Jane Eyre
       
       by Charlotte Bronte
       
       1847
       
       ……………….
       
       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
       answered "Yes," and was then lifted out; my trunk was handed down,
       and the coach instantly drove away.
       
       I was stiff with long sitting, and bewildered with the noise and
       motion of the coach:  Gathering my faculties, I looked about me.
       Rain, wind, and darkness filled the air; nevertheless, I dimly
       discerned a wall before me and a door open in it; through this door
       I passed with my new guide:  she shut and locked it 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 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.
       
       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 shaved into fragments.
       
       The meal over, prayers were read by Miss Miller, and the classes
       filed off, two and two, upstairs.  Overpowered by this time with
       weariness, I scarcely noticed what sort of a place the bedroom was,
       except that, like the schoolroom, I saw it was very long.  To-night
       I was to be Miss Miller's 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, and amidst silence and complete darkness
       I fell asleep.
       
       The night passed rapidly.  I was too tired even to dream; I only
       once awoke to hear the wind rave in furious gusts, and the rain
       fall in torrents, and to be sensible that Miss Miller had taken
       her place by my side.  When I again unclosed my eyes, a loud bell
       was ringing; the girls were up and dressing; day had not yet begun
       to dawn, and a rushlight or two burned in the room.  I too rose
       reluctantly; it was bitter cold, and I dressed as well 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 schoolroom:  here prayers
       were read by Miss Miller; afterwards she called out -
       
       "Form classes!"
       
       A great tumult succeeded for some minutes, during which Miss Miller
       repeatedly exclaimed, "Silence!"  and "Order!"  When it subsided,
       I saw them all drawn up in four 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, 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 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 schoolroom was in a glorious tumult; for that space of time it
       seemed to be permitted to talk loud and more freely, and they used
       their privilege.  The whole conversation ran on the breakfast,
       which one and all abused roundly.  Poor things!  it was the sole
       consolation they had.  Miss Miller was now the only teacher in the
       room:  a group of great girls standing about her spoke with serious
       and sullen gestures.  I heard the name of Mr. Brocklehurst pronounced
       by some lips; at which Miss Miller shook her head disapprovingly;
       but she made no great effort to cheek the general wrath; doubtless
       she shared in it.
       
       A clock in the schoolroom struck nine; Miss Miller left
       her circle, and standing in the middle of the room, cried -
       
       "Silence!  To your seats!"
       
       Discipline prevailed:  in five minutes the confused throng was
       resolved into order, and comparative silence quelled the Babel
       clamour of tongues.  The upper teachers now punctually resumed their
       posts:  but still, all seemed to wait.  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 country-made shoes, fastened
       with brass buckles.  Above twenty of those clad in this costume
       were full-grown girls, or rather young women; it suited them ill,
       and gave an air of oddity even to the prettiest.
       
       I was still looking at them, and also at intervals examining the
       teachers -- none of whom precisely pleased me; for the stout one
       was a little coarse, the dark one not a little fierce, the foreigner
       harsh and grotesque, and Miss Miller, poor thing!  looked purple,
       weather- beaten, 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 approaching, seemed to ask her
       a question, and having received her answer, went back to
       her place, and said aloud -
       
       "Monitor of the first class, fetch the globes!"
       
       While the direction was being executed, the lady consulted moved
       slowly up the room.  I suppose I have a considerable organ of
       veneration, for I retain yet the sense of admiring awe with which
       my eyes traced her steps.  Seen now, in broad daylight, she looked
       tall, fair, and shapely; brown eyes with a benignant light in their
       iris, 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 intrusted 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
       on geography; the lower classes were called by the teachers:
       repetitions in history, grammar, &c., went on for an hour; writing
       and arithmetic succeeded, and music lessons were given by Miss
       Temple to some of the elder girls.  The duration of each lesson
       was measured by the clock, which at last struck twelve.  The
       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 inclosure, surrounded with walls so high as
       to exclude every glimpse of prospect; a covered verandah ran down
       one side, and broad walks bordered a middle space divided into
       scores of little beds:  these beds were assigned as gardens for
       the pupils to cultivate, and each bed had an owner.  When full of
       flowers they would doubtless look pretty; but now, at the latter
       end of January, all was wintry blight and brown decay.  I shuddered
       as I stood and looked round me:  it was an inclement day for outdoor
       exercise; not positively rainy, but darkened by a drizzling yellow
       fog; all under foot was still soaking wet with the floods of
       yesterday.  The stronger among the girls ran about and engaged in
       active games, but sundry pale and thin ones herded together for
       shelter and warmth in the verandah; and amongst these, as the dense
       mist penetrated to their shivering frames, I heard frequently the
       sound of a hollow cough.
       
       As yet I had spoken to no one, nor did anybody seem to take notice
       of me; I stood lonely enough:  but to that feeling of isolation
       I was accustomed; it did not oppress me much.  I leant against a
       pillar of the verandah, drew my grey mantle close about me, and,
       trying to forget the cold which nipped me 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
       grey and old, the other half quite new.  The new part, containing
       the schoolroom and dormitory, was lit by mullioned and latticed
       windows, which gave it a church-like aspect; a stone tablet over
       the door bore this inscription:-
       
       "Lowood Institution. -- This portion was rebuilt A.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.  16.
       
       I read these words over and over again:  I felt that an explanation
       belonged to them, and was unable fully to penetrate their import.
       I was still pondering the signification of "Institution," and
       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 chord of sympathy somewhere; for I too liked reading,
       though of a frivolous and childish kind; I could not digest or
       comprehend the serious or substantial.
       
       "You may look at it," replied the girl, offering me the book.
       
       I did so; a brief examination convinced me that the contents were
       less taking than the title:  "Rasselas" looked dull to my trifling
       taste; I saw nothing about fairies, nothing about genii; no bright
       variety seemed spread over the closely-printed pages.  I returned
       it to her; she received it quietly, and without saying anything
       she was about to relapse into her former studious mood:  again
       I ventured to disturb her -
       
       "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 that tablet
       records, and whose son overlooks and directs everything here."
       
       "Why?"
       
       "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 ribband, is Madame
       Pierrot:  she comes from Lisle, in France, and teaches French."
       
       "Do you like the teachers?"
       
       "Well enough."
       
       "Do you like the little black one, and the Madame -? -- I cannot
       pronounce her name as you do."
       
       "Miss Scatcherd is hasty -- you must take care not to offend her;
       Madame Pierrot is not a bad sort of person."
       
       "But Miss Temple is the best -- isn't she?"
       
       "Miss Temple is very good and very clever; she is above the rest,
       because she knows far more than they do."
       
       "Have you been long here?"
       
       "Two years."
       
       "Are you an orphan?"
       
       "My mother is dead."
       
       "Are you happy here?"
       
       "You ask rather too many questions.  I have given you answers enough
       for the present:  now I want to read."
       
       But at that moment the summons sounded for dinner; all re-entered
       the house.  The odour which now filled the refectory was scarcely
       more appetising than that which had regaled our nostrils at breakfast:
       the dinner was served in two huge tin-plated vessels, whence rose
       a strong steam redolent of rancid fat.  I found the mess to consist
       of indifferent potatoes and strange shreds of rusty meat, mixed and
       cooked together.  Of this 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 schoolroom:  lessons
       recommenced, and were continued till five o'clock.
       
       The only marked event of the afternoon was, that I saw the girl
       with whom I had conversed in the verandah dismissed in disgrace
       by Miss Scatcherd from a history class, and sent to stand in the
       middle of the large schoolroom.  The punishment seemed to me in
       a high degree ignominious, especially for so 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 is -- whether good or naughty."
       
       Soon after five p.m.  we had another meal, consisting of a small
       mug of coffee, and half-a-slice of brown bread.  I devoured my
       bread and drank my coffee with relish; but I should have been glad
       of as much more -- I was still hungry.  Half-an-hour's recreation
       succeeded, then study; then the glass of water and the piece of
       oat-cake, prayers, and bed.  Such was my first day at Lowood.
       
       
       
       CHAPTER VI
       
       
       The next day commenced as before, getting up and dressing by
       rushlight; but this morning we were obliged to dispense with the
       ceremony of washing; the water in the pitchers was frozen.  A change
       had taken place in the weather the preceding evening, and a keen
       north-east wind, whistling through the crevices of our bedroom
       windows all night long, had made us shiver in our beds, and turned
       the contents of the ewers to ice.
       
       Before the long hour and a half of 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
       schoolroom, with directions to hem the same.  At that hour most of
       the others were sewing likewise; but one class still stood round
       Miss Scatcherd's chair reading, and as all was quiet, the subject
       of their lessons could be heard, together with the manner in which
       each girl acquitted 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 continually addressing to her such
       phrases as the following:-
       
       "Burns" (such it seems was her name:  the girls here were all
       called by their surnames, as boys are elsewhere), "Burns, you are
       standing on the side of your shoe; turn your toes out 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 -
       
       "You dirty, disagreeable girl!  you have never cleaned your nails
       this morning!"
       
       Burns made no answer:  I wondered at her silence.  "Why," thought
       I, "does she not explain that she could neither clean her nails
       nor wash her face, as the water was frozen?"
       
       My attention was now called off by Miss Smith desiring me to hold a
       skein of thread:  while she was winding it, she talked to me from
       time to time, asking whether I had ever been at school before,
       whether I could mark, stitch, knit, &c.; till she 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 curtesy; 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' 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 back her handkerchief into her
       pocket, and the trace of a tear glistened on her thin cheek.
       
       The play-hour in the evening I thought the pleasantest fraction
       of the day at Lowood:  the bit of bread, the draught of coffee
       swallowed at five o'clock had revived vitality, if it had not
       satisfied hunger:  the long restraint of the day was slackened;
       the schoolroom felt warmer than in the morning -- its fires being
       allowed to burn a little more brightly, to supply, in some measure,
       the place of candles, not yet introduced:  the ruddy gloaming, the
       licensed uproar, the confusion of many voices gave one a welcome
       sense of liberty.
       
       On the evening of the day on which I had seen Miss Scatcherd flog
       her pupil, Burns, I wandered as usual among the forms and tables
       and laughing groups without a companion, yet not feeling lonely:
       when I passed the windows, I now and then lifted a blind, and looked
       out; it snowed fast, a drift was already forming against the lower
       panes; putting my ear close to the window, I could distinguish from
       the gleeful tumult within, the disconsolate moan of the wind outside.
       
       Probably, if I had lately left a good home and kind parents, this
       would have been the hour when I should most keenly have regretted
       the separation; that wind would then have saddened my heart; this
       obscure chaos would have disturbed my peace!  as it was, I derived
       from both a strange excitement, and reckless and feverish, I wished
       the wind to howl more wildly, the gloom to deepen to darkness, and
       the confusion to rise to clamour.
       
       Jumping over forms, and creeping under tables, I made my way to
       one of the fire-places; there, kneeling by the high wire fender,
       I found Burns, absorbed, silent, abstracted from all round her by
       the companionship of a book, which she read by the dim glare of
       the embers.
       
       "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 farther north, quite on the borders of Scotland."
       
       "Will you ever go back?"
       
       "I hope so; but nobody can be sure of the future."
       
       "You must wish to leave Lowood?"
       
       "No!  why should I? I was sent to Lowood to get an education; and
       it would be of no use going away until I have attained that object."
       
       "But that teacher, Miss Scatcherd, is so cruel to you?"
       
       "Cruel?  Not at all!  She is severe:  she dislikes my faults."
       
       "And if I were in your place I should dislike her; I should resist
       her.  If she struck me with that rod, I should get it from her
       hand; I should break it under her nose."
       
       "Probably you would do nothing of the sort:  but if you did, Mr.
       Brocklehurst would expel you from the school; that would be a great
       grief to your relations.  It is far better to endure patiently a
       smart which nobody feels but yourself, than to commit a hasty action
       whose 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 sympathise with
       the forbearance she expressed for her chastiser.  Still I felt that
       Helen Burns considered things by a light invisible to my eyes.  I
       suspected she might be right and I wrong; but I would not ponder
       the matter deeply; like Felix, I put it off to a more convenient
       season.
       
       "You say you have faults, Helen:  what are they?  To me you seem
       very good."
       
       "Then learn from me, not to judge by appearances:  I am, as Miss
       Scatcherd said, slatternly; I seldom put, and never keep, things,
       in order; I am careless; I forget rules; I read when I should
       learn my lessons; I have no method; and sometimes I say, like you,
       I cannot BEAR to be subjected to systematic arrangements.  This
       is all very provoking to Miss Scatcherd, who is naturally neat,
       punctual, and particular."
       
       "And cross and cruel," I added; but Helen Burns would not admit my
       addition:  she kept silence.
       
       "Is Miss Temple as severe to you as Miss Scatcherd?"
       
       At the utterance of Miss Temple's name, a soft smile flitted over
       her grave face.
       
       "Miss Temple is full of goodness; it pains her to be severe to any
       one, even the worst in the school:  she sees my errors, and tells
       me of them gently; and, if I do anything worthy of praise, she gives
       me my meed liberally.  One strong proof of my wretchedly defective
       nature is, that even her expostulations, so mild, so rational, have
       not influence to cure me of my faults; and 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 awakened; 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, instead of dreaming of Deepden, I
       was wondering how a man who wished to do right could act so unjustly
       and unwisely as Charles the First sometimes did; and I thought what
       a pity it was that, with his integrity and conscientiousness, he
       could see no farther than the prerogatives of the crown.  If he had
       but been able to look to a distance, and see 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 agreeable to me, and the information she communicates
       is often just what I wished to gain."
       
       "Well, then, with Miss Temple you are good?"
       
       "Yes, in a passive way:  I make no effort; I follow as inclination
       guides me.  There is no merit in such goodness."
       
       "A great deal:  you are good to those who are good to you.  It is
       all I ever desire to be.  If people were always kind and obedient
       to those who are cruel and unjust, the wicked people would have
       it all their own way:  they would never feel afraid, and so they
       would never alter, but would grow worse and worse.  When we are
       struck at without a reason, we should strike back again very hard;
       I am sure we should -- so hard as to teach the person who struck
       us never to do it again."
       
       "You will change your mind, I hope, when you grow older:  as yet
       you are but a little untaught girl."
       
       "But I feel this, Helen; I must dislike those who, whatever I do
       to please them, persist in disliking me; I must resist those who
       punish me unjustly.  It is as natural as that I should love those
       who show me affection, or submit to punishment when I feel it is
       deserved."
       
       "Heathens and savage tribes hold that doctrine, but Christians and
       civilised nations disown it."
       
       "How?  I don't understand."
       
       "It is not violence that best overcomes hate -- nor vengeance that
       most certainly heals injury."
       
       "What then?"
       
       "Read the New Testament, and observe what Christ says, and how He
       acts; make His word your rule, and His conduct your example."
       
       "What does He say?"
       
       "Love your enemies; bless them that curse you; do good to them that
       hate you and despitefully use you."
       
       "Then I should love Mrs. Reed, which I cannot do; I should bless
       her son John, which is impossible."
       
       In her turn, Helen Burns asked me to explain, and I proceeded
       forthwith to pour out, in my own way, the tale of my sufferings
       and resentments.  Bitter and truculent when excited, I spoke as I
       felt, without reserve or softening.
       
       Helen heard me patiently to the end:  I expected she would then
       make a remark, but she said nothing.
       
       "Well," I asked impatiently, "is not Mrs. Reed a hard-hearted, bad
       woman?"
       
       "She has been unkind to you, no doubt; because you see, she
       dislikes your cast of character, as Miss Scatcherd does mine; but
       how minutely you remember all she has done and said to you!  What
       a singularly deep impression her injustice seems to have made
       on your heart!  No ill-usage so brands its record on my feelings.
       Would you not be happier if you tried to forget her severity,
       together with the passionate emotions it excited?  Life appears
       to me too short to be spent in nursing animosity or registering
       wrongs.  We are, and must be, one and all, burdened with faults in
       this world:  but the time will soon come when, I trust, we shall
       put them off in putting off our corruptible bodies; when debasement
       and sin will fall from us with this cumbrous frame of flesh, and
       only the spark of the spirit will remain, -- the impalpable principle
       of light and thought, pure as when it left the Creator to inspire
       the creature:  whence it came it will return; perhaps again to
       be communicated to some being higher than man -- perhaps to pass
       through gradations of glory, from the pale human soul to brighten
       to the seraph!  Surely it will never, on the contrary, be suffered
       to degenerate from man to fiend?  No; I cannot believe that:  I
       hold another creed:  which no one ever taught me, and which I seldom
       mention; but in which I delight, and to which I cling:  for it
       extends hope to all:  it makes Eternity a rest -- a mighty home, not
       a terror and an abyss.  Besides, with this creed, I can so clearly
       distinguish between the criminal 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.
       
       
       
       CHAPTER VII
       
       
       My first quarter at Lowood seemed an age; and not the golden
       age either; it comprised an irksome struggle with difficulties in
       habituating myself to new rules and unwonted tasks.  The fear of
       failure in these points harassed me worse than the physical hardships
       of my lot; though these were no trifles.
       
       During January, February, and part of March, the deep snows,
       and, after their melting, the almost impassable roads, prevented
       our stirring beyond the garden walls, except to go to church; but
       within these limits we had to pass an hour every day in the open
       air.  Our clothing was insufficient to protect us from the severe
       cold:  we had no boots, the snow got into our shoes and melted
       there:  our ungloved hands became numbed and covered with chilblains,
       as were our feet:  I remember well the distracting irritation I
       endured from this cause every evening, when my feet inflamed; and
       the torture of thrusting the swelled, raw, and stiff toes into my shoes
       in the morning.  Then the scanty supply of food was distressing:
       with the keen appetites of growing children, we had scarcely
       sufficient to keep alive a delicate invalid.  From this deficiency
       of 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 paralysed.  It was too far to return
       to dinner, and an allowance of cold meat and bread, in the same
       penurious proportion observed in our ordinary meals, was served
       round between the services.
       
       At the close of the afternoon service we returned by an exposed and
       hilly road, where the bitter winter wind, blowing over a range of
       snowy summits to the north, almost flayed the skin from our faces.
       
       I can remember Miss Temple walking lightly and rapidly along our
       drooping line, her plaid cloak, which the frosty wind fluttered,
       gathered close about her, and encouraging us, by precept and
       example, to keep up our spirits, and march forward, as she said,
       "like stalwart soldiers."  The other teachers, poor things, were
       generally themselves too much dejected to attempt the task of
       cheering others.
       
       How we longed for the light and heat of a blazing fire when we got
       back!  But, to the little ones at least, this was denied:  each
       hearth in the schoolroom was immediately surrounded by a double
       row of great girls, and behind them the younger children crouched
       in groups, wrapping their starved arms in their pinafores.
       
       A little solace came at tea-time, in the shape of a double ration
       of bread -- a whole, instead of a half, slice -- with the delicious
       addition of a thin scrape of butter:  it was the 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 the centre of the schoolroom, and oblige them
       to stand there till the sermon was finished.  Sometimes their
       feet failed them, and they sank together in a heap; they were then
       propped up with the monitors' high stools.
       
       I have not yet alluded to the visits of Mr. Brocklehurst; and indeed
       that gentleman was from home during the greater part of the first
       month after my arrival; perhaps prolonging his stay with his friend
       the archdeacon:  his absence was a relief to me.  I need not say
       that I had my own reasons for dreading his coming:  but come he
       did at last.
       
       One afternoon (I had then been three weeks at Lowood), as I was sitting
       with a slate in my hand, puzzling over a sum in long division, my
       eyes, raised in abstraction to the window, caught sight of a figure
       just passing:  I recognised almost instinctively that gaunt outline;
       and when, two minutes after, all the school, teachers included,
       rose en masse, it was not necessary for me to look up in order to
       ascertain whose entrance they thus greeted.  A long stride measured
       the schoolroom, and presently beside Miss Temple, who herself
       had risen, stood the same black column which had frowned on me so
       ominously from the hearthrug 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 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 disclosures of my villainy; and I watched
       her eye with painful anxiety, expecting every moment to see its
       dark orb turn on me a glance of repugnance and contempt.  I listened
       too; and as I happened to be seated quite at the top of the room,
       I caught most of what he said:  its import relieved me from immediate
       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,
       O 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.
       
       "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 looked over
       the regulations, and I find no such meal as lunch mentioned.  Who
       introduced this innovation?  and by what authority?"
       
       "I must be responsible for the circumstance, sir," replied Miss
       Temple:  "the breakfast was so ill prepared that the pupils could
       not possibly eat it; and I dared not allow them to remain fasting
       till dinner-time."
       
       "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 neutralised by replacing with
       something more delicate the comfort lost, thus pampering the body
       and obviating the aim of this institution; it ought to be improved
       to the spiritual edification of the pupils, by encouraging them
       to evince fortitude under 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 hitherto used -
       
       "Miss Temple, Miss Temple, what -- WHAT is that girl with curled
       hair?  Red hair, ma'am, curled -- curled all over?"  And extending
       his cane he pointed to the awful object, his hand shaking as he
       did so.
       
       "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 this
       manoeuvre:  it was a pity Mr. Brocklehurst could not see them too;
       he would perhaps have felt that, whatever he might do with the
       outside of the cup and platter, the inside was further beyond his
       interference than he imagined.
       
       He scrutinised the reverse of these living medals some five minutes,
       then pronounced sentence.  These words fell like the knell of doom -
       
       "All those top-knots must be cut off."
       
       Miss Temple seemed to remonstrate.
       
       "Madam," he pursued, "I have a Master to serve whose kingdom is not
       of this world:  my mission is to mortify in these girls the lusts
       of the flesh; to teach them to clothe themselves with shame-facedness
       and sobriety, not with braided hair and costly apparel; and each
       of the young persons before us has a string of hair twisted in
       plaits which vanity itself might have woven; these, I repeat,
       must be cut off; think of the time wasted, of -- "
       
       Mr. Brocklehurst was here interrupted:  three other visitors, ladies,
       now entered the room.  They ought to have come a little sooner to
       have heard his lecture on dress, for they were splendidly attired
       in velvet, silk, and furs.  The two younger of the trio (fine girls
       of sixteen and seventeen) had grey beaver hats, then in fashion,
       shaded with ostrich plumes, and from under the brim of this graceful
       head-dress fell a profusion of light tresses, elaborately curled;
       the elder lady was enveloped in a costly velvet shawl, trimmed with
       ermine, and she wore a false front of French curls.
       
       These ladies were deferentially received by Miss Temple, as Mrs.
       and the Misses Brocklehurst, and conducted to seats of honour at the
       top of the room.  It seems they had come in the carriage with their
       reverend relative, and had been conducting a rummaging scrutiny of
       the room upstairs, while he transacted business with the housekeeper,
       questioned the laundress, and lectured the superintendent.  They
       now proceeded to address divers remarks and reproofs to Miss Smith,
       who was charged with the care of the linen and the inspection of
       the dormitories:  but I had no time to listen to what they said;
       other matters called off and enchanted 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 paralysed:  but
       the two great girls who sit on each side of me, set me on my legs
       and pushed me towards the dread judge, and then Miss Temple gently
       assisted me to his very feet, and I caught her whispered counsel -
       
       "Don't be afraid, Jane, I saw it was an accident; you shall not be
       punished."
       
       The kind whisper went to my heart like a dagger.
       
       "Another minute, and she will despise me for a hypocrite," thought
       I; and an impulse of fury against Reed, Brocklehurst, and Co.
       bounded in my pulses at the conviction.  I was no Helen Burns.
       
       "Fetch that stool," said Mr. Brocklehurst, pointing to a very high
       one from which a monitor had just risen:  it was brought.
       
       "Place the child upon it."
       
       And I was placed there, by whom I don't know:  I was in no condition
       to note particulars; I was only aware that they had hoisted me up
       to the height of Mr. Brocklehurst's nose, that he was within a yard
       of me, and that a spread of shot orange and purple silk pelisses
       and a cloud of silvery plumage extended and waved below me.
       
       Mr. Brocklehurst hemmed.
       
       "Ladies," said he, turning to his family, "Miss Temple, teachers,
       and children, you all see this girl?"
       
       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 clergyman, with pathos,
       "this is a sad, a melancholy occasion; for it becomes my duty to
       warn you, that this girl, who might be one of God's own lambs, is
       a little castaway:  not a member of the true flock, but evidently
       an interloper and an alien.  You must be on your guard against
       her; you must shun her example; if necessary, avoid her company,
       exclude her from your sports, and shut her out from your converse.
       Teachers, you must watch her:  keep your eyes on her movements,
       weigh well her words, scrutinise her actions, punish her body to
       save her soul:  if, indeed, such salvation be possible, for (my
       tongue falters while I tell it) this girl, this child, the native
       of a Christian land, worse than many a little heathen who says its
       prayers to Brahma and kneels before Juggernaut -- this girl is --
       a liar!"
       
       Now came a pause of ten minutes, during which I, by this time in
       perfect possession of my wits, observed all the female Brocklehursts
       produce their pocket-handkerchiefs and apply them to their optics,
       while the elderly lady swayed 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, superintendent, I beg of you not to allow the waters to
       stagnate round her."
       
       With this sublime conclusion, Mr. Brocklehurst adjusted the top button
       of his surtout, muttered something to his family, who rose, bowed
       to Miss Temple, and then all the great people sailed in
       state from the room.  Turning at the door, my 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 grey eye, like a
       reflection from the aspect of an angel.  Yet at that moment Helen
       Burns wore on her arm "the untidy badge;" scarcely an hour ago I
       had heard her condemned by Miss Scatcherd to a dinner of bread and
       water on the morrow because she had blotted an exercise in copying
       it out.  Such is the imperfect nature of man!  such spots are there
       on the disc of the clearest planet; and eyes like Miss Scatcherd's
       can only see those minute defects, and are blind to the full
       brightness of the orb.
       
       
       
       CHAPTER VIII
       
       
       Ere the half-hour ended, 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 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 has said?"
       
       "Mr. Brocklehurst is not a god:  nor is he even a great and admired
       man:  he is little liked here; he never took steps to make himself
       liked.  Had he treated you as an especial favourite, you would
       have found enemies, declared or covert, all around you; as it is,
       the greater number would offer you sympathy if they dared.  Teachers
       and pupils may look coldly on you for a day or two, but friendly
       feelings are concealed in their hearts; and if you persevere in
       doing well, these feelings will ere long appear so much the more
       evidently for their temporary suppression.  Besides, Jane" -- she
       paused.
       
       "Well, Helen?"  said I, putting my hand into hers:  she
       chafed my fingers gently to warm them, and went on -
       
       "If all the world hated you, and believed you wicked, while your
       own conscience approved you, and absolved you from guilt, you would
       not be without friends."
       
       "No; I know I should think well of myself; but that is not enough:
       if others don't love me I would rather die than live -- I cannot
       bear to be solitary and hated, Helen.  Look here; to gain some
       real affection from you, or Miss Temple, or any other whom I truly
       love, I would willingly submit to have the bone of my arm broken, or
       to let a bull toss me, or to stand behind a kicking horse,
       and let it dash its hoof at my chest -- "
       
       "Hush, Jane!  you think too much of the 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 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 with you, she may come too."
       
       We went; following the superintendent's guidance, we had to thread
       some intricate passages, and mount a staircase before we reached
       her apartment; it contained a good fire, and looked cheerful.  Miss
       Temple told Helen Burns to be seated in a low arm-chair on one
       side of the hearth, and herself taking another, she called me to
       her side.
       
       "Is it all over?"  she asked, looking down at my face.  "Have you
       cried your grief away?"
       
       "I am afraid I never shall do that."
       
       "Why?"
       
       "Because I have been wrongly accused; and you, ma'am, and everybody
       else, will now think me wicked."
       
       "We shall think you what you prove yourself to be, my child.
       Continue to act as a good girl, and you will satisfy us."
       
       "Shall I, Miss Temple?"
       
       "You will," said she, passing her arm round me.  "And now tell me
       who is the lady whom Mr. Brocklehurst called your benefactress?"
       
       "Mrs. Reed, my uncle's wife.  My uncle is dead, and 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 is true;
       but add nothing and exaggerate nothing."
       
       I resolved, in the depth of my heart, that I would be most moderate
       -- most correct; and, having reflected a few minutes in order
       to arrange coherently what I had to say, I told her all the story
       of my sad childhood.  Exhausted by emotion, my language was more
       subdued than it generally was when it developed that sad theme; and
       mindful of Helen's warnings against the indulgence of resentment,
       I infused into the narrative far less of gall and wormwood than
       ordinary.  Thus restrained and simplified, it sounded more credible:
       I felt as I went on that Miss Temple fully believed me.
       
       In the course of the tale I had mentioned Mr. Lloyd as having come
       to see me after the fit:  for I never 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.
       
       "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….
       
       . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
       
       
       That forest-dell, where Lowood lay, was the cradle of fog and
       fog-bred pestilence; which, quickening with the quickening spring,
       crept into the Orphan Asylum, breathed typhus through its crowded
       schoolroom and dormitory, and, ere May arrived, transformed the
       seminary into 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 in bloom; the borders of the little
       beds were gay with pink thrift and crimson double daisies; the
       sweetbriars gave out, morning and evening, their scent of spice and
       apples; and these fragrant treasures were all useless for most of
       the inmates of Lowood, except to furnish now and then a handful of
       herbs and blossoms to put in a coffin.
       
       But I, and the rest who continued well, enjoyed fully the beauties
       of the scene and season; 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 scrutinised
       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 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.
       
       . . . . . . . . . . .
       
       
       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 necessary to
       keep up the links of connection.
       
       When the typhus fever had fulfilled its mission of devastation
       at Lowood, it gradually disappeared from thence; but not till its
       virulence and the number of its victims had drawn public 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 intrusted 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 sympathising 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 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 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 mountain, and vanishing in a gorge between
       two; how I longed to follow it farther!  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 downstairs.
       
       I was not free to resume the interrupted chain of my reflections
       till bedtime:  even then a teacher who occupied the same room
       with me kept me from the subject to which I longed to recur, by a
       prolonged effusion of small talk.  How I wished sleep would silence
       her.  It seemed as if, could I but go back to the idea which
       had last entered my mind as I stood at the window, some inventive
       suggestion would rise for my relief.
       
       Miss Gryce snored at last; she was a heavy Welshwoman, and till
       now her habitual nasal strains had never been regarded by me in any
       other light than as a nuisance; to-night I hailed the first deep
       notes with satisfaction; I was debarrassed of interruption; my
       half-effaced thought instantly revived.
       
       "A new servitude!  There is something in that," I soliloquised
       (mentally, be it understood; I did not talk aloud), "I know there
       is, because it does not sound too sweet; it is not like such words
       as Liberty, Excitement, Enjoyment:  delightful sounds truly; but
       no more than sounds for me; and so hollow and 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 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 enclose the advertisement and the money to pay for it
       under a cover directed to the editor of the Herald; you must put
       it, the first opportunity you have, into the post at Lowton; answers
       must be addressed to J.E., at the post-office there; you can go
       and inquire in about a week after you send your letter, if any are
       come, and act accordingly."
       
       This scheme I went over twice, thrice; it was then digested in my
       mind; I had it in a clear practical form:  I felt satisfied, and
       fell asleep.
       
       With earliest day, I was up:  I had my advertisement written,
       enclosed, and directed before the bell rang to rouse the school;
       it ran thus:-
       
       "A young lady accustomed to tuition" (had I not been a teacher
       two years?) "is desirous of meeting with a situation in a private
       family where the children are under fourteen (I thought that as I
       was barely eighteen, it would not do to undertake the guidance of
       pupils nearer my own age).  She is qualified to teach the usual
       branches of a good English education, together with French, Drawing,
       and Music" (in those days, reader, this now narrow catalogue of
       accomplishments, would have been held tolerably comprehensive).
       "Address, J.E., Post-office, Lowton, -shire."
       
       This document remained locked in my drawer all day:  after tea,
       I asked leave of the new superintendent to go to Lowton, in order
       to perform some small commissions for myself and one or two of my
       fellow-teachers; permission was readily granted; I went.  It was a
       walk of two miles, and the evening was wet, but the days were still
       long; I visited a shop or two, slipped the letter into the post-office,
       and came back through heavy rain, with streaming garments, but with
       a relieved heart.
       
       The succeeding week seemed long:  it came to an end at last, however,
       like all sublunary things, and once more, towards the close of a
       pleasant autumn day, I found myself afoot on the road to Lowton.  A
       picturesque track it was, by the way; lying along the side of the
       beck and through the sweetest curves of the dale:  but that day I
       thought more of the letters, that might or might not be awaiting
       me at the little burgh whither I was bound, than of the charms of
       lea and water.
       
       My ostensible errand on this occasion was to get measured for
       a pair of shoes; so I discharged that business first, and when it
       was done, I stepped across the clean and quiet little street from
       the shoemaker's to the post-office:  it was kept by an old dame, who
       wore horn spectacles on her nose, and black mittens on her hands.
       
       "Are there any letters for J.E.?"  I asked.
       
       She peered at me over her spectacles, and then she opened a drawer and
       fumbled among its contents for a long time, so long that my hopes
       began to falter.  At last, having held a document before her glasses
       for nearly five minutes, she presented it across the counter,
       accompanying the act by another inquisitive and mistrustful glance
       -- it was for J.E.
       
       "Is there only one?"  I demanded.
       
       "There are no more," said she; and I put it in my pocket and turned
       my face homeward:  I could not open it then; rules obliged me to
       be back by eight, and it was already half-past seven.
       
       Various duties awaited me on my arrival.  I had to sit with the girls
       during their hour of study; then it was my turn to read prayers;
       to see them to bed:  afterwards I supped with the other teachers.
       Even when we finally retired for the night, the inevitable Miss
       Gryce was still my companion:  we had only a short end of candle
       in our candlestick, and I dreaded lest she should talk till it
       was all burnt out; fortunately, however, the heavy supper she had
       eaten produced a soporific effect:  she was already snoring before
       I had finished undressing.  There still remained an inch of candle:
       I now took out my letter; the seal was an initial F.; I broke it;
       the contents were brief.
       
       "If J.E., who advertised in the -shire Herald of last Thursday,
       possesses the acquirements mentioned, and if she is in a position
       to give satisfactory references as to character and competency, a
       situation can be offered her where there is but one pupil, a little
       girl, under ten years of age; and where the salary is thirty pounds
       per annum.  J.E. is requested to send references, name, address,
       and all particulars to the direction:-
       
       "Mrs. Fairfax, Thornfield, near Millcote, -shire."
       
       I examined the document long:  the writing was old-fashioned and
       rather uncertain, like that of an elderly lady.  This 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."
       
       Here the socket of the candle dropped, and the wick went out.
       
       Next day new steps were to be taken; my plans could no longer be
       confined to my own breast; I must impart them in order to achieve
       their success.  Having sought and obtained an audience of the
       superintendent during the noontide recreation, I told her I had a
       prospect of getting a new situation where the salary would be double
       what I now received (for at Lowood I only got 15 pounds per annum);
       and requested she would break the matter for me to Mr. Brocklehurst,
       or some of the committee, and ascertain whether they would permit
       me to mention them as references.  She obligingly consented to
       act as mediatrix in the matter.  The next day she laid the affair
       before Mr. Brocklehurst, who said that Mrs. Reed must be written to,
       as she was my natural guardian.  A note was accordingly addressed to
       that lady, who returned for answer, that "I might do as I pleased:
       she had long relinquished all interference in my affairs."  This note
       went the round of the committee, and at last, after what appeared
       to me most tedious delay, formal leave was given me to better my
       condition if I could; and an assurance added, that as I had always
       conducted myself well, both as teacher and pupil, at Lowood, a
       testimonial of character and capacity, signed by the inspectors of
       that institution, should forthwith be furnished me.
       
       This testimonial I accordingly received in about a month, forwarded
       a copy of it to Mrs. Fairfax, and got that lady's reply, stating
       that she was satisfied, and fixing that day fortnight as the period
       for my assuming the post of governess in her house.
       
       I now busied myself in preparations:  the fortnight passed rapidly.
       I had not a very large wardrobe, though it was adequate to my
       wants; and the last day sufficed to pack my trunk, -- the same I
       had brought with me eight years ago from Gateshead.
       
       The box was corded, the card nailed on.  In half-an-hour the
       carrier was to call for it to take it to Lowton, whither I myself
       was to repair at an early hour the next morning to meet the coach.
       I had brushed my black stuff travelling-dress, prepared my bonnet,
       gloves, and muff; sought in all my drawers to see that no article
       was left behind; and now having nothing more to do, I sat down and
       tried to rest.  I could not; though I had been on foot all day, I
       could not now repose an instant; I was too much excited.  A phase
       of my life was closing to-night, a new one opening to-morrow:
       impossible to slumber in the interval; I must watch feverishly
       while the change was being accomplished.
       
       . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
       
       [[Jane works as a governess at Mr. Rochester’s house. After some months, he comes home and she finally meets him.]]
       
       "Mr. Rochester would be glad if you and your pupil would take tea
       with him in the drawing-room this evening," said she:  "he has been
       so much engaged all day that he could not ask to see you before."
       
       "When is his tea-time?"  I inquired.
       
       "Oh, at six o'clock:  he keeps early hours in the country.  You
       had better change your frock now; I will go with you and fasten
       it.  Here is a candle."
       
       "Is it necessary to change my frock?"
       
       "Yes, you had better:  I always dress for the evening when Mr.
       Rochester is here."
       
       This additional ceremony seemed somewhat stately; however, 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 grey, which, in my Lowood notions of
       the toilette, I thought too fine to be worn, except on first-rate
       occasions.
       
       "You want a brooch," said Mrs. Fairfax.  I had a single little pearl
       ornament which Miss Temple gave me as a parting keepsake:  I put
       it on, and then we went downstairs.  Unused as I was to strangers,
       it was rather a trial to appear thus formally summoned in
       Mr. 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 black hair.  I recognised his decisive
       nose, more remarkable for character than beauty; his full nostrils,
       denoting, I thought, choler; his grim mouth, chin, and jaw -- yes,
       all three were very grim, and no mistake.  His shape, now divested
       of cloak, I perceived harmonised in squareness with his physiognomy:
       I suppose it was a good figure in the athletic sense of the term
       -- broad chested and thin flanked, though neither tall nor graceful.
       
       Mr. 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 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
       Adele 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 Adele:  she demands
       a 'cadeau,' clamorously, the moment she sees me:  you beat about
       the bush."
       
       "Because I have less confidence in my deserts than Adele has:  she
       can prefer the claim of old acquaintance, and the right too of
       custom; for she says you have always been in the habit of giving
       her playthings; but if I had to make out a case I should be puzzled,
       since I am a stranger, and have done nothing to entitle me to an
       acknowledgment."
       
       "Oh, don't fall back on over-modesty!  I have examined Adele, and
       find you have taken great pains with her:  she is not bright, she
       has no talents; yet in a short time she has made much improvement."
       
       "Sir, you have now given me my 'cadeau;' I am obliged to you:  it
       is the meed teachers most covet -- praise of their 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."
       
       "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 fields about it, could you find a trace
       of them.  I don't think either summer or harvest, or winter moon,
       will ever shine on their revels more."
       
       Mrs. Fairfax had dropped her knitting, and, with raised eyebrows,
       seemed wondering what sort of talk this was.
       
       "Well," resumed Mr. Rochester, "if you disown 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 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 countenance are so much at variance as in
       your case.  And now what did you learn at Lowood?  Can you play?"
       
       "A little."
       
       "Of course:  that is the established answer.  Go into the library
       -- I mean, if you please. -- (Excuse my tone of command; I am used
       to say, 'Do this,' and it is done:  I cannot alter my customary
       habits for one new inmate.) -- Go, then, into the library; take a
       candle with you; leave the door open; sit down to the piano, and
       play a tune."
       
       I departed, obeying his directions.
       
       "Enough!"  he called out in a few minutes.  "You play A LITTLE, I
       see; like any other English 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 patchwork."
       
       "Then I will say nothing, and you shall judge for yourself, sir."
       
       I brought the portfolio from the library.
       
       "Approach the table," said he; and I wheeled it to his couch.  Adele
       and Mrs. Fairfax drew near to see the pictures.
       
       "No crowding," said Mr. Rochester:  "take the drawings from my hand
       as I finish with them; but don't push your faces up to mine."
       
       He deliberately scrutinised each sketch and painting.  Three he
       laid aside; the others, when he had examined them, he swept from
       him.
       
       "Take them off to the other table, Mrs. Fairfax," said he, "and
       look at them with Adele; -- you" (glancing at me) "resume your seat,
       and answer my questions.  I perceive those 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 represented clouds
       low and livid, rolling over a swollen sea:  all the distance was
       in eclipse; so, too, was the foreground; or rather, the nearest
       billows, for there was no land.  One gleam of light lifted into
       relief a half-submerged mast, on which sat a 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 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 realise."
       
       "Not quite:  you have secured the shadow of your thought; but no
       more, probably.  You had not enough of the artist's skill and science
       to give it full being:  yet the drawings are, for a school-girl,
       peculiar.  As to the thoughts, they are elfish.  These eyes in the
       Evening Star you must have seen in a dream.  How could you make
       them look so clear, and yet not at all brilliant?  for the planet
       above quells their rays.  And what meaning is that in their solemn
       depth?  And who taught you to paint wind?  There is a high gale
       in that sky, and on this hill-top.  Where did you see Latmos?  For
       that is Latmos.  There!  put the drawings away!"
       
       I had scarce tied the strings of the portfolio, when, looking
       at his watch, he said abruptly -
       
       "It is nine o'clock:  what are you about, Miss Eyre, to let Adele
       sit up so long?  Take her to bed."
       
       Adele went to kiss him before quitting the room:  he endured the
       caress, but scarcely seemed to relish it more than Pilot would have
       done, 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.