Mrs. Reed,
sotto voce;
and gathering up her work, she abruptly quitted the apartment.
I was left there alone – winner of the field. It was the hardest battle I had fought, and the first victory I had gained: I stood awhile on the rug, where Mr. Brocklehurst had 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 my pulses. A child cannot quarrel with its elders, as I had done; cannot give its furious feelings uncontrolled play, as I had given mine; 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 subsequent condition, when half an hour's silence and reflection had shown me the madness of my conduct, and the dreariness of my hated and hating position.
Something of vengeance I had tasted for the first 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 asked Mrs. Reed's pardon; but I knew, partly from experience and partly from instinct, that was the way to make her repulse me with double scorn, thereby re-exciting every turbulent impulse of my nature.
I would fain exercise some better faculty than that of fierce speaking; fain find nourishment for some less fiendish feeling than that of sombre indignation. I took a book – some Arabian tales; I sat down and endeavoured to read. I could make no sense of the subject; my own 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 or breeze, through the grounds. I covered my head and arms with the skirt of my frock, and went out to walk in a part of the plantation which was quite sequestered: but I found no pleasure in the silent trees, the falling fir-cones, the congealed relics of autumn, russet leaves, swept by past winds in heaps, and now stiffened together. I leaned against a gate, and looked into an empty field where no sheep were feeding, where the short grass was nipped and blanched. It was a very gray day; a most opaque sky, ›onding on snaw,‹ canopied all; thence flakes fell at intervals, which settled on the 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 tripping down 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, and victory over Mrs. Reed, I was not disposed to care much for the nursemaid's transitory anger; 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 than any I was habituated to indulge in: somehow it pleased her.
»You are a strange child, Miss Jane,« she said, as she looked down at me: »a little roving, solitary thing: and you are going to school, I suppose?«
I nodded.
»And won't you be sorry to leave poor Bessie?«
»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's certain. My mother said, when she
sotto voce;
and gathering up her work, she abruptly quitted the apartment.
I was left there alone – winner of the field. It was the hardest battle I had fought, and the first victory I had gained: I stood awhile on the rug, where Mr. Brocklehurst had 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 my pulses. A child cannot quarrel with its elders, as I had done; cannot give its furious feelings uncontrolled play, as I had given mine; 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 subsequent condition, when half an hour's silence and reflection had shown me the madness of my conduct, and the dreariness of my hated and hating position.
Something of vengeance I had tasted for the first 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 asked Mrs. Reed's pardon; but I knew, partly from experience and partly from instinct, that was the way to make her repulse me with double scorn, thereby re-exciting every turbulent impulse of my nature.
I would fain exercise some better faculty than that of fierce speaking; fain find nourishment for some less fiendish feeling than that of sombre indignation. I took a book – some Arabian tales; I sat down and endeavoured to read. I could make no sense of the subject; my own 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 or breeze, through the grounds. I covered my head and arms with the skirt of my frock, and went out to walk in a part of the plantation which was quite sequestered: but I found no pleasure in the silent trees, the falling fir-cones, the congealed relics of autumn, russet leaves, swept by past winds in heaps, and now stiffened together. I leaned against a gate, and looked into an empty field where no sheep were feeding, where the short grass was nipped and blanched. It was a very gray day; a most opaque sky, ›onding on snaw,‹ canopied all; thence flakes fell at intervals, which settled on the 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 tripping down 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, and victory over Mrs. Reed, I was not disposed to care much for the nursemaid's transitory anger; 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 than any I was habituated to indulge in: somehow it pleased her.
»You are a strange child, Miss Jane,« she said, as she looked down at me: »a little roving, solitary thing: and you are going to school, I suppose?«
I nodded.
»And won't you be sorry to leave poor Bessie?«
»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's certain. My mother said, when she
Similar Books
