our  advocatus 
diaboli — '  "  Jane  Eyre  "  is  on  the  one  side  a  rather  poor 
novel  of  incident,  planned  on  the  conventional  pattern, 
and  full  of  clumsy  execution ;  on  another  side  it  is  a 
picture  of  passion  and  of  ideas,  for  which  in  truth  the 
writer  had  no  sufficient  equipment ;  she  moves  im- 
prisoned, to  quote  Mr.  Leslie  Stephen,  in  "a  narrow 
circle  of  thoughts  ;  "  if  you  press  it,  the  psychology  of  the 
book  is  really  childish  ;  Rochester  is  absurd,  Jane  Eyre, 
in  spite  of  the  stir  that  she  makes,  only  half-realised 
and  half-conscious.  Still,  as  a  study  of  feeling,  adapted 
to  some  extent  to  modern  realist  demands,  the  novel 
came  at  a  happy  moment.  It  is  one  of  the  signs,  no 


INTEODDCTION  xix 

doubt,  that  mark  the  transition  from  the  old  novel  to  the 
new,  from  the  old  novel  of  plot  and  coincidence  to  the 
new  novel  of  psychology  and  character.  But,  given  the 
defects  of  the  book,  how  is  it  possible  to  assign  it  a  high 
place  in  the  history  of  that  great  modern  art  which  has 
commanded  the  knowledge  of  a  Tolstoy,  and  the  mind 
of  a  Turguenieff,  which  is  the  subtle  interpreter  and  not 
the  vulgar  stage-manager  of  nature,  which  shrinks  from 
the  merely  obvious  and  vigorous,  and  is  ever  pressing 
forward  toward  that  more  delicate,  more  complex,  more 
elusive  expression,  satisfying  in  proportion  to  its  incom- 
pleteness, which  is  the  highest  response  of  human 
genius  to  this  unintelligible  world  ? ' 


II 

So  far  the  objector :  yet,  in  spite  of  it  all,  '  Jane 
Eyre '  persists,  and  Charlotte  Bronte  is  with  the  im- 
mortals. What  is  it  that  a  critic  bf  this  type  forgets  — 
what  item  does  he  drop  out  of  the  reckoning  which  yet, 
in  the  addition,  decides  the  sum  ? 

Simply,  one  might  say,  Charlotte  Bronte  herself. 
Literature,  says  Joubert,  has  been  called  the  expression 
of  society  ;  and  so  no  doubt  it  is,  looked  at  as  a  whole. 
In  the  single  writer,  however,  it  appears  rather  as  the 
expression  of  studies,  or  temper,  or  personality.  And 
this  last  is  the  best.  There  are  books  so  fine  that 
literature  in  them  is  but  the  expression  of  those  that 
write  them.'  In  other  words,  there  are  books  where 


xx  JANE  BYRE 

the  writer  seems  to  be  everything,  the  material 
employed,  the  environment,  almost  nothing.  The  main 
secret  of  the  charm  that  clings  to  Charlotte  Bronte's 
books  is,  and  .will  always  be,  the  contact  which  they  give 
us  with  her  own  fresh,  indomitable,  surprising  persona- 
lity—surprising, above  all.  In  spite  of  its  conventio- 
nalities of  scheme,  '  Jane  Eyre '  has,  in  detail,  in 
conversation,  in  the  painting  of  character,  that 
perpetual  magic  of  the  unexpected  which  overrides  a 
thousand  faults,  and  keeps  the  mood  of  the  reader 
happy  and  alert.  The  expedients  of  the  plot  may 
irritate  or  chill  the  artistic  sense ;  the  voice  of  the  story- 
teller, in  its  inflections  of  passion,  or  feeling  or  reverie, 
charms  and  holds  the  ear,  almost  from  first  to  last. 
The  general  plan  may  be  commonplace,  the  ideas  even 
of  no  great  profundity  ;  but  the  book  is  original.  How 
often  in  the  early  scenes  of  childhood  or  school-life  does 
one  instinctively  expect  the  conventional  solution,  the 
conventional  softening,  the  conventional  prettiness  or 
quaintness,  that  so  many  other  story-tellers,  of  undoubted 
talent,  could  not  have  resisted  !  And  it  never  comes. 
Hammer-like,  the  blows  of  a  passionate  realism  descend. 
Jane  Eyre,  the  little  helpless  child,  is  never  comforted  ; 
Mrs.  Reid,  the  cruel  aunt,  is  never  sorry  for  her  cruelties ; 
Bessie,  the  kind  nurse,  is  not  very  kind,  she  does  not 
break  the  impression,  she  satisfies  no  instinct  of  poetic 
compensation,  she  only  just  makes  the  story  credible, 
the  reader's  assent  possible.  So,  at  Lowood,  Helen  Burns 
is  not  a  suffering  angel;  there  is  nothing  consciously 
pretty  or  touching  in  the  wonderful  picture  of  her: 


INTBODUCTION  xxi 

reality,  with  its  discords,  its  infinite  novelties,  lends 
word  and  magic  to  the  passion  of  Charlotte's  memory  of 
lier  dead  sister ;  all  is  varied,  living,  poignant,  full  of 
the  inexhaustible  savour  of  truth,  and  warm  with  the 
fire  of  the  heart.  So  that  at  last,  when  pure  pathos 
comes,  when  Helen  sleeps  herself  to  death  in  Jane's 
arms,  when  the  struggle  is  over,  and  room  is  made  for 
softness,  for  pity,  the  mind  of  the  reader  yields  itself 
wholly,  without  reserve,  to  the  working  of  an  artist  so 
masterful,  so  self-contained,  so  rightly  frugal  as  to  the 
great  words  and  great  emotions  of  her  art.  We  are  in 
the  presence  of  the  same  kind  of  power  as  that  which 
drew  the  death  of  Bazarov  in  '  Fathers  and  Sons ' — a 
power  which,  in  the  regions  covered  by  the  experience  of 
the  mind  behind  it,  '  nothing  common  does  nor  mean,' 
which  shrinks  from  the  borrowed  and  the  imitated  and 
the  insincere,  as  the  patriot  shrinks  from  treason. 

Personality  then — strong,  free,  passionate  personality 
— is  the  sole  but  the  sufficient  spell  of  these  books.  Can 
we  analyse  some  of  its  elements  ?— so  far,  at  least,  as 
their  literary  expression  is  concerned  ? 

In  the  first  place,  has  it  ever  been  sufficiently 
recognised  that  Charlotte  Bronte  is  first  and  foremost 
an  Irishwoman,  that  her  genius  is  at  bottom  a  Celtic 
genius  ?  When  she  first  appeared  at  the  Eoehead  school 
in  1831,  as  a  child  of  fourteen,  it  was  noticed  by  the 
schoolfellow  to  whom  we  owe  so  many  early  remem- 
brances of  her,  that  she  '  spoke  with  a  strong  Irish 
accent.'  Her  father  came  from  an  Irish  cabin  in 
County  Down;  her  mother  was  of  a  Cornish  family. 


xxii  JANE  EYEB 

The  main  characteristics  indeed  of  the  Gelt  are  all  hers 
— disinterestedness,  melancholy,  wildness,  a  wayward 
force  and  passion,  for  ever  wooed  by  sounds  and 
sights  to  which  other  natures  are  insensible  -  by  mur- 
murs from  the  earth,  by  colours  in  the  sky,  by  tones 
and  accents  of  the  soul,  that  speak  to  the  Celtic  sense  as 
to  no  other.  'We  shall  never  build  the  Parthenon/ 
said  Eenan  of  his  own  Breton  race  ;  '  marble  is  not  for 
us ;  but  we  know  how  to  grip  the  heart  and  the  soul ; 
we  have  an  art  of  piercing  that  belongs  to  us  alone  ;  we 
plunge  our  hands  into  the  entrails  of  man,  and,  like  the 
witches  of  "  Macbeth,"  we  draw  them  back  full  of  the 
secrets  of  the  infinite.  The  great  marvel  of  our  art  is  to 
know  how  to  make  a  charm  out  of  the  very  disease  that 
plagues  us.  A  spring  of  eternal  madness  rises  in  the 
heart  of  our  race.  The  "  realm  of  faery,"  the  most 
beautiful  on  earth,  is  our  domain.' — Idealism,  under- 
stood as  a  life-long  discontent ;  passion,  conceived  as  an 
inner  thirst  and  longing  that  wears  and  kills  more  often 
than  it  makes  happy ;  a  love  of  home  and  kindred 
entwined  with  the  very  roots  of  life,  so  that  home- 
sickness may  easily  exhaust  and  threaten  life ;  an  art 
directed  rather  to  expression  than  to  form  —ragged  often 
and  broken,  but  always  poignant,  always  suggestive, 
touched  with  reverie  and  emotion;  who  does  not 
recognise  in  these  qualities,  these  essentially  Celtic 
qualities,  the  qualities  of  the  Bronte  s  ? 

Take  this  passage  from  Charlotte's  letter  to  Miss 
Nussey,  announcing  Emily's  death : 


INTBODUCTION  xxiii 

The  anguish  of  seeing  her  suffer  is  over ;  the  spectacle  of 
the  pains  of  death  is  gone  by  ;  the  funeral  day  is  past.  We 
feel  she  is  at  peace.  No  need  now  to  tremble  for  the  hard 
frost  and  the  keen  wind.  Emily  does  not  feel  them.  She 
died  in  a  time  of  promise.  We  saw  her  taken  from  life  in 
its  prime. 

Or,  again  : 

I  cannot  forget  Emily's  death-day. — It  was  very  terrible. 
She  was  torn,  conscious,  panting,  reluctant,  though  resolute, 
out  of  a  happy  life. 

Or,  takft  the  well-known  outburst  in  '  Shirley/  where 
Charlotte,  writing  in  the  desolate  Haworth  home  after 
her  sisters'  deaths,  turns  from  the  description  of  Jessy 
Yorke,  to  think  of  Martha  Taylor,  Jessy  Yorke's  original, 
and  of  Martha's  burial-day  in  Brussels : — 

But,  Jessy,  I  will  write  about  you  no  more.  This  is  an 
autumn  evening,  wet  and  wild.  There  is  only  one  cloud  in 
the  sky ;  but  it  curtains  it  from  pole  to  pole.  The  wind  can- 
not rest;  it  hurries,  sobbing,  over  hills  of  sullen  outline, 
colourless  with  twilight  and  mist.  Bain  has  beat  all  day  on 
that  church  tower  — 

[-  one  thinks  of  her,  lifting  her  eyes  from  her  small 
writing,  as  she  looks  down  the  bare  strip  of  garden  to 
Haworth  Church — ]  ; 

— it  rises  dark  from  the  stony  enclosure  of  its  graveyard  :  the 
nettles,  the  long  grass,  and  the  tombs  all  drip  with  wet. 
This  evening  reminds  me  too  forcibly  of  another  evening 
some  years  ago :  a  howling,  rainy,  autumn  evening,  too, — 
when  certain  who  had  that  day  performed  a  pilgrimage  to  a 
grave  new-made  in  a  heretic  cemetery,  sat  near  a  wood  fire 


xxiv  JANE  EYEE 

on  the  hearth  of  a  foreign  dwelling.  They  were  merry  and 
social,  but  they  each  knew  that  a  gap,  never  to  be  filled,  had 
been  made  in  their  circle.  They  knew  they  had  lost  some- 
thing whose  absence  could  never  be  quite  atoned  for,  so  long 
as  they  lived ;  and  they  knew  that  heavy  falling  rain  was 
soaking  into  the  wet  earth  which  covered  their  lost  darling ; 
and  that  the  sad,  sighing  gale  was  mourning  above  her  buried 
head.  The  fire  warmed  them ;  Life  and  Friendship  yet 
blessed  them:  but  Jessy  lay  cold,  coffined,  solitary — only 
the  sod  screening  her  from  the  storm. 

These  passages  surely  have  the  Celtic  quality,  if  ever 
writing  had.  Eapid,  yearning,  broken  speech  ! — there 
is  no  note  more  penetrating  in  our  literature. 

Then,  as  to  the  Celtic  pride,  the  Celtic  shyness,  the 
Celtic  endurance, — Charlotte  Bronte  was  rich  in  them  all. 
Her  nature  loves  to  give — recoils  from  gifts.  She  will 
owe  nothing  to  anyone ;  she  half  enjoys,  half  dislikes, 
the  kindnesses  even  of  her  friendly  and  considerate  pub- 
lisher ;  and  in  society  she  will  neither  be  exhibited  nor 
patronised.  Nor  will  she  submit  her  judgment  or  taste  ; 
she  will  swear  to  ncr  man's  words.  Nothing  is  more 
curious  than  to  mark  the  resolute,  and  even  haughty, 
independence  with  which  the  little  countrywoman 
approached  for  the  first  time  the  literary  world  and  the 
celebrities  of  London.  She  breaks  her  shy  silence  at  a 
dinner-table  crowded  with  Macready  worshippers  lo 
denounce  Macready's  acting  ;  when  Thackeray  comes  to 
see  her  for  the  first  time,  she  herself  says,  '  The  giant 
sate  before  me ;  I  was  moved  to  speak  to  him  of  some  of 
his  shortcomings  (literary,  of  course) ;  one  by  one  the 
faults  came  into  my  head,  and  one  by  one  I  brought 


INTEODUCTION  xxv 

them  out  and  sought  some  explanation  or  defence ; ' — so 
that  Mr.  Smith,  sitting  by,  may  well  describe  it  as  '  a 
queer  scene.1  She  will  have  nothing  to  say  to  Miss 
Barrett's  poetry ;  and  when  she  returns  to  Haworth, 
she  says,  with  a  touch  of  quiet  and  confident  scorn,  that 
London  people  talk  a  great  deal  of  writers  and  books 
who  mean  nothing  in  the  country,  nothing  to  England 
at  large.  As  to  the  shyness,  it  was  the  torment  of  both 
her  physical  and  mental  life.  The  Celtic  craving  for 
solitude,  the  Celtic  shrinking  from  all  active  competitive 
existence  —  they  were  part  of  Charlotte's  inmost  nature, 
although  perpetually  crossed  and  checked,  no  doubt,  by 
other  influences  driving  her  to  utterance,  to  production, 
to  sustained  effort.  And  for  endurance — did  not  her 
short  life,  divided  between  labour,  fame,  and  calamity, 
make,  first  and  chief  upon  all  who  knew  it,  the  impres- 
sion of  an  unshaken  and  indomitable  spirit?  The 
r  chainless  soul f  was  hers  no  less  than  Emily's,  though 
she  was  far  saner  and  sweeter  than  Emily. 

And  all  three  qualities  —pride,  shrinking,  endurance 
— are  writ  large  in  her  books.  'With  passion  added, 
they  are  Jane  Eyre  and  Lucy  Snowe.  They  supply  the 
atmosphere,  the  peculiar  note,  of  all  the  stories.  A 
contempt  for  mean  and  easy  living,  for  common  gains, 
and  common  luxuries,  breathes  in  them,  and  makes 
them  harsh  and  bracing  £ts  the  air  of  her  own  moors. 

And  one  other  Celtic  quality  there  is  in  Charlotte 
Bronte  and  her  books,  which  is  responsible  perhaps  for 
half  their  defects.  It  is  a  quality  of  exuberance,  of 
extravagance,  of  what  her  contemporaries  called  'bad 


xxvi  JANE  EYEB 

taste.'  Charles  Kingsley  threw  '  Shirley '  aside  because 
the  opening  seemed  to  him  vulgar.  Miss  Martineau  ex- 
pressed much  the  same  judgment  on '  Villette.'  And  there 
can  be  no  doubt  that  there  was  in  Miss  Bronte  a  curious 
vein  of  recklessness,  roughness,  one  might  also  say— 
hoydenism—  that  exists  side  by  side  with  an  exquisite 
delicacy  and  a  true  dignity,  and  is  none  the  less  Irish 
and  Celtic  for  that.  It  disappears,  so  far  as  one  can 
see,  with  the  publication  of  '  Shirley  ; '  but,  up  till  then, 
it  has  to  be  reckoned  with.  It  is  conspicuous  in  the 
whole  episode  of  '  the  curates/  both  in  real  life  and  in 
the  pages  of  '  Shirley ; '  it  is  visible  especially  in 
certain  recently  published  letters  to  Miss  Nussey, 
which  one  could  wish  had  been  left  unprinted  ;  and 
it  makes  the  one  shadow  of  excuse  for  the  inexcus- 
able '  Quarterly  '  article.  There  is  one  sentence  in  the 
first  chapter  of  '  Shirley,'  which  may  serve  both  as  an 
illustration  of  this  defect,  and  as  a  landmark  pointing 
to  certain  radical  differences  of  feeling  that  separate 

1900  from  1850.    It  occurs  in  the  course  of  an  address 

• 

to  the  reader,  warning  him  to  expect  neither  sentiment, 
poetry,  nor  passion  from  the  book  before  him.  '  Calm 
your  expectations ;  reduce  them  to  a  lowly  standard.  .  .  . 
It  is  not  positively  affirmed  that  you  shall  not  have  a 
taste  of  the  exciting,  perhaps  towards  the  middle  and 
close  of  the  meal,  but  it  is  resolved  that  the  first  dish 
set  upon  the  table  shall  be  one  that  a  Catholic — aye, 
even  an  Anglo-Catholic —n&ght  eat  on  Good  Friday 
on  Passion  Week  :  it  shall  be  cold  lentils  and  vinegar 
without  oil ;  it  shall  be  unleavened  bread  with  bitter 
herbs,  and  no  roast  lamb.9 


INTBODUCTION  xxvii 

These  lines  that  I  have  thrown  into  italics  were 
written  in   1850,  five  years  after  Newman's  secession, 
in  the  midst  no  doubt  of  a  swelling  tide  of  Liberal 
reaction,  destined,  however,  as  we  all  know  now,  to 
interfere  very  little  with  the  spread  and  power  of  those 
deep  undercurrents  setting  from  the  Oxford  Movement. 
The  hasty  arrogance,  the  failure  in  feeling  and  right 
instinct,  which  the  passage  shows,  mark  the  chief  limita- 
tion and  weakness  in  the  artist  who  wrote  it.    It  is  a 
weakness  of  taste,  a  limitation,  as  Mr.  Leslie  Stephen 
would  perhaps  insist,  of  thought  and  idea.  Taken  together 
with  the  country-house  scenes  in  '  Jane  Eyre,'  with  some 
of  the  curate  scenes  in  '  Shirley,'  with  various  passages 
of  raw  didactic  and  rather  shrill  preaching,  this  utterance, 
and  some  others  like  it,  suggest  a  lack  of  social  intel- 
ligence, of  a  wide  outlook,  of  that  sense,  above  all,  for 
measure  and  urbanity  which  belongs  to  other  and  more 
perfect  art— like   George   Sand's— or   to    a    more   ex- 
quisitely tempered  instinct  -  like  that  of  Burns.     One 
returns  to  Kenan's  explanation  :  '  We  Celts  shall  never 
build  a  Parthenon  ;  marble  is  not  for  UP  '    Our  art  is 
uncertain  and  wavering ;   liable  to  manj    lapses   and 
false  notes.    But !— '  we  lay  our  grip  on  heart  and  soul, 
we  bring  up  from  the  depths  of  the  human  spirit  the 
secrets  of  the  infinite.' 

Ill 

The  Irish  and  Celtic  element  in  Charlotte  Bronte, 
however,  is  not  all.     Far  from  it.     Crossing,  controlling 


xxviii  JANE  EYES 

the  wild  impetuous  temper  of  the  Irishwoman  is  an 
influence  from  another  world,  an  influence  of  habit  and 
long  association,  breathed  from  Yorkshire,  and  the  hard, 
frugal,  persistent  North.  One  has  but  to  climb  her 
Haworth  hills  to  feel  it  flowing  around  one.  Let  it  be 
in  the  winter,  on  some  frosty  white-rimed  day,  when 
the  tops  of  the  moors  are  lost  in  the  cold  mist,  while  a 
dim  sun  steals  along  their  sides  showing  the  great  mills 
in  the  hollows,  the  ice-fringed  streams,  the  bare  half- 
poisoned  woods,  the  rows  of  stone  cottages,  while  the 
horse's  hoofs  ring  sharp  on  the  paving-stones  of  this 
Haworth  Street  that  mounts  stern  and  steep,  without  a 
relenting  slope  or  zig-zag,  heedless  of  the  strained 
muscles  of  man  or  beast,  from  the  busy  factories  below 
to  the  towered  church  and  the  little  parsonage  on  the 
hill-top.  The  small  stone  houses  mount  with  you  on 
either  hand,  low,  ugly,  solid,  without  a  trace  of  colour  or 
ornament,  the  decent  yet  unlovely  homes  of  a  sturdy 
industrious  race.  The  chimneys  pour  out  their  smoke, 
the  valley  hums  with  life  and  toil.  You  stand  at  the  top 
of  the  hill  and  look  around  you.  Manchester  and  the 
teeming  Lancashire  world  are  behind  you.  Bradford 
and  Leeds  in  front  of  you.  You  can  see  nothing  through 
the  sun-lit  fog,  save  the  rolling  forms  of  the  moors  bear- 
ing their  dim  ever-growing  burden  of  houses  ;  but  you 
know  that  you  stand  in  the  heart  of  working  England, 
the  England  that  goes  through  its  labour  and  its  play, 
its  trade-unionism  and  its  football,  its  weaving  or  its 
coal-mining,  with  equal  vigour  and  tenacity,  with  all  the 


INTEODUCTION  xxix 

English  love  of  gain  and  the  English  thirst  for 
success  —watchful,  jealous,  thrifty,  absorbed  in  this  very 
tangible  earth,  and  the  struggle  to  subdue  it,  stained 
with  many  coarse  and  brutal  things,  scornful  of  the 
dreamer  and  the  talker,  and  yet,  by  virtue  of  its  very 
strength  of  striving  life,  its  very  excesses  of  rough  force 
and  will,  holding  in  its  deep  breast  powers  of  passion  and 
of  drama  unsuspected  even  by  itself. 

Amid  this  rude  full-blooded  keen-brained  world  grew 
up  the  four  wonderful  children  who  had  survived  their 
fragile  mother  and  their  two  elder  sisters.  From  the 
beginning  they  showed  the  Celtic  qualities —the  Celtic 
vision  that  re-makes  the  world,  throws  it  into  groups  and 
pictures,  seen  with  a  magical  edge  and  sharpness.  Are 
they  gathered  on  a  winter's  night  round  the  kitchen  fire 
with  Tabby  for  a  companion?  Charlotte— a  mere 
child — sees  the  little  scene  as  a  whole,  as  a  poet  or  a 
painter  would  see  it,  notes  the  winter  storm  and  wind 
outside,  the  glow  within,  the  quick-witted  children,  the 
old  servant,  throws  it  all  into  a  fragment  of  vivid 
dialogue  and  writes  it  down— realised,  on  record,  for 
ever.  Or  a  tramp,  talking  the  language  of  religious  mania, 
comes  to  the  door.  Again  Charlotte  marks  him,  stamps 
him  into  words,  makes  a  permanent  representative 
figure  out  of  him,  a  figure  of  the  imagination.  Yet  all 
the  time  there  are  secret  bonds  between  these  four 
small  creatures— the  children  of  an  Irish  father  and  a 
Cornish  mother— and  the  stern  practical  Yorkshire  world 
about  them.  For  they  come  not  from  the  typical  and 
Catholic  Ireland,  but  from  the  Ireland  of  the  North,  on 


xxx  JANE  EYRE 

which  commerce  and  Protestantism  have  set  their  grasp, 
the  Ireland  which  has  half  yielded  itself  to  England.  In 
the  girls,  at  any  rate,  the  Bible  and  Puritanism  have 
mingled  with  their  Celtic  blood.  Economy,  self- 
discipline,  constancy,  self -repression,  order,—  these  things 
come  easily  to  them,  so  far  as  the  outer  conduct  of  life  is 
concerned.  They  take  their  revenge  in  dreams, —in  the 
whims  and  passions  of  the  imagination.  But  they  cook 
and  clean  and  sew,  they  learn  all  the  household  arts  that 
their  aunt  and  Tabby  can  teach  them.  They  are  docile, 
hard-working,  hard-living.  They  are  poor,  saving, 
industrious,  keenly  alive  to  the  value  of  money  and  of 
work,  like  the  world  about  them. 

And  it  is  this  mixture  of  Celtic  dreaming  with  English 
realism  and  self-control  which  gives  value  and  origi- 
nality to  all  they  do —to  Emily's  '  Wuthering  Heights/  to 
Charlotte's  four  stories.  Lady  Caroline  Lamb,  an 
Irishwoman  like  Charlotte,  could  tear  you  a  passion  to 
tatters,  in  '  Glenarvon/  with  a  certain  wild  power. 
Take  a  passage  at  random  :— 

'Many -can  deceive/ said  Glenarvon,  mournfully  gazing 
on  Calantha  whilst  she  wept ;  '  but  is  your  lover  like  the 
common  herd?  Ohl  we  have  loved,  my  gentle  mistress, 
better  than  they  know  how ;  we  have  dared  the  utmost : 
your  mind  and  mine  must  not  even  be  compared  with  theirs. 
Let  the  vulgar  dissefmble  find  fear— let  them  talk  idly  in  the 
unmeaning  jargon  they  admire ;  they  never  felt  what  we 
have  felt ;  they  never  dared  what  we  have  done  :  to  win,  and 
to  betray,  is  with  them  an  air— a  fancy ;  and  fit  is  the 
delight  for  the  beings  who  can  enjoy  it. — But  if  once  I  show 
myself  again,  the  rabble  must  shrink  at  last ;  they  dare  not 


INTKODUCTJON  xxxi 

stand  before  Glenarvon.  Heaven  or  hell,  I  care  not  which, 
have  cast  a  ray  so  bright  around  my  brow  that  not  all  the 
perfidy  of  a  heart  as  lost  as  mine,  of  a  heart  loaded,  as  you 
know  too  well,  with  crimes  man  shudders  even  to  imagine-  - 
not  all  the  envy  and  malice  of  those  whom  my  contempt 
has  stung  can  lower  me  to  their  level.  And  you,  Calantha, 
do  you  think  you  will  ever  le-irn  to  hate  me,  even  were  I  to 
leave  and  to  betray  you  ? — Poor  blighted  flower — to  thy  last 
wretched  hour  thou  wouldst  pine  in  unavailing  recollection 
and  regret;  as  Clytie,  though  bound  and  fettered  to  the 
earth,  still  fixes  her  uplifted  eyes  upon  her  own  sun,  who 
passes  ovor  regardless  in  his  course,  nor  deigns  to  cast  a 
look  below  l ' 

This  was  passion,  masterful  passion,  as  a  woman, 
Byron's  pupil,  conceived  it,  in  1816,  the  year  of  Char- 
lotte Bronte's  birth.  It  is  instructive  sometimes  to  look 
back  at  landmarks  of  this  lesser  kind.  There  is  vigour 
in  these  sentences,  but  compare  their  vague  and  mouthing 
falsity  with  any  conversation  in  Mane  Eyre'— above 
all,  with  the  touches  in  the  last  scene  between 
Jane  and  Eochester.  Dwell  on  the  moment  when 
Jane,  carrying  the  tray,  enters  the  blind  man's  pre- 
sence;  notice  how  clear  and  true  — with  the  clearness 
and  truth  of  poetry-  are  all  the  stages  of  recognition 
and  of  rapture— till  Eochester  says  : 

1  Hitherto  T  have  hated  to  be  helped— to  bo  led ;  hence- 
forth, I  feel  I  shall  hate  it  no  more.  I  did  not  like  to  put 
my  hand  into  a  hireling's  ;  but  it  is  pleasant  to  feel  it  circled 
by  Jane's  little  fingers.  I  preferred  utter  loneliness  to  the 
constant  attendance  of  servants ;  but  Jane's  soft  ministry 
will  be  a  perpetual  joy.  Jane  suits  me ;  do  I  suit  her  ?  ' 

'  To  tiie  finest  fibre  of  my  nature,  sir.'    .  .  .  Eeverently 


xxxii  JANE  EYRE 

lifting  his  hat  from  his  brow,  and  bending  his  sightless  eyes 
to  the  earth,  he  stood  in  mute  devotion.  Only  the  last 
words  of  the  worship  were  audible. 

'  I  thank  my  Maker  that  in  the  midst  of  judgment  He 
has  remembered  mercy.  I  humbly  entreat  my  Redeemer 
to  give  me  strength  to  lead  henceforth  a  purer  life  than  I 
have  done  hitherto/ 

Then  he  stretched  out  his  hand  to  be  led.  I  took  that 
dear  hand,  held  it  a  moment  to  my  lips,  then  let  it  pass 
round  my  shoulder ;  being  so  much  lower  of  stature  than 
he,  I  served  both  for  his  prop  and  guide.  We  entered  the 
wood  and  wended  homeward. 

What  feeling,  and  what  truth !— a  truth  all  Char- 
lotte's own,  not  Jane  Austen's  nor  another's— in  which 
we  may,  if  we  will,  detect  the  fusion  of  two  races,  the 
mingling  of  two  worlds. 


IV 

As  to  the  outer  and  material  history  of  '  Jane  Eyre,' 
it  is  written  to  some- extent  in  Mrs.  Gaskell's  'Life/  and 
has  employed  the  pens  of  many  a  critic  and  local 
antiquary  since.  We  all  know  that  Lowood  is  Cowan 
Bridge,  that  Helen  Burns  stands  for  Maria  Bronte,  that 
'  Miss  Temple '  and  '  Miss  Scatcherd  '  were  drawn  from 
real  people ;  we  are  told  that  Thornfield  Hall  was  sug- 
gested by  one  old  Yorkshire  house,  and  Ferndean  Manor 
by  another ;  that  St.  John  Rivers  had  an  original : 
we  may  take  for  granted  that  Charlotte's  own  experiences 
as  a  governess  have  passed  into  the  bitterness  with 
which  the  rich  and  'society'  are  described;  and- Mrs. 


INTEODUCTION  xxxiii 

Gaskell  has  recorded  that,  according  to  Charlotte's  own 
testimony,  the  incident  of  the  midnight  voice  heard  by 
Bochester  and  Jane  was  '  true '  and  *  really  happened.' 

Such  identifications  and  researches  will  always  have 
their  interest,  though  the  artist  never  sees  as  the  critic 
sees,  and  is  often  filled  with  a  secret  amazement  when 
he  or  she  is  led  back  to  the  scene  or  the  person  which  is 
supposed  to  have  furnished— which  did  indeed  furnish 
—  the  germ,  and  the  clay.  The  student  will  collect  these 
details;  the  reader  will  do  well  not  to  pay  too  much 
attention  to  them.  The  literary  affiliations  and  connec- 
tions of  the  book  would  be  far  more  important  and 
significant  if  one  could  trace  them.  But  they  are  not 
easy  to  trace. 

If  one  gathers  together  the  information  to  be  gleaned 
from  Mrs.  Gaskell's  *  Life '  and  elsewhere,  as  to  Char- 
lotte's book  education —that  voracious  and  continuous 
reading  to  which  we  have  many  references,  one  may 
arrive  at  a  general  outline,  something  of  this  kind. — 
There  were  no  children's  books  in  Ha^orth  Parsonage. 
The  children  there  were  nourished  upon  the  food  of 
their  elders :  the  Bible,  Shakspeare,  Addison,  Johnson, 
Sheridan,  Cowper,  for  the  past ;  Scott,  Byron,  Southey, 
Wordsworth,  Coleridge, '  Blackwood's  Magazine,' *  Eraser's 
Magazine/  and  Leigh  Hunt  for  the  moderns ;  on  a  con- 
stant supply  of  newspapers,  Whig  and  Tory— Charlotte 
once  said  to  a  friend  that  she  had  taken  an  interest  in 
politics  since  she  was  five  years  old— on  current  biogra- 
phies, such  as  Lockhart's  Life  of  Burns,  Moore's  Lives 
of  Byron  and  Sheridan,  Southey's  '  Nelson,'  Wolfe's '  Be- 


xxxiv  JANE  EYEE 

mains ; '  and  on  miscellaneous  readings  of  old  Methodist 
magazines  containing  visions  and  miraculous  conver- 
sions, Mrs.  Eowe's  'Letters  from  the  Dead  to  the 
Living,'  the  'British  Essayists/  collected  from  the 
'  Kambler,'  the  '  Mirror,7  and  elsewhere,  and  stories  from 
the  '  Lady's  Magazine.7  They  breathed,  therefore,  as  far 
as  books  were  concerned,  a  bracing  and  stimulating  air 
from  the  beginning.  Nothing  was  softened  or  adapted 
for  them.  Before  little  Maria,  the  eldest  girl,  died,  at 
the  age  of  eleven,  her  father  could  discuss  with  her 
any  current  topic  in  which  he  himself  was  interested,  as 
though  she  were  grown-up  and  his  equal. 

The  Duke  of  Wellington  was  their  nursery-hero,  and 
Charlotte,  a  child  of  twelve,  recorded  at  the  time  the 
emotions  with  which  the  news  of  Catholic  Emancipa- 
tion was  received  at  Haworth  Parsonage,  and  spent  her 
leisure  time  at  school,  when  she  was  fifteen,  in  fighting 
a  Eadical  schoolfellow  on  behalf  of  the  Duke  and 
against  Reform. 

Thus  strongly  were  the  foundations  laid,  deep  in  the 
rich  main  soil  of  English  life  and  letters.  The  force  and 
freedom  with  which  these  lonely  girls  wrote  and  thought 
from  the  beginning  they  owed  largely  to  this  first  training. 
Later  on*,  both  in  Charlotte  and  in  Emily,  certain  foreign 
influences  come  in.  Just  as  Emily  certainly  owed 
something  to  Hofmann's  Tales,  so  Charlotte  probably 
owed  much  —more,  I  am  inclined  to  believe,  than  has  yet 
been  recognised— to  the  books  of  French  Eomanticism, 
that  great  movement  starting  from  Chateaubriand  at 
the  beginning  of  the  century,  and  already  at  its  height 


INTEODUCTION  xxxv 

before  '  Jane  Eyre '  was  written.  There  are  one  or  two 
pieces  of  evidence  that  bear  on  this  point.  In  1840, 
before  the  visit  to  Brussels,  Charlotte  writes  that  she 

has  received '  another  bale  of  French  books  from  G ' — 

apparently  from  the  Taylors  -'containing  upwards  of 
forty  volumes.  They  are  like  the  rest,  clever,  wicked, 
sophistical,  and  immoral.  The  best  of  it  is,  that  they 
give  one  a  thorough  idea  of  France  and  Paris.'  If  these 
were  contemporary  books,  as,  from  the  last  sentence,  one 
might  suppose  they  were,  it  is  worth  while  to  inquire 
what  writers  were  probably  among  them.  By  1840 
Victor  Hugo  had  written  '  Marion  Delorme/  '  Hernani/ 
'Le  Roi  s'amufle/  'Ruy  Bias/  six  volumes  of  poems, 
'Notre  Dame  de  Paris/  and  much  else.  Alfred  de 
Musset,  who  was  thirty  in  1840,  had  done  all  his  work 
of  any  importance,  and  sunk  into  premature  exhaustion ; 
'Premieres  Poesies/  '  Rolla/ '  Confession  d'un  Enfant  du 
Siecle/  '  Espoir  en  Dieu  ' — were  they  in  the  packet  that 
reached  Charlotte  in  1840?  George  Sand,  making  her 
first  great  success  with  '  Indiana '  in  1832,  had  produced 
*  Valentine/  Lelia/  '  Jacques/  '  Leone  Leoni/  '  Andre/ 
'  Mauprat/  and  some  others.  Balzac,  herald  of  another 
age  and  another  world,  had  been  ten  years  at  work  on 
the  'Comedie  Humaine/  We  know,  however,  from  a 
letter  of  Charlotte's  in  1848,  that  she  never  read  a 
novel  of  Balzac's  till  after  the  publication  of  '  Jane  Eyre.' 
But  she  did  read  George  Sand,  as  the  same  letter 
informs  us,  and  the  influence  of  that  great  romantic 
artist  in  whom  restless  imagination  went  hand  in  hand 
with  a  fine  and  chosen  realism,  was  probably  of  some 


xxxvi  JANE  EYRE 

true  importance  in  the  development  of  Charlotte  Bronte's 
genius.  During  her  two  years  in  Brussels,  under  the 
teaching  of  M.  Heger  —  who  gave  her  passages  from 
Victor  Hugo  to  study  as  models  of  style,  and  was 
himself  a  keen  reader,  critic,  and  lecturer — there' can  be 
little  question  that  she  made  wide  acquaintance  with  the 
French  books  of  the  day,  and  it  was  the  day  of  Victor 
Hugo,  Alfred  de  Musset,  and  George  Sand.  It  has  not 
yet,  I  think,  been  pointed  out  that  there  is  in  '  Jacques  * 
— a  novel  written  in  1834 — a  very  curious  anticipation 
of  the  cry  of  Rochester  to  Jane.  The  passage  occurs  in 
a  letter  from  Sylvia,  the  sisterly  friend,  to  Jacques,  about 
to  become  the  husband  of  Pernande : — 

Mon  &me  est  habitude  a  vivre  seule,  Dieu  le  veut  ainsi ; 
que  vient  faire  la  tienne  dans  ma  solitude?  Viens-tu 
m'avertir  de  quelque  danger,  ou  in'annoncer  quelque  malheur 
plus  6pouvantable  quc  tous  ceux  auxquels  a  suffi  mon 
courage  ?  L'autre  soir  j'&tais  assise  au  pied  de  la  montagne ; 
le  ciel  etait  voile,  et  le  vent  gemissait  dans  les  arbres;  j'ai 
entendu  distinctement,  au  milieu  de  ces  sons  d'une  trisle 
harmonie,  le  son  de  ta  voix.  Elle  a  jet6  trois  ou  quatre  notes 
dans  1'espace,  faibles,  mais  si  pures  et  si  saisissables  que  j'ai 
6te  voir  les  buissons  d'ofr  elle  6tait  partie  pour  m'assurer  que 
tu  n'y  etais  pas.  Ces  choses-la  m'ont  rarement  trompee; 
Jacques,  il  faut  qu'il  y  ait  un  orage  sur  nos  tetes. 

The  suggestion,  the  romantic  suggestion  of  these 
sentences  may  very  possibly  have  come  in  Charlotte 
Bronte's  way,  may  have  mingled  with,  perhaps  given 
birth  to,  some  later  fancy  or  experience,  of  which  she 
spoke  to  Mrs.  Gaskell,  and  so  found  shape  ultimately  in 
the  thrilling  scene  of  '  Jane  Eyre.'  Of  direct  imitation 


INTRODUCTION  xxxvii 

of  George  Sand  there  is  nowhere  any  trace ;  but  in 
certain  parts  of  '  Shirley/  in  the  '  Marriage  of  Genius 
and  Humanity/  for  instance,  the  stimulating  influence 
of  certain  famous  passages  in  ( Lelia  '  suggests  itself 
readily ;  and  throughout '  Villette '  there  is  constantly 
something  in  her  mode  of  approaching  her  subject,  even 
in  the  turn  of  the  sentences,  especially  in  the  use  of 
participles,  which  is  French  rather  than  English.  All 
the  books  testify  to  her  pride  in  her  French  culture. 
She  had  won  it  at  great  cost ;  it  had  opened  fresh 
worlds  to  her,  and  she  makes  free  use  of  it  in  numerous 
scenes  of  '  Shirley '  and  *  Villette/  and  in  the  whole  por- 
traiture of  the  Moores. 

The  differences,  of  course,  between  her  and  the 
author  of  '  Jacques '  are  great  and  fundamental.  Char- 
lotte Bronte's  main  stuff  is  English,  Protestant,  law- 
respecting,  conventional  even.  No  judgment  was  ever 
more  foolish  than  that  which  detected  a  social  rebel  in 
the  writer  of  '  Jane  Eyre.'  She  thought  the  French 
books,  as  we  have  seen,  '  clever,  wicked,  sophistical,  and 
immoral.'  But  she  read  them  ;  and  for  all  her  revolt 
from  them,  they  quickened  and  fertilised  her  genius. 
More  than  this.  The  influence  which  she  absorbed  from 
them  has  given  her  a  special  place  in  our  literature  of 
imagination.  She  stands  between  Jane  Austen,  the 
gentle  and  witty  successor  of  Miss  Burney  and  Kichard- 
son,  and  George  Eliot,  upon  whom  played  influences  of 
quite  another  kind — German,  critical,  scientific — repre- 
senting the  world  which  succeeded  the  world  of '  Hernani.' 
Midway  appears  the  work  of  Charlotte  Bronte,  linked 


xxxviii  JANE  EYRE 

in  various  significant  ways  with  the  French  romantic 
movement,  which  began  with  '  Atala '  in  1801,  and  had 
run  its  course  abroad  before  1847,  the  year  of  '  Jane 
Eyre.'  One  may  almost  say  of  it,  indeed,  that  it  belongs 
more  to  the  European  than  to  the  special  English  tra- 
dition. For  all  its  strongly  marked  national  and  pro- 
vincial elements,  it  was  very  early  understood  and 
praised  in  France ;  and  it  was  of  a  French  critic,  and  a 
French  critic  only,  that  Charlotte  Bronte  said  with  grati- 
tude, in  the  case  of  Shirley,  'he  follows  Currer  Bell 
through  every  winding,  discerns  every  point,  dis- 
criminates every  shade,  proves  himself  master  of  the 
subject,  and  lord  of  the  aim.' 

MAEY  A,  WARD, 


Facsimile  of  the  Title-page  of  tlw  First  Edition 


JANE    EYRE. 


EDITED  BY 

CURREfi    BELL 


IN    THREE    VOLUMES 
VOL.   I. 


LONDON: 
SMITH,  ELDER,  AND  CO.,  CORNHILL. 

1847. 


TO 

W.  M.  THACKERAY,  ESQ. 


IS  RESPECTFULLY  INSCRIBED 

BY 
THE   AUTHOJE4 


AUTHOR'S   PREFACE 


A  PREFACE  to  the  first  edition  of  '  Jane  Eyre  '  being  unneces- 
sary, I  gave  none  :  this  second  edition  demands  a  few  words 
both  of  acknou  ledgment  and  miscellaneous  remark. 

My  thanks  are  due  in  three  quarters. 

To  the  Public,  for  the  indulgent  ear  it  has  inclined  to  a 
plain  tale  with  few  pretensions. 

To  the  Press,  for  the  fair  field  its  honest  suffrage  has 
opened  to  an  obscure  aspirant. 

•  To  my  Publishers,  for  the  aid  their  tact,  their  energy, 
their  practical  sense,  and  frank  liberality  have  afforded  an 
unknown  and  unrecommended  Author. 

The  Press  and  the  Public  are  but  vague  personifications 
for  me,  and  I  must  thank  them  in  vague  terms ;  but  my 
Publishers  are  definite :  so  are  certain  generous  critics  wno 
have  encouraged  me  as  only  large-hearted  and  high-minded 
men  know  how  to  encourage  a  struggling  stranger ;  to  them, 
i.e.  to  my  Publishers  and  the  select  Beviewers,  I  say 
cordially,  Gentlemen,  I  thank  you  from  my  heart. 

Having  thus  acknowledged  what  I  owe  those  who  have 
aided  and  approved  me,  I  turn  to  another  class ;  a  small 
one,  so  far  as  I  know,  but  not,  therefore,  to  be  overlooked. 
I  mean  the  timorous  or  carping  few  who  doubt  the 
tendency  of  such  books  as  '  Jane  Eyre : '  in  whose  eyes 


JANE    EYRE 


CHAPTEE   I 

THERE  was  no  possibility  of  taking  a  walk  that  day.  We 
had  been  wandering,  indeed,  in  the  leafless  shrubbery  an 
hour  in  the  morning ;  but  since  dinner  (Mrs.  Keed,  when 
there  was  no  company,  dined  early)  the  cold  winter  wind 
had  brought  with  it  clouds  so  sombre,  and  a  rain  so  pene- 
trating, that  further  outdoor  exercise  was  now  out  of  the 
question. 

I  was  glad  of  it :  I  never  liked  long  walks,  especially  on 
chilly  afternoons  :  dreadful  to  me  was  the  coming  home  in 
the  raw  twilight,  with  nipped  fingers  and  toes,  and  a  heart 
saddened  by  the  chidings  of  Bessie,  the  nurse,  and  humbled 
by  the  consciousness  of  my  physical  inferiority  to  Eliza, 
John,  and  Georgiana  Eeed. 

The  said  Eliza,  John,  and  Georgiana  were  now  clustered 
round  their  mamma  in  the  drawing-room  :  she  lay  reclined 
on  the  sofa  by  the  fireside,  and  with  her  darlings  about  her 
(for  the  time  neither  quarrelling  nor  crying)  looked  perfectly 
happy.  Me,  she  had  dispensed  from  joining  the  group; 
saying,  '  She  regretted  to  be  under  the  necessity  of  keeping 
me  at  a  distance ;  but  that  until  she  heard  from  Bessie  and 
could  discover  by  her  own  observation  that  I  was  endeavour- 
ing in  good  earnest  to  acquire  "a  more  sociable  and  childlike 
disposition,  a  more  attractive  and  sprightly  manner — some- 
thing lighter,  franker,  more  natural,  as  it  were — she  really 
must  exclude  me  from  privileges  intended  only  for  contented, 
happy,  little  children.' 


2  JANE  EYRE 

1  What  does  Bessie  say  I  have  done  ? '  I  asked. 

'  Jane,  I  don't  like  cavillers  or  questioners :  besides,  there 
is  something  truly  forbidding  in  a  child  taking  up  her  elders 
in  that  manner.  Be  seated  somewhere ;  and  until  you  can 
speak  pleasantly,  remain  silent/ 

A  small  breakfast-room  adjoined  the  drawing-room.  I 
slipped  in  there.  It  contained  a  bookcase :  I  soon  possessed 
myself  of  a  volume,  taking  care  that  it  should  be  one  stored 
with  pictures.  I  mounted  into  the  window-seat :  gathering 
up  my  feet,  I  sat  cross-legged  like  a  Turk ;  and,  having 
drawn  the  red  moreen  curtain  nearly  close,  I  was  shrined  in 
double  retirement. 

Folds  of  scarlet  drapery  shut  in  my  view  to  the  right 
hand ;  to  the  left  were  the  clear  panes  of  glass,  protecting, 
but  not  separating  me  from  the  drear  November  day.  At 
intervals,  while  turning  over  the  leaves  of  my  book,  I  studied 
the  aspect  of  that  winter  afternoon.  Afar,  it  offered  a  pale 
blank  of  mist  and  cloud ;  near,  a  scene  of  wet  lawn  and 
storm-beat  shrub,  with  ceaseless  rain  sweeping  away  wildly 
before  a  long  and  lamentable  blast. 

I  returned  to  my  book — Bewick's  'History  of  British 
Birds ' :  the  letterpress  thereof  I  cared  little  for,  generally 
speaking;  and  yet  there  were  certain  introductory  pages 
that,  child  as  I  was,  I  could  not  pass  quite  as  a  blank.  They 
were  those  which  treat  of  the  haunts  of  sea-fowl ;  of  '  the 
solitary  rocks  and  promontories '  by  them  only  inhabited ; 
of  the  coast  of  Norway,  studded  with  isles  from  its  southern 
extremity,  the  Lindeness,  or  Naze,  to  the  North  Gape — 

Where  the  Northern  Ocean,  in  vast  whirls, 
Boils  round  the  naked,  melancholy  isles 
Of  farthest  Thule ;  and  the  Atlantic  surge 
Pours  in  among  the  stormy  Hebrides. 

Nor  could  I  pass  unnoticed  the  suggestion  of  the  bleak  shores 
of  Lapland,  Siberia,  Spitzbergen,  Nova  Zembla,  Iceland, 
Greenland,  with  '  the  vast  sweep  of  the  Arctic  Zone,  and 
those  forlorn  regions  of  dreary  space — that  reservoir  of  frost 


JANE  EYEB  3 

and  snow,  wheie  firm  fields  of  ice,  the  accumulation  of 
centuries  of  winters,  glazed  in  Alpine  heights  above  heights, 
surround  the  pole,  and  concentre  the  multiplied  rigors  of 
extreme  cold/  Of  these  death-white  realms  I  formed  an 
idea  of  my  own :  shadowy,  like  all  the  half -comprehended 
notions  that  float  dim  through  children's  brains,  but  strangely 
impressive.  The  words  in  these  introductory  pages  con- 
nected themselves  with  the  succeeding  vignettes,  and  gave 
significance  to  the  rock  standing  up  alone  in  a  sea  of  billow 
and  spray ;  to  the  broken  boat  stranded  on  a  desolate  coast ; 
to  the  cold  and  ghastly  moon  glancing  through  bars  of  cloud 
at  a  wreck  just  sinking. 

I  cannot  tell  what  sentiment  haunted  the  quite  solitary 
churchyard,  with  its  inscribed  headstone;  its  gate,  its 
two  trees,  its  low  horizon,  girdled  by  a  broken  wall, 
and  its  newly-risen  crescent,  attesting  the  hour  of  even- 
tide. 

The  two  ships  becalmed  on  a  torpid  sea  I  believed  to  be 
marine  phantoms. 

The  fiend  pinning  down  the  thief's  pack  behind  him 
I  passed  over  quickly :  it  was  an  object  of  terror. 

So  was  the  black,  horned  thing  seated  aloof  on  a  rock, 
surveying  a  distant  crowd  surrounding  a  gallows. 

Each  picture  told  a  story;  mysterious  often  to  my 
undeveloped  understanding  and  imperfect  feelings,  yet  ever 
profoundly  interesting:  as  interesting  as  the  tales  Bessie 
sometimes  narrated  on  winter  evenings,  when  she  chanced 
to  be  in  good  humour ;  and  when,  having  brought  her  ironing- 
table  to  the  nursery-hearth,  she  allowed  us  to  sit  about  it, 
and  while  she  got  up  Mrs.  Eeed's  lace  frills,  and  crimped 
her  night-cap  borders,  fed  our  eager  attention  with  passages 
of  love  and  adventure  taken  from  old  fairy  tales  and  older 
ballads ;  or  (as  at  a  later  period  I  discovered)  from  the  pages 
of  '  Pamela/  and  '  Henry,  Earl  of  Moreland/ 

With  Bewick  on  my  knee,  I  was  then  happy :  happy  at 
least  in  my  way.  I  feared  nothing  but  interruption,  and 
that  came  too  soon.  The  breakfast-room  door  opened. 


i  JANE  EYEE 

'  Boh !  Madame  Mope ! ',  cried  the  voice  of  John  Eeed ; 
then  he  paused :  he  found  the  room  apparently  empty. 

'  Where  the  dickens  is  she  ?  '  he  continued.  '  Lizzy ! 
Georgy  !  (calling  to  his  sisters)  Joan  is  not  here :  tell  mamma 
she  is  run  out  into  the  rain — bad  animal ! ' 

'  It  is  well  I  drew  the  curtain/  thought  I ;  and  I  wished 
fervently  he  might  not  discover  my  hiding-place :  nor  would 
John  Beed  have  found  it  out  himself ;  he  was  not  quick 
either  of  vision  or  conception  ;  but  Eliza  just  put  her  head 
in  at  the  door,  and  said  at  once : — *  She  is  in  the  window- 
seat,  to  be  sure,  Jack.1 

And  I  came  out  immediately,  for  I  trembled  at  the  idea 
of  being  dragged  forth  by  the  said  Jack. 

'  What  do  you  want  ? '  I  asked,  with  awkward  diffi- 
dence. 

'Say,  "what  do  you  want,  Master  Beed?"'  was  the 
answer.  '  I  want  you  to  come  here ; '  and  sitting  himself 
in  an  arm-chair,  he  intimated  by  a  gesture  that  I  was  to 
approach  and  stand  before  him. 

John  Beed  was  a  schoolboy  of  fourteen  years  old ;  four 
years  older  than  I,  for  I  was  but  ten ;  large  and  stout  for 
his  age,  with  a  dingy  and  unwholesome  skin;  thick 
lineaments  in  a  spacious  visage,  heavy  limbs  and  large  ex- 
tremities. He  gorged  himself  habitually  at  table,  which 
made  him  bilious,  and  gave  him  a  dim  and  bleared  eye  and 
flabby  cheeks.  He  ought  now  to  have  been  at  school ;  but 
his  mamma  had  taken  him  home  for  a  month  or  two,  '  on 
account  of  his  delicate  health.1  Mr.  Miles,  the  master, 
affirmed  that  he  would  do  very  well  if  he  had  fewer  cakes 
and  sweetmeats  sent  him  from  home;  but  the  mother's 
heart  turned  from  an  opinion  so  harsh,  and  inclined  rather 
to  the  more  refined  idea  that  John's  sallowness  was  owing 
to  over-application  and,  perhaps,  to  pining  after  home. 

John  had  not  much  affection  for  his  mother  and  sisters, 
and  an  antipathy  to  me.  He  bullied  and  punished  me ;  not 
two  or  three  times  in  the  week,  nor  once  or  twice  in  the  day, 
but  continually :  every  nerve  I  had  feared  him,  and  every 


JANE  EYEE  6 

morsel  of  flesh  on  my  bones  shrank  when  he  came  near. 
There  were  moments  when  I  was  bewildered  by  the  terror 
he  inspired,  because  I  had  no  appeal  whatever  against 
either  his  menaces  or  his  inflictions ;  the  servants  did  not 
like  to  offend  their  young  master  by  taking  my  part  against 
him,  and  Mrs.  Eeed  was  blind  and  deaf  on  the  subject :  she 
never  saw  him  strike  or  heard  him  abuse  me,  though  he 
did  both  now  and  then  in  her  very  presence ;  more 
frequently,  however,  behind  her  back. 

Habitually  obedient  to  John,  I  came  up  to  his  chair  :  he 
spent  some  three  minutes  in  thrusting  out  his  tongue  at  me 
as  far  as  he  could  without  damaging  the  roots  :  I  knew  he 
would  soon  strike,  and  while  dreading  the  blow,  I  mused 
on  the  disgusting  and  ugly  appearance  of  him  who  would 
presently  deal  it.  I  wonder  if  he  read  that  notion  in  my 
face  ;  for,  all  at  once,  without  speaking,  he  struck  suddenly 
and  strongly.  I  tottered,  and  on  regaining  my  equilibrium 
retired  back  a  step  or  two  from  his  chair. 

'That  is  for  your  impudence  in  answering  mamma 
awhile  since,1  said  he,  '  and  for  your  sneaking  way  of  getting 
behind  curtains,  and  for  the  look  you  had  in  your  eyes  two 
minutes  since,  you  rat ! ' 

Accustomed  to  John  Reed's  abuse,  I  never  had  an  idea 
of  replying  to  it ;  my  care  was  how  to  endure  the  blow 
which  would  certainly  follow  the  insult. 

1  What  were  you  doing  behind  the  curtain  ? '  he 
asked. 

'  I  was  reading.' 

'  Show  the  book/ 

I  returned  to  the  window  and  fetched  it  thence. 

'  You  have  no  business  to  take  our  books ;  you  are  a 
dependent,  mamma  says ;  you  have  no  money ;  your  father 
left  you  none  ;  you  ought  to  beg,  and  not  to  live  here  with 
gentlemen's  children  like  us,  and  eat  the  same  meals  we 
do,  and  wear  clothes  at  our  mamma's  expense.  Now,  I'll 
teach  you  to  rummage  my  book-shelves :  for  they  are 
mine ;  all  the  house  belongs  to  me,  or  will  do  in  a  few  years. 


6  JANE  BYEE 

60  and  stand  by  the  door,  out  of  the  way  of  the  mirror  and 
the  windows.' 

I  did  so,  not  at  first  aware  what  was  his  intention ;  but 
when  I  saw  him  lift  and  poise  the  book  and  stand  in  act  to 
hurl  it,  I  instinctively  started  aside  with  a  cry  of  alarm :  not 
soon  enough,  however ;  the  volume  was  flung,  it  hit  me,  and 
I  fell,  striking  my  head  against  the  door  and  cutting  it.  The 
cut  bled,  the  pain  was  sharp:  my  terror  had  passed  its 
climax ;  other  feelings  succeeded. 

'  Wicked  and  cruel  boy ! '  I  said.  '  You  are  like  a 
murderer — you  are  like  a  slave-driver — you  are  like  the 
Boman  emperors ! ' 

I  had  read  Goldsmith's  'History  of  Borne,'  and  had 
formed  my  opinion  of  Nero,  Caligula,  &c.  Also  I  had  drawn 
parallels  in  silence,  which  I  never  thought  thus  to  have 
declared  aloud. 

'What!  what!'  he  cried.  'Did  she  say  that  to  me? 
Did  you  hear  her,  Eliza  and  Georgiana  ?  Won't  I  tell  mamma  ? 
but  first ' 

He  ran  headlong  at  me  :  I  felt  him  grasp  my  hair  and 
my  shoulder:  he  had  closed  with  a  desperate  thing.  I 
really  saw  in  him  a  tyrant :  a  murderer.  I  felt  a  drop  or 
two  of  blood  from  my  head  trickle  down  my  neck,  and  was 
sensible  of  somewhat  pungent  suffering:  these  sensations 
for  the  time  predominated  over  fear,  and  I  received  him  in 
frantic  sort.  I  don't  very  well  know  what  I  did  with  my 
hands,  but  he  called  me  '  Bat !  rat ! '  and  bellowed  out 
aloud.  Aid  was  near  him :  Eliza  and  Georgiana  had  run 
for  Mrs.  Beed,  who  was  gone  upstairs ;  she  now  came  upon 
the  scene,  followed  by  Bessie  and  her  maid  Abbot.  We 
were  parted:  I  heard  the  words :—' Dear  1  dear!  What  a 
fury  to  fly  at  Master  John  ! ' 

'  Did  ever  anybody  see  such  a  picture  of  passion  1 ' 

Then  Mrs.  Beed  subjoined :  — '  Take  her  away  to  the  red- 
room,  and  lock  her  in  there.'  Four  hands  were  immediately 
laid  upon  me,  and  I  was  borne  upstairs. 


JANE  EYBE 


CHAPTEE  II 

I  BBSISTED  all  the  way :  a  new  thing  for  me,  and  a  circum- 
stance which  greatly  strengthened  the  bad  opinion  Bessie 
and  Miss  Abbot  were  disposed  to  entertain  of  me.  The  fact 
is,  I  was  a  trifle  beside  myself ;  or  rather  out  of  myself,  as 
the  French  would  say :  I  was  conscious  that  a  moment's 
mutiny  had  already  rendered  me  liable  to  strange  penalties, 
and,  like  any  other  rebel  slave,  I  felt  resolved,  in  my  despera- 
tion, to  go  all  lengths. 

*  Hold  her  arms,  Miss  Abbot :  she's  like  a  mad  cat/ 
1  For  shame  !  for  shame  ! '  cried  the  lady's-maid.     '  What 
shocking  conduct,  Miss  Eyre,  to  strike  a  young  gentleman, 
your  benefactress's  son !     Your  young  master.' 

1  Master  I    How  is  he  my  master  ?    Am  I  a  servant  ? ' 
1  No ;  you  are  less  than  a  servant,  for  you  do  nothing  for 
your  keep.    There,  sit  down,  and  think  over  your  wicked- 
ness.' 

They  had  got  me  by  this  time  into  the  apartment 
indicated  by  Mrs.  Eeed,  and  had  thrust  me  upon  a  stool : 
my  impulse  was  to  rise  from  it  like  a  spring;  their  two 
pairs  of  hands  arrested  me  instantly. 

'If  you  don't  sit  still,  you  must  be  tied  down,'  said 
Bessie.  'Miss  Abbot,  lend  me  your  garters;  she  would 
break  mine  directly.' 

Miss  Abbot  turned  to  divest  a  stout  leg  of  the  necessary 
ligature.     This  preparation  for  bonds,   and  the  additional 
ignominy  it  inferred,  took  a  little  of  the  excitement  out  of  me. 
1  Don't  take  them  off,'  I  cried ;  '  I  will  not  stir.' 
In  guarantee  whereof  I  attached  myself  to  my  seat  by 
my  hands. 


8  JANE  EYRE 

'  Mind  you  don't/  said  Bessie  ;  and  when  she  had  ascer- 
tained that  I  was  really  subsiding,  she  loosened  her  hold 
of  me;  then  she  and  Miss  Abbot  stood  with  folded  arms, 
looking  darkly  and  doubtfully  on  my  face,  as  incredulous 
of  my  sanity. 

'  She  never  did  so  before/  at  last  said  Bessie,  turning  to 
the  Abigail. 

'  But  it  was  always  in  her/  was  the  reply.  '  I've  told 
Missis  often  my  opinion  about  the  child,  and  Missis  agreed 
with  me.  She's  an  underhand  little  thing :  I  never  saw  a 
girl  of  her  age  with  so  much  cover.'  v 

Bessie  answered  not ;  but  ere  long,  addressing  me,  she 
said: 

1  You  ought  to  be  aware,  Miss,  that  you  are  under  obliga- 
tions to  Mrs.  Eeed :  she  keeps  you :  if  she  were  to  turn  you 
off,  you  would  have  to  go  to  the  poor-house.' 

I  had  nothing  to  say  to  these  words  :  they  were  not  new 
to  me :  my  very  first  recollections  of  existence  included 
hints  of  the  same  kind.  This  reproach  of  my  dependence 
had  become  a  vague  sing-song  in  my  ear ;  very  painful  and 
crushing,  but  only  half  intelligible.  Miss  Abbot  joined  in :  -- 
'  And  you  ought  not  to  think  yourself  on  an  equality  with 
the  Misses  Heed  and  Master  Eeed,  because  Missis  kindly 
allows  you  to  be  brought  up  with  them.  They  will  have  a 
great  deal  of  money,  and  you  will  have  none :  it  is  your 
place  to  be  humble,  and  to  try  to  make  yourself  agreeable 
to  them.' 

1  What  we  tell  you  is  for  your  good/  added  Bessie,  in  no 
harsh  voice :  '  you  should  try  to  be  useful  and  pleasant, 
then,  perhaps,  you  would  have  a  home  here ;  but  if  you 
become  passionate  and  rude,  Missis  will  send  you  away,  I 
am  sure.' 

'  Besides/  said  Miss  Abbot,  '  God  will  punish  her :  He 
might  strike  her  dead  in  the  midst  of  her  tantrums,  and 
then  where  would  she  go?  Gome,  Bessie,  we  will  leave 
her:  I  wouldn't  have  her  heart  for  anything.  Say  your 
prayers,  Miss  Eyre,  when  you  are  by  yourself ;  for  if  you 


JANE  EYEE  9 

don't  repent,  something  bad  might  be  permitted  to  come 
down  the  chimney,  and  fetch  you  away.' 

They  went,  shutting  the  door,  and  locking  it  behind 
them. 

The  red-room  was  a  spare  chamber,  very  seldom  slept 
in ;  I  might  say  never,  indeed,  unless  when  a  chance  influx 
of  visitors  at  Gateshead  Hall  rendered  it  necessary  to  turn 
to  account  all  the  accommodation  'it  contained  :  yet  it  was 
one  of  the  largest  and  stateliest  chambers  in  the  mansion. 
A  bed  supported  on  massive  pillars  of  mahogany,  hung  with 
curtains  of  deep  red  damask,  stood  out  like  a  tabernacle  in 
the  centre  ;  the  two  large  windows,  with  their  blinds  always 
drawn  down,  were  half  shrouded  in  festoons  and  falls  of 
similar  drapery ;  the  carpet  was  red :  the  table  at  the  foot 
of  the  bed  was  covered  with  a  crimson  cloth;  the  walls 
were  a  soft  fawn  colour,  with  a  blush  of  pink  in  it ;  the 
wardrobe,  the  toilet-table,  the  chairs  were  of  darkly-polished 
old  mahogany.  Out  of  these  deep  surrounding  shades  rose 
high,  and  glared  white,  the  piled-up  mattresses  and  pillows 
of  the  bed,  spread  with  a  snowy  Marseilles  counterpane. 
Scarcely  less  prominent  was  an  ample,  cushioned  easy-chair 
near  the  head  of  the  bed,  also  white,  with  a  footstool  before 
it ;  and  looking,  as  I  thought,  like  a  pale  throne. 

This  room  was  chill,  because  it  seldom  had  a  fire  ;  it  was 
silent,  because  remote  from  the  nursery  and  kitchens; 
solemn,  because  it  was  known  to  be  so  seldom  entered. 
The  housemaid  alone  came  here  on  Saturdays,  to  wipe  from 
the  mirrors  and  the  furniture  a  week's  quiet  dust :  and  Mrs. 
Eeed  herself,  at  far  intervals,  visited  it  to  review  the  contents 
of  a  certain  secret  drawer  in  the  wardrobe,  where  were  stored 
divers  parchments,  her  jewel-casket,  and  a  miniature  of  her 
deceased  husband ;  and  in  those  last  words  lies  the  secret 
of  the  red-room — the  spell  which  kept  it  so  lonely  in  spite  of 
its  grandeur. 

Mr.  Eeed  had  been  dead  nine  years :  it  was  in  this 
chamber  he  breathed  his  last ;  here  he  lay  in  state  ;  hence 
his  coffin  was  borne  by  the  undertaker's  men ;  and,  since 


10  JANE  BYBE 

that  day,  a  sense  of  dreary  consecration  had  guarded  it  from 
frequent  intrusion. 

My  seat,  to  which  Bessie  and  the  bitter  Miss  Abbot  had 
left  me  riveted,  was  a  low  ottoman  near  the  marble  chimney- 
piece  ;  the  bed  rose  before  me ;  to  my  right  hand  there  was 
the  high,  dark  wardrobe,  with  subdued,  broken  reflections 
varying  the  gloss  of  its  panels ;  to  my  left  were  the  muffled 
windows ;  a  great  looking-glass  between  them  repeated  the 
vacant  majesty  of  the  bed  and  room.  I  was  not  quite  sure 
whether  they  had  locked  the  door ;  and,  when  I  dared  move, 
I  got  up,  and  went  to  see.  Alas !  yes :  no  jail  was  ever 
more  secure.  Beturning,  I  had  to  cross  before  the  looking- 
glass  ;  my  fascinated  glance  involuntarily  explored  the  depth 
it  revealed.  All  looked  colder  and  darker  in  that  visionary 
hollow  than  in  reality :  and  the  strange  little  figure  there 
gazing  at  me,  with  a  white  face  and  arms  specking  the 
gloom,  and  glittering  eyes  of  fear  moving  where  all  else  was 
still,  had  the  effect  of  a  real  spirit :  I  thought  it  like  one  of 
the  tiny  phantoms,  half  fairy,  half  imp,  Bessie's  evening 
stories  represented  as  coming  out  of  lone,  ferny  dells  in 
moors,  and  appearing  before  the  eyes  of  belated  travellers. 
I  returned  to  my  stool. 

Superstition  was  with  me  at  that  moment ;  but  it  was 
not  yet  her  hour  for  complete  victory  :  my  blood  was  still 
warm ;  the  mood  of  the  revolted  slave  was  still  bracing  me 
with  its  bitter  vigour ;  I  had  to  stem  a  rapid  rush  of  retro- 
spective thought  before  I  quailed  to  the  dismal  present. 

All  John  Seed's  violent  tyrannies,  all  his  sisters'  proud 
indifference,  all  his  mother's  aversion,  all  the  servants'  par-, 
tiality,  turned  up  in  my  disturbed  mind  like  a  dark  deposit 
in  a  turbid  well.  Why  was  I  always  suffering,  always 
browbeaten,  always  accused,  for  ever  condemned?  Why 
could  I  never  please  ?  Why  was  it  useless  to  try  to  win  any 
one's  favour?  Eliza,  who  was  headstrong  and  selfish,  was 
respected.  Georgiana,  who  had  a  spoiled  temper,  a  very 
acrid  spite,  a  captious  and  insolent  carriage,  was  universally 
indulged.  Her  beauty,  her  pink  cheeks  and  golden  curls, 


JANE  EYBE  11 

seemed  to  give  delight  to  all  who  looked  at  her,  and  to 
purchase  indemnity  for  every  fault.  John,  no  one  thwarted, 
much  less  punished ;  though  he  twisted  the  necks  of  the 
pigeons,  killed  the  little  pea-chicks,  set  the  dogs  at  the 
sheep,  stripped  the  hothouse  vines  of  then:  fruit,  and  broke 
the  buds  off  the  choicest  plants  in  the  conservatory:  he 
called  his  mother  '  old  girl,'  too ;  sometimes  reviled  her  for 
her  dark  skin,  similar  to  his  own ;  bluntly  disregarded  her 
wishes ;  not  unfrequently  tore  and  spoiled  her  silk  attire ; 
and  he  was  still  'her  own  darling/  I  dared  commit  no 
fault;  I  strove  to  fulfil  every  duty;  and  I  was  termed 
naughty  and  tiresome,  sullen  and  sneaking,  from  morning 
to  noon,  and  from  noon  to  night. 

My  head  «trill  ached  and  bled  with  the  blow  and  fall 
I  had  received  :  no  one  had  reproved  John  for  wantonly 
striking  me ;  and  because  I  had  turned  against  him  to 
avert  farther  irrational  violence,  I  was  loaded  with  general 
opprobrium. 

1  Unjust ! — unjust ! '  said  my  reason,  forced  by  the 
agonising  stimulus  into  precocious  though  transitory 
power ;  and  Eesolve,  equally  wrought  up,  instigated  some 
strange  expedient  to  achieve  escape  from  insupportable 
oppression — as  running  away,  or,  if  that  could  not  be 
effected,  never  eating  or  drinking  more,  and  letting  myself 
die. 

What  a  consternation  of  soul  was  mine  that  dreary 
afternoon  I  How  all  my  brain  was  in  tumult,  and  all  my 
heart  in  insurrection !  Yet  in  what  darkness,  what  dense 
ignorance,  was  the  mental  battle  fought  1  I  could  not 
answer  the  ceaseless  inward  question — why  I  thus  suffered ; 
now,  at  the  distance  of — I  will  not  say  how  many  years,  I 
see  it  clearly. 

I  was  a  discord  in  Gateshead  Hall ;  I  was  like  nobody 
there;  I  had  nothing  in  harmony  with  Mrs.  Eeed  or  her 
children,  or  her  chosen  vassalage.  If  they  did  not  love  me, 
in  fact,  as  little  did  I  love  them.  They  were  not  bound  to 
regard  with  affection  a  thing  that  could  not  sympathise  with 


12  JANE  EYBE 

one  amongst  them ;  a  heterogeneous  thing,  opposed  to  them 
in  temperament,  in  capacity,  in  propensities ;  a  useless  thing, 
incapable  of  serving  their  interest,  or  adding  to  their 
pleasure ;  a  noxious  thing,  cherishing  the  germs  of  indigna- 
tion at  their  treatment,  of  contempt  of  their  judgment.  I 
know  that  had  I  been  a  sanguine,  brilliant,  careless,  exacting, 
handsome,  romping  child — though  equally  dependent  and 
friendless — Mrs.  Eeed  would  have  endured  my  presence 
more  complacently ;  her  children  would  have  entertained 
for  me  more  of  the  cordiality  of  fellow-feeling ;  the  servants 
would  have  been  less  prone  to  make  me  the  scapegoat  of 
the  nursery. 

Daylight  began  to  forsake  the  red-room ;  it  was  past  four 
o'clock,  and  the  beclouded  afternoon  was  tending  to  drear 
twilight.  I  heard  the  rain  still  beating  continuously  on  the 
staircase  window,  and  the  wind  howling  in  the  grove  behind 
the  hall ;  I  grew  by  degrees  cold  as  a  stone,  and  then  my 
courage  sank.  My  habitual  mood  of  humiliation,  self-doubt, 
forlorn  depression,  fell  damp  on  the  embers  of  my  decaying 
ire.  All  said  I  was  wicked,  and  perhaps  I  might  be  so  : 
what  thought  had  I  been  but  just  conceiving  of  starving 
myself  to  death  ?  That  certainly  was  a  crime  :  and  was  I 
fit  to  die  ?  Or  was  the  vault  under  the  chancel  of  Gateshead 
Church  an  inviting  bourne  ?  In  such  vault  I  had  been  told 
did  Mr.  Eeed  lie  buried ;  and  led  by  this  thought  to  recall 
his  idea,  I  dwelt  on  it  with  gathering  dread.  I  could  not  re- 
member him ;  but  I  knew  that  he  was  my  own  uncle — my 
mother's  brother — that  he  had  taken  me  when  a  parentless 
infant  to  his  house ;  and  that  in  his  last  moments  he  had 
required  a  promise  of  Mrs.  Eeed  that  she  would  rear  and 
maintain  me  as  one  of  her  own  children.  Mrs.  Eeed  probably 
considered  she  had  kept  this  promise ;  and  so  she  had,  I 
dare  say,  as  well  as  her  nature  would  permit  her ;  but  how 
could  she  really  like  an  interloper  not  of  her  race,  and  un- 
connected with  her,  after  her  husband's  death,  by  any  tie? 
It  must  have  been  most  irksome  to  find  herself  bound  by  a 
hard-wrung  pledge  to  stand  in  the  stead  of  a  parent  to  a 


JANE  EYEE  13 

strange  child  she  could  not  love,  and  to  see  an  uncongenial 
alien  permanently  intruded  on  her  own  family  group. 

A  singular  notion  dawned  upon  me.  I  doubted  not — 
never  doubted — that  if  Mr.  Keed  had  been  alive  ho  would 
have  treated  me  kindly ;  and  now,  as  I  sat  looking  at  the 
white  bed  and  overshadowed  walls— occasionally  also  turning 
a  fascinated  eye  towards  the  dimly  gleaming  mirror — I  began 
to  recall  what  I  had  heard  of  dead  men,  troubled  in  their 
graves  by  the  violation  of  their  last  wishes,  revisiting  the 
earth  to  punish  the  perjured  and  avenge  the  oppressed  ;  and 
I  thought  Mr.  Reed's  spirit,  harassed  by  the  wrongs  of  his 
sister's  child,  might  quit  its  abode — whether  in  the  church 
vault,  or  in  the  unknown  woild  of  the  departed — and  rise 
before  me  in  this  chamber.  I  wiped  my  tears  and  hushed 
my  sobs,  fearful  lest  any  sign  of  violent  grief  might  waken  a 
preternatural  voice  to  comfort  me,  or  elicit  from  the  gloom 
some  haloed  face,  bending  over  me  with  strange  pity.  This 
idea,  consolatory  in  theory,  I  felt  would  be  terrible  if  realised  : 
with  all  my  might  I  endeavoured  to  stifle  it— I  endeavoured 
to  be  firm.  Shaking  my  hair  from  my  eyes,  I  lifted  my  head 
and  tried  to  look  boldly  round  the  dark  room.  At  this 
moment  a  light  gleamed  on  the  wall.  Was  it,  I  asked  my- 
self, a  ray  from  the  moon  penetrating  some  aperture  in  the 
blind  ?  No ;  moonlight  was  still,  and  this  stirred ;  while  I 
gazed,  it  glided  up  to  the  ceiling  and  quivered  over  my  head. 
I  can  now  conjecture  readily  that  this  streak  of  light  was,  in 
all  likelihood,  a  gleam  from  a  lantern,  carried  by  some  one 
across  the  lawn :  but  then,  prepared  as  my  mind  was  for 
horror,  shaken  as  my  nerves  were  by  agitation,  I  thought 
the  swift-darting  beam  was  a  herald  of  some  coming  vision 
from  another  world.  My  heart  beat  thick,  my  head  grew 
hot ;  a  sound  filled  my  ears,  which  I  deemed  the  rushing  of 
wings :  something  seemed  near  me ;  I  was  oppressed,  suffo- 
cated :  endurance  broke  down ;  I  rushed  to  the  door  and  shook 
the  lock  in  desperate  effort.  Steps  came  running  along  the 
outer  passage ;  the  key  turned,  Bessie  and  Abbot  entered. 

1  Miss  Eyre,  are  you  ill  ? '  said  Bessie. 


14  JANE  EYEE 

1  What  a  dreadful  noise !  it  went  quite  through  me ! ' 
exclaimed  Abbot. 

'Take  me  out!  let  me  go  into  the  nursery  I '  was  my  cry. 

'  What  for  ?  Are  you  hurt  ?  Have  you  seen  something  ? ' 
again  demanded  Bessie. 

'  Oh !  I  saw  a  light,  and  I  thought  a  ghost  would  come.' 
I  had  now  got  hold  of  Bessie's  hand,  and  she  did  not  snatch 
it  from  me. 

'  She  has  screamed  out  on  purpose/  declared  Abbot,  in 
some  disgust.  ( And  what  a  scream !  If  she  had  been  in 
great  pain  one  would  have  excused  it,  but  she  only  wanted 
to  bring  us  all  here :  I  know  her  naughty  tricks/ 

'  What  is  all  this  ? '  demanded  another  voice,  peremp- 
torily; and  Mrs.  Keed  came  along  the  corridor,  her  cap 
flying  wide,  her  gown  rustling  stormily.  '  Abbot  and  Bessie, 
I  believe  I  gave  orders  that  Jane  Eyre  should  be  left  in  the 
red-room  till  I  came  to  her  myself/ 

'  Miss  Jane  screamed  so  loud,  ma'am/  pleaded  Bessie. 

'Let  her  go/  was  the  only  answer.  'Loose  Bessie's 
hand,  child:  you  cannot  succeed  in  getting  out  by  these 
means,  be  assured.  I  abhor  artifice,  particularly  in  chil- 
dren ;  it  is  my  duty  to  show  you  that  tricks  will  not  answer : 
you  will  now  stay  here  an  hour  longer,  and  it  is  only  on 
condition  of  perfect  submission  and  stillness  that  I  shall 
liberate  you  then/ 

'  Oh  aunt,  have  pity  !  Forgive  me  !  I  cannot  endure  it 
— let  me  be  punished  some  other  way !  I  shall  be  killed 
if f 

'  Silence  !  This  violence  is  all  most  repulsive  : '  and  so, 
no  doubt,  she  felt  it.  I  was  a  precocious  actress  in  her  eyes : 
she  sincerely  looked  on  me  as  a  compound  of  virulent  pas- 
sions, mean  spirit,  and  dangerous  duplicity. 

Bessie  and  Abbot  having  retreated,  Mrs.  Eeed,  impatient 
of  my  now  frantic  anguish  and  wild  sobs,  abruptly  thrust  me 
back  and  locked  me  in,  without  farther  parley.  I  heard  her 
sweeping  away ;  and  soon  after  she  was  gone  I  suppose  I 
had  a  species  of  fit :  unconsciousness  closed  the  scene. 


JANE  EYEE  15 


CHAPTEB  III 

THE  next  thing  I  remember  is,  waking  up  with  a  feeling  as 
if  I  had  had  a  frightful  nightmare,  and  seeing  before  me  a 
terrible  red  glare,  crossed  with  thick  black  bars.  I  heard 
voices,  too,  speaking  with  a  hollow  sound,  as  if  muffled  by  a 
rush  of  wind  or  water :  agitation,  uncertainty,  and  an  all- 
predominating  sense  of  terror  confused  my  faculties.  Ere 
long  I  became  aware  that  some  one  was  handling  me  ;  lifting 
me  up  and  supporting  me  in  a  sitting  posture,  and  that  more 
tenderly  than  I  had  ever  been  raised  or  upheld  before.  I 
rested  my  head  against  a  pillow  or  an  arm,  and  felt  easy. 

In  five  minutes  more  the  cloud  of  bewilderment  dis- 
solved :  I  knew  quite  well  that  I  was  in  my  own  bed,  and 
that  the  red  glare  was  the  nursery  fire.  It  was  night :  a 
candle  burnt  on  the  table ;  Bessie  stood  at  the  bed-foot  with 
a  basin  in  her  hand,  and  a  gentleman  sat  in  a  chair  near  my 
pillow,  leaning  over  me. 

I  felt  an  inexpressible  relief,  a  soothing  conviction  of 
protection  and  security,  when  I  knew  that  there  was  a 
stranger  in  the  room,  an  individual  not  belonging  to  Gates- 
head,  and  not  related  to  Mrs.  Eeed.  Turning  from  Bessie 
(though  her  presence  was  far  less  obnoxious  to  me  than  that 
of  Abbot,  for  instance,  would  have  been),  I  scrutinised  the 
face  of  the  gentleman :  I  knew  him ;  it  was  Mr.  Lloyd,  an 
apothecary,  sometimes  called  in  by  Mrs.  Eeed  when  the  ser- 
vants were  ailing  :  for  herself  and  the  children  she  employed 
a  physician. 

1  Well,  who  am  I  ? '  he  asked. 

I  pronounced  his  name,  offering  him  at  the  same  time 
my  hand :  he  took  it,  smiling  and  saying, '  We  shall  do  very 


16  JANE  EYEE 

well  by-and-by.'  Then  he  laid  me  down,  and  addressing 
Bessie,  charged  her  to  be  very  careful  that  I  was  not  dis- 
turbed during  the  night.  Having  given  some  further  direc- 
tions, and  intimated  that  he  should  call  again  the  next  day, 
he  departed — to  my  grief  :  I  felt  so  sheltered  and  befriended 
while  he  sat  in  the  chair  near  my  pillow  ;  and  as  he  closed 
the  door  after  him  all  the  room  darkened  and  my  heart 
again  sank  :  inexpressible  sadness  weighed  it  down. 

'  Do  you  feel  as  if  you  should  sleep,  Miss  ? '  asked  Bessie, 
rather  softly. 

Scarcely  dared  I  answer  her;  for  I  feared  the  next 
sentence  might  be  rough.  '  I  will  try/ 

1  Would  you  like  to  drink,  or  could  you  eat  anything? ' 
'  No,  thank  you,  Bessie.1 

'  Then  I  think  I  shall  go  to  bed,  for  it  is  past  twelve 
o'clock ;  but  you  may  call  me  if  you  want  anything  in  the 
night/ 

Wonderful  civility  this !  It  emboldened  me  to  ask  a 
question. 

1  Bessie,  what  is  the  matter  with  me  ?    Am  I  ill  ? ' 
1  You  fell  sick,  I  suppose,  in  the  red-room  with  crying ; 
you'll  be  better  soon,  no  doubt/ 

Bessie  went  into  the  housemaid's  apartment,  which  was 
near.  I  heard  her  say — *  Sarah,  come  and  sleep  with  me  in 
the  nursery ;  I  daren't  for  my  life  be  alone  with  that  poor 
child  to-night ;  she  might  die ;  it's  such  a  strange  thing  she 
should  have  that  fit :  I  wonder  if  she  saw  anything.  Missis 
was  rather  too  hard/ 

Sarah  came  back  with  her ;  they  both  went  to  bed ;  they 
were  whispering  together  for  half  an  hour  before  they  fell 
asleep.  I  caught  scraps  of  their  conversation,  from  which 
I  was  able  only  too  distinctly  to  infer  the  main  subject 
discussed. 

1  Something  passed  her,  all  dressed  in  white,  and 
vanished* — 'A  great  black  dog  behind  him' — 'Three  loud 
raps  on  the  chamber  door  '-*-1  A  light  in  the  churchyard  just 
over  his  grave '— &c.  &c. 


JANE  EYBE  17 

At  last  both  slept :  the  fire  and  the  candle  went  out. 
For  me,  the  watches  of  that  long  night  passed  in  ghastly 
wakefulness;  ear,  eye,  and  mind  were  alike  strained  by 
dread :  such  dread  as  children  only  can  feel. 

No  severe  or  prolonged  bodily  illness  followed  this 
incident  of  the  red-room :  it  only  gave  my  nerves  a  shock, 
of  which  I  feel  the  reverberation  to  this  day.  Yes,  Mrs. 
Eeed,  to  you  I  owe  some  fearful  pangs  of  mental  suffering. 
But  I  ought  to  forgive  you,  for  you  knew  not  what  you  did  : 
while  rending  my  heart-strings,  you  thought  you  were  only 
uprooting  my  bad  propensities. 

Next  day,  by  noon,  I  was  up  and  dressed,  and  sat  wrapped 
in  a  shawl  by  the  nursery  hearth.  I  felt  physically  weak 
and  broken  down ;  but  my  worse  ailment  was  an  unutterable 
wretchedness  of  mind  :  a  wretchedness  which  kept  drawing 
from  me  silent  tears  ;  no  sooner  had  I  wiped  one  salt  drop 
from  my  cheek  than  another  followed.  Yet  I  thought  I 
ought  to  have  been  happy,  for  none  of  the  Eeeds  were  there, 
they  were  all  gone  out  in  the  carriage  with  their  mamma  : 
Abbot,  too,  was  sewing  in  another  room,  and  Bessie,  as  she 
moved  hither  and  thither,  putting  away  toys  and  arranging 
drawers,  addressed  to  me  every  now  and  then  a  word  of  un- 
wonted kindness.  This  state  of  things  should  have  been  to 
me  a  paradise  of  peace,  accustomed  as  I  was  to  a  life  of 
ceaseless  reprimand  and  thankless  fagging ;  but,  in  fact,  my 
racked  nerves  were  now  in  such  a  state  that  no  calm  could 
soothe,  and  no  pleasure  excite  them  agreeably. 

Bessie  had  been  down  into  the  kitchen,  and  she  brought 
up  with  her  a  tart  on  a  certain  brightly  painted  china'  plate, 
whose  bird  of  paradise,  nestling  in  a  wreath  of  convolvuli 
and  rosebuds,  had  been  wont  to  stir  in  me  a  most  enthu- 
siastic sense  of  admiration ;  and  which  plate  I  had  often 
petitioned  to  be  allowed  to  take  in  my  hand  in  order  to 
examine  it  more  closely,  but  had  always  hitherto  been 
deemed  unworthy  of  such  a  privilege.  This  precious  vessel 
was  now  placed  on  my  knee,  and  I  was  cordially  invited  to 
eat  the  circlet  of  delicate  pastry  upon  it.  Vain  favour! 


18  JANE  EYBE 

coming,  like  most  other  favours  long  deferred  and  often 
wished  for,  too  late !  I  could  not  eat  the  tart :  and  the 
plumage  of  the  bird,  the  tints  of  the  flowers,  seemed  strangely 
faded :  I  put  both  plate  and  tart  away.  Bessie  asked  if  I 
would  have  a  book :  the  word  book  acted  as  a  transient 
stimulus,  and  I  begged  her  to  fetch  '  Gulliver's  Travels '  from 
the  library.  This  book  I  had  again  and  again  perused  with 
delight.  I  considered  it  a  narrative  of  facts,  and  discovered 
in  it  a  vein  of  interest  deeper  than  what  I  found  in  fairy 
tales :  for  as  to  the  elves,  having  sought  them  in  vain  among 
foxglove  leaves  and  bells,  under  mushrooms  and  beneath  the 
ground-ivy  mantling  old  wall-nooks,  I  had  at  length  made 
up  my  mind  to  the  sad  truth,  that  they  were  all  gone  out  of 
England  to  some  savage  country  where  the  woods  were 
wilder  and  thicker,  and  the  population  more  scant ;  whereas, 
Liliput  and  Brobdingnag  being,  in  my  creed,  solid  parts  of 
the  earth's  surface,  I  doubted  not  that  I  might  one  day,  by 
taking  a  long  voyage,  see  with  my  own  eyes  the  little  fields, 
houses,  and  trees,  the  diminutive  people,  the  tiny  cows, 
sheep,  and  birds  of  the  one  realm  ;  and  the  corn-fields  forest- 
high,  the  mighty  mastiffs,  the  monster  cats,  the  tower-like 
men  and  women,  of  the  other.  Yet  when  this  cherished 
volume  was  now  placed  in  my  hand — when  I  turned  over  its 
leaves,  and  sought  in  its  marvellous  pictures  the  charm  I  had, 
till  now,  never  failed  to  find — all  was  eerie  and  dreary ;  the 
giants  were  gaunt  goblins,  the  pigmies  malevolent  and 
fearful  imps,  Gulliver  a  most  desolate  wanderer  in  most 
dread  and  dangerous  regions.  I  closed  the  book,  which  I 
dared  no  longer  peruse,  and  put  it  on  the  table,  beside  the 
untasted  tart. 

Bessie  had  now  finished  dusting  and  tidying  the  room, 
and  having  washed  her  hands,  she  opened  a  certain  little 
drawer,  full  of  splendid  shreds  of  silk  and  satin,  and  began 
making  a  new  bonnet  for  Georgiana's  doll.  Meantime  she 
sang :  her  song  was — 

In  the  days  when  we  went  gipsying, 
A  long  time  ago. 


JANE  EYEE  19 

I  had  often  heard  the  song  before,  and  always  with  lively 
delight ;  for  Bessie  had  a  sweet  voice— at  least  I  thought  so. 
But  now,  though  her  voice  was  still  sweet,  I  found  in  its 
melody  an  indescribable  sadness.  Sometimes,  preoccupied 
with  her  work,  she  sang  the  refrain  very  low,  very  lingerly  ; 
'  A  long  time  ago '  came  out  like  the  saddest  cadence  of  a 
funeral  hymn.  She  passed  into  another  ballad,  this  time  a 
really  doleful  one. 

My  feet  they  are  sore,  and  my  limbs  they  are  weary ; 

Long  is  the  way,  and  the  mountains  are  wild ; 
Soon  will  the  twilight  close  moonless  and  dreary 

Over  the  path  of  the  poor  orphan  child. 

Why  did  they  send  me  so  far  and  so  lonely, 

Up  where  the  moors  spread  and  grey  rocks  are  piled  ? 

Men  are  hard-hearted,  and  kind  angels  only 
Watch  o'er  the  steps  of  a  poor  orphan  child. 

Yet  distant  and  soft  the  night-breeze  is  blowing, 
Clouds  there  are  none,  and  clear  stars  beam  mild ; 

God,  in  His  mercy,  protection  is  showing, 
Comfort  and  hope  to  the  poor  orphan  child. 

Ev'n  should  I  fall  o'er  the  broken  bridge  passing, 
Or  stray  in  the  marshes,  by  false  lights  beguiled, 

Still  will  my  Father,  with  promise  and  blessing, 
Take  to  His  bosom  the  poor  orphan  child. 

There  is  a  thought  that  for  strength  should  avail  me, 
Though  both  of  shelter  and  kindred  despoiled ; 

Heaven  is  a  home,  and  a  rest  will  not  fail  me ; 
God  is  a  friend  to  the  poor  orphan  child. 

'  Come,  Miss  Jane,  don't  cry,1  said  Bessie,  as  she  finished. 
She  might  as  well  have  said  to  the  fire,  '  don't  burn ! '  but 
how  could  she  divine  the  morbid  suffering  to  which  I  was  a 
prey  ?  In  the  course  of  the  morning  Mr.  Lloyd  came  again. 

*  What,  already  up  ! '  said  he,  as  he  entered  the  nursery. 
1  Well,  nurse,  how  is  she  ?  ' 

Bessie  answered  that  I  was  doing  very  well. 

'Then  she  ought  to  look  more  cheerful.  Gome  here, 
Miss  Jane ;  your  name  is  Jane,  is  it  not  ? ' 


20  JANE  EYRE 

'  Yes,  sir,  Jane  Eyre.' 

1  Well,  you  have  been  crying,  Miss  Jane  Eyre  ;  can  you 
tell  me  what  about  ?  Have  you  any  pain  ?  ' 

•  No,  sir/ 

'  Oh !  I  daresay  she  is  crying  because  she  could  not  go 
out  with  Missis  in  the  carriage/  interposed  Bessie. 

1  Surely  not !  why,  she  is  too  old  for  such  pettishness/ 

I  thought  so  too ;  and  my  self-esteem  being  wounded  by 
the  false  charge,  I  answered  promptly,  '  I  never  cried  for 
such  a  thing  in  my  life  :  I  hate  going  out  in  the  carriage.  I 
cry  because  I  am  miserable/ 

'  Oh  fie,  Miss ! '  said  Bessie. 

The  good  apothecary  appeared  a  little  puzzled.  I  was 
standing  before  him  ;  he  fixed  his  eyes  on  me  very  steadily  : 
his  eyes  were  small  and  grey  :  not  very  bright,  but  I  daresay 
I  should  think  them  shrewd  now :  he  had  a  hard-featured 
yet  good-natured  looking  face.  Having  considered  me  at 
leisure,  he  said :  '  What  made  you  ill  yesterday  ?  ' 

'  She  had  a  fall/  said  Bessie,  again  putting  in  her  word. 

'  Fall !  why  that  is  like  a  baby  again !  Can't  she  manage 
to  walk  at  her  age  ?  She  must  be  eight  or  nine  years  old/ 

'  I  was  knocked  down/  was  the  blunt  explanation  jerked 
out  of  me  by  another  pang  of  mortified  pride  :  '  but  that  did 
not  make  me  ill/  I  added ;  while  Mr.  Lloyd  helped  himself 
to  a  pinch  of  snuff. 

As  he  was  returning  the  box  to  his  waistcoat  pocket,  a 
loud  bell  rang  for  the  servants'  dinner ;  he  knew  what  it 
was.  '  That's  for  you,  nurse/  said  he  ;  '  you  can  go  down ; 
I'll  give  Miss  Jane  a  lecture  till  you  come  back/ 

Bessie  would  rather  have  stayed,  but  she  was  obliged  to 
go,  because  punctuality  at  meals  was  rigidly  enforced  at 
Gateshead  Hall. 

'  The  fall  did  not  make  you  ill ;  what  did,  then  ?  '  pursued 
Mr.  Lloyd,  when  Bessie  was  gone. 

'  I  was  shut  up  in  a  room  where  there  is  a  ghost  till 
after  dark/ 

I  saw  Mr.  Lloyd  smile  and  frown  at  the  same  time : 


JANE  EYKE  21 

'Ghost !  What,  you  are  a  baby  after  all  1  You  are  afraid 
of  ghosts?' 

'  Of  Mr.  Heed's  ghost  I  am  :  he  died  in  that  room,  and 
was  laid  out  there.  Neither  Bessie  nor  any  one  else  will  go 
into  it  at  night,  if  they  can  help  it ;  and  it  was  cruel  to  shut 
me  up  alone  without  a  candle, — so  cruel  that  I  think  I  shall 
never  forget  it/ 

'Nonsense!  And  is  it  that  makes  you  so  miserable? 
Are  you  afraid  now  in  daylight  ? ' 

1  No  :  but  night  will  come  again  before  long :  and  besides, 
— I  am  unhappy, — very  unhappy,  for  other  things.1 

1  What  other  things  ?    Can  you  tell  me  some  of  them  ? ' 

How  much  I  wished  to  reply  fully  to  this  question ! 
How  difficult  it  was  to  frame  any  answer  1  Children  can 
feel,  but  they  cannot  analyse  their  feelings ;  and  if  the 
analysis  is  partially  effected  in  thought,  they  know  not  how 
to  express  the  Result  of  the  process  in  words.  Fearful, 
however,  of  losing  this  first  and  only  opportunity  of  relieving 
my  grief  by  imparting  it,  I,  after  a  disturbed  pause,  con- 
trived to  frame  a  meagre,  though,  as  far  as  it  went,  true 
response. 

'  For  one  thing,  I  have  no  father  or  mother,  brothers  or 
sisters/ 

1  You  have  a  kind  aunt  and  cousins.' 

Again  I  paused ;  then  bunglingly  enounced :  '  But  John 
Eeed  knocked  me  down,  and  my  aunt  shut  me  up  in  the 
red-room.' 

Mr.  Lloyd  a  second  time  produced  his  snuff-box. 

'Don't  you  think  Gateshead  Hall  a  very  beautiful 
house  ? '  asked  he.  '  Are  you  not  very  thankful  to  have 
such  a  fine  place  to  live  at  ?  ' 

1  It  is  not  my  house,  sir ;  and  Abbot  says  I  hava  less 
right  to  be  here  than  a  servant.' 

'  Pooh !  you  can't  be  silly  enough  to  wish  to  leave  such 
a  splendid  place  ? ' 

'  If  I  had  anywhere  else  to  go,  I  should  be  glad  to  leave  it; 
but  I  can  never  get  away  from  Gateshead  till  I  am  a  woman.' 


22  JANE  EYBE 

1  Perhaps  you  may — who  knows  ?  Have  you  any  rela- 
tions besides  Mrs.  Eeed  ? ' 

' 1  think  not,  sir.' 

1  None  belonging  to  your  father  ? ' 

'  I  don't  know :  I  asked  aunt  Eeed  once,  and  she  said 
possibly  I  might  have  some  poor,  low  relations  called  Eyre, 
but  she  knew  nothing  about  them.' 

1  If  you  had  such,  would  you  like  to  go  to  them  ? ' 

I  reflected.  Poverty  looks  grim  to  grown  people  ;  still 
more  so  to  children :  they  have  not  much  idea  of  industrious, 
working,  respectable  poverty ;  they  think  of  the  word  only 
as  connected  with  ragged  clothes,  scanty  food,  tireless  grates, 
rude  manners,  and  debasing  vices :  poverty  for  me  was 
synonymous  With  degradation. 

'  No ;  I  should  not  like  to  belong  to  poor  people/  was 
my  reply. 

'  Not  even  if  they  were  kind  to  you  ? ' 

I  shook  my  head :  I  could  not  see  how  poor  people  had 
the  means  of  being  kind ;  and  then  to  learn  to  speak  like 
them,  to  adopt  their  manners,  to  be  uneducated,  to  grow  up 
like  one  of  the  poor  women  I  saw  sometimes  nursing  their 
children  or  washing  their  clothes  at  the  cottage  doors  of  the 
village  of  Gateshead :  no,  I  was  not  heroic  enough  to  pur- 
chase liberty  at  the  price  of  caste. 

'  But  are  your  relatives  so  very  poor  ?  Are  they  working 
people  ? ' 

*  I  cannot  tell ;  aunt  Eeed  says,  if  I  have  any,  they  must 
be  a  beggarly  set :  I  should  not  like  to  go  a  begging.' 

1  Would  you  like  to  go  to  school? ' 

Again  I  reflected:  I  scarcely  knew  what  school  was; 
Bessie  sometimes  spoke  of  it  as  a  place  where  young  ladies 
sat  in  the  stocks,  wore  backboards,  and  were  expected  to  be 
exceedingly  genteel  and  precise:  John  Eeed  hated  his 
school,  and  abused  his  master;  but  John  Eeed's  tastes 
were  no  rule  for  mine,  and  if  Bessie's  accounts  of  school 
discipline  (gathered  from  the  young  ladies  of  a  family  where 
she  had  lived  before  coming  to  Gateshead)  were  somewhat 


JANE   J2.YBE  23 

appalling,  her  details  of  certain  accomplishments  attained  by 
these  same  young  ladies  were,  I  thought,  equally  attractive. 
She  boasted  of  beautiful  paintings  of  landscapes  and  flowers 
by  them  executed ;  of  songs  they  could  sing  and  pieces  they 
could  play,  of  purses  they  could  net,  of  French  books  they 
could  translate  ;  till  my  spirit  was  moved  to  emulation  as  I 
listened.  Besides,  school  would  be  a  complete  change :  it 
implied  a  long  journey,  an  entire  separation  from  Gateshead, 
an  entrance  into  a  new  life. 

'  I  should  indeed  like  to  go  to  school/  was  the  audible 
conclusion  of  my  musings. 

'  Well,  well ;  who  knows  what  may  happen  ? '  said  Mr. 
Lloyd,  as  he  got  up :  '  The  child  ought  to  have  change  of 
air  and  scene/  he  added,  speaking  to  himself ;  '  nerves  not 
in  a  good  state.' 

Bessie  now  returned ;  at  the  same  moment  the  carriage 
was  heard  rolling  up  the  gravel-walk. 

'  Is  that  your  mistress,  nurse  ? '  asked  Mr.  Lloyd.  '  I 
should  like  to  speak  to  her  before  I  go.1 

Bessie  invited  him  to  walk  into  the  breakfast-room,  and 
led  the  way  out.  In  the  interview  which  followed  between 
him  and  Mrs.  Eeed,  I  presume,  from  after-occurrences,  that 
the  apothecary  ventured  to  recommend  my  being  sent  to 
school;  and  the  recommendation  was  no  doubt  readily 
enough  adopted ;  for  as  Abbot  said,  in  discussing  the  subject 
with  Bessie  when  both  sat  sewing  in  the  nursery  one  night, 
after  I  was  in  bed,  and,  as  they  thought,  asleep, '  Missis  was, 
she  dared  say,  glad  enough  to  get  rid  of  such  a  tiresome,  ill- 
conditioned  child,  who  always  looked  as  if  she  were  watch- 
ing everybody,  and  scheming  plots  underhand.'  Abbot,  I 
think,  gave  me  credit  for  being  a  sort  of  infantine  Guy 
Eawkes. 

On  that  same  occasion  I  learned,  for  the  first  time,  from 
Miss  Abbot's  communications  to  Bessie,  that  my  father  had 
been  a  poor  clergyman  ;  that  my  mother  had  married  him 
against  the  wishes  of  her  friends,  who  considered  the  match 
beneath  her ;  that  my  grandfather  Beed  was  so  irritated  at 

c 


24  JANE  EYES 

her  disobedience,  he  cut  her  off  without  a  shilling ;  that  after 
my  mother  and  father  had  been  married  a  year,  the  latter 
caught  the  typhus  fever  while  visiting  among  the  poor  of  a 
large  manufacturing  town  where  his  curacy  was  situated, 
and  where  that  disease  was  then  prevalent ;  that  my  mother 
took  the  infection  from  him,  and  both  died  within  a  month 
of  each  other. 

Bessie,  when  she  h'^ard  this  narrative,  sighed  and  said, 
'Poor  Miss  Jane  is  to  be  pitied,  too,  Abbot/ 

'  Yes,'  responded  Abbot,  *  if  she  were  a  nice,  pretty  child, 
one  might  compassionate  her  forlornness ;  but  one  really 
cannot  care  for  such  a  little  toad  as  that/ 

1  Not  a  great  deal,  to  be  sure,'  agreed  Bessie  •  'at  any  rate, 
a  beauty  like  Miss  Georgiana  would  be  more  moving  in  the 
same,  condition.' 

'  Yes,  I  doat  on  Miss  Georgiana  ! '  cried  the  fervent  Abbot. 
1  Little  darling  !  —with  her  long  curls  and  her  blue  eyes,  and 
such  a  sweet  colour  as  she  has  ,  just  as  if  she  were  painted ! 
— Bessie,  I  could  fancy  a  Welsh  rabbit  for  supper.1 

'  So  could  I — with  a  roast  onion.  Come,  we'll  go  down/ 
They  went. 


JANE  EYEE  25 


CHAPTER  IV 

FROM  my  discourse  with  Mr.  Lloyd,  and  from  the  above- 
reported  conference  between  Bessie  and  Abbot,  I  gathered 
enough  of  hope  to  suffice  as  a  motive  for  wishing  to  get  well : 
a  change  seemed  near, — I  desired  and  waited  it  m  silence.  It 
tarried,  however :  days  and  weeks  passed  •  I  had  regained, 
my  normal  state  of  health,  but  no  new  allusion  was  made  to 
the  subject  over  which  I  brooded.  Mrs.  Eeed  surveyed  me 
at  times  with  a  severe  eye,  but  seldom  addressed  me  :  since 
my  illness  she  had  drawn  a  more  marked  line  of  separation 
than  ever  between  me  and  her  own  children ;  appointing  mo 
a  small  closet  to  sleep  in  by  myself,  condemning  mo  to 
take  my  meals  alone,  and  pass  all  my  time  in  the  nursery, 
while  my  cousins  were  constantly  in  the  drawing-room. 
Not  a  hint,  however,  did  she  drop  about  sending  me  to 
school :  still  I  felfc  an  instinctive  ceitainty  that  she  would 
not  long  endure  me  under  the  same  roof  with  her ;  for  her 
glance,  now  more  than  ever,  when  turned  on  me,  expressed 
an  insuperable  and  rooted  aversion. 

Eliza  and  Georgiana,  evidently  acting  according  to  orders, 
spoke  to  me  as  little  as  possible  :  John  thrust  his  tongue  in 
his  cheek  whenever  he  saw  me,  and  once  attempted  chastise- 
ment ;  but  as  I  instantly  turned  against  him,  roused  by  the 
same  sentiment  of  deep  ire  and  desperate  revolt  which  had 
stirred  my  corruption  before,  he  thought  it  better  to  desist, 
and  ran  from  me,  uttering  execrations,  and  vowing  I  had 
burst  his  nose.  I  had  indeed  levelled  at  that  prominent 
feature  as  hard  a  blow  as  my  knuckles  could  inflict ;  and 
when  I  saw  that  either  that  or  my  look  daunted  him,  I 
had  the  greatest  inclination  to  follow  up  my  advantage  to 


26  JANE  EYEE 

purpose  ;  but  he  was  already  with  his  mamma.  I  heard  him 
in  a  blubbering  tone  commence  the  tale  of  how  '  that  nasty 
Jane  Eyre '  had  flown  at  him  like  a  mad  cat :  he  was  stopped 
rather  harshly — *  Don't  talk  to  me  about  her,  John  :  I  told 
you  not  to  go  near  her ;  she  is  not  worthy  of  notice ;  I  do 
not  choose  that  either  you  or  your  sisters  should  associate 
with  her.' 

Here,  leaning  over  the  banister,  I  cried  out  suddenly, 
and  without  at  all  deliberating  on  my  words, — '  They  are  not 
fit  to  associate  with  me/ 

Mrs.  Reed  was  rather  a  stout  woman ;  but  on  hearing 
this  strange  and  audacious  declaration,  she  ran  nimbly  up 
the  stair,  swept  me  like  a  whirlwind  into  the  nursery,  and 
crushing  me  down  on  the  edge  of  my  crib,  dared  me  in  an 
emphatic  voice  to  rise  from  that  place,  or  utter  one  syllable, 
during  the  remainder  of  the  day. 

'  What  would  uncle  Reed  say  to  you,  if  he  were  alive  ?' 
was  my  scarcely  voluntary  demand.  I  say  scarcely  volun- 
tary, for  it  seemed  as  if  my  tongue  pronounced  words  with- 
out my  will  consenting  to  their  utterance  :  something  spoke 
out  of  me  over  which  I  had  no  control. 

1  What  ?  '  said  Mrs.  Reed  under  her  breath  :  her  usually 
cold  composed  grey  eye  became  troubled  with  a  look  like 
fear;  she  took  her  hand  from  my  arm,  and  gazed  at  me 
as  if  she  really  did  not  know  whether  I  were  child  or  fiend. 
I  was  now  in  for  it. 

'  My  uncle  Reed  is  in  heaven,  and  can  see  all  you  do  and 
think ;  and  so  can  papa  and  mamma :  they  know  how  you 
shut  me  up  all  day  long,  and  how  you  wish  me  dead.' 

Mrs.  Reed  soon  rallied  her  spirits :  she  shook  me  most 
soundly,  she  boxed  both  my  ears,  and  then  left  me  without 
a  word.  Bessie  supplied  the  hiatus  by  a  homily  of  an  hour's 
length,  in  which  she  proved  beyond  a  doubt  that  I  was  the 
most  wicked  and  abandoned  child  ever  reared  under  a  roof. 
I  half  believed  her ;  for  I  felt  indeed  only  bad  feelings  surg- 
ing in  my  breast. 

No\  ember,  December,  and  half  of  January  passed  away. 


JANE  EYBE  27 

Christmas  and  the  New  Year  had  been  celebrated  at  Gates- 
head  with  the  usual  festive  cheer ;  presents  had  been  inter- 
changed, dinners  and  evening  parties  given.  From  every 
enjoyment  I  was,  of  course,  excluded:  my  share  of  the 
gaiety  consisted  in  witnessing  the  daily  apparelling  of  Eliza 
and  Georgiana,  and  seeing  them  descend  to  the  drawing- 
room,  dressed  out  in  thin  muslin  frocks  and  scarlet  sashes, 
with  hair  elaborately  ringletted ;  and  afterwards,  in  listening 
to  the  sound  of  the  piano  or  the  harp  played  below,  to  the 
passing  to  and  fro  of  the  butler  and  footman,  to  the  jingling 
of  glass  and  china  as  refreshments  were  handed,  to  the 
broken  hum  of  conversation  as  the  drawing-room  doors 
opened  and  closed.  When  tired  of  this  occupation,  I  would 
retire  from  the  stairhead  to  the  solitary  and  silent  nursery  : 
there,  though  somewhat  sad,  I  was  not  miserable.  To 
speak  truth,  I  had  not  the  least  wish  to  go  into  company, 
for  in  company  I  was  very  rarely  noticed  ;  and  if  Bessie  had 
but  been  kind  and  companionable,  I  should  have  deemed  it 
a  treat  to  spend  the  evenings  quietly  with  her,  instead  of 
passing  them  under  the  formidable  eye  of  Mrs.  Eeed,  in  a 
room  full  of  ladies  and  gentlemen.  But  Bessie,  as  soon  as 
she  had  dressed  her  young  ladies,  used  to  take  herself  off  to 
the  lively  regions  of  the  kitchen  and  housekeeper's  room, 
generally  bearing  the  candle  along  with  her.  I  then  sat 
with  my  doll  on  my  knee,  till  the  fire  got  low,  glancing 
round  occasionally  to  make  sure  that  nothing  worse  than 
myself  haunted  the  shadowy  room  ;  and  when  the  embers 
sank  to  a  dull  red,  I  undressed  hastily,  tugging  at  knots  and 
strings  as  I  best  might,  and  sought  shelter  from  cold  and 
darkness  in  my  crib.  To  this  crib  I  always  took  my  doll ; 
human  beings  must  love  something,  and  in  the  dearth  of 
worthier  objects  of  affection,  I  contrived  to  find  a  pleasure 
in  loving  and  cherishing  a  faded  graven  image,  shabby  as  a 
miniature  scarecrow.  It  puzzles  me  now  to  remember  with 
what  absurd  sincerity  I  doated  on  this  little  toy,  half  fancy- 
ing it  alive  and  capable  of  sensation.  I  could  not  sleep 
unless  it  was  folded  in  my  night-gown :  and  when  it  lay 


28  JANE  BYES 

there  safe  and  warm,  I  was  comparatively  happy,  believing 
it  to  be  happy  likewise. 

Long  did  the  hours  seem  while  I  waited  the  departure  of 
the  company,  and  listened  for  the  sound  of  Bessie's  step  on 
the  stairs  :  sometimes  she  would  come  up  in  the  interval  to 
seek  her  thimble  or  her  scissors,  or  perhaps  to  bring  me 
something  by  way  of  supper — a  bun  or  a  cheese-cake-  then 
she  would  sit  on  the  bed  while  I  ate  it,  and  when  I  had 
finished,  she  would  tuck  the  clothes  round  me,  and  twice 
she  kissed  me,  and  said,  *  Good  night,  Miss  Jane.'  When 
thus  gentle,  Bessie  seemed  to  me  the  best,  prettiest,  kindest 
being  in  the  world ;  and  I  wished  most  intensely  that  she 
would  always  be  so  pleasant  and  amiable,  and  never  push 
me  about,  or  scold,  or  task  me  unreasonably,  as  she  was  too 
often  wont  to  do.  Bessie  Lee  must,  I  think,  have  been  a 
girl  of  good  natural  capacity,  for  she  was  smart  in  all  she 
did,  and  had  a  remarkable  knack  of  narrative  ;  so,  at  least, 
I  judge  from  the  impression  made  on  me  by  her  nursery 
tales.  She  was  pretty,  too,  if  my  recollections  of  her  face 
and  person  are  correct.  I  remember  her  as  a  slim  young 
woman,  with  black  hair,  dark  eyes,  very  nice  features,  and 
good,  clear  complexion ;  but  she  had  a  capricious  and  hasty 
temper,  and  indifferent  ideas  of  principle  or  justice  :  still, 
such  as  she  was,  I  preferred  her  to  any  one  else  at  Gates- 
head  Hall. 

It  was  the  fifteenth  of  January,  about  nine  o'clock  in  the 
morning :  Bessie  was  gone  down  to  breakfast ;  my  cousins  had 
not  yet  been  summoned  to  their  mamma ;  Eliza  was  putting  on 
her  bonnet  and  warm  garden-coat  to  go  and  feed  her  poultry, 
an  occupation  of  which  she  was  fond :  and  not  less  so  of  selling 
the  eggs  to  the  housekeeper  and  hoarding  up  the  money  she 
thus  obtained.  She  had  a  turn  for  traffic,  and  a  marked 
propensity  for  saving ;  shown  not  only  in  the  vending  of 
eggs  and  chickens,  but  also  in  driving  hard  bargains  with 
the  gardener  about  flower-roots,  seeds,  and  slips  of  plants ; 
that  functionary  having  orders  from  Mrs.  Beed  to  buy  of 
his  young  lady  all  the  products  of  her  parterre  she  wished 


JANE  EYEB  29 

to  sell :  and  Eliza  would  have  sold  the  hair  off  her  head  if 
she  could  have  made  a  handsome  profit  thereby.  As  to  her 
money,  she  first  secreted  it  in  odd  corners,  wrapped  in  a  rag 
or  an  old  curl-paper ;  but  some  of  these  hoards  having  been 
discovered  by  the  housemaid,  Eliza,  fearful  of  one  day  losing 
her  valued  treasure,  consented  to  intrust  it  to  her  mother, 
at  a  usurious  rate  of  interest— fifty  or  sixty  per  cent. ;  which 
interest  she  exacted  every  quarter,  keeping  her  accounts  in 
a  little  book  with  anxious  accuracy. 

Georgiana  sat  on  a  high  stool,  dressing  her  hair  at  the 
glass,  and  interweaving  her  curls  with  artificial  flowers  and 
faded  leathers,  of  which  she  had  found  a  store  in  a  drawer 
in  the  attic  1  was  making  my  bed,  having  received  strict 
orders  from  Bessie  to  get  it  arranged  before  she  returned 
(for  Bessie  now  frequently  employed  me  as  a  sort  of  under- 
nurserymaid,  to  tidy  the  room,  dust  the  chairs,  &c.).  Having 
spread  the  quilt,  and  folded  my  night-dress,  I  went  to  the 
window-seat  to  put  in  order  some  picture-books  and  doll's 
house  furniture  scattered  there ;  an  abrupt  command  from 
Georgiana  to  let  her  playthings  alone  (for  th'e  tiny  chairs 
and  mirrors,  the  fairy  plates  and  cups  were  her  property) 
stopped  my  proceedings  ;  and  then,  for  lack  of  other  occu- 
pation, I  fell  to  breathing  on  the  frost-flowers  with  which 
the  window  was  fretted,  and  thus  clearing  a  space  in  the 
glass  through  which  I  might  look  out  on  the  grounds,  where 
all  was  still  and  petrified  under  the  influence  of  a  hard  frost 

From  this  window  were  visible  the  porter's  lodge  and 
the  carriage-road,  and  just  as  I  had  dissolved  so  much  of 
the  silver-white  foliage  veiling  the  panes  as  left  room  to 
look  out,  I  saw  the  gates  thrown  open  and  a  carriage  roll 
through.  I  watched  it  ascending  the  drive  with  indifference  : 
carriages  often  came  to  Gateshead,  but  none  ever  brought 
visitors  in  whom  I  was  interested ;  it  stopped  in  front  of 
the  house,  the  door-bell  rang  loudly,  the  new-comer  was 
admitted.  All  this  being  nothing  to  me,  my  vacant  atten- 
tion soon  found  livelier  attraction  in  the  spectacle  of  a  little 
hungry  robin,  which  came  and  chirruped  on  the  twigs  of 


30  JANE  EYEE 

the  leafless  cherry-tree  nailed  against  the  wall  near  the 
casement.  The  remains  of  my  breakfast  of  bread  and  milk 
stood  on  the  table,  and  having  crumbled  a  morsel  of  roll,  I  was 
tugging  at  the  sash  to  put  out  the  crumbs  on  the  window-sill, 
when  Bessie  came  running  upstairs  into  the  nursery. 

c  Miss  Janertake  off  your  pinatore :  what  are  you  doing 
there  ?  Have  you  washed  your  hands  and  face  this  morn- 
ing ?  '  I  gave  another  tug  before  I  answered,  for  I  wanted 
the  bird  to  be  secure  of  its  bread :  the  sash  yielded ;  I 
scattered  the  crumbs,  some  on  the  stone  sill,  some  on  the 
cherry-tree  bough,  then,  closing  the  window,  I  replied : — 
'  No,  Bessie ;  I  have  only  just  finished  dusting.1 

4  Troublesome,  careless  child !  and  what  are  you  doing 
now  ?  You  look  quite  red,  as  if  you  had  been  about  some 
mischief  :  what  were  you  opening  the  window  for  ?  ' 

I  was  spared  the  trouble  of  answering,  for  Bessie  seemed 
in  too  great  a  hurry  to  listen  to  explanations :  she  hauled 
me  to  the  washstand,  inflicted  a  merciless,  but  happily  brief 
scrub  on  my  face  and  hands  with  soap,  water,  and  a  coarse 
towel ;  disciplined  my  head  with  a  bristly  brush,  denuded 
me  of  my  pinafore,  and  then,  hurrying  me  to  the  top  of  the 
stairs,  bid  me  go  down  directly,  as  I  was  wanted  in  the 
breakfast- room. 

I  would  have  asked  who  wanted  me:  I  would  have 
demanded  if  Mrs.  Eeed  was  there ;  but  Bessie  was  already 
gone,  and  had  closed  the  nursery-door  upon  me  :  I  slowly 
descended.  For  nearly  three  months  I  had  never  been 
called  to  Mrs.  Beed's  presence:  restricted  so  long  to  the 
nursery,  the  breakfast,  dining,  and  drawing-rooms  were 
become  for  me  awful  regions,  on  which  it  dismayed  me  to 
intrude. 

I  now  stood  in  the  empty  hall ;  before  me  was  the  break- 
fast-room door,  and  I  stopped,  intimidated  and  trembling. 
What  a  miserable  little  poltroon  had  fear,  engendered  of 
unjust  punishment,  made  of  me  in  those  days !  I  feared 
to  return  to  the  nursery,  and  feared  to  go  forward  to  the 
parlour ;  ten  minutes  I  stood  in  agitated  hesitation :  the 


JANE  EYBE  31 

vehement  ringing  of  the  breakfast-room  bell  decided  me ; 
I  must  enter. 

1  Who  could  want  me  ? '  I  asked  inwardly,  as  with  both 
hands  I  turned  the  stiff  door-handle,  which,  for  a  second  or 
two,  resisted  my  efforts.  (  What  should  I  see  besides  aunt 
Beed  in  the  apartment  ? — a  man  or  a  woman  ?  '  The  handle 
turned,  the  door  unclosed,  and  passing  through  and  curtsey- 
ing low  I  looked  up  at — a  black  pillar!  such,  at  least, 
appeared  to  me,  at  first  sight,  the  straight,  narrow,  sable- 
clad  shape  standing  erect  on  the  rug  :  the  grim  face  at  the 
top  was  like  a  carved  mask,  placed  above  the  shaft  by  way 
of  capital. 

Mrs.  Eocd  occupied  her  usual  seat  by  the  fireside :  she 
made  a  signal  to  me  to  approach :  I  did  so,  and  she  intro- 
duced me  to  the  stony  stranger  with  the  words :  '  This  is 
the  little  girl  respecting  whom  I  applied  to  you.1 

He,  for  it  was  a  man,  turned  his  head  slowly  towards 
where  I  stood,  and  having  examined  me  with  the  two 
inquisitive-looking  grey  eyes  which  twinkled  under  a  pair 
of  bushy  brows,  said  solemnly,  and  in  a  bass  voice :  '  Her 
size  is  small :  what  is  her  age  ? ' 

1  Ten  years/ 

'  So  much  ? '  was  the  doubtful  answer ;  and  he  prolonged 
his  scrutiny  for  some  minutes.  Presently  he  addressed 
me: 

'  Your  name,  little  girl  ? ' 

'  Jane  Eyre,  sir/ 

In  uttering  these  words  I  looked  up :  he  seemed  to  me  a 
tall  gentleman;  but  then  I  was  very  little:  his  features 
were  large,  and  they  and  all  the  lines  of  his  frame  were 
equally  harsh  and  prim. 

•  Well,  Jane  Eyre,  and  are  you  a  good  child  ? ' 

Impossible  to  reply  to  this  in  the  affirmative :  my  little 
world  held  a  contrary  opinion:  I  was  silent.  Mrs.  Eeed 
answered  for  me  by  an  expressive  shake  of  the  head,  adding 
soon,  ( Perhaps  the  less  said  on  that  subject  the  better,  Mr, 
Brocklehurst/ 

02 


32  JANE  EYBE 

1  Sorry  indeed  to  hear  it !  she  and  I  mu&t  have  some  talk ; ' 
and  bending  from  the  perpendicular,  he  installed  his  person 
in  the  arm-chair,  opposite  Mrs.  Seed's.  '  Come  here/  he 
said. 

I  stepped  across  the  rug;  he  placed  me  square  and 
straight  before  him.  What  a  face  he  had,  now  that  it  was 
almost  on  a  level  with  mine  !  what  a  great  nose !  and  what 
a  mouth !  and  what  large  prominent  teeth  ! 

1  No  sight  so  sad  as  that  of  a  naughty  child/  he  began, 
1  especially  a  naughty  little  girl.  Do  you  know  where  the 
wicked  go  after  death  ? ' 

1  They  go  to  hell/  was  my  ready  and  orthodox  answer. 

'  And  what  is  hell  ?    Can  you  tell  me  that  ? f 

'  A  pit  full  of  fire/ 

'And  should  you  like  to  fall  into  that  pit,  and  to  be 
burning  there  for  ever  ?  ' 

1  No,  sir/ 

'  What  must  you  do  to  avoid  it  ? ' 

I  deliberated  a  moment ;  my  answer,  when  it  did  come, 
was  objectionable  :  '  I  must  keep  in  good  health  and  not 
die/ 

I  How  can  you  keep  in  good  health  ?    Children  younger 
than  you  die  daily.    I  buried  a  little  child  of  five  years  old 
only  a  day  or  two  since, — a  good  little  child,  whose  soul  is 
now  in  heaven.    It  is  to  be  feared  the  same  could  not  be 
said  of  you,  were  you  to  be  called  hence/ 

Not  being  in  a  condition  to  remove  his  doubt,  I  only 
cast  my  eyes  down  on  the  two  large  feet  planted  on  the  nig, 
and  sighed,  wishing  myself  far  enough  away. 

I 1  hope  that  sigh  is  from  the  heart,  and  that  you  repent 
of  ever  having  been   the  occasion  of   discomfort  to  your 
excellent  benefactress/ 

'  Benefactress !  benefactress ! f  said  I,  inwardly  :  '  they  all 
call  Mrs.  Eeed  my  benefactress ;  if  so,  a  benefactress  is  a 
disagreeable  thing/ 

1  Do  you  say  your  prayers  night  and  morning  ? '  con- 
tinued my  interrogator 


JANE  EYBE  33 

'  Yes,  sir/ 

*  Do  you  read  your  Bible  ? ' 

1  Sometimes/ 

'  With  pleasure  ?    Are  you  fond  of  it  ? ' 

1  T  like  Eevelations,  and  the  book  of  Daniel,  and  Genesis 
and  Samuel,  and  a  little  bit  of  Exodus,  and  some  parts  of 
Kings  and  Chronicles,  and  Job  and  Jonah/ 

'  And  the  irsalms  ?    I  hope  you  like  them  ?  ' 

'No,  sir/ 

'  No  ?  Oh,  shocking !  I  have  a  little  boy,  younger  than 
you,  who  knows  six  Psalms  by  heart :  and  when  you  ask  him 
which  he  would  rather  have,  a  gingerbread-nut  to  eat,  or  a 
verse  of  a  Psalm  to  learn,  he  says :  "  Oh !  the  verse  of  a 
Psalm  !  angel*?  sing  Psalms,"  says  he ;  "  I  wish  to  be  a  little 
angel  here  below  ;  "  he  then  gets  two  nuts  in  recompense  for 
his  infant  piety/ 

'  Psalms  are  not  interesting/  I  remarked. 

'  That  proves  you  have  a  wicked  heart ;  and  you  must 
pray  to  God  to  change  it :  to  give  you  a  new  and  clean  one  : 
to  take  away  your  heart  of  stone  and  give  you  a  heart  of  flesh/ 

I  was  about  to  propound  a  question,  touching  the 
manner  in  which  that  operation  of  changing  my  heart  was 
to  be  performed,  when  Mrs.  Eeed  interposed,  telling  me  to 
sit  down ;  she  then  proceeded  to  carry  on  the  conversation 
herself. 

1  Mr.  Brocklehurst,  I  believe  I  intimated  in  the  letter 
which  I  wrote  to  you  three  weeks  ago,  that  this  little  girl 
has  not  quite  the  character  and  disposition  I  could  wish : 
should  you  admit  her  into  Lowood  school,  I  should  be  glad 
if  the  superintendent  and  teachers  were  requested  to  keep  a 
strict  eye  on  her,  and  above  all,  to  guard  against  her  worst 
fault,  a  tendency  to  deceit.  I  mention  this  in  your  hearing, 
Jane,  that  you  may  not  attempt  to  impose  on  Mr.  Brockle- 
hurst/ 

Well  might  I  dread,  well  might  I  dislike  Mrs.  Eeed ;  for 
it  was  her  nature  to  wound  me  cruelly  :  never  was  I  happy 
in  her  presence:  however  carefully  I  obeyed,  however 


34  JANE  EYRE 

strenuously  I  strove  to  please  her,  my  efforts  were  still 
repulsed  and  repaid  by  such  sentences  as  the  above.  Now, 
uttered  before  a  stranger,  the  accusation  cut  me  to  the  heart : 
T  dimly  perceived  that  she  was  already  obliterating  hope 
from  the  new  phase  of  existence  which  she  destined  me  to 
enter ;  I  felt,  though  I  could  not  have  expressed  the  feeling, 
that  she  was  sowing  aversion  and  unkindness  along  my 
future  path ;  I  saw  myself  transformed  under  Mr.  Brockle- 
hurst's  eye  into  an  artful  noxious  child,  and  what  could  I  do 
to  remedy  the  injury  ? 

'  Nothing,  indeed,'  thought  I,  as  I  struggled  to  repress 
a  sol),  and  hastily  wiped  away  some  tears,  the  impotent 
evidences  of  my  anguish. 

'Deceit  is,  indeed,  a  sad  fault  in  a  child,1  said  Mr. 
Brocklehurst ;  '  it  is  akin  to  falsehood,  and  all  liars  will 
have  their  portion  in  the  lake  burning  with  fire  and  brim- 
stone :  she  shall,  however,  be  watched,  Mrs.  Eeed ;  I  will 
speak  to  Miss  Temple  and  the  teachers.' 

1 1  should  wish  her  to  be  brought  up  in  a  manner  suiting 
her  prospects,1  continued  my  benefactress ;  '  to  be  made 
useful,  to  be  kept  humble :  as  for  the  vacations,  she  will, 
with  your  permission,  spend  them  always  at  Lowood.' 

'  Your  decisions  are  perfectly  judicious,  madam,'  returned 
Mr.  Brocklehurst.  '  Humility  is  a  Christian  grace,  and  one 
peculiarly  appropriate  to  the  pupils  of  Lowood :  I,  therefore, 
direct  that  especial  care  shall  be  bestowed  on  its  cultivation 
amongst  them.  I  have  studied  how  best  to  mortify  in  them 
the  worldly  sentiment  of  pride ;  and,  only  the  other  day,  I 
had  a  pleasing  proof  of  my  success.  My  second  daughter, 
Augusta,  went  with  her  mamma  to  visit  the  school,  and  on 
her  return  she  exclaimed  :  "  Oh,  dear  papa,  how  quiet  and 
plain  all  the  girls  at  Lowood  look ;  with  their  hair  combed 
behind  cheir  ears,  and  their  long  pinafores,  and  those  little 
holland  pockets  outside  their  frocks —they  are  almost  like 
poor  people's  children  !  and,1'  said  she,  "  they  looked  at  my 
dress  and  mamma's,  as  if  they  had  never  seen  a  silk  gown 
before/" 


JANE  EYRE  35 

'  This  is  the  state  of  things  I  quite  approve/  returned 
Mrs.  Reed ;  '  had  I  sought  all  England  over,  I  could  scarcely 
have  found  a  system  more  exactly  fitting  a  child  like  Jane 
Eyre.  Consistency,  my  dear  Mr.  Brocklehurst ;  I  advocate 
consistency  in  all  things.' 

'  Consistency,  madam,  is  the  first  of  Christian  duties ; 
and  it  has  been. observed  in  every  arrangement  connected 
with  the  establishment  of  Lowood  :  plain  fare,  simple  attire, 
unsophisticated  accommodations,  hardy,  and  active  habits; 
such  is  the  order  of  the  day  in  the  house  and  its  inhabi- 
tants.' 

'  Quite  right,  sir.  I  may  then  depend  upon  this  child 
being  received  as  a  pupil  at  Lowood,  and  there  being  trained 
in  confoimity  to  her  position  and  prospects?  ' 

'  Madam,  you  may :  she  shall  be  placed  in  that  nursery 
of  chosen  plants — and  I  trust  she  will  show  herself  grateful 
for  the  inestimable  privilege  of  her  election.* 

'  I  will  send  her,  then,  as  soon  as  possible,  Mr.  Brockle- 
hurst ;  for,  I  assure  you,  I  feel  anxious  to  be  relieved  of  a 
Responsibility  that  was  becoming  too  irksome.' 

'  No  doubt,  no  doubt,  madam,  and  now  I  wish  you  good 
morning.  I  shall  return  to  Brocklehurst  Hall  in  the  course 
of  a  week  or  two :  my  good  friend,  the  Archdeacon,  will  not 
permit  me  to  leave  him  sooner.  I  shall  send  Miss  Temple 
notice  that  she  is  to  expect  a  new  girl,  so  that  there  will  be 
no  difficulty  about  receiving  her.  Good-bye/ 

'  Good-bye,  Mr.  Brocklehurst ;  remember  me  to  Mrs.  and 
Miss  Brocklehurst,  and  to  Augusta  and  Theodora,  and  Master 
Broughton  Brocklehurst.' 

'  I  will,  madam.  Little  girl,  here  is  a  book  entitled  the 
"  Child's  Guide  "  ;  read  it  .with  prayer,  especially  that  part 
containing  "an  account  of  the  awfully  sudden  death  of 

Martha  G ,  a  naughty  child  addicted  to  falsehood  and 

deceit.'" 

With  these  words  Mr.  Brocklehurst  put  into  my  hand  a 
thin  pamphlet  sewn  in  a  cover,  and  having  rung  for  his 
carriage,  he  departed. 


36  JANE  EYKB 

Mrs.  Eeed  and  I  were  left  alone :  some  minutes  passed 
in  silence  :  she  was  sewing,  I  was  watching  her.  Mrs.  Eeed 
might  be  at  that  time  some  six  or  seven  and  thirty ;  she  was 
a  woman  of  robust  frame,  square-shouldered  and  strong- 
limbed,  not  tall,  and,  though  stout,  not  obese :  she  had  a 
somewhat  large  face,  the  under-jaw  being  much  developed 
and  very  solid ;  her  brow  was  low,  her.  chin  large  and 
prominent,  mouth  and  nose  sufficiently  regular ;  under  her 
light  eyebrows  glimmered  an  eye  devoid  of  ruth ;  her  skin 
was  dark  and  opaque,  her  hair  nearly  flaxen  ;  her  constitu- 
tion was  sound  as  a  bell — illness  never  came  near  her  ;  she 
was  an  exact,  clever  manager,  her  household  and  tenantry 
were  thoroughly  under  her  control;  her  children,  only,  at 
times  defied  her  authority,  and  laughed  it  to  scorn;  she 
dressed  well,  and  had  a  presence  and  port  calculated  to  set 
off  handsome  attire. 

Sitting  on  a  low  stool,  a  few  yards  from  her  arm-chair,  I 
examined  her  figure ;  I  perused  her  features.  In  my  hand 
I  held  the  tract  containing  the  sudden  death  of  the  Liar : 
to  which  narrative  my  attention  had  been  pointed  as  to  an 
appropriate  warning.  What  had  just  passed ;  what  Mrs. 
Eeed  had  said  concerning  me  to  Mr.  Brocklehurst ;  the 
whole  tenor  of  their  conversation,  was  recent,  raw,  and 
stinging  in  my  mind  ;  I  had  felt  every  word  as  acutely  as  I 
had  heard  it  plainly,  and  a  passion  of  resentment  fomented 
now  within  me. 

Mrs.  Eeed  looked  up  from  her  work ;  her  eye  settled  on 
mine,  her  fingers  at  the  same  time  suspended  their  nimble 
movements. 

1  Go  out  of  the  room ;  return  to  the  nursery/  was  her 
mandate.  My  look  or  something  else  must  have  struck  her 
as  offensive,  for  she  spoke  with  extreme,  though  suppressed 
irritation.  I  got  up,  I  went  to  the  door;  I  came  back 
again  ;  I  walked  to  the  window,  across  the  room,  then  close 
up  to  her. 

Speak  I  must ;  I  had  been  trodden  on  severely,  and  must 
turn  :  but  how  ?  What  strength  had  I  to  dart  retaliation  at 


JANE  EYEE  37 

my  antagonist  ?  I  gathered  my  energies  and  launched  them 
in  this  blunt  sentence : — '  I  am  not  deceitful  :  if  I  were,  I 
should  say  1  loved  you  ;  but  I  declare  I  do  not  love  you :  I 
dislike  you  the  worst  of  anybody  in  the  world  except  John 
Eeed ;  and  this  book  about  the  liar,  you  may  givo  to  your 
girl,  Georgiana,  for  it  is  she  who  tells  lies,  arid  not  I.' 

Mrs.  Reed's  hands  still  lay  on  her  work  inactive .  her  eye 
of  ice  continued  to  dwell  freezingly  on  mine. 

'  What  more  have  you  to  say  ? '  she  asked,  rather  in  the 
tone  in  which  a  person  might  address  an  opponent  of  adult 
age  than  such  as  is  ordinarily  used  to  a  child. 

That  eye  of  hers,  that  voice  stirred  every  antipathy  I 
had.  Shaking  from  head  to  foot,  thrilled  with  ungovernable 
excitement,  I  continued  : — 'I  am  glad  you  are  no  relation  of 
mine  :  I  will  never  call  you  aunt  again  as  long  as  I  live.  I 
will  never  come  to  see  you  when  I  am  grown  up ;  and  if 
any  one  asks  me  how  I  liked  you,  and  how  you  treated  me, 
I  will  say  the  very  thought  of  you  makes  mo  sick,  and  that 
you  treated  me  with  miserable  cruelty.' 

'  How  dare  you  affirm  that,  Jane  Eyre  ? ' 

1  How  dare  I,  Mrs.  Eeed  ?  How  dare  I  ?  Because  it  is 
the  truth.  You  think  I  have  no  feelings,  and  that  I  can  do 
without  one  bit  of  love  or  kindness  ;  but  I  cannot  live  so :  and 
you  have  no  pity.  I  shall  remember  how  you  thrust  me  back 
—  roughly  and  violently  thrust  rne  back — into  the  red-room, 
and  locked  me  up  there,  to  my  dying  day ;  though  I  was  in 
agony ;  though  I  cried  out,  while  suffocating  with  distress, 
"  Have  mercy !  Have  mercy,  aunt  Eeed  I  "  And  that  punish- 
ment you  made  'me  suffer  because  your  wicked  boy  struck 
me — knocked  me  down  for  nothing.  I  will  tell  anybody 
who  asks  me  questions  this  exact  tale.  People  think  you 
a  good  woman,  but  you  are  bad ;  hard-hearted.  You  are 
deceitful ! ' 

Ere  I  had  finished  this  reply  my  soul  began  to  expand, 
to  exult,  vRlh  the  strangest  sense  of  freedom,  of  triumph,  I 
ever  felt.  It  seemed  as  if  an  invisible  bond  had  burst,  and 
that  I  had  struggled  out  into  unhoped-for  liberty.  Not 


38  JANE  EYEE 

without  cause  was  this  sentiment :  Mrs.  Eeed  looked 
frightened ;  her  work  had  slipped  from  her  knee  ;  she  was 
lifting  up  her  hands,  rocking  herself  to  and  fro,  and  even 
twisting  her  face  as  if  she  would  cry. 

'  Jane,  you  are  under  a  mistake  :  what  is  the  matter  with 
you  ?  Why  do  you  tremble  so  violently  ?  Would  you  like 
to  drink  some  water  ?  ' 

1  No,  Mrs.  Eeed.1 

'  Is  there  anything  else  you  wish  for,  Jane  ?  I  assure 
you,  I  desire  to  be  your  friend.' 

'Not  you.  You  told  Mr.  Brocklehurst  I  had  a  bad 
character,  a  deceitful  disposition  ;  and  I'll  let  everybody  at 
Lowood  know  what  you  are,  and  what  you  have  done/ 

'Jane,  you  don't  understand  these  things  :  children 
must  be  corrected  for  their  faults.' 

1  Deceit  is  not  my  fault ! '  I  cried  out  in  a  savage,  high 
voice. 

I  But  you  are  passionate,  Jane,  that  you  must  allow :  and 
now  return  to  the  nursery—there's  a  dear — and  lie  down  a 
little.' 

*  I  am  not  your  dear ;  I  cannot  lie  down :  send  me  to 
school  soon,  Mrs.  Eeed,  for  I  hate  to  live  here.' 

I 1  will  indeed  send  her  to  school  soon,'  murmured  Mrs. 
Eeed,  sotto  voce ;  and  gathering  up  her  work,  she  abruptly 
quitted  the  apartment. 

I  was  left  there  alone — winner  of  the  field.  It  was  the 
hardest  battle  I  had  fought,  and  the  first  victory  I  had 
gained  :  I  stood  awhile  on  the  rug,  where  Mr.  Brocklehurst 
had  stood,  and  I  enjoyed  my  conqueror's  solitude.  First, 
I  smiled  to  myself  and  felt  elate ;  but  this  fierce  pleasure 
subsided  in  me  as  fast  as  did  the  accelerated  throb  of  my 
pulses.  A  child  cannot  quarrel  with  its  elders,  as  I  had 
done ;  cannot  give  its  furious  feelings  uncontrolled  play,  as 
I  had  given  mine,  without  experiencing  afterwards  the  pang 
of  remorse  and  the  chill  of  reaction.  A  ridge  of  lighted 
heath,  alive,  glancing,  devouring,  would  have  been  a  meet 
emblem  of  my  mind  when  I  accused  and  menaced  Mrs.  Eeed : 


JANE  EYEB  39 

the  same  ridge,  black  and  blasted  after  the  flames  are  dead, 
would  have  represented  as  meetly  my  subsequent  condition, 
when  half  an  hour's  silence  and  reflection  had  shown  me 
the  madness  of  my  conduct,  and  the  dreariness  of  my  hatred 
and  hating  position. 

Something  of  vengeance  I  had  tasted  for  the  first  time ; 
as  aromatic  wine  it  seemed,  on  swallowing,  warm  and  racy  : 
its  after-flavour,  metallic  and  corroding,  gave  tne  a  sensa- 
tion as  if  I  had  been  poisoned.  Willingly  would  I  now 
have  gone  and  asked  Mrs.  Reed's  pardon ;  but  I  knew, 
j>artly  from  experience  and  partly  from  instinct,  that  was 
the  way  to  make  her  repulse  me  with  double  scorn,  thereby 
re-exciting  every  turbulent  impulse  of  my  nature. 

I  would  fain  exercise  some  better  faculty  than  that  of 
fierce  speaking ;  fain  find  nourishment  for  some  less  fiendish 
feeling  than  that  of  sombre  indignation.  I  took  a  book — 
some  Arabian  tales ;  I  sat  down  and  endeavoured  to  read. 
I  could  make  no  sense  of  the  subject ;  my  own  thoughts 
swam  always  between  me  and  the  page  I  had  usually  found 
fascinating.  I  opened  the  glass-door  in  the  breakfast-room  : 
the  shrubbery  was  quite  still:  the  black  frost  reigned, 
unbroken  by  sun  or  breeze,  through  the  grounds.  I  covered 
my  head  and  arms  with  the  skirt  of  my  frock,  and  went  out 
to  walk  in  a  part  of  the  plantation  which  was  quite  seques- 
tered: but  I  found  no  pleasure  in  the  silent  trees,  the 
falling  fir-cones,  the  congealed  relics  of  autumn,  russet 
leaves,  swept  by  past  winds  in  heaps,  and  now  stiffened 
together.  I  leaned  against  a  gate,  and  looked  into  an  empty 
field  where  no  sheep  were  feeding,  where  the  short  grass 
was  nipped  and  blanched.  It  was  a  very  grey  day ;  a  most 
opaque  sky, '  onding  on  snaw,'  canopied  all ;  thence  flakes 
fell  at  intervals,  which  settled  on  the  hard  path  and  on  the 
hoary  lea  without  melting.  I  stood,  a  wretched  child 
enough,  whispering  to  myself  over  and  over  again,  '  What 
shall  I  do  ?— what  shall  I  do  ?  ' 

All  at  once  I  heard  a  clear  voice  call, '  Miss  Jane !  where 
are  you  ?  Come  to  lunch ! ' 


40  JANE  EYEE 

It  was  Bessie,  I  knew  well  enough ;  but  I  did  not  stir ; 
her  light  step  came  tripping  down  the  path. 

1  You  naughty  little  thing  ! '  shj  said.  *  Why  don't  you 
come  when  you  are  called  ? ' 

Bessie's  presence,  compared  with  the  thoughts  over 
which  I  had  been  brooding,  seemed  cheerful ;  even  though, 
as  usual,  she  was  somewhat  cross.  The  fact  is,  after  my 
conflict  with  and  victory  over  Mrs.  Eeed,  I  was  not  disposed 
to  care  much  for  the  nursemaid's  transitory  anger ;  and  I 
was  disposed  to  bask  in  her  youthful  lightness  of  heart.  I 
just  put  my  two  arms  round  her,  and  said,  '  Come,  Bessie  I 
don't  scold.1 

The  action  was  more  frank  and  fearless  than  any  I  was 
habituated  to  indulge  in  :  somehow  it  pleased  her. 

'  You  are  a  strange  child,  Miss  Jane/  she  said,  as  she 
looked  down  at  me :  'a  little,  roving,  solitary  thing :  and 
you  are  going  to  school,  I  suppose  ?  ' 

I  nodded. 

1  And  won't  you  be  sorry  to  leave  poor  Bessie  ? ' 

I  What  does  Bessie  care  for  me  ?    She  is  always  scolding 
me.' 

'Because  you're  such  a  queer,  frightened,  shy,  little 
thing.  You  should  be  bolder.' 

'  What !  to  get  more  knocks  ? ' 

'  Nonsense !  But  you  are  rather  put  upon,  that's  certain. 
My  mother  said,  when  she  came  to  see  me  last  week,  that 
she  would  not  like  a  little  one  of  her  own  to  be  in  your 
place.  Now,  come  in,  and  I've  some  good  news  for  you.' 

I 1  don't  think  you  have,  Bessie.' 

1  Child !  what  do  you  mean  ?  What  sorrowful  eyes  you 
fix  on  me !  Well !  but  Missis  and  the  young  ladies  and 
Master  John  are  going  out  to  tea  this  afternoon,  and  you 
shall  have  tea  with  me.  I'll  ask  cook  to  bake  you  a  little 
cake,  and  then  you  shall  help  me  to  look  over  your  drawers ; 
for  I  am  soon  to  pack  your  trunk.  Missis  intends  you  to 
leave  Gateshead  in  a  day  or  two,  and  you  shall  choose  what 
toys  you  like  to  take  with  you.' 


JANE  EYEE  41 

'  Bessie,  you  mast  promise  not  to  scold  me  any  more  till 
I  go.' 

'  Well,  I  will :  but  mind  you  are  a  very  good  girl,  and 
don't  be  afraid  of  me.  Don't  start  when  I  chance  to  speak 
rather  sharply  :  it's  so  provoking.' 

'  I  don't  think  I  shall  ever  be  afraid  of  you  again,  Bessie, 
because  I  have  got  used  to  you;  and  I  shall  soon  have 
another  set  of  people  to  dread  ' 

'  If  you  dread  them,  they'll  dislike  you.' 

'  As  you  do,  Bessie  ? ' 

'  I  don't  dislike  you,  Miss ;  I  believe  I  am  fonder  of  you 
than  of  all  the  others/ 

*  You  don't  show  it.1 

'  You  little  sharp  thing !  you've  got  quite  a  new  way  of 
talking.  What  makes  you  so  venturesome  and  hardy? ' 

*  Why,  I  shall  soon  be  away  from  you,  and  besides ' 

I  was  going  to  say  something  about  what  had  passed  between 
me  and  Mrs.  Eeed  ;  but  on  second  thoughts  I  considered  it 
better  to  remain  silent  on  that  head. 

'  And  so  you're  glad  to  leave  me  ? ' 

'Not  at  all,  Bessie ;  indeed,  just  now  I  am  rather  sorry.1 
1  Just  now  1  and  rather  I     How  coolly  my  little  lady  says 
it!     I  daresay  now  if  I  were  to  ask  you  for  a  kiss  you 
wouldn't  give  it  me  :  you'd  say  you'd  rathe?'  not.' 

*  I'll  kiss  you  and  welcome :    bend  your  head  down.' 
Bessie  stooped ;  we  mutually  embraced,  and  I  followed  her 
into  the  house  quite  comforted.     That  afternoon  lapsed  in 
peace  and  harmony  ;  and  in  the  evening  Bessie  told  me 
some  of  her  most  enchanting  stories,  and  sang  me  some 
of  her  sweetest  songs.    Even  for  me  life  had  its  gleams  of 
sunshine. 


JANE  EYBE 


CHAPTER  V 

FIVE  o'clock  had  hardly  struck  on  the  morning  of  the  19th  of 
January,  when  Bessie  brought  a  candle  into  my  closet,  and 
found  me  already  up  and  nearly  dressed.  I  had  risen  half 
an  hour  before  her  entrance,  and  had  washed  my  face,  and  put 
on  my  clothes  by  the  light  of  a  half-moon  just  setting,  whose 
rays  streamed  through  the  narrow  window  near  my  crib.  I 
was  to  leave  Gateshead  that  day  by  a  coach  which  passed 
the  lodge  gates  at  six  A.M.  Bessie  was  the  only  person  yet 
risen ;  she  had  lit  a  fire  in  the  nursery,  where  she  now  pro- 
ceeded to  make  my  breakfast.  Few  children  can  eat  when 
excited  with  the  thoughts  of  a  journey ;  nor  could  I.  Bessie, 
having  pressed  me  in  vain  to  take  a  few  spoonfuls  of  the 
boiled  milk  and  bread  she  had  prepared  for  me,  wrapped 
up  some  biscuits  in  a  paper  and  put  them  into  my  bag ; 
then  she  helped  me  on  with  my  pelisse  and  bonnet,  and 
wrapping  herself  in  a  shawl,  she  and  I  left  the  nursery.  As 
we  passed  Mrs.  Reed's  bedroom,  she  said,  '  Will  you  go  in 
and  bid  Missis  good-bye  ?' 

'  No,*Bessie  :  she  came  to  my  crib  last  night  when  you 
were  gone  down  to  supper,  and  said  I  fleed  not  disturb 
her  in  the  morning,  or  my  cousins  either ;  and  she  told  me 
to  remember  that  she  had  always  been  my  best  friend,  and 
to  speak  of  her  and  be  grateful  to  her  accordingly.' 

1  What  did  you  say,  Miss  ? ' 

1  Nothing :  I  covered  my  face  with  the  bed-clothes,  and 
turned  from  her  to  the  wall/ 

1  That  was  wrong,  Miss  Jane.' 

1  It  was  quite  right,  Bessie :  your  Missis  has  not  been 
my  friend :  she  has  been  my  foe/ 


JANE  EYEE  43 

'  Oh,  Miss  Jane !  don't  say  so !  ' 

*  Good-bye  to  Gateshead  ! '  cried  I,  as  we  passed  through 
the  hall  and  went  out  at  the  front  door. 

The  moon  was  set,  and  it  was  very  dark ;  Bessie  carried 
a  lantern,  whose  light  glanced  on  wet  steps  and  gravel  road 
sodden  by  a  recent  thaw.  Raw  and  chill  was  the  winter 
morning :  my  teeth  chattered  as  I  hastened  down  the  drive. 
There  was  a  light  in  the  porter's  lodge  :  when  we  reached 
it,  we  found  the  porter's  wife  just  kindling  her  fire:  my 
trunk,  which  had  been  carried  down  the  evening  before, 
stood  corded  at  the  door.  It  wanted  but  a  few  minutes  of 
six,  and  shortly  after  that  hour  had  struck  the  distant  roll 
of  wheels  announced  the  coming  coach ;  I  went  to  the  door, 
and  watched  its  lamps  approach  rapidly  through  the  gloom. 

1  Is  she  going  by  herself  ? '  asked  the  porter's  wife. 

1  Yes.' 

1  And  how  far  is  it  ?  ' 

1  Fifty  miles.' 

'  What  a  long  way  !  I  wonder  Mrs.  Beed  is  not  afraid 
to  trust  her  so  far  alone.1 

The  coach  drew  up  ;  there  it  was  at  the  gates  with  its 
four  horses  and  its  top  laden  with  passengers :  the  guard 
and  coachman  loudly  urged  haste ;  my  trunk  was  hoisted 
up  ;  1  was  taken  from  Bessie's  neck,  to  which  I  clung  with 


1  Be  sure  and  take  good  care  of  her,'  cried  she  to  the 
guard,  as  he  lifted  me  into  the  inside. 

'  Ay,  ay  ! '  was  the  answer  :  the  door  was  slapped  to,  a 
voice  exclaimed,  '  All  right,'  and  on  we  drove.  Thus  was  I 
severed  from  Bessie  and  Gateshead :  thus  whirled  away  to 
unknown,  and,  as  I  then  deemed,  remote  and  mysterious 
regions. 

I  remember  but  little  of  the  journey  :  I  only  know  that 
the  day  seemed  to  me  of  a  preternatural  length,  and  that  we 
appeared  to  travel  over  hundreds  of  miles  of  road.  We 
passed  through  several  towns,  and  in  one,  a  very  large  one, 
the  coach  stopped;  the  horses  were  taken  out,  and  the 


44  JANE  EYEB 

passengers  alighted  to  dine.  I  was  carried  into  an  inn, 
where  the  guard  wanted  me  to  have  some  dinner ;  but,  as 
I  had  no  appetite,  he  left  me  in  an  immense  room  with  a 
fireplace  at  each  end,  a  chandelier  pendent  from  the  ceiling, 
and  a  little  red  gallery  high  up  against  the  wall  filled  with 
musical  instruments.  Here  I  walked  about  for  a  long  time, 
feeling  very  strange,  and  mortally  apprehensive  of  some  one 
coming  in  and  kidnapping  me  ;  for  I  believed  in  kidnappers, 
their  exploits  having  frequently  figured  in  Bessie's  fireside 
chronicles.  At  last  the  guard  returned :  once  more  I  was 
stowed  away  in  the  coach,  my  protector  mounted  his  own 
seat,  sounded  his  hollow  horn,  and  away  we  rattled  over  the 

4  stony  street '  of  L . 

The  afternoon  came  on  wet  and  somewhat  misty  :  as  it 
waned  into  dusk  I  began  to  feel  that  we  were  getting  very 
far  indeed  from  Gateshead :  we  ceased  to  pass  through 
towns;  the  country  changed;  great  grey  hills  heaved  up 
round  the  horizon:  as  twilight  deepened  we  descended  a 
valley,  dark  with  wood,  and  long  after  night  had  overclouded 
the  prospect  I  heaid  a  wild  wind  rushing  amongst  trees. 

Lulled  by  the  sound,  I  at  last  dropped  asleep  :  I  had  not 
long  slumbered  when  the  sudden  cessation  of  motion  awoke 
me  ;  the  coach-door  was  open,  and  a  person  like  a  servant 
was  standing  at  it :  I  saw  her  face  and  dress  by  the  light  of 
the  lamps. 

1  Is  there  a  little  girl  called  Jane  Eyre  here  ?  '  she  asked. 
I  answered  '  Yes,'  and  was  then  lifted  out ;  my  trunk  was 
handed  down,  and  the  coach  instantly  drove  away. 

I  was  stiff  with  long  sitting,  and  bewildered  with  the 
noise  and  motion  of  the  coach :  gathering  my  faculties,  I 
looked  about  me.  Bain,  wind,  and  darkness  filled  the  air ; 
nevertheless,  I  dimly  discerned  a  wall  before  me  and  a  door 
open  in  it ;  through  this  door  I  passed  with  my  new  guide  : 
she  shut  and  locked  it  behind  her.  There  was  now  visible 
a  house  or  houses — for  the  building  spread  far — with 
many  windows,  and  lights  burning  in  some  ;  we  went  up  a 
broad  pebbly  path,  splashing  wet,  and  were  admitted  at  a 


JANE  EYBE  45 

door;  then  the  servant  led  me  through  a  passage  into  a 
room  with  a  fire,  where  she  left  me  alone. 

I  stood  and  warmed  my  numbed  fingers  over  the  blaze, 
then  I  looked  round ;  there  was  no  candle,  but  the  uncertain 
light  from  the  hearth  showed,  by  intervals,  papered  walls, 
carpet,  curtains,  shining  mahogany  furniture:  it  was  a 
parlour,  not  so  spacious  or  splendid  as  the  drawing-room  at 
Gateshead,  but  comfortable  enough.  I  was  puzzling  to 
make  out  the  subject  of  a  picture  on  the  wall,  when  the 
door  opened,  and  an  individual  carrying  a  light  entered ; 
another  followed  close  behind. 

The  first  was  a  tall  lady  with  dark  hair,  dark  eyes,  and 
a  pale  and  large  forehead ;  her  figure  was  partly  enveloped 
in  a  shawl,  her  countenance  was  grave,  her  bearing  erect. 

'The  child  is  very  young  to  be  sent  alone/  said  she, 
putting  her  candle  down  on  the  table.  She  considered  me 
attentively  for  a  minute  or  two,  then  further  added  : 

1  She  had  better  be  put  to  bed  soon ;  she  looks  tired : 
1  are  you  tired  ? '  she  asked,  placing  her  hand  on  my 
shoulder. 

1  A  little,  ma'am.' 

'  And  hungry  too,  no  doubt :  let  her  have  some  supper 
before  she  goes  to  bed,  Miss  Miller.  Is  this  the  first  time 
you  have  left  your  parents  to  come  to  school,  my  little 
girl?1 

I  explained  to  her  that  I  had  no  parents.  She  inquired 
how  long  they  had  been  dead ;  then  how  old  I  was,  what 
was  my  name,  whether  I  could  read,  write,  and  sew  a  little  : 
then  she  touched  my  cheek  gently  with  hei  forefinger,  and 
saying,  '  She  hoped  I  should  be  a  good  child/  dismissed  me 
along  with  Miss  Miller. 

The  lady  I  had  left  might  be  about  twenty-nine  ;  the  one 
who  went  with  me  appeared  some  years  younger :  the  first 
impressed  me  by  her  voice,  look,  and  air.  Miss  Miller  was 
more  ordinary ;  ruddy  in  complexion,  though  of  a  careworn 
countenance ;  hurried  in  gait  and  action,  like  one  who  had 
always  a  multiplicity  of  tasks  on  hand :  she  looked,  indeed, 


46  JANE  EYEE 

what  I  afterwards  found  she  really  was,  an  under-teacher. 
Led  by  her,  I  passed  from  compartment  to  compartment, 
from  passage  to  passage,  of  a  large  and  irregular  building ; 
till,  emerging  from  the  total  and  somewhat  dreary  silence 
pervading  that  portion  of  the  house  we  had  traversed,  we 
came  upon  the  hum  of  many  voices,  and  presently  entered 
a  wide,  long  room,  with  great  deal  tables,  two  at  each  end, 
on  each  of  which  burnt  a  pair  of  candles,  and  seated  all 
round  on  benches  a  congregation  of  girls  of  every  age,  from 
nine  or  ten  to  twenty.  Seen  by  the  dim  light  of  the  dips, 
their  number  to  me  appeared  countless,  though  not  in  reality 
exceeding  eighty ;  they  were  uniformly  dressed  in  brown 
stuff  frocks  of  quaint  fashion,  and  long  holland  pinafores. 
It  was  the  hour  of  study;  they  were  engaged  in  conning 
over  their  to-morrow's  task,  and  the  hum  I  had  heard  was 
the  combined  result  of  their  whispered  repetitions. 

Hiss  Miller  signed  to  me  to  sit  on  a  bench  near  the  door, 
then  walking  up  to  the  top  of  the  long  room,  she  cried  out : 

1  Monitors,  collect  the  lesson-books  and  put  them  away ! ' 

Four  tall  girls  arose  from  different  tables,  and  going 
round,  gathered  the  books  and  removed  them.  Miss  Miller 
again  gave  the  word  of  command  : 

'  Monitors,  fetch  the  supper-trays  1 ' 

The  tall  girls  went  out,  and  returned  presently,  each 
bearing  a  tray,  with  portions  of  something,  I  knew  not  what, 
arranged  thereon,  and  a  pitcher  of  water  and  mug  in  the 
middle  of  each  tray.  The  portions  were  handed  round ; 
those  who  liked  took  a  draught  of  the  water,  the  mug  being 
common  to  all.  When  it  came  to  my  turn,  I  drank,  for  I 
was  thirsty,  but  did  not  touch  the  food,  excitement  and 
fatigue  rendering  me  incapable  of  eating  :  I  now  saw,  how- 
ever, that  it  was  a  thin  oaten  cake,  shared  into  fragments. 

The  meal  over,  prayers  were  read  by  Miss  Miller,  and 
the  classes  filed  off,  two  and  two,  upstairs.  Overpowered 
by  this  time  with  weariness,  I  scarcely  noticed  what  sort  of 
a  place  the  bedroom  was  ;  except  that,  like  the  schoolroom, 
I  saw  it  was  very  long.  To-night  I  was  to  be  Miss  Miller's 


JANE  EYEE  47 

bedfellow ;  she  helped  me  to  undress :  when  laid  down  I 
glanced  at  the  long  rows  of  beds,  each  of  which  was  quickly 
filled  with  two  occupants ;  in  ten  minutes  the  single  light 
was  extinguished ;  amidst  silence  and  complete  darkness,  I 
fell  asleep. 

The  night  passed  rapidly :  I  was  too  tired  even  to  dream ; 
I  only  once  awoke  to  hear  the  wind  rave  in  furious  gusts, 
and  the  rain  fall  in  torrents,  and  to  be  sensible  that  Miss 
Miller  had  taken  her  place  by  my  side.  When  I  again  un- 
closed my  eyes,  a  loud  bell  was  ringing :  the  girls  were  up 
and  dressing ;  day  had  not  yet  begun  to  dawn,  and  a  rush- 
light or  two  burnt  in  the  room.  I  too  rose  reluctantly ;  it 
was  bitter  cold,  and  I  dressed  as  well  as  I  could  for  shiver- 
ing, and  washed  when  there  was  a  basin  at  liberty,  which 
did  not  occur  soon,  as  there  was  but  one  basin  to  six  girls  on 
the  stands  down  the  middle  of  the  room.  Again  the  bell 
rang :  all  formed  in  file,  two  and  two,  and  in  that  order 
descended  the  stairs  and  entered  the  cold  and  dimly-lit 
schoolroom:  here  prayers  were  read  by  Miss  Miller;  after- 
wards she  called  out : — '  Form  classes  ! ' 

A  great  tumult  succeeded  for  some  minutes,  during  which 
Miss  Miller  repeatedly  exclaimed,  '  Silence ! '  and  *  Order ! ' 
When  it  subsided,  I  saw  them  all  drawn  up  in  four  semi- 
circles, before  four  chairs,  placed  at  the  four  tables ;  all  held 
books  in  their  hands,  and  a  great  book,  like  a  Bible,  lay  on 
each  table,  before  the  vacant  seat.  A  pause  of  some  seconds 
succeeded,  filled  up  by  the  low,  vague  hum  of  numbers ; 
Miss  Miller  walked  from  class  to  class,  hushing  this  in- 
definite sound. 

A  distant  bell  tinkled  :  immediately  three  ladies  entered 
the  room,  each  walked  to  a  table  and  took  her  seat ;  Miss 
Miller  assumed  the  fourth  vacant  chair,  which  was  that 
nearest  the  door,  and  around  which  the  smallest  of  the 
children  were  assembled :  to  this  inferior  class  I  was  called, 
and  placed  at  the  bottom  of  it. 

Business  now  began :  the  day's  Collect  was  repeated, 
then  certain  texts  of  Scripture  were  said,  and  to  these 


48  JANE  EYKE 

succeeded  a  protracted  reading  of  chapters  in  the  Bible,  which 
lasted  an  hour.  By  the  time  that  exercise  was  terminated 
day  had  fully  dawned.  The  indefatigable  bell  now  sounded 
for  the  fourth  time :  the  classes  were  marshalled  and 
marched  into  another  room  to  breakfast :  how  glad  I  was  to 
behold  a  prospect  of  getting  something  to  eat !  I  was  now 
nearly  sick  from  inanition,  having  taken  so  little  the  day 
before. 

The  refectory  was  a  great,  low-ceiled,  gloomy  room  ;  on 
two  long  tables  smoked  basins  of  something  hot,  which,  how- 
ever, to  my  dismay,  sent  forth  an  odour  far  from  inviting. 
I  saw  a  universal  manifestation  of  discontent  when  the 
fumes  of  the  repast  met  the  nostrils  of  those  destined  to 
swallow  it :  from  the  van  of  the  procession,  the  tall  girls 
of  the  first  class,  rose  the  whispered  words  : — '  Disgusting ! 
The  porridge  is  burnt  again  ! ' 

'  Silence ! '  ejaculated  a  voice ;  not  that  of  Miss  Miller, 
but  one  of  the  upper  teachers,  a  little  and  dark  personage, 
smartly  dressed,  but  of  somewhat  morose  aspect,  who  in- 
stalled herself  at  the  top  of  one  table,  while  a  more  buxom 
lady  presided  at  the  other.  1  looked  in  vain  for  her  I  had 
first  seen  the  night  before ;  she  was  not  visible  :  Miss  Miller 
occupied  the  foot  of  the  table  where  I  sat,  and  a  strange, 
foreign  looking,  elderly  lady,  the  French  teacher,  as  I  after- 
wards found,  took  the  corresponding  seat  at  the  other  board. 
A  long  grace  was  said  and  a  hymn  sung ;  then  a  servant 
brought  in  some  tea  for  the  teachers,  and  the  meal  began. 

Eavenous,  and  now  very  faint,  I  devoured  a  spoonful  or 
two  of  my  portion  without  thinking  of  its  taste ;  but  the 
first  edge  of  hunger  blunted,  I  perceived  I  had  got  in  hand  a 
nauseous  mess :  burnt  porridge  is  almost  as  bad  as  rotten 
potatoes ;  famine  itself  soon  sickens  over  it.  The  spoons 
were  moved  slowly :  I  saw  each  girl  taste  her  food  and  try 
to  swallow  it ;  but  in  most  cases  the  effort  was  soon  re- 
linquished. Breakfast  was  over,  and  none  had  breakfasted. 
Thanks  being  returned  for  what  we  had  not  got,  and  a 
second  hymn  chanted,  the  refectory  was  evacuated  for  the 


JANE  EYEE  49 

schoolroom.  I  was  one  of  the  last  to  go  out,  and  in  passing 
the  tables,  I  saw  one  teacher  take  a  basin  of  the  porridge 
and  taste  it ;  she  looked  at  the  others ;  all  their  countenances 
expressed  displeasure,  and  one  of  them,  the  stout  one, 
whispered  : — '  Abominable  stuff !  How  shameful  I ' 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  passed  before  lessons  again  began, 
during  which  the  schoolroom  was  in  a  glorious  tumult ;  for 
that  space  of  time,  it  seemed  to  be  permitted  to  talk  loud 
and  more  freely,  and  they  used  their  privilege.  The  whole 
conversation  ran  on  the  breakfast,  which  one  and  all  abused 
roundly.  Poor  things  !  it  was  the  sole  consolation  they  had. 
Miss  Miller  was  now  the  only  teacher  in  the  room  :  a  group 
of  great  girls  standing  about  her,  spoke  with  serious  and 
sullen  gestures.  1  heard  the  name  of  Mr.  Brocklehurst  pro- 
nounced by  some  lips  ;  at  which  Miss  Miller  shook  her  head 
disapprovingly ;  but  she  made  no  great  effort  to  check  the 
general  wrath  :  doubtless  she  shared  in  it. 

A  clock  in  the  schoolroom  struck  nine ;  Miss  Miller  left 
her  circle,  and  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  cried  : — 
'  Silence  !  To  your  seats  ! ' 

Discipline  prevailed :  in  five  minutes  the  confused 
throng  was  resolved  into  order,  and  comparative  silence 
quelled  the  Babel  clamour  of  tongues.  The  upper  teachers 
now  punctually  resumed  their  posts  :  but  still,  all  seemed  to 
wait.  Banged  on  benches  down  the  sides  of  the  room,  the 
eighty  girls  sat  motionless  and  erect :  a  quaint  assemblage 
they  appeared,  all  with  plain  locks  combed  from  their  faces, 
not  a  curl  visible ;  in  brown  dresses,  made  high  and  sur- 
rounded by  a  narrow  tucker  about  the  throat,  with  little 
pockets  of  holland  (shaped  something  like  a  Highlander's 
purse)  tied  in  front  of  their  frocks,  and  destined  to  serve  the 
purpose  of  a  work-bag:  all  too  wearing  woollen  stockings 
and  country-made  shoes,  fastened  with  brass  buckles. 
Above  twenty  of  those  clad  in  this  costume  were  full-grown 
girls,  or  rather  young  women ;  it  suited  them  ill,  and  gave 
an  air  of  oddity  even  to  the  prettiest. 

I    was    still    looking  at  them,   and  also  at   intervals 


50  JANE  EYEB 

examining  the  teachers — none  of  whom  precisely  pleased  me ; 
for  the  stout  one  was  a  little  coarse,  the  dark  one  not  a  little 
fierce,  the  foreigner  harsh  and  grotesque,  and  Miss  Miller, 
poor  thing !  looked  purple,  weatherbeaten,  and  overworked 
— when,  as  my  eye  wandered  from  face  to  face,  the  whole 
school  rose  simultaneously,  as  if  moved  by  a  common  spring. 

What  was  the  matter  ?  I  had  heard  no  order  given  :  I 
was  puzzled.  Ere  I  had  gathered  my  wits,  the  classes  were 
again  seated :  but  as  all  eyes  were  now  turned  to  one  point, 
mine  followed  the  general  direction,  and  encountered  the 
personage  who  had  received  me  last  night.  She  stood  at 
the  bottom  of  the  long  room,  on  the  hearth  ;  for  there  was  a 
fire  at  each  end :  she  surveyed  the  two  rows  of  girls  silently 
and  gravely.  Miss  Miller  approaching,  seemed  to  ask  her  a 
question,  and  having  received  her  answer,  went  back  to  her 
place,  and  said  aloud, — *  Monitor  of  the  first  class,  fetch  the 
globes ! ' 

While  the  direction  was  being  executed,  the  lady  con- 
sulted moved  slowly  up  the  room.  I  suppose  I  have  a 
considerable  organ  of  Veneration,  for  I  retain  yet  the  sense 
of  admiring  awe  with  which  my  eyes  traced  her  steps.  Seen 
now,  in  broad  daylight,  she  looked  tall,  fair,  and  shapely ; 
brown  eyes,  with  a  benignant  light  in  their  irids,  and  a  fine 
pencilling  of  long  lashes  round,  relieved  the  whiteness  of  her 
large  front ;  on  each  of  her  temples  her  hair,  of  a  very  dark 
brown,  was  clustered  in  round  curls,  according  to  the  fashion 
of  those  times,  when  neither  smooth  bands  nor  long  ringlets 
were  in  vogue  ;  her  dress,  also  in  the  mode  of  the  day,  was 
of  purple  cloth,  relieved  by  a  sort  of  Spanish  trimming  of 
black  velvet ;  a  gold  watch  (watches  were  not  so  common 
then  as  now)  shone  at  her  girdle.  Let  the  reader  add,  to 
complete  the  picture,  refined  features  ;  a  complexion,  if  pale, 
clear ;  and  a  stately  air  and  carriage,  and  he  will  have,  at 
least,  as  clearly  as  words  can  give  it,  a  correct  idea  of  the 
exterior  of  Miss  Temple — Maria  Temple,  as  I  afterwards  saw 
the  name  written  in  a  prayer-book  entrusted  to  me  to  carry 
to  church. 


JANE  EYBE  51 

The  superintendent  of  Lowood  (for  such  was  this  lady) 
having  taken  her  seat  before  a  pair  of  globes  placed  on  one 
of  the  tables,  summoned  the  first  class  round  her,  and  com- 
menced  giving  a  lesson  in  geography ;  the  lower  classes 
were  called  by  the  teachers  :  repetitions  in  history,  grammar, 
&c.,  went  on  for  an  hour ;  writing  and  arithmetic  succeeded, 
and  music  lessons  were  given  by  Miss  Temple  to  some  of 
the  elder  girls.  The  duration  of  each  lesson  was  measured 
by  the  clock,  which  at  last  struck  twelve.  The  superin- 
tendent rose : — '  I  have  a  word  to  address  to  the  pupils,'  said 
she. 

The  tumult  of  cessation  from  lessons  was  already  break- 
ing forth,  but  it  sank  at  her  voice.  She  went  on : — '  You 
had  this  morning  a  breakfast  which  you  could  not  eat ;  you 
must  be  hungry.  I  have  ordered  that  a  lunch  of  bread  and 
cheese  shall  be  served  to  all/ 

The  teachers  looked  at  her  with  a  sort  of  surprise. 

*  It  is  to  be  done  on  my  responsibility/  she  added,  in  an 
explanatory  tone  to  them,  and  immediately  afterwards  left 
the  room. 

The  bread  and  cheese  was  presently  brought  in  and  dis- 
tributed, to  the  high  delight  and  refreshment  of  the  whole 
school.  The  order  was  now  given,  '  To  the  garden  1 '  Each 
put  on  a  coarse  straw  bonnet,  with  strings  of  coloured  calico, 
and  a  cloak  of  grey  frieze.  I  was  similarly  equipped,  and, 
following  the  stream,  I  made  my  way  into  the  open  air. 

The  garden  was  a  wide  inclosure,  surrounded  with  walls 
so  high  as  to  exclude  every  glimpse  of  prospect ;  a  covered 
verandah  ran  down  one  side,  and  broad  walks  bordered  a 
middle  space  divided  into  scores  of  little  beds :  these  beds 
were  assigned  as  gardens  for  the  pupils  to  cultivate,  and 
each  bed  had  an  owner.  When  full  of  flowers  they  would 
doubtless  look  pretty ;  but  now,  at  the  latter  end  of  January, 
all  was  wintry  blight  and  brown  decay.  '  I  shuddered  as  I 
stood  and  looked  round  me :  it  was  an  inclement  day  for 
outdoor  exercise ;  not  positively  rainy,  but  darkened  by  a 
drizzling  yellow  fog ;  aU  underfoot  was  still  soaking  wet  with 


52  JANE  EYEE 

the  floods  of  yesterday.  The  stronger  among  the  girls  ran 
about  and  engaged  in  active  games,  but  sundry  pale  and  thin 
ones  herded  together  for  shelter  and  warmth  in  the  verandah ; 
and  amongst  these,  as  the  dense  mist  penetrated  to  their 
shivering  frames,  I  heard  frequently  the  sound  of  a  hollow 
cough. 

As  yet  I  had  spoken  to  no  one,  nor  did  anybody  seem  to 
take  notice  of  me  ;  I  stood  lonely  enough  :  but  to  that  feeling 
of  isolation  I  was  accustomed ;  it  did  not  oppress  me  much. 
I  leant  against  a  pillar  of  the  verandah,  drew  niy  grey  in antle 
close  about  me,  and,  trying  to  forget  the  cold  which  nipped 
me  'without,  and  the  unsatisfied  hunger  which  gnawed  me 
within,  delivered  myself  up  to  the  employment  ol  watching 
and  thinking.  My  reflections  were  too  undefined  and  frag- 
mentary to  merit  record :  I  hardly  yet  know  where  I  was ; 
Gateshead  and  my  past  life  seemed  floated  away  to  an  im- 
measurable distance ;  the  present  was  vague  and  strango, 
and  of  the  future  I  could  form  no  conjecture.  1  looked 
round  the  convent-like  garden,  and  then  up  at  the  houso  ;  a 
largo  building,  half  of  which  seemed  grey  and  old,  the  otlur 
half  quite  new.  The  new  part,  containing  the  schoolroom 
and  dormitory,  was  lit  by  mullioned  and  latticed  windows, 
which  gave  it  a  church-like  aspect ;  a  stone  tablet  over  the 
door,  bore  this  inscription  : — 

LOWOOD  INSTITUTION. 

THIS  PORTION  WAS  REBUILT  A.I). ,  BY  NAOMI  BBOCKLEHUR8T, 

OF  BROCKLEHURST  HALL,  IN  THIS  COUNTY. 

*Let  your  light  w>  shine  before  men  that  they  nuy  see  30111  good  works  and 
glorify  your  Father  which  i*  in  heaven.'— ST.  M  vrr  v.  16. 

I  read  these  words  over  and  over  again  :  I  felt  that  an 
explanation  belonged  to  them,  and  was  unable  fully  to 
penetrate  their  import.  I  was  still  pondering  the  significa- 
tion of  '  Institution/  and  endeavouring  to  make  out  a  con- 
nection between  the  first  words  and  the  verse  of  Scripture, 
when  the  sound  of  a  cough  close  behind  me,  made  me  turn 
my  head.  I  saw  a  girl  sitting  on  a  stone  bench  near ;  she 


JANE  EYES  53 

was  bent  over  a  book,  on  the  perusal  of  which  she  seemed 
intent :  from  where  I  stood  1  could  see  the  title — it  was 
'  Kasselas  ; '  a  name  that  struck  me  as  strange,  and  conse- 
quently attractive.  In  turning  a  leaf  she  happened  to  look 
up,  and  I  said  to  her  directly :— '  Is  your  book  interesting ? ' 
I  had  already  formed  the  intention  of  asking  her  to  lend  it 
to  me  some  day. 

*  I  like  it/  she  answered,  after  a  pause  of  a  second  or 
two,  during  which  she  examined  mo. 

'  What  is  it  about? '  I  continued.  I  hardly  know  where 
I  found  the  hardihood  thus  to  open  a  conversation  with  a 
stranger ;  the  step  was  contrary  to  my  nature  and  habits : 
but  I  think  her  occupation  touched  a  chord  of  sympathy 
somewhere ;  for  1  too  bked  reading,  though  of  a  frivolous 
and  cbildish  kind;  1  could  not  digest  or  comprehend  the 
serious  or  substantial. 

1  You  may  look  at  it/  replied  the  girl,  offering  me  the 
book. 

I  did  so ;  a  brief  examination  convinced  me  that  the 
contents  were  less  taking  than  the  title  :  '  Kasselas  '  looked 
dull  to  my  trifling  taste ;  I  saw  nothing  about  fairies,  nothing 
about  genii;  no  bright  variety  seemed  spread  over  the 
closely  printed  pages.  I  returned  it  to  her ;  she  received  it 
quietly,  and  without  saying  anything  she  was  about  to 
relapse  into  her  former  studious  rnood:  again  I  ventuied  to 
disturb  her : — '  Can  you  tell  UK*  what  the  writing  on  that 
stone  over  the  door  means  ?  What  is  Lowood  Institution  ? ' 
'  This  house  where  you  are  come  to  live.' 
'  And  why  do  they  call  it  Institution  ?  Is  it  in  any  way 
different  from  other  schools  ? ' 

1  It  is  partly  a  charity-school :  you  and  I,  and  all  the  rest 
of  us,  are  charity  children.    I  suppose  you  are  an  orphan : 
are  not  either  your  father  or  your  mother  dead  ?  ' 
1  Both  died  before  I  can  remember/ 
'  Well,  all  the  girls  here  have  lost  either  one  or  both 
parents,  and    this  is  called  an  institution  for  educating 
orphans/ 


64  JANE  BYEE 

'Do  we  pay  no  money?  Do  they  keep  us  for  no- 
thing ? ' 

1  We  pay,  or  our  friends  pay,  fifteen  pounds  a  year  for 
each/ 

'  Then  why  do  they  call  us  charity  children  ? ' 

*  Because  fifteen  pounds  is  not  enough  for  board  and 
teaching,  and  the  deficiency  is  supplied  by  subscription/ 

'Who  subscribes?' 

'Different  benevolent-minded  ladies  and  gentlemen  in 
this  neighbourhood  and  in  London/ 

1  Who  was  Naomi  Brocklehurst  ? ' 

1  The  lady  who  built  the  new  part  of  this  house  as  that 
tablet  records,  and  whose  son  overlooks  and  directs  every- 
thing here/ 

'Why?' 

'  Because  he  is  treasurer  and  manager  of  the  establish- 
ment/ 

'  Then  this  house  does  not  belong  to  that  tall  lady  who 
wears  a  watch,  and  who  said  we  were  to  have  some  bread 
and  cheese/ 

'  To  Miss  Temple  ?  Oh,  no  !  I  wish  it  did :  she  has  to 
answer  to  Mr.  Brocklehurst  for  all  she  does.  Mr.  Brockle- 
hurst buys  all  our  food  and  all  our  clothes/ 

1  Does  he  live  here  ?  ' 

'  No — two  miles  off,  at  a  large  hall/ 

'  Is  he  a  good  man  ?  ' 

1  He  is  a  clergyman,  and  is  said  to  do  a  great  deal  of 
good/ 

'  Did  you  say  that  tall  lady  was  called  Miss  Temple  ? ' 

'Yes/ 

1  And  what  are  the  other  teachers  called  ? ' 

1  The  one  with  red  cheeks  is  called  Miss  Smith ;  she  attends 
to  the  work,  and  cuts  out — for  we  make  our  own  clothesf 
our  frocks,  and  pelisses,  and  everything ;  the  little  one  with 
black  hair  is  Miss  Scatcherd;  she  teaches  history  and 
grammar,  and  hears  the  second  class  repetitions ;  and  the 
one  who  wears  a  shawl,  and  has  a  pocket-handkerchief  tied 


JANE  EYEE  55 

to  her  side  with  a  yellow  riband,  is  Madam  Pierrot :  she 
comes  from  Lisle,  in  France,  and  teaches  French.' 

'  Do  you  like  the  teachers  ? ' 

1  Well  enough.1 

'  Do  you  like  the  little  black  one,  and  the  Madame ? 

— I  cannot  pronounce  her  name  as  you  do.1 

'Miss  Scatcherd  is  hasty — you  must  take  care  not  to 
offend  her ;  Madame  Pierrot  is  not  a  bad  sort  of  person/ 

'  But  Miss  Temple  is  the  best— isn't  she  ? ' 

'Miss  Temple  is  very  good,  and  very  clever:  she  is 
above  the  rest,  because  she  knows  far  more  than  they  do/ 

'  Have  you  been  long  here  ?  ' 

'  Two  years.' 

'  Are  you  an  orphan  ? ' 

'  My  mother  is  dead.' 

'  Are  you  happy  here  ? ' 

'  You  ask  rather  too  many  questions.  I  have  given  you 
answers  enough  for  the  present :  now  I  want  to  read/ 

But  at  the  moment  the  summons  sounded  for  dinner : 
all  re-entered  the  house.  The  odour  which  now  filled  the 
refectory  was  scarcely  more  appetising  than  that  which  had 
regaled  our  nostrils  at  breakfast :  the  dinner  was  served  in 
two  huge  tin-plated  vessels,  whence  rose  a  strong  steam 
redolent  of  rancid  fat.  I  found  the  mess  to  consist  of 
indifferent  potatoes  and  strange  shreds  of  rusty  meat,  mixed 
and  cooked  together.  Of  this  preparation  a  tolerably 
abundant  plateful  was  apportioned  to  each  pupil.  I  ate 
what  I  could,  and  wondered  within  myself  whether  every 
day's  fare  would  be  like  this. 

After  dinner,  we  immediately  adjourned  to  the  school- 
room :  lessons  recommenced,  and  were  continued  till  five 
o'clock. 

The  only  marked  event  of  the  afternoon  was,  that  I  saw 
the  girl  with  whom  I  had  conversed  in  the  verandah,  dis- 
missed in  disgrace,  by  Miss  Scatcherd,  from  a  history  class, 
and  sent  to  stand  in  the  middle  of  the  large  schoolroom. 
The  punishment  seemed  to  me  in  a  high  degree  ignominious, 


56  JANE  EYEB 

especially  for  so  great  a  girl—she  looked  thirteen  or  up- 
wards. I  expected  she  would  show  signs  of  great  distress 
and  shame;  but  to  my  surprise  she  neither  wept  nor 
blushed:  composed,  though  grave,  she  stood,  the  central 
mark  of  all  eyes.  '  How  can  she  bear  it  so  quietly — so 
firmly  ? '  I  asked  of  myself.  '  Were  I  in  her  place,  it  seems 
to  me  I  should  wish  the  earth  to  open  and  swallow  me  up. 
She  looks  as  if  she  were  thinking  of  something  beyond 
her  punishment— beyond  her  situation :  of  something  not 
round  her  nor  before  her.  I  have  heard  of  day-dreams — is 
she  in  a  day-dream  now  ?  Her  eyes  are  fixed  on  the  floor, 
but  1  am  sure  they  do  not  see  it — her  sight  seems  turned  in, 
gone  down  into  her  heart :  she  is  looking  at  what  she  can 
remember,  I  believe ;  not  at  what  is  really  present.  I 
wonder  what  sort  of  a  girl  she  is — whether  good  or 
naughty  ? ' 

Soon  after  five  P.M.  we  had  another  meal,  consisting  of  a 
small  mug  of  coffee,  and  half  a  slice  of  brown  bread.  I 
devoured  my  bread  and  drank  my  coffee  with  relish  ;  but  I 
should  have  been  glad  of  as  much  more — I  was  still  hungry. 
Half  an  hour's  recreation  succeeded,  then  study :  then  the 
glass  of  water  and  the  piece  of  oat-cake,  prayers  and  bed. 
Such  was  my  first  day  at  Lowood. 


JANE  EYEE  57 


CHAPTEE  VI 

THE  next  day  commenced  as  before,  getting  up  and  dressing 
by  rush-light ;  but  this  morning  we  were  obliged  to  dispense 
with  the  ceremony  of  washing :  the  water  in  the  pitchers 
was  frozen.  A  change  had  taken  place  in  the  weather  the 
preceding  ( vening,  and  a  keen  north-east  wind,  whistling 
through  the  crevices  of  our  bedroom  windows  all  night  long, 
had  made  us  shiver  in  our  beds,  and  turned  the  contents  of 
the  ewers  to  ice. 

Before  the  long  hour  and  a  half  of  prayers  and  Bible 
reading  was  over,  I  felt  ready  to  perish  with  cold.  Break- 
fast-time came  at  last,  and  this  morning  the  porridge  was 
not  burnt ;  the  quality  was  eatable,  the  quantity  small ; 
how  small  my  portion  seemed !  I  wished  it  had  been 
doubled. 

In  the  course  of  the  day  I  was  enrolled  a  member  of  the 
fourth  class,  and  regular  tasks  and  occupations  were  assigned 
me  :  hitherto,  I  had  only  been  a  spectator  of  the  proceedings 
at  Lowood,  I  was  now  to  become  an  actor  therein.  At  first, 
being  little  accustomed  to  learn  by  heart,  the  lessons  ap- 
peared to  me  both  long  and  difficult :  the  frequent  change 
from  task  to  task,  too,  bswildered  mo;  and  I  was  glad, 
when,  about  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  Miss  Smith  put 
into  my  hands  a  border  of  muslin  two  yards  long,  together 
with  needle,  thimble,  <fec.,  and  sent  me  to  sit  in  a  quiet 
corner  of  the  schoolroom,  with  directions  to  hem  the  same. 
At  that  hour  most  of  the  others  were  sewing  likewise ;  but 
one  class  still  stood  round  Miss  Scatcherd's  chair  reading, 
and  as  all  was  quiet,  the  subject  of  their  lessons  could  be 
heard,  together  with  the  manner  in  which  each  girl  acquitted 


58  JANE  EYEE 

herself,  and  the  animadversions  or  commendations  of  Miss 
Scatchcrd  on  the  performance.  It  was  English  history : 
among  the  readers,  I  observed  my  acquaintance  of  the 
verandah :  at  the  commencement  of  the  lesson,  her  place 
had  been  at  the  top  of  the  class,  but  for  some  error  of  pro- 
nunciation or  some  inattention  to  stops,  she  was  suddenly 
sent  to  the  very  bottom.  Even  in  that  obscure  position, 
Miss  Scatcherd  continued  to  make  her  an  object  of  constant 
notice :  she  was  continually  addressing  to  her  such  phrases 
as  the  following : — 

1  Burns '  (such  it  seems  was  her  name  :  the  girls  here 
were  all  called  by  their  surnames,  as  boys  are  elsewhere), 
'  Burns,  you  are  standing  on  the  side  of  your  shoe,  turn 
your  toes  out  immediately.1  '  Burns,  you  poke  your  chin  out 
most  unpleasantly,  draw  it  in.'  'Burns,  I  insist  on  your 
holding  your  head  up :  I  will  not  have  you  before  me  in  that 
attitude,'  &c.,  &c. 

A  chapter  having  been  read  through  twice,  the  books 
were  closed  and  the  girls  examined.  The  lesson  had  com- 
prised part  of  the  reign  of  Charles  I.,  and  there  were  sundry 
questions  about  tonnage  and  poundage,  and  ship-money, 
which  most  of  them  appeared  unable  to  answer ;  still,  every 
little  difficulty  was  solved  instantly  when  it  reached  Burns  : 
her  memory  seemed  to  have  retained  the  substance  of  the 
whole  lesson,  and  she  was  ready  with  answers  on  every 
point.  I  kept  expecting  that  Miss  Scatcherd  would  praise 
her  attention ;  but,  instead  of  that,  she  suddenly  cried  out : — 

'You  dirty,  disagreeable  giiil  you  have  never  cleaned 
your  nails  this  morning  ! ' 

Burns  made  no  answer :  I  wondered  at  her  silence. 

'  Why/  thought  I,  '  does  she  not  explain  that  she  could 
neither  clean  her  nails  nor  wash  her  face,  as  the  water  was 
frozen  ? ' 

My  attention  was  now  called  off  by  Miss  Smith  desiring 
me  to  hold  a  skein  of  thread :  while  she  was  winding  it,  she 
talked  to  me  from  time  to  time,  asking  whether  I  had  ever 
been  at  school  before,  whether  I  could  mark,  stitch,  knit, 


JANE  EYES  59 

<fec, ;  till  she  dismissed  me,  I  could  not  pursue  my  observa- 
tions on  Miss  Scatcherd's  movements.  When  I  returned  to 
my  seat,  that  lady  was  just  delivering  an  order,  of  which  I 
did  not  catch  the  import ;  but  Burns  immediately  left  the 
class,  and,  going  into  the  small  inner  room  where  the  books 
were  kept,  returned  in  half  a  minute,  carrying  in  her  hand  a 
bundle  of  twigs  tied  together  at  one  end.  This  ominous  tool 
she  presented  to  Miss  Scatcherd  with  a  respectful  curtsy ; 
then  she  quietly,  and  without  being  told,  unloosed  her 
pinafore,  and  the  teacher  instantly  and  sharply  inflicted  on 
her  neck  a  dozen  strokes  with  the  bunch  of  twigs.  Not  a 
tear  rose  to  Burns1  eye;  and,  while  I  paused  from  my 
sewing,  because  my  fingers  quivered  at  this  spectacle  with  a 
sentiment  of  unavailing  and  impotent  anger,  not  a  feature  of 
her  pensive  face  altered  its  ordinary  expression. 

1  Hardened  girl ! '  exclaimed  Miss  Scatcherd ;  '  nothing 
can  correct  you  of  your  slatternly  habits:  carry  the  rod 
away.' 

Burns  obeyed :  I  looked  at  her  narrowly  as  she  emerged 
from  the  book-closet ;  she  was  just  putting  back  her  hand- 
kerchief into  her  pocket,  and  the  trace  of  a  tear  glistened  on 
her  thin  cheek. 

The  play-hour  in  the  evening  I  thought  the  pleasantest 
fraction  of  the  day  at  Lowood :  the  bit  of  bread,  the  draught 
of  coffee  swallowed  at  five  o'clock  had  revived  vitality,  if  it  had 
not  satisfied  hunger ;  the  long  restraint  of  the  day  was 
slackened ;  the  schoolroom  felt  warmer  than  in  the  morning 
— its  fires  being  allowed  to  burn  a  little  more  brightly  to 
supply,  in  some  measure,  the  place  of  candles,  not  yet 
introduced;  the  ruddy  gloaming,  the  licensed  uproar,  the 
confusion  of  many  voices,  gave  one  a  welcome  sense  of 
liberty. 

On  the  evening  of  the  day  on  which  I  had  seen  Miss 
Scatcherd  flog  her  pupil,  Burns,  I  wandered  as  usual  among 
the  forms  and  tables  and  laughing  groups  without  a  com- 
panion, yet  not  feeling  lonely ;  when  I  passed  the  windows, 
I  now  and  then  lifted  a  blind  and  looked  out ;  it  snowed  fast. 


60  JANE  ETEE 

a  drift  was  already  forming  against  the  lower  panes ;  putting 
my  ear  close  to  the  window,  I  could  distinguish  from  the 
gleeful  tumult  within,  the  disconsolate  moan  of  the  wind  out- 
side. 

Probably,  if  I  had  lately  left  a  good  home  and  kind 
parents,  this  would  have  been  the  hour  when  I  should  most 
keenly  have  regretted  the  separation  :  that  wind  would  then 
have  saddened  my  heart ;  this  obscure  chaos  would  have 
disturbed  my  peace  :  as  it  was,  I  derived  from  both  a  strange 
excitement,  and  reckless  and  feverish,  I  wished  the  wind  to 
howl  more  wildly,  the  gloom  to  deepen  to  darkness,  and  the 
confusion  to  rise  to  clamour. 

Jumping  over  forms,  and  creeping  under  tables,  I  made 
my  way  to  one  of  the  fire-places :  there,  kneeling  by  the  high 
wire  fender,  I  found  Burns,  absorbed,  silent,  abstracted  from 
all  round  her  by  the  companionship  of  a  book,  which  she 
read  by  the  dim  glare  of  the  embers. 

1  Is  it  still  "  Easselas  "  ? '  I  asked,  coming  behind  her. 

'  Yes/  she  said,  '  and  I  have  just  finished  it.' 

And  in  five  minutes  more  she  shut  it  up.  I  was  glad  of 
this. 

1  Now/  thought  I,  '  I  can  perhaps  get  her  to  talk/  I  sat 
down  by  her  on  the  floor. 

1  What  is  your  name  besides  Burns  ? ' 

1  Helen/ 

I  Do  you  come  a  long  way  from  here  ? ' 

I 1  come  from  a  place  further  north  ;  quite  on  the  borders 
of  Scotland/ 

'  Will  you  ever  go  back  ? ' 

1 1  hope  so ;  but  nobody  can  be  sure  of  the  future/ 

'  You  must  wish  to  leave  Lowood  ? ' 

'  No  :  why  should  I  ?  I  was  sent  to  Lowood  to  get  an 
education  ;  and  it  would  be  of  no  use  going  away  until  I 
have  attained  that  object/ 

1  But  that  teacher,  Miss  Scatcherd,  is  so  cruel  to  you  ?  ' 

'  Cruel  ?  Not  at  all !  She  is  severe  :  she  dislikes  my 
faults/ 


JANE  EYEE  61 

'And  if  I  were  in  your  place  I  should  dislike  her;  I 
should  resist  her ;  if  she  struck  me  with  that  rod,  I  should 
get  it  from  her  hand  ;  I  should  break  it  under  her  nose/ 

1  Probably  you  would  do  nothing  of  the  sort :  but  if  you 
did,  Mr.  Brocklehurst  would  expel  you  from  the  school ; 
that  would  be  a  great  grief  to  your  relations.  It  is  far  better 
to  endure  patiently  a  smart  which  nobody  feels  but  yourself, 
than  to  commit  a  hasty  action  whose  evil  consequences  will 
extend  to  all  connected  with  you ;  and,  besides,  the  Bible 
bids  us  return  good  for  evil/ 

'  But  then  it  seems  disgraceful  to  be  flogged,  and  to  be 
sent  to  stand  in  the  middle  of  a  room  full  of  people ;  and 
you  are  such  a  great  girl :  I  am  far  younger  than  you,  and  I 
could  not  bear  it.1 

1  Yet  it  would  be  your  duty  to  bear  it,  if  you  could  not 
avoid  it :  it  is  weak  and  silly  to  say  you  cannot  bear  what 
it  is  your  fate  to  be  required  to  bear.' 

I  heard  her  with  wonder :  I  could  not  comprehend  this 
doctrine  of  endurance  ;  and  still  less  could  I  understand  or 
sympathise  with  the  forbearance  she  expressed  for  her 
chastiser.  Still  I  felt  that  Helen  Burns  considered  things 
by  a  light  invisible  to  my  eyes.  I  suspected  she  might  be 
right  and  I  wrong;  but  I  would  not  ponder  the  matter 
deeply  :  like  Felix,  I  put  it  off  to  a  more  convenient  season. 

'  You  say  you  have  faults,  Helen :  what  are  they  ?  To 
me  you  seem  very  good/ 

'  Then  learn  from  me,  not  to  judge  by  appearances :  I 
am,  as  Miss  Scatcherd  said,  slatternly ;  I  seldom  put,  and 
never  keep,  things  in  order ;  I  am  careless ;  I  forget  rules ; 
I  read  when  I  should  learn  my  lessons ;  I  have  no  method ; 
and  sometimes  1  say,  like  you,  I  cannot  bear  to  be  subjected 
to  systematic  arrangements.  This  is  all  very  provoking  to 
Miss  Scatcherd,  who  is  naturally  neat,  punctual,  and  par- 
ticular/ 

1  And  cross  and  cruel,1 1  added ;  but  Helen  Burns  would 
not  admit  my  addition :  she  kept  silence. 

1  Is  Miss  Temple  as  severe  to  you  as  Miss  Scatcherd  ? ' 


62  JANE  BYEE 

At  the  utterance  of  Miss  Temple's  name,  a  soft  smile 
flitted  over  her  grave  face. 

'Miss  Temple  is  full  of  goodness:  it  pains  her  to  be 
severe  to  any  one,  even  the  worst  in  the  school ;  she  sees 
my  errors,  and  tells  me  of  them  gently ;  and,  if  I  do  any- 
thing worthy  of  praise,  she  gives  me  my  meed  liberally. 
One  strong  proof  of  my  wretchedly  defective  nature  is,  that 
even  her  expostulations,  so  mild,  so  rational,  have  not 
influence  to  cure  me  of  my  faults;  and  even  her  praise, 
though  I  value  it  most  highly,  cannot  stimulate  me  to  con- 
tinued care  and  foresight.' 

' That  is  curious/  said  I :  'it  is  so  easy  to  be  care- 
ful/ 

'  For  you  I  have  no  doubt  it  is.  I  observed  you  in  your 
class  this  morning,  and  saw  you  were  closely  attentive  : 
your  thoughts  never  seemed  to  wander  while  Miss  Miller 
explained  the  lesson  and  questioned  you.  Now,  mine  con- 
tinually rove  away :  when  I  should  be  listening  to  Miss 
Scatcherd,  and  collecting  all  she  says  with  assiduity,  often  I 
lose  the  very  sound  of  her  voice  ;  I  fall  into  a  sort  of  dream. 
Sometimes  I  think  I  am  in  Northumberland,  and  that  the 
noises  I  hear  round  me  are  the  bubbling  of  a  little  brook 
which  runs  through  Deepden  near  our  house ; — then,  when 
it  comes  to  my  turn  to  reply,  I  have  to  be  wakened ;  and, 
having  heard  nothing  of  what  was  read  for  listening  to  the 
visionary  brook,  I  have  no  answer  ready/ 
'  Yet  how  well  you  replied  this  afternoon/ 
1  It  was  mare  chance  :  the  subject  on  which  we  had  been 
reading  had  interested  me.  This  afternoon,  instead  of 
dreaming  of  Deepden,  I  was  wondering  how  a  man  who 
wished  to  do  right  could  act  so  unjustly  and  unwisely  as 
Charles  the  First  sometimes  did;  and  I  thought  what  a 
pity  it  was  that,  with  his  integrity  and  conscientiousness,  he 
could  see  no  farther  than  the  prerogatives  of  the  crown.  If 
he  had  but  been  able  to  look  to  a  distance,  and  see  to  what 
they  call  the  spirit  of  the  age  was  tending !  Still,  I  like 
Charles — I  respect  him — I  pity  him,  poor  murdered  king  I 


JANE  BYEB  63 

Yes,  his  enemies  were  the  worst :  they  shed  blood  they  had 
no  right  to  shed.  How  dared  they  kill  him  ! ' 

Helen  was  talking  to  herself  now :  she  had  forgotten  I 
could  not  very  well  understand  her — that  I  was  ignorant,  or 
nearly  so,  of  the  subject  she  discussed.  I  recalled  her  to  my 
level. 

1  And  when  Miss  Temple  teaches  you,  do  your  thoughts 
wander  then  ?  ' 

1  No,  certainly,  not  often ;  because  Miss  Temple  has 
generally  something  to  say  which  is  newer  than  my  own 
reflections :  her  language  is  singularly  agreeable  to  me,  and 
the  information  she  communicates  is  often  just  what  I  wished 
to  gain/ 

'  Well,  then,  with  Miss  Temple  you  are  good  ? ' 

1  Yes,  in  a  passive  way  :  I  make  no  effort ;  I  follow  as 
inclination  guides  me.  There  is  no  merit  in  such  goodness.' 

'A  great  deal :  you  are  good  to  those  who  are  good  to 
you.  It  is  all  I  ever  desire  to  be.  If  people  were  always 
kind  and  obedient  to  those  who  are  cruel  and  unjust,  the 
wicked  people  would  have  it  all  their  own  way ;  they  would 
never  feel  afraid,  and  so  they  would  never  alter,  but  would 
grow  worse  and  worse.  When  we  are  struck  at  without  a 
reason,  we  should  strike  back  again  very  hard ;  I  am  sure 
we  should—so  hard  as  to  teach  the  person  who  struck  us 
never  to  do  it  again/ 

'  You  will  change  your  mind,  I  hope,  when  you  grow 
older :  as  yet  you  are  but  a  little  untaught  girl/ 

'  But  I  feel  this,  Helen  :  I  must  dislike  those  who,  what- 
ever I  do  to  please  them,  persist  in  disliking  me;  I  must 
resist  those  who  punish  me  unjustly.  It  is  as  natural  as 
that  I  should  love  those  who  show  me  affection,  or  submit  to 
punishment  when  I  feel  it  is  deserved/ 

'  Heathens  and  savage  tribes  hold  that  doctrine  ;  but 
Christians  and  civilised  nations  disown  it/ 

1  How?    I  don't  understand/ 

'  It  is  not  violence  that  best  overcomes  hate — nor  ven- 
geance that  most  certainly  heals  injury/ 

D2 


64  JANE  EYEB 

1  What  then  ?  ' 

*  Bead  the  New  Testament,  and  observe  what  Christ 
says,  and  how  he  acts ;  make  his  word  your  rule,  and  his 
conduct  your  example/ 

1  What  does  he  say  ? ' 

'  Love  your  enemies  ;  bless  them  that  curse  you ;  do  good 
to  them  that  hate  you  and  despitefully  use  you/ 

1  Then  I  should  love  Mrs.  Eeed,  which  I  cannot  do ;  I 
should  bless  her  son  John,  which  is  impossible/ 

In  her  turn,  Helen  Burns  asked  me  to  explain,  and  I 
proceeded  forthwith  to  pour  out,  in  my  own  way,  the  tale 
of  my  sufferings  and  resentments.  Bitter  and  truculent 
when  excited,  I  spoke  as  I  felt,  without  reserve  or  softening. 

Helen  heard  me  patiently  to  the  end :  I  expected  she 
would  then  make  a  remark,  but  she  said  nothing. 

'  Well/  I  asked  impatiently,  '  is  not  Mrs.  Eeed  a  hard- 
hearted, bad  woman  ? ' 

'  She  has  been  unkind  to  you,  no  doubt ;  because,  you 
see,  she  dislikes  your  cast  of  character,  as  Miss  Scatchcrd 
does  mine :  but  how  minutely  you  remember  all  she  has 
done  and  said  to  you !  What  a  singularly  deep  impression 
her  injustice  seems  to  have  made  on  your  heart !  No  ill- 
usage  so  brands  its  record  on  my  feelings.  Would  you  not 
be  happier  if  you  tided  to  forget  her  severity,  together  with 
the  passionate  emotions  it  excited  ?  Life  appears  to  me  too 
short  to  be  spent  in  nursing  animosity,  or  registering  wrongs. 
We  are,  and  must  be,  one  and  all,  burdened  with  faults  in 
this  world :  but  the  time  will  soon  come  when,  I  trust,  we 
shall  put  them  off  in  putting  off  our  corruptible  bodies ; 
when  debasement  and  sin  will  fall  from  us  with  this 
cumbrous  frame  of  flesh,  and  only  the  spark  of  the  spirit  will 
remain, — the  impalpable  principle  of  life  and  thought,  pure 
as  when  it  left  the  Creator  to  inspire  the  creature  :  whence 
it  came  it  will  return ;  perhaps  again  to  be  communicated 
to  some  being  higher  than  man — perhaps  to  pass  through 
gradations  of  glory,  from  the  pale  human  soul  to  brighten  to 
the  seraph  1  Surely  it  will  never,  on  the  contrary,  be  suffered 


JANE  EYEB  65 

to  degenerate  from  man  to  fiend?  No;  I  cannot  believe 
that :  I  hold  another  creed  ;  which  no  one  ever  taught  me, 
and  which  I  seldom  mention ;  but  in  which  I  delight,  and 
to  which  I  cling:  for  it  extends  hope  to  all:  it  makes 
Eternity  a  rest — a  mighty  home,  not  a  terror  and  an  abyss. 
Besides,  with  this  creed,  I  can  so  clearly  distinguish  between 
the  criminal  and  his  crime ;  I  can  so  sincerely  forgive  the 
first  while  I  abhor  the  last :  with  this  creed  revenge  nover 
worries  my  heart,  degradation  never  too  deeply  disgusts  me, 
injustice  never  crushes  me  too  low  :  I  live  in  calm,  looking 
to  the  end.1 

Helen's  head,  always  drooping,  sank  a  little  lower  as  she 
finished  this  sentence.  T  saw  by  her  look  she  wished  no 
longer  to  talk  to  me,  but.  rather  to  converse  with  her  own 
thoughts.  She  was  not  allowed  much  time  for  meditation  : 
a  monitor,  a  great  rough  girl,  presently  came  up,  exclaiming 
in  a  strong  Cumberland  accent, — 

1  Helen  Burns,  if  you  don't  go  and  put  your  drawer  in 
order,  and  fold  up  your  work  this  minute,  I'll  toll  Miss 
Scatcherd  to  come  and  look  at  it ! ' 

Helen  sighed  as  her  reverie  flod,  and  getting  up,  obeyed 
the  monitor  without  reply  as  without  delay. 


JANE  EYRE 


CHAPTER  VII 

MY  first  quarter  at  Lowood  seemed  an  age;  and  not  the 
golden  age  either:  it  comprised  an  irksome  struggle  with 
difficulties  in  habituating  myself  to  new  rules  and  unwonted 
tasks.  The  fear  of  failure  in  these  points  harassed  me 
worse  than  the  physical  hardships  of  my  lot ;  though  these 
were  no  trifles. 

Jjunng  January,  February,  and  part  of  March,  the  deep 
snows,  and,  after  their  melting,  the  almost  impassable  roads, 
prevented  our  stirring  beyond  the  garden  walls,  except  to  go 
to  church  ;  but  within  these  limits  we  had  to  pass  an  hour 
every  day  in  the  open  air.  Our  clothing  was  insuflicient  to 
protect  us  from  the  severe  cold :  we  had  no  boots,  the  snow 
got  into  our  shoes  and  melted  there ;  our  ungloved  hands 
became  numbed  and  covered  with  chilblains,  as  were  our 
feet :  I  remember  well  the  distracting  irritation  I  endured 
from  this  cause  every  evening,  when  my  feet  inflamed ;  and 
the  torture  of  thrusting  the  swelled,  raw,  and  stiff  toes  into  my 
shoes  in  the  morning.  Then  the  scanty  supply  of  food  was 
distressing:  with  the  keen  appetites  of  growing  children, 
we  had  scarcely  sufficient  to  keep  alive  a  delicate  invalid. 
From  this  deficiency  of  nourishment  resulted  an  abuse, 
which  pressed  hardly  on  the  younger  pupils  :  whenever  the 
famished  great  girls  had  an  opportunity,  they  would  coax  or 
menace  the  little  ones  out  of  their  portion.  Many  a  time  I 
have  shared  between  two  claimants  the  precious  morsel  of 
brown  bread  distributed  at  tea-time  ;  and  after  relinquishing 
to  a  third,  half  the  contents  of  my  mug  of  coffee,  I  have 
swallowed  the  remainder  with  an  accompaniment  of  secret 
tears,  forced  from  me  by  the  exigency  of  hunger. 


JANE  EYEB  67 

Sundays  were  dreary  days  in  that  wintry  season.  We 
had  to  walk  two  miles  to  Brocklebridge  Church,  where  our 
patron  officiated.  We  set  out  cold,  we  arrived  at  church 
colder  :  during  the  morning  service  we  became  almost  para- 
lysed. It  was  too  far  to  return  to  dinner,  and  an  allowance 
of  cold  meat  and  bread,  in  the  same  penurious  proportion 
observed  in  our  ordinary  meals,  was  served  round  between 
the  services. 

At  the  close  of  the  afternoon  service  we  returned  by  an 
exposed  and  hilly  road,  where  the  bitter  winter  wind,  blowing 
over  a  range  of  snowy  summits  to  the  north,  almost  flayed 
the  skin  from  our  faces. 

I  can  remember  Miss  Temple  walking  lightly  and  rapidly 
along  our  drooping  line,  her  plaid  cloak,  which  the  frosty 
wind  fluttered,  gathered  close  about  her,  and  encouraging 
us,  by  precept  and  example,  to  keep  up  our  spirits,  and 
march  forward,  as  she  said,  '  like  stalwart  soldiers/  The 
other  teachers,  poor  things,  were  generally  themselves  too 
much  dejected  to  attempt  the  task  of  cheering  others/ 

How  we  longed  for  the  light  and  heat  of  a  blazing  fire 
when  we  got  back !  But,  to  the  little  ones  at  least,  this  was 
denied :  each  hearth  in  the  schoolroom  was  immediately 
surrounded  by  a  double  row  of  great  girls,  and  behind  them 
the  younger  children  crouched  in  groups,  wrapping  their 
starved  arms  in  their  pinafores. 

A  little  solace  came  at  tea-time,  in  the  shape  of  a  double 
ration  of  bread — a  whole,  instead  of  a  half,  slice — with  the 
delicious  addition  of  a  thin  scrape  of  butter :  it  was  the  heb- 
domadal treat  to  which  we  all  looked  forward  from  Sabbath 
to  Sabbath.  I  generally  contrived  to  reserve  a  moiety  of  this 
bounteous  repast  for  myself ;  but  the  remainder  I  was  in- 
variably obliged  to  part  with. 

The  Sunday  evening  was  spent  in  repeating,  by  heart, 
the  Church  Catechism,  and  the  fifth,  sixth,  and  seventh 
chapters  of  St.  Matthew ;  and  in  listening  to  a  long  sermon, 
read  by  Miss  Miller,  whose  irrepressible  yawns  attested  her 
weariness.  A  frequent  interlude  of  these  performances  was 


68  JANE  BYBB 

the  enactment  of  the  part  of  Eutychus  by  some  half  dozen 
of  little  girls ;  who,  overpowered  with  sleep,  would  fall  down, 
if  not  out  of  the  third  loft,  yet  off  the  fourth  form,  and  be 
taken  up  half  dead.  The  remedy  was,  to  thrust  them 
forward  into  the  centre  of  the  schoolroom,  and  oblige  them 
to  stand  there  till  the  sermon  was  finished.  Sometimes 
their  feet  failed  them,  and  they  sank  together  in  a  heap ; 
they  were  then  propped  up  with  the  monitors'  high  stools. 

I  have  not  yet  alluded  to  the  visits  of  Mr.  Brocklehurst ; 
and  indeed  that  gentleman  was  from  home  during  the  greater 
part  of  the  first  month  after  my  arrival ;  perhaps  prolonging 
his  stay  with  his  friend  the  archdeacon  :  his  absence  was  a 
relief  to  me.  I  need  not  say  that  I  had  my  own  reasons  for 
dreading  his  coming :  but  come  he  did  at  last. 

One  afternoon  (I  had  then  been,  three  weeks  at  Lowood),  as 
I  was  sitting  with  a  slate  in  my  hand,  puzzling  over  a  sum 
in  long  division,  my  eyes,  raised  in  abstraction  to  the  window, 
caught  sight  of  a  figure  just  passing:  I  recognised  almost 
instinctively  that  gaunt  outline ;  and  when  two  minutes 
after,  all  the  school,  teachers  included,  rose  en  masse,  it  was 
not  necessary  for  me  to  look  up  in  order  to  ascertain  whose 
entrance  they  thus  greeted.  A  long  stride  measured  the 
schoolroom,  and  presently  beside  Miss  Temple,  who  herself 
had  lisen,  stood  the  same  black  column  which  had  frowned 
on  me  so  ominously  from  the  hearth-rug  of  Gateshead.  I 
now  glanced  sideways  at  this  piece  of  architecture.  Yes,  I 
was  right :  it  was  Mr.  Brocklehurst,  buttoned  up  in  a  sur- 
tout,  and  looking  longer,  narrower,  and  more  rigid  than 
ever. 

I  had  my  own  reasons  for  being  dismayed  at  this  appari- 
tion :  too  well  I  remembered  the  perfidious  hints  given  by 
Mrs.  Eeed  about  my  disposition,  &c. ;  the  promise  pledged 
by  Mr.  Brocklehurst  to  apprise  Miss  Temple  and  the  teachei  s 
of  my  vicious  nature.  All  along  I  had  been  dreading  the 
fulfilment  of  this  promise, — I  had  been  looking  out  daily  for 
the  '  Coming  Man/  whose  information  respecting  my  past 
life  and  conversation  was  to  brand  me  as  a  bad  child  for 


JANE  EYBE  69 

ever  :  now  there  he  was.  He  stood  at  Miss  Temple's  side ; 
he  was  speaking  low  in  her  ear:  I  did  not  doubt  he  was 
making  disclosures  of  my  villainy ;  and  I  watched  her  eye 
with  painful  anxiety,  expecting  every  moment  to  see  its  dark 
orb  turn  on  me  a  glance  of  repugnance  and  contempt.  I 
listened  too ;  and  as  I  happened  to  be  seated  quite  at  the 
top  of  the  room,  I  caught  most  of  what  he  said :  its  import 
relieved  me  from  immediate  appiehension. 

*  I  suppose,  Miss  Temple,  the  thread  1  bought  at  Lowton 
will  do ;  it  struck  me  that  it  woul  I  be  just  of  the  quality 
for  the  calico  chemises,  and  I  sorted  the  needles  to  match. 
You  may  tell  Miss  Smith  that  I  forgot  to  make  a  memoian- 
dum  of  the  darning  needles,  but  she  shall  have  some  papers 
sent  in  next  week ;  and  she  is  not,  on  any  account,  to  give 
out  move  than  one  at  a  time  to  each  pupil :  if  they  have 
more,  they  are  apt  to  be  careless  and  lose  them.  And,  oh 
ma'am  !  I  wish  the  woollen  stockings  were  better  looked  to ! 
— when  1  was  here  last,  I  went  into  the  kitchen -garden  and 
examined  the  clothes  drying  on  the  line;  there  was  a 
quantity  of  black  hose  in  a  very  bad  state  of  repair :  f i  om 
the  size  of  the  holes  in  them  I  was  sure  they  had  not  been 
well  mended  from  time  to  tune.' 

He  paused. 

'Your  directions  shall  be  attended  to,  sir,'  said  Miss 
Temple. 

'And,  ma'am/  he  continued,  'the  laundress  tells  me 
some  of  the  girls  have  two  clean  tuckers  in  the  week :  it  is 
too  much ;  the  rules  limit  them  to  one/ 

'  I  think  I  can  explain  that  circumstance,  sir.  Agnes  and 
Catherine  Johnstone  were  invited  to  take  tea  with  some 
friends  at  Lowton  last  Thursday,  and  I  gave  them  leave  to 
put  on  clean  tuckers  for  the  occasion.1 

Mr.  Brocklehurst  nodded. 

1  Well,  for  once  it  may  pass ;  but  please  not  to  let  the 
circumstance  occur  too  often.  And  there  is  another  thing 
which  surprised  me :  I  find,  in  settling  accounts  with  the 
housekeeper,  that  a  lunch,  consisting  of  bread  and  cheese, 


70  JANE  BYBB 

has  twice  been  served  out  to  the  girls  during  the  past 
fortnight.  How  is  this  ?  I  look  over  the  regulations,  and  I 
find  no  such  meal  as  lunch  mentioned.  Who  introduced 
this  innovation  ?  and  by  what  authority  ? ' 

1 1  must  be  responsible  for  the  circumstance,  sir,1  replied 
Miss  Temple :  ( the  breakfast  was  so  ill-prepared  that  the 
pupils  could  not  possibly  eat  it ;  and  I  dared  not  allow  them 
to  remain  fasting  till  dinner-time.' 

'  Madam,  allow  me  an  instant.  You  are  aware  that  my 
plan  in  bringing  up  these  girls  is,  not  to  accustom  them  to 
habits  of  luxury  and  indulgence,  but  to  render  them  hardy, 
patient,  self-denying.  Should  any  little  accidental  disap- 
pointment of  the  appetite  occur,  such  as  the  spoiling  of  a 
meal,  the  under  or  the  over  dressing  of  a  dish,  the  incident 
ought  not  to  be  neutralised  by  replacing  with  something 
more  delicate  the  comfort  lost,  thus  pampering  the  body  and 
obviating  the  aim  of  this  institution ;  it  ought  to  be  improved 
to  the  spiritual  edification  of  the  pupils,  by  encouraging 
them  to  evince  fortitude  under  the  temporary  privation.  A 
brief  address  on  those  occasions  would  not  be  mistimed, 
wherein  a  judicious  instructor  would  take  the  opportunity 
of  referring  to  the  suffei  ings  of  the  primitive  Christians ;  to 
the  torments  of  martyrs ;  to  the  exhortations  of  our  blessed 
Lord  himself,  calling  upon  his  disciples  to  take  up  their 
cross  and  follow  him ;  to  his  warnings  that  man  shall  not 
live  by  bread  alone,  but  by  every  word  that  proceedeth  out 
of  the  mouth  of  God  ;  to  his  divine  consolations,  "  if  ye  suffer 
hunger  or  thiist  for  my  sake,  happy  are  ye."  Oh,  madam, 
when  you  put  bread  and  cheese,  instead  of  burnt  porridge, 
into  these  children's  mouths,  you  may  indeed  feed  their  vile 
bodies,  but  you  little  think  how  you  starve  their  immortal 
souls  I ' 

Mr.  Brocklehurst  again  paused — perhaps  overcome  by 
his  feelings.  Miss  Temple  had  looked  down  when  he  first 
began  to  speak  to  her ;  but  she  now  gazed  straight  before 
her,  and  her  face,  naturally  pale  as  marble,  appeared  to  be 
assuming  also  the  coldness  and  fixity  of  that  material; 


JANE  EYEE  71 

especially  her  mouth,  closed  as  if  it  would  have  required  a 
sculptor's  chisel  to  open  it,  and  her  brow  settled  gradually 
into  petrified  severity. 

Meantime,  Mr.  Brocklehurst,  standing  on  the  hearth  with 
his  hands  behind  his  back,  majestically  surveyed  the  whole 
school.  Suddenly  his  eye  gave  a  blink,  as  if  it  had  met- 
something  that  either  dazzled  or  shocked  its  pupil ;  turning, 
he  said  in  more  rapid  accents  than  he  had  hitherto  used  : — 
1  Miss  Temple,  Miss  Temple,  what— wJiat  is  that  girl  with 
curled  hair?  Bed  hair,  ma'am,  curled — curled  all  over?' 
And  extending  his  cane  he  pointed  to  the  awful  object,  his 
hand  shaking  as  he  did  so. 

'  It  is  Julia  Severn/  replied  Miss  Temple,  very  quietly. 

1  Julia  Severn,  ma'am  !  And  why  has  she,  or  any  other, 
curled  hair  ?  Why,  in  defiance  of  every  precept  and  principle 
of  this  house,  does  she  conform  to  the  world  so  openly — 
here  in  an  evangelical,  charitable  establishment — as  to  wear 
her  hair  one  mass  of  curls  ? ' 

'  Julia's  hair  curls  naturally/  returned  Miss  Temple,  still 
more  quietly. 

1  Naturally  !  Yes,  but  we  are  not  to  conform  to  nature : 
I  wish  these  girls  to  be  the  children  of  Grace  :  and  why  that 
abundance  ?  I  have  again  and  again  intimated  that  I  desire 
the  hair  to  be  arranged  closely,  modestly,  plainly.  Miss 
Temple,  that  girl's  hair  must  be  cut  off  entirely  ;  I  will  send 
*  barber  to-morrow :  and  I  see  others  who  have  far  too 
much  of  the  excrescence — that  tall  girl,  tell  her  to  turn  round. 
Tell  all  the  first  form  to  rise  up  and  direct  their  faces  to  the 
wall/ 

Miss  Temple  passed  her  handkerchief  over  her  lips,  as  if 
to  smooth  away  the  involuntary  smile  that  curled  them  ;  she 
gave  the  order,  however,  and  when  the  first  class  could  take 
in  what  was  required  of  them,  they  obeyed.  Leaning  a 
little  back  on  my  bench,  I  could  see  the  looks  and  grimaces 
with  which  they  commented  on  this  manoeuvre :  it  was  a 
pity  Mr.  Brocklehurst  could  not  see  them  too ;  he  would 
perhaps  have  felt  that,  whatever  he  might  do  with  the 


72  JANE  BYEB 

outside  of  the  cup  and  platter,  the  inside  was  further  beyond 
his  interference  than  he  imagined. 

He  scrutinised  the  reverse  of  these  living  medals  some 
five  minutes,  then  pronounced  sentence.  These  words  fell 
like  the  knell  of  doom : — '  All  those  top-knots  must  be  cut 
off/ 

Miss  Temple  seemed  to  remonstrate. 

1  Madam/  he  pursued,  '  I  have  a  master  to  serve  whose 
kingdom  is  not  of  this  world  :  my  mission  is  to  mortify  in 
these  girls  the  lusts  of  the  flesh ;  to  teach  them  to  clothe 
themselves  with  shamefacedness  and  sobriety,  not  with 
braided  hair  and  costly  apparel;  and  each  of  the  young 
persons  before  us  has  a  string  of  hair  twisted  in  plaits  which 
vanity  itself  might  have  woven  :  these,  I  repeat,  must  be 
cut  off;  think  of  the  time  wasted,  of ' 

Mr.  Brocklehurst  was  here  interrupted :  three  other 
visitors,  ladies,  now  entered  the  room.  They  ought  to  have 
come  a  little  sooner  to  have  heard  his  lecture  on  dress,  for 
they  were  splendidly  attired  in  velvet,  silk,  and  furs.  The 
two  younger  of  the  trio  (fine  girls  of  sixteen  and  seventeen) 
had  grey  beaver  hats,  then  in  fashion,  shaded  with  ostrich 
plumes,  and  from  under  the  brim  of  this  graceful  head-dress 
fell  a  profusion  of  light  tresses,  elaborately  curled ;  the 
elder  lady  was  enveloped  in  a  costly  velvet  shawl,  trimmed 
with  ermine,  and  she  wore  a  false  front  of  French  curls. 

These  ladies  were  deferentially  received  by  Miss  Temple, 
as  Mrs.  and  the  Misses  Brocklehurst,  and  conducted  to  seats 
of  honour  at  the  top  of  the  room.  It  seems  they  had  come 
in  the  carriage  with  their  reverend  relative,  and  had  been 
conducting  a  rummaging  scrutiny  of  the  rooms  upstairs, 
while  he  transacted  business  with  the  housekeeper,  questioned 
the  laundress,  and  lectured  the  superintendent.  They  now 
proceeded  to  address  divers  remarks  and  reproofs  to  Miss 
Smith,  who  was  charged  with  the  care  of  the  linen  and  the 
inspection  of  the  dormitories  :  but  I  had  no  time  to  listen  to 
what  they  said ;  other  matters  called  off  and  enchained  my 
attention. 


JANE  BYEE  73 

Hitherto,  while  gathering  up  the  discourse  of  Mr. 
Brocklehurst  and  Miss  Temple,  I  had  not,  at  the  same  time, 
•neglected  precautions  to  secure  my  personal  safety ;  which 
I  thought  would  be  effected,  if  I  could  only  elude  observa- 
tion. To  this  end,  I  had  sat  well  back  on  the  form,  and 
while  seeming  to  be  busy  with  my  sum,  had  held  my  slate 
in  such  a  manner  as  to  conceal  my  face :  I  might  have 
escaped  notice,  had  not  my  treacherous  slate  somehow 
happened  to  slip  from  my  hand  and  falling  with  an  ob- 
trusive crash,  directly  drawn  every  eye  upon  me  ;  1  knew  it 
was  all  over  now,  and,  as  I  stooped  to  pick  up  tho  two 
fragments  of  slate,  I  rallied  my  forces  for  the  worst-.  It 
came. 

1 A  careless  girl ! '  said  Mr.  Brocklehurst,  and  im- 
mediately after — '  It  is  the  new  pupil,  I  perceive.1  And 
before  I  could  draw  breath,  '  I  must  not  forget  I  have  a 
word  to  say  respecting  her.1  Then  aloud:  how  loud  it 
seemed  to  me  '  '  Let  the  child  who  broke  her  slate,  come 
forward !  * 

Of  my  own  accord,  I  could  not  have  stii  red :  I  was 
paralysed :  but  the  two  great  girls  who  sat  on  each  side  of 
me,  set  me  on  my  legs  and  pushed  me  towards  the  dread 
judge,  and  then  Miss  Temple  gently  assisted  me  to  his  very 
feet,  and  I  caught  her  whispered  counsel, — 'Don't  be 
afraid,  Jane,  I  saw  it  was  an  accident ;  you  shall  not  be 
punished/ 

The  kind  whisper  went  to  my  heart  like  a  dagger. 

'Another  minute,  and  she  will  despise  me  for  a 
hypocrite/  thought  I;  and  an  impulse  of  fury  against 
Eeed,  Brocklehurst,  and  Co.  bounded  in  my  pulses  at  the 
conviction.  I  was  no  Helen  Burns. 

'  Fetch  that  stool/  said  Mr.  Brocklehurst,  pointing  to  a 
very  high  one  from  which  a  monitor  had  just  risen :  it  was 
brought. 

1  Place  the  child  upon  it/ 

And  I  was  placed  there,  by  whom  I  don't  know :  I  was 
in  no  condition  to  note  particulars :  I  was  only  aware  that 


74  JANE  EYBE 

they  had  hoisted  me  up  to  the  height  of  Mr.  Brocklehurst's 
nose,  that  he  was  within  a  yard  of  me,  and  that  a  spread  of 
shot  orange  and  purple  silk  pelisses,  and  a  cloud  of  silvery 
plumage  extended  and  waved  below  me. 

Mr.  Brocklehurst  hemmed. 

1  Ladies/  said  he,  turning  to  his  family ;  '  Miss  Temple, 
teachers,  and  children,  you  all  see  this  girl  ? ' 

Of  course  they  did;  for  I  felt  their  eyes  directed  like 
burning-glasses  against  my  scorched  skin. 

1  You  see  she  is  yet  young ;  you  observe  she  possesses 
the  ordinary  form  of  childhood ;  God  has  graciously  given 
her  the  shape  that  he  has  given  to  all  of  us ;  no  signal 
deformity  points  her  out  as  a  marked  character.  Who  would 
think  that  the  Evil  One  had  already  found  a  servant  and 
agent  in  her  ?  Yet  such,  I  grieve  to  say,  is  the  case.' 

A  pause — in  which  I  began  to  steady  the  palsy  of  my 
nerves,  and  to  feel  that  the  Eubicon  was  passed ;  and  that 
the  trial,  no  longer  to  shirked,  must  be  firmly  sustained. 

1  My  dear  children/  pursued  the  black  marble  clergyman, 
with  pathos,  '  this  is  a  sad,  a  melancholy  occasion ;  for  it 
becomes  my  duty  to  warn  you,  that  this  girl,  who  might  be 
one  of  God's  own  lambs,  is  a  little  castaway :  not  a  member 
of  the  true  flock,  but  evidently  an  interloper  and  an  alien. 
You  must  be  on  your  guard  against  her ;  you  must  shun  her 
example :  if  necessary,  avoid  her  company,  exclude  her  from 
your  sports,  and  shut  her  out  from  your  converse.  Teachers, 
you  must  watch  her:  keep  your  eyes  on  her  movements, 
weigh  well  her  words,  scrutinise  her  actions,  punish  her 
body  to  save  her  soul :  if,  indeed,  such  salvation  be  possible, 
for  (my  tongue  falters  while  I  tell  it)  this  girl,  this  child, 
the  native  of  a  Christian  land,  worse  than  many  a  little 
heathen  who  says  its  prayers  to  Brahma  and  kneels  before 
Juggernaut— this  girl  is — a  liar ! ' 

Now  came  a  pause  of  ten  minutes ;  during  which  I,  by 
this  time  in  perfect  possession  of  my  wits,  observed  all  the 
female  Brocklehursts  produce  their  pocket-handkerchiefs 
and  apply  them  to  their  optics,  while  the  elderly  lady  swayed 


JANE  EYRE  75 

herself  to  and  fro,  and  the  two  younger  ones  whispered, 
1  How  shocking ! ' 

Mr.  Brocklehurst  resumed. 

4  This  I  learned  from  her  benefactress ;  from  the  pious 
and  charitable  lady  who  adopted  her  in  her  orphan  state, 
reared  her  as  her  own  daughter,  and  whose  kindness,  whose 
generosity  the  unhappy  girl  repaid  by  an  ingratitude  so  bad, 
so  dreadful,  that  at  last  her  excellent  patroness  was  obliged 
to  separate  her  from  her  own  young  ones,  fearful  lest  her 
vicious  example  should  contaminate  their  purity :  she  has 
sent  her  here  to  be  healed,  even  as  the  Jews  of  old  sent  their 
diseased  to  the  troubled  pool  of  Bethesda;  and,  teachers, 
superintendent,  I  beg  of  you  not  to  allow  the  waters  10 
stagnate  round  her.' 

With  this  sublime  conclusion,  Mr.  Brocklehurst  adjusted 
the  top  button  of  his  surtout,  muttered  something  to  his 
family,  who  rose,  bowed  to  Miss  Temple,  and  then  all  the 
great  people  sailed  in  state  from  the  room.  Turning  at  the 
door,  my  judge  said : — '  Let  her  stand  half  an  hour  longer 
on  that  stool,  and  let  no  one  speak  to  her  during  the  re- 
mainder of  the  day.1 

There  was  I,  then,  mounted  aloft :  I,  who  had  said  I 
jould  not  bear  the  shame  of  standing  on  my  natural  feet  in 
the  middle  of  the  room,  was  now  exposed  to  general  view 
on  a  pedestal  of  infamy.  What  my  sensations  were,  no 
language  can  describe :  but  just  as  they  all  rose,  stifling  my 
breath  and  constricting  my  throat,  a  girl  caine  up  and  passed 
me  :  in  passing,  she  lifted  her  eyes.  What  a  strange  light 
inspired  them  I  What  an  extraordinary  sensation  that  ray 
sent  through  me !  How  the  new  feeling  bore  me  up !  It 
was  as  if  a  martyr,  a  hero,  had  passed  a  slave  or  victim,  and 
imparted  strength  in  the  transit.  I  mastered  the  rising 
hysteria,  lifted  up  my  head,  and  took  a  firm  stand  on  the 
stool.  Helen  Burns  asked  some  slight  question  about  her 
work  of  Miss  Smith,  was  chidden  for  the  triviality  of  the 
inquiry,  returned  to  her  place,  and  smiled  at  me  as  she  again 
went;  by.  What  a  smile !  I  remember  it  now,  and  I  know 


76  JANE  EYRE 

that  it  was  the  effluence  of  fine  intellect,  of  true  courage  ;  it 
lit  up  her  marked  lineaments,  her  thin  face,  her  sunken  grey 
eye,  like  a  reflection  from  the  aspect  of  an  angel.  Yet  at 
that  moment  Ilctan  Burns  wore  on  her  arm  '  the  untidy 
badge ' ;  scarcely  an  hour  ago  I  had  heard  her  condemned 
by  Miss  Scatcherd  to  a  dinner  of  bread  and  water  on  the 
morrow,  because  she  had  blotted  an  exercise  in  copying  it 
out.  Such  is  the  imperfect  nature  of  man  !  such  spots  are 
there  on  the  disc  of  i.he  clearest  planet ;  and  eyes  like  Miss 
Scatcherd's  can  only  see  those  minute  defects,  and  are  blind 
to  the  full  brightness  of  the  orb. 


JANE  EYEE  77 


CHAPTER  VIII 

EKE  the  half -hour  ended,  five  o'clock  struck ;  school  was 
dismissed  and  all  were  gone  into  the  refectory  to  tea.  I 
now  ventured  to  descend  :  it  was  deep  dusk ;  I  retired  into 
a  corner  and  sat  down  on  the  floor.  The  spell  by  which  I 
had  been  sn  far  supported  began  to  dissolve ;  reaction  took 
place,  and  soon,  so  overwhelming  was  the  grief  that  seized 
me,  I  sank  prostrate  with  my  face  to  the  ground.  Now  I 
wept :  Helen  Burns  was  not  here ;  nothing  sustained  me ; 
left  to  myself  I  abandoned  myself,  and  my  tears  watered  the 
boards.  I  had  meant  to  be  so  good,  and  to  do  so  much  at 
Lowood  :  to  make  so  many  friends,  to  earn  respect,  and  win 
affection.  Already  I  had  made  visible  progress :  that  very 
morning  I  had  reached  the  head  of  my  class ;  Miss  Miller 
had  praised  me  warmly ;  Miss  Temple  had  smiled  approba- 
tion ;  she  had  promised  to  teach  me  drawing,  arid  to  let  me 
learn  French,  if  I  continued  to  make  similar  improvement 
two  months  longer:  and  then  I  was  well-received  by  my 
fellow-pupils ;  treated  as  an  equal  by  those  of  my  own  age, 
and  not  molested  by  any ;  now,  here  I  lay  again  crushed  and 
trodden  on  ;  and  could  I  ever  rise  more  ? 

'Never/  I  thought;  and  ardently  I  wished  to  die. 
While  sobbing  out  this  wish  in  broken  accents,  some  one 
approached :  I  started  up —again  Helen  Burns  was  near 
me ;  the  fading  fires  just  showed  her  coming  up  the  long, 
vacant  room ;  she  brought  my  coffee  and  bread. 

'  Come,  eat  something/  she  said ;  but  I  put  both  away 
from  me,  feeling  as  if  a  drop  or  a  crumb  would  have  choked 
me  in  my  present  condition.  Helen  regarded  me,  probably 
with  surprise :  I  could  not  DOW  abate  my  agitation,  though  I 


78  JANE  EYRE 

tried  hard ;  I  continued  to  weep  aloud.  She  sat  down  on 
the  ground  near  me,  embraced  her  knees  with  her  arms,  and 
rested  her  head  upon  them ;  in  that  attitude  she  remained 
silent  as  an  Indian.  I  was  the  first  who  spoke  : — '  Helen, 
why  do  you  stay  with  a  girl  whom  everybody  believes  to  be 
a  liar?1 

1  Everybody,  Jane  ?  Why,  there  are  only  eighty  people 
who  have  heard  you  called  so,  and  the  world  contains 
hundreds  of  millions/ 

'  But  what  have  I  to  do  with  millions  ?  The  eighty  1 
know  despise  me/ 

'  Jane,  you  are  mistaken  :  probably  not  one  in  the  school 
either  despises  or  dislikes  you :  many,  I  am  sure,  pity  you 
much.' 

1  How  can  they  pity  me  after  what  Mr.  Brocklehurst 
said?' 

1  Mr.  Brocklehurst  is  not  a  god  :  nor  is  he  even  a  great 
and  admired  man :  he  is  little  liked  here ;  he  never  took 
steps  to  make  himself  liked.  Had  he  treated  you  as  an 
especial  favourite,  you  would  have  found  enemies,  declared 
or  covert,  all  around  you :  as  it  is,  the  greater  number  would 
offer  you  sympathy  if  they  dared.  Teachers  and  pupils  may 
look  coldly  on  you  for  a  day  or  two,  but  friendly  feelings  are 
concealed  in  their  hearts;  and  if  you  persevere  in  doing 
well,  these  feelings  will  ere  long  appear  so  much  the  more 
evident  for  their  temporary  suppression.  Besides,  Jane/ 
she  paused. 

1  Well,  Helen  ? '  said  I,  putting  my  hand  into  hers  :  she 
chafed  my  fingers  gently  to  warm  them,  and  went  on  : — 

'  If  all  the  world  hated  you,  and  believed  you  wicked, 
while  your  own  conscience  approved  you,  and  absolved  you 
from  guilt,  you  would  not  be  without  friends/ 

1  No  ;  I  know  I  should  think  well  of  myself ;  but  that  is 
not  enough :  if  others  don't  love  me,  I  would  rather  die  than 
live — I  cannot  bear  to  be  solitary  and  hated,  Helen.  Look 
here ;  to  gain  some  real  affection  from  you,  or  Miss  Temple, 
or  any  other  whom  I  truly  love,  I  would  willingly  submit  to 


JANE  EYEB  79 

have  the  bone  of  my  arm  broken,  or  to  let  a  bull  toss  me,  or 
to  stand  behind  a  kicking  horse,  and  let  it  dash  its  hoof  at 
my  chest/ 

1  Hush,  Jane !  you  think  too  much  of  the  love  of  human 
beings,  you  are  too  impulsive,  too  vehement :  the  sovereign 
hand  that  created  your  frame,  and  put  life  into  it,  has  pro- 
vided you  with  other  resources  than  your  feeble  self,  or  than 
creatures  feeble  as  you.  Besides  this  earth,  and  besides  the 
race  of  men,  there  is  an  invisible  world  and  a  kingdom  of 
spirits :  that  world  is  round  us,  for  it  is  everywhere ;  and 
those  spirits  watch  us,  for  they  are  commissioned  to  guard 
us ;  and  if  we  were  dying  in  pain  and  shame,  if  scorn  smote 
us  on  all  sides,  and  hatred  crushed  us,  angels  see  our  tor- 
tures, recognise  our  innocence  (if  innocent  we  be  :  as  I  know 
you  are  of  this  charge  which  Mr.  Brocklehurst  has  weakly 
and  pompously  repeated  at  second-hand  from  Mrs.  Eeed ; 
for  I  read  a  sincere  nature  in  your  ardent  eyes  and  on  your 
clear  front),  and  God  waits  only  the  separation  of  spirit  from 
flesh  to  crown  us  with  a  full  reward.  Why,  then,  should  we 
ever  sink  overwhelmed  with  distress,  when  life  is  so  soon 
over,  and  death  is  so  certain  an  entrance  to  happiness— to 
glory  ? ' 

I  was  silent :  Helen  had  calmed  me ;  but  in  the  tran- 
quillity she  imparted  there  was  an  alloy  of  inexpressible 
sadness.  I  felt  the  impression  of  woe  as  she  spoke,  but  I 
could  not  tell  whence  it  came ;  and  when,  having  done 
speaking,  she  breathed  a  little  fast  and  coughed  a  short 
cough,  I  momentarily  forgot  my  own  sorrows  to  yield  to  a 
vague  concern  for  her. 

Besting  my  head  on  Helen's  should  »r,  I  put  my  arms 
round  her  waist;  she  drew  me  to  her,  and  we  reposed  in 
silence.  We  had  not  sat  long  thus,  when  another  person 
came  in.  Some  heavy  clouds,  swept  from  the  sky  by  a 
rising  wind,  had  left  the  moon  bare  ;  and  her  light,  stream- 
ing in  through  a  window  near,  shone  full  both  on  us  and  on 
the  approaching  figure,  which  we  at  once  recognised  as  Miss 
Temple. 


80  JANE  EYRE 

1 1  caine  on  purpose  to  find  you,  Jane  Eyre/  said  she ; 
1 1  want  you  in  my  room ;  and  as  Helen  Burns  is  with  you, 
she  may  come  too/ 

We  went ;  following  the  superintendent's  guidance,  we 
had  to  thread  some  intricate  passages,  and  mount  a  stair- 
case before  we  reached  her  apartment;  it  contained  a 
good  fire,  and  looked  cheerful.  Miss  Temple  told  Helen 
Burns  to  be  seated  in  a  low  arm-chair  on  one  side  of  the 
hearth,  and  herself  taking  another,  she  called  mu  to  her 
side. 

1  Is  it  all  over  ? '  she  asked,  looking  down  at  my  facet 
*  Have  you  ci  icd  your  grief  away  ? ' 

'  I  am  afraid  I  never  shall  do  that.' 

1  Why  ? ' 

1  Because  I  have  been  wrongly  accused ;  and  you,  ma'am, 
and  everybody  else  will  now  think  me  wicked.' 

'  We  shall  think  you  what  you  prove  yourself  to  be,  my 
child.  Continue  to  act  as  a  good  girl,  and  you  will  satisfy 
me.1 

1  Shall  I,  Miss  Temple  ? ' 

1  You  will,'  said  she,  passing  her  arm  round  me.  '  And 
now  tell  me  who  is  the  lady  whom  Mr.  Brocklehurst  called 
your  benefactress  ? ' 

1  Mrs.  Eeed,  my  uncle's  wife.  My  uncle  is  dead,  and  he 
left  me  to  her  care.' 

1  Did  she  not,  then,  adopt  you  of  her  own  accord  ? ' 

'  No,  ma'am ;  she  was  sorry  to  have  to  do  it  :  but  my  uncle, 
as  I  have  often  heard  the  servants  say,  got  her  to  promise 
before  he  died,  that  she  would  always  keep  me.' 

'  Well,  now,  Jane,  you  know,  or  at  least  1  will  tell  you, 
that  when  a  criminal  is  accused,  he  is  always  allowed  to 
speak  in  his  own  defence.  You  have  been  charged  with 
falsehood ;  defend  yourself  to  me  as  well  as  you  can.  Say 
whatever  your  memory  suggests  as  true ;  but  add  nothing 
and  exaggerate  nothing/ 

I  resolved,  in  the  depth  of  my  heart,  that  I  would  be 
most  moderate — most  correct ;  and,  having  reflected  a  few 


JANE  EYEB  81 

minutes  in  order  to  arrange  coherently  what  I  had  to  say,  I 
told  her  all  the  story  of  my  sad  childhood.  Exhausted  by 
emotion,  my  language  was  more  subdued  than  it  generally 
was  when  it  developed  that  sad  theme ;  and  mindful  of 
Helen's  warnings  against  the  indulgence  of  resentment,  I 
infused  into  the  narrative  far  less  of  gall  and  wormwood 
than  ordinary.  Thus  restrained  and  simplified,  it  sounded 
more  credible :  I  felt  as  I  went  on  that  Miss  Temple  fully 
believed  me. 

In  the  course  of  the  tale  I  had  mentioned  Mr.  Lloyd  as 
having  come  to  see  me  after  the  fit :  for  I  never  forgot  the, 
to  me,  frightful  episode  of  the  red-room  ;  in  detailing  which, 
my  excitement  was  sure,  in  some  degree,  to  break  bounds  ; 
for  nothing  could  soften  in  my  recollection  the  spasm  of 
agony  which  clutched  my  heart  when  Mrs.  Eeed  spurned 
my  wild  supplication  for  pardon,  and  locked  me  a  second 
time  in  the  dark  and  haunted  chamber. 

I  had  finished  :  Miss  Temple  regarded  me  a  few  minutes 
in  silence  ;  she  then  said: — '  I  know  something  of  Mr.  Lloyd; 
I  shall  write  to  him  ;  if  his  reply  agrees  with  your  statement, 
you  shall  be  publicly  cleared  from  every  imputation  :  to  me, 
Jane,  you  are  clear  now/ 

She  kissed  me,  and  still  keeping  me  at  her  side  (where  I 
was  well  contented  to  stand,  for  I  derived  a  child's  pleasure 
from  the  contemplation  of  her  face,  her  dress,  her  one  or  two 
ornaments,  her  white  forehead,  her  clustered  and  shining 
curls,  and  beaming  dark  eyes),  she  proceeded  to  address 
Helen  Burns. 

1  How  are  you  to-night,  Helen  ?  Have  you  coughed 
much  to-day  ? ' 

'  Not  quite  so  much,  I  think,  ma'am.' 

1  And  the  pain  in  your  chest  ?  ' 

'  It  is  a  little  better/ 

Miss  Temple  got  up,  took  her  hand  and  examined  her 
pulse  ;  then  she  returned  to  her  own  seat :  as  she  resumed 
it,  I  heard  her  sigh  low.  She  was  pensive  a  few  minutes, 
then  rousing  herself,  she  said  cheerfully  : — *  But  you  two  are 


82  JANE  EYEE 

my  visitors  to-night ;  I  must  treat  you  as  such.'  She  rang 
her  bell. 

'Barbara/  she  said  to  the  servant  who  answered  it, 
1 1  have  not  yet  had  tea ;  bring  the  tray,  and  place  cups  for 
these  two  young  ladies/ 

And  a  tray  was  soon  brought.  How  pretty,  to  my  eyes, 
did  the  china  cups  and  bright  teapot  look,  placed  on  the 
little  round  table  near  the  fire!  How  fragrant  was  the 
steam  of  the  beverage,  and  the  scent  of  the  toast !  of  which, 
however,  I,  to  my  dismay  (for  I  was  beginning  to  be  hungry), 
discerned  only  a  very  small  portion :  Miss  Temple  discerned 
it  too :— '  Barbara/  said  she,  '  can  you  not  bring  a  little  more 
bread  and  butter  ?  There  is  not  enough  for  three.1 

Barbara  went  out :  she  returned  soon : — '  Madam,  Mrs. 
Harden  says  she  has  sent  up  the  usual  quantity/ 

Mrs.  Harden,  be  it  observed,  was  the  housekeeper:  a 
woman  after  Mr.  Brocklehurst's  own  heart,  made  up  of  equal 
parts  of  whalebone  and  iron. 

I  Oh,  very  well  1 '  returned  Miss  Temple  ;  '  we  must  make 
it  do,  Barbara,  I  suppose/    And  as  the  girl  withdrew,  she 
added,   smiling,  '  Fortunately,   I  have   it  in  my  power  to 
supply  deficiencies  for  this  once/ 

Having  invited  Helen  and  me  to  approach  the  table,  and 
placed  before  each  of  us  a  cup  of  tea  with  one  delicious  but 
thin  morsel  of  toast,  she  got  up,  unlocked  a  drawer,  and 
taking  from  it  a  parcel  wrapped  in  paper,  disclosed  presently 
to  our  eyes  a  good- sized  seed-cake. 

I 1  meant  to  give  each  of  you  some  of  this  to  take  with 
you/  said  she ;   '  but  as  there  is  so  little  toast,  you  must 
have  it  now/  and  she  proceeded  to  cut  slices  with  a  generous 
hand. 

We  feasted  that  evening  as  on  nectar  and  ambrosia ;  and 
not  the  least  delight  of  the  entertainment  was  the  smile  of 
gratification  with  which  our  hostess  regarded  us,  as  we 
satisfied  our  famished  appetites  on  the  delicate  fare  she 
liberally  supplied.  Tea  over  and  the  tray  removed,  she 
again  summoned  us  to  the  fire ;  we  sat  one  on  each  side  of  her, 


JANE  EYBE  83 

and  now  a  conversation  followed  between  her  and  Helen, 
which  it  was  indeed  a  privilege  to  be  admitted  to  hear. 

Miss  Temple  had  always  something  of  serenity  in  her 
air,  of  state  in  her  mien,  of  refined  propriety  in  her  language, 
which  precluded  deviation  into  the  ardent,  the  excited,  the 
eager:  something  which  chastened  the  pleasure  of  those 
who  looked  on  her  and  listened  to  her,  by  a  controlling  sense 
of  awe ;  and  such  was  my  feeling  now ;  but  as  to  Helen 
Burns,  I  was  struck  with  wonder. 

The  refreshing  meal,  the  brilliant  fire,  the  presence  and 
kindness  of  her  beloved  instructress,  or,  perhaps,  more  than 
all  these,  something  in  her  own  unique  mind,  had  roused 
her  powers  within  her.  They  woke,  they  kindled :  first,  they 
glowed  in  the  bright  tint  of  her  cheek,  which  till  this  hour  I 
had  never  seen  but  pale  and  bloodless ;  then  they  shone  in 
the  liquid  lustre  of  her  eyes,  which  had  suddenly  acquired  a 
beauty  more  singular  than  that  of  Miss  Temple's — a  beauty 
neither  of  fine  colour  nor  long  eyelash,  nor  pencilled  brow, 
but  of  meaning,  of  movement,  of  radiance.  Then  her  soul 
sat  on  her  lips,  and  language  flowed,  from  what  source  I 
cannot  tell:  has  a  girl  of  fourteen  a  heart  large  enough, 
vigorous  enough,  to  hold  the  swelling  spring  of  pure,  full, 
fervid  eloquence  ?  Such  was  the  characteristic  of  Helen's 
discourse  on  that,  to  me,  memorable  evening;  her  spirit 
seemed  hastening  to  live  within  a  very  brief  span  as  much 
as  many  live  during  a  protracted  existence. 

They  conversed  of  things  I  had  never  heard  of  :  of  nations 
and  times  past ;  of  countries  far  away :  of  secrets  of  nature 
discovered  or  guessed  at :  they  spoke  of  books  :  how  many 
they  had  read  1  What  stores  of  knowledge  they  possessed  ! 
Then  they  seemed  so  familiar  with  French  names  and 
French  authors:  but  my  amazement  reached  its  climax 
when  Miss  Temple  asked  Helen  if  she  sometimes  snatched 
a  moment  to  recall  the  Latin  her  father  had  taught  her,  and 
taking  a  book  from  a  shelf,  bade  her  read  and  construe  a 
page  of  '  Virgil ' ;  and  Helen  obeyed,  my  organ  of  Veneration 
expanding  at  every  sounding  line.  She  had  scarcely  finished 


84  JANE  BYEE 

ere  the  bell  announced  bedtime :  no  delay  could  be  admitted ; 
Miss  Temple  embraced  us  both,  saying,  as  she  drew  us  to 
her  heart : — '  God  bless  you,  my  children ! ' 

Helen  she  held  a  little  longer  than  me:  she  let  her 
go  more  reluctantly ;  it  was  Helen  her  eye  followed  to  the 
door ;  it  was  for  her  she  a  second  time  breathed  a  sad  sigh  ; 
for  her  she  wiped  a  tear  from  her  cheek. 

On  reaching  the  bedroom,  we  heard  the  voice  of  Miss 
Scatcherd :  she  was  examining  drawers  ;  she  had  just  pulled 
out  Helen  Burns's,  and  when  we  entered  Helen  was  greeted 
with  a  sharp  reprimand,  and  told  that  to-morrow  she  should 
have  half  a  dozen  of  untidily-folded  articles  pinned  to  her 
shoulder. 

'  My  things  were  indeed  in  shameful  disorder/  murmured 
Helen  to  me,  in  a  low  voice  :  '  I  intended  to  have  arranged 
them,  but  I  forgot/ 

Next  morning,  Miss  Scatcherd  wrote  in  conspicuous 
characters  on  a  piece  of  pasteboard  the  word  '  Slattern/  and 
bound  it  like  a  phylactery  round  Helen's  large,  mild,  intelli- 
gent, and  benign-looking  forehead.  She  wore  it  till  evening, 
patient,  unresentful,  regarding  it  as  a  deserved  punishment. 
The  moment  Miss  Scatcherd  withdrew  after  afternoon- 
school,  I  ran  to  Helen,  tore  it  off,  and  thrust  it  into  the  fire  : 
the  fury  of  which  she  was  incapable  had  been  burning  in 
my  soul  all  day,  and  tears,  hot  and  large,  had  continually 
been  scalding  my  cheek  ;  for  the  spectacle  of  her  sad  resig- 
nation gave  me  an  intolerable  pain  at  the  heart. 

About  a  week  subsequently  to  the  incidents  above  nar- 
rated, Miss  Temple,  who  had  written  to  Mr.  Lloyd,  received 
his  answer  :  it  appeared  that  what  he  said  went  to  corrobo- 
rate my  account.  Miss  Temple,  having  assembled  the  whole 
school,  announced  that  inquiry  had  been  made  into  the 
charges  alleged  against  Jane  Eyre,  and  that  she  was  most 
happy  to  be  able  to  pronounce  her  completely  cleared  from 
every  imputation.  The  teachers  then  shook  hands  with 
me  and  kissed  me,  and  a  murmur  of  pleasure  ran  through 
the  ranks  of  my  companions. 


JANE  BYEB  85 

Thus  relieved  of  a  grievous  load,  I  from  that  hour  set  to 
work  afresh,  resolved  to  pioneer  my  way  through  every 
difficulty :  I  toiled  hard,  and  my  success  was  proportionate 
to  my  efforts  ;  my  memory,  not  naturally  tenacious,  improved 
with  practice  :  exercise  sharpened  my  wits  ;  in  a  few  weeks 
I  was  promoted  to  a  higher  class  ;  in  less  than  two  months 
I  was  allowed  to  commence  French  and  drawing.  I  learned 
the  firsu  two  tenses  of  the  verb  Etre,  and  sketched  my  first 
cottage  (whose  walls,  by-t.he-by,  outrivalled  m  slope  those  of 
the  leaning  tower  of  Pisa),  on  the  same  day.  That  night, 
on  going  to  bed,  1  forgot  to  prepare  in  imagination  the 
Barmecide  supper  of  hot  roast  potatoes,  or  white  bread  and 
new  milk,  with  which  I  was  wont  to  amuse  my  inward 
cravings :  I  feasted  instead  on  the  spectacle  of  ideal  draw- 
ings, which  I  saw  in  the  dark ;  all  the  work  of  my  own 
hands  :  freely  pencilled  houses  and  trees,  picturesque  rocks 
and  ruins,  Cuyp-like  groups  of  cattle,  sweet  paintings  of 
butterflies  hovering  over  unblown  roses,  of  birds  picking  at 
ripe  cherries,  of  wrens'  nests  enclosing  pearl-like  eggs, 
wreathed  about  with  young  ivy  sprays.  I  examined,  too,  in 
thought,  the  possibility  of  my  ever  being  able  to  translate 
currently  a  certain  little  French  story-book  which  Madame 
Pierrot  had  that  day  shown  me ;  nor  was  that  problem 
solved  to  my  satisfaction  ere  I  fell  sweetly  asleep. 

Well  has  Solomon  said --'Better  is  a  dinner  of  herbs 
where  love  is,  than  a  stalled  ox  and  hatred  therewith.' 

I  would  not  now  have  exchanged  Lowood  with  all  its 
privations,  for  Gateshead  and  its  daily  luxuries. 


86  JANE  EYEE 


CHAPTEE  IX 

BUT  the  privations,  or  rather  the  hardships,  of  Lowood 
lessened.  Spring  drew  on :  she  was  indeed  already  come ; 
the  frosts  of  winter  had  ceased ;  its  snows  were  melted,  its 
cutting  winds  ameliorated.  My  wretched  feet,  flayed  and 
swollen  to  lameness  by  the  sharp  air  of  January,  began  to 
heal  and  subside  under  the  gentler  breathings  of  April ;  the 
nights  and  mornings  no  longer  by  their  Canadian  tempera- 
ture froze  the  very  blood  in  our  veins ;  we  could  now  endure 
the  play-hour  passed  in  the  garden  :  sometimes  on  a  sunny 
day  it  began  even  to  be  pleasant  and  genial,  and  a  greenness 
grew  over  those  brown  beds,  which,  freshening  daily, 
suggested  the  thought  that  Hope  traversed  them  at  night, 
and  left  each  morning  brighter  traces  of  her  steps.  Mowers 
peeped  out  amongst  the  leaves ;  snowdrops,  crocuses,  purple 
auriculas,  and  golden-eyed  pansies.  On  Thursday  after- 
noons (half-holidays)  we  now  took  walks,  and  found  still 
sweeter  flowers  opening  by  the  wayside,  under  the  hedges. 

I  discovered,  too,  that  a  great  pleasure,  an  enjoyment 
which  the  horizon  only  bounded,  lay  all  outside  the  high  and 
spike-guarded  walls  of  our  garden  :  this  pleasure  consisted  in 
prospect  of  noble  summits  girdling  a  great  hill-hollow,  rich 
in  verdure  and  shadow ;  in  a  bright  beck,  full  of  dark  stones 
and  sparkling  eddies.  How  different  had  this  scene  looked 
when  I  viewed  it  laid  out  beneath  the  iron  sky  of  winter 
stiffened  in  frost,  shrouded  with  snow  I — when  mists  as 
chill  as  death  wandered  to  the  impulse  of  east  winds  along 
those  purple  peaks,  and  rolled  down  '  ing  '  and  holm  till  they 
blended  with  the  frozen  fog  of  the  beck  I  That  beck  itself 
was  then  a  torrent,  turbid  and  curbless  :  it  tore  asunder  the 


JANE  EYEE  87 

wood,  and  sent  a  raving  sound  through  the  air,  often  thick- 
ened with  wild  rain  or  whirling  sleet ;  and  for  the  forest  on 
its  banks,  that  showed  only  ranks  of  skeletons. 

April  advanced  to  May :  a  bright,  serene  May  it  was ; 
days  of  blue  sky,  placid  sunshine,  and  soft  western  01 
southern  gales  filled  up  its  duration.  And  now  vegetation 
matured  with  vigour ;  Lowood  shook  loose  its  tresses ;  it 
became  all  green,  all  flowery ;  its  great  elm,  ash,  and  oak 
skeletons  were  restored  to  majestic  life;  woodland  plants 
sprang  up  profusely  in  its  recesses ;  unnumbered  varieties 
of  moss  filled  its  hollows,  and  it  made  a  strange  ground- 
sunshine  out  of  the  wealth  of  its  wild  primrose  plants  :  I 
have  seen  their  pale  gold  gleam  in  overshadowed  spots  like 
scatterings  of  the  sweetest  lustre.  All  this  I  enjoyed  often 
and  fully,  free,  unwatched,  and  almost  alone :  for  this  un- 
wonted liberty  and  pleasure  there  was  a  cause,  to  which  it 
now  becomes  my  task  to  advert. 

Have  I  not  described  a  pleasant  site  for  a  dwelling,  when 
I  speak  of  it  as  bosomed  in  hill  and  wood,  and  rising  from 
the  verge  of  a  stream  ?  Assuredly,  pleasant  enough :  but 
whether  healthy  or  not  is  another  question. 

That  forest-dell,  where  Lowood  lay,  was  the  cradle  of 
fog  and  fog-bred  pestilence ;  which,  quickening  with  the 
quickening  spring,  crept  into  the  Orphan  Asylum,  breathed 
typhus  through  its  crowded  schoolroom  and  dormitory, 
and,  ere  May  arrived,  transformed  the  seminary  into  a 
hospital. 

Semi-starvation  and  neglected  colds  had  predisposed 
most  of  the  pupils  to  receive  infection :  forty-five  out  of  the 
eighty  girls  lay  ill  at  one  time.  Classes  were  broken  up, 
rules  relaxed.  The  few  who  continued  well  were  allowed 
almost  unlimited  licence ;  because  the  medical  attendant 
insisted  on  the  necessity  of  frequent  exercise  to  keep  them 
in  health :  and  had  it  been  otherwise,  no  one  had  leisure 
to  watch  or  restrain  them.  Miss  Temple's  whole  attention 
was  absorbed  by  the  patients :  she  lived  in  the  sick-room, 
never  quitting  it  except  to  snatch  a  few  hours'  rest  at  night 


88  JANE  EYEB 

The  teachers  were  fully  occupied  with  packing  up  and 
making  other  necessary  preparations  for  the  departure  of 
those  girls  who  were  fortunate  enough  to  have  friends  and 
relations  able  and  willing  to  remove  them  from  the  seat  of 
contagion.  Many,  already  smitten,  went  home  only  to  die  : 
some  died  at  the  school,  and  were  buried  quietly  and  quickly, 
the  nature  of  the  malady  forbidding  delay. 

While  disease  had  thus  become  an  inhabitant  of  Lowood, 
and  death  its  frequent  visitor ;  while  there  was  gloom  and 
fear  within  its  walls ;  while  its  rooms  and  passages  steamed 
with  hospital  smells,  the  drug  and  the  pastille  striving  vainly 
to  overcome  the  effluvia  of  mortality,  that  bright  May  shone 
unclouded  over  the  bold  hills  and  beautiful  woodland  out  of 
doors.  Its  garden,  too,  glowed  with  flowers ;  hollyhocks  had 
sprung  up  tall  as  trees,  lilies  had  opened,  tulips  and  roses 
were  in  bloom ;  the  borders  of  the  little  beds  were  gay  with 
pink  thrift  and  crimson  double-daisies  ;  the  sweetbners  gave 
out,  morning  and  evening,  their  scent  of  spice  and  apples ; 
and  these  fragrant  treasures  were  all  useless  for  most  of  the 
inmates  of  Lowood,  except  to  furnish  now  and  then  a  hand- 
ful of  herbs  and  blossoms  to  put  in  a  coffin. 

But  I,  and  the  rest  who  continued  well,  enjoyed  fully  the 
beauties  of  the  scene  and  season  :  they  let  us  ramble  in  the 
wood,  like  gipses,  from  morning  till  night ;  we  did  what  we 
liked,  went  where  we  liked:  we  lived  better  too.  Mr. 
Brocklehurst  and  his  family  never  came  near  Lowood  now : 
household  matters  were  not  scrutinised  into ;  the  cross 
housekeeper  was  gone,  driven  away  by  the  fear  of  infection ; 
her  successor,  who  had  been  matron  at  the  Lowton  Dis- 
pensary, unused  to  the  ways  of  her  new  abode,  provided 
with  comparative  liberality.  Besides,  there  were  fewer  to 
feed :  the  sick  could  eat  little ;  our  breakfast-basins  were 
better  filled :  when  there  was  no  time  to  prepare  a  regular 
dinner,  which  often  happened,  she  would  give  us  a  large 
piece  of  cold  pie,  or  a  thick  slice  of  bread  and  cheese,  and 
this  we  carried  away  with  us  to  the  wood,  where  we  each 
chose  uhe  spot  we  liked  best,  and  dined  sumptuously. 


JANE  EYES  89 

My  favourite  seat  was  a  smooth  and  broad  stone,  rising 
white  and  dry  from  the  very  middle  of  the  beck,  and  only  to 
be  got  at  by  wading  through  the  water ;  a  feat  I  accom- 
plished barefoot.  The  stone  was  just  broad  enough  to 
accommodate,  comfortably,  another  girl  and  me,  at  that 
time  my  chosen  comrade — one  Mary  Ann  Wilson  ;  a  shrewd, 
observant  personage,  whose  society  I  took  pleasure  in,  partly 
because  she  was  witty  and  original,  and  partly  because  she 
had  a  manner  which  set  me  at  my  ease.  Some  years  older 
than  I,  she  knew  more  of  the  world,  and  could  tell  me  many 
things  I  liked  to  hear :  with  her  my  curiosity  found  gratifi- 
cation :  to  my  faults  also  she  gave  ample  indulgence,  never 
imposing  curb  or  rein  on  anything  I  said.  She  had  a  turn 
for  narrative,  I  for  analysis  ;  she  liked  to  inform,  I  to  ques- 
tion ;  so  we  got  on  swimmingly  together,  deriving  much 
entertainment,  if  not  much  improvement,  from  our  mutual 
intercourse. 

And  where,  meantime,  was  Helen  Burns  ?  Why  did  I 
not  spend  these  sweet  days  of  liberty  with  her?  Had  I 
forgotten  her  ?  or  was  I  so  worthless  as  to  have  grown  tired 
of  her  pure  society  ?  Surely  the  Mary  Ann  Wilson  I  have 
mentioned  was  inferior  to  my  first  acquaintance  :  she  could 
only  tell  me  amusing  stories,  and  reciprocate  any  racy  and 
pungent  gossip  I  chose  to  indulge  in  ;  while,  if  I  have  spoken 
truth  of  Helen,  she  was  qualified  to  give  those  who  enjoyed 
the  privilege  of  her  converse,  a  taste  of  far  higher  things. 

True,  reader ;  and  I  knew  and  felt  this :  and  though  I 
am  a  defective  being,  with  many  faults  and  few  redeeming 
points,  yet  I  never  tired  of  Helen  Burns ;  nor  ever  ceased 
to  cherish  for  her  a  sentiment  of  attachment,  as  strong, 
tender,  and  respectful  as  any  that  ever  animated  my  heart. 
How  could  it  be  otherwise,  when  Helen,  at  all  times  and 
under  all  circumstances,  evinced  for  me  a  quiet  and  faithful 
friendship,  which  ill-humour  never  soured,  nor  irritation  ever 
troubled  ?  But  Helen  was  ill  at  present :  for  some  weeks 
she  had  been  removed  from  my  sight  to  I  knew  not  what 
room  upstairs.  She  was  not,  1  was  told,  in  the  hospital 


90  JANE  EYBE 

portion  of  the  house  with  the  fever  patients ;  for  her  com- 
plaint was  consumption,  not  typhus :  and  by  consumption 
I,  in  my  ignorance,  understood  something  mild,  which  time 
and  care  would  he  sure  to  alleviate. 

I  was  confirmed  in  this  idea  by  the  fact  of  her  once  or 
twice  coming  downstairs  on  very  warm  sunny  afternoons, 
and  being  taken  by  Miss  Temple  into  the  garden :  but,  on 
these  occasions,  I  was  not  allowed  to  go  and  speak  to  her  ; 
I  only  saw  her  from  the  schoolroom  window,  and  then  not 
distinctly ;  for  she  was  much  wrapped  up,  and  sat  at  a  dis- 
tance under  the  verandah. 

One  evening,  in  the  beginning  of  June,  I  had  stayed  out 
very  late  with  Mary  Ann  in  the  wood ;  we  had,  as  usual, 
separated  ourselves  from  the  others,  and  had  wandered  far  : 
so  far  that  we  lost  our  way,  and  had  to  ask  it  at  a  lonely 
cottage,  where  a  man  and  woman  lived,  who  looked  after  a 
herd  of  half -wild  swine  that  fed  on  the  mast  in  the  wood. 
When  we  got  back,  it  was  after  moon-rise :  a  pony,  which 
we  knew  to  be  the  surgeon's,  was  standing  at  the  garden 
door.  Mary  Ann  remarked  that  she  supposed  some  one 
must  be  very  ill,  as  Mr.  Bates  had  been  sent  for  at  that  time 
of  the  evening.  She  went  into  the  house ;  I  stayed  behind  a 
few  minutes  to  plant  in  my  garden  a  handful  of  roots  I  had 
dug  up  in  the  forest,  and  which  I  feared  would  wither  if  I 
left  them  till  the  morning.  This  done,  I  lingered  yet  a  little 
longer  :  the  flowers  smelt  so  sweet  as  the  dew  fell ;  it  was 
such  a  pleasant  evening,  so  serene,  so  warm  ;  the  still  glow- 
ing west  promised  so  fairly  another  fine  day  on  the  morrow  ; 
the  moon  rose  with  such  majesty  in  the  grave  east.  I  was 
noting  these  things  and  enjoying  them  as  a  c1  ild  might, 
when  it  entered  my  mind  as  it  had  never  done  before : — 

'  How  sad  to  be  lying  now  on  a  sick  bed,  and  to  be  in 
danger  of  dying  I  This  world  is  pleasant — it  would  be 
dreary  to  be  called  from  it,  and  to  have  to  go  who  knows 
where  ? ' 

And  then  my  mind  made  its  first  earnest  effort  to  com- 
prehend what  had  been  infused  into  it  concerning  heaven 


JANE  EYEE  91 

and  hell :  and  for  the  first  time  it  recoiled,  baffled ;  and  for 
the  first  time  glancing  behind,  on  each  side,  and  before  it,  it 
saw  all  round  an  unf athomed  gulf :  it  felt  the  one  point 
where  it  stood — the  present ;  all  the  rest  was  formless  cloud 
and  vacant  depth :  and  it  shuddered  at  the  thought  of  totter- 
ing, and  plunging  amid  that  chaos.  While  pondering  this 
new  idea,  I  heard  the  front  door  open  ;  Mr.  Bates  came  out, 
and  with  him  was  a  nurse.  After  she  had  seen  him  mount 
his  horse  and  depart,  she  was  about  to  close  the  door,  but  I 
ran  up  to  her. 

1  How  is  Helen  Burns  ?  ' 

'  Very  poorly,1  was  the  answer. 

1  Is  it  her  Mr.  Bates  has  been  to  see  ? ' 

'  Yes/ 

'  And  what  does  he  say  about  her  ? ' 

'  He  says  she'll  not  be  here  long/ 

This  phrase,  uttered  in  my  hearing  yesterday,  would  have 
only  conveyed  the  notion  that  she  was  about  to  be  removed 
to  Northumberland,  to  her  own  home.  I  should  not  have 
suspected  that  it  meant  she  was  dying ;  but  I  knew  instantly 
now:  it  opened  clear  on  my  comprehension  that  Helen 
Burns  was  numbering  her  last  days  in  this  world,  and  that 
she  was  going  to  be  taken  to  the  region  of  spirits,  if  such 
region  there  were.  I  experienced  a  shock  of  horror,  then  a 
strong  thrill  of  grief,  then  a  desire — a  necessity  to  see  her, 
and  I  asked  in  what  room  she  lay. 

'  She  is  in  Miss  Temple's  room/  said  the  nurse. 

1  May  I  go  up  and  speak  to  her  ? ' 

1  Oh  no,  child !  It  is  not  likely ;  and  now  it  is  time  for 
you  to  come  in  ;  you'll  catch  the  fever  if  you  stop  out  when 
the  dew  is  falling/ 

The  nurse  closed  the  front  door ;  I  went  in  by  the  side 
entrance  which  led  to  the  schoolroom  :  I  was  just  in  time ; 
it  was  nine  o'clock,  and  Miss  Miller  was  calling  the  pupils  to 
go  to  bed. 

It  might  be  two  hours  later,  probably  near  eleven,  when 
I— not  having  been  able  to  fall  asleep,  and  deeming,  from 


92  JANE  EYEE 

the  perfect  silence  of  the  dormitory,  that  my  companions 
were  all  wrapt  in  profound  repose — rose  softly,  put  on  my 
frock  over  my  night-dress,  and,  without  shoes,  crept  from  the 
apartment,  and  set  off  in  quest  of  Miss  Temple's  room.  It 
was  quite  at  the  other  end  of  the  house ;  but  I  knew  my 
way ;  and  the  light  of  the  unclouded  summer  moon,  entering 
here  and  there  at  passage  windows,  enabled  me  to  find  it 
without  difficulty.  An  odour  of  camphor  and  burnt  vinegar 
warned  me  when  I  came  near  the  fever  room  :  and  I  passed 
its  door  quickly,  fearful  lest  the  nurse  who  sat  up  all  night 
should  hear  me.  I  dreaded  being  discovered  and  sent  back  ; 
for  I  must  see  Helen, — I  must  embrace  her  before  she  died, 
— I  must  give  her  one  last  kiss,  exchange  with  her  one 
last  word. 

Having  descended  a  staircase,  traversed  a  portion  of  the 
house  below,  and  succeeded  in  opening  and  shutting,  without 
noise,  two  doors,  I  reached  another  flight  of  steps ;  these  I 
mounted,  and  then  just  opposite  to  me  was  Miss  Temple's 
room.  A  light  shone  through  the  key -hole,  and  from  under 
the  door ;  a  profound  stillness  pervaded  the  vicinity. 
Coming  near,  I  found  the  door  slightly  ajar;  probably  to 
admit  some  fresh  air  into  the  close  abode  of  sickness. 
Indisposed  to  hesitate,  and  full  of  impatient  impulses — 
soul  and  senses  quivering  with  keen  throes — I  put  it  back 
and  looked  in.  My  eye  sought  Helen,  and  feared  to  find 
death. 

Close  by  Miss  Temple's  bed,  and  half  covered  with  its 
white  curtains,  there  stood  a  little  crib.  I  saw  the  outline  of 
a  form  under  the  clothes,  but  the  face  was  hid  by  the  hang- 
ings :  the  nurse  I  had  spoken  to  in  the  garden  sat  in  an 
easy-chair,  asleep ;  an  unsnuffed  candle  burnt  dimly  on  the 
table.  Miss  Temple  was  not  to  be  seen ;  I  knew  afterwards 
that  she  had  been  called  to  a  delirious  patient  in  the  fever- 
room.  I  advanced  ;  then  paused  by  the  crib  side :  my  hand 
was  on  the  curtain,  but  I  preferred  speaking  before  I  with- 
drew it.  I  still  recoiled  at  the  dread  of  seeing  a  corpse. 

'  Helen  1 '  I  whispered  softly, '  are  you  awake  ? ' 


JANE  EYEE  93 

She  stirred  herself,  put  back  the  curtain,  and  I  saw  her 
face,  pale,  wasted,  but  quite  composed :  she  looked  so  little 
changed  that  my  fear  was  instantly  dissipated. 

'Can  it  be  you,  Jane?'  she  asked  in  her  own  gentle 
voice. 

'  Oh ! '  I  thought,  '  she  is  not  going  to  die :  they  are 
mistaken :  she  could  not  speak  and  look  so  calmly  if  she 
were.1 

I  got  on  to  her  crib  and  kissed  her :  her  forehead  was 
cold,  and  her  cheek  both  cold  and  thin,  and  so  were  her 
hand  and  wrist ;  but  she  smiled  as  of  old. 

'Why  are  you  come  here,  Jane?  It  is  past  eleven 
o'clock  :  I  heard  it  strike  some  minutes  since.' 

I 1  came  to  see  you,  Helen :  I  heard  you  were  very  ill,  and 
I  could  not  sleep  till  I  had  spoken  to  you.' 

'  You  came  to  bid  me  good-bye,  then :  you  are  just  in  time 
probably.' 

'Are  you  going  somewhere,  Helen?  Are  you  going 
home?1 

'  Yes  ;  to  my  long  home — my  last  horde.' 

'  No,  no,  Helen  ! '  I  stopped  distressed.  While  I  tried 
to  devour  my  tears,  a  fit  of  coughing  seized  Helen ;  it  did 
not,  however,  wake  the  nurse ;  when  it  was  over,  she  lay  some 
minutes  exhausted ;  then  she  whispered : — '  Jane,  your  little 
feet  are  bare  ;  lie  down  and  cover  yourself  with  my  quilt.' 

I  did  so :  she  put  her  arm  over  me,  and  I  nestled  close  to 
her.  After  a  long  silence,  she  resumed ;  still  whispering, — 

'  I  am  very  happy,  Jane ;  and  when  you  hear  that  I  am 
dead,  you  must  be  sure  and  not  grieve  :  there  is  nothing  to 
grieve  about.  We  all  must  die  one  day,  and  the  illness 
which  is  removing  me  is  not  painful;  it  is  gentle  and 
gradual :  my  mind  is  at  rest.  I  leave  no  one  to  regret  me 
much :  I  have  only  a  father ;  and  he  is  lately  married,  and 
will  not  miss  me.  By  dying  young,  I  shall  escape  great  suffer- 
ings. I  had  not  qualities  or  talents  to  make  my  way  very 
well  in  the  world;  I  should  have  been  continually  at 
fault.' 


94  JANE  EYEE 

'But  where  are  you  going  to,  Helen?  Can  you  see? 
Do  you  know  ? ' 

'  I  believe  :  I  have  faith  :  I  am  going  to  God.' 

1  Where  is  God  ?    What  is  God  ? ' 

1  My  Maker  and  yours,  who  will  never  destroy  what  he 
created.  I  rely  implicitly  on  his  power,  and  confide  wholly 
in  his  goodness:  I  count  the  houis  till  that  eventful  one 
arrives  which  shall  restore  me  to  him,  reveal  him  to 
me.1 

'  You  are  sure,  then,  Helen,  that  there  is  such  a  place  as 
heaven  ;  and  that  our  souls  can  get  to  it  when  we  die  ? ' 

'I  am  sure  there  is  a  future  state;  I  believe  God  is 
good ;  I  can  resign  my  immortal  part  to  him  without  any 
misgiving.  God  is  my  father ;  God  is  my  friend :  I  love 
him ;  I  believe  he  loves  me. 

'  And  shall  I  see  you  again,  Helen,  when  I  die  ? ' 

'You  will  come  to  the  same  region  of  happiness:  be 
received  by  the  same  mighty,  universal  Parent,  no  doubt, 
dear  Jane/ 

Again  I  questioned;  but  this  time  only  in  thought. 
'  Where  is  that  region  ?  Does  it  exist  ?  '  And  I  clasped  my 
arms  closer  round  Helen ;  she  seemed  dearer  to  me  than 
ever ;  I  felt  as  if  I  could  not  let  her  go ;  I  lay  with  my 
face  hidden  on  her  neck.  Presently  she  said  in  the  sweetest 
tone, — '  How  comfortable  I  am  1  That  last  fit  of  coughing 
has  tired  me  a  little ;  I  feel  as  if  I  could  sleep :  but  don't 
leave  me,  Jane  ;  I  like  to  have  you  near  me.' 

'  I'll  stay  with  you,  dear  Helen :  no  one  shall  take  me 
away.1 

'  Are  you  warm,  darling  ? ' 

1  Yes.' 

'  Good-night,  Jane.' 

1  Good-night,  Helen.' 

She  kissed  me,  and  I  her ;  and  we  both  soon  slumbered. 

When  I  awoke  it  was  day:  an  unusual  movement 
roused  me;  I  looked  up;  I  was  in  somebody's  arms;  the 
nurse  held  me ;  she  was  carrying  me  through  the  passage 


JANE  EYEE  95 

back  to  the  dormitory.  I  was  not  reprimanded  for  leaving 
my  bed ;  people  had  something  else  to  think  about :  no 
explanation  was  afforded  then  to  my  many  questions ;  but 
a  day  or  two  afterwards  I  learned  that  Miss  Temple,  on 
returning  to  her  own  room  at  dawn,  had  found  me  laid  in  a 
little  ci  ib ;  my  face  against  Helen  Burns's  shoulder,  my 
arms  round  her  neck.  I  was  asleep,  and  Helen  was —dead. 
Her  grave  is  in  Brocklebndge  churchyard :  for  fifteen 
years  after  her  death  it  was  only  covered  by  a  grassy  mound  ; 
but  now  a  grey  marble  tablet  marks  the  spot,  inscribed  with 
her  name,  and  the  word  '  Besurgam.' 


96  JANE  EYEB 


CHAPTEE  X 

HITHERTO  I  have  recorded  in  detail  the  events  of  my  insignifi- 
cant existence  :  to  the  first  ten  years  of  my  life,  I  have  given 
almost  as  many  chapters.  But  this  is  not  to  bs  a  regular  auto- 
biography :  I  am  only  bound  to  invoke  memory  where  I  know 
her  responses  will  possess  some  degree  of  interest ;  therefore 
I  now  pass  a  space  of  eight  years  almost  in  silence :  a  few 
lines  only  are  necessary  to  keep  up  the  links  of  connection. 

When  the  typhus  fever  had  fulfilled  its  mission  of  devas- 
tation at  Lowood,  it  gradually  disappeared  from  thence  ;  but 
not  till  its  virulence  and  the  number  of  its  victims  had 
drawn  public  attention  on  the  school.  Inquiry  was  made 
into  the  origin  of  the  scourge,  and  by  degrees  various  facts 
came  out  which  excited  public  indignation  in  a  high  degree. 
The  unhealthy  nature  of  the  site  ;  the  quantity  and  quality  of 
the  children's  food;  the  brackish,  fetid  water  used  in  its 
preparation  ;  the  pupils'  wretched  clothing  and  accommoda- 
tion :  all  these  things  were  discovered ;  and  the  discovery 
produced  a  result  mortifying  to  Mr.  Brocklchurst,  but 
beneficial  to  the  institution. 

Several  wealthy  and  benevolent  individuals  in  the 
county  subscribed  largely  for  the  erection  of  a  more  con- 
venient building  in  a  better  situation  ;  new  regulations  were 
made ;  improvements  in  diet  and  clothing  introduced ;  the 
funds  of  the  school  were  entrusted  to  the  management  of  a 
committee.  Mr.  Brocklehurst,  who,  from  his  wealth  and 
family  connections,  could  not  be  overlooked,  still  retained 
the  post  of  treasurer ;  but  he  was  aided  in  the  discharge  of 
his  duties  by  gentlemen  of  rather  more  enlarged  and  sym- 
pathising minds  :  his  office  of  inspector,  too,  was  shared  by 


JANE  EYEE  97 

those  who  knew  how  to  combine  reason  with  strictness, 
comfort  with  economy,  compassion  with  uprightness. 
The  school,  thus  improved,  became  in  time  a  truly  useful 
and  noble  institution.  I  remained  an  inmate  of  its  walls, 
after  its  regeneration,  for  eight  years  :  six  as  pupil,  and  two 
as  teacher ;  and  in  both  capacities  I  bear  my  testimony  to 
its  value  and  importance. 

During  these  eight  years  my  life  was  uniform  :  but  not 
unhappy,  because  it  was  not  inactive.  I  had  the  means  of  an 
excellent  education  placed  within  my  reach.  A  fondness  for 
some  of  my  studies,  and  a  desire  to  excel  in  all,  together 
with  a  great  delight  in  pleasing  my  teachers,  especially  such 
as  I  loved,  urged  me  on  :  I  availed  myself  fully  of  the  advan- 
tages offeied  me.  In  time  I  rose  to  be  the  first  ghl  of  the 
first  class ;  then  I  was  invested  with  the  office  of  teacher ; 
which  I  discharged  with  zeal  for  two  years ;  but  at  the  end 
of  that  time  I  altered. 

Miss  Temple,  through  all  changes,  had  thus  far  continued 
superintendent  of  the  seminary :  to  her  instruction  I  owed 
the  best  part  of  my  acquirements  ;  her  friendship  and  society 
had  been  my  continual  solace  :  she  had  stood  me  in  the  stead 
of  mother,  governess,  and,  latterly,  companion.  At  thi»<period 
she  married,  removed  with  her  husband  (a  clergyman,  an 
excellent  man,  almost  worthy  of  such  a  wife)  to  a  distant 
county,  and  consequently  was  lost  to  me. 

From  the  day  she  left  I  was  no  longer  the  same  :  with 
her  was  gone  every  settled  feeling,  every  association  that 
had  made  Lowood  in  some  degree  a  home  to  me.  I  had 
imbibed  from  her  something  of  her  nature  and  much  of  her 
habits:  more  harmonious  thoughts:  what  seemed  better- 
regulated  feelings  had  become  the  inmates  of  iny  mind.  I 
had  given  in  allegiance  to  duty  and  order ;  I  was  quiet ;  I 
believed  I  was  content :  to  the  eyes  of  others,  usually  even  to 
my  own,  I  appeared  a  disciplined  and  subdued  character. 

But  destiny,  in  the  shape  of  the  Bev.  Mr.  Nasmy th,  came 
between  me  and  Miss  Temple  :  I  saw  her  in  her  travelling 
dress  step  into  a  post-chaise,  shortly  after  the  marriage 


98  JANE  EYEE 

ceremony;  I  watched  the  chaise  mount  the  hill  and  dis- 
appear beyond  its  brow ;  and  then  retired  to  my  own  room, 
and  there  spent  in  solitude  the  greatest  part  of  the  half -holi- 
day granted  in  honour  of  the  occasion. 

I  walked  about  the  chamber  most  of  the  time.  I  im- 
agined myself  only  to  be  regretting  my  loss,  and  thinking  how 
to  repair  it ;  but  when  my  reflections  were  concluded,  and  I 
looked  up  and  found  that  the  afternoon  was  gone,  and  even- 
ing far  advanced,  another  discovery  dawned  on  me,  namely, 
that  in  the  interval  I  had  undergone  a  transforming  process; 
that  my  mind  had  put  off  all  it  had  borrowed  of  Miss  Temple 
— or  rather  that  she  had  taken  with  her  the  serene  atmo- 
sphere I  had  been  breathing  in  her  vicinity — and  that  now  I 
was  left  in  my  natural  element,  and  beginning  to  feel  the 
stirring  of  old  emotions.  It  did  not  seem  as  if  a  pi*op  were 
withdrawn,  but  rather  as  if  a  motive  wore  gone ;  it  was  not 
the  power  to  be  tranquil  which  had  failed  me,  but  the  reason 
for  tranquillity  was  no  more.  My  world  had  for  some  years 
been  in  Lowood :  my  experience  had  been  of  its  rules  and 
systems ;  now  I  remembered  that  the  real  world  was  wide, 
and  that  a  varied  field  of  hopes  and  fears,  of  sensations  and 
excitements,  awaited  those  who  had  courage  to  go  forth  into 
its  expanse,  to  seek  real  knowledge  of  life  amidst  its  perils. 

I  went  to  my  window,  opened  it,  and  looked  out.  There 
were  the  two  wings  of  the  building ;  there  was  the  garden ; 
there  were  the  skirts  of  Lowood ;  there  was  the  hilly  horizon. 
My  eye  passed  all  other  objects  to  rest  on  those  most  remote, 
the  blue  peaks:  it  was  those  I  longed  to  surmount;  all 
within  their  boundary  of  rock  and  heath  seemed  prison- 
ground,  exile  limits.  I  traced  the  white  road  winding  round 
the  base  of  one  mountain,  and  vanishing  in  a  gorge  between 
two :  how  I  longed  to  follow  it  further !  I  recalled  the 
time  when  I  had  travelled  that  very  road  in  a  coach ;  I  re- 
membered descending  that  hill  at  twilight :  an  age  seemed  to 
have  elapsed  since  the  day  which  brought  me  first  to  Lowood, 
and  I  had  never  quitted  it  since.  My  vacations  had  all 
been  spent  at  school :  Mrs.  Heed  had  never  sent  for  me  to 


JANE  EYEB  99 

Gateshead ;  neither  she  nor  any  of  her  family  had  ever  been 
to  visit  me.  I  had  had  no  communication  by  letter  or 
message  with  the  outer  world :  school-rules,  school-duties, 
school-habits  and  notions,  and  voices,  and  faces,  and  phrases, 
and  costumes,  and  preferences,  and  antipathies :  such  was 
what  I  knew  of  existence.  And  now  I  felt  that  it  was  not 
enough :  I  tired  of  the  routine  of  eight  years  in  one  after- 
noon. I  desired  liberty ;  for  liberty  I  gasped ;  for  liberty  I 
uttered  a  prayer;  it  seemed  scattered  on  the  wind  then 
faintly  blowing.  I  abandoned  it  and  framed  a  humbler 
supplication ;  for  change,  stimulus :  that  petition,  too, 
seemed  swept  off  into  vague  space :  '  Then/  I  cried,  half 
desperate,  '  grant  me  at  least  a  new  servitude  ! ' 

Here  a  bell,  ringing  the  hour  of  supper,  called  me  down- 
stairs. 

I  was  not  free  to  resume  the  interrupted  chain  of  my 
reflections  till  bedtime :  even  then  a  teacher  who  occupied 
the  same  room  with  me  kept  me  from  the  subject  to  which 
I  longed  to  recur,  by  a  prolonged  effusion  of  small  talk. 
How  I  wished  sleep  would  silence  her  !  It  seemed  as  if, 
could  I  but  go  back  to  the  idea  which  had  last  entered  my 
mind  as  I  stood  at  the  window,  some  inventive  suggestion 
would  rise  for  my  relief. 

Miss  Gryce  snored  at  last;  she  was  a  heavy  Welsh- 
woman, and  till  now  her  habitual  nasal  strains  had  never 
been  regarded  by  me  in  any  other  light  than  as  a  nuisance  5 
to-night  I  hailed  the  first  deep  notes  with  satisfaction ;  I 
was  debarrassed  of  interruption ;  my  half-effaced  thought 
instantly  revived. 

'  A  new  servitude !  There  is  something  in  that,'  I 
soliloquised  (mentally,  be  it  understood;  I  did  not  talk 
aloud).  'I  know  there  is,  because  it  does  not  sound  too 
sweet;  it  is  not  like  such  words  as  Liberty,  Excitement, 
Enjoyment :  delightful  sounds  truly ;  but  no  more  than 
sounds  for  me ;  and  so  hollow  and  fleeting  that  it  is  mere 
waste  of  time  to  listen  to  them.  But  Servitude!  That 
must  be  matter  of  fact.  Any  one  may  serve:  J  have 


100  JANE  EYBE 

served  here  eight  years;  now  all  I  want  is  to  serve  else- 
where. Can  I  not  get  so  much  of  my  own  will  ?  Is  not 
the  thing  feasible  ?  Yes — yes — the  end  is  not  so  difficult ; 
if  I  had  only  a  brain  active  enough  to  ferret  out  the  means 
of  attaining  it.' 

I  sat  up  in  bed  by  way  of  arousing  this  said  brain :  it 
was  a  chilly  night ;  I  covered  my  shoulders  with  a  shawl, 
and  then  I  proceeded  to  think  again  with  all  my  might. 

1  What  do  I  want  ?  A  new  place,  in  a  new  house, 
amongst  new  faces,  under  new  circumstances  :  I  want  this 
because  it  is  of  no  use  wanting  anything  better.  How  do 
people  do  to  get  a  new  place  ?  They  apply  to  friends,  I 
suppose  :  I  have  no  friends.  There  are  many  others  who 
have  no  friends,  who  must  look  about  for  themselves  and  be 
their  own  helpers ;  and  what  is  their  resource  ?  ' 

I  could  not  tell :  nothing  answered  me ;  I  then  ordered 
my  brain  to  find  a  response,  an.d  quickly.  It  worked  and 
worked  faster :  I  felt  the  pulses  throb  in  my  head  and 
temples ;  but  for  nearly  an  hour  it  worked  in  chaos,  and  no 
result  came  of  its  efforts.  Feverish  with  vain  labour,  I 
got  up  arid  took  a  turn  in  the  room ;  undrew  the  curtain, 
noted  a  star  or  two,  shivered  with  cold,  and  again  crept 
to  bed. 

A  kind  fairy,  in  my  absence,  had  surely  dropped  the 
required  suggestion  on  my  pillow ;  for  as  I  lay  down  it  came 
quietly  and  naturally  to  my  mind : — '  Those  who  want 

situations  advertise ;  you  must  advertise  in  the  shire 

Herald: 

1  How  ?    I  know  nothing  about  advertising.' 

Keplies  rose  smooth  and  prompt  now: — 'You  must 
inclose  the  advertisement  and  the  money  to  pay  for  it  under 
a  cover  directed  to  the  Editor  of  the  Herald  ;  you  must  put 
it,  the  first  opportunity  you  have,  into  the  post  at  Lowton  ; 
answers  must  be  addressed  to  J.  E.  at  the  post-office  there  : 
you  can  go  and  inquire  in  about  a  week  after  you  send  your 
letter,  if  any  are  come,  and  act  accordingly/ 

This  scheme  I  went  over  twice,  thrice ;  it  was  then 


JANE  EYEE  101 

digested  in  my  mind  :  I  had  it  in  a  clear  practical  form  ;  I 
felt  satisfied,  and  fell  asleep. 

With  earliest  day  I  was  up :  I  had  my  advertisement 
written,  inclosed,  and  directed  before  the  bell  rang  to  rouse 
the  school :  it  ran  thus  : — 

1 A  young  lady  accustomed  to  tuition  '  (had  I  not  been  a 
teacher  two  years  ?)  '  is  desirous  of  meeting  with  a  situation 
in  a  private  family  where  the  children  are  under  fourteen  ' 
(I  thought  that  as  I  was  barely  eighteen,  it  would  not  do  to 
undertake  the  guidance  of  pupils  nearer  my  own  age).  '  She 
is  qualified  to  teach  the  usual  branches  of  a  good  English 
education,  together  with  French,  Drawing,  and  Music '  (in 
those  days,  reader,  this  now  narrow  catalogue  of  accomplish- 
ments would  have  been  held  tolerably  comprehensive). 
'  Address,  J.  E.,  Post-office,  Lowton, shire/ 

This  document  remained  locked  in  my  drawer  all  day : 
after  tea,  I  asked  leave  of  the  new  superintendent  to  go 
to  Lowton,  in  order  to  perform  some  small  commissions  for 
myself  and  one  or  two  of  my  fellow-teachers ;  permission 
was  readily  granted  :  I  went.  It  was  a  walk  of  two  miles, 
and  the  evening  was  wet,  but  the  days  were  still  long;  I 
visited  a  shop  or  two,  slipped  the  letter  into  the  post-office, 
and  came  back  through  heavy  rain,  with  streaming  garments, 
but  with  a  relieved  heart. 

The  succeeding  week  seemed  long :  it  came  to  an  end 
at  last,  however,  like  all  sublunary  things,  and  once  more, 
towards  the  close  of  a  pleasant  autumn  day,  I  found  myself 
afoot  on  the  road  to  Lowton.  A  picturesque  track  it  was,  by 
the  way,  lying  along  the  side  of  the  beck  and  through  the 
sweetest  curves  of  the  dale :  but  that  day  I  thought  more 
of  the  letters,  that  might  or  might  not  be  awaiting  me  at  the 
little  burgh  whither  I  was  bound,  than  of  the  charms  of  lea 
and  water. 

My  ostensible  errand  on  this  occasion  was  to  get  measured 
for  a  pair  of  shoes ;  so  I  discharged  that  business  first,  and 
when  it  was  done,  I  stepped  across  the  clean  and  quiet  little 
street  from  the  shoemaker's  to  the  post-office ;  it  was  kept 


102  JANE  EYEB 

by  an  old  dame,  who  wore  horn  spectacles  on  her  nose  and 
black  mittens  on  her  hands. 

'  Are  there  any  letters  for  J.  E.  ? '  I  asked. 

She  peered  at  me  over  her  spectacles,  and  then  she  opened 
a  drawer,  and  fumbled  among  its  contents  for  a  long  time — 
so  long  that  my  hopes  began  to  falter.  At  last,  having  held 
a  document  before  her  glasses  for  nearly  five  minutes,  she 
presented  it  across  the  counter,  accompanying  the  act  by 
another  inquisitive  and  mistrustful  glance — it  was  for  J.  E. 

'  Is  there  only  one  ?  f  I  demanded. 

1  There  are  no  more,'  said  she  ;  and  I  put  it  in  my  pocket 
and  turned  my  face  homeward :  I  could  not  open  it  then ; 
rules  obliged  me  to  be  back  by  eight,  and  it  was  already 
half -past  seven. 

Various  duties  awaited  me  on  my  arrival :  I  had  to  sit 
with  the  girls  during  their  hour  of  study ;  then  it  was  my 
turn  to  read  prayers  ;  to  see  them  to  bed :  afterwards  I  supped 
with  the  other  teachers.  Even  when  we  finally  retired  for 
the  night,  the  inevitable  Miss  Gryce  was  still  my  companion  : 
we  had  only  a  short  end  of  candle  in  our  candlestick,  and  I 
dreaded  lest  she  should  talk  till  it  was  all  burnt  out : 
fortunately,  however,  the  heavy  supper  she  had  eaten 
produced  a  soporific  effect :  she  was  already  snoring  before 
I  had  finished  undressing.  There  still  remained  an  inch  of 
candle  :  I  now  took  out  my  letter ;  the  seal  was  an  initial  F. ; 
I  broke  it :  the  contents  were  brief. 

1  If  J.  E.,  who  advertised  in  the shire  Herald  of  last 

Thursday,  possesses  the  acquirements  mentioned,  and  if  she 
is  in  a  position  to  give  satisfactory  references  as  to  character 
and  competency ;  a  situation  can  be  offered  her  where  there 
is  but  one  pupil — a  little  girl,  under  ten  years  of  age — and 
where  the  salary  is  thirty  pounds  per  annum.  J.  E.  is 
requested  to  send  references,  name,  address,  and  all  par- 
citulars  to  the  direction,  "  Mrs.  Fairfax,  Thornfield,  near 
Millcote, shire." ' 

I  examined  the  document  long :  the  writing  was  old- 
fashioned  and  rather  uncertain,  like  that  of  an  elderly  lady. 


JANE  EYEE  103 

This  circumstance  was  satisfactory:  a  private  fear  had 
haunted  me  that,  in  thus  acting  for  myself,  and  by  my  own 
guidance,  I  ran  the  risk  of  getting  into  some  scrape  1  and, 
above  all  things,  I  wished  the  result  of  my  endeavours  to  be 
respectable,  proper,  en  rtyle.  I  now  felt  that  an  elderly  lady 
was  no  bad  ingredient  in  the  business  I  had  on  hand.  Mrs. 
Fairfax !  I  saw  her  in  a  black  gown  and  widow's  cap, — 
frigid,  perhaps,  but  not  uncivil :  a  model  of  elderly  English 
respectability.  Thornfield  !  that,  doubtless,  was  the  name  of 
her  house — a  neat,  orderly  spot,  I  was  sure,  though  I  failed 
in  my  effoits  to  conceive  a  correct  plan  of  the  premises. 

Millcote,  shire.  I  brushed  up  my  recollections  of  the 

map  of  England ;  yes,  I  saw  it,  both  the  shire  and  the  town. 

shire  was  seventy  miles  nearer  London  than  the  remote 

county  where  I  now  resided ;  that  was  a  recommendation  to 
me.  I  longed  to  go  where  there  was  life  and  movement. 
Millcote  was  a  large  manufacturing  town  on  the  banks  of  the 

A :  a  busy  place,  enough,  doubtless :  so  much  the  better ; 

it  would  be  a  complete  changtj  at  least.  Not  that  my  fancy 
was  much  captivated  by  the  idea  of  long  chimneys  and 
clouds  of  smoke — '  but/  I  argued,  'Thornfield  will,  probably, 
be  a  good  way  from  the  town/ 

Here  the  socket  of  the  candle  dropped,  and  the  wick  went 
out. 

Next  day  new  steps  were  to  be  taken ;  my  plans  could 
no  longer  be  confined  to  my  own  breast ;  I  must  impart  them 
in  order  to  achieve  their  success.  Having  sought  and 
obtained  an  audience  of  the  supeiintendent  during  the  noon- 
tide recreation,  I  told  her  I  had  a  prospect  of  getting  a  new 
situation  where  the  salary  would  be  double  what  I  now 
received  (for  at  Lowood  I  only  got  fifteen  pounds  per 
annum),  and  requested  she  would  break  the  matter  for  me  to 
Mr.  Brocklehurst,  or  some  of  the  committee,  and  ascertain 
whether  they  would  permit  me  to  mention  them  as  references. 
She  obligingly  consented  to  act  as  mediatrix  in  the  matter. 
The  next  day  she  laid  the  affair  before  Mr.  Brocklehurst, 
who  said  that  Mrs.  Eeed  must  be  written  to,  as  bhe  was  my 


104  JANE  EYEE 

natural  guardian.  A  note  was  accordingly  addressed  to  that 
lady,  who  returned  for  answer,  that  '  I  might  do  as  I  pleased  • 
she  had  long  relinquished  all  interference  in  my  affairs.' 
This  note  went  the  round  of  the  committee,  and,  at  last,  after 
what  appeared  to  me  most  tedious  delay,  formal  leave  was 
given  me  to  better  my  condition  if  I  could  ;  and  an  assurance 
added  that,  as  I  had  always  conducted  myself  well,  both  as 
teacher  and  pupil,  at  Lowood,  a  testimonial  of  character  and 
capacity,  signed  by  the  inspectors  of  that  institution,  should 
forthwith  be  furnished  me. 

This  testimonial  I  accordingly  received  in  about  a  month, 
forwarded  a  copy  of  it  to  Mrs.  Fairfax,  and  got  that  lady's 
reply,  stating  that  she  was  satisfied,  and  fixing  that  day 
fortnight  as  the  period  for  my  assuming  the  post  of  governess 
in  her  house. 

I  now  busied  myself  in  preparations :  the  fortnight  passed 
rapidly.  I  had  not  a  very  large  wardrobe,  though  it  was 
adequate  to  my  wants ;  and  the  last  day  sufficed  to  pack 
my  trunk, — the  same  I  had  brought  with  me  eight  years  ago 
from  Gateshead. 

The  box  was  corded,  the  card  nailed  on.  In  half  an  hour 
the  carrier  was  to  call  for  it  to  take  it  to  Lowton,  whither  I 
myself  was  to  repair  at  an  early  hour  the  next  morning  to 
meet  the  coach.  I  had  brushed  my  black  stuff  travelling 
dress,  prepared  my  bonnet,  gloves,  and  muff ;  sought  in  all 
my  drawers  to  see  that  no  article  was  left  behind  ;  and  now, 
having  nothing  more  to  do,  I  sat  down  and  tried  to  rest.  I 
could  not,  though  I  had  been  on  foot  all  day — I  could  not 
now  repose  an  instant — I  was  too  much  excited.  A  phase  of 
my  life  was  closing  to-night,  a  new  one  opening  to-morrow  : 
impossible  to  slumber  in  the  interval;  I  must  watch 
feverishly  while  the  change  was  being  accomplished. 

'  Miss,1  said  a  servant  who  met  me  in  the  lobby,  where  I 
wa's  wandering  like  a  troubled  spirit,  '  a  person  below  wishes 
to  see  you/ 

1  The  carrier,  no  doubt/  I  thought,  and  ran  downstairs 
without  inquiry.  I  was  passing  the  back  parlour,  or  teachers' 


JANE  EYRE  105 

sitting-room,  the  door  of  which  was  half-open,  to  go  to  the 
kitchen,  when  someone  ran  out. 

1  It's  her,  I  am  sure  ! — I  could  have  told  her  anywhere  ! ' 
cried  the  individual  who  stopped  my  progress  and  took  my 
hand. 

I  looked.  I  saw  a  woman  attired  like  a  well-dressed 
servant,  matronly,  yet  still  young ;  very  good-looking,  with 
black  hair  and  eyes,  and  lively  complexion. 

'  Well,  who  is  it  ? '  she  asked,  in  a  voice  and  with  a  smile 
I  half  recognised !  *  You've  not  quite  forgotten  me,  I  think, 
Miss  Jane  ? ' 

In  another  second  I  was  embracing  and  kissing  her 
rapturously.  '  Bessie  !  Bessie !  Bessie  ! '  that  was  all  I 
said;  whereat  she  half  laughed,  half  cried,  and  we  both 
went  into  the  parlour.  By  the  fire  stood  a  little  fellow  of 
three  years  old,  in  plaid  frock  and  trousers. 

*  That  is  my  little  boy,'  said  Bessie,  directly. 

'Then  you  are  married,  Bessie?' 

1  Yes :  nearly  five  years  since,  to  Eobert  Leaven,  the 
coachman,  and  I've  a  little  girl  besides  Bobby  there  that  I've 
christened  Jane.' 

'  And  you  don't  live  at  Gateshead  ? ' 

'  I  live  at  the  lodge :  the  old  porter  has  left.' 

1  Well,  and  how  do  they  all  get  on  ?  Tell  me  everything 
about  them,  Bessie :  but  sit  down  first ;  and,  Bobby,  come 
and  sit  on  my  knee,  will  you?'  But  Bobby  preferred  sidling 
over  to  his  mother. 

'  You're  not  grown  so  very  tall,  Miss  Jane,  nor  so  very 
stout/  continued  Mrs.  Leaven.  '  I  dare  say  they've  not  kept 
you  too  well  at  school :  Miss  Eeed  is  the  head  and  shoulders 
taller  than  you  are ;  and  Miss  Georgiana  would  make  two  of 
you  in  breadth.' 

'  Georgiana  is  handsome,  I  suppose,  Bessie  ?  ' 

'Very.  She  went  up  to  London  last  winter  with  her 
mamma,  and  there  everybody  admired  her,  and  a  young  lord 
fell  in  love  with  her:  but  his  relations  were  against  the 
match  ;  and — what  do  you  think  ? — he  and  Miss  Georgiana 


106  JANE  EYEB 

made  it  up  to  run  away:   but  they  were  found  out  and 
stopped.    It  was  Miss  Eeed  that  found  them  out :  I  believe 
she  was  envious ;  and  now  she  and  her  sister  lead  a  cat  and 
dog  life  together ;  they  are  always  quarrelling.' 
1  Well,  and  what  of  John  Reed?  ' 

4  Oh,  he  is  not  doing  so  well  as  his  mamma  could  wish. 
He  went  to  college,  and  he  got — plucked,  I  think  they  call 
it:  and  then  his  uncles  wanted  him  to  be  a  barrister,  and 
study  the  law  :  but  he  is  such  a  dissipated  young  man,  they 
will  never  make  much  of  him,  I  think.' 
1  What  does  he  look  like  ?  ' 

1  He  is  very  tall :  some  people  call  him  a  fine-looking 
young  man ;  but  he  has  such  thick  lips/ 
'And  Mrs.  Eeed?' 

1  Missis  looks  stout  and  well  enough  in  the  face,  but  I 
think  she's  not  quite  easy  in  her  mind :  Mr.  John's  conduct 
does  not  please  her— ;he  spends  a  deal  of  money.' 
'  Did  she  send  you  here,  Bessie  ?  ' 

1  No,  indeed :  but  I  have  long  wanted  to  see  you,  and 
when  I  heard  that  there  had  bean  a  letter  from  you,  and  that 
you  were  going  to  another  part  of  the  country,  I  thought  I'd 
just  set  off,  and  get  a  look  at  you  before  you  were  quite  out 
of  my  reach.' 

'I  am  afraid  you  are  disappointed  in  me,  Bessie.'  I 
said  this  laughing :  I  perceived  that  Bessie's  glance,  though 
it  expressed  legard,  did  in  no  shape  denote  admiration. 

'  No,  Miss  Jane,  not  exactly :  you  are  genteel  enough f, 
you  look  like  a  lady,  and  it  is  as  much  as  ever  I  expected  of 
you :  you  were  no  beauty  as  a  child.' 

I  smiled  at  Bessie's  frank  answer:    I  felt  that  it  was 
correct,  but  I  confess  I  was  not  quite  indifferent  to  its  import : 
at  eighteen  most  people  wish  to  please,  and  the  conviction 
that  they  have  not  an  exterior  likely  to  second  that  desire 
brings  anything  but  gratification. 

I 1  dare  say  you  are  clever,  though,'  continued  Bessie,  by 
way  of  solace.     '  What  can  you  do  ?    Can  you  play  on  the 
piano  ? ' 


JANE  EYRE  107 

1 A  little.' 

There  was  one  in  the  room  ;  Bessie  went  and  opened  it, 
and  then  asked  me  to  sit  down  and  give  her  a  tune  :  I 
played  a  waltz  or  two,  and  she  was  charmed. 

'  The  Miss  Reeds  could  not  play  as  well ! '  said  she  exult 
ingly.  '  I  always  said  you  would  surpass  them  in  learning . 
and  can  you  draw  ? ' 

'That  is  one  of  my  paintings  over  the  chimney-piece.' 
It  was  a  landscape  in  water  colours,  of  which  I  had  made  ^ 
present  to  the  superintendent,  in  acknowledgment  of  her 
obliging  mediation  with  the  committee  on  my  behalf,  and 
which  she  had  framed  and  glazed. 

'  Well,  that  is  beautiful,  Miss  Jane  !  It  is  as  fine  a 
picture  as  any  Miss  Reed's  drawing-master  could  paint,  let 
alone  the  young  ladies  themselves,  who  could  not  come  near 
it :  and  have  you  learnt  French  ? ' 

'  Yes,  Bessie,  I  can  both  read  it  and  speak  it/ 

'  And  you  can  work  on  muslin  and  canvas  ? ' 

'lean/ 

1  Oh,  you  are  quite  a  lady,  Miss  Jane !  I  knew  you 
would  be  :  you  will  get  on  whether  your  relations  notice  you 
or  not.  There  was  something  I  wanted  to  ask  you.  Ilavo 
you  ever  heard  anything  from  your  father's  kinsfolk,  th* 
.dyres  ? ' 

4  Never  in  my  life/ 

1  Well,  you  know  Missis  always  said  they  were  poor  and 
quite  despicable  :  and  they  may  be  poor  ;  but  I  believe  they 
are  as  much  gentry  as  the  Reeds  are ;  for  one  day,  nearly 
seven  years  ago,  a  Mr.  Eyre  came  to  Gateshead  and  wanted 
to  see  you.  Missis  said  you  were  at  school  fifty  miles  off.  He 
seemed  so  much  disappointed,  for  he  could  not  stay :  he 
was  going  on  a  voyage  to  a  foreign  country,  and  the  ship 
was  to  sail  from  London  in  a  day  or  two.  He  looked  quite 
a  gentleman,  and  I  believe  he  was  your  father's  brother.' 

1  What  foreign  country  was  he  going  to,  Bessie  ?  ' 

'  An  island  thousands  of  miles  off,  where  they  make  wine 
— the  butler  did  tell  me  ' 


108  JANE  EYBE 

1  Madeira  ? '  I  suggested. 

1  Yes,  that  is  it — that  is  the  very  word.' 

'So  he  went?1 

'Yes;  he  did  not  stay  many  minutes  in  the  house: 
Missis  was  very  high  with  him ;  she  called  him  afterwards 
a  "  sneaking  tradesman."  My  Eobert  believes  he  was  a  wine- 
merchant.1 

'  Very  likely/  J  returned  ;  '  or  perhaps  clerk  or  agent  to 
^  wine-merchant.' 

Bessie  and  1  conveised  about  old  times  an  hour  longer, 
and  then  she  was  obliged  to  leave  me.  I  saw  her  again  for 
a  few  minutes  the  next  morning  at  Lowton,  while  I  was 
waiting  for  the  coach.  We  parted  finally  at  the  door  of  the 
'  Brocklehurst  Arms  '  there.  Each  went  our  separate  way  : 
she  set  off  for  the  brow  of  Lowood  Fell  to  meet  the  convey- 
ance which  was  to  take  her  back  to  Gateshead ;  I  mounted 
the  vehicle  which  was  to  bear  me  to  new  duties  and  a  new 
life  in  the  unknown  environs  of  Millcote. 


JANE  EYBE 


CHAPTEE  XI 

A  NEW  chapter  in  a  novel  is  something  like  a  new  scene  in 
a  play :  and  when  I  draw  up  the  curtain  this  time,  reader, 
you  must  fancy  you  see  a  room  in  the  'George  Inn'  at 
Millcote,  with  such  large  figured  papeiing  on  the  walls  as 
inn  rooms  have ;  sucli  a  carpet,  such  furniture,  such  orna- 
ments on  the  mantelpiece,  such  prints  ;  including  a  portrait 
of  George  the  Third,  and  another  of  the  Prince  of  Wales, 
and  a  representation  of  the  death  of  Wolfe.  All  this  is 
visible  to  you  by  the  light  of  an  oil  lamp  hanging  from  the 
ceiling,  and  by  that  of  an  exollent  tire,  near  which  I  sit 
in  my  cloak  and  bonnet ;  my  muff  and  umbrella  Ho  on  the 
table,  and  I  am  warming  away  the  numbness  and  chill  con- 
tracted by  sixteen  hours'  exposuic  to  the  rawness  of  an 
October  day :  I  left  Lowton  at  four  o'clock  A.M.,  and  the 
Millcote  town  clock  is  now  just  sti iking  eight. 

Header,  though  I  look  comfoitably  accommodated,  I  am 
not  very  tranquil  in  my  mind.  I  thought  when  the  coach 
stopped  heie  there  would  be  someone  to  meet  me ;  I  looked 
anxiously  round  as  I  descended  the  wooden  steps  the  '  boots  ' 
placed  for  my  convenience,  expecting  to  hear  my,  name  pro- 
nounced, and  to  see  some  description  of  carriage  waiting  to 
convey  me  to  Thornfield.  Nothing  of  the  sort  was  visible ; 
and  when  I  asked  a  waiter  if  any  one  had  been  to  inquire 
after  a  Miss  Eyre,  I  was  answered  in  the  negative  :  so  I  had 
no  resource  but  to  request  to  be  shown  into  a  private  room : 
and  here  I  am  waiting,  while  all  sorts  of  doubts  and  fears 
are  troubling  my  thoughts. 

Tt  is  a  very  strange  sensation  to  inexperience  d  youth  to 
feel  itself  quite  alone  in  the  world,  cut  adrift  from  every 


110  JANE  EYEB 

connection,  uncertain  whether  the  port  to  which  it  is  bound 
can  be  reached,  and  prevented  by  many  impediments  from 
returning  to  that  it  has  quitted.  The  charm  of  adventure 
sweetens  that  sensation,  the  glow  of  pride  warms  it ;  but 
then  the  throb  of  fear  disturbs  it ;  and  fear  with  me  became 
predominant,  when  half  an  hour  elapsed  and  still  I  was 
alone.  I  bethought  myself  to  ring  the  bell. 

'Is  there  a  place  in  this  neighbourhood  called  Thorn- 
field  ?  '  I  asked  of  the  waiter  who  answered  the  summons. 

'  Thornfield  ?  I  don't  know,  ma'am ;  I'll  inquire  at  the 
bar.1  He  vanished,  but  reappeared  instantly : — '  Is  your 
name  Eyi  e,  Miss  ?  ' 

'Yes.* 

'  Perbon  hero  waiting  for  you.' 

I  jumped  up,  took  my  muff  and  umbrella,  and  hastened 
into  the  inn-passage  :   a  man  was  standing  by  the  open 
door,  and  in  the  lamp-lit  street  I  dimly  saw  a  one-horse 
conveyance. 

'This  will  be  your  luggage,  I  suppose?1  said  the  man 
rather  abruptly  when  he  saw  me,  pointing  to  my  trunk  in  the 
passage. 

'  Yes.'  He  hoisted  it  on  to  the  vehicle,  which  was  a  sort 
of  car,  and  then  I  got  in  :  before  he  shut  me  up  I  asked  him 
how  far  it  was  to  Thornfield. 

'  A  matter  of  six  miles.' 

'  How  long  shall  we  be  before  we  get  there  ? ' 

'  Happen  an  hour  and  a  half.' 

He  fastened  the  car  door,  climbed  to  his  own  seat  out- 
side, and  we  set  off.  Our  progress  was  leisurely,  and  gave  me 
ample  time  to  reflect ;  I  was  content  to  be  at  length  so  near 
the  end  of  my  journey ;  and  as  I  leaned  back  in  the  com- 
fortable though  not  elegant  conveyance,  I  meditated  much 
at  my  ease. 

I 1  suppose,1  thought  I, '  judging  from  the  plainness  of  the 
servant  and  carriage,  Mrs.  Fairfax  is  not  a  very  dashing 
person:    so  much  the  better;   I  never  lived  amongst  fine 
people  but  once,  and  I  was  very  miserable  with  them.    I 


JANE  EYRE  111 

wonder  if  she  lives  alone  except  this  little  girl ;  if  so,  and  if 
she  is  in  any  degree  amiable,  I  shall  surely  be  able  to  get  on 
with  her !  I  will  do  my  best :  it  is  a  pity  that  doing  one's 
best  does  not  always  answer.  At  Lowood,  indeed,  I  took 
that  resolution,  kept  it,  and  succeeded  in  pleasing ;  but  with 
Mrs.  Heed,  I  remember,  my  bast  was  always  spurned  with 
scorn.  I  pray  God  Mrs.  Fairfax  may  not  turn  out  a  second 
Mrs.  Reed ;  but  if  she  does,  I  am  not  bound  to  stay  with 
her :  let  the  worst  come  to  the  worst,  I  can  advertise  again. 
How  far  are  we  on  our  road  now,  I  wonder  ? ' 

I  let  down  the  window  and  looked  out:  Millcote  was 
behind  us ;  judging  by  the  number  of  its  lights,  it  seemed 
a  place  of  considerable  magnitude,  much  larger  than  Lowton. 
We  were  now.  as  far  as  I  could  see,  on  a  sort  of  common  ; 
but  there  were  houses  scattered  all  over  the  district ;  I  felt 
we  were  in  a  different  region  to  Lowood,  more  populous,  less 
picturesque  ;  more  stirring,  less  romantic. 

The  roads  were  heavy,  the  night  misty ;  my  conductor 
let  his  horse  walk  all  the  way,  and  the  hour  and  a  half  ex- 
tended, I  verily  believe,  to  two  hours ;  at  last  he  turned 
in  his  seat  and  said:  'You're  noan  so  far  fro*  Thornfield 
now.' 

Again  I  looked  out :  we  were  passing  a  church :  I  saw 
its  low  broad  tower  against  the  sky,  and  its  bell  was  tolling 
a  quarter ;  I  saw  a  narrow  galaxy  of  lights  too,  on  a  hill- 
side, marking  a  village  or  hamlet.  About  ten  minutes  after 
the  driver  got  down  and  opened  a  pair  of  gates  ;  we  passed 
through,  and  they  clashed  to  behind  us.  We  now  slowly 
ascended  a  drive,  and  came  upon  the  long  front  of  a  house  : 
candle-light  gleamed  from  one  curtained  bow-window ;  all 
the  rest  were  dark.  The  car  stopped  at  the  front  door ;  it 
was  opened  by  a  maidservant ;  I  alighted  and  went  in. 

1  Will  you  walk  this  way,  ma'am,'  said  the  girl ;  and  I 
followed  her  across  a  square  hall  with  high  doors  all  round  : 
she  ushered  me  into  a  room  whose  double  illumination  of 
fire  and  candle  at  first  dazzled  me,  contrasting  as  it  did  with 
the  darkness  to  which  my  eyes  had  been  for  two  hours 


112  JANE  EYEE 

inured ;  when  I  could  see,  however,  a  cozy  and  agreeable 
picture  presented  itselt  to  my  view. 

A  snug,  small  room  ;  a  round  table  by  a  cheerful  fire  ; 
an  armchair  high-backed  and  old-fashioned,  wherein  sat  the 
neatest  imaginable  little  elderly  lady,  in  widow's  cap,  black 
silk  gown,  and  snowy  muslin  apron  :  exactly  like  what  I  had 
fancied  Mrs.  Fairfax,  only  less  stately  and  milder-looking. 
She  was  occupied  in  knitting ;  a  large  cat  sat  demurely  at 
her  feet ;  nothing  in  short  was  wanting  to  complete  the 
beau  ideal  of  domestic  comfort.  A  more  reassuring  intro- 
duction for  a  new  governess  could  scarcely  be  conceived : 
there  was  no  grandeur  to  overwhelm,  no  stateliness  to 
embarrass ;  and  then,  as  I  entered,  the  old  lady  got  up,  and 
promptly  and  kindly  came  forward  to  meet  me. 

1  How  do  you  do,  my  dear  ?  I  am  afraid  you  have  had 
a  tedious  ride ;  John  drives  so  slowly :  you  must  be  cold ; 
come  to  the  fire.1 

'Mrs.  Fairfax,  I  suppose? f  said  I. 

1  Yes,  you  are  right :  do  sit  down.' 

She  conducted  me  to  her  own  chair,  and  then  began  to 
remove  my  shawl  and  untie  my  bonnet-strings.  I  begged 
she  would  not  give  herself  so  much  trouble. 

*  Oh,  it  is  no  trouble ;  I  dare  say  your  own  hands  are 
almost  numbed  with  cold.  Leah,  make  a  little  hot  negus 
and  cut  a  sandwich  or  two  :  here  are  the  keys  of  the  store- 
room.' 

And  she  produced  from  her  pocket  a  most  housewifely 
bunch  of  keys,  and  delivered  them  to  the  servant. 

'Now,  then,  draw  nearer  to  the  fire/  she  conitnued. 
'  You've  brought  your  luggrige  with  you,  haven't  you,  my  dear? ' 

'  Yes,  ma'am.' 

1  I'll  see  it  earned  into  your  room,'  she  said,  and  bustled 
out. 

'She  treats  me  like  a  visitor,'  thought  I.  'I  little 
expected  such  a  reception ;  I  anticipated  only  coldness  and 
stiffness :  this  is  not  like  what  I  have  heard  of  the  treat- 
ment of  governesses ;  but  I  must  not  exult  too  soon.' 


JANE  EYEE  113 

She  returned,  with  her  own  hands  cleared  her  knitting 
apparatus  and  a  book  or  two  from  the  table,  to  make  room 
for  the  tray  which  Leah  now  brought,  and  then  herself 
handed  me  the  refreshments.  I  felt  rather  confused  at 
being  the  object  of  more  attention  than  I  had  ever  before 
received,  and  that,  too,  shown  by  my  employer  and  superior ; 
but  as  she  did  not  herself  seem  to  consider  she  was  doing 
anything  out  of  her  place,  I  thought  it  better  to  take  her 
civilities  quietly. 

'  Shall  I  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  Miss  Fairfax  to- 
night ? '  I  asked,  when  I  had  partaken  of  what  she  offered 
me. 

'What  did  you  say,  my  dear?  I  am  a  little  deaf,' 
returned  the  good  lady,  approaching  her  ear  to  my  mouth. 

I  repeated  the  question  more  distinctly. 

1  Miss  Fairfax  ?  Oh,  you  mean  Miss  Varens  !  Varens  is 
the  name  of  your  future  pupil.' 

1  Indeed  !     Then  she  is  not  your  daughter  ?  ' 

'  No, — I  have  no  family/ 

I  should  have  followed  up  my  first  inquiry  by  asking 
in  what  way  Miss  Varens  was  connected  with  her;  but  I 
recollected  it  was  not  polite  to  ask  too  many  questions : 
besides,  I  was  sure  to  hear  in  time. 

'  I  am  so  glad/  she  continued,  as  she  sat  down  opposite  to 
me,  and  took  the  cat  on  her  knee ;  '  I  am  so  glad  you  are  come ; 
it  will  be  quite  pleasant  living  here  now  with  a  companion. 
To  be  sure  it  is  pleasant  at  any  time ;  for  Thornfield  is  a 
fine  old  hall,  rather  neglected  of  late  years  perhaps,  but  still 
it  is  a  respectable  place  ;  yet  you  know  in  winter  time  one 
feels  dreary  quite  alone,  in  the  best  quarters.  I  say  alone — 
Leah  is  a  nice  girl  to  be  sure,  and  John  and  his  wife  are  very 
decent  people  ;  but  then  you  see  they  are  only  servants,  and 
one  can't  converse  with  them  on  terms  of  equality :  one  must 
keep  them  at  due  distance,  for  fear  of  losing  one's  authority. 
I'm  sure  last  winter  (it  was  a  very  severe  one,  if  you  recollect, 
and  when  it  did  not  snow,  it  rained  and  blew)  not  a  crea- 
ture but  the  butcher  and  postman  came  to  the  house  from 


114  JANE  BYBE 

November  till  February ;  and  I  really  got  quite  melancholy 
with  sitting  night  after  night  alone.  I  had  Leah  in  to  read  to 
me  sometimes ;  but  I  don't  think  the  poor  girl  liked  the 
task  much:  she  felt  it  confining.  In  spring  and  summer 
one  got  on  better :  sunshine  and  long  days  make  such  a 
difference;  and  then,  just  at  the  commencement  of  this 
autumn,  little  Adela  Varens  came  and  her  nurse:  a  child 
makes  a  house  alive  all  at  once ;  and  now  you  are  here 
I  shall  be  quite  gay/ 

My  heart  really  warmed  to  the  worthy  lady  as  I  heard 
her  talk :  and  I  drew  my  chair  a  little  nearer  to  her,  and 
expressed  my  sincere  wish  that  she  might  find  my  company 
as  agreeable  as  she  anticipated. 

'But  I'll  not  keep  you  sitting  up  late  to-night/  said 
she  ;  '  it  is  on  the  stroke  of  twelve  now,  and  you  have  been 
travelling  all  day :  you  must  feel  tired.  If  you  have  got  your 
feet  well  warmed  I'll  show  you  your  bedroom.  I've  had 
the  room  next  to  mine  prepared  for  you  ;  it  is  only  a  small 
apartment,  but  I  thought  you  would  like  it  better  than  one 
of  the  large  front  chambers :  to  be  sure  they  have  finer  fur- 
niture, but  they  are  so  dreary  and  solitary,  I  never  sleep  in 
them  myself.1 

I  thanked  her  for  her  considerate  choice,  and  as  I  really 
felt  fatigued  with  my  long  journey,  expressed  my  readiness 
to  retire.  She  took  her  candle,  and  I  followed  her  from  the 
room.  First  she  went  to  see  if  the  hall-door  was  fastened ; 
having  taken  the  key  from  the  lock,  she  led  the  way  upstairs. 
The  steps  and  banisters  were  of  oak;  the  staircase  window 
was  high  and  latticed ;  both  it  and  the  long  gallery  into 
which  the  bedroom  doors  opened  looked  as  if  they  belonged 
to  a  church  rather  than  a  house.  A  very  chill  and  vaultlike 
air  pervaded  the  stairs  and  gallery,  suggesting  cheerless 
ideas  of  space  and  solitude ;  and  I  was  glad  when  finally 
ushered  into  my  chamber  to  find  it  of  small  dimensions, 
and  furnished  in  ordinary  modern  style. 

When  Mrs.  Fairfax  had  bidden  me  a  kind  good-night,  and 
I  had  fastened  my  door,  gazed  leisurely  round,  and  in  some 


JANE  EYKE  115 

measure  effaced  the  eerie  impression  made  by  that  wide  hall, 
that  dark  and  spacious  staircase,  and  that  long,  cold  gallery, 
by  the  livelier  aspect  of  my  little  room,  I  remembered  that 
after  a  day  of  bodily  fatigue  and  mental  anxiety  I  was  now 
at  last  in  safe  haven.  The  impulse  of  gratitude  swelled  my 
heart,  and  I  knelt  down  at  the  bedside,  and  offered  up  thanks 
where  thanks  were  due ;  not  forgetting,  ere  I  rose,  to  implore 
aid  on  my  further  path,  and  the  power  of  meriting  the  kind- 
ness which  seemed  so  frankly  offered  me  before  it  was 
earned.  My  couch  had  no  thorns  in  it  that  night ;  my  solitary 
room  no  fears.  At  once  weary  and  content,  I  slept  soon 
and  soundly  :  when  I  awoke  it  was  broad  day. 

The  chamber  looked  such  a  bright  little  place  to  me  as 
the  sun  shone  in  between  the  gay  blue  chintz  window  curtains, 
showing  papered  walls  and  a  carpeted  floor,  so  unlike  the 
bare  planks  and  stained  plaster  of  Lowood  that  my  spirits 
rose  at  the  view.  Externals  have  a  great  effect  on  the 
young :  I  thought  that  a  fairer  era  of  life  was  beginning  for 
me,  one  that  was  to  have  its  flowers  and  pleasures,  as  well 
as  its  thorns  and  toils.  My  faculties,  roused  by  the  change 
of  scene,  the  new  field  offered  to  hope,  seemed  all  astir. 
I  cannot  precisely  define  what  they  expected,  but  it  was 
something  pleasant :  not  perhaps  that  day  or  that  month, 
but  at  an  indefinite  future  period. 

I  rose ;  I  dressed  myself  with  care :  obliged  to  be  plain 
—for  I  had  no  article  of  attire  that  was  not  made  with 
extreme  simplicity— I  was  still  by  nature  solicitous  to  be 
neat.  It  was  not  my  habit  to  be  disregardful  of  appearance, 
or  careless  of  the  impression  I  made:  on  the  contrary,  I 
ever  wished  to  look  as  well  as  I  could,  and  to  please  as 
much  as  my  want  of  beauty  would  permit.  I  sometimes 
regretted  that  I  was  not  handsomer :  I  sometimes  wished 
to  have  rosy  cheeks,  a  straight  nose,  and  small  cherry 
mouth ;  I  desired  to  be  tall,  stately,  and  finely  developed  in 
figure ;  I  felt  it  a  misfortune  that  I  was  so  little,  so  pale, 
and  had  features  so  irregular  and  so  marked.  And  why 
had  I  these  aspirations  and  these  regrets?  It  would  be 


116  JANE  BYBB 

difficult  to  Bay :  I  could  not  then  distinctly  say  it  to  myself ;  yet 
I  had  a  reason,  and  a  logical,  natural  reason  too.  However, 
when  I  had  brushed  my  hair  very  smooth,  and  put  on  my  black 
frock — which,  Quaker-like  as  it  was,  at  least  had  the  merit 
of  fitting  to  a  nicety — and  adjusted  my  clean  white  tucker, 
I  thought  I  should  do  respectably  enough  to  appear  before 
Mrs.  Fairfax ;  and  that  my  new  pupil  would  not  at  least 
recoil  from  me  with  antipathy.  Having  opened  my  chamber 
window,  and  seen  that  I  left  all  things  straight  and  neat  on 
the  toilet  table,  I  ventured  forth. 

Traversing  the  long  and  matted  gallery,  I  descended  the 
slippery  steps  of  oak  ;  then  I  gained  the  hall :  I  halted  there 
a  minute :  I  looked  at  some  pictures  on  the  walls  (one  I 
remember  represented  a  grim  man  in  a  cuirass,  and  one 
a  lady  with  powdered  hair  and  a  pearl  necklace),  at  a  bronze 
lamp  pendent  from  the  ceiling,  at  a  great  clock  whose  case 
was  of  oak  curiously  carved,  and  ebon  black  with  time  and 
nibbing.  Everything  appeared  very  stately  and  imposing 
to  me :  but  then  I  was  so  little  accustomed  to  grandeur.  The 
hall-door,  which  was  half  of  glass,  stood  open  ;  I  stepped 
over  the  threshold.  It  was  a  fine  autumn  morning;  the 
early  sun  shone  serenely  on  embrowned  groves  and  still 
green  fields :  advancing  on  to  the  lawn,  I  looked  up  and 
surveyed  the  front  of  the  mansion.  It  was  three  stories 
high,  of  proportions  not  vast,  though  considerable :  a 
gentleman's  manor-house,  not  a  nobleman's  seat :  battle- 
ments round  the  top  gave  it  a  picturesque  look.  Its  grey 
front  stood  out  well  from  the  background  of  a  rookery, 
whose  cawing  tenants  were  now  on  the  wing :  they  flew  over 
the  lawn  and  grounds  to  alight  in  a  great  meadow,  from  which 
these  were  separated  by  a  sunk  fence,  and  where  an  array  of 
mighty  old  thorn  trees,  strong,  knotty,  and  broad  as  oaks,  at 
once  explained  the  etymology  of  the  mansion's  designation. 
Farther  off  were  hills  :  not  so  lofty  as  those  round  Lowood, 
nor  so  craggy,  nor  so  like  barriers  of  separation  from  the 
living  world ;  but  yet  quiet  and  lonely  hills  enough,  and  seem- 
ing to  embrace  Thornfield  with  a  seclusion  I  had  not  expected 


JANE  EYRE  117 

to  find  existent  so  near  the  stirring  locality  of  Millcote.  A 
little  hamlet  whose  roofs  were  blent  with  trees  straggled  up 
the  side  of  one  of  these  hills ;  the  church  of  the  distnct  stood 
nearer  Thornfield:  its  old  tower-top  looked  over  a  knoll 
between  the  house  and  gates. 

I  was  yet  enjoying  the  calm  prospect  and  pleasant  fresh 
air,  yet  listening  with  delight  to  the  cawing  of  the  rooks,  yet 
surveying  the  wide,  hoary  fiont  of  the  hall,  and  thinking 
what  a  gieat  place  it  was  for  one  lonely  little  dame  like 
Mrs.  Fairfax  to  inhabit,  when  that  lady  appeared  at  the 
door. 

1  What !  out  already  ?  '  said  she.  '  T  see  you  are  an  early 
riser/  I  went  up  to  her,  and  was  received  with  an  affable 
kiss  and  snake  of  the  hand. 

'  How  do  you  like  Thornfield  ?  '  she  asked.  I  told  her  I 
liked  it  very  much. 

'  Yes/  she  said,  '  it  is  a  pretty  place  :  but  I  fear  it  will  be 
getting  out  of  order,  unless  Mr.  Rochester  should  take  it  into 
his  head  to  come  and  reside  here  permanently  ;  or,  at  least, 
visit  it  rather  oftener  :  great  houses  and  fine  grounds  require 
the  presence  of  the  proprietor/ 

1  Mr.  Rochester  !  '  I  exclaimed.     '  Who  is  he  ? ' 

I  The  owner  of  Thornfield/  she  responded  quietly.     *  Did 
you  not  know  ho  was  called  Rochester  ?  ' 

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 1  thought,1 1  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  is  nothing 


118  JANE  EYEE 

to  me ;  I  consider  myself  quite  in  the  light  of  an  ordinary 
housekeeper:  my  employer  is  always  civil,  and  I  expect 
nothing  more/ 

1  And  the  little  girl— my  pupil  ? ' 

'  She  is  Mr.  ^Rochester's  ward ;  he  commissioned  me  to  find 
a  governess  for  her.  He  intends  to  have  her  brought  up  in 

shire,  I  believe.  Here  she  comes  with  her  "  bonne,"  as 

she  calls  her  nurse.  The  enigma  then  was  explained  :  this 
affable  and  kind  little  widow  was  no  great  dame,  but  a 
dependent  like  myself.  I  did  not  like  her  the  worse  for 
that ;  on  the  contrary,  I  felt  better  pleased  than  ever.  The 
equality  between  her  and  me  was  real ;  not  the  mere  result 
of  condescension  on  her  part:  so  much  the  better — my 
position  was  all  the  freer. 

As  I  was  meditating  on  this  discovery,  a  little  girl, 
followed  by  her  attendant,  came  running  up  the  lawn.  I 
looked  at  my  pupil,  who  did  not  at  first  appear  to  notice  me  : 
she  was  quite  a  child,  perhaps  seven  or  eight  years  old, 
slightly  built,  with  a  pale,  small-featured  face,  and  a  re- 
dundancy of  hair  falling  in  curls  to  her  waist. 

1  Good-morning,  Miss  Adela,'  said  Mrs.  Fairfax.  '  Come 
and  speak  to  the  lady  who  is  to  teach  you,  and  to  make  you 
a  clever  woman  some  day/  She  approached. 

1  C'est  la  ma  gouvernante  ?  '  said  she,  pointing  to  me,  and 
addressing  her  nurse  ;  who  answered :  '  Mais  oui,  certaine- 
ment/ 

'Are  they  foreigners?'  I  inquired,  amazed  at  hearing 
the  French  language. 

*  The  nurse  is  a  foreigner,  and  Adela  was  born  on  the 
Continent,  and,  I  believe,  never  left  it  till  within  six  months 
ago.  When  she  first  came  here  she  could  speak  no  English  ; 
now  she  can  make  shift  to  talk  it  a  little :  I  don't  under- 
stand her,  she  mixes  it  so  with  French ;  but  you  will  make 
out  her  meaning  very  well,  I  daresay/ 

Fortunately  I  had  had  the  advantage  of  being  taught 
French  by  a  French  lady;  and  as.  I  had  always  made  a 
point  of  conversing  with  Madame  Pierrot  as  often  as  1 


JANE  EYEE  119 

could,  and  had,  besides,  during  the  last  seven  years,  learnt 
a  portion  of  French  by  heart  daily — applying  myself  to  take 
pains  with  my  accent,  and  imitating  as  closely  as  possible  the 
pronunciation  of  my  teacher — I  had  acquired  a  certain  degree 
of  readiness  and  correctness  in  the  language,  and  was  not 
likely  to  be  much  at  a  loss  with  Mademoiselle  Adela.  She 
came  and  shook  hands  with  me  when  she  heard  that  I  was 
her  governess  ;  and  as  I  led  her  into  breakfast  I  addressed 
some  phrases  to  her  in  her  own  tongue  :  she  replied  briefly 
at  first,  but  after  we  were  seated  at  the  table,  and  she  had 
examined  me  some  ten  minutes  with  her  large  hazel  eyes, 
she  suddenly  commenced  chattering  fluently. 

1  Ah ! '  cried  she,  in  French,  *  you  speak  my  language  as 
well  as  Mr.  Eochester  does  :  I  can  talk  to  you  as  I  can  to 
him,  and  so  can  Sophie.  She  will  be  glad :  nobody  here 
understands  her :  Madame  Fairfax  is  all  English.  Sophie  is 
my  nurse ;  she  came  with  me  over  the  sea  in  a  great  ship 
with  a  chimney  that  smoked — how  it  did  smoke! — and  I 
was  sick,  and  so  was  Sophie,  and  so  was  Mr.  Rochester. 
Mr.  Eochester  lay  down  on  a  sofa  in  a  pretty  room  called 
the  salon,  and  Sophie  and  I  had  little  beds  in  another  place. 
I  nearly  fell  out  of  mine ;  it  was  like  a  shelf.  And  Made- 
moiselle  what  is  your  name  ?  ' 

'  Eyre — Jane  Eyre.1 

'  Aire  ?  Bah !  I  cannot  say  it.  Well :  our  ship  stopped 
in  the  morning,  before  it  was  quite  daylight,  at  a  great  city 
— a  huge  city,  with  very  dark  houses  and  all  smoky ;  not  at 
all  like  the  pretty  clean  town  I  came  from  ;  and  Mr.  Eochester 
carried  me  in  his  arms  over  a  plank  to  the  land,  and  Sophie 
came  after,  and  we  all  got  into  a  coach,  which  took  us  to  a 
beautiful  large  house,  larger  than  this  and  finer,  called  an 
hotel.  We  stayed  there  nearly  a  week.  I  and  Sophie  used 
to  walk  every  day  in  a  great  green  place  full  of  trees,  called 
the  Park ;  and  there  were  many  children  there  besides  me,  and 
a  pond  with  beautiful  birds  in  it,  that  I  fed  with  crumbs.' 

*  Can  you  understand  her  when  she  runs  on  so  fast  ? ' 
asked  Mrs.  Fairfax. 

F 


120  JANE  EYES 

I  understood  her  very  well,  for  I  had  been  accustomed  to 
the  fluent  tongue  of  Madame  Pierrot. 

'  I  wish/  continued  the  good  lady,  '  you  would  ask  her 
a  question  or  two  about  her  parents :  I  wonder  if  she 
remembers  them  ? ' 

1  Ad61e,'  I  inquired,  '  with  whom  did  you  live  when  you 
were  in  that  pretty  clean  town  you  spoke  of  ? ' 

'  I  lived  long  ago  with  mamma ;  <but  she  is  gone  to  the 
Holy  Virgin.  Mamma  used  to  teach  me  to  dance  and  sing, 
and  to  say  verses.  A  great  many  gentlemen  and  ladies 
came  to  see  mamma,  and  I  used  to  dance  before  them,  or  to 
sit  on  their  knees  and  sing  to  them  :  I  liked  it.  Shall  I  let 
you  hear  me  sing  now  ?  ' 

She  had  finished  her  breakfast,  so  I  permitted  her  to  give 
a  specimen  of  her  accomplishments.  Descending  from  her 
chair,  she  came  and  placed  herself  on  my  knee ;  then,  folding 
her  little  hands  demurely  before  her,  shaking  back  her  curls 
and  lifting  her  eyes  to  the  ceiling,  she  commenced  singing  a 
song  from  some  opera.  It  was  the  strain  of  a  forsaken  lady, 
who,  after  bewailing  the  perfidy  of  her  lover,  calls  pride  to 
her  aid ;  desires  her  attendant  to  deck  her  in  her  brightest 
jewels  and  richest  robes,  and  resolves  to  meet  the  false  one 
that  night  at  a  ball,  and  prove  to  him,  by  the  gaiety  of  her 
demeanour,  how  little  his  desertion  has  affected  her. 

The  subject  seemed  strangely  chosen  for  an  infant  singer ; 
but  I  suppose  the  point  of  the  exhibition  lay  hi  hearing  the 
notes  of  love  and  jealousy  warbled  with  the  lisp  of  child- 
hood ;  and  in  very  bad  taste  that  point  was :  at  least  I 
thought  so. 

Ad&le  sang  the  canzonette  tunefully  enough,  and  with 
the  naivet6  of  her  age.  This  achieved,  she  jumped  from 
my  knee  and  said,  '  Now,  Mademoiselle,  I  will  repeat  you 
some  poetry.1 

Assuming  an  attitude,  she  began  '  La  Ligue  des  Eats : 
fable  de  la  Fontaine/  She  then  declaimed  the  little  piece 
with  an  attention  to  punctuation  and  emphasis,  a  flexibility 
of  voice  and  an  appropriateness  of  gesture,  very  unusual 


JANE  EYEE  121 

indeed  at  her  age,  and  which  proved  she  had  been  carefully 
trained. 

1  Was  it  your  mamma  who  taught  you  that  piece  ? '  I 


'  Yes  ;  and  she  just  used  to  say  it  in  this  way :  "  Qu'avez 
vous  done?  lui  dit  un  de  ces  rats ;  parlez  1  "  She  mado  me 
lift  my  hand— so — to  remind  me  to  raise  my  voice  at  the 
question.  '  Now  shall  I  dance  for  you  ?  ' 

'  No,  that  will  do :  but  after  your  mamma  went  to  the 
Holy  Virgin,  as  you  say,  with  whom  did  you  live  then? ' 

'With  Madame  Fr6d6ric  and  her  husband:  she  took 
care  of  me,  but  she  is  nothing  related  to  me.  I  think  she  is 
poor,  for  she  had  not  so  fine  a  house  as  mamma.  I  was  not 
long  there.  Mr.  Bochoster  asked  me  if  T  would  like  to  go 
and  live  with  him  in  England,  and  I  said  yes ;  for  I  knew 
Mr.  Kochester  before  I  knew  Madame  Fr6d6ric,  and  he  was 
always  kind  to  me  and  gave  me  pretty  dresses  and  toys. 
But  you  see  he  has  not  kept  his  word,  for  he  has  brought  me 
to  England,  and  now  he  is  gone  back  again  himself,  and  I 
never  see  him.' 

After  breakfast  Adele  and  I  withdrew  to  the  library ; 
which  room,  it  appears,  Mr.  Bochester  had  directed  should 
be  used  as  the  schoolroom.  Most  of  the  books  were  locked 
up  behind  glass  doors ;  but  there  was  one  bookcase  left  open, 
containing  everything  that  could  be  needed  in  the  way  of 
elementary  works,  and  several  volumes  of  light  literature, 
poetry,  biography,  travels,  a  few  romances,  &c.  I  suppose 
he  had  considered  that  these  were  all  the  governess  would 
require  for  her  private  perusal ;  and,  indeed,  they  contented 
me  amply  for  the  present ;  compared  with  the  scanty  pick- 
ings I  had  now  and  then  been  able  to  glean  at  Lowood,  they 
seemed  to  offer  an  abundant  harvest  of  entertainment  and 
information.  In  this  room,  too,  there  was  a  cabinet  piano, 
quite  new  and  of  superior  tone ;  also  an  easel  for  painting, 
and  a  pair  of  globes. 

I  found  my  pupil  sufficiently  docile,  though  disinclined  to 
apply :  she  had  not  been  used  to  regular  occupation  of  any 


122  JANE  EYEE 

kind.  I  felt  it  would  be  injudicious  to  confine  her  too  much 
at  first ;  so,  when  I  had  talked  to  her  a  great  deal,  and  got 
her  to  learn  a  little,  and  when  the  morning  had  advanced  to 
noon,  I  allowed  her  to  return  to  her  nurse.  I  then  proposed 
to  occupy  myself  till  dinner-time  in  drawing  some  little 
sketches  for  her  use. 

As  I  was  going  upstairs  to  fetch  my  portfolio  and  pencils, 
Mrs.  Fairfax  called  to  me  :  '  Your  morning  school-hours  are 
over  now,  I  suppose/  said  she.  She  was  in  a  room  the 
folding-doors  of  which  stood  open :  I  went  in  when  she 
addressed  me.  It  was  a  large,  stately  apartment,  with  purple 
chairs  and  curtains,  a  Turkey  carpet,  walnut-panelled  walls, 
one  vast  window  rich  in  stained  glass,  and  a  lofty  ceiling, 
nobly  moulded.  Mrs.  Fairfax  was  dusting  some  vases  of 
fine  purple  spar,  which  stood  on  a  sideboard. 

1  What  a  beautiful  room  ! '  I  exclaimed,  as  I  looked  round ; 
for  I  had  never  before  seen  any  half  so  imposing. 

1  Yes  ;  this  is  the  dining-room.  I  have  just  opened  the 
window,  to  let  in  a  little  air  and  sunshine ;  for  everything 
gets  so  damp  in  apartments  that  are  seldom  inhabited  :  the 
drawing-room  yonder  feels  like  a  vault.' 

She  pointed  to  a  wide  arch  corresponding  to  the  window, 
and  hung  like  it  with  a  Tyrian-dyed  curtain,  now  looped  up. 
Mounting  to  it  by  two  broad  steps  and  looking  through,  I 
thought  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  fairy  pkce,  so  bright  to  my 
novice  eyes  appeared  the  view  beyond.  Yet  it  was  merely  a 
very  pretty  drawing-room,  and  within  it  a  boudoir,  both 
spread  with  white  carpets,  on  which  seemed  laid  brilliant 
garlands  of  flowers ;  both  ceiled  with  snowy  mouldings  of 
white  grapes  and  vine-leaves,  beneath  which  glowed  in  rich 
contrast  crimson  couches  and  ottomans;  while  the  orna- 
ments on  the  pale  Parian  mantelpiece  were  of  sparkling 
Bohemian  glass,  ruby  red ;  and  between  the  windows  large 
mirrors  repeated  the  general  blending  of  snow  and  fire. 

'  In  what  order  you  keep  these  rooms,  Mrs.  Faixfax ! ' 
said  I.  '  No  dust,  no  canvas  coverings  :  except  that  the  air 
feels  chilly,  one  would  think  they  were  inhabited  daily.' 


JANE   EYRE  123 

1  Why,  Miss  Eyre,  though  Mr.  Rochester's  visits  here  are 
rare,  they  are  always  sudden  and  unexpected ;  and  as  I 
observed  that  it  put  him  out  to  find  everything  swathed  up, 
and  to  have  a  bustle  of  arrangement  on  his  arrival,  I  thought 
it  best  to  keep  the  rooms  in  readiness.' 

1  Is  Mr.  Rochester  an  exacting,  fastidious  sort  of  man  ?  ' 

1  Not  particularly  so ;  but  he  has  a  gentleman's  tastes 
and  habits,  and  he  expects  to  have  things  managed  in  con- 
formity to  them.' 

'  Do  you  like  him  ?    Is  he  generally  liked  ?  ' 

I  Oh,  yes ;  the  family  have  always  been  respected  here. 
Almost  all  the  land  in  this  neighbourhood,  us  far  as  you 
can  see,  has  belonged  to  the  Rochesters  time  out  of  mind.' 

'  Well,  but,  leaving  his  land  out  of  the  question,  do  you 
like  him  ?  Is  he  liked  for  himself  ? ' 

I 1  have  no  cause  to  do  otherwise  than  like  him ;    and 
I   believe    he  •  is    considered   a   just   and    liberal  landlord 
by  his  tenants:   but  he  has  never  lived  much    amongst 
them.' 

'  But  has  he  no  peculiarities  ?  What,  in  short,  is  his 
character  ? ' 

'  Oh !  his  character  is  unimpeachable,  I  suppose.  He,  is 
rather  peculiar,  perhaps  :  he  has  travelled  a  great  deal,  and 
seen  a  great  deal  of  the  world.  1  should  think.  I  daresay 
he  is  clever :  but  I  never  had  much  conversation  with  him.' 

'  In  what  way  is  he  peculiar  ? ' 

1 1  don't  know — it  is  not  easy  to  describe—  nothing 
striking,  but  you  feel  it  when  he  speaks  to  you :  you  cannot 
be  always  sure  whether  he  is  in  jest  or  earnest,  whether  he 
is  pleased  or  the  contrary  ;  you  don't  thoroughly  understand 
him,  in  short— at  least,  I  don't :  but  it  is  of  no  consequence, 
he  is  a  very  good  master.' 

This  was  all  the  account  I  got  from  Mrs.  Fairfax  of  her 
employer  and  mine.  There  are  people  who  seem  to  have  no 
notion  of  sketching  a  character,  or  observing  and  describing 
salient  points,  either  in  persons  or  things  :  the  good  lady 
evidently  belonged  to  this  class;  my  queries  puzzled,  but 


124  JANE  EYEE 

did  not  draw  her  oufc.  Mr.  Eochester  was  Mr.  Eochester 
in  her  eyes  ;  a  gentleman,  a  landed  proprietor — nothing 
more :  she  inquired  and  searched  no  further,  and  evidently 
wondered  at  my  wish  to  gain  a  more  definite  notion  of  his 
identity. 

When  we  left  the  dining-room,  she  proposed  to  show  me 
over  the  rest  of  the  house  ;  and  I  followed  her  upstairs  and 
downstairs,  admiring  as  I  went ;  for  all  was  well  arranged 
and  handsome.  The  large  front  chambers  I  thought  espe- 
cially grand;  and  some  of  the  third-story  rooms,  though 
dark  and  low,  were  interesting  from  their  air  of  antiquity. 
The  furniture  once  appropriated  to  the  lower  apartments  had 
from  time  to  time  been  removed  here,  as  fashions  changed ; 
and  the  imperfect  light  entering  by  their  narrow  casements 
showed  bedsteads  of  a  hundred  years  old  ;  chests  in  oak  or 
walnut,  looking,  with  their  strange  carvings  of  palm  branches 
and  cherubs'  heads,  like  types  of  the  Hebrew  ark  ;  rows  of 
venerable  chairs,  high-backed  and  narrow  ;  stools  still  more 
antiquated,  on  whose  cushioned  tops  were  yet  apparent 
traces  of  half-effaced  embroideries,  wrought  by  fingers  that 
for  two  generations  had  been  coffin-dust.  All  these  relics 
gave  to  the  third  story  of  Thorntield  Hall  the  aspect  of  a 
home  of  the  past :  a  shrine  of  memory.  I  liked  the  hush, 
the  gloom,  the  quaintness  of  these  retreats  in  the  day  ;  but  I 
by  no  means  coveted  a  night's  repose  on  one  of  those  wide 
and  heavy  beds  :  shut  in,  some  of  them,  with  doors  of  oak ; 
shaded,  others,  with  wrought  old-English  hangings  crusted 
with  thick  work,  portraying  effigies  of  strange  flowers,  and 
stranger  birds,  and  strangest  human  beings,— all  which 
would  have  looked  strange,  indeed,  by  the  pallid  gleam  of 
moonlight. 

'Do  the  servants  sleep  in  these  rooms?  '  I  asked. 

'  No  ;  they  occupy  a  range  of  smaller  apartments  to  the 
back  ;  no  one  ever  sleeps  here :  one  would  almost  say  chat, 
if  there  were  a  ghost  at  Thornfield  Hall,  this  would  be  its 
haunt/ 

*  So  I  think :  you  have  no  ghost,  then  ? ' 


JANE  EYRE  125 

'None  that  I  ever  heard  of,'  returned  Mrs.  Fairfax, 
smiling. 

1  Nor  any  traditions  of  one  ?  no  legends  or  ghost  stories  ? ' 

*  I  believe  not.  And  yet  it  is  said  the  Kochesters  have 
been  rather  a  violent  than  a  quiet  race  in  their  time  :  per- 
haps, though,  that  is  the  reason  they  rest  ti.mquilly  in  their 
graves  now/ 

'Yes — "after  life's  fitful  fever  thoy  sleep  well,1"  I 
muttered.  '  Where  are  you  going  now,  Airs.  Fairfax  ? '  for 
she  was  moving  away. 

1  On  to  the  leads  ;  will  you  come  find  see  the  \  iew  from 
thence  ?  '  I  followed  still,  up  a  very  narrow  staircase  to  the 
attics,  and  thence  by  si  ladder  and  through  a  trap-door  to  the 
roof  of  tho  hall.  I  was  now  on  a  level  with  the  crow  colony, 
and  could  sec  into  their  nests.  Leaning  over  the  battle- 
ments and  looking  far  down,  1  surveyed  the  giounds  hud 
out  like  a  map  :  the  bright  and  velvet  lawn  closely  girdling 
the  grey  base  of  the  mansion;  the  field,  wide  as  a  pink, 
dotted  with  its  ancient  timber;  the  wood,  dun  and  sere, 
divided  by  a  path  visibly  overgrown,  greener  with  moss  tban 
the  trees  were  with  foli.age ;  the  church  at  the  gates,  the 
load,  the  tranquil  hills,  all  reposing  in  the  autumn  day's 
sun :  the  horizon  bounded  by  a  propitious  sky,  azure,  mar- 
bled with  pearly  white.  No  feature  in  the  scene  was  extra- 
ordinary, but  all  was  pleasing.  When  I  turned  fioin  it  and 
repassed  the  trap-door,  I  could  scarcely  see  my  way  down 
the  ladder :  the  attic  seemed  black  as  a  vault  compai  ed 
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  dint  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  btory :  narrow,  low, 
and  dim,  with  only  one  little  window  at  the  far  end,  and 


JANE  EYEE 

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. 

1  Mrs.  Fairfax ! '  I  called  out :  for  I  now  heard  her 
descending  the  great  stairs.  '  Did  you  hear  that  loud  laugh  ? 
Who  is  it?1 

'  Some  of  the  servants,  very  likely/  she  answered : 
'  perhaps  Grace  Poole.' 

1  Did  you  hear  it  ? '  I  again  inquired. 

'  Yes,  plainly :  I  often  hear  her ;  she  sews  in  one  of  these 
rooms.  Sometimes  Leah  is  with  her :  they  are  frequently 
noisy  together.' 

The  laugh  was  repeated  in  its  low,  syllabic  tone,  and 
terminated  in  an  odd  murmur. 

'  Grace  ! '  exclaimed  Mrs.  Fairfax. 

I  really  did  not  expect  any  Grace  to  answer;  for  the 
laugh  was  as  tragic,  as  preternatural  a  laugh  as  any  I  ever 
heard  ;  and,  but  that  it  was  high  noon,  and  that  no  circum- 
stance of  ghostliness  accompanied  the  curious  cachinnation, 
but  that  neither  scene  nor  season  favoured  fear,  I  should 
have  been  superstitiously  afraid.  However,  the  event 
showed  me  I  was  a  fool  for  entertaining  a  sense  even  of 
surprise. 

The  door  nearest  me  opened,  and  a  servant  came  out, — 
a  woman  of  between  thirty  and  forty ;  a  set,  square-made 
figure,  red-haired,  and  with  a  hard,  plain  face  :  any  apparition 
less  romantic  or  less  ghostly  could  scarcely  be  conceived. 

'  Too  much  noise,  Grace,'  said  Mrs.  Fairfax.  '  Eemember 
directions  ! '  Grace  curtseyed  silently  and  went  in. 

1  She  is  a  person  we  have  to  sew  and  assist  Leah  in  her 


JANE   EYEE  127 

housemaid's  work/  continued  the  widow ;  '  not  altogether 
unobjectionable  in  some  points,  but  she  does  well  enough. 
By-the-by,  how  have  you  got  on  with  your  now  pupil  this 
morning  ? ' 

The  conversation,  thus  turned  on  Adele,  continued  till  we 
reached  the  light  and  cheerful  region  below.  Adele  came 
running  to  meet  us  in  the  hall,  exclaiming, — 'Mesdames, 
vous  6tes  servies ! '  adding,  c  J'ai  bien  faim,  moi  I ' 

We  found  dinner  ready  and  waiting  for  us  in  Mrs. 
Fairfax's  room. 


128  JANE  EYEB 


CHAPTBB  XII 

THE  promise  of  a  smooth  career,  which  my  first  calm 
introduction  to  Thornficld  Hall  seemed  to  pledge,  was  not 
belied  on  a  longer  aquaintance  with  the  place  and  its 
inmates.  Mrs.  Fairfax  turned  out  to  be  what  she  appeared, 
a  placid- tempered,  kind-natured  woman,  of  competent 
education  and  average  intelligence.  My  pupil  was  a  lively 
child,  who  had  been  spoilt  and  indulged,  and  therefore 
was  sometimes  wayward;  but  as  she  was  committed 
entirely  to  my  care,  and  no  injudicious  interference  from 
any  quarter  ever  thwarted  my  plans  for  her  improvement, 
she  soon  forgot  her  little  freaks,  and  became  obedient 
and  teachable.  She  had  no  great  talents,  no  maiked  traits 
of  character,  no  peculiar  development  of  feeling  or  taste 
which  raised  her  one  inch  above  the  ordinary  level  of  child- 
l}ood ;  but  neither  had  she  any  deficiency  or  vice  which  sunk 
her  below  it.  She  made  reasonable  progiess,  entertained 
for  me  a  vivacious,  though  perhaps  not  very  profound, 
affection  ;  and  by  her  simplicity,  gay  prattle,  and  efforts  to 
please,  inspired  me,  in  return,  with  a  degree  of  attachment 
sufficient  to  make  us  both  content  in  each  other's  society. 

This,  par  parcnth&se,  will  be  thought  cool  language  by 
persons  who  entertain  solemn  doctrines  about  the  angelic 
nature  of  children,  and  the  duty  of  those  charged  with  their 
education  to  conceive  for  them  an  idolatrous  devotion  :  but 
I  am1  not  writing  to  flatter  parental  egotism,  to  echo  cant,  or 
prop  up  humbug  ;  I  am  merely  telling  the  truth.  I  felt  a 
conscientious  solicitude  for  Ad&le's  welfare  and  progress, 
and  a  quiet  liking  to  her  little  self ;  just  as  I  cherished 
towards  Mrs.  Fairfax  a  thankfulness  for  her  kindness,  and  a 


JANE  EYEE  129 

pleasure  in  her  society  proportionate  to  the  tranquil  regard 
she  had  for  me,  and  the  moderation  of  her  mind  and 
character. 

Anybody  may  blame  me  who  likes  when  I  add  further 
that  now  and  then,  when  I  took  a  walk  by  myself  in  the 
grounds,  when  I  went  down  to  the  gates  and  looked 
through  them  along  the  road,  or  when,  while  Adelo  »played 
with  her  nurse,  and  Mrs.  Fairfax  made  jollies  in  the  store- 
room, I  climbed  the  three  stan  cases,  raised  the  trap-door  of 
the  attic,  and  having  reached  tbe  leads,  looked  out  afar 
over  sequestered  field  and  hill,  and  along  dim  sky-lino —that 
then  I  longed  for  a  power  of  Msion  which  might  overpass 
that  limit ;  which  might  reach  the  busy  world,  towns, 
regions  full  of  life  1  hul  heard  of  bub  never  seen  :  that  then 
I  desired  more  of  pi  a^ticai  experience  than  I  possessed  ,  more 
of  intercourse  with  my  kind,  of  acquaintance  \\ith  vaiiety  of 
character,  than  was  here  within  my  reach.  I  valued  what 
was  good  in  Mrs.  Fairfax,  and  what  was  good  in  Ailele  ; 
but  I  believed  in  the  existence  of  other  and  moie  vivid  kinds 
of  goodness,  and  what  1  believed  in  1  wished  to  behold. 

Who  blames  me  ?  Many,  no  doubt ;  and  I  sluill  be 
called  disconton'ed.  I  could  not  help  it:  the  restlessness 
was  in  my  nature ;  it  agitated  me  to  pain  sometimes.  Then 
my  sole  relief  was  to  walk  along  the  corridor  of  tbe  third 
story,  backwards  and  forwards,  safe  in  tbe  silence  and 
solitude  of  the  spot  and  allow  my  mind's  eye  to  dwell  on 
whatever  bright  visions  rose  before  it — and,  certainly,  they 
were  many  arid  glowing ;  to  let  my  heart  be  heaved  by  the 
exultant  movement,  which,  while  it  swelled  it  in  trouble, 
expanded  it  with  life ;  und,  best  of  all,  to  open  my  inward 
ear  to  a  tale  that  was  never  ended — a  tale  my  imagina- 
tion created,  and  narrated  continuously  ;  quickened  with  all 
of  incident,  life,  fire,  feeling,  that  I  desired  and  had  not  in 
my  actual  existence. 

It  is  in  vain  to  say  human  beings  ought  to  be  satisfied 
with  tranquillity :  they  must  have  action ;  and  they  will 
make  it  if  they  cannot  find  it.  Millions  are  condemned 


130  JANE  EYEE 

to  a  stiller  doom  than  mine,  and  millions  are  in  silent  revolt 
against  their  lot.  Nobody  knows  how  many  rebellions  besides 
political  rebellions  ferment  in  the  masses  of  life  which  people 
earth.  Women  are  supposed  to  be  very  calm  generally  :  but 
women  feel  just  as  men  feel ;  they  need  exercise  for  their 
faculties  and  a  field  for  their  efforts  as  much  as  their  brothers 
do ;  they  suffer  from  too  rigid  a  restraint,  too  absolute  a  stagna- 
tion, precisely  as  men  would  suffer ;  and  it  is  narrow-minded 
in  their  more  privileged  fellow-creatures  to  say  that  they 
ought  to  confine  themselves  to  making  puddings  and  knitting 
stockings,  to  playing  on  the  piano  and  embroidering  bags. 
It  is  thoughtless  to  condemn  them,  or  laugh  at  them,  if  they 
seek  to  do  more  or  learn  more  than  custom  has  pronounced 
necessary  for  their  sex. 

When  thus  alone  I  not  unfrequently  heard  Grace  Poole's 
laugh :  the  same  peal,  the  same  low,  slow  ha !  ha !  which, 
when  first  heard,  had  thrilled  me :  I  heard,  too,  her  eccentric 
murmurs ;  stranger  than  her  laugh.  There  were  days  when 
she  was  quite  silent ;  but  there  were  others  when  I  could 
not  account  for  the  sounds  she  made.  Sometimes  I  saw  her ; 
she  would  come  out  of  her  room  with  a  basin,  or  a  plate,  or 
a  tray  in  her  hand,  go  down  to  the  kitchen,  and  shortly  return, 
generally  (oh,  romantic  reader,  forgive  me  for  telling  the 
plain  truth :)  bearing  a  pot  of  porter.  Her  appearance 
always  acted  as  a  damper  to  the  curiosity  raised  by  her  oral 
oddities :  hard-featured  and  staid,  she  had  no  point  to  which 
interest  could  attach.  I  made  some  attempts  to  draw  her 
into  conversation,  but  she  seemed  a  person  of  few  words  :  a 
monosyllabic  reply  usually  cut  short  every  effort  of  that  sorb. 

The  other  members  of  the  household,  viz.  John  and  his 
wife,  Leah  the  housemaid,  and  Sophie  the  French  nurse, 
were  decent  people :  but  in  no  respect  remarkable.  With 
Sophie  I  used  to  talk  French,  and  sometimes  I  asked  her 
questions  about  her  native  country;  but  she  was  not  of 
a  descriptive  or  narrative  turn,  and  generally  gave  such 
vapid  and  confused  answers  as  were  calculated  rather  to 
check  than  encourage  inquiry. 


JANE  EYBB  131 

October,  November,  December  passed  away.  One  after- 
noon in  January  Mrs.  Fairfax  had  begged  a  holiday  for 
Ad61e  because  she  had  a  cold ;  and,  as  Adele  seconded  the 
request  with  an  ardour  that  reminded  me  how  precious 
occasional  holidays  had  been  to  me  in  my  own  childhood,  I 
accorded  it,  deeming  that  I  did  well  in  showing  pliability  on 
the  point.  It  was  a  fine,  calm  day,  though  very  cold  ;  I  was 
tired  of  sitting  still  in  the  library  through  a  whole  long 
morning:  Mrs.  Fairfax  had  just  written  a  letter  which  was 
waiting  to  be  posted,  so  I  put  on  my  bonnet  and  cloak  and 
volunteered  to  carry  it  to  Hay ;  the  distance,  two  miles, 
would  be  a  pleasant  winter  afternoon  walk.  Having  seen 
Adele  comfortably  seated  in  her  little  chair  by  Mrs.  Fairfax's 
parlour  iheside,  and  given  her  her  best  wax  doll  (which  I 
usually  kept  enveloped  in  silver  paper  in  a  drawer)  to  play 
with,  and  a  story-book  for  change  of  amusement ;  and 
having  replied  to  her  '  Eevenez  bient6t,  ma  bonne  amie,  ma 
chere  Mdlle.  Jeannette,'  with  a  kiss,  I  set  out. 

The  ground  was  hard,  the  air  was  still,  my  road  was 
lonely;  I  walked  fast  till  I  got  warm,  and  then  I  walked 
slowly  to  enjoy  and  analyse  the  species  of  pleasure  brooding 
for  me  in  the  hour  and  situation.  It  was  three  o'clock  ;  the 
church  bell  tolled  as  I  passed  under  the  belfry  :  the  charm  of 
the  hour  lay  in  its  approaching  dimness,  in  the  low-gliding 
and  pale-beaming  sun.  I  was  a  mile  from  Thornfield,  in  a 
lane  noted  for  wild  roses  in  summer,  for  nuts  and  black- 
berries in  autumn,  and  even  now  possessing  a  few  coraJ 
treasures  in  hips  and  haws,  but  whose  best  winter  delight 
lay  in  its  utter  solitude  and  leafless  repose.  If  a  breath  of 
air  stirred,  it  made  no  sound  here ;  for  there  was  not  a  holly, 
not  an  evergreen  to  rustle,  and  the  stripped  hawthorn  and 
hazel  bushes  were  as  still  as  the  white,  worn  stones  which 
causewayed  the  middle  of  the  path.  Far  and  wide,  on  each 
side,  there  were  only  fields,  where  no  cattle  now  browsed ;  and 
the  little  brown  birds,  which  stirred  occasionally  in  the  hedge, 
looked  like  single  russet  leaves  that  had  forgotten  to  drop. 

This  lane  inclined  uphill  all  the  way  to  Hay:   having. 


132  JANE  EYKE 

reached  the  middle  I  sat  down  on  a  stile  which  led  thence 
into  a  field.  Gathering  my  mantle  about  me,  and  sheltering 
my  hands  in  my  muff,  I  did  not  feel  the  cold,  though  it  froze 
keenly ;  as  was  attested  by  a  sheet  of  ice  covering  the  cause- 
way, where  a  little  brooklet,  now  congealed,  had  overflowed 
after  a  rapid  thaw  some  days  since.  From  my  seat  I  could 
look  down  on  Thornfield :  the  grey  and  battlemented  hall  was 
the  principal  object  in  the  vale  below  me ;  its  woods  and 
dark  rookery  rose  against  the  west.  1  lingered  till  the  sun 
went  down  amongst  the  tiess,  and  sank  crimson  and  clear 
behind  them.  I  then  turned  eastward. 

On  the  hilltop  above  me  sat  the  rising  moon  ;  pale  yet  as 
a  cloud,  but  brightening  momently  :  she  looked  over  Hay, 
which,  half  lost  in  trees,  sent  up  a  blue  smoke  from  its  few 
chimneys;  it  was  yet  a  mile  distant,  but  in  the  absolute 
hush  I  could  hear  plainly  its  thin  murmurs  of  lifo.  My  ear 
too  felt  the  flow  of  currents  ;  in  what  dales  and  depths  I  could 
not  tell :  but  there  were  many  hills  beyond  Hay,  and 
doubtless  many  becks  threading  their  passes.  That  evening 
calm  betrayed  alike  the  tinkle  of  the  nearest  streams,  the 
sough  of  the  most  remote. 

A  rude  noise  broke  on  these  fine  ripplings  and  whisper- 
ings, at  once  so  far  away  and  so  clear :  a  positive  tramp, 
tramp;  a  metallic  clatter,  which  effaced  the  soft  wave- 
wanderings  ;  as,  in  a  picture,  the  solid  mass  of  a  crag,  or  the 
rough  boles  of  a  great  oak,  drawn  in  dark  and  strong  on  the 
foreground,  efface  the  aerial  distance  of  azure  hill,  sunny 
horizon,  and  blended  clouds,  where  tint  melts  into  tint. 

The  din  was  on  the  causeway  ;  a  horse  was  coming ;  the 
windings  of  the  lane  yet  hid  it,  but  it  approached.  I  was 
just  leaving  the  stile ;  yet,  as  the  path  waa  narrow,  I  sat 
still  to  let  it  go  by.  In  those  days  I  was  young,  and  all 
sorts  of  fancies  bright  and  dark  tenanted  my  mind :  the 
memories  of  nursery  stories  were  there  amongst  other 
rubbish  ;  and  when  they  recurred,  maturing  youth  added  to 
them  a  vigour  and  vividness  beyond  what  childhood  could 
give.  As  this  horse  approached,  and  as  I  watched  for  it  to 


JANE  EYEE  133 

appear  through  the  dusk,  1  remembered  certain  of  Bessie's 
tales,  wherein  figured  a  North-of -En  gland  spirit,  called  a 
*  Gyfcrash,'  which,  in  the  form  of  horse,  mule,  or  large  dog, 
haunted  solitary  ways,  and  sometimes  came  upon  belated 
travellers,  as  this  horso  was  now  coming  upon  me. 

It  was  very  near,  but  not  yet  in  sight,  when,  in  addition 
to  the  tramp,  tramp,  I  heard  a  rush  under  the  hedge,  and 
close  down  by  the  hazel  stems  glided  a  great  dog,  whose 
black  and  white  colour  made  him  a  distinct  object  against 
the  trees.  It  was  exactly  one  mask  of  Bessie's  Gytrash,-  a> 
lion-like  creature  with  long  hair  and  a  huge  head :  it  passod 
me,  however,  quietly  enough ;  not  staying  to  look  up,  with 
strange  pnrtercanine  eyes,  in  my  face,  as  I  half  expected  it 
would.  rlhe  horse  followed, — a  tall  steed,  and  on  its  back  a 
rider.  The  man,  the  human  being,  broke  the  spell  at  once. 
Nothing  ever  rodo  the  Gytrash :  it  was  always  alone  ;  and 
goblins,  to  my  notions,  though  they  might  tenant  the  dumb 
carcases  of  beasts,  could  scarce  covet  shelter  in  the  common- 
place human  form.  No  Gytrash  was  this, — only  a  traveller 
taking  the  short  cut  to  Millcote.  He  passed,  and  I  went  on  : 
a  few  steps,  and  I  turned  :  a  sliding  sound  and  an  exclama- 
tion of  *  What  the  deuce  is  to  do  now  ? '  f'ind  a  clattering 
tumble,  arrested  my  attention.  Man  and  horse  were  down ; 
they  had  slipped  on  the  sheet  of  ice  which  glazed  the  cause- 
way. The  dog  came  bounding  back,  and  seeing  his  master 
in  a  predicament,  and  hearing  the  horse  groan,  barked  till 
the  evening  hills  echoed  tho  sound,  which  was  deep  in 
proportion  to  his  magnitude.  Up  snuffed  round  the  prostrate 
group,  and  then  he  ran  up  to  mo  ;  it  was  all  he  could  do,-  - 
there  was  no  other  help  at  hand  to  summon.  I  obeyed  him, 
and  walked  down  to  the  traveller,  by  this  time  struggling 
himself  free  of  his  steed.  His  efforts  were  so  vigorous  I 
thought  he  could  not  be  much  hurt ;  but  I  asked  him  the 
question  : — '  Are  you  injured,  sir? ' 

I  think  he  was  swearing,  but  am  not  certain ;  however, 
he  was  pronouncing  some  formula  which  prevented  him 
from  replying  to  me  directly. 


134  JANE  EYEB 

1  Can  I  do  anything  ?  '  I  asked  again. 

1  You  must  just  stand  on  one  side,'  he  answered  as  he  rose, 
first  to  his  knees,  and  then  to  his  feet.  I  did  ;  whereupon 
hegan  a  heaving,  stamping,  clattering  process,  accompanied 
by  a  barking  and  baying  which  removed  me  effectually  some 
yards'  distance ;  but  I  would  not  be  driven  quite  away  till  I 
saw  the  event.  This  was  finally  fortunate ;  the  horse  was 
re-established,  and  the  dog  was  silenced  with  a  '  Down, 
Pilot ! '  The  traveller  now,  stooping,  felt  his  foot  and  leg,  as 
if  trying  whether  they  were  sound ;  apparently  something 
ailed  them,  for  he  halted  to  the  stile  whence  I  had  just  risen, 
and  sat  down. 

I  was  in  the  mood  for  being  useful,  or  at  least  officious,  I 
think,  for  I  now  drew  near  him  again. 

'  If  you  are  hurt,  and  want  help,  sir,  I  can  fetch  some 
one  either  from  Thornfield  Hall  or  from  Hay/ 

1  Thank  you  ;  I  shall  do :  I  have  no  broken  bones — only 
a  sprain ; '  and  again  he  stood  up  and  tried  his  foot,  but  the 
result  extorted  an  involuntary  '  Ugh  ! ' 

Something  of  daylight  still  lingered,  and  the  moon  was 
waxing  bright :  I  could  see  him  plainly.  His  figure  was 
enveloped  in  a  riding  cloak,  fur  collared,  and  steel  clasped  ; 
its  details  were  not  apparent,  but  I  traced  the  general  points 
of  middle  height,  and  considerable  breadth  of  chest.  He 
had  a  dark  face,  with  stern  features  and  a  heavy  brow ;  his 
eyes  and  gathered  eyebrows  looked  ireful  and  thwarted  just 
now ;  he  was  past  youth,  but  had  not  reached  middle  age ; 
perhaps  he  might  be  Ihirty-five.  I  felt  no  fear  of  him,  and 
but  little  shyness.  Had  he  beetn  a  handsome,  heroic-looking 
young  gentleman,  I  should  not  have  dared  to  stand  thus 
questioning  him  against  his  will,  and  offering  my  services 
unasked.  I  had  hardly  ever  seen  a  handsome  youth  ;  never 
in  my  life  spoken  to  one.  I  had  a  theoretical  reverence  and 
homage  for  beauty,  elegance,  gallantry,  fascination ;  but  had 
I  met  those  qualities  incarnate  in  masculine  shape,  I  should 
have  known  instinctively  that  they  neither  had  nor  could 
have  sympathy  with  anything  in  me,  and  should  have 


JANE  EYEB  135 

shunned  them  as  one  would  fire,  lightning,  or  anything  else 
that  is  bright  but  antipathetic. 

If  even  this  stranger  had  smiled  and  been  good-humoured 
to  me  when  I  addressed  him ;  if  he  had  put  off  my  offer  of 
assistance  gaily  and  with  thanks,  I  should  have  gone  on  my 
way  and  not  felt  any  vocation  to  renew  inquiries :  but  the 
frown,  the  roughness  of  the  traveller,  set  me  at  my  ease : 
I  retained  my  station  when  lie  waved  to  me  to  go,  and 
announced : — '  I  cannot  think  of  leaving  you,  sir,  at  so  late 
an  hour,  in  this  solitary  lane,  till  I  see  you  are  fit  to  mount 
your  horse/ 

lie  looked  at  me  when  I  said  this :  he  had  hardly  turned 
his  eyes  in  my  direction  before. 

1 1  should  think  you  ought  to  be  at  home  yourself/  said 
he,  '  if  you  have  a  home  in  this  neighbourhood :  where  do 
you  come  from  ?  ' 

1  Prom  just  below ;  and  I  am  not  at  all  afraid  of  being 
out  late  when  it  is  moonlight :  I  will  run  over  to  Hay  for 
you  with  pleasure,  if  you  wish  it ;  indeed,  I  am  going  there 
to  po,-»t  a  letter/ 

*  You  live  just  bolow — do  you  mean  at  that  house  with 
the  battlements  ? '  pointing  to  Thornfield  Hall,  on  which  the 
moon  cast  a  hoary  gleam,  bringing  it  out  distinct  and  pale 
from  the  woods,  that,  by  contrast  with  the  western  sky,  now 
seemed  one  mass  of  shadow. 

1  Yes,  sir/ 

'  Whose  house  is  it  ? ' 

1  Mr.  Eochester's/ 

1  Do  you  know  Mr.  Bochester  ? ' 

4  No,  I  have  never  seen  him/ 

'  He  u  not  resident,  then  ? ' 

'No/ 

I  Can  you  tell  me  where  he  is  ? ' 

I 1  cannot/ 

'You  are  not  a  servant  at  the  hall,  of  course.    You 

are '    He  stopped,  ran  his  eye  over  my  dress,  which,  as 

usual,  was  quite  simple :  a  black  merino  cloak,  a  black 


136  JANE  EYEE 

beaver  bonnet :  neither  of  them  half  fine  enough  for  a  lady's- 
'maid.  He  seemed  puzzled  to  decide  what  I  was :  I  helped 
him. 

'  I  am  the  governess.' 

'Ah,  the  governess  ! '  he  repeated ;  'deuce  take  me,  if  I 
had  not  forgotten  !  The  governess  ! '  and  again  my  raiment 
underwent  scrutiny.  In  two  minutes  he  rose  from  the  stile : 
his  face  expressed  pain  when  he  tried  to  move. 

'  I  cannot  commission  you  to  fetch  help,1  he  said  ;  '  but 
you  may  help  me  a  little  yourself,  if  you  will  be  so  kind.1 

'  Yes,  sir.' 

1  You  have  not  an  umbrella  that  I  can  use  as  a  stick  ? ' 

'No.' 

'  Try  to  get  hold  of  my  horse's  bridle  and  lead  him  to 
me :  you  are  not  afraid ! ' 

I  should  have  been  afraid  to  touch  a  horse  when  alone, 
but  when  told  to  do  it  I  was  disposed  to  obey.  I  put  down 
my  mufT  on  the  stile,  and  went  up  to  the  tall  steed ;  I  en- 
deavoured to  catch  the  bridle,  but  it  was  a  spirited  thing, 
and  would  not  let  me  come  necir  its  head ;  I  made  effort  on 
effort,  though  in  vain  :  meantime,  I  was  mortally  afraid  of  its 
trampling  fore-feet.  The  traveller  waited  and  watched  for 
some  time,  and  at  last  he  laughed. 

'  I  see,'  he  said,  '  the  mountain  will  never  be  brought  to 
Mahomet,  so  all  you  can  do  is  to  aid  Mahomet  to  go  to  the 
mountain  ;  I  must  beg  of  you  to  come  here.' 

I  came.  '  Excuse  me,'  he  continued :  '  necessity  compels 
me  to  make  you  useful.'  He  laid  a  heavy  hand  on  my 
shoulder,  and  leaning  on  me  with  some  stress,  limped  to  his 
horse.  Having  once  caught  the  bridle,  he  mastered  it 
directly,  and  sprang  to  his  saddle ;  grimacing  grimly  as  he 
made  the  effort,  for  it  wrenched  his  sprain.' 

'  Now,'  said  he,  releasing  his  under  lip  from  a  hard  bite, 
'  just  hand  me  my  whip ;  it  lies  there  under  the  hedge.1 

I  sought  it  and  found  it. 

'  Thank  you :  now  make  haste  with  the  letter  to  Hay, 
and  return  as  fast  as  you  can/ 


JANE  EYEE  137 

A  touch  of  a  spurred  heel  made  his  horse  first  start  and 
rear,  and  then  bound  away ;  the  dog  rushed  in  hia  traces : 
all  three  vanished, 

Like  heath  that,  in  the  wilderness, 
The  wild  wind  whirls  away. 

I  took  up  my  muff  and  walked  on.  The  incident  had 
occurred  and  was  gone  for  me  :  it  was  an  incident  of  no 
moment,  no  romance,  no  interest  in  a  sense ;  yet  it  marked 
with  change  one  single  hour  of  a  monotonous  life.  My  help 
had  been  needed  and  claimed ;  T  had  given  it :  I  was  pleased 
to  have  done  something  ;  trivial,  transitory  though  tho  deed 
was,  it  was  yet  an  active  thing,  and  I  was  weary  of  an 
existence  all  passive.  The  new  face,  too,  was  like  a  new 
picture  introduced  to  the  gallery  of  memory ;  and  it  was 
dissimilar  to  all  the  others  hanging  there  :  firstly,  because  it 
was  masculine ;  and,  secondly,  because  it  was  dark,  strong, 
and  stern.  I  had  it  still  before  me  when  I  entered  Hay, 
and  slipped  the  letter  into  the  post-oflice ;  I  saw  it  as  1 
walked  fast  down  hill  all  the  way  home.  When  I  came  to 
the  stile,  I  stopped  a  minute,  looked  round  and  listened,  with 
an  idea  that  a  horse's  hoof  might  ring  on  the  causeway  again, 
and  that  a  rider  in  a  cloak,  and  a  Gytrash-like  Newfoundland 
dog,  might  be  again  apparent :  I  saw  only  the  hedge  and  a 
pollard  willow  before  me,  rising  up  still  and  straight  to  meet 
the  moonbeams;  I  heard  only  the  faintest  waft  of  wind 
roaming  fitful  among  the  trees  round  Thornfield,  a  mile 
distant ;  and  when  I  glanced  down  in  the  direction  of  the 
murmur,  my  eye,  traversing  the  hall-front,  caught  a  light 
kindling  in  a  window  :  it  reminded  me  that  I  was  late,  and 
I  hurried  on. 

I  did  not  like  re-entering  Thornfield.  To  pass  its  thresh- 
old was  to  return  to  stagnation ;  to  cross  the  silent  hall,  to 
ascend  the  darksome  staircase,  to  seek  my  own  lonely  little 
room,  and  then  to  meet  tranquil  Mrs.  Fairfax,  and  spend 
the  long  winter  evening  with  her,  and  her  only,  was  to  quell 
wholly  the  faint  excitement  wakened  by  my  walk, — to  slip 


138  JANE  EYEE 

again  over  my  faculties  the  viewless  fetters  of  an  uniform 
and  too  still  existence ;  of  an  existence  whose  very  privileges 
of  security  and  ease  I  was  becoming  incapable  of  appreciating. 
What  good  it  would  have  done  me  at  that  time  to  have  been 
tossed  in  the  storms  of  an  uncertain  struggling  life,  and  to 
have  been  taught  by  rough  and  bitter  experience  to  long  for 
the  calm  amidst  which  I  now  repined !  Yes,  just  as  much 
good  as  it  would  do  a  man  tired  of  sitting  still  in  a  ( too  easy 
chair '  to  take  a  long  walk ;  and  just  as  natural  was  the  wish 
to  stir,  under  my  circumstances,  as  it  would  be  under  his. 

I  lingered  at  the  gates ;  I  lingered  on  the  lawn ;  I  paced 
backwards  and  forwards  on  the  pavement :  the  shutters  of 
the  glass  door  were  closed ;  I  could  not  see  into  the  interior ; 
and  both  my  eyes  and  spirit  seemed  drawn  from  the  gloomy 
house — from  the  grey  hollow  filled  with  rayless  cells,  as  it 
appeared  to  me — to  that  sky  expanded  before  me, — a  blue 
sea  absolved  from  taint  of  cloud  ;  the  moon  ascending  it  in 
solemn  march ;  her  orb  seeming  to  look  up  as  she  left  the 
hilltops,  from  behind  which  she  had  come,  far  and  farther 
below  her,  and  aspired  to  the  zenith,  midnight-dark  in  its 
fathomless  depth  and  measureless  distance :  and  for  those 
trembling  stars  that  followed  her  course;  they  made  my 
heart  tremble,  my  veins  glow  when  I  viewed  them.  Little 
things  recall  us  to  earth :  the  clock  struck  in  the  hall ;  that 
sufficed ;  I  turned  from  moon  and  stars,  opened  a  side  door, 
and  went  in. 

The  hall  was  not  dark,  nor  yet  was  it  lit,  only  by  the 
high-hung  bronze  lamp :  a  warm  glow  suffused  both  it  and 
the  lower  steps  of  the  oak  staircase.  This  ruddy  shine  issued 
from  the  great  dining-room,  whose  two-leaved  door  stood 
open,  and  showed  a  genial  fire  in  the  grate,  glancing  on 
marble  hearth  and  brass  fireirons,  and  revealing  purple 
draperies  and  polished  furniture,  in  the  most  pleasant  radiance. 
It  revealed,  too,  a  group  near  the  mantelpiece :  I  had  scarcely 
caught  it,  and  scarcely  become  aware  of  a  cheerful  mingling 
of  voices,  amongst  which  I  seemed  to  distinguish  the  tones 
of  Adele,  when  the  door  closed. 


JANE  EYEE  139 

I  hastened  to  Mrs.  Fairfax's  room  :  there  was  a  fire  there 
too,  but  no  candle,  and  no  Mrs.  Fairfax.  Instead,  all  alone, 
sitting  upright  on  the  rug,  and  gazing  with  gravity  at  the 
blaze,  I  beheld  a  great  black  and  white  long-haired  dog,  just 
like  the  Gytrash  of  the  lane.  It  was  so  like  it  that  1  went 
forward  and  said — '  Pilot,'  and  the  thing  got  up  and  came  to 
me  and  snuffed  me.  I  caressed  him,  and  he  wagged  his 
great  tail :  but  he  looked  an  eerie  creature  to  be  alone  with, 
and  I  could  not  tell  whence  he  had  come.  I  rang  the  bell,  for 
I  wanted  a  candle  ;  and  I  wanted,  too,  to  get  an  account  of 
this  visitant.  Leah  entered. 

1  What  dog  is  this  ? ' 

'  He  cjtme  with  master/ 

'  With  whom  ?  ' 

'  With  master — Mr.  Eochester — he  is  just  arrived.' 

c  Indeed !  and  is  Mrs.  Fail  fax  with  him  ? ' 

1  Yes,  and  Miss  Adela  ;  they  are  in  the  dining-room,  and 
John  is  gone  for  a  surgeon :  for  master  has  had  an  accident ; 
his  horse  fell  and  his  ankle  is  sprained.' 

1  Did  the  horse  fall  in  Hay  Lane  ? ' 

'  Yes,  coining  down  hill ;  it  slipped  on  some  ice.' 

'  Ah  !     Bring  me  a  candle,  will  you,  Leah  ?  ' 

Leah  brought  it ;  she  entered,  followed  by  Mrs.  Fairfax, 
who  repeated  the  news ;  adding  that  Mr.  Carter  the  surgeon 
was  come,  and  was  now  with  Mr.  Eochester :  then  she 
hurried  out  to  give  orders  about  tea,  and  I  went  upstairs  to 
take  off  my  things. 


140  JANE  EYEB 


CHAPTEE  XIII 

MK  ROCHESTER,  it  seems,  by  the  surgeon's  orders,  went  to 
bed  early  that  night ;  nor  did  he  rise  soon  next  morning. 
When-he  did  come  down,  it  was  to  attend  to  business  :  his 
agent  and  some  of  his  tenants  were  arrived,  and  waiting  to 
speak  with  him. 

Ad61e  and  I  had  now  to  vacate  the  library :  it  would  be  in 
daily  requisition  as  a  reception-room  for  callers.  A  fire  was 
lit  in  an  apartment  upstairs,  and  there  I  carried  our  books, 
and  arranged  it  for  the  future  schoolroom.  I  discerned  in 
the  course  of  the  morning  that  Thornlield  Hall  was  a 
changed  place  :  no  longer  silent  as  a  church,  it  echoed 
every  hour  or  two  to  a  knock  at  the  door,  or  a  clang  of  the 
bell ;  steps,  too,  often  traversed  the  hall,  and  new  voices 
spoke  in  different  keys  below ;  a  rill  from  the  outer  world 
was  flowing  through  it ;  it  had  a  master :  for  my  part  I 
liked  it  better. 

Adele  was  not  easy  to  teach  that  day ;  she  could  not 
apply :  she  kept  running  to  the  door  and  looking  over  the 
banisters  to  see  if  she  could  get  a  glimpse  of  Mr.  Rochester ; 
then  she  coined  pretexts  to  go  downstairs,  in  order,  as  I 
shrewdly  suspected,  to  visit  the  library,  where  I  knew  she 
was  not  wanted ;  then,  when  I  got  a  little  angry,  and  made 
her  sit  still,  she  continued  to  talk  incessantly  of  her  '  ami, 
Monsieur  Edouard  Fairfax  de  Rochester/  as  she  dubbed  him 
(I  had  not  before  heard  his  prenomens),  and  to  conjecture 
what  presents  he  had  brought  her :  for  it  appears  he  had 
intimated  the  night  before,  that  when  his  luggage  came  from 


JANE  EYEE 

Millcote  there  would  be  found  amongst  it  a  little  box  in 
whose  contents  she  had  an  interest. 

'  Et  cela  doit  signifier,'  said  she,  '  qu'il  y  aura  1&  dedans  un 
cadeau  pour  moi,  et  peutetre  pour  vous  aussi,  mademoiselle. 
Monsieur  a  parld  de  vous :  il  m'a  demand^  le  nom  de  ma 
gouvernante,  et  si  elle  n'6tait  pas  une  petite  personne,  assez 
mince  et  un  peu  pftle.  J'ai  dit  qu'oui :  car  c'est  vrai,  n'est- 
ce  pas,  mademoiselle  ?  ' 

I  and  my  pupil  dined  as  usual  in  Mrs.  Fairfax's  parlour ; 
the  afternoon  was  wild  and  snowy,  and  we  passed  it  in  the 
schoolroom.  At  dark  I  allowed  Adele  to  put  away  books 
and  work,  and  to  run  downstairs ;  for,  from  the  comparative 
silence  below,  and  from  the  cessation  of  appeals  to  the  door- 
bell, I  conjectured  that  Mr.  Rochester  was  now  at  liberty. 
Left  alone,  I  walked  to  the  window  ;  but  nothing  was  to  be 
seen  thence  :  twilight  and  snowflakes  together  thickened  the 
air,  and  hid  the  very  shrubs  on  the  lawn.  I  let  down  the 
curtain  and  went  back  to  the  fireside. 

In  the  clear  embers  I  was  tracing  a  view,  not  unlike  a 
picture  I  remembered  to  have  seen  of  the  castle  of  Heidel- 
berg, on  the  Bhine,  when  Mrs.  Fairfax  came  in,  breaking  up 
by  her  entrance  the  fiery  mosaic  I  had  been  piecing  together, 
and  scattering  too  some  heavy  unwelcome  thoughts  that  were 
beginning  to  throng  on  my  solitude. 

1  Mr.  Eochester  would  be  glad  if  you  and  your  pupil  would 
take  tea  with  him  in  the  drawing-room  this  evening,'  said  she  : 
'  he  has  been  so  much  engaged  all  day  that  he  could  not  a&k 
to  see  you  before.' 

'  When  is  his  tea-time  ?  *  I  inquired. 

'  Oh,  at  six  o'clock :  he  keeps  early  hoyrs  in  the  country. 
You  had  better  change  your  frock  now  ;  I  will  go  with  you 
and  fasten  it.  Here  is  a  candle.' 

'  Is  it  necessary  to  change  my  frock  ?  ' 

'Yes,  you  had  better:  I  always  dress  for  the  evening 
when  Mr.  Eochester  is  here.' 

This  additional  ceremony  seemed  somewhat  stately :  how- 
ever, I  repaired  to  my  room,  and,  with  Mrs.  Fairfax's  aid, 


142  JANE  EYEE 

replaced  ray  black  stuff  dress  by  one  of  black  silk :  the  best 
and  the  only  additional  one  I  had,  except  one  of  light  grey, 
which,  in  my  Lowood  notions  of  the  toilette,  I  thought  too 
fine  to  be  worn,  except  on  first-rate  occasions. 

*  You  want  a  brooch/  said  Mrs.  Fairfax.  I  had  a  single 
little  pearl  ornament  which  Miss  Temple  gave  me  as  a  part- 
ing keepsake  :  I  put  ifc  on,  and  then  we  went  downstairs. 
Unused  as  I  was  to  strangers,  it  was  rather  a  trial  to  appear 
thus  formally  summoned  in  Mr.  Eochester's  presence.  I  let 
Mrs.  Fairfax  precede  me  into  the  dining-room,  and  kept  in 
her  shade  as  we  crossed  that  apartment ;  and,  passing  the 
arch,  whose  curtain  was  now  dropped,  entered  the  elegant 
recess  beyond. 

Two  wax  candles  stood  lighted  on  the  table,  and  two  on 
the  mantelpiece ;  basking  in  the  light  and  heat  of  a  superb 
fire  lay  Pilot — Adele  knelt  near  him.  Half  reclined  on  a 
couch  appeared  Mr.  Eochester,  his  foot  supported  by  the 
cushion ;  he  was  looking  at  Adele  and  the  dog  :  the  fire  shone 
full  on  his  face.  I  knew  my  traveller  with  his  broad  and 
jetty  ejebrows;  his  square  forehead,  made  squarer  by  the 
horizontal  sweep  of  his  black  hair.  I  recognised  his  decisive 
nose,  more  remarkable  for  character  than  beauty ;  his  full 
nostrils,  denoting,  I  thought,  choler;  his  grim  mouth,  chin, 
and  jaw — yes,  all  three  were  very  grim,  and  no  mistake. 
His  shape,  now  divested  of  cloak,  I  perceived  harmonised  in 
squareness  with  his  physiognomy :  I  suppose  it  was  a  good 
figure  in  the  athletic  sense  of  the  term — broad-chested  and 
thin-flanked,  though  neither  tall  nor  graceful. 

Mr.  Eochester  must  have  been  aware  of  the  entrance  of 
Mrs.  Fairfax  and  myself ;  but  it  appeared  he  was  not  in  the 
mood  to  notice  us,  for  he  never  lifted  his  head  as  we 
approached. 

1  Here  is  Miss  Eyre,  sir,'  said  Mrs.  Fairfax,  in  her  quiet 
way.  He  bowed,  still  not  taking  his  eyes  from  the  group  of 
the  dog  and  child. 

( Let  Miss  Eyre  be  seated,'  said  he :  and  there  was  some- 
thing in  the  forced  stiff  bow,  in  the  impatient  yet  formal  tone, 


JANE  EYEE  143 

which  seemed  further  to  express, '  What  the  deuce  is  it  to  me 
whether  Miss  Eyre  be  there  or  not  ?  At  this  moment  I  am 
not  disposed  to  accost  her.' 

I  sat  down  quite  disembarrassed.  A  reception  of  finished 
politeness  would  probably  have  confused  me :  I  could  not 
have  returned  or  repaid  it  by  answering  grace  and  elegance 
on  my  part ;  but  harsh  caprice  laid  me  under  no  obligation ; 
on  the  contrary,  a  decent  quiescence,  under  the  freak  of 
manner,  gave  me  advantage.  Besides,  the  eccentricity  of  the 
proceeding  was  piqiiant :  I  felt  interested  to  see  how  he 
would  go  on. 

He  went  on  as  a  statue  would,  that  is,  he  neither  spoke 
nor  moved.  Mrs.  Fairfax  seemed  to  think  it  necessary  that 
some  one  should  be  amiable,  and  she  began  to  talk.  Kindly, 
as  usual — and,  as  usual,  rather  trite — she  condoled  with  him 
on  the  pressure  of  business  he  had  had  all  day;  on  the 
annoyance  it  must  have  been  to  him  with  that  painful  sprain : 
then  she  commended  his  patience  and  perseverance  in  going 
through  with  it. 

'  Madam,  I  should  like  some  tea/  was  the  sole  rejoinder 
she  got.  She  hastened  to  ring  the  bell ;  and,  when  the  tray 
came,  she  proceeded  to  arrange  the  cups,  spoons,  &c.,  with 
assiduous  celerity.  I  and  A  dele  went  to  the  table  ;  but  the 
master  did  not  leave  his  couch. 

1  Will  you  hand  Mr.  Kochester's  cup  ? '  said  Mrs.  Fairfax 
to  me  ;  '  Ad61e  might  perhaps  spill  it.1 

I  did  as  requested.     As  he  took  the  cup  from  my  hand, 
Ad&le,  thinking  the  moment  propitious  for  making  a  request 
in  my  favour,  cried  out : — '  N'est-ce  pas,  monsieur,  qu'il  y  a 
un  cadeau  pour  Mademoiselle  Eyre,  dans  votre  petit  coffre  ? ' 

'  Who  talks  of  cadeaux  ? '  said  he  gruffly :  '  did  you 
expect  a  present,  Miss  Eyre  ?  Are  you  fond  of  presents  ? ' 
and  he  searched  my  face  with  eyes  that  I  saw  were  dark, 
irate,  and  piercing. 

I 1  hardly  know,  sir ;  I  have  little  experience  of  them : 
they  are  generally  thought  pleasant  things.' 

'  Generally  thought  ?    But  what  do  you  think  ? ' 


144  JANE  EYEE 

'  I  should  be  obliged  to  take  time,  sir,  before  I  could  give 
you  an  answer  worthy  of  your  acceptance :  a  present  has 
many  faces  to  it,  has  it  not  ?  and  one  should  consider  all 
before  pronouncing  an  opinion  as  to  its  nature.' 

( Miss  Eyre,  you  are  not  so  unsophisticated  as  Adele : 
she  demands  a  "  cadeau,"  clamorously,  the  moment  she  sees 
me  :  you  beat  about  the  bush/ 

'Because  I  have  less  confidence  in  my  deserts  than 
Adele  has:  she  can  prefer  the  claim  of  old  acquaintance, 
and  the  right  too  of  custom ;  for  she  says  you  have  always 
been  in  the  habit  of  giving  her  playthings ;  but  if  I  had  to 
make  out  a  case  I  should  be  puzzled,  since  I  am  a  stranger, 
and  have  done  nothing  to  entitle  me  to  an  acknowledg- 
ment/ 

1  Oh,  don't  fall  back  on  over-modesty  !  I  have  examined 
Adele,  and  find  you  have  taken  great  pains  with  her ;  she  is 
not  bright,  she  has  no  talents ;  yet  in  a  short  time  she  has 
made  much  improvement/ 

'  Sir,  you  have  now  given  me  my  "  cadeau " ;  I  am 
obliged  to  you :  it  is  the  meed  teachers  most  covet ;  praise 
of  their  pupil's  progress/ 

1  Humph ! '  said  Mr.  Eochester,  and  he  took  his  tea  in 
silence. 

'Come  to  the  fire/  said  the  master,  when  the  tray  was 
taken  away,  and  Mrs.  Fairfax  had  settled  into  a  corner  with 
her  knitting ;  while  Adele  was  leading  me  by  the  hand  round 
the  room,  showing  me  the  beautiful  books  and  ornaments 
on  the  consoles  and  chiffonni&res.  We  obeyed,  as  in  duty 
bound ;  Adele  wanted  to  take  a  seat  on  my  knee,  but  she 
was  ordered  to  amuse  herself  with  Pilot. 

'  You  have  been  resident  in  my  house  three  months  ? ' 

1  Yes,  sir/ 

'  And  you  came  from ?  * 

'  From  Lowood  school,  in shire/ 

'  Ah  I  a  charitable  concern.— How  long  were  you  there?' 

1  Eight  years/ 

1  Eight  years !  you  must  be  tenacious  of  life.    I  thought 


JANE  EYEE  145 

half  the  time  in  such  a  place  would  have  done  up  any  con- 
stitution !  No  wonder  you  have  rather  the  look  of  another 
world.  I  marvelled  where  you  had  got  that  sort  of  face. 
When  you  came  on  me  in  Hay  Lane  last  night,  I  thought 
unaccountably  of  fairy  tales,  and  had  half  a  mind  to  demand 
whether  you  had  bewitched  my  horse  :  I  am  not  sure  yet. 
Who  are  your  parents  ? ' 

' 1  have  none.' 

'  Nor  ever  had,  I  suppose  :  do  you  remember  them  ? f 

'No.' 

'I  thought  not.  And  so  you  were  waiting  for  your 
people  when  you  sat  on  that  stile  ?  ' 

'For  whom,  sir?' 

'  For  the  men  in  green :  it  was  a  proper  moonlight 
evening  for  them.  Did  1  break  through  one  of  your  rings, 
that  you  spread  that  damned  ice  on  the  causeway  ? ' 

I  shook  my  head.  '  The  men  in  green  all  forsook 
England  a  hundred  years  ago,'  said  I,  speaking  as  seriously 
as  he  had  done.  '  And  not  even  in  Hay  Lane,,  or  the  fields 
about  it,  could  you  find  a  trace  of  them.  I  don't  think 
either  summer  or  harvest,  or  winter  moon,  will  ever  shine 
on  their  revels  more.' 

Mrs.  Fairfax  had  dropped  her  knitting,  and,  with  raised 
eyebrows,  seemed  wondering  what  sort  of  talk  this  was. 

1  Well,'  resumed  Mr.  Eochester,  '  if  you  disown  parents 
you  must  have  some  sort  of  kinsfolk :  uncles  and  aunts  ? ' 

'  No ;  none  that  I  ever  saw.' 

'  And  your  home  ? ' 

'  I  have  none.' 

'  Where  do  your  brothers  and  sisters  live  ?  * 

'  I  have  no  brothers  or  sisters/ 

'  Who  recommended  you  to  come  here  ? ' 

'  I  advertised,  and  Mrs.  Fairfax  answered  my  advertise- 
ment.' 

*  Yes,'  said  the  good  lady,  who  now  knew  what  ground 
we  were  upon,  'and  I  am  daily  thankful  for  the  choice 
Providence  led  me  to  make.  Miss  Eyre  has  been  an 


146  JANE  EYEE 

invaluable  companion  to  me,  and  a  kind  and  careful  teacher 
to  Ad&le.' 

1  Don't  trouble  yourself  to  give  her  a  character/  returned 
Mr.  Eochester :  '  eulogiums  will  not  bias  me ;  I  shall  judge 
for  myself.  She  began  by  felling  my  horse/ 

1  Sir?'  said  Mrs.  Fairfax. 

'  I  have  to  thank  her  for  this  sprain/ 

The  widow  looked  bewildered. 

1  Miss  Eyre,  have  you  ever  lived  in  a  town  ?' 

1  No,  sir/ 

1  Have  you  seen  much  society  ? ' 

1  None  but  the  pupils  and  teachers  of  Lowood ;  and  now 
the  inmates  of  Thornfield/ 

'  Have  you  read  much  ? ' 

'  Only  such  books  as  came  in  my  way  ;  and  they  have  not 
been  numerous  or  very  learned/ 

'  You  have  lived  the  life  of  a  nun :  no  doubt  you  are  well 
drilled  in  religious  forms ; — Brocklehurst,  who  I  understand 
directs  Lowood,  is  a  parson,  is  he  not  ? ' 

'  Yes,  sir/ 

'  And  you  girls  probably  worshipped  him,  as  a  convent 
full  of  religieuses  would  worship  their  director  ?  ' 

1  Oh,  no/ 

I  You  are  very  cool !     No  !     What !     A  novice  not  wor- 
ship her  priest !     That  sounds  blasphemous/ 

I 1  disliked  Mr.  Brocklehurst ;  and  I  was  not  alone  in  the 
feeling.   He  is  a  harsh  man  ;  at  once  pompous  and  meddling : 
he  cut  off  our  hair ;  and  for  economy's  sake  bought  us  bad 
needles  and  thread,  with  which  we  could  hardly  sew/ 

'  That  was  very  false  economy/  remarked  Mrs.  Fairfax, 
who  now  again  caught  the  drift  of  the  dialogue. 

1  And  was  that  the  head  and  front  of  his  offending  ? ' 
demanded  Mr.  Eochester. 

'He  starved  us  when  he  had  the  sole  superintendence 
of  the  provision  department,  before  the  committee  was 
appointed  ;  and  he  bored  us  with  long  lectures  once  a  week, 
and  with  evening  readings  from  books  of  his  own  inditing, 


JANE  EYEE  147 

about  sudden  deaths  and  judgments,  which  made  us  afraid 
to  go  to  bed/ 

'  What  age  were  you  when  you  went  to  Lowood? ' 

1  About  ten/ 

'  And  you  stayed  there  eight  years :  you  are  now,  then, 
eighteen  ? ' 

I  assented. 

*  Arithmetic,  you  see,  is  useful ;  without  its  aid  I  should 
hardly  have  been  able  to  guess  your  age.  It  is  a  point  diffi- 
cult to  fix  where  the  features  and  countenance  are  so  much 
at  variance  as  in  your  case.  And  now,  what  did  you  learn  at 
Lowood  ?  Can  you  play  ? ' 

'A  little/ 

'  Of  course  :  that  is  the  established  answer.  Go  into  the 
library — I  mean,  if  you  please.  (Excuse  my  tone  of 
command ;  I  am  used  to  say  "  Do  this,"  and  it  is  done  :  I 
cannot  alter  my  customary  habits  for  one  new  inmate.) 
Go,  then,  into  the  library  ;  take  a  candle  with  you  ;  leave  the 
door  open ;  sit  down  to  the  piano,  and  play  a  tune/ 

I  departed,  obeying  his  directions. 

'  Enough  ! '  he  called  out  in  a  few  minutes.  '  You  play 
a  little,  I  see,  like  any  other  English  schoolgirl :  perhaps 
rather  better  than  some,  but  not  well/ 

I  closed  the  piano  and  returned.  Mr.  Eochester  con- 
tinued : 

1  Ad61e  showed  me  some  sketches  this  moit  f'jig  which  she 
said  were  yours.  I  don't  know  whether  theynfepere  entirely 
of  your  doing :  probably  a  master  aided  you  ? ' 

1  No,  indeed  !  *  I  interjected. 

'  Ah !  that  pricks  pride.  Well,  fetch  me  your  portfolio, 
if  you  can  vouch  for  its  contents  being  original ;  but  don't 
pass  your  word  unless  you  are  certain :  I  can  recognise 
patchwork/ 

'  Then  I  will  say  nothing,  and  you  shall  judge  for  your- 
self, sir/ 

I  brought  the  portfolio  from  the  library. 

'  Approach  the  table/  said  he ;  and  I  wheeled  it  to  his 


148  JANE  EYEB 

couch.      Adele  and  Mrs.  Fairfax  drew  near  to  see  the 
pictures. 

'  No  crowding/  said  Mr.  Rochester :  '  take  the  drawings 
from  my  hand  as  I  finish  with  them ;  but  don't  push  your 
faces  up  to  mine.1 

He  deliberately  scrutinised  each  sketch  and  painting. 
Three  he  laid  aside ;  the  others,  when  he  had  examined  them, 
he  swept  from  him. 

1  Take  them  off  to  the  other  table,  Mrs.  Fairfax,'  said  he, 
*and  look  at  them  with  Adele; — you*  (glancing  at  me) 
4  resume  your  seat,  and  answer  my  questions.  I  perceive 
these  pictures  were  done  by  one  hand:  was  that  hand 
yours  ? ' 
'  Yes.1 

1  And  when  did  you  find  time  to  do  them  ?  They  have 
taken  much  time,  and  some  thought/ 

'  I  did  them  in  the  last  two  vacations  I  spent  at  Lowood, 
when  I  had  no  other  occupation/ 
'  Where  did  you  get  your  copies  ? ' 
'  Out  of  my  head/ 

'  That  head  I  see  now  on  your  shoulders  ? ' 
'  Yes,  sir/  * 

4  Has  it  other  furniture  of  the  same  kind  within  ? ' 
'  I  should  think  it  may  have :  I  should  hope— better/ 
He  spread  the  pictures  before  him,  and  again  surveyed 
them  alternately. 

While  h<10  so  occupied  I  will  tell  you,  reader,  what  they 
are :  and  first,  I  must  premise  that  they  are  nothing  wonder- 
ful. The  subjects  had,  indeed,  risen  vividly  on  my  mind. 
As  I  saw  them  with  the  spiritual  eye,  before  I  attempted  to 
embody  them,  they  were  striking ;  but  my  hand  would  not 
second  my  fancy,  and  in  each  case  it  had  wrought  out  but  a 
pale  portrait  of  the  thing  I  had  conceived. 

These  pictures  were  in  water-colours.  The  first  repre- 
sented clouds  low  and  livid,  rolling  over  a  swollen  sea  :  all 
the  distance  was  in  eclipse ;  so,  too,  was  the  foreground ; 
or,  rather,  the  nearest  billows,  for  there  was  no  land.  One 


JANE  EYEE  149 

gleam  of  light  lifted  into  relief  a  half-submerged  mast,  on 
which  sat  a  cormorant,  dark  and  large,  with  wings  flecked 
with  foam  :  its  beak  held  a  gold  bracelet,  set  with  gems,  that 
I  had  touched  with  as  brilliant  tints  as  my  palette  could 
yield,  and  as  glittering  distinctness  as  my  pencil  could  im- 
part. Sinking  below  the  bird  and  mast,  a  drowned  corpse 
glanced  through  the  green  water ;  a  fair  arm  was  the  only 
limb  clearly  visible,  whence  the  bracelet  had  been  washed 
or  torn. 

The  second  picture  contained  for  foreground  only  the  dim 
peak  of  a  hill,  with  grass  and  some  leaves  slanting  as  if  by 
a  breeze.  Beyond  and  above  spread  an  expanse  of  sky, 
dark  blue  *is  at  twilight :  rising  into  the  sky  was  a  woman's 
shape  to  the  bust,  portrayed  in  tints  as  dusk  and  soft  as  I 
could  combine.  The  dim  forehead  was  crowned  with  a  star ; 
the  lineaments  below  were  seen  as  through  the  suffusion  of 
vapour ;  the  eyes  shone  dark  and  wild ;  the  hair  streamed 
shadowy,  like  a  beamless  cloud  torn  by  storm  or  by  electric 
travail.  On  the  neck  lay  a  pale  reflection  like  moonlight ; 
the  same  faint  lustre  touched  the  train  of  thin  clouds 
from  which  rose  and  bowed  this  vision  of  the  Evening 
Star. 

The  third  showed  the  pinnacle  of  an  iceberg  piercing  a 
polar  winter  sky :  a  muster  of  northern  lights  reared  their 
dim  lances,  close  serried,  along  the  horizon.  Throwing  these 
into  distance,  rose,  in  the  foreground,  a  head, — a  colossal 
head,  inclined  towards  the  iceberg,  and  resting  against  it. 
Two  thin  hands,  joined  under  the  forehead,  and  supporting 
it,  drew  up  before  the  lower  features  a  sable  veil ;  a  brow 
quite  bloodless,  white  as  bone,  and  an  eye  hollow  and  fixed, 
blank  of  meaning  but  for  the  glassiness  of  despair,  alone 
were  visible.  Above  the  temples,  amidst  wreathed  turban 
folds  of  black  drapery,  vague  in  its  character  and  consistency 
as  cloud,  gleamed  a  ring  of  white  flame,  gemmed  with 
sparkles  of  a  more  lurid  tinge.  This  pale  crescent  was  '  The 
likeness  of  a  Kingly  Crown ' ;  what  it  diademed  was  '  the 
shape  which  shape  had  none/ 


150  JANE  EYEE 

'  Were  you  happy  when  you  painted  these  pictures  ? ' 
asked  Mr.  Eochester,  presently. 

'  I  was  absorbed,  sir :  yes,  and  I  was  happy.  To  paint 
them,  in  short,  was  to  enjoy  one  of  the  keenest  pleasures  I 
have  ever  known.' 

1  That  is  not  saying  much.  Your  pleasures,  by  your  own 
account,  have  been  few ;  but  I  daresay  you  did  exist  hi  a 
kind  of  artist's  dreamland  while  you  blent  and  arranged 
these  strange  tints.  Did  you  sit  at  them  long  each  day?  ' 

'  I  had  nothing  else  to  do,  because  it  was  the  vacation, 
and  I  sat  at  them  from  morning  till  noon,  and  from  noon 
till  night :  the  length  of  the  midsummer  days  favoured 
my  inclination  to  apply.7 

1  And  you  felt  self-satisfied  with  the  result  of  your  ardent 
labours  ? ' 

1  Far  from  it.  I  was  tormented  by  the  contrast  between 
my  idea  and  my  handiwork :  in  each  case  I  had  imagined 
something  which  I  was  quite  powerless  to  realise.1 

'  Not  quite :  you  have  secured  the  shadow  of  your 
thought :  but  no  more,  probably.  You  had  not  enough  of 
the  artist's  skill  and  science  to  give  it  full  being :  yet  the 
drawings  are,  for  a  schoolgirl,  peculiar.  As  to  the  thoughts, 
they  are  elfish.  These  eyes  in  the  Evening  Star  you  must 
have  seen  in  a  dream.  How  could  you  make  them  look  so 
clear,  and  yet  not  at  all  brilliant  ?  for  the  planet  above  quells 
their  rays.  And  what  meaning  is  that  in  their  solemn 
depth  ?  And  who  taught  you  to  paint  wind  ?  There  is  a 
high  gale  in  that  sky,  and  on  this  hilltop.  Where  did  you 
see  Latmos  ?  For  that  is  Latmos.  There, — put  the  drawings 
away ! ' 

I  had  scarce  tied  the  strings  of  the  portfolio,  when, 
looking  at  his  watch,  he  said  abruptly, — '  It  is  nine  o'clock : 
what  are  you  about,  Miss  Eyre,  to  let  Adele  sit  up  so  long  ? 
Take  her  to  bed.' 

Adele  went  to  kiss  him  before  quitting  the  room :  he 
endured  the  caress,  but  scarcely  seemed  to-  relish  it  more 
than  Pilot  would  have  done,  nor  so  much. 


JANE  EYBE  161 

1 1  wish  you  all  good-night,  now/  said  he,  making  a 
movement  of  the  hand  towards  the  door,  in  token  that  he 
was  tired  of  our  company,  and  wished  to  dismiss  us.  Mrs. 
Fairfax  folded  up  her  knitting:  I  took  my  portfolio:  we 
curtseyed  to  him,  received  a  frigid  bow  in  return,  and  so 
withdrew. 

'  You  said  Mr.  Eochester  was  not  strikingly  peculiar,  Mrs. 
Fairfax/  I  observed,  when  I  rejoined  her  in  her  room,  after 
putting  Ad&Le  to  bed. 

'Well,  is  he?' 

' 1  think  so :  he  is  very  changeful  and  abrupt.' 

'  True :  no  doubt  he  may  appear  so  to  a  stranger,  but  I 
am  so  accustomed  to  his  manner  I  never  think  of  it ;  and 
then,  if  he  has  peculiarities  of  temper,  allowance  should  be 
made.' 

'Why?' 

'  Partly  because  it  is  his  nature — and  we  can  none  of  us 
help  our  nature ;  and,  partly,  he  has  painful  thoughts,  no 
doubt,  to  harass  him,  and  make  his  spirits  unequal.' 

'What  about?' 

'  Family  troubles,  for  one  thing.' 

'  But  he  has  no  family.' 

'  Not  now,  but  he  has  had — or,  at  least,  relatives.  He 
lost  his  elder  brother  a  few  years  since.' 

'  His  elder  brother?' 

'  Yes.  The  present  Mr.  Eochester  has  not  been  very  long 
in  possession  of  the  property ;  only  about  nine  years.' 

'  Nine  years  is  a  tolerable  time.  Was  he  so  very  fond  of 
his  brother  as  to  be  still  inconsolable  for  his  loss  ?  ' 

'  Why,  no — perhaps  not.  I  believe  there  were  some  mis- 
understandings between  them.  Mr.  Eowland  Eochester  was 
not  quite  just  to  Mr.  Edward ;  and,  perhaps,  he  prejudiced 
his  father  against  him.  The  old  gentleman  was  fond  of 
money,  and  anxious  to  keep  the  family  estate  together.  He 
did  not  like  to  diminish  the  property  by  division,  and  yet  he 
was  anxious  that  Mr.  Edward  should  have  wealth  too,  to 
keep  up  the  consequence  of  the  name ;  and,  soon  after  he 

a 


152  JANE  EYBB 

was  of  age,  some  steps  were  taken  that  were  not  quite  fair, 
and  made  a  great  deal  of  mischief.  Old  Mr.  Eochester  and 
Mr.  Eowland  combined  to  bring  Mr.  Edward  into  what  he 
considered  a  painful  position,  for  the  sake  of  making  his 
fortune :  what  the  precise  nature  of  that  position  was  I 
never. clearly  knew,  but  his  spirit  could  not  brook  what  he 
had  to  suffer  in  it.  He  is  not  very  forgiving :  he  broke  with 
his  family,  and  now  for  many  years  he  has  led  an  unsettled 
kind  of  life.  I  don't  think  he  has  ever  been  resident  at 
Thornfield  for  a  fortnight  together  since  the  death  of  his 
brother  without  a  will  left  him  master  of  the  estate ;  and, 
indeed,  no  wonder  he  shuns  the  old  place.1 

'  Why  should  he  shun  it  ? ' 
Perhaps  he  thinks  it  gloomy.' 

The  answer  was  evasive — I  should  have  liked  something 
clearer ;  but  Mrs.  Fairfax  either  could  not,  or  would  not,  give 
me  more  explicit  information  of  the  origin  and  nature  of  Mr. 
Bochester's  trials.  She  averred  they  were  a  mystery  to 
herself,  and  that  what  she  knew  was  chiefly  from  conjecture. 
It  was  evident,  indeed,  that  she  wished  me  to  drop  the  subject, 
which  I  did  accordingly. 


JANE  EYES  153 


CHAPTEE  XIV 

FOB  several  subsequent  days  I  saw  little  of  Mr.  Eochester. 
In  the  mornings  he  seemed  much  engaged  with  business, 
and  in  the  afternoon  gentlemen  from-  Millcote  or  the  neigh- 
bourhood called,  and  sometimes  stayed  to  dine  with  him. 
When  his  sprain  was  well  enough  to  admit  of  horse  exercise, 
he  rode  out  a  good  deal ;  probably  to  return  these  visits,  as 
he  generally  did  not  come  back  till  late  at  night. 

During  this  interval  even  Adele  was  seldom  sent  for  to 
his  presence,  and  all  my  acquaintance  with  him  was  confined 
to  an  occasional  rencontre  in  the  hall,  on  the  stairs,  or  in  the 
gallery,  when  he  would  sometimes  pass  me  haughtily  and 
coldly,  just  acknowledging  my  presence  by  a  distant  nod  or 
a  cool  glance,  and  sometimes  bow  and  smile  with  gentleman- 
like affability.  His  changes  of  mood  did  not  offend  me, 
because  I  saw  that  I  had  nothing  to  do  with  their  alternation ; 
the  ebb  and  flow  depended  on  causes  quite  disconnected 
with  me. 

One  day  he  had  had  company  to  dinner,  and  had  sent 
for  my  portfolio  ;  in  order,  doubtless,  to  exhibit  its  contents. 
The  gentlemen  went  away  early,  to  attend  a  public  meeting 
at  Millcote,  as  Mrs.  Fairfax  informed  me ;  but  the  night 
being  wet  and  inclement,  Mr.  Eochester  did  not  accompany 
them.  Soon  after  they  were  gone,  he  rang  the  bell:  a 
message  came  that  I  and  Adele  were  to  go  downstairs.  I 
brushed  Ad&le's  hair  and  made  her  neat,  and  having  ascer- 
tained that  I  was  myself  in  my  usual  Quaker  trim,  where 
there  was  nothing  to  retouch — all  being  too  close  and  plain, 
braided  locks  included,  to  admit  of  disarrangement — we 
descended,  Adele  wondering  whether  the  petit  coffre  was  at 


154  JANE  EYBB 

length  come;  for,  owing  to  some  mistake,  its  arrival  had 
hitherto  been  delayed.  She  was  gratified  :  there  it  stood,  a 
little  carton,  on  the  table  when  we  entered  the  dining-room. 
She  appeared  to  know  it  by  instinct. 

1  Ma  botte  !  ma  boite ! '  exclaimed  she,  running  towards  it. 

1  Yes — there  is  your  "  botte  "  at  last :  take  it  into  a 
corner,  you  genuine  daughter  of  Paris,  and  amuse  yourself 
with  disembowelling  it,'  said  the  deep  and  rather  sarcastic 
voice  of  Mr.  Eochester,  proceeding  from  the  depths  of  an 
immense  easy-chair  at  the  fireside.  'And  mind/  he  con- 
tinued, '  don't  bother  me  with  any  details  of  the  anatomical 
process,  or  any  notice  of  the  condition  of  the  entrails :  let 
your  operation  be  conducted  in  silence :  tiens-toi  tranquille, 
enfant;  comprends-tu ? ' 

Ad&le  seemed  scarcely  to  need  the  warning ;  she  had 
already  retired  to  a  sofa  with  her  treasure,  and  was  busy 
untying  the  cord  which  secured  the  lid.  Having  removed 
this  impediment,  and  lifted  certain  silvery  envelopes  of  tissue- 
paper,  she  merely  exclaimed : — '  Oh  ciel  I  Quo  c'est  beau  1 ' 
and  then  remained  absorbed  in  ecstatic  contemplation. 

1  Is  Miss  Eyre  there  ? '  now  demanded  the  master,  half 
rising  from  his  seat  to  look  round  to  the  door,  near  which  I 
still  stood. 

1  Ah  !  well ;  come  forward :  be  seated  here.'  He  drew  a 
chair  near  his  own.  'I  am  not  fond  of  the  prattle  of 
children,'  he  continued  ;  '  for,  old  bachelor  as  I  am,  I  have 
no  pleasant  associations  connected  with  their  lisp.  It  would 
be  intolerable  to  me  to  pass  a  whole  evening  Mte-d-tAte  with 
a  brat.  Don't  draw  that  chair  further  off,  Miss  Eyre ;  sit 
down  exactly  where  I  placed  it — if  you  please,  that  is. 
Confound  these  civilities !  I  continually  forget  them.  Nor 
do  I  particularly  affect  simple-minded  old  ladies.  By-the-bye, 
I  must  have  mine  in  mind ;  it  won't  do  to  neglect  her ;  she 
is  a  Fairfax,  or  wed  to  one ;  and  blood  is  said  to  be  thicker 
than  water.' 

He  rang  a,nd  despatched  an  invitation  to  Mrs.  Fairfax,  who 
soon  arrived,  knitting-basket  in  hand. 


JANE  EYEE  155 

1  Good-evening,  madam ;  I  sent  to  you  for  a  charitable 
purpose :  I  have  forbidden  Ad&le  to  talk  to  me  about  her 
presents,  and  she  is  bursting  with  repletion  ;  have  the  good- 
ness to  serve  her  as  auditress  and  interlocutrice :  it  will  be 
one  of  the  most  benevolent  acts  you  ever  performed/ 

Ad61e,  indeed,  no  sooner  saw  Mrs.  Fairfax  than  she 
summoned  her  to  the  sofa,  and  there  quickly  filled  her  lap 
with  the  porcelain,  the  ivory,  the  waxen  contents  of  her 
1  boite ' ;  pouring  out,  meantime,  explanations  and  raptures 
in  such  broken  English  as  she  was  mistress  of. 

'  Now  I  have  performed  the  part  of  a  good  host,'  pursued 
Mr.  Bochester,  'put  my  guests  into  the  way  of  amusing 
each  other,  I  ought  to  be  at  liberty  to  attend  to  my  own 
pleasure.  Miss  Eyre,  draw  your  chair  still  a  little  further 
forward :  you  are  yet  too  far  back ;  I  cannot  see  you  without 
disturbing  my  position  in  this  comfortable  chair,  which  I 
have  no  mind  to  do/ 

I  did  as  I  was  bid,  though  I  would  much  rather  have 
remained  somewhat  in  the  shade :  but  Mr.  Eochester  had 
such  a  direct  way  of  giving  orders,  it  seemed  a  matter  of 
course  to  obey  him  promptly. 

We  were,  as  I  have  said,  in  the  dining-room  :  the  lustre, 
which  had  been  lit  for  dinner,  filled  the  room  with  a  festal 
breadth  of  light ;  the  large  fire  was  all  red  and  clear ;  the 
purple  curtains  hung  rich  and  ample  before  the  lofty  window 
and  loftier  arch ;  everything  was  still,  save  the  subdued 
chat  of  Ad61e  (she  dared  not  speak  loud),  and,  filling  up 
each  pause,  the  beating  of  winter  rain  against  the  panes. 

Mr.  Eochester,  as  he  sat  in  his  damask-covered  chair, 
looked  different  to  what  I  had  seen  him  look  before ;  not 
quite  so  stern — much  less  gloomy.  There  was  a  smile  on 
his  lips,  and  his  eyes  sparkled,  whether  with  wine  or  not  I 
am  not  sure ;  but  I  think  it  very  probable.  He  was,  in 
short,  in  his  after-dinner  mood ;  more  expanded  and  genial, 
and  also  more  self-indulgent  than  the  frigid  and  rigid 
temper  of  the  morning :  still  he  looked  preciously  grim, 
cushioning  his  massive  head  against  the  swelling  back  of 


156  JANE  EYEE 

his  chair,  and  receiving  the  light  of  the  fire  on  his  granite- 
hewn  features,  and  in  his  great,  dark  eyes ;  for  he  had  great, 
dark  eyes,  and  very  fine  eyes  too — not  without  a  certain 
change  in  their  depths  sometimes,  which,  if  it  was  not  soft- 
ness, reminded  you,  at  least,  of  that  feeling. 

Ho  had  been  looking  two  minutes  at  the  fire,  and  I 
had  been  looking  the  same  length  of  time  at  him,  when 
turning  suddenly,  he  caught  my  gaze  fastened  on  his 
physiognomy. 

' You  examine  me,  Miss  Eyre,'  said  he :  'do  you  think 
me  handsome  ? ' 

J  should,  if  I  had  deliberated,  have  replied  to  this 
question  by  something  conventionally  vague  arid  polite ;  but 
the  answer  somehow  slipped  from  my  .tongue  before  I  was 
aware  . — 'No,  sir.' 

1  Ah  !  By  my  word  !  there  is  something  singular  about 
you,'  said  he  :  '  you  have  the  air  of  a  little  nonnette  ;  quaint, 
quiet,  grave,  and  simple,  as  you  sit  with  your  hands  before 
you,  and  your  eyes  generally  bent  on  the  carpet  (except,  by- 
the-bye,  when  they  are  directed  piercingly  to  my  face ;  as 
just  now,  ior  instance) ;  and  when  one  asks  you  a  question, 
or  makes  a  remark  to  which  you  are  obliged  to  reply,  you 
rap  out  a  round  rejoinder,  which,  if  not  blunt,  is  at  least 
brusque.  What  do  you  mean  by  it  ? ' 

1  Sir,  I  was  too  plain :  I  beg  your  pardon.  I  ought  to 
have  replied  that  it  was  not  easy  to  give  an  impromptu 
answer  to  a  question  about  appearances ;  that  tastes  differ ; 
that  beauty  is  of  little  consequence,  or  something  of  that 
sort.' 

1  You  ought  to  have  replied  no  such  thing.  Beauty  of 
little  consequence,  indeed  1  And  so,  under  pretence  of 
softening  the  previous  outrage,  of  stroking  and  soothing  me 
into  placidity,  you  stick  a  sly  penknife  under  my  ear !  Go 
on :  what  fault  do  you  find  with  me,  pray  ?  I  suppose  I 
have  all  my  limbs  and  all  my  features  like  any  other  man  ? ' 

1  Mr.  Eochester,  allow  me  to  disown  my  first  answer.  I 
intended  no  pointed  repartee :  it  was  only  a  blunder.1 


JANE  EYEE  157 

1  Just  so :  I  think  so :  and  you  shall  bo  answerable  for 
it.  Criticise  me :  does  my  forehead  not  please  you  ? ' 

He  lifted  up  the  sable  waves  of  hair  which  lay  horizont- 
ally over  his  brow,  and  showed  a  solid  enough  mass  of 
intellectual  organs,  but  an  abrupt  deficiency  where  the  suave 
sign  of  benevolence  should  have  risen. 

1  Now,  ma'am,  am  I  a  fool  ? ' 

'  Far  from  it,  sir.  You  would,  perhaps,  think  me  rude  if 
I  inquired  in  return  whether  you  are  a  philanthropist  ? ' 

'  There  again  !  Another  stick  of  the  penknife,  when  she 
pretended  to  pat  my  head :  and  that  is  because  I  said  I  did 
not  like  the  society  of  children  and  old  women  (low  be  it 
spoken !).  No,  young  lady,  I  am  not  a  general  philan- 
thropist; but  I  bear  a  conscience;'  and  he  pointed  to  the 
prominences  which  are  said  to  indicate  that  faculty,  and 
which,  fortunately  for  him,  were  sufficiently  conspicuous; 
giving,  indeed,  a  marked  breadth  to  the  upper  part  of  his 
head :  '  and,  besides,  I  once  had  a  kind  of  rude  tenderness 
of  heart.  When  I  was  as  old  as  you  I  was  a  feeling  fellow 
enough ;  partial  to  the  unfledged,  unfostered,  and  unlucky ; 
but  fortune  has  knocked  me  about  since  :  she  has  even 
kneaded  me  with  her  knuckles,  and  now  I  flatter  myself  I 
am  hard  and  tough  as  an  India-rubber  ball;  pervious, 
though,  through  a  chink  or  two  still,  and  with  one  sentient 
point  in  the  middle  of  the  lump.  Yes :  does  that  leave  hope 
forme?1 

'  Hope  of  what,  sir  ? ' 

'  Of  my  final  re-transformation  from  India-rubber  back 
to  flesh  ? ' 

1  Decidedly  he  has  had  too  much  wine,'  I  thought ;  and  I 
did  not  know  what  answer  to  snake  to  his  queer  question  :  how 
could  I  tell  whether  he  was  capable  of  being  re- transformed? 
'  You  look  very  much  puzzled,  Miss  Byre  ;  and  though  you 
are  not  pretty  any  more  than  I  am  handsome,  yet  a  puzzled  air 
becomes  you;  besides,  it  is  convenient,  for  it  keeps  those 
searching  eyes  of  yours  away  from  my  physiognomy,  and 
busies  them  with  the  worsted  flowers  of  the  rug ;  so  puzzle 


158  JANE  EYBE 

on.  Young  lady,  I  am  disposed  to  be  gregarious  and  com- 
municative to-night.' 

With  this  announcement  he  rose  from  his  chair,  and 
stood,  leaning  his  arm  on  the  marble  mantelpiece :  in  that 
attitude  his  shape  was  seen  plainly  as  well  as  his  face  ;  his 
unusual  breadth  of  chest,  disproportionate  almost  to  his 
length  of  limb.  I  am  sure  most  people  would  have  thought 
him  an  ugly  man ;  yet  there  was  so  much  unconscious  pride 
in  his  port ;  so  much  ease  in  his  demeanour ;  such  a  look  of 
complete  indifference  to -his  own  external  appearance;  so 
haughty  a  reliance  on  the  power  of  other  qualities,  intrinsic 
or  adventitious,  to  atone  for  the  lack  of  mere  personal  attrac- 
tiveness, that,  in  looking  at  him,  one  inevitably  shared  the 
indifference,  and,  even  in  a  blind,  imperfect  sense,  put  faith 
in  the  confidence. 

'  I  am  disposed  to  be  gregarious  and  communicative  to- 
night/ he  repeated ;  '  and  that  is  why  I  sent  for  you :  the  fire 
and  the  chandelier  were  not  sufficient  company  for  me ;  nor 
would  Pilot  have  been,  for  none  of  these  can  talk.  Ad&le  is  a 
degree  bettor,  but  still  far  below  the  mark ;  Mrs.  Fairfax 
ditto ;  you,  I  am  persuaded,  can  suit  me  if  you  will :  you 
puzzled  me  the  first  evening  I  invited  you  down  here.  I 
have  almost  forgotten  you  since :  other  ideas  have  driven 
yours  from  my  head ;  but  to-night  I  am  resolved  to  be  at 
ease ;  to  dismiss  what  importunes,  and  recall  what  pleases. 
It  would  please  me  now  to  draw  you  out — to  learn  more  of 
you — therefore  speak/ 

Instead  of  speaking,  I  smiled ;  and  not  a  very  complacent 
or  submissive  smile  either. 

1  Speak/  he  urged. 

1  What  about,  sir  ? ' 

1  Whatever  you  like.  I  leave  both  the  choice  of  subject 
and  the  manner  of  treating  it  entirely  to  yourself.' 

Accordingly  I  sat  and  said  nothing :  '  If  he  expects  me  to 
talk  for  the  mere  sake  of  talking  and  showing  off,  he  will 
find  he  has  addressed  himself  to  the  wrong  person/  I 
thought. 


JANE  EYBE  159 

'  You  are  dumb,  Miss  Eyre.' 

I  was  dumb  still.  He  bent  his  head  a  little  towards  me, 
and  with  a  single  hasty  glance  seemed  to  dive  into  my  eyes. 

I  Stubborn  ? '  he  said, '  and  annoyed.  Ah,  it  is  consistent.  I 
put  my  request  in  an  absurd,  almost  insolent  form.  Miss  Eyre, 
I  beg  your  pardon.     The  fact  is,  once  for  all,  I  don't  wish  to 
treat  you  like  an  inferior  :  that  is  (correcting  himself),  I  claim 
only  such  superiority  as  must  result   from  twenty  years' 
difference  in   age  and  a  century's  advance  in  experience. 
This  is  legitimate,  et  ]'y  tiens,  as  A  dele  would  say  ;  and  it  is 
by  virtue  of  this  superiority  and  this  alone  that  I  desire 
you  to  have  the  goodness  to  talk  to  me  a  little  now,  and 
divert  my  thoughts,  which  are  galled  with  dwelling  on  one 
point — cankering  as  a  rusty  nail.' 

He  had  deigned  an  explanation ;  almost  an  apology :  I 
did  not  feel  insensible  to  his  condescension,  and  would  not 
seem  so. 

I 1  am  willing  to  amuse  you  if  I  can,  sir :  quite  willing ; 
but  I  cannot  introduce  a  topic,  because  how  do  I  know  what 
will  interest  you  ?    Ask  me  questions,  and  I  will  do  my  best 
to  answer  them/ 

'  Then,  in  the  first  place,  do  you  agree  with  me  that  I 
have  a  right  to  be  a  little  masterful,  abrupt ;  perhaps  ex- 
acting, sometimes,  on  the  grounds  I  stated ;  namely,  that  I 
am  old  enough  to  be  your  father,  and  that  I  have  battled 
through  a  vaiied  experience  with  many  men  of  many  nations, 
and  roamed  over  half  the  globe,  while  you  have  lived  quietly' 
with  one  set  of  people  in  one  house  ?  ' 

'  Do  as  you  please,  sir.1 

'That  is  no  answer;  or  rather  it  is  a  very  irritating, 
because  a  very  evasive  one  ;  reply  clearly.' 

1 1  don't  think,  sir,  you  have  a  right  to  command  me 
merely  because  you  are  older  than  I,  or  because  you  have 
seen  more  of  the  world  than  I  have ;  your  claim  to  superiority 
depends  on  the  use  you  have  made  of  your  time  and  ex- 
perience.' 

'  Humph !  Promptly  spoken.  But  I  won't  allow  that, 

02 


160  JANE  EYEE 

seeing  that  it  would  never  suit  my  case ;  as  I  have  made 
an  indifferent,  not  to  say  a  bad,  use  of  both  advantages. 
Leaving  superiority  out  of  the  question,  then,  you  must 
still  agree  to  receive  ray  orders  now  and  then,  without  being 
piqued  or  hurt  by  the  tone  of  command — will  you  ?  ' 

I  smiled  :  I  thought  to  myself  Mr.  Rochester  is  peculiar 
— he  seems  to  forget  that  he  pays  me  30Z.  per  annum  for 
receiving  his  orders. 

'  The  smile  is  very  well,1  said  he,  catching  instantly  the 
passing  expression ;  '  but  speak  too/ 

1 1  was  thinking,  sir,  that  very  few  masters  would  trouble 
themselves  to  inquire  whether  or  not  their  paid  subordinates 
were  piqued  and  hurt  by  their  orders.' 

1  Paid  subordinates  !  What,  you  are  my  paid  subordinate, 
are  you  ?  Oh,  yes,  I  had  forgotten  the  salary  1  Well,  then, 
on  that  mercenary  ground,  will  you  agree  to  let  me  hector  a 
little  ? ' 

'  No,  sir,  not  on  that  ground :  but,  on  the  ground  that 
you  did  forget  it,  and  that  you  care  whether  or  not  a  depen- 
dent is  comfortable  in  his  dependency,  I  agree  heartily/ 

'And  will  you  consent  to  dispense  with  a  great  many 
conventional  forms  and  phrases,  without  thinking  that  the 
omission  arises  from  insolence  ? ' 

'I  am  sure,  sir,  I  should  never  mistake  informality  for 
insolence  :*one  I  rather  like,  the  other  nothing  free-born 
would  submit  to,  even  for  a  salary/ 

'  Humbug !  Most  things  free-born  will  submit  to  any- 
thing for  a  salary  ;  therefore,  keep  to  yourself,  and  don't 
venture  on  generalities  of  which  you  are  intensely  ignorant. 
However,  I  mentally  shake  hands  with  you  for  your  answer, 
despite  its  inaccuracy ;  and  as  much  for  the  manner  in  which 
it  was  said  as  for  the  substance  of  the  speech  :  the  manner 
was  frank  and  sincere ;  one  does  not  often  see  such  a  manner : 
no,  on  the  contrary,  affectation,  or  coldness,  or  stupid,  coarse- 
minded  misapprehension  of  one's  meaning  are  the  usual 
rewards  of  candour.  Not  three  in  three  thousand  raw  school- 
girl governesses  would  have  answered  me  as  you  have  just 


JANE  EYBE  161 

done.  But  I  don't  mean  to  flatter  you  :  if  you  are  cast  in  a 
different  iriould  to  the  majority,  it  is  no  merit  of  yours  : 
Nature  did  it.  And  then,  after  all,  I  go  too  fast  in  my  con- 
clusions :  for  what  I  yet  know,  you  may  be  no  better  than 
the  rest ,  you  may  have  intolerable  detects  to  counterbalance 
your  few  good  points.' 

1  And  so  may  you/  I  thought.  My  eye  met  his  as  the 
idea  crossed  my  mind  :  he  seemed  to  read  the  glance,  answer- 
ing as  if  its  import  had  been  spoken  as  well  as  imagined  : — 

'  Yes,  yes,  you  arc  right,'  said  ho ;  *  I  have  plenty  ol  faults 
of  my  own  :  1  know  it,  and  I  don't  wish  to  palliate  them,  I 
assure  you.  God  wot  I  neel  not  be  too  severe  about  others ; 
I  have  a  past  existence,  a  series  of  deeds,  a  colour  of  life  to 
contemplate  within  my  own  breast,  which  might  well  call 
my  sneers  and  censures  from  my  neighbours  to  myself.  T 
started,  or  rather  (for,  like  other  defaulters,  I  like  to  lay 
half  the  blame  on  ill  fortune  and  adverse  circumstances) 
was  thrust  on  to  a  wrong  tack  at  the  age  of  one-and-twenty, 
and  have  never  recovered  the  right  course  since :  but  I 
might  have  been  very  different ;  I  might  have  been  as  good 
as  you — wiser,  almost  as  stainless.  I  envy  you  your  poace 
of  mind,  your  clean  conscience,  your  unpolluted  memory. 
Little  girl,  a  memory  without  blot  or  contamination  must 
be  an  exquisite  treasure — an  inexhaustible  source  of  pure 
refreshment :  is  it  not  ? ' 

'  How  was  your  memory  when  you  were  eighteen,  sir  ? ' 

'  All  right  then ;  limpid,  salubrious :  no  gush  of  bilgo 
water  had  turned  it  to  fetid  puddle.  I  was  your  equal  at 
eighteen— quite  your  equal.  Nature  meant  me  to  be,  on 
the  whole,  a  good  man,  Miss  Eyre  :  one  of  the  better  kind ; 
and  you  see  I  am  not  so.  You  would  say  you  don't  see  it : 
at  least  I  flatter  myself  I  read  as  much  in  your  eye  (beware, 
by-the-bye,  what  you  express  with  that  organ,  I  am  quick  at 
interpreting  its  language).  Then  take  my  word  for  it, — I  am 
not  a  villain  :  you  are  not  to  suppose  that — not  to  attribute 
to  me  any  such  bad  eminence ;  but,  owing,  I  verily  believe, 
rather  to  circumstances  than  to  my  natural  bent,  I  am  a  trite 


162  JANE  EYKE 

commonplace  sinner,  hackneyed  in  all  the  poor  petty  dissipa- 
tions with  which  the  rich  and  worthless  try  to  put  on  life. 
Do  you  wonder  that  I  avow  this  to  you  ?  Know,  that  in 
the  course  of  your  future  life  you  will  often  find  yourself 
elected  the  involuntary  confidant  of  your  acquaintances' 
secrets :  people  will  instinctively  find  out,  as  I  have  done, 
bhat  it  is  not  your  forte  to  tell  of  yourself,  but  to  listen 
while  others  talk  of  themselves ;  they  will  feel,  too,  that 
you  listen  with  no  malevolent  scorn  of  their  indiscretion, 
but  with  a  kind  of  innate  sympathy ;  not  the  less  comfort- 
ing and  encouraging  because  it  is  very  unobtrusive  in  its 
manifestations/ 

1  How  do  you  know  ? — how  can  you  guess  all  this,  sir  ?  ' 

'  I  know  it  well ;  therefore  I  proceed  almost  as  freely 
as  if  I  were  writing  my  thoughts  in  a  diary.  You  would 
say,  I  should  have  been  superior  to  circumstances ;  so 
I  should — so  I  should;  but  you  see  I  was  not.  When 
fate  wronged  me,  I  had  not  the  wisdom  to  remain  cool :  I 
turned  desperate;  then  I  degenerated.  Now,  when  any 
vicious  simpleton  excites  my  disgust  by  his  paltry  ribaldry, 
I  cannot  flatter  myself  that  I  am  better  than  he  :  I  am  forced 
to  confess  that  he  and  I  are  on  a  level.  I  wish  I  had  stood 
firm — God  knows  I  do  !  Dread  remorse  when  you  are 
tempted  to  err,  Miss  Eyre  :  remorse  is  the  poison  of  life.' 

1  Bepentance  is  said  to  be  its  cure,  sir/ 

'  It  is  not  its  cure.  Eeformation  may  be  its  cure ;  and  I 
could  reform — I  have  strength  yet  for  that — if — but  where 
is  the  use  of  thinking  of  it,  hampered,  burdened,  cursed  as  I 
am  ?  Besides,  since  happiness  is  irrevocably  denied  me,  I 
have  a  right  to  get  pleasure  out  of  life :  and  I  will  get  it, 
cost  what  it  may/ 

1  Then  you  will  degenerate  still  more,  sir/ 

1  Possibly :  yet  why  should  I,  if  I  can  get  sweet,  fresh 
pleasure  ?  And  I  may  get  it  as  sweet  and  fresh  as  the  wild 
honey  the  bee  gathers  on  the  moor/ 

1  It  will  sting — it  will  taste  bitter,  sir/ 

'How  do  you  know?— you  never  tried  it.    How  very 


JANE  EYBE  163 

serious — how  very  solemn  you  look :  and  you  are  as  ignorant 
of  the  matter  as  this  cameo  head '  (taking  one  from  the 
mantelpiece).  '  You  have  no  right  to  preach  to  me,  you 
neophyte,  that  have  not  passed  the  porch  of  life,  and  are 
absolutely  unacquainted  with  its  mysteries.' 

*  I  only  remind  you  of  your  own  words,  sir :  you  said 
error  brought  remorse,  and  you  pronounced  remorse  the 
poison  of  existence/ 

'And  who  talks  of  error  now?  I  scarcely  think  the 
notion  that  flitted  across  my  brain  was  an  error.  I  believe 
it  was  an  inspiration  rather  than  a  temptation  :  it  was  very 
genial,  very  soothing, — I  know  that  Here  it  comes  again  ! 
It  is  no  dovil,  I  assure  you ;  or  if  it  be,  it  has  put  on  the 
robes  of  an  angel  of  light  I  think  I  must  admit  so  fair  a 
guest  when  it  asks  entrance  to  my  heart/ 

'  Distrust  it,  sir ;  it  is  not  a  true  angel/ 

I  Once  more,  how  do  you  know  ?    By  what  instinct  do 
you  pretend  to  distinguish  between  a  fallen  seraph  of  the 
abyss  and  a  messenger  from  the  eternal  throne— between 
a  guide  and  a  seducer  ? ' 

I 1  judged  by  your  countenance,  sir  ;  which  was  troubled : 
when  you  said  the  suggestion  had  returned  upon  you.     I 
feel  sure  it  will  work  you  more  misery  if  you  listen  to  it/ 

1  Not  at  all — it  bears  the  most  gracious  message  in 
the  world :  for  the  rest,  you  are  not  my  conscience-keeper, 
so  don't  make  yourself  uneasy.  Here,  come  in,  bonny 
wanderer !  ' 

He  said  this  as  if  he  spoke  to  a  vision,  viewless  to  any 
eye  but  his  own  ;  then,  folding  his  arms,  which  ho  had  half 
extended,  on  his  chest,  he  seemed  to  enclose  in  their  embrace 
the  invisible  being. 

1  Now,'  he  continued,  again  addressing  me,  '  I  have 
received  the  pilgrim — a  disguised  deity,  as  I  verily  believe. 
Already  it  has  done  me  good:  my  heart  was  a  sort  of 
charnel ;  it  will  now  be  a  shrine/ 

'  To  speak  truth,  sir,  I  don't  understand  you  at  all :  I 
cannot  keep  up  the  conversation,  because  it  has  got  out  of 


164:  JANE  EYEE 

my  depth.  Only  one  thing  I  know :  you  said  you  were  not 
as  good  as  you  should  like  to  be,  and  that  you  regretted  your 
own  imperfection ; — one  thing  I  can  comprehend :  you  inti- 
mated that  to  have  a  sullied  memory  was  a  perpetual  bane. 
It  seems  to  me,  that  if  you  tried  hard,  you  would  in  time 
find  it  possible  to  become  what  you  yourself  would  approve ; 
and  that  if  from  this  day  you  began  with  resolution  to 
correct  your  thoughts  and  actions,  you  would  in  a  few  years 
have  laid  up  a  new  and  stainless  store  of  recollections,  to 
which  you  might  revert  with  pleasure.' 

'  Justly  thought ;  rightly  said,  Miss  Eyre ;  and,  at  this 
moment,  I  am  paving  hell  with  energy.' 

'Sir?' 

1 1  am  laying  down  good  intentions,  which  I  believe 
durable  as  flint.  Certainly,  my  associates  and  pursuits  shall 
be  other  than  they  have  been/ 

'  And  better  ?  ' 

'And  better — so  much  better  as  pure  ore  is  than* foul 
dross.  You  seem  to  doubt  me ;  I  don't  doubt  myself :  I 
know  what  my  aim  is,  what  my  motives  are ;  and  at  this 
moment  I  pass  a  law,  unalterable  as  that  of  the  Modes  and 
Persians,  that  both  are  right.' 

'They  cannot  be,  sir,  if  they  require  a  new  statute  to 
legalise  them/ 

'  They  are,  Miss"  Eyre,  though  they  absolutely  require  a 
new  statute;  unheard-of  combinations  of  circumstances 
demand  unheard-of  rules.' 

'  That  sounds  a  dangerous  maxim,  sir ;  because  one  can 
see  at  once  that  it  is  liable  to  abuse.' 

'  Sententious  sage  !  so  it  is  :  but  I  swear  by  my  household 
gods  not  to  abuse  it.' 

1  You  are  human  and  fallible.' 

'  I  am :  so  are  you — what  then  ? ' 

'The  human  and  fallible  should  not  arrogate  a  power 
with  which  the  divine  and  perfect  alone  can  be  safely 
entrusted/ 

'What  power?' 


JANE  BYEE  165 

'That  of  saying  of  any  strange,  unsanctioned  line  of 
action,—"  Let  it  bo  right."  ' 

' "  Let  it  be  right " — the  very  words :  you  have  pronounced 
them/ 

1  May  it  be  right  then,1 1  said,  as  I  rose,  deeming  it  useless 
to  continue  a  discourse  which  was  all  darkness  to  mo ;  and, 
besides,  sensible  that  the  character  of  my  interlocutor  was 
beyond  my  penetration  ;  at  least,  beyond  its  present  reach  ; 
and  feeling  the  uncertainty,  the  vague  sense  of  insecurity, 
which  accompanies  a  conviction  of  ignorance. 

'  Where  are  you  going  ?  ' 

*  To  put  Ad6le  to  bed  :  it  is  past  her  bedtime.' 

'  You  are  afraid  of  me,  because  I  talk  like  a  Sphinx.' 
1  Your  language  is  enigmatical,  sir :   but  though  I  am 
bewildered,  I  am  certainly  not  afraid/ 

'  You  are  afraid — your  self-love  dreads  a  blunder.' 

*  In  that  sense  I  do  feel  apprehensive — I  have  no  wish  to 
talk  nonsense.' 

1  If  you  did,  it  would  be  in  such  a  grave,  quiet  manner,  I 
•should  mistake  it  for  sense.  Do  you  never  laugh,  Miss  Eyre  ft 
Don't  trouble  yourself  to  answer — I  see,  you  laugh  rarely ; 
but  you  can  laugh  very  merrily:  believe  me,  you  are  not 
naturally  austere,  any  more  than  I  am  naturally  vicious. 
The  Lowood  constraint  still  clings  to  you  somewhat;  con- 
trolling your  features,  muffling  your  voice,  and  restricting 
your  limbs ;  and  you  fear  in  the  presence  of  a  man  and  a 
brother— or  father,  or  master,  or  what  you  will— to  smile  too 
gaily,  speak  too  freely,  or  move  too  quickly :  but,  in  time,  I 
think  you  will  learn  to  be  natural  with  me,  as  I  find  it 
impossible  to  be  conventional  with  you  ;  and  then  your  looks 
and  movements  will  have  more  vivacity  and  variety  than 
they  dare  offer  now.  I  see  at  intervals  the  glance  of  a 
curious  sort  of  bird  through  the  close-set  bars  of  a  cage ;  a 
vivid,  restless,  resolute  captive  is  there ;  were  it  but  free,  it 
would  soar  cloud-high.  You  are  still  bent  on  going  ? ' 

'  It  has  struck  nine,  sir.' 

'  Never  mind, — wait  a  minute  :  Ad61e  is  not  ready  to  go  to 


166  JANE  EYEE 

bed  yet.  My  position,  Miss  Eyre,  with  my  back  to  the  fire,  and 
my  face  to  the  room,  favours  observation.  While  talking  to 
you,  I  have  also  occasionally  watched  Ad&le ;  (I  have  my  own 
reasons  for  thinking  her  a  curious  study, — reasons  that  I  may, 
nay  that  1  shall,  impart  to  you  some  day ;)  she  pulled  out  of 
her  box,  about  ten  minutes  ago,  a  little  pink  silk  frock  ;  rap- 
ture lit  her  face  as  she  unfolded  it;  coquetry  runs  in  her 
blood,  blends  with  her  brains,  and  seasons  the  marrow  of  her 
bones.  "  II  faut  que  je  1'essaie,"  cried  she ;  "  et  &  1'instant 
mtoe ! "  and  she  rushed  out  of  the  room.  She  is  now  with 
Sophie,  undergoing  a  robing  process  :  in  a  few  minutes  she 
will  re-enter ;  and  I  know  what  I  shall  see, — a  miniature  of 
Celine  Varens,  as  she  used  to  appear  on  the  boards  at  the 

rising  of :  but  never  mind  that.     However,  my  tenderest 

feelings  are  about  to  receive  a  shock :  such  is  my  presenti- 
ment ;  stay  now,  to  see  whether  it  will  be  realised.' 

Ere  long  Ad&le's  little  foot  was  heard  tripping  across  the 
hall.  She  entered,  transformed  as  her  guardian  had  pre- 
dicted. A  dress  of  rose-coloured  satin,  very  short,  and  as 
full  in  the  skirt  as  it  could  be  gathered,  replaced  the  brown 
frock  she  had  previously  worn ;  a  wreath  of  rosebuds  circled 
her  forehead ;  her  feet  were  dressed  in  silk  stockings  and 
small  white  satin  sandals. 

1  Est-ce  que  ma  robe  va  bien  ?  '  cried  she,  bounding  for- 
wards ;  '  et  mes  souliers  ?  et  mes  has  ?  Tenez,  je  croix  que 
je  vais  danser.' 

And  spreading  out  her  dress,  she  chassSed  across  the 
room;  till,  having  reached  Mr.  Eochester,  she  wheeled 
lightly  round  before  him  on  tiptoe,  then  dropped  on  one 
knee  at  his  feet,  exclaiming : — 

*  Monsieur,  je  vous  remercie  mille  fois  de  votre  bonte ' ; 
then  rising,  she  added,  '  C'est  comme  cela  que  maman  faisait, 
n'est-ce  pas,  monsieur?' 

'  Pre-cise-ly  ! '  was  the  answer ; '  and,  "  comme  cela,"  she 
charmed  my  English  gold  out  of  my  British  breeches  pocket. 
I  have  been  green,  too,  Miss  Eyre, — ay,  grass  green :  not  a 
more  vernal  tint  freshens  you  now  than  once  freshened  me. 


JANE  EYEB  167 

My  Spring  is  gone,  however  :  but  it  has  left  me  that  French 
floweret  on  my  hands  ;  which,  in  some  moods,  I  would  fain 
be  rid  of.  Not  valuing  now  the  root  whence  it  sprang ; 
having  found  that  it  was  of  a  sort  which  nothing  but  gold 
dust  could  manure,  I  have  but  half  a  liking  to  the  blossom : 
especially  when  it  looks  so  artificial  as  just  now.  I  keep  it 
and  rear  it  rather  on  the  Eoman  Catholic  principle  of  expiating 
numerous  sins,  great  or  small,  by  one  good  work.  I'll  explain 
all  this  some  day.  Good-night.' 


168  JANE  EYKE 


CHAPTER  XV 

MB.  EOCHESTEE  did,  on  a  future  occasion,  explain  it. 

It  was  one  afternoon,  when  he  chanced  to  meet  me  and 
Adele  in  the  grounds  ;  and  while  she  played  with  Pilot  and 
her  shuttlecock,  he  asked  me  to  walk  up  and  down  a  long 
beech  avenue  within  sight  of  her. 

lie  then  said  that  she  was  the  daughter  of  a  French  opera- 
dancer,  Celine  Varens,  towards  whom  he  had  once  cherished 
what  lie  called  a  '  grande  passion.'  This  passion  Celine  had 
professed  to  return  with  even  superior  ardour.  He  thought 
himself  her  idol ;  ugly  as  he  was :  he  believed,  as  he  said, 
that  she  preferred  his  '  taille  d'athlete  '  to  the  elegance  of  the 
Apollo  Bekidere. 

1  And,  Miss  Eyre,  so  much  was  I  flattered  by  this  pre- 
ference of  the  Gallic  sylph  for  her  British  gnome,  that  I 
installed  her  in  an  hotel ;  gave  her  a  complete  establishment 
of  servants,  a  carriage,  cashmeres,  diamonds,  dentelles,  &c. 
In  short,  I  began  the  process  of  ruining  myself  in  the  received 
style,  like  any  other  spoony.  I  had  not,  it  seems,  the 
originality  to  chalk  out  a  new  road  to  shame  and  destruction, 
but  trod  the  old  track  with  stupid  exactness  not  to  deviate  an 
inch  from  the  beaten  centre.  I  had — as  I  deserved  to  have — 
the  fate  of  all  other  spoonies.  Happening  to  call  one  evening 
when  C61ine  did  not  expect  me,  I  found  her  out ;  but  it  was 
a  warm  night,  and  I  was  tired  with  strolling  through  Paris, 
so  I  sat  down  in  her  boudoir;  happy  to  breathe  the  air 
consecrated  so  lately  by  her  presence.  No, — I  exaggerate  ; 
I  never  thought  there  was  any  consecrating  virtue  about  her  : 
it  was  rather  a  sort  of  pastille  perfume  she  had  left,  a  scent 
of  musk  and  amber,  than  an  odour  of  sanctity,  I  was  just 


JANE  EYEE  169 

beginning  to  stifle  with  the  fumes  of  conservatory  flowers 
and  sprinkled  essences,  when  I  bethought  myself  to  open  the 
window  and  step  out  on  to  the  balcony.  It  was  moonlight 
and  gas-light  besides,  and  very  still  and  serene.  The  balcony 
was  furnished  with  a  chair  or  two ;  I  sat  down,  took  out  a 
cigar, — I  will  take  one  now,  if  you  will  excuse  me.' 

Here  ensued  a  pause,  filled  up  by  the  producing  and 
lighting  of  a  cigar  ;  having  placed  it  to  his  lips  and  breathed 
a  trail  of  Havannah  incense  on  the  freezing  and  sunless  air, 
he  went  on : — 

'  I  hked  bonbons  too,  in  those  days,  Miss  Eyre,  and  I  was 
croquant — overlook  the  barbarism — croquant  chocolate  com- 
fits, and  smoking  alternately,  watching  meantime  the 
equipages  that  rolled  along  the  fashionable  streets  towards 
the  neighbouring  opera-house,  when  in  an  elegant  close 
carriage  drawn  by  a  beautiful  pair  of  English  horses,  and 
distinctly  seen  in  the  brilliant  city-night,  I  recognised  the 
"  voiture  "  I  had  given  Celine.  She  was  returning :  of  course 
my  heart  thumped  with  impatience  against  the  iron  rails  I 
leant  upon.  The  carriage  stopped,  as  I'had  expected,  at  the 
hotel  door ;  my  flame  (that  is  the  very  word  for  an  opera 
inamorata)  alightod :  though  muffled  in  a  cloak — an  unne- 
cessary encumbrance,  by-the-byc,  on  so  warm  a  June  evening 
— I  knew  her  instantly  by  her  little  foot,  seen  peeping  from 
the  skirt  of  her  dress,  as  she  skipped  from  the  carriage-step. 
Bending  over  the  balcony,  I  was  about  to  murmur,  "  Mon 
ange" — in  a  tone,  of  course,  which  should  be  audible  to 
the  ear  of  love  alone — when  a  figure  jumped  fiom  the 
carriage  after  her ;  cloaked  also  ;  but  that  was  a  spurred 
heel  which  had  rung  on  the  pavement,  and  that  was  a  hatted 
head  which  now  passed  under  the  arched  porte-cochere  of  the 
hotel. 

'  You  never  felt  jealousy,  did  you,  Miss  Eyre  ?  Of  course 
not :  I  need  not  ask  you :  because  you  never  felt  love.  You 
have  both  sentiments  yet  to  experience  :  your  soul  sleeps ; 
the  shock  is  yet  to  be  given  which  shall  waken  it.  You 
think  all  existence  lapses  in  as  quiet  a  flow  as  that  in  which 


170  JANE  EYEB 

your  youth  has  hitherto  slid  away.  Floating  on  with  closed 
eyes  and  muffled  ears,  you  neither  see  the  rocks  bristling  not 
far  off  in  the  bed  of  the  flood,  nor  hear  the  breakers  boil  at 
their  base.  But  I  tell  you — and  you  may  mark  my  words — 
you  will  come  some  day  to  a  craggy  pass  of  the  channel, 
where  the  whole  of  life's  stream  will  be  broken  up  into  whirl 
and  tumult,  foam  and  noise :  either  you  will  be  dashed  to 
atoms  on  crag  points,  or  lifted  up  and  borne  on  by  some 
master  wave  into  a  calmer  current — as  I  am  now. 

1 1  like  this  day  :  I  like  that  sky  of  steel ;  I  like  the  stern- 
ness and  stillness  of  the  world  under  this  frost.  I  like 
Thornfield :  its  antiquity  ;  its  retirement ;  its  old  crow-trees 
and  thorn-trees ;  its  grey  facade,  and  lines  of  dark  windows 
reflecting  that  metal  welkin :  and  yet  how  long  have  I 
abhorred  the  very  thought  of  it ;  shunned  it  like  a  great  plague- 
house  !  How  I  do  still  abhor ' 

He  ground  his  teeth  and  was  silent :  he  arrested  his  step 
and  struck  his  boot  against  the  hard  ground.  Some  hated 
thought  seemed  to  have  him  in  its  grip,  and  to  hold  him  so 
tightly  that  he  could  not  advance. 

We  were  ascending  the  avenue  when  he  thus  paused ; 
the  hall  was  before  us.  Lifting  his  eye  to  its  battlements,  he 
cast  over  them  a  glare  such  as  I  never  saw  before  or  since. 
Pain,  shame,  ire — impatience,  disgust,  detestation — seemed 
momentarily  to  hold  a  quivering  conflict  in  the  large  pupil 
dilating  under  his  ebon  eyebrow.  Wild  was  the  wrestle  which 
should  be  paramount ;  but  another  feeling  rose  and  tri- 
umphed :  something  hard  and  cynical ;  self-willed  and 
resolute  :  it  settled  his  passion  and  petrified  his  countenance : 
he  went  on : — '  During  the  moment  I  was  silent,  Miss  Eyre, 
I  was  arranging  a  point  with  my  destiny.  She  stood  there, 
by  that  beech-trunk — a  hag  like  one  of  those  who  appeared 
to  "  Macbeth  "  on  the  heath  of  Forres.  "  You  like  Thorn- 
field  ?  "  she  said,  lifting  her  finger ;  and  then  she  wrote  in  the 
air  a  memento,  which  ran  in  lurid  hieroglyphics  all  along 
the  house-front,  between  the  upper  and  lower  row  of  windows. 
"  Like  it  if  you  can  !  "  "  Like  it  if  you  dare  !  " 


JANE  EYRE  171 

1 "  I  will  like  it,"  said  I.  "  I  dare  like  it ;  "  and  (he  sub- 
joined moodily)  I  will  keep  my  word  :  I  will  break  obstacles 
to  happiness,  to  goodness — yes,  goodness ;  I  wish  to  be  a 
better  man  than  I  have  been  ;  than  I  am — as  Job's  leviathan 
broke  the  spear,  the  dart  and  the  habergeon,  hindrances 
which  others  count  as  iron  and  brass  I  will  esteem  but  straw 
and  rotten  wood.' 

Adele  here  ran  before  him  with  her  shuttlecock.  *  Away  ! ' 
he  cried  harshly ;  '  keep  at  a  distance,  child ;  or  go  in  to 
Sophie  I '  Continuing  then  to  pursue  his  walk  in  silence,  I 
ventured  to  recall  him  to  the  point  whence  he  had  abruptly 
diverged  : — '  Did  you  leave  the  balcony,  sir/  I  asked,  '  when 
Mdlle.  Varens  entered  ?  ' 

I  almost  expected  a  rebuff  for  this  hardly  well-timed 
question :  but,  on  the  contrary,  waking  out  of  his  scowling 
abstraction,  he  turned  his  eyes  towards  me,  and  the  shade 
seemed  to  clear  off  his  brow.  *  Oh,  I  had  forgotten  Celine  1 
Well,  to  resume.  When  I  saw  my  charmer  thus  come  in 
accompanied  by  a  cavalier,  I  seemed  to  hear  a  hiss,  and  the 
green  snake  of  jealousy,  rising  on  undulating  coils  from  the 
moonlit  balcony,  glided  within  my  waistcoat,  and  ate  its 
way  in  two  minutes  to  my  heart's  core.  Strange  ! '  he 
exclaimed,  suddenly  starting  again  from  the  point.  '  Strange 
that  I  should  choose  you  for  the  confidant  of  all  this,  young 
lady :  passing  strange  that  you  should  listen  to  me  quietly, 
as  if  it  were  the  most  usual  thing  in  the  world  for  a  man  like 
me  to  tell  stories  of  his  opera-mistresses  to  a  quaint,  inexperi- 
enced girl  like  you !  But  the  last  singularity  explains  the 
first,  as  I  intimated  once  before :  you,  with  your  gravity, 
considerateness,  and  caution,  were  made  to  be  the  recipient 
of  secrets.  Besides,  I  know  what  sort  of  a  mind  I  have 
placed  in  communication  with  my  own  :  I  know  it  is  one  not 
liable  to  take  infection:  it  is  a  peculiar  mind;  it  is  an 
unique  one.  Happily  I  do  not  mean  to  harm  it :  but,  if  I 
did,  it  would  not  take  harm  from  me.  The  more  you  and 
I  converse,  the  better ;  for  while  I  cannot  blight  you,  you 
may  refresh  me.'  After  this  digression,  he  proceeded : — '  I 


172  JANE  EYEE 

remained  in  the  balcony.  "  They  will  come  to  her  boudoir, 
no  doubt,"  thought  I :  "  let  me  prepare  an  ambush."  So 
putting  my  hand  in  through  the  open  window,  I  drew  the 
curtain  over  it,  leaving  only  an  opening  through  which  I 
could  take  observations ;  then  I  closed  the  casement,  all  but 
a  chink  just  wide  enough  to  furnish  an  outlet  to  lovers' 
whispered  vows :  then  I  stole  back  to  my  chair  ;  and  as  I 
resumed  it  the  pair  came  in.  My  eye  was  quickly  at  the 
aperture.  C&ine's  chambermaid  entered,  lit  a  lamp,  left  it 
on  the  table,  and  withdrew.  The  couple  were  thus  revealed 
to  me  clearly:  both  removed  their  cloaks,  and  there  was 
"the  Varens"  shining  in  satin  and  jewels, — my  gifts  of 
course, — and  there  was  her  companion  in  an  officer's  uniform  ; 
and  I  knew  him  for  a  young  rou6  of  a  vicomte — a  brainless 
and  vicious  youth  whom  I  had  sometimes  met  in  society, 
and  had  never  thought  of  hating  because  I  despised  him  so 
absolutely.  On  recognising  him,  the  fang  of  the  snake, 
jealousy,  was  instantly  broken  ;  because  at  the  same 
moment  my  love  for  C6hne  sank  under  an  extinguisher.  A 
woman  who  could  betray  me  for  such  a  lival  was  not  worth 
contending  for:  she  deserved  only  scorn;  less,  however, 
than  I,  who  had  been  her  dupe. 

'  They  began  to  talk ;  their  conversation  eased  me  com- 
pletely :  frivolous,  mercenary,  heartless,  and  senseless,  it 
was  rather  calculated  to  weary  than  enrage  a  listener. 
A  card  of  mine  lay  on  the  table ;  this  being  perceived,  brought 
my  name  under  discussion.  Neither  of  Ihem  possessed 
energy  or  wit  to  belabour  me  soundly ;  but  they  insulted  me 
as  coarsely  as  they  could  in  their  little  way  :  especially  C61ine ; 
who  even  waxed  rather  biilliant  on  my  personal  defects  — 
deformities  she  termed  them.  Now  it  had  been  her  custom 
to  launch  out  into  fervent  admiration  of  what  she  called  my 
"  beaut6  male  "  :  wherein  she  differed  diametrically  from  you, 
who  told  me  point-blank,  at  the  second  interview,  that  you 
did  not  think  me  handsome.  The  contrast  struck  me  at  the 
time,  and ' 

Ad&le  here  came  running  up  again. 


JANE  EYEE  173 

'  Monsieur,  John  has  just  been  to  say  that  your  agent  has 
called  and  wishes  to  see  you.' 

'  Ah  1  in  that  case  I  must  abiidge.  Opening  the  window, 
I  walked  in  upon  them ;  liberated  Celine  from  my  protection  ; 
gave  her  notice  to  vacate  her  hotel ;  offered  her  a  purse  for 
immediate  exigencies ;  disregarded  screams,  hysterics,  prayers, 
protestations,  convulsions;  made  an  appointment  with  the 
vicomte  for  a  meeting  at  the  Bois  de  Boulogne.  Next 
morning  I  had  the  pleasure  of  encountering  him  ;  left  a 
bullet  in  one  of  his  poor  etiolated  arms,  feeble  as  the  wing  of 
a  chicken  in  the  pip,  and  then  thought  I  had  done  with  the 
whole  crew.  But  unluckily  the  Varens,  six  months  before, 
had  given  me  this  filette  Adcle ;  who  she  affirmed  was  my 
daughter;  aii'l  perhaps  she  may  be,  though  I  see  no 
proofs  of  such  gum  paternity  written  in  her  countenance 
Pilot  is  more  like  me  than  she.  Some  years  after  I  had 
broken  with  the  mother  she  abandoned  her  child  and  ran 
away  to  Italy  with  a  musician  or  singer.  I  acknowledged 
no  natural  claim  on  Adele's  part  to  be  supported  by  me ;  nor 
do  I  now  acknowledge  any,  for  I  am  not  her  father ;  but1 
hearing  that  she  was  quite  destitute,  I  e'en  took  the  poor 
thing  out  of  the  slime  and  mud  of  Paris,  and  transplanted  it 
here,  to  grow  up  clean  in  the  wholesome  soil  of  an  English 
country  garden.  Mrs.  Fairfax  found  you  to  train  it;  but 
now  you  know  that  it  is  the  illegitimate  offspring  of  a  French 
opera-girl,  you  will  perhaps  think  differently  of  your  post 
and  prot6g6e.  You  will  be  coming  to  me  some  day  with 
notice  that  you  have  found  another  place — that  you  beg  me 
to  look  out  for  a  new  governess,  &c.— eh  ? ' 

'  No.  Adele  is  not  answerable  for  either  her  mother's 
faults  or  yours.  I  have  a  regard  for  her,  and  now  that  I 
know  she  is,  in  a  sense,  parentless — forsaken  by  her  mother 
and  disowned  by  you,  sir — I  shall  cling  closer  to  her  than 
before.  How  could  I  possibly  prefer  the  spoilt  pet  of  a 
wealthy  family,  who  would  hate  her  governess  as  a  nuisance, 
to  a  lonely  little  orphan,  who  leans  towards  her  as  a 
friend?1 


174  JANE  EYEE 

'  Oh,  that  is  the  light  in  which  you  view  it  1  Well,  I 
must  go  in  now ;  and  you  too  :  it  darkens.' 

But  I  stayed  out  a  few  minutes  longer  with  Ad61e  and 
Pilot — ran  a  race  with  her,  and  played  a  game  of  battledore 
and  shuttlecock.  When  we  went  in,  and  I  had  removed  her 
bonnet  and  coat,  I  took  her  on  my  knee ;  kept  her  there  an 
hour,  allowing  her  to  prattle  as  she  liked,  not  rebuking  even 
some  little  freedoms  and  trivialities  into  which  she  was  apt 
to  stray  when  much  noticed ;  and  which  betrayed  in  her  a 
superficiality  of  character,  inherited  probably  from  her 
mother,  hardly  congenial  to  an  English  mind.  Still  she  had 
her  merits ;  and  I  was  disposed  to  appreciate  all  that  was 
good  in  her  to  the  utmost.  I  sought  in  her  countenance 
and  features  a  likeness  to  Mr.  Kochester,  but  found  none — 
no  trait,  no  turn  of  expression  announced  relationship.  It 
was  a  pity :  if  she  could  but  have  been  proved  to  resemble 
him,  he  would  have  thought  more  of  her. 

It  was  not  till  after  I  had  withdrawn  to  my  own 
chamber  for  the  night  that  I  steadily  reviewed  the  tale 
Mr.  Eochester  had  told  me.  As  he  had  said,  there  was 
probably  nothing  at  all  extraordinary  in  the  substance  of  the 
narrative  itself — a  wealthy  Englishman's  passion  for  a 
French  dancer,  and  her  treachery  to  him,  were  everyday 
matters  enough,  no  doubt,  in  society — but  there  was  some- 
thing decidedly  strange  in  the  paroxysm  of  emotion  which 
had  suddenly  seized  him,  when  he  was  in  the  act  of 
expressing  the  present  contentment  of  his  mood,  and  his 
newly-revived  pleasure  in  the  old  hall  and  its  environs.  I 
meditated  wonderingly  on  this  incident :  but  gradually 
quitting  it,  as  I  found  it  for  the  present  inexplicable,  I  turned 
to  the  consideration  of  my  master's  manner  to  myself.  The 
confidence  he  had  thought  fit  to  repose  in  me  seemed  a 
tribute  to  my  discretion.  I  regarded  and  accepted  it  as 
such.  His  deportment  had  now  for  some  weeks  been  more 
uniform  towards  me  than  at  the  first.  I  never  seemed  in 
his  way ;  he  did  not  take  fits  of  chilling  hauteur ;  when  he 
met  me  unexpectedly,  the  encounter  seemed  welcome — he 


JANE  EYEB  175 

had  always  a  word  and  sometimes  a  smile  for  me ;  when 
summoned  by  formal  invitation  to  his  presence,  I  was 
honoured  by  a  cordiality  of  reception  that  made  me  feel  I 
really  possessed  the  power  to  amuse  him,  and  that  these 
evening  conferences  were  sought  as  much  for  his  pleasure  as 
for  my  benefit. 

I,  indeed,  talked  comparatively  little;  but  I  heard  him 
talk  with  relish.  It  was  his  nature  to  be  communicative — 
he  liked  to  open  to  a  mind  unacquainted  with  the  world 
glimpses  of  its  scenes  and  ways  (I  do  not  mean  its  corrupt 
scenes  and  wicked  ways,  but  such  as  derived  their  interest 
from  the  great  scale  on  which  they  were  acted,  the  strange 
novelty  by  which  they  were  characterised) ;  and  I  had  a  keen 
delight  in  receiving  the  new  ideas  he  offered,  in  imagining 
the  new  pictures  he  portrayed,  and  following  him  in  thought 
through  the  new  regions  he  disclosed,  never  startled  or 
troubled  by  one  noxious  allusion. 

The  ease  of  his  manner  freed  me  from  painful  restraint ; 
the  friendly  frankness,  as  correct  as  cordial,  with  which  he 
treated  me,  drew  me  to  him.  I  felt  at  times  as  if  he  were 
my  relation,  rather  than  my  master :  yet  he  was  imperious 
sometimes  still ;  but  I  did  not  mind  that ;  I  saw  it  was  his 
way.  So  happy,  so  gratified  did  I  become  with  this  new 
interest  added  to  life,  that  I  ceased  to  pine  after  kindred. 
My  thin  crescent-destiny  seemed  to  enlarge ;  the  blanks  of 
existence  were  filled  up;  my  bodily  health  improved;  I 
gathered  flesh  and  strength. 

And  was  Mr.  Bochester  now  ugly  in  my  eyes?  No, 
reader.  Gratitude,  and  many  associations,  all  pleasurable 
and  genial,  made  his  face  the  object  I  best  liked  to  see  ;  his 
presence  in  a  room  was  more  cheering  than  the  brightest 
fire.  Yet  I  had  not  forgotten  his  faults — indeed,  I  could  not, 
for  he  brought  them  frequently  before  me.  He  was  proud, 
sardonic,  harsh  to  inferiority  of  every  description.  In  my 
secret  soul  I  knew  that  his  great  kindness  to  me  was  balanced 
by  unjust  severity  to  many  others.  He  was  moody,  too—- 
unaccountably so.  I  more  than  once,  when  sent  for  to  read 


176  JANE  EYEE 

to  him,  found  him  sitting  in  his  library  alone,  with  his  head 
bent  on  his  folded  arms  ;  and,  when  he  looked  up,  a  morose, 
almost  a  malignant  scowl,  blackened  his  features.  But  I 
believed  that  his  moodiness,  his  harshness,  and  his  former 
faults  of  morality  (I  say  former,  for  now  he  seemed  corrected 
of  them)  had  their  source  in  some  cruel  cross  of  fate.  I 
believed  he  was  naturally  a  man  of  better  tendencies,  higher 
principles,  and  purer  tastes  than  such  as  circumstances  had 
developed,  education  instilled,  or  destiny  encouraged.  I 
thought  there  were  excellent  materials  in  him ;  though  for 
the  present  they  hung  together  somewhat  spoiled  and 
tangled.  I  cannot  deny  that  I  grieved  for  his  grief,  whatever 
that  was,  and  would  have  given  much  to  assuage  it. 

Though  I  had  now  extinguished  my  candle  and  was  laid 
down  in  bed,  I  could  not  sleep  for  thinking  of  his  look  when 
he  paused  in  the  avenue,  and  told  how  his  destiny  had  risen 
up  before  him,  and  dared  him  to  be  happy  at  Thornfield. 

4  Why  not  ? '  I  asked  myself.  '  What  alienates  him  from 
the  house  ?  Will  he  leave  it  again  soon  ?  Mrs.  Fairfax  said 
he  seldom  stayed  here  longer  than  a  fortnight  at  a  time,  and 
he  has  now  been  resident  eight  weeks.  If  he  does  go,  the 
change  will  be  doleful.  Suppose  he  should  be  absent  spring, 
summer,  and  autumn :  how  joyless  sunshine  and  fine  days 
will  seem/ 

I  hardly  know  whether  I  had  slept  or  not  after  this 
musing;  at  any  rate,  I  started  wide  awake  on  hearing  a 
vague  murmur,  peculiar  and  lugubrious,  which  sounded,  I 
thought,  just  above  me.  I  wished  I  had  kept  my  candle 
burning:  the  night  was  drearily  dark;  my  spirits  were 
depressed.  I  rose  and  sat  up  in  bed,  listening.  The  sound 
was  hushed. 

I  tried  again  to  sleep ;  but  my  heart  beat  anxiously  :  my 
inward  tranquillity  was  broken.  The  clock,  far  down  in  the 
hall,  struck  two.  Just  then  it  seemed  my  chamber-door  was 
touched  ;  as  if  fingers  had  swept  the  panels  in  groping  a  way 
along  the  dark  gallery  outside.  1  said,  'Who  is  there?' 
Nothing  answered.  I  was  chilled  with  fear. 


JANE  EYEE  177 

All  at  once  I  remembered  that  it  might  be  Pilot :  who, 
when  the  kitchen-door  chanced  to  be  left  open,  not  unfre- 
quently  found  his  way  up  to  the  threshold  of  Mr.  Eochester's 
chamber :  I  had  seen  him  lying  there  myself,  in  the  mornings. 
The  idea  calmed  me  somewhat :  I  lay  down.  Silence  com- 
poses the  nerves ;  and  as*  an  unbroken  hush  now  reigned 
again  through  the  whole  house,  I  began  to  feel  the  return  of 
slumber.  But  it  was  not  fated  that  I  should  sleep  that 
night.  A  dream  had  scarcely  approached  my  ear,  when  it 
fled  affrighted,  scared  by  a  marrow-freezing  incident  enough. 

This  was  a  demoniac  laugh — low,  suppressed,  and  deep — 
uttered,  as  it  seemed,  at  the  very  key-hole  of  iny  chamber- 
door.  The  head  of  my  bed  was  near  the  door,  and  I  thought 
at  first  the  goblin-laugher  stood  at  iny  bedside — or  rather, 
crouched  by  my  pillow  :  but  1  rose,  looked  round,  and  could 
see  nothing ;  while,  as  I  still  gazed,  the  unnatural  sound 
was  reiterated :  and  I  knew  it  came  from  behind  the  panels. 
My  first  impulse  was  to  rise  and  fasten  the  bolt ;  my  next 
again,  to  cry  out,  '  Who  is  there  ?  ' 

Something  gurgled  and  moaned.  Ere  long,  steps 
retreated  up  the  gallery  towards  the  third  story  staircase :  a 
door  had  lately  been  made  to  shut  in  that  staircase ;  1  heard 
it  open  and  close,  and  all  was  still. 

'  Was  that  Grace  Poole  ?  and  is  she  possessed  with  a 
devil?'  thought  I.  Impossible  now  to  remain  longer  by 
myself :  I  must  go  to  Mrs.  Fairfax.  I  hurried  on  my  frock 
and  a  shawl ;  I  withdrew  the  bolt,  and  opened  the  door  with 
a  trembling  hand.  There  was  a  candle  burning  just  outside, 
left  on  the  matting  in  the  gallery.  I  was  surprised  at  this 
circumstance :  but  still  more  was  I  amazed  to  perceive 
the  air  quite  dim,  as  if  filled  with  smoke ;  and,  while  look- 
ing to  the  right  hand  and  left,  to  find  whence  these  blue 
wreaths  issued,  I  became  further  aware  of  a  strong  smell  of 
burning. 

Something  creaked :  it  was  a  door  ajar ;  and  that  door 
was  Mi:.  Eochester's,  and  the  smoke  rushed  in  a  cloud  from 
thence.  I  thought  no  more  of  Mrs.  Fairfax ;  I  thought  no 


178  JANE  EYEE 

more  of  Grace  Poole  or  the  laugh:  in  an  instant,  I  was 
within  the  chamber.  Tongues  of  flame  darted  round  the 
bed :  the  curtains  were  on  fire.  In  the  midst  of  blaze  and 
vapour,  Mr.  Eochester  lay  stretched  motionless,  in  deep 
sleep. 

'  Wake  1  wake  ! '  I  cried — I  *  shook  him,  but  he  only 
murmured  and  turned  :  the  smoke  had  stupefied  him.  Not 
a  moment  could  be  lost :  the  very  sheets  were  kindling.  I 
rushed  to  his  basin  and  ewer ;  fortunately,  one  was  wide 
and  the  other  deep,  and  both  were  filled  with  water.  I 
heaved  them  up,  deluged  the  bed  and  its  occupant,  flew  back 
to  my  own  room,  brought  my  own  water-jug,  baptized  the 
couch  afresh,  and,  by  God's  aid,  succeeded  in  extinguishing 
the  flames  which  were  devouring  it. 

The  hiss  of  the  quenched  element,  the  breakage  of  a 
pitcher  which  I  flung  from  my  hand  when  I  had  emptied  it, 
and,  above  all,  the  splash  of  the  shower-bath  I  had  liberally 
bestowed,  roused  Mr.  Eochester  at  last.  Though  it  was 
now  dark,  I  knew  he  was  awake ;  because  I  heard  him 
fulminating  strange  anathemas  at  finding  himself  lying  in  a 
pool  of  water. 

'  Is  there  a  flood  ?  '  he  cried. 

'  No,  sir/  I  answered ;  '  but  there  has  been  a  fire :  get  up, 
do,  you  are  quenched  now  ;  I  will  fetch  you  a  candle.' 

'In  the  name  of  all  the  elves  in  Christendom,  is  that 
Jane  Eyre  ? '  he  demanded.  *  What  have  you  done  with  me, 
witch,  sorceress  ?  Who  is  in  the  room  beside  you  ?  Have 
you  plotted  to  drown  me  ?  ' 

1 1  will  fetch  you  a  candle,  sir ;  and,  in  Heaven's  name,  get 
up.  Somebody  has  plotted  something :  you  cannot  too  soon 
find  out  who  and  what  it  is/ 

'There— I  am  up  now;  but  at  your  peril  you  fetch  a 
candle  yet :  wait  two  minutes  till  I  get  into  some  dry  gar- 
ments, if  any  dry  there  be — yes,  here  is  my  dressing-gown. 
Now  run ! ' 

I  did  run ;  I  brought  the  candle  which  still  remained  in 
the  gallery.  He  took  it  from  my  hand,  held  it  up,  and 


JANE  EYEE  179 

surveyed  the  bed,  all  blackened  and  scorched,  the  sheets 
drenched,  the  carpet  round  swimming  in  water. 

1  What  is  it  ?  and  who  did  it  ? f  he  asked. 

I  briefly  related  to  him  what  had  transpired :  the  strange 
laugh  I  had  heard  in  the  gallery  :  the  step  ascending  to  the 
third  story ;  the  smoke, — the  smell  of  fire  which  had  con- 
ducted me  to  his  room ;  in  what  state  I  had  found  matters 
there,  and  how  I  had  deluged  him  with  all  the  water  I  could 
lay  hands  on. 

He  listened  very  gravely ;  his  face,  as  I  went  on,  ex- 
pressed more  concern  than  astonishment ;  he  did  not  im- 
mediately speak  when  I  had  concluded. 

*  Shall  I  call  Mrs.  Fairfax  ? '  I  asked. 

'  Mrs.  Fairfax1?  No :  what  the  deuce  would  you  call  her 
for  ?  What  can  she  do  ?  Let  her  sleep  unmolested.' 

'  Then  I  will  fetch  Leah,  and  wake  John  and  his  wife.' 

'  Not  at  all :  just  be  still.  You  have  a  shawl  on  ?  If  you 
are  not  warm  enough,  you  may  take  my  cloak  yonder ;  wrap 
it  about  you,  and  sit  down  in  the  arm-chair:  there, — I  will 
put  it  on.  Now  place  your  feet  on  the  stool,  to  keep  them 
out  of  the  wet.  I  am  going  to  leave  you  a  few  minutes.  I 
shall  take  the  candle.  Eemain  where  you  are  till  I  return : 
be  as  still  as  a  mouse.  I  must  pay  a  visit  to  the  third  story. 
Don't  move,  remember,  or  call  any  one.' 

He  went :  I  watched  the  light  withdraw.  He  passed  up 
the  gallery  very  softly,  unclosed  the  staircase  door  with  as 
little  noise  as  possible,  shut  it  after  him,  and  the  last  ray 
vanished.  I  was  left  in  total  darkness.  I  listened  for  some 
noise,  but  heard  nothing,  A  very  long  time  elapsed.  I 
grew  weary  :  it  was  cold,  in  spite  of  the  cloak ;  and  then  I 
did  not  see  the  use  of  staying,  as  I  was  not  to  rouse  the 
house.  I  was  on  the  point  of  risking  Mr.  Eochester's  dis- 
pleasure, by  disobeying  his  orders,  when  the  light  once  more 
gleamed  dimly  on  the  gallery-wall,  and  I  ^eard  his  unshod 
feet  tread  the  matting.  '  I  hope  it  is  he,1  thought  I,  '  and 
not  something  worse/ 

He  re-entered,  pale  and  very  gloomy.    '  I  have  found  it 


180  JANE  EYRE 

all  out,1  said  he,  setting  his  candle  down  on  the  wash-stand ; 
'  it  is  as  I  thought.' 

'How,  sir?7 

He  made  no  reply,  but  stood  with  his  arms  folded,  look- 
ing on  the  ground.  At  the  end  of  a  few  minutes,  he  inquired 
in  rather  a  peculiar  tone  : — '  I  forget  whether  you  said  you 
saw  anything  when  you  opened  your  chamber  door/ 

'  No,  sir,  only  the  candlestick  on  the  ground/ 

'But  you  heard  an  odd  laugh?  You  have  heard  that 
laugh  before,  I  should  think,  or  something  like  it  ? ' 

'  Yes,  sir :  there  is  a  woman  who  sews  here,  called  Grace 
Poole — she  laughs  in  that  way.  She  is  a  singular  person/ 

'  Just  so.  Grace  Poole — you  have  guessed  it.  She  is,  as 
you  say,  singular, — very.  Well,  I  shall  reflect  on  the  sulvjpct. 
Meantime,  I  am  glad  that  you  are  the  only  person,  besides 
myself,  acquainted  with  the  precise  details  of  to-night's  inci- 
dent. You  are  no  talking  fool :  say  nothing  about  it.  I  will 
account  for  this  state  of  affairs  (pointing  to  the  bed) :  and 
now  return  to  your  own  room.  I  shall  do  very  well  on  the 
sofa  in  the  library  for  the  rest  of  the  night.  It  is  near 
four  : — in  two  hours  the  servants  will  be  up/ 

1  Good-night,  then,  sir,1  said  I,  departing. 

He  seemed  surprised — very  inconsistently  so,  as  he  had 
just  told  me  to  go. 

'  What ! '  he  exclaimed,  '  are  you  quitting  me  already  : 
and  in  that  way  ? ' 

'  You  said  I  might  go,  sir/ 

'  But  not  without  taking  leave  ;  not  without  a  word  or  two 
of  acknowledgment  and  good  will :  not,  in  short,  in  that  brief, 
dry  fashion.  Why,  you  have  saved  my  life  ! — snatched  me 
from  a  horrible  and  excruciating  death  ! — and  you  walk  past 
me  as  if  we  were  mutual  strangers  !  At  least  shake  hands/ 

He  held  out  his  hand ;  I  gave  him  mine :  he  took  it  first 
in  one,  then  in  both  his  own. 

'  You*  have  saved  my  life  :  I  have  a  pleasure  in  owing  you 
so  immense  a  debt.  I  cannot  say  more.  Nothing  else  that 
has  being  would  have  been  tolerable  to  me  in  the  character 


JANE  EYEE  181 

of  creditor  for  such  an  obligation  :  but  you  :  it  is  different  ;— 
I  feel  your  benefits  no  burden,  Jane.' 

He  paused ;  gazed  at  me  :  words  almost  visible  trembled 
on  his  lips, — but  his  voice  was  checked. 

'  Good  night  again,  sir.  There  is  no  debt,  benefit,  burden, 
obligation,  in  the  case.' 

'  I  kuew,'  he  continued,  *  you  would  do  me  good  in  some 
way,  at  some  time  ,  -  -I  siiw  it  in  your  eyes  when  I  first  beheld 
you  :  their  expression  and  smile  did  not — (again  he  stopped) — 
did  not  (he  proceeded  hastily)  strike  delight  to  my  very  inmost 
heart  so  for  nothing.  People  talk  of  natural  sympathies ;  I 
have  heard  of  good  genii — there  are  grains  ot  truth  in  the 
wildest  fable.  My  cherished  preserver,  good  night ! ' 

Strange  energy  was  in  his  voice,  strange  fire  in  his  look. 

I  I  am  glad  I  happened  to  be  awake/  I  said ;  and  then  I 
was  going. 

'  What !  you  will  go  ?  ' 

I 1  am  cold,  sir.' 

c  Cold?  Yes^r— and  standing  in  a  pool !  Go,  then,  Jane ; 
go  1 '  But  he  still  retained  my  hand,  and  I  could  not  free 
it.  I  bethought  myself  of  an  expedient. 

'  I  think  I  hoar  Mrs.  Fairfax  move,  sir,'  said  I. 

'  Well,  leave  me.'  He  relaxed  his  fingers,  and  I  was 
gone. 

I  regained  my  couch,  but  never  thought  of  sleep.  Till 
morning  dawned  I  was  tossed  on  a  buoyant  but  unquiet  sea, 
where  billows  of  trouble  rolled  under  surges  of  joy.  1  thought 
sometimes  I  saw  beyond  its  wild  waters  a  shore,  sweet  as  the 
hills  of  Beulah ;  and  now  and  then  a  freshening  gale  wakened 
by  hope,  bore  my  spirit  triumphantly  towards  the  bourne ; 
but  I  could  not  reach  it,  even  in  fancy, — a  counteracting 
breeze  blew  off  land,  and  continually  drove  me  back.  Sense 
would  resist  delirium,  judgment  would  warn  passion.  Too 
feverish  to  rest,  I  rose  as  soon  as  day  dawned. 


182  JANE  EYKE 


CHAPTER  XVI 

I  BOTH  wished  and  feared  to  see  Mr.  Rochester  on  the  day 
which  followed  this  sleepless  night.  I  wanted  to  hoar  his 
voice  again,  yet  feared  to  meet  his  eye.  During  the  early 
part  of  the  morning,  I  momentarily  expected  his  coming. 
He  was  not  in  the  frequent  habit  of  entering  the  school- 
room ;  hut  he  did  step  in  for  a  few  minutes  sometimes,  and 
I  had  the  impression  that  he  was  sure  to  visit  it  that  day. 

But  the  morning  passed  just  as  usual.  Nothing  happened 
to  interrupt  the  quiet  course  of  Ad&le's  studies ;  only,  soon 
after  breakfast,  I  heard  some  bustle  in  the  neighbourhood  of 
Mr.  Rochester's  chamber,  Mrs.  Fairfax's  voice,  and  Leah's, 
and  the  cook's — that  is,  John's  wife — and  even  John's  own 
gruff  tones.  There  were  exclamations  of,  '  What  a  mercy 
master  was  not  burnt  in  his  bed  1 f  '  It  is  always  dangerous 
to  keep  a  candle  lit  at  night/  '  How  providential  that  he 
had  presence  of  mind  to  think  of  the  water-jug ! '  'I 
wonder  he  waked  nobody ! '  '  It  is  to  be  hoped  he  will  not 
take  cold  with  sleeping  on  the  library  sofa,'  &c. 

To  much  confabulation  succeeded  a  sound  of  scrubbing 
and  setting  to-rights ;  and  when  I  passed  the  room,  in  going 
downstairs  to  dinner,  I  saw  through  the  open  door  that  all 
was  again  restored  to  complete  order — only  the  bed  was 
stripped  of  its  hangings.  Leah  stood  up  in  the  window-seat, 
rubbing  the  panes  of  glass  dimmed  with  smoke.  I  was 
about  to  address  her,  for  I  wished  to  know  what  account 
had  been  given  of'  the  affair ;  but,  on  advancing,  I  saw  a 
second  person  in  the  chamber— a  woman  sitting  on  a  chair 
by  the  bedside,  and  sewing  rings  to  new  curtains.  That 
woman  was  no  other  than  Grace  Poole. 


JANE  BYBE  183 

There  she  sat,  staid  and  taciturn-looking,  as  usual,  in  her 
brown  stuff  gown,  her  check  apron,  white  handkerchief,  and 
cap.  She  was  intent  on  her  work,  in  which  her  whole 
thoughts  seemed  absorbed.  On  her  hard  forehead,  and  in  her 
commonplace  features,  was  nothing  either  of  the  paleness  or 
desperation  one  would  have  expected  to  see  marking  the 
countenance  of  a  woman  who  had  attempted  murder,  and 
whose  intended  victim  had  followed  her  last  night  to  her  lair, 
and  (as  I  believed)  charged  her  with  the  crime  she  wished 
to  perpetrate.  I  was  amazed — confounded.  She  looked  up, 
while  I  still  gazed  at  her :  no  start,  no  increase  or  failure  of 
colour  betrayed  emotion,  consciousness  of  guilt,  or  fear  of 
detection.  She  said,  '  Good  morning,  Miss/  in  her  usual 
phlegmatic  and  brief  manner ;  and  taking  up  another  ring 
and  more  tape,  went  on  with  her  sewing. 

'  I  will  put  her  to  some  test/  thought  I.  '  Such  absolute 
impenetrability  is  past  comprehension.' 

1  Good  morning,  Grace,'  I  said.  '  Has  anything  happened 
here  ?  I  thought  I  heard  the  servants  all  talking  together  a 
while  ago/ 

1  Only  master  had  been  reading  in  his  bed  last  night. 
He  fell  asleep  with  his  candle  lit,  and  the  curtains  got  on 
fire  ;  but,  fortunately,  he  awoke  before  the  bed-clothes  or  the 
wood-work  caught,  and  contrived  to  quench  the  flame  with 
the  water  in  the  ewer.1 

'  A  strange  affair !  f  I  said,  in  i  low  voice  ;  then,  looking 
at  her  fixedly,  '  Did  Mr.  Rochester  wake  nobody  ?  Did  no 
one  hear  him  move  ?  ' 

She  again  raised  her  eyes  to  me  ;  and  this  time  there  was 
something  of  consciousness  in  their  expression.  She  seemed 
to  examine  me  warily ;  then  she  answered,  '  The  servants 
sleep  so  far  off,  you  know,  Miss,  they  would  not  be  likely  to 
hear.  Mrs.  Fairfax's  room  and  yours  are  the  nearest  to 
master's ;  but  Mrs.  Fairfax  said  she  heard  nothing :  when 
people  get  elderly,  they  often  sleep  heavy.'  She  paused,  and 
then  added,  with  a  sort  of  assumed  indifference,  but  still  in 
a  marked  and  significant  tone, '  But  you  are  young,  Miss, 


184  JANE  EYEE 

and  I  should  say  a  light  sleeper.  Perhaps  you  may  have 
heard  a  noise  ? ' 

'  I  did/  said  I,  dropping  my  voice,  so  that  Leah,  who  was 
still  polishing  the  panes,  could  not  hear  me,  '  and  at  first  I 
thought  it  was  Pilot ;  but  Pilot  cannot  laugh,  and  I  am  certain 
I  heard  a  laugh,  and  a  strange  one.' 

She  took  a  new  needleful  of  thread,  waxed  it  carefully, 
threaded  her  needle  with  a  steady  hand,  and  then  observed, 
with  perfect  composure,-—'  It  is  hardly  likely  master  would 
laugh,  I  should  think,  Miss,  when  he  was  in  such  danger: 
you  must  have  been  dreaming.' 

1 1  was  not  dreaming,'  I  said,  with  some  warmth,  for  her 
brazen  coolness  provoked  me.  Again  she  looked  at  me,  and 
with  the  same  scrutinising  and  conscious  eye. 

I  Have  you  told  master  that  you  heard  a  laugh  ? '  she 
inquired. 

I 1  have  not  had  the  opportunity  of  speaking  to  him  this 
morning/ 

'  You  did  not  think  of  opening  your  door  and  looking  out 
into  the  gallery  ? '  she  further  asked. 

She  appeared  to  be  cross-questioning  me — attempting  to 
draw  from  me  information  unawares.  The  idea  struck  me 
that  if  she  discovered  I  knew  or  suspected  her  guilt,  she 
would  be  playing  off  some  of  her  malignant  pranks  on  me. 
I  thought  it  advisable  to  be  on  my  guard. 

'  On  the  contrary/  said  I,  '  I  bolted  my  door.' 

1  Then  you  are  not  in  the  habit  of  bolting  your  door  every 
night  before  you  get  into  bed  ? ' 

1  Fiend  1  she  wants  to  know  my  habits,  that  she  may  lay 
her  plans  accordingly  ! '  Indignation  again  prevailed  over 
prudence ;  I  replied  sharply,  '  Hitherto  I  have  often  omitted 
to  fasten  the  bolt :  I  did  not  think  it  necessary.  I  was  not 
aware  any  danger  or  annoyance  was  to  be  dreaded  at 
Thornfield  Hall ;  but  in  future  '  (and  I  laid  marked  stress  on 
the  words)  ''I  shall  take  good  care  to  make  all  secure  before 
I  venture  to  lie  down.1 

'It  will    be  wise  so  to  do/  was  her    answer.    'This 


JANE  EYEE  185 

neighbourhood  is  as  quiet  as  any  I  know,  and  I  never  heard 
of  the  hall  being  attempted  by  robbers  since  it  was  a  house, 
though  there  are  hundreds  of  pounds'  worth  of  plate  in  the 
plate-closet,  as  is  well  known.  And  you  see,  for  such  a  large 
house,  there  are  very  few  servants,  because  master  has  never 
lived  here  much,  and  when  he  does  come,  being  a  bachelor, 
he  needs  little  waiting  on  ;  but  I  always  think  it  best  to  err 
on  the  safe  side  :  a  door  is  soon  fastened,  and  it  is  as  well  to 
have  a  drawn  bolt  between  one  and  any  mischief  that  may 
be  about.  A  deal  of  people,  Miss,  are  for  trusting  all  to 
Providence  ;  but- 1  say  Providence  will  not  dispense  with  the 
means,  though  He  often  blesses  them  when  they  are  used 
discreetly.1  And  here  she  closed  her  harangue  :  a  long  one 
for  her,  and  uttered  with  the  demureness  of  a  Quakeress. 

I  sMll  stood  absolutely  dumfoundered  at  what  appeared 
to  me  her  miraculous  self-possession  and  most  inscrutable 
hypocrisy,  when  the  cook  entered. 

1  Mrs.  Poole,'  said  she,  addressing  Grace,  '  the  servants' 
dinner  will  soon  be  ready.  Will  you  come  down  ?  ' 

'  No.  Just  put  my  pint  of  porter  and  bit  of  pudding  on 
a  tray,  and  I'll  carry  it  upstairs.' 

1  You'll  have  some  meat  ? ' 

1  Jusi  a  morsel,  and  a  taste  of  cheese,  that's  all.' 

'  And  the  sago  ?  ' 

'  Never  mind  it  at  present.  I  shall  be  coming  down  before 
tea-time.  I'll  make  it  myself.1 

The  cook  here  turned  to  me,  saying  that  Mrs.  Fairfax  was 
waiting  for  me  :  so  I  departed. 

I  hardly  heard  Mrs.  Fairfax's  account  of  the  curtain 
conflagration  during  dinner,  so  much  was  I  occupied  in 
puzzling  my  brains  over  the  enigmatical  character  of  Grace 
Poole,  and  still  more  in  pondering  the  problem  of  her  position 
at  Thornfield ;  in  questioning  why  she  had  not  been  given 
into  custody  that  morning,  or,  at  the  very  least,  dismissed 
from  her  master's  service.  He  had  almost  as  much  as  declared 
his  conviction  of  her  criminality  last  night :  what  mysterious 
cause  withheld  him  from  accusing  her  ?  Why  had  he  enjoined 


186  JANE  EYES 

me,  too,  to  secrecy  ?  It  was  strange — a  bold,  vindictive,  and 
haughty  gentleman  seemed  somehow  in  the  power  of  one  of 
the  meanest  of  his  dependants ;  so  much  in  her  power,  that 
even  when  she  lifted  her  hand  against  his  life,  he  dared  not 
openly  charge  her  with  the  attempt,  much  less  punish  her 
for  it. 

Had  Grace  been  young  and  handsome,  I  should  have  been 
tempted  to  think  that  tenderer  feelings  than  prudence  or 
fear  influenced  Mr.  Eochester  in  her  behalf;  but,  hard- 
favoured  and  matronly  as  she  was,  the  idea  could  not  be 
admitted.  '  Yet,'  I  reflected,  '  she  has  been  young  once ;  her 
youth  would  be  contemporary  with  her  master's.  Mrs. 
Fairfax  told  me  once  she  had  lived  here  many  years.  I 
don't  think  she  can  ever  have  been  pretty ;  but,  for  aught  I 
know,  she  may  possess  originality  and  strength  of  character 
to  compensate  for  the  want  of  personal  advantages.  Mr. 
Eochester  is  an  amateur  of  the  decided  and  eccentric — Grace 
is  eccentric  at  least.  What  if  a  former  caprice  (a  freak  very 
possible  to  a  nature  so  sudden  and  headstrong  as  his)  has 
delivered  him  into  her  power,  and  she  now  exercises  over  his 
actions  a  secret  influence,  the  result  of  his  own  indiscretion, 
which  he  cannot  shake  otf,  and  dare  not  disregard  ? '  But, 
having  reached  this  point  of  conjecture,  Mrs.  Poole's  square, 
flat  figure,  and  uncomely,  dry,  even  coarse  face,  recurred  so 
distinctly  to  my  mind's  eye,  that  I  thought, '  No ;  impossible  ! 
my  supposition  cannot  be  correct.  Yet,'  suggested  the  secret 
voice  which  talks  to  us  in  our  own  hearts,  '  you  are  not 
beautiful  either,  and  perhaps  Mr.  Eochester  approves  you — 
at  any  rate,  you  have  often  felt  as  if  he  did ;  and  last  night 
— remember  his  words;  remember  his  look;  remember  his 
voice ! ' 

I  well  remembered  all — language,  glance,  and  tone 
seemed  at  the  moment  vividly  renewed.  I  was  now  in 
the  schoolroom.  Adele  was  drawing.  I  bent  over  her 
and  directed  her  pencil.  She  looked  up  with  a  sort  of 
start. 

' Qu'avez-vous,  mademoiselle?'  said  she;  'Vos  doigts 


JANE  EYBE  187 

tremblent  comme  la  feuille,  et  vos  joues  sont  rouges  :  mais, 
rouges  comme  des  cerises  i ' 

'  I  am  hot,  Addle,  with  stooping  ! '  She  went  on  sketch- 
ing, I  went  on  thinking. 

I  hastened  to  drive  from  my  mind  the  hateful  notion  I 
had  been  conceiving  respecting  Grace  Poole :  it  disgusted 
me.  I  compared  myself  with  her,  and  found  we  were 
different.  Bessie  Leaven  had  said  I  was  quite  a  lady ;  and 
she  spoke  truth :  I  was  a  lady.  And  now  I  looked  much 
better  than  I  did  when  Bessie  saw  me :  I  had  more  colour 
and  more  flesh;  more  life,  more  vivacity;  because  I  had 
brighter  hopes  and  keener  enjoyments. 

'Evening  approaches,'  said  I,  as  I  looked  towards  the  - 
window.  '  J  have  never  heard  Mr.  Bochester's  voice  or  step 
in  the  house  to-day ;  but  surely  I  shall  see  him  before  night  : 
I  feared  the  meeting  in  the  morning:  now  I  desire  it, 
because  expectation  has  been  so  long  baffled  that  it  is 
grown  impatient/ 

When  dusk  actually  closed,  and  when  Addle  left  me  to 
go  and  play  in  the  nursery  with  Sophie,  I  did  most  keenly 
desire  it.  I  listened  for  the  bell  to  ring  below ;  I  listened 
for  Leah  coming  up  with  a  message  ;  I  fancied  sometimes  I 
heard  Mr.  Bocbester's  own  tread,  and  I  turned  to  the  door, 
expecting  it  to  open  and  admit  him.  The  door  remained 
shut :  darkness  only  came  in  through  the  window.  Still  it 
was  not  late :  he  often  sent  for  me  at  seven  and  eight  o'clock, 
and  it  was  yet  but  six.  Surely  I  should  not  be  wholly 
disappointed  to-night,  when  I  had  so  many  things  to  say  to 
him  I  I  wanted  again  to  introduce  the  subject  of  Grace 
Poole,  and  to  hear  what  he  would  answer  ;  I  wanted  to  ask 
him  plainly  if  he  really  believed  it  was  she  who  had  made 
last  night's  hideous  attempt ;  and  if  so,  why  he  kept  her 
wickedness  a  secret.  It  little  mattered  whether  my  curiosity 
irritated  him ;  I  knew  the  pleasure  of  vexing  and  soothing 
him  by  turns ;  it  was  one  I  chiefly  delighted  in,  and  a  sure 
instinct  always  prevented  me  from  going  too  far:  beyond 
bhe  verge  of  provocation  I  never  ventured;  on  the  extreme 


188  JANE  EYRE 

brink  I  liked  well  to  try  my  skill.  Retaining  every  minute 
form  of  respect,  every  propriety  of  my  station,  I  could  still 
meet  him  in  argument  without  fear  or  uneasy  restraint :  this 
suited  both  him  and  me. 

A  tread  creaked  on  the  stairs  at  last;  Leah  made  her 
appearance,  but  it  was  only  to  intimate  that  tea  was  ready 
in  Mrs.  Fairfax's  room.  Thither  I  repaired,  glad  at  least  to 
go  downstairs,  for  that  brought  me,  I  imagined,  nearer  to 
Mr.  Rochester's  presence. 

'  You  must  want  your  tea/  said  the  good  lady,  as  I  joined 
her,  'you  ate  so  little  at  dinner.  I  am  afraid/  she  con- 
tinued, 'you  are  not  well  to-day,  you  look  flushed  and 
feverish/ 

1  Oh,  quite  well !    I  never  felt  better/ 

1  Then  you  must  prove  it  by  evincing  a  good  appetite ; 
will  you  fill  the  tea-pot  while  I  knit  off  this  needle  ? ' 
Having  completed  her  task,  she  rose  to  draw  down  the 
blind  which  she  had  hitherto  kept  up,  by  way,  I  suppose,  of 
making  the  most  of  daylight :  though  dusk  was  now  fast 
deepening  into  total  obscurity. 

1  It  is  fair  to-night/  said  she,  as  she  looked  through  the 
panes,  'though  not  starlight;  Mr.  Rochester  has,  on  the 
whole,  had  a  favourable  day  for  his  journey/ 

'  Journey  ! — Is  Mr.  Rochester  gone  anywhere  ?  I  did 
not  know  he  was  out/ 

1  Oh,  he  set  off  the  moment  he  had  breakfasted !  He  is 
gone  to  the  Leas,  Mr.  Eshton's  place,  ten  miles  on  the  other 
side  Millcote ;  I  believe  there  is  quite  a  party  assembled 
there — Lord  Ingram,  Sir  George  Lynn,  Colonel  Dent,  and 
others/ 

4  Do  you  expect  him  back  to-night  ?  ' 

'  No — nor  to-morrow  either ;  I  should  think  he  is  very 
likely  to  stay  a  week  or  more.  When  these  fine,  fashionable 
people  get  together,  they  are  so  surrounded  by  elegance  and 
gaiety,  so  well  provided  with  all  that  can  please  and  entertain, 
they  are  in  no  hurry  to  separate.  Gentlemen,  especially,  are 
often  in  request  on  such  occasions ;  and  Mr.  Rochester  is  so 


JANE  EYEE  189 

talented  and  so  lively  in  society,  that  I  believe  he  is  a  general 
favourite— the  ladies  are  very  fond  of  him — though  you 
would  not  think  his  appearance  calculated  to  recommend  him 
particularly  in  their  eyes ;  but  I  suppose  his  acquirements 
and  abilities,  perhaps  his  wealth  and  good  blood,  make 
amends  for  any  little  fault  of  look/ 

'  Are  there  ladies  at  the  Leas  ?  ' 

1  There  are  Mrs.  Eshton  and  her  three  daughters — very 
elegant  young  ladies,  indeed  ;  and  there  are  the  Honourable 
Blanche  and  Mary  Ingram — most  beautiful  women,  I  sup- 
pose :  indeed,  I  have  seen  Blanche,  six  or  seven  years  since, 
when  she  was  a  girl  of  eighteen.  She  came  here  to  a  Christ- 
mas ball  and  party  Mr.  Eochester  gave.  You  should  have 
seen  the  dining-room  that  day — how  richly  it  was  decorated, 
how  brilliantly  lib  up  !  I  should  think  there  were  fifty  ladies 
and  gentlemen  present — all  of  the  first  county  families ;  and 
Miss  Ingram  was  considered  the  belle  of  the  evening.' 

1  You  saw  her,  you  say,  Mrs.  Fairfax :  what  was  she 
like?' 

1  Yes,  I  saw-  her.  The  dining-room  doors  were  thrown 
open,  and,  as  it  was  Christmas-time,  the  servants  were 
allowed  to  assemble  in  the  hall,  to  hear  some  of  the  ladies 
sing  and  play.  Mr.  Eochester  would  have  me  to  come  in, 
and  I  sat  down  in  a  quiet  corner  and  watched  them.  I 
never  saw  a  more  splendid  scene :  the  ladies  were  magnifi- 
cently dressed ;  most  of  them — at  least  most  of  the  younger 
ones — looked  handsome,  but  Miss  Ingram  was  certainly  the 
queen/ 

1  And  what  was  she  like  ? ' 

'  Tall,  fine  bust,  sloping  shoulders,  long,  graceful  neck ; 
olive  complexion,  dark  and  clear;  noble  features;  eyes 
rather  like  Mr.  Eochester's,  large  and  black,  and  as  brilliant 
as  her  jewels.  And  then  she  had  such  a  fine  head  of  hair, 
raven-black,  and  so  becomingly  arranged ;  a  crown  of  thick 
plaits  behind,  and  in  front  the  longest,  the  glossiest  curls  I 
ever  saw.  She  was  dressed  in  pure  white,  an  amber-coloured! 
scarf  was  passed  over  her  shoulder  and  across  her  breast,  tied 


190  JANE  BYEB 

at  the  side,  and  descending  in  long,  fringed  ends  below  her 
knee.  She  wore  an  amber-coloured  flower,  too,  in  her  hair : 
it  contrasted  well  with  the  jetty  mass  of  her  curls.' 

1  She  was  greatly  admired,  of  course  ? ' 

'  Yes,  indeed,  and  not  only  for  her  beauty,  but  for  her 
accomplishments.  She  was  one  of  the  ladies  who  sang ;  a 
gentleman  accompanied  her  on  the  piano.  She  and  Mr. 
Bochester  sang  a  duet.' 

'  Mr.  Bochester?    I  was  not  aware  he  could  sing.1 

'  Oh !  he  has  a  fine  bass  voice,  and  an  excellent  taste  for 
music.' 

'  And  Miss  Ingram,  what  sort  of  a  voice  had  she  ? ' 

'  A  very  rich  and  powerful  one— she  sang  delightfully — 
it  was  a  treat  to  listen  to  her ;  and  she  played  afterwards. 
I  am  no  judge  of  music,  but  Mr.  Bochester  is,  and  I  heard 
him  say  her  execution  was  remarkably  good/ 

'  And  this  beautiful  and  accomplished  lady  is  not  yet 
married?' 

1  It  appears  not :  I  fancy  neither  she  nor  her  sister  have 
very  large  fortunes.  Old  Lord  Ingram's  estates  were  chiefly 
entailed,  and  the  eldest  son  came  in  for  everything  almost.' 

'  But  I  wonder  no  wealthy  nobleman  or  gentleman  has 
taken  a  fancy  to  her :  Mr.  Bochester,  for  instance.  He  is 
rich,  is  he  not  ? ' 

'  Oh  !  yes.  But  you  see  there  is  a  considerable  difference 
in  age  :  Mr.  Bochester  is  near  forty ;  she  is  but  twenty-five.' 

1  What  of  that  ?  More  unequal  matches  are  made  every 
day.' 

1  True  :  yet  T  should  scarcely  fancy  Mr.  Bochester  would 
entertain  an  idea  of  the  sort.  But  you  eat  nothing:  you 
have  scarcely  tasted  since  you  began  tea.' 

'  No :  I  am  too  thirsty  to  eat.  Will  you  let  me  have 
another  cup  ? ' 

I  was  about  again  to  revert  to  the  probability  of  a  union 
between  Mr.  Bochester  and  the  beautiful  Blanche ;  but  Ad&le 
came  in,  and  the  conversation  was  turned  into  another 
channel. 


JANE  EYEE  191 

When  once  more  alone,  I  reviewed  the  information  I 
had  got;  looked  into  my  heart,  examined  its  thoughts 
and  feelings,  and  endeavoured  to  bring  back  with  a  strict 
hand  such  as  had  been  straying  through  imagination's 
boundless  and  trackless  waste,  into  the  safe  fold  of  common 
sense. 

Arraigned  at  my  own  bar,  Memory  having  given  her 
evidence  of  the  hopes,  wishes,  sentiments  I  had  been  cherish- 
ing since  last  night — of  the  general  state  of  mind  in  which  I 
had  indulged  for  nearly  a  fortnight  past ;  Keason  having  come 
forward  and  told  in  her  own  quiet  way,  a  plain,  unvarnished 
tale,  showing  how  I  had  rejected  the  real,  and  rabidly 
devoured  the  ideal ; — T  pronounced  judgment  to  this  effect : — 
That  a  greater  fool  than  June  Eyre  had  never  breathed  the 
breath  of  life  :  that  a  more  fantastic  idiot  had  never  surfeited 
herself  on  sweet  lies,  and  swallowed  poison  as  if  it  were 
nectar. 

1  You,'  1  said,  '  a  favourite  with  Mr.  Eochester  ?  You 
gifted  with  the  power  of  pleasing  him  ?  You  of  importance 
to  him  in  any  way?  Go  I  your  folly  sickens  me.  And  you 
have  derived  pleasure  from  occasional  tokens  of  preference — 
equivocal  tokens,  shown  by  a  gentleman  of  family,  and  a 
man  of  the  world,  to  a  dependant  and  a  novice.  How  dared 
you  ?  Poor  stupid  dupe  ! — Could  not  even  self-interest  make 
you  wiser  ?  You  repeated  to  yourself  this  morning  the  brief 
scene  of  last  night  ? — Cover  your  face  and  be  ashamed ! 
He  said  something  in  praise  of  your  eyes,  did  lie  ?  Blind 
puppy !  Open  their  bleared  lids  and  look  on  your  own 
accursed  senselessness  1  It  does  good  to  no  woman  to  be 
flattered  by  her  superior,  who  cannot  possibly  intend  to 
many  her ;  and  it  is  madness  in  all  women  to  let  a  secret 
love  kindle  within  them,  which,  if  unreturned  and  unknown, 
must  devour  the  life  that  feeds  it ;  and,  if  discovered  and 
responded  to,  must  lead,  ignis-fatuus-like,  into  miry  wilds, 
whence  there  is  no  extrication. 

*  Listen,  then,  Jane  Eyre,  to  your  sentence  :  to-morrow, 
place  the  glass  before  you,  and  draw  in  chalk  your  own 

H2 


192  JANE  EYBE 

picture,  faithfully;  without  softening  one  defect:  omit  no 
harsh  line,  smooth  away  no  displeasing  irregularity ;  write 
under  it,  "  Portrait  of  a  Governess,  disconnected,  poor,  and 
plain." 

'  Afterwards,  take  a  piece  of  smooth  ivory — you  have  one 
prepared  in  your  drawing-box  :  take  your  palette,  mix  your 
freshest,  finest,  clearest  tints;  choose  your  most  delicate 
camel-hair  pencils  ;  delineate  carefully  the  loveliest  face  you 
can  imagine ;  paint  it  in  your  softest  shades  and  sweetest 
hues,  according  to  the  description  given  by  Mrs.  Fairfax  of 
Blanche  Ingram :  remember  the  raven  ringlets,  the  Oriental 
eye  ; — what !  you  revert  to  Mr.  Kochester  as  a  model ! 
Order !  No  snivel  I — no  sentiment ! — no  regret !  I  will 
endure  only  sense  and  resolution.  Recall  the  august  yet 
harmonious  lineaments,  the  Grecian  neck  and  bust :  let  the 
round  and  dazzling  arm  be  visible,  and  the  delicate  hand ; 
omit  neither  diamond  ring  nor  gold  bracelet ;  portray  faith- 
fully the  attire,  aerial  lace  and  glistening  satin,  graceful 
scarf  and  golden  rose :  call  it  "  Blanche,  an  accomplished 
lady  of  rank." 

*  \Vhenever,  in  future,  you  should  chance  to  fancy  Mr. 
Eochester  thinks  well  of  you,  take  out  these  two  pictures 
and  compare  them :  say,  "  Mr.  Eochester  might  probably 
win  that  noble  lady's  love,  if  he  chose  to  strive  for  it ;  is  it 
likely  he  would  waste  a  serious  thought  on  this  indigent 
and  insignificant  plebeian  ?  "  ' 

'  111  do  it/  I  resolved  :  and  having  framed  this  determina- 
tion, I  grew  calm,  and  fell  asleep. 

I  kept  my  word.  An  hour  or  two  sufficed  to  sketch  my 
own  portrait  in  crayons ;  and  in  less  than  a  fortnight  I  had 
completed  an  ivory  miniature  of  an  imaginary  Blanche 
Ingram.  It  looked  a  lovely  face  enough,  and  when  compared 
with  the  real  head  in  chalk,  the  contrast  was  as  great  as  self- 
control  could  desire.  I  derived  benefit  from  the  task  :  it  had 
kept  my  head  and  hands  employed,  and  had  given  force  and 
fixedness  to  the  new  impressions  I  wished  to  stamp  indelibly 
on  my  heart. 


JANE  EYEE  193 

Ere  long,  I  had  reason  to  congratulate  myself  on  the 
course  of  wholesome  discipline  to  which  I  had  thus  forced 
my  feelings  to  submit:  thanks  to  it,  I  was  able  to  meet 
subsequent  occurrences  with  a  decent  calm;  which,  had 
they  found  mo  unprepared,  I  should  probably  have  been 
unequal  to  maintain,  even  externally. 


194:  JANE  EYBE 


3HAPTEB  XVII 

A  WEEK  passed,  and  no  news  arrived  of  Mr.  Eochester  :  ten 
days,  and  still  he  did  not  come.  Mrs.  Fairfax  said  she 
should  not  be  surprised  if  he  were  to  go  straight  from  the 
Leas  to  London,  and  thence  to  the  continent  and  not  show 
his  face  again  at  Thornfield  for  a  year  to  come :  he  had  not 
unfrequently  quitted  it  in  a  manner  quite  as  abrupt  and 
unexpected.  When  I  heard  this  I  was  beginning  to  feel  a 
strange  chill  and  failing  at  the  heart.  I  was  actually  per- 
mitting myself  to  experience  a  sickening  sense  of  disappoint- 
ment :  but  rallying  my  wits,  and  recollecting  my  principles,  I 
at  once  called  my  sensations  to  order ;  and  it  was  wonderful 
how  I  got  over  the  temporary  blunder — how  I  cleared  up  the 
mistake  of  supposing  Mr.  Bochester's  movements  a  matter  in 
which  I  had  any  cause  to  take  a  vital  interest.  Not  that  I 
humbled  myself  by  a  slavish  notion  of  inferiority :  on  the 
contrary,  I  just  said — '  You  have  nothing  to  do  with  the 
master  of  Thornfield,  further  than  to  receive  the  salary  he 
gives  you  for  teaching  his  prot£ge"e,  and  to  be  grateful  for  such 
respectful  and  kind  treatment  as,  if  you  do  your  duty,  you 
have  a  right  to  expect  at  his  hands.  Be  sure  that  is  the  only 
tie  he  seriously  acknowledges  between  you  and  him  :  so  don't 
make  him  the  object  of  your  fine  feelings,  your  raptures, 
agonies,  and  so  forth.  He  is  not  of  your  order  :  keep  to  your 
caste,  and  be  too  self-respecting  to  lavish  the  love  of  the 
whole  heart,  soul,  and  strength,  where  such  a  gift  is  not 
wanted  and  would  be  despised.' 

I  went  on  with  my  day's  business  tranquilly,  but  ever 
and  anon  vague  suggestions  kept  wandering  across  my  brain 
of  reasons  why  I  should  quit  Thornfield ;  and  I  kept  in- 


JANE  EYEE  195 

voluntarily  framing  advertisements  and  pondering  conjectures 
about  new  situations ;  these  thoughts  I  did  not  think  it 
necessary  to  check ;  they  might  germinate  and  bear  fruit  if 
they  could. 

Mr.  Eochester  had  been  absent  upwards  of  a  fortnight, 
when  the  post  brought  Mrs.  Fairfax  a  letter. 

1  It  is  from  the  master/  said  she  as  she  looked  at  the 
direction.  '  Now  I  suppose  we  shall  know  whether  we  are 
to  expect  his  return  or  not.' 

And  while  she  broke  the  seal  and  perused  the  document, 
I  went  on  taking  my  coffee  (we  were  at  breakfast) ;  it  was 
hot,  and  I  attributed  to  that  circumstance  a  fiery  glow  which 
suddenly  rose  to  my  face.  Why  my  hand  shook,  and  why  I 
involuntarily  spilt  half  the  contents  of  my  cup  into  my 
saucer,  I  did  nou  choose  to  consider. 

1  Well — I  sometimes  think  we  are  too  quiet ;  but  we  run 
a  chance  of  being  busy  enough  now :  for  a  little  while  at 
least,1  said  Mrs.  Fairfax,  still  holding  the  note  before  her 
spectacles. 

Ere  I  permitted  myself  to  request  an  explanation,  1  tied 
the  string  of  Ad61e's  pinafore,  which  happened  to  be  loose  : 
having  helped  her  also  to  another  bun,  and  refilled  her  mug 
with  milk,  I  said,  nonchalantly : — '  Mr.  Eochester  is  not 
likely  to  return  soon,  I  suppose  ?  ' 

1  Indeed,  he  is— in  three  days,  he  says  ;  that  will  be  next 
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  bedrooms  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  Millcote, 
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.1  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 


196  JANE  EYEE 

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,  sucli  lighting  of  fires  in  bedrooms,  such  airing  of 
sheets  and  feather-beds  on  hearths,  I  never  beheld  either 
before  or  since.  Adele  ran  quite  wild  in  the  midst  of  it :  the 
preparations  for  company,  and  the  prospect  of  their  arrival, 
seemed  to  throw  her  into  ecstacies.  She  would  have  Sophie 
to  look  over  all  her  '  toilettes/  as  she  called  frocks ;  to  furbish 
up  any  that  were  '  passers/  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  mat- 
tresses 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  storeroom,  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— Adele  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 
bustling,  topsy-turvy  bedrooms,— just  say  a  word,  perhaps, 
to  the  charwoman  about  the  proper  way  to  polish  a  grate,  or 
clean  a  marble  mantelpiece,  or  take  stains  from  papered 
walls,  and  then  pass  on.  She  would  thus  descend  to  the 
kitchen  once  a  day,  eat  her  dinner,  smoke  a  moderate  pipe 
on  the  hearth,  and  go  back,  carrying  her  pot  of  porter  with 


JANE  EYEE  197 

her,  for  her  private  solace,  in  her  own  gloomy,  upper  haunt. 
Only  one  hour  in  the  twenty-four  did  she  pass  with  her 
fellow- servants  below ;  all  the  rest  of  her  time  was  spent  in 
some  low-ceiled,  oaken  chamber  of  the  third  story  :  there  she 
sat  and  sewed — and  probably  laughed  drearily  to  herself 
— as  conipanionless  as  a  prisoner  in  his  dungeon. 

The  strangest  thing  of  all  was,  that  not  a  soul  in  the 
house,  except  me,  noticed  her  habits,  or  seemed  to  marvel  at 
them ;  no  one  discussed  her  position  or  employment ;  no  one 
pitied  her  solitude  or  isolation.  I  once,  indeed,  overheard 
part  of  a  dialogue  between  Leah  and  one  of  the  charwomen, 
of  which  Grace  formed  the  subject.  Leah  had  been  saying 
something  T  had  not  caught,  and  the  charwomen  remarked 
— *  She  gets  good  wages,  I  guess  ? ' 

'  Yes/  said  Leah  ;  '  I  wish  I  had  as  good  ;  not  that  mine 
are  to  complain  of, — there's  no  stinginess  at  Thornneld ;  but 
they're  not  one-fifth  of  the  sum  Mrs.  Poole  receives.  And 
she  is  laying  by :  she  goes  every  quarter  to  the  bank  at 
Millcote.  I  should  not  wonder  but  she  has  saved  enough  to 
keep  her  independent  if  she  liked  to  leave ;  but  I  suppose 
she's  got  used  to  the  place  ;  and  then  she's  not  forty  yet,  and 
strong  and  able  for  anything.  It  is  too  soon  for  her  to  give 
up  business.' 

'  She  is  a  good  hand,  I  daresay,'  said  the  charwoman. 

'Ah!  she  understands  what  she  has  to  do, — nobody 
better,'  rejoined  Leah,  significantly  ;  '  and  it  is  not  every  one 
could  fill  her  shoes  ;  not  for  all  the  money  she  gets.' 

'  That  it  is  not ! '  was  the  reply.  '  I  wonder  whether 
master ' 

The  charwoman  was  going  on  ;  but  here  Leah  turned  and 
perceived  me,  and  she  instantly  gave  her  companion  a 
nudge. 

'  Doesn't  she  know  ?  '  I  heard  the  woman  whisper. 

Leah  shook  her  head,  and  the  conversation  was  of  course 
dropped.  All  I  had  gathered  from  it  amounted  to  this, — that 
there  was  a  mystery  at  Thornfield  ;  and  that  from  participa- 
tion in  that  mystery  I  was  purposely  excluded. 


198  JANE  EYEE 

Thursday  came :  all  work  had  been  completed  the  previous 
evening ;  carpets  were  laid  down,  bed-hangings  festooned, 
radiant  white  counterpanes  spread,  toilet-tables  arranged, 
furniture  rubbed,  flowers  piled  in  vases :  both  chambers  and 
saloons  looked  as  fresh  and  bright  as  hands  could  make  them. 
The  hall,  too,  was  scoured ;  and  the  great  carved  clock,  as 
well  as  the  steps  and  banisters  of  the  staircase,  were  polished 
to  the  brightness  of  glass  :  in  the  dining-room,  the  sideboard 
flashed  resplendent  with  plate ;  in  the  drawing-room  and 
boudoir,  vases  of  exotics  bloomed  on  all  sides. 

Afternoon  arrived  :  Mrs.  Fairfax  assumed  her  best  black 
satin  gown,  her  gloves,  and  her  gold  watch  ;  for  it  was  her 
part  to  receive  the  company — to  conduct  the  ladies  to  their 
rooms,  &c.  Ad61e,  too,  would  be  dressed  :  though  I  thought 
that  she  had  little  chance  of  being  introduced  to  the  party 
that  day,  at  least.  However,  to  please  her,  I  allowed  Sophie 
to  apparel  her  in  one  of  her  short,  full  muslin  frocks.  For 
myself,  I  had  no  need  to  make  any  change  ;  I  should  not  be 
called  upon  to  quit  my  sanctum  of  the  schoolroom;  for  a 
sanctum  it  was  now  become  to  me — '  a  very  pleasant  refuge 
in  time  of  trouble/ 

It  had  been  a  mild,  serene  spring  day ;  one  of  those  days 
which,  towards  the  end  of  March  or  the  beginning  of  April, 
rise  shining  over  the  earth  as  heralds  of  summer.  It  was 
drawing  to  an  end  now ;  but  the  evening  was  even  warm, 
and  I  sat  at  work  in  the  schoolroom  with  the  window 
open. 

'  It  gets  late/  said  Mrs.  Fairfax,  entering  in  rustling  state. 
1 1  am  glad  I  ordered  dinner  an  hour  after  the  time  Mr. 
Eochester  mentioned ;  for  it  is  past  six  now.  I  have  sent 
John  down  to  the  gates  to  see  if  there  is  anything  on  the 
road  :  one  can  see  a  long  way  from  thence  in  the  direction 
of  Millcote.'  She  went  to  the  window.  '  Here  he  is ! '  said 
she.  '  Well,  John  '  (leaning  out),  '  any  news  ?  ' 

'  They're  coming,  ma'am/  was  the  answer.  '  They'll  be 
here  in  ten  minutes.' 

Ad&le  flew  to  the  window.    I  followed;  taking  care  to 


JANE  EYEE  199 

stand  on  one  side,  so  that,  screened  by  the  curtain,  I  could 
see  without  being  seen. 

The  ten  minutes  John  had  given  seemed  very  long,  but 
at  last  wheels  were  heard ;  four  equestrians  galloped  up  the 
drive,  and  after  them  came  two  open  carriages.  Fluttering 
veils  and  waving  plumes  filled  the  vehicles;  two  of  the 
cavaliers  were  young,  dashing-looking  gentlemen ;  the  third 
was  Mr.  Rochester,  on  his  black  horse,  Mesrour ;  Pilot 
bounding  before  him :  at  his  side  rode  a  lady,  and  he 
and  she  were  the  first  of  the  party.  Her  purple  riding- 
habit  almost  swept  the  ground,  her  veil  streamed  long  on  the 
breeze;  mingling  with  its  transparent  folds,  and  gleaming 
through  them,  shone  rich  raven  ringlets. 

1  Miss  Ingram  I '  exclaimed  Mrs.  Fairfax,  and  away  she 
hurried  to  her  post  below. 

The  cavalcade,  following  the  sweep  of  the  drive,  quickly 
turned  the  angle  of  the  house,  and  I  lost  sight  of  it.  Adele 
now  petitioned  to  go  down  ;  but  I  took  her  on  my  knee  and 
gave  her  to  understand  that  she  must  not  on  any  account 
think  of  venturing  in  sight  of  the  ladies,  either  now  or  at  any 
other  time,  unless  expressly  sent  for;  that  Mr.  Rochester 
would  be  very  angry,  &c.  '  Some  natural  tears  she  shed  '  on 
being  told  this;  but  as  I  began  to  look  very  grave,  she 
consented  at  last  to  wipe  them. 

A  joyous  stir  was  now  audible  in  the  hall ;  gentlemen's 
deep  tones  and  ladies'  silvery  accents  blent  harmoniously 
together,  and  distinguishable  above  all,  though  not  loud,  was 
the  sonorous  voice  of  the  master  of  Thornfield  Hall,  welcom- 
ing his  fair  and  gallant  guests  under  its  roof.  Then  light 
steps  ascended  the  stairs ;  and  there  was  a  tripping  through 
the  gallery,  and  soft  cheerful  laughs,  and  opening  and  closing 
doors,  and,  for  a  time,  a  hush. 

'  Elles  changent  de  toilettes/  said  Adele ;  who,  listen- 
ing attentively  had  followed  every  movement ;  and  she 
sighed. 

Chez  mam  an,'  said  she,  '  quand  il  y  avait  du  monde,  je 
le  suivais  partout,  au  salon  et  &  leurs  chambres ;  souvent  je 


200  JANE  EYEE 

regardais  les  femmes  de  chambre  coiffer  et  habiller  les  dames, 
et  c'6tait  si  amusant :  comme  cela  on  apprend.' 

'  Don't  you  feel  hungry,  Ad61e  ?  ' 

'  Mais  oui,  mademoiselle :  voil&  cinq  ou  six  heures  que 
nous  n'avons  pas  mang6.' 

1  Well  now,  while  the  ladies  are  in  their  rooms,  I  will 
venture  down  and  get  you  something  to  eat/ 

And  issuing  from  my  asylum  with  precaution,  I  sought  a 
backstairs  which  conducted  directly  to  the  kitchen.  All  in 
that  region  was  fire  and  commotion ;  the  soup  and  fish  were 
in  the  last  stage  of  projection,  and  the  cook  hung  over  her 
crucibles  in  a  frame  of  mind  and  body  threatening  sponta- 
neous combustion.  In  the  servants'  hall  two  coachmen  and 
three  gentlemen's  gentlemen  stood  or  sat  round  the  fire  ;  the 
Abigails,  I  suppose,  were  upstairs  with  their  mistresses  :  the 
new  servants  that  had  been  hired  from  Millcote  were  bustling 
about  everywhere.  Threading  this  chaos,  I  at  last  reached 
the  larder ;  there  I  took  possession  of  a  cold  chicken,  a  roll 
of  bread,  some  tarts,  a  plate  or  two,  and  a  knife  and  fork : 
with  this  booty  I  made  a  hasty  retreat.  I  had  regained  the 
gallery,  and  was  just  shutting  the  back-door  behind  me,  when 
an  accelerated  hum  warned  me  that  the  ladies  were  about  to 
issue  from  their  chambers.  I  could  not  proceed  to  the 
schoolroom  without  passing  some  of  their  doors,  and  running 
the  risk  of  being  surprised  with  my  cargo  of  victualage; 
so  I  stood  still  at  this  end,  which,  being  windowless,  was 
dark  :  quite  dark  now,  for  the  sun  was  set  and  twilight 
gathering. 

Presently  the  chambers  gave  up  their  fair  tenants  one 
after  another;  each  came  out  gaily  and  airily,  with  dress 
that  gleamed  lustrous  through  the  dusk.  For  a  moment 
they  stood  grouped  together  at  the  other  extremity  of  the 
gallery,  conversing  in  a  key  of  sweet  subdued  vivacity ;  they 
then  descended  the  staircase  almost  as  noiselessly  as  a  bright 
mist  rolls  down  a  hill.  Their  collective  appearance  had  left 
on  me  an  impression  of  high-born  elegance,  such  as  I  had 
never  before  received. 


JANE  EYEE  201 

I  found  Adfele  peeping  through  the  schoolroom  door, 
which  she  held  aja,r.  '  What  beautiful  ladies  ! '  cried  she 
in  English.  '  Oh,  I  wish  I  might  go  to  them !  Do  you 
think  Mr.  Eochester  will  send  for  us  by-and-by,  after 
dinner?' 

'  No,  indeed,  I  don't ;  Mr.  Eochestor  has  something  else 
to  think  about.  Never  mind  the  ladies  to-night;  perhaps 
you  will  see  them  to-morrow ;  here  is  your  dinner.' 

She  was  really  hungry,  so  the  chicken  and  tarts  served 
to  divert  her  attention  for  a  time.  It  was  well  I  secured 
this  forage ;  or  both  she,  I  and  Sophie,  to  whom  I  con- 
veyed a  share  of  our  repast,  would  have  run  a  chance 
of  getting  no  dinner  at  all :  every  one  downstairs  was 
too  much  engaged  to  think  of  us.  The  dessert  was  not 
carried  out  till  after  nine ;  and  at  ten  footmen  were  still 
running  to  and  fro  with  trays  and  coffee-cups.  I  allowed 
Ad61e  to  sit  up  much  later  than  usual;  for  she  declared 
she  could  not  possibly  go  to  sleep  while  the  doors  kept 
opening  and  shutting  below,  and  people  bustling  about. 
Besides,  she  added,  a  message  might  possibly  come  from 
Mr.  Eochester  when  she  was  undressed;  'et  alors  qucl 
dommage ! ' 

I  told  her  stories  as  long  as  she  would  listen  to  them ; 
and  then  for  a  change  I  took  her  out  into  the  gallery.  The 
hall  lamp  was  now  lit,  and  it  amused  her  to  look  over  the 
balustrade  and  watch  the  servants  passing  backwards  and 
forwards.  When  the  evening  was  far  advanced,  a  sound  of 
music  issued  from  the  drawing-room,  whither  the  piano  had 
been  removed.  Adele  and  I  sat  down  on  the  top  step  of  the 
stairs  to  listen.  Presently  a  voice  blent  with  the  rich  tones 
of  the  instrument ;  it  was  a  lady  who  sang,  and  very  sweet 
her  notes  were.  The  solo  over,  a  duet  followed,  and  then  a 
glee  :  a  joyous  conversational  murmur  filled  up  the  intervals. 
I  listened  long:  suddenly  I  discovered  that  my  ear  was 
wholly  intent  on  analysing  the  mingled  sounds,  and  trying 
to  discriminate  amidst  the  confusion  of  accents  those  of 
Mr.  Eochester ;  and  when  it  caught  them,  which  it  soon  did, 


202  JANE  EYRE 

it  found  a  further  task  in  framing  the  tones,  rendered  by 
distance  inarticulate,  into  words. 

The  clock  struck  eleven.  I  looked  at  Ad61e,  whose  head 
leant  against  my  shoulder;  her  eyes  were  waxing  heavy, 
so  I  took  her  up  in  my  arms  and  carried  her  off  to  bed.  It 
was  near  one  before  the  gentlemen  and  ladies  sought  their 
chambers. 

The  next  day  was  as  fine  as  its  predecessor ;  it  was 
devoted  by  the  party  to  an  excursion  to  some  sight  in  the 
neighbourhood.  They  set  out  early  in  the  forenoon,  some 
on  horseback,  the  rest  in  carriages ;  I  witnessed  both  the 
departure  and  the  return.  Miss  Ingram,  as  before,  was  the 
only  lady  equestrian  ;  and,  as  before,  Mr.  Rochester  galloped 
at  her  side ;  the  two  rode  a  little  apart  from  the  rest.  I 
pointed  out  this  circumstance  to  Mrs.  Fairfax,  who  was 
standing  at  the  window  with  me : — 

'  You  said  it  was  not  likely  they  should  think  of  being 
married/  said  I,  '  but  you  see  -Mr.  Rochester  evidently 
prefers  her  to  any  of  the  other  ladies.1 

'  Yes  ;  I  daresay :  no  doubt  he  admires  her/ 

'  And  she  him,'  I  added ;  '  look  how  she  leans  her  head 
towards  him  as  if  she  were  conversing  confidentially;  I 
wish  I  could  see  her  face ;  I  have  never  had  a  glimpse  of 
it  yet/ 

1  You  will  see  her  this  evening/  answered  Mrs.  Fairfax. 
'  I  happened  to  remark  to  Mr.  Rochester  how  much  Ad£le 
wished  to  be  introduced  to  the  ladies,  and  he  said  :  '  Oh !  let 
her  come  into  the  drawing-room  after  dinner ;  and  request 
Miss  Eyre  to  accompany  her/ 

1  Yes — he  said  that  from  mere  politeness  :  I  need  not  go, 
I  am  sure/  I  answered. 

'Well,  I  observed  to  him  that  as  you  were  unused  to 
company,  I  did  not  think  you  would  like  appearing  before 
so  gay  a  party — all  strangers — and  he  replied,  in  his  quick 
way  :  "  Nonsense  I  If  she  objects,  tell  her  it  is  my  particular 
wish  ;  and  if  she  resists,  say  I  shall  come  and  fetch  her  in 
case  of  contumacy." ' 


JANE  EYEE  203 

6 1  will  not  give  him  that  trouble,'  I  answered.  '  I  will 
go,  if  no  better  may  be :  but  I  don't  like  it.  Shall  you  be 
there,  Mrs.  Fairfax  ?  ' 

'  No  ;  I  pleaded  off,  and  he  admitted  my  plea.  I'll  tell 
you  how  to  manage  so  as  to  avoid  the  embarrassment  of 
making  a  formal  entrance,  which  is  the  most  disagreeable 
part  of  the  business.  You  must  go  into  the  drawing-room 
while  it  is  empty,  before  the  ladies  leave  the  dinner-table ; 
choose  your  seat  in  any  quiet  nook  you  like  ;  you  need  not 
stay  long  after  the  gentlemen  come  in,  unless  you  please : 
just  let  Mr.  Eochester  see  you  are  there  and  then  slip  away — 
nobody  will  notice  you/ 

'  Will  those  people  remain  long,  do  you  think  ?  ' 

'  Perhaps  two  or  three  weeks  ;  certainly  not  more.  After 
the  Easter  recess,  Sir  George  Lynn,  who  was  lately  elected 
member  for  Millcote,  will  have  to  go  up  to  town  and  take 
his  seat ;  I  daresay  Mr.  Eochester  will  accompany  him :  it 
surprises  me  that  he  has  already  made  so  protracted  a  stay 
at  Thornfield.' 

It  was  with  some  trepidation  that  I  perceived  the  hour 
approach  when  I  was  to  repair  with  my  charge  to  the  draw- 
ing-room. Adele  had  been  in  a  state  of  ecstasy  all  day,  after 
hearing  she  was  to  be  presented  to  the  ladies  in  the  evening ; 
and  it  was  not  till  Sophie  commenced  the  operation  of  dress- 
ing her  that  she  sobered  down.  Then  the  importance  of  the 
process  quickly  steadied  her ;  and  by  the  time  she  had  her 
curls  arranged  in  well-smoothed,  drooping  clusters,  her  pink 
satin  frock  put  on,  her  long  sash  tied,  and  her  lace  mittens 
adjusted,  she  looked  as  grave  as  any  judge.  No  need  to  warn 
her  not  to  disarrange  her  attire  :  when  she  was  dressed,  she 
sat  demurely  down  in  her  little  chair,  taking  care  previously 
to  lift  up  the  satin  skirt  for  fear  she  should  crease  it,  and 
assured  me  she  would  not  stir  thence  till  I  was  ready.  This 
I  quickly  was  ;  my  best  dress  (the  silver-grey  one,  purchased 
for  Miss  Temple's  wedding,  and  never  worn  since)  was  soon 
put  on ;  my  hair  was  soon  smoothed ;  my  sole  ornament, 
the  pearl  brooch,  soon  assumed.  We  descended. 


204  JANE  EYEB 

Fortunately  there  was  another  entrance  to  the  drawing- 
room  than  that  through  the  saloon  where  they  were  all 
seated  at  dinner.  We  found  the  apartment  vacant,  a  large 
fire  burning  silently  on  the  marble  hearth,  and  wax  candles 
shining  in  bright  solitude,  amid  the  exquisite  flowers  with 
which  the  tables  were  adorned.  The  crimson  curtain  hung 
before  the  arch :  slight  as  was  the  separation  this  drapery 
formed  from  the  party  in  the  adjoining  saloon,  they  spoke  in 
so  low  a  key  that  nothing  of  their  convefsation  could  be  dis- 
tinguished beyond  a  soothing  murmur. 

Ad&le,  who  appeared  to  be  still  under  the  influence  of  a 
most  solemnising  impression,  sat  down,  without  a  word,  on 
the  footstool  I  pointed  out  to  her.  I  retired  to  a  window- 
seat,  and,  taking  a  book  from  a  table  near,  endeavoured  to 
read.  Adele  brought  her  stool  to  my  feet;  ere  long  she 
touched  my  knee. 

'What  is  it,  Ad61e?' 

'  Est-ce  que  je  ne  puis  pas  prendre  une  seule  de  ces  fleurs 
magnifiques,  mademoiselle  ?  Seulement  pour  computer  ma 
toilette/ 

'  You  think  too  much  of  your  "  toilette,"  Ad61e,  but  you 
may  have  a  flower.'  And  I  took  a  rose  from  a  vase  and 
fastened  it  in  her  sash.  She  sighed  a  sigh  of  ineffable 
satisfaction,  as  if  her  cup  of  happiness  were  now  full.  I 
turned  my  face  away  to  conceal  a  smile  I  could  not  suppress : 
there  was  something  ludicrous  as  well  as  painful  in  the  little 
Parisienne's  earnest  and  innate  devotion  to  matters  of  dress. 

A  soft  sound  of  rising  now  became  audible  ;  the  curtain 
was  swept  back  from  the  arch ;  through  it  appeared  the 
dining-room,  with  its  lit  lustre  pouring  down  light  on  the 
silver  and  glass  of  a  magnificent  dessert-service  covering  a 
long  table ;  a  band  of  ladies  stood  in  the  opening ;  they 
entered,  and  the  curtain  fell  behind  them. 

There  were  but  eight,  yet  somehow  as  they  flocked  in, 
they  gave  the  impression  of  a  much  larger  number.  Some  of 
them  were  very  tall,  many  were  dressed  in  white,  and  all  had  a 
sweeping  amplitude  of  array  that  seemed  to  magnify  their 


JANE  EYBE  205 

persons  as  a  mist  magnifies  the  moon.  I  rose  and  curtseyed 
to  them ;  one  or  two  bent  their  heads  in  return,  the  others 
only  stared  at  me. 

They  dispersed  about  the  room,  reminding  me,  by  the 
lightness  and  buoyancy  of  their  movements,  of  a  flock  of 
white  plumy  birds.  Some  of  them  threw  themselves  in 
half -reclining  positions  on  the  sofas  and  ottomans,  some  bent 
over  the  tables  and  examined  the  flowers  and  books,  the  icst 
gathered  in  a  group  round  the  fire — all  talked  in  a  low  but 
clear  tone  which  seemed  habitual  to  them.  I  knew  their 
names  afterwards,  and  may  as  well  mention  them  now. 

First  there  was  Mrs.  Eshton  and  two  of  her  daughters. 
She  had  evidently  been  a  handsome  woman,  and  was  well  pre- 
served still.  Of  her  daughters,  the  eldest,  Amy,  was  rather 
little  ;  naive,  and  childlike  in  face  and  manner,  and  piquant 
in  form :  her  white  muslin  dress  and  blue  sash  became  her 
well.  The  second,  Louisa,  was  taller  and  more  elegant  in 
figure,  with  a  very  pretty  face,  of  that  order  the  French  term 
'  minois  chiffonn6 ' :  both  sisters  were  fair  as  lilies. 

Lady  Lynn  was  a  large  and  stout  personage  of  about 
forty,  very  erect,  very  haughty-looking,  richly  dressed  in  a 
satin  robe  of  changeful  sheen  :  her  dark  hair  shone  glossily 
under  the  shade  of  an  azure  plume,  and  within  the  circlet  of 
a  band  of  gems. 

Mrs.  Colonel  Dent  was  less  showy,  but,  I  thought,  more 
ladylike.  She  had  a  slight  figure,  a  pale,  gentle  face,  and 
fair  hair.  Her  black  satin  dress,  her  scarf  of  rich  foreign 
lace,  and  her  pearl  ornaments,  pleased  me  better  than  the 
rainbow  radiance  of  the  titled  dame. 

But  the  three  most  distinguished — partly,  perhaps, 
because  the  tallest  figures  of  the  baud — were  the  Dowager 
Lady  Ingram  and  her  daughters,  Blanche  and  Mary. 
They  were  all  three  of  the  loftiest  stature  of  woman. 
The  dowager  might  be  between  forty  and  fifty ;  her  shape 
was  still  fine  ;  her  hair  (by  candlelight  at  least)  still  black ; 
her  teeth,  too,  were  still  apparently  perfect.  Most  people 
would  have  termed  her  a  splendid  woman  of  her  age: 


206  JANE  EYEE 

and  so  she  was,  no  doubt,  physically  speaking ;  but  then  there 
was  an  expression  of  almost  insupportable  haughtiness  in 
her  bearing  and  countenance.  She  had  Eoman  features  and 
a  double  chin,  disappearing  into  a  throat  like  a  pillar  :  these 
features  appeared  to  me  not  only  inflated  and  darkened,  but 
even  furrowed  with  pride ;  and  the  chin  was  sustained 
by  the  same  principle,  in  a  position  of  almost  preternatural 
erectness.  She  had,  likewise,  a  fierce  and  a  hard  eye :  it 
reminded  me  of  Mrs.  Reed's;  she  mouthed  her  words  in 
speaking ;  her  voice  was  deep,  its  inflections  very  pompous, 
very  dogmatical — very  intolerable,  in  short.  A  crimson 
velvet  robe,  and  a  shawl  turban  of  some  gold-wrought  Indian 
fabric,  invested  her  (I  suppose  she  thought)  with  a  truly 
imperial  dignity. 

Blanche  and  Mary  were  of  equal  stature — straight  and 
tall  as  poplars.  Mary  was  too  slim  for  her  height;  but 
Blanche  was  moulded  like  a  Dian.  I  regarded  her,  of 
course,  with  special  interest.  First,  I  wished  to  see  whether 
her  appearance  accorded  with  Mrs.  Fairfax's  description; 
secondly,  whether  it  at  all  resembled  the  fancy  miniature  I  had 
painted  of  her ;  and  thirdly — it  will  out ! — whether  it  were 
such  as  I  should  fancy  likely  to  suit  Mr.  Rochester's  taste. 

As  far  as  person  went,  she  answered  point  for  point,  both 
to  my  picture  and  Mrs.  Fairfax's  description.  The  noble 
bust,  the  sloping  shoulders,  the  graceful  neck,  the  dark  eyes 
and  black  ringlets  were  all  there — but  her  face  ?  Her  face 
was  like  her  mother's ;  a  youthful  unfurrowed  likeness  : 
the  same  low  brow,  the  same  high  features,  the  same  pride. 
It  was  not,  however,  so  saturnine  a  pride  :  she  laughed  con- 
tinually ;  her  laugh  was  satirical,  and  so  was  the  habitual 
expression  of  her  arched  and  haughty  lip. 

Genius  is  said  to  be  self-conscious :  I  cannot  tell  whether 
Miss  Ingram  was  a  genius,  but  she  was  self-conscious — 
remarkably  self-conscious  indeed.  She  entered  into  a  dis- 
course on  botany  with  the  gentle  Mrs.  Dent.  It  seems  Mrs. 
Dent  had  not  studied  that  science :  though,  as  she  said,  she 
liked  flowers, '  especially  wild  ones '  j  Miss  Ingram  had,  and 


JANE  EYEE  207 

she  ran  over  its  vocabulary  with  an  air.  I  presently 
perceived  she  was  (what  is  vernacularly  termed)  trailing 
Mrs.  Dent;  that  is  playing  on  her  ignorance;  her  trail 
might  be  clever,  but  it  was  decidedly  not  good-natured. 
She  played;  her  execution  was  brilliant;  she  sang;  her 
voice  was  fine;  she  talked  French  apart  to  her  mamma; 
and  she  talked  it  well,  with  fluency  and  with  a  good  accent. 

Mary  had  a  milder  and  more  open  countenance  than 
Blanche  ;  softer  features  too,  and  a  skin  some  shades  fairer 
(Miss  Ingram  was  dark  as  a  Spaniard) — but  Mary  was 
deficient  in  life ;  her  face  lacked  expression,  her  eye  lustre ; 
she  had  nothing  to  say,  and  having  once  taken  her  seat, 
remained  fixed  like  a  statue  in  its  niche.  The  sisters  were 
both  attired  m  spotless  white. 

And  did  I  now  think  Miss  Ingram  such  a  choice  as  Mr. 
Eochester  would  be  likely  to  make  ?  I  could  not  tell— I  did 
not  know  his  taste  in  female  beauty.  If  he  liked  the  majestic, 
she  was  the  very  type  of  majesty :  then  she  was  accomplished, 
sprightly.  Most  gentlemen  would  admire  her,  I  thought; 
and  that  he  did  admire  her,  I  already  seemed  to  have 
obtained  proof  :  to  remove  the  last  shade  of  doubt,  it 
remained  but  to  see  them  together. 

You  are  not  to  suppose,  reader,  that  Ad&le  has  all  this 
time  been  sitting,  motionless,  on  the  stool  at  my  feet :  no ; 
when  the  ladies  entered,  she  rose,  advanced  to  meet  them, 
made  a  stately  reverence,  and  said,  with  gravity,—1  Bon 
jour,  mesdames.' 

And  Miss  Ingram  had  looked  down  at  her  with  a  mocking 
air,  and  exclaimed,  '  Oh,  what  a  little  puppet ! ' 

Lady  Lynn  had  remarked,  '  It  is  Mr.  Eochester's  ward, 
I  suppose — the  little  French  girl  he  was  speaking  of.' 

Mrs.  Dent  had  kindly  taken  her  hand,  and  given  her  a 
kiss.  Amy  and  Louisa  Eshton  had  cried  out  simul- 


'  What  a  love  of  a  child  1 ' 
And  then  they  had  called  her  to  a  sofa,  where  she  now 
sat,  ensconced  between  them,  chattering  alternately  in  French 


208  JANE  EYEE 

and  broken  English :  absorbing  not  only  the  young  ladies' 
attention,  but  that  of  Mrs.  Eshton  and  Lady  Lynn,  and 
getting  spoilt  to  her  heart's  content. 

At  last  coffee  is  brought  in,  and  the  gentlemen  are 
summoned.  I  sit  in  the  shade — if  any  shade  there  be  in  this 
brilliantly-lit  apartment ;  the  window  curtain  half  hides  me. 
Again  the  arch  yawns  :  they  come.  The  collective  appear- 
ance of  the  gentlemen,  like  that  of  the  ladies,  is  very 
imposing :  they  are  all  costumed  in  black  ;  most  of  them  are 
tall,  some  young.  Henry  and  Frederick  Lynn  are  very 
dashing  sparks,  indeed  ;  and  Colonel  Dent  is  a  fine  soldierly 
man.  Mr.  Eshton,  the  magistrate  of  the  district,  is  gentle- 
man-like :  his  hair  is  quite  white,  his  eyebrows  and  whiskers 
still  dark,  which  gives  him  something  of  the  appearance  of  a 
'  pfere  noble  de  theatre.'  Lord  Ingram,  like  his  sisters,  is 
very  tall ;  like  them,  also,  he  is  handsome ;  but  he  shares 
Mary's  apathetic  and  listless  look  :  he  seems  to  have  more 
length  of  limb  than  vivacity  of  blood  or  vigour  of  brain. 

And  where  is  Mr.  Eochester  ? 

He  comes  in  last :  I  am  not  looking  at  the  arch,  yet  I 
see  him  enter.  I  try  to  concentrate  my  attention  on  those 
netting-needles,  on  the  meshes  of  the  purse  I  am  forming — I 
wish  to  think  only  of  the  work  I  have  in  my  hands,  to  see 
only  the  silver  beads  and  silk  threads  that  lie  in  my  lap  ; 
whereas,  I  distinctly  behold  his  figure,  and  I  inevitably  recall 
the  moment  when  I  last  saw  it :  just  after  I  had  rendered 
him,  what  he  deemed  an  essential  service — and  he,  holding 
my  hand,  and  looking  down  on  my  face,  surveyed  me  with 
eyes  that  revealed  a  heart  full  and  eager  to  overflow ;  in 
whose  emotions  I  had  a  part.  How  near  had  I  approached 
him  at  that  moment !  What  had  occurred  since,  calculated  to 
change  his  and  my  relative  positions  ?  Yet  now,  how  distant, 
how  far  estranged  we  were !  So  far  estranged,  that  I  did 
not  expect  him  to  come  and  speak  to  me.  I  did  not  wonder, 
when,  without  looking  at  me,  he  took  a  seat  at  the  other  side 
of  the  room,  and  began  conversing  with  some  of  the  ladies. 

No  sooner  did  I  see  that  his  attention  was  riveted  on 


JANE  EYEB  209 

them,  and  that  I  might  gaze  without  being  observed,  than 
my  eyes  were  drawn  involuntarily  to  his  face :  I  could  not 
keep  their  lids  under  control :  they  would  rise,  and  the  irids 
would  fix  on  him.  I  looked,  and  had  an  acute  pleasure  in 
looking,— -a  precious,  yet  poignant  pleasure  ;  pure  gold,  with 
a  steelly  point  of  agony :  a  pleasure  like  what  the  thirst- 
perishing  man  might  feel  who  knows  the  well  to  which  he  has 
crept  is  poisoned,  yet  stoops  and  drinks  divine  draughts 
nevertheless. 

Most  true  is  it  that  '  beauty  is  in  the  eye  of  the  gazer,' 
My  master's  colourless,  olive  face,  square,  massive  brow, 
broad  and  jetty  eyebrows,  deep  eyes,  strong  features,  firm, 
grim  mouth, —  all  energy,  decision,  will, — were  not  beautiful, 
according  to  rule ;  but  they  were  more  than  beautiful  to  me : 
they  were  full  of  an  interest,  an  influence  that  quite  mastered 
me,— that  took  my  feelings  from  my  own  power  and  fettered 
them  in  his.  I  had  not  intended  to  love  him :  the  reader 
knows  I  had  wrought  hard  to  extirpate  from  my  soul  thd 
germs  of  love  there  detected ;  and  now,  at  the  first  renewed 
view  of  him,  they  spontaneously  revived,  green  and  strong ! 
He  made  me  love  him  without  looking  at  me. 

I  compared  him  with  his  guests.  What  was  the  gallant 
grace  of  the  Lynns,  the  languid  elegance  of  Lord  Ingram, — 
even  the  military  distinction  of  Colonel  Dent,  contrasted  with 
his  look  of  native  pith  and  genuine  power?  I  had  no 
sympathy  with  their  appearance,  their  expression;  yet  I 
could  imagine  that  most  observers  would  call  them  attractive, 
handsome,  imposing ;  while  they  would  pronounce  Mr. 
Eochester  at  once  harsh-featured  and  melancholy-looking. 
I  saw  them  smile,  laugh — it  was  nothing ;  the  light  of  the 
candles  had  as  much  soul  in  it  as  their  smile ;  the  tinkle  of 
the  bell  as  much  significance  as  their  laugh.  I  saw  Mr. 
Eochester  smile — his  stern  features  softened ;  his  eye  grew 
both  brilliant  and  gentle,  its  ray  both  searching  and  sweet. 
He  was  talking,  at  the  moment,  to  Louisa  and  Amy  Eshton. 
I  wondered  to  £63  them  receive  with  calm  that  look  which 
seemed  to  me  so  penetrating ;  J  expected  their  eyes  to  fall 


210  JANE  BYEE 

their  colour  to  rise  under  it ;  yet  I  was  glad  when  I  found 
they  were  in  no  sense  moved.  '  He  is  not  to  them  what  he 
is  to  me,1  I  thought :  '  he  is  not  of  their  kind.  I  believe 
he  is  of  mine; — I  am  sure  he  is, — I  feel  akin  to  him, — I 
understand  the  language  of  his  countenance  and  movements  ; 
though  rank  and  wealth  sever  us  widely,  I  have  something 
in  my  brain  and  heart,  in  my  blood  and  nerves,  that  assimi- 
lates me  mentally  to  him.  Did  I  say,  a  few  days  since,  that 
I  had  nothing  to  do  with  him  but  to  receive  my  salary  at  his 
hands  ?  Did  I  forbid  myself  to  think  of  him  in  any  other 
light  than  as  a  paymaster?  Blasphemy  against  nature  1 
Every  good,  true,  vigorous  feeling  I  have,  gathers  impulsively 
round  him.  I  know  I  must  conceal  my  sentiments ;  I  must 
smother  hope ;  I  must  remember  that  he  cannot  care  much 
for  me.  For  when  I  say  that  I  am  of  his  kind,  I  do  not  mean 
that  I  have  his  force  to  influence,  and  his  spell  to  attract ;  I 
mean  only  that  I  have  certain  tastes  and  feelings  in  common 
with  him.  I  must  then  repeat  continually  that  we  are  for 
ever  sundered ; — and  yet,  while  I  breathe  and  think  I  must 
love  him.' 

Coffee  is  handed.  The  ladies,  since  the  gentlemen 
entered,  have  become  lively  as  larks;  conversation  waxes 
brisk  and  merry.  Colonel  Dent  and  Mr.  Eshton  argue  on 
politics  ;  their  wives  listen.  The  two  proud  dowagers,  Lady 
Lynn  and  Lady  Ingram,  confabulate  together.  Sir  George — 
whom,  by-the-by,  I  have  forgotten  to  describe — a  very  big 
and  very  fresh-looking  country  gentleman,  stands  before 
their  sofa,  coffee-cup  in  hand,  and  occasionally  puts  in  a 
word.  Mr.  Frederick  Lynn  has  taken  a  seat  beside  Mary 
Ingram,  and  is  showing  her  the  engravings  of  a  splendid 
volume ;  she  looks,  smiles  now  and  then,  but  apparently 
says  little.  The  tall  and  phlegmatic  Lord  Ingram  leans 
with  folded  arms  on  the  chair-back  of  the  little  and  lively 
Amy  Eshton;  she  glances  up  at  him,  and  chatters  like  a 
wren :  she  likes  him  better  than  she  does  Mr.  Kochester. 
Henry  Lynn  has  taken  possession  of  an  ottoman  at  the  feet 
of  Louisa;  Adele  shares  it  with  him:  he  is  trying  to  talk 


JANE  EYEE  211 

French  with  her,  and  Louisa  laughs  at  his  blunders.  With 
whom  will  Blanche  Ingram  pair  ?  She  is  standing  alone  at 
the  table,  bending  gracefully  over  an  album.  She  seems 
waiting  to  be  sought ;  but  she  will  not  wait  too  long :  she 
herself  selects  a  mate. 

Mr.  Eochester,  having  quitted  the  Eshtons,  stands  on 
the  hearth  as  solitary  as  she  stands  by  the  table ;  she  con- 
fronts him,  taking  her  station  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
mantelpiece. 

1  Mr.  Eochester,  I  thought  you  were  not  fond  of 
children?1 

'  Nor  am  I.1 

I  Then,  what  induced  you  to  take  charge  of  such  a  little 
doll  as  that  ? '  (pointing  to  Adele).     '  Where  did  you  pick 
her  up  ? ' 

I 1  did  not  pick  her  up,  she  was  left  on  my  hands.' 
1  You  should  have  sent  her  to  school.' 

'  I  could  not  afford  it ;  schools  are  so  dear/ 

*  Why,  I  suppose  you  have  a  governess  for  her ;  I  saw  a 
person  with  her  just  now — is  she  gone  ?  Oh,  no,  there  she 
is  still  behind  the  window-curtain.  You  pay  her,  of  course. 
I  should  think  it  quite  as  expensive — more  so,  for  you  have 
them  both  to  keep  in  addition.' 

I  feared — or  should  I  say,  hoped — the  allusion  to  me 
would  make  Mr.  Eochester  glance  my  way ;  and  I  involun- 
tarily shrank  further  into  the  shade;  but  he  never  turned 
his  eyes. 

'  I  have  not  considered  the  subject,1  said  he  indifferently, 
looking  straight  before  him. 

'  No — you  men  never  do  consider  economy  and  common 
sense.  You  should  hear  mamma  on  the  chapter  of  gov- 
ernesses. Mary  and  I  have  had,  1  should  think,  a  dozen  at 
least  in  our  day ;  half  of  them  detestable  and  the  rest 
ridiculous,  and  all  incubi — were  they  not,  mamma  ? ' 

'  Did  you  speak,  my  own  ? ' 

The  young  lady  thus  claimed  as  the  dowager's  special 
property  reiterated  her  question  with  an  explanation. 


212  JANE  EYEE 

'  My  dearest,  don't  mention  governesses ;  the  word 
makes  me  nervous.  I  have  suffered  a  martyrdom  from 
their  incompetency  and  caprice ;  I  thank  Heaven  I  have 
now  done  with  them  I ' 

Mrs.  Dent  here  bent  over  to  the  pious  lady,  and  whispered 
something  in  her  ear ;  I  suppose,  from  the  answer  elicited, 
it  was  a  reminder  that  one  of  the  anathematised  race  was 
present. 

I  Tant  pis  !  '   said  her  ladyship,  '  I  hope  it  may  do  her 
good/    Then,  in  a  lower  tone,  but  still  loud  enough  for  me 
to  hear,  '  I  noticed  her ;  I  am  a  judge  of  physiognomy,  and 
in  hers  I  see  all  the  faults  of  her  class/ 

'What  are  they,  madam?1  inquired  Mr.  Eochester 
aloud. 

I 1  will  tell  you  in  your  private  ear/  replied  she,  wagging 
her  turban  three  times  with  portentous  significaricy. 

'  But  my  curiosity  will  bo  past  its  appetite  ;  it  craves  food 
now ' 

1  Ask  Blanche  ;  she  is  nearer  you  than  I/ 

'  Oh,  don't  refer  him  to  me,  mamma !  I  have  just  one 
word  to  say  of  the  whole  tribe ;  they  are  a  nuisance.  Not 
that  I  ever  suffered  much  from  them ;  I  took  care  to  turn  the 
tables.  What  tricks  Theodore  and  I  used  to  play  on  our 
Miss  Wilsons,  and  Mrs.  Greys,  and  Madame  Jouberts  1 
Mary  was  always  too  sleepy  to  join  in  a  plot  with  spirit.  The 
best  fun  was  with  Madame  Joubert.  Miss  Wilson  was  a  poor 
sickly  thing,  lachrymose  and  low-spirited :  not  worth  the 
trouble  of  vanquishing,  in  short ;  and  Mrs.  Grey  was  coarse 
and  insensible :  no  blow  took  effect  on  her.  But  poor 
Madame  Joubert !  I  see  her  yet  in  her  raging  passions,  when 
we  had  driven  her  to  extremities — spilt  our  tea,  crumbled  our 
bread  and  butter,  tossed  our  books  up  to  the  ceiling,  and 
played  a  charivari  with  the  ruler  and  desk,  the  fender  and 
fire-irons.  Theodore,  do  you  remember  those  merry  days  ? ' 

'  Yaas,  to  be  sure  I  do/  drawled  Lord  Ingram ;  '  and  the 
poor  old  stick  used  to  cry  out,  "  Oh,  you  villains  childs  !  "  and 
then  we  sermonised  her  on  the  presumption  of  attempting  to 


JANE  EYKE  213 

teach  such  clever  blades  as  we  were,  when  she  was  herself 
so*  ignorant/ 

1  We  did ;  and  Tedo,  you  know  I  helped  you  in  prose- 
cuting (or  persecuting)  your  tutor,  whey-faced  Mr.  Vining— - 
the  parson  in  the  pip,  as  we  used  to  call  him.  He  and  Miss 
Wilson  took  the  liberty  of  falling  in  love  with  each  other — 
at  least  Tedo  and  I  thought  so ;  we  surprised  sundry  tender 
glances  and  sighs  which  we  interpreted  as  tokens  of  "  la 
belle  passion,"  and  I  promise  you  the  public  soon  had  the 
benefit  of  our  discovery ;  we  employed  it  as  a  sort  of  lever  to 
hoist  our  dead-weights  from  the  house.  Dear  mamma,  there, 
as  soon  as  she  got  an  inkling  of  the  business,  found  out  that 
it  was  of  an  immoral  tendency.  Did  you  not,  my  lady- 
mother  ? ' 

'  Certainly,  my  best.  And  I  was  quite  right,  depend  on 
that :  there  are  a  thousand  reasons  why  liaisons  between 
governesses  and  tutors  should  never  be  tolerated  a  moment 
in  any  well-regulated  house  ;  firstly, ' 

1  Oh,  gracious,  mamma  !  Spare  us  the  enumeration  !  Au 
reste,  we  all  know  them :  danger  of  bad  example  to  innocence 
of  childhood — distractions  and  consequent  neglect  of  duty 
on  the  part  of  the  attached — mutual  alliance  and  reliance ; 
confidence  thence  resulting — insolence  accompanying — 
mutiny  and  general  blow-up.  Am  I  right,  Baroness  Ingram, 
of  Ingram  Park  ? ' 

1  My  lily-flower,  you  are  right  now,  as  always.1 

'  Then  no  more  need  be  said ;  change  the  subject.1 

Amy  Eshton,  not  hearing  or  not  heeding  this  dictum, 
joined  in  with  her  soft  infantine  tone  : '  Louisa  and  I  used  to 
quiz  our  governess  too ;  but  she  was  such  a  good  creature,  she 
would  bear  anything ;  nothing  put  her  out.  She  was  never 
cross  with  us ;  was  she,  Louisa  ? ' 

'  No,  never ;  we  might  do  what  we  pleased — ransack  her 
desk  and  her  workbox,  and  turn  her  drawers  inside  out ; 
and  she  was  so  good-natured,  she  would  give  us  anything 
we  asked  for/ 

'I  suppose  now/  said  Miss  Ingram,  curling    her   lips 


214  JANE  EYBE 

sarcastically, '  we  bhall  have  an  abstract  of  the  memoirs  of  all 
the  governesses  extant ;  in  order  to  avert  such  a  visitation, 
I  again  move  the  introduction  of  a  new  topic.  Mr.  Rochester, 
do  you  second  my  motion  ? ' 

'  Madam,  I  support  you  on  this  point  as  on  every  other/ 
1  Then  on  me  be  the  onus  of  bringing  it  forward.    Signor 
Eduardo,  are  you  in  voicjp  to-night  ?  ' 

'  Donna  Bianca,  if  you  command  it,  I  will  be.1 
1  Then,  signer,  I  lay  on  you  my  sovereign  behest  to  fur- 
bish up  your  lungs  and  other  vocal  organs,  as  they  will  be 
wanted  on  my  royal  service.' 

'  Who  would  not  be  the  Eizzio  of  so  divine  a  Mary  ? ' 
1  A  fig  for  Eizzio  1 '  cried  she,  tossing  her  head  with  all 
its  curls,  as  she  moved  to  the  piano.  '  It  is  my  opinion  the 
fiddler  David  must  have  been  an  insipid  sort  of  fellow ;  I  like 
black  Bothwell  better.  To  my  mind  a  man  is  nothing  without 
a  spice  of  the  devil  in  him ;  and  history  may  say  what  it  will 
of  James  Hepburn,  but  I  have  a  notion  he  was  just  the  sort 
of  wild,  fierce,  bandit  hero  whom  I  could  have  consented  to 
gift  with  my  hand.' 

I  GentJemen,  you  hear !      Now  which  of  you  most  re- 
sembles Bothwell  ? '  cried  Mr.  Eochester. 

I 1  should  say  the  preference  lies  with  you/  responded 
Colonel  Dent. 

1  On  my  honour,  I  am  much  obliged  to  you,'  was  the  reply. 

Miss  Ingram,  who  had  now  seated  herself  with  proud  grace 
at  the  piano,  spreading  out  her  snowy  robes  in  queenly  ampli- 
tude, commenced  a  brilliant  prelude ;  talking  meantime. 
She  appeared  to  be  on  her  high-horse  to-night;  both  her 
words  and  her  air  seemed  intended  to  excite  not  only  the 
admiration,  but  the  amazement  of  her  auditors ;  she  was 
evidently  bent  on  striking  them  as  something  very  dashing 
and  daring  indeed. 

1  Oh,  I  am  so  sick  of  the  young  men  of  the  present  day ! ' 
exclaimed  she,  rattling  away  at  the  instrument.  '  Poor 
puny  things  not  fit  to  stir  a  step  beyond  papa's  park-gates  : 
nor  to  go  even  so  far  without  mamma's  permission  and 


JANE  EYEE  215 

guardianship  1  Creatures  so  absorbed  in  care  about  their 
pretty  faces  and  their  white  hands,  and  their  small  feet ;  as  if 
a  man  had  anything  to  do  with  beauty  1  As  if  loveliness 
were  not  the  special  prerogative  of  woman — her  legitimate 
appanage  and  heritage  1  I  grant  an  ugly  woman  is  a  blot  on 
the  fair  face  of  creation ;  but  as  to  the  gentlemen,  let  them 
be  solicitous  to  possess  only  strength  and  valour  :  let  their 
motto  be — Hunt,  shoot,  and  fight ;  the  rest  is  not  worth  a 
fillip.  Such  should  be  my  device,  were  I  a  man/ 

'  Whenever  I  marry,'  she  continued  afier  a  pause  which 
none  interrupted,  '  I  am  resolved  my  husband  shall  not  be  a 
rival,  but  a  foil  to  me.  I  will  suffer  no  competitor  near  the 
throne ;  I  shall  exact  an  undivided  homage ;  his  devotions 
shall  not  be  .shared  between  rne  and  the  shape  he  sees  in  his 
mirror.  Mr.  Eochester,  now  sing,  and  I  will  play  for  you/ 

'  I  am  all  obedience/  was  the  response. 

'Here  then  is  a  Corsair-song.  Know  that  I  doat  on 
Corsairs  ;  and  for  that  reason,  sing  it  "  con  spirito."  ' 

'  Commands  from  Miss  Ingram's  lips  would  put  spirit 
into  a  mug  of  milk  and  water.' 

'  Take  care,  then  :  if  you  don't  please  me,  I  will  shame 
you  by  showing  how  such  things  should  be  done.' 

*  That  is  offering  a  premium  on  incapacity ;  I  shall  now 
endeavour  to  fail.' 

'  Gardez-vous  en  bien  !  If  you  err  wilfully,  I  shall  devise 
a  proportionate  punishment.' 

'  Miss  Ingram  ought  to  be  clement,  for  she  has  it  in  her 
power  to  inflict  a  chastisement  beyond  mortal  endurance.' 

1  Ha  !  explain ! '  commanded  the  lady. 

1  Pardon  me,  madam ;  no  need  of  explanation  ;  your  own 
fine  sense  must  inform  you  that  one  of  your  frowns  would 
be  a  sufficient  substitute  for  capital  punishment.' 

1  Sing ! '  said  she,  and  again  touching  the  piano,  she 
commenced  an  accompaniment  in  spirited  style. 

1  Now  is  my  time  to  slip  away,'  thought  I ;  but  the  tones 
that  then  severed  the  air  arrested  me.  Mrs.  Fairfax  had 
said  Mr.  Eochester  possessed  a  fine  voice ;  he  did — a  mellow 


216  JANE  EYEB 

powerful  bass,  into  which  he  threw  his  own  feeling,  his  own 
force  ;  finding  a  way  through  the  ear  to  the  heart,  and  there 
waking  sensation  strangely.  I  waited  till  the  last  deep  and 
full  vibration  had  expired — till  the  tide  of  talk,  checked  an 
instant,  had  resumed  its  flow ;  I  then  quitted  my  sheltered 
corner  and  made  my  exit  by  the  side-door,  which  was 
fortunately  near.  Thence  a  narrow  passage  led  into  the 
hall ;  in  crossing  it,  I  perceived  my  sandal  was  loose ;  I 
stopped  to  tie  it,  kneeling  down  for  that  purpose  on  the  mat 
at  the  foot  of  the  staircase.  I  heard  the  dining-room  door 
unclose  ;  a  gentleman  came  out ;  rising  hastily,  I  stood  face 
to  face  with  him ;  it  was  Mr.  Eochester. 

'  How  do  you  do  ? '  he  asked. 

1 1  am  very  well,  sir/ 

1  Why  did  you  not  come  and  speak  to  me  in  the  room  ?  ' 

I  thought  I  might  have  retorted  the  question  on  him  who 
put  it ;  but  I  would  not  take  that  freedom.  I  answered  : — 
'  I  did  not  wish  to  disturb  you,  as  you  seemed  engaged,  sir.1 

'  What  have  you  been  doing  during  my  absence  ?  ' 

1  Nothing  particular  ;  teaching  Adele  as  usual/ 

1  And  getting  a  good  deal  paler  than  you  were — as  I  saw 
at  first  sight.  What  is  the  matter?  ' 

'  Nothing  at  all,  sir/ 

'Did  you  take  any  cold  that  night  you  half  drowned 
me?' 

'  Not  the  least/ 

I  Beturn  to  the  drawing-room ;   you  are  deserting  too 
early/ 

I 1  am  tired,  sir/ 

He  looked  at  me  for  a  minute. 

1  And  a  little  depressed,1  be  said.  '  What  about  ?  Tell 
me/ 

'  Nothing — nothing,  sir.     I  am  not  depressed/ 

'  But  I  affirm  that  you  are  :  so  much  depressed  that  a  few 
more  words  would  bring  tears  to  your  eyes — indeed,  they  are 
there  now,  shining  and  swimming ;  and  a  bead  has  slipped 
from  the  lash  and  fallen  on  to  the  flag.  If  I  had  time,  and 


JANE  EYKE  217 

was  not  in  mortal  dread  of  some  prating  prig  of  a  servant 
passing,  I  would  know  what  all  this  means.  Well,  to-night 
I  excuse  you ;  but  understand  that  so  long  as  my  visitors 
stay,  I  expect  you  to  appear  in  the  drawing-room  every 
evening ;  it  is  my  wish  ;  don't  neglect  it.  Now  go,  and 

send  Sophie  for  Adele.     Good-night,  my '     He  stopped, 

bit  his  lip,  and  abruptly  left  me. 


218  JANE  EYBE 


CHAPTEE  XVIII 

MERRY  days  were  these  at  Thornfield  Hall ;  and  busy  days 
too :  how  different  from  the  first  three  months  of  stillness, 
monotony,  and  solitude  I  had  passed  beneath  its  roof  !  All 
sad  feelings  seemed  now  driven  from  the  house,  all  gloomy 
associations  forgotten  :  there  was  life  everywhere,  movement 
all  day  long.  You  could  not  now  traverse  the  gallery,  once 
so  hushed,  nor  enter  the  front  chambers,  once  so  tenantless, 
without  encountering  a  smart  lady's  maid,  or  a  dandy 
valet. 

The  kitchen,  the  butler's  pantry,  the  servants'  hall,  the 
entrance  hall,  were  equally  alive  ;  and  the  saloons  were  only 
left  void  and  still  when  the  blue  sky  and  halcyon  sunshine  of 
the  genial  spiing  weather  called  their  occupants  out  into  the 
grounds.  Even  when  that  weather  was  broken,  and  con- 
tinuous rain  set  in  for  some  days,  no  damp  seemed  cast  over 
enjoyment ;  indoor  amusements  only  became  more  lively 
and  varied,  in  consequence  of  the  stop  put  to  outdoor 
gaiety. 

I  wondered  what  they  were  going  to  do  the  first  evening 
a  change  of  entertainment  was  proposed;  they  spoke  of 
*  playing  charades,'  but  in  my  ignorance  I  did  not  understand 
the  term.  The  servants  were  called  in,  the  dining-room 
tables  wheeled  away,  the  lights  otherwise  disposed,  the  chairs 
placed  in  a  semicircle  opposite  the  arch.  While  Mr.  Kochester 
and  the  other  gentlemen  directed  these  alterations,  the  ladies 
were  running  up  and  down  stairs  ringing  for  their  maids. 
Mrs.  Fairfax  was  summoned  to  give  information  respecting 
the  resources  of  the  house  in  shawls,  dresses,  draperies  of 
any  kind;  and  certain  wardrobes  of  the  third  story  were 


JANE  EYES  219 

ransacked,  and  their  contents,  in  the  shape  of  brocaded  and 
hooped  petticoats,  satin  sacques,  black  modes,  lace  lappets, 
&c.,  were  brought  down  in  armfuls  by  the  Abigails ;  then  a 
selection  was  made,  and  such  things  as  were  chosen  were 
carried  to  the  boudoir  within  the  drawing-room. 

Meantime,  Mr.  Eochester  had  again  summoned  the  ladies 
round  him,  and  was  selecting  certain  of  their  number  to  be  of 
his  party.  '  Miss  Ingram  is  mine,  of  course/  said  he ;  after- 
wards he  named  the  two  Misses  Eshton,  and  Mrs.  Dent.  He 
looked  at  me ;  I  happened  to  be  near  him,  as  I  had  been 
fastening  the  clasp  of  Mrs.  Dent's  bracelet,  which  had  got 
loose. 

'  Will  you  play  ?  '  he  asked.  I  shook  my  head.  He  did 
not  insist,  which  I  rather  feared  he  would  have  done ;  he 
allowed  me  to  return  quietly  to  my  usual  seat. 

He  and  his  aids  now  withdrew  behind  the  curtain ;  the 
other  party,  which  was  headed  by  Colonel  Dent,  sat  down  on 
the  crescent  of  chairs.  One  of  the  gentlemen,  Mr.  Eshton, 
observing  me,  seemed  to  propose  that  I  should  be  asked  to 
join  them ;  but  Lady  Ingram  instantly  negatived  the 
notion. 

4  No,'  I  heard  her  say :  '  she  looks  too  stupid  for  any 
game  of  the  sort.' 

Ere  long,  a  bell  tinkled,  and  the  curtain  drew  up. 
Within  the  arch  the  bulky  figure  of  J3ir  George  Lynn,  whom 
Mr.  Eochester  had  likewise  chosen,  was  seen  enveloped  in  a 
white  sheet ;  before  him,  on  a  table,  lay  open  a  large  book  ; 
and  at  his  side  stood  Amy  Eshton,  draped  in  Mr.  Eochester's 
cloak,  and  holding  a  book  in  her  hand.  Somebody,  unseen, 
rang  the  bell  merrily ;  then  Ad61e  (who  had  insisted  on  being 
one  of  her  guardian's  party),  bounded  forward,  scattering 
round  her  the  contents  of  a  basket  of  flowers  she  earned  on 
her  arm.  Then  appeared  the  magnificent  figure  of  Miss 
Ingram,  clad  in  white,  a  long  veil  on  her  head,  and  a  wreath 
of  roses  round  her  brow ;  by  her  side  walked  Mr.  Eochester, 
and  together  they  drew  near  the  table.  They  knelt,  while 
Mrs.  Dent  and  Louisa  Eshton,  dressed  also  in  white,  took  up 


220  JANE  EYEB 

their  stations  behind  them.  A  ceremony  followed,  in  dumb 
show,  in  which  it  was  easy  to  recognise  the  pantomime  of  a 
marriage.  At  its  termination  Colonel  Dent  and  his  party 
consulted  in  whispers  for  two  minutes,  then  the  Colonel  called 
out, — *  Bride !  '  Mr.  Eochester  bowed,  and  the  curtain 
fell. 

A  considerable  interval  elapsed  before  it  again  rose.  Its 
second  rising  displayed  a  more  elaborately  prepared  scene  than 
the  last.  The  drawing-room,  as  I  have  before  observed,  was 
raised  two  steps  above  the  dining-room,  and  on  the  top  of  the 
upper  step,  placed  a  yard  or  two  back  within  the  room, 
appeared  a  largo  marble  basin,  which  I  recognised  as  an 
ornament  of  the  conservatory — where  it  usually  stood, 
surrounded  by  exotics,  and  tenanted  by  gold  iish — and 
whence  it  must  have  been  transported  with  some  trouble,  on 
account  of  its  size  and  weight. 

Seabed  on  the  carpet,  by  the  side  of  this  basin,  was  seen 
Mr.  Rochester,  costumed  in  shawls,  with  a  turban  on  his 
head.  His  dark  eyes  and  swarth  skin  and  Paynim  features 
suited  the.  costume  exactly  :  he  looked  the  very  model  of  an 
Eastern  emir ;  an  agent  or  a  victim  of  the  bowstring. 
Presently  advanced  into  view  Miss  Ingram.  She,  too,  was 
attired  in  Oriental  fashion  :  a  crimson  scarf  tied  sash-like 
round  the  waist ;  an  embroidered  handkerchief  knotted  about 
her  temples ;  her  beautifully-moulded  arms  bare,  one  of  them 
up-raised  in  the  act  of  supporting  a  pitcher,  poised  gracefully 
on  her  head.  Both  her  cast  of  form  and  feature,  her 
complexion  and  her  general  air,  suggested  the  idea  of  some 
Israelitish  princess  of  the  patriarchal  days ;  and  such  was 
doubtless  the  character  she  intended  to  represent.  , 

She  approached  the  basin,  and  bent  over  it  as  if  to  fill  her 
pitcher ;  she  again  lifted  it  to  her  head.  The  personage  on 
the  well- brink  now  seemed  to  accost  her;  to  make  some 
request, — '  She  hasted,  let  down  her  pitcher  on  her  hand  and 
gave  him  to  drink/  From  the  bosom  of  his  robe  he  then 
produced  a  casket,  opened  it  and  showed  magnificent 
bracelets  and  earrings ;  she  acted  astonishment  and  admira- 


JANE  EYEE  221 

tion ;  kneeling,  he  laid  the  treasure  at  her  feet ;  incredulity 
and  delight  were  expressed  by  her  looks  and  gestures ;  the 
stranger  fastened  the  bracelets  on  her  arms,  and  the  rings 
in  her  ears.  It  was  Eliezer  and  Bebecca ;  the  camels  only 
were  wanting. 

The  divining  party  again  laid  their  heads  together; 
apparently  they  could  not  agree  about  the  word  or  syllable 
this  scene  illustrated.  Colonel  Dent,  their  spokesman, 
demanded  '  the  tableau  'of  the  Whole ' ;  whereupon  the 
curtain  again  descended. 

On  its  third  rising  only  a  portion  of  the  drawing-room 
was  disclosed ;  the  rest  being  concealed  by  a  screen,  hung 
with  some,  sort  of  dark  and  coarse  drapery.  The  marble 
basin  was  removed ;  in  its  place  stood  a  deal  table  and  a 
kitchen  chair:  these  objects  were  visible  by  a  very  dim 
light  proceeding  from  a  horn  lantern,  the  wax  candles  being 
all  extinguished. 

Amidst  this  sordid  scene  sat  a  man  with  his  clenched 
hands  resting  on  his  knees,  and  his  eyes  bent  on  the  ground. 
I  knew  Mr.  Eochester;  though  the  begrimed  face,  the 
disordered  dress  (his  coat  hanging  loose  from  one  arm,  as  if 
it  had  been  almost  torn  from  his  back  in  a  scuffle),  the 
desperate  and  scowling  countenance,  the  rough,  bristling 
hair  might  well  have  disguised  him.  As  he  moved  a  chain 
clanked ;  to  his  wrists  were  attached  fetters. 

'  Bridewell ! '  exclaimed  Colonel  Dent,  and  the  charade 
was  solved. 

A  sufficient  interval  having  elapsed  for  the  performers  to 
resume  their  ordinary  costume,  they  re-entered  the  dining- 
room.  Mr.  Eochester  led  in  Miss  Ingram  ;  she  was  compli- 
menting him  on  his  acting. 

'  Do  you  know/  said  she,  '  that,  of  the  three  characters,  I 
liked  you  in  the  last  best?  Oh,  had  you  but  lived  a  few 
years  earlier,  what  a  gallant  gentleman-highwayman  you 
would  have  made  ! ' 

1  Is  all  the  soot  washed  from  my  face  ? '  he  asked,  turning 
it  towards  her. 


222  JANE  EYEE 

1  Alas,  yes ;  the  more's  the  pity  !  Nothing  could  be  more 
becoming  to  your  complexion  than  that  ruffian's  rouge/ 

1  You  would  like  a  hero  of  the  road  then  ?  ' 

'  An  English  hero  of  the  road  would  be  the  next  best  thing 
to  an  Italian  bandit ;  and  that  could  only  be  surpassed  by  a 
Levantine  pirate/ 

1  Well,  whatever  I  am,  remember  you  are  my  wife ;  we 
were  married  an  hour  since,  in  the  presence  of  all  these 
witnesses/  She  giggled,  and  her  colour  rose. 

1  Now,  Dent/  continued  Mr.  Eochester,  '  it  is  your  turn/ 
And  as  the  other  party  withdrew,  he  and  his  band  took  the 
vacated  seats.  Miss  Ingram  placed  herself  at  her  leader's 
right  hand ;  the  other  diviners  filled  the  chairs  on  each  side 
of  him  and  her.  I  did  not  now  watch  the  actors  ;  I  no  longer 
waited  with  interest  for  the  curtain  to  rise ;  my  attention  was 
absorbed  by  the  spectators ;  my  eyes,  erewhile  fixed  on  the 
arch,  were  now  irresistibly  attracted  to  the  semicircle  of  chairs, 
What  charade  Colonel  Dent  and  his  party  played,  what  word 
they  chose,  how  they  acquitted  themselves,  I  no  longer 
remember ;  but  I  still  see  the  consultation  which  followed 
each  scene :  I  see  Mr.  Eochester  turn  to  Miss  Ingram,  and 
Miss  Ingram  to  him  ;  I  see  her  incline  her  head  towards  him 
till  the  jetty  curls  almost  touch  his  shoulder  and  wave  against 
his  cheek ;  I  hear  their  mutual  whisperings ;  I  recall  their 
interchanged  glances;  and  something  even  of  the  feeling 
roused  by  the  spectacle  returns  in  memory  at  this  moment. 

I  have  told  you,  reader,  that  I  had  learnt  to  love  Mr. 
Eochester ;  I  could  not  unlove  him  now,  merely  because  I 
found  that  he  had  ceased  to  notice  me — because  I  might  pass 
hours  in  his  presence  and  he  would  never  once  turn  his  eyes 
in  my  direction — because  I  saw  all  his  attentions  appropriated 
by  a  great  lady,  who  scorned  to  touch  me  with  the  hem  of 
her  robes  as  she  passed ;  who,  if  ever  her  dark  and  imperious 
eye  fell  on  me  by  chance,  would  withdraw  it  instantly  as  from 
an  object  too  mean  to  merit  observation.  I  could  not  unlove 
him,  because  1  felt  sure  he  would  soon  marry  this  very  lady — 
because  I  read  daily  in  her  a  proud  security  in  his  inten- 


JANE  EYEB  223 

tions  respecting  her — because  I  witnessed  hourly  in  him 
a  style  of  courtship  which,  if  careless  and  choosing  rather 
to  be  sought  than  to  seek,  was  yet,  in  its  very  carelessness, 
captivating,  and  in  its  very  prido,  irresistible. 

There  was  nothing  to  cool  or  banish  love  in  these  cir- 
cumstances ;  though  much  to  create  despair.  Much  too,  you 
will  think,  reader,  to  engender  jealousy ;  if  a  woman,  in  my 
position,  could  presume  to  be  jealous  of  a  woman  in  Miss 
Ingram's.  But  I  was  not  jealous;  or  very  rarely; — the 
nature  of  the  pain  I  suffered  could  not  be  explained  by  that 
word.  Miss  Ingram  was  a  mark  beneath  jealousy :  she  was 
too  inferior  to  excite  the  feeling.  Pardon  the  seeming  paradox  ; 
I  mean  what  I  say.  She  was  very  showy,  but  she  was  not 
genuine  :  she  had  a  fine  person,  many  brilliant  attainments ; 
but  her  mind  was  poor,  her  heart  barren  by  nature ;  nothing 
bloomed  spontaneously  on  that  soil;  no  unforced  natural 
fruit  delighted  by  its  freshness.  She  was  not  good  ;  she 
was  not  original :  she  used  to  repeat  sounding  phrases  from 
books :  she  never  offered,  nor  had,  an  opinion  of  her  own. 
She  advocated  a  high  tone  of  sentiment ;  but  she  did  not 
know  the  sensations  of  sympathy  and  pity ;  tenderness  and 
truth  were  not  in  her.  Too  often  she  betrayed  this,  by  the 
undue  vent  she  gave  to  a  spiteful  antipathy  she  had  con- 
ceived against  little  Adele  :  pushing  her  away  with  some 
contumelious  epithet  if  she  happened  to  approach  her ;  some- 
times ordering  her  from  the  room,  and  always  treating  her 
with  coldness  and  acrimony.  Other  eyes  besides  mine 
watched  these  manifestations  of  character — watched  them 
closely,  keenly,  shrewdly.  Yes  :  the  future  bridegroom,  Mr. 
Eochester  himself,  exercised  over  his  intended  a  ceaseless 
surveillance  :  and  it  was  from  this  sagacity — this  guarded- 
ness  of  his — this  perfect,  clear  consciousness  of  his  fair  one's 
defects — this  obvious  absence  of  passion  in  his  sentiments 
towards  her,  that  my  ever-torturing  pain  arose. 

I  saw  he  was  going  to  marry  her,  for  family,  perhaps 
political  reasons;  because  her  rank  and  connexions  suited 
him;  I  felt  he  had  not  given  her  his  love,  and  that  her 

12 


224  JANE  EYEE 

qualifications  were  ill  adapted  to  win  from  him  that  treasure. 
This  was  the  point — this  was  wliere  the  nerve  was  touched 
and  teased — this  was  where  the  fever  was  sustained  and  fed : 
she  could  not  charm  him. 

If  she  had  managed  the  victory  at  once,  and  he  had 
yielded  and  sincerely  laid  his  heart  at  her  feet,  T  should  have 
covered  my  face,  turned  to  the  wall,  and  (figuratively)  have 
died  to  them.  If  Miss  Ingram  had  been  a  good  and  noble 
woman,  endowed  with  force,  fervour,  kindness,  sense,  I 
chould  have  had  one  vital  struggle  with  two  tigers— jealousy 
and  despair  :  then,  my  heart  torn  out  and  devoured,  I  should 
have  admired  her — acknowledged  her  excellence,  and  been 
quiet  for  the  rest  of  my  days :  and  the  more  absolute  her 
superiority,  the  deeper  would  have  been  my  admiration — 
the  more  truly  tranquil  my  quiescence.  But  as  matters 
really  stood,  to  watch  Miss  Ingram's  efforts  at  fascinating 
Mr.  Kochester ;  to  witness  their  repeated  failure — herself 
unconscious  that  they  did  fail;  vainly  fancying  that  each 
shaft  launched  hit  the  mark,  and  mfatuatedly  pluming  her- 
self on  success,  when  her  pride  and  self-complacency  repelled 
further  and  further  what  she  wished  to  allure — to  witness 
this,  was  to  be  at  once  under  ceaseless  excitation  and  ruth- 
less restraint. 

Because,  when  she  failed,  I  saw  how  she  might  have 
succeeded.  Arrows  that  continually  glanced  off  from  Mr. 
Bochester's  breast  and  fell  harmless  at  his  feet,  might,  I 
knew,  if  shot  by  a  surer  hand,  have  quivered  keen  in  his 
proud  heart — have  called  love  into  his  stern  eye  and  softness 
into  his  sardonic  face;  or,  better  still,  without  weapons  a 
silent  conquest  might  have  been  won. 

'  Why  can  she  not  influence  him  more,  when  she  is 
privileged  to  draw  so  near  to  him  ? '  I  asked  myself.  '  Surely 
she  cannot  truly  like  him,  or  not  like  him  with  true  affection. 
If  she  did,  she  need  not  coin  her  smiles  so  lavishly,  flash  htfr 
glances  so  unremittingly,  manufacture  airs  so  elaborate, 
graces  so  multitudinous.  It  seems  to  me  that  she  might,  by 
merely  sitting  quietly  at  his  side,  saying  little  and  looking 


JANE  EYBE  225 

less,  get  nigher  his  heart.  I  have  seen  in  his  face  a  far 
different  expression  from  that  which  hardens  it  now  while 
she  is  so  vivaciously  accosting  him  ;  but  then  it  caine  of 
itself,  it  was  not  elicited  by  meretricious  arts  and  calculated 
manoeuvres ;  and  one  had  but  to  accept  it—  to  answer  what 
he  asked  without  pretension,  to  address  him  when  needful 
without  grimace — and  it  increased  and  grew  kinder  and 
more  genial,  and  warmed  one  like  a  fostering  sunbeam. 
How  will  she  manage  to  please  him  when  they  are  married  ? 
I  do  not  think  she  will  manage  it ;  and  yet  it  might  be 
managed  and  his  wife  might,  I  verily  believe,  be  the  very 
happiest  woman  the  sun  slimes  on.' 

I  have  not  yet  said  anything  condemnatory  of  Mr. 
Kochester's  project  of  marrying  for  interest  and  connexions. 
It  surprised  mo  when  I  first  discovered  that  such  was  his 
intention  ;  I  had  thought  him  a  man  unlikely  to  be  influenced 
by  motives  so  commonplace  in  his  choice  of  a  wife ;  but  the 
longer  I  considered  the  position,  education,  &c.,  of  the  parties, 
the  less  I  felt  justified  in  judging  and  blaming  either  him  or 
Miss  Ingram,  for  acting  in  conformity  to  ideas  and  principles 
instilled  into  them,  doubtless,  from  their  childhood.  All 
their  class  held  these  principles  ;  I  supposed,  then,  they  had 
reasons  for  holding  them  such  as  I  could  not  fathom.  It 
seemed  to  me  that,  were  I  a  gentleman  like  him,  I  would 
take  to  my  bosom  only  such  a  wife  as  I  could  love  ;  but  the 
very  obviousness  of  the  advantages  to  the  husband's  own 
happiness,  offered  by  this  plan,  convinced  me  that  there 
must  be  arguments  against  its  general  adoption  of  which  I 
was  quite  ignorant ;  otherwise  I  felt  sure  all  the  world 
would  act  as  I  wished  to  act. 

But  in  other  points,  as  well  as  this,  I  was  growing  very 
lenient  to  my  master  :  I  was  forgetting  all  his  faults,  for 
which  I  had  once  kept  a  sharp  look-out.  It  had  formerly 
been  my  endeavour  to  study  all  sides  of  his  character ;  to 
take  the  bad  with  the  good  ;  and  from  the  just  weighing  of 
both  to  form  an  equitable  judgment.  Now  I  saw  no  bad. 
The  sarcasm  that  had  repelled,  the  harshness  that  had 


226  JANE  EYRE 

startled  me  once,  were  only  like  keen  condiments  in  a  choice 
dish  :  their  presence  was  pungent,  but  their  absence  would 
be  felt  as  comparatively  insipid.  And  as  for  the  vague 
something — was  it  a  sinister  or  a  sorrowful,  a  designing  or  a 
desponding  expression  ? — that  opened  upon  a  careful  observer, 
now  and  then,  in  his  eye  and  closed  again  before  one  could 
fathom  the  strange  depth  partially  disclosed ;  that  something 
which  used  to  make  me  fear  and  shrink,  as  if  I  had  been 
wandering  amongst  volcanic-looking  hills,  and  had  suddenly 
felt  the  ground  quiver,  and  seen  it  gape ;  that  something  I 
at  intervals  beheld  still,  and  with  throbbing  heart,  but  not 
with  palsied  nerves.  Instead  of  wishing  to  shun,  I  longed 
only  to  dare — to  divine  it ;  and  I  thought  Miss  Ingram 
happy,  because  one  day  she  might  look  into  the  abyss  at  her 
leisure,  explore  its  secrets,  and  analyse  their  nature. 

Meantime,  while  I  thought  only  of  my  master  and  his 
future  bride — saw  only  them,  heard  only  their  discourse, 
and  considered  only  their  movements  of  importance — the 
rest  of  the  party  were  occupied  with  their  own  separate 
interests  and  pleasures.  The  ladies  Lynn  and  Ingram 
continued  to  consort  in  solemn  conferences,  when  they 
nodded  their  two  turbans  at  each  other,  and  held  up  their 
four  hands  in  confronting  gestures  of  surprise,  or  mystery, 
or  horror,  according  to  the  theme  on  which  their  gossip  ran, 
like  a  pair  of  magnified  puppets.  Mild  Mrs.  Dent  talked 
with  good-natured  Mrs.  Eshton;  and  the  two  sometimes 
bestowed  a  courteous  word  or  smile  on  me.  Sir  George 
Lynn,  Colonel  Dent,  and  Mr.  Eshton  discussed  politics,  or 
county  affairs,  or  justice  business.  Lord  Ingram  flirted 
with  Amy  Eshton  ;  Louisa  played  and  sang  to  and  with  one 
of  the  Messrs.  Lynn ;  and  Mary  Ingram  listened  languidly 
to  the  gallant  speeches  of  the  other.  Sometimes  all,  as  with 
one  consent,  suspended  their  by-play  to  observe  and  listen 
to  the  principal  actors ;  for,  after  all,  Mr.  Eochester,  and — 
because  closely  connected  with  him — Miss  Ingram,  were  the 
life  and  soul  of  the  party.  If  he  was  absent  from  the  room 
an  hour,  a  perceptible  dulness  seemed  to  steal  over  the 


JANE  EYBB  227 

spirits  of  his  guests,  and  his  re-entrance  was  sure  to  give  a 
fresh  impulse  to  the  vivacity  of  conversation. 

The  want  of  his  animating  influence  appeared  to  be 
peculiarly  felt  one  day  that  he  had  been  summoned  to 
Millcofce  on  business,  and  was  not  likely  to  return  till  late. 
The  afternoon  was  wet :  a  walk  the  party  had  proposed  to 
take  to  see  a  gipsy  camp,  lately  pitched  on  a  common  beyond 
Hay,  was  consequently  deferred.  Some  of  the  gentlemen 
were  gone  to  the  stables;  the  younger  ones,  together  with 
the  younger  ladies,  were  playing  billiards  in  the  billiard- 
room.  The  dowagers  Ingram  and  Lynn  sought  solace  in  a 
quiet  game  at  cards.  Blanche  Ingram,  after  having  repelled, 
by  supercilious  taciturnity,  some  efforts  of  Mrs.  Dent  and 
Mrs.  Eshton  to  draw  her  into  conversation,  had  first 
murmured  over  some  sentimental  tunes  and  airs  on  the 
piano,  and  then,  having  fetched  a  novel  from  the  library, 
had  flung  herself  in  haughty  lisfclessness  on  a  sofa,  and 
prepared  to  beguile,  by  the  spell  of  fiction,  the  tedious  hours 
of  absence.  The  room  and  the  house  were  silent ;  only  now 
and  then  the  merriment  of  the  billiard  players  was  heard 
from  above. 

It  was  verging  on  dusk,  and  the  clock  had  already  given 
warning  of  the  hour  to  dress  for  dinner,  when  little  Ad&le, 
;who  knelt  by  me  in  the  drawing-room  window-seat,  ex- 
claimed,— '  Voila  Monsieur  Kochester,  qui  revient ! ' 

I  turned,  and  Miss  Ingram  darted  forwards  from  her 
sofa ;  the  others,  too,  looked  up  from  their  several  occupa- 
tions; for  at  the  same  time  a  crunching  of  wheels,  and  a 
splashing  tramp  of  horse-hoofs  became  audible  on  the  wet 
gravel.  A  post-chaise  was  approaching. 

'  What  can  possess  him  to  come  home  in  that  style  ? ' 
said  Miss  Ingram.  '  He  rode  Mesrour  (the  black  horse),  did 
he  not,  when  he  went  out  ?  and  Pilot  Wcis  with  him, — what 
has  he  done  with  the  animals  ? ' 

As  she  said  this,  she  approached  her  tall  person  and 
ample  garments  so  near  the  window,  that  I  was  obliged  to 
bend  back  almost  to  the  breaking  of  my  spine;  in  her 


228  JANE  EYEE 

eagerness  she  did  not  observe  me  at  first,  but  when  she  did, 
she  curled  her  lip  and  moved  to  another  casement.  The 
post-chaise  stopped,  the  driver  rang  the  door  bell,  and  a 
gentleman  alighted,  attired  in  travelling  garb;  but  it  was 
not  Mr.  Eochester ;  it  was  a  tall,  fashionable-looking  man,  a 
stranger. 

1  Provoking ! '  exclaimed  Miss  Ingram  :  '  you  tiresome 
monkey  1 '  (apostrophising  Adele)  '  who  perched  you  up  in 
the  window  to  give  false  intelligence  ? '  and  she  cast  on  me 
an  angry  glance,  as  if  I  were  in  fault. 

Some  parleying  was  audible  in  the  hall,  and  soon  the 
new-comer  entered.  He  bowed  to  Lady  Ingram,  as  deeming 
her  the  eldest  lady  present. 

1  It  appears  I  come  at  an  inopportune  time,  madam/  said 
he ;  '  when  my  friend,  Mr.  Eochestcr,  is  from  home ;  but  I 
arrive  from  a  very  long  journey,  and  I  think  I  may  presume 
so  far  on  old  and  intimate  acquaintance  as  to  instal  myself 
here  till  he  returns/ 

His  manner  was  polite ;  his  accent,  in  speaking,  struck 
me  as  being  somewhat  unusual, — not  precisely  foreign,  but 
still  not  altogether  English;  his  age  might  bo  about  Mr. 
Eochester's, — between  thirty  and  forty ;  his  complexion  was 
singularly  sallow ;  otherwise  he  was  a  fine-looking  man,  at 
first  sight  especially.  On  closer  examination  you  detected 
something  in  his  face  that  displeased  ;  or  rather,  that  failed 
to  please.  His  features  were  regular,  but  too  relaxed ;  his 
eye  was  large  and  well  cut,  but  the  life  looking  out  of  it  was 
a  tame,  vacant  life — at  least  so  I  thought. 

The  sound  of  the  dressing-bell  dispersed  the  party.  It 
was  not  till  after  dinner  that  I  saw  him  again;  he  then 
seemed  quite  at  his  ease.  But  I  liked  his  physiognomy  even 
less  than  before ;  it  struck  me  as  being,  at  the  same  time, 
unsettled  and  inanimate.  His  eye  wandered,  and  had  no 
meaning  in  its  wandering ;  this  gave  him  an  odd  look,  such 
as  I  never  remembered  to  have  seen.  For  a  handsome  and 
not  an  unamiable-looking  man,  he  repelled  me  exceedingly ; 
there  was  no  power  in  that  smooth-skinned  face  of  a  full 


JANE  EYEB  229 

oval  shape ;  no  firmness  in  that  aquiline  nose,  and  small 
cherry  mouth ;  there  was  no  thought  on  the  low,  even  fore- 
head ;  no  command  in  that  blank,  brown  eye. 

As  I  sat  in  my  usual  nook,  and  looked  at  him  with  the 
light  of  the  girandoles  on  the  mantelpiece  beaming  full  over 
him — for  he  occupied  an  arm-chair,  drawn  close  to  the  fire, 
and  kept  shrinking  still  nearer,  as  if  he  were  cold — I  com- 
pared him  with  Mr.  Eochester.  I  think  (with  deference  be 
it  spoken)  the  contrast  could  not  be  much  greater  between  a 
sleek  gander  and  a  fierce  falcon  :  between  a  meek  sheep  and 
the  rough-coated  keen-eyed  dog,  its  guardian. 

He  had  spoken  of  Mr.  Kochester  as  an  old  friend.  A 
curious  friendship  theirs  must  have  been  :  a  pointed  illus- 
tration, indeed,  of  the  old  adage  that '  extremes  meet/ 

Two  or  three  of  the  gentlemen  sat  near  him,  and  I 
caught  at  times  scraps  of  their  conversation  across  the  room. 
At  first  I  could  not  make  much  sense  of  what  I  heard ;  for 
the  discourse  of  Louisa  Eshton  and  Mary  Ingram,  who  sat 
nearer  to  me,  confused  the  fragmentary  sentences  that 
reached  me  at  intervals.  These  last  were  discussing  the 
stranger  :  they  both  called  him  a  '  beautiful  man.'  Louisa 
said  he  was  '  a  love  of  a  creature,'  and  she  '  adored  him ' : 
and  Mary  instanced  his  '  pretty  little  mouth,  and  nice  nose/ 
as  her  ideal  of  the  charming. 

'  And  what  a  sweet-tempered  forehead  he  has ! '  cried 
Louisa, — '  so  smooth — none  of  those  frowning  irregularities 
I  dislike  so  much  :  and  such  a  placid  eye  and  sinile  ! ' 

And  then,  to  my  great  relief,  Mr.  Henry  Lynn  summoned 
them  to  the  other  side  of  the  room,  to  settle  some  point 
about  the  deferred  excursion  to  Hay  Common. 

1  was  now  able  to  concentrate  my  attention  on  the  group 
by  the  fire,  and  I  presently  gatheied  that  the  new-coiner 
was  called  Mr.  Mason :  then  I  learnt  that  he  was  but  just 
arrived  in  England,  and  that  he  came  from  some  hot 
country :  which  was  the  reason,  doubtless,  his  face  was  so 
sallow,  and  that  he  sat  so  near  the  hearth,  and  wore  a  surtout 
in  the  house.  Presently  the  words,  Jamaica,  Kingston, 


230  JANE  EYEB 

Spanish  Town,  indicated  the  West  Indies  as  his  residence ; 
and  it  was  with  no  little  surprise  I  gathered,  ere  long,  that 
he  had  there  first  seen  and  become  acquainted  with  Mr. 
Eochester.  He  spoke  of  his  friend's  dislike  of  the  burning 
heats,  the  hurricanes,  and  rainy  seasons  of  that  region.  I 
knew  Mr.  Rochester  had  been  a  traveller  :  Mrs.  Fairfax  had 
said  so  ;  but  I  thought  the  continent  of  Europe  had  bounded 
Ins  wanderings  :  till  now  I  had  never  heard  a  hint  given  of 
visits  to  more  distant  shores. 

I  was  pondering  these  things,  when  an  incident,  and 
a  somewhat  unexpected  one,  broke  the  thread  of  my 
musings.  Mr.  Mason,  shivering  as  some  one  chanced  to 
open  the  door,  asked  for  more  coal  to  be  put  on  the  fire, 
which  had  burnt  out  its  flame,  though  its  mass  of  cinder  still 
shone  hot  and  red  The  footman  who  brought  the  coal,  in 
going  out,  stopped  near  Mr.  Eshton's  chair,  and  said  some- 
thing to  him  in  a  low  voice,  of  which  I  heard  only  the  words, 
'  old  woman/ — '  quite  troublesome.1 

'  Tell  her  she  shall  be  put  in  the  stocks  if  she  does  not 
take  herself  off,'  replied  the  magistrate. 

1  No — stop  ! '  interrupted  Colonel  Dent.  '  Don't  send 
her  away,  Eshton;  we  might  turn  the  thing  to  account; 
better  consult  the  ladies.'  And  speaking  aloud,  he  continued, 
1  Ladies,  you  talked  of  going  to  Hay  Common  to  visit  the 
gipsy  camp ;  Sam,  here,  says  that  one  of  the  old  Mother 
Bunches  is  in  the  servants'  hall  at  this  moment,  and  insists 
upon  being  brought  in  before  "the  quality,"  to  tell  them 
their  fortunes.  Would  you  like  to  see  her  ? ' 

'  Surely,  colonel/  cried  Lady  Ingram,  '  you  would  not 
encourage  such  a  low  impostor.  Dismiss  her,  by  all  means, 
at  once ! ' 

'  But  I  cannot  persuade  her  to  go  away,  my  lady,'  said  the 
footman ;  '  nor  can  any  of  the  servants  :  Mrs.  Fairfax  is  with 
her  just  now,  entreating  her  to  be  gone ;  but  she  has  taken 
a  chair  in  the  chimney-corner,  and  says  nothing  shall  stir 
her  from  it  till  she  gets  leave  to  come  in  here.' 

'  What  does  she  want  ? '  asked  Mrs.  Eshton. 


JANE  EYRE  231 

' "  To  tell  the  gentry  their  fortunes,"  she  says,  ma'am ; 
and  she  swears  she  must  and  will  do  it.' 

'  What  is  she  like  ? '  inquired  the  Misses  Eshton  in  a 
breath. 

'  A  shockingly  ugly  old  creature,  miss  ;  almost  as  black 
as  a  crock/ 

1  Why,  she's  a  real  sorceress ! '  cried  Frederick  Lynn. 
'  Let  us  have  her  in,  of  course/ 

'  To  be  sure,'  rejoined  his  brother  ; '  it  would  be  a  thousand 
pities  to  throw  away  such  a  chance  of  fun.' 

'  My  dear  boys,  what  are  you  thinking  about  ? '  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Lynn. 

'I  cannot  possibly  countenance  any  such  inconsistent 
proceeding,'  chimed  in  the  Dowager  Ingram. 

'Indeed,  mamma,  but  you  can — and  will/  pronounced 
the  haughty  voice  of  Blanche,  as  she  turned  round  on  the 
piano-stool ;  where  till  now  she  had  sat  silent,  apparently 
examining  sundry  sheets  of  music.  '  I  have  a  curiosity  to 
hear  my  fortune  told:  therefore,  Sam,  order  the  beldame 
forwards.' 

'  My  darling  Blanche  1  recollect ' 

'  I  do — I  recollect  all  you  can  suggest ;  and  I  must  have 
my  will — quick,  Sam  ! ' 

*  Yes — yes — yes  ! '  cried  all  the  juveniles,  both  ladies 
and  gentlemen.  '.Let  her  come — it  will  be  excellent 
sport ! ' 

The  footman  still  lingered.  '  She  looks  such  a  rough 
one/  said  he. 

'  Go ! '  ejaculated  Miss  Ingram,  and  the  man  went. 

Excitement  instantly  seized  the  whole  party :  a  running 
fire  of  raillery  and  jests  was  proceeding  when  Sam  re- 
turned. 

'  She  won't  come  now/  said  he.  '  She  says  it's  not  her 
mission  to  appear  before  the  "vulgar  herd"  (them's  her 
words).  I  must  show  her  into  a  room  by  herself,  and 
then  those  who  wish  to  consult  her  must  go  to  her  one 
by  one/ 


232  JANE  EYRE 

1  You  see  now,  my  queenly  Blanche,'  began  Lady  Ingram, 
'  she  encroaches.  Be  advised,  my  angel  girl — and ' 

'  Show  her  into  the  library,  of  course/  cut  in  the  '  angel 
girl/  '  It  is  not  my  mission  to  listen  to  her  before  the 
vulgar  herd  either :  I  mean  to  have  her  all  to  myself.  Is 
there  a  fire  in  the  library  ? ' 

1  Yes,  ma'am — but  she  looks  such  a  tinkler/ 

I  Cease  that  chatter,  blockhead  !  and  do  my  bidding/ 
Again  Sam  vanished ;  and  mystery,  animation,  expecta- 
tion rose  to  full  flow  once  more. 

'  She's  ready  now/  said  the  footman,  as  he  reappeared. 
*  She  wishes  to  know  who  will  be  her  first  visitor.' 

I 1  think  I  had  better  just  look  in  upon  her  before  any  of 
the  ladies  go/  said  Colonel  Dent. 

*  Tell  her,  Sam,  a  gentleman  is  coming/ 

Sam  went  and  returned. 

1  She  says,  sir,  that  she'll  have  no  gentlemen  ;  they  need 
not  trouble  themselves  to  come  near  her :  nor/  he  added, 
with  difficulty  suppressing  a  titter, '  any  ladies  either,  except 
the  youn^  and  single.' 

1  By  Jove,  she  has  taste !  '  exclaimed  Henry  Lynn. 

Miss  Ingram  rose  solemnly :  *  I  go  first/  she  said,  in  a 
tone  which  might  have  befitted  the  leader  of  a  forlorn  hope, 
mounting  a  breach  in  the  van  of  his  men. 

'  Oh,  my  best !  oh,  my  dearest !  pause — reflect ! '  was 
her  mamma's  cry ;  but  she  swept  past  her  in  stately  silence, 
passed  through  the  door  which  Colonel  Dent  held  open,  and 
we  heard  her  enter  the  library. 

A  comparative  silence  ensued.  Lady  Ingram  thought  it 
Me  cas'  to  wring  her  hands:  which  she  did  accordingly. 
Miss  Mary  declared  she  felt,  for  her  part,  she  never  dared 
venture.  Amy  and  Louisa  Eshton  tittered  under  their 
breath,  and  looked  a  little  frightened. 

The  minutes  passed  very  slowly :  fifteen  were  counted 
before  the  library -door  again  opened.  Miss  Ingram  returned 
to  us  through  the  arch. 

Would  she  laugh?    Would  she  take  it  as  a  joke?    All 


JANE  EYBE  233 

eyes  met  her  with  a  glance  of  curiosity,  and  she  met  all  eyes 
with  one  of  rebuff  and  coldness  :  she  looked  neither  flurried 
nor  merry ;  she  walked  stiffly  to  her  seat,  and  took  it  ip 
silence. 

1  Well,  Blanche  ? '  said  Lord  Ingram. 

'  What  did  she  say,  sister  ?  '  asked  Mary. 

'  What  did  you  think  ?  How  do  you  feel  ?  Is  she  a  real 
fortune-teller  ? '  demanded  the  Misses  Eshton. 

'  Now,  now,  good  people,1  returned  Miss  Ingram,  '  don't 
press  upon  me.  Beally  your  organs  of  wonder  and  credulity 
are  easily  excited  :  you  seem  by  the  importance  you  all— my 
good  mamma  included — ascribe  to  this  matter — absolutely 
to  believe  we  have  a  genuine  witch  in  the  house,  who  is  in 
close  alliance  with  the  old  gentleman.  I  have  seen  a  gipsy- 
vagabond  ;  she  has  practised  in  hackneyed  fashion  the 
science  of  palmistry,  and  told  me  what  such  people  usually 
tell.  My  whim  is  gratified ;  and  now  I  think  Mr.  Eshton 
will  do  well  to  put  the  hag  in  the  stocks  to-morrow  morning, 
as  he  threatened/ 

Miss  Ingram  took  a  book,  leant  back  in  her  chair,  and 
so  declined  further  conversation.  I  watched  her  for  nearly 
half  an  hour  :  during  all  that  time  she  never  turned  a  page, 
and  her  face  grew  momently  darker,  more  dissatisfied,  and 
more  sourly  expressive  of  disappointment.  She  had  obviously 
not  heard  anything  to  her  advantage  :  and  it  seemed  to  me, 
from  her  prolonged  fit  of  gloom  and  taciturnity,  that  she 
herself,  notwithstanding  her  professed  indifference,  attached 
undue  importance  to  whatever  revelations  had  been  made  her. 

Meantime,  Mary  Ingram,  Amy  and  Louisa  Eshton, 
declared  they  dared  not  go  alono ;  and  yet  they  all  wished  to 
go.  A  negotiation  was  opened  through  the  medium  of  the 
ambassador,  S.im;  and  after  much  pacing  to  and  fro,  till, 
I  think,  the  said  Sam's  calves  must  have  ached  with  the 
exercise,  permission  was  at  last,  with  great  difficulty 
extorted  from  the  rigorous  Sibyl,  for  the  three  to  wait  upon 
her  in  a  body. 

Their  visit  was  not  so  still  as  Miss  Ingram's  had  been : 


234  JANE  EYEE 

we  heard  hysterical  giggling  and  little  shrieks  proceeding 
from  the  library ;  and  at  the  end  of  about  twenty  minutes 
they  burst  the  door  open,  and  came  running  across  the  hall, 
as  if  they  were  half-scared  out  of  their  wits. 

'  I'm  sure  she  is  something  not  right ! '  they  cried  one  and 
all.  '  She  told  us  such  things  1  She  knows  all  about  us  ! ' 
and  they  sank  breathless  into  the  various  seats  the  gentlemen 
hastened  to  bring  them. 

Pressed  for  further  explanation  they  declared  she  had 
told  them  of  things  they  had  said  and  done  when  they  were 
mere  children ;  described  books  and  ornaments  they  had  in 
their  boudoirs  at  home  ;  keepsakes  that  different  relations  had 
presented  to  them.  They  affirmed  that  she  had  even  divined 
their  thoughts,  and  had  whispered  in  the  ear  of  each  the 
name  of  the  person  she  liked  best  in  the  world,  and  informed 
them  of  what  they  most  wished  for. 

Here  the  gentlemen  interposed  with  earnest  petitions  to 
be  further  enlightened  on  these  two  last-named  points  ;  but 
they  got  only  blushes,  ejaculations,  tremors,  and  titters,  in 
return  for  their  importunity.  The  matrons,  meantime,  offered 
vinaigrettes  and  wielded  fans;  and  again  and  again  re- 
iterated the  expression  of  their  concern  that  their  warning 
had  not  been  taken  in  time ;  and  the  elder  gentlemen 
laughed,  and  the  younger  urged  their  services  on  the  agitated 
fair  ones. 

In  the  midst  of  the  tumult,  and  while  my  eyes  and  ears 
were  fully  engaged  in  the  scene  before  me,  I  heard  a  hem 
close  at  my  elbow :  I  turned  and  saw  Sam. 

'If  you  please,  miss,  the  gipsy  declares  that  there  is 
another  young  single  lady  in  the  room  who  has  not  been  to 
her  yet,  and  she  swears  she  will  not  go  till  she  has  seen  all. 
I  thought  it  must  be  you :  there  is  no  one  else  for  it.  What 
shall  I  tell  her?1 

'  Oh,  I  will  go  by  all  means/  I  answered ;  and  I  was  glad 
of  the  unexpected  opportunity  to  gratify  my  much-excited 
curiosity.  I  slipped  out  of  the  room,  unobserved  by  any  eye 
— for  the  company  were  gathered  in  one  mass  about  the 


JANE  EYEE  235 

trembling  trio  just  returned— and  I  closed  the  door  quietly 
behind  me. 

'  If  you  like,  miss/  said  Sam,  '  I'll  wait  in  the  hall  for 
you ;  and  if  she  frightens  you,  just  call  and  I'll  come  in/ 

1  No,  Sam,  return  to  the  kitchen  :  I  am  not  in.  the  least 
afraid/  Nor  was  I ;  but  I  was  a  good  deal  interested  and 
excited. 


236  JANE  EYEB 


OHAPTEE  XIX 

THE  library  looked  tranquil  enough  as  I  entered  it,  and  the 
Sibyl — if  Sibyl  she  were — was  seated  snugly  enough  in  an 
easy  chair  at  the  chimney-corner.  She  had  on  a  red  cloak 
and  a  black  bonnet :  or  rather,  a  broad-brimmed  gipsy  hat, 
tied  down  with  a  striped  handkerchief  under  her  chin. 
An  extinguished  candle  stood  on  the  table:  she  was 
bending  over  the  fire,  and  seemed  reading  in  a  little  black 
book,  like  a  prayer-book,  by  the  light  of  the  blaze :  she 
muttered  the  words  to  herself,  as  most  old  women  do,  while 
she  read  ;  she  did  not  desist  immediately  on  my  entrance :  it 
appeared  she  wished  to  finish  a  paragraph. 

I  stood  on  the  rug  and  warmed  my  hands,  which 
were  rather  cold  with  sitting  at  a  distance  from  the  drawing- 
room  fire.  I  felt  now  as  composed  as  ever  I  did  in  my  life  : 
there  was  nothing  indeed  in  the  gipsy's  appearance  to  trouble 
one's  calm.  She  shut  her  book  and  slowly  looked  up ;  her 
hat-brim  partially  shaded  her  face,  yet  I  could  see  as  she 
raised  it,  that  it  was  a  strange  one.  It  looked  all  brown 
and  black :  elf-locks  bristled  out  from  beneath  a  white  band 
which  passed  under  her  chin,  and  came  half  over  her  cheeks 
or  rather  jaws ;  her  eye  confronted  me  at  once,  with  a  bold 
and  direct  gaze. 

1  Well,  and  you  want  your,  fortune  told  ?  '  she  said  in  a 
voice  as  decided  as  her  glance,  as  harsh  as  her  features. 

'  I  don't  care  about  it,  mother ;  you  may  please  yourself ; 
but  I  ought  to  warn  you,  I  have  no  faith.' 

'  It's  like  your  impudence  to  say  so :  I  expected  it  of  you ; 
I  heard  it  in  your  step  as  you  crossed  the  threshold.' 

1  Did  you  ?    You've  a  quick  ear.' 


JANE  EYBE  237 

1 1  have ;  and  a  quick  eye,  and  a  quick  brain.' 

'  You  need  them  all  in  your  trade/ 

'  I  do ;  especially  when  I've  customers  like  you  to  deal 
with.  Why  don't  you  tremble  ? ' 

'  I'm  not  cold.' 

'  Why  don't  you  turn  pale  ? ' 

'  I  am  not  sick/ 

'  Why  don't  you  consult  my  art/ 

'I'm  not  silly/ 

The  old  crone  '  nichered  '  a  laugh  under  her  bonnet  and 
bandage :  she  then  drew  out  a  short,  black  pipe,  and  lighting 
it  began  to  smoke.  Having  indulged  a  while  in  this  seda- 
tive, she  raised  her  bent  body,  took  the  pipe  from  her  lips, 
and  while  gazing  steadily  at  the  fire,  said  very  deliberately  : 
— '  You  are  cold  ;  you  are  sick  ;  and  you  are  silly/ 

'  Prove  it,'  I  rejoined. 

'  I  will ;  in  few  words.  You  are  cold,  because  you  are 
alone :  no  contact  strikes  the  fire  from  you  that  is  in  you. 
You  are  sick :  because  the  best  of  feelings,  the  highest  and 
the  sweetest  given  to  man,  keeps  far  away  from  you.  You 
are  silly,  because,  suffer  as  you  may,  you  will  not  beckon  it 
to  approach ;  nor  will  you  stir  one  step  to  meet  it  where  it 
waits  you/ 

She  again  put  her  short,  black  pipe  to  her  lips,  and  re- 
newed her  smoking  with  vigour. 

'  You  might  say  all  that  to  almost  any  one  who,  you 
knew,  lived  as  a  solitary  dependant  in  a  great  house/ 

'  I  might  say  it  to  almost  any  one ;  but  would  it  be  true 
of  almost  any  one  ? ' 

1  In  my  circumstances/ 

'  Yes ;  just  so,  in  your  circumstances :  but  find  me 
another  precisely  placed  as  you  are/ 

'  It  would  be  easy  to  find  you  thousands/ 

1  You  could  scarcely  find  me  one.  If  you  knew 
it,  you  are  peculiarly  situated :  very  near  happiness ; 
yes ;  within  reach  of  it.  The  materials  are  all  prepared ; 
there  only  wants  a  movement  to  combine  them.  Chance 


238  JANE  EYEB 

laid  them  somewhat  apart ;  let  them  be  once  approached 
and  bliss  results.' 

'I  don't  understand  enigmas.  I  never  could  guess  a 
riddle  in  my  life.' 

1  If  you  wish  me  to  speak  more  plainly,  show  me  your 
palm.' 

1  And  I  must  cross  it  with  silver,  I  suppose  ? ' 

1  To  be  sure.' 

I  gave  her  a  shilling :  she  put  it  into  an  old  stocking-foot 
which  she  took  out  of  her  pocket,  and  having  tied  it  round 
and  returned  it,  she  told  me  to  hold  out  my  hand.     I  did. 
She  approached  her  face  to  the  palm,  and  pored  over  it  with- 
out touching  it. 

'  It  is  too  fine,'  said  she.  '  I  can  make  nothing  of  such  a 
hand  as  that ;  almost  without  lines  :  besides,  what  is  in  a 
palm  ?  Destiny  is  not  written  there.' 

I 1  believe  you,'  said  I. 

'  No,'  she  continued,  '  it  is  in  the  face  :  on  the  forehead, 
about  the  eyes,  in  the  eyes  themselves,  in  the  lines  of  the 
mouth.  Kneel,  and  lift  up  your  head.' 

'  Ah  !  now  you  are  coming  to  reality,'  I  said  as  I  obeyed 
her.  '  I  shall  begin  to  put  some  faith  in  you  presently.' 

I  knelt  within  half  a  yard  of  her.  She  stirred  the  fire,  so 
that  a  ripple  of  light  broke  from  the  disturbed  coal :  the  glare, 
however,  as  she  sat,  only  threw  her  face  into  deeper  shadow : 
mine,  it  illumined. 

'  I  wonder  with  what  feelings  you  came  to  me  to-night,' 
she  said,  when  she  had  examined  me  a  while.  '  I  wonder 
what  thoughts  are  busy  in  your  heart  during  all  the  hours 
you  sit  in  yonder  room  with  the  fine  people  flitting  before  you 
like  shapes  in  a  magic  lantern :  just  as  little  sympathetic 
communion  passing  between  you  and  them,  as  if  they  were 
really  mere  shadows  of  human  forms  and  not  the  actual 
substance.' 

'  I  feel  tired  often,  sleepy  sometimes  ;  but  seldom  sad.' 

'  Then  you  have  some  secret  hope  to  buoy  you  up  and 
please  you  with  whispers  of  the  future  ? ' 


JANE  EYEE  239 

1  Not  I.  The  utmost  I  hope  is,  to  save  money  enough 
out  of  my  earnings  to  set  up  a  school  some  day  in  a  little 
house  rented  by  myself.1 

'  A  mean  nutriment  for  the  spirit  to  exist  on :  and  sitting 
in  that  window-seat  (you  see  I  know  your  habits) ' 

'  You  have  learned  them  from  the  servants/ 

1  Ah  !  you  think  yourself  sharp.  Well — perhaps  I  have  : 
to  speak  truth,  I  have  an  acquaintance  with  one  of  them — 
Mrs.  Poole ' 

I  started  to  my  feet  when  I  heard  the  name. 

1  You  have — have  you  ?  '  thought  I ;  '  there  is  diablerie  in 
the  business  after  all,  then  ! ' 

'  Don't  bo  alarmed/  continued  the  strange  being ;  '  she's 
a  safe  hand,  is  Mrs.  Poole  :  close  and  quiet :  any  one  may 
repose  confidence  in  her.  But,  as  I  was  saying  :  sitting  in 
that  window-seat,  do  you  think  of  nothing  but  your  future 
school  ?  Have  you  no  present  interest  in  any  of  the  com- 
pany who  occupy  the  sofas  and  chairs  before  you  ?  Is  there 
not  one  face  you  study?  One  figuie  whose  movements  you 
follow  with,  at  least,  curiosity  ?  ' 

'  I  like  to  observe  all  the  faces,  and  all  the  figures/ 

'  But  do  you  never  single  one  from  the  rest — or  it  may 
be,  two?' 

'  I  do  frequently ;  when  the  gestures  or  looks  of  a  pair 
seem  telling  a  tale :  it  amuses  me  to  watch  them.' 

'  What  tale  do  you  like  best  to  hear  ?  ' 

'  Oh,  I  have  not  much  choice  !  They  generally  run  on 
the  same  theme — courtship ;  and  promise  to  end  in  the  same 
catastrophe — marriage.' 

'  And  do  you  like  that  monotonous  theme  ? ' 

I  Positively,  I  don't  care  about  it :  it  is  nothing  to  me.' 

'  Nothing  to  you  ?  When  a  lady,  young  and  full  of  life 
and  health,  charming  with  beauty  and  endowed  with  the  gifts 
of  rank  and  fortune,  sits  and  smiles  in  the  eyes  of  a  gentle- 
man you ' 

I 1  what  ? ' 

'  You  know — and,  perhaps,  think  well  of  ? ' 


240  JANE  EYKE 

1 1  don't  know  the  gentlemen  here.  I  have  scarcely  inter- 
changed a  syllable  with  one  of  them ;  and  as  to  thinking  well 
of  them,  I  consider  some  respectable  and  stately,  and  middle- 
aged,  and  others  young,  dashing,  handsome  and  lively :  but 
certainly  they  are  all  at  liberty  to  be  the  recipients  of  whose 
smiles  they  please,  without  my  feeling  disposed  to  consider 
the  transaction  of  any  moment  to  me.1 

'  You  don't  know  the  gentlemen  here  ?  You  have  not 
exchanged  a  syllable  with  one  of  them  ?  Will  you  say  that 
of  the  master  of  the  house  ? ' 

I  He  is  not  at  home/ 

'  A  profound  remark  !  A  most  ingenious  quibble  !  He 
went  to  Millcote  this  morning,  and  will  be  back  here  to-night, 
or  to-morrow :  does  that  circumstance  exclude  him  from 
the  list  of  your  acquaintance — blot  him,  as  it  were,  out  of 
existence  ? ' 

'  No  :  but  I  can  scarcely  see  what  Mr.  Rochester  has  to 
do  with  the  theme  you  had  introduced.1 

I 1  was  talking  of  ladies  smiling  in  the  eyes  of  gentlemen ; 
and    of    late   so   many  smiles   have    been    shed  into   Mr. 
Eochester's  eyes  that  they  overflow   like  two  cups  filled 
above  the  bnm  :  have  you  never  remarked  that?' 

'  Mr.  Rochester  has  a  right  to  enjoy  the  society  of  his 
guests.' 

'  No  question  about  his  right :  but  have  you  never  ob- 
served that,  of  all  the  tales  told  here  about  matrimony,  Mr. 
Rochester  has  been  favoured  with  the  most  lively  and  the 
most  continuous  ? ' 

'  The  eagerness  of  a  listener  quickens  the  tongue  of  a 
narrator.'  I  said  this  rather  to  myself  than  to  the  gipsy ; 
whose  strange  talk,  voice,  manner,  had  by  this  time  wrapped 
me  in  a  kind  of  dream.  One  unexpected  sentence  came  from 
her  lips  after  another,  till  I  got  involved  in  a  web  of  mystifi- 
cation ;  and  wondered  what  unseen  spirit  had  been  sitting 
for  weeks  by  my  heart  watching  its  workings  and  taking 
record  of  every  pulse. 

'Eagerness  of  a  listener  1'  repeated  she:  'yes;    Mr. 


JANE  EYEB  241 

Rochester  has  sat  by  the  hour,  his  ear  inclined  to  the 
fascinating  lips  that  took  such  delight  in  their  task  of  com- 
municating ;  and  Mr.  Kochester  was  so  willing  to  receive 
and  looked  so  grateful  for  the  pastime  given  him  :  you  have 
noticed  this  ? ' 

4  Grateful !  I  cannot  remember  detecting  gratitude  in 
his  face/ 

*  Detecting  !     You  have  analysed,  then.     And  what  did 
you  detect,  if  not  gratitude  ?  ' 

I  said  nothing. 

*  You  have  seen  love :  have  you  not  ? — and,  looking  for- 
ward, you  have  seen  him   married   and  beheld  his   bride 
happy?' 

*  Humph !     Not  exactly.     Your  witch's  skill  is  rather  at 
fault  sometimes.' 

1  What  the  devil  have  you  seen,  then  ?  ' 

1  Never  mind  :  I  came  here  to  inquire,  not  to  confess.  Is 
it  known  that  Mr.  Rochester  is  to  be  married  ? ' 

1  Yes ;  and  to  the  beautiful  Miss  Ingram.' 

1  Shortly  ? ' 

'Appearances  would  warrant  that  conclusion;  and,  no 
doubt  (though,  with  an  audacity  that  wants  chastising  out  of 
you,  you  seem  to  question  it),  they  will  bo  a  superlatively 
happy  pair.  He  must  love  such  a  handsome,  noble,  witty, 
accomplished  lady  ;  and  probably  she  loves  him  :  or,  if  not 
his  person,  at  least  his  purse.  I  know  she  considers  the 
Rochester  estate  eligible  to  the  last  degree;  though  (God 
pardon  me !)  I  told  her  something  on  that  point  about  an 
hour  ago,  which  made  her  look  wondrous  grave  .  the  corners 
of  her  mouth  fell  half  an  inch.  I  would  advise  her  black- 
aviced  suitor  to  look  out :  if  another  comes  with  a  longer,  or 
clearer  rent-roll, — he's  dished ' 

'  But,  mother,  I  did  not  come  to  hear  Mr.  Rochester's 
fortune :  I  came  to  hear  my  own ;  and  you  have  told  me 
nothing  of  it.' 

'  Your  fortune  is  yet  doubtful :  when  I  examined  your 
face,  one  trait  contradicted  another.  Chance  ha^meted  you 


242  JANE  EYEB 

a  measure  of  happiness  :  that  I  know.  I  knew  it  before  I 
came  here  this  evening.  She  has  laid  it  carefully  on  one  side 
for  you.  I  saw  her  do  it.  It  depends  on  yourself  to  stretch 
out  your  hand,  and  take  it  up ;  but  whether  you  will  do  so, 
is  the  problem  I  study.  Kneel  again  on  the  rug.1 

'  Don't  keep  me  long ;  the  fire  scorches  me.' 

I  knelt.  She  did  not  stoop  towards  me,  but  only  gazed 
leaning  back  in  her  chair.  She  began  muttering, — 'The 
flame  flickers  in  the  eye,  the  eye  shines  like  dew :  it  looks 
soft  and  full  of  feeling;  it  smiles  at  my  jargon:  it  is 
susceptible;  impression  follows  impression  through  its 
clear  sphere;  where  it  ceases  to  smile,  it  is  sad;  an 
unconscious  lassitude  weighs  on  the  lid:  that  signifies 
melancholy  resulting  from  loneliness.  It  turns  from  me  ;  it 
will  not  suffer  farther  scrutiny ;  it  seems  to  deny,  by  a  mock- 
ing glance,  the  truth  of  the  discoveries  I  have  already  made, 
— to  disown  the  charge  both  of  sensibility  and  chagrin  :  its 
pride  and  reserve  only  confirm  me  in  my  opinion.  The  eye 
is  favourable. 

'  As  to  the  mouth,  it  delights  at  times  in  laughter ;  it  is 
disposed  to  impart  all  that  the  brain  conceives;  though  I 
daresay  it  would  be  silent  on  much  the  heart  experiences. 
Mobile  and  flexible,  it  was  never  intended  to  be  compressed  in 
the  eternal  silence  of  solitude  :  it  is  a  mouth  which  should 
speak  much  and  smile  often  and  have  human  affection  for 
its  interlocutor.  That  feature  too  is  propitious. 

'  I  see  no  enemy  to  a  fortunate  issue  but  in  the  brow ;  and 
that  brow  professes  to  say, — "  I  can  live  alone,  if  self-respect 
and  circumstances  require  me  so  to  do.  I  need  not  sell  my  soul 
to  buy  bliss.  I  have  an  inward  treasure,  born  with  me, 
which  can  keep  me  alive  if  all  extraneous  delights  should  be 
withheld ;  or  offered  only  at  a  price  I  cannot  afford  to  give." 
The  forehead  declares,  "  Eeason  sits  firm  and  holds  the  reins, 
and  she  will  not  let  the  feelings  burst  away  and  hurry  her  to 
wild  chasms.  The  passions  may  rage  furiously,  like  true 
heathens,  as  they  are  ;  and  the  desires  may  imagine  all  sorts 
of  vain  things :  but  judgment  shall  still  have  the  last  word 


JANE  EYEB  243 

in  every  argument,  and  the  casting  vote  in  every  decision. 
Strong  wind,  earthquake-shock,  and  fire  may  pass  by :  but 
I  shall  follow  the  guiding  of  that  still  small  voice  which 
interprets  the  dictates  of  conscience." 

1  Well  said,  forehead ;  your  declaration  shall  be  respected. 
I  have  formed  my  plans — right  plans  I  deem  them — and  in 
them  I  have  attended  to  the  claims  of  conscience,  the 
counsels  of  reason.  I  know  how  soon  youth  would  fade 
and  bloom  perish,  if,  in  the  cup  of  bliss  offered,  but  one  dreg 
of  shame,  or  one  flavour  of  remorse  were  detected ;  and  I 
do  not  want  sacrifice,  sorrow,  dissolution — such  is  not  my 
taste.  I  wish  to  foster,  not  to  blight — to  earn  gratitude,  not 
to  wring  tears  of  blood — no,  nor  of  brine :  my  harvest  must  be 
in  smiles,  in  endearments,  in  sweet. — That  will  do.  I  think 
I  rave  in  a  kind  of  exquisite  delirium.  I  should  wish  now 
to  protract  this  moment  ad  infinitwn  ;  but  I  dare  not.  So 
far  I  have  governed  myself  thoroughly.  I  have  acted  as 
[  inwardly  swore  I  would  act ;  but  farther  might  try  me 
beyond  my  strength.  Eise,  Miss  Eyre  :  leave  nie ;  "  the  play 
is  played  out." ' 

Where  was  I?  Did  I  wake  or  sleep?  Had  I  been 
dreaming?  Did  I  dream  still?  The  old  woman's  voice 
had  changed  :  her  accent,  her  gesture,  and  all  were  familiar 
to  me  as  my  own  face  in  a  glass — as  the  speech  of  my  own 
tongue.  I  got  up,  but  did  not  go.  I  looked ;  I  stirred  the 
fire,  and  I  looked  again :  but  she  drew  her  bonnet  and  her 
bandage  closer  about  her  face,  and  again  beckoned  me  to 
depart.  The  flame  illuminated  her  hand  stretched  out: 
roused  now,  and  on  the  alert  for  discoveries,  I  at  once 
noticed  that  hand.  It  was  no  more  the  withered  limb  of  eld 
than  my  own;  it  was  a  rounded  supple  member,  with 
smooth  fingers,  symmetrically  turned ;  a  broad  ring  flashed 
on  the  little  finger,  and  stooping  forward,  I  looked  at  it,  and 
saw  a  gem  I  had  seen  a  hundred  times  before.  Again  I 
looked  at  the  face  ;  which  was  no  longer  turned  from  me — 
on  the  contrary,  the  bonnet  was  doffed,  the  bandage  displaced, 
fhe  head  advanced. 


244  JANE  EYEE 

4  Well,  Jane,  do  you  know  me  ? '  asked  the  familiar  voice. 

4  Only  take  off  the  red  cloak,  sir,  and  then ' 

4  But  the  string  is  in  a  knot— help  me.' 

1  Break  it,  sir.1 

1  There,  then—"  Off,  ye  lendings  !  "  ' 

And  Mr.  Eochester  stepped  out  of  his  disguise. 

4  Now,  sir,  what  a  strange  idea  ! ' 

*  But  well  carried  out,  eh  ?     Don't  you  think  so  ? ' 
4  With  the  ladies  you  must  have  managed  well.1 
'But  not  with  you?' 

4  You  did  not  act  the  character  of  a  gipsy  with  me.' 

*  What  character  did  I  act  ?    My  own  ?  ' 

4  No ;  some  unaccountable  one.  In  short,  I  believe  you 
have  been  trying  to  draw  me  out — or  in;  you  have  been 
talking  nonsense  to  make  me  talk  nonsense.  It  is  scarcely 
fair,  sir/ 

4  Do  you  forgive  me,  Jane  ? ' 

4 1  cannot  tell  till  I  have  thought  it  all  over.  If,  on  re- 
flection, I  find  I  have  fallen  into  no  great  absurdity,  I 
shall  try  to  forgive  you  ;  but  it  was  not  right.' 

*  Oh !  you  have  been  very  correct — very  careful,  very 
sensible.' 

I  reflected,  and  thought,  on  the  whole,  I  had.  It  was  a 
comfort ;  but,  indeed,  I  had  been  on  my  guard  almost  from 
the  beginning  of  the  interview.  Something  of  masquerade  I 
suspected.  I  knew  gipsies  and  fortune-tellers  did  not  express 
themselves  as  this  seeming  old  woman  had  expressed  her- 
self ;  besides,  I  had  noted  her  feigned  voice,  her  anxiety  to 
conceal  her  features.  But  my  mind  had  been  running  on 
Grace  Poole — that  living  enigma,  that  mystery  of  mysteries, 
as  I  considered  her.  I  had  never  thought  of  Mr.  Eochester. 

4  Well,'  said  he,  4  what  are  you  musing  about  ?  What 
does  that  grave  smile  signify  ? ' 

4  Wonder  and  self-congratulation,  sir.  I  have  your  per- 
mission to  retire  now,  I  suppose  ?  ' 

4 No;  stay  a  moment;  and  tell  me  what  the  people  in. 
the  drawing-room  yonder  are  doing/ 


JANE  EYEE  245 

1  Discussing  the  gipsy,  I  daresay. 

'  Sit  down  ! — Let  me  hear  what  they  said  about  me.1 

'  I  had  better  not  stay  long,  sir  ;  it  must  be  near  eleven 
o'clock.  Oh !  are  you  aware,  Mr.  Eochester,  that  a  stranger 
has  arrived  here  since  you  left  this  morning  ?  ' 

'  A  stranger  ! — no ;  who  can  it  be  ?  I  expected  no  one ; 
is  he  gone  ? ' 

'  No ;  he  said  he  had  known  you  long,  and  that  he 
could  take  the  liberty  of  installing  himself  here  till  you 
returned/ 

1  The  devil  he  did !     Did  he  give  his  name  ?  ' 

'  His  name  is  Mason,  sir  ;  and  he  comes  from  the  West 
Indies  ;  from  Spanish  Town,  in  Jamaica,  I  think.' 

Mr.  Boehester  was  standing  near  me  ;  he  had  taken  my 
hand,  as  if  to  lead  me  to  a  chair.  As  I  spoke,  he  gave  my 
wrist  a  convulsive  grip ;  the  smile  on  his  lips  froze :  appa- 
rently a  spasm  caught  his  breath. 

1  Mason !  —the  West  Indies  ! '  he  said,  in  the  tone  one 
might  fancy  a  speaking  automaton  to  enounce  its  single 
words ;  '  Mason  ! — the  West  Indies  ! '  he  reiterated ;  and  he 
went  over  the  syllables  three  times,  growing,  in  the  intervals 
of  speaking,  whiter  than  ashes  :  he  hardly  seemed  to  know 
what  he  was  doing. 

'  Do  you  feel  ill,  sir  ?  '  I  inquired. 

'  Jane,  I've  got  a  blow  ; — I've  got  a  blow,  Jane  ! '  he 
staggered. 

1  Oh ! — lean  on  me,  sir.' 

'  Jane,  you  offered  me  your  shoulder  once  before ;  let  me 
have  it  now.' 

'  Yes,  sir,  yes ;  and  my  arm.' 

He  sat  down,  and  made  me  sit  beside  him.  Holding  my 
hand  in  both  his  own,  he  chafed  it  ;  gazing  on  me,  at  the 
same  time,  with  the  most  troubled  and  dreary  look. 

'  My  little  friend ! '  said  he,  '  I  wish  I  were  in  a  quiet 
island  with  only  you ;  and  trouble,  and  danger,  and  hideous 
recollections  removed  from  me.' 

'  Can  I  help  you,  sir  ? — I'd  give  my  life  to  serve  you.' 


246  JANE  EYKE 

1  Jane,  if  aid  is  wanted,  I'll  seek  it  at  your  hands ;  I 
promise  you  that.1 

'  Thank  you,  sir ;  tell  me  what  to  do, — I'll  try,  at  least, 
to  do  it.1 

1  Fetch  me  now,  Jane,  a  glass  of  wine  from  the  dining- 
room  ;  they  will  be  at  supper  there  ;  and  tell  me  if  Mason  is 
with  them,  and  what  he  is  doing/ 

I  went.  I  found  all  the  party  in  the  dining-room  at 
supper,  as  Mr.  Kochester  had  said ;  they  were  not  seated  at 
table, — the  supper  was  arranged  on  the  side-board;  each 
had  taken  what  he  chose,  and  they  stood  about  here  and 
there  in  groups,  their  plates  and  glasses  in  their  hands. 
Every  one  seemed  in  high  glee ;  laughter  and  conversation 
were  general  and  animated.  Mr.  Mason  stood  near  the  fire, 
talking  to  Colonel  and  Mrs.  Dent,  and  appeared  as  merry  as 
any  of  them.  I  filled  a  wine-glass  (I  saw  Miss  Ingram  watch 
me  frowningly  as  I  did  so  :  she  thought  I  was  taking  a  liberty, 
I  daresay),  and  I  returned  to  the  library. 

Mr.  Eochester's  extreme  pallor  had  disappeared,  and  he 
looked  once  more  firm  and  stern.  He  took  the  glass  from 
my  hand. 

'  Here  is  to  your  health,  ministrant  spirit  1 '  he  said :  he 
swallowed  the  contents  and  returned  it  to  me.  '  What  are 
they  doing,  Jane  ? ' 

*  Laughing  and  talking,  sir. 

'  They  don't  look  grave  and  mysterious,  as  if  they  had 
heard  something  strange  ? ' 

'  Not  at  all — they  are  full  of  jests  and  gaiety.' 

'And  Mason?1 

'  He  was  laughing  too.' 

1  If  all  these  people  came  in  a  body  and  spat  at  me,  what 
would  you  do,  Jane  ? ' 

1  Turn  them  out  of  the  room,  sir,  if  I  could.' 

He  half  smiled.  '  But  if  I  were  to  go  to  them,  and  they 
only  looked  at  me  coldly,  and  whispered  sneeringly  amongst 
each  other,  and  then  dropt  off  and  left  me  one  by  one,  what 
then  ?  Would  you  go  with  them  ? ' 


JANE  BYEB  247 

*  I  rather  think  not,  sir  :  I  should  have  more  pleasure  in 

staying  with  you/ 
1  To  comfort  me  ? ' 

'  Yes,  sir,  to  comfort  you,  as  well  as  I  could.' 
'  And  if  they  laid  you  under  a  ban  for  adhering  to  me  ? ' 
'  I,  probably,  should  know  nothing  about  their  ban  ;  and 

if  I  did,  I  should  care  nothing  about  it.' 

I  Then,  you  could  dare  censure  for  my  sake  ? ' 

I 1  could  dare  it  for  the  sake  of  any  friend  who  deserved 
my  adherence  ;  as  you,  I  ani  sure,  do.' 

'  Go  back  now  into  the  room  ;  step  quietly  up  to  Mason, 
and  whisper  in  his  ear  that  Mr.  Eochester  is  come  and 
wishes  to  see  him :  show  him  in  here  and  then  leave  me/ 

'Yes,  sii  / 

I  did  his  behest.  The  company  all  stared  at  me  as  I 
passed  straight  among  them.  I  sought  Mr.  Mason,  delivered 
the  message,  and  preceded  him  from  the  room :  I  ushered 
him  into  the  library,  and  then  I  went  upstairs. 

At  a  late  hour,  after  I  had  been  in  bed  some  time,  I 
heard  the  visitors  repair  to  their  chambers  :  I  distinguished 
Mr.  Eochester's  voice,  and  heard  him  say,  *  This  way, 
Mason  ;  this  is  your  room/ 

He  spoke  cheerfully  :  the  gay  tones  set  my  heart  at  ease 
I  was  soon  asleep. 


248  JANE  EYBE 


CHAPTEE  XX 

I  HAD  forgotten  to  draw  my  curtain,  which  I  usually  did ; 
and  also  to  let  down  my  window-blind.  The  consequence 
was,  that  when  the  moon,  which  was  full  and  bright  (for  the 
night  was  fine),  came  in  her  course  to  that  space  in  the  sky 
opposite  my  casement,  and  looked  in  at  me  through  the 
unveiled  panes,  her  glorious  gaze  roused  me.  Awaking  in 
the  dead  of  night,  I  opened  my  eyes  on  her  disk — silver- 
white  and  ciystal-clear.  It  was  beautiful,  but  too  solemn :  I 
half  rose,  arid  stretched  my  arm  to  draw  the  curtain. 

Good  God!    What  a  cry! 

The  night — its  silence — its  rest,  was  rent  in  twain,  by  a 
savage,  a  sharp,  a  shrilly  sound  that  ran  from  end  to  end  of 
Thornfield  Hall. 

My  pulse  stopped :  my  heart  stood  still ;  my  stretched 
arm  was  paralysed.  The  cry  died,  and  was  not  renewed. 
Indeed,  whatever  being  uttered  that  fearful  shriek  could  not 
soon  repeat  it :  not  the  widest-winged  condor  on  the  Andes 
could,  twice  in  succession,  send  out  such  a  yell  from  the 
cloud  shrouding  his  eyrie.  The  thing  delivering  such  utter- 
ance must  rest  ere  it  could  repeat  the  effort. 

It  came  out  of  the  third  story;  for  it  passed  overhead. 
And  overhead — yes,  in  the  room  just  above  my  chamber 
ceiling — I  now  heard  a  struggle :  a  deadly  one  it  seemed 
from  the  noise ;  and  a  half-smothered  voice  shouted  — '  Help ! 
help !  help ! '  three  times  rapidly. 

'  Will  no  one  come  ?  '  it  cried  ;  and  then,  while  the  stag- 
gering and  stamping  went  on  wildly,  I  distinguished  through 
plank  and  plaster  : — '  Eochester !  Eochestei- !  for  God's  sake, 
come ! ' 


JANE  EYEE  249 

A  chamber  door  opened :  some  one  ran,  or  rushed,  along 
the  gallery.  Another  step  stamped  on  the  flooring  above,  and 
something  fell ;  and  there  was  silence. 

I  had  put  on  some  clothes,  though  horror  shook  all  my 
limbs :  I  issued  from  my  apartment.  The  sleepers  were  all 
aroused :  ejaculations,  terrified  murmurs,  sounded  in  every 
room ;  door  after  door  unclosed :  one  looked  out  and  another 
looked  out ;  the  gallery  filled.  Gentlemen  and  ladies  alike  had 
quitted  their  beds ;  and  '  Oh  I  what  is  it  ? ' — '  Who  is  hurt  ?  ' 
— '  What  has  happened? '— '  Fetch  a  light ! '-- '  Is  it  fire  ?  '— 
'  Are  there  robbers  ? ' — '  Where  shall  we  run  ? '  was  demanded 
confusedly  on  all  hands.  But  for  the  moonlight  they  would 
have  been  i  n  complete  darkness.  They  ran  to  and  fro  ;  they 
crowded  together;  some  sobbed,  some  stumbled:  the  con- 
fusion was  inextricable. 

'  Where  the  devil  is  Eochester  ? '  cried  Colonel  Dent.  '  I 
cannot  find  him  in  his  bed.1 

'  Here  !  here  I '  was  shouted  in  return.  '  Be  composed, 
aU  of  you  :  I'm  coming/ 

And  the  door  at  the  end  of  the  gallery  opened,  and  Mr. 
Eochester  advanced  with  a  candle :  he  had  just  descended 
from  the  upper  story.  One  of  the  ladies  ran  to  him  directly ; 
she  seized  his  arm :  it  was  Miss  Ingram. 

'  What  awful  event  has  taken  place  ? '  said  she.  '  Speak  ! 
let  us  know  the  worst  at  once  ! ' 

'  But  don't  pull  me  down  or  strangle  me/  he  replied  :  for 
the  Misses  Eshton  were  clinging  about  him  now ;  and  the 
two  dowagers,  in  vast  white  wrappers,  were  bearing  down  on 
him  like  ships  in  full  sail. 

'  All's  right !— all's  right ! '  he  cried.  '  It's  a  mere 
rehearsal  of  Much  Ado  About  Nothing.  Ladies,  keep  off ; 
or  I  shall  wax  dangerous/ 

And  dangerous  he  looked :  his  black  eyes  darted  sparks. 
Calming  himself  by  an  effort,  he  added : — '  A  servant  1ms  had 
the  nightmare ;  that  is  all.  She's  an  excitable,  nervous 
person :  she  construed  her  dream  into  an  apparition,  or 
something  of  that  sort,  no  doubt ;  and  has  taken  a  fit  with 


250  JANE  EYEE 

fright.  Now,  then,  I  must  see  you  all  back  into  your  rooms  ; 
for,  till  the  house  is  settled  she  cannot  be  looked  after. 
Gentlemen,  have  the  goodness  to  set  the  ladies  the  example. 
Miss  Ingram,  I  am  sure  you  will  not  fail  in,  evincing 
superiority  to  idle  terrors.  Amy  and  Louisa,  return  to  your 
nests  like  a  pair  of  doves,  as  you  are.  Mesdames  '  (to  the 
dowagers),  '  you  will  take  cold  to  a  dead  certainty,  if  you  stay 
in  this  chill  gallery  any  longer.' 

And  so,  by  dint  of  alternate  coaxing  and  commanding,  he 
contrived  to  get  them  all  once  more  enclosed  in  their  separate 
dormitories.  I  did  not  wait  to  be  ordered  back  to  mine ;  but 
retreated  unnoticed :  as  unnoticed  I  had  left  it. 

Not,  however,  to  go  to  bed  :  on  the  contrary,  I  began  and 
dressed  myself  carefully.  The  sounds  I  had  heard  after  the 
scream,  and  the  words  that  had  been  uttered,  had  probably 
been  heard  only  by  me ;  for  they  had  proceeded  from  the 
room  above  mine :  but  they  assured  me  that  it  was  not  a 
servant's  dream  which  had  thus  struck  horror  through  the 
house ;  and  that  the  explanation  Mr.  Eochester  had  given 
was  merely  an  invention  framed  to  pacify  his  guests.  I 
dressed,  then,  to  be  ready  for  emergencies.  When  dressed, 
I  sat  a  long  time  by  the  window,  looking  out  over  the  silent 
grounds  and  silvered  fields,  and  waiting  for  I  knew  not  what. 
It  seemed  to  me  that  some  event  must  follow  the  strange  ciy, 
struggle,  and  call. 

No :  stillness  returned :  each  murmur  and  movement 
ceased  gradually,  and  in  about  an  hour  Thornfield  Hall  was 
again  as  hushed  as  a  desert.  It  seemed  that  sleep  and  night 
had  resumed  their  empire.  Meantime  the  moon  declined : 
she  was  about  to  set.  Not  liking  to  sit  in  the  cold  and 
darkness,  I  thought  I  would  lie  down  on  my  bed,  dressed  as 
I  was.  I  left  the  window,  and  moved  with  little  noise  across 
the  carpet ;  as  I  stooped  to  take  off  my  shoes,  a  cautious 
hand  tapped  low  at  the  door. 

'  Am  I  wanted  ? '  I  asked. 

'Are  you  up?'  asked  the  voice  I  expected  to  hear,  viz. 
my  master's. 


JANE  EYEE  251 

1  Yes,  sir.' 

1  And  dressed  ? f 

'  Yes.1 

1  Come  out,  then,  quietly/ 

I  obeyed.     Mr.  Bochester  stood  in  the  gallery,  holding  a 
light. 

I 1  want  you/  he  said :  '  come  this  way  :  take  your  time 
and  make  no  noise/ 

My  slippers  were  thin  :  I  could  walk  the  matted  floor  as 
softly  as  a  cat.  He  glided  up  the  gallery  and  up  the  stairs, 
and  stopped  in  the  dark,  low  corridor  of  the  fateful  third  story  : 
I  had  followed  and  stood  at  his  side. 

'  Have  you  a  sponge  in  your  room  ? '  he  asked  in  a 
whisper. 

'  Yes,  sir.' 

'  Have  you  any  salts— volatile  salts  ?  ' 

'  Yes.' 

'  Go  back  and  fetch  both.' 

I  returned,  sought  the  sponge  on  the  wash-stand,  the 
salts  in  my  drawer,  and  once  more  retraced  my  steps.  He 
still  waited  ;  he  held  a  key  in  his  hand  :  approaching  one  of 
the  small,  black  doors,  he  put  it  in  the  lock ;  he  paused  and 
addressed  me  again. 

'  You  don't  turn  sick  at  the  sight  of  blood  ? ' 

'  I  think  I  shall  not :  I  have  never  been  tried  yet.' 

I  felt  a  thrill  while  I  answered  him ;  but  no  coldness, 
and  no  faintness. 

'Just  give  me  your  hand,'  he  said;  'it  will  not  do  to 
risk  a  fainting  fit.' 

I  put  my  fingers  into  his.  '  Warm  and  steady,'  was  his 
remark :  he  turned  the  key  and  opened  the  door. 

I  saw  a  room  I  remembered  to  have  seen  before ;  the 
day  Mrs.  FairfaK  showed  me  over  the  house  :  it  was  hung 
with  tapestry ;  but  the  tapestry  was  now  looped  up  in  one 
part,  and  there  was  a  door  apparent,  which  had  then  been 
concealed.  This  door  was  open ;  a  light  shone  out  of  the 
room  within :  I  heard  thence  a  snarling,  snatching  sound, 


252  JANE  EYRE 

almost  like  a  dog  quarrelling.  Mr.  Eochester,  putting  down 
his  candle,  said  to  me,  '  Wait  a  minute,'  and  he  went  forward 
to  the  inner  apartment.  A  shout  of  laughter  greeted  his 
entrance ;  noisy  at  first,  and  terminating  in  Grace  Poole's 
own  goblin  ha  I  ha !  She  then  was  there.  He  made  some 
sort  of  arrangement,  without  speaking :  though  I  heard  a 
low  voice  address  him :  he  came  out  and  closed  the  door 
behind  him. 

'  Here,  Jane ! '  he  said ;  and  I  walked  round  to  the  other 
side  of  a  large  bed,  which  with  its  drawn  curtains  concealed 
a  considerable  portion  of  the  chamber.  An  easy-chair  was 
near  the  bed-head :  a  man  sat  in  it,  dressed  with  the 
exception  of  his  coat ;  he  was  still ;  his  head  leant  back ; 
his  eyes  were  closed.  Mr.  Eochester  held  the  candle  over 
him ;  I  recognised  in  his  pale  and  seemingly  lifeless  face — the 
stranger,  Mason  :  I  saw  too  that  his  linen  on  one  side,  and 
one  arm,  was  almost  soaked  in  blood. 

'  Hold  the  candle/  said  Mr.  Eochester,  and  I  took  it ;  he 
fetched  a  basin  of  water  from  the  wash-stand  :  '  Hold  that,' 
said  he.  I  obeyed.  He  took  the  sponge,  dipped  it  in  and 
moistened  the  corpse-like  face :  he  asked  for  my  smelling- 
bottle,  and  applied  it  to  the  nostrils.  Mr.  Mason  shortly 
unclosed  his  eyes  ;  he  groaned.  Mr.  Eochester  opened  the 
shirt  of  the  wounded  man,  whose  arm  and  shoulder  were 
bandaged :  he  sponged  away  blood,  trickling  fast  down. 

1  Is  there  immediate  danger,'  murmured  Mr.  Mason. 

'Pooh!  No — a  mere  scratch.  Don't  be  so  overcome, 
man :  bear  up  !  I'll  fetch  a  surgeon  for  you  now,  myself : 
you'll  be  able  to  be  removed  by  morning,  I  hope.  Jane,'  he 
continued. 

'Sir?' 

'  I  shall  have  to  leave  you  in  this  room  with  this  gentle- 
man, for  an  hour,  or  perhaps  two  hours ;  you  will  sponge 
the  blood  as  I  do  when  it  returns  :  if  he  feels  faint,  you  will 
put  the  glass  of  water  on  that  stand  to  his  lips,  and  your 
salts  to  his  nose.  You  will  not  speak  to  him  on  any  pretext 
— and— Bichard— it  will  be  at  the  peril  of  your  life  if  you 


JANE  EYEE  253 

speak  to  her  :  open  your  lips — agitate  yourself — and  I'll  nob 
answer  for  the  consequences.' 

Again  the  poor  man  groaned :  he  looked  as  if  he  dared 
not  move:  fear,  either  of  death  or  of  something  else, 
appeared  almost  to  paralyse  him.  Mr.  Eochester  put  the 
now  bloody  sponge  into  my  hand,  and  I  proceeded  to  use  it 
as  ho  had  done.  He  watched  me  a  second,  then  saying, 
'Eemember! — No  conversation/  he  left  the  room.  I 
experienced  a  strange  feeling  as  the  key  grated  in  the 
lock,  and  the  sound  of  his  retreating  step  ceased  to  be 
heard. 

Here  then  I  was  in  the  third  story,  fastened  into  one  of 
its  mystic  cells ;  night  around  me ;  a  pale  and  bloody 
spectacle  under  my  eyes  and  hands ;  a  murderess  hardly 
separated  from  me  by  a  single  door  :  yes — that  was  appal- 
ling— the  rest  I  could  bear ;  but  I  shuddered  at  the  thought 
of  Grace  Poole  bursting  out  upon  me. 

1  must  keep  to  my  post,  however.  I  must  watch  this 
ghastly  countenan  e — these  blue,  still  lips  forbidden  to 
unclose — these  eyes  now  shut,  now  opening,  now  wandering 
through  the  room,  now  fixing  on  me,  and  ever  glazed  with 
the  dulness  of  horror.  I  must  dip  my  hand  again  and  again 
in  the  basin  of  blood  and  water,  and  wipe  away  the  trickling 
gore.  I  must  see  the  light  of  the  unsnuffed  candle  wane  on 
my  employment;  the  shadows  darken  on  the  wrought-antique 
tapestry  round  me,  and  grow  black  under  the  hangings  of 
the  vast  old  bed,  and  quiver  strangely  over  the  doors  of  a 
great  cabinet  opposite — whose  front,  divided  into  twelve 
panels,  bore  in  grim  design  the  heads  of  the  twelve  apostles, 
each  inclosed  in  its  separate  panel  as  in  a  frame ;  while 
above  them  at  the  top  rose  an  ebon  crucifix  and  a  dying 
Christ. 

According  as  the  shifting  obscurity  and  flickering  gleam 
hovered  here  or  glanced  there,  it  was  now  the  bearded 
physician,  Luke,  that  bent  his  brow ;  now  St.  John's  long 
hair  that  waved;  and  anon  the  devilish  face  of  Judas, 
that  grew  out  of  the  panel,  and  seemed  gathering  life  and 


254:  JANE  EYEE 

threatening  a  revelation  of  the  arch-traitor — of  Satan  himself 
— in  his  subordinate's  form. 

Amidst  all  this,  I  had  to  listen  as  well  as  watch :  to  listen 
for  the  movements  of  the  wild  beast  or  the  fiend  in  yonder 
side  den.  But  since  Mr.  Rochester's  visit  it  seemed  spell- 
bound:  all  the  night  I  heard  but  three  sounds  at  three 
long  intervals, — a  step  creak,  a  momentary  renewal  of  the 
snarling,  canine  noise,  and  a  deep  human  groan. 

Then  my  own  thoughts  worried  me.  What  crime  was 
this,  that  lived  incarnate  in  this  sequestered  mansion,  and 
could  neither  be  expelled  nor  subdued  by  the  owner  ? — What 
mystery,  that  broke  out,  now  in  fire  and  now  in  blood,  at  the 
deadest  hours  of  night  ?  What  creature  was  it,  that,  masked 
in  an  ordinary  woman's  face  and  shape,  uttered  the  voice,  now 
of  a  mocking  demon,  and  anon  of  a  carrion-seeking  bird 
of  prey  ? 

And  this  man  I  bent  over — this  commonplace,  quiet 
stranger — how  had  he  become  involved  in  the  web  of  horror  ? 
and  why  had  the  Fury  flown  at  him  ?  What  made  him  seek 
this  quarter  of  the  house  at  an  untimely  season,  when  he 
should  have  been  asleep  in  bed  ?  I  had  heard  Mr.  Eochester 
assign  him  an  apartment  below — what  brought  him  here  ? 
And  why,  now,  was  he  so  tame  under  the  violence  or 
treachery  done  him  ?  Why  did  he  so  quietly  submit  to  the 
concealment  Mr.  Eochester  enforced  ?  Why  did  Mr.  Eoches- 
ter enforce  this  concealment  ?  His  guest  had  been  outraged, 
his  own  life  on  a  former  occasion  had  been  hideously  plotted 
against;  and  both  attempts  he  smothered  in  secrecy  and 
sank  in  oblivion  1  Lastly,  I  saw  Mr.  Mason  was  submissive 
to  Mr.  Eochester ;  that  the  impetuous  will  of  the  latter  held 
complete  sway  over  the  inertness  of  the  former :  the  few 
words  which  had  passed  between  them  assured  me  of  this. 
It  was  evident  that  in  their  former  intercourse,  the  passive 
disposition  of  the  one  had  been  habitually  influenced  by  the 
active  energy  of  the  other :  whence  then  had  arisen 
Mr.  Eochester's  dismay  when  he  heard  of  Mr.  Mason's 
arrival?  Why  had  the  mere  name  of  this  unresisting 


JANE  EYKE  255 

individual— whom  his  word  now  sufficed  to  control  like 
a  child — fallen  on  him,  a  few  hours  since,  as  a  thunderbolt 
might  fall  on  an  oak  ? 

Oh  !  I  could  not  forget  his  look  and  his  paleness  when 
he  whispered  :  '  Jane,  I  have  got  a  blow — I  have  got  a  blow, 
Jane.'  I  could  not  forget  how  the  arm  had  trembled  which 
he  had  rested  on  my  shoulder :  and  it  was  no  light  matter 
which  could  thus  bow  the  resolute  spirit  and  thnll  the 
vigorous  frame  of  Fairfax  Eochester. 

'  When  will  he  come  ?  When  will  he  come  ?  '  I  cried 
inwardly,  as  the  night  lingered  and  lingered — as  my  bleeding 
patient  drooped,  moaned,  sickened  :  and  neither  day  nor  aid 
arrived.  I  had,  again  and  again,  held  the  water  to  Mason's 
white  lips  ;  again  and  again  offered  him  the  stimulating  salts  : 
my  efforts  seemed  ineffectual:  either  bodily  or  mental 
suffering,  or  loss  of  blood,  or  all  three  combined,  were  fast 
prostrating  his  strength.  He  moaned  so,  and  looked  so  weak, 
wild,  and  lost,  I  feared  he  was  dying ;  and  I  might  not  even 
speak  to  him. 

The  candle,  wasted  at  last,  went  out;  as  it  expired,  I 
perceived  streaks  of  grey  light  edging  the  window  curtains  : 
dawn  was  then  approaching.  Presently  I  heard  Pilot  bark 
far  below,  out  of  his  distant  kennel  in  the  courtyard :  hope 
revived.  Nor  was  it  unwarranted :  in  five  minutes  more  the 
grating  key,  the  yielding  lock,  warned  me  my  watch  was 
relieved.  It  could  not  have  lasted  more  than  two  hours  : 
many  a  week  has  seemed  shorter. 

Mr.  Eochester  entered,  and  with  him  the  surgeon  he  had 
been  to  fetch. 

1  Now,  Carter,  be  on  the  alert,'  he  said  to  this  last :  '  I 
give  you  but  half  an  hour  for  dressing  the  wound,  fastening 
the  bandages,  getting  the  patient  downstairs  and  all.' 

'  But  is  he  fit  to  move,  sir  ?  ' 

1  No  doubt  of  it ;  it  is  nothing  serious  :  he  is  nervous,  his 
spirits  must  be  kept  up.  Come  set  to  work.' 

Mr.  Eochester  drew  back  the  thick  curtain,  drew  up  the 
holland  blind,  let  in  all  the  daylight  he  could ;  and  I  was 

K3 


256  JANE  EYEE 

surprised  and  cheered  to  see  how  far  dawn  was  advanced : 
what  rosy  streaks  were  beginning  to  brighten  the  east.  Then 
he  approached  Mason,  whom  the  surgeon  was  already 
handling. 

1  Now,  my  good  fellow,  how  are  you  ?  '  he  asked. 

'  She's  done  for  me,  I  fear/  was  the  faint  reply. 

1  Not  a  whit ! — courage !  This  day  fortnight  you'll  hardly 
be  a  pin  the  worse  of  it :  you've  lost  a  little  blood ;  that's  all. 
Carter,  assure  him  there's  no  danger/ 

'  I  can  do  that  conscientiously/  said  Carter,  who  had  now 
undone  the  bandages ;  '  only  I  wish  I  could  have  got  here 
sooner :  he  would  not  have  bled  so  much — but  how  is  this  ? 
The  flesh  on  the  shoulder  is  torn  as  well  as  cut.  This 
wound  was  not  done  with  a  knife :  there  have  been  teeth 
here ! ' 

'  She  bit  me/  he  murmured.  '  She  worried  me  like  a 
tigress,  when  Eochester  got  the  knife  from  her.' 

1  You  should  not  have  yielded :  you  should  have  grappled 
with  her  at  once/  said  Mr.  Eochester. 

'But  under  such  circumstances,  what  could  one  do?' 
returned  Mason.  '  Oh,  it  was  frightful !  '  he  added,  shudder- 
ing. '  And  I  did  not  expect  ifc  •  she  looked  so  quiet  at  first.' 

'  I  warned  you/  was  his  friend's  answer ;  '  I  said — be  on 
your  guard  when  you  go  near  her.  Besides,  you  might  have 
waited  till  to-morrow,  and  h  id  me  with  you  •  it  was  mere 
folly  to  attempt  the  interview  to-night  and  alone.' 

*  I  thought  I  could  have  done  some  good.' 

'  You  thought !  you  thought  I  Yes ;  it  makes  me 
impatient  to  hear  you  :  but,  however,  you  have  suffered,  and 
are  likely  to  suffer  enough  for  not  taking  my  advice  ;  so  I'll 
say  no  more.  Carter — hurry ! — hurry  I  The  sun  will  soon 
rise,  and  I  must  have  him  off/ 

1  Directly,  sir ;  the  shoulder  is  just  bandaged.  I  must 
look  to  this  other  wound  in  the  arm :  she  has  had  her  teeth 
here  too,  I  think/ 

1  She  sucked  the  blood :  she  said  she'd  drain  my  heart/ 
said  Mason. 


JANE  EYEE  257 

I  saw  Mr.  Rochester  shudder :  a  singularly  marked 
expression  of  disgust,  horror,  hatred,  warped  his  countenance 
almost  to  distortion ;  but  he  only  said  : — '  Come,  be  silent, 
Eichard,  and  never  mind  her  gibberish  :  don't  repeat  it.' 

'  I  wish  I  could  forget  it,1  was  the  answer. 

'  You  will  when  you  are  out  of  the  country :  when 
you  get  back  to  Spanish  Town,  you  may  think  of  her  as 
dead  and  buried — or  rather,  you  need  not  think  of  her 
at  all.1 

'  Impossible  to  forget  this  night ! ' 

'  It  is  not  impossible :  have  some  energy,  man.  You 
thought  you  were  as  dead  as  a  herring  two  hours  since,  and 
you  are  all  alive  and  talking  now.  There  ! — Carter  has  done 
with  you  or  nearly  so;  I'll  make  you  decent  in  a  trice. 
Jane '  (he  turned  to  me  for  the  first  time  since  his  re- 
entrance),  '  take  this  key :  go  down  into  my  bedroom,  and 
walk  straight  forward  into  my  dressing-room  ;  open  the  top 
drawer  of  the  wardrobe  and  take  out  a  clean  shirt  and  neck- 
handkerchief  :  bring  them  here  ;  and  be  nimble.* 

I  went ;  sought  the  repository  he  had  mentioned,  found 
the  articles  named  and  returned  with  them. 

'  Now/  said  he,  '  go  to  the  other  side  of  the  bed  while  I 
order  his  toilet;  but  don't  leave  the  room:  you  may  be 
wanted  again.1 

I  retired  as  directed. 

'Was  anybody  stirring  below  when  you  went  down, 
Jane  ?  '  inquired  Mr.  Eochester,  presently. 

1  No,  sir  ;  all  was  very  still/ 

'  We  shall  get  you  off  cannily,  Dick  :  and  it  will  be  better, 
both  for  your  sake,  and  for  that  of  the  poor  creature  in 
yonder.  I  have  striven  long  to  avoid  exposure,  and  I  should 
not  like  it  to  come  at  last.  Here,  Carter,  help  him  on  with 
his  waistcoat.  Where  did  you  leave  your  furred  cloak? 
You  can't  travel  a  mile  without  that,  I  know,  in  this  damned, 
cold  climate.  In  your  room? — Jane,  run  down  to  Mr. 
Mason's  room, — the  one  next  mine, — and  fetch  a  cloak  you 
will  see  there/ 


258  JANE  EYEE 

Again  I  ran,  and  again  returned,  bearing  an  immense 
mantle  lined  and  edged  with  fur. 

'Now  I've  another  errand  for  you,1  said  my  untiring 
master ;  '  you  must  away  to  my  room  again.  What  a  mercy 
you  are  shod  with  velvet,  Jane !— a  clod-hopping  messenger 
would  never  do  at  this  juncture.  You  must  open  the  middle 
drawer  of  my  toilet-table  and  take  out  a  little  phial  and  a 
little  glass  you  will  find  there, — quick  ! ' 

I  flew  thither  and  back,  bringing  the  desired  vessels. 

'  That's  well !  Now,  doctor,  I  shall  take  the  liberty  of 
administering  a  dose  myself ;  on  my  own  responsibility.  I 
got  this  cordial  at  Eome  of  an  Italian  charlatan — a  fellow 
you  would  have  kicked,  Carter.  It  is  not  a  thing  to  be  used 
indiscriminately,  but  it  is  good  upon  occasion :  as  now,  for 
instance.  Jane,  a  little  water.1 

He  held  out  the  tiny  glass,  and  I  half  filled  it  from  the 
water  bottle  on  the  wash-stand. 

'  That  will  do — now  wet  the  lip  of  the  phial.' 

I  did  so  :  he  measured  twelve  drops  of  a  crimson  liquid, 
and  presented  it  to  Mason. 

1  Drink,  Kichard :  it  will  give  you  the  heart  you  lack,  for 
an  hour  or  so/ 

I  But  will  it  hurt  me  ? — is  it  inflammatory  ? ' 
'Drink!  drink!  drink!' 

Mr.  Mason  obeyed,  because  it  was  evidently  useless  to 
resist.  He  was  dressed  now :  he  still  looked  pale,  but  he 
was  no  longer  gory  and  sullied.  Mr.  Eochester  let  him  sit 
three  minutes  after  he  had  swallowed  the  liquid ;  he  then 
took  his  arm. 

'  Now  I  am  sure  you  can  get  on  your  feet,1  he  said — 
'try.1 

The  patient  rose. 

'  Carter,  take  him  under  the  other  shoulder.  Be  of  good 
cheer,  Bichard ;  step  out — that's  it ! ' 

'  I  do  feel  better/  remarked  Mr.  Mason. 

I 1  am  sure  you  do.    Now,  Jane,  trip  on  before  us  away 
to  the  backstairs ;  unbolt  the  side-passage  door,  and  tell  the 


JANE  EYEE  259 

driver  of  the  post-chaise  you  will  see  in  the  yard — or  just 
outside,  for  I  told  him  not  to  drive  his  rattling  wheels  over 
the  pavement — to  be  ready ;  we  are  coming :  and,  Jane,  if 
any  one  is  about,  come  to  the  foot  of  the  stairs  and  hem/ 

It  was  by  this  time  half-past  five,  and  the  sun  was  on  the 
point  of  rising ;  but  I  found  the  kitchen  still  dark  and  silent. 
The  side-passage  door  was  fastened;  I  opened  it  with  as 
little  noise  as  possible  :  all  the  yard  was  quiet ;  but  the  gates 
stood  wide  open,  and  there  was  a  post-chaise,  with  horses 
ready  harnessed,  and  driver  seated  on  the  box,  stationed 
outside.  I  approached  him,  and  said  the  gentlemen  were 
coming ;  he  nodded :  then  I  looked  carefully  round  and 
listened.  The  stillness  of  early  morning  slumbered  every- 
where; the  curtains  were  yet  drawn  over  the  servants' 
chamber  windows;  little  birds  were  just  twittering  in  the 
blossom-blanched  orchard  trees,  whose  boughs  drooped  like 
white  garlands  over  the  wall  enclosing  one  side  of  the  yard ; 
the  carriage  horses  stamped  from  time  to  time  in  their  closed 
stables  :  all  else  was  still. 

The  gentlemen  now  appeared.  Mason,  supported  by 
Mr.  Rochester  and  the  surgeon,  seemed  to  walk  with  tolerable 
ease :  they  assisted  him  into  the  chaise ;  Carter  followed. 

'  Take  care  of  him/  said  Mr.  Rochester  to  the  latter,  '  and 
keep  him  at  your  house  till  he  is  quite  well :  I  shall  ride 
over  in  a  day  or  two  to  see  how  he  gets  on.  Richard,  how 
is  it  with  you  ? ' 

'  The  fresh  air  revives  me,  Fairfax/ 

1  Leave  the  window  open  on  his  side,  Carter ;  there  is  no 
wind — good-bye,  Dick/ 

1  Fairfax ' 

cWell,  what  is  it?' 

I  Let  her  be  taken  care  of ;  let  her  be  treated  as  tenderly 
as  may  be  :  let  her '  he  stopped  and  burst  into  tears. 

I 1  do  my  best ;  and  have  done  it,  and  will  do  it/  was  the 
answer :  he  shut  up  the  chaise  door,  and  the  vehicle  drove 
away. 

1  Yet  would  to  God  there  was  an  end  of  all  this ! '  added 


260  JANE  EYRE 

Mr.  Rochester,  as  he  closed  and  barred  the  heavy  yard-gates. 
This  done,  he  moved  with  slow  step  and  abstracted  air 
towards  a  door  in  the  wall  bordering  the  orchard.  I,  sup- 
posing he  had  done  with  me,  prepared  to  return  to  the 
house  ;  again,  however,  I  heard  him  call  '  Jane  ! '  He  had 
opened  the  portal  and  stood  at  it,  waiting  for  me. 

1  Come  where  there  is  some  freshness,  for  a  few  moments/ 
he  said ;  '  that  house  is  a  mere  dungeon :  don't  you  feel  it 
so?' 

'  It  seems  to  me  a  splendid  mansion,  sir/ 

'  The  glamour  of  inexperience  is  over  your  eyes/  he 
answered ;  *  and  you  see  it  through  a  charmed  medium  :  you 
cannot  discern  that  the  gilding  is  slime  and  the  silk  draperies 
cobwebs ;  that  the  marble  is  sordid  slate,  and  the  polished 
woods  mere  refuse  chips  and  scaly  bark.  Now  here'  (he 
pointed  to  the  leafy  enclosure  we  had  entered)  '  all  is  real, 
sweet,  and  pure/ 

He  strayed  down  a  walk  edged  with  box;  with  apple 
trees,  pear  trees,  and  cherry  trees  on  one  side,  and  a  border 
on  the  other,  full  of  all  sorts  of  old-fashioned  flowers,  stocks, 
sweet-williams,  primroses,  pansies,  mingled  with  southern- 
wood, sweet-briar,  and  various  fragrant  herbs.  They  were 
fresh  now  as  a  succession  of  April  showers  and  gleams, 
followed  by  a  lovely  spring  morning,  could  make  them  :  the 
sun  was  just  entering  the  dappled  east,  and  his  light  illumined 
the  wreathed  and  dewy  orchard  trees  and  shone  down  the 
quiet  walks  under  them. 

'  Jane,  will  y^u  have  a  flower  ? ' 

He  gathered  a  half -blown  rose,  the  first  on  the  bush,  and 
offered  it  to  me. 

1  Thank  you,  sir/ 

I  Do  you  like  this  sunrise,  Jane  ?    That  sky  with  its  high 
and  light  clouds  which  are  sure  to  melt  away  as  the  day 
waxes  warm — this  placid  and  balmy  atmosphere?' 

I 1  do,  very  much/ 

'  You  have  passed  a  strange  night,  Jane/ 
'Yes,  sir/ 


JANE  EYEE  261 

'  And  it  has  made  you  look  pale — were  you  afraid  when  I 
left  you  alone  with  Mason  ? ' 

1 1  was  afraid  of  some  one  coming  out  of  the  inner  room.' 

'But  I  had  fastened  the  door — I  had  the  key  in  my 
pocket  :  I  should  have  been  a  careless  shepherd  if  I  had  left 
a  lamb — my  pet  lamb — so  near  a  wolf's  den,  unguarded :  you 
were  safe/ 

*  Will  Grace  Poole  live  here  still,  sir  ? ' 

'  Oh,  yes  !  don'fc  trouble  your  head  about  her — put  the 
thing  out  of  your  thoughts/ 

I  Yet  it  seems  to  me  your  life  is  hardly  secure  while  she 
stays/ 

'  Never  fear — I  will  take  care  of  myself/ 
Is  the  danger  you  apprehended  last  night  gone  by  now 
sir?' 

I 1  cannot  vouch  for  that  till  Mason  is  out  of  England  : 
nor  even  then.    To  live,  for  me,  Jane,  is  to  stand  on  a  crater- 
crust  which  may  crack  and  spue  fire  any  day/ 

c  But  Mr.  Mason  seems  a  man  easily  led.  Your  influence, 
sir,  is  evidently  potent  with  him  :  he  will  never  set  you  at 
defiance,  or  wilfully  injure  you/ 

1  Oh,  no  !  Mason  will  not  defy  me ;  nor,  knowing  it,  will 
he  hurt  me — but,  unintentionally,  he  might  in  a  moment,  by 
one  careless  word,  deprive  me,  if  not  of  life,  yet  for  ever  of 
happiness/ 

'  Tell  him  to  be  cautious,  sir :  let  him  know  what  you  fear, 
and  show  him  how  to  avert  the  danger/ 

He  laughed  sardonically,  hastily  took  my  hand,  and  as 
hastily  threw  it  from  him. 

1  If  I  could  do  that,  simpleton,  where  would  the  danger 
be  ?  Annihilated  in  a  moment.  Ever  since  I  have  known 
Mason  I  have  only  had  to  say  to  him  "  Do  that,"  and  the 
thing  has  been  done.  But  I  cannot  give  him  orders  in  this 
case  :  I  cannot  say  "  Beware  of  harming  me,  Eichard  "  ;  for 
it  is  imperative  that  I  should  keep  him  ignorant  that  harm 
to  me  is  possible.  Now  you  look  puzzled ;  and  I  will 
puzzle  you  farther.  You  are  my  little  friend,  are  you  not  ? ' 


262  JANE  EYEE 

1 1  like  to  serve  you,  sir,  and  to  obey  you  in  all  that  is 
right/ 

'  Precisely  :  I  see  you  do.  I  see  genuine  contentment  in 
your  gait  and  mien,  your  eye  and  face,  when  you  are  helping 
me  and  pleasing  me — working  for  me,  and  with  me,  in,  as  you 
characteristically  say, '  all  that  is  right ' :  for  if  I  bid  you  do 
what  you  thought  wrong,  there  would  be  no  light-footed 
running,  no  neat-handed  alacrity,  no  lively  glance  and  anim- 
ated complexion.  My  friend  would  then  turn  to  me,  quiet 
and  pale,  and  would  say,  "  No,  sir ;  that  is  impossible :  I  can- 
not do  it,  because  it  is  wrong ;  "  and  would  become  immutable 
as  a  fixed  star.  Well,  you  too  have  power  over  me,  and  may 
injure  me  :  yet  I  dare  not  show  you  where  I  am  vulnerable, 
lest,  faithful  and  friendly  as  you  are,  you  should  transfix  me 
at  once.' 

'  If  you  have  no  more  to  fear  from  Mr.  Mason  than  you 
have  from  me,  sir,  you  are  very  safe.1 

'  God  grant  it  may  be  so  !  Here,  Jane,  is  an  arbour  ;  sit 
down.' 

The  arbour  was  an  arch  in  the  wall,  lined  with  ivy ;  it 
contained  a  rustic  seat.  Mr.  Eochester  took  it,  leaving  room, 
however,  for  me :  but  I  stood  before  him. 

'  Sit,'  he  said ;  '  the  bench  is  long  enough  for  two.  You 
don't  hesitate  to  take  a  place  at  my  side,  do  you  ?  Is  that 
wrong,  Jane  ? ' 

I  answered  him  by  assuming  it :  to  refuse  would,  I  felt, 
have  been  unwise. 

'  Now,  my  little  friend,  while  the  sun  drinks  the  dew — 
while  all  the  flowers  in  this  old  garden  awake  and  expand, 
and  the  birds  fetch  their  young  ones'  breakfast  out  of  the 
cornfield,  and  the  early  bees  do  their  first  spell  of  work — I'll 
put  a  case  to  you ;  which  you  must  endeavour  to  suppose 
your  own :  but  first,  look  at  me,  and  tell  me  you  are  at  ease, 
and  not  fearing  that  I  err  in  detaining  you,  or  that  you  err 
in  staying/ 

'  No,  sir ;  I  am  content.' 

1  Well  then,  Jane,  call  to  aid  your  fancy-— suppose  you 


JANE  EYEE  263 

were  no  longer  a  girl  well  reared  and  disciplined,  but  a  wild 
boy  indulged  from  childhood  upwards ;  imagine  yourself  in 
a  remote  foreign  land ;  conceive  that  you  there  commit  a 
capital  error,  no  matter  of  what  nature  or  from  what  motives, 
but  one  whose  consequences  must  follow  you  through  life 
and  taint  all  your  existence.  Mind,  I  don't  say  a  crime  ;  I 
am  not  speaking  of  shedding  of  blood  or  any  other  guilty 
act,  which  might  make  the  perpetrator  amenable  to  the  law : 
my  word  is  error.  The  results  of  what  you  have  done 
become  in  time  to  you  utterly  insupportable;  you  take 
measures  to  obtain  relief :  unusual  measures,  but  neither 
unlawful  nor  culpable.  Still  you  are  miserable ;  for  hope 
has  quitted  you  on  the  very  confines  of  life :  your  sun  at 
noon  darkens  in  an  eclipse,  which  you  feel  will  not  leave  it 
till  the  time  of  sotting.  Bitter  and  base  associations  have 
become  the  sole  food  of  your  memory  :  you  wander  here  and 
there,  seeking  rest  in  exile  :  happiness  in  pleasure — I  mean 
in  heartless,  sensual  pleasure — such  as  dulls  intellect  and 
blights  feeling.  Heart-weary  and  soul-withered,  you  come 
home  after  years  of  voluntary  banishment ;  you  make  a  new 
acquaintance — how  or  where  no  matter :  you  find  in  this 
stranger  much  of  the  good  and  bright  qualities  which  you 
have  sought  for  twenty  years,  and  never  before  encountered ; 
and  they  are  all  fresh,  healthy,  without  soil  and  without 
taint.  Such  society  revives,  regenerates :  you  feel  better 
days  come  back — higher  wishes,  purer  feelings ;  you  desire 
to  recommence  your  life,  and  to  spend  what  remains  to  you 
of  days  in  a  way  more  worthy  of  an  immortal  being.  To 
attain  this  end,  are  you  justified  in  overleaping  an  obstacle 
of  custom — a  mere  conventional  impediment,  which  neither 
your  conscience  sanctifies  nor  your  judgment  approves? ' 

He  paused  for  an  answer :  and  what  was  I  to  say?  Oh, 
for  some  good  spirit  to  suggest  a  judicious  and  satisfactory 
response  !  Vain  aspiration  !  The  west  wind  whispered  in 
the  ivy  round  me ;  but  no  gentle  Ariel  borrowed  its  breath 
as  a  medium  of  speech  :  the  birds  sang  in  the  tree-tops ;  but 
their  song,  however  sweet,  was  inarticulate. 


264  JANE  BYEB 

Again  Mr.  Eochester  propounded  his  query. 

'  Is  the  wandering  and  sinful,  but  now  rest-seeking  and 
repentant,  man  justified  in  daring  the  world's  opinion,  in 
order  to  attach  to  him  for  ever  this  gentle,  gracious,  genial 
stranger ;  thereby  securing  his  own  peace  of  mind  and 
regeneration  of  life  ?  ' 

'Sir/  I  answered,  'a  wanderer's  repose  or  a  sinner's 
reformation  should  never  depend  on  a  fellow-creature.  Men 
and  women  die ;  philosophers  falter  in  wisdom,  and  Christians 
in  goodness :  if  any  one  you  know  has  suffered  and  erred, 
let  him  look  higher  than  his  equals  for  strength  to  amend, 
and  solace  to  heal.' 

'  But  the  instrument — the  instrument  1  God,  who  does 
the  work,  ordains  the  instrument.  I  have  myself — I  tell  it 
you  without  parable — been  a  wordly,  dissipated,  restless 
man ;  and  I  believe  I  have  found  the  instrument  for  my  cure, 
in ' 

He  paused  :  the  birds  went  on  carolling,  the  leaves  lightly 
rustling.  I  almost  wondered  they  did  not  check  their  songs 
and  whispers  to  catch  the  suspended  revelation :  but  they 
would  have  had  to  wait  many  minutes — so  long  was  the 
silence  protracted.  At  last  I  looked  up  at  the  tardy  speaker  : 
he  was  looking  eagerly  at  me. 

'Little  friend,'  said  he,  in  quite  a  changed  tone — while 
his  face  changed  too ;  losing  all  its  softness  and  gravity,  and 
becoming  harsh  and  sarcastic — '  you  have  noticed  my  tender 
penchant  for  Miss  Ingram :  don't  you  think  if  I  married  her 
she  would  regenerate  me  with  a  vengeance  ?  ' 

He  got  up  instantly,  went  quite  to  the  other  end  of 
the  walk,  and  when  he  came  back  he  was  humming  a 
tune. 

'  Jane,  Jane,'  said  he,  stopping  before  me, '  you  are  quite 
pale  with  your  vigils:  don't  you  curse  me  for  disturbing 
your  rest  ? ' 

'  Curse  you  ?    No  sir.' 

'  Shake  hands  in  confirmation  of  the  word.  What  cold 
fingers !  They  were  warmer  last  night  when  I  touched  them 


JANE  EYRE  265 

at  the  door  of  the  mysterious  chamber.  Jane,  when  will 
you  watch  with  me  again  ? ' 

'  Whenever  I  can  be  useful,  sir.' 

1  For  instance,  the  night  before  I  am  married !  I  am  sure 
I  shall  not  be  able  to  sleep.  Will  you  promise  to  sit  up 
with  me  to  bear  me  company  ?  To  you  I  can  talk  of  my 
lovely  one  :  for  now  you  have  seen  her  and  know  her/ 

*  Yes,  sir/ 

'  She's  a  rare  one,  is  she  not,  Jane  ?  ' 

*  Yes,  sir/ 

'A  strapper — a  real  strapper,  Jane:  big,  brown,  and 
buxom ;  with  hair  just  such  as  the  ladies  of  Carthage  must 
have  had.  "Bless  me  !  there's  Dent  and  Lynn  in  the  stables  ! 
Go  in  by  the  shrubbery,  through  that  wicket/ 

As  I  went  one  way,  he  went  another,  and  I  heard  him  in 
the  yard,  saying  cheeringly  : — *  Mason  got  the  start  of  you 
all  this  morning ;  he  was  gone  before  sunrise  :  I  rose  at  four 
to  see  him  off/ 


266  JANE  EYRE 


CHAPTEB  XXI 

PEESENTIMENTS  are  strange  things  !  and  so  are  sympathies  ; 
and  so  are  signs  :  and  the  three  combined  make  one  mystery 
to  which  humanity  has  not  yet  found  the  key.  I  never 
laughed  at  presentiments  in  my  life ;  because  I  have  had 
strange  ones  of  my  own.  Sympathies,  I  believe,  exist :  (for 
instance,  between  far-distant,  long-absent,  wholly  estranged 
relatives ;  asserting,  notwithstanding  their  alienation,  the 
unity  of  the  source  to  which  each  traces  his  origin)  whose 
workings  baffle  mortal  comprehension.  And  signs,  for  aught 
we  know,  may  be  but  the  sympathies  of  Nature  with  man. 

When  I  was  a  little  girl,  only  six  years  old,  I,  one  night, 
heaid  Bessie  Leaven  say  to  Martha  Abbot  that  she  had  been 
dreaming  about  a  little  child ;  and  that  to  dream  of  children 
was  a  sure  sign  of  trouble,  either  to  one's  self  or  one's  kin. 
The  saying  might  have  worn  out  of  my  memory,  had  not  a 
circumstance  immediately  followed  which  served  indelibly  to 
fix  it  there.  The  next  day  Bessie  was  sent  for  home  to  the 
deathbed  of  her  little  sister. 

Of  late  I  had  often  recalled  this  saying  and  this  incident ; 
for  during  the  past  week  scarcely  a  night  had  gone  over  my 
couch  that  had  not  brought  with  it  a  dream  of  an  infant : 
which  I  sometimes  hushed  in  my  arms,  sometimes  dandled 
on  my  knee,  sometimes  watched  playing  with  daisies  on  a 
lawn ;  or  again,  dabbling  its  hands  in  running  water.  It 
was  a  wailing  child  this  night,  and  a  laughing  one  the  next : 
now  it  nestled  close  to  me,  and  now  it  ran  from  me ;  but 
whatever  mood  the  apparition  evinced,  whatever  aspect  it 
wore,  it  failed  not  for  seven  successive  nights  to  meet  me 
the  moment  I  entered  the  land  of  slumber. 


JANE  EYRE  267 

I  did  not  like  this  iteration  of  one  idea — this  strange 
recurrence  of  one  image ;  and  I  grew  nervous  as  bedtime 
approached,  and  the  hour  of  the  vision  drew  near.  It  was 
from  companionship  with  this  baby-phantom  I  had  been 
roused  on  that  moonlight  night  when  I  heard  the  cry ;  and 
it  was  on  the  afternoon  of  the  day  following  I  was  summoned 
downstairs  by  a  message  that  some  one  wanted  me  in  Mrs. 
Fairfax's  room.  On  repairing  thither,  I  found  a  man  waiting 
for  me,  having  the  appearance  of  a  gentleman's  servant :  he 
was  dressed  in  deep  mourning,  and  the  hat  he  held  in  his 
hand  was  surrounded  with  a  crape  band. 

'  I  daresay  you  hardly  remember  me,  miss/  he  said,  rising 
as  I  entered  ;  '  but  my  name  is  Leaven  :  I  lived  coachman 
with  Mrs.  Eeed  when  you  were  at  Gateshead  eight  or  nine 
years  since,  and  I  live  there  still.' 

'Oh,  Robert !  how  do  you  do?  I  remember  you  very 
well:  you  used  to  give  me  a  ride  sometimes  on  Miss 
Georgiana's  bay  pony.  And  how  is  Bessie?  You  are 
married  to  Bessie  ?  ' 

1  Yes,  miss :  my  wife  is  very  hearty,  thank  you ;  she 
brought  me  another  little  one  about  two  months  since — we 
have  three  now — and  both  mother  and  child  are  thriving/ 

1  And  are  the  family  well  at  the  house,  Eobert  ? ' 

'  I  am  sorry  I  can't  give  you  better  news  of  them,  miss : 
they  are  very  badly  at  present — in  great  trouble.' 

'  I  hope  no  one  is  dead/  I  said  glancing  at  his  black  dress. 
He  too  looked  down  at  the  crape  round  his  hat  and  replied, 
— '  Mr.  John  died  yesterday  was  a  week,  at  his  chambers  in 
London.' 

'Mr.  John?' 

'Yes/ 

'  And  how  does  his  mother  bear  it  ? ' 

'  Why  you  see,  Miss  Eyre,  it  is  not  a  common  mishap  : 
his  life  has  been  very  wild :  these  last  three  years  he  gave  him- 
self up  to  strange  ways  ;  and  his  death  was  shocking/ 

'  I  heard  from  Bessie  he  was  not  doing  well/ 

c  Doing  well  1    He  could  not  do  worse :  he  ruined  his 


268  JANE  EYEE 

health  and  his  estate  amongst  the  worst  men  and  the  worst 
women.  He  got  into  debt  and  into  jail :  his  mother  helped 
him  out  twice,  but  as  soon  as  he  was  free  he  returned  to  his 
old  companions  and  habits.  His  head  was  not  strong :  the 
knaves  he  lived  amongst  fooled  him  beyond  anything  I 
ever  heard.  He  came  down  to  Gateshead  about  three  weeks 
ago  and  wanted  missus  to  give  up  all  to  him.  Missis  refused : 
her  means  have  long  been  much  reduced  by  his  extravagance ; 
so  he  went  back  again,  and  the  next  news  was  that  he  was 
dead.  How  he  died,  God  knows ! — they  say  he  killed  him- 
self.' 

I  was  silent :  the  tidings  were  frightful.  Eobert  Leaven  re- 
sumed : — '  Missis  had  been  out  of  health  herself  for  some  time : 
she  had  got  very  stout,  but  was  not  strong  with  it ;  and  the  loss 
of  money  and  fear  of  poverty  were  quite  breaking  her  down. 
The  information  about  Mr.  John's  death  and  the  manner  of 
it  came  too  suddenly  :  it  brought  on  a  stroke.  She  was  three 
days  without  speaking ;  but  last  Tuesday  she  seemed  rather 
better  :  she  appeared  as  if  she  wanted  to  say  something,  and 
kept  making  signs  to  my  wife  and  mumbling.    It  was  only 
yesterday  morning,  however,   that  Bessie   understood  she 
was  pronouncing  your  name  ;  and  at  last  she  made  out  the 
words,   "  Bring  Jane — fetch  Jane  Eyre :  I  want  to  speak 
to    her."    Bessie    is    not    sure    whether    she    is    in    her 
right  mind,  or  means  anything  by  the  words ;  but  she  told 
Miss  Reed  and  Miss  Georgiana,  and  advised  them  to  send 
for  you.    The  young  ladies  put  it  off  at  first:   but  their 
mother  grew  so  restless,  and  said,  "  Jane,  Jane,"  so  many 
times,  that  at  last  they  consented.     I  left  Gateshead  yester- 
day ;  and  if  you  can  get  ready,  miss,  I  should  like  to  take 
you  back  with  me  early  to-morrow  morning.' 

'  Yes,  Eobert,  I  shall  be  ready :  it  seems  to  me  that  I 
ought  to  go.' 

I 1  think  so  too,  miss.    Bessie  said  she  was  sure  you 
would  not  refuse  :  but  I  suppose  you  will  have  to  ask  leave 
before  you  can  get  off? ' 

'  Yes  ;  and  I  will  do  it  now ' ;  and  having  directed  him  to 


JANE  EYRE  269 

the  servants'  hall,  and  recommended  him  to  the  care  of 
John's  wife,  and  the  attentions  of  John  himself,  I  went  in 
search  of  Mr.  Rochester. 

He  was  not  in  any  of  the  lower  rooms ;  he  was  not  inthe 
yard,  the  stables,  or  the  grounds.  I  asked  Mrs.  Fairfax  if 
she  had  seen  him ; — yes :  she  believed  he  was  playing 
billiards  with  Miss  Ingram.  To  the  billiard-room  I  hastened  : 
the  click  of  balls  and  the  hum  of  voices  resounded  thence : 
Mr.  Rochester,  Miss  Ingram,  the  two  Misses  Eshton,  and 
their  admirers,  were  all  busied  in  the  game.  It  required 
some  courage  to  disturb  so  interesting  a  party ;  my  errand, 
however,  was  one  I  could  not  defer,  so  I  approached  the 
master  whore  he  stood  at  Miss  Ingrain's  side.  She  turned 
as  I  drew  near  and  looked  at  me  haughtily  :  her  eyes  seemed 
to  demand,  '  What  can  the  creeping  creature  want  now  ? ' 
and  when  I  said,  in  a  low  voice,  '  Mr.  Rochester/  she  made 
a  movement  as  if  tempted  to  order  me  away.  I  remember 
her  appearance  at  the  moment, — it  was  very  graceful  and 
very  striking  :  she  wore  a  morning  robe  of  sky-blue  crape  ; 
a  gauzy  azure  scarf  was  twisted  in  her  hair.  She  had  been 
all  animation  with  the  game,  and  irritated  pride  did  not 
lower  the  expression  of  her  haughty  lineaments. 

1  Does  that  person  want  you  ? '  she  inquired  of  Mr. 
Rochester ;  and  Mr.  Rochester  turned  to  see  who  the  '  person  ' 
was.  He  made  a  curious  grimace, — one  of  his  strange  and 
equivocal  demonstrations — threw  down  his  cue  and  followed 
me  from  the  room. 

1  Well,  Jane  ? '  he  said,  as  he  rested  his  back  against  the 
schoolroom  door,  which  he  had  shut. 

1  If  you  please,  sir,  I  want  leave  of  absence  for  a  week  or 
two/ 

1  What  to  do  ?— Where  to  go  ? ' 

1  To  see  a  sick  lady  who  has  sent  for  me.1 

'What  sick  lady?— Where  does  she  live? ' 

1  At  Gateshead,  in shire/ 

' shire?  That  is  a  hundred  miles  off!  Who  may 

she  be  that  sends  for  people  to  see  her  that  distance  ? ' 


270  JANE  EYKE 

1  Her  name  is  "Reed,  sir, — Mrs.  Eeed.' 

1  Eeed  of  Gateshead  ?  There  was  a  Eeed  of  Gateshead, 
a  magistrate.' 

1  It  is  his  widow,  sir/ 

'  And  what  have  you  to  do  with  her  ?  How  do  you  know 
her?' 

'  Mr.  Eeed  was  my  uncle, — my  mother's  brother.' 

'  The  deuce  ho  was  !  You  never  told  me  that  before : 
you  always  said  you  had  no  relations.' 

*  None  that  would  own  me,  sir.    Mr.  Eeed  is  dead,  and 
his  wife  cast  me  off.' 

'Why?' 

1  Because  I  was  poor,  and  burdensome,  and  she  disliked 
me.' 

*  But  Eeed  left  children  ? — you  must  have  cousins  ?     Sir 
George  Lynn  was  talking  of  a  Eeed  of  Gateshead,  yesterday 
— who,  he  said,  was  one  of  the  veriest  rascals  on  town  ;  and 
Ingrain  was  mentioning  a  Georgiana  Eeed  of  the  same  pbice, 
who  was  much  admired  for  her  beauty,  a  season  or  two  ago, 
in  London.' 

'  John  Eeed  is  dead,  too,  sir  :  he  ruined  himself  and  half- 
ruinedhis  family,  and  is  supposed  to  have  committed  suicide. 
The  news  so  shocked  his  mother  that  it  brought  on  an 
apoplectic  attack.' 

1  And  what  good  can  you  do  her  ?  Nonsense,  Jane ! 
I  would  never  think  of  running  a  hundred  miles  to  see  an 
old  lady  who  will,  perhaps,  be  dead  before  you  reach 
her  :  besides,  you  say  she  cast  you  off/ 

'Yes,  sir,  but  that  is  long  ago;  and  when  her  circum- 
stances were  very  different :  I  could  not  be  easy  to  neglect 
her  wishes  now/ 

'  How  long  will  you  stay  ? 

I  As  short  a  time  as  possible,  sir/ 

'  Promise  me  only  to  stay  a  week ' 

I 1  had  better  not  pass  my  word :  I  might  be  obliged  to 
break  it/ 

'  At  all  events  you  will  come  back :  you  will  not  be 


JANE  EYEB  271 

induced  under  any  pretext  to  take  up  a  permanent  residence 
with  her.1 

'  Oh,  no  !  I  shall  certainly  return  if  all  be  well/ 

1  And  who  goes  with  you  ?  You  don't  travel  a  hundred 
miles  alone.' 

'  No,  sir,  she  has  sent  her  coachman.' 

'  A  person  to  be  trusted  ? ' 

'  Yes,  sir,  he  has  lived  ten  years  in  the  family.1 

Mr.  Bochester  meditated.     '  When  do  you  wish  to  go  ? ' 

1  Early  to-morrow  morning,  sir/ 

'Well,  you  must  have  some  money;  you  can't  travel 
without  money,  and  I  daresay  you  have  not  much :  I  have 
given  you  no  salary  yet.  How  much  have  you  in  the  world, 
Jane  ? '  he  tasked,  smiling. 

I  drew  out  my  purse ;  a  meagre  thing  it  was.  '  Five 
shillings,  sir/  He  took  the  purse,  poured  the  hoard  into  his 
palm  and  chuckled  over  it  as  if  its  scantiness  pleased  him. 
Soon  he  produced  his  pocket-book  :  '  Here/  said  he,  offering 
me  a  note  :  it  was  fifty  pounds,  and  he  owed  me  but  fifteen. 
I  told  him  I  had  no  change. 

'  I  don't  want  change  :  you  know  that.    Take  your  wages/ 

I  declined  accepting  more  than  was  my  due.  Ho  scowled 
at  first ;  then,  as  if  recollecting  something,  he  said  : — '  Bight, 
right!  Better  not  give  you  all  now:  you  would,  perhaps, 
stay  away  three  months  if  you  had  fifty  pounds.  There  are 
ten  :  is  it  not  plenty  ?  ' 

'  Yes,  sir,  but  now  you  owe  me  five/ 

'  Come  back  for  it  then :  I  am  your  banker  for  forty 
pounds/ 

1  Mr.  Bochester,  I  may  as  well  mention  another  matter  of 
business  to  you  while  I  have  the  opportunity/ 

1  Matter  of  business  ?    I'm  curious  to  hear  it/ 

1  You  have  as  good  as  informed  me,  sir,  that  you  arc 
going  shortly  to  be  married  ? ' 

'Yes:  what  then?' 

'  In  that  case,  sir,  Ad&le  ought  to  go  to  school :  I  am  sure 
you  will  perceive  the  necessity  of  it/ 


272  JANE  EYBE 

'  To  get  her  out  of  my  bride's  way ;  who  might  otherwise 
walk  over  her  rather  too  emphatically.  There's  sense  in  the 
suggestion ;  not  a  doubt  of  it :  Ad&le,  as  you  say,  must  go  to 
school ;  and  you,  of  course,  must  march  straight  to — the 
devil?' 

( I  hope  not,  sir :  but  I  must  seek  another  situation  some- 
where/ 

1  In  course  t '  he  exclaimed,  with  a  twang  of  voice  and  a 
distortion  of  features  equally  fantastic  and  ludicrous.  He 
looked  at  me  some  minutes. 

'And  old  Madam  Heed,  or  the  Misses,  her  daughters, 
will  be  solicited  by  you  to  seek  a  place,  I  suppose  ? ' 

'  No,  sir ;  I  am  not  on  such  terms  with  my  relatives  as 
would  justify  me  in  asking  favours  of  them — but  I  shall 
advertise.' 

'  You  shall  walk  up  the  pyramids  of  Egypt ! '  he  growled. 
'  At  your  peril  you  advertise  !  I  wish  I  had  only  offered  you 
a  sovereign  instead  of  ten  pounds.  Give  me  back  nine 
pounds,  Jane ;  I've  a  use  for  it.' 

'  And  so  have  I,  sir,'  I  returned,  putting  my  hands  and 
my  purse  behind  me.  '  I  could  not  spare  the  money  on  any 
account.' 

'  Little  niggard ! '  said  he,  '  refusing  me  a  pecuniary 
request !  Give  me  five  pounds,  Jane/ 

'  Not  five  shillings,  sir ;  nor  five  pence/ 

1  Just  let  me  look  at  the  cash/ 

1  No,  sir  ;  you  are  not  to  be  tiusted/ 

« Jane ! ' 

'Sir?' 

1  Promise  me  one  thing/ 

I  I'll  promise  you  anything,  sir,  that  I  think  I  am  likely 
to  perform/ 

Not  to  advertise :  and  to  trust  this  quest  of  a  situation 
to  me.     I'll  find  you  one  in  time/ 

I 1  shall  be  glad  so  to  do,  sir,  if  you,  in  your  turn,  will 
promise  that  I  and  Ad£ie  shall  be  both  safe  out  of  the  house 
before  your  bride  enters  it/ 


JANE  EYKE  273 

1  Very  well  1  very  well  I    I'll  pledge  my  word  on  it.     You 
go  to-morrow,  then  ?  ' 
'  Yes,  sir ;  early/ 

*  Shall  you  come  down  to  the  drawing-room  after  dinner  ?  ' 
1  No,  sir,  I  must  prepare  for  the  journey.' 

4  Then  you  and  I  must  bid  good-bye  for  a  little  while  ? ' 

*  I  suppose  so,  sir.1 

*  And  how  do  people  perform  that  ceremony  of  parting, 
Jane  ?    Teach  me  ;  I'm  not  quite  up  to  it.' 

'  They  say,  Farewell ;  or  any  other  form  they  prefer.' 

1  Then  say  it.' 

'  Farewell,  Mr.  Bochester,  for  the  present.' 

1  What  must  I  say  ? ' 

'  The  same,  if  you  like,  sir.' 

1  Farewell,  Miss  Eyre,  for  the  present :  is  that  all  ? ' 

'Yes.' 

'  It  seems  stingy,  to  my  notions,  and  dry  and  unfriendly 
I  should  like  something  else  :  a  little  addition  to  the  rite.  If 
one  shook  hands,  for  instance ;  but  no — that  would  not 
content  me  either.  So  you'll  do  no  more  than  say  Farewell, 
Jane  ? ' 

*  It  is  enough,  sir :  as  much  good-will  may  be  conveyed 
in  one  hearty  word  as  in  many.' 

'  Very  likely  ;  but  it  is  blank  and  cool — "  farewell."  ' 
1  How  long  is  he  going  to  stand  with  his  back  against  that 
door?  '  I  asked  myself;  '  I  want  to  commence  my  packing.' 
The  dinner-bell  rang,  and  suddenly  away  he  bolted,  without 
another  syllable :  I  saw  him  no  more  during  the  day,  and 
was  off  before  he  had  risen  in  the  morning. 

I  reached  the  lodge  at  Gateshead  about  five  o'clock  in  the 
afternoon  of  the  first  of  May :  I  stepped  in  there  before  going 
up  to  the  hall.  It  was  very  clean  and  neat  :  the  ornamental 
windows  were  hung  with  little  white  curtains ;  the  floor  was 
spotless  ;  the  grate  and  tire-irons  were  burnished  bright,  and 
the  fire  burnt  clear.  Bessie  sat  on  the  hearth  nursing  her 
last-born,  and  Robert  and  his  sister  played  quietly  in  a 
corner. 


274  JANE  EYEE 

'Bless  you  !-— I  knew  you  would  come  ! '  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Leaven,  as  I  entered. 

1  Yes,  Bessie,1  said  I,  after  I  had  kissed  her ;  '  and  I 
trust  I  am  not  too  late.  How  is  Mrs.  Eeed  ? — Alive  still,  I 
hope.1 

'  Yes,  she  is  alive  ;  and  more  sensible  and  collected  than 
she  was.  The  doctor  says  she  may  linger  a  week  or  two  yet ; 
but  he  hardly  thinks  she  will  finally  recover/ 

'  Has  she  mentioned  me  lately  ?  ' 

'  She  was  talking  of  you  only  this  morning,  and  wishing 
you  would  come :  but  she  is  sleeping  now ;  or  was  ten 
minutes  ago,  when  I  was  up  at  the  house.  She  generally  lies 
in  a  kind  of  lethargy  all  the  afternoon,  and  wakes  up  about 
six  or  seven.  Will  you  rest  yourself  here  an  hour,  miss,  and 
then  I  will  go  up  with  you  ? ' 

Eobert  here  entered,  and  Bessie  laid  her  sleeping  child 
in  the  cradle  and  went  to  welcome  him :  afterwards  she 
insisted  on  my  taking  off  my  bonnet  and  having  some  tea ; 
for  she  said  I  looked  pale  and  tired.  I  was  glad  to  accept 
her  hospitality;  and  I  submitted  to  be  relieved  of  my 
travelling  garb  just  as  passively  as  I  used  to  let  her  undress 
me  when  a  child. 

Old  times  crowded  fast  back  on  me  as  I  watched  her 
bustling  about — setting  out  the  tea-tray  with  her  best  china, 
cutting  bread-and-butter,  toasting  a  tea-cake,  and,  between 
whiles,  giving  little  Eobert  or  Jane  an  occasional  tap  or  push, 
just  as  she  used  to  give  me  in  former  days.  Bessie  had 
retained  her  quick  temper  as  well  as  her  light  foot  and  good 
looks. 

Tea  ready,  I  was  going  to  approach  the  table ;  but  she 
desired  me  to  sit  still,  quite  in  her  old,  peremptory  tones.  I 
must  be  served  at  the  fireside,  she  said;  and  she  placed 
before  me  a  little  round  stand  with  my  cup  and  a  plate  of 
toast,  absolutely  as  she  used  to  accommodate  me  with  some 
privately  purloined  dainty  on  a  nursery  chair  :  and  I  smiled 
and  obeyed  her  as  in  bygone  days. 

She  wanted  to  know  if  I  was  happy  at  Thornfield  Hall, 


JANE  EYRE  275 

and  what  sort  of  a  person  the  mistress  was ;  and  when  I 
told  her  there  was  only  a  master,  whether  he  was  a  nice 
gentleman,  and  if  I  liked  him.  I  told  her  he  was  rather  an 
ugly  man,  but  quite  a  gentleman ;  and  that  he  treated  me 
kindly,  and  I  was  content.  Then  I  went  on  to  describe  to 
her  the  gay  company  that  had  lately  been  staying  at  the 
house :  and  to  these  details  Bessie  listened  with  interest : 
they  were  precisely  of  the  kind  she  relished. 

In  such  conversation  an  hour  was  soon  gone  :  Bessie 
restored  to  me  my  bonnet,  &c.,  and,  accompanied  by  her,  I 
quitted  the  lodge  for  the  hall.  It  was  also  accompanied  by 
her  that  I  had,  nearly  nine  years  ago,  walked  down  the  path 
I  was  now  ascending.  On  a  dark,  misty,  raw  morning  in 
January,  I  had  left  a  hostile  roof  with  a  desperate  and 
embittered  heart — a  sense  of  outlawry  and  almost  of 
reprobation — to  seek  the  chilly  harbourage  of  Lowood  :  that 
bourne  so  far  away  and  unexplored.  The  same  hostile  roof 
now  again  rose  before  me  :  my  prospects  were  doubtful  yet ; 
and  I  had  yet  an  aching  heart.  I  still  felt  as  a  wanderer  on 
the  face  of  the  earth ;  but  I  experienced  firmer  trust  in 
myself  and  my  own  powers,  aud  less  withering  dread  of 
oppression.  The  gaping  wound  of  my  wrongs,  too,  was  now 
quite  healed ;  and  the  flame  of  resentment  extinguished. 

'  You  shall  go  into  the  breakfast-room  first,'  said  Bessie, 
as  she  preceded  me  through  the  hall ;  '  the  young  ladies  will 
be  there.1 

In  another  moment  I  was  within  that  apartment.  There 
was  every  article  of  furniture  looking  just  as  it  did  on  the 
morning  I  was  first  introduced  to  Mr.  Brocklehurst :  the  very 
rug  he  had  stood  upon  still  covered  the  hearth.  Glancing 
at  the  book-cases,  I  thought  I  could  distinguish  the  two 
volumes  of '  Bewick's  British  Birds  '  occupying  their  old  place 
on  the  third  shelf,  and  '  Gulliver's  Travels'  and  the  '  Arabian 
Nights'  ranged  just  above.  The  inanimate  objects  were  not 
changed :  but  the  living  things  had  altered  past  recognition. 

Two  young  ladies  appeared  before  me ;  one  very  tall, 
almost  as  tall  as  Miss  Ingram, — very  thin  too,  with  a  sallow 


276  JANE  BYEE 

face  and  severe  mien.  There  was  something  ascetic  in  her 
look,  which  was  augmented  by  the  extreme  plainness  of  a 
straight-skirted,  black,  stuff  dress,  a  starched  linen  collar, 
hair  combed  away  from  the  temples,  and  the  nun-like  ornament 
of  a  string  of  ebony  beads  and  a  crucifix.  This  I  felt  sure 
was  Eliza,  though  I  could  trace  little  resemblance  to  her 
former  self  in  that  elongated  and  colourless  visage. 

The  other  was  as  certainly  Georgiana  :  but  not  the 
Georgiana  I  remembered — the  slim  and  fairy-like  girl  of  eleven. 
This  was  a  full-blown,  very  plump  damsel,  fair  as  wax-work ; 
with  handsome  and  regular  features,  languishing  blue  eyes, 
and  ringleted  yellow  hair.  The  hue  of  her  dress  was  black 
too ;  but  its  fashion  was  so  different  from  her  sister's — so 
much  more  flowing  and  becoming — it  looked  as  stylish  as 
the  other's  looked  puritanical. 

In  each  of  the  sisters  there  was  one  trait  of  the  mother — 
and  only  one :  the  thin  and  pallid  elder  daughter  had  her 
parent's  Cairngorm  eye :  the  blooming  and  luxuriant 
younger  girl  had  her  contour  of  jaw  and  chin, — perhaps  a 
little  softened,  but  still  imparting  an  indescribable  hardness 
to  the  countenance,  otherwise  so  voluptuous  and  buxom. 

Both  ladies,  as  I  advanced,  rose  to  welcome  me,  and  both 
addressed  me  by  the  name  of '  Miss  Eyre.'  Eliza's  greeting 
was  delivered  in  a  short,  abrupt  voice,  without  a  smile ;  and 
then  she  sat  down  again,  fixed  her  eyes  on  the  fire,  and 
seemed  to  forget  me.  Georgiana  added  to  her  '  How  d'ye 
do? '  several  common-places  about  my  journey,  the  weather 
and  so  on,  uttered  in  rather  a  drawling  tone :  and  accom- 
panied by  sundry  side-glances  that  measured  me  from  head 
to  foot — now  traversing  the  folds  of  my  drab  merino  pelisse, 
and  now  lingering  on  the  plain  trimming  of  my  cottage 
bonnet.  Young  ladies  have  a  remarkable  way  of  letting  you 
know  that  they  think  you  a  '  quiz '  without  actually  saying 
the  words.  A  certain  superciliousness  of  look,  coolness  of 
manner,  nonchalance  of  tone,  express  fully  their  sentiments 
on  the  point,  without  committing  them  by  any  positive  rude- 
ness in  word  or  deed. 


JANE  EYBE  277 

A  sneer,  however,  whether  covert  or  open,  had  now  no 
longer  that  power  over  me'  it  once  possessed :  as  I  sat 
between  my  cousins,  I  was  surprised  to  find  how  easy  I  felt 
under  the  total  neglect  of  the  one  and  the  semi-sarcastic 
attentions  of  the  other — Eliza  did  not  mortify,  nor  Georgiana 
ruffle  me.  The  fact  was,  I  had  other  things  to  think  about ; 
within  the  last  few  months  feelings  had  been  stirred  in  me 
so  much  more  potent  than  any  they  could  raise — pains  and 
pleasures  so  much  more  acute  and  exquisite  had  been  excited, 
than  any  it  was  in  their  power  to  inflict  or  bestow — that 
their  airs  gave  me  no  concern  either  for  good  or  bad. 

1  How  is  Mrs.  Beed  ? '  I  asked  soon,  looking  calmly  at 
Georgiana ;  who  thought  fit  to  bridle  at  the  direct  address* 
as  if  it  were  an  unexpected  liberty. 

1  Mrs.  Eeed  V  Ah  1  mama  you  mean ;  she  is  extremely 
poorly :  I  doubt  if  you  can  see  her  to-night.' 

*  If,'  said  I,  '  you  would  just  step  upstairs  and  tell  her  I 
am  come,  I  should  be  much  obliged  to  you.' 

Georgiana  almost  started,  and  she  opened  her  blue  eyes 
wild  and  wide.  '  I  know  she  had  a  particular  wish  to  see 
me,'  I  added,  '  and  I  would  not  defer  attending  to  her  desire 
longer  than  is  absolutely  necessary.' 

'  Mama  dislikes  being  disturbed  in  an  evening/  remarked 
Eliza.  I  soon  rose,  quietly  took  off  my  bonnet  and  gloves, 
uninvited,  and  said  I  would  just  step  out  to  Bessie — who 
was,  I  dared  say,  in  the  kitchen — and  ask  her  to  ascertain 
whether  Mrs.  Beed  was  disposed  to  receive  me  or  not  to- 
night. I  went,  and  having  found  Bessie  and  despatched  her 
on  my  errand,  I  proceeded  to  take  further  measures.  It  had 
heretofore  been  my  habit  always  to  shrink  from  arrogance : 
received  as  I  had  been  to-day,  I  should,  a  year  ago,  have  re- 
solved to  quit  Gateshead  the  very  next  morning;  now,  it 
was  disclosed  to  me  all  at  once,  that  that  would  be  a  foolish 
plan.  I  had  taken  a  journey  of  a  hundred  miles  to  see  my 
aunt,  and  I  must  stay  with  her  till  she  was  better— or  dead  : 
as  to  her  daughters'  pride  or  folly,  I  must  put  it  on  one  side; 
make  myself  independent  of  it.  So  I  addressed  the  house- 


278  JANE  EYEE 

keeper ;  asked  her  to  show  me  a  room,  told  her  I  should  pro- 
bably be  a  visitor  here  for  a  week  or  two,  had  my  trunk  con- 
veyed to  my  chamber,  and  followed  it  thither  myself  :  I  met 
Bessie  on  the  landing. 

'Missis  is  awake/  said  she;  'I  have  told  her  you  are 
here  :  come  and  let  us  see  if  she  will  know  you.1 

I  did  not  need  to  be  guided  to  the  well-known  room  :  to 
which  I  had  so  often  been  summoned  for  chastisement  or 
reprimand  in  former  days.  I  hastened  before  Bessie,  I  softly 
opened  the  door  :  a  shaded  light  stood  on  the  table,  for  it  was 
now  getting  dark.  There  was  the  great  four-post  bed  with 
amber  hangings  as  of  old :  there  the  toilet-table,  the  arm- 
chair, and  the  foot-stool :  at  which  I  had  a  hundred  times 
been  sentenced  to  kneel,  to  ask  pardon  for  offences,  by  me, 
uncommitted.  I  looked  into  a  certain  corner  rear,  half- 
expecting  to  see  the  slim  outline  of  a  once-dreaded  switch  ; 
which  used  to  lurk  there,  waiting  to  leap  out  imp-like  and 
lace  my  quivering  palm  or  shrinking  neck.  I  approached 
the  bed ;  I  opened  the  curtains  and  leant  over  the  high-piled 
pillows. 

Well  did  I  remember  Mrs.  Reed's  face,  and  I  eagerly 
sought  the  familiar  image.  It  is  a  happy  thing  that  time 
quells  the  longings  of  vengeance,  and  hushes  the  promptings 
of  rage  and  aversion  :  I  had  left  this  woman  in  bitterness  and 
hate,  and  I  came  back  to  her  now  with  no  other  emotion  than 
a  sort  of  ruth  for  her  great  sufferings,  and  a  strong  yearning 
to  forget  and  forgive  all  injuries — to  be  reconciled  and  clasp 
hands  in  amity. 

The  well-known  face  was  there :  stern,  relentless  as  ever 
— there  was  that  peculiar  eye  which  nothing  could  melt; 
and  the  somewhat  raised,  imperious,  despotic  eyebrow.  How 
often  had  it  lowered  on  me  menace  and  hate  1  and  how  the 
recollection  of  childhood's  terrors  and  sorrows  revived  as  I 
traced  its  harsh  line  now  t  And  yet  I  stooped  down  and 
kissed  her :  she  looked  at  me. 

1  Is  this  Jane  Eyre? '  she  said. 

'  Yes,  aunt  Reed.    How  are  you,  dear  aunt  ? ' 


JANE   EYBB  279 

I  had  once  vowed  that  I  would  never  call  her  aunt  again  : 
I  thought  it  no  sin  to  forget  and  break  that  vow  now.  My 
fingers  had  fastened  on  her  hand  which  lay  outside  the 
sheet :  had  she  pressed  mine  kindly,  I  should  at  that  moment 
have  experienced  true  pleasure.  But  unimpressionable 
natures  are  not  so  soon  softened,  nor  are  natural  antipathies 
so  readily  eradicated :  Mrs.  Reed  took  her  hand  away,  and, 
turning  her  face  rather  from  me,  she  remarked  that  the  night 
was  warm.  Again  she  regarded  me,  so  icily,  I  felt  at  once 
that  her  opinion  of  me— her  feeling  towards  me — was 
unchanged,  and  unchangeable.  I  kuew  by  her  stony  eye — 
opaque  to  tenderness,  indissoluble  to  tears — that  she  was 
resolved  to  consider  me  bad  to  the  last ;  because  to  believe 
me  good,  would  give  her  no  generous  pleasure :  only  a  sense 
of  mortification. 

I  felt  pain,  and  then  I  felt  ire ;  and  then  I  felt  a  determi- 
nation to  subdue  her — to  be  her  mistress  in  spite  both  of  her 
nature  and  her  will.  My  tears  had  risen,  just  as  in  childhood  : 
I  ordered  them  back  to  their  source.  I  brought  a  chair 
to  the  bed-head :  I  sat  down  and  leaned  over  the  pillow. 

1  You  sent  for  me,'  I  said;  '  and  I  am  here ;  and  it  is  my 
intention  to  stay  till  I  see  how  you  get  on.' 

'  Oh,  of  course !     You  have  seen  my  daughters  ? ' 

1  Yes.' 

c  Well,  you  may  tell  them  I  wish  you  to  stay  till  I  can  talk 
some  things  over  with  you  I  have  on  my  mind  :  to-night  it 
is  too  late,  and  I  have  a  difficulty  in  recalling  them.  But 
there  was  something  I  wished  to  say — let  me  see ' 

The  wandering  look  and  changed  utterance  told  what 
wreck  had  taken  place  in  her  once- vigorous  frame.  Turning 
restlessly,  she  drew  the  bed-clothes  round  her;  my  elbow, 
resting  on  a  corner  of  the  quilt,  fixed  it  down :  she  was  at 
once  irritated. 

'  Sit  up ! '  said  she ;  '  don't  annoy  me  with  holding  the 
clothes  fast — are  you  Jane  Eyre  ? ' 

'  I  am  Jane  Eyre.' 

'  I  have  had  more  trouble  with  that  child  than  any  one 

L 


280  JANE  EYEE 

would  believe.  Such  a  burden  to  be  left  on  my  hands — and 
so  much  annoyance  as  she  caused  me,  daily  and  hourly,  with 
her  incomprehensible  disposition,  and  her  sudden  starts  of 
temper,  and  her  continual,  unnatural  watchings  of  one's 
movements  !  I  declare  she  talked  to  me  once  like  some  tiling 
mad,  or  like  a  fiend — no  child  ever  spoke  or  looked  as  she 
did ;  I  was  glad  to  get  her  away  from  the  house.  What  did 
they  do  with  her  at  Lowood  ?  The  fever  broke  out  there, 
and  many  of  the  pupils  died.  She,  however,  did  not  die: 
but  I  said  she  did — I  wish  she  had  died !  ' 

'  A  strange  wish,  Mrs.  Eeed :  why  do  you  hate  her  so  ? ' 
'  I  had  a  dislike  to  her  mother  always  ;  for  she  was  my 
husband's  only  sister,  and  a  great  favourite  with  him :  he 
opposed  the  family's  disowning  her  when  she  made  her  low 
marriage ;  and  when  news  came  of  her  death,  he  wept  like  a 
simpleton.  He  would  send  for  the  baby ;  though  I  entreated 
him  rather  to  put  it  out  to  nurse  and  pay  for  its  mainten- 
ance. I  hated  it  the  first  time  I  set  my  eyes  on  it — a  sickly, 
whining,  pining  thing  I  It  would  wail  in  its  cradle  all  night 
long — not  screaming  heartily  like  any  other  child,  but  whim- 
pering and  moaning.  Beed  pitied  it ;  and  he  used  to  nurse 
it  and  notice  it  as  if  it  had  been  his  own :  more,  indeed,  than 
he  ever  noticed  his  own  at  that  age.  He  would  try  to  make 
my  children  friendly  to  the  little  beggar  :  the  darlings  could 
not  bear  it,  and  he  was  angry  with  them  when  they  showed 
their  dislike.  In  his  last  illness,  he  had  it  brought  continually 
to  his  bedside ;  and  but  an  hour  before  he  died,  he  bound  me 
by  vow  to  keep  the  creature.  I  would  as  soon  have  been 
charged  with  a  pauper  brat  out  of  a  workhouse:  but  he 
was  weak,  naturally  weak.  John  does  not  at  all  resemble 
his  father,  and  I  am  glad  of  it :  John  is  like  me  and  like  my 
brothers — he  is  quite  a  Gibson.  Oh,  I  wish  he  would  cease 
tormenting  me  with  letters  for  money  1  I  have  no  more 
money  to  give  him :  we  are  getting  poor.  I  must  send  away 
half  the  servants  and  shut  up  part  of  the  house ;  or  let  it  off. 
I  can  never  submit  to  do  that — yet  how  are  we  to  get  on  ? 
Two-thirds  of  my  income  goes  in  paying  the  interest  of 


JANE  EYKE  281 

mortgages.  John  gambles  dreadfully,  and  always  loses — 
poor  boy  I  He  is  beset  by  sharpers :  John  is  sunk  and 
degraded — his  look  is  frightful — I  feel  ashamed  for  him  when 
I  see  him.1 

She  was  getting  much  excited.  '  I  think  I  had  better 
leave  her  now,'  said  I  to  Bessie,  who  stood  on  the  other  side 
of  the  bed. 

1  Perhaps  you  had,  miss  :  but  she  often  talks  in  this  way 
towards  night— in  the  morning  she  is  calmer/ 

I  rose.  '  Stop  1 '  exclaimed  Mrs.  Eeed.  '  There  is 
another  thing  I  wished  to  say.  He  threatens  me — he  con- 
tinually threatens  me  with  his  own  death,  or  mine  :  and  I 
dream  sometimes  that  I  see  him  laid  out  with  a  great  wound 
in  his  throat,  or  with  a  swollen  and  blackened  face.  I  am 
come  to  a  strange  pass  :  I  have  heavy  troubles.  What  is  to 
be  done  ?  How  is  the  money  to  be  had  ? ' 

Bessie  now  endeavoured  to  persuade  her  to  take  a  sedative 
draught :  she  succeeded  with  difficulty.  Soon  after,  Mrs. 
Eeed  grew  more  composed,  and  sank  into  a  dozing  state.  I 
then  left  her. 

More  than  ten  days  elapsed  before  I  had  again  any  conver- 
sation with  her.  She  continued  either  delirious  or  lethargic ; 
and  the  doctor  forbade  every  thing  which  could  painfully 
excite  her.  Meantime,  I  got  on  as  well  as  I  could  with 
Georgiana  and  Eliza.  They  were  very  cold,  indeed,  at  first. 
Eliza  would  sit  half  the  day  sewing,  reading,  or  writing,  and 
scarcely  utter  a  word  either  to  me  or  her  sister.  Georgiana 
would  chatter  nonsense  to  her  canary  bird  by  the  hour,  and 
take  no  notice  of  me.  But  I  was  determined  not  to  seem  at 
a  loss  for  occupation  or  amusement :  I  had  brought  my 
drawing  materials  with  me,  and  they  served  me  for  both. 

Provided  with  a  case  of  pencils,  and  some  sheets  of 
paper,  I  used  to  take  a  seat  apart  from  them,  near  the  window, 
and  busy  myself  in  sketching  fancy  vignettes,  representing 
any  scene  that  happened  momentarily  to  shape  itself  in  the 
ever-shifting  kaleidoscope  of  imagination  :  a  glimpse  of  sea 
between  two  rocks  ;  the  rising  moon,  and  a  ship  crossing  its 


282  JANE  EYEE 

disk ;  a  group  of  reeds  and  water-flags,  and  a  naiad's  head 
crowned  with  lotus-flowers,  rising  out  of  them  ;  an  elf  sitting 
in  a  hedge-sparrow's  nest,  under  a  wreath  of  hawthorn- 
bloom. 

One  morning  I  fell  to  sketching  a  face :  what  sort  of  a 
face  it  was  to  be,  I  did  not  care  or  know.  I  took  a  soft 
black  pencil,  gave  it  a  broad  point,  and  worked  away.  Soon 
I  had  traced  on  the  paper  a  broad  and  prominent  forehead, 
and  a  square  lower  outline  of  visage  :  that  contour  gave  me 
pleasure ;  my  fingers  proceeded  actively  to  fill  it  with  features. 
Strongly-marked  horizontal  eyebrows  must  be  traced  under 
that  brow;  then  followed,  naturally,  a  well-defined  nose, 
with  a  straight  ridge  and  full  nostrils ;  then  a  flexible-looking 
mouth,  by  no  means  narrow ;  then  a  firm  chin,  with  a 
decided  cleft  down  the  middle  of  it :  of  course,  some  black 
whiskers  were  wanted,  and  some  jetty  hair,  tufted  on  the 
temples,  and  waved  above  the  forehead.  Now  for  the  eyes  : 
I  had  left  them  to  the  last,  because  they  required  the  most 
careful  working.  I  drew  them  large ;  I  shaped  them  well : 
the  eyelashes  I  traced  long  and  sombre ;  the  irids  lustrous 
and  large.  '  Good !  but  not  quite  the  thing,1  I  thought,  as  I 
surveyed  the  effect :  *  They  want  more  force  and  spirit ; ' 
and  I  wrought  the  shades  blacker,  that  the  lights  might  flash 
more  brilliantly — a  happy  touch  or  two  secured  success. 
There,  I  had  a  friend's  face  under  my  gaze  ;  and  what  did  it 
signify  that  those  young  ladies  turned  their  backs  on  me  ? 
I  looked  at  it ;  I  smiled  at  the  speaking  likeness :  I  was 
absorbed  and  content. 

1  Is  that  a  portrait  of  some  one  you  know  ? '  asked  Eliza, 
who  had  approached  me  unnoticed.  I  responded  that  it 
was  merely  a  fancy  head,  and  hurried  it  beneath  the  other 
sheets.  Of  course,  I  lied:  it  was,  in  fact,  a  very  faithful 
lepresentation  of  Mr.  Eochester.  But  what  was  that  to  her, 
or  to  any  one  but  myself  ?  Georgiana  also  advanced  to  look. 
The  other  drawings  pleased  her  much,  but  she  called  that '  an 
ugly  man/  They  both  seemed  surprised  at  my  skill.  I  offered 
to  sketch  their  portraits ;  and  each,  in  turn,  sat  for  a  pencil 


JANE  EYEB  283 

outline.  Then  Georgiana  produced  her  album.  I  promised 
to  contribute  a  water-colour  drawing  :  this  put  her  at  once 
into  good  humour.  She  proposed  a  walk  in  the  grounds. 
Before  we  had  been  out  two  hours,  we  were  deep  in  a  con- 
fidential conversation :  she  had  favoured  me  with  a 
description  of  the  brilliant  winter  she  had  spent  in  London 
two  seasons  ago — of  the  admiration  she  had  there  excited — 
the  attention  she  had  received  :  and  I  even  got  hints  of  the 
titled  conquest  she  had  made.  In  the  course  of  the  afternoon 
and  evening  these  hints  were  enlarged  on :  various  soft 
conversations  were  reported,  and  sentimental  scenes  repre- 
sented ;  and,  in  short,  a  volume  of  a  novel  of  fashionable 
life  was  that  day  improvised  by  her  for  my  benefit.  The 
communications  were  renewed  from  day  to  day :  they  always 
ran  on  the  Sd,me  theme — herself,  her  loves,  and  woes.  It 
was  strange  she  never  once  adverted  either  to  her  mother's 
illness,  or  her  brother's  death,  or  the  present  gloomy  state  of 
the  family  prospects.  Her  mind  seemed  wholly  taken  up 
with  reminiscences  of  past  gaiety,  and  aspirations  after  dis- 
sipations to  come.  She  passed  about  five  minutes  each  day 
in  her  mother's  sick-room  and  no  more. 

Eliza  still  spoke  little  :  she  had  evidently  no  time  to  talk. 
I  never  saw  a  busier  person  than  she  seemed  to  be :  yet  it 
was  difficult  to  say  what  she  did :  or  rather,  to  discover 
any  result  of  her  diligence.  She  had  an  alarum  to  call  her 
up  early.  I  know  not  how  she  occupied  herself  before 
breakfast,  but  after  that  meal  she  divided  her  time  into 
regular  portions ;  and  each  hour  had  its  allotted  task. 
Three  times  a  day  she  studied  a  little  book,  which  I  found, 
on  inspection,  was  a  Common  Prayer-book.  I  asked  her 
once  what  was  the  great  attraction  of  that  volume,  and  she 
said  '  the  Rubric.'  Three  hours  she  gave  to  stitching,  with 
gold  thread,  the  border  of  a  square  crimson  cloth,  almost 
large  enough  for  a  carpet.  In  answer  to  my  inquiries  after 
the  use  of  this  article,  she  informed  me  it  was  a  covering  for 
the  altar  of  a  new  church  lately  erected  near  Gateshead. 
Two  hours  she  devoted  to  her  diary ;  two  to  working  by 


284  JANE  EYKB 

herself  in  the  kitchen-garden  ;  and  one  to  the  regulation  of 
her  accounts.  She  seemed  to  want  no  -company ;  no  con- 
versation. I  believe  she  was  happy  in  her  way :  this  routine 
sufficed  to  her ;  and  nothing  annoyed  her  so  much  as  the 
occurrence  of  any  incident  which  forced  her  to  vary  its  clock- 
work regularity. 

She  told  me  one  evening,  when  more  disposed  to  he 
communicative  than  usual,  that  John's  conduct,  and  the 
threatened  ruin  of  the  family,  had  been  a  source  of  profound 
affliction  to  her :  but  she  had  now,  she  said,  settled  her 
mind,  and  formed  her  resolution.  Her  own  fortune  she  had 
taken  care  to  secure ;  and  when  her  mother  died, — and  it 
was  wholly  improbable,  she  tranquilly  remarked,  that  she 
should  either  recover  or  linger  long, — she  would  execute  a 
long-cherished  project :  seek  a  retirement  where  punctual 
habits  would  be  permanently  secured  from  disturbance,  and 
place  safe  barriers  between  herself  and  a  frivolous  world.  I 
asked  if  Georgiana  would  accompany  her. 

'Of  course  not.  Georgiana  and  she  had  nothing  in 
common  :  they  never  had  had.  She  would  not  be  burdened 
with  her  society  for  any  consideration.  Georgiana  should 
take  her  own  course ;  and  she,  Eliza,  would  take  hers.' 

Georgiana,  when  not  unburdening  her  heart  to  me,  spent 
most  of  her  time  in  lying  on  the  sofa,  fretting  about  the 
dulness  of  the  house,  and  wishing  over  and  over  again  that 
her  aunt  Gibson  would  send  her  an  invitation  up  to  town. 
'  It  would  be  so  much  better/  she  said,  '  if  she  could  only 
get  out  of  the  way  for  a  month  or  two,  till  all  was  over/  I 
did  not  ask  what  she  meant  by  '  all  being  over/  but  I  suppose 
she  referred  to  the  expected  decease  of  her  mother  and  the 
gloomy  sequel  of  funeral  rites.  Eliza  generally  took  no  more 
notice  of  her  sister's  indolence  and  complaints  than  if  no 
such  murmuring,  lounging  object  had  been  before  her.  One 
day,  however,  as  she  put  away  her  account  book,  and  un- 
folded her  embroidery,  she  suddenly  took  her  up  thus : — 
'  Georgiana,  a  more  vain  and  absurd  animal  than  you,  was 
certainly  never  allowed  to  cumber  the  earth.  You  had  no 


JANE  EYEE  285 

right  to  be  born  :  for  you  make  no  use  of  life.  Instead  of 
living  for,  in,  and  with  yourself,  as  a  reasonable  being  ought, 
you  seek  only  to  fasten  your  feebleness  on  some  other 
person's  strength  :  if  no  one  can  be  found  willing  to  burden 
her  or  himself  with  such  a  fat,  weak,  puffy,  useless  thing, 
you  cry  out  that  you  are  ill-treated,  neglected,  miserable. 
Then,  too,  existence  for  you  must  be  a  scene  of  continual 
change  and  excitement,  or  else  the  world  is  a  dungeon  :  you 
must  be  admired,  you  must  bo  courted,  you  must  be  flattered 
— you  must  have  music,  dancing,  and  society — or  you 
languish,  you  die  away.  Have  you  no  sense  to  devise  a 
system  which  will  make  you  independent  of  all  efforts,  and 
all  wills,  but  your  own  ?  Take  one  day ;  share  it  into 
sections  ;  to  each  section  apportion  its  task  :  leave  no  stray 
unemployed  quarters  of  an  hour,  ten  minutes,  five  minutes, 
include  all;  do  each  piece  of  business  in  its  turn  with 
method,  with  rigid  regularity.  The  day  will  close  almost 
before  you  are  aware  it  has  begun  ;  and  you  are  indebted  to 
no  one  for  helping  you  to  get  rid  of  one  vacant  moment ;  you 
have  had  to  seek  no  one's  company,  conversation,  sympathy, 
forbearance :  you  have  lived,  in  short,  as  an  independent 
being  ought  to  do.  Take  this  advice :  the  first  and  last  I 
shall  offer  you  ;  then  you  will  not  want  me  or  anyone  else, 
happen  what  may.  Neglect  it — go  on  as  heretofore,  craving, 
whining,  and  idling — and  suffer  the  results  of  your  idiocy, 
however  bad  and  insufferable  they  may  be.  I  tell  you  this 
plainly ;  and  listen  :  for  though  I  shall  no  more  repeat  what 
I  am  now  about  to  say,  I  shall  steadily  act  on  it.  After  my 
mother's  death,  I  wash  my  hands  of  you :  from  the  day  her 
coffin  is  earned  to  the  vault  in  Gateshead  Church,  you  and 
I  will  be  as  separate  as  if  we  had  never  known  each  other. 
You  need  not  think  that  because  we  chanced  to  be  born  of 
the  same  parents,  I  shall  suffer  you  to  fasten  me  down  by 
even  the  feeblest  claim ;  I  can  tell  you  this — if  the  whole 
human  race,  ourselves  excepted,  were  swept  away,  and  we 
two  stood  alone  on  the  earth,  I  would  leave  you  in  the  old 
world,  and  betake  myself  to  the  new.1 


286  JANE  EYRE 

She  closed  her  lips. 

1  You  might  have  spared  yourself  the  trouble  of  delivering 
that  tirade/  answered  Georgiana.  'Everybody  knows 
you  are  the  most  selfish,  heartless  creature  in  existence : 
and  I  know  your  spiteful  hatred  towards  me;  I  have 
had  a  specimen  of  it  before  in  the  trick  you  played  me 
about  Lord  Edwin  Vere:  you  could  not  bear  me  to  be 
raised  above  you,  to  have  a  title,  to  be  received  into  circles 
where  you  dare  not  show  your  face,  and  so  you  acted  the 
spy  and  informer,  and  ruined  my  prospects  for  ever/ 
Georgiana  took  out  her  handkerchief  and  blew  her  nose  for 
an  hour  afterwards ;  Eliza  sat  cold,  impassible,  and 
assiduously  industrious. 

True,  generous  feeling  is  made  small  account  of  by  some  : 
but  here  were  two  natures  rendered,  the  one  intolerably  acrid, 
the  other  despicably  savourless  for  the  want  of  it.  Feeling 
without  judgment  is  a  washy  draught  indeed ;  but  judg- 
ment untempered  by  feeling  is  too  bitter  and  husky  a  morsel 
for  human  deglutition. 

It  was  a  wet  and  windy  afternoon  :  Georgiana  had  fallen 
asleep  on  the  sofa  over  the  perusal  of  a  novel ;  Eliza  was 
gone  to  attend  a  saint's-day  service  at  the  new  church— for 
in  matters  of  religion  she  was  a  rigid  formalist :  no  weather 
ever  prevented  the  punctual  discharge  of  what  she  con- 
sidered her  devotional  duties :  fair  or  foul,  she  went  to 
church  thrice  every  Sunday,  and  as  often  on  week-days  as 
there  were  prayers. 

I  bethought  myself  to  go  upstairs  and  see  how  the  dying 
woman  sped,  who  lay  there  almost  unheeded:  the  very 
servants  paid  her  but  a  remittent  attention :  the  hired  nurse, 
being  little  looked  after,  would  slip  out  of  the  room  whenever 
she  could.  Bessie  was  faithful ;  but  she  had  her  own  family 
to  mind,  and  could  only  come  occasionally  to  the  hall.  I 
found  the  sick-room  unwatched,  as  I  had  expected  :  no  nurse 
was  there;  the  patient  lay  still,  and  seemingly  lethargic; 
her  livid  face  sunk  in  the  pillows :  the  fire  was  dying  in  the 
grate.  I  renewed  the  fuel,  re-arranged  the  bedclothes. 


JANE  EYEE  287 

gazed  awhile  on  her  who  could  not  now  gaze  on  me,  and 
then  I  moved  away  to  the  window. 

The  rain  beat  strongly  against  the  panes,  the  wind  blew 
tempestuously :  '  One  lies  there/  I  thought,  '  who  will  soon 
be  beyond  the  war  of  earthly  elements.  Whither  will  that 
spirit — now  struggling  to  quit  its  material  tenement — flit 
when  at  length  released  ? ' 

In  pondering  the  great  mystery,  I  thought  of  Helen 
Burns,  recalled  her  dying  words— her  fjiith — her  doctrine  of 
the  equality  of  disembodied  souls.  I  was  still  listening  in 
thought  to  her  well-remembered  tones — still  picturing  her 
pale  and  spiritual  aspect,  her  wasted  face  and  sublime  gaze, 
as  she  lay  on  her  placid  deathbed,  and  whispered  her  long- 
ing to  be  restored  to  her  divine  Father's  bosom— when  a 
feeble  voice  murmured  from  the  couch  behind  :  '  Who  is 
that?' 

I  knew  Mrs.  Eeed  had  not  spoken  for  days :  was  she 
reviving  ?  I  went  up  to  her. 

'  It  is  I,  aunt  Eeed.1 

'  Who — I  ?  '  was  her  answer.  '  Who  are  you  ? '  looking 
at  me  with  surprise  and  a  sort  of  alarm,  but  still  not  wildly. 
1  You  are  quite  a  stranger  to  me — where  is  Bessie  ? ' 

'  She  is  at  the  lodge,  aunt.1 

1  Aunt ! '  she  repeated.  '  Who  calls  me  aunt  ?  You  are 
not  one  of  the  Gibsons  ;  and  yet  I  know  you— that  face,  and 
the  eyes  and  forehead  are  quite  familiar  to  me  :  you  are  like 
— why,  you  are  like  Jane  Eyre  ! ' 

I  said  nothing  :  I  was  afraid  of  occasioning  some  shock 
by  declaring  my  identity. 

1  Yet/  said  she,  '  I  am  afraid  it  is  a  mistake :  my  thoughts 
deceive  me.  I  wished  to  see  Jane  Eyre,  and  I  fancy  a 
likeness  where  none  exists :  besides,  in  eight  years  she  must 
be  so  changed.' 

I  now  gently  assured  her  that  I  was  the  person  she 
supposed  and  desired  me  to  be :  and  seeing  that  I  was  under- 
stood, and  that  her  senses  were  quite  collected*,  I  explained 
how  Bessie  had  sent  her  husband  to  fetch  me  from  Thornfield. 

L2 


288  JANE  EYEE 

'  I  am  very  ill,  I  know/  she  said  ere  long.  '  I  was  trying 
to  turn  myself  a  few  minutes  since,  and  find  I  cannot  move 
a  limb.  It  is  as  well  I  should  ease  my  mind  before  I  die  : 
what  we  think  little  of  in  health,  burdens  us  at  such  an  hour 
as  the  present  is  to  me.  Is  the  nurse  here  ?  or  is  there  no 
one  in  the  room  but  you  ?  ' 

I  assured  her  we  were  alone. 

'  Well,  I  have  twice  done  you  a  wrong  which  I  regret 
now.  One  was  in  breaking  the  promise  which  I  gave  my 

husband  to  bring  you  up  as  my  own  child ;  the  other '  she 

stopped.  '  After  all,  it  is  of  no  great  importance,  perhaps,1 
she  murmured  to  herself :  '  and  then  I  may  get  better ;  and 
to  humble  myself  so  to  her  is  painful/ 

She  made  an  effort  to  alter  her  position,  but  failed :  her 
face  changed ;  she  seemed  to  experience  some  inward  sensa- 
tion— the  precursor,  perhaps,  of  the  last  pang. 

1  Well :  I  must  get  it  over.  Eternity  is  before  me :  I 
had  better  tell  her. — Go  to  my  dressing-case,  open  it,  and 
take  out  a  letter  you  will  see  there/ 

I  obeyed  her  directions. 

1  Bead  the  letter/  she  said. 

It  was  short,  and  thus  conceived : — 

'  MADAM, — 

*  WILL  you  have  the  goodness  to  send  me  the 
address  of  my  niece,  Jane  Eyre,  and  to  tell  me  how  she  is  :  it 
is  my  intention  to  write  shortly  and  desire  her  to  come  to 
me  at  Madeira.  Providence  has  blessed  my  endeavours  to 
secure  a  competency ;  and  as  I  am  unmarried  and  childless, 
I  wish  to  adopt  her  during  my  life,  and  bequeath  her  at  my 
death  whatever  I  may  have  to  leave. 

'  I  am,  Madam,  &c.  &c. 

'  JOHN  EYRE,  Madeira/ 

It  was  dated  three  years  back. 

'  Why  did  I  never  hear  of  this  ?  '  I  asked. 

*  Because  I  disliked  you  too  fixedly  and  thoroughly  ever 


JANE  EYRE  289 

to  lend  a  hand  in  lifting  you  to  prosperity.  I  could  not  for- 
get your  conduct  to  ine,  Jane — the  fury  with  which  you 
once  turned  on  me  ;  the  tone  in  which  you  declared  you  ab- 
horred me  the  worst  of  anybody  in  the  world;  the  unchildlike 
look  and  voice  with  which  you  affirmed  that  the  very  thought 
of  me  made  you  sick,  and  asserted  that  I  had  treated  you 
with  miserable  cruelty.  I  could  not  forgot  my  own  sensa- 
tions when  you  thus  started  up  and  poured  out  the  venom 
of  your  mind  :  I  felt  fear,  as  if  an  animal  that  I  had  struck  or 
pushed  had  looked  up  at  me  with  human  eyes  and  cursed 
me  in  a  man's  voice. — Bring  me  some  water !  Oh,  make 
haste ! ' 

1  Dear  Mrs.  Reed/  said  I,  as  I  offered  her  the  draught 
she  required,  '  think  no  more  of  all  this,  let  it  pass  away 
from  your  mind.  Forgive  me  for  my  passionate  language  :  I 
was  a  child  then ;  eight,  nine  years  have  passed  since  that 
day.1 

She  heeded  nothing  of  what  I  said ;  but  when  she  had 
tasted  the  water  and  drawn  breath,  she  went  on  thus : — '  I 
tell  you  I  could  not  forget  it ;  and  I  took  my  revenge  :  for 
you  to  be  adopted  by  your  uncle,  and  placed  in  a  state  of 
ease  and  comfort,  was  what  1  could  not  endure.  I  wrote  to 
him ;  I  said  I  was  sorry  for  his  disappointment,  but  Jane 
Eyre  was  dead  :  she  had  died  of  typhus  fever  at  Lowood. 
Now  act  as  you  please :  write  and  contradict  my  assertion 
— expose  my  falsehood  as  soon  as  you  like.  You  were  born, 
I  think,  to  be  rny  torment :  my  last  hour  is  racked  by  the 
recollection  of  a  deed  which,  but  for  you,  I  should  never 
have  been  tempted  to  commit.' 

'If  you  could  but  be  persuaded  to  think  no  more 
of  it,  aunt,  and  to  regard  me  with  kindness  and  forgive- 
ness ' 

1  You  have  a  very  bad  disposition,'  said  she,  '  and  one  to 
this  day  I  feel  it  impossible  to  understand:  how  for  nine 
years  you  could  be  patient  and  quiescent  under  any  treat- 
ment, and  in  the  tenth  break  out  all  fire  and  violence,  I  can 
never  comprehend.' 


290  JANE  EYRE 

1  My  disposition  is  not  so  bad  as  you  think :  I  am  pas- 
sionate, but  not  vindictive.  Many  a  time,  as  a  little  child,  I 
should  have  been  glad  to  love  you  if  you  would  have  let  me; 
and  I  long  earnestly  to  be  reconciled  to  you  now :  kiss  me, 
aunt.' 

I  approached  my  cheek  to  her  lips :  she  would  not  touch 
it.  She  said  I  oppressed  her  by  leaning  over  the  bed ;  and 
again  demanded  water.  As  I  laid  her  down — for  I  raised 
her  and  supported  her  on  my  arm  while  she  drank — I 
covered  her  ice-cold  and  clammy  hand  with  mine :  the 
feeble  fingers  shrank  from  my  touch — the  glazing  eyes 
shunned  my  gaze. 

1  Love  me,  then,  or  hate  me,  as  you  will,1  I  said  at  last  \ 
«  you  have  my  full  and  free  forgiveness :  ask  now  for  God's  ; 
and  be  at  peace.' 

Poor,  suffering  woman !  it  was  too  late  for  her  to  make 
now  the  effort  to  change  her  habitual  frame  of  mind :  liv- 
ing, she  had  ever  hated  me — dying,  she  must  hate  me 
still. 

The  nurse  now  entered,  and  Bessie  followed.  I  yet 
lingered  half  an  hour  longer,  hoping  to  see  some  sign  of 
amity:  but  she  gave  none.  She  was  fast  relapsing  into 
stupor ;  nor  did  her  mind  again  rally  r  at  twelve  o'clock  that 
night  she  died.  I  was  not  present  to  close  her  eyes ;  nor 
were  either  of  her  daughters.  They  came  to  tell  us  the  next 
morning  that  all  was  over.  She  was  by  that  time  laid  out. 
Eliza  and  I  went  to  look  at  her  :  Georgi&na,  who  had  burst 
out  into  loud  weeping,  said  she  dared  not  go.  There  was 
stretched  Sarah  Reed's  once  robust  and  active  frame,  rigid 
and  still :  her  eye  of  flint  was  covered  with  its  cold  lid ;  her 
brow  and  strong  traits  wore  yet  the  impress  of  her  inexorable 
soul.  A  strange  and  solemn  object  was  that  corpse  to  me. 
I  gazed  on  it  with  gloom  and  pain :  nothing  soft,  nothing 
sweet,  nothing  pitying,  or  hopeful,  or  subduing,  did  it 
inspire ;  only  a  grating  anguish  for  her  woes — not  my  loss— ' 
and  a  sombre  tearless  dismay  at  the  tearfulness  of  death  id 
such  a  form. 


JANE  EYEE  291 

Eliza  surveyed  her  parent  calmly.  After  a  silence  of 
some  minutes  she  observed,  '  With  her  constitution  she 
should  have  lived  to  a  good  old  age  :  her  life  was  shortened 
by  trouble/  And  then  a  spasm  constricted  her  mouth  for 
an  instant :  as  it  passed  away  she  turned  and  left  the  room, 
and  so  did  I.  Neither  of  us  had  dropped  a  tear. 


292  JANE  EYEE 


CHAPTEE  XXII 

MB.  EOCHESTER  had  given  me  but  one  week's  leave  of 
absence :  yet  a  month  elapsed  before  I  quitted  Gateshead. 
I  wished  to  leave  immediately  after  the  funeral ;  but 
Georgiana  entreated  me  to  stay  till  she  could  get  off  to 
London  :  whither  she  was  now  at  last  invited  by  her  uncle, 
Mr.  Gibson ;  who  had  come  down  to  direct  his  sister's 
interment  and  settle  the  family  affairs.  Georgiana  said  she 
dreaded  being  left  alone  with  Eliza  ;  from  her  she  got  neither 
sympathy  in  her  dejection,  support  in  her  fears,  nor  aid  in  hei1 
preparations  ;  so  I  bore  with  her  feeble-minded  quailings,  and 
selfish  lamentations,  as  well  as  I  could,  and  did  my  best  in 
sewing  for  her,  and  packing  her  drosses.  It  is  true  that 
while  I  worked  she  would  idle ;  and  I  thought  to  myself, 
'  If  you  and  I  were  destined  to  live  always  together,  cousin, 
we  would  commence  matters  on  a  different  footing.  I 
should  not  settle  tamely  down  into  being  the  forbearing 
party;  I  should  assign  you  your  share  of  labour,  and 
compel  you  to  accomplish  it,  or  else  it  should  be  left 
undone  :  I  should  insist,  also,  on  your  keeping  some  of  those 
drawling,  half-insincere  complaints  hushed  in  your  own 
breast.  It  is  only  because  our  connection  happens  to  be 
very  transitory,  and  comes  at  a  peculiarly  mournful  season, 
that  I  consent  thus  to  render  it  so  patient  and  compliant  on 
my  part.1 

At  last  I  saw  Georgiana  off :  but  now  it  was  Eliza's  turn 
to  request  me  to  stay  another  week.  Her  plans  required  all 
her  time  and  attention,  she  said :  she  was  about  to  depart 
for  some  unknown  bourne ;  and  -all  day  long  she  stayed  in 
her  own  room,  her  door  bolted  within,  filling  trunks,  empty- 


JANE  EYRE  293 

ing  drawers,  burning  papers,  and  holding  no  communication 
with  anyone.  She  wished  me  to  look  after  the  house,  to  see 
callers,  and  answer  notes  of  condolence. 

One  morning  she  told  me  I  was  at  liberty.  '  And,'  she 
added,  *  I  am  obliged  to  you  for  your  valuable  services  and 
discreet  conduct !  There  is  some  difference  between  living 
with  such  a  one  as  you,  and  with  Georgiana :  you  perform 
your  own  part  in  life,  and  burden  no  one.  To-morrow,'  she 
continued,  '  I  set  out  for  the  Continent.  I  shall  take  up  my 
abode  in  a  religious  house  near  Lisle — a  nunnery  you 
would  call  it :  there  I  shall  be  quiet  and  unmolested.  I 
shall  devote  myself  for  a  time  to  the  examination  of  the 
Eoman  Catholic  dogmas,  and  to  a  careful  study  of  the 
workings  of  their  system ;  if  I  find  it  to  be,  as  I  half  suspect 
it  is,  the  one  best  calculated  to  ensure  the  doing  of  all  things 
decently  and  in  order,  I  shall  embrace  the  tenets  of  Borne 
and  probably  take  the  veil.' 

I  neither  expressed  surprise  at  this  resolution  nor 
attempted  to  dissuade  her  from  it.  '  The  vocation  will  fit 
you  to  a  hair/  I  thought :  '  much  good  may  it  do  you  1 ' 

When  we  parted,  she  said:  '  Good-bye,  cousin  Jane 
Eyre ;  T  wish  you  well :  you  have  some  sense/ 

I  then  returned :  '  You  are  not  without  sense,  cousin 
Eliza  ;  but  what  you  have  I  suppose  in  another  year  will  be 
walled  up  alive  in  a  French  convent.  However,  it  is  not 
my  business,  and  so  it  suits  you — I  don't  much  care.' 

'  You  are  in  the  right,'  said  she  :  and  with  these  words 
we  each  went  our  separate  way.  As  I  shall  not  have 
occasion  to  refer  either  to  her  or  her  sister  again,  I  may  as  well 
mention  here  that  Georgiana  made  an  advantageous  match 
with  a  wealthy  worn-out  man  of  fashion ;  and  that  Eliza 
actually  took  the  veil,  and  is  at  this  day  superior  of  tho 
convent  where  she  passed  the  period  of  her  novitiate  :  and 
which  she  endowed  with  her  fortune. 

How  people  feel  when  they  are  returning  home  from  an 
absence,  long  or  short,  I  did  not  know :  I  had  never  ex- 
perienced the  sensation.  I  had  known  what  it  was  to  come 


294  JANE  BYBE 

back  to  Gateshead  when  a  child,  after  a  long  walk — to  be 
scolded  for  looking  cold  or  gloomy ;  and  later,  what  it  was 
to  come  back  from  church  to  Lowood — to  long  for  a  plen- 
teous meal  and  a  good  fire,  and  to  be  unable  to  get  either. 

Neither  of  these  returnings  were  very  pleasant  or 
desirable :  no  magnet  drew  me  to  a  given  point,  increasing 
in  its  strength  of  attraction  the  nearer  I  came.  The  return 
to  Thornfield  was  yet  to  be  tried. 

My  journey  seemed  tedious — very  tedious :  fifty  miles 
one  day,  a  night  spent  at  an  inn ;  fifty  miles  the  next  day. 
During  the  first  twelve  hours  I  thought  of  Mrs.  Reed  in  her 
last  moments :  I  saw  her  disfigured  and  discoloured  face, 
and  heard  her  strangely  altered  voice.  I  mused  on  the 
funeral  day,  the  coffin,  the  hearse,  the  black  train  of  tenants 
and  servants — few  was  the  number  of  relatives — the  gaping 
vault,  the  silent  church,  the  solemn  service.  Then  I  thought 
of  Eliza  and  Georgiana:  I  beheld  one  the  cynosure  of  a 
b  ill-room,  the  other  the  inmate  of  a  convent  cell ;  and  I 
dwelt  on  and  analysed  their  separate  peculiarities  of  person 
and  character.  The  evening  arrival  at  the  great  town  of 

scattered  these  thoughts  ;  night  gave  them  quite  another 

turn :  laid  down  on  my  traveller's  bed,  I  left  reminiscence 
for  anticipation. 

I  was  going  back  to  Thornfield  :  but  how  long  was  I  to 
stay  there  ?  Not  long ;  of  that  I  was  sure.  I  had  heard 
from  Mrs.  Fairfax  in  the  interim  of  my  absence :  the  party 
at  the  hall  was  dispersed;  Mr.  Rochester  had  left  for 
London  three  weeks  ago,  but  he  was  then  expected  to  return 
in  a  fortnight.  Mrs.  Fairfax  surmised  that  he  was  gone  to 
make  arrangements  for  his  wedding,  as  he  had  talked  of 
purchasing  a  new  carriage :  she  said  the  idea  of  his  marrying 
Miss  Ingram  still  seemed  strange  to  her;  but  from  what 
everybody  said,  and  from  what  she  had  herself  seen,  she 
could  no  longer  doubt  that  the  event  would  shortly  take 
place.  'You  would  be  strangely  incredulous  if  you  did 
doubt  it/  was  my  mental  comment.  '  I  don't  doubt  it/ 

The  question  followed, '  Where  was  I  to  go  ? '    I  dreamt 


JANE  EYEB  295 

of  Miss  Ingram  all  the  night :  in  a  vivid  morning  dream  I 
saw  her  closing  the  gates  of  Thornfield  against  me  and 
pointing  me  out  another  road  ;  and  Mr.  Rochester  looked  on 
with  his  arms  folded — smiling  sardonically,  as  it  seemed,  at 
both  her  and  me. 

I  had  not  notified  to  Mrs.  Fairfax  the  exact  day  of  my 
return ;  for  I  did  not  wish  either  car  or  carriage  to  meet  me 
at  Millcote.  I  proposed  to  walk  the  distance  quietly  by 
myself ;  and  very  quietly,  after  leaving  my  box  in  the  ostler's 
care,  did  I  slip  away  from  the  George  Inn,  about  six  o'clock 
of  a  June  evening,  and  take  the  old  road  to  Thornfield :  a 
road  which  lay  chiefly  through  fields,  and  was  now  little 
frequented. 

It  was  not  a  bright  or  splendid  summer  evening,  though 
fair  and  soft :  the  haymakers  were  at  work  all  along  the 
road  ;  and  the  sky,  though  far  from  cloudless,  was  such  as 
promised  well  for  the  future :  its  blue — where  blue  was 
visible — was  mild  and  settled,  and  its  cloud  strata  high  and 
thin.  The  west,  too,  was  warm :  no  watery  gleam  chilled 
it — it  seemed  as  if  there  was  a  fire  lit,  an  altar  burning 
behind  its  screen  of  marbled  vapour,  and  out  of  apertures 
shone  a  golden  redness. 

I  felt  glad  as  the  road  shortened  before  me :  so  glad 
that  I  stopped  once  to  ask  myself  what  that  joy  meant : 
and  to  remind  reason  that  it  was  not  to  my  homa  I  was 
going,  or  to  a  permanent  resting-place,  or  to  a  place  where 
fond  friends  looked  out  for  me  and  waited  my  arrival.  '  Mrs. 
Fairfax  will  smile  you  a  calm  welcome,  to  be  sure/  said  I ; 
'and  little  Ad&le  will  clap  her  hands  and  jump  to  see  you : 
but  you  know  very  well  you  are  thinking  of  another  than 
they ;  and  that  he  is  not  thinking  of  you.' 

But  what  is  so  headstrong  as  youth  ?  What  so  blind  as 
inexperience  ?  These  affirmed  that  it  was  pleasure  enough 
to  have  the  privilege  of  again  looking  on  Mr.  Bochester, 
whether  he  looked  on  me  or  not ;  and  they  added — '  Hasten ! 
hasten  1  be  with  him  while  you  may :  but  a  few  more  days 
or  weeks,  at  most,  and  you  are  parted  with  him  for  ever  1 ' 


296  JANE  EYEE 

And  then  I  strangled  a  new-born  agony — a  deformed  thing 
which  I  could  not  persuade  myself  to  own  and  rear— and 
ran  on. 

They  are  making  hay,  too,  in  Thornfield  meadows :  or, 
rather,  the  labourers  are  just  quitting  their  work,  and  re- 
turning home  with  their  rakes  on  their  shoulders :  now,  at 
the  hour  I  arrive.  I  have  but  a  field  or  two  to  traverse,  and 
then  I  shall  cross  the  road  and  reach  the  gates.  How  full 
the  hedges  are  of  roses  !  But  I  have  no  time  to  gather  any  ; 
I  want  to  be  at  the  house.  I  passed  a  tall  briar,  shooting 
leafy  and  flowery  branches  across  the  path ;  I  see  the 
narrow  stilo  with  stone  steps ;  and  I  see  —Mr.  Eochester 
sitting  there,  a  book  and  a  pencil  in  his  hand  :  he  is  writing. 

Well,  he  is  not  a  ghost ;  yet  every  nerve  I  have  is  un- 
strung :  for  a  moment  I  am  beyond  my  own  mastery.  What 
does  it  mean  ?  I  did  not  think  I  should  tremble  in  this  way 
when  I  saw  him — or  lose  my  voice  or  the  power  of  motion 
in  his  presence.  I  will  go  back  as  soon  as  I  can  stir :  I  need 
not  make  an  absolute  fool  of  myself.  I  know  another  way 
to  the  house.  It  does  not  signify  if  I  knew  twenty  ways ; 
for  he  lias  seen  me. 

'  Hillo  ! '  he  cries ;  and  he  puts  up  his  book  and  his 
pencil.  '  There  you  are  !  Come  on,  if  you  please.1 

I  suppose  I  do  come  on ;  though  in  what  fashion  I  know 
not :  being  scarcely  cognisant  of  my  movements,  and 
solicitous  only  to  appear  calm  ;  and,  above  all,  to  control  the 
working  muscles  of  my  face — which  I  feel  rebel  insolently 
against  my  will,  and  struggle  to  express  what  I  had  resolved 
to  conceal.  But  I  have  a  veil — it  is  down :  I  may  make  shift 
yet  to  behave  with  decent  composure. 

'  And  this  is  Jane  Eyre  ?  Are  you  coming  from  Millcote, 
and  on  foot  ?  Yes — just  one  of  your  tricks  :  not  to  send  for 
a  carriage,  and  come  clattering  over  street  and  road  like  a 
common  mortal,  but  to  steal  into  the  vicinage  of  your  home 
along  with  twilight,  just  as  if  you  were  a  dream  or  a  shade. 
What  the  deuce  have  you  done  with  yourself  this  last 
month?' 


JANE  EYBE  297 

'  I  have  been  with  my  aunt,  sir,  who  is  dead.1 
1 A  true  Janian  reply !  Good  angels  be  my  guard !  She 
comes  from  the  other  world — from  the  abode  of  people  who 
are  dead ;  and  tells  me  so  when  she  meets  me  alone  here  in 
the  gloaming  I  If  I  dared,  I'd  touch  you,  to  see  if  you  are 
substance  or  shadow,  you  elf ! — but  I'd  as  soon  offer  to  take 
hold  of  a  blue  ignis  fatuus  light  in  a  marsh.  Truant ! 
truant ! '  he  added,  when  he  had  paused  an  instant.  '  Absent 
from  me  a  whole  month :  and  forgetting  me  quite,  I'll  be 
sworn ! ' 

I  knew  there  would  be  pleasure  in  meeting  my  master 
again ;  even  though  broken  by  the  fear  that  he  was  so  soon 
to  cease  to  be  my  master,  and  by  the  knowledge  that  I  was 
nothing  to  him :  but  there  was  ever  in  Mr.  Eochester  (so  at 
least  I  thought)  such  a  wealth  of  the  power  of  communicating 
happiness,  that  to  taste  but  of  the  crumbs  he  scattered  to 
stray  and  stranger  birds  like  me  was  to  feast  genially.  His 
last  words  were  balm  :  they  seemed  to  imply  that  it  imported 
something  to  him  whether  I  forgot  him  or  not.  And  he  had 
spoken  of  Thornfield  as  my  home — would  that  it  were  my 
homel 

He  did  not  leave  the  stile,  and  I  hardly  liked  to  ask  to 
go  by.    I  inquired  soon  if  he  had  not  been  to  London. 
'  Yes  :  I  suppose  you  found  that  out  by  second-sight/ 
'  Mrs.  Fairfax  told  me  in  a  letter.' 
'  And  did  she  inform  you  what  I  went  to  do  ? ' 
'  Oh,  yes,  sir  I     Everybody  knew  your  errand.' 
'  You  must  see  the  carriage,  Jane,  and  tell  me  if  you  don't 
think  it  will  suit  Mrs.  Eochester  exactly ;  and  whether  she 
won't  look  like  Queen  Boadicea,  leaning  back  against  those 
purple  cushions.     I  wish,  Jane,  I  were  a  trifle  better  adapted 
to  match  with  her  externally.    Tell  me  now,  fairy  as  you 
are, — can't  you  give  me  a  charm,  or  a  philter,  or  something 
of  that  sort,  to  make  me  a  handsome  man  ? ' 

1  It  would  be  past  the  power  of  magic,  sir ; '  and,  in 
thought,  I  added, '  A  loving  eye  is  all  the  charm  needed :  to 


298  JANE  EYEE 

such  you  are  handsome  enough ;  or  rather,  your  sternness 
has  a  power  heyond  beauty.' 

Mr.  Bochester  had  sometimes  read  my  unspoken  thoughts 
with  an  acumen  to  me  incomprehensible :  in  the  present 
instance  he  took  no  notice  of  my  abrupt  vocal  response  ;  but 
he  smiled  at  me  with  a  certain  smile  he  had  of  his  own,  and 
which  he  used  but  on  rare  occasions.  He  seemed  to  think 
it  too  good  for  common  purposes :  it  was  the  real  sunshine 
of  feeling — he  shed  it  over  me  now. 

'  Pass,  Janet,'  said  he,  making  room  for  me  to  cross  the 
stile :  '  go  up  home,  and  stay  your  weary  little  wandering 
feet  at  a  friend's  threshold.' 

All  I  had  now  to  do  was  to  obey  him  in  silence :  no  need 
for  me  to  colloquise  further.  I  got  over  the  stile  without  a 
word,  and  meant  to  leave  him  calmly.  An  impulse  held  me 
fast, — a  force  turned  me  round.  I  said — or  something  in 
me  said  for  me,  and  in  spite  of  me : — 

'  Thank  you,  Mr.  Eochester,  for  your  great  kindness.  I 
am  strangely  glad  to  get  back  again  to  you ;  and  wherever 
you  are  is  my  home — my  only  home/ 

I  walked  on  so  fast  that  even  he  could  hardly  have  over- 
taken me  had  he  tried.  Little  Ad61e  was  half  wild  with 
delight  when  she  saw  me.  Mrs.  Fairfax  received  me  with 
her  usual  plain  friendliness.  Leah  smiled ;  and  even  Sophie 
bid  me  -  bon  soir '  with  glee.  This  was  very  pleasant :  there 
is  no  happiness  like  that  of  being  loved  by  your  fellow- 
creatures,  and  feeling  that  your  presence  is  an  addition  to 
their  comfort. 

I,  that  evening,  shut  my  eyes  resolutely  against  the 
future :  I  stopped  my  ears  against  the  voice  that  kept  warn- 
ing me  of  near  separation  and  coming  grief.  When  tea  was 
over  and  Mrs.  Fairfax  had  taken  her  knitting,  and  I  had 
assumed  a  low  seat  near  her,  and  Ad61e,  kneeling  on  the 
carpet,  had  nestled  close  up  to  me,  and  a  sense  of  mutual 
affection  seemed  to  surround  us  with  a  ring  of  golden  peace, 
I  uttered  a  silent  prayer  that  we  might  not  be  parted  far  or 
soon;  but  when,  as  we  thus  sat,  Mr.  Eochester  entered, 


JANE  EYEB  299 

unannounced,  and  looking  at  us,  seemed  to  take  pleasure  in 
the  spectacle  of  a  group  so  amicable — when  he  said  he  sup- 
posed the  old  lady  was  all  right  now  that  she  had  got  her 
adopted  daughter  back  again,  and  added  that  he  saw  Ad61e 
was  '  pr&te  a  croquer  sa  petite  maman  Anglaise ' — I  half 
ventured  to  hope  that  he  would,  even  after  his  marriage, 
keep  us  together  somewhere  under  the  shelter  of  his  pro- 
tection, and  not  quite  exiled  from  the  sunshine  of  his 
presence.  t 

A  fortnight  of  dubious  calm  succeeded  my  return  to 
Thornfield  Hall.  Nothing  was  said  of  the  master's  marriage, 
and  I  saw  no  preparation  going  on  for  such  an  event. 
Almost  every  day  I  asked  Mrs.  Fairfax  if  she  had  yet  heard 
anything  decided :  her  answer  was  always  in  the  negative. 
Once,  she  said,  she  had  actually  put  the  question  to  Mr. 
Kocfhester  as  to  when  he  was  going  to  bring  his  bride 
home ;  but-  he  had  answered  her  only  by  a  joke,  and  one 
of  his  queer  looks,  and  she  could  not  tell  what  to  make  of 
him. 

One  thing  specially  surprised  me,  and  that  was,  there 
were  no  journeyings  backward  and  forward,  no  visits  to 
Ingram  Park :  to  be  sure  it  was  twenty  miles  off,  on  the 
borders  of  another  county ;  but  what  was  that  distance  to 
an  ardent  lover  ?  To  so  practised  and  indefatigable  a  horse- 
man as  Mr.  Eochester  it  would  be  but  a  morning's  ride.  I 
began  to  cherish  hopes  I  had  no  right  to  conceive  :  that  the 
match  was  broken  off ;  that  rumour  had  been  mistaken ; 
that  one  or  both  parties  had  changed  their  minds.  I  used 
to  look  at  my  master's  face  to  see  if  it  were  sad  or  fierce ; 
but  I  could  not  remember  the  time  when  it  had  been  so 
uniformly  clear  of  clouds  or  evil  feelings.  If,  in  the  moments 
I  and  my  pupil  spent  with  him,  I  lacked  spirits  and  sank 
into  inevitable  dejection,  he  became  even  gay.  Never  had 
he  called  me  more  frequently  to  his  presence;  never  been 
kinder  to  me  when  there — and,  alas  1  never  had  I  loved  him 
so  well. 


300  JANE  EYES 


CHAPTEE  XXIII 

A  SPLENDID  Midsummer  shone  over  England  :  skies  so  pure, 
suns  so  radiant  as  were  then  seen  in  long  succession,  seldom 
favour,  even  singly,  our  wave-girt  land.  It  was  as  if  a  band 
of  Italian  days  had  come  from  the  South,  like  a  flock  of 
glorious  passenger  birds,  and  lighted  to  rest  them  on  fche 
cliffs  of  Albion.  The  hay  was  all  got  in ;  the  fields  round 
Thornfield  were  green  and  shorn ;  the  roads  white  and 
baked  ;  the  trees  were  in  their  dark  prime ;  hedge  and  wood, 
full-leaved  and  deeply  tinted,  contrasted  well  with  the  sunny 
hue  of  the  cleared  meadows  between. 

On  Midsummer-eve,  Adele,  weary  with  gathering  wild 
strawberries  in  Hay  Lane  half  the  day,  had  gone  to  bed  with 
the  sun.  I  watched  her  drop  asleep,  and  when  I  left  her  I 
sought  the  garden. 

It  was  now  the  sweetest  hour  of  the  twenty-four  : — '  Day 
its  fervid  fires  had  wasted/  and  dew  fell  cool  on  panting  plain 
and  scorched  summit.  Where  the  sun  had  gone  down  in 
simple  state — pure  of  the  pomp  of  clouds — spread  a  solemn 
purple,  burning  with  the  light  of  red  jewel  and  furnace  flame 
at  one  point,  on  one  hill-peak,  and  extending  high  and  wide, 
soft  and  still  softer,  over  half  heaven.  The  east  had  its  own 
charm  of  fine,  deep  blue,  and  its  own  modest  gem,  a  rising 
and  solitary  star :  soon  it  would  boast  the  moon ;  but  she 
was  yet  beneath  the  horizon. 

I  walked  a  while  on  the  pavement ;  but  a  subtle,  well- 
known  scent— that  of  a  cigar — stole  from  some  window;  I  saw 
the  library  casement  open  a  handbreath ;  I  knew  I  might  be 
watched  thence ;  so  I  went  apart  into  the  orchard.  No  nook 
in  the  grounds  more  sheltered  and  more  Eden-like ;  it  was 


JANE  EYBE  301 

full  of  trees,  it  bloomed  with  flowers  :  a  very  high  wall  shut 
it  out  from  the  court,  on  one  side ;  on  the  other,  a  beech 
avenue  screened  it  from  the  lawn.  At  the  bottom  was  a 
sunk  fence ;  its  sole  separation  from  lonely  fields  ;  a  winding 
walk,  bordered  with  laurels  and  terminating  in  a  giant 
horse-chestnut,  circled  at  the  base  by  a  seat,  lod  down  to 
the  fence.  Here  one  could  wander  unseen.  While  such 
honey-dew  fell,  such  silence  reigned,  such  gloaming  gathered, 
I  felt  as  if  I  could  haunt  such  shade  for  ever :  but  in  thread- 
ing the  flower  and  fruit  parterres  at  the  upper  part  of  the 
inclosure,  enticed  there  by  the  light  the  now-rising  moon 
casts  on  this  more  open  quarter,  my  step  is  stayed — not  by 
sound,  not  by  sight,  but  once  more  by  a  warning  fragrance. 

Sweet  briar  and  southernwood,  jasmine,  pink,  and  rose, 
have  long  been  yielding  their  evening  sacrifice  of  incense : 
this  new  scent  is  neither  of  shrub  nor  flower ;  it  is — I  know 
it  well — it  is  Mr.  Eochester's  cigar.  I  look  round,  and  I 
listen.  I  see  trees  laden  with  ripening  fruit.  I  hear  a 
nightingale  warbling  in  a  wood  half  a  mile  off ;  no  moving 
form  is  visible,  no  coming  step  audible ;  but  that  perfume 
increases  :  I  must  flee.  1  make  for  the  wicket  leading  to  the 
shrubbery,  and  I  see  Mr.  Eochester  entering.  I  step  aside 
into  the  ivy  recess ;  he  will  not  stay  long :  lie  will  soon 
return  whence  he  came,  and  if  I  sit  still  he  will  never  see  me. 

But  no — eventide  is  as  pleasant  to  him  as  to  me,  and  this 
antique  garden  as  attractive ;  and  he  strolls  on,  now  lifting 
the  gooseberry  tree  branches  to  look  at  the  fruit,  large  as 
plums,  with  which  they  are  laden ;  now  taking  a  ripe  cherry 
f  rom  the  wall ;  now  stooping  towards  a  knot  of  flowers,  either 
to  inhale  their  fragrance  or  to  admire  the  dew-beads  on  their 
petals.  A  great  moth  goes  humming  by  me  ;  it  alights  on  a 
plant  at  Mr.  Eochester's  foot:  he  sees  it,  and  bends  to 
examine  it. 

'Now  he  has  his  back  towards  me,'  thought  I,  *  and  he 
is  occupied  too ;  perhaps,  if  I  walk  softly,  I  can  slip  away 
unnoticed.' 

I  trod  on  an  edging  of  turf  that  the  crackle  of  the  pebbly 


302  JANE  EYBB 

gravel  might  not  botray  me:  he  was  standing  among  the 
beds  at  a  yard  or  two  distant  from  where  I  had  to  pass ;  the 
moth  apparently  engaged  him.  '  I  shall  get  by  very  well,'  I 
meditated.  As  I  crossed  his  shadow,  thrown  long  over  the 
garden  by  the  moon,  not  yet  risen  high,  he  said  quietly 
without  turning :— -'  Jane,  come  and  look  at  this  fellow/ 

I  had  made  no  noise  :  he  had  not  eyes  behind — could  hig 
shadow  feel  ?  I  started  at  first,  and  then  I  approached  him. 

'  Look  at  his  wings,1  said  he  ;  'he  reminds  me  rather  of  a 
West  Indian  insect ;  one  does  not  often  see  so  large  and  gay 
a  night-rover  in  England :  there  !  he  is  flown/ 

The  moth  roamed  away.  I  was  sheepishly  retreating 
also ;  but  Mr.  Eochester  followed  me,  and  when  we  reached 
the  wicket,  he  said : — '  Turn  back :  on  so  lovely  a.  night  it  is 
a  shame  to  sit  in  the  house  ;  and  surely  no  one  can  wish  to 
go  to  bed  while  sunset  is  thus  at  meeting  with  moonrise/ 

It  is  one  of  my  faults  that,  though  my  tongue  is  some- 
times prompt  enough  at  an  answer,  there  are  times  when  it 
sadly  fails  me  in  framing  an  excuse  ;  and  always  the  lapse 
occurs  at  some  crisis,  when  a  facile  word  or  plausible  pretext 
is  specially  wanted  to  get  me  out  of  painful  embarrassment. 
I  did  not  like  to  walk  at  this  hour  alone  with  Mr.  Eochester 
in  the  shadowy  orchard ;  but  I  could  not  find  a  reason  to 
allege  for  leaving  him.  I  followed  with  lagging  step,  and 
thoughts  busily  bent  on  discovering  a  means  of  extrication ; 
but  he  himself  looked  so  composed,  and  so  grave  also,  I 
became  ashamed  of  feeling  any  confusion  :  the  evil — if  evil 
existent  or  prospective  there  was — seemed  to  lie  with  me 
only ;  his  mind  was  unconscious  and  quiet. 

'  Jane/  he  recommenced,  as  we  entered  the  laurel  walk, 
and  slowly  strayed  down  in  the  direction  of  the  sunk  fence 
and  the  horse-chestnut,  '  Thornfield  is  a  pleasant  place  in 
summer,  is  it  not  ?  ' 

1  Yes,  sir/ 

'  You  must  have  become  in  some  degree  attached  to  the 
house, — you,  who  have  an  eye  for  natural  beauties,  and  a  good 
deal  of  the  organ  of  Adhesiveness? ' 


JANE  EYEB  303 

'  I  am  attached  to  it,  indeed.1 

'  And  though  I  don't  comprehend  how  it  is,  I  perceive 
you  have  acquired  a  degree  of  regard  for  that  foolish  little 
child,  Addle,  too ;  and  even  for  simple  dame  Fairfax  ? ' 

1  Yes,  sir ;  in  different  ways,  I  have  an  affection  for  both.1 

1  And  would  be  sorry  to  part  with  them  ? ' 

'Yes.1 

'  Pity ! f  he  said,  and  sighed  and  paused.  '  It  is  always 
the  way  of  events  in  this  life,1  he  continued  presently :  '  no 
sooner  have  you  got  settled  in  a  pleasant  resting-place,  than 
a  voice  calls  out  to  you  to  rise  and  move  on,  for  the  hour  of 
repose  is  expired.' 

1  Must  I  move  on,  sir  ?  '  I  asked.  '  Must  I  leave  Thorn- 
field?' 

'  I  believe  you  must,  Jane.  I  am  sorry,  Janet,  but  I 
believe  indeed  you  must.' 

This  was  a  blow :  but  I  did  not  let  it  prostrate  me. 

'  Well,  sir,  I  shall  be  ready  when  the  order  to  march 
comes.' 

'  It  is  come  now — I  must  give  it  to-night.' 

'  Then  you  are  going  to  be  married,  sir  ? ' 

'  Ex-act-ly — pre-cise-ly  :  with  your  usual  acuteness,  you 
have  hit  the  nail  straight  on  the  head.' 

1  Soon,  sir  ? ' 

'Very  soon,  my that  is,  Miss  Eyre:  and  you'll  re- 
remember,  Jane,  the  first  time  I,  or  Rumour,  plainly  inti- 
mated to  you  that  it  was  my  intention  to  put  my  old 
bachelor's  neck  into  the  sacred  noose,  to  enter  into  the  holy 
estate  of  matrimony— to  take  Miss  Ingram  to  my  bosom,  in 
short  (she's  an  extensive  armful :  but  that's  not  to  the  point — 
one  can't  have  too  much  of  such  a  very  excellent  thing  as  my 
beautiful  Blanche) :  well,  as  I  was  saying- -listen  to  me,  Jane  ! 
You're  not  turning  your  head  to  look  after  more  moths,  are 
you  ?  That  was  only  a  lady-clock,  child,  '  flying  away  home.' 
I  wish  to  remind  you  that  it  was  you  who  first  said  to  me, 
with  that  discretion  I  respect  in  you — with  that  foresight, 
prudence,  and  humility  which  befit  your  responsible  and 


304  JANE  EYBE 

dependent  position — that  in  case  I  married  Miss  Ingram — 
both  you  and  little  Adele  had  better  trot  forthwith.  I  pass 
over  the  sort  of  slur  conveyed  in  this  suggestion  on  the 
character  of  my  beloved ;  indeed,  when  you  are  far  away, 
Janet,  I'll  try  to  forget  it :  I  shall  notice  only  its  wisdom ; 
which  is  such  that  I  have  made  it  my  law  of  action.  Adele 
must  go  to  school;  and  you,  Miss  Eyre,  must  get  a  new 
situation/ 

1  Yes,  sir,  I  will  advertise  immediately  :  and  meantime,  I 

suppose ' 1  was  going  to  say,  *  I  suppose  I  may  stay  here 

till  I  find  another  shelter  to  betake  myself  to  : '  but  I  stopped, 
feeling  it  would  not  do  to  risk  a  long  sentence,  for  my  voice 
was  not  quite  under  command. 

'  In  about  a  month  I  hope  to  be  a  bridegroom,'  continued 
Mr.  Eochester ;  '  and  in  the  interim  I  shall  myself  look  out 
for  employment  and  an  asylum  for  you/ 

1  Thank  you,  sir  ;  I  am  sorry  to  give ' 

'  Oh,  no  need  to  apologise  !  I  consider  that  when  a  de- 
pendent does  her  duty  as  well  as  you  have  done  yours,  she 
has  a  sort  of  claim  upon  her  employer  for  any  little  assist- 
ance he  can  conveniently  render  her ;  indeed  I  have  already, 
through  my  future  mother-in-law,  heard  of  a  place  that  / 
think  will  suit :  it  is  to  undertake  the  education  of  the  five 
daughters  of  Mrs.  Dionysius  O'Gall,  of  Bitternutt  Lodge, 
Connaught,  Ireland.  You'll  like  Ireland,  I  think :  they're 
such  warm-hearted  people  there,  they  say/ 

'  It  is  a  long  way  off,  sir/ 

1  No  matter — a  girl  of  your  sense  will  not  object  to  the 
voyage  or  the  distance/ 

1  Not  the  voyage,  but  the  distance  :  and  then  the  sea  is 
a  barrier ' 

'  From  what,  Jane  ? ' 

1  From  England  and  from  Thornfield  :  and ' 

'Well?1 

'  From  you,  sir/ 

I  said  this  almost  involuntarily;  and,  with  as  little 
sanction  of  free  will,  my  tears  gushed  out.  I  did  not  cry 


JANE  EYEE  305 

so  as  to  be  heard,  however;  I  avoided  sobbing.  The 
thought  of  Mrs.  O'Gall  and  Bitternutt  Lodge  struck  cold  to 
my  heart ;  and  colder  the  thought  of  all  the  brine  and  foam, 
destined,  as  it  seemed,  to  rush  between  me  and  the  master 
at  whose  side  I  now  walked  !  and  coldest  the  remembrance 
of  the  wider  ocean — wealth,  caste,  custom  intervened  between 
me  and  what  I  naturally  and  inevitably  loved. 

'  It  is  a  long  way/  I  again  said. 

1  It  is  to  be  sure ;  and  when  you  get  to  Bitternutt  Lodge, 
Connaught,  Ireland,  I  shall  never  see  you  again,  Jane  : 
that's  morally  certain.  I  never  go  over  to  Ireland,  not 
having  myself  much  of  a  fancy  for  the  country.  We  have 
been  good  friends,  Jane  ;  have  we  not  ?  ' 

1  Yes,  sir.' 

'  And  when  friends  are  on  the  eve  of  separation,  they  like 
to  spend  the  little  time  that  remains  to  them  close  to  each 
other.  Come— we'll  talk  over  the  voyage  and  the  parting 
quietly,  half  an  hour  or  so,  while  the  stars  enter  into  their 
shining  life  up  in  heaven  yonder :  here  is  the  chestnut  tree : 
here  is  the  bench  at  its  old  roots.  Come,  we  will  sit  there 
in  peace  to-night,  though  we  should  never  more  be  destined 
to  sit  there  together/  He  seated  me  and  himself. 

*  It  is  a  long  way  to  Ireland,  Janet,  and  I  am  sorry  to 
send  my  little  friend  on  such  weary  travels ;  but  if  I  can't 
do  better,  how  is  it  to  be  helped  ?  Are  you  anything  akin  to 
me,  do  you  think,  Jane  ? ' 

I  could  risk  no  sort  of  answer  by  this  time :  my  heart 
was  full. 

'Because/  he  said,  'I  sometimes  have  a  queer  feeling 
with  regard  to  you — especially  when  you  are  near  me,  as 
now :  it  is  as  if  I  had  a  string  somewhere  under  my  left  ribs, 
tightly  and  inextricably  knotted  to  a  similar  string  situated 
in  the  corresponding  quarter  of  your  little  frame.  And  if 
that  boisterous  channel,  and  two  hundred  miles  or  so  of  land 
come  broad  between  us,  I  am  afraid  that  cord  of  communion 
will  be  snapt ;  and  then  I've  a  nervous  notion  I  should  take 
to  bleeding  inwardly.  As  for  you — you'd  forget  me/ 


306  JANE  EYEE 

'That  I  never  should,  sir:  you  know '—impossible  to 
proceed. 

1  Jane,  do  you  hear  that  nightingale  singing  in  the  wood? 
Listen ! ' 

In  listening,  I  sobbed  convulsively ;  for  I  could  repress 
what  I  endured  no  longer  ;  I  was  obliged  to  yield,  and  I 
was  shaken  from  head  to  foot  with  acute  distress.  When 
I  did  speak,  it  was  only  to  express  an  impetuous  wish  that 
I  had  never  been  born,  or  never  come  to  Thornfield. 

1  Because  you  are  sorry  to  leave  it  ?  ' 

The  vehemence  of  emotion,  stirred  by  grief  and  love 
within  me,  was  claiming  mastery,  and  struggling  for  full 
sway ;  and  asserting  a  right  to  predominate :  to  overcome, 
to  live,  rise,  and  reign  at  last ;  yes, — and  to  speak. 

'  I  grieve  to  leave  Thornfield :  I  love  Thornfield — I  love 
it,  because  I  have  lived  in  it  a  full  and  delightful  life, — 
momentarily  at  least.  I  have  not  been  trampled  on.  I 
have  not  been  petrified.  I  have  not  been  buried  with  inferior 
minds,  and  excluded  from  every  glimpse  of  communion  with 
what  is  bright  and  energetic,  and  high.  I  have  talked,  face 
to  face,  with  what  I  reverence ;  with  what  I  delight  in, — 
with  an  original,  a  vigorous,  an  expanded  mind.  I  have 
known  you,  Mr.  Eochester ;  and  it  strikes  me  with  terror 
and  anguish  to  feel  I  absolutely  must  be  torn  from  you  for 
ever.  I  see  the  necessity  of  departure ;  and  it  is  like  looking 
on  the  necessity  of  death.' 

'  Where  do  you  see  the  necessity  ? '  he  asked,  suddenly. 

'  Where  ?    You,  sir,  have  placed  it  before  me.' 

1  In  what  shape  ? ' 

'  In  the  shape  of  Miss  Ingram ;  a  noble  and  beautiful 
woman, — your  bride.' 

1  My  bride  !     What  bride  ?    I  have  no  bride  1 ' 

'  But  you  will  have.' 

1  Yes ;— I  will  1— I  will ! '    He  set  his  teeth. 

'  Then  I  must  go — you  have  said  it  yourself.' 

'No:  you  must  stay!  I  swear  it— and  the  oath  shall 
be  kept.' 


JANE  EYEE  307 

'  I  tell  you  I  must  go  ! '  I  retorted,  roused  to  something 
like  passion.  '  Do  you  think  I  can  stay  to  become  nothing 
to  you?  Do  you  think  I  am  an  automaton? — a  machine 
without  feelings  ?  and  can  bear  to  have  my  morsel  of  bread 
snatched  from  my  lips,  and  my  drop  of  living  water  dashed 
fiom  my  cup  ?  Do  you  think,  because  I  am  poor,  obscure, 
plain,  and  little,  I  am  soulless  .and  heartless  ?  You  think 
wiongl — I  have  as  much  soul  as  you, — and  full  as  much 
heart !  And  if  God  had  gifted  me  with  some  beauty  and 
much  wealth,  I  should  have  made  it  as  hard  for  you  to  leave 
me,  as  it  is  now  for  me  to  leave  you.  I  am  not  talking  to 
you  now  through  the  medium  of  custom,  conventionalities, 
nor  even  ot  mortal  flesh — it  is  my  spirit  that  addresses 
your  spirit ;  just  as  if  both  had  passed  through  the  grave,  and 
wo  stood  at  God's  feet,  equal, — as  we  are  1 ' 

1  As  we  are  1 '  repeated  Mr.  Eochester  —  '  so,'  he  added, 
enclosing  me  in  his  arms,  gathering  nie  to  his  breast,  press- 
ing his  lips  on  my  lips  :  '  so,  Jane  ! ' 

'  Yes,  so,  sir/  I  rejoined  :  '  and  yet  not  so ;  for  you  are  a 
married  man — or  as  good  as  a  married  man,  and  wed  to  one 
inferior  to  you — to  one  with  whom  you  have  no  sympathy 
— whom  I  do  not  believe  you  truly  love ;  for  I  have  seen 
and  heard  you  sneer  at  her.  I  would  scorn  such  a  union : 
therefore  I  am  better  than  you — let  me  go  I ' 

1  Where,  Jane  ?    To  Ireland  ?  ' 

1  Yes — to  Ireland.  I  have  spoken  my  mind,  and  can  go 
anywhere  now.' 

'  Jane,  be  still ;  don't  struggle  so,  like  a  wild,  frantic  bird 
that  is  rending  its  own  plumage  in  its  desperation.' 

'  I  am  no  bird ;  and  no  net  ensnares  me  :  I  am  a  free 
human  being  with  an  independent  will ;  which  I  now  exert 
to  leave  you.! 

Another  effort  set  me  at  liberty,  and  I  stood  erect  before 
him. 

1  And  your  will  shall  decide  your  destiny/  he  said :  '  I 
offer  you  my  hand,  my  heart,  and  a  share  of  all  my 


308  JANE  EYEE 

'  You  play  a  farce,  which  I  merely  laugh  at.1 

'  I  ask  you  to  pass  through  life  at   my  side — to  be  my 

second  self,  and  best  earthly  companion.' 

'  For  that  fate  you  have  already  made  your  choice,  and 

must  abide  by  it.' 

I  Jane,  be  still  a  few  moments ;  you  are  over-excited :  I 
will  be  still  too.' 

A  waft  of  wind  came  sweeping  down  the  laurel  walk,  and 
trembled  through  the  boughs  of  the  chestnut :  it  wandered 
away — away — to  an  indefinite  distance — it  died.  The 
nightingale's  song  was  then  the  only  voice  of  the  hour :  in 
listening  to  it,  I  again  wept.  Mr.  Eochester  sat  quiet,  look- 
ing at  me  gently  and  seriously.  Some  time  passed  before 
he  spoke ;  he  at  last  said  : — '  Come  to  my  side,  Jane,  and  let 
us  explain  and  understand  one  another.' 

I 1  will  never  again  come  to  your  side  :  I  am  torn  away 
now,  and  cannot  return.' 

*  But,  Jane,  I  summon  you  as  my  wife  :  it  is  you  only  I 
intend  to  many.' 

I  was  silent :  I  thought  he  mocked  me. 

'  Come,  Jane — come  hither.' 

1  Your  bride  stands  between  us.' 

He  rose,  and  with  a  stride  reached  me. 

'  My  bride  is  here,'  he  said,  again  drawing  me  to  him, 
'  because  my  equal  is  here,  and  my  likeness.  Jane,  will  you 
marry  me  ? ' 

Still  I  did  not  answer,  and  still  I  writhed  myself  from 
his  grasp :  for  I  was  still  incredulous. 

'  Do  you  doubt  me,  Jane  ?  ' 

1  Entirely.1 

1  You  have  no  faith  in  me  ? ' 

1  Not  a  whit/ 

'  Am  I  a  liar  in  your  eyes  ? '  he  asked  passionately. 
1  Little  sceptic,  you  shall  be  convinced.  What  love  have  I  for 
Miss  Ingram  ?  None :  and  that  you  know.  What  love  has  she 
for  me  ?  None  :  as  I  have  taken  pains  to  prove  ;  I  caused  a 
rumour  to  reach  her  that  my  fortune  was  not  a  third  of 


JANE  EYEE  309 

what  was  supposed,  and  after  that  I  presented  myself  to  see 
the  result ;  it  was  coldness  both  from  her  and  her  mother- 
I  would  not — I  could  not — marry  Miss  Ingram.  You — you 
strange — you  almost  unearthly  thing!— I  love  as  my  own 
flesh.  You — poor  and  obscure,  and  small  and  plain  as  you 
are — I  entreat  to  accept  me  as  a  husband.9 

'  What,  me  ! '  I  ejaculated :  beginning  in  his  earnestness 
— and  especially  in  his  incivility — to  credit  his  sincerity : 
'  me  who  have  not  a  friend  in  the  world  but  you — if  you  are 
my  friend  :  not  a  shilling  but  what  you  ha\e  given  me  ?  ' 

'  You,  Jane.  I  must  have  you  for  my  own — entirely  my 
own.  Will  you  be  mine  ?  Say  yes,  quickly/ 

'  Mr.  Kochester,  let  me  look  at  your  face :  turn  to  the 
moonlight.' 

'Why?' 

'  Because  I  want  to  read  your  countenance  ;  turn  ! ' 

1  There :  you  will  find  it  scarcely  more  legible  than  a 
crumpled,  scratched  page.  Bead  on  :  only  make  haste,  for  I 
suffer.' 

His  face  was  very  much  agitated  and  very  much  flushed, 
and  there  were  strong  workings  in  the  features,  and  strange 
gleams  in  the  eyes. 

'  Oh,  Jane,  you  torture  me  1 '  he  exclaimed.  '  With  that 
searching  and  yet  faithful  and  generous  look,  you  torture 
me!1 

1  How  can  I  do  that  ?  If  you  are  true,  and  your  offer 
real,  my  only  feelings  to  you  must  be  gratitude  and  devotion 
— they  cannot  torture/ 

'  Gratitude  ! '  he  ejaculated  ;  and  added  wildly — '  Jane, 
accept  me  quickly.  Say,  Edward — give  me  my  name- 
Edward— I  will  marry  you/ 

'  Are  you  in  earnest  ? — Do  you  truly  love  me  ? — Do  you 
sincerely  wish  me  to  be  your  wife  ? ' 

' 1  do ;  and  if  an  oath  is  necessary  to  satisfy  you,  I  swear  it.' 

1  Then,  sir,  I  will  marry  you/ 

1  Edward— my  little  wife ! ' 

'  Dear  Edward ! ' 


310  JANE  EYRE 

'  Come  to  me — come  to  me  entirely  now,1  said  he  :  and 
added,  in  his  deepest  tone,  speaking  in  my  ear  as  his  cheek 
was  laid  on  mine,  '  Make  my  happiness — I  will  make  yours.' 

1  God  pardon  me  ! '  he  subjoined  ere  long ;  '  and  man 
meddle  not  with  me :  I  have  her,  and  will  hold  her/ 

'  There  is  no  one  to  meddle,  sir.  I  have  no  kindred  to 
interfere.1 

'  No — that  is  the  best  of  it,1  he  said. 

And  if  I  had  loved  him  less  I  should  have  thought  his 
accent  and  look  of  exultation  savage ;  but,  sitting  by  him, 
roused  from  the  nightmare  of  parting — called  to  the 
paradise  of  union — I  thought  only  of  the  bliss  given  me  to 
drink  in  so  abundant  a  flow.  Again  and  again  he  said,  '  Are 
you  happy,  Jane  ?  '  And  again  and  again  I  answered,  '  Yes.' 
After  which  he  murmured,  'It  will  atone — it  will  atone. 
Have  I  not  found  her  friendless,  and  cold,  and  comfortless  ? 
Will  I  not  guard,  and  cherish,  and  solace  her  ?  Is  there  not 
love  in  my  heart,  and  constancy  in  my  resolves  ?  It  will 
expiate  at  God's  tribunal.  I  know  my  Maker  sanctions  what 
I  do.  For  the  world's  judgment — I  wash  my  hands  thereof, 
For  man's  opinion — I  defy  it.1 

But  what  had  befallen  the  night  ?  The  moon  was  not 
yet  set,  and  we  were  all  in  shadow  :  I  could  scarcely  see  my 
master's  face,  near  as  I  was.  And  what  ailed  the  chestnut 
tree?  it  writhed  and  groaned;  while  wind  roared  in  the 
laurel  walk,  and  came  sweeping  over  us. 

'We  must  go  in/  said  Mr.  Rochester:  'the  weather 
changes.  I  could  have  sat  with  thee  till  morning,  Jane.' 

'  And  so,1  thought  I,  '  could  I  with  you.'  I  should  have 
said  so,  perhaps,  but  a  livid,  vivid  spaik  leapt  out  of  a 
cloud  at  which  I  was  looking,  and  there  was  a  crack,  a  crash, 
and  a  close  rattling  peal ;  and  I  thought  only  of  hiding  my 
dazzled  eyes  against  Mr.  Rochester's  shoulder. 

The  rain  rushed  down.  He  hurried  me  up  the  walk, 
through  the  grounds,  and  into  the  house  ;  but  we  were  quite 
wet  before  we  could  pass  the  threshold.  He  was  taking  off 
my  shawl  in  the  hall,  and  shaking  the  water  out  of  my 


JANE  EYEE  311 

loosened  hair,  when  Mrs.  Fairfax  emerged  from  her  room. 
I  did  not  observe  her  at  first,  nor  did  Mr.  Eochester.  The 
lamp  was  lit.  The  clock  was  on  the  stroke  of  twelve. 

1  Hasten  to  take  off  your  wet  things/  said  he ;  '  and  before 
you  go,  good-night — good-night,  my  darling  !  ' 

He  kissed  me  repeatedly.  When  I  looked  up,  on  leaving 
his  arms,  there  stood  the  widow,  pale,  grave,  and  amazed. 
I  only  smiled  at  her,  and  ran  upstairs.  '  Explanation  will 
do  for  another  time/  thought  I.  Still,  when  I  reached  my 
chamber,  I  felt  a  pang  at  the  idea  that  she  should  even 
temporarily  misconstrue  what  she  had  seen.  But  joy  soon 
effaced  every  other  feeling  ;  and  loud  as  the  wind  blew,  near 
and  deep  as  the  thunder  crashed,  fierce  and  frequent  as  the 
lightning  gleamed,  cataract-like  as  the  rain  fell  during  a 
storm  of  two  hours'  duration,  I  experienced  no  fear,  and  little 
awe.  Mr.  Eochester  came  thrice  to  my  door  in  the  course 
of  it,  to  ask  if  I  was  safe  and  tranquil :  and  that  was  comfort, 
that  was  strength  for  anything. 

Before  I  left  my  bed  in  the  morning,  little  Adele  came 
running  in  to  tell  me  that  the  great  horse-chestnut  at  the 
bottom  of  the  orchard  had  been  struck  by  lightning  in  the 
night,  and  half  of  it  split  away. 


312  JANE  EYEE 


CHAPTEE  XXIV 

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.  Eochester  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  coming 
up  the  walk,  and  I  ran  down  and  gave  them  all  the  money 
I  happened  to  have  in  my  purse — some  three  or  four 
shillings :  good  or  bad,  they  must  partake  of  my  jubilee. 
The  rooks  cawed,  and  blither  birds  sang ;  but  nothing  was 
so  merry  or  so  musical  as  my  own  rejoicing  heart. 

Mrs.  Fairfax  surprised  me  by  looking  out  of  the  window 
with  a  sad  countenance,  and  saying  gravely  : — '  Miss  Eyre, 
will  you  come  to  breakfast?'  During  the  meal  she  was 


JANE  EYBE  313 

quiet  and  cool:  but  I  could  not  undeceive  her  then.  I 
must  wait  for  my  master  to  give  explanations  ;  and  so  must 
she.  I  ate  what  I  could,  and  then  I  hastened  upstairs.  I 
met  Ad61e  leaving  the  school-room. 

'  Where  are  you  going  ?     It  is  time  for  lessons/ 

'  Mr.  Eochester  has  sent  me  away  to  the  nursery.' 

1  Where  is  he  ? ' 

1  In  there/  pointing  to  the  apartment  she  had  left ;  and 
I  went  in,  and  there  he  stood. 

'  Come  and  bid  me  good-morning/  said  he.  I  gladly 
advanced  ;  and  it  was  not  merely  a  cold  word  now,  or  even 
a  shake  of  the  hand  that  I  received,  but  an  embrace  and  a 
kiss.  It  seemed  natural ;  it  seemed  genial  to  be  so  well- 
loved,  so  caressed  by  him. 

1  Jane,  you  look  blooming,  and  smiling,  and  pretty,'  said 
lie :  '  truly  pretty  this  morning.  Is  this  my  pale,  little  elf  ?  Is 
this  my  mustard-seed?  This  little  sunny-faced  girl  with 
the  dimpled  cheek  and  rosy  lips  ;  the  satin-smooth  hazel 
hair,  and  the  radiant  hazel  eyes  ?  '  (I  had  green  eyes,  reader ; 
but  you  must  excuse  the  mistake :  for  him  they  were  new- 
dyed,  I  suppose.) 

'  It  is  Jane  Eyre,  sir.1 

1  Soon  to  be  Jane  Kochester,'  lie  added  :  '  in  four  weeks, 
Janet,  not  a  day  more.  Do  you  hear  that  ?  ' 

1  did,  and  I  could  not  quite  comprehend  it :  it  made  me 
giddy.  The  feeling,  the  announcement  sent  through  me,  was 
something  stronger  than  was  consistent  with  joy — some- 
thing that  smote  and  stunned :  it  was,  I  think,  almost  fear. 

'  You  blushed,  and  now  you  are  white,  Jane :  what  is 
that  for  ?  ' 

1  Because  you  gave  me  a  new  name — Jane  Eochester ; 
and  it  seems  so  strange.' 

1  Yes,  Mrs.  Eochester/  said  he ;  '  young  Mrs.  Eochester 
— Fairfax  Eochester's  girl-bride.' 

1  It  can  never  be,  sir ;  it  does  not  sound  likely.  Human 
beings  never  enjoy  complete  happiness  in  this  world.  I 
was  not  born  for  a  different  destiny  to  the  rest  of  my  species : 


314  JANE  EYRE 

to  imagine  such  a  lot  befalling  me  is  a  fairy  tale — a  day- 
dream/ 

I  Which  I  can  and  will  realise.    I  shall  begin  to-day. 
This  morning  I  wrote  to  my  banker  in  London  to  send  me 
certain  jewels  he  has  in  his  keeping, — heir-looms  for  the 
ladies  of  Thornfield.     In  a  day  or  two  I  hope  to  pour  them 
into  your  lap :  for  every  privilege,  every  attention  shall  be 
yours,  that  I  would  accord  a  peer's  daughter, .  if  about  to 
marry  her.' 

'  Oh,  sir ! — never  mind  jewels !  I  don't  like  to  hear 
them  spoken  of.  Jewels  for  Jane  Eyre  sounds  unnatural  and 
strange  :  I  would  rather  not  have  them.' 

I 1  will  myself  put  the  diamond  chain  round  your  neck, 
and  the  circlet  on  your  forehead, — which  it  will  become : 
for  nature,  at  least,  has  stamped  her  patent  of  nobility  on  this 
brow,  Jane ;  and  I  will  clasp  the  bracelets  on  these  fine 
wrists,  and  load  these  fairy-like  fingers  with  rings.' 

'  No,  no,  sir !  think  of  other  subjects,  and  speak  of  other 
things,  and  in  another  strain.  Don't  address  me  as  if  I 
were  a  beauty  ;  I  am  your  plain,  Quakerish  governess.' 

1  You  are  a  beauty,  in  my  eyes ;  and  a  beauty  just  after 
the  desire  of  my  heart, — delicate  and  aerial.' 

1  Puny  and  insignificant,  you  mean.  You  are  dreaming, 
sir, — or  you  are  sneering.  For  God's  sake,  don't  be  ironical ! ' 

'  I  will  make  the  world  acknowledge  you  a  beauty  too,' 
he  went  on,  while  I  really  became  uneasy  at  the  strain  he 
had  adopted  ;  because  I  felt  he  was  either  deluding  himself, 
or  trying  to  delude  me.  '  I  will  attire  my  Jane  in  satin  and 
lace,  and  she  shall  have  roses  in  her  hair ;  and  I  will  cover 
the  head  Hove  best  wibh  a  priceless  veil.' 

1  And  then  you  won't  know  me,  sir ;  and  I  shall  not  be 
your  Jane  Eyre  any  longer,  but  an  ape  in  a  harlequin's 
jacket, — a  jay  in  borrowed  plumes.  I  would  as  soon  see 
you,  Mr.  Eochester,  tricked  out  in  stage-trappings,  as  myself 
clad  in  a  court-lady's  robe ;  and  I  don't  call  you  handsome, 
sir,  though  I  love  you  most  dearly :  far  too  dearly  to  flatter 
you.  Don't  flatter  me.' 


JANE  EYEE  315 

He  pursued  his  theme,  however,  without  noticing  my 
deprecation.  '  This  very  day  I  shall  take  you  in  the  carriage 
to  Millcote,  and  you  must  choose  some  dresses  for  yourself. 
I  told  you  we  shall  be  married  in  four  weeks.  The  wedding 
is  to  take  place  quietly,  in  the  church  down  below  yonder  ; 
and  then  I  shall  waft  you  away  at  once  to  town.  After  a 
brief  stay  there,  I  shall  bear  my  treasure  to  regions  nearer 
the  sun  :  to  French  vineyards  and  Italian  plains  ;  and  she 
shall  see  whatever  is  famous  in  old  story  and  in  modern 
record :  she  shall  taste,  too,  of  the  life  of  cities ;  and  she 
shall  learn  to  value  herself  by  just  comparison  with  others/ 

*  Shall  I  travel  ? — and  with  you,  sir  ?  ' 

'  You  shall  sojourn  at  Paris,  Eome,  and  Naples :  at 
Florence,  Venice,  and  Vienna :  all  the  ground  I  have 
wandered  over  shall  be  re-trodden  by  you :  wherever  I 
stamped  my  hoof,  your  sylph's  foot  shall  step  also.  Ten 
years  since,  I  flow  through  Europe  half  mad ;  with  disgust, 
hate,  and  rage,  as  my  companions ;  now  I  shall  revisit  it 
healed  and  cleansed,  with  a  very  angel  as  my  comforter/ 

I  laughed  at  him  as  he  said  this.  *  I  am  not  an  angel,1  I 
asserted ;  '  and  I  will  not  be  one  till  I  die :  I  will  be  myself. 
Mr.  Eochester,  you  must  neither  expect  nor  exact  anything 
celestial  of  me — for  you  will  not  get  it,  any  more  than  I 
shall  get  it  of  you :  which  I  do  not  at  all  anticipate/ 

1  What  do  you  anticipate  of  me  ? ' 

1  For  a  little  while  you  will  perhaps  be  as  you  are  now, — 
a  very  little  while ;  and  then  you  will  turn  cool ;  and  then 
you  will  be  capricious ;  and  then  you  will  be  stern,  and  I 
shall  have  much  ado  to  please  you :  but  when  you  get  well 
used  to  me,  you  will  perhaps  like  me  again — like  me,  I  say, 
not  love  me.  I  suppose  your  love  will  effervesce  in  six 
months,  or  less.  I  have  observed  in  books  written  by  men, 
that  period  assigned  as  the  farthest  to  which  a  husband's 
ardour  extends.  Yet,  after  all,  as  a  friend  and  companion, 
I  hope  never  to  become  quite  distasteful  to  my  dear 
master/ 

*  Distasteful !  and  like  you  again  t    I  think  I  shall  like 


316  JANE  EYKE 

you  again  and  yet  again :  and  I  will  make  you  confess  I 
do  not  only  like,  but  loce  you — with  truth,  fervour,  con- 
stancy.' 

1  Yet  are  you  not  capricious,  sir  ? ' 

'  To  women  who  please  me  only  by  their  faces,  I  am  the 
very  devil  when  I  find  out  they  have  neither  souls  nor  hearts 
— when  they  open  to  me  a  perspective  of  flatness,  triviality, 
and  perhaps  imbecility,  coarseness,  and  ill-temper :  but  to 
the  clear  eye  and  eloquent  tongue,  to  the  soul  made  of  fire, 
and  the  character  that  bends  but  does  not  break — at  once 
supple  and  stable,  tractable  and  consistent — I  am  ever  tender 
and  true/ 

1  Had  you  ever  experience  of  such  a  character,  sir  ?  Did 
you  ever  love  such  an  one  ? ' 

'  I  love  it  now.' 

1  But  before  me  :  if  I,  indeed,  in  any  respect  come  up  to 
that  difficult  standard  ? ' 

'  I  never  met  your  likeness.  Jane  :  you  please  me,  and 
you  master  me — you  seem  to  submit,  and  I  like  the  sense  of 
pliancy  you  impart :  and  while  I  am  twining  the  soft,  silken 
skein  round  my  finger,  it  sends  a  thrill  up  my  ai  m  to  my 
heart.  I  am  influenced— conquered ;  and  the  influence  is 
sweeter  than  I  can  express  ;  and  the  conquest  I  undergo  has 
a  witchery  beyond  any  triumph  I  can  win.  Why  do  you 
smile,  Jane  ?  What  does  that  inexplicable,  that  uncanny 
turn  of  countenance  mean  ? ' 

'  I  was  thinking,  sir  (you  will  excuse  the  idea ;  it  was 
involuntary),  I  was  thinking  of  Hercules  and  Samson  with 
their  charmers ' 

'  You  were,  you  little  elfish ' 

'  Hush,  sir !  You  don't  talk  very  wisely  just  now ;  any 
more  than  those  gentlemen  acted  very  wisely.  However, 
had  they  been  married,  they  would  no  doubt  by  their  severity 
as  husbands  have  made  up  for  their  softness  as  suitors  ;  and 
so  will  you,  I  fear.  I  wonder  how  you  will  answer  me  a 
year  hence,  should  I  ask  a  favour  it  does  not  suit  your  con- 
venience or  pleasure  to  grant/ 


JANE  EYEE  317 

*  Ask  me  something  now,  Janet — the  least  thing  :  I  desire 
to  be  entreated ' 

*  Indeed,  I  will,  sir ;  I  have  my  petition  all  ready.1 

'  Speak  I  But  if  you  look  up  and  smile  with  that  coun- 
tenance, I  shall  swear  concession  before  I  know  to  what,  and 
that  will  make  a  fool  of  me/ 

*  Not  at  all,  sir ;  I  ask  only  this  :  don't  send  for  the  jewels, 
and  don't  crown  me  with  roses :  you  might  as  well  put  a 
bolder  of  gold  lace  round  that  plain  pocket  handkerchief  you 
have  there.' 

'  I  might  as  well  "  gild  refined  gold."  I  know  it :  your 
request  is  granted  then — for  the  time.  I  will  remand  the 
order  I  despatched  to  my  banker.  But  you  have  not  yet 
asked  for  anything ;  you  have  prayed  a  gift  to  be  withdrawn  : 
try  again/ 

4  Well,  then,  sir ;  have  the  goodness  to  gratify  my 
curiosity,  which  is  much  piqued  on  one  point/ 

He  looked  disturbed.  *  What  ?  what  ?  '  he  said  hastily. 
'Curiosity  is  a  dangerous  petition:  it  is  well  I  have  not 
taken  a  vow  to  accord  every  request ' 

'But  there  can  be  no  danger  in  complying  with  tm's, 
sir/ 

1  Utter  it,  Jane :  but  I  wish  that  instead  of  a  mere 
inquiry  into  perhaps,  a  secret,  it  was  a  wish  for  half  niy 
estate/ 

*  Now,  king  Ahasuerus  1     What  do  I  want  with  half  your 
estate  ?     Do  you  think  I  am  a  Jew-usurer,  seeking  good  in- 
vestment in  land  ?    I  would  much  rather  have  all  your 
confidence.    You  will  not  exclude  me  from  your  confidence, 
if  you  admit  me  to  your  heart  ?  ' 

*You  are  welcome  to  all  my  confidence  that  is  worth 
having,  Jane :  but  for  God's  sake  don't  desire  a  useless 
burden  !  Don't  long  for  poison — don't  turn  out  a  downright 
Eve  on  my  hands  I ' 

*  Why  not,  sir  ?    You  have  just  been  telling  me  how  much 
you  liked  to  be  conquered,  and  how  pleasant  over-persuasion 
is  to  you.    Don't  you  think  I  had  better  take  advantage  of 


318  JANE  EYEB 

the  confession,  and  begin  and  coax,  and  entreat — even  cry 
and  be  sulky  if  necessary — for  the  sake  of  a  mere  essay  of 
my  power  ? ' 

1 1  dare  you  to  any  such  experiment.  Encroach,  presume, 
and  the  game  is  up.' 

'  Is  it,  sir  ?  You  soon  give  in.  How  stern  you  look 
now  !  Your  eyebrows  have  become  as  thick  as  my  finger, 
and  your  forehead  resembles,  wjmt,  in  some  very  astonishing 
poetry,  I  once  saw  styled  "  a  blue-piled  thunderloft."  That 
will  be  your  married  look,  sir,  I  suppose  ? ' 

'  If  that  will  be  your  married  look,  I,  as  a  Christian,  will 
soon  give  up  the  notion  of  consorting  with  a  mere  sprite  or 
salamander.  But  what  had  you  to  ask,  thing?— out  with 
it!1 

'  There,  you  are  less  than  civil  now ;  and  I  like  rudeness  a 
great  deal  better  than  flattery.  I  had  rather  be  a  thing  than 
an  angel.  This  is  what  I  have  to  ask  : — Why  did  you  take 
such  pains  to  make  me  believe  you  wished  to  marry  Miss 
Ingram  ? ' 
^  '  Is  that  all  ?  Thank  God,  it  is  no  worse ! ' 

And  now  he  unknit  his  black  brows ;  looked  down, 
smiling  at  me,  and  stroked  my  hair,  as  if  well  pleased  at 
seeing  a  danger  averted. 

1 1  think  I  may  confess/  he  continued,  '  even  although  I 
should  make  you  a  little  indignant,  Jane — and  I  have  seen 
what  a  fire-spirit  you  can  be  when  you  are  indignant.  You 
glowed  in  the  cool  moonlight  last  night,  when  you  mutinied 
against  fate,  and  claimed  your  rank  as  my  equal.  Janet, 
by-the-by,  it  was  you  who  made  me  the  offer/ 

'  Of  course,  I  did.  But  to  the  point  if  you  please,  sir — 
Miss  Ingram?' 

'Well,  I  feigned  courtship  of  Miss  Ingram,  because  I 
wished  to  render  you  as  madly  in  love  with  me  as  I  was  with 
you ;  and  I  knew  jealousy  would  be  the  best  ally  I  could  call 
in  for  the  furtherance  of  that  end/ 

'  Excellent  1 — now  you  are  small — not  one  whit  bigger 
than  the  end  of  my  little  finger.  It  was  a  burning  shame, 


JANE  EYEE  319 

and  a  scandalous  disgrace  to  act  in  that  way.  Did  you 
think  nothing  of  Miss  Ingram's  feelings,  sir  ?  ' 

'  Her  feelings  are  concentrated  in  one-  -pride ;  and  that 
needs  humbling.  Were  you  jealous,  Jane  ? ' 

1  Never  mind,  Mr.  Rochester  :  it  is  in  no  way  interesting 
to  you  to  know  that.  Answer  me  truly  once  more.  Do  you 
think  Miss  Ingram  will  not  suffer  from  your  dishones, 
coquetry  ?  Won't  she  feel  forsaken  and  deserted  ? ' 

1  Impossible  ! — when  I  told  you  how  she,  on  the  contrary, 
deserted  me:  the  idea  of  my  insolvency  cooled,  or  rather 
extinguished,  her  flame  in  a  moment.' 

'  You  have  a  curious  designing  mind,  Mr.  Rochester.  I 
am  afraid  your  principles  on  some  points  are  eccentric/ 

1  My  principles  were  never  trained,  Jane  :  they  may  have 
grown  a  little  awry  for  want  of  attention.1 

'  Once  again,  seriously ;  may  I  enjoy  the  great  good  that 
has  been  vouchsafed  to  me,  without  fearing  that  any  one 
else  is  suffering  the  bitter  pain  I  myself  felt  a  while  ago  ?  ' 

1  That  you  may,  my  good  little  girl :  there  is  not  another 
being  in  the  world  has  the  same  pure  love  for  me  as  yourself 
— for  I  lay  that  pleasant  unction  to  my  soul,  Jane,  a  belief 
in  your  affection/ 

I  turned  my  lips  to  the  hand  that  lay  on  my  shoulder.  I 
loved  him  very  much — more  than  I  could  trust  myself  to 
say — more  than  words  had  power  to  express. 

1  Ask  something  more,'  he  said  presently ;  '  it  is  my  delight 
to  be  entreated,  and  to  yield/ 

I  was  again  ready  with  my  request. 

1  Communicate  your  intentions  to  Mrs.  Fairfax,  sir :  she 
saw  me  with  you  last  night  in  the  hall,  and  she  was  shocked. 
Give  her  some  explanation  before  I  see  her  again.  It  pains 
me  to  be  misjudged  by  so  good  a  woman/ 

1  Go  to  your  room,  and  put  on  your  bonnet/  he  replied. 
'I  mean  you  to  accompany  me  to  Millcote  this  morning; 
and  while  you  prepare  for  the  drive,  I  will  enlighten  the  old 
lady's  understanding.  Did  she  think,  Janet,  you  had  given 
the  world  for  love,  and  considered  it  well  lost  ? ' 

M2 


320  JANE  EYEE 

1 1  believe  she  thought  *I  had  forgotten  my  station,  and 
yours,  sir.' 

'  Station !  station  1 — your  station  is  in  my  heart,  and  on 
the  necks  of  those  who  would  insult  you,  now  or  hereafter — 
Go/ 

I  was  soon  dressed ;  and  when  I  heard  Mr.  Bochester 
quit  Mrs.  Fairfax's  parlour,  I  hurried  down  to  it.  The  old 
lady  had  been  reading  her  morning  portion  of  Scripture — 
the  lesson  for  the  day ;  her  Bible  lay  open  before  her,  and 
her  spectacles  were  upon  it.  Her  occupation,  suspended  by 
Mr.  ^Rochester's  announcement,  seemed  now  forgotten :  her 
eyes,  fixed  on  the  blank  wall  opposite,  expressed  the  surprise 
of  a  quiet  mind,  stirred  by  unwonted  tidings.  Seeing  me, 
she  roused  herself  :  she  made  a  sort  of  effort  to  smile,  and 
framed  a  few  words  of  congratulation ;  but  the  smile  expired, 
and  the  sentence  was  abandoned  unfinished.  She  put  up 
her  spectacles,  shut  the  Bible,  and  pushed  her  chair  back 
from  the  table. 

'  I  feel  so  astonished,'  she  began,  '  I  hardly  know  what  to 
say  to  you,  Miss  Eyre.  I  have  surely  not  been  dreaming, 
have  I?  Sometimes  I  half  fall  asleep  when  I  am  sitting 
alone,  and  fancy  things  that  have  never  happened.  It  has 
seemed  to  me  more  than  once  when  I  have  been  in  a  doze, 
that  my  dear  husband,  who  died  fifteen  years  since,  has 
come  in  and  sat  down  beside  me ;  and  that  I  have  even 
heard  him  call  me  by  my  name,  Alice,  as  he  used  to  do. 
Now,  can  you  tell  me  whether  it  is  actually  true  that  Mr. 
Kochester  has  asked  you  to  marry  him  ?  Don't  laugh  at  me. 
But  I  really  thought  he  came  in  here  five  minutes  ago,  and 
said,  that  in  a  month  you  would  be  his  wife.' 

1  He  has  said  the  same  thing  to  me,'  I  replied. 

1  He  has  !  Do  you  believe  him  ?  Have  you  accepted 
him?' 

'  Yes.1 

She  looked  at  me  bewildered. 

'  I  could  never  have  thought  it.  He  is  a  proud  man  :  all 
the  Bochesters  were  proud :  and  his  father,  at  least,  liked 


JANE  EYEE  321 

money.    He,  too,  has  always  been  called   careful.     He 
means  to  marry  you  ? ' 

'  He  tells  me  so/ 

She  surveyed  my  whole  person  :  In  her  eyes  I  read  that 
they  had  there  found  no  charm  powerful  enough  to  solve 
the  enigma. 

1  It  passes  me !  *  she  continued  :  '  but  no  doubt  it  is  true 
since  you  say  so.  How  it  will  answer,  I  cannot  tell :  I 
really  don't  know.  Equality  of  position  and  fortune  is  often 
advisable  in  such  cases;  and  there  are  twenty  years  of 
difference  in  your  ages.  He  might  almost  be  your  father/ 

'  No,  indeed,  Mrs.  Fairfax  !  '  exclaimed  I,  nettled :  '  he  is 
nothing  like  my  father !  No  one,  who  saw  us  together, 
would  suppose  it  for  an  instant.  Mr.  Eochester  looks  as 
young,  and  is  as  young,  as  some  men  at  five-and-twenty/ 

1  Is  it  really  for  love  he  is  going  to  marry  you  ? '  she 
asked. 

I  was  so  hurt  by  her  coldness  and  scepticism  that  the 
tears  rose  to  my  eyes. 

*  I  am  sorry  to  grieve  you/  pursued  the  widow ;  '  but  you 
are  so  young,  and  so  little  acquainted  with  men,  I  wished  to 
put  you  on  your  guard.  It  is  an  old  saying  that  "  all  is  not 
gold  that  glitters ; "  and  in  this  case  I  do  fear  there  will 
be  something  found  to  be  different  to  what  either  you  or  I 
expect/ 

'  Why  ? — am  I  a  monster  ? '  I  said :  '  is  it  impossible  that 
Mr.  Eochester  should  have  a  sincere  affection  for  me  ? ' 

'  No :  you  are  very  well ;  and  much  improved  of  late : 
and  Mr.  Eochester,  I  daresay,  is  fond  of  you.  I  have 
always  noticed  that  you  were  a  sort  of  pet  of  his.  There  are 
times  when,  for  your  sake,  I  have  been  a  little  uneasy  at  his 
marked  preference,  and  have  wished  to  put  you  on  your 
guard :  but  I  did  not  like  to  suggest  even  the  possibility  of 
wrong.  I  knew  such  an  idea  would  shock,  perhaps  offend 
you ;  and  you  were  so  discreet,  and  so  thoroughly  modest 
and  sensible,  I  hoped  you  might  be  trusted  to  protect  your- 
self. Last  night  I  cannot  tell  you  what  I  suffered  when  I 


322  JANE  EYEE 

sought  all  over  the  house,  and  could  find  you  nowhere,  nor 
the  master  either ;  and  then,  at  twelve  o'clock,  saw  you 
come  in  with  him.' 

1  Well,  never  mind  that  now/  I  interrupted  impatiently : 
'  it  is  enough  that  all  was  right/ 

'I  hope  all  will  be  right  in  the  end/  she  said:  'but 
believe  me,  you  cannot  be  too  careful.  Try  and  keep  Mr. 
Bochester  at  a  distance :  distrust  yourself  as  well  as  him. 
Gentlemen  in  his  station  are  not  accustomed  to  marry  their 
governesses.' 

I  was  growing  truly  irritated  :  happily,  Ad61e  ran  in. 

'  Let  me  go, — let  me  go  to  Millcote  too ! '  she  cried. 
1  Mr.  Bochester  won't :  though  there  is  so  much  room  in  the 
new  carriage.  Beg  him  to  let  me  go,  mademoiselle/ 

'  That  I  will,  Ad61e ; '  and  I  hastened  away  with  her, 
glad  to  quit  my  gloomy  monitress.  The  carriage  was  ready: 
they  were  bringing  it  round  to  the  front,  and  my  master  was 
pacing  the  pavement,  Pilot  following  him  backwards  and  for- 
wards. 

'  Ad&le  may  accompany  us,  may  she  not,  sir  ?  ' 

€  I  told  her  no.     I'll  have  no  brats ! — I'll  have  only  you/ 

'  Do  let  her  go,  Mr.  Bochester,  if  you  please :  it  would  be 
better/ 

'  Not  it :  she  will  be  a  restraint/ 

He  was  quite  peremptory,  both  in  look  and  voice.  The 
chill  of  Mrs.  Fairfax's  warnings,  and  the  damp  of  her  doubts 
were  upon  me:  something  of  un substantiality  and  uncer- 
tainty had  beset  my  hopes.  I  half  lost  the  sense  of  power 
over  him.  I  was  about  mechanically  to  obey  him,  with- 
out further  remonstrance;  but  as  he  helped  mo  into  the 
carriage,  he  looked  at  my  face. 

1  What  is  the  matter  ? '  ho  asked ;  '  all  the  sunshine  is 
gone.  Do  you  really  wish  the  bairn  to  go  ?  Will  it  annoy 
you  if  she  is  left  behind  ? ' 

'  I  would  far  rather  she  went,  sir/ 

1  Then  off  for  your  bonnet,  and  back,  like  a  flash  of  light- 
ning I '  cried  he  to  Ad&le. 


JANE  EYEB  323 

She  obeyed  him  with  what  speed  she  might. 

1  After  all,  a  single  morning's  interruption  will  not  matter 
much,1  said  he,  '  when  I  mean  shortly  to  claim  you  —  your 
thoughts,  conversation,  and  company  —  for  life.' 

Adele,  when  lifted  in,  commenced  kissing  me,  by  way  of 
expressing  her  gratitude  for  my  intercession  :  she  was  in- 
stantly stowed  away  into  a  corner  on  the  other  side  of  him. 
She  then  peeped  round  to  where  I  sat  ;  so  stern  a  neighbour 
was  too  restrictive  :  to  him,  in  his  present  fractious  mood, 
she  dared  whisper  no  observations,  nor  ask  of  him  any 
information. 

1  Let  her  come  to  me,'  I  entreated  :  '  she  will,  perhaps, 
trouble  you,  sir  :  there  is  plenty  of  room  on  this  side.' 

He  handed  her  over  as  if  she  had  been  a  lap-dog  ;  '  I'll 
send  her  to  school  yet,'  he  said,  but  now  he  was  smiling. 

Ad&le  heard  him,  and  asked  if  she  was  to  go  to  school 
1  sans  mademoiselle.' 

1  Yes,'  he  replied,  '  absolutely  sans  mademoiselle  ;  for  I 
am  to  take  mademoiselle  to  the  moon,  and  there  I  shall  seek 
a  cave  in  one  of  the  white  valleys  among  the  volcano-tops, 
and  mademoiselle  shall  live  with  me  there,  and  only  me.' 

1  She  will  have  nothing  to  eat  :  you  will  starve  her,' 
observed  Adfele. 

'  I  shall  gather  manna  for  her  morning  and  night  :  the 
plains  and  hillsides  in  the  moon  are  bleached  with  manna, 


1  She  will  want  to  warm  herself  :  what  will  she  do  for  a 
fire?' 

'  Fire  rises  out  of  the  lunar  mountains  :  when  she  is  cold, 
I'll  carry  her  up  to  a  peak  and  lay  her  down  on  the  edge  of 
a  crater.' 

1  Oh,  qu'elle  y  sera  mal  —  peu  confortable  1  And  her 
clothes,  they  will  wear  out  :  how  can  she  get  new  ones  ?  ' 

Mr.  Eochester  professed  to  be  puzzled.  '  Hem  ?  '  said 
he.  '  What  would  you  do,  Ad61e  ?  Cudgel  your  brains  for 
an  expedient.  How  would  a  white  or  a  pink  cloud  answer 


324  JANE  EYEE 

for  a  gown,  do  you  think  ?  And  one  could  cut  a  pretty 
enough  scarf  out  of  a  rainbow.1 

'She  is  far  better  as  she  is,1  concluded  Ad&le,  after 
musing  some  time :  '  besides,  she  would  get  tired  of  living 
with  only  you  in  the  moon.  If  I  were  mademoiselle,  I  would 
never  consent  to  go  with  you/ 

1  She  has  consented :  she  has  pledged  her  word/ 

1  But  you  can't  get  her  there :  there  is  no  road  to  the 
moon  :  it  is  all  air ;  and  neither  you  nor  she  can  fly/ 

'  Ad61e,  look  at  that  field/  We  were  now  outside  Thorn- 
field  gates,  and  bowling  lightly  along  the  smooth  road  to 
Millcote,  where  the  dust  was  well-laid  by  the  thunder-storm, 
and  where  the  low  hedges  and  lofty  timber  trees  on  each 
side  glistened  green,  and  rain-refreshed. 

'In  that  field,  Ad61e,  I  was  walking  late  one  evening 
about  a  fortnight  since — the  evening  of  the  day  you  helped 
me  to  make  hay  in  the  orchard  meadows ;  and  as  I  was  tired 
with  raking  swaths,  I  sat  down  to  rest  me  on  a  stile ;  and 
there  I  took  out  a  little  book  and  a  pencil,  and  began  to 
write  about  a  misfortune  that  befell  me  long  ago  and  a  wish 
I  had  for  happy  days  to  come :  I  was  writing  away  very  fast, 
though  daylight  was  fading  from  the  leaf,  when  something 
came  up  the  path  and  stopped  two  yards  off  me.  I  looked 
at  it.  It  was  a  little  thing  with  a  veil  of  gossamer  on  its 
head.  I  beckoned  it  to  come  near  me  ;  it  stood  soon  at  my 
knee.  I  never  spoke  to  it,  and  it  never  spoke  to  me,  in 
words :  but  I  read  its  eyes,  and  it  read  mine ;  and  our 
speechless  colloquy  was  to  this  effect : — It  was  a  fairy,  and 
come  from  Elf -land,  it  said ;  and  its  errand  was  to  make  me 
happy :  I  must  go  with  it  out  of  the  common  world  to  a 
lonely  place — such  as  the  moon,  for  instance — and  it  nodded 
its  head  towards  her  horn,  rising  over  Hay-hill :  it  told  me 
of  the  alabaster  cave  and  silver  vale  where  we  might  live.  I 
said  I  should  like  to  go  ;  but  reminded  it,  as  you  did  me,  that 
I  had  no  wings  to  fly/ 

1 "  Oh,"  returned  the  fairy,  "  that  does  not  signify  !  Here 
is  a  talisman  will  remove  all  difficulties ; "  and  she  held  out 


JANE  EYEB  325 

a  pretty  gold  ring.  "  Put  it,"  she  said,  "  on  the  fourth  finger 
of  my  left  hand,  and  I  am  yours,  and  you  are  mine  ;  and  we 
shall  leave  earth,  and  make  our  own  heaven  yonder."  She 
nodded  again  at  the  moon.  The  ring,  Adele,  is  in  my 
breeches-pocket,  under  the  disguise  of  a  sovereign :  but  I 
mean  soon  to  change  it  to  a  ring  again.1 

*  But  what  has  mademoiselle  to  do  with  it  ?    I  don't  care 
for  the  fairy :  you  said  it  was  mademoiselle  you  would  take 

to  the  moon  ?  ' 

1  Mademoiselle  is  a  fairy/  he  said,  whispering  mysteri- 
ously. Whereupon  I  told  her  not  to  mind  his  badinage  ;  and 
she,  on  her  part,  evinced  a  fund  of  genuine  French  scepti- 
cism :  denominating  Mr.  Rochester  '  un  vrai  menteur/  and 
assuring  Inm  that  she  had  made  no  account  whatever  of  his 
'  Coiites  de  f<§e/  and  that '  du  reste,  il  n'y  avait  pas  de  f6es, 
et  quand  mtoe  il  y  en  avait/  she  was  sure  they  would  never 
appear  to  him,  nor  ever  give  him  rings,  or  offer  to  live  with 
him  in  the  moon.  The  hour  spent  at  Millcote  was  a  some- 
what harassing  one  to  me.  Mr.  Rochester  obliged  me  to  go 
to  a  certain  silk  warehouse  :  there  I  was  ordered  to  choose 
half  a  dozen  dresses.  I  hated  the  business,  I  begged  leave  to 
defer  it :  no — it  should  be  gone  through  with  now.  By  dint 
of  entreaties  expressed  in  energetic  whispers  I  reduced  the 
half-dozen  to  two:  these,  however,  he  vowed  he  would 
select  himself.  With  anxiety  I  watched  his  eye  rove  over  the 
gay  stores:  he  fixed  on  a  rich  silk  of  the  most  brilliant 
amethyst  dye,  and  a  superb  pink  satin.  I  told  him  in  a  new 
series  of  whispers,  that  he  might  as  well  buy  me  a  gold 
gown  and  a  silver  bonnet  at  once  :  I  should  certainly  never 
venture  to  wear  his  choice.  With  infinite  difficulty,  for  he 
was  stubborn  as  a  stone,  I  persuaded  him  to  make  an 
exchange  in  favour  of  a  sober  black  satin  and  pearl-grey 
silk.  '  It  might  pass  for  the  present/  he  said ;  *  but  he  would 
yet  see  me  glittering  like  a  parterre.' 

Glad  was  I  to  get  him  out  of  the  silk  warehouse,  and  then 
out  of  a  jeweller's  shop  :  the  more  he  bought  me,  the  more 
my  cheek  burned  with  a  sense  of  annoyance  and  degradation 


326  JANE  EYEE 

As  we  re-entered  the  carriage,  and  I  sat  back  feverish  and 
fagged,  I  remembered  what  in  the  hurry  of  events,  dark  and 
bright,  I  had  wholly  forgotten  — the  letter  of  my  uncle, 
John  Eyre,  to  Mrs.  Eeed :  his  intention  to  adopt  me  and  make 
me  his  legatee.  '  It  would,  indeed,  be  a  relief,1 1  thought, 
1  if  I  had  ever  so  small  an  independency ;  I  never  can  bear 
being  dressed  like  a  doll  by  Mr.  Bochester,  or  sitting  like  a 
second  Danae  with  the  golden  shower  falling  daily  round 
me.  I  will  write  to  Madeira  the  moment  I  get  home,  and 
tell  my  uncle  John  I  am  going  to  be  married,  and  to  whom  : 
if  I  had  but  a  prospect  of  one  day  bringing  Mr.  Eochester 
an  accession  of  fortune,  I  could  better  endure  to  be  kept  by 
him  now.*  And  somewhat  relieved  by  this  idea  (which  I 
failed  not  to  execute  that  day),  I  ventured  once  more  to  meet 
my  master's  and  lover's  eye;  which  most  pertinaciously 
sought  mine,  though  I  averted  both  face  and  gaze.  He 
smiled ;  and  I  thought  his  smile  was  such  as  a  sultan  might, 
in  a  blissful  and  fond  moment,  bestow  on  a  slave  his  gold 
and  gems  had  enriched :  I  crushed  his  hand,  which  was  ever 
hunting  mine,  vigorously,  and  thrust  it  back  to  him  red  with 
the  passionate  pressure 

'  You  need  not  look  in  that  way/  I  said :  '  if  you  do 
I'll  wear  nothing  but  my  old  Lowood  frocks  to  the  end  of 
the  chapter.  I'll  be  married  in  this  lilac  gingham — you 
may  make  a  dressing-gown  for  yourself  out  of  the  pearl- 
grey  silk,  and  an  infinite  series  of  waistcoats  out  of  the  black 
satin.' 

He  chuckled ;  he  rubbed  his  hands  :  '  Oh,  it  is  rich  to  see 
and  hear  her ! '  he  exclaimed.  '  Is  she  original  ?  Is  she 
piquant  ?  I  would  not  exchange  this  one  little  English  girl 
for  the  grand  Turk's  whole  seraglio ;  gazelle-eyes,  houri 
forms,  and  all  1 ' 

The  Eastern  allusion  bit  me  again  :  '  I'll  not  stand  you  an 
inch  ip  the  stead  of  a  seraglio/ 1  said ;  '  so  don't  consider  me 
an  equivalent  for  one ;  if  you  have  a  fancy  for  anything  in 
uhat  line,  away  with  you,  sir,  to  the  bazaars  of  Stamboul 


JANE  EYEB  327 

without  delay;  and  lay  out  in  extensive  slave-purchases 
some  of  that  spare  cash  you  seem  at  a  loss  to  spend  satisfac- 
torily here.' 

I  And  what  will  you  do,  Janet,  while  I  am  bargaining  for 
so  many  tons  of  flesh  and  such  an  assortment  of  black 
eyes  ? f 

'  I'll  be  preparing  myself  to  go  out  as  a  missionary  to 
preach  liberty  to  them  that  are  enslaved — your  harem 
inmates  amongst  the  rest.  I'll  get  admitted  there,  and  I'll 
stir  up  mutiny;  and  you,  three-tailed  bashaw  as  you  are, 
sir,  shall  in  a  trice  find  yourself  fettered  amongst  our  hands : 
nor  will  I,  for  one,  consent  to  cut  your  bonds  till  you  have 
signed  a  charter,  the  most  liberal  that  despot  ever  yet  con- 
ferred/ 

'  I  would  consent  to  be  at  your  mercy,  Jane.' 

'  I  would  have  no  mercy,  Mr.  Eochester,  if  you  supplicated 
for  it  with  an  eye  like  that.  While  you  looked  so,  I  should  be 
certain  that  whatever  charter  you  might  grant  under 
coercion,  your  first  act,  when  released,  would  be  to  violate 
its  conditions.' 

'Why,  Jane,  what  would  you  have?  I  fear  you  will 
compel  me  to  go  through  a  private  marriage  ceremony, 
besides  that  performed  at  the  altar.  You  will  stipulate,  I 
see,  for  peculiar  terms — what  will  they  be  ?  ' 

I 1  only  want  an  easy  mind,  sir ;  not  crushed  by  crowded 
obligations.     Do  you  remember  what  you  said  of  C6hne 
Varens  ? — of  the  diamonds,  the  cashmeres  you  gave  her  ?    I 
will  not  be  your  English  C61ine  Varens.    I  shall  continue  to 
act  as  Ad&le's  governess ;  by  that  I  shall  earn  my  board  and 
lodging,  and  thirty  pounds  a  year  besides.     I'll  furnish  my 
own  wardrobe  out  of  that  money,  and  you  shall  give  me 
nothing  but ' 

'Well,  but  what?' 

1  Your  regard  :  and  if  I  give  you  mine  in  return,  that  debt 
will  be  quit.' 

'  Well,  for  cool  native  impudence,  and  pure  innate  pride, 
you  haven't  your  equal,'  said  he.  We  were  now  approaching 


328  JANE  EYEE 

Thornfield.    '\\ill  it  please  you  to  dine  with  me  to-day?' 
he  asked,  as  we  re-entered  the  gates. 
'No,  thank  you,  sir.' 

I  And  what  for,  "  no,  thank  you,"  if  one  may  inquire  ? ' 

I 1  never  have  dined  with  you,  sir  :  and  I  see  no  reason 
why  I  should  now  :  till ' 

'  Till  what  ?    You  delight  in  half -phrases/ 

1  Till  I  can't  help  it.' 

1  Do  you  suppose  I  eat  like  an  ogre,  or  a  ghoul,  that  you 
dread  being  the  companion  of  my  repast  ? ' 

'  I  have  formed  no  supposition  on  the  subject,  sir ;  but  I 
want  to  go  on  as  usual  for  another  month.' 

'  You  will  give  up  your  governessing  slavery  at  once.' 

'  Indeed !  begging  your  pardon,  sir,  I  shall  not.  I  sball 
just  go  on  with  it  as  usual.  I  shall  keep  out  of  your  way 
all  day,  as  I  have  been  accustomed  to  do  :  you  may  send  for 
me  in  the  evening,  when  you  feel  disposed  to  see  me,  and  I'll 
come  then  ;  but  at  no  other  time.' 

'  I  want  a  smoke,  Jane,  or  a  pinch  of  snuff,  to  comfort 
me  under  all  this,  "  pour  me  donner  une  contenance,"  as  Addle 
would  say ;  and  unfortunately  I  have  neither  my  cigar-case, 
nor  my  snuff-box.  But  listen — whisper-  it  is  your  time 
now,  little  tyrant,  but  it  will  be  mine  presently  :  and  when 
once  I  have  fairly  seized  you,  to  have  and  to  hold,  I'll  just 
— figuratively  speaking — attach  you  to  a  chain  like  this' 
(touching  his  watch-guard).  'Yes,  bonny  wee  thing,  I'll 
wear  you  in  my  bosom,  lest  my  jewel  I  should  tyne.' 

He  said  this  as  he  helped  me  to  alight  from  the  carriage  ; 
and  while  he  afterwards  lifted  out  Addle,  I  entered  the 
house,  and  made  good  my  retreat  upstairs. 

He  duly  summoned  me  to  his  presence  in  the  evening. 
I  had  prepared  an  occupation  for  him  ;  for  I  was  determined 
not  to  spend  the  whole  time  in  a  ttte-d-Ute  conversation.  I 
remembered  his  fine  voice ;  I  knew  he  liked  to  sing — good 
singers  generally  do.  I  was  no  vocalist  myself,  and,  in  his 
fastidious  judgment,  no  musician  either ;  but  I  delighted  in 
listening  when  the  performance  was  good.  No  sooner  had 


JANE  EYBE  329 

twilight,  that  hour  of  romance,  began  to  lower  her  blue  and 
starry  banner  over  the  lattice,  than  I  rose,  opened  the  pianc, 
and  entreated  him,  for  the  love  of  heaven,  to  give  me  a  song. 
He  said  I  was  a  capricious  witch,  and  that  he  would  rather 
sing  another  time ;  but  I  averred  that  no  time  was  like  the 
present. 

1  Did  I  like  his  voice  ? '  he  asked. 

'Very  much.1  I  was  not  fond  of  pampering  that  sus- 
ceptible vanity  of  his ;  but  for  once,  and  from  motives  of 
expediency,  I  would  e'en  soothe  and  stimulate  it. 

*  Then,  Jane,  you  must  play  the  accompaniment/ 

'  Very  well,  sir  ;  I  will  try.' 

I  did  i-ry,  but  was  presently  swept  off  the  stool  and  de- 
nominated *  a  little  bungler/  Being  pushed  unceremoniously 
to  one  side — which  was  precisely  what  I  wished — he  usurped 
my  place,  and  proceeded  to  accompany  himself :  for  he 
could  play  as  well  as  sing.  I  hied  me  to  the  window-recess ; 
and  while  I  sat  there  and  looked  out  on  the  still  trees  and 
dim  lawn,  to  a  sweet  air  was  sung  in  mellow  tones  the 
following  strain : — 

The  truest  love  that  ever  heart 

Felt  at  its  kindled  core 
Did  through  each  vein,  in  quickened  start, 

The  tide  of  being  pour. 

Her  coming  was  my  hope  each  day, 

Her  parting  was  my  pain  ; 
The  chance  that  did  her  steps  delay 

Was  ice  in  every  vein. 

I  dreamed  it  would  be  nameless  bliss, 

As  I  loved,  loved  to  be  ; 
And  to  this  object  did  I  press 

As  blind  as  eagerly. 

But  wide  as  pathless  was  the  space 

That  lay,  our  lives,  between, 
And  dangerous  as  the  foamy  race 

Of  ocean-surges  green. 


330  JANE  BYEB 

And  haunted  as  a  robber-path 

Through  wilderness  or  wood ; 
For  Might  and  Bight,  and  Woe  and  Wrath, 

Between  our  spirits  stood* 

I  dangers  dared  ;  I  hindrance  scorned ; 

I  omens  did  defy : 
Whatever  menaced,  harassed,  warned, 

I  passed  impetuous  by. 

On  aped  my  rainbow,  fast  as  light ; 

I  Hew  as  in  a  dream ; 
For  glorious  rose  upon  my  sight 

That  child  of  Shower  and  Gleam. 

Still  bright  on  clouds  of  suffering  dim 

Shines  that  soft,  solemn  joy ; 
Nor  care  I  now,  how  dense  and  grim 

Disasters  gather  nigh. 

I  care  not  in  this  moment  sweet, 

Though  all  I  have  rushed  o'er 
Should  come  on  pinion,  strong  and  fleet, 

Proclaiming  vengeance  sore : 

Though  haughty  Hate  should  strike  me  down, 

Bight,  bar  approach  to  me, 
And  grinding  Might,  with  furious  frown, 

Swear  endless  enmity. 

My  love  has  placed  her  little  hand 

With  noble  faith  in  mine, 
And  vowed  that  wedlock's  sacred  band 

Our  nature  shall  entwine. 

My  love  has  sworn,  with  sealing  kiss, 

With  me  to  live — to  die ; 
I  have  at  last  my  nameless  bliss : 

As  I  love — loved  am  I ! 

He  rose  and  came  towards  me,  and  I  saw  his  face  all 
kindled,  and  his  full  falcon-eye  flashing,  and  tenderness  and 
passion  in  every  lineament.  I  quailed  momentarily — then  I 
rallied.  Soft  scene,  daring  demonstration,  I  would  not 


JANE  EYRE  331 

have ;  and  I  stood  in  peril  of  both :  a  weapon  of  defence 
must  be  prepared — I  whetted  my  tongue :  as  he  reached 
me,  I  asked  with  asperity,  '  whom  he  was  going  to  marry 
now?' 

1  That  was  a  strange  question  to  be  put  by  his  darling 
Jane.' 

'  Indeed  !  I  considered  it  a  very  natural  and  necessary 
one:  he  had  talked  of  his  future  wife  dying  with  him. 
What  did  he  mean  by  such  a  pagan  idea  ?  I  had  no  inten- 
tion of  dying  with  him — he  might  depend  on  that.' 

*  Oh,  all  he  longed,  all  he  prayed  for,  was  that  I  might 
live  with  him  !  Death  was  not  for  such  as  I.' 

1  Indeed  it  was  :  I  had  as  good  a  right  to  die  when  my 
time  came  as  he  had :  but  I  should  bide  that  time,  and  not 
be  hurried  away  in  a  suttee.' 

'  Would  I  forgive  him  for  the  selfish  idea,  and  prove  my 
pardon  by  a  reconciling  kiss  ?  ' 

'  No  :  I  would  rather  be  excused.' 

Here  I  heard  myself  apostrophised  as  a  'hard  little 
thing ; '  and  it  was  added,  '  any  other  woman  would  have 
been  melted  to  marrow  at  hearing  such  stanzas  crooned  in 
her  praise.' 

I  assured  him  I  was  naturally  hard — very  flinty,  and 
that  he  would  often  find  me  so  ;  and  that,  moreover,  I  was 
determined  to  show  him  divers  rugged  points  in  my  character 
before  the  ensuing  four  weeks  elapsed  :  he  should  know  fully 
what  sort  of  a  bargain  he  had  made,  while  there  was  yet 
time  to  rescind  it. 

'  Would  I  be  quiet,  and  talk  rationally  ?  ' 

'  I  would  be  quiet  if  he  liked ;  and  as  to  talking  rationally, 
I  flattered  myself  I  was  doing  that  now.' 

He  fretted,  pished  and  pshawed.  '  Very  good,'  I  thought ; 
'  you  may  fume  and  fidget  as  you  please  :  but  this  is  the  best 
plan  to  pursue  with  you,  I  am  certain.  I  like  you  more  than 
I  can  say ;  but  I'll  not  sink  into  a  bathos  of  sentiment :  and 
with  this  needle  of  repartee  I'll  keep  you  from  the  edge  of 
the  gulph  too ;  and,  moreover,  maintain  by  its  pungent  aid 


332  JANE  EYEE 

that  distance  bftween  you  and  myself  most  conducive  to 
our  real  mutual  advantage/ 

From  less  to  more,  I  worked  him  up  to  considerable  irri- 
tation ;  then,  after  he  had  retired,  in  dudgeon,  quite  to  the 
other  end  of  the  room,  I  got  up,  and  saying,  '  I  wish  you 
good-night,  sir/  in  my  natural  and  wonted  respectful 
manner,  I  slipped  out  by  the  side-door  and  got  away. 

The  system  thus  entered  on  I  pursued  during  the  whole 
season  of  probation ;  and  with  the  best  success.  He  was 
kept,  to  be  sure,  rather  cross  and  crusty :  but  on  the  whole  I 
could  see  he  was  excellently  entertained ;  and  that  a  lamb- 
like submission  and  turtle-dove  sensibility,  while  fostering 
his  despotism  more,  would  have  pleased  his  judgment, 
satisfied  his  common-sense,  and  even  suited  his  taste, 
less. 

In  other  people's  presence  I  was,  as  formerly,  deferential 
and  quiet ;  any  other  line  of  conduct  being  uncalled  for  :  it 
was  only  in  the  evening  conferences  I  thus  thwarted  and 
afflicted  him.  He  continued  to  send  for  me  punctually  the 
moment  the  clock  struck  seven;  though  when  I  appeared 
before  him  now,  he  had  no  such  honeyed  terms  as  '  love '  and 
1  darling '  on  his  lips  :  the  best  words  at  my  service  were 
1  provoking  puppet,' '  malicious  elf,'  '  sprite,' '  changeling,'  &c. 
For  caresses,  too,  I  now  got  grimaces ;  for  a  pressure  of  the 
hand,  a  pinch  on  the  arm ;  for  a  kiss  on  the  cheek,  a  severe 
tweak  of  the  ear.  It  was  all  right :  at  present  I  decidedly 
preferred  these  fierce  favours  to  anything  more  tender.  Mrs. 
Fairfax,  I  saw,  approved  me :  her  anxiety  on  my  account 
vanished;  therefore  I  was  certain  I  did  well.  Meantime, 
Mr.  Rochester  affirmed  I  was  wearing  him  to  skin  and  bone, 
and  threatened  awful  vengeance  for  my  present  conduct  at 
some  period  fast  coming.  I  laughed  in  my  sleeve  at  his 
menaces :  '  I  can  keep  you  in  reasonable  check  now/  I 
reflected  ;  '  and  I  don't  doubt  to  be  able  to  do  it  hereafter : 
if  one  expedient  loses  its  virtue,  another  must  be  devised/ 

Yet  after  all  my  task  was  not  an  easy  one ;  often  I  would 
rather  have  pleased  than  teased  him.  My  future  husband 


JANE  EYEB  833 

was  becoming  to  me  my  whole  world ;  and  more  than  the 
world :  almost  my  hope  of  heaven.  He  stood  between  me 
and  every  thought  of  religion,  as  an  eclipse  intervenes 
between  man  and  the  broad  sun.  I  could  not,  in  those 
days,  see  God  for  his  creature  :  of  whom  I  had  made  an 
idol. 


334  \TANE  EYBE 


CHAPTEE  XXV 

THE  month  of  courtship  had  wasted :  its  very  last  hours 
were  being  numbered.  There  was  no  putting  off  the  day 
that  advanced — the  bridal  day ;  and  all  preparations  for  its 
arrival  were  complete.  J,  at  least,  had  nothing  more  to  do  : 
there  were  my  trunks,  packed,  locked,  corded,  ranged  in  a 
row  along  the  wall  of  my  little  chamber  :  to-morrow,  at  this 
time,  they  would  be  far  on  their  road  to  London :  and  so 
should  I  (D.V.), — or  rather,  not  I,  but  one  Jane  Eochester,  a 
person  whom  as  yet  I  knew  not.  The  cards  of  address  alone 
remained  to  nail  on :  they  lay,  four  little  squares,  on  the 
drawer.  Mr.  Eochester  had  himself  written  the  direction, 

1  Mrs.  Eochester, Hotel,  London/  on  each :  I  could 

not  persuade  myself  to  affix  them,  or  to  have  them  affixed. 
Mrs.  Eochester  !  She  did  not  exist :  she  would  not  be  born 
till  to-morrow,  some  time  after  eight  o'clock  A.M.;  and  I 
would  wait  to  be  assured  she  had  come  into  the  world  alive 
before  I  assigned  to  her  all  that  property.  It  was  enough 
that  in  yonder  closet,  opposite  my  dressing-table,  garments 
said  to  be  hers  had  already  displaced  my  black  stuff  Lowood 
frock  and  straw  bonnet :  for  not  to  me  appertained  that  suit 
of  wedding  raiment,  the  pearl-coloured  robe,  the  vapoury 
veil,  pendent  from  the  usurped  portmanteau.  I  shut  the 
closet,  to  conceal  the  strange,  wraith-like  apparel  it  con- 
tained; which,  at  this  evening  hour — nine  o'clock — gave 
out  certainly  a  most  ghostly  shimmer  through  the  shadow 
of  my  apartment.  'I  will  leave  you  by  yourself,  white 
dream,1 1  said.  '  I  am  feverish  :  I  hear  the  wind  blowing : 
I  will  go  out  of  doors  and  feel  it.' 

It  was  not  only  the  hurry  of  preparation  that  made  me 


JANE  EYEE  335 

feverish ;  not  only  the  anticipation  of  the  great  change — the 
new  life  which  was  to  commence  to-morrow:  both  these 
circumstances  had  their  share,  doubtless,  in  producing  that 
restless,  excited  mood  which  hurried  me  forth  at  this  late 
hour  into  the  darkening  grounds ;  but  a  third  cause  in- 
fluenced my  mind  more  than  they. 

I  had  at  heart  a  strange  and  anxious  thought.  Some- 
thing had  happened  which  I  could  not  comprehend  ;  no  one 
knew  of  or  had  seen  the  event  but  myself:  it  had  taken 
place  the  preceding  night.  Mr.  Eochester  that  night  was 
absent  from  home ;  nor  was  he  yet  returned :  business  had 
called  him  to  a  small  estate  of  two  or  three  farms  he  pos- 
sessed thirty  miles  off — business  it  was  requisite  he  should 
settle  in  person,  previously  to  his  meditated  departure  from 
England.  I  waited  now  his  return ;  eager  to  disburthen 
my  mind,  and  to  seek  of  him  the  solution  of  the  enigma  that 
perplexed  me.  Stay  till  he  comes,  reader;  and,  when  I 
disclose  my  secret  to  him,  you  shall  share  the  confidence. 

I  sought  the  orchard  :  driven  to  its  shelter  by  the  wind, 
which  all  day  had  blown  strong  and  full  from  the  south  ;  with- 
out, however,  bringing  a  speck  of  rain.  Instead  of  subsiding 
as  night  drew  on,  it  seemed  to  augment  its  rush  and  deepen 
its  roar  :  the  trees  blew  steadfastly  one  way,  never  writhing 
round,  and  scarcely  tossing  back  their  boughs  once  in  an 
hour ;  so  continuous  was  the  strain  bending  their  branchy 
heads  northward — the  clouds  drifted  from  pole  to  pole,  fast 
following,  mass  on  mass :  no  glimpse  of  blue  sky  had  been 
visible  that  July  day. 

It  was  not  without  a  certain  wild  pleasure  I  ran  before 
the  wind  delivering  my  trouble  of  mind  to  the  measureless 
air-torrent  thundering  through  space.  Descending  the 
laurel- walk,  I  faced  the  wreck  of  the  chestnut-tree ;  it  stood 
up,  black  and  riven :  the  trunk,  split  down  the  centre, 
gasped  ghastly.  The  cloven  halves  were  not  broken  from 
each  other,  for  the  firm  base  and  strong  roots  kept  them 
unsundered  below ;  though  community  of  vitality  was  des- 
troyed— the  sap  could  flow  no  more  :  their  great  boughs  on 


336  JANE  EYEE 

each  side  were  dead,  and  next  winter's  tempests  would  be 
sure  to  fell  one  or  both  to  earth :  as  yet,  however,  they 
might  be  said  to  form  one  tree— a  ruin,  but  an  entire  ruin. 

1  You  did  right  to  hold  fast  to  each  other/  I  said :  as  if 
the  monster  splinters  were  living  things,  and  could  hear  me. 
1 1  think,  scathed  as  you  look,  and  charred  and  scorched, 
there  must  be  a  little  sense  of  life  in  you  yet ;  rising  out  of 
that  adhesion  at  the  faithful,  honest  roots :  you  will  never 
have  green  leaves  more — never  more  see  birds  making  nests 
and  singing  idyls  in  your  boughs ;  the  time  of  pleasure  and 
love  is  over  with  you;  but  you  are  not  desolate:  each  of 
you  has  a  comrade  to  sympathise  with  him  in  his  decay/ 
As  I  looked  up  at  them,  the  moon  appeared  momentarily  in 
that  part  of  the  sky  which  filled  their  fissure ;  her  disk  was 
blood-red  and  half  overcast ;  she  seemed  to  throw  on  me  one 
bewildered,  dreary  glance,  and  buried  herself  again  instantly 
in  the  deep  drift  of  cloud.  The  wind  fell,  for  a  second, 
round  Thornfield  ;  but  far  away  over  wood  and  water,  poured 
a  wild,  melancholy  wail :  it  was  sad  to  listen  to,  and  I  ran 
off  again. 

Here  and  there  I  strayed  through  the  orchard,  gathered 
up  the  apples  with  which  the  grass  round  the  tree  roots  was 
thickly  strewn  :  then  I  employed  myself  in  dividing  the  ripe 
from  the  unripe  ;  I  carried  them  into  the  house  and  put 
them  away  in  the  store-room.  Then  I  repaired  to  the 
library  to  ascertain  whether  the  fire  was  lit ;  for,  though 
summer,  I  knew  on  such  a  gloomy  evening  Mr.  [Rochester 
would  like  to  see  a  cheerful  hearth  when  he  came  in  :  yes, 
the  fire  had  been  kindled  some  time,  and  burnt  well.  I 
placed  his  arm-chair  by  the  chimney-corner :  I  wheeled 
the  table  near  it :  I  let  down  the  curtain,  and  had  the  candles 
brought  in  ready  for  lighting.  More  restless  than  ever, 
when  I  had  completed  these  arrangements  I  could  not  sit 
still,  nor  even  remain  in  the  house :  a  little  timepiece  in  the 
room  and  the  old  clock  in  the  hall  simultaneously  struck 
ten. 

1  How  late  it  grows ! '  I  said :  '  I  will  run  down  to  the 


JANE  EYEB  337 

ga-t.es :  it  is  moonlight  at  intervals ;  I  can  see  a  good  way  on 
the  road.  He  may  be  coming  now,  and  to  meet  him  will 
save  some  minutes  of  suspense. 

The  wind  roared  high  in  the  great  trees  which  embowered 
the  gates ;  but  the  road  as  far  as  I  could  see,  to  the  right 
hand  and  the  left,  was  all  still  and  solitary :  save  for  the 
shadows  of  clouds  crossing  it  at  intervals,  as  the  moon 
looked  out,  it  was  but  a  long  pale  line,  unvaried  by  one 
moving  speck. 

A  puerile  tear  dimmed  my  eye  while  I  looked— a  tear 
of  disappointment  and  impatience  :  ashamed  of  it,  I  wiped 
it  away.  I  lingered ;  the  moon  shut  herself  wholly  within 
her  chamber,  and  drew  close  her  curtain  of  dense  cloud ; 
the  night  grew  dark;  rain  came  driving  fast  on  the 
gale. 

1 1  wish  he  would  come !  I  wish  he  would  come ! '  I 
exclaimed,  seized  with  hypochondriac  foreboding.  I  had 
expected  his  arrival  before  tea ;  now  it  was  dark :  what 
could  keep  him  ?  Had  an  accident  happened  ?  The  event 
of  last  night  again  recurred  to  me.  I  interpreted  it  as  a 
warning  of  disaster.  I  feared  my  hopes  were  too  bright  to 
be  realised ;  and  I  had  enjoyed  so  much  bliss  lately  that  I 
imagined  my  fortune  had  passed  its  meridian,  and  must  now 
decline. 

1  Well,  I  cannot  return  to  the  bouse,'  I  thought;  '  I  can- 
not sit  by  the  fireside  while  he  is  abroad  in  inclement 
weather  :  better  tire  my  limbs  than  strain  my  heart ;  I  will 
go  forward  and  meet  him.1 

I  set  out ;  I  walked  fast,  but  not  far :  ere  I  had  measured 
a  quarter  of  a  mile  I  heard  the  tramp  of  hoofs ;  a  horseman 
came  on,  full  gallop;  a  dog  ran  by  his  side.  Away  with 
evil  presentiment  1  It  was  he :  here  he  was,  mounted  on 
Mesrour,  followed  by  Pilot.  He  saw  me ;  for  the  moon  had 
opened  a  blue  field  in  the  sky,  and  rode  in  it  watery  bright : 
he  took  his  hat  off,  and  waved  it  round  his  head.  I  now 
ran  to  meet  him. 

1  There  1 '  he  exclaimed,  as  he  stretched  out  his  hand  and 


338  JANE  EYEE 

bent  from  the  saddle :  '  You  can't  do  without  me,  that  is 
evident.  Step  on  my  boot-toe;  give  me  both  hands: 
mount ! ' 

I  obeyed ;  joy  made  me  agile  :  I  sprang  up  before  him. 
A  hearty  kissing  I  got  for  a  welcome;  and  some  boasttul 
triumph  ;  which  I  swallowed  as  well  as  I  could.  He  checked 
himself  in  his  exultation  to  demand,  '  But  is  there  anything 
the  matter,  Janet,  that  you  come  to  meet  me  at  such  an 
hour  ?  Is  there  anything  wrong  ?  ' 

'  No ;  but  I  thought  you  would  never  come.  I  could 
not  bear  to  wait  in  the  house  for  you,  especially  with  this 
rain  and  wind/ 

'  Bain  and  wind,  indeed !  Yes,  you  are  dripping  like  a 
mermaid;  pull  my  cloak  round  you:  but  I  think  you  are 
feverish,  Jane :  both  your  cheek  and  hand  are  burning  hot. 
I  ask  again,  is  there  anything  the  matter  ?  ' 

'  Nothing,  now  :  I  am  neither  afraid  nor  unhappy.' 

'  Then  you  have  been  both  ? ' 

'Bather:  but  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it  by-and-by,  sir; 
and  I  daresay  you  will  only  laugh  at  me  for  my  pains.' 

1  I'll  laugh  at  you  heartily  when  to-morrow  is  past ;  till 
then  I  dare  not :  my  prize  is  not  certain.  This  is  you ;  who 
have  been  as  slippery  as  an  eel  this  last  month,  and  as 
thorny  as  a  briar-rose.  I  could  not  lay  a  finger  anywhere 
but  I  was  pricked ;  and  now  I  seem  to  have  gathered  up  a 
stray  lamb  in  my  arms :  you  wandered  out  of  the  fold  to 
seek  your  shepherd,  did  you,  Jane  ? ' 

'  I  wanted  you  :  but  don't  boast.  Here  we  are  at  Thorn- 
field  : 'now  let  me  get  down.' 

He  landed  me  on  the  pavement.  As  John  took  his 
horse,  and  he  followed  me  into  the  hall,  he  told  me  to  make 
haste  and  put  something  dry  on,  and  then  return  to  him  in 
the  library ;  and  he  stopped  me,  as  I  made  for  the  staircase, 
to  extort  a  promise  that  I  would  not  be  long :  nor  was  I 
long:  in  five  minutes  I  rejoined  him.  I  found  him  at 
supper. 

'  Take  a  seat  and  bear  me  company,  Jane :  please  God, 


JANE  EYEE  339 

it  is  the  last  meal  but  one  you  will  eat  at  Thornfield  Hall 
for  a  long  time/ 

I  sat  down  near  him ;  but  told  him  I  could  not  eat. 

'  Is  it  because  you  have  the  prospect  of  a  journey  before 
you,  Jane?  Is  it  the  thoughts  of  going  to  London  that  takes 
away  your  appetite  ? ' 

I I  cannot  see  my  prospects  clearly  to-night,  sir ;  and  I 
hardly  know  what  thoughts  I  have  in  my  head.     Everything 
in  life  seems  unreal/ 

'  Except  me  :  I  am  substantial  enough  : — touch  me/ 

*  You,  sir,  are  the  most  phantom-like  of  all :  you  are  a 
mere  dream/ 

He  held  out  his  hand,  laughing  :  '  Is  that  a  dream  ?  '  said 
he,  placing  it  close  to  my  eyes.  He  had  a  rounded,  mus- 
cular, and  vigorous  hand,  as  well  as  a  long,  strong  arm. 

1  Yes  ;  though  I  touch  it,  it  is  a  dream,'  said  I,  as  I  put 
it  down  from  before  my  face.  '  Sir,  have  you  finished 
supper  ? ' 

'  Yes,  Jane/ 

I  rang  the  bell,  and  ordered  away  the  tray.  When  we 
were  again  alone,  I  stirred  the  fire,  and  then  took  a  low  seat 
at  my  master's  knee. 

*  It  is  near  midnight/  I  said. 

'  Yes  :  but  remember,  Jane,  you  promised  to  wake  with 
me  the  night  before  my  wedding/ 

'I  did ;  and  I  will  keep  my  promise,  for  an  hour  or  two 
at  least :  I  have  no  wish  to  go  to  bed/ 

1  Are  all  your  arrangements  complete  ? ' 

'  All,  sir/ 

*  And  on  my  part,  likewise,'  he  returned,  '  I  have  settled 
everything ;  and  we  shall  leave  Thornfield  to-morrow,  withm 
half  an  hour  after  our  return  from  church/ 

1  Very  well,  sir/ 

'  With  what  an  extraordinary  smile  you  uttered  that  word 
— "very  well,"  Janel  What  a  bright  spot  of  colour  you 
have  on  each  cheek !  and  how  strangely  your  eyes  glitter  L 
Are  you  well  ? ' 


340  JAJNJS   EYEB 

1 1  believe  T  am.' 

'Believe!  What  is  the  matter? — Tell  me  what  you 
feel/ 

1 1  could  not,  sir  :  no  words  could  tell  you  what  I  feel- 
I  wish  this  present  hour  would  never  end  :  who  knows  with 
what  fate  the  next  may  come  charged  ? ' 

'This  is  hypochondria,  Jane.  You  have  been  over- 
excited, or  over-fatigued.' 

1  Do  you,  sir,  feel  calm  and  happy  ? ' 

'  Calm  ? — no :  but  happy — to  the  heart's  core.' 

I  looked  up  at  him  to  read  the  signs  of  bliss  in  his  face  : 
it  was  ardent  and  flushed. 

'  Give  me  your  confidence,  Jane/  he  said  :  '  relieve  your 
mind  of  any  weight  that  oppresses  it  by  imparting  it  to  me. 
What  do  you  fear  ? — that  I  shall  not  prove  a  good  husband  ? ' 

1  It  is  the  idea  farthest  from  my  thoughts/ 

1  Are  you  apprehensive  of  the  new  sphere  you  are  about 
to  enter? — of  the  new  life  into  which  you  are  passing ? ' 

'No/ 

'  You  puzzle  me,  Jane :  your  look  and  tone  of  sorrowful 
audacity  perplex  and  pain  me.  I  want  an  explanation/ 

'  Then,  sir— listen.    You  were  from  home  last  night  ? ' 

'  I  was :  I  know  that ;  and  you  hinted  a  while  ago  at 
something  which  had  happened  in  my  absence :  —nothing, 
probably,  of  consequence ;  but,  in  short,  it  has  disturbed 
you.  Let  me  hear  it.  Mrs.  Fairfax  has  said  something, 
perhaps?  or  you  have  overheard  the  servants  talk? — your 
sensitive  self-respect  has  been  wounded  ? ' 

'  No,  sir/  It  struck  twelve — I  waited  till  the  timepiece 
had  concluded  its  silver  chime,  and  the  clock  its  hoarse, 
vibrating  stroke,  and  then  I  proceeded. 

'  All  day  yesterday  I  was  very  busy,  and  very  happy  in 
my  ceaseless  bustle ;  for  I  am  not,  as  you  seem  to  think, 
troubled  by  any  haunting  fears  about  the  new  sphere,  et 
cetera  :  I  think  it  a  glorious  thing  to  have  the  hope  of  living 
with  you,  because  T  love  you.  No,  sir,  don't  caress  me  now 
— let  me  talk  undisturbed.  Yesterday  I  trusted  well  in 


JANE  EYEE  341 

Providence,  and  believed  that  events  were  working  together 
for  your  good  and  mine  :  it  was  a  fine  day,  if  you  recollect 
— the  calmness  of  the  air  and  sky  forbade  apprehensions 
respecting  your  safety  or  comfort  on  your  journey.  1  walked 
a  little  while  on  the  pavement  after  tea,  thinking  of  you; 
and  I  beheld  you  in  imagination  so  near  me  I  scarcely 
missed  your  actual  presence.  I  thought  of  the  life  that  lay 
before  me — your  life,  sir, — an  existence  more  expansive  and 
stirring  than  my  own :  as  much  more  so  as  the  depths  of 
the  sea  to  which  the  brook  runs  are  than  the  shallows  of 
its  own  strait  channel.  I  wondered  why  moralists  call  this 
world  a  dreary  wilderness  :  for  me  it  blossomed  like  a  rose. 
Just  at  sunset  the  air  turned  cold  and  the  sky  cloudy :  I 
went  in.  Sophie  called  me  upstairs  to  look  at  my  wedding- 
dress,  which  they  had  just  brought ;  and  under  it  in  the  box 
I  found  your  present — the  veil  which,  in  your  princely 
extravagance,  you  sent  for  from  London :  resolved,  I  suppose, 
since  I  would  not  have  jewels,  to  cheat  me  into  accepting 
something  as  costly.  I  smiled  as  I  unfolded  it,  and  devised 
how  I  would  tease  you  about  your  aristocratic  tastes,  and 
your  efforts  to  masque  your  plebeian  bride  in  the  attributes 
of  a  peeress.  I  thought  how  I  would  carry  down  to  you  the 
square  of  unembroidered  blond  I  had  myself  prepared  as  a 
covering  for  my  low-born  head,  and  ask  if  that  was  not  good 
enough  for  a  woman  who  could  bring  her  husband  neither 
fortune,  beauty,  nor  connections.  I  saw  plainly  how  you 
would  look ;  and  heard  your  impetuous  republican  answers, 
and  your  haughty  disavowal  of  any  necessity  on  your  part 
to  augment  your  wealth,  or  elevate  your  standing,  by 
marrying  either  a  purse  or  a  coronet.1 

1  How  well  you  read  me,  you  witch ! '  interposed  Mr. 
Eochester ;  '  but  what  did  you  find  in  the  veil  besides  its 
embroidery?  Did  you  find  poison,  or  a  dagger,  that  you 
look  so  mournful  now  ? ' 

'No,  no,  sir;  besides  the  delicacy  and  richness  of  the 
fabric,  I  found  nothing  save  Fairfax  ^Rochester's  pride  ;  and 
that  did  not  scare  me,  because  I  am  used  to  the  sight  of  the 


342  JANE  EYEB 

demon.  But,  sir,  as  it  grew  dark  the  wind  rose :  it  blew 
yesterday  evening,  not  as  it  blows  now — wild  and  high — 
but  "with  a  sullen,  moaning  sound"  far  more  eerie.  I 
wished  you  were  at  home.  I  came  into  this  room,  and  the 
sight  of  the  empty  chair  and  fireless  hearth  chilled  me.  For 
some  time  after  I  went  to  bed  I  could  not  sleep — a  sense  of 
anxious  excitement  distressed  me.  The  gale  still  rising 
seemed  to  my  ear  to  muffle  a  mournful  under-sound; 
whether  in  the  house  or  abroad  I  could  not  at  first  tell,  but 
it  recurred,  doubtful  yet  doleful  at  every  lull :  at  last  I  made 
out  it  must  be  some  dog  howling  at  a  distance.  I  was  glad 
when  it  ceased.  On  sleeping,  I  continued  in  dreams  the 
idea  of  a  dark  and  gusty  night.  I  continued  also  the  wish 
to  be  with  you,  and  experienced  a  strange,  regretful  con- 
sciousness of  some  barrier  dividing  us.  During  all  my  first 
sleep  I  was  following  the  windings  of  an  unknown  road ; 
total  obscurity  environed  me ;  rain  pelted  me  ;  I  was  burdened 
with  the  charge  of  a  little  child :  a  very  small  creature, 
too  young  and  feeble  to  walk,  and  which  shivered  in  my 
cold  arms  and  wailed  piteously  in  my  ear.  I  thought,  sir, 
that  you  were  on  the  road  a  long  way  before  me;  and  I 
strained  every  nerve  to  overtake  you,  and  made  effort  on 
effort  to  utter  your  name  and  entreat  you  to  stop — but  my 
movements  were  fettered ;  and  my  voice  still  died  away 
inarticulate ;  while  you,  I  felt,  withdrew  farther  and  farther 
every  moment/ 

'  And  these  dreams  weigh  on  your  spirits  now,  Jane,  when 
I  am  close  to  you  ?  Little  nervous  subject  1  Forget  vision- 
ary woe,  and  think  only  of  real  happiness !  You  say  you 
love  me,  Janet :  yes — I  will  not  forget  that ;  and  you  cannot 
deny  it.  Those  words  did  not  die  inarticulate  on  your  lips. 
I  heard  them  clear  and  soft :  a  thought  too  solemn  perhaps, 
but  sweet  as  music — "  I  think  it  is  a  glorious  thing  to  have  the 
hope  of  living  with  you,  Edward,  because  I  love  you." — Do 
you  love  me,  Jane  ?  Bepeat  it.' 

1 1  do,  sir. — I  do  with 'my  whole  heart/ 

'Well/  he  said,  after  some  minutes'  silence, '  it  is  strange ; 


JANE   BYEB  343 

but  that  sentence  has  penetrated  my  breast  painfully.  Why  ? 
I  think  because  you  said  it  with  such  an  earnest,  religious 
energy :  and  because  your  upward  gaze  at  me  now  is  the 
very  sublime  of  faith,  truth,  and  devotion :  it  is  too  much  as 
if  some  spirit  were  near  me.  Look  wicked,  Jane ;  as  you 
know  well  how  to  look ;  coin  one  of  your  wild,  shy,  provoking 
smiles ;  tell  me  you  hate  me— tease  me,  vex  me ;  do  anything 
but  move  me  :  I  would  rather  be  incensed  fchan  saddened.' 

'  I  will  tease  you  and  vex  you  to  your  heart's  content 
when  I  have  finished  my  tale :  but  hear  me  to  the  end.' 

1 1  thought,  Jane,  you  had  told  me  all.  I  thought  I  had 
found  the  source  of  your  melancholy  in  a  dream ! ' 

I  shook  my  head.  '  What !  is  there  more  ?  But  I  will 
not  believe  it  to  be  anything  important.  I  warn  you  of 
incredulity  betorehand.  Go  on.' 

The  disquietude  of  his  air,  the  somewhat  apprehensive 
impatience  of  his  manner,  surprised  me :  bub  I  proceeded. 

'  I  dreamt  another  dream,  sir  :  that  Thornfield  Hall  was  a 
dreary  ruin,  the  retreat  of  bats  and  owls.  I  thought  that  of  all 
the  stately  front  nothing  remained  but  a  shell-like  wall,  very 
high,  and  very  fragile-looking.  I  wandered,  on  a  moonlight 
night,  through  the  grass-grown  enclosure  within:  here  I 
stumbled  over  a  marble  hearth,  and  there  over  a  fallen 
fragment  of  cornice.  Wrapped  up  in  a  shawl,  I  still  carried 
the  unknown  little  child :  I  might  not  lay  it  down  anywhere, 
however  tired  were  my  arms — however  much  its  weight 
impeded  my  progress,  I  must  retain  it.  I  heard  the  gallop 
of  a  horse  at  a  distance  on  the  road :  I  was  sure  it  was  you  ; 
and  you  were  departing  for  many  years,  and  for  a  distant 
country.  I  climbed  the  thin  wall  with  frantic,  perilous  haste, 
eager  to  catch  one  glimpse  of  you  from  the  top :  the  stones 
rolled  from  under  my  feet,  the  ivy  branches  I  grasped  gave 
way,  the  child  clung  round  my  neck  in  terror,  and  almost 
strangled  me  :  at  last  I  gained  the  summit.  I  saw  you  like 
a  speck  on  a  white  track,  lessening  every  moment.  The  blast 
blew  so  strong  I  could  not  stand.  I  sat  down  on  the  narrow 
ledge  ;  I  hushed  the  scared  infant  in  my  lap :  you  turned  an 


344  JANE  EYBE 

angle  of  the  road ;  I  bent  forward  to  take  a  last  look ;  the 
wall  crumbled ;  I  was  shaken ;  the  child  rolled  from  my 
knee,  I  lost  my  balance,  fell,  and  woke.' 

1  Now,  Jane,  that  is  all/ 

'  All  the  preface,  sir ;  the  tale  is  yet  to  come.  On  waking, 
a  gleam  dazzled  my  eyes :  I  thought — oh,  it  is  daylight ! 
But  I  was  mistaken:  it  was  only  candlelight.  Sophie,  I 
supposed,  had  come  in.  There  was  a  light  on  the  dressing- 
table,  and  the  door  of  the  closet,  where,  before  going  to  bed, 
I  had  hung  my  wedding-dress  and  veil,  stood  open  :  I  heard 
a  rustling  there.  I  asked,  "  Sophie,  what  are  you  doing  ?  " 
No  one  answered;  but  a  form  emerged  from  the  closet :  it 
took  the  light,  held  it  aloft,  and  surveyed  the  garments 
pendent  from  the  portmanteau.  "  Sophie !  Sophie  1  "  I 
again  cried  :  and  still  it  was  silent.  I  had  risen  up  in  bed ; 
I  bent  forward:  first,  surprise,  then  bewilderment,  came 
over  me ;  and  then  my  blood  crept  cold  through  my  veins. 
Mr.  Eochester,  this  was  not  Sophie,  it  was  not  Leah,  it  was 
not  Mrs.  Fairfax :  it  was  not — no,  I  was  sure  of  it,  and  am 
still — it  was  not  even  that  strange  woman,  Grace  Poole.' 

1  It  must  have  been  one  of  them/  interrupted  my  master. 

'  No,  sir,  I  solemnly  assure  you  to  the  contrary.  The 
shape  standing  before  me  had  never  crossed  my  eyes  within 
the  precincts  of  Thornfield  Hall  before  ;  the  height,  the  con- 
tour, were  new  to  me/ 

'  Describe  it,  Jane/ 

'  It  seemed,  sir,  a  woman,  tall  and  large,  with  thick  and 
dark  hair  hanging  long  down  her  back.  I  know  not  what 
dress  she  had  on  :  it  was  white  and  straight ;  but  whether 
gown,  sheet,  or  shroud,  I  cannot  tell/ 

1  Did  you  see  her  face  ?  ' 

'  Not  at  first.  But  presently  she  took  my  veil  from  its 
place ;  she  held  it  up,  gazed  at  it  long,  and  then  she  threw  it 
over  her  own  head,  and  turned  to  the  mirror.  At  that  moment 
I  saw  the  reflection  of  the  visage  and  features  quite  dis- 
tinctly in  the  dark  oblong  glass.' 

'  And  how  were  they  ? ' 


JANE  EYEE  345 

'  Fearful  and  ghastly  to  me— oh,  sir,  I  never  saw  a  face 
like  it  I  It  was  a  discoloured  face— it  was  a  savage  face. 
I  wish  I  could  forget  the  roll  of  the  red  eyes  and  the  fearful 
blackened  inflation  of  the  lineaments/ 

'  Ghosts  are  usually  pale,  Jane/ 

'  This,  sir,  was  purple  :  the  lips  were  swelled  and  dark ; 
the  brow  furrowed ;  the  black  eyebrows  widely  raised  over 
the  bloodshot  eyes.  Shall  I  tell  you  of  what  it  reminded  me  ? ' 

1  You  may/ 

'  Of  the  foul  German  spectre — the  Vampyre/ 

'Ah?— What  did  it  do?' 

'  Sir,  it  removed  my  veil  from  its  gaunt  head,  rent  it  in 
two  parls,  and  flinging  both  on  the  floor,  trampled  on  them/ 

4  Afterwards?' 

'It  drew  aside  the  window-curtain  and  looked  out: 
perhaps  it  saw  dawn  approaching,  for,  taking  the  candle,  it 
retreated  to  the  door.  Just  at  my  bedside  the  figure 
stopped  :  the  fiery  eye  glared  upon  me— she  thrust  up  her 
candle  close  to  my  face,  and  extinguished  it  under  my  eyes. 
I  was  aware  her  lurid  visage  flamed  over  mine,  and  I  lost 
consciousness :  for  the  second  time  in  my  life — only  the 
second  time — I  became  insensible  from  terror/ 

'  Who  was  with  you  when  you  revived? ' 

'  No  one,  sir ;  but  the  broad  day.  I  rose,  bathed  my  head 
and  face  in  water,  drank  a  long  draught ;  felt  that  though 
enfeebled  I  was  not  ill,  and  determined  that  to  none  but  you 
would  I  impart  this  vision.  Now,  sir,  tell  me  who  and 
what  that  woman  was  ?  ' 

'The  creature  of  an  over-stimulated  brain;  that  is 
certain.  I  must  be  careful  of  you,  my  treasure :  nerves 
like  yours  were  not  made  for  rough  handling/ 

'  Sir,  depend  on  it,  my  nerves  were  not  in  fault ;  the 
thing  was  real :  the  transaction  actually  took  place/ 

'And  your  previous  dreams:  were  they  real  too?  Is 
Thornfield  Hall  a  ruin  ?  Am  I  severed  from  you  by  insuper- 
able obstacles  ?  Am  I  leaving  you  without  a  tear — without 
a  kiss — without  a  word  ? ' 


34:6  JANE  EYEE 

'  Not  yet/ 

'  Am  I  about  to  do  it  ? — Why,  the  day  is  already  com- 
menced which  is  to  bind  us  indissolubly ;  and  when  we  are 
once  united,  there  shall  be  no  recurrence  of  these  mental 
terrors :  I  guarantee  that/ 

1  Mental  terrors,  sir !  I  wish  I  could  believe  them  to  be 
only  such :  I  wish  it  more  now  than  ever ;  since  even  you 
cannot  explain  to  me  the  mystery  of  that  awful  visitant/ 

'And  since  I  cannot  do  it,  Jane,  it  must  have  been 
unreal ' 

'But,  sir,  when  I  said  so  to  myself  on  rising  this 
morning,  and  when  I  looked  round  the  room  to  gather 
courage  and  comfort  from  the  cheerful  aspect  of  each 
familiar  object  in  full  daylight,  there — on  the  carpet — I  saw 
what  gave  the  distinct  lie  to  my  hypothesis, — the  veil,  torn 
from  top  to  bottom,  in  two  halves  ! ' 

I  felt  Mr.  Eochester  start  and  shudder ;  he  hastily  flung 
his  arms  round  me. 

'  Thank  God  ! '  he  exclaimed,  *  that  if  anything  malignant 
did  come  near  you  last  night,  it  was  only  the  veil  that  was 
harmed. — Oh,  to  think  what  might  have  happened  ! ' 

He  drew  his  breath  short,  and  strained  me  so  close  to 
him  I  could  scarcely  pant.  After  some  minutes'  silence,  he 
continued,  cheerily:— 'Now,  Janet,  I'll  explain  to  you  all 
about  it.  It  was  half  dream,  half  reality  :  a  woman  did,  I 
doubt  not,  enter  your  room :  and  that  woman  was — must  have 
been — Grace  Poole.  You  call  her  a  strange  being  yourself : 
from  all  you  know  you  have  reason  so  to  call  her — what 
did  she  do  to  me  ?  what  to  Mason  ?  In  a  state  between 
sleeping  and  waking  you  noticed  her  entrance  and  her 
actions ;  but  feverish,  almost  delirious  as  you  were,  you 
ascribed  to  her  a  goblin  appearance  different  from  her  own  : 
the  long  dishevelled  hair,  the  swelled  black  face,  the  ex- 
aggerated stature,  were  figments  of  imagination ;  results  of 
nightmare :  the  spiteful  tearing  of  the  veil  was  real :  and  it 
is  like  her.  I  see  you  would  ask  why  I  keep  such  a  woman 
in  my  house :  when  we  have  been  married  a  year  and  a  day 


JANE  EYKE  347 

I  will  tell  you ;  but  not  now.  Are  you  satisfied,  Jane  ?  Do 
you  accept  my  solution  of  the  mystery  ?  ' 

I  reflected,  and  in  truth  it  appeared  to  me  the  only  possible 
one :  satisfied  I  was  not,  but  to  please  him  I  endeavoured  to 
appear  so— relieved,  I  certainly  did  feel ;  so  I  answered  him 
with  a  contented  smile.  And  now,  as  it  was  long  past  one, 
I  prepared  to  leave  him. 

1  Does  not  Sophie  sleep  with  Ad&Le  in  the  nursery  ?  '  he 
asked,  as  I  lit  my  candle. 

'Yes,  sir/ 

I  And  there  is  room  enough  in  Adfcle's  little  bed  for  you. 
You  must  share  it  with  her  to-night,  Jane  •  it  is  no  wonder 
that  the  incident  you  have  related  should  make  you  nervous, 
and  I  would  rather  yon  did  not  sleep  alone :  promise  me  to 
go  to  the  nursery.' 

I 1  shall  be  very  gLid  to  do  so,  sir.' 

'And  fasten  the  door  securely  on  the  inside.  Wake 
Sophie  when  you  go  upstairs,  under  pretence  of  requesting 
her  to  rouse  you  in  good  time  to-morrow ;  for  you  must  be 
dressed  and  have  finished  breakfast  before  eight.  And  now, 
no  more  sombre  thoughts :  chase  dull  care  away,  Janet. 
Don't  you  hear  to  what  soft  whispers  the  wind  has  fallen  ? 
and  there  is  no  more  beating  of  rain  against  the  window- 
panes  :  look  here '  (he  lifted  up  the  curtain) — '  it  is  a  lovely 
night ! ' 

It  was.  Half  heaven  was  pure  and  stainless:  the 
clouds,  now  trooping  before  the  wind,  which  had  shifted  to 
the  west,  were  filing  off  eastward  in  long,  silvered  columns. 
The  moon  shone  peacefully. 

'  Well,'  said  Mr.  Eochester,  gazing  inquiringly  into  my 
eyes, '  how  is  my  Janet  now  ? ' 

'  The  night  is  serene,  sir ;  and  so  am  I.' 

'And  you  will  not  dream  of  separation  and  sorrow  to- 
night ;  but  of  happy  love  and  blissful  union/ 

This  prediction  was  but  half  fulfilled :  I  did  not  indeed 
dream  of  sorrow,  but  as  little  did  I  dream  of  joy ;  for  1 
never  slept  at  all.  With  little  Ad61e  in  my  arms,  I  watched 


348  JANE  EYEB 

the  slumber  of  childhood— so  tranquil,  so  passionless,  so 
innocent — and  waited  for  the  coming  day  :  all  my  life  was 
awake  and  astir  in  my  frame ;  and  as  soon  as  the  sun  rose 
I  rose  too.  I  remember  Ad&le  clung  to  me  as  I  left  her ;  I 
remember  I  kissed  her  as  I  loosened  her  little  hands  from  my 
neck ;  and  I  cried  over  her  with  strange  emotion,  and  quitted 
her  because  I  feared  my  sobs  would  break  her  still  sound 
repose.  She  seemed  the  emblem  of  my  past  life ;  and  he,  I 
was  now  to  array  myself  to  meet,  the  dread,  but  adored,  type 
of  my  unknown  future  day. 


JANE  EYRE  349 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

SOPHIE  came  at  seven  to  dress  me;  she  was  very  long 
indeed  in  accomplishing  her  task — so  long  that  Mr. 
Rochester,  grown,  I  suppose,  impatient  of  my  delay,  sent 
up  to  ask  why  I  did  not  come.  She  was  just  fastening  my 
veil  (thn  plain  square  of  blond  after  all)  to  my  hair  with  a 
brooch ,  I  hurried  from  under  her  hands  as  soon  as  I  could. 

'  Stop  ! '  she  cried  in  French.  '  Look  at  yourself  in  the 
mirror  :  you  have  not  taken  one  peep/ 

So  I  turned  at  the  door :  I  saw  a  robed  and  veiled  figure, 
so  unlike  my  usual  self  that  it  seemed  almost  the  image  of  a 
stranger.  '  Jane  ! '  called  a  voice,  and  I  hastened  down.  I 
was  received  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs  by  Mr.  Rochester. 

*  Lingerer/  he  said,  '  my  brain  is  on  fire  with  impatience ; 
and  you  tarry  so  long ! ' 

He  took  me  into  the  dining-room,  surveyed  me  keenly 
all  over,  pronounced  me  '  fair  as  a  lily,  and  not  only  the 
pride  of  his  life,  but  the  desire  of  his  eyes/  and  then,  telling 
me  he  would  give  me  but  ten  minutes  to  eat  some  breakfast, 
he  rang  the  bell.  One  of  his  lately  hired  servants,  a  foot- 
man, answered  it. 

1  Is  John  getting  the  carriage  ready  ? ' 

'  Yes,  sir/ 

'  Is  the  luggage  brought  down  ? ' 

'  They  are  bringing  it  down,  sir/ 

'  Go  you  to  the  church :  see  if  Mr.  Wood  (the  clergyman) 
and  the  clerk  are  there :  return  and  tell  me/ 

The  church,  as  the  reader  knows,  was  but  just  beyond 
the  gates ;  the  footman  soon  returned. 

'  Mr.  Wood  is  in  the  vestry,  sir,  putting  on  his  surplice/ 


350  JANE  EYRE 

'  And  the  carriage  ?  ' 

*  The  horses  are  harnessing/ 

'  We  shall  not  want  it  to  go  to  church  ;  but  it  must  be 
ready  the  moment  we  return,  all  the  boxes  and  luggage 
arranged  and  strapped  on,  and  the  coachman  in  his  seat/ 

'  Yes,  sir/ 

1  Jane,  are  you  ready  ?  ' 

I  rose.  There  were  no  groomsmen,  no  bridesmaids,  no 
relatives  to  wait  for  or  marshal :  none  but  Mr.  Rochester 
and  I.  Mrs.  Fairfax  stood  in  the  hall  as  we  passed.  I 
would  fain  have  spoken  to  her,  but  my  hand  was  held  by  a 
gi'asp  of  iron  :  I  was  hurried  along  by  a  stride  I  could  hardly 
follow ;  and  to  look  at  Mr.  Rochester's  face  was  to  feel  that 
not  a  second  of  delay  would  be  tolerated  for  any  purpose. 
I  wonder  what  other  bridegroom  ever  looked  as  he  did — so 
bent  up  to  a  purpose,  so  grimly  resolute :  or  who,  under 
such  steadfast  brows,  ever  revealed  such  flaming  and  flash- 
ing eyes. 

I  know  not  whether  the  day  was  fair  or  foul ;  in  descend- 
ing the  drive,  I  gazed  neither  on  sky  nor  eartli ;  my  heart 
was  \vith  my  eyes;  and  both  seemed  migrated  into  Mr. 
Rochester's  frame.  I  wanted  to  see  the  invisible  thing  on 
which,  as  we  went  along,  he  appeared  to  fasten  a  glance 
fierce  and  fell.  I  wanted  to  feel  the  thoughts  whose  force 
he  seemed  breasting  and  resisting. 

At  the  churchyard  wicket  he  stopped:  he  discovered  I 
was  quite  out  of  breath. 

1  Am  I  cruel  in  my  love  ? '  he  said.  '  Delay  an  instant : 
lean  on  me,  Jane/ 

And  now  I  can  recall  the  picture  of  the  giey  old  house  of 
God  rising  calm  before  me,  of  a  rook  wheeling  round  the 
steeple,  of  a  ruddy  morning  sky  beyond.  I  remember 
something,  too,  of  the  green  grave-mounds ;  and  I  have  not 
forgotten,  either,  two  figures  of  strangers,  straying  amongst 
the  low  hillocks,  and  reading  the  mementoes  graven  on  the 
few  mossy  head-stones.  I  noticed  them,  because,  as  they 
saw  us,  they  passed  round  to  the  back  of  the  church ;  and  I 


JANE   EYEE  351 

doubted  not  they  were  going  to  enter  by  the  side-aisle 
door,  and  witness  the  ceremony.  By  Mr.  Rochester  they 
were  not  observed;  he  was  earnestly  looking  at  my  face, 
from  which  the  blood  had,  I  daresay,  momentarily  fled :  for  I 
felt  my  forehead  dewy,  and  my  cheeks  and  lips  cold.  When 
I  rallied,  which  I  soon  did,  he  walked  gently  with  me  up  the 
path  to  the  porch. 

We  entered  the  quiet  and  humble  temple ;  the  priest 
waited  in  his  white  surplice  at  the  lowly  altar,  the  clerk 
beside  him.  All  was  still:  two  shadows  only  moved  in  a 
remote  corner.  My  conjecture  had  been  correct :  the 
strangers  had  slipped  in  before  us,  and  they  now  stood  by 
the  vault  of  the  Rochesters,  their  backs  towards  us,  viewing 
through  the  rails  the  old  time-stained  marble  tomb,  where  a 
kneeling  angel  guarded  the  remains  of  Darner  de  Rochester, 
slain  at  Marston  Moor  in  the  time  of  the  civil  wars ;  and  of 
Elizabeth,  his  wife. 

Our  place  was  taken  at  the  communion  rails.  Hearing 
a  cautious  step  behind  me,  I  glanced  over  my  shoulder :  one 
of  the  strangers —a  gentleman,  evidently — was  advancing 
up  the  chancel.  The  service  began.  The  explanation  of 
the  intent  of  matrimony  was  gone  through ;  and  then  the 
clergyman  came  a  step  further  forward,  and,  bending  slightly 
towards  Mr.  Rochester,  went  on. 

'  I  require  and  charge  you  both  (as  ye  will  answer  at  the 
dreadful  day  of  judgment,  when  the  secrets  of  all  hearts 
shall  be  disclosed),  that  if  either  of  you  know  any  impedi- 
ment why  ye  may  not  lawfully  be  joined  together  in 
matrimony,  ye  do  now  confess  it ;  for  be  ye  well  assured  that 
so  many  as  are  coupled  together  otherwise  than  God's  word 
doth  allow,  are  not  joined  together  by  God,  neither  is  their 
matrimony  lawful.' 

He  paused,  as  the  custom  is.  When  is  the  pause  after 
that  sentence  ever  broken  by  reply  ?  Not,  perhaps,  once  in 
a  hundred  years.  And  the  clergyman,  who  had  not  lifted 
his  eyes  from  his  book,  and  had  held  his  breath  but  for  a 
moment,  was  proceeding:  his  hand  was  already  stretched 

N2 


352  JANE  EYKE 

towards  Mr.  Bochester,  as  his  lips  unclosed  to  ask,  *  Wilt 
thou  have  this  woman  for  thy  wedded  wife  ? ' — when  a  dis- 
tinct and  near  voice  said : — '  The  marriage  cannot  go  on  :  I 
declare  the  existence  of  an  impediment/ 

The  clergyman  looked  up  at  the  speaker,  and  stood  mute ; 
the  clerk  did  the  same ;  Mr.  Eochester  moved  slightly,  as  if 
an  earthquake  had  rolled  under  his  feet:  taking  a  firmer 
footing,  and  not  turning  his  head  or  eyes,  he  said, '  Proceed.' 

Profound  silence  fell  when  he  had  uttered  that  word, 
with  deep  but  low  intonation.  Presently  Mr.  Wood  said : — 
'  I  cannot  proceed  without  some  investigation  into  what  has 
been  asserted,  and  evidence  of  its  truth  or  falsehood/ 

'  The  ceremony  is  quite  broken  off,'  subjoined  the  voice 
behind  us.  'I  am  in  a  condition  to  prove  my  allegation : 
an  insuperable  impediment  to  this  marriage  exists/ 

Mr.  Eochester  heard,  but  heeded  not :  he  stood  stubborn 
and  rigid  :  making  no  movement,  but  to  possess  himself  of 
my  hand.  What  a  hot  and  strong  grasp  he  had ! — and  how 
like  quarried  marble  was  his  pale,  firm,  massive  front  at  this 
moment !  How  his  eye  shone,  still,  watchful,  and  yet  wild 
beneath ! 

Mr.  Wood  seemed  at  a  loss.  '  What  is  the  nature  of  the 
impediment  ? '  he  asked.  '  Perhaps  it  may  be  got  over — 
explained  away  ? ' 

1  Hardly/  was  the  answer :  '  I  have  called  it  insuperable, 
and  I  speak  advisedly/ 

The  speaker  came  forwards,  and  leaned  on  the  rails. 
He  continued,  uttering  each  word  distinctly,  calmly,  steadily, 
but  not  loudly. 

'It  simply  consists  in  the  existence  of  a  previous 
marriage.  Mr.  Eochester  has  a  wife  now  living/ 

My  nerves  vibrated  to  those  low-spoken  words  as  they 
had  never  vibrated  to  thunder — my  blood  felt  their  subtle 
violence  as  it  had  never  felt  frost  or  fire  :  but  I  was  collected, 
and  in  no  danger  of  swooning.  I  looked  at  Mr.  Eochester  : 
I  made  him  look  at  me.  His  whole  face  was  colourless 
rock:  his  eye  was  both  spark  and  flint.  He  disavowed 


JANE  EYEE  353 

nothing :  he  seemed  as  if  he  would  defy  all  things.  With- 
out speaking,  without  smiling,  without  seeming  to  recog- 
nise in  me  a  human  being,  he  only  twined  my  waist  with 
his  arm,  and  riveted  me  to  his  side. 

'  Who  are  you  ? '  he  asked  of  the  intruder. 

'  My  name  is  Briggs — a  solicitor  of Street,  London.' 

1  And  you  would  thrust  on  me  a  wife  ?  ' 

'I  would  remind  you  of  your  lady's  existence,  sir; 
which  the  law  recognises,  if  you  do  not.1 

'Favour  me  with  an  account  of  her — with  her  name, 
her  parentage,  her  place  ot  abode.' 

'  Certainly.'  Mr.  Briggs  calmly  took  a  pap3r  from  his 
pocket,  and  read  out  in  a  sort  of  official,  nasal  voice  • — 

1 "  I  affirm  and  can  prove  that  on  the  20th  of  October, 

A..D.  (a  date  of  fifteen  years  back),  Edward  Fairfax 

Kochester,  of  Thornfield  Hall,  in  the  county  of ,  and  of 

Ferndean  Manor,  in shire,  England,  was  married  to  my 

sister,  Bertha  Antoinetta  Mason,  daughter  of  Jonas  Mason, 

merchant,  and  of  Antoinetta  his  wife,  a  Creole — at  

church,  Spanish  Town,  Jamaica.  The  record  of  the 
marriage  will  be  found  in  the  register  of  that  church — a 
copy  of  it  is  now  in  my  possession.  Signed,  Eichard 
Mason." ' 

'  That — if  a  genuine  document — may  prove  I  have  boon 
married,  but  it  does  not  prove  that  the  woman  mentioned 
therein  as  my  wife  is  still  living.' 

'  She  was  living  three  months  ago,'  returned  the  lawyer. 

1  How  do  you  know  ?  ' 

'I  have  a  witness  to  the  fact,  whose  testimony  even 
you,  sir,  will  scarcely  controvert.' 

I  Produce  him — or  go  to  hell.' 

I 1  will  produce  him  first — he  is  on  the  spot :  Mr.  Mason, 
have  the  goodness  to  step  forward.' 

Mr.  Bochester,  on  hearing  the  name,  set  his  teeth ;  he 
experienced,  too,  a  sort  of  strong  convulsive  quiver  ;  near  to 
him  as  I  was,  I  felt  the  spasmodic  movement  of  fury  or 
despair  run  through  his  frame.  The  second  stranger,  who 


354  JANE  EYRE 

had  hitherto  lingered  in  the  background,  now  drew  near  ;  a 
pale  face  looked  over  the  solicitor's  shoulder — yes,  it  was 
Mason  himself.  Mr.  Rochester  turned  and  glared  at  him. 
His  eye,  as  I  have  often  said,  was  a  black  eye  :  it  had  now 
a  tawny,  nay  a  bloody  light  in  its  gloom;  and  his  face 
flushed — olive  cheek  and  hueless  forehead  received  a  glow, 
as  from  spreading,  ascending  heart-fire :  and  he  stirred,  lifted 
his  strong  arm — he  could  have  struck  Mason — dashed  him 
on  the  church-floor — shocked  by  ruthless  blow  the  breath 
from  his  body — but  Mason  shrank  away,  and  cried  faintly, 
'Good  God!'  Contempt  fell  cool  on  Mr.  Rochester — his 
passion  died  as  if  a  blight  had  shrivelled  it  up :  he  only 
asked,  '  What  have  you  to  say  ? ' 

An  inaudible  reply  escaped  Mason's  white  lips. 

1  The  devil  is  in  it  if  you  cannot  answer  distinctly.  I 
again  demand,  what  have  you  to  say  ? ' 

1  Sir — sir ' — interrupted  the  clergyman,  c  do  not  forget 
you  are  in  a  sacred  place.'  Then,  addressing  Mason,  he 
inquired  gently,  4  Are  you  aware,  sir,  whether  or  not  this 
gentleman's  wife  is  still  living  ? ' 

1  Courage,'  urged  the  lawyer, — '  speak  out.1 

4  She  is  now  living  at  Thornfield  Hall,'  said  Mason,  in 
more  articulate  tones  :  '  I  saw  her  there  last  April.  I  am 
her  brother.' 

4  At  Thornfield  Hall !  '  ejaculated  the  clergyman.  4  Im- 
possible I  I  am  an  old  resident  in  this  neighbourhood,  sir, 
and  I  never  heard  of  a  Mrs.  Rochester  at  Thornfield  Hall.' 

I  saw  a  grim  smile  contort  Mr.  Rochester's  lip,  and  he 
muttered : — '  No — by  God  !  I  took  care  that  none  should 
hear  of  it — or  of  her  under  that  name.'  He  mused — for  ten 
minutes  he  held  counsel  with  himself :  he  formed  his 
resolve,  and  announced  it : — f  Enough — all  shall  bolt  out  at 
once,  like  a  bullet  from  the  barrel. — Wood,  close  your  book, 
and  take  off  your  surplice ;  John  Green  (to  the  clerk)  leave 
the  church :  there  will  be  no  wedding  to-day : '  the  man 
obeyed. 

Mr.    Rochester    continued,    hardily    and    recklessly: 


JANE  EYEB  355 

'Bigamy  is  an  ugly  word! — I  meant,  however,  to  be  a 
bigamist ;  but  fate  has  outmanoeuvred  me ;  or  Providence 
has  cheeked  me, — perhaps  the  last.  I  am  little  better  than 
a  devil  at  this  moment ;  and,  as  my  pastor  there  would  tell 
me,  deserve  no  doubt  the  sternest  judgments  of  God, — even 
to  the  quenchless  fire  and  deathless  worm.  Gentlemen,  my 
plan  is  broken  up !—  what  this  lawyer  and  his  client  say  is 
true:  I  have  been  married;  and  the  woman  to  whom  I 
was  married  lives !  You  say  you  never  heard  of  a  Mrs. 
Eochester  at  the  house  up  yonder,  Wood :  but  I  dare  say 
you  have  many  a  time  inclined  your  ear  to  gossip  about  the 
mysterious  lunatic  kept  there  under  watch  and  ward.  Some 
have  "\\hispered  to  vou  that  she  is  my  bastard  half-sister : 
some,  my  cast-off  mistress ;  I  now  inform  you  that  she  is 
my  wife,  whom  I  married  fifteen  years  ago, — Bertha  Mason 
by  name  ;  sister  of  this  resolute  personage,  who  is  now,  with 
his  quivering  limbs  and  white  cheeks,  showing  you  what  a 
stout  heart  men  may  bear.  Cheer  up,  Dick  ! — never  fear 
me  ! — I'd  almost  as  soon  strike  a  woman  as  you.  Bertha 
Mason  is  mad;  and  she  came  of  a  mad  family; — idiots  and 
maniacs  through  three  generations !  Her  mother,  the 
Creole,  was  both  a  mad  woman  and  a  drunkard  I— as  I  found 
out  after  I  had  wed  the  daughter  :  for  they  were  silent  on 
family  secrets  before.  Bertha,  like  a  dutiful  child,  copied 
her  parent  in  both  points.  I  had  a  charming  partner — pure, 
wise,  modest :  you  can  fancy  I  was  a  happy  man. — I  went 
through  rich  scenes !  Oh !  my  experience  has  been  heavenly, 
if  you  only  knew  it !  But  I  owe  you  no  further  explanation. 
Briggs,  Wood,  Mason, — I  invite  you  all  to  come  up  to  the 
house  and  visit  Mrs.  Poole's  patient,  and  my  wife  !  You 
shall  see  what  sort  of  a  being  1  was  cheated  into  espousing, 
and  judge  whether  or  not  I  had  a  right  to  break  the  compact, 
and  seek  sympathy  with  something  at  least  human.  This 
girl/  he  continued,  looking  at  me,  '  knew  no  more  than  you, 
Wood,  of  the  disgusting  secret :  she  thought  all  was  fair  and 
legal ;  and  never  dreamt  she  was  going  to  be  entrapped  into 
a  feigned  union  with  a  defrauded  wretch,  already  bound  to 


356  JANE  EYEE 

a  bad,  mad,  and  embruted  partner  1  Come,  all  of  you, 
follow.' 

Still  holding  me  fast,  he  left  the  church:  the  three 
gentlemen  came  after.  At  the  front  door  of  the  hall  we 
found  the  carriage. 

'Take  it  back  to  the  coach-house,  John/  said  Mr. 
Rochester,  coolly ;  '  it  will  not  be  wanted  to-day/ 

At  our  entrance  Mrs.  Fairfax,  Ad61e,  Sophie,  Leah, 
advanced  to  meet  and  greet  us. 

'  To  the  right  about — every  soul ! '  cried  the  master  : 
1  away  with  your  congratulations  1  Who  wants  them  ?•— Not 
I ! — they  are  fifteen  years  too  late  ! ' 

He  passed  on  and  ascended  the  stairs,  still  holding  my 
hand,  and  still  beckoning  the  gentlemen  to  follow  him ; 
which  they  did.  We  mounted  the  first  staircase,  passed  up 
the  gallery,  proceeded  to  the  third  storey :  the  low,  black 
door,  opened  by  Mr.  Eochester's  master  key,  admitted  us  to 
the  tapestried  room,  with  its  great  bed  and  its  pictorial 
cabinet. 

'  You  know  this  place,  Mason/  said  our  guide ;  '  she  bit 
and  stabbed  you  here.' 

He  lifted  the  hangings  from  the  wall,  uncovering  the 
second  door :  this,  too,  he  opened.  In  a  room  without  a 
window  there  burnt  a  fire,  guarded  by  a  high  and  strong 
fender,  and  a  lamp  suspended  from  the  ceiling  by  a  chain. 
Grace  Poole  bent  over  the  fire,  apparently  cooking  something 
in  a  saucepan.  In  the  deep  shade,  at  the  further  end  of  the 
room,  a  figure  ran  backwards  and  forwards.  What  it  was, 
whether  beast  or  human  being,  one  could  not,  at  first  sight, 
tell :  it  grovelled,  seemingly,  on  all  fours ;  it  snatched  and 
growled  like  some  strange  wild  animal :  but  it  was  covered 
with  clothing ;  and  a  quantity  of  dark,  grizzled  hair,  wild  as 
a  mane,  hid  its  head  and  face. 

'  Good-morrow,  Mrs.  Poole ! '  said  Mr.  Eochester.  '  How 
are  you  ?  and  how  is  your  charge  to-day  ? ' 

1  We're  tolerable,  sir,  I  thank  you/  replied  Grace,  lifting 


JANE  EYKE  357 

the  boiling  mess  carefully  on  to  the  hob :  '  rather  snappish, 
but  not  'rageous.' 

A  fierce  cry  seemed  to  give  the  lie  to  her  favourable 
report :  the  clothed  hyena  rose  up,  and  stood  tall  on  its 
hind  feet. 

'  Ah,  sir,  she  sees  you  ! '  exclaimed  Grace  :  '  you'd  better 
not  stay.' 

'  Only  a  few  moments,  Grace  :  you  must  allow  me  a  few 
moments/ 

'  Take  care  then,  sir !— for  God's  sake,  take  care ! ' 

The  maniac  bellowed:  she  parted  her  shaggy  locks 
from  her  visage,  and  gazed  wildly  at  her  visitors.  I  recog- 
nised well  that  purple  face — those  bloated  features.  Mrs. 
Poole  advanced. 

1  Keep  out  of  the  way,'  said  Mr.  Rochester,  thrusting  her 
aside  :  '  she  has  no  knife  now,  I  suppose  ?  and  I'm  on  my 
guard.' 

'  One  never  knows  what  she  has,  sir :  she  is  so  cunning : 
it  is  not  in  mortal  discretion  to  fathom  her  craft.' 

'  We  had  better  leave  her,1  whispered  Mason. 

1  Go  to  the  devil ! '  was  his  brother-in-law's  recommenda- 
tion. 

'  Ware  ! '  cried  Grace.  The  three  gentlemen  retreated 
simultaneously.  Mr.  Rochester  flung  me  behind  him  :  the 
lunatic  sprang  and  grappled  his  throat  viciously,  and  laid 
her  teeth  to  his  cheek:  they  struggled.  She  was  a  big 
woman,  in  stature  almost  equalling  her  husband,  and  corpu- 
lent besides  :  she  showed  virile  force  in  the  contest — more 
than  once  she  almost  throttled  him,  athletic  as  he  was.  He 
could  have  settled  her  with  a  well-planted  blow;  but  he 
would  not  strike :  he  would  only  wrestle.  At  last  he  mas- 
tered her  arms;  Grace  Poole  gave  him  a  cord,  and  he 
pinioned  them  behind  her :  with  more  rope,  which  was  at 
hand,  he  bound  her  to  a  chair.  The  operation  was  per- 
formed amidst  the  fiercest  yells  and  the  most  convulsive 
plunges.  Mr.  Rochester  then  turned  to  the  spectators :  he 
looked  at  them  with  a  smile  both  acrid  and  desolate. 


358  JANE  EYEE 

'  That  is  my  wife,'  said  he.  '  Such  is  the  sole  conjugal 
embrace  I  am  ever  to  know — such  are  the  endearments 
which  are  to  solace  my  leisure  hours !  And  this  is  what  I 
wished  to  have '  (laying  his  hand  on  my  shoulder) :  '  this 
young  girl,  who  stands  so  grave  and  quiet  at  the  mouth  of 
hell,  looking  collectedly  at  the  gambols  of  a  demon.  I 
wanted  her  just  as  a  change  after  that  fierce  ragout.  Wood 
and  Briggs,  look  at  the  difference  1  Compare  these  clear  eyes 
with  the  red  halls  yonder — this  face  with  that  mask — this 
form  with  that  bulk  ;  then  judge  me,  priest  of  the  gospel  and 
man  of  the  law,  and  remember,  with  what  judgment  ye 
judge  ye  shall  be  judged !  Off  with  you  now.  I  must  shut 
up  my  prize.' 

We  all  withdrew.  Mr.  Eochester  stayed  a  moment 
behind  us  to  give  some  further  order  to  Grace  Poole.  The 
solicitor  addressed  me  as  he  descended  the  stair. 

1  You,  madam/  said  he,  '  are  cleared  from  all  blame : 
your  uncle  will  be  glad  to  hear  it — if,  indeed,  he  should  be 
still  living — when  Mr.  Mason  returns  to  Madeira.' 

'  My  uncle  !    What  of  him  ?    Do  you  know  him  ? ' 

'  Mr.  Mason  does  :  Mr.  Eyre  has  been  the  Funchal  corre- 
spondent of  his  house  for  some  years.  When  your  uncle 
received  your  letter  intimating  the  contemplated  union 
between  yourself  and  Mr.  Eochester,  Mr.  Mason,  who  was 
staying  at  Madeira  to  recruit  his  health,  on  his  way  back  to 
Jamaica,  happened  to  be  with  him.  Mr.  Eyre  mentioned 
the  intelligence;  for  he  knew  that  my  client  here  was 
acquainted  with  a  gentleman  of  the  name  of  Eochester. 
Mr.  Mason,  astonished  and  distressed  as  you  may  suppose, 
revealed  the  real  state  of  matters.  Your  uncle,  I  am  sorry 
to  say,  is  now  on  a  sick  bed ;  from  which,  considering  the 
nature  of  his  disease — decline — and  the  stage  it  has  reached, 
it  is  unlikely  he  will  ever  rise.  He  could  not  then 
hasten  to  England  himself,  to  extricate  you  from  the  snare 
into  which  you  had  fallen,  but  he  implored  Mr.  Mason  to 
lose  no  time  in  taking  steps  to  prevent  the  false  marriage. 
He  referred  him  to  me  for  assistance.  I  used  all  despatch, 


JANE  EYBE  359 

and  am  thankful  I  was  not  too  late  :  as  you,  doubtless,  must 
be  also.  Were  I  not  morally  certain  that  your  uncle  will 
be  dead  ere  you  reach  Madeira,  I  would  advise  you  to 
accompany  Mr.  Mason  back :  but  as  it  is,  I  think  you  had 
better  remain  in  England  till  you  can  hear  further,  either  from 
or  of  Mr.  Eyre.  Have  we  anything  else  to  stay  for  ? '  he 
inquired  of  Mr.  Mason. 

1  No,  no — let  us  be  gone/  was  the  anxious  reply ;  and 
without  waiting  to  take  leave  of  Mr.  Eochester,  they  made 
their  exit  at  the  hall  door.  The  clergyman  stayed  to  ex- 
change a  few  sentences,  either  of  admonition  or  reproof, 
with  his  haughty  parishioner :  this  duty  done,  he  too 
departed. 

I  heard  him  go  as  I  stood  at  the  half -open  door  of  my 
own  room,  to  which  I  had  now  withdrawn.  The  house 
cleared,  I  shut  myself  in,  fastened  the  bolt  that  none  might 
intrude,  and  proceeded — not  to  weep,  not  to  mourn,  I  was 
yet  too  calm  for  that,  but — mechanically  to  take  off  the 
wedding-dress,  and  replace  it  by  the  stuff  gown  I  had  worn 
yesterday,  as  I  thought,  for  the  last  time.  I  then  sat  down  : 
I  felt  weak  and  tired.  I  leaned  my  arms  on  a  table,  and 
my  head  dropped  on  them.  And  now  I  thought :  till  now 
I  had  only  heard,  seen,  moved — followed  up  and  down 
where  I  was  led  or  dragged — watched  event  rush  on  event, 
disclosure  open  beyond  disclosure  :  but  now,  I  thought. 

The  morning  had  been  a  quiet  morning  enough — all 
except  the  brief  scene  with  the  lunatic  :  the  transaction  in 
the  church  had  not  been  noisy ;  there  was  no  explosion  of 
passion,  no  loud  altercation,  no  dispute,  no  defiance  or 
challenge,  no  tears,  no  sobs  :  a  few  words  had  been  spoken, 
a  calmly  pronounced  objection  to  the  marriage  made ;  some 
stern,  short  questions  put  by  Mr.  Eochester ;  answers,  explana- 
tions given,  evidence  adduced ;  an  open  admission  of  the 
truth  had  been  uttered  by  my  master ;  then  the  living  proof 
had  been  seen  :  the  intruders  were  gone,  and  all  was  over. 

I  was  in  my  own  room  as  usual — just  myself,  without 
obvious  change  :  nothing  had  smitten  me,  or  scathed  me,  or 


360  JANE  EYKE 

maimed  me.  And  yet,  where  was  the  Jane  Eyre  of  yester- 
day?— where  was  her  life? — where  were  her  prospects? 

Jane  Eyre,  who  had  been  an  ardent,  expectant  woman — 
almost  a  bride — was  a  cold,  solitary  girl  again :  her  life  was 
pale ;  her  prospects  were  desolate.  A  Christmas  frost  had 
come  at  midsummer ;  a  white  December  storm  had  whirled 
over  June ;  ice  glazed  the  ripe  apples,  drifts  crushed  the 
blowing  roses;  on  hay-field  and  corn-field  lay  a  frozen 
shroud  :  lanes  which  last  night  blushed  full  of  flowers,  to- 
day were  pathless  with  untrodden  snow ;  and  fche  woods, 
which  twelve  hours  since  waved  leafy  and  fragrant  as 
groves  between  the  tropics,  now  spread,  waste,  wild,  and 
white  as  pine-forests  in  wintry  Norway.  My  hopes  were  all 
dead — struck  with  a  subtle  doom,  such  as,  in  one  night,  fell 
on  all  the  first-born  in  the  land  of  Egypt.  I  looked  on  my 
cherished  wishes,  yesterday  so  blooming  and  glowing :  they 
lay  stark,  chill,  livid  corpses  that  could  never  revive.  I 
looked  at  my  love  :  that  feeling  which  was  my  master's — 
which  he  had  created  ;  it  shivered  in  my  heart,  like  a  suffer- 
ing child  in  a  cold  cradle  ;  sickness  and  anguish  had  seized 
it ;  it  could  not  seek  Mr.  Rochester's  arms — it  could  not 
derive  warmth  from  his  breast.  Oh,  never  more  could  it 
turn  to  him  ;  for  faith  was  blighted — confidence  destroyed  1 
Mr.  Rochester  was  not  to  me  what  he  had  been ;  for  he  was 
not  what  I  had  thought  him.  I  would  not  ascribe  vice  to 
him  ;  I  would  not  say  he  had  betrayed  me :  but  the  attribute 
of  stainless  truth  was  gone  from  his  idea ;  and  from  his 
presence  I  must  go ;  that  I  perceived  well.  When — how — 
whither,  I  could  not  yet  discern ;  but  he  himself,  I  doubted 
not,  would  hurry  me  from  Thornfield.  Real  affection,  it 
seemed,  he  could  not  have  for  me ;  it  had  been  only  fitful 
passion  :  that  was  balked ;  he  would  want  me  no  more.  I 
should  fear  even  to  cross  his  path  now :  my  view  must  be 
hateful  to  him.  Oh,  how  blind  had  been  my  eyes  !  How 
weak  my  conduct ! 

My  eyes  were  covered  and  closed :  eddying  darkness 
seemed  to  swim  round  me,  and  reflection  came  in  as  black 


JANE  EYEE  361 

and  confused  a  flow.  Self -abandoned,  relaxed,  and  effortless, 
I  seemed  to  have  laid  me  down  in  the  dried-up  bed  of  a 
great  river ;  I  heard  a  flood  loosened  in  remote  mountains, 
and  felt  the  torrent  come  :  to  rise  I  had  no  will,  to  flee  I 
had  no  strength.  I  lay  faint ;  longing  to  be  dead.  One 
idea  only  still  throbbed  life-like  within  me — a  remembrance 
of  God:  it  begot  an  unuttered  prayer:  these  words  went 
wandering  up  and  down  in  my  rayless  mind,  as  something 
that  should  be  whispered;  but  no  energy  was  found  to 
express  them : — '  Be  not  far  from  me,  for  trouble  is  near  : 
there  is  none  to  help/ 

It  was  near  :  and  as  I  had  lifted  no  petition  to  Heaven 
to  avert  it — as  I  had  neither  joined  my  hands,  nor  bent  my 
knees,  nor  moved  my  lips — it  came :  in  full,  heavy  swing 
the  torrent  poured  over  me.  The  whole  consciousness  of 
my  life  lorn,  my  love  lost,  my  hope  quenched,  my  faith 
death-struck,  swayed  full  and  mighty  above  me  in  one 
sullen  mass.  That  bitter  hour  cannot  be  described :  in 
truth, '  the  waters  came  into  my  soul ;  I  sank  in  deep  mire : 
I  felt  no  standing;  I  came  into  deep  waters;  the  floods 
overflowed  me.' 


362  JANE  EYEE 


CHAPTEE  XXVII 

SOME  time  in  the  afternoon  I  raised  my  head,  and  looking 
round  and  seeing  the  western  sun  gilding  the  sign  of  its 
decline  on  the  wall,  I  asked,  '  What  am  I  to  do  ? ' 

But  the  answer  my  mind  gave — '  Leave  Thornfield  at 
once ' — was  so  prompt,  so  dread,  that  I  stopped  my  ears :  I 
said,  I  could  not  bear  such  words  now.  '  That  I  am  not 
Edward  Eochester's  bride  is  the  least  part  of  my  woe/  I 
alleged  :  '  that  I  have  wakened  out  of  most  glorious  dreams, 
and  found  them  all  void  and  vain,  is  a  horror  I  could  bear 
and  master ;  but  that  I  must  leave  him  decidedly,  instantly, 
entirely,  is  intolerable.  I  cannot  do  it.1 

But,  then,  a  voice  within  me  averred  that  I  could  do  it ; 
and  ioretold  that  I  should  do  it.  I  wrestled  with  my  own 
resolution :  I  wanted  to  be  weak  that  I  might  avoid  the 
awful  passage  of  further  suffering  I  saw  laid  out  for  me ;  and 
conscience,  turned  tyrant,  held  passion  by  the  throat,  told 
her  tauntingly  she  had  yet  but  dipped  her  dainty  foot  in  the 
slough,  and  swore  that  with  that  arm  of  iron  he  would  thrust 
her  down  to  unsounded  depths  of  agony. 

1  Let  me  be  torn  away,  then  ! '  I  cried  '  Let  another  help 
me!' 

'  No  ;  you  shall  tear  yourself  away,  none  shall  help  you  : 
you  shall,  yourself,  pluck  out  your  right  eye :  yourself  cut 
off  your  right  hand :  your  heart  shall  be  the  victim ;  and 
you,  the  priest,  to  transfix  it.' 

I  rose  up  suddenly,  terror-struck  at  the  solitude  which  so 
ruthless  a  judge  haunted, — at  the  silence  which  so  awful  a 
voice  filled.  My  head  swam  as  I  stood  erect :  I  perceived 
that  I  was  sickening  from  excitement  and  inanition  ;  neither 


JANE  EYEE  363 

meat  nor  drink  had  passed  my  lips  that  day,  for  I  had  taken 
no  breakfast.  And,  with  a  strange  pang,  I  now  reflected  that, 
long  as  I  had  been  shut  up  here,  no  message  had  been  sent 
to  ask  how  I  was,  or  to  invite  me  to  come  down :  not  even 
little  Ad61e  had  tapped  at  the  door ;  not  even  Mrs.  Fairfax 
had  sought  me.  '  Friends  always  forget  those  whom  fortune 
forsakes/  I  murmured,  as  I  undrew  the  bolt  and  passed  out. 
I  stumbled  over  an  obstacle :  my  head  was  still  dizzy,  my 
sight  was  dim,  and  my  limbs  were  feeble.  I  could  not  soon 
recover  myself.  I  fell,  but  not  on  to  the  ground ;  an  out- 
stretched arm  caught  me ;  I  looked  up — I  was  supported 
by  Mr.  Rochester,  who  sat  in  a  chair  across  my  chamber 
threshold. 

'  You  come  out  at  last/  he  said.  '  Well,  I  have  been 
waiting  for  you  long,  and  listening :  yet  not  one  movement 
have  I  heard,  nor  one  sob  :  five  minutes  more  of  that  death- 
like hush,  and  I  should  have  forced  the  lock  like  a  burglar. 
So,  you  shun  me  ? — you  shut  yourself  up  and  grieve  alone ! 
I  would  rather  you  had  come  and  upbraided  me  with 
vehemence.  You  are  passionate :  I  expected  a  scene  of  some 
kind.  I  was  prepared  for  the  hot  rain  of  tears;  only  I 
wanted  them  to  be  shed  on  my  breast :  now  a  senseless  floor 
has  received  them,  or  your  drenched  handkerchief.  But  I 
err  :  you  have  not  wept  at  all !  I  see  a  white  cheek  and  a 
faded  eye,  but  no  trace  of  tears.  I  suppose,  then,  your  heart 
has  been  weeping  blood  ? 

'  Well,  Jane ;  not  a  word  of  reproach  ?  Nothing  bitter — 
nothing  poignant?  Nothing  to  cut  a  feeling  or  sting  a 
passion?  You  sit  quietly  where  I  have  placed  you,  and 
regard  me  with  a  weary,  passive  look. 

1  Jane,  I  never  meant  to  wound  you  thus.  If  the  man 
who  had  but  one  little  ewe  lamb  that  was  dear  to  him  as  a 
daughter,  that  ate  of  his  bread  and  drank  of  his  cup,  and  lay 
in  his  bosom,  had  by  some  mistake  slaughtered  it  at  the 
shambles,  he  would  not  have  rued  his  bloody  blunder  more 
than  I  now  rue  mine.  Will  you  ever  forgive  me  ? ' 

Beader ! — I  forgave  him  at  the  moment,  and  on  the  spot. 


364  JANE  EYEB 

There  was  such  deep  remorse  in  his  eye,  such  true  pity  in 
his  tone,  such  manly  energy  in  his  manner ;  and,  besides, 
there  was  such  unchanged  love  in  his  whole  look  and  mien 
— I  forgave  him  all :  yet  not  in  words,  not  outwardly ;  only 
at  my  heart's  core. 

'  You  know  I  am  a  scoundrel,  Jane  ? '  ere  long  he  inquired 
wistfully — wondering,  I  suppose,  at  my  continued  silence 
and  tameness :  the  result  rather  of  weakness  than  of  will. 

'  Yes,  sir/ 

*  Then  tell  me  so  roundly  and  sharply — don't  spare  me/ 

1 1  cannot :  I  am  tired  and  sick.  I  want  some  water/ 
He  heaved  a  sort  of  shuddering  sigh,  and  taking  me  in  his 
arms,  carried  me  downstairs.  At  first  I  did  not  know  to 
what  room  he  had  borne  me ;  all  was  cloudy  to  my  glazed 
sight :  presently  I  felt  the  reviving  warmth  of  a  fire ;  for, 
summer  as  it  was,  I  had  become  icy  cold  in  my  chamber. 
He  put  wine  to  my  lips ;  I  tasted  it  and  revived ;  then  I  ate 
something  he  offered  me,  and  was  soon  myself.  I  was  in 
the  library — sitting  in  his  chair — he  was  quite  near.  '  If  I 
could  go  out  of  life  now,  without  too  sharp  a  pang,  it  would 
be  well  for  me/  I  thought ;  '  then  I  should  not  have  to  make 
the  effort  of  cracking  my  heart-strings  in  rending  them  from 
among  Mr.  Bochester's.  I  must  leave  him,  it  appears.  I 
do  not  want  to  leave  him — I  cannot  leave  him/ 

'  How  are  you  now,  Jane  ?  ' 

1  Much  better,  sir  :  I  shall  be  well  soon/ 

'  Taste  the  wine  again,  Jane/ 

I  obeyed  him ;  then  he  put  the  glass  on  the  table,  stood 
before  me,  and  looked  at  me  attentively.  Suddenly  he 
turned  away,  with  an  inarticulate  exclamation,  full  of  pas- 
sionate emotion  of  some  kind ;  he  walked  fast  through  the 
room  and  came  back :  he  stooped  towards  me  as  if  to  kiss 
me;  but  I  remembered  caresses  were  now  forbidden.  I 
turned  my  face  away,  and  put  his  aside. 

'  What  1— How  is  this  ? '  he  exclaimed  hastily.  '  Oh,  I 
know !  you  won't  kiss  the  husband  of  Bertha  Mason  ?  You 
consider  my  arms  filled  and  my  embraces  appropriated  ? ' 


JANE  EYEE  365 

'  At  any  rate,  there  is  neither  room  nor  claim  for  me,  sir.' 

'Why,  Jane?  I  will  spare  you  the  trouble  of  much 
talking:  I  will  answer  for  you— because  I  have  a  wife 
already,  you  would  reply. — I  guess  rightly  ? ' 

'Yes.1 

'  If  you  think  so,  you  must  have  a  strange  opinion  of  me  : 
you  must  regard  me  as  a  plotting  profligate — a  base  and  low 
rake  who  has  been  simulating  disinterested  love  in  order  to 
draw  you  into  a  snare  deliberately  laid,  and  strip  you  of 
honour,  and  rob  you  of  self-respect.  What  do  you  say  to 
that  ?  I  see  you  can  say  nothing  :  in  the  first  place,  you  are 
faint  still,  and  have  enough  to  do  to  draw  your  breath ;  in 
the  second  place,  you  cannot  yet  accustom  youiself  to  accuse 
and  revile  me;  and,  besides,  the  flood-gates  of  tears  are 
opened,  and  they  would  rush  out  if  you  spoke  much ;  and 
you  have  no  desire  to  expostulate,  to  upbraid,  to  make  a 
scene:  you  are  thinking  how  to  act, — talking,  you  con- 
sider, is  of  no  use.  I  know  you — I  am  on  my  guard/ 

1  Sir,  I  do  not  wish  to  act  against  you,'  I  said ;  and  my 
unsteady  voice  warned  me  to  curtail  my  sentence. 

'Not  in  your  sense  of  the  word,  but  in  mine,  you  are 
scheming  to  destroy  me.  You  have  as  good  as  said  that  I 
am  a  married  man — as  a  married  man  you  will  shun  me, 
keep  out  of  my  way :  just  now  you  have  refused  to  kiss  me. 
You  intend  to  make  yourself  a  complete  stranger  to  me ;  to 
live  under  this  roof  only  as  Ad&le's  governess  :  if  ever  I  say 
a  friendly  word  to  you,  if  ever  a  friendly  feeling  inclines  you 
again  to  me,  you  will  say, — "  That  man  had  nearly  made  me 
his  mistress  :  I  must  be  ice  and  rock  to  him  ;  "  and  ice  and 
rock  you  will  accordingly  become.' 

I  cleared  and  steadied  my  voice  to  reply : '  All  is  changed 
about  me,  sir ;  I  must  change  too — there  is  no  doubt  of  that ; 
and  to  avoid  fluctuations  of  feeling,  and  continual  combats 
with  recollections  and  associations,  there  is  only  one  way — 
Adfele  must  have  a  new  governess,  sir.1 

'  Oh,  Ad61e  will  go  to  school — I  have  settled  that  already ; 
nor  do  I  mean  to  torment  you  with  the  hideous  associations 


366  JANE  EYEE 

and  recollections  of  Thornfield  Hall — this  accursed  place — 
this  tent  of  Achan — this  insolent  vault,  offering  the  ghastli- 
ness  of  living  death  to  the  light  of  the  open  sky — this  narrow 
stone  hell,  with  its  one  real  fiend,  worse  than  a  legion  of 
such  as  we  imagine. — Jane,  you  shall  not  stay  here,  nor  will 
I.  I  was  wrong  ever  to  bring  you  to  Thornfield  Hall,  know- 
ing as  I  did  how  it  was  haunted.  I  charged  them  to  conceal 
from  you,  before  I  ever  saw  you,  all  knowledge  of  the  curse 
of  the  place ;  merely  because  I  feared  Adele  never  would 
have  a  governess  to  stay  if  she  knew  with  what  inmate  she 
was  housed,  and  my  plans  would  not  permit  me  to  remove  the 
maniac  elsewhere — though  I  possess  an  old  house,  Ferndean 
Manor,  even  more  retired  and  hidden  than  this,  where  I 
could  have  lodged  her  safely  enough,  had  not  a  scruple 
about  the  unhealthiness  of  the  situation,  in  the  heart  of  a 
wood,  made  my  conscience  recoil  from  the  arrangement. 
Probably  those  damp  walls  would  soon  have  eased  me  of 
her  charge  :  but  to  each  villain  his  own  vice  ;  and  mine  is 
not  a  tendency  to  indirect  assassination,  even  of  what  I 
most  hate. 

'  Concealing  the  mad-woman's  neighbourhood  from  you, 
however,  was  something  like  covering  a  child  with  a  cloak, 
and  laying  it  down  near  a  upas-tree :  that  demon's  vicinage 
is  poisoned,  and  always  was.  But  I'll  shut  up  Thornfield 
Hall:  111  nail  up  the  front  door,  and  board  the  lower 
v  indows ;  I'll  give  Mrs.  Poole  two  hundred  a  year  to  live 
here  with  my  wife,  as  you  term  that  fearful  hag :  Grace  will 
do  much  for  money,  and  she  shall  have  her  son,  the  keeper 
at  Grimsby  Eetreat,  to  bear  her  company  and  be  at  hand  to 
give  her  aid  in  the  paroxysms  when  my  wife  is  prompted 
by  her  familiar  to  burn  people  in  their  beds  at  night,  to  stab 
them,  to  bite  their  flesh  from  their  bones,  and  so  on ' 

'Sir,'  I  interrupted  him,  'you  are  inexorable  for  that 
unfortunate  lady:  you  speak  of  her  with  hate — with 
vindictive  antipathy.  It  is  cruel — she  cannot  help  being 
mad/ 

'Jane,  my  little  darling  (so  I  will  call  you,  for  so  you 


JANE  EYRE  367 

are),  you  don't  know  what  you  are  talking  about;  you 
misjudge  me  again :  it  is  not  because  she  is  mad  I  hate  her. 
If  you  were  mad,  do  you  think  I  should  hate  you  ? ' 

*  I  do  indeed,  sir/ 

'  Then  you  are  mistaken,  and  you  know  nothing  about 
me,  and  nothing  about  the  sort  of  love  of  which  I  am 
capable.  Every  atom  of  your  flesh  is  as  dear  to  me  as  my 
own:  in  pain  and  sickness  it  would  still  be  dear.  Your 
mind  is  my  treasure,  and  if  it  were  broken,  it  would  be  rny 
treasure  still :  if  you  raved,  my  arms  should  confine  you, 
and  not  a  strait  waistcoat — your  grasp,  even  in  fury, 
would  have  a  charm  for  me :  if  you  flew  at  me  as  wildly  as  that 
woman  did  this  morning,  I  should  receive  you  in  an  embrace 
at  least  as  fond  as  it  would  be  restrictive.  I  should  not 
shrink  from  you  with  disgust  as  I  did  from  her :  in  your 
quiet  moments  you  should  have  no  watcher  and  no  nurse 
but  me ;  and  I  could  hang  over  you  with  untiring  tender- 
ness, though  you  gave  me  no  smile  in  return ;  and  never 
weary  of  gazing  into  your  eyes,  though  they  had  no  longer 
a  ray  of  recognition  for  me. — But  why  do  I  follow  that  train 
of  ideas  ?  I  was  talking  of  removing  you  from  Thornfield. 
All,  you  know,  is  prepared  for  prompt  departure :  to-morrow 
you  shall  go.  I  only  ask  you  to  endure  one  more  night 
under  this  roof,  Jane  :  and  then,  farewell  to  its  miseries  and 
terrors  for  ever !  I  have  a  place  to  repair  to  which  will  be 
a  secure  sanctuary  from  hateful  reminiscences,  from  unwel- 
come intrusion — even  from  falsehood  and  slander.' 

'  And  take  Adele  with  you,  sir,'  I  interrupted ;  '  she  will 
be  a  companion  for  you.' 

'  What  do  you  mean,  Jane  ?  I  told  you  I  would  send 
Ad61e  to  school :  and  what  do  I  want  with  a  child  for  a 
companion?  and  not  my  own  child, — a  French  dancer's 
bastard.  Why  do  you  importune  me  about  her  ?  I  say, 
why  do  you  assign  Ad&le  to  me  for  a  companion  ? ' 

'You  spoke  of  a  retirement,  sir;  and  retirement  and 
solitude  are  dull :  too  dull  for  you.' 

Solitude  1  solitude ! '  he  reiterated,  with  irritation.    '  I 


368  JANE  EYEE 

see  I  must  come  to  an  explanation.  I  don't  know  what 
sphinx-like  expression  is  forming  in  your  countenance.  You 
are  to  share  my  solitude.  Do  you  understand  ? ' 

I  shook  my  head :  it  required  a  degree  of  courage, 
excited  as  he  was  becoming,  even  to  risk  that  mute  sign  of 
dissent.  He  had  been  walking  fast  about  the  room,  and  he 
stopped,  as  if  suddenly  rooted  to  one  spot.  He  looked  at 
me  long  and  hard  :  I  turned  my  eyes  from  him,  fixed  them 
on  the  fire,  and  tried  to  assume  and  maintain  a  quiet,  col- 
lected aspect. 

'  Now  for  the  hitch  in  Jane's  character/  he  said  at  last, 
speaking  more  calmly  than  from  his  look  I  had  expected 
him  to  speak.  '  The  reel  of  silk  has  run  smoothly  enough 
so  far ;  but  I  always  knew  there  would  come  a  knot  and  a 
puzzle :  here  it  is.  Now  for  vexation,  and  exasperation, 
and  endless  trouble !  By  God  1  I  long  to  exert  a  fraction  of 
Samson's  strength,  and  break  the  entanglement  like  tow ! ' 

He  recommenced  his  walk :  but  soon  again  stopped,  and 
this  time  just  before  me. 

'  Jane !  will  you  hear  reason  ? f  (he  stooped  and  ap- 
proached his  lips  to  my  ear)  '  because,  if  you  won't,  I'll  try 
violence.'  His  voice  was  hoarse ;  his  look  that  of  a  man 
who  is  just  about  to  burst  an  insufferable  bond  and  plunge 
headlong  into  wild  license.  I  saw  that  in  another  moment, 
and  with  one  impetus  of  frenzy  more,  I  should  be  able  to  do 
nothing  with  him.  The  present — the  passing  second  of 
time — was  all  I  had  in  which  to  control  and  restrain  him  : 
a  movement  of  repulsion,  flight,  fear,  would  have  sealed  my 
doom,— and  his.'  But  I  was  not  afraid :  not  in  the  least.  I 
felt  an  inward  power;  a  sense  of  influence,  which  sup- 
ported me.  The  crisis  was  perilous ;  but  not  without  its 
charm :  such  as  the  Indian,  perhaps,  feels  when  he  slips 
over  the  rapid  in  his  canoe.  I  took  hold  of  his  clenched 
hand;  loosened  the  contorted  fingers,  and  said  to  him, 
soothingly, — '  Sit  down ;  I'll  talk  to  you  as  long  as  you  like, 
and  hear  all  you  have  to  say,  whether  reasonable  or 
unreasonable/ 


JANE  EYEE  369 

He  sat  down :  but  he  did  not  get  leave  to  speak 
directly.  I  had  been  struggling  with  tears  for  some  time ;  I 
had  taken  great  pains  to  repress  them,  because  I  knew  he 
would  not  like  to  see  me  weep.  Now,  however,  I  considered 
it  well  to  let  them  flow  as  freely  and  as  long  as  they  liked. 
If  the  flood  annoyed  him,  so  much  the  better.  So  I  gave 
way  and  cried  heartily. 

Soon  I  heard  him  earnestly  entreating  me  to  be  com- 
posed. I  said  I  could  not  while  he  was  in  such  a  passion. 

'  But  I  am  not  angry,  Jane :  I  only  love  you  too  well ; 
and  you  had  steeled  your  little  pale  face  with  such  a 
resolute,  frozen  look,  I  could  not  endure  it.  Hush,  now, 
and  wipe  your  eyes/ 

His  softened  voice  announced  that  he  was  subdued ;  so  I, 
in  my  turn,  became  calm.  Now  he  made  an  effort  to  rest 
his  head  on  my  shoulder  ;  but  I  would  not  permit  it.  Then 
he  would  draw  me  to  him  :  no. 

'  Jane !  Jane  I '  he  said,  in  such  an  accent  of  bitter  sad- 
ness it  thrilled  along  every  nerve  I  had,  '  you  don't  love  me, 
then  ?  It  was  only  my  station,  and  the  rank  of  my  wife, 
that  you  valued  ?  Now  that  you  think  me  disqualified  to 
become  your  husband  you  recoil  from  my  touch  as  if  I  were 
some  toad  or  ape/ 

These  words  cut  me :  yet  what  could  I  do  or  say  ?  I 
ought  probably  to  have  done  or  said  nothing  :  but  I  was  so 
tortured  by  a  sense  of  remorse  at  thus  hurting  his  feelings  I 
could  not  control  the  wish  to  drop  balm  where  I  had 
wounded. 

1 1  do  love  you/  I  said,  '  more  than  ever :  but  I  must  not 
show  or  indulge  the  feeling :  and  this  is  the  last  time  I  must 
express  it/ 

'  The  last  time,  Jane !  What !  do  you  think  you  can 
live  with  me,  and  see  me  daily,  and  yet,  if  you  still  love  me, 
be  always  cold  and  distant  ? ' 

'  No,  sir ;  that  I  am  certain  I  could  not ;  and  therefore  I 
see  there  is  but  one  way :  but  you  will  be  furious  if  I  men- 
tion it/ 


370  JANE  EYRE 

'  Oh,  mention  it  1  If  I  storm,  you  have  the  art  of  weeping. 

'  Mr.  Bodies ter,  I  must  leave  you.' 

'  For  how  long,  Jane  ?  For  a  few  minutes,  while  you 
smooth  your  hair — which  is  somewhat  dishevelled;  and 
bathe  your  face — which  looks  feverish? ' 

*  I  must  leave  Ad&le  and  Thornfield.    I  must  part  with 
you  for  my  whole  life:    I   must  begin  a  new  existence 
amongst  strange  faces  and  strange  scenes.' 

1  Of  course :  I  told  you  you  should.  I  pass  over  the 
madness  about  parting  from  me.  You  mean  you  must 
become  a  part  of  me.  As  to  the  new  existence,  it  is  all 
right :  you  shall  yet  be  my  wife  :  I  am  not  married.  You 
shall  be  Mrs.  Rochester — both  virtually  and  nominally.  I 
shall  keep  only  to  you  so  long  as  you  and  I  live.  You  shall 
go  to  a  place  I  have  in  the  south  of  France :  a  white-washed 
villa  on  the  shores  of  the  Mediterranean.  There  you  shall 
live  a  happy,  and  guarded,  and  most  innocent  life.  Never 
fear  that  I  wish  to  lure  you  into  error — to  make  you  my 
mistress.  Why  do  you  shake  your  head  ?  Jane,  you  must 
be*  reasonable ;  or  in  truth  I  shall  again  become  frantic/ 

His  voice  and  hand  quivered  ;  his  large  nostrils  dilated ; 
his  eye  blazed ;  still  I  dared  to  speak : — '  Sir,  your  wife  is 
living :  that  is  a  fact  acknowledged  this  morning  by  your- 
self. If  I  lived  with  you  as  you  desire,  I  should  then  be 
your  mistress :  to  say  otherwise  is  sophistical — is  false.' 

*  Jane,  I  am  not  a  gentle-tempered  man — you  forget  that : 
I  am  not  long-enduring ;  I  am  not  cool  and  dispassionate. 
Out  of  pity  to  me  and  yourself,  put  your  finger  on  my  pulse, 
feel  how  it  throbs,  and — beware  ! ' 

He  bared  his  wrist  and  offered  it  to  me :  the  blood  was 
forsaking  his  cheek  and  lips;  they  were  growing  livid;  I 
was  distressed  on  all  hands.  To  agitate  him  thus  deeply,  by 
a  resistance  he  so  abhorred,  was  cruel :  to  yield  was  out  of 
the  question.  I  did  what  human  beings  do  instinctively 
when  they  are  driven  to  utter  extremity — looked  for  aid  to 
one  higher  than  man :  the  words  '  God  help  me ! '  burst 
involuntarily  from  my  lips. 


JANE  EYBE  371 

1 1  am  a  fool  1 '  cried  Mr.  Bochester  suddenly.  '  I  keep 
telling  her  I  am  not  married,  and  do  not  explain  to  her  why. 
I  forget  she  knows  nothing  of  the  character  of  that  woman, 
or  of  the  circumstances  attending  my  infernal  union  with  her. 
Oh,  I  am  certain  Jane  will  agree  with  me  in  opinion  when 
she  knows  all  that  I  know !  Just  put  your  hand  in  mine, 
Janet,  that  I  may  have  the  evidence  of  touch  as  well  as 
sight  to  prove  you  are  near  me — and  I  will  in  a  few  words 
show  you  the  real  state  of  the  case.  Can  you  listen  to  me  ?  ' 

I  Yes,  sir ;  for  hours  if  you  will.' 

'  I  ask  only  minutes.  Jane,  did  you  ever  hear  or  know 
that  I  was  not  the  eldest  sin  of  my  house ;  that  I  had  once 
a  brother  older  than  I  ?  ' 

'  I  remember  Mrs.  Fairfax  told  me  so  once.' 
'  And  did  you  ever  hear  that  my  father  was  an  avaricious, 
grasping  man  ? ' 

I 1  have  understood  something  to  that  effect.' 

'  Well,  Jane,  being  so,  it  was  his  resolution  to  keep  the 
property  together;  he  could  not  bear  the  idea  of  dividing 
his  estate  and  leaving  me  a  fair  portion  :  all,  he  resolved, 
should  go  to  my  brother  Bowland.  Yet  as  little  could  he 
endure  that  a  son  of  his  should  be  a  poor  man.  I  must  be 
provided  for  by  a  wealthy  marriage.  He  sought  me  a  part- 
ner betimes.  Mr.  Mason,  a  West  India  planter  and  merchant, 
was  his  old  acquaintance.  He  was  certain  his  possessions 
were  real  and  vast:  he  made  inquiries.  Mr.  Mason,  he 
found,  had  a  son  and  daughter ;  and  he  learned  from  him 
that  he  could  and  would  give  the  latter  a  fortune  of  thirty 
thousand  pounds :  that  sufficed.  When  I  left  college  I  was 
sent  out  to  Jamaica,  to  espouse  a  bride  already  courted  for 
me.  My  father  said  nothing  about  her  money ;  but  he  told 
me  Miss  Mason  was  the  boast  of  Spanish  Town  for  her 
beauty  :  and  this  was  no  lie.  I  found  her  a  fine  woman,  in 
the  style  of  Blanche  Ingram ;  tall,  dark,  and  majestic.  Her 
family  wished  to  secure  me,  because  I  was  of  a  good  race ; 
and  so  did  she.  They  showed  her  to  me  in  parties,  splendidly 
dressed.  I  saldom  saw  her  alone,  and  had  very  little  private 


372  JANE  EYEE 

conversation  with  her.  She  flattered  me,  and  lavishly  dis- 
played for  my  pleasure  her  charms  and  accomplishments. 
All  the  men  in  her  circle  seemed  to  admire  her  and  envy  me. 
I  was  dazzled,  stimulated:  my  senses  were  excited;  and 
being  ignorant,  raw,  and  inexperienced,  I  thought  I  loved 
her.  There  is  no  folly  so  besotted  that  the  idiotic  rivalries 
of  society,  the  prurience,  the  rashness,  the  blindness  of  youth, 
will  not  hurry  a  man  to  its  commission.  Her  relatives 
encouraged  me  ;  competitors  piqued  me  ;  she  allured  me :  a 
marriage  was  achieved  almost  before  I  knew  where  I  was. 
Oh,  I  have  no  respect  for  myself  when  I  think  of  that  act ! 
— an  agony  of  inward  contempt  masters  me.  I  never  loved, 
T  never  esteemed,  I  did  not  even  know  her.  I  was  not  sure 
of  the  existence  of  one  virtue  in  her  nature :  I  had  marked 
neither  modesty,  nor  benevolence,  nor  candour,  nor  refine- 
ment in  her  mind  or  manners — and,  I  married  her : — gross, 
grovelling,  mole-eyed  blockhead  that  I  was !  With  less  sin 
I  might  have — but  let  me  remember  to  whom  I  am 
speaking. 

'  My  bride's  mother  I  had  never  seen :  I  understood  she 
was  dead.  The  honeymoon  over,  I  learned  my  mistake ; 
she  was  only  mad,  and  shut  up  in  a  lunatic  asylum.  There 
was  a  younger  brother,  too,  a  complete*  dumb  idiot.  The 
elder  one,  whom  you  have  seen  (and  whom  I  cannot  hate, 
whilst  I  abhor  all  his  kindred,  because  he  has  some  grains  of 
affection  in  his  feeble  mind ;  shown  in  the  continued  interest 
he  takes  in  his  wretched  sister,  and  also  in  a  dog-like  attach- 
ment he  once  bore  me),  will  probably  be  in  the  same  state 
one  day.  My  father,  and  my  brother  Eowland,  knew  all 
this  ;  but  they  thought  only  of  the  thirty  thousand  pounds, 
and  joined  in  the  plot  against  me. 

1  These  were  vile  discoveries ;  but,  except  for  the  treachery 
of  concealment,  I  should  have  made  them  no  subject  of 
reproach  to  my  wife  :  even  when  I  found  her  nature  wholly 
alien  to  mine ;  her  tastes  obnoxious  to  me  ;  her  cast  of  mind 
common,  low,  narrow,  and  singularly  incapable  of  being  led 
to  anything  higher,  expanded  to  anything  larger—when  I 


JANE  EYRE  373 

found  that  I  could  not  pass  a  single  evening,  nor  even  a 
single  hour  of  the  day,  with  her  in  comfort :  that  kindly  con- 
versation could  not  be  sustained  between  us,  because  what- 
ever topic  I  started  immediately  received  from  her  a  turn 
at  once  coarse  and  trite,  perverse  and  imbecile — when  I  per- 
ceived that  I  should  never  have  a  quiet  or  settled  household, 
because  no  servant  would  bear  the  continued  outbreaks  of 
her  violent  and  unreasonable  temper,  or  the  vexations  of  her 
absurd,  contradictory,  exacting  orders — even  then  I  re- 
strained myself :  I  eschewed  upbraiding,  I  curtailed  remon- 
strance ;  I  tried  to  devour  my  repentance  and  disgust  in  secret ; 
I  repressed  the  deep  antipathy  I  felt. 

'  Jane,  I  will  not  trouble  you  with  abominable  details : 
some  strong  words  shall  express  what  I  have  to  say.  I  lived 
with  that  woman  upstairs  four  years,  and  before  that  time 
she  had  tried  me  indeed  :  her  character  ripened  and  developed 
with  frightful  rapidity  ;  her  vices  sprang  up  fast  and  rank : 
they  were  so  strong,  only  cruelty  could  check  them  ;  and  I 
would  not  use  cruelty.  What  a  pigmy  intellect  she  had — 
and  what  giant  propensities !  How  fearful  were  the  curses 
those  propensities  entailed  on  me!  Bertha  Mason,— the 
true  daughter  of  an  infamous  mother, — dragged  me  through 
all  the  hideous  and  degrading  agonies  which  must  attend  a 
man  bound  to  a  wife  at  once  intemperate  and  unchaste. 

'  My  brother  in  the  interval  was  dead ;  and  at  the  end  of 
the  four  years  my  father  died  too.  I  was  rich  enough  now — 
yet  poor  to  hideous  indigence :  a  nature  the  most  gross, 
impure,  depraved,  I  ever  saw,  was  associated  with  mine,  and 
called  by  the  law  and  by  society  a  part  of  me.  And  I  could 
not  rid  myself  of  it  by  any  legal  proceedings  :  for  the  doctors 
now  discovered  that  my  wife  was  mad — her  excesses  had  pre- 
maturely developed  the  germs  of  insanity : — Jane,  you  don't 
like  my  narrative ;  you  look  almost  sick — shall  I  defer  the 
rest  to  another  day  ? ' 

'  No,  sir,  finish  it  now :  I  pity  you — I  do  earnestly  pity 
you.' 

'Pity,  Jane,  from  some  people  is  a  noxious  and  insulting 


374  JANE  EYEE 

sort  of  tribute,  which  one  is  justified  in  hurling  back  in  the 
teeth  of  those  who  offer  it ;  but  that  is  the  sort  of  pity  native 
to  callous,  selfish  hearts :  it  is  a  hybrid,  egotistical  pain  at 
hearing  of  woes,  crossed  with  ignorant  contempt  for  those 
who  have  endured  them.  But  that  is  not  your  pity,  Jane : 
it  is  not  the  feeling  of  which  your  whole  face  is  full  at  this 
moment — with  which  your  eyes  are  now  almost  overflowing 
— with  which  your  heart  is  heaving — with  which  your  hand 
is  trembling  in  mine.  Your  pity,  my  darling,  is  the  suffering 
mother  of  love:  its  anguish  is  the  very  natal  pang  of  the 
divine  passion.  I  accept  it,  Jane ;  let  the  daughter  have  free 
advent — my  arms  wait  to  receive  her.' 

'  Now,  sir,  proceed :  what  did  you  do  when  you  found 
she  was  mad?' 

'  Jane — I  approached  the  verge  of  despair :  a  remnant  .*f 
self-respect  was  all  that  intervened  between  me  and  the  gulf. 
In  the  eyes  of  the  world  I  was  doubtless  covered  with  grimy 
dishonour :  but  I  resolved  to  be  clean  in  my  own  sight — and 
to  the  last  I  repudiated  the  contamination  of  her  crimes,  and 
wrenched  myself  from  connection  with  her  mental  defects. 
Still,  society  associated  my  name  and  person  with  hers  !  I 
yet  saw  her  and  heard  her  daily :  something  of  her  breath 
(faugh!)  mixed  with  the  air  I  breathed;  and,  besides,  I 
remembered  I  had  once  been  her  husband — that  recollection 
was  then,  and  is  now,  inexpressibly  odious  to  me :  moreover, 
I  knew  that  while  she  lived  I  could  never  be  the  husband  of 
another  and  better  wife ;  and  though  five  years  my  senior 
(her  family  and  her  father  had  lied  to  me  even  in  the  par- 
ticular ot  her  age),  she  was  likely  to  live  as  long  as  I,  being 
as  robust  in  frame  as  she  was  infirm  in  mind.  Thus,  at  the 
age  of  twenty-six,  I  was  hopeless. 

1  One  night  I  had  been  awakened  by  her  yells — (since  the 
medical  men  had  pronounced  her  mad  she  had  of  course 
been  shut  up) — it  was  a  fiery  West  Indian  night ;  one  of  the 
description  that  frequently  precede  the  hurricanes  of  those 
climates ;  being  unable  to  sleep  in  bed,  I  got  up  and  opened 
the  window.  The  air  was  like  sulphur-steams— I  could  find 


JANE  EYEE  375 

no  refreshment  anywhere.  Mosquitoes  came  buzzing  in  and 
hummed  sullenly  round  the  room ;  the  sea,  which  I  could 
hear  from  thence,  rumbled  dull  like  an  earthquake — black 
clouds  were  casting  up  over  it ;  the  moon  was  setting  in  the 
waves,  broad  and  red,  like  a  hot  cannon-ball — she  threw  her 
last  bloody  glance  over  a  world  quivering  with  the  ferment 
of  tempest.  I  was  physically  influenced  by  the  atmosphere 
and  scene,  and  my  ears  were  filled  with  the  curses  the  maniac 
still  shrieked  out ;  wherein  she  momentarily  mingled  my 
name  with  such  a  tone  of  demon-hate,  with  such  language  ! 
— no  professed  harlot  ever  had  a  fouler  vocabulary  than  she : 
though  two  rooms  off,  I  heard  every  word — the  thin  parti- 
tions of  the  West  India  house  opposing  but  slight  obstruction 
to  her  wolfish  cries. 

'"This  life,"  said  1  at  last,  "is  hell!  this  is  the  air— 
those  are  the  sounds  of  the  bottomless  pit !  I  have  a  right 
to  deliver  myself  from  it  if  I  can.  The  sufferings  of  this 
mortal  state  will  leave  me  with  the  heavy  flesh  that  now 
cumbers  my  soul.  Of  the  fanatic's  burning  eternity  I  have 
no  fear ;  there  is  not  a  future  state  worse  than  this  present 
one — let  me  break  away,  and  go  home  to  God  !  " 

'  I  said  this  whilst  I  knelt  down  at  and  unlocked  a  trunk 
which  contained  a  brace  of  loaded  pistols  :  I  meant  to  shoot 
myself.  I  only  entertained  the  intention  for  a  moment; 
for  not  being  insane,  the  crisis  of  exquisite  and  unalloyed 
despair  which  had  originated  the  wish  and  design  of 
self-destruction  was  past  in  a  second. 

'A  wind  fresh  from  Europe  blew  over  the  ocean  and 
rushed  through  the  open  casement :  the  storm  broke,  streamed, 
thundered,  blazed,  and  the  air  grew  pure.  I  then  framed 
and  fixed  a  resolution.  While  I  walked  under  the  dripping 
orange-trees  of  my  wet  garden,  and  amongst  its  drenched 
pomegranates  and  pine-apples,  and  while  the  refulgent  dawn 
of  the  tropics-  kindled  round  me — I  reasoned  thus,  Jane : — 
and  now  listen ;  for  it  was  true  Wisdom  that  consoled  me 
in  that  hour,  and  showed  me  the  right  path  to  follow. 

'  The  sweet  wind  from  Europe  was  still  whispering  in  the 

o 


376  JANE  BYEB 

refreshed  leaves,  and  the  Atlantic  was  thundering  in  glorious 
liberty ;  my  heart,  dried  up  and  scorched  for  a  long  time, 
swelled  to  the  tone,  and  filled  with  living  blood — my  being 
longed  for  renewal— my  soul  thirsted  for  a  pure  draught.  I 
saw  Hope  revive — and  felt  Eegeneration  possible.  From  a 
flowery  arch  at  the  bottom  of  my  garden  I  gazed  over  the  sea 
— bluer  than  the  sky:  the  old  world  was  beyond;  clear 
prospects  opened  thus  : — 

1 "  Go,"  said  Hope,  "  and  live  again  in  Europe  :  there  it 
is  not  known  what  a  sullied  name  you  bear,  nor  what  a  filthy 
burden  is  bound  to  you.  You  may  take  the  maniac  with 
you  to  England ;  confine  her  with  due  attendance  and  pre- 
cautions at  Thornfield  :  then  travel  yourself  to  what  clime 
you  will,  and  form  what  new  tie  you  like.  That  woman,  who 
has  so  abused  your  long-suffering — so  sullied  your  name ; 
so  outraged  your  honour ;  so  blighted  your  youth  -  is  not  your 
wife ;  nor  are  you  her  husband.  See  that  she  is  cared  for  as 
her  condition  demands,  and  you  have  done  all  that  God  and 
Humanity  require  of  you.  Let  her  identity,  her  connection 
with  yourself,  be  buried  in  oblivion :  you  are  bound  to  im- 
part them  to  no  living  being.  Place  her  in  safety  and  com- 
fort :  shelter  her  degradation  with  secrecy,  and  leave  her." 

'  I  acted  precisely  on  this  suggestion.  My  father  and 
brother  had  not  made  my  marriage  known  to  their  acquain- 
tance ;  because,  in  the  very  first  letter  I  wrote  to  apprise 
them  of  the  union — having  already  begun  to  experience 
extreme  disgust  of  its  consequences ;  and  from  the  family 
character  and  constitution  seeing  a  hideous  future  opening 
to  me— I  added  an  urgent  charge  to  keep  it  secret;  and 
very  soon  the  infamous  conduct  of  the  wife  my  father  had 
selected  for  me  was  such  as  to  make  him  blush  to  own 
her  as  his  daughter-in-law.  Par  from  desiring  to  publish 
the  connection,  he  became  as  anxious  to  conceal  it  as 
myself. 

1  To  England,  then,  I  conveyed  her ;  a  fearful  voyage  I 
had  with  such  a  monster  in  the  vessel.  Glad  was  I  when  I  at 
last  got  her  to  Thornfield,  and  saw  her  safely  lodged  in  that 


JANE  EYEE  377 

third -storey  room,  of  whose  secret  inner  cabinet  she  has  now 
for  ten  years  made  a  wild  beast's  den — a  goblin's  cell.  I 
had  some  trouble  in  finding  an  attendant  for  her  :  as  it  was 
necessary  to  select  one  on  whose  fidelity  dependence 
could  be  placed  ;  for  her  ravings  would  inevitably  betray  my 
secret :  besides,  she  had  lucid  intervals  of  days — sometimes 
weeks — which  she  filled  up  with  abuse  of  me.  At  last  I 
hired  Grace  Poole,  from  the  Grimsby  Eetreat.  She  and  the 
surgeon,  Carter  (who  dressed  Mason's  wounds  that  night  he 
was  stabbed  and  worried),  are  the  only  two  I  have  ever  ad- 
mitted to  my  confidence.  Mrs.  Fairfax  may  indeed  have 
suspected  something ;  but  she  could  have  gained  no  precise 
knowledge  as  to  facts.  Grace  has,  on  the  whole,  proved  a 
good  keeper ;  though,  owing  partly  to  a  fault  of  her  own,  of 
which  it  appears  nothing  can  cure  her,  and  which  is  incident 
to  her  harassing  profession,  her  vigilance  has  been  more 
than  once  lulled  and  baffled.  The  lunatic  is  both  cunning 
and  malignant ;  she  has  never  failed  to  take  advantage  of 
her  guardian's  temporary  lapses  ;  once  to  secrete  the  knife 
with  which  she  stabbed  her  brother,  and  twice  to  possess 
herself  of  the  key  of  her  cell,  and  issue  therefrom  in  the  night- 
time. On  the  first  of  these  occasions  she  perpetrated  the 
attempt  to  burn  me  in  my  bed  ;  on  the  second  she  paid  that 
ghastly  visit  to  you.  I  thank  Providence,  who  watched  over 
you,  that  she  then  spent  her  fury  on  your  wedding  apparel ; 
which  perhaps  brought  back  vague  reminiscences  of  her  own 
bridal  days :  but  on  what  might  have  happened  I  cannot 
endure  to  reflect.  When  I  think  of  the  thing  which  flew  at 
my  throat  this  morning  hanging  its  black  and  scarlet  visage 
over  the  nest  of  my  dove  my  blood  curdles ' 

1  And  what,  sir,'  I  asked,  while  he  paused,  '  did  you  do 
when  you  had  settled  her  here  ?  Where  did  you  go  ?  ' 

1  What  did  I  do,  Jane  ?  I  transformed  myself  into  a 
Will-o'-the-wisp.  Where  did  I  go  ?  I  pursued  wanderings 
as  wild  as  those  of  the  March-spirit.  I  sought  the  Continent, 
and  went  devious  through  all  its  lands.  My  fixed  desire  was 


378  JANE  EYEE 

to  seek  and  find  a  good  and  intelligent  woman  whom  I 
could  love :  a  contrast  to  the  fury  I  left  at  Thornfield ' 

I  But  you  could  not  marry,  sir.' 

'  I  had  determined,  and  was  convinced  that  I  could  and 
ought.  It  was  not  my  original  intention  to  deceive,  as  I 
have  deceived  you.  I  meant  to  tell  my  tale  plainly, 
and  make  my  proposals  openly :  and  it  appeared  to  me  so 
absolutely  rational  that  I  should  be  considered  free  to  love 
and  be  loved,  I  never  doubted  some  woman  might  be  found 
willing  and  able  to  understand  my  case  and  accept  me,  in 
spite  of  the  curse  with  which  I  was  burdened.' 

'  Well,  sir  ? ' 

c  When  you  are  inquisitive,  Jane,  you  always  make  me 
smile.  You  open  your  eyes  like  an  eager  bird,  and  make 
every  now  and  then  a  restless  movement ;  as  if  answers  in 
speech  did  not  flow  fast  enough  for  you,  and  you  wanted  to 
read  the  tablet  of  one's  heart.  But  before  I  go  on  tell  me 
what  you  mean  by  your  "  Well,  sir  ?  "  Ife  is  a  small  phrase 
very  frequent  with  you  ;  and  which  many  a  time  has  drawn 
me  on  and  on  through  interminable  talk :  I  don't  very  well 
know  why.' 

I 1  mean — What  next  ?    How  did  you  proceed  ?    What 
came  of  such  an  event  ?  ' 

1  Precisely  :  and  what  do  you  wish  to  know  now  ? ' 
1  Whether  you  found  any  one  you  liked :  whether  you 
asked  her  to  marry  you ;  and  what  she  said.' 

'  I  can  tell  you  whether  I  found  any  one  I  liked,  and 
whether  I  asked  her  to  marry  me  :  but  what  she  said  is  yet 
to  be  recorded  in  the  book  of  Fate.  For  ten  long  years  I 
roved  about,  living  first  in  one  capital,  then  another :  some- 
times in  St.  Petersburg ;  oftener  in  Paris ;  occasionally  in 
Eome,  Naples,  and  Florence.  Provided  with  plenty  of  money 
and  the  passport  of  an  old'  name,  I  could  choose  my  own 
society :  no  circles  were  closed  against  me.  I  sought  my 
ideal  of  a  woman  amongst  English  ladies,  French  countesses, 
Italian  signoras,  and  German  grafinnen.  I  could  not  find 
her.  Sometimes,  for  a  fleeting  moment,  I  thought  I  caught 


JANE  EYRE  379 

a  glance,  heard  a  tone,  beheld  a  form,  which  announced  the 
realisation  of  my  dream :  but  I  was  presently  undeceived. 
You  are  not  to  suppose  that  I  desired  perfection,  either  of 
mind  or  person.  I  longed  only  forxwhat  suited  me — for  the 
antipodes  of  the  Creole :  and  I  longed  vainly.  Amongst 
them  all  I  found  not  one  whom,  had  I  been  ever  so  free,  I — 
warned  as  I  was  of  the  risks,  the  horrors,  the  loathings  of 
incongruous  unions — would  have  asked  to  marry  me.  Dis- 
appointment made  me  reckless.  I  tried  dissipation— never 
debauchery :  that  I  hated,  and  hate.  That  was  my  Indian 
Messalina's  attribute  :  rooted  disgust  at  it  and  her  restrained 
me  much,  even  in  pleasure.  Any  enjoyment  that  bordered 
on  riot  seemed  to  approach  me  to  her  and  her  vices,  and  I 
eschewed  it. 

'  Yet  I  could  not  live  alone ;  so  I  tried  the  companionship 
of  mistresses.  The  first  I  chose  was  Celine  Varens — another 
of  those  steps  which  make  a  man  spurn  himself  when  he  re- 
calls them.  You  already  know  what  she  was,  and  how  my 
liaison  with  her  terminated.  She  had  two  successors  :  an 
Italian,  Giacinta,  and  a  German,  Clara;  both  considered 
singularly  handsome.  What  was  their  beauty  to  me  in  a  few 
weeks  ?  Giacinta  was  unprincipled  and  violent  :  I  tired  of  her 
in  three  months.  Clara  was  honest  and  quiet ;  but  heavy, 
mindless,  unimpressible :  not  one  whit  to  my  taste.  I  was 
glad  to  give  her  a  sufficient  sum  to  set  her  up  in  a  good  line 
of  business,  and  so  get  decently  rid  of  her.  But,  Jane,  I  see 
by  your  face  you  are  not  forming  a  very  favourable  opinion 
of  me  just  now.  You  think  me  an  unfeeling,  loose-principled 
rake  :  don't  you  ? ' 

'  I  don't  like  you  so  well  as  I  have  done  sometimes,  in- 
deed, sir.  Did  it  not  seem  to  you  in  the  least  wrong  to  live 
in  that  way :  first  with  one  mistress  and  then  another  ?  You 
talk  of  it  as  a  mere  matter  of  course.' 

'It  was  with  me:  and  I  did  not  like  it.  It  was  a 
grovelling  fashion  of  existence :  I  should  never  like  to  return 
to  it.  Hiring  a  mistress  is  the  next  worst  thing  to  buying  a 
slave :  both  are  often  by  nature,  and  always  by  position, 


380  JANE  BYEE 

inferior :  and  to  live  familiarly  with  inferiors  is  degrading.  I 
now  hate  the  recollection  of  the  time  I  passed  with  C61ine, 
Giacinta,  and  Clara.1 

I  felt  the  truth  of  these  words ;  and  I  drew  from  them  the 
certain  inference,  that  if  I  were  so  far  to  forget  myself  and 
all  the  teaching  that  had  ever  been  instilled  into  me  as — 
under  any  pretext— with  any  justification — through  any 
temptation — to  become  the  successor  of  these  poor  girls,  he 
would  one  day  regard  me  with  the  same  feeling  which  now 
in  his  mind  desecrated  their  memory.  I  did  not  give  utter- 
ance to  this  conviction :  it  was  enough  to  feel  it.  I  impressed 
it  on  my  heart,  that  it  might  remain  there  to  serve  me  as  aid 
in  the  time  of  trial. 

'  Now,  Jane,  why  don't  you  say  "  Well,  sir  ?  "  I  have  not 
done.  You  are  looking  grave.  You  disapprove  of  me  still,  I 
see.  But  let  me  come  to  the  point.  Last  January,  rid  of  all 
mistresses — in  a  harsh,  bitter  frame  of  mind,  the  result  of  a 
useless,  roving,  lonely  life— corroded  with  disappointment, 
sourly  disposed  against  all  men,  and  especially  against  all 
womankind  (for  I  began  to  regard  the  notion  of  an  intellec- 
tual, faithful,  loving  woman  as  a  mere  dream),  recalled  by 
business,  I  came  back  to  England. 

'  On  a  frosty  winter  afternoon  I  rode  in  sight  of  Thorn- 
field  Hall.  Abhorred  spot  1  I  expected  no  peace — no 
pleasure  there.  On  a  stile  in  Hay  Lane  I  saw  a  quiet  little 
figure  sitting  by  itself.  I  passed  it  as  negligently  as  I  did 
the  pollard  willow  opposite  to  it ;  I  had  no  presentiment  of 
what  it  would  be  to  me;  no  inward  warning  that  the 
arbitress  of  my  life — my  genius  for  good  or  evil — waited 
there  in  humble  guise.  I  did  not  know  it  even  when,  on 
the  occasion  of  Mesrour's  accident,  it  came  up  and  gravely 
offered  me  help.  Childish  and  slender  creature  !  It  seemed 
as  if  a  linnet  had  hopped  on  my  foot  and  proposed  to  bear 
me  on  its  tiny  wing.  I  was  surly;  but  the  thing  would 
not  go  :  it  stood  by  me  with  strange  perseverance,  and  looked 
and  spoke  with  a  sort  of  authority.  I  must  be  aided,  and  by 
that  hand  -  and  aided  I  was. 


JANE  EYBE  381 

c  When  once  I  had  pressed  the  frail  shoulder,  something 
new — a  fresh  sap  and  sense — stole  into  my  frame.  It  was 
well  I  had  learnt  that  this  elf  must  return  to  me — that  it 
belonged  to  my  house  down  below — or  I  could  not  have  felt 
it  pass  away  from  under  my  hand,  and  seen  it  vanish  behind 
the  dim  hedge,  without  singular  regret.  I  heard  you  come 
home  that  night,  Jane :  though  probably  you  were  not  aware 
that  I  thought  of  you,  or  watched  for  you.  The  next  day  I 
observed  you — myself  unseen — for  half  an  hour,  while  you 
played  with  Adfcle  in  the  gallery.  It  was  a  snowy  day,  I 
recollect,  and  you  could  not  go  out  of  doors.  I  was  in  my 
room ;  the  door  was  ajar :  I  could  both  listen  and  watch. 
Ad&le  claimed  your  outward  attention  for  a  while;  yet  I 
fancied  your  thoughts  were  elsewhere :  but  you  were  very 
patient  wilh  her,  my  little  Jane;  you  talked  to  her  and 
amused  her  a  long  time.  When  at  last  she  left  you,  you 
lapsed  at  once  into  deep  reverie :  you  betook  yourself  slowly 
to  pace  the  gallery.  Now  and  then,  in  passing  a  casement, 
you  glanced  out  at  the  thick-falling  snow  ;  you  listened  to 
the  sobbing  wind,  and  again  you  paced  gently  on  and 
dreamed.  I  think  those  day  visions  were  not  dark ;  there  was 
a  pleasurable  illumination  in  your  eye  occasionally,  a  soft 
excitement  in  your  aspect,  which  told  of  no  bitter,  bilious, 
hypochondriac  brooding:  your  look  revealed  rather  the 
sweet  musings  of  youth,  when  its  spirit  follows  on  willing 
wings  the  flight  of  Hope,  up  and  on  to  an  ideal  heaven. 
The  voice  of  Mrs.  Fairfax,  speaking  to  a  servant  in  the  hall, 
wakened  you :  and  how  curiously  you  smiled  to  and  at 
yourself,  Janet  I  There  was  much  sense  in  your  smile :  it 
was  very  shrewd,  and  seemed  to  make  light  of  your  own 
abstraction.  It  seemed  to  say — "  My  fine  visions  are  all 
very  well,  but  I  must  not  forget  they  are  absolutely  unreal 
I  have  a  rosy  sky,  and  a  green  flowery  Eden  in  my  brain ; 
but  without,  I  am  perfectly  aware,  lies  at  my  feet  a  rough 
tract  to  travel,  and  around  me  gather  black  tempests  to 
encounter/'  You  ran  downstairs  and  demanded  of  Mrs. 
Fairfax  some  occupation :  the  weekly  house  accounts  to 


382  JANE  EYEE 

make  up,  or  something  of  that  sort,  I  think  it  was.     I  was 
vexed  with  you  for  getting  out  of  my  sight. 

1  Impatiently  I  waited  for  evening,  when  I  might  summon 
you  to  my  presence.  An  unusual — to  me — a  perfectly  new 
character  I  suspected  was  yours :  I  desired  to  search  it 
deeper,  and  know  it  better.  You  entered  the  room  with  a 
look  and  air  at  once  shy  and  independent :  you  were 
quaintly  dressed — much  as  you  are  now.  I  made  you  talk 
— ere  long  I  found  you  full  of  strange  contrasts.  Your  garb 
and  manner  were  restricted  by  rule;  your  air  was  often 
diffident,  and  altogether  that  of  one  refined  by  nature,  but 
absolutely  unused  to  society,  and  a  good  deal  afraid  of 
making  herself  disadvantageously  conspicuous  by  some 
solecism  or  blunder ;  yet  when  addressed  you  lifted  a  keen, 
a  daring,  and  a  glowing  eye  to  your  interlocutor's  face: 
there  was  penetration  and  power  in  each  glance  you  gave  ; 
when  plied  by  close  questions,  you  found  ready  and  round 
answers.  Very  soon  you  seemed  to  get  used  to  me;  I 
believe  you  felt  the  existence  of  sympathy  between  you  and 
your  grim  and  cross  master,  Jane ;  for  it  was  astonishing  to 
see  how  quickly  a  certain  pleasant  ease  tranquillised  your 
manner:  snarl  as  I  would,  you  showed  no  surprise,  fear, 
annoyance,  or  displeasure  at  my  moroseness ;  you  watched 
me,  and  now  and  then  smiled  at  me  with  a  simple  yet 
sagacious  grace  I  cannot  describe.  I  was  at  once  content 
and  stimulated  with  what  I  saw :  I  liked  what  I  had  seen, 
and  wished  to  see  more.  Yet,  for  a  long  time,  I  treated  you 
distantly,  and  sought  your  company  rarely.  I  was  an  intel- 
lectual epicure,  and  wished  to  prolong  the  gratification  of 
making  this  novel  and  piquant  acquaintance :  besides,  I  was 
for  a  while  troubled  with  a  haunting  fear  that  if  I  handled 
the  flower  freely  its  bloom  would  fade — the  sweet  charm  of 
freshness  would  leave  it.  I  did  not  then  know  that  it  was 
no  transitory  blossom ;  but  rather  the  radiant  resemblance 
of  one,  cut  in  an  indestructible  gem.  Moreover,  I  wished  to 
see  whether  you  would  seek  me  if  I  shunned  you — but  you 
did  not :  you  kept  in  the  school-room  as  still  as  your  own 


JANE  EYEE  383 

desk  and  easel ;  if  by  chance  I  met  you,  you  passed  me  as 
soon,  and  with  as  little  token  of  recognition,  as  was  con- 
sistent with  respect.  Your  habitual  expression  in  those 
days,  Jane,  was  a  thoughtful  look :  not  despondent,  for  you 
were  not  sickly ;  but  not  buoyant,  for  you  had  little  hope, 
and  no  actual  pleasure.  I  wondered  what  you  thought  of 
me — or  if  you  ever  thought  of  me;  to  find  this  out  I  re- 
sumed my  notice  of  you.  There  was  something  glad  in 
your  glance  and  genial  in  your  manner  when  you  con- 
versed :  I  saw  you  had  a  social  heart ;  it  was  the  silent 
school-room — it  was  the  tedium  of  your  life — that  made  you 
mournful.  I  permitted  myself  the  delight  of  being  kind  to 
you ;  kindness  stirred  emotion  soon  :  your  face  became  soft 
in  expression,  your  tones  gentle;  I  liked  my  name  pro- 
nounced by  your  lips  in  a  grateful,  happy  accent.  I  used  to 
enjoy  a  chance  meeting  with  you,  Jane,  at  this  time  :  there 
was  a  curious  hesitation  in  your  manner :  you  glanced  at  me 
with  a  slight  trouble — a  hovering  doubt :  you  did  not  know 
what  my  caprice  might  be — whether  I  was  going  to  play  the 
master  and  be  stern,  or  the  friend  and  be  benignant.  I  was 
now  too  fond  of  you  often  to  stimulate  the  first  whim  ;  and, 
when  I  stretched  my  hand  out  cordially,  such  bloom  and  light 
and  bliss  rose  to  your  young,  wistful  features,  I  had  much 
ado  often  to  avoid  straining  you  then  and  there  to  my  heart.' 

'  Don't  talk  any  more  of  those  days,  sir/  I  interrupted, 
furtively  dashing  away  some  tears  from  my  eyes ;  his 
language  was  torture  to  me ;  for  I  knew  what  I  must  do — 
and  do  soon — and  all  these  reminiscences  and  these  revela- 
tions of  his  feelings  only  made  my  work  more  difficult. 

'  No,  Jane/  he  returned :  '  what  necessity  is  there  to 
dwell  on  the  Past,  when  the  Present  is  so  much  surer — the 
Future  so  much  brighter?  ' 

I  shuddered  to  hear  the  infatuated  assertion. 

'  You  see  now  how  the  case  stands — do  you  not  ?  '  he 
continued.  'After  a  youth  and  manhood  passed  half  in 
unutterable  misery  and  half  in  dreary  solitude,  I  have  for 
the  first  time  found  what  I  can  truly  love — I  have  found 

02 


JANE  EYEE 

you.  You  are  my  sympathy — my  better  self — my  good  angel 
— I  am  bound  to  you  with  a  strong  attachment.  I  think 
you  good,  gifted,  lovely:  a  fervent,  a  solemn  passion  is 
conceived  in  my  heart ;  it  leans  to  you,  draws  you  to  my 
centre  and  spring  of  life,  wraps  my  existence  about  you — and, 
kindling  in  pure,  powerful  flame,  fuses  you  and  me  in  one. 

1  It  was  because  I  felt  and  knew  this  that  I  resolved  to 
marry  you.  To  tell  me  that  I  had  already  a  wife  is  empty 
mockery  :  you  know  now  that  I  had  but  a  hideous  demon. 
I  was  wrong  to  attempt  to  deceive  you;  but  I  feared  a 
stubbornness  that  exists  in  your  character.  I  feared  early 
instilled  prejudice :  I  wanted  to  have  you  safe  before  hazard- 
ing confidences.  This  was  cowardly :  I  should  have  appealed 
to  your  nobleness  and  magnanimity  at  first,  as  I  do  now — 
opened  to  you  plainly  my  life  of  agony — described  to  you 
my  hunger  and  thirst  after  a  higher  and  worthier  existence 
— shown  to  you,  not  my  resolution  (that  word  is  weak),  but 
my  resistless  bent  to  love  faithfully  and  well  where  I  am 
faithfully  and  well  loved  in  return.  Then  I  should  have  asked 
you  to  accept  my  pledge  of  fidelity,  and  to  give  me  yours : 
Jane — give  it  me  now/ 

A  pause. 

'  Why  are  you  silent,  Jane  ? ' 

I  was  experiencing  an  ordeal:  a  hand  of  fiery  iron 
grasped  my  vitals.  Terrible  moment :  full  of  struggle, 
blackness,  burning  1  Not  a  human  being  that  ever  lived 
could  wish  to  be  loved  better  than  I  was  loved  ;  and  him 
who  thus  loved  me  I  absolutely  worshipped :  and  I  must 
renounce  love  and  idol.  One  drear  word  comprised  my 
intolerable  duty — '  Depart ! ' 

'  Jane,  you  understand  what  I  want  of  you  ?  Just  this 
promise — "  I  will  be  yours,  Mr.  Eochester/'  ' 

1  Mr.  Eochester,  I  will  not  be  yours/ 

Another  long  silence. 

'  Jane ! '  recommenced  he,  with  a  gentleness  that  broke 
me  down  with  grief,  and  turned  me  stone-cold  with  ominous 
terror— for  this  still  voice  was  the  pant  of  a  lion  rising— 


JANE  BYBB  385 

'Jane,  do  you  mean  to  go  one  way  in  the  world,  and  to  let 
me  go  another  ? ' 

'I  do/ 

'  Jane '  (bending  towards  and  embracing  me),  '  do  you 
mean  it  now?' 

'I  do/ 

1  And  now  ?  '  softly  kissing  my  forehead  and  cheek. 

'I  do1 — extricating  myself  from  restraint  rapidly  and 
completely. 

1  Oh,  Jane,  this  is  bitter  !  This — this  is  wicked.  It  would 
not  be  wicked  to  love  me/ 

'  It  would  to  obey  you/ 

A  wild  look  raised  his  brows — crossed  his  features :  he 
rose;  but  he  forbore  yet.  I  laid  my  hand  on  the  back  of  a 
chair  for  support :  I  shook,  I  feared — but  I  resolved. 

1  One  instant,  Jane.  Give  one  glance  to  my  horrible  life 
when  you  are  gone.  All  happiness  will  be  torn  away  with 
you.  What  then  is  left  ?  For  a  wife  I  have  but  the  maniac 
upstairs :  as  well  might  you  refer  me  to  some  corpse  in 
yonder  churchyard.  What  shall  I  do,  Jane  ?  Where  turn 
for  a  companion,  and  for  some  hope  ? ' 

'  Do  as  I  do :  trust  in  God  and  yourself.  Believe  in 
heaven.  Hope  to  meet  again  there/ 

I  Then  you  Will  not  yield  ?  ' 
'No/ 

'Then  you  condemn  me  to  live  wretched,  and  to  die 
accursed?  '  His  voice  rose. 

I 1  advise  you  to  live  sinless ;   and  I  wish  you  to  die 
tranquil/ 

'  Then  you  snatch  love  and  innocence  from  me  ?  You 
fling  me  back  on  lust  for  a  passion — vice  for  an  occupa- 
tion?1 

'  Mr.  Eochester,  I  no  more  assign  this  fate  to  you  than  I 
grasp  at  it  for  myself.  We  were  born  to  strive  and  endure — 
you  as  well  as  I :  do  so.  You  will  forget  me  before  I  forget 
you/ 

'  You  make  me  a  liar  by  such  language :  you  sully  my 


386  JANE  EYEE 

honour.  I  declared  I  could  not  change :  you  tell  me  to  my 
face  I  shall  change  soon.  And  what  a  distortion  in  your 
judgment,  what  a  perversity  in  your  ideas,  is  proved  by  your 
conduct !  Is  it  better  to  drive  a  fellow-creature  to  despair 
than  to  transgress  a  mere  human  law — no  man  being  injured 
by  the  breach  ?  for  you  have  neither  relatives  nor  acquain- 
tances whom  you  need  fear  to  offend  by  living  with  me/ 

This  was  true :  and  while  he  spoke  my  very  conscience 
and  reason  turned  traitors  against  me,  and  charged  me  with 
crime  in  resisting  him.  They  spoke  almost  as  loud  as 
Feeling :  and  that  clamoured  wildly.  '  Oh,  comply  I '  it  said. 
'  Think  of  his  misery ;  think  of  his  danger — look  at  his  state 
when  left  alone ;  remember  his  headlong  nature ;  consider  the 
recklessness  following  on  despair — soothe  him;  save  him; 
love  him ;  tell  him  you  love  him  and  will  be  his.  Who  in  the 
world  cares  for  you  ?  or  who  will  be  injured  by  what  you  do  ? ' 

Still  indomitable  was  the  reply — '  I  care  for  myself.  The 
more  solitary,  the  more  friendless,  the  more  unsustained  I 
am,  the  more  I  will  respect  myself.  I  will  keep  the  law 
given  by  God ;  sanctioned  by  man.  I  will  hold  to  the  prin- 
ciples received  by  me  when  I  was  sane,  and  not  mad — as  I  am 
now.  Laws  and  principles  are  not  for  the  times  when  there 
is  no  temptation :  they  are  for  such  moments  as  this,  when 
body  and  soul  rise  in  mutiny  against  their  rigour ;  stringent 
are  they;  inviolate  they  shall  be.  If  at  my  individual 
convenience  I  might  break  them,  what  would  be  their  worth  ? 
They  have  a  worth — so  I  have  always  believed ;  and  if  I 
cannot  believe  it  now,  it  is  because  I  am  insane — quite 
insane :  with  my  veins  running  fire,  and  my  heart  beating 
faster  than  I  can  count  its  throbs.  Preconceived  opinions, 
foregone  determinations,  are  all  I  have  at  this  hour  to  stand 
by :  there  I  plant  my  foot/ 

I  did.  Mr.  Bochester,  reading  my  countenance,  saw  I 
had  done  so.  His  fury  was  wrought  to  the  highest :  he 
must  yield  to  it  for  a  moment,  whatever  followed ;  he  crossed 
the  floor  and  seized  my  arm,  and  grasped  my  waist.  He 
seemed  to  devour  me  with  his  flaming  glance :  physically,  I 


JANE  EYEB  387 

felt,  at  the  moment,  powerless  as  stubble  exposed  to  the 
draught  and  glow  of  a  furnace — mentally,  I  still  possessed 
my  soul,  and  with  it  the  certainty  of  ultimate  safety.  The 
soul,  fortunately,  has  an  interpreter — often  an  unconscious, 
but  still  a  truthful  interpreter — in  the  eye.  My  eye  rose  to 
his ;  and  while  I  looked  in  his  fierce  face,  I  gave  an  involun- 
tary sigh  :  his  grip  was  painful,  and  my  overtasked  strength 
almost  exhausted. 

'Never,1  said  he,  as  he  ground  his  teeth,  'never  was 
anything  at  once  so  frail  and  so  indomitable.  A  mere  reed 
she  feels  in  my  hand ! '  (And  he  shook  me  with  the  force 
of  his  hold.)  '  1  could  bend  her  with  my  finger  and  thumb : 
and  what  good  would  it  do  if  I  bent,  if  I  uptore,  if  I  crushed 
her?  Consider  that  eye:  consider  the  resolute,  wild,  free 
thing  looking  out  of  it,  defying  me,  with  more  than  courage 
— with  a  stern  triumph.  Whatever  I  do  with  its  cage,  I 
cannot  get  at  it — the  savage,  beautiful  creature !  If  I  tear, 
if  I  rend  the  slight  prison,  my  outrage  will  only  let  the 
captive  loose.  Conqueror  I  might  be  of  the  house  ;  but  the 
inmate  would  escape  to  heaven  before  I  could  call  myself 
possessor  of  its  clay  dwelling-place.  And  it  is  you,  spirit — 
with  will  and  energy,  and  virtue  and  purity — that  I  want : 
not  alone  your  brittle  frame.  Of  yourself,  you  could  come 
with  soft  flight  and  nestle  against  my  heart,  if  you  would  : 
seized  against  your  will  you  will  elude  the  grasp  like  an 
essence — you  will  vanish  ere  I  inhale  your  fragrance.  Oh  1 
come,  Jane,  come  ! ' 

As  he  said  this  he  released  me  trom  his  clutch,  and  only 
looked  at  me.  The  look  was  far  worse  to  resist  than  the 
frantic  strain :  only  an  idiot,  however,  would  have  suc- 
cumbed now.  I  had  dared  and  baffled  his  fury;  I  must 
elude  his  sorrow :  I  retired  to  the  door. 

'  You  are  going,  Jane  ? ' 

'  I  am  going,  sir.' 

'  You  are  leaving  me  ? ' 

'Yes.1 

4  You  will  not  come  ?— You  will  not  be  my  comforter,  my 


388  JANE  EYBB 

rescuer?— My  deep  love,  my  wild  woe,  my  frantic  prayer, 
are  all  nothing  to  you  ? ' 

What  unutterable  pathos  was  in  his  voice !  How  hard 
it  was  to  reiterate  firmly, '  I  am  going.' 

'Jane!' 

1  Mr.  Eochester ! ' 

'  Withdraw,  then, — I  consent — but  remember,  you  leave 
me  here  in  anguish.  Go  up  to  your  own  room ;  think  over 
all  I  have  said,  and,  Jane,  cast  a  glance  on  my  sufferings — 
think  of  me.' 

He  turned  away ;  he  threw  himself  on  his  face  on  the 
sofa.  '  Oh,  Jane !  my  hope — my  love — my  life  ! '  broke  in 
anguish  from  his  lips.  Then  came  a  deep,  strong  sob. 

I  had  already  gained  the  door:  but,  reader,  I  walked 
back — walked  back  as  determinedly  as  I  had  retreated.  I 
knelt  down  by  him ;  I  turned  his  face  from  the  cushion  to 
me ;  I  kissed  his  cheek ;  I  smoothed  his  hair  with  my  hand. 

1  God  bless  you,  my  dear  master  1 '  I  said.  '  God  keep 
you  from  harm  and  wrong — direct  you,  solace  you — reward 
you  well  for  your  past  kindness  to  me.' 

1  Little  Jane's  love  would  have  been  my  best  reward/  he 
answered:  'without  it,  my  heart  is  broken.  But  Jane  will 
give  me  her  love :  yes — nobly,  generously.' 

Up  the  blood  rushed  to  his  face ;  forth  flashed  the  fire 
from  his  eyes ;  erect  he  sprang ;  he  held  his  arms  out ;  but 
I  evaded  the  embrace,  and  at  once  quitted  the  room. 

'  Farewell ! '  was  the  cry  of  my  heart  as  I  left  him. 
Despair  added,  '  Farewell,  for  ever ! f 

That  night  I  never  thought  to  sleep ;  but  a  slumber  fell 
on  me  as  soon  as  I  lay  down  in  bed.  I  was  transported  in 
thought  to  the  scenes  of  childhood ;  I  dreamt  I  lay  in  the 
red-room  at  Gateshead ;  that  the  night  was  dark,  and  my 
mind  impressed  with  strange  fears.  The  light  that  long  ago 
had  struck  me  into  syncope,  recalled  in  this  vision,  seemed 
glidingly  to  mount  the  wall,  and  tremblingly  to  pause  in  the 
centre  of  the  obscured  ceiling.  I  lifted  up  my  head  to  look ; 


JANE  EYBB  389 

the  roof  resolved  to  clouds,  high  and  dim ;  the  gleam  was 
such  as  the  moon  imparts  to  vapours  she  is  about  to  sever. 
I  watched  her  come — watched  with  the  strangest  anticipa- 
tion ;  as  though  some  word  of  doom  were  to  be  written  on 
her  disk.  She  broke  forth  as  never  moon  yet  burst  from 
cloud:  a  hand  first  penetrated  the  sable  folds  and  waved 
them  away;  then,  not  a  moon,  but  a  white  human  form 
shone  in  the  azure,  inclining  a  glorious  brow  earthward.  It 
gazed  and  gazed  on  me.  It  spoke  to  my  spirit :  immeasurably 
distant  was  the  tone,  yet  so  near,  it  whispered  in  my  heart — 
'  My  daughter,  flee  temptation ! ' 

'  Mother,  T  will/ 

So  I  answered  after  I  had  waked  from  the  trance-like 
dream.  It  was  yet  night,  but  July  nights  are  short :  soon 
after  midnight  dawn  comes.  'It  cannot  be  too  early  to 
commence  the  task  I  have  to  fulfil/  thought  I.  I  rose :  I 
was  dressed  ;  for  I  had  taken  off  nothing  but  my  shoes.  I 
knew  where  to  find  in  my  drawers  some  linen,  a  locket,  a 
ring.  In  seeking  these  articles  I  encountered  the  beads  of  a 
pearl  necklace  Mr.  Bochester  had  forced  me  to  accept  a  few 
days  ago.  I  left  that ;  it  was  not  mine  :  it  was  the  visionary 
bride's,  who  had  melted  in  air.  The  other  articles  I  made 
up  in  a  parcel ;  my  purse,  containing  twenty  shillings  (it  was 
all  I  had),  I  put  in  my  pocket :  I  tied  on  my  straw  bonnet, 
pinned  my  shawl,  took  the  parcel  and  my  slippers,  which  I 
would  not  put  on  yet,  and  stole  from  my  room. 

'  Farewell,  kind  Mrs.  Fairfax  1 '  I  whispered,  as  I  glided 
past  her  door.  '  Farewell,  my  darling  Ad61e ! '  I  said,  as  I 
glanced  towards  the  nursery.  No  though!)  could  be  admitted 
of  entering  to  embrace  her.  I  had  to  deceive  a  fine  ear  :  for 
aught  I  knew,  it  might  now  be  listening. 

I  would  have  got  past  Mr.  Bochester's  chamber  without 
a  pause ;  but  my  heart  momentarily  stopping  its  beat  at  that 
threshold,  my  foot  was  forced  to  stop  also.  No  sleep  was 
there :  the  inmate  was  walking  restlessly  from  wall  to  wall ; 
and  again  and  again  he  sighed  while  I  listened.  There  was 
a  heaven — a  temporary  heaven — in  this  room  for  me,  if  I 


390  JANE  EYEE 

chose  :  I  had  but  to  go  in  and  to  say — '  Mr.  Eochester,  I  will 
love  you  and  live  with  you  through  life  till  death/  and  a 
fount  of  rapture  would  spring  to  my  lips.  I  thought  of 
this. 

That  kind  master,  who  could  not  sleep  now,  was  waiting 
with  impatience  for  day.  He  would  send  for  me  in  the 
morning ;  I  should  be  gone.  He  would  have  me  sought  for : 
vainly.  He  would  feel  himself  forsaken ;  his  love  rejected  : 
he  would  suffer ;  perhaps  grow  desperate.  I  thought  of  this 
too.  My  hand  moved  towards  the  lock ;  I  caught  it  back, 
and  glided  on. 

Drearily  I  wound  my  way  downstairs :  I  knew  what  I 
had  to  do,  and  I  did  it  mechanically.  I  sought  the  key  of 
the  side-door  in  the  kitchen  ;  I  sought,  too,  a  phial  of  oil  and 
a  feather ;  I  oiled  the  key  and  the  lock.  I  got  some  water, 
I  got  some  bread :  for  perhaps  I  should  have  to  walk  far ; 
and  my  strength,  sorely  shaken  of  late,  must  not  break  down. 
All  this  I  did  without  one  sound.  I  opened  the  door,  passed 
out,  shut  it  softly.  Dim  dawn  glimmered  in  the  yard.  The 
great  gates  were  closed  and  locked  ;  but  a  wicket  in  one  of 
them  was  only  latched.  Through  that  I  departed :  it,  too,  I 
shut ;  and  now  I  was  out  of  Thornfield. 

A  mile  off,  beyond  the  fields,  lay  a  road  which  stretched 
in  the  contrary  direction  to  Millcoto ;  a  road  I  had  never 
travelled,  but  often  noticed,  and  wondered  where  it  led: 
thither  I  bent  my  steps.  No  reflection  was  to  be  allowed 
now :  not  one  glance  was  to  be  cast  back ;  not  even  one 
forward.  Not  one  thought  was  to  be  given  either  to  the  past 
or  the  future.  The  first  was  a  page  so  heavenly  sweet — so 
deadly  sad — that  to  read  one  line  of  it  would  dissolve  my 
courage  and  break  down  my  energy.  The  last  was  an  awful 
blank :  something  like  the  world  when  the  deluge  was  gone 

fay- 

I  skirted  fields,  and  hedges,  and  lanes,  till  after  sunrise.  I 
believe  it  was  a  lovely  summer  morning :  I  know  my  shoes, 
which  I  had  put  on  when  I  left  the  house,  were  soon  wet 
with  dew.  But  I  looked  neither  to  rising  sun,  nor  smiling 


JANE  EYEB  391 

sky,  nor  wakening  nature.  He  who  is  taken  out  to  pass 
through  a  fair  scene  to  the  scaffold  thinks  not  of  the  flowers 
that  smile  on  his  road,  hut  of  the  block  and  axe-edge ;  of  the 
disseverment  of  bone  and  vein  ;  of  the  grave  gaping  at  the 
end  :  and  I  thought  of  drear  flight  and  homeless  wandering 
— and,  oh !  with  agony  I  thought  of  what  I  left.  I  could 
not  help  it.  I  thought  of  him  now — in  his  room — watching 
the  sunrise;  hoping  I  should  soon  come  to  say  I  would 
stay  with  him,  and  be  his.  I  longed  to  be  his ;  I  panted  to 
return :  it  was  not  too  late  ;  I  could  yet  spare  him  the  bitter 
pang  of  bereavement.  As  yet  my  flight,  I  was  sure,  was  undis- 
covered. I  could  go  back  and  be  his  comforter — his  pride  ; 
his  redeemer  from  misery;  perhaps  from  ruin.  Oh,  that 
fear  of  his  self-abandonment — far  worse  than  my  abandon- 
ment— how  it  goaded  me !  It  was  a  barbed  arrow- 
head in  my  breast ;  it  tore  me  when  I  tried  to  extract  it ;  it 
sickened  me  when  remembrance  thrust  it  further  in.  Birds 
began  singing  in  brake  and  copse :  birds  were  faithful  to 
their  mates ;  birds  were  emblems  of  love.  What  was  I  ? 
In  the  midst  of  my  pain  of  heart,  and  frantic  effort  of 
principle,  I  abhorred  myself.  I  had  no  solace  from  self 
approbation :  none  even  from  self-respect.  I  had  injured — 
wounded — left  my  master.  I  was  hateful  in  my  own  eyes. 
Still  I  could  not  turn,  nor  retrace  one  step.  God  must  have 
led  me  on.  As  to  my  own  will  or  conscience,  impassioned 
grief  had  trampled  one  and  stifled  the  other.  I  was  weeping 
wildly  as  I  walked  along  my  solitary  way :  fast,  fast  I  went, 
like  one  delirious.  A  weakness,  beginning  inwardly,  extend- 
ing to  the  limbs,  seized  me,  and  I  fell :  I  lay  on  the  ground 
some  minutes,  pressing  my  face  to  the  wet  turf.  I  had  some 
fear — or  hope — that  here  I  should  die :  but  I  was  soon  up ; 
crawling  forwards  on  my  hands  and  knees,  and  then  again 
raised  to  my  feet — as  eager  and  as  determined  as  ever  to 
reach  the  road. 

When  I  got  there  I  was  forced  to  sit  to  rest  me  under 
the  hedge ;  and  while  I  sat,  I  heard  wheels,  and  saw  a  coach 
come  on.  I  stood  up  and  lifted  my  hand;  it  stopped.  I 


392  JANE  EYEE 

asked  where  it  was  going :  the  driver  named  a  place  a  long 
way  off,  and  where  I  was  sure  Mr.  Eochester  had  no  con- 
nections. I  asked  for  what  sum  he  would  take  me  there ; 
he  said  thirty  shillings  ;  I  answered  I  had  but  twenty ;  well, 
he  would  try  to  make  it  do.  He  further  gave  me  leave  to 
get  into  the  inside,  as  the  vehicle  was  empty  :  I  entered,  was 
shut  in,  and  it  rolled  on  its  way. 

Gentle  reader,  may  you  never  feel  what  I  then  felt  1 
May  your  eyes  never  shed  such  stormy,  scalding,  heart- wrung 
tears  as  poured  from  mine.  May  you  never  appeal  to 
Heaven  in  prayers  so  hopeless  and  so  agonised  as  in  that 
hour  left  my  lips :  for  never  may  you,  like  me,  dread  to  be 
the  instrument  of  evil  to  what  you  wholly  love. 


JANE  EYfiE  393 


CHAPTEE  XXVIII 

Two  days  are  passed.  It  is  a  summer  evening ;  the  coach- 
man has  set  me  down  at  a  place  called  Whitcross ;  he  could 
take  me  no  farther  for  the  sum  I  had  given,  and  I  was  not 
possessed  of  another  shilling  in  the  world.  The  coach  is  a 
mile  off  by  this  time ;  I  am  alone.  At  this  moment  I  dis- 
cover that  I  forgot  to  take  my  parcel  out  of  the  pocket  of  the 
coach,  where  I  had  placed  it  for  safety ;  there  it  remains, 
there  it  must  remain  ;  and  now,  I  am  absolutely  destitute. 

Whitcross  is  no  town,  nor  even  a  hamlet ;  it  is  but  a  stone 
pillar  set  up  where  four  roads  meet :  white-washed,  I  suppose, 
to  be  more  obvious  at  a  distance  and  in  darkness.  Four 
arms  spring  from  its  summit:  the  nearest  town  to  which 
these  point  is,  according  to  the  inscription,  distant  ten  miles ; 
the  farthest,  above  twenty.  From  the  well-known  names  of 
these  towns  I  learn  in  what  county  I  have  lighted  ;  a  north- 
midland  shire,  dusk  with  moorland,  ridged  with  mountain : 
this  I  see.  There  are  great  moors  behind  and  on  each  hand 
of  me ;  there  are  waves  of  mountains  far  beyond  that  deep 
valley  at  my  feet.  The  population  here  must  be  thin,  and  1 
see  no  passengers  on  these  roads :  they  stretch  out  east,  west, 
north,  and  south — white,  broad,  lonely ;  they  are  all  cut  in 
the  moor,  and  the  heather  grows  deep  and  wild  to  their  very 
verge.  Yet  a  chance  traveller  might  pass  by ;  and  I  wish 
no  eye  to  see  me  now  :  strangers  would  wonder  what  I  am 
doing,  lingering  here  at  the  sign-post,  evidently  objectless 
and  lost.  I  might  be  questioned :  I  could  give  no  answer 
but  what  would  sound  incredible  and  excite  suspicion.  Not 
a  tie  holds  me  to  human  society  at  this  moment — not  a 
charm  or  hope  calls  me  where  my  fellow-creatures  are — none 


394  JANE  EYEE 

that  saw  me  would  have  a  kind  thought  or  a  good  wish  for 
me.  I  have  no  relative  but  the  universal  mother,  Nature :  I 
will  seek  her  breast  and  ask  repose. 

I  struck  straight  into  the  heath ;  I  held  on  to  a  hollow 
I  saw  deeply  furrowing  the  brown  moorside ;  I  waded  knee- 
deep  in  its  dark  growth ;  I  turned  with  its  turnings,  and 
finding  a  moss-blackened  granite  crag  in  a  hidden  angle,  I 
sat  down  under  it.  High  banks  of  moor  were  about  me  ;  the 
crag  protected  my  head  :  the  sky  was  over  that. 

Some  time  passed  before  I  felt  tranquil  even  here :  I  had 
a  vague  dread  that  wild  cattle  might  be  near,  or  that  some 
sportsman  or  poacher  might  discover  me.  If  a  gust  of  wind 
swept  the  waste,  I  looked  up,  fearing  it  was  the  rush  of  a  bull ; 
if  a  plover  whistled,  I  imagined  it  a  man.  Finding  my 
apprehensions  unfounded,  however,  and  calmed  by  the  deep 
silence  that  reigned  as  evening  declined  at  nightfall,  I  took 
confidence.  As  yet  I  had  not  thought ;  I  had  only  listened, 
watched,  dreaded ;  now  I  regained  the  faculty  of  reflection. 

Wbat  was  I  to  do?  Where  to  go?  Oh,  intolerable 
questions,  when  I  could  do  nothing  and  go  nowhere ! — when 
a  long  way  must  yet  be  measured  by  my  weary,  trembling 
limbs,  before  I  could  reach  human  habitation — when  cold 
charity  must  be  entreated  before  I  could  get  a  lodging: 
reluctant  sympathy  importuned:  almost  certain  repulse 
incurred :  before  my  tale  could  be  listened  to,  or  one  of  my 
wants  relieved  1 

I  touched  the  heath  :  it  was  dry,  and  yet  warm  with  the 
heat  of  the  summer-day.  I  looked  at  the  sky ;  it  was  pure : 
a  kindly  star  twinkled  just  above  the  chasm  ridge.  The  dew 
fell,  but  with  propitious  softness;  no  breeze  whispered. 
Nature  seemed  to  me  benign  and  good ;  I  thought  she  loved 
me,  outcast  as  I  was ;  and  I,  who  from  man  could  anticipate 
only  mistrust,  rejection,  insult,  clung  to  her  with  filial 
fondness.  To-night,  at  least,  I  would  be  her  guest — as  I 
was  her  child :  my  mother  would  lodge  me  without  money 
and  without  price.  I  had  one  morsel  of  bread  yet:  the 
remnant  of  a  roll  I  had  bought  in  a  town  we  passed  through 


JANE  EYBE  395 

at  noon  with  a  stray  penny — my  last  coin.  I  saw  ripe  bil- 
berries gleaming  here  and  there,  like  jet  beads  in  the  heath : 
I  gathered  a  handful  and  ate  them  with  the  bread.  My 
hunger,  sharp  before,  was,  if  not  satisfied,  appeased  by  this 
hermit's  meal.  I  said  my  evening  prayers  at  its  conclusion, 
and  then  chose  my  couch. 

Beside  the  crag  the  heath  was  very  deep :  when  I  lay 
down  my  feet  were  buried  in  it ;  rising  high  on  each  side,  it 
left  only  a  narrow  space  for  the  night-air  to  invade.  I  folded 
my  shawl  double,  and  spread  it  over  me  for  a  coverlet ;  a 
low,  mossy  swell  was  my  pillow.  Thus  lodged,  I  was  not, 
at  least  at  the  commencement  of  the  night,  cold. 

My  rest  might  have  been  blissful  enough,  only  a  sad  heart 
broke  it.  It  plained  of  its  gaping  wounds,  its  inward  bleed- 
ing, its  riven  chords.  It  trembled  for  Mr.  Eochester  and  his 
doom  :  it  bemoaned  him  with  bitter  pity ;  it  demanded  him 
with  ceaseless  longing :  and,  impotent  as  a  bird  with  both 
wings  broken,  it  still  quivered  its  shattered  pinions  in  vain 
attempts  to  seek  him. 

Worn  out  with  this  torture  of  thought,  I  rose  to  my 
knees.  Night  was  come,  and  her  planets  were  risen :  a  safe, 
still  night ;  too  serene  for  the  companionship  of  fear.  We 
know  that  God  is  everywhere ;  but  certainly  we  feel  His 
presence  most  when  His  works  are  on  the  grandest  scale 
spread  before  us  :  and  it  is  in  the  unclouded  night-sky,  where 
His  worlds  wheel  their  silent  course,  that  we  read  clearest 
His  infinitude,  His  omnipotence,  His  omnipresence.  I  had 
risen  to  my  knees  to  pray  for  Mr.  Eochester.  Looking  up, 
I,  with  tear-dimmed  eyes,  saw  the  mighty  Milky  Way.  Be- 
membering  what  it  was — what  countless  systems  there  swept 
space  like  a  soft  trace  of  light — I  felt  the  might  and  strength 
of  God.  Sure  was  I  of  His  efficiency  to  save  what  He  had 
made :  convinced  I  grew  that  neither  earth  should  perish 
nor  one  of  the  souls  it  treasured.  I  turned  my  prayer  to 
thanksgiving :  the  Source  of  Life  was  also  the  Saviour  of 
spirits.  Mr.  Eochester  was  safe  :  he  was  God's,  and  by  God 


396  JANE  EYES 

would  he  be  guarded.  I  again  nestled  to  the  breast  of  the 
hill ;  and  ere  long,  in  sleep,  forgot  sorrow. 

But  next  day  Want  came  to  me,  pale  and  bare.  Long 
after  the  little  birds  had  left  their  nests;  long  after  bees 
had  come  in  the  sweet  prime  of  day  to  gather  the  heath 
honey  before  the  dew  was  dried — when  the  long  morning 
shadows  were  curtailed,  and  the  sun  filled  earth  and  sky — I 
got  up,  and  I  looked  round  me. 

What  a  still,  hot,  perfect  day !  What  a  golden  desert 
this  spreading  moor  1  Everywhere  sunshine.  I  wished  I 
could  live  in  it  and  on  it.  I  saw  a  lizard  run  over  the  crag ; 
I  saw  a  bee  busy  among  the  sweet  bilberries.  I  would  fain 
at  the  moment  have  become  bee  or  lizard,  that  I  might  have 
found  fitting  nutriment,  permanent  shelter  here.  But  I  was 
a  human  being,  and  had  a  human  being's  wants :  I  must  not 
linger  where  there  was  nothing  to  supply  them.  I  rose ;  I 
looked  back  at  the  bed  I  had  left.  Hopeless  of  the  future,  I 
wished  but  this — that  my  Maker  had  that  night  thought 
good  to  require  my  soul  of  me  while  I  slept ;  and  that  this 
weaiy  frame,  absolved  by  death  from  further  conflict  with 
fate,  had  now  but  to  decay  quietly,  and  mingle  in  peace  with 
the  soil  of  this  wilderness.  Life,  however,  was  yet  in  my 
possession;  with  all  its  requirements,  and  pains,  and  re- 
sponsibilities. The  burden  must  be  carried ;  the  want  pro- 
vided for ;  the  suffering  endured ;  the  responsibility  fulfilled. 
I  set  out. 

Whitcross  regained,  I  followed  a  road  which  led  from  the 
sun,  now  fervent  and  high.  By  no  other  circumstance  had 
I  will  to  decide  my  choice.  I  walked  a  long  time,  and  when 
I  thought  I  had  nearly  done  enough,  and  might  conscientiously 
yield  to  the  fatigue  that  almost  overpowered  me — might  relax 
this  forced  action,  and,  sitting  down  on  a  stone  I  saw  near, 
submit  resistlessly  to  the  apathy  that  clogged  heart  and  limb 
— I  heard  a  bell  chime — a  church  bell. 

I  turned  in  the  direction  of  the  sound,  and  there,  amongst 
the  romantic  hills,  whose  changes  and  aspect  I  had  ceased  to 
note  an  hour  ago,  I  saw  a  hamlet  and  a  spire.  All  the 


JANE  EYEE  397 

valley  at  my  right  hand  was  full  of  pasture-fields,  and  corn- 
fields, and  wood;  and  a  glittering  stream  ran  zig-zag 
through  the  varied  shades  of  green,  the  mellowing  grain,  the 
sombre  wood-land,  the  clear  and  sunny  lea.  Eecalled  by  the 
rumbling  of  wheels  to  the  road  before  me,  I  saw  a  heavily- 
laden  waggon  labouring  up  the  hill ;  and  not  far  beyond  were 
two  cows  and  their  drover.  Human  life  and  human  labour 
were  near.  I  must  struggle  on :  strive  to  live  and  bend  to  toil 
like  the  rest. 

About  two  o'clock  P.M.  I  entered  the  village.  At  the 
bottom  of  its  one  street  there  was  a  little  shop  with  some 
cakes  of  bread  in  the  window.  I  coveted  a  cake  of  bread. 
With  that  refreshment  I  could  perhaps  regain  a  degree  of 
energy;  without  it,  it  would  be  difficult  to  proceed.  The 
wish  to  have  some  strength  and  some  vigour  returned  to  me 
as  soon  as  I  was  amongst  my  fellow-beings.  I  felt  it  would 
be  degrading  to  faint  with  hunger  on  the  causeway  of  a 
hamlet.  Had  I  nothing  about  me  I  could  offer  in  exchange 
for  one  of  these  rolls?  I  considered.  I  had  a  small  silk 
handkerchief  tied  round  my  throat;  I  had  my  gloves.  I 
could  hardly  tell  how  men  and  women  in  extremities  of 
destitution  proceeded.  I  did  not  know  whether  either  of 
these  articles  would  be  accepted :  probably  they  would  not ; 
but  I  must  try. 

I  entered  the  shop  :  a  woman  was  there.  Seeing  a  re- 
spectably-dressed person,  a  lady  as  she  supposed,  she  came 
forward  with  civility.  How  could  she  serve  me?  I  was 
seized  with  shame  :  my  tongue  would  not  utter  the  request 
I  had  prepared.  I  dared  not  offer  her  the  half -worn  gloves, 
the  creased  handkerchief  :  besides,  I  felt  it  would  be  absurd. 
I  only  begged  permission  to  sit  down  a  moment,  as  I  was 
tired.  Disappointed  in  the  expectation  of  a  customer,  she 
coolly  acceded  to  my  request.  She  pointed  to  a  seat ;  I  sank 
into  it.  I  felt  sorely  urged  to  weep ;  but  conscious  how  un- 
seasonable such  a  manifestation  would  be,  I  restrained  it. 
Soon  I  asked  her,  '  if  there  were  any  dressmaker  or  plain- 
work-woman  in  the  village  ?  ' 


398  JANE  EYBE 

'  Yes ;  two  or  three.  Quite  as  many  as  there  was  em- 
ployment for.1 

I  reflected.  I  was  driven  to  the  point  now.  I  was 
brought  face  to  face  with  Necessity.  I  stood  in  the  position 
of  one  without  a  resource  :  without  a  friend  ;  without  a  coin. 
I  must  do  something.  What  ?  I  must  apply  somewhere. 
Where? 

'  Did  she  know  of  any  place  in  the  neighbourhood  where 
a  servant  was  wanted  ?  ' 

1  Nay ;  she  couldn't  say/ 

'  What  was  the  chief  trade  in  this  place  ?  What  did  most 
of  the  people  do  ?  ' 

'  Some  were  farm  labourers  ;  a  good  deal  worked  at  Mr. 
Oliver's  needle-factory,  and  at  the  foundry.' 

1  Did  Mr.  Oliver  employ  women  ?  ' 

'  Nay ;  it  was  men's  work.1 

I  And  what  do  the  women  do  ?  ' 

I 1  knawn't,'  was  the  answer.     '  Some  does  one  thing, 
and  some  another.    Poor  folk  mun  get  on  as  they  can/ 

She  seemed  to  be  tired  of  my  questions :  and,  indeed, 
what  claim  had  I  to  importune  her  ?  A  neighbour  or  two 
came  in  ;  my  chair  was  evidently  wanted.  I  took  leave. 

I  passed  up  the  street,  looking  as  I  went  at  all  the  houses 
to  the  right  hand  and  to  the  left :  but  I  could  discover  no 
pretext,  nor  see  an  inducement,  to  enter  any.  I  rambled 
round  the  hamlet,  going  sometimes  to  a  little  distance  and 
returning  again,  for  an  hour  or  more.  Much  exhausted,  and 
suffering  greatly  now  for  want  of  food,  I  turned  aside  into  a 
lane  and  sat  down  under  the  hedge.  Ere  many  minutes  had 
elapsed  I  was  again  on  my  feet,  however,  and  again  search- 
ing for  something — a  resource,  or  at  least  an  informant.  A 
pretty  little  house  stood  at  the  top  of  the  lane,  with  a  garden 
before  it;  exquisitely  neat,  and  brilliantly  blooming.  I 
stopped  at  it.  What  business  had  I  to  approach  the  white 
door  or  touch  the  glittering  knocker  ?  In  what  way  could  it 
possibly  be  the  interest  of  the  inhabitants  of  that  dwelling  to 
serve  me  ?  Yet  I  drew  near  and  knocked.  A  mild-looking, 


JANE  EYEE  399 

cleanly-attired  young  woman  opened  the  door.  In  such  a 
voice  as  might  be  expected  from  a  hopeless  heart  and  fainting 
frame — a  voice  wretchedly  low  and  faltering — I  asked  if  a 
servant  was  wanted  here  ? 

4  No,1  said  she ;  '  we  do  not  keep  a  servant.' 

'  Can  you  tell  me  where  I  could  get  employment  of  any 
kind?1  I  continued.  'I  am  a  stranger,  without  acquaint- 
ance, in  this  place.  I  want  some  work  :  no  matter  what/ 

But  it  was  not  her  business  to  think  for  me,  or  to  seek  a 
place  for  me  :  besides,  in  her  eyes,  how  doubtful  must  have 
appeared  my  character,  position,  tale.  She  shook  her  head ; 
she  '  was  sorry  she  could  give  me  no  information/  and  the 
white  door  closed,  quite  gently  and  civilly :  but  it  shut  me 
out.  If  she  had  held  it  open  a  little  longer,  I  believe  I 
should  have  begged  a  piece  of  bread ;  for  I  was  now  brought 
low. 

I  could  not  bear  to  return  to  the  sordid  village ;  where, 
besides,  no  prospect  of  aid  was  visible.  I  should  have  longed 
rather  to  deviate  to  a  wood  I  saw  not  far  off,  which  appeared 
in  its  thick  shade  to  offer  inviting  shelter ;  but  I  was  so  sick, 
so  weak,  so  gnawed  with  nature's  cravings,  instinct  kept  me 
roaming  round  abodes  where  there  was  a  chance  of  food. 
Solitude  would  be  no  solitude — rest  no  rest — while  the 
vulture,  hunger,  thus  sank  beak  and  talons  in  my  side. 

I  drew  near  houses ;  I  left  them,  and  came  back  again, 
and  again  I  wandered  away :  always  repelled  by  the  con- 
sciousness of  having  no  claim  to  ask — no  right  to  expect 
interest  in  my  isolated  lot.  Meantime  the  afternoon 
advanced,  while  I  thus  wandered  about  like  a  lost  and 
starving  dog.  In  crossing  a  field  I  saw  the  church  spire 
before  me:  I  hastened  towards  it.  Near  the  churchyard, 
and  in  the  middle  of  a  garden,  stood  a  well-built  though 
small  house,  which  I  had  no  doubt  was  the  parsonage.  I 
remembered  that  strangers  who  arrive  at  a  place  where  they 
have  no  friends,  and  who  want  employment,  sometimes 
apply  to  the  clergyman  for  introduction  and  aid.  It  is  the 
clergyman's  function  to  help — at  least  with  advice — those 


400  JANE  EYRE 

who  wished  to  help  themselves.  I  seemed  to  have  some- 
thing like  a  right  to  seek  counsel  here.  Renewing,  then,  my 
courage,  and  gathering  my  feeble  remains  of  strength,  I 
pushed  on.  I  reached  the  house,  and  knocked  at  the 
kitchen-door.  An  old  woman  opened  :  I  asked  was  this  the 
parsonage  ? 

•  Yes/ 

1  Was  the  clergyman  in  ? ' 

'No/ 

1  Would  he  be  in  soon  ? ' 

1  No,  he  was  gone  from  home/ 

'  To  a  distance  ? ' 

'Not  so  far — happen  three  mile.  He  had  been  called 
away  by  the  sudden  death  of  his  father :  he  was  at  Marsh 
End  now,  and  would  very  likely  stay  there  a  fortnight 
longer/ 

1  Was  there  any  lady  of  the  house  ?  f 

1  Nay,  there  was  naught  but  her,  and  she  was  house- 
keeper ; '  and  of  her,  reader,  I  could  not  bear  to  ask  the 
relief  for  want  of  which  I  was  sinking ;  I  could  not  yet  beg ; 
and  again  I  crawled  away. 

Once  more  I  took  off  my  handkerchief — once  more  I 
thought  of  the  cakes  of  bread  in  the  little  shop.  Oh,  for 
but  a  crust !  for  but  one  mouthful  to  allay  the  pang  of 
famine !  Instinctively  I  turned  my  face  again  to  the  village ; 
I  found  the  shop  again,  and  I  went  in ;  and  though  others 
were  there  besides  the  woman,  I  ventured  the  request : 
1  Would  she  give  me  a  roll  for  this  handkerchief  ?  ' 

She  looked  at  me  with  evident  suspicion :  '  Nay,  khe 
aever  sold  stuff  i'  that  way/ 

Almost  desperate,  I  asked  for  half  a  cake ;  she  again 
refused.  'How  could  she  tell  where  I  had  got  the  hand- 
kerchief ? '  she  said. 

1  Would  she  take  my  gloves  ? ' 

'  No  !  what  could  she  do  with  them  ?  ' 

Eeader,  it  is  not  pleasant  to  dwell  on  these  details.  Some 
Bay  there  is  enjoyment  in  looking  back  to  painful  experience 


JANE  BYEE  401 

past ;  but  at  this  day  I  can  scarcely  bear  to  review  the  times 
to  which  I  allude :  the  moral  degradation,  blent  with  the 
physical  suffering,  form  too  distressing  a  recollection  ever  to 
be  willingly  dwelt  on.  I  blamed  none  of  those  who  repulsed 
me.  I  felt  it  was  what  was  to  be  expected,  and  what  could 
not  be  helped  :  an  ordinary  beggar  is  frequently  an  object  of 
suspicion  ;  a  well-dressed  beggar  inevitably  so.  To  be  sure 
what  I  begged  was  employment :  but  whose  business  was  it 
to  provide  me  with  employment?  Not,  certainly,  that  of 
persons  who  saw  me  then  for  the  first  time,  and  who  knew 
nothing  about  my  character.  And  as  to  the  woman  who 
would  not  take  my  handkerchief  in  exchange  for  her  bread, 
why,  she  was  right ;  if  the  offer  appeared  to  her  sinister,  or 
the  exchange  unprofitable.  Let  me  condense  now.  I  am 
sick  of  the  subject. 

A  little  before  dark  I  passed  a  farm-house,  at  the  open 
door  of  which  the  farmer  was  sitting,  eating  his  supper  of 
bread  and  cheese  ;  I  stopped,  and  said  : — '  Will  you  give  me 
a  piece  of  bread  ?  for  I  am  very  hungry/  He  cast  on  me  a 
glance  of  surprise ;  but  without  answering  he  cut  a  thick  slice 
from  his  loaf,  and  gave  it  to  me.  I  imagine  he  did  not  think 
I  was  a  beggar,  but  only  an  eccentric  sort  of  lady,  who  had 
taken  a  fancy  to  his  brown  loaf.  As  soon  as  I  was  out  of 
sight  of  his  house,  I  sat  down  and  ate  it. 

I  could  not  hope  to  get  a  lodging  under  a  roof,  and 
sought  it  in  the  wood  I  have  before  alluded  to.  But  my 
night  was  wretched,  my  rest  broken  :  the  ground  was  damp, 
the  air  cold :  besides  intruders  passed  near  me  more  than 
once,  and  I  had  again  and  again  to  change  my  quarters  :  no 
sense  of  safety  or  tranquillity  befriended  me.  Towards 
morning  it  rained ;  the  whole  of  the  following  day  was  wet. 
Do  not  ask  me,  reader,  to  give  a  minute  account  of  that  day ; 
as  before,  I  sought  work;  as  before,  I  was  repulsed;  as 
before,  I  starved ;  but  once  did  food  pass  my  lips.  At  the 
door  of  a  cottage  I  saw  a  little  girl  about  to  throw  a  mess  of 
cold  porridge  into  a  pig  trough.  '  Will  you  give  me  that  ?  * 
I  asked. 


402  JANE  EYEE 

She  stared  at  me.  '  Mother  1 '  she  exclaimed ;  '  there  is 
a  woman  wants  me  to  give  her  these  porridge.1 

'  Well,  lass/  replied  a  voice  within,  '  give  it  her  if  she's  a 
beggar.  T'  pig  doesn't  want  it.1 

The  girl  emptied  the  stiffened  mould  into  my  hand,  and  I 
devoured  it  ravenously. 

As  the  wet  twilight  deepened,  I  stopped  in  a  solitary 
bridle-path,  which  I  had  been  pursuing  an  hour  or  more. 

'  My  strength  is  quite  failing  me/  I  said,  in  soliloquy. 
'I  feel  I  cannot  go  much  further.  Shall  I  be  an  outcast 
again  this  night  ?  While  the  rain  descends  so,  must  I  lay 
my  head  on  the  cold,  drenched  ground  ?  I  fear  I  cannot  do 
otherwise :  for  who  will  receive  me  ?  But  it  will  be  very 
dreadful :  with  this  feeling  of  hunger,  faintness,  chill,  and 
this  sense  of  desolation — this  total  prostration  of  hope.  In 
all  likelihood,  though,  I  should  die  before  morning.  And 
why  cannot  I  reconcile  myself  to  the  prospect  of  death? 
Why  do  I  struggle  to  retain  a  valueless  life?  Because  I 
know,  or  believe,  Mr.  Eochester  is  still  living :  and  then,  to 
die  of  want  and  cold,  is  a  fate  to  which  nature  cannot 
submit  passively.  Oh,  Providence !  sustain  me  a  little 
longer  !  Aid — direct  me  ! ' 

My  glazed  eye  wandered  over  the  dim  and  misty  land- 
scape. I  saw  I  had  strayed  far  from  the  village :  it  was 
quite  out  of  sight.  The  very  cultivation  surrounding  it  had 
disappeared.  I  had,  by  cross-ways  and  by-paths,  once  more 
drawn  near  the  tract  of  moorland ;  and  now,  only  a  few 
fields,  almost  as  wild  and  unproductive  as  the  heath  from 
which  they  were  scarcely  reclaimed,  lay  between  me  and  the 
dusky  hill. 

'  Well,  I  would  rather  die  yonder  than  in  a  street,  or  on 
a  frequented  road/  I  reflected.  '  And  far  better  that  crows 
and  ravens — if  any  ravens  there  be  in  these  regions — should 
pick  my  flesh  from  my  bones,  than  that  they  should  be  prisoned 
in  a  workhouse  coffin  and  moulder  in  a  pauper's  grave/ 

To  the  hill,  then,  I  turned.  I  reached  it.  It  remained 
now  only  to  find  a  hollow  where  I  could  lie  down,  and  feel 


JANE  EYEE  403 

at  least  hidden,  if  not  secure:  but  all  the  surface  of  the 
waste  looked  level.  It  showed  no  variation  but  of  tint ; 
green,  where  rush  and  moss  overgrew  the  marshes ;  black, 
where  the  dry  soil  bore  only  heath.  Dark  as  it  was  getting, 
I  could  still  see  these  changes ;  though  but  as  mere  alterna- 
tions of  light  and  shade  :  for  colour  had  faded  with  the  day- 
light. 

My  eye  still  roved  over  the  sullen  swell,  and  along  the 
moor-edge,  vanishing  amidst  the  wildest  scenery ;  when  at 
one  dim  point,  far  in  among  the  marshes  and  the  ridges,  a 
light  sprang  up.  'That  is  an  ignis  fatuus,'  was  my  first 
thought;  and  I  expected  it  would  soon  vanish.  It  burnt  on, 
however,  quite  steadily ;  neither  receding  nor  advancing. 
'  Is  it,  then,  a  bonfire  just  kindled  ? '  I  questioned.  I 
watched  to  see  whether  it  would  spread :  but  no ;  as  it  did 
not  diminish,  so  it  did  not  enlarge.  '  It  may  be  a  candle  in 
a  house/  1  then  conjectured  :  '  but  if  so,  I  can  never  reach 
it.  It  is  much  too  far  away :  and  were  it  within  a  yard  of 
me,  what  would  it  avail  ?  I  should  but  knock  at  the  door 
to  have  it  shut  in  my  face/ 

And  I  sank  down  where  I  stood,  and  hid  my  face  against 
the  ground.  I  lay  still  a  while :  the  night-wind  swept  over 
the  hill  and  over  me,  and  died  moaning  in  the  distance  ;  the 
rain  fell  fast,  wetting  me  afresh  to  the  skin.  Could  I  but 
have  stiffened  to  the  still  frost — the  friendly  numbness  of 
death — it  might  have  pelted  on  :  I  should  not  have  felt  it ; 
but  my  yet  living  flesh  shuddered  to  its  chilling  influence. 
I  rose  ere  long. 

The  light  was  yet  there :  shining  dim,  but  constant, 
through  the  rain.  I  tried  to  walk  again  :  I  dragged  my 
exhausted  limbs  slowly  towards  it.  It  led  me  aslant  over 
the  hill,  through  a  wide  bog;  which  would  have  been 
impassable  in  winter,  and  was  splashy  and  shaking  even 
now,  in  the  height  of  summer.  Here  I  fell  twice ;  but  as 
often  I  rose  and  rallied  my  faculties.  This  light  was  my 
forlorn  hope  :  I  must  gain  it. 

Having  crossed  the  marsh,  I  saw  a  trace  of  white  over 


404  JANE  EYEE 

the  moor.  I  approached  it ;  it  was  a  road  or  a  track  :  it  led 
straight  up  to  the  light,  which  now  beamed  from  a  sort  of 
knoll,  amidst  a  clump  of  trees — nrs,  apparently,  from  what 
I  could  distinguish  of  the  character  of  their  forms  and  foliage 
through  the  gloom.  My  star  vanished  as  I  drew  near: 
some  obstacle  had  intervened  between  me  and  it.  I  put  out 
iny  hand  to  feel  the  dark  mass  before  me ;  I  discriminated 
the  rough  stones  of  a  low  wall — above  it,  something  like 
palisades,  and  within,  a  high  and  prickly  hedge.  I  groped  on. 
Again  a  whitish  object  gleamed  before  me :  it  was  a  gate — a 
wicket ;  it  moved  on  its  hinges  as  I  touched  it.  On  each 
side  stood  a  sable  bush — holly  or  yew. 

Entering  the  gate  and  passing  the  shrubs,  the  silhouette 
of  a  house  rose  to  view ;  black,  low,  and  rather  long ;  but 
the  guiding  light  shone  nowhere.  All  was  obscurity.  Were 
the  inmates  retired  to  rest?  I  feared  it  must  be  so.  In 
seeking  the  door,  I  turnod  an  angle:  there  shot  out  the 
friendly  gleam  again,  from  the  lozenged  panes  of  a  very 
small  latticed  window,  within  a  foot  of  the  ground ;  made 
still  smaller  by  the  growth  of  ivy  or  some  other  creeping 
plant,  whose  leaves  clustered  thick  over  the  portion  of  the 
house  wall  in  which  it  was  set.  The  aperture  was  so 
screened  and  narrow  that  curtain  or  shutter  had  been 
deemed  unnecessary ;  and  when  I  stooped  down  and  put 
aside  the  spray  of  foliage  shooting  over  it,  I  could  see  all 
within.  I  could  see  clearly  a  room  with  a  sanded  floor, 
clean  scoured;  a  dresser  of  walnut,  with  pewter  plates 
ranged  in  rows,  reflecting  the  redness  and  radiance  of  a 
glowing  peat-fire.  I  could  see  a  clock,  a  white  deal  table, 
some  chairs.  The  candle,  whose  ray  had  been  my  beacon, 
burnt  on  the  table;  and  by  its  light  an  elderly  woman, 
somewhat  rough-looking,  but  scrupulously  clean,  like  all 
about  her,  was  knitting  a  stocking. 

I  noticed  these  objects  cursorily  only — in  them  there  was 
nothing  extraordinary.  A  group  of  more  interest  appeared 
near  the  hearth,  sitting  still  amidst  the  rosy  peace  and 
warmth  suffusing  it.  Two  young,  graceful  women — ladies 


JANE  EYEE  405 

in  every  point — sat,  one  in  a  low  rocking-chair,  the  other  on 
a  lower  stool;  both  wore  deep  mourning  of  crape  and 
bombazeen,  which  sombre  garb  singularly  set  off  very  fair 
necks  and  faces  :  a  large  old  pointer  dog  rested  its  massive 
head  on  the  knee  of  one  girl — in  the  lap  of  the  other  was 
cushioned  a  black  cat. 

A  strange  place  was  this  humble  kitchen  for  such 
occupants!  Who  were  they?  They  could  not  be  the 
daughters  of  the  elderly  person  at  the  table  ;  for  she  looked 
like  a  rustic,  and  they  were  all  delicacy  and  cultivation.  I 
had  nowhere  seen  such  faces  as  theirs  :  and  yet,  as  I  gazed  on 
them,  I  seemed  intimate  with  every  lineament.  I  cannot 
call  them  handsome — they  were  too  pale  and  grave  for  the 
word  :  as  they  each  bent  over  a  book,  they  looked  thoughtful 
almost  to  severity.  A  stand  between  them  supported  a  second 
candle  and  two  great  volumes,  to  which  they  frequently 
referred  ;  comparing  them  seemingly  with  the  smaller  books 
they  held  in  their  hands,  like  people  consulting  a  dictionary 
to  aid  them  in  the  task  of  translation.  This  scene  was  as 
silent  as  if  all  the  figures  had  been  shadows,  and  the  fire-lit 
apartment  a  picture :  so  hushed  was  it,  I  could  hear  the 
cinders  fall  from  the  grate,  the  clock  tick  in  its  obscure 
corner ;  and  I  even  fancied  I  could  distinguish  the  click-click 
of  the  woman's  knitting-needles.  When,  therefore,  a  voice 
broke  the  strange  stillness  at  last,  it  was  audible  enough  to 
me. 

'  Listen,  Diana/  said  one  of  the  absorbed  students ; 
1  Franz  and  old  Daniel  are  together  in  the  night-time,  and 
Franz  is  telling  a  dream  from  which  he  has  awakened  in 
terror — listen  1 '  And  in  a  low  voice  she  read  something,  of 
which  not  one  word  was  intelligible  to  me ;  for  it  was  in  an 
unknown  tongue — neither  French  nor  Latin.  Whether  it 
were  Greek  or  German  I  could  not  tell. 

'That  is  strong,'  she  said,  when  she  had  finished:  'I 
relish  it.'  The  other  girl,  who  had  lifted  her  head  to  listen 
to  her  sister,  repeated,  while  she  gazed  at  the  fire,  a  line  of 
what  had  been  read.  At  a  later  day,  I  knew  the  language 


406  JANE  EYEE 

and  the  book ;  therefore  I  will  here  quote  the  line :  though 
when  I  first  heard  it  it  was  only  like  a  stroke  on  sounding 
brass  to  me-^-conveying  no  meaning : — '  "  Da  trat  hervor 
Einer,  anzusehen  wie  die  Sternen  Nacht."  Good!  good!' 
she  exclaimed,  while  her  dark  and  deep  eye  sparkled. 
1  There  you  have  a  dim  and  mighty  archangel  fitly  set  before 
you !  The  line  is  worth  a  hundred  pages  of  fustian.  "  Ich 
wage  die  Gedanken  in  der  Schale  meines  Zornes  und  die 
Werke  mit  dem  Gewichte  meines  Grimms."  I  like  it ! ' 

Both  were  again  silent. 

'Is  there  ony  country  where  they  talk  i'  that  way?' 
asked  the  old  woman,  looking  up  from  her  knitting. 

'  Yes,  Hannah — a  far  larger  country  than  England ; 
where  they  talk  in  no  other  way/ 

1  Well,  for  sure  case,  I  knawn't  how  they  can  understand 
t'  one  t'  other :  and  if  either  o'  ye  went  there,  ye  could  tell 
what  they  said,  I  guess  ? ' 

'  We  could  probably  tell  something  of  what  they  said, 
but  not  all — for  we  are  not  as  clever  as  you  think  us, 
Hannah.  We  don't  speak  German,  and  we  cannot  read  it 
without  a  dictionary  to  help  us.' 

1  And  what  good  does  it  do  you  ? ' 

'  We  mean  to  teach  it  some  time — or  at  least  the  elements, 
as  they  say  ;  and  then  we  shall  get  more  money  than  we  do 
now.' 

1  Varry  like  :  but  give  ower  studying  :  ye've  done  enough 
for  to-night.' 

'  I  think  we  have  :  at  least  I'm  tired.    Mary,  are  you  ? ' 

'  Mortally :  after  all,  it's  tough  work  fagging  away  at  a 
language  with  no  master  but  a  lexicon.' 

'It  is :  especially  such  a  language  as  this  crabbed  but 
glorious  Deutsch.  I  wonder  when  St.  John  will  come 
home.' 

'  Surely  he  will  not  be  long  now  :  it  is  just  ten  '  (looking 
at  a  little  gold  watch  she  drew  from  her  girdle).  '  It  rains 
fast.  Hannah,  will  you  have  the  goodness  to  look  at  the 
fire  in  the  parlour  ? ' 


JANE  EYBE  407 

The  woman  rose :  she  opened  a  door,  through  which  I 
dimly  saw  a  passage  :  soon  I  heard  her  stir  a  fire  in  an  inner 
room  ;  she  presently  came  hack. 

1  Ah,  childer  1 '  said  she,  '  it  fair  troubles  me  to  go  into 
yond'  room  now :  it  looks  so  lonesome  wif  the  chair  empty 
and  set  back  in  a  corner.' 

She  wiped  her  eyes  with  her  apron :  the  two  girls,  grave 
before,  looked  sad  now. 

'But  he  is  in  a  better  place/  continued  Hannah:  'we 
shouldn't  wish  him  here  again.  And  then,  nobody  need  to 
have  a  quieter  death  nor  he  had/ 

'  You  say  he  never  mentioned  us  ? '  inquired  one  of  the 
ladies. 

'  He  hadn't  time,  bairn  :  he  was  gone  in  a  minute — was 
your  father.  He  had  been  a  bit  ailing  like  the  day  before, 
but  naught  to  signify ;  and  when  Mr.  St.  John  asked  if  he 
would  like  either  o'  ye  to  be  sent  for,  he  fair  laughed  at  him. 
He  began  again  with  a  bit  of  a  heaviness  in  his  head  the 
next  day — that  is,  a  fortnight  sin' — and  he  went  to  sleep  and 
niver  wakened :  he  wor'  a 'most  stark  when  your  brother 
went  into  t'  chamber  and  fand  him.  Ah,  childer !  that's  tf 
last  o'  t'  old  stock — for  ye  and  Mr.  St.  John  is  like  of  a 
different  soart  to  them  'at's  gone ;  for  all  your  mother  wor 
mich  i*  your  way;  and  a'most  as  book-learned.  She  wor 
the  pictur'  o'  ye,  Mary :  Diana  is  more  like  your  father/ 

I  thought  them  so  similar  I  could  not  tell  where  the  old 
servant  (for  such  I  now  concluded  her  to  be)  saw  the 
difference.  Both  were  fair  complexioned  and  slenderly 
made ;  both  possessed  faces  full  of  distinction  and  intelli- 
gence. One,  to  be  sure,  had  hair  a  shade  darker  than  the 
other,  and  there  was  a  difference  in  their  style  of  wearing  it : 
Mary's  pale  brown  locks  were  parted  and  braided  smooth ; 
Diana's  duskier  tresses  covered  her  neck  with  thick  cuils. 
The  clock  struck  ten. 

1  Ye'll  want  your  supper,  I  am  sure/  observed  Hannah ; 
and  so  will  Mr.  St.  John  when  he  comes  in.' 

And  she  proceeded  to  prepare  the  meal.    The  ladies  rose ; 


408  JANE  BYEB 

they  seemed  about  to  withdraw  to  the  parlour.  Till  this 
moment  I  had  been  so  intent  on  watching  them,  their 
appearance  and  conversation  had  excited  in  me  so  keen  an 
interest,  I  had  half -forgotten  my  own  wretched  position : 
now  it  recurred  to  me.  More  desolate,  more  desperate  than 
ever,  it  seemed  from  contrast.  And  how  impossible  did  it 
appear  to  touch  the  inmates  of  this  house  with  concern  on 
my  behalf ;  to  make  them  believe  in  the  truth  of  my  wants 
and  woes — to  induce  them  to  vouchsafe  a  rest  for  my 
wanderings  1  As  I  groped  out  the  door,  and  knocked  at  it 
hesitatingly,  I  felt  that  last  idea  to  be  a  mere  chimera. 
Hannah  opened. 

'  What  do  you  want  ? '  she  inquired,  in  a  voice  of  sur- 
prise, as  she  surveyed  me  by  the  light  of  the  candle  she  held. 

1  May  I  speak  to  your  mistresses  ? '  I  said. 

1  You  had  better  tell  me  what  you  have  to  say  to  them. 
Where  do  you  come  from  ? ' 

'I  am  a  stranger.' 

•  What  is  your  business  here  at  this  hour  ? ' 

'I  want  a  night's  shelter  in  an  outhouse  or  anywhere, 
and  a  morsel  of  bread  to  eat/ 

Distrust,  the  very  feeling  I  dreaded,  appeared  in  Hannah's 
face.  '  I'll  give  you  a  piece  of  bread,'  she  said,  after  a  pause ; 
'  but  we  can't  take  in  a  vagrant  to  lodge.  It  isn't  likely/ 

1  Do  let  me  speak  to  your  mistresses.' 

1  No ;  not  I.  What  can  they  do  for  you  ?  You  should 
not  be  roving  about  now  ;  it  looks  very  ill.' 

I  But  where  shall  I  go  if  you  drive  me  away  ?  What  shall 
I  do?' 

'  Oh,  I'll  warrant  you  know  where  to  go,  and  what  to 
do.  Mind  you  don't  do  wrong,  that's  all.  Here  is  a  penny ; 
now  go ' 

'  A  penny  cannot  feed  me,  and  I  have  no  strength  to  go 
farther.  Don't  shut  the  door : — oh,  don't,  for  God's  sake  1 ' 

I 1  must ;  the  rain  is  driving  in ' 

Tell  the  young  ladies. — Let  me  see  them ' 


JANE  EYEE  409 

'  Indeed,  I  will  not.  You  are  not  what  you  ought  to  be, 
or  you  wouldn't  make  such  a  noise.  Move  off.' 

'  But  I  must  die  if  I  am  turned  away.' 

'  Not  you.  I'm  f  ear'd  you  have  some  ill  plans  agate,  that 
bring  you  about  folk's  houses  at  this  time  o'  night.  If 
you've  any  followers — housebreakers  or  such  like — anywhere 
near,  you  may  tell  them  we  are  not  by  ourselves  in  the  house ; 
we  have  a  gentleman,  and  dogs,  and  guns.'  Here  the  honest 
but  inflexible  servant  clapped  the  door  to  and  bolted  it  within. 

This  was  the  climax.  A  pang  of  exquisite  suffering — a 
throe  of  true  despair — rent  and  heaved  my  heart.  Worn  out, 
indeed,  I  was ;  not  another  step  could  I  stir.  I  sank  on  the 
wet  door-step :  I  groaned — I  wrung  my  hands — I  wept  in 
utter  anguish.  Oh,  this  spectre  of  death !  Oh,  this  last 
hour,  approaching  in  such  horror  !  Alas,  this  isolation — this 
banishment  from  my  kind !  Not  only  the  anchor  of  home, 
but  the  footing  of  fortitude  was  gone — at  least  for  a  moment : 
but  the  last  I  soon  endeavoured  to  regain. 

1 1  can  but  die,'  I  said,  '  and  I  believe  in  God.  Let  me 
try  to  wait  His  will  in  silence.' 

These  words  I  not  only  thought,  but  uttered ;  and  thrust- 
ing back  all  my  misery  into  my  heart,  I  made  an  effort  to 
compel  it  to  remain  there — dumb  and  still. 

'All  men  must  die,'  said  a  voice  quite  close  at  hand; 
'  but  all  are  not  condemned  to  meet  a  lingering  and  prema- 
ture doom,  such  as  yours  would  be  if  you  perished  here  of 
want.' 

1  Who  or  what  speaks  ? '  I  asked,  terrified  at  the  unex- 
pected sound,  and  incapable  now  of  deriving  from  any 
occurrence  a  hope  of  aid.  A  form  was  near — what  form  the 
pitch-dark  night  and  my  enfeebled  vision  prevented  me  from 
distinguishing.  With  a  loud  long  knock  the  new  comer 
appealed  to  the  door. 

'  Is  it  you,  Mr.  St.  John  ?  '  cried  Hannah. 

'  Yes — yes ;  open  quickly.' 

'  Well,  how  wet  and  cold  you  must  be,  such  a  wild  night 
as  it  is  1  Gome  in — your  sisters  are  quite  uneasy  about  you, 


410  JANE  EYEE 

and  I  believe  there  are  bad  folks  about.  There  has  been  a 
beggar-woman — I  declare  she  is  not  gone  yet ! — laid  down 
there.  Get  up  !  for  shame  1  Move  off,  I  say ! ' 

'  Hush,  Hannah !  I  have  a  word  to  say  to  the  woman. 
You  have  done  your  duty  in  excluding,  now  let  me  do  mine 
in  admitting  her.  I  was  near,  and  listened  to  both  you  and 
her.  I  think  this  is  a  peculiar  case— I  must  at  least  examine 
into  it.  Young  woman,  rise,  and  pass  before  me  into  the 
house/ 

With  difficulty  I  obeyed  him.  Presently  I  stood  within 
that  clean,  bright  kitchen — on  the  very  hearth — trembling, 
sickening ;  conscious  of  an  aspect  in  the  last  degree  ghastly, 
wild,  and  weather-beaten.  The  two  ladies,  their  brother,  Mr. 
St.  John,  the  old  servant,  were  all  gazing  at  me. 

'  St.  John,  who  is  it  ?  '  I  heard  one  ask. 

1 1  cannot  tell :  I  found  her  at  the  door/  was  the  reply. 

'  She  does  look  white/  said  Hannah. 

'  As  white  as  clay  or  death/  was  responded.  *  She  will 
fall :  let  her  sit/ 

And  indeed  my  head  swam :  I  dropped ;  but  a  chair 
received  me.  I  still  possessed  my  senses  ;  though  just  now 
I  could  not  speak. 

'  Perhaps  a  little  water  would  restore  her.  Hannah,  fetch 
some.  But  she  is  worn  to  nothing.  How  very  thin,  and 
how  very  bloodless  ! ' 

1 A  mere  spectre  1 ' 

1  Is  she  ill,  or  only  famished  ? ' 

*  Famished,  I  think.  Hannah,  is  that  milk  ?  Give  it  me, 
and  a  piece  of  bread/ 

Diana  (I  knew  her  by  the  long  curls  which  I  saw  drooping 
between  me  and  the  fire  as  she  bent  over  me)  broke  some 
bread,  dipped  it  in  milk,  and  put  it  to  my  lips.  Her  face  was 
near  mine :  I  saw  there  was  pity  in  it,  and  I  felt  sympathy  in 
her  hurried  breathing.  In  her  simple  words,  too,  the  same 
balm-like  emotion  spoke  :  '  Try  to  eat/ 

'Yes — try/  repeated   Mary  gently;  and  Mary's  hand 


JANE  EYEE  411 

removed  my  sodden  bonnet  and  lifted  my  head.    I  tasted 
what  they  offered  me  :  feebly  at  first,  eagerly  soon. 

'  Not  too  much  at  first — restrain  her,'  said  the  brother  ; 
1  she  has  had  enough/  And  he  withdrew  the  cup  of  milk 
and  the  plate  of  bread. 

1 A  little  more,  St.  John — look  at  the  avidity  in  her 
eyes.' 

'  No  more  at  present,  sister.  Try  if  she  can  speak  now — 
ask  her  her  name.1 

I  felt  I  could  speak,  and  I  answered — '  My  name  is 
Jane  Elliott/  Anxious  as  ever  to  avoid  discovery,  I  had 
before  resolved  to  assume  an  alias. 

1  And  where  do  you  live  ?    Where  are  your  friends  ? ' 
I  w«is  silent. 

'  Can  we  send  for  any  one  you  know  ?  ' 
I  shook  my  head. 

1  What  account  can  you  give  of  yourself  ?  ' 
Somehow,  now  that  I  had  once  crossed  the  threshold 
of  this  house,  and  once  was  brought  face  to  face  with  its 
owners,  I  felt  no  longer  outcast,  vagrant,  and  disowned 
by  the  wide  world.  I  dared  to  put  off  the  mendicant — to 
resume  my  natural  manner  and  character.  I  began  once 
more  to  know  myself ;  and  when  Mr.  St.  John  demanded  an 
account — which  at  present  I  was  far  too  weak  to  render— I 
said  after  a  brief  pause, — '  Sir,  I  can  give  you  no  details 
to-night/ 

'  But  what,  then/  said  he,  '  do  you  expect  me  to  do  for 
you?1 

'  Nothing/  I  replied.  My  strength  sufficed  for  but  short 
answers.  Diana  took  the  word  : — 

1  Do  you  mean/  she  asked,  '  that  we  have  now  given  you 
what  aid  you  require  ?  and  that  we  may  dismiss  you  to  the 
moor  and  the  rainy  night  ?  ' 

I  looked  at  her.  She  had,  I  thought,  a  remarkable 
countenance ;  instinct  both  with  power  and  goodness.  I 
took  sudden  courage.  Answering  her  compassionate  gaze 
with  a  smile,  I  said  :  '  I  will  trust  you.  If  I  were  a  master- 


412  JANE  EYEB 

less  and  straj  dog,  I  know  that  you  would  not  turn  me  from 
your  hearth  to-night :  as  it  is,  I  really  have  no  fear.  Do 
with  me  and  for  me  as  you  like ;  but  excuse  me  from  much 
discourse — my  breath  is  short— I  feel  a  spasm  when  I  speak/ 
All  three  surveyed  me,  and  all  three  were  silent. 

1  Hannah,1  said  Mr.  St.  John  at  last,  '  let  her  sit  there  at 
present,  and  ask  her  no  questions ;  in  ten  minutes  more, 
give  her  the  remainder  of  that  milk  and  bread.  Mary  and 
Diana,  let  us  go  into  the  parlour  and  talk  the  matter  over/ 

They  withdrew.  Very  soon  one  of  the  ladies  returned— 
I  could  not  tell  which.  A  kind  of  pleasant  stupor  was  steal- 
ing over  me  as  I  sat  by  the  genial  fire.  In  an  undertone  she 
gave  some  directions  to  Hannah.  Ere  long,  with  the  servant's 
aid,  I  contrived  to  mount  a  staircase ;  my  dripping  clothes 
were  removed;  soon  a  warm,  dry  bed  received  me.  I 
thanked  God  -experienced  amidst  unutterable  exhaustion  a 
glow  of  grateful  joy — and  slept. 


JANE  EYRE  413 


CHAPTEE  XXIX 

THE  recollection  of  about  three  days  and  nights  succeeding 
this  is  very  dim  in  my  mind.  I  can  recall  some  sensations 
felt  in  that  interval ;  but  few  thoughts  framed,  and  no 
actions  performed.  I  knew  I  was  in  a  small  room,  and  in  a 
narrow  bed.  To  that  bed  I  seemed  to  have  grown  ;  I  lay  on 
it  motionless  as  a  stone ;  and  to  have  torn  me  from  it  would 
have  been  almost  to  kill  me.  I  took  no  note  of  the  lapse  of 
time — of  the  change  from  morning  to  noon,  from  noon  to 
evening.  I  observed  when  any  one  entered  or  left  the 
apartment ;  I  could  even  tell  who  they  were ;  I  could  under- 
stand what  was  said  when  the  speaker  stood  near  to  me ; 
but  I  could  not  answer ;  to  open  my  lips  or  move  my  limbs 
was  equally  impossible.  Hannah,  the  servant,  was  my  most 
frequent  visitor.  Her  coming  disturbed  me.  I  had  a  feeling 
that  she  wished  me  away :  that  she  did  not  understand  me 
or  my  circumstances  :  that  she  was  prejudiced  against  me. 
Diana  and  Mary  appeared  in  the  chamber  once  or  twice  a 
day.  They  would  whisper  sentences  of  this  sort  at  my 
bedside : — 

1  It  is  very  well  we  took  her  in.' 

'  Yes ;  she  would  certainly  have  been  found  dead  at  the 
door  in  the  morning,  had  she  been  left  out  all  night.  I 
wonder  what  she  has  gone  through  ?  ' 

1  Strange  hardships,  I  imagine — poor,  emaciated,  pallid 
wanderer  ! ' 

1  She  is  not  an  uneducated  person,  I  should  think,  by  her 
manner  of  speaking ;  her  accent  was  quite  pure ;  and  the 
clothes  she  took  off,  though  splashed  and  wet,  were  little 
worn  and  fine/ 


414  JANE  EYBB 

'  She  has  a  peculiar  face ;  fleshless  and  haggard  as  it  is, 
I  rather  like  it ;  and  when  in  good  health  and  animated,  I 
can  fancy  her  physiognomy  would  be  agreeable.' 

Never  once  in  their  dialogues  did  I  hear  a  syllable  of 
regret  at  the  hospitality  they  had  extended  to  me;  or  of 
suspicion  of,  or  aversion  to,  myself.  I  was  comforted. 

Mr.  St.  John  came  but  once  :  he  looked  at  me,  and  said 
my  state  of  lethargy  was  the  result  of  reaction  from  excessive 
and  protracted  fatigue.  He  pronounced  it  needless  to  send 
for  a  doctor :  nature,  he  was  sure,  would  manage  best  left 
to  herself.  He  said  every  nerve  had  been  overstrained  in 
some  way,  and  the  whole  system  must  sleep  torpid  awhile. 
There  was  no  disease.  He  imagined  my  recovery  would  be 
rapid  enough  when  once  commenced.  These  opinions  he 
delivered  in  a  few  words,  in  a  quiet,  low  voice ;  and  added, 
after  a  pause,  in  the  tone  of  a  man  little  accustomed  lo 
expansive  comment,  'rather  an  unusual  physiognomy; 
certainly  not  indicative  of  vulgarity  or  degradation.' 

1  Far  otherwise,'  responded  Diana.  '  To  speak  truth,  St. 
John,  my  heart  rather  warms  to  the  poor  little  soul.  I  wish 
we  may  be  able  to  benefit  her  permanently.' 

1  That  is  hardly  likely,'  was  the  reply.  '  You  will  find 
she  is  some  young  lady  who  has  had  a  misunderstanding 
with  her  friends  and  has  probably  injudiciously  left  them. 
We  may,  perhaps,  succeed  in  restoring  her  to  them,  if  she  is 
not  obstinate :  but  I  trace  lines  of  force  in  her  face  which 
make  me  sceptical  of  her  tractability.'  He  stood  considering 
me  some  minutes  ;  then  added,  '  She  looks  sensible,  but  not 
at  all  handsome.' 

'  She  is  so  ill,  St.  John.' 

'  111  or  well,  she  would  always  be.  plain.  The  grace  and 
harmony  of  beauty  are  quite  wanting  in  those  features.' 

On  the  third  day  I  was  better ;  on  the  fourth,  I  could 
speak,  move,  rise  in  bed,  and  turn.  Hannah  had  brought 
me  some  gruel  and  dry  toast,  about,  as  I  supposed,  the 
dinner  hour.  I  had  eaten  with  relish :  the  food  was  good — 


JANE  EYEB  415 

void  of  the  feverish  flavour  which  had  hitherto  poisoned 
what  I  had  swallowed.  When  she  left  me,  I  felt  compara- 
tively strong  and  revived ;  ere  long  satiety  of  repose  and 
desire  for  action  stirred  me.  I  wished  to  rise ;  but  what 
could  I  put  on  ?  Only  my  damp  and  bemired  apparel,  in 
which  I  had  slept  on  the  ground  and  fallen  in  the  marsh.  I 
felt  ashamed  to  appear  before  my  benefactors  so  clad.  I 
was  spared  the  humiliation. 

On  a  chair  by  the  bedside  were  all  my  own  things,  clean 
and  dry.  My  black  silk  frock  hung  against  the  wall.  The 
traces  of  the  bog  were  removed  from  it ;  the  creases  left  by 
the  wet  smoothed  out :  it  was  quite  decent.  My  very  shoes 
and  stockings  were  purified  and  rendered  presentable.  There 
were  the  means  of  washing  in  the  room,  and  a  comb  and  brush 
to  smooth  my  hair.  After  a  weary  process,  and  resting  every 
five  minutes,  I  succeeded  in  dressing  myself.  My  clothes  hung 
loose  on  me,  for  I  was  much  wasted ;  but  I  covered  deficien- 
cies with  a  shawl,  and  once  more,  clean  and  respectable- 
looking — no  speck  of  the  dirt,  no  trace  of  the  disorder  I  so 
hated,  and  which  seemed  so  to  degrade  me,  left— I  crept 
down  a  stone  staircase  with  the  aid  of  the  banisters  to  a 
narrow  low  passage,  and  found  my  way  presently  to  the 
kitchen. 

It  was  full  of  the  fragrance  of  new  bread  and  the  warmth 
of  a  generous  fire.  Hannah  was  baking.  Prejudices,  it  is 
well  known,  are  most  difficult  to  eradicate  from  the  heart 
whose  soil  has  never  been  loosened  or  fertilised  by  education  : 
they  grow  there,  firm  as  weeds  among  stones.  Hannah  had 
been  cold  and  stiff,  indeed,  at  the  first :  latterly  she  had 
begun  to  relent  a  little ;  and  when  she  saw  me  come  in  tidy 
and  well-dressed,  she  even  smiled. 

1  What,  you  have  got  up  ? '  she  said.  '  You  are  better, 
then.  You  may  sit  you  down  in  my  chair  on  the  hearth- 
stone, if  you  will/ 

She  pointed  to  the  rocking-chair :  I  took  it.  She  bustled 
about,  examining  me  every  now  and  then  with  the  corner  of 


416  JANE  EYEE 

her  eye.  Turning  to  me,  as  she  took  some  loaves  from  the 
oven,  she  asked,  bluntly — '  Did  you  ever  go  a-begging  afore 
you  came  here  ?  ' 

I  was  indignant  for  a  moment;  but  remembering  that 
anger  was  out  of  the  question,  and  that  I  had  indeed  appeared 
as  a  beggar  to  her,  I  answered  quietly,  but  still  not  without 
a  certain  marked  firmness — '  You  are  mistaken  in  supposing 
me  a  beggar.  I  am  no  beggar  :  any  more  than  yourself  or 
your  young  ladies.' 

After  a  pause,  she  said,  'I  dunnut  understand  that: 
you've  like  no  house,  nor  no  brass,  I  guess  ? ' 

1  The  want  of  house  or  brass  (by  which  I  suppose  you 
mean  money)  does  not  make  a  beggar  in  your  sense  of  the 
word.' 

'  Are  you  book-learned  ? '  she  inquired,  presently. 

'  Yes,  very.' 

1  But  you've  never  been  to  a  boarding-school ! ' 

*  I  was  at  a  boarding-school  eight  years.' 
She  opened  her  eyes  wide. 

*  Whatever  cannot  ye  keep  yourself  for,  then  ? ' 

'  I  have  kept  myself ;  and,  I  trust,  shall  keep  myself 
again.  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  these  gooseberries  ? ' 
I  inquired,  as  she  brought  out  a  basket  of  the  fruit. 

1  Mak'em  into  pies.' 

'  Give  them  to  me  and  I'll  pick  them.' 

1  Nay ;  I  dunnut  want  ye  to  do  nought.' 

4  But  I  must  do  something.     Let  me  have  them.' 

She  consented  ;  and  she  even  brought  me  a  clean  towel 
to  spread  over  my  dress,  *  lest,'  as  she  said, '  I  should  mucky 
it.' 

'  Ye've  not  been  used  to  sarvanl's  wark,  I  see  by  your 
hands,'  she  remarked.  '  Happen  ye've  been  a  dressmaker.' 

'  No,  you  are  wrong.  And,  now,  never  mind  what  I  have 
been :  don't  trouble  your  head  further  about  me ;  but  tell 
me  the  name  of  the  house  where  we  are.' 

'  Some  calls  it  Marsh  End,  and  some  calls  it  Moor 
House.' 


JANE  EYEE  417 

'And  the  gentleman  who  lives  here  is  called  Mr.  St. 
John?1 

'  Nay  ;  he  doesn't  live  here :  he  is  only  staying  a  while. 
When  he  is  at  home,  he  is  in  his  own  parish  at  Morton.' 

'  That  village  a  few  miles  off  ?  ' 

'  Aye/ 

'And  what  is  he?1 

'  He  is  a  parson.' 

I  remembered  the  answer  of  the  old  housekeeper  at  the 
parsonage,  when  I  had  asked  to  see  the  clergyman.  '  This, 
then,  was  his  father's  residence  ? ' 

'  Aye ;  old  Mr.  Bivers  lived  here,  and  his  father,  and 
grandfather,  and  gurt  (groat)  grandfather  afore  him.' 

'The  name,  then,  of  that  gentleman  is  Mr.  St.  John 
Bivers?' 

'  Aye ;  St.  John  is  like  his  kirstened  name.' 

'  And  his  sisters  are  called  Diana  and  Mary  Bivers  ? ' 

*  Yes/ 

'Their  father  is  dead?' 

'  Dead  three  weeks  sin'  of  a  stroke/ 

'  They  have  no  mother  ? ' 

'  The  mistress  has  been  dead  this  mony  a  year ' 

'  Have  you  lived  with  the  family  long  ? ' 

'  I've  lived  here  thirty  year.     I  nursed  them  all  three/ 

'  That  proves  you  must  have  been  an  honest  and  faithful 
servant.  I  will  say  so  much  for  you,  though  you  have  had  the 
incivility  to  call  me  a  beggar/ 

She  again  regarded  me  with  a  surprised  stare.  '  I  believe,' 
she  said, '  I  was  quite  mista'en  in  my  thoughts  of  you :  but 
there  is  so  mony  cheats  goes  about,  you  mun  forgie  me/ 

'  And  though,'  I  continued,  rather  severely,  '  you  wished 
to  turn  me  from  the  door,  on  a  night  when  you  should  not 
have  shut  out  a  dog/ 

'  Well,  it  was  hard :  but  what  can  a  body  do  ?  I  thought 
more  o'  th'  childer  nor  of  mysel' :  poor  things !  They've 
like  nobody  to  tak'  care  on  'em  but  me.  I'm  like  to  look 
sharpish/ 


418  JANE  EYEE 

I  maintained  a  grave  silence  for  some  minutes. 

*  You  munnut  think  too  hardly  of  me/  she  again  remarked. 

1  But  I  do  think  hardly  of  you/  I  said ;  '  and  I'll  tell  you 
why — not  so  much  because  you  refused  to  give  me  shelter, 
or  regarded  me  as  an  impostor,  as  because  you  just  now 
made  it  a  species  of  reproach  that  I  had  no  "  brass,"  and  no 
house.  Some  of  the  best  people  that  ever  lived  have  been  as 
destitute  as  I  am  ;  and  if  you  are  a  Christian,  you  ought  not 
to  consider  poverty  a  crime/ 

1  No  more  I  ought/  said  she :  '  Mr.  St.  John  tells  me  so 
too  ;  and  I  see  I  wor  wrang — but  I've  clear  a  different  notion 
on  you  now  to  what  I  had.  You  look  a  raight  down  dacent 
little  crater/ 

1  That  will  do — I  forgive  you  now.     Shake  hands/ 

She  put  her  floury  and  horny  hand  into  mine ;  another 
and  heartier  smile  illumined  her  rough  face :  and  from  that 
moment  we  were  friends. 

Hannah  was  evidently  fond  of  talking.  While  I  picked 
the  fruit-  and  she  made  the  paste  for  the  pics,  she  proceeded 
to  give  me  sundry  details  about  her  deceased  master  and 
mistress,  and  '  the  childer/  as  she  called  the  young  people. 

Old  Mr.  Eivers,  she  said,  was  a  plain  man  enough  ;  but 
a  gentleman,  and  of  as  ancient  a  family  as  could  be  found. 
Marsh  End  had  belonged  to  the  Eivers'  ever  since  it  was  a 
house :  and  it  was,  she  affirmed,  '  aboon  two  hundred  year 
old — for  all  it  looked  but  a  small,  humble  place,  naught  to 
compare  wi'  Mr.  Oliver's  grand  hall  down  i'  Morton  Vale. 
But  she  could  remember  Bill  Oliver's  father  a  journeyman 
needle-maker ;  and  th'  Eivers'  wor  gentry  i'  thi'  owd  days 
o*  th'  Henrys,  as  onybody  might  see  by  looking  into  th1 
registers  i'  Morton  Church  vestry/  Still,  she  allowed, '  the 
owdmaister  was  like  other  folk — naught  mich  out  o'  t'  common 
way:  stark  mad  o'  shooting,  and  farming,  and  sich  like/ 
The  mistress  was  different.  She  was  a  great  reader,  and 
studied  a  deal ;  and  the  *  bairns  '  had  taken  after  her.  There 
was  nothing  like  them  in  these  parts,  nor  ever  had  been ; 
they  had  liked  learning,  all  three,  almost  from  the  time  they 


JANE  EYBE  419 

could  speak ;  and  they  had  always  been  '  of  a  mak'  of  their 
own.1  Mr.  St.  John,  when  he  grew  up,  would  go  to  college 
and  he  a  parson  ;  and  the  girls,  as  soon  as  they  left  school, 
would  seek  places  as  governesses :  for  they  had  told  her  their 
father  had  some  years  ago  lost  a  great  deal  of  money  by  a  man 
he  had  trusted  turning  bankrupt ;  and  as  he  was  now  not  rich 
enough  to  give  them  fortunes,  they  must  provide  for  them- 
selves. They  had  lived  very  little  at  home  for  a  long  while, 
and  were  only  come  now  to  stay  a  few  weeks  on  account  of 
their  father's  death :  but  they  did  so  like  Marsh  End  and 
Morton,  and  all  these  moors  and  hills  about.  They  had 
been  in  London,  and  many  other  grand  towns ;  but  they 
always  said  there  was  no  place  like  home ;  and  then  they 
were  so  agreeable  with  each  other — never  fell  out  nor 
'  threaped/  She  did  not  know  where  thers  was  such  a 
family  for  being  united. 

Having  finished  my  task  of  gooseberry  picking,  I  asked 
where  the  two  ladies  and  their  brother  were  now. 

'  Gone  over  to  Morton  for  a  walk ;  but  they  would  be 
back  in  half  an  hour  to  tea.1 

They  returned  within  the  time  Hannah  had  allotted  them  : 
they  entered  by  the  kitchen  door.  Mr.  St.  John,  when  he 
saw  me,  merely  bowed  and  passed  through ;  the  two  ladies 
stopped  :  Mary,  in  a  few  words,  kindly  and  calmly  expressed 
the  pleasure  she  felt  in  seeing  me  well  enough  to  be  able  to 
come  down;  Diana  took  my  hand :  she  shook  her  head  at  me. 

'  You  should  have  waited  for  my  leave  to  descend,1  she 
said.  '  You  still  look  very  pale — and  so  thin  1  Poor  child ! — 
poor  girl ! ' 

Diana  had  a  voice  toned,  to  my  ear,  like  the  cooing  of  a 
dove.  She  possessed  eyes  whose  gaze  I  delighted  to 
encounter.  Her  whole  face  seemed  to  me  full  of  charm. 
Mary's  countenance  was  equally  intelligent—  her  features 
equally  pretty :  but  her  expression  was  more  reserved ;  and 
her  manners,  though  gentle,  more  distant.  Diana  looked 
and  spoke  with  a  certain  authority  :  she  had  a  will,  evidently. 
It  was  my  nature  to  feel  pleasure  in  yielding  to  an  authority 


420  JANE  EYBE 

supported  like  hers :  and  to  bend,  where  my  conscience  and 
self-respect  permitted,  to  an  active  will. 

1  And  what  business  have  you  here  ? '  she  continued.  '  It 
is  not  your  place.  Mary  and  I  sit  in  the  kitchen  sometimes, 
because  at  home  we  like  to  be  free,  even  to  licence — but  you 
are  a  visitor,  and  must  go  into  the  parlour.' 

'  I  am  very  well  here.' 

'Not  at  all — with  Hannah  bustling  about  and  covering 
you  with  flour.' 

'  Besides,  the  fire  is  too  hot  for  you/  interposed  Mary. 

'  To  be  sure/  added  her  sister.  '  Come,  you  must  be 
obedient.1  And  still  holding  my  hand,  she  made  me  rise,  and 
led  me  into  the  inner  room. 

1  Sit  there/  she  said,  placing  me  on  the  sofa,  '  while  we 
take  our  things  off  and  get  the  tea  ready ;  it  is  another  privi- 
lege we  exercise  in  our  little  moorland  home — to  prepare  our 
own  meals  when  we  are  so  inclined ;  or  when  Hannah  is 
baking,  brewing,  washing,  or  ironing.' 

She  closed  the  door,  leaving  me  solus  with  Mr.  St.  John, 
who  sat  opposite,  a  book  or  newspaper  in  his  hand.  I 
examined,  first,  the  parlour,  and  then  its  occupant. 

The  parlour  was  rather  a  small  room,  very  plainly  fur- 
nished ;  yet  comfortable,  because  clean  and  neat.  The  old- 
fashioned  chairs  were  very  bright,  and  the  walnut-wood  table 
was  like  a  looking-glass.  A  few  strange  antique  portraits  of 
the  men  and  women  of  other  days  decorated  the  fetained  walls  ; 
a  cupboard  with  glass  doors  contained  some  books  and  an 
ancient  set  of  china.  There  was  no  superfluous  ornament 
in  the  room — not  one  modern  piece  of  furniture,  save  a  brace 
of  work-boxes  and  a  lady's  desk  in  rosewood,  which  stood  on 
a  side-table :  everything — including  the  carpet  and  curtains 
— looked  at  once  well  worn  and  well  saved. 

Mr.  St.  John — sitting  as  still  as  one  of  the  dusky  pictures 
on  the  walls,  keeping  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  page  he  perused 
and  his  lips  mutely  sealed,  was  easy  enough  to  examine. 
Had  he  been  a  statue  instead  of  a  man,  he  could  not  have 
been  easier.  He  was  young —perhaps  from  twenty-eight  to 


JANE  EYEE  421 

thirty — tall,  slender ;  his  face  riveted  the  eye ;  it  was  like  a 
Greek  face,  very  pure  in  outline :  quite  a  straight,  classic 
nose;  quite  an  Athenian  mouth  and  chin.  It  is  seldom, 
•indeed,  an  English  face  comes  so  near  the  antique  models  as 
did  his.  He  might  well  he  a  little  shocked  at  the  irregularity 
of  my  lineaments,  his  own  being  so  harmonious.  His  eyes 
were  large  and  blue,  with  brown  lashes ;  his  high  forehead, 
colourless  as  ivory,  was  partially  streaked  over  by  careless 
locks  of  fair  hair. 

This  is  a  gentle  delineation,  is  it  not,  reader  ?  Yet  he 
whom  it  describes  scarcely  impressed  one  with  the  idea  of  a 
gentle,  a  yielding,  an  impressible,  or  even  of  a  placid  nature. 
Quiescent  as  he  now  sat,  there  was  somthing  about  his 
nostril,  his  mouth,  his  brow,  which,  to  my  perceptions, 
indicated  elements  within  either  restless,  or  hard,  or  eager. 
He  did  not  speak  to  me  one  word,  nor  even  direct  to  me  one 
glance,  till  his  sisters  returned.  Diana,  as  she  passed  in  and 
out  in  the  course  of  preparing  tea,  brought  me  a  little  cake, 
baked  on  the  top  of  the  oven. 

1  Eat  that  now,'  she  said  :  '  you  must  be  hungry.  Hannah 
says  you  have  had  nothing  but  some  gruel  since  break- 
fast.' 

I  did  not  refuse  it,  for  my  appetite  was  awakened  and 
keen.  Mr.  Eivers  now  closed  his  book,  approached  the  table, 
and,  as  he  took  a  seat,  fixed  his  blue  pictorial-looking  eyes 
full  on  me.  There  was  an  unceremonious  directness,  a 
searching,  decided  steadfastness  in  his  gaze  now,  which  told 
that  intention,  and  not  diffidence,  had  hitherto  kept  it  averted 
from  the  stranger. 

'  You  are  very  hungry/  he  said. 

'  I  am,  sir/  It  is  my  way — it  always  was  my  way,  by 
instinct— ever  to  meet  the  brief  with  brevity,  the  direct  with 
plainness. 

t  It  is  well  for  you  that  a  low  fever  has  forced  you  to 
abstain  for  the  last  three  days :  there  would  have  been 
danger  in  yielding  to  the  cravings  of  your  appetite  at  first. 
Now  you  may  eat ;  though  still  not  immoderately.' 


4=22  JANE  EYEE 

'  I  trust  I  shall  not  eat  long  at  your  expense,  sir,1  was  my 
very  clumsily-contrived,  unpolished  answer. 

'  No/  he  said,  coolly :  '  when  you  have  indicated  to  us  the 
residence  of  your  friends,  we  can  write  to  them,  and  you  may 
be  restored  to  home.' 

'  That,  I  must  plainly  tell  you,  is  out  of  my  power  to  do ; 
being  absolutely  without  home  and  friends.' 

The  three  looked  at  me,  but  not  distrustfully ;  I  felt  there 
was  no  suspicion  in  their  glances  :  there  was  more  of  curiosity. 
I  speak  particularly  of  the  young  ladies.  St.  John's  eyes, 
though  clear  enough  in  a  literal  sense,  in  a  figurative  one  were 
difficult  to  fathom.  He  seemed  to  use  them  rather  as  instru- 
ments to  search  other  people's  thoughts,  than  as  agents  to 
reveal  his  own:  the  which  combination  of  keenness  and 
reserve  was  considerably  more  calculated  to  embarrass  than 
to  encourage. 

1  Do  you  mean  to  say/  he  asked,  '  that  you  are  completely 
isolated  from  every  connection  ?  ' 

1  I  do.  Not  a  tie  links  me  to  any  living  thing  :  not  a  claim 
do  I  possess  to  admittance  under  any  roof  in  England/ 

1 A  most  singular  position  at  your  age  1 ' 

Here  I  saw  his  glance  directed  to  my  hands,  which  were 
folded  on  the  table  before  me.  I  wondered  what  he  sought 
there :  his  words  soon  explained  the  quest. 

I  You  have  never  been  married  ?    You  are  a  spinster  ? ' 
Diana  laughed. 

'  Why,  she  can't  be  above  seventeen  or  eighteen  years 
old,  St.  John/  said  she. 

I 1  am  near  nineteen :  but  I  am  not  married.    No.' 

I  felt  a  burning  glow  mount  to  my  face  ;  for  bitter  and 
agitating  recollections  were  awakened  by  the  allusion  to 
marriage.  They  all  saw  the  embarrassment  and  the  emo- 
tion. Diana  and  Mary  relieved  me  by  turning  their  eyes 
elsewhere  than  to  my  crimsoned  visage  ;  but  the  colder  and 
sterner  brother  continued  to  gaze,  till  the  trouble  he  had 
excited  forced  out  tears  as  well  as  colour. 

'  Where  did  you  last  reside  ? '  he  now  asked. 


JANE  EYBE  423 

1  You  are  too  inquisitive,  St.  John,'  murmured  Mary,  in 
a  low  voice ;  but  he  leaned  over  the  table  and  required  an 
answer  by  a  second  firm  and  piercing  look. 

'  The  name  of  the  place  where,  and  of  the  person  with 
whom  I  lived,  is  my  secret/  I  replied,  concisely. 

'  Which,  if  you  like,  you  have,  in  my  opinion,  a  right  to 
keep  both  from  St.  John  and  every  other  questioner,1  remarked 
Diana. 

'  Yet  if  I  know  nothing  about  you  or  your  history,  I  can- 
not help  you/  he  said.  '  And  you  need  help  :  do  you  not  ? ' 

'I  need  it,  and  I  seek  it;  so  far,  sir,  that  some  true 
philanthropist  will  put  me  in  the  way  of  getting  work  which 
I  can  do,  and  the  remuneration  for  which  will  keep  me :  if 
but  in  the  barest  necessaries  of  life.' 

'  I  know  not  whether  I  am  a  true  philanthropist ;  yet  I 
am  willing  to  aid  you  to  the  utmost  of  my  power,  in  a  pur- 
pose so  honest.  First,  then,  tell  me  what  you  have  been 
accustomed  to  do,  and  what  you  can  do/ 

I  had  now  swallowed  my  tea.  I  was  mightily  refreshed 
by  the  beverage ;  as  much  so  as  a  giant  with  wine :  it  gave 
new  tone  to  my  unstrung  nerves,  and  enabled  me  to  address 
this  penetrating  young  judge  steadily. 

1  Mr.  Eivers/  I  said,  turning  to  him,  and  looking  at  him, 
as  he  looked  at  me,  openly  arid  without  diffidence,  '  you  and 
your  sisters  have  done  me  a  great  service—  the  greatest  man 
can  do  his  fellow-being ;  you  have  rescued  me,  by  your  noble 
hospitality,  from  death.  This  benefit  conferred  gives  you  an 
unlimited  claim  on  my  gratitude ;  and  a  claim,  to  a  certain 
extent,  on  my  confidence.  I  will  tell  you  as  much  of  th.e 
history  of  the  wanderer  you  have  harboured  as  I  can  tell 
without  compromising  my  own  peace  of  mind— my  own 
security,  moral  and  physical,  and  that  of  others. 

'  I  am  an  orphan ;  the  daughter  of  a  clergyman.  My 
parents  died  before  I  could  know  them.  I  was  brought  up 
a  dependent ;  educated  in  a  charitable  institution.  I  will 
even  tell  you  the  name  of  the  establishment  where  I  passed 
six  years  as  a  pupil  and  two  as  a  teacher— Lowood  Orphan 


424  JANE  EYEE 

Asylum, shire  :  you  will  have  heard  of  it,  Mr.  Eivers  ? 

— the  Eev.  Eobert  Brocklehurst  is  the  treasurer/ 

1 1  have  heard  of  Mr.  Brocklehurst,  and  I  have  seen  the 
school/ 

'  I  left  Lowood  nearly  a  year  since  to  become  a  private 
governess.  I  obtained  a  good  situation,  and  was  happy. 
This  place  I  was  obliged  to  leave  four  days  before  I  came 
here.  The  reason  of  my  departure  I  cannot  and  ought  not 
to  explain  :  it  would  be  useless— dangerous  ;  and  would  sound 
incredible.  No  blame  attached  to  me ;  I  am  as  free  from 
culpability  as  any  one  of  you  three.  Miserable  I  am,  and  must 
be  for  a  time ;  for  the  catastrophe  which  drove  me  from  a 
house  I  had  found  a  paradise  was  of  a  strange  and  direful 
nature.  I  observed  but  two  points  in  planning  my  departure 
— speed,  secrecy  :  to  secure  these  I  had  to  leave  behind  me 
everything  I  possessed  except  a  small  parcel ;  which,  in  my 
hurry  and  trouble  of  mind,  I  forgot  to  take  out  of  the  coach 
that  brought  mo  to  Whitcross.  To  this  neighbourhood, 
then,  I  came,  quite  destitute.  I  slept  two  nights  in  the  open 
air,  and  wandered  about  two  days  without  crossing  a 
threshold :  but  twice  in  that  space  of  time  did  I  taste  food ; 
and  it  was  when  brought  by  hunger,  exhaustion  and  despair 
almost  to  the  last  gasp  that  you,  Mr.  Eivers,  forbade  me  to 
perish  of  want  at  your  door,  and  took  me  under  the  shelter 
of  your  roof.  I  know  all  your  sisters  have  done  for  me  since 
— for  I  have  not  been  insensible  during  my  seeming  torpor — 
and  I  owe  to  their  spontaneous,  genuine,  genial  compassion, 
as  large  a  debt  as  to  your  evangelical  charity/ 

1  Don't  make  her  talk  any  more  now,  St.  John,'  said 
Diana,  as  I  paused ;  '  she  is  evidently  not  yet  fit  for 
excitement.  Gome  to  the  sofa,  and  sit  down  now,  Miss 
Elliott/ 

I  gave  an  involuntary  half-start  at  hearing  the  alias ;  I 
had  forgotten  my  new  name.    Mr.  Eivers,  whom  nothing 
seemed  to  escape,  noticed  it  at  once. 

'  You  said  your  name  was  Jane  Elliott  ?  '  he  observed. 

I 1  did  say  so ;  and  it  is  the  name  by  which  I  think  it 


JANE  EYRE  425 

expedient  to  be  called  at  present :  but  it  is  not  my  real  name, 
and  when  I  hear  it,  it  sounds  strange  to  me.' 

*  Your  real  name  you  will  not  give  ? ' 

'  No :  I  fear  discovery  above  all  things ;  and  whatever 
disclosure  would  lead  to  it,  I  avoid/ 

1  You  are  quite  right,  I  am  sure/  said  Diana.  '  Now 
do,  brother,  let  her  be  at  peace  a  while/ 

But  when  St.  John  had  mused  a  few  moments,  he 
recommenced,  as  imperturbably,  and  with  as  much  acumen 
as  ever. 

'  You  would  not  like  to  be  long  dependent  on  our  hospi- 
tality— you  would  wish,  I  see,  to  dispense  as  soon  as  may  be 
with  my  sisters'  compassion ;  and,  above  all,  with  my 
charity  (I  am  quite  sensible  of  the  distinction  drawn,  nor 
do  I  resent  it — it  is  just) :  you  desire  to  be  independent 
of  us?' 

*  I  do  :  I  have  already  said  so.     Show  me  how  to  work, 
or  how  to  seek  work  :  that  is  all  I  now  ask  ;  then  let  me  go, 
if  it  be  but  to  the  meanest  cottage — but  till  then  allow  me  to 
stay  here  :  T  dread  another  essay  of  the  horrors  of  homeless 
destitution/ 

1  Indeed,  you  shall  stay  here/  said  Diana,  putting  her 
white  hand  on  my  head. 

1  You  sliall,'  repeated  Mary,  in  the  tone  of  undemonstrative 
sincerity  which  seemed  natural  to  her. 

'  My  sisters,  you  see,  have  a  pleasure  in  keeping  you,' 
said  Mr.  St.  John,  'as  they  would  have  a  pleasure  in  keeping 
and  cherishing  a  half -frozen  bird  some  wintry  wind  might 
have  driven  through  their  casement.  I  feel  more  inclination 
to  put  you  in  the  way  of  keeping  yourself:  and  shall 
^endeavour  to  do  so  :  but  observe,  my  sphere  is  narrow.  I  am 
but  the  incumbent  of  a  poor  country  parish  :  my  aid  must  be 
of  the  humblest  sort.  And  if  you  are  inclined  to  despise  the 
day  of  small  things,  seek  some  more  efficient  succour  th#n 
such  as  I  can  offer/ 

'  She  has  already  said  that  she  is  willing  to  do  anything 
honest  she  can  do/  answered  Diana  for  me ;  '  and  you  know, 


426  JANE  EYEB 

St.  John  she  has  no  choice  of  helpers :  she  is  forced  to  put 
up  with  such  crusty  people  as  you/ 

1 1  will  be  a  dressmaker :  I  will  be  a  plain-work-woman ; 
I  will  be  a  servant,  a  nurse-girl,  if  I  can  be  no  better/  I 
answered. 

'Eight/  said  Mr.  St.  John,  quite  coolly.  'If  such  is 
your  spirit,  I  promise  to  aid  you ;  in  my  own  time  and  way/ 

He  now  resumed  the  book  with  which  he  had  been 
occupied  before  tea.  I  soon  withdrew ;  for  I  had  talked  as 
much,  and  sat  up  as  long,  as  my  present  strength  would 
permit. 


JANE  EYEE  427 


CHAPTEE  XXX 

THE  more  I  knew  of  the  inmates  of  Moor  House,  the  better 
I  liked  them.  In  a  few  days  I  had  so  far  recovered  my 
health  that  I  could  sit  up  all  day,  and  walk  out  sometimes. 
I  could  join  with  Diana  and  Mary  in  all  their  occupations ; 
converse  with  them  as  much  as  they  wished,  and  aid  them 
when  and  where  they  would  allow  me.  There  was  a  reviv- 
ing pleasure  in  this  intercourse,  of  a  kind  now  tasted  by  me 
for  the  first  time — the  pleasure  arising  from  perfect  conge- 
niality of  tastes,  sentiments,  and  principles. 

I  liked  to  read  what  they  liked  to  read  :  what  they 
enjoyed,  delighted  me ;  what  they  approved,  I  reverenced. 
They  loved  their  sequestered  home.  I,  too,  in  the  grey, 
small,  antique  structure,  with  its  low  roof,  its  latticed  case- 
ments, its  mouldering  walls,  its  avenue  of  aged  firs — all 
grown  aslant  under  the  stress  of  mountain  winds ;  its 
garden,  dark  with  yew  and  holly — and  where  no  flowers  but 
of  the  hardiest  species  would  bloom — found  a  charm  both 
potent  and  permanent.  They  clung  to  the  purple  moors- 
behind  and  around  their  dwelling — to  the  hollow  vale  into- 
which  the  pebbly  bridle-path  leading  from  their  gate 
descended ;  and  which  wound  between  fern-banks  first,  and 
then  amongst  a  few  of  the  wildest  little  pasture-fields  that 
ever  bordered  a  wilderness  of  heath,  or  gave  sustenance  to  a 
flock  of  grey  moorland  sheep,  with  their  little  mossy-faced 
lambs : — they  clung  to  this  scene,  I  say,  with  a  perfect 
enthusiasm  of  attachment.  I  could  comprehend  the  feeling,, 
and  share  both  its  strength  and  truth.  I  saw  the  fascination 
of  the  locality.  I  felt  the  consecration  of  its  loneliness :  my 
eye  feasted  on  the  outline  of  swell  and  sweep — on  the  wild 


428  JANE  EYEB 

colouring  communicated  to  ridge  and  dell  by  moss,  by 
heath-bell,  by  flower-sprinkled  turf,  by  brilliant  bracken,  and 
mellow  granite  crag.  These  details  were  just  to  me  what 
they  were  to  them — so  many  pure  and  sweet  sources  of 
pleasure.  The  strong  blast  and  the  soft  breeze;  the  rough 
and  the  halcyon  day ;  the  hours  of  sunrise  and  sunset ;  the 
moonlight  and  the  clouded  night,  developed  for  me,  in  these 
regions,  the  same  attraction  as  for  them — wound  round  my 
faculties  the  same  spell  that  entranced  theirs. 

Indoors  we  agreed  equally  well.  They  were  both  more 
accomplished  and  better  read  than  I  was  :  but  with  eagerness 
I  followed  in  the  path  of  knowledge  they  had  trodden  before 
me.  I  devoured  the  books  they  lent  me :  then  it  was  full 
satisfaction  to  discuss  with  them  in  the  evening  what  I  had 
perused  during  the  day.  Thought  fitted  thought;  opinion 
met  opinion  :  we  coincided,  in  short,  perfectly. 

If  in  our  trio  there  was  a  superior  and  a  leader,  it  was 
Diana.  Physically,  she  far  excelled  me :  she  was  handsome ; 
she  was  vigorous.  In  her  animal  spirits  there  was  an 
affluence  of  life  and  certainty  of  flow,  such  as  excited  my 
wonder,  while  it  baffled  my  comprehension.  I  could  talk  a 
while  when  the  evening  commenced :  but  the  first  gush  of 
vivacity  and  fluency  gone,  I  was  fain  to  sit  on  a  stool  at 
Diana's  feet,  to  rest  my  head  on  her  knee,  and  listen  alter- 
nately to  her  and  Mary ;  while  they  sounded  thoroughly  the 
topic  on  which  I  had  but  touched.  Diana  offered  to  teach 
me  German.  I  liked  to  learn  of  her :  I  saw  the  part  of 
instructress  pleased  and  suited  her ;  that  of  scholar  pleased 
and  suited  me  no  less.  Our  natures  dovetailed:  mutual 
affection — of  the  strongest  kind — was  the  result.  They  dis- 
covered I  could  draw :  their  pencils  and  colour-boxes  were 
immediately  at  my  service.  My  skill,  greater  in  this  one 
point  than  theirs,  surprised  and  charmed  them.  Mary  would 
sit  and  watch  me  by  the  hour  together :  then  she  would  take 
lessons ;  and  a  docile,  intelligent,  assiduous  pupil  she  made. 
Thus  occupied,  and  mutually  entertained,  days  passed  like 
hours  and  weeks  like  days. 


JANE  EYEE  429 

As  to  Mr.  St.  John,  the  intimacy  which  had  arisen  so 
naturally  and  rapidly  between  me  and  his  sisters  did  not 
extend  to  him.  One  reason  of  the  distance  yet  observed 
between  us  was  that  he  was  comparatively  seldom  at  home : 
a  large  proportion  of  his  time  appeared  devoted  to  visiting 
the  sick  and  poor  among  the  scattered  population  of  his 
parish. 

No  weather  seemed  to  hinder  him  in  these  pastoral 
excursions :  rain  or  fair,  he  would,  when  his  hours  of 
morning  study  were  over,  take  his  hat,  and,  followed  by  his 
father's  old  pointer  Carlo,  go  out  on  his  mission  of  love  or 
duty — I  scarcely  know  in  which  light  he  regarded  it.  Some- 
times, when  the  day  was  very  unfavourable,  his  sisters 
would  expostulate.  He  would  then  say,  with  a  peculiar 
smile,  more  solemn  than  cheerful, — 'And  if  I  let  a  gust  of 
wind  or  a  sprinkling  of  rain  turn  me  aside  from  these  easy 
tasks,  what  preparation  would  such  sloth  be  for  the  future  I 
propose  to  myself  ? ' 

Diana  and  Mary's  general  answer  to  this  question  was  a 
sigh,  and  some  minutes  of  apparently  mournful  meditation. 

But  besides  his  frequent  absences,  there  was  another 
barrier  to  friendship  with  him :  he  seemed  of  a  reserved, 
an  abstracted,  and  even  of  a  brooding  nature.  Zealous  in  his 
ministerial  labours,  blameless  in  his  life  and  habits,  he  yet 
did  not  appear  to  enjoy  that  mental  serenity,  that  inward 
content,  which  should  be  the  reward  of  every  sincere  Christian 
and  practical  philanthropist.  Often,  of  an  evening,  when  he 
sat  at  the  window,  his  desk  and  papers  before  him,  he 
would  cease  reading  or  writing,  rest  his  chin  on  his  hand, 
and  deliver  himself  up  to  I  know  not  what  course  of  thought ; 
but  that  it  was  perturbed  and  exciting  might  be  seen  in  the 
frequent  flash  and  changeful  dilation  of  his  eye. 

I  think,  moreover,  that  Nature  was  not  to  him  that 
treasury  of  delight  it  was  to  his  sisters.  He  expressed  once, 
and  but  once  in  my  hearing,  a  strong  sense  of  the  rugged 
charm  of  the  hills,  and  an  inborn  affection  for  the  dark  roof 
and  hoary  walls  he  called  his  home  ;  but  there  was  more  of 


430  JANE  EYBB 

gloom  than  pleasure  in  the  tone  and  words  in  which  the 
sentiment  was  manifested ;  and  never  did  he  seem  to  roam 
the  moors  for  the  sake  of  their  soothing  silence — never  seek 
out  or  dwell  upon  the  thousand  peaceful  delights  they  could 
yield. 

Incommunicative  as  he  was,  some  time  elapsed  before  I 
had  an  opportunity  of  gauging  his  mind.  I  first  got  an  idea 
of  its  calibre  when  I  heard  him  preach  in  his  oym  church  at 
Morton.  I  wish  I  could  describe  that  sermon ;  but  it  is  past 
my  power.  I  cannot  even  render  faithfully  the  effect  it  pro- 
duced on  me. 

It  began  calm — and  indeed,  as  far  as  delivery  and  pitch 
of  voice  went,  it  was  calm  to  the  end :  an  earnestly  felt,  yet 
strictly  restrained  zeal  breathed  soon  in  the  distinct  accents, 
and  prompted  the  nervous  language.  This  grew  to  force— 
compressed,  condensed,  controlled.  The  heart  was  thrilled, 
the  mind  astonished,  by  the  power  of  the  preacher  :  neither 
was  softened.  Throughout  there  was  a  strange  bitterness ; 
an  absence  of  consolatory  gentleness ;  stern  allusions  to  Cal- 
vinistic  doctrines — election,  predestination,  reprobation — 
were  frequent ;  and  each  reference  to  these  points  sounded 
like  a  sentence  pronounced  for  doom.  When  he  had  done, 
instead  of  feeling  better,  calmer,  more  enlightened  by  his 
discourse,  I  experienced  an  inexpressible  sadness ;  for  it 
seemed  to  me — I  know  not  whether  equally  so  to  others — 
that  the  eloquence  to  which  I  had  been  listening  had  sprung 
from  a  depth  where  lay  turbid  dregs  of  disappointment — 
where  moved  troubling  impulses  of  insatiate  yearnings  and 
disquieting  aspirations.  I  was  sure  St.  John  Eivers — pure- 
lived,  conscientious,  zealous  as  he  was — had  not  yet  found 
that  peace  of  God  which  passeth  all  understanding ;  he  had 
no  more  found  it,  I  thought,  than  had  I ;  with  my  concealed 
and  racking  regrets  for  my  broken  idol  and  lost  elysium — 
regrets  to  which  I  have  latterly  avoided  referring ;  but  which 
possessed  me  and  tyrannised  over  me  ruthlessly. 

Meantime  a  month  was  gone.  Diana  and  Mary  were 
soon  to  leave  Moor  House,  and  return  to  the  far  different  life 


JANE  EYEE  431 

and  scene  which  awaited  them,  as  governesses  in  a  large, 
fashionable,  south-of-England  city;  where  each  held  a 
situation  in  families,  by  whose  wealthy  and  haughty  members 
they  were  regarded  only  as  humble  dependents,  and  who 
neither  knew  nor  sought  one  of  their  innate  excellences,  and 
appreciated  only  their  acquired  accomplishments  as  they 
appreciated  the  skill  of  their  cook  or  the  taste  of  their 
waiting-woman.  Mr.  St.  John  had  said  nothing  to  me  yet 
about  the  employment  he  had  promised  to  obtain  for  me ; 
yet  it  became  urgent  that  I  should  have  a  vocation  of  some 
kind.  One  morning,  being  left  alone  with  him  a  few  minutes 
in  the  parlour,  I  ventured  to  approach  the  window-recess — 
which  his  table,  chair,  and  desk  consecrated  as  a  kind  of 
study—and  I  was  going  to  speak;  though  not  very  well 
knowing  in  what  words  to  frame  my  inquiry — for  it  is  at  all 
times  difficult  to  break  the  ice  of  reserve  glassing  over  such 
natures  as  his — when  he  saved  me  the  trouble  by  being  the 
first  to  commence  a  dialogue. 

Looking  up  as  1  drew  near — '  You  have  a  question  to  ask 
of  me  ? '  he  said. 

'  Yes  ;  I  wish  to  know  whether  you  have  heard  of  any 
service  I  can  offer  myself  to  undertake.' 

*  I  found  or  devised  something  for  you  three  weeks  ago  ; 
but  as  you  seemed  both  useful  and  happy  here — as  rny  sisters 
had  evidently  become  attached  to  you,  and  your  society  gave 
them  unusual  pleasure — I  deemed  it  inexpedient  to  break  in 
on  your  mutual  comfort  till  their  approaching  departure  from 
Marsh  End  should  render  yours  necessary.1 

1  And  they  will  go  in  three  days  now  ?  '  I  said. 

1  Yes  ;  and  when  they  go  I  shall  return  to  the  parsonage 
at  Morton  :  Hannah  will  accompany  me  ;  and  this  old  house 
will  be  shut  up.' 

I  waited  a  few  moments,  expecting  he  would  go  on  with 
the  subject  first  broached ;  but  he  seemed  to  have  entered 
another  train  of  reflection ;  his  look  denoted  abstraction  from 
me  and  my  business.  I  was  obliged  to  recall  him  to  a  theme 
which  was  of  necessity  one  of  close  and  anxious  interest  to  me. 


432  JANE  EYEE 

'  What  H  the  employment  you  had  in  view,  Mr.  Eivers  ? 
I  hope  this  delay  will  not  have  increased  the  difficulty  of 
securing  it.' 

'  Oh,  no ;  since  it  is  an  employment  which  depends  only 
on  me  to  give,  and  you  to  accept.' 

He  again  paused :  there  seemed  a  reluctance  to  continue. 
I  grew  impatient :  a  restless  movement  or  two,  and  an  eager 
and  exacting  -glance  fastened  on  his  face,  conveyed  the 
feeling  to  him  as  effectually  as  words  could  have  done,  and 
with  less  trouble. 

'  You  need  be  in  no  hurry  to  hear,1  he  said ;  '  let  me 
frankly  tell  you,  I  have  nothing  eligible  or  profitable  to 
suggest.  Before  I  explain,  recall,  if  you  please,  my  notice, 
clearly  given,  that  if  I  helped  you,  it  must  be  as  the  blind 
man  would  help  the  lame.  I  am  poor ;  for  I  find  that,  when 
1  have  paid  my  father's  debts,  all  the  patrimony  remaining 
to  me  will  be  this  crumbling  grange,  the  row  of  scathed  firs 
behind,  and  the  patch  of  moorish  soil,  with  the  yew-trees 
and  holly-bushes  in  front.  I  am  obscure  :  Eivers  is  an  old 
name ;  but  of  the  three  sole  descendants  of  the  race,  two  earn 
the  dependent's  crust  among  strangers,  and  the  third  con- 
siders himself  an  alien  from  his  native  country — not  only  for 
life,  but  in  death.  Yes,  and  deems,  and  is  bound  to  deem, 
himself  honoured  by  the  lot,  and  aspires  but  after  the  day 
when  the  cross  of  separation  from  fleshly  ties  shall  be  laid 
on  his  shoulders,  and  when  the  Head  of  that  church-militant, 
of  whose  humblest  members  he  is  one,  shall  give  the  word, 
"  Eise,  follow  Me  i  "  ' 

St.  John  said  these  words  as  he  pronounced  his  sermons, 
with  a  quiet,  deep  voice ;  with  an  unflushed  cheek,  and  a 
coruscating  radiance  of  glance.  He  resumed : — '  And  since 
I  am  myself  poor  and  obscure,  I  can  offer  you  but  a  service 
of  poverty  and  obscurity.  You  may  even  think  it  degrading 
— for  I  see  now  your  habits  have  been  what  the  world  calls 
refined :  your  tastes  lean  to  the  ideal ;  and  your  society  has 
at  least  been  amongst  the  educated — but  I  consider  that  no 
service  degrades  which  can  better  our  race.  I  hold  that 


JANE  EYEB  433 

the  more  arid  and  unreclaimed  the  soil  where  the  Christian 
labourer's  task  of  tillage  is  appointed  him — the  scantier  the 
meed  his  toil  brings — the  higher  the  honour.  His,  under 
such  circumstances,  is  the  destiny  of  the  pioneer ;  and  the 
first  pioneers  of  the  Gospel  were  the  Apostles — their  captain 
was  Jesus,  the  Bedeemer,  Himself.' 

I  Well  ?  '  I  said,  as  he  again  paused—'  proceed.' 

He  looked  at  me  before  he  proceeded  :  indeed,  he  seemed 
leisurely  to  read  my  face,  as  if  its  features  and  lines  were 
characters  on  a  page.  The  conclusions  drawn  from  this 
scrutiny  he  partially  expressed  in  his  succeeding  observa- 
tions. 

I 1  believe  you  will  accept  the  post  I  offer  you,'  said  he ; 
1  and  hold  it  for  a  while :   not  permanently,  though :  any 
more  than  I  could  permanently  keep  the  narrow  and  narrow- 
ing— the  tranquil,  hidden  office  of  English  country  incum- 
bent :  for  in  your  nature  is  an  alloy  as  detrimental  to  repose 
as  that  in  mine ;  though  of  a  different  kind.' 

I  Do  explain,'  I  urged,  when  he  halted  once  more. 

I 1  will ;  and  you  shall  hear  how  poor  the  proposal  is, — 
how  trivial — how  cramping.   I  shall  not  stay  long  at  Morton, 
now  that  my  father  is  dead,  and  that  I  am  my  own  master, 
I  shall  leave  the  place  probably  in  the  course  of  a  twelve- 
month :  but  while  I  do  stay  I   will  exert   myself  to   the 
utmost  for  its  improvement.   Morton,  when  I  came  to  it  two 
years  ago,  had  no  school:  the  children  of  the  poor  were 
excluded  from  every  hope  of  progress.    I  established  one  for 
boys :  I  mean  now  to  open  a  second  school  for  girls.   I  have 
hired  a  building  for  the  purpose,  with  a  cottage  of  two  rooms 
attached  to  it  for  the  mistress's  house.     Her  salary  will  be 
thirty  pounds  a  year ;  her  house  is  already  furnished,  very 
simply,  but  sufficiently,  by  the  kindness  of  a  lady,  Miss 
Oliver ;  the  only  daughter  of  the  sole  rich  man  in  my  parish 
—Mr.   Oliver,  the  proprietor  of  a  needle-factory  and  iron- 
foundry  in  the  valley.  The  same  lady  pays  for  the  education 
and  clothing  of  an  orphan  from  the  workhouse  ;  on  condition 
that  she  shall  aid  the  mistress  in  such  menial  offices  connected 


434  JANE  EYEE 

with  her  own  house  and  the  school  as  her  occupation  of 
teaching  will  prevent  her  having  time  to  discharge  in  person. 
Will  you  be  this  mistress  ? ' 

He  put  the  question  rather  hurriedly ;  he  seemed  half  to 
expect  an  indignant,  or  at  least  a  disdainful,  rejection  of  the 
offer;  not  knowing  all  my  thoughts  and  feelings,  though 
guessing  some,  he  could  not  tell  in  what  light  the  lot  would 
appear  to  me.  In  truth  it  was  humble — but  then  it  was 
sheltered,  and  I  wanted  a  safe  asylum  :  it  was  plodding — but 
then,  compared  with  that  of  a  governess  in  a  rich  house,  it 
was  independent ;  and  the  fear  of  servitude  with  strangers 
entered  my  soul  like  iron  :  it  was  not  ignoble — not  unworthy 
— not  mentally  degrading.  I  made  my  decision. 

1 1  thank  you  for  the  proposal,  Mr.  Eivers ;  and  I  accept 
it  with  all  my  heart/ 

'But  you  comprehend  me?'  he  said.  'It  is  a  village 
school;  your  scholars  will  be  only  poor  girls — cottagers' 
children — at  the  best,  farmers'  daughters.  Knitting,  sewing, 
reading,  writing,  cyphering,  will  be  all  you  will  have  to 
teach.  What  will  you  do  with  your  accomplishments? 
What  with  the  largest  portion  of  your  mind — sentiments — 
tastes  ? ' 

1  Save  them  till  they  are  wanted.    They  will  keep/ 

1  You  know  what  you  undertake,  then  ? ' 

'  I  do/ 

He  now  smiled :  and  not  a  bitter  or  a  sad  smile,  but  one 
well  pleased  and  deeply  gratified. 

'And  when  will  you  commence  the  exercise  of  your 
function  ? ' 

'  I  will  go  to  my  house  to-morrow ;  and  open  the  school, 
if  you  like,  next  week/ 

'  Very  well :  so  be  it/ 

He  rose  and  walked  through  the  room.  Standing  still, 
he  again  looked  at  me.  He  shook  his  head. 

1  What  do  you  disapprove  of,  Mr.  Eivers  ? '  I  asked. 

'  You  will  not  stay  at  Morton  long  :  no,  no  ! ' 

'  Why !     What  is  your  reason  for  saying  so  ?  * 


JANE  EYEE  435 

'  I  read  it  in  your  eye ;  it  is  not  of  that  description  which 
promises  the  maintenance  of  an  even  tenor  in  life.1 

1 1  am  not  ambitious.' 

He  started  at  the  word  '  ambitious.'  He  repeated,  '  No. 
What  made  you  think  of  ambition  ?  Who  is  ambitious  ?  I 
know  I  am  :  but  how  did  you  find  it  out  ? ' 

'  I  was  speaking  of  myself/ 

'Well,  if  you  are  not  ambitious,  you  are' He 

paused. 

'What?' 

'  I  was  going  to  say,  impassioned :  but  perhaps  you 
would  have  misunderstood  the  word,  and  been  displeased. 
I  mean,  that  human  affections  and  sympathies  have  a  most 
powerful  hold  on  you.  I  am  sure  you  cannot  long  be 
content  to  pass  your  leisure  in  solitude,  and  to  devote  your 
working  hours  to  a  monotonous  labour  wholly  void  of 
stimulus  ;  any  more  than  I  can  be  content,'  he  added,  with 
emphasis,  '  to  live  here  buried  in  morass,  pent  in  with 
mountain — my  nature,  that  God  gave  me,  contravened ;  my 
faculties,  heaven-bestowed,  paralysed — made  useless.  You 
hear  now  how  I  contradict  myself.  I,  who  preached 
contentment  with  a  humble  lot,  and  justified  the  vocation 
even  of  hewers  of  wood,  and  drawers  of  water,  in  God's 
service — I,  His  ordained  minister,  almost  rave  in  my  restless- 
ness. Well,  propensities  and  principles  must  be  reconciled 
by  some  means.' 

He  left  the  room.  In  this  brief  hour  I  had  learnt  more 
of  him  than  in  the  whole  previous  month :  yet  still  he 
puzzled  me. 

Diana  and  Mary  Eivers  became  more  sad  and  silent  as 
the  day  approached  for  leaving  their  brother  and  their  home. 
They  both  tried  to  appear  as  usual ;  but  the  sorrow  they  had  to 
struggle  against  was  one  that  could  not  be  entirely  conquered 
or  concealed.  Diana  intimated  that  this  would  be  a  different 
parting  from  any  they  had  ever  yet  known.  It  would 
probably,  as  far  as  St.  John  was  concerned,  be  a  parting  for 
years  :  it  might  be  a  parting  for  life. 


436  JANE  EYEE 

'He  will  sacrifice  all  to  his  long-framed  resolves/  she 
said:  'natural  affection  and  feelings  more  potent  still. 
St.  John  looks  quiet,  Jane ;  but  he  hides  a  fever  in  his  vitala 
You  would  think  him  gentle,  yet  in  some  things  he  is  inex- 
orable as  death ;  and  the  worst  of  it  is,  my  conscience  will 
hardly  permit  me  to  dissuade  him  from  his  severe  decision : 
certainly,  I  cannot  for  a  moment  blame  him  for  it.  It  is 
right,  noble,  Christian :  yet  it  breaks  my  heart/  And  the 
tears  gushed  to  her  fine  eyes.  Mary  bent  her  head  low  over 
her  work. 

1  We  are  now  without  father  :  we  shall  soon  be  without 
home  and  brother,'  she  murmured. 

At  that  moment  a  little  accident  supervened  which 
seemed  decreed  by  fate  purposely  to  prove  the  truth  of  the 
adage  that  '  misfortunes  never  come  singly  : '  and  to  add  to 
their  distresses  the  vexing  one  of  the  slip  between  the  cup  and 
the  lip.  St  John  passed  the  window  reading  a  letter.  He 
entered. 

'  Our  uncle  John  is  dead/  said  he. 

Both  the  sisters  seemed  struck :  not  shocked  or  appalled ; 
the  tidings  appeared  in  their  eyes  rather  momentous  than 
afflicting. 

'  Dead  ? '  repeated  Diana. 

'  Yes.' 

She  riveted  a  searching  gaze  on  her  brother's  face.  '  And 
what  then  ? '  she  demanded,  in  a  low  voice, 

'What  then,  Die?'  he  replied,  maintaining  a  marble 
immobility  of  feature.  'What  then?  Why— nothing. 
Bead.' 

He  threw  the  letter  into  her  lap.  She  glanced  over  it,  and 
handed  it  to  Mary.  Mary  perused  it  in  silence,  and  returned 
it  to  her  brother.  All  three  looked  at  each  other,  and  all 
three  smiled — a  dreary,  pensive  smile  enough. 

'  Amen  I    We  can  yet  live/  said  Diana  at  last. 

'At  any  rate,  it  makes  us  no  worse  off  than  we  were 
before/  remarked  Mary. 

1  Only  it  forces  rather  strongly  on  the  mind  the  picture 


JANE  EYES  437 

of  what  might  have  been,'  said  Mr.  Bivers ;  '  and  contrasts 
it  somewhat  too  vividly  with  what  is.' 

He  folded  the  letter,  locked  it  in  his  desk,  and  again  went 
out. 

For  some  minutes  no  one  spoke.  Diana  then  turned  to 
me. 

*3ane,  you  will  wonder  at  us  and  our  mysteries/  she 
said,  'and  think  us  hard-hearted  beings  not  to  be  more 
moved  at  the  death  of  so  near  a  relation  as  an  uncle ;  but  we 
have  never  seen  him  or  known  him.  He  was  my  mother's 
brother.  My  father  and  he  quarrelled  long  ago.  It  was  by 
his  advice  that  my  father  risked  most  of  his  property  in  the 
speculation  that  ruined  him.  Mutual  recrimination  passed 
between  them  :  they 'parted  in  anger,  and  were  never  recon- 
ciled. My  uncle  engaged  afterwards  in  more  prosperous 
undertakings :  it  appears  he  realised  a  foitune  of  twenty 
thousand  pounds.  He  was  never  married,  and  had  no  near 
kindred  but  ourselves,  and  one  other  person,  not  more 
closely  related  than  we.  My  father  always  cherished  the 
idea  that  ho  would  atone  for  his  error  by  leaving  his 
possessions  to  us  •  that  letter  informs  us  that  he  has  be- 
queathed every  penny  to  the  other  relation;  with  the 
exception  of  thirty  guineas,  to  be  divided  between  St.  John, 
Diana,  and  Mary  Bivers,  for  the  purchase  of  three  mourning 
rings.  He  had  a  right,  of  course,  to  do  as  he  pleased :  and 
yet  a  momentary  damp  is  cast  on  the  spirits  by  the  receipt 
of  such  news.  Mary  and  I  would  have  esteemed  ourselves 
rich  with  a  thousand  pounds  each ;  and  to  St  John  such  a 
sum  would  have  been  valuable,  for  the  good  it  would  have 
enabled  him  to  do/ 

This  explanation  given,  the  subject  was  dropped,  and  no 
further  reference  made  to  it,  by  either  Mr.  Bivers  or  his 
sisters.  The  next  day  I  left  Marsh  End  for  Morton.  The 

day  after,  Diana  and  Mary  quitted  it  for  distant  B . 

In  a  week,  Mr.  Bivers  and  Hannah  repaired  to  the  parson- 
age :  and  so  the  old  grange  was  abandoned. 


438  JANE  EYKE 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

MY  home,  then, — when  I  at  last  find  a  home, — is  a  cottage : 
a  little  room  with  white-washed  walls  and  a  sanded  floor ; 
containing  four  painted  chairs  and  a  table,  a  clock,  a  cup- 
board, with  two  or  three  plates  and  dishes,  and  a  set  of  tea- 
things  in  delf.  Above,  a  chamber  of  the  same  dimensions  as 
the  kitchen,  with  a  deal  bedstead,  and  chest  of  drawers; 
small,  yet  too  large  to  be  filled  with  my  scanty  wardrobe : 
though  the  kindness  of  my  gentle  and  generous  friends  has 
increased  that  by  a  modest  stock  of  such  things  as  are 
necessary. 

It  is  evening.  I  have  dismissed,  with  the  fee  of  an 
orange,  the  little  orphan  who  serves  me  as  a  handmaid.  I 
am  sitting  alone  on  the  hearth.  This  morning  the  village 
school  opened.  I  had  twenty  scholars.  But  three  of  the 
number  can  read :  none  write  or  cypher.  Several  knit,  and 
a  few  sew  a  little.  They  speak  with  the  broadest  accent  of 
the  district.  At  present  they  and  I  have  a  difficulty  in 
understanding  each  other's  language.  Some  of  them  are 
unmannered,  rough,  intractable,  as  well  as  ignorant;  but 
others  are  docile,  have  a  wish  to  learn,  and  evince  a  dis- 
position that  pleases  me.  I  must  not  forget  that  these 
coarsely-clad  little  peasants  are  of  flesh  and  blood  as  good 
as  the  scions  of  gentlest  genealogy ;  and  that  the  germs  of 
native  excellence,  refinement,  intelligence,  kind  feeling,  are 
as  likely  to  exist  in  their  hearts  as  in  those  of  the  best-born. 
My  duty  will  be  to  develop  these  germs :  surely  I  shall  find 
some  happiness  in  discharging  that  office.  Much  enjoyment 
I  do  not  expect  in  the  life  opening  before  me :  yet  it  will, 


JANE  EYRE  439 

doubtless,  if  I  regulate  my  mind,  and  exert  my  powers  as  I 
ought,  yield  me  enough  to  live  on  from  day  to  day. 

Was  I  very  gleeful,  settled,  content,  during  the  hours  I 
passed  in  yonder  bare,  humble  school-room  this  morning  and 
afternoon  ?  Not  to  deceive  myself,  I  must  reply — No  :  I 
felt  desolate  to  a  degree.  I  felt— yes,  idiot  that  I  am — I  felt 
degraded.  I  doubted  I  had  taken  a  step  which  sank  instead 
of  raising  me  in  the  scale  of  social  existence.  I  was  weakly 
dismayed  at  the  ignorance,  the  poverty,  the  coarseness  of  all 
I  heard  and  saw  round  me.  But  let  me  not  hate  and  despise 
myself  too  much  for  these  feelings  :  I  know  them  to  be  wrong 
— that  is  a  great  step  gained ;  I  shall  strive  to  overcome  them. 
To-morrow,  I  trust,  I  shall  get  the  better  of  them  partially ; 
and  in  a  few  weeks,  perhaps,  they  will  be  quite  subdued.  In 
a  few  months,  it  is  possible,  the  happiness  of  seeing  progress, 
and  a  change  for  the  better  in  my  scholars,  may  substitute 
gratification  for  disgust. 

Meantime,  let  me  ask  myself  one  question — Which  is 
better  ? — To  have  surrendered  to  tamptation ;  listened  to 
passion  ;  made  no  painful  effort — no  struggle  ; — but  to  have 
sunk  down  in  tho  silken  snaro  ;  fallen  asleep  on  the  flowers 
covering  it; -wakened  in  a  southern  clime,  amongst  the 
luxuries  of  a  pleasure  villa :  to  have  been  now  living  in 
France,  Mr.  Rochester's  mistress  ;  delirious  with  his  love 
half  my  time — for  he  would — oh,  yes,  he  would  have  loved 
me  well  for  a  while.  He  did  love  me — no  one  will  ever  love 
me  so  again.  I  shall  never  more  know  the  sweet  homage 
given  to  beauty,  youth,  and  grace—for  never  to  any  one  else 
shall  I  seem  to  possess  these  charms.  He  was  fond  and 
proud  of  me — it  is  what  no  man  besides  will  ever  be. — But 
where  am  I  wandering,  and  what  am  I  saying  ;  and,  above 
all,  feeling  ?  Whether  is  it.better,  I  ask,  to  be  a  slave  in  a 
fool's  paradise  at  Marseilles — fevered  with  delusive  bliss  one 
hour — suffocating  with  the  bitterest  tears  of  remorse  and 
shame  the  next — or  to  be  a  village  schoolmistress,  free  and 
honest,  in  a  breezy  mountain  nook  in  the  healthy  heart  of 
England? 

Q 


440  JANE  EYES 

Yes;  I  feel  now  that  I  was  right  when  I  adhered  to 
principle  and  law,  aud  scorned  and  crushed  the  insane 
promptings  of  a  frenzied  moment.  God  directed  me  to  a 
correct  choice :  I  thank  His  providence  for  the  guidance. 

Having  brought  my  eventide  musings  to  this  point,  I  rose, 
went  to  my  door,  and  looked  at  the  sunset  of  the  harvest-day, 
and  at  the  quiet  fields  before  my  cottage ;  which,  with  the 
school,  was  distant  half  a  mile  from  the  village.  The  birds 
were  singing  their  last  strains — 

The  air  was  mild ;  the  dew  was  balm. 

While  I  looked,  I  thought  myself  happy,  and  was  surprised 
to  find  myself  ere  long  weeping — and  why?  For  the  doom 
which  had  reft  me  from  adhesion  to  my  master :  for  him  I 
was  no  more  to  see ;  for  the  desperate  grief  and  fatal 
fury — consequences  of  my  departure — which  might  now, 
perhaps,  be  dragging  him  from  the  path  of  right,  too  far  to 
leave  hope  of  ultimate  restoration  thither.  At  this  thought, 
I  turned  my  face  aside  from  the  lovely  sky  of  eve  and  lonely 
vale  of  Morton— I  say  lonely,  for  in  that  bend  of  it  visible  to 
me  there  was  no  building  apparent  save  the  church  and  the 
parsonage,  half -hid  in  trees ;  and,  quite  at  the  extremity, 
the  roof  of  Vale  Hall,  where  the  rich  Mr.  Oliver  and  his 
daughter  lived.  I  hid  my  eyes,  and  leant  my  head  against 
the  stone  frame  of  rny  door;  but  soon  a  slight  noise  near 
the  wicket  which  shut  in  my  tiny  garden  from  the  meadow 
beyond  it  made  me  look  up.  A  dog— old  Carlo,  Mr.  Bivers' 
pointer,  as  I  saw  in  a  moment — was  pushing  the  gate  with 
his  nose,  and  St.  John  himself  leant  upon  it  with  folded  arms ; 
his  brow  knit,  his  gaze,  grave  almost  to  displeasure,  fixed  on 
me.  I  asked  him  to  come  in. 

'  No,  I  cannot  stay ;  I  have  only  brought  you  a  little 
parcel  my  sisters  left  for  you.  I  think  it  contains  a  colour- 
box,  pencils,  and  paper/ 

I  approached  to  take  it:  a  welcome  gift  it  was.  He 
examined  my  face,  I  thought,  with  austerity,  as  I  came  near : 
the  traces  of  tears  were  doubtless  very  visible  upon  it. 


JANE  EYEE  441 

'  Have  you  found  your  first  day's  work  harder  than  you 
expected  ? '  he  asked. 

1  Oh,  no  !  On  the  contrary,  I  think  in  time  I  shall  get  on 
with  my  scholars  very  well.' 

'  But  perhaps  your  accommodations — your  cottage — your 
furniture — have  disappointed  your  expectations  ?  They  are, 
in  truth,  scanty  enough ;  but ' 

I  interrupted  : — '  My  cottage  is  clean  and  weather-proof ; 
my  furniture  sufficient  and  commodious.  All  I  see  has  made 
me  thankful,  not  despondent.  I  am  not  absolutely  such  a 
fool  and  sensualist  as  to  regret  the  absence  of  a  carpet,  a 
sofa,  and  silver  plate  :  besides,  five  weeks  ago  I  had  nothing 
— I  was  an  outcast,  a  beggar,  a  vagrant ;  now  1  have 
acquaintance,  a  home,  a  business.  J  wonder  at  the  goodness 
of  God  ;  the  generosity  of  my  friends  ;  the  bounty  of  my  lot. 
I  do  not  repine.' 

'  But  you  feel  solitude  an  oppression  ?  The  little  house 
there  behind  you  is  dark  and  empty.' 

4 1  have  hardly  had  time  yet  to  enjoy  a  sense  of  tran- 
quillity, much  less  to  grow  impatient  under  one  of  loneli- 
ness.' 

1  Very  well ;  T  hope  you  feel  the  content  you  express  :  at 
any  rate,  your  good  sense  will  tell  you  that  it  is  too  soon  yet 
to  yield  to  the  vacillating  fears  of  Lot's  wife.  What  you  had 
left  before  I  saw  you,  of  course  I  do  not  know ;  but  I  counsel 
you  to  resist,  firmly,  every  temptation  which  would  incline 
you  to  look  back :  pursue  your  present  career  steadily,  for 
some  months  at  least.' 

'  It  is  what  I  mean  to  do,'  I  answered. 

St.  John  continued : — '  It  is  hard  work  to  control  the 
workings  of  inclination,  and  turn  the  bent  of  nature :  but 
that  it  may  be  done  1  know  from  experience.  God  has 
given  us,  in  a  measure,  the  power  to  make  our  own  fate ; 
and  when  our  energies  seem  to  demand  a  sustenance 
they  cannot  get — when  our  will  strains  after  a  path  we  may 
not  follow — we  need  neither  starve  from  inanition,  nor  stand 
still  in  despair :  we  have  but  to  seek  another  nourishment  for 


442  JANE  EYEE 

the  mind,  as  strong  as  the  forbidden  fruit  it  longed  to  taste — 
and  perhaps  purer ;  and  to  hew  out  for  the  adventurous  foot 
a  road  as  direct  and  broad  as  the  one  Fortune  has  blocked  up 
against  us,  if  rougher  than  it. 

1 A  year  ago  I  was  myself  intensely  miserable,  because 
I  thought  I  had  made  a  mistake  in  entering  the  ministry :  its 
uniform  duties  wearied  me  to  death.  I  burnt  for  the  more 
active  life  of  the  world — for  the  more  exciting  toils  of  a 
literary  career — for  the  destiny  of  an  artist,  author,  orator  ; 
anything  rather  than  that  of  a  priest :  yes,  the  heart  of  a 
politician,  of  a  soldier,  of  a  votary  of  glory,  a  lover  of  renown, 
a  luster  after  power,  beat  under  my  curate's  surplice.  I 
considered ;  my  life  was  so  wretched,  it  must  be  changed,  or 
I  must  die.  After  a  season  of  darkness  and  struggling,  light 
broke  and  relief  fell :  my  cramped  existence  all  at  once 
spread  out  to  a  plain  without  bounds — my  powers  heard  a 
call  from  heaven  to  rise,  gather  their  full  strength,  spread 
their  wings,  and  mount  beyond  ken.  God  had  an  errand  for 
me ;  to  bear  which  afar,  to  deliver  it  well,  skill  and  strength, 
courage  and  eloquence,  the  best  qualifications  of  soldier, 
statesman,  and  orator,  were  all  needed  :  for  these  all  centre 
in  the  good  missionary. 

1 A  missionary  I  resolved  to  be.  Prom  that  moment  my 
state  of  mind  changed;  the  fetters  dissolved  and  dropped 
from  every  faculty,  leaving  nothing  of  bondage  but  its  galling 
soreness — which  time  only  can  heal.  My  father,  indeed, 
opposed  the  determination,  but  since  his  death  I  have  not  a 
legitimate  obstacle  to  contend  with ;  some  affairs  settled,  a 
successor  for  Morton  provided,  an  entanglement  or  two  of 
the  feelings  broken  through  or  cut  asunder — a  last  conflict 
with  human  weakness,  in  which  I  know  I  shall  overcome, 
because  I  have  vowed  that  I  will  overcome — and  I  leave 
Europe  for  the  East.1 

He  said  this  in  his  peculiar,  subdued,  yet  emphatic  voice  ; 
looking,  when  he  had  ceased  speaking,  not  at  me,  but  at  the 
setting  sun,  at  which  I  looked  too.  Both  he  and  I  had  our 
backs  towards  the  path  leading  up  the  field  to  the  wicket. 


JANE  EYEB  443 

We  had  heard  no  step  on  that  grass-grown  track ;  the  water 
running  in  the  vale  was  the  one  lulling  sound  of  the  hour 
and  scene ;  we  might  well  then  start  when  a  gay  voice, 
sweet  as  a  silver  bell,  exclaimed : — '  Good  evening,  Mr.  Eivers. 
And  good  evening,  old  Carlo.  Your  dog  is  quicker  to 
recognise  his  friends  than  you  are,  sir ;  he  pricked  his  ears 
and  wagged  his  tail  when  I  was  at  the  bottom  of  the  field, 
and  you  have  your  back  towards  me  now/ 

It  was  true.  Though  Mr.  Eivers  had  started  at  the  first 
of  those  musical  accents,  as  if  a  thunderbolt  had  split  a 
cloud  over  his  head,  he  stood  yet,  at  the  close  of  the  sentence, 
in  the  same  attitude  in  which  the  speaker  had  surprised  him 
— his  arm  resting  on  the  gate,  his  face  directed  towards  the 
west.  He  turned  at  last,  with  measured  deliberation.  A 
vision,  as  it  seemed  to  me,  had  risen  at  his  side.  There 
appeared,  within  three  feet  of  him,  a  form  clad  in  pure 
white — a  youthful,  graceful  form  :  full,  yet  fine  iii  contour ; 
and  when,  after  bending  to  caress  Carlo,  it  lifted  up  its  head, 
and  threw  back  a  long  veil,  there  bloomed  under  his  glance  a 
face  of  perfect  beauty.  Perfect  beauty  is  a  strong  expression ; 
but  I  do  not  retrace  or  qualify  it :  as  sweet  features  as  ever 
the  temperate  clime  of  Albion  moulded ;  as  pure  hues  of  rose 
and  lily  as  ever  her  hurnid  gales  and  vapoury  skies  generated 
and  screened  justified,  in  this  instance,  the  term.  No  charm 
was  wanting,  no  defect  was  perceptible ;  the  young  girl  had 
regular  and  delicate  lineaments ;  'eyes  shaped  and  coloured 
as  we  see  them  in  lovely  pictures,  large,  and  dark,  and  full ; 
the  long  and  shadowy  eyelash  which  encircles  a  fine  eye 
with  so  soft  a  fascination ;  the  pencilled  brow  which  gives 
such  clearness ;  the  white,  smooth  forehead,  which  adds 
such  repose  to  the  livelier  beauties  of  tint  and  ray ;  the  cheek, 
oval,  fresh,  and  smooth ;  the  lips,  fresh  too,  ruddy,  healthy, 
sweetly  formed ;  the  even  and  gleaming  teeth  without  flaw ; 
the  small  dimpled  chin ;  the  ornament  of  rich,  plenteous 
tresses — all  advantages,  in  short,  which,  combined,  realise 
the  ideal  of  beauty  were  fully  hers.  I  wondered,  as  I  looked 
at  this  fair  creature:  I  admired  her  with  my  whole 


444  JANE  EYEE 

heart.  Nature  had  surely  formed  her  in  a  partial  mood ; 
and,  forgetting  her  usual  stinted  stepmother  dole  of  gifts, 
had  endowed  this,  her  darling,  with  a  granddame's  bounty. 

What  did  St.  John  Eivers  think  of  this  earthly  angel  ?  I 
naturally  asked  myself  that  question  as  I  saw  him  turn  to 
her  and  look  at  her  ;  and,  as  naturally,  I  sought  the  answer 
to  the  inquiry  in  his  countenance.  He  had  already  with- 
drawn his  eye  from  the  Peri,  and  was  looking  at  a  humble 
tuft  of  daisies  which  grew  by  the  wicket. 

'  A  lovely  evening,  but  late  for  you  to  be  out  alone/  he 
said,  as  he  crushed  the  snowy  heads  of  the  closed  flowers 
with  his  foot. 

'  Oh,  I  only  came  home  from  S '  (she  mentioned  the 

name  of  a  large  town  some  twenty  miles  distant)  'this 
afternoon.  Papa  told  me  you  had  opened  your  school,  and 
that  the  new  mistress  was  come  ;  and  so  I  put  on  my  bonnet 
after  tea,  and  ran  up  the  valley  to  see  her  :  this  is  she  ? ' 
pointing  to  me. 

'  It  is,1  said  St.  John. 

'  Do  you  think  you  shall  like  Morton  ?  '  she  asked  of  me, 
with  a  direct  and  naive  simplicity  of  tone  and  manner, 
pleasing,  if  child-like. 

*  I  hope  I  shall.    I  have  many  inducements  to  do  so/ 

1  Did  you  find  your  scholars  as  attentive  as  you  expected  ? ' 

'  Quite.' 

1  Do  you  like  your  house  ? ' 

'  Very  much.' 

1  Have  I  furnished  it  nicely  ? ' 

'  Very  nicely  indeed.1 

*  And  made  a  good  choice  of  an  attendant  for  you  in 
Alice  Wood?' 

'  You  have,  indeed.  She  is  teachable  and  handy/  (This, 
then,  I  thought,  is  Miss  Oliver,  the  heiress;  favoured, 
it  seems,  in  the  gifts  of  fortune,  as  well  as  in  those  of  nature ! 
What  happy  combination  of  the  planets  presided  over  her 
birth,  I  wonder  ?) 

'  I  shall  come  up  and  help  you  to  teach  sometimes/  she 


JANE  EYBE  445 

added.  'It  will  be  a  change  for  me  to  visit  you  now  and 
then ;  and  I  like  a  change.  Mr.  Bivers,  I  have  been  so  gay 
during  my  stay  at  S .  Last  night,  or  rather  this  morn- 
ing, I  was  dancing  till  two  o'clock.  The th  regiment 

are  stationed  there  since  the  riots  ;  and  the  officers  are  the 
most  agreeable  men  in  the  world :  they  put  all  our  young 
knife-grinders  and  scissor  merchants  to  shame/ 

It  seemed  to  me  that  Mr.  St.  John's  under  lip  protruded, 
and  his  upper  lip  curled  a  moment.  His  mouth  certainly 
looked  a  good  deal  compressed,  and  the  lower  part  of  his 
face  unusually  stern  and  square,  as  the  laughing  girl  gave 
him  this  information.  He  lifted  his  gaze,  too,  from  the 
daisies,  and  turned  it  on  her.  An  unsmiling,  a  searching,  a 
meaning  gaze  it  was.  She  answered  it  with  a  second  laugh, 
and  laughter  well  became  her  youth,  her  roses,  her  dimples, 
her  bright  eyes. 

As  he  stood,  mute  and  grave,  she  again  fell  to  caressing 
Carlo. 

'  Poor  Carlo  loves  me/  said  she.  '  lie  is  nofc  stern  and 
distant  to  his  friends  ;  and  if  he  could  speak,  he  would  not 
be  silent/ 

As  she  patted  the  dog's  head,  bending  with  native  grace 
before  his  young  and  austere  master,  I  saw  a  glow  rise  to 
that  master's  face.  I  saw  his  solemn  eye  melt  with 
sudden  fire,  and  flicker  with  resistless  emotion.  Flushed 
and  kindled  thus,  he  looked  nearly  as  beautiful  for  a  man 
as  she  for  a  woman.  His  chest  heaved  once,  as  if  his 
large  heart,  weary  of  despotic  constriction,  had  expanded, 
despite  the  will,  and  made  a  vigorous  bound  for  the  attain- 
ment of  liberty.  But  he  curbed  it,  I  think,  as  a  resolute 
rider  would  curb  a  rearing  steed.  He  responded  neither 
by  word  nor  movement  to  the  gentle  advances  made 
him. 

'Papa  says  you  never  come  to  see  us  now,'  continued 
Miss  Oliver,  looking  up.  '  You  are  quite  a  stranger  at  Vale 
Hall.  He  is  alone  this  evening,  and  not  very  well :  will  you 
return  with  me  and  visit  him  ? ' 


4:46  JANE  EYKB 

'  It  is  not  a  seasonable  hour  to  intrude  on  Mr.  Oliver/ 
answered  St.  John. 

'  Not  a  seasonable  hour  !  But  I  declare  it  is.  It  is  just 
the  hour  when  papa  most  wants  company :  when  the  works 
are  closed,  and  he  has  no  business  to  occupy  him.  Now, 
Mr.  Eivers,  do  come.  Why  are  you  so  very  shy,  and  so  very 
sombre  ? ' 

She  filled  up  the  hiatus  his  silence  left  by  a  reply  of  her 
own. 

'  I  forgot ! '  she  exclaimed,  shaking  her  beautiful  curled 
head,  as  if  shocked  at  herself.  '  I  am  so  giddy  and  thought- 
less !  Do  excuse  me.  It  had  slipped  my  memory  that  you 
have  good  reasons  to  be  indisposed  for  joining  in  my  chatter. 
Diana  and  Mary  have  left  you,  and  Moor  House  is  shut  up, 
and  you  are  so  lonely.  I  am  sure  I  pity  you.  Do  come  and 
see  papa.' 

'  Not  to-night,  Miss  Eosamond,  not  to-night/ 

Mr.  St.  John  spoke  almost  like  an  automaton :  himself 
only  knew  the  effort  it  cost  him  thus  to  refuse. 

'  Well,  if  you  are  so  obstinate,  I  will  leave  you ;  for  I  dare 
not  stay  any  longer  :  the  dew  begins  to  fall.  Good-evening  1 ' 

She  held  out  her  hand.  He  jiist  touched  it.  '  Good- 
evening  ! '  he  repeated,  in  a  voice  low  and  hollow  as  an  echo. 
She  turned ;  but  in  a  moment  returned. 

1  Are  you  well  ? '  she  asked.  Well  might  she  put  the 
question :  his  face  was  blanched  as  her  gown. 

'  Quite  well/  he  enunciated ;  and,  with  a  bow,  he  left  the 
gate.  She  went  one  way ;  he  another.  She  turned  twice  to 
gaze  after  him,  as  she  tripped  faiiy-like  down  the  field;  he, 
as  he  strode  firmly  across,  never  turned  at  all. 

This  spectacle  of  another's  suffering  and  sacrifice  rapt 
my  thoughts  from  exclusive  meditation  on  my  own.  Diana 
Eivers  had  designated  her  brother  '  inexorable  as  death/  She 
had  not  exaggerated. 


JANE  EYEE  447 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

I  CONTINUED  the  labours  of  the  village- school  as  actively 
and  faithfully  as  I  could.  It  was  truly  hard  work  at  first. 
Some  time  elapsed  before,  with  all  my  efforts,  I  could 
comprehend  my  scholars  and  their  nature.  Wholly  untaught, 
with  faculties  quite  torpid,  they  seemed  to  me  hopelessly 
dull ;  and,  at  first  sight,  all  dull  alike :  but  I  soon  found  I 
was  mistaken.  There  was  a  difference  amongst  them  as 
amongst  the  educated ;  and  when  I  got  to  know  them,  and 
they  me,  this  difference  rapidly  developed  itself.  Their 
amazement  at  me,  my  language,  my  rules,  and  ways,  once 
subsided,  I  found  some  of  these  heavy-looking,  gaping  rustics 
wake  up  into  sharp-witted  girls  enough.  Many  showed 
themselves  obliging,  and  amiable  too;  and  I  discovered 
amongst  them  not  a  few  examples  of  natural  politeness  and 
innate  self-respect,  as  well  as  of  excellent  capacity,  that  won 
both  my  goodwill  and  my  admiration.  These  soon  took  a 
pleasure  in  doing  their  work  well ;  in  keeping  their  persons 
neat;  in  learning  their  tasks  regularly;  in  acquiring  quiet 
and  orderly-manners.  The  rapidity  of  their  progress,  in 
some  instances,  was  even  surprising;  and  an  honest  and 
happy  pride  I  took  in  it :  besides,  I  began  personally  to  like 
some  of  the  best  girls  ;  and  they  liked  me.  I  had  amongst 
my  scholars  several  farmers'  daughters:  young  women 
grown,  almost.  These  could  already  read,  write,  and  sew ; 
and  to  them  I  taught  the  elements  of  grammar,  geography, 
history,  and  the  finer  kinds  of  needlework.  I  found  estimable 
characters  amongst  them — characters  desirous  of  infor- 
mation, and  disposed  for  improvement — with  whom  I  passed 
many  a  pleasant  evening  hour  in  their  own  homes.  Their 


448  JANE  EYEB 

parents  then  (the  farmer  and  his  wife)  loaded  me  with 
attentions.  There  was  an  enjoyment  in  accepting  their 
simple  kindness,  and  in  repaying  it  by  a  consideration — a 
scrupulous  regard  to  their  feelings — to  which  they  were  not, 
perhaps,  at  all  times  accustomed,  and  which  both  charmed 
and  benefited  them  ;  because,  while  it  elevated  them  in  their 
own  eyes,  it  made  them  emulous  to  merit  the  deferential 
treatment  they  received. 

I  felt  I  became  a  favourite  in  the  neighbourhood.  When- 
ever I  went  out,  I  heard  on  all  sides  cordial  salutations,  and 
was  welcomed  with  friendly  smiles.  To  live  amidst  general 
regard,  though  it  be  but  the  regard  of  working-people,  is  like 
1  sitting  in  sunshine,  calm  and  sweet : '  serene  inward 
feelings  bud  and  bloom  under  the  ray.  At  this  period  of  my 
life  my  heart  far  oftener  swelled  with  thankfulness  than 
sank  with  dejection :  and  yet,  reader,  to  tell  you  all,  in  the 
midst  of  this  calm,  this  useful  existence — after  a  day  passed 
in  honourable  exertion  amongst  my  scholars,  an  evening 
spent  in  drawing  or  reading  contentedly  alone — I  used  to 
rush  into  strange  dreams  at  night :  dreams  many-coloured, 
agitated,  full  of  the  ideal,  the  stirring,  the  stormy — dreams 
where,  amidst  unusual  scenes,  charged  with  adventure,  with 
agitating  risk  and  romantic  chance,  I  still  again  and  again 
met  Mr.  Eochester,  always  at  some  exciting  crisis ;  and  then 
the  sense  of  being  in  his  arms,  hearing  his  voice,  meeting  his 
eye,  touching  his  hand  and  cheek,  loving  him,  being  loved  by 
him — the  hope  of  passing  a  lifetime  at  his  side,  would  be 
renewed,  with  all  its  first  force  and  fire.  Then  I  awoke. 
Then  I  recalled  where  I  was,  and  how  situated.  Then  I 
rose  up  on  my  curtainless  bed,  trembling  and  quivering; 
and  then  the  still,  dark  night  witnessed  the  convulsion  of 
despair  and  heard  the  burst  of  passion.  By  nine  o'clock  the 
next  morning  I  was  punctually  opening  the  school ;  tranquil, 
settled,  prepared  for  the  steady  duties  of  the  day. 

Bosamond  Oliver  kept  her  word  in  coming  to  visit  me. 
Her  call  at  the  school  was  generally  made  in  the  course  of 
her  morning  ride.  She  would  canter  up  to  the  door  on  her 


JANE  EYEE  449 

pony,  followed  by  a  mounted  livery  servant.  Anything  more 
exquisite  than  her  appearance,  in  her  purple  habit,  with  her 
Amazon's  cap  of  black  velvet  placed  gracefully  above  the 
long  curls  that  kissed  her  cheek  and  floated  to  her  shoulders, 
can  scarcely  be  imagined :  and  it  was  thus  she  would  enter 
the  rustic  building,  and  glide  through  the  dazzled  ranks  of 
the  village  children.  She  generally  came  at  the  hour  when 
Mr.  Elvers  was  engaged  in  giving  his  daily  catechising 
lesson.  Keenly,  I  fear,  did  the  eye  of  the  visi tress  pierce  the 
young  pastor's  heart.  A  sort  of  instinct  seemed  to  warn  him 
of  her  entrance,  even  when  he  did  not  see  it ;  and  when  he 
wasJooking  quite  away  from  the  door,  if  she  appeared  at  it  his 
cheek  \vould  glow  and  his  marble-seeming  features,  though 
they  refused  to  relax,  changed  indescribably  :  and  in  their  very 
quiescence  became  expressive  of  a  repressed  fervour,  stronger 
than  woi  king  muscle  or  darting  glance  could  indicate. 

Of  courso  she  knew  her  power:  indeed,  he  did  not, 
because  he  could  not,  conceal  it  from  her.  In  spite  of  his 
Christian  stoicism,  when  she  went  up  and  addressed  him,  and 
smiled  gaily,  encouragingly,  even  fondly  in  his  face,  his  hand 
would  tremble  and  his  eye  burn.  He  soemod  to  say,  with 
his  sad  and  resolute  look,  if  he  did  not  say  it  with,  his  lips, 
1 1  love  you,  and  I  know  you  prefer  me.  It  is  not  despair  of 
success  that  keeps  me  dumb.  If  I  offered  my  heart,  1  believe 
you  would  accept  it.  But  that  heart  is  already  laid  on  a 
sacred  altar :  the  fire  is  arranged  round  it.  It  will  soon  be 
no  more  than  a  sacrifice  consumed/ 

And  then  she  would  pout  like  a  disappointed  child ;  a 
pensive  cloud  would  soften  her  radiant  vivacity  ;  she  would 
withdraw  her  hand  hastily  from  his,  and  turn  in  transient 
petulance  from  his  aspect,  at  once  so  heroic  and  so  martyr- 
like.  St.  John,  no  doubt,  would  have  given  the  world  to  follow, 
recall,  retain  her,  when  she  thus  left  him  :  but  he  would  not 
give  one  chance  of  Heaven ;  nor  relinquish,  for  the  elysium 
of  her  love,  one  hope  of  the  true,  eternal  Paradise.  Besides, 
he  could  not  bound  all  that  he  had  in  his  nature— the  rover, 
the  aspirant,  the  poet,  the  priest— -in  the  limits  of  a  single 


450  JANE  EYEE 

passion.  He  could  npt — he  would  not — renounce  his  wild 
field  of  mission  warfare  for  the  parlours  and  the  peace  of 
Yale  Hall.  I  learnt  so  much  from  himself,  in  an  inroad  I 
once,  despite  his  reserve,  had  the  daring  to  make  on  his 
confidence. 

Miss  Oliver  already  honoured  me  with  frequent  visits  to 
my  cottage.  I  had  learnt  her  whole  character ;  which  was 
without  mystery  or  disguise :  she  was  coquettish,  but  not 
heartless;  exacting,  but  not  worthlessly  selfish.  She  had 
been  indulged  from  her  birth,  but  was  not  absolutely  spoilt. 
She  was  hasty,  but  good-humoured;  vain  (she  could  not 
help  it,  when  every  glance  in  the  glass  showed  her  such  a 
flush  of  loveliness),  but  not  affected;  liberal-handed;  innocent 
of  the  pride  of  wealth ;  ingenuous ;  sufficiently  intelligent ; 
gay,  lively,  and  unthinking:  she  was  very  charming,  in 
short,  even  to  a  cool  observer  of  her  own  sex  like  me ;  but 
she  was  not  profoundly  interesting  or  thoroughly  impressive. 
A  very  different  sort  of  mind  was  hers  from  that,  for  instance, 
of  the  sisters  of  St.  John.  Still,  I  liked  her  almost  as  Hiked 
my  pupil  Adele :  except  that  for  a  child  whom  we  have 
watched  over  and  taught  a  closer  affection  is  engendered 
than  we  can  give  an  equally  attractive  adult  acquaintance. 

She  had  taken  an  amiable  caprice  to  me.  She  said  I 
was  like  Mr.  Kivers  (only,  certainly,  she  allowed,  '  not  one- 
tenth  so  handsome :  though  I  was  a  nice  neat  little  soul 
enough,  but  he  was  an  angel ').  I  was,  however,  good,  clever, 
composed,  and  firm,  like  him.  I  was  a  lusus  naturce,  she 
affirmed,  as  a  village  schoolmistress :  she  was  sure  my 
previous  history,  if  known,  would  make  a  delightful 
romance. 

One  evening,  while,  with  her  usual  childlike  activity, 
and  thoughtless  yet  not  offensive  inquisitiveness,  she  was 
rummaging  the  cupboard  and  the  table-drawer  of  my  little, 
kitchen,  she  discovered  first  two  French  books,  a  volume  of 
Schiller,  a  German  grammar  and  dictionary ;  and  then  my 
drawing-materials  and  some  'sketches,  including  a  pencil- 
head  of  a  pretty  little  cherub-like  girl,  one  of  my  scholars, 


JANE  EYEE  451 

and  sundry  views  from  nature,  taken  in  the  Vale  of  Morton 
and  on  the  surrounding  moors.  She  was  first  transfixed 
with  surprise,  and  then  electrified  with  delight. 

1  Had  I  done  these  pictures  ?  Did  1  know  French  and 
German?  What  a  love— what  a  miracle  I  was  1  I  drew 

better  than  her  master  in  the  first  school  in  S .    Would 

I  sketch  a  portrait  of  her,  to  show  to  papa  ? ' 

'  With  pleasure/  I  replied ;  and  I  felt  a  thrill  of  artist- 
delight  at  the  idea  of  copying  from  so  perfect  and  radiant  a 
model.  She  had  then  on  a  dark-blue  silk  dress ;  her  arms 
and  her  neck  were  bare ;  her  only  ornament  was  her  chesnut 
tresses,  which  waved  over  her  shoulders  with  all  the  wild 
grace  of  natural  curls.  I  took  a  sheet  of  fine  cardboard,  and 
drew  a  careful  outline.  I  promised  myself  the  pleasure  of 
colouring  it ;  and,  as  it  was  getting  late  then,  I  told  her  she 
must  come  and  sit  another  day. 

She  made  such  a  report  of  me  to  her  father  that  Mr. 
Oliver  himself  accompanied  her  next  evening — a  tall, 
massive-featured,  middle-aged,  and  grey-headed  man,  at 
whose  side  his  lovely  daughter  looked  like  a  blight  flower 
near  a  hoary  turret.  He  appeared  a  taciturn,  and  perhaps  a 
proud  personage ;  but  he  was  very  kind  to  me.  The  sketch 
of  Bosamond's  portrait  pleased  him  highly :  he  said  I  must 
make  a  finished  picture  of  it.  He  insisted,  too,  on  my 
coming  the  next  day  to  spend  the  evening  at  Vale  Hall. 

I  went,  I  found  it  a  large,  handsome  residence,  showing 
abundant  evidences  of  wealth  in  the  proprietor.  Bosamond 
was  full  of  glee  and  pleasure  all  the  time  I  stayed.  Her 
father  was  affable ;  and  when  he  entered  into  conversation 
with  me  after  tea,  he  expressed  in  strong  terms  his  approba- 
tion of  what  I  had  done  in  Morton  school ;  and  said  he  only 
feared,  from  what  he  saw  and  heard.  I  was  too  good  for  the 
place,  and  would  soon  quit  it  for  one  more  suitable. 

'  Indeed ! '  cried  Eosamond,  ( she  is  clever  enough  to  be  a 
governess  in  a  high  family,  papa/ 

I  thought — I  would  far  rather  be  where  I  am  than  in  any 
high  family  in  the  land.  Mr.  Oliver  spoke  of  Mr.  Bivers-— 


452  JANE  BYEE 

of  the  Eivers  family — with  great  respect.  He  said  it  was  a 
very  old  name  in  that  neighbourhood  ;  that  the  ancestors  of 
the  house  were  wealthy ;  that  all  Morton  had  once  belonged 
to  them ;  that  even  now  he  considered  the  representative  of 
that  house  might,  if  he  liked,  make  an  alliance  with  the  best. 
He  accounted  it  a  pity  that  so  fine  and  talented  a  young  man 
should  have  formed  the  design  of  going  out  as  a  missionary ; 
it  was  quite  throwing  a  valuable  life  away.  It  appeared,  then, 
that  her  father  would  throw  no  obstacle  in  the  way  of 
Eosamond's  union  with  Sfc.  John.  Mr.  Oliver  evidently 
regarded  the  young  clergyman's  good  birth,  old  name,  and 
sacred  profession  as  sufficient  compensation  for  the  want  of 
fortune. 

It  was  the  5th  of  November,  and  a  holiday.  My  little 
servant,  after  helping  me  to  clean  my  house,  was  gone,  well 
satisfied  with  the  fee  of  a  penny  for  her  aid.  All  about  me 
was  spotless  and  bright — scoured  floor,  polished  grate,  and 
well-rubbed  chairs.  I  had  also  made  myself  neat,  and  had 
now  the  afternoon  before  me  to  spend  as  I  would. 

The  translation  of  a  few  pages  of  German  occupied  an 
houi ;  then  I  got  my  palette  and  pencils,  and  fell  to  the  more 
soothing,  because  easier  occupation,  of  completing  Eosamond 
Oliver's  miniature.  The  head  was  finished  already:  there 
was  but  the  background  to  tint  and  the  drapery  to  shade  off; 
a  touch  of  carmine,  too,  to  add  to  the  ripe  lips — a  soft  curl 
here  and  there  to  the  tresses — a  deeper  tinge  to  the  shadow 
of  the  lash  under  the  azured  eyelid.  I  was  absorbed  in  the 
execution  of  these  nice  details  when,  after  one  rapid  tap,  my 
door  unclosed,  admitting  St.  John  Eivers. 

'  I  am  come  to  see  how  you  are  spending  your  holiday,' 
he  said.  '  Not,  I  hope,  in  thought  ?  No,  that  is  well :  while 
you  draw  you  will  not  feel  lonely.  You  see,  I  mistrust  you 
still :  though  you  have  borne  up  wonderfully  so  far.  I  have 
brought  you  a  book  for  evening  solace,1  and  he  laid  on  the 
table  a  new  publication — a  poem :  one  of  those  genuine 
productions  so  often  vouchsafed  to  the  fortunate  public  of 
those  days—the  golden  age  of  modern  literature.  Alas  !  the 


JANE  EYEE  453 

readers  of  our  era  are  less  favoured.  But,  courage !  I  will 
not  pause  either  to  accuse  or  repine.  I  know  poetry  is  not 
dead,  nor  genius  lost ;  nor  has  Mammon  gained  power  over 
either,  to  bind  or  slay :  they  will  both  assert  their  existence, 
their  presence,  their  liberty  and  strength  again  one  day. 
Powerful  angels,  safe  in  heaven  !  they  smile  when  sordid  souls 
triumph,  and  feeble  ones  weep  over  their  destruction.  Poetry 
destroyed?  Genius  banished?  No!  Mediocrity,  no:  do 
not  let  envy  prompt  you  to  the  thought.  No ;  they  not  only 
live,  but  reign,  and  redeem:  and  without  their  divine 
influence  spread  everywhere  you  would  be  in  hell — the  hell 
of  your  own  meanness. 

While  I  was  eagerly  glancing  at  the  bright  pages  of 
Marmion  (for  Marmion  it  was)  St.  John  stooped  to  examine 
my  drawing.  His  tall  figure  sprang  erect  again  with  a  start : 
he  said  nothing.  I  looked  up  at  him  :  he  shunned  my  eye. 
I  knew  his  thoughts  well,  and  could  read  his  heart  plainly ; 
at  the  moment  I  felt  calmer  and  cooler  than  he  :  I  had  then 
temporarily  the  advantage  of  him ;  and  I  conceived  an 
inclination  to  do  him  some  good,  if  I  could. 

'  With  all  his  firmness  and  self-control,'  thought  I,  '  he 
tasks  himself  too  far  :  locks  every  feeling  and  pang  within — 
expresses,  confesses,  imparts  nothing.  I  am  sure  it  would 
benefit  him  to  talk  a  little  about  this  sweet  Eosarnond,  whom 
he  thinks  he  ought  not  to  marry  :  1  will  make  him  talk.1 

I  said  first :  '  Take  a  chair,  Mr.  Eivers.'  But  he  answered, 
as  he  always  did,  that  he  could  not  stay.  '  Very  well/  I 
responded,  mentally,  '  stand  if  you  like ;  but  you  shall  not 
go  just  yet,  I  am  determined:  solitude  is  at  least  as  bad 
for  you  as  it  is  for  me.  I'll  try  if  I  cannot  discover  the 
secret  spring  of  your  confidence,  and  find  an  aperture  in  that 
marble  breast  through  which  I  can  shed  one  drop  of  the  balm 
of  sympathy.' 

'  Is  this  portrait  like  ? '  I  asked  bluntly. 

'  Like !    Like  whom  ?    I  did  not  observe  it  closely.' 

'  You  did,  Mr.  Eivers.' 

He  almost  started  at  my  sudden  and  strange  abruptness : 


454  JANE  EYEE 

he  looked  at  me  astonished.  '  Oh,  that  is  nothing  yet/  I 
muttered  within.  'I  don't  mean  to  be  baffled  by  a  little 
stiffness  on  your  part ;  I'm  prepared  to  go  to  considerable 
lengths/  I  continued,  '  You  observed  it  closely  and  dis- 
tinctly :  but  I  have  no  objection  to  your  looking  at  it  again,1 
and  I  rose  and  placed  it  in  his  hand. 

'  A  well-executed  picture/  he  said ;  '  very  soft,  clear  colour- 
ing ;  very  graceful  and  correct  drawing/ 

'  Yes,  yes ;  I  know  all  that.  But  what  of  the  resemblance  ? 
Who  is  it  like?1 

Mastering  some  hesitation,  he  answered,  '  Miss  Oliver,  I 
presume/ 

'  Of  course.  And  now,  sir,  to  reward  you  for  the  accurate 
guess  I  will  promise  to  paint  you  a  careful  and  faithful 
duplicate  of  this  very  picture,  provided  you  admit  that  the 
gift  would  be  acceptable  to  you.  I  don't  wish  to  throw  away 
my  time  and  trouble  on  an  offering  you  would  deem  worth- 
less/ 

He  continued  to  gaze  at  the  picture :  the  longer  he  looked, 
the  firmer  he  held  it,  the  more  he  seemed  to  covet  it.  '  It  is 
like ! '  he  murmured ;  '  the  eye  is  well  managed :  the  colour, 
light,  expression,  are  perfect.  It  smiles ! ' 

1  Would  it  comfort  or  would  it  wound  you  to  have  a 
similar  painting  ?  Tell  me  that.  When  you  are  at  Mada- 
gascar, or  at  the  Cape,  or  in  India,  would  it  be  a  consolation 
to  have  that  memento  in  your  possession  ?  or  would  the  sight 
of  it  bring  recollections  calculated  to  enervate  and  dis- 
tress?' 

He  now  furtively  raised  his  eyes:  he  glanced  at  me, 
irresolute,  disturbed ;  he  again  surveyed  the  picture. 

*  That  I  should  like  to  have  it  is  certain :  whether  it 
would  be  judicious  or  wise  is  another  question/ 

Since  I  had  ascertained  that  Eosamond  really  preferred 
him,  and  that  her  father  was  not  likely  to  oppose  the  match, 
I — less  exalted  in  my  views  than  St.  John — had  been  strongly 
disposed  in  my  own  heart  to  advocate  their  union.  It  seemed 
to  me  that,  should  he  become  the  possessor  of  Mr.  Oliver's 


JANE  EYEE  455 

large  fortune,  he  might  do  as  much  good  with  it  as  if  he 
went  and  laid  his  genius  out  to  wither  and  his  strength  to 
waste  under  a  tropical  sun.  With  this  persuasion  I  now 
answered : — '  As  far  as  I  can  see,  it  would  be  wiser  and  more 
judicious  if  you  were  to  take  to  yourself  the  original  at 
once/ 

By  this  time  he  had  sat  down :  he  had  laid  the  picture  on 
the  table  before  him,  and  with  his  brow  supported  on  both 
hands  hung  fondly  over  it.  I  discerned  he  was  now  neither 
angry  nor  shocked  at  my  audacity.  I  saw  even  that  to  be  thus 
frankly  addressed  on  a  subject  he  had  deemed  unapproach- 
able— to  hear  it  thus  freely  handled — was  beginning  to  be 
felt  by  him  as  a  new  pleasure — an  unhoped-for  relief. 
Eeservccl  people  often  really  need  the  frank  discussion  of 
their  sentiments  and  griefs  more  than  the  expansive.  The 
sternest- seeming  stoic  is  human  after  all;  and  to  'burst' 
with  boldness  and  goodwill  into  'the  silent  sea*  of  their 
souls  is  often  to  confer  on  them  the  first  of  obligations. 

1  She  likes  you,  I  am  sure/  said  I,  as  1  stood  behind  his 
chair,  'and  her  father  respects  you.  Moreover,  she  is  a  sweet 
girl — rather  thoughtless;  but  you  would  have  sufficient 
thought  for  both  yourself  and  her.  You  ought  to  mairy 
her/ 

'  Does  she  like  me  ? '  he  asked. 

'Certainly;  better  than  she  likes  any  one  else.  She 
talks  of  you  continually :  there  is  no  subject  she  enjoys  so 
much  or  touches  upon  so  often/ 

'  It  is  very  pleasant  to  hear  this,'  he  said—'  very :  go  on 
for  another  quarter  of  an  hour/  And  he  actually  took  out 
his  watch  and  laid  it  upon  the  table  to  measure  the  time. 

'But  where  is  the  use  of  going  on,'  I  asked,  '  when  you 
are  probably  preparing  some  iron  blow  of  contradiction,  or 
forging  a  fresh  chain  to  fetter  your  heart  ? ' 

'Don't  imagine  such  hard  things.  Fancy  me  yielding 
and  melting,  as  I  am  doing  :  human  love  rising  like  a  freshly 
opened  fountain  in  ray  mind  and  overflowing  with  sweet 
inundation  all  the  field  I  have  so  carefully,  and  with  such 


456  JANE  EYEE 

labour  prepared— so  assiduously  sown  with  the  seeds  of  good 
intentions,  of  self-denying  plans.  And  now  it  is  deluged 
with  a  nectarous  flood — the  young  germs  swamped — delicious 
poison  cankering  them :  now  I  see  myself  stretched  on  an 
ottoman  in  the  drawing-room  at  Vale  Hall,  at  my  bride 
Eosamond  Oliver's  feet :  she  is  talking  to  me  with  her  sweet 
voice — gazing  down  on  me  with  those  eyes  your  skilful  hand 
has  copied  so  well — smiling  at  me  with  these  coral  lips.  She 
is  mine — I  am  hers — this  present  life  and  passing  world 
suffice  to  me.  Hush !  say  nothing — my  heart  is  full  of  delight 
— my  senses  are  entranced — let  the  time  I  marked  pass  in 
peace/ 

I  humoured  him  :  the  watch  ticked  on :  he  breathed  fast 
and  low :  I  stood  silent.  Amidst  this  hush  the  quarter 
sped ;  he  replaced  the  watch,  laid  the  picture  down,  rose, 
and  stood  on  the  hearth. 

'  Now,'  said  he,  '  that  little  space  was  given  to  delirium 
and  delusion.  I  rested  my  temples  on  the  breast  of  tempta- 
tion, and  put  my  nock  voluntarily  under  her  yoke  of  flowers ; 
I  tasted  her  cup.  The  pillow  was  burning ;  there  is  an  asp 
in  the  garland ;  the  wine  has  a  bitter  taste ;  her  promises 
are  hollow — her  offers  false  ;  I  see  and  know  all  this.' 

I  gazed  at  him  in  wonder. 

'  It  is  strange,1  pursued  he,  '  that  while  I  love  Eosamond 
Oliver  so  wildly — with  all  the  intensity,  indeed,  of  a  first 
passion,  the  object  of  which  is  exquisitely  beautiful,  grace- 
ful, and  fascinating — I  experience  at  the  same  time  a  calm, 
unwarped  consciousness  that  she  would  not  make  me  a 
good  wife ;  that  she  is  not  the  partner  suited  to  me ;  that  I 
should  discover  this  within  a  year  after  marriage  ;  and  that 
to  twelve  months'  rapture  would  succeed  a  lifetime  of  regret. 
This  I  know/ 

1  Strange,  indeed  ! '  I  could  not  help  ejaculating. 

'  While  something  in  me/  he  went  on,  '  is  acutely  sensible 
to  her  charms,  something  else  is  as  deeply  impressed  with 
her  defects;  they  are  such  that  she  could  sympathise  in 
nothing  I  aspired  to — co-operate  in  nothing  I  undertook. 


JANE  EYEE  457 

Rosamond  a  sufferer,  a  labourer,  a  female  apostle  ?    Rosa- 
mond a  missionary's  wife  ?    No  I ' 

'But  you  need  not  be  a  missionary.  You  might 
relinquish  that  scheme.' 

'  Relinquish  !  What !  my  vocation  ?  My  great  work  ? 
My  foundation  laid  on  earth  for  a  mansion  in  heaven  ?  My 
hopes  of  being  numbered  in  the  band  who  have  merged  all 
ambitions  in  the  glorious  one  of  bettering  their  race — of 
carrying  knowledge  into  the  realms  of  ignorance — of  substi- 
tuting peace  for  war — freedom  for  bondage — religion  for 
superstition — the  hope  of  heaven  for  the  fear  of  hell  ?  Must 
I  relinquish  that  ?  It  is  dearer  than  the  blood  in  my  veins. 
It  is  what  I  have  to  look  forward  to  and  to  live  for/ 

After  a  considerable  pause,  I  said, — 'And  Miss  Oliver? 
Are  her  disappointment  and  sorrow  of  no  interest  to  you  ? f 
1  Miss  Oliver  is  ever  surrounded  by  suitors  and  flatterers ; 
in  less  than  a  month  my  image  will  be  effaced  from  her 
heart.  She  will  forget  me  ;  and  will  marry,  probably,  some 
one  who  will  make  her  far  happier  than  I  should  do.' 

'  You  speak  coolly  enough ;  but  you  suffer  in  the  conflict. 
You  are  wasting  away.' 

'  No.  If  I  get  a  little  thin,  it  is  with  anxiety  about  my 
prospects,  yet  unsettled — my  departure,  continually  pro- 
crastinated. Only  this  morning  I  received  intelligence  that 
the  successor,  whose  arrival  I  have  been  so  long  expecting, 
cannot  be  ready  to  replace  me  for  three  months  to  come  yet ; 
and  perhaps  the  three  months  may  extend  to  six.' 

'  You  tremble  and  become  flushed  whenever  Miss  Oliver 
enters  the  school-room/ 

Again  the  surprised  expression  crossed  his  face.  He  had 
not  imagined  that  a  woman  would  dare  to  speak  so  to  a 
man.  For  me,  I  felt  at  home  in  this  sort  of  discourse.  I 
could  never  rest  in  communication  with  strong,  discreet,  and 
refined  minds,  whether  male  or  female,  till  I  had  passed  the 
outworks  of  conventional  reserve,  and  crossed  the  threshold 
of  confidence,  and  won  a  place  by  their  heart's  very  hearth- 
stone. 

1  You  are  original, '  said  he,  '  and  not  timid.    There  is 


458  JANE  EYEE 

something  brave  in  your  spirit,  as  well  as  penetrating  in 
your  eye;  but  allow  me  to  assure  you  that  you  partially 
misinterpret  my  emotions.  You  think  them  more  profound 
and  potent  than  they  are.  You  give  me  a  larger  allowance 
of  sympathy  than  I  have  a  just  claim  to.  When  I  colour, 
and  when  I  shake  before  Miss  Oliver,  I  do  not  pity  myself. 
I  scorn  the  weakness.  I  know  it  is  ignoble ;  a  mere  fever 
of  the  flesh  :  not,  I  declare,  a  convulsion  of  the  soul.  That 
is  just  as  fixed  as  a  rock  firm  set  in  the  depths  of  a  restless 
sea.  Know  me  to  be  what  I  am — a  cold,  hard  man/ 

I  smiled  incredulously. 

1  You  have  taken  my  confidence  by  storm/  he  continued : 
1  and  now  it  is  much  at  your  service.  I  am  simply,  in  my 
original  state— stripped  of  that  blood- bleached  robe  with 
which  Christianity  covers  human  deformity — a  cold,  hard, 
ambitious  man.  Natural  affection  only,  of  all  the  sentiments, 
has  permanent  power  over  me.  Eeason,  and  not  Feeling,  is 
my  guide  :  my  ambition  is  unlimited ;  my  desire  to  rise 
higher,  to  do  more  than  others,  insatiable.  I  honour  endur- 
ance, perseverance,  industry,  talent ;  because  these  are  the 
means  by  which  men  achieve  great  ends  and  mount  to  lofty 
eminence.  I  watch  your  career  with  interest,  because  I 
consider  you  a  specimen  of  a  diligent,  orderly,  energetic 
woman ;  not  because  I  deeply  compassionate  what  you  have 
gone  through,  or  what  you  still  suffer/ 

'You  would  describe  yourself  as  a  mere  pagan  philo- 
sopher/ I  said. 

'  No.  There  is  this  difference  between  me  and  deistic 
philosophers :  I  believe ;  and  I  believe  the  Gospel.  You 
missed  your  epithet.  I  am  not  a  pagan,  but  a  Christian 
philosopher — a  follower  of  the  sect  of  Jesus.  As  His  disciple 
I  adopt  His  pure,  His  merciful,  His  benignant  doctrines.  I 
advocate  them  :  I  am  sworn  to  spread  them.  Won  in  youth 
to  religion,  she  has  cultivated  my  original  qualities  thus  : — 
From  the  minute  germ,  natural  affection,  she  has  developed 
the  overshadowing  tree,  philanthropy.  From  the  wild, 
stringy  root  of  human  uprightness,  she  has  reared  a  due  sense 


JANE  EYEE  459 

of  the  Divine  justice.  Of  the  ambition  to  win  power  and 
renown  for  my  wretched  self,  she  has  formed  the  ambition 
to  spread  my  Master's  kingdom ;  to  achieve  victories  for  the 
standard  of  the  cross.  So  much  has  religion  done  for  me ; 
turning  the  original  materials  to  the  best  account ;  pruning 
and  training  nature.  But  she  could  not  eradicate  nature  : 
nor  will  it  be  eradicated  "till  this  mortal  shall  put  on 
immortality."  ' 

Having  said  this,  he  took  his  hat,  which  lay  on  the  table 
beside  my  palette.  Once  more  he  looked  at  the  portrait. 

1  She  is  lovely/  he  murmured.  '  She  is  well  named  the 
Eose  of  the  World,  indeed ! ' 

'And  may  I  not  paint  one  like  it  for  you  ?  ' 

1  Cm  boiw?    No.' 

He  drew  over  the  picture  the  sheet  of  thin  paper  on 
which  I  was  accustomed  to  rest  my  hand  in  painting  to 
prevent  the  cardboard  from  being  sullied.  What  he 
suddenly  saw  on  this  blank  paper  it  was  impossible  for  me 
to  tell :  but  something  had  caught  his  eye.  He  took  it  up 
with  a  snatch ;  he  looked  at  the  edge ;  then  shot  a  glance  at 
me,  inexpressibly  peculiar  and  quite  incomprehensible :  a 
glance  that  seemed  to  take  and  make  note  of  every  point  in 
my  shape,  face,  and  dress ;  for  it  traversed  all,  quick,  keen  as 
lightning.  His  lips  parted,  as  if  to  speak :  but  he  checked 
the  coming  sentence,  whatever  it  was. 

'  What  is  the  matter? '  I  asked. 

1  Nothing  in  the  world/  was  the  reply ;  and,  replacing 
the  paper,  I  saw  him  dexterously  tear  a  narrow  slip  from  the 
margin.  It  disappeared  in  his  glove  ;  and,  with  one  hasty 
nod  and  '  good-afternoon/  he  vanished. 

'  Well  1 '  I  exclaimed,  using  an  expression  of  the  district, 
1  that  caps  the  globe,  however ! ' 

I,  in  my  turn,  scrutinised  the  paper,  but  saw  nothing  on 
it  save  a  few  dingy  stains  of  paint  where  I  had  tried  the  tint 
in  my  pencil.  I  pondered  the  mystery  a  minute  or  two ; 
but  finding  it  insolvable,  and  being  certain  it  could  not  be  of 
much  moment,  I  dismissed  and  soon  forgot  it. 


460  JANE  EYBE 


CHAPTEE  XXXIII 

WHEN  Mr.  St.  John  went  it  was  beginning  to  snow;  the 
whirling  storm  continued  all  night.  The  next  day  a  keen 
wind  brought  fresh  and  blinding  falls;  by  twilight  the 
valley  was  drifted  up  and  almost  impassable.  I  had  closed 
my  shutter,  laid  «,  mat  to  the  door  to  prevent  the  snow 
from  blowing  in  under  it,  trimmed  my  fire,  and  after  sitting 
nearly  an  hour  on  the  hearth  listening  to  the  muffled 
fury  of  the  tempest,  I  lit  a  candle,  took  down  Marmion,  and 

beginning — 

Day  set  on  Norham's  castled  steep, 
And  Tweed's  fair  river  broad  and  deep, 

And  Cheviot's  mountains  lone ; 
The  massive  towers,  the  donjon  keep, 
The  flanking  walls  that  round  them  sweep, 
In  yellow  lustre  shone, 

I  soon  forgot  storm  in  music. 

I  heard  a  noise  :  the  wind,  I  thought,  shook  the  door. 
No ;  it  was  St.  John  Eivers,  who,  lifting  the  latch,  came 
in  out  of  the  frozen  hurricane — the  howling  darkness — 
and  stood  before  me  :  the  cloak  that  covered  his  tall  figure 
all  white  as  a  glacier.  I  was  almost  in  consternation ;  so 
little  had  I  expected  any  guest  from  the  blocked-up  vale 
that  night. 

'  Any  ill  news  ? '  I  demanded.  €  Has  anything 
happened  ? ' 

'  No.  How  very  easily  alarmed  you  are  1 '  he  answered, 
removing  his  cloak  and  hanging  it  up  against  the  door, 
towards  which  he  again  coolly  pushed  the  mat  which  his 
entrance  had  deranged.  He  stamped  the  snow  from  his 
boots. 


JANE  EYEE  461 


'I  shall  sully  the  purity  of  your  floor/  ^pid  he,  'but 
you  must  excuse  me  for  once  *  Then  he  approached  the 
fire:  'I  have  had  hard  work  to  get  heie,  I  assure  you/ 
he  observed,  as  he  warmed  his  hands  over  the  flame.  '  One 
drift  took  me  up  to  the  waist  ;  happily  the  snow  is  quite 
soft  yet/ 

'  But  why  are  you  come  ?  '  I  could  not  forbear  saying. 

1  Bather  an  inhospitable  question  to  put  to  a  visitor  ;  bpt 
since  you  ask  it,  I  answer  simply  to  have  a  little  talk  with 
you;  I  got  tired  of  my  mute  books  and  empty  rooms. 
Besides,  since  yesterday  I  have  experienced  the  excitement 
of  a  person  to  whom  a  tale  has  been  half  -told,  and  who  is 
impatient  to  hear  the  sequel." 

He  sat  down.  I  recalled  his  singular  conduct  of  yester- 
day, and  really  I  began  to  fear  his  wits  were  touched.  If 
he  were  insane,  however,  his  was  a  very  cool  and  collected 
insanity  :  I  had  never  seen  that  handsome-featured  face  of 
his  look  more  like  chiselled  marble  than  it  did  just  now,  as 
he  put  aside  his  snow-wet  hair  from  his  forehead  and  let 
the  firelight  shino  free  on  his  pale  brow  and  cheek  as  pale, 
where  it  grieved  me  to  discover  the  hollow  trace  of  care  or 
sorrow  now  so  plainly  graved.  I  waited,  expecting  he 
would  say  something  I  could  at  least  comprehend  ;  but  his 
hand  was  now  at  his  chin,  his  finger  on  his  lip:  he  was 
thinking.  It  struck  me  that  his  hand  looked  wasted  like  his 
face.  A  perhaps  uncalled-for  gush  ol  pity  came  over  my 
heart  :  I  was  moved  to  say  :  —  '  I  wish  Diana  or  Mary  would 
come  and  live  with  you  :  it  is  too  bad  that  you  should  be 
quite  alone;  and  you  are  recklessly  rash  about  your  own 
health/ 

1  Not  at  all/  said  he  :  '  I  care  ior  myselt  when  necessary  ; 
I  am  well  now.  What  do  you  see  amiss  in  me  ?  ' 

This  was  said  with  a  careless,  abstracted  indifference, 
which  showed  that  my  solicitude  was,  at  least  in  his  opinion, 
wholly  superfluous.  I  was  silenced. 

He  still  slowly  moved  his  finger  over  his  upper  lip, 
and  still  his  eye  dwelt  dreamily  on  the  glowing  grate. 


462  JANE  EYBE 

Thinking  it  urgent  to  say  something,  I  asked  him  presently 
if  he  felt  any  cold  draught  from  the  door,  which  was  behind 
him. 

1  No,  no/  he  responded,  shortly  and  somewhat  testily. 

'  Well,'  I  reflected,  '  if  you  won't  talk,  you  may  be  still ; 
I'll  let  you  alone  now,  and  return  to  my  book.' 

So  I  snuffed  the  candle,  and  resumed  the  perusal  of 
Marmion.  He  soon  stirred  ;  my  eye  was  instantly  drawn  to 
his  movements ;  he  only  took  out  a  morocco  pocket-book, 
thence  produced  a  letter,  which  he  read  in  silence,  folded  it, 
put  it  back,  relapsed  into  meditation.  It  was  vain  to  try  to 
read  with  such  an  inscrutable  fixture  before  me  ;  nor  could 
I,  in  my  impatience,  consent  to  be  dumb ;  he  might  rebuff 
me  if  he  liked,  but  talk  I  would. 

1  Have  you  heard  from  Diana  and  Mary  lately  ? ' 

•'  Not  since  the  letter  I  showed  you  a  week  ago.1 

'  There  has  not  been  any  change  made  about  your  own 
arrangements  ?  You  will  not  be  summoned  to  leave  England 
sooner  than  you  expected  ? ' 

'  I  fear  not,  indeed :  such  chance  is  too  good  to  befall  me.' 
Baffled  so  far  I  changed  my  ground — I  bethought  myself  to 
talk  about  the  school  and  my  scholars. 

1  Mary  Garrett's  mother  is  better,  and  Mary  came  back  to 
the  school  this  morning,  and  I  shall  have  four  new  girls 
next  week  from  the  Foundry  Close — they  would  have  come 
to-day  but  for  the  snow.' 

'Indeed!' 

c  Mr.  Oliver  pays  for  two.' 

'Does  he?' 

'  He  means  to  give  the  whole  school  a  treat  at  Christmas/ 

' 1  know.1 

'  Was  it  your  suggestion  ? ' 

'No.' 

'Whose,  then?1 

'  His  daughter's,  I  think.1 

'  It  is  like  her :  she  is  so  good-natured.' 

'Yes.' 


JANE  EYKB  463 

Again  came  the  blank  of  a  pause  :  the  clock  struck  eight 
strokes.  It  aroused  him ;  he  uncrossed  his  legs,  sat  erect, 
turned  to  me. 

1  Leave  your  book  a  moment,  and  come  a  little  nearer  the 
fire/  he  said. 

Wondering,  and  of  my  wonder  finding  no  end,  I  complied. 

1  Half  an  hour  ago/  he  pursued, '  I  spoke  of  my  impatience 
to  hear  the  sequel  of  a  tale  :  on  reflection,  I  find  the  matter 
will  be  better  managed  by  my  assuming  the  narrator's  part, 
and  converting  you  into  a  listener.  Before  commencing  it 
is  but  fair  to  warn  you  that  the  story  will  sound  somewhat 
hackneyed  in  your  ears  :  but  stale  details  often  regain  a 
degree  of  freshness  when  they  pass  through  new  lips.  For 
the  rest,  whether  trite  or  novel,  it  is  short. 

1  Twenty  years  ago  a  poor  curate — never  mind  his  name 
at  this  moment — fell  in  love  with  a  rich  man's  daughter ;  she 
fell  in  love  with  him,  and  married  him,  against  the  advice  of 
all  her  friends  ;  who  consequently  disowned  her  immediately 
after  the  wedding.  Before  two  years  passed  the  rash  pair 
were  both  dead,  and  laid  quietly  side  by  side  under  one  slab. 
(I  have  seen  their  grave ;  it  formed  part  of  the  pavement  of 
a  huge  churchyard  surrounding  the  grim,  soot-black  old 

cathedral  of  an  overgrown  manufacturing  town  in shire. 

They  left  a  daughter,  which,  at  its  very  birth,  Charity  received 
in  her  lap — cold  as  that  of  the  snow-drift  I  almost  stuck 
fast  in  to-night.  Charity  carried  the  friendless  tiling  to  the 
house  of  its  rich  maternal  relations ;  it  was  reared  by  an 
aunt-in-law  called  (I  come  to  names  now)  Mrs.  Beed,  of 
Gateshead — you  start — did  you  hear  a  noise  ?  I  daresay  it 
is  only  a  rat  scrambling  along  the  rafters  of  the  adjoining 
schoolroom  :  it  was  a  barn  before  I  had  it  repaired  and 
altered,  and  barns  are  generally  haunted  by  rats. — To  proceed. 
Mrs.  Eeed  kept  the  orphan  ten  years  :  whether  it  was  happy 
or  not  with  her  I  cannot  say,  never  having  been  told  ;  but  at 
the  end  of  that  time  she  transferred  it  to  a  place  you  know — 
being  no  other  than  Lowood  School,  where  you  so  long 
resided  yourself.  It  seems  her  career  there  was  very  honour- 


464  JANE  EYKE 

able:  from  a  pupil  she  became  a  teacher,  like  yourself — 
really  it  strikes  me  there  are  parallel  points  in  her  history 
and  yours — she  left  it  to  be  a  governess :  there,  again,  your 
fates  were  analogous ;  she  undertook  the  education  of  the 
ward  of  a  certain  Mr.  Bochester.' 

'  Mr.  Kivers ! '  I  interrupted. 

1 1  can  guess  your  feelings/  he  said,  '  but  restrain  them 
for  a  while  :  I  have  nearly  finished ;  hear  me  to  the  end.  Of 
Mr.  Bochester's  character  I  know  nothing,  but  the  one  fact 
that  he  professed  to  offer  honourable  marriage  to  this  young 
girl,  and  that  at  the  very  altar  she  discovered  he  had  a  wife 
yet  alive,  though  a  lunatic.  What  his  subsequent  conduct 
and  proposals  were  is  a  matter  of  pure  conjecture ;  but  when 
an  event  transpired  which  rendered  inquiry  after  the 
governess  necessary,  it  was  discovered  she  was  gone — no  one 
could  tell  when,  where,  or  how.  She  had  left  Thornfield 
Hall  in  the  night ;  every  research  after  her  course  had  been 
vain :  the  country  had  been  scoured  far  and  wide ;  no  vestige 
of  information  could  be  gathered  respecting  her.  Yet  that 
she  should  be  found  is  become  a  matter  of  serious  urgency  : 
advertisements  have  been  put  in  all  the  papers ;  I  myself 
have  received  a  letter  from  one  Mr.  Briggs,  a  solicitor,  com- 
municating the  details  I  have  just  imparted.  Is  it  not  an 
odd  tale  ? ' 

*  Just  tell  me  this/  said  I,  '  and  since  you  know  so  much 
you  surely  can  tell  it  mo — what  of  Mr.  Bochester  ?    How 
and  where  is  he  ?    What  is  he  doing  ?    Is  he  well  ? ' 

1 1  am  ignorant  of  all  concerning  Mr.  Bochester :  the 
letter  never  mentions  him  but  to  narrate  the  fraudulent  and 
illegal  attempt  I  have  adverted  to.  You  should  rather  ask 
the  name  of  the  governess — the  nature  of  the  event  which 
requires  her  appearance.1 

'Did  no  one  go  to  Thornfield  Hall  then?  Did  no  one 
see  Mr.  Bochester  ? ' 

'  I  suppose  not.' 

'  But  they  wrote  to  him  ? ' 

*  Of  course/ 


JANE  EYEE  465 

'  And  what  did  he  say  ?    Who  has  his  letters  ? ' 

'  Mr.  Briggs  intimates  that  the  answer  to  his  application 
was  not  from  Mr.  Eochester,  but  from  a  lady :  it  is  signed 
"  Alice  Fairfax."  ' 

I  felt  cold  and  dismayed :  my  worst  fears  then  were 
probably  true :  he  had  in  all  probability  left  England,  and 
rushed  in  reckless  desperation  to  some  former  haunt  on  the 
Continent.  And  what  opiate  for  his  severe  sufferings — what 
object  for  his  strong  passions-  -had  he  sought  there  ?  I 
dared  not  answer  the  question.  Oh,  my  poor  master- 
once  almost  my  husband — whom  1  had  often  called  *  my 
dear  Edward ! ' 

'  He  must  have  been  a  bad  man,'  observed  Mr.  Bivers. 

*  You  don't  know  him  —don't  pronounce  an  opinion  upon 
him,'  I  said,  with  warmth. 

'  Very  well,'  he  answered,  quietly  :  '  and  indeed  my  head 
is  otherwise  occupied  than  with  him  :  I  have  my  tale  to 
finish.  Since  you  won't  ask  the  governess's  name,  I  must 
tell  it  of  my  own  accord — stay — I  have  it  here — it  is  always 
more  satisfactory  to  see  important  points  written  down, 
fairly  committed  to  black  and  white.' 

And  the  pocket-book  was  again  deliberately  produced, 
opened,  sought  through;  from  one  of  its  compartments  was 
extracted  a  shabby  slip  of  paper,  hastily  torn  off :  I  recognised 
in  its  texture  and  its  stains  of  ultramarine  and  lake  and 
vermilion  the  ravished  margin  of  the  portrait-cover.  He 
got  up,  held  it  close  to  my  eyes  :  and  I  read,  traced  in  Indian 
ink,  in  my  own  handwriting,  the  words  '  Jane  Eyie ' — the 
work  doubtless  of  some  moment  of  abstraction. 

'  Briggs  wrote  to  me  of  a  Jane  Eyre,'  he  said ;  '  the 
advertisements  demanded  a  Jane  Eyre:  I  knew  a  Jane 
Elliott. — I  confess  I  had  my  suspicions,  but  it  was  only 
yesterday  afternoon  they  were  at  once  resolved  into  certainty. 
You  own  the  name  and  renounce  the  alias  ? ' 

'  Yes — yes— but  where  is  Mr.  Briggs  ?  He  perhaps  knows 
more  of  Mr.  Eochester  than  you  do.' 

'  Briggs  is  in  London ;  I  should  doubt  his  knowing  any- 


466  JANE  EYEB 

thing  at  all  about  Mr.  Eochester ;  it  is  not  in  Mr.  Eochester 
he  is  interested.  Meantime  you  forget  essential  points  in 
pursuing  trifles  :  you  do  not  inquire  why  Mr.  Briggs  sought 
after  you — what  he  wanted  with  you.' 

'  Well,  what  did  he  want  ? ' 

1  Merely  to  tell  you  that  your  uncle,  Mr.  Eyre  of  Madeira, 
is  dead  ;  that  he  has  left  you  all  his  property,  and  that  you 
are  now  rich — merely  that — nothing  more.' 

'  I !  rich  ? ' 

'  Yes,  you,  rich — quite  an  heiress.' 

Silence  succeeded. 

'  You  must  prove  your  identity,  of  course,'  resumed  St. 
John,  presently :  '  a  step  which  will  offer  no  difficulties :  you 
can  then  enter  on  immediate  possession.  Your  fortune  is 
vested  in  the  English  funds ;  Briggs  has  the  will  and  the 
necessary  documents.' 

Here  was  a  new  card  turned  up !  It  is  a  fine  thing, 
reader,  to  be  lifted  in  a  moment  from  indigence  to  wealth — 
a  very  fine  thing :  but  not  a  matter  one  can  comprehend,  or 
consequently  enjoy,  all  at  once.  And  then  there  are  other 
chances  in  life  far  more  thrilling  and  rapture- giving  ;  this  is 
solid,  an  affair  of  the  actual  world,  nothing  ideal  about  it : 
all  its  associations  are  solid  and  sober,  and  its  manifestations 
are  the  same.  One  does  not  jump,  and  spring,  and  shout 
hurrah  1  at  hearing  one  has  got  a  fortune;  one  begins  to 
consider  responsibilities  and  to  ponder  business  ;  on  a  base 
of  steady  satisfaction  rise  certain  grave  cares — and  we  con- 
tain ourselves,  and  brood  over  our  bliss  with  a  solemn  brow. 

Besides,  the  words  Legacy,  Bequest,  go  side  by  side  with 
the  words  Death,  Funeral.  My  uncle  I  had  heard  was  dead — 
my  only  relative ;  ever  since  being  made  aware  of  his  exist- 
ence I  had  cherished  the  hope  of  one  day  seeing  him :  now, 
I  never  should.  And  then  this  money  came  only  to  me :  not 
to  me  and  a  rejoicing  family,  but  to  my  isolated  self.  It 
was  a  grand  boon  doubtless  ;  and  independence  would  be 
glorious — yes,  I  felt  ih&t—that  thought  swelled  my  heart. 
*  You  unbend  your  forehead  at  last/  said  Mr.  Bivers :  '  I 


JANE  EYBB  467 

thought  Medusa  had  looked  at  you,  and  that  you  were  turning 
to  stone — perhaps  now  you  will  ask  how  much  you  are 
worth  ? ' 

'  How  much  am  I  worth  ? ' 

'Oh,  a  trifle!  Nothing  of  course  to  speak  of — twenty 
thousand  pounds,  I  think  they  say — but  what  is  that  ?  ' 

1  Twenty  thousand  pounds  ? ' 

Here  was  a  new  stunner — I  had  been  calculating  on  four 
or  five  thousand.  This  news  actually  took  rny  breath  for  a 
moment:  Mr.  St.  John,  whom  I  had  never  heard  laugh 
before,  laughed  now. 

'  Well,'  said  he,  '  if  you  had  committed  a  murder,  and  I 
had  told  you  your  crime  was  discovered,  you  could  scarcely 
look  more  aghast.' 

*  It  is  a  large  sum — don't  you  think  there  is  a  mistake  ? ' 

1  No  mistake  at  all.1 

'Perhaps  you  have  read  the  figures  wrong — it  may  be 
2,000!' 

'  It  is  written  in  letters,  not  figures, — twenty  thousand.' 

I  again  felt  rather  like  an  individual  of  but  average 
gastronomical  powers  sitting  down  to  feast  alone  at  a  table 
spread  with  provisions  for  a  hundred.  Mr.  Eivers  rose  now 
and  put  his  cloak  on. 

'  If  it  were  not  such  a  very  wild  night,'  he  said,  '  I  would 
send  Hannah  down  to  keep  you  company:  you  look  too 
desperately  miserable  to  be  left  alone.  But  Hannah,  poor 
woman !  could  not  stride  the  drifts  so  well  as  I :  her  legs  are 
not  quite  so  long :  so  I  must  e'en  leave  you  to  your  sorrows. 
Good-night.' 

He  was  lifting  the  latch :  a  sudden  thought  occurred  to 
me. 

'  Stop  one  minute ! '  I  cried, 

'Well?' 

'It  puzzles  me  to  know  why  Mr.  Briggs  wrote  to  you 
about  me ;  or  how  he  knew  you,  or  could  fancy  that  you, 
living  in  such  an  out-of-the-way  place,  had  the  power  to  aid 
in  my  discovery.' 


468  JANE  EYBE 

1  Oh  1  lama  clergyman/  he  said ;  ' and  the  clergy  are 
often  appealed  to  about  odd  matters.' 

Again  the  latch  rattled. 

'  No  :  that  does  not  satisfy  me  1 '  I  exclaimed  :  and, 
indeed,  there  was  something  in  the  hasty  and  unexplanatory 
reply  which,  instead  of  allaying,  piqued  my  curiosity  more 
than  ever. 

'  It  is  a  very  strange  piece  of  business/  I  added.  '  I  must 
know  more  about  it/ 

1  Another  time.' 

'  No :  to-night ! — to-night ! '  and  as  he  turned  from  the 
door  I  placed  myself  between  it  and  him.  He  looked  rather 
embarrassed. 

I  You  certainly  shall  not  go  till  you  have  told  me  all  1 '  1 
said. 

I 1  would  rather  not,  just  now.' 
*  You  shall ! — you  must ! ' 

'  I  would  rather  Diana  or  Mary  informed  you.' 

Of  course  these  objections  wrought  my  eagerness  to  a 
climax :  gratified  it  must  be,  and  that  without  delay ;  and  I 
told  him  so. 

'  But  I  apprised  you  that  I  was  a  hard  man/  said  he ; 
'  difficult  to  persuade.' 

1  And  I  ain  a  hard  woman, — impossible  to  put  off.' 

'  And  then/  he  pursued,  '  I  am  cold  :  no  fervour  infects 
me.' 

1  Whereas  I  am  hot,  and  fire  dissolves  ice.  The  blaze 
there  has  thawed  all  the  snow  from  your  cloak ;  by  the  same 
token  it  has  streamed  on  to  my  floor,  and  made  it  like  a 
trampled  street.  As  you  hope  ever  to  be  forgiven,  Mr. 
Rivers,  the  high  crime  and  misdemeanour  of  .spoiling  a  sanded 
kitchen,  tell  me  what  I  wish  to  know.' 

1  Well,  then/  he  said,  '  I  yield ;  if  not  to  your  earnestness, 
to  your  perseverance :  as  stone  is  worn  by  continual  dropping. 
Besides,  you  must  know  some  day, — as  well  now  as  later. 
Your  name  is  Jane  Eyre  ?  ' 

1  Of  course :  that  was  all  settled  before/ 


JANE  EYEE  469 

1  You  are  not,  perhaps,  aware  that  I  am  your  namesake  ? 
— that  I  was  christened  St.  John  Eyre  Bivers  ? ' 

1  No,  indeed !  I  remember  now  seeing  the  letter  E 
comprised  in  your  initials  written  in  books  you  have  at 
different  times  lent  me ;  but  I  never  asked  for  what  name  it 
stood.  But  what  then?  Surely1 

I  stopped :  I  could  not  trust  myself  to  entertain,  much 
less  to  express,  the  thought  that  rushed  upon  me — tha* 
embodied  itself, — that,  in  a  second,  stood  out  a  strong,  solid 
probability.  Circumstances  knit  themselves,  fitted  them* 
selves,  shot  into  order:  the  chain  that  had  been  lying 
hitherto  a  formless  lump  of  links  was  drawn  out  straight, — 
every  ring  was  perfect,  the  connection  complete.  I  knew, 
by  instinct,  how  the  matter  stood  before  St.  John  had  said 
another  word :  but  I  cannot  expect  the  reader  to  have  the 
same  intuitive  perception,  so  I  must  repeat  his  explanation, 

'  My  mother's  name  was  Eyre ;  she  had  two  brothers; 
one  a  clergyman,  who  married  Miss  Jane  Keed,  of  Gates- 
head  ;  the  other,  John  Eyre,  Esq.,  merchant,  late  of 
Funchal,  Madeira.  Mr.  Briggs,  being  Mr.  Eyre's  solicitor, 
wrote  to  us  last  August  to  inform  us  of  our  uncle's  death ; 
and  to  say  that  he  had  left  his  property  to  his  brother  the 
clergyman's  orphan  daughter ;  overlooking  us,  in  conse- 
quence of  a  quarrel,  never  forgiven,  between  him  and  my 
father.  He  wrote  again  a  few  weeks  since,  to  intimate  that 
the  heiress  was  lost ;  and  asking  if  we  knew  anything  of  her. 
A  name  casually  written  on  a  slip  of  paper  has  enabled  me 
to  find  her  out.  You  know  the  rest/  Again  he  was  going, 
but  I  set  my  back  against  the  door. 

1  Do  let  me  speak/  I  said ;  '  let  me  have  one  moment  to 
draw  breath  and  reflect/    I  paused — he  stood  before  me,  hat 
in  hand,  looking  composed  enough.    I  resumed :    '  Your 
mother  was  my  father's  sister  ? ' 
1  Yes/ 

'  My  aunt,  consequently  ? ' 
He  bowed. 
'My  uncle  John  was  your  uncle  John?    You,  Diana 


470  JANE  EYEB 

and  Mary,  are  his  sister's  children;  as  I  am  his  brother's 
child?' 

'  Undeniably.' 

'  You  three,  then,  are  my  cousins ;  half  our  blood  on  each 
side  flows  from  the  same  source  ? ' 

1  We  are  cousins  ;  yes.' 

I  surveyed  him.  It  seemed  I  had  found  a  brother :  one 
I  could  be  proud  of, — one  I  could  love ;  and  two  sisters 
whose  qualities  were  such  that,  when  I  knew  them  but  as 
mere  strangers,  they  had  inspired  me  with  genuine  affection 
and  admiration.  The  two  girls  on  whom,  kneeling  down 
on  the  wet  ground,  and  looking  through  the  low,  latticed 
window  of  Moor  House  kitchen,  I  had  gazed  with  so 
bitter  a  mixture  of  interest  and  despair  were  my  near  kins- 
women ;  and  the  young  and  stately  gentleman  who  had 
found  me  almost  dying  at  his  threshold  was  my  blood 
relation.  Glorious  discovery  to  a  lonely  wretch  !  This  was 
wealth  indeed  I — wealth  to  the  heart ! — a  mine  of  pure, 
genial  affections.  This  was  a  blessing,  bright,  vivid,  and 
exhilarating ; — not  like  the  ponderous  gift  of  gold :  rich  and 
welcome  enough  in  its  way,  but  sobering  from  its  weight.  I 
now  clapped  my  hands  in  sudden  joy — my  pulse  bounded, 
my  veins  thrilled. 

1  Oh,  I  am  glad  1 — I  am  glad ! '  I  exclaimed. 

St.  John  smiled.  '  Did  I  not  say  you  neglected  essential 
points  to  pursue  trifles?'  he  asked.  'You  were  serious 
when  I  told  you  you  had  got  a  fortune ;  and  now,  for  a 
matter  of  no  moment,  you  are  excited.' 

*  What  can  you  mean  ?  It  may  be  of  no  moment  to  you ; 
you  have  sisters,  and  don't  care  for  a  cousin ;  but  I  had 
nobody;  and  now  three  relations, — or  two,  if  you  don't 
choose  to  be  counted, — are  born  into  my  world  full  grown. 
I  say  again,  I  am  glad  ! ' 

I  walked  fast  through  the  room :  I  stopped,  half  suffo- 
cated with  the  thoughts  that  rose  faster  than  I  could  receive, 
comprehend,  settle  them : — thoughts  of  what  might,  could, 
would,  and  should  be,  and  that  ere  long.  I  looked  at  the 


JANE  EYEB  471 

blank  wall :  it  seemed  a  sky,  thick  with  ascending  stars, — 
every  one  lit  me  to  a  purpose  or  delight.  Those  who  had 
saved  my  life,  whom  till  this  hour  I  had  loved  barrenly,  I 
could  now  benefit.  They  were  under  a  yoke :  I  could  free 
them  :  they  were  scattered, — I  could  reunite  them — the 
independence,  the  affluence  which  was  mine  might  be  theirs 
too.  Were  we  not  four?  Twenty  thousand  pounds  shared 
equally  would  be  five  thousand  each,  enough  and  to  spare : 
justice  would  be  done, — mutual  happiness  secured.  Now 
the  wealth  did  not  weigh  on  me :  now  it  was  not  a  mere 
bequest  of  coin, — it  was  a  legacy  of  life,  hope,  enjoyment. 

How  I  looked  while  these  ideas  were  taking  my  spirit  by 
storm  I  cannot  tell ;  but  I  perceived  soon  that  Mr.  Eivers 
had  placed  a  chair  behind  me,  and  was  gently  attempting  to 
make  me  sit  down  on  it.  He  also  advised  me  to  be  com- 
posed: I  scorned  the  insinuation  of  helplessness  and 
distraction,  shook  off  his  hand,  and  began  to  walk  about 
again. 

1  Write  to  Diana  and  Mary  to-morrow/  I  said,  'and  tell 

them  to  come  home  directly;  Diana  said  they  would  both 

consider  themselves  rich  with  a  thousand  pounds,  so  with 

five  thousand  they  will  do  very  well.1 

'  Tell  me  where  I  can  get  you  a  glass  of  water,'  said 

St.  John;  'you  must  really  make  an  effort  to  tranquillise 

your  feelings/ 

1  Nonsense  1  and  what  sort  of  an  effect  will  the  bequest 

have  on  you  ?    Will  it  keep  you  in  England,  induce  you  to 

marry    Miss    Oliver,    and  settle  down    like    an    ordinary 

mortal?' 

'  You    wander :  your  head  becomes  confused.     I  have 

been  too  abrupt  in  communicating  the  news  ;  it  has  excited 

you  beyond  your  strength/ 

'  Mr.  Bivers  I  you  quite  put  me  out  of  patience ;  I  am 

rational  enough ;  it  is  you  who  misunderstand ;  or  rather  who 

affect  to  misunderstand/ 

1  Perhaps  if  you  explained  yourself  a  little  more  fully  I 

should  comprehend  better/ 


472  JANE  EYEB 

'  Explain  1  What  is  there  to  explain  ?  You  cannot  fail 
to  see  that  twenty  thousand  pounds,  the  sum  in  question, 
divided  equally  between  the  nephew  and  three  nieces  of  our 
uncle  will  give  five  thousand  to  each?  What  I  want  is, 
that  you  should  write  to  your  sisters  and  tell  them  of  the 
fortune  that  has  accrued  to  them.' 

'  To  you,  you  mean.1 

'  I  have  intimated  my  view  of  the  case :  I  am  incapable 
of  taking  any  other.  I  am  not  brutally  selfish,  blindly 
unjust,  or  fiendishly  ungrateful.  Besides,  I  am  resolved  I 
will  have  a  home  and  connections.  I  like  Moor  House,  and 
I  will  live  at  Moor  House ;  I  like  Diana  and  Mary,  and  I 
will  attach  myself  for  life  to  Diana  and  Mary.  It  would 
please  and  benefit  me  to  have  five  thousand  pounds;  it 
would  torment  and  oppress  me  to  have  twenty  thousand ; 
which,  moreover,  could  never  be  mine  in  justice,  though  it 
might  in  law.  I  abandon  to  you,  then,  what  is  absolutely 
superfluous  to  me.  Let  there  be  no  opposition,  and  no 
discussion  about  it ;  let  us  agree  amongst  each  other,  and 
decide  the  point  at  once.' 

1  This  is  acting  on  first  impulses  ;  you  must  take  days  to 
consider  such  a  matter,  ere  your  word  can  be  regarded  as 
valid.' 

1  Oh  1  if  all  you  doubt  is  my  sincerity,  I  am  easy  :  you  see 
the  justice  of  the  case  ? ' 

'  I  do  see  a  certain  justice ;  but  it  is  contrary  to  all 
custom.  Besides,  the  entire  fortune  is  your  right :  my  uncle 
gained  it  by  his  own  efforts ;  he  was  free  to  leave  it  to  whom 
he  would  :  he  left  it  to  you.  After  all,  justice  permits  you 
to  keep  it:  you  may,  with  a  clear  conscience,  consider  it 
absolutely  your  own.' 

'  With  me,'  said  I,  '  it  is  fully  as  much  a  matter  of  feeling 
as  of  conscience :  I  must  indulge  my  feelings ;  I  so  seldom 
have  had  an  opportunity  of  doing  so.  Were  you  to  argue, 
object,  and  annoy  me  for  a  year,  I  could  not  forego  the 
delicious  pleasure  of  which  I  have  caught  a  glimpse — that  of 
repaying,  in  part,  a  mighty  obligation,  and  winning  to  myself 
life-long  friends.' 


JANE  EYEE  473 

'  You  think  so  now/  rejoined  St.  John ;  '  because  you  do 
not  know  what  it  is  to  possess,  nor  consequently  to  enjoy 
wealth  :  you  cannot  form  a  notion  of  the  importance  twenty 
thousand  pounds  would  give  you;  of  the  place  it  would 
enable  you  to  take  in  society ;  of  the  prospects  it  would  open 
to  you :  you  cannot ' 

'And  you/  I  interrupted,  'cannot  at  all  imagine  the 
craving  I  have  for  fraternal  and  sisterly  love.  I  never  had  a 
home,  I  never  had  brothers  or  sisters;  I  must  and  will 
have  them  now :  you  are  not  reluctant  to  admit  me  and  own 
me,  are  you  ? ' 

'  Jane  :  I  will  be  your  brother — my  sisters  will  be  your 
sisters — without  stipulating  for  this  sacrifice  of  your  just 
rights.' 

'  Brother  ?  Yes  ;  at  the  distance  of  a  thousand  leagues  1 
Sisters  ?  Yes  ;  slaving  amongst  strangers !  I,  wealthy — 
gorged  with  gold  I  never  earned  and  do  not  merit !  You, 
penniless !  Famous  equality  and  fraternisation !  Close 
union !  Intimate  attachment ! ' 

'  But,  Jane,  your  aspirations  after  family  ties  and 
domestic  happiness  may  be  realised  otherwise  than  by  the 
means  you  contemplate  :  you  may  marry/ 

'  Nonsense  again  1  Marry  1  I  don't  want  to  marry,  and 
never  shall  marry/ 

'  That  is  saying  too  much :  such  hazardous  affirmations 
are  a  proof  of  the  excitement  under  which  you  labour/ 

'  It  is  not  saying  too  much :  I  know  what  I  feel,  and  how 
averse  are  my  inclinations  to  the  bare  thought  of  marriage. 
No  one  would  take  me  for  love ;  and  I  will  not  be  regarded 
in  the  light  of  a  mere  money-speculation.  And  I  do  not 
want  a  stranger — unsympathising  alien,  different  from  me ; 
I  want  my  kindred :  those  with  whom  I  have  full  fellow- 
feeling.  Say  again  you  will  be  my  brother :  when  you 
uttered  the  words  I  was  satisfied,  happy;  repeat  them,  if 
you  can  repeat  them  sincerely/ 

'  I  think  I  can.  I  know  I  have  always  loved  my  own 
sisters ;  and  I  know  on  what  my  affection  for  them  is 


474  JANE  EYES 

grounded, — respect  for  their  worth  and  admiration  of  their 
talents.  You  too  have  principle  and  mind  :  your  tastes  and 
habits  resemble  Diana's  and  Mary's;  your  presence  is 
always  agreeable  to  me;  in  your  conversation  I  have 
already  for  some  time  found  a  salutary  solace.  I  feel  I  can 
easily  and  naturally  make  room  in  my  heart  for  you,  as  my 
third  and  youngest  sister/ 

1  Thank  you :  that  contents  me  for  to-night.  Now  you 
had  better  go ;  for  if  you  stay  longer  you  will  perhaps 
irritate  me  afresh  by  some  mistrustful  scruple.' 

1  And  the  school,  Miss  Eyre  ?  It  must  now  be  shut  up, 
I  suppose  ? ' 

'  No.  I  will  retain  my  post  of  mistress  till  you  got  a 
substitute.1 

He  smiled  approbation:  we  shook  hands,  and  he  took 
leave. 

I  need  not  narrate  in  detail  the  further  struggles  I 
had  and  arguments  I  used  to  get  matters  regarding  the 
legacy  settled  as  I  wished.  My  task  was  a  very  hard  one  : 
but,  as  I  was  absolutely  resolved — as  my  cousins  saw  at 
length  that  my  mind  was  really  and  immutably  fixed  on 
making  a  just  division  of  the  property— as  they  must  in 
their  own  hearts  have  felt  the  equity  of  the  intention ;  and 
must,  besides,  have  been  innately  conscious  that  in  my  place 
they  would  have  done  precisely  what  I  wished  to  do — they 
yielded  at  length  so  far  as  to  consent  to  put  the  affair  to 
arbitration.  The  judges  chosen  were  Mr.  Oliver  and  an  able 
lawyer  :  both  coincided  in  my  opinion :  I  carried  my  point. 
The  instruments  of  transfer  were  drawn  out :  St.  John, 
Diana,  Mary,  and  I,  each  became  possessed  of  a  competency. 


JANE  EYRE  475 


CHAPTEE  XXXIV 

IT  was  near  Christmas  by  the  time  all  was  settled :  the 
season  of  general  holiday  approached.  I  now  closed  Morton 
school,  taking  care  that  the  parting  should  not  he  barren 
on  my  side.  Good  fortune  opens  the  hand  as  well  as  the 
heart  wonderfully;  and  to  give  somewhat  when  we  have 
largely  received,  is  but  to  afford  a  vent  to  the  unusual 
ebullition  of  the  sensations.  I  had  long  felt  with  pleasure 
that  many  of  my  rustic  scholars  liked  me,  and  when  we 
parted  that  consciousness  was  confirmed:  they  manifested 
their  affection  plainly  and  strongly.  Deep  was  my  gratifica- 
tion to  find  I  had  really  a  place  in  their  unsophisticated 
hearts :  I  promised  them  that  never  a  week  should  pass  in 
future  that  I  did  not  visit  them,  and  give  them  an  hour's 
teaching  in  their  school. 

Mr.  Rivers  came  up,  as — having  seen  the  classes,  now 
numbering  sixty  girls,  file  out  before  me,  and  locked  the  door 
— I  stood  with  the  key  in  my  hand,  exchanging  a  few  words 
of  special  farewell  with  some  half-dozen  of  my  best  scholars : 
as  decent,  respectable,  modest,  and  well-informed  young 
women  as  could  be  found  in  the  ranks  of  the  British 
peasantry.  And  that  is  saying  a  great  deal;  for  after  all 
the  British  peasantry  are  the  best  taught,  best  mannered, 
most  self-respecting  of  any  in  Europe :  since  those  days  I 
have  seen  paysannes  and  Bauerinnen  :  and  the  best  of  them 
seemed  to  me  ignorant,  coarse,  and  besotted,  compared  with 
my  Morton  girls. 

1  Do  you  consider  you  have  got  your  reward  for  a  season 
of  exertion?1  asked  Mr.  Rivers  when  they  were  gone. 


476  JANE  EYEE 

'  Does  not  the  consciousness  of  having  done  some  real  good 
in  your  day  and  generation  give  pleasure  ?  ' 

'  Doubtless/ 

1  And  you  have  only  toiled  a  few  months !  Would  not  a 
life  devoted  to  the  task  of  regenerating  your  race  be  well 
spent?' 

1  Yes/  I  said  ;  '  but  I  could  not  go  on  for  ever  so :  I  want 
to  enjoy  my  own  faculties  as  well  as  to  cultivate  those  of 
other  people.  I  must  enjoy  them  now ;  don't  recall  either 
my  mind  or  body  to  the  school :  I  am  out  of  it,  and  disposed 
for  full  holiday." 

He  looked  grave.  'What  now?  What  sudden  eager- 
ness is  this  you  evince  ?  What  are  you  going  to  do  ? ' 

'  To  be  active  :  as  active  as  I  can.  And  first  I  must  beg 
you  to  set  Hannah  at  liberty,  and  get  somebody  else  to  wait 
on  you.' 

'  Do  you  want  her  ? ' 

1  Yes,  to  go  with  me  to  Moor  House :  Diana  and  Mary 
will  be  at  home  in  a  week,  and  I  want  to  have  everything  in 
order  against  their  arrival.' 

'  I  understand :  I  thought  you  were  for  flying  off  on 
some  excursion.  It  is  better  so :  Hannah  shall  go  with  you.' 

'  Tell  her  to  be  ready  by  to-morrow  then ;  and  here  is 
the  schoolroom  key  :  I  will  give  you  the  key  of  my  cottage 
in  the  morning.' 

He  took  it.  '  You  give  it  up  very  gleefully/  said  he  :  '  I 
don't  quite  understand  your  light-heartedness ;  because  I 
cannot  tell  what  employment  you  propose  to  yourself  as  a 
substitute  for  the  one  you  are  relinquishing.  What  aim, 
what  purpose,  what  ambition  in  life  have  you  now  ?  ' 

'  My  first  aim  will  be  to  clean  down  (do  you  comprehend 
the  full  force  of  the  expression  ?)  to  clean  down  Moor  House 
from  chamber  to  cellar ;  my  next  to  rub  it  up  with  beeswax, 
oil,  and  an  indefinite  number  of  cloths,  till  it  glitters  again ; 
my  third,  to  arrange  every  chair,  table,  bed,  carpet,  with 
mathematical  precision ;  afterwards  I  shall  go  near  to  ruin 
you  in  coals  and  peat  to  keep  up  good  fires  in  every  room ; 


JANE  EYRE  477 

and  lastly,  the  two  days  preceding  that  on  which  your 
sisters  are  expected  will  be  devoted  by  Hannah  and  me  to 
such  a  beating  of  eggs,  sorting  of  currants,  grating  of  spices, 
compounding  of  Christmas  cakes,  chopping  up  of  materials 
for  mince-pies,  and  solemnising  of  other  culinary  rites,  as 
words  can  convey  but  an  inadequate  notion  of  to  the 
uninitiated  like  you.  My  purpose,  in  short,  is  to  have  all 
things  in  an  absolutely  perfect  state  of  readiness  for  Diana 
and  Mary  before  next  Thursday ;  and  my  ambition  is  to 
give  them  a  beau-ideal  of  a  welcome  when  they  come.' 

St.  John  smiled  slightly :  still  he  was  dissatisfied. 

'It  is  all  very  well  for  the  present/  said  he:  'but 
seriously,  I  trust  that  when  the  first  flush  of  vivacity  is 
over  you  will  look  a  little  higher  than  domestic  endear- 
ments and  households  joys.' 

'  The  best  things  the  world  has  ! '  I  interrupted. 

'  No,  Jane,  no :  this  world  is  not  the  scene  of  fruition ; 
do  not  attempt  to  make  it  so  :  nor  of  rest ;  do  not  turn  slothful.' 

'  I  mean,  on  the  contrary,  to  bo  busy/ 

'  Jane,  I  excuse  you  for  the  present :  two  months'  grace 
I  allow  you  for  the  full  enjoyment  of  your  new  position,  and 
for  pleasing  yourself  with  this  late-found  charm  of  relation- 
ship ;  but  then  I  hope  you  will  begin  to  look  beyond  Moor 
House  and  Morton,  and  sisterly  society,  and  the  selfish  calm 
and  sensual  comfort  of  civilised  affluence.  I  hope  your 
energies  will  then  once  more  trouble  you  with  their  strength/ 

I  looked  at  him  with  surprise. 

4  St.  John/  I  said,  '  I  think  you  are  almost  wicked  to  talk 
so.  I  am  disposed  to  be  as  content  as  a  queen,  and  you  try 
to  stir  me  up  to  restlessness  !  To  what  end  ? ' 

1  To  the  end  of  turning  to  profit  the  talents  which  God 
has  committed  to  your  keeping ;  and  of  which  He  will  surely 
one  day  demand  a  strict  account.  Jane,  I  shall  watch  you 
closely  and  anxiously — I  warn  you  of  that.  And  try  to 
restrain  the  disproportionate  fervour  with  which  you  throw 
yourself  into  common-place  home  pleasures.  Don't  cling  so 
tenaciously  to  ties  of  the  flesh;  save  your  constancy  and 


478  JANE  BYBB 

ardour  for  an  adequate  cause;  forbear  to  waste  them  on 
trite  transient  objects.  Do  you  hear,  Jane  ?  ' 

1  Yes ;  just  as  if  you  were  speaking  Greek.  I  feel  I  have 
adequate  cause  to  be  happy,  and  I  will  be  happy.  Good- 
bye!' 

Happy  at  Moor  House  I  was,  and  hard  I  worked ;  and 
so  did  Hannah  :  she  was  charmed  to  see  how  jovial  I  could 
be  amidst  the  bustle  of  a  house  turned  topsy-turvy — how  I 
could  brush,  and  dust,  and  clean,  and  cook.  And  really 
after  a  day  or  two  of  confusion  worse  confounded  it  was 
delightful,  by  degrees,  to  invoke  order  from  the  chaos 
ourselves  had  made.  I  had  previously  taken  a  journey  to 

S to  purchase  some  new  furniture  :  my  cousins  having 

given  me  carte  blanche  to  effect  what  alterations  I  pleased, 
and  a  sum  having  been  set  aside  for  that  purpose.  The 
ordinary  sitting-room  and  bedrooms  I  left  much  as  they 
were:  for  I  knew  Diana  and  Mary  would  derive  more 
pleasure  from  seeing  again  the  old  homely  tables  and  chairs 
and  beds  than  from  the  spectacle  of  the  smartest  innovations. 
Still  some  novelty  was  necessary,  to  give  to  their  return  the 
piquancy  with  which  I  wished  it  to  be  invested.  Dark 
handsome  new  carpets  and  curtains,  an  arrangement  of 
some  carefully  selected  antique  ornaments  in  porcelain  and 
bronze,  new  coverings,  and  mirrors,  and  dressing-cases  for 
the  toilet-tables,  answered  the  end:  they  looked  fresh 
without  being  glaring.  A  spare  parlour  and  bedroom  I 
refurnished  entirely  with  old  mahogany  and  crimson 
upholstery :  I  laid  canvas  on  the  passage  and  carpets  on  the 
stairs.  When  all  was  finished,  I  thought  Moor  House  as 
complete  a  model  of  bright  modest  snugness  within  as  it 
was,  at  this  season,  a  specimen  of  wintry  waste  and  desert 
dreariness  without. 

The  eventful  Thursday  at  length  came.  They  were 
expected  about  dark,  and  ere  dusk  fires  were  lit  upstairs 
and  below ;  the  kitchen  was  in  perfect  trim ;  Hannah  and  I 
were  dressed,  and  all  was  in  readiness. 

St  John  arrived  first.    I  had  entreated  him  to  keep  quite 


JANE  EYEE  479 

jclear  of  the  house  till  everything  was  arranged :  and,  indeed, 
the  bare  idea  of  the  commotion,  at  once  sordid  and  trivial, 
going  on  within  its  walls  sufficed  to  scare  him  to  estrange- 
ment. He  found  me  in  the  kitchen,  watching  the  progress 
of  certain  cakes  for  tea,  then  baking.  Approaching  the 
hearth,  he  asked,  '  If  I  was  at  last  satisfied  with  housemaid's 
work  ? '  I  answered  by  inviting  him  to  accompany  me  on  a 
general  inspection  of  the  result  of  my  labours.  With  some 
difficulty  I  got  him  to  make  the  tour  of  the  house.  He  just 
looked  in  at  the  doors  I  opened ;  and  when  he  had  wandered 
upstairs  and  downstairs,  he  said  I  must  have  gone  through  a 
great  deal  of  fatigue  and  trouble  to  have  effected  such 
considerable  changes  in  so  short  a  time  :  but  not  a  syllable 
did  Ii3  utter  indicating  pleasure  in  the  improved  aspect  of 
his  abode. 

This  silence  damped  me.  I  thought  perhaps  the  altera- 
tions had  disturbed  some  old  associations  he  valued.  I 
inquired  whether  this  was  the  case :  no  doubt  in  a 
somewhat  crestfallen  tone. 

'  Not  at  all ;  he  had,  on  the  contrary,  remarked  that  I  had 
scrupulously  respected  every  association  :  he  feared,  indeed, 
[  must  have  bestowed  more  thought  on  the  matter  than  it 
was  worth.  How  many  minutes,  for  instance,  had  I 
devoted  to  studying  the  arrangement  of  this  very  room  ? — 
By-the-bye,  could  I  tell  him  where  such  a  book  was  ?  ' 

I  showed  him  the  volume  on  the  shelf :  he  took  it  down, 
and  withdrawing  to  his  accustomed  window  recess,  he 
began  to  read  it. 

Now,  I  did  not  like  this,  reader.  St.  John  was  a  good 
man ;  but  I  began  to  feel  he  had  spoken  truth  of  himself 
when  he  said  he  was  hard  and  cold.  The  humanities  and 
amenities  of  life  had  no  attraction  for  him— its  peaceful 
enjoyments  no  charm.  Literally,  he  lived  only  to  aspire — 
after  what  was  good  and  great,  certainly  ;  but  still  he  would 
never  rest ;  nor  approve  of  others  resting  round  him,  As  I 
looked  at  his  lofty  forehead,  still  and  pale  as  a  white  stone 
— at  his  fine  lineaments  fixed  in  study — I  comprehended  aU 

B2 


480  JANE  EYKE 

at  once  that  he  would  hardly  make  a  good  husband :  that  it 
would  be  a  trying  thing  to  be  his  wife.  I  understood,  as  by 
inspiration,  the  nature  of  his  love  for  Miss  Oliver ;  I  agreed 
with  him  that  it  was  but  a  love  of  the  senses.  I  compre- 
hended how  he  should  despise  himself  for  the  feverish 
influence  it  exercised  over  him ;  how  he  should  wish  to 
stifle  and  destroy  it;  how  he  should  mistrust  its  ever 
conducing  permanently  to  his  happiness,  or  hers.  I  saw  he 
was  of  the  material  from  which  nature  hews  her  heroes — 
Christian  and  Pagan — her  lawgivers,  her  statesmen,  her 
conquerors ;  a  steadfast  bulwark  for  great  interests  to  rest 
upon ;  but,  at  the  fireside,  too  often  a  cold  cumbrous  column, 
gloomy  and  out  of  place. 

'This  parlour  is  not  his  sphere/  I  reflected;  'the 
Himalayan  ridge,  or  Caffre  bush,  even  the  plague-cursed 
Guinea  Coast  swamp,  would  suit  him  better.  Well  may  he 
eschew  the  calm  of  domestic  life ;  it  is  not  his  element : 
there  his  faculties  stagnate — they  cannot  develop  or  appear 
to  advantage.  It  is  in  scenes  of  strife  and  danger— -where 
courage  is  proved,  and  energy  exercised,  and  fortitude 
tasked — that  he  will  speak  and  move,  the  leader  and 
superior.  A  merry  child  would  have  the  advantage  of  him 
on  this  hearth.  He  is  right  to  choose  a  missionary's  career 
— I  see  it  now.' 

'  They  are  coming !  they  are  coming  I '  cried  Hannah, 
throwing  open  the  parlour  door.  At  the  same  moment  old 
Carlo  barked  joyfully.  Out  I  ran.  It  was  now  dark  :  but  a 
rumbling  of  wheels  was  audible.  Hannah  soon  had  a 
lantern  lit.  The  vehicle  had  stopped  at  the  wicket;  the 
driver  opened  the  door:  first  one  well-known  form,  then 
another,  stepped  out.  In  a  minute  I  had  my  face  under 
their  bonnets,  in  contact  first  with  Mary's  soft  cheek,  then 
with  Diana's  flowing  curls.  They  laughed — kissed  me — 
then  Hannah :  patted  Carlo,  who  was  half  wild  with  delight, 
asked  eagerly  if  all  was  well ;  and  being  assured  in  the 
affirmative,  hastened  into  the  house. 

They  were  stiff  with  their  long  and  jolting  drive  from 


JANE  EYEE  481 

Whitcross,  and  chilled  with  the  frosty  night-air ;  but  their 
pleasant  countenances  expanded  to  the  cheerful  fire-light. 
While  the  driver  and  Hannah  brought  in  the  boxes,  they 
demanded  St.  John.  At  this  moment  he  advanced  from  the 
parlour.  They  both  threw  their  arms  round  his  neck  at 
once.  He  gave  each  one  quiet  kiss,  said  in  a  low  tone  a  few 
words  of  welcome,  stood  a  while  to  be  talked  to,  and  then, 
intimating  that  he  supposed  they  would  soon  rejoin  him  in 
the  parlour,  withdrew  there  as  to  a  place  of  refuge. 

I  had  lit  their  candles  to  go  upstairs,  but  Diana  had  first 
to  give  hospitable  orders  respecting  the  driver;  this  done, 
both  followed  me.  They  were  delighted  with  the  renovation 
and  decoration  of  their  rooms ;  with  the  new  drapery,  and 
fresh  carpets,  and  rich  tinted  china  vases :  they  expressed 
their  gratification  ungrudgingly.  I  had  the  pleasure  of  feel- 
ing that  my  arrangements  met  their  wishes  exactly;  and 
that  what  I  had  done  added  a  vivid  charm  to  their  joyous 
return  home. 

Sweet  was  that  evening.  My  cousins,  full  of  exhilaration, 
were  so  eloquent  in  narrative  and  comment,  that  their  fluency 
covered  St.  John's  taciturnity :  he  was  sincerely  glad  to  sea 
his  sisters ;  but  in  their  glow  of  fervour  and  flow  of  joy 
he  could  not  sympathise.  The  event  of  the  day — that 
is,  the  return  of  Diana  and  Mary — pleased  hirn ;  but 
the  accompaniments  of  that  event,  the  glad  tumult,  the 
garrulous  glee  of  reception,  irked  him  :  I  saw  he  wished  the 
calmer  morrow  was  come.  In  the  very  meridian  of  the 
night's  enjoyment,  about  an  hour  after  tea,  a  rap  was  heard 
at  the  door.  Hannah  entered  with  the  intimation  that  '  a 
poor  lad  was  come,  at  that  unlikely  tirrje,  to  fetch  Mr.  Eivers 
to  see  his  mother,  who  was  drawing  away.' 

'  Where  does  she  live,  Hannah  ? ' 

'  Clear  up   at  Whitcross  Brow,  almost  four  miles  oil 
and  moor  and  moss  all  the  way.' 

'  Tell  him  I  will  go.' 

'  I'm  sure,  sir,  you  had  better  not.  It's  the  worst  road 
to  travel  after  dark  that  can  be :  there's  no  track  at  all  over 


482  JANE  EYEE 

the  bog.  And  then  it  is  such  a  bitter  night — the  keenest 
wind  you  ever  felt.  You  had  better  send  word,  sir,  that  you 
will  be  there  in  the  morning/ 

But  he  was  already  in  the  passage,  putting  on  his  cloak ; 
and  without  one  objection,  one  murmur,  he  departed.  It 
was  then  nine  o'clock :  he  did  not  return  till  midnight- 
Starved  and  tired  enough  he  was :  but  he  looked  happier 
than  when  he  set  out.  He  had  performed  an  act  of  duty ; 
made  an  exertion;  felt  his  own  strength  to  do  and  deny, 
and  was  on  better  terms  with  himself. 

I  am  afraid  the  whole  of  the  ensuing  week  tried  his 
patience.  It  was  Christmas  week :  we  took  to  no  settled 
employment,  but  spent  it  in  a  sort  of  merry  domestic  dissi- 
pation. The  air  of  the  moors,  the  freedom  of  home,  the 
dawn  of  prosperity,  acted  on  Diana  and  Mary's  spirits  like 
some  life-giving  elixir:  they  were  gay  from  morning  till 
noon,  and  from  noon  till  night.  They  could  always  talk; 
and  their  discourse,  witty,  pithy,  original,  had  such  charms 
for  me,  that  I  preferred  listening  to,  and  sharing  in  it,  to 
doing  anything  else.  St.  John  did  not  rebuke  our  vivacity ; 
but  he  escaped  from  it:  he  was  seldom  in  the  house;  his 
parish  was  large,  the  population  scattered,  and  he  found 
daily  business  in  visiting  the  sick  and  poor  in  its  different 
districts. 

One  morning,  at  breakfast,  Diana,  after  looking  a  little 
pensive  for  some  minutes,  asked  him, ( If  his  plans  were  yet 
unchanged?' 

*  Unchanged  and  unchangeable,'  was  the  reply.  And  he 
proceeded  to  inform  us  that  his  departure  from  England  was 
now  definitively  fixeij  for  the  ensuing  year. 

'And  Eosamond  Oliver?'  suggested  Mary:  the  words 
seeming  to  escape  her  lips  involuntarily :  for  no  sooner  had 
she  uttered  them,  than  she  made  a  gesture  as  if  wishing  to 
recall  them.  St.  John  had  a  book  in  his  hand — it  was  his 
unsocial  custom  to  read  at  meals — he  closed  it,  and  looked 
up. 

'  Eosamond  Oliver/  said  he,  '  is  about  to  be  married  to 


JANE  EYEB  483 

Mr.  Granby ;  one  of  the  best  connected  and  most  estimable 

residents  in  S ,  grandson  and  heir  to  Sir  Frederic 

Granby:  I  had  the  intelligence  from  her  father  yester- 
day/ 

His  sisters  looked  at  each  other,  and  at  me ;  we  all  three 
looked  at  him  :  he  was  serene  as  glass. 

1  The  match  must  have  been  got  up  hastily/  said  Diana : 
'  thfey  cannot  have  known  each  other  long ' 

•  But  two  months  :  they  met  in  October  at  the  county 

ball  at  S .  But  where  there  are  no  obstacles  to  a  union, 

as  in  the  present  case,  where  the  connection  is  in  every 
point  desirable,  delays  are  unnecessary  :  they  will  be  married 

as  soon  as  S Place,  which  Sir  Frederic  gives  up  to 

them,  cats  be  refitted  lor  their  reception/ 

The  first  time  I  found  St.  John  alone  after  this  com- 
munication, I  felt  tempted  to  inquire  if  the  event  distressed 
him :  but  he  seemed  so  little  to  need  sympathy,  that,  so  far 
from  venturing  to  offer  him  more,  I  experienced  some  shame 
at  the  recollection  of  what  I  had  already  hazarded.  Besides, 
( was  out  of  practice  in  talking  to  him  :  his  reserve  was  again 
frozen  over,  and  my  frankness  was  congealed  beneath  it. 
He  had  not  kept  his  promise  of  treating  me  like  his  sisters ; 
he  continually  made  little  chilling  differences  between  us, 
which  did  not  at  ail  tend  to  the  development  of  cordiality : 
in  short,  now  that  I  was  acknowledged  his  kinswoman,  and 
lived  under  the  same  root  with  him,  I  felt  the  distance 
between  us  to  be  far  greater  than  when  he  had  known  me 
only  as  the  village  schoolmistress.  When  I  remembered 
how  far  I  had  once  been  admitted  to  his  confidence,  I  could 
hardly  comprehend  his  present  frigidity. 

Such  being  the  case,  I  felt  not  a  little  surprised  when  he 
raised  his  head  suddenly  from  the  desk  over  which  he  was 
stooping,  and  said : — '  You  see,  Jane,  the  battle  is  fought 
and  the  victory  won/ 

Startled  at  being  thus  addressed,  I  did  not  immediately 
reply  :  after  a  moment's  hesitation  I  answered : — '  But  are 
you  sure  you  are  not  in  the  position  of  those  conquerors 


484  JANE  EYEB 

whose  triumphs  have  cost  them  too  dear  ?  Would  not  such 
another  ruin  you  ?  ' 

'  I  think  not ;  and  if  I  were,  it  does  not  much  signify ; 
I  shall  never  be  called  upon  to  contend  for  such  another. 
The  event  of  the  conflict  is  decisive :  my  way  is  now  clear ; 
I  thank  God  for  it ! '  So  saying,  he  returned  to  his  papers 
and  his  silence. 

As  our  mutual  happiness  (i.e.  Diana's,  Mary's,  and  mihe) 
settled  into  a  quieter  character,  and  we  resumed  our  usual 
habits  and  regular  studies,  St.  John  stayed  more  at  home  : 
ho  sat  with  us  in  the  same  room,  sometimes  for  hours 
together.  While  Mary  drew,  Diana  pursued  a  course  of 
encyclopaedic  reading  she  had  (to  my  awe  and  amazement) 
undertaken,  and  I  fagged  away  at  German,  he  pondered 
a  mystic  lore  of  his  own :  that  of  some  Eastern  tongue, 
the  acquisition  of  which  he  thought  necessary  to  his 
plans. 

Thus  engaged,  he  appeared,  sitting  in  his  own  recess, 
quiet  and  absorbed  enough ;  but  that  blue  eye  of  his  had 
a  habit  of  leaving  the  outlandish-looking  grammar,  and 
wandering  over,  and  sometimes  fixing  upon  us,  his  fellow 
students,  with  a  curious  intensity  of  observation  :  if  caught, 
it  would  be  instantly  withdrawn  ;  yet  ever  and  anon  it  re- 
turned searchmgly  to  our  table.  I  wondered  what  it  meant : 
I  wondered,  too,  at  the  punctual  satisfaction  he  never  failed 
to  exhibit  on  an  occasion  that  seemed  to  me  of  small 
moment,  namely, — my  weekly  visit  to  Morton  school ;  and 
still  more  was  I  puzzled  when,  if  the  day  was  unfavourable, 
if  there  was  snow,  or  rain,  or  high  wind,  and  his  sisters 
urged  me  not  to  go,  he  would  invariably  make  light  of  their 
solicitude,  and  encourage  me  to  accomplish  the  task  without 
regard  to  the  elements. 

'  Jane  is  not  such  a  weakling  as  you  would  make  her/ 
he  would  say :  '  she  can  bear  a  mountain  blast,  or  a  shower, 
or  a  few  flakes  of  snow,  as  well  as  any  of  us.  Her  con- 
stitution is  bQth  sound  and  elastic ; — better  calculated  to 
endure  variations  of  climate  than  many  more  robust.' 


JANE  EYEE  485 

And  when  I  returned,  sometimes  a  good  deal  tired  and 
not  a  little  weather-beaten,  I  never  dared  complain,  because 
I  saw  that  to  murmur  would  be  to  vex  him  :  on  all  occasions 
fortitude  pleased  him;  the  reverse  was  a  special  annoy- 
ance. 

One  afternoon,  however,  I  got  leave  to  stay  at  home, 
because  I  really  had  a  cold.  His  sisters  were  gone  to 
Morton  in  my  stead  :  I  sat  reading  Schiller ;  he,  deciphering 
his  crabbed  Oriental  scrolls.  As  I  exchanged  a  translation 
for  an  exercise,  I  happened  to  look  his  way :  there  I  found 
myself  under  the  influence  of  the  ever-watchful  blue  eye. 
How  long  it  had  been  searching  me  through  and  through, 
and  over  and  over,  I  cannot  tell :  so  keen  was  it,  and  yet  so 
cold,  I  felt  for  the  moment  superstitious — as  if  I  were  sitting 
in  the  room  with  something  uncanny. 

1  Jane,  what  are  you  doing? ' 

1  Learning  German.' 

'  I  want  you  to  give  up  German,  and  learn  Hindostanee.' 

1  You  are  not  in  earnest  ? ' 

1  In  such  earnest  that  I  must  have  it  so :  and  I  will  tell 
you  why/ 

He  then  went  on  to  explain  that  Hindostanee  was  the 
language  he  was  himself  at  present  studying :  that,  as  he 
advanced,  he  was  apt  to  forget  the  commencement ;  that  it 
would  assist  him  greatly  to  have  a  pupil  with  whom  he 
might  again  and  again  go  over  the  elements,  and  so  fix 
them  thoroughly  in  his  mind  ;  that  his  choice  had  hovered 
for  some  time  between  me  and  his  sisters ;  but  that  he  had 
fixed  on  me,  because  he  saw  I  could  sit  at  a  task  the  longest 
of  the  three.  Would  I  do  him  this  favour  ?  I  should  not, 
perhaps,  Have  to  make  the  sacrifice  long ;  as  it  wanted  now 
barely  three  months  to  his  departure. 

St.  John  was  not  a  man  to  be  lightly  refused :  you  felt 
that  every  impression  made  on  him,  either  for  pain  or 
pleasure,  was  deep-graved  and  permanent.  I  consented. 
When  Diana  and  Mary  returned,  the  former  found  her 
scholar  transferred  from  her  to  her  brother  :  she  laughed ; 


486  JANE  EYEE 

and  both  she  and  Mary  agreed  that  St.  John  should  never 
have  persuaded  them  to  such  a  step..  He  answered,  quietly : 
1 1  know  it/ 

I  found  him  a  very  patient,  very  forbearing,  and  yet  an 
exacting  master :  he  expected  me  to  do  a  great  deal ;  and 
when  I  fulfilled  his  expectations,  he,  in  his  own  way,  fully 
testified  his  approbation.  By  degrees,  he  acquired  a  certain 
influence  over  me  that  took  away  my  liberty  of  mind :  his 
praise  and  notice  were  more  restraining  than  his  indifference. 
I  could  no  longer  talk  or  laugh  freely  when  he  was  by, 
because  a  tiresomely  importunate  instinct  reminded  me  that 
vivacity  (at  least  in  me)  was  distasteful  to  him.  I  was  so 
fully  aware  that  only  serious  moods  and  occupations  were 
acceptable,  that  in  his  presence  every  effort  to  sustain  or 
follow  any  other  became  vain  :  I  fell  under  a  freezing  spell. 
When  he  said  'go,1  I  went ,  ' come/  I  came ;  '  do  this/  I 
did  it.  But  I  did  not  love  my  servitude  :  I  wished,  many  a 
time,  he  had  continued  to  neglect  me. 

One  evening  when,  at  bedtime,  his  sisters  and  I  stood 
round  him,  bidding  him  good-night,  he  kissed  each  of  them,  as 
was  his  custom ;  and,  as  was  equally  his  custom,  he,  gave 
me  his  hand.  Diana,  who  chanced  to  be  in  a  frolicsome 
humour  (she  was  not  painfully  controlled  by  his  will ;  for 
hers,  in  another  way,  was  as  strong),  exclaimed : — '  St. 
John !  you  used  to  call  Jane  your  third  sister,  but  you  don't 
treat  her  as  such .  you  should  kiss  her  too/ 

She  pushed  me  towards  him.  I  thought  Diana  very 
provoking,  and  felt  uncomfortably  confused;  and  while  I 
was  thus  thinking  and  feeling,  St.  John  bent  his  head ;  his 
Greek  face  was  brought  to  a  level  with  mine,  his  eyes 
questioned  my  eyes  piercingly — he  kissed  me.  There  are 
no  such  things  as  marble  kisses,  or  ice  kisses,  or  I  should 
say  my  ecclesiastical  cousin's  salute  belonged  to  one  of 
these  classes ;  but  there  may  be  experiment  kisses,  and  his 
was  an  experiment  kiss.  When  given,  he  viewed  me  to 
learn  the  result ;  it  was  not  striking :  I  am  sure  I  did  not 
blush ;  perhaps  I  might  have  turned  a  little  pale,  for  I  felt 


JANE  EYBE  487 

as  if  this  kiss  were  a  seal  affixed  to  my  fetters.  He  never 
omitted  the  ceremony  afterwards,  and  the  gravity  and 
quiescence  with  which  I  underwent  it  seemed  to  invest  it 
for  him  with  a  certain  charm. 

As  for  me,  I  daily  wished  more  to  please  him :  but  to  do 
so,  I  felt  daily  more  and  more  that  I  must  disown  half  my 
nature,  stifle  half  my  faculties,  wrest  my  tastes  from  their 
original  bent,  force  myself  to  the  adoption  of  pursuits  for 
which  I  had  no  natural  vocation.  He  wanted  to  train  me  to 
an  elevation  I  could  never  reach ;  it  racked  me  hourly  to  aspire 
to  the  standard  he  uplifted.  The  thing  was  as  impossible 
as  to  mould  my  irregular  features  to  his  correct  and  classic 
pattern,  to  give  to  my  changeable  green  eyes  the  sea-blue 
tint  and  solemn  lustre  of  his  own. 

Not  his  ascendancy  alone,  however,  held  me  in  thrall  at 
present.  Of  late  it  had  been  easy  enough  for  me  to  look 
sad  :  a  cankering  evil  sat  at  my  heart  and  drained  my  hap- 
piness at  its  source — the  evil  of  suspense. 

Perhaps  you  think  I  had  forgotten  Mr.  Eochester, 
reader,  amidst  these  changes  of  place  and  fortune.  Not  for 
a  moment.  His  idea  was  still  with  me*;  because  it  was  not 
a  vapour  sunshine  could  disperse ;  nor  a  sand-traced  effigy 
storms  could  wash  away :  it  was  a  name  graven  on  a  tablet, 
fated  to  last  as  long  as  the  marble  it  inscribed.  The  craving 
to  know  what  had  become  of  him  followed  me  everywhere ; 
when  I  was  at  Morton,  I  re-entered  my  cottage  every  even- 
ing to  think  of  that :  and  now  at  Moor  House,  I  sought  my 
bedroom  each  night  to  brood  over  it. 

In  the  course  of  my  necessary  correspondence  with  Mr. 
Briggs  about  the  will,  I  had  inquired  if  he  knew  anything  of 
Mr.  Eochester's  present  residence  and  state  of  health  ;  but, 
as  St.  John  had  conjectured,  he  was  quite  ignorant  of  all 
concerning  him.  I  then  wrote  to  Mrs.  Fairfax,  entreating 
information  on  the  subject.  *  I  had  calculated  with  certainty 
on  this  step  answering  my  end :  I  felt  sure  it  would  elicit  an 
early  answer.  I  was  astonished  when  a  fortnight  passed 
without  reply ;  but  when  two  months  wore  away,  and  day 


488  JANE  EYEB 

after  day  the  post  arrived  and  brought  nothing  for  me,  I  fell 
a  prey  to  the  keenest  anxiety. 

I  wrote  again :  there  was  a  chance  of  my  first  letter 
having  missed.  Eenewed  hope  followed  renewed  effort :  it 
shone  like  the  former  for  some  weeks,  then,  like  it,  it  faded, 
flickered  :  not  a  line,  not  a  word  reached  me.  When  half  a 
year  wasted  in  vain  expectancy  my  hope  died  out :  and  then 
I  felt  dark  indeed. 

A  fine  spring  shone  round  me,  which  I  could  not  enjoy. 
Summer  approached  ;  Diana  tried  to  cheer  me :  she  said  I 
looked  ill,  and  wished  to  accompany  me  to  the  sea-side.  This 
St.  John  opposed ;  he  said  I  did  not  want  dissipation,  I  wanted 
employment ;  my  present  life  was  too  purposeless,  i  required 
an  aim ;  and,  I  suppose,  by  way  of  supplying  deficiencies,  he 
prolonged  still  further  my  lessons  in  Hindostanee,  and  grew 
more  urgent  in  requiring  their  accomplishment :  and  I,  like 
a  fool,  never  thought  of  resisting  him — I  could  not  resist 
him. 

One  day  I  had  come  to  my  studies  in  lower  spirits  than 
usual;  the  ebb  was  occasioned  by  a  poignantly  felt  dis- 
appointment: Hannah  had  told  me  in  the  morning  there 
was  a  letter  for  me,  and  when  I  went  dtfwn  to  take  it,  almost 
certain  that  the  long  looked-for  tidings  were  vouchsafed  me 
at  last,  I  found  only  an  unimportant  note  from  Mr.  Briggs 
on  business.  The  bitter  check  had  wrung  from  me  some 
tears ;  and  now  as  I  sat  poring  over  the  crabbed  characters 
and  flourishing  tropes  of  an  Indian  scribe,  my  eyes  filled 
again. 

St.  John  called  me  to  his  side  to  read ;  in  attempting  to 
do  this  my  voice  failed  me :  words  were  lost  in  sobs.  He 
and  I  were  the  only  occupants  of  the  parlour :  Diana  was 
practising  her  music  in  the  drawing-room,  Mary  was  garden- 
ing— it  was  a  very  fine  May-day,  clear,  sunny,  and  breezy. 
My  companion  expressed  no  surprise  at  this  emotion,  nor 
did  he  question  me  as  to  its  cause ;  he  only  said : — *  We  will 
wait  a  few  minutes,  Jane,  till  you  are  more  composed/  And 
while  I  smothered  the  paroxysm  with  all  haste,  he  sat  calm 


JANE  EYEE  489 

and  patient,  leaning  on  his  desk  and  looking  like  a  physician 
watching  with  the  eye  of  science  an  expected  and  fully- 
understood  crisis  in  a  patient's  malady.  Having  stifled  my 
sobs,  wiped  my  eyes,  and  muttered  something  about  not 
being  very  well  that  morning,  I  resumed  my  task,  and 
succeeded  in  completing  it.  St.  John  put  away  my  books 
and  his,  locked  his  desk,  and  said : — '  Now,  Jane,  you  shall 
tako  a  walk ;  and  with  me.* 
5 1  will  call  Diana  and  Mary.* 

'No.  I  want  only  one  companion  this  morning,  and 
that  must  be  you :  put  on  your  things ;  go  out  by  the 
kitchen  door;  tako  the  road  towards  the  head  of  Marsh 
Glen  :  I  \vill  join  you  in  a  moment.' 

I  know  no  medium :  I  never  in  my  life  have  known  any 
medium  in  my  dealings  with  positive,  hard  characters, 
antagonistic  to  my  own,  between  absolute  submission  and 
determined  revolt.  I  have  always  faithfully  observed  the 
one,  up  to  tho  very  moment  of  bursting,  sometimes  with 
volcanic  vehemence,  into  the  other ;  and  as  neither  present 
circumstances  warranted,  nor  my  present  mood  inclined  me 
to  mutiny,  I  observed  careful  obedience  to  St.  John's  direc- 
tions;  and  in  ten  minutes  I  was  treading  the  wild  ti»ck  of 
the  glen,  side  by  side  with  him. 

The  breeze  was  from  the  west :  it  camo  over  the  hill, 
sweet  with  scents  of  heath  and  rush  ;  the  sky  was  of  stain- 
less blue ;  the  stream  descending  the  ravine,  swelled  with 
past  spring  rains,  poured  along  plentiful  and  clear,  catching 
golden  gleams  from  the  sun,  and  sapphire  tints  from  the 
firmament.  As  we  advanced  and  left  the  track,  we  trod  a 
soft  turf,  mossy  fine  and  emerald  green,  minutely  enamelled 
with  a  tiny  white  flower  and  spangled  with  a  star-like 
yellow  blossom :  the  hills,  meantime,  shut  us  quite  in ;  for 
the  glen,  towards  its  head,  wound  to  their  very  core. 

1  Let  us  rest  here,'  said  St.  John,  as  we  reached  the  first 
stragglers  of  a  battalion  of  rocks,  guarding  a  sort  of  pass, 
beyond  which  the  beck  rushed  down  a  waterfall;  and 
where,  still  a  little  further,  the  mountain  shook  off  turf  and 


490  JANE  EYBB 

flower,  had  only  heath  for  raiment,  and  crag  for  gem — 
where  it  exaggerated  the  wild  to  the  savage,  and  exchanged 
the  fresh  for  the  frowning — where  it  guarded  the  forlorn 
hope  of  solitude,  and  a  last  refuge  for  silence. 

I  took  a  seat :  St.  John  stood  near  me.  He  looked  up  the 
pass  and  down  the  hollow ;  his  glance  wandered  away  with 
the  stream,  and  returned  to  traverse  the  unclouded  heaven 
which  coloured  it :  he  removed  his  hat,  let  the  breeze  stir 
his  hair  and  kiss  his  brow.  He  seemed  in  communion  with 
the  genius  of  the  haunt :  with  his  eye  he  bade  farewell  to 
something. 

1  And  I  shall  see  it  again/  he  said  aloud,  '  in  dreams, 
when  I  sleep  by  the  Ganges  :  and  again,  in  a  more  remote 
hour — when  another  slumber  overcomes  mo — on  the  shore 
of  a  darker  stream.' 

Strange  words  of  a  strange  love  !  An  austere  patriot's 
passion  for  his  fatherland !  He  sat  down ;  for  half  an  hour 
we  never  spoke ;  neither  he  to  me  nor  I  to  him :  that  in- 
terval past,  he  recommenced  : — '  Jane,  I  go  in  six  weeks ;  I 
have  taken  my  berth  in  an  East  Indiarnan  which  sails  on 
the  twentieth  of  June.' 

I  God  will  protect  you ;  for  you  have  undertaken  His 
work,'  I  answered. 

'Yes,'  said  he,*' there  is  my  glory  and  joy.  I  am  the 
servant  of  an  infallible  master.  I  am  not  going  out  under 
human  guidance,  subject  to  the  defective  laws  and  erring 
control  of  my  feeble  fellow- worms :  my  king,  my  lawgiver, 
my  captain,  is  the  All-perfect.  It  seems  strange  to  me  that 
all  round  me  do  not  burn  to  enlist  under  the  same  banner, — 
to  join  in  the  same  enterprise/ 

'  All  have  not  your  powers  :  and  it  would  be  folly  for  the 
feeble  to  wish  to  march  with  the  strong.' 

I 1  do  not  speak  to  the  feeble,  or  think  of  them :  I  address 
only  such  as  are  worthy  of  the  work,  and  competent  to 
accomplish  it/ 

'  Those  are  few  in  number,  and  difficult  to  discover/ 
1  You  sav  trulv  :  but  when  found,  it  is  riffht  to  atir 


JANE  EYBB  491 

up—to  urge  and  exhort  them  to  the  effort— to  show  them 
what  their  gifts  are,  and  why  they  were  given — to  speak 
Heaven's  message  in  their  ear, — to  offer  them,  direct  from 
God,  a  place  in  the  ranks  of  His  chosen.' 

1  If  they  are  really  qualified  for  the  task,  will  not  their 
own  hearts  be  the  first  to  inform  them  of  it  ?  ' 

I  felt  as  if  an  awful  charm  was  framing  round  and 
gathering  over  me:  I  trembled  to  hear  some  fatal  word 
spoken  which  would  at  once  declare  and  rivet  the  spell. 
'  And  what  does  your  heart  say  ? '  demanded  St.  John. 
1  My  heart  is  mute, — my  heart  is  mute/  I  answered, 
struck  and  thrilled. 

'Then  I  must  speak  for  it/  continued  the  deep,  relentless 
voice.  '  Jane,  come  with  me  to  India :  come  as  my  help- 
meet and  fellow-labourer ' 

The  glen  and  sky  spun  round :  the  hills  heaved !  It  was 
as  if  I  had  heard  a  summons  from  Heaven — as  if  a  visionary 
messenger,  like  him  of  Macedonia,  had  enounced, '  Come  over 
and  help  us  I '  But  I  was  no  apostle, — I  could  not  behold 
the  herald, — I  could  not  receive  his  call. 

'  Oh,  St.  John ! '  I  cried,  '  have  some  mercy  f ' 
I  appealed  to  one  who,  in  the  discharge  of  what  he 
believed  his  duty,  knew  neither  mercy  nor  remorse.  He 
continued  : — '  God  and  nature  intended  you  for  a  missionary's 
wife.  It  is  not  personal,  but  mental  endowments  they 
have  given  you :  you  are  formed  for  labour,  not  for  love.  A 
missionary's  wife  you  must — shall  be.  You  shall  be  mine : 
I  claim  you— not  for  my  pleasure,  but  for  my  Sovereign's 
service/ 

'  I  am  not  fit  for  it :  I  have  no  vocation/  I  said. 
He  had  calculated  on  these  first  objections :  he  was  not 
irritated  by  them.  Indeed,  as  he  leaned  back  against  the 
crag  behind  him,  folded  his  arms  on  his  chest,  and  fixed  his 
countenance,  I  saw  he  was  prepared  for  a  long  and  trying 
opposition,  and  had  taken  in  a  stock  of  patience  to  last  him 
to  its  close— resolved,  however,  that  that  close  should  be 
conquest  for  him. 


492  JANE  EYBE 

1  Humility,  Jane/  said  he, '  is  the  groundwork  of  Christian 
virtues :  you  say  right  that  you  are  not  fit  for  the  work. 
Who  is  fit  for  it?  Or  who,  that  ever  was  truly  called, 
believed  himself  worthy  of  the  summons  ?  I,  for  instance, 
am  but  dust  and  ashes.  With  St.  Paul,  I  acknowledge 
myself  the  chiefest  of  sinners  :  but  I  do  not  suffer  this  sense 
of  my  personal  vileness  to  daunt  me.  I  know  my  Leader  : 
that  He  is  just  as  well  as  mighty ;  and  while  He  has  chosen 
a  feeble  instrument  to  perform  a  great  task,  He  will,  from 
the  boundless  stores  of  His  providence,  supply  the  inadequacy 
of  the  means  to  the  end.  Think  like  me,  Jane — trust  like  me. 
It  is  the  Eock  of  Ages  I  ask  you  to  lean  on  :  do  not  doubt 
but  it  will  bear  the  weight  of  your  human  weakness.1 

'  I  do  not  understand  a  missionary  life :  I  have  never 
studied  missionary  labours.' 

1  There,  I,  humble  as  I  am,  can  give  you  the  aid  you 
want :  I  can  set  you  your  task  from  hour  to  hour ;  stand  by 
you  always ;  help  you  from  moment  to  moment.  This  I 
could  do  in  the  beginning :  soon  (for  I  know  your  powers)  you 
would  be  as  strong  and  apt  as  myself,  and  would  not  require 
my  help.' 

1  But  my  powers — where  are  they  for  this  undertaking  ? 
I  do  not  feel  them.  Nothing  speaks  or  stirs  in  me  while 
you  talk.  I  am  sensible  of  no  light  kindling — no  life 
quickening — no  voice  counselling  or  cheering.  Oh,  I  wish  I 
could  make  you  see  how  much  my  mind  is  at  this  moment 
like  a  rayless  dungeon,  with  one  shrinking  fear  fettered  in 
its  depths — the  fear  of  being  persuaded  by  you  to  attempt 
what  I  cannot  accomplish ! ' 

'  I  have  an  answer  for  you — hear  it.  I  have  watched 
you  ever  since  wo  first  met :  I  have  made  you  my  study  for 
ten  months.  I  have  proved  you  in  that  time  by  sundry 
tests :  and  what  have  I  seen  and  elicited  ?  In  the  village 
school  I  found  you  could  perform  well,  punctually,  uprightly, 
labour  uncongenial  to  your  habits  and  inclinations ;  I  saw 
you  could  perform  it  with  capacity  and  tact :  you  could  win 
while  you  controlled.  In  the  calm  with  which  you  learnt 


JANE  EYEE  493 

you  had  become  suddenly  rich,  I  read  a  mind  clear  of  the 
vice  of  Demas : — lucre  had  no  undue  power  over  you.  In 
the  resolute  readiness  with  which  you  cut  your  wealth  into 
four  shares,  keeping  but  one  to  yourself,  and  relinquishing 
the  three  others  to  the  claim  of  abstract  justice,  I  recognised 
a  soul  that  revelled  in  the  flame  and  excitement  of  sacrifice. 
In  the  tractability  with  which,  at  my  wish,  you  forsook  a 
study  in  which  you  were  interested,  and  adopted  another 
because  it  interested  me;  in  the  untiring  assiduity  with 
which  you  have  since  persevered  in  it — in  the  unflagging 
energy  and  unshaken  temper  with  which  you  have  met  its 
difficulties — I  acknowledge  the  complement  of  the  qualities 
1  seek.  Jane,  you  are  docile,  diligent,  disinterested,  faithful, 
constant,  and  courageous ;  very  gentle,  and  very  heroic : 
cease  to  mistrust  yourself — I  can  trust  you  unreservedly. 
As  a  conductress  of  Indian  schools,  and  a  helper  amongst 
Indian  women,  your  assistance  will  be  to  me  invaluable.1 

My  iron  shroud  contracted  round  me ;  persuasion  ad- 
vanced with  slow  sure  step.  Shut  my  eyes  as  I  would, 
these  last  words  of  his  succeeded  in  making  the  way,  which 
had  seemed  blocked  up,  comparatively  clear.  My  work, 
which  had  appeared  so  vague,  so  hopelessly  diffuse,  con- 
densed itself  as  he  proceeded,  and  assumed  a  definite  form 
under  his  shaping  hand.  He  waited  for  an  answer.  1 
demanded  a  quarter  of  an  hour  to  think,  before  I  again 
hazarded  a  reply 

'  Very  willingly,1  he  rejoined :  and  rising,  he  strode  a  little 
distance  up  the  pass,  threw  himself  down  on  a  swell  of  heath, 
and  there  lay  still. 

'  I  can  do  what  he  wants  me  to  do  :  I  am  forced  to  see 
and  acknowledge  that/  I  meditated — 'That  is,  if  life  be 
spared  me.  But  I  feel  mine  is  not  the  existence  to  be  long 
protracted  under  an  Indian  sun. — What  then?  He  does 
not  care  for  that :  when  my  time  came  to  die  he  would  resign 
me,  in  all  serenity  and  sanctity,  to  the  God  who  gave  me. 
The  case  is  very  plain  before  me.  In  leaving  England,  I 
should  leave  a  loved  but  empty  land — Mr.  Rochester  is  not 


494:  JANE  EYEB 

there  :  and  if  he  were,  what  is,  what  can  that  ever  be  to  me? 
My  business  is  to  live  without  him  now  :  nothing  so  absurd, 
so  weak  as  to  drag  on  from  day  to  day,  as  if  I  were  waiting 
some  impossible  change  in  circumstances,  which  might  re- 
unite me  to  him.  Of  course  (as  St.  John  once  said)  I  must 
seek  another  interest  in  life  to  replace  the  one  lost :  is  not 
the  occupation  he  now  offers  me  truly  the  most  glorious 
man  can  adopt  or  God  assign  ?  Is  it  not,  by  its  noble  cares 
and  sublime  results,  the  one  best  calculated  to  fill  the  void 
left  by  uptorn  affections  and  demolished  hopes  ?  I  believe 
I  must  say,  Yes — and  yet  I  shudder.  Alas  1  If  I  join  St. 
John,  I  abandon  half  myself :  if  I  go  to  India,  I  go  to  pre- 
mature death.  And  how  will  the  interval  between  leaving 
England  for  India,  and  India  for  the  grave,  be  filled  ?  Oh, 
I  know  well  1  That,  too,  is  very  clear  to  my  vision.  By 
straining  to  satisfy  St.  John  till  my  sinews  ache,  I  shall 
satisfy  him — to  the  finest  central  po'int  and  farthest  outward 
circle  of  his  expectations.  If  I  do  go  with  him — if  I  do  make 
the  sacrifice  he  urges,  I  will  make  it  absolutely :  I  will  throw 
all  on  the  altar — heart,  vitals,  the  entire  victim.  He  will 
never  love  me ;  but  he  shall  approve  me ;  I  will  show  him 
energies  he  has  not  yet  seen,  resources  he  has  never  suspected. 
Yes :  I  can  work  as  hard  as  he  can ;  and  with  as  little 
grudging. 

'  Consent,  then,  to  his  demand  is  possible :  but  for  one 
item — one  dreadful  item.  It  is — that  he  asks  me  to  be  his 
wife,  and  has  no  more  of  a  husband's  heart  for  me  than  that 
frowning  giant  of  a  rock,  down  which  the  stream  is  foaming 
in  yonder  gorge.  He  prizes  me  as  a  soldier  would  a  good 
weapon ;  and  that  is  all.  Unmarried  to  him,  this  would 
never  grieve  me  ;  but  can  I  let  him  complete  his  calculations 
— coolly  put  into  practice  his  plans — go  through  the  wedding 
ceremony  ?  Can  I  receive  from  him  the  bridal  ring,  endure 
all  the  forms  of  love  (which  I  doubt  not  he  would  scrupu- 
lously observe)  and  know  that  the  spirit  was  quite  absent  ? 
Can  I  bear  the  consciousness  that  every  endearment  he 
bestows  is  a  sacrifice  made  on  principle?  No:  such  a 


JANE  EYEE  495 

martyrdom  would  be  monstrous.  I  will  never  undergo  it. 
As  his  sister,  I  might  accompany  him — not  as  his  wife :  I 
will  tell  him  so.1 

I  looked  towards  the  knoll:  there  he  lay,  still  as  a 
prostrate  column ;  his  face  turned  to  me :  his  eye  beaming 
watchful,  and  keen.     He  started  to  his  feet,  and  approached 
me. 

I 1  am  ready  to  go  to  India,  if  I  may  go  free.' 

1  Your  answer  requires  a  commentary/  he  said ;  '  it  is 
not  clear.' 

'  You  have  hitherto  been  my  adopted  brother :  I,  your 
adopted  sister ;  let  us  continue  as  such :  you  and  I  had 
better  not  marry.' 

He  shook  his  head.  *  Adopted  fraternity  will  not  do  in 
this  case.  If  you  were  my  real  sister  it  would  be  different : 
I  should  take  you  and  seek  no  wife.  But  as  it  is,  either  our 
union  must  be  consecrated  and  sealed  by  marriage,  or  it 
cannot  exist :  practical  obstacles  oppose  themselves  to  any 
other  plan.  Do  you  not  see  it,  Jane  ?  Consider  a  moment 
— your  strong  sense  will  guide  you/ 

I  did  consider :  and  still  my  sense,  such  as  it  was, 
directed  me  only  to  the  fact  that  we  did  not  love  each  other 
as  man  and  wife  should ;  and  therefore  it  inferred  we  ought 
not  to  marry.  I  said  so.  '  St.  John/  I  returned,  '  I  regard 
you  as  a  brother — you,  me  as  a  sister  :  so  let  us  continue/ 

*  We  cannot — we  cannot/  he  answered,  with  short,  sharp 
determination :  '  it  would  not  do.  You  have  said  you  will 
go  with  me  to  India  :  remember — you  have  said  that.' 

1  Conditionally.' 

'Well — well.  To  the  main  point — the  departure  with 
me  from  England,  the  co-operation  with  me  in  my  future 
labours — you  do  not  object.  You  have  already  as  good  as 
put  your  hand  to  the  plough :  you  are  too  consistent  to 
withdraw  it.  You  have  but  one  end  to  keep  in  view-— how 
the  work  you  have  undertaken  can  best  be  done.  Simplify 
your  complicated  interests,  feelings,  thoughts,  wishes,  aims ; 
merge  all  considerations  in  one  purpose :  that  of  fulfilling 


496  JANE  EYEB 

with  effect — with  power — the  mission  of  your  great  Master. 
To  do  so,  you  must  have  a  coadjutor — not  a  brother ;  that  is 
a  loose  tie  :  but  a  husband.  I,  too,  do  not  want  a  sister ;  a 
sister  might  any  day  be  taken  from  me.  I  want  a  wife  :  the 
sole  helpmeet  I  can  influence  efficiently  in  life  and  retain 
absolutely  till  death.' 

I  shuddered  as  he  spoke :  I  felt  his  influence  in  my 
marrow — his  hold  on  my  limbs 

'  Seek  one  elsewhere  than  in  me,  St  John :  seek  one 
fitted  to  you.' 

'One  fitted  to  my  purpose,  you  mean — fitted  to  my 
vocation.  Again  I  tell  you  it  is  not  the  insignificant  private 
individual — the  mere  man,  with  the  man's  selfish  senses — I 
wish  to  mate :  it  is  the  missionary.1 

'  And  I  will  give  the  missionary  my  energies — it  is  all  he 
wants — but  not  myseli :  that  would  be  only  adding  the  husk 
and  shell  to  the  kernel.  For.  them  he  has  no  use  :  I  retain 
them/ 

'  You  cannot — you  ought  not.  Do  you  think  God  will  be 
satisfied  with  half  an  oblation  ?  Will  He  accept  a  mutilated 
sacrifice  ?  It  is  the  cause  of  God  I  advocate  :  it  is  under 
His  standard  I  enlist  you.  I  cannot  accept  on  His  behalf  a 
divided  allegiance :  it  must  be  entire.' 

'  Oh !  I  will  give  my  heart  to  God,'  I  said.  '  You  do  not 
want  it.' 

I  will  not  swear,  reader,  that  there  was  not  something  of 
repressed  sarcasm  both  in  the  tone  in  which  I  uttered  this 
sentence,  and  in  the  feeling  that  accompanied  it.  I  had 
silently  feared  St.  John  till  now,  because  I  had  not  under- 
stood Kim.  He  had  held  me  in  awe,  because  he  had  held 
me  in  doubt.  How  much  of  him  was  saint,  how  much 
mortal,  I  could  not  heretofore  tell:  but  revelations  were 
being  made  in  this  conference :  the  analysis  of  his  nature 
was  proceeding  before  my  eyes.  I  saw  his  fallibilities :  I 
comprehended  them.  I  understood  that,  sitting  there  where 
I  did,  on  the  banK  of  heath,  and  with  that  handsome  form 
before  me,  I  sat  at  the  feet  of  a  man,  erring  as  I.  The  veil 


JANE  EYEB  497 

fell  from  his  hardness  and  despotism.  Having  felt  in  him 
the  presence  of  these  qualities,  I  felt  his  imperfection,  and 
took  courage.  I  was  with  an  equal — one  with  whom  I  might 
argue — one  whom,  if  I  saw  good,  I  might  resist. 

He  was  silent  after  I  had  uttered  the  last  sentence,  and 
I  presently  risked  an  upward  glance  at  his  countenance. 
His  eye,  bent  on  me,  expressed  at  once  stern  surprise  and 
keen  inquiry.  '  Is  she  sarcastic,  and  sarcastic  to  me  I1  it 
seemed  to  say.  '  What  does  this  signify  ? ' 

'  Do  not  let  us  forget  that  this  is  a  solemn  matter,1  he 
said  ere  long  :  '  one  of  which  we  may  neither  think  nor  talk 
lightly  without  sin.  I  trust,  Jane,  you  are  in  earnest  when 
you  say  you  will  give  your  heart  to  God  :  it  is  all  I  want, 
Once  wrench  your  heart  from  man,  and  fix  it  on  your  Maker, 
the  advancement  of  that  Maker's  spiritual  kingdom  on  earth 
will  be  your  chief  delight  and  endeavour ;  you  will  be  ready 
to  do  at  once  whatever  furthers  that  end.  You  will  see  what 
impetus  would  be  given  to  your  efforts  and  mine  by  our 
physical  and  mental  union  in  marriage  :  the  only  union  that 
gives  a  character  of  permanent  conformity  to  the  destinies 
and  designs  of  human  beings :  and,  passing  over  all  minor 
caprices — all  trivial  difficulties  and  delicacies  of  feeling — all 
scruple  about  the  degree,  kind,  strength  or  tenderness  of 
mere  personal  inclination — you  will  hasten  to  enter  into 
that  union  at  once/ 

1  Shall  I  ? '  I  said  briefly ;  and  I  looked  at  his  features, 
beautiful  in  their  harmony,  but  strangely  formidable  in  their 
still  severity  ;  at  his  brow,  commanding  but  not  open ;  at  his 
eyes,  bright  and  deep,  and  searching,  but  never  soft ;  at  his 
tall,  imposing  figure ;  and  fancied  myself  in  idea  his  wife. 
Oh  1  it  would  never  do !  As  his  curate,  his  comrade,  all 
would  be  right :  I  would  cross  oceans  with  him  in  that 
capacity ;  toil  under  eastern  suns,  in  Asian  deserts  with  him 
in  that  office ;  admire  and  emulate  his  courage  and  devotion, 
and  vigour ;  accommodate  quietly  to  his  masterhood ;  smile 
undisturbed  at  his  ineradicable  ambition ;  discriminate  the 
Christian  from  the  man :  profoundly  esteem  the  one,  and 


498  JANE  BYEE 

freely  forgive  the  other.  I  should  suffer  often,  no  doubt, 
attached  to  him  only  in  this  capacity  :  my  body  would  be 
under  rather  a  stringent  yoke,  but  my  heart  and  mind  would 
be  free.  I  should  still  have  my  unblighted  self  to  turn  to : 
my  natural  unenslaved  feelings  with  which  to  communicate 
in  moments  of  loneliness.  There  would  be  recesses  in  my 
mind  which  would  be  only  mine,  to  which  he  never  came ; 
and  sentiments  growing  there  fresh  and  sheltered,  which  Ms 
austerity  could  never  blight,  nor  his  measured  warrior-march 
trample  down :  but  as  his  wife — at  his  side  always,  and 
always  restrained,  and  always  checked — forced  to  keep  the 
fire  of  my  nature  continually  low,  to  compel  it  to  burn 
inwardly  and  never  utter  a  cry,  though  the  imprisoned  flame 
consumed  vital  after  vital — this  would  be  unendurable. 

1  St.  John  !  I  exclaimed,  when  I  had  got  so  far  in  my 
meditation. 

I  Well  ? '  he  answered  icily. 

I 1  repeat :  I  freely  consent  to  go  with  you  as  your  fellow- 
missionary  ;  but  not  as  your  wife ;  I  cannot  marry  you  and 
become  part  of  you.' 

'  A  part  of  me  you  must  become,1  he  answered  steadily ; 
1  otherwise  the  whole  bargain  is  void.  How  can  I,  a  man 
not  yet  thirty,  take  out  with  me  to  India  a  girl  of  nineteen, 
unless  she  be  married  to  me  ?  How  can  we  be  for  ever 
together — sometimes  in  solitudes,  sometimes  amidst  savage 
tribes — and  unwed  ? ' 

1  Very  well,1  I  said  shortly ;  '  under  the  circumstances, 
quite  as  well  as  if  I  were  either  your  real  sister,  or  a  man 
and  a  clergyman  like  yourself.' 

'  It  is  known  that  you  are  not  my  sister  ;  I  cannot  intro- 
duce you  as  such :  to  attempt  it  would  be  to  fasten  injurious 
suspicions  on  us  both.  And  for  the  rest,  though  you  have  a 
man's  vigorous  brain,  you  have  a  woman's  heart,  and — it 
would  not  do.' 

'  It  would  do,'  I  affirmed  with  some  disdain,  '  perfectly 
well.  I  have  a  woman's  heart ;  but  not  where  you  are  con- 
cerned; for  you  I  have  only  a  comrade's  constancy;  a 


JANE  EYBE  499 

fellow-soldier's  frankness,  fidelity,  fraternity,  if  you  like ; 
a  neophyte's  respect  and  submission  to  his  hierophant : 
nothing  more — don't  fear/ 

'  It  is  what  I  want/  he  said,  speaking  to  himself ;  'it  is 
just  what  I  want.  And  there  are  obstacles  in  the  way :  they 
must  be  hewn  down.  Jane,  you  would  not  repent  marrying 
me ;  be  certain  of  that ;  we  must  be  married.  I  repeat  it : 
there  is  no  other  way ;  and  undoubtedly  enough  of  love 
would  follow  upon  marriage  to  render  the  union  right  even 
in  your  eyes.' 

I  -I  scorn  your  idea  of  love/  I  could  not  help  saying,  as  I 
rose  up  and  stood  before  him,  leaning  my  back  against  the 
rock.     '  I  acorn  the  counterfeit  sentiment  you  offer :  yes,  St. 
John,  and  I  scorn  you  when  you  offer  it.' 

He  looked  at  me  fixedly :  compressing  his  well-cut  lips 
while  he  did  so.  Whether  he  was  incensed  or  surprised,  or 
what,  it  was  not  easy  to  tell :  he  could  command  his 
countenance  thoroughly. 

I 1  scarcely  expected  to  hear  that  expression  from  you,' 
he   said :  '  I   think  I  have  done  and  uttered  nothing  to 
deserve  scorn.' 

I  was  touched  by  his  gentle  tone,  and  overawed  by  his 
high,  calm  mien. 

1  Forgive  me  the  words,  St.  John :  but  it  is  your  own 
fault  that  I  have  been  roused  to  speak  so  unguardedly. 
You  have  introduced  a  topic  on  which  our  natures  are  at 
variance — a  topic  we  should  never  discuss  :  the  very  name 
of  love  is  an  apple  of  discord  between  us — if  the  reality 
were  required  what  should  we  do  ?  How  should  we  feel  ? 
My  dear  cousin,  abandon  your  scheme  of  marriage — 
forget  it.' 

'  No,'  said  he ;'  it  is  a  long-cherished  scheme,  and  the 
only  one  which  can  secure  my  great  end :  but  I  shall  urge 
you  no  further  at  present.  To-morrow  I  leave  home  for 
Cambridge :  I  have  many  friends  there  to  whom  I  should 
wish  to  say  farewell.  I  shall  be  absent  a  fortnight — take 
that  space  of  time  to  consider  my  offer :  and  do  not  forget 


500  JANE  BTBB 

that  if  you  reject  it,  it  is  not  me  you  deny,  but  God. 
Through  my  means,  He  opens  to  you  a  noble  career ;  as 
my  wife  only  can  you  enter  upon  it.  Eefuse  to  be  my  wife, 
and  you  limit  yourself  for  ever  to  a  track  of  selfish  ease  and 
barren  obscurity.  Tremble  lest  in  that  case  you  should  be 
numbered  with  those  who  have  denied  the  faith,  and  are 
worse  than  infidels ! ' 

He  had  done.    Turning  from  me,  he  once  more 

Looked  to  river,  looted  to  hill : 

But  this  time  his  feelings  were  all  pent  in  his  heart ;  I  was 
not  worthy  to  hear  them  uttered.  As  I  walked  by  his  side 
homeward,  I  read  well  in  his  iron  silence  all  he  felt  towards 
me  :  the  disappointment  of  an  austere  and  despotic  nature, 
which  has  met  resistance  where  it  expected  submission — 
the  disapprobation  of  a  cool,  inflexible  judgment,  which  has 
detected  in  another  feelings  and  views  in  which  it  has  no 
power  to  sympathise :  in  short,  as  a  man,  he  would  have 
wished  to  coerce  me  into  obedience  :  it  was  only  as  a  sincere 
Christian  he  bore  so  patiently  with  my  perversity,  and 
allowed  so  long  a  space  for  reflection  and  repentance. 

That  night,  after  he  had  kissed  his  sisters,  he  thought 
proper  to  forget  even  to  shake  hands  with  me ;  but  left  the 
room  in  silence.  I — who,  though  I  had  no  love,  had  much 
friendship  for  him — was  hurt  by  the  marked  omission :  so 
much  hurt  that  tears  started  to  my  eyes. 

'I  see  you  and  St.  John  have  been  quarrelling,  Jane,' 
said  Diana,  '  during  your  walk  on  the  moor.  But  go  after 
him ;  he  is  now  lingering  in  the  passage,  expecting  you — 
he  will  make  it  up/ 

I  have  not  much  pride  under  such  circumstances :  I 
would  always  rather  be  happy  than  dignified ;  and  I  ran 
after  him — he  stood  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs. 

'Good-night,  St.  John,'  said  I. 

1  Good-night,  Jane/  he  replied  calmly. 

'Then  shake  hands/'  I  added. 

What  a  cold,  loose  touch  he  impressed  on  my  fingers 


JANE  EYEB  501 

He  was  deeply  displeased  by  what  had  occurred  that 
day :  cordiality  would  not  warm,  nor  tears  move  him.  No 
happy  reconciliation  was  to  be  had  with  him— no  cheer- 
ing smile  or  generous  word:  but  still  the  Christian  was 
patient  and  placid;  and  when  I  asked  him  if  he  forgave 
me,  he  answered  that  he  was  not  in  the  habit  of  cherish- 
ing the  remembrance  of  vexation ;  that  he  had  nothing  to 
forgive  :  not  having  been  offended. 

And   with    that  answer  he  left   me.     I  would    much 
rather  he  had  knocked  me  down. 


502  JANE  EYRE 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

HE  did  not  leave  for  Cambridge  the  next  day,  as  he  had 
said  he  would.  He  deferred  his  departure  a  whole  week  ; 
and  during  that  time  he  made  me  feel  what  severe  punish- 
ment a  good  yet  stern,  a  conscientious  yet  implacable  man 
can  inflict  on  one  who  has  offended  him.  Without  one  overt 
act  of  hostility,  one  upbraiding  word,  he  contrived  to  impress 
me  momently  with  the  conviction  that  I  was  put  beyond 
the  pale  of  his  favour. 

Not  that  St.  John  harboured  a  spirit  of  unchristian 
vindictiveness — not  that  he  would  have  injured  a  hair  of  my 
head,  if  it  had  been  fully  in  his  power  to  do  so.  Both  by 
nature  and  principle  he  was  superior  to  the  mean  gratifica- 
tion of  vengeance  :  he  had  forgiven  me  for  saying  I  scorned 
him  and  his  love,  but  he  had  not  forgotten  the  words ;  and  as 
long  as  he  and  I  lived  he  never  would  forget  them.  I  saw 
by  his  look,  when  he  turned  to  me,  that  they  were  always 
written  on  the  air  between  me  and  him  ;  whenever  I  spoke, 
they  sounded  in  my  voice  to  his  ear ;  and  their  echo  toned 
every  answer  he  gave  me. 

He  did  not  abstain  from  conversing  with  me :  he  even 
called  me  as  usual  each  morning  to  join  him  at  his  desk  ; 
and  I  fear  the  corrupt  man  within  him  had  a  pleasure 
unimparted  to,  and  unshared  by,  the  pure  Christian,  in 
evincing  with  what  skill  he  could,  while  acting  and  speaking 
apparently  just  as  usual,  extract  from  every  deed  and  every 
phrase  the  spirit  of  interest  and  approval  which  had  for- 
merly communicated  a  certain  austere  charm  to  his  language 
and  manner.  To  me,  he  was  in  reality  become  no  longer 


JANE  EYEB  603 

flesh,  but  marble;  his  eye  was  a  cold,  bright,  blue  gem; 
his  tongue,  a  speaking  instrument— nothing  more. 

All  this  was  torture  to  me — refined,  lingering  torture.  It 
kept  up  a  slow  fire  of  indignation,  and  a  trembling  trouble 
of  grief,  which  harassed  and  crushed  me  altogether.  I  felt 
how,  if  I  were  his  wife,  this  good  man,  pure  as  the  deep 
sunless  source,  could  soon  kill  me :  without  drawing  from 
my  veins  a  single  drop  of  blood,  or  receiving  on  his  own 
crystal  conscience  the  faintest  stain  of  crime.  Especially  I 
felt  this  when  I  made  any  attempt  to  propitiate  him.  No 
ruth  met  my  ruth.  He  experienced  no  suffering  from 
estrangement— no  yearning  after  reconciliation  ;  and  though, 
more  than  once,  my  fast  falling  tears  blistered  the  page  over 
which  we  both  bent,  they  produced  no  more  effect  on  him 
than  if  his  heart  had  been  really  a  matter  of  stone  or  metal. 
To  his  sisters,  meantime,  he  was  somewhat  kinder  than 
usual :  as  if  afraid  that  mere  coldness  would  not  sufficiently 
convince  me  how  completely  I  was  banished  and  banned, 
he  added  the  force  of  contrast :  and  this  I  am  sure  he  did, 
not  by  malice,  but  on  principle. 

The  night  before  he  left  home,  happening  to  see  him 
walking  in  the  garden  about  sunset,  and  remembering,  as  I 
looked  at  him,  that  this  man,  alienated  as  he  now  was,  had 
once  saved  my  life,  and  that  we  were  near  relations,  I  was 
moved  to  make  a  last  attempt  to  regain  his  friendship.  I 
went  out  and  approached  him,  as  he  stood  leaning  over  the 
little  gate  :  I  spoke  to  the  point  at  once. 

I  St.  John,  1  am  unhappy,  because  you  are  still  angry 
with  me.    Let  us  be  friends.' 

I 1  hope  we  are  friends/  was  the  unmoved  reply  ;  while 
he  still  watched  the  rising  of  the  moon,  which  he  had  been 
contemplating  as  I  approached. 

'No,  St.  John,  we  are  not  friends  as  we  were.  You 
know  that.' 

I  Are  we  not  ?    That  is  wrong.    For  my  part,  I  wish  you 
no  ill  and  all  good.' 

I 1  believe  you,  St.  John ;  for  I  am  sure  you  are  incapable 


504:  JANE  EYEE 

of  wishing  any  one  ill :  but,  as  I  am  your  kinswoman,  I 
should  desire  somewhat  more  of  affection  than  that  sort  of 
general  philanthropy  you  extend  to  mere  strangers/ 

'  Of  course/  he  said.  '  Your  wish  is  reasonable ;  and  I 
am  far  from  regarding  you  as  a  stranger.1 

This,  spoken  in  a  cool,  tranquil  tone,  was  mortifying  and 
baffling  enough.  Had  I  attended  to  the  suggestions  of 
pride  and  ire,  I  should  immediately  have  left  him :  but 
something  worked  within  me  more  strongly  than  those 
feelings  could.  I  deeply  venerated  my  cousin's  talent  and 
principle.  His  friendship  was  of  value  to  me :  to  lose  it 
tried  me  severely.  I  would  not  so  soon  relinquish  the 
attempt  to  reconquer  it. 

1  Must  we  part  in  this  way,  St.  John  ?  And  when  you 
go  to  India,  will  you  leave  me  so,  without  a  kinder  word 
than  you  have  yet  spoken  ? ' 

He  now  turned  quite  from  the  moon,  and  faced  me. 

1  When  I  go  to  India,  Jane,  will  I  leave  you  ?  What ! 
do  you  not  go  to  India  ? ' 

1  You  said  I  could  not,  unless  I  married  you.' 

'  And  you  will  not  marry  me  ?  You  adhere  to  that 
resolution  ? ' 

Eeader,  do  you  know,  as  I  do,  what  terror  those  cold 
people  can  put  into  the  ice  of  their  questions  ?  How  much 
of  the  fall  of  the  avalanche  is  in  their  anger  ?  of  the  breaking 
up  of  the  frozen  sea  in  their  displeasure  ? 

1  No,  St.  John,  I  will  not  marry  you.  I  adhere  to  my 
resolution.' 

The  avalanche  had  shaken  and  slid  a  little  forward  ;  but 
it  did  not  yet  crash  down. 

'  Once  more,  why  this  refusal  ? '  he  asked. 

'  Formerly/  I  answered,  *  because  you  did  not  love  me ; 
now,  I  reply,  because  you  almost  hate  me.  If  I  were  to 
marry  you,  you  would  kill  me.  You  are  killing  me  now/ 

His  lips  and  cheeks  turned  white — quite  white. 

'  I  should  kill  you — I  am  killing  you  ?  Your  words  are 
such  as  ought  not  to  be  used :  violent,  unfeminine,  and 


JANE  EYEE  505 

untrue.  They  betray  an  unlortunate  state  of  mind:  they 
merit  severe  reproof :  they  would  seem  inexcusable ;  but 
that  it  is  the  duty  of  man  to  forgive  his  fellow,  even  until 
seventy-and-seven  times/ 

I  had    finished    the    business    now.    While  earnestly 
wishing  to  erase  from  his  mind  the  trace  of  my  former 
offence,  I  had  stamped  on  that  tenacious  surface  another 
and  far  deeper  impression :  I  had  burnt  it  in. 

'  Now,  you  will  indeed  hate  me/  I  said.  'It  is  useless 
to  attempt  to  conciliate  you  :  I  see  I  have  made  an  eternal 
enemy  of  you/ 

A  fresh  wrong  did  these  words  inflict :  the  worse  because 
they  touched  on  the  truth.  That  bloodless  lip  quivered  to 
a  temporary  spasm.  I  knew  the  steely  ire  I  had  whetted. 
I  was  heart-wrung. 

'  You  utterly  misinterpret  my  words,'  I  said,  at  once 
seizing  his  hand :  '  I  have  no  intention  to  grieve  or  pain 
you  indeed,  I  have  not/  » 

Most  bitterly  he  smiled — most  decidedly  he  withdrew 
his  hand  from  mine.  '  And  now  you  recall  your  promise, 
and  will  not  go  to  India  at  all,  I  presume  ? '  said  lie,  after  a 
considerable  pause. 

*  Yes  I  will,  as  your  assistant/  I  answered. 

A  very  long  silence  succeeded.  What  struggle  there  was 
in  him  between  Nature  and  Grace  in  this  interval  I  can- 
not tell ;  only  singular  gleams  scintillated  in  his  eyes,  and 
strange  shadows  passed  over  his  face.  lie  spoke  at  last. 

I 1  before  proved  to  you  the  absurdity  of  a  single  woman 
of  your  age  proposing  to  accompany  abroad  a  single  man  of 
mine.    I  proved  it  to  you  in  such  terms  as,  I  should  have 
thought,  would  have  prevented  your  ever  again  alluding  to 
the  plan.    That  you  have  done  so,  I  regret — for  your  sake/ 

1  interrupted  him.  Anything  like  a  tangible  reproach 
gave  me  courage  at  once.  '  Keep  to  common  sense,  St.  Johir : 
you  are  verging  on  nonsense.  You  pretend  to  be  shocked 
by  what  I  have  said.  You  atre  not  really  shocked ;  for,  with 
your  superior  mind,  you  cannot  be  either  so  dull  or  so 


506  JANE  EYEE 

conceited  as  to  misunderstand  my  meaning.    I  say  again, 
I  will  be  your  curate,  if  you  like,  but  never  your  wife.' 

Again  he  turned  lividly  pale ;  but,  as  before,  controlled 
his  passion  perfectly.  He  answered  emphatically,  but 
calmly :  '  A  female  curate,  who  is  not  my  wife,  would  never 
suit  me.  With  me,  then,  it  seems,  you  cannot  go  :  but  if 
you  are  sincere  in  your  offer,  I  will,  while  in  town,  speak  to 
a  married  missionary,  whose  wife  needs  a  coadjutor.  Your 
own  fortune  will  make  you  independent  of  the  Society's 
aid;  and  thus  you  may  still  be  spared  the  dishonour  of 
breaking  your  promise,  and  deserting  the  band  you  engaged 
to  join/ 

Now  I  never  had,  as  the  reader  knows,  either  given  any 
formal  promise,  or  entered  into  any  engagement ;  and  this 
language  was  all  much  too  hard,  and  much  too  despotic  for 
the  occasion.  I  replied :  '  There  is  no  dishonour ;  no  breach 
of  promise  ;  no  desertion  in  the  case.  I  am  not  under  the 
slightest  obligation  to  go  to  India  :  especially  with  strangers. 
With  you  I  would  have  ventured  much ;  because  I  admire, 
confide  in,  and,  as  a  sister,  I  love  you :  but  I  am  convinced 
that,  go  when  and  with  whom  I  would,  I  should  not  live 
long  in  that  climate.' 

1  Ah  !  you  are  afraid  of  yourself,'  he  said,  curling  his  lip. 

'  I  am.  God  did  not  give  me  my  life  to  throw  away ; 
and  to  do  as  you  wish  me  would,  I  begin  to  think,  be  almost 
equivalent  to  committing  suicide.  Moreover,  before  I 
definitively  resolve  on  quitting  England,  I  will  know  for 
certain  whether  I  cannot  be  of  greater  use  by  remaining  in 
it  than  by  leaving  it.' 

'  What  do  you  mean  ?  ' 

'  It  would  be  fruitless  to  attempt  to  explain  :  but  there  is 
a  point  on  which  I  have  long  endured  painful  doubt ;  and  I 
can  go  nowhere  till  by  some  means  that  doubt  is  removed.' 
*  '  I  know  where  your  heart  turns,  and  to  what  it  clings. 
The  interest  you  cherish  is  lawless  and  unconsecrated. 
Long  since  you  ought  to  have  crushed  it :  now  you  should 
blush  to  allude  to  it.  You  think  of  Mr.  Bochester  ? ' 


JANE  EYES  607 

It  was  true.    I  confessed  it  by  silence. 

'  Are  you  going  to  seek  Mr.  Eochester  ? ' 

1 1  must  find  out  what  is  become  of  him/ 

'  It  remains  for  me,  then/  he  said,  '  to  remember  you  in 
my  prayers  ;  and  to  entreat  God  for  you,  in  all  earnestness, 
that  you  may  not  indeed  become  a  castaway.  I  had  thought 
I  recognised  in  you  one  of  the  chosen.  But  God  sees  not 
as  man  sees :  His  will  be  done.' 

He  opened  the  gate,  passed  through  it,  and  strayed  away 
down  the  glen.  He  was  soon  out  of  sight. 

On  re-entering  the  parlour,  I  found  Diana  standing  at 
the  window,  looking  very  thoughtful.  Diana  was  a  great 
deal  taller  than  I :  she  put  her  hand  on  my  shoulder,  and, 
stooping,  examined  my  face. 

'  Jane/  she  said,  '  you  are  always  agitated  and  pale  now. 
I  am  sure  there  is  something  the  matter.  Tell  we  what 
business  St.  John  and  you  have  on  hand.  I  have  watched 
you  this  half -hour  from  the  window :  you  must  forgive  my 
being  such  a  spy,  but  for  a  long  time  I  have  fancied  I  hardly 
know  what.  St.  John  is  a  strange  being ' 

She  paused — I  did  not  speak :  soon  she  resumed  : — '  That 
brother  of  mine  cherishes  peculiar  views  of  some  sort 
respecting  you,  I  am  sure :  he  has  long  distinguished  you 
by  a  notice  and  interest  he  never  showed  to  any  one  else — 
to  what  end  ?  I  wish  he  loved  you— does  he,  Jane  ? ' 

I  put  her  cool  hand  to  my  hot  forehead :  '  No,  Die,  not 
one  whit/ 

1  Then  why  does  he  follow  you  so  with  his  eyes — and  get 
you  so  frequently  alone  with  him,  and  keep  you  so  continu- 
ally at  his  side  ?  Mary  and  I  had  both  concluded  he  wished 
you  to  marry  him/ 

1  He  does— he  has  asked  me  to  be  his  wife/ 

Diana  clapped  her  hands.  '  That  is  just  what  we  hoped 
and  thought !  And  you  will  marry  him,  Jane,  won't  you  ? 
And  then  he  will  stay  in  England/ 

1  Ear  from  that,  Diana ;  his  sole  idea  in  proposing  to  me 
is  to  procure  a  fitting  fellow-labourer  in  his  Indian  toils/ 


508  JANE  EYBR 

1  What  1    HP  wishes  you  to  go  to  India  ? ' 

'Yes/ 

'  Madness  ! '  she  exclaimed.  '  You  would  not  live  three 
months  there,  I  am  certain.  You  never  shall  go  :  you  have 
not  consented — have  you,  Jane  ? ' 

'  I  have  refused  to  marry  him ' 

1  And  have  consequently  displeased  him  ?  '  she  suggested. 

1  Deeply :  he  will  never  forgive  me,  I  fear :  yet  I  offered 
to  accompany  him  as  his  sister/ 

'  It  was  frantic  folly  to  do  so,  Jane.  Think  of  the  task 
you  undertook — one  of  incessant  fatigue :  where  fatigue  kills 
even  the  strong ;  and  you  are  weak.  St.  John — you  know 
him — would  urge  you  to  impossibilities :  with  him  there 
would  be  no  permission  to  rest  during  the  hot  hours  ;  and 
unfortunately,  I  have  noticed,  whatever  he  exacts,  you  force 
yourself  to  perform.  I  am  astonished  you  found  courage  to 
refuse  his  hand.  You  do  not  love  him  then,  Jane  ? ' 

1  Not  as  a  husband.1 

1  Yet  he  is  a  handsome  fellow.1 

'And  I  am  so  plain  you  see,  Die.  We  should  never 
suit/ 

'  Plain !  You  ?  Not  at  all.  You  are  much  too  pretty, 
as  well  as  too  good,  to  be  grilled  alive  in  Calcutta.'  And 
again  she  earnestly  conjured  me  to  give  up  all  thoughts  of 
going  out  with  her  brother. 

'  I  must,  indeed/  I  said ;  '  for  when  just  now  I  repeated 
the  offer  of  serving  him  for  a  deacon,  he  expressed  himself 
shocked  at  my  want  of  decency.  He  seemed  to  think  I  had 
committed  an  impropriety  in  proposing  to  accompany  him 
unmarried :  as  if  I  had  not  from  the  first  hoped  to  find  in 
him  a  brother ;  and  habitually  regarded  him  as  such.' 

'  What  makes  you  say  he  does  not  love  you,  Jane? ' 

1  You  should  hear  himself  on  the  subject.  He  has  again 
and  again  explained  that  it  is  not  himself,  but  his  office  he 
wishes  to  mate.  He  has  told  me  I  am  formed  for  labour — 
not  for  love  :  which  is  true,  no  doubt.  But,  in  my  opinion, 
if  I  am  not  formed  for  love,  it  follows  that  I  am  not  formed 


JANE  BTBB  509 

for  marriage.    Would  it  not  be  strange,  Die,  to  be  chained 
for  life  to  a  man  who  regarded  one  but  as  a  useful  tool  ? f 

'  Insupportable — unnatural — out  of  the  question  ! 

1  And  then/  I  continued,  '  though  I  have  only  sisterly 
affection  for  him  now,  yet,  if  forced  to  be  his  wife,  I  can 
imagine  the  possibility  of  conceiving  an  inevitable,  strange, 
torturing  kind  of  love  for  him  :  because  he  is  so  talented ; 
and  there  is  often  a  certain  heroic  grandeur  in  his  look, 
manner,  and  conversation.  In  that  case,  my  lot  would 
become  unspeakably  wretched.  He  would  not  want  me  to 
love  him ;  and  if  I  showed  the  feeling,  he  would  make  mo 
sensible  that  it  was  a  superfluity,  unrequired  by  him, 
unbecoming  in  me.  I  know  he  would.1 

'  And  yet  St.  John  is  a  good  man,'  said  Diana. 

'  He  is  a  good  and  a  great  man :  but  he  forgets,  pitilessly, 
the  feelings  and  claims  of  little  people,  in  pursuing  his  own 
large  views.  It  is  better,  therefore,  for  the  insignificant  to 
keep  out  of  his  way  ;  lest,  in  his  progress,  he  should  trample 
them  down.  Here  he  conies !  I  will  leave  you,  Diana/ 
And  I  hastened  upstairs,  as  I  saw  him  entering  the  garden, 

But  I  was  forced  to  meet  him  again  at  supper.  During 
that  meal  he  appeared  just  as  composed  as  usual.  I  had 
thought  he  would  hardly  speak  to  me,  and  I  was  certain  he 
had  given  up  the  pursuit  of  his  matrimonial  scheme :  the 
sequel  showed  I  was  mistaken  on  both  points.  He  addressed 
me  precisely  in  his  ordinary  manner ;  or  what  had,  of  late, 
been  his  ordinary  manner;  one  scrupulously  polite.  No 
doubt  he  had  invoked  the  help  of  the  Holy  Spirit  to  subdue 
the  anger  I  had  roused  in  him,  and  now  believed  he  had 
forgiven  me  once  more. 

Eor  the  evening  reading  before  prayers,  he  selected  the 
twenty-first  chapter  of  Eevelation.  It  was  at  all  times 
pleasant  to  listen  while  from  his  lips  fell  the  words  of  the 
Bible  :  never  did  his  fine  voice  sound  at  once  so  sweet  and 
full — never  did  his  manner  become  so  impressive  in  its  noble 
simplicity,  as  when  he  delivered  the  oracles  of  God :  and 
to-night  that  voice  took  a  more  solemn  tone— that  manner  a 


510  JANE  EYEE 

more  thrilling  meaning— as  he  sat  in  the  midst  of  his 
household  circle  (the  May  moon  shining  in  through  the 
uncurtained  window,  and  rendering  almost  unnecessary  the 
light  of  the  candle  on  the  table) :  as  he  sat  there,  bending 
over  the  great  old  Bible,  and  described  from  its  page  the 
vision  of  the  new  heaven  aud  the  new  earth — told  how  God 
would  come  to  dwell  with  men,  how  He  would  wipe  away 
all  tears  from  their  eyes,  and  promised  that  there  should  be 
no  more  death,  neither  sorrow  nor  crying,  nor  any  more 
pain,  because  the  former  things  were  passed  away. 

The  succeeding  words  thrilled  me  strangely  as  he  spoke 
them  :  especially  as  I  felt,  by  the  slight,  indescribable  altera- 
tion in  sound,  that  in  uttering  them,  his  eye  had  turned  on 
me. 

1  He  that  overcometh  shall  inherit  all  things ;  and  I  will 
be  his  God,  and  he  shall  be  my  son.  But/  was  slowly, 
distinctly  read,  '  the  fearful,  the  unbelieving,  &c.  shall  have 
their  part  in  the  lake  which  burneth  with  fire  and  brimstone, 
which  is  the  second  death.' 

Henceforward  I  knew  what  fate  St.  John  feared  for 
me. 

A  calm,  subdued  triumph,  blent  with  a  longing  earnest- 
ness, marked  his  enunciation  of  the  last  glorious  verses  of 
that  chapter.  The  reader  believed  his  name  was  already 
written  in  the  Lamb's  book  of  life,  and  he  yearned  after  the 
hour  which  should  admit  him  to  the  city  to  which  the  kings 
of  the  earth  bring  their  glory  and  honour ;  which  has  no 
need  of  sun  or  moon  to  shine  in  it,  because  the  glory  of  God 
lightens  it,  and  the  Lamb  is  the  light  thereof. 

In  the  prayer  following  the  chapter,  all  his  energy 
gathered — all  his  stern  zeal  woke  :  he  was  in  deep  earnest, 
wrestling  with  God,  and  resolved  on  a  conquest.  He  sup- 
plicated strength  for  the  weak-hearted ;  guidance  for  wan- 
derers from  the  fold :  a  return,  even  at  the  eleventh  hour, 
for  those  whom  the  temptations  of  the  world  and  the  flesh 
were  luring  from  the  narrow  path.  He  asked,  he  urged,  he 
claimed  the  boon  of  a  brand  snatched  from  the  burning. 


JANE  EYEB  511 

Earnestness  is  ever  deeply  solemn :  first,  as  I  listened  to 
that  prayer,  I  wondered  at  his  ;  then,  when  it  continued  and 
rose,  I  was  touched  by  it,  and  at  last  awed.  He  felt  the 
greatness  and  goodness  of  his  purpose  so  sincerely :  others 
who  heard  him  plead  for  it,  could  not  but  feel  it  too. 

The  prayer  over,  we  took  leave  of  him  :  he  was  to  go  at 
a  very  early  hour  in  the  morning.  Diana  and  Mary  having 
kissed  him,  left  the  room — in  compliance,  I  think,  with  a 
whispered  hint  from  him  :  I  tendered  my  hand,  and  wished 
him  a  pleasant  journey. 

'Thank  you,  Jane.  As  I  said,  I  shall  return  from 
Cambridge  in  a  fortnight :  that  space,  then,  is  yet  left  you  for 
reflection.  If  I  listened  to  human  pride,  I  should  say  no 
more  to  you  of  marriage  with  me  ;  but  I  listen  to  my  duty, 
and  keep  steadily  in  view  my  first  aim — to  do  all  things  to 
the  glory  of  God.  My  Master  was  long-suffering  :  so  will  I 
be.  I  cannot  give  you  up  to  perdition  as  a  vessel  of  wrath  : 
repent — resolve;  while  there  is  yet  time.  Remember,  we 
are  bid  to  work  while  it  is  day — warned  that  "  the  night 
cometh  when  no  man  shall  work."  Eeinember  the  fate  of 
Dives,  who  had  his  good  things  in  this  life.  God  give  you 
strength  to  choose  that  better  part  which  shall  not  be  taken 
from  you ! ' 

He  laid  his  hand  on  my  head  as  he  uttered  the  last 
words.  He  had  spoken  earnestly,  mildly  :  his  look  was  not, 
indeed,  that  of  a  lover  beholding  his  mistress ;  but  it  was 
that  of  a  pastor  recalling  his  wandering  sheep — or  better,  of 
a  guardian  angel  watching  the  soul  for  which  he  is  respon- 
sible. All  men  of  talent,  whether  they  be  men  of  feeling 
or  not ;  whether  they  be  zealots,  or  aspirants,  or  despots — 
provided  only  they  be  sincere — have  their  sublime  moments : 
when  they  subdue  and  rule.  I  felt  veneration  for  St.  John 
— veneration  so  strong  that  its  impetus  thrust  me  at  once  to 
the  point  I  had  so  long  shunned.  I  was  tempted  to  cease 
struggling  with  him — to  rush  down  the  torrent  of  his  will 
into  the  gulf  of  his  existence,  and  there  lose  my  own.  I 
was  almost  as  hard  beset  by  him  now  as  I  had  been  once 


512  JANE  EYKE 

before,  in  a  different  way,  by  another.  I  was  a  fool  both 
times.  To  have  yielded  then  would  have  been  an  error  of 
principle  ;  to  have  yielded  now  would  have  been  an  error  of 
judgment.  So  I  think  at  this  hour,  when  I  look  back  to 
the  crisis  through  the  quiet  medium  of  time:  I  was  un- 
conscious of  folly  at  the  instant. 

I  stood  motionless  under  my  hierophant's  touch.  My 
refusals  were  forgotten— my  fears  overcome — my  wrestlings 
paralysed.  The  impossible  —i.e.  my  marriage  with  St.  John — 
was  fast  becoming  the  Possible.  All  was  changing  utterly, 
with  a  sudden  sweep.  Eeligion  called — Angels  beckoned — 
God  commanded — life  rolled  together  like  a  scroll-  death's 
gates  opening,  showed  eternity  beyond :  it  seemed,  that  for 
safety  and  bliss  there,  all  here  might  be  sacrificed  in  a 
second.  The  dim  room  was  full  of  visions. 

*  Could  you  decide  now  ?  '  asked  the  missionary.  The 
inquiry  was  put  in  gentle  tones .  he  drew  me  to  him  as 
gently.  Oh,  that  gentleness  !  how  far  more  potent  is  it  than 
force !  I  could  resist  St.  John's  wrath .  I  grew  pliant  as  a 
reed  under  his  kindness.  Yet  I  knew  all  the  time,  if  I 
yielded  now,  I  should  not  the  less  be  made  to  repent,  some 
day,  of  my  former  rebellion.  His  nature  was  not  changed 
by  one  hour  of  solemn  prayer  :  it  was  only  elevated. 

'  I  could  decide  if  I  were  but  certain,'  I  answered  :  '  were 
I  but  convinced  that  it  is  God's  will  I  should  marry  you,  I 
could  vow  to  marry  you  here  and  now — come  afterwards 
what  would  I ' 

'  My  prayers  are  heard  K '  ejaculated  St.  John.  He 
pressed  his  hand  firmer  on  my  head,  as  if  he  claimed  me : 
he  surrounded  me  with  his  arm,  almost  as  if  he  loved  me  (I 
say  almost — I  knew  the  difference — for  I  had  felt  what  it 
was  to  be  loved  ;  but,  like  him,  I  had  now  put  love  out  of 
the  question,  and  thought  only  of  duty) :  I  contended  with 
my  inward  dimness  of  vision,  before  which  clouds  yet  rolled. 
I  sincerely,  deeply,  fervently  longed  to  do  what  was  right ; 
and  only  that.  '  Show  me,  show  me  the  path  ! '  I  entreated 
of  Heaven.  I  was  excited  more  than  I  had  ever  been ;  and 


JANE  EYRE  513 

whether  what  followed  was  the  effect  of  excitement,  the 
reader  shall  judge. 

All  the  house  was  still ;  for  I  believe  all,  except  St.  John 
and  myself,  were  now  retired  to  rest.  The  one  candle  was 
dying  out :  the  room  was  full  of  moonlight.  My  heart  beat 
fast  and  thick  :  I  heard  its  throb.  Suddenly  it  stood  still  to 
an  inexpressible  feeling  that  thrilled  it  through,  and  passed 
at  once  to  my  head  and  extremities.  The  feeling  was  not 
like  an  electric  shock  ;  but  it  was  quite  as  sharp,  as  strange, 
as  startling :  it  acted  on  my  senses  as  if  their  utmost 
activity  hitherto  had  been  but  torpor ;  from  which  they  were 
now  summoned,  and  forced  to  wake.  They  rose  expectant : 
eye  and  ear  waited,  while  the  flesh  quivered  on  my  bones. 

1  Whar,  have  you  heard  ?  What  do  you  sec  ? '  asked 
St.  John.  I  &aw  nothing :  but  I  heard  a  voice  somewhere 
cry — '  Jane !  Jane !  Jane ! f  nothing  more. 

1  Oh  God !  what  is  it  ? '  I  gasped. 

I  might  have  said,  '  Where  is  it  ?  '  for  it  did  not  seem  in 
the  room— nor  in  the  house — nor  in  the  garden  :  it  did  not 
come  out  of  the  air — nor  from  under  the  earth — nor  from 
overhead.    I  had  heard  it — where,  or  whence,  for  ever  im- 
possible to  know  !     And  it  was  the  voice  of  a  human  being 
— a  known,  loved,  well-remembered  voice — that  of  Edward 
Fairfax  Rochester;   and  it  spoke  in  pain  and  woe  wildly, 
eeiily,  urgently. 

I 1  am  coming ! '  I  cried.    '  Wait  for  me  1    Oh,  I  will 
come ! '     I  flew  to  the  door,  and  looked  into  the  passage :  it 
was  dark.    I  ran  out  into  the  garden  :  it  was  void. 

1  Where  are  you  ? '  I  exclaimed. 

The  hills  beyond  Marsh  Glen  sent  the  answer  faintly 
back — '  Where  are  you  ? '  I  listened.  The  wind  sighed  low 
in  the  firs :  all  was  moorland  loneliness  and  midnight  hush. 

'  Down  superstition  ! '  I  commented,  as  that  spectre  rose 
up  black  by  the  black  yew  at  the  gate.  '  This  is  not  thy  de- 
ception, nor  thy  witchcraft :  it  is  the  work  of  nature.  She 
was  routed,  and  did — no  miracle — but  her  best/ 

I  broke  from  St.  John,  who  had  followed,  and  would 


514  JANE  EYKE 

have  detained  me.  It  was  my  time  to  assume  ascendancy. 
My  powers  were  in  play,  and  in  force.  I  told  him  to  forbear 
question  or  remark ;  I  desired  him  to  leave  me :  I  must, 
and  would  be  alone.  He  obeyed  at  once.  Where  there  is 
energy  to  command  well  enough,  obedience  never  fails.  I 
mounted  to  my  chamber ;  locked  myself  in ;  fell  on  my 
knees;  and  prayed  in  my  way — a  different  way  to  St. 
John's,  but  effective  in  its  own  fashion.  I  seemed  to  pene- 
trate very  near  a  Mighty  Spirit ;  and  my  soul  rushed  out 
in  gratitude  at  His  feet.  I  rose  from  the  thanksgiving — took 
a  resolve — and  lay  down,  unscared,  enlightened — eager  but 
for  the  daylight. 


JANE  BYEB  615 


CHAPTEE  XXXVI 

THE  daylight  came.  I  rose  at  dawn.  I  busied  myself  for 
an  hour  or  two  with  arranging  my  things  in  my  chamber, 
drawers,  and  wardrobe,  in  the  order  wherein  I  should  wish 
to  leave  them  during  a  brief  absence.  Meantime,  I  heard 
St.  John  quit  his  room.  He  stopped  at  my  door :  I  feared 
he  would  knock — no,  but  a  slip  of  paper  was  passed  under 
the  door.  1  took  it  up.  It  bore  these  words — 

1  You  left  me  too  suddenly  last  night.  Had  you  stayed 
but  a  little  longer,  you  would  have  laid  your  hand  on  the 
Christian's  cross  and  the  angel's  crown.  I  shall  expect 
your  clear  decision  when  I  return  this  day  fortnight. 
Meantime,  watch  and  pray  that  you  enter  not  into  tempta- 
tion :  the  spirit,  I  trust,  is  willing,  but  the  flesh,  I  see,  is 
weak.  I  shall  pray  for  you  hourly, — Yours,  St.  John.' 

'  My  spirit,'  I  answered  mentally,  '  is  willing  to  do  what 
is  right ;  and  my  flesh,  I  hope,  is  strong  enough  to  accom- 
plish the  will  of  Heaven,  when  once  that  will  is  distinctly 
known  to  me.  At  any  rate,  it  shall  be  strong  enough  to 
search— inquire — to  grope  an  outlet  from  this  cloud  of 
doubt,  and  find  the  open  day  of  certainty.1 

It  was  the  first  of  June ;  yet  the  morning  was  overcast 
and  chilly:  rain  beat  fast  on  my  casement.  I  heard  the 
front-door  open,  and  St.  John  pass  out.  Looking  through 
the  window,  I  saw  him  traverse  the  garden.  He  took  the 
way  over  the  misty  moors  in  the  direction  of  Whitcross — 
there  he  would  meet  the  coach. 

*  In  a  few  more  hours  I  shall  succeed  you  in  that  track, 
cousin/  thought  I :  '  I  too  have  a  coach  to  meet  at  Whit- 


516  JANE  EYEE 

cross.    I  too  have  some  to  see  and  ask  after  in  England, 
before  I  depart  for  ever/ 

It  wanted  yet  two  hours  of  breakfast-time.  I  filled  the 
interval  in  walking  softly  about  my  room,  and  pondering 
the  visitation  which  had  given  my  plans  their  present  bent. 
I  recalled  that  inward  sensation  I  had  experienced :  for  I 
could  recall  it,  with  all  its  unspeakable  strangeness.  I 
recalled  the  voice  I  had  heard ;  again  I  questioned  whence 
it  came,  as  vainly  as  before :  it  seemed  in  me — not  in  the 
external  world.  I  asked,  was  it  a  mere  nervous  impression 
— a  delusion  ?  I  could  not  conceive  or  believe :  it  was  more 
like  an  inspiration.  The  wondrous  shook  of  feeling  had 
come  like  the  earthquake  which  shook  the  foundations  of 
Paul  and  Silas's  prison:  it  had  opened  the  doors  of  the 
soul's  cell,  and  loosed  its  bands — it  had  wakened  it  out  of 
its  sleep,  whence  it  sprang  trembling,  listening,  aghast ;  then 
vibrated  thrice  a  cry  on  my  startled  ear,  and  in  iny  quaking 
heart,  and  through  my  spirit;  which  neither  feared  nor 
shook,  but  exulted  as  if  in  joy  over  the  success  of  one  effort 
it  had  been  privileged  to  make,  independent  of  the  cumbrous 
body. 

1  Ere  many  days,'  I  said,  as  I  terminated  my  musings,  '  I 
will  know  something  of  him  whose  voice  seemed  last  night 
to  summon  me.  Letters  have  proved  of  no  avail — personal 
inquiry  shall  replace  them.1 

At  breakfast  I  announced  to  Diana  and  Mary  that  I  was 
going  a  journey,  and  should  ba  absent  at  least  four  days. 
'  Alone,  Jane  ? '  they  asked. 

'Yes;  it  was  to  see,  or  hear  news  of,  a  friend  about 
whom  T  had  for  some  time  been  uneasy/ 

They  might  have  said,  as  I  have  no  doubt  they  thought, 
that  they  had  believed  me  to  be  without  any  friends  save 
them :  for,  indeed,  I  had  often  said  so ;  but  with  their  true 
natural  delicacy,  they  abstained  from  comment :  except  that 
Diana  asked  me  if  I  was  sure  I  was  well  enough  to  travel.  I 
looked  very  pale,  she  observed.  I  replied,  that  nothing  ailed 
me  save  anxiety  of  mind,  which  I  hoped  soon  to  alleviate. 


JANE  EYEE  517 

It  was  easy  to  make  my  further  arrangements;  for  I 
was  troubled  with  no  inquiries — no  surmises.  Having  once 
explained  to  them  that  I  could  not  now  be  explicit  about 
my  plans,  they  kindly  and  wisely  acquiesced  in  the  silence 
with  which  I  pursued  them ;  according  to  me  the  privilege 
of  free  action  I  should,  under  similar  circumstances,  have 
accorded  them. 

I  left  Moor  House  at  three  o'clock  P.M.,  and  soon  after 
four  I  stood  at  the  foot  of  the  sign-post  of  Whitcross, 
waiting  the  arrival  of  the  coach  which  was  to  take  me  to 
distant  Thornfield.  Amidst  the  silence  of  those  solitary 
roads  and  desert  hills,  I  heard  it  approach  from  a  great 
distance.  It  was  the  same  vehicle  whence,  a  year  ago,  I 
had  alighted  one  summer  evening  on  this  very  spot — how 
desolate,  and  hopeless,  and  objectless  1  It  stopped  as  I 
beckoned.  I  entered — not  now  obliged  to  part  with  my 
whole  fortune  as  the  price  of  its  accommodation.  Once 
more  on  the  road  to  Thornfield,  I  felt  like  the  messenger- 
pigeon  flying  home. 

It  was  a  journey  of  six-and-thirty  hours.  I  had  set  out 
from  Whitcross  on  a  Tuesday  afternoon,  and  early  on  the 
succeeding  Thursday  morning  the  coach  stopped  to  water 
the  horses  at  a  wayside  inn,  situated  in  the  midst  of  scenery 
whose  green  hedges  and  large  fields  and  low  pastoral  hills 
(how  mild  of  feature  and  verdant  of  hue  compared  with  the 
stern  north-midland  moors  of  Morton!)  met  my  eye  like 
the  lineaments  of  a  once  familiar  face.  Yes,  I  knew  the 
character  of  this  landscape :  I  was  sure  we  were  near  my 
bourne. 

'  How  far  is  Thornfield  Hall  from  here  ? '  I  asked  of  the 
ostler. 

'  Just  two  miles,  ma'am,  across  the  fields/ 
1  My  journey  is  closed/  I  thought  to  myself.  I  got  out 
of  the  coach,  gave  a  box  I  had  into  the  ostler's  charge,  to  be 
kept  till  I  called  for  it ;  paid  my  fare  ;  satisfied  the  coach- 
man, and  was  going :  the  brightening  day  gleamed  on  the 
sign  of  the  inn,  and  I  read  in  gilt  letters, '  The  Rochester 


518  JANE  EYBE 

Arms/  My  hears  leapt  up :  I  was  already  on  my  master's 
very  lands.  It  fell  again :  the  thought  struck  it : — 

'  Your  master  himself  may  be  beyond  the  British  Channel, 
for  aught  you  know :  and  then,  if  he  is  at  Thornfield  Hall, 
towards  which  you  hasten,  who  besides  him  is  there  ?  His 
lunatic  wife :  and  you  have  nothing  to  do  with  him :  you 
dare  not  speak  to  him  or  seek  his  presence.  You  have  lost 
your  labour — you  had  better  go  no  farther/  urged  the 
monitor.  '  Ask  information  of  the  people  at  the  inn ;  they 
can  give  you  all  you  seek :  they  can  solve  your  doubts  at 
once.  Go  up  to  that  man,  and  inquire  if  Mr.  Rochester  be 
at  home/ 

The  suggestion  was  sensible ;  and  yet  I  could  not  force 
myself  to  act  on  it.  I  so  dreaded  a  reply  that  would  crush 
me  with  despair.  To  prolong  doubt  was  to  prolong  hope. 
I  might  yet  once  more  see  the  Hall  under  the  ray  of  her 
star.  There  was  the  stile  before  me — the  very  fields  through 
which  I  had  hurried,  blind,  deaf,  distracted,  with  a  revenge- 
ful fury  tracking  and  scourging  me,  on  the  morning  I  fled 
from  Thornfield:  ere  I  well  knew  what  course  I  had  re- 
solved to  take,  I  was  in  the  midst  of  them.  How  fast  I 
walked !  How  I  ran  sometimes !  How  I  looked  forward  to 
catch  the  first  view  of  the  well-known  woods  1  With  what 
feelings  I  welcomed  single  trees  I  knew,  and  familiar 
glimpses  of  rneadow  and  hill  between  them  t 

At  last  the  woods  rose;  the  rookery  clustered  dark; 
a  loud  cawing  broke  the  morning  stillness.  Strange  delight 
inspired  me :  on  I  hastened.  Another  field  crossed — a  lane 
threaded— and  there  were  the  courtyard  walls— the  back 
offices :  the  house  itself,  the  rookery  still  hid.  *  My  first 
view  of  it  shall  be  in  front/  I  determined,  '  where  its  bold 
battlements  will  strike  the  eye  nobly  at  once,  and  where  I 
can  single  out  my  master's  very  window :  perhaps  he  will 
be  standing  at  i$— he  rises  early :  perhaps  he  is  now  walking 
in  the  orchard,  or  on  the  pavement  in  front.  Gould  I  but 
see  him ! — but  a  moment  1  Surely,  in  that  case,  I  should 
not  be  so  mad  as  to  run  to  him  ?  I  cannot  tell — I  am  noi 


JANE  EYKE  519 

certain.  And  if  I  did— what  then  ?  God  bless  him !  What 
then  ?  Who  would  be  hurt  by  my  once  more  tasting  the 
life  his  glance  can  give  me? — I  rave:  perhaps  at  this 
moment  he  is  watching  the  sun  rise  over  the  Pyrenees,  or 
on  the  tideless  sea  of  the  south/ 

I  had  coasted  along  the  lower  wall  of  the  orchard — 
turned  its  angle  :  there  was  a  gate  just  there,  opening  into 
the  meadow,  between  two  stone  pillars,  crowned  by  stone 
balls.  From  behind  one  pillar  I  could  peep  round  quietly 
at  the  full  front  of  the  mansion.  I  advanced  my  head  with 
precaution,  desirous  to  ascertain  if  any  bedroom  window- 
blinds  were  yet  drawn  up :  battlements,  windows,  long 
front — all  from  this  sheltered  station  were  at  my  command. 

The  crows  sailing  overhead  perhaps  watched  me  while 
I  took  this  survey.  I  wonder  what  they  thought :  they 
must  have  considered  I  was  very  careful  and  timid  at  first, 
and  that  gradually  I  grew  very  bold  and  reckless.  A  peep, 
and  then  a  long  stare  ;  and  then  a  departure  from  my  niche 
and  a  straying  out  into  the  meadow ;  and  a  sudden  stop  full 
in  front  of  the  great  mansion,  and  a  protracted,  hardy  gaze 
towards  it.  'What  affectation  of  diffidence  was  this  at 
first  ? '  they  might  have  demanded.  '  What  stupid  regard- 
lessness  now  ? ' 

Hear  an  illustration,  reader. 

A  lover  finds  his  mistress  asleep  on  a  mossy  bank ;  he 
wishes  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  her  fair  face  without  waking 
her.  He  steals  softly  over  the  grass,  careful  to  make  no 
sound ;  he  pauses — fancying  she  has  stirred :  he  withdraws ; 
not  for  worlds  would  he  be  seen.  All  is  still:  he  again 
advances :  he  bends  above  her ;  a  light  veil  rests  on  her 
features :  he  lifts  it,  bends  lower ;  now  his  eyes  anticipate 
the  vision  of  beauty — warm,  and  blooming,  and  lovely,  in 
rest.  How  hurried  was  their  first  glance !  But  how  they 
fix  !  How  he  starts !  How  he  suddenly  and  vehemently 
clasps  in  both  arms  the  form  he  dared  not,  a  moment  since, 
touch  with  his  finger !  How  he  calls  aloud  a  name,  and 
drops  his  burden,  and  gazes  on  it  wildly  1  He  thus  grasps 


520  JANE  EYEE 

and  cries,  and  gazes,  because  he  no  longer  fears  to  waken  by 
any  sound  he  can  utter — by  any  movement  he  can  make. 
He  thought  his  love  slept  sweetly:  he  finds  she  is  stone- 
dead. 

I  looked  with  timorous  joy  towards  a  stately  house :  I 
saw  a  blackened  ruin. 

No  need  to  cower  behind  a  gate-post,  indeed ! — to  peep 
up  at  chamber  lattices,  fearing  life  was  astir  behind  them ! 
No  need  to  listen  for  doors  opening — to  fancy  steps  on  the 
pavement  or  the  gravel-walk  1  The  lawn,  the  grounds  were 
trodden  and  waste :  the  portal  yawned  void.  The  front 
was,  as  I  had  once  seen  it  in  a  dream,  but  a  shell-like 
wall,  very  high  and  very  fragile  looking,  perforated  with 
paneless  windows  :  no  roof,  no  battlements,  no  chimneys — 
till  had  crashed  in. 

And  there  was  the  silence  of  death  about  it :  the  solitude 
of  a  lonesome  wild.  No  wonder  that  letters  addressed  to 
people  here  had  never  received  an  answer :  as  well 
despatch  epistles  to  a  vault  in  a  church  aisle.  The  grim 
blackness  of  the  stones  told  by  what  fate  the  Hall  had 
fallen — by  conflagration  :  but  how  kindled  ?  What  story 
belonged  to  this  disaster  ?  What  loss,  besides  mortar  and 
marble  and  wood-work,  had  followed  upon  it?  Had  life 
been  wrecked,  as  well  as  property?  If  so,  whose?  Dread- 
ful question :  there  was  no  one  here  to  answer  it— not  even 
dumb  sign,  mute  token. 

In  wandering  round  the  shattered  walls  and  through  the 
devastated  interior,  I  gathered  evidence  that  the  calamity 
was  not  of  late  occurrence.  Winter  snows,  I  thought,  had 
drifted  through  that  void  arch;  winter  rains  beaten  in  at 
those  hollow  casements ;  for,  amidst  the  drenched  piles  of 
rubbish,  spring  had  cherished  vegetation  :  grass  and  weed 
grew  here  and  there  between  the  stones  and  fallen  rafters. 
And  oh!  where,  meantime,  was  the  hapless  owner  of 
this  wreck?  In  what  land?  Under  what  auspices? 
My  eye  involuntarily  wandered  to  the  grey  church 
tower  near  the  gates,  and  I  asked,  'Is  he  with  Darner 


JANE  EYEE  521 

de  Eochester,  sharing  the  shelter  of  his  narrow  marble 
house  ? ' 

Some  answer  must  be  had  to  these  questions.  I  could 
find  it  nowhere  but  at  the  inn,  and  thither,  ere  long,  I 
returned.  The  host  himself  brought  my  breakfast  into  the 
parlour.  I  requested  him  to  shut  the  door  and  sit  down : 
I  had  some  questions  to  ask  him.  But  when  he  complied, 
I  scarcely  knew  how  to  begin;  such  horror  had  I  oi  the 
possible  answers.  And  yet  the  spectacle  of  desolation  I  had 
just  left  prepared  me  in  a  measure  for  a  tale  of  misery. 
The  host  was  a  respectable-looking,  middle-aged  man. 

1  You  know  Thornfield  Hall,  of  course  ?  '  I  managed  to 
say  at  last. 

'  Yes,  raa'am  ;  I  lived  there  once/ 

'  Did  you  V  Not  in  my  time,  I  thought :  you  are  a 
stranger  to  me. 

'  I  was  the  late  Mr.  Eochester fs  butler/  he  added. 

The  late  I  I  seemed  to  have  received  with  full  force  the 
blow  I  had  been  trying  to  evade. 

'  The  late ! '  I  gasped.    '  Is  he  dead  ? ' 

*  I  mean  the  present  gentleman,  Mr.  Edward's  father/ 
he  explained. 

I  breathed  again :  my  blood  resumed  its  flow.  Fully 
assured  by  these  words  that  Mr.  Edward — my  Mr.  Eochester 
(God  bless  him,  wherever  he  was  !) — was  at  least  alive :  was, 
in  short, '  the  present  gentleman/  Gladdening  words !  It 
seemed  I  could  hear  all  that  was  to  come — whatever  the 
disclosures  might  be — with  comparative  tranquillity.  Since 
he  was  not  in  the  grave,  I  could  bear,  I  thought,  to  learn 
that  he  was  at  the  Antipodes. 

'Is  Mr.  Eochester  living  at  Thornfield  Hall  now?'  I 
asked,  knowing,  of  course,  what  the  answer  would  be,  but 
yet  desirous  of  deferring  the  direct  question  as  to  where  he 
really  was. 

'  No,  ma'am — oh,  no !  No  one  is  living  there.  I 
suppose  you  are  a  stranger  in  these  parts,  or  you  would 
have  heard  what  happened  last  autumn, — Thornfield  Hall 


522  JANE  EYEE 

is  quite  a  ruin :  it  was  burnt  down  just  about  harvest  time 
A  dreadful  calamity  !  such  an  immense  quantity  of  valuable 
property  destroyed:  hardly  any  of  the  furniture  could  be 
saved.  The  fire  broke  out  at  dead  of  night,  and  before  the 
engines  arrived  from  Millcote,  the  building  was  one  mass  of 
flame.  It  was  a  terrible  spectacle :  I  witnessed  it  myself.' 

'  At  dead  of  night  1 '  I  muttered.  Yes,  that  was  ever  the 
hour  of  fatality  at  Thornfield.  '  Was  it  known  how  it 
originated  ?  '  I  demanded. 

I  They    guessed,    ma'am :     they    guessed.       Indeed,    I 
should  say  it  was  ascertained  beyond  a  doubt.    You  are  not 
perhaps  aware,1  he  continued,  edging  his  chair  a  little  nearer 
the  table,  and  speaking  low, '  that  there  was  a  lady, — a — a 
lunatic,  kept  in  the  house  ? ' 

I 1  have  heard  something  of  it/ 

1  She  was  kept  in  very  close  confinement,  ma'am;  people 
even  for  some  years  was  not  absolutely  certain  of  her  exist- 
ence. No  one  saw  her :  they  only  knew  by  rumour  that 
such  a  person  was  at  the  Hall ;  and  who  or  what  she  was 
it  was  difficult  to  conjecture.  They  said  Mr.  Edward  had 
brought  her  from  abroad ;  and  some  believed  she  had  been 
his  mistress.  But  a  queer  thing  happened  a  year  since — a 
very  queer  thing/ 

I  feared  now  to  hear  my  own  story.  I  endeavoured  to 
recall  him  to  the  main  fact. 

1  And  this  lady  ? ' 

'  This  lady,  ma'am/  he  answered,  '  turned  out  to  be  Mr. 
^Rochester's  wife  1  The  discovery  was  brought  about  in  the 
strangest  way.  There  was  a  young  lady,  a  governess  at  the 
Hall,  that  Mr.  Eochester  fell  in ' 

'  But  the  fire,'  I  suggested. 

'  I'm  coming  to  that,  ma'am — that  Mr.  Edward  fell  in 
love  with.  The  servants  say  they  never  saw  anybody  so 
much  in  love  as  he  was:  he  was  after  her  continually. 
They  used  to  watch  him — servants  will,  you  know,  ma'am — 
and  he  set  store  on  her  past  everything :  for  all,  nobody  but 
him  thought  her  so  very  handsome.  She  was  a  little  smal) 


JANE  EYRE  523 

thing,  they  say,  almost  like  a  child.  I  never  saw  her  my- 
self ;  but  I've  heard  Leah,  the  housemaid,  tell  of  her.  Leah 
liked  her  well  enough.  Mr.  Eochester  was  about  forty,  and 
this  governess  not  twenty ;  and  you  see,  when  gentlemen 
of  his  age  fall  in  love  with  girls,  they  are  often  like  as  if  they 
were  bewitched :  well,  he  would  marry  her.' 

'  You  shall  tell  me  this  part  of  the  story  another  time/  I 
said ;  '  but  now  I  have  a  particular  reason  for  wishing  to  hear 
all  about  the  fire.  Was  it  suspected  that  this  lunatic,  Mrs. 
Rochester,  had  any  hand  in  it  ? ' 

'  You've  hit  it,  ma'am  :  it's  quite  certain  that  it  was  her 
and  nobody  but  her,  that  set  it  going.  She  had  a  woman  to 
take  care  of  her  called  Mrs.  Poole — an  able  woman  in  her 
line,  and  very  trustworthy,  but  for  one  fault — a  fault  common 
to  a  deal  of  them  nurses  and  matrons — she  kept  a  private 
bottle  of  gin  by  for,  and  now  and  then  took  a  drop  over 
much.  It  is  excusable,  for  she  had  a  hard  life  of  it :  but 
still  it  was  dangerous  ;  for  when  Mrs.  Poole  was  fast  asleep, 
after  the  gin-and-water,  the  mad  lady,  who  was  as  cunning 
as  a  witch,  would  take  the  keys  out  of  her  pocket,  let  her- 
self out  of  her  chamber,  and  go  roaming  about  the  house, 
doing  any  wild  mischief  that  came  into  her  head.  They  say 
she  had  nearly  burnt  her  husband  in  his  bed  once  :  but  I 
don't  know  about  that.  However,  on  this  night,  she  set  fire 
first  to  the  hangings  of  the  room  next  her  own ;  and  then  she 
got  down  to  a  lower  story,  and  made  her  way  to  the  chamber 
that  had  been  the  governess's — (she  was  like  as  if  she  knew 
somehow  how  matters  had  gone  on,  and  had  a  spite  at  her) 
— and  she  kindled  the  bed  there;  but  there  was  nobody 
sleeping  in  it  fortunately.  The  governess  had  run  away  two 
months  before ;  and  for  all  Mr.  Rochester  sought  her  as  if 
she  had  been  the  most  precious  thing  he  had  in  the  world, 
he  never  oould  hear  a  word  of  her ;  and  he  grew  savage — . 
quite  savage  on  his  disappointment :  he  never  was  a  wild 
man,  but  he  got  dangerous  after  he  lost  her.  He  would  be 
alone,  too.  He  sent  Mrs.  Fairfax,  the  housekeeper,  away  to 
her  friends  at  a  distance ;  but  he  did  it  handsomely,  for  he 


524  JANE  EYEE 

settled  an  annuity  on  her  for  life :  and  she  deserved  it — she 
•was  a  very  good  woman.  Miss  Ad&le,  a  ward  he  had, 
was  put  to  school.  He  broke  off  acquaintance  with  all  the 
gentry,  and  shut  himself  up,  like  a  hermit,  at  the  Hall.' 

'What!  did  he  not  leave  England  ?' 

'  Leave  England  ?  Bless  you,  no !  He  would  not  cross 
the  door-stones  of  the  house;  except  at  night,  when  he 
walked  just  like  a  ghost  about  the  grounds  and  in  the 
orchard  as  if  he  had  lost  his  senses — which  it  is  my  opinion 
lie  had ;  for  a  more  spirited,  holder,  keener  gentleman  than 
he  was  before  that  midge  of  a  governess  crossed  him,  you 
never  saw,  ma'am.  He  was  not  a  man  given  to  wine,  or 
cards,  or  racing,  as  some  are,  and  he  was  not  so  very  hand- 
some ;  but  he  had  a  courage  and  a  will  of  his  own,  if  ever 
man  had.  I  knew  him  from  a  boy,  you  see :  and  for  my 
part  I  have  often  wished  that  Miss  Eyre  had  been  sunk  in 
the  sea  before  she  came  to  Thornfield  Hall/ 

1  Then  Mr.  Eochester  was  at  home  when  the  fire  broke 
out?' 

1  Yes,  indeed  was  he ;  and  he  went  up  to  the  attics  when 
all  was  burning  above  and  below,  and  got  the  servants  out  of 
their  beds  and  helped  them  down  himself — and  went  back 
to  get  his  mad  wife  out  of  her  cell.  And  then  they  called 
out  to  him  that  she  was  on  the  roof ;  where  she  was  standing, 
waving  her  arms,  above  the  battlements,  and  shouting  out 
till  they  could  hear  her  a  mile  off;  I  saw  her  and  heard  her 
with  my  own  eyes.  She  was  a  big  woman,  and  had  long 
black  hair :  we  could  see  it  streaming  against  the  flames  as 
she  stood.  I  witnessed,  and  several  more  witnessed  Mr. 
Eochester  ascend  through  the  skylight  on  to  the  roof :  we 
heard  him  call  "  Bertha  1  "  We  saw  him  approach  her ; 
and  then,  ma'am,  she  yelled,  and  gave  a  spring,  and  the  next 
jninute  she  lay  smashed  on  the  pavement.' 

1  Dead  ? ' 

1  Dead  ?  Ay,  dead  as  the  stones  on  which  her  brains  and 
blood  were  scattered.' 

1  Good  God!' 


JANE  EYEE  525 

1  You  may  well  say  so,  ma'am  :  it  was  frightful  1 ' 

He  shuddered. 

1  And  afterwards  ?  '  I  urged. 

1  Well,  ma'am,  afterwards  the  house  was  burnt  to  the 
ground  :  there  are  only  some  bits  of  walls  standing  now/ 

1  Were  any  other  lives  lost  ?  ' 

1  No — perhaps  it  would  have  been  better  if  there  had.' 

1  What  do  you  mean  ? ' 

1  Poor  Mr.  Edward  ! '  he  ejaculated,  '  I  little  thought  ever 
to  have  seen  it !  Some  say  it  was  a  just  judgment  on  him 
for  keeping  his  first  marriage  secret,  and  wanting  to  take 
another  wife  while  he  had  one  living  :  but  I  pity  him,  for  my 
part.1 

1  You  Naid  he  was  alive  ?  '  I  exclaimed. 

'  Yes,  yes :  he  is  alive ;  but  many  think  he  had  better  be 
dead/ 

1  Why  ?     How  ?  '     My  blood  was  again  running  cold. 

1  Where  is  he  ?  '  I  demanded.     *  Is  he  in  England  ? ' 

'  Ay — ay — he's  in  England ;  he  can't  get  out  of  England, 
I  fancy — he's  a  fixture  now/ 

What  agony  was  this  !  And  the  man  seemed  resolved  to 
protract  it. 

1  He  is  stone-blind,1  he  said  at  last.  '  Yes — he  is  stone- 
blind — is  Mr.  Edward/ 

I  had  dreaded  worse.  I  had  dreaded  he  was  mad.  I 
summoned  strength  to  ask  what  had  caused  this  calamity. 

1  It  was  all  his  own  courage,  and  a  body  may  say,  his 
kindness,  in  a  way,  ma'am :  he  wouldn't  leave  the  house  till 
every  one  else  was  out  before  him.  As  he  came  down  the 
great  staircase  at  last,  after  Mrs.  Eochester  had  flung  herself 
from  the  battlements,  there  was  a  great  crash — all  fell.  He 
was  taken  out  from  under  the  ruins,  alive,  but  sadly  hurt :  a 
beam  had  fallen  in  such  a  way  as  to  protect  him  partly  ;  but 
one  eye  was  knocked  out,  and  one  hand  so  crushed  that  Mr. 
Carter,  the  surgeon,  had  to  amputate  it  directly.  The  other 
eye  inflamed  :  he  lost  the  sight  of  that  also.  He  is  now 
helpless,  indeed— blind  and  a  cripple/ 


526  JANE  EYEE 

1  Where  is  he  V    Where  does  he  now  live  ? ' 

1  At  Ferndean,  a  manor-house  on  a  farm  he  has,  about 
thirty  miles  off:  quite  a  desolate  spot.1 

'  Who  is  with  him  ? ' 

'  Old  John  arid  his  wife :  he  would  have  none  else.  He  is 
quite  broken  down,  they  say.' 

1  Have  you  any  sort  of  conveyance  ?  ' 

1  We  have  a  chaise,  ma'am,  a  very  handsome  chaise/ 

'  Let  it  be  got  ready  instantly ;  and  if  your  post-boy  can 
drive  me  to  Ferndean  before  dark  this  day,  I'll  pay  both  you 
and  him  twice  the  hire  you  usually  demand/ 


JANE  EYBB  527 


CHAPTEE  XXXVII 

THE  manor-house  of  Ferndean  was  a  building  of  considerable 
antiquity,  moderate  size,  and  no  architectural  pretensions, 
deep  buried  in  a  wood.  I  had  heard  of  it  before.  Mr. 
Bochester  often  spoke  of  it,  and  sometimes  went  there.  His 
father  had  purchased  the  estate  for  the  sake  of  the  game 
covers.  He  would  have  let  the  house ;  but  could  find  no 
tenant,  in  consequence  of  its  ineligible  and  insalubrious  site. 
Ferndean  then  remained  uninhabited  and  unfurnished ;  with 
the  exception  of  some  two  or  three  rooms  fitted  up  for  the 
accommodation  of  the  squire  when  he  went  there  in  the 
season  to  shoot. 

To  this  house  I  came,  just  ere  dark,  on  an  evening 
marked  by  the  characteristics  of  sad  sky,  cold  gale,  and 
continued  small,  penetrating  rain.  The  last  mile  I  performed 
on  foot,  having  dismissed  the  chaise  and  driver  with  the 
double  remuneration  I  had  promised.  Even  when  within  a 
very  short  distance  of  the  manor-house  you  could  see 
nothing  of  it;  so  thick  and  dark  grew  the  timber  of  the 
gloomy  wood  about  it.  Iron  gates  between  granite  pillars 
showed  me  where  to  enter,  and  passing  through  them,  I 
found  myself  at  once  in  the  twilight  of  close-ranked  trees. 
There  was  a  grass-grown  track  descending  the  forest  aisle, 
between  hoar  and  knotty  shafts  and  under  branched  arches. 
I  followed  it,  expecting  soon  to  reach  the  dwelling ;  but  it 
stretched  on  and  on,  it  wound  far  and  farther :  no  sign  of 
habitation  or  grounds  was  visible. 

I  thought  I  had  taken  a  wrong  direction  and  lost  my 
way.  The  darkness  of  natural  as  well  as  of  sylvan  dusk 
gathered  over  me.  I  looked  round  in  search  of  another 


528  JANE  EYBE 

road.  There  was  none :  all  was  interwoven  stem,  columnar 
trunk,  dense,  summer  foliage — no  opening  anywhere. 

I  proceeded :  at  last  my  way  opened,  the  trees  thinned  a 
little ;  presently  I  beheld  a  railing,  then  the  house — scarce, 
by  this  dim  light,  distinguishable  from  the  trees ;  so  dauk 
and  green  were  its  decaying  walls.  Entering  a  portal, 
fastened  only  by  a  latch,  I  stood  amidst  a  space  of  enclosed 
ground,  from  which  the  wood  swept  away  in  a  semicircle. 
There  were  no  flowers,  no  garden-beds ;  only  a  broad  gravel- 
walk  girdling  a  grass-plat,  and  this  set  in  the  heavy  frame 
of  the  forest.  The  house  presented  two  pointed  gables  in 
its  front ;  the  windows  were  latticed  and  narrow ;  the  front 
door  was  narrow  too,  one  step  led  up  to  it.  The  whole 
looked,  as  the  host  of  the  Eochester  Arms  had  said,  *  quite  a 
desolate  spot.'  It  was  as  still  as  a  church  on  a  week-day : 
the  pattering  rain  on  the  forest  leaves  was  the  only  sound 
audible  in  its  vicinage. 

'  Can  there  be  life  here  ?  '  I  asked. 

Yes :  life  of  some  kind  there  was :  for  I  heard  a  move- 
ment— that  narrow  front  door  was  unclosing,  and  some 
shape  was  about  to  issue  from  the  grange. 

It  opened  slowly :  a  figure  came  out  into  the  twilight  and 
stood  on  the  step  ;  a  man  without  a  hat :  he  stretched  forth 
his  hand  as  if  to  feel  whether  it  rained.  Dusk  as  it  was,  I 
had  recognised  him — it  was  my  master,  Edward  Fairfax 
Rochester,  and  no  other. 

I  stayed  my  step,  almost  my  breath,  and  stood  to  watch 
him — to  examine  him,  myself  unseen,  and  alas !  to  him 
invisible.  It  was  a  sudden  meeting,  and  one  in  which 
rapture  was  kept  well  in  check  by  pain.  I  had  no  difficulty 
in  restraining  my  voice  from  exclamation,  my  step  from 
hasty  advance. 

His  form  was  of  the  same  strong  and  stalwart  contour  as 
ever :  his  port  was  still  erect,  his  hair  was  still  raven-black ; 
nor  were  his  features  altered  or  sunk:  not  in  one  year's 
space,  by  any  sorrow,  could  his  athletic  strength  be  quelled, 
or  his  vigorous  prime  blighted.  But  in  his  countenance  I 


JANE  EYEE  529 

saw  a  change:  that  looked  desperate  and  brooding — that 
reminded  ine  of  some  wronged  and  fettered  wild  beast  or 
bird,  dangerous  to  approach  in  his  sullen  woe.  The  caged 
eagle,  whose  gold-ringed  eyes  cruelty  has  extinguished,  might 
look  as  looked  that  sightless  Samson. 

And,  reader,  do  you  think  I  feared  him  in  his  blind 
ferocity  ? — if  you  do,  you  little  know  me.  A  soft  hope  blent 
with  my  sorrow  that  soon  I  should  dare  to  drop  a  kiss  on 
that  brow  of  rock,  and  on  those  lips  so  sternly  sealed  beneath 
it :  but  not  yet.  1  would  not  accost  him  yet. 

He  descended  the  one  step,  and  advanced  slowly  and 
gropingly  towards  the  grass-plat.  Where  was  his  daring 
stride  now  ?  Then  he  paused,  as  if  he  knew  not  which  way 
to  turn.  He  lifted  his  hand  and  opened  his  eyelids  ;  gazed 
blank,  and  with  a  straining  effort,  on  the  sky,  and  towards 
the  amphitheatre  of  trees  :  one  saw  that  all  to  him  was  void 
darkness.  He  stretched  his  right  hand  (the  left  arm,  the 
mutilated  one,  he  kept  hidden  in  his  bosom) ;  he  seemed  to 
wish  by  touch  to  gain  an  idea  of  what  lay  around  him  :  he 
met  but  vacancy  still;  for  the  trees  were  some  yards  ofi 
where  he  stood.  He  relinquished  the  endeavour,  folded  his 
arms,  and  stood  quiet  and  mute  in  the  rain,  now  falling  fast 
on  his  uncovered  head.  At  this  moment  John  approached 
him  trom  some  quarter. 

'  Will  you  take  my  arm,  sir  ? '  he  said ;  '  there  is  a  heavy 
shower  coming  on  •  had  you  not  better  go  in  ? ' 

'  Let  me  alone/  was  the  answer. 

John  withdrew,  without  having  observed  me.  Mr. 
Eochester  now  tried  to  walk  about:  vainly, — all  was  too 
uncertain.  He  groped  his  way  back  to  the  house,  and,  re- 
entering  it,  closed  the  door. 

I  now  drew  near  and  knocked :  John's  wife  opened  for 
me.  '  Mary/  I  said,  '  how  are  you  ? ' 

She  started  as  if  she  had  seen  a  ghost :  I  calmed  her. 
To  her  hurried  *  Is  it  really  you,  miss,  come  at  this  late  hour 
to  this  'only  place  ? '  I  answered  by  taking  her  hand ;  and 
then  I  followed  her  into  the  kitchen,  where  John  now  sat  by 


530  JANE   EYEE 

a  good  fire.  I  explained  to  them,  in  few  words,  that  I  had 
heard  all  which  had  happened  since  I  left  Thornfield,  and 
that  I  was  come  to  see  Mr.  Eochester.  I  asked  John  to  go 
down  to  the  turnpike-house,  where  I  had  dismissed  the 
chaise,  and  bring  my  trunk,  which  I  had  left  there  :  and 
then,  while  I  removed  my  bonnet  and  shawl,  I  questioned 
Mary  as  to  whether  I  could  be  accommodated  at  the  Manor 
House  for  the  night ;  and  finding  that  arrangements  to  that 
effect,  though  difficult,  would  not  be  impossible,  I  informed 
her  I  should  stay.  Just  at  this  moment  the  parlour-bell 
rang. 

1  When  you  go  in,'  said  I,  '  tell  your  master  that  a  person 
wishes  to  speak  to  him,  but  do  not  give  my  name.1 

'  I  don't  think  he  will  see  you/  she  answered ;  *  he  refuses 
everybody/ 

When  she  returned  I  inquired  what  he  had  said. 

'  You  are  to  send  in  your  name  and  your  business/  she 
replied.  She  then  proceeded  to  fill  a  glass  with  water,  and 
place  it  on  a  tray,  together  with  candles. 

'  Is  that  what  he  rang  for  ? f  I  asked. 

'  Yes  :  he  always  has  candles  brought  in  at  dark,  though 
he  is  blind/ 

'  Give  the  tray  to  me ;  I  will  carry  it  in.' 

I  took  it  from  her  hand :  she  pointed  me  out  the  parlour 
door.  The  tray  shook  as  I  held  it ;  the  water  spilt  from  the 
glass ;  my  heart  struck  my  ribs  loud  and  fast.  Mary  opened 
the  door  for  me,  and  shut  it  behind  me. 

This  parlour  looked  gloomy :  a  neglected  handful  of  fire 
burnt  low  in  the  grate ;  and,  leaning  over  it,  with  his  head 
supported  against  the  high,  old-fashioned  mantelpiece, 
appeared  the  blind  tenant  of  the  room.  His  old  dog,  Pilot, 
lay  on  one  side,  removed  out  of  the  way,  and  coiled  up 
as  if  afraid  of  being  inadvertently  trodden  upon.  Pilot 
pricked  up  his  ears  when  I  came  in :  then  he  jumped  up  with 
a  yelp  and  a  whine,  and  bounded  towards  me :  he  almost 
knocked  the  tray  from  my  hands.  I  set  it  on  the  table ;  then 
patted  him,  and  said  softly,  'Lie  down!'  Mr.  Rochester 


JANE  EYRE  531 

turned  mechanically  to  see  what  the  commotion  was  :  but  as 
he  saw  nothing,  he  re-turned  and  sighed. 

'  Give  me  the  water,  Mary/  he  said. 

I  approached  him  with  the  now  only  half-filled  glass : 
Pilot  followed  me,  still  excited. 

1  What  is  the  matter  ? '  he  inquired.       • 

'  Down,  Pilot ! '  I  again  said.  He  checked  the  water  on 
its  way  to  his  lips,  and  seemed  to  listen :  he  drank,  and  put 
the  glass  down.  '  This  is  you,  Mary,  is  it  not  ? ' 

1  Mary  is  in  the  kitchen/  I  answered. 

He  put  out  his  hand  with  a  quick  gesture,  but  not  seeing 
where  I  stood,  he  did  not  touch  me.  '  Who  is  this  ?  Who 
is  this  ? '  he  demanded,  trying,  as  it  seemed,  to  see  with  those 
sightless  eyes — unavailing  and  distressing  attempt  1  '  Answer 
me — speak  again  1 '  he  ordered,  imperiously  and  aloud. 

1  Will  you  have  a  little  more  water,  sir  ?  I  spilfc  half  of 
what  was  in  the  glass,1 1  said. 

'  Who  is  it  ?     What  is  it  ?    Who  speaks  ? ' 

'  Pilot  knows  me,  and  John  and  Mary  know  I  am  here. 
I  came  only  this  evening/  I  answered. 

'  Great  God ! — what  delusion  has  come  over  me  ?  What 
sweet  madness  has  seized  me  ? ' 

'  No  delusion — no  madness :  your  mind,  sir,  is  too  strong 
for  delusion,  your  health  too  sound  for  frenzy/ 

1  And  where  is  the  speaker  ?  Is  it  only  a  voice  ?  Oh  I  I 
cannot  see,  but  I  must  feel,  or  my  heart  will  stop  and  my 
brain  burst.  Whatever — whoever  you  are — be  perceptible 
to  the  touch  or  I  cannot  live  ! ' 

He  groped ;  I  arrested  his  wandering  hand,  and  prisoned 
it  in  both  mine. 

1  Her  very  fingers  ! '  he  cried ;  '  her  small,  slight  fingers  ! 
If  so,  there  must  be  more  of  her/ 

The  muscular  hand  broke  from  my  custody ;  my  arm 
was  seized,  my  shoulder — neck — waist — I  was  entwined  and 
gathered  to  him. 

'  Is  it  Jane  ?  What  is  it  ?  This  is  her  shape— this  is  her 
size • 


532  JANE  EYEE 

1  And  this  her  voice,'  I  added.  '  She  is  all  here :  her 
heart,  too.  God  bless  you,  sir !  I  am  glad  to  he  so  near  you 
again/ 

1  Jane  Eyre  1 — Jane  Eyre ! '  was  all  he  said. 

'  My  dear  master/  I  answered,  '  I  am  Jane  Eyre :  I  have 
found  you  out — Lam  come  back  to  you/ 

'  In  truth  ?—  in  the  flesh  ?    My  living  Jane  ?  ' 

1  You  touch  me,  sir, — you  hold  me,  and  fast  enough ;  I 
am  not  cold  like  a  corpse,  nor  vacant  like  air,  am  I  ? ' 

1  My  living  darling !  These  are  certainly  her  limbs,  and 
these  her  features ;  but  I  cannot  be  so  blest,  after  all  my 
misery.  It  is  a  dream;  such  dreams  as  I  have  had  at 
night  when  I  have  clasped  her  once  more  to  my  heart,  as  I 
do  now ;  and  kissed  her,  as  thus — and  felt  that  she  loved 
me,  and  trusted  that  she-would  not  leave  me/ 

'  Which  I  never  will,  sir,  from  this  day/ 

1  Never  will,  says  the  vision  ?  But  I  always  woke  and 
found  it  an  empty  mockery ;  and  I  was  desolate  and 
abandoned — my  life  dark,  lonely,  hopeless — my  soul  athirst 
and  forbidden  to  drink — my  heart  famished  and  never  to  be 
fed.  Gentle,  soft  dream,  nestling  in  my  arms  now,  you  will 
fly,  too,  as  your  sisters  have  all  fled  before  you :  but  kiss  me 
before  you  ago — embrace  me,  Jane/ 

'  There,  sir — and  there  I ' 

I  pressed  my  lips  to  his  once  brilliant  and  now  rayless 
eyes — I  swept  his  hair  from  his  brow,  and  kissed  that  too. 
He  suddenly  seemed  to  arouse  himself :  the  conviction  of 
the  reality  of  all  this  seized  him. 

1  It  is  you— is  it  Jane  ?    You  are  come  back  to  me  then  ? ' 

•  I  am/ 

1  And  you  do  not  lie  dead  in  some ,  ditch  under  some 
stream?  And  you  are  not  a  pining  outcast  amongst 
strangers  ? ' 

'  No,  sir ;  I  am  an  independent  woman  now/ 

1  Independent !     What  do  you  mean,  Jane  ? ' 

1  My  uncle  in  Madeira  is  dead,  and  he  left  me  five  thou- 
sand pounds/ 


JANE  EYEE  533 

'  Ah,  this  is  practical — this  is  real  1 '  he  cried :  '  I  should 
never  dream  that.  Besides,  there  is  that  peculiar  voice  of 
hers,  so  animating  and  piquant,  as  well  as  soft :  it  cheers 
my  withered  heart ;  it  puts  life  into  it. — What,  Janet ! 
Are  you  an  independent  woman  ?  A  rich  woman  ? f 

'  Quite  rich,  sir.  If  you  won't  let  me  live  with  you,  I  can 
build  a  house  of  my  own  close  up  to  your  door,  and  you  may 
come  and  sit  in  my  parlour  when  you  want  company  of  an 
evening/ 

'But  as  you  are  rich,  Jane,  you  have  now,  no  doubt, 
friends  who  will  look  after  you,  and  not  suffer  you  to  devote 
yourself  to  a  blind  lameier  like  me  ? ' 

'  I  told  you  I  am  independent,  sir,  as  well  as  rich  :  I  am 
my  own  mistress.' 

'  And  you  will  stay  with  me  ? ' 

1  Certainly — unless  you  object.  I  will  be  your  neighbour, 
your  nurse,  your  housekeeper.  I  find  you  lonely  :  I  will  be 
your  companion — to  read  to  you,  to  walk  with  you,  to  sit 
with  you,  to  wait  on  you,  to  be  eyes  and  hands  to  you. 
Cease  to  look  so  melancholy,  my  dear  master ;  you  shall  not 
be  left  desolate,  so  long  as  I  live.' 

He  replied  not :  he  seemed  serious— abstracted ;  he 
sighed;  he  half -opened  his  lips  as  if  to  speak:  he  closed 
them  again.  I  felt  a  little  embarrassed.  Perhaps  I  had  too 
rashly  overleaped  conventionalities ;  and  he,  like  St.  John, 
saw  impropriety  in  my  inconsiderateness.  I  had  indeed 
made  my  proposal  from  the  idea  that  he  wished  and  would 
ask  me  to  be  his  wife :  an  expectation,  not  the  less  certain 
because  unexpressed,  had  buoyed  me  up,  that  he  would 
claim  me  at  once  as  his  own.  But  no  hint  to  that  effect 
escaping  him,  and  his  countenance  becoming  more  overcast, 
I  suddenly  remembered  that  I  might  have  been  all  wrong, 
and  was  perhaps  playing  the  fool  unwittingly ;  and  I  began 
gently  to  withdraw  myself  from  his  arms — but  he  eagerly 
snatched  me  closer. 

'  No — no — Jane  :  you  must  not  go.  No — I  have  touched 
you,  heard  you,  felt  the  comfort  of  your  presence — the 


534  JANE  EYRE 

sweetness  of  your  consolation :  I  cannot  give  up  these  joys. 
I  have  little  left  in  myself — I  must  have  you.  The  world 
may  laugh—may  call  me  absurd,  selfish — but  it  does  not 
signify.  My  very  soul  demands  you :  it  will  be  satisfied :  or 
it  will  take  deadly  vengeance  on  its  frame/ 

1  Well,  sir,  I  will  stay  with  you :  I  have  said  so.' 
1  Yes — but  you  understand  one  thing  by  staying  with  me ; 
and  I  understand  another.  You,  perhaps,  could  make  up 
your  mind  to  be  about  my  hand  and  chair — to  wait  on  me 
as  a  kind  little  nurse>  (for  you  have  an  affectionate  heart  and 
a  generous  spirit,  which  prompt  you  to  make  sacrifices  for 
those  you  pity),  and  that  ought  to  suffice  for  me  no  doubt. 
I  suppose  I  should  now  entertain  none  but  fatherly  feelings 
for  you :  do  you  think  so  ?  Come— tell  me.' 

'  I  will  think  what  you  like,  sir :  I  am  content  to  be  only 
your  nurse,  if  you  think  it  better.' 

'  But  you  cannot  always  be  my  nurse,  Janet :  you  are 
young — you  must  marry  one  day.' 
'  I  don't  care  about  being  married.' 
1  You  should  care,  Janet :  if  I  were  what  I  once  was,  I 
would  try  to  make  you  care— but — a  sightless  block  ! ' 

He  relapsed  again  into  gloom.  I,  on  the  contrary, 
became  more  cheerful,  and  took  fresh  courage :  these  last 
words  gave  me  an  insight  as  to  where  the  difficulty  lay ;  and 
as  it  was  no  difficulty  with  me,  I  felt  quite  relieved  from  my 
previous  embarrassment.  I  resumed  a  livelier  vein  of  con- 
versation. 

'It  is  time  some  one  undertook  to  rehumanise  you,' 
said  I,  parting  his  thick  and  long  uncut  locks ;  '  for  I  see 
you  are  being  metamorphosed  into  a  lion,  or  something  of 
that  sort.  You  have  a  "  faux  air  "  of  Nebuchadnezzar  in  the 
fields  about  you,  that  is  certain :  your  hair  reminds  me  of 
eagle's  feathers;  whether  your  nails  are  grown  like  bird's 
claws  or  not,  I  have  not  yet  noticed.' 

'  On  this  arm  I  have  neither  hand  nor  nails,'  he  said, 
drawing  the  mutilated  limb  from  his  breast,  and  showing  it 


JANE  EYEE  636 

to  me.  *  It  is  a  mere  stump — a  ghastly  sight  1  Don't  you 
think  so,  Jane  ? ' 

'  It  is  a  pity  to  see  it ;  and  a  pity  to  see  your  eyes — and 
the  scar  of  fire  on  your  forehead :  and  the  worst  of  it  is,  one 
is  in  danger  of  loving  you  too  well  for  all  this  ;  and  making 
too  much  of  you/ 

'  I  thought  you  would  be  revolted,  Jane,  when  you  saw 
my  arm  and  my  cicatrised  visage.1 

1  Did  you  ?  Don't  tell  me  so — lest  I  should  say  some- 
thing disparaging  to  your  judgment.  Now,  let  me  leave 
you  an  instant,  to  make  a  better  fire,  and  have  the  hearth 
swept  up.  Can  you  tell  when  there  is  a  good  fire  ? ' 

'  Yes ;  with  the  right  eye  I  see  a  glow — a  ruddy  haze.' 

'  And  you  see  the  candles  ? ' 

'  Very  dimly — each  is  a  luminous  cloud.' 

'  Can  you  see  ine  ? ' 

1  No,  my  fairy  :  but  I  am  only  too  thankful  to  hear  and 
feel  you.1 

1  When  do  you  take  supper  ? ' 

'  I  never  take  supper/ 

'  But  you  shall  have  some  to-night.  I  am  hungry :  so 
are  you,  I  daresay,  only  you  forget/ 

Summoning  Mary,  I  soon  had  the  room  in  more  cheerful 
order :  I  prepared  him,  likewise,  a  comfortable  repast.  My 
spirits  were  excited,  and  with  pleasure  and  ease  I  talked  to 
him  during  supper,  and  for  a  long  time  after.  There  was 
no  harassing  restraint,  no  repressing  of  glee  and  vivacity 
with  him ;  for  with  him  I  was  at  perfect  ease,  because  I 
knew  I  suited  him :  all  I  said  or  did  seemed  either  to  console 
or  revive  him.  Delightful  consciousness !  It  brought  to 
life  and  light  my  whole  nature :  in  his  presence  I  thoroughly 
lived;  and  he  lived  in  mine.  Blind  as  he  was,  smiles 
played  over  his  face,  joy  dawned  on  his  forehead;  his 
lineaments  softened  and  warmed. 

After  supper  he  began  to  ask  me  many  questions,  of 
where  I  had  been,  what  I  had  been  doing,  how  I  had  found 
out ;  but  I  gave  him  only  very  partial  replies :  it  was 


536  JANE  EYBE 

too  late  to  enter  into  particulars  that  night.  Besides,  I 
wished  to  touch  no  deep-thrilling  chord — to  open  no  fresh 
well  of  emotion  in  his  heart :  my  sole  present  aim  was  to 
cheer  him.  Cheered,  as  I  have  said,  he  was :  and  yet  but 
by  fits.  If  a  moment's  silence  broke  the  conversation,  he 
would  turn  restless,  touch  me,  then  say,  '  Jane.' 

I  You  are  altogether  a  human  being,  Jane  ?    You  are 
certain  of  that  ?  ' 

I 1  conscientiously  believe  so,  Mr.  Eochester.' 

'  Yet  how,  on  this  dark  and  doleful  evening,  could  you  so 
suddenly  rise  on  my  lone  hearth  ?  I  stretched  my  hand  to 
take  a  glass  of  water  from  a  hireling,  and  it  was  given  me 
by  you :  I  asked  a  question,  expecting  John's  wife  to  answer 
me,  and  your  voice  spoke  at  my  ear.' 

1  Because  I  had  come  in,  in  Mary's  stead,  with  the  tray.' 

1  And  there  is  enchantment  in  the  very  hour  I  am  now 
spending  with  you.  Who  can  tell  what  a  dark,  dreary, 
hopeless  life  I  have  dragged  on  for  months  past?  Doing 
nothing,  expecting  nothing ;  merging  night  in  day ;  feeling 
but  the  sensation  of  cold  when  I  let  the  fire  go  out,  of  hunger 
when  I  forgot  to  eat :  and  then  a  ceaseless  sorrow,  and,  at 
times,  a  very  delirium  of  desire  to  behold  my  Jane  again. 
Yes  :  for  her  restoration  I  longed,  far  more  than  for  that  of 
my  lost  sight.  How  can  it  be  that  Jane  is  with  me,  and 
says  she  loves  me  ?  Will  she  not  depart  as  suddenly  as  she 
came  ?  To-morrow,  I  fear,  I  shall  find  her  no  more.' 

A  common-place,  practical  reply,  out  of  the  train  of  his 
own  disturbed  ideas,  was,  I  was  sure,  the  best  and  most  re- 
assuring for  him  in  this  frame  of  mind.  I  passed  my  finger 
over  his  eyebrows,  and  remarked  that  they  were  scorched, 
and  that  I  would  apply  something  which  should  make  them 
grow  as  broad  and  black  as  ever. 

'  Where  is  the  use  of  doing  me  good  in  any  way,  bene- 
ficent spirit,  when,  at  some  fatal  moment,  you  will  again 
desert  me — passing  like  a  shadow,  whither  and  how  to  me 
unknown;  and  for  me  remaining  afterwards  undiscover- 
able?' 


JANE  EYRE  537 

1  Have  you  a  pocket  comb  about  you,  sir  ? ' 

'What  for,  Jane?' 

'  Just  to  comb  out  this  shaggy  black  mane.  I  find  you 
rather  alarming  when  I  examine  you  close  at  hand :  you 
talk  of  my  being  a  fairy  ;  but  I  am  sure  you  are  more  like  a 
brownie/ 

1  Am  I  hideous,  Jane  ?  * 

'  Very,  sir  :  you  always  were,  you  know.' 

1  Humph  !  The  wickedness  has  not  been  taken  out  of  you, 
wherever  you  have  sojourned.1 

'  Yet  I  have  been  with  good  people ;  far  better  than  you  : 
a  hundred  times  better  people ;  possessed  of  ideas  and  views 
you  never  entertained  in  your  life :  quite  more  refined  and 
exalted/ 

1  Who  the  deuce  have  you  been  with  ? ' 

'  If  you  twist  in  that  way  you  will  make  me  pull  the 
hair  out  of  your  head  ;  and  then  I  think  you  will  cease  to 
entertain  doubts  of  my  substantiality/ 

'  Who  have  you  been  with,  Jane  ? ' 

'  You  shall  not  get  it  out  of  me  to-night,  sir ;  you  must 
wait  till  to-morrow;  to  leave  my  tale  half  told  will,  you 
know,  be  a  sort  of  security  that  I  shall  appear  at  your  break- 
fast table  to  finish  it.  By-the-bye,  I  must  mind  not  to  rise 
on  your  hearth  with  only  a  glass  of  water,  then :  I  must 
bring  an  egg  at  the  least,  to  say  nothing  of  fried  ham/ 

'  You  mocking  changeling — fairy-born  and  human-bred  ! 
You  make  me  feel  as  I  have  not  felt  these  twelve  months.  If 
Saul  could  have  had  you  for  his  David,  the  evil  spirit  would 
have  been  exorcised  without  the  aid  of  the  harp/ 

1  There,  sir,  you  are  redd  up  and  made  decent.  Now  I'll 
leave  you  :  I  have  been  travelling  these  last  three  days,  and  I 
believe  I  am  tired.  Good-night/ 

'Just  one  word,  Jane:  were  there  only  ladies  in  the 
house  where  you  have  been  ? ' 

I  laughed  and  made  my  escape,  still  laughing  as  I  ran 
upstairs.  '  A  gpod  idea ! '  I  thought,  with  glee.  '  I  see  I 


538  JANE  EYEE 

have  the  means  of  fretting  him  out  of  his  melancholy  for 
some  time  to  come.' 

Very  early  the  next  morning  I  heard  him  up  and  astir, 
wandering  from  one  room  to  another.  As  soon  as  Mary 
came  down  I  heard  the  question :  '  Is  Miss  Eyre  here  ? ' 
Then :  '  Which  room  did  you  put  her  into  ?  Was  it  dry  ? 
Is  she  up  ?  Go  and  ask  if  she  wants  anything ;  and  when 
she  will  come  down.' 

I  came  down  as  soon  as  I  thought  there  was  a  prospect 
of  breakfast.  Entering  the  room  very  softly,  I  had  a  view 
of  him  before  he  discovered  my  presence.  It  was  mournful 
indeed  to  witness  the  subjugation  of  that  vigorous  spirit  to 
a  corporeal  infirmity.  He  sat  in  his  chair, — still,  but  not  at 
rest :  expectant  evidently;  the  lines  of  now  habitual  sadness 
marking  his  strong  features.  His  countenance  reminded 
one  of  a  lamp  quenched,  waiting  to  be  relit — and  alas !  it 
was  not  himself  that  could  now  kindle  the  lustre  of  animated 
expression :  he  was  dependent  on  another  for  that  office !  I 
had  meant  to  be  gay  and  careless,  but  the  powerlessness  of  the 
strong  man  touched  my  heart  to  the  quick  :  still  I  accosted 
him  with  what  vivacity  I  could:  'It  is  a  bright,  sunny 
morning,  sir/  I  said.  '  The  rain  is  over  and  gone,  and  there 
is  a  tender  shining  after  it :  you  shall  have  a  walk  soon.' 

I  had  wakened  the  glow  :  his  features  beamed. 

1  Oh,  you  are  indeed  there,  my  sky  lark  !  Come  to  me. 
You  are  not  gone  :  not  vanished  ?  I  heard  one  of  your  kind 
an  hour  ago,  singing  high  over  the  wood  :  but  its  song  had 
no  music  for  me,  any  more  than  the  rising  sun  had  rays. 
All  the  melody  on  earth  is  concentrated  in  my  Jane's 
tongue  to  my  ear  (I  am  glad  it  is  not  naturally  a  silent  one)  : 
all  the  sunshine  I  can  feel  is  in  her  presence.1 

The  water  stood  in  my  eyes  to  hear  this  avowal  of  his 
dependence :  just  as  if  a  royal  eagle,  chained  to  a  perch, 
should  be  forced  to  entreat  a  sparrow  to  become  its  purveyor. 
But  I  would  not  be  lachrymose  :  I  dashed  off  the  salt  drops, 
and  busied  myself  with  preparing  breakfast. 

Most  of  the  morning  was  spent  in  the  open  air.    I  led 


JANE  EYBB  539 

him  out  of  the  wet  and  wild  wood  into  some  cheerful  fields : 
I  described  to  him  how  brilliantly  green  they  were  ;  how  the 
flowers  and  hedges  looked  refreshed ;  how  sparklmgly  blue 
was  the  sky.  I  sought  a  seat  for  him  in  a  hidden  and  lovely 
spot :  a  dry  stump  of  a  tree :  nor  did  I  refuse  to  let  him,  when 
seated,  place  me  on  his  knee :  why  .should  I,  when  both  he  and 
I  were  happier  near  than  apart  ?  Pilot  lay  beside  us  :  all  was 
quiet.  He  broke  out  suddenly  while  clasping  me  in  his 
arms :  '  Cruel,  cruel  deserter !  Oh,  Jane,  what  did  I  feel 
when  I  discovered  you  had  fled  from  Thornfield,  and  when 
I  could  nowhere  find  you;  and,  after  examining  your 
apartment,  ascertained  that  you  had  taken  no  money,  nor 
anything  which  could  serve  as  an  equivalent !  A  pearl  neck- 
lace I  had  given  you  lay  untouched  in  its  little  casket ,  your 
trunks  were  left  corded  and  locked  as  they  had  been  prepared 
for  the  bridal  tour.  What  could  my  darling  do,  I  asked,  left 
destitute  and  penniless  ?  And  what  did  she  do  ?  Let  me 
hear  now.' 

Thus  urged,  I  began  the  narrative  of  my  experience  for 
the  last  year.  I  softened  considerably  what  related  to  the 
three  days  of  wandering  and  starvation,  because  to  have 
told  him  all  would  have  been  to  inflict  unnecessary  pain : 
the  little  1  did  say  lacerated  his  faithful  heart  deeper  than  I 
wished. 

I  should  not  have  left  him  thus,  he  said,  without  any 
means  of  making  my  way:  I  should  have  told  him  my 
intention.  I  should  have  confided  in  him :  he  would  never 
have  forced  me  to  be  his  mistress.  Violent  as  he  had 
seemed  in  his  despair,  he,  in  truth,  loved  me  far  too  well 
and  too  tenderly  to  constitute  himself  my  tyrant  he  would 
have  given  me  half  his  fortune,  without  demanding  so  much 
as  a  kiss  in  return,  rather  than  I  should  have  flung  myself 
friendless  on  the  wide  world.  I  had  endured,  he  was 
certain,  more  than  I  had  confessed  to  him.  — 

'  Well,  whatever  my  sufferings  had  been,  they  were  very 
short,'  I  answered :  and  then  I  proceeded  to  tell  him  how  J 
had  been  received  at  Moor  House ;  how  I  had  obtained  the 


540  JANE  EYBE 

office  of  schoolmistress,  &c.  The  accession  of  fortune,  the 
discovery  of  my  relations,  followed  in  due  order.  Of  course 
St.  John  Elvers'  name  came  in  frequently  in  the  progress 
of  my  tale.  When  I  had  done  that  name  was  immediately 
taken  up. 

'  This  St.  John,  then,  is  your  cousin  ? ' 

1  Yes/ 

1  You  have  spoken  of  him  often :  do  you  like  him? ' 

*  He  was  a  very  good  man,  sir ;  I  could  not  help  liking 
him/ 

'A  good  man?  Does  that  mean  a  respectable,  well- 
conducted  man  of  fifty  ?  Or  what  does  it  mean  ? ' 

1  St.  John  was  only  twenty-nine,  sir.' 

' "  Jeune  encore"  as  the  French  say.  Is  he  a  person  of 
low  stature,  phlegmatic,  and  plain  ?  A  person  whose  good- 
ness consists  rather  in  his  guiltlessness  of  vice  than  in  his 
prowess  in  virtue  ?  ' 

1  He  is  untiringly  active.  Great  and  exalted  deeds  are 
what  he  lives  to  perform/ 

1  But  his  brain  ?  That  is  probably  rather  soft  ?  He 
means  well:  but  you  shrug  your  shoulders  to  hear  him 
talk?' 

1  He  talks  little,  sir :  what  he  does  say  is  ever  to  the 
point.  His  brain  is  first-rate,  I  should  think  not  impres- 
sible, but  vigorous/ 

1  Is  he  an  able  man,  then  ? ' 

'  Truly  able/ 

'  A  thoroughly  educated  man  ? ' 

1  St.  John  is  an  accomplished  and  profound  scholar/ 

'  His  manners,  I  think,  you  said  are  not  to  your  taste  ? — 
priggish  and  parsonic  ? f 

'I  never  mentioned  his  manners;  but,  unless  I  had  a 
very  bad  taste,  they  must  suit  it ;  they  are  polished,  calm, 
and  gentlemanlike/ 

1  His  appearance, — I  forget  what  description  you  gave  of 
his  appearance ; — a  sort  of  raw  curate,  half -strangled  with 


JANE  EYBB  541 

his  white  neckcloth,  and  stilted  up  on  his  thick-soled  high- 
lows,  eh  ? ' 

'  St.  John  dresses  well.  He  is  a  handsome  man :  tall, 
fair,  with  blue  eyes  and  a  Grecian  profile.' 

(Aside.)  [  Damn  him  1 ' — (To  me.)  '  Did  you  like  him, 
Jane  ? ' 

'  Yes,  Mr.  Rochester,  I  liked  him :  but  you  asked  me  that 
before.' 

I  perceived,  of  course,  the  drift  of  my  interlocutor. 
Jealousy  had  got  hold  of  him :  she  stung  him  ;  but  the  sting 
was  salutary  :  it  gave  him  respite  from  the  gnawing  fang  of 
melancholy.  I  would  not,  therefore,  immediately  charm 
the  snake. 

'  Perhaps  you  would  rather  not  sit  any  longer  on  my 
knee,  Miss  Eyre?'  was  the  next  somewhat  unexpected 
observation. 

I  Why  not,  Mr.  Rochester?  ' 

'The  picture  you  have  just  drawn  is  suggestive  of  a 
rather  too  overwhelming  contrast.  Your  words  have 
delineated  very  prettily  a  graceful  Apollo  he  is  present  to 
your  imagination, — tall,  fair,  blue-eyed,  and  with  a  Grecian 
profile.  Your  eyes  dwell  on  a  Vulcan,  —a  real  blacksmith, 
brown,  broad-shouldered;  and  blind  and  lame  into  the 
bargain.' 

I 1  never  thought  of  it  before ;  but  you  certainly  are 
rather  like  Vulcan,  sir.' 

'  Well, — you  can  leave  me,  ma'am  :  but  before  you  go  ' 
(and  he  retained  me  by  a  firmer  grasp  than  ever),  '  you  will 
be  pleased  just  to  answer  me  a  question  or  two.'  He 
paused. 

1  What  questions,  Mr.  Rochester  ? ' 

Then  followed  this  cross-examination. 

'  St.  John  made  you  schoolmistress  of  Morton  before  he 
knew  you  were  his  cousin  ?  ' 

1  Yes.' 

'  You  would  often  see  him  ?  He  would  visit  the  school 
sometimes  ? ' 


542  JANE  EYKB 

'Daily/ 

'  He  would  approve  of  your  plans,  Jane  ?  I  know  they 
would  be  clever,  for  you  are  a  talented  creature.' 

'  He  approved  of  them — yes.1 

'  He  would  discover  many  things  in  you  he  could  not 
have  expected  to  find  ?  Some  of  your  accomplishments  are 
not  ordinary/ 

'  I  don't  know  about  that/ 

6  You  had  a  little  cottage  near  the  school,  you  say :  did 
he  ever  come  there  to  see  you  ?  ' 

*  Now  and  then/ 

'  Of  an  evening  ?  ' 

'  Once  or  twice/ 

A  pause. 

'  How  long  did  you  reside  with  him  and  his  sisters  after 
the  cousinship  was  discovered  ? ' 

'  Five  months/ 

'Did  Elvers  spend  much  time  with  the  ladies  of  his 
family  ? ' 

'  Yes ;  the  back  parlour  was  both  his  study  and  ours :  he 
safi  near  the  window,  and  we  by  the  table/ 

4  Did  he  study  much?' 

1 A  good  deal/ 

'What?' 

•  Hindostanee/ 

'And  what  did  you  do  meantime?' 

4 1  learnt  German,  at  first/ 

'  Did  he  teach  you  ?  ' 

'  He  did  not  understand  German/ 

'  Did  he  teach  you  nothing  ? ' 

'  A  little  Hindostanee/ 

'  Bivers  taught  you  Hindostanee  ? ' 

'  Yes,  sir/ 

1  And  his  sisters  also  ? ' 

•No/ 

:  Only  you?' 

'  Only  me/ 


JANE  EYBE  543 

1  Did  you  ask  to  learn  ? ' 
•No/ 

'  He  wished  to  teach  you  ? ' 
•Yes/ 

A  second  pause. 

1  Why  did  he  wish  it  ?  Of  what  use  could  Hindostanee 
be  to  you  ? ' 

*  He  intended  me  to  go  with  him  to  India.' 

'  Ah !  here  I  reach  the  root  of  the  matter.  He  wanted 
you  to  marry  him  ?  ' 

'  He  asked  me  to  marry  him. 

'  That  is  a  fiction — an  impudent  invention  to  vex  me.' 

'  I  beg  your  pardon,  it  is  the  literal  truth :  he  asked  me 
more  than  once,  and  was  as  stiff  about  urging  his  point  as 
ever  you  could  be.' 

'  Miss  Eyre,  I  repeat  it,  you  can  leave  me.  How  often 
am  I  to  say  the  same  thing  ?  Why  do  you  remain  pertina- 
ciously perched  on  my  knee,  when  I  have  given  you  notice 
to  quit  ? ' 

*  Because  I  am  comfortable  there. 

1  No,  Jane,  you  are  not  comfortable  there,  because  your 
heart  is  not  with  me :  it  is  with  this  cousin — this  St.  John. 
Oh,  till  this  moment  I  thought  my  little  Jane  was  all  mine ! 
I  had  a  belief  she  loved  me  even  when  she  left  me  :  that  was 
an  atom  of  sweet  in  much  bitter.  Long  as  we  have  been 
parted,  hot  tears  as  I  have  wept  over  our  separation,  I  never 
thought  that  while  I  was  mourning  her  she  was  loving 
another  I  But  it  is  useless  grieving.  Jane,  leave  me :  go 
and  marry  Eivers.' 

'  Shake  me  off,  then,  sir — push  me  away,  for  I'll  not 
leave  you  of  my  own  accord/ 

'  Jane,  I  ever  like  your  tone  of  voice :  it  still  renews 
hope,  it  sounds  so  truthful.  When  I  hear  it,  it  carries  me 
back  a  year.  I  forget  that  you  have  formed  a  new  tie.  But 
1  am  not  a  fool — go ' 

1  Where  must  I  go,  sir  ? ' 

*  Your  own  way — with  the  husband  you  have  chosen.' 

T2 


644  JANE  EYEE 

'  Who  is  that  V  • 

'  You  know — this  St.  John  Eivers.' 

'  He  is  not  my  husband,  nor  ever  will  be.  He  does  not 
love  me :  I  do  not  love  him.  He  loves  (as  he  can  love,  and 
that  is  not  as  you  love)  a  beautiful  young  lady  called  .Rosa- 
mond. He  wanted  to  marry  me  only  because  he  thought  I 
should  make  a  suitable  missionary's  wife,  which  she  would 
not  have  done.  He  is  good  and  great,  but  severe  ;  and,  for 
me,  cold  as  an  iceberg.  He  is  not  like  you,  sir :  I  am  not 
happy  at  his  side,  nor  near  him,  nor  with  him.  He  has  no 
indulgence  for  me —no  fondness.  He  sees  nothing  attractive 
in  me ;  not  even  youth — only  a  few  useful  mental  points. — 
Then  I  must  leave  you,  sir,  to  go  to  him  ? ' 

I  shuddered  involuntarily,  and  clung  instinctively  closer 
to  my  blind  but  beloved  master.  He  smiled. 

1  What,  Jane  !  Is  this  true  ?  Is  such  really  the  state  of 
matters  between  you  and  Eivers  ?  ' 

1  Absolutely,  sir.  Oh,  you  need  not  be  jealous  1  I  wanted 
to  tease  you  a  little  to  make  you  less  sad :  I  thought  anger 
would  be  better  than  grief.  But  if  you  wish  me  to  love  you, 
could  you  but  see  how  much  I  do  love  you,  you  would  be 
proud  and  content.  All  my  heart  is  yours,  sir :  it  belongs  to 
you ;  and  with  you  it  would  remain  were  fate  to  exile  the 
rest  of  me  from  your  presence  for  ever/ 

Again,  as  he  kissed  me,  painful  thoughts  darkened  his 
aspect. 

'  My  seared  vision  I  my  crippled  strength  ! '  he  murmured 
regretfully. 

I  caressed,  in  order  to  soothe  him.  I  knew  of  what  he 
was  thinking,  and  wanted  to  speak  for  him ;  but  dared  not. 
As  he  turned  aside  his  face  a  minute  I  saw  a  tear  slide  from 
under  the  sealed  eyelid,  and  trickle  down  the  manly  cheek. 
My  heart  swelled. 

4 1  am  no  better  than  the  old  lightning-struck  chestnut- 
tree  in  Thornfield  orchard/  he  remarked  ere  long.  '  And 
what  right  would  that  ruin  have  to  bid  a  budding  woodbine 
cover  its  decay  with  freshness  ? ' 


JANE  EYBE  545 

'  You  are  no  ruin,  sir — no  lightning-struck  tree :  you  are 
green  and  vigorous.  Plants  will  grow  about  your  roots, 
whether  you  ask  them  or  not,  because  they  take  delight  in 
your  bountiful  shadow;  and  as  they  grow  they  will  lean 
towards  you,  and  wind  round  you,  because  your  strength 
offers  them  so  safe  a  prop/ 

Again  he  smiled :  I  gave  him  comfort. 

1  You  speak  of  friends,  Jane  ?  '  he  asked. 

'  Yes  :  of  friends/  I  answered  rather  hesitatingly  :  for  I 
knew  I  meant  more  than  friends,  but  could  not  tell  what 
other  word  to  employ.  He  helped  me. 

1  Ah !  Jane.    But  I  want  a  wife/ 

1  Do  you,  sir  ? ' 

'  Yes :  is  it  news  to  you  ? ' 

'  Of  course :  you  said  nothing  about  it  before/ 

1  Is  it  unwelcome  news  ?  ' 

1  That  depends  on  circumstances,  sir— on  your  choice/ 

'  Which  you  shall  make  for  me,  Jane.  I  will  abide  by 
your  decision/ 

1  Choose  then,  sir — her  who  loves  ymi  best.' 

'  I  will  at  least  choose — her  I  love  best.  Jane,  will  you 
marry  me  ? ' 

1  Yes,  sir. 

'  A  poor  blind  man,  whom  you  will  have  to  lead  about 
by  the  hand?' 

'  Yes,  sir/ 

'  A  crippled  man,  twenty  years  older  than  you,  whom 
you  will  have  to  wait  on  ? ' 

1  Yes,  sir/ 

'Truly,  Jane?' 

'  Most  truly,  sir/ 

1  Oh !  my  darling  !     God  bless  you  and  reward  you ! ' 

'  Mr.  Rochester,  if  ever  I  did  a  good  deed  in  my  life — if 
ever  I  thought  a  good  thought — if  ever  I  prayed  a  sincere  and 
blameless  prayer — if  ever  I  wished  a  righteous  wish, — I  am 
rewarded  now.  To  be  your  wife  is,  for  me,  to  be  as  happy 
as  I  can  be  on  earth/ 


546  JANE  EYEB 

'  Because  you  delight  in  sacrifice.1 

1  Sacrifice  1  What  do  I  sacrifice  ?  Famine  for  food, 
expectation  for  content.  To  be  privileged  to  put  my  arms 
round  what  I  value — to  press  my  lips  to  what  I  love — to 
repose  on  what  I  trust:  is  that  to  make  a  sacrifice?  If 
so,  then  certainly  I  delight  in  sacrifice/ 

1  And  to  bear  with  my  infirmities,  Jane :  to  overlook  my 
deficiencies/ 

1  Which  are  none,  sir,  to  me.  I  love  you  better  now, 
when  I  can  really  be  useful  to  you,  than  I  did  in  your  state 
of  proud  independence,  when  you  disdained  every  part  but 
that  of  the  giver  and  protector/ 

'  Hitherto  I  have  hated  to  be  helped — to  be  led  :  hence- 
foith,  I  feel,  I  shall  hate  it  no  more.  I  did  not  like  to  put 
my  hand  into  a  hireling's,  but  it  is  pleasant  to  feel  it  circled 
by  Jane's  little  fingers.  I  preferred  utter  loneliness  to  the 
constant  attendance  of  servants;  but  Jane's  soft  ministry 
will  be  a  perpetual  joy.  Jane  suits  me  :  do  I  suit  her  ? ' 

1  To  the  finest  fibre  of  my  nature,  sir/ 

1  The  case  being  so,  we  have  nothing  in  the  woild  to 
wait  for  :  we  must  be  married  instantly/ 

He  looked  and  spoke  with  eagerness :  his  old  impetuosity 
was  rising. 

'  We  must  become  one  flesh  without  any  delay,  Jane : 
there  is  but  the  licence  to  get — then  we  marry/ 

'  Mr.  Eochester,  I  have  just  discovered  the  sun  is  far 
declined  from  its  meridian,  and  Pilot  is  actually  gone  home 
to  his  dinner.  Let  me  look  at  your  watch/ 

'Fasten  it  into  your  girdle,  Janet,  and  keep  it  hence- 
forward :  I  have  no  use  for  it/ 

'  It  is  nearly  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  sir.  Don't  you 
feel  hungry  ? ' 

1  The  third  day  from  this  must  be  our  wedding-day,  Jane. 
Never  mind  fine  clothes  and  jewels  now:  all  that  is  not 
worth  a  fillip/ 

'The  sun  has  dried  up  all  the  rain-drops,  sir.  The 
breeze  is  still :  it  is  quite  hot/ 


JANE  EYRE  547 

*  Do  you  know,  Jane,  I  have  your  little  pearl  necklace  at 
this  moment  fastened   round   my  bronze  scrag  under  my 
cravat  ?    I  have  worn  it  since  the  day  I  lost  my  only  treasure  : 
as  a  memento  of  her/ 

*  We  will  go  home  through  the  wood :  that  will  be  the 
shadiest  way.' 

He  pursued  his  own  thoughts  without  heeding  me. 

'  Jane  !  you  think  mo,  I  daresay,  an  irreligious  dog :  but 
my  heart  swells  with  gratitude  to  the  beneficent  God  of  this 
earth  just  now.  He  sees  not  as  man  sees,  but  far  clearer : 
judges  not  as  man  judges,  but  far  more  wisely.  I  did  wrong : 
I  would  have  sullied  my  innocent  flower — breathed  guilt  on 
its  purity  :  the  Omnipotent  snatched  it  from  me.  I,  in  my 
stiff-necked  rebellion,  almost  cursed  the  dispensation  :  instead 
of  bending  to  the  decree,  I  defied  it.  Divine  justice  pursued 
its  course ;  disasters  came  thick  on  me :  I  was  forced  to 
pass  through  the  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death.  His 
chastisements  are  mighty ;  and  one  smote  me  which  has 
humbled  me  for  ever.  You  know  I  was  proud  of  my 
strength ;  but  what  is  it  now,  when  I  must  give  it  over  *o 
foreign  guidance,  as  a  child  does  its  weakness  ?  Of  late, 
Jane — only— only  of  late — I  began  to  see  and  acknowledge 
the  hand  of  God  in  my  doom.  I  began  to  experience  remorse, 
repentance;  the  wish  for  reconcilement  to  my  Maker.  I 
began  sometimes  to  pray  :  very  brief  prayers  they  were,  but- 
very  sincere. 

1  Some  days  since  :  nay,  I  can  number  them — four ;  it 
was  last  Monday  night,  a  singular  mood  came  over  me  :  one 
in  which  grief  replaced  frenzy — sorrow,  sullenness.  I  had 
long  had  the  impression  that  since  I  could  nowhere  find 
you,  you  must  be  dead.  Late  that  night — perhaps  it  might 
be  between  eleven  and  twelve  o'clock — ere  I  retired  to  my 
dreary  rest,  I  supplicated  God  that,  if  it  seemed  good  to 
Him,  I  might  soon  be  taken  from  this  life,  and  admitted 
to  that  world  to  come,  where  there  was  still  hope  of  rejoining 
Jane. 

'I  was  in  my  own  room,  and  sitting  by  the  window, 


548  JANE  EYES 

which  was  open :  it  soothed  me  to  feel  the  balmy  night-air : 
though  I  could  see  no  stars  and  only  by  a  vague,  luminou^ 
haze,  knew  the  presence  of  a  moon.  I  longed  for  thee, 
Janet !  Oh,  I  longed  for  thee  both  with  soul  and  flesh  I  I 
asked  of  God,  at  once  in  anguish  and  humility,  if  I  had  not 
been  long  enough  desolate,  afflicted,  tormented ;  and  might 
not  soon  taste  bliss  and  peace  once  more.  That  I  merited 
all  I  endured  I  acknowledged — that  I  could  scarcely  endure 
more  I  pleaded ;  and  the  Alpha  and  Omega  of  my  heart's 
wishes  broke  involuntarily  from  my  lips  in  the  words — 
" Jane !  Jane !  Jane  1"' 

'  Did  you  speak  these  words  aloud  ? ' 
'  I  did,  Jane.    If  any  listener  had  heard  me,  he  would 
have  thought  me  mad  :  I  pronounced  them  with  such  frantic 
energy.1 

1  And  it  was  last  Monday  night :  somewhere  near  mid- 
night?' 

1  Yes  ;  but  the  time  is  of  no  consequence  :  what  followed 
is  the  strange  point.  You  will  think  me  superstitious,— some 
superstition  I  have  in  my  blood,  and  always  had :  neverthe- 
less, this  is  true— true  at  least  it  is  that  I  heard  what  I  now 
relate. 

'  As  I  exclaimed  "  Jane  1  Jane !  Jane  I "  a  voice — I  cannot 
tell  whence  the  voice  came,  but  I  know  whose  voice  it  was — 
replied,  "  I  am  coming :  wait  for  me ; "  and  a  moment  after 
went  whispering  on  the  wind  the  words—"  Where  are 
you?" 

1  I'll  tell  you,  if  I  can,  the  idea,  the  picture  these  words 
opened  to  my  mind :  yet  it  is  difficult  to  express  what  I  want 
to  express.  Ferndean  is  buried,  as  you  see,  in  a  heavy  wood, 
where  sound  falls  dull,  and  dies  unreverberating.  "  Where 
are  you?"  seemed  spoken  amongst  mountains ;  for  I  heard 
a  hill-sent  echo  repeat  the  words.  Cooler  and  fresher  at  the 
moment  the  gale  seemed  to  visit  my  brow :  I  could  have 
deemed  that  in  some  wild,  lone  scene,  I  and  Jane  were 
meeting.  In  spirit,  I  believe,  we  must  have  met.  You  no 
doubt  were,  at  that  hour,  in  unconscious  sleep,  Jane: 


JANE  EYEE  549 

perhaps  your  soul  wandered  from  its  cell  to  comfort  mine ; 
tor  those  were  your  accents — as  certain  as  I  live — they  were 
yours ! ' 

Eeader,  it  was  on  Monday  night — near  midnight — that  I 
too  had  received  the  mysterious  summons :  those  were  the 
very  words  by  which  I  replied  to  it.  I  listened  to  Mr. 
Bochester's  narrative;  but  made  no  disclosure  in  return. 
The  coincidence  struck  me  as  too  awful  and  inexplicable  to 
be  communicated  or  discussed.  If  I  told  anything,  my  tale 
would  be  such  as  must  necessarily  make  a  profound  im- 
pression on  the  mind  of  my  hearer  :  and  that  mind,  yet  from 
its  sufferings  too  prone  to  gloom,  needed  not  the  deeper  shade 
of  the  supernatural.  I  kept  these  things  then,  and  pondered 
them  in  my  heart. 

'  You  cannot  now  wonder,'  continued  my  master,  '  that 
when  you  rose  upon  me  so  unexpectedly  last  night  I  had 
difficulty  in  believing  you  any  other  than  a  mere  voice  and 
vision :  something  that  would  melt  to  silence  and  annihila- 
tion, as  the  midnight  whisper  and  mountain  echo  had 
melted  before.  Now,  I  thank  God  1  I  know  it  to  be  other- 
wise. Yes,  I  thank  God  1 ' 

He  put  me  off  his  knee,  rose,  and  reverently  lifting  his 
hat  from  his  brow,  and  bending  his  sightless  eyes  to  the  earth, 
he  stood  in  mute  devotion.  Only  the  last  words  of  the 
worship  were  audible. 

1 1  thank  my  Maker  that  in  the  midst  of  judgment  He  has 
remembered  mercy.  I  humbly  entreat  my  Eedeeiner  to  give 
me  strength  to  lead  henceforth  a  purer  life  than  I  have  done 
hitherto ! ' 

Then  he  stretched  his  hand  out  to  be  led.  I  took  that 
dear  hand,  held  it  a  moment  to  my  lips,  then  let  it  pass  round 
my  shoulder :  being  so  much  lower  of  stature  than  he,  I 
served  both  for  his  prop  and  guide.  We  entered  the  woo&, 
and  wended  homeward. 


550  JANE  EYEE 


CHAPTEK  XXXVIII 

CONCLUSION 

EEADEK,  I  married  him.  A  quiet  wedding  we  had  :  he  and 
I,  the  parson  and  clerk,  were  alone  present.  When  we  got 
back  from  church,  I  went  into  the  kitchen  of  the  manor-house, 
where  Mary  was  cooking  the  dinner,  and  John  cleaning  the 
knives,  and  I  said :  '  Mary,  I  have  been  married  to  Mr. 
Eochester  this  morning/  The  housekeeper  and  her  husband 
were  both  of  that  decent  phlegmatic  order  of  people  to  whom 
one  may  at  any  time  safely  communicate  a  remarkable  piece 
of  news  without  incurring  the  danger  of  having  one's  ears 
pierced  by  some  shrill  ejaculation,  and  subsequently  stunned 
by  a  torrent  of  wordy  wonderment.  Mary  did  look  up,  and 
she  did  stare  at  me :  the  ladle  with  which  she  was  basting 
a  pair  of  chickens  roasting  at  the  fire  did  for  some  three 
minutes  hang  suspended  in  air ;  and  for  the  same  space  of 
time  John's  knives  also  had  rest  from  the  polishing  process : 
but  Mary,  bending  again  over  the  roast,  said  only :  '  Have 
you,  Miss  ?  Well,  for  sure  ! ' 

A  short  time  after  she  pursued  :  '  I  seed  you  go  out  with 
the  master,  but  I  didn't  know  you  were  gone  to  church  to 
be  wed ; '  and  she  basted  away.  John,  when  I  turned  to 
him,  was  grinning  from  ear  to  ear. 

'  I  telled  Mary  how  it  would  be/  he  said :  '  I  knew  what 
Mr.  Edward '  (John  was  an  old  servant,  and  had  known  his 
master  when  he  was  the  cadet  of  the  house,  therefore  he  often 
gave  him  his  Christian  name)  — '  I  knew  what  Mr.  Edward 
would  do ;  and  I  was  certain  he  would  not  wait  long  neither : 


JANE  BYEE  551 

and  he's  done  right,  for  aught  I  know.  I  wish  you  joy, 
Miss  1 '  and  he  politely  pulled  his  forelock. 

1  Thank  you,  John.  Mr.  Eochester  told  me  to  give  you 
and  Mary  this/  I  put  into  his  hand  a  five-pound  note. 
Without  waiting  to  hear  more,  I  left  the  kitchen.  In  passing 
the  door  of  that  sanctum  some  time  after  I  caught  the 
words :  '  She'll  happen  do  better  for  him  nor  ony  o'  t'  grand 
ladies/  And  again,  '  If  she  bcn't  one  o'  th'  handsomest, 
she's  noan  fatil  and  varry  good-natured ;  and  i1  his  een  she's 
fair  beautiful,  onybody  may  see  that/ 

I  wrote  to  Moor  House  and  to  Cambridge  immediately 
to  say  what  I  had  done :  fully  explaining  also  why  I  had 
thus  acted.  Diana  and  Mary  approved  the  step  unreservedly. 
Diana  announced  that  she  would  just  give  me  time  to  get 
over  the  honeymoon,  and  then  she  would  come  and  see  me. 

'  She  had  better  not  wait  till  then,  Jane/  said  Mr. 
Eochester,  when  I  read  her  letter  to  him ;  '  if  she  does,  she 
will  be  too  late,  for  our  honeymoon  will  shine  our  life-long : 
its  beams  will  only  fade  over  your  grave  or  mine/ 

How  St.  John  received  the  news  I  don't  know ;  he  nevef 
answered  the  letter  in  which  I  communicated  it :  yet  six 
months  after  he  wrote  to  me ;  without,  however,  mentioning 
Mr.  Eochester's  name,  or  alluding  to  my  marriage.  His 
letter  was  then  calm :  and  though  very  serious,  kind.  He 
has  maintained  a  regular,  though  not  frequent  correspond  enca 
ever  since :  he  hopes  I  am  happy,  and  trusts  I  am  not  oi 
those  who  live  without  God  in  the  world,  and  only  mind 
earthly  things. 

You  have  not  quite  forgotten  little  Ad6le,  have  you, 
reader  ?  I  had  not ;  I  soon  asked  and  obtained  leave  of 
Mr.  Eochester  to  go  and  see  her  at  the  school  where  he  had 
placed  her.  Her  frantic  joy  at  beholding  me  again  moved 
me  much.  She  looked  pale  and  thin  :  she  said  she  was  not 
happy.  I  found  the  rules  of  the  establishment  were  too 
strict,  its  course  of  study  too  severe,  for  a  child  of  her  age : 
I  took  her  home  with  me.  I  meant  to  become  her  governess 
once  more ;  but  I  soon  found  this  impracticable ;  my  time 


552  JANE  EYRE 

and  cares  were  now  required  by  another — my  husband  needed 
them  all.  So  I  sought  out  a  school  conducted  on  a  more 
'ndulgent  system;  and  near  enough  to  permit  of  my  visiting 
her  often,  and  bringing  her  home  sometimes.  I  took  care 
sho  should  never  want  for  anything  that  could  contribute 
to  her  comfort:  she  soon  settled  in  her  new  abode, 
became  very  happy  there,  and  made  fair  progress  in  her 
studies.  As  she  grew  up  a  sound  English  education  cor- 
rected in  a  great  measure  her  French  defects ;  and  when 
she  left  school  I  found  in  her  a  pleasing  and  obliging 
companion :  docile,  good-tempered,  and  well-principled. 
By  her  grateful  attention  to  me  and  mine  she  has  long 
since  well  repaid  any  little  kindness  I  ever  had  in  my  power 
to  offer  her. 

My  tale  draws  to  its  close  :  one  word  respecting  my 
experience  of  married  life,  and  one  brief  glance  at  the 
fortunes  of  those  whose  names  have  most  frequently 
recurred  in  this  narrative,  and  I  have  done. 

I  have  now  been  married  ten  years.  I  know  what  it  is 
to  live  entirely  for  and  with  what  I  love  best  on  earth.  I 
hold  myself  supremely  blest — blest  beyond  what  language 
can  express  ;  because  I  am  my  husband's  life  as  fully  as  he 
is  mine.  No  woman  was  ever  nearer  to  her  mate  than  I 
am ;  ever  more  absolutely  bone  of  his  bone  and  flesh  of  his 
flesh. 

I  know  no  weariness  of  my  Edward's  society :  he  knows 
none  of  mine,  any  more  than  we  each  do  of  the  pulsation  of 
the  heart  that  beats  in  our  separate  bosoms  ;  consequently, 
we  are  ever  together.  To  be  together  is  for  us  to  be  at  once 
as  free  as  in  solitude,  as  gay  as  in  company.  We  talk,  I 
believe,  all  day  long :  to  talk  to  each  other  is  but  a  more 
animated  and  an  audible  thinking.  All  my  confidence  is 
bestowed  on  him,  all  his  confidence  is  devoted  to  me ;  we 
are  precisely  suited  in  character — perfect  concord  is  the 
result. 

Mr.  Eochester  continued  blind  the  first  two  years  of  our 
union :  perhaps  it  was  that  circumstance  that  drew  us  so 


JANE  BYEB  553 

very  near — that  knit  us  so  very  close  I  for  I  was  then  his  vision, 
as  I  am  still  his  right  hand.  Literally,  I  was  (what  he  often 
called  me)  the  apple  of  his  eye.  He  saw  nature — he  saw 
books  through  me  ;  and  never  did  I  weary  of  gazing  for  his 
behalf,  and  of  putting  into  words  the  effect  of  field,  tree, 
town,  river,  cloud,  sunbeam — of  the  landscape  before  us  ;  of 
the  weather  round  us— and  impressing  by  sound  on  his  ear 
what  light  could  no  longer  stamp  on  his  eye.  Never  did  I 
weary  of  reading  to  him :  never  did  I  weary  of  conducting 
him  where  he  wished  to  go  :  of  doing  for  him  what  he  wished 
to  be  done.  And  there  was  a  pleasure  in  my  services,  most 
full,  most  exquisite,  even  though  sad — because  he  claimed 
these  services  without  painful  shame  or  damping  humilia- 
tion. He  loved  me  so  truly  that  he  knew  no  reluctance  in 
profiting  by  my  attendance  :  he  felt  I  loved  him  so  fondly 
that  to  yield  that  attendance  was  to  indulge  my  sweetest 
wishes. 

One  morning  at  the  end  of  the  two  years,  as  I  was  writing 
a  letter  to  his  dictation,  he  came  and  bent  over  me,  and 
said — 'Jane,  have  you  a  glittering  ornament  round  your 
neck?' 

I  had  a  gold  watch-chain  :  I  answered, '  Yes.' 

'  And  have  you  a  pale  blue  dress  on  ? ' 

I  had.  He  informed  me  then  that  for  some  time  he 
had  fancied  the  obscurity  clouding  one  eye  was  becoming 
less  dense ;  and  that  now  he  was  sure  of  it. 

He  and  I  went  up  to  London.  He  had  the  advice  of  an 
eminent  oculist;  and  he  eventually  recovered  the  sight  of 
that  one  eye.  He  cannot  now  see  very  distinctly :  he  cannot 
read  or  write  much ;  but  he  can  find  his  way  without  being 
led  by  the  hand  :  the  sky  is  no  longer  a  blank  to  him — the 
earth  no  longer  a  void.  When  his  firstborn  was  put  into 
his  arms,  he  could  see  that  the  boy  had  inherited  his  own 
eyes,  as  they  once  were — large,  brilliant,  and  black.  On  that 
occasion  he  again,  with  a  full  heart,  acknowledged  that  God 
had  tempered  judgment  with  mercy. 

My  Edward  and  I,  then,  are  happy :  and  the  more  so 


554  JANE  BYEB 

because  those  we  most  love  are  happy  likewise.  Diana  and 
Mary  Elvers  are  both  married  :  alternately,  once  every  year, 
they  come  to  see  us,  and  we  go  to  see  them.  Diana's 
husband  is  a  captain  in  the  navy;  a  gallant  officer  and  a 
good  man.  Mary's  is  a  clergyman  :  a  college  friend  of  her 
brother's ;  and,  from  his  attainments  and  principles,  worthy 
of  the  connection.  Both  Captain  Fitzjames  and  Mr. 
Wharton  love  their  wives,  and  are  loved  by  them. 

As  to  St.  John  Bivers,  he  left  England-:  he  went  to 
India.  He  entered  on  the  path  he  had  marked  for  himself ; 
he  pursues  it  still.  A  more  resolute,  indefatigable  pioneer 
never  wrought  amidst  rocks  and  dangers.  Firm,  faithful, 
and  devoted ;  full  of  energy,  and  zeal,  and  truth,  he  labours 
for  his  race  :  he  clears  their  painful  way  to  improvement : 
he  hews  down  like  a  giant  the  prejudices  of  creed  and  caste 
that  encumber  it.  He  may  be  stern ;  he  may  be  exacting : 
he  may  be  ambitious  yet;  but  his  is  the  sternness  of  the 
warrior  Great  heart,  who  guards  his  pilgrim  convoy  from  the 
onslaught  of  Apollyon.  His  is  the  exaction  of  the  apostle, 
who  speaks  but  for  Christ  when  he  says — '  Whosoever  will 
come  after  Me,  let  him  deny  himself,  and  take  up  his  cross 
and  follow  Me.1  His  is  the  ambition  of  the  high  master- 
spirit, which  aims  to  nil  a  place  in  the  first  rank  of  those 
who  are  redeemed  from  the  earth — who  stand  without  fault 
before  the  throne  of  God;  who  share  the  last  mighty 
victories  of  the  Lamb ;  who  are  called,  and  chosen,  and 
faithful. 

St.  John  is  unmarried :  he  never  will  marry  now. 
Himself  has  hitherto  sufficed  to  the  toil ;  and  the  toil  draws 
near  its  close  :  his  glorious  sun  hastens  to  its  setting.  The 
last  letter  I  received  from  him  drew  from  my  eyes  human 
tears,  and  yet  filled  my  heart  with  Divine  joy :  he  anticipated 
his  sure  reward,  his  incorruptible  crown.  I  know  that  a 
stranger's  hand  will  write  to  me  next,  to  say  that  the  good 
and  faithful  servant  has  been  called  at  length  into  the  joy  of 
his  Lord.  And  why  weep  for  this  ?  jSo  tear  of  death  will 
darken  St.  John's  last  hour :  his  mind  will  be  unclouded ; 


JANE  EYEE  555 

his  heart  will  be  undaunted;  his  hope  will  be  sure;  his 
faith  steadfast.  His  own  words  are  a  pledge  of  this  : — *  My 
Master/  he  says,  '  has  forewarned  me.  Daily  he  announces 
more  distinctly, — "  Surely  I  come  quickly  !  "  and  hourly  I 
more  eagerly  respond, — "  Amen ;  even  so  come,  Lord 
Jesus ! " ' 


THE