divine the morbid suffering to which I was a prey？ In the course of
the morning Mr。 Lloyd came again。
'What； already up！' said he； as he entered the nursery。 'Well；
nurse； how is she？'
Bessie answered that I was doing very well。
'Then she ought to look more cheerful。 Come here； Mis Jane： your
name is Jane； is it not？'
'Yes； sir； Jane Eyre。'
'Well； you have been crying； Miss Jane Eyre； can you tell me what
about？ Have you any pain？'
'No； sir。'
'Oh！ I daresay she is crying because she could not go out with
Missis in the carriage；' interposed Bessie。
'Surely not！ why； she is too old for such pettishness。'
I thought so too； and my self…esteem being wounded by the false
charge； I answered promptly； 'I never cried for such a thing in my
life： I hate going out in the carriage。 I cry because I am miserable。'
'Oh fie； Miss！' said Bessie。
The good apothecary appeared a little puzzled。 I was standing
before him； he fixed his eyes on me very steadily： his eyes were small
and grey； not very bright； but I daresay I should think them shrewd
now： he had a hard…featured yet good…natured looking face。 Having
considered me at leisure； he said…
'What made you ill yesterday？'
'She had a fall；' said Bessie； again putting in her word。
'Fall！ why； that is like a baby again！ Can't she manage to walk
at her age？ She must be eight or nine years old。'
'I was knocked down；' was the blunt explanation； jerked out of me
by another pang of mortified pride； 'but that did not make me ill；'
I added； while Mr。 Lloyd helped himself to a pinch of snuff。
As he was returning the box to his waistcoat pocket； a loud bell
rang for the servants' dinner； he knew what it was。 'That's for you；
nurse；' said he； 'you can go down； I'll give Miss Jane a lecture
till you come back。'
Bessie would rather have stayed； but she was obliged to go； because
punctuality at meals was rigidly enforced at Gates…head Hall。
'The fall did not make you ill； what did； then？' pursued Mr。
Lloyd when Bessie was gone。
'I was shut up in a room where there is a ghost till after dark。'
I saw Mr。 Lloyd smile and frown at the same time。 'Ghost！ What； you
are a baby after all！ You are afraid of ghosts？'
'Of Mr。 Reed's ghost I am： he died in that room； and was laid out
there。 Neither Bessie nor any one else will go into it at night； if
they can help it； and it was cruel to shut me up alone without a
candle；… so cruel that I think I shall never forget it。'
'Nonsense！ And is it that makes you so miserable？ Are you afraid
now in daylight？'
'No： but night will come again before long： and besides；… I am
unhappy；… very unhappy； for other things。'
'What other things？ Can you tell me some of them？'
How much I wished to reply fully to this question！ How difficult it
was to frame any answer！ Children can feel； but they cannot analyse
their feelings； and if the analysis is partially effected in
thought； they know not how to express the result of the process in
words。 Fearful； however； of losing this first and only opportunity
of relieving my grief by imparting it； I； after a disturbed pause；
contrived to frame a meagre； though； as far as it went； true response。
'For one thing； I have no father or mother； brothers or sisters。'
'You have a kind aunt and cousins。'
Again I paused； then bunglingly enounced…
'But John Reed knocked me down； and my aunt shut me up in the
red…room。'
Mr。 Lloyd a second time produced his snuff…box。
'Don't you think Gateshead Hall a very beautiful house？' asked
he。 'Are you not very thankful to have such a fine place to live at？'
'It is not my house； sir； and Abbot says I have less right to be
here than a servant。'
'Pooh！ you can't be silly enough to wish to leave such a splendid
place？'
'If I had anywhere else to go； I should be glad to leave it； but
I can never get away from Gateshead till I am a woman。'
'Perhaps you may… who knows？ Have you any relations besides Mrs。
Reed？'
'I think not； sir。'
'None belonging to your father？'
'I don't know： I asked Aunt Reed once； and she said possibly I
might have some poor； low relations called Eyre； but she knew
nothing about them。'
'If you had such； would you like to go to them？'
I reflected。 Poverty looks grim to grown people； still more so to
children： they have not much idea of industrious； working； respectable
poverty； they think of the word only as connected with ragged clothes；
scanty food； fireless grates； rude manners； and debasing vices：
poverty for me was synonymous with degradation。
'No； I should not like to belong to poor people；' was my reply。
'Not even if they were kind to you？'
I shook my head： I could not see how poor people had the means of
being kind； and then to learn to speak like them； to adopt their
manners； to be uneducated； to grow up like one of the poor women I saw
sometimes nursing their children or washing their clothes at the
cottage doors of the village of Gateshead： no； I was not heroic enough
to purchase liberty at the price of caste。
'But are your relatives so very poor？ Are they working people？'
'I cannot tell； Aunt Reed says if I have any； they must be a
beggarly set： I should not like to go a…begging。'
'Would you like to go to school？'
Again I reflected： I scarcely knew what school was： Bessie
sometimes spoke of it as a place where young ladies sat in the stocks；
wore backboards； and were expected to be exceedingly genteel and
precise： John Reed hated his school； and abused his master； but John
Reed's tastes were no rule for mine； and if Bessie's accounts of
school…discipline （gathered from the young ladies of a family where
she had lived before coming to Gateshead） were somewhat appalling； her
details of certain accomplishments attained by these same young ladies
were； I thought； equally attractive。 She boasted of beautiful
paintings of landscapes and flowers by them executed； of songs they
could sing and pieces they could play； of purses they could net； of
French books they could translate； till my spirit was moved to
emulation as I listened。 Besides； school would be a complete change：
it implied a long journey； an entire separation from Gateshead； an
entrance into a new life。
'I should indeed like to go to school；' was the audible
conclusion of my musings。
'Well； well！ who knows what may happen？' said Mr。 Lloyd； as he
got up。 'The child ought to have change of air and scene；' he added；
speaking to himself； 'nerves not in a good state。'
Bessie now returned； at the same moment the carriage was heard
rolling up the gravel…walk。
'Is that your mistress； nurse？' asked Mr。 Lloyd。 'I should like
to speak to her before I go。'
Bessie invited him to walk into the breakfast…room； and led the way
out。 In the interview which followed between him and Mrs。 Reed； I
presume； from after…occurrences； that the apothecary ventured to
recommend my being sent to school； and the recommendation was no doubt
readily enough adopted； for as Abbot said； in discussing the subject
with Bessie when both sat sewing in the nursery one night； after I was
in bed； and； as they thought； asleep； 'Missis was； she dared say； glad
enough to get rid of such a tiresome； ill…conditioned child； who
always looked as if she were watching everybody； and scheming plots
underhand。' Abbot； I think； gave me credit for being a sort of
infantine Guy Fawkes。
On that same occasion I learned； for the first time； from Miss
Abbot's communications to Bessie； that my father had been a poor
clergyman； that my mother had married him against the wishes of her
friends； who considered the match beneath her； that my grandfather
Reed was so irritated at her disobedience； he cut her off without a
shilling； that after my mother and father had been married a year； the
latter caught the typhus fever while visiting among the poor of a
large manufacturing town where his curacy was situated； and where that
disease was then prevalent： that my mother took the infection from
him； and both died within a month of each other。
Bessie； when she heard this narrative； sighed and said； 'Poor
Miss Jane is to be pitied too； Abbot。'
'Yes；' responded Abbot； 'if she were a nice； pretty child； one
might compassionate her forlornness； but one really cannot care for
such a little toad as that。'
'Not a great deal； to be sure；' agreed Bessie： 'at any rate； a
beauty like Miss Georgiana would be more moving in the same
condition。'
'Yes； I doat on Miss Georgiana！' cried the fervent Abbot。 'Little
darling！… with her long curls and her blue eyes； and such a sweet
colour as she has； just as if she were painted！… Bessie； I could fancy
a Welsh rabbit for supper。'
'So could I… with a roast onion。 Come； we'll go down。' They went。
CHAPTER IV
FROM my discourse with Mr。 Lloyd； and from the above reported
conference between Bessie and Abbot； I gathered enough of hope to
suffice as a motive for wishing to get well： a change