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~~  CO     I 


ANE  EYRE 


i      C,  :--Y-;;.';;         BRONTE. 


.•  •:     ,•         ••    '       : 


JANE    EYRE. 


TO 

W.    M.    THACKERAY,    ESQ. 

Ski*  Worft 

IS    RESPECTFULLY    INSCRIBED 

R  V 

THE  AUTHOR. 


JANE    EYRE. 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


BY   (TURRER   BELL, 

AUTHOR  OF  "SHIRLEY,"   "  VILLETTE,"    "THE   PROFESSOR,"  &C.,  &C. 


LON  DON: 

W.    NICHOLSON    &    SONS,    LIMITKD, 
26,     PATERNOSTER      S  QUARK,      E.C., 

AND  ALBION   WORKS,    WAKEFIELD. 


PREFACE. 


A  PREFACE  to  the  First  Edition  of  "Jane  Eyre"  being  un- 
necessary,  I   gave  none:    this   Edition  demands  a    few 
words  both  of  acknowledgment  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. 

The  Press  and  the  Public  are  but  vague  personifications  for 
me,  and  I  must  thank  them  in  vague  terms.  Certain  generous 
critics  who  have  encouraged  me  as  only  large-hearted  and  high- 
minded  men  know  how  to  encourage  a  struggling  stranger ;  to 
them,  and  the  select  Reviewers,  1  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  whatever  is  unusual  is 
wrong ;  whose  ears  detect  in  each  protest  against  bigotry — that 
parent  of  crime — an  insult  to  piety,  that  regent  of  God  on 
earth.  I  would  suggest  to  such  doubters  certain  obvious 
distinctions ;  I  would  remind  them  of  certain  simple  truths. 

Conventionality  is  not  morality.  Self-righteousness  is  not 
religion.  To  attack  the  first  is  not  to  assail  the  last.  To 
pluck  the  mask  from  the  face  of  the  Pharisee,  is  not  to  lift 
an  impious  hand  to  the  Crown  of  Thorns. 

These  things  and  deeds  are  diametrically  opposed:  they  are 
as  distinct  as  is  vice  from  virtue.  Men  too  often  confound 
them :  they  should  not  be  confounded :  appearance  should  not 
be  mistaken  for  truth :  narrow  human  doctrines,  that  only  tend 


D  PREFACE. 

to  elate  and  magnify  a  few,  should  not  be  substituted  for  the 
world-redeeming  creed  of  Christ.  There  is  —  I  repeat  it  —  a 
difference;  and  it  is  a  good,  and  not  a  bad  action  to  mark 
broadly  and  clearly  the  line  of  separation  between  them. 

The  world  may  not  like  to  see  these  ideas  dissevered,  for  it 
has  been  accustomed  to  blend  them ;  finding  it  convenient  to 
make  external  show  pass  for  sterling  worth  —  to  let  white- 
washed walls  vouch  for  clean  shrines.  It  may  hate  him  who 
dares  to  scrutinise  and  expose — to  rase  the  gilding,  and  show 
base  metal  under  it— to  penetrate  the  sepulchre,  and  reveal 
charnel  relics:  but  hate  as  it  will,  it  is  indebted  to  him. 

Ahab  did  not  like  Micaiah,  because  he  never  prophesied 
good  concerning  him,  but  evil :  probably  he  liked  the  sycophant 
son  of  Chenaannah  better;  yet  might  Ahab  have  escaped  a 
bloody  death,  had  he  but  stopped  his  ears  to  flattery,  and 
opened  them  to  faithful  counsel. 

There  is  a  man  in  our  own  days  whose  words  are  not  framed 
to  tickle  delicate  ears :  who,  to  my  thinking,  comes  before  the 
great  ones  of  society,  much  as  the  son  of  Imlah  came  before 
the  throned  Kings  of  Judah  and  Israel ;  and  who  speaks  truth 
as  deep,  with  a  power  as  prophet-like  and  as  vital — a  mien  as 
dauntless  and  as  daring.  Is  the  satirist  of  "Vanity  Fair" 
admired  in  high  places  ?  I  cannot  tell ;  but  I  think  if  some 
of  those  amongst  whom  he  hurls  the  Greek  fire  of  his  sarcasm, 
and  over  whom  he  flashes  the  levinbrand  of  his  denunciation, 
were  to  take  his  warnings  in  time  —  they  or  their  seed  might 
yet  escape  a  fatal  Ramoth  Gilead. 

Why  have  I  alluded  to  this  man  ?  I  have  alluded  to  him, 
Reader,  because  I  think  I  see  in  him  an  intellect  profounder 
and  more  unique  than  his  contemporaries  have  yet  recognised, 
because  I  regard  him  as  the  first  social  regenerator  of  the 
day — as  the  very  master  of  that  working  corps  who  would 
restore  to  rectitude  the  warped  system  of  things  ;  because  I 
think  no  commentator  on  his  writings  has  yet  found  the  com- 
parison that  suits  him,  the  terms  which  rightly  characterise 
his  talent.  They  say  he  is  like  Fielding :  they  talk  of  his  wit, 
humour,  comic  powers.  He  resembles  Fielding  as  an  eagle 
does  a  vulture  :  Fielding  could  stoop  on  carrion,  but  Thackeray 
never  does.  His  wit  is  bright,  his  humour  attractive,  but  both 
bear  the  same  relation  to  his  serious  genius,  that  the  mere 
lambent  sheet-lightning  playing  under  the  edge  of  the  summer- 
cloud,  does  to  the  electric  death-spark  hid  in  its  womb. 
Finally,  I  have  alluded  to  Mr.  Thackeray,  because  to  him — if 
lie  will  accept  the  tribute  of  a  total  stranger — I  have  dedicated 
this  Edition  of  "JANE  EYRE." 

CURRER  BELL. 

December  21  si,  1847. 


JANE    EYRE. 


CHAPTER   I. 


THERE  was  no  possibility  of  taking  a  walk  that  day.  We 
had  been  wandering,  indeed,  in  the  leaHcss  shrubbery  an 
hour  in  the  morning ;  but  since  dinner  (Mrs.  Reed,  when  there 
was  no  company,  dined  early)  the  cold  winter  wind  had  brought 
with  it  clouds  so  sombre,  ana  a  rain  so  penetrating,  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  Reed. 

The  said  Eliza,  John,  and  Georgiana  were  now  clustered  round 
their  mamma  in  the  drawing-room  :  she  lay  reclined  on  a  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  endeavouring  in  good  earnest  to  acquire  a  more 
sociable  and  childlike  disposition,  a  more  attractive  and  sprightly 
manner — something  lighter,  franker,  more  natural  as  it  were — 
she  really  must  exclude  me  from  privileges  intended  only  for 
contented,  happy,  little  children." 

"  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  book-case :  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. 


8  JANEEYRE. 

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  lament- 
able 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  Cape— 

"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  and  snow,  where 
firm  fields  of  ice,  the  accumulation  of  centuries  of  winters,  glazed 
in  Alpine  heights  above  heights,  surround  the  pole,  and 
concentre  the  multiplied  rigours  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  chil- 
dren's brains,  but  strangely  impressive.  The  words  in  these 
introductory  pages  connected  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  church- 
yard, 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  eventide. 

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  ske  chanced  to  be  in  good 


JANE    EYRE.  Q 

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.  Reed'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. 

"  Boh  !  Madam  Mope !"  cried  the  voice  of  John  Reed ;  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  Reed  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." 

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  diffidence. 

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

John  Reed  was  a  schoolboy  of  fourteen  years  old ;  four  years 
olaer  than  I,  for  I  was  but  ten ;  lar^e  and  stout  for  his  age,  with 
a  dingy  and  unwholesome  skin ;  thick  lineaments  in  a  spacious 
visage,  heavy  limbs  and  large  extremities.  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."  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  a  day,  but  continually : 
every  nerve  I  had  feared  him,  and  every  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.  Reed  was  blind  and  deaf  on  the 
subject:  she  never  saw  him  strike  or  heard  him  abuse  me, 


IO  JANEEYRE. 

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  speak- 
ing, 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,"  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. 

"  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.  Go  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  Roman  emperors!" 

I  had  read  Goldsmith's  History  of  Rome,  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 


JANE    EYRE.  IT 

over  fear,  and  1  received  him  in  frantic  sort.  I  don't  very  well 
know  what  I  did  with  my  hands,  but  he  called  me  "  Rat !  rat !' 
and  bellowed  out  aloud.  Aid  was  near  him:  Eliza  and 
Georgiana  had  run  for  Mrs.  Reed,  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 !  dear !     What  a  fury  to  fly  at  Master  John  !" 
"  Did  ever  anybody  see  such  a  picture  of  passion  !" 
Then  Mrs.  Reed  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. 


CHAPTER  II. 

I  RESISTED  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  little  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  desperation,  to  go  all 
lengths. 

"  Hold  her  arms,  Miss  Abbot :  she's  like  a  mad  cat." 

"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." 

"  Master !    How  is  he  my  master  ?    Am  I  a  servant  ?" 

"  No ;  you  are  less  than  a  servant,  for  you  dp  nothing  for  your 
keep.  There,  sit  down,  and  think  over  your  wickedness." 

They  had  got  me  by  this  time  into  the  apartment  indicated  by 
Mrs.  Reed,  and  had  thrust  me  upon  a  stool :  my  impulse  was  to 
rise  from  it  like  a  spring ;  their  two  pair  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  igno- 
miny it  inferred,  took  a  little  of  the  excitement  out  of  me. 

"  Don't  take  them  off,"  I  cried ;  "  I  will  not  stir." 

In  guarantee  whereof,  I  attached  myself  to  my  seat  by  my 
hands. 

"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. 


12  JANE    EYRE. 

"  She  never  did  so  before,"  at  last,  said  Bessie,  turning1  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." 

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

"You  ought  to  be  aware,  Miss,  that  you  are  under  obligations 
to  Mrs.  Reed :  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  Reed  and  Master  Reed,  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  try  to  make  yourself  agreeable  to  them." 

"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  pas- 
sionate 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  ?  Come,  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  don't  repent,  some- 
thing 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. 


JANE    EYRE.  13 

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.  Reed  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.  Reed  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  that  day,  a  sense  of 
dreary  consecration  had  guarded  it  from  freauent  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.  Returning,  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  retrospective  thought 
before  I  quailed  to  the  dismal  present. 

All  John  Reed's  violent  tyrannies,  all  his  sisters'  proud  indif- 
ference, all  his  mother's  aversion,  all  the  servants  partiality, 
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,  seemed  to  £ive  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 


14  JANE    EYRE. 

necks  of  the  pigeons,  killed  the  little  pea-chicks,  set  the  dogs  at 
the  sheep,  stripped  the  hothouse^  vines  of  their  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  still  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. 

"Unjust! — unjust!"  said  my  reason,  forced  by  the  agonising 
stimulus  into  precocious  though  transitory  power ;  and  Resolve, 
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  ! 
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 !  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.  Reed  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  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  indignation  at  their  treatment,  of  con- 
tempt of  their  judgment.  I  know  that  had  I  been  a  sanguine, 
brilliant,  careless,  exacting,  handsome,  romping  child — though 
equally  dependent  and  friendless  —  Mrs.  Reed  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  scape- 
goat 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 


JANE    EYRE.  15 

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.  Reed 
lie  buned ;  and  led  by  this  thought  to  recall  his  idea,  I  dwelt  on 
it  with  gathering  dread.  I  could  not  remember  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.  Reed 
that  she  would  rear  and  maintain  me  as  one  of  her  own 
children.  Mrs.  Reed  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  unconnected  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  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.  Reed  had  been  alive  he  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  viola- 
tion of  their  last  wishes,  revisiting  the  earth  to  punish  the  per- 
jured 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  world  of 
the  departed — and  rise  before  me  in  this  chamber.  I  wiped  my 
tears  and  hushed  my  sobs,  fearful  lest  any  sign  of  outward  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  endea- 
voured 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  myself, 
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  mat  this  streak  of  light  was,  in  all  like- 
lihood, 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,  suffocated  :  endurance  broke  down  ;  I 
rushed  to  the  door  and  shook  the  lock  in  desperate  effort.  Steps 
came  running  along  the  outer  passage ;  the  key  was  turned,  and 
Bessie  and  Abbot  entered. 


l6  JANE    EYRE. 

"  Miss  Eyre,  are  you  ill  ?"  said  Bessie. 

"What  a  dreadful  noise!  It  went  quite  through  me!" 
exclaimed  Abbot. 

"  Take  me  out !     Let  me  go  into  the  nursery !"  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,  peremptorily; 
and  Mrs.  Reed  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  children  ;  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 " 

"  Silence  !  This  violence  is  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  passions,  mean  spirit, 
and  dangerous  duplicity. 

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


CHAPTER    III. 

'HpHE  next  thing  1  remember  is,  waking  up  with  a  feeling  as  if 
J,  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,  and  as  if  muffled  by  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 


JANE    EYRE.  17 

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  dissolved :  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  Gateshead,  and  not  related  to  Mrs. 
Reed.  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. 
Reed  when  the  servants  were  ailing :  for  herself  and  the  children 
she  employed  a  physician. 

"  Well,  who  am  I  ?"  he  asked. 

I  pronounced  his  name,  offering  at  the  same  time  my  hand : 
he  took  it,  smiling  and  saying,  "  We  shall  do  very  well  by-and- 
by."  Then  he  laid  me  down,  and  addressing  Bessie,  charged 
her  to  be  very  careful  that  I  was  not  disturbed  during  the  night. 
Having  given  some  further  directions,  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  ch.iir  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." 

"  Would  you  like  to  drink,  or  could  you  eat  anything?" 

"  No,  thank  you,  Bessie." 

"  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. 
Bessie,  what  is  the  matter  with  me  ?    Am  I  ill  ?" 

"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  ;  thoy  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. 

B 


l8  JANE    EYRE. 

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

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.  Reed,  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  worst  ailment  was  an  unutterable  wretch- 
edness 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  Reeds  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  unwonted  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  thank- 
less 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  enthusiastic  sense  of  admira- 
tion ;  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  ! 
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 


JANE    EYRE.  IQ 

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  cornfields  forest-high,  the  mighty  mastiffs,  the 
monster  cats,  the  tower-like  men  and  women  of  the  other.  Yet, 
when  the  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— 

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

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  arc  sore,  and  my  limbs  they  are  weary  j 

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  Hi-  im-rcy,  protection  is  showing, 
Comfort  and  hojie  to  the  poor  orphan  child. 

.'n  should  I  fall  o'er  the  broken  bridge  passing, 
Or  stray  in  the  marshes,  by  false  lights  beguile.  1, 
Still  will  my  Father,  with  promise  and  blessing, 
Take  to  His  bosom  the  poor  orphan  child. 


20  JANE    EYRE. 

"  There  is  a  thought  that  for  strength  should  avail  me  J 

Though  both  of  shelter  and  kindred  despoiled  j 
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,"  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. 
"  Well,  nurse,  how  is  she  ?" 

Bessie  answered  that  I  was  doing  very  well. 

"Then  she  ought  to  look  more  cheerful.  Come  here,  Miss 
Jane  :  your  name  is  Jane,  is  it  not  ?" 

"Yes,  sir;  Jane  Eyre." 

"Well,  you  have  been  crying,  Miss  Jane  Eyre:  can  yoy  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. 

"  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  servant's  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." 


JANE    EYRE.  21 

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

"  Ghost !  What,  you  are  a  ba&y  after  all !  You  are  afraid  of 
ghosts?" 

44  Of  Mr.  Reed'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  ?" 

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

"  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 !  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,  contrived  to  frame  a  meagre,  though,  as  far  as 
it  went,  true  response. 

"For  one  thing,  I  have  no  father  or  mother,  brothers  or 
sisters." 

"  You  have  a  kind  aunt  and  cousins." 

Again  I  paused ;  then  bunglingly  enounced : 

"  Hut  John  Reed  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?" 
a^knl  he.  "  Are  you  not  very  thankful  to  have  such  a  fine  place 
to  live  at?" 

"  It  is  not  my  house,  sir;  and  Abbot  says  I  have  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." 

"  Perhaps  you  may— who  knows  ?  Have  you  any  relations 
besides  Mrs.  Reed?" 

'  I  think  not,  sir. 

'  None  belonging  to  your  father  ?" 

"  I  don't  know:  I  asked  Aunt  Reed  once,  and  she  said  possi- 
bly I  might  have  some  poor,  low  relations  called  Eyre,  but  she 
knew  nothing  about  them." 

"  If  you  had  such,  would  you  like  to  go  to  them  ?" 

lected.     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  com 
with  ragged  clothes,  scanty  food,  fireless  grates,  rude  manners, 


22  JANE    EYRE. 

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  wash- 
ing their  clothes  at  the  cottage  doors  of  the  village  of  Gates- 
head :  no,  I  was  not  heroic  enough  to  purchase  liberty  at  the 
price  of  caste. 

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

"  I  cannot  tell;  Aunt  Reed  says  if  I  have  any  they  must  be  a 
beggarly  set :  I  should  not  like  to  go  a-begging." 

"  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  Reed  hated  his  school,  and  abused 
his  master;  but  John  Reed'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  Gates- 
head)  were  somewhat  appalling,  her  details  of  certain  accom- 
plishments attained  by  these  same  young  ladies  were,  I  thought, 
equally  attractive.  She  boasted  of  beautiful  paintings  of  land- 
scapes 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  emula- 
tion 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  con- 
clusion 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." 

Bessie  invited  him  to  walk  into  the  breakfast-room,  and  led  the 
way  out.  In  the  interview  which  followed  between  him  and  Mrs. 
Reed,  I  presume,  from  after  occurrences,  that  the  apothecary 
ventured  to  recommend  my  being  sent  to  school ;  and  the  recom- 
mendation 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, 


JANE    EYRE.  23 

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  watching-  everybody,  and  scheming  plots  underhand." 
Abbot,  I  think,  gave  me  credit  for  being  a  sort  of  infantine  Guy 
Fawkes. 

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  Reed  was  so  irritated  at  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  heard  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." 

"  Not  a  great  deal,  to  be  sure,"  agreed  Bessie  :  "  at  any  rate, 
a  beauty  Tike  Miss  Georgiana  would  be  more  moving  in  the 
same  condition." 

"Yes,  I  dote  on  Miss  Georgiana  1"  cried  the  fervent  Abbot. 
"Little  darling! — with  her  long  curls  and  her  blue  eyes,  and 
such  a  sweet  colour  as  she  has ;  just  as  if  she  were  painted  !— 
<•,  I  could  fancy  a  Welsh  rabbit  for  supper." 
>o  could  I— with  a  roast  onion.     Come,  we'll  go  down." 

They  went. 


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  in  silence.     It 
tarried,  however ;   days  and  weeks  passed ;    I  had  regained  my 
normal  state  of  health,  but  no  new  allusion  was  made  to  the  sub- 
ject over  which  I   brooded.     Mrs.   Reed  surveyed  me  at  times 
i  severe  eye,  but  seldom  addressed  me :    since  my  illness 
she  had  drawn  a  more  marked  line  of  separation  than  ever  be- 
me  and  her  own  children,  appointing  me  a  small  closet  to 
sleep  in  by  myself,  condemning  me  to  take  my  meals  alone,  and 
pass  all   my   time   in  the  nursery,  while  my  cousins  were  con- 
stantly in  the  drawing-room.     Not  a  hint,  however,  did  she  drop 


24  JANE    EYRE. 

about  sending  me  to  school ;  still  I  felt  an  instinctive  certainty 
that  she  would  not  long  endure  me  under  the  same  roof  with  her ; 
for  her  glance,  now  more  than  ever,  when  turned  on  me,  ex- 
pressed 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  chastisement ; 
but  as  I  instantly  turned  against  him,  roused  by  the  same  senti- 
ment 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  purpose,  but  he  was  already  with  his  mam- 
ma. 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  voluntary,  for  it 
seemed  as  if  my  tongue  pronounced  words  without  my  will  con- 
senting to  their  utterance ;  something  spoke  out  of  me  over 
which  I  had  no  control. 

"  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  aban- 
doned child  ever  reared  under  a  roof.  I  half  believed  her,  for  I 
felt,  indeed,  only  bad  feelings  surging  in  my  breast. 
',  November,  December,  and  half  of  January  passed  away. 


JANE    EYRE.  25 

Christmas  and  the  New  Year  had  been  celebrated  at  Gateshead 
with  the  usual  festive  cheer ;  presents  had  been  interchanged, 
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  see- 
ing them  descend  to  the  drawing-room,  dressed  out  in  thin 
muslin  frocks  and  scarlet  sashes,  with  hair  elaborately  ringleted ; 
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  com- 
pany 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.  Reed,  in  a  room  full  of  ladies  and  gentle- 
men. 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  doted  on  this 
little  toy,  half  fancying  it  alive  and  capable  of  sensation.  I 
could  not  sleep  unless  it  was  folded  in  my  night-gown  ;  and  when 
it  lay  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  cheesecake — 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  ju<l.m> 


26  JANE    EYRE. 

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  Gateshead  Hall. 

It  was  the  fifteenth  of  January,  about  nine  o'clock  in  the  morn- 
ing. 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  ef  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.  Reed  to  buy  of  his  young  lady  all  the  products  of  her 
parterre  she  wished  to  sell:  and  Eliza  would  have  sold  the 
hair  off  her  head  if  she  could  have  made  a  handsome  profit  there- 
by. 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 
feathers,  of  which  she  had  found  a  store  in  a  drawer  in  the  attic. 
I  was  making  my  bed,  having  received  strct  orders  from  Bessie 
to  get  it  arranged  before  she  returned  (for  Bessie  now  frequently 
employed  me  as  a  sort  of  under-nursery-maid,  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  pic- 
ture-books and  doll's-house  furniture  scattered  there;  an  abrupt 
command  from  Georgiana  to  let  her  playthings  alone  (for  the  tiny 
chairs  and  mirrors,  the  fairy  plates  and  cups,  were  her  property) 
stopped  my  proceedings  ;  and  then  for  lack  of  other  occupation, 
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  car- 
riage-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 


JANE    EYRE.  2J 

rang  loudly,  the  new-comer  was  admitted.  All  this  being 
nothing  to  me,  my  vacant  attention  soon  found  livelier  attraction 
in  the  spectacle  of  a  little  hungry  robin,  which  came  and  chir- 
ruped on  the  twi.^s  of  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. 

"Miss  Jane,  take  off  your  pinafore:  what  are  you  doing 
there  ?  Have  you  washed  your  hands  and  face  this  morning  ?" 

I  gave  another  tug  before  I  answered,  for  I  wanted  the  bird  to 
are  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." 

"  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  to  be 
in  too  great  a  hurry  to  listen  to  explanations ;  she  hauled  me  to 
the  washstand,  indicted  a  merciless,  but  happily  brief,  scrub  on 
my  face  and  hands  with  soap,  water,  and  a  coarse  towel ;  discip- 
lined my  head  with  a  bristly  brush,  denuded  me  of  my  pinafore, 
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.  Reed  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.  Reed'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  breakfast- 
room  door,  and  I  stopped,  intimidated  and  trembling.  What  a 
miserable  little  poltroon  had  fear,  engendered  of  unjust  punish- 
ment, 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  vehement  ringing  of  the 
break  fast- room  bell  decided  me ;  I  must  enter. 

"  \Vho  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  Reed  in  the 
apartment? — a  man  or  a  woman?"  The  handle  turned,  the 
door  unclosed,  and  passing  through,  and  curtseying  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.  Reed  occupied  her  usual  scat  by  the  fireside ;  she  made 


28  JANE    EYRE. 

a  signal  to  me  to  approach ;  I  did  so,  and  she  introduced  me  to 
the  stony  stranger  with  the  words — 

"  This  is  the  little  girl  respecting  whom  I  applied  to  you." 
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  ?" 
'  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  word  I  looked  up  :  he  seemed  to  me  a  tall 
gentleman,  but  then  I  was  very  little  ;  his  feature  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.  Reed  answered  for 
me  by  an  expressive  shake  of  the  head,  adding  soon,  "  Perhaps 
the  less  said  on  that  subject  the  better,  Mr.  Brocklehurst." 

"  Sorry  indeed  to  hear  it!  She  and  I  must  have  some  talk;" 
and  bending  from  the  perpendicular,  he  installed  his  person  in 
the  armchair,  opposite  Mrs.  Reed'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  ! 

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

"  They  go  to  hell,"  was  my  ready  and  orthodox  answer. 
"  And  what  is  hell  ?     Can  you  tell  me  that  ?" 
"A  pit  full  of  fire." 

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

"  How  can  you  keep  in  good  health  ?  Children  younger  than 
you  die  daily.  I  buried  a  little  child  of  five  years  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  rug,  and  sighed, 
wishing  myself  far  enough  away. 

"  I  hope  that  sigh  is  from  the  heart,  and  that  you  repent  of 


JANE    EYRE.  2Q 

ever  having  been  the  occasion  of  discomfort  to  your  excellent 
benefactress." 

"Benefactress!  benefactress!"  said  I,  inwardly:  "they  all 
call  Mrs.  Reed  my  benefactress;  if  so,  a  benefactress  is  a 
disagreeable  thing." 

"  Do  you  say  your  prayers  night  and  morning?"  continued  my 
interrogator. 
"Yes,  sir." 

"  Do  you  read  your  Bible  ?" 
"Sometimes." 

"  With  pleasure  ?    Are  you  fond  of  it  ?" 

"  I  like  Revelations,  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  Psalms  ?    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  !  angels  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.  Reed  interposed,  telling  me  to  sit  down ;  she  then 
proceeded  to  carry  on  the  conversation  herself. 

"  Mr.  Brocklehurst,  I  believe  I  intimated  in  the  letter  which  I 
wrote  to  you  three  weeks  a^o,  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  upon  Mr.  Brocklehurst." 

Well  might  I  dread,  well  might  I  dislike  Mrs.  Reed ;  for  it 
was  her  nature  to  wound  me  cruelly :  never  was  I  happy  in  her 
presence.  However  carefully  I  obeyed,  however  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 :  I  dimly  perceived  that  she 
was  already  obliterating  hope  from  the  new  phase  of  existence 
which  she  destined  me  to  enter.  I  felt,  though  1  could  not  have 
expressed  the  feeling,  that  she  was  sowing  aversion  and  unkind- 
ness  along  my  future  path  ;  I  saw  myself  transformed,  under  Mr. 
Brocklehurst' s  eye,  into  an  artful,  noxious  child,  and  what  could 
I  do  to  remedy  the  injury  ? 


30  JANE    EYRE. 

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

"  Deceit  is,  indeed,  a  sad  fault  in  a  child,"  said  Mr.  Brockle- 
hurst ;  "it  is  akin  to  falsehood,  and  all  liars  will  have  their  por- 
tion in  the  lake  burning  with  fire  and  brimstone ;  she  shall,  how- 
ever, be  watched,  Mrs.  Reed.  I  will  speak  to  Miss  Temple  and 
the  teachers." 

"  I  should  wish  her  to  be  brought  up  in  a  manner  suiting  her 
prospects,."  continued  my  benefactress ;  "to  be  made  useful,  to 
be  kept  humble.  As  for  the  vacations,  she  will,  with  your  per- 
mission, 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  their  ears,  and 
their  long  pinafores,  and  those  little  holland  pockets  outside  their 
frocks,  they  are  almost  like  poor  people's  children !  and,'  said 
she,  'they  looked  at  my  dress,  and  mamma's,  as  if  they  had 
never  seen  a  silk  gown  before.'  " 

"  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,  unsophisti- 
cated accommodations,  hardy  and  active  habits;  such  is  the 
order  of  the  day  in  the  house  and  its  inhabitants." 

"  Quite  right,  sir.  I  may  then  depend  upon  this  child  being 
received  as  a  pupil  at  Lowood,  and  there  being  trained  in  con- 
formity 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.  Brocklehurst ; 
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 


JANE    EYRE.  3! 

slu  is  to  expect  a  new  girl,  so  that  there  will  be  no  difficulty 
about  receiving  her.  Good-by." 

"Good-by,  Mr.  Brocklehurst ;  remember  me  to  Mrs.  and  Miss 
Brocklehurst,  and  to  Augusta  and  Theodore,  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  con- 
taining '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. 

Mrs.  Reed  and  I  were  left  alone;  some  minutes  passed  in 
silence.  She  was  sewing,  I  was  watching  her.  Mrs.  Reed 
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  truth;  her  skin  was  dark  and  opaque,  her  hair  nearly 
flaxen  :  her  constitution  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  armchair,  I 
examined  her  figure,  I  perused  her  features.  In  my  hand  I  held 
the  tract  containing  the  sudden  death  of  the  Liar :  to  which  nar- 
rative my  attention  had  been  pointed  as  to  an  appropriate  warn- 
ing. What  had  just  passed ;  what  Mrs.  Reed  had  said  concern- 
ing me  to  Mr.  Brocklehurst;  the  whole  tenor  of  their  conver- 
sation, 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.  Reed  looked  up  from  her  work  :  her  eye  settled  ^>n  mine, 
her  fingers  at  the  same  time  suspended  their  nimble  movements. 

"  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  tnust  turn : 
but  how?  What  strength  had  I  to  dart  retaliation  at  my 
antagonist?  I  gathered  my  energies  and  launched  them  in  this 
blunt  sentence : 

"  1  am  not  deceitful:  if  I  were,  I  should  say  I  loved  you;  hut  I 
declare  I  do  not  love  you  :  I  dislike  you  the  worst  of  anybody  in 
the  world  except  John  Reed ;  and  this  book  about  the  Liar  you 


32  JANE    EYRE. 

may  give  to  your  girl,  Georgiana,  for  it  is  she  who  tells  lies,  and 
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  excite- 
ment, 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  me 
sick,  and  that  you  treated  me  with  miserable  cruelty." 

"  How  dare  you  affirm  that,  Jane  Eyre  ?" 

"How  dare  I,  Mrs.  Reed?  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  me  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  Reed!'  And  that  punishment  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,  with  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  without  cause  was 
this  sentiment :  Mrs.  Reed  looked  frightened :  her  work  had 
slipped  Irom  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  ?" 

"No,  Mrs.  Reed." 

"  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." 

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

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


JANE    EYRE.  33 

"  I  am  not  your  dear ;  I  cannot  lie  down.  Send  me  to  school 
soon,  Mrs.  Reed,  for  I  hate  to  live  here." 

"I  will  indeed  send  her  to  school  soon,"  murmured  Mrs. 
Reed,  sotto  voct;  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.  Reed ;  the  same  ridge,  black  and  blasted  after  the  flames 
are  dead,  would  have  represented  as  meetly  my  subsequent  con- 
dition, when  half  an  hour's  silence  and  reflection  had  shown  me 
the  madness  of  my  conduct,  and  the  dreariness  of  my  hated 
and  hating  passion. 

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  me  a  sensation  as  if  I  had 
been  poisoned.  Willingly  would  I  now  have  gone  and  asked 
Mrs.  Reed's  pardon;  but  I  knew  partly  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.  1  could  make  no 
sense  of  the  subject ;  my  own  thoughts  swam  always  between  me 
and  the  page  1  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  tin: 
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  \ 
guite  sequestered;  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, 
"  ending  on  snaw,"  canopied  all ;  then  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?" 

C 


34  JANE    EYRE. 

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

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

"You  naughty  little  thing!"  she  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.  Reed,  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!  don't  scold!" 

The  action  was  more  frank  and  fearless  than  any  I  was  habit- 
uated 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. 

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

"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  don't  think  you  have,  Bessie." 

"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  trunks.  Missis  intends  you  to  leave  Gateshead  in  a  day  or 
two,  and  you  shall  choose  what  toys  you  like  to  take  with  you. 

"Bessie,  you  must  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,  be- 
cause 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  dp,  Bessie  ?' ' 

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

"  You  don't  show  it." 


JANE    EYRE.  35 

"You  little  sharp  thing  !  you've  got  quite  a  new  way  of  talk- 
ing.   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.  Reed;    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." 
"  Just  now !  and  rather !     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  rather  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. 


CHAPTER    V. 

FIVE  o'clock  had  hardly  struck  on  the  mornimr  on  the 
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  proceeded  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  bed-room,  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  need  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." 

"  What  did  you  say,  Miss  J" 

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

"That  was  wrong,  Miss  Jane." 


36  JANE    EYRE. 

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

"  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  morn- 
ing :  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. 

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

And  how  far  is  it?" 

'  Fifty  miles." 

What  a  long  way !     I  wonder  Mrs.  Reed  is  not  afraid  to 
trust  her  so  far  alone." 

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

"  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  ap- 
peared 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  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  pendant 
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  chron- 
icles. 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  "  stony  street" 

The  afternoon  came  on  wet  and  somewhat  misty :   as  it  waned 


JANE    EYRE.  37 

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  twi- 
light deepened,  we  descended  a  valley,  dark  with  wood,  and  long 
after  night  had  overclouded  the  prospect,  I  heard  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  ajid  dress  by  the  light  of  the  lamps. 

"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. 
Rain,  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  be- 
hind 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  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,  carpets,  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 
ami  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 : 

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

"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  ?" 

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  her  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 


3  JANE    EYRE. 

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  care-worn  countenance,  hurried 
in  gait  and  action,  like  one  who  had  always  a  multiplicity  of 
tasks  on  hand :  she  looked,  indeed,  what  I  afterwards  found  she 
really  was,  an  under-teacher.  Led  by  her,  I  passed  from  com- 
partment to  compartment,  from  passage  to  passage,  of  a  large 
and  irregular  building ;  till  emerging  from  the  total  and  some- 
what 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  num- 
ber 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. 

Miss  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 : 

"  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  !" 

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,  however,  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 
bed-room  was ;  except  that,  like  the  school-room,  I  saw  it  was 
very  long.  To-night  I  was  to  be  Miss  Miller's  bed-fellow;  she 
helped  me  to  undress :  when  laid  down  I  glanced  at  the  long 
rows  of  beds,  each  of  which  was  quickly  filled  with  two  occu- 
pants ;  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  unclosed  my  eyes,  a 
loud  bell  was  ringing :  the  girls  were  up  and  dressing ;  day  had 


JANE    EYRE.  39 

not  yet  begun  to  dawn,  and  a  rushlight  or  two  burnt  in  the  room. 
I  too  rose  reluctantly;  it  was  bitter  cold,  and  I  dressed  as  well  as 
I  could  for  shivering,  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  des- 
cended the  stairs  and  entered  the  cold  and  dimly  lit  school-room, 
here  prayers  were  read  by  Miss  Miller;  afterwards  she  called 
out: 

"Form  classes  I" 

A  great  tumult  succeeded  for  some  minutes,  during  which  Miss 
Miller  repeatedly  exclaimed,  "  Silence  1"  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  indefinite  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  cer- 
tain texts  of  Scripture  were  said,  and  to  these  succeeded  a  pro- 
tracted 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  some- 
thing 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,  however,  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  1" 

"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  installed  herself  at 
the  top  of  one  table,  while  a  more  buxom  lady  presided  at  the 
other.  I  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  afterwards  found,  took  the  corresponding 
seat  at  the  other  board.  A  long  grace  was  said,  and  a  hymn 


40  JANE    EYRE. 

sung ;  then  a  servant  brought  in  some  tea  for  the  teachers,  and 
the  meal  began. 

Ravenous,  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  relinquished.  Breakfast  was  over,  and 
none  had  breakfasted.  Thanks  having  been  returned  for  what 
we  had  not  got,  and  a  second  hymn  chanted,  the  refectory  was 
evacuated  for  the  schoolroom.  1  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 !" 

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.  I  heard  the  name 
of  Mr.  Brocklehurst  pronounced  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: 

1 '  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.  Ranged  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  surrounded  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  pur- 
pose 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  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, 


JANEEYRE.  4! 

weather-beaten,  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  consulted 
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  day- 
light, 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  cany  to  church. 

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  commenced 
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  dura- 
tion of  each  lesson  was  measured  by  the  clock,  which  at  last 
struck  twelve.  The  superintendent  rose. 

"  I  have  a  word  to  address  to  the  pupils,"  said  she. 

The  tumult  of  cessation  from  lessons  was  already  breaking 
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  af  erwards  left  the 
room. 


42  JANEEYRE. 

The  bread  and  cheese  were  presently  brought  in  and  dis- 
tributed, to  the  high  delight  and  refreshment  of  the  whole  school. 
The  order  was  now  given,  "To  the  garden."  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  enclosure,  surrounded  by  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  out-door  exercise — not  positively  rainy,  but  darkened  by 
a  drizzling  yellow  fog ;  all  under  foot  was  still  soaking  wet  with 
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  isola- 
tion I  was  accustomed;  it  did  not  oppress  me  much.  I  leant 
against  a  pillar  of  the  verandah,  drew  my  grey  mantle  close 
about  me,  and,  trying  to  forget  the  cold  which  nipped  me  with- 
out, and  the  unsatisfied  hunger  which  gnawed  me  within, 
delivered  myself  up  to  the  employment  of  watching  and  thinking. 
My  reflections  were  too  undefined  and  fragmentary  to  merit 
record.  I  hardly  yet  knew  where  I  was.  Gateshead  and  my 

?ast  life  seemed  floated  away  to  an  immeasurable  distance, 
'he  present  was  vague  and  strange,  and  of  the  future  I  could 
form  no  conjecture.  I  looked  round  the  convent-like  garden, 
and  then  up  at  the  house — a  large  building,  half  of  which  seemed 
grey  and  old,  the  other  half  quite  new.  The  new  part,  contain- 
ing the  school-room  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.D. ,  by 

Naomi  Brocklehurst,  of  Brocklehurst  Hall,  in  this  county." 
"  Let  your  light  so  shine  before  men  that  they  may  see  your 
good  works,  and  glorify  your  Father  which  is  in  heaven." — St. 
Matt.  v.  1 6. 

I  read  these  words  over  and  over  again.  I  felt  that  an  explan- 
ation belonged  to  them,  and  was  unable  fully  to  penetrate  their 
import.  I  was  still  pondering  the  signification  of  "  Institution," 
and  endeavouring  to  make  out  a  connection  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  was  bent  over  a  book,  on  the  perusal 


JANE    EYRE.  43 

of  which  she  seemed  intent.  From  where  1  stood  I  could  see  the 
title— it  was  '"  Rasselas"— a  name  that  struck  me  as  strange, 
and  consequently  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  me. 

"  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  I,  too, 
liked  reading,  though  of  a  frivolous  and  childish  kind.  I  could 
not  digest  or  comprehend  the  serious  or  substantial. 

"  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.  "  Rasselas"  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  mood. 
Again  I  ventured  to  disturb  her : 

44  Can  you  tell  me  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  ?" 

44  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  ?" 

"  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." 

"  Do  we  pay  no  money  ?     Do  they  keep  us  for  nothing  ?" 

44  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." 

.Vho  was  Naomi  Brocklehurst  ?" 

44  The  lady  who  built  the  new  part  of  this  house,  as  that  tablet 
records,  and  whose  son  overlooks  and  directs  everything  here." 

44  Why?" 

44  Because  he  is  treasurer  and  manager  of  the  establishment." 

44  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 


44  JANE    EYRE. 

answer  to  Mr.  Brocklehurst  for  all  she  does.  Mr.  Brocklehurst 
buys  all  our  food  and  all  our  clothes." 

'  Does  he  live  here  ?" 

'  No — two  miles  off,  at  a  large  hall." 

'  Is  he  a  good  man  ?" 

'  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." 

'  And  what  are  the  other  teachers  called  ?" 

'  The  one  with  red  cheeks  is  called  Miss  Smith  ;  she  attends 
to  the  work,  and  cuts  out — for  we  make  our  own  clothes,  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  to  her  side  with  a 
yellow  riband,  is  Madame  Pierrot :  she  comes  from  Lisle,  in 
France,  and  teaches  French." 

"  Do  you  like  the  teachers  ?" 

"  Well  enough." 

"  Do  you  like  the  little  black  one,  and  the  Madame ? — I 

cannot  pronounce  her  name  as  you  do." 

"  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  that  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  pre- 
paration 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  schoolroom. 
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,  dismissed  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,  especially  for  so 


JANE    EYRE.  45 

great  a  girl— she  looked  thirteen  or  upwards.  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 
(juietly— so  firmly  ?"  I  asked  of  myself.  "  Were  I  in  her  place, 
it  seems  to  me  1  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  I  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  oatcake,  prayers,  and  bed.  Such  was 
my  first  day  at  Lowood. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  next  day  commenced  as  before,  getting  up  and  dressing 
by  rushlight;    but  this  morning  we  were  obliged  to  dis- 
pense with  the  ceremony  of  washing :   the  water  in  the  pitchers 
was  frozen.    A  change  had  taken  place  in  the  weather  the  pre- 
;  evening,  and  a  keen  north-east  wind,  whistling  through 
the  crevices  of  our  bed-room  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.      Breakfast-time  came 
at  last,  and  this  morning  the  porridge  was  not  burnt ;   the  quality 
was  eatable,  the  quantity  small ;  how  small  my  portion  seemed  1 
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,  1  had  only  been  Na  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  appeared  to  me 
both  long  and  difficult :  the  frequent  change  from  task  to  task, 
too,  bt-wiUIered  me ;  and  1  was  glad,  when,  about  three  o'clock 
in  the  afternoon,  Miss  Smith  put  in  my  hands  a  border  of 
muslin  two  yards  lon^,  together  with  needle,  thimble,  &c.,  and 
sent  me  to  sit  in  a  quiet  corner  of  the  school-room,  with  direc- 
tions to  hem  the  same.  At  that  hour  most  of  the  others  were 


46  JANE    EYRE. 

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  herself,  and  the  animadversions  or  commendations  of 
Miss  Scatcherd  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  pronounciation  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 : 

"  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  imme- 
diately." "  Burns,  you  poke  your  chin  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  comprised  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  girl!  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,  &c. ;  till  she  dis- 
missed me,  I  could  not  pursue  my  observations  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  courtesy ;  then  she  quietly,  and  with- 
out 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  Burns'  eye ;  and,  while  I 
paused  from  my  sewing,  because  my  fingers  quivered  at  this 


JANE    EYRE.  47 

spectacle  with  a  sentiment  of  unavailing  and  impotent  anger,  not 
a  feature  of  her  pensive  face  altered  its  ordinary  expression. 

"  Hardened  girll"  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  handkerchief  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  companion,  yet  not  feeling 
lonely :  when  I  passed  the  windows  I  now  and  then  lifted  a  blind 
and  looked  out;  it  snowed  fast,  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  outside. 

Probably,  if  I  had  lately  left  a  good  home  and  kind  parents, 
this  would  have  been  the  hour  when  I  should  most  keenlv  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,  reck- 
less and  feverish,  I  wished  the  wind  to  howl  more  wildly,  the 
gloom  to  deepen  to  darkness,  and  the  confusion  to  nse  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 
around  her  by  the  companionship  of  a  book,  which  she  read  by 
the  dim  glare  of  the  embers. 

"  Is  it  still  '  Rasselas '  ?"  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. 

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

"  What  is  your  name  besides  Burns  ?" 

••  Helen." 

"  Do  you  come  a  long  way  from  here  ?" 

"  I  come  from  a  place  further  north ;  quite  on  the  borders  of 
Scotland." 

"  Will  you  ever  go  back  ?" 

"  I  hope  so ;  but  nobody  can  be  sure  of  the  future." 

"  You  must  wish  to  leave  Lowood?" 


48  JANEEYRE. 

"  No  :  why  should  I  ?  I  was  sent  to  Lowood  to  get  an  educa- 
tion ;  and  it  would  be  of  no  use  going  away  until  I  have  attained 
that  object." 

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

"  Cruel  ?     Not  at  all !     She  is  severe  :    she  dislikes  my  faults." 

"  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." 

"  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  com- 
mit a  hasty  action  whose  evil  consequences  will  extend  to  all 
connected  with  you ;  and  besides,  the  Bible  bids  us,  to  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." 

"  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  I 
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  particular." 

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

"  Is  Miss  Temple  as  severe  to  you  as  Miss  Scatcherd?" 

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  anything  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 


JANEFYRK.  49 

even  her  praise,  though  I  value  it  most  highly,  cannot  stimulate 
me  to  continued  care  and  foresight." 

"  That  is  curious,"  said  I :  "  it  is  so  easy  to  be  careful." 

"  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  continually  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  Northum- 
berland, 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,  1  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  answered  this  afternoon." 

"It  was  mere  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  some- 
times did;  and  I  thought  what  a  pity  it  was  that,  with  his 
integrity  and  conscientiousness,  he  coula  see  no  farther  than  the 
prerogatives  of  the  crown.  If  he  had  but  been  able  to  look  to  a 
distance,  and  see  how  what  they  call  the  spirit  of  the  age  was 
tending!  Still,  I  like  Charles — I  respect  him— I  pity  him,  poor 
murdered  king !  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. 

"And  when  Miss  Temple  teaches  you  do  your  thoughts 
wander  then?" 

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

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

"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  at; 
and  so  they  would  never  alter,  but  would  grow  worse  an 
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: 


j  yet  you  are  but  a  little  untaught  girl." 
"  But  I  foel  this,  Helen :  I  must  dislike 


those  who,  what          1 
D 


50  JANE     EYRE. 

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  1 
feel  it  is  deserved." 

"Heathens  and  savage  tribes  hold  that  doctrine  j  but 
Christians  and  civilised  nations  disown  it." 

"How?     I  don't  understand." 

"  It  is  not  violence  that  best  overcomes  hate — nor  vengeance 
that  most  certainly  heals  injury." 

"What  then?" 

"  Read  the  New  Testament,  and  observe  what  Christ  says, 
and  how  He  acts ;  make  His  word  your  rule,  and  His  conduct 
your  example." 

"  What  does  He  say  ?" 

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

"  Then  I  should  love  Mrs.  Reed,  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.  Reed  a  hard- 
hearted, bad  woman  ?" 

"  She  has  been  unkind  to  you,  no  doubt,  because,  you  see,  she 
dislikes  your  cast  of  character,  as  Miss  Scatcherd  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  tried  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  !  Surely  it  will  never,  on 
the  contrary,  be  suffered  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 


JANE    EYRE.  51 

and  his  crime,  I  can  so  sincerely  forgive  the  first  while  I  abhor 
the  last;  with  this  creed  revenue  never  worries  my  heart, 
degradation  never  too  deeply  disgusts  me,  injustice  never 
crushes  me  too  low ;  I  live  in  calm,  looking  to  the  end." 

Helen's  head,  always  drooping,  sank  a  little  lower  as  she 
finished  this  sentence.  I  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 : 

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

Helm  -i^hed  as  her  reverie  fled,  and  getting  up,  obeyed  the 
monitor  without  reply  as  without  delay. 


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. 

During  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  insuflk  ient  to  protect  us  from  the  severe 
cold;  we  had  no  boots,  the  snow  got  into  our  shoes,  and  melted 
there;  our  ungloved  hands  became  numb  and  covered  with  chil- 
blains, 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 
ncy  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 
.-rtiori.  Many  a  time  I  have  shared  between  two  daimants 

i:^el  of  brown  bread  distributed  at  tea-time 
lin<jtii;>hing  to  a   third   half  of  the  content --oi"  my  mug  ol 
i  'he   remainder  with  an  accompaniment 

forced  from  me  by  the  exigency  of  hui 
Sundays  were  dreary  days  in  that  wintry  season.     We  had  to 


52  JANE    EYRE. 

walk  two  miles  to  Brocklebridge  Church,  where  our  patron 
officiated.  We  set  out  cold,  we  arrived  at  church  colder ;  during1 
the  morning  service  we  became  almost  paralysed.  It  was  too 
far  to  return  to  dinner,  and  an  allowance  of  cold  meat  and  bread, 
in  the  same  penurkus  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  pre-* 
cept  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  deli- 
cious addition  of  a  thin  scrap  of  butter :  it  was  the  hebdomadal 
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  invariably  obligH.  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  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  school- 
room, 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 


JANE    EYRE.  53 

division,  my  eyes,  raised  in  abstraction  to  the  window,  caught 
sight  of  a  figure  just  passing:  I  recognized  almost  instinctively 
that  gaunt  outline;  and  when,  two  minutes  after,  all  the  school, 
teachers  included,  rose  en  masse,  it  was  not  necessary  for  m 
look  up  in  order  to  ascertain  whose  entrance  they  thus  greetr-1. 
A  long  stride  measured  the  schoolroom,  an  ! 

;  Temple,  who  herself  had  risen,  stood  the  same  bl.uk 
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.  13rocklehurst,  but- 
toned up  in  a  surtout,  and  looking  longer,  narrower,  and  more 
rigid  than  ever. 

I  had  my  own  reasons  for  being  dismayed  at  this  apparition  ; 
too  well  I  remembered  the  perfidious  hints  given  by  Mrs.  Reed 
about  my  disposition,  &c. ;  the  promise  pledged  by  Mr.  Brockle- 
hurst  to  apprise  Miss  Temple  and  the  teachers  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  ever :  no\y  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  villany;  and  I 
watched  her  eye  with  painful  anxiety,  expecting  every  moment  to 
see  its  dark  orb  turn  on  me  a  glance  of  repugnance  and  con- 
tempt. 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  apprehension. 

"  I  suppose,  Miss  Temple,  the  thread  I  bought  at  Lowton  will 

do ;  it  struck  me  that  it  would  be  just  of  the  quality  for  the  calico 

chemises,  and   I   sorted  the  needles  to  match.      You  may  tell 

->  Smith  that  1  forgot  to  make  a  memorandum  of  the  darning 

lies,  but  she  shall  have  some  papers  sent  in  next  week;   and 

she  is  not,  on  any  account,  to  give  out  more  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  1    I  wish  the  woollen  stockings  were 

better  looked  to !  when  I  was  here  last,  I  went  into  the  kitchen 

'en   and   examined  the  clothes  on   the   line;    there  was  a 

quantity  of  black  hose  in  a  very  bad  state  of  repair;    from  the 

size  of  the  holes  in  them  I  was  sure  they  had  not  been  well 

mended  from  time  to  time." 

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  a  week:    it  is  too  mt; 
the  rules  limit  them  to  one." 

"  I  think  I  can  explain  that  circumstance,  sir.     Agnes  and 
Catherine  Johnstone  were  invited  to  fake  tea  with  some  fri< -n<! 
Lowton  last  Thursday,  and  I  gave  them  leave  to  put  on  clean 
tuckers  for  the  occasion." 

Mr.  Brocklehurst  nodded. 


54  JANE    EYRE. 

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

"  I  must  be  responsible  for  the  circumstance,  sir,"  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." 

"  Madame,  allow  me  an  instant.  You  are  aware  that  my 
plan  in  bringing1  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  disappointment  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  priva- 
tion. A  brief  address  on  those  occasions  would  not  be  mistimed, 
wherein  a  judicious  instructor  would  take  the  opportunity  of 
referring  to  the  sufferings  of  the  primitive  Christians  ;  to  the  tor- 
ments of  martyrs ;  to  the  exhortations  of  our  blessed  Lord  Him- 
self, 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  suil'er  hunger  or  thirst  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." 

Mr.  Brocklehurst  again  paused — perhaps  overcome  by  his  feel- 
ings. 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 ;  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 : 

"  Miss  Temple,  Miss  Temple,  what — what  is  that  girl  with 
curled  hair?  Red  hair,  ma'am,  curled — curled  all  over?"  And 
extending  his  cane  he  pointed  to  the  awful  object,  his  hand 
shaking  as  he  did  so. 


JANE    EYRE.  55 

"  It  is  Julia  Severn,"  replied  Miss  Temple,  very  quietly. 

"  [ulia  Severn,  ma'am  !  AaJ  why  has  she,  or  any  other,  curled 
hair  f  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  cur!  ,  ?" 

"Julia's  hair  curls  naturally,"  returned  Mibs  Temple,  still 
more  quietly. 

"  X  iturally  !  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  a  barber  to-morrow: 
and  I  see  oth.-rs  who  have  far  too  much  of  the  excrescence — that 
tall  girl,  tell  her  to  turn  roun<l.  T  M  all  'he  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  com- 
mented 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  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. 

"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  shame-facedness  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, 
ow  entered  the  room.  They  ought  to  have  come  a  little 
•er  to  have  heard  his  lecture  on  dress,  for  they  were  splendidly 
ed  in  velvet,  silk,  and  furs.  The  two  younger  of  the  trio 
(line  girls  of  sixteen  and  seventeen)  had  grey  beaver  hats,  then  in 
ion,  shaded  with  ostrich  plumes,  and  from  under  the  brim  of 
this  graceful  head-dress  fell  a  profusion  of  light  tresses,  elabor- 
ately 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 
Urocklehurst,  and  conducted  to  seats  of 


56  JANE    EYRE. 

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. 

Hitherto,  while  gathering  up  the  discourse  of  Mr.  Brocklehurst 
and  Miss  Temple,  I  had  not,  at  the  same  time,  neglected  precau- 
tions to  secure  my  personal  safety ;  which  I  thought  would  be 
effected  if  I  could  only  elude  observation.  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  some- 
how happened  to  slip  from  my  hand,  and  falling  with  an  ob- 
trusive crash,  directly  drawn  every  eye  upon  me ;  I  knew  it  was 
all  over  now,  and,  as  I  stooped  to  pick  up  the  two  fragments  of 
slate,  I  rallied  my  forces  for  the  worst.  It  came. 

"A  careless  girl!"  said  Mr.  Brocklehurst,  and  immediately 
after — "It  is  the  new  pupil,  I  perceive."  And  before  I  could 
draw  breath,  "  I  must  not  forget  I  have  a  word  to  say  respecting 
her."  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  stirred  ;  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  Reed,  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. 

"  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  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. 

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


JANE    EYRE.  57 

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

"You  see  she  is  yet  young;  you  observe  she  possesses  the 
ordinary  form  of  childhood;  God  has  graciously  given  her  the 

that  He  IKIS  given  to  all  of  us;  no  signal  deformity  ; 
her  out  as  a  marked  character.     Who  would  think  that  th 
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  Rubicon  was  passed,  and  that  the  trial,  no 
longer  to  be  shirked,  must  be  firmly  sustained. 

"My  dear  children,"  pursued  the  black  marble  clergyman, 
with  pathos,  "this  is  a  sad,  a  melancholy  occasion;  for  it  be- 
comes 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  neces- 
sary, 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,  scruti- 
nise 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  herself  to  and  fro, 
and  the  two  younger  ones  whispered,  "  How  shocking  1" 

Mr.  Brocklehurst  resumed. 

"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  to  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  juage  said : 

"  Let  her  stand  half  an  hour  longer  on  that  stool,  and  let  no 
one  speak  to  her  during  the  remainder  of  the  day." 

There  was  I,  then,  mounted  aloft :  I,  who  haa  said  1  could  not 
bear  the  shame  of  standing  on  my  natural  feet  in  the  middle  of 
the  room,  was  now  exposed  to  general  view  on  a  pcdcst.il  of 


58  JANE    EYRE. 

infamy.  What  my  sensations  were  no  language  can  describe ; 
but,  just  as  they  all  rose,  stifling  my  breath  and  constricting  my 
throat,  a  girl  came  up  and  passed  me  :  in  passing,  she  lifted  her 
eyes.  What  a  strange  light  inspired  them  !  What  an  extra- 
ordinary 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  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  Helen  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  the  clearest  planet ;  and  eyes  like  Miss  Scatcherd' s  can  only 
see  those  minute  defects,  and  are  blind  to  the  full  brightness  of 
the  orb. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

ERE  the  half  hour  ended,  rive  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  so  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  approbation ;  she  had  promised  to 
teach  me  drawing,  and  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  : 


JANE    EYRE.  59 

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  sur- 
prise :  I  could  not  now  abate  my  agitation,  though  I  tried  hard ; 
I  continued  to  weep  aloud.  She  sat  down  on  the  ground  near 
:ne,  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?" 

"  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  I  know 
despise  me." 

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

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

"  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  evidently  for  their 
temporary  suppression.  Besides,  Jane," She  paused. 

"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." 

"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  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," 

"Hush,  Jane!  you  think  too  much  of  the  K»;e  of  human 
beings ;  you  are  too  impulsive,  too  vehement :  the  sovereign 
hand  that  created  your  frame,  and'  put  life  into  it,  has  provided 
you  with  other  resources  than  your  feeble  self,  or  than  creatures 
feeble  as  you.  Besides  this  earth,  and  besides  the  race  of  men, 
tli ere  is  an  invisible  world  and  a  kingdom  of  spirits :  that  world 


60  JANEEYRE 

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  tortures,  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.  Reed ;  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  tranquillity  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  }deld  to  a  vague  concern  for  her. 

Resting  my  head  on  Helen's  shoulder,  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,  streaming  in  through  a  window  near, 
shone  full  both  on  us  and  on  the  approaching  figure,  which  we  at 
once  recognised  as  Miss  Temple. 

"I  came  on  purpose  to  find  you,  Jane  Eyre,"  said  she;  "I 
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  staircase  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  me  to  her  side. 

"Is  it  all  over?"  she  asked,  looking  down  at  my  face. 
"  Have  you  cried  your  grief  away  ?" 

"  I  am  afraid  I  never  shall  do  that." 

"Why?" 

"  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  us." 

"  Shall  I,  Miss  Temple  ?" 

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

"  Mrs.  Reed,  my  uncle's  wife.  My  uncle  is  dead,  and  left  me 
to  her  care." 

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

"  No,  ma'arn  ;  she  was  sorry  to  have  to  do  it :  but  my  uncle. 


JANE    EYRE.  6l 

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  I  will  tell  you,  that 
when  a  criminal  is  accused,  he  is  allowed  to  speak  in  his  own 
defence.  You  have  been  charged  with  falsehood ;  defend  your- 
self to  me  as  well  as  you  can.  Say  whatever  your  memory  sug- 
gests 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  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  indul- 
gence 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,  fright- 
ful 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.  Reed  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  dc-iived  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  1 1  den  Burns. 

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

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

"  And  the  pain  in  your  chest  ?" 

"  It  is  a  little  better." 

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 : 

"  lint  you  two  arc  my  visitors  to-night;  I  must  treat  you  as 
surl •.  II. 

.id  to  the  servant  who  ai 

•    h.i'l   IIM;  bring  the  tray,  ami   j.i.u  <:  ru,..   lor  these  two 
you  1 1. 

Ami  a  tr.iy  was  soon  brought.     How  pretty  lid  the 

china  cups  and  bright  teapot  look,  placco:  on  tiic  little  round 


62  JANE    EYRE. 

table  near  the  fire !  How  fragrant  was  the  steam  of  the  bever- 
age, and  the  scent  of  the  toast !  of  which,  however,  I  to  my  dis- 
may (for  I  was  beginning  to  be  hungry),  discerned  not  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." 

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. 

"  Oh,  very  well!"  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  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  gratifica- 
tion 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,  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  kind- 
ness 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, 


JANE    EYRE.  63 

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  hasten 
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  ! 
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  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  1" 

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  Scat- 
cherd:  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,  intelligent,  and  benign- 
looking  forehead.  She  wore  it  till  evening,  patient,  unrcsentful, 
ling  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 
an<l  large,  had  continually  been  scalding  my  cheek;  for  the 
f  her  sad  resignation  gave  me  an  intolerable  pain  at 
the  heart. 

1;  subsequently  to  the  incidents  above  narrated 
Miss  Temple,  who  had  written  to  Mr.  Lloyd,  received  his  answer: 
it  appeared  that  what  he  said  went  to  corroborate  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 


64  JANE    EYRE. 

then  shook  hands  with  me  and  kissed  me,  and  a   murmur  of 
pleasure  ran  through  the  ranks  of  my  companions. 

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;  exer- 
cise sharpened  my  wits.  In  a  few  weeks  I  was  promoted  to  a 
higher  class ;  in  less  than  two  months  I  was  allowed  to  com- 
mence French  and  drawing.  I  learned  the  first  two  tenses  of  the 
verb  Eire,  and  sketched  my  first  cottage  (whose  walls,  by  the 
way,  outrivalled  in  slope  those  of  the  .leaning  tower  of  Pisa)  on 
the  same  day.  That  night  on  going  to  bed  I  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  drawings, 
which  I  saw  in  the  dark — all  the  work  of  my  own  hand ;  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"!  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. 


CHAPTER    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  temperature  froze  the 
veiy  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.  Flowers  rjeeped  out  amongst  the  leaves: 
snowdrops,  crocuses,  purple  auriculas,  and  golden-eyed  pansies. 
On  Thursday  afternoon  (half-holidays)  we  now  took  walks,  and 
found  still  sweeter  flowers  opening  by  the  wayside  under  the 
hedges. 


JANE    EYRE.  65 

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  stonet  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!— 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 !  That  beck  itself  was  then  a  torrent,  turbid  and  curb- 
less  ;  it  tore  asunder  the  wood,  and  sent  a  raving  sound  through 
the  air,  often  thickened  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  or  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  unwonted 
liberty  and  pleasure  there  was  a  cause,  to  which  it  now  becomes 
my  task  to  advert. 

Have  I  not  described  a  pleasant  sight  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  other- 
wise, 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.  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 

E 


66  JANE    EYRE. 

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, 
lillies  had  opened,  tulips  and  roses  were  in  bloom ;  the  borders 
of  the  little  beds  were  gay  with  pink  thrift  and  crimson  double- 
daisies;  the  sweetbriars  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  handful  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 :  thev  let  us  ramble  in  the 
wood,  like  gipsies,  from  morning  till  night ;  we  did  what  we 
liked,  we  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  house- 
keeper had  gone,  driven  away  by  the  fear  of  infection ;  her  suc- 
cessor, who  had  been  matron  at  the  Lowton  Dispensary,  unused 
to  the  ways  of  her  new  abode,  provided  with  comparative  liberal- 
ity. 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  the  spot  we  liked  best,  and  dined  sumptuously. 

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  accomplished  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  slie  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 
gratification :  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  question ;  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 


JANE    EYRE.  67 

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,  vet 
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  pre- 
sent ;  for  some  weeks  she  had  been  removed  from  my  sight  to  I 
knew  not  what  room  upstairs.  She  was  not,  I  was  told,  in  the 
hospital  portion  of  the  house  with  the  fever  patients;  for  her 
complaint  was  consumption,  not  typhus :  and  by  consumption 
I,  in  my  ignorance,  understood  something  mild,  which  time  and 
care  would  be  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  a  distance  under  the  verandah. 

One  evening,  in  the  beginning  of  June,  I  had  staid  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  glowing  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  child  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  1  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  comprehend 
what  had  been  infused  into  it  concerning  heaven  and  hell :  and 
for  the  first  time  it  recoiled,  baffled  ;  and  for  the  first  time  glan- 
cing behind,  on  each  side,  and  before  it,  it  saw  all  rou 


68  JANE    EYRE. 

unfathomed  gulf:    it  felt  the  one  point  where  it  stood — the  pre- 
sent ;  all  the  rest  was  formless  cloud  and  vacant  depth ;   and  it 
shuddered  at  the  thought  of  tottering,  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. 
How  is  Helen  Bums  ?" 
'Very  poorly,"  was  the  answer. 
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  my  comprehension  that  Helen  Burns  was  number- 
ing 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. 

"  May  I  go  up  and  speak  to  her  ?" 

"  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  en- 
trance 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  the  per- 
fect 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  dis- 
covered 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, 


JANE    EYRE.  69 

and  then  just  opposite  to  me  was  Miss  Temple's  room.  A  light 
shone  through  the  key-hole,  and  from  under  the  door;  a  pro- 
found 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  hangings :  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  withdrew  it.  I  still  recoiled  at  the  dread  of 
seeing  a  corpse. 

"  Helen  1"  I  whispered  softly ;  "  are  you  awake  ?" 

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." 

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  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  ?" 

"  Yes ;  to  my  long  home — my  last  home." 

"No,  no,  Helen  r'  I  stopped,  distressed.  While  I  tried  to 
devour  my  tears,  a  fit  of  coughing  seized  Helen  ;  it  did  not,  how- 
ever, 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 : 

" 1  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 


70  JANE    EYRE. 

young,  I  shall  escape  great  sufferings.  I  had  not  qualities  or 
talents  to  make  my  way  very  well  in  the  world :  I  should  have 
been  continually  at  fault." 

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

"  I  believe  ;  I  have  faith  :  I  am  going  to  God." 

"  Where  is  God  ?    What  is  God  ?" 

"  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  hours  till  that  eventful  one  arrives 
which  shall  restore  me  to  Him,  reveal  Him  to  me." 

"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  re- 
ceived 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  1  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  !  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." 

"  Are  you  warm,  darling  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  Good-night,  Jane." 

"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  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  crib  ;  my  face  against  Helen  Burn's  shoulder,  my 
arms  round  her  neck.  I  was  asleep,  and  Helen  was — dead. 

Her  grave  is  in  Brocklebridge  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  "  RESURGAM." 


JANE    EYRE.  71 


CHAPTER    X. 

HITHERTO  I  have  recorded  in  detail  the  events  of  my 
insignificant  existence:  to  the  first  ten  years  of  my  life  I 
have  given  almost  as  many  chapters.  But  this  is  not  be  a 
regular  autobiography:  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  devastation 
at  Lowood,  it  gradually  disappeared  from  thence ;  but  not  till  its 
virulence  and  the  number  of  its  victims  had  drawn  public  atten- 
tion 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  accommodations — all  these  things  were 
discovered;  and  the  discovery  produced  a  result  mortifying  to 
Mr.  Brocklehurst,  but  beneficial  to  the  institution. 

Several  wealthy  and  benevolent  individuals  in  the  county  sub- 
scribed largely  for  the  erection  of  a  more  convenient  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  over- 
looked, still  retained  the  post  of  treasurer ;  but  he  was  aided  in 
the  discharge  of  his  duties  by  gentlemen  of  rather  more  enlarged 
and  sympathising  minds  ;  his  office  of  inspector,  too,  was  shared 
by  those  who  knew  how  to  combine  reason  with  strictness,  com- 
fort with  economy,  compassion  with  uprightness.  The  school, 
thus  improved,  became  in  time  a  truly  useful  and  noble  institu- 
tion. 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  advantages  offered  me.  In  time  I 
rose  to  be  the  first  girl  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  this  period  she 


72  JANE    EYRE. 

married,  removed  with  her  husband  (a  clergyman,  an  excellent 
man,  almosty  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  har- 
monious thoughts;  what  seemed  better  regulated  feelings  had 
become  the  inmates  of  my  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  Rev.  Mr.  Nasmyth,  came 
between  me  and  Miss  Temple  :  I  saw  her  in  her  travelling  dress 
step  into  a  post-chaise,  shortly  after  the  marriage  ceremony.  I 
watched  the  chaise  mount  the  hill  and  disappear  beyond  its 
brow;  and  then  retired  to  my  own  room,  and  there  spent  in 
solitude  the  greatest  part  of  the  half-holiday  granted  in  honour 
of  the  occasion. 

I  walked  about  the  chamber  most  of  the  time.  I  imagined 
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  evening  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  atmosphere  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  prop  were  withdrawn,  but  rather  as  if  a  motive  were  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  excite- 
ments, 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  remembered  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.  Reed  had  never  sent  for  me 


JANE    EYRE.  73 

to  Gateshead ;  neither  she  nor  any  one  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  afternoon.  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  1" 

Here  a  bell,  ringing  the  hour  of  supper,  called  me  downstairs. 

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  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  Welshwoman, 
and  till  now  her  habitual  nasal  strains  had  never  been  regarded 
by  me  in  any  other  light  than  as  a  nuisance.  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  fleet- 
ing that  it  is  mere  waste  of  time  to  listen  to  them.  But  Servi- 
tude !  That  must  be  matter  of  fact.  Any  one  may  serve.  I 
have  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. 

"  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,  and  quickly.     It  worked  and  worked 

faster.     I  felt  the  pulses  throb  in  my  head  and  temples ;  but  for 

.   an  hour  it  worked  in  chaos,  and  no  result  came  of  its 


74  JANE     EYRE. 

efforts.  Feverish  with  vain  labour,  I  got  up  and  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" 

"  How?     I  know  nothing  about  advertising." 

Replies  rose  smooth  and  prompt  now : 

"You  must  enclose  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  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, 
enclosed,  and  directed  before  the  bell  rang  to  rouse  the  school ; 
it  ran  thus  : — 

"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  under- 
take 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  accomplishments  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 


JANE    EYRE.  75 

the  shoemaker's  to  the  post-office :  it  was  kept  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 ?"  I  demanded. 

"  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  inevit- 
able 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  1  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. 

"  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  particulars  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.  This  circum- 
stance 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 ;  and,  above  all  things,  I  wished 
the  result  of  my  endeavours  to  be  respectable,  proper  en  regie. 
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  efforts  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 


76  JANE    EYRE. 

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  change  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  superintendent,  during  the  noontide  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  ^15  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.  Brockle- 
hurst, who  said  that  Mrs.  Reed  must  be  written  to,  as  she  was 
my  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,  for- 
warded 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  ade- 
quate to  my  wants  ;  and  the  last  day  sufficed  to  pack  my  trunk — 
the  same  I  had  brought  with  me  eight  years  ago  from  Gates- 
head. 

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 


JANE    EYRE.  77 

interval ;  1  must  watch  feverishly  while  the  change  was  being 
accomplished. 

"  Miss,"  said  a  servant  who  met  me  in  the  lobby,  where  I  was 
wandering  like  a  troubled  spirit,  "  a  person  below  wishes  to  see 
you." 

"  The  carrier,  no  doubt,"  I  thought,  and  ran  down  stairs  with- 
out inquiry.  I  was  passing  the  back  parlour,  or  teachers' 
sitting-room,  the  door  of  which  was  half  open,  to  go  to  the 
kitchen,  when  some  one  ran  out : 

"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  attirea  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  raptur- 
ously: "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?" 

"Yes:  nearly  five  years  since,  to  Robert  Leaven,  the  coach- 
man ;  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." 

"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  sideling  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  Reed  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  made  it  up  to  run  away : 
but  they  were  found  out  and  stopped.  It  was  Miss  Reed  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." 

"  Well,  and  what  of  John  Reed  ?" 

"  Oh,  lie  is  not  doing  so  well  as  his  mamma  could  wish.  He 
went  to  college,  and  he  got— plucked,  I  think  they  call  it.  And 


78  JANE    EYRE. 

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." 

"  What  does  he  look  like  ?" 

"  He  is  very  tall.  Some  people  call  him  a  fine  looking  young 
man ;  but  he  has  such  thick  lips." 

"And  Mrs.  Reed?" 

"  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  ?" 

"No,  indeed;  but  I  have  long  wanted  to  see  you,  and  when  I 
heard  that  there  had  been  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  off  my  reach." 

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

"  No,  Miss  Jane,  not  exactly.  You  are  genteel  enough  :  you 
look  like  a  lady,  and  it  is  as  much  as  I  ever  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  eigh- 
teen most  people  wish  to  please,  and  the  conviction  that  they 
have  not  an  exterior  likely  to  second  that  desire  brings  anything 
but  gratification. 

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

"A  little." 

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

"  The  Miss  Reeds  could  not  play  as  well !"  said  she  exultingly. 
"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  a  present 
to  the  superintendent,  in  acknowledgment  of  her  obliging  media- 
tion with  the  committee  on  my  behalf,  and  which  she  had  framed 
and  glazed. 

"  Weil,  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  canvass  ?M 

"lean." 

"  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 


JANE    EYRE.  79 

was  something  I  wanted  to  ask  you.     Have  vou  ever  heard  any- 
thing from  your  father's  kinsfolk,  the  Eyres?" 

"Never  in  my  life." 

"  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  was  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." 

'  What  foreign  country  was  he  going  to,  Bessie  ?" 
An  island  thousands  of  miles  off,  where  they  make  wine— the 
butler  did  tell  me " 

1  Madeira?"  I  suggested. 
Yes ;  that  is  it— that  is  the  very  word." 
So  he  went  ?" 

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

"Very  likely,"  I  returned;  "or  perhaps  clerk  or  agent  to  a 
wine  merchant." 

Bessie  and  I  conversed  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  her  separate  way:  she  set  off  for  the  brow  of 
Lowood  Fell  to  meet  the  conveyance  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. 


CHAPTER    XL 

ANEW  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  papering  on  the  walls  as  inn  rooms 
have ;  such  a  carpet,  such  furniture,  such  ornaments  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 
excellent  fire,  near  which  I  sit  in  my  cloak  and  bonnet;  my 
muff  and  umbrella  lie  on  the  table,  and  I  am  warming  away  the 
numbness  and  chill  contracted  by  sixteen  hours'  exposure  to  the 


80  JANEEYRE. 

rawness  of  an  October  day :    I  left  Lowton  at  four  o'clock  A.M., 
and  the  Millcote  town  clock  is  now  just  striking  eight. 

Reader,  though  I  look  comfortably  accommodated,  I  am  not 
very  tranquil  in  my  mind.  I  thought  when  the  coach  stopped 
here  there  would  be  some  one  to  meet  me ;  I  looked  anxiously 
round  as  I  descended  the  wooden  steps  the  "boots  "  placed  for 
my  convenience,  expecting  to  hear  my  name  pronounced,  and  to 
see  some  description  of  carrage  waiting  to  convey  me  to  Thorn- 
field.  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. 

It  is  a  very  strange  sensation  to  inexperienced  youth  to  feel 
itself  quite  alone  in  the  world,  cut  adrift  from  every  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  Thornfield  ?"  I 
asked  of  the  waiter  who  answered  the  summons. 

"Thornfield?  I  don't  know,  ma'am;  I'll  inquire  at  the  bar." 
He  vanished,  but  reappeared  instantly: 

"  Is  your  name  Eyre,  Miss  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  Person  here  waiting  for  you." 

- 1  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  ?"  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  outside,  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  comfortable  though  not 
elegant  conveyance,  I  meditated  much  at  my  ease. 

"I  suppose,"  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  wonder  if  she  lives  alone 


JANE    EYRE.  8l 

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  pleas- 
ing; but  with  Mrs.  Reed,  I  remember  my  best  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  extended,  I 
verily  believe,  to  two  hours ;  at  last  he  turned  in  his  seat  and 
said: 

"  You're  noan  so  far  fro*  Thorafield  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  cur- 
tained 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. 

"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  dark- 
ness to  which  my  eyes  had  been  for  two  hours  inured ;  when  I 
could  see,  however,  a  cosy  and  agreeable  picture  presented  itself 
to  my  view. 

A  snu£,  small  room ;  a  round  table  by  a  cheerful  fire :  an  arm- 
chair, 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  com- 
fort. A  more  reassuring  introduction  for  a  new  governess  could 
scarcely  be  conceived;  there  was  no  grandeur  to  overwhelm,  no 
statcliness  to  embarrass ;  and  then,  as  I  entered,  the  old  lady 
got  up  and  promptly  and  kindly  came  forward  to  meet  me. 

"  How  do  you  do,  my  dear?  I  am  afraid  you  have  had  a 

F 


82  JANE    EYRE. 

tedious  ride ;  John  drives  so  slowly ;  you  must  be  cold,  come  to 
the  fire." 

"Mrs.  Fairfax,  I  suppose?"  said  I. 

"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  storeroom." 

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  continued. 
"You've  brought  your  luggage  with  you,  haven't  you,  my 
dear?" 

"Yes,  ma'am." 

"I'll  see  it  carried  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  treatment  of  governesses, 
but  I  must  not  exult  too  soon." 

She  returned,  with  her  own  hands  cleared  her  knitting  appara- 
tus 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. 

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

"  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 


JANE    EYRE.  83 

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  dis- 
tance, 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  creature  but  the  butcher  and  post-man 
came  to  the  house,  from  November  till  February ;  ana  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 
gav." 

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  furniture,  but  they  are  so  dreary  and 
solitary,  I  never  sleep  in  them  myself." 

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  vault-like  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,  ana  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  mea- 
sure 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  km  It 
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  kindness  which  seemed  so 
frankly  offered  me  before  it  was  earned.  My  couch  had  no  thorns 


84  JANE    EYRE. 

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,  show- 
ing 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  day  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  disregarded  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  difficult  to  say :  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  respect- 
ably 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  forrh. 

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  pow- 
dered 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  rubbing.  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:  battlements  round  the  top 


JANE    EYRE.  85 

gave  it  a  picturesque  look.  Its  grey  front  stood  out  well  from 
the  background  of  a  rookery,  whose  cawing  tenants  were  now  on 
the  win;,'.  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  man- 
sion'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 
seeming  to  embrace  Thornfiela  with  a  seclusion  I  had  not  ex- 
pected 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  district  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  survey- 
ing the  wide,  hoary  front  of  the  hall,  and  thinking  what  a  great 
place  it  was  for  one  lonely  little  dame  like  Mrs.  Fairfax  to 
inhabit,  when  that  lady  appeared  at  the  door. 

"What!  out  already?"  said  she.  "I  see  you  are  an  early 
riser."  I  went  up  to  her,  and  was  received  with  an  affable  kiss 
and  shake  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." 

"  Mr.  Rochester !"  I  exclaimed.     "  Who  is  he  ?" 

"  The  owner  of  Thornfield,"  she  responded  quietly.  "  Did  you 
not  know  he  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  under- 
stood fact,  with  which  everybody  must  be  acquainted  by  instinct. 

"  I  thought,"  I  continued,  "  Thornfield  belonged  to  you." 

"Tome?  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  £ates 
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  to  me.  I  consider  myself  quite 


in  the  light  of  an  ordinary  housekeeper.  My  employer  is  always 
civil,  and  I  expect  nothing  more." 

"  And  the  little  girl — my  pupil  ?" 

"  She  is  Mr.  Rochesters  ward.  He  commissioned  me  to  find 
a  governess  for  her.  He  intends  to  have  her  brought  up  in 


86  JANE    EYRE. 

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  redundancy  of  hair  falling  in  curls  to 
her  waist. 

''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. 

"  C'est  la  ma  gouvernante  ?"  said  she,  pointing  to  me,  and 
addressing  her  nurse  ;  who  answered : 

"Mais  oui,  certainement." 

"Are  they  foreigners?"  I  inquired,  amazed  at  hearing  the 
French  language. 

"The  nurse  is  a  foreigner,  and  Adela  was  born  on  the  Con- 
tinent ;  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  understand  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  convers- 
ing with  Madame  Pierrot  as  often  as  I  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  imitat- 
ing 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. 

"Ah  !"  cried  she,  in  French,  "you  speak  my  language  as  well 
as  Mr.  Rochester  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.  Rochester  lay  down  on  a  sofa  in  a 
pretty  room  called  the  salon,  and  Sophie  and  I  had  little  beds  in 


JANEEYRE.  87 

another  place.    I  neatly  fell  put  of  mine ;   it  was  like  a  shelf. 
And,  Mademoiselle ,  what  is  your  name  ?" 

"  Eyre— Jane  Eyre." 

"  Aire  ?  Bah  1  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  \  came  from ;  and  Mr.  Rochester  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  beside  me,  and  a  pond  with  beautiful  birds 
in  it,  that  I  fed  with  crumbs." 

"  Can  you  understand  when  she  runs  on  so  fast?"  asked  Mrs. 
Fairfax. 

1  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?" 

"  Adele,"  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  in  hearing  the  notes  of 
love  and  jealousy  warbled  with  the  lisp  of  childhood,  and  in  very 
bad  taste  that  point  was,  at  least  I  thought  so. 

Adele  sang  the  canzpnette  tunefully  enough,  and  with  the 
naivete  of  her  age.  This  achieved,  she  jumped  from  my  knee 
and  said,  "  Now  Mademoiselle,  I  will  repeat  you  some  poetry." 

Assuming  an  attitude,  she  began  "  La  Ligue  des  Rats,  fable 
de  La  Fontaine."  She  then  declaimed  the  little  piece  with  an 
attention  to  punctuation  and  emphasis,  a  flexibility  of  voice,  and 


88  JANE    EYRE. 

an  appropriateness  of  gesture,  very  unusual  indeed  at  her  age, 
and  which  proved  she  had  been  carefully  trained. 

"  Was  it  your  mamma  who  taught  you  that  piece  ?"  I  asked. 

"  Yes ;  and  she  just  used  to  say  it  in  this  way :  '  Qu'avez  vous 
done?  lui  dit  un  de  ces  rats;  parlez!'  She  made  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  Frederic  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. 
Rochester  asked  me  if  I  would  like  to  go  and  live  with  him  in 
England,  and  I  said  yes  .  for  I  knew  Mr.  Rochester  before  I  knew 
Madame  Frederic,  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.  Rochester  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  every- 
thing 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  pickings  I  had  now  and  then  been  able  to  glean  at 
Lowood,  they  seemed  to  offer  an  abundant  harvest  of  entertain- 
ment 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  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. 

"What  a  beautiful  room!"  I  exclaimed,  as  I  looked  round; 
for  I  had  never  before  seen  any  half  so  imposing. 


JANE    EYRE.  89 

"Yes;  this  is  the  dining-room.  I  have  just  opened  the 
window,  to  let  in  a  little  air  and  sunshine ;  for  everything  £ets 
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  place,  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  Bohe- 
mian 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.  Fairfax  1"  said  I. 
"  No  dust,  no  canvas  coverings :  except  that  the  air  feels  chilly, 
one  would  think  they  were  inhabited  daily." 

"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." 

"  Is  Mr.  Rochester  an  exacting,  fastidious  sort  of  man  ?" 

"  Not  particularly  so ;  but  he  has  a  gentleman's  tastes  and 
habits,  and  he  expects  to  have  things  managed  in  conformity  to 
them. 

"  Do  you  like  him  ?    Is  he  generally  liked  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes ;  the  family  have  always  been  respected  here. 
Almost  all  the  land  in  this  neighbourhood,  as  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?" 

"  /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,  in  his  char- 
acter?" 

"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  dare  say  he  is 
clever:  but  I  never  had  much  conversation  with  him." 

"  In  what  way  is  he  peculiar  ?" 

"I  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,  1  don't :  but  it  is  of  no  consequence,  he  is  a  very  good 
master." 


go  JANE    EYRE. 

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  did 
not  draw  her  out.  Mr.  Rochester  was  Mr.  Rochester  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  down- 
stairs, admiring  as  I  went;  for  all  was  well-arranged  and 
handsome.  The  large  front  chambers  I  thought  especially 
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  Thornfield  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  that,  if  there 
were  a  ghost  at  Thornfield  Hall,  this  would  be  its  haunt." 

"  So  I  think.     You  have  no  ghost,  then  ?" 

"  None  that  I  ever  heard  of,"  returned  Mrs.  Fairfax,  smiling. 

"  Nor  any  traditions  of  one  ?     No  legends  or  ghost  stories  ?" 

"  I  believe  not.  And  yet  it  is  said  the  Rochesters  have  been 
rather  a  violent  than  a  quiet  race  in  their  time.  Perhaps, 
though,  that  is  the  reason  they  rest  tranquilly  in  their  graves 
now." 

« Yes— 'after  life's  fitful  fever  they  sleep  well/"  I  muttered. 
"Where  are  you  going  now,  Mrs.  Fairfax,"  for  she  was  moving 
away. 

"On  to  the  leads;  will  you  come  and  see  the  view  from 
thence?"  I  followed  still,  up  a  very  narrow  staircase  to  the 
attics,  and  thence  by  a  ladder  and  through  a  trap-door  to  the 


JANE    EYRE.  QI 

roof  of  the  hall.  I  was  now  on  a  level  with  the  crow  colony, 
and  could  see  into  their  nests.  Leaning  over  the  battlements 
and  looking  far  down,  I  surveyed  the  grounds  laid  out  like  a 
map :  the  bright  and  velvet  lawn  closely  girdling  the  grey  base 
of  the  mansion ;  the  field,  wide  as  a  park,  dotted  with  its 
ancient  timber;  the  wood,  dun  and  sere,  divided  by  a  path 
visibly  overgrown,  greener  with  moss  than  the  trees  were  with 
foliage ;  the  church  at  the  gates,  the  road,  the  tranquil  hills,  all 
reposing  in  the  autumn  day's  sun;  the  horizon  bounded  by  a 
propitious  sky,  azure,  marbled  with  pearly  white.  No  feature  in 
the  scene  was  extraordinary,  but  all  was  pleasing.  When  I 
turned  from  it  and  repassed  the  trap-door,  I  could  scarcely  see 
my  way  down  the  ladder ;  the  attic  seemed  black  as  a  vault  com- 
pared 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  pro- 
ceeded 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  story — narrow,  low,  and  dim,  with  only  one 
little  window  at  the  far  end,  and  looking,  with  its  two  rows  of 
small  black  doors  all  shut,  like  a  corridor  in  some  Bluebeard's 
castle. 

While  I  paced  softly  on,  the  last  sound  I  expected  to  hear  in 
so  still  a  region,  a  laugh,  struck  my  ear.  It  was  a  curious 
laugh — distinct,  formal,  mirthless.  I  stopped.  The  sound 
ceased,  only  for  an  instant.  It  began  again,  louder — for  at  first, 
though  distinct,  it  was  very  low.  It  passed  off  in  a  clamorous 
peal  that  seemed  to  wake  an  echo  in  every  lonely  chamber, 
though  it  originated  but  in  one,  and  I  could  have  pointed  out  the 
door  whence  the  accents  issued. 

"  Mrs.  Fairfax  1"  I  called  out— for  I  now  heard  her  descending 
the  great  stairs.  "  Did  you  hear  that  loud  laugh  ?  Who  is  it?" 

"Some  of  the  servants,  very  likely,"  she  answered:  "perhaps 
Grace  Poole." 

"  Did  you  hear  it?"  1  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  termi- 
nated 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  circumstance  of  ghostli- 
ness  accompanied  the  curious  cachinnation ;  but  that  neither 
scene  nor  season  favoured  fear,  I  should  have  been  supersti- 


Q2  JANE    EYRE. 

tiously  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.  "Remember 
directions  !"  Grace  curtseyed  silently  and  went  in. 

"  She  is  a  person  we  have  to  sew  and  assist  Leah  in  her  house- 
maid's work,"  continued  the  widow;  "not  altogether  unobjec- 
tionable in  some  points,  but  she  does  well  enough.  By-the-bye, 
how  have  you  got  on  with  your  new  pupil  this  morning  ?" 

The  conversation,  thus  turned  on  Adele,  continued  till  we 
reached  the  light  and  cheerful  region  below.  Adele  came  run- 
ning to  meet  us  in  the  hall,  exclaiming : 

"Mesdames,  vous  etes  servies  !"  adding,  "J'ai  bien  faim 
moi !" 

We  found  dinner  ready,  and  waiting  for  us  in  Mrs.  Fairfax' 
room. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

'  I  AHE  promise  of  a  smooth  career,  which  my  first  calm  intro- 
JL  duction  to  Thornfjeld  Hall  seemed  to  pledge,  was  not 
belied  on  a  longer  acquaintance  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  way- 
ward ;  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 
marked  traits  of  character,  no  peculiar  development  of  feeling  or 
taste  which  raised  her  one  inch  above  the  ordinary  level  of  child- 
hood ;  but  neither  had  she  any  deficiency  or  vice  which  sank  her 
below  it.  She  made  reasonable  progress,  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  parenthdse,  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  am  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 
Adele' s  welfare  and  progress,  and  a  quiet  liking  to  her  little  self; 


JANE    EYRE.  93 

just  as  I  cherished  towards  Mrs.  Fairfax  a  thankfulness  for  her 
kindness,  and  a  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  Adele  played  with  her  nurse,  and 
Mrs.  Fairfax  made  jellies  in  the  store-room,  I  climbed  the  three 
staircases,  raised  the  trap-door  of  the  attic,  and  having  reached 
the  leads,  looked  out  afar  over  sequestered  field  and  hill,  and 
along  dim  sky-line — that  then  I  longed  for  a  power  of  vision 
which  might  overpass  that  limit :  which  might  reach  the  busy 
world,  towns,  regions  full  of  life  I  had  heard  of  but  never  seen ; 
that  then  I  desired  more  of  practical  experience  than  I 
possessed ;  more  of  intercourse  with  my  kind,  of  acquaintance 
with  variety  of  character,  than  was  here  within  my  reach.  I 
valued  what  was  good  in  Mrs.  Fairfax,  and  what  was  good  in 
Adele ;  but  I  believed  in  the  existence  of  other  and  more  vivid 
kinds  of  goodness,  and  what  I  believed  in  I  wished  to  behold. 

Who  blames  me  ?  Many,  no  doubt ;  and  1  shall  be  called  dis- 
contented. 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  the  third  story,  backwards  and 
forwards,  safe  in  the  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  and  glowing ;  to  let  my  heart 
be  heaved  by  the  exultant  movement,  which,  while  it  swelled  it 
in  trouble,  expanded  it  with  life ;  and,  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  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  sup- 
posed 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  stagnation,  precisely  as  men  would 
suffer;  and  it  is  narrow-minded  in  their  more  privileged  fellow- 
creatures  to  say  that  they  ou^ht  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   unfrcquently  heard  Grace   Tuolc's 


94  JANE    EYRE. 

laugh  :  the  same  peal,  the  same  low,  slow  ha  !  ho  !  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  eveiy  effort 
of  that  sort. 

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. 

October,  November,  December  passed  away.  One  afternoon 
in  January,  Mrs.  Fairfax  had  begged  a  holiday  for  Adele, 
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  dis- 
tance, two  miles,  would  be  a  pleasant  winter  afternoon  walk. 
Having  seen  Adele  comfortably  seated  in  her  little  chair  by  Mrs. 
Fairfax's  parlour  fireside,  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  "  Revenez  bient6t,  ma  bonne  amie,  ma  chere  Mcllle. 
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. 
1  was  a  mile  from  Thornfield,  in  a  lane  noted  for  wild  roses  in 
summer,  for  nuts  and  blackberries  in  autumn,  and  even  now 
possessing  a  few  coral  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 


J  A  N  E    E  V  95 

hazel  bushes  were  as  still  as  the  white,  worn  stones  which  cause- 
wayed 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  reached 
the  middle,  I  sat  down  on  a  style  which  led  thence  into  a  field. 
Gathering  my  mantle  about  me,  and  sheltering  may  hands  in  my 
muff,  I  did  not  feel  the  cold,  though  it  froze  keenly;  as  was 
attested  by  a  sheet  of  ice  covering  the  causeway,  where  a  little 
brooklet,  now  congealed  had  overflowed  after  a  rapid  thaw 
some  days  since.  From  my  seat  I  could  look  down  on  Thorn- 
field  :  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  trees,  and 
sank  crimson  and  clear  behind  them.  I  then  turned  eastward. 

On  the  hill-top  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  1  could  hear 
plainly  its  thin  murmurs  of  life.  My  ear  too  felt  the  flow  of  cur- 
rents ;  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  ripplin^s  and  whisperings,  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  foregroud,  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  wind- 
ings of  the  lane  yet  hid  it,  but  it  approached.  I  was  just  leaving 
the  stile ;  yet,  as  the  path  was  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  child- 
hood could  give.  As  this  horse  approached,  and  as  I  watched 
for  it  to  appear  through  the  dusk,  I  remembered  certain  of 
Bessie's  tales,  wherein  figured  a  North-of- England  spirit,  called 
a  "Gytr.ish;"  which,  in  the  form  of  horse,  mule,  or  large  dog, 
haunted  solitary  ways,  and  sometimes  came  upon  belat«l 
lers,  as  this  horse  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  In-d^e,  and  <  ! 
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  Gy trash — a  lion-like  creature 


g6  JANE    EYRE. 

with  long  hair  and  a  huge  head :  it  passed  me,  however,  quietly 
enough ;  not  staying  to  look  up,  with  strange  pretercanine  eyes, 
in  my  face,  as  I  half  expected  it  would.  The  horse  followed— a 
tall  steed  and  on  its  back  a  rider.  The  man,  the  human  being, 
broke  the  spell  at  once.  Nothing  ever  rode  the  Gytrash  :  it  was 
always  alone ;  and  goblins,  to  my  notions,  though  they  might 
tenant  the  dumb  carcases  of  beast,  could  scarce  covet  shelter  in 
the  commonplace  human  form.  No  Gytrash  was  this — only  a 
traveller  taking  the  short  cut  to  Millcpte.  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  ?"  and  a  clattering  tumble, 
arrested  my  attention.  Man  and  horse  were  down;  they  had 
slipped  on  the  sheet  of  ice  which  glazed  the  causeway.  The  dog 
came  bounding  back,  and  seeing  his  master  in  a  predicament, 
and  hearing  the  horse  groan,  barked  till  the  evening  hills  echoed 
the  sound,  which  was  deep  in  proportion  to  his  magnitude.  He 
snuffed  round  the  prostrate  group,  and  then  he  ran  up  to  me  ;  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. 

"  Can  I  do  anything?"  I  asked  again. 

"You  must  just  stand  on  one  side,"  he  answered  as  he  rose, 
first  to  his  knees,  and  then  to  his  feet.  I  did ;  whereupon  began 
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." 

"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 


JANE    EYRE.  97 

looked  ireful  and  thwarted  just  now ;  he  was  past  youth,  but  had 
not  reached  middle  age ;  perhaps  he  might  be  thirty-five.  I  felt 
no  fear  of  him,  and  but  little  shyness.  Had  he  been  a  handsome, 
heroic-looking  young  gentleman,  I  should  not  have  dared  to 
stand  thus  questioning  him  against  his  will,  and  offering  my  ser- 
vices 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  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  assist- 
ance gaily  and  with  thanks,  I  should  have  gone  on  my  way  and 
not  felt  any  vocation  to  renew  inquiries ;  but  the  frown,  the  rough- 
ness of  the  traveller  set  me  at  my  ease ;  I  retained  my  station 
when  he  waved  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." 

He  looked  at  me  when  I  said  this :  he  had  hardly  turned  his 
eyes  in  my  direction  before. 

"  I  should  think  you  ought  to  be  at  home  yourself,'.'  said  he, 
"  if  you  have  a  home  in  this  neighbourhood.  Where  do  you 
come  from?" 

"  From  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  post  a 
letter." 

"You  live  just  below — do  you  mean  at  that  house  with  the 
battlements  ?'Y  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. 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  Whose  house  is  it  ?" 

"Mr.  Rochester's." 

"  Do  you  know  Mr.  Rochester  ?" 

"  No,  I  have  never  seen  him." 

"  He  is  not  resident,  then  ?" 

"No." 

"  Can  you  tell  me  where  he  is  ?" 

"  I  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  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!" 

G 


gS  JANE    EYRE. 

"Ah,  the  governess  !"  he  repeated;  "deuce  take  me,  if  I  had 
not  forgotten !  The  governess!"  and  again  my  raiment  under- 
went 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,"  he  said;  "but  you 
may  help  me  a  little  yourself,  if  you  will  be  so  kind." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  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 
muff  on  the  stile,  and  went  up  to  the  tall  steed ;  I  endeavoured 
to  catch  the  bridle,  but  it  was  a  spirited  thing,  and  would  not  let 
me  come  near  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." 

I  sought  it  and  found  it. 

"Thank  you;  now  make  haste  with  the  letter  to  Hay,  and 
return  as  fast  as  you  can." 

A  touch  of  a  spurred  heel  made  his  horse  first  start  and  rear 
and  then  bound  away;  the  dog  rushed  in  his  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 ;  I  had  given  it :  I  was  pleased  to  have  done  something, 
trivial,  transitory  though  the  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 


JANE    EYRE.  99 

slipped  the  letter  into  the  post-office ;  I  saw  it  as  I  walked  fast 
down  hill  all  the  way  home.  When  1  came  to  the  stile,  I  stopped 
a  minute,  looked  round  and  listened,  with  an  idea  that  a  horse's 
hoofs  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  moon-beams ;  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  threshold 
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  again  over  my  faculties 
the  viewless  fetters  of  a  uniform  and  too  still  existence ;  of  an 
existence  whose  very  privileges  of  security  and  ease  I  was  be- 
coming 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  back- 
wards 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  hill-tops,  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  tor  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  lire  in  the  grate,  glancing  on  marble  hearth  and  brass 
fire-irons,  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 


100  JANE    EYRE. 

aware  of  a  cheerful  mingling  of  voices,  amongst  which  I  seemed 
to  distinguish  the  tones  of  Adele,  when  the  door  closed. 

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  I  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. 

"What  dog  is  this?" 

"He  came  with  master." 

"With  whom?" 

"With  master — Mr.  Rochester — he  is  just  arrived." 

"  Indeed  !     And  is  Mrs.  Fairfax  with  him  ?" 

"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." 

"  Did  the  horse  fall  in  Hay  Lane  ?" 

"  Yes,  coming  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.  Rochester.  Then  she  hurried  out 
to  give  orders  about  tea,  and  I  went  upstairs  to  take  off  my 
things. 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

MR.  ROCHESTER,  it  seems,  by  the  surgeon's  orders,  went 
to  bed  early  that  night ;  nor  did  he  rise  soon  next  morn- 
ing.    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. 

Adele  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  Thornfield  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. 


JANE    EYRE.  101 

Ad61e  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  down  stairs,  in  order,  as  I  shrewdly  sus- 
pected, to  visit  the  library,  where  I  knew  she  was  not  wanted. 
Then,  when  I  got  a  little  angry,  and  made  her  sit  still,  she  con- 
tinued to  talk  incessantly  of  her  "  ami,  Monsieur  Edouard  Fair- 
fax 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  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  la  dedans  un 
cadeau  pour  moi,  et  peut-e'tre  pour  vous  aussi,  mademoiselle. 
Monsieur  a  par!6  de  vous :  il  m'a  demand^  le  nom  de  ma  gouver- 
nante,  et  si  elle  n'etait  pas  une  petite  personne,  assez  mince  et 
un  peu  pdle.  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  school- 
room. At  dark  I  allowed  Adele  to  put  away  books  and  work, 
and  to  run  down  stairs ;  for,  from  the  comparative  silence  below, 
and  from  the  cessation  of  appeals  to  the  doorbell,  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  at  Heidelberg,  on  the 
Rhine,  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. 

"Mr.  Rochester  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  ask  to 
see  you  before." 

"  When  is  his  tea-time  ?"  I  inquired. 

"Oh,  at  six  o'clock.  He  keeps  early  hours  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.  Rochester  is  here." 

This  additional  ceremony  seemed  somewhat  stately.  However 
1  repaired  to  my  room,  and,  with  Mrs.  Fairfax's  aid,  replaced 
my  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 


102  JANE    EYRE. 

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  parting  keep- 
sake. I  put  it  on,  and  then  we  went  down  stairs.  Unused  as  I 
was  to  strangers,  it  was  rather  a  trial  to  appear  thus  formally 
summoned  in  Mr.  Rochester's  presence.  I  let  Mrs.  Fairfax  pre- 
cede 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.  Rochester,  his  foot  supported  by  the  cushion  ;  he  was  look- 
ing at  Adele  and  the  dog.  The  fire  shone  full  on  his  face.  I 
knew  my  traveller  with  his  broad  and  jetty  eyebrows,  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  har- 
monised 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.  Rochester  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. 

"  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, 
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  the  advantage.  Besides,  the  eccentricity  of  the  proceeding 
was  piquant.  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  pres- 
sure 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 


JANE    EYRE.  103 

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  Adele  went  to  the  table,  but  the  master  did  not 
leave  his  couch. 

"Will  you  hand  Mr.  Rochester's  cup?"  said  Mrs.  Fairfax  to 
roe:  "Adele  might  perhaps  spill  it." 

I  did  as  requested.  As  he  took  the  cup  from  my  hand,  Adele, 
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  Madem- 
oiselle Eyre,  dans  votre  petit  coffre?" 

44  Who  talks  of  cadeaux ?"  said  he,  gruffly:  "did  you  expect 
a  present,  Miss  Eyre?  Are  you  fond  of  presents r'  and  he 
searched  my  face  with  eyes  that  I  saw  were  dark,  irate,  and 
piercing. 

44 1  hardly  know,  sir;  I  have  little  experience  of  them.  They 
are  generally  thought  pleasant  things.' 

44  Generally  thought  ?    But  what  do  jw»  think  ?" 

"  I  should  be  obliged  to  take  time,  sir,  before  I  could  give  an 
answer  worthy  of  your  acceptance :  a  present  has  many  faces  to 
it,  has  it  not  t  and  one  should  consider  all,  before  pronouncing 
an  opinion  as  to  its  nature." 

44  Miss  Eyre,  you  are  not  so  unsophisticated  as  Adele :  she 
demands  a  4 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 

r'ng  her  playthings ;  but  if  I  had  to  make  out  a  case,  I  should 
puzzled,  since  I  am  a  stranger,  and  have  done  nothing  to 
entitle  me  to  an  acknowledgment." 

44  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,  ^ou  have  now  given  me  my  4 cadeau:'  I  am  obliged  to 
you :  it  is  the  meed  teachers  most  covet ;  praise  of  their  pupils' 
progress." 

"Humph I"  said  Mr.  Rochester,  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  knit- 
ting; while  Adele  was  leading  me  by  the  hand  round  the  room,' 
showing  me  the  beautiful  books  and  ornaments  on  the  consoles 
and  chiffonnieres.  We  obeyed,  as  in  duty  bound ;  Ad£le  wanted 
to  take  a  seat  on  my  knee,  but  she  was  ordered  to  amuse  herself 
with  Pilot. 

44  You  have  been  resident  in  my  house  three  months  ?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

44  And  you  came  from ?" 


104  JANE    EYRE. 

"  From  Lowopd  school,  in shire." 

"  Ah  !  a  charitable  concern.     How  long  were  you  there  ?" 

"Eight  years." 

"  Eight  years  !  you  must  be  tenacious  of  life.  I  thought  half 
the  time  in  such  a  place  would  have  done  up  any  constitution ! 
No  wonder  you  have  rather  the  look  of  another  world.  I  mar- 
velled 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  ?" 

"I  have  none." 

"  Nor  ever  had,  I  suppose.     Do  you  remember  them  ?" 

"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  I  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  eye- 
brows, seemed  wondering  what  sort  of  talk  this  was. 

"Well,"  resumed  Mr.  Rochester,  "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  advertisement." 

"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  invaluable  companion 
to  me,  and  a  kind  and  careful  teacher  to  Adele." 

"  Don't  trouble  yourself  to  give  her  a  character,"  returned  Mr. 
Rochester:  "  eulogiums  will  not  bias  me;  I  shall  judge  for 
myself.  She  began  by  felling  my  horse." 

"Sir?"  said  Mrs.  Fairfax. 

"  I  have  to  thank  her  for  this  sprain." 

The  widow  looked  bewildered. 

"  Miss  Eyre,  have  you  ever  lived  in  a  town  ?" 

"No,  sir." 

"  Have  you  seen  much  society  ?" 

"  None  but  the  pupils  and  teachers  of  Lowood;  and  now  the 
inmates  of  Thornfield." 


JANE    EYRB.  105 

"  Have  you  read  much  ?" 

"Only  such  books  as  came  in  my  way;  and  they  have  not 
been  numerous,  or  veiy  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." 

"Oh.no." 

"  You  are  very  cool !  No  1  What !  a  novice  not  worship  her 
priest !  That  sounds  blasphemous." 

"  I  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. 

"And  was  that  the  head  and  front  of  his  offending?" 
demanded  Mr.  Rochester. 

"He  starved  us  when  he  had  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,  about  sudden  deaths 
and  judgments,  which  made  us  afraid  to  go  to  bed." 

"  What  age  were  you  when  you  went  to  Lowood  ?" 

"About  ten." 

"  And  you  stayed  there  eight  years :  you  are  now,  then,  eigh- 
teen?" 

I  assented. 

"Arithmetic,  you  see,  is  useful;  without  its  aid,  I  should 
hardly  have  been  able  to  guess  your  age.  It  is  a  point  difficult 
to  fix  where  the  features  and  countenance  are  so  much  at  vari- 
ance 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  school-girl :  perhaps  rather 
better  than  some,  but  not  well. 

I  closed  the  piano,  and  returned.     Mr.  Rochester  continued. 

"Adele  showed  me  some  sketches  this  morning,  which  she 
said  were  yours.  I  don't  know  whether  they  were  entirely  of 
your  doing :  probably  a  master  aided  you  ?" 


106  JANE    EYRE. 

"  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  yourself, 
sir." 

I  brought  the  portfolio  from  the  library. 

"  Approach  the  table,"  said  he  :  and  I  wheeled  it  to  his  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." 

He  deliberately  scrutinised  each  sketch  and  painting.  Three 
he  laid  aside  ;  the  others,  when  he  had  examined  them,  he  swept 
from  him. 

"Take  them  off  to  the  other  table,  Mrs.  Fairfax,"  said  he, 
"and    look    at    them    with    Adele;— you"    (glancing    at    me) 
"  resume  your  seat  and  answer  my  questions.      I  perceive  these 
pictures  were  done  by  one  hand :  was  that  hand  yours  ?' ' 
"Yes." 

"  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." 

Has  it  other  furniture  of  the  same  kind  within  ?" 
'  I  should  think  it  may  have  :  I  hope — better." 
He  spread  the  pictures  before  him,  and  again  surveyed  them 
alternately. 

While  he  is  so  occupied,  I  will  tell  you,  reader,  what  they  are, 
and  first,  I  must  premise  that  they  are  nothing  wonderful.  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  portait  of  the  thing  I 
had  conceived. 

These  pictures  were  in  water-colours.  The  first  represented 
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  gleam  of  light 
lifted  into  relief  a  half-submerged  mast,  on  which  sat  a  cor- 
morant, 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  dis- 
tinctness as  my  pencil  could  impart.  Sinking  below  the  bird  and 
mast,  a  drowned  corpse  glanced  through  the  green  water ;  a  fair 


JANE    EYRE.  107 

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  as  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  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  dis- 
tance, 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  was  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." 

"Were  you  happy  when  you  painted  these  pictures?"  asked 
Mr.  Rochester,  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." 

"That  is  not  saying  much.  Your  pleasures,  by  your  own 
account,  have  been  few ;  but  I  daresay  you  did  exist  in  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  ndon,  and  from  noon  till  night : 
the  length  of  the  midsummer  days  favoured  my  inclination  to 
apply." 

"And  you  felt  self-satisfied  with  the  result  of  your  ardent 
labours  ?•' 

"  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." 

"  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 
school  girl,  peculiar.  As  to  the  thoughts,  they  are  elfish.  These 


108  JANE    EYRE. 

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  hill-top.  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,  not  so  muchc 

"  I  wish  you  all  good-night,  now,"  said  he,  making  a  move- 
ment 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.  Rochester  was  not  strikingly  peculiar,  Mrs. 
Fairfax,"  I  observed,  when  I  rejoined  her  in  her  room,  after 
putting  Adele  to  bed. 

"Well,  is  he?" 

"  I  think  so.     He  is  very  changeful  and  abrupt." 

"  True  i  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,  allowances  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.  Rochester  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  misunder- 
standings between  them.  Mr.  Rowland  Rochester  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  same : 
and  soon  after  he  was  of  age,  some  steps  were  taken  that  were 
not  quite  fair,  and  made  a  great  deal  of  mischief.  Old  Mr. 


JANE    EYRE.  IOQ 

Rochester  and  Mr.  Rowland  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  " 

"  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. 
Rochester'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. 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

PR  several  subsequent  days  I  saw  little  of  Mr.  Rochester. 
In  the  mornings  he  seemed  much  engaged  with  business, 
and,  in  the  afternoon,  gentlemen  from  Millcote  or  the  neighbour- 
hood 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  gentlemanlike  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  gentle- 
men went  away  early,  to  attend  a  public  meeting  at  Millcote,  as 
Mrs.  Fairfax  informed  me;  but  the  night  being  wet  and  incle- 
ment, Mr.  Rochester  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  Adele's  hair  and  made  her 
neat,  and  having  ascertained  that  I  was  myself  in  my  usual 
Quaker  trim,  where  there  was  nothing  to  retouch— all  being  too 


IIO  JANE     EYRE. 

close  and  plain,  braided  locks  included,  to  admit  of  disarrange- 
ment— we  descended,  Adele  wondering  whether  the  petit  coffre 
was  at  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. 

"  Ma  bolte  !  ma  bolte  !"  exclaimed  she,  running  towards  it. 

"  Yes — there  is  your  '  bolte  '  at  last :  take  it  into  a  corner,  you 
genuine  daughter  of  Paris,  and  amuse  yourself  with  disembowel- 
ling it,"  said  the  deep  and  rather  sarcastic  voice  of  Mr.  Roches- 
ter, proceeding  from  the  depths  of  an  immense  easy  chair  at  the 
fireside.  "And  mind,"  he  continued,  "don't  bother  me  with 
any  details  of  the  anatomical  process,  or  any  notice  of  the  con- 
dition of  the  entrails  ;  let  your  operation  be  conducted  in  silence; 
tiens-toi  tranquille,  enfant;  comprends-tu ?" 

Adele  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!  Que  c'est  beau!"  and  then  remained  absorbed  in 
ecstatic  contemplation. 

"  Is  Miss  Eyre  there?"  now  demanded  the  master,  half  rising 
from  his  seat  to  look  round  to  the  door,  near  which  I  still  stood. 

"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  t6te-a-t6te  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-by,  I  must  have  mine  in  mind;  it 
won't  do  to  neglect  her;  she  is  a  Fairfax,  or  wed  to  one;  and 
blood  is  taid  to  be  thicker  than  water." 

He  rang  and  despatched  an  invitation  to  Mrs.  Fairfax,  who 
soon  arrived,  knitting-basket  in  hand. 

"  Good  evening,  madam ;  I  sent  to  you  for  a  charitable  pur- 
pose :  I  have  forbidden  Adele  to  talk  to  me  about  her  presents, 
and  she  is  bursting  with  repletion ;  have  the  goodness  to  serve 
her  as  auditress  and  interlocutrice ;  it  will  be  one  of  the  most 
benevolent  acts  you  ever  performed." 

Adele,  indeed,  no  sooner  saw  Mrs.  Fairfax  than  she  summoned 
her  to  her  sofa,  and  there  quickly  filled  her  lap  with  the  porcelain, 
the  ivory,  the  waxen  contents  of  her  "  boite ;"  pouring  out,  mean- 
time, explanations  and  raptures  in  such  broken  English  as  she 
was  mistress  of. 

"  Now  I  have  performed  the  part  of  a  good  host,"  pursued  Mr. 
Rochester;  "  put  my  guests  into  the  way  of  amusing  each  other, 
I  ought  to  be  at  liberty  to  attend  to  my  own  pleasure  Miss 


JANE    EYRE.  Ill 

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  w.'is  bid,  though  I  would  much  rather  have  remained 
somewhat  in  the  shade:  but  Mr.  Rochester  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  breath  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  Adele  (she  dared 
not  speak  loud),  and,  filling  up  each  pause,  the  beating  of  winter 
rain  against  the  panes. 

Mr.  Rochester,  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  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  softness, 
reminded  you,  at  least,  of  that  feeling. 

He  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?" 

I  should,  if  I  had  deliberated,  have  replied  to  this  question  by 
something  conventionally  vague  and  polite;  but  the  answer 
somehow  slipped  from  my  tongue  before  I  was  aware: — "No, 
sir." 

"  Ah  1  By  my  word  1  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-by,  when 
they  are  directed  piercingly  to  my  face;  as  just  now,  for 
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?" 

"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." 

"  You  ought  to  have  replied  no  such  thing.     Beauty  of  little 


112  JANE    EYRE. 

consequence,  indeed !  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  1  have  all  my  limbs  and  all  my 
features  like  any  other  man  ?" 

"Mr.  Rochester,  allow  me  to  disown  my  first  answer:  I 
intended  no  pointed  repartee :  it  was  only  a  blunder." 

"Just  so:  I  think  so:  and  you  shall  be  answerable  for  it. 
Criticise  me  :  does  my  forehead  not  please  you  ?" 

He  lifted  up  the  sable  waves,  of  hair  which  lay  horizontally  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  ?" 

"  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  pre- 
tended 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  philanthropist;  but  I  bear  a 
conscience  ;"  and  he  pointed  to  the  prominences  which  are  said 
to  indicate  that  faculty,  and  which,  fortunately  for  him,  were  suf- 
ficiently 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  Indian-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  for  me  ?" 

"Hope  of  what,  sir?" 

"  Of  my  final  re-transformation  from  Indian-rubber  back  to 
flesh?" 

"  Decidedly  he  has  had  too  much  wine,"  I  thought ;  and  I  did 
not  know  what  answer  to  make  to  his  queer  question :  how 
could  I  tell  whether  he  was  capable  of  being  re-transformed  ? 

"  You  look  very  much  puzzled,  Miss  Eyre ;  and  though  you  are 
not  pretty  any  more  than  I  am  handsome,  yet  a  puzzled  air  be- 
comes 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  on.  Young  lady,  I  am 
disposed  to  be  gregarious  and  communicative  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 


JANE    EYRE.  113 

external  appearance ;  so  haughty  a  reliance  on  the  power  of  other 
qualities,  intrinsic  or  adventitious,  to  atone  for  the  lack  of  mere 
personal  attractiveness,  that,  in  looking  at  him,  one  inevitably 
shared  the  indifference,  and,  even  in  a  blind,  imperfect  sense, 
put  faith  in  the  confidence. 

"  1  am  disposed  to  be  gregarious  and  communicative  to-ni^ht," 
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.  Adele  is  a  degree  better, 
but  still  far  below  the  mark;  Mrs.  Fairfax  ditto;  you,  I  am  per- 
suaded, 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. 

"Speak,"  he  urged. 

"What  about,  sir?" 

"  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. 

"  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. 

"  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  j'y  tiens,  as  Adele  would  say ;  and  it  is  by  virtue  of  this  super- 
iority, 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  am  willing  to  amuse  you  if  I  can,  sir — quite  willing ;  but  1 
cannot  introduce  a  topic,  because  how  do  I  know  what  will  in- 
terest 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  exacting,  some- 
times, on  the  grounds  I  stated :  namely,  that  I  am  old  enough 
to  be  your  father,  and  that  I  have  battled  through  a  varied  experi- 
ence with  many  men  of  many  nations,  and  roamed  over  half 

II 


114  JANE    EYRE. 

the  globe,  while  you  have  lived  quietly  with  one  set  of  people  in 
one  house." 

"  Do  as  you  please,  sir." 

"  That  is  no  answer;  or  rather  it  is  a  very  irritating,  because  a 
very  evasive  one.  Reply  clearly." 

"  I  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  experience." 

"  Humph !  Promptly  spoken.  But  I  won't  allow  that,  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  my 
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  ^30  per  annum  for  receiving  his 
orders. 

"  The  smile  is  very  well,"  said  he,  catching  instantly  the  pass- 
ing expression  ;  "  but  speak  too." 

"  I  was  thinking,  sir,  that  very  few  masters  would  trouble  them- 
selves to  inquire  whether  or  not  their  paid  subordinates  were 
piqued  and  hurt  by  their  orders." 

"  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  dependent  is  com- 
fortable in  his  dependency,  I  agree  heartily." 

"And  will  you  consent  to  dispense  with  a  great  many  conven- 
tional forms  and  phrases,  without  thinking  that  the  omission 
arises  from  insolence  ?" 

"  I  am  sure,  sir,  I  should  never  mistake  informality  for  insol- 
ence :  one  I  rather  like,  the  other  nothing  free-born  would  submit 
to,  even  for  a  salary." 

"  Humbug !  Most  things  free-born  will  submit  to  anything  for 
a  salary;  therefore,  keep  to  yourself,  and  don't  venture  on  gener- 
alities 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  misapprehen- 
sion 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  done.  But  I  don't  mean  to  flatter 
you.  If  you  are  cast  in  a  different  mould  to  the  majority,  it  is 
no  merit  of  yours :  Nature  did  it.  And  then,  after  all,  I  go  too 
fast  in  my  conclusions :  for  what  I  yet  know,  you  may  be  no 


JANE    EYRE.  U5 

better  than  the  rest;  you  may  have  intolerable  delects  to  counter- 
balance your  few  good  points." 

"And  so  may  you,"  I  thought.  My  eye  met  his  as  the  idea 
crossed  my  mind :  he  seemed  to  read  the  glance,  answering  as  if 
its  import  had  been  spoken  as  well  as  imagined : 

"Yes,  yes,  you  are  right,"  said  he.  "  I  have  plenty  of  faults 
of  my  own  ;  I  know  it,  and  I  don't  wish  to  palliate  them,  I  assure 
you.  God  wot,  I  need  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  cen- 
sures from  my  neighbours  to  myself.  I  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  peace  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  bilge  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  end ;  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-by,  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  common-place  sinner,  hackneyed  in  all  the  poor  petty- 
dissipations  with  which  the  rich  and  worthless  try  to  put  on  life. 
Do  you  wondef  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,  that  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 
comforting  and  encouraging  because  it  is  very  unobtrusive  in  its 
manifestations." 

"  How  do  you  know  ? — how  can  you  guess  all  this,  sir  ?" 
"  I  know  it  well ;  therefore  I  proceed  almost  as  freely  as  if  I 
writing  my  thoughts  in  a  diary.     You  would  say,  I  should  have 
been  superior  to  circumstances :  so  1  should — so  I  should ;   but 
you  see  I  was  not.     When  fate  wronged  me,  I  had    not  the  wis- 
dom to  remain  cool :    I  turned  desperate ;   then  I  degenerated. 
A  hen  anv  vi«  ious  simpleton  excites  my  disgust  by  his  paltry 
ribaldry,  I  cannot  flatter  myself  that  I  am  better  than  he:    I  am 


Il6  JANE     EYRE. 

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." 

"  Repentance  is  said  to  be  its  cure,  sir." 

"  It  is  not  its  cure.  Reformation  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." 

"Then  you  will  degenerate  still  more,  sir." 

"Possibly:  yet  why  should  I,  if  I  can  get  sweet,  fresh  plea- 
sure ?  And  I  may  get  it  as  sweet  and  fresh  as  the  wild  honey  the 
bee  gathers  on  the  moor." 

"  It  will  sting — it  will  taste  bitter,  sir." 

"  How  do  you  know  ? — you  never  tried  it.  How  very  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 
fluttered  across  my  brain  was  an  error.  1  believe  it  was  an  in- 
spiration rather  than  a  temptation  ;  it  was  very  genial,  very 
soothing — I  know  that.  Here  it  comes  again !  It  is  no  devil,  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." 

"  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  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." 

"  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  he  had  half  extended,  on 
his  chest,  he  seemed  to  enclose  in  their  embrace  the  invisible 
being. 

"  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 


JANE    EYRE.  117 

keep  up  the  conversation,  because  it  has  got  out  of  my  depth. 
Only  one  thing  I  know :  you  said  you  were  not  as  good  as  you 
should  like  to  DC,  and  that  you  regretted  your  own  imperfection  : 
one  thing  I  can  comprehend?  you  intimated  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  bt 
with  resolution  to  correct  your  thoughts  and  actions,  you  would 
in  a  few  years  have  laid  up  a  new  and  stainless  store  of  recollec- 
tions, to  which  you  might  revert  with  pleasure." 

"Justly  thought;  rightly  said,  Miss  Eyre;  and,  at  this 
moment,  I  am  paving  hell  with  energy." 

"Sir?" 

"  I  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  Medes  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." 

"  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?" 

"  That  of  saying  of  any  strange,  unsanctioned  line  of  action— 
•Let  it  be  right.' * 

"'Let  it  be  right* — the  very  words:  you  have  pronounced 
them." 

"  May  it  be  right  then,"  I  said,  as  I  rose,  deeming  it  useless  to 
continue  a  discourse  which  was  all  darkness  to  me;  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  Adele  to  bed :  it  is  past  her  bed-time." 

"You  are  afraid  of  me,  because  I  talk  like  a  Sphinx.' 


•  • 


Il8  JANE    EYRE. 

"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." 

"If  you  did,  ^  it  would  be  in  such  a  grave,  quiet  manner,  I 
should  mistake  it  for  sense.  Do  you  never  laugh,  Miss  Eyre  ? 
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 ;  controlling  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-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  :  Adele  is  not  ready  to  go  to  bed 
yet.  My  position,  Miss  Eyre,  with  my  back  to  the  fire,  and  rny 
face  to  the  room,  favours  observation.  While  talking  to  you,  I 
have  also  occasionally  watched  Adele  (I  have  my  own  reasons 
for  thinking  her  a  curious  study — reasons  that  I  may — nay  that  I 
shall — impart  to  you  some  day  ;)  she  pulled  out  of  her  box,  about 
ten  minutes  ago,  a  little  pink  silk  frock ;  rapture  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  a  1'instant  meme !'  and  she  rushed  out 
of  the  room.  She  is  now  with  Sophie,  undergoing  a  robing 
process  :  and  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  presentiment ;  stay  now,  to  see  whether  it  will  be 
realised." 

Ere  long,  Adele' s  little  foot  was  heard  tripping  across  the  hall. 
She  entered,  transformed  as  her  guardian  had  predicted.  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. 

"  Est-ce  que  ma  robe  va  bien  ?"  cried  she,  bounding  forwards  ; 
"  et  mes  souliers  ?  et  mes  bas  ?  Tenez,  je  crois  que  je  vais 
danser  !" 

And  spreading  out  her  dress,  she  chasseed  across  the  room  ; 
till,  having  reached  Mr.  Rochester,  she  wheeled  lightly  round 


JANE    EYRE.  IIQ 

before  him  on  tip-toe,  then  dropped  on  one  knee  at  his  feet, 
exclaiming : 

"  Monsieur,  je  vous  remercie  raille  fois  de  votre  bont6;M  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  breeches'  pocket.  I  have 
been  green,  too,  Miss  Eyre — ay,  grass  green :  not  a  more  vernal 
tint  freshens  you  now  than  once  freshened  me.  My  Spring  is 
gone,  however,  but  it  has  left  me  that  French  floweret  on  my 
hands,  which,  in  smooth  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  Roman  Catholic 
principle  of  expiating  numerous  sins,  great  or  small,  by  one  good 
work.  I'll  explain  all  this  some  day.  Good-night." 


CHAPTER  XV. 

MR.  ROCHESTER  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. 

He  then  said  that  she  was  the  daughter  of  a  French  opera 
dancer,  Celine  Varens,  towards  whom  he  had  once  cherished 
what  he  called  a  "  grande  passion."  This  passion  Celine  had 
professed  to  return  with  even  superior  ardour.  He  thought  him- 
self her  idol,  ugly  as  he  was ;  he  believed,  as  he  said,  that  she 
preferred  his  "taille  d'athlete"  to  the  elegance  of  the  Apollo 
Belvidere.  ' 

"  And,  Miss  Eyre,  so  much  was  I  flattered  by  this  preference 
of  the  Gallic  sylph  for  her  British  gnome,  that  I  installed  her  in 
an  hotel,  gave  her  a  complete  establishment  of  sen-ants,  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  Celine  did  not 
expect  me,  I  found  her  out ;  but  it  was  a  warm  ni^ht,  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  \ 


I2O  JANE    EYRE. 

had  left — a  scent  of  musk  and  amber,  than  an  odour  of  sanctity. 
I  was  just  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  moon- 
light, and  gaslight  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  liked  bonbons,  too,  in  those  days,  Miss  Eyre,  and  I  was 
croqnant  (overlook  the  barbarism) — croquant  chocolate  comfits, 
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)  alighted:  though 
muffled  in  a  cloak — an  unnecessary  encumbrance,  by-the-by,  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  mur- 
mur, '  Mon  ange  !' — in  a  tone,  of  course,  which  should  be  audible 
to  the  ear  of  love  alone — when  a  figure  jumped  from  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  cochtre  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  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  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. 

"  I  like  this  day :  I  like  that  sky  of  steel ;  I  like  the  sternness 
and  stillness  of  the  world  under  this  frost.  I  like  Thornfield ;  its 
antiquity ;  its  retirement ;  its  old  crow-trees  and  thorn-trees ;  its 
grey  fa9ade,  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 " 


JANE    EYRE.  121 

He  ground  his  teeth  and  was  silent :  he  arrested  his  step  and 
struck  his  boot  against  the  hard  ground.  Some  h.uol  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  para- 
mount ;  but  another  feeling  rose  and  triumphed  :  something  hard 
and  cynical ;  self-willed  and  resolute :  it  settled  his  passion  and 
petrified  his  countenance :  he  went  on  : 

44  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  Thornfield?'  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!' 

4"I  will  like  it,'  said  I.  'I  dare  like  it;'  and  (he  subjoined 
moodily)  I  will  keep  my  word :  I  will  break  obstacles  to  happi- 
ness, 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,  hinderances  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  !" 
Continuing  then  to  pursue  his  walk  in  silence,  I  ventured  to  call 
him  to  the  point  whence  he  had  abruptly  diverged : 

44  Did  you  leave  the  balcony,  sir,"  I  asked,  44when  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!  Well,  to  resume. 
When  I  saw  my  charmer  thus  come  in  accompanied  by  a  cava- 
lier, I  seemed  to  hear  a  hiss,  and  the  green  snake  of  jealousy, 
rising  on  undulating  coils  from  the  moonlit  balcony,  glided  within 
;istcoat,  and  ate  its  way  in  two  minutes  to  my  heart's  core. 
Strange  ?"  he  exclaimed,  suddenly  starting  away  from  the  point. 
41  Strange  that  I  should  choose  you  for  the  confidante  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,  inex- 
perienced £irl  like  you !  But  the  last  singularity  explains  the 
first,  as  I  intimated  once  before:  you,  with  your  gravity,  con- 
ciderateness,  and  caution,  were  made  to  be  the  recipient  of 


122  JANE    EYRE. 

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  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  observa- 
tions ;  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.  Celine'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  roue"  of  a  vicomte — a  brain- 
less 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 
Celine  sank  under  an  extinguisher.  A  woman  who  could  betray 
me  for  such  a  rival  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  completely 
— 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  dis- 
cussion. Neither  of  them  possessed  energy  or  wit  to  belabour 
me  soundly :  but  they  insulted  me  as  coarsely  as  they  could  in 
their  little  way — especially  Celine,  who  even  waxed  rather 
brilliant  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  'beautd  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 " 

Adele  here  came  running  up  again. 

"Monsieur,  John  has  just  been  to  say  that  your  agent  has 
called  and  wishes  to  see  you." 

"Ah!  in  that  case  I  must  abridge.  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,  protesta- 
tions, 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, 


JANE    EYRE.  123 

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  filettc  Adele;  who, 
she  affirmed,  was  my  daughter,  and  perhaps  she  may  be,  though 
I  see  no  proofs  of  such  gnm  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;  but  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  whole- 
some soil  of  an  English  country  garden.  Mrs.  Fairfax  found  you 
to  train  it ;  but  now^rou  know  that  it  is  the  illegitimate  offspring 
of  a  French  opera-girl,  you  will  perhaps  think  differently  of  your 
post  and  protegee:  you  will  be  coming  to  me  some  day  with 
notice  that  you  nave  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  that  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  ?" 

"  Oh,  that  is  the  light  in  which  you  view  it !  Well,  I  must  go 
in  now;  and  you  too:  it  darkens." 

But  I  stayed  out  a  few  minutes  longer  with  Adele  and  Pilot — 
ran  a  race  with  her,  and  played  a  game  of  battledore  and  shuttle- 
cock. 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  free- 
doms 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  Eng- 
lish 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.  Rochester,  but 
found  none :  no  trait,  no  turn  of  expression,  announced  relation- 
ship. It  was  a  pity :  if  she  could  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.  Rochester  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  every-day  matters  enough,  no  doubt,  in  society ;  but 
there  was  something  decidedly  strange  in  the  paroxysm  of 
emotion  which  had  suddenly  seized  him,  when  he  was  in  the  act 
of  expressing  the  contentment  of  his  mood,  and  his  newly  revived 


124  JANE    EYRE. 

pleasure  in  the  old  hall  and  its  environs.  I  meditated  wonder- 
ingly  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  had  always  a  word  and  sometimes  a  smile  for  me :  when  sum- 
moned 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.  Rochester  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  inferior- 
ity 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  to  him,  found  him  sitting  in  his  library  alone, 
with  his  head  bent  on  the  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,  educa- 


JANE    EYRE.  125 

tion  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. 

"  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  away  along  the  dark 
gallery  outside.  I  said,  "Who  is  there?"  Nothing  answered. 
I  was  chilled  with  fear. 

All  at  once  I  remembered  that  it  might  be  Pilot :  who,  when 
the  kitchen  door  chanced  to  be  left  open,  not  unfrequently  found 
his  way  up  to  the  threshold  of  Mr.  Rochester's  chamber:  I  had 
seen  him  lying  there  myself  in  the  mornings.  The  idea  calmed 
me  somewhat :  I  lay  down.  Silence  composes  the  nerves ;  and 
as  an  unbroken  hush  now  reined  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  my  chamber  door. 
The  head  of  my  bed  was  near  the  door,  and  I  thought  at  first  the 
goblin-laugher  stood  at  my  bedside — or  rather,  crouched  by  my 
pillow :  but  I  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 
illery  towards  the  third  story  staircase:  a  door  had  lately 
been  made  to  shut  in  that  btaircase:  1  heard  it  open  and  close, 
and  all  was  still. 


126  JANE    EYRE. 

"  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  with- 
drew the  bolt  and  opened  the  door  with  a  trembling  hand.  There 
was  a  candle  burning  just  outside,  and  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  looking  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 
Mr.  Rochester's,  and  the  smoke  rushed  in  a  cloud  from  thence. 
I  thought  no  more  of  Mrs.  Fairfax  ;  I  thought  no  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.  Rochester  lay 
stretched  motionless,  in  deep  sleep. 

"  Wake  !  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,  suc- 
ceeded 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.  Rochester  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  besides  you  ?  Have  you  plotted 
to  drown  me?" 

"  I  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  garments,  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  surveyed  the 
bed,  all  blackened  and  scorched,  the  sheets  drenched,  the  carpet 
round  swimming  in  water. 

"  What  is  it  ?  and  who  did  it  ?"  he  asked. 

I  briefly  related  to  him  what  had  transpired,  the  strange  laugh 


JANE    EYRE.  127 

J  had  heard  in  the  gallery :  the  step  ascending  to  the  third  story, 
the  smoke — the  smell  of  fire  which  had  conducted  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,  expressed 
more  concern  than  astonishment ;  he  did  not  immediately  speak 
when  I  had  concluded. 

" Shall  I  call  Mrs.  Fairfax?"  I  asked. 

"  Mrs.  Fairfax  ?  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. 
Remain  where  you  are  till  I  return ;  be  as  still  as  a  mouse.  I 
must  pay  a  visit  to  the  second  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.  Rochester's  displeasure,  by  disobeying  his  orders,  when  the 
light  once  more  gleamed  dimly  on  the  gallery  wall,  and  I  heard 
his  unshod  feet  tread  the  matting.  "  I  hope  it  is  he,"  thought  I, 
"and  not  something  worse." 

He  re-entered,  pale  and  very  gloomy. 

"  I  have  found  it  all  out,"  said  he,  setting  his  candle  down  on 
the  washstand  ;  "  it  is  as  I  thought." 

"How,  sir?" 

He  made  no  reply,  but  stood  with  his  arms  folded,  looking  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  Ijke-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  subject.  Mean- 
time, I  am  glad  that  you  are  the  only  person,  besides  myself,  ac- 
quainted with  the  precise  details  of  to-night's  incident.  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 


128  JANE    EYRE. 

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." 

"Good-night,  then,  sir,"  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  goodwill :  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  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  knew,"  he  continued,  "you  would  do  me  good  in  some 
way,  at  some  time — I  saw  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  of  truth  in  the  wildest  fable. 
My  cherished  preserver,  good-night!" 

Strange  energy  was  in  his  voice  ;  strange  fire  in  his  look. 

"  1  am  glad  I  happened  to  be  awake,"  I  said,  and  then  I  was 
going. 

"What!  you  will  got" 

"  I  am  cold,  sir." 

"  Cold  ?  Yes,— and  standing  in  a  pool !  Go  then,  Jane,  go  I" 
But  he  still  retained  my  hand,  and  I  could  not  free  it.  I  be- 
thought myself  of  an  expedient. 

"  I  think  I  hear  Mrs.  Fairfax  move,  sir,"  said  I. 

"  Well,  leave  me ;"  he  refaxed  his  fingers,  and  I  was  gone. 

I  regained  my  couch,  but  never  thought  of  sleep.  Till  morn- 
ing dawned  I  was  tossed  on  a  buoyant  but  unquiet  sea,  where 
billows  of  trouble  rolled  under  surges  of  joy.  I  thought  some- 
times 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, 


JANE    EYRE.  129 

and  continually  drove  me  back.  Sense  would  resist  delirium ; 
judgment  would  warn  passion.  Too  feverish  to  rest,  I  rose  as 
soon  as  day  dawned. 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

I  BOTH  wished  and  feared  to  see  Mr.  Rochester  on  the  da> 
which  followed  this  sleepless  night;  I  wanted  to  hear  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  schoolroom  ;  but  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  Adele'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 !"  "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  down- 
stairs to  dinner,  I  saw  through  the  open  door  that  all  was  again 
restored  to  complete  order;  only  the  bed  wa?  stripped  of  its 
hangings.  Leah  stood  up  in  the  window-seat,  rubbing  the  panes 
s  dimmed  with  smoke.  I  was  about  to  address  her,  for  I 
wNhrd  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  cur- 
tains. That  woman  was  no  other  than  Grace  Poole. 

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  secr.icd 
absorbed ;  on  her  hard  forehead,  and  in  her  commonplace  fea- 
tures, was  nothing  either  of  the  paleness  01  desperation  one 
would  have  expected  to  see  marking  the  countenance  of  a  woman 
who  had  attempted  murder;  and  whose  intended  victim  had 
fullou  <  d  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 
mil  more  tape,  went  on  with  her  sewing. 

I 


130  JANE    EYRE. 

"I  will  put  her  to  some  test,"  thought  I,  "such  absolute 
impenetrability  is  past  comprehension." 

"Good-morning,  Grace,"  I  said.  "Has  anything  happened 
here?  I  thought  I  heard  the  servants  all  talking  together  a 
while  ago." 

"  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  bedclothes  or  the  wood-work 
caught,  and  contrived  to  quench  the  flame  with  the  water  in  the 
ewer." 

"A  strange  affair!"  I  said,  in  a  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  some- 
thing 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  assmued  indifference,  but  still  in  a 
marked  and  significant  tone,  "  But  you  are  young,  Miss,  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." 

"I  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. 

"Have  you  told  master  that  you  heard  a  laugh?"  she 
inquired. 

"I  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." 


JANE    EYRI-.  131 

"Then  you  are  not  in  the  habit  of  bolting  your  door  every 
night  before  you  get  into  bed  ?" 

"  Fiend  !  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  he  down." 

"  It  will  be  wise  so  to  do,"  was  her  answer.  "  The  neighbour- 
hood 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  I  say  Provi- 
dence will  not  dispense  with  the  means,  though  He  often  blesses 
them  when  used  discreetly."  And  here  she  closed  her 
harangue,  a  long  one  for  her,  and  uttered  with  the  demureness  of 
a  Quakeress. 

I  stood  absolutely  dumfounded  at  what  appeared  to  me  her 
miraculous  self-possession  and  most  inscrutable  hypocrisy,  when 
the  cook  entered. 

"Mrs.  Pool,"  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." 

"  You'll  have  some  meat  ?" 

"Just  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." 

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  confla- 
gration 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  £iven  into  custody  that 
morning;  or,  at  the  very  least,  dismissed  from  her  m.i 
service.  He  had  al.-n..  ,t  as  much  as  declared  his  conviction  of 
her  criminality  l.u>t  night :  what  mysterious  cause  withheld  him 
from  accusing  her?  \Vliy  had  he  enjoined  me  too  to  SC( 

,  strange:  a  bold,  vindictive,  and  haughty  xrntliMn.iu 
seemed  somehow  in  the  power  of  one  of  the  meanest  of  his 
dependents;  so  much  in  her  power,  that  even  when  she  lifted  her 


132  JANE    EYRE. 

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.  Rochester  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  con- 
temporary 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  per- 
sonal advantages.  Mr.  Rochester  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  head- 
strong 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  off,  and  dare  not  disre- 
gard ?"  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.  Rochester  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 
tremblent  comme  la  feuille,  et  vos  joues  sont  rouges :  mais, 
rouges  comme  des  cerises!" 

"  I  am  hot,  Adele,  with  stooping!"  She  went  on  sketching,  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  com- 
pared 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  enjoy- 
ments. 

"  Evening  approaches,"  said  I,  as  I  looked  towards  the  win- 
dow. "  I  have  never  heard  Mr.  Rochester'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  desired  ^it,  because  expecta- 
tion has  been  so  long  baffled  that  it  is  grown  impatient." 

When  dusk  actually  closed,  and  when  Adele  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 


JANE    EYRE.  133 

up  with  a  message ;  I  fancied  sometimes  I  heard  Mr.  Rochester's 
own  tread,  and  1  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  wanted  again  to  introduce  the  subject 
of  Grace  Pople,  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  the  verge  of 
provocation  I  never  ventured ;  on  the  extreme  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  with- 
out fear  or  uneasy  restraint :  this  suited  both  him  and  me. 

A  tread  creaked  on  the  stairs  at  last ;  Leah  made  her  appear- 
ance ;  but  it  was  only  to  intimate  that  tea  was  ready  in  Mrs. 
Fairfax's  room.  Thither  I  repaired,  glad  at  least  to  go  down- 
stairs; 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.  lam  afraid,"  she  continued, 
"you  are  not  well  to-day:  you  look  flushed  and  feverish." 

"Oh,  quite  well !  I  never  felt  better." 

"Then  you  must  prove  it  by  evincing  a  good  appetite;  will 
you  fill  the  tea-pot  while  I  knit  off  this  needle?"  Having  com- 
pleted 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. 

"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." 

"  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." 
'(>  you  expect  him  back  to-night  ?" 

"  No — nor  to-morrow  either;  I  should  think  he  is  very  likely  to 
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  talented 
and  bo  lively  in  society,  that  I  believe  he  is  a  general  favourite : 


134  JANE    EYRE. 

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  ?" 

"  There  are  Mrs.  Eshton  and  her  three  daughters — very  ele- 
gant young  ladies,  indeed ;  and  there  are  the  Honourable 
Blanche  and  Mary  Ingram ;  most  beautiful  women,  I  suppose  ; 
indeed  I  have  seen  Blanche,  six  or  seven  years  since,  when  she 
was  a  girl  of  eighteen.  She  came  here  to  a  Christmas  ball  and 
party  Mr.  Rochester  gave.  You  should  have  seen  the  dining- 
room  that  day — how  richly  it  was  decorated,  how  brilliantly  lit 
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." 

"  You  saw  her,  you  say,  Mrs.  Fairfax :  what  was  she  like  ?" 

"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.  Rochester  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  magnificently  dressed ;  most  of  them — at 
least  most  of  the  younger  ones— looked  handsome;  but  Miss 
Ingram  was  certainly  the  queen." 

"And  what  was  she  like  ?" 

"Tall,  fine  bust,  sloping  shoulders;  long,  graceful  neck:  olive 
complexion,  dark  and  clear;  noble  features;  eyes  rather  like 
Mr.  Rochester'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  at  the  side,  and  des- 
cending 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." 

"  She  was  greatly  admired,  of  course  ?" 

"  Yes,  indeed :  and  not  only  for  her  beauty,  but  for  her  accom- 
plishments. She  was  one  of  the  ladies  who  sang:  a  gentleman 
accompanied  her  on  the  piano.  She  and  Mr.  Rochester  sang  a 
duet." 

"  Mr.  Rochester  ?     I  was  not  aware  he  could  sing." 

"Oh!  he  has  a  fine  bass  voice,  and  an  excellent  taste  for 
music." 

"And  Miss  Ingrarn  :  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.  Rochester  is ;  and  I  heard  him  say  her 
execution  was  remarkably  good." 


JANE    EYRE.  135 

"And  this  beautiful  and  accomplished  lady  is  not  yet 
married  ?" 

"  It  appears  not:  I  fancy  neither  she  nor  her  sister  have  yervr 
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.  Rochester,  for  instance.  He  is  rich,  is  he 
not?" 

"  Oh  !  yes.  But  you  see  there  is  a  considerable  difference  in 
age :  Mr.  Rochester  is  near  forty;  she  is  but  twenty-five." 

"  What  of  that  ?  More  unequal  matches  are  made  every 
day." 

"True:  yet  I  should  scarcely  fancy  Mr.  Rochester  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.  Rochester  and  the  beautiful  Blanche;  but  Adele 
came  in,  and  the  conversation  was  turned  into  another  channel. 

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  cherishing  since  last 
night—of  the  general  state  of  mind  in  which  I  had  indulged  for 
nearly  a  fortnight  past ;  Reason  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 — I 
pronounced  judgment  to  this  effect : 

That  a  greater  fool  than  Jane  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. 

"  You'''  I  said,  "  a  favourite  with  Mr.  Rochester?  You  gifted 
with  the  power  of  pleasing  him  ?  You  of  importance  to  him  in 
any  way)  Go!  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 
dependent  and  a  novice.  How  dared  you  ?  Poor  stupid  dupe  1 
could  not  self-interest  make  you  wiser?  You  repeated  to  your- 
self this  morning  the  brief  scene  of  last  night  ?  Cover  your  face 
and  be  ashamed!  He  said  something  in  praise  of  your  eyes,  did 
he  ?  Blind  puppy !  Open  their  bleared  lids  and  look  on  your 
own  accursed  senselessness !  It  does  good  to  no  woman  to  be 
flattered  by  her  superior,  who  cannot  possibly  intend  to  marry 
;  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  le.i.I, 


136  JANE     EYRE 

ignis-fatuus-like,  into  miry  wilds  whence  there  is  no  extrica- 
tion. 

"  Listen,  then,  Jane  Eyre,  to  your  sentence :  to-morrow,  place 
the  glass  before  you,  and  draw  in  chalk  your  own  picture,  faith- 
fully ;  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  pre- 
pared in  your  drawing-box :  take  your  pallette,  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.  Rochester  as  a  model !  Order  !  No  snivel ! — no  senti- 
ment! — 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  faithfully  the  attire,  aerial  lace  and  glistening  satin, 
graceful  scarf  and  golden  rose:  call  it '  Blanche,  an  accomplished 
lady  of  rank.' 

"Whenever,  in  future,  you  should  chance  to  fancy  Mr. 
Rochester  thinks  well  of  you,  take  out  these  two  pictures  and 
compare  them  :  say,  '  Mr.  Rochester  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  ?'  " 

"  I'll  do  it,"  I  resolved :  and  having  framed  this  determination, 
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. 

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  me  unprepared,  I 
should  probably  have  been  unequal  to  maintain,  even  externally. 


A 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

WEEK  passed,  and  no  news  arrived  of  Mr.  Rochester ;  ten 
days,  and  still  he  did  not  come.     Mrs.  Fairfax  said  she 


JANE     EYRE.  137 

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  unfrequcntly 
quitted  it  in  a  manner  quite  as  abrupt  and  unexpected.  When  I 
In-. u.l  this  1  was  beginning1  to  feel  a  strange  chill  and  failing  at 
the  heart.  I  was  actually  permitting  myself  to  experience  a 
sickening  sense  of  disappointment:  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  blun- 
der— how  I  cleared  up  the  mistake  of  supposing  Mr.  Rochester'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  protegee, 
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  involuntarily  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.  Rochester  had  been  absent  upwards  of  a  fortnight,  when 
the  post  brought  Mrs.  Fairfax  a  letter. 

"It  is  from  the  master,"  said  she,  as  she  looked  at  the  direc- 
tion. "  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  not  choose 
to  consider. 

"Well— I  sometimes  think  we  are  too  guiet;  but  we  run  a 
chance  of  being  busy  enough  now:  for  a  little  while  at  least," 
said  Mrs.  Fairfax,  still  holding  the  note  before  her  spectacles. 

Ere  I  permitted  myself  to  request  an  explanation,  I  tied  the 
string  of  Adele's  pinafore,  which  happened  to  be  loose:  having 
helped  her  also  to  another  bun  and  refilled  her  mug  with  milk,  1 
said,  nonchalantly : 

"  Mr.  Rochester  is  not  likely  to  return  soon,  I  suppose  ?" 

"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 


138  JANE    EYRE. 

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  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."  And  Mrs. 
Fairfax  swallowed  her  breakfast  and  hastened  away  to  commence 
operations.  ' 

The  three  days  were,  as  she  had  foretold,  busy  enough.  I  had 
thought  all  the  rooms  at  Thornfield  beautifully  clean  and  well- 
arranged  :  but  it  appears  I  was  mistaken.  Three  women  were 
got  to  help ;  and  such  scrubbing,  such  brushing,  such  washing  of 
paint  and  beating  of  carpets,  such  taking  down  and  putting  up 
of  pictures,  such  polishing  of  mirrors  and  lustres,  such  lighting 
of  fires  in  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  ecstasies.  She 
would  have  Sophie  to  look  over  all  her  "  toilettes"  as  she  called 
frocks;  to  furbish  up  any  that  were  "passees,"  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  matresses  and  piled-up  bolsters  and  pillows  before  the  enor- 
mous fires  roaring  in  the  chimneys.  From  school  duties  she  was 
exonerated :  Mrs.  Fairfax  had  pressed  me  into  her  service,  and 
I  was  all  day  in  the  store-room,  helping  (or  hindering)  her  and 
the  cook;  learning  to  make  custards  and  cheese-cakes  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  doubt  and  portents,  and  dark  con- 
jectures. This  was  when  I  chanced  to  see  the  third  story  stair- 
case 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  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  second  story :  there  she  sat  and  sewed — 


JANE     EYRE.  139 

and  probably  laughed  drearily  to  herself— as  companionless  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  m.irvel  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  I 
had  not  caught,  and  the  charwoman  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  Thornfield;  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  Millcpte.  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  dare  say,"  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  participation 
in  that  mystery  I  was  purposely  excluded. 

Thursday  came:  all  work  had  been  completed  the  previous 
evening ;  carpets  were  laid  down,  bed-hangings  festooned,  radi- 
ant 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  gjeat  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. 
Adele,  too,  would  be  dressed :  though  I  thought  she  had  little 
chance  of  being  introduced  to  the  party  that  day  at  least.  How- 
ever, 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 


140  JANE    EYRE. 

the  school-room  ;  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. 
"  I  am  glad  I  ordered  dinner  an  hour  after  the  time  Mr.  Rochester 
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." 

Adele  flew  to  the  window.  I  followed,  taking  care  to  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  wav- 
ing 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. 

"  Miss  Ingram  !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Fairfax,  and  away  she  hur- 
ried 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  ven- 
turing 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,  welcoming  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. 


JANE    EYRE.  14! 

'  Elles  changent  de  toilettes,"  said  Adele;  who,  listening 
attentively,  had  followed  every  movement,  and  she  sighed. 

"  Chez  maman,"  said  she,  "  quand  il  y  avait  du  monde,  je  le 
suivais  partout,  au  salon  et  a  leurs  chambres,  souvent  je  rcgardais 
les  femnies  de  chambre  coiffer  et  habiller  les  dames,  et  c'etait  si 
amusant :  comme  cela  on  apprend." 

"  Don't  you  feel  hungry,  Adele  ?" 

"  Mais  oui,  mademoiselle :  voila  cinq  ou  six  heures  que  nous 
n'avons  pas  mange." 

"  Well  now,  while  the  ladies  are  in  their  rooms,  I  will  venture 
down  and  ^et  you  something  to  eat." 

And  issuing  from  my  asylum  with  precaution,  I  sought  a  back- 
stairs which  conducted  airectly  to  the  kitchen.  All  in  that  region 
was  firv  an  1  commotion,  the  soup  and  fish  were  in  the  last  stage 
of  projt  tio  i,  and  the  cook  hung  over  her  crucibles  in  a  frame  of 
mind  and  body  threatening  spontaneous  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  re- 
gained 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  lair  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 :  then  they  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-bora 
elegance,  such  as  I  had  never  before  received. 

I  found  Adele  peeping  through  the  schoolroom  door,  which  she 
held  ajar. 

"  What  beautiful  ladies  1"  cried  she  in  English.  "  Oh,  I  wish 
I  might  go  to  them!  Do  you  think  Mr.  Rochester  will  send  for 
us  by-and-by,  after  dinner?" 

"No,  indeed,  I  don't;  hester  has  something  else  to 

think  about.     Never  mind  the  ladies  to-night;   perhaps  you  will 
•hem  to-nmrrow:    line  is  your  dinner. 

was   really  hungry,  so  the  chicken  and  tarts  served  to 

MI  attention  for  a  time.    It  was  well  I  secured  this  forage, 

or  both  she,  I  and  Sophie,  to  whom  I  conveyed  a  share  of  our 

,  would  have  run  a  chance  of  getting  no  dinner  at  all: 


142  JANE     EYRE. 

eveiy  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 
Adele  to  sit  up  much  later  than  usual,  for  she  declared  she  could 
not  possibly  go  to  sleep  while  the  doors  kept  opening  and  shut- 
ting below,  and  people  bustling  about.  Besides,  she  added,  a 
message  might  possibly  come  from  Mr.  Rochester  when  she 
was  undressed ;  "  et  alors  quel  dommage  1" 

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  try- 
ing to  discriminate  amidst  the  confusion  of  accents  those  of  Mr. 
Rochester ;  and  when  it  caught  them,  which  it  soon  did,  it 
found  a  further  task  in  framing  the  tones,  rendered  by  distance 
inarticulate,  into  words. 

The  clock  struck  eleven.  I  looked  at  Adele,  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  site  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." 

"Yes  ;  I  dare  say;  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." 

"You  will  see  her  this  evening,"  answered  Mrs.  Fairfax.  "  I 
happened  to  remark  to  Mr.  Rochester  how  much  Adele  wished 
to  be  introduced  to  the  ladies,  and  he  said :  '  Oh  1  let  her  come 
into  the  drawing-room  after  dinner ;  and  request  Miss  Eyre  to 
accompany  her.'  " 

"  Yes — he  said  that  '.rom  mere  politeness:  I  need  not  go,  I 
am  sure,"  I  answered. 


JANE    EYRE.  143 

"  Well,  I  observed  to  him  that  as  you  were  unused  to  com- 
pany, I  did  not  think  you  would  like  appearing  before  so  gay  a 
party— all  strangers.  And  he  replied,  in  his  quick  way:  'Non- 
sense !  If  she  objects,  tell  her  it  is  my  particular  wish  ;  and  if 
she  resists,  say  I  shall  come  and  fetch  her  in  case  of  contu- 
macy." 

"  I  will  not  give  him  that  trouble,"  I  answered.  "  1  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  busi- 
ness. 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  gentle- 
men come  in,  unless  you  please :  just  let  Kir.  Rochester  see  you 
are  there  and  then  slip  away — nobody  will  notice  you." 

"  Will  these  people  remain  long,  do  you  think  ?" 

"  Perhaps  two  or  three  weeks,  certainly  not  more.  After  the 
Kaster  recess,  Sir  George  Lynn,  who  was  lately  elected  member 
for  Millcote,  will  have  to  go  up  to  town  and  take  his  seat;  1 
dare  say  Mr.  Rochester  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  drawing-room. 
Addle  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  dressing  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  smooth- 
ed ;  my  sole  ornament,  the  pearl  brooch,  soon  assumed.  We 
descended. 

Fortunately,  there  was  another  entrance  to  the  drawing-room 
than  that  through  the  saloon  where  they  were  all  sea' 

.     We  found  the  apartment  vacant;  a  large  lire  binning 
.-.ili-ntly  on  the  marble  hearth,  and  wax  candles  shining  in  bright 
solitude,  amid  the  exquisite  ilowers  with  which  the  • 
adorned.     The  crimson  curtain  hung  before  the  arch:  sli 
was  the  separation  this  drapery  formed  from  the  party  in  ti.r 
adjoining  saloon,  they  spoke   in   so  low  a  key  that  nothing  of 


144  JANE    EYRE. 

their  conversation  could  be  distinguished  beyond  a  soothing- 
murmur. 

Adele,  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  the  table  near,  endeavoured  to  read. 
Adele  brought  her  stool  to  my  feet;  ere  long  she  touched  my 
knee. 

"What  is  it,  Adele?" 

"  Est-ce  que  je  ne  puis  pas  prendre  une  seule  de  ces  fleurs 
magnifiques,  mademoiselle  ?  Seulement  pour  completer  ma 
toilette." 

"You  think  too  much  of  your  'toilette,'  Adele:  but  you  may 
have  a  flower."  And  I  took  a  rose  from  the  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 
magnified  dessert-sendee  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  per- 
sons 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  rest  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  preserved 
still.  Of  her  daughters,  the  eldest,  Amy,  was  rather  little; 
naive,  and  child-like  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  chiffon6  :" 
both  sisters  were  fair  as  lilies. 

Lady  Lynn  was  a  large  and  stout  personage  of  about  forty ; 
very  haughty-looking,  richly  dressed  in  a  satin  robe  of  changeful 


JANE    EYRE.  145 

sheen :  her  dark  hair  shone  glossily  under  the  shade  ot  an  azure 
plume,  and  within  the  circlet  of  a  band  of  gems. 

Mrs.  Colonel  Dent  was  less  showy ;  but,  I  thought,  more  lady- 
like. 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  band — 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  candle-light  at 
least)  still  black;  her  teeth,  too,  were  still  apparently  perfect. 
Most  people  would  have  termed  her  a  splendid  woman  of  her 
age :  and  so  she  was,  no  doubt,  physically  speaking ;  but  then 
there  was  an  expression  of  almost  insupportable  haughtiness  in 
her  bearing  and  countenance.  She  haa  Roman  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  intoler- 
able, 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  imperal  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  1— 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 
saturine  a  pride:  she  laughed  continually;  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  discourse  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;"  Miss  Ingram  had,  and  she  ran  over  its  vocabulary 

J 


146  JANE    EYRE. 

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  a  seat,  remained  fixed  like  a  statue  in  its 
niche.  The  sisters  were  both  attired  in  spotless  white.  • 

And  did  I  now  think  Miss  Ingram  such  a  choice  as  Mr. 
Rochester  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  Adele  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 : 

"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.  Rochester'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  simultaneously : 

"  What  a  love  of  a  child  !" 

And  then  they  had  called  her  to  a  sofa,  where  she  now  sat, 
ensconsed  between  them,  chattering  alternately  in  French  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  sum- 
moned. 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  appearance 
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  magis- 
trate of  the  district,  is  gentleman-like :  his  hair  is  quite  white, 
his  eyebrows  and  whiskers  still  dark,  which  gives  him  something 
of  the  appearance  of  a  "  pere  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 


JANE     EYRE.  147 

have  more  length  of  limb  than  vivacity  of  blood  or  vigour  of 
brain. 

And  where  is  Mr.  Rochester  ? 

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  ser- 
vice— and  he,  holding  my  hand,  and  looking  down  on  my  face, 
surveyed  me  with  eyes  that  revealed  a  heart  full  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  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  steely  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,  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  that  I  had  wrought  hard  to  extirpate 
from  my  soul  the  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  in  their 
appearance,  their  expression:  yet  I  could  imagine  that  most 
observers  would  call  them  attractive,  handsome,  imposing ;  while 
they  would  pronounce  Mr.  Rochester  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. 
Rochester  smile— his  stern  features  softened;  his  eye  grew  both 


148  JANE    EYRE. 

brilliant  and  gentle,  its  ray  both  searching  and  sweet.  He  was 
talking,  at  the  moment,  to  Louisa  and  Amy  Eshton.  I  wondered 
to  see  them  receive  with  calm  that  look  which  seemed  to  me  so 
penetrating:  I  expected  their  eyes  to  fall,  their  colqur  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,"  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  assimilates  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! 
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  appar- 
ently 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.  Rochester.  Henry  Lynn  has  taken 
possession  of  an  ottoman  at  the  feet  of  Louisa ;  Adele  shares  it 
with  him  :  he  is  trying  to  talk  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.  Rochester,  having  quitted  the  Eshtons,  stands  on  the 
hearth  as  solitary  as  she  stands  by  the  table :  she  confronts 
him,  taking  her  station  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  mantelpiece. 

"  Mr.  Rochester,  I  thought  you  were  not  fond  of  children  ?" 

"  Nor  am  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  did  not  pick  her  up ;  she  was  left  on  my  hands." 


JANE    EYRE.  149 

"  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.  Rochester  glance  my  way ;  and  I  involuntarily  shrank 
further  into  the  shade :  but  he  never  turned  his  eyes. 

"  I  have  not  considered  the  subject,"  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  governesses.  Mary 
and  I  have  had,  I  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. 

"  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  !" 

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. 

"  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  ?"  inquired  Mr.  Rochester  aloud. 

"  I  will  tell  you  in  your  private  ear,"  replied  she,  wagging  her 
turban  three  times  with  portentous  significancy. 

"  But  my  curiosity  will  be  past  its  appetite :  it  craves  food 
now." 

"  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  Joubcrts  !  Mary  was  always  too 
sleepy  to  join  in  a  plot  with  spirit.  The  best  fun  was  with 
Madame  foubert :  Miss  Wilson  was  a  poor  sickly  thin^,  lachry- 
mose, and  low-spirited ;  not  worth  the  trouble  of  vanquishing,  m 
short  :  and  Mrs.  Grey  was  coarse  and  insensible ;  no  blow  took 
effect  on  her.  But  poor  Madame  Joubert  1  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 


150  JANE    EYRE. 

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 
teach  such  clever  blades  as  we  were,  when  she  was  herself  so 
ignorant." 

"We  did;  and  Tedo,  you  know,  I  helped  you  in  prosecuting 
(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  dis- 
covery; 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 " 

"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  ?" 

"  My  lily-flower,  you  are  right  now,  as  always." 

"Then  no  more  need  be  said;  change  the  subject." 

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  work-box,  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  lip  sarcas- 
tically, "we  shall  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." 

"Then  on  me  be  the  onus  of  bringing  it  forward.  Signior 
Eduardo,  are  you  in  voice  to-night  ?" 

"  Donna  Blanc,  if  you  command  it,  I  will  be." 

"  Then,  signior,  I  lay  on  you  my  sovereign  behest  to  furbish  up 
your  lungs  and  other  vocal  organs,  as  they  will  be  wanted  on  my 
royal  service." 


JANE    EYRE.  151 

"  Who  would  not  be  the  Rizzio  of  so  divine  a  Mary?" 

"A  fig  for  Rizzio  1"  cried  she,  tossing  her  head  with  all  its 
curls,  as  she  moved  to  the  piano.  "  It  is  my  opinion  the  fiddler 
id  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." 

"Gentlemen,  you  hearl  Now  which  of  you  most  resembles 
Bothwell?"  cried  Mr.  Rochester. 

"I  should  say  the  preference  lies  with  you,"  respodded  Colonel 
Dent. 

"  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  amplitude, 
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. 

"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  guardianship  ! 
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  preroga- 
tive of  woman — her  legitimate  appanage  and  heritage !  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  devise  were  I  a  man." 

"  Whenever  I  marry,"  she  continued  after  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  me  and  the  shape  he  sees  in  his  mirror.  Mr. 
Rochester,  now  sing,  and  1  will  play  for  you." 

"  I  am  all  obedience,"  was  the  response. 

"Here  then  is  a  Corsair-song.  Know  that  I  dote  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  Wen !  If  you  err  wilfully,  I  shall  devise  a 
proportionate  punishment." 


152  JANE    EYRE. 

.  "Miss  Ingram  ought  to  be  clement,  for  she  has  it  in  her 
power  to  inflict  a  chastisement  beyond  mortal  endurance." 

"  Ha !  explain !"  commanded  the  lady. 

"  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." 

"Sing!"  said  she,  and  again  touching  the  piano,  she  com- 
menced an  accompaniment  in  spirited  style. 

"  Now  is  my  time  to  slip  away,"  thought  I :  but  the  tones  that 
then  severed  the  air  arrested  me.  Mrs.  Fairfax  had  said  Mr. 
Rochester  possessed  a  fine  voice :  he  did — a  mellow,  powerful 
bass,  into  which  he  threw  his  own  feeling,  his  own  force ;  find- 
ing a  way  through  the  ear  to  the  heart,  and  there  waking 
sensation  strangely.  I  waited  till  the  last  deep  and  full  vibra- 
tion 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.  Rochester. 

"  How  do  you  do  ?"  he  asked. 

"  I  am  very  well,  sir." 

"  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." 

"What  have  you  been  doing  during  my  absence ?" 

"  Nothing  particular;  teaching  Adele  as  usual." 

"  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." 

"  Return  to  the  drawing-room  :  you  are  deserting  it  too  early." 

"I  am  tired,  sir." 

He  looked  at  me  for  a  minute. 

"And  a  little  depressed,"  he  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  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 


JANE    EYRE.  153 

neglect  it.     Now  go,  and  send  Sophie  for  Adele.      Good  night, 
my "     He  stopped,  bit  his  lip,  and  abruptly  left  me. 


M 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

ERRY  days  were  these  at  Thornfield  Hall,  and  busy  days 
too.  How  different  from  the  first  three  months  of  still- 
ness, monotony,  and  solitude  I  had  passed  beneath  its  roof !  All 
sad  feelings  seemed  now  driven  from  the  house,  all  gloomy  asso- 
ciations 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  encoun- 
tering 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  spring 
weather  called  their  occupants  out  into  the  grounds.  Even 
when  that  weather  was  broken,  and  continuous?  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.  Rochester  and  the 
other  gentlemen  directed  these  alterations,  the  ladies  were  run- 
ning 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  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.  Rochester  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 


154  JANE     EYRE. 

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. 

"  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  Sir  George  Lynn,  whom  Mr. 
Rochester  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  Arny  Eshton,  draped  in  Mr.  Rochester's  cloak, 
and  holding  a.  book  in  her  hand.  Somebody,  unseen,  rang  the 
bell  merrily ;  then  Adele  (who  had  insisted  on  being  one  of  her 
guardian's  party),  bounded  forward,  scattering  round  her  the 
contents  of  a  basket  of  flowers  she  carried  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.  Rochester,  and  together  they  drew  near  the 
table.  They  knelt,  while  Mrs.  Dent  and  Louisa  Eshton,  dressed 
also  in  white,  took  up  their  stations  behind  them.  A  ceremony 
followed,  in  dumb  show,  in  which  it  was  easy  to  recognize  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.  Rochester  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  large  marble  basin,  which  I  recognized  as  an  ornament  of  the 
conservatory— where  it  usually  stood,  surrounded  by  exotics,  and 
tenanted  by  gold  fish — and  whence  it  must  have  been  transported 
with  some  trouble,  on  account  of  its  size  and  weight. 

Seated  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  Ingrain.  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  upraised  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  re- 


JANE    EYRE.  155 

quest — "  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  ear- 
rings :  she  acted  astonishment  and  admiration ;  kneeling,  he 
laid  the  treasure  at  her  feet;  incredulity  and  delight  were  ex- 
pressed by  her  looks  and  gestures;  the  stranger  fastened  the 
bracelets  on  her  arms,  and  the  rings  in  her  ears.  It  was  Eliezer 
and  Rebecca  :  the  camels  only  were  wanting. 

The  divining  party  again  laid  their  heads  together:  appar- 
ently 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.  Rochester ;  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,  mij^ht  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  costumes,  they  re-entered  the  dining-room. 
Mr.  Rochester  led  in  Miss  Ingram  ;  she  was  complimenting  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!" 

"  Is  all  the  soot  washed  from  my  face?"  he  asked,  turning  it 
towards  her. 

"Alas,  yes;  the  more's  the  pity!  Nothing  could  be  more 
becoming  to  your  complexion  than  that  ruffian's  rouge." 

"  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  Levan- 
tine pirate." 

"  Well,  whatever  I  am,  remember  you  are  my  wife ;  we  were 
married  an  hour  since,  in  the  presence  of  all  these  witnesses." 

She  *P££led.  aQd  her  colour  rose. 

"  Now,  Dent,"  continued  Mr.  Rochester,  "  it  is  your  turn." 

And  as  the  other  party  withdrew,  he  and  his  band  took  the 


156  JANE    EYRE. 

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,  1  no  longer  remember :  but  I  still  see 
the  consultation  which  followed  each  scene ;  I  see  Mr.  Rochester 
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.  Rochester, 
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  ob- 
servation. I  could  not  unlove  him,  because  I  felt  sure  he  would 
soon  marry  this  very  lady — because  I  read  daily  in  her  a  proud 
security  in  his  intentions  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  pride,  irresistible. 

There  was  nothing  to  cool  or  banish  love  in  these  circum- 
stances; 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  feel- 
ing. Pardon  the  seeming  paradox:  I  mean  what  I  say.  She 
was  very  showy,  but  she  was  not  genuine  :  she  had  a  fine  per- 
son, 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  sound- 
ing 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  conceived 
against  little  Adele ;  pushing  her  away  with  some  contumelious 
epithet  if  she  happened  to  approach  her ;  sometimes  ordering  her 
from  the  room,  and  always  treating  her  with  coldness  and  acri- 


JANE    EYRE.  157 

mony.  Other  eyes  besides  mine  watched  these  manifestations  of 
character — watched  them  closely,  keenly,  shrewdly.  Yes :  the 
future  bridegroom,  Mr.  Rochester  himself,  exercised  over  his  in- 
tended a  ceaseless  surveilance;  and  it  was  from  this  sagacity — 
this  guardedness  of  his — this  perfect,  clear  consciousness  of  his 
fair  one's  defects — this  obvious  absence  of  passion  in  his  senti- 
ments 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  connections  suited  him  ;  I  felt  he 
had  not  given  her  his  love,  and  that  her  qualifications  were  ill 
adapted  to  win  from  him  that  treasure.  This  was  the  point — 
this  was  where  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,  I  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  should  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  fascinat- 
ing Mr.  Rochester,  to  witness  their  repeated  failure — herself  un- 
conscious that  they  did  fail ;  vainly  fancying  that  each  shaft 
launched  hit  the  mark,  and  infatuatedly  pluming  herself  on  suc- 
cess, 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  ruthless  restraint. 

Because,  when  she  failed,  I  saw  how  she  might  have  suc- 
ceeded ;  arrows  that  continually  glanced  off  from  Mr.  Rochester'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  her  glances  so 
unremittingly ;  manufacture  airs  so  elaborate,  graces  so  multi- 
tudinous. It  seems  to  me  that  she  might,  by  merely  sitting 
quietly  at  his  side,  saying  little  and  looking  less,  get  nighcr  his 
heart.  I  have  seen  in  his  face  a  far  different  expression  from 
that  whirh  hardens  it  now  while  she  is  so  vivaciously  accosting 
him:  but  then  it  came  of  itself;  it  was  not  elicited  by  meretri- 
cious arts  and  calculated  manoeuvres;  and  one  had  but  to  accept 
it— to  answer  what  hr  asked  without  pretention,  to  address  him 


158  JANE    EYRE. 

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  shines  on." 

I  have  not  yet  said  anything  condemnatory  of  Mr.  Rochester's 
project  to  marrying  for  interest  and  connections.  It  surprised 
me  when  I  first  discovered  that  such  was  his  intention :  I  had 
thought  him  a  man  unlikely  to  be  influenced  by  motives  so  com- 
monplace 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  or  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  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  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  design- 
ing 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  some- 
thing 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  inter- 
vals, 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  con- 
ferences ;  where  they  nodded  their  two  turbans  at  each  other,  and 


JANE    EYRE.  159 

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. 
Rochester  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  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  Millcote  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  of  cards.  Blanche  Inpram,  after  having 
repelled,  by  supercilious  taciturnity,  some  efforts  of  Mrs.  Dent 
and  Mrs.  Eshton  to  draw  her  into  conversation,  had  first  mur- 
mured over  some  sentimental  tunes  and  airs  on  the  piano,  and 
then,  having  fetched  a  novel  from  the  library,  had  flung  herself 
in  haughty  Tistlessness  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  warn- 
ing of  the  hour  to  dress  for  dinner,  when  little  Ad£le,  who  knelt 
by  me  in  the  drawing-room  window-seat,  exclaimed  : 

"  Voila  Monsieur  Rochester,  quie  revient!" 

I  turned,  and  Miss  Ingram  darted  forwards  from  her  sofa  :  the 
others,  too,  looked  up  from  their  several  occupations;  for  at  (he 
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  was  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  tho  breaking  of  my  spine :  in  her  eagerness  she  did 
not  observe  me  at  first,  but  when  she  did  she  curled  her  lip  and 


l6o  JANE    EYRE. 

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.  Rochester :  it  was  a  tall,  fashionable- 
looking  man,  a  stranger. 

"Provoking!"  exclaimed  Miss  Ingram:  "you  tiresome  mon- 
key!" (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. 

"  It  appears  I  come  at  an  inopportune  time,  madam,"  said  he ; 
"when  my  friend,  Mr.  Rochester,  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  be  about  Mr.  Rochester'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 
srruck  me  as  being,  at  the  same  time,  unsettled  and  inanimate. 
His  eye  wandered,  and  had  no  meaning  in  its  wandering :  this 

fave  him  an  odd  look,  such  as  I  never  remembered  to  have  seen, 
or  a  handsome  and  not  an  unamiable-looking  man,  he  repelled 
me  exceedingly  :  there  was  no  power  in  that  smooth-skinned  face 
of  a  full  oval  shape  ;  no  firmness  in  that  acquiline  nose,  and  small, 
cherry  mouth  ;  there  was  no  thought  on  the  low,  even  forehead  j 
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  shrink- 
ing still  nearer,  as  if  he  were  cold — I  compared  him  with  Mr. 
Rochester.  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.  Rochester  as  an  old  friend.  A  curious 
friendship  theirs  must  have  been :  a  pointed  illustration  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 


JANE    EYRE.  l6l 

could  not  make  much  sense  of  what  I  heard ;  for  the  discourse  of 
Louisa  Eshton  and  Mary  Ingram,  who  sat  nearer  to  me,  con- 
fused the  fragmentary  sentences  that  reached  me  at  intervals. 
These  last  were  discussing  the  stranger :  they  both  called  him  a 
"beautitul  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  smile !" 

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. 

I  was  now  able  to  concentrate  my  attention  on  the  group  by  the 
fire,  and  I  presently  gathered  that  the  new  comer  was  called  Mr. 
Mason:  then  I  learned  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,  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.  Rochester.  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  his  wander- 
ings ;  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  some- 
what 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  goin^  out,  stopped  near  Mr.  Eshton1  s 
chair,  and  said  something  to  him  in  a  low  voice,  of  which  I  heard 
only  the  words,  "  old  woman  " — "  quite  troublesome." 

"  Tell  her  she  shall  be  put  in  the  stocks  if  she  does  not  take 
herself  off,"  replied  the  magistrate. 

"  No—stop  1"  interrupted  Colonel  Dent.  "Don't  send  her 
away,  Eshton  ;  we  might  turn  the  thing  to  account ;  better  con- 
sult the  ladies."  And  speaking  aloud,  he  continued,  "Ladies, 
you  talk  of  going  to  Hay  Common  to  visit  the  |§ppsy  camp ;  Sam, 
here,  says  that  one  of  the  old  Mother  Bunches  is  in  the  servants' 
hall  .it  this  moment,  and  insists  upon  being  brought  in  before 
4  the  uuality,'  to  tell  them  their  fortunes.  Would  you  like  to  sec 
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 

K 


l62  JANE     EYRE. 

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. 

"  '  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." 

"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  pro- 
ceeding," 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  !    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  returned. 

"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." 

"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  ?" 

"Yes,  ma'am — but  she  looks  such  a  tinkler." 

"  Cease  that  chatter,  blockhead !  and  do  my  bidding." 

Again  Sam  vanished;  and  mystery,  animation,  expectation 
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." 


JANE    EYRE.  163 

"  I  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. 

"  She  says,  sir,  that  she'll  have  no  gentlemen ;  they  need  not 
trouble  themselves  to  come  near  her:  nor,"  he  added,  with  diffi- 
culty suppressing  a  titter,  "  any  ladies  either,  except  the  young 
and  single." 

"  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  "le 
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  eyes 
met  her  with  a  glance  of  eager  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  in  silence. 

"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,"  returned  Miss  Ingram,  "don't 
press  upon  me.  Really  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  hci 
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  ^loom  and  taciturnity,  that  she  herself,  not- 


164  JANE    EYRE. 

withstanding  her  professed  indifference,  attached  undue  import- 
ance to  whatever  revelations  had  been  made  her. 

Meantime,  Mary  Ingram,  Amy  and  Louisa  Eshton,  declared 
they  dared  not  go  alone;  and  yet  they  all  wished  to  go.  A 
negotiation  was  opened  through  the  medium  of  the  ambassador, 
Sam ;  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  Sybil,  for 
the  three  to  wait  upon  her  in  a  body. 

Their  visit  was  not  so  still  as  Miss  Ingram's  had  been :  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  !  She  knows  all  about  us  !"  and 
they  sank  breathless  into  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  pre- 
sented 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  reiterated  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  me  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?" 

"  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  com- 
pany were  gathered  in  one  mass  about  the  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." 


JANE    EYRE.  165 

"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. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

THE  library  looked  tranquil  enough  as  I  entered  it,  and  the 
Sybil — if  Sybil  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. 

"  Well,  and  vou  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." 

"  Did  you  ?    You've  a  quick  ear." 

"  I  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  dont  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  sedative,  she 
raised  her  bent  body,  took  the  pipe  from  her  lips,  and  while 
gazing  steadily  at  the  fire,  said  very  deliberately : 

44  You  are  cold;  you  are  sick ;  and  you  are  silly." 


l66  JANE    EYRE. 

"  Prove  it,"  I  rejoined. 

"  I  will ;  in  a  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  for  you." 

She  again  put  her  short  black  pipe  to  her  lips,  and  renewed 
her  smoking  with  vigour. 

"  You  might  say  all  that  to  almost  any  one  who  you  knew  lived 
as  a  solitary  dependent  in  a  great  house." 

"I  might  say  it  to  almost  any  one;  but  would  it  be  true  of 
almost  any  one?" 

"  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." 

"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  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." 

"  If  you  wish  me  to  speak  more  plainly,  show  me  your  palm." 

"And  I  must  cross  it  with  silver,  I  suppose?" 

"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  without  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  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,  how- 
ever, 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 


JANE    EYRE.  167 

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." 

44  Then  you  have  some  secret  hope  to  buoy  you  up  and  please 
you  with  whispers  of  the  future?" 

44  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/' 

"  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." 

"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. 

44  You  have— have  you  ?"  thought  I ;  "  there  is  diablerie  in  the 
business  after  all,  then  1" 

14  Don't  be  alarmed,"  continued  the  strange  being;  44  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  company  who  occupy  the  sofas 
and  chairs  before  you  >  Is  there  not  one  face  you  study  ?  One 
figure  whose  movements  you  follow  with,  at  least,  curiosity  ?" 

"  I  like  to  observe  all  the  faces,  and  all  the  figures." 

44  But  do  you  never  single  one  from  the  rest— or,  it  may  be, 
two?" 

44 1  do  frequently:  when  the  gestures  or  looks  of  a  pair  seem 
telling  a  tale :  it  amuses  me  to  watch  them." 

"  VVhat  tale  do  you  like  best  to  hear?" 

44  Oh,  I  have  not  much  choice !  They  generally  run  on  the 
same  theme — courtship;  and  promise  to  end  in  the  same 
catastrophe — marriage." 

44  And  do  you  like  that  monotonous  theme  ?" 

44  Positively,  I  don't  care  about  it :  it  is  nothing  to  me." 

44  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  gentleman  you " 

44 1  what?" 

44  You  know — and,  perhaps,  think  well  of." 

44 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  midale-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." 

44 You  don't  know  the  gentlemen  here?  You  have  not 
exchanged  a  syllable  with  one  of  thorn  ?  Will  you  say  that  of 
the  master  of  the  house  ?" 


l68  JANE    EYRE. 

"  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." 

"  I  was  talking  of  ladies  smiling  in  the  eyes  of  gentlemen  ;  and 
of  late  so  many  smiles  have  been  shed  into  Mr.  Rochester's  eyes 
that  they  overflow  like  two  cups  filled  above  the  brim  :  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  observed 
that  of  all  the  tales  told  here  about  matrimony,  Mr.  Rocherter 
has  been  favoured  with  the  most  lively  and  the  most  continuous  ?" 

"The  eagerness  of  a  listener  quickens  the  tongue  of  a  narra- 
tor." 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  mystification ;  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!"  repeated  she:  "yes;  Mr.  Roches- 
ter has  sat  by  the  hour,  his  ear  inclined  to  the  fascinating  lips 
that  took  such  delight  in  their  task  of  communicating :  and  Mr. 
Rochester  was  so  willing  to  receive  and  looked  so  grateful  for  the 
pastime  given  him  :  you  have  noticed  this  ?" 

"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  forward, 
you  have  seen  him  married,  and  beheld  his  bride  happy?" 

"Humph!  Not  exactly.  Your  witch's  skill  is  rather  at  fault 
sometimes." 

"  What  the  devil  have  you  seen,  then  ?" 

"Nevermind:  I  came  here  to  inquire,  not  to  confess.  Is  it 
known  that  Mr.  Rochester  is  to  be  married  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  and  to  the  beautiful  Miss  Ingram." 

"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  be  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 


JANE    EYRE.  169 

advise  her  blackaviced  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 
ofit." 

"  Your  fortune  is  yet  doubtful :  when  I  examined  your  face,  one 
trait  contradicted  another.  Chance  has  meted  you  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. 

"  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  i argon  :  it  is  sus- 
ceptible ;  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  lone- 
liness. It  turns  from  me ;  it  will  not  suffer  farther  scrutiny ;  it 
seems  to  deny,  by  a  mockimj  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  dis- 
posed to  impart  all  that  the  brain  conceives ;  though  I  dare  say 
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  cir- 
cumstances 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, 
'  Reason  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  in  every  argument,  and  the  casting  vote 
in  every  decisian.  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.' 

"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 


170  JANE    EYRE. 

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  infinitum;  but  I  dare  not. 
So  far  I  have  governed  myself  thoroughly.  I  have  acted  as  I 
inwardly  swore  I  would  act ;  but  farther  might  try  me  beyond  my 
strength.  Rise,  Miss  Eyre  :  leave  me ;  '  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  looked  again  :  but  she 
drew  her  bonnet  and  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,  the  head  advanced. 

"  Well,  Jane,  do  you  know  me  ?"  asked  the  familiar  voice. 

"  Only  take  off  the  red  cloak,  sir,  and  then " 

"  But  the  string  is  in  a  knot — help  me." 

"Break  it,  sir." 

"There,  then— '  Off,  ye  lendings!"1  And  Mr.  Rochester 
stepped  out  of  his  disguise. 

"  Now,  sir,  what  a  strange  idea  !" 

"  But  well  carried  out,  eh  ?     Don't  you  think  so  ?" 

"With  the  ladies  you  must  have  managed  well." 

"But  not  with  you?" 

"You  did  not  act  the  character  of  a  gipsy  with  me.*' 

"  What  character  did  I  act  ?     My  own  ?" 

"  No :  some  unaccountable  one.  In  short  I  believe  you  have 
been  trying  to  draw  me  out — or  in.  You  have  been  talking  non- 
sense to  make  me  talk  nonsense.  It  is  scarcely  fair,  sir." 

"  Do  you  forgive  me,  Jane  ?" 

"  I  cannot  tell  till  I  have  thought  it  all  over.  If,  on  reflection, 
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  com- 
fort: but,  indeed,  I  had  been  on  my  guard  almost  from  the 
beginning  of  the  interview.  Something  of  masquerade  I  sus- 
pected. I  knew  gipsies  and  fortune-tellers  did  not  express  them- 


JANE    EYRE. 

selves  as  this  seeming  old  woman  had  expressed  herself ;  besides, 
I  had  noticed  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.  Rochester. 

"Well,"  said  he,  "what  are  you  musing  about?  What  does 
that  grave  smile  si.qnify?" 

"  wonder  and  self-congratulation,  sir.  I  have  your  permission 
to  retire  now,  I  suppose. 

"No;  stay  a  moment;  and  tell  me  what  the  people  in  the 
drawing-room  yonder  are  doing." 

"  Discussing  the  gipsy,  I  dare  say." 

"  Sit  down  !     Let  me  hear  what  they  said  about  me." 

"  I  had  better  not  stay  long,  sir;  it  must  be  near  eleven  o'clock. 
Oh,  are  you  aware,  Mr.  Rochester,  that  a  stranger  has  arrived 
here  since  you  left  this  morning  ?" 

"  A  stranger  1 — 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." 

"  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.  Rochester  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  con- 
vulsive grip ;  the  smile  on  his  lips  froze :  apparently  a  spasm 
caught  his  breath. 

"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  I"  He 
staggered. 

"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  recollec- 
tions, removed  from  me." 

"  Can  I  help  you,  sir?— I'd  give  my  life  to  serve  you  !" 

"Jane,  if  aid  is  wanted,  I'll  seek  it  at  your  hands;  I  promise 
you  that." 


172  JANE    EYRE. 

"Thank  you,  sir;  tell  me  what  to  do— I'll  try,  at  least,  to  do 
it." 

"  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.  Rochester  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  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  wineglass  (I 
saw  Miss  Ingram  watch  me  frowningly  as  I  did  so  :  she  thought 
I  was  taking  a  liberty,  I  dare  say,)  and  I  returned  to  the  library. 

Mr.  Rochester'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!"  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  ?" 

"  He  was  laughing  too." 

"  If  all  these  people  came  in  a  body  and  spat  at  me,  what 
would  you  do,  Jane  ?" 

"  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  ?" 

"I  rather  think  not,  sir:  I  should  have  more  pleasure  in 
staying  with  you." 

"  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." 

"  Then  you  could  dare  censure  for  my  sake  ?" 

"  I  could  dare  it  for  the  sake  of  any  friend  who  deserved  my 
adherence;  as  you,  I  am  sure,  do." 

"  Go  back  now  into  the  room  ;  step  quietly  up  to  Mason,  and 
whisper  in  his  ear  that  Mr.  Rochester  is  come  and  wishes  to  see 
him  :  show  him  in  here  and  then  leave  me." 

"Yes,  sir." 

I  did  his  behest.  The  company  all  stared  at  me  as  I  passed 
among  them.  I  sought  Mr.  Mason,  delivered  the  message,  and 


JANE    EYRE.  173 

proceeded  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. 
Rochester'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. 


CHAPTER  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  crystal- 
clear.  It  was  beautiful,  but  too  solemn:  I  half  rose,  and 
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  utterance  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  stagger- 
ing and  stamping  went  on  wildly,  I  distinguished  through  plank 
and  plaster : 

"  Rochester !   Rochester !   for  God's  sake,  come  !" 

A  chamber-door  opened :  some  one  ran,  or  rushed  along  the 
gallery.  Another  step  stamped  on  th«^  flooring  above,  and  some- 
thing 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 ; 


174  JANE    EYRE. 

the  gallery  filled.  Gentlemen  and  ladies  alike  had  quitted  their 
beds.  And  "  Oh  !  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  in 
complete  darkness.  They  ran  to  and  fro;  they  crowded 
together :  some  sobbed,  some  stumbled.  The  confusion  was 
inextricable. 

"Where  the  devil  is  Rochester?"  cried  Colonel  Dent.  "I 
cannot  find  him  in  his  bed." 

"Here!  here!"  was  shouted  in  the  return.  "Be  composed, 
all  of  you.  I  am  coming." 

And  the  door  at  the  end  of  the  gallery  opened,  and  Mr. 
Rochester  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  1  shall  wax 
dangerous." 

And  dangerous  he  looked;  his  black  eyes  darted  sparks. 
Calming  himself  by  an  effort,  he  added  : 

"A  servant  has  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  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  con- 
trived 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.  Rochester  had  given  was  merely  an  invention 
framed  to  pacify  his  guests.  I  dressed,  then,  to  be  ready  for 


JANE    EYRE.  175 

emergencies.  When  dressed,  I  sat  a  long  time  by  the  window, 
looking  out  over  the  silent  grounds  and  silvered  fields,  and  wait- 
ing for  I  knew  not  what.  It  seemed  to  me  that  some  event  must 
follow  the  strange  cry,  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.,  m) 
master's. 

"Yes,  sir." 

"And  dressed?" 

"Yes." 

"Come  out,  then,  quietly." 

I  obeyed.  Mr.  Rochester  stood  in  the  gallery,  holding  a 
light. 

"  I  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  washstand,  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,"  w.i 
remark  :  he  turned  the  key  and  opened  the  door. 

I  saw  a  room  I  remembered  to  have  seen  before ;    the  day  Mis. 

x  showed  me  over  the  house:   it  was  hung  with  tap 
but  the  tapestry  was  now  looped  up  in  one  part,  and  there 
door  apparent,  which  had  then  been  concealed.     This  door  was 
open;  a  light  shone  out  of  the  room  within:   I  heard  tin 


176  JANE     EYRE. 

snarling,  snatching  sound,  almost  like  a  dog  quarrelling.  Mr. 
Rochester,  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  !  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  con- 
siderable 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.  Rochester  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.  Rochester,  and  I  took  it;  he 
fetched  a  basin  of  water  from  the  washstand :  "  Hold  that,"  said 
he.  I  obeyed.  He  took  the  sponge,  dipped  it  in  and  moistened 
the  corpse-like  face  r  he  asked  for  my  smelling-bottle,  and 
applied  it  to  the  nostrils.  Mr.  Mason  sho'rtly  unclosed  his  eyes  ; 
he  groaned.  Mr.  Rochester  opened  the  shirt  of  the  wounded 
man,  whose  arm  and  shoulder  were  bandaged :  he  sponged  away 
blood,  trickling  fast  down.. 

"  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  con- 
tinued. 

"Sir?" 

"  I  shall  have  to  leave  you  in  this  room  with  this  gentleman, 
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 — Richard — it  will  be 
at  the  peril  of  your  life  if  you  speak  to  her :  open  your  lips — 
agitate  yourself — and  I'll  not  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.  Rochester  put  the  now  bloody 
sponge  into  my  hand,  and  I  proceeded  to  use  it  as  he  had  done. 
He  watched  me  a  second,  then  saying, — 

"  Remember!  No  conversation,"  he  left  the  room.  I  experi- 
enced 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  appalling — the  rest  I 


JANE    EYRE.  177 

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 
countenance — 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  enclosed  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  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  or- 
dinary 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.  Rochester  assign  him  an  apart- 
ment 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.  Rochester  enforced  ? 
Why  did  Mr.  Rochester  enforce  this  concealment  ?  His  ruest 
had  been  outraged,  his  own  life  on  a  former  occasion  had  oeen 
hideously  plotted  against ;  and  both  attempts  he  smothered  in 
secrecy  and  sank  in  oblivion  1  Lastly,  I  saw  Mr.  Mason  was 
submissive  to  Mr.  Rochester;  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. 

L 


178  JANE    EYRE. 

It  was  evident  that  in  their  former  intercourse,  the  passive  dispo- 
sition of  the  one  had  been  habitually  influenced  by  the  active 
energy  of  the  other:  whence  then  had  arisen  Mr.  Rochester's 
dismay  when  he  heard  of  Mr.  Mason's  arrival  ?  Why  had  the 
mere  name  of  this  unresisting  individual — whom  his  word  now 
sufficed  to  control  like  a  child — fallen  on  him,  a  few  hours  since, 
as  a  thunder-bolt  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 
rested  on  my  shoulder :  and  it  was  no  light  matter  which  could 
thus  bow  the  resolute  spirit  and  thrill  the  vigorous  frame  of 
Fairfax  Rochester. 

"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  per- 
ceived 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.  Rochester  entered,  and  with  him  the  surgeon  he  had  been 
to  fetch. 

"  Now,  Carter,  be  on  the  alert,"  he  said  to  this  last.  "  I  give 
you  but  half  an  hour  for  dressing  the  wound,  fastening  the  band- 
ages, getting  the  patient  downstairs  and  all." 

"  But  is  he  fit  to  move,  sir  ?" 

"  No  doubt  of  it :  it  is  nothing  serious :  he  is  nervous,  his 
spirits  must  be  kept  up.  Come,  set  to  work." 

Mr.  Rochester  drew  back  the  thick  curtain,  drew  up  the 
holland  blind,  let  in  all  the  daylight  he  could;  and  I  was 
surprised  and  cheered  to  see  how  far  dawn  was  advanced : 
what  rosy  streaks  were  beginning  to  brighten  the  east.  Then 
he  approached  Mr.  Mason,  whom  the  surgeon  was  already 
handling. 

"  Now,  my  good  fellow,  how  are  you  ?"  he  asked. 

"  She's  done  for  me,  I  fear,"  was  the  faint  reply. 

"  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  . 


JANE     EYRE.  179 

undone  the  banJagcs,  "  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  Rochester  got  the  knife  from  her." 

"  You  should  not  have  yielded :  you  should  have  grappled  with 
her  at  once,"  said  Mr.  Rochester. 

"  But  under  such  circumstances  what  could  one  do  ?"  returned 
Mason.  "Oh,  it  was  frightful,"  he  added,  shuddering.  "And 
I  did  not  expect  it :  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  had  me  with  you ;  it  was  mere  folly  to 
attempt  the  interview  to-ni^ht,  and  alone." 

"I  thought  I  could  have  done  some  good." 

"  You  thought !  you  thought !  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  1  The  sun  will  soon  rise,  and  I  must  have 
him  off." 

"  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." 

"  She  sucked  the  blood !  she  said  she'd  drain  my  heart !"  said 
Mason. 

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,  Richard,  and  never  mind  her  gibberish: 
don't  repeat  it." 

"  I  wish  I  could  forget  it,"  was  the  answer. 

"You  will  when  you  are  out  of  the  country;  when  you  £et 
back  to  Spanish  Town,  you  may  think  of  her  as  dead  and  buried 
—or,  rather,  you  need  not  think  of  her  at  all." 

"  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  to  my  bedroom,  and  walk  straight  forward  into  my  dressing 
room ;  open  the  top  drawer  of  the  wardrobe  and  take  out  a 
clean  shirt  and  neckhandkerchief:  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,  whilr  I 
order  his  toilet;  but  don't  leave  the  room:  you  may  be  wanted 
again." 


l8o  JANE    EYRE. 

I  retired  as  directed. 

"  Was  anybody  stirring  below  when  you  went  down,  Jane  ?" 
inquired  Mr.  Rochester,  presently. 

"  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." 

Again  I  ran,  and  again  returned,  bearing  an  immense  mantle, 
lined  and  edged  with  fur. 

"  Now,  I've  another  errand  for  you,"  said  my  untiring  master; 
"you  must  away  to  my  room  again.  What  a  mercy  you  are 
shod  with  velvet,  Jane ! — a  clodhopping  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  admin- 
istering a  dose  myself;  on  my  own  responsibility.  I  got  this 
cordial  at  Rome,  of  an  Italian  charlatan — a  fellow  you  would 
have  kicked,  Carter.  It  is  not  a  thing  to  be  used  indiscrimin- 
ately, but  it  is  good  upon  occasion  :  as  now,  for  instance.  Jane, 
a  little  water." 

He  held  out  the  tiny  glass,  and  I  half  filled  it  from  the  water- 
bottle  on  the  washstand. 

"  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. 

"Drink,  Richard:  it  will  give  you  the  heart  you  lack,  for  an 
hour  or  so." 

"  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 

fory  and  sullied.  Mr.  Rochester  let  him  sit  three  minutes  after 
e  had  swallowed  the  liquid :  he  then  took  his  arm. 

"  Now  I  am  sure  you  can  get  on  your  feet,"  he  said :  "  try." 

The  patient  rose. 

"Carter,  take  him  under  the  other  shoulder.  Be  of  good 
cheer,  Richard;  step  out:  that' sit!" 

"  I  do  feel  better,"  remarked  Mr.  Mason. 

"  I  am  sure  you  do.  Now,  Jane,  trip  on  before  us  away  to  the 
backstairs ;  unbolt  the  side-passage  door,  and  tell  the  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 


JANE    EYRE.  l8l 

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  morn- 
ing slumbered  everywhere ;  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." 

4  Leave  the  window  open  on  his  side,  Carter ;  there  is  no  wind 
—good-bye,  Dick." 

•  Fairfax " 

•Well,  what  is  it ?" 

'  Let  her  be  taken  care  of;  let  her  be  treated  as  tenderly  as 
may  be :  let  her "  He  stopped  and  burst  into  tears. 

"  I  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. 

"  Yet  would  to  uod  there  was  an  end  of  all  this !"  added  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,  supposing  he  had  done 
with  me,  prepared  to  return  to  the  house:  again,  however,  I 
heard  him  call  "Janel"  He  had  opened  the  portal  and  stood 
at  it,  waiting  for  me. 

"  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  bide,  and  a  border  on  the 


l82  JANE     EYRE, 

other,  full  of  all  sorts  of  old-fashioned  flowers,  stocks,  sweet- 
williams,  primroses,  pansies,  mingled  with  southernwood,  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  you  have  a  flower  ?" 

He  gathered  a  half-blown  rose,  the  first  on  the  bush,  and 
offered  it  to  me. 

"Thank  you,  sir." 

"  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  do,  very  much." 

"You  have  passed  a  strange  night,  Jane." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  And  it  has  made  you  look  pale— were  you  afraid  when  I  left 
you  alone  with  Mason  ?" 

"  I  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't  trouble  your  head  about  her — put  the  thing 
out  of  your  thoughts." 

"  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  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  spew  fire  any  day." 

"  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," 

"  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. 

"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,  Richard;'  for  it  is  imperative  that  I 
should  keep  him  ignorant  that  harm  to  me  is  possible.  Now  you 


JANE     EYRE.  183 

look  puzzled ;  and  I  will  puzzle  you  farther.     You  arc  my  little 
friend,  arc  you  not  ?" 

I  like  to  MTVC  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  arc  helping  me  and 
pleasing  me— working  for  me,  and  with  me,  in,  as  you  character- 
istically 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  animated  complexion.  My 
friend  would  then  turn  to  me,  quiet  and  pale,  and  would  say, 
'No,  sir;  that  is  impossible:  I  cannot  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." 

"God  grant  it  may  be  sol  Here,  Jane,  is  an  arbour;  sit 
down." 

The  arbour  was  an  arch  in  the  wall,  lined  with  ivy ;  it  contained 
a  rustic  seat.  Mr.  Rochester  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  Thornfield,  and  the 
early  birds  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:  1  am  content." 

"  Well  then,  Jane,  call  to  aid  your  fancy  -.—suppose  you  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  con- 
sequences must  follow  you  through  life  and  taint  all  your  exist- 
ence. Mind,  I  don't  say  a  crime;  I  am  not  speaking  of  shedding 
of  blood  or  any  other  guilty  act,  which  might  make  the  perpetra- 
tor 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 
(juitted  you  on  the  very  confines  of  life :  your  sun  at  noon  darkens 
in  an  eclipse,  which  you  fed  will  nut  leave  it  till  the  time  of 
letter  and  base  associations  have  become  the  sole 


184  JANE    EYRE. 

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. 

Again  Mr.  Rochester  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  reform- 
ation 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 !  God,  who  does  the 
work,  ordains  the  instrument.  I  have  myself — I  tell  you  it  with- 
out parable — been  a  worldly,  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    EYRE.  185 

"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  at  the  door  of 
the  mysterious  chamber.  Jane,  when  will  you  watch  with  me 
again)" 

"  Whenever  I  can  be  useful,  sir." 

"  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,  Tane?" 

"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." 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

"PRESENTIMENTS  are  strange  things!  and  so  are  sympa- 
JL  thies,  and  so  are  signs :  ana  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  ought  we  know,  may  be 
but  the  sympathies  of  Nature  with  man. 

When  I  was  a  little  girl,  only  six  years  old,  I  one  night  heard 
Bessie  Leaven  say  to  Martha  Abbott  that  she  had  been  dreaming 
about  a  little  child ;  and  that  to  dream  of  children  was  a  sure 
si^n  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  death-bed  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 


l86  JANE    EYRE. 

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  appari- 
tion evinced,  whatever  aspect  it  wore,  it  failed  not  for  seven 
successive  nights  to  meet  me  the  moment  I  entered  the  land  of 
slumber. 

I  did  not  like  this  iteration  of  one  idea — this  strange  recur- 
rence of  one  image  ;  and  I  grew  nervous  as  bedtime  approached, 
and  the  hour  of  the  vision  drew  near.  It  was  from  companion- 
ship with  this  baby-phantom  I  had  been  aroused  on  that  moon- 
light 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  dare  say  you  hardly  remember  me,  miss,"  he  said,  rising 
as  I  entered  ;  "  but  my  name  is  Leaven.  I  lived  coachman  with 
Mrs.  Reed  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  ?" 

"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  ?" 

"  And  are  the  family  well  at  the  house,  Robert  ?" 

"  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  himself  up 
to  strange  ways ;  and  his  death  was  shocking." 

"  I  heard  from  Bessie  he  was  not  doing  well." 

"Doing  well!  He  could  not  do  worse:  he  ruined  his  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  missis 
to  give  up  all  to  him.  Missis  refused:  her  means  have  long 
been  much  reduced  by  his  extravagance :  so  he  went  back  again, 


JANE    EYRE.  187 

and  the  next  news  was  that  he  was  dead.      How  he  died,  God 
knows! — they  say  he  killed  himself." 

I  was  silent:    the  tidings  were    frightful.      Robert    Leaven 
resumed : 

"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  with- 
out 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  anvthing  by  the 
words;  but  she  told  Miss  Reed  and  Miss  Gorgiana,  and 
advised  them  to  send  for  you.  The  young  ladies  put  it  off  at 
first :  but  their  mother  grew  so  restless,  ana  said,  Mane,  Jane,' 
so  many  times,  that  at  last  they  consented.  I  left  Gateshead 
yesterday  morning ;  and  if  you  can  get  ready,  miss,  I  should  like 
to  take  you  back  with  me  early  to-morrow  morning." 

"  Yes,  Robert,  I  shall  be  ready :  it  seems  to  me  that  I  ought 
to  go." 

14 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." 

II  Yes;  and  I  will  do  it  now;"  anJ  having  directed  him  to  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  in  the 
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  J  approached  the  master  where  he  stood  at  Miss 
Ingram's  side.  She  turned  as  I  drew  near,  and  looked  at  me 
haughtily:  her  eyes  seemed  to  demand,  "What  can  the  creep- 
ing creature  want  now  ?"  and  when  I  said,  in  a  low  voice,  "  M  r. 
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. 

"  Uocs  that  person  want  you?"  she  inquired  of  Mr.  Rochester; 


l88  JANE    EYRE. 

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. 

"Well,  Jane?"  he  said,  as  he  rested  his  back  against  the 
school-room  door,  which  he  had  shut. 

"If  you  please,  sir,  I  want  leave  of  absence  for  a  week  or 
two." 

"  What  to  do  ?    Where  to  go  ?" 

"  To  see  a  sick  lady  who  has  sent  for  me." 

"  What  sick  lady  ?    Where  does  she  live  ?" 

"At  Gateshead,  in shire." 

" shire?     That  is  a  hundred  miles  off!     Who  may  she 

be  that  sends  for  people  to  see  her  that  distance  ?" 

"Her  name  is  Reed,  sir — Mrs.  Reed." 

"Reed  of  Gateshead?  There  was  a  Reed  of  Gateshead,  a 
magistrate." 

"  It  is  his  widow,  sir." 

"And  what  have  you  to  do  with  her?  How  do  you  know 
her?" 

"  Mr.  Reed  was  my  uncle — my  mother's  brother." 

"The  deuce  he  was!  You  never  told  me  that  before:  you 
always  said  you  had  no  relations." 

"  None  that  would  own  me,  sir.  Mr.  Reed  is  dead,  and  his 
wife  cast  me  off." 

"Why?" 

"  Because  I  was  poor  and  burdensome,  and  she  disliked  me." 

"  But  Reed  left  children  ? — you  must  have  cousins  ?  Sir 
George  Lynn  was  talking  of  a  Reed  of  Gateshead  yesterday — 
who,  he  said,  was  one  of  the  veriest  rascals  on  town ;  and 
Ingram  was  mentioning  a  Georgiana  Reed  of  the  same  place, 
who  was  much  admired  for  her  beauty,  a  season  or  two  ago,  in 
London." 

"  John  Reed  is  dead,  too,  sir :  he  ruined  himself,  and  half- 
ruined  his  family,  and  is  supposed  to  have  committed  suicide. 
The  news  so  shocked  his  mother  that  it  brought  on  an  apoplectic 
attack." 

"  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  circumstances 
were  very  different.  I  could  not  be  easy  to  neglect  her  wishes 
now." 

'  How  long  will  you  stay  ?" 

'As  short  a  time  as  possible,  sir." 

'  Promise  me  only  to  stay  a  week- " 

'  I  had  better  not  pass  my  word :  I  might  be  obliged  to  break 
it." 


JANE    EYRE.  189 

"  At  all  events,  you  will  come  back :   you  will  not  be  induced 
under  any  pretext  to  take  up  a  permanent  residence  with  her!" 
"  Oh  no  !     I  shall  certainly  return  if  all  be  well." 
"  And  who  goes  with  you  ?    You  don't  travel  a  hundred  miles 
alone." 

"  No,  she  has  sent  her  coachman." 
"A  person  to  be  trusted  ?" 

"Yes,  sir;  he  has  lived  ten  years  in  the  family  " 
Mr.  Rochester  meditated.     "  When  do  you  wish  to  go  ?" 
"  Early  to-morrow  morning,  sir." 

"  Well,  you  must  have  some  money ;  you  can't  travel  without 
money,  and  I  dare  say  you  have  not  much  :  I  have  given  you  no 
salary  yet.  How  much  have  you  in  the  world,  Jane  f"  he  asked, 
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  pro- 
duced 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.      He  scowled  at 
first ;  then,  as  if  recollecting  something,  he  said : 

"Right,  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 :  1  am  your  banker  for  forty  pounds." 
"  Mr.   Rochester,  I  may  as  well  mention  another  matter  of 
business  to  you  while  I  have  the  opportunity." 
"  Matter  of  business  ?    I'm  curious  to  hear  it." 
"You  have  as  good  as  informed  me,  sir,  that  you  are  going 
shortly  to  be  mamed?" 
"Yes:  what  then?" 

"In  that  case,  sir,  Adele  ought  to  go  to  school :  I  am  sure  you 
will  perceive  the  necessity  of  it." 

"  fo  get  her  out  of  my  bride's  way,  who  might  otherwise  walk 
over  her  rather  too  emphatically.  There's  sense  in  the  sugges- 
tion, not  a  doubt  of  it.  Adele,  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." 

"  In  course!"  he  exclaimed,  with  a  twang  of  voice  and  a  dis- 
tortion of  features  equally  fantastic  and  ludicrous.  He  looked  at 
me  some  minutes. 

"And  old  Madam  Reed,  or  the  Misses,  her  daughters,  will  be 
solicited  by  you  to  seek  a  place,  I  suppose  ?" 

"No,  sir;  I  am  not  on  such  terms  witli  my  relatives  as  would 
justify  me  in  asking  favours  of  them — but  I  shall  advertise." 
"  You  shall  walk  up  the  pyramids  of  Egyptl"  he  growled.    "  At 


IQO  JANE    EYRE. 

your  peril  you  advertise !  I  wish  I  had  only  offered  you  a  sove- 
reign 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." 
"Just  let  me  look  at  the  cash." 
"  No,  sir;  you  are  not  to  be  trusted." 
"Jane!"    " 
"Sir?"t 

"  Promise  me  one  thing." 

"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  shall  be  glad  so -to  do,  sir,  if  you,  in  your  turn,  will  promise 
that  I  and  Adele  shall  be  both  safe  out  of  the  house  before  your 
bride  enters  it." 

"  Very  well !  very  well !  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  ?" 
"No,  sir,  I  must  prepare  for  the  journey." 
*  Then  you  and  I  must  bid  good-bye  for  a  little  while  ?" 
'I  suppose  so,  sir." 

'And  how  do  people  perform  that  ceremony  of  parting,  Jane? 
Teach  me ;  I  am  not  quite  up  to  it." 

'  They  say,  Farewell :  or  any  other  form  they  prefer." 
Then  say  it." 

Farewell,  Mr.  Rochester,  for  the  present." 
'What  must  I  say!" 
'The  same,  if  you  like,  sir." 

'  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.'  " 
"  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. 


JANE     EYRE.  IQI 

I  reached  the  lodge  at  Gateshcad  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  win- 
dows were  hung  with  little  white  curtains  ;  the  floor  was  spotless, 
the  grate  and  fire-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. 

"Bless  you!  — I  knew  you  would  come!"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Leaven,  as  I  entered. 

"Yes,  Bessie,"  said  I,  after  I  had  kissed  her;  "  and  I  trust  I 
am  not  too  late.  How  is  Mrs.  Reed?  Alive  still,  I  hope." 

"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?" 

Robert  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  Robert  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  ner  as  in  bygone 
days. 

She  wanted  to  know  if  I  was  happy  at  Thornfield  Hall,  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,  uml 
content.  Then  I  went  on  to  describe  to  her  the  gay  company 
that  had  lately  been  staying  at  the  house;  and  to  those  details 
Bessie  listened  with  interest :  they  were  precisely  of  the  kind  she 
relished. 

In  such  conversation  an  hour  was  soon  gone:    Bessie  restored 


IQ2  JANE    EYRE. 

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  ascend- 
ing. 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  harbour- 
age 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,  and  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." 

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  inani- 
mate 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  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  hand- 
some 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  be- 
coming— 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,  other- 
wise 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 


JANE    EYRE. 

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  accompanied  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  remark- 
able way  of  letting  you  know  that  they  think  you  a  "  quiz,"  with- 
out 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 
rudeness  in  word  or  deed. 

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. 

"  How  is  Mrs.  Reed?"  I  asked  soon,  looking  calmly  at  Geor- 
giana, who  thought  fit  to  bridle  at  the  direct  address,  as  if  it 
were  an  unexpected  liberty. 

"Mrs.  Reed?  Ah!  mamma  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." 

"  Mamma  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.  Reed  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  resolved  to  quit  Gateshead  the  very  next  morn- 
ing; 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  1  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  housekeeper; 

M 


194  JANE     EYRE. 

asked  her  to  show  me  a  room,  told  her  I  should  probably  be  a 
visitor  here  for  a  week  or  two,  had  my  trunk  conveyed  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." 

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  cer- 
tain corner  near,  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  for- 
give 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  some- 
what raised,  imperious,  despotic  eyebrow.  How  often  had  it 
lowered  on  me  menace  and  hate !  and  how  the  recollection  of 
childhood's  terrors  and  sorrows  revived  as  I  traced  its  harsh 
line  now !  And  yet  I  stooped  down  and  kissed  her ;  she  looked 
at  me. 

"  Ts  this  Jane  Eyre  ?"  she  said. 

"  Yes,  aunt  Reed.     How  are  you,  dear  aunt  ?" 

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  knew  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  determination 


JAN'I-     EYRE.  T95 

to  subdue  her— to  be  her  mistress  in  spite  both  of  her  nature  and 
ner  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. 

"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  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  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 — arc  you  Jane  Eyre  ?" 

"  I  am  Jane  Eyre." 

"  I  have  had  more  trouble  with  that  child  than  any  one  would 
believe.  Such  a  burden  to  be  left  on  my  hands — and  so  much 
annoyance  has  she  caused  me,  daily  and  hourly,  with  her  incom- 
prehensible disposition,  and  her  sudden  starts  of  temper,  and  her 
continual,  unnatural  watchings  of  one's  movements!  I  declare 
she  talked  to  me  once  like  something  jnad,  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.  Reed  :  why  do  you  hate  her  so  ?" 

"  I  had  a  dislike  to  her  mother  always;  for  she  was  my  hus- 
band'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  maintenance.  I  hated  it  the  first 
time  I  set  my  eyes  on  it— a  sickly,  whining,  pining  thing!  It 
would  wail  in  its  cradle  all  night  long — not  screaming  heartily 
like  any  other  child,  but  whimpering  and  moaning.  Reed  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  l>< 
tha 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  mi:  by  vow  to  keep  the  creature.  I  would  as  soon  have 
•h  i  p.mpcr  brat  out  of  a  workhouse  :  but  he  was 
unnaturally  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 


196  JANE     EYRE. 

me  with  letters  for  money !  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  mortgages.  John  gambles 
dreadfully,  and  always  loses— poor  boy !  He  is  beset  by  sharpers  : 
John  is  sunk  and  degraded — his  look  is  frightful — I  feel  ashamed 
for  him  when  I  see  him." 

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. 

"Perhaps  you  had,  miss:  but  she  often  talks  in  this  way 
towards  night — in  the  morning  she  is  calmer." 

I  rose.  "Stop!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Reed.  "There  is  another 
thing  I  wished  to  say.  He  threatens  me — he  continually 
threatens  me  with  his  own  death,  or  mine :  and  I  dream  some- 
times 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.  Reed 
grew  more  composed,  and  sank  into  a  dozing  state.  I  then  left 
her. 

More  than  ten  days  elapsed  before  I  had  again  any  conversa- 
tion with  her.  She  continued  either  delirious  or  lethargic ;  and 
the  doctor  forbade  everthing  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  kaleid- 
oscope of  imagination :  a  glimpse  of  sea  between  two  rocks ; 
the  rising  moon,  and  a  ship  crossing  its  disc  ;  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  to  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 


JANE    EYRE.  IQ7 

horizontal  eyebrows  must  be  traced  under  that  brow ;  then  fol- 
lowed, 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,"  I  thought,  as  I  sur- 
veyed 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. 

"  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  representation  of 
Mr.  Rochester.  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  por- 
traits; and  each,  in  turn,  sat  for  a  pencil  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  confidential  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  represented ; 
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  same  theme — 
herself,  her  loves,  and  woes.  It  was  strange  she  never  once 
adverted  either  to  her  mother's  illness,  or  her  orother'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  dissipations  to  come.  She  passed  about  five 
minutes  each  day  in  her  mother's  sick  room  and  no  more. 

Eliza  still  spake  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  h.  fore  breakfast,  but  after  that 
meal  she  divided  her  time  into  regular  portions ;  and  each  hour 


ig8  JANE    EYRE. 

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  herself  in  the 
kitchen  garden  ;  and  one  to  the  regulation  of  her  accounts.  She 
seemed  to  want  no  company,  no  conversation.  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  be  communi- 
cative 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  tran- 
quilly remarked,  that  she  should  either  recover  or  linger  long — 
she  should  execute  a  long-cherished  project:  seek  a  retirement 
where  punctual  habits  would  be  permanently  secured  from  dis- 
turbance, 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  unfolded  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  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 


JANE     EYRE.  1 99 

scene  of  continual  change  and  excitement,  or  else  the  world  is  a 
dungeon.  You  must  be  admired,  you  must  be  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  sec- 
tion 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  indepen- 
dent being  ought  to  do.  Take  this  advice — the  first  and  last  I 
shall  offer  you ;  then  you  will  not  want  me,  or  any  one  else, 
happen  what  may.  Neglect  it — go  on  as  heretofore — craving, 
whining,  and  idling— and  suffer  the  results  of  your  idiocy,  how- 
ever 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  carried  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. 

She  closed  her  lips. 

"  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  /  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  mv  prospects  for 
ever."  Georgiana  took  out  her  handkerchief  and  blew  her  nose 
for  an  hour  afterwards ;  Eliza  sat  cold,  impassable,  and  assidu- 
ously industrious. 

True,  generous  feeling  is  made  small  account  of  by  some ;  but 
nere  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  judgment  untempered 
by  feeling  is  too  bitter  andhusky  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 ;  Eli/a  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  considered  her  devotional 


200  JANE    EYRE. 

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  dying1 
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,  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  tem- 
pestuously: "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  faith — 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  longing  to  be  restored  to  her 
divine  Father's  bosom — when  a  feeble  voice  murmured  from  the 
couch  behind  :  "  Who  is  that  ?'' 

I  knew  Mrs.  Reed  had  not  spoken  for  days :  was  she  reviving  ? 
I  went  up  to  her. 

"It  is  I,  aunt  Reed." 

"Who— I?"  was  her  answer.  "Who  are  you?"  looking  at 
me  with  suprise  and  a  sort  of  alarm,  but  still  not  wildly.  "  You 
are  quite  a  stranger  to  me — where  is  Bessie  ?" 

"  She  is  at  the  lodge,  aunt." 

"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. 

"  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. 

"  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 


JANE    EYRE.  2OI 

me.  Is  the  nurse  here  ?  or  is  there  no  one  in  the  room  but  you  ?" 
I  assured  her  we  were  alone. 

"  \Vell,  I  have  twice  done  you  a  wrong  which  I  regret  now. 
One  was  in  breaking  the  promise  which  I  gave  ray  husband  to 

bring  you  up  as  my  own  child;  the  other "  she  stopped. 

"  After  all,  it  is  of  no  great  importance,  perhaps,"  she  murmured 
to  herself:  "  and  then  I  may  get  better;  and  to  humble  myself 
to  her  is  painful." 

She  made  an  effort  to  alter  her  position,  but  failed :  her  face 
changed ;  she  seemed  to  experience  some  inward  sensation — the 
precursor,  perhaps,  of  the  last  pang. 

"  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.     "  Read  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  what- 
ever 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  to 
lend  a  hand  in  lifting  you  to  prosperity.  I  could  not  forget 
your  conduct  to  me,  Jane — the  fury  with  which  you  once  turned 
on  me;  the  tone  in  which  you  declared  you  abhorred  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  forget  my  own  sensations  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.  Bnng  me  some 
water  i  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  ;  eij^ht,  nine  years  have  passed  since  that  day." 

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  I  could  not  endure.  I  wrote  to  him  ;  I 
said  I  was  sorry  for  his  disappointment,  but  Jane  Eyre  was 


202  JANE     EYRE. 

dead :  she  had  died  of  typhus  fever  at  Lpwood.  Now  act  as 
you  please  :  write  and  contradict  my  assertion — expose  my  false- 
hood as  soon  as  you  like.  You  were  born,  I  think,  to  be  my 
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  forgiveness " 

"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  treatment,  and  in  the 
tenth  break  out  all  fire  and  violence,  I  can  never  comprehend." 

"  My  disposition  is  not  so  bad  as  you  think :  I  am  passionate, 
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  and  sup- 
ported 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. 

"  Love  me,  then,  or  hate  me,  as  you  will,"  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 :  living,  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 ;  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 : 
Georgiana,  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  fearfulness  of  death  in  such  a 
form. 

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 


CE    EYRE.  203 

constricted  her  mouth  for  an  instant:    as  it  passed  away  she 
tunu-d  an>l  1  ft  the  room,  and  so  did  I.    Neither  of  us  had  dropt 


CHAPTER    XXII. 

MR.  ROCHESTER  had  given  me  but  one  week's  leave  of 
absence:  yet  a  month  elapsed  before  I  quitted  Gates- 
head.  1  wished  to  leave  immediately  after  the  funeral ;  but 
Georgiana  entreated  me  to  stay  until  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  her  preparations;  so 
I  bore  with  her  feeble-minded  quailings,  and  selfish  lamenta- 
tions, as  well  as  I  could,  and  did  my  best  in  sewing  for  her  and 
packing  her  dresses.  It  is  true,  that  while  I  worked,  she 
would  idle ;  and  I  thought  to  myself,  "  If  you  and  I  were  des- 
tined 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." 

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  un- 
known bourne ;  and  all  day  long  she  stayed  in  her  own  room, 
her  door  bolted  within,  filling  trunks,  emptying  drawers,  burning 
papers,  and  holding  no  communication  with  any  one.  She  wish- 
ed 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 
t  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  continu. 
set  out  for  the  Continent.  I  shall  take  up^ny  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  Roman  Catholic  dogmas,  and  to  a  careful 
study  of  the  workings  of  their  system ;  ill  find  it  to  be,  as  I  half 


204  JANE    EYRE. 

suspect  it  is,  the  one  best  calculated  to  ensure  the  doing  of  all 
things  decently  and  in  order,  I  shall  embrace  the  tenets  of  Rome 
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  !" 

When  we  parted,  she  said  : — 

"Good-bye,  cousin  Jane  Eyre;  I  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  the  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  experienced  the  sen- 
sation. I  had  known  what  it  was  to  come  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  plenteous  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  be- 
held one  the  cynosure  of  a  ball-room,  the  other  the  inmate  of  a 
convent  cell :  and  I  dwelt  on  and  analysed  their  separate  peculi- 
arities 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 


JANE    EYRE.  205 

surmised  that  he  was  gone  to  make  arrangements  for  his  wed- 
ding, 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  her- 
self seen,  she  could  no  longer  doubt  that  the  event  would  shortly 
take  place. 

"You  would  be  strangely  incredulous  if  you  did  doubt  it,"  waa 
my  mental  comment.  "  I  don't  doubt  it." 

The  question  followed,  "Where  was  I  to  go?"  I  dreamt  of 
Miss  Ingram  all  the  night :  in  a  vivid  morning  dream  I  saw  her 
closing  the  gates  at  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  Tune  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  home  1  was  going,  or  to  a  per- 
manent 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  Adele  will  clap  her  hands  and  jump  to  see 
you ;  but  you  know  very  well  you  are  thinking  of  another  than 
they ;  ana  that  he  is  not  thinking  of  you." 

But  what  is  so  headstrong  as  youth  ?  What  so  blind  as  inex- 
perience ?  These  affirmed  that  it  was  pleasure  enough  to  have 
the  privilege  of  again  looking  on  Mr.  Rochester,  whether  he 
looked  on  me  or  not:  and  they  added — "Hasten!  hasten!  be 
with  him  while  you  may  :  but  a  few  more  days  or  weeks,  at  most, 
and  you  are  parted  with  him  for  ever !" 

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  returning  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 


2O6  JANE    EYRE. 

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  stile  with  stone  steps ;  and  I  see — 
Mr.  Rochester  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  unstrung,  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  has  seen  me. 

"Hillo!"  he  cries,  and  he  puts  up  his  book  and  his  pencil. 
"There  you  are  !  Come  on,  if  you  please." 

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  the  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  ?" 

"  I  have  been  with  my  aunt,  sir,  who  is  dead." 

"  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 ! 
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  fatims 
light  in  a  marsh.  Truant!  truant!"  he  added,  when  he  had 
paused  an  instant.  "  Absent  from  me  a  whole  month  :  and  for- 
getting 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.  Rochester  (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  home ! 

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." 


JANE    EYRE.  2O? 

"  Mrs.  Fairfax  told  me  in  a  letter." 

"  And  did  she  inform  you  what  I  went  to  do  ?*' 

"  Oh,  yes,  sir  !     Everybody  knew  your  errand." 

"  You  must  see  the  carriage,  Jane,  and  tell  me  if  you  don't 
think  it  will  suit  Mrs.  Rochester  exactly ;  and  whether  she  won't 
look  like  Queen  Boadicea,  leaning  back  against  those  purple 
cushions.  I  wish,  Jane,  I  were  a  tnfle  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  ?'r 

"  It  would  be  past  the  power  of  magic,  sir ;"  and  in  thought  I 
added,  "  a  loving  eye  is  all  the  charm  needed ;  to  such  you  are 
handsome  enough ;  or  rather  your  sternness  has  a  power  beyond 
beauty." 

Mr.  Rochester  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  com- 
mon 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.  Rochester,  for  your  great  kindness.  I  am 
strangely  glad  to  get  back  again  to  you ;  and  wherever  you  are 
is  my  home— my  only  home. 

1  walked  on  so  fast  that  even  he  could  hardly  have  overtaken 
me  had  he  tried.  Little  Adele  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  warning  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  Adele,  kneeling  on  the  carpet,  had  nestled  close 
up  to  me,  and  a  sense  of  mutual  affection  seemed  to  surround  us 
•li  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. 
Rochester  entered,  unannounced,  and  looking  at  us,  seemed  to 
take  pleasure  in  the  spectacle  of  a  group  so  amicable— when  he 
said  he  supposed  the  old  lady  was  all  right  now  that  she  had 


208  JANE    EYRE. 

got  her  adopted  daughter  back  again,  and  added  that  he  saw 
Adele  was  "  pre"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  protection,  and  not 
quite  exiled  from  the  sunshine  of  his  presence. 

A  fortnight  of  dubious  calm  succeeded  my  return  to  Thornneld 
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.  Rochester  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  horseman  as  Mr.  Rochester  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 !  neVer  had  I  loved  him  so  well. 


CHAPTER    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  the  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  straw- 
berries 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 


JANE    EYRE.  2OQ 

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  awhile  on  the  pavement;  but  a  subtle,  well-known 
scent — that  of  a  cigar — stole  from  some  window;  I  saw  the 
library  casement  open  a  handbreadth ;  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  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  separa- 
tion from  lonely  fields:  a  winding  walk  bordered  with  laurels, 
and  terminating  in  a  giant  horse-chestnut,  circled  at  the  base  by 
a  seat,  led  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 
threading  the  flower  and  fruit  parterres  at  the  upper  part  of  the 
enclosure,  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. 

Sweetbriar  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. 
Rochester'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.  I  make  for 
the  wicket  leading  to  the  shrubbery,  and  I  see  Mr.  Rochester 
entering.  I  step  aside  into  the  ivy  recess ;  he  will  not  stay  long : 
he  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  is  attractive;  and  he  strolls  on,  now  lifting  the 
gooseberry  tree  branches  to  look  at  the  fruit,  large  as  plum 
which  they  are  laden ;  now  taking  a  ripe  cherry  from  the  wall ; 
now  stooping  towards  a  knot  of  flowers,  cither  to  inhuk 
i         .1  nee  or  to  admire  the  dew-beads  on  their  petals.     A 
moth   goes  humming  by   me;    it  alights  on   a   plant   at    Mr. 
Rochester's  foot :  he  sees  it,  and  bends  to  cxami 

"Now  he  has  his  back  towards  me,"  thought  1,  "and  he  is 
occupied  too;  perhaps,  if  I  walk  softly,  I  can  slip  away 
unnoticed." 

1  trode  on  an  edging  of  turf  that  the  crackle  of  the  pebbly 
gravel  might  not  betray  me;  he  was  standing  among  the  beds  .it 

N 


210  JANE     EYRE. 

a  yard  or  two  distant  from  where  I  had  to  pass:  the  moth 
apparently  engaged  him.  "I  shall  get  by  very  well,"  I  medi- 
tated. 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  his 
shadow  feel  ?  I  started  at  first,  and  then  I  approached  him. 

"Look  at  his  wings,"  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.  Rochester  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  sometimes 
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  futile  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.  Rochester  in  the  shadowy  orchard, 
but  I  could  not  find  a  reason  to  allege  for  leaving  him.  I  followed 
with  lagging  steps,  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?" 

"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  ?" 

"  I  am  attached  to  it,  indeed." 

"And  though  I  don't  comprehend  how  it  is,  I  perceive  you 
have  acquired  a  degree  of  regard  for  that  foolish  little  child 
Adele,  too ;  and  even  for  simple  dame  Fairfax  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir;  in  different  ways,  I  have  an  affection  for  both." 

"  And  would  be  sorry  to  part  with  them  ?" 

"Yes." 

"Pity!"  he  said,  and  sighed  and  paused.  "It  is  always  the 
way  of  events  in  this  life,"  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." 

"  Must  I  move  on,  sir  ?"  I  asked.    "  Must  I  leave  Thornfield  ?" 


JANE    EYRE.  211 

"  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-nijjht." 

"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/' 

"Soon,  sir?" 

"Very  soon,  my that  is,  Miss  Eyre :  and  you'll  remember, 

Jane,  the  first  time  I,  or  Rumour,  plainly  intimated  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  Blance) :  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  depen- 
dent 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.  Adcle  must  go  to  school ;  and  you,  Miss  Eyre, 
must  get  a  new  situation." 

"Yes,  sir,  I  will  advertise  immediately;  and  meantime,  I  sup- 
pose  "  I  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.  Rochester;  "and  in  the  interim  I  shall  myself  look  out  for 
employment  and  an  asylum  for  you." 

"  Thank  you,  sir ;  I  am  sorry  to  give " 

"  Oh,  no  need  to  apologise !  I  consider  that  when  a  dependent 
does  her  duty  as  well  as  you  have  done  yours,  she  has  a  sort  of 
claim  upon  her  employer  for  any  little  assistance  he  can  conve- 
niently render  her;  indeed  I  have  already,  through  my  future 
mother-in-law,  heard  of  a  place  that  I  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." 

"  No  matter — a  girl  of  your  sense  will  not  object  to  the  voyage 
or  the  distance." 


212  JANE    EYRE. 

"  Not  the  voyage,  but  the  distance :  and  then  the  sea  is  a 
barrier " 

"  From  what,  Jane  ?" 

"  From  England  and  from  Thornfield :  and " 

"Well?" 

"From you,  sir." 

I  said  this  almost  involuntarily :  and,  with  as  little  sanction  of 
free  will,  my  tears  gushed  out.  I  did  not  cry  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  inter- 
vened between  me  and  what  I  naturally  and  inevitably  loved. 

"  It  is  a  long  way,"  I  again  said. 

"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  ?" 

"  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  still. 

"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  inex- 
tricably 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  snapped ;  and  then  I've  a 
nervous  notion  that  I  should  take  to  bleeding  inwardly.  As  for 
you— you'll  forget  me." 

"That  I  never  should,  sir:  you  know "  impossible  to 

proceed. 

"Jane,  do  you  hear  that  nightingale  singing  in  the  wood? 
Listen." 

In  listening,  I  sobbed  convulsively ;  for  I  could  not  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 


JANE    EYRE.  213 

speak,  it  was  only  to  repress  an  impetuous  wish  that  I  had  never 
been  born,  or  never  came  to  Thornfield. 

"  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  assert- 
ing 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  it — with  an  original,  a  vigorous, 
an  expanded  mind.  I  have  known  you,  Mr.  Rochester;  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." 
'In  what  shape?" 

"  In  the  shape  of  Miss  Ingram;  a  noble  and  beautiful  woman 
— your  bride." 

"My  bride!    What  bride?    I  have  no  bride  1" 

"  But  you  will  have." 

"  Yes ;  I  will  !-I  will !"    He  set  his  teeth. 

"  Then  I  must  go :  you  have  said  it  yourself." 

"No:  you  must  stay  I  I  swear  it — and  the  oath  shall  be 
kept." 

"  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  from  my  cup  ?  Do 
you  think,  because  I  am  poor,  obscure,  plain,  and  little,  I  am 
soulless  and  heartless?  You  think  wrong! — 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,  con- 
ventionalities,  nor  even  of  mortal  flesh:  it  is  my  spirit  that 
addresses  your  spirit;  just  as  if  both  had  passed  through  the 
grave,  and  we  stood  at  God's  feet,  equal — as  we  are !" 

"As  we  are!"  repeated  Mr.  Rochester— "  so,"  he  added, 
enclosing  me  in  his  arms,  gathering  me  to  his  breast,  pressing 
his  lips  on  my  lips :  "  so,  Jane  1" 

"Yes,  so,  sir,"  I  rejoined:  "and  vet  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 


214  JANE     EYRE. 

sneer  at  her.  I  would  scorn  such  a  union ;  therefore  I  am  better 
than  you — let  me  go  !" 

"  Where,  Jane  ?    To  Ireland  ?" 

"Yes — to  Ireland.  I  have  spoken  my  mind,  and  can  go  any- 
where 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. 

"  And  your  will  shall  decide  your  destiny,"  he  said:  "I  offer 
you  my  hand,  my  heart,  and  a  share  of  all  my  possessions." 

"  You  play  a  farce,  which  I  merely  laugh  at." 

"  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." 

"  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.  Rochester  sat  quiet,  looking  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  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  I  intend  to 
marry." 

I  was  silent :  I  thought  he  mocked  me. 

"  Come,  Jane — come  hither." 

"  Your  bride  stands  between  us." 

He  rose,  arid  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  1  was  still  incredulous. 

"  Do  you  doubt  me,  Jane  ?" 

"Entirely." 

"  You  have  no  faith  in  me  ?" 

"Not  a  whit." 

"Am  I  a  liar  in  your  eyes?"  he  asked  passionately.  "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  what  was 


JANE     EYRE.  215 

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  you  as  my  own  flesh.  You— poor  and 
obscure,  and  small  and  plain  as  you  are — I  entreat  to  accept  me 
as  a  husband." 

"What,  mel"  I  ejaculated:  beginning  in  his  earnestness, 
and  especially  in  his  incivility,  to  credit  his  sincerity:  "me  who 
have  not  a  friend :  not  a  shilling  but  what  you  have  given  me  ?" 

"  You,  Jane.  I  must  have  you  for  my  own — entirely  my  own. 
Will  you  be  mine  ?  Say  yes,  quickly." 

"  Mr.  Rochester,  let  me  look  at  your  face:  turn  to  the  moon- 
light." 

"Why?" 

"  Because  I  want  to  read  your  countenance ;  turn  1" 

"There;  you  will  find  it  scarcely  more  legible  than  a 
crumpled,  scratched  page.  Read  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  mel"  he  exclaimed.  "With  that 
searching  and  yet  faithful  and  generous  look,  you  torture  me !" 

"  How  can  1  do  that  ?  If  you  are  true,  and  youc  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  ?" 

"  I  do  ;  and  if  an  oath  is  necessary  to  satisfy  you,  I  swear  it." 

"  Then,  sir,  I  will  many  you." 

"  Edward— my  little  wife !" 

"  Dear  Edward  1" 

"Come  to  me— come  to  me  entirely  now,"  said  he:  and 
added,  in  his  deepest  tone,  speaking  now  in  my  ear  as  his  cheek 
was  laid  on  mine,  "  Make  my  happiness,  I  will  make  yours." 

"  God  pardon  me  1"  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  inter- 
fere." 

"  No ;  that  is  the  best  of  it,"  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  part- 
ing, 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,  "Arc  you  happy,  Jane?"  And  again  and  again  I 
answered,  "Yes."  After  which  he  murmured,  "It  will  atone— 
it  will  alone.  Have  1  not  found  her  friendless,  and  cold,  an.l 


2l6  JANE    EYRE. 

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." 

But  what  has  befallen  the  night  ?  The  moon  has  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,"  thought  I,  "could  I  with  you."  I  should  have 
said  so,  perhaps,  but  a  livid,  vived  spark  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  loosened  hair,  when  Mrs. 
Fairfax  emerged  from  her  room.  I  did  not  observe  her  at  first, 
nor  did  Mr.  Rochester.  The  lamp  was  lit.  The  clock  was  on 
the  stroke  of  twelve. 

"  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  up  stairs.  "  Explanation  will  do  for 
another  time,"  thought  I.  Still,  when  I  reached  my  chamber,  I 
felt  a  pang  at  the  idea  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.  Rochester  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. 


CHAPTER  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.  Rochester  again,  and  heard  him 
renew  his  words  of  love  and  promise. 


JANE    EYRE.  217 

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  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  Adele  leaving  the  school-room. 

"Where  are  you  going ?     It  is  time  for  lessons." 

"  Mr.  Rochester  has  sent  me  away  to  the  nursery." 

4 'Where  is  he?" 

"  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. 

"Jane,  you  look  blooming,  and  smiling,  and  pretty,"  said  he, 
"  truly  pretty  this  morning.  Is  this  my  pale,  little  elf?  Is  this 
my  mustard-seed  ?  This  little  sunny- faced  girl  with  the  dimpled 
check  and  rosy  lips,  the  satin-smooth  hazel  hair,  and  the  radi.mt 
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." 

"Soon  to  be  Jane  Rochester,"  he  added;  "in  four  weeks, 
Janet ;  not  a  day  more.  Do  you  hear  that  ?" 

I  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 — something  that  smote  ana 
stunned;  it  was,  I  think,  almost  fear. 


2l8  JANE    EYRE. 

"You  blushed,  and  now  you  are  white,  Jane:  what  is  that 
for?" 

"  Because  you  gave  me  a  new  name — Jane  Rochester;  and  it 
seems  so  strange." 

"Yes;  Mrs.  Rochester,"  said  he,  "young  Mrs.  Rochester — 
Fairfax  Rochester's  girl-bride." 

"  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  ;  to  imagine  such 
a  lot  befalling  me  is  a  fairy  tale — a  day-dream." 

"  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 — heirlooms  for  the  ladies  of  Thorn- 
field.  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  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." 

"You  are  a  beauty,  in  my  eyes;  and  a  beauty  just  after  the 
desire  of  my  heart — delicate  and  aerial." 

"  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  I  love 
best  with  a  priceless  veil." 

"  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.  Rochester, 
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." 

He  pursued  his  theme,  however,  without  noticing  my  depre- 
cation. 

"  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 


JANE    EYRE.  2IQ 

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,  Rome,  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  flew  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,"  I  asserted ;  "  and  I  will  not  be  one  till 
I  die:  I  will  be  myself.  Mr.  Rochester,  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." 

"  What  do  you  anticipate  of  me  ?" 

"  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  1  and  like  you  again !  I  think  I  shall  like  you 
again  and  yet  again :  and  I  will  make  you  confess  I  do  not  only 
like,  but  love  you — with  truth,  fervour,  constancy." 

"  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." 

"  Had  you  ever  experience  of  such  a  character,  sir?  Did  you 
ever  love  such  an  one  ?" 

11 1  love  it  now." 

"  But  before  me :  if  I,  indeed,  in  any  respect  come  up  to  your 
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  arm  to  my  heart.  I  am 


220  JANE    EYRE. 

influenced — conquered ;  and  the  influence  is  sweeter  than  I  can 
express  ;  and  the  conquest  I  undergo  has  a  witchery  beyond  any 
triumph  /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  in- 
voluntary), 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  convenience  or  pleasure  to 
grant." 

"Ask  me  something  now,  Janet — the  least  thing:  I  desire  to 
be  entreated — " 

"  Indeed,  I  will,  sir;  I  have  my  petition  all  ready." 

"  Speak  !  But  if  you  look  up  and  smile  with  that  countenance, 
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  border 
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  des- 
patched to  my  banker.  But  you  have  not  yet  asked  for  anything, 
you  have  prayed  a  gift  to  be  withdrawn  :  try  again." 

"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  this,  sir." 

"  Utter  it,  Jane :  but  I  wish  that  instead  of  a  mere  inquiry 
into,  perhaps,  a  secret,  it  was  a  wish  for  half  my  estate." 

"Now,  king  Ahasuerus !  What  do  I  want  with  half  your 
estate  ?  Do  you  think  I  am  a  Jew-usurer,  seeking  good  invest- 
ment 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  bur- 
den !  Don't  long  for  poison — don't  turn  out  a  downright  Eve  on 
my  hands!" 

"  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  the  con- 


JANE    EYRE.  221 

fession,  and  begin  and  coax,  and  entreat — even  cry  and  be  sulky 
if  necessary— for  the  sake  of  a  mere  essay  of  my  power  ?" 

"  I  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  fore- 
head resembles,  what,  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 !" 

"  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  un- 
knit  his  black  brows :  looked  down,  smiling  at  me,  and  stroked 
my  hair,  as  if  well  pleased  at  seeing  a  danger  averted.  "  I  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  ^ou  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  fur- 
therance of  that  end." 

"  Excellent !  Now  you  are  small,  not  one  whit  bigger  than  the 
end  of  my  little  finger.  It  was  a  burning  shame,  and  a  scandal- 
ous 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  youjealous,  Jane  ?" 

"  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  dishonest  coquetry  ?  Won't  she 
feel  forsaken  and  deserted  ?" 

"  Impossible  1  when  I  told  you  how  she,  on  the  contrary, 
deserted  me ;  the  idea  of  my  insolvency  cooled,  or  rather  extin- 
guished, her  flame  in  a  moment." 

"You  have  a  curious,  designing  mind,  Mr.  Rochester.  I  am 
afraid  your  principles  on  some  points  are  CM  in; 

"  My  principles  were  never  traiiu-il,  Jane,  ilury  may  have  grown 
a  little  awry  for  want  of  attention." 

"  Once  again,  seriously  ;   may  I  enjoy  the  great  good  that  has 


222  JANE    EYRE. 

been  vouchsafed  to  me,   without  fearing  that  any  one  else  is 
suffering  the  bitter  pain  I  myself  felt  a  while  ago  ?" 

"  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. 

"Ask  something  more,"  he  said  presently;  "it  is  my  delight 
to  be  entreated,  and  to  yield." 

I  was  again  ready  with  my  request.  "  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." 

"  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  under- 
standing. Did  she  think,  Janet,  you  had  given  the  world  for 
love,  and  considered  it  well  lost?" 

"I  believe  she  thought  I  had  forgotten  my  station,  and  yours, 
sir." 

"  Station !  station ! — 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.  Rochester  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  announce- 
ment, 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  hus- 
band, 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.  Rochester  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." 

"  He  has  said  the  same  thing  to  me,"  I  replied. 

"  He  has !     Do  you  believe  him  ?    Have  you  accepted  him  ?" 


JANE    EYKL.  223 

"Yes." 

She  looked  at  me  bewildered. 

"  I  could  never  have  thought  it.  He  is  a  proud  man :  all  the 
Rochesters  were  proud:  and  his  father,  at  least,  liked  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. 

"It  passes  me  1"  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.  Rochester  looks  as  young,  and  is 
as  young,  as  some  men  at  five-and-twenty." 

"  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. 

"  1  am  sorry  to  grieve  you,"  pursued  the  widow  ;  "  but  you  are 


to  be  different  to  what  either  you  or  I  expect." 

"  Why  ?— am  I  a  monster  ?  '  I  said :  "  is  it  impossible  that  Mr. 
Rochester  should  have  a  sincere  affection  for  me  ?" 

"  No :  you  are  very  well ;  and  much  improved  of  late ;  and  Mr. 
Rochester  I  dare  say  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  sug- 
gest 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  yourself.  Last  night  I  cannot  tell  you  what  I  suffered 
when  I  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." 

"Well,  nevermind  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.  Rochester  at 
a  distance ;  distrust  yourself  as  well  as  him.  Gentlemen  in  his 
station  are  not  accustomed  to  many  their  governesses." 

I  was  growing  truly  irritated :  happily,  Adclc  ran  in. 

"Let  me  go— let  me  go  to  Millcote  tool"  she  cried.  "Mr. 
Rochester  won't :  though  there  is  so  much  room  in  the  new 
carriage.  Beg  him  to  let  me  go,  mademoiselle." 


224  JANE    EYRE. 

"That  I  will,  Adele;"  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  backwards  and  forwards. 

"Adele  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.  Rochester,  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  unsubstantially  and  uncertainty  had  beset  my 
hopes.  I  half  lost  the  sense  of  power  over  him.  I  was  about 
mechanically  to  obey  him,  without  further  remonstrance ;  but  as 
he  helped  me  into  the  carriage,  he  looked  at  my  face. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  he  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." 

"  Then  off  for  your  bonnet,  and  back,  like  a  flash  of  lighting  1" 
cried  he  to  Adele. 

She  obeyed  him  with  what  speed  she  might. 

"After  all,  a  single  morning's  interruption  will  not  matter 
much,"  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  instantly 
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. 

"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. 

Adele  heard  him,  and  asked  if  she  was  to  go  to  school  "  sans 
mademoiselle?" 

"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." 

"  She  will  have  nothing  to  eat:  you  will  starve  her,"  observed 
Adele. 

"  I  shall  gather  manna  for  her  morning  and  night :  the  plains 
and  hill-sides  in  the  moon  are  bleached  with  manna,  Adele." 

"  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'l 
cany  her  up  to  a  peak  and  lay  her  down  on  the  edge  of  a 
crater." 


JANE    EYRE.  225 

"  Oh,  qu'elle  y  sera  mal— peu  comfortable  1  And  her  clothes, 
they  will  wear  out :  how  can  she  get  new  ones  ?" 

Mr.  Rochester  professed  to  be  puzzled.  "Hem!"  said  he. 
"What  would  you  do,  Adele  ?  Cudgel  your  brains  for  an  expe- 
dient. How  would  a  white  or  a  pink  cloud  answer  for  a  gown, 
do  you  think  ?  And  one  could  cut  a  pretty  enough  scarf  out  of  a 
rainbow." 

"  She  is  far  better  as  she  is,"  concluded  Adele,  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." 

'  She  has  consented :  she  has  pledged  her  word." 

"  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." 

"  Ad£le,  look  at  that  field."  We  were  now  outside  Thornfield 
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,  Adele,  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  befel  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. 

"  'Oh,'  returned  the  fairy,  'that  does  not  signify!  Here  is  a 
talisman  will  remove  all  difficulties;'  and  she  held  out  a  pretty 
gold  ring.  '  Put  it,'  she  said,  '  on  the  fourth  finger  of  my  left 
hand,  and  I  am  yours,  and  you  arc  mine ;  and  we  shall  leave 
earth,  and  make  our  own  heaven  yonder.'  She  nodded  again  at 
the  moon.  The  rin£,  Adele,  is  in  my  breeches  pot  ket,  under  the 
disguise  of  a  sovereign :  but  I  mean  soon  to  change  it  to  a  ring 
i." 

"  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 

O 


226  JANE    EYRE. 

"  Mademoiselle  is  a  fairy,"  he  said,  whispering  mysteriously. 
Whereupon  I  told  her  not  to  mind  his  badinage ;  and  she,  on  her 
part,  evinced  a  fund  of  genuine  French  scepticism  :  denominating 
Mr.  Rochester  "  un  vrai  menteur,"  and  assuring  him  that  she 
made  no  account  whatever  of  his  "  Contes  de  fee,"  and  that  "  du 
reste,  il  n'y  avait  pas  de  f£es,  et  quand  m£me  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  somewhat  harassing  one  to 
me.  Mr.  Rochester  obliged  me  to  go  to  a  certain  silk  ware- 
house :  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,  how- 
ever, 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.  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. 
Reed:  his  intention  to  adopt  me  and  make  me  his  legatee.  " It 
would,  indeed,  be  a  relief,"  I  thought,  "if  I  had  ever  so  small 
an  independency :  I  never  can  bear  being  dressed  like  a  doll  by 
Mr.  Rochester,  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.  Rochester  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  pertina- 
ciously 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- 


JANE    EYRE.  227 

gown  for  yourself  out  of  the  pearl-grey  silk,  and  an  infinite  series 
of  waistcoats  out  of  the  black  satin." 

He  chuckled :  he  nibbed  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 !" 

The  Eastern  allusion  bit  me  again:  "I'll  not  stand  you  an 
inch  in  the  stead  of  a  seraglio,"  I  said;  "so  don't  consider  me 
an  equivalent  for  one ;  if  you  have  a  fancy  for  anything  in  that 
line,  away  with  you,  sir,  to  the  bazaars  of  Stambouf  without 
delay;  and  lay  out  in  extensive  slave-purchases  some  of  that 
spare  cash  you  seem  at  a  loss  to  spend  satisfactorily  here." 

"And  what  will  you  do,  Janet,  while  I  am  bargaining  for  so 
many  tons  of  flesh  and  such  an  assortment  of  black  eyes?" 

"  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  conferred  1" 

"  I  would  consent  to  be  at  your  mercy,  Jane." 

"  I  would  have  no  mercy,  Mr.  Rochester,  if  you  supplicated  for 
it  with  an  eye  like  that.  While  you  looked  so,  I  should  be  cer- 
tain 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  tnrough  a  private  marriage  ceremony,  besides  that  per- 
formed at  the  altar.  You  will  stipulate,  I  see,  for  peculiar  terms 
—what  will  they  be?" 

"I  only  want  an  easy  mind,  sir;  not  crushed  by  crowded 
obligations.  Do  you  remember  what  you  said  of  Celine  Varens  ? 
— of  the  diamonds,  the  cashmeres  you  gave  her?  I  will  not  be 
your  English  Celine  Varens.  I  shall  continue  to  act  as  Adele'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?" 

"  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  Thorn- 
field.  "  Will  it  please  you  to  dine  with  me  to-day?"  he  asked, 
as  we  re-entered  the  gates. 

"No,  thank  you,  sir." 

"  And  what  for,  '  No,  thank  you i  ?'  if  one  may  inquire." 

"  I  never  have  dined  with  you,  sir :  and  I  see  no  reason  why  I 
should  now:  till " 

"  Till  what  ?    You  delight  in  half-phrases." 

"Till  I  can't  help  it." 


228  JANE    EYRE. 

"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  shall  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  even- 
ing, 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  stiuff,  to  comfort  me 
under  all  this  'pour  me  donner  une  contenance,'  as  Adele  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  Adele,  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  tfme  in  a  tete-a-tete  conversation.  I  remem- 
bered 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  twilight,  that  hour 
of  romance,  began  to  lower  her  blue  and  starry  banner  over  the 
lattice,  than  I  rose,  opened  the  piano,  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. 

"  Did  I  like  his  voice  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Very  much."  I  was  not  fond  of  pampering  that  susceptible 
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  try,  but  was  presently  swept  off  the  stool  and  denominated 
"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, 


JANE    EYRE.  229 

Did  through  each  rein,  in  quickened  stnrt, 
The  tide  of  being  poor. 

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. 

And  haunted  as  a  robber-path 

Through  wilderness  or  wood  ? 
For  Might  and  Right,  and  Woe  and  Wrath, 

Between  our  spirits  stood. 

I  dangers  dared  ;  I  hind'rance  scorned  ; 

I  omens  did  defy  : 
Whatever  menaced,  harassed,  warned, 

I  passed  impetuous  by. 

On  sj-ed  my  rainbow  fast  as  light ; 

I  new  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, 

Right,  bar  approach  to  me, 
And  grinding  M  ight,  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  1 


230  JANE    EYRE. 

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  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  ?" 

"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  ?  /  had  no  intention  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." 

"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  tho 
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  gulf  too ; 
and,  moreover,  maintain  by  its  pungent  aid  that  distance 
between  you  and  myself  most  conducive  to  our  real  mutual 
advantage." 

From  less  to  more,  I  worked  him  up  to  considerable  irritation  ; 
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, 


JANE    EYRE.  23! 

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  "darling"  on  his  lips: 
the  best  words  at  my  service  were  "provoking  puppet,"  "  mali- 
cious 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  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.  1  could  not,  in  those  days,  see  God  for  His 
creature :  of  whom  I  had  made  an  idol. 


CHAPTER    XXV. 

E  month  of  courtship  had  wasted :  its  very  last  hours  were 
JL  being  numbered.  There  was  no  putting  off  the  day  that 
advanced — the  bridal  day;  and  all  preparations  for  its  arrival 
were  complete.  /,  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  Car  on  their  road  to  London:  and  so  should  I  (D.V.),  or 
rather,  not  I,  but  one  Jane  Rochester,  a  person  whom  as  yet  I 
knew  not.  The  cams  of  address  alone  remained  to  nail  on : 
they  lay,  four  little  squares,  on  the  drawer.  Mr.  Rochester  had 

himself  written   the  direction,  "  Mrs.  Rochester, Hotel, 

London/'  on  each  :  I  could  uot  persuade  myself  to  affix  them,  or 
to  have  them  affixed.  Mrs.  Rochester  1  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 


232  JAKE    EYRE. 

world  alive,  before  I  assigned  to  her  all  that  property.  It  was 
enough  that  in  yonder  closet,  opposite  my  dressing-table,  gar- 
ments 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  contained ;  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,"  I  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  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  influenced  my  mind  more 
than  they. 

I  had  at  heart  a  strange  and  anxious  thought.  Something 
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.  Rochester  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  possessed  thirty  miles  off — business  it 
was  requisite  he  should  settle  in  person,  previously  to  his  medi- 
tated 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  :  without,  how- 
ever, 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  con- 
tinuous 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  destroyed — the  sap  could  flow  no  more  ;  their  great  boughs 
on  each  side  were  dead,  and  next  winter's  tempests  would  be  sure 


JANE    EYRE.  233 

to  fell  one  or  both  to  earth :  as  yet,  however,  they  might  be  said 
to  form  one  tree — a  ruin,  but  an  entire  ruin. 

"  You  did  right  to  hold  fast  to  each  other,"  I  said:  as  if  the 
monster-splinters  were  living  things,  and  could  hear  me.  "  I 
think,  scathed  as  you  look,  and  charred  and  scorched,  there 
must  be  a  little  sense  of  life  in  you  yet;  rising  out  of  that  ad- 
hesion 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. 

"How  late  it  grows!"  I  said:  "  I  will  run  down  to  the  gates: 
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  disap- 
pointment 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  darl 
came  driving  fast  on  the  gale. 

"  I  wish  he  would  come  I  I  wish  he  would  come  1"  I  exclaimed, 

seized  with  hypochondriac  foreboding.    I  had  expected  his  arrival 

tea;  now  it  was  dark:    what  could  keep  him?    Had  an 

nt  happened?    The  event  of  last  night  ajr.-iin  r«>< -urr.-d  to 


234  JANE    EYRE. 

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. 

"Well,  I  cannot  return  to  the  house,"  I  thought;  "I  cannot 
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." 

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  presenti- 
ment !  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. 

"  There  !"  he  exclaimed,  as  he  stretched  out  his  hand  and  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  boastful  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." 

"  Rain  and  wind,  indeed  !  Yes,  you  are  dripping  like  a  mer- 
maid ;  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  ?" 

"  Rather;  but  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it  by-and-bye,  sir ;  and  I 
dare  say  you  will  only  laugh  at  me  for  my  pains." 

"  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  Thornfield; 
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. 


JANE    EYRE.  235 

"Take  a  seat  and  bear  me  company,  Jane:  please  God,  it 
is  the  last  meal  but  one  you  will  eat  at  Ihornfield  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  cannot  see  my  prospects  clearly  to-night,  sir;  and  I  hardly 
know  what  thoughts  I  have  in  my  head.  Everything  in  lire 
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  ne,  placing  it  close  to  my  eyes.  He 
had  a  rounded,  muscular,  and  vigorous  hand,  as  well  as  a  long, 
strong  arm. 

"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 r* 

"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." 

lid;  and  I  will  keep  my  promise,  for  an  hour  or  two  at 
least ;  I  have  no  wish  to  go  to  bed." 

"  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,  within  half 
an  hour  after  our  return  from  church." 

"Very  well,  sir." 

"  With  what  an  extraordinary  smile  you  uttered  that  word — 
'very  well,'  Jane!  What  a  bright  spot  of  colour  you  have  on 
each  cheek  I  and  how  strangely  your  eyes  glitter  1  Are  you 
well  ?" 

"  1  believe  I  am." 

"  Believe  1    What  is  the  matter  ?    Tell  me  what  you  feel." 

"  I  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/' 

"  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 


236  JANE    EYRE, 

of  any  weight  that  oppresses  it,  by  imparting  it  to  me.  What  do 
you  fear  ? — that  I  shall  not  prove  a  good  hasband  ?" 

"  It  is  the  idea  farthest  from  my  thoughts." 

"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  some- 
thing 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  cetra :  I  think  it  a 
glorious  thing  to  have  the  hope  of  living  with  you,  because  I  love 
you.  No,  sir,  don't  caress  me  now,  let  me  talk  undisturbed. 
Yesterday  I  trusted  well  in  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  appre- 
hensions respecting  your  safety  or  comfort  on  your  journey.  I 
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  cover- 
ing 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, 


JANE    EYRE.  237 

or  elevate  your  standing,  by  marrying  either  a  purse  or  a 
coronet." 

"  How  well  you  read  me,  you  witch  1"  interposed  Mr.  Roches- 
ter: "  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  demon. 
But,  sir,  as  it  grew  dark,  the  wind  rose :  it  blew  yesterday  even- 
ing, 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  fire- 
less  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  consciousness,  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  move- 
ments 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 !  Forget  visionary  woe, 
and  think  only  of  real  happiness !  You  say  you  love  me,  Janet : 
yes— 1  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  ?  repeat  it." 

"  I  do,  sir— I  do,  with  my  whole  heart." 

"Well,"  he  said,  after  some  minutes'  silence,  "it  is  strange; 
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  wore 
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  than  saddened/' 


238  JANE    EYRE. 

"  I  will  tease  you  and  vex  you  to  your  heart's  content,  when  I 
have  finished  my  tale :  but  hear  me  to  the  end." 

"  I  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 
beforehand.  Go  on." 

The  disquietude  of  his  air,  the  somewhat  apprehensive 
impatience  of  his  manner,  surprised  me :  but  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  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." 

"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  sur- 
veyed the  garments  pendent  from  the  portmanteau.  '  Sophie ! 
Sophie!'  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. 
Rochester,  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." 

"  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 


JANE     EYRE.  2jQ 

precincts  of  Thorafield  Hall  before;  the  height,  the  contour 
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." 

"  Did  you  see  her  face  ?" 

"  Not  at  first.  But  presently  she  took  my  veil  from  its  place  ; 
she  held  it  up,  and  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  distinctly  in  the 
dark  oblong  glass." 

"  And  how  were  they?" 

"  Fearful  and  ghastly  to  me — oh,  sir,  I  never  saw  a  face  like 
it !  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  eyebows  widely  raised  over  the  blood- 
shot eyes.  Shall  I  tell  you  of  what  it  reminded  me  ?" 

"You  may." 

"  Of  the  foul  German  spectre — the  Vampyre." 

"A^!     What  did  it  do!" 

"  Sir,  it  removed  my  veil  from  its  gaunt  head,  rent  it  in  two 
parts,  and  flinging  both  on  the  floor,  trampled  on  them." 

"Afterwards?'7 

"  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 
!  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  Thom- 
field  Hall  a  ruin?  Am  I  severed  from  you  by  insuperable 
obstacles  ?  Am  I  leaving  you  without  a  tear — without  a  kiss — 
without  a  word?" 


240  JANE    EYRE. 

"Not  yet." 

"Am  I  about  to  do  it?  Why  the  day  is  already  commenced 
which  is  to  bind  us  indissolubly ;  and  when  we  are  once  united, 
there  shall  be  no  recurrence  of  these  mental  terrors ;  I  guarantee 
that." 

"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.  Rochester  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  exaggerated 
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,  I  will  tell  you;  but  not 
now.  Are  you  satisfied,  Jane  ?  Do  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  pre- 
pared to  leave  him. 

"  Does  not  Sophie  sleep  with  Adele  in  the  nursery?"  he  asked, 
as  I  lit  my  candle. 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  And  there  is  room  enough  in  Adele'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  you  did  not  sleep  alone:  promise  me  to  go  to  the 
nursery." 

"  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  do  so,  sir," 


JANE     EYRE.  24! 

"  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  7  and  there  is  no  more  beating 
of  rain  against  the  window-panes.  Look  here" — he  lifted  up 
the  curtain — "  it  is  a  lovely  night  1" 

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.  Rochester,  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  I  never  slept  at 
all.  With  little  Adele  in  my  arms,  I  watched  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 
Adele  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. 


CHAFFER  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  (the 
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  If   that    it     .cemed  almost   the   image   of  a 

stranger.     "Jane!"  called   a  voice,  and  I  hastened  down.      I 
ved  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs  by  Mr.  Rochester. 

r,"  he  said,  "  my  brain  is  on  fire  with  impatience; 
and  you  tarry  so  loi 

He  took  me  into  the  dining-room,  surveyed  me  keenly  all  over, 


242  JANE     EYRE. 

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  footman,  answered  it. 

'  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." 

"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." 

"Jane,  are  you  ready?" 

I  rose.  There  were  no  groomsmen,  no  bridesmaids,  no  rela- 
tives 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  grip  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  bride- 
groom 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  flashing  eyes. 

I  know  not  whether  the  day  was  fair  or  foul ;  in  descending  the 
drive,  I  gazed  neither  on  sky  nor  earth :  my  heart  was  with  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.  "Am  I  cruel  in  my  love?"  he  said. 
"  Delay  an  instant:  lean  on  me,  Jane." 

And  now  I  can  recall  the  picture  of  the  grey  old  house  of  God 
rising  calm  before  me,  of  a  rook  wheeling  round  the  steeple,  of  a 
ruddy  morning  sky  beyond.  1  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  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  dare  say,  momentarily 


JANE    EYRE.  243 

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  impediment  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  pro- 
ceeding ;  his  hand  was  already  stretched  towards  Mr.  Rochester, 
as  his  lips  unclosed  to  ask,  "  Wilt  thou  have  this  woman  for  thy 
wedded  wife?"  when  a  distinct  and  near  voice  said:  "The 
marriage  cannot  go  on :  I  declare  the  existence  of  an  impedi- 
ment." 

The  clergyman  looked  up  at  the  speaker,  and  stood  route ;  the 
clerk  did  the  same;  Mr.  Rochester  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.  Rochester  heard,  but  heeded  not :  he  stood  stubborn  and 
rijrid  :  making  no  movement,  but  to  possess  himself  of  my  hand. 
What  a  hot  and  strong  grasp  he  hadJ  and  how  like  411.11  ntd 


244  JANE    EYRE. 

marble  was  his  pale,  firm,  massive  front  at  this  moment!  How 
his  eye  shone,  still,  watchful,  and  yet  wild  beneath  1 

Mr.  Wood  seemed  at  a  loss.  "What  is  the  nature  of  the 
impediment?"  he  asked.  "Perhaps  it  may  be  got  over — 
explained  away  ?" 

"Hardly,"  was  the  answer:  "I  have  called  it  insuperable, 
and  I  speak  advisedly." 

The  speaker  came  forwards,  and  leaned  on  the  rails.  He  con- 
tinued, uttering  each  word  distinctly,  calmly,  steadily,  but  not 
loudly. 

"It  simply  consists  in  the  existence  of  a  previous  marriage. 
Mr.  Rochester  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.  Rochester :  I  made  him 
look  at  me.  His  whole  face  was  colourless  rock :  his  eye  was 
both  spark  and  flint.  He  disavowed  nothing  :  he  seemed  as  if 
he  would  defy  all  things.  Without  speaking ;  without  smiling ; 
without  seeming  to  recognise  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." 

"  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." 

"  Favour  me  with  an  account  of  her — with  her  name,  her 
parentage,  her  place  of  abode." 

"Certainly."  Mr.  Briggs  calmly  took  a  paper  from  his 
pocket,  and  read  out  in  a  sort  of  official  nasal  voice : 

"  '  I  affirm  and  can  prove  that  on  the  20th  of  October,  A.D. 

(a  date  of  fifteen  years  back,)  Edward  Fairfax  Rochester,  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,  Richard  Mason.' ' 

"That— if  a  genuine  document — may  prove  I  have  been  mar- 
ried, 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. 

"  How  do  you  know  ?" 

"  I  have  a  witness  to  the  fact ;  whose  testimony  even  you,  sir, 
will  scarcely  controvert." 


Produce  him — or  go  to  hell." 
"  I  will  produce  him  first—] 


produce  him  first — he  is  on  the  spot :  Mr.  Mason,  have 
the  goodness  to  step  forward." 
Mr.  Rochester,  on  hearing  the  name,  set  his  teeth ;   he  experi- 


JANE    BYRE.  245 

cnced,  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  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  fore- 
head 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^0«  to  say  ?" 

An  inaudible  reply  escaped  Mason's  white  lips. 

41  The  devil  is  in  it  if  you  cannot  answer  distinctly.  I  again 
demand,  what  have  j^w  to  say  ?" 

"Sir — sir," — interrupted  the  clergyman,  "do  not  forget  you 
are  in  a  sacred  place."  Then  addressing  Mason,  he  inquired 
gently,  "  Are  you  aware,  sir,  whether  or  not  this  gentleman's 
wife  is  still  living?" 

"  Courage,"  urged  the  lawyer — "  speak  out." 

44  She  is  now  living  at  Thornfield  Hall,"  said  Mason,  in 
more  articulate  tones ;  "I  saw  her  there  hut  April.  I  am  her 
brother." 

"  At  Thornfield  Hall  1"  ejaculated  the  clergyman.  "Impossi- 
ble !  I  am  an  old  resident  in  this  neighbourhood,  sir,  and  I  never 
heard  of  a  Mrs.  Rochester  at  Thornfield  Hall." 

1  saw  a  grim  smile  contort  Mr.  Rochester's  lip,  and  he 
muttered : 

"  No— by  God  1  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 : 

"  Enough— all  shall  bolt  out  at  once,  like  the  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:  "  Bigamy  is 
an  ugly  word  ! — 1  meant  however,  to  be  a  bigamist :  but  fate  has 
out-manoeuvred  me;  or  Providence  has  checked  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 :  1  have  been  married ;  and  the  woman 
to  whom  I  was  married  lives !  You  say  you  never  heard  of  a 
Mrs.  Rochester  at  the  house  up  yonder,  Wood ;  but  I  dare  say 
you  have  many  a  time  inclined  your  ear  to  gossip  about  the 


246  JANE    EYRE. 

mysterious  lunatic  kept  there  under  watch  and  ward.  Some  have 
whispered  to  you  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 ! — 
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 
I  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  a  bad,  mad,  and  embruted  partner !  Come,  all  of  you, 
follow!" 

Still  holding  me  fast,  he  left  the  church  ;  the  three  gentle- 
men 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,  Adele,  Sophie,  Leah,  advanced 
to  meet  and  greet  us. 

"To  the  rightabout — every  soul  !"  cried  the  master;  "away 
with  your  congratulations !  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  story,  the  low,  black  door,  opened  by  Mr.  Rochester'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  back- 


JANE    EYRE.  247 

wards  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  main,  hid  its  head  and  face. 

" Good-morrow,  Mrs.  Poole?"  said  Mr.  Rochester.  "How 
are  you  ?  and  how  is  your  charge  to-day  ?" 

"  We're  tolerable,  sir,  I  thank  you,"  replied  Grace,  lifting  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  I"  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  recognised  well  that 
purple  face — those  bloated  features.  Mrs.  Poole  advanced. 

"  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,"  whispered  Mason. 

"  Go  to  the  devil  1"  was  his  brother-in-law's  recommendation. 

"  Ware!"  cried  Grace.  The  three  gentlemen  retreated  simul- 
taneously. 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  corpulent  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  mastered  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  performed 
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. 

"  That  is  my  wj/e,"  said  he.  "  Such  is  the  sole  conjugal  em- 
brace 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 !  Com- 
pare these  clear  eyes  with  the  red  balls  yonder— this  face  with 
that  mask— this  form  with  that  bulk ;  then  judge  me,  priest  of 


248  JANE    EYRE. 

the  gospel  and  man  of  the  law,  and  remember,  with  what  judg- 
ment ye  judge  ye  shall  be  judged !  Off  with  you  now.  I  must 
shut  up  my  prize." 

We  all  withdrew.  Mr.  Rochester  stayed  a  moment  behind  us, 
to  give  some  further  order  to  Grace  Poole.  The  solicitor  ad- 
dressed me  as  he  descended  the  stair. 

"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  correspond- 
ent of  his  house  for  some  years.  When  your  uncle  received  your 
letter  intimating  the  contemplated  union  between  yourself  and 
Mr.  Rochester,  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  Rochester.  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  the  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  assist- 
ance. I  used  all  despatch,  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. 

"No,  no — let  us  be  gone,"  was  the  anxious  reply;  and  with- 
out waiting  to  take  leave  of  Mr.  Rochester,  they  made  their  exit 
at  the  hall  door.  The  clergyman  stayed  to  exchange  a  few  sen- 
tences, either  of  admonition  or  reproof,  with  his  haughty  pari- 
shioner :  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.  1  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 


JANE    EYRE.  249 

brief  scene  with  the  lunatic :  the  transaction  in  the  church  had 
not  been  noisy;  there  was  no  explosion  of  passion,  no  loud  alter- 
cation, 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. 
Rochester;  answers,  explanations  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  maimed  me. 
And  yet  where  was  the  Jane  Eyre  of  yesterday  ? — 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  mid- 
summer ;  a  white  December  storm  had  whirled  over  June ;  ice 
f  lazed  the  ripe  apples,  drifts  crushed  the  blowing  roses ;  on  hay- 
eld  and  corn-field  lay  a  frozen  shroud ;  lanes  which  last  night 
blushed  full  of  flowers,  to-day  were  pathless  with  untrodden 
snow ;  and  the  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-bora  hi  the  land  of  Egypt.  I  looked  on  my  cherished 
wishes,  yesterday  so  blooming  ana  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  suffering  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! 
Mr.  Rochester  was  not  to  me  what  he  had  been ;  for  he  was  not 
what  1  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  1  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  and  confuse  ! 
a  flow.  Self-abandoned,  relaxed,  and  effortless,  I  seemed  to 
have  laid  me  down  in  the  dried-up  bed  of  a  great  river;  I  hear ! 
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 


250  JANE    EYRE. 

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." 


CHAPTER    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  Rochester'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." 

But,  then,  a  voice  within  me  averred  that  I  could  do  it,  and 
foretold  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. 

"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  ruth- 
less a  judge  haunted — at  the  silence  which  so  awful  a  voice  filled. 
My  head  swam  as  I  stood  erect :  I  perceived  that  I  was  sicken- 
ing from  excitement  and  inanition ;  neither  meat  nor  drink  had 


JANE    EYRE.  251 

pissed  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  comt*  down  :  not  even  little  Adcle  had  tapped  at  the 
door;  nor  even  Mrs.  Fairfax  had  sought  me.  "Friends  always 
forget  tho:>e  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  feeble.  I  could 
not  soon  recover  myself.  I  fell,  but  not  on  to  the  groud :  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  handker- 
chief. 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. 

"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  ?" 

Reader! — I  forgave  him  at  the  moment,  and  on  the  spot. 
There  was  such  a  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." 

"  I  cannot :  I  am  tired  and  sick.     1  want  some  water." 

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  offeree* 


252  JANE    EYRE. 

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,  with- 
out 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.  Rochester's.  I  must  leave 
him,  it  appears.  I  do  not  want  to  leave  him — I  cannot  leave 
him." 

"  How  are  you  now,  Jane  ?" 

"  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  passionate  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 !  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  ?" 

"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." 

"  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  can- 
not yet  accustom  yourself  to  accuse  and  revile  me  ;  and,  besides, 
the  floodgates  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  consider,  is  of  no  use.  I  know  you — I  am  on  my  guard." 

"Sir,  I  do  not  wish  to  act  against  you,"  I  said;  and  my 
unsteady  voice  warned  me  to  curtail  my  sentence. 

"  Not  \r\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  Adele'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 


JANE    EYRE.  253 

to  avoid  fluctuations  of  feeling,  and  continual  combats  with 
recollections  and  associations,  there  is  only  one  way — Adele  must 
have  a  new  governess,  sir." 

"Oh,  Adcle  will  go  to  school— I  have  settled  that  already; 
nor  do  I  mean  to  torment  you  with  the  hideous  associations  and 
recollections  of  Thornfield  Hall— this  accursed  place — this  Achan 
— this  insolent  vault,  offering  the  ghastliness  of  living  death  to 
the  light  of  the  open  sky— this  narrow  stone  hell,  with  its  one 
real  iiend,  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  Thornfleld  Hall,  knowing  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 
1  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,  how- 
ever, was  something  like  covering  a  child  with  a  cloak,  and  lay- 
ing it  down  near  a  upas-tree :  that  demon's  vicinage  is  poisoned, 
and  always  was.  But  I'll  shut  up  Thornfield  Hail :  I'll  nail  up 
the  front  door,  and  board  the  lower  windows;  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  Retreat,  to  bear  her  com- 
pany 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  unfor- 
tunate 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  arc),  you 
don't  know  what  you  arc  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." 

"  Tin  n  YOU  arc  mistaken,  and  you  know  nothing  about  me,  and 
nothii  he  sort  of  love  of  which  1  am  capable.  Every 

r  llcsh  is  as  dear  Jo  me  as  my  own  :   in  pain  an  ! 

.     Your  mind  is  my  treasure,  and  if  it 

••n,  it  would  be  mv  ti  ill :  if  you  raved,  my  arms 

should  confine  you,  and  not  a  strait  -waist  coat— your  grasp,  even 

in  fur}',  would  have  a  charm  for  me:  if  you  flew  at  me  as  wildly 


254  JANE    EYRE. 

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  tendernees,  though  you  gave 
me  no  smile  in  return  ;  and  never  weary  of  gazing  into  your  eyes, 
thoug-h  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  depar- 
ture ;  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  unwelcome 
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  Adele 
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  Adele 
to  me  for  a  companion  ?" 

"You  spoke  of  a  retirement,  sir;  and  retirement  and  solitude 
are  dull :  too  dull  for  you." 

"Solitude!  solitude!"  he  reiterated,  with  irritation.  "  I  see  I 
must  come  to  an  explanation.  I  don't  know  what  sphynx-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,  collected  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 !  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?"  (he  stooped  and  approached 
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, 


JANE     EYK  255 

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  supported  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." 

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  composed.  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  !"  he  said— in  such  an  accent  of  bitter  sadness 
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. 

"  I  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  mention  it." 

"  Oh,  mention  it !    If  I  storm,  you  have  the  art  of  weeping." 

"  Mr.  Rochester,  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  feven 

"  I  must  leave  Adele  and  Thornficld.  I  must  part  with  you  for 
my  whole  lite:  1  must  bejjin  a  new  e  ,  unongst  M 

faces  and  strange  scenes." 

"Of  course:  I  told  you  you  should.     I  pass  over  the  m.i 
about  parting  from  me.    Vou  mean  you  must  become  a  part  of 


256  JANE    EYRE. 

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  whitewashed  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  yourself.  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  ringer  on  my  pulse,  feel  how  it 
throbs,  and — beware!" 

He  bared  his  wrist,  and  offered  it  to  me :  the  blood  was  for- 
saking his  cheek  and  lips,  the}'  were  growing  livid ;  I  was  dis- 
tressed on  all  hands.  To  agitate  him  thus  deeply,  by  a  resist- 
ance 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. 

"I  am  a  fool!"  cried  Mr.  Rochester,  suddenly.  "I  keep 
telling  her  I  am  not  married,  and  do  not  explain  to  her  why.  I 
forgot  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  ?" 

"Yes,  sir;  for  hours  if  you  will." 

"  I  ask  only  minutes.  Jane,  did  you  ever  hear,  or  know  that  I 
was  not  the  eldest  son  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  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  Rowland.  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  partner  betimes.  Mr. 
Mason,  a  West  India  planter  and  merchant,  was  his  old 


JANE     F.  YRF. .  257 

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  seldom  saw  her  alone,  and  had  very  little 
private  conversation  with  her.  She  flattered  me,  and  lavishly 
displayed  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;  com- 
petitors 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,  I  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  refinement  in  her  mind  or  manners,  and  I  married 
her :  gross,  grovelling,  mole-eyed  blockhead  that  I  was  1  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  attachment  he  once  bore 
me,}  will  probably  be  in  the  same  state  one  day.  My  father  and 
my  brother  Rowland  knew  all  this ;  but  they  thought  only  of  the 
thirty  thousand  pounds,  and  joined  in  the  plot  against  me. 

"  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  hi 
expanded  to  anything  lar,  a  1  found  that  I  t  ould  not  pass 

a  single  evening  nor  even  a  single  hour  of  the  day  with  her  in 
comfort;  that  kindly  conversation  could  not  be  sustained 
between  us,  because  whatever  topic  I  started  immediately 

Q 


258  JANE     EYRE. 

received  from  her  a  turn  at  once  coarse  and  trite,  perverse  and 
imbecile— when  I  perceived  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  vexa- 
tions of  her  absurd,  contradictory,  exacting  orders— even  then  I 
restrained  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  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  pro- 
pensities !  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  prematurely  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  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  of  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 


JANE    EYRE.  259 

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  hus- 
band—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  particular  of  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. 

"  One  night  1  had  been  awakened  by  her  yells  (since  the  medi- 
cal 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  no  refreshment  any- 
where. 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  in- 
fluenced 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  partitions  of  the  West  India  house  opposing  but  slight 
obstruction  to  her  wolfish  cries. 

"  '  This  life,'  said  I,  at  last,  '  is  hell !  this  is  the  air,  those  are 
the  sounds  of  the  bottomless  pit !  I  have  a  right  to  deliver  my- 
self 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 
i  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,  thun- 
dered, 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 


260  JANE    EYRE. 

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 
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  Regeneration  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 : 

"  '  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  precautions  at  Thornfield : 
then  travel  yourself  to  what  clime  you  will,  and  form  what  new 
tie  you  like.  That  woman,  who  has  so  long  abused  your  long- 
suft'ering ;  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  impart  them  to  no  living  being.  Place  her  in  safety 
and  comfort :  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  acquaintance ; 
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.  Far  from  desiring  to  publish 
the  connection,  he  became  as  anxious  to  conceal  it  as  myself. 

"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  third 
story  room,  of  whose  sacret  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 
Retreat.  She  and  the  surgeon,  Carter  (who  dressed  Mason's 
wounds  that  night  he  was  stabbed  and  worried),  are  the  only  two 
I  have  ever  admitted  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 


JANE    EYRE.  261 

which  it  appears  nothing  can  cure  her,  and  which  is  incident  to 
her  harassing  profession,  her  vigilance  has  been  more  than  once 
lulled  and  b. tilled.  The  lunatic  is  both  cunning  ami  malignant  ; 
she  has  never  failed  to  take  advantage  of  her  guardian's  tem- 
porary 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  the  occa- 
sions 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  wed- 
ding apparel ;  which  perhaps  brought  back  vague  reminiscences 
of  her  own  bridal  days :  but  on  what  might  have  happened  I  can- 
not endure  to  reflect.  When  I  think  of  the  tiling  which  flew  at 
my  throat  this  morning,  hanging  its  black  and  scarlet  visage 
over  the  nest  of  my  dove,  my  blood  curdles " 

"  And  what,  sir,"  I  askea,  while  he  paused,  "  did  you  do  when 
you  had  settled  her  here  ?  Where  did  you  go  ?" 

"  What  did  I  do,  Jane  ?  I  transformed  myself  into  a  Will-o'- 
the-wisp.  Where  did  I  £o  ?  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  to  seek  and 
find  a  good  and  intelligent  woman,  whom  I  could  love :  a  contrast 
to  the  fury  I  left  at  Thornfield " 

"  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.  1  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  1  was 
burdened." 

"Well,  sir?" 

"  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  tor  you,  ami  you  wanted  to  rea.l  the  LiLilct  of  one's 
heart.  But  before  I  go  on,  tell  me  what  you  mean  by  your 
'jffiV  ***•*'  It  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." 

44 1  mean— What  next?  How  did  you  proceed?  What  came 
of  such  an  event?" 

"  Precisely :  and  what  do  you  wish  to  know  now  ?" 

44  Whether  you  found  any  one  you  liked :  whether  you  asked 
her  to  marry  you  ;  and  what  she  said." 

44 1  can  tell  you  whether  1  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 :  sometimes  in  St.  Petersburg ; 


262  JANE    EYRE. 

oftener  in  Paris ;  occasionally  in  Rome,  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  a  glance,  heard  a  tone,  beheld  a  form,  which  announced 
the  realization  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  for  what  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 — 
woujd  have  asked  to  marry  me.  Disappointment  made  me  reck- 
less. 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  enjoy- 
ment 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  recalls 
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,  unimpressionable : 
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,  indeed, 
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,  inferior:  and  to  live 
familiarly  with  inferiors  is  degrading,  1  now  hate  the  recollection 
of  the  time  I  passed  with  Celine,  Giacinta,  and  Clara." 

I  felt  the  truth  of  these  words ;  and  I  drew  from  them  the  cer- 
tain 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  utterance  to  this  con- 


JANE    EYRE.  263 

viction :  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  womatAaiiiQ.  (for  I  began  to 
regard  the  notion  of  an  intellectual,  faithful,  loving  woman  as  a 
dream),  recalled  by  business,  I  came  back  to  England. 

"On  a  frosty  winter  afternoon,  I  rode  in  sight  of  Thornfield 
Hall.  Abhorred  spot !  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  1  it 
seemed  as  if  a  linnet  had  hopped  to  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. 

"  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,  with- 
out singular  regret.  I  heard  you  come  home  that  night,  Jane: 
though  probably  you  were  not  aware  that  I  thought  of  you. 
The  next  day  I  observed  you — myself  unseen — for  half  an  hour, 
while  you  played  with  Adele  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.  Adele 
claimed  your  outward  attention  for  a  while;  yet  I  fancied  your 
thoughts  were  elsewhere :  but  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  fol- 
lows 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  !  There  was  much 


264  JANE    EYRE. 

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 

father  black  tempests  to  encounter.'    You  ran  downstairs  and 
emanded  of  Mrs.  Fairfax  some  occupation  :   the  weekly  house 
accounts  to  make  up,  or  something  of  that  sort,  I  think  it  was. 
I  was  vexed  with  you  for  getting  out  of  my  sight. 

"  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  disadvantageous^  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  cer- 
tain 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  intellectual  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  fresh- 
ness would  leave  it.  I  did  not  then  know  that  it  was  no  tran- 
sitory 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  schoolroom  as  still  as  your  own  desk  and  easel ;  if  by 
chance  I  met  you,  you  passed  me  as  soon,  and  with  as  little 
token  of  recognition,  as  was  consistent  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  ;  to  find  this  out,  I  resumed  my  notice  of  you. 
There  was  something  glad  in  your  glance,  and  genial  in  your 
manner,  when  you  conversed :  I  saw  you  had  a  social  heart ;  it 


JANE    EYRE.  265 

was  the  silent  schoolroom— 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 
roaster  and  be  stem,  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." 

44  Don't  talk  any  more  of  those  days  sir,"  I  interrupted,  fur- 
tively 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  revelations  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  con- 
tinued. "  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  you.  You  are  my  sympathy 
— my  better  self — my  good  angel — I  am  bound  to  you  with  a 
strong  attachment.  I  think  you  ^ood,  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. 

"  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  in  your 
character.  I  feared  early  instilled  prejudice:  I  wanted  to  have 
you  safe  before  hazarding  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  a^ony— des- 
cribed 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  1  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  ^raspe.l  my 


266  JANE    EYRE. 

vitals.  Terrible  moment :  full  of  struggle,  blackness,  burning ! 
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  wor- 
shipped :  and  I  must  renounce  love  and  idol.  One  drear  word 
comprised  my  intolerable  duty — "  Depart  1" 

"  Jane,  you  understand  what  I  want  of  you  ?  Just  this  promise 
— '  1  will  be  yours,  Mr.  Rochester.'  " 

"  Mr.  Rochester,  I  will  not  be  yours." 

Another  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,  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  ?" 

"1  do." 

"  And  now  ?"  softly  kissing  my  forehead  and  cheek. 

"I  do" — extricating  myself  from  restraint  rapidly  and  com- 
pletely. 

"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  forebore  yet.  I  laid  my  hand  on  the  back  of  a  chair  for 
support:  I  shook,  I  feared — but  I  resolved. 

"  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." 

"  Then  you  will  not  yield  ?" 

"No." 

"Then  you  condemn  me  to  live  wretched,  and  to  die 
accursed  ?' '  His  voice  rose. 

"  I  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  occupation  ?" 

"Mr.  Rochester,  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  1  forget  you." 

"  You  make  me  a  liar  by  such  language  :  you  sully  my  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 


JANE    EYRE.  267 

neither  relatives  nor  acquaintances  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!"  it  said.  "Think  of  his 
misery  ;  think  of  his  danger — look  at  his  state  when  left  alone  ; 
remember  his  headlong  nature  ;  consider  the  recklessness  follow- 
ing on  despair — soothe  him  ;  save  him  ;  love  him  ;  tell  him  you 
love  him  and  will  be  his.  Who  in  the  world  cares  for  you  f  or 
who  will  be  injured  by  what  you  do  ?" 

Still  indomitable  was  the  reply — "  /care  for  myself.  The  nioie 
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  principles  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.  Rochester,  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  felt,  at  the  moment, 
powerless  as  stubble  exposed  to  the  draught  and  glow  of  a  fur- 
nace— mentally,  I  still  possessed  my  soul,  and  with  it  the  cer- 
tainty of  ultimate  safety.  The  soul,  fortunately,  has  an  inter- 
preter—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  involuntary  sigh :  his  gripe  was  painful,  and  my 
over-tasked  strength  almost  exhausted. 

"Never,"  said  he,  as  he  ground  his  teeth,  "never  was  any- 
thing 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  1  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.  Conquerer  I  might  be 
of  the  house;  but  the  inmate  would  escape  to  heaven  b<  I 
could  call  myself  possessor  of  its  clay  dwelling-place.  And  it  is 


268  JANE     EYRE. 

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  !  come,  Jane, 
come !" 

"As  he  said  this,  he  released  me  from  his  clutch,  and  only 
looked  at  me.  The  look  was  far  worse  to  resist  than  the  frantic 
strain :  only  an  idiot,  however,  would  have  succumbed  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." 

"You  will  not  come?  You  will  not  be  my  comforter,  my 
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!" 

"Mr.  Rochester!" 

"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. 

"God  bless  you,  my  dear  master!"  I  said.  "God  keep  you 
from  harm  and  wrong — direct  you,  solace  you — reward  you  well 
for  your  past  kindness  to  me." 

"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!" 


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 


JANE    EYRE.  269 

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 :  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  anticipation ;  as  though  some  word  of  doom 
were  to  be  written  on  her  disc.  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  1" 

"Mother,  I  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.  Rochester  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!"  I  whispered,  as  I  glided  past 
her  door.  "Farewell,  my  darling  Adcle!"  I  said,  as  I  glanced 
towards  the  nursery.  No  thought  could  be  admitted  of  entering 
to  embrace  her.  I  had  to  deceive  a  fine  ear :  for  ought  I  knew, 
it  might  now  be  listening. 

I  would  have  got  past  Mr.  Rochester's  chamber  without  a 
pause;  but  my  heart  momentarily  stopping  its  beat  at  that 
threshhold,  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  chose :  I  had  but  to 
go  in  and  to  say : 

"Mr  Rochester,  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  1  "ui .1  it  mechanically.  I  sought  the  key  of  the  side-door 


270  JANE    EYRE. 

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  Millcote ;  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  by. 

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  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,  but  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  undiscovered.  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, 
extending  to  the  limbs,  seized  me,  and  I  fell :  1  lay  on  the  ground 
some  minutes,  pressing  my  face  to  the  wet  turf.  I  had  some  fear 


JANE    EYRE.  27! 

for  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  asked  where 
it  was  going:  the  driver  named  a  place  a  long  way  off,  and 
where  I  was  sure  Mr.  Rochester  had  no  connections.  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  1  then  felt !  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. 


CHAPTER    XXV11I. 


days  are  passed.  It  is  a  summer  evening;  the  coach- 
1  man  has  set  me  down  at  a  placed  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  discover  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 
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  popula- 
tion here  must  be  thin,  and  I  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  uspicion. 


272  JANE    EYRE. 

Not  a  tie  holds  me  to  human  society  at  this  moment — not  a 
charm  or  hope  calls  me  where  my  fellow-creatures  are — none  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  moor  side  ;  I  waded  knee-deep  in  its 
darkgrowth ;  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  sports- 
man 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. 

What  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  ! 

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  at  noon  with  a  stray  penny — my  last  coin.  I  saw  ripe 
bilberries  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  com- 
mencement of  the  night,  cold. 

My  rest  might  have  been  blissful  enough,  only  a  sad  heart 


JANE    EYRE.  273 

broke  it.  It  plained  of  its  gaping  wounds,  its  inward  bleeding, 
its  riven  chords.  It  trembled  for  Mr.  Rochester  and  his  doom : 
it  bemoaned  him  with  bitter  pity ;  it  demanded  him  with  cease- 
less 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. 
Rochester.  Looking  up,  I,  with  tear-dimmed  eyes,  saw  the 
mighty  Milky- way.  Remembering  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.  Rochester  was  safe ;  he  was  God's  and  by  God  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  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 !  Everywhere  sunshine.  I  wished  1  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  nutri- 
ment, 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  whilst  I 
slept ;  and  that  this  weary  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  respon- 
sibilities. The  burden  must  be  carried ;  the  want  provided  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  lonjj  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  resist- 

R 


274  JANE    EYRE. 

lessly  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  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  woodland,  the  clear  and 
sunny  lea.  Recalled  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  refresh- 
ment 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  destitu- 
tion 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  respectably 
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  expec- 
tation .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  unseasonable  such  a  manifestation  would  be, 
I  restrained  it.  Soon  I  asked  her,  "  if  there  were  any  dress- 
maker or  plain-work-woman  in  the  village  ?" 

"  Yes :  two  or  three.  Quite  as  many  as  there  was  employment 
for." 

I  reflected.  I  was  driven  to  the  point  now.  I  was  brought 
face  to  face  with  Necessity.  I  stood  in  the  position  of  one  with- 
out 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  ?' ' 

"Nay;  she  couldn't  say." 

"  What  was  the  chief  trade  in  this  place  ?  What  did  most  of 
the  people  do  ?" 


JANE    EYRE.  275 

"Some  were  farm  labourers;  a  good  deal  worked  at  Mr. 
Olivers  needle-factory,  and  at  the  foundry." 

"  Did  Mr.  Oliver  employ  women  ?" 

"  Nay ;  it  was  men's  work." 

"  And  what  do  the  women  do  ?" 

"  I  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  searching  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,  cleanly-attired  young  woman  opened  the  door.  In 
such  a  voice  as  mi^ht  be  expected  from  a  hopeless  heart  and 
fainting  frame — a  voice  wretchedly  low  and  faltering — I  asked  if 
a  servant  was  wanted  here  ? 

"  No,"  said  she,  "  we  do  not  keep  a  servant." 

"  Can  you  tell  me  where  I  could  get  employment  of  any  kind  ?" 
I  continued.  "  I  am  a  stranger,  without  acquaintance,  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 
dr\  i.ite  to  a  wood  I  saw  not  far  off,  which  appeared  in  its  thick 
shade  to  offer  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  fopd.  Solitude  would  be  no  solitude 
— rest  no  rest — while  the  vulture,  hunger,  thus  sank  beak  and 
t.ilons  in  my  side. 

I  drew  near  houses ;  I  left  them,  and  came  back  again,  and 
again  I  wandered  away :  always  repelled  by  the  consciousness  of 
having  no  claim  to  ask— no  right  to  expect  interest  in  my 


276  JANE    EYRE, 

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,  some- 
times apply  to  the  clergyman  for  introduction  and  aid.  It  is  the 
clergyman's  function  to  help— at  least  with  advice— those  who 
wished  to  help  themselves.  I  seemed  to  have  something  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  it :  I  asked  was  this  the  parsonage  ? 

"Yes." 

"  Was  the  clergyman  in  ?" 

"No." 

"Would  he  be  in  soon?" 

"  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." 

"  Was  there  any  lady  of  the  house  ?" 

"  Nay,  there  was  naught  but  her,  and  she  was  housekeeper;" 
and  of  her,  reader,  I  could  not  bear  to  ask  the  relief  for  want 
of  which  I  was  sinking;  I  could  not  beg;  and  again  I  crawled 
away. 

Once  more  I  took  off  my  handerchief — once  more  I  thought  of 
the  cakes  of  bread  in  the  little  shop.  Oh,  for  a  crust !  for  but 
one  mouthful  to  allay  the  pangs  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 :  "  Would  she  give  me  a  roll  for  this  hand- 
kerchief?" 

She  looked  at  me  with  evident  suspicion :  "  Nay,  she  never 
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  handkerchief,"  she 
said. 

"  Would  she  take  my  gloves  ?" 

"  No  !  what  could  she  do  with  them  ?" 

Reader,  it  is  not  pleasant  to  dwell  on  these  details.  Some  say 
there  is  enjoyment  in  looking  back  to  painful  experience  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 


JANE    EYRE.  277 

beggar  inevitably  so.  To  be  sure  what  I  begged  was  employ- 
ment: but  whose  business  was  it  to  provide  me  with  employ- 
ment ?  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  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. 

She  stared  at  me.  "  Mother !"  she  exclaimed ;  "  there  is  a 
woman  wants  me  to  jjpve  her  these  porridge." 

"Well,  lass,"  replied  a  voice  within,  "give  it  her  if  she's  a 
beggar.  T*  pig  doesn't  want  it." 

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  a  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.  Rochester  is  living:  and  then, 
to  die  of  want  and  cold,  is  a  fate  to  which  nature  cannot  submit 
passively.  Oh,  Providence  I  sustain  me  a  little  longer  I  Aid — 
direct  me!" 


278  JANE    EYRE. 

My  glazed  eye  wandered  over  the  dim  and  misty  landscape.  1 
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  drawnnear  the  tract  of  moor- 
land ;  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  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  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  alterations  of  light  and  shade :  for  colour 
had  faded  with  the  daylight. 

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  bon- 
fire 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,"  I  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  ever  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  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— firs,  apparently,  from  what  I  could  distinguish  of 


JANE    EYRE.  279 

the  character  of  their  forms  and  foliage  through  the  gloom.  My 
star  vanished  as  I  drew  near :  some  obstacle  haa  intervened 
between  me  and  it.  I  put  out  my  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 
turned  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  por- 
tion 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  snooting  over  it,  I  could  see  all  within.  I  could  see 
clearly  a  room  with  a  sanded  floor,  clean  scoured ;  a  dresser  of 
of  walnut,  with  pewter  plates  ranged  in  rows,  reflecting  the  red- 
ness 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  w.is 
nothing  extraordinary.  A  group  of  more  interest  appeared  near 
the  hearth,  sitting  still  amidst  the  rosy  peace  and  warmth  suffus- 
ing it.  Two  young,  graceful  women— ladies  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  £arb 
singularly  set  off  very  fair  necks  and  faces :  a  lanje  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  nushed  was  it,  I  could  hear  the  cinders  fall  from 


280  JANE    EYRE. 

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;  "Franz 
and  old  Daniel  are  together  in  the  night-time,  and  Franz  is 
telling  a  dream  from  which  he  has  awakened  in  terror — listen !" 
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  which  had 
been  read.  At  a  later  day,  I  knew  the  language  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.  "  There  you  have  a  dim  and  mighty  archangel  fitly 
set  before  you  !  The  line  is  worth  a  hundred  pages  of  fustain. 
'  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." 

"  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." 

"  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." 

"Varrylike:  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 


JANE    EYRE.  28l 

The  woman  rose :  she  opened  a  door,  through  which  I  dimly 
saw  a  passage :  soon  I  heard  her  stir  the  fire  in  an  inner  room ; 
she  presently  came  back. 

41  Ah,  childcr!"  said  she,  "  it  fair  troubles  me  to  go  into  yond* 
room  now :  it  looks  so  lonesome  wi'  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  heaviness  in  his  head  the  next  day— that  is,  a  fort- 
night 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  t'  last  o*  f  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  intelligence.  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  curls.  The  clock  struck  ten. 

"  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; 
they  seemed  about  to  withdraw  to  the  parlour.  Till  this 
moment,  I  had  been  so  intent  on  watching  them,  their  appear- 
ance 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  put  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  surprise,  as 
she  surveyed  me  by  the  light  of  the  candle  she  held. 

"  May  I  speak  to  your  mistresses  ?"  I  said. 


282  JANE     EYRE. 

"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." 

"  Do  let  me  speak  to  your  mistresses." 

"  No  ;  not  I.  What  can  they  do  for  you  ?  You  should  not  be 
roving  about  now;  it  looks  very  ill." 

"  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's  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  must ;  the  rain  is  driving  in " 

"  Tell  the  young  ladies.     Let  me  see  them " 

"  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  fear'd  you  have  some  ill  plans  agate,  that 
bring  you  about  folk's  houses  at  this  time  o'  night.  If  you've  any 
followers — house-breakers  or  such  like — anywhere  near,  you  may 
tell  them  we  are  not  by  ourselves  in  the  house ;  we  have  a  gentle- 
man, 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  hope,  but  the  footing  of  fortitude 
was  gone — at  least  for  a  moment :  but  the  last  I  soon  endea- 
voured to  regain. 

"  I  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  thrusting 
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  premature  doom, 
such  as  yours  would  be  if  you  perished  here  of  want." 

"  Who  or  what  speaks  ?"  I  asked,  terrified  at  the  unexpected 
sound,  and  incapable  now  of  deriving  from  any  occurrence  a 
hope  of  aid.  A  form  was  near — what  form,  the  pitch-dark  night 


JANE    EYRE.  283 

and    my  enfeebled    vision  prevented  me   from    distinguishing. 
With  a  loud  long  knock,  the  new-comer  appealed  to  the  door, 

"  Is  it  you,  Mi.  St.  John  ?"  cried  Hannah. 

"  Y  .jpcn  quickly." 

"  Well,  how  wet  and  cold  you  must  be,  such  a  wild  night  as  it 
is !  Com--  in— your  sisters  are  quite  uneasy  about  you,  and  I 
believe  there  are  bad  folks  about.  There  has  been  a  beggar- 
wom.in— I  declare  she  is  not  gone  yet ! — laid  down  there.  Get 
up!  for  shame  !  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  admit- 
ting 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. 

"  I  cannot  tell :  1  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!" 

"A  mere  spectre!" 

"  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 
n  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 
removed  my  sodden  bonnet  and  lifted  my  head.  I  tasted  what 
they  offered  me :  feebly  at  first,  eagerly  soon. 

14  Not  too  much  at  first— restrain  her,"  said  the  brother;  "  she 
has  had  enough."  And  he  withdrew  the  cup  of  milk  and  the 
plate  of  bread. 

"  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." 

I  felt  I   could   speak,  and   I   answered — "My  name  is  J  .ne 


284  JANE    EYRE. 

Elliott."  Anxious  as  ever  to  avoid  discovery,  I  had  before 
resolved  to  assume  an  alias. 

"  And  where  do  you  live  ?    Where  are  your  friends  ?" 

I  was  silent. 

"  Can  we  send  for  any  one  you  know  ?" 

I  shook  my  head. 

"  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  ?" 

"Nothing,"  I  replied.  My  strength  sufficed  for  but  short 
answers.  Diana  took  the  word : 

"  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  counten- 
ance ;  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  masterless  and  stray  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. 

"Hannah,"  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  stealing  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  con- 
trived to  mount  a  staircase;  my  dripping  clothes  were  removed; 
soon,  a  warm,  dry  bed  received  me.  I  thanked  God — experi- 
enced amidst  unutterable  exhaustion  a  glow  of  grateful  joy — 
and  slept. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

HP  HE  recollection  of  about  three  days  and  nights  succeeding 

JL       this  is  very  dim  in  my  mind.     I  can  recall  some  sensations 

felt  in  that  interval;    but  few  thoughts  framed,  and  no  actions 


JANE    EYRE.  285 

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  understand  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  feel- 
ing 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 — "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  ?" 

"  Strange  hardships,  I  imagine  —  poor,  emaciated,  pallid 
wanderer!" 

"  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." 

"She  has  a  peculiar  face;  flesh  less  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  a  while.  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  to  expansive  comment,  "  rather  an  unusual 
physiognomy ;  certainly,  not  indicative  of  vulgarity  or  degrada- 
tion." 

"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." 

"  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  1  trace  lines  of  force  in  her  face  which  make  me  sceptical  of 


286  JANE    EYRE. 

her  tractability."     He  stood  considering  me  some  minutes ;  then 
added,  "  She  looks  sensible,  but  not  at  all  handsome." 

"  She  is  so  ill,  St.  John." 

"Ill  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 — void  of  the  feverish 
flavour  which  had  hitherto  poisoned  what  I  had  swallowed. 
When  she  left  me,  I  felt  comparatively  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  deficiencies  with  a  shawl, 
and  once  more,  clean  and  respectable-looking — no  spec  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. 

"  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  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 : 


JANE    EYRE.  287 

"You  are  mistaken  in  supposing  me  a  beggar.  I  am  no 
beggar ;  any  more  than  yourself  or  your  young  ladies." 

r  a  pause,  she  said,  "I  dunnot  understand  that:  you've 
like  no  house,  nor  no  brass,  I  guess?" 

"The  want  of  house  or  brass  (by  which  I  suppose  you  mean 
money)  does  not  make  a  beggar  in  your  sense  of  the  word." 

.re  you  book-learned?"  she  inquired,  presently. 
"  Yes,  very." 

;t  you've  never  been  to  a  boarding-school  1" 
"  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. 
"  Mak'  'em  into  pies." 
"Give  them  to  me  and  I'll  pick  them." 
"Nay ;  I  dunnot  want  ye  to  do  nought." 
"  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  sarvant'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  bother  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." 
"  And  the  gentleman  who  lives  here  is  called  Mr.  St.  John." 
"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  ?" 
"Aye." 

"  And  what  is  he  ?" 
"  He  is  a  parson." 

I  remembered  the  answer  of  the  old  housekeeper  at  the  parson- 
age, when  I  had  asked  to  see  the  clergyman.  "This,  then,  was 

aher's  residence?" 

"Aye;  old  Mr.  River's  lived  here,  and  his  father,  and  grand- 
father, and  gurt  (great)  grandfather  afore  him." 

'The  name,  then,  of  that  gentleman,  is  Mr.  St.  John  Rivers?" 
'Aye;  St.  John  is  like  his  kirstened  name." 
'And  his  sisters  are  called  Diana  and  Mary  Rivi 
Ye 

Their  father  is  dead  ?" 
Dead  three  weeks  sin'  of  .1    troke." 
v  have  no  mother?" 
mistress  has  been  dead  this  monv  a  >  < 

you  lived  with  the  family  long?'' 
lived  here  thirty  year.     I  nursed  them  all  three." 
it  proves  you  must  have  been  an   honest  and  faithful 


288  JANE    EYRE. 

servant.  I  will  say  so  much  for  you,  though  you  have  had  the 
incivility  to  call  me  a  beggar." 

Again  she  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  the  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." 

I  maintained  a  grave  silence  for  some  minutes. 

"  You  munnut  think  too  hardly  of  me,"  she  again  remarked. 

"  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." 

"  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." 

"  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  pies,  she  proceeded  to  give 
me  sundry  details  about  her  deceased  master  and  mistress,  and 
"  the  childer,"  as  she  called  the  young  people. 

Old  Mr.  Rivers,  she  said,  was  a  plain  man  enough  ;  but  a  gen- 
tleman, and  of  as  ancient  a  family  as  could  be  found.  Marsh 
End  had  belonged  to  the  Rivers'  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  remem- 
ber Bill  Oliver's  father  a  journeyman  needlemaker ;  and  th'  Rivers' 
wor  gentry  i'  thi'  owd  days  o'  th'  Henrys,  as  onybody  might 
see  by  looking  into  th'  registers  i'  Morton  Church  vestry."  Still, 
she  allowed,  "  the  owd  maister  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 
could  speak;  and  they  had  always  been  "  of  a  mak'  of  their 
own."  Mr.  St.  John,  when  he  grew  up,  would  go  to  college  and 
be  a  parson ;  and  the  girls,  as  soon  as  they  left  school,  would 
seek  places  as  governesses :  for  they  had  told  her  their  father 


JANE    EY1  289 

had  some  years  ago  lost  a  great  deal  of  money,  by  a  man  he  h.i.i 
trusted  turning  bankrupt ;  and  as  he  was  now  not  rich  enough  to 
give  them  fortunes,  they  must  provide  for  themselves.  They  had 
fived  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  there  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." 

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,"  she  said. 
"  You  still  look  very  pale — and  so  thin  !  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  expres- 
sion 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  supported  like  hers ;  and  to  bend,  where 
my  conscience  and  self-respect  permitted,  to  an  active  will. 

"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."  And  still  holding  my  hand  she  made  me  rise,  and 
led  me  into  the  inner  room. 

"  Sit  there,"  she  said,  placing  me  on  the  sofa,  "  while  we  take 
our  things  off  and  get  the  tea  ready;  it  is  another  privilege  we 
exercise  in  our  little  moorland  home — to  prepare  our  own 
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 


2QO  JANE    EYRE. 

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  furnished ; 
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  stained  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 :  everything1 — 
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  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  be  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  something  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  or  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. 

"  Eat  that  now,"  she  said:  "you  must  be  hungry.  Hannah 
says  you  have  had  nothing  but  some  gruel  since  breakfast." 

I  did  not  refuse  it,  for  my  appetite  was  awakened  and  keen. 
Mr.  Rivers  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. 

"  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 


JANE    EYRE.  2QI 

to  the  cravings  of  your  appetite  at  first.  Now  you  may  eat; 
though  still  not  immoderately." 

"  I  trust  I  shall  not  eat  long  at  your  expense,  sir,"  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  instruments  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. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say,"  he  asked,  "that  you  are  completely 
isolated  from  every  connection?" 

"  I  do.  Not  a  tie  links  me  to  any  living  thing :  not  a  claim  do 
I  possess  to  admittance  under  any  roof  in  England." 

"  A  most  singular  position  at  your  age  !" 

Here  1  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. 

"  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  am  near  nineteen  :  but  I  am  not  married.     No." 

I  felt  a  burning  glow  mount  to  my  face ;  for  bitter  and  agitat- 
ing recollections  were  awakened  by  the  allusion  to  marriage. 
They  all  saw  the  embarrassment,  and  the  emotion.  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. 

"You  are  too  inquisitive,  St.  John,"  murmured  Mary,  in  a  low 
voice ;  but  he  leaned  over  the  table  and  required  an  answer,  by  a 
1  firm  and  piercing  look. 

"The  name  of  the  place  where,  and  of  the  person  with  whom  I 
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," 

"  Yet  if  I  know  nothing  about  you  or  your  history,  I  cannot 
help  you,"  he  said.  "  And  you  need  help :  do  you  not  ?" 

iced  it,  and  I  seek  it;    so  f.ir,  sir,  that  some  true  philan- 
t  »ill  put  me  in  the  way  of  getting  work  which  I  can  do, 


JANE    EYRE. 

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  purpose  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. 

"Mr.  Rivers,"  I  said,  turning  to  him,  and  looking  at  him,  as 
he  looked  at  me,  openly  and  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  con- 
fidence. I  will  tell  you  as  much  of  the  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  Asylum, shire  :   you 

will  have  heard  of  it,  Mr.  Rivers  ? — the  Rev.   Robert  Brockle- 
hurst  is  the  treasurer." 

"I  have  heard  of  Mr.  Brocklehurst,  and  I  have  seen  the 
school." 

"  I  left  Lowood  nearly  a  year  since  to  become  a  private  gover- 
ness. 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  catas- 
trophe 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  me  to  Whitcross.  To  this  neighbour- 
hood, then,  I  came,  quite  destitute.  I  slept  two  nights  in  the 
open  air,  and  wandered  about  two  days  without  crossing  a  thres- 
hold :  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.  Rivers,  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  insen- 
sible during  my  seeming  torpor,  and  I  owe  to  their  spontaneous, 


JANE    EYRE.  2Q3 

genuine,  genial  compassion  as  large  a  debt  as  to  your  evangelical 
charity." 

"  Don't  make  her  talk  any  more  now,  St.  John,"  said  Diana, 
as  I  paused  ;  "  she  is  evidently  not  yet  fit  for  excitement.  Come 
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.  Rivers,  whom  nothing  seemed  to 
escape,  noticed  it  at  once. 

"  You  said  your  name  was  Jane  Elliott  ?"  he  observed. 

"  I  did  say  so;  and  it  is  the  name  by  which  I  think  it  expedi- 
ent 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  disclo- 
sure would  lead  to  it  I  avoid." 

"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  recom- 
menced, as  imperturbably,  and  with  as  much  acumen  as  ever. 

"You  would  not  like  to  be  long  dependent  on  our  hospitality — 
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  1  now  ask ;  then  let  me  go,  if 
it  be  but  to  the  meanest  cottage  —  but  ////  then  allow  me  to 
stay  here:  I  dread  another  essay  of  the  horrors  of  homeless 
destitution." 

"  Indeed,  you  shall  stay  here,"  said  Diana,  putting  her  white 
hand  on  my  head.  "You  shall"  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.  /  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  than  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,  St.  John, 
she  has  no  choice  of  helpers :  she  is  forced  to  put  up  with  such 
crusty  people  as  you." 

"I  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. 

"  Right,"  said  Mr.  St.  John,  quite  coolly.  "  If  such  is  your 
spirit,  1  promise  to  aid  you ;  in  my  own  time  and  way." 


2Q4  JANE    EYRE. 

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. 


CHAPTER    XXX. 


npHE  more  I  knew  of  the  inmates  of  Moor  House  the  better  I 
JL  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;  con- 
verse with  them  as  much  as  they  wished,  and  aid  them  when  and 
where  they  would  allow  me.  There  was  a  reviving  pleasure  in 
this  intercourse,  of  a  kind  now  tasted  by  me  for  the  first  time — 
the  pleasure  arising  from  perfect  congeniality  of  tastes,  senti- 
ments, 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  casements,  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  wilder- 
ness 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  colouring  communicated  to  ridge  and  dell,  by 
moss,  by  heathbell,  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  i^ght,  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  accom- 
plished and  better  read  than  I  was,  but  with  eagerness  I  followed 


JANE    EYRE.  2Q5 

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  purused  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  awhile  when  the  evening  com- 
menced: but  the  first  gush  of  vivacity  and  fluency  gone,  I  w.i-, 
fain  to  sit  on  a  stool  at  Diana's  feet,  to  rest  my  head  on  her  knee, 
and  listen  alternately  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  discovered  I  could 
draw:  their  pencils  and  colour-boxes  were  immediately  at  my 
service.  My  skill,  greater  in  this  on£  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  enter- 
tained, days  passed  like  hours  and  weeks  like  days. 

As  to  Mr.  bt.  John,  the  intimacy  which  had  ansen  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,  £0  out  on  his  mission  of  love  or  duty — I  scarcely  know  in 
which  light  he  regarded  it.  Sometimes,  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?" 

try'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  writin 


296  JANE    EYRE. 

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  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  sooth- 
ing 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  guaging  his  mind.  I  first  got  an  idea  of  its 
calibre  when  I  heard  him  preach  in  his  own  church  at  Morton. 
I  wish  I  could  describe  that  sermon :  but  it  is  past  my  power.  I 
cannot  even  render  faithfully  the  effect  it  produced  on  me. 

It  began  calm — and  indeed,  as  far  as  delivery  and  pitch  of 
voice  went,  it  was  calm  to  the  end:  and  earnestly  felt,  yet 
strictly  restrained  zeal  breathed  soon  in  the  distinct  accents,  and 
prompted  the  nervous  language.  This  grew  to  force — com- 
pressed, condensed,  controlled.  The  heart  was  thrilled,  the 
mind  astonished,  by  the  power  of  the  preacher:  neither  were 
softened.  Throughout  there  was  a  strange  bitterness;  an 
absence  of  consolatory  gentleness ;  stern  allusions  to  Calvinistic 
doctrines — election,  predestination,  reprobation — were  frequent; 
and  each  reference  to  these  points  sounded  like  a  sentence  pro- 
nounced 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 
Rivers — 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  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  apprciated  only  their  acquired 
accomplishments  as  they  appreciated  the  skill  of  their  cook,  or 
the  taste  of  their  waiting- worn  an.  Mr.  St.  John  had  said  nothing 
to  me  yet  about  the  employment  he  had  promised  to  obtain  for 


JANE    EYRE.  297 

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  I  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  my  sisters  had 
evidently  become  attached  to  you,  and  your  society  £ave  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." 

"And  they  will  go  in  three  days  now?"  I  said. 

"  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 
tram  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. 

"What  is  the  employment  you  had  in  view,  Mr.  Rivers?  I 
hojje  this  delay  will  not  have  increased  the  difficulty  of  securing 

"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,"  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  I  have  paid  my  futlu-r'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 : 
Rivers  is  an  old  name ;  but  of  the  three  sole  descendants  of  the 
race,  two  earn  the  dependent's  crust  among  strangers,  and  the 
third  considers  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  tics  shall  be  laid  on  his 


298  JANE    EYRE. 

shoulders,  and  when  the  Head  of  that  church-militant  of  whose 
humblest  members  he  is  one,  shall  give  the  word,  '  Rise,  follow 
me !'  " 

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  /consider  that  no  ser- 
vice degrades  which  can  better  our  race.  I  hold  that  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  Redeemer,  himself." 

"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  charac- 
ters on  a  page.  The  conclusions  drawn  from  this  scrutiny  he 
partially  expressed  in  his  succeeding  observations. 

"  I  believe  you  will  accept  the  post  I  offer  you,"  said  he  ;  "  and 
hold  it  for  awhile :  not  permanently,  though :  any  more  than  I 
could  permanently  keep  the  narrow  and  narrowing — the  tranquil, 
hidden  office  of  English  country  incumbent :  for  in  your  nature  is 
an  alloy  as  detrimental  to  repose  as  that  in  mine ;  though  of  a 
different  kind." 

"  Do  explain,"  I  urged,  when  he  halted  once  more. 

"I  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  twelvemonth :  but 
while  I  do  stay,  1  will  exert  myself  to  the  utmost  for  its  improve- 
ment. Morton,  when  I  came  to  it  two  years  ago,  had  no  school : 
the  children  of  the  poor  were  excluded  from  every  hope  of  pro- 
gress. 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  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 


JANE    EYRE.  299 

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. 

"I  thank  you  for  the  proposal,  Mr.  Rivers:  and  I  accept  it 
with  all  my  heart." 

"  But  you  comprehend  me  ?M  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. 
ciphering,  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  ?" 

"  Save  them  till  they  are  wanted.     They  will  keep." 

"  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  funct 

"  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. 

"  What  do  you  disapprove  of,  Mr.  Rivers  ?"  I  asked. 

"  You  will  not  stay  at  Morton  long :  no,  no  !" 

"  Why  !     What  is  your  reason  for  saying  so  ?" 

"  I  read  it  in  your  eye ;  it  is  not  of  that  description  which 
promises  the  maintenance  of  an  even  tenor  in  life." 

"  I  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." 

41  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 
•  ntravencd;  my  faculties,  1  >towed,  paralysed — 

made  useless.  You  hear  now  how  1  contradict  myself.  I,  wlio 


300  JANE    EYRE. 

preached  contentment  with  a  humble  lot,  and  justified  the  voca- 
tion even  of  hewers  of  wood,  and  drawers  of  water,  in  God's 
service — I,  his  ordained  minister,  almost  rave  in  my  restlessness. 
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  Rivers  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. 

"  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  vitals.  You  would 
think  him  gentle,  yet  in  some  things  he  is  inexorable  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. 

"  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,  Di  ?"  he  replied,  maintaining  a  marble  immo- 
bility of  feature.  "What  then?  Why— nothing.  Read." 

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  !     We  can  yet  live,"  said  Diana,  at  last. 

"At  any  rate,  it  makes  us  no  worse  off  than  we  were  before," 
remarked  Mary. 

"  Only  it  forces  rather  strongly  on  the  mind  the  picture  of 
what  might  have  been"  said  Mr.  Rivers;  "and  contrasts  it 
somewhat  too  vividly  with  what  if." 


JANE    EYRE.  3OI 

He  folded  the  letter,  locked  it  in  his  desk,  and  again  went  out. 

For  some  minutes  no  one  spoke.     Diana  then  turned  to  me. 

"Jane,  you  will  wonder  at  us  and  our  mysteries,"  she  said; 
"and  think  us  hard-hearted  beings  not  to  be  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  reconciled.  My  uncle  engaged  after- 
wards in  more  prosperous  undertakings;  it  appears  he 
realised  a  fortune  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  he  would  atone  for  his  error,  by  leaving 
his  possessions  to  us;  that  letter  informs  us  that  he  has 
bequeathed  every  penny  to  the  other  relation ;  with  the  excep- 
tion of  thirty  guineas,  to  be  divided  between  St.  John,  Diana  and 
Mary  Rivers,  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.  Rivers  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. 

Rivers  and  Hannah  repaired  to  the  parsonage :  and  so  the  old 
grange  was  abandoned. 


CHAPTER    XXXI. 

MY  home,  then— when  I  at  last  find  a  home— is  a  cottage : 
a  little  room  with  whitewashed  walls,  and  a  sanded  floor ; 
containing  four  painted  chairs  and  a  table,  a  clock,  a  cupboard, 
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  h.ul 
twenty  scholars.  But  three  of  the  number  can  read :  none  write 
or  cipher.  Several  knit,  and  a  few  sew  a  little.  They  speak 


302  JANE     EYRE. 

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  disposi- 
tion 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  dis- 
charging that  office.  Much  enjoyment  I  do  not  expect  in  the  life 
opening  before  me :  yet  it  will,  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,  per- 
haps, 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  temptation  ;  listened  to  passion  ;  made 
no  painful  effort — no  strug'gle;  but  to  have  sunk  down  in  the 
silken  snare ;  fallen  asleep  on  the  flowers  covering  it ;  wakened 
in  a  southern  clime,  among'st  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  awhile.  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  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  ? 

Yes ;  I  feel  now  that  I  was  right  when  I  adhered  to  principle 
and  law,  and  scorned  and  crushed  the  insane  promptings  of  a 
frenzied  moment.  God  directed  me  to  a  correct  choice :  I  thank 
His  providence  for  the  guidance ! 


J  A  N  1      1.  V  K  E  .  303 

Having  brought  my  eventide  musings  to  this  point,  I  rose,  went 
to  my  door,  ana  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  restora- 
tion 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  my  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. 
Rivers'  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  1  came  near;  the  traces  of 
tears  were  doubtless  very  visible  upon  it. 

"  Have  you  found  your  day's  work  harder  than  you  expected  ?" 
he  asked. 

"  Oh,  no  1  on  the  contrary,  I  think  in  time  I  shall  get  on  with 
my  scholars  very  well." 

"But   perhaps  ^our    accommodations  —  your  cottage 
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  sec  has  made  me  thankful,  not 
despondent.     I  am  not  absolutely  such  a  fool  and  sensu.t. 
to   regret  the  absence  of  a  carpet,   a   sofa,   and   silver  plate: 
besides,  five  weeks  ago  I   had   nothing — I   was   an   outc 

:-,  a  vagrant ;   and  now  I  have  acquaintance,  a  home,  a 
ss.      I  wonder  at  the  goodness  of  Ood;    the  generosity  of 
my  friends  ;  the  bounty  of  my  lot.     I  do  not  repine." 

"  But  you  foel  solitude  an  oppression?  The  little  house  there 
behind  you  is  dark  and  empty. 


304  JANE    EYRE. 

"I  have  hardly  had  time  yet  to  enjoy  a  sense  of  tranquillity, 
much  less  to  grow  impatient  under  one  of  loneliness." 

"  Very  well ;  I  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,"  1  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,  I  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  susten- 
ance 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  the 
mind,  as  strong  as  the  forbidden  food  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. 

"A  year  ago  I  was  myself  intensely  miserable,  because  1 
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.  Gpd  had  an  errand 
for  me  ;  to  bear  which  afar,  to  deliver  it  well,  skill  and  strength, 
courage  and  eloquence,  the  best  qualifications  of  soldier,  states- 
man, and  orator,  were  all  needed :  for  these  all  centre  in  the 
good  missionary. 

"A  missionary  I  resolved  to  be.  From  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  determina- 
tion, but  since  his  death  I  have  not  a  legitimate  obstacle  to  con- 
tend 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." 

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 


JANE    EYRE.  305 

towards  the  path  leading  up  the  field  to  the  wicket.  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.  Rivers.  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.  Rivers  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  in  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  humid  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  check,  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  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  Rivers  think  of  this  earthly  aneel?  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  withdrawn  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. 

T 


306  JANE     EYRE. 

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,"  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." 

"  Did  you  find  your  scholars  as  attentive  as  you  expected  ?" 

"Quite." 

"  Do  you  like  your  house  ?" 

"Very  much." 

"Have  I  furnished  it  nicely?" 

"Very  nicely,  indeed." 

"  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  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 
added.  "  It  will  be  a  change  for  me  to  visit  you  now  and  then  ; 
and  I  like  a  change.  Mr.  Rivers,  I  have  been  so  gay  during  my 

stay  at  S .  Last  night,  or  rather  this  morning,  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.  "  He  is  not  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  con- 
striction, had  expanded,  despite  the  will,  and  made  a  vigorous 
bound  for  the  attainment  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 


JANE    EYRE.  307 

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  ?" 

"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.  Rivers, 
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  thoughtless !  Do 
excuse  me.  It  had  slipped  my  memory  that  you  had  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  aud  see  papa." 

"Not  to-night,  Miss  Rosamond,  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  !" 

She  held  out  her  hand.  He  just  touched  it.  "  Good-evening !" 
he  repeated,  in  a  voice  low  and  hollow  as  an  echo.  She  turned ; 
but  in  a  moment  returned. 

"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  fairy-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  Rivers 
had  designated  her  brother  "inexorable  as  death."  She  had 
not  exaggerated. 


CHAl'TKK    XXXII. 


I   CONTINUED  the  labours  of  tin-  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  compre- 
hend  my  scholars  and  their  nature.     Wholly  untaught,   with 
faculties  quite  torpid,  they  seemed  to  me  hopelessly  dull ;  and, 

•  sight,  all  dull  alike :  but  I  soon  found  I  was 
'1  here  was  a  difference  amongst  them  as  amongst  the  educated; 
and  when  I  got  to  know  them,  and  they  me,  this  difference 


308  JANE    EYRE. 

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  dis- 
covered 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  plea- 
sure 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  information,  and  disposed  for  improvement — with  whom  I 
passed  many  a  pleasant  evening  hour  in  their  own  homes.  Their 
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  accus- 
tomed, 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.  Whenever  I 
went  out  I  heard  on  all  sides  cordial  salutations,  and  was  wel- 
comed with  friendly  smiles.  To  live  amidst  general  regard, 
though  it  be  but  the  regard  of  working-people,  is  like  "  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.  Rochester,  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 


JANE    EYRE.  309 

school ;  tranquil,  settled,  prepared  for  the  steady  duties  of  the 
day. 

Rosamond  Oliver  kept  her  word  in  coming  to  visit  me.  Her 
call  at  the  school  was  generally  made  in  the  course  of  her  morn- 
ing ride.  She  would  canter  up  to  the  door  on  her  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.  Rivers  was  engaged  in  giving  his 
daily  catechising  lesson.  Keenly,  I  fear,  did  the  eye  of  the 
visitress  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  was  looking  quite  away  from  the  door,  if  she 
appeared  at  it,  his  cheek  woula  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  working  muscle  or  darting  glance  could 
indicate. 

Of  course,  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  seemed  to  say,  with  his  sad  and 
resolute  look,  if  he  did  not  say  with  his  lips,  "  I  love  you,  and  I 
know  you  prefer  me.  It  is  not  despair  of  success  that  keeps  me 
dumb.  If  I  offered  my  heart,  I  believe  you  would  accept  it. 
But  that  heart  is  already  laid  on  a  sacred  altar:  the  tire  is 
arranged  round  it.  It  will  soon  be  no  more  than  a  sacrifice  con- 
sumed." 

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  passion.  He  could  not — he  would  not 
— renounce  his  wild  field  of  mission  warfare  for  the  parlours  and 
the  peace  of  Vale  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  learned  her  whole  character ;  which  was  without 
mystery  or  disguise:  she  was  coquettish,  but  not  heartless; 
exacting,  but  not  worthlessly  selfish.  She  had  been  indulged 


310  JANE    EYRE. 

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  I  liked  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.  Rivers  (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  nature,  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  child-like  activity,  and 
thoughtless,  yet  not  offensive  inquisitiveness,  she  was  rummaging 
the  cupboard  and  the  table-drawer  of  my  little  kitchen,  she  dis- 
covered 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,  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. 

"Had  I  done  these  pictures?  Did  I  know  French  and 
German  ?  What  a  love — what  a  miracle  I  was  !  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  chestnut  tresses,  which  waved 
over  her  shoulders  with  all  the  wild  grace  of  natural  curls.  I  took 
a  sheet  of  fine  card-board,  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  bright  flower  near  a  hoary  turret.  He 
appeared  a  taciturn,  and  perhaps  a  proud  personage ;  but  he  was 
very  kind  to  me.  The  sketch  of  Rosamond's  portrait  pleased 
him  highly :  he  said  I  must  make  a  finished  picture  of  it.  He 


JANE    EYRE.  311 

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.  Rosamond  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  approbation  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  Rosamond,  "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.  Rivers — of  the 
Rivers  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  Rosamond's  union 
with  St.  John.  Mr.  Oliver  evidently  regarded  the  young  clergy- 
man'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  hour ; 
then  I  got  my  palette  and  pencils,  and  fell  to  the  more  soothing, 
because  easier  occupation,  of  completing  Rosamond  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  azurcd  eyelid.  I  was  absorbed  in  the  execution  of  these  nice 
details,  when,  after  one  rapid  tap,  my  door  unclosed,  admitting 
St.  John  Rivers. 

41 1  am  come  to  see  how  you  are  spending  your  holiday,"  he 
said.  "Not,  I  hope,  in  thought?  No,  that  is  well;  while  you 
draw  vou  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,"  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.  Alasl  the  readers  of  our  < 


312  JANE    EYRE. 

favoured.  But,  courage  I  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. 
NoJ  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  "  Mar- 
mion  "  (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  tem- 
porarily 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  Rosamond,  whom  he  thinks  he 
ought  not  to  marry.  I  will  make  him  talk." 

I  said  first:  "  Take  a  chair,  Mr.  Rivers."  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  for 
me.  I'll  try  if  I  cannot  discover  the  secret  spring  of  your  con- 
fidence, 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.  Rivers." 

He  almost  started  at  my  sudden  and  strange  abruptness :  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  distinctly ;  but  I  have  no  objection 
to  your  looking  at  it  again,"  and  I  arose  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  ?" 

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 


JANE    EYRE.  313 

acceptable  to  you.  I  don't  wish  to  throw  away  my  time  and 
trouble  on  an  offering  you  would  deem  worthless." 

He  continued  to  £aze  at  the  picture.  The  longer  he  looked, 
the  firmer  ho  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 !" 

"  Would  it  comfort,  or  would  it  wound  you  to  have  a  similar 
painting  ?  Tell  me  that.  When  you  are  at  Madagascar,  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  distress  ?" 

He  now  furtively  raised  his  eyes :  he  glanced  at  the  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  Rosamond  really  preferred  him, 
and  that  her  father  was  not  likely  to  oppose  the  match,  I — less 
exalted  in  my  views  than  St.  John — haa  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  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  unapproachable — to  hear 
it  thus  freely  handled — was  beginning  to  be  felt  by  him  as  a  new 
pleasure — an  unhoped-for  relief.  Reserved  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  good  will  into  the  "  silent 
sea"  of  their  souls,  is  often  to  confer  on  them  the  first  of 
obligations. 

"She  likes  you,  I  am  sure,"  said  I,  as  I  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  marry  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  arc 


314  JANE    EYRE. 

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  my  mind  and  overflowing  with  sweet  inundation  all 
the  field  I  have  so  carefully,  and  with  such  labour  prepared — so 
assiduously  sown  with  the  seeds  of  good  intentions,  of  self-deny- 
ing 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,  Rosamond  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  temptation,  and 
put  my  neck  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,"  pursued  he,  "that  while  I  love  Rosamond 
Oliver  so  wildly— with  all  the  intensity,  indeed,  of  a  first  passion, 
the  object  of  which  is  exquisitely  beautiful,  graceful,  and  fascin- 
ating— I  experience  at  the  same  time  a  calm,  unwarped  con- 
sciousness that  she  would  not  make  me  a  good  wife  ;  that  ihe.  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." 

"  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.  Rosamond  a 
sufferer,  a  labourer,  a  female  apostle  ?  Rosamond  a  missionary's 
wife?  No!" 

"  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  substituting  peace  for  war — 


JANE    EYRE.  315 

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  ana  sorrow  of  no  interest  to  you  ?" 

"  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  procrastinated.  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  schoolroom." 

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  hearthstone. 

"You  are  original,"  said  he,  "and  not  timid.  There  is 
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,  the 
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. 

"You  have  taken  ray  confidence  by  storm,"  he  continued: 
"and  now  it  is  much  at  your  service.  I  am  simply,  in  my 
original  state— stripped  of  tnat  blood-bleached  robe  with  which 
Christianity  covers  human  deformity— a  cold,  hard,  ambitious 
man.  Natural  affection  only,  of  all  the  sentiments,  has  per- 
manent power  over  me.  Reason  and  not  Feeling,  is  my  guide ; 
my  ambition  is  unlimited ;  my  desire  to  rise  higher,  to  do  more 
than  others  insatiable.  I  honour  endurance,  perseverance, 
industry,  talent;  because  these  are  the  means  by  which  men 
achieve  ^reat  ends,  and  mount  to  lofty  eminence.  I  watch  your 
career  with  interest,  because  I  consider  you  a  specimen  of  a 


316  JANE    EYRE. 

diligent,  orderly,  energetic  woman :  not  because  I  deeply  com- 
passionate what  you  have  gone  through,  or  what  you  still 
suffer." 

"You  would  describe  yourself  as  a  mere  pagan  philosopher," 
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  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 ; 
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. 

"  She  is  lovely,"  he  murmured.  "  She  is  well  named  the  Rose 
of  the  World,  indeed!" 

"  And  may  I  not  paint  one  like  it  for  you  ?" 

"Cuibono?    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  card- 
board 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. 

"Nothing  in  the  world,"  was  the  reply;  and  replacing  the 
paper,  1  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!"  I  exclaimed,  using  an  expression  of  the  district; 
"  that  caps  the  globe,  however  7" 

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 
insolyable,  and  being  certain  it  could  not  be  of  much  moment,  I 
dismissed,  and  soon  forgot  it. 


JANE    EYRE.  317 

CHAPTER    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  a  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  Rivers,  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!  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. 

"  I  shall  sully  the  purity  of  your  floor,"  said  he,  "  but  you  must 
excuse  me  for  once."  Then  he  approached  the  fire.  "  I  have 
had  hard  work  to  get  here,  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  ?A  I  could  not  forbear  saying. 

"  Rather  an  inhospitable  question  to  put  to  a  visitor ;  but  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  yester- 
day, 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  yesterday, 
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  fire-li^ht  shine  free  on  his 
pale  brow  and  cheek  as  pale,  where  it  gneved  me  to  discover 
the  hollow  trace  of  care  or  sorrow  now  so  plainly  graved.  I 
waited,  expecting  he  would  say  something  1  could  at  least  com- 


318  JANE    EYRE. 

prehend ;  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  of  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." 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  he  :  "I  care  for  myself  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  ;  thinking  it  urgent  to 
say  something,  I  asked  him  presently  if  he  felt  any  draught  from 
the  door,  which  was  behind  him. 

"  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." 

Sol  snuffed  the  candle,  and  resumed  the  perusal  of  "  Mar- 
mion."  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. 

"  Have  you  heard  from  Diana  and  Mary  lately  ?" 

"  Not  since  the  letter  I  showed  you  a  week  ago." 

"  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 — 1  bethought  myself  to 
talk  about  the  school  and  my  scholars. 

"  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!" 

"  Mr.  Oliver  pays  for  two." 

"  Does  he  1" 

"  He  means  to  give  the  whole  school  a  treat  at  Christmas." 

"I  know." 

"  Was  it  your  suggestion  ?" 

"No." 

"Whose  then?" 

"  His  daughter's,  I  think.*' 

" It  is  like  her:  she  is  so  good-natured." 

"Yes." 


JANE    EYRE.  319 

in  came  the  blank  of  a  pause:  the  clock  struck  eight 
strokes.  It  aroused  him;  he  uncrossed  his  legs,  sat  erect, 
turned  to  me. 

"Leave  your  book  a  moment,  and  come  a  little  nearer  the 
fire,"  he  said. 

Wondering,  and  of  my  wonder  finding  no  end,  I  complied. 

"Half  an  hour  ago,"  he  paused,  "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  con- 
verting 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. 

"  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  church- 
yard surrounding  the  grim,  soot-black  old  cathedral  of  an  over- 
grown 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  thing  to  the  house  of  its  nch,  maternal 
relations ;  it  was  reared  by  an  aunt-in-law,  called  (I  come  to 
names  now)  Mrs.  Reed  of  Gateshead — you  start— did  your  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.  Reed  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  hon- 
ourable: 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  a  ward  of  a 
certain  Mr.  Rochester." 

"Mr.  Rivers!"  I  interrupted. 

"I  can  guess  your  feelings,"  he  said,  "but  restrain  them  for 
awhile:  I  have  nearly  finished  ;  hear  me  to  the  end.  Of  Mr. 
Rochester's  character  I  know  nothing,  but  the  one  fact  that  he 
i  to  offer  honourable  marriage  to  this  young  girl,  and  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  n  \\lmh 

rendered  inquiry  after  the  governess  necessary,  it  was  discovered 


320  JANE    EYRE. 

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,  communicating 
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  it  me— what  of  Mr.  Rochester  ?  How  and  where 
is  he  ?  What  is  he  doing  ?  Is  he  well  ?" 

"I  am  ignorant  of  all  concerning  Mr.  Rochester:  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." 

"  Did  no  one  go  to  Thornfield  Hall  then  ?  Did  no  one  see  Mr. 
Rochester?" 

'  I  suppose  not." 
'  But  they  wrote  to  him  ?" 
'  Of  course." 

'  And  what  did  he  say  ?     Who  has  his  letters  ?" 
'  Mr.  Briggs  intimates  that  the  answer  to  his  application  was 
not  from  Mr.  Rochester,  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  reck- 
less desperation  to  some  former  haunt  on  the  Continent.  And 
what  opiate  for  his  severe  suiferings — what  object  for  his  strong 
passions — had  he  sought  there  ?  I  dared  not  answer  the  ques- 
tion. Oh,  my  poor  master — once  almost  my  husband — whom  I 
had  often  called  "  my  dear  Edward  ?" 

"  He  must  have  been  a  bad  man,"  observed  Mr.  Rivers. 

"  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  ultra-marine,  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  hand- 
writing, the  words  "JANE  EYRE" — the  work  doubtless  of  some 
moment  of  abstraction. 

'Briggs   wrote    to    me    of  a  Jane  Eyre:"    he  said,   "the 


JANE    EYRE.  321 

advertisements  demanded  a  Jane  Eyre :  I  knew  a  Jane  Elliott. — 
I  confess  I  had  my  suspicions,  but  it  was  only  yesterday  after- 
noon 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.  Rochester  than  you  do." 

"  Briggs  is  in  London ;  I  should  doubt  his  knowing  anything 
at  all  about  Mr.  Rochester;  it  is  not  in  Mr.  Rochester  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  ?" 

"  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  docu- 
ments." 

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 !  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  contain  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  existence,  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  that 
— that  thought  swelled  my  heart. 

"You  unbend  your  forehead  at  last,"  said  Mr.  Rivers;  "I 
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  thou- 
sand pounds,  I  think  they  say— but  what  is  that  ?" 

"  Twenty  thousand  pounds?" 

U 


322  JANE     EYRE, 

Here  was  a  new  stunner — I  had  been  calculating  on  four  or 
five  thousand.  This  news  actually  took  my  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  ?" 

"No  mistake  at  all." 

"  Perhaps  you  have  read  the  figures  wrong— it  may  be  2000  !" 

"  It  is  written  in  letters,  not  figures — twenty  thousand." 

I  again  felt  rather  like  an  individual  of  but  average  gastro- 
nomical  powers,  sitting  down  to  feast  alone  at  a  table  spread 
with  provisions  for  a  hundred.  Mr.  Rivers  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  desper- 
ately 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." 

"  Oh  !  I  am  a  clergyman,"  he  said,  "  and  the  clergy  are  often 
appealed  to  about  odd  matters."  Again  the  latch  rattled. 

"No:  that  does  not  satisfy  me!"  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." 

"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. 

"  You  certainly  shall  not  go  till  you  have  told  me  all !"  I  said. 

"  I  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." 

"And  I  am  a  hard  woman— impossible  to  put  off." 

"And  then,"  he  pursued,  "I  am  cold:  no  fervour  infects 
me." 

"Whereas  I  am  hot,  and  fire  dissolves  ice.  The  blaze  there 
has  thawed  alt  the  snow  from  your  cloak ;  by  the  same  token,  it 


JANE    EYRE.  323 

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." 

"  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  ?" 

"  Of  course :  that  was  all  settled  before." 

"  You  are  not,  perhaps,  aware  that  I  am  your  namesake  ? — 
that  I  was  christened  St.  John  Eyre  Rivers?"  ' 

"  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  ? 
Surely " 

I  stopped:  I  could  not  trust  myself  to  entertain,  much  less  to 
express,  the  thought  that  rushed  upon  me — that  embodied  itself 
—that,  in  a  second,  stood  out  a  strong,  solid  probability.  Cir- 
cumstances knit  themselves,  fitted  themselves,  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 
ave  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  Reed,  of  Gateshead;  the 
other  John  Eyre,  Esq.,  merchant,  late  of  Funchal,  Madeira. 
Mr.  Bnggs,  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 ;  over- 
looking us,  in  consequence  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. 

"  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." 

"Yes." 

"  My  aunt,  consequently  ?" 

He  bowed. 

"My  uncle  John  was  your  uncle  John?  You,  Diana  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  sidu 
from  the  same  source  ?" 

"  We  are  cousins;  yes." 


324  JANE    EYRE. 

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  kinswomen  ;  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 ! — 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. 

"Oh,  I  am  glad!— 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  suffocated 
with  the  thoughts  that  rose  faster  than  I  could  receive,  compre- 
hend, settle  them : — thoughts  of  what  might,  could,  would,  and 
should  be,  and  that  ere  long.  I  looked  at  the  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.  Rivers  had  placed  a 
chair  behind  me,  and  was  gently  attempting  to  make  me  sit  down 
on  it.  He  also  advised  me  to  be  composed:  I  scorned  the 
insinuation  of  helplessness  and  distraction,  shook  off  his  hand, 
began  to  walk  about  again. 

"Write  to  Diana  and  Mary  to-morrow,"  I  said,  "and  tell 
them  to  come  home  directly ;  Diana  said  they  would  both  con- 
sider themselves  rich  with  a  thousand  pounds,  so  with  five 
thousand  they  will  do  very  well." 

"Tell  me  where  I  can  get  you  a  glass  of  water,"  said  St. 


JANE    EYRE.  325 

John;   "you  must  really  make  an  effort  to  tranquillise  your 
Feelings/ 

"Nonsense!  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.  Rivers !  You  quite  put  me  out  of  patience.  I  am 
rational  enough ;  it  is  you  who  misunderstand ;  or  rather  who 
affect  to  misunderstand." 

"  Perhaps  if  you  explained  yourself  a  little  more  fully  I  should 
comprehend  better." 

"  Explain !  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." 

"  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  aitach  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,  thou  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." 

"This  is  acting  on  first  impulses;  you  must  take  days  to 
consider  such  a  matter,  ere  your  word  can  be  regarded  as 
valid." 

"  Oh  !  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  in  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  lifelong  friends. 

"  You  think  so  now,"  rejoined  St.  John  ;  "  because  you  do  not 
know  what  it  is  to  possess,  nor  consequently  to  enjoy,  wealth : 


326  JANE    EYRE. 

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! 
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 !  Marry !  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  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." 

"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." 

"And  the  school,  Miss  Eyre?  It  must  now  be  shut  up,  I 
suppose  ?" 

"No.  I  will  retain  my  post  of  mistress  till  you  get  a 
substitute." 

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  absolute- 
ly resolved— as  my  cousins  saw  at  length  that  my  mind  was  really 
and  immutably  fixed  on  making  a  just  division  of  the  property — 


JANE    EYRE.  327 

as  they  must  in  their  own  hearts  have  felt  the  equity  of  the  inten- 
tion ;  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  arbitra- 
tion. The  judges  chosen  were  Mr.  Oliver  and  an  able  lawyer: 
both  coincided  in  my  opinion :  I  carried  my  point.  The  instru- 
ments of  transfer  were  drawn  out :  St.  John,  Diana,  Mary,  and 
I,  each  became  possessed  of  a  competency. 


CHAPTER  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  be  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 
gratification  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  num- 
bering sixty  girls,  file  out  before  me,  and  lock  the  door — I  stood 
with  the  key  in  my  hand,  exchanging  a  few  words  of  special 
farewell  with  some  half-dozen  of  ray  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  Bauer- 
innen  ;  and  the  best  of  them  seemed  to  me  ignorant,  coarse  and 
besotted,  compared  with  my  Morton  girls. 

"  Do  you  consider  you  have  got  your  reward  for  a  season  of 
exertion  ?"  asked  Mr.  Rivers,  when  they  were  gone.  "  Does  not 
the  consciousness  of  having  done  some  real  good  in  your  day 
and  generation  give  pleasure?" 

"  Doubtless." 

"  And  you  have  only  toiled  a  few  months  1  Would  not  a  life 
devoted  to  the  task  otregenerating  your  race  be  well  spent  ?" 

"  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." 


328  JANE    EYRE. 

He  looked  grave.  "  What  now  ?  What  sudden  eagerness  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  ?" 

"  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  pre- 
cision ;  afterwards  I  shall  go  near  to  ruin  you  in  coals  and  peat 
to  keep  up  good  fires  in  every  room ;  and  lastly,  the  two  clays 
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  endearments  and  household  joys." 

"  The  best  thing  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  be  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  relationship ;  but 
Ihen,  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." 

1  looked  at  him  with  surprise.     "  St.  John,"  I  said,  "  I  think 


JANE    EYRE.  329 

you  are  almost  wicked  to  talk  so.  I  am  disposed  to  be  as  con- 
tent as  a  queen,  and  you  try  to  stir  me  up  to  restlessness !  To 
what  end?" 

"  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  dispro- 
portionate fervour  with  which  you  throw  yourself  into  com- 
monplace home-pleasures.  Don't  cling  so  tenaciously  to  ties  of 
the  flesh ;  save  your  constancy  and  ardour  for  an  adequate 
cause ;  forbear  to  waste  them  on  trite  transient  objects.  Do  you 
hear,  Jane?" 

"  Yes ;  just  as  if  you  were  speaking  Greek.  I  feel  I  have 
adequate  cause  to  be  nappy,  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  pre- 
viously taken  a  journey  to  S ,  to  purchase  some  new  furni- 
ture :  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  hand- 
some new  carpets  and  curtains,  an  arrangement  of  some  care- 
fully 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  bed- room  I  refurnished  entirely,  with  old 
mahogany  and  crimson  upholstery ;  I  laid  canvas  on  the  pas- 
sage, and  carpets  on  the  stairs.  When  all  was  finished,  I 
thought  Moor  House  as  complete  a  model  of  bright  modest  snug- 
ness  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  ouite  clear 
of  the  house  till  everything  was  arranged  :  and,  indeea,  the  bare 
idea  of  the  commotion,  at  once  sordid  and  trivial,  going  on 
within  its  walls  sufficed  to  scare  him  to  estrangement.  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 


330  JANE    EYRE. 

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  he  utter  indicating  pleasure  in  the  improved 
aspect  of  his  abode. 

This  silence  damped  me.  I  thought  perhaps  the  alterations 
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,  I 
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-by,  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  all  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  comprehended  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  stead- 
fast 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  Caifre  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  advan- 


JANE    EYRE.  33! 

tage  of  him  on  this  hearth.  He  is  right  to  choose  a  missionary's 
career — I  see  it  now." 

"  They  are  coming!  they  are  coming  1"  cried  Hannah,  throw- 
ing 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  Whit- 
cross,  and  chilled  with  the  frosty  night  air ;  but  their  pleasant 
countenances  expanded  to  the  cheerful  firelight.  While  the 
driver  and  Hannah  brought  in  the  boxes,  they  demanded  St. 
John.  At  this  moment  he  advanced  from  the  parlour.  They 
Doth  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  fol- 
lowed me.  They  were  delighted  with  the  renovation  and  decora- 
tion 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  feeling  that  my  arrange- 
ments 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  elouuent  in  narrative  and  comment,  that  their  fluency 
covered  St.  John's  taciturnity  :  he  was  sincerely  glad  to  see  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  him  ;  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  time,  to  fetch  Mr.  Rivers 
to  see  his  mother,  who  was  drawing  away." 

14  Where  does  she  live,  Hannah  ?" 

"  Clear  up  at  Whitcross  Brow,  almost  four  miles  off;  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  DO  track  all  over  the  bog. 
And  then  it  is  such  a  bitter  night — the  keenest  wind  you  ever 


332  JANE    EYRE. 

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  dissipation.  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 
definitely  fixed  for  the  ensuing  year. 

"And  Rosamond  Oliver?"  suggested  Mary:  the  words  seem- 
ing 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. 

"Rosamond  Oliver,"  said  he,  "is  about  to  be  married  to  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  yesterday." 

His  sisters  looked  at  each  other,  and  at  me;  we  all  three 
looked  at  him  :  he  was  serene  as  glass. 

"The  match  must  have  been  got  up  hastily,"  said  Diana: 
"they  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,  can  be  refitted  for 
their  reception." 

The  first  time  I  found  St.  John  alone  after  this  communication, 
I  felt  tempted  to  inquire  if  the  event  distressed  him :  but  he 
seemed  so  little  to  need  sympathy,  that,  so  far  from  venturing  to 


JANE    EYRE.  333 

offer  him  more,  I  experienced  some  shame  at  the  recollection  of 
what  I  had  already  hazarded.  Besides,  I  was  out  of  practice  in 
talking  to  him  :  his  reserve  was  again  frozen  over,  ana  my  frank- 
ness 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  all  tend  to  the  develop- 
ment of  cordiality :  in  short,  now  that  I  was  acknowledged  his 
kinswoman,  and  lived  under  the  same  roof  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  con- 
querors 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  (/.*.,  Diana's,  Mary's,  and  mine) 
settled  into  a  quieter  character,  and  we  resumed  our  usual  habits 
and  regular  studies,  St.  John  stayed  more  at  home ;  he  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  1  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  with- 
drawn ;  yet  ever  and  anon,  it  turned  searchingly  to  our  table.  I 
wondered  what  it  meant :  I  wondered,  too,  at  the  punctual  satis- 
faction 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 


334  JANE    EYRE. 

few  flakes  of  snow,  as  well  as  any  of  us.  Her  constitution  is  both 
sound  and  elastic; — better  calculated  to  endure  variations  of 
climate  than  many  more  robust." 

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  annoyance. 

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  hap- 
pened 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. 
'Jane,  what  are  you  doing?" 
'Learning  German." 

'  I  want  you  to  give  up  German,  and  learn  Hindostanee." 
;  You  are  not  in  earnest  ?' ' 

:  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;  and  both  she  and  Mary  agreed 
that  St.  John  should  never  have  persuaded  them  to  such  a  step. 
He  answered,  quietly : 

"I  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  approba- 
tion. 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 


JANE    EYRE.  335 

follow  any  other  became  vain:  I  fell  under  a  freezing  spell. 
When  he  said  "go,"  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^>e  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;  per- 
haps I  might  have  turned  a  little  pale,  for  I  felt  as  if  this  kiss 
were  a  seal  affixed  to  my  fetters.  He  never  omitted  the  cere- 
mony 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  happiness  at  its  source— the 
evil  of  suspense. 

Perhaps  you  think  I  had  forgotten  Mr.  Rochester,  reader, 
amidst  these  changes  of  place  ana  fortune.  Nor  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  evening  to  think  of  that;  and  now  at  Moor 
House,  1  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.  Roches- 
ter's  present  residence  and  state  of  health;  but,  as  St.  John  had 


336  JANE    EYRE. 

conjectured,  he  was  quite  ignorant  of  all  concerning  him.  I  then 
wrote  to  Mrs.  Fairfax,  entreating  information  on  this  subject, 
had  calculated  with  certainty  on  the  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  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.  Renewed  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  seaside.  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  deficiences,  he  pro- 
longed 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  disappointment. 
Hannah  had  told  me  in  the  morning  there  was  a  letter  for  me, 
and  when  I  went  down  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  gardening — 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  com- 
posed." And  while  I  smothered  the  paroxysm  with  all  haste,  he 
sat  calm  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  com- 
pleting it.  St.  John  put  away  my  books  and  his,  locked  his 
desk,  and  said : 

"  Now,  Jane,  you  shall  take  a  walk ;  and  with  me." 

"  I  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 : 


JANE    EYRE.  337 

take  the  road  towards  the  head  of  Marsh  Glen  :  I  will  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,  antago- 
nistic to  my  own,  between  absolute  submission  and  determined 
revolt.  I  have  always  faithfully  observed  the  one,  up  to  the  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  directions,  and  in  ten  minutes  I  was 
treading  the  wild  track  of  the  glen,  side  by  side  with  him. 

The  breeze  was  from  the  west :  it  came  over  the  hills,  sweet 
with  scent  of  heath  and  rush  ;  the  sky  was  of  stainless  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. 

"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  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. 

"  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  me — on  the  shore  of  a  darker 
stream." 

Strange  words  of  a  strange  love  1  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  interval  past,  he 
recommenced : 

ne,  I  go  in  six  weeks ;    I  have  taken  my  berth  in  an  East 
Imliaman  which  sails  on  the  twentieth  of  June." 

"  God  will  protect  you ;  for  you  have  undertaken  his  work,"  I 
answered. 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  "  there  is  my  glory  and  joy.  1  am  the  servant 
of  an  infallible  master.  I  am  not  going  out  under  human  guid- 
ance, subject  to  the  defective  laws  and  erring  control  of  my  feeble 

V 


338  JANE    EYRE. 

fellow-worms :  my  king,  my  lawgiver,  my  captain,  is  the  All-per- 
fect. 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  do  not  speak  to  the  feeble,  or  think  of  them:  I  address 
only  such  as  are  worthy  of  the  work,  and  competent  to  accom- 
plish it." 

"Those  are  few  in  number,  and  difficult  to  discover. 

"You  say  truly:  but  when  found,  it  is  right  to  stir  them  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." 

"  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. 

"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  helpmeet 
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  mes- 
senger, like  him  of  Macedonia,  had  enounced,  "Come  over  and 
help  us !"  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!" 

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  irri- 
tated by  them.  Indeed,  as  he  leaned  back  against  the  crag 
behind  him,  folded  his  arms  on  his  chest,  and  fixed  his  counten- 
ance, 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." 

"Humility,  Jane,"  said  he,  "is  the  ground-work  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 ; 


JANE    EYRE.  339 

but  I  do  not  suffer  this  sense  of  my  personal  vileness  to  daunt 
roe.  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  Rock  of  Ages  I  ask  you  to  lean 
on :  do  not  doubt  but  it  will  bear  the  weight  of  your  human 
weakness." 

"  I  do  not  understand  a  missionary  life :  I  have  never  studied 
missionary  labours." 

"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." 

"  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  per- 
suaded by  you  to  attempt  what  I  cannot  accomplish  !" 

"  I  have  an  answer  for  you — hear  it.  I  have  watched  you  ever 
since  we  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  per- 
form 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  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  I  seek.  Jane,  you 
are  docile,  diligent,  disinterested,  faithful,  constant,  and  coura- 
geous; 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." 

My  iron  shroud  contracted  round  me;    persuasion  advanced 

with  slow  sure  step.    Shut  my  eyes  as  I  would,  these  last  words 

of  his  succeeded  in  making  the  way,  which  had  seemed  blocked 

tnpuruiivcly   clear.      My  work,   which  had  appeared   so 


340  JANE    EYRE. 

vague,  so  hopelessly  diffuse,  condensed  itself  as  he  proceeded, 
and  assumed  a  definite  form  under  his  shaping  hand.  He 
waited  for  an  answer.  I  demanded  a  quarter  of  an  hour  to 
think,  before  I  again  hazarded  a  reply. 

"Very  willingly,"  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  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  circum- 
stances, which  might  reunite  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  !  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 !  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  point  and  farthest  outward  circle  of  his  expec- 
tations. 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 ;  1  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  1  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  scrupulously  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  martyrdom  would  be  monstrous.  I  will  never 


JANE    EYRE.  34! 

undergo  it.  As  his  sister  I  might  accompany  him — not  as  his 
wife ;  I  will  tell  him  so." 

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  am  ready  to  go  to  India,  if  I  may  go  free." 

"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." 

"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  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." 


Agai 
mere 
the  missionary." 
"And  I  will  give  the  missionary  my  energies — it  is  all  he  mmti 


342  JANE    EYRE. 

— but  not  myself:  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  sen- 
tence, and  in  the  feeling  that  accompanied  it.  I  had  silently 
feared  St.  John  till  now,  because  I  had  not  understood  him.  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 
fell  from  his  hardness  and  despotism.  Having  felt  in  him  the 
presence  of  these  qualities,  I  felt  his  imperfection,  and  took 
courag'e.  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  !"  it  seemed  to  say. 

"  What  does  this  signify  ?" 

"  Do  not  let  us  forget  that  this  is  a  solemn  matter,"  he  said 
erelong;  "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." 

"  Shall  I  ?"  I  said,  briefly;  and  I  looked  at  his  features,  beau- 
tiful 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 !  it 
would  never  do  !  As  his  curate,  his  comrade,  all  would  be  right : 


JANE    EYRE.  343 

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:  accom- 
modate quietly  to  his  masterhood;  smile  undisturbed  at  his 
ineradicable  ambition  ;  discriminate  the  Christian  from  the  man  : 
profoundly  esteem  the  one,  and  freely  forgive  the  other.  I 
should  suffer  often,  no  doubt,  attached  to  him  only  in  this  capa- 
city :  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  his 
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. 

"St.  John!"  I  exclaimed,  when  I  had  got  so  far  in  my 
meditation. 

"  Well  ?"  he  answered,  icily. 

"I  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,"  he  answered  steadily; 
"  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?" 

"Very  well,"  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  introduce 
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  concerned  ,  for 

you  I  have  only  a  comrade's  constancy;  a  fellow-soldier's  frank- 

,  fidelity,  fraternity,  if  you  like;  a  neophyte's  respect  and 

submission  to  his  hierophant :  nothing  more — don't  fear." 

11  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  cer- 
,  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  nght  even  in  your  eyes." 

"  I  scorn  your  idea  of  love,"  I  could  not  help  saying;  as  I  rose 
up  .in.l  stood  before  him,  1. ming  my  back  against  the  rock.  "  I 


344  JANE    EYRE. 

scorn  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  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. 

"  Forgive  me  the  words,  St.  John  :  but  it  is  your  own  fault  that 
I  have  been  roused  to  speak  so  unguardedly.  You  have  intro- 
duced 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  fur- 
ther 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  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.  Refuse  to  be  my 
wife,  and  you  limit  yourself  for  ever  to  a  track  of  selfish  ease  and 
barren  obscurity.  Tremble  lest  in  that  ease  you  should  be  num- 
bered with  those  who  have  denied  the  faith,  and  are  worse  than 
infidels!" 

He  had  done.     Turning  from  me,  he  once  more— 

"Looked  to  river,  looked  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  home- 
ward, I  read  well  in  his  iron  silence  all  he  felt  towards  me :  the 
disappointmeat  of  an  austere  and  despotic  nature,  which  has  met 
resistence  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. 


JANE    EYRE.  345 

"  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.*' 

1  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. 

"Good-night,  Jane,"  he  replied  calmly. 

"Then  shake  hands,"  I  added. 

What  a  cold,  loose  touch  he  impressed  on  my  fingers !  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  cheering  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  cherishing  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 


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  punishment  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  vindictive- 
ness — 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  gratification  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  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  formerly  communicated  a  certain 


346  JANE    EYRE. 

austere  charm  to  his  language  and  manner.  ^  To  me  he  was  in 
reality  become  no  longer  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  experi- 
enced no  suffering  from  estrangement — no  yearning  after  recon- 
ciliation ;  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. 

"  St.  John,  I  am  unhappy,  because  you  are  still  angry  with  me. 
Let  us  be  friends." 

"I  hope  we  are  friends,"  was  the  unmoved  reply;  while  he 
still  watched  the  rising  of  the  moon,  which  he  had  been  contem- 
plating as  I  approached. 

"  No,  St.  John,  we  are  not  friends  as  we  were.  You  know 
that." 

"  Are  we  not  ?  That  is  wrong.  For  my  part,  I  wish  you  no  ill 
and  all  good." 

"  I  believe  you,  St.  John ;  for  I  am  sure  you  are  incapable  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." 

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  friend- 
ship was  of  value  to  me :  to  lose  it  tried  me  severely.  I  would 
not  so  soon  relinquish  the  attempt  to  reconquer  it. 


JANE    EYRE.  347 

"  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. 

"  When  I  go  to  India,  Jane,  will  I  leave  you  ?  What !  do  you 
not  go  to  India?" 

"  You  said  I  could  not  unless  I  married  you." 

"And  you  will  not  marry  me?  You  adhere  to  that  resolu- 
tion ?" 

Reader,  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  ? 

"  No,  St.  John,  I  will  not  marry  you.  I  adhere  to  my  resolu- 
tion." 

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  f  Your  words  are  such 
as  ought  not  to  be  used :  violent,  unfeminine,  and  untrue.  They 
betray  an  unfortunate  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  he,  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  cannot  tell : 
only  singular  gleams  scintillated  in  his  eyes,  and  strange 
shadows  passed  over  his  face.  He  spoke  at  last. 

"  I  before  proved  to  you  the  absurdity  of  a  single  woman  of 


348  JANE    EYRE. 

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." 

I  interrupted  him.  Anything  like  a  tangible  reproach  gave  me 
courage  at  once.  "  Keep  to  common  sense,  St.  John  :  you  are 
verging  on  nonsense.  You  pretend  to  be  shocked  by  what  I 
have  said.  You  are  not  really  shocked ;  for,  with  your  superior 
mind,  you  cannot  be  either  so  dull  or  so  conceited  as  to  mis- 
understand 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 
hand  you  engaged  to  join." 

Now  I  never  had,  as  the  reader  knows,  either  given  any 
formal  promise,  or  entered  into  any  engagement ;  and  this  lan- 
guage 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  ven- 
tured 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." 

"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  definitely  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.  Rochester  ?"  " 

It  was  true.     I  confessed  it  by  silence. 

"  Are  you  going  to  seek  Mr.  Rochester?" 

"  I  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  be  a  castaway.  I  had  thought  I  recognised  in  you  one 


JANE    BYRR.  349 

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  rny  face. 

"Jane,"  she  said,  "you  are  always  agitated  and  pale  now.  I 
am  sure  there  is  something  the  matter.  Tell  me  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,  JaneP" 

I  put  her  cool  hand  to  my  hot  forehead:  "No,  Di,  not  one 
whit." 

"Then  why  does  he  follow  you  so  with  his  eyes — and  get  you 
so  frequently  alone  with  him,  and  keep  you  so  continually  at  his 
side  ?  Mary  and  I  had  both  concluded  he  wished  you  to  marry 
him." 

"  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  many  him,  Jane,  won't  you  ?  And  then 
he  will  stay  in  England." 

"  Far  from  that,  Diana ;  his  sole  idea  in  proposing  to  me  is  to 
procure  a  fitting  fellow-labourer  in  his  Indian  toils." 

"  What !    He  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 " 

"  And  have  consequently  displeased  him  ?"  she  suggested. 

"  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  \v«  John— you  know  him — would 

urge  you  to  impossibilities:  with  him  there  would  be  no  permis- 
sion 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?" 

"  Not  as  a  husband." 

"  Yet  he  is  a  handsome  fellow/' 


350  JANE    EYRE. 

"  And  I  am  so  plain,  you  see,  Di.     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  ?" 

"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  for  marriage.  Would  it 
not  be  strange,  Di,  to  be  chained  for  life  to  a  man  who  regarded 
one  but  as  a  useful  tool  ?" 

"  Insupportable— unnatural — out  of  the  question  !" 

"And  then,"  I  continued,  "though  I  have  only  sisterly  affec- 
tion 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  cer- 
tain 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  me  sensible  that  it  was  a  superfluity,  unrequired  by  him, 
unbecoming  in  me.  I  know  he  would." 

"  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  comes!  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  mis- 
taken 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  aroused  in  him,  and  now 
believed  he  had  forgiven  me  once  more. 

For  the  evening  reading  before  prayers,  he  selected  the  twenty- 
first  chapter  of  Revelation.  It  was  at  all  times  pleasant  to  listen 
while  from  his  lips  fell  the  words  of  the  Bible :  never  did  his  fine 


JANE    EYRE.  351 

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  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  and  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  alteration  in 
sound,  that  in  uttering  them  his  eye  had  turned  to  me. 

"  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  earnestness, 
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  supplicated  strength  for  the 
weak-hearted;  guidance  for  wanderers  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.  Earnestness  is  ever  deeply  solemn  :  first,  as  I  listened 
to  that  prayer,  I  wondered  at  his;  then,  when  it  continued  ami 
rose,  I  was  touched  by  it,  and  at  last  awed.  He  felt  the  j 
ness  and  goodness  of  his  purpose  so  sincerely :  others  who  h< -.ml 
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,  1  think,  with  a  whi^pi-ivd  hint  from 
him  :  I  tendered  my  hand,  and  wished  him  a  pleasant  journey. 

"Thank  you,  Jane.     As  I  said,  I  shall  return  from  Caml> 
in  a  fortnight:  that  space,  then,  is  yet  left  you  for  reflection.     If 


352  JANE    EYRE. 

I  listene  1  to  human  pride,  I  should  say  no  more  to  you  of  mar- 
riage 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  perdi- 
tion 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.'  Remember 
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  responsible.  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.  1  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 
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  unconscious  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.  Religion  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 

fentleness !  how  far  more  potent  is  it  than  force  !  I  could  resist 
t.  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  1 
but  convinced  that  it  is  God's  will  I  should  marry  you,  J  could 
vow  to  marry  you  here  and  now— come  afterwards  what  would !" 
"My  prayers  are  heard!"  ejaculated  St.  John.    He  pressed 


JANE    EYRE.  353 

his  hand  firmer  .ul,  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  whether  what  followed  was  the  effect  of 
excitement  the  reader  shall  judge. 

Ail  the  house  was  still ;  for  I  believe  all,  except  St.  John  and 
myself,  were  now  retired  to  rest.  The  one  candle  was  dying  put ; 
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. 

"  What  have  you  heard  ?  What  do  you  see  ?"  asked  St.  John. 
I  saw  nothing :  but  I  heard  a  voice  somewhere  cry — 

"Jane!  Jane!  Jane!"  nothing  more 

"  O  God !  what  is  it  1"  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  impossible  to  know  1  And 
it  was  the  voice  of  a  human  being — a  known,  loved,  well-remem- 
bered voice— that  of  Edward  Fairfax  Rochester;  and  it  spoke  in 
pain  and  woe  wildly,  eerily,  urgently. 

"  I  am  coming !"  I  cried.  "  Wait  for  me !  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. 

"  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  deception, 
nor  thy  witchcraft: 'it  is  the  work  of  Nature.  She  was  roused, 
and  did — no  miracle— but  her  best." 

I  broke  from  St.  John ;    who  had  followed,  and  would  have 

It  was  my  time   to  assume   ascendency.     My 

powers  were  in  play,  and  in  force.     I  told  him  to  forbear  question 

or  remark;  I  desired  him  to  leave  me:    1  must  and  would  be 

alone.     He  obeyed  at  once.     Where  there  is  energy  to  command 

W 


354  JANE    EYRE. 

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  penetrate  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 


CHAPTER    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.  I 
took  it  up.  It  bore  these  words : 

"  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  temptation ;  the  spirit,  I  trust,  is  willing, 
but  the  flesh,  I  see,  is  weak.  1  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  accomplish  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." 

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  Whitcross. 
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 


JANE    EYRE.  355 

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  shock 
of  feeling  had  come  like  the  earthquake  which  shook  the  founda- 
tions 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  my  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. 

"  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."  , 

At  breakfast,  I  announced  to  Diana  and  Mary  that  I  was 
going  a  journey,  and  should  be  absent  at  least  four  days." 

"Alone,  Jane  ?"  they  asked. 

"Yes;  it  was  to  see,  or  hear  news  of,  a  friend  about  whom  I 
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. 

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,  1 
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! 
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 


356  JANE    EYRE. 

Whitcross  on  a  Tuesday  afternoon,  and  early  on  the  succeeding 
Thursday  morning  the  coach  stopped  to  water  its  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." 

"  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  coachman,  and  was 

foing :  the  brightening  day  gleamed  on  the  sign  of  the  inn,  and 
read  in  gilt  letters,  "The  Rochester  Arms."  My  heart  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  hurried, 
blind,  deaf,  distracted,  with  a  revengeful  fury  tracking  and 
scourging  me,  on  the  morning  I  fled  from  Thornfield :  ere  I 
well  knew  what  course  I  had  resolved  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 ! 
With  what  feelings  I  welcomed  single  trees  I  knew,  and  familial 
glimpses  of  meadow  and  hill  between  them  ! 

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  it — he  rises  early: 
perhaps  he  is  now  walking  in  the  orchard,  or  on  the  pavement 
in  front.  Could  I  but  see  him  ! — but  a  moment !  Surely  in  that 


JANE    EYRE.  357 

case,  I  should  not  be  so  mad  as  to  run  to  him  ?  I  cannot  tell— I 
am  not  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." 

1  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  vet  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  con- 
sidered 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  1"  they  might  have  demanded,  "what 
stupid  regardlessness  now  ?" 

Hear  an  illustration,  reader. 

A  love,  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  1  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 !  He  thus 
grasps  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 !  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 — all  had  crashed  in. 


358 


JANE    EYRE. 


And  there  was  the  silence  of  death  about  it :  the  solitude  of  a 
lonesome  wild.  No  wonder  that  letters  addressed  to  people  here 
have  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  woodwork,  had  followed  upon  it? 
Had  life  been  wrecked,  as  well  as  property?  If  so,  whose? 
Dreadful  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,  mean- 
time, 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  de  Rochester,  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  of  the  possible  answers.  And  yet  the  spec- 
tacle 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. 

"  You  know  Thornfield  Hall,  of  course  ?"  I  managed  to  say  at 
last. 

"  Yes,  ma'am  ;  I  lived  there  once." 

"  Did  you  ?"  Not  in  my  time  I  thought:  you  are  a  stranger 
to  me. 

"  I  was  the  late  Mr.  Rochester's  butler,"  he  added. 

The  late  !  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.  Rochester 
(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  dis- 
closures might  be— with  comparative  tranquillity.  Since  he  was 


JANE    EYRE.  359 

not  in  the  grave,  I  could  bear,  I  thought,  to  learn  that  he  was  at 
the  Antipodes. 

"Is  Mr.  Rochester  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  1  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  is  quite  a  ruin :  it  was 
burnt  down  just  about  harvest-time.  A  dreadful  calamity  1  such 
an  immense  quantity  of  valuable  property  destroyed:  hardly 
any  of  the  furniture  could  be  saved.  The  fire  broke  put  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  I"  I  muttered.  Yes,  that  was  ever  the  hour 
of  fatality  at  Thornfield.  "  Was  it  known  how  it  originated  ?"  I 
demanded. 

"  They  guessed,  ma'am :  they  guessed.  Indeed,  I  should  say 
it  was  ascertained  beyond  a  doubt.  You  are  not  perhaps 
aware,"  he  continued,  edging  his  chair  a  little  closer  to  the 
table,  and  speaking  low,  "that  there  was  a  lady, — a— a  lunatic, 
kept  in  the  house?" 

"  I  have  heard  something  of  it." 

"  She  was  kept  in  very  close  confinement,  ma'am  ;  people  even 
for  some  years  was  not  absolutely  certain  of  her  existence.  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  conjec- 
ture. 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. 

"And  this  lady?" 

"This  lady,  ma'am,"  he  answered,  "turned  out  to  be  Mr. 
Rochester's  wife!  The  discovery  was  brought  about  in  the 
strangest  way.  There  was  a  young  lady,  a  governess  at  the 
Hall,  that  Mr.  Rochester  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  small  thing,  they  say,  almost  like  a 
child;  I  never  saw  her  myself,  but  I've  heard  Leah,  the  house- 
maid, tell  of  her.  Leah  liked  her  well  enough.  Mr.  Rochester 
-.  about  forty,  and  this  governess  not  twenty; 


360  JANE    EYRE. 

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  her, 
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  herself  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,  for- 
tunately. 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  could  hear  a  word 
of  her;  and  he  grew  savage — quite  savage  on  his  disappoint- 
ment :  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  settled  an  annuity  on  her  for  life :  and  she 
deserved  it — she  was  a  very  good  woman.  Miss  Adele,  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  he  had ;  for  a  more 
spirited,  bolder,  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  handsome ;  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." 

"  Then  Mr.  Rochester  was  at  home  when  the  fire  broke  out  ?" 

"Yes,  indeed  was  he;  and  he  went  up  to  the  attics  when  all 


JANE    EYRE.  361 

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  bi£  woman,  and  had  long,  black  hair :  we  could  see  it  streaming 
against  the  flames  as  she  stood.  I  witnessed,  and  several  more 
witnessed  Mr.  Rochester  ascend  through  the  skylight  on  to  the 
roof:  we  heard  him  call '  Bertha!'  We  saw  him  approach  her: 
and  then,  ma'am,  she  yelled,  and  gave  a  spring,  and  the  next 
minute  she  lay  smashed  on  the  pavement." 

"Dead?" 

"  Dead  ?  Ay,  dead  as  the  stones  on  which  her  brains  and 
blood  were  scattered." 

"Good  God!" 

"  You  may  well  say  so,  ma'am :  it  was  frightful  I" 

He  shuddered. 

"  And  afterwards  ?"  I  urged. 

"  Well,  ma'am,  afterwards  the  house  was  burnt  to  the  ground : 
there  are  only  some  bits  of  walls  standing  now." 

"  Were  any  other  lives  lost  ?" 

"  No — perhaps  it  would  have  been  better  if  there  had." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  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." 

"  You  said  he  was  alive  ?"  I  exclaimed. 

"Yes,  yes:  he  is  alive;  but  many  think  he  had  better  be 
dead." 

"  Why  ?    How  ?"     My  blood  was  again  running  cold. 

"  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  thisl  And  the  man  seemed  resolved  to 
protract  it. 

"  He  is  stone-blind,"  he  said  at  last.  "  Yes— he  is  stone-blind 
— is  Mr.  Kdward." 

I  had  dreaded  worse.  I  had  dreaded  he  was  mad.  I 
summoned  strength  to  ask  what  had  caused  the  calamity. 

"  It  was  all  his  own  courage,  and  a  body  may  say,  his  kind- 
ness, 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  stair- 
t,  after  Mrs.  Rochester  had  flung  herself  from   the 
battlements,  there  was  a  great  crash — all  fell.    He  was  taken  out 


362  JANE     EYRE. 

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." 

"  Where  is  he  ?    Where  does  he  now  live  ?" 

"At  Ferndean,  a  manor-house,  on  a  farm  he  has,  about  thirty 
miles  off:  quite  a  desolate  spot." 

"Who  is  with  him?" 

"Old  John  and  his  wife:  he  would  have  none  else.  He  is 
quite  broken  down  they  say." 

"  Have  you  any  sort  of  conveyance  ?" 

"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." 


CHAPTER    XXXVII. 

THE  manor-house  of  Ferndean  was  a  building  of  considerable 
antiquity,  moderate  size,  and  no  architectural  preten- 
sions, deep  buried  in  a  wood.  I  had  heard  of  it  before.  Mr. 
Rochester  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  conse- 
quence 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, 


JANE    EYRE.  363 

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  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  dank  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  Rochester  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  movement— 
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  recognized 
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  saw  a  change :  that 
looked  desperate  and  brooding — that  reminded  me  of  some 
wronged  and  fettered  wild  beast  or  bird,  dangerous  to  approach 
*n  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.  I  would 
not  accost  him  yet. 


364  JANE    EYRE. 

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  off  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  from  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.  Rochester 
now  tried  to  walk  about:  vainly, — all  was  too  uncertain.  He 

f  roped  his  way  back  to  the  house,  and,  re-entering  it,  closed  the 
oor. 

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 
lonely  place  ?"  I  answered  by  taking  her  hand  ;  and  then  I  fol- 
lowed her  into  the  kitchen,  where  John  now  sat  by  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.  Rochester.  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  accom- 
modated 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. 

"When  you  go  in,"  said  I,  "tell  your  master  that  a  person 
wishes  to  speak  to  him,  but  do  not  give  my  name." 

"  I  don't  think  he  will  see  you,"  sl^e  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  ?"  I  asked.     * 

"  Yes :  he  always  has  candles  brought  in  at  dark,  thousrh  he  is 
blind." 

"  Give  the  tray  to  me,  I  will  carry  it  in." 


JANE    EYRE.  365 

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 ;  ray 
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  turned  mechanically  to  see  what  the  commotion  was : 
but  as  he  saw  nothing,  he  returned  and  sighed. 

"  Give  me  the  water,  Mary,"  he  said. 

I  approached  him  with  the  now  only  half-filled  glass :  Pilot 
followed  me,  still  excited. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?"  he  inquired. 

"Down,  Pilot!"  1  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  ?" 

"  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  rne.  "  Who  is  this?  Who  is 
this?"  he  demanded,  trying,  as  it  seemed,  to  see  with  those 
sightless  eyes-— unavailing  and  distressing  attempt!  "Answer 
me — speak  again  !"  he  ordered,  imperiously  and  aloud. 

"Will  you  have  a  little  more  water,  sir?  I  spilt  half  of  what 
was  in  the  glass,"  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  Godl — 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." 

"  And  where  is  the  speaker  ?  Is  it  only  a  voice  ?  Oh !  I  can- 
not 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!" 

g  roped ;  I  arrested  his  wandering  hand,  and  prisoned  it  in 
both  mine. 

"Her  very  fingers!"  he  cried.  "Her  small,  slight  fingers  I 
If  so,  there  must  be  more  of  her!" 

The  muscular  hand  broke  from  my  custody;    my  arm   was 


366  JANE    EYRE. 

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 " 

"And  this  her  voice,"  I  added.  "  She  is  all  here  :  her  heart 
too.  God  bless  you,  sir  !  I  am  glad  to  be  so  near  you  again." 

"Jane  Eyre ! — Jane  Eyre  !"  was  all  he  said. 

"My  dear  master,"  I  answered,  "I  am  Jane  Eyre:  I  have 
found  you  out — I  am  come  back  to  you." 

"  In  truth  ?— in  the  flesh  ?    My  living  Jane  ?" 

"  You  touch  me,  sir— you  hold  me,  and  fast  enough ;  I  am  not 
cold  like  a  corpse,  nor  vacant  like  air,  am  I  ?" 

"  My  Jiving  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." 

"  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  go — embrace 
me,  Jane." 

"  There,  sir— and  there  !" 

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. 

"  It  is  you— is  it  Jane  ?    You  are  come  back  to  me  then  ?" 

"lam." 

"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." 
"  Independent !     What  do  you  mean,  Jane  ?" 

"  My  uncle  in  Madeira  is  dead,  and  he  left  me  five  thousand 
pounds." 

"Ah!  that  is  practical— this  is  real!"  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,  Jane  !  Are  you  an 
independent  woman  ?  A  rich  woman  ?" 

"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 


JANE     EYRE.  367 

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  lameter  like  me  ?" 

"  I  told  you  I  am  independent,  sir,  as  well  as  rich:  I  am  my 
own  mistress." 

4 'And  you  will  stay  with  me  ?" 

"Certainly — unless  you  object.  I  will  be  your  neighbour,  your 
nurse,  your  housekeeper.  I  find  you  lonely:  I  will  be  your  com- 
panion— 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  melan- 
choly, 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  over-leaped 
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. 
Hut  no  hint  to  that  effect  escaping  him,  and  his  countenance 
becoming  more  overcast,  I  suddenly  remembered  that  I  might 
have  been  all  ,wrong,  and  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  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  ven- 
geance on  its  frame." 

"Well,  sir,  I  will  stay  with  you :  I  have  said  so." 

"  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  enter- 
tain 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 — 
y-Mi  must  marry  one  day." 

"  1  don't  care  about  being  married." 


368  JANE    EYRE. 

"  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  embar- 
rassment. I  resumed  a  livelier  vein  of  conversation. 

"  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  eagles'  feathers ;  whether 
your  nails  are  grown  like  birds'  claws  or  not,  I  have  not  yet 
noticed." 

"  On  this  arm,  I  have  neither  hand  nor  nails,"  he  said,  draw- 
ing the  mutilated  limb  from  his  breast,  and  showing  it  to  me. 
"It  is  a  mere  stump — a  ghastly  sight !  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." 

"Did  you?  Don't  tell  me  so — lest  I  should  say  something 
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  me?" 

"  No,  my  fairy :  but  I  am  only  too  thankful  to  hear  and  feel 
you." 

"When  do  you  take  supper?" 
"  I  never  take  supper." 

"But  you  shall  have  some  to-night.  I  am  hungry:  so  are 
you,  I  dare  say,  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  harass- 
ing 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 


JANE    EYRE.  369 

he  was,  smiles  played  over  his  face,  joy  dawned  on  his  forehead 
his  lineaments  softened  and  wanned. 

After  supper  he  began  to  ask  me  many  Questions,  of  where  I 
had  been,  what  I  had  been  doing-,  how  I  had  found  him  out ;  but 
I  gave  him  only  very  partial  replies ;  it  was  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." 

"You  are  altogether  a  human  being,  Jane?  You  are  certain 
of  that?" 

"  I  conscientiously  believe  so,  Mr.  Rochester." 

"  Yet  how  on  this  dark  and  doleful  evening  could  you  so  sud- 
denly 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  youi 
voice  spoke  at  my  ear." 

"  Because  I  had  come  in,  in  Mary's  stead,  with  the  tray." 

"  And  there  is  enchantment  in  the  very  hour  I  am  now  spend- 
ing 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  commonplace,  practical  reply,  out  of  the  train  of  his  own 
disturbed  ideas,  was,  I  was  sure,  the  best  and  most  reassuring 
for  him  in  this  frame  of  mind.  I  passed  my  finger  over  his  eye- 
brows, and  remarked  that  they  were  scorched,  and  that  I  would 
applv  something  which  should  make  them  grow  as  broad  and 
black  as  ever. 

"  Where  is  the  use  of  doing  me  good  in  any  way,  beneficent 
spirit,  when,  at  some  fatal  moment,  you  will  again  desert  me — 
.g  like  a  shadow,  whither  and  how  to  me  unknown ;  and  for 
me  remaining  afterwards  undiscoverable  ?" 

"  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  1  am  sure  you  are  more  like  a  brownie." 

"Am  I  hideous,  Jane?" 

"Very,  sir:  you  always  were,  you  know." 

X 


370  JANE    EYRE. 

"  Humph !  The  wickedness  has  not  been  taken  out  of  you, 
wherever  you  have  sojourned." 

"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." 

"  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  breakfast  table  to 
finish  it.  By-the-by,  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." 

"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  up- 
stairs. "A  good  idea!"  I  thought,  with  glee.  "I  see  I  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,  wan- 
dering 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  day  ?  Is  she  up  ?  Go  and 
ask  her  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 


JANE    EYRE.  371 

and  prone,  and  there  is  a  tender  shining  after  it :  you  shall  have 
a  walk  soon." 

I  had  wakened  the  glow :  his  features  beamed. 

"  Oh,  you  are  indeed  there,  my  skylark  I  Come  to  me.  You 
are  not  gone :  not  vanished  ?  I  heard  one  of  your  kind  an  hour 
ago,  singing  high  in  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." 

The  water  stood  in  my  eyes  to  hear  this  avowal  of  his  depen- 
dence :  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  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  sparklingly  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,  ascer- 
tained that  you  had  taken  no  money,  nor  anything  which  could 
serve  as  an  equivalent !  A  pearl  necklace  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  I  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  £iven  me  half  his  fortune,  without  demand- 
ing 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 


372  JANE    EYRE. 

short,"  I  answered ;  and  then  I  proceeded  to  tell  him  how  I  had 
been  received  at  Moor  House ;  how  I  had  obtained  the  office  of 
schoolmistress,  &c.  The  accession  of  fortune,  the  discovery  of 
my  relations,  followed  in  due  order.  Of  course,  St.  John  Rivers' 
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  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  You  have  spoken  of  him  often  ;  did  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  ?" 

"St.  John  was  only  twenty-nine,  sir." 

"  '  Jeune  encore  J  as  the  French  say.  Is  he  a  person  of  low 
stature,  phlegmatic,  and  plain  ?  A  person  whose  goodness 
consists  rather  in  his  guiltlessness  of  vice,  than  in  his  prowess  in 
virtue  ?" 

"  He  is  untiringly  active.  Great  and  exalted  deeds  are  what 
he  lives  to  perform." 

"But  his  brain?  That  is  probably  rather  soft?  He  means 
well :  but  you  shrug  your  shoulders  to  hear  him  talk  ?" 

"He  talks  little,  sir:  what  he  does  say  is  ever  to  the  point. 
His  brain  is  first-rate,  I  should  think  not  impressible,  but 
vigorous." 

"  Is  he  an  able  man,  then  ?" 

"Truly  able." 

"A  thoroughly  educated  man  ?" 

"  St.  John  is  an  accomplished  and  profound  scholar." 

"  His  manners,  I  think,  you  said  are  not  to  your  taste  ? — 
priggish  and  parsonic  ?" 

"I  never  mentioned  his  manners;  but,  unless  I  had  a  very 
bad  taste,  they  must  suit  it ;  they  are  polished,  calm,  and  gentle- 
manlike." 

"  His  appearance — I  forget  what  description  you  gave  of  his 
appearance ;  a  sort  of  raw  curate,  half  strangled  with  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  !"— (70  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. 


JANE    EYRE.  373 

"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  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  anwer  me  a  question  or  two."  He  paused. 

"  What  questions,  Mr.  Rochester?" 

Then  followed  this  cross-examination. 

"  St.  John  made  you  schoolmistress  of  Morton  before  he  knew 
you  were  his  cousin  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  You  would  often  see  him  ?  He  would  visit  the  school 
sometimes  ?" 

"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." 

"  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." 

"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  Rivers  spend  much  time  with  the  ladies  of  his  family  ?" 

"Yes;  the  back  parlour  was  both  his  study  and  ours:  he  sat 
near  the  window,  and  we  by  the  table." 

"  Did  he  study  much  ?" 

"A  good  deal." 

"What?" 

"  Hindostanee." 

"  And  what  did  you  do  meantime  ?>f 

"  I  learnt  German,  at  first." 

"  Did  he  teach  you  ?" 


374  JANE    EYRE. 

"  He  did  not  understand  German." 

"  Did  he  teach  you  nothing  ?" 

"A  little  Hindostanee." 

"  Rivers  taught  you  Hindostanee  ?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  And  his  sisters  also  ?" 

"No." 

"Only  you?" 

"Only  me." 

"  Did  you  ask  to  learn  ?" 

"No." 

"  He  wished  to  teach  you  ?" 

"Yes." 

A  second  pause. 

"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  pertinaciously 
perched  on  my  knee,  when  I  have  given  you  notice  to  quit  ?"  . 

"  Because  I  am  comfortable  there." 

"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!  But  it  is 
useless  grieving.  Jane,  leave  me  :  go  and  marry  Rivers." 

"  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  I  am  not  a  fool — 
go " 

"  Where  must  I  go,  sir  ?" 

"  Your  own  way— with  the  husband  you  have  chosen." 

"Who  is  that?" 

"  You  know— this  St.  John  Rivers." 

"  He  is  not  my  husband,  nor  ever  will  be.     He  does  not  Jove 


JANE    EYRE.  375 

me :  I  Jo  not  love  him.  He  loves  fas  he  can  love,  and  that  is  not 
as  you  love)  a  beautiful  young  lady  called  Rosamond.  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. 

"What,  Jane!  Is  this  true?  Is  such  really  the  state  of 
matters  between  you  and  Rivers  ?" 

"Absolutely,  sir.  Oh,  you  need  not  be  jealous!  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  con- 
tent. 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!  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  face.  My  heart 
swelled. 

"  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?" 

"  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  oifers  them  so  safe  a  prop." 

Again  he  smiled :  I  gave  him  comfort. 

"  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. 

"  Ah  !   Jane.     But  I  want  a  wife." 

"Do  you,  sir?" 

"Yes:  is  it  news  to  you?" 

"  Of  course :  you  said  nothing  about  it  before." 

"  Is  it  unwelcome  news  ?" 


376  JANE    EYRE. 

"That  depends  on  circumstances,  sir — on  your  choice." 

"  Which  you  shall  make  for  me,  Jane.  I  will  abide  by  your 
decision." 

"  Choose  then,  sir — her  who  loves  you  best" 

"  I  will  at  least  choose — her  I  love  best.  Jane,  will  you  marry 
me?" 

"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  ?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Truly,  Jane?" 

"  Most  truly,  sir." 

"  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  blame- 
less 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." 

"  Because  you  delight  in  sacrifice." 

"Sacrifice!  What  do  I  sacrifice?  Famine  for  food,  expecta- 
tion 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." 

"And  to  bear  with  my  infirmities,  Jane:  to  overlook  my 
deficiencies." 

"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  1  have  hated  to  be  helped — to  be  led :  henceforth,  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  the  finest  fibre  of  my  nature,  sir." 

" The  case  being  so,  we  have  nothing  in  the  world  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." 


JANE    EYRE.  377 

"  Mr.  Rochester,  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  henceforward ; 
I  have  no  use  for  it." 

"  It  is  nearly  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  sir.  Don't  you  feel 
hungry?" 

"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." 

"  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  me,  I  dare  say,  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 ;  dis- 
asters 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 
tfive  it  over  to  foreign  guidance,  as  a  child  does  its  weakness  ? 
Of  late,  Jane — only — only — of  late — I  began  to  see  and  acknow- 
ledge 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. 

"  Some  days  since:  nay,  I  can  remember  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  into  that  world  to  come  where  there  was 
still  hope  of  rejoining  Jane. 

"  I  was  in  my  own  room,  and  sitting  by  the  window,  which  was 
open  :  it  soothed  me  to  feel  the  balmy  night-air;  though  I  could 


378  JANE    EYRE. 

see  no  stars  and  only  by  a  vague,  luminous  haze  knew  the  pre- 
sence of  a  moon.  I  longed  for  thee,  Janet !  Oh,  I  longed  for 
thee  both  with  soul  and  flesh !  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  !' ': 

"  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." 

"  And  it  was  last  Monday  night :    somewhere  near  midnight  ?" 

"Yes;  but  the  time  is  of  no  consequence:  what  followed  is 
the  strange  point.  You  will  think  me  superstitious — some  super- 
stition I  have  in  my  blood,  and  always  had  :  nevertheless,  this  is 
true — true  at  least  it  is  that  I  heard  what  I  now  relate. 

"As  I  exclaimed  'Jane!  Jane!  Jane!'  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  whisper- 
ing on  the  wind,  the  words — '  Where  are  you?' 

"  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 :  perhaps  your  soul  wandered  from  its 
cell  to  comfort  mine ;  for  those  were  your  accents — as  certain  as 
I  live — they  were  yours  !" 

Reader,  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.  Rochester's 
narrative;  but  made  no  disclosure  in  return.  The  coinci- 
dence struck  me  as  too  awful  and  inexplicable  to  be  com- 
municated or  discussed.  If  I  told  anything,  my  tale  would  be 
such  as  must  necessarily  make  a  profound  impression  on  the 
mind  of  my  hearer :  and  that  mind,  yet  from  its  sufferings  too 
prone  to  gloom,  needed  not  the  deeper  shade  of  the  super- 
natural. 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  annihilation,  as  the  midnight 


JANE    EYRE.  379 

whisper  and  mountain  echo  had  melted  before.     Now,  I  thank 
God  !  I  know  it  to  be  otherwise.     Yes,  I  thank  God !" 

;>ut  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. 

"  I  thank  my  Maker,  that  in  the  midst  of  judgment  He  has 
remembered  mercy.     I  humbly  entreat  my  Redeemer  to  give  me 
?h    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  mv 
shoulder :  being  so  much  lower  of  stature  than  he,  I  served  both 
for  his  prop  and  guide.  We  entered  the  wood,  and  wended 
homeward. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII 
CONCLUSION. 

READER,  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.  Rochester  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  I" 

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:  and  he's  done 


380  JANE    EYRE. 

right  for  aught  I  know.  I  wish  you  joy,  Miss  !"  and  he  politely 
pulled  his  forelock. 

"Thank  you,  John.  Mr.  Rochester  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  kichen.  In  passing  the  door  of 
the  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  ben't  one  o'  th'  handsomest  she's  noan  faal 
and  varry  good-natured;  and  i'  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  an- 
nounced that  she  would  just  give  me  time  to  get  over  the  honey- 
moon, and  then  she  would  come  and  see  me. 

"  She  had  better  not  wait  till  then,  Jane,"  said  Mr.  Rochester, 
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  never 
answered  the  letter  in  which  I  communicated  it :  yet  six  months 
after  he  wrote  to  me ;  without,  however,  mentioning  Mr.  Roches- 
ter'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  correspondence  ever  since :  he 
hopes  I  am  happy,  and  trusts  I  am  not  of  those  who  live 
without  God  in  the  world,  and  only  mind  earthly  things. 

You  have  not  quite  forgotten  little  Adele,  have  you,  reader  ?  I 
had  not ;  I  soon  asked  and  obtained  leave  of  Mr.  Rochester  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  imprac- 
ticable ;  my  time  and  cares  were  now  required  by  another — my 
husband  needed  them  all.  So  I  sought  out  a  school  conducted 
on  a  more  indulgent  system ;  and  near  enough  to  permit  of  my 
visiting  her  often,  and  bringing  her  home  sometimes.  I  took 
care  she  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  corrected  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  it  in  my 
power  to  offer  her. 

My  tale  draws  to  its  close :  one  word  respecting  my  experience 


JANE    EYRE.  381 

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.  Rochester  continued  blind  the  first  two  years  of  our  union. 
Perhaps  it  was  that  circumstance  that  drew  us  so  very  near — 
that  knit  us  so  very  close !  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  impress- 
ing 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  humiliation. 
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  you  have  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, 
ami  that  now  he  was  sure  of  it. 

He  and  1  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  eartn  no  longer 


382  JANE    EYRE. 

a  void.  When  his  first-born  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,  because 
those  we  most  love  are  happy  likewise.  Diana  and  Mary  Rivers 
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  clergy- 
man, a  college  friend  of  her  brother's,  and,  from  his  attainments 
and  principles,  worthy  of  the  connection.  Both  Captain  Fitz- 
james  and  Mr.  Wharton  love  their  wives,  and  are  loved  by  them. 

As  to  St.  John  Rivers,  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  Greatheart,  who  guards  his  pilgrim 
convoy  from  the  onslaughts  of  Apollyon.  His  is  the  exaction  of 
the  apostle,  who  speaks  but  for  Christ,  when  he  says — "  Whoso- 
ever will  come  after  me,  let  him  deny  himself,  and  take  up  his 
cross  and  follow  me."  His  is  the  ambition  of  the  high  master- 
spirit, which  aims  to  fill  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  ?  No  fear  of 
death  will  darken  St.  John's  last  hour:  his  mind  will  be 
unclouded :  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!'  " 


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PR  4167  .J2  1890 

SMC 

Brontfc,  Charlotte. 

1816-1855. 
Jane  Eyre  :  an 

autobiography  / 
AZA-3957  (awih)