LITMIR.BIZ

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Mrs. Reed.”

      Chapter 3

      After that day a change seemed near, I desired and waited it in silence. Mrs. Reed dropped no hint about sending me to school but I felt she would no longer endure me under the same roof. I ate my meals alone, and Mrs. Reed told John, Eliza and Georgiana not to speak to me. I spent more time with the servants than with the Reeds. Sometimes Bessie let me dust and tidy the rooms to keep me busy.

      November, December, and half of January passed away. During all Christmas and New Year parties I waited in my room, listening to the sound of the piano, the clink of glasses and the hum of conversation below. Once or twice Bessie brought me a cake from the feast.

      It was the fifteenth of January, about nine o’clock in the morning. Bessie came running into the nursery. “Miss Jane! What are you doing there?” she said. “Have you washed your hands and face this morning?” She hurried me up to the washstand, scrubbed my face and quickly brushed my hair. I was wanted downstairs.

      I slowly descended and stopped in front of the breakfast-room door trembling. I feared to return to the nursery, and feared to go forward. Ten minutes I stood in hesitation till I finally decided: I MUST enter.

      Mrs. Reed was in her usual seat be the fireside, she made a signal to me to approach and introduced me to a tall grey-eyed gentleman with the words: “This is the little girl I wrote to you about.”

      “She is so small. What is her age?” he said in a bass voice.

      “Ten years.”

      “So much? What is your name, little girl?”

      “Jane Eyre, sir.”

      “Well, Jane Eyre, are you a good child?”

      It was impossible to answer. I thought I was good, but I knew no one else in the house would say so. I was silent. Mrs. Reed answered for me by shaking her head and adding: “The less said about that, the better.’’

      “Sorry indeed to hear! She and I must talk. Come here.”

      I came up to him. He placed me straight before him. What a face he had! What a great nose! And what a mouth!

      “No sight so sad as that of a naughty child. Do you know where wicked people go, Jane, after they die?”

      “They go to hell,” was my ready answer.

      “Is that what you want to happen to you?”

      “No, sir,” I said.

      “What must you do to avoid it?”

      I was at a loss. I knew I couldn’t try any harder to be good. “I must take care not to die, sir.”

      “Do you say your prayers night and morning?”

      “Yes, sir.”

      “Do you read your Bible?” continued my interrogator.

      “Sometimes.”

      “Are you fond of it?”

      “I like Revelations,[9] and the book of Daniel.”

      “And the Psalms?”

      “I don’t like them.”

      “Oh, shocking! I know a little boy, younger than you, who knows six Psalms by heart. When asked what he would prefer, a nut or a Psalm to learn, he says, ‘Oh, the verse of a Psalm, please. Angels sing Psalms. I wish to be like a little angel.’ He then gets two nuts as a reward for his goodness.”

      “Psalms are not interesting.”

      “You must pray to God to change your wicked heart and give you a new and clean one.”

      I wanted to ask him how when Mrs. Reed broke the silence.

      “Mr. Brocklehurst,” she said. “If you admit her into Lowood schoold, I want the superintendent and teachers keep a strict eye on her. Deceit is, indeed, a sad fault in a child.” Uttered before a stranger, the accusation cut me to the heart.

      “Deceit is, indeed, a sad fault in a child. She will be watched, Mrs. Reed. I will speak to Miss Temple and the teachers,” said Mr. Brocklehurst.

      “I wish her to be made useful and humble. She will, with your permission, spend all vacations at Lowood.”

      “I approve of your decisions, madam.”

      “I will send her, then, as soon as possible, Mr. Brocklehurst.”

      “I will send Miss Temple notice about a new girl, so that there will be no difficulty about receiving her. Good-bye.”

      “Good-bye, Mr. Brocklehurst.”

      Mrs. Reed and I were left alone: some minutes passed in silence; she was sewing, I was watching her with rage in my eyes. Mrs. Reed looked up from her work

      “Return to the nursery,” she ordered with irritation. But first I wanted to talk with her.

      “I am not deceitful,” I said. “If I were, I would lie and say I love you, and I declare I do not love you. I dislike you, and your son, and the girls. They tell lies, not me.”

      “Have you anything more to add?” she asked coldly, as if she were speaking to an adult, not a child.[10] Her tone made me even more furious. Shaking from head to foot, I continued: “I am glad you are no relation of mine. I will never call you aunt again as long as I live. People think you a good woman, but you are bad, hard-hearted. YOU are deceitful!”

      “‘Jane, you are under a mistake: what is the matter with you? I assure you, I desire to be your friend.”

      “Not you. You told Mr. Brocklehurst I had a bad and deceitful character; and I’ll let everybody at Lowood know what you are, and what you have done. Send me to school soon, Mrs. Reed, for I hate to live here.”

      “I will indeed send her to school soon,” murmured Mrs. Reed and left the room. I won.

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

      It was Bessie, I knew well enough, but I did not move. She came and her presence seemed cheerful. I put my two arms round her.

      “You are going to school, I suppose?” she asked.

      I nodded.

      “And won’t you be sorry to leave poor Bessie?”

      “Not at all, Bessie; indeed, I’m rather sorry.”

      She laughed at my words and we embraced.

      Chapter 4

      At five o’clock in the morning Bessie came into my room to find me already up and dressed. She prepared breakfast for me, but few children can eat when excited with the thoughts of journey.

      As we passed Mrs. Reed’s bedroom, she said, “Will you go in and bid Missis goodbye?” I just shook my head.

      “Good-bye to Gateshead!” cried I, as we passed through the hall and went out at the front door.

      The winter morning was raw and chill. At the lodge house, the porter’s wife was up; I could already hear the sound of the public coach coming towards us in the distance.

      “Is she going by herself?” asked the porter’s wife.

      “Yes, fifty miles, all on her own,” said Bessie.

      The coach came into view, and the horses stopped. My trunk was taken from me and put up onto the roof. I embraced Bessie, and she kissed me on the cheek.

      “Be sure to take good care of her!” said she, as I was put in the carriage and the wheels began to move. I was carried away to my new life.

      I remember little of the journey. The day seemed too long took all day, we stopped at the inn once but I had no appetite. I was feeling very strange. We were getting very far from Gateshead, to a remote and mysterious place. The wind started to rush amongst trees; and lulled by the sound, I at last fell asleep.

      I

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