Jane Eyre (6 of 231)

A singular notion dawned upon me.  I doubted not -- never doubted -- that if Mr. Reed had been alive he would have treated me kindly; and now, as I sat looking at the white bed and overshadowed walls -- occasionally also turning a fascinated eye towards the dimly gleaning mirror -- I began to recall what I had heard of dead men, troubled in their graves by the violation of their last wishes, revisiting the earth to punish the perjured and avenge the oppressed; and I thought Mr. Reed's spirit, harassed by the wrongs of his sister's child, might quit its abode -- whether in the church vault or in the unknown world of the departed -- and rise before me in this chamber.  I wiped my tears and hushed my sobs, fearful lest any sign of violent grief might waken a preternatural voice to comfort me, or elicit from the gloom some haloed face, bending over me with strange pity.
This idea, consolatory in theory, I felt would be terrible if realised:  with all my might I endeavoured to stifle it -- I endeavoured to be firm.  Shaking my hair from my eyes, I lifted my head and tried to look boldly round the dark room; at this moment a light gleamed on the wall.  Was it, I asked myself, a ray from the moon penetrating some aperture in the blind? No; moonlight was still, and this stirred; while I gazed, it glided up to the ceiling and quivered over my head.  I can now conjecture readily that this streak of light was, in all likelihood, a gleam from a lantern carried by some one across the lawn:  but then, prepared as my mind was for horror, shaken as my nerves were by agitation, I thought the swift darting beam was a herald of some coming vision from another world.
My heart beat thick, my head grew hot; a sound filled my ears, which I deemed the rushing of wings; something seemed near me; I was oppressed, suffocated:  endurance broke down; I rushed to the door and shook the lock in desperate effort.  Steps came running along the outer passage; the key turned, Bessie and Abbot entered.

"Miss Eyre, are you ill?"  said Bessie.

"What a dreadful noise!  it went quite through me!"  exclaimed Abbot.

"Take me out!  Let me go into the nursery!"  was my cry.

"What for?  Are you hurt?  Have you seen something?"  again demanded Bessie.

"Oh!  I saw a light, and I thought a ghost would come."  I had now got hold of Bessie's hand, and she did not snatch it from me.

"She has screamed out on purpose," declared Abbot, in some disgust. "And what a scream!  If she had been in great pain one would have excused it, but she only wanted to bring us all here:  I know her naughty tricks."

"What is all this?"  demanded another voice peremptorily; and Mrs. Reed came along the corridor, her cap flying wide, her gown rustling stormily.  "Abbot and Bessie, I believe I gave orders that Jane Eyre should be left in the red-room till I came to her myself."

"Miss Jane screamed so loud, ma'am," pleaded Bessie.

"Let her go," was the only answer.  "Loose Bessie's hand, child: you cannot succeed in getting out by these means, be assured.  I abhor artifice, particularly in children; it is my duty to show you that tricks will not answer:  you will now stay here an hour longer, and it is only on condition of perfect submission and stillness that I shall liberate you then."

"O aunt!  have pity!  Forgive me!  I cannot endure it -- let me be punished some other way!  I shall be killed if -- "

"Silence!  This violence is all most repulsive:"  and so, no doubt, she felt it.  I was a precocious actress in her eyes; she sincerely looked on me as a compound of virulent passions, mean spirit, and dangerous duplicity.

Bessie and Abbot having retreated, Mrs. Reed, impatient of my now frantic anguish and wild sobs, abruptly thrust me back and locked me in, without farther parley.  I heard her sweeping away; and soon after she was gone, I suppose I had a species of fit:  unconsciousness closed the scene.