I resisted all tance rengt o entertain of me. t is, I rifle beside myself; or rat of myself, as t a moment’s mutiny o strange penalties, and, like any ot resolved, in my desperation, to go all lengths.
“: s.”
“For s s, Miss Eyre, to strike a young gentleman, your benefactress’s son! Your young master.”
“Master! er? Am I a servant?”
“No; you are less t, for you do not dohink over your wickedness.”
t me by time into tment indicated by Mrs. Reed, and me upon a stool: my impulse o rise from it like a spring; tantly.
“If you don’t sit still, you must be tied do, lend me your garters; sly.”
Miss Abbot turned to divest a stout leg of ture. tion for bonds, and tional ignominy it inferred, took a little of tement out of me.
“Don’t take t stir.”
In guarantee by my hands.
“Mind you don’t,” said Bessie; and I ood fully on my face, as incredulous of my sanity.
“S last said Bessie, turning to the Abigail.
“But it en my opinion about ttle th so much cover.”
Bessie ans; but ere long, addressing me, s to be a you are under obligations to Mrs. Reed: so turn you off, you o the poorhouse.”
I o say to t neo me: my very first recollections of existence included s of t only elligible. Miss Abbot joined in—
“And you oug to ty er Reed, because Missis kindly alloo be broug deal of money, and you o be o try to make yourself agreeable to them.”
“ ell you is for your good,” added Bessie, in no ry to be useful and pleasant, t if you become passionate and rude, Missis will send you away, I am sure.”
“Besides,” said Miss Abbot, “God rike of antrums, and t for anyt repent, somet be permitted to come doch you away.”
t, sting t behem.
t in, I migors at Gates necessary to turn to account all tion it contained: yet it and stateliest ced on massive pillars of maains of deep red damask, stood out like a tabernacle in tre; toons and falls of similar drapery; t able at t of t fa; toilet-table, t of te, ttresses and pilloerpane. Scarcely less prominent stool before it; and looking, as I t, like a pale throne.
t seldom , because remote from tc o be so seldom entered. turdays, to ure a dust: and Mrs. Reed far intervals, visited it to revieents of a certain secret draored divers parcs, , and a miniature of of t it so lonely in spite of its grandeur.
Mr. Reed ; ate; aker’s men; and, since t day, a sense of dreary consecration from frequent intrusion.
My seat, to me riveted, toman near to my rigions varying ts panels; to my left looking-glass beted t majesty of t quite sure to see. Alas! yes: no jail urning, I o cross before ted glance involuntarily explored t revealed. All looked colder and darker in t visionary y: and trange little figure t me, e face and arms specking ttering eyes of fear moving : I t it like one of tiny poms, ories represented as coming out of lone, ferny dells in moors, and appearing before ted travellers. I returned to my stool.
Superstition t moment; but it yet e victory: my blood ill ed slave ill bracing me s bitter vigour; I o stem a rapid rusrospective t before I quailed to t.
All Jo tyrannies, all ers’ proud indifference, all s’ partiality, turned up in my disturbed mind like a dark deposit in a turbid o try to e, a captious and insolent carriage, . Joed, muced ttle pea-c t tripped t, and broke t plants in tory: oo; sometimes reviled o ly disregarded unfrequently tore and spoiled tire; and ill “ no fault: I strove to fulfil every duty; and I ermed naugiresome, sullen and sneaking, from morning to noon, and from noon to night.
My ill aconly striking me; and because I urned against o avert fartional violence, I h general opprobrium.
“Unjust!—unjust!” said my reason, forced by timulus into precocious transitory poed some strange expedient to acable oppression—as running a could not be effected, never eating or drinking more, and letting myself die.
a consternation of soul dreary afternoon! umult, and all my in insurrection! Yet in al battle foug ansion—ance of—I say clearly.
I es love me, in fact, as little did I love t bound to regard ion a t could not sympat terogeneous to temperament, in capacity, in propensities; a useless terest, or adding to tion at treatment, of contempt of t. I kno , careless, exacting, and friendless—Mrs. Reed ained for me more of ty of fellos of the nursery.
Dayligo forsake t four o’clock, and ternoon ending to drear ting continuously on taircase one, and tual mood of ion, self-doubt, forlorn depression, fell damp on t be so; just conceiving of starving myself to deat certainly to die? Or under tesing bourne? In suc I old did Mr. Reed lie buried; and led by t to recall on it remember I kne aken me to in moments sain me as one of ture erloper not of ed er ie? It must irksome to find o stand in tead of a parent to a strange c love, and to see an uncongenial alien permanently intruded on her own family group.
A singular notion daed not—never doubted— t if Mr. Reed reated me kindly; and no looking at te bed and oversurning a fascinated eye too recall ion of t o punis Mr. Reed’s spirit, er’s c quit its abode—ed—and rise before me in tears and any sign of violent grief migernatural voice to comfort me, or elicit from trange pity. tory in t errible if realised: I endeavoured to stifle it—I endeavoured to be firm. Sed my ried to look boldly round t t a lig, I asked myself, a ray from trating some aperture in t ill, and tirred; o ture readily t treak of ligern carried by some one across t tation, I t t darting beam t; a sound filled my ears, e effort. Steps came running along ter passage; turned, Bessie and Abbot entered.
“Miss Eyre, are you ill?” said Bessie.
“ a dreadful noise! it quite t.
“take me out! Let me go into the nursery!” was my cry.
“ for? Are you ? hing?” again demanded Bessie.
“O, and I t a g c from me.
“S on purpose,” declared Abbot, in some disgust. “And sed to bring us all y tricks.”
“ is all torily; and Mrs. Reed came along tling stormily. “Abbot and Bessie, I believe I gave orders t Jane Eyre s in till I came to her myself.”
“Miss Jane screamed so loud, ma’am,” pleaded Bessie.
“Let succeed in getting out by tifice, particularly in c is my duty to s tricks ansay is only on condition of perfect submission and stillness t I se you then.”
“O aunt! y! Forgive me! I cannot endure it—let me be punisher way! I shall be killed if—”
“Silence! t repulsive:” and so, no doubt, s it. I ress in passions, mean spirit, and dangerous duplicity.
Bessie and Abbot reated, Mrs. Reed, impatient of my noic anguisly t me back and locked me in, farter s: unconsciousness closed the scene.