COLLECTION
OF
BRITISH AUTHORS
TAUCHNITZ EDITION.
VOL. 145.
JANE EYRE. BY CURRER BELL.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. I.




TAUCHNITZ EDITION.
By the same Author,
SHIRLEY....... 2 vols.
VILLETTE'...... 2 vols.
THE PROFESSOR.... I vol.




JANE EYRE:
AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY.
BY
CURRER BELL.
COPYRIGHT EDITION.
IN  T W O  V O L U M ES.
VOL. I.
LEIPZIG
BERNHARD TAUCHNITZ
I850.








TO
W. M. THACKERAY, EsQ.
THIS WORK
IS RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED,
BY
THE AUTHOR.








PREFACE
TO THE SECOND LONDON EDITION.
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 personifications 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



8     PREFACE TO THE SECOND LONDON EDITION.
gling stranger; to them, i. e. to my Publishers and the
select Reviewers, I say cordially, Gentlemen, I thank
you from my heart.
Having thus acknowledged what I owe those who
have aided and approved me, I turn to another class;
a small one, so far as I know, but not, therefore, to be
overlooked. I mean the timorous or carping few who
doubt the tendency of such books as "Jane Eyre:" in
whose eyes whatever is unusual is wrong; whose ears
detect in each protest against bigotry-that parent of
crime-an insult to piety, that regent of God on earth.
I would suggest to such doubters certain obvious distinctions; I would remind them of certain simple truths.
Conventionality is not morality.  Self-righteousness
is not religion. To attack the first is not to assail the
last. To pluck the mask from the face of the Pharisee,
is not to lift an impious hand to the Crown of Thorns.
These things and deeds are diametrically opposed:
they are as distinct as is vice from virtue.  Men too
often confound them; they should not be confounded:
appearance should not be mistaken for truth; narrow
human doctrines, that only tend 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 dis



PREFACE TO THE SECOND LONDON EDITION.    9
severed, for it has been accustomed to blend them; finding it convenient to make external show pass for sterling worth-to let whitewashed walls vouch for clean
shrines. It may hate him who dares to scrutinize and
expose —to rase the gilding, and show base metal
under it-to penetrate the sepulchre, and reveal charnel
relics: but hate as it will, it is indebted to him.
Ahab did not like Micaiah, because he never prophesied good concerning him, but evil: probably he
liked the sycophant son of Chenaannah better; yet
might Ahab have escaped a bloody death, had he but
stopped his ears to flattery, and opened them to faithful counsel.
There is a man in our own days whose words are
not framed to tickle delicate ears: who, to my thinking,
comes before the great ones of society, much as the
son of Imlah came before the throned Kings of Judah
and Israel; and who speaks truth as deep, with a power
as prophet-like and as vital-a mien as dauntless and
as daring. Is the satirist of "Vanity Fair" admired in
high places? I cannot tell; but I think if some of those
amongst whom he hurls the Greek fire of his sarcasm,
and over whom he flashes the levin-brand of his denunciation, were to take his warnings in time-they or their
seed might yet escape a fatal Ramoth-Gilead.
Why have I alluded to this man? I have alluded
to him, Reader, because I think I see in him an intel



TO    PREFACE TO THE SECOND LONDON EDITION.
lect profounder and more unique than his contemporaries have yet recognised; because I regard him as the
first social regenerator of the day-as the very master
of that working corps who would restore to rectitude
the warped system of things; because I think no commentator on his writings has yet found the comparison
that suits him, the terms which rightly characterize his
talent. They say he is like Fielding: they talk of his
wit, humour, comic powers. He resembles Fielding as
an eagle does a vulture: Fielding could stoop on carrion, but Thackeray never does. His wit is bright, his
humour attractive, but both bear the same relation to
his serious genius, that the mere lambent sheet-lightning
playing under the edge of the summer-cloud, does to
the electric death-spark hid in its womb. Finally; I
have alluded to Mr. Thackeray, because to him-if he
will accept the tribute of a total stranger-I have dedicated this second edition of "JANE EYRE."
CURRER BELL.
Dec. 21St, 1847.




NOTE
TO THE THIRD LONDON EDITION.
I AVAIL myself of the opportunity which a third
edition of "Jane Eyre" affords me, of again addressing
a word to the public, to explain that my claim to the
title of novelist rests on this one work alone. If, therefore, the authorship of other works of fiction has been
attributed to me, an honour is awarded where it is not
merited; and consequently, denied where it is justly
due.
This explanation will serve to rectify mistakes which
may already have been made, and to prevent future
errors.
CURRER BELL.
Aprzl 13th, 1848.








JANE EYRE.
CHAPTER I.
THERE was no possibility of taking a walk that day.
We had been wandering, indeed, in the leafless shrubbery an hour in the morning; but since dinner (Mrs.
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.
The said Eliza, John, and Georgiana were now
clustered round their mama 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
nj   c~ n9.^C,




14                  JANE EYRE.
under the necessity of keeping me at a distance; but
that until she heard from Bessie, and could discover
by her own observation that I was endeavouring in good
earnest to acquire a more sociable and child-like disposition, a more attractive and sprightly manner,-something lighter, franker, more natural as it were —she
really must exclude me from privileges intended only
for contented, happy, little children."
"What does Bessie say I have done?" I asked.
"Jane, I don't like cavillers or questioners: besides,
there is something truly forbidding in a child taking up
her elders in that manner. Be seated somewhere; and
until you can speak pleasantly, remain silent,"
A small breakfast-room adjoined the drawing-room:
I slipped in there. It contained a book-case: I soon
possessed myself of a volume, taking care that it should
be one stored with pictures. I mounted into the window-seat; gathering up my feet, I sat cross-legged, like
a Turk; and, having drawn the red moreen curtain
nearly close, I was shrined in double retirement.
Folds of scarlet drapery shut in my view to the right
hand; to the left were the clear panes of glass, protecting, but not separating me from the drear November
day. At intervals, while turning over the leaves of my
book, I studied the aspect of that winter afternoon.
Afar, it offered a pale blank of mist and cloud; near, a
scene of wet lawn and storm-beat shrub, with ceaseless
rain sweeping away wildly before a long and lamentable
blast.
I returned to my book-Bewick's History of British
Birds: the letter-press thereof I cared little for, generally speaking; and yet there were certain introductory




JANE EYRE.                 I 5
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 deathwhite realms I formed an idea of my own: shadowy, like
all the half-comprehended notions that float dim through
children's brains, but strangely impressive. The words
in these introductory pages connected themselves with
the succeeding vignettes, and gave significance to the
rock standing up alone in a sea of billow and spray;
to the broken boat stranded on a desolate coast; to the
cold and ghastly moon glancing through bars of cloud
at a wreck just sinking.
I cannot tell what sentiment haunted the quite solitary churchyard, with its inscribed headstone; its gate,
its two trees, its low horizon, girdled by a broken wall,
and its newly-risen crescent, attesting the hour of eventide.




x6                 JANE EYRE.
The two ships becalmed on a torpid sea, I believed
to be marine phantoms.
The fiend pinning down the thief's pack behind
him, I passed over quickly: it was an object of terror.
So was the black, horned thing seated aloof on a
rock, surveying a distant crowd surrounding a gallows.
Each picture told a story; mysterious often to my
undeveloped understanding and imperfect feelings, yet
ever profoundly interesting: as interesting as the tales
Bessie sometimes narrated on winter evenings, when she
chanced to be in good humour; and when, having brought
her ironing-table to the nursery-hearth, she allowed us
to sit about it, and while she got up Mrs. Reed's lace
frills, and crimped her night-cap borders, fed our eager
attention with passages of love and adventure taken
from old fairy tales and older ballads; or (as at a later
period I discovered) from the pages of Pamela, and
Henry, Earl of Moreland.
With Bewick on my knee, I was then happy: happy
at least in my way. I feared nothing but interruption,
and that came too soon.  The breakfast-room door
opened.
"Boh! Madam Mope!" cried the voice of John
Reed; then he paused: he found the room apparently
empty.
"Where the dickens is she?" he continued "Lizzy!
Georgy!" (calling to his sisters) "Joan is not here: tell
mama she is run out into the rain-bad animal!"
"It is well I drew the curtain," thought I; and I
wished fervently he might not discover my hidingplace; nor would John Reed have found it out himself; he was not quick either of vision or conception;




JANE EYRE.                 17
but Eliza just put her head in at the door, and said at
once:"She is in the window-seat, to be sure, Jack."
And I came out immediately; for I trembled at the
idea of being dragged forth by the said Jack.
"What do you want?" I asked, with awkward diffidence.
"Say,'what do you want, Master Reed;'" was the
answer. "I want you to come here;" and seating himself in an arm-chair, he intimated by a gesture that I
was to approach and stand before him.
John Reed was a schoolboy of fourteen years old;
four years 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 mama had taken him
home for a month or two, "on account of his delicate
health." Mr. Miles, the master, affirmed that he would
do very well if he had fewer cakes and sweetmeats sent
him from home; but the mother's heart turned from an
opinion so harsh, and inclined rather to the more
refined idea that John's sallowness was owing to overapplication and, perhaps, to pining after home.
John had not much affection for his mother and
sisters, and an antipathy to me. He bullied and punished
me; not two or three times in the week, nor once or
twice in the day, but continually: every nerve I had
feared him, and every morsel of flesh on my bones
shrank when he came near. There were moments when
fane Eyre. 1.                         2




l8                 JANE EYRE.
I was bewildered by the terror he inspired; because I
had no appeal whatever against either his menaces or
his inflictions; the servants did not like to offend their
young master by taking my part against him, and Mrs.
Reed was blind and deaf on the subject: she never saw
him strike or heard him abuse me; though he did both
now and then in her very presence: more frequently,
however, behind her back.
Habitually obedient to John, I came up to his chair:
he spent some three minutes in thrusting out his tongue
at me as far as he could without damaging the roots;
I knew he would soon strike, and while dreading the
blow, I mused on the disgusting and ugly appearance
of him who would presently deal it. I wonder if he
read that notion in my face; for, all at once, without
speaking, he struck suddenly and strongly. I tottered,
and on regaining my equilibrium retired back a step or
two from his chair.
"That is for your impudence in answering mama a
while 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 dependant, mama says; you have no money; your




JANE EYRE.                 19
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 mama's
expense. Now, I'll teach you to rummage my bookshelves: for they are mine; all the house belongs to
me, or will do in a few years. Go and stand by the
door, out of the way of the mirror and the windows."
I did so, not at first aware what was his intention;
but when I saw him lift and poise the book and stand
in act to hurl it, I instinctively started aside with a cry
of alarm: not soon enough, however; the volume was
flung, it hit me, and I fell, striking my head against the
door and cutting it. The cut bled, the pain was sharp:
my terror had passed its climax; other feelings succeeded.
"Wicked and cruel boy!" I said. "You are like a
murderer-you are like a slave-driver-you are like the
Roman emperors!"
I had read Goldsmith's History of Rome, and had
formed my opinion of Nero, Caligula, &c. Also I had
drawn parellels in silence, which I never thought thus
to have declared aloud.
"What! what!" he cried. "Did she say that to me?
Did you hear her, Eliza and Georgiana? Won't I tell
mama? but first-"
He ran headlong at me: I felt him grasp my hair
and my shoulder: he had closed with a desperate thing.
I really saw in him a tyrant: a murderer. I felt a drop
or two of blood from my head trickle down my neck,
and was sensible of somewhat pungent suffering: these
sensations, for the time predominated over fear, and I
received him in frantic sort. I don't very well know
2*




20                 JANE EYRE.
what I did with my hands, but he called me "Rat!
rat!" and bellowed out aloud.  Aid was near him:
Eliza and Georgiana had run for Mrs. Reed, who was
gone upstairs; she now came upon the scene, followed
by Bessie and her maid Abbot. We were parted: I
heard the words:"Dear! dear! What a fury to fly at Master John!"
"Did ever anybody see such a picture of passion!"
Then Mrs. Reed subjoined:"Take her away to the red-room, and lock her in
there." Four hands were immediately laid upon me,
and I was borne upstairs.
CHAPTER II.
I RESISTED all the way: a new thing for me, and a
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 go all lengths.
"Hold her arms, Miss Abbot; she's like a mad cat."
"For shame! for shame!" cried the lady's-maid.
"What shocking conduct, Miss Eyre, to strike a young
gentleman, your benefactress's son! Your young master!"
"Master! How is he my master? Am I a servant?"
"No; you are less than a servant, for you do nothing
for your keep. There, sit down, and think over your
wickedness."
They had got me by this time into the apartment




JANE EYRE.                 2 I
indicated by Mrs. Reed, and had thrust me upon a
stool: my impulse was to rise from it like a spring,
their two pair of hands arrested me instantly.
"If you don't sit still, you must be tied down," said
Bessie. "Miss Abbot, lend me your garters; she would
break mine directly."
Miss Abbot turned to divest a stout leg of the necessary ligature. This preparation for bonds, and the additional 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 off, you would have to go to the poor-house."
I had nothing to say to these words: they were not
new to me: my very first recollections of existence included hints of the same kind. This reproach of my




22                  JANE EYRE.
dependence had become a vague sing-song in my ear;
very painful and crushing, but only half intelligible.
Miss Abbot joined in:"And you ought not to think yourself on an equality
with the Misses Reed and Master Reed, because missis
kindly allows you to be brought up with them. They
will have a great deal of money, and you will have
none: it is your place to be humble, and 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
pleasant, then, perhaps, you would have a home here;
but if you become passionate and rude, missis will send
you away, I am sure."
"Besides," said Miss Abbot, "God will punish her:
he might strike her dead in the midst of her tantrums,
and then where would she go? Come, Bessie, we will
leave her: I wouldn't have her heart for anything. Say
your prayers, Miss Eyre, when you are by yourself; for
if you don't repent, something bad might be permitted
to come down the chimney, and fetch you away."
They went, shutting the door, and locking it behind
them.
The red-room was a spare chamber, very seldom
slept in; I might say never, indeed; unless when a
chance influx of visitors at Gateshead-hall rendered it
necessary to turn to account all the accommodation it
contained: yet it was one of the largest and stateliest
chambers in the mansion. A bed supported on massive
pillars of mahogany, hung with curtains of deep-red
damask, stood out like a tabernacle in the centre; the




JANE EYRE.                 23
two large windows, with their blinds always drawn down,
were half shrouded in festoons and falls of similar
drapery; the carpet was red; the table at the foot of
the bed was covered with a crimson cloth; the walls
were a soft fawn colour, with a blush of pink in it; the
wardrobe, the toilet-table, the chairs were of darkly
polished old mahogany. Out of these deep surrounding
shades rose high, and glared white, the piled-up mattresses
and pillows of the bed, spread with a snowy Marseilles
counterpane. Scarcely less prominent was an ample,
cushioned easy-chair near the head of the bed, also
white, with a footstool before it; and looking, as I
thought, like a pale throne.
This room was chill, because it seldom had a fire;
it was silent, because remote from the nursery and
kitchens; solemn, because it was known to be so seldom
entered. The house-maid alone came here on Saturdays, to wipe from the mirrors and the furniture a week's
quiet dust: and Mrs. Reed herself, at far intervals,
visited it to review the contents of a certain secret
drawer in the wardrobe, where were stored divers parchments, her jewel-casket, and a miniature of her deceased
husband; and in those last words lies the secret of the
red-room: the spell which kept it so lonely in spite of
its grandeur.
Mr. Reed had been dead nine years; it was in this
chamber he breathed his last; here he lay in state;
hence his coffin was borne by the undertaker's men;
and, since that day, a sense of dreary consecration had
guarded it from frequent intrusion.
My seat, to which Bessie and the bitter Miss Abbot
had left me riveted, was a low ottoman near the




24                  JANE EYRE.
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
pannels; 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, but the effect of
a real spirit: I thought it like one of the tiny phantoms,
half fairy, half imp, Bessie's evening stories represented
as coming out of lone, ferny dells in moors, and appearing before the eyes of belated travellers. I returned
to my stool.
Superstition was with me at that moment; but it
was not yet her hour for complete victory: my blood
was still warm; the mood of the revolted slave was still
bracing me with its bitter vigour; I had to stem a rapid
rush of retrospective thought before I quailed to the
dismal present.
All John Reed's violent tyrannies, all his sisters'
proud indifference, all his mother's aversion, all the
servants' partiality, turned up in my disturbed mind
like a dark deposit in a turbid well. Why was I always suffering, always brow-beaten, always accused, for
ever condemned? Why could I never please? Why




JANE EYRE.                 25
was it useless to try to win any one's favour? Eliza,
who was headstrong and selfish, was respected. Georgiana,
who had a spoiled temper, a very acrid spite, a captious
and insolent carriage, was universally indulged. Her
beauty, her pink cheeks and golden curls, seemed to
give delight to all who looked at her, and to purchase
indemnity for every fault. John, no one thwarted, much
less punished; though he twisted the necks of the
pigeons, killed the little pea-chicks, set the dogs at the
sheep, stripped the hothouse vines of their fruit, and
broke the buds off the choicest plants in the conservatory: he called his mother "old girl," too; sometimes
reviled her for her dark skin, similar to his own; bluntly
disregarded her wishes; not unfrequently tore and
spoiled her silk attire; and he was still "her own darling."  I dared commit no fault: I strove to fulfil every
duty; and I was termed naughty and tiresome, sullen
and sneaking, from morning to noon, and from noon to
night.
My head still ached and bled with the blow and
fall I had received: no one had reproved John for wantonly striking me; and because I had turned against
him to avert farther irrational violence, I was loaded
with general opprobrium.
"Unjust!-unjust!" said my reason, forced by the
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




26                  JANE EYRE.
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, romping child-though equally dependent
and friendless-Mrs. Reed would have endured my
presence more complacently; her children would have
entertained for me more of the cordiality of fellow-feeling; the servants would have been less prone to make
me the scape-goat of the nursery.
Daylight began to forsake the red-room; it was past
four o'clock, and the beclouded afternoon was tending
to drear twilight. I heard the rain still beating continuously on the staircase window, and the wind howling in the grove behind the hall; I grew by degrees
cold as a stone, and then my courage sank. My habitual mood of humiliation, self-doubt, forlorn depression,
fell damp on the embers of my decaying ire. All said




JANE EYRE.                27
I was wicked, and perhaps I might be so: what thought
had I been but just conceiving of starving myself to
death? That certainly was a crime: and was I fit to
die? Or was the vault under the chancel of Gateshead church an inviting bourne! In such vault I had
been told did Mr. Reed lie buried; and led by this
thought to recall his idea, I dwelt on it with gathering
dread. I could not remember him; but I knew that he
was my own uncle-my mother's brother-that he
had taken me when a parentless infant to his house;
and that in his last moments he had required a promise
of Mrs. Reed that she would rear and maintain me as
one of her own children. Mrs. Reed probably considered she had kept this promise; and so she had, I
dare say, as well as her nature would permit her; but
how could she really like an interloper not of her race,
and unconnected with her, after her husband's death, by
any tie? It must have been most irksome to find herself bound by a hard-wrung pledge to stand in the stead
of a parent to a strange child she could not love, and
to see an uncongenial alien permanently intruded on her
own family group.
A singular notion dawned upon me. I doubted not
-never doubted-that if Mr. Reed had been alive he
would have treated me kindly; and now, as I sat looking at the white bed and overshadowed walls-occasionally also turning a fascinated eye towards the dimly
gleaming mirror-I began to recall what I had heard
of dead men, troubled in their graves by the 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




28                 JANE EYRE.
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 en —
deavoured to stifle it-I endeavoured to be firm. Shaking my hair from my eyes, I lifted my head and tried
to look boldly round the dark room: at this moment a
light gleamed on the wall. Was it, I asked myself, a
ray from the moon penetrating some aperture in the
blind? No; moonlight was still, and this stirred; while
I gazed, it glided up to the ceiling and quivered over
my head. I can now conjecture readily 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.
"Miss Eyre, are you ill?" said Bessie.
"What a dreadful noise! it went quite through me!"
exclaimed Abbot.




JANE EYRE.                29
"Take me out! Let me go into the nursery!" was
my cry.
"What for? Are you hurt? Have you seen something?" again demanded Bessie.
"Oh! I saw a light, and I thought a ghost would
come." I had now got hold of Bessie's hand, and she
did not snatch it from me.
"She has screamed out on purpose," declared
Abbot, in some disgust. "And what a scream! If she
had been in great pain one would have excused it,
but she only wanted to bring us all here: I know her
naughty tricks."
"What is all this?" demanded another voice,
peremptorily; and Mrs. Reed came along the corridor,
her cap flying wide, her gown rustling stormily. "Abbot
and Bessie, I believe I gave orders that Jane Eyre should
be left in the red-room till I came to her myself."
"Miss Jane screamed so loud, ma'am," pleaded
Bessie.
"Let her go," was the only answer. "Loose Bessie's
hand, child: you cannot succeed in getting out by these
means, be assured.  I abhor artifice, particularly in
children; it is my duty to show you that tricks will not
answer: you will now stay here an hour longer, and it
is only on condition of perfect submission and stillness
that I shall liberate you then."
"Oh aunt, have pity! Forgive me! I cannot endure
it-let me be punished some other way! I shall be
killed if-"
"Silence! This violence is all most repulsive:" and
so, no doubt, she felt it. I was a precocious actress in
her eyes: she sincerely looked on me as a compound




30                 JANE EYRE.
of virulent passions, mean spirit, and dangerous duplicity.
Bessie and Abbot having retreated, Mrs. Reed, impatient of my now frantic anguish and wild sobs, abruptly
thrust me back and locked me in, without farther parley.
I heard her sweeping away; and soon after she was
gone, I suppose I had a species of fit: unconsciousness
closed the scene.
CHAPTER III.
THE next thing I remember is, waking up with a
feeling as if I had had a frightful night-mare, and
seeing before me a terrible red glare, crossed with
thick black bars. I heard voices, too, speaking with
a hollow sound, and as if muffled by a rush of wind
or water: agitation, uncertainty, and an all-predominating
sense of terror confused my faculties. Ere long, I became aware that some one was handling me; lifting me
up and supporting me in a sitting posture: and that
more tenderly than I had ever been raised or upheld
before. I rested my head against a pillow or an arm,
and felt easy.
In five minutes more, the cloud of bewilderment
dissolved: I knew quite well that I was in my own bed,
and that the red glare was the nursery fire. It was
night: a candle burnt on the table; Bessie stood at the
bed-foot with a basin in her hand, and a gentleman sat
in a chair near my pillow, leaning over me.
I felt an inexpressible relief, a soothing conviction
of protection and security, when I knew that there was
a stranger in the room: an individual not belonging to




JANE EYRE.                3I
Gateshead, and not related to Mrs. Reed. Turning from
Bessie (though her presence was far less obnoxious to
me than that of Abbot, for instance, would have been),
I scrutinized the face of the gentleman: I knew him; it
was Mr. Lloyd, an apothecary, sometimes called in by
Mrs. Reed when the servants were ailing: for herself
and the children she employed a physician.
"Well, who am I?" he asked.
I pronounced his name, offering 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 addressing Bessie, charged her to be very careful
that I was not disturbed during the night.  Having
given some further directions, and intimated that he
should call again the next day, he departed; to my
grief: I felt so sheltered and befriended while he sat
in the 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 anything?"
"No, thank you, Bessie."
"Then I think I shall go to bed, for it is past
twelve o'clock; but you may call me if you want anything in the night."
Wonderful civility this! It emboldened me to ask a
question.
"Bessie, what is the matter with me? Am I ill?"




32                 JANE EYRE.
"You fell sick, I suppose, in the red-room with
crying; you'll be better soon, no doubt."
Bessie went into the housemaid's apartment which
was near. I heard her say,"Sarah, come and sleep with me in the nursery;
I daren't for my life be alone with that poor child tonight; she might die: it's such a strange thing she
should have that fit: I wonder if she saw anything.
Missis was rather too hard."
Sarah came back with her; they both went to bed;
they were whispering together for half an hour before
they fell asleep. I caught scraps of their conversation,
from which I was able only too distinctly to infer the
main subject discussed.
"Something passed her, all dressed in white, and
vanished"-"A great black dog behind him"-"Three
loud raps on the chamber door"-"A light in the
church-yard just over his grave"-&c. &c.
At last both slept: the fire and the candle went
out. For me, the watches of that long night passed
in ghastly wakefulness; ear, eye, and mind were alike
strained by dread: such dread as children only can feel.
No severe or prolonged bodily illness followed this
incident of the red-room: it only gave my nerves a
shock; of which I feel the reverberation to this day.
Yes, Mrs. Reed, to you I owe some fearful pangs of
mental suffering. But I ought to forgive you, for you
knew not what you did: while rending my heartstrings, you thought you were only up-rooting my bad
propensities.
Next day, by noon, I was up and dressed, and sat
wrapped in a shawl by the nursery hearth.   I felt




JANE EVRE.                33
physically weak and broken down: but my worst
ailment was an unutterable wretchedness of mind: a
wretchedness which kept drawing from me silent tears;
no sooner had I wiped one salt drop from my cheek
than another followed. Yet I thought, I ought-to have
been happy, for none of the Reeds were there; they
were all gone out in the carriage with their mama:
Abbot, too, was sewing in another room, and Bessie, as
she moved hither and thither, putting away toys and
arranging drawers, addressed to me every now and
then a word of unwonted kindness. This state of
things should have been to me a paradise of peace,
accustomed as I was to a life of ceaseless reprimand
and thankless fagging; but, in fact, my racked nerves
were now in such a state that no calm could soothe,
and no pleasure excite them agreeably.
Bessie had been down into the kitchen, and she
brought up with her a tart on a certain brightly painted
china plate, whose bird of paradise, nestling in a wreath
of convolvuli and rosebuds, had been wont to stir in
me a most 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 favour! coming, like most other
favours long deferred and often wished for, too late! I
could not eat the tart: and the plumage of the bird,
the tints of the flowers, seemed strangely faded: I put
both plate and tart away. Bessie asked if I would
have a book: the word book acted as a transient
vane Eyre. 1.                         3




34                 JANE EYRE.
stimulus, and I begged her to fetch Gulliver's Travels
from the library. This book I had again and again
perused with delight; I considered it a narrative of
facts, and discovered in it a vein of interest deeper
than what I found in fairy tales: for as to the elves,
having sought them in vain among foxglove leaves and
bells, under mushrooms and beneath the ground-ivy
mantling old wall-nooks, I had at length made up my
mind to the sad truth that they were all gone out of
England to some savage country, where the woods
were wilder and thicker, and the population more
scant; whereas, Lilliput and Brobdignag being, in my
creed, solid parts of the earth's surface, I doubted not
that I might one day, by taking a long voyage, see with
my own eyes the little fields, houses, and trees, the
diminutive people, the tiny cows, sheep, and birds of
the one realm; and the corn-fields forest-high, the
mighty mastiffs, the monster cats, the towerlike 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



JANE EYRE.                     35
"In the days when we went gipsying,
A long time ago."
I had often heard the song before, and always with
lively delight; for Bessie had a sweet voice,-at least,
I thought so. But now, though her voice was still
sweet, I found in its melody an indescribable sadness.
Sometimes, 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 sore, and my limbs they are weary;
Long is the way, and the mountains are wild;
Soon will the twilight close moonless and dreary
Over the path of the poor orphan child.
"Why did they send me so far and so lonely,
Up where the moors spread and grey rocks are piled?
Mlen are hard-hearted, and kind angels only
Watch o'er the steps of a poor orphan child.
"Yet distant and soft the night-breeze is blowing,
Clouds there are none, and clear stars beam mild;
God, in His mercy, protection is showing,
Comfort and hope to the poor orphan child.
"Ev'n should I fall o'er the broken bridge passing,
Or stray in the marshes, by false lights beguiled,
Still will my Father, with promise and blessing,
Take to His bosom the poor orphan child.
"There is a thought that for strength should avail me,
Though both of shelter and kindred despoiled;
Heaven is a home, and a rest will not fail me;
God is a friend to the poor orphan child."
"Come, Miss Jane, don't cry," said Bessie, as she
finished. She might as well have said to the fire "don't
3*




36                 JANM EYRE.
burn!" but how could she divine the morbid suffering
to which I was a prey? In the course of the morning
Mr. Lloyd came again.
"What, already up!" said he, as he entered the
nursery. "Well, nurse, how is she?"
Bessie answered that I was doing very well.
"Then she ought to look more cheerful.  Come
here, Miss Jane: your name is Jane, is it not?"
"Yes, sir, Jane Eyre."
"Well, you have been crying, Miss Jane Eyre, can
you tell me what about? Have you any pain?"
"No, sir."
"Oh! I daresay she is crying because she could not
go out with missis in the carriage," interposed Bessie.
"Surely not! why, she is too old for such pettishness."
I thought so too; and my self-esteem being wounded
by the false charge, I answered promptly, "I never cried
for such a thing in my life: I hate going out in the carriage. I cry because I am miserable."
"Oh fie, miss!" said Bessie.
The good apothecary appeared a little puzzled. I
was standing before him; he fixed his eyes on me very
steadily: his eyes were small and grey; not very bright,
but I daresay I should think them shrewd now; he had
a hard-featured yet good-natured looking face. Having
considered me at leisure, he said"What made you ill yesterday?"
"She had a fall," said Bessie, again putting in her
word.
"Fall! why that is like a baby again! Can't she
manage to walk at her age? She must be eight or
nine years old."




JANE EYRE.                37
"I was knocked down," was the blunt explanation
jerked out of me by another pang of mortified pride:
"but that did not make me ill," I added; while Mr.
Lloyd helped himself to a pinch of snuff.
As he was returning the box to his waistcoat pocket,
a loud bell rang for the servants' dinner; he knew what
it was. "That's for you, nurse," said he; "you can go
down; I'll give Miss Jane a lecture till you come back."
Bessie would rather have stayed; but she was obliged
to go, because punctuality at meals was rigidly enforced
at Gateshead Hall.
"The fall did not make you ill; what did, then?"
pursued Mr. Lloyd, when Bessie was gone.
"I was shut up in a room where there is a ghost,
till after dark."
I saw Mr. Lloyd smile and frown at the same time:
"Ghost! 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 miserable? Are you afraid now in daylight?"
"No; but night will come again before long: and
besides,-I am unhappy,-very unhappy, for other
things."
"What other things? Can you tell me some of
them?"
How much I wished to reply fully to this question!
How difficult it was to frame any answer! Children




38                 JANE EYRE.
can feel, but they cannot analyze their feelings; and if
the analysis is partially effected in thought, they know
not how to express the result of the process in words.
Fearful, however, of losing this first and only opportunity of relieving my grief by imparting it, I, after a
disturbed pause, contrived to frame a meagre, though
as far as it went, true response.
"For one thing, I have no father or mother, brothers
or sisters."
"You have a kind aunt and cousins."
Again I paused; then bunglingly enounced:
"But John Reed knocked me down, and my aunt
shut me up in the red-room."
Mr. Lloyd a second time produced his snuff-box.
"Don't you think Gateshead Hall a very beautiful
house?" asked he. "Are you not very thankful to have
such a fine place to live at?"
"It is not my house, sir; and Abbot says I have less
right to be here than a servant."
"Pooh! you can't be silly enough to wish to leave
such a splendid place?"
"If I had anywhere else to go, I should be glad to
leave it; but I can never get away from Gateshead till
I am a woman."
"Perhaps you may-who knows?     Have you any
relations besides Mrs. Reed?"
"I think not, sir."
"None belonging to your father?"
"I don't know: I asked aunt Reed once, and she
said 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?"




JANE EYRE.                39
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 manners, and debasing vices: poverty for me was synonymous with degradation.
"No; I should not like to belong to poor people,"
was my reply.
"Not even if they were kind to you?"
I shook my head: I could not see how poor people
had the means of being kind; and then to learn to
speak like them, to adopt their manners, to be uneducated, to grow up like one of the poor women I
saw sometimes nursing their children or washing their
clothes at the cottage doors of the village of Gateshead: no, I was not heroic enough to purchase liberty
at the price of caste.
"But are your relatives so very poor? Are they
working people?"
"I cannot tell; Aunt Reed says if I have any, they
must be a beggarly set: I should not like to go a
begging."
"Would you like to go to school?"
Again I reflected: I scarcely knew what school
was; Bessie sometimes spoke of it as a place where
young ladies sat in the stocks, wore backboards, and
were expected to be exceedingly genteel and precise;
John Reed hated his school, and abused his master:
but John Reed's tastes were no rule for mine, and if
Bessie's accounts of school-discipline (gathered from
the young ladies of a family where she had lived be



40                 JANE EYRE.
fore coming to Gateshead) 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 emulation as I listened. Besides, school
would be a complete change: it implied a long journey,
an entire separation from Gateshead, an entrance into a
new life.
"I should indeed like to go to school," was the
audible conclusion of my musings.
"Well, well; who knows what may happen?" said
Mr. Lloyd, as he got up: "The child ought to have
change of air and scene;" he added, speaking to himself, "nerves not in a good state."
Bessie now returned; at the same moment the carriage was heard rolling up the gravel-walk.
"Is that your mistress, nurse?" asked Mr. Lloyd:
"I should like to speak to her before I go."
Bessie invited him to walk into the breakfast-room,
and led the way out. In the interview which followed
between him and Mrs. Reed, I presume, from afteroccurrences, that the apothecary ventured to recommend my being sent to school; and the recommendation
was no doubt readily enough adopted: for as Abbot
said, in discussing the subject with Bessie when both
sat sewing in the nursery one night, after I was in
bed, and, as they thought, asleep, "Missis was, she
dared say, glad enough to get rid of such a tiresome,
ill-conditioned child, who always looked as if she were




JANE EYRE.                4 
watching everybody, and scheming plots underhand."
Abbot, I think, gave me credit for being a sort of infantine Guy Fawkes.
On that same occasion I learned, for the first time,
from Miss Abbot's communications to Bessie, that my
father had been a poor clergyman; that my mother had
married him against the wishes of her friends, who
considered the match beneath her; that my grandfather
Reed was so irritated at her disobedience, he cut her
off without a shilling; that after my mother and father
had been married a year, the latter caught the typhus
fever while visiting among the poor of a large manufacturing town where his curacy was situated, and
where that disease was then prevalent; that my mother
took the infection from him, and both died within a
month of each other.
Bessie, when she heard this narrative, sighed and
said, "Poor Miss Jane is to be pitied, too, Abbot."
"Yes," responded Abbot, "if she were a nice, pretty
child, one might compassionate her forlornness; but one
really cannot care for such a little toad as that."
"Not a great deal, to be sure," agreed Bessie: "at
any rate a beauty like Miss Georgiana would be more
moving in the same condition."
"Yes, I doat on Miss Georgiana!" cried the fervent
Abbot. "Little darling!-with her long curls and her
blue eyes, and such a sweet colour as she has; just as
if she were painted!-Bessie, I could fancy a Welsh
rabit for supper."
"So could I —-with a roast onion. Come, we'll go
down." They went.




42                 JANE EYRE.
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 nursery while my cousins were constantly in the drawing-room. Not a hint, however, did
she drop about sending me to school: still I felt an
instinctive certainty that she would not long endure me
under the same roof with her; for her glance, now more
than ever, when turned on me, 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 desperate revolt which had stirred my corruption
before, he thought it better to desist, and ran from me
uttering execrations, and vowing I had burst his nose.
I had indeed levelled at that prominent feature as hard




JANE EYRE.                43
a blow as my knuckles could inflict; and when I saw
that either that or my look daunted him, I had the
greatest inclination to follow up my advantage to purpose; but he was already with his mama. I heard him
in a blubbering tone commence the tale of how "that
nasty Jane Eyre" had flown at him like a mad cat: he
was stopped rather harshly"Don't talk to me about her, John: I told you not
to go near her; she is not worthy of notice; I do not
choose that either you or your sisters should associate
with her."
Here, leaning over the banister, I cried out suddenly, and without at all deliberating on my words,"They are not fit to associate with me."
Mrs. Reed was rather a stout woman; but, on hearing this strange and audacious declaration, she ran
nimbly up the stair, swept me like a whirlwind into the
nursery, and crushing me down on the edge of my
crib, dared me in an emphatic voice to rise from that
place, or utter one syllable during the remainder of
the day.
"What would uncle Reed say to you, if he were
alive?" was my scarcely voluntary demand.  I say
scarcely voluntary, for it seemed as if my tongue pronounced words without my will consenting to their utterance: something spoke out of me over which I had
no control.
"What?" said Mrs. Reed under her breath: her
usually cold, composed grey eye became troubled with
a look like fear; she took her hand from my arm, and
gazed at me as if she really did not know whether I
were child or fiend. I was now in for it.




44                 JANE EYRE.
"My uncle Reed is in heaven, and can see all you
do and think; and so can papa and mama: they know
how you shut me up all day long, and how you wish
me dead."
Mrs. Reed soon rallied her spirits: she shook me
most soundly, she boxed both my ears, and then left
me without a word. Bessie supplied the hiatus by a
homily of an hour's length, in which she proved beyond
a doubt that I was the most wicked and abandoned
child ever reared under a roof. I half believed her;
for I felt indeed only bad feelings 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 gaiety consisted in witnessing the daily apparelling of Eliza and Georgiana, and
seeing them descend to the drawing-room, dressed out
in thin muslin frocks and scarlet sashes, with hair
elaborately ringleted; and afterwards, in listening to
the sound of the piano or the harp played below, to
the passing to and fro of the butler and footman, to
the jingling of glass and china as refreshments were
handed, to the broken hum of conversation as the
drawing-room doors opened and closed. When tired
of this occupation, I would retire from the stair-head
to the solitary and silent nursery: there, though somewhat sad, I was not miserable. To speak truth, I had
not the least wish to go into company, for in company
I was very rarely noticed; and if Bessie had but been
kind and companionable, I should have deemed it a




JANE EYRE.                 45
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 kitchen and
housekeeper's room, generally bearing the candle along
with her. I then sat with my doll on my knee, till
the fire got low, glancing round occasionally, to make
sure that nothing worse than myself haunted the shadowy
room; and when the embers sank to a dull red, I undressed hastily, tugging at knots and strings as I best
might, and sought shelter from cold and darkness in my
crib. To this crib I always took my doll; human beings
must love something, and in the dearth of worthier objects of affection, I contrived to find a pleasure in loving
and cherishing a faded graven image, shabby as a
miniature scarecrow. It puzzles me now to remember
with what absurd sincerity I doated on this little toy;
half-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 suppera 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




46                 JANE EYRE.
in the world; and I wished most intensely that she
would always be so pleasant and amiable, and never
push me about, or scold, or task me unreasonably, as
she was too often wont to do. Bessie Lee must, I
think, have been a girl of good natural capacity; for
she was smart in all she did, and had a remarkable
knack of narrative: so, at least, I judge from the impression made on me by her nursery tales. She was
pretty, too, if my recollections of her face and person
are correct. I remember her as a slim young woman,
with black hair, dark eyes, very nice features, and
good, clear complexion; but she had a capricious and
hasty temper, and indifferent ideas of principle or
justice: still, such as she was, I preferred her to any
one else at Gateshead Hall.
It was the fifteenth of January, about nine o'clock
in the morning: Bessie was gone down to breakfast; my
cousins had not yet been summoned to their mama;
Eliza was putting on her bonnet and warm gardencoat 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 corners, wrapped in a rag or an old curl-paper;




JANE EYRE.                 47
but some of these hoards having been discovered by
the housemaid, Eliza, fearful of one day losing her
valued treasure, consented to intrust it to her mother,
at a usurious rate of interest-fifty or sixty per cent.:
which interest she exacted every quarter, keeping her
accounts in a little book with anxious accuracy.
Georgiana sat on a high stool, dressing her hair at
the glass, and interweaving her curls with artificial flowers
and faded feathers, of which she had found a store in
a drawer in the attic. I was making my bed; having
received strict orders from Bessie to get it arranged before she returned (for Bessie now frequently employed
me as a sort of under nursery-maid, to tidy the room,
dust the chairs, &c.). Having spread the quilt and
folded my night-dress, I went to the window-seat to put
in order some picture-books and doll's house furniture
scattered there; an abrupt command from Georgiana
to let her playthings alone (for the tiny chairs and
mirrors, the fairy plates and cups were her property)
stopped my proceedings; and then, for lack of other
occupation, I fell to breathing on the frost-flowers with
which the window was fretted, and thus clearing a
space in the glass through which I might look out on
the grounds, where all was still and petrified under the
influence of a hard frost.
From this window were visible the porter's lodge
and the carriage-road, and just as I had dissolved so
much of the silver-white foliage veiling the panes, as
left room to look out, I saw the gates thrown open and
a carriage roll through. I watched it ascending the
drive with indifference: carriages often came to Gateshead, but none ever brought visitors in whom, I was




48                 JANE EYRE.
interested; it stopped in front of the house, the doorbell rang loudly, the new comer was admitted. Ali
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 having crumbled a
morsel of roll, I was tugging at the sash to put out the
crumbs on the window-sill, when Bessie came running
upstairs into the nursery.
"Miss Jane, take off your pinafore: what are you
doing there? Have you washed your hands and face
this morning?" I gave another tug before I answered,
for I wanted the bird to 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 washstand, inflicted a merciless,
but happily brief, scrub on my face and hands with
soap, water, and a coarse towel; disciplined my head
with a bristly brush, denuded me of my pinafore, and
then hurrying me to the top of the stairs, bid me go
down directly, as I was wanted in the breakfast-room.
I would have asked who wanted me: I would have




JANE EYRE.                49
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; I feared to go
forward to the parlour; ten minutes I stood in agitated
hesitation: the vehement ringing of the breakfast-room
bell decided me; I must enter.
"Who could want me?" I asked inwardly, as with
both hands I turned the stiff door-handle which, for a
second or two, resisted my efforts. "What should I see
besides aunt Reed in the apartment?-a man or a
woman?" The handle turned, the door unclosed, and
passing through and curtseying low, I looked up at-a
black pillar!-such, at least, appeared to me, at first
sight, the straight, narrow, sable-clad shape standing
erect on the rug: the grim face at the top was like a
carved mask, placed above the shaft by way of capital.
Mrs. Reed occupied her usual seat by the fireside:
she made a signal to me to approach: I did so, and
she introduced me to the stony stranger with the words:
"This is the little girl respecting whom I applied to
you."
He, for it was a man, turned his head slowly towards where I stood, and having examined me with the
Yane Eyre. I.                         4




50                 JANE EYRE.
two inquisitive-looking grey eyes which twinkled under
a pair of bushy brows, said solemnly, and in a bass
voice: "Her size is small: what is her age?"
"Ten years."
"So much?" was the doubtful answer; and he prolonged his scrutiny for some minutes. Presently he addressed me:"Your name, little girl?"
"Jane Eyre, sir."
In uttering these words, I looked up: he seemed to
me a tall gentleman; but then I was very little; his
features were large, and they and all the lines of his
frame were equally harsh and prim.
"Well, Jane Eyre, and are you a good child?"
Impossible to reply to this in the affirmative: my
little world held a contrary opinion: I was silent. Mrs.
Reed answered for me by an expressive shake of the
head, adding soon, "Perhaps the less said on that subject the better, Mr. Brocklehurst."
"Sorry indeed to hear it! she and I must have some
talk;" and bending from the perpendicular, he installed
his person in the arm-chair, opposite Mrs. Reed's. "Come
here," he said.
I stepped across the rug; he placed me square and
straight before him. What a face he had, now that it
was almost on a level with mine! what a great nose!
and what a mouth! and what large prominent teeth!
"No sight so sad as that of a naughty child," he
began, "especially a naughty little girl. Do you know
where the wicked go after death?"
"They go to hell," was my ready and orthodox
answer.




JANE EYRE.                5 
"And what is hell? Can you tell me that?"
"A pit full of fire."
"And should you like to fall into that pit, and to
be burning there for ever?"
"No, sir."
"What must you do to avoid it?"
I deliberated a moment; my answer, when it did
come, was objectionable: "I must keep in good health,
and not die."
"How can you keep in good health? Children
younger than you die daily. I buried a little child of
five years 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.
"I 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?"
continued my interrogator.
"Yes, sir."
"Do you read your bible?"
"Sometimes."
"With pleasure? Are you fond of it?"
"I like Revelations, and the book of Daniel, and
Genesis and Samuel, and a little bit of Exodus, and
4*




52                 JANE EYRE.
some parts of Kings and Chronicles, and Job and
Jonah."
"And the Psalms? I hope you like them."
"No, sir."
"No? oh, shocking! I have a little boy, younger
than you, who knows six Psalms by heart: and when
you ask him which he would rather have, a gingerbread nut to eat, or a verse of a Psalm to learn, he
says:'Oh! the verse of a Psalm! angels sing Psalms;'
says he,'I wish to be a little angel here below;' he
then gets two nuts in recompense for his infant piety."
"Psalms are not interesting," I remarked.
"That proves you have a wicked heart; and you
must pray to God to change it: to give you a new and
a clean one: to take away your heart of stone and give
you a heart of flesh."
I was about to propound a question, touching the
manner in which that operation of changing my heart
was to be performed, when Mrs. Reed interposed, telling me to sit down; she then proceeded to carry on the
conversation herself.
"Mr. Brocklehurst, I believe I intimated in the
letter which I wrote to you three weeks ago, that this
little girl has not quite the character and disposition I
could wish: should you admit her into Lowood school,
I should be glad if the superintendent and teachers were
requested to keep a strict eye on her, and, above all,
to guard against her worst fault, a tendency to deceit.
I mention this in your hearing, Jane, that you may not
attempt to impose on Mr. Brocklehurst."
Well might I dread, well might I dislike Mrs. Reed;
for it was her nature to wound me cruelly: never was I




JANE EYRE.                53
happy in her presence: however carefully I obeyed,
however strenuously I strove to please her, my efforts
were still repulsed and repaid by such sentences as the
above. Now, uttered before a stranger, the accusation
cut me to the heart: I dimly perceived that she was
already obliterating hope from the new phase of existence
which she destined me to enter; I felt, though I could
not have expressed the feeling, that she was sowing
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 teachers."
"I should wish her to be brought up in a manner
suiting her prospects," continued my benefactress; "to
be made useful, to be kept humble: as for the vacations, she will, with your permission, spend them always
at Lowood."
"Your decisions are perfectly judicious, madam,"
returned Mr. Brocklehurst.  "Humility is a Christian
grace, and one peculiarly appropriate to the pupils of
Lowood; I, therefore, direct that especial care shall be
bestowed on its cultivation amongst them. I have studied
how best to mortify in them the worldly sentiment of
pride; and only the other day, I had a pleasing proof




54                  JANE EYRE.
of my success. My second daughter, Augusta, went
with her mama to visit the school, and on her return
she exclaimed:'Oh, dear papa, how quiet and plain all
the girls at Lowood look! with their hair combed behind
their ears, and their long pinafores, and those little
holland pockets outside their frocks-they are almost
like poor people's children! and,' said she,'they looked
at my dress and mama's, as if they had never seen a
silk gown before.'"
"This is the state of things I quite approve," returned Mrs. Reed; "had I sought all England over, I
could scarcely have found a system more exactly fitting
a child like Jane Eyre.  Consistency, my dear Mr.
Brocklehurst; I advocate consistency in all things."
"Consistency, madam, is the first of Christian
duties; and it has been observed in every arrangement
connected with the establishment of Lowood: plain fare,
simple attire, 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?"
"Madame, you may: she shall be placed in that
nursery of chosen plants-and I trust she will show
herself grateful for the inestimable privilege of her
election."
"I will send her, then, as soon as possible, Mr.
Brocklehurst; for, I assure you, I feel anxious to be
relieved of a responsibility that was becoming too irksome."
"No doubt, no doubt, madam: and now I wish you




JANE EVRE.                55good-morning.  I shall return to Brocklehurst-hall in
the course of a week or two: my good friend, the Archdeacon, will not permit me to leave him sooner. I shall
send Miss Temple notice that she is to expect a new
girl, so that there will be no difficulty about receiving
her. Good-bye."
"Good-bye, Mr. Brocklehurst; remember me to Mrs.
and Miss Brocklehurst, and to Augusta and 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 carriage, he departed.
Mrs. Reed and I were left alone: some minutes
passed in silence; she was sewing, I was watching her.
Mrs. Reed might be at that time some six or seven
and thirty; she was a woman of robust frame, square
shouldered and strong-limbed, not tall, and though
stout not obese; she had a somewhat large face, the
under-jaw being much developed and very solid; her
brow was low, her chin large and prominent, mouth and
nose sufficiently regular; under her light eyebrows glimmered an eye devoid of 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;




56                 JANE EYRE.
she dressed well, and had a presence and port calculated to set off handsome attire.
Sitting on a low stool, a few yards from her armchair, I examined her figure; I perused her features.
In my hand I held the tract, containing the sudden
death of the Liar: to which narrative my attention had
been pointed as to an appropriate warning. What had
just passed; what Mrs. Reed had said concerning me to
Mr. Brocklehurst; the whole tenor of their conversation,
was recent, raw, and stringing in my mind; I had felt
every word as acutely, as I had heard it plainly; and a
passion of resentment fomented now within me.
Mrs. Reed looked up from her work; her eye settled
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
must turn: but how? What strength had I to dart retaliation 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 L"
Mrs. Reed's hands still lay on her work inactive:
her eyes of ice continued to dwell freezingly on mine:




JANE EYRE.                57
"What more have you to say?" she asked, rather in
the tone in which a person might address an opponent
of adult age than such as is ordinarily used to a child.
That eye of hers, that voice stirred every antipathy
I had. Shaking from head to foot, thrilled with ungovernable excitement, I continued:"I am glad you are no relation of mine: I will never
call you aunt again as long as I live. I will never come
to see you when I am grown up; and if any one asks
me how I liked you, and how you treated me, I will say
the very thought of you makes me sick, and that you
treated me with miserable cruelty."
"How dare you affirm that, Jane Eyre?"
"How dare I, Mrs. Reed?  How dare I? Because
it is the truth. You think I have no feelings, and that
I can do without one bit of love or kindness; but I cannot live so: and you have no pity. I shall remember
how you thrust me back-roughly and violently thrust
me back-into the red-room, and locked me up there,
to my dying day; though I was in agony; though I
cried out, while suffocating with distress,'Have mercy!
Have mercy, aunt Reed!' And that punishment you
made me suffer because your wicked boy struck meknocked me down for nothing. I will tell anybody who
asks me questions, this exact tale. People think you a
good woman, but you are bad; hard-hearted. You are
deceitful!"
Ere I had finished this reply, my soul began to expand, to exult, with the strangest sense of freedom, of
triumph, I ever felt. It seemed as if an invisible bond
had burst, and that I had struggled out into unhopedfor liberty.  Not without cause was this sentiment:




58                  JANE EYRE.
Mrs. Reed looked frightened; her work had slipped
from her knee; she was lifting up her hands, rocking
herself to and fro, and even twisting her face as if she
would cry.
"Jane, you are under a mistake; what is the matter
with you? Why do you tremble so violently? Would
you like to drink some water?"
"No, Mrs. Reed."
"Is there anything else you wish for, Jane? I assure
you, I desire to be your friend."
"Not you. You told Mr. Brocklehurst I had a bad
character, a deceitful disposition; and I'll let everybody
at Lowood know what you are, and what you have
done."
"Jane, you don't understand these things: children
must be corrected for their faults."
"Deceit is not my fault!" I cried out in a savage,
high voice.
"But you are passionate, Jane, that you must allow:
and now return to the nursery-there's a dear-and lie
down a little."
"I am not your dear; I cannot lie down: send me
to school soon, Mrs. Reed, for I hate to live here."
"I will indeed send her to school soon," murmured
Mrs. Reed, sotto 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 a while 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




JANE EYRI.                59
accelerated throb of my pulses. A child cannot quarrel
with its elders, as I had done; cannot give its furious
feelings uncontrolled play, as I had given mine; without
experiencing afterwards the pang of remorse and the
chill of reaction.  A ridge of lighted heath, alive,
glancing, devouring, would have been a meet emblem
of my mind when I accused and menaced Mrs. Reed:
the same ridge, black and blasted after the flames are
dead, would have represented as meetly my subsequent
condition, when half an hour's silence and reflection
had shown me the madness of my conduct, and the
dreariness of my hated and hating position.
Something of vengeance I had tasted for the first
time; as aromatic wine it seemed, on swallowing, warm
and racy: its after-flavour, metallic and corroding, gave
me a sensation as if I had been poisoned. Willingly
would I now have gone and asked Mrs. Reed's pardon;
but I knew, partly from experience and partly from instinct, that was the way to make her repulse me with
double scorn, thereby re-exciting every turbulent impulse
of my nature.
I would fain exercise some better faculty than that
of fierce speaking; fain find nourishment for some less
fiendish feeling than that of sombre indignation. I took
a book-some Arabian tales; I sat down and endeavoured to read. 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




60                 JANE EYRE.
in a part of the plantation which was quite sequestered:
but I found no pleasure in the silent trees, the falling
fir-crones, the congealed relics of autumn, russet leaves,
swept by past winds in heaps, and now stiffened together. I leaned against a gate, and looked into an
empty field where no sheep were feeding, where the
short grass was nipped and blanched. It was a very
gray day; a most opaque sky, "onding on snaw,"
canopied all; thence flakes fell at intervals, which
settled on the hard path and on the hoary lea without
melting. I stood, a wretched child enough, whispering
to myself over and over again, "What shall I do?what shall I do?"
All at once I heard a clear voice call, "Miss Jane!
where are you? Come to lunch!"
It was Bessie, I knew well enough; but I did not
stir; her light step came tripping down the path.
"You naughty little thingl" 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 nurse-maid's
transitory anger; and I was disposed to bask in her
youthful lightness of heart. I just put my two arms
round her, and said, "Come, Bessie! don't scold."
The action was more frank and fearless than any
I was 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?"




JANE EYRE.                6
I nodded.
"And won't you be sorry to leave poor Bessie?"
"What does Bessie care for me? She is always
scolding me."
"Because you're such a queer, frightened, shy, little
thing. You should be bolder."
"What! to get more knocks?"
"Nonsense! But you are rather put upon, that's
certain. My mother said, when she came to see me
last week, that she would not like a little one of her
own to be in your place.-Now, come in, and I've some
good news for you."
"I don't think you have, Bessie."
"Child! what do you mean? What sorrowful eyes
you fix on me! Well! but missis and the young ladies
and Master John are going out to tea this afternoon,
and you shall have tea with me. I'll ask cook to bake
you a little cake, and then you shall help me to look
over your drawers; for I am soon to pack your 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 go."
"Well, I will: but mind, you are a very good girl,
and don't be afraid of me. Don't start when I chance
to speak rather sharply: it's so provoking."
"I don't think I shall ever be afraid of you again,
Bessie, because I have got used to you; and I shall
soon have another set of people to dread."
"If you dread them, they'll dislike you."
"As you do, Bessie?"




62                 JANE EYRE.
"I don't dislike you, miss; I 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 daresay now if I were to ask you for a kiss
you wouldn't give it me: you'd say you'd rather not."
"I'll kiss you and welcome: bend your head down."
Bessie stooped; we mutually embraced, and I followed
her into the house quite comforted. That afternoon
lapsed in peace and harmony; and in the evening Bessie
told me some of her most enchaining 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 Igth of January, when Bessie brought a candle into
my closet and found me already up and nearly dressed.
I had risen half an hour before her entrance, and had
washed my face, and put on my clothes by the light of
a half-moon just setting, whose ray streamed through
the narrow window near my crib. I was to leave Gates



JANE EYRE.                63
head that day by a coach which passed the lodge gates
at six A.M. Bessie was the only person yet risen; she had
lit a fire in the nursery, where she now proceeded to
make my breakfast. Few children can eat when excited with the thoughts of a journey; nor could I.
Bessie, having pressed me in vain to take a few spoonfuls of the boiled milk and bread she had prepared for
me, wrapped up some biscuits in a paper and put them
into my bag, then she helped me on with my pelisse
and bonnet, and wrapping herself in a shawl, she and
I left the nursery. As we passed Mrs. Reed's bed-room,
she said, "Will you go in and bid missis good-bye?"
"No, Bessie: she came to my crib last night when
you were gone down to supper, and said I need not
disturb her in the morning, or my cousins either; and
she told me to remember that she had always been my
best friend, and to speak of her and be grateful to her
accordingly."
"What did you say, miss?"
"Nothing: I covered my face with the bed-clothes,
and turned from her to the wall."
"That was 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-bye to Gateshead!" cried I, as we passed
through the hall and went out at the front door.
The moon was set, and it was very dark; Bessie
carried a lantern, whose light glanced on wet steps and
gravel road sodden by a recent thaw. Raw and chill
was the winter morning; my teeth chattered as I hastened
down the drive. There was a light in the porter's lodge;




64                 JAN  EmE.
when we reached it we found the porter's wife just kind.
ling 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.
"Ay, ay!" was the answer: the door was slapped to,
a voice exclaimed "All right," and on we drove. Thus
was I severed from Bessie and Gateshead: thus whirled
away to unknown, and, as I then deemed, remote and
mysterious regions.
I remember but little of the journey: I only know
that the day seemed to me of a preternatural length,
and that we appeared to travel over hundreds of miles
of road. We passed through several towns, and in one,
a very large one, the coach stopped; the horses were
taken out, and the passengers alighted to dine. I was
carried into an inn, where the guard wanted me to




JANM EYRE.                65
have some dinner; but, as I had no appetite, he left me
in an immense room with a fire-place at each end, a
chandelier pendent from the ceiling, and a little red
gallery high up against the wall filled with musical instruments. Here I walked about for a long time, feeling very strange, and mortally apprehensive of some
one coming in and kidnapping me: for I believed in
kidnappers; their exploits having frequently figured in
Bessie's fire-side 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 grey
hills heaved up round the horizon: as twilight deepened,
we descended a valley, dark with wood, and long after
night had overclouded the prospect, I heard a wild wind
rushing amongst trees.
Lulled by the sound, I at last dropped asleep: I had
not long slumbered when the sudden cessation of motion awoke me; the coach-door was open, and a person
like a servant was standing at it: I saw her face and
dress by the light of the lamps.
"Is there a little girl called Jane Eyre here?" she
asked. I aswered "Yes," and was then lifted out;
my trunk was handed down, and the coach instantly
drove away.
I was stiff with long sitting, and bewildered with the
noise and motion of the coach: gathering my faculties,
I looked about me. Rain, wind, and darkness filled the
yane Eyre. I.                        5




66                 JANE EYRE.
air; nevertheless, I dimly discerned a wall before me
and a door open in it; through this door I passed with
my new guide: she shut and locked it behind her.
There was now visible a house or houses-for the building spread far-with many windows; and lights burning
in some; we went up a broad pebbly path, splashing
wet, and were admitted at a door; then the servant led
me through a passage into a room with a fire, where
she left me alone.
I stood and warmed my numbed fingers over the
blaze, then I looked round; there was no candle, but
the uncertain light from the hearth showed by intervals,
papered walls, carpet, curtains, shining mahogany furniture: it was a parlour, not so spacious or splendid as
the drawing-room at Gateshead, but comfortable enough.
I was puzzling to make out the subject of a picture on
the wall, when the door opened, and an individual
carrying a light entered; another followed close behind.
The first was a tall lady with dark hair, dark eyes,
and a pale and large forehead; her figure was partly
enveloped in a shawl, her countenance was grave, her
bearing erect.
"The child is very young to be sent alone," said
she, putting her candle down on the table. She considered me attentively for a minute or two, then further
added,"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




JANE EYRE.                67
first time you have left your parents to come to school,
my little girl?"
I explained to her that I had no parents. She inquired how long they had been dead; then how old I
was, what was my name, whether I could read, write,
and sew a little: then she touched my cheek gently
with her forefinger, and saying, "She hoped I should be
a good child," dismissed me along with Miss Miller.
The lady I had left might be about twenty-nine;
the one who 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 afterwards found she really
was, an under-teacher. Led by her, I passed from compartment to compartment, from passage to passage, of
a large and irregular building; till, emerging from the
total and somewhat dreary silence pervading that portion of the house we had traversed, we came upon the
hum of many voices, and presently entered a wide, long
room, with great deal tables, two at each end, on each
of which burnt a pair of candles, and seated all round
on benches, a congregation of girls of every age, from
nine or ten to twenty. Seen by the dim light of the
dips, their number to me appeared countless, though
not in reality exceeding eighty; they were uniformly
dressed in brown stuff frocks of quaint fashion, and
long holland pinafores. It was the hour of study; they
were engaged in conning over their to-morrow's task,
and the hum I had heard was the combined result of
their whispered repetitions.




68                  JANE EYRE.
Miss Miller signed to me to sit on a bench near
the door, then walking up to the top of the long room,
she cried out,"Monitors, collect the lesson-books and put them
away!"
Four tall girls arose from different tables, and going
round, gathered the books and removed them. Miss
Miller again gave the word of command,"Monitors, fetch the supper-trays!"
The tall girls went out and returned presently, each
bearing a tray, with portions of something, I knew not
what, arranged thereon, and a pitcher of water and mug
in the middle of each tray. The portions were handed
round; those who liked took a draught of the water,
the mug being common to all. When it came to my
turn, I drank, for I was thirsty, but did not touch the
food; excitement and fatigue rendering me incapable of
eating: I now saw, however, that it was a thin oaten
cake, shared into fragments.
The meal over, prayers were read by Miss Miller,
and the classes filed off-two and two up stairs. Overpowered by this time with weariness, I scarcely noticed
what sort of a place the bed-room was; except that, like
the school-room, I saw it was very long. To-night I was
to be Miss Miller's bed-fellow; she helped me to undress: when laid down I glanced at the long rows of
beds, each of which was quickly filled with two occupants; in ten minutes the single light was extinguished;
amidst silence and complete darkness, I fell asleep.
The night passed rapidly: I was too tired even to
dream; I only once awoke to hear the wind rave in
furious gusts, and the rain fall in torrents, and to be




JANE EYRE.                 69
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 burnt in the
room. I too rose reluctantly; it was bitter cold, and I
dressed as well as I could for shivering, and washed
when there was a basin at liberty: which did not occur
soon, as there was but one basin to six girls, on the
stands down the middle of the room. Again the bell
rang: all formed in file, two and two, and in that order
descended the stairs and entered the cold and dimly-lit
school-room: 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 semicircles, before four chairs, placed at the four
tables; all held books in their hands, and a great book,
like a Bible, lay on each table, before the vacant seat. A
pause of some seconds succeeded, filled up by the low,
vague hum of numbers; Miss Miller walked from class
to class, hushing this indefinite sound.
A distant bell tinkled: immediately three ladies entered the room, each walked to a table and took her
seat; Miss Miller assumed the fourth vacant chair, which
was that nearest the door, and around which the smallest
of the children were assembled: to this inferior class I
was called, and placed at the bottom of it.
Business now began: the day's Collect was repeated,
then certain texts of scripture were said, and to these
succeeded a protracted reading of chapters in the Bible,




70                 JANE EVRE.
which lasted an hour. By the time that exercise was
terminated, day had fully dawned. The indefatigable
bell now sounded for the fourth time: the classes were
marshalled and marched into another room to breakfast: how glad I was to behold a prospect of getting
something to eat! I was now nearly sick from inanition,
having taken so little the day before.
The refectory was a great, low-ceiled gloomy room;
on two long tables smoked basins of something hot,
which, however, to my dismay, sent forth an odour far
from inviting. I saw a universal manifestation of discontent when the fumes of the repast met the nostrils
of those destined to swallow it: from the van of the
procession, the tall girls of the first class, rose the
whispered words:"Disgusting! The porridge is burnt again!"
"Silence!" ejaculated a voice; not that of Miss Miller,
but one of the upper teachers, a little and dark personage,
smartly dressed, but of somewhat morose aspect, who
installed herself at the top of one table, while a more
buxom lady presided at the other. I looked in vain
for her I had first seen the night before; she was not
visible: Miss Miller occupied the foot of the table where
I sat, and a strange foreign looking, elderly lady, the
French teacher, as I afterwards found, took the corresponding seat at the other board. A long grace was said
and a hymn 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




JANF EYRE,                71
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 expressed displeasure, and one of them,
the stout one, whispered:"Abominable stuff! How shameful!"
A quarter of an hour passed before lessons again
began, during which the school-room was in a glorious
tumult; for that space of time, it seemed to be permitted to talk loud and more freely, and they used their
privilege. The whole conversation ran on the breakfast,
which one and all abused roundly. Poor things! it was
the sole consolation they had. Miss Miller was now the
only teacher in the room: a group of great girls standing about her, spoke with serious and sullen gestures.
I heard the name of Mr. Brocklehurst pronounced by
some lips; at which Miss Miller shook her head disapprovingly; but she made no great effort to check the
general wrath: doubtless she shared in it.
A clock in the school-room 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




72                 JANE EYRE.
quelled the Babel clamour of tongues. The upper
teachers now punctually resumed their posts: but still,
all seemed to wait. Ranged on benches down the sides
of the room, the eighty girls sat motionless and erect:
a quaint assemblage they appeared, all with plain locks
combed from their faces, not a curl visible; in brown
dresses, made high and surrounded by a narrow tucker
about the throat, with little pockets of holland (shaped
something like a Highlander's purse) tied in front of
their frocks, and destined to serve the purpose of a
work-bag: all too wearing woollen stockings and countrymade shoes, fastened with brass buckles. Above twenty
of those clad in this costume were full-grown girls; or
rather young women: it suited them ill, and gave an air
of oddity even to the prettiest.
I was still looking at them, and also at intervals
examining the teachers-none of whom precisely pleased
me; for the stout one was a little coarse, the dark one
not a little fierce, the foreigner harsh and grotesque,
and Miss Miller, poor thing! looked purple, weatherbeaten, and over-worked-when, as my eye wandered
from face to face, the whole school rose simultaneously,
as if moved by a common spring.
What was the matter? I had heard no order given:
I was puzzled. Ere I had gathered my wits, the classes
were again seated: but as all eyes were now turned to
one point, mine followed the general direction, and encountered the personage who had received me last night.
She stood at the bottom of the long room, on the hearth;
for there was a fire at each end: she surveyed the two
rows of girls silently and gravely. Miss Miller approach



JANE EYRE.                 73
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!"
While the direction was being executed, the lady
consulted moved slowly up the room. I suppose I have
a considerable organ of Veneration, for I retain yet the
sense of admiring awe with which my eyes traced her
steps. Seen now, in broad daylight, she looked tall,
fair, and shapely; brown eyes, with a benignant light in
their irids, and a fine pencilling of long lashes round,
relieved the whiteness of her large front; on each of her
temples her hair, of a very dark brown, was clustered
in round curls, according to the fashion of those times,
when neither smooth bands nor long ringlets were in
vogue; her dress, also in the mode of the day, was of
purple cloth, relieved by a sort of Spanish trimming of
black velvet; a gold watch (watches were not so common then as now) shone at her girdle. Let the reader
add, to complete the picture, refined features; a complexion, if pale, clear; and a stately air and carriage,
and he will have, at least, as clearly as words can give
it, a correct idea of the exterior of Miss Temple,-Maria
Temple, as I afterwards saw the name written in a
prayer-book entrusted to me to carry to church.
The superintendent of Lowood (for such was this
lady) having taken her seat before a pair of globes
placed on one of the tables, summoned the first class
round her, and commenced giving a lesson in geography;
the lower classes were called by the teachers: repetitions
in history, grammar, &c., went on for an hour; writing
and arithmetic succeeded, and music lessons were given
by Miss Temple to some of the elder girls. The dura



74                  JANE EYRE,
tion of each lesson was measured by the clock, which
at last struck twelve. The superintendent rose:"I have a word to address to the pupils," said she.
The tumult of cessation from lessons was already
breaking forth, but it sank at her voice. She went
on:"You had this morning a breakfast which you
could not eat; you must be hungry:-I have ordered
that a lunch of bread and cheese shall be served
to all."
The teachers looked at her with a sort of surprise.
"It is to be done on my responsibility," she added,
in an explanatory tone to them, and immediately afterwards 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!" Each put on a coarse straw bonnet, with strings
of coloured calico, and a cloak of grey frieze. I was
similarly equipped, and, following the stream, I made
my way into the open air.
The garden was a wide enclosure, surrounded with
walls so high as to exclude every glimpse of prospect;
a covered verandah ran down one side, and broad
walks bordered a middle space divided into scores of
little beds: these beds were assigned as gardens for the
pupils to cultivate, and each bed had an owner. When
full of flowers they would, doubtless, look pretty; but
now, at the latter end of January, all was wintry blight
and brown decay. I shuddered as I stood and looked
round me: it was an inclement day for out-door exercise; not positively rainy, but darkened by a drizzling




JANE EYRE.                75
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 verandah; and amongst these, as the dense mist
penetrated to their shivering frames, I heard frequently
the sound of a hollow cough.
As yet I had spoken to no one, nor did anybody
seem to take notice of me; I stood lonely enough: but
to that feeling of isolation I was accustomed; it did not
oppress me much. I leant against a pillar of the
verandah, drew my gray mantle close about me, and,
trying to forget the cold which nipped me without, and
the unsatisfied hunger which gnawed me within, delivered myself up to the employment of watching and
thinking. My reflections were too undefined and fragmentary to merit record: I hardly yet knew where I was;
Gateshead and my past life seemed floated away to an
immeasurable 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, containing the school-room and dormitory, was lit by mullioned and latticed windows, which gave it a churchlike aspect; a stone tablet over the door, bore this
inscription:"Lowood Institution.-This portion was rebuilt
A.D.-, by Naomi Brocklehurst, of Brocklehurst Hall,
in this county." "Let your light so shine before men
that they may see your good works, and glorify your
Father which is in heaven."-St. Matt. v. I6.




76                 JANE EYRE.
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 endeavouring to make
out a connection between the first words and the verse
of scripture, when the sound of a cough close behind
me, made me turn my head. I saw a girl sitting on a
stone bench near; she was bent over a book, on the
perusal 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 attractive. In
turning a leaf she happened to look up, and I said to
her directly:"Is your book interesting?" I had already formed
the intention of asking her to lend it to me some day.
"I like it," she answered, after a pause of a second
or two, during which she examined me.
"What is it about?" I continued. I hardly know
where I found the hardihood thus to open a conversation with a stranger; the step was contrary to my nature
and habits: but I think her occupation touched a cord
of sympathy somewhere; for I too liked reading, though
of a frivolous and childish kind; I could not digest or
comprehend the serious or substantial.
"You may look at it," replied the girl, offering me
the book.
I did so; a brief examination convinced me that the
contents were less taking than the title: "Rasselas"
looked dull to my trifling taste; I saw nothing about
fairies, nothing about genii; no bright variety seemed
spread over the closely-printed pages. I returned it to
her; she received it quietly, and without saying anything




JANE EYRE.                77
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 neighbourhood and in London."
"Who was Naomi Brocklehurst?"
"The lady who built the new part of this house as
the table records, and whose son overlooks and directs
everything here."
"Why?"




78                 JANE EYRE.
"Because he is treasurer 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, no! 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 off, at a large hall."
"Is he a good man?"
"He is a clergyman, and is said to do a great deal
of good."
"Did you say that tall lady was called Miss
Temple?"
"Yes."
"And what are the other teachers called?"
"The one with red cheeks is called Miss Smith;
she attends to the work, and cuts out-for we make
our own clothes, our frocks, and pelisses, and everything; the little one with black hair is Miss Scatcherd;
she teaches history and grammar, and hears the second
class repetitions; and the one who wears a shawl, and
has a pocket-handkerchief tied to her side with a yellow riband, is Madame Pierrot: she comes from Lisle,
in France, and teaches French."
"Do you like the teachers?"
"Well enough."
"Do you like the little black one, and the Madame-?-I cannot pronounce her name as you do."
"Miss Scatcherd is hasty-you must take care not




JANE EYRE.                 79
to offend' her; Madame Pierrot is not a bad sort of
person."
"But Miss Temple is the best-isn't she?"
"Miss Temple is very good, and very clever; she is
above the rest, because she knows far more than
they do."
"Have you been long here?"
"Two years."
"Are you an orphan?"
"My mother is dead."
"Are you happy here?"
"You ask rather too many questions. I have given
you answers enough for the present: now I want to
read."
But at that moment the summons sounded for
dinner: all re-entered the house. The odour which
now filled the refectory was scarcely more 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 preparation a tolerably abundant plateful was apportioned to each pupil. I ate what I could,
and wondered within myself whether every day's fare
would be like this.
After dinner, we immediately adjourned to the
school-room: lessons recommenced, and were continued
till five o'clock.
The only marked event of the afternoon was, that
I saw the girl with whom I had conversed in the
verandah, dismissed in disgrace, by Miss Scatcherd,




80                 JANE EVRE.
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 thirteen or upwards. I expected
she would show signs of great distress and shame; but
to my surprise she neither wept nor blushed: composed,
though grave, she stood, the central mark of all eyes.
"How can she bear it so 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 iswhether good or naughty."
Soon after five P. M. we had another meal, consisting
of a small mug of coffee, and half a slice of brown
bread. I devoured my bread and drank my coffee with
relish; but I should have been glad of as much moreI was still hungry. Half an hour's recreation succeeded,
then study; then the glass of water and the piece of
oat-cake, prayers, and bed. Such was my first day at
Lowood.




JANE EYRE.                 8 
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
bed-room windows all night long, had made us shiver
in our beds, and turned the contents of the ewers
to ice.
Before the long hour and a half of prayers and
Bible reading was over, I felt ready to perish with
cold. Breakfast-time came at last, and this morning
the porridge was not burnt; the quality was eatable,
the quantity small; how small my portion seemed! 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 border of muslin two yards long, together with needle,
thimble, &c., and sent me to sit in a quiet corner of
the school-room, 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 read&
bane Eyre. 1.                         6




82                  JANE EYRE.
ing, and as all was quiet, the subject of their lessons
could be heard, together with the manner in which
each girl acquitted herself, and the animadversions or
commendations of Miss Scatcherd on the performance.
It was English history; among the readers, I observed
my acquaintance of the verandah; at the commencement of the lesson, her place had been at the top of
the class, but for some error of pronunciation or some
inattention to stops, she was suddenly sent to the very
bottom. Even in that obscure position, Miss Scatcherd
continued to make her an object of constant notice:
she was contiuually addressing to her such phrases as
the following:"Burns" (such it seems was her name: the girls
here were all called by their surnames, as boys are
elsewhere), "Burs, 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," &c. &c.
A chapter having been read through twice, the
books were closed and the girls examined. The lesson
had comprised part of the reign of Charles I., and there
were sundry questions about tonnage and poundage,
and ship-money, which most of them appeared unable
to answer; still, every little difficulty was solved instantly
when it reached Burns: her memory seemed to have retained the substance of the whole lesson, and she was
ready with answers on every point. I kept expecting
that Miss Scatcherd would praise her attention; but, instead of that, she suddenly cried out:



JANE EYRE.                83
"You dirty, disagreeable girl! you have never cleaned
your nails this morning!"
Burs made no answer: I wondered at her silence.
"Why," thought I, "does she not explain that she
could neither clean her nails nor wash her face, as the
water was frozen?"
My attention was now called off by Miss Smith,
desiring me to hold a skein of thread: while she was
winding it, she talked to me from time to time, asking
whether I had ever been at school before, whether I
could mark, stitch, knit, &c.; till she dismissed me, I
could not pursue my observations on Miss Scatcherd's
movements. When I returned to my seat, that lady
was just delivering an order, of which I did not catch
the import; but Burns immediately left the class, and,
going into the small inner room where the books were
kept, returned in half a minute, carrying in her hand
a bundle of twigs tied together at one end. This
ominous tool she presented to Miss Scatcherd with a
respectful courtesy; then she quietly, and without being
told, unloosed her pinafore, and the teacher instantly
and sharply inflicted on her neck a dozen strokes with
the bunch of twigs. Not a tear rose to 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, "nothing can correct you of your slatternly habits: carry
the rod away."
Burns obeyed: I looked at her narrowly as she
emerged from the book-closet; she was just putting
6*




84                 JANE ETi..
back her handkerchief into her pocket, and the trace
of a tear glistened on her thin cheek.
The play-hour in the evening I thought the pleasantest
fraction of the day at Lowood: the bit of bread, the
draught of coffee swallowed at five o'clock had revived
vitality, if it had not satisfied hunger; the long restraint
of the day was slackened; the school-room felt warmer
than in the morning: its fires being allowed to burn a
little more brightly to supply, in some measure, the
place of candles, not yet introduced; the ruddy gloaming, the licensed uproar, the confusion of many voices
gave one a welcome sense of liberty.
On the evening of the day on which I had seen
Miss Scatcherd flog her pupil, Burns, I wandered as
usual among the forms and tables and laughing groups
without a companion, yet not feeling lonely: when I
passed the windows, I now and then lifted a blind and
looked out; it snowed fast, a drift was already forming
against the lower panes; putting my ear close to the
window, I could distinguish from the gleeful tumult
within, the disconsolate. moan of the wind outside.
Probably, if I had lately left a good home and kind
parents, this would have been the hour when I should
most keenly have regretted the separation: that wind
would then have saddened my heart; this obscure
chaos would have disturbed my peace: as it was I
derived from both a strange excitement, and reckless
and feverish, I wished the wind to howl more wildly,
the gloom to deepen to darkness, and the confusion to
rise to clamour.
Jumping over forms, and creeping under tables, 1
made my way to one of the fire-places: there, kneeling




JANE EYRE.                85
by the high wire fender, I found Burns, absorbed,
silent, abstracted from all round her by the companionship of a book, which she read by the dim glare of the
embers.
"Is it still Rasselas?" I asked, coming behind her.
"Yes," she said, "and I have just finished it."
And in five minutes more she shut it up. I was
glad of this.
"Now," thought I, "I can perhaps get her to talk."
I sat down by her on the floor.
"What is your name besides Burns?"
"Helen."
"Do you come a long way from here?"
"I come from a place further north; quite on the
borders of Scotland."
"Will you ever go back?"
"I hope so; but nobody can be sure of the future."
"You must wish to leave Lowood?"
"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.




86                 JANE EVRE.
It is far better to endure patiently a smart which
nobody feels but yourself, than to commit a hasty
action whose evil consequences will extend to all connected with you-and, besides, the Bible bids us return
good for evil."
"But then it seems disgraceful to be flogged, and
to be sent to stand in the middle of a room full of
people; and you are such a great girl: I am far younger
than you, and I could not bear it."
"Yet it would be your duty to bear it, if you could
not avoid it: it is weak and silly to say you cannot bear
what it is your fate to be required to bear."
I heard her with wonder: I could not comprehend
this doctrine of endurance; and still less could I understand or sympathize with the forbearance she expressed
for her chastiser. Still I felt that Helen Burns considered things by a light invisible to my eyes. I suspected she might be right and I wrong; but I would
not ponder the matter deeply: like Felix, I put it off
to a more convenient season.
"You say you have faults, Helen: what are they?
To me you seem very good."
"Then learn from me, not to judge by appearances:
I am, as Miss Scatcherd said, slatternly; I seldom put,
and never keep, things in order; I am careless; I forget
rules; I read when I should learn my lessons; I have
no method; and sometimes I say, like you, I cannot
bear to be subjected to systematic arrangements. This
is all very provoking to Miss Scatcherd, who is naturally
neat, punctual, and particular."
"And cross and cruel," I added; but Helen Burns
would not admit my addition: she kept silence.




JANEY EYRE.                87
"Is Miss Temple as severe to you as Miss Scatcherd?"
At the utterance of Miss Temple's name, a soft
smile flitted over her grave face.
"Miss Temple is full of goodness; it pains her to
be severe to any one, even the worst in the school: she
sees my errors, and tells me of them gently; and, if I
do anything worthy of praise, she gives me my meed
liberally. One strong proof of my wretchedly defective
nature is, that even her expostulations, so mild, so
rational, have not influence to cure me of my faults;
and even her praise, though I value it most highly,
cannot stimulate me to continued care and foresight."
"That is curious," said I: "it is so easy to be
careful."
"For you I have no doubt it is. I observed you
in your class this morning, and saw you were closely
attentive: your thoughts never seemed to wander while
Miss Miller explained the lesson and questioned you.
Now, mine continually rove away: when I should be
listening to Miss Scatcherd, and collecting all she says
with assiduity, often I lose the very sound of her voice;
I fall into a sort of dream. Sometimes I think I am in
Northumberland, and that the noises I hear round me
are the bubbling of a little brook which runs through
Deepden, near our house;-then, when it comes to my
turn to reply, I have to be wakened; and, having heard
nothing of what was read for listening to the visionary
brook, I have no answer ready."
"Yet how well you replied this afternoon."
"It was mere chance: the subject on which we had
been reading had interested me. This afternoon, in



88                 JANE EYRE.
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 prerogatives of the crown. If he had but been able to
look to a distance, and see how what they call the
spirit of the age was tending! Still, I like Charles-I
respect him-I pity him, poor murdered king! Yes, his
enemies were the worst: they shed blood they had no
right to shed. How dared they kill him!"
Helen was talking to herself now: she had forgotten
I could not very well understand her-that I was ignorant,
or nearly so, of the subject she discussed. I recalled
her to my level.
"And when Miss Temple teaches you, do your
thoughts wander then?"
"No, certainly, not often; because Miss Temple has
generally something to say which is newer than my own
reflections: her language is singularly agreeably 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




JANE EYRE.                89
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."
"It is not violence that best overcomes hate-nor
vengeance that most certainly heals injury."
"What then?"
"Read the New Testament, and observe what Christ
says, and how he acts-make his word your rule, and
his conduct your example."
"What does he say?"
"Love your enemies; bless them that curse you; do
good to them that hate you and despitefully use
you."
"Then I should love Mrs. Reed, which I cannot do;
I should bless her son John, which is impossible."
In her turn, Helen Burns asked me to explain; and
I proceeded forthwith to pour out, in my own way, the
tale of my sufferings and resentments. Bitter and truculent when excited, I spoke as I felt, without reserve or
softening.




90                  JANE EYRE.
Helen heard me patiently to the end: I expected
she would then make a remark, but she said nothing.
"Well," I asked impatiently, "is not Mrs. Reed a
hard-hearted, bad woman?"
"She has been unkind to you, no doubt; because,
you see, she dislikes your cast of character, as Miss
Scatcherd does mine: but how minutely you remember
all she has done and said to you! What a singularly
deep impression her injustice seems to have made on
your heart! No ill usage so brands its record on my
feelings. Would you not be happier if you tried to
forget her severity, together with the passionate emotions
it excited? Life appears to me too short to be spent
in nursing animosity, or registering wrongs. We are,
and must be, one and all, burdened with faults in this
world: but the time will soon come when, I trust, we
shall put them off in putting off our corruptible bodies;
when debasement and sin will fall from us with this
cumbrous frame of flesh, and only the spark of the
spirit will remain,-the impalpable principle of life and
thought, pure as when it left the Creator to inspire the
creature: whence it came it will return; perhaps again
to be communicated to some being higher than manperhaps to pass through gradations of glory, from the
pale human soul to brighten to the seraph! Surely it
will never, on the contrary, be suffered to degenerate
from man to fiend? No; I cannot believe that: I hold
another creed; which no one ever taught me, and which
I seldom mention; but in which I delight, and to which
I cling: for it extends hope to all: it makes Eternity a
rest-a mighty home, not a terror and an abyss. Besides, with this creed, I can so clearly distinguish be



JANE EYRE.                 91
tween 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, injustice never crushes me too low:
I live in calm, looking to the end."
Helen's head, always drooping, sank a little lower
as she finished this sentence. I saw by her look she
wished no longer to talk to me, but rather to converse
with her own thoughts. She was not allowed much
time for meditation: a monitor, a great rough girl,
presently came up, exclaiming in a strong Cumberland
accent,"Helen Burns, if you don't go and put your drawer
in order, and fold up your work this minute, I'll tell
Miss Scatcherd to come and look at it!"
Helen sighed as her reverie fled, and getting up,
obeyed the monitor without reply as without delay.
CHAPTERX VII.
MY first quarter at Lowood seemed an age; and not
the golden age either: it comprised an irksome struggle
with difficulties in habituating myself to new rules and
unwonted tasks. The fear of failure in these points
harassed me worse than the physical hardships of my
lot; though these were no trifles.
During January, February, and part of March, the
deep snows, and after their melting, the almost impassable roads prevented our stirring beyond the garden
walls, except to go to church; but within these limits
we had to pass an hour every day in the open air.
Our clothing was insufficient to protect us from the




92                  JANE EYRE.
severe cold: we had no boots, the snow got into our'
shoes and melted there; our ungloved hands became
numbed and covered with chilblains, as were our feet:
I remember well the distracting irritation I endured
from this cause, every evening when my feet inflamed;
and the torture of thrusting the swelled, raw, and
stiff toes into my shoes in the morning. Then the
scanty supply of food was distressing: with the keen
appetites of growing children, we had scarcely sufficient
to keep alive a delicate invalid. From this deficiency
of nourishment resulted an abuse, which pressed hardly
on the younger pupils: whenever the famished great
girls had an opportunity, they would coax or menace
the little ones out of their portion. Many a time I
have shared between two claimants the precious morsel
of brown bread distributed at tea-time; and after relinquishing to a third, half the contents of my mug of
coffee, I have swallowed the remainder with an accompaniment of secret tears, forced from me by the
exigency of hunger.
Sundays were dreary days in that wintry season.
We had to walk two miles to Brocklebridge church,
where our patron officiated.  We set out cold, we
arrived at church colder: during the morning service
we became almost 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.




JANE EYRE.                93
I can remember Miss Temple walking lightly and
rapidly along our drooping line, her plaid cloak, which
the frosty wind fluttered, gathered close about her, and
encouraging us, by precept and example, to keep up
our spirits, and march forward, as she said, "like stalwart soldiers." The other teachers, poor things, were
generally themselves too much dejected to attempt the
task of cheering others.
How we longed for the light and heat of a blazing
fire when we got back! But, to the little ones at least,
this was denied: each hearth in the school-room 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 halfslice-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 sermon, read by Miss Miller, whose irrepressible
yawns attested her weariness. A frequent interlude of
these performances was the enactment of the part of
Eutychus by some half dozen of little girls; who, overpowered with sleep, would fall down, if not out of the
third loft, yet off the fourth form, and be taken up half
dead. The remedy was, to thrust them forward into




94                 JANE EYRE.
the centre of the school-room, and oblige them to stand
there till the sermon was finished. Sometimes their
feet failed them, and they sank together in a heap;
they were then propped up with the monitors' high
stools.
I have not yet alluded to the visits of Mr. Brocklehurst; and indeed that gentleman was from home during
the greater part of the first month after my arrival;
perhaps prolonging his stay with his friend the archdeacon: his absence was a relief to me. I need not
say that I had my own reasons for dreading his coming: but come he did at last.
One afternoon (I had then been three weeks at
Lowood), as I was sitting with a slate in my hand,
puzzling over a sum in long division, my eyes, raised
in abstraction to the window, caught sight of a figure
just passing: I recognised almost instinctively that gaunt
outline; and when, two minutes after, all the school,
teachers included, rose en masse, it was not necessary
for me to look up in order to ascertain whose entrance
they thus greeted. A long stride measured the schoolroom, and presently beside Miss Temple, who herself
had 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 of
architecture. Yes, I was right: it was Mr. Brocklehurst,
buttoned up in a surtout, and looking longer, narrower,
and more rigid than ever.
I had my own reasons for being dismayed at this
apparition: too well I remembered the perfidious hints
given by Mrs. Reed about my disposition, &c.; the
promise pledged by Mr. Brocklehurst to apprise Miss




JANE EYRE.                95
Temple and the teachers of my vicious nature. All
along I had been dreading the fulfilment of this promise,-I had been looking out daily for the "Coming
Man," whose information respecting my past life and
conversation was to brand me as a bad child for ever:
now there he was. He stood at Miss Temple's side;
he was speaking low in her ear: I did not doubt he
was making disclosure 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
Lowton will do; it struck me that it would be just of
the quality for the calico chemises, and I sorted the
needles to match. You may tell 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 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.




96                  JANE EYRE.
"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 introduced this innovation? and by
what authority?"
"I must be responsible for the circumstance, sir,"
replied Miss Temple: "the breakfast was so ill prepared 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 the spoiling of a meal, the under or the
over dressing of a dish, the incident ought not to be
neutralized by replacing with something more delicate
the comfort lost, thus pampering the body and obviating the aim of this institution; it ought to be improved to the spiritual edification of the pupils, by en



JANE EYRE.                 97
couraging them to evince fortitude under the temporary
privation. A brief address on those occasions would
not be mistimed, wherein a judicious instructor would
take the opportunity of referring to the 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 consolations,'if ye suffer
hunger or thirst for my sake, happy are ye.'  Oh,
madam, when you put bread and cheese, instead of
burnt porridge into these children's mouths, you may
indeed feed their vile bodies, but you little think how
you starve their immortal souls!"
Mr. Brocklehurst again paused-perhaps overcome
by his feelings. Miss Temple had looked down when
he first began to speak to her; but she now gazed
straight before her, and her face, naturally pale as
marble, appeared to be assuming also the coldness and
fixity of that material; 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 hithertho used:"Miss Temple, Miss Temple, what-what is that
girl with curled hair? Red hair, ma'am, curled-curled
Yane Eyre. I.                          7




98                  JANE EYRE.
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
nature: I wish these girls to be the children of Grace:
and why that abundance? I have again and again intimated that I desire the hair to be arranged closely,
modestly, plainly. Miss Temple, that girl's hair must
be cut off entirely; I will send a barber to-morrow: and
I see 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 the manceuvre: it was a pity Mr. Brocklehurst could
not see them too; he would perhaps have felt that,
whatever he might do with the outside of the cup and
platter, the inside was further beyond his interference
than he imagined.
He scrutinized the reverse of these living medals




JANE EYRE.                 99
some five minutes, then pronounced sentence. These
words fell like the knell of doom:"All those top-knots must be cut off."
Miss Temple seemed to remonstrate.
"Madam," he pursued, "I have a Master to serve
whose kingdom is not of this world: my mission is to
mortify in these girls the lusts of the flesh; to teach
them to clothe themselves with shame-facedness and
sobriety, not with braided hair and costly apparel; and
each of the young persons before us has a string of
hair twisted in plaits which vanity itself might have
woven: these, I repeat, must be cut off; think of the
time wasted, of-"
Mr. Brocklehurst was here interrupted: three other
visitors, 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.
The ladies were deferentially received by Miss
Temple, as Mrs. and the Misses Brocklehurst, and
conducted to seats of honour at the top of the room.
It seems they had come in the carriage with their reverend relative, and had been conducting a rummaging
scrutiny of the rooms up stairs, while he transacted
business with the housekeeper, questioned the laundress,
and lectured the superintendent. They now proceeded
7*




00                JANE EYRE.
to address divers remarks and reproofs to Miss Smith,
who was charged with the care of the linen and the
inspection of the dormitories: but I had no time to
listen to what they said; other matters called off and
enchained my attention.
Hitherto, while gathering up the discourse of Mr.
Brocklehurst and Miss Temple, I had not, at the same
time, neglected precautions to secure my personal safety;
which I thought would be effected, if I could only elude
observation. To this end, I had sat well back on the
form, and while seeming to be busy with my sum, had
held my slate in such a manner as to conceal my face:
I might have escaped notice, had not my treacherous
slate somehow happened to slip from my hand, and
falling 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 immediately after-"It is the new pupil, I perceive." And
before I could draw breath, "I must not forget I have
a word to say respecting her." Then aloud: how loud
it seemed to me! "Let the child who broke her slate,
come forward!"
Of my own accord, I could not have stirred; I was
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.




JANE EYRE.                101
"Another minute, and she will despise me for a
hypocrite," thought I; and an impulse of fury against
Reed, Brocklehurst, and Co., bounded in my pulses at
the conviction. I was no Helen Burns.
"Fetch that stool," said Mr. Brocklehurst, pointing
to a very high one from which a monitor had just
risen: it was brought.
"Place the child upon it."
And I was placed there, by whom I don't know: I
was in no condition to note particulars; I was only
aware that they had hoisted me up to the height of
Mr. Brocklehurst's nose, that he was within a yard of
me, and that a spread of shot orange and purple silk
pelisses, and a cloud of silvery plumage extended and
waved below me.
Mr. Brocklehurst hemmed.
"Ladies," said he, turning to his family; "Miss
Temple, teachers, and children, you all see this girl?"
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? 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




102                 JANE, EYRE.
clergyman, with pathos, "this is a sad, a melancholy
occasion; for it becomes my duty to warn you, that
this girl, who might be one of God's own lambs, is a little
castaway: not a member of the true flock, but evidently
an interloper and an alien. You must be on your guard
against her; you must shun her example: if necessary,
avoid her company, exclude her from your sports, and
shut her out from your converse. Teachers, you must
watch her: keep your eyes on her movements, weigh
well her words, scrutinize her actions, punish her body
to save her soul; if, indeed, such salvation be possible,
for (my tongue falters while I tell it) this girl, this child,
the native of a Christian land, worse than many a little
heathen who says its prayers to Brahma and kneels before Juggernaut-this girl is-a liar!"
Now came a pause of ten minutes; during which I,
by this time in perfect possession of my wits, observed
all the female Brocklehursts produce their pocket-handkerchiefs and apply them to their optics, while the
elderly lady swayed herself to and fro, and the two
younger ones whispered, "How shocking!"
Mr. Brocklehurst resumed.
"This I learned from her benefactress; from the
pious and charitable lady who adopted her in her orphan
state, reared her as her own daughter, and whose kindness, whose generosity the unhappy girl repaid by an
ingratitude so bad, so dreadful, that at last her excellent patroness was obliged to separate her from her
own young ones, fearful lest her vicious example should
contaminate their purity: she has sent her here to be
healed, even as the Jews of old sent their diseased to
the troubled pool of Bethesda; and, teachers, super



JANE EYRE.               103
intendent, I beg of you not to allow the waters to stagnate
round her."
With this sublime conclusion, Mr. Brocklehurst adjusted the top button of his surtout, muttered something to his family, who rose, bowed to Miss Temple,
and then all the great people sailed in state from the
room. Turning at the door, my 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: I, who had said
I could not bear the shame of standing on my natural
feet in the middle of the room, was now exposed to
general view on a 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




104                JANE EYRE.
badge;" scarcely an hour ago I had heard her condemned by Miss Scatcherd to a dinner of bread and
water on the morrow, because she had blotted an
exercise in copying it out. Such is the imperfect nature of man! such spots are there on the disc of the
clearest planet; and eyes like Miss Scatcherd's can only
see those minute defects, and are blind to the full
brightness of the orb.
CHAPTER VIII.
ERE the half-hour ended, five o'clock struck; school
was dismissed, and all were gone into the refectory to
tea. I now ventured to descend: it was deep dusk: I
retired into a corner and sat down on the floor. The
spell by which I had been so far supported began to
dissolve; reaction took place, and soon, so overwhelming
was the grief that seized me, I sank prostrate with my
face to the ground. Now I wept: Helen Burns was not
here; nothing sustained me; left to myself I abandoned
myself, and my tears watered the boards. I had meant
to be so good, and to do so much at Lowood; to make
so many friends, to earn respect, and win affection.
Already I had made visible progress: that very morning
I had reached the head of my class; Miss Miller had
praised me warmly; Miss Temple had smiled approbation; she had promised to teach me drawing, and to let
me learn French, if I continued to make similar improvement two months longer: and then I was well received
by my fellow-pupils; treated as an equal by those of
my own age, and not molested by any: now, here I lay




JANE EYRE.               105
again crushed and trodden on; and could I ever rise
more?"
"Never," I thought; and ardently I wished to die.
While sobbing out this wish in broken accents, some
one approached: I started up-again Helen Burns was
near me; the fading fires just showed her coming up
the long, vacant room; she brought my coffee and
bread.
"Come, eat something," she said; but I put both
away from me, feeling as if a drop or a crumb would
have choked me in my present condition. Helen regarded me, probably with surprise: I could not 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
people who have heard you called so, and the world
contains hundreds of millions."
"But what have I to do with millions? The eighty
I know despise me."
"Jane, you 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




10o6               JANE EYRE.
treated you as an especial favourite, you would have
found enemies, declared or covert, all around you, as it
is, the greater number would offer you sympathy if they
dared. Teachers and pupils may look coldly on you
for a day or two, but friendly feelings are concealed in
their hearts; and if you persevere in doing well, these
feelings will ere long appear so much the more evidently
for their temporary suppression. Besides, Jane,"-she
paused.
"Well, Helen?" said I, putting my hand into hers:
she chafed my fingers gently to warm them, and went
on:"If all the world hated you, and believed you
wicked, while your own conscience approved you, and
absolved you from guilt, you would not be without
friends."
"No; I know I should think well of myself; but that
is not enough: if others don't love me, I would rather
die than live-I cannot bear to be solitary and hated,
Helen. Look here; to gain some real affection from
you, or Miss Temple, or any other whom I truly love, I
would willingly submit to have the bone of my arm
broken, or to let a bull toss me, or to stand behind a
kicking horse, and let it dash its hoof at my chest,-"
"Hush, Jane! you think too much of the love of
human beings; you are too impulsive, too vehement:
the sovereign hand that created your frame, and put
life into it, has provided you with other resources than
your feeble self, or than creatures feeble as you. Besides this earth, and besides the race of men, there is
an invisible world and a kingdom of spirits: that world
is round us, for it is everywhere; and those spirits watch




JANE EYRE.                107
us, for they are commissioned to guard us; and if we
were dying in pain and shame, if scorn smote us on all
sides, and hatred crushed us, angels see our tortures,
recognise our innocence (if innocent we be: as I know
you are of this charge which Mr. Brocklehurst has
weakly and pompously repeated at second hand from
Mrs. Reed; for I read a sincere nature in your ardent
eyes and on your clear front), and God waits only the
separation of spirit from flesh to crown us with a full
reward. Why, then, should we ever sink overwhelmed
with distress, when life is so soon over, and death is so
certain an entrance to happiness-to glory?"
I was silent: Helen had calmed me; but in the tranquillity she imparted there was an alloy of inexpressible
sadness. I felt the impression of woe as she spoke, but
I could not tell whence it came; and when, having done
speaking, she breathed a little fast and coughed a short
cough, I momentarily forgot my own sorrows to yield to
a vague concern for her.
Resting my head on Helen's shoulder, I put my
arms round her waist; she drew me to her, and we reposed in silence. We had not sat long thus, when another person came in. Some heavy clouds, swept from
the sky by a rising wind, had left the moon bare; and
her light, streaming in through a window near, shone
full both on us and on the approaching figure, which
we at once recognised as Miss Temple.
"I came on purpose to find you, Jane Eyre," said
she; "I want you in my room; and as Helen Burns is
vith you, she may come too."
We went; following the superintendent's guidance,
we had to thread some intricate passages, and mount a




o18                JANE EYRE.
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
fade. "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."
"Shall I, Miss Temple?"
"You will," said she, passing her arm round me.
"And now tell me who is the lady whom Mr. Brocklehurst called your benefactress?"
"Mrs. Reed, my uncle's wife. My uncle is dead,
and he left me to her care."
"Did she not, then, adopt you of her own accord?"
"No, Ma'am; she was sorry to have to do it: but
my uncle, as I have often heard the servants say, got
her to promise before he died, that she would always
keep me."
"Well now, Jane, you know, or at least I will tell
you, that when a criminal is accused, he is always
allowed to speak in his own defence. You have been
charged with falsehood: defend yourself to me as well
as you can. Say whatever your memory suggests as
true; but add nothing and exaggerate nothing."
I resolved in the depth of my heart that I would be




JANE EYRE.                109
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 forgot the, to me, frightful episode of the red-room; in detailing which, my excitement was sure, in some degree,
to break bounds; for nothing could soften in my recollection the spasm of agony which clutched my heart
when Mrs. Reed spurned my wild supplication for
pardon, and locked me a second time in the dark and
haunted chamber.
I had finished: Miss Temple regarded me a few
minutes in silence; she then said,"I know something of Mr. Lloyd; I shall write to
him; if his reply agrees with your statement, you shall be
publicly cleared from every imputation: to me, Jane,
you are clear now."
She kissed me, and still keeping me at her side
(where I was well contented to stand, for I derived a
child's pleasure from the contemplation of her face, her
dress, her one or two ornaments, her white forehead,
her clustered and shining curls, and beaming dark eyes),
she proceeded to address Helen Burns.




I I                JANE EYRE.
"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
resumed 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 woman after Mr. Brocklehurst's own heart, made up
of equal parts whalebone and iron.
"Oh, very well!" returned Miss Temple; "we must




JANE EYRE.                I I I
make it do, Barbara, I suppose." And as the girl withdrew, she added, smiling, "Fortunately, I have it in my
power to supply deficiencies for this once."
Having invited Helen and me to approach the table,
and placed before each of us a cup of tea with one
delicious but thin morsel of toast, she got up, unlocked
a drawer, and taking from it a parcel wrapped in
paper, disclosed presently to our eyes a good-sized
seed-cake.
"I meant to give each of you some of this to take
with you," said she; "but as there is so little toast you
must have it now," and she proceeded to cut slices with
a generous hand.
We feasted that evening as on nectar and ambrosia;
and not the least delight of the entertainment was the
smile of gratification with which our hostess regarded
us, as we satisfied our famished appetites on the delicate fare she liberally supplied. Tea over and the tray
removed, she again summoned us to the fire; we sat
one on each side of her, and now a conversation followed between her and Helen, which it was indeed a
privilege to be admitted to hear.
Miss Temple had always something of serenity in
her air, of state in her mien, of refined propriety in her
language, which precluded deviation into the ardent,
the excited, the eager: something which chastened the
pleasure of those who looked on her and listened to
her, by a controlling sense of awe; and such was my
feeling now: but as to Helen Burns, I was struck with
wonder.
The refreshing meal, the brilliant fire, the presence
and kindness of her beloved instructress, or, perhaps




It 2               JANE EYRE,
more than all these, something in her own unique mind,
had roused her powers within her. They woke, they
kindled: first, they glowed in the bright tint of her
cheek, which till this hour I had never seen but pale
and bloodless; then they shone in the liquid lustre of
her eyes, which had suddenly acquired a beauty more
singular than that of Miss Temple's-a beauty neither
of fine colour nor long eyelash, nor pencilled brow, but
of meaning, of movement, of radiance. Then her soul
sat on her lips, and language flowed, from what source
I cannot tell: has a girl of fourteen a heart large
enough, vigorous enough to hold the swelling spring of
pure, full, fervid eloquence? Such was the characteristic
of Helen's discourse on that, to me, memorable evening; her spirit seemed hastening to live within a very
brief span as much as many live during a protracted
existence.
They conversed of things I had never heard of; of
nations and times past; of countries far away: of secrets
of nature discovered or guessed at: they spoke of books:
how many they had read! 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 bed-time: no delay could be admitted; Miss Temple embraced us both, saying, as she
drew us to her heart:




JANE EYRE.               I I 
"God bless you, my children!"
Helen she held a little longer than me: she let her
go more reluctantly; it was Helen her eye followed to
the door; it was for her she a second time breathed a
sad sigh; for her she wiped a tear from her cheek.
On reaching the bed-room, we heard the voice of
Miss Scatcherd: she was examining drawers; she had
just pulled out Helen Burns's, and when we entered
Helen was greeted with a sharp reprimand, and told
that to-morrow she should have half a dozen of untidily
folded articles pinned to her shoulder.
"My things were indeed in shameful disorder," murmured Helen to me, in a low voice: "I intended to have
arranged them, but I forgot."
Next morning, Miss Scatcherd wrote in conspicuous
characters on a piece of pasteboard the word "Slattern,"
and bound it like a phylactery round Helen's large,
mild, intelligent, and benign-looking forehead. She wore
it till evening, patient, unresentful, regarding it as a deserved punishment. The moment Miss Scatcherd withdrew after afternoon-school, I ran to Helen, tore it off,
and thrust it into the fire: the fury of which she was
incapable had been burning in my soul all day, and
tears, hot and large, had continually been scalding my
cheek; for the spectacle of her sad resignation gave me
an intolerable 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 assembled the whole school, announced that inquiry had
been made into the charges alleged against Jane Eyre,
Jane Eyre. I.                         8




I I4                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.
Thus relieved of a grievous load, I from that hour
set to work afresh, resolved to pioneer my way through
every difficulty: I toiled hard, and my success was proportionate to my efforts; my memory, not naturally
tenacious, improved with practice; exercise sharpened
my wits; in a few weeks I was promoted to a higher
class; in less than two months I was allowed to commence French and drawing. I learned the first two
tenses of the verb Atre, and sketched my first cottage
(whose walls, by-the-by, outrivalled in slope those of the
leaning tower of Pisa), on the same day. That night,
on going to bed, I forgot to prepare in imagination the
Barmecide supper of hot roast potatoes, or white bread
and new milk, with which I was wont to amuse my inward cravings: I feasted instead on the spectacle of
ideal drawings, which I saw in the dark; all the work
of my own 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 to me; nor was that problem solved to my satisfaction ere I fell sweetly asleep.
Well has Solomon said:   "Better is a dinner of




JANE EYRE.                 15
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; we could now endure the play-hour passed
in the garden: sometimes on a sunny day it began even
to be pleasant and genial, and a greenness grew over
those brown beds which, freshening daily, suggested the
thought that Hope traversed them at night, and left
each morning brighter traces of her steps. Flowers
peeped out amongst the leaves; snow-drops, crocuses,
purple auriculas, and golden-eyed pansies. On Thursday afternoons (half holidays) we now took walks, and
found still sweeter flowers opening by the way-side,
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 a prospect of noble summits
girdling a great hill-hollow, rich in verdure and shadow;
8*




I i6                JANE EYRE.
in a bright beck, full of dark stones and sparkling
eddies. How different had this scene looked when I
viewed it laid out beneath the iron sky of winter,
stiffened in frost, shrouded with snow! 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
vegetation matured with vigour; Lowood shook loose its
tresses; it became all green, all flowery; its great elm,
ash, and oak skeletons were restored to majestic life;
woodland plants sprang up profusely in its recesses;
unnumbered varieties of moss filled its hollows, and it
made a strange ground-sunshine out of the wealth of
its wild primrose plants: I have seen their pale gold
gleam in overshadowed spots like scatterings of the
sweetest lustre. All this I enjoyed often and fully, free,
unwatched, and almost alone: for this unwonted liberty
and pleasure, there was a cause, to which it now becomes my task to advert.
Have I not described a pleasant site for a dwelling,
when I speak of it as bosomed in hill and wood, and
rising from the verge of a stream? Assuredly, pleasant
enough: but whether healthy or not is' another question.
That forest-dell, where Lowood lay, was the cradle




JANE EYRE.               t 7
of fog and fog-bred pestilence; which, quickening with
the quickening spring, crept into the Orphan Asylum,
breathed typhus through its crowded school-room and
dormitory, and, ere May arrived, transformed the
seminary into an hospital.
Semi-starvation and neglected colds had predisposed
most of the pupils to receive infection: forty-five out of
the eighty girls lay ill at one time. Classes were broken
up, rules relaxed. The few who continued well were
allowed almost unlimited 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 Temple's
whole attention was absorbed by the patients: she lived
in the sick-room; never quitting it except to snatch a
few hours' rest at night. The teachers were fully
occupied with packing up and making other necessary
preparations for the departure of those girls who were
fortunate enough to have friends and relations able and
willing to remove them from the seat of contagion.
Many, already smitten, went home only to die: some
died at the school, and were buried quietly and quickly;
the nature of the malady forbidding delay.
While disease had thus become an inhabitant of
Lowood, and death its frequent visitor; while there was
gloom and fear within its walls; while its rooms and
passages steamed with hospital smells; the drug and
the pastille striving vainly to overcome the effluvia of
mortality; that bright May shone unclouded over the
bold hills and beautiful woodland out of doors. Its
garden, too, glowed with flowers: hollyhocks had sprung
up tall as trees, lilies had opened, tulips and roses were




It8                JANE EYRE.
in bloom; the borders of the little beds were gay with
pink thrift and crimson double-daisies; the sweet-briars
gave out, morning and evening, their scent of spice and
apples; and these fragrant treasures were all useless for
most of the inmates of Lowood: except to furnish now
and then a handful of herbs and blossoms to put in a
coffin.
But I, and the rest who continued well, enjoyed
fully the beauties of the scene and season: 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
scrutinized 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 favourite seat was a smooth and broad stone,
rising white and dry from the very middle of the beck,
and only to be got at by wading through the water; a
feat I accomplished barefoot. The stone was just broad
enough to accommodate, comfortably, another girl and
me, at that time my chosen comrade-one Mary Ann
Wilson; a shrewd observant personage, whose society I
took pleasure in, partly because she was witty and




JANE EYRE.               I 19
original, and partly because she had a manner which
set me at my ease. Some years older than I, she knew
more of the world, and could tell me many things I
liked to hear: with her my curiosity found gratification:
to my faults also she gave ample indulgence; never imposing curb or rein on anything I said. She had a turn
for narrative, I for analysis; she liked to inform, I to
question; so we got on swimmingly together, deriving
much entertainment, if not much improvement, from our
mutual intercourse.
And where, meantime, was Helen Burns? Why
did I not spend these sweet days of liberty with her?
Had I forgotten her; or was I so worthless as to have
grown tired of her pure society? Surely the Mary Ann
Wilson I have mentioned was inferior to my first
acquaintance: she could only tell me amusing stories,
and reciprocate any racy and pungent gossip I chose
to indulge in; while, if I have spoken truth of Helen,
she was qualified to give those who enjoyed the privilege
of her converse, a taste of far higher things.
True, reader; and I knew and felt this: and though
I am a defective being, with many faults and few redeeming points, yet I never tired of Helen Burns; nor
ever ceased to cherish for her a sentiment of attachment, as strong, tender, and respectful as any that ever
animated my heart. How could it be otherwise, when
Helen, at all times and under all circumstances, evinced
for me a quiet and faithful friendship, which ill-humour
never soured nor irritation ever troubled? But Helen
was ill at present: for some weeks she had been removed from my sight to I knew not what room upstairs. She was not, I was told, in the hospital portion




120                JANE EYRE.
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 down stairs 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 school-room
window, and then not distinctly; for she was much
wrapped up, and sat at a distance under the verandah.
One evening in the beginning of June, I had stayed
out very late with Mary Ann in the wood; we had, as
usual, separated ourselves from the others, and had
wandered far: so far that we lost our way, and had to
ask it at a lonely cottage, where a man and woman
lived, who looked after a herd of half-wild swine that
fed on the mast in the wood. When we got back, it
was after moon-rise: a pony, which we knew to be the
surgeon's, was standing at the garden door. Mary Ann
remarked that she supposed some one must be very ill,
as Mr. Bates had been sent for at that time of the
evening. She went into the house; I stayed behind a
few minutes to plant in my garden a handful of roots
I had dug up in the forest, and which I feared would
wither if I left them till 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 enjoy



JANE EYRE.               12 I
ing them as a child might when it entered my mind as
it had never done before:
"How sad to be lying now on a sickbed, 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,
baffled; 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 the rest was formless cloud and vacant depth: and
it shuddered at the thought of tottering, and plunging
amid that chaos. While pondering this new idea, I
heard the front door open; Mr. Bates came out, and
with him was a nurse. After she had seen him mount
his horse and depart, she was about to close the door,
but I ran up to her.
"How is Helen Burns?"
"Very poorly," was the answer.
"Is it her Mr. Bates has been to see?"
"Yes."
"And what does he say about her?"
"He says she'll not be here long."
This phrase uttered in my hearing yesterday, would
have only conveyed the notion that she was about to
be removed to Northumberland, to her own home. I
should not have suspected that it meant she was dying,
but I knew instantly now: it opened clear on my comprehension that Helen Burns was numbering her last
days in this world, and that she was going to be taken




122                JANE EYRE.
to the region of spirits, if such region there were. I
experienced a shock of horror, then a strong thrill of
grief, then a desire-a necessity to see her; and I asked
in what room she lay.
"She is in Miss Temple's room," said the nurse.
"May I go up and speak to her?"
"Oh, no, child! It is not likely; and now it is time
for you to come in; you'll catch the fever if you stop
out when the dew is falling."
The nurse closed the front door; I went in by the
side entrance which led to the school-room: 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, probablynear eleven,
when I-not having been able to fall asleep, and deeming, from the perfect silence of the dormitory, that my
companions were all wrapt in profound repose-rose
softly, put on my frock over my night-dress, and, without shoes, crept from the apartment, and set off in quest
of Miss Temple's room. It was quite at the other end
of the house; but I knew my way; and the light of the
unclouded summer moon, entering here and there at
passage windows, enabled me to find it without difficulty. An odour of camphor and burnt vinegar warned
me when I came near the fever room; and I passed its
door quickly, fearful lest the nurse who sat up all night
should hear me. I dreaded being discovered and sent
back; for I must see Helen,-I must embrace her before
she died,-I must give her one last kiss, exchange with
her one last word.
Having descended a staircase, traversed a portion of
the house below, and succeeded in opening and shutting,




JANE EYRE.               123
without noise, two doors, I reached another flight of
steps; these I mounted, and then just opposite to me
was Miss Temple's room. A light shone through the
key-hole, and from under the door; a profound stillness
pervaded the vicinity. Coming near, I found the door
slightly ajar; probably to admit some fresh air into the
close abode of sickness. Indisposed to hesitate, and
full of impatient impulses-soul and senses quivering
with keen throes-I put it back and looked in. My
eye sought Helen, and feared to find death.
Close by Miss Temple's bed, and half covered with
its white curtains, there stood a little crib. I saw the
outline of a form under the clothes, but the face was
hid by the hangings: the nurse I had spoken to in the
garden sat in an easy chair, asleep; an unsnuffed candle
burnt dimly on the table. Miss Temple was not to be
seen: I knew afterwards that she had been called to a
delirious patient in the fever-room. I advanced; then
paused by the crib side: my hand was on the curtain,
but I preferred speaking before I withdrew it. I still
recoiled at the dread of seeing a corpse.
"Helen!" 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




i24                JANE EYRE.
was cold, and her cheek both cold and thin, and so
were her hand and wrist; but she smiled as of old.
"Why are you come here, Jane? It is past eleven
o'clock: I heard it strike some minutes since."
"I came to see you, Helen: I heard you were very
ill, and I could not sleep till I had spoken to you."
"You came to bid me good-bye, then: you are just
in time probably."
"Are you going somewhere, Helen? Are you going
home?"
"Yes; to my long home-my last home."
"No, no, Helen!" I stopped, distressed. While I
tried to devour my tears, a fit of coughing seized Helen;
it did not, however, wake the nurse; when it was over,
she lay some minutes exhausted; then she whispered:"Jane, your little feet are bare; lie down and cover
yourself with my quilt."
I did so: she put her arm over me, and I nestled
close to her. After a long silence, she resumed; still
whispering,"I am very happy, Jane; and when you hear that
I am dead you must be sure and not grieve: there is
nothing to grieve about. We all must die one day,
and the illness which is removing me is not painful; it
is gentle and gradual: my mind is at rest. I leave no
one to regret me much: I have only a father; and he
is lately married, and will not miss me. By dying young
I shall escape great 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?"




JANE EYRE.               125
"I believe; I have faith: I am going to God."
"Where is God? What is God?"
"My Maker and yours; who will never destroy what
he created. I rely implicitly on his power, and confide
wholly in his goodness: I count the hours till that
eventful one arrives which shall restore me to him, reveal him to me."
"You are sure, then, Helen, that there is such a
place as heaven; and that our souls can get to it when
we die?"
"I am sure there is a future state; I believe God is
good; I can resign my immortal part to him without
any misgiving. God is my father; God is my friend: I
love him; I believe he loves me."
"And shall I see you again, Helen, when I die?"
"You will come to the same region of happiness:
be received by the same mighty, universal Parent, no
doubt, dear Jane."
Again I questioned; but this time only in thought.
"Where is that region? Does it exist?" And I clasped
my arms closer round Helen; she seemed dearer to me
than ever; I felt as if I could not let her go; I lay with
my face hidden on her neck. Presently she said in the
sweetest tone,"How comfortable I am! That last fit of coughing
has tired me a little; I feel as if I could sleep: but
don't leave me, Jane; I like to have you near me."
"I'll stay with you, dear Helen: no one shall take
me away."
"Are you warm, darling?"
"Yes."
"Good-night, Jane."




126                JANE EYRE.
"Good-night, Helen."
She kissed me, and I her; and we both soon
slumbered.
When I awoke it was day: an unusual movement
roused me; I looked up; I was in somebody's arms;
the nurse held me; she was carrying me through the
passage back to the dormitory. I was not reprimanded
for leaving my bed; people had something else to think
about: no explanation was afforded then to my many
questions; but a day or two afterwards I learned that
Miss Temple, on returning to her own room at dawn,
had found me laid in a little crib; my face against
Helen Burns's shoulder, my arms round her neck. I
was asleep, and Helen was-dead.
Her grave is in Brocklebridge churchyard: for fifteen
years after her death it was only covered by a grassy
mound; but now a 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
invoke memory where I know her responses will possess
some degree of interest; therefore I now pass a space
of eight years almost in silence: a few lines only are
neassary to keep up the links of connection.
When the typhus fever had fulfilled its mission of
devastation at Lowood, it gradually disappeared from
thence; but not till its virulence and the number of its




JANE EYRE.                127
victims had drawn public attention on the school. Inquiry was made into the origin of the scourge, and by
degrees various facts came out which excited public
indignation in a high degree. The unhealthy nature of
the site; the quantity and quality of the children's food;
the brackish, fetid water used in its preparation; the
pupils' wretched clothing and accommodations: all these
things were discovered; and the discovery produced a
result mortifying to Mr. Brocklehurst, but beneficial to
the institution.
Several wealthy and benevolent individuals in the
county subscribed largely for the erection of a more
convenient building in a better situation; new regulations were made; improvements in diet and clothing introduced; the funds of the school were entrusted to the
management of a committee. Mr. Brocklehurst, who,
from his wealth and family connections, could not be
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
office of inspector, too, was shared by those who knew
how to combine reason with strictness, comfort with
economy, compassion with uprightness. The school,
thus improved, became in time a truly useful and noble
institution. I remained an inmate of its walls, after its
regeneration, for eight years: six as pupil, and two as
teacher; and in both capacities I bear my testimony to
its value and importance.
During these eight years my life was uniform: but
not unhappy, because it was not inactive. I had the
means of an excellent education placed within my
reach; a fondness for some of my studies, and a desire




128                JANE EYRE.
to excel in all, together with a great delight in pleasing
my teachers, especially such as I loved, urged me on:
I availed myself fully of the advantages offered me. In
time I rose to be the first girl of the first class; then I
was invested with the office of teacher; which I discharged with zeal for two years: but at the end of that
time I altered.
Miss Temple, through all changes, had thus far
continued superintendent of the seminary: to her instruction I owed the best part of my acquirements; her
friendship and society had been my continual solace;
she had stood me in the stead of mother, governess,
and latterly, companion. At this period she married,
removed with her husband (a clergyman, an excellent
man, almost worthy of such a wife) to a distant county,
and consequently was lost to me.
From the day she left I was no longer the same:
with her was gone every settled feeling, every association that had made Lowood in some degree a home to
me. I had imbibed from her something of her nature
and much of her habits: more harmonious thoughts:
what seemed better regulated feelings had become the
inmates of my mind. I had given in allegiance to duty
and order; I was quiet; I believed I was content: to the
eyes of others, usually even to my own, I appeared a
disciplined and subdued character.
But destiny, in the shape of the Rev. Mr. Nasmyth,
came between me and Miss Temple: I saw her in her
travelling dress step into a post-chaise, shortly after
the marriage ceremony, I watched the chaise mount
the hill and disappear beyond its brow; and then retired to my own room; and there spent in solitude the




JANE EYRE.                129
greatest part of the half-holiday granted in honour of
the occasion.
I walked about the chamber most of the time. I
imagined myself only to be regretting my loss, and
thinking how to repair it; but when my reflections were
concluded, and I looked up and found that the afternoon was gone, and evening far advanced, another discovery dawned on me: namely, that in the interval I
had undergone a transforming process; that my mind
had put off all it had borrowed of Miss Temple-or
rather that she had taken with her the serene atmosphere
I had been breathing in her vicinity-and.that now I
was left in my natural element; and beginning to feel
the stirring of old emotions. It did not seem as if a
prop were withdrawn, but rather as if a motive were
gone: it was not the power to be tranquil which had
failed me, but the reason for tranquillity was no more.
My world had for some years been in Lowood: my
experience had been of its rules and systems; now I
remembered that the real world was wide, and that a
varied field of hopes and fears, of sensations and excitements, awaited those who had courage to go forth
into its expanse to seek real knowledge of life amidst
its perils.
I went to my window, opened it, and looked out.
There were the two wings of the building; there was
the garden; there were the skirts of Lowood; there was
the hilly horizon. My eye passed all other objects to
rest on those most remote, the blue peaks: it was those
I longed to surmount; all within their boundary of rock
and heath seemed prison-ground, exile limits. I traced
the white road winding round the base of one mounJane Eyre..                          9




130                JANE EYRE.
tain, and vanishing in a gorge between two: how I
longed to follow it further! I recalled the time when I
had travelled that very road in a coach; I remembered
descending that hill at twilight: an age seemed to have
elapsed since the day which brought me first to Lowood;
and I had never quitted it since. My vacations had all
been spent at school: Mrs. Reed had never sent for me
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!"
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 bed-time: even then a teacher who
occupied the same room with me kept me from the
subject to which I longed to recur, by a prolonged
effusion of small talk. How I wished sleep would
silence her! It seemed as if, could I but go back to
the idea which had last entered my mind as I stood at
the window, some inventive suggestion would rise for
my relief.




JANE EYRE.               13I
Miss Gryce snored at last; she was a heavy Welchwoman, and till now her habitual nasal strains had
never been regarded by me in any other light than as
a nuisance; to-night I hailed the first deep notes with
satisfaction; I was debarrassed of interruption; my halfeffaced 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, Excitement, Enjoyment: delightful sounds truly; but no more
than sounds for me; and so hollow and fleeting that it
is mere waste of time to listen to them. But Servitude!
That must be matter of fact. Any one may serve: 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
difficult; if I had only a brain active enough to ferret
out the means of attaining it."
I sat up in bed by way of arousing this said brain:
it was a chilly night; I covered my shoulders with a
shawl, and then I proceeded to think again with all my
might.
"What do I want? A new place, in a new house,
amongst new faces, under new circumstances: I want
this because it is of no use wanting anything better.
How do people do to get a new place? They apply to
friends, I suppose: I have no friends. There are many
others who have no friends, who must look about for
themselves and be their own helpers; and what is their
resource?"
I could not tell: nothing answered me; I then
9*




132                JANE EYRE.
ordered my brain to find a response, and quickly. It
worked and worked faster: I felt the pulses throb in
my head and temples; but for nearly an hour it worked
in chaos, and no result came of its efforts. Feverish
with vain labour, I got up and took a turn in the room;
undrew the curtain, noted a star or two, shivered with
cold, and again crept to bed.
A kind fairy, in my absence, had surely dropped
the required suggestion on my pillow; for as I lay down
it came quietly and naturally to my mind:- "Those
who want situations advertise; you must advertise in
the -shire Herald."
"How? I know nothing about advertising."
Replies rose smooth and prompt now:"You must inclose the advertisement and the money
to pay for it under a cover directed to the Editor of
the Herald; you must put it, the first opportunity you
have, into the post at Lowton; answers must be addressed to J. E. at the post-office there: you can go
and inquire in about a week after you send your letter,
if any are come, and act accordingly."
This scheme I went over twice, thrice; it was then
digested in my mind: I had it in a clear practical form;
I felt satisfied, and fell asleep.
With earliest day, I was up: I had my advertisement
written, enclosed, and directed before the bell rang to
rouse the school; it ran thus"A young lady accustomed to tuition" (had I not
been a teacher two years?) "is desirous of meeting with
a situation in a private family where the children are
under fourteen" (I thought that as I was barely eighteen,
it would not do to undertake the guidance of pupils




JANE EYRE.                133
nearer my own age). "She is qualified to teach the
usual branches of a good English education, together
with French, Drawing, and Music" (in those days,
reader, this now narrow catalogue of accomplishments,
would have been held tolerably comprehensive). "Address J. E. Post-office, Lowton, -shire."
This document remained locked in my drawer all
day: after tea, I asked leave of the new superintendent
to go to Lowton, in order to perform some small commissions for myself and one or two of my fellowteachers; 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 througl
heavy rain, with streaming garments, but with a relieved
heart.
The succeeding week seemed long: it came to an
end at last, however, like all sublunary things, and
once more, towards the close of a pleasant autumn
day, I found myself afoot on the road to Lowton. A
picturesque track it was, by the way; lying along the
side of the beck and through the sweetest curves of
the dale: but that day I thought more of the letters,
that might or might not be awaiting me at the little
burgh whither I was bound, than of the charms of lea
and water.
My ostensible errand on this occasion was to get
measured for a pair of shoes; so I discharged that
business first, and when it was done, I stepped across
the clean and quiet little street from the shoemaker's
to the post-office: it was kept by an old dame, who




134                JANE EYRE.
wore horn spectacles on her nose, and black mittens on
her hands.
"Are there any letters for J. E.?" I asked.
She peered at me over her spectacles, and then she
opened a drawer and fumbled among its contents for
a long time; so long that my hopes began to falter.
At last, having held a document before her glasses for
nearly five minutes, she presented it across the counter,
accompanying the act by another inquisitive and mistrustful glance-it was for J. E.
"Is there only one?" I demanded.
"There are no more," said she; and I put it in my
pocket and turned my face homeward: I could not open
it then; rules obliged me to be back by eight, and it
was already half-past seven.
Various duties awaited me on my arrival: I had to
sit with the girls during their hour of study; then it
was my turn to read prayers; to see them to bed: afterwards I supped with the other teachers. Even when
we finally retired for the night, the 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 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 mentioned;
and if she is in a position to give satisfactory references
as to character and competency; a situation can be of



JANE EYRE.               135
fered her where there is but one pupil, a little girl,
under ten years of age; and where the salary is thirty
pounds per annum.   J. E. is requested to send references, name, address, and all particulars to the direction:"Mrs. Fairfax, Thornfield, near Millcote, -shire."
I examined the document long: the writing was
old-fashioned and rather uncertain, like that of an
elderly lady.  This 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 endeavours to be respectable, proper,
en regle. I now felt that an elderly lady was no bad
ingredient in the business I had on hand. Mrs. Fairfax!
I saw her in a black gown and widow's cap; frigid,
perhaps, but not uncivil: a model of elderly English
respectability. Thornfield! that, doubtless was the name
of her house: a neat, orderly spot, I was sure; though
I failed in my efforts to conceive a correct plan of the
premises. Millcote, -shire; I brushed up my recollections of the map of England; yes, I saw it; both the
shire and the town. -shire was seventy miles nearer
London than the remote county where I now resided:
that was a recommendation to me. I longed to go
where there was life and movement: Millcote was a
large manufacturing town on the banks of the A-; a
busy place enough, doubtless: so much the better, it
would be a complete change at least. Not that my
fancy was much captivated by the idea of long chimneys
and clouds of smoke-"but," I argued, "Thornfield will,
probably, be a good way from the town."




136                JANE EYRE.
Here the socket of the candle dropped, and the
wick went out.
Next day new steps were to be taken: my plans
could no longer be confined to my own breast; I must
impart them in order to achieve their success. Having
sought and obtained an audience of the superintendent,
during the noontide recreation, I told her I had a prospect of getting a new situation where the salary would
be double what I now received (for, at Lowood, I only
got I51. per annum); and requested she would break
the matter for me to Mr. Brocklehurst or some of the
committee, and ascertain whether they would permit
me to mention them as references. She obligingly consented to act as mediatrix in the matter.  The next
day she laid the affair before Mr. Brocklehurst; who
said that Mrs. Reed must be written to, as she was my
natural guardian. A note was accordingly addressed
to that lady, who returned for answer, that "I might
do as I pleased: she had long relinquished all interference in my affairs." This note went the round of
the committee, and at last, after what appeared to me
most tedious delay, formal leave was given me to better
my condition if I could; and an assurance added, that
as I had always conducted myself well, both as teacher
and pupil, at Lowood, a testimonial of character and
capacity signed by the inspectors of that institution,
should forthwith be furnished me.
This testimonial I accordingly received in about a
week; forwarded a copy of it to Mrs. Fairfax, and got
that lady's reply, stating that she was satisfied, and
fixing that day fortnight as the period for my assuming
the post of governess in her house.




JANE EYRE.               137
I now busied myself in preparations: the fortnight
passed rapidly. I had not a very large wardrobe, though
it was adequate to my wants; and the last day sufficed
to pack my trunk,-the same I had brought with me
eight years ago from Gateshead.
The box was corded, the card nailed on. In half
an hour the carrier was to call for it to take it to
Lowton; whither I myself was to repair at an early hour
the next morning to meet the coach. I had brushed
my black stuff travelling dress, prepared my bonnet,
gloves, and muff; sought in all my drawers to see that
no article was left behind; and now, having nothing
more to do, I sat down and tried to rest. I could not;
though I had been on foot all day, I could not now
repose an instant; I was too much excited. A phase
of my life was closing to-night, a new one opening tomorrow: 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 parlour,
or teacher's sitting-room, the door of which was half
open, to go to the kitchen, when some one ran out:"It's her, I am sure!-I could have told her anywhere!" cried the individual who stopped my progress
and took my hand.
I looked: I saw a woman attired like a well-dressed
servant, matronly, yet still young; very good looking,
with black hair and eyes, and lively complexion.




138                JANE EYRE.
"Well, who is it?" she asked in a voice and with a
smile I half recognised; "you've not quite forgotten me,
I think, Miss Jane?"
In another second I was embracing and kissing her
rapturously: "Bessie! Bessie! Bessie!" that was all I
said; whereat she half laughed, half cried, and we both
went into the parlour. By the fire stood a little fellow
of three years old, in plaid frock and trousers.
"That is my little boy," said Bessie, directly.
"Then you are married, Bessie?"
"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 everything about them, Bessie: but sit down first; and, Bobby,
come and sit on my knee, will you?" but Bobby preferred sidling over to his mother.
"You're not grown so very tall, Miss Jane, nor so
very stout," continued Mrs. Leaven. "I dare say they've
not kept you too well at school: Miss Reed is the head
and shoulders taller than you are; and Miss Georgiana
would make two of you in breadth."
"Georgiana is handsome, I suppose, Bessie?"
"Very. She went up to London last winter with
her mama, and there everybody admired her, and a
young lord fell in love with her: but his relations were
against the match; and-what do you think?-he and
Miss Georgiana made it up to run away: but they were
found out and stopped. It was Miss Reed that found
them out: I believe she was envious; and now she and




JANE EYRE.               139
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 mama could
wish. He went to college, and he got-plucked, I think
they call it: and then his uncles wanted him to be a
barrister, and study the law: but he is such a dissipated young man, they will never make much of him,
I think."
"What does he look like?"
"He is very tall: some people call him a fine looking young man; but he has such thick lips."
"And Mrs. Reed?"
"Missis looks stout and well enough in the face,
but I think she's not quite easy in her mind: Mr. John's
conduct does not please her-he spends a deal of
money."
"Did she send you here, Bessie?"
"No, indeed: but I have long wanted to see you,
and when I heard that there had been a letter from
you, and that you were going to another part of the
country, I thought I'd just set off, and get a look at you
before you were quite out 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




I40                JANE EYPE.
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 Misses Reed 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 chimneypiece." It was a landscape in water colours, 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 any Miss Reed's drawing-master could paint,
let alone the young ladies themselves; who could not
come near it: and have you learnt French?"
"Yes, Bessie, I can both read 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
kinsfolk, the Eyres?"
"Never in my life."
"Well, you know missis always said they were




JANE EYRE.               141
poor and quite despicable: and they may be poor; but
I believe they are as much gentry as the Reeds are;
for one day, nearly seven years ago, a Mr. Eyre came
to Gateshead and wanted to see you; missis said you
were at school fifty miles off; he seemed so much disappointed, for he could not stay: he was going on a
voyage to a foreign country, and the ship was to sail
from London in a day or two. He looked quite a
gentleman, and I believe he was your father's brother."
"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:
missis was very high with him; she called him afterwards a'sneaking tradesman.' My Robert believes he
was a wine-merchant."
"Very likely," I returned; "or perhaps clerk or
agent to a wine-merchant."
Bessie and I conversed about old times an hour
longer, and then she was obliged to leave me: I saw
her again for a few minutes the next morning at Lowton,
while I was waiting for the coach. We parted finally
at the door of the Brocklehurst Arms there: each went
her separate way; she set off for the brow of Lowood
Fell to meet the conveyance which was to take her
back to Gateshead, I mounted the vehicle which was
to bear me to new duties and a new life in the unknown
environs of Millcote.




142                JANE EYRE.
CHAPTER XI.
A NEW chapter in a novel is something like a new
scene in a play; and when I draw up the curtain this
time, reader, you must fancy you see a room in the
George Inn at Millcote, with such large figured papering 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
contracted by sixteen hours' exposure to the rawness
of an October day: I left Lowton at four o'clock P. M.,
and the Millcote town clock is now just striking eight.
Reader, though I look comfortably accommodated,
I am not very tranquil in my mind. I thought when
the coach stopped here there would be sorne one to
meet me; I looked anxiously round as I descended the
wooden steps the "boots" placed for my convenience,
expecting to hear my name pronounced, and to see
some description of carriage waiting to convey me to
Thornfield. Nothing of the sort was visible; and when
I asked a waiter if any one had been to inquire after a
Miss Eyre, I was answered in the negative: so I had
no resource but to request to be shown into a private
room: and here I am waiting, while all sorts of doubts
and fears are troubling my thoughts.




JANE EYRE.               143
It is a very strange sensation to inexperienced youth
to feel itself quite alone in the world: cut adrift from
every connection; uncertain whether the port to which
it is bound can be reached, and prevented by many
impediments from returning to that it has quitted. The
charm of adventure sweetens that sensation, the glow
of pride warms it; but then the throb of fear disturbs
it; and fear with me became predominant, when half
an hour elapsed and still I was alone. I bethought
myself to ring the bell.
"Is there a place in this neighbourhood called
Thornfield?" I asked of the waiter who answered the
summons.
"Thornfield? I don't know, ma'am; I'll inquire at
the bar." He vanished, but reappeared instantly:"Is your name, Eyre, miss?"
"Yes."
"Person here waiting for you."
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 he saw me, pointing to my
trunk in the passage.
"Yes." He hoisted it on to the vehicle, which was
a sort of car, and then I got in: before he shut me up,
I asked him how far it was to Thornfield.
"A matter of six miles."
"How long shall we be before we get there?"
"Happen an hour and a half."
He fastened the car door, climbed to his own seat




144                JANE EYRE.
outside, and we set off. Our progress was leisurely,
and gave me ample time to reflect: I was content to be
at length so near the end of my journey; and as I
leaned back in the comfortable though not elegant conveyance, I meditated much at my ease.
"I suppose," thought I, "judging from the plainness of the servant and carriage, Mrs. Fairfax is not a
very dashing person: so much the better; I never lived
amongst fine people but once, and I was very miserable with them. I wonder if she lives alone except
this little girl; if so, and if she is in any degree amiable,
I shall surely be able to get on with her; I will do
my best: it is a pity that doing one's best does not
always answer. At Lowood, indeed, I took that resolution, kept it, and succeeded in pleasing; but with
Mrs. Reed, I remember my best was always spurned
with scorn. I pray God Mrs. Fairfax may not turn
out a second Mrs. Reed; but if she does, I am not
bound to stay with her: let the worst come to the worst,
I can advertise again. How far are we on our road
now, I wonder?"
I let down the window and looked out: Millcote
was behind us; judging by the number of its lights, it
seemed a place of considerable magnitude, much larger
than Lowton. We were now, as far as I could see,
on a sort of common; but there were houses scattered
all over the district; I felt we were in a different region
to Lowood, more populous, less picturesque; more
stirring, less romantic.
The roads were heavy, the night misty; my conductor let his horse walk all the way, and the hour




JANE EYRE.               t45
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."
Again I looked out: we were passing a church: I
saw its low broad tower against the sky, and its bell
was tolling a quarter; I saw a narrow galaxy of lights
too, on a hill-side, marking a village or hamlet. About
ten minutes after, the driver got down and opened a
pair of gates: we passed through, and they clashed to
behind us. We now slowly ascended a drive, and came
upon the long front of a house: candle-light gleamed
from one curtained bow-window; all the rest were dark.
The car stopped at the front door; it was opened by a
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
illumination of fire and candle at first dazzled me, contrasting as it did with the darkness to which my eyes
had been for two hours inured: 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 arm-chair high-backed and old-fashioned,
wherein sat the neatest imaginable little elderly lady,
in widow's cap, black silk gown and snowy muslin
apron: exactly like what I had fancied Mrs. Fairfax,
only less stately and milder looking. She was occupied
in knitting; a large cat sat demurely at her feet; nothing in short was wanting to complete the beau-ideal
of domestic comfort. A more reassuring introduction
for a new governess could scarcely be conceived: there
lane Eyre. I.                        10




146                JANE EYRE.
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."
"Mrs. Fairfax, I suppose?" said I.
"Yes, you are right: do sit down."
She conducted me to her own chair, and then began
to remove my shawl and untie my bonnet-strings: I
begged she would not give herself so much trouble.
"Oh, it is no trouble; I dare say your own hands
are almost numbed with cold. Leah, make a little hot
negus and cut a sandwich or two: here are the keys of
the store-room."
And she produced from her pocket a most housewifely bunch of keys, and delivered them to the servant.
"Now, then, draw nearer to the fire;" she continued.
"You've brought your luggage with you, haven't you,
my dear?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"I'll see it carried into your room," she said, and
bustled out.
"She treats me like a visitor," thought I. "I little expected such a reception; I anticipated only coldness and
stiffness: this is not like what I have heard of the treatment of governesses; but I must not exult too soon."
She returned; with her own hands cleared her knitting 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




JANE EYRE.               147
had ever before received, and that, too, shown by my
employer and superior; but as she did not herself seem
to consider she was doing anything out of her place, I
thought it better to take her civilities quietly.
"Shall I have the pleasure of seeing Miss Fairfax
to-night?" I asked, when I had partaken of what she
offered me.
"What did you say, my dear? I am a little deaf,"
returned the good lady, approaching her ear to my
mouth.
I repeated the question more distinctly.
"Miss Fairfax? Oh, you mean Miss Varens! Varens
is the name of your future pupil."
"Indeed! Then she is not your daughter?"
"No,-I have no family."
I should have followed up my first inquiry, by asking
in what way Miss Varens was connected with her; but
I recollected it was not polite to ask too many questions:
besides, I was sure to hear in time.
"I am so glad-" she continued, as she sat down
opposite to me, and took the cat on her knee: "I am
so glad you are come; it will be quite pleasant living
here now with a companion. To be sure it is pleasant
at any time; for Thornfield is a fine old hall, rather
neglected of late years perhaps, but still it is a respectable place; yet you know in winter time, one feels
dreary quite alone, in the best quarters. I say aloneLeah 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
10*




I48                JANE EYRE.
(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 February; and I really got quite melancholy with sitting night after night alone; I had Leah
in to read to me sometimes; but I don't think the poor
girl liked the task much: she felt it confining. In spring
and summer one got on better: sunshine and long days
make such a difference; and then just at the commencement of this autumn, little Adela Varens came and her
nurse: a child makes a house alive all at once; and
now you are here I shall be quite gay."
My heart really warmed to the worthy lady as I
heard her talk; and I drew my chair a little nearer to
her, and expressed my sincere wish that she might find
my company as agreeable as she anticipated.
"But I'll not keep you sitting up late to-night," said
she; "it is on the stroke of twelve now, and you have
been travelling all day: you must feel tired. If you
have got your feet well warmed, I'll show you your bedroom. I've had the room next to mine prepared for
you; it is only a small apartment, but I thought you
would like it better than one of the large front chambers:
to be sure they have finer 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 halldoor 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;




JANE EYRE.                149
both it and the long gallery into which the bed-room
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 Mrs. Fairfax had bidden me a kind goodnight, and I had fastened my door, gazed leisurely
round, and in some measure effaced the eerie impression
made by that wide hall, that dark and spacious staircase, and that long, cold gallery, by the livelier aspect
of my little room, I remembered that after a day of
bodily fatigue and mental anxiety, I was now at last
in safe haven. The impulse of gratitude swelled my
heart, and I knelt down at the bedside, and offered up
thanks where thanks were due; not forgetting, ere I
rose, to implore aid on my further path, and the power
of meriting the kindness which seemed so frankly offered
me before it was earned. My couch had no thorns in
it that night; my solitary room no fears. At once
weary and content, I slept soon and soundly: when I
awoke it was broad day.
The chamber looked such a bright little place to me
as the sun shone in between the gay blue chintz window
curtains, showing papered walls and a carpeted floor,
so unlike the bare planks and stained plaster of Lowood,
that my spirits rose at the view. Externals have a
great effect on the young: I thought that a fairer era
of life was beginning for me, one that was to have its
flowers and pleasures, as well as its thorns and toils.
My faculties, roused by the change of scene, the new




150                JANE EYRE.
field offered to hope, seemed all astir. I cannot precisely define what they expected, but it was something
pleasant: not perhaps that day or that month, but at
an indefinite future period.
I rose; I dressed myself with care: obliged to be
plain-for I had no article of attire that was not made
with extreme simplicity-I was still by nature solicitous
to be neat. It was not my habit to be disregardful of
appearance, or careless of the impression I made: on
the contrary, I ever wished to look as well as I could,
and to please as much as my want of beauty would
permit. I sometimes regretted that I was not handsomer:
I sometimes wished to have rosy cheeks, a straight nose,
and small cherry mouth; I desired to be tall, stately
and finely developed in figure; I felt it a misfortune that
I was so little, so pale, and had features so irregular and
so marked. And why had I these aspirations and these
regrets? It would be difficult to say: I could not then
distinctly say it to myself; yet I had a reason, and a
logical, natural reason too. However, when I had
brushed my hair very smooth, and put on my black
frock-which, Quaker-like as it was, at least had the
merit of fitting to a nicety-and adjusted my clean
white tucker, I thought I should do 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




JANwalls (one I remember represented a grim man in a
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 surveyed the front of the mansion. It was three stories
high, of proportions not vast, though considerable; a
gentleman's manor-house, not a nobleman's seat: battlements round the top gave it a picturesque look. Its
gray front stood out well from the back ground 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 seeming to embrace Thornfield 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
Thornfield: its old tower-top looked over a knoll
between the house and gates.




152                JANE EYRE.
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 Thornfield?" she asked. I told
her I liked it very much.
"Yes," she said, "it is a pretty place; but I fear it
will be getting out of order, unless Mr. Rochester should
take it into his head to come and reside here permanently; or, at least, visit it rather oftener: great houses
and fine grounds require the presence of the proprietor."
"Mr. Rochester!" I exclaimed. "Who is he?"
"The owner of Thornfield," she responded quietly.
"Did you not know he was called Rochester?"
Of course I did not-I had never heard of him before; but the old lady seemed to regard his existence
as a universally understood fact, with which everybody
must be acquainted by instinct.
"I thought," I continued, "Thornfield belonged to
you."
"To me? Bless you, child; what an idea! To me?
I am only the housekeeper-the manager. To be sure
I am distantly related to the Rochesters by the mother's
side; or, at least, my husband was: he was a clergyman,
incumbent of Hay-that little village yonder on the hill
-and that church near the gates was his. The present
Mr. Rochester's mother was a Fairfax, and second




JANE EYRE.               153
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 then
was explained: this affable and kind little widow was no
great dame, but a dependant like myself. I did not
like her the worse for that; on the contrary, I felt better
pleased than ever. The equality between her and me
was real; not the mere result of condescension on her
part: so much the better-my position was all the freer.
As I was meditating on this discovery, a little girl,
followed by her attendant, came running up the lawn.
I looked at my pupil, who did not at first appear to
notice me: she was quite a child, perhaps seven or
eight years old, slightly built, with a pale small-featured
face, and a redundancy of hair falling in curls to her
waist.
"Good-morning, Miss Adela," said Mrs. Fairfax.
"Come and speak to the lady who is to teach you,
and to make you a clever woman some day." She approached.
"C'est la ma gouvernante?" said she, pointing to
me, and addressing her nurse; who answered:
"Mais oui, certainement."
"Are they foreigners?" I inquired, amazed at hearing the French language.




154                JAN  EYRE.
"The nurse is a foreigner, and Adela was born on
the continent; and, I believe, never left it till within
six months ago. When she first came here she could
speak no English; now she can make shift to talk it a
little: I don't understand her, she mixes it so with
French; but you will make out her meaning very well,
I daresay."
Fortunately I had had the advantage of being taught
French by a French lady; and as I had always made
a point of conversing with Madame Pierrot, as often as
I could, and had, besides, during the last seven years,
learnt a portion of French by heart daily-applying
myself to take pains with my accent, and imitating as
closely as possible the pronunciation of my teacher-I
had acquired a certain degree of readiness and correctness in the language, and was not likely to be much at
a loss with Mademoiselle Adela. She came and shook
hands with me when she heard that I was her governess;
and as I led her 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 examined
me some ten minutes with her large hazel eyes, she
suddenly commenced chattering fluently.
"Ah!" cried she, in French, "you speak my language
as well as Mr. Rochester does: I can talk to you as I
can to him, and so can Sophie.   She will be glad:
nobody here understands her: Madame Fairfax is all
English. Sophie is my nurse; she came with me over
the sea in a great ship with a chimney that smoked —
how it did smoke!-and I was sick. and so was Sophie,
and so was Mr. Rochester. Mr. Rochester lay down on
a sofa in a pretty room called the salon, and Sophie




JANE EYRE.               155
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 an hotel. We
stayed there nearly a week: I and Sophie used to walk
every day in a great green place full of trees, called
the Park; and there were many children there besides
me, and a pond with beautiful birds in it, that I fed
with crumbs."
"Can you understand her when she runs on so
fast?" asked Mrs. Fairfax.
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?"
"Adele," I inquired, "with whom did you live when
you were in that pretty clean town you spoke of?"
"I lived long ago with mama; but she is gone to
the Holy Virgin. Mama used to teach me to dance
and sing, and to say verses. A great many gentlemen
and ladies came to see mama, 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?"




156                JANE EYRE.
She had finished her breakfast, so I permitted her
to give a specimen of her accomplishments. Descending from her chair, she came and placed herself on my
knee; then, folding her little hands demurely before
her, shaking back her curls and lifting her eyes to the
ceiling, she commenced singing a song from some
opera. It was the strain of a forsaken lady, who, after
bewailing the perfidy of her lover, calls pride to her
aid; desires her attendant to deck her in her brightest
jewels and richest robes, and resolves to meet the false
one that night at a ball, and prove to him by the
gaiety of her demeanour how little his desertion has
affected her.
The subject seemed strangely chosen for an infant
singer; but I suppose the point of the exhibition lay in
hearing the notes of love and jealousy warbled with
the lips of childhood; and in very bad taste that point
was: at least I thought so.
Adele 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
Rats; 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 mama who taught you that piece?" I
asked.
"Yes, and she just used to say it in this way:'Qu'avez vous donc? lui dit un de ces rats, parlez!'




JANE EVRE.               157
She made me lift my hand-so-to remind me to
raise my voice at the question. Now shall I dance for
you?"
"No, that will do: but after your mama went to
the Holy Virgin, as you say, with whom did you live
then?"
"With Madame Frederic and her husband: she took
care of me, but she is nothing related to me. I think
she is poor, for she had not o fine a house as mama.
I was not long there; Mr. Rochester asked me if I would
like to go and live with him in England, and I said
yes; for I knew Mr. Rochester before I knew Madame
Fr6deric, and he was always kind to me and gave me
pretty dresses and toys: but you see he has not kept
his word, for he has brought me to England, and now
he is gone back again himself, and I never see him."
After breakfast, Adele and I withdrew to the library;
which room, it appears, Mr. Rochester had directed
should be used as the school-room. Most of the books
were locked up behind glass doors; but there was one
book-case left open containing everything that could be
needed in the way of elementary works, and several
volumes of light literature, poetry, biograghy, travels, a
few romances, &c. I suppose he had considered that
these were all the governess would require for her
private perusal; and, indeed, they contented me amply
for the present; compared with the scanty pickings I
had now and then been able to glean at Lowood, they
seemed to offer an abundant harvest of entertainment
and information. In this room, too, there was a cabinet
piano, quite new and of superior tone; also an easel
for painting, and a pair of globes.




158               JANE EYRE.
I found my pupil sufficiently docile, though disinclined to apply: she had not been used to regular
occupation of any kind. I felt it would be injudicious
to confine her too much at first; so, when I had talked
to her a great deal, and got her to learn a little, and
when the morning had advanced to noon, I allowed her
to return to her nurse.  I then proposed to occupy
myself till dinner-time in drawing some little sketches
for her use.
As I was going upstairs to fetch my portfolio and
pencils, Mrs. Fairfax called to me: "Your morning
school-hours are over now, I suppose," said she. She
was in a room the folding-doors of which stood open:
I went in when she addressed me. It was a large, stately
apartment, with purple chairs and curtains, a Turkey
carpet, walnut-panelled walls, one vast window rich in
stained glass, and a lofty ceiling, nobly moulded. Mrs.
Fairfax was dusting some vases of fine purple spar,
which stood on a side-board.
"What a beautiful room!" I exclaimed, as I looked
round; for I had never before seen any half so imposing.
"Yes: this is the dining-room. I have just opened
this window, to let in a little air and sunshine; for
everything gets so damp in apartments that are seldom
inhabited: the drawing-room yonder feels like a vault."
She pointed to a wide arch corresponding to the
window, and hung like it with a Tyrian-dyed curtain,
now looped up. Mounting to it by two broad steps
and looking through, I thought I caught a glimpse of a
fairy place: so bright to my novice-eyes appeared the
view beyond. Yet it was merely a very pretty drawing



JANE EYRE.                159
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
swathed up, and to have a bustle of arrangement on
his arrival, I thought it best to keep the rooms in readiness."
"Is Mr. Rochester an exacting, fastidious sort of
man."
"Not particularly so; but he has a gentleman's tastes
and habits, and he expects to have things managed in
conformity to them."
"Do you like him? Is he generally liked?"
"Oh, yes; the family have always been respected
here. Almost all the land in this neighbourhood, as far
as you can see, has belonged to the Rochesters time
out of mind."
"Well, but, leaving his land out of the question, do
you like him? Is he liked for himself?"
"I have no cause to do otherwise than like him;




16o                JANE EYRE.
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 conversation with him."
"In what way is he peculiar?"
"I don't know-it is not easy to describe-nothing
striking, but you feel it when he speaks to you: you
cannot be always sure whether he is in jest or earnest,
whether he is pleased or the contrary; you don't
thoroughly understand him, in short-at least, I don't:
but it is of no consequence, he is a very good master."
This was all the account I got from Mrs. Fairfax,
of her employer and mine. There are people who seem
to have no notion of sketching a character, or observing
and describing salient points, either in persons or things:
the good lady evidently belonged to this class; my
queries puzzled, but did not draw her out. Mr. Rochester was Mr. Rochester in her eyes; a gentleman, a
landed proprietor —- nothing more: she inquired and
searched no further, and evidently wondered at my wish
to gain a more definite notion of his identity.
When we left the dining-room, she proposed to show
me over the rest of the house; and I followed her up
stairs and down stairs, admiring as I went: for all was
well arranged and handsome. The large front chambers I thought especially grand; and some of the third




JANE EYRE.                161
storey rooms, though dark and low, were interesting from
their air of antiquity. The furniture once appropriated
to the lower apartments had from time to time been
removed here, as fashions changed; and the imperfect
light entering by their narrow casements showed bedsteads of a hundred years old; chests in oak or walnut,
looking, with their strange carvings of palm branches
and cherubs' heads, like types of the Hebrew ark; rows
of venerable chairs, high-backed and narrow; stools still
more antiquated, on whose cushioned tops were yet apparent traces of half-effaced embroideries, wrought by
fingers that for two generations had been coffin-dust.
All these relics gave to the third storey of ThornfieldHall the aspect of a home of the past: a shrine of
memory. I liked the hush, the gloom, the quaintness
of these retreats in the day; but I by no means coveted
a night's repose on one of those wide and heavy beds:
shut in, some of them with doors of oak; shaded, others
with wrought old English hangings crusted with thick
work, portraying effigies of strange flowers, and stranger
birds, and strangest human beings,-all which would
have looked strange, indeed, by the pallid gleam of
moonlight.
"Do the servants sleep in these rooms?" I asked.
"No; they occupy a range of smaller apartments to
the back; no one ever sleeps here: one would almost
say that, if there were a ghost of Thornfield-Hall, this
would be its haunt."
"So I think: you have no ghost then?"
"None that I ever heard of," returned Mrs. Fairfax,
smiling.
Jane Eyre. I.                         II




1 6                 JANE EYRE.
"Nor any traditions of one? no legends or ghost
stories?"
"I believe not. And yet it is said, the Rochesters
have been rather a violent than a quiet race in their
time: perhaps, though, that is the reason they rest tranquilly in their graves now."
"Yes —'after life's fitful fever they sleep well,'" I
muttered. "Where are you going now, Mrs. Fairfax?"
for she was moving away.
"On to the leads; will you come and see the view
from thence?" I followed still, up a very narrow staircase to the attics, and thence by a ladder and through
a trap-door to the roof of the hall. I was now on a
level with the crow-colony, and could see into their
nests. Leaning over the battlements and looking far
down, I surveyed the grounds laid out like a map: the
bright and velvet lawn closely girdling the grey base of
the mansion; the field, wide as a park, dotted with its
ancient timber; the wood, dun and sere, divided by a
path visibly overgrown, greener with moss than the trees
were with foliage; the church at the gates, the road, the
tranquil hills all reposing in the autumn day's sun; the
horizon bounded by a propitious sky, azure, marbled
with pearly white. No feature in the scene was extraordinary, but all was pleasing. When I turned from it
and repassed the trap-door, I could scarcely see my
way down the ladder; the attic seemed black as a vault
compared with that arch of blue air to which I had
been looking up, and to that sunlit scene of grove,
pasture and green hill of which the hall was the centre,
and over which I had been gazing with delight.
Mrs. Fairfax stayed behind a moment to fasten the




JANE EYvE.                i63
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
storey: narrow, low, and dim, with only one little window
at the far end, and looking, with its two rows of small
black doors all shut, like a corridor in some Bluebeard's
castle.
While I paced softly on, the last sound I expected
to hear in so still a region, a laugh, struck my ear.
It was a curious laugh; distinct, formal, mirthless. I
stopped: the sound ceased, only for an instant; it began
again, louder: for at first, though distinct, it was very
low. It passed off in a clamorous peal that seemed to
wake an echo in every lonely chamber; though it originated but in one, and I could have pointed out the
door whence the accents issued.
"Mrs. Fairfax!" I called out: for I now heard her
descending the great stairs. "Did you hear that loud
laugh? Who is it?"
"Some of the servants very likely," she answered:
"perhaps Grace Poole."
"Did you hear it?" I again inquired.
"Yes, plainly: I often hear her; she sews in one of
these rooms. Sometimes Leah is with her: they are
frequently noisy together."
The laugh was repeated in its low, syllabic tone,
and terminated in an odd murmur.
"Grace!" exclaimed Mrs. Fairfax.
I really did not expect any Grace to answer; for
the laugh was as tragic, as preternatural a laugh as any
I ever heard; and, but that it was high noon, and that
II*




I64                JANE ERE.
no circumstance of ghostliness accompanied the curious
cachination; but that neither scene nor season favoured
fear, I should have been superstitiously afraid. However, the event showed me I was a fool for entertaining
a sense even of surprise.
The door nearest me opened, and a servant came
out,-a woman of between thirty and forty; a set,
square-made figure, red-haired, and with a hard, plain
face: any apparition less romantic or less ghostly could
scarcely be conceived.
"Too much noise, Grace," said Mrs. Fairfax.
"Remember directions!" Grace 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 Adele, continued
till we reached the light and cheerful region below.
Adele came running to meet us in the hall, exclaiming:"Mesdames, vous etes servies!" adding "J'ai bien
faim, moi!"
We found dinner ready, and waiting for us in Mrs.
Fairfax's room.




JANE EmR.                 165
CHAPTER XII.
THE promise of a smooth career, which my first
calm introduction to Thornfield-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 interference from any quarter ever thwarted my
plans for her improvement, she soon forgot her little
freaks, and became obedient and teachable. She had
no great talents, no marked traits of character, no peculiar development of feeling or taste which raised her
one inch above the ordinary level of childhood; but
neither had she any deficiency or vice which sunk her
below it. She made reasonable progress, entertained
for me a vivacious, though perhaps not very profound
affection, and by her simplicity, gay prattle, and efforts
to please, inspired me, in return, with a degree of
attachment sufficient to make us both content in each
other's society.
This, par 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
devotion: but I am not writing to flatter parental egotism,
to echo cant, or prop up humbug; I am merely telling
the truth. I felt a conscientious solicitude for Adele's




I66                JANEM TRE.
welfare and progress, and a quiet liking to her little
self; just as I cherished towards Mrs. Fairfax a thankfulness for her kindness, and a pleasure in her society
proportionate to the tranquil regard she had for me,
and the moderation of her mind and character.
Anybody may blame me who likes, when I add
further, that, now and then, when I took a walk by
myself in the grounds; when I went down to the gates
and looked through them along the road; or when, while
Adele played with her nurse, and Mrs. Fairfax made
jellies in the store-room, I climbed the three staircases,
raised the trap-door of the attic, and having reached
the leads, looked out afar over sequestered field and
hill, and along dim sky-line: that then I longed for a
power of vision which might overpass that limit; which
might reach the busy world, towns, regions full of life
I had heard of but never seen: that then I desired
more of practical experience than I possessed; more of
intercourse with my kind, of acquaintance with variety
of character, than was here within my reach. I valued
what was good in Mrs. Fairfax, and what was good in
Adele; but I believed in the existence of other and
more vivid kinds of goodness, and what I believed in I
wished to behold.
Who blames me? Many no doubt; and I shall be
called discontented. I could not help it: the restlessness
was in my nature; it agitated me to pain sometimes.
Then my sole relief was to walk along the corridor of
the third story, backwards and forwards, safe in the
silence and solitude of the spot, and allow my mind's
eye to dwell on whatever bright visions rose before it
-and certainly they were many and glowing; to let




JANE EYRE.               167
my heart be heaved by the exultant movement which,
while it swelled it in trouble, expanded it with life; and
best of all, to open my inward ear to a tale that was
never ended-a tale my imagination created, and
narrated continuously; quickened with all of incident,
life, fire, feeling, that I desired and had not in my
actual existence.
It is in vain to say human beings ought to be
satisfied with tranquility: they must have action; and
they will make it if they cannot find it. Millions are
condemned to a stiller doom than mine, and millions
are in silent revolt against their lot. Nobody knows
how many rebellions besides political rebellions ferment
in the masses of life which people earth. Women are
supposed to be very calm generally: but women feel
just as men feel; they need exercise for their faculties,
and a field for their efforts as much as their brothers
do; they suffer from too rigid a restraint, too absolute
a stagnation, precisely as men would suffer; and it is
narrow-minded in their more privileged fellow-creatures
to say that they ought to confine themselves to making
puddings and knitting stockings, to playing on the
piano and embroidering bags. It is thoughtless to
condemn them, or laugh at them, if they seek to do
more or learn more than custom has pronounced necessary for their sex.
When thus alone, I not unfrequently heard Grace
Poole's laugh: the same peal, the same low, slow ha!
ha! which, when first heard, had thrilled me: I heard,
too, her eccentric murmurs; stranger than her laugh.
There were days when she was quite silent; but there
were others when I could not account for the sounds




x68                JANE EYRE.
she made. Sometimes I saw her: she would come out
of her room with a basin, or a plate, or a tray in her
hand, go down to the kitchen and shortly return,
generally (oh, romantic reader, forgive me for telling the
plain truth!) bearing a pot of porter. Her appearance
always acted as a damper to the curiosity raised by her
oral oddities: hard-featured and staid, she had no point
to which interest could attach. I made some attempts
to draw her into conversation, but she seemed a person
of few words: a monosyllabic reply usually cut short
every effort of that sort.
The other members of the household, viz., John and
his wife, Leah the housemaid, and Sophie the French
nurse, were decent people; but in no respect remarkable:
with Sophie I used to talk French, and sometimes I
asked her questions about her native country; but she
was not of a descriptive or narrative turn, and generally
gave such vapid and confused answers as were calculated
rather to check than encourage inquiry.
October, November, December passed away. One
afternoon in January, Mrs. Fairfax had begged a holiday for Adele, because she had a cold; and, as Addle
seconded the request with an ardour that reminded me
how precious occasional holidays had been to me in my
own childhood, I accorded it; deeming that I did well
in showing pliability on the point. It was a fine, calm
day, though very cold; I was tired of sitting still in the
library through a whole long morning: Mrs. Fairfax had
just written a letter which was waiting to be posted, so
I put on my bonnet and cloak and volunteered to carry
it to Hay;-the distance, two miles, would be a pleasant
winter afternoon walk. Having seen Adele comfortably




JANE EYRE.               I69
seated in her little chair by Mrs. Fairfax's parlour fireside, and given her her best wax doll (which I usually
kept enveloped in silver paper in a drawer) to play with,
and a story-book for change of amusement; and having
replied to her "Revenez bient6t ma bonne amie, ma
chere Mdlle. Jeannette," with a kiss, I set out.
The ground was hard, the air was still, my road
was lonely; I walked fast till I got warm, and then I
walked slowly to enjoy and 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
cattle now browsed; and the little brown birds which
stirred occasionally in the hedge, looked like single
russet leaves that had forgotten to drop.
This lane inclined up-hill all the way to Hay: having
reached the middle, I sat down on a stile which led
thence into a field. Gathering my mantle about me, and
sheltering my hands in my muff, I did not feel the cold,
though it froze keenly; as was attested by a sheet of
ice covering the causeway, where a little brooklet, now




170                JANE EVRE.
congealed, had overflowed after a rapid thaw some days
since. From my seat I could look down on Thornfield:
the grey and battlemented hall was the principal object
in the vale below me; its woods and dark rookery rose
against the west. 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
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
whisperings, at once so far away and so clear: a positive tramp, tramp; a metallic clatter, which effaced the
soft wave-wanderings; as, in a picture, the solid mass of
a crag, or the rough boles of a great oak, draw 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




JANE EYRE.               17 1
other rubbish; and when they recurred, maturing youth
added to them a vigour and vividness beyond what
childhood could give. As this horse approached, and
as I watched for it to 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 addition to the tramp, tramp, I heard a rush under the
hedge, and close down by the hazel stems glided a
great dog, whose black and white colour made him a
distinct object against the trees. It was exactly one
mask of Bessie's Gytrash,-a lion-like creature with long
hair and a huge head: it passed me, however, quietly
enough; not staying to look up, with strange pretercanine
eyes, in my face, as I half expected it would. The
horse followed,-a tall steed, and on its back a rider.
The man, the human being, broke the spell at once.
Nothing ever rode the Gytrash: it was always alone;
and goblins, to my notions, though they might tenant
the dumb carcasses of beasts, could scarce covet shelter
in the common-place human form. No Gytrash was
this,-only a traveller taking the short cut to Millcote.
He passed, and I went on; a few steps, and I turned: a
sliding sound and an 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




172                JANE EYRE.
echoed the sound; which was deep in proportion to his
magnitude. He snuffed round the prostrate group, and
then he ran up to me; it was all he could do,-there
was no other help at hand to summon. I obeyed him,
and walked down to the traveller, by this time struggling
himself free of his steed. His efforts were so vigorous, I
thought he could not be much hurt; but I asked him
the question:"Are you injured, sir?"
I think he was swearing, but am not certain; however, he was pronouncing some formula which prevented
him from replying to me directly.
"Can I do anything?" I asked again.
"You must just stand on one side," he answered as
he rose, first to his knees, and then to his feet. I did;
whereupon began a heaving, stamping, clattering process, accompanied by a barking and baying which removed me effectually some yards distance; but I would
not be driven quite away till I saw the event. This
was finally fortunate; the horse was re-established, and
the dog was silenced with a "Down, Pilot!" The traveller now, stooping, felt his foot and leg, as if trying
whether they were sound; apparently something ailed
them, for he halted to the stile whence I had just risen,
and sat down.
I was in the mood for being useful, or at least officious, I think, for I now drew near him again.
"If you are hurt, and want help, sir, I can fetch
some one, either from Thornfield-Hall or from Hay."
"Thank you; I shall do: I have no broken bones,only a sprain;" and again he stood up and tried his
foot, but the result extorted an involuntary "Ugh!"




JANE EVRE.               173
Something of daylight still lingered, and the moon
was waxing bright: I could see him plainly. His figure
was enveloped in a riding cloak, fur collared, and steel
clasped; its details were not apparent, but I traced the
general points of middle height, and considerable breadth
of chest. He had a dark face, with stern features and
a heavy brow; his eyes and gathered eyebrows looked
ireful and thwarted just now; he was past youth, but
had not reached middle age; perhaps he might be
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
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 goodhumoured to me when I addressed him; if he had put
off my offer of assistance gaily and with thanks, I should
have gone on my way and not felt any vocation to
renew inquiries: but the frown, the roughness of the
traveller set me at my ease: I retained my station when
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."




174                JANE EYRE.
He looked at me when I said this: he had hardly
turned his eyes in my direction before.
"I should think you ought to be at home yourself,"
said he, "if you have a home in this neighbourhood:
where do you come from?"
"From just below; and I am not at all afraid of
being out late when it is moonlight: I will run over to
Hay for you with pleasure, if you wish it-indeed, I am
going there to post a letter."
"You live just below-do you mean at that house
with the battlements?" pointing to Thornfield-Hall, on
which the moon cast a hoary gleam, bringing it out distinct and pale from the woods, that, by contrast with
the western sky, now seemed one mass of shadow.
"Yes, sir."
"Whose house is it?"
"Mr. Rochester's."
"Do you know Mr. Rochester?"
"No, I have never seen him."
"He is not resident then?"
" No."
"Can you tell me where he is?"
"I cannot."
"You are not a servant at the hall, of course. You
are-". He stopped, ran his eye over my dress, which,
as usual, was quite simple: a black merino cloak, a
black beaver bonnet; neither of them half fine enough
for a lady's-maid. He seemed puzzled to decide what
I was: I helped him.
"I am the governess."
"Ah, the governess!" he repeated; "deuce take me,
if I had not forgotten! The governess!" and again my




JANE EYRE.                175
raiment underwent scrutiny. In two minutes he rose
from the stile: his face expressed prin when he tried
to move.
"I cannot commission you to fetch help," he said;
"but you may help me a little yourself, if you will be
so kind."
"Yes, sir."
"You have not an umbrella that I can use as a
stick?"
"No."
"Try to get hold of my horse's bridle and lead him
to me: you are not afraid?"
I should have been afraid to touch a horse when
alone, but when told to do it, I was disposed to obey.
I put down my muff on the stile, and went up to the
tall steed; I endeavoured to catch the bridle, but it
was a spirited thing, and would not let me come near
its head; I made effort on effort, though in vain: meantime, I was mortally afraid of its trampling forefeet.
The traveller waited and watched for some time, and
at last he laughed.
"I see," he said, "the mountain will never be brought
to Mahomet, so all you can do is to aid Mahomet to go
to the mountain; I must beg of you to come here."
I came-"Excuse me," he continued; "necessity
compels me to make you useful." He laid a heavy
hand on my shoulder, and leaning on me with some
stress, limped to his horse. Having once caught the
bridle, he mastered it directly, and sprang to his saddle;
grimacing grimly as he made the effort, for it wrenched
his sprain.
"Now," said he, releasing his under lip from a hard




176                JANE EYRE.
bite, "just hand me my whip; it lies there under the
hedge."
I sought it and found it.
"Thank you; now make haste with the letter to
Hay, and return as fast as you can."
A touch of a spurred heel made his horse first start
and rear, and then bound away; the dog rushed in his
traces: all three vanished
"Like heath that in the wilderness
The wild wind whirls away."
I took up my muff and walked on. The incident
had occurred and was gone for me: it was an incident
of no moment, no romance, no interest in a sense; yet
it marked with change one single hour of a monotonous
life. My help had been needed and claimed; I had
given it: I was pleased to have done something; trivial,
transitory though the deed was, it was yet an active
thing, and I was weary of an existence all passive.
The new face, too, was like a new picture introduced
to the gallery of memory; and it was dissimilar to all
the others hanging there: firstly, because it was masculine; and secondly, because it was dark, strong, and
stern, I had it still before me when I entered Hay,
and 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
listened; with an idea that a horse's hoofs might ring
on the causeway again, and that a rider in a cloak,
and a Gytrash-like Newfoundland dog, might be again
apparent: I saw only the hedge and a pollard willow
before me, rising up still and straight to meet the




JANE EYRE.                177
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 hall, to ascend the darksome staircase, to seek
my own lonely little room and then to meet tranquil
Mrs. Fairfax, and spend the long winter evening with
her, and her only, was to quell wholly the faint excitement wakened by my walk,-to slip again over my
faculties the viewless fetters of an uniform and too still
existence; of an existence whose very privileges of
security and ease I was becoming incapable of appreciating. What good it would have done me at that
time to have been tossed in the storms of an uncertain
struggling life, and to have been taught by rough and
bitter experience to long for the calm amidst which I
now repined! Yes, just as much good as it would do a
man tired of sitting still in a "too easy chair" to take
a long walk: and just as natural was the wish to stir,
under my circumstances, as it would be under his.
I lingered at the gates; I lingered on the lawn; I
paced backwards and forwards on the pavement: the
shutters of the glass door were closed; I could not see
into the interior; and both my eyes and spirit seemed
drawn from the gloomy house-from the 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;
Yane Eyre. I.                        12




178                JANE EYRE.
her orb seeming to look up as she left the hill tops,
from behind which she had come, far and farther
below her, and aspired to the zenith, midnight-dark in
its fathomless depth and measureless distance: and 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 twoleaved 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
Adele, when the door closed.
I hastened to Mrs. Fairfax's room: there was a fire
there, too; but no candle, and no Mrs. Fairfax. Instead, all alone, sitting upright on the rug, and gazing
with gravity at the blaze, I beheld a great black and
white long-haired dog, just like the Gytrash of the lane.
It was so like it that I went forward and said,"Pilot," and the thing got up and came to me and
snuffed me. I caressed him, and he wagged his great
tail: but he looked an eerie creature to be alone with,
and I could not tell whence he had come. I rang the




JANE EYRE.               179
bell, for I wanted a candle; and I wanted, too, to get
an account of this visitant. Leah entered.
"What dog is this?"
"He came with master."
"With whom?"
"With master-Mr. Rochester-he is just arrived."
"Indeed! and is Mrs. Fairfax with him?"
"Yes, and Miss Adela; they are in the dining-room,
and John is gone for a surgeon: for master has had an
accident; his horse fell and his ankle is sprained."
"Did the horse fall in Hay Lane?"
"Yes, coming down hill; it slipped on some ice."
"Ah! Bring me a candle, will you, Leah?"
Leah brought it; she entered, followed by Mrs.
Fairfax, who repeated the news; adding that Mr. Carter
the surgeon was come and was now with Mr. Rochester:
then she hurried out to give orders about tea, and I
went up stairs to take off my things.
T2*




I80                 JANE EYRE.
CHAPTER XIII.
MR. ROCHESTER, it seems, by the surgeon's orders,
went to bed early that night; nor did he rise soon next
morning. When he did come down, it was to attend to
business: his agent and some of his tenants were arrived,
and waiting to speak with him.
Adele and I had now to vacate the library: it would
be in daily requisition as a reception-room for callers.
A fire was lit in an apartment up stairs, and there I
carried our books, and arranged it for the future schoolroom. I discerned in the course of the morning that
Thornfield-Hall was a changed place: no longer silent
as a church, it echoed every hour or two to a knock
at the door or a clang of the bell; steps, too, often
traversed the hall, and new voices spoke in different
keys below: a rill from the outer world was flowing
through it; it had a master: for my part, I liked it
better.
Adele was not easy to teach that day; she could
not apply: she kept running to the door and looking
over the banisters to see if she could get a glimpse of
Mr. Rochester; then she coined pretexts to go down
stairs, in order, as I shrewdly suspected, to visit the
library, where I knew she was not wanted; then, when
I got a little angry, and made her sit still, she continued
to talk incessantly of her "ami, Monsieur Edouard Fairfax de Rochester," as she dubbed him (I had not before
heard his prenomens), and to conjecture what presents
he had brought her: for it appears he had intimated




JANE EYRE.                I8 
the night before that when his luggage came from Millcote, there would be found amongst it a little box in
whose contents she had an interest.
"Et cela doit signifier," said she, "qu'il y aura ladedans un cadeau pour moi, et peut-etre pour vous
aussi, Mademoiselle. Monsieur a parl de vous: il m'a
demands le nom de ma gouvernante, et si elle n'etait
pas une petite personne, assez mince et un peu pale.
J'ai dit que oui: car c'est vrai, n'est-ce pas, Mademoiselle?"
I and my pupil dined as usual in Mrs. Fairfax's
parlour; the afternoon was wild and snowy, and we
passed it in the school-room. At dark I allowed Adele
to put away books and work, and to run down stairs;
for, from the comparative silence below, and from the
cessation of appeals to the door-bell, I conjectured that
Mr. Rochester was now at liberty. Left alone, I walked
to the window; but nothing was to be seen thence:
twilight and 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
unwelcome thoughts that were beginning to throng on
my solitude.
"Mr. Rochester would be glad if you and your
pupil would take tea with him in the drawing-room this
evening," said she: "he has been so much engaged all
day that he could not ask to see you before."




8 2                JANE EYRE.
"When is his tea-time?" I inquired.
"Oh, at six o'clock: he keeps early hours in the
country. You had better change your frock now; I will
go with you and fasten it. Here is a candle."
"Is it necessary to change my frock?"
"Yes, you had better: I always dress for the evening when Mr. Rochester is here."
This additional ceremony seemed somewhat stately:
however, I repaired to my room, and, with Mrs. Fairfax's aid, replaced my black stuff dress by one of
black silk; the best and the only additional one I had,
except one of light 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
down stairs.  Unused as I was to strangers, it was
rather a trial to appear thus formally summoned in
Mr. Rochester's presence. I let Mrs. Fairfax precede
me into the dining-room, and kept in her shade as we
crossed that apartment; and, passing the arch, whose
curtain was now dropped, entered the elegant recess
beyond.
Two wax candles stood lighted on the table, and
two on the mantelpiece; basking in the light and heat
of a superb fire, lay Pilot-Adele knelt near him. Half
reclined on a couch appeared Mr. Rochester, his foot
supported by the cushion; he was looking at Adele and
the dog: the fire shone full on his face. I knew my
traveller with his broad and jetty eyebrows; his square
forehead, made squarer by the horizontal sweep of his




JANE EYRE.               183
black hair.  I recognised his decisive nose, more remarkable for character than beauty; his full nostrils,
denoting, I thought, choler; his grim mouth, chin, and
jaw-yes, all three were very grim, and no mistake. His
shape, now divested of cloak, I perceived harmonized
in squareness with his physiognomy: I suppose it was
a good figure in the athletic sense of the term-broad
chested and thin flanked; though neither tall nor
graceful.
Mr. Rochester must have been aware of the entrance
of Mrs. Fairfax and myself; but it appeared he was not
in the mood to notice us, for he never lifted his head
as we approached.
"Here is Miss Eyre, sir," said Mrs. Fairfax, in her
quiet way. He bowed; still not taking his eyes from
the group of the dog and child.
"Let Miss Eyre be seated," said he: and there was
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
finished politeness would probably have confused me:
I could not have returned or repaid it by answering
grace and elegance on my part; but harsh caprice laid
me under no obligation; on the contrary, a decent quiescence, under the freak of manner, gave me the advantage. Besides, the eccentricity of the proceeding was
piquant: I felt interested to see how he would go on.
He went on as a statue would: that is, he neither
spoke nor moved.   Mrs. Fairfax seemed to think it
necessary that some one should be amiable, and she




184                JANE EYRE.
began to talk. Kindly, as usual-and, as usual, rather
trite-she condoled with him on the pressure of business he had had all day; on the annoyance it must
have been to him with that painful sprain: then she
commended his patience and perseverance in going
through with it.
"Madam, I should like some tea," was the sole rejoinder she got. She hastened to ring the bell; and,
when the' tray came, she proceeded to arrange the
cups, spoons, &c., with assiduous celerity. I and Addle
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, Adele, thinking the moment propitious for making
a request in my favour, cried out:"N'est-ce pas, Monsieur, qu'il y a un cadeau pour
Mademoiselle Eyre, dans votre petit coffre?"
"Who talks of cadeaux?" said he, gruffly: "did you
expect a present, Miss Eyre? Are you fond of presents?"
and he searched my face with eyes that I saw were
dark, irate, and piercing.
"I 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 Addle:




JANE EYRE.                I85
she demands a'cadeau,' clamorously, the moment she
sees me: you beat about the bush."
"Because I have less confidence in my deserts
than Adele has: she can prefer the claim of old acquaintance, and the right too of custom; for she says
you have always been in the habit of giving her playthings; but if I had to make out a case I should be
puzzled, since I am a stranger and have done nothing
to entitle me to an acknowledgment."
"Oh, don't fall back on over-modesty! I have examined 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
corner with her knitting; while Adele was leading me
by the hand round the room, showing me the beautiful
books and ornaments on the consoles and chiffonnieres.
We obeyed, as in duty bound; Adele wanted to take
a seat on my knee, but she was ordered to amuse herself with Pilot.
"You have been resident in my house three
months?"
"Yes, sir."
"And you came from-?"
"From Lowood school in -shire."




I86                JANE EYRE.
"Ah! a charitable concern.-How long were you
there?"
"Eight years."
"Eight years! you must be tenacious of life. I
thought half the time in such a place would have done
up any constitution! No wonder you have rather the
look of another world. I marvelled where you had
got that sort of face. When you came on me in Hay
Lane last night, I thought unaccountably of fairy tales,
and had half a mind to demand whether you had bewitched my horse: I am not sure yet. Who are your
parents?"
"I have none."
"Nor ever had, I suppose: do you remember them?"
" No."
"I thought not. And so you were waiting for your
people when you sat on that stile?"
"For whom, sir?"
"For the men in green: it was a proper moonlight
evening for them. Did I break through one of your
rings, that you spread that damned ice on the causeway?"
I shook my head. "The men in green all forsook
England a hundred years ago," said I, speaking as
seriously as he had done. "And not even in Hay Lane
or the field 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.




JANE EYRE.                187
"Well," resumed Mr. Rochester, "if you disown
parents, you must have some sort of kinsfolk: uncles
and aunts?"
"No; none that I ever saw."
"And your home?"
"I have none."
"Where do your brothers and sisters live?"
"I have no brothers or sisters."
"Who recommended you to come here?"
"I advertised, and Mrs. Fairfax answered my advertisement."
"Yes," said the good lady, who now knew what
ground we were upon, "and I am daily thankful for the
choice Providence led me to make. Miss Eyre has
been an invaluable companion to me, and a kind and
careful teacher to Adele."
"Don't trouble yourself to give her a character,"
returned Mr. Rochester: "eulogiums will not bias me;
I shall judge for myself. She began by felling my
horse."
"Sir?" said Mrs. Fairfax.
"I have to thank her for this sprain."
The widow looked bewildered.
"Miss Eyre, have you ever lived in a town?"
"No, sir."
"Have you seen much society?"
"None but the pupils and teachers of Lowood; and
now the inmates of Thornfield.
"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




188                JANE EYRE.
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
worship her priest! That sounds blasphemous."
"I disliked Mr. Brocklehurst; and I was not alone
in the feeling. He is a harsh man; at once pompous
and meddling: he cut off our hair; and for economy's
sake, bought us bad needles and thread, with which
we could hardly sew."
"That was very false economy," remarked Mrs. Fairfax, who now again caught the drift of the dialogue.
"And was that the head and front of his offending?"
demanded Mr. Rochester.
"He starved us when he had 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?"
I assented.
"Arithmetic, you see, is useful; without its aid, I
should hardly have been able to guess your age. It is
a point difficult to fix where the features and counten



JANE EYRE.               I89
ance 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 libray; take a candle with you;
leave the door open; sit down to the piano, and play a
tune."
I departed, obeying his directions.
"Enough!" he called out in a few minutes. "You
play a little, I see; like any other English school-girl:
perhaps rather better than some, but not well."
I closed the piano, and returned. Mr. Rochester
continued.
"Adele showed me some sketches this morning,
which she said were yours. I don't know whether they
were entirely of your doing: probably a master aided
you?"
"No, indeed!" I interjected.
"Ah! that pricks pride. Well, fetch me your portfolio, if you can vouch for its contents being original;
but don't pass your word unless you are certain: I can
recognise patch-work."
"Then I will say nothing, and you shall judge for
yourself, sir."
I brought the portfolio from the library.
"Approach the table," said he; and I wheeled it to
his couch. Adele and Mrs. Fairfax drew near to see
the pictures.
"No crowding," said Mr. Rochester: "take the draw



I 9                JANE EYRE.
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 Adele;-you" (glancing at me) "resume your seat, and answer my questions.
I perceive these pictures were done by one hand: was
that hand yours?"
"Yes."
"And when did you find time to do them? They
have taken much time, and some thought."
"I did them in the last two vacations I spent at
Lowood, when I had no other occupation."
"Where did you get your copies?"
"Out of my head."
"That head I see now on your shoulders?"
" Yes, sir."
"Has it other furniture of the same kind within?"
"I should think it may have: I should hope-better."
He spread the pictures before him, and again surveyed them alternately.
While he is so occupied, I will tell you, reader,
what they are: and first, I must premise that they are
nothing wonderful.  The subjects had indeed risen
vividly on my mind. As I saw them with the spiritual
eye, before I attempted to embody them, they were
striking; but my hand would not second my fancy, and
in each case it had wrought out but a pale portrait of
the thing I had conceived.
These pictures were in water colours. The first




JANE EYRE.                191
represented clouds low and livid, rolling over a swollen
sea: all the distance was in eclipse; so, too, was the
foreground; or rather, the nearest billows, for there was
no land. One gleam of light lifted into relief a halfmerged mast, on which sat a cormorant, dark and large,
with wings flecked with foam; its beak held a gold
bracelet, set with gems, that I had touched with as brilliant tints as my palette could yield, and as glittering
distinctness as my pencil could 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 vapour; the eyes
shone dark and wild; the hair streamed shadowy, like
a beamless cloud torn by storm or by electric travail.
On the neck lay a pale reflection like moonlight; the
same faint lustre touched the train of thin clouds from
which rose and bowed this vision of the Evening Star.
The third showed the pinnacle of an iceberg piercing
a polar winter sky: a muster of northern lights reared
their dim lances, close serried, along the horizon. Throwing these into distance, rose, in the foreground, a head,
-a   colossal head, inclined towards the iceberg, and
resting against it. Two thin hands, joined under the
forehead, and supporting it, drew up before the lower




192                JANE EYRE.
features a sable veil; a brow quite bloodless, white as
bone, and an eye hollow and fixed, blank of meaning
but for the glassiness of despair, alone were visible.
Above the temples, amidst wreathed turban folds of
black drapery, vague in its character and consistency as
cloud, gleamed a ring of white flame, gemmed with
sparkles of a more lurid tinge. This pale crescent was
"The likeness of a Kingly Crown;" what it diademed
was "the shape which shape had none."
"Were you happy when you painted these pictures?"
asked Mr. Rochester, presently.
"I was absorbed, sir: yes, and I was happy. To
paint them, in short, was to enjoy one of the keenest
pleasures I have ever known."
"That is not saying much. Your pleasures, by your
own account, have been few; but I daresay you did
exist in a kind of artist's dreamland while you blent
and arranged these strange tints. Did you sit at them
long each day?"
"I had nothing else to do, because it was the vacation, and I sat at them from morning till noon, and
from noon till night: the length of the midsummer days
favoured my inclination to apply."
"And you felt self-satisfied with the result of your
ardent labours?"
"Far from it. I was tormented by the contrast
between my idea and my handiwork: in each case I
had imagined something which I was quite powerless to
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




JANE MVRE.              193
the drawings are, for a school girl, peculiar. As to the
thoughts, they are elfish. These eyes in the Evening
Star you must have seen in a dream. How could you
make them look so clear, and yet not at all brilliant?
for the planet above quells their rays. And what meaning is that in their solemn depth? And who taught
you to paint wind? There is a high gale in that sky,
and on this hill-top. Where did you see Latmos? For
that is Latmos. There,-put the drawings away?"
I had scarce tied the strings of the portfolio, when,
looking at his watch, he said abruptly"It is nine o'clock: what are you about, Miss Eyre,
to let Adele sit up so long? Take her to bed."
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 portfolio: we curtseyed to him, received a frigid bow
in return, and so withdrew.
"You said Mr. Rochester was not strikingly peculiar, Mrs. Fairfax," I observed, when I rejoined her in
her room, after putting Adele to bed.
"Well, is he?"
"I think so: he is very changeful and abrupt."
"True: 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?"
7ane Eyre. I.                         13




I94                JANE EYRE.
"Partly, because it is his nature-and we can none
of us help our nature; and partly, he has painful
thoughts, no doubt, to harass him, and make his spirits
unequal."
"What about?"
"Family troubles, for one thing."
"But he has no family."
"Not now, but he has had-or, at least, relatives.
He lost his elder brother a few years since."
"His elder brother?"
"Yes. The present Mr. Rochester has not been
very long in possession of the property: only about
nine years."
"Nine years is a tolerable time. Was he so very
fond of his brother as to be still inconsolable for his
loss?"
"Why, no-perhaps not. I believe there were some
misunderstandings between them. Mr. Rowland Rochester
was not quite just to Mr. Edward; and perhaps he prejudiced his father against him. The old gentleman was
fond of money, and anxious to keep the family estate
together. He did not like to diminish the property by
division, and yet he was anxious that Mr. Edward should
have wealth, too, to keep up the consequence of the
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




JANE EYRE.                 9 5
with his family, and now for many years he has led an
unsettled kind of life. I don't think he has ever been
resident at Thornfield for a fortnight together, since the
death of his brother without a will, left him master of
the estate: and, indeed, no wonder he shuns the old
place."
"Why should he shun it?"
"Perhaps he thinks it gloomy."
The answer was evasive-I should have liked something clearer; but Mrs. Fairfax either could not, or
would not, give me more explicit information of the
origin and nature of Mr. Rochester's trials. She averred
they were a mystery to herself, and that what she knew
was chiefly from conjecture. It was evident, indeed,
that she wished me to drop the subject; which I did
accordingly.
CHAPTER XIV.
FOR several subsequent days I saw little of Mr.
Rochester. In the mornings he seemed much engaged
with business, and in the afternoon, gentlemen from
Millcote or the neighbourhood called, and sometimes
stayed to dine with him. When his sprain was well
enough to admit of horse exercise, he rode out a good
deal; probably to return these visits, as he generally
did not come back till late at night.
During this interval, even Addle was seldom sent
for to his presence, and all my acquaintance with him
was confined to an occasional rencontre in the hall, on
13*




196                JANE EYRE.
the stairs, or in the gallery; when he would sometimes
pass me haughtily and coldly, just acknowledging my
presence by a distant nod or a cool glance, and sometimes bow and smile with gentlemanlike affability. His
changes of mood did not offend me, because I saw that
I had nothing to do with their alternation; the ebb and
flow depended on causes quite disconnected with me.
One day he had had company to dinner, and had
sent for my portfolio; in order, doubtless, to exhibit
its contents: the gentlemen went away early, to attend
a public 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 Adele
were to go down stairs. I brushed Ad&le's hair and
made her neat, and having ascertained that I was myself in my usual Quaker trim, where there was nothing
to retouch-all being too close and plain, braided locks
included, to admit of disarrangement-we descended;
Adele wondering whether the petit coifre was at length
come: for owing to some mistake, its arrival had hitherto
been delayed. She was gratified: there it stood, a little
carton, on the table when we entered the dining-room
She appeared to know it by instinct.
"Ma bolte! ma boite!" exclaimed she, running towards it.
"Yes-there is your'boite' at last: take it into a
corner you genuine daughter of Paris, and amuse
yourself with disembowelling it," said the deep and
rather sarcastic voice of Mr. Rochester, proceeding from
the depths of an immense easy-chair at the fire-side.
"And mind," he continued, "don't bother me With any




JANE EYRE.               197
details of the anatomical process, or any notice of the
condition of the entrails: let your operation be conducted in silence-tiens-toi tranquille, enfant; cornprends-tu?"
Adele seemed scarcely to need the warning; she
had already retired to a sofa with her treasure, and was
busy untying the cord which secured the lid. Having
removed this impediment, and lifted certain silvery envelopes of tissue paper, she merely exclaimed:"Oh, Ciel! Que c'est beau!" and then remained
absorbed in ecstatic contemplation.
"Is Miss Eyre there?" now demanded the master,
half rising from his seat to look round to the door,
near which I still stood.
"Ah! well; come forward: be seated here." He
drew a chair near his own. "I am not fond of the
prattle of children," he continued; "for, old bachelor
as I am, I have no pleasant associations connected with
their lisp. It would be intolerable to me to pass a
whole evening tete-a-tete 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 in mine; 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 charitable purpose: I have forbidden Addle to talk to me
about her presents, and she is bursting with repletion;




98                JANE E1YRE.
have the goodness to serve her as auditress and interlocutrice: it will be one of the most benevolent acts you
ever performed."
Adele, indeed, no sooner saw Mrs. Fairfax, than
she summoned her to her sofa, and there quickly filled
her lap with the porcelain, the ivory, the waxen contents of her "bolte"; pouring out, meantime, explanations and raptures in such broken English as she was
mistress of.
"Now I have performed the part of a good host,"
pursued Mr. 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.
We were, as I have said, in the dining-room: the
lustre, which had been lit for dinner, filled the room
with a festal breadth of light; the large fire was all red
and clear; the purple curtains hung rich and ample
before the lofty window and loftier arch: everything
was still, save the subdued chat of Adele (she dared
not speak loud), and, filling up each pause, the beating
of winter rain against the panes.
Mr. Rochester, as he sat in his damask-covered
chair, looked different to what I had seen him look
before,-not quite so stern; much less gloomy. There




JANE EYRE.               t99
was a smile on his lips, and his eyes sparkled, whether
with wine or not, I am not sure; but I think it very
probable. He was, in short, in his after-dinner mood;
more expanded and genial, and also more self-indulgent
than the frigid and rigid temper of the morning: still,
he looked preciously grim, cushioning his massive head
against the swelling back of his chair, and receiving
the light of the fire on his granite-hewn features, and
in his great, dark eyes-for he had great, dark eyes,
and very fine eyes, too: not without a certain change
in their depths sometimes, which, if it was not softness,
reminded you, at least, of that feeling.
He had been looking two minutes at the fire, and
I had been looking the same length of time at him,
when, turning suddenly, he caught my gaze, fastened
on his physiognomy.
"You examine me, Miss Eyre," said he: "do you
think me handsome?"
I should, if I had deliberated, have replied to this
question by something conventionally vague and polite;
but the answer somehow slipped from my tongue before
I was aware:-"No, sir."
"Ah! By my word! there is something singular
about you," said he: "you have the air of a little nonnette; quaint, quiet, grave, and simple, as you sit
with your hands before you, and your eyes generally
bent on the carpet (except, by-the-by, when they are
directed piercingly to my face; as just now, for instance); and when one asks you a question, or makes
a remark to which you are obliged to reply, you rap
out a round rejoinder, which, if not blunt, is at least
brusque. What do you mean by it?"




200                JANE EYRE.
"Sir, I was too plain: I beg your pardon. I ought
to have replied that it was not easy to give an impromptu answer to a question about appearances; that
tastes differ; that beauty is of little consequence, or
something of that sort."
"You ought to have replied no such thing. Beauty
of little consequence, indeed! And so, under pretence
of softening the previous outrage, of stroking and soothing me into placidity, you stick a sly penknife under my
ear! Go on: what fault do you find with me, pray?
I suppose 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.  Criticize me: does my forehead not please
you?"
He lifted up the sable waves of hair which lay
horizontally over his brow, and showed a solid enough
mass of intellectual organs; but an abrupt deficiency
where the suave sign of benevolence should have risen.
"Now, ma'am, am I a fool?"
"Far from it, sir. You would, perhaps, think me
rude if I inquired in return whether you are a philanthropist?"
"There again! Another stick of the penknife, when
she pretended to pat my head: and that is because I
said I did not like the society of children and old
women (low be it spoken!). No, young lady, I am
not a general philanthropist; but I bear a conscience;"
and he pointed to the prominences which are said to




JANE EYRE.               201
indicate that faculty-and which, fortunately for him,
were sufficiently conspicuous; giving, indeed, a marked
breadth to the upper part of his head: "and, besides,
I once had a kind of rude tenderness of heart. When
I was as old as you, I was a feeling fellow enough;
partial to the unfledged, unfostered, and unlucky; but
fortune has knocked me about since: she has even
kneaded me with her knuckles, and now I flatter myself I am hard and tough as an Indian-rubber ball;
pervious, though, through a chink or two still, and with
one sentient point in the middle of the lump. Yes:
does that leave hope for me?"
"Hope of what, sir?"
"Of my final re-transformation from Indian-rubber
back to flesh?"
"Decidedly he has had too much wine," I thought;
and I did not know what answer to make to his queer
question: how could I tell whether he was capable of
being re-transformed?
"You look very much puzzled, Miss Eyre; and
though you are not pretty any more than I am handsome, yet a puzzled air becomes you; besides, it is
convenient, for it keeps those searching eyes of yours
away from my physiognomy, and busies them with the
worsted flowers of the rug; so puzzle on. Young lady,
I am disposed to be gregarious and communicative tonight."
With this announcement he rose from his chair, and
stood, leaning his arm on the marble mantel-piece: 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




202                JANE EYRE.
would have thought him an ugly man; yet there was so
much unconscious pride in his port; so much ease in
his demeanour; such a look of complete indifference to
his own external appearance; so haughty a reliance on
the power of other qualities, intrinsic or adventitious, to
atone for the lack of mere personal 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:
the fire and the chandelier were not sufficient company
for me; nor would Pilot have been, for none of these
can talk. Adle 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-therefore speak."
Instead of speaking, I smiled: and not a very complacent or submissive smile either.
"Speak," he urged.
"What about, sir?"
"Whatever you like. I leave both the choice of subject and the manner of treating it, entirely to yourself."
Accordingly I sat and said nothing: "If he expects
me to talk for the mere sake of talking and showing
off, he will find he has addressed himself to the wrong
person," I thought.




JANE EYRE.               203
"You are dumb, Miss Eyre."
I was dumb still. He bent his head a little towards
me and with a single hasty glance seemed to dive into
my eyes.
"Stubborn?" he said, "and annoyed. Ah, it is consistent. I put my request in an absurd, almost insolent
form. Miss Eyre, I beg your pardon. The fact is, once
for all, I don't wish to treat you like an inferior: that is
(correcting himself), I claim only such superiority as
must result from twenty years' difference in age and a
century's advance in experience. This is legitimate, et
j'y tiens, as Adele would say; and it is by virtue of this
superiority and this alone that I desire you to have the
goodness to talk to me a little now, and divert my
thoughts, which are galled with dwelling on one point:
cankering as a rusty nail."
He had deigned an explanation; almost an apology:
I did not feel insensible to his condescension, and would
not seem so.
"I am willing to amuse you if I can, sir: quite
willing; but I cannot introduce a topic, because how do
I know what will interest you? Ask me questions, and
I will do my best to answer them."
"Then, in the first place, do you agree with me that
I have a right to be a little masterful, abrupt; perhaps
exacting, 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."




204                JANE EYRE.
"That is no answer; or rather it is a very irritating,
because a very evasive one-reply clearly."
"I don't think, sir, you have a right to command
me, merely because you are older than I, or because
you have seen more of the world than I have-your
claim to superiority depends on the use you have made
of your time and experience."
"Humph! Promptly spoken. But I won't allow that,
seeing that it would never suit my case; as I have made
an indifferent, not to say a bad use of both advantages.
Leaving superiority out of the question then, you must
still agree to receive my orders now and then, without
being piqued or hurt by the tone of command-will
you?"
I smiled: I thought to myself Mr. Rochester is peculiar
-he seems to forget that he pays me 301. per annum
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 hurt by their
orders."
"Paid subordinates! What, you are my paid subordinate, are you? Oh yes, I 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 dependant is comfortable in his dependency, I agree
heartily."
"And will you consent to dispense with a great




JANE EYTRE.              205
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 freeborn would submit to, even for a salary."
"Humbug! Most things free-born will submit to anything for a salary; therefore, keep to yourself, and don't
venture on generalities of which you are intensely ignorant.
However, I mentally shake hands with you for your answer, despite its inaccuracy; and as much for the manner
in which it was said, as for the substance of the speech:
the manner was frank and sincere; one does not often
see such a manner: no, on the contrary, affectation, or
coldness, or stupid, coarse-minded misapprehension of
one's meaning are the usual rewards of candour. Not
three in three thousand raw school-girl-governesses would
have answered me as you have just done. But I don't
mean to flatter you: if you are cast in a different mould
to the majority, it is no merit of yours: Nature did it.
And then, after all, I go too fast in my conclusions: for
what I yet know, you may be no better than the rest;
you may have intolerable defects 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: I know it, and I don't wish to
palliate them, I assure you. God wot I need not be
too severe about others; I have a past existence, a series
of deeds, a colour of life to contemplate within my own




206                JANE EYRE.
breast, which might well call my sneers and censures
from my neighbours to myself. I started, or rather (for
like other defaulters, I like to lay half the blame on ill
fortune and adverse circumstances) was thrust on to a
wrong tack at the age of one and twenty, and have
never recovered the right course since: but I might have
been very different; I might have been as good as you,
-wiser,-almost as stainless. I envy you your peace
of mind, your clean conscience, your unpolluted memory.
Little girl, a memory without blot or contamination must
be an exquisite treasure,-an inexhaustible source of
pure refreshment: is it not?"
"How was your memory when you were eighteen,
sir?"
"All right then; limpid, salubrious: no gush of bilge
water had turned it to fetid puddle. I was your equal
at eighteen-quite your equal. Nature meant me to be,
on the whole, a good man, Miss Eyre: one of the better
end; and you see I am not so. You would say you
don't see it: at least I flatter myself I read as much in
your eye (beware, by-the-by, what you express with that
organ, I am quick at interpreting its language). Then
take my word for it,-I am not a villain: you are not
to suppose that-not to attribute to me any such bad
eminence; but, owing, I verily believe, rather to circumstances than to my natural bent, I am a trite commonplace 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,




JANE EYRE.                207
that it is not your forte to talk of yourself, but to listen
while others talk of themselves; they will feel, too, that
you listen with no malevolent scorn of their indiscretion,
but with a kind of innate sympathy; not the less comforting and encouraging because it is very unobtrusive
in its manifestations."
"How do you know?-how can you guess all this,
sir?"
"I know it well; therefore I proceed almost as freely
as if I were writing my thoughts in a diary. You would
say, I should have been superior to circumstances: so I
should-so I should; but you see I was not. When
fate wronged me, I had not the wisdom to remain cool:
I turned desperate; then I degenerated. Now, when
any vicious simpleton excites my disgust by his paltry
ribaldry, I cannot flatter myself that I am better than
he: I am forced to confess that he and I are on a level.
I wish I had stood firm-God knows I do! Dread remorse when you are tempted to err, Miss Eyre: remorse
is the poison of life."
"Repentance is said to be its cure, sir."
"It is not its cure. Reformation may be its cure;
and I could reform-I have strength yet for that-ifbut where is the use of thinking of it, hampered, burdened,
cursed as I am? Besides, since happiness is irrevocably
denied me, I have a right to get pleasure out of life:
and I will get it, cost what it may."
"Then you will degenerate still more, sir."
"Possibly: yet why should I, if I can get sweet, fresh
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."




208                 JANE EYRE.
"How do you know?-you never tried it. How very
serious-how very solemn you look; and you are as
ignorant of the matter as this cameo head" (taking one
from the mantel-piece). "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? 1 scarcely think the
notion that flittered across my brain was an error. I
believe it was an inspiration rather than a temptation:
it was very genial, very soothing,-I know that. Here
it comes again! It is no devil, I assure you: or if it be,
it has put on the robes of an angel of light. I think I
must admit so fair a guest when it asks entrance to my
heart."
"Distrust it, sir; it is not a true angel."
"Once more, how do you know? By what instinct
do you pretend to distinguish between a fallen seraph
of the abyss, and a messenger from the eternal throne
-between a guide and a seducer?"
"I judged by your countenance, sir; which was
troubled: when you said the suggestion had returned
upon you. I feel sure it will work you more misery if
you listen to it."
"Not at all-it bears the most gracious message in
the world: for the rest, you are not my consciencekeeper, so don't make yourself uneasy. Here, come in,
bonny wanderer!"
He said this as if he spoke to a vision, viewless to




JANE EYRE.               209
any eye but his own; then folding his arms, which he
had half extended, on his chest, he seemed to enclose
in their embrace the invisible being.
"Now," he continued, again addressing me, "I have
received the pilgrim-a disguised deity, as I verily believe. Already it has done me good: my heart was a
sort of charnel; it will now be a shrine."
"To speak truth, sir, I don't understand you at all:
I cannot 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
comprehend: you intimated that to have a sullied
memory was a perpetual bane. It seems to me, that if
you tried hard, you would in time find it possible to
become what you yourself would approve; and that if
from this day you began with resolution to correct your
thoughts and actions, you would in a few years have
laid up a new and stainless store of recollections, to
which you might revert with pleasure."
"Justly thought; rightly said, Miss Eyre; and at this
moment, I am paving hell with energy."
"Sir?"
"I am laying down good intentions, which I believe
durable as flint. Certainly, my associates and pursuits
shall be other than they have been."
"And better?"
"And better-so much better as pure ore is than
foul dross. You seem to doubt me; I don't doubt myself: I know what my aim is, what my motives are; and
at this moment I pass a law, unalterable as that of the
Medes and Persians, that both are right."
7.7ne Eyre. 1.                       14




210                JANE EYRE.
"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
household gods not to abuse it."
"You are human and fallible."
"I am: so are you-what then?"
"The human and fallible should not arrogate a
power with which the divine and perfect alone can be
safely entrusted."
"What power?"
"That of saying of any strange, unsanctioned line
of action,-'Let it be right."'
"'Let it be right'-the very words: you have pronounced them."
"May it be right then," I said, as I rose; deeming
it useless to continue a discourse which was all darkness to me; and, besides, sensible that the character of
my interlocutor was beyond my penetration: at least,
beyond its present reach; and feeling the uncertainty,
the vague sense of insecurity, which accompanies a conviction of ignorance.
"Where are you going?"
"To put Addle to bed: it is past her bed-time."
"You are afraid of me, because I talk like a
Sphynx."
"Your language is enigmatical, sir: but though I am
bewildered, I am certainly not afraid."




JANE EYRE.                21 I
"You are afraid-your self-love dreads a blunder."
"In that sense I do feel apprehensive-I have no
wish to talk nonsense."
"If you did, it would be in such a grave, quiet
manner, I should mistake it for sense. Do you never
laugh, Miss Eyre? Don't trouble yourself to answer-I
see, you laugh rarely; but you can laugh very merrily:
believe me, you are not naturally austere, any more
than I am naturally vicious. The Lowood constraint
still clings to you somewhat; controlling your features,
muffling your voice, and restricting your limbs; and you
fear in the presence of a man and a brother-or father,
or master, or what you will-to smile too gaily, speak
too freely, or move too quickly: but in time, I think you
will learn to be natural with me, as I find it impossible
to be conventional with you; and then your looks and
movements will have more vivacity and variety than
they dare offer now. I see, at intervals, the glance of
a curious sort of bird through the close-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, favours observation. While talking to you, I have also occasionally
watched Adele; (I have my own reasons for thinking
her a curious study,-reasons that I may, nay that I
shall impart to you some day); she pulled out of her
box, about ten minutes ago, a little pink silk frock;
rapture lit her face as she unfolded it: coquetry runs in
I4*




212                 JANE EYRE.
her blood, blends with her brains, and seasons the marrow of her bones.'II faut que je l'essaie!' cried she;
"et a l'instant meme!' and she rushed out of the room.
She is now with Sophie, undergoing a robing process:
in a few minutes she will re-enter; and I know what I
shall see,-a miniature of Celine Varens, as she used
to appear on the boards at the rising of-: but never
mind that. However, my tenderest feelings are about
to receive a shock: such is my presentiment; stay now,
to see whether it will be realized."
Ere long, Adele's little foot was heard tripping
across the hall. She entered, transformed as her guardian had predicted. A dress of rose-coloured satin,
very short, and as full in the skirt as it could be
gathered, replaced the brown frock she had previously
worn; a wreath of rosebuds circled her forehead; her
feet were dressed in silk stockings and small white satin
sandals.
"Est-ce que ma robe va bien?" cried she, bounding
forwards; "et mes souliers? et mes bas? Tenez, je crois
que je vais danser!"
And spreading out her dress, she chasseed across
the room; till having reached Mr. Rochester, she wheeled
lightly round before him on tip-toe, then dropped on
one knee at his feet, exclaiming:"Monsieur, je vous remercie mille fois de votre
bonte;" then rising, she added, "C'est comme cela que
maman faisait, n'est-ce pas, monsieur?"
"Pre-cise-ly!" was the answer; "and'comme cela,'
she charmed my English gold out of my British breeches'
pocket. I have been green, too, Miss Eyre,-ay, grass
green: not a more vernal tint freshens you now than once




JANE EYRE.               213
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
the root whence it sprang; having found that it was of
a sort which nothing but gold dust could manure, I have
but half a liking to the blossom: especially when it looks
so artificial, as just now. I keep it and rear it rather
on the Roman Catholic principle of expiating numerous
sins, great or small, by one good work. I'll explain all
this some day. Good-night."
CHAPTER XV.
MR. ROCHESTER did, on a future occasion, explain it.
It was one afternoon, when he chanced to meet me
and Adele in the grounds; and while she played with
Pilot and her shuttle-cock, he asked me to walk up and
down a long beech avenue within sight of her.
He then said that she was the daughter of a French
opera-dancer, Celine Varens; towards whom he had
once cherished what he called a "grande passion."
This passion Celine had professed to return with even
superior ardour. He thought himself her idol; ugly as
he was: he believed, as he said, that she preferred his
"taille d'athlete" to the elegance of the Apollo Belvedere.
"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




x214                JANE EYRE.
establishment of servants, a carriage, cashmeres, dia.
monds, dentelles, &c. In short, I began the process of
ruining myself in the received style; like any other
spoonie. I had not, it seems the originality to chalk
out a new road to shame and destruction, but trode the
old track with stupid exactness not to deviate an inch
from the beaten centre. I had-as I deserved to have
— the fate of all other spoonies. Happening to call one
evening, when Celine did not expect me, I found her
out; but it was a warm night, and I was tired with strolling through Paris, so I sat down in her boudoir; happy
to breathe the air consecrated so lately by her presence.
No,-I exaggerate; I never thought there was any consecrating virtue about her: it was rather a sort of pastile
perfume she had left; a scent of musk and amber, than
an odour of sanctity. I was just beginning to stifle with
the fumes of conservatory flowers and sprinkled essences,
when I bethought myself to open the window and step
out on to the balcony. It was moonlight, and gas-light
besides, and very still and serene. The balcony was
furnished with a chair or two; I sat down, took out a
cigar,-I will take one now, if you will excuse me."
Here ensued a pause, filled up by the producing and
lighting of a cigar; having placed it to his lips and
breathed a trail of Havannah incense on the freezing
and sunless air, he went on:"I liked bonbons too, in those days, Miss Eyre, and
I was croquant-(overlook the barbarism) croquant
chocolate comfits, and smoking alternately, watching
meantime the equipages that rolled along the fashionable streets towards the neighbouring opera-house, when
in an elegant close carriage drawn by a beautiful pair




JANE ERE.                2t5
of English horses, and distinctly seen in the brilliant
city-night, I recognised the'voiture' I had given C6line.
She was returning: of course my heart thumped with
impatience against the iron rails I leant upon. The
carriage stopped, as I had expected, at the hotel door;
my flame (that is the very word for an opera innamorata)
alighted: though muffled in a cloak-an unnecessary
encumbrance, by-the-bye, on so warm a June eveningI knew her instantly by her little foot, seen peeping
from the skirt of her dress, as she skipped from the
carriage-step. Bending over the balcony I was about
to murmur,'Mon ange'-in a tone, of course, which
should be audible to the ear of love alone-when a
figure jumped from the carriage after her; cloaked also;
but that was a spurred heel which had rung on the
pavement, and that was a hatted head which now passed
under the arched porte-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




216                 JANE EYRE.
and borne on by some master wave into a calmer current-as I am now.
"I like this day: I like that sky of steel; I like the
sternness and stillness of the world under this frost. I
like Thornfield; its antiquity; its retirement; its old
crow-trees and thorn-trees; its grey facade, and lines of
dark windows reflecting that metal welkin: and yet how
long have I abhorred the very thought of it; shunned it
like a great plague-house! How I do still abhor —"
He ground his teeth and was silent: he arrested his
step and struck his boot against the hard ground. Some
hated thought seemed to have him in its grip, and to
hold him so tightly that he could not advance.
We were ascending the avenue when he thus paused;
the hall was before us. Lifting his eye to its battlements, he cast over them a glare such as I never saw
before or since. Pain, shame, ire-impatience, disgust,
detestation-seemed momentarily to hold a quivering
conflict in the large pupil dilating under his ebon eyebrow. Wild was the wrestle which should be paramount;
but another feeling rose and triumphed: something hard
and cynical; self-willed and resolute: it settled his passion and petrified his countenance: he went on:
"During the moment I was silent, Miss Eyre, I was
arranging a point with my destiny. She stood there, by
that beech-trunk-a hag like one of those who appeared
to Macbeth on the heath of Forres.'You like Thornfield?' she said, lifting her finger; and then she wrote
in the air a memento, which ran in lurid hieroglyphics
all along the house-front, between the upper and lower




JANE EYRt.               21 7
tow of windows.'Like it if you can!''Like it if you
dare!'
"'I will like it,' said I.'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, hinderances which others count as iron and
brass, I will esteem but straw and rotten wood."
Adele here ran before him with her shuttle-cock.
"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 scowling abstraction, he turned his eyes towards me, and
the shade seemed to clear off his brow.
"Oh, I had forgotten Celine! Well, to resume.
When I saw my charmer thus come in accompanied by
a cavalier, I seemed to hear a hiss, and the green snake
of jealousy, rising on undulating coils from the moonlit
balcony, glided within my waistcoat and ate its way in
two minutes to my heart's core. Strange!" he exclaimed,
suddenly starting again from the point. "Strange that
I should choose you for the confidant of all this, young
lady: passing strange that you should listen to me
quietly, as if it were the most usual thing in the world
for a man like me to tell stories of his opera-mistresses
to a quaint, inexperienced girl like you! But the last




218                JANE EY^E.
singularity explains the first, as I intimated once before:
you, with your gravity, considerateness, and caution
were made to be the recipient of secrets. Besides, I
know what sort of a mind I have placed in communication with my own; I know it is one not liable to take
infection: it is a peculiar mind; it is an unique one.
Happily I do not mean to harm it: but if I did, it would
not take harm from me. The more you and I converse,
the better; for while I cannot blight you, you may refresh me." After this digression he proceeded:"I remained in the balcony.'They will come to
her boudoir no doubt,' thought I:'let me prepare an
ambush.' So putting my hand in through the open
window, I drew the curtain over it, leaving only an
opening through which I could take observations; then
I closed the casement, all but a chink just wide enough
to furnish an outlet to lovers' whispered vows: then I
stole back to my chair; and as I resumed it the pair
came in. My eye was quickly at the aperture. C6line's
chamber-maid entered, lit a lamp, left it on the table
and withdrew. The couple were thus revealed to me
clearly: both removed their cloaks, and there was'the
Varens' shining in satin and jewels,-my gifts of course,
-and there was her companion in an officer's uniform;
and I knew him for a young roue of a vicomte-a
brainless and vicious youth whom I had sometimes met
in society, and had never thought of hating because I
despised him so absolutely. On recognising him, the
fang of the snake,-jealousy, was instantly broken; because at the same moment my love for C6line sank
under an extinguisher. A woman who could betray me
for such a rival was not worth contending for: she de



JANE EYRE.               2T9
served only scorn; less, however, than I, who had been
her dupe.
"They began to talk; their conversation eased me
completely: frivolous, mercenary, heartless, and senseless, it was rather calculated to weary than enrage a
listener. A card of mine lay on the table; this being
perceived brought my name under discussion. Neither
of them possessed energy or wit to belabour me
soundly; but they insulted me as coarsely as they could
in their little way: especially Celine; who even waxed
rather brilliant on my personal defects-deformities she
termed them. Now it had been her custom to launch
out into fervent admiration of what she called my'beaute male:' wherein she differed diametrically from
you, who told me point blank at the second interview,
that you did not think me handsome. The contrast
struck me at the time, and-"
Adele here came running up again.
"Monsieur, John has just been to say that your agent
has called and wishes to see you."
"Ah! in that case I must abridge. Opening the
window, I walked in upon them; liberated Celine from
my protection; gave her notice to vacate her hotel;
offered her a purpose for immediate exigencies; disregarded screams, hysterics, prayers, protestations, convulsions; made an appointment with the vicomte for a
meeting at the bois de Boulogne. Next morning I had
the pleasure of encountering him; left a bullet in one
of his poor, etiolated arms, feeble as the wing of a
chicken in the pip, and then thought I had done with
the whole crew. But unluckily the Varens, six months
before, had given me this fillette Adele; who she




2 2                JANE EYRE.
affirmed was my daughter; and perhaps she may be;
though I see no proofs of such grim paternity written
in her countenance: Pilot is more like me than she.
Some years after I had broken with the mother, she
abandoned her child and ran away to Italy with a
musician, or singer. I acknowledged no natural claim
on Adele's part to be supported by me; nor do I now
acknowledge any, far 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
English country garden. Mrs. Fairfax found you to
train it; but now you know that it is the illegitimate
offspring of a French opera-girl, you will perhaps think
differently of your post and protegee: you will be coming to me some day with notice that you have found
another place-that you beg me to look out for a new
governess, &c.-eh?"
"No-Adele is not answerable for either her mother's
faults or yours: I have a regard for her, and now that
I know she is, in a sense, parentless-forsaken by her
mother and disowned by you, sir,-I shall cling closer
to her than before.  How could I possibly prefer the
spoilt pet of a wealthy family, who would hate her
governess as a nuisance, to a lonely little orphan, who
leans towards her as a friend?"
"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 AdMle
and Pilot-ran a race with her, and played a game of
battledore and shuttle-cock. When we went in and I
had removed her bonnet and coat, I took her on my




JANE EYRE.               22 t
knee; kept her there an hour, allowing her to prattle
as she liked: not rebuking even some little freedoms
and trivialities into which she was apt to stray when
much noticed; and which betrayed in her a superficiality
of character, inherited probably from her mother, hardly
congenial to an English mind. Still she had her merits:
and I was disposed to appreciate all that was good in
her to the utmost. I sought in her countenance and
features a likeness to Mr. Rochester, but found none:
no trait, no turn of expression announced relationship.
It was a pity: if she could but have been proved to resemble him, he would have thought more of her.
It was not till after I had withdrawn to my own
chamber for the night, that I steadily reviewed the tale
Mr. 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 master's manner to myself. The confidence he
had thought fit to repose in me seemed a tribute to my
discretion: I regarded and accepted it as such. His
deportment had now for some weeks been more uniform
towards me than at the first. I never seemed in his
way; he did not take fits of chilling hauteur: when he




222                 JANE EYRE.
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 honoured by a cordiality of reception that made
me feel I really possessed the power to amuse him, and
that these evening conferences were sought as much for
his pleasure as for my benefit.
I, indeed, talked comparatively little; but I heard
him talk with relish. It was his nature to be communicative; he liked to open to a mind unacquainted with
the world, glimpses of its scenes and ways (I do not
mean its corrupt scenes and wicked ways, but such as
derived their interest from the great scale on which they
were acted, the strange novelty by which they were
characterized); and I had a keen delight in receiving
the new ideas he offered, in imagining the new pictures
he portrayed, and following him in thought through the
new regions he disclosed; never startled or troubled by
one noxious allusion.
The ease of his manner freed me from painful restraint: the friendly frankness, as correct as cordial,
with which he treated me, drew me to him. I felt at
times, as if he were my relation, rather than my master:
yet he was imperious sometimes still; but I did not
mind that; I saw it was his way. So happy, so gratified did I become with this new interest added to life,
that I ceased to pine after kindred: my thin crescentdestiny seemed to enlarge; the blanks of existence were
filled up; my bodily health improved; I gathered flesh
and strength.
And was Mr. Rochester now ugly in my eyes? No,
reader: gratitude, and many associations, all pleasurable




JANE EYRE.                223
and genial, made his face the object I best liked to
see; his presence in a room was more cheering than
the brightest fire. Yet I had not forgotten his faults:
indeed, I could not, for he brought them frequently before me. He was proud, sardonic, harsh to inferiority
of every description: in my secret soul I knew that his
great kindness to me was balanced by unjust severity
to many others. He was moody, too; unaccountably
so: I more than once, when sent for to read to him,
found him sitting in his library alone, with his head
bent on his folded arms; and, when he looked up, a
morose, almost a malignant scowl, blackened his features. But I believed that his moodiness, his harshness,
and his former faults of morality (I say former, for now
he seemed corrected of them) had their source in some
cruel cross of fate. I believed he was naturally a man
of better tendencies, higher principles, and purer tastes
than such as circumstances had developed, education
instilled, or destiny encouraged. I thought there were
excellent materials in him; though for the present they
hung together somewhat spoiled and tangled. I cannot
deny that I grieved for his grief, whatever that was,
and would have given much to assuage it.
Though I had now extinguished my candle and was
laid down in bed, I could not sleep, for thinking of his
look when he paused in the avenue, and told how his
destiny had risen up before him and dared him to be
happy at Thornfield.
"Why not?" I asked myself: "what alienates him
from the house? Will he leave it again soon? Mrs.
Fairfax said he seldom stayed here longer than a fortnight at a time; and he has now been resident eight




224                JANE EYRE.
weeks. If he does go, the change will be doleful. Suppose he should be absent, spring, summer, and autumn:
how joyless sunshine and fine days will seem!"
I hardly know whether I had slept or not after this
musing; at any rate I started wide awake on hearing a
vague murmur, peculiar and lugubrious, which sounded,
I thought, just above me. I wished I had kept my
candle burning: the night was drearily dark; my spirits
were depressed. I rose and sat up in bed, listening.
The sound was hushed.
I tried again to sleep; but my heart beat anxiously:
my inward tranquillity was broken. The clock, far
down in the hall, struck two. Just then it seemed my
chamber-door was touched; as if fingers had swept the
panels in groping a way along the dark gallery outside.
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




JANE EYRE.               22 5
my bedside-or rather, crouched by my pillow: but
I rose, looked round, and could see nothing; while, as
I still gazed, the unnatural sound was reiterated: and
I knew it came from behind the panels. My first impulse was to rise and fasten the bolt; my next, again
to cry out, "Who is there?"
Something gurgled and moaned. Ere long, steps
retreated up the gallery towards the third storey staircase: a door had lately been made to shut in that
staircase; I heard it open and close, and all was still.
"Was that Grace Poole? and is she possessed with
a devil?" thought I Impossible now to remain longer
by myself: I must go to Mrs. Fairfax. I hurried on
my frock and a shawl; I withdrew the bolt and opened
the door with a trembling hand. There was a candle
burning just outside, left on the matting in the gallery.
I was surprised at this circumstance: but still more was
I amazed to perceive the air quite dim, as if filled with
smoke; and, while looking to the right hand and left,
to find whence these blue wreaths issued, I became
further aware of a strong smell of burning.
Something creaked: it was a door ajar; and that
door was Mr. Rochester's, and the smoke rushed in a
cloud from thence. I thought no more of Mrs. Fairfax;
I thought no more of Grace Poole or the laugh: in an
instant, I was within the chamber. Tongues of flame
darted round the bed: the curtains were on fire. In the
midst of blaze and vapour, Mr. Rochester lay stretched
motionless, in deep sleep.
"Wake! wake!" I cried-I shook him, but he only
murmured and turned: the smoke had stupified him.
Not a moment could be lost: the very sheets were kinJane Eyre..                         15




226                JANE EYRE.
dling. I rushed to his bason and ewer; fortunately, one
was wide and the other deep, and both were filled with
water. I heaved them up, deluged the bed and its occupant, flew back to my own room, brought my own
water-jug, baptized the couch afresh, and by God's
aid, succeeded in extinguishing the flames which were
devouring it.
The hiss of the quenched element, the breakage of
a pitcher which I flung from my hand when I had
emptied it, and above all, the splash of the shower-bath
I had liberally bestowed, roused Mr. Rochester at last.
Though it was now dark, I knew he was awake; because
I heard him fulminating strange anathemas at finding
himself lying in a pool of water.
"Is there a flood?" he cried.
"No, sir," I answered; "but there has been a fire:
get up, do, you are quenched now; I will fetch you a
candle."
"In the name of all the elves in Christendom, is
that Jane Eyre?" he demanded. "What have you done
with me, witch, sorceress? Who is in the room besides
you? Have you plotted to drown me?"
"I will fetch you a candle, sir; and in Heaven's
name, get up. Somebody has plotted something: you
cannot too soon find out who and what it is."
"There-I am up now; but at your peril you fetch
a candle yet: wait two minutes till I get into some dry
garments, if any dry there be-yes, here is my dressinggown, now run!"
I did run; I brought the candle which still remained
in the gallery. He took it from my hand, held it up,
and surveyed the bed, all blackened and scorched,




JANE EYRE.               2 2 7
the sheets drenched, the carpet round swimming in
water.
"What is it? and who did it?" he asked.
I briefly related to him what had transpired: the
strange laugh I had heard in the gallery: the step ascending to the third storey; the smoke,-the smell of
fire which had conducted me to his room; in what state
I had found matters there, and how I had deluged him
with all the water I could lay hands on.
He listened very gravely; his face, as I went on,
expressed more concern than astonishment; he did not
immediately speak when I had concluded.
"Shall I call Mrs. Fairfax?" I asked.
"Mrs. Fairfax? No:-what the deuce would you
call her for? What can she do? Let her sleep unmolested."
"Then I will fetch Leah and wake John and his
wife."
"Not at all: just be still. You have a shawl on?
if you are not warm enough, you may take my cloak
yonder; wrap it about you, and sit down in the armchair: there,-I will put it on. Now place your feet on
the stool, to keep them out of the wet. I am going to
leave you a few minutes. I shall take the candle. Remain where you are till I return; be as still as a mouse.
I must pay a visit to the second storey. Don't move,
remember, or call any one."
He went: I watched the light withdraw. He passed
up the gallery very softly, unclosed the staircase door
with as little noise as possible, shut it after him, and
the last ray vanished. I was left in total darkness. I
listened for some noise, but heard nothing. A very
I5*




228                JANE EYRE.
long time elapsed. I grew weary: it was cold, in spite
of the cloak; and then I did not see the use of staying,
as I was not to rouse the house. I was on the point
of risking Mr. Rochester's displeasure, by disobeying
his orders, when the light once more gleamed dimly on
the gallery-wall, and I heard his unshod feet tread the
matting. "I hope it is he," thought I, "and not something worse."
He re-entered, pale and very gloomy. "I have found
it all out," said he, setting his candle down on the washstand; "it is as I thought."
"How, sir?"
He made no reply, but stood with his arms folded,
looking on the ground. At the end of a few minutes,
he inquired in rather a peculiar tone:"I forget whether you said you saw anything when
you opened your chamber door."
"No, sir, only the candlestick on the ground."
"But you heard an odd laugh? You have heard
that laugh before, I should think, or something like
it?"
"Yes, sir: there is a woman who sews here, called
Grace Poole,-she laughs in that way. She is a singular person."
"Just so. Grace Poole-you have guessed it. She
is, as you say, singular,-very. Well, I shall reflect on
the 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




JANE EYRE.               229
library for the rest of the night. It is near four:-in
two hours the servants will be up."
"Good-night, then, sir," said I, departing.
He seemed surprised-very inconsistently so, as he
had just told me to go.
"What!" he exclaimed, "are you quitting me already: and in that way?"
"You said I might go, sir."
"But not without taking leave; not without a word
or two of acknowledgment and good will: not, in short,
in that brief, dry fashion. Why, you have saved my
life!-snatched me from a horrible and excruciating
death!-and you walk past me as if we were mutual
strangers! At least shake hands."
He held out his hand; I gave him mine: he took it
first in one, then in both his own.
"You have saved my life: I have a pleasure in owing you so immense a debt. I cannot say more. Nothing else that has being would have been tolerable to
me in the character of creditor for such an obligation:
but you; it is different;-I feel your benefits no burden,
Jane."
He paused; gazed at me: words almost visible
trembled on his lips,-but his voice was checked.
"Good-night again, sir. There is no debt, benefit,
burden, obligation, in the case."
"I knew," he continued, "you would do me good in
some way, at some time;-I saw it in your eyes when
I first beheld you: their expression and smile did not(again he stopped)-did not (he proceeded hastily) strike
delight to my very inmost heart so for nothing. People
talk of natural sympathies; I have heard of good genii:




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




JANE EYRE.               23 r
CHAPTER XVI.
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 entering the school-room; but he did step in for a
few minutes sometimes, and I had the impression that
lie was sure to visit it that day.
But the morning passed just as usual: nothing happened to interrupt the quiet course of Adele's studies;
only, soon after breakfast, I heard some bustle in the
neighbourhood of Mr. Rochester's chamber, Mrs. Fairfax's voice, and Leah's, and the cook's-that is, John's
wife-and even John's own gruff tones. There were
exclamations of "What a mercy master was not burnt
in his bed!" "It is always dangerous to keep a candle
lit at night." "How providential that he had presence of
mind to think of the water-jug!" "I wonder he waked
nobody!" "It is to be hoped he will not take cold
with sleeping on the library sofa," &c.
To much confabulation succeeded a sound of
scrubbing and setting to rights; and when I passed the
room, in going down stairs to dinner, I saw through the
open door that all was again restored to complete order;
only the bed was stripped of its hangings. Leah stood
up in the window-seat, rubbing the panes of glass
dimmed with smoke. I was about to address her; for
I wished to know what account had been given of the




232                 JANE EYRE.
affair: but, on advancing, I saw a second person in the
chamber-a woman sitting on a chair by the bed-side,
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 handkerchief, and cap. She was intent on her work, in
which her whole thoughts seemed absorbed: on her
hard forehead, and in her commonplace features, was
nothing either of the paleness or desperation one would
have expected to see marking the countenance of a
woman who had attempted murder; and whose intended
victim had followed her last night to her lair, and (as I
believed) charged her with the crime she wished to
perpetrate. I was amazed-confounded. She looked
up, while I still gazed at her: no start, no increase or
failure of colour betrayed emotion, consciousness of guilt,
or fear of detection. She said "Good-morning, Miss,"
in her usual phlegmatic and brief manner; and taking
up another ring and more tape, went on with her
sewing.
"I will put her to some test," thought I: "such absolute impenetrability is past comprehension."
"Good-morning, Grace," I said. "Has anything
happened here? I thought I heard the servants all
talking together a while ago."
"Only master had been reading in his bed last
night; he fell asleep with his candle lit, and the curtains got on fire; but, fortunately, he awoke before the
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,




JANE EYRE.               233.
looking at her fixedly,-"Did Mr. Rochester wake
nobody? Did no one hear him move?"
She again raised her eyes to me; and this time
there was something of consciousness in their expression. She seemed to examine me warily; then she
answered,"The servants sleep so far off, you know, miss, they
would not be likely to hear. Mrs. Fairfax's room and
yours are the nearest to master's; but Mrs. Fairfax said
she heard nothing: when people get elderly, they often
sleep heavy." She paused, and then added, with a
sort of assumed indifference, but still in a marked and
significant tone, "But you are young, miss; 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; ardd I am certain I heard a laugh, and a strange
one."
She took a new needleful of thread, waxed it carefully, threaded her needle with a steady hand, and then
observed, with perfect composure,"It is hardly likely master would laugh, I should
think, miss, when he was in such danger: you must
have been dreaming."
"I was not dreaming," I said, with some warmth:
for her brazen coolness provoked me. Again she looked
at me; and with the same scrutinizing and conscious
eyes.
"Have you told master that you heard a laugh?"
she inquired.




234                JANE EYRE.
"I have not had the opportunity of speaking to him
this morning."
"You did not think of opening your door and looking out into the gallery?" she further asked.
She appeared to be cross-questioning me; attempting to draw from me information unawares: the idea
struck me that if she discovered I knew or suspected
her guilt, she would be playing off some of her malignant pranks on me; I thought it advisable to be on my
guard.
"On the contrary," said I, "I bolted my door."
"Then you are not in the habit of bolting your door
every night before you get into bed?"
"Fiend! she wants to know my habits, that she may
lay her plans accordingly!" Indignation again prevailed
over prudence; I replied sharply.  "Hitherto I have
often omitted to fasten the bolt: I did not think it
necessary. I was not aware any danger or annoyance
was to be dreaded at Thornfield Hall: but in future"
(and I laid marked stress on the words), "I shall take
good care to make all secure before I venture to lie
down."
"It will be wise so to do," was her answer: "this
neighbourhood is as quiet as any I know, and I never
heard of the Hall being attempted by robbers since it
was a house; though there are hundreds of pounds
worth of plate in the plate-closet, as is well known.
And you see, for such a large house, there are very
few servants, because master has never lived here
much; and when he does come, being a bachelor, he
needs little waiting on: but I always think it best to err
on the safe side; a door is soon fastened, and it is as




JANE EYRE.               235
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 dumbfoundered at what appeared to me her miraculous self-possession and most
inscrutable hypocrisy; when the cook entered.
"Mrs. Poole," said she, addressing Grace, "the
servants' dinner will soon be ready: will you come
down?"
"No; just put my pint of porter and bit of pudding
on a tray, and I'll carry it up stairs."
"You'll have some meat?"
"Just a morsel, and a taste of cheese, that's all."
"And the sago?"
"Never mind it, at present: I shall be coming down
before tea-time: I'll make it myself."
The cook here turned to me, saying that Mrs. Fairfax was waiting for me: so I departed.
I hardly heard Mrs. Fairfax's account of the curtain
conflagration during dinner, so much was I occupied in
puzzling my brains over the enigmatical character of,Grace Poole; and still more in pondering the problem
of her position at Thornfield: in questioning why she
had not been given into custody that morning; or at
the very least dismissed from her master's service. He
had almost as much as declared his conviction of her
criminality last night: what mysterious cause withheld




236                 JANE EYRE.
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
prudence or fear influenced Mr. Rochester in her behalf; but hard-favoured and matronly as she was, the
idea could not be admitted. "Yet," I reflected, "she
has been young once; her youth would be 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 eccentric
at least. What if a former caprice (a freak very possible to a nature so sudden and headstrong as his) has
delivered him into her power, and she now exercises
over his actions a secret influence, the result of his own
indiscretion, which he cannot shake off and dare not
disregard?"  But, having reached this point of conjecture, Mrs. Poole's square, flat figure, and uncomely,
dry, even coarse face, recurred so distinctly to my
mind's eye, that I thought, "No; impossible! my supposition cannot be correct. Yet," suggested the secret
voice which talks to us in our own hearts, "you are
not beautiful either, and perhaps Mr. Rochester ap



JANE EYRE.               237
proves you: at any rate you have often felt as if he did;
and last night-remember his words; remember his
look; remember his voice!"
I well remembered all: language, glance, and tone
seemed at the moment vividly renewed. I was now
in the school-room; Adele was drawing; I bent over
her and directed her pencil. She looked up with a
sort of start.
" Qu'avez-vous, Mademoiselle?" said she; "Vos doigts
tremblent comme la feuille, et vos joues sont rouges:
mais, rouges comme des cerises!"
"I am hot, Adele, with stooping!" She went on
sketching, I went on thinking.
I hastened to drive from my mind the hateful notion
I had been conceiving respecting Grace Poole: it disgusted me. I compared myself with her, and found
we were different. Bessie Leaven had said I was quite
a lady; and she spoke truth: I was a lady. And now
I looked much better than I did when Bessie saw me:
I had more colour and more flesh; more life, more
vivacity; because I had brighter hopes and keener enjoyments.
"Evening approaches," said I, as I looked towards
the window. "I have never heard Mr. Rochester's voice
or step in the house to-day; but surely I shall see him
before night: I feared the meeting in the morning; now
I desire it, because expectation has been so long baffled
that it is grown impatient."
When dusk actually closed, and when Adele left me
to go and play in the nursery with Sophie, I did most
keenly desire it. I listened for the bell to ring below;
I listened for Leah coming up with a message; I fancied




238                 JANE EYRE.
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 irritated him; I knew the pleasure of vexing
and soothing him by turns; it was one I chiefly delighted in, and a sure instinct always prevented me from
going too far: beyond the verge of provocation I never
ventured; on the extreme brink I liked well to try my
skill. Retaining every minute form of respect, every
propriety of my station, I could still meet him in argument 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 down stairs; for that brought me, I
imagined, nearer to Mr. Rochester's presence.
"You must want your tea," said the good lady, as
I joined her; "you ate so little at dinner. I 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 ap



JANE EYRE.               239
petite; 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 favourable day for his journey."
"Journey!-Is Mr. Rochester gone anywhere? I did
not know he was out."
"Oh, he set off the moment he had breakfasted!
He is gone to the Leas; Mr. Eshton's place, ten miles
on the other side Millcote; I believe there is quite a
party assembled there; Lord Ingram, Sir George Lynn,
Colonel Dent, and others."
"Do you expect him back to-night?"
"No-nor to-morrow either; I should think he is
very likely to stay a week or more: when these fine,
fashionable people get together, they are so surrounded
by elegance and gaiety; so well provided with all that
can please and entertain, they are in no hurry to
separate. Gentlemen, especially, are often in request
on such occasions; and Mr. Rochester is so talented
and so lively in society, that I believe he is a general
favourite: the ladies are very fond of him; though you
would not think his appearance calculated to recommend
him particularly in their eyes: but I suppose his acquirements and abilities, perhaps his wealth and good blood,
make amends for any little fault of look."
"Are there ladies at the Leas?"
"There are Mrs. Eshton and her three daughtersvery elegant young ladies, indeed; and there are the




240                JANE EYRE.
honourable Blanche and Mary Ingram; most beautiful
women, I suppose: indeed I have seen Blanche, six or
seven years since, when she was a girl of eighteen. She
came here to a Christmas ball and party Mr. Rochester
gave. You should have seen the dining-room that day
-how richly it was decorated, how brilliantly lit up!
I should think there were fifty ladies and gentlemen
present-all of the first county-families; and Miss Ingram
was considered the belle of the evening."
"You saw her, you say, Mrs. Fairfax: what was
she like?"
"Yes, I saw her.   The dining-room  doors were
thrown open; and, as it was Christmas-time, the servants were allowed to assemble in the hall, to hear some
of the ladies sing and play. Mr. Rochester would have
me to come in, and I sat down in a quiet corner and
watched them. I never saw a more splendid scene:
the ladies were magnificently dressed; most of themat least most of the younger ones-looked handsome;
but Miss Ingram was certainly the queen."
"And what was she like?"
"Tall, fine bust, sloping shoulders; long, graceful
neck: olive complexion, dark and clear; noble features;
eyes rather like Mr. Rochester's: large and black, and
as brilliant as her jewels. And then she had such a
fine head of hair; raven-black, and so becomingly
arranged: a crown of thick plaits behind, and in front
the longest, the glossiest curls I ever saw. She was
dressed in pure white; an amber-coloured scarf was
passed over her shoulder and across her breast, tied
at the side, and descending in long, fringed ends below
her knee. She wore an amber-coloured flower, too, in




JANE EVRE.                24 t
her hair: it contrasted well with the jetty mass of her
curls."
"She was greatly admired of course?"
"Yes, indeed: and not only for her beauty, but for
her 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 delightfully; it was a treat to listen to her;-and she played
afterwards. I am no judge of music, but Mr. Rochester
is; and I heard him say her execution was remarkably
good."
"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?"
"Oh! yes. But you see there is a considerable difference in age: Mr. Rochester is near forty; she is but
twenty-five."
"What of that? More unequal matches are made
every day."
"True: yet I should scarcely fancy Mr. Rochester
Jtane Eyre. 1.                         16




242                JANE EYRE.
would entertain an idea of the sort. But you eat nothing: you have scarcely tasted since you began tea."
"No: I am too thirsty to eat. Will you let me have
another cup?"
I was about again to revert to the probability of a
union between Mr. Rochester and the beautiful Blanche;
but 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 endeavoured to bring back with a
strict hand such as had been straying through imagination's boundless and trackless waste, into the safe fold
of common sense.
Arraigned at my own bar, Memory having given
her evidence of the hopes, wishes, sentiments I had
been cherishing since last night-of the general state
of mind in which I had indulged for nearly a fortnight
past; Reason having come forward and told in her own
quiet way, a plain, unvarnished tale, showing how I had
rejected the real, and rabidly devoured the ideal:-I
pronounced judgment to this effect:That a greater fool than Jane Eyre had never
breathed the breath of life: that a more fantastic idiot
had never surfeited herself on sweet lies, and swallowed
poison as if it were nectar.
"You," I said, "a favourite with Mr. Rochester?
You gifted with the power of pleasing him? You of
importance to him in any way? Go! your folly sickens
me. And you have derived pleasure from occasional
tokens of preference- equivocal tokens, shown by a
gentleman of family, and a man of the world, to a




JANE EYRE.                243
dependant and a novice. How dared you? Poor stupid
dupe!-Could not even self-interest make you wiser?
You repeated to yourself this morning the brief scene
of last night?-Cover your face and be ashamed! He
said something in praise of your eyes, did he? Blind
puppy! Open their bleared lids and look on your own
accursed senselessness! It does good to no woman to
be flattered by her superior, who cannot possibly intend
to marry her; and it is madness in all women to let a
secret love kindle within them, which, if unreturned and
unknown, must devour the life that feeds it; and, if discovered and responded to, must lead, ignis-fatuus-like,
into miry wilds whence there is no extrication.
"Listen, then, Jane Eyre, to your sentence: tomorrow, 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
pallette, mix your freshest, finest, clearest tints; choose
your most delicate camel-hair pencils; delineate carefully the loveliest face you can imagine; paint it in
your softest shades and sweetest hues, according to the
description given by Mrs. Fairfax of Blanche Ingram:
remember the raven ringlets, the oriental eye;-what!
you revert to Mr. Rochester as a model! Order! No
snivel!-no sentiment!-no regret! I will endure only
sense and resolution. Recall the august yet harmonious
lineaments, the Grecian neck and bust: let the round
and dazzling arm be visible, and the delicate hand;
i6*




244                JANE EYRE.
omit neither diamond ring nor gold bracelet; portray
faithfully the attire, aerial lace and glistening satin,
graceful scarf and golden rose: call it'Blanche, an accomplished lady of rank.'
"Whenever, in future, you should chance to fancy
Mr. Rochester thinks well of you, take out these two
pictures and compare them: say,'Mr. Rochester might
probably win that noble lady's love, if he chose to strive
for it; is it likely he would waste a serious thought on
this indigent and insignificant plebeian?'"
"I'll do it," I resolved: and having framed this
determination, I grew calm, and fell asleep.
I kept my word. An hour or two sufficed to sketch
my own portrait in crayons; and in less than a fortnight
I had completed an ivory miniature of an imaginary
Blanche Ingram. It looked a lovely face enough, and
when compared with the real head in chalk, the contrast was as great as self-control could desire. I derived
benefit from the task: it had kept my head and hands
employed, and had given force and fixedness to the
new impressions I wished to stamp indelibly on my
heart.
Ere long, I had reason to congratulate myself on
the course of wholesome discipline to which I had thus
forced my feelings to submit: thanks to it, I was able
to meet subsequent occurrences with a decent calm;
which, had they found me unprepared, I should probably have been unequal to maintain, even externally.




JANE EYRE.               245
CHAPTER     XVII.
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 inferiority: on the contrary, I just said: -
"You have nothing to do with the master of Thornfield, further than to receive the salary he gives you for
teaching his protegee, and to be grateful for such respectful and kind treatment as, if you do your duty,
you have a right to expect at his hands. Be sure that
is the only tie he seriously acknowledges between you
and him: so don't make him the object of your fine
feelings, your raptures, agonies, and so forth. He is
not of your order: keep to your caste; and be too selfrespecting to lavish the love of the whole heart, soul,
and strength, where such a gift is not wanted and would
be despised."




246                JANE EVRE.
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 document, I went on taking my coffee: (we were at breakfast) it was hot, and I attributed to that circumstance
a fiery glow which suddenly rose to my face. Why
my hand shook, and why I involuntarily spilt half the
contents of my cup into my saucer, I did not choose
to consider.
"Well-I sometimes think we are too 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 Adele'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




JANE EYRE.                247
with him: he sends directions for all the best bed-rooms
to be prepared; and the library and drawing-rooms are
to be cleaned out; and I am to get more kitchen hands
from the George Inn, at Millcote, and from wherever
else I can; and the ladies will bring their maids and
the gentlemen their valets: so we shall have a full house
of it." 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 bed-rooms, such airing of sheets
and feather-beds on hearths, I never beheld, either before or since. Adele ran quite wild in the midst of it:
the preparations for company and the prospect of their
arrival, seemed to throw her into ecstasies. She would
have Sophie to look over all her "toilettes" as she called
frocks; to furbish up any that were "passees," and to
air and arrange the new. For herself, she did nothing
but caper about in the front chambers, jump on and off
the bedsteads, and lie on the matresses and piled-up
bolsters and pillows before the enormous fires roaring
in the chimneys. From school duties she was exonerated: Mrs. Fairfax had pressed me into her service,
and I was all day in the store-room, helping (or hindering) her and the cook; learning to make custards and
cheese-cakes and French pastry, to truss game and
garnish dessert-dishes.




248                 JANE EYRE.
The party were expected to arrive on Thursday
afternoon, in time for dinner at six. During the intervening period I had no time to nurse chimeras; and I
believe I was as active and gay as anybody-Addle excepted. Still, now and then, I received a damping
check to my cheerfulness; and was, in spite of myself,
thrown back on the region of doubts and portents, and
dark conjectures. This was when I chanced to see the
third storey 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 bed-rooms,
-just say a word, perhaps, to the charwoman about
the proper way to polish a grate, or clean a marble
mantel-piece, or take stains from papered walls, and
then pass on. She would thus descend to the kitchen
once a day, eat her dinner, smoke a moderate pipe on
the hearth, and go back, carrying her pot of porter
with her, for her private solace, in her own gloomy,
upper haunt. Only one hour in the twenty-four did
she pass with her fellow-servants below; all the rest of
her time was spent in some low-ceiled, oaken chamber
of the second storey: 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
marvel at them: no one discussed her position or employment; no one pitied her solitude or isolation.  I
once, indeed, overheard part of a dialogue between




JANE EYRE.               249
Leah and one of the charwomen, of which Grace formed
the subject. Leah had been saying something I had
not caught, and the charwoman remarked:
"She gets good wages, I guess?"
"Yes," said Leah; "I wish I had as good; not that
mine are to complain of,-there's no stinginess at
Thornfield; but they're not one-fifth of the sum Mrs.
Poole receives. And she is laying by: she goes every
quarter to the bank at Millcote. I should not wonder
but she has saved enough to keep her independent if
she liked to leave; but I suppose she's got used to the
place; and then she's not forty yet, and strong and
able for anything. It is too soon for her to give up
business."
"She is a good hand, I daresay," said the charwoman.
"Ah!-she understands what she has to do,nobody better," rejoined Leah, significantly; "and it is
not every one could fill her shoes; not for all the money
she gets."
"That it is not!" was the reply. "I wonder whether
master "
The charwoman was going on; but here Leah turned
and perceived me, and she instantly gave her companion
a nudge.
"Doesn't she know?" I heard the woman whisper.
Leah shook her head, and the conversation was of
course dropped. All I had gathered from it amounted
to this,-that there was a mystery at Thornfield; and
that from participation in that mystery, I was purposely
excluded.
Thursday came: all work had been completed the




250                 JANE EYRE.
previous evening; carpets were laid down, bed-hangings
festooned, radiant white counterpanes spread, toilet
tables arranged, furniture rubbed, flowers piled in vases:
both chambers and saloons looked as fresh and bright
as hands could make them. The hall, too, was scoured;
and the great carved clock, as well as the steps and
banisters of the staircase, were polished to the brightness of glass: in the dining-room, the side-board flashed
resplendent with plate; in the drawing-room and boudoir,
vases of exotics bloomed on all sides.
Afternoon arrived: Mrs. Fairfax assumed her best
black satin gown, her gloves, and her gold watch; for
it was her part to receive the company,-to conduct
the ladies to their rooms, &c. Adele, too, would be
dressed: though I thought she had little chance of being
introduced to the party that day at least. However, to
please her, I allowed Sophie to apparel her in one of
her short, full muslin frocks. For myself, I had no
need to make any change; I should not be called upon
to quit my sanctum of the school-room; for a sanctum
it was now become to me,-"a very pleasant refuge in
time of trouble."
It had been a mild, serene spring day: one of those
days which towards the end of March or the beginning
of April, rise shining over the earth as heralds of summer. It was drawing to an end now; but the evening
was even warm, and I sat at work in the school-room
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




JANE EYRE.               251
anything on the road: one can see a long way from
thence in the direction of Millcote." She went to the
window. "Here he is!" said she. "Well, John," (leaning out) "any news?"
"They're coming, ma'am," was the answer. "They'll
be here in ten minutes."
Addle flew to the window. I followed; taking care
to stand on one side, so that, screened by the curtain,
I could see without being seen.
The ten minutes John had given seemed very long,
but at last wheels were heard; four equestrians galloped
up the drive, and after them came two open carriages,
Fluttering veils and waving plumes filled the vehicles'
two of the cavaliers were young, dashing-looking gentlemen; the third was Mr. Rochester, on his black horse,
Mesrour; Pilot bounding before him: at his side rode
a lady, and he and she were the first of the party.
Her purple riding-habit almost swept the ground, her
veil streamed long on the breeze; mingling with its
transparent folds, and gleaming through them, shone
rich raven ringlets.
"Miss Ingram!" exclaimed Mrs. Fairfax, and away
she hurried to her post below.
The cavalcade, following the sweep of the drive,
quickly turned the angle of the house, and I lost sight
of it. Adele now petitioned to go down; but I took
her on my knee and gave her to understand that she
must not on any account think of venturing in sight of
the ladies, either now or at any other time, unless expressly sent for: that Mr. Rochester would be very
angry, &c. "Some natural tears she shed" on being




252                JANE EXRE,
told this; but as I began to look very grave, she consented at last to wipe them.
A joyous stir was now audible in the hall: gentlemen's deep tones, and ladies' silvery accents blent
harmoniously together, and distinguishable above all,
though not loud, was the sonorous voice of the master
of Thornfield Hall, welcoming his fair and gallant
guests under its roof. Then light steps ascended the
stairs; and there was a tripping through the gallery,
and soft, cheerful laughs, and opening and closing
doors, and, for a time, a hush.
"Elles changent de toilettes," said Addle; who,
listening attentively, had followed every movement; and
she sighed.
"Chez maman," said she, "quand il y avait du
monde, je le suivais partout, au salon et a leurs chambres; souvent je regardais les femmes de chambre coiffer
et habiller les dames, et c'etait si amusant: comme cela
on apprend."
"Don't you feel hungry, Adele?"
"Mais oui, Mademoiselle: voila cinq ou six heures
que nous n'avons pas mange."
"Well now, while the ladies are in their rooms, I
will venture down and 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 commotion;
the soup and fish were in the last stage of projection,
and the cook hung over her crucibles in a frame of
mind and body threatening spontaneous combustion.
In the servants' hall two coachmen and three gentlemen's gentlemen stood or sat round the fire; the Abigails,




JANE EYRE.               253
I suppose, were up-stairs 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 school-room
without passing some of their doors, and running the
risk of being surprised with my cargo of victualage; so
I stood still at this end, which, being windowless, was
dark: quite dark now, for the sun was set and twilight
gathering.
Presently the chambers gave up their fair tenants
one after another: each came out gaily and airily, with
dress that gleamed lustrous through the dusk. For a
moment they stood grouped together at the other extremity of the gallery, conversing in a key of sweet
subdued vivacity: they then descended the staircase
almost as noiselessly as a bright mist rolls down a hill.
Their collective appearance had left on me an impression of high-born elegance, such as I had never before
received.
I found Adele peeping through the school-room
door, 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. Rochester has something
else to think about. Never mind the ladies to-night;




254                JANE EYRE.
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 conveyed a share of our repast, would have
run a chance of getting no dinner at all: every one
down stairs was too much engaged to think of us.
The dessert was not carried out till after nine; and at
ten, footmen were still running to and fro with trays
and coffee-cups. I allowed Adele to sit up much later
than usual; for she declared she could not possibly go
to sleep while the doors kept opening and 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 backwards and forwards. When the evening
was far advanced, 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 conversational murmur filled up
the intervals. I listened long: suddenly I discovered
that my ear was wholly intent on analyzing the mingled
sounds, and trying to discriminate amidst the confusion
of accents those of Mr. Rochester; and when it caught




JANE EYRE.                255
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 Addle, whose
head leant against my shoulder; her eyes were waxing
heavy, so I took her up in my arms and carried her
off to bed. It was near one before the gentlemen and
ladies sought their chambers.
The next day was as fine as its predecessor it was
devoted by the party to an excursion to some site in
the neighbourhood. They set out early in the forenoon,
some on horseback, the rest in carriages; I witnessed
both the departure and the return. Miss Ingram, as
before, was the only lady equestrian; and, as before,
Mr. Rochester galloped at her side; the two rode a
little apart from the rest. I pointed out this circumstance to Mrs. Fairfax, who was standing at the window
with me:"You said it was not likely they should think of
being married," said I, "but you see Mr. Rochester
evidently prefers her to any of the other ladies."
"Yes; I daresay: no doubt he admires her."
"And she him," I added; "look how she leans her
head towards him as if she were conversing confidentially; I wish I could see her face; I have never had a
glimpse of it yet."
"You will see her this evening," answered Mrs.
Fairfax. "I happened to remark to Mr. Rochester how
much Adele wished to be introduced to the ladies, and
he said:'Oh! let her come into the drawing-room after
dinner; and request Miss Eyre to accompany her."'




256                 JANE FRE.
"Yes-he said that from mere politeness: I need
not go, I am sure," I answered.
"Well-I observed to him that as you were unused
to company, I did not think you would like appearing
before so gay a party-all strangers; and he replied,
in his quick way:'Nonsense! If she objects, tell her
it is my particular wish; and if she resists, say I shall
come and fetch her in case of contumacy.' 
"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'll
tell you how to manage so as to avoid the embarrassment of making a formal entrance, which is the most
disagreeable part of the business. You must go into
the drawing-room while it is empty, before the ladies
leave the dinner-table; choose your seat in any quiet
nook you like; you need not stay long after the gentlemen come in, unless you please: just let Mr. 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 no 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 accompany him: it surprises me that he has already
made so protracted a stay at Thornfield."
It was with some trepidation that I perceived the
hour approach when I was to repair with my charge
to the drawing-room. Adele had been in a state of
ecstasy all day, after hearing she was to be presented




JANE VEYRE.              257
to the ladies in the evening; and it was not till Sophie
commenced the operation of dressing her, that she
sobered down. Then the importance of the process
quickly steadied her; and by the time she had her
curls arranged in well-smoothed, drooping clusters, her
pink satin frock put on, her long sash tied, and her
lace mittens adjusted, she looked as grave as any
judge. No need to warn her not to disarrange her attire:
when she was dressed, she sat demurely down in her
little chair, taking care previously to lift up the satin
skirt for fear she should crease it, and assured me she
would not stir thence till I was ready. This I quickly
was: my best dress (the silver-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
drawing-room than that through the saloon where they
were all seated at dinner. We found the apartment
vacant; a large fire burning silently on the marble
hearth, and wax candles shining in bright solitude,
amid the exquisite flowers with which the tables were
adorned. The crimson curtain hung before the arch:
slight as was the separation this drapery formed from
the party in the adjoining saloon, they spoke in so low
a key that nothing of their 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,
yane Eyre. 1.                        17




258                JANE EYRE.
endeavoured to read. Adele brought her stool to my
feet; ere long she touched my knee.
"What is it, Adele?"
"Est-ce que je ne puis pas prendre une seule de
ces fleurs magnifiques, mademoiselle? Seulement pour
completer ma toilette."
"You think too much Of your'toilette,' Adele:
but you may have a flower." And I took a rose from
a vase and fastened it in her sash. She sighed a sigh
of ineffable satisfaction, as if her cup of happiness were
now full. I turned my face away to conceal a smile I
could not suppress: there was something ludicrous as
well as painful in the little Parisienne's earnest and
innate devotion to matters of dress.
A soft sound of rising now became audible; the
curtain was swept back from the arch; through it appeared the dining-room, with its lit lustre pouring down
light on the silver and glass of a magnificent dessertservice covering a long table; a band of ladies stood
in the opening; they entered, and the curtain fell
behind them.
There were but eight; yet somehow as they flocked
in, they gave the impression of a much larger number.
Some of them were very tall; many were dressed in
white; and all had a sweeping amplitude of array that
seemed to magnify their 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
thhe lightness and buoyancy of their movements, of a
fock of white plumy birds. Some of them threw themselves in half-reclining positions on the sofas and otto



JANE EYRE.               259
mans; some bent over the tables and examined the
flowers and books; the rest gathered in a group round
the fire: all talked in a low but clear tone which
seemed habitual to them. I knew their names afterwards, and may as well mention them now.
First, there was Mrs. Eshton and two of her
daughters. She had evidently been a handsome woman,
and was well preserved still. Of her daughters, the
eldest, Amy, was rather little; naive, and child-like in
face and manner, and piquant in form: her white muslin
dress and blue sash became her well. The second,
Louisa, was taller and more elegant in figure; with a
very pretty face, of that order the French term "minois
chiffonn6:" both sisters were fair as lilies.
Lady Lynn was a large and stout personage of
about forty; very erect, very haughty-looking, richly
dressed in a satin robe of changeful sheen: her dark
hair shone glossily under the shade of an azure plume,
and within the circlet of a band of gems.
Mrs. Colonel Dent was less showy; but, I thought,
more lady-like. She had a slight figure, a pale, gentle
face, and fair hair. Her black satin dress, her scarf of
rich foreign lace, and her pearl ornaments, pleased me
better than the rainbow radiance of the titled dame.
But the three most distinguished-partly, perhaps,
because the tallest figures of the band-were the
Dowager Lady Ingram and her daughters, Blanche and
Mary. They were all three of the loftiest stature of
woman. The dowager might be between forty and
fifty: her shape was still fine; her hair (by candle-light
at least) still black; her teeth, too, were still apparently
perfect. Most people would have termed her a splendid
17*




260                 JANE EWRE.
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
and tall as poplars. Mary was too slim for her height;
but Blanche was moulded like a Dian. I regarded her,
of course, with special interest. First, I wished to see
whether her appearance accorded with Mrs. Fairfax's
description; secondly, whether it at all resembled the
fancy miniature I had painted of her; and thirdly-it
will out!-whether it were such as I should fancy likely
to suit Mr. Rochester's taste.
As far as person went, she answered point for point,
both to my picture and Mrs. Fairfax's description. The
noble bust, the sloping shoulders, the graceful neck, the
dark eyes and black ringlets were all there:-but her
face?-Her face was like her mother's; a youthful unfurrowed likeness: the same low brow, the same high
features, the same pride. It was not, however, so
saturnine a pride: she laughed continually; her laugh




JANE EYRE.                26 r
was satirical, and so was the habitual expression of her
arched and haughty lip.
Genius is said to be self-conscious: I cannot tell
whether Miss Ingram was a genius, but she was selfconscious-remarkably self-conscious indeed. She entered into a discourse on botany with the gentle Mrs.
Dent. It seems Mrs. Dent had not studied that science:
though, as she said, she liked flowers, "especially wild
ones;" Miss Ingram had, and she ran over its vocabulary with an air. I presently perceived she was (what
is vernacularly termed) trailing Mrs. Dent; that is, playing on her ignorance: her trail might be clever, but it
was decidedly not good-natured. She played: her execution was brilliant; she sang: her voice was fine; she
talked French apart to her mama; and she talked
it well, with fluency and with a good accent.
Mary had a milder and more open countenance than
Blanche; softer features too, and a skin some shades
fairer (Miss Ingram was dark as a Spaniard)-but Mary
was deficient in life: her face lacked expression, her
eye lustre; she had nothing to say, and having once
taken her seat, remained fixed like a statue in its niche.
The sisters were both attired in spotless white.
And did I now think Miss Ingram such a choice as
Mr. Rochester would be likely to make? I could not
tell-I did not know his taste in female beauty. If he
liked the majestic, she was the very type of majesty:
then she was accomplished, sprightly. Most gentlemen
would admire her, I thought; and that he did admire
her, I already seemed to have obtained proof: to remove
the last shade of doubt, it remained but to see them
together.




262                JANE EYRE.
You are not to suppose, reader, that Adele has all
this time been sitting motionless on the stool at my
feet: no; when the ladies entered, she rose, advanced
to meet them, made a stately reverence, and said, with
gravity,"Bon jour, Mesdames."
And Miss Ingram had looked down at her with a
mocking air, and exclaimed, "Oh, what a little puppet!"
Lady Lynn had remarked, "It is Mr. Rochester's ward,
I suppose-the little French girl he was speaking of."
Mrs. Dent had kindly taken her hand, and given
her a kiss. Amy and Lousia 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 coffee is brought in, and the gentlemen are
summoned. I sit in the shade-if any shade there be
in this brilliantly-lit apartment; the window-curtain half
hides me. Again the arch yawns: they come. The
collective appearance of the gentlemen, like that of the
ladies, is very imposing: they are all costumed in
black; most of them are tall, some young. Henry and
Frederick Lynn are very dashing sparks, indeed; and
Colonel Dent is a fine soldierly man. Mr. Eshton, the
magistrate of the district, is gentleman-like: his hair is
quite white, his eyebrows and whiskers still dark,
which gives him something of the appearance of a "ppre
noble de theatre." Lord Ingram, like his sisters, is very




JANE EYRE.               263
tall; like them, also, he is handsome; but he shares
Mary's apathetic and listless look: he seems to have
more length of limb than vivacity of blood or vigour
of brain.
And where is Mr. Rochester?
He comes in last: I am not looking at the arch, yet
I see him enter. I try to concentrate my attention on
those netting-needles, on the meshes of the purse I am
forming-I wish to think only of the work I have in my
hands, to see only the silver beads and silk threads that
lie in my lap; whereas, I distinctly behold his figure,
and I inevitably recall the moment when I last saw it:
just after I had rendered him, what he deemed, an
essential 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 rtot expect him to come and speak
to me. I did not wonder, when, without looking at me,
he took a seat at the other side of the room, and began
conversing with some of the ladies.
No sooner did I see that his attention was riveted
on them, and that I might gaze without being observed,
than my eyes were drawn involuntarily to his face: I
could not keep their lids under control: they would rise,
and the irids would fix on him. I looked, and had an
acute pleasure in looking,-a precious, yet poignant
pleasure; pure gold, with a steelly point of agony: a
pleasure like what the thirst-perishing man might feel




264                JANE EYRE.
who knows the well to which he has crept is poisoned,
yet stoops and drinks divine draughts nevertheless.
Most true is it that "beauty is in the eye of the
gazer."  My master's colourless, olive face, square,
massive brow, broad and jetty eyebrows, deep eyes,
strong features, firm, grim mouth,-all energy, decision,
will,-were not beautiful, according to rule; but they
were more than beautiful to me: they were full of an
interest, an influence that quite mastered me,-that took
my feelings from my own power and fettered them in
his. I had not intended to love him: the reader knows
I had wrought hard to extirpate from my soul the
germs of love there detected; and now, at the first renewed view of him, they spontaneously revived, green
and strong! He made me love him without looking
at me.
I compared him with his guests. What was the
gallant grace of the Lynns, the languid elegance of
Lord Ingram,-even the military distinction of Colonel
Dent, contrasted with his look of native pith and
genuine power? I had no sympathy in their appearance,
their expression: yet I could imagine that most observers would call them attractive, handsome, imposing;
while they would pronounce Mr. Rochester at once
harsh-featured and melancholy-looking. I saw them
smile, laugh-it was nothing: the light of the candles
had as much soul in it as their smile; the tinkle of
the bell as much significance as their laugh. I saw
Mr. Rochester smile:-his stern features softened; his
eye grew both 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 re



JANE EYRE.               265
ceive with calm that look which seemed to me so penetrating: I expected their eyes to fall, their colour to rise
under it; yet I was glad when I found they were in no
sense moved. "He is not to them what he is to me,"
I thought: "he is not of their kind. I believe he is of
mine;-I am sure he is,-I feel akin to him,-I understand the language of his countenance and movements:
though rank and wealth sever us widely, I have something in my brain and heart, in my blood and nerves,
that assimilates me mentally to him. Did I say, a few
days since, that I had nothing to do with him but to
receive my salary at his hands? Did I forbid myself
to think of him in any other light than as a paymaster?
Blasphemy against nature! Every good, true, vigorous
feeling I have, gathers impulsively round him. I know
I must conceal my sentiments: I must smother hope; I
must remember that he cannot care much for me. For
when I say that I am of his kind, I do not mean that
I have his force to influence, and his spell to attract:
I mean only that I have certain tastes and feelings in
common with him. I must, then, repeat continually that
we are for ever sundered:-and yet, while I breathe
and think I must love him."
Coffee is handed. The ladies, since the gentlemen
entered, have become lively as larks; conversation waxes
brisk and merry. Colonel Dent and Mr. Eshton argue
on politics; their wives listen. The two proud dowagers,
Lady Lynn and Lady Ingram, confabulate together.
Sir George —whom, by-the-by, I have forgotten to describe,-a very big, and very fresh-looking country
gentleman, stands before their sofa, coffee-cup in hand,
and occasionally puts in a word. Mr. Frederick Lynn




266                JANE EYRE.
has taken a seat beside Mary Ingram, and is showing
her the engravings of a splendid volume: she looks,
smiles now and then, but apparently says little. The
tall and phlegmatic Lord Ingram leans with folded arms
on the chair-back of the little and lively Amy Eshton;
she glances up at him, and chatters like a wren: she
likes him better than she does Mr. Rochester. Henry
Lynn has taken possession of an ottoman at the feet of
Louisa; Adele shares it with him: he is trying to talk
French with her, and Louisa laughs at his blunders.
With whom will Blanche Ingram pair? She is standing
alone at the table, bending gracefully over an album.
She seems waiting to be sought; but she will not wait
too long: she herself selects a mate.
Mr. Rochester, having quitted the Eshtons, stands
on the hearth as solitary as she stands by the table;
she confronts him, taking her station on the opposite
side of the mantelpiece.
"Mr. Rochester, I thought you were not fond of
children?"
"Nor am I."
"Then, what induced you to take charge of such a
little doll as that?" (pointing to Adele). "Where did
you pick her up?"
"I did not pick her up, she was left on my hands."
"You should have sent her to school."
"I could not afford it: schools are so dear."
"Why, I suppose you have a governess for her: I
saw a person with her just now-is she gone? Oh, no 
there she is still behind the window-curtain. You pay
her, of course: I should think it quite as expensive,more so; for you have them both to keep in addition."




JANE EYRE,               267
I feared-or should I say, hoped?-the allusion to
me would make Mr. Rochester glance my way; and I
involuntarily shrank further into the shade: but he never
turned his eyes.
"I have not considered the subject," said he indifferently, looking straight before him.
"No-you men never do consider economy and
common sense. You should hear mama 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,
mama?"
"Did you speak, my own?"
The young lady thus claimed as the dowager's
special property, reiterated her question with an explanation.
"My dearest, don't mention governesses; the word
makes me nervous. I have suffered a martyrdom from
their incompetency and caprice; I thank Heaven I have
now done with them!"
Mrs. Dent here bent over to the pious lady, and
whispered something in her ear; I suppose from the
answer elicited, it was a reminder that one of the 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
physiognomy, and in hers I see all the faults of her
class."
"What are they, madam?" inquired Mr. Rochester
aloud.
"I will tell you in your private ear," replied she,




268                JANE EYRE.
wagging her turban three times with portentous significancy.
"But my curiosity will be past its appetite; it craves
food now."
"Ask Blanche; she is nearer you than I."
"Oh, don't refer him to me, mama! 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?"
"Yaas, to be sure I do," drawled Lord Ingram;
"and the poor old stick used to cry out'Oh you villains childs!'-and then we sermonized her on the presumption of attempting to teach such clever blades as
we were, when she was herself so ignorant."
"We did; and Tedo, you know, I helped you in
prosecuting (or persecuting) your tutor, whey-faced
Mr. Vining-the parson in the pip, as we used to
call him.  He and Miss Wilson took the liberty of
falling in love with each other-at least Tedo and I




JANE EYRE.               269
thought so; we surprised sundry tender glances and
sighs which we interpreted as tokens of'la belle passion,'
and I promise you the public soon had the benefit of
our discovery: we employed it as a sort of lever to
hoist our dead-weights from the house. Dear mama
there, as soon as she got an inkling of the business,
found out that it was of an immoral tendency. Did you
not, my lady-mother?"
"Certainly, my best. And I was quite right; depend
on that: there are a thousand reasons why liaisons between governesses and tutors should never be tolerated
a moment in any well-regulated house; firstly-"
"Oh gracious, mama! 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 resultinginsolence 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 Ashton, not hearing or not heeding this dictum,
joined in with her soft, infantine tone: "Louisa and I
used to quiz our governess too; but she was such a
good creature, she would bear anything: nothing put
her out. She was never cross with us; was she, Louisa?"
"No, never: we might do what we pleased; ransack
her desk and her workbox, and turn her drawers inside
out; and she was so good-natured, she would give us
anything we asked for."
"I suppose, now," said Miss Ingram, curling her lip
sarcastically, "we shall have an abstract of the memoirs




270                JANE EYRE.
of all the governesses extant: in order to avert such a
visitation, I again move the introduction of a new topic.
Mr. Rochester, do you second my motion?"
"Madam, I support you on this point as on every
other."
"Then on me be the onus of bringing it forward.
Signior Eduardo, are you in voice to-night?"
"Donna Bianca, if you command it, I will be."
"Then Signior, I lay on you my sovereign behest
to furbish up your lungs and other vocal organs, as they
will be wanted on my royal service."
"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 Bothwell better: to my mind
a man is nothing without a spice of the devil in him;
and history may say what it will of James Hepburn,
but I have a notion, he was just the sort of wild, fierce,
bandit-hero whom I could have consented to gift with
my hand."
"Gentlemen, you hear! Now which of you most
resembles Bothwell?" cried Mr. Rochester.
"I should say the preference lies with you," responded Colonel Dent.
"On my honour, I am much obliged to you," was
the reply.
Miss Ingram, who had now seated herself with
proud grace at the piano, spreading out her snowy
robes in queenly amplitude, commenced a brilliant prelude; talking meantime. She appeared to be on her




JANE EYRE.               271
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 mama's permission and guardianship! Creatures so absorbed in
care about their pretty faces and their white hands, and
their small feet; as if a man had anything to do with
beauty! As if loveliness were not the special prerogative
of woman-her legitimate appanage and heritage! I
grant an ugly woman is a blot on the fair face of
creation; but as to the gentlemen, let them be solicitous
to possess only strength and valour: let their motto be:
-Hunt, shoot, and fight: the rest is not worth a fillip.
Such should be my 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 devotions 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 doat on
Corsairs; and for that reason, sing it'con spirito.'"
"Commands from Miss Ingram's lips would put
spirit into a mug of milk and water."
"Take care, then: if you don't please me, I will




272                JANE EYRE.
shame you by showing how such things should be
done."
"That is offering a premium on incapacity: I shall
now endeavour to fail."
"Gardez-vous en bien! If you err wilfully, I shall
devise a proportionate punishment."
"Miss Ingram ought to be clement, for she has it
in her power to inflict a chastisement beyond mortal
endurance."
"Ha! explain!" commanded the lady.
"Pardon me, madam: no need of explanation;
your own fine sense must inform you that one of your
frowns would be a sufficient substitute for capital
punishment."
"Sing!" said she, and again touching the piano, she
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. Fairfax
had said Mr. Rochester possessed a fine voice: he did
-a mellow, powerful bass, into which he threw his own
feeling, his own force; finding a way through the ear
to the heart, and there waking sensation strangely. I
waited till the last deep and full vibration had expired
-till the tide of talk, checked an instant, had resumed
its flow; I then quitted my sheltered corner and made
my exit by the side-door, which was fortunately near.
Thence a narrow passage led into the hall: in crossing
it, I perceived my sandal was loose; I stopped to tie it,
kneeling down for that purpose on the mat at the foot
of the staircase. I heard the dining-room door unclose;
a gentleman came out; rising hastily, I stood face to
face with him: it was Mr. Rochester.




JANE EYRE.               273
"How do you do?" he asked.
"I am very well, sir."
"Why did you not come and speak to me in the
room?"
I thought I might have retorted the question on
him who put it: but I would not take that freedom. I
answered:
"I did not wish to disturb you, as you seemed
engaged, sir."
"What have you been doing during my absence?"
"Nothing particular; teaching Addle as usual."
"And getting a good deal paler than you were-as
I saw at first sight. What is the matter?"
"Nothing at all, sir."
"Did you take any cold that night you half
drowned me?"
"Not the least."
"Return to the drawing-room: you are deserting 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 eyesindeed, they are there now, shining and swimming; and
a bead has slipped from the lash and fallen on to the
flag. If I had time, and was not in mortal dread of
some prating prig of a servant passing, I would know
what all this means. Well, to-night I excuse you; but
understand that so long as my visitors stay, I expect
Yane Eyre. I.                        18




274               JANE EYRE.
you to appear in the drawing-room every evening; it is
my wish; don't neglect it. Now go, and send Sophie
for AdMle. Good-night, my-" He stopped, bit his lip,
and abruptly left me.




JANE EYRE.               275
CHAPTER XVIII.
MERRY days were these at Thornfield-Hall; and busy
days too: how different from the first three months of
stillness, monotony, and solitude I had passed beneath
its roof! All sad feelings seemed now driven from the
house, all gloomy associations forgotten: there was life
everywhere, movement all day long. You could not now
traverse the gallery, once so hushed, nor enter the front
chambers, once so tenantless, without encountering a
smart lady's maid or a dandy valet.
The kitchen, the butler's pantry, the servants' hall,
the entrance hall, were equally alive; and the saloons
were only left void and still, when the blue sky and
halcyon sunshine of the genial 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
consequence of the stop put to out-door gaiety.
I wondered what they were going to do the first
evening a change of entertainment was proposed: they
spoke of "playing charades," but in my ignorance I
did not understand the term. The servants were called
in, the dining-room tables wheeled away, the lights
otherwise disposed, the chairs placed in a semicircle
opposite the arch. While Mr. Rochester and the other
gentlemen directed these alterations, the ladies were
i8*




276                JANE EYRE.
running up and down stairs ringing for their maids.
Mrs. Fairfax was summoned to give information respecting the resources of the house in shawls, dresses,
draperies of any kind; and certain wardrobes of the
third story were ransacked, and their contents, in the
shape of brocaded and hooped petticoats, satin sacques,
black modes, lace lappets, &c., were brought down in
armfuls by the Abigails; then a selection was made, and
such things as were chosen were carried to the boudoir
within the drawing-room.
Meantime, Mr. Rochester had again summoned the
ladies round him, and was selecting certain of their
number to be of his party. "Miss Ingram is mine, of
course," said he: 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 have done:
he allowed me to return quietly to my usual seat.
He and his aids now withdrew behind the curtain:
the other party, which was headed by Colonel Dent,
sat down on the crescent of chairs. One of the gentlemen, Mr. Eshton, observing me, seemed to propose that
I should be asked to join them; but Lady Ingram instantly negatived the notion.
"No," I heard her say: "she looks too stupid for
any game of the sort."
Ere long, a bell tinkled, and the curtain drew up.
Within the arch, the bulky figure of Sir George Lynn,
whom Mr. Rochester had likewise chosen, was seen
enveloped in a white sheet: before him, on a table, lay




JANE EYRE.               277
open a large book; and at his side stood Amy Eshton,
draped in Mr. Rochester's cloak, and holding a book in
her hand. Somebody, unseen, rang the bell merrily;
then Adele (who had insisted on being one of her
guardian's party) bounded forward, scattering round
her the contents of a basket of flowers she carried on
her arm. Then appeared the magnificent figure of Miss
Ingram, clad in white, a long veil on her head, and a
wreath of roses round her brow: by her side walked
Mr. Rochester, and together they drew near the table.
They knelt; while Mrs. Dent and Louisa Eshton, dressed
also in white, took up their stations behind them. A
ceremony followed, in dumb show, in which it was easy
to recognise the pantomime of a marriage. At its termination, Colonel Dent and his party consulted in whispers
for two minutes, then the colonel called out,"Bride!" Mr. Rochester bowed, and the curtain fell.
A considerable interval elapsed before it again rose.
Its second rising displayed a more elaborately prepared
scene than the last. The drawing-room, as I have before observed, was raised two steps above the diningroom, and on the top of the upper step, placed a yard
or two back within the room, appeared a large marble
basin, which I recognised as an ornament of the conservatory-where it usually stood, surrounded by exotics,
and tenanted by gold fish-and whence it must have
been transported with some trouble, on account of its
size and weight.
Seated on the carpet, by the side of this basin, was
seen Mr. Rochester, costumed in shawls, with a turban
on his head. His dark eyes and swarth skin and Paynim
features suited the costume exactly: he looked the very




278                JANE EYRE.
model of an eastern emir; an agent or a victim of the
bowstring. Presently advanced into view Miss Ingram.
She, too, was attired in oriental fashion: a crimson scarf
tied sash-like round the waist; an embroidered handkerchief knotted about her temples; her beautifullymoulded arms bare, one of them up-raised in the act of
supporting a pitcher, poised gracefully on her head.
Both her cast of form and feature, her complexion and
her general air, suggested the idea of some Israelitish
princess of the patriarchal days; and such was doubtless the character she intended to represent.
She approached the basin, and bent over it as if to
fill her pitcher; she again lifted it to her head. The
personage on the well-brink now seemed to accost her;
to make some request:-"She hasted, let down her
pitcher on her hand and gave him to drink." From
the bosom of his robe, he then produced a casket,
opened it and showed magnificent bracelets and earrings; she acted astonishment and admiration; kneeling,
he laid the treasure at her feet; incredulity and delight
were expressed by her looks and gestures; the stranger
fastened the bracelets on her arms, and the rings in her
ears. It was Eliezer and Rebecca: the camels only were
wanting.
The divining party again laid their heads together:
apparently they could not agree about the word or
syllable this scene illustrated. Colonel Dent, their spokesman, demanded "the tableau of the Whole;" whereupon
the curtain again descended.
On its third rising only a portion of the drawingroom was disclosed; the rest being concealed by a screen,
hung with some sort of dark and coarse drapery. The




JANE EVRE.               279
marble basin was removed; in its place stood a deal
table and a kitchen chair: these objects were visible by
a very dim light proceeding from a horn lantern, the
wax candles being all extinguished.
Amidst this sordid scene, sat a man with his clenched
hands resting on his knees, and his eyes bent on the
ground. I knew Mr. Rochester; though the begrimed
face, the disordered dress (his coat hanging loose from
one arm, as if it had been almost torn from his back
in a scuffle), the desperate and scowling countenance,
the rough, bristling hair might well have disguised him.
As he moved, a chain clanked; to his wrists were attached
fetters.
"Bridewell " exclaimed Colonel Dent, and the charade
was solved.
A sufficient interval having elapsed for the performers
to resume their ordinary costume, they re-entered the
dining-room. Mr. Rochester led in Miss Ingram; she
was complimenting him on his acting.
"Do you know," said she, "that, of the three characters, I liked you in the last best? Oh, had you but
lived a few years earlier, what a gallant gentlemanhighwayman 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."




280                JANE EYRE.
"Well, whatever I am, remember you are my wife;
we were married an hour since, in the presence of all
these witnesses." She giggled, and her colour rose.
"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 herself at her leader's right hand; the other diviners filled
the chairs on each side of him and her. I did not now
watch the actors; I no longer waited with interest for the
curtain to rise; my attention was absorbed by the spectators; my eyes, erewhile fixed on the arch, were now
irresistibly attracted to the semicircle of chairs. What
charade Colonel Dent and his party played, what word
they chose, how they acquitted themselves, I no longer
remember; but I still see the consultation which followed
each scene: I see Mr. Rochester turn to Miss Ingram,
and Miss Ingram to him; I see her incline her head
towards him, till the jetty curls almost touch his shoulder
and wave against his cheek; I hear their mutual whisperings; I recall their interchanged glances; and something
even of the feeling roused by the spectacle returns in
memory at this moment.
I have told you, reader, that I had learnt to love
Mr. Rochester: I could not unlove him now, merely because I found that he had ceased to notice me-because
I might pass hours in his presence, and he would never
once turn his eyes in my direction-because I saw all
his attentions appropriated by a great lady, who scorned
to touch me with the hem of her robes as she passed;
who, if ever her dark and imperious eye fell on me by
chance, would withdraw it instantly as from an object
too mean to merit observation. I could not unlove him,




JANE EYRE.               28 I
because I felt sure he would soon marry this very lady
-because I read daily in her a proud security in his
intentions respecting her-because I witnessed hourly in
him a style of courtship which, if careless and choosing
rather to be sought than to seek, was yet, in its very
carelessness, captivating, and in its very pride, irresistible.
There was nothing to cool or banish love in these
circumstances; though much to create despair. Much
too, you will think, reader, to engender jealousy: if a
woman, in my position, could presume to be jealous of
a woman in Miss Ingram's. But I was not jealous: or
very rarely;-the nature of the pain I suffered could not
be explained by that word. Miss Ingram was a mark
beneath jealousy: she was too inferior to excite the feeling. Pardon the seeming paradox: I mean what I say.
She was very showy, but she was not genuine: she had
a fine person, many brilliant attainments; but her mind
was poor, her heart barren by nature: nothing bloomed
spontaneously on that soil; no unforced natural fruit delighted by its freshness. She was not good; she was
not original: she used to repeat sounding phrases from
books: she never offered, nor had, an opinion of her
own. She advocated a high tone of sentiment; but she
did not know the sensations of sympathy and pity;
tenderness and truth were not in her. Too often she
betrayed this, by the undue vent she gave to a spiteful
antipathy she had conceived against little Adele: pushing her away with some contumelious epithet if she happened to approach her; sometimes ordering her from the
room, and always treating her with coldness and acrimony.
Other eyes besides mine watched these manifestations
of character-watched them closely, keenly, shrewdly.




282                 JANE EYRE.
Yes: the future bridegroom, Mr. Rochester himself,
exercised over his intended 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 connexions
suited him; I felt he had not given her his love, and
that her qualifications were ill adapted to win from him
that treasure. This was the point-this was where the
nerve was touched and teazed-this was where the fever
was sustained and fed: she could not charm him.
If she had managed the victory at once, and he had
yielded and sincerely laid his heart at her feet, I should
have covered my face, turned to the wall, and (figuratively) have died to them. If Miss Ingram had been
a good and noble woman, endowed with force, fervour,
kindness, sense, I should have had one vital struggle
with two tigers-jealousy and despair: then, my heart
torn out and devoured, I should have admired heracknowledged her excellence, and been quiet for the
rest of my days: and the more absolute her superiority,
the deeper would have been my admiration-the more
truly tranquil my quiescence. But as matters really
stood, to watch Miss Ingram's efforts at fascinating Mr.
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




JAN EVRE.                28 3
-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 stern eye, and softness into his sardonic face: or,
better still, without weapons a silent conquest might
have been won.
"Why can she not influence him more, when she is
privileged to draw so near to him?" I asked myself.
"Surely she cannot truly like him; or not like him
with true affection! If she did, she need not coin her
smiles so lavishly; flash her glances so unremittingly;
manufacture airs so elaborate, graces so 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
vivaciously accosting him; but then it came of itself:
it was not elicited by meretricious arts and calculated
manceuvres; and one had but to accept it-to answer
what he asked without pretension, to address him when
needful without grimace-and it increased and grew
kinder and more genial, and warmed one like a fostering sunbeam. How will she manage to please him
when they are married? I do not think she will manage
it; and yet it might be managed; and his wife might,
I verily believe, be the very happiest woman the sun
shines on."
I have not yet said anything condemnatory of Mr




284                JANE EYRE.
Rochester's project of marrying for interest and connexions. 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 common-place in
his choice of a wife; but the longer I considered the
position, education, &c. of the parties, the less I felt
justified in judging and blaming either him or Miss Ingram, for acting in conformity to ideas and principles
instilled into them, doubtless, from their childhood. All
their class held these principles: I supposed, then, they
had reasons for holding them such as I could not fathom.
It seemed to me that, were I a gentleman like him, I
would take to my bosom only such a wife as I could
love; but the very obviousness of the advantages to the
husband's own happiness, offered by this plan, convinced me that there must be arguments against its
general adoption of which I was quite ignorant: otherwise I felt sure all the world would act as I wished
to act.
But in other points, as well as this, I was growing
very lenient to my master: I was forgetting all his faults,
for which I had once kept a sharp look-out. It had
formerly been my endeavour to study all sides of his
character: to take the bad with the good; and from the
just weighing of both, to form an equitable judgement.
Now I saw no bad. The sarcasm that had repelled,
the harshness that had startled me once, were only like
keen condiments in a choice dish: their presence was
pungent, but their absence would be felt as comparatively insipid. And as for the vague something-was it
a sinister or a sorrowful, a designing or a desponding
expression?-that opened upon a careful observer, now




JANE ETRE.               285
and then, in his eye, and closed again before one could
fathom the strange depth partially disclosed; that something which used to make me fear and shrink, as if I
had been wandering amongst volcanic-looking hills, and
had suddenly felt the ground quiver, and seen it gape:
that something, I, at intervals, beheld still; and with
throbbing heart, but not with palsied nerves. Instead
of wishing to shun, I longed only to dare-to divine it;
and I thought Miss Ingram happy, because one day she
might look into the abyss at her leisure, explore its
secrets and analyse their nature.
Meantime, while I thought only of my master and
his future bride-saw only them, heard only their discourse, and considered only their movements of importance-the rest of the party were occupied with their
own separate interests and pleasures. The ladies Lynn
and Ingram continued to consort in solemn conferences;
where they nodded their two turbans at each other, and
held up their four hands in confronting gestures of surprise, or mystery, or horror, according to the theme on
which their gossip ran, like a pair of magnified puppets.
Mild Mrs. Dent talked with good-natured Mrs. Eshton;
and the two sometimes bestowed a curteous word or
smile on me. Sir George Lynn, Colonel Dent, and Mr.
Eshton, discussed politics, or county affairs, or justice
business. Lord Ingram flirted with Amy Eshton; Louisa
played and sang to and with one of the Messrs. Lynn;
and Mary Ingram listened languidly to the gallant
speeches of the other. Sometimes all, as with one consent, suspended their by-play to observe and listen to
the principal actors: for, after all, Mr. Rochester, andbecause closely connected with him-Miss Ingram, were




286                JANE EYRE.
the life and soul of the party. If he was absent from
the room an hour, a perceptible dulness seemed to steal
over the spirits of his guests; and his re-entrance was
sure to give a fresh impulse to the vivacity of conversation.
The want of his animating influence appeared to be
peculiarly felt one day that he had been summoned to
Millcote on business, and was not likely to return till
late. The afternoon was wet: a walk the party had
proposed to take to see a gipsy camp, lately pitched
on a common beyond Hay, was consequently deferred.
Some of the gentlemen were gone to the stables: the
younger ones, together with the younger ladies, were
playing billiards in the billiard-room. The dowagers
Ingram and Lynn sought solace in a quiet game at
cards. Blanche Ingram, after having repelled, by supercilious taciturnity, some efforts of Mrs. Dent and Mrs.
Eshton to draw her into conversation, had first murmured over some sentimental tunes and airs on the piano,
and then, having fetched a novel from the library, had
flung herself in haughty listlessness on a sofa, and prepared to beguile, by the spell of fiction, the tedious
hours of absence. The room and the house were silent:
only now and then the merriment of the billiard players
was heard from above.
It was verging on dusk, and the clock had already
given warning of the hour to dress for dinner, when
little Addle, who knelt by me in the drawing-room
window-seat, exclaimed:"Voila 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.               287
pations; for at the same time a crunching of wheels,
and a splashing tramp of horse-hoofs became audible on
the wet gravel. A post-chaise was approaching.
"What can possess him to come home in that
style?" said Miss Ingram. "He rode Mesrour (the
black horse), did he not, when he went out? and Pilot
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 my
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 tiresome
monkey!" (apostrophizing Adele) "who perched you up
in the window to give false intelligence?" and she cast
on me an angry glance, as if I were in fault.
Some parleying was audible in the hall, and soon
the new comer entered. He bowed to Lady Ingram, as
deeming her the eldest lady present.
"It appears I come at an inopportune time, madam,"
said he; "when my friend, Mr. Rochester, is from home;
but I arrive from a very long journey, and I think I may
presume so far on old and intimate acquaintance as to
instal myself here till he returns."
His manner was polite; his accent, in speaking,
struck me as being somewhat unusual,-not precisely
foreign, but still not altogether English: his age might
be about Mr. Rochester's,-between thirty and forty;




288                JANE EYRE.
his complexion was singularly sallow: otherwise he was
a fine-looking man, at first sight especially. On closer
examination, you detected something in his face that
displeased; or rather, that failed to please. His features
were regular, but too relaxed: his eye was large and well
cut, but the life looking out of it was a tame, vacant
life-at least so I thought.
The sound of the dressing-bell dispersed the party.
It was not till after dinner that I saw him again: he
then seemed quite at his ease. But I liked his physiognomy even less than before: it struck me as being,
at the same time, unsettled and inanimate. His eye
wandered, and had no meaning in its wandering: this
gave him an odd look, such as I never remembered to
have seen. For a handsome and not an unamiablelooking 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 mantel-piece 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
think (with deference be it spoken) the contrast could
not be much greater between a sleek gander and a
fierce falcon: between a meek sheep and the roughcoated keen-eyed dog, its guardian.
He had spoken of Mr. Rochester as an old friend.
A curious friendship theirs must have been: a pointed




JANE E    nR.            289
illustration, indeed, of the old adage that "extremes
meet."
Two or three of the gentlemen sat near him, and I
caught at times scraps of their conversation across the
room. At first I could not make much sense of what
I heard; for the discourse of Louisa Eshton and Mary
Ingram, who sat nearer to me, confused the fragmentary sentences that reached me at intervals. These last
were discussing the stranger: they both called him "a
beautiful man." Louisa said he was "a love of a creature," and she "adored him"; and Mary instanced his
"pretty little mouth, and nice nose," as her ideal of the
charming.
"And what a sweet-tempered forehead he has?"
cried Louisa, —"so smooth-none of those frowning irregularities I dislike so much: and such a placid eye
and smile!"
And then, to my great relief, Mr. Henry Lynn summoned them to the other side of the room, to settle
some point about the deferred excursion to Hay Common.
I was now able to concentrate my attention on the
group by the fire, and I presently gathered that the
new comer was called Mr. Mason: then I learnt that
he was but just arrived in England, and that he came
from some hot country: which was the reason, doubtless, his face was so sallow, and that he sat so near
the hearth, and wore a surtout in the house. Presently
the words Jamaica, Kingston, Spanish Town, indicated
the West Indies as his residence; and it was with no
little surprise I gathered, ere long, that he had there
first seen and become acquainted with Mr. Rochester.
He spoke of his friend's dislike of the burning heats,
7ane Eyre. 1.                        19




290                JANE EYRE.
the hurricanes, and rainy seasons of that region. I knew
Mr. Rochester had been a traveller: Mrs. Fairfax had
said so; but I thought the continent of Europe had
bounded his wanderings: till now I had never heard a
hint given of visits to more distant shores.
I was pondering these things, when an incident, and
a somewhat unexpected one, broke the thread of my
musings. Mr. Mason, shivering as some one chanced
to open the door, asked for more coal to be put on the
fire, which had burnt out its flame, though its mass of
cinder still shone hot and red. The footman who brought
the coal, in going out, stopped near Mr. Eshton's chair,
and said 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 Colonel Dent. "Don't send
her away, Eshton; we might turn the thing to account:
better consult the ladies."  And speaking aloud, he
continued, "Ladies, you talked of going to Hay Common
to visit the gipsy camp; Sam, here, says that one of the
old Mother Bunches is in the servants' hall at this
moment, and insists upon being brought in before'the
quality,' to tell them their fortunes. Would you like to
see her?"
"Surely, Colonel," cried Lady Ingram, "you would
not encourage such a low impostor? Dismiss her, by
all means, at once!"
"But I cannot persuade her to go away, my lady,"
said the footman; "nor can any of the servants: Mrs.
Fairfax is with her just now, entreating her to be gone;




JANE EYRE.                291
but she has taken a chair in the chimney-corner, and
says nothing shall stir her from it till she gets leave to
come in here."
"What does she want?" asked Mrs. Eshton.
"'To tell the gentry their fortunes,' she says, ma'am:
and she swears she must and will do it."
"What is she like?" inquired the Misses Eshton in
a breath.
"A shockingly ugly old creature, miss; almost as
black as a crock."
"Why, she's a real sorceress!" cried Frederick Lynn.
"Let us have her in, of course."
"To be sure," rejoined his brother; "it would be a
thousand pities to throw away such a chance of fun."
"My dear boys, what are you thinking about?" exclaimed Lady Lynn.
"I cannot possibly countenance any such inconsistent proceeding," chimed in the Dowager Ingram.
"Indeed, mama, but you can-and will," pronounced
the haughty voice of Blanche, as she turned round on
the piano-stool; where till now she had sat silent, apparently examining sundry sheets of music. "I have a
curiosity to hear my fortune told: therefore, Sam, order
the beldame forwards."
"My darling Blanche! recollect-"
"I do-I recollect all you can suggest; and I must
have my will-quick, Sam!"
"Yes-yes-yes!" cried all the juveniles, both ladies
and gentlemen. "Let her come-it will be excellent
sport!"
The footman still lingered. "She looks such a rough
one," said he.
19*




292                JANE EYRE.
"Go!" ejaculated Miss Ingram, and the man went.
Excitement instantly seized the whole party: a
running fire of raillery and jests was proceeding when
Sam returned.
"She won't come now," said he.   "She says it's
not her mission to appear before the'vulgar herd'
(them's her words). I must show her into a room by
herself, and then those who wish to consult her must
go to her one by one."
"You see now, my queenly Blanche," began Lady
Ingram, "she encroaches. Be advised, my angel girland-"
"Show her into the library, of course," cut in the
"angel girl." "It is not my mission to listen to her
before the vulgar herd either: I mean to have her all
to myself. Is there a fire in the library?"
"Yes, ma'am-but she looks such a tinkler."
"Cease that chatter, blockhead! and do my bidding."
Again Sam vanished; and mystery, animation, expectation rose to full flow once more.
"She's ready now," said the footman, as he reappeared. "She wishes to know who will be her first
visitor."
"I think I had better just look in upon her before
any of the ladies go," said Colonel Dent.
"Tell her, Sam, a gentleman is coming."
Sam went and returned.
"She says, sir, that she'll have no gentlemen; they
need not trouble themselves to come near her: nor," he
added, with difficulty suppressing a titter, "any ladies
either, except the young and single."
"By Jove, she has taste!" exclaimed Henry Lynn.




JANE EYRE.               293
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 mama's cry; but she swept past her in stately
silence, passed through the door which Colonel Dent
held open, and we heard her enter the library.
A comparative silence ensued. Lady Ingram thought
it "le cas" to wring her hands: which she did accordingly. Miss Mary declared she felt, for her part, she
never dared venture. Amy and Louisa Eshton tittered
under their breath, and looked a little frightened.
The minutes passed very slowly: fifteen were counted
before the library-door again opened. Miss Ingram returned to us through the arch.
Would she laugh? Would she take it as a joke?
All eyes met her with a glance of eager curiosity, and
she met all eyes with one of rebuff and coldness: she
looked neither flurried nor merry; she walked stiffly to
her seat, and took it in silence.
"Well, Blanche?" said Lord Ingram.
"What did she say, sister?" asked Mary.
"What did you think? How do you feel? Is she a
real fortune-teller?" demanded the Misses Eshton.
"Now, now, good people," returned Miss Ingram,
"don't press upon me. Really your organs of wonder
and credulity are easily excited: you seem by the importance you all-my good mama 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,




294                JANE EYR.
and told me what such people usually tell. My whim
is gratified; and now I think Mr. Eshton will do well
to put the hag in the stocks to-morrow morning, as he
threatened."
Miss Ingram took a book, leant back in her chair,
and so declined further conversation. I watched her
for nearly half an hour: during all that time she never
turned a page, and her face grew momently darker,
more dissatisfied, and more sourly expressive of disappointment. She had obviously not heard anything to
her advantage: and it seemed to me, from her prolonged fit of gloom and taciturnity, that she herself, notwithstanding her professed indifference, attached undue
importance to whatever revelations had been made her.
Meantime, Mary Ingram, Amy and Louisa Eshton,
declared they dared not go alone; and yet they all
wished to go. A negotiation was opened through the
medium of the ambassador, Sam; and after much pacing
to and fro, till, I think, the said Sam's calves must have
ached with the exercise, permission was at last, with
great difficulty, extorted from the rigorous Sybil, for the
three to wait upon her in a body.
Their visit was not so still as Miss Ingram's had
been: we heard hysterical giggling and little shrieks
proceeding from the library; and at the end of about
twenty minutes they burst the door open, and came
running across the hall, as if they were half-scared out
of their wits.
"I'm sure she is something not right!" they cried,
one and all. "She told us such things! She knows all
about us!" and they sank breathless into the various
seats the gentlemen hastened to bring them.




JANt EVYR.               2 95
Pressed for further explanation, they declared she
had told them of things they had said and done when
they were mere children; described books and ornaments
they had in their boudoirs at home: keepsakes that different relations had presented to them. They affirmed
that she had even divined their thoughts, and had
whispered in the ear of each the name of the person
she liked best in the world, and informed them of what
they most wished for.
Here the gentlemen interposed with earnest petitions
to be further enlightened on these two last-named points;
but they got only blushes, ejaculations, tremors, and
titters, in return for their importunity. The matrons,
meantime, offered vinaigrettes and wielded fans; and
again and again reiterated the expression of their concern that their warning had not been taken in time;
and the elder gentlemen laughed, and the younger urged
their services on 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.




296                  JANE EYRE.
"If you like, miss," said Sam, "I'll wait in the- hall
for you; and if she frightens you, just call and I'll
come in."
"No, Sam, return to the kitchen: I am not in the
least afraid." Nor was I; but I was a good deal interested and excited.




JANE EYRE.               2 9 7
CHAPTER XIX.
THE Library looked tranquil enough as I entered
it, and the Sybil-if Sybil she were, was seated snugly
enough in an easy chair at the chimney-corner. She
had on a red cloak and a black bonnet: or rather, a
broad-brimmed gipsy hat, tied down with a striped
handkerchief under her chin. An extinguished candle
stood on the table; she was bending over the fire, and
seemed reading in a little black book, like a prayerbook, by the light of the blaze: she muttered the words
to herself, as most old women do, while she read; she
did not desist immediately on my entrance: it appeared
she wished to finish a paragraph.
I stood on the rug and warmed my hands, which
were rather cold with sitting at a distance from the
drawing-room fire. I felt now as composed as ever I
did in my life: there was nothing indeed in the gipsy's
appearance to trouble one's calm. She shut her book
and slowly looked up; her hat-brim partially shaded
her face, yet I could see, as she raised it, that it was
a strange one. It looked all brown and black: elf-locks
bristled out from beneath a white band which passed
under her chin, and came half over her cheeks or rather
jaws; her eye confronted me at once, with a bold and
direct gaze.
"Well, and you want your fortune told?" she said




298                JANE EYRE.
in a voice as decided as her glance, as harsh as her
features.
"I don't care about it, mother; you may please yourself: but I ought to warn you, I have no faith."
"It's like your impudence to say so: I expected
it of you; I heard it in your step as you crossed the
threshold."
"Did you? You've a quick ear."
"I have; and a quick eye, and a quick brain."
"You need them all in your trade."
"I do; especially when I've customers like you to
deal with. Why don't you tremble?"
"I'm not cold."
"Why don't you turn pale?"
"I am not sick."
"Why 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."




JANE EYRE.               299
She again put her short, black pipe to her lips and
renewed her smoking with vigour.
"You might say all that to almost any one who,
you knew, lived as a solitary dependant in a great
house."
"I might say it to almost any one; but would it be
true of almost any one?"
"In my circumstances."
"Yes; just so, in your circumstances: but find me
another precisely placed as you are."
"It would be easy to find you thousands."
"You could scarcely find me one. If you knew it,
you are peculiarly situated: very near happiness; yes;
within reach of it. The materials are all prepared;
there only wants a movement to combine them. Chance
laid them somewhat apart; let them be once approached
and bliss results."
"I don't understand enigmas. I never could guess
a riddle in my life."
"If you wish me to speak more plainly, show me
your palm."
"And I must cross it with silver, I suppose?"
"To be sure."
I gave her a shilling: she put it into an old stockingfoot which she took out of her pocket, and having tied
it round and returned it, she told me to hold out my
hand. I did. She approached her face to the palm,
and pored over it without touching it."
"It is too fine," said she. "I can make nothing of
such a hand as that; almost without lines: besides, what
is in a palm? Destiny is not written there."
"I believe you," said I.




300                JANE EYRE.
"No," she continued, "it is in the face: on the forehead, about the eyes, in the eyes themselves, in the lines
of the mouth. Kneel, and lift up your head."
"Ah! now you are coming to reality," I said as I
obeyed her. "I shall begin to put some faith in you
presently."
I knelt within half a yard of her. She stirred the
fire, so that a ripple of light broke from the disturbed
coal: the glare, however, as she sat, only threw her face
into deeper shadow: mine, it illumined.
"I wonder with what feelings you came to me tonight," 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 window-seat (you see I know your
habits)-"
"You have learned them from the servants."
"Ah! you think yourself sharp. Well-perhaps I
have: to speak truth, I have an acquaintance with one
of them-Mrs. Poole-"




JANE GEYRE.              301
I started to my feet when I heard the name.
"You have-have you?" thought I; "there is diablerie
in the business after all, then!"
"Don't be alarmed," continued the strange being;
"she's a safe hand, is Mrs. Poole: close and quiet: any
one may repose confidence in her. But, as I was saying: sitting in that window-seat, do you think of nothing
but your future school? Have you no present interest
in any of the company who occupy the sofas and chairs
before you? Is there not one face you study? One
figure whose movements you follow with, at least,
curiosity?"
"I like to observe all the faces, and all the figures."
"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. I have scarcely
interchanged a syllable with one of them; and as to




302-               JANE EYRE.
thinking well of them, I consider some respectable and
stately, and middle-aged, and others young, dashing,
handsome and lively: but certainly they are all at
liberty to be the recipients of whose smiles they please,
without my feeling disposed to consider the transaction
of any moment to me."
"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!
He went to Millcote this morning, and will be back
here to-night, or to-morrow: does that circumstance exclude him from the list of your acquaintance-blot him,
as it were, out of existence?"
"No: but I can scarcely see what Mr. Rochester has
to do with the theme you had introduced."
"I was talking of ladies smiling in the eyes of gentlemen; and of late so many smiles have been shed into
Mr. Rochester's eyes that they overflow like two cups
filled above the brim: have you never remarked that?"
"Mr. Rochester has a right to enjoy the society of
his guests."
"No question about his right: but have you never
observed that, of all the tales told here about matrimony, Mr. Rochester has been favoured with the most
lively and the most continuous??'
"The eagerness of a listener quickens the tongue
of a narrator." I said this rather to myself than to the
gipsy; whose strange talk, voice, manner, had by this
time wrapped me in a kind of dream. One unexpected
sentence came from her lips after another, till I got in



JANE EYRE.               303
volved 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."
"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 chastising
out of you, you seem to question it), they will be a
superlatively happy pair. He must love such a handsome, noble, witty, accomplished lady; and probably she
loves him: or, if not his person, at least his purse. I
know she considers the Rochester estate eligible to the
last degree; though (God pardon me!) I told her some



304                 JANE EYRE.
thing on that point about an hour ago, which made her
look wondrous grave: the corners of her mouth fell half
an inch. I would advise her black-a-viced suitor to look
out: if another comes, with a longer or clearer rentroll,-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
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 mockiyg glance, the truth of the discoveries
I have alreavdy A'de,-to disown the charge both of
sensibility an:. in: its pride and reserve only confirm me in my opinion. The eye is favourable.
"As to the mouth, it delights at times in laughter:




JANE EYRE.                305
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, born with me, which can keep me alive if all
extraneous delights should be withheld; or offered only
at a price I cannot afford to give.' The forehead declares,'Reason sits firm and holds the reins, and she
will not let the feeling burst away and hurry her
to wild chasms. The passions may rage furiously like
true heathens, as they are; and the desires may imagine
all sorts of vain things: but judgment shall still have
the last word in every argument, and the casting vote in
every 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
respected. I have formed my plans-right plans I deem
them-and in them I have attended to the claims of
conscience, the counsels of reason. I know how soon
youth would fade and bloom perisl       the cup of
bliss offered, but one dreg of shame, ~ one flavour of
remorse were detected; and I do not want sacrifice,
7ane Eyre. L.                         20




306                JANE EYRE.
sorrow, dissolution-such is not my taste. I wish to
foster, not to blight-to earn gratitude, not to wring
tears of blood-no, nor of brine: my harvest must be
in smiles, in endearments, in sweet.-That will do. I
think I rave in a kind of exquisite delirium. I should
wish now to protract this moment ad infinitum; but I
dare not. So far I have governed myself thoroughly. I
have acted as I inwardly swore I would act; but farther
might try me beyond my strength. Rise, Miss Eyre:
leave me;'the play is played out."'
Where was I? Did I wake or sleep? Had I been
dreaming? Did I dream still? The old woman's voice
had changed: her accent, h(er gesture, and all were
familiar to me as my own face in a glass-as the speech
of my own tongue. I got up, but did not go. I looked;
I stirred the fire, and I looked again: but she drew her
bonnet and her bandage closer about her face, and
again beckoned me to depart. The flame illuminated
her hand stretched out: roused now, and on the alert
for discoveries, I at once noticed that hand. It was no
more the withered limb of eld than my own: it was a
rounded supple member, with smooth fingers, symmetrically turned; a broad ring flashed on the little finger,
and stooping forward, I looked at it, and saw a gem I
had seen a hundred times before. Again I looked at
the face; which was no longer turned from me-on the
contrary, the bonnet was doffed, the bandage displaced,
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."




JANE EYRE.               307
"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 from the beginning of the interview. Something
of masquerade I suspected. I knew gipsies and fortunetellers 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""
20*




308                JANE EYRE.
"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 daresay."
"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 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 EYRE.               30o
"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."
"Jane, if aid is wanted, I'll seek it at your hands;
I promise you that."
"Thank you, sir; tell me what to do,-I'll try, at
least, to do it."
"Fetch me now, Jane, a glass of wine from the
dining-room; they will be at supper there; and tell me
if Mason is with them, and what he is doing."
I went. I found all the: party in the dining-room
at supper, as Mr. Rochester had said; they were not
seated at table, —the supper was arranged on the 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. Mason
stood near the fire, talking to Colonel and Mrs. Dent,
and appeared as merry as any of them. I filled a wineglass (I saw Miss Ingram watch me frowningly as I did
so: she thought I was taking a liberty, I dare say),
and I returned to the library.




310                JANE EYRE.
Mr. Rochester's extreme pallor had disappeared, and
he looked once more firm and stern. He took the glass
from my hand.
"Here is to your health, ministrant spirit!" he said:
he swallowed the contents and returned it to me. "What
are they doing, Jane?"
"Laughing and talking, sir."
"They don't look grave and mysterious, as if they
had heard something strange?"
"Not at all:-they are full of jests and gaiety."
"And Mason?"
"He was laughing too."
"If all these people came in a body and spat at me,
what would you do, Jane?"
"Turn them out of the room, sir, if I could."
He half smiled. "But if I were to go to them, and
they only looked at me coldly, and whispered sneeringly
amongst each other, and then dropt off and left me one
by one, what then? Would you go with them?"
"I rather think not, sir: I should have more pleasure
in staying with you."
"To comfort me?"
"Yes, sir, to comfort you, as well as I could."
"And if they laid you under a ban for adhering to
me?"
"I, probably, should know nothing about their ban;
and if I did, I should care nothing about it."
"Then, you could dare censure for my sake?"
"I could dare it for the sake of any friend who deserved my adherence; as you, I am sure, do."
"Go back now into the room; step quietly up to




JANE EYRE.                311
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,
delivered the message, and preceded him from the
room: I ushered him into the library, and then I went
up stairs.
At a late hour, after I had been in bed some time,
I heard the visitors repair to their chambers: I distinguished Mr. Rochester's voice, and heard him say,'This way, Mason; this is your room."
He spoke cheerfully: the gay tones set my heart at
ease. I was soon asleep.




312                JANE EYRE.
CHAPTER XX.
I HAD forgotten to draw my curtain, which I usually
did; and also to let down my window-blind. The consequence was, that when the moon, which was full and
bright (for the night was fine), came in her course to
that space in the sky opposite my casement, and looked
in at me through the unveiled panes, her glorious gaze
roused me. Awaking in the dead of night, I opened
my eyes on her disk-silver-white and crystal-clear. It
was beautiful, but too solemn: I half rose, and stretched
my arm to draw the curtain.
Good God! What a cry!
The night-its silence-its rest, was rent in twain
by a savage, a sharp, a shrilly sound that ran from end
to end of Thornfield-Hall.
My pulse stopped: my heart stood still; my stretched
arm was 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 storey; for it passed overhead. And overhead-yes, in the room just above
my chamber-ceiling-I now heard a struggle: a deadly




JANE EYRE.               313
one it seemed from the noise; and a half-smothered
voice shouted"Help! help! help!" three times rapidly.
"Will no one come?" it cried; and then, while the
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 sleepers
were all aroused: ejaculations, terrified murmurs sounded
in every room; door after door unclosed; one looked
out and another looked out; the gallery filled. Gentlemen and ladies alike had quitted their beds; and "Oh!
what is it?"-"Who is hurt?"-"What has happened?"
-"Fetch a light!"-"Is it fire?"-"Are there robbers?"
-"Where shall we run?" was demanded confusedly on
all hands. But for the moonlight they would have been
in complete darkness. They ran to and fro; they crowded
together: some sobbed, some stumbled: the confusion
was unextricable.
"Where the devil is Rochester?" cried Colonel Dent.
"I cannot find him in his bed."
"Here! here!" was shouted in return. "Be composed, 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
descended from the upper storey. One of the ladies
ran to him directly; she seized his arm: it was Miss
Ingram.




314                JANE EYRE.
"What awful event has taken place?" said she.
"Speak! let us know the worst at once!"
"But don't pull me down or strangle me," he replied:
for the Misses Eshton were clinging about him now;
and the two dowagers, in vast white wrappers, were
bearing down on him like ships in full sail.
"All's right!-all right!" he cried. "It's a mere
rehearsal of Much Ado About Nothing. Ladies, keep
off; or I shall wax dangerous."
And dangerous he looked: his black eyes darted
sparks. Calming himself by an effort, he added:"A servant has had the nightmare; that is all. She's
an excitable, nervous person: she construed her dream
into an apparition, or something of that sort, no doubt;
and has taken a fit with fright. Now, then, I must see
you all back into your rooms; for, till the house is
settled, she cannot be looked after. Gentlemen have
the goodness to set the ladies the example. Miss Ingram,
I am sure you will not fail in evincing superiority to idle
terrors. Amy and Louisa, return to your nests like a
pair of doves, as you are. Mesdames," (to the dowagers)
"you will take cold to a dead certainty, if you stay in
this chill gallery any longer."
And so, by dint of alternate coaxing and commanding, he 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




JANE EYRE.               3 5
had proceeded from the room above mine: but they
assured me that it was not a servant's dream which had
thus struck horror through the house; and that the explanation Mr. Rochester had given was merely an invention framed to pacify his guests. I dressed, then,
to be ready for emergencies. When dressed, I sat a
long time by the window, looking out over the silent
grounds and silvered fields, and waiting for I knew not
what. It seemed to me that some event must follow
the strange cry, struggle, and call.
No: stillness returned: each murmur and movement
ceased gradually, and in about an hour Thornfield-Hall
was again as hushed as a desert. It seemed that sleep
and night had resumed their empire. Meantime the
moon declined: she was about to set. Not liking to sit
in the cold and darkness, I thought I would lie down
on my bed, dressed as I was. I left the window, and
moved with little noise across the carpet; as I stooped
to take off my shoes, a cautious hand tapped low at
the door.
"Am I wanted?" I asked.
"Are you up?" asked the voice I expected to hear,
viz., 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




316                JANE EYRE.
floor as softly as a cat. He glided up the gallery and
up the stairs, and stopped in the dark, low corridor of
the fateful third storey: I had followed and stood at
his side.
"Have you a sponge in your room?" he asked in a
whisper.
"Yes, sir."
"Have you any salts-volatile salts?"
"Yes."
"Go back and fetch both."
I returned, sought the sponge on the washstand,
the salts in my drawer, and once more retraced my
steps. He still waited; he held a key in his hand: approaching one of the small, black doors, he put it in
the lock; he paused and addressed me again.
"You don't turn sick at the sight of blood?"
"I think I shall not: I have never been tried yet."
I felt a thrill while I answered him; but no coldness, and no faintness.
"Just give me your hand," he said; "it will not do
to risk a fainting fit."
I put my fingers into his. "Warm and steady," 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 snarling,
snatching sound, almost like a dog quarrelling. Mr.
Rochester, putting down his candle, said to me, "Wait
a minute," and he went forward to the inner apartment.




JANE EYRE.               317
A shout of laughter greeted his entrance; noisy at first,
and terminating in Grace Poole's own goblin ha! ha!
She then was there. He made some sort of arrangement, without speaking: though I heard a low voice address him: he came out and closed the door behind
him.
"Here, Jane!" he said; and I walked round to its
other side of a large bed, which with its drawn curtains
concealed a considerable portion of the chamber. An
easy-chair was near the bed-head: a man sat in it,
dressed with the exception of his coat; he was still; his
head leant back; his eyes were closed. Mr. Rochester
held the candle over him; I recognised in his pale and
seemingly lifeless face-the stranger, Mason: I saw too
that his linen on one side, and one arm, was almost
soaked in blood.
"Hold the candle," said Mr. Rochester, and I took
it; he fetched a basin of water from the washstand:
"Hold that," said he. I obeyed, He took the sponge,
dipped it in and moistened the corpse-like face: he
asked for my smelling-bottle, and applied it to the
nostrils. Mr. Mason shortly unclosed his eyes; he
groaned. Mr. Rochester opened the shirt of the wounded
man, whose arm and shoulder were bandaged: he
sponged away blood, trickling fast down.
"Is there immediate danger?" murmured Mr. Mason.
"Pooh! No-a mere scratch. Don't be so overcome, man: bear up! I'll fetch a surgeon for you now,
myself: you'll be able to be removed by morning, I hope.
Jane-" he continued.
"Sir?"
"I shall have to leave you in this room with this.




31 8               JANE EYRE.
gentleman, for an hour, or perhaps two hours; you will
sponge the blood as I do when it returns: if he feels
faint, you will put the glass of water on that stand to
his lips, and your salts to his nose. You will not speak
to him on any pretext-and-Richard-it will be at
the peril of your life if you speak to her: open your
lips-agitate yourself-and I'll not answer for the consequences."
Again the poor man groaned: he looked as if he
dared not move: fear, either of death or of something
else, appeared almost to paralyze him. Mr. Rochester
put the now bloody sponge into my hand, and I proceeded to use it as he had done. He watched me a
second, then saying, "Remember!-No conversation,"
he left the room. I 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 storey, fastened into
one of its mystic cells; night around me; a pale and
bloody spectacle under my eyes and hands; a murderess hardly separated from me by a single door; yes
-that was appalling-the rest I could bear: but I
shuddered at the thought of Grace Poole bursting out
upon me.
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
wandering through the room, now fixing on me, and
ever glazed with the dulness of horror. I must dip my
hand again and again in the basin of blood and water,
and wipe away the trickling gore. I must see the light
of the unsnuffed candle wane on my employment; the




JANE EYRE.               319
shadows darken on the wrought, antique tapestry round
me, and grow black under the hangings of the vast old
bed, and quiver strangely over the doors of a great
cabinet opposite-whose front, divided into twelve
panels, bore in grim design, the heads of the twelve
apostles, each inclosed in its separate panel as in a
frame; while above them at the top rose an ebon crucifix
and a dying Christ.
According as the shifting obscurity and flickering
gleam hovered here or glanced there, it was now the
bearded physician, Luke, that bent his brow; now
St. John's long hair that waved; and anon the devilish
face of Judas, that grew out of the panel, and seemed
gathering life and threatening a revelation of the archtraitor-of Satan himself-in his subordinate's form.
Amidst all this, I had to listen as well as watch: to
listen for the movements of the wild beast or the fiend
in yonder side den. But since Mr. Rochester's visit it
seemed spell-bound: all the night I heard but three
sounds at three long intervals,-a step creak, a momentary renewal of the snarling, canine noise, and a deep
human groan.
Then my own thoughts worried me. What crime
was this, that lived incarnate in this sequestered mansion, and could neither be expelled nor subdued by the
owner?-What mystery, that broke out, now in fire
and now in blood, at the deadest hours of night?What creature was it, that, masked in an ordinary
woman's face and shape, uttered the voice, now of a
mocking demon, and anon of a carrion-seeking bird of
prey?
And this man I bent over-this commonplace quiet




320                JANE EYRE.
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.
Rochester enforced? Why did Mr. Rochester enforce
this concealment? His guest had been outraged, his
own life on a former occasion had been hideously
plotted against; and both attempts he smothered in
secrecy and sank in oblivion! 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 individualwhom his word now sufficed to control like a childfallen on him, a few hours since, as a thunderbolt might
fall on an oak?
Oh! I could not forget his look and his paleness
when he whispered: "Jane, I have got a blow-I have
got a blow, Jane." I could not forget how the arm
had trembled which he rested on my shoulder: and
it was no light matter which could thus bow the resolute spirit and thrill the vigorous frame of Fairfax
Rochester.




JANE EYRE.               32 
"When will be come? When will he come?" I cried
inwardly, as the night lingered and lingered-as my
bleeding patient drooped, moaned, sickened: and neither
day nor aid arrived. I had, again and again, held the
water to Mason's white lips; again and again offered
him the stimulating salts: my efforts seemed ineffectual:
either bodily or mental suffering, or loss of blood, or
all three combined, were fast prostrating his strength.
He moaned so, and looked so weak, wild, and lost,
I feared he was dying; and I might not even speak
to him!
The candle, wasted at last, went out; as it expired,
I perceived streaks of grey light edging the window
curtains: dawn was then approaching.   Presently I
heard Pilot bark far below, out of his distant kennel
in the courtyard: hope revived. Nor was it unwarranted: in five minutes more the grating key, the yielding lock, warned me my watch was relieved. It could
not have lasted more than two hours: many a week has
seemed shorter.
Mr. 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 down stairs
and all."
"But is he fit to move, sir?"
"No doubt of it; it is nothing serious: he is nervous,
his spirits must be kept up. Come, set to work."
Mr. Rochester drew back the thick curtain, drew
up the holland blind, let in all the daylight he could;
Jane Eyre. 1.                        21




322                JANE EYRE.
and I was surprised and cheered to see how far dawn
was advanced: what rosy streaks were beginning to
brighten the east. Then he approached Mason, whom
the surgeon was already handling.
"Now, my good fellow, how are you?" he asked.
"She's done for me, I fear," was the faint reply.
"Not a whit!-courage! This day fortnight you'll
hardly be a pin the worse of it: you've lost a little
blood; that's all. Carter, assure him there's no danger."
"I can do that conscientiously," said Carter, who
had now 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,




JANE EYRE.               323
and are likely to suffer enough for not taking my advice; so I'll say no more.  Carter - hurry! - hurry!
The sun will soon rise, and I must have him off."
"Directly, sir; the shoulder is just bandaged.  I
must look to this other wound in the arm: she has had
her teeth here too, I think."
"She sucked the blood: she said she'd drain my
heart," said Mason.
I saw Mr. Rochester shudder: a singularly marked
expression of disgust, horror, hatred, warped his countenance almost to distortion; but he only said:"Come, be silent, Richard, and never mind her
gibberish: don't repeat it."
"I wish I could forget it," was the answer.
"You will when you are out of the country: when
you 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'll make you decent
in a trice. Jane," (he turned to me for the first time
since his re-entrance) "take this key: go down into my
bed-room, and walk straight forward into my dressingroom; 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.
2I *




324                JANE EYRE.
"Now," said he, "go to the other side of the bed
while I order his toilet; but don't leave the room: you
may be wanted again."
I retired as directed.
"Was anybody stirring below when you went down,
Jane?" inquired Mr. Rochester, presently.
"No, sir; all was very still."
"We shall get you off cannily, Dick: and it will
be better, both for your sake, and for that of the poor
creature in yonder. I have striven long to avoid exposure, and I should not like it to come at last. Here,
Carter, help him on with his waistcoat. Where did
you leave your furred cloak? You can't travel a mile
without that, I know, in this damned cold climate.
In your room?-Jane, run down to Mr. Mason's room,
-the one next mine,-and fetch a cloak you will see
there."
Again I ran, and again returned, bearing an immense mantle lined and edged with fur.
"Now, I've another errand for you," said my untiring master; "you must away to my room again.
What a mercy you are shod with velvet, Jane!-a clodhopping messenger would never do at this juncture.
You must open the middle drawer of my toilet-table
and take out a little phial and a little glass you will
find there,-quick!"
I flew thither and back, bringing the desired vessels.
"That's well! Now, doctor, I shall take the liberty
of 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.




JANE EYRE.                325
It is not a thing to be used indiscriminately, but it is
good upon occasion: as now, for instance. Jane, a
little water."
He held out the tiny glass, and I half filled it from
the water bottle on the washstand.
"That will do:-now wet the lip of the phial."
I did so: he measured twelve drops of a crimson
liquid, and presented it to Mason.
"Drink, Richard: it will give you the heart you lack,
for an hour or so."
"But will it hurt me?-is it inflammatory?"
"Drink! drink! drink!"
Mr. Mason obeyed, because it was evidently useless
to resist. He was dressed now: he still looked pale,
but he was no longer 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 I told him not to drive
his rattling wheels over the pavement-to be ready; we
are coming: and, Jane, if any one is about, come to the
foot of the stairs and hem."
It was by this time half-past five, and the sun was




326                 JANE EYRE.
on the point of rising; but I found the kitchen still
dark and silent. The side-passage door was fastened;
I opened it with as little noise as possible: all the yard
was quiet; but the gates stood wide open, and there
was a post chaise, with horses ready harnessed, and
driver seated on the box, stationed outside.  I approached him, and said the gentlemen were coming;
he nodded: then I looked carefully round and listened.
The stillness of early morning slumbered everywhere;
the curtains were yet drawn over the servants' chamber
windows; little birds were just twittering in the blossomblanched orchard trees, whose boughs drooped like
white garlands over the wall enclosing one side of the
yard; the carriage horses stamped from time to time in
their closed stables: all else was still.
The gentlemen now appeared. Mason, supported
by Mr. Rochester and the surgeon, seemed to walk with
tolerable ease: they assisted him into the chaise; Carter
followed.
"Take care of him," said Mr. Rochester to the latter,
"and keep him at your house till he is quite well: I
shall ride over in a day or two to see how he gets on.
Richard, how is it with you?"
"The fresh air revives me, Fairfax."
"Leave the window open on his side, Carter; there
is no wind-good-bye, Dick."
"Fairfax-"
"Well, what is it?"
"Let her be taken care of; let her be treated as
tenderly as may be: let her-" he stopped and burst
into tears.




JANE EYRE.                327
"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 moments," he said; "that house is a mere dungeon: don't
you feel it so?"
"It seems to me a splendid mansion, sir."
"The glamour of inexperience is over your eyes," he
answered; "and you see it through a charmed medium:
you cannot discern that the gilding is slime and the silk
draperies cobwebs; that the marble is sordid slate, and
the polished woods mere refuse chips and scaly bark.
Now here (he pointed to the leafy enclosure we had entered) all is real, sweet, and pure."
He strayed down a walk edged with box; with
apple trees, pear trees, and cherry trees on one side,
and a border on the other, full of all sorts of oldfashioned flowers, stocks, sweet-williams, primroses,
pansies, mingled with southernwood, sweet-briar, and
various fragrant herbs. They were fresh now as a succession of April showers and gleams, followed by a
lovely spring morning, could make them: the sun was
just entering the dappled east, and his light illumined




328                JANE EYRE.
the wreathed and dewy orchard trees and shone down
the quiet walks under them.
"Jane, will you have a flower?"
He gathered a half-blown rose, the first on the bush,
and offered it to me.
"Thank you, sir."
"Do you like this sunrise, Jane? That sky with its
high and light clouds which are sure to melt away as
the day waxes warm-this placid and balmy atmosphere?"
"I do, very much."
"You have passed a strange night, Jane."
"Yes, sir."
"And it has made you look pale-were you afraid
when I left you alone with Mason?"
"I was afraid of some one coming out of the inner
room."
"But I had fastened the door-I had the key in my
pocket: I should have been a careless shepherd if I had
left a lamb-my pet lamb-so near a wolf's den, unguarded: you were safe."
"Will Grace Poole live here still, sir?"
"Oh, yes! don't trouble your head about her-put
the thing out of your thoughts."
"Yet it seems to me your life is hardly secure while
she stays."
"Never fear-I will take care of myself."
"Is the danger you apprehended last night gone by
now, sir?"
"I cannot vouch for that till Mason is out of England: nor even then. To live, for me, Jane, is to stand




JANE EYRE.               329
on a crater-crust which may crack and spue fire any
day."
"But Mr. Mason seems a man easily led. Your
influence, sir, is evidently potent with him: he will never
set you at defiance, or wilfully injure you."
"Oh, no! Mason will not defy me; nor, knowing it,
will he hurt me-but, unintentionally, he might in a
moment, by one careless word, deprive me, if not of life,
yet for ever of happiness."
"Tell him to be cautious, sir; let him know what
you fear, and show him how to avert the danger."
He laughed sardonically, hastily took my hand, and
as hastily threw it from him.
"If I could do that, simpleton, where would the
danger be? Annihilated in a moment. Ever since I
have known Mason, I have only had to say to him'Do
that,' and the thing has been done. But I cannot give
him orders in this case: I cannot say'Beware of harming me, Richard;' for it is imperative that I should keep
him ignorant that harm to me is possible. Now you
look puzzled; and I will puzzle you farther. You are
my little friend, are you not?"
"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
is right:' for if I bid you do what you thought wrong,
there would be no light-footed running, no neat-handed
alacrity, no lively glance and animated complexion,




330                 JANE vERE.
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 arbour;
sit down."
The arbour was an arch in the wall, lined with ivy;
it contained a rustic seat. Mr. Rochester took it, leaving room, however, for me: but I stood before him.
"Sit," he said; "the bench is long enough for two.
You don't hesitate to take a place at my side, do you?
Is that wrong, Jane?"
I answered him by assuming it: to refuse would, I
felt, have been unwise.
"Now, my little friend, while the sun drinks the dew
-while all the flowers in this old garden awake and
expand, and the birds fetch their young ones' breakfast
out of the Thornfield, and the early bees do their first
spell of work-I'll put a case to you; which you
must endeavour to suppose your own: but first, look at
me, and tell me you are at ease, and not fearing that I
err in detaining you, or that you err in staying."
"No, sir; I am content."
"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;




JANE EYRE.               331
imagine yourself in a remote foreign land; conceive that
you there commit a capital error, no matter of what
nature or from what motives, but one whose consequences
must follow you through life and taint all your existence.
Mind, I don't say a crime; I am not speaking of shedding of blood or any other guilty act, which might make
the perpetrator amenable to the law: my word is error.
The results of what you have done become in time to
you utterly insupportable; you take measures to obtain
relief: unusual measures, but neither unlawful nor culpable.
Still you are miserable; for hope has quitted you on the
very confines of life: your sun at noon darkens in an
eclipse, which you feel will not leave it till the time of
setting. Bitter and base associations have become the
sole food of your memory: you wander here and there,
seeking rest in exile: happiness in pleasure-I mean in
heartless, sensual pleasure-such as dulls intellect and
blights feeling. Heart-weary and soul-withered, you
come home after years of voluntary banishment; you
make a new acquaintance-how or where no matter:
you find in this stranger much of the good and bright
qualities which you have sought for twenty years, and
never before encountered; and they are all fresh, healthy,
without soil and without taint. Such society revives,
regenerates: you feel better days come back-higher
wishes, purer feelings; you desire to recommence your
life, and to spend what remains to you of days in a way
more worthy of an immortal being. To attain this end,
are you justified in overleaping an obstacle of customa mere conventional impediment, which neither your
conscience sanctifies nor your judgment approves?"




332                JANE EYRE.
He paused for an answer: and what was I to say?
Oh, for some good spirit to suggest a judicious and
satisfactory response! Vain aspiration! The west wind
whispered in the ivy round me; but no gentle Ariel
borrowed its breath as a medium of speech: the birds
sang in the tree-tops; but their song, however sweet,
was inarticulate.
Again Mr. Rochester propounded his query:
"Is the wandering and sinful, but now rest-seeking
and repentant man, justified in daring the world's opinion,
in order to attach to him for ever, this gentle, gracious,
genial stranger; thereby securing his own peace of mind
and regeneration of life?"
"Sir," I answered, "a Wanderer's repose or a Sinner's reformation should never depend on a fellowcreature. Men and women die; philosophers falter in
wisdom, and Christians in goodness: if any one you know
has suffered and erred, let him look higher than his
equals for strength to amend, and solace to heal."
"But the instrument-the instrument! God, who
does the work, ordains the instrument. I have myselfI tell it you without parable-been a worldly, dissipated,
restless man; and I believe I have found the instrument
for my cure, in-"
He paused: the birds went on carolling, the leaves
lightly rustling. I almost wondered they did not check
their songs and whispers to catch the suspended revelation: but they would have had to wait many minutesso long was the silence protracted. At last I looked up
at the tardy speaker: he was looking eagerly at me.




JANt^ EVRE.              333
"Little friend," said he, in quite a changed tonewhile his face changed too; losing all its softness and
gravity, and becoming harsh and sarcastic-"you have
noticed my tender penchant for Miss Ingram: don't you
think if I married her she would regenerate me with a
vengeance?"
He got up instantly, went quite to the other end
of the walk, and when he came back he was humming
a tune.
"Jane, Jane," said he, stopping before me, "you are
quite pale with your vigils: don't you curse me for disturbing your rest?"
"Curse you? No, sir."
"Shake hands in confirmation of the word. What
cold fingers! They were warmer last night when I
touched them 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."




334                 JANE EYRE.
As I went one way, he went another, and I heard
him in the yard, saying cheeringly:"Mason got the start of you all this morning; he
was gone before sunrise: I rose at four to see him off."
END OF VOL. I.




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