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n　to　me。　I　longed　to　go　where　there　was　life　and　movement：　Millcote　was　a　large　manufacturing　town　on　the　banks　of　the　A…；　a　busy　place　enough；　doubtless：　so　much　the　better；　it　would　be　a　plete　change　at　least。　Not　that　my　fancy　was　much　captivated　by　the　idea　of　long　chimneys　and　clouds　of　smoke—“but；”　I　argued；　“Thornfield　will；　probably；　be　a　good　way　from　the　town。”
Here　the　socket　of　the　candle　dropped；　and　the　wick　went　out。
Next　day　new　steps　were　to　be　taken；　my　plans　could　no　longer　be　confined　to　my　own　breast；　I　must　impart　them　in　order　to　achieve　their　success。　Having　sought　and　obtained　an　audience　of　the　superintendent　during　the　noontide　recreation；　I　told　her　I　had　a　prospect　of　getting　a　new　situation　where　the　salary　would　be　double　what　I　now　received　（for　at　Lowood　I　only　got　￡15　per　annum）；　and　requested　she　would　break　the　matter　for　me　to　Mr。　Brocklehurst；　or　some　of　the　mittee；　and　ascertain　whether　they　would　permit　me　to　mention　them　as　references。　She　obligingly　consented　to　act　as　mediatrix　in　the　matter。　The　next　day　she　laid　the　affair　before　Mr。　Brocklehurst；　who　said　that　Mrs。　Reed　must　be　written　to；　as　she　was　my　natural　guardian。　A　note　was　accordingly　addressed　to　that　lady；　who　returned　for　answer；　that　“I　might　do　as　I　pleased：　she　had　long　relinquished　all　interference　in　my　affairs。”　This　note　went　the　round　of　the　mittee；　and　at　last；　after　what　appeared　to　me　most　tedious　delay；　formal　leave　was　given　me　to　better　my　condition　if　I　could；　and　an　assurance　added；　that　as　I　had　always　conducted　myself　well；　both　as　teacher　and　pupil；　at　Lowood；　a　testimonial　of　character　and　capacity；　signed　by　the　inspectors　of　that　institution；　should　forthwith　be　furnished　me。
This　testimonial　I　accordingly　received　in　about　a　month；　forwarded　a　copy　of　it　to　Mrs。　Fairfax；　and　got　that　lady’s　reply；　stating　that　she　was　satisfied；　and　fixing　that　day　fortnight　as　the　period　for　my　assuming　the　post　of　governess　in　her　house。
I　now　busied　myself　in　preparations：　the　fortnight　passed　rapidly。　I　had　not　a　very　large　wardrobe；　though　it　y　wants；　and　the　last　day　sufficed　to　pack　my　trunk；—the　same　I　had　brought　with　me　eight　years　ago　from　Gateshead。
The　box　was　corded；　the　card　nailed　on。　In　half…an…hour　the　carrier　was　to　call　for　it　to　take　it　to　Lowton；　whether　I　myself　was　to　repair　at　an　early　hour　the　next　morning　to　meet　the　coach。　I　had　brushed　my　black　stuff　travelling…dress；　prepared　my　bon；　gloves；　and　muff；　sought　in　all　my　drawers　to　see　that　no　article　was　left　behind；　and　now　having　nothing　more　to　do；　I　sat　down　and　tried　to　rest。　I　could　not；　though　I　had　been　on　foot　all　day；　I　could　not　now　repose　an　instant；　I　was　too　much　excited。　A　phase　of　my　life　was　closing　to…night；　a　new　one　opening　to…morrow：　impossible　to　slumber　in　the　interval；　I　must　watch　feverishly　while　the　change　was　being　acplished。
“Miss；”　said　a　servant　who　met　me　in　the　lobby；　where　I　was　wandering　like　a　troubled　spirit；　“a　person　below　wishes　to　see　you。”
“The　carrier；　no　doubt；”　I　thought；　and　ran　downstairs　without　inquiry。　I　was　passing　the　back…parlour　or　teachers’　sitting…room；　the　door　of　which　was　half　open；　to　go　to　the　kitchen；　when　some　one　ran　out—
“It’s　her；　I　am　sure！—I　could　have　told　her　anywhere！”　cried　the　individual　who　stopped　my　progress　and　took　my　hand。
I　looked：　I　saw　a　woman　attired　like　a　well…dressed　servant；　matronly；　yet　still　young；　very　good…looking；　with　black　hair　and　eyes；　and　lively　plexion。
“Well；　who　is　it？”　she　asked；　in　a　voice　and　with　a　smile　I　half　recognised；　“you’ve　not　quite　forgotten　me；　I　think；　Miss　Jane？”
In　another　second　I　was　embracing　and　kissing　her　rapturously：　“Bessie！　Bessie！　Bessie！”　that　was　all　I　said；　whereat　she　half　laughed；　half　cried；　and　we　both　went　into　the　parlour。　By　the　fire　stood　a　little　fellow　of　three　years　old；　in　plaid　frock　and　trousers。
“That　is　my　little　boy；”　said　Bessie　directly。
“Then　you　are　married；　Bessie？”
“Yes；　nearly　five　years　since　to　Robert　Leaven；　the　coachman；　and　I’ve　a　little　girl　besides　Bobby　there；　that　I’ve　christened　Jane。”
“And　you　don’t　live　at　Gateshead？”
“I　live　at　the　lodge：　the　old　porter　has　left。”
“Well；　and　how　do　they　all　get　on？　Tell　me　everything　about　them；　Bessie：　but　sit　down　first；　and；　Bobby；　e　and　sit　on　my　knee；　will　you？”　but　Bobby　preferred　sidling　over　to　his　mother。
“You’re　not　grown　so　very　tall；　Miss　Jane；　nor　so　very　stout；”　continued　Mrs。　Leaven。　“I　dare　say　they’ve　not　kept　you　too　well　at　school：　Miss　Reed　is　the　head　and　shoulders　taller　than　you　are；　and　Miss　Georgiana　would　make　two　of　you　in　breadth。”
“Georgiana　is　handsome；　I　suppose；　Bessie？”
“Very。　She　went　up　to　London　last　winter　with　her　mama；　and　there　everybody　admired　her；　and　a　young　lord　fell　in　love　with　her：　but　his　relations　were　against　the　match；　and—what　do　you　think？—he　and　Miss　Georgiana　made　it　up　to　run　away；　but　they　were　found　out　and　stopped。　It　was　Miss　Reed　that　found　them　out：　I　believe　she　was　envious；　and　now　she　and　her　sister　lead　a　cat　and　dog　life　together；　they　are　always　quarrelling—”
“Well；　and　what　of　John　Reed？”
“Oh；　he　is　not　doing　so　well　as　his　mama　could　wish。　He　went　to　college；　and　he　got—plucked；　I　think　they　call　it：　and　then　his　uncles　wanted　him　to　be　a　barrister；　and　study　the　law：　but　he　is　such　a　dissipated　young　man；　they　will　never　make　much　of　him；　I　think。”
“What　does　he　look　like？”
“He　is　very　tall：　some　people　call　him　a　fine…looking　young　man；　but　he　has　such　thick　lips。”
“And　Mrs。　Reed？”
“Missis　looks　stout　and　well　enough　in　the　face；　but　I　think　she’s　not　quite　easy　in　her　mind：　Mr。　John’s　conduct　does　not　please　her—he　spends　a　deal　of　money。”
“Did　she　send　you　here；　Bessie？”
“No；　indeed：　but　I　have　long　wanted　to　see　you；　and　when　I　heard　that　there　had　been　a　letter　from　you；　and　that　you　were　going　to　another　part　of　the　country；　I　thought　I’d　just　set　of；　and　get　a　look　at　you　before　you　y　reach。”
“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？”
“Yes。”
“Person　here　waiting　for　you。”
I　jumped　up；　took　my　muff　and　umbrella；　and　hastened　into　the　inn…　passage：　a　man　was　standing　by　the　open　door；　and　in　the　lamp…lit　street　I　dimly　saw　a　one…horse　conveyance。
“This　will　be　your　luggage；　I　suppose？”　said　the　man　rather　abruptly　when　he　saw　me；　pointing　to　my　trunk　in　the　passage。
“Yes。”　He　hoisted　it　on　to　the　vehicle；　which　was　a　sort　of　car；　and　then　I　got　in；　before　he　shut　me　up；　I　asked　him　how　far　it　was　to　Thornfield。
“A　matter　of　six　miles。”
“How　long　shall　we　be　before　we　get　there？”
“Happen　an　hour　and　a　half。”
He　fastened　the　car　door；　climbed　to　his　own　seat　outside；　and　we　set　off。　Our　progress　was　leisurely；　and