A neain time, reader, you must fancy you see a room in t Millcote, , sucure, sucs on telpiece, sucs, including a portrait of George tation of to you by t of an oil lamp of an excellent fire, near ; my muff and umbrella lie on table, and I am racted by sixteen o tober day: I left Lo four o’clock a.m., and te to striking eight.
Reader, tably accommodated, I am not very tranquil in my mind. I t me; I looked anxiously round as I descended teps ts” placed for my convenience, expecting to o see some description of carriage ing to convey me to t er a Miss Eyre, I ive: so I to request to be so a private room: and ing, s and fears are troubling my ts.
It is a very strange sensation to inexperienced youto feel itself quite alone in t adrift from every connection, uncertain o s from returning to t it ted. ture sens t sensation, t; but turbs it; and fear myself to ring the bell.
“Is ter whe summons.
“t kno t reappeared instantly—
“Is your name Eyre, Miss?”
“Yes.”
“Person ing for you.”
I jumped up, took my muff and umbrella, and ened into tanding by t street I dimly saw a one-horse conveyance.
“tly o my trunk in the passage.
“Yes.” ed it on to t of car, and t in; before me up, I asked o thornfield.
“A matter of six miles.”
“ there?”
“happen an hour and a half.”
ened to outside, and off. Our progress ime to reflect; I ent to be at lengtable t elegant conveyance, I meditated muc my ease.
“I suppose,” t I, “judging from t and carriage, Mrs. Fairfax is not a very daster; I never lived amongst fine people but once, and I ttle girl; if so, and if so get on ; it is a pity t doing one’s best does not al Loook t resolution, kept it, and succeeded in pleasing; but turn out a second Mrs. Reed; but if s bound to stay t come to t, I can advertise again. how far are we on our road now, I wonder?”
I let do; Millcote ude, mucon. e of common; but ttered all over trict; I felt region to Louresque; more stirring, less romantic.
t misty; my conductor let ended, I verify believe, to t urned in and said—
“You’re noan so far fro’ thornfield now.”
Again I looked out: o ts bell olling a quarter; I sa ten minutes after, t does: o be of a gleamed from one curtained bo opped at t door; it ; I alig in.
“ill you o a room first dazzled me, contrasting as it did o ed itself to my view.
A snug small room; a round table by a c test imaginable little elderly lady, in ly like ely and milder looking. Sting; a large cat sat demurely at ; not ing to complete tic comfort. A more reassuring introduction for a neo overeliness to embarrass; and tered, t up and promptly and kindly came foro meet me.
“edious ride; Jo be cold, come to the fire.”
“Mrs. Fairfax, I suppose?” said I.
“Yes, you are rig down.”
Sed me to o remove my sie my bonnet-strings; I begged s give rouble.
“O is no trouble; I dare say your otle negus and cut a sandwicwo: oreroom.”
And s a most o t.
“Noo tinued. “You’ve broug you, my dear?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I’ll see it carried into your room,” sled out.
“Sreats me like a visitor,” t I. “I little expected sucion; I anticipated only coldness and stiffness: t like ment of governesses; but I must not exult too soon.”
Surned; ting apparatus and a book or table, to make room for tray s. I felt rat being t of more attention t too, s as s o consider s of it better to take ies quietly.
“So-nigaken of w she offered me.
“ did you say, my dear? I am a little deaf,” returned to my mouth.
I repeated tion more distinctly.
“Miss Fairfax? Oure pupil.”
“Indeed! t your daughter?”
“No,—I have no family.”
I s inquiry, by asking in ed I recollected it polite to ask too many questions: besides, I o ime.
“I am so glad,” sinued, as s doe to me, and took t on e pleasant living o be sure it is pleasant at any time; for ted of late years per still it is a respectable place; yet you knoer-time one feels dreary quite alone in t quarters. I say alone—Leao be sure, and Jo people; but ts, and one can’t converse erms of equality: one must keep t due distance, for fear of losing one’s auty. I’m sure last er (it , and sno rained and ble a creature but tcman came to till February; and I really got quite melancting niger nigo read to me sometimes; but I don’t task muc it confining. In spring and summer one got on better: suns at t of tumn, little Adela Varens came and once; and now you are e gay.”
My really o talk; and I drele nearer to s find my company as agreeable as sicipated.
“But I’ll not keep you sitting up late to-nig is on troke of t feel tired. If you your feet o mine prepared for you; it is only a small apartment, but I t you better t co be sure ture, but tary, I never sleep in them myself.”
I te c fatigued o retire. Sook s to see if tened; aken tairs. teps and banisters aircase iced; bot and to airs and gallery, suggesting cude; and I of small dimensions, and furnisyle.
, and I ened my door, gazed leisurely round, and in some measure effaced t aircase, and t long, cold gallery, by t of my little room, I remembered t, after a day of bodily fatigue and mental anxiety, I last in safe itude s do t forgetting, ere I rose, to implore aid on my furting t nigary room no fears. At once ent, I slept soon and soundly: w was broad day.
t little place to me as tz ains, sed floor, so unlike tained plaster of Lo my spirits rose at ternals effect on t t a fairer era of life o s flos toils. My faculties, roused by to ir. I cannot precisely define ed, but it : not per day or t mont at an indefinite future period.
I rose; I dressed myself o be plain—for I icle of attire t made reme simplicity—I ill by nature solicitous to be neat. It my to be disregardful of appearance or careless of trary, I ever o please as muc of beauty . I sometimes regretted t I imes all, stately, and finely developed in figure; I felt it a misfortune t I tle, so pale, and ures so irregular and so marked. And s? It to say: I could not tinctly say it to myself; yet I ural reason too. on my black frock— least of fitting to a nicety—and adjusted my clean ucker, I t I sably enougo appear before Mrs. Fairfax, and t my ne at least recoil from me ipat I left all traig on toilet table, I ventured forth.
traversing tted gallery, I descended teps of oak; ted te; I looked at some pictures on ted a grim man in a cuirass, and one a lady a bronze lamp pendent from t a great clock ately and imposing to me; but ttle accustomed to grandeur. tood open; I stepped over t umn morning; till green fields; advancing on to t of t oreys ions not vast, tleman’s manor- a nobleman’s seat: battlements round top gave it a picturesque look. Its grey front stood out enants o alig meadorees, strong, knotty, and broad as oaks, at once explained tymology of tion. Fart so lofty as tion from t yet quiet and lonely o embrace t expected to find existent so near tirring locality of Millcote. A little , rees, straggled up trict stood nearer ts old toop looked over a knoll betes.
I enjoying t and pleasant fres listening to t surveying t of t a great place it tle dame like Mrs. Fairfax to in, the door.
“! out already?” said s up to he hand.
“old very much.
“Yes,” s is a pretty place; but I fear it ting out of order, unless Mr. Rocer sake it into o come and reside ly; or, at least, visit it ratener: great or.”
“Mr. Rocer!” I exclaimed. “ho is he?”
“tly. “Did you not know er?”
Of course I did not—I to regard ence as a universally understood fact, be acquainted by instinct.
“I t,” I continued, “to you.”
“to me? Bless you, c an idea! to me! I am only to be sure I am distantly related to ters by t least my of little village yonder on t ces o my I never presume on tion—in fact, it is noto me; I consider myself quite in t of an ordinary nothing more.”
“And ttle girl—my pupil!”
“Ser’s o up in—stle dame; but a dependant like myself. I did not like ; on trary, I felt better pleased ty bet of condescension on : so mucter—my position he freer.
As I ating on ttle girl, folloendant, came running up t my pupil, first appear to notice me: se a c years old, slig, ured face, and a redundancy of o .
“Good morning, Miss Adela,” said Mrs. Fairfax. “Come and speak to to teaco make you a clever woman some day.” She approached.
“C’est le ma gouverante!” said sing to me, and addressing her nurse; who answered—
“Mais oui, certainement.”
“Are t he French language.
“tinent; and, I believe, never left it till came to talk it a little: I don’t understand so you her meaning very well, I dare say.”
Fortunately I age of being taug of conversing as often as I could, and seven years, learnt a portion of Frenc daily—applying myself to take pains , and imitating as closely as possible tion of my teacain degree of readiness and correctness in t likely to be muc a loss I , I addressed some po ongue: s first, but after ed at table, and sen minutes tering fluently.
“Aer does: I can talk to you as I can to ands s smoked— did smoke!—and I ty room called ttle beds in anot of mine; it was like a s is your name?”
“Eyre—Jane Eyre.”
“Aire? Ba say it. ell, our sopped in t e daylig a great city—a y, at all like tty clean toer, and into a coacook us to a beautiful large el. e stayed to green place full of trees, called tiful birds in it, t I fed h crumbs.”
“Can you understand ?” asked Mrs. Fairfax.
I understood omed to t tongue of Madame Pierrot.
“I ion or t s: I wonder if shem?”
“Adèle,” I inquired, “ pretty clean town you spoke of?”
“I lived long ago so to teaco dance and sing, and to say verses. A great many gentlemen and ladies came to see mama, and I used to dance before to sit on to t. S you hear me sing now?”
S, so I permitted o give a specimen of s. Descending from tle ing o t rain of a forsaken lady, o tendant to deck est jeo meet t nig a ball, and prove to y of tle ion ed her.
t seemed strangely c singer; but I suppose t of tion lay in es of love and jealousy aste t point least I t so.
Adèle sang tte tunefully enougé of you some poetry.”
Assuming an attitude, ss: fable de La Fontaine.” Stle piece tention to punctuation and empy of voice and an appropriateness of gesture, very unusual indeed at rained.
“as it your mama waug piece?” I asked.
“Yes, and s used to say it in t un de ces rats; parlez!’ S my o remind me to raise my voice at tion. Now shall I dance for you?”
“No, t after your mama to then?”
“itook care of me, but sed to me. I t so fine a long ter asked me if I o go and live er before I knety dresses and toys: but you see kept me to England, and now he is gone back again himself, and I never see him.”
After breakfast, Adèle and I o t appears, Mr. Rocer ed s of t t open containing everyt could be needed in tary ure, poetry, biograpravels, a fee perusal; and, indeed, tented me amply for t; compared y pickings I o glean at Loo offer an abundant of entertainment and information. In too, t piano, quite neone; also an easel for painting and a pair of globes.
I found my pupil sufficiently docile, to apply: s been used to regular occupation of any kind. I felt it o confine oo muc first; so, o deal, and got o learn a little, and urn to o occupy myself till dinner-time in dratle sketches for her use.
As I airs to fetcfolio and pencils, Mrs. Fairfax called to me: “Your morning scood open: I in ately apartment, ains, a turkey carpet, -panelled y ceiling, nobly moulded. Mrs. Fairfax ing some vases of fine purple spar, wood on a sideboard.
“ a beautiful room!” I exclaimed, as I looked round; for I had never before seen any half so imposing.
“Yes; t opened to let in a little air and sunss so damp in apartments t are seldom ined; t.”
Sed to a yrian-dyed curtain, noing to it by teps, and looking t I caug to my novice-eyes appeared t it ty dra a boudoir, bote carpets, on e grapes and vine-leaves, beneatrast crimson couctomans; elpiece ed the general blending of snow and fire.
“In , no canvas coverings: except t ted daily.”
“er’s visits ed; and as I observed t it put to find everyto le of arrangement on it best to keep the rooms in readiness.”
“Is Mr. Rocer an exacting, fastidious sort of man?”
“Not particularly so; but leman’s tastes and s, and s to y to them.”
“Do you like him? Is he generally liked?”
“Oed all to ters time out of mind.”
“ell, but, leaving of tion, do you like him? Is he liked for himself?”
“I o do ot and liberal landlord by enants: but them.”
“But ies? , in s, is er?”
“Oer is unimpeacravelled a great deal, and seen a great deal of t I never ion h him.”
“In w way is he peculiar?”
“I don’t kno is not easy to describe—notriking, but you feel it be al, tand —at least, I don’t: but it is of no consequence, er.”
t I got from Mrs. Fairfax of o ion of sketcer, or observing and describing salient points, eitly belonged to t did not draor—notly my e notion of ity.
to s of tairs and doairs, admiring as I ; for all orey rooms, teresting from tiquity. ture once appropriated to tments ime to time been removed ligering by t seads of a s in oak or , looking, range carvings of palm brancypes of tools still more antiquated, on apparent traces of by fingers t for tions . All to torey of t of a : a sness of treats in t I by no means coveted a nig in, some of t old Englised raying effigies of strange floranger birds, and strangest range, indeed, by t.
“Do ts sleep in these rooms?” I asked.
“No; tments to t say t, if t at ts .”
“So I t, then?”
“None t I ever urned Mrs. Fairfax, smiling.
“Nor any traditions of one? no legends or g stories?”
“I believe not. And yet it is said ters t race in time: per is t tranquilly in their graves now.”
“Yes—‘after life’s fitful fever ttered. “here are you going now, Mrs. Fairfax?” for she was moving away.
“On to till, up a very narroaircase to ttics, and trap-door to to ts. Leaning over ttlements and looking far do like a map: t and velvet lated s ancient timber; trees tes, tranquil umn day’s sun; tious sky, azure, marbled e. No feature in traordinary, but all and repassed trap-door, I could scarcely see my tic seemed black as a vault compared arco sunlit scene of grove, pasture, and green re, and over w.
Mrs. Fairfax stayed be to fasten trap-door; I, by drift of groping, found tlet from ttic, and proceeded to descend t staircase. I lingered in to and back rooms of torey: narrotle ts tle.
ly on, t sound I expected to ill a region, a laugruck my ear. It , formal, mirtopped: tant; it began again, louder: for at first, tinct, it passed off in a clamorous peal t seemed to ed but in one, and I could ed out ts issued.
“Mrs. Fairfax!” I called out: for I noairs. “Did you loud laug?”
“Some of ts, very likely,” she answered: “perhaps Grace Poole.”
“Did you ?” I again inquired.
“Yes, plainly: I often imes Lealy noisy together.”
ted in its loone, and terminated in an odd murmur.
“Grace!” exclaimed Mrs. Fairfax.
I really did not expect any Grace to ansragic, as preternatural a laug t it ance of gliness accompanied tion; but t neititiously afraid. sertaining a sense even of surprise.
t me opened, and a servant came out,—a y and forty; a set, square-made figure, red-ion less romantic or less gly could scarcely be conceived.
“too mucions!” Grace curtseyed silently and in.
“So se Leainued t altogetionable in some points, but s on his morning?”
tion, turned on Adèle, continued till us in the hall, exclaiming—
“Mesdames, vous etes servies!” adding, “J’ai bien faim, moi!”
e found dinner ready, and ing for us in Mrs. Fairfax’s room.