From my discourse ed conference bet, I gato suffice as a motive for in silence. It tarried, ate of no neo t over imes seldom addressed me: since my illness, sion t to sleep in by myself, condemning me to take my meals alone, and pass all my time in tantly in t a , sending me to scill I felt an instinctive certainty t s long endure me under turned on me, expressed an insuperable and rooted aversion.
Eliza and Georgiana, evidently acting according to orders, spoke to me as little as possible: Jo ongue in tempted cisement; but as I instantly turned against iment of deep ire and desperate revolt ion before, it better to desist, and ran from me tittering execrations, and vo prominent feature as ; and or my look daunted est inclination to folloage to purpose; but one commence tale of nasty Jane Eyre” : opped rather harshly—
“Don’t talk to me about old you not to go near ice; I do not c eiters se h her.”
er, I cried out suddenly, and at all deliberating on my words—
“t fit to associate h me.”
Mrs. Reed out , on range and audacious declaration, sair, s me like a ic voice to rise from t place, or utter one syllable during the day.
“ o you, if ary demand. I say scarcely voluntary, for it seemed as if my tongue pronounced my ing to tterance: somet of me over wrol.
“?” said Mrs. Reed under roubled ook me as if s know w.
“My Uncle Reed is in me up all day long, and how you wish me dead.”
Mrs. Reed soon rallied s: s soundly, s me a us by a t I .
November, December, and mas and ted at Gatesive cs ercies given. From every enjoyment I ed in nessing to t in t sasely ringletted; and afterening to to to and fro of tler and footman, to ts ion as tired of tion, I ire from tairo tary and silent nursery: t sad, I miserable. to speak trut t o company, for in company I iced; and if Bessie been kind and companionable, I s a treat to spend tly ead of passing tlemen. But Bessie, as soon as so take o tc ill t loo make sure t noted to a dull red, I undressed ily, tugging at knots and strings as I best mig ser from cold and darkness in my crib. to took my doll; love somets of affection, I contrived to find a pleasure in loving and cure scarecro puzzles me noo remember absurd sincerity I doated on ttle toy, alive and capable of sensation. I could not sleep unless it ively to be happy likewise.
Long did ted ture of tened for tep on tairs: sometimes serval to seek o bring me somet on te it, and o me t, prettiest, kindest being in t intensely t s and amiable, and never pus, or scold, or task me unreasonably, as soo often to do. Bessie Lee must, I tural capacity, for s in all sive; so, at least, I judge from tales. Sty too, if my recollections of . I remember ures, and good, clear complexion; but sy temper, and indifferent ideas of principle or justice: still, suco any one else at Gateshead hall.
It eent nine o’clock in to breakfast; my cousins yet been summoned to tting on and to go and feed ry, an occupation of o tained. Surn for traffic, and a marked propensity for saving; s only in t also in driving flos, seeds, and slips of plants; t functionary o buy of s of erre so sell: and Eliza o secreted it in odd corners, some of treasure, consented to intrust it to a usurious rate of interest—fifty or sixty per cent.; sed every quarter, keeping s in a little book h anxious accuracy.
Georgiana sat on a ool, dressing terore in a dratic. I orders from Bessie to get it arranged before surned (for Bessie noly employed me as a sort of under-nurserymaid, to tidy t t and folded my nig to t to put in order some picture-books and doll’s ure scattered t command from Georgiana to let iny ces and cups, opped my proceedings; and tion, I fell to breat-floted, and t look out on till and petrified under t.
From ter’s lodge and t as I e foliage veiling t room to look out, I saes tc ascending ten came to Gates none ever brougors in ed; it stopped in front of tted. All to me, my vacant attention soon found livelier attraction in tacle of a little ree nailed against t. t of bread and milk stood on table, and ugging at to put out tairs into the nursery.
“Miss Jane, take off your pinafore; ug before I ansed to be secure of its bread: ttered tone sill, some on tree boughe window, I replied—
“No, Bessie; I finising.”
“troublesome, careless c are you doing noe red, as if you some misc he window for?”
I rouble of ansoo great a o listen to explanations; so tand, inflicted a merciless, but er, and a coarse toop of tairs, bid me go doly, as I ed in t-room.
I ricted so long to t, dining, and drao intrude.
I noood in ty -room door, and I stopped, intimidated and trembling. a miserable little poltroon punis, made of me in to return to to go foro ten minutes I stood in agitated ation; t ringing of t-room bell decided me; I must enter.
“ me?” I asked inurned tiff door-ed my efforts. “ s Reed in tment?—a man or a urned, tseying lo—a black pillar!—suc least, appeared to me, at first sigraiganding erect on t top by al.
Mrs. Reed occupied by to me to approacroduced me to tony stranger tle girl respecting wo you.”
urned oive-looking grey eyes wwinkled under a pair of bus is her age?”
“ten years.”
“So mucful anses. Presently tle girl?”
“Jane Eyre, sir.”
In uttering to me a tall gentleman; but ttle; ures he lines of his frame were equally harsh and prim.
“ell, Jane Eyre, and are you a good child?”
Impossible to reply to tive: my little . Mrs. Reed ans tter, Mr. Brockle.”
“Sorry indeed to ! s alk;” and bending from talled e Mrs. Reed’s. “Come here,” he said.
I stepped across traig a face it on a level a great nose! and large prominent teeth!
“No sig of a naugy little girl. Do you knoh?”
“to hodox answer.
“And ?”
“A pit full of fire.”
“And so fall into t pit, and to be burning there for ever?”
“No, sir.”
“ must you do to avoid it?”
I deliberated a moment; my ansionable: “I must keep in good die.”
“tle ctle c is to be feared t be said of you o be called hence.”
Not being in a condition to remove , I only cast my eyes do planted on the rug, and sighed, wishing myself far enough away.
“I sig, and t you repent of ever to your excellent benefactress.”
“Benefactress! benefactress!” said I inress; if so, a benefactress is a disagreeable thing.”
“Do you say your prayers niginued my interrogator.
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you read your Bible?”
“Sometimes.”
“it?”
“I like Revelations, and ttle bit of Exodus, and some parts of Kings and Chronicles, and Job and Jonah.”
“And them?”
“No, sir.”
“No? otle boy, younger t: and o eat or a verse of a Psalm to learn, o be a little angel s ts in recompense for piety.”
“Psalms are not interesting,” I remarked.
“t proves you ; and you must pray to God to c: to give you a neo take aone and give you a of flesh.”
I to propound a question, touc operation of c o be performed, elling me to sit doion herself.
“Mr. Brockle, I believe I intimated in tter o you t ttle girl quite ter and disposition I could and teaced to keep a strict eye on o guard against fault, a tendency to deceit. I mention t you may not attempt to impose on Mr. Brockle.”
ell mig I dislike Mrs. Reed; for it o rove to please s ill repulsed and repaid by sucences as ttered before a stranger, tion cut me to t; I dimly perceived t serating ence o enter; I felt, t sure patransformed under Mr. Brockle’s eye into an artful, noxious c could I do to remedy the injury?
“Not I, as I struggled to repress a sob, and ily ears, tent evidences of my anguish.
“Deceit is, indeed, a sad fault in a c; “it is akin to falseion in tone; sco Miss temple and teachers.”
“I so be brouging s,” continued my benefactress; “to be made useful, to be kept ions, s Lowood.”
“Your decisions are perfectly judicious, madam,” returned Mr. Brockle. “y is a Cian grace, and one peculiarly appropriate to t t especial care sos cultivation amongst tudied to mortify in timent of pride; and, only ter, Augusta, o visit turn s and plain all t Lotle s outside t like poor people’s c my dress and mama’s, as if they had never seen a silk gown before.’”
“tate of te approve,” returned Mrs. Reed; “ all England over, I could scarcely em more exactly fitting a cency, my dear Mr. Brockle; I advocate consistency in all things.”
“Consistency, madam, is t of Cian duties; and it connected ablis of Lotire, unsopicated accommodations, ive s; sucs inants.”
“Quite rig Lorained in conformity to ion and prospects?”
“Madam, you may: s nursery of cs, and I trust seful for timable privilege of ion.”
“I o be relieved of a responsibility t oo irksome.”
“No doubt, no doubt, madam; and noo Brockle permit me to leave emple notice t so expect a ne ty about receiving her. Good-bye.”
“Good-bye, Mr. Brockle; remember me to Mrs. and Miss Brockle, and to Augusta and ter Broug.”
“I tle girl, itled t part containing ‘An account of ty ced to false.’”
it put into my sewn in a cover, and ed.
Mrs. Reed and I alone: some minutes passed in silence; sc be at t time some six or seven and ty; s frame, square-srong-limbed, not tall, and, tout, not obese: s large face, t, moutly regular; under eyebroitution ry rol; times defied y and laug to scorn; s calculated to set off tire.
Sitting on a loool, a fe containing to tention ed as to an appropriate enor of tion, , rainging in my mind; I every ely as I plainly, and a passion of resentment fomented nohin me.
Mrs. Reed looked up from tled on mine, time suspended ts.
“Go out of turn to te. My look or somet ruck reme tation. I got up, I to to to her.
Speak I must: I rodden on severely, and must turn: but strengto dart retaliation at my antagonist? I gat sentence—
“I am not deceitful: if I love you: I dislike you t of anybody in t Jo to your girl, Georgiana, for it is sells lies, and not I.”
Mrs. Reed’s ill lay on ive: inued to dwell freezingly on mine.
“ more o say?” sone in of adult age to a child.
t eye of voice stirred every antipato foot, tement, I continued—
“I am glad you are no relation of mine: I again as long as I live. I o see you ed me, I of you makes me sick, and t you treated me y.”
“, Jane Eyre?”
“ is trut I can do one bit of love or kindness; but I cannot live so: and you y. I s me back—rougly t me back—into to my dying day; t, ress, ‘ Reed!’ And t punis you made me suffer because your ruck me—knocked me doell anybody tale. People t you are bad, ed. You are deceitful!”
Ere I o expand, to exult, rangest sense of freedom, of triump. It seemed as if an invisible bond , and t I ruggled out into uny. Not cause iment: Mrs. Reed looked friging up o and fro, and even ting her face as if she would cry.
“Jane, you are under a mistake: ter remble so violently? ould you like to drink some er?”
“No, Mrs. Reed.”
“Is to be your friend.”
“Not you. You told Mr. Brockle I er, a deceitful disposition; and I’ll let everybody at Lowood know w you are, and w you have done.”
“Jane, you don’t understand t be corrected for ts.”
“Deceit is not my fault!” I cried out in a savage, high voice.
“But you are passionate, Jane, t you must allourn to ttle.”
“I am not your dear; I cannot lie doo sce to live here.”
“I o voce; and gatly quitted tment.
I t battle I , and t victory I ood aude. First, I smiled to myself and felt elate; but t as did ted t quarrel s elders, as I give its furious feelings uncontrolled play, as I experiencing afterion. A ridge of lig emblem of my mind er ted as meetly my subsequent condition, ed and ing position.
Sometasted for t time; as aromatic seemed, on ss after-flavour, metallic and corroding, gave me a sensation as if I I knely from experience and partly from instinct, t o make ing every turbulent impulse of my nature.
I ter faculty t of fierce speaking; fain find nouris for some less fiendis of sombre indignation. I took a book—some Arabian tales; I sat doo read. I could make no sense of t; my os sing. I opened t-room: te still: t reigned, unbroken by sun or breeze, t of my frock, and out to of tation rated; but I found no pleasure in t trees, tumn, russet leaves, s by past oget a gate, and looked into an empty field opaque sky, “onding on sna it intervals, melting. I stood, a co myself over and over again, “ s shall I do?”
All at once I o lunch!”
It stir; step came tripping doh.
“You naugtle t you come when you are called?”
Bessie’s presence, compared s over is, after my conflict ory over Mrs. Reed, I disposed to care mucransitory anger; and I o bask in ness of . I just put my two arms round scold.”
tion uated to indulge in: some pleased her.
“You are a strange c me; “a little roving, solitary to school, I suppose?”
I nodded.
“And you be sorry to leave poor Bessie?”
“ does Bessie care for me? She is always scolding me.”
“Because you’re sucened, stle thing. You should be bolder.”
“! to get more knocks?”
“Nonsense! But you are rat upon, t’s certain. My moto see me last s like a little one of o be in your place.—Now, come in, and I’ve some good news for you.”
“I don’t think you have, Bessie.”
“C do you mean? sorro Missis and ter Jo to tea ternoon, and you sea o bake you a little cake, and to look over your drao pack your trunk. Missis intends you to leave Gatesoys you like to take h you.”
“Bessie, you must promise not to scold me any more till I go.”
“ell, I mind you are a very good girl, and don’t be afraid of me. Don’t start ’s so provoking.”
“I don’t t used to you, and I s of people to dread.”
“If you dread they’ll dislike you.”
“As you do, Bessie?”
“I don’t dislike you, Miss; I believe I am fonder of you thers.”
“You don’t s.”
“You little s quite a nealking. makes you so venturesome and hardy?”
“o say somet on second ts I considered it better to remain silent on t head.
“And so you’re glad to leave me?”
“Not at all, Bessie; indeed, just noher sorry.”
“Just notle lady says it! I dare say noo ask you for a kiss you give it me: you’d say you’d rat.”
“I’ll kiss you and ually embraced, and I folloe comforted. t afternoon lapsed in peace and old me some of encories, and sang me some of est songs. Even for me life s gleams of sunshine.