Skip to main content

Full text of "Jane Eyre"

See other formats 


This is a digital copy of a book that was preserved for generations on library shelves before it was carefully scanned by Google as part of a project 
to make the world's books discoverable online. 

It has survived long enough for the copyright to expire and the book to enter the public domain. A public domain book is one that was never subject 
to copyright or whose legal copyright term has expired. Whether a book is in the public domain may vary country to country. Public domain books 
are our gateways to the past, representing a wealth of history, culture and knowledge that's often difficult to discover. 

Marks, notations and other marginalia present in the original volume will appear in this file - a reminder of this book's long journey from the 
publisher to a library and finally to you. 

Usage guidelines 

Google is proud to partner with libraries to digitize public domain materials and make them widely accessible. Public domain books belong to the 
public and we are merely their custodians. Nevertheless, this work is expensive, so in order to keep providing this resource, we have taken steps to 
prevent abuse by commercial parties, including placing technical restrictions on automated querying. 

We also ask that you: 

+ Make non-commercial use of the files We designed Google Book Search for use by individuals, and we request that you use these files for 
personal, non-commercial purposes. 

+ Refrain from automated querying Do not send automated queries of any sort to Google's system: If you are conducting research on machine 
translation, optical character recognition or other areas where access to a large amount of text is helpful, please contact us. We encourage the 
use of public domain materials for these purposes and may be able to help. 

+ Maintain attribution The Google "watermark" you see on each file is essential for informing people about this project and helping them find 
additional materials through Google Book Search. Please do not remove it. 

+ Keep it legal Whatever your use, remember that you are responsible for ensuring that what you are doing is legal. Do not assume that just 
because we believe a book is in the public domain for users in the United States, that the work is also in the public domain for users in other 
countries. Whether a book is still in copyright varies from country to country, and we can't offer guidance on whether any specific use of 
any specific book is allowed. Please do not assume that a book's appearance in Google Book Search means it can be used in any manner 
anywhere in the world. Copyright infringement liability can be quite severe. 

About Google Book Search 

Google's mission is to organize the world's information and to make it universally accessible and useful. Google Book Search helps readers 
discover the world's books while helping authors and publishers reach new audiences. You can search through the full text of this book on the web 



at |http : //books . google . com/ 






♦ 1. 



/ 



I 



t' 



I 



f 



<3/ ^'r-7^^* "^0).^:, , • 





JANE EYRE 



BY 

CHARLOTTE BRONTE 



ILLUSTRATED BY EDMUND H. GARRETT 



IN TWO VOLUMES 
Volume I. 



New York : 46 East Fourteenth Street 

THOMAS Y. CROWELL AND COMPANY 
Boston : 100 Purchase Street 






Copyright, 1890, 
By Thomas Y. Crowell & Co. 



John Wilson and Son, Cambridge. 



TO 

W. M. THACKERAY, ESQ. 

€\iisi HHotk 

18 RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED BY 

THE AUTHOR. 



PREFACE. 



A PREFACE to the first edition of " Jane Eyre " being 
unnecessary, I gave none ; this second 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. 

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

The Press and the Public are but vague personifica- 
tions for me, and I must thank them in vague terms ; 
but my Publishers are definite, — so are certain generous 
critics who have encouraged me as only large-hearted 
and high-minded men know how to encourage a strug- 
gling stranger ; to them, that is, to my Publishers and 
the select Reviewers, I say cordially, (Jentlemen, 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 



vi PREFACE. 

small one, so far as I know, but not therefore to be over- 
looked. 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 
euggest 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 os 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 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 scrutinize and 
expose^ to rase the gilding and show base metal un- 
der it, to penetrate the sepulchre, and reveal chamel 
relics ; hut hate as it will, it is indebted to him. 



PREFACE. VU 

Ahab did not like Micaiah, because he never prophe- 
Bied good concerning him, but evil, — probably he liked 
the sycophant son of Chenaanah 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 levin-brand of his denun- 
ciation, 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 recognized ; 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 commenta- 
tor on his writings has yet found the comparison that 
suits him, the terms which rightly characterize his 
talent. They say he is like Fielding ; they talk of his 
wit, humor, comic powers. He resembles Fielding as ' 
an eagle docs a vulture. Fielding could stoop on car- 



/ 



viil PREFACE. 

rion, but Thackeray never does. His wit is bright, his 
humor 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 he will 
accept the tribute of a total stranger — I have dedicated 
this second edition of ^ Jane Eybe." 

CURRER BELL. 
Dec. 21, 1847. 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 



Paob 

** He fixed his eyes on me very steadily **.... Frontispiece 

Vigxette-Heading, Chapter 1 1 

*' Iler size is small. What is her age? '* 39 

'* I was carried into an inn '* 54 

** Is your book interesting? " 65 

** Three other visitors, ladies, now entered the room "... 88 

" You will, said she, passing her arm round me " . . . . 97 

** My favorite seat was a smooth and broad stone '' . . . . 107 

** She peered at me over her spectacles ** 123 

"Mrs. Fairfax, I suppose?" 135 

*' Assuming an attitude, she began ' La Ligue des Rats; fable 

de La Fontaine ' " 146 

" lie halted to the stile whence I had just risen, and sat 

down" 161 

** He spread the pictures before him, and again surveyed them 

alternately" 178 

** She wheeled lightly round before him on tiptoe " . . . . 201 

•• The couple were thus revealed to me " 206 

•* A moderate pipe on the hearth " 236 

«* Mr. Rochester galloped at her side " 243 



X LIST OF ILLL'STRATIONS. 

Pagb 

'* Oh! I am so sick of the young men of the present day, 

exclaimed she " 257 

'* The dowagers Ingram and Lynn sought solace in a quiet 

game at cards '* 272 

** Show me your palm " 284 

** Mr. Rochester held the candle over him" 301 

*' You don't hesitate to take a place at my side, do you ? " . 313 

** Two young ladies appeared before me " 328 

** She regarded me so icily -' , . 333 




JANE EYRE. 



CHAPTER I. 



There was no possibility of taking a walk that day. 
We had been wandering, indeed, in the leafless shrub- 
bery 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 and a 
rain so penetrating that further out-door 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. 

VOL. I. — 1 



2 JANE EYRE. 

The said Eliza, John, and Georgiana were now clus- 
tered 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 endeavoring 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 ex- 
clude 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. 1 mounted into 
the window-seat; gathering up my feet, I sat cross- 
legged like a Turk; and having drawn the red mo- 
reen curtain nearly close, I was shrined in double 
retirement. 

Folds of scarlet drapery shut in my view to the right 
hand ; to the left were the clear panes of glass, protect- 
ing 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 



JANE EYRE. 8 

rain sweeping away wildly before a long and lamentable 
blast. 

I returned to my book, — Bewick's "History of British 
Birds." The letter-press thereof I cared little for, gen- 
erally 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 rigors of extreme cold." Of these death- 
white reaJms I formed an idea of my own, — shadowy, 
like all the half-comprehended notions that float dim 
through children's brains, but strangely impressive. 
The words in these introductory pages connected them- 
selves with the succeeding vignettes, and gave signifi- 
cance 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 
hsLTB of cloud at a wreck just sinking. 

I cannot tell what sentiment haunted the quite soli- 



4 JANE EYRE. 

tarjr chnrchjard, with its inscribed headstone, its gate, 
its two trees, its low horizon girdled by a broken wall, 
and its newly-risen crescent attesting the hour of even- 
tide. 

The two ships becalmed on a torpid sea, I believed to 
\ye marine phantoms. 

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

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

Each picture told a story, — mysterious often to my 
undeveloped understanding and imperfect feelings, yet 
ever profoundly interesting ; as interesting as the tales 
Bessie sometimes narrated on winter evenings, when she 
chanced to be in good humor, 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 tides 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 ! Madame 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 ;/7'-/ "V 
tell Mamma she is run out into the raiUj-^Trnd animal ! " > '. ' . 

" It is well I drew the curtain," thought I ; and I 
wished fervently he might not discover my hiding-place. 



JANE EYRE. 5 

Nor Avould John Reed have found it out himself ; he wag 
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 diffi- 
dence. 

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

John Reed _wasja, sch(K)lboy of fourteen years old, — four 
years older than I, for I was but ten, — large and stout 
for his age, with a dingy and unwholesome skin, thick 
lineaments in a spacious visage, heavy limbs, and large 
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 homey 
for a month or two, " on account of his delicate health." 
Mr.^iles, 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 re- 
fined 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 sis- 
ters, and an antipathy to me. He bullied and punished 
me, — not two or three times in the week, nor once or 
twice in the day, but continually. Every nerve I had 
feared him, and every 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 



6 JANE EYRE. 

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, 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 theliiow, 
I mused on the disgusting and ugly appearance of him 
who would presently deal it. I wonder if he read that 
notion in my face ; for, all at once, without speaking, he 
struck suddenly and strongly. 1 tottered, and on re- 
gaining 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. 



JANE EYRE* 

Now, I '11 teach you to nunmage my booknshelvea ; for J 
they are mine, — all the house belongs to me, or will dc 
in a few years. Go and stand by the door, out of th^ 
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 te 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, etc. Also I had 
drawn parallels in silence, which I never thought thus 
te 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 shcnQder. He had closed with a desperate thing. I 
really saw in him a tyrant, a murderer. I felt a drop 
or two of blood from my head trickle down my neck, 
and was sensible of somewhat pungent suffering ; these 
sensations for the time predominated over fear, and I 
received him in frantic sort. I don't very well know 
what I did with my hands, but he called me "Rat! 
rat ! " and bellowed out aloud. Aid was near him ; Eliza 
and Georgiana had run for Mrs. Reed, who was gone up- 
stairs. She now came upon the scene, followed by Bessie 
and her maid Abbot. We were parted; I heard the 



8 JANE ETRE. 

words, " Dear ! dear ! What a fury to fly at Master 

John!*' 

'^ Did ever anybody see such a picture of passion ! " 
Then Mrs. Beed subjoined, ^* Take her away to the 

red-room, and lock her in there." Four hands were 

immediately laid upon me, and I was borne upstairs. 



CHAPTER n. 

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

" Hold her arms. Miss Abbot; she**8 IiKe 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 do 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 nec- 
essary ligature* This preparation for bonds, and the 



10 JANE EYRE. 

additional ignominy 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 
ascertained that I was really subsiding, she loosened 
her hold of me. Then she and Miss Abbot stood with 
folded arms, looking darkly and doubtfully on my face, 
as incredulous of my sanity. 

^^ She never did so before," at last said Bessie, turning 
to the Abigail. 

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

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 oflf, 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 Re^d 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 to 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 



JANE EYRE. 11 

pleasant, then perhaps you would have a home here ; 
but if 70U become passionate and rude, Missis will send 
you away, I am sure." 

" Besides," said Miss Abbot, " God will punish her. 
He might strike her dead in the midst of her tantrums, 
and then where would she go ? Come, Bessie, we will 
leave her. I would n't have her heart for anything. Say 
your prayers. Miss Eyre, when you are by yourself; 
for if you don't repent, something bad might be per- 
mitted 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 ^ Gateshe ad Hall rendered it neces- 
sary 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 color, with a blush of pink in it ; the wardrobe, 
the toilet-table, the chairs, were of darkly-polished old 
mahogany. Out of these deep surrounding shades rose 
high and glared white the piled-up mattresses and 
pillows of the bed, spread with a snowy Marseilles 
counterpane. Scarcely less prominent was an ample, 
cushioned easy-chair near the head of the bed, also 
white, with a footstool before it, and looking, as I 
thought, like a pale throne. 

This room was chill, because it seldom had a fire ; it 



12 JANE EYRE. 

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 h er dec eased 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 frequent intrusion. 

My seat, to which Bessie and the iitterJMw8_AbbjQLt 
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. 



/" 



^k 



JANE EYRE. 13 

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 vigor; 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 
indifference, all his mother's aversion, all the sen-ants' 
partiality, turned up in my disturbed mind like a dark 
deposit in a turbid well. Why was I always suffering, 
always browbeaten, always accused, forever condemned; 
why could I never please; why was it useless to try 
to win any one's favor ? Eliza, who was headstrong and 
selfish, was respected. ^Georgiana, who had a spoiled 
temper, a very acrid spite, a captious and insolent car- 
riage, was imiversally indulged. Her beauty, her pink 
cheeks and golden curls, seemed to give delight to all 
who looked at her and to ^rcbaseJndemnity.for every 
f^ult. John no one thwarted, much less punished, 
though he twisted the necks of the pigeons, killed the j 
little pea-chicks, set the dogs at the sheep, stripped the / 
hot-house vines of their fruit, and broke the buds off the ' 
choicest plants in the conservatory. He called hi^^^aother , 
" old girl," too ; sometimes reviled Jhier for her iiark ^kin, 
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 morn- 
ing to noon, and from noon to night. 

My head still ached and bled with the blow and fall 



14 JANE EYRE. 

I had received. No one had reproved John for wantonly 
striking me ; and because I had turned against him to 
avert furtlier irrational violence, I was loaded with 
general opprobrium. 

" Unjust ! unjust ! " said my reason, forced by the 
agonizing 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 
sympathize 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 contempt of their judgment. I know that .had I been 
a sanguine, brilliant, careless, exacting, handsome, romp- 
ing child, — though equally dependent and friendless, — 
Mrs. Reed would have endured my presence more com- 
placently, her children would have entertained for me 
more of the cordiality of fellow-feeling, the servants 



JANE EYRE. 15 

would have been less prone to make me th e scapegoa t 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 continu- 
ously 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 myseK to death ? That cer- 
tainly 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 3Ir^ _ 



lie buried ; and led by this thought to recall his idea, I ^^ 
dwelt on it with gathering dread. I could not remem- h ^ 
ber him, but I^knew that he was my owi^_uncle, my 
mother's brother ; that he had taken me when a parent- 
less 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 ix> see an ungenial 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 



16 JANE EYRE. 

at the white bed and overshadowed walls, occasionally 
also turning a fascinated eye towards the dimly gleam- 
ing mirror, I began to recall what I had heard of dead 
men, troubled in their graves by the violation of their 
last wishes, revisiting the earth to punish the perjured 
and avenge the oppressed, and I thought Mr. Reed's 
spirit, harassed by the wrongs of his sister's child, might 
quit its abode — whether in the church vault, or in the 
unknown world of the departed — and rise before me in 
this chamber. I wiped my tears and hushed my sobs, 
fearful lest any sign of violent grief might waken a 
preternatural voice to comfort me, or elicit from the 
gloom some haloed face, bending over me with strange 
pity. This idea, consolatory in theory, I felt would be 
terrible if realized. With all my might I endeavored to 
stifle it; I endeavored 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 ; moon- 
light was still, and this stirred ; while I gazed, it glided 
up to the ceiling and quivered over my head. I can now 
conjecture readily that this streak of light was in all 
likelihood a gleam from a lantern carried by some one 
across the lawn ; but then, prepared as my mind was 
for horror, shaken as my nerves were by agitation, I 
thought the swift-darting beam was a herald of some 
coming vision from another world. My heart beat thick, 
my head grew hot; a sound filled my ears, which I 
deemed the rushing of wings; something seemed near 
me ; I was oppressed, 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 turned, Bessie and Abbot entered. 



JANE EYRE. 17 

" 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 some- 
thing ? " 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 per- 
emptorily ; 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 all most repulsive ; " and 
so, no doubt, she felt it. I was a precocious actress 

TOL. I. — 2 



18 JAN£ EYRE. 

in her eyes. She sincerely looked on me as a com- 
pound of virulent passions, mean spirit, and dangerous 
duplicity. 

Bessie and Abbot having retreated, Mrs. Beed, impa- 
tient of my now frantic anguish and wild sobs, abruptly 
thrust me back and locked me in without further par- 
ley. I heard her sweeping away, and soon after she 
was gone, I suppose I had a species of fit Unconscious- 
ness closed the scene. 



CHAPTER III. 

The next thing I remember is waking up with a feel- 
ing as if I had had a frightful nightmare, and seeing 
before me a terrible red glare, crossed with thick black 
bars. I heard voices, too, speaking with a hollow sound, 
as if muffled by a rush of wind or water. Agitation, 
imcertaintj, 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 suppoi*t- 
ing me in a sitting posture, and that more tenderly than 
I had ever been raised or upheld before. I rested my ' 
head against a pillow or an arm, and felt easy. 

In five minutes more the cloud of bewilderment dis- 
solved; I knew quite well that I was in my own bed, 
and that the red glare was the nursery fire. It was 
night ; a candle burned 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 ob- 
noxious to me than that of Abbot, for instance, would 
have been), I scrutinized the face of the gentleman. 
I knew him; it was Mr. Lloyd, an apothecary some- 



20 JANE EYRE. 

times called in by Mrs. Beed when the servants were 
ailing. For herself and the children she employed a 
j)hysician. 
^'^f^'Weii^ who am I ?" he asked. 

I pronounced his name, offering him at the same time 
my hand. He took it, smiling and saying, " We shall do 
very well by-and-by." Then he laid me down, and ad- 
dressing 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 chair near 
my pillow, and as he closed the door after him, all the 
room darkened and my heart again sank. Inexpressible 
sadness weighed it down. 

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

Scarcely dared I answer her — for I feared the next 
sentence might be rough, — "I will try." 

"Would you like to drink, or could you eat any- 
thing?" 

" 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 cry- 
ing ; you '11 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 dare n't for my life be alone 
with that poor child to-night, she might die. It's such 



JANE EYRE. 21 

a fitrange thing she should have that fit. I wonder if she 
saw anything. Missis was rather too hard." 

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

^ Something passed her, all dressed in white, and van- 
ished " — "A great black dog behind him " — " Three 
loud raps on the chamber door " : — "A light in the 
churchyard just over his grave," — etc. 

At lafit 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. 
I 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 physi- 
cally weak and broken down ; but my worse ailment was 
an unutterable wretchedness of mind, — a wretchedness 
which kept drawing from me silent tears ; no sooner had 
I wiped one salt drop from my cheek than another fol- 
lowed. Yet I thought 1 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, ad- 



22 JANE EYRE. 

dressed 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 thankless fagging ; but, in fact, 
my racked nerves were now in such a state that no calm 
could soothe and no pleasure excite them agreeably. 

Bessie had been down into the kitchen, and she 
brought up with her a tart on a certain brightly-painted 
china plate, whose^^^ildj^f paradise, nestling in a wreath 
of convolvuli and rosebuds, had been wont to stir in me 
a most enthusiastic sense of admiration; and which 
plate I had often petitioned to be allowed to take in my 
hand in order to examine it more closely, but had always 
hitherto been deemed unworthy of such a privilege. 
This precious vessel was now placed on my knee, and I 
was cordially invited to eat the circlet of delicate pastry 
upon it. Vain favor! coming, like most other favors 
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 con- 
sidered it a narrative of facts, and discovered in it a 
vein of interest deeper than what I found in fairy tales ; 
for as to the elves, having sought them in vain among 
foxglove leaves and bells, under mushrooms and beneath 
the ground-ivy mantling old wall-nooks, I had at length 
made up my mind to the sad truth that they were all 
gone out of England to some savage country where the 
woods were wilder and thicker, and the population more 
scant ; whereas, Lilliput and Brobdingnag being in my 
creed solid parts of the earth's surface, I doubted not 



JANE EYKE. 28 

that I might one day, by taking a long voyage, see with 
my own eyes the little fields, houses, and trees, the 
diminutive people, the tiny cows, sheep, and birds of the 
one realm, and the corn-fields forest-high, the mighty 
mastiffs, the monster cats, the tower-like men and 
women of the other. Yet when this cherished volume 
was now placed in my hand, when I turned over its 
leaves, and sought in its marvellous pictures the charm 
I had till now never failed to find, all was eerie and 
dreary. The giants were gaunt goblins, the pigmies 
malevolent and fearful imps, Gulliver a most desolate 
wanderer in most dread and dangerous regions. I 
closed the book, which I dared no longer peruse, and 
put it on the table beside the untasted tart. 

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

'' In ihe 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, pre-occupied with her work, she sang the 
refrain very low, very lingeringly ; " A long time ago " 
came out like the saddest cadence of a funeral hymn. 
She passed into another ballad, this time a really doleful 
one: — 

My feet they are (tote, and my limbe they are weary; 

Long is the way, and the mountains are wild; 
Soon will the twilight close moonless and dreary 
Over the path of the poor orphan child. 



24 JANE EYRE. 

Why did they send me so lar and so lonely. 
Up where the moon spread and gray locks are piled ? 

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

Tet distant and soft the night-hreeze is blowing, 
Clondfl there are none, and dear stars beam mild; 

Qod, in His mercy, protection is showing, 
Comfort, and hope to the poor oiphan child. 

EVn should I fall o'er the broken bridge passing, 
Or stray in the marshes, by false lights begoiled, 

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

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

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

^'Come, Miss Jane, don't cry," said Bessie, as she 
finished. She might as well have said to the fire, 
"Don't bum!" but ho5K:-eoohi 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 nur- 
sery. " Well, nurse, how is she ?" 

Besbie answered that I was doing very well. 

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

" Yes, sir, Jane Eyre." 

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

" No, sir." 

" Oh ! I dare say 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." 



JANE EYRE. 26 

I thought 80 too ; and mj 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 gray, not very bright, 
but I dare say 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 
m 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." 

^1 was knocked down," was the blunt explanation 
jerked out of me by another pang of mortified pride. 
** But that did not make me ill," I added ; while Mr. 
Lloyd helped himself to a pinch of snuff. 

As he was returning the box to his waistcoat pocket, a 
loud bell rang for the servants' dinner. He knew what 
it was. " That 's for you, Nurse," said he ; " you can 
go down ; I 'U 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 Oateshead Hall. 

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

" I was shut up in a room where there is a ghost till 
after dark." 

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



26 JANE EYRE. 

" GhoBt ! What, you are a baby after all ! You are 
afraid of ghosts ? " 

*< 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 miser- 
able ? 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 ques- 
tion ! How difficult it was to frame any answer ! 
Children can feel, but they cannot analyze their feel- 
ings ; 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 ; " But 
John Reed knocked me down, and my aimt shut me up 
in the red-room." 

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

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



JANE EYRE. 27 

^^ 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 possibly 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?" 

I reflected. Poverty looks grim to grown people, 
still more so to children. They have not much idea of 
industrious, working, respectable poverty ; they think of 
the word only as connected with ragged clothes, scanty 
food, fireless grates, rude mannergu and debasi_ng /vices. 
Poverty for me was synonymous with degradatiim. 

" 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 unedu- 
cated, to grow up like one of the poor women I saw 
sometimes nursing their children or washing their 
clothes at the cottage doors of the village of Gateshead, 
'! — no, I was not heroic enough to purchase liberty at 
Y I the price of caste. 

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



28 JANE EYRE. 

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

" I should indeed like to go to school," was the audible 
conclusion of my musings. 

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

Bessie now returned; at the same moment the car- 
riage 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, 



JANE EYRE. 29 

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

On that same occasion I learned, for the first time^. 
from Hiss 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 con- / ^ 
sidered 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 i 
while visiting among the poor of a large manufacturing \ 
town where his curacy was situated, and where that J 
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 like Miss Qeorgiana would be more moving 
in the same condition." 



80 JANE EYRE. 

^ Yes, I dote on Miss Georgiana ! " cried the feryent 
Abbot. ^^ Little darling! with her long curls and her 
blue eyes, and such a sweet color as she has ; just as if 
she were painted ! Bessie, I could fancy a Welsh rabbit 
for supper." 

" So could I — with a roast onion. Come, we '11 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 subject over which 
I brooded. Mrs. Reed surveyed me at times with a 
severe eye, but seldom addressed me. Since my illness 
she had drawn a more marked line of separation than 
ever between me and her own children, appointing me 
a small closet to sleep in by myself, condemning me to 
take my meals alone and pass all my time in the nur- 
sery, while my cousins were constantly in the drawing- 
room. Not a hint, however, did she drop about send- 
ing 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 expressed an insuperable and rooted 
aversion. 

Eliza and Georgiana, evidently acting according to 
orders, spoke to me as little as possible. John thrust 
his tongue in his cheek whenever he saw me, and once 
attempted chastisement ; but as I instantly turned against 
him, roused by the same sentiment of deep ire and des- 
perate revolt which had stirred my corruption before, he 



82 JANE EYRE. 

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 mj knuckles could inflict ; and when I saw that either 
that or my look daunted him, I had the greatest inclinar 
tion to follow up my advantage to purpose, but he was 
already with his mamma. I heard him in a blubbering 
tone commence the tale of how " that nasty Jane Eyre '* 
had flown at him like a mad cat. He was stopped rather 
harshly : ^ Don't talk to me about her, John ; I told you 
not to go near her; she is not worthy of notice. I 
do not choose that either you or your sisters should 
associate with her." 

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

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

" What would Uncle Reed say to you, if he were alive ? '* 
was my scarcely voluntary demand. I say scarcely vol- 
untary, for it seemed as if my tongue pronounced words 
without my will consenting to their utterance. Some- 
thing spoke out of me over which I had no control. 

" What ? " said Mrs. Reed, under her breath. Her 
usually cold composed gray 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 



JANE EYRE. 83 

how you shut me up all day long, and how you wish me 
dead." 

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

November, December, and half of January passed away. 
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 gayety consisted in witnessing the daily 
apparelling of Eliza and Georgiana, and seeing them 
descend to the drawing-room, dressed out in thin muslin 
frocks and scarlet sashes, with hair elaborately ring- 
letted ; 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 nur- 
sery. There, though somewhat sad, I was not miser- 
able. To speak truth, 1 had not the least wish to go into 
company, for in company I was very rarely noticed ; and 
if Bessie had but been kind and companionable, I should 
have deemed it a treat to spend the evenings quietly with 
her, instead of passing them under the formidable eye 
of Mrs. Reed, in a room full of ladies and gentlemen. 
But Bessie, as soon as she had dressed her young ladies, 
used to take herself off to the lively regions of the 

VOL. I. — 8 



34 JANE EYRE. 

t 
kitchen and housekeeper's room, generally bearing the 

candle along with her. I then sat with mj 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 dark- 
ness 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 cheese-cake ; then she would sit on the bed while I 
ate it, and when I had finished she would tuck the 
clothes round me, and twice she kissed me, and said, 
" Good night, Miss Jane." When thus gentle, Bessie 
seemed to me the best, prettiest, kindest being in the 
world ; and I wished most intensely that she would always 
be so pleasant and amiable, and never push me about, 
or scold, or task me unreasonably, as she was too often 
wont to do. . Bessie Lee niust, I think, have been a girl 
of good natural capacity, for she was smart in all she 
did, and had a remarkable knack of narrative, — so, at 
least, I judge from the impression made on me by her 



JANE EYRE. 85 

nursery tales. She was pretty, too, if my recollections 
of her face and person are correct. I remember her as 
a slim joung 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 15th of January, about nine o'clock in 
the morning. Bessie was gone down to breakfast ; my 
cousins had not yet been summoned to their mamma. 
Eliza was putting on her bonnet and warm garden-coat 
to go and feed her poultry, an occupation of which 
she was fond; and not less so of selling the eggs to 
the housekeeper and hoarding up the money she thus 
obtained. She had a turn for traffic and a marked 
propensity for saving, — shown not only in the vending 
of eggs and chickens, but also in driving hard bargains 
with the gardener about flower-roots, seeds, and slips 
of plants, that functionary having orders from Mrs. 
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 thereby. As to her money, she first secreted it 
in odd comers, 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 flow- 
ers and faded feathers, of which she had found a store 
in a drawer in the attic. I was making my bed, having 



86 JANE EYRE. 

received strict orders from Bessie to get it arranged 
before she returned (for Bessie now frequently employed 
me as a sort of under-nurserymaid, to tidy the room, 
dust the chairs, etc.). Having spread the quilt and 
folded my nightdress, I went to the window-seat to put 
in order some picture-books and dolls'-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 carriage-road, and just as I had dissolved so much 
of the silver-white foliage veiling the panes as left room 
to look out, I saw the gates thrown open and a carriage 
roll through. I watched it ascending the drive with in- 
difference ; carriages often came to Gateshead, but none 
ever brought visitors in whom 1 was interested. It 
stopped in front of the house, the door-bell rang loudly, 
the new-comer was admitted. All this being nothing to 
me, my vacant attention soon found livelier attraction in 
the spectacle of a little hungry robin, which came and 
chirruped on the twigs 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 hav- 
ing 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 



JANE EYRE. 37 

this morning?*' I gave another tug before I answered, 
/ for I wanted the bird to be secure of its bread. The 
sash yielded ; I scattered the crumbs, some on the stone 
sill, some on the cherry-tree bough, then, closing the 
window, I replied, " No, Bessie ; I have only just finished 
dusting." 

" Troublesome, careless child ! And what are you doing 
now ? You look quite red, as if you had been about 
some mischief; what were you opening the window 
for?" 

I was spared the trouble of answering, for Bessie 
seemed in too great a hurry to listen to explanations ; 
she hauled me to the wash-stand, inflicted a merciless 
but happily brief scrub on my face and hands with soap, 
water, and a coarse towel, disciplined my head with a 
bristly brush, denuded me of my pinafore, and then 
hurrying me to the top of the stairs, bid mo 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 punishment, made of me in those 
days ! I feared to return to the nursery, and feared to 
go forward to the parlor; ten minutes I stood in agi- 
tated hesitation ; the vehement ringing of the breakfast- 
room bell decided me ; I muBt enter. 



88 JANE EYRE. 

" Who could want me ? " I asked inwai'dly, as with 
both hands I turned the sti£F 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 curtesying 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 seat by the fireside. She 
made a signal to me to approach ; I did so, and she in- 
troduced me to the stony stranger with the words: 
"This is the little girl respecting whom I applied to 
you." 

Hbj for it was a man, turned his head slowly towards 
where I stood, and having examined me with the two 
inquisitive-looking gray 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 yeare." 

" So much ? " was the doubtful answer ; and he pro- 
longed his scrutiny for some minutes. Presently he 
addressed me : — 

« Your name, little girl ? " 

" Jane Eyre, sir." 

In uttering these words I looked up ; he seemed to me 
a tall gentleman, but then I was very little; his feat- 
ures 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 



JANE EYRE. 



89 



head, adding soon, ^'Perhaps the less said on that subject 
the better^ Mr. Brocklehursti!!,. 

" 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. 




** Her size is small. What is her age ? " 



I stepped across the rug; he placed me square and 
straight before him. What a face ho 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, 



40 JANE EYRE. 

" 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 forever?" 

" 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 
old only a day or two since, — a good little child, whose 
soul is now in heaven. It is to be feared the same could 
not be said of you, were you to be called hence." 

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

*'l hope that sigh is from the heart, and that you 
repent of ever having been the occasion of discomfort to 
your excellent benefactress." 

" Benefactress ! benefactress ! " said 1, inwardly ; " they 
all call Mrs. Reed my benefactress. If so, a benefactress 
is a disagreeable thing." 

" Do you say your prayers night and morning ? " con- 
tinued 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 



JANE EYRE. 41 

some parts of Kings and Chronicles, and Job and 
Jonah." 

" And the Psalms ? 1 hope you like them ? " 

" No, sir." 

" No ? oh, shocking ! I have a little boy, yomiger than 
you, who knows six Psalms by heart. And when you 
ask him which he would rather have, a ginger-bread 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 1 vrote to you three weeks ago that this little 
girl has not quite the character and disposition I could 
wish. Should you admit her into Lowood school, I 
should be glad if the superintendent and teachers were 
requested to keep a strict eye on her, and above all to 
gukrd against her worst fault, a tendency to deceit. I 
mention this in your hearing, Jane, that you may not 
attempt to impose on 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 



42 JANE EYRE. 

were still repulsed and repaid bj 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 exist- 
ence which she destined me to enter ; I felt, though I 
could not have expressed the feeling, that she was sow- 
ing aversion and unkindness 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 ? 

" 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. 
Brocklehurst ; ^^ it is akin to falsehood, and all liars will 
have their portion in the lake burning with fire and 
brimstone. She shall, however, be watched, Mrs. Reed ; 
I will speak to Miss Temple and the teachera." 

" I should wish her to be brought up in a manner 
suiting her prospects," continued my benefactress ; " to 
l)e made useful, to be kept humble. As for the vaca- 
tions, she will, with your permission, spend them always 
at Lowood." 

" Your decisions are perfectly judicious, madam," re- 
turned 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 septi- 
ment 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, w^ith their hair 



JANE EYRE. 48 

combed behind their ears, and their long pinafores, 
and those little hoUand 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 stat« 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 ofJiOJKQQd*— plain fare, simple 
attire, unsophisticated 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 conformity to her position and prospects ? " 

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

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

" No doubt, no doubt, madam. And now I wish you 
good morning. I shall return to Brocklehurst Hall in 
the course of a week or two. My good friend, the Arch- 
deacon, will not permit me to leave him sooner. I shall 
send Miss Temple notice that she is to expect a new girl, 
so that there will be no difliculty about receiving her. 
Good-by." 

" Good-by, Mr. Brocklehurst ; remember me to Mrs. 



44 JANE EYRE. 

and Miss Brocklchurst, 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 containing * an account of the awfully sudden death 

of Martha G , a naughty child addicted to falsehood 

and deceit.' " 

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

Mrs. Reed and I were left alone. Some minutes 
passed in silence. She wais sewing, I was watching her. 
Itxg. JReed might be at that time spme six or seve n 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 glim- 
mered an eye devoid of ruth ; 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 arm- 
chair, I examined her figure ; I perused her features. 
In my hand I held the tract containing the sudden 
death of the Liar, to which narrative my attention 
had been pointed as to an appropriate warning. What 
had just passed, what Mrs. Reed had said concern- 
ing me to Mr. Brocklehurst, the whole tenor of their 



JANE EYRE. 45 

conversation, was recent, raw, and stinging in mv 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 
on 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 
Tnuat turn ; but how ? What strength had I to dart re- 
taliation at my antagonist ? I gathered my energies 
and launched them in this blunt sentence : " I am not 
deceitful ; if I were, I should say I loved you ; but 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 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 op- 
ponent 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 ungov- 
ernable excitement, I continued: "I am glad you are 
no relation of mine ; I will never call you aunt again as 
long as I live. I will never come to see you when I am 
grown up ; and if any one asks me how I liked you, and 



46 JANE EYRE. 

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 tnUh. 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 ex- 
pand, 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 from 
her knee ; she was lifting up her hands, rocking her- 
self 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 



JANE EYRE. 47 

character, a deceitful disposition; and I'll let every- 
body at Lowood know what you are, and what you 
have done." 

^^Jane, you don't understand these things; children 
must be con-ected 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." 

^' 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, »otto voce ; and gathering up her work, she 
abruptly quitted the apartment. 

I was left there alone — winner of the field. It was 
the hardest battle I had fought, and the first victory 
I had gained. I stood awhile on the rug, where Mr. 
Brocklehurst had stood, and I enjoyed my conqueror's 
solitude. First, I smiled to myself and felt elate ; but 
this fierce pleasure subsided in me as fast as did the ac- 
celerated 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, glanc- 
ing, 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 condition, 
when half an hour's silence and reflection had shown me 
the madness of my conduct, and the dreariness of my 
hatred and hating position. 

Something of vengeance I had tasted for the first 



48 JANE EYRE. 

time ; as aromatic wine, it seemed on swallowing warm 
and racy ; its after-flavor, 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 do?m and en- 
deavored to read. I could make no sense of the subject ; 
my own thoughts swam always between me and the 
page I had usually found fascinating. I opened the 
glass-door in the breakfast-room. The shrubbery was 
quite still ; the black frost reigned, unbroken by sun or 
breeze through the grounds. I covered my head and 
arms with the skirt of my frock, and went out to walk in 
a part of the plantation which was quite sequestered; 
but I found no pleasure in the silent trees, the falling 
fir-cones, the congealed relics of autunm, russet leaves, 
swept by past winds in heaps, and now stiffened to- 
gether. 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 
gray day ; a most opaque sky, " onding on snaw," cano- 
pied all ; thence flakes fell at intervals, which settled on 
the hard path and on the hoary lea without melting. I 
stood, a wretched child enough, whispering to myself 
over and over again, " What shall I do, what shall I 
do?" 

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



JANE EYRE. 49 

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 light- 
ness 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 habituated to indulge in ; somehow it pleased 
her. 

^^ You are a strange child. Miss Jane," she said, as she 
looked down at me; ^^a little, roving, solitary thing ; and 
you are going to school, I suppose ? " 

I nodded. 

" 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 cer- 
tain. 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, 



50 JANE EYRR 

and you shall have tea with me. I'll ask cook to 
bake you a little cake, and then you shall help me to 
look over your drawers, for I am soon to pack your 
trunk. Missis intends you to leave Gateshead in a day 
or two, and you shall choose what toys you like to take 
with you.'* 

" Bessie, you must promise not to scold me any more 
till I g6." 

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

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

" If you dread them, they '11 dislike you." 

" As you do, Bessie ? " 

" I don't dislike you. Miss ; 1 believe I am fonder of 
you than of all the others." 

" You don't show it." 

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

"Why, I shall soon be away from you, and besides — ." 
I was going to say something about what had passed 
between me and Mrs. 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 dare say now if I were to ask you for a 
kiss you would n't give it me ; you 'd say you 'd rather 
not." 

" I '11 kiss you and welcome ; bend your head down." 



JANE EYRE. 51 

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 morning of the 
19th of Jan uary w hen 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 Gates- 
head that day by a coach which passed the lodge gates 
at 6 A. M. Bessie was the only person yet risen ; she 
had lit a fire in the nurecry, 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 spoon- 
fuls of the boiled milk and bread she had prepared for 
me, wrapped up some biscuits in a paf)er and put them 
into my bag ; then she helped me on with my pelisse 
and bonnet, and wrapping herself in a shawl, she and I 
left the nursery. As we passed Mrs. Reed's bedroom, 
she said, " Will you go in and bid Missis good-by ?" 

" 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 ? " 



JANE EYRE. 63 

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

" That wag wrong, Miss Jane." 

'^ 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-by to Gateshead ! " cried I, as we passed 
through the hall and went out at the front door. 

The moon was set, and it was very dark. Bessie 
carried a lantern, whose light glanced on wet steps 
and gravel road sodden by a recent thaw. Raw and 
chill was the winter morning. My teeth chattered as 
I hastened down the drive. There was a light in the 
porter's lodge. When we reached it we found the por- 
ter'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. 

« Yes." 

"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 coachman 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. 



54 



JANE EYRE. 



" Ay, ay ! " was the answer. The door was slapped 
to, a voice exclaimed, **A11 right," and on we drove. 
Thus was I severed from Bessie and Gateshead; thus 
whirled away to unknown and as I then deemed remote 
and mysterious regions. 

I remember but little of the journey. I only know 
that the day seemed to me of a preternatural length, 
and that we appeared to travel over hundreds of miles 
of road. We passed through several towns, and in one, 
a very large one, the coach stopped; the horses were 
taken out, and the passengers alighted to dine. I was 
carried into an inn, where the guard wanted me to have 




"I was carried into an inn." 

some dinner ; but as I had no appetite he left me in an 
immense room with a fireplace at each end, a chandelier 



JANE EYRE. 65 

pendent from the ceiling, and a little red gallery high up 
against the wall filled with musical instruments. Here 
I walked about for a long time, feeling very strange, and 
mortally apprehensive of some one coming in and kid- 
napping me ; for I believed in kidnappers, their exploits 
having frequently figured in Bessie's fireside chronicles. 
At last the guard returned ; once more I was stowed 
away in the coach, my protector mounted his own seat, 
sounded his hollow horn, and away we rattled over the 
" stony street " of L . 

The afternoon came on wet and somewhat misty ; as 
it waned into dusk I began to feel that we were getting 
very far indeed from Gateshead. We ceased to pass 
through towns; the country changed; great gray hills 
heaved up round the horizon. As twilight deepened, we 
descended a valley, dark with wood, and long after night 
had overclouded the prospect, I heard a wild wind rush- 
ing 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 ser^'ant was standing at it ; I saw her face and 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. Kain, wind, and darkness filled the 
air; nevertheless, I dimly discerned a wall before me 
and a door open in it ; through this door I passed with 
my new guide; she shut and locked it behind her. 
There was now visible a house or houses — for the build- 



56 JANE EYRE. 

ing spread far — with many windows, and lights burn- 
mg in some ; we went up a broad pebbly path, splashing 
wet, and were admitt-ed at a door ; then the serrant led 
me through a passage into a room with a fire, where she 
left me alone. 

1 stood and warmed my numbed fingers over the blaze, 
then I looked round ; there was no candle, but the uncer- 
tain light from the hearth showed by intervals papered 
walls, carpet, curtains, shining mahogany furniture; it 
was a parlor, not so spacious or splendid as the drawing- 
room at Gateshead, but comfortable enough. 1 waa puz- 
zling to make out the subject of a picture on the wall, 
when the door opened, and an individual carrying a light 
entered ; another followed close behind. 

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

"The child is very young to be sent alone," said 
she, putting her candle down on the table. She con- 
sidered 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 in- 
quired 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 



JANE EYRE. 67 

with her forefinger, and saying she hoped I should be 
a good child, dismissed me along with Miss Miller. 

The lady 1 had left might be about twenty-nine ; the 
one who went with me appeared some years younger. 
The first impressed me by her voice, look, and air. 
Miss Miller was more ordinary ; ruddy in complexion, 
though of a careworn countenance ; hurried in gait and 
action, like one who had always a multiplicity of tasks 
on hand, — she looked, indeed, what I afterward found 
she really was, an under-teacher. Led by her, I passed 
from compartment to compartment, from passage to 
passage, of a large and irregular building ; till emerg- 
ing from the total and somewhat dreary silence pervad- 
ing 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 burned a pair of candles, and 
seated all round on benches a congregation of girls of 
every age, from nine or ten to twenty. Seen by the 
dim light of the dips, their number to me appeared 
countless, though not in reality^ exceeding eighty ; they 
were uniformly dressed in brown stuff frocks of quaint 
fashion, and long holland pinafores. It was the hour of 
study; they were engaged in conning over their to- 
morrow's task, and the hum I had heard was the com- 
bined 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, — 



58 JANE EYRE. 

" 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. Over- 
powered by this time with weariness, I scarcely noticed 
what sort of a place the bedroom was, except that, like 
the schoolroom, I saw it was very long. To-night I 
was to be Miss Miller's bedfellow ; she helped me to 
undress ; when laid down I glanced at the long rows of 
beds, each of which was quickly filled with two occu- 
pants ; in ten minutes the single light was extin- 
guished ; amidst silence and complete darkness, 1 fell 
asleep. 

The night passed rapidly; I was too tired even to 
dream. 1 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 not 
yet begun to dawn, and a rushlight or two burned in the 
room. I too rose reluctantly ; it was bitter cold, and I 
dressed as well bs 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 



JANE EYRE. 69 

rang ; all formed in file, two and two, and in that order 
descended the stairs and entered the cold and dimly-lit 
schoolroom. Here prayers were read by Miss Miller ; 
afterwards she called out,^' Form classes ! " 

A great tumult succeeded for some minutes, during 
which Miss Miller repeatedly exclaimed, "Silence!" 
and "Order!" When it subsided, I saw them all 
drawn up in four semi-circles before four chairs placed 
at the four tables ; all held books in their hands, and a 
great book, like a Bible, lay on each table before the 
yacant 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 certain texts of Scripture were said, and to {hese 
succeeded a protracted reading of chapters in the Bible, 
which lasted an hour. By the time that exercise was 
terminated, day had fully dawned. The indefatigable 
bell now sounded for the fourth time ; the classes were 
marshalled and marched into another room to breakfast. 
How glad I was to behold a prospect of getting 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 odor far 
from inviting. I saw a universal manifestation of dis- 



60 JANE EYRE. 

content when the fumes of the repast met the nostrila 
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 
burned again!" 

" Silence ! " ejaculated a voice, — not that of Miss 
Miller, but one of the upper teachers, a little and dark 
personage, smartly dressed, but of somewhat morose 
aspect, who 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 after- 
wards found — took the corresponding seat at the other 
board. A long grace was said and a hymn sung ; then 
a servant brought in some tea for the teachers, and the 
meal began. 

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 being returned for 
what we had not got, and a second hymn chanted, the 
refectory was evacuated for the schoolroom. I was one 
of the last to go out, and in passing the tables, I saw 
one teacher take a basin of the porridge and taste it ; 
she looked at the others; all their countenances ex- 
pressed displeasure, and one of them, the stout one^, 
whispered, — " Abominable stuff ! How shameful ! " 



JANE EYRE. 61 

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 privi- 
lege. 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 stand- 
ing 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 disap- 
provingly ; but she made no great effort to check the 
general wrath ; doubtless she shared in it. 

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

Discipline prevailed. In five minutes the confused 
throng was resolved into order, and comparative silence 
quelled the Babel clamor of tongues. The upper teach- 
ers 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 hoUand, shaped 
something like a Highlander's purse, tied in front of 
their frocks, and destined to serve the purpose of a 
work-bag ; all too wearing woollen stockings and country- 
made shoes, fastened with brass buckles. Above twenty 
of those clad in this costume were full-grown giris, 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 ex- 



62 JANE EYRE. 

amiuing 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, weather-beaten, 
and overworked, — when, as my eye wandered from face 
to face, the whole school rose simidtaneously, 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 en- 
countered 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 approach- 
ing 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!" 

Willie the direction was being executed, the lady con- 
sulted moved slowly up the room. I suppose I have a 
considerable organ of Veneration, for I retain yet the 
sense of admiring awe with which my eyes traced her 
steps. Seen now, in broad daylight, she looked tall, 
fair, and shapely ; brown eyes, with a benignant light 
in their irids, and a fine pencilling of long lashes round, 
relieved the whiteness of her large front ; on each of 
her temples her hair, of a very dark brown, was clus- 
tered 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 tlie picture, refined features ; a 



JANE EYRE. 63 

complexion, if pale, clear; and a stately air and car- 
riage, and he will have, at least aB cleiELrly as words 
can give it, a correct idea of the exterior of Miss Tem- 
ple,j— Maria Temple, as I afterwards saw the name 
written in a prayer-book entrusted to me to carry 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 firat class 
round her, and commenced giving a lesson in geogra- 
phy. The lower classes were called by the teachers; 
repetitions in history, grammar, etc., went on for an 
hour ; writing and arithmetic succeeded, and music les- 
sons were given by Miss Temple to some of the elder 
girls. The duration of each lesson was measured by the 
clock, which at last struck twelve. The superintend- 
ent 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 after- 
wards left the room. 

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



64 JAKE EYRE. 

The garden wa« a wide incloBure Burrounded with 
walls so high as to exclude every glimpse of prospect. 
A covered veranda ran down one side, and broad walks 
bordered a middle space divided into scores of little 
beds. These beds were assigned aa 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 exer- 
cise, — not positively rainy, but darkened by a drizzling 
yellow fog ; all underfoot 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 
veranda. And amongst these, as the dense mist pene- 
trated 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 enougli. But to 
that feeling of isolation I was accustomed; it did not 
oppress me much. I leaned against a pillar of the ve- 
randa, drew my gray mantle close about me, and try- 
ing to forget the cold which nipped me without, 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 ; Gates- 
head and my past life seemed floated away to an im- 
measurable distance ; the 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 gray 
and old, the other half quite new. The new part con- 



JANE EYRE. 65 

taining the schoolroom and dormitory was lit by mul- 
lioned 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 BROCKLBHURST, 

OF BROGKLEHUBST HALL, IN THIS COUNTY. 

Let jour light so shine before men that they may see your good works, and 
glorify yoar Father which is In heaven. — St. Matt. v. 16. 

I read these words over and over again. I felt that 
an explanation belonged to them, and was unable fully 
to penetrate their import. I was still pondering the 
signification of " Institution " and endeavoring 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 of which she seemed intent. From where I 
stood I could see the title. It was ^' Rasselas," — a 
name that struck me as strange, and consequently at- 
tractive. 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 thviA 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. 

VOL. 1. — 6 ' 



66 JANE EYRE. 

"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. " Raaselas " 
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 any- 
thing she was about to relapse into her former studious 
mood. Again I ventured to disturb her. " 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 ? " 

" 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 ? " ' 

" 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 neighborhood and in London." 

" Who was Naomi Brocklehurst ? " 




"is your book interesting?" 



JANE EYRE 67 

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

"Why?" 

"Because he is the treaaurer and manager of the 
establishment.'*^ 

** 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, na! I wish it did; she has 
to 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 ofif, 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 
ribbon, 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 



68 JANE EYRE. 

to offend her; Madame Pierrot is not a bad sort of 
person." 

^^ But Miss Temple is the best, is n'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 1 want to 
read." 

But at the moment the summons sounded for dinner ; 
all re-entered the house. The odor which now filled 
the refectory was scarcely more appetizing 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 prepa- 
ration a tolerably abundant plateful was apportioned to 
each pupil. I ate what I could, and wondered within 
myself whether every day's fare would be like this. 

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

The only marked event of the afternoon was that I 
saw the girl with whom I had conversed in the veranda 
dismissed in disgrace, by Miss Scatcherd, from a history 
class, and sent to stand in the middle of the large school- 
room. The punishment seemed to me in a high degree 
ignominious, especially for so great a girl, — she looked 



JANE EYEE. 69 

thirteen or upwards. I expected she would show signs 
of great distress and shame, but to my surprise she 
neitiier wept nor blushed ; composed, though grave, she 
stood, the central mark of all eyes. " How can she bear 
it so quietly — so firmly ?" I asked of myself. " Were 
I in her place, it seems to me I should wish the earth to 
open and swallow me up. She looks as if she were 
thinking of something beyond her punishment — beyond 
her situation; of something not round her nor before 
her. I have heard of day-dreams — is she in a day- 
dream now ? Her eyes are fixed on the floor, but 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. h. we had another meal, consisting 
of a small mug of coffee, and half a slice of brown bread. 
I devoured my bread and drank my coffee with relish, 
but I should have been glad of as much more, — I was 
still hungry. Half an hour's recreation succeeded, then 
study; then the glass of water and the piece of oat- 
cake, prayers, and bed. Such was my first day at 
Lowood. 



CHAPTER VI. 

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

Before the long hour and a half of prj^ers and Bible 
reading was over, I felt ready to perish with cold. 
Breakfast-time came at last, and this morning the por- 
ridge was not burned ; the quality was eatable, the quan- 
tity small. How small my portion seemed ! I wished it 
had been doubled. 

In the course of the day I was enrolled a member of 
the fourth class, and regular tasks and occupations 
were assigned me ; hitherto I had only been a spectator 
of the proceedings at Lowood, I was now to become an 
actor therein. At first, being little accustomed to learn 
by heart, the lessons appeared to me both long and 
difficult. The frequent change from task to task, too, 
bewildered me ; and I was glad, when about three o'clock 
in the afternoon Miss Smith put into my hands a bor- 
der of muslin two yards long, together with needle, 
thimble, etc., and sent me to sit in a quiet comer of the 



JANE EYEE. 71 

Bchoolroom, with directions to hem the same. At that 
hour most of the others were sewing likewise, but one 
class still stood round Miss Scatcherd's chair reading, 
and as all was quiet the subject of their lessons could 
be heard, together with the manner in which each 
girl acquitted herself, and the animadversions or com- 
mendations of Miss Scatcherd on the performance. It 
was English history. Among the readers, I observed 
my acquaintance of the veranda. At the commencement 
of the lesson her place had been at the top of the 
class, but for some error of pronunciation or some in* 
attention 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 else- 
. where, — " Bums, you are standing on the side of your 
shoe, turn your toes out immediately." " 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," etc. 

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 diflSculty was solved instantly when it 
reached Bums ; 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, — 



72 JANE EYRE. 

" You dirty, disagreeable girl ! you have never cleaned 
your nails this morning ! " 

Bums 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 desir- 
ing 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, etc. Till she dismissed me, I could not pur- 
sue my observations on Miss Scatcherd's movements. 
When 1 returned to my seat, that lady was just deliver- 
ing an order of which I did not catch the import ; but 
Bums 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 pre- 
sented to Miss Scatcherd with a respectful courtesy ; then 
she quietly and without being told unloosed her pina- 
fore, and the teacher instantly and sharply inflicted on 
her neck a dozen strokes with the bunch of twigs. Not 
a tear rose to Burns's eye ; and while I paused from my 
sewing because my fingers quivered at this spectacle 
with a sentiment of unavailing and impotent anger, 
not a feature of her pensive face altered its ordinary 
expression. 

" Hardened girl ! " exclaimed Miss Scatcherd ; " noth- 
ing can correct you of your slatternly habits. Carry the 
rod away." 

Bums 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. 



JANE EYRE. 78 

The play-hour in the evening T thought the pleasant- 
est fraction of the day at Lowood. The bit of bread, the 
draught of co£Fee, 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 bum a 
little more brightly to supply in some measure the 
place of candles, not yet introduced ; the ruddy gloam- 
ing, 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 with- 
out 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 keenly have regretted the separation. That wind 
would then have saddened my heart ; this obscure chaos 
would have disturbed my peace. As it was, I derived 
from both a strange excitement, and reckless and fever- 
ish I wished the wind to howl more wildly, the gloom 
to deepen to darkness, and the confusion to rise to 
clamor. 

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 Bums, absorbed, si- 
lent, abstracted from all round her by the companion- 
ship of a book, which she read by the dim glare of the 
embers. 



74 JANE EYRE. 

^' Is it still ^ Rasselas 7' " 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 J^urns ?" 

*^ Helen." 

" Do you come a long way from here ? " 

"I come from a place farther 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 ? " 

" No, why should I ? I was sent to Lowood to get an 
education, and it would be of no use going away until I 
have attained that object." 

^' 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 commit a hasty action whose 

r evil consequences will extend to all connected with you. 

( — ^ And, besides, the Bible bids us return good for evil." 

^ " But then it seems disgraceful to be flogged, and to 

be sent to stand in the middle of a room full of people ; 



JANE EYRE. 76 

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 under- 
stand or sympathize with the forbearance she expressed 
for her chastiser. Still I felt that Helen Burns con- 
sidered things by a light invisible to my eyes. I sus- 
pected 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 for- 
get rules ; I read when I should leam my lessons ; 1 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 Templets 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 



76 JANE ETRE. 

rational, have not influence to cure me of my faults ; 
and even her praise, though I value it most highly, can- 
not 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 atten- 
tive ; 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 as- 
siduity, often I lose the very sound of her voice, I fall 
into a sort of dream. Sometimes I think I am in North- 
umberland, and that the noises I hear round me are the 
bubbling of a little brook which runs through Deepden 
near our house. Then, when it comes to my turn to 
reply, I have to be wakened ; and having heard nothing 
of what was read for listening to the visionary brook, I 
have no answer ready." 

" Yet how well you replied this afternoon." 
^^ It was mere chance ; the subject on which we had 
been reading had interested me. This afternoon, in- 
stead of dreaming of Deepden, I was wondering how a 
man who wished to do right could act so unjustly and 
unwisely as Charles the First sometimes did; and I 
thought what a pity it was that with his integrity and 
conscientiousness he could see no farther than the pre- 
rogatives of the crown. If he had but been able to look 
to a distance, and see to what they call the spirit of the 
age was tending ! Still, I like Charles — I respect him 
— I pity him, poor murdered king ! 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 ig- 



\ 



JANE EYRE. 77 

norant, or nearly so, of the subject she dificussed. I 
recalled her to my level. 

" And when Miss Temple teaches you, do your thoughtsi 
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 agreeable 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 afraid, and so they would 
never alter, but would grow worse and worse. When 
we are struck at without a reason, we should strike 
back again very hard ; I am sure we should, — so hard 
as to teach the person who struck us never to do it 
again." 

" You will change your mind, I hope, when you grow 
older ; as yet you are but a little untaught girl." 

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

^^ Heathens and savage tribes hold that doctrine ; but 
Christians and civilized nations disown it." 

'" How ? I don't understand." 



78 JANE EYRE. 

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

"What then?" 

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

"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 Bums asked me to explain ; and 
I proceeded forthwith to pour out, in my own way, the 
tale of my sufferings and resentments. Bitter and trucu- 
lent 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 Scatch- 
erd does mine : but how minutely you remember all she 
has done and said to you ! What a singularly deep im- 
pression her injustice seems to have made on your heart I 
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 animos- 
ity, 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 



JANE EYRE. 79 

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 can- 
not believe that. I hold another creed, which no one 
ever taught me, and which I seldom mention, but in 
which I delight, and to which I cling, for it extends 
hope to all. It makes Eternity a rest, a mighty home, 
not a terror and an abyss. Besides, with this creed, I 
can so clearly distinguish between the criminal and his 
crime ; I can so sincerely forgive the first while I abhor 
the last. With this creed revenge never worries my 
heart, degradation never too deeply disgusts me, injus- 
tice 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 ! " 

Helen sighed as her revery 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 im- 
passable roads, prevented our stirring beyond the gar- 
den 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 insufficient to protect us from the 
severe cold. We had no boots ; the snow got into our 
shoes and melted there ; our ungloved hands became 
numbed and covered with chilblains, as were our feet. 
I remember well the distracting irritation I endured 
from this cause every evening, when my feet inflamed, 
and the torture of thrusting the swelled, raw, and stiff 
toes into my shoes in the morning. Then the scanty 
supply of food was distressing. With the keen appetites 
of growing children, we had scarcely sufficient to keep 
alive a delicate invalid. From this deficiency of nour- 
ishment resulted an abuse, which pressed hardly on the 
younger pupils ; whenever the famished great girls had 
an opportunity, they would coax or menace the little 
ones out of their portion. Many a time 1 have shared 



JANE EYRE. 81 

between two claimants the precious morsel of brown 
bread distributed at tea-time ; and after relinquishing 
to a third half the contents of my mug of co£Fee, I 
have swallowed the remainder with an accompaniment 
of secre t tears, forced from me by the exigency of 
hunger. 

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

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

I can remember Miss Temple walking lightly and 
rapidly along our drooping line, her plaid cloak, which 
the frosty wind fluttered, gathered close about her, and 
encouraging us, by precept and example, to keep up our 
spirits, and march forward, as she said, ^^ like stalwart 
soldiers." The other teachers, poor things, were gen- 
erally 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, 

VOL 1.— 6 



82 JANE EYRE. 

slice, — with the delicious addition of a thin scrape 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 obliged 
to part with. 

The Sunday evening was spent in repeating by heart 
the church catechism, and the fifth, sixth, and seventh 
chapters of St. Matthew, and in listening to a long ser- 
mon, read by Miss Miller, whose irrepressible yawns at- 
tested her weariness. A frequent interlude of these 
performances was the enactment of the part of Euty- 
chus by some half dozen of little girls, who overpow- 
ered with sleep would fall down, if not out of the third 
loft, yet off the fourth form, and be taken up half dead. 
The remedy was to thrust them forward into the centre 
of the schoolroom, and oblige them to stand there till 
the sermon was finished. Sometimes their feet failed 
them, and they sank together in a heap. They were then 
propped up with the monitors' high stools. 

I have not yet alluded to the visits of Mr. Brockle- 
hurst. And indeed that gentleman was from home dur- 
ing the greater part of the first month after my arrival, 
— perhaps prolonging his stay with his friend the arch- 
deacon. 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 Lo- 
wood), as I was sitting with a slate in my hand, puz- 
zling over a sum in long 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 masses it was not necessary for 



JANE EYRE. 88 

me to look up in order to ascertain whose entrance they 
thus greeted. A long stride measured the schoolroom, 
and presently beside Miss Temple, who herself had risen, 
stood the same black column which had frowned on me 
so ominously from the hearth-rug of Gateshead. I now 
glanced sideways at this piece^Lojchitecture. Yes, I was 
right ; it was Mr. BrockTehurst, buttoned up in a surtout, 
and looking longer, narrower, and more rigid than ever. 

I had my own reasons for being dismayed at this ap- 
parition. Too well I remembered the perfidious hints 
given by Mrs. Reed about my disposition, etc., the prom- 
ise pledged by Mr. Brocklehurst 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 forever. Now, there he 
was. He stood at Mi«s Temple's side, he was speaking 
low in her ear. I did not doubt he was making disclo- 
sures 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 contempt. I listened 
too ; and as I happened to be seated quite at the top of 
the room, I caught most of what he said. Its import 
relieved me from immediate apprehension. 

" I suppose, Miss Temple, the thread I bought at Low- 
ton 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 Miss Smith that I forgot to 
make a memorandum of the darning needles, 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 ! I wish the 



* r 

/ 



84 JANE EYRE. 

woollen stockings were better looked to. When I was 
here last, I went into the kitchen-garden and examined 
the clothes drying on the line. There was a quantity of 
black hose in a very bad state of repair ; from the size 
of the holes in them I was sure they had not been well 
mended from time to time." 

He paused. 

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

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

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

Mr. Brocklehurst nodded. 

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

" Madam, allow me an instant. You are aware that 
my plan in bringing up these girls is not to accustom 
them to habits of luxury and indulgence, but to render 
them hardy, patient, self-denying. Should any little 
accidental disappointment of the appetite occur, such as 



JAXE EYRE. 85 

the spoiling of a meal, the under or the over dressing of 
a dish, the incident ought not to be neutralized by re- 
placing 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 edi- 
fication of the pupils, by encouraging them to evince 
fortitude under the temporary privation. A brief ad- 
dress on those occasions would not be mistimed, wherein 
a judicious instructor would take the opportunity of re- 
ferring to the sufferings of the primitive Christians, to 
the torments of martyrs, to the exhortations of our 
blessed Lord himself, calling upon his disciples to take 
up their cross and follow him ; to his warnings that man 
shall not live by bread alone, but by every word that 
proceedeth out of the mouth of God ; to his divine conso- 
lations, * if ye suffer hunger or thirst for my sake, happy 
are ye.* Oh, madam, when you put bread and cheese, 
instead of burned 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 feelings. Miss Temple had looked down when he 
first began to speak to her, but she now gazed straight 
before her, and her face, naturally pale as marble, ap- 
peared 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, 



86 JANE EYRE. 

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. 

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

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

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

" Naturally ! Yes, but we are not to conform to na- 
ture; I wish these girls to be the children of grace. 
And why that abundance ? I have again and again in- 
timated 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 tomorrow. And 
I see others who have far too much of the excrescence 
— that tall girl, tell her to turn round. Tell all the 
first form to rise up and direct their faces to the wall." 

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



JANE EYRE. 87 

He scrutinized 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 shamefacedness and 
sobriety, not with braided hair and costly apparel, — and 
each of the young persons before us has a string of hair 
twisted in plaits which vanity itself might have woven ; 
these, I repeat, must be cut off. Think of the time 
wasted, of — " 

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

These ladies were deferentially received by Miss Tem- 
ple as Mrs. and the Misses Brocklehurst, and con- 
ducted to seats of honor at the top of the room. It 
seems they had come in the carriage with their rev- 
erend 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, 



88 



JANE EYRE. 



who was charged with the care of the linen and the 
inspection of the dormitories. But I had no time to 




** Three other visitors, ladies, now entered the room." 

listen to what they said, other matters called off and 
enchained my attention. 



JANE EYRE. 89 

Hitherto, while gathering up the discourse of Mr. 
Brocklehurst and Miss Temple, I had not at the same 
time neglected precautions to secure my personal safety, 
which I thought would be effected if 1 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 
slat^ somehow happened to slip from my hand, and fall- 
ing with an obtrusive 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 im- 
mediately 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 
paralyzed ; 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 hypo- 
crite," thought I ; and an impulse of fury against Reed, 
Brocklehurst, and Company, bounded in my pulses at the 
conviction. I was no Helen Bums. 

" Fetch that stool," said Mr. Brocklehurst, pointing to 
a very high one from which a monitor had just risen. 
It waB brought. 



90 JANE EYRE. 

" Place the child upon it." 

And I was placed there, by whom I don't know. I 
was in no condition to note pai-ticulars ; 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 Tem- 
ple, teachers, and children, you all see this girl ?" 

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

" You see she is yet young ; you observe she possesses 
the ordinary form of childhood ; God has graciously 
given her the shape that he has given to all of us ; no 
signal deformity points her out as a marked character. 
Who would think that the Evil One had already found a 
servant and agent in her 1 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 clergy- 
man, with pathos, " this is a sad, a melancholy occasion, 
for it becomes my duty to warn you that this girl, who 
might be one of God's own lambs, is a little castaway ; 
not a member of the true flock, but evidently an inter- 
loper and an alien. You must be on your guard against 
her ; you must shun her example ; if necessary, avoid 
her company, exclude her from your sports, and shut 
her out from your converse. Teachers, you must watch 
her, keep your eyes on her movements, weigh well her 



JANE EYRE. 91 

words, scrutinize her actions, punish her body to save 
her soul, — if, indeed, such salvation be possible, — for 
(mj tongue falters while I tell it) tliis girl, this child, 
the native of a Christian land, — worse than many a lit- 
tle 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 |, by 
this time in perfect possession of my wits, observed all 
the female Brocklehursts produce their pocket-handker- 
chiefs and apply them to their optics, while the elderly 
lady swayed herself to and fro, and the two younger 
ones whispered, '* How shocking ! " 

Mr. Brocklehurst resumed : — 

" This 1 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 ingrati- 
tude 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 con- 
taminate their purity. She has sent her here to be 
healed, even as the Jews of old sent their diseased t<) 
the troubled pool of Bethesda. And, teachers, superin^ 
tendent, I beg of you not to allow the waters to stagnate 
round her." 

With this sublime conclusion, Mr. Brocklehurst ad- 
justed 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. Turn- 
ing at the door, my judge said : " Let her stand half an 
hour longer on that stool, and let no one speak to her 
during the remainder of the day." 

There was I, then, mounted aloft. 1, who had said 
I could not bear the shame of standing on my natural 



92 JANE EYRE. 

feet in the middle of the room, was now exposed to gen- 
eral view on a pedestal of infamy. What my sensations 
were, no language can describe. But just as they all 
rose, stifling my breath and constricting my throat, a 
girl came up and passed me. In passing, she lifted her 
eyes. What a strange light inspired them! what an 
extraordinary sensation that ray sent through me ! how 
the new feeling bore me up ! It was as if a martyr, a 
hero, had passed a slave or victim, and imparted strength 
in the transit. I mastered the rising hysteria, lifted up 
my head, and took a firm stand on the stool. Helen 
Burns asked some slight question about her work of 
Miss Smith, was chidden for the triviality of the inquiry, 
returned to her place, and smiled at me as she again 
went by. What a smile ! I remember it now, and I 
know that it was the effluence of fine intellect, of true 
courage. It lit up her marked lineaments, her thin face, 
her sunken gray 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 din- 
ner of bread and water on the morrow, because she had 
blotted an exercise in copying it out. Such is the imper- 
fect 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. 

Ebe the half-hour ended, five o'clock struck, school 
was dismissed, and all were gone into the refectory to 
tea. I now ventured to descend. It was deep dusk. I 
retired into a comer and sat down on the floor. The 
spell by which I had been so far supported began to dis- 
solve ; 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 aban- 
doned 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 morn- 
ing I had reached the head of my class ; Miss Miller 
had praised me warmly ; Miss Temple had smiled appro- 
bation. She had promised to teach me drawing, and to 
let me learn French, if I continued to make similar im- 
provement two months longer. And then I was well- 
received by my fellow-pupils, treated as an equal by 
those of my own age, and not molested by any. Now 
here I lay again crushed and trodden on ; and could I 
ever rise more? 

"Never," I thought; and ardently I wished to die. 
While sobbing out this wish in broken accents, some 
one approached. I started up ; again Helen Burns 
was near me. The fading fires just showed her coming 



94 JANE EYRE. 

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 re- 
garded me, probably with surprise. I could not now 
abate my agitation, though I tried hard ; I continued 
to weep aloud. She sat down on the ground near me, 
embraced her knees with her arms, and rested her head 
upon them. In that attitude she remained silent as 
an Indian. 

I was the first who spoke : " Helen, why do you stay 
with a girl whom everybody believes to be a liar ? " 

" Everybody, Jane ? Why, there are only eighty peo- 
ple who have heard you called so, and the world con- 
tains hundreds of millions." 

" But what have I to do with millions ? The eighty 
1 know despise me." 

" Jane, you are mistaken. Probably not one in the 
school either despises or dislikes you ; many, I am sure, 
pity you much." 

" 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 favorite, you would have found enemies, 
declared or covert, all around you. As it is, the greater 
number would offer you sympathy if they dared. Teach- 
ers 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 tem- 
porary suppression. Besides, Jane/' — she paused. 



JANE EYRE. 95 

** Well, Helen ? " said I, putting my hands 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 aflfection 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 love of J 
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. /Be- 
sides this earth and besides the race of men, there is ^- 
an invisible world and a kingdom of spirits\ That world 
is round us, for it is everywhere; and those spirits watch 
us, for they are commissioned to guard us ; and if we 
were dying in pain and shame, if scorn smote i:s on all 
sides, and hatred crushed us, angels see our tortures, 
recognize 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 ? " 



9y 



9y JANE EYRE. 

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

Besting my head on Helen's 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 recognized as Miss Temple. 

" I came on purpose to find you, Jane Eyre," said she. 
^' I want you in my room, and as Helen Bums 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 me." 



JANE EYRE. 



97 



" Shall T, Miss Temple ? " 

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




"You will," said she, passing her ann round me. 

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

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

VOL. I. — 7 



98 JANE EYRE. 

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

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

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

In the course of the tale, I had mentioned Mr. Lloyd 
as having come to see me after the fit, for I never for- 
got the, to me, frightful episode of the red-room, in de- 
tailing which my excitement was sure in some degree 
to break bounds ; for nothing could soften in my recol- 
lection the spasm of agony which clutched my heart 
when Mrs. Reed spumed my wild supplication for par- 
don, 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 some- 
thing of Mr. Lloyd. I shall write to him ; if his re- 
ply agrees with your statement, you shall be publicly 



JANE EYRE. 99 

cleared from every imputation. To me, Jane, you are 
clear now." 

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

Miss Temple got up, took her hand, and examined her 
pulse ; then she returned to her own seat. As she re- 
sumed it, I heard her sigh low. She was pensive a few 
minutes, then rousing herself, she said cheerfully, " But 
you two are my visitors to-night ; I must treat you as 
such." She rang her bell. 

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

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

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 



100 JANE EYRE. 

^ woman after Mr. Brocklehurst's own heart, made up of 
i^ y. ^ equal parts of whalebone and iron. 

"^ '"^ UJi, very well ! " returned Miss Temple; "we must 
make it do, Barbara, I suppose." And as the girl with- 
drew, 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 de- 
licious 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 gratification with which our hostess regarded 
us, as we satisfied our famished appetites on the delicate 
fare she liberally supplied. Tea over and the tray re- 
moved, 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 lan- 
guage, 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 feel- 
ing now; but as to Helen Bums, I was struck with 
wonder. 

The refreshing meal, the brilliant fire, the presence 
and kindness of her beloved instructress, or, perhaps. 



JANE EYRE. 101 

more than ^1 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 singu-- 
lar than that of Miss Temple's, — a beauty neither of ^ 
fine color nor long eyelaah nor pencilled brow, but of '^ 
meaning, of movement, of radiance. Then her soul sat / 
on her lips, and language flowed, from what source I / 
cannot tell. Has a girl of fourteen a heart large enough, 
vigorous enough, to hold the swelling spring of pure, 
full, fervid eloquence ? Such was the characteristic of 
HeTeh^s" discourse on that, to me, memorable even- 
ing. Her spirit seemed hastening to live within a very 
brief span as much as many live during a protracted 
existence. 

They conversed of things I had never heard of, — of 
nations and times past, of countries far away, of secrets 
of nature discovered or guessed at. They spoke of books. 
How many they had read ! 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 lier heart, " God bless you, my children ! " 

Helen she held a little longer than me ; she let her go 
more reluctantly. It was Helen her eye followed to the 



102 JANE EYRE. 

door ; it was for ner she a second time br^thed a sad 
sigh, for her she wiped a tear from her cheek. 

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

" M7 things were indeed in shameful disorder," mur- 
mured 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, imresentful, regarding it as a deserved 
punishment. The moment Miss Scatcherd withdrew 
after afternoon-school, I ran to Helen, tore it off, and 
thrust it into the fire. The fury of which she was incapa- 
ble had been burning in my soul all day, and tears, hot 
and large, had continually been scalding my cheek, for 
the spectacle of her sad resignation gave me an intoler- 
able pain at the heart. 

About a week 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 as- 
sembled the whole school, announced that inquiry had 
been made into the charges alleged against Jane Eyre, 
and that she was most happy to be able to pronounce 
her completely cleared from every imputation. The 
teachers then shook hands with me and kissed me, and 
a murmur of pleasure ran through the ranks of my 
companions. 



JANE EYRE. 108 

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 pro- 
portionate to my efforts; my memory, not naturally 
tenacious, improved with practice, exercise sharpened 
my wits. In a few weeks I was promoted to a higher 
class ; in less than two months I was allowed to com- 
mence French and drawing. I learned the first two 
tenses of the verb Mre and sketched my first cottage 
(whose walls, by-the-by, outrivalled in slope those of the 
leaning tower ofj'isa) on the same day. That night, 
on going to bedvXiorgot 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 in- 
ward cravings. I feasted instead on the spectacle of 
ideal drawings, which I saw in the dark, all the work 
of my own hands, — freely pencilled houses and trees, 
picturesque rocks and ruins, Cuyp-like groups of cattle, 
sweet paintings of butterflies hovering over unblown 
roses, of birds picking at ripe cherries, of wrens' nests 
enclosing pearl-like eggs, wreathed about with young 
ivy sprays. I examined, too, in thought, the possibility 
of my ever being able to translate currently a certain 
little French story-book which Madame Pierrot had that 
day shown me. Nor was that problem solved to my sat- 
isfaction ere I fell sweetly asleep. 

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

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



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 very blood in 
our veins; V^'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 
peeped out amongst the leaves, snow-drops, crocuses, 
purple auriculas, and golden-eyed pansics. On Thursday 
afternoons (half holidays) we now took walks, and 
found still sweeter flowers opening by the wayside, 
under the hedges. 

I discovered, too, that a great pleasure, an enjoyment 
which the horizon only bounded, lay all outside the high 
and spike-guarded walls of our garden. This pleasure 
consisted in prospect of noble summits girdling a great 
hill-hollow, rich in verdure and shadow, in a bright beck, 
full of dark stones and sparkling eddies. How different 
had this scene looked when I viewed it laid out beneath 



JANE EYRE. 105 

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 curbless, 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 vegeta- 
tion matured with vigor, 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 overshad- 
owed 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 site for a dwelling 
when 1 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 ty phus t hrough its crowded schoolroom and 
" dormitoryT'and ere May arrived transformed the semi- 
nary into an hospital 



106 JANE EYRK 

\ Semi-Btarvation and neglected colds had pre-disposed 
\ most of the pupils to receive infection. Fortj-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 license, because the medical 
attendant insisted on the necessity of frequent exercise 
to keep them in health ; and had it been otherwise, no 
one had leisure to watch or restrain them. Miss Tem- 
ple'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 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 mor- 
tality, — that bright May shone unclouded over the bold 
hills and beautiful woodland out of doors. Its garden, 
too, glowed with flowers. Hollyhocks had sprung up tall 
as trees, lilies had opened, tulips and roses were in 
bloom ; the borders of the little beds were gay with pink 
thrift and crimson double-daisies ; the 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. 



JANE EYRE. 107 

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

My favorite 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 she was witty and 
original, and partly because she had a manner which set 
me at my ease. Some years older than I, she knew 
more of the world, and could tell me many things I liked 
to hear. With her my curiosity found gratification. To 
my faults also she gave ample indulgence, never impos- 
ing^urb or rein on anything I said. She had a turn 
for narrative, I Jot jaxxalyjaia4-she liked to inform, I to 
question ; so we got on swimmingly together, deriving 



108 JANE EYRE. 

much entertainment, if not much improvement, from 
our mutual intercourse. 

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

True, reader, and I knew and felt this ; and though I 
am a defective being, with many faults and few redeem- 
ing points, yet I never tired of Helen Burns, nor ever 
ceased to cherish for her a sentiment of attachment as 
strong, tender, and respectful as any that ever animated 
my heart. How could it be otherwise, when Helen at 
all times and under all circumstances evinced for me a 
quiet and faithful friendship, which ill-humor never 
soured, nor irritation ever troubled ? But Helen wa« ill 
at present. 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 




'MY FAVORITE SEAT WAS A SMOOTH AND BROAD STONE.' 



JANE EYRE. 109 

was much wrapped up, and sat at a distance under the 
veranda. 

One evening in the beginning of June, I had stayed 
out very late with Mary Ann in the wood. We had, as 
usual, separated oui-selves 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 ! 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, baf- 
fled; and for the first time glancing behind, on each 
side, and before it, it saw all round an unfathomed gulf. 
It felt the one point where it stood — the present. All 



110 JANE EYRE. 

the rest was formless cloud and vacant depth, and it 
shuddered at the thought of tottering, and plimging 
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 waB 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 *11 not be here long." 

This phrase uttered in my hearing yesterday would 
have only conveyed the notion that she was about to be 
removed to Northumberland to her own home. I should 
not have suspected that it meant she was dying ; but I 
knew instantly now. It opened clear on my comprehen- 
sion that Helen Bums was numbering her last days in 
this world, and that she was going to be taken to the 
region of spirits, if such region there were. I exper- 
ienced 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 'U catch the fever if you stop out 
when the dew is falling." 

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

It might be two hours later, probably near eleven, 



JANE EYRE. Ill 

when I, not having been able to fall asleep, and deem- 
ing from the perfect silence of the dormitory that my 
companions were all wrapt in profoimd i^epose, rose 
softly, put on my frock over my night-dress, and with- 
out 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 
imclouded summer moon entering here and there at 
passage windows enabled me to find it without difficulty. 
An odor of camphor and burnt vinegar warned me when 
I came near the fever room, and I passed its door 
quickly, fearful lest the nurse who sat up all night 
should hear me. I dreaded being discovered and sent 
back, for I miist 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 moimted, and then just opposite to me 
was Miss Temple's room. A light shone through the 
key-hole, and from under the door. A profound stillness 
pervaded the vicinity. Coming near, I found the door 
slightly ajar, probably to admit some fresh air into the 
close abode of sickness. Indisposed to hesitate, and full 
of impatient impulses, soul and senses quivering with 
keen throes, I put it back and looked in. My eye 
sought Helen, and feared to find death. 

Close by Miss Temple's bed and half covered with its 
white curtains, there stood a little crib. I saw the out- 
line 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 burned 
dimly on the table. Miss Temple was not to be seen. I 



112 JANE EYRE. 

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 pre- 
ferred speaking before I withdrew it. I still recoiled at 
the dread of seeing a corpse. 

" Helen ! " 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-by, then ; you are just in 
time probably." 

" Are you going somewhere, Helen ? Are you going 
home?" 

" Y^'es ; to my long home — my last home." 

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

I did so ; she put her arm over me, and I nestled 



JANE EYRE. 118 

close to her. After a long silence, she resumed, still 
whispering, — 

" I am very happy, Jane, and when you hear that I 
am dead, you must be sure and not grieve. There is 
nothing to grieve about. We all must die one day, and 
the illness which is removing me is not painful, it is gen- 
tle and gradual. My mind is at rest. I leave no one to 
regret me mufib ; I have only a father, and he is lately 
married, and will not miss me. By dying 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 event- 
ful one arrives which shall restore me to him, reveal 
him to me." 

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

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

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

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

Again I questioned, but this time only in thought. 
" Where is that region ? Does it exist ? " And I 

VOL.1. — 8 



114 JANE EYRE. 

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 '11 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 leav- 
ing 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 Burns's shoul- 
der, 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 gray marble tablet marks the spot, 
inscribed with her name and the word " Resurgam." 



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 
to be a regular autobiography ; I am only bound to in- 
voke 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 neces- 
sary to keep up the liijiks 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 attention on the school. In- 
quiry 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 accommodation, — 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 subscribed largely for the erection of a more con- 
venient building in a better situation ; new regulations 
were made; improvements in diet and clothing intro- 
duced; the funds of the school were entrusted to the 



116 JANE EYRE. 

management of a committee. Mr. Brocklehurst, who 

from his wealth and family connections, could not be 

overlooked, still retained the post of treasurer ; but he 

was aided in the discharge of his duties by gentlemen 

^of rather more enlarged and sympathizing minds. His 

I office of inspector, too, was shared by those who knew 

Vhow to combine reason with strictness, comfort with 

' economy, compassion with uprightness. The school, 

thus improved, became in time a truly useful and noble 

institution. I remained an inmate of its walls, after its 

regeneration, for eight years, — six as pupil, and two as 

teacher; and in both capacities I bear my testimony to 

its value and importance. 

During these eight years my life was uniform but 
not unhappy, because it was not inactive. I had the 
means of an excellent education placed within my reach. 
A fondness for some of my studies, and a desire to ex- 
cel 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 dis- 
charged with zeal for two years ; but at the end of that 
time I altered. 

Miss Temple, through all changes, had thus far con- 
tinued superintendent of the seminary. To her in- 
struction 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 married, 
removed with her husband — a clergyman, an excellent 
man, almost worthy of such a wife — to a distant county, 
and consequently was lost to me. 

From the day she left I was no longer the same. 



JANE EYRE. 117 

With her wag gone every settled feeling, every associa- 
tion that had made Lowood in some degree a home to 
me. I had imbibed from her somethini? of her nature 
and much of her habits, — more harmonious thoughts. 
What seemed better regulated feelings had become the 
inmates of my mind. I had given in allegiance to duty 
and order ; I waa 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 great- 
est part of the half-holiday granted in honor 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 atmos- 
phere I had been breathing in her vicinity, — and that 
now I waB 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 expe- 
rience had been of its rules and systems. Now I re- 



118 JANE EYRE. 

membered 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. Beed had never sent for me 
to Gateshead; neither she nor any of her family had 
ever been to visit me. I had had no communication by 
letter or message with the outer world. School-rules, 
school-duties, school-habits and notions, and voices and 
faces, and phrases and costumes, and preferences and 
antipathies, — such was what I knew of existence. And 
now I felt that it was not enough. I tired of the routine 
of eight years in one 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 ! " 



JANE EYRE. 119 

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

I was not free to resume the interrupted chain of my 
reflections till bedtime. Even then a teacher who oc- 
cupied 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 si- 
lence her ! It seemed as if, could I but go back to the 
idea which had last entered my mind as I stood at 
the window, some inventive suggestion would rise for 
my relief. ' 

Miss Gryce snored at last ! She was a heavy Welch- 
woman, and till now her habitual nasal strains had never 
been regarded by me in any otheif light than as a nui- 
sance. To-night I hailed the first deep notes with satis- 
faction ; I was debarrassed of interruption ; my half- 
effaced thought instantly revived. 

"A new servitude! There is something in that," 
I soliloquized (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, Ex- 
citement, Enjoyment, — delightful sounds truly, but no 
more than sounds for me; and so hollow and fleeting 
that it is mere waste of time to listen to them. But 
Sendtude ! that must be matter of fact. Any one may 
serve. I have served here eight years ; now all I want 
is to serve elsewhere. Can I not get so much of my 
own will ? Is not the thing feasible ? Yes, yes ; the 
end is not so diflScult, 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. 



120 JANE EYRE. 

" 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 or- 
dered 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 nearly an hour it worked 
in chaos, and no result came of its efforts. Feverish 
with vain labor, 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 
inclose the advertisement and the money to pay for it 
under a cover directed to the Editor of the * Herald.' 
You must put it, the first opportunity you have, into the 
post at Lowton. Answers must be addressed to J. E. 
at the postK)ffice 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 



JANE EYRE. 121 

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 iarely 
eighteen, it would not do to undertake the guidance of 
pupils nearer my own age.) " She is qualified to teach 
the usual branches of a good English education, to- 
gether with French, Drawing, and Music." (In those 
days, reader, this now narrow catalogue of accomplish- 
ments would have been held tolerably comprehensive.) 
" Address J. E., Post-oflSce, Lowton, shire." 

This document remained locked in my drawer all 
day. After tea, I asked leaver of the new superin- 
tendent 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 pictu- 
resque 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 



122 JANE EYRE. 

measured for a pair of shoes ; so I discharged that busi* 
ness first, and when it was done, I stepped across the 
clean and quiet little street from the shoemaker's to the 
post-office. It was kept 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 mis- 
trustful 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 inevitable Miss Gryce was still 
my companion. We had only a short end of candle in 
our candlestick, and I dreaded lest she should talk till 
it was all burnt out. Fortunately, however, the heavy 
supper she had eaten produced a soporific effect; she 
was already snoring before I had finished undressing. 
There still remained an inch of candle. I now took out 
my letter; the seal was an initial F. I broke it; the 
contents were brief. 

" If J. E., who advertised in the * shire Herald * 

of last Thursday, possesses the acquirements men- 
tioned, and if she is in a position to give satisfactory 



JANE EYRE. 



123 



references as to character and competency, a situation 
can be offered her where there is but one pupil, — a 




" She peered at me over her spectacles." 

little girl, under ten years of age, and where the salary 
is thirty pounds per annum. J. E. is requested to send 



124 JANE EYRE. 

references, name, address, and all particulars to the 
direction, ^ Mrs. Fairfax, Thomfield, near Millcote, 
shire.'" 

I examined the document long. The writing was old- 
fashioned and rather uncertain, like that of an elderly 
lady. This circumstance was satisfactory. A private fear 
had haunted me that in thus acting for myself, and by 
my own guidance, I ran the risk of getting into some 
scrape ! and above all things I wished the result of my 
endeavors to be respectable, proper, en rigle, I now felt 
that an elderly lady was no bad ingredient in the busi- 
ness 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. Thom- 
field : 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. Mill- 
cote, shire : I brushed up my recollections of the 

map of England. Yes, I saw it, both the shire and the 
town, —shire was seventy miles nearer London 
than the remote county where I now resided ; that was 
a recommendation to me. I longed to go where there 
was life and movement. Millcote was a large manu- 
facturing 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, "Thomfield 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 bo confined to my own breast ; I must impart 
them in order to achieve their success. Having sought 



JANE EYRE. 125 

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 salaiy would be double 
what I now received, — for at Lowood I only got fifteen 
pounds per annum, — and requested she would break the 
matter for me to Mr. Brocklehurst or some of the com- 
mittee, and ascertain whether they would permit me to 
mention them as references. She obligingly consented 
to act as mediatrix in the matter. The next day she 
laid the affair before Mr. Brocklehurst, who said that 
Mrs. 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 commit- 
tee ; and at last, after what appeared to me most tedious 
delay, formal leave was given me to better my condition 
if I could, and an assurance added that as I had always 
conducted myself well, both as teacher and pupil, at 
Lowood, a testimonial of character and capacity signed 
by the inspectors of that institution should forthwith be 
furnished me. 

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

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

The box was corded, the card nailed on. In half an 
hour the carrier vas to call for it to take it to Lowton, 



126 JANE EYRE. 

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 in- 
stant, — I was too much excited. A phase of my life 
was closing to-night, — a new one opening to-morrow. 
Impossible to slumber in the interval ; I must watch 
feverishly while the change was being accomplished. 

"Miss," 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 without inquiry. I was passing the back parlor, 
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 any- 
where ! " cried the individual who stopped my prepress 
and took my hand. 

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

" Well, who is it?" she asked, in a voice and with a 
smile I half recognized ; " you Ve not quite forgotten 
me, I think, Miss Jane?" 

In another second I was embracing and kissing her 
rapturously. " Bessie ! Bessie ! Bessie ! " that was all I 
said ; whereat she half laughed, half cried, and we both 
went into the parlor. 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 ? " 



JANE EYRE. 127 

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

" And you don't live at Gateshead ? " 

" I live at the lodge ; the old porter has left." 

" Well, and how do they all get on ? Tell me every- 
thing about them, Bessie. But sit down first ; and Bobby, 
come and sit on my knee, will you ? " But Bobby pre- 
ferred sidling over to his mother. 

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

" Oeorgiana 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 
Oeorgiana 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, he is not doing so well as his mamma could 
wish. He went to college, and he got — plucked, I 
think they call it. And then his uncles wanted him to 
be a barrister, and study the law ; but he is such a dis- 
sipated young man, they wHl 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." 



128 JANE EYRE. 

"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 of my reach." 

" I am afraid you are disappointed in me, Bessie." I 
said this, laughing; I perceived that Bessie's glance, 
though it expressed 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 ever I expected 
of you. You were no beauty as a child." 

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

" I 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 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." 



JAXE EYRE. 129 

It was a landscape in water colors, of which I had made 
a present to the superintendent in acknowledgment of 
her obliging mediation with the committee on my behalf, 
and which she had framed and glazed. 

^' Well, that is beautiful, Miss Jane ! It is as fine a 
picture as anj Miss Reed's drawing-master could paint, 
let alone the young ladies themselves, who could not 
come near it. And have you learned French ? " 

" Yes, Bessie, I can both read it and speak it." 

" And you can work on muslin and canvas ? " 

" I can." 

" Oh, you are quite a lady. Miss Jane ! I knew you 
would be. You will get on whether your relations notice 
you or not. There was something I wanted to ask you. 
Have you ever heard anything from your father's kins- 
folk, 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 were 
at school fifty miles off. He seemed so much disap- 
pointed, for he could not stay. He was going on a voy- 
age 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 — ." 

" 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. 

TOL. I. — 9 



130 JANE EYRE. 

Missis was very high with him; she called him after- 
wards 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" Acre. 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 

A NEW chapter in a novel is something like a new 
scene in a plaj ; 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 pa- 
pering on the walls as inn rooms have, such a carpet, 
such furniture, such ornaments on the mantel-piece, 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 con- 
tracted by sixteen hours' exposure to the rawness of an 
Pctober day. I left Lowton at four o'clock a.m., and the 
Millcote town clock is now just striking eight. 

Kea3er, 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, expect- 
ing to hear my name pronounced, and to see some de- 
scription of carriage waiting to convey me to Thomfield. 
Nothing of the Bort 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 



132 JANE EYRE. 

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, unpertain whether the port to 'which 
it is bound can be reached, and prevented by many im- 
pediments 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 neighborhood called Thorn- 
field ? " I asked of the waiter who answered the 
summons. 

" Thornfield ? I don't know, ma'am. I '11 inquire at 
the bar." He vanished, but reappeared instantly. " Is 
your name Eyre, Miss ? " 

"Yes." 

" Person here waiting for you." 

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

"This will be your luggage, I suppose?" said the 
man, rather abruptly, when ho 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." 



JANE EYRE. 133 

He fastened the car-door, climbed to his own seat out- 
side, and we set off. Our progress was leisurely, and 
gave me ample time to reflect. I was content to be at 
length so near the end of my journey, and as I leaned 
back in the 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 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, 1 took that resolution, kept it, and 
succeeded in pleasing ; but with Mrs. Reed, I remember 
my best was always spumed 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 stir- 
ring, lesgL rgmaniic. 

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' 
Thornfield now." 



134 JANE EYRE. 

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 hillside, marking a village or hamlet. About ten 
minutes after, the driver got down and opened a pair of 
gates ; we passed through, and they clashed to behind 
us. We now slowly ascended a drive, and came upon 
the long front of a house. Candle-light gleamed from 
one curtained bow-window; all the rest were dark. 
The car stopped at the front door ; it was opened by a 
maid-servant. 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 illu* 
mination of fire and candle at first dazzled me, contrast- 
ing as it did with the darkness to which my eyes had 
l>een for two hours mured ; when I could see, however, a 
cozy and agreeable picture presented itself to my view. 

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

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



JANE EYRE. 



135 



" 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. 



A 




^Mts. Faiififtz, I suppose T" 



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



186 JANE EYRE. 

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

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

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

1 repeated the question more distinctly. 

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

'' Indeed ! Then she is not your daughter ? " 

" No ; I have no family." 

I should have followed up my first inquiry by asking 



JANE EYRE. 137 

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 oppo- 
site to me, and took the cat on her knee, " I am so glad 
you are come. It will be quite pleasant living here now 
with a companion. To be sure it is pleasant at any 
time, for Thornfield is a fine old hall, rather neglected 
of late years perhaps, but still it is a respectable place. 
Yet you know in winter time one feels dreary quite 
alone, in the best quarters. I say alone. Leah is a 
nice girl to be sure, and John and his wife are very 
decent people ; but then you see they are only servants, 
and one can't converse with them on terms of equality. 
One must keep them at due distance, for fear of losing 
one's authority. I'm sure last winter (it was a very 
severe one, if you recollect, and when it did not snow, 
it rained and blew) not a creature but the butcher and 
postman came to the house, from November till Febru- 
ary. And I really got quite melancholy with sitting 
night after night alone. I had Leah in to read to me 
sometimes, but I don't think the poor girl liked the 
task much; she felt it confining. In spring and summer 
one got on better, — sunshine and long days make such a 
difference ; and then, just at the commencement of this 
autumn, little Adela Varens came and her ntirse, — a 
child makes a house alive all at once ; and now you are 
here I shall be quite gay." 

My heart really warmed to the worthy lady as I heard 
her talk; and I drew my chair a little nearer to her, 
and expressed my sincere wish that she might find my 
company as agreeable as she anticipated. 

" But I '11 not keep you sitting up late to-night," said 
she ; '* it is on the stroke of twelve now, and you have 



188 JANE EYRE. 

been travelling all day. You must feel tired. If you 
have got your feet well warmed, I '11 show you your bed- 
room. 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 cham- 
bers. 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, 
and furnished in ordinary modern style. 

When Mre. Fairfax had bidden me a kind good-night, 
and I had fastened my door, gazed leisurely around, and 
in some measure efifaced the eerie impression made by 
that wide hall, that dark and spacious staircase, and 
that long, cold gallery, by the livelier aspect of my little 
room, I remembered that after a day of bodily fatigue 
and mental anxiety, I was now at last in safe haven. 
The impulse of gratitude swelled my heart, and I knelt 
down at the bedside, and offered up thanks where thanks 
were due ; not forgetting, ere I rose, to implore aid on 
my further path, and the power of meriting the kind- 
ness which seemed so frankly offered me before it was 
eanied. My couch had no thorns in it that night, my 



JANE EYRE. 189 

solitary room no fears. At once weary and content, 
I slept soon and soundly. When I awoke it was broad 
day. 

The chamber looked such a bright little place to me 
as the sun shone in between the gay blue chintz window- 
curtains, showing papered walls and a carpeted floor so 
unlike the bare planks and stained plaster of Lowood, 
that my spirits rose at the view. Externals have a great 
effect on the young. I thought that a fairer era of life 
was beginning for me, one that was to have its flowers 
and pleasures as well as its thorns and toils. My facul- 
ties, roused by the change of scene, the new field offered 
to hope, seemed all astir. I cannot precisely define 
what they expected, but it was something pleasant. Not 
perhaps that day or that month, but at an indefinite 
future period. 

I rose ; I dressed myself with care. Obliged to be 
plain, — for I had no article of attire that was not made 
with extreme simplicity, — I was still by nature solici- 
tous to be neat. It was not my habit to be disregardful 
of appearance, or careless of the impression I made ; on 
the contrary, I ever wished to look as well as I could, 
and to please as much as my want of beauty would per- 
mit. I sometimes regretted that T 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 diflScult 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 



140 JANE EYRE. 

fitting to a nicety, — and adjusted my clean white tucker, 
I thought I should do respectably enough to appear 
before Mrs. Fairfax, and that my new pupil would not 
at least recoil from me with antipathy. Having opened 
my chamber window, and seen that I left all things 
straight and neat on the toilet table, I ventured forth. 

Traversing the long and matted gallery, I descended 
the slippery steps of oak ; then I gained the hall. I 
halted there a minute. I looked at some pictures on 
the walls (one I remember represented a grim man in a 
cuirass, and one a lady with powdered hair and a pearl 
necklace), at a bronze lamp pendent from the ceiling, at 
a great clock whose case was of oak curiously carved, 
and ebon black with time and 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 sur- 
veyed 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. Bat- 
tlements round the top gave it a picturesque look. Its 
gray front stood out well from the background of a 
rookery, whose cawing tenants were now on the wing. 
They flew over the lawn and grounds to alight in a great 
meadow, from which these were separated by a sunk 
fence, and where an array of mighty old thorn trees, 
strong, knotty, and broad as oaks, at once explained the 
etymology of the mansion's designation. Farther off 
were hills, — not so lofty as those round Lowood, nor so 
craggy, nor so like barriers of separation from the living 
world ; but yet quiet and lonely hills enough, and seem- 



JANE EYRE. 141 

ing to embrace Thomfield with a seclusion I had not 
expected 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 Thomfield. Its old 
tower-top looked over a knoll between the house and 
gates. 

I was yet enjoying the calm prospect and pleasant 
fresh air, yet listening with delight to the cawing of the 
rooks, yet surveying the wide, hoary 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 Thomfield ? " 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 perma- 
nently ; 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 Thomfield," 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 uni- 
versally understood fact, with which everybody must be 
acquainted by instinct. 

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

" To me ? Bless you, child ^ what an idea ! To me ? 



142 JANE EYRE. 

I am only the housekeeper, the manager. To be snre 
I am distantly related to the Rochesters by the mother's 
side ; or, at least, my husband was. He was a clergy- 
man, incumbent of Hay, — that little village yonder on 
the hill, — and that church near the gates was his. The 
present Mr. Rochester's mother was a Fairfax, and 
second cousin to my husband ; but I never presume on 
the connection, — in fact it is nothing 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. Rochester's ward. He commissioned me 
to find a governess for her. He intends to have her 

brought up in shire, I believe. Here she comes, 

with her ' bonne,' as she calls her nurse." The enigma 
tlien 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. 



JANE EYRE. 148 

" C'est Ik 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 bom on 
the Continent, and I believe never left it till within six 
months ago. When she first came here she could speak 
no English ; now she can make shift to talk it a little. 
I don't understand her, she mixes it so with French; but 
you will make out her meaning very well, I dare say." 

Fortunately I had had the advantage of being taught 
French by a French lady. And as I had always made a 
point of conversing with Madame Pierrot as often as I 
could, and had besides, during the last seven years, learned 
a portion of French by heart daily, — applying myself to 
take pains with my accent, and imitating as closely as 
possible the pronunciation of my teacher, — I had ac- 
quired 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 in to 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 exam- 
ined 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 ; no- 
body here understands her ; Madame Fairfax is all Eng- 
lish. 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 



144 JANE EYRE. 

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

" Eyre, — Jane Eyre." 

" Aire ? Bah ! I cannot say it. Well ; our ship 
stopped in the morning, before it was quite daylight, at 
a great city, — a huge city, with very dark houses and 
all smoky, not at all like the pretty clean town I came 
from, — and Mr. 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 a hotel. We 
stayed there nearly a week. I and Sophie used to walk 
every day in a great green place full of trees, called the 
Park ; and there were many children there besides me, 
and a pond with beautiful birds in it, that I fed with 
crumbs." 

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

I understood her very well, for I had been accustomed 
to the fluent tongue of Madame Pierrot. 

" I wish," continued the good lady, " you would ask 
her a question or two about her parents. I wonder if 
she remembers them ? " 

" AdMe," 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 ? " 



JANE EYRE. 145 

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 ceil- 
ing, 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 gayety of her 
demeanor, 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. 

Ad^le sang the canzonette 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 Bats, 
fable de La Fontaine." She then declaimed the little 
piece with an attention to punctuation and emphasis, a 
flexibility of voice, and an appropriateness of gesture 
very unusual 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 ? " 

VOL. I. — 10 



146 



JANE EYRE. 



" No, that will do. But after your Mamnia went to 
the Holy Virgin, as you say, with whom did you live 
then?" 

" With Madame Pr^ddric and her husband. She took 







"Assuming an attitude, she began *La Ligue des Rats; fable cle 
La Fontaine.'" 

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 



JANE EYRE. 147 

I said yes, for I knew Mr. Rochester before I knew 
Madame Pr^d^ric, 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, Addle 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 everything that could be 
needed in the way of elementary works, and several 
volumes of light literature, poetry, biography, travels, a 
few romances, et<5. I suppose he had considered that 
these were all the governess would require for her pri- 
vate 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 oflFer an abundant harvest of entertainment and in- 
formation. In this room too there was a cabinet piano, 
quite new and of superior tone, also an easel for paint- 
ing, 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 re- 
turn 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. 



148 JANE EYRE. 

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 cur- 
tains, 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, aa I looked 
round; for I had never before seen any half so imposing. 

" Yes ; this is the dining-room. I have just opened 
the window to let in a little air and sunshine, for 
everything gets so damp in apartments that are seldom 
inhabited. The drawing-room yonder feels like a vault." 

She pointed to a wide arch corresponding to the win- 
dow, 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 ornaments on the 
pale Parian mantel-piece were of sparkling Bohemian 
glass, ruby red, and between the windows large mirrors 
repeated the general blending of snow and fire. 

" In what order you keep these rooms, Mrs. Fairfax ! " 
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 



JANE EYRE. 149 

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 
confonnity 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 neighborhood, as far 
as you can see, has belonged to the Bochesters 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, is his 
character ? " 

" Oh ! his character is unimpeachable, I suppose. He 
is rather peculiar, perhaps. He has travelled a great 
deal, and seen a great deal of the world, I should think. 
I dare say he is clever. But I never had much conversa- 
tion 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 thor- 
oughly understand him, in short, — at least, I don't. 
But it is of no consequence, he is a very good master." 

This was all the account I got from Mrs. Fairfax of 



150 JANE EYRE. 

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. Roches* 
ter was Mr. Rochester in her eyes, — a gentleman, a 
landed proprietor, — nothing more. She inquired and 
seai'ched 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 up- 
stairs and downstairs, 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 en- 
tering 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 vener- 
able 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 as- 
pect of a home of the past, a shrine of memory. I 
liked the hush, the gloom, the quaintness of these re- 
treats 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 



JANE EYRE. 151 

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 Thomfield 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 stair- 
case to the attics, and thence by a ladder and through a 
trap-door to the roof of the Hall. I was now on a level 
with the crow colony, and could see into their nests. 
Leaning over the battlements and looking far down, I 
surveyed the grounds laid out like a map. The bright 
and velvet lawn closely girdling the gray base of the man- 
sion ; the field, wide as a park, dotted with its ancient 
timber ; the wood, dun and sere, divided by a path visi- 
bly overgrown, greener with moss than the trees were 
with foliage ; the church at the gates, the road, the tran- 
quil 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 extra- 



152 JANE EYRE. 

ordinary, 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. Faii*fax stayed behind a moment to fasten the 
trap-door. I, by dint of groping, found the outlet from 
the attic, and proceeded to descend the narrow garret 
staircase. I lingered in the long passage to which this 
led, separating the front and back rooms of the third 
story, — narrow, low, and dim, with only one little win- 
dow at the far end, and looking, with its two rows of 
small black doors all shut, like a corridor in some Blue- 
beard's castle. 

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

" Mrs. Fairfax ! " I called out ; for I now heard her 
descending the garret staire. " Did you hear that loud 
laugh ? Who is it ? " 

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

" Did you hear it ? "^ I again inquired. 

" Yes, plainly. I often hear her ; she sews in one of 
these rooms. Sometimes Leah is with her; they are 
frequently noisy together." 



JANE EYRE. 153 

The laugh was repeated in its low, syllabic tone, and 
terminated in an odd murmur. ' 

" Grace ! " exclaimed Mrs. Fairfax. 

I really did not expect any Grace to answer, for the 
laugh was as tragic, as preternatural, a laugh as any I 
ever heard ; and, but that it was high noon, and that no 
circumstance of ghostliness accompanied the curious 
cachinnation, but that neither scene nor season favored 
fear, I should have been superstitiously afraid. How- 
ever, 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. " Re- 
member directions ! " Gmce curtseyed silently and 
went in. 

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

The conversation, thus turned on Addle, continued till 
we reached the light and cheerful region below. Addle 
came running to meet us in the hall, exclaiming, 
"Mesdames, vous fetes servies!" adding, "J'ai bien 
faim, moi ! " 

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



CHAPTER XII. 

The promise of a smooth career, which my first calm 
introduction to Thomfield 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 wayward ; but as she was 
committed entirely to my care, and no injudicious inter- 
ference 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 de- 
velopment of feeling or taste which raised her one inch 
above the ordinary level of childhood ; but neither had 
she any deficiency or vice which sunk her below it. 
She made reasonable progress, entertained for me a viva- 
cious, though perhaps not very profound, affection, and 
by her simplicity, gay prattle, and efforts to please, in- 
spired me in return with a degree of attachment sufii- 
cicnt to make us both content in each other's society. 

This, par parenthese^ 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 devo- 
tion. But I am not writing to flatter parental egotism, 



JANE EYRE. 156 

to echo cant, or prop up humbug. I am merely telling 
the truth. I felt a conscientious solicitude for AdSle's 
welfare and progress, and a quiet liking to her little 
self ; just as I cherished towards Mrs. Fairfax a thank- 
fulness 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 Addle 
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 Addle ; but I believed 
in the existence of other and more vivid kinds of good- 
ness, and what I believed in I wished to behold. 

Who blames me ? Many, no doubt ; and I shall be 
called discontented. I could not help it. The restless- 
ness was in my nature ; it agitated me to pain some- 
times. 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. 



156 JANE EYRE. 

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 imagination created, 
and narrated continuously, quickened with all of inci- 
dent, 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 re- 
bellions besides political rebellions ferment in the masses 
of life which people earth. Women are supposed to be 

' * very calm generally. But women feci just as menjeel; 
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, pre- 
cisely as men would suffer ; and it is narrow-lninded in 
their more privileged fellow-creatures to say that they 
ought to confine themselves to making puddings and 
knitting stockings, to playing on the piano and em- 
broidering 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 sexV 
When thus alone, I not unfrequently heard Grace 
Poole's laugh, — the same peal, the same low, slow ha ! 
ha ! which, when first heard, had thrilled me. I heard, 
too, her eccentric murmurs, stranger than her laugh. 
There were days when she was quite silent ; but there 
were others when I could not account for the sounds she 
made. Sometimes I saw her. She would come out of 
her room with a basin, or a plate, or a tray in her hand, 
go down to the kitchen and shortly return, generally 
(oh, romantic reader, forgive me for telling the plain 



JANE EYRE. 157 

truth) bearing a pot of porter. Her appearance always 
acted as a damper to the curiosity raised by her oral 
oddities. Hard-featured and staid, she had no point to 
which interest could attach. I made some attempts to 
draw her into conversation, but she seemed a person of 
few words. A monosyllabic reply usually cut short 
every eflFort of that sort. 

The other members of the household, namely, John 
and his wife JLfiah the housemaid, and Sophie the French 
nurse, were decent people, but in no respect remark- 
"ahter With Sophie I used to talk French, and some- 
times 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 Addle because she had a cold ; and as Addle sec- 
onded the request with an ardor 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 iji the 
library through a whole long morning. Mrs. Fairfax 
had just written a letter which was waiting to be posted, 
so I put on my bonnet and cloak and volunteered to 
carry it to Hay; the distance, two miles, would be a 
pleasant winter afternoon walk. Having seen Addle 
comfortably seated in her little chair by Mrs. Fairfax's 
parlor 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 " Bevenez bieiitdt, ma bonne 
amie, ma chdre Mdlle. Jeannette '' with a kiss, I set out. 



k 



158 JANE EYRE. 

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 analyze the species of pleasure 
brooding for me in the hour and situation. It was three 
o'clock ; the church bell tolled as I passed under the 
belfry. The charm of the hour lay in its approaching 
dimness, in the low-gliding and pale-beaming sun. I 
was a mile from Thornfield, in a lane noted for wild 
roses in summer, for nuts and 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 
hazel bushes were as still as the white, worn stones 
which causewayed the middle of the path. Far and 
wide, on each side, there were only fields, where no cat- 
tle 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 up-hill all the way to Hay. Hav- 
ing reached the middle, I sat down du a stile which led 
thence into a field. Gathering my mantle about me 
and sheltering my hands in my muff, I did not feel the 
cold, though it froze keenly, — as was attested by a sheet 
of ice covering the causeway, where a little brooklet, 
now congealed, had overflowed after a rapid thaw some 
days since. Prom my seat I could look down on Thorn- 
field. The gray and battlemented hall was the princi- 
pal object in the vale below me; its woods and dark 
rookery rose against the west. I 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 



JANE EYRE. 159 

yet as a cloud, but brightening momently. She looked 
over Hay, which, half lost in trees, sent up a blue smoke 
from its few chimneys. It was yet a mile distant, but in 
the absolute hush I could hear plainly its thin murmurs 
of life. My ear too felt the flow of currents, in what 
dales and depths I could not tell ; but there were many 
hills beyond Hay, and doubtless many becks threading 
their passes. That evening calm betrayed alike the 
tinkle of the nearest streams, the sough of the most 
remote. 

A rude noise broke on these fine ripplings and whis- 
perings, at once so far away and so clear, — a positive 
tramp, tramp, a metallic clatter which efiFaced the soft 
wave-wanderings, as in a picture the solid mass of a 
crag or the rough boles of a great oak, drawn in dark 
and strong on the foreground, efface the aerial distance 
of azure hill, sunny horizon, and blended clouds, where 
tint melts into tint. 

The din was on the causeway. A horse was coming ; 
the windings of the lane yet hid it, but it approached. I 
was just leaving the stile, yet as the path 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 vigor 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 " Gytrash," which in the form 
of horse, mule, or large dog haunted solitary ways, and 
sometimes came upon belated travellers, as this horse 
was now coming upon me. 

It was very near, but not yet in sight, when, in addi- 



160 JANE EYRE. 

tion to the tramp, tramp, I heard a rush under the 
hedge, and close down by the hazel stems glided a great 
dog, whose black and white color made him a distinct 
object against the trees. It was exactly one mask of 
Bessie's Gytrash, — a lion-like creature with long hair 
and a huge head. It passed me, however, quietly enough, 
not staying to look up, with strange pretercanine eyes, 
in ray face, as I half expected it would. The horse fol- 
lowed, — 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 gob- 
lins, to my notions, though they might tenant the dumb 
carcasses of beasts, could scarce covet shelter in the com- 
monplace human form. No Gytrash was this, — only a 
traveller taking the short cut to Millcote. He passed, 
and I went on. A few steps, and I turned. A sliding 
sound and an exclamation 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. How- 
ever, he was pronouncing some formula which prevented 
him from replying to me directly. 

" Can I do anything?" I asked again. 



JANE EYRE. ^ 161 

'' 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 pro- 
cess, accompanied bj a barking and baying which re- 
moved me efifectually 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 offi- 
clous, 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 Hail 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 stem features and a 
heavy brow ; his eyes and gathered eyebrows looked ire- 
ful 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 services unasked. I 
had hardly ever seen a handsome youth, never in my 
life spoken to one. I had a theoretical reverence and 

VOL. I. — 11 



162 JANE EYRE. 

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- 
humored to me when I addressed him ; if he had put oif 
my offer of assistance gayly and with thanks, 1 should 
have gone on my way and not felt any vocation to renew 
inquiries. But the frown, the roughness, of the traveller 
set me at my ease. I retained my station when he 
waved to me to go, and announced: "I cannot think 
of leaving you, sir, at so late an hour, in this solitary 
lane, till I see you are fit to mount your horse." 

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 neighborhood. 
Where do you come from ? " 

** Prom just below ; and I am not at all afraid of be- 
ing out late when it is moonlight. I will run over to 
Hay for yoii 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 ?" pointing to Thornfield Hall, on 
which the moon cast a hoary gleam, bringing it out dis- 
tinct 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 halted to the stile whence 1 HAD JUST RISEN, 
AND SAT DOWN." 



JANE EYRE. 163 

" 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." 

" Ah, the governess ! " he repeated ; " deuce take me, 
if I had not forgotten ! The governess ! " and again my 
raiment underwent scrutiny. In two minutes he rose 
from the stile. His face expressed pain when he tried 
to move. 

" I cannot commission you to fetch help," 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 endeavored to catch the bridle, but it was a 
spirited thing, and would not let me c&me near its head. 
I made effort on effort, though in vain. Meantime, I 
was mortally afraid of its trampling forefeet. The 
traveller waited and watched for some time, and at last 
he laughed. 



164 JANE EYRE. 

" 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, grimac- 
ing 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 TJ'eary 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 j 
/ others hanging there, — firstly, because it was mascu- 
line; and, secondly, because it was dark, strong, and 



JANE EYRE. 165 

stem. I had it stUl before me when I entered Hay, and t 
slipped the letter into the post-office ; I saw it as I 
walked fast down hill all the way home. When I came 
to the stile, I stopped a minute, looked round and lis- 
tened, with an idea that a horse's hoof might ring on 
the causeway again, and that a rider in a cloak and a 
Gytrash-like Newfoundland dog might be again appar- 
ent. I saw only the hedge and a pollard willow before 
me, rising up still and straight to meet the moonbeams ; 
I heard only the faintest waft of wind roaming fitful 
among the trees round Thornfield, a mile distant ; and 
when I glanced down in the direction of the murmur, 
my eye, traversing the Hall-front, caught a light kindling 
in a window. It reminded me that I was late, and I 
hurried on. 

I did not like re-entering Thornfield. To pass its /. 
threshold was to return to stagnation ; to cross the silent il] 
hall, to ascend the darksome staircase, to seek my own if 
lonely little room, and then to meet tranquil Mrs. Fair-' 
fax 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 an uniform and too still existence, — of an 
existence whose very privileges of security and ease I 
was becoming incapable of appreciating. What good 
it would have done me at that time to have been 
tossed in the storms of an uncertain struggling life, and 
to have been taught by rough and bitter experience to * 
long for the calm amidst which I now repined ! Yes, 
just as much good as it would do a man tired of sitting 
still in a " too easy chair " to take a long walk ; and just 
as natural was the wish to stir, under my circumstances, 
as it would be under his. 

I lingered at the gates; I lingered on the lawn; I 



166 JANE EYRE. 

paced backwards and forwards on the pavement. The 
shutters of the glass door were closed ; I could not see 
into the interior. And both my eyes and spirit seemed 
drawn from the gloomy house, from the gray 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 fathom- 
less depth and measureless distance. And for those 
trembling stars that followed her course, — they made 
my heart tremble, my veins glow when I viewed them. 
Little things recall us to earth. The clock struck in 
the hall ; that sufficed ; I turned from moon and stars, 
opened a side door, and went in. 

The hall was not dark, nor yet was it lit, only by the 
high-hung bronze lamp. A warm glow suffused both it 
and the lower steps of the oak staircase. This ruddy 
shine issued from the great dining-room, whose two- 
leaved door stood open and showed a genial fire in the 
grate, glancing on marble hearth and brass 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 aware of a cheerful mingling of voices, 
amongst which I seemed to distinguish the tones of 
Ad^le, 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," 



JANE EYRE. 167 

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. Fair- 
fax, 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 Xm. 

Mb. Rochester, it aeemg, 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 busi- 
ness. His agent and some of his tenants were arrived, 
and waiting to speak with him. 

Adftle 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 school- 
room. 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 trav- 
ersed 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. 

Addle was not easy to teach that day ; she could not 
apply. She kept nmning to the door and looking over 
the banisters to see if she could get a glimpse of Mr. 
Rochester ; then she coined pretexts to go downstairs, 
in order, as I shrewdly suspected, to visit the library, 
where I knew she was not wanted ; then when I got 
a little angry and made her sit still, she continued to 
talk incessantly of her " ami, Monsieur ^douard Fair- 
fax de Rochester," as she dubbed him (I had not before 
heard his praenomens), and to conjecture what presents 



JANE EYRE. 169 

he had brought her, — for it appears he had intimated 
the night before that when his luggage came from Mill- 
cote, 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 li 
dedans un cadeau pour moi, et peutetre pour vous aussi, 
mademoiselle. Monsieur a parl^ de vous. II m'a de- 
mand^ le nom de ma gouvernante, et si elle n'^tait pas 
une petite personne, assez mince et un pen pfile. J'ai 
dit qu'oui, — car c'est vrai, n'estKje pas, mademoiselle ? " 

I and my pupil dined as usual in Mrs. Fairfax's par- 
lor. The afternoon was wild and snowy, and we passed 
it in the schoolroom. At dark I allowed Adfile to put 
away books and work, and to run downstairs ; for from 
the comparative silence below, and from the cessation of 
appeals to the door-bell, 1 conjectured that Mr. Rochester 
was now at liberty. Left alone, I walked to the window, 
but nothing was to be seen thence. Twilight and snow- 
flakes together thickened the air, and hid the very shrubs 
on the lawn. I let down the curtain and went back to 
the fireside. 

In the clear embers I was tracing a view, not unlike 
a picture I remembered to have seen of the castle of 
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 unwel- 
come 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 even- 
ing," 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 coun- 



170 JANE EYRE. 

try. You had better change your frock now ; I will go 
with you and faaten 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, I repaired to my room, and with Mrs. Fairfax's 
aid replaced my black stuflE dress by one of black silk, — 
the best and the only additional one I had except one of 
light gray, which, in my Lowood notions of the toilette, 
I thought too fine to be worn, except on first-rate 
occasions. 

"You want a brooch," said Mrs. Fairfax. I had a 
single little pearl ornament which Miss Temple gave me 
as a parting keepsake ; I put it on, and then we went 
downstairs. Unused as I was to strangers, it was rather 
a trial to appear thus formally summoned in Mr. Roch- 
ester's presence. I let Mrs. Fairfax precede me into the 
dining-room, and kept in her shade as we crossed that 
apartment, and passing the arch, whose curtain was now 
dropped, entered the elegant recess beyond. 

Two wax candles stood lighted on the table, and two 
on the mantelpiece. Basking in the light and heat of a 
superb fire lay Pilot ; Addle knelt near him. Half re- 
clined on a couch appeared Mr. Rochester, his foot sup- 
ported by the cushion ; he was looking at Addle and the 
dog. The fire shone full on his face. I knew my trav- 
eller with his broad and jetty eyebrows, his square fore- 
head, made squarer by the horizontal sweep of his black 
hair. I recognized 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 harmonized in square- 



JANE EYRE. 171 

ness 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 
something 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 fin- 
ished 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 quies- 
cence under the freak of manner gave me the ad- 
vantage. 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 pressure of 
business he had had all day, on the annoyance it must 
have been to him with that painful sprain. Then she 
commended his patience and perseverance in going 
through with it. 



172 JANE EYRE. 

" Madam, I should like some tea," was the sole re- 
joinder she got. She hastened to ring the bell; and 
when the tray came she proceeded to arrange the cups, 
spoons, etc., with assiduous celerity. I and Adfele went 
to the table, but the master did not leave his couch. 

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

I did as requested. As he took the cup from my 
hand, Adfele, thinking the moment propitious for mak- 
ing a request in my favor, cried out, "N'est-ce pas, 
monsieur, qu'il y a un cadeau pour Mademoiselle Eyre 
dans votre petit coffre ? " 

" Who talks of cadeaux ? " said he, gruffly. " Did you 
expect a present. Miss Eyre? Are you fond of pres- 
ents ? " and he searched my face with eyes that I saw 
were dark, irate, and piercing. 

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

" Generally thought ? But what do you think ? " 

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

" Miss Eyre, you are not so unsophisticated as Adele. 
She demands a ^ cadeau ' clamorously the moment she 
sees me ; you beat about the bush." 

" Because I have less confidence in my deserts than 
Addle has. She can prefer the claim of old acquaint- 
ance, and the right too of custom, — for she says you 
have always been in the habit of giving her playthings ; 
but if I had to make out a case I should be puzzled, 
since I am a stranger and have done nothing to entitle 
me to an acknowledgment." 



JANE EYRE. 178 

" Oh, don't fall back on over-modesty ! I have exam- 
ined Addle, and find you have taken great pains with 
her. She is not bright, she has no talents; yet in a 
short time she has made much improvement." 

" Sir, you have now given me my * cadeau ; ' I am 
obliged to you. It is the meed teachers most covet, — 
praise of their pupils' progress." 

^^ Humph ! " 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 
comer with her knitting, while Adele was leading me 
by the hand round the room, showing me the beautiful 
books and ornaments on the consoles and chiffonnidres. 
We obeyed, as in duty bound. Addle wanted to take a 
seat on my knee, but she was ordered to amuse herself 
with Pilot. 

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

"Yes, sir." 

" And you came from ?" 

" From Lowood 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 jou_have rather the 
\nf\\ fif ftnnfhpr wnrlfl- I marvelled whcrc 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 be- 
witched my horse. I am not sure yet. Who are your 
parents ?" 

" I have nqjae." 



174 JANE EYRE. 

" 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 moon- 
light evening for them. Did 1 break through one of 
your rings that you spread that damned ice on the 
causeway ? " 

I shook my head. "The men in green all forsook 
England a hundred years ago," said I, speaking as seri- 
ously as he had done. " And not even in Hay Lane or 
the fields about it could you find a trace of them. I 
don't think either summer or harvest or winter moon 
will ever shine on their revels more." 

Mrs. Fairfax had dropped her knitting, and with 
raised eyebrows seemed wondering what sort of talk 
this was. 

" Well," resumed Mr. Rochester, " if you disown pa- 
rents 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 uo brothers or sisters." 

" Who recommended you to come here ?" 

" 1 advertised, and Mrs. Fairfax answered my adver- 
tisement." 

"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 Addle." 



JANE EYRE. 175 

" Don't trouble yourself to give her a charac5ter," re- 
turned 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 Thomfield." 

" Have you read much ? " 

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

"You have lived the life of a nun: no doubt you 
are well drilled in religious forms. Brocklehurst, 
who I understand directs Lowood, is a parson, is he 
not?" 

"Yes, sir." 

" And you girls probably worshipped him, as a convent 
full of religieuses would worship their director ? " 

"Oh, no." 

" You are very cool ! No ! What ! a novice not wor- 
ship 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. Fair- 
fax, who now again caught the drift of the dialogue. 

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



176 JANE EYRE. 

" He starved us when he had the sole superintendence 
of the provision department, before the committee was 
appointed ; and he bored us with long lectures once a 
week, and with evening readings from books of his own 
inditing, 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, eighteen ? " 

T 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 counte- 
nance are so much at variance as in your case. And 
now what did you learn at Lowood ? Can you play ? " 

"A little." 

" Of course, that is the established answer. Go into 
the library — I mean, if you please. (Excuse my tone 
of command. I am used to say ' Do this,' and it is done : 
I cannot alter my customary habits for one new inmate.) 
Go, then, into the library ; take a candle with you ; 
leave the door open ; sit down to the piano, and play 
a tune." 

1 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. 

"Addle 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?" 



JANE EYRE. 177 

" No, indeed ! " I interjected. 

" Ah ! that pricks pride. Well, fetch me your port- 
folio, if you can vouch for its contents being original ; 
but don't pass your word unless you are certain. I can 
recognize 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. Addle and Mrs. Fairfax drew near to see 
the pictures. 

" No crowding," said Mr. Rochester. "Take the draw- 
ings from my hand as I finish with them ; but don't 
push your faces up to mine." 

He deliberately scrutinized 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 Addle. 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 Lo- 
wood, when I had no other occupation." 

" Where did you get your copies ? " 

" Out of my head." 

" That head 1 see now on your shoulders ? " 

" Yes, sir." 

" Has it other furniture of the same kind within ? " 

"I should think it may have. I should hope — 
better." 

VOL. I. — 12 



178 



JANE EYRE. 



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 noth- 
ing 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 portrait of the thing 
I had conceived. 




** He spread the pictures before him, and again surveyed them 
alternately.*' 

These pictures were in water-colors. The first repre- 
sented clouds low and livid, rolling over a swollen sea : 
all the distance was in eclipse; so, too, was the fore- 
ground; 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 cormorant, dark and 
large, with wings flecked with foam : its beak held a 
gold bracelet, set with gems, that I had touched with as 



JANE EYRE. 179 

brilliant tints as my palette could yield, and as glitter- 
ing distinctness as my pencil could impart. Sinking 
below the bird and mast, a drowned corpse glanced 
through the green water ; a fair arm was the only limb 
clearly visible, whence the bracelet had been washed or 
torn. 

The second picture contained for foreground only the 
dim peak of a hill, with grass and some leaves slanting 
as if by a breeze. Beyond and above spread an expanse 
of sky, dark blue 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 vapor ; the eyes shone 
dark and wild ; the hair streamed shadowy, like a 
beamless cloud torn by storm or by electric travail. 
On the neck lay a pale reflection like moonlight ; 
the same faint lustre touched the train of thin clouds 
from which rose and bowed this vision of the Evening 
Star. 

The third showed the pinnacle of an iceberg piercing 
a polar winter sky : a muster of northern lights reared 
their dim lances, close serried, along the horizon. 
Throwing these into distance, rose, in the foreground, a 
head, — a colossal head, inclined towards the iceberg, 
and resting against it. Two thin hands, joined under 
the forehead, and supporting it, drew up before the 
lower features a sable veil; a brow quite bloodless, 
white as bone, and an eye hollow and fixed, blank of 
meaning but for the glassiness of despair, alone were 
visible. Above the temples, amidst wreathed turban 
folds of black drapery, vague in its character and con- 
sistency as cloud, gleamed a ring of white flame, 
gemmed with sparkles of a more lurid tinge. This 



180 JANE EYRE. 

pale crescent waa " The likeness of a Kingly Crown ; " 
what it diademed was "the shape which shape had 
none/' 

" Were 70U 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 noon, and from 
noon till night : the length of the midsummer days 
favored my inclination to apply." 

" And you felt self-satisfied with the result of your 
ardent labors ? " 

" Far from it. I was tormented by the contrast be- 
tween my idea and my handiwork : in each case I had 
imagined something which I was quite powerleslb to 
realize." 

" 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 eyes in the Even- 
ing Star you must have seen in a dream.- How could 
you make them look so clear, and yet not at all bril- 
liant? 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 Lat- 



JANE EYRE. 181 

mos ? 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 Addle sit 
up so long ? Take her to bed." 

Addle went to kiss him before quitting the room : he 
endured the caress, but scarcely seemed to relish it more 
than Pilot would have done, nor so much. 

^^ I wish you all good-night, now," said he, making a 
movement of the hand towards the door, in token that 
he was tired of our company, and wished to dismiss us. 
Mrs. Fairfax folded up her knitting: I took my port- 
folio : 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 : no doubt he may appear so to a stranger, 
but I am so accustomed to his manner, I never think of 
it ; and then, if he has peculiarities of temper, allowance 
should be made." 

" Why ? " 

" Partly because it is his nature — and we can none 
of us help our nature ; and, partly, he has painful 
thoughts, no doubt, to harass him, and make his spirits 
unequal." 

"What about?" 

" Family troubles, for one thing." 

" But he has no family." 

" Not now, but he has had — or, at least, relatives. 
He lost his elder brother a few years since." 



• 



182 JANE EYRE. 

« 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 
y misunderstandings between them. _M r. Row l and Roch- 
ester was not quite just to Mr. Edward ; and, perhaps, 
he prejudiced his father against him. The old gentle- 
man was fond of money, and anxious to keep the family 
estate together. He did not like to diminish the prop- 
erty by division, and yet he was anxious that Mr. Edward 
should have wealth too, to keep up the consequence of 
the name ; and, soon after he was of age, some steps 
were taken that were not quite fair, and made a great 
deal of mischief. Old Mr. 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 Thomfield 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 some- 
thing clearer; but Mra. Fairfax either could not, or 
would not, give me more explicit information of the 



JANE EYRE. 183 

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. 

For several Bubsequent days I saw little of Mr. Roch- 
ester. In the mornings he seemed much engaged with 
business, and, in the afternoon, gentlemen from Millcote 
or the neighborhood 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 ; prob- 
ably to return these visits, as he generally did not come 
back till late at night. 

During this interval, even Adftle 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 some- 
times 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 con- 
tents : the gentlemen went away early, to attend a pub- 
lic meeting at Millcote, as Mrs. Fairfax informed me; 
but the night being wet and inclement, Mr. Rochester 
did not accompany them. Soon after they were gone, 
he rang the bell : a message came that I and Addle 
were to go downstairs. I brushed Addle's hair and 



JANE EYRE. 185 

made her neat, and having ascertained that I was my- 
self in my usual Quaker trim, where there was nothing 
to retouch — all being too close and plain, braided locks 
included, to admit of disarrangement — we descended. 
Addle wondering whether the petit coffre was at length 
come ; for, owing to some mistake, its arrival had hith- 
erto 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 ' botte ' at last : take it into a 
comer, you genuine daughter of .Paris, and amuse your- 
self With disembowelling it," said the deep and rather 
sarcastic voice of Mr. Rochester, 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 condi- 
tion of the entrails : let your operation be conducted in 
silence : tiens-toi tranquille, enfant ; comprends-tu ? " 

Addle 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 tochel^r^M^Iain, 
I have no pleasant as80ciatISiir~connected with their 



186 JANE EYRE, 

lisp. It would be intolerable to me to pass a whole 
evening tSte-d-tSte 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 said 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 chari- 
table purpose : I have forbidden Addle to talk to me 
about her presents, and she is hunting with repletion ; 
have the goodness to serve her as auditress and inter- 
locutrice : it will be one of the most benevolent acts 
you ever performed." 

Addle, indeed, no sooner saw Mrs. Fairfax, than she 
summoned her to the sofa, and there quickly filled her 
lap with the porcelain, the ivory, the waxen contents 
of her " boJte ; " pouring out, meantime, explanations 
and raptures in such broken English as she was mis- 
tress 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 Eyre, draw your chair still 
a little further forward: you are yet too far back; I 
cannot see you without disturbing my position in this 
comfortable chair, which I have no mind to do." 

I did as I was bid, though I would much rather have 
remained somewhat in the shade: but Mr, Rochester 
had such a direct way of giving orders, it seemed a 
matter of course to obey him promptly. 



JANE EYRE. 187 

We were, as I have said, in the dining-room : the 
lustre, which had been lit for dinner, filled the room 
with a festal breadth of light ; the large fire was all red 
and clear ; the purple curtains hung rich and ample be- 
fore the lofty window and loftier arch ; everything was 
still, save the subdued chat of Addle (she dared not 
speak loud), and, filling up each pause, the beating of 
winter rain against the paues. 

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 prob- 
able. 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 
1 was aware : — " No, sir." 

" Ah ! By my word ! there is something singular 



188 



JANE EYRE. 



about you/' said he : " you have the air of a little non- 
nette ; 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, w^hen they are directed 
piercmgly 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 re- 
joinder, 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 ap- 
pearances ; 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 conse- 
quence, indeed ! And 
so, under pretence of 
softening the previous 
outrage, of stroking and 
soothing me into placid- 
^ i^y? you stick a sly pen- 

knife under my ear! Go on: what fault do you find 
with me, pray ? I suppose I have all my limbs and all 
my features, like any other man ? " 

" 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 ? " 




JANE EYRE. 



189 



He lifted up the sable waves of hair which lay hori- 
zontally 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 1 inquired in return whether you are a philan- 
thropist?" 

" There again ! An- 
other stick of the pen- 
knife, when she pre- 
tended to pat my head : 
and that is because 1 
said I did not like the 
society of children and 
old women (low be it 
spoken!). No, young 
lady, I am not 
a general phi- 
lanthropist; but 
I bear a con- 
science ; " and 
he pointed to 
the prominences 
which are said to 
indicate that fac- 
ulty, and which, 

fortunately for him, were sufficiently conspicuous ; giv- 
ing, indeed, a marked breadth to the upper part of his 
head : " and, besides, I once had a kind of rude tender- 
ness of heart When I was as old as you, I was a feel- 
ing 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 




190 JANE EYRE. 

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 ? " 

"Hopoof 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 becomes you ; besides, it is convenient, for it 
keeps those searching eyes of yours away from my physi- 
ognomy, 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 
demeanor ; such a look of complete indifiference to his 
own external appearance ; so haughty a reliance on the 
power of other qualities, intrinsic or adventitious, to 
atone for the lack of mere personal attractiveness, that, 
in looking at him, one inevitably shared the indifference, 
and, even in a blind, imperfect sense, put faith in the 
confidence. 

"I am disposed to be gregarious and communicative 
to-night," he repeated ; " and that is why I sent for you : 



JANE EYRE. 191 

the fire and the chandelier were not sufiicient company 
for me; nor would Pilot have been, for none of these 
can talk. Addle is a degree better, but still far below 
the mark ; Mrs. Fairfax ditto ; you, I am persuaded, can 
suit me if you will: you puzzled me the first evening 
I invited you down here. I have almost forgotten you 
since : other ideas have driven yours from my head ; but 
to-night I am resolved to be at ease; to dismiss what 
importunes, and recall what pleases. It would please 
me now to draw you out — to learn more of you — there- 
fore speak." 

Instead of speaking, I smiled ; and not a very compla- ' 
cent or submissive smile either. 

" Speak," he urged. 

"What about, sir?" 

" Whatever you like. I leave both the choice of sub- 
ject 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 per- 
son," 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 con- 
sistent. 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 Addle would say ; and it is by virtue of this 
superiority and this alone that I desire you to have the 



192 JANE EYRE. 

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 will- 
ing; but I cannot introduce a topic, because how do I 
know what will interest you? Ask me questions, and 
I will do my best to answer them." 

" Then, in the first place, do you agree with me that I 
have a right to be a little masterful, abrupt ; perhaps ex- 
acting, sometimes, on the grounds I stated; namely, 
that I am old enough to be your father, and that I have 
battled through a varied experience with many men of 
many nations, and roamed over half the globe, while 
you have lived quietly with one set of people in one 
house ? " 

" Do as you please, sir." 

" 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 1 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 advan- 
tages. 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 pecu- 



JANE EYRE. 193 

liax — he seems to forget that he pays me 30Z. per annmn 
for receiving his orders. 

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

"I was thinking, sir, that very few masters would 
trouble themselves to inquire whether or not their paid 
subordinates were piqued and huii; by their orders." 

" Paid subordinates ! What, you are my paid subor- 
dinate, are you ? Oh yes, 1 had forgotten the salary ! 
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 comfortable in his dependency, I agree 
heartily." 

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

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

" Humbug! Most things free-born will submit to any- 
thing for a salary ; therefore, keep to yourself, and don't 
venture on generalities of which you are intensely igno- 
rant. 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 misap- 
prehension of one's meaning are the usual rewards of 
candor. 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 

VOL. I. — 13 



194 JANE EYRE. 

in a diflferent 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 better than the rest; you may have intolerable de- 
fects to counterbalance 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 : 1 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 scries of deeds, 
a color of life to contemplate within my own breast, 
which might well call my sneers and censures from my 
neighbors to myself. I started, or rather (for, like other 
defaulters, 1 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 diifer- 
ent; 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 mem- 
ory 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 bil^e 
water had turned it to fetid puddle. I was your equal 
at eighteen — quite your equal. Nature meant me to be, 
on the whole, a good man. Miss Eyre : one of the better 
kind; and you see I am not so. You would say you 
don't see it : at least I flatter myself I read as much in 



I r 



JANE EYRE. 195 

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 circum- 
stances 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 wonder that I avow this to you? Know, that in the 
course of your future life, you will often find yourself 
elected the involuntary confidant of your acquaintances' 
secrets : people will instinctively find out, as I have done, 
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 com- 
forting 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 were writing my thoughts in a diary. You would 
say, I should have been superior to circumstances ; so I 
should — so I should; but you see I was not. When 
fate wronged mo, I had not the wisdom to remain cool : 
I turned desperate ; then T degenerated. Now, when any 
vicious simpleton excites my disgust by his paltry ri- 
baldry, I cannot flatter myself that I am better than he : 
I am forced to confess that he and I are on a level. I 
wish I had stood firm — God knows I do! Dread re- 
'j morse 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 



196 JANE EYRE. 

I could reform — I have strength yet for that — if — 
but where is the use of thinking of it, hampered, bur- 
dened, cursed as I am ? Besides, since happiness is irre- 
vocably 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 
pleasure ? 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 ig- 
norant 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 flittered across my brain was an error. I be- 
lieve it was an inspiration 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 — be- 
tween a guide and a seducer ? " 

" I judged by your countenance, sir ; which was trou- 
bled : when you said the suggestion had returned upon 



JANE EYRE. 197 

you. I feel sure it will work you more misery if you lis- 
ten 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 ! " 

fie 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 1 verily be- 
lieve. Already it has done me good: my heart was a 
sort of chamel ; it will now be a shrine." 

" To speak truth, sir, I don't understand you at all : 
I cannot keep up the conversation, because it has got out 
of my depth. Only one thing I know: you said you 
were not as good as you should like to be, and that you 
regretted your own imperfection ; — one thing I can com- 
prehend : 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 began with resolution to correct your thoughts and 
actions, you would in a few years have laid up a new 
and stainless store of recollections, to which you might 
revert with pleasure." 

"Justly thought; rightly said. Miss Eyre; and, at 
this moment, I am paving hell with energ3\" 

"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?" 



198 JANE EYRE. 

" 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 Medcs 
and Persians, that both are right." 

" They cannot be, sir, if they require a new statute to 
legalize 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 house- 
hold 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 pro- 
nounced them." 

" Mat/ 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, be- 
yond its present reach ; and feeling the uncertainty, the 
vague sense of insecurity, which accompanies a convic- 
tion of ignorance. 

" Where are you going ? " 

" To put Addle to l)cd : it is past her bedtime." 

" You are afraid of me, because 1 talk like a Sphinx." 



JANE EYRE. 199 

^^ 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 1 do feel apprehensive — I have no 
wish to talk nonsense." 

" If you did, it would be in such a grave, quiet man- 
ner, 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 : be- 
lieve me, you are not naturally austere, any more than 
I am naturally vicious. The Lowood constraint still 
clings to you somewhat ; controlling your features, muf- 
fling 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 impos- 
sible 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 
oj^a curious sort of bird through the close-set bars of a 
cage : a vivid, restless, resolute captive is there ; were it 
but free, it would soar cloud-high. You are still bent 
on going ? " 

" It has struck nine, sir." 

" Never mind, — wait a minute : Addle is not ready 
to go to bed yet. My position, Miss Eyre, with my back 
to the fire, and my face to the room, favors observation. 
While talking to you, I have also occasionally watched 
Addle ; (I have my own reasons for thinking her a curi- 
ous 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 



200 JANE EYRE. 

with her brains, and seasons the marrow of her bones. 
'II faut que je Tessaie,' cried she ; *et 3^ I'instaut mSme!' 
and she rushed out of the room. She is now with 
Sophie, undergoing a robing process : in a few minutes 
she will re-enter; and I know what I shall see, — a 
miniature ^of C^line^Vaiens^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 realized." 

Ere long, Addle's little foot was heard tripping across 
the hall. She entered, transformed as her guardian had 
predicted. A dress of rose-colored 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 
croix que je vais danser I " 

And spreading out her dress, she chass^ed across the 
room ; till, having reached Mr. Rochester, she wheeled 
lightly round before him on tip-toe, then dropped on one 
knee at his feet, exclaiming : — 

" Monsieur, je vous remercie mille f ois de votre bont^ ; " 
then rising, she added, " c'est comme cela que maman 
faisait, n'est-ce pas, monsieur ? " 

" Pre-cise-ly ! " was the answer ; " and, ' comme cela,' 
she charmed my English gold out of my British breeches' 
pocket. I have been green, too. Miss Eyre, — ay, grass 
green: not a more vernal tint freshens you now than 
once freshened me. My Spring is gone, however : but it 
has left me that French floweret on my hands ; which, 
in some moods, I would fain be rid of. Not valuing now 



JANE EYRE. 



201 



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 




« She wheeled lightly round before him on tiptoe." 

the Roman Catholic principle of expiating numerous 
sins, great or small, by one good work. 1 '11 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 Addle 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 pas- 
sion Celine had professed to return witli even superior 
ardor. He thought himself her idol; ugly as he was: 
he believed, as he said, that she preferred his "taille 
d'athldte" to the elegance of the Apollo Bclvidere. 

**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 servants, a carriage, cashmeres, dia- 
monds, dcntelles, etc. 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 even- 
ing, when Cdlinc did not expect me, I found her out ; but 
it was a warm night, and I was tired with strolling 
through Paris, so I sat down in her boudoir ; happy to 



JANE EYRE. 208 

breathe the air consecrated so lately by her presence. 
No, — I exaggerate ; I never thought there was any con- 
secrating virtue about her : it was rather a sort of pastille 
perfume she had left, a scent of musk and amber, than 
an odor of sanctity. I was just beginning to stifle with 
the fumes of conservatory flowera and sprinkled essences, 
when I bethought myself to open the window and step 
out on to the balcony. It was moonlight and gaslight 
besides, and very still and serene. The balcony was fur- 
nished 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 Havana incense on the freezing and 
sunless air, he went on : — 

" I liked bonbons too, in those days. Miss Eyre, and I 
was croquant — overlook the barbarism — croquant choc- 
olate comfits, and smoking alternately, watching mean- 
time the equipages that rolled along the fashionable 
streets towards the neighboring opera-house, when in an 
elegant close carriage drawn by a beautiful pair of Eng- 
lish horses, and distinctly seen in the brilliant city-night, 
I recognized the * voiture ' I had given Celine. She was 
returning : of course my heart thumped with impatience 
against the iron rails I leaned 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 in- 
stantly by her little foot, seen peeping from the skirt of 
her dress, as she skipped from the carriagcrstep. Bend- 
ing over the balcony I was about to murmur, ' Mon ange * 

— in a tone, of course, which should be audible to the 
ear of love alone — when a figure jumped from the car- 



204 JANE EYRE. 

riage after her; cloaked also; but that was a spurred 
heel which had rung on the pavement, and that was a 
hatted head which now passed under the arched porte- 
cochere of the hotel. 

" You never felt jealousy, did you, Miss Eyre ? Of 
course not : I need not ask you : because you never felt 
love. You have both sentiments yet to experience : your 
soul sleeps; the shock is yet to be given which shall 
waken it. You think all existence lapses in as quiet a 
flow as that in which your youth has hitherto slid away. 
Floating on with closed eyes and muffled ears, you 
neither see the rocks bristling not far off in the bed of 
the flood, nor hear the breakers boil at their base. But 
I tell you — and you may mark my words — you will 
come some day to a craggy pass of the channel, where the 
whole of life's stream will be broken up into whirl and 
tumult, foam and noise: either you will be dashed to 
atoms on crag points, or lifted up and borne on by some 
master wave into a calmer current — as I am now. 

** 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 gray 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 " 

He ground his teeth and was silent : he arrested his 
step and struck his boot against the hard gromid. Some 
hated thought seemed to have him in its grip, and to 
hold him so tightly that he could not advance. 

We were ascending the avenue when he thus paused ; 
the hall was before us. Lifting his eye to its battle- 
ments, he cast over them a glare such as I never saw 
before or since. Pain, shame, ire — impatience, disgust. 



JANE EYRE. 205 

detestation — seemed momentarily to hold a quivering 
conflict in the large pupil dilating under his ebon eye- 
brow. Wild was the wrestle which should be paramount ; 
but another feeling rose and triumphed : something hard 
and cynical ; self-willed and resolute : it settled his pas- 
sion and petrified his countenance : he went on : — " Dur- 
ing the moment I was silent, Miss Eyre, I was arranging 
a point with my destiny. She stood there, by that 
beech-trunk — a hag like one of those who appeared to 
Macbeth on the heath of Forres. 'You like Thorn- 
field ? ' she said, lifting her finger ; and then she wrote 
in the air a memento, which ran in lurid hieroglyphics 
all along the house-front, between the upper and lower 
row of windows. * Like it if you can ! ' ' Like it if you 
dare ! ' 

" 'I will like it,* said L 'I dare like it;* and** (he 
subjoined moodily) " I will keep my word : I will break 
obstacles to happiness, to goodness — yes, goodness; I 
wish to be a better man than I have been ; than I am — 
as Job's leviathan broke the spear, the dart and the 
habergeon, hindrances which others count as iron and 
brass I will esteem but straw and rotten wood.** 

Adele here ran before him with her shuttlecock. 
"Away ! " he cried, harshly ; " keep at a distance, child ; 
or go in to Sophie!'* Continuing then to pursue his 
walk in silence, I ventured to recall him to the point 
whence he had abruptly diverged : — " Did you leave the 
balcony, sir," I asked, " when Mdlle. Varens entered ? '* 

I almost expected a rebuff for this hardly well-timed 
question : but, on the contrary, waking out of his scowl- 
ing abstraction, he turned his eyes towards me, and the 
shade seemed to clear off his brow. " Oh, I had forgot- 
ten Celine ! Well, to resume. When I saw my charmer 
thus come in accompanied by a cavalier, I seemed to 



206 JA15E EYRE- 

hear a hiss, and the green snake of jealousy, rising on 
undulating coils from the moonlit balcony, glided within 
my waistcoat, and ate its way in two minutes to my 
heart's core. Strange ! " he exclaimed, suddenly start- 
ing again from the point. ^^ Strange that I should choose 
you for the confidant of all this, young lady : passing 
strange that you should listen to me quietly, as if it were 
the most usual thing in the world for a man like me to 
tell stories of his opera-mistresses to a quaint, inexperi- 
enced girl like you! But the last singularity explains 
the first, BA I intimated once before: you, with your 
gravity, considerateness, and caution, were made to be 
the recipient of secrets. Besides, I know what sort of a 
mind I have placed in communication with my own : I 
know it is one not liable to take infection : it is a pecu- 
liar 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 ob- 
servations ; then I closed the casement, all but a chink 
just wide enough to furnish an outlet to lovers* whis- 
pered 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 rou^ of 




THE COUPLE WERE THUS REVEALED TO ME. 



JANE EYRE. 207 

a vicomte — a bramless and vicious youth whom I had 
sometimes met in society, and had never thought of hat- 
ing because I despised him so absolutely. On recogniz- 
ing 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 sense- 
less, it was rather calculated to weary than enrage a 
listener. A card of mine lay on the table ; this being 
perceived, brought my name under discussion. Neither 
of them possessed energy or wit to belabor 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 
fervid admiration of what she called my ' beauts 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 — " 

Addle 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 ; disre- 
garded screams, hysterics, prayers, protestations, con- 
vulsions ; made an appointment with the vicomte for a 
meeting at the Bois de Boulogne. Next morning I had 



208 JANE EYRE. 

the pleoBure of encountering him ; left a bullet in one 
of his poor etiolated arms, feeble as the wing of a 
. chicken in the pip, and then thought I had done with 
i\the whole crew. But unluckily the VarenSj six months 
j pefore, had given me(^i8 filette Ad^le J who she 
; Affirmed was my daughter; and perhaps she may be, 
tjhough I see no proofs of such grim paternity written 
i|n her countenance, y^ 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 musi- 
cian or singer. I acknowledged no natural claim on 
Addle's part to be supported by me ; nor do I now ac- 
knowledge 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 wholesome soil of an Eng- 
lish country garden. Mrs. Fairfax found you to train 
it ; but now you know that it is the illegitimate offspring 
of a French opera-girl, you will perhaps think differently 
of your post and protigee. You will be coming to me 
some day with notice that you have found another place 

— that you beg me to look out for a new governess, etc. 

— eh?" 

" No. Addle is not answerable for either her mother's 
faults or yours. I have a regard for her, and now that 
I know she is, in a sense, parentless — forsaken by her 
mother and disowned by you, sir — I shall cling closer 
to her than before. How could I possibly prefer the 
spoilt pet of a wealthy family, who would hate her 
governess as a nuisance, to a lonely little orphan, who 
leans towards her as a friend?" 

" 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 Addle and 



JANE EYRE. 209 

Pilot — ran a race with her, and played a game of battle- 
dore and shuttlecock. When we went in, and I had 
removed her bonnet and coat, I took her on my knee ; 
kept her there an hour, allowing her to prattle as she 
liked, not rebuking even some little freedoms and trivi- 
alities into which she was apt to stray when much 
noticed; and which betrayed in her a superficiality of 
character, inherited probably from her mother, hardly 
congenial to an English mind. Still she had her merits ; 
and I was disposed to appreciate all that was good in 
her to the utmost. I sought in her countenance and 
features a likeness to Mr. Rochester, but found none — 
no trait, no turn of expression announced relationship. 
It waa a pity : if she could but have been proved to 
resemble him, he would have thought more of her. 

It was not till after 1 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 present contentment of his 
mood, and his newly-revived pleasure in the old Hall and 
its environs. I meditated wonderingly on this incident ; 
but gradually quitting it, as I found it for the present 
inexplicable, I turned to the consideration of my mas- 
ter'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 deport- 
ment had now for some weeks been more uniform 
towards me than at the first. I never seemed in his 

VOL. I. — 14 



210 JANE EYRE. 

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 summoned by formal invitation to his presence, 
I was honored 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. 

1, indeed, talked comparatively little ; but I heard 
him talk with relish. It was his nature to be communi- 
cative — 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 character- 
ized) ; and I had a keen delight in receiving the new 
ideas he offered, in imagining the new pictures he por- 
trayed, and following him in thought through the ncAV 
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 coi^ial, with which 
he treated me, drew me to him, I felt at times as it he 
were my relation, rather than my master; yet he was 
imperious sometimes still ; but 1 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 1 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 pleasur- 
able and genial, made his face the object I best liked to 
see; his presence in a room was more cheering than 



JANE EYRE. 211 

the brightest fire. Yet I had not forgotten his faults — 
indeed, I could not, for he brought them frequently 
before me. He was proud, sardonic, harsh to inferiority 
of every description. In my secret soul I knew that his 
great kindness to me was balanced by unjust severity to 
many others. He was moody, too — unaccountably so. 
I more than once, when sent for to read to him, found 
him sitting in his library alone, with his head bent on 
his folded arms ; and, when he looked up, a morose, 
almost a malignant scowl, blackened his features. But 
I believed that his moodiness, his harshness, and his 
former faults of morality (I say former^ for now he 
seemed corrected of them) had their source in some 
cruel cross of fate. I believed he was naturally a man 
of better tendencies, higher principles, and purer tastes 
than such as circumstances had developed, education 
instilled, or destiny encouraged. I thought there were 
excellent materials in him ; though for the present they 
hung together somewhat spoiled and tangled. I cannot 
deny that I grieved for his grief, whatever that was, and 
would have given much to assuage it. 

Though I had now extinguished my candle and was 
laid down in bed, I could not sleep for thinking of his 
look when he paused in the avenue, and told how his 
destiny had risen up before him, and dared him to be 
happy at Thomfield. 

« 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 fort- 
night at a time, and he haA now been resident eight 
weeks. If he does go, the change will be doleful. Sup- 
pose 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 



212 JANE EYRE. 

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 1 had kept my can- 
dle 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 cham- 
ber-door was touched; as if fingers had swept the 
panels in groping a way 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 reigned again through the whole 
house, I began to feel the return of slumber. But it 
was not fated that I should sleep that night A dream 
had scarcely approached my ear, when it fled affrighted, 
scared by a marrow-freezing incident enough. 

This was a demoniac laugh — low, suppressed, and 
deep — uttered, as it seemed, at the very key-hole of 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, 
«*Whois there?" 



JANE EYRE. 218 

Something gurgled and moaned. Ere long, steps re- 
treated up the gallery towards the third story staircase : 
a door had lately been made to shut in that staircase ; I 
heard it open and close, and all was still. 

" Wag^J hat Gra ca Poole ? and is she possessed with 
a devH?" thought I. Impossible now to remain longer 
by myself : I must go to Mrs. Fairfax. I hurried on my 
frock and a shawl ; 1 withdrew the bolt, and opened the 
door with a trembling hand. There was a candle burn- 
ing just outside, left on the matting in the gallery. 
I was surprised at this circumstance : but still more was 
I amazed to perceive the air quite dim, as if filled with 
smoke ; and, while 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 vapor, 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, 
succeeded in extinguishing the flames which were 
devouring it. 

The hiss of the quenched element, the breakage of a 



/ 



214 JANE EYRE. 

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." 

I ^^ In the name of all the elyes in Christendom, is that 
/>Jane Eyre ? " he demanded. " What have you done 
f 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 ; 1 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. 

1 briefly related to him what had transpired : the 
strange laugh I had heard in the gallery : the step as- 
cending 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, ex- 



JANE EYRE. 215 

presBed 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 un- 
molested." 

'^ 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 yon- 
der ; 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. 1 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 third story. Don't move, remem- 
ber, 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 risk- 
ing 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 
wash-stand ; ** it is as I thought.'* 

"How, sir?" 

He made no reply, but stood with his arms folded. 



216 JANE ErRE. 

looking on the ground. At the end of a few minuteB, 
he inquired in rather a peculiar tone : — "I forgot 
whether you aaid you saw anything when you opened 
your chamber-door." 

" No, sir, only the candlestick on the ground." 

" But you heard an odd laugh ? You have heard that 
laugh before, I should think, or something like it ? " 

" Yes, sir : there is a woman who sews here, called 
Grace Poole, — she laughs in that way. She is a sin- 
gular person." 

" Just so. Grace Poole — you have guessed it. She 
is, as you say, singular, — very. Well, I shall reflect 
on the subject. Meantime, I am glad- that you are the 
only person, besides myself, acquainted 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 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, " ai-e you quitting me already : 
and in that way?" 

" You said I might go, sir." 

" But not without taking leave ; not without a word 
or two of acknowledgment and good will : not, in short, 
in that brief, dry fashion. Why, you have saved my 
life! — snatched me from a horrible and excruciating 
death ! — and you walk past me as if we were mutual 
strangers ! At least shake hands." 

He held out his hand ; I gave him mine : he took it 
first in one, then in both his own. 



JANE EYRE. 217 

" 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 trem- 
bled 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. 

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

« What ! you will go ? " ^ 

" I am cold, sir." 

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

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

" Well, leave me." He relaxed his fingers, and I was 
gone. 

I regained my couch, but never thought of sleep. Till 
morning dawned I was tossed on a buoyant but unquiet 
sea, where billows of trouble rolled under surges of joy. 
I thought sometimes I saw beyond its wild waters a 



218 JANE EYRR 

shore, sweet as the hills of Beulah ; and now and then 
a freshening gale wakened by hope, bore mj spirit tri- 
umphantly towards the bourne ; but I could not reach 
it, even in fancy, — a counteracting breeze blew off land, 
and continually drove me back. Sense would resist de- 
lirium, judgment would warn passion. Too feverish to 
rest, I rose as soon as day dawned. 



CHAPTER XVL 

I BOTH wished and feared to see Mr. Rochester on the 
day 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 enter- 
ing the school-room; 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 hap- 
pened to interrupt the quiet course of Adele's studies ; 
only, soon after breakfast, I heard some bustle in the 
neighborhood 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 ex« 
clamations of, " What a mercy master was not burned 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," etc. 

To much confabulation succeeded a sound of scrub- 
bing and setting to rights ; and when I passed the room, 
in going downstairs to dinner, I saw through the open 
door that all was again restored to complete order — only 
the bed was stripped of its hangings. Leah stood up in 
the window-seat, rubbing the panes of glass dimmed with 



220 JANE EYRE. 

smoke. I waa about to address her, for I wished to 
know what account had been given of the affair ; but, 
on advancing, I saw a second person in the chamber — 
a woman sitting on a chair by the bedside, and sewing 
rings to new curtains. That woman was no other than 
Grace Poole. 

There she sat, staid and taciturn-looking, as usual, in 
her brown stuff gown, her check apron, white handker- 
chief, and cap. She was intent on her work, in which 
her whole thoughts seemed absorbed. On her hard fore- 
head, and in her commonplace features, was nothing 
either of the paleness or desperation one would have 
expected to see marking the countenance of a woman 
who had attempted murder, and whose intended victim 
had followed her last night to her lair, and (as I 
believed) charged her with the crime she wished to 
perpetrate. I was amazed — confounded. She looked 
up, while I still gazed at her : no start, no increase 
or failure of color betrayed emotion, consciousness of 
guilt, or fear of detection. She said, " Good morning, 
Miss," in her usual phlegmatic and brief manner ; and 
taking up another ring and more tape, went on with her 
sewing. 

" I will put her to some test," thought I. " Such ab- 
solute impenetrability is past comprehension." 

" Good morning, Grace," I said. " Has anything hap- 
pened 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 bed-clothes 
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, look- 



JANE EYRE. 221 

ing at her fixedly, " Did Mr. Rochester wake nobody ? 
Did no one hear him move ? " 

She again raised her eyes to me ; and this time there 
was something of consciousness in their expression. 
She seemed to examine me warily ; then she answered, 
" The servants sleep so far off, you know, Miss, they 
would not be likely to hear. Mrs. Fairfax's room and 
yours are the nearest to master's ; but Mrs. Fairfax said 
she heard nothing : when people get elderly, they often 
sleep heavy." She paused, and then added, with a sort 
of assumed indifference, but still in a marked and sig- 
nificant 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 care- 
fully, 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 scrutinizing and conscious eye. 

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

^^ I have not had the opportunity of speaking to htm 
this morning.** 

" Ton did not think of opening your door and looking 
out into the gallery 7 " she further asked. 

She appeared to be cross-questioning me — attempting 
to draw from me information unawares. The idea 



222 JANE EYRE. 

Btruck 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.*' 

" 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 pre- 
vailed 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 Thomfield Hall ; but in future '* 
(and I laid marked stress on the words) ^^ I shall take 
good care to make all secure before I venture to lie 
down." 

" It will be wise so to do," was her answer. " This 
neighborhood 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 Providence will not dispense with 
the means, though He often blesses them when they are 
used discreetly." And here she closed her harangue: 
a long one for her, and uttered with the demureness of a 
Quakeress. 

I still stood absolutely dumfoundered at what appeared 



JANE EYRE. 228 

to me her miraculous self-possession and most inscruta- 
ble hypocrisy, when the cook entered. 

" Mrs. Poole/' said she, addressing Grace, " the ser- 
vants' 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 '11 carry it upstairs." 

*♦ You '11 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 teatime. I '11 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 
conflagration during dinner, so much was I occupied in 
puzzling my brains over the enigmatical character of 
Grace Poole, and still more in pondering the problem of 
her position at Thomfield ; in questioning why she had 
not been given into custody that morning, or, at the very 
least, dismissed from her master's service. He had 
almost as much as declared his conviction of her crimi- 
nality last night : what mysterious cause withheld him 
from accusing her ? Why had he enjoined me, too, to 
secrecy ? It was strange — a bold, vindictive, and 
haughty gentleman seemed somehow in the power of 
one of the meanest of his dependants ; so much in her 
power, that even when she lifted her hand against his 
life, he dared not openly charge her with the attempt, 
much less punish her for it. 

Had Grace been young and handsome, I should have 
been tempted to think that tenderer feelings than pru- 
dence or fear influenced Mr. Rochester in her behalf; 
but, hard-favored and matronly as she was, the idea 



224 JAN£ £YR£. 

could not be admitted. " Yet," I reflected, " she has 
been young once; her youth would be contemporary 
with her master's. Mrs. Fairfax told me once she had 
lived here many years. I don't think she can ever have 
been pretty; but, for aught I know, she may possess 
originality and strength of character to compensate for 
the want of personal advantages. Mr. Rochester is an 
amateur of the decided and eccentric — Grace is eccen- 
tric at least. What if a former caprice (a freak very 
possible to a nature so sudden and headstrong as his) 
has delivered him into her power, and she now exercises 
over his actions a secret influence, the result of his own 
indiscretion, which he cannot shake ofiF, and dare not 
disregard ? " But, having reached this point of conjec- 
ture, 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 can- 
not 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 " 

I well remembered all — language, glance, and tone 
seemed at the moment vividly renewed. I was now in 
the schoolroom. Addle 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, AdSle, with stooping!*' She went on 
sketching, I went on thinking. 

I hastened to drive from my mind the hateful notion 



JANE EYRE. 225 

I had been conceiving respecting Grace Poole : it dis- 
gusted me, I compared myself with her, and found we 
were different. Bessie Leaven had said 1 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 color and more flesh ; more life, more vivacity ; 
because I had brighter hopes and keener enjoyments. 

" Evening approaches," said I, as 1 looked towards the 
window. " 1 have never heard Mr. Rochester's voice or 
step in the house to-day ; but surely I shall see him be- 
fore night : I feared the meeting in the morning : now 
I desire it, because expectation has been so long baffled 
that it is grown impatient." 

When dusk actually closed, and when Addle left me 
to go and play in the nursery with Sophie, I did most 
keenly desire it. I listened for the bell to ring below ; 
I listened for Leah coming up with a message ; I fancied 
sometimes I heard Mr. Rochester's own tread, and I 
turned to the door, expecting it to open and admit him. 
The door remained shut : darkness only came in through 
the window. Still it was not late: he often sent for 
me at seven and eight o'clock, and it was yet but six. 
Surely I should not be wholly disappointed to-night, 
when I had so many things to say to him ! I wanted 
again to introduce the subject of Grace Poole, and to 
hear what he would answer; I wanted to ask him plainly 
if he really believed it was she who had made last night's 
hideous attempt ; and if so, why he kept her wickedness 
a secret. It little mattered whether my curiosity irri- 
tated 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. Retain- 

VOL. I. — 16 



226 JAXE ETRE. 

ing every minute form of respect, every propriety of my 
station, I could still meet him in argument without fear 
or uneasy restraint : this suited both him and me. 

A tread creaked on the stairs at last; Leah made 
her appearance, but it was only to intimate that tea 
was ready in Mrs. Fairfax's room. Thither I repaired, 
glad at least to go downstairs, for that brought me, 
I imagined, nearer to Mr. Rochester's presence. 

" You must want your tea," said the good lady, as I 
joined her, " you ate so little at dinner. 1 am 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 completed her task, she rose to draw down the 
blind which she had hitherto kept up, by way, I suppose, 
of making the most of daylight : though dusk was now 
fast deepening into total obscurity. 

^* It is fair to-night," said she, as she looked through 
the panes, ^^ though not starlight; Mr. Rochester has, 
on the whole, had a favorable 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 as- 
sembled there — Lord Ingram, Sir George Lynn, Colonel 
Dent, and others." 

" Do you expect him back to-night ? '' 

"No — nor to-morrow either; I should think he is 
very likely to stay a week or more. When these fine, 
fashionable people get together, they are so surrounded 
by elegance and gayety, so well provided with all that 



p?v.^^ 



JANE EYRE. 227 

please and entertain, they are in no hurry to sepa- 
rate. 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 favor- 
ite — the ladies are very fond of him — though you 
would not think his appearance calculated to recom- 
mend 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 elegant young ladies, indeed ; and there are the 
Honorable 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 comer 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 



r 



228 JANE EYRE. 

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-colored scarf was passed over her 
shoulder and across her breast, tied at the side, and 
descending in long, fringed ends below her knee. She 
wore an amber-colored flower, too, in her hair : it con- 
trasted 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 
accomplishments. 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 Ingram, what sort of a voice had she ?" 

"A very rich and powerful one — she sang delight- 
fully — 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." 

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

« It appears not : I fancy neither she nor her sister 
have very large fortunes. Old Lord Ingram's estates 
were chiefly entailed, and the eldest son came in for 
everything almost." 

"But I wonder no wealthy nobleman or gentleman 
has taken a fancy to her : Mr. Rochester, for instance. 
He is rich, is he not?" 



JANE EYRE. 229 

" Oh ! yes. Bat you see there is a considerable differ- 
ence 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 noth- 
ing : 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 Addle 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 endeavored 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 her- 
self on sweet lies, and swallowed poison as if it were 
nectar. 

" Fott," I said, " a favorite with Mr. Rochester ? You 
gifted with the power of pleasing him ? You of impor- 



280 JANE EYRE. 

tance 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 dependant and 
a novice. How dar©d you ? Poor stupid dupe ! — Could 
not even self-interest make you wiser ? You repeated 
to yourself this morning the brief scene of last night ? 
— Cover your face and be ashamed! He said something 
in praise of your eyes, did he ? Blind puppy ! Open 
their bleared lids and look on your own accursed sense- 
lessness ! It does good to no woman to be flattered by 
her superior, who cannot possibly intend to marry her ; 
and it is madness in all women to let a secret love kindle 
within them, which, if unreturned and imknown, must 
devour the life that feeds it ; and, if discovered and re- 
sponded to, must lead, iffnis-fatuus-like^ into miry wilds, 
whence there is no extrication. 

" Listen, then, Jane Eyre, to your sentence : to-morrow, 
place the glass before you, and draw in chalk your own 
picture, faithfully ; without softening one defect : omit 
no harsh line, smooth away no displeasing irregularity ; 
write under it, * Portrait of a Governess, disconnected, 
poor, and plain.' 

" Afterwards, take a piece of smooth ivory — you have 
one prepared in your drawing-box: take your palette, 
mix your freshest, finest, clearest tints; choose your 
most delicate camel-hair pencils ; delineate carefully the 
loveliest face you can imagine ; paint it in your softest 
shades and sweetest hues, according to the description 
given by Mrs. Fairfax of Blanche Ingram : remember 
the raven ringlets, the oriental eye ; — what ! you revert 
to Mr. Rochester as a model ! Order ! No snivel ! — no 
sentiment ! — no regret ! I will endure only sense and 
resolution. Recall the august yet harmonious linea- 



JANE EYRE. 231 

mentfl, the Grecian neck and bust : let the round and 
dazzling arm be visible, and the delicate hand; omit 
neither diamond ring nor gold bracelet ; portray faith- 
fully the attire, aerial lace and glistening satin, graceful 
scarf and golden rose : call it ^ Blanche, an accomplished 
lady of rank.' 

" 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 '11 do it," I resolved : and having framed this de- 
termination, 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. 



CHAPTER XVn. 

A WEEK passed, and no news arrived of Mr. Rochester : 
ten days, and still he did not come. Mrs. Fairfax said 
she should not be surprised if he were to go straight 
from the Leas to London, and thence to the continent, 
and not show his face again at Thornfield for a year to 
come : he had not unfrequently quitted it in a manner 
quite as abrupt and unexpected. When I heard this I 
was beginning to feel a strange chill and failing at the 
heart. I was actually 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 blunder — 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 inferi- 
ority : 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 protSgSe 
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 



JANE EYRE. 233 

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 direction. " Now I suppose we shall know whether 
we are to expect his return or not." 

And while she broke the seal and perused the docu- 
ment, 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 quiet ; 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 Addle's pinafore, which happened to 
be loose : having helped her also to another bun, and 
refilled her mug with milk, I 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 fine people at the Leas are coming 
with him : he sends directions for all the best bedrooms 
to be prepared ; and the library and drawing-rooms are 



234 JANE EYRE. 

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 fur- 
bish 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 mattresses and piled-up bolsters and 
pillows before the enormous fires roaring in the chim- 
neys. 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 cheesecakes 
and French pastry, to truss game and garnish dessert- 
dishes. 

The party were expected to arrive on Thursday after- 
noon, 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 — Addle excepted. 



JANE EYRE. 286 

Still, now and then, I received a damping check to my 
cheerfulness ; and was, in spite of myself, thrown back 
on the region of doubts and portents, and dark conjec- 
tures. This was when I chanced to see the third story 
staircase door (which of late had always been kept 
locked) open slowly, and give passage to the form of 
Grace Poole, in prim cap, white apron, and handkerchief; 
when I watched her glide along the gallery, her quiet 
tread muffled in a list slipper ; when I saw her look into 
the bustling, topsy-turvy bedrooms, — just say a word, 
perhaps, to the charwoman about the proper way to 
polish a grate, or clean a marble mantelpiece, or take 
stains from papered walls, and then pass on. She would 
thus descend to the kitchen once a day, eat her dinner, 
smoke a moderate pipe on the hearth, and go back, 
carrying her pot of porter with her, for her private 
solace, in her own gloomy, upper haunt. Only one hour 
in the twenty-four did she pass with her fellow-servants 
below ; all the rest of her time was spent in some low- 
ceiled, oaken chamber of the third story : there she sat 
and sewed — and probably laughed drearily to herself — 
as 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 mar- 
vel at them ; no one discussed her position or employ- 
ment ; 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 sub- 
ject. 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. 



286 



JANE EYRE. 



Poole receives. And she is lajring by : she goes every 
quarter to the bank at Millcote. I should not wonder 
but she has saved enough to keep her independent if she 




"A moderate pipe on the hearth." 

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." 



JANE EYRE. 237 

^^ 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. 

" Does n'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 Thomfield; 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, radiant white coimterpanes spread, toilet- 
tables arranged, furniture rubbed, flowers piled in vases : 
both chambers and saloons looked as fresh and bright 
as hands could make them. The hall, too, was scoured ; 
and the great carved clock, as well as the steps and 
banisters of the staircase, were polished to the bright- 
ness 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, etc. AdSle, too, would be 
dressed : though I thought that 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 



238 JANE EYRE- 

one of her short, full muslin frocks. For myself, I had 
no need to make any change ; I should not be called 
upon to quit my sanctum of the schoolroom ; for a 
sanctum it was now become to me — "a very pleasant 
refuge in time of trouble." 

It had been a mild, serene spring day : one of those 
days which, towards the end of Mai*ch or the beginning 
of April, rise shining over the earth as heralds of sum- 
mer. 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 '11 
be here in ten minutes." 

AdSle 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 gal- 
loped up the drive, and after them came two open car- 
riages. Fluttering veils and wa\nng plumes filled the 
vehicles; two of the cavaliers were young, dashing- 
looking gentlemen; the third was Mr. Rochester, on 
his black horse^Mfisrour ;. 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 



JANE EYRE. 289 

with its transparent folds, and gleaming through them, 
shone rich raven ringlets. 

" Miss Ingram ! " exclaimed Mrs. Fairfax, and away 
she hurried to her post below. 

The cavalcade, following the sweep of the drive, 
quickly turned tlie angle of the house, and I lost sight 
of it. Addle now petitioned to go down ; but I took her 
on my knee and gave her to understand that she must 
not on any account think of venturing in sight of the 
ladies, either now or at any other time, imless expressly 
sent for ; that Mr. Rochester would be very angry, etc. 
^^ 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 ; gentle- 
men's deep tones and ladies' silvery accents blent har- 
moniously together, and distinguishable above all, though 
not loud, was the sonorous voice of the master of Thorn- 
field 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 cheer- 
ful laughs, and opening and closing doors, and, for a 
time, a hush. 

"EUes changent de toilettes," said Addle; who, lis- 
tening 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 k leurs chambres ; sou- 
vent je regardais les femmes de chambre coiffer et ha- 
biller les dames, et c'^tait si amusant : comme cela on 
apprend." 

" Don't you feel hungry. Addle ? " 

^^ Mais, oui, mademoiselle : voil^ cinq ou six heures 
que nous n'avons pas mang^." 



.'(' 



240 JANE EYRE. 

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

And issuing from my asylum with precaution, I sought 
a back-stairs which conducted directly to the kitchen. 
All in that region was fire and conmiotion ; the soup 
and fish were in the last stage of projection, and the 
cook hung over her crucibles in a frame of mind and 
body threatening_S£ontaneous combustion^ In the ser- 
vants' hall two coachmen and three gentlemen's gentle- 
men stood or sat round the fire ; the Abigails, I suppose, 
were upstairs with their mistresses : the new servants 
that had been hired from Millcote were bustling about 
everywhere. Threading this chaos, I at last reached the 
larder ; there I took possession of a cold chicken, a roll 
of bread, some tarts, a plate or two, and a knife and 
fork : with this booty I made a hasty retreat. I had 
regained the gallery, and was just shutting the back- 
door behind me, when an accelerated hum warned me 
that the ladies were about to issue from their chambers. 
I could not proceed to the schoolroom without passing 
some of their doors, and running the risk of being sur- 
prised with my cargo of victualage ; so I stood still at 
this end, which, being windowless, was dark : quite dark 
now, for the sun was set and twilight gathering. 

Presently the chambers gave up their fair tenants one 
after another; each came out gay ly 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 vivac- 
ity ;: they then descended the staircase jilmost as noise- 
lessly as a bright mist rolls down a hilly Their collective 
appearance had left on me an impre^ion of high-bom 
elegance, such as I had never before received. 

1 found AdSle peeping through the schoolroom door, 



JANE EYRE. 241 

which she held ajar. " What beautiful ladies ! '* 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; Mr. Eochester has something 
else to think about. Never mind the ladies to-night; 
perhaps you will see them to-morrow: here is your 
dinner. " 

She was really hungry, so the chicken and tarts served 
to divert her attention for a time. It was well I secured 
this forage ; or both she, I and Sophie, to whom I con- 
veyed a share of our repast, would have run a chance of 
getting no dinner at all : every one downstairs was too 
much engaged to think of us. The dessert was not car- 
ried out till after nine ; and at ten footmen were still 
running to and fro with trays and cofiFee-cups. I allowed 
Addle to sit up much later than usual ; for she declared 
she could not possibly go to sleep while the doors kept 
opening and shutting below, and people bustling about. 
Besides, she added, a message might possibly come from 
Mr. Rochester when she was undressed ; " et alors quel 
dommage ! " 

I told her stories as long as she would listen to them ; 
and then for a change I took her out into the gallery. 
The hall lamp was now lit, and it amused her to look 
over the balustrade and watch the servants passing back- 
wards and forwards. When the evening was far ad- 
vanced, a sound of music issued from the drawing-room, 
whither the piano had been removed. Addle 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 conver- 
sational murmur filled up the intervals. I listened long: 

TOL. I. — 16 



242 JANE EYRE. 

suddenly I discovered that my ear was wholly intent on 
analyzing the mingled sounds, and trying to discrimi- 
nate 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 AdJle, whose 
head leaned against my shoulder ; her eyes were waxing 
heavy, so I took her up in my arms and carried her off 
to bed. It was near one before the gentlemen and ladies 
sought their chambers. 

The next day was as fine as its predecessor ; it was 
devoted by the party to an excursion to some sight in 
the neighborhood. 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 be- 
fore, 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 confiden- 
tially ; I wish I could see her face ; I have never had a 
glimpse of it yet." 

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



JANE EYRE. 



243 



"Yes — he said that from mere politeness: I need not 
go, I am sure," I answered. 
" Well, I observed to him that as you were unused to 




" Mr. Rochester galloped at her side." 

company, I did not think you would like appearing be- 
fore so gay a party — all strangers — and he replied, in 
his quick way : ' Nonsense ! If she objects, tell her it is 



244 JANE EYRE. 

my particular wish ; and if she resists, say I shall come 
and fetch her in case of contmnacy.' " 

** I will not give him that trouble," I answered. " I 
will go, if no better may be : but I don't like it. Shall 
you be there, Mrs. Fairfax ? " 

" No ; I pleaded off, and he admitted my plea. I '11 
tell you how to manage so as to avoid the embarrass- 
ment of making a formal entrance, which is the most 
disagreeable part of the business. You must go into 
the drawing-room while it is empty, before the ladies 
leave the dinner-table ; choose your seat in any quiet 
nook you like ; you need not stay long after the gentle- 
men come in, unless you please : just let Mr. 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 Easter recess, Sir George Lynn, who was lately 
elected member for Millcote, will have to go up to town 
and take his seat ; I dare say Mr. Rochester will accom- 
pany 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 



JANE EYRE. 245 

sat demurely down in her little chair, taking care pre- 
viously 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-gray one, purchased for Miss Temple's wedding, 
and never worn since) was soon put on ; my hair was 
soon smoothed; my sole ornament, the pearl brooch, 
soon assumed. We descended. 

Fortunately there was another entrance to the draw- 
ing-room than that through the saloon where they were 
all seated at dinner. We found the apartment vacant, a 
large fire burning silently on the marble hearth, and 
wax candles shining in bright solitude, amid the exqui- 
site flowers with which the tables were adorned. The 
crimson curtain hung before the arch : slight as was the 
separation this drapery formed from the party in the 
adjoining saloon, they spoke in so low a key that noth- 
ing of their conversation could be distinguished beyond 
a soothing murmur. 

Adele, who appeared to be still under the influence of 
a most solemnizing impression, sat down, without a 
word, on the footstool I pointed out to her. I retired to 
a window-seat, and, taking a book from a table near, 
endeavored to read. Addle brought her stool to my 
feet ; ere long she touched my knee. 

"What is it, Addle?" 

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

" You think too much of your * toilette,' AdSle, but 
you may have a flower.'* And I took a rose from a vase 
and fastened it in her sash. She sighed a sigh of in- 
effable satisfaction, as if her cup of happiness were now 
full. I turned my face away to conceal a smile I could 



246 JANE EYRE. 

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 cur- 
tain was swept back from the arch ; through it appeared 
the dining-room, with its lit lustre pouring down light 
on the silver and glass of a magnificent dessert-service 
covering a long table ; a band of ladies stood in the open- 
ing ; 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 persons as a mist magnifies the 
moon. I rose and curtseyed to them ; one or two bent 
their heads in return, the others only stared at me. 

They dispersed about the room, reminding me, by the 
lightness and buoyancy of their movements, of a flock of 
white plumy birds. Some of them threw themselves in 
half-reclining positions on the sofas and ottomans, some 
bent over the tables and examined the flowers and books, 
the 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 daugh- 
ters. She had evidently been a handsome woman, and 
was well preserved still. Of her daughters, the eldest, 
Amy, was rather little ; naive, and childlike in face and 
manner, and piquant in form: her white muslin dress 
and blue sash became her well. The second, Louisa, 
was taller and more elegant in figure, with a very pretty 
face, of that order the French term " minois chiffonn^: " 
both sisters were fair as lilies. 



JANE EYRE. 247 

Lady Lynn was a large and stout personage of about 
forty, very erect, very haughty-looking, richly dressed in 
a satin robe of changeful sheen : her dark hair shone 
glossily under the shade of an azure phime, and within 
the circlet of a band of gems. 

Mrs. Colonel Dent waa less showy, but, I thought, 
more ladylike. She had a slight figure, a pale, gentle 
face, and fair hair. Her black satin dress, her scarf of 
rich foreign lace, and her pearl ornaments, pleased me 
better than the rainbow radiance of the titled dame. 

But the three most distinguished — partly, perhaps, 
because the tallest figures of the band — were the Dowa- 
ger Lady Ingram and her daughters, Blanche and Mary. 
They were all three of the loftiest stature of woman. 
The dowager might be between forty and fifty ; her 
shape was still fine ; her hair (by candlelight at least) 
still black ; her teeth, too, were still apparently perfect. 
Most people would have termed her a splendid woman of 
her age : and so she was, no doubt, physically speaking ; 
but then there was an expression of almost insupportable 
haughtiness in her bearing and countenance. She had 
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 intolerable, in short. A crimson 
velvet robe, and a shawl turban of some gold-wrought 
Indian fabric, invested her (I suppose she thought) with 
a truly imperial dignity. 

Blanche and Mary were of equal stature — straight 



248 JANE EYRE. 

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,! wished to see, 
whether her appearance accorded with Mrs. Fairfax's 
description; secondly, whether it at all resembled the 
fancy miniature I had painted of her; and, thirdly — it 
will out ! — whether it were such as I should fancy likely 
to suit Mr. Rochester's taste. 

As far as person went, she answered point for point, 
both to my picture and Mrs. Fairfax's description. The 
noble bust, the sloping shoulders, the graceful neck, the 
dark eyes and black ringlets were all there — but her 
face ? Her face was like her mother's ; a youthful un- 
furrowed likeness : the same low brow, the same high 
features, the same pride. It was not, however, so satur- 
nine 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 waB 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 vocabu- 
lary with an air. I presently perceived she was (what 
is %'emacularly 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 



JANE EYRE. 249 

fairer (Miss Ingram was dark as a Spaniard) — but 
Mary was deficient in life ; her face lacked expression, 
her eye lustre ; she had nothing to say, and having once 
taken her seat, remained fixed like a statue in its niche. 
The sisters were both attired in spotless white. 

And did I now think Miss Ingram such a choice as 
Mr. Rochester would be likely to make? 1 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 AdSle 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 speak- 
ing 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, ensconced 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 coflfee is brought in, and the gentlemen are 



250 JANE EYRE. 

summoned, I sit in the shade — if any shade there be 
in this brilliantly-lit apartment ; the window-curtain 
half hides me. Again the arch yawns: they come. 
The collective 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 Deiit is a fine soldierly man. Mr. Eshton, 
the magistrate of the district, is gentleman-like : his hair 
is quite white, his eyebrows and whiskers still dai*k, 
which gives him something of the appearance of a " pdre 
noble de theatre." Lord Ingram, like his sisters, is 
very tall ; like them, also, he is handsome ; but he 
shares Mary's apathetic and listless look : he seems to 
have more length of limb than vivacity of blood or vigor 
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 essen- 
tial service — and he, holding my hand, and looking 
down on my face, surveyed me with eyes that revealed 
a heart full and eager to overflow ; in whose emotions 
I had a part. How near had I approached him at that 
moment ! What had occurred since, calculated to change 
his and my relative positions ? Yet now, how distant, 
how far estranged we were ! So far estranged, that I 
did not expect him to come and speak to me. I did 
not wonder, when, without looking at me, he took a seat 



JANE EYRE. 251 

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 involmitarily to his face : I 
could not keep their lids under control : they would rise, 
and the irids would fix on hinu I looked, and had an 
acute pleasure in looking, — a precious, yet .poignant 
pleasure ; pure gold, with a steelly point of agony : a 
pleasure (like what the thirst-perishing man might feel ^' 
who knows the well to which he has crept is poisoned, . 
yet stoops and drinks divine draughts nevertheless. /,r-^ 



Most true is it that "beauty is in the eye of the^ — 
gazer." My master's colorless, olive face, square, mas- 
sive brow, broad and jetty eyebrows, deep eyes, strong 
features, firm, grim mouth, — all energy, decision, will, 
— were not beautiful, according to rule ; but they were 
more than beautiful to me : they were full of an interest, 
an influence that quite mastered me, — that took my 
feelings from my own power and fettered them in 
his. I had not intended to love him : the reader knows 
I had wrought hard to extirpate from my soul 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 genu- 
ine power ? I had no sympathy with their appearance, 
their expression ; yet I could imagine that most obser- 
vers would call them attractive, handsome, imposing ; 
while they would pronounce Mr. Rochester at once 
harsh-featured and melancholy-looking. I saw them 



252 JANE EYRE. 

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 stem features softened ; his eye 
grew both brilliant and gentle, its ray both searching 
and sweet. He was talking, at the moment, to Louisa 
and Amy Eshton. I wondered to see them receive with 
calm that look which seemed to me so penetrating; I 
expected their eyes to fall, their color 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, — 1 feel akin to him, — I 
understand the language of his countenance and move- 
ments ; 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 pay- 
master ? B1ninphr,mj^ a.g^inst nai aiufi ! 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 con- 
tinually that we are forever sundered ; — and yet, while 
I breathe and think I must love him." 

CoflPee 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 dowa- 



JANE EYRE. 268 

gers, Lady Lynn and Lady Ligram, confabulate together. 
Sir George — whom, by-the-by, I have forgotten to de- 
scribe — a very big and very fresh-looking country gen- 
tleman, stands before their sofa, coffee-cup in hand, and 
occasionally puts in a word. Mr. Frederick Lynn lias 
taken a seat beside Mary Ingram, and is showing her 
the engravings of a splendid volume ; she looks, smiles 
now and then, but apparently says little. The tall and 
phlegmatic Lord Ingram leans with folded arms on the 
chair-back of the little and lively Amy Eshton ; she 
glances up at him, and chatters like a wren : she likes 
him better than she does Mr. Rochester. Henry Lynn 
has taken possession of an ottoman at the feet of Louisa; 
Addle 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 Addle). " Where did 
you pick her up ? " 

" I did not pick her up, she was left on my hands.'* 

" 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 ! 



254 JANE EYRE. 

there she is still behind the window-curtain. You pay 
her, of course. I should think it quite sd 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 indiffer- 
ently, looking straight before him. 

" No — you men never do consider economy and com- 
mon 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 whis- 
pered something in her ear ; I suppose, from the answer 
elicited, it was a reminder that one of the anathematized 
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 physi- 
ognomy, 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, wag- 
ging her turban three times with portentous significancy. 



JANE EYRE. 255 

" 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 
Jouberts ! Mary was always too sleepy to join in a plot 
with spirit. The best fun was with Madame Joubert. 
Miss Wilson was a poor sickly thing, lachrymose and 
low-spirited : not worth the trouble of vanquishing, in 
short ; and Mrs. Grey was coarse and insensible : no 
blow took effect on her. But poor Madame Joubert! 
I see her yet in her raging passions, when we had driven 
her to extremities — spilt our tea, crumbled our bread 
and butter, tossed our books up to the ceiling, and 
played a charivari with the ruler and desk, the fender 
and fire-irons. Theodore, do you remember those merry 
days?" 

" Yaa«, to be sure I do," drawled Lord Ingram ; " and 
the poor old stick used to cry out, ' Oh, you villains 
childs!' and then we sermonized her on the presump- 
tion 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 prose- 
cuting (or persecuting) your tutor, whey-faced Mr. Vin- 
ing — the parson in the pip, as we used to call him. He 
and Miss Wilson took the liberty of falling in lo\^ with 
each other — at least Tedo and I thought so ; we sur- 
prised sundry tender glances and sighs which we inter- 
preted as tokens of ' la belle passion,' and I promise you 
the public soon had the benefit of our discovery ; we 
employed it as a sort of lever to hoist our dead-weights 



256 JANE EYRE. 

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 be- 
tween 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 — in- 
solence 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 lips 
sarcastically,^* 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. 
Signor Eduardo, are you in voice to-night ? " 



JANE EYRE. 257 

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

" Then, signor, 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." 

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

" A fig for Rizzio ! " cried she, tossing her head with 
all its curls, as she moved to the piano. " It is my 
opinion the fiddler David must have been an insipid sort 
of fellow ; I like black Both well 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 hear ! Now which of you most 
resembles Bothwell ? " cried Mr. Rochester. 

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

" On my honor, 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 ; talk- 
ing 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 per- 
mission 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 

VOL. I. — 17 



y 



258 JANE £TR£. 

with beauty ! As if loveliness were not the special pre- 
rogative of woman — her legitimate appanage and heri- 
tage ! I grant an,nglx_troTOaiLia_ahL>t qq the fair face 
of creation ; but as to the gentlemen^ let them be solici- 
tous to possess only strength and valor : let their motto 
be — Hunt, shoot, and fight; the rest is not worth a 
fillip. Such should be my device, were I a man." 

" Whenever I marry," she continued 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 devotion shall not be shared between me and the 
shape he sees in his mirror. Mr. Rochester, now sing, 
and I 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 thould be 

done." 

" That is offering a premium on incapacity ; I shall 

now endeavor to fail." 

"Gardez-vous en bien ! If you err wilfully I shall 
devise a proportionate punishment." 

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

endurance." 

" 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." 




*0H, I AM SO SICK OF THE YOUNG MEN OF THE PRESENT 
DAY ! " EXCL/MMED SHE. 



JANE EYRE. 259 

" Sing ! " said she, and again touching the piano, she 
commenced 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. Fair- 
fax had said Mr. Rochester possessed a fine voice; he 
did — a mellow, powerful bass, into which he threw his 
own feeling, his own force ; finding a way through the 
ear to the heart, and there waking sensation strangely. 
I waited till the last deep and full vibration had expired 
— till the tide of talk, checked an instant, had resumed 
its flow ; I then quitted my sheltered comer 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 an- 
swered ; — "I did not wish to disturb you, as you seemed 
engaged, sir." 

" What have you been doing during my absence ? " 

" Nothing particular ; teaching AdSle 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." ^ 



260 JANE EYRE. 

" Return to the drawing-room ; you are deserting 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 — in- 
deed, they are there now, shining and swinmiing ; and a 
bead has slipped from the lash and fallen on to the flag. 
If I had time, and was not in mortal drea4 of some prat- 
ing prig of a servant passing, I would know what all 
this means. Well, to-night I excuse you; but under- 
stand that so long as my visitors stay, I expect you to 
appear in the drawing-room every evening; it is my 
wish ; don't neglect it. Now go, and send Sophie for 

Addle. Good-night, my " He stopped, bit his lip, 

and abruptly left me. 



CHAPTER XVIIL 

Merry days were these at Thornfield Hall ; and busy 
days too : how diflferent from the first three months of 
stillness, monotony, and solitude I had passed beneath 
its roof ! All sad feelings seemed now driven from the 
house, all gloomy associations forgotten : there was life 
everywhere, movement all day long. You could not 
now traverse the gallery, once so hushed, nor enter the 
front chambers, once so tenantless, without encountering 
a smart lady's maid, or a dandy valet. 

The kitchen, the butler's pantry, the servants' hall, 
the entrance hall, were equally alive; and the saloons 
were only left void and still, when the blue sky and 
halcyon sunshine of the genial 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; in-door 
amusements only became more lively and varied, in con- 
sequence of the stop put to out-door gayety. 

I wondered what they were going to do the first even- 
ing 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 running up 



262 JAXE EYRE. 

and down stairs ringing for their maids. Mrs. Fairfax 
was summoned to give information respecting the re- 
sources 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, etc., 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; afterwards 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 hare done ; 
he allowed me to return quietly to my usual seat 

He and his aids now withdrew behind the curtain; 
the other party, which was headed by Colonel Dent, sat 
down on the crescent of chairs. One of the gentlemen, 
Mr. Eshton, observing me, seemed to propose that I 
should be asked to join them; but Lady Ingram in- 
stantly 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 en- 
veloped in a white sheet ; before him, on a table, lay open 
a large book ; and at his side stood Amy Eshton, draped 
in Mr. Rochester's cloak, and holding a book in her 



JANE EYRE. 263 

hand. Somebody, unseen, rang the bell merrily; then 
AdSle (who had insisted on being one of her guardian's 
party), bounded forward, scattering round her the con- 
tents 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 Lousia Eshton, dressed also in white, 
took up their stations behind them. A ceremony fol- 
lowed, 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 min- 
utes, 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 1 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 goldfish — 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 Ingram. 
She, too, was attired in Oriental fashion: a crimson 
scarf tied sash-like round the waist; an embroidered 



264 JANE EYRE. 

handkerchief knotted about her temples ; her beautifully- 
moulded arms bare, one of them up-raised in the act of 
supporting a pitcher, poised gracefully on her head. 
Both her cast of form and feature, her complexion and 
her general air, suggested the idea of some Israelitish 
princess of the patriarchal days; and such was doubt- 
less 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 per- 
sonage on the well-brink now seemed to accost her ; to 
make some request, — " She hasted, let down her pitcher 
on her hand and gave him to drink." Prom 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; 
apparently they could not agree about the word or syl- 
lable this scene illustrated. Colonel Dent, their spokes- 
man, 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 



JANE EYRE. 266 

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 might well have disguised him. As 
he moved a chain clanked ; to his wrists were attached 
fetters. 

" Bridewell ! " exclaimed Colonel Dent, and the char- 
ade was solved. 

A sufficient interval having elapsed for the perform- 
ers to resume their ordinary costume, 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 charac- 
ters, 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 Levantine pirate." 

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

" Now, Dent," continued Mr. Rochester, " it is your 
turn." And as the other party withdrew, he and his 
band took the vacated seats. Miss Ingram placed her- 
self at her leader's right hand ; the other diviners filled 
the chairs on each side of him and her. I did not now 



266 JANE EYRE. 

watch the actors ; I no longer waited with interest for 
the curtain to rise ; my attention was absorbed by the 
spectators; my eyes, erewhile fixed on the arch, were 
now irresistibly attracted to the semicircle of chairs. 
What charade Colonel Dent and his party played, what 
word they chose, how they acquitted themselves, I no 
longer remember ; but I still see the consultation which 
followed each scene : I see Mr. 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 specta- 
cle returns in memory at this moment. 
^ 1 have told you, reader, that I had learned 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 observation. I could not unlove him, 
because I felt sure he would soon marry this very lady 
s, — 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 choos- 
ing 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 
circumstances; though much to create despair. Much 
too, you will think, reader, to engender jealousy ; if a 



JANE EYRE. 267 

woman, in my position, could presume to be jealous of 
a woman in Miss Ingram's. But I was not jealous ; or 
very rarely ; — the nature of the pain I suffered could 
not be explained by that word. Miss Ingram was a 
mark beneath jealousy: she was too inferior to excite 
the feeling. Pardon the seeming paradox ; I mean what 
I say. She waa very showy, but she was not genuine : 
she had a fine person, many brilliant attainments ; but 
her mind was poor, her heart barren by nature ; nothing 
bloomed spontaneously on that soil ; no unforced natu- 
ral fruit delighted by its freshness. She was not good ; 
she was not original : she used to repeat sounding 
phrases from books : she never offered, nor had, an 
opinion of her own. She advocated a high tone of 
sentiment ; but she did not know the sensations of sym- 
pathy 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 
Addle: 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 acrimony. Other eyes l)e8ides mine 
watched these manifestations of character — watched 
them closely, keenly, shrewdly. Yes : the future bride- 
groom, Mr. Rochester himself, exercised over his in- 
tended a ceaseless surveillance ; 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 sentiments towards her, that 
my ever-torturing pain arose. 

I saw he was going to marry her, for family, perhaps 
political reasons; because her rank and connections 
suited him ; I felt he had not given her his love, and 
that her qualifications were ill adapted to win from him 



268 JANE EYRE, 

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 (figura- 
tively) have died to them. If Miss Ingram had been 
. a good and noble woman, endowed with force, fervor, 
kindness, senscji "I should have had one vital struggle 
^ with two tigers — jealousy and despair : then, my heart 
I 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 n^ admiration — the more 
truly tranquil my quiescence. / But as matters really 
stood, to watch Miss Ingram's efforts at fascinating Mr. 
Rochester; to witness their repeated failure — herself 
unconscious that they did fail ; vainly fancying that 
each shaft launched hit the mark, and infatuatedly 
pluming herself on success, when her pride and self- 
complacency repelled further and further what she 
wished to allure — to witness this, was to be at once 
under ceaseless excitation and ruthless restraint. 

Because, when she failed, I saw how she might have 
succeeded. 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 
stem 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 



JANE EYRE. 269 

true affection. If she did, she need not coin her smiles 
so lavishly, flash her glances so unremittingly, manu- 
facture airs so elaborate, graces so multitudinous. It 
seems to me that she might, by merely sitting quietly 
at his side, saying little and looking less, get nigher his 
heart. I have seen in his face a far different expression 
from that which hardens it now while she is so viva- 
ciously accosting him ; but then it came of itself, it was 
not elicited by meretricious arts and calculated manoeu- 
vres ; and one had but to accept it — to answer what he 
asked without pretention, to address him when needful 
without grimace — and it increased and grew kinder 
and more genial, and warmed one like a fostering sun- 
beam. 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 of marrying for interest and connec- 
tions. 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 commonplace in his 
choice of a wife ; but the longer I considered the posi- 
tion, education, etc., of the parties, the less I felt justi- \ 
fied in judging and blaming either him or Miss Ingram, j 
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 I 
reasons for holding them such as I could not fathom. • 
It seemed to me that, were I a gentleman like him, Y" 
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 



270 JANE EYRE- 

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 endeavor 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 1 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 sin- 
ister or a sorrowful, a designing or a desponding ex- 
pression ? — 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 intervals beheld still, and with throb- 
bing heart, but not with palsied nerves. Instead of 
wishing to shim, 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 analyze 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 sep- 
arate interests and pleasures. The ladies Lynn and 
Ingram continued to consort in solemn conferences, 
where they nodded their two turbans at each other, 
and held up their four hands in confronting gestures of 



JANE EYRE. 271 

Burprige, or mystery, or horror, according to the theme 
on which their gossip ran, like a pair of magnified pup- 
pets. 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 aird sang to and with one of the Messrs. 
Lynn ; and Mary Ingram listened languidly to the gal- 
lant 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-en- 
trance 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 waB not likely to return till 
late. The afternoon was wet : a walk the party had pro- 
posed 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 bil- 
liards in the billiard-room. The dowagers Ingram and 
Lynn sought solace in a quiet game at cards. Blanche 
Ingram, after having repelled, by supercilious taciturnity, 
some efforts of Mrs. Dent and Mrs. Eshton to draw her 
into conversation, had first murmured over some senti- 
mental times and airs on the piano, and then, having 
fetched a novel from the library, had flung herself in 
haughty listlessness on a sofa, and prepared to beguile, 



272 



JANE EYRR 



by the spell of fiction, the tedious hours of absence. The 
room and the house were silent; only now and tiien 
the merriment of the billiard players was heard from 
above. 

It was verging on dusk, and the clock had already 
given warning of the hour to dress for dinner, when 




*The dowagers Ingram and Lynn sought solace in a quiet 
game at cards/' 

little Addle, who knelt by me in the drawing-room 
window-seat, exclaimed, — "VoilJl Monsieur Rochester 
qui revient ! " 

I turned, and Miss Ingram darted forwards from her 
sofa ; the others, too, looked up from their several occu- 



JANE EYRE. 278 

pations; for at the same time a cnmching of wheels, 
and a splashing tramp of horsehoofs 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 the breaking of mj spine ; in her 
eagerness she did not observe me at first, but when she 
did, she curled her lip and moved to another casement. 
The post-chaise stopped, the driver rang the door bell, 
and a gentleman alighted, attired in travelling garb; 
but it was not Mr. Rochester ; it was a tall, fashionable- 
looking man, a stranger. 

" Provoking ! " exclaimed Miss Ingram : " you tire- 
some monkey ! " (apostrophizing Addle) " 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 acquain- 
tance as to install 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 com- 
plexion was singularly sallow ; otherwise he was a 

VOL. I. — 18 



274 JANE EYRE. 

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 feat- 
ures 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 physiog- 
nomy even less than before ; it struck me as being, at 
the same time, unsettled and inanimate. His eye wan- 
dered, and had no meaning in its wandering; this gave 
him an odd look, such as I never remembered to have 
seen. For a handsome and not an unamiable-looking 
man, he repelled me exceedingly ; there was no power 
in that smooth-skinned face of a full oval shape ; no 
firmness in that aquiline nose, and small cherry mouth ; 
there was no thought on the low, even forehead; no 
command in that blank, brown eye. 

As I sat in my usual nook, and looked at him with 
the light of the girandoles on the mantelpiece beaming 
full over him — for he occupied an arm-chair, drawn 
close to the fire, and kept shrinking still nearer, as if he 
were cold — I compared him with Mr. Rochester. I 
tliink (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 



JANE EYRE. 275 

room. At first I could not make much sense of what I 
heard; for the discourse of Louisa Eshton and Mary 
Ingram, who sat nearer to me, confused the fragmentary 
sentences that reached me at intervals. These last 
were discussing the stranger: they both called him a 
" beautiful man." Louisa said he was " a love of a 
creature," and she " adored him : " and Mary instanced 
his " pretty little mouth, and nice nose," as her ideal of 
the charming. 

" And what a sweet-tempered forehead he has ! " cried 
Louisa, — " so smooth — none of those frowning irregu- 
larities I dislike so much: and such a placid eye and 
smile ! " 

And then, to my great relief, Mr. Henry Lynn sum- 
moned 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 sur- 
prise 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 hurri- 
canes, 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 wanderings : till now I had never heard a hint given 
of visits to more distant shores. 

I was pondering these things, when an incident, and a 



276 JAXE EYRE. 

somewhat unexpected one, broke the thread of my mus- 
ings. Mr. Mason, shivering as some one chanced to 
open the door, a^ked for more coal to be put on the 
fire, which had burned out its flame, though its mass of 
cinder still shone hot and red. The footman who 
brought the coal, in going out, stopped near Mr. Esh- 
ton'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!" interrupted Colonet Dent. "Don't 
send her away, Eshton ; we might turn the thing to ac- 
count ; better consult the ladies." And speaking aloud, 
he continued, " Ladies, you talked of going to Hay Com- 
mon to visit the gipsy camp ; Sam, here, says that one 
of the old Mother Bunches is in the servants' hall at this 
moment, and insists upon being brought in before ' the 
quality,' to tell them their fortunes. Would you like to 
see her ? '* 

" Surely, colonel," cried Lady Ingram, " you would 
not encourage such a low impostor. Dismiss her, by all 
means, at once ! " 

" But I cannot persuade her to go away, my lady," 
said the footman ; " nor can any of the servants : Mrs. 
Fairfax is with her just now, entreating her to be gone ; 
but she has taken a chair in the chimney-corner, and 
says nothing shall stir her from it till she gets leave to 
come in here." 

" What does she want ? " asked Mrs. Eshton. 

" ' 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. 



JANE EYRE. 277 

"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 ? " ex- 
claimed Mrs. Lynn. 

"I cannot possibly countenance .any such inconsistent 
proceeding," chimed in the Dowager Ingram. 

" Indeed, mamma, but you can — and will," pro- 
nounced 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 run- 
ning 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 



278 JAXE EYRE. 

Ingram, ^^ she encroaches. Be advised, mj 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, expec- 
tation rose to full flow once more. 

"She's ready now," said the footman, as he re- 
appeared. " She wishes to know who will be her first 
visitor." 

" 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 '11 have no gentleman ; they 
need not trouble themselves to come near her : nor," he 
added, with difficulty 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 accord- 
ingly. 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. 



JANE EYRE. 279 

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 stiflBy 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 im- 
portance 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, leaned back in her chair, 
and so declined further convereation. I watched her for 
nearly half an hour: during all that time she never 
turned a page, and her face grew momently darker, 
more dissatisfied, and more sourly expressive of disap- 
pointment. She had obviously not heard anything to 
her advantage : and it seemed to me, from her prolonged 
fit of gloom and taciturnity, that she herself, notwith- 
standing her professed indifference, attached undue im- 
portance to whatever revelations had been made her. 



280 JANE EYRE. 

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 pac- 
ing to and fro, till, I think, the said Sam's calves must 
have ached with the exercise, permission was at last, 
with great difficulty, extorted from the rigorous Sibyl, 
for the three to wait upon her in a body. 

Their visit was not so still as Miss Ingram's had been : 
we heard hysterical giggling and little shrieks proceed- 
ing from the library ; and at the end of about twenty 
miuutes 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 the various 
seats the gentlemen hastened to bring them. 

Pressed for further explanation, they declared she had 
told them of things they had said and done when they 
were mere children; described books and ornaments 
they had in their boudoirs at home : keepsakes that dif- 
ferent relations had presented to them. They affirmed 
that she had even divined their thoughts, and had whis- 
pered 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 con- 
cern that their warning had not been taken in time; 



JANE EYRE. 281 

and the elder gentlemen laughed, and the younger urged 
their services on the agitated fair ones. 

In the midst of the tumult, and while my eyes and 
ears were fully engaged in the scene before me, I heard 
a hem close at my elbow : I turned, and saw Sam. 

" If you please. Miss, the gipsy declares that there is 
another young single lady in the room who has not been 
to her yet, and she swears she will not go till she has 
seen all. I thought it must be you : there is no one else 
for it. What shall I tell her ? " 

" Oh, I will go by all means," I answered ; and I was 
glad of the unexpected opportunity to gratify my much- 
excited curiosity. I slipped out of the room, unobserved 
by any eye — for the company were gathered in one 
mass about the trembling trio just returned — and I 
closed the door quietly behind me. 

" If you like. Miss," said Sam, " I '11 wait in the hall 
for you; and if she frightens you, just call and I'll 
come in." 

" No, Sam, return to the kitchen : I am not in the 
least afraid." Nor was I ; but I was a good deal inter- 
ested and excited. 



CHAPTER yiY 

The li1»rary looked tranquil enough as I entered it, 
and the Sibvl — if Sibyl she were, was seated snugly 
enough in an easy chair at the chimney-comer. 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 m(jst 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 
l>eneath a white band which passed under her chin, and 
came half over her cheeks or rather jaws ; her eye con- 
fronted me at once, with a bold and direct gaze. 

" Well, and you want your fortune told ? " she said 
in a voice as decided as her glance, as harsh as her 
features. 



JANE EYRE. 283 

" I don't care about it, mother ; you may please your- 
self ; but I ought to warn you, I have no faith." 

"It's like your impudence to say so: 1 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 don't you consult my art ? " 

"I'm not silly." 

The old crone " nichered " a laugh under her bonnet 
and bandage : she then drew out a short black pipe, and 
lighting it began to smoke. Having indulged a while in 
this sedative, she raised her bent body, took the pipe 
from her lips, and while gazing steadily at the fire, said 
very deliberately : — " You are cold ; you are sick ; and 
you are silly." 

" Prove it," I rejoined. 

" I will ; in few words. You are cold, because you 
are alone : no contact strikes the fire from you that is 
in you. You are sick : because the best of feelings, the 
highest and the sweetest given to man, keeps far away 
from you. You are silly, because, suffer as you may, 
you will not beckon it to approach ; nor will you stir 
one step to meet it where it waits you." 

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

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



284 JANE EYRR 

• 
^^ I might say it to almost any one ; but would it be 

true of almost any one ? " 

" In my circumstances." 

" Yes ; just so, in y<mr 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 aa 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 fore- 
head, 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 




"SHOW ME YOUR PALM. 



JANE EYRE. 285 

fire, BO that a ripple of light broke from the disturbed 
coal : the glare, however^ as she sat, only threw her face 
into deeper shadow : mine, it illumined. 

"I wonder with what feelings you came to me to- 
night," she said, when she had examined me a while. 
" I wonder what thoughts are busy in your heart during 
all the hours you sit in yonder room with the fine people 
flitting before you like shapes in a magic lantern : just 
as little sympathetic communion passing between you 
and. them, as if they were really mere shadows of human 
forms and not the actual substance." 

" I feel tired often, sleepy sometimes ; but seldom 
sad." 

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

" 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 windownseat (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. 

** You have — have you ? " thought I ; " there is dia- 
blerie in the business after all, then ! " 

"Don't be alarmed," continued the strange beijig; 
" she 's a safe hand, is Mrs. Poole : close and quiet : any 
one may repose confidence in her. But, as I was say- 
ing : sitting in that window-seat, do you think of noth- 
ing but your future school ? Have you no present 
interest in any of the company who occupy the sofas and 



286 JANE EYRE. 

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." 

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

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

" What tale do you like best to hear ? " 

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

" And do you like that monotonous theme ? " 

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

" Nothing to you ? When a lady, young and full of 
life and health, charming with beauty and endowed with 
the gifts of rank and fortune, sits and smiles in the eyes 
of a gentleman you " 

"I what?" 

" You know — and, perhaps, think well of ? " 

" I don't know the gentlemen here. 1 have scarcely in- 
terchanged a syllable with one of them ; and as to think- 
ing well of them, 1 consider some respectable and stately, 
and middle-aged, and others young, dashing, handsome 
and lively : but certainly they are all at liberty to be the 
recipients of whose smiles they please, without my feel- 
ing disposed to consider the transaction of any moment 
to me." 

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

" He is not at home.'* 

"A profound remark! A most ingenious quibble I 



JANE EYRE. 287 

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 gen- 
tlemen ; 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 matri- 
mony, Mr. Rochester has been favored with the most 
lively and the most continuous ? " 

^' The eagerness of a listener quickens the tongue of 
a narrator." I said this rather to myself than to the 
gipsy ; whose strange talk, voice, manner, had by this 
time wrapped me in a kind of dream. One unexpected 
sentence came from her lips after another, till I got 
involved in a web of 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. 
Rochester 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." 



288 JANE EYRE. 

"Detecting! You have analyzed, 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 ? " 

" Never mind : 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 chastis- 
ing out of you, you seem to question it), they will be 
a superlatively happy pair. He must love such a hand- 
some, noble, witty, accomplished lady ; and probably 
she loves him : or, if not his person, at least his purse. 
I know she considers the Rochester estate eligible to 
the last degree ; though (God pardon me !) I told her 
something on that point about an hour ago, which made 
her look wondrous grave : the corners of her mouth fell 
half an inch. I would advise her 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 of it." 

" 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 



JANE EYRE. 289 

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 
jargon : it is susceptible ; impression follows impression 
through its clear sphere ; where it ceases to smile, it is 
sad ; an unconscious lassitude weighs on the lid : that 
signifies melancholy resulting from loneliness. It turns 
from me ; it will not suffer farther scrutiny ; it seems 
to deny, by a mocking glance, the truth of the discov- 
eries 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 favorable. 

"As to the mouth, it delights at times in laughter; 
it is disposed 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 circumstances require me so to do. 
I need not sell my soul to buy bliss. I have an inward 
treasure, bom 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 de- 
clares, ' Reason sits firm and holds the reins, and she , 
will not let the feelings burst away and hurry her to 1 

VOL. I. — 19 ' 



290 JAN£ EYRE. 

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 decision. Strong wind, earthquake-shock, and 
fire may pass by : but I shall follow the guiding of that 
still small voice which interprets the dictates of 
conscience.* 

"Well said, forehead; your declaration shall be re- 
spected. I have formed my plans — right plans I deem 
them — and in them I have attended to the claims of 
conscience, the counsels of reason. I know how soon 
youth would fade and bloom perish, if, in the cup of 
ibliss offered, but one dreg of shame, or one flavor 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 
itears 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 T been 
dreaming ? Did I dream still ? The old woman's voice 
had changed: her accent, her gesture, and all were 
familiar to me as my own face in a glass — as the speech 
of my own tongue. I got up, but did not go. I looked ; 
I stirred the fire, and I looked again : but she drew her 
bonnet and her bandage closer about her face, and again 
beckoned me to depart. The flame illuminated her 
hand stretched out: roused now, and on the alert for 



JANE EYRE. 291 

discoTeries, T 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, sym- 
metrically 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 ! ' " 

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 nonsense 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 comfort ; but, indeed, I had been on my guard almost 



292 JANE EYRE. 

from the beginning of the interview. Something of 
masquerade I suspected. I knew gipsies and fortune- 
tellers did not express themselves as this seeming old 
woman had expressed herself ; besides, I had noted her 
feigned voice, her anxiety to conceal her features. But 
my mind had been running on Grace Poole — that living 
enigma, that mystery of mysteries, as I considered her. 
I had never thought of Mr. Rochester. 

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

" 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 ! — 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 convulsive 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 



JANE EYRE. 293 

words; "Mason! — the West Indies!" he reiterated; 
and he went over the syllables three times, growing, in 
the intervals of speaking, whiter than ashes : he hardly 
seemed to know what he was doing. 

" Do you feel ill, sir ? " I inquired. 

" Jane, I Ve got a blow ; — I 've got a blow, Jane ! " 
he staggered. 

" Oh ! — lean on me, sir." 

" Jane, you offered me your shoulder once before ; let 
me have it now." 

" Yes, sir, yes ; and my arm." 

He sat down, and made me sit beside him. Holding 
my hand in both his own, he chafed it ; gazing on me, 
at the same time, with the most troubled and dreary 
look. 

" My little friend ! " said he, " I wish I were in a quiet 
island with only you ; and trouble, and danger, and 
hideous recollections removed from me." 

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

" Jftne, if aid is wanted, I '11 seek it at your hands ; I 
promise you that." 

" Thank you, sir ; tell me what to do, — I '11 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 sideboard; 
each had taken what he chose, and they stood about 
here and there in groups, their plates and glasses in 
their hands. Every one seemed in high glee ; laughter 
and conversation were general and animated. Mr. 



294 JANE EYRE. 

Mason stood near the fire, talking to Colonel and Mrs. 
Dent, and appeared as merry as anj of them. I filled 
a wine-glass (I saw Miss Ingram watch me frowningly 
as I did so : she thought I was ^taking a liberty, I 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 gayety." 

" 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 sneer- 
ingly amongst each other, and then dropped 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 ? " 



JANE EYRE. 295 

"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 straight among them. I sought Mr. Mason, de- 
livered the message, and preceded him from the room : I 
ushered him into the library, and then I went upstairs. 

At a late hour, after I had been in bed some time, I 
heard the visitors repair to their chambers : I distin- 
guished 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 con- 
sequence 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 paralyzed. 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 over- 
head. 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 



JANE EYRE. 297 

voice shouted — " Help ! help ! help ! " three times 
rapidly. 

" Will no one come ? " it cried ; and then, while the 
staggering 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 the flooring 
above, and something fell ; and there was silence. 

I had put on some clothes, though horror shook all 
my limbs : I issued from my apartment. The sleep- 
ers were all aroused : ejaculations, terrified murmurs 
sounded in every room ; door after door unclosed : one 
looked out and another looked out ; the gallery filled. 
Gentlemen and ladies alike had quitted their beds ; and 
«0h! what is it?" — "Who is hurt?" — "What has 
happened ? " — " Fetch a light ! " — " Is it fire ? " — " Are 
there robbers?" — "Where shall we run?" was de- 
manded 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 return. " Be com- 
posed, all of you: I'm coming." 

And the door at the end of the gallery opened, and 
Mr. Rochester advanced with a candle : he had just de- 
scended 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 



298 JANE EYRE. 

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 
oflf ; or I shall wax dangerous." 

And dangerous he looked: his black eyes darted 
sparks. Calming himself bj 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 set- 
tled 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 dowa- 
gers), " you will take cold to a dead certainty, if you 
stay in this chill gallery any longer." 

And so, by dint of alternate coaxing and commanding, 
he contrived to get them all once more enclosed in their 
separate dormitories. I did not wait to be ordered back 
to mine; but retreated unnoticed: as unnoticed I had 
left it. 

Not, however, to go to bed : on the contrary, I began 
and dressed myself carefully. The sounds I had heard 
after the scream, and the words that had been uttered, 
had probably been heard only by me ; for they had pro- 
ceeded 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 emer- 
gencies. When dressed, I sat a long time by the win- 



JANE EYRE. 299 

dow, looking out over the silent grounds and silvered 
fields, and waiting for I knew not what. It seemed 
to me that some event must follow the strange cry, 
struggle, and call. 

No : stillness returned : each murmur and movement 
ceased gradually, and in about an hour Thomfield Hall 
was again as hushed as a desert. It seemed that sleep 
and night had resumed their empire. Meantime the 
moon declined : she was about to set. Not liking to 
sit in the cold and darkness, I thought I would lie down 
on my bed, dressed as I was. I left the window, and 
moved with little noise across the carpet ; as I stooped 
to take off my shoes, a cautious hand tapped low at 
the door. 

" Am I wanted ? " I asked. 

" Are you up ? " asked the voice I expected to hear, 
viz. my master's. 

"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 fate- 
ful 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." 



800 JANE EYRE. 

" Go back and fetch both." 

I returned, sought the sponge on the wash-stand, the 
salts in my drawer, and once more retraced my steps. 
He still waited ; he held a key in his hand : approaching 
one of the small, black doors, he put it in the lock ; he 
paused and addressed me again. 

" You don't turn sick at the sight of blood ? " 

" I think I shall not : I have never been tried yet." 

I felt a thrill while I answered him ; but no coldness, 
and no faintness.- 

" Just give me your hand," he said ; " it will not do to 
risk a fainting fit." 

I put my fingers into his. " Warm and steady," was 
his remark : he turned the key and opened the door. 

I saw a room I remembered to have seen before ; the 
day Mrs. Fairfax showed me over the house : it was 
hung with tapestry ; but the tapestry was now looped up 
in one part, and there was a door apparent, which had 
then been concealed. This door was open ; a light 
shone out of the room within : I heard thence a snarl- 
ing, 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 arrange- 
ment, without speaking: though I heard a low voice 
address him : he came out and closed the door be- 
hind him. 

" Here, Jane ! " he said ; and I walked round to the 
other side of a large bed, which with its drawn curtains 
concealed a considerable portion of the chamber. An 
easy chair was near the bed-head : a man sat in it, 
dressed with the exception of his coat ; he was still ; 



JANE EYRE. 



801 



his head leaned back ; his eyes were closed. Mr. Roches- 
ter held the candle over him ; I recognized 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. 




" Mr. Rochester held the candle over him." 



"Hold the candle," said Mr. Rochester, and I took 
it ; he fetched a basin of water from the wash-stand : 
" Hold that," said he. I obeyed. He took the sponge, 
dipped it in and moistened the corpse-like face : he 
asked for my smelling-bottle, and applied it to the nos- 



302 JANE EYRE. 

^ trils. Mr^MasqnjiJiortly 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 over- 
come, man : bear up ! I '11 fetch a surgeon for you now, 
myself: you'll be able to be removed by morning, I 
hope. Jane," he continued. 

"Sir?" 

" I shall have to leave you in this room with this gen- 
tleman, 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 paralyze him. Mr. Rochester 
put the now bloody sponge into my hand, and I pro- 
ceeded to use it as he had done. He watched me a 
second, then saying, " Remember ! — No conversation," 
he left the room. I experienced a strange feeling as the 
key grated in the lock, and the sound of his retreating 
step ceased to be heard. 

Here then I was in the third story, fastened into one 
of its mystic cells ; night around me ; a pale and bloody 
spectacle under my eyes and hands ; \i murderess hardly 
separated from me by a single door: yes — that was 
appalling — the rest I could bear; but I shuddered at 
the thought of Grace Poole bursting out upon me. 



JANE EYRE. 808 

I 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 wan- 
dering 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 unsnuflfed 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 cabi- 
net opposite — whose front, divided into twelve panels, 
bore in grim design, the heads of the twelve apostles, 
each inclosed in its separate panel as in a frame ; while 
above them at the top rose an ebon crucifix and a dying 
Christ. 

According as the shifting obscurity and flickering 
gleam hovered here or glanced there, it was now the 
bearded physician, Luke, that bent his brow ; now Saint 
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 momen- 
tary 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 man- 
sion, and could neither be expelled nor subdued by the 



304 JAXE EYRE. 

owner? — What mystery, that broke out, now in fire 
and now in blood, at the deadest hours of night ? What 
creature was it, that, masked in an ordinary woman^s 
face and shape, uttered the voice, now of a mocking 
demon, and anon of a carrion-seeking bird of prey ? 

And this man I bent over — this commonplace, quiet 
stranger — how had he become involved in the web of 
horror? and why had the Fury flown at him? What 
made him seek this quarter of the house at an untimely 
season, when he should have been asleep in bed ? I had 
heard Mr. Rochester assign him an apartment below — 
what brought him here ? And why, now, was he so 
tame under the violence or treachery done him ? Why 
did he so quietly submit to the concealment Mr. Roches- 
ter enforced ? Why did Mr. Rochester enforce this con- 
cealment ? His guest had been outraged, his own life 
on a former occasion had been hideously plotted against ; 
and both attempts he smothered in secrecy and sank in 
oblivion I 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. It was evident that in their former intercourse, 
the passive disposition of the one had been habitually 
influenced by the active energy of the other: whence 
then had arisen Mr. Rochester's dismay when he heard 
of Mr. Mason's arrival ? Why had the mere name of 
this unresisting individual — whom his word now suf- 
ficed to control like a child — fallen on him, a few hours 
since, as a thunderbolt might fall on an oak ? 

Oh ! I could not forget his look and his paleness when 
he whispered : " Jane, I have got a blow — I have got a 
blow, Jane." I could not forget how the arm had trem- 
bled which he had rested on mv shoulder : and it was 



JANE EYRE. 805 

no light matter which could thus bow the resolute spirit 
and thrill the vigorous frame of T^flirfay Rnpli^fltf.r. 

" 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 ineffec- 
tual : either bodily or mental suffering, or loss of blood, 
or all three combined, were fast prostrating his strength. 
He moaned so, and looked so weak, wild, and lost, I 
feared he was dying; and I might not even speak to 
him! 

The candle, wasted at last, went out ; as it expired, I 
perceived streaks of gray light edging the window cur- 
tains : dawn was then approaching. Presently I heard 
Pilot bark far below, out of his distant kennel in the 
court-yard : 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 bandages, 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 hoUand blind, let in all the daylight he could ; and I 
was surprised and cheered to see how far dawn was ad- 

TOL. I. — 20 



7 



806 JANE EYRE. 

vanced : what rosy streaks were beginning to brighten 
the east. Then he approached Mason, whom the sur- 
geon 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 *11 
hardly be a pin the worse of it: you've lost a little 
blood ; that 's all. Carter, assure him there 's no 
danger." 

" I can do that conscientiously," said Carter, who had 
now undone the bandages ; " only I wish I could have 
got here sooner : he would not have bled so much — but 
how is this ? The flesh on the shoulder is torn as well 
as cut. This wound was not done with a knife : there 
have been teeth here ! '* 

" She bit me," he murmured. " She worried me like 
a tigress, when 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-night, 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 ad- 
vice ; so I '11 say no more. Carter — hurry ! — hurry ! 
The sun will soon rise, and I must have him off." 



JANE EYRE. 807 

" 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 counte- 
nance 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 get 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 '11 make you decent in 
a trice. Jane " (he turned to me for the first time since 
his re-entrance), " take this key : go down into my bed- 
room, and walk straight forward into my dressing-room ; 
open the top drawer of the wardrobe and take out a 
clean shirt and neck-handkerchief: bring them here; 
and be nimble." 

I went; sought the repository he had mentioned, 
found the articles named, and returned with them. 

" Now," said he, "go to the other side of the bed while 
1 order his toilet ; but don't leave the room : you may 
be wanted again.'" 

I retired as directed. 

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



808 JANE £YR£. 

" 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 creat- 
ure in yonder. I have striven long to avoid exposure, 
and I should not like it to come at last. Here, Garter, 
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 clod-hopping 
messenger would never do at this juncture. You must 
open the middle drawer of my toilet-table and take out 
a little phial and a little glass you will find there, — 
quick ! " 

I flew thither and back, bringing the desired vessels. 

" That 's well ! Now, doctor, I shall take the liberty of 
administering a dose myself ; on my own responsibility. 
I got this cordial at Rome, of an Italian charlatan — a 
fellow you would have kicked, Carter. It is not a thing 
to be used indiscriminately, but it is good upon occa- 
sion : 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 wash-stand. 

" That will do : — now wet the lip of the phial.** 

I did so : he measured twelve drops of a crimson 
liquid, and presented it to Mason. 

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



JANE EYRE. 809 

" But will it hurt me ? — is it inflammatory ? " 

" Drink ! drink ! drink ! " 

Mr. Mason obeyed, because it was evidently useless to 
resist. He was dressed now : he still looked pale, but 
he was no longer gory and sullied. Mr. Rochester let 
him sit three minutes after he had swallowed the liquid ; 
he then took his arm. 

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

The patient rose. 

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

" 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 J told him not to drive his 
rattling wheels over the pavement — to be ready; we 
are coming : and, Jane, if any one is about, come to the 
foot of the stairs and hem." 

It was by this time half-past five, and the sun was on 
the point of rising ; but I found the kitchen still dark 
and silent. The side-passage door was fastened; I 
opened it with as little noise as possible : all the yard 
was quiet ; but the gates stood wide open, and there was 
a post-chaise, with horses ready harnessed, and driver 
seated on the box, stationed outside. 1 approached him, 
and said the gentlemen were coming ; he nodded : then 
I looked carefully round and listened. The stillness of 
early morning slumbered everywhere ; the curtains were 
yet drawn over the servants' chamber windows ; little 
birds were just twittering in the blossom-blanched or- 
chard trees, whose boughs drooped like white garlands 
over the wall enclosing one side of the yard ; the car- 



310 JAXE EYRE. 

riage horses stamped from time to time in their closed 
stables : all else was still. 

The gentlemen now appeared. Mason, supported bj 
Mr. Rochester and the surgeon, seemed to walk with 
tolerable ease : thej 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." 

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

"Fairfax" 

" Well, what is it ? " 

" Let her be taken care of ; let her be treated as ten- 
derly 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 God 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 " Jane ! " He had opened the portal and stood at 
it, waiting for me. 

" Come where there is some freshness, for a few mo- 
ments," 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 



JANE EYRE. 311 

answered ; ^^ and you see it through a charmed medium : 
you cannot discern that the gilding is slime and the silk 
draperies cobwebs ; that the marble is sordid slate, and 
the polished woods mere refuse chips and scaly bark. 
Now here " (he pointed to the leafy enclosure we had 
entered) "all is real, sweet, and pure." 

He strayed down a walk edged with box ; with apple 
trees, pear trees, and cherry trees on one side, and a 
border on the other, full of all sorts of old-fashioned 
flowers, stocks, sweet-williams, primroses, pansies, min- 
gled with southernwood, sweet-briar, and various fra- 
grant 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 



812 JANE EYRE. 

left a lamb — my pet lamb — so near a wolfs den, 
unguarded : yofi^ 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 Eng- 
land : nor even then. To live, for me, Jane, is to stand 
on a crater-crust which may crack and spue fire any 
day." 

" But Mr. Mason seems a man easily led. Your influ- 
ence, 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 forever 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 dan- 
ger 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 
look puzzled ; and I will puzzle you farther. You are 
my little friend, are you not?" 




' VOU DON T HESITAFE TO TAKE A PLACE AT MV SIDE, 
DO YOU ? " 



JANE EYRE. 818 

/ "I like to serve you, sir, and to obey you in all that is 
[right." 

" Precisely : I see you do. I see genuine contentment 
in your gait and mien, your eye and face, when you are 
helping me and pleasing me — working for me, and 
with me, in, as you characteristically say, ' all that i» 
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 so ! Here, Jane, is an arbor ; 
sit down." 

The arbor was an arch in the wall, lined with i^y ; 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 cornfield, and the early bees do their first 
spell of work — I '11 put a case to you ; which you must 
endeavor to suppose your own : but first, look at me, 



814 JANE EYRE. 

and tell me you are at ease, and not fearing that I err in 
detaining you, or that you err in staying." 

." No, sir ; I am content." 

" 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 ; imag- 
ine yourself in a remote foreign land ; conceive that you 
there commit a capital error, no matter of what nature 
or from what motives, but one whose consequences must 
follow you through life and taint all your existence. 
Mind, I don't say a crime ; I am not speaking of shed- 
ding of blood or any other guilty act, which might make 
the perpetrator amenable to the law : my word is error. 
The results of what you have done become in time to 
you utterly insupportable ; you take measures to obtain 
relief : unusual measures, but neither unlawful nor cul- 
pable. Still you are miserable ; for hope has quitted 
you on the very confines of life : your sun at noon darkens 
in an eclipse, which you feel will not leave it till the 
time of setting. Bitter and base associations have be- 
come the sole food of your memory : you wander here 
and there, seeking rest in exile : happiness in pleasure 
— I mean in heartless, sensual pleasure — such as dulls 
intellect and blights feeling. Heart-weary and soul- 
withered, you come home after years of voluntary ban- 
ishment ; 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, rep:enerate8 : you feel better days come 
back — higher wishes, purer feelings ; you desire to re- 
commence your life, and to spend what remains to you 
of days in a way more worthy of an immortal being. 



JANE EYRE. 815 

/To attain this end, are you justified in overleaping an 
/ obstacle of custom — a mere conventional impediment, 
/ which neither your conscience sanctifies nor your judg- 
/. ment approves?" 

He paused for an answer : and what was I to say ? 
Oh, for some good spirit to suggest a judicious and sat- 
isfactory response 1 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 opin- 
ion, in order to attach to him forever this gentle, gra- 
cious, genial stranger; thereby securing his own peace 
of mind and regeneration of life ? " 

" Sir," I answered, " a wanderer's repose or a sinner's 
reformation should never depend on a fellow-creature. 
Men and women die ; philosophers falter in wisdom, and 
Christians in goodness : if any one you know has suf- 
fered 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 it you without parable — been a worldly, dissi- 
pated, 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 revela- 
tion : 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. 



316 JANE ETRE. 

'^ 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 — ^yoa have 
noticed my tender penchant for Miss Ingram : don't yon 
think if I married her she would regenerate me with a 
vengeance ? " 

He got up instantly, went quite to the other end of the 
walk, and when he came back he was humming a tune. 

" Jane, Jane," said he, stopping before me, " you are 
quite pale with your vigils : don't you curse me for dis- 
turbing 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, Jane ?" 

" Yes, sir." 

"A strapper — a real strapper, Jane : big, brown, and 
buxom; with hair just such as the ladies of Carthage 
must have had. Bless me ! there 's Dent and Lynn in the 
stables! Go in by the shrubbery, through that wicket." 

As I went one way, he went another, and I heard him 
in the yard, saying cheeringly: — "Mason got the start 
of you all this morning ; he was gone before sunrise : I 
rose at four to see him oflf." 



CHAPTER XXI. 

Presentiments are strange things! and so are sym- 
pathies ; and so are signs : and the three combined make 
one mystery to which humanity has not yet found the 
key. I never laughed at presentiments in my life ; be- 
cause I have had strange ones of my own. Sympathies, 
I believe, exist : (for instance, between far-distant, long- 
absent, wholly estranged relatives; asserting, notwith- 
standing their alienation, the unity of the source to 
which each traces his origin) whose workings bafHe mor- 
tal comprehension. And signs, for aught we know, may 
be but the sympathies of Nature with man. 

When I was a little girl, only six years old, I, one 
night, heard Bessie Leaven say to Martha Abbot that 
she had been dreaming about a little child ; and that to 
dream of chQdren was a sure sign of trouble, either to 
one's self or one's kin. The saying might have worn 
out of my memory, had not a circumstance immediately 
followed which served indelibly to fix it there. The 
next day Bessie was sent for home to the death-bed of 
her little sister. 

Of late I had often reealled this saying and thid inci- 
dent; for during the past week scarcely a night had 
gone over my couch that had not brought with it a 
dream of an infant : which I sometimes hushed in my 
arms, sometimes dandled on my knee, sometimes watched 
playing with daisies on a lawn ; or again, dabbling its 



318 JANE EYRE. 

hands in running water. It was a wailing child this 
night, and a laughing one the next : now it nestled close 
to me, and now it ran from me ; but whatever mood the 
apparition evinced, whatever aspect it wore, it failed not 
for seven successive nights to meet me the moment I 
entered the land of slumber. 

I did not like this iteration of one idea — this strange 
recurrence of one image ; and I grew nervous as bed- 
time approached, and the hour of the vision drew near. 
It was from companionship with this baby-phantom I 
had been roused on that moonlight night when I heard 
the cry ; and it was on the afternoon of the day follow- 
ing 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 ap- 
pearance of a gentleman's servant : he was dressed in 
deep mourning, and the hat he held in his hand was sur- 
rounded 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 



i 



JANE EYRE. 819 

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 mis- 
hap : 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 Gates- 
head 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, 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 her- 
self for some time : she had got very stout, but was not 
strong with it ; and the loss of money and fear of pov- 
erty were quite breaking her down. The information 
about Mr. John's death and the manner of it came too 
suddenly : it brought on a stroke. She was three days 
without speaking; but last Tuesday she seemed rather 
better : she appeared as if she wanted to say something, 
and kept making signs to my wife and mumbling. It 
was only yesterday morning, however, that Bessie under- 



820 JANE EYRE. 

stood she was pronouncing your name ; and at last she 
made out the words, * Bring Jane — fetch Jane Eyre : I 
want to speak to her.' Bessie is not sure whether she 
is in her right mind, or means anything by the words ; 
but she told Miss Reed and Miss G^orgiana, and advised 
them to send for you. The young ladies put it off at 
first : but their mother grew so restless, and said, * Jane, 
Jane,' so many times, that at last they consented. I 
left Gateshead yesterday; and if you can get ready. 
Miss, I should like to take you back with me early to- 
morrow morning." 

" Yes, Robert, I shaJl be ready : it seems to me that I 
ought to go." 

'^ I think so too, Miss. Bessie said she was sure you 
would not refuse: but I suppose you will have to ask 
leave before you can get off?" 

** Yes ; and I will do it now ; " and having directed 
him to 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 groimds. I asked Mrs. 
Fairfax if she had seen him; — yes: she believed he 
was playing billiards with Miss Ingram. To the billiard- 
room I hastened: the click of balls and the hum of 
voices resounded thence : Mr. Rochester, Miss Ingram, 
the two Misses Eshton, and their admirers, were all 
busied in the game. It required some courage to disturb 
so interesting a party ; my errand, however, was one I 
could not defer, so I approached the master where he 
stood at Miss Ingram's side. She turned as I drew near 
and looked at me haughtily: her eyes seemed to de- 
mand, " What can the creeping creature want now ? " 
and when I said, in a low voice, " Mr. Rochester, " she 



JANE EYRE. 821 

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. 

"Does that person want you?" she inquired of Mr. 
Rochester ; and Mr. Rochester turned to see who the 
"person" was. He made a curious grimace, — one of 
his strange and equivocal demonstrations — threw down 
his cue and followed me from the room. 

" Well, Jane ?" he said, as he rested his back against 
the schoolroom 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 mc." 

" 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 Gates- 
head, 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." 

VOL. I. — 21 



322 JANE EYRE. 

"Why?" 

" Because I was poor, and burdensome, and she dis- 
liked 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 reriest 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 commit- 
ted 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 ofiF." 

" Yes, sir, but that is long ago ; and when her cir- 
cumstances were very different : 1 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." 

" 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, sir, she has sent her coachman." 

" A person to be trusted ? " 

" Yes, sir, he has lived ten years in the family.'' 



JANE EYRE. 323 

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 ? " 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 scanti- 
ness pleased him. Soon he produced his pocket-book : 
" Here," said he, offering me a note : it was fifty pounds, 
and he owed me but fifteen. I told him I had no 
change. 

" I don't want change : you know that. Take your 
wages." 

I declined accepting more than was my due. 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 : I 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 married ? " 

"Yes: what then?" 

" In that case, sir, Adfile ought to go to school : I am 
sure you will perceive the necessity of it." 

" To get her out of my bride's way ; who might other- 
wise walk over her rather too emphatically. There's 



324 JANE EYRE. 

sense in the suggestion; not a doubt of it: Ad^le, as 
you say, must go to school ; and you, of course, must 
march straight to — the devil ? " 

'^ I hope noty sir : but I must seek another situation 
somewhere." 

" In course ! " he exclaimed, with a twang of voice 
and a distortion of features equally fantastic and ludi- 
crous. 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 with my relatives 
as would justify me in asking favors of them — but I 
shall advertise." 

" You shall walk up the pyramids of Egypt ! " he 
growled. " At your peril you advertise ! I wish 
I had only offered you a sovereign instead of ten 
pounds. Give me back nine pounds, Jane ; I 've a use 
for it." 

"And so have I, sir," I returned, putting my hands 
and my purse behind me. "I could not spare the money 
on any account." 

" Little niggard ! " said he, " refusing me a pecuniary 
request ! Give me five pounds, Jane." 

" Not five shillings, sir ; nor five pence." 

" Just let me look at the cash." 

" No, sir ; you are not to be trusted." 

"Jane!" 

"Sir?" 

" 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 situ- 
ation to me. I '11 find you one in time." 

" I shall be glad so to do, sir, if you, in your turn, 



JANE EYRE. 325 

will promise that I and Addle shall be both safe out of 
the house before your bride enters it." 

" Very well ! very well ! I '11 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-by for a little while ?" 

" I suppose so, sir." 

" And how do people perform that ceremony of part- 
ing, Jane ? Teach me ; 1 'm not quite up to it." 

" They say. Farewell ; or any other form they prefer." 

"Then say it" 

" Farewell, Air. 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 un- 
friendly. 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 '11 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 o£F before he had risen in the 
morning. 

I reached the lodge at Gateshead about five o'clock in 



326 JANE EYRE. 

the afternoon of the first of May: I stepped in there 
before going up to the Hall. It was very clean and 
neat : the ornamental windows were hung with little 
white curtains; the floor was spotless; the grate and 
fire-irons were burnished briglit, and the fire burned 
clear. Bessie sat on the hearth, nursing her last-born, 
and Robert and his sister played quietly in a comer. 

" 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 wish- 
ing you would come : but she is sleeping now ; or was 
ten minutes ago, when I was up at the house. She gen- 
erally 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 : after- 
wards she insisted on my taking ofiE my bonnet and hav- 
ing 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 occa- 



JANE EYKE. 827 

sional tap or push, just as she used to give me in former 
days. Bessie had retained her quick temper as well as 
her light foot and good looks. 

Tea ready, I was going to approach the table ; but she 
desired me to sit still, quite in her old, peremptory tones. 
I must be served at the fireside, she said ; and she placed 
before me a little round stand with my cup and a plate 
of toast, absolutely as she used to accommodate me with 
some privately purloined dainty on a nursery chair : and 
I smiled and obeyed her as in bygone days. 

She wanted to know if I was happy at Thomfield 
Hall, and what sort of a person the mistress was ; and 
when I told there was only a master, whether he was a 
nice gentleman, and if I liked him. I told her he was 
rather an ugly man, but quite a gentleman ; and that he 
treated me kindly, and I was content. Then I went on 
to describe to her the gay company that had lately been 
staying at the house; and to these details Bessie lis- 
tened with interest: they were precisely of the kind 
she relished. 

In such conversation an hour was soon gone : Bessie 
restored to me my bonnet, etc., and, accompanied by 
her, I quitted the lodge for the Hall. It was also accom- 
panied by her that I had, nearly nine years ago, walked 
down the path I was now ascending. On a dark, misty, 
raw morning in January, I had left a hostile roof with a 
desperate and embittered heart — a sense of outlawry 
and almost of reprobation — to seek the chilly harbor- 
age of Lowood : that bourne so far away and unex- 
plored. 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. 



1/ 



328 



JANE EYRE. 



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. Brocklc- 

hurst : 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 occupy- 
ing their old place on 
the third shelf, and Gul- 
liver's Travels and the 
Arabian Nights ranged 
just above. The inani- 
mate objects were not 
changed : but the liv- 
ing things had altered 
past recognition. 

Two young ladies ap- 
peared 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 aug- 
mented 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 




' Two younjT ladies appeared be- 
fore me." 



JANE EYRE. 829 

Btring 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 colorless visage. 

The other was as certainly (Jeorgiana; but not the 
Georgiana I remembered — the slim and fairy-like girl of 
eleven. This was a full-blown, very plump damsel, fair 
as wax-work ; with handsome and regular features, lan- 
guishing blue eyes, and ringletted yellow hair. The 
hue of her dress was black too ; but its fashion was so 
different from her sister's — so much more flowing and 
becoming — it looked as stylish as the other's looked 
puritanical. 

In each of the sisters there was one trait of the 
mother — and only one : the thin and pallid elder 
daughter had her parent's cairngorm eye : the bloom- 
ing and luxuriant younger girl had her contour of jaw 
and chin, — perhaps a little softened, but still imparting 
an indescribable hardness to the countenance, otherwise 
so voluptuous and buxom. 

Both ladies, as I advanced, rose to welcome me, and 
both addressed me by the name of " Miss Eyre." Eliza's 
greeting was delivered in a short, abrupt voice, without 
a smile ; and then she sat down again, fixed her eyes on 
the fire, and seemed to forget me. Georgiana added to 
her " How d'ye do ? " several commonplaces 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 remarkable way of letting you know that 
they think you a "quiz," without actually saying the 
words. A certain superciliousness of look, coolness of 
manner, nonchalance of tone, express fully their senti- 



830 JANE EYRE. 

meuts on the point, without committing them hj 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 feel- 
ings 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 Georgiana; who thought fit to bridle at the direct 
address, as if it were an unexpected liberty. 

" Mrs. Reed ? Ah ! mama you mean ; she is extremely 
poorly : I doubt if you can see her to-night." 

" If," said I, " you would just step upstaire and tell 
her I am come, I should be much obliged to you." 

Georgiana almost started, and she opened her blue 
eyes wild and wide. " I know she had a particular wish 
to see me," I added, " and I would not defer attending 
to her desire longer than is absolutely necessary." 

"Mama dislikes being disturbed in an evening," re- 
marked Eliza. I soon rose, quietly took oflf 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 re- 
ceive 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 



JANE EYRE. 831 

been to-day, I should, a year ago, have resolved to quit 
Gateshead the very next morning ; now, it was disclosed 
to me all at once, that that would be a foolish plan. I 
had taken a journey of a hundred miles to see my aunt, 
and I must stay with her till she was better — or dead : 
as to her daughters* pride or folly, I must put it on one 
side; make myself independent of it. So I addressed 
the housekeeper; 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 chastise- 
ment or reprimand in former days. I hastened before 
Bessie, I softly opened the door : a shaded light stood 
on the table, for it was now getting dark. There was 
the great four-post bed with amber hangings as of old : 
there the toilet-table, the arm-chair, and the foot-stool : 
at which I had a hundred times been sentenced to kneel, 
to ask pardon for offences, by me, uncommitted. I 
looked into a certain comer 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 leaned 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 prompt- 
ings of rage and aversion : I had left this woman in bit- 
terness and hate, and I came back to her now with no 
other emotion than a sort of ruth for her great suffer- 



832 JAXE EYRE. 

ings, and a strong yearning to forget and foi^ve all 
injuries — to be reconciled and clasp hands in amity. 

The well-known face was there : stem, relentless as 
ever — there was that peculiar eye which nothing could 
melt ; and the somewhat raised, imperious, despotic eye- 
brow. 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 
1 stooped down and kissed her : she looked at me. 

" Is 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 un- 
impressionable 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, indis- 
soluble 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 de- 
termination to subdue her — to be her mistress in spite 
both of her nature and her will. My tears had risen, 
just as in childhood : I ordered them back to their 
source. I brought a chair to the bed-head : I sat down 
and leaned over the pillow. 

" You sent for me," I said, " and I am here ; and it is 
my intention to stay till I see how you get on." 



JANE EYRE. 



888 



" 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" 




" She regarded me so icily." 

The wandering look and changed utterance told what 
wreck had taken place in her once vigorous frame. 
Turning restlessly, she drew the bed-clothes round her -, 
my elbow, resting on a corner of the quilt, fixed it 
down : she was at once irritated. 

" Sit up ! " said she ; " don't annoy me with holding 
the clothes fast — are you Jane Eyre ? " 



334 JANE EYKE. 

" 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 as she caused me, daily 
and hourly, with her incomprehensible disposition, and 
her sudden starts of temper, and her continual, unnatu- 
ral watchings of one's movements ! I declare she talked 
to me once like something mad, or like a fiend — no 
child ever spoke or looked as she did ; I was glad to get 
her away from the house. What did they do with her 
at Lowood? The fever broke out there, and many of 
the pupils died. She, however, did not die : but I said 
she did — I wish she had died!" 

" A strange wish, Mrs. Reed : why do you hate 
her so?" 

" I had a dislike to her mother always ; for she was 
my husband's only sister, and a great favorite 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 moan- 
ing. 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 beggar : the darlings 
could not bear it, and he was angry with them when 
they showed their dislike. In his last illness, he had 
it brought continually to his bedside ; and but an hour 
before he died, he bound me by vow to keep the creature. 
I would as soon have been charged with a pauper brat 



JANE EYRE. 835 

out of a workhouse : but he was weak, naturally weak. 
John does not at all resemble his father, and I am glad 
of it: John is like me and like my brothers — he is 
quite a Gibson. Oh, I wish he would cease tormenting 
me with letters for money ! 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 be- 
set 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. " L think 1 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 sometimes that I see him laid out with 
a great wound in his throat, or with a swollen and 
blackened face. •! am come to a strange pass : I have 
heavy troubles. What is to be done ? How is the 
money to be had ? " 

Bessie now endeavored 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 
conversation with her. She continued either delirious 
or lethargic ; and the doctor forbade everything which 



336 JAXE EYRE. 

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 1 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 evernahifting kaleidoscope of im- 
agination : a glimpse of sea between two rocks ; the 
rising moon, and a ship crossing its disk; a group of 
reeds and water-flags, and a naiad's head crowned with 
lotus-flowers, rising out of them ; an elf sitting in a 
hedge-sparrow's nest, under a wreath of hawthorn- 
bloom. 

One morning I fell to sketching a face : what sort of 
a face it was to be, I did not care or know. I took a 
soft black pencil, gave it a broad point, and worked 
away. Soon I had traced on the paper a broad and 
prominent forehead, and a square lower outline of vis- 
age : that contour gave me pleasure ; my fingers pro- 
ceeded actively to fill it with features. Strongly-marked 
horizontal eyebrows must be traced under that brow; 
then followed, naturally, a well-defined nose, with a 
straight ridge and full nostrils ; then a flexible-looking 
mouth, by no means narrow ; then a firm chm, with 
a decided cleft down the middle of it : of course, some 
black whiskers were wanted, and some jetty hair, 



JANE EYRE. 337 

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 surveyed the effect : 
" They want more force and spirit ; ** and I wrought the 
shades blacker, that the lights might flash more brilli- 
antly — 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 waB absorbed and content. 

" Is that a portrait of some one you know ? " asked 
Eliza, who had approached me imnoticed. I responded 
that it waa 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 ? Georgi- 
ana also advanced to look. The other drawings pleased 
her much, but she called that " an ugly man." They 
both seemed surprised at my skill. I offered to sketch 
their portraits ; and each, in turn, sat for a pencil out- 
line. Then Georgiana produced her album. I promised 
to contribute a water-color drawing: this put her at 
once into good-humor. She proposed a walk in the 
grounds. Before we had been out two hours, we were 
deep in a confidential conversation : she had favored 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 re- 

voL. I. — 22 



838 JANE EYRE. 

ported, 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 communi- 
cations 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 brother's death, or the present 
gloomy state of the family prospects. Her mind seemed 
wholly taken up with reminiscences of past gayeiy, and 
aspirations after dissipations to come. She passed about 
five minutes each day in her mother's sick-room and 
no more. 

Eliza still spoke little: she had evidently no time to 
talk. I never saw a busier person than she seemed to 
be ; yet it was difficult to say what she did : or rather, 
to discover any result of her diligence. She had an 
alarum to call her up early. I know not how she oc- 
cupied herself before breakfast, but after that meal she 
divided her time into regular portions; and each hour 
had its allotted task. Three times a day she studied 
a little book, which I found, on inspection, was a 
Common Prayer Book. I asked her once what was 
the great attraction of that volume, and she said ** the 
Rubric." Three hours she gave to stitching, with gold 
thread, the border of a square crimson cloth, almost 
large enough for a carpet. In answer to my inquiries 
after the use of this article, she informed me it was 
a covering for the altar of a new church lately erected 
near Gateshead. Two hours she devoted to her diary ; 
two to working by 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 



JANE EYRE. 889 

incident which forced her to vary its clock-work 
regularity. 

She told me one evening, when more disposed to be 
communicative than usual, that John's conduct, and the 
threatened ruin of the family, had been a source of pro- 
found affliction to her : but she had now, she said, settled 
her mind, and formed her resolution. Her own fortune 
she had taken care to secure ; and when her mother 
died, — and it was wholly improbable, she tranquilly 
remarked, that she should either recover or linger long, 
— she would execute a long cherished project: seek a 
retirement where punctual habits would be permanently 
secured from disturbance, and place safe barriers between 
herself and a frivolous world. 1 asked if Georgiana 
would accompany her. 

^^ Of course not. Georgiana and she had nothing in 
common : they never had had. She would not be bur- 
dened with her society for any consideration. Georgi- 
ana 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 cm the sofa, fretting 
about the dulness of the house, and wishing over and 
over again that her aunt Gibson would send her an in- 
vitation 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 re- 
ferred 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 sud- 



340 JANE EYRE. 

denly took her up thus: — "(Seorgiana, 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 scene of contin- 
ual change and excitement, or else the world is a dun- 
geon : 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 de>i8e a system which will make you indepen- 
dent of all efforts, and all wills, but your own ? Take 
one day ; share it into sections ; to each section appor- 
tion 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, however bad and insufferable 
they may be. I tell you this plainly ; and listen : for 
though I shall no more repeat what I am now about to 
say, I shall steadily act on it. After my mother's death, 
1 wash my hands of you : from the day her coffin is 



JANE EYRE. 841 

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 de- 
livering that tirade," answered Georgiana. " Everybody 
knows you are the most selfish heartless creature in 
existence : and I know your spiteful hatred towards 
me : I have had a specimen of it before in the trick you 
played me about Lord Edwin Vere : you could not bear 
me to be raised above you, to have a title, to be received 
into circles where you dare not show your face, and so 
you acted the spy and informer, and ruined my pros- 
pects forever." Georgiana took out her handkerchief 
and blew her nose for an hour afterwards ; Eliza sat 
cold, impassible, and assiduously industrious. 

True, generous feeling is made small account of by 
some : but here were two natures rendered, the one in- 
tolerably acrid, the other despicably savorless for the 
want of it. /Feeling without judgment is a washy draught 
indeed ; bur judgment untempered by feeling is too bit- 
ter and husky a morsel for htmian deglutition. \ 

It was a wet and windy afternoon: Georgiana had 
fallen asleep on the sofa over the perusal of a novel ; 
Eliza was gone to attend a saint's-day service at the 
new church — for in matters of religion she was a 
rigid formalist : no weather ever prevented the punc- 
tual discharge of what she considered her devotional 



842 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 dy- 
ing 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 un- 
watched, 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 bed-clothes, gazed 
awhile on her who could not now gaze on me, and then 
I moved away to the window. 

The rain beat strongly against the panes, the wind 
blew tempestuously : " One lies there," I thought, " who 
will soon be beyond the war of earthly elements. 
Whither will that spirit — now struggling to quit its 
material tenement — flit when at length released?'^ 

In pondering the great mystery, I thought of Helgji. 
Buj3i% recalled her dying words — her faith — her doc- 
' trine 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 death- 
bed, 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 ? " 



JANE EYRE. 848 

looking at me with surprise 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 
understood, and that her senses were quite collected, I 
explained how Bessie had sent her husband to fetch me 
from Thomfield. 

" I am very ill, I know," she said ere long. " I was 
trying to turn myself a few minutes since, and find I 
cannot move a limb. It is as well I should ease my 
mind before I die: what we think little of in health, 
burdens us at such an hour as the present is to me. Ts 
the nurse here ? or is there no one in the room but 
you?" 

I assured her we were alone. 

" Well, I have twice done you a wrong which I regret 
now. One was in breaking the promise which I gave my 
husband to bring you up as my own child ; the other " 
— she stopped. " After all, it is of no great impor- 
tance, perhaps," she murmured to herself : " and then 
I may get better; and to humble myself so to her is 
painful." 



844 JANE EYRE. 

She made an effort to alter her position, but failed : 
her face changed; she seemed to experience some in- 
ward 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* 

^' Bead the letter," she said. 

It was short, and thus conceived : — 

*' Madam, — 

WiU you have the goodness to send me the address of 
my niece, Jane Eyre, and to tell me how she is : it is my in- 
tention to write shortly and desire her to come to me at 
Madeira. Providence has blessed my endeavors to> secure a 
competency ; and as I am unmarried and childless, I wish 
to adopt her during my life, and. bequeath her at my death 
whatever I may have to leave. 

I am» Madam,, etc* etc. 

John Etre, 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 



JANE EYRE. 845 

had looked up at me with human ejes and cursed me 
in a man's voice. Bring me some water! Oh, make 
haflte ! '' 

'^ Dear Mrs. Reed," said I, as I offered her the draught 
she required, ^^ think no more of all this, let it pass awaj 
from your mind. Forgive me for my passionate lan- 
guage: I was a child then; eight, nine years have passed 
since that day." 

She heeded nothing of what 1 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 re- 
venge : for you to be adopted by your uncle, and placed 
in a state of ease and comfort was what I could not en- 
dure. I wrote to him ; I said I was sorry for his disap- 
pointment, but Jane Eyre was dead : she had died of 
typhus fever at Lowood. Now act as you please : write 
and contradict my assertion — expose my falsehood as 
soon as you like. You were bom, I think, to be my tor- 
ment : 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 pas- 
sionate, but not vindictive. Many a time, as a little 
child, I should have been glad to love you if you would 
have let me; and I long earnestly to be reconciled to 
you now: kiss me, Aunt." 



846 JANE EYRE. 

I approached my cheek to her lips: she would not 
touch it. She said I oppressed her by leaning over the 
bed ; and again demanded water. As I laid her down — 
for I raised her and supported her on my arm while she 
drank — I covered her ice-cold and clammy hand with 
mine: the feeble fingers shrank from my touch — the 
glazing eyes shunned my gaze. 

" Love me, then, or hate me, as you will," I said at 
last, '^ you have my full and free forgiveness : ask now 
for Ood'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 
hat^ 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 
WIU9 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. 

Elizas surveyed her parent calmly. After a silence of 



JANE EYRE. 847 

some minutes she observed, " With her constitution she 
should have lived to a good old age : her life was short- 
ened by trouble." And then a spasm constricted her 
mouth for an instant : as it passed away she turned and 
left the room, and so did I. Neither of us had dropped 
a tear. 



END OF VOL. I. 



THE BORROWER WILL BE CHARGED 
AN OVERDUE FEE IFTHIS BOOK IS NOT 
RETURNED TO THE LIBRARY ON OR 
BEFORE THE LAST DATE STAMPED 
BELOW. NON-RECEIPT OF OVERDUE 
NOTICES DOES NOT EXEMPT THE 
BORROWER FROM OVERDUE FEES. 



.'Vn.nv^ 
















'^'^ 



:,v-^^ 



;,:<> 







SBf !n"^\ 







»9tf 




>V 



J 




I 



•%,^ 






I