LITMIR.BIZ

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on the washing line. “They are full of holes, ma’am!” I heard him say. “See that they are properly mended. And furthermore, Miss Temple, on looking over the accounts with the housekeeper, I saw that that a lunch, consisting of bread and cheese, has twice been served out to the girls during the past two weeks. How is this? and by what authority?”

      “I am responsible for the circumstance, sir,” said Miss Temple. “The breakfast was so ill prepared that the pupils could not possibly eat it, and I orded to bring bread and butter.

      Mr. Brocklehurst was not impressed. “You are aware that my plan in bringing up these girls is, not to accustom them to habits of luxury, but to make them patient, self-denying. They should be able to withstand the occasional spoiling of a meal. Indeed, instead of rewarding them with a delicate treat, you should have lectured them upon the suffering of our Lord, and fed their immortal souls instead of their bodies.”

      Miss Temple did not reply. Meantime, Mr. Brocklehurst, standing on the hearth with his hands behind his back, majestically surveyed the whole school.[14]

      “Miss Temple!” he suddenly exclaimed. “Red hair, ma’am, curled – curled all over?”

      “It’s Julia Severn, sir,” replied Miss Temple quietly. “Her hair curls naturally.”

      “Naturally! Yes, but we are not to conform to nature. I desire the hair to be arranged closely, modestly, plainly. Miss Temple, that girl’s hair must be cut off entirely; I will send a barber tomorrow.”

      Mr. Brocklehurst was here interrupted: three other visitors, ladies, now entered the room. All three were splendidly attired, the fine girls of sixteen and seventeen had grey beaver hats, then in fashion, and curled hair under them, and the elder lady enveloped in a costly velvet shawl had a false front of French curls.

      The three ladies were politely received by Miss Temple, and I heard that the elder lady’s name was Mrs. Brocklehurst. I now understood they were Mr. Brocklehurst’s wife and daughters. Meanwhile, Miss Temple had to listen to their complaints about the housekeeping.

      As for me, I made all precautions to hide. I pretended I was busy with my sum and held my slate to conceal my face. It would have worked, if my slate had not slipped from my hand and fallen on the floor with a dreadful crash.

      “A careless girl!” cried Mr. Brocklehurst. “Let the child who broke her slate come forward!” Miss Temple gently assisted me to his very feet. “Don’t be afraid, Jane, I saw it was an accident; you will not be punished.” But Mr. Brocklehurst had another opinion.

      “Fetch that stool and place the child upon it!”

      “Ladies,’ said he, turning to his family, ‘Miss Temple, teachers, and children, you all see this girl? You see she is yet young; you observe she possesses the ordinary form of childhood; but the Evil One had already found a servant and agent in her. You must be on your guard against her; if necessary, avoid her company. Teachers, you must watch her: keep your eyes on her movements, weigh well her words, punish her body to save her soul: if, indeed, such salvation is possible at all as this girl is a LIAR! This I learned from her benefactress; from the charitable lady who adopted her in her orphan state and brought her up as her own daughter.”

      He finished his speech, bowed to Miss Temple and the others, and added, “Let her stand half an hour longer like that, and let no one speak to her till tomorrow.”

      I could not bear the shame of standing on my natural feet in the middle of the room but could do nothing about it. But just as everyone rose, Helen came up and passed me lifting up her eyes to look at me. She looked at me as if I were a true martyr or a hero. I mastered the rising hysteria, lifted up my head, and took a firm stand on the stool. Helen smiled at me as she passed me again, and I knew I could now endure anything.[15]

      Chapter 8

      When my half an hour punishment ended, five o’clock struck. School was dismissed, and all were gone into the refectory to tea. I descended from the stool and felt suddenly lonely and miserable. Helen Burns was not here, nothing sustained me, I sank with my face to the ground and felt my tears fill my eyes.

      I had tried so hard. I had meant to be so good. I had reached the top of my class. Miss Miller had praised me warmly. Miss Temple had promised to teach me drawing, and to let me learn French, if I continued to make similar improvement two months longer. I was well received by my fellow-pupils; treated as an equal by those of my own age, and not bullied by any. Now everything was ruined.

      I heard someone approach – again Helen Burns was near me. She brought my coffee and bread.

      “Come, eat something,” she said kindly, and sat down next to me, but I put both away from me.

      “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 it, and the world contains hundreds of millions.”

      “I do not care about millions. The eighty I know now despise me.”

      “You are wrong, probably not one in the school either despises or dislikes you. Many though pity you.”

      “How can they pity me after what Mr. Brocklehurst’s words?”

      “Mr. Brocklehurst is not a god. He is little liked here. If he had treated you as an especial favourite, you would have found enemies. As it is, you might find people look at you coldly for a day or two, but they sympathise with you in their hearts. Besides…”

      “Well, Helen?” I said putting my hand into hers.

      “If all the world hated you, you would not be without friends.”

      “I cannot bear to be hated.”

      “You think too much of the love of human beings. Remember, our life is very short, and we should not sink into distress. Besides this earth, and besides the race of men, there is an invisible world of spirits: that world is round us, for it is everywhere; and those spirits watch us and guard us. They always recognise innocence.”

      I was silent; Helen had calmed me. There was sadness in her voice I could still not understand, she breathed a little fast and coughed a little. I momentarily forgot my sorrows feeling concern about her. Resting my head on Helen’s shoulder, I put my arms round her waist. That was how Miss Temple found us.

      “I came on purpose to find you, Jane Eyre. I want you in my room; and as Helen Burns is with you, I want her to come too.”

      We followed her away from the schoolroom along passages I had never seen and up a staircase before we reached her apartment. It contained a good fire, cozy low armchairs around and looked cheerful.

      We sat down, and Miss Temple asked: “Is it all over, Jane? Have you cried your sorrows away?”

      “I am afraid I will never do that,” I said. “I have been wrongly accused, and now everyone will think I am wicked.”

      “We will consider you to be what you prove yourself to be, my child. Continue to act as a good girl, and we will never think you are wicked.”

      I could hardly believe her kindness.

      “And now tell me about this benefactress of yours. Why did she call you a liar? Defend yourself to me as well as you can, but add nothing and exaggerate nothing.”

      I told her all about Mrs. Reed, and John Reed, and the red-room, and all the things that happened at Gateshead Hall. I tried to restrain myself, the story turned out to be less emotional than usual but more credible.

      When I finished, Miss Temple regarded me a few minutes in silence, and then said, “I know Mr. Lloyd, and I will write to him. If his reply agrees with your story, I will know you are not a liar, and I will clear your name, and tell the whole school you are innocent. But I believe you already.”

      She kissed me, and then addressed Helen Burns, “How are you tonight, Helen? Have you coughed much?”

      “Not quite so much, I think, ma’am.”

      “And

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