Previous - Next

Even for me life had its gleams of
sunshine.



CHAPTER V


Five o'clock had hardly struck on the morning of the 19th of
January, when Bessie brought a candle into my closet and found me
already up and nearly dressed. I had risen half-an-hour before
her entrance, and had washed my face, and put on my clothes by the
light of a half-moon just setting, whose rays streamed through the
narrow window near my crib. I was to leave Gateshead that day by
a coach which passed the lodge gates at six a.m. Bessie was the
only person yet risen; she had lit a fire in the nursery, where
she now proceeded to make my breakfast. Few children can eat when
excited with the thoughts of a journey; nor could I. Bessie, having
pressed me in vain to take a few spoonfuls of the boiled milk and
bread she had prepared for me, wrapped up some biscuits in a paper
and put them into my bag; then she helped me on with my pelisse
and bonnet, and wrapping herself in a shawl, she and I left the
nursery. As we passed Mrs. Reed's bedroom, she said, "Will you go
in and bid Missis good-bye?"

"No, Bessie: she came to my crib last night when you were gone
down to supper, and said I need not disturb her in the morning, or
my cousins either; and she told me to remember that she had always
been my best friend, and to speak of her and be grateful to her
accordingly."

"What did you say, Miss?"

"Nothing: I covered my face with the bedclothes, and turned from
her to the wall."

"That was wrong, Miss Jane."

"It was quite right, Bessie. Your Missis has not been my friend:
she has been my foe."

"O Miss Jane! don't say so!"

"Good-bye to Gateshead!" cried I, as we passed through the hall
and went out at the front door.

The moon was set, and it was very dark; Bessie carried a lantern,
whose light glanced on wet steps and gravel road sodden by a recent
thaw. Raw and chill was the winter morning: my teeth chattered
as I hastened down the drive. There was a light in the porter's
lodge: when we reached it, we found the porter's wife just kindling
her fire: my trunk, which had been carried down the evening
before, stood corded at the door. It wanted but a few minutes of
six, and shortly after that hour had struck, the distant roll of
wheels announced the coming coach; I went to the door and watched
its lamps approach rapidly through the gloom.

"Is she going by herself?" asked the porter's wife.

"Yes."

"And how far is it?"

"Fifty miles."

"What a long way! I wonder Mrs. Reed is not afraid to trust her
so far alone."

The coach drew up; there it was at the gates with its four horses
and its top laden with passengers: the guard and coachman loudly
urged haste; my trunk was hoisted up; I was taken from Bessie's
neck, to which I clung with kisses.

"Be sure and take good care of her," cried she to the guard, as he
lifted me into the inside.

"Ay, ay!" was the answer: the door was slapped to, a voice exclaimed

Previous - Next