chapter iv from my discourse with mr. lloyd, and fromthe above reported conference between bessie and abbot, i gathered enough of hopeto suffice as a motive for wishing to get well: a change seemed near,--i desired andwaited it in silence. it tarried, however: days and weeks passed:i had regained my normal state of health, but no new allusion was made to the subjectover which i brooded. mrs. reed surveyed me at times with asevere eye, but seldom addressed me: since my illness, she had drawn a more markedline of separation than ever between me and her own children; appointing me a small
closet to sleep in by myself, condemning meto take my meals alone, and pass all my time in the nursery, while my cousins wereconstantly in the drawing-room. not a hint, however, did she drop aboutsending me to school: still i felt an instinctive certainty that she would notlong endure me under the same roof with her; for her glance, now more than ever, when turned on me, expressed an insuperableand rooted aversion. eliza and georgiana, evidently actingaccording to orders, spoke to me as little as possible: john thrust his tongue in hischeek whenever he saw me, and once attempted chastisement; but as i instantly
turned against him, roused by the samesentiment of deep ire and desperate revolt which had stirred my corruption before, hethought it better to desist, and ran from me tittering execrations, and vowing i hadburst his nose. i had indeed levelled at that prominentfeature as hard a blow as my knuckles could inflict; and when i saw that either that ormy look daunted him, i had the greatest inclination to follow up my advantage topurpose; but he was already with his mama. i heard him in a blubbering tone commencethe tale of how "that nasty jane eyre" had flown at him like a mad cat: he was stoppedrather harshly-- "don't talk to me about her, john: i toldyou not to go near her; she is not worthy
of notice; i do not choose that either youor your sisters should associate with her." here, leaning over the banister, i criedout suddenly, and without at all deliberating on my words--"they are not fit to associate with me." mrs. reed was rather a stout woman; but, onhearing this strange and audacious declaration, she ran nimbly up the stair,swept me like a whirlwind into the nursery, and crushing me down on the edge of my crib, dared me in an emphatic voice to risefrom that place, or utter one syllable during the remainder of the day. "what would uncle reed say to you, if hewere alive?" was my scarcely voluntary
demand. i say scarcely voluntary, for it seemed asif my tongue pronounced words without my will consenting to their utterance:something spoke out of me over which i had no control. "what?" said mrs. reed under her breath:her usually cold composed grey eye became troubled with a look like fear; she tookher hand from my arm, and gazed at me as if she really did not know whether i werechild or fiend. i was now in for it. "my uncle reed is in heaven, and can seeall you do and think; and so can papa and
mama: they know how you shut me up all daylong, and how you wish me dead." mrs. reed soon rallied her spirits: sheshook me most soundly, she boxed both my ears, and then left me without a word. bessie supplied the hiatus by a homily ofan hour's length, in which she proved beyond a doubt that i was the most wickedand abandoned child ever reared under a roof. i half believed her; for i felt indeed onlybad feelings surging in my breast. november, december, and half of januarypassed away. christmas and the new year had beencelebrated at gateshead with the usual
festive cheer; presents had beeninterchanged, dinners and evening parties given. from every enjoyment i was, of course,excluded: my share of the gaiety consisted in witnessing the daily apparelling ofeliza and georgiana, and seeing them descend to the drawing-room, dressed out in thin muslin frocks and scarlet sashes, withhair elaborately ringletted; and afterwards, in listening to the sound ofthe piano or the harp played below, to the passing to and fro of the butler and footman, to the jingling of glass and chinaas refreshments were handed, to the broken
hum of conversation as the drawing-roomdoor opened and closed. when tired of this occupation, i wouldretire from the stairhead to the solitary and silent nursery: there, though somewhatsad, i was not miserable. to speak truth, i had not the least wish togo into company, for in company i was very rarely noticed; and if bessie had but beenkind and companionable, i should have deemed it a treat to spend the evenings quietly with her, instead of passing themunder the formidable eye of mrs. reed, in a room full of ladies and gentlemen. but bessie, as soon as she had dressed heryoung ladies, used to take herself off to
the lively regions of the kitchen andhousekeeper's room, generally bearing the candle along with her. i then sat with my doll on my knee till thefire got low, glancing round occasionally to make sure that nothing worse than myselfhaunted the shadowy room; and when the embers sank to a dull red, i undressed hastily, tugging at knots and strings as ibest might, and sought shelter from cold and darkness in my crib. to this crib i always took my doll; humanbeings must love something, and, in the dearth of worthier objects of affection, icontrived to find a pleasure in loving and
cherishing a faded graven image, shabby asa miniature scarecrow. it puzzles me now to remember with whatabsurd sincerity i doated on this little toy, half fancying it alive and capable ofsensation. i could not sleep unless it was folded inmy night-gown; and when it lay there safe and warm, i was comparatively happy,believing it to be happy likewise. long did the hours seem while i waited thedeparture of the company, and listened for the sound of bessie's step on the stairs:sometimes she would come up in the interval to seek her thimble or her scissors, or perhaps to bring me something by way ofsupper--a bun or a cheese-cake--then she
would sit on the bed while i ate it, andwhen i had finished, she would tuck the clothes round me, and twice she kissed me,and said, "good night, miss jane." when thus gentle, bessie seemed to me thebest, prettiest, kindest being in the world; and i wished most intensely that shewould always be so pleasant and amiable, and never push me about, or scold, or task me unreasonably, as she was too often wontto do. bessie lee must, i think, have been a girlof good natural capacity, for she was smart in all she did, and had a remarkable knackof narrative; so, at least, i judge from the impression made on me by her nurserytales.
she was pretty too, if my recollections ofher face and person are correct. i remember her as a slim young woman, withblack hair, dark eyes, very nice features, and good, clear complexion; but she had acapricious and hasty temper, and indifferent ideas of principle or justice: still, such as she was, i preferred her toany one else at gateshead hall. it was the fifteenth of january, about nineo'clock in the morning: bessie was gone down to breakfast; my cousins had not yetbeen summoned to their mama; eliza was putting on her bonnet and warm garden-coat to go and feed her poultry, an occupationof which she was fond: and not less so of
selling the eggs to the housekeeper andhoarding up the money she thus obtained. she had a turn for traffic, and a markedpropensity for saving; shown not only in the vending of eggs and chickens, but alsoin driving hard bargains with the gardener about flower-roots, seeds, and slips of plants; that functionary having orders frommrs. reed to buy of his young lady all the products of her parterre she wished tosell: and eliza would have sold the hair off her head if she could have made ahandsome profit thereby. as to her money, she first secreted it inodd corners, wrapped in a rag or an old curl-paper; but some of these hoards havingbeen discovered by the housemaid, eliza,
fearful of one day losing her valued treasure, consented to intrust it to hermother, at a usurious rate of interest-- fifty or sixty per cent.; which interestshe exacted every quarter, keeping her accounts in a little book with anxiousaccuracy. georgiana sat on a high stool, dressing herhair at the glass, and interweaving her curls with artificial flowers and fadedfeathers, of which she had found a store in a drawer in the attic. i was making my bed, having received strictorders from bessie to get it arranged before she returned (for bessie nowfrequently employed me as a sort of under-
nurserymaid, to tidy the room, dust thechairs, &c.). having spread the quilt and folded mynight-dress, i went to the window-seat to put in order some picture-books and doll'shouse furniture scattered there; an abrupt command from georgiana to let her playthings alone (for the tiny chairs andmirrors, the fairy plates and cups, were her property) stopped my proceedings; andthen, for lack of other occupation, i fell to breathing on the frost-flowers with which the window was fretted, and thusclearing a space in the glass through which i might look out on the grounds, where allwas still and petrified under the influence
of a hard frost. from this window were visible the porter'slodge and the carriage-road, and just as i had dissolved so much of the silver-whitefoliage veiling the panes as left room to look out, i saw the gates thrown open and acarriage roll through. i watched it ascending the drive withindifference; carriages often came to gateshead, but none ever brought visitorsin whom i was interested; it stopped in front of the house, the door-bell rangloudly, the new-comer was admitted. all this being nothing to me, my vacantattention soon found livelier attraction in the spectacle of a little hungry robin,which came and chirruped on the twigs of
the leafless cherry-tree nailed against thewall near the casement. the remains of my breakfast of bread andmilk stood on the table, and having crumbled a morsel of roll, i was tugging atthe sash to put out the crumbs on the window-sill, when bessie came runningupstairs into the nursery. "miss jane, take off your pinafore; whatare you doing there? have you washed your hands and face thismorning?" i gave another tug before i answered, for iwanted the bird to be secure of its bread: the sash yielded; i scattered the crumbs,some on the stone sill, some on the cherry- tree bough, then, closing the window, ireplied--
"no, bessie; i have only just finisheddusting." "troublesome, careless child! and what areyou doing now? you look quite red, as if you had beenabout some mischief: what were you opening the window for?" i was spared the trouble of answering, forbessie seemed in too great a hurry to listen to explanations; she hauled me tothe washstand, inflicted a merciless, but happily brief scrub on my face and hands with soap, water, and a coarse towel;disciplined my head with a bristly brush, denuded me of my pinafore, and thenhurrying me to the top of the stairs, bid
me go down directly, as i was wanted in thebreakfast-room. i would have asked who wanted me: i wouldhave demanded if mrs. reed was there; but bessie was already gone, and had closed thenursery-door upon me. i slowly descended. for nearly three months, i had never beencalled to mrs. reed's presence; restricted so long to the nursery, the breakfast,dining, and drawing-rooms were become for me awful regions, on which it dismayed meto intrude. i now stood in the empty hall; before mewas the breakfast-room door, and i stopped, intimidated and trembling.
what a miserable little poltroon had fear,engendered of unjust punishment, made of me in those days! i feared to return to the nursery, andfeared to go forward to the parlour; ten minutes i stood in agitated hesitation; thevehement ringing of the breakfast-room bell decided me; i must enter. "who could want me?"i asked inwardly, as with both hands i turned the stiff door-handle, which, for asecond or two, resisted my efforts. "what should i see besides aunt reed in theapartment?--a man or a woman?" the handle turned, the door unclosed, andpassing through and curtseying low, i
looked up at--a black pillar!--such, atleast, appeared to me, at first sight, the straight, narrow, sable-clad shape standing erect on the rug: the grim face at the topwas like a carved mask, placed above the shaft by way of capital. mrs. reed occupied her usual seat by thefireside; she made a signal to me to approach; i did so, and she introduced meto the stony stranger with the words: "this is the little girl respecting whom iapplied to you." he, for it was a man, turned his headslowly towards where i stood, and having examined me with the two inquisitive-looking grey eyes which twinkled under a
pair of bushy brows, said solemnly, and in a bass voice, "her size is small: what isher age?" "ten years.""so much?" was the doubtful answer; and he prolonged his scrutiny for some minutes. presently he addressed me--"your name,little girl?" "jane eyre, sir." in uttering these words i looked up: heseemed to me a tall gentleman; but then i was very little; his features were large,and they and all the lines of his frame were equally harsh and prim.
"well, jane eyre, and are you a goodchild?" impossible to reply to this in theaffirmative: my little world held a contrary opinion: i was silent. mrs. reed answered for me by an expressiveshake of the head, adding soon, "perhaps the less said on that subject the better,mr. brocklehurst." "sorry indeed to hear it! she and i musthave some talk;" and bending from the perpendicular, he installed his person inthe arm-chair opposite mrs. reed's. "come here," he said. i stepped across the rug; he placed mesquare and straight before him.
what a face he had, now that it was almoston a level with mine! what a great nose! and what a mouth! and what large prominentteeth! "no sight so sad as that of a naughtychild," he began, "especially a naughty little girl.do you know where the wicked go after death?" "they go to hell," was my ready andorthodox answer. "and what is hell?can you tell me that?" "a pit full of fire." "and should you like to fall into that pit,and to be burning there for ever?"
"no, sir.""what must you do to avoid it?" i deliberated a moment; my answer, when itdid come, was objectionable: "i must keep in good health, and not die.""how can you keep in good health? children younger than you die daily. i buried a little child of five years oldonly a day or two since,--a good little child, whose soul is now in heaven.it is to be feared the same could not be said of you were you to be called hence." not being in a condition to remove hisdoubt, i only cast my eyes down on the two large feet planted on the rug, and sighed,wishing myself far enough away.
"i hope that sigh is from the heart, andthat you repent of ever having been the occasion of discomfort to your excellentbenefactress." "benefactress! benefactress!" said iinwardly: "they all call mrs. reed my benefactress; if so, a benefactress is adisagreeable thing." "do you say your prayers night andmorning?" continued my interrogator. "yes, sir.""do you read your bible?" "sometimes." "with pleasure?are you fond of it?" "i like revelations, and the book ofdaniel, and genesis and samuel, and a
little bit of exodus, and some parts ofkings and chronicles, and job and jonah." "and the psalms? i hope you like them?""no, sir." "no? oh, shocking! i have a little boy, younger than you, whoknows six psalms by heart: and when you ask him which he would rather have, agingerbread-nut to eat or a verse of a psalm to learn, he says: 'oh! the verse of a psalm! angels sing psalms;' says he, 'iwish to be a little angel here below;' he then gets two nuts in recompense for hisinfant piety."
"psalms are not interesting," i remarked. "that proves you have a wicked heart; andyou must pray to god to change it: to give you a new and clean one: to take away yourheart of stone and give you a heart of flesh." i was about to propound a question,touching the manner in which that operation of changing my heart was to be performed,when mrs. reed interposed, telling me to sit down; she then proceeded to carry onthe conversation herself. "mr. brocklehurst, i believe i intimated inthe letter which i wrote to you three weeks ago, that this little girl has not quitethe character and disposition i could wish:
should you admit her into lowood school, i should be glad if the superintendent andteachers were requested to keep a strict eye on her, and, above all, to guardagainst her worst fault, a tendency to deceit. i mention this in your hearing, jane, thatyou may not attempt to impose on mr. brocklehurst." well might i dread, well might i dislikemrs. reed; for it was her nature to wound me cruelly; never was i happy in herpresence; however carefully i obeyed, however strenuously i strove to please her,
my efforts were still repulsed and repaidby such sentences as the above. now, uttered before a stranger, theaccusation cut me to the heart; i dimly perceived that she was already obliteratinghope from the new phase of existence which she destined me to enter; i felt, though i could not have expressed the feeling, thatshe was sowing aversion and unkindness along my future path; i saw myselftransformed under mr. brocklehurst's eye into an artful, noxious child, and whatcould i do to remedy the injury? "nothing, indeed," thought i, as istruggled to repress a sob, and hastily wiped away some tears, the impotentevidences of my anguish.
"deceit is, indeed, a sad fault in achild," said mr. brocklehurst; "it is akin to falsehood, and all liars will have theirportion in the lake burning with fire and brimstone; she shall, however, be watched,mrs. reed. i will speak to miss temple and theteachers." "i should wish her to be brought up in amanner suiting her prospects," continued my benefactress; "to be made useful, to bekept humble: as for the vacations, she will, with your permission, spend themalways at lowood." "your decisions are perfectly judicious,madam," returned mr. brocklehurst. "humility is a christian grace, and onepeculiarly appropriate to the pupils of
lowood; i, therefore, direct that especialcare shall be bestowed on its cultivation amongst them. i have studied how best to mortify in themthe worldly sentiment of pride; and, only the other day, i had a pleasing proof of mysuccess. my second daughter, augusta, went with hermama to visit the school, and on her return she exclaimed: 'oh, dear papa, how quietand plain all the girls at lowood look, with their hair combed behind their ears, and their long pinafores, and those littleholland pockets outside their frocks--they are almost like poor people's children!and,' said she, 'they looked at my dress
and mama's, as if they had never seen asilk gown before.'" "this is the state of things i quiteapprove," returned mrs. reed; "had i sought all england over, i could scarcely havefound a system more exactly fitting a child like jane eyre. consistency, my dear mr. brocklehurst; iadvocate consistency in all things." "consistency, madam, is the first ofchristian duties; and it has been observed in every arrangement connected with theestablishment of lowood: plain fare, simple attire, unsophisticated accommodations, hardy and active habits; such is the orderof the day in the house and its
inhabitants.""quite right, sir. i may then depend upon this child beingreceived as a pupil at lowood, and there being trained in conformity to her positionand prospects?" "madam, you may: she shall be placed inthat nursery of chosen plants, and i trust she will show herself grateful for theinestimable privilege of her election." "i will send her, then, as soon aspossible, mr. brocklehurst; for, i assure you, i feel anxious to be relieved of aresponsibility that was becoming too irksome." "no doubt, no doubt, madam; and now i wishyou good morning.
i shall return to brocklehurst hall in thecourse of a week or two: my good friend, the archdeacon, will not permit me to leavehim sooner. i shall send miss temple notice that she isto expect a new girl, so that there will be no difficulty about receiving her.good-bye." "good-bye, mr. brocklehurst; remember me tomrs. and miss brocklehurst, and to augusta and theodore, and master broughtonbrocklehurst." "i will, madam. little girl, here is a book entitled the'child's guide,' read it with prayer, especially that part containing 'an accountof the awfully sudden death of martha g---,
a naughty child addicted to falsehood anddeceit.'" with these words mr. brocklehurst put intomy hand a thin pamphlet sewn in a cover, and having rung for his carriage, hedeparted. mrs. reed and i were left alone: someminutes passed in silence; she was sewing, i was watching her. mrs. reed might be at that time some six orseven and thirty; she was a woman of robust frame, square-shouldered and strong-limbed,not tall, and, though stout, not obese: she had a somewhat large face, the under jaw being much developed and very solid; herbrow was low, her chin large and prominent,
mouth and nose sufficiently regular; underher light eyebrows glimmered an eye devoid of ruth; her skin was dark and opaque, her hair nearly flaxen; her constitution wassound as a bell--illness never came near her; she was an exact, clever manager; herhousehold and tenantry were thoroughly under her control; her children only at times defied her authority and laughed itto scorn; she dressed well, and had a presence and port calculated to set offhandsome attire. sitting on a low stool, a few yards fromher arm-chair, i examined her figure; i perused her features.
in my hand i held the tract containing thesudden death of the liar, to which narrative my attention had been pointed asto an appropriate warning. what had just passed; what mrs. reed hadsaid concerning me to mr. brocklehurst; the whole tenor of their conversation, wasrecent, raw, and stinging in my mind; i had felt every word as acutely as i had heard it plainly, and a passion of resentmentfomented now within me. mrs. reed looked up from her work; her eyesettled on mine, her fingers at the same time suspended their nimble movements. "go out of the room; return to thenursery," was her mandate.
my look or something else must have struckher as offensive, for she spoke with extreme though suppressed irritation. i got up, i went to the door; i came backagain; i walked to the window, across the room, then close up to her.speak i must: i had been trodden on severely, and must turn: but how? what strength had i to dart retaliation atmy antagonist? i gathered my energies and launched them inthis blunt sentence-- "i am not deceitful: if i were, i shouldsay i loved you; but i declare i do not love you: i dislike you the worst ofanybody in the world except john reed; and
this book about the liar, you may give to your girl, georgiana, for it is she whotells lies, and not i." mrs. reed's hands still lay on her workinactive: her eye of ice continued to dwell freezingly on mine. "what more have you to say?" she asked,rather in the tone in which a person might address an opponent of adult age than suchas is ordinarily used to a child. that eye of hers, that voice stirred everyantipathy i had. shaking from head to foot, thrilled withungovernable excitement, i continued-- "i am glad you are no relation of mine: iwill never call you aunt again as long as i
live. i will never come to see you when i amgrown up; and if any one asks me how i liked you, and how you treated me, i willsay the very thought of you makes me sick, and that you treated me with miserablecruelty." "how dare you affirm that, jane eyre?""how dare i, mrs. reed? how dare i? because it is the truth.you think i have no feelings, and that i can do without one bit of love or kindness;but i cannot live so: and you have no pity. i shall remember how you thrust me back--roughly and violently thrust me back--into
the red-room, and locked me up there, to mydying day; though i was in agony; though i cried out, while suffocating with distress,'have mercy! have mercy, aunt reed!' and that punishment you made me sufferbecause your wicked boy struck me--knocked me down for nothing.i will tell anybody who asks me questions, this exact tale. people think you a good woman, but you arebad, hard-hearted. you are deceitful!"{how dare i, mrs. ried? because it is the truth: p30.jpg}ere i had finished this reply, my soul
began to expand, to exult, with thestrangest sense of freedom, of triumph, i ever felt. it seemed as if an invisible bond hadburst, and that i had struggled out into unhoped- for liberty. not without cause was this sentiment: mrs.reed looked frightened; her work had slipped from her knee; she was lifting upher hands, rocking herself to and fro, and even twisting her face as if she would cry. "jane, you are under a mistake: what is thematter with you? why do you tremble so violently?would you like to drink some water?"
"no, mrs. reed." "is there anything else you wish for, jane?i assure you, i desire to be your friend." "not you. you told mr. brocklehurst i had a badcharacter, a deceitful disposition; and i'll let everybody at lowood know what youare, and what you have done." "jane, you don't understand these things:children must be corrected for their faults.""deceit is not my fault!" i cried out in a savage, high voice. "but you are passionate, jane, that youmust allow: and now return to the nursery--
there's a dear--and lie down a little." "i am not your dear; i cannot lie down:send me to school soon, mrs. reed, for i hate to live here." "i will indeed send her to school soon,"murmured mrs. reed sotto voce; and gathering up her work, she abruptly quittedthe apartment. i was left there alone--winner of thefield. it was the hardest battle i had fought, andthe first victory i had gained: i stood awhile on the rug, where mr. brocklehursthad stood, and i enjoyed my conqueror's solitude.
first, i smiled to myself and felt elate;but this fierce pleasure subsided in me as fast as did the accelerated throb of mypulses. a child cannot quarrel with its elders, asi had done; cannot give its furious feelings uncontrolled play, as i had givenmine, without experiencing afterwards the pang of remorse and the chill of reaction. a ridge of lighted heath, alive, glancing,devouring, would have been a meet emblem of my mind when i accused and menaced mrs.reed: the same ridge, black and blasted after the flames are dead, would have represented as meetly my subsequentcondition, when half-an-hour's silence and
reflection had shown me the madness of myconduct, and the dreariness of my hated and hating position. something of vengeance i had tasted for thefirst time; as aromatic wine it seemed, on swallowing, warm and racy: its after-flavour, metallic and corroding, gave me a sensation as if i had been poisoned. willingly would i now have gone and askedmrs. reed's pardon; but i knew, partly from experience and partly from instinct, thatwas the way to make her repulse me with double scorn, thereby re-exciting everyturbulent impulse of my nature. i would fain exercise some better facultythan that of fierce speaking; fain find
nourishment for some less fiendish feelingthan that of sombre indignation. i took a book--some arabian tales; i satdown and endeavoured to read. i could make no sense of the subject; myown thoughts swam always between me and the page i had usually found fascinating. i opened the glass-door in the breakfast-room: the shrubbery was quite still: the black frost reigned, unbroken by sun orbreeze, through the grounds. i covered my head and arms with the skirtof my frock, and went out to walk in a part of the plantation which was quitesequestrated; but i found no pleasure in the silent trees, the falling fir-cones,
the congealed relics of autumn, russetleaves, swept by past winds in heaps, and now stiffened together. i leaned against a gate, and looked into anempty field where no sheep were feeding, where the short grass was nipped andblanched. it was a very grey day; a most opaque sky,"onding on snaw," canopied all; thence flakes felt it intervals, which settled onthe hard path and on the hoary lea without melting. i stood, a wretched child enough,whispering to myself over and over again, "what shall i do?--what shall i do?"all at once i heard a clear voice call,
"miss jane! where are you? come to lunch!"it was bessie, i knew well enough; but i did not stir; her light step came trippingdown the path. "you naughty little thing!" she said. "why don't you come when you are called?"bessie's presence, compared with the thoughts over which i had been brooding,seemed cheerful; even though, as usual, she was somewhat cross. the fact is, after my conflict with andvictory over mrs. reed, i was not disposed to care much for the nursemaid's transitoryanger; and i was disposed to bask in her
youthful lightness of heart. i just put my two arms round her and said,"come, bessie! don't scold." the action was more frank and fearless thanany i was habituated to indulge in: somehow it pleased her. "you are a strange child, miss jane," shesaid, as she looked down at me; "a little roving, solitary thing: and you are goingto school, i suppose?" i nodded. "and won't you be sorry to leave poorbessie?" "what does bessie care for me?she is always scolding me."
"because you're such a queer, frightened,shy little thing. you should be bolder.""what! to get more knocks?" "nonsense! but you are rather put upon, that'scertain. my mother said, when she came to see melast week, that she would not like a little one of her own to be in your place.--now,come in, and i've some good news for you." "i don't think you have, bessie." "child! what do you mean?what sorrowful eyes you fix on me! well, but missis and the young ladies andmaster john are going out to tea this
afternoon, and you shall have tea with me. i'll ask cook to bake you a little cake,and then you shall help me to look over your drawers; for i am soon to pack yourtrunk. missis intends you to leave gateshead in aday or two, and you shall choose what toys you like to take with you.""bessie, you must promise not to scold me any more till i go." "well, i will; but mind you are a very goodgirl, and don't be afraid of me. don't start when i chance to speak rathersharply; it's so provoking." "i don't think i shall ever be afraid ofyou again, bessie, because i have got used
to you, and i shall soon have another setof people to dread." "if you dread them they'll dislike you." "as you do, bessie?""i don't dislike you, miss; i believe i am fonder of you than of all the others.""you don't show it." "you little sharp thing! you've got quite anew way of talking. what makes you so venturesome and hardy?" "why, i shall soon be away from you, andbesides"--i was going to say something about what had passed between me and mrs.reed, but on second thoughts i considered it better to remain silent on that head.
"and so you're glad to leave me?""not at all, bessie; indeed, just now i'm rather sorry.""just now! and rather! how coolly my little lady says it! i dare say now if i were to ask you for akiss you wouldn't give it me: you'd say you'd rather not.""i'll kiss you and welcome: bend your head down." bessie stooped; we mutually embraced, and ifollowed her into the house quite comforted. that afternoon lapsed in peace and harmony;and in the evening bessie told me some of
her most enchanting stories, and sang mesome of her sweetest songs. even for me life had its gleams ofsunshine.