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第19部分(第1页)

“I am afraid you are disappointed in me; Bessie。” I said this laughing: I perceived that Bessie’s glance; though it expressed regard; did in no shape denote admiration。

“No; Miss Jane; not exactly: you are genteel enough; you look like a lady; and it is as much as ever I expected of you: you were no beauty as a child。”

I smiled at Bessie’s frank answer: I felt that it was correct; but I confess I was not quite indifferent to its import: at eighteen most people wish to please; and the conviction that they have not an exterior likely to second that desire brings anything but gratification。

“I dare say you are clever; though;” continued Bessie; by way of solace。 “What can you do? Can you play on the piano?”

“A little。”

There was one in the room; Bessie went and opened it; and then asked me to sit down and give her a tune: I played a waltz or two; and she was charmed。

“The Miss Reeds could not play as well!” said she exultingly。 “I always said you would surpass them in learning: and can you draw?”

“That is one of my paintings over the chimney…piece。” It was a landscape in water colours; of which I had made a present to the superintendent; in acknowledgment of her obliging mediation with the mittee on my behalf; and which she had framed and glazed。

“Well; that is beautiful; Miss Jane! It is as fine a picture as any Miss Reed’s drawing…master could paint; let alone the young ladies themselves; who could not e near it: and have you learnt French?”

“Yes; Bessie; I can both read it and speak it。”

“And you can work on muslin and canvas?”

“I can。”

“Oh; you are quite a lady; Miss Jane! I knew you would be: you will get on whether your relations notice you or not。 There was something I wanted to ask you。 Have you ever heard anything from your father’s kinsfolk; the Eyres?”

“Never in my life。”

“Well; you know Missis always said they were poor and quite despicable: and they may be poor; but I believe they are as much gentry as the Reeds are; for one day; nearly seven years ago; a Mr。 Eyre came to Gateshead and wanted to see you; Missis said you were it school fifty miles off; he seemed so much disappointed; for he could not stay: he was going on a voyage to a foreign country; and the ship was to sail from London in a day or tan; and I believe he was your father’s brother。”

“What foreign country was he going to; Bessie?”

“An island thousands of miles off; where they make wine—the butler did tell me—”

“Madeira?” I suggested。

“Yes; that is it—that is the very word。”

“So he went?”

“Yes; he did not stay many minutes in the house: Missis was very high with him; she called him afterwards a ‘sneaking tradesman。’ My Robert believes he was a wine…merchant。”

“Very likely;” I returned; “or perhaps clerk or agent to a wine… merchant。”

Bessie and I conversed about old times an hour longer; and then she was obliged to leave me: I saw her again for a few minutes the next morning at Lowton; while I was waiting for the coach。 We parted finally at the door of the Brocklehurst Arms there: each went her separate way; she set off for the brow of Lowood Fell to meet the conveyance which was to take her back to Gateshead; I mounted the vehicle which was to bear me to new duties and a new life in the unknown environs of Millcote。

Chapter 11

A new chapter in a novel is something like a new scene in a play; and when I draw up the curtain this time; reader; you must fancy you see a room in the George Inn at Millcote; with such large figured papering on the walls as inn rooms have; such a carpet; such furniture; such ornaments on the mantelpiece; such prints; including a portrait of George the Third; and another of the Prince of Wales; and a representation of the death of Wolfe。 All this is visible to you by the light of an oil lamp hanging from the ceiling; and by that of an excellent fire; near which I sit in my cloak and bon; my muff and umbrella lie on the table; and I am warming away the numbness and chill contracted by sixteen hours’ exposure to the rawness of an October day: I left Lowton at four o’clock a。m。; and the Millcote town clock is now just striking eight。

Reader; though I look fortably acmodated; I am not very tranquil in my mind。 I thought when the coach stopped here there would be some one to meet me; I looked anxiously round as I descended the wooden steps the “boots” placed for my convenience; expecting to hear my name pronounced; and to see some description of carriage waiting to convey me to Thornfield。 Nothing of the sort was visible; and when I asked a waiter if any one had been to inquire after a Miss Eyre; I was answered in the negative: so I had no resource but to request to be shown into a private room: and here I am waiting; while all sorts of doubts and fears are troubling my thoughts。

It is a very strange sensation to inexperienced youth to feel itself quite alone in the world; cut adrift from every connection; uncertain whether the port to which it is bound can be reached; and prevented by many impediments from returning to that it has quitted。 The charm of adventure sweetens that sensation; the glow of pride warms it; but then the throb of fear disturbs it; and fear with me became predominant when half…an…hour elapsed and still I was alone。 I bethought myself to ring the bell。

“Is there a place in this neighbourhood called Thornfield?” I asked of the waiter who answered the summons。

“Thornfield? I don’t know; ma’am; I’ll inquire at the bar。” He vanished; but reappeared instantly—

“Is your name Eyre; Miss?”

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