clumsily-contrived, unpolished answer.
'No,' he said coolly: 'when you have indicated to us the
residence of your friends, we can write to them, and you may be
restored to home.'
'That, I must plainly tell you, is out of my power to do; being
absolutely without home and friends.'
The three looked at me, but not distrustfully; I felt there was
no suspicion in their glances: there was more of curiosity. I speak
particularly of the young ladies. St. John's eyes, though clear enough
in a literal sense, in a figurative one were difficult to fathom. He
seemed to use them rather as instruments to search other people's
thoughts, than as agents to reveal his own: the which combination of
keenness and reserve was considerably more calculated to embarrass
than to encourage.
'Do you mean to say,' he asked, 'that you are completely isolated
from every connection?'
'I do. Not a tie links me to any living thing: not a claim do I
possess to admittance under any roof in England.'
'A most singular position at your age!'
Here I saw his glance directed to my hands, which were folded on
the table before me. I wondered what he sought there: his words soon
explained the quest.
'You have never been married? You are a spinster?'
Diana laughed. 'Why, she can't be above seventeen or eighteen years
old, St. John,' said she.
'I am near nineteen: but I am not married. No.'
I felt a burning glow mount to my face; for bitter and agitating
recollections were awakened by the allusion to marriage. They all
saw the embarrassment and the emotion. Diana and Mary relieved me by
turning their eyes elsewhere than to my crimsoned visage; but the
colder and sterner brother continued to gaze, till the trouble he
had excited forced out tears as well as colour.
'Where did you last reside?' he now asked.
'You are too inquisitive, St. John,' murmured Mary in a low
voice; but he leaned over the table and required an answer by a second
firm and piercing look.
'The name of the place where, and of the person with whom I
lived, is my secret,' I replied concisely.
'Which, if you like, you have, in my opinion, a right to keep, both
from St. John and every other questioner,' remarked Diana.
'Yet if I know nothing about you or your history, I cannot help
you,' he said. 'And you need help, do you not?'
'I need it, and I seek it so far, sir, that some true
philanthropist will put me in the way of getting work which I can
do, and the remuneration for which will keep me, if but in the
barest necessaries of life.'
'I know not whether I am a true philanthropist; yet I am willing to
aid you to the utmost of my power in a purpose so honest. First, then,
tell me what you have been accustomed to do, and what you can do.'
I had now swallowed my tea. I was mightily refreshed by the
beverage; as much so as a giant with wine: it gave new tone to my
unstrung nerves, and enabled me to address this penetrating young
judge steadily.
'Mr. Rivers,' I said, turning to him, and looking at him, as he
looked at me, openly and without diffidence, 'you and your sisters
have done me a great service- the greatest man can do his
fellow-being; you have rescued me, by your noble hospitality, from
death. This benefit conferred gives you an unlimited claim on my
gratitude, and a claim, to a certain extent, on my confidence. I
will tell you as much of the history of the wanderer you have
harboured, as I can tell without compromising my own peace of mind- my
own security, moral and physical, and that of others.
'I am an orphan, the daughter of a clergyman. My parents died
before I could know them. I was brought up a dependant; educated in
a charitable institution. I will even tell you the name of the
establishment, where I passed six years as a pupil, and two as a
Mr. Rivers?- the Rev. Robert Brocklehurst is the treasurer.'
'I have heard of Mr. Brocklehurst, and I have seen the school.'
'I left Lowood nearly a year since to become a private governess. I
obtained a good situation, and was happy. This place I was obliged
to leave four days before I came here. The reason of my departure I
cannot and ought not to explain: it would be useless, dangerous, and
would sound incredible. No blame attached to me: I am as free from
culpability as any one of you three. Miserable I am, and must be for a
time; for the catastrophe which drove me from a house I had found a
paradise was of a strange and direful nature. I observed but two
points in planning my departure- speed, secrecy: to secure these, I
had to leave behind me everything I possessed except a small parcel;
which, in my hurry and trouble of mind, I forgot to take out of the
coach that brought me to Whitcross. To this neighbourhood, then, I
came, quite destitute. I slept two nights in the open air, and
wandered about two days without crossing a threshold: but twice in
that space of time did I taste food; and it was when brought by
hunger, exhaustion, and despair almost to the last gasp, that you, Mr.
Rivers, forbade me to perish of want at your door, and took me under
the shelter of your roof. I know all your sisters have done for me
since- for I have not been insensible during my seeming torpor- and
I owe to their spontaneous, genuine, genial compassion as large a debt
as to your evangelical charity.'
'Don't make her talk any more now, St. John,' said Diana, as I
paused; 'she is evidently not yet fit for excitement. Come to the sofa
and sit down now, Miss Elliott.'
I gave an involuntary half start at hearing the alias: I had
forgotten my new name. Mr. Rivers, whom nothing seemed to escape,
noticed it at once.
'You said your name was Jane Elliott?' he observed.
'I did say so; and it is the name by which I think it expedient
to be called at present, but it is not my real name, and when I hear
it, it sounds strange to me.'
'Your real name you will not give?'
'No: I fear discovery above all things; and whatever disclosure
would lead to it, I avoid.'
'You are quite right, I am sure,' said Diana. 'Now do, brother, let
her be at peace a while.'
But when St. John had mused a few moments he recommenced as
imperturbably and with as much acumen as ever.
'You would not like to be long dependent on our hospitality- you
would wish, I see, to dispense as soon as may be with my sisters'
compassion, and, above all, with my charity (I am quite sensible of
the distinction drawn, nor do I resent it- it is just): you desire
to be independent of us?'
'I do: I have already said so. Show me how to work, or how to
seek work: that is all I now ask; then let me go, if it be but to
the meanest cottage; but till then, allow me to stay here: I dread
another essay of the horrors of homeless destitution.'
'Indeed you shall stay here,' said Diana, putting her white hand on
my head. 'You shall,' repeated Mary, in the tone of undemonstrative
sincerity which seemed natural to her.
'My sisters, you see, have a pleasure in keeping you,' said Mr. St.
John, 'as they would have a pleasure in keeping and cherishing a
half-frozen bird, some wintry wind might have driven through their
casement. I feel more inclination to put you in the way of keeping
yourself, and shall endeavour to do so; but observe, my sphere is
narrow. I am but the incumbent of a poor country parish: my aid must
be of the humblest sort. And if you are inclined to despise the day of
small things, seek some more efficient succour than such as I can
offer.'
'She has already said that she is willing to do anything honest she
can do,' answered Diana for me; 'and you know, St. John, she has no
choice of helpers: she is forced to put up with such crusty people
as you.'
'I will be a dressmaker; I will be a plain-workwoman; I will be a
servant, a nurse-girl, if I can be no better,' I answered.
'Right,' said Mr. St. John, quite coolly. 'If such is your
spirit, I promise to aid you, in my own time and way.'
He now resumed the book with which he had been occupied before tea.
I soon withdrew, for I had talked as much, and sat up as long, as my
present strength would permit.
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CHAPTER XXX
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THE more I knew of the inmates of Moor House, the better I liked
them. In a few days I had so far recovered my health that I could
sit up all day, and walk out sometimes. I could join with Diana and
Mary in all their occupations; converse with them as much as they
wished, and aid them when and where they would allow me. There was a
reviving pleasure in this intercourse, of a kind now tasted by me
for the first time- the pleasure arising from perfect congeniality
of tastes, sentiments, and principles.
I liked to read what they liked to read: what they enjoyed,
delighted me; what they approved, I reverenced. They loved their
sequestered home. I, too, in the grey, small, antique structure,
with its low roof, its latticed casements, its mouldering walls, its
avenue of aged firs- all grown aslant under the stress of mountain
winds; its garden, dark with yew and holly- and where no flowers but
of the hardiest species would bloom- found a charm both potent and
permanent. They clung to the purple moors behind and around their
dwelling- to the hollow vale into which the pebbly bridle-path leading
from their gate descended, and which wound between fern-banks first,
and then amongst a few of the wildest little pasture-fields that
ever bordered a wilderness of heath, or gave sustenance to a flock
of grey moorland sheep, with their little mossy-faced lambs:- they
clung to this scene, I say, with a perfect enthusiasm of attachment. I
could comprehend the feeling, and share both its strength and truth. I
saw the fascination of the locality. I felt the consecration of its
loneliness: my eye feasted on the outline of swell and sweep- on the
wild colouring communicated to ridge and dell by moss, by
heath-bell, by flower-sprinkled turf, by brilliant bracken, and mellow
granite crag. These details were just to me what they were to them- so
many pure and sweet sources of pleasure. The strong blast and the soft
breeze; the rough and the halcyon day; the hours of sunrise and
sunset; the moonlight and the clouded night, developed for me, in
these regions, the same attraction as for them- wound round my
faculties the same spell that entranced theirs.
Indoors we agreed equally well. They were both more accomplished
and better read than I was; but with eagerness I followed in the
path of knowledge they had trodden before me. I devoured the books
they lent me: then it was full satisfaction to discuss with them in
the evening what I had perused during the day. Thought fitted thought;
opinion met opinion: we coincided, in short, perfectly.
If in our trio there was a superior and a leader, it was Diana.
Physically, she far excelled me: she was handsome; she was vigorous.
In her animal spirits there was an affluence of life and certainty
of flow, such as excited my wonder, while it baffled my comprehension.
I could talk a while when the evening commenced, but the first gush of
vivacity and fluency gone, I was fain to sit on a stool at Diana's
feet, to rest my head on her knee, and listen alternately to her and
Mary, while they sounded thoroughly the topic on which I had but
touched. Diana offered to teach me German. I liked to learn of her:
I saw the part of instructress pleased and suited her; that of scholar
pleased and suited me no less. Our natures dovetailed: mutual
affection- of the strongest kind- was the result. They discovered I
could draw: their pencils and colour-boxes were immediately at my
service. My skill, greater in this one point than theirs, surprised
and charmed them. Mary would sit and watch me by the hour together:
then she would take lessons; and a docile, intelligent, assiduous
pupil she made. Thus occupied, and mutually entertained, days passed
like hours, and weeks like days.
As to Mr. St. John, the intimacy which had arisen so naturally
and rapidly between me and his sisters did not extend to him. One
reason of the distance yet observed between us was, that he was
comparatively seldom at home: a large proportion of his time
appeared devoted to visiting the sick and poor among the scattered
population of his parish.
No weather seemed to hinder him in these pastoral excursions:
rain or fair, he would, when his hours of morning study were over,
take his hat, and, followed by his father's old pointer, Carlo, go out
on his mission of love or duty- I scarcely know in which light he
regarded it. Sometimes, when the day was very unfavourable, his
sisters would expostulate. He would then say, with a peculiar smile,
more solemn than cheerful-
'And if I let a gust of wind or a sprinkling of rain turn me
aside from these easy tasks, what preparation would such sloth be
for the future I propose to myself?'
Diana and Mary's general answer to this question was a sigh, and
some minutes of apparently mournful meditation.
But besides his frequent absences, there was another barrier to
friendship with him: he seemed of a reserved, an abstracted, and
even of a brooding nature. Zealous in his ministerial labours,
blameless in his life and habits, he yet did not appear to enjoy
