Jane Eyre. An Autobiography / Джейн Эйр. Автобиография. Шарлотта Бронте

you two are my visitors to-night; I must treat you as such.” She rang her bell.

      “Barbara,” she said to the servant who answered it, “I have not yet had tea; bring the tray and place cups for these two young ladies.”

      And a tray was soon brought. How pretty, to my eyes, did the china cups and bright teapot look, placed on the little round table near the fire. “Barbara,” said she, “can you not bring a little more bread and butter? There is not enough for three.”

      Barbara went out: she returned soon —

      “Madam, Mrs. Harden says she has sent up the usual quantity.”

      “Oh, very well!” returned Miss Temple; “we must make it do[25], Barbara, I suppose.”

      She got up, unlocked a drawer, and took from it a good-sized seed-cake.

      Tea over and the tray removed, she again called us to the fire; we sat one on each side of her, and now a conversation followed between her and Helen, which it was indeed a privilege to listen to.

      They discussed things I had never heard of; nations and times past; countries far away; secrets of nature discovered or guessed at: they spoke of books: how many they had read! What stores of knowledge they possessed!

      The bell announced bedtime! no delay could be admitted; Miss Temple embraced us both, saying, as she drew us to her heart —

      “God bless you, my children!”

      Helen she held a little longer than me: she let her go more reluctantly; her eye followed Helen to the door; for her she breathed a sad sigh; for her she wiped a tear from her cheek.

      About a week after, Miss Temple, who had written to Mr. Lloyd, received his answer: what he said supported my account. Miss Temple, having assembled the whole school, announced that inquiry had been made into the charges against Jane Eyre, and that she was most happy to declare her completely cleared from every blame. The teachers then shook hands with me and kissed me, and a pleasant murmur ran through my companions.

      From that hour I set to work again: I worked hard, and my success was proportionate to my efforts; my memory improved with practice; exercise sharpened my wits; in a few weeks I was promoted to a higher class; in less than two months I was allowed to take up French and drawing.

      I would not now have exchanged Lowood with its hardships for Gateshead with its luxuries.

      Chapter IX

      Spring came: the frosts of winter had ceased; its snows had melted. The play-hour passed in the garden began even to be pleasant. Flowers grew amongst the leaves; snow-drops, crocuses, and golden-eyed pansies.

      Nature looked beautiful but whether it was healthy or not is another question.

      That foggy forest-dell, where Lowood lay, caused fog-bred epidemics, which got into the Orphan Asylum, spreading typhus through its crowded schoolroom and dormitory, and, before May arrived, transformed the seminary into an hospital.

      Semi-starvation and neglected colds had contributed to the spread of infection: forty-five out of the eighty girls lay ill at one time. Classes were broken up, rules relaxed. The few who continued well were given almost unlimited freedom, because the doctor insisted on frequent exercise to keep them in health. Miss Temple’s whole attention was taken by the patients: she lived in the sick-room, never quitting it except to snatch a few hours’ rest at night. The teachers were fully occupied with packing up and making other necessary preparations for the departure of those girls who were fortunate enough to have friends and relations able and willing to take them. Many, already sick, went home only to die: some died at the school, and were buried quietly and quickly.

      But I, and the rest who continued well, enjoyed fully the beauties of the season; they let us walk in the wood, like gipsies, from morning till night; we did what we liked, went where we liked: we lived better too. Mr. Brocklehurst and his family never came near Lowood now. Besides, there were fewer to feed; the sick could eat little; our breakfast-basins were better filled; when there was no time to prepare a regular dinner, which often happened, they would give us a large piece of cold pie, or a thick slice of bread and cheese, and this we carried away with us to the wood, where we each dined with pleasure.

      And where, meantime, was Helen Burns? Why did I not spend these sweet days of liberty with her? Had I forgotten her?

      Helen was ill at present: for some weeks she had been removed to some room upstairs. She was not, I was told, in the hospital portion of the house; for her illness was consumption, not typhus: and by consumption I, in my ignorance, understood something mild, which time and care would be sure to heal.

      I only saw her once or twice from the schoolroom window; she was much wrapped up, and sat at a distance under the verandah; on these occasions, I was not allowed to go and speak to her.

      One evening, at the beginning of June, I had stayed out very late in the wood. When I got back, it was after moonrise: a pony, which I knew to be the surgeon’s, was standing at the garden door. I thought that some one must be very ill, as Mr. Bates had been sent for at that time of the evening. I stayed out a few minutes to plant in my garden a handful of roots I had dug up in the forest. This done, I stayed there a little longer: the flowers smelt so sweet as the dew fell; it was such a pleasant evening, so serene, so warm; I was noting these things and enjoying them, when it entered my mind as it had never done before: —

      “How sad to be lying now on a sick bed, and to be in danger of dying! This world is pleasant – it would be dreary to be called from it, and to have to go who knows where?”

      I heard the front door open; Mr. Bates came out, and with him was a nurse. He mounted his horse and departed, and the nurse was about to close the door when I ran up to her.

      “How is Helen Burns?”

      “Very poorly,” was the answer.

      “Is it her Mr. Bates has been to see?”

      “Yes.”

      “And what does he say about her?”

      “He says she’ll not be here long.”

      This phrase, if heard yesterday, would have only meant that she would be removed to Northumberland, to her own home. I should not have suspected that it meant she was dying; but I knew instantly now!

      I experienced a shock of horror, then a desire – a necessity to see her; and I asked in what room she lay.

      “She is in Miss Temple’s room,” said the nurse.

      “May I go up and speak to her?”

      “Oh no, child! It is not likely; and now it is time for you to come in.”

      The nurse closed the front door; I went in by the side entrance which led to the schoolroom: I was just in time; it was nine o’clock, and Miss Miller was calling the pupils to go to bed.

      It might be two hours later, when I – not having been able to fall asleep – rose softly, put on my frock over my night-dress, and, without shoes, crept from the dormitory, looking for Miss Temple’s room. It was quite at the other end of the house; but I knew my way; and the light of the unclouded moon helped me to find it without difficulty. I dreaded being discovered and sent back; for I must see Helen, – I must embrace her before she died, – I must give her one last kiss, exchange with her one last word.

      Opposite to me was Miss Temple’s room. A light shone through the keyhole and from under the door. Coming near, I found the door slightly ajar; I looked in. My eye sought Helen, and feared to find death.

      Close by Miss Temple’s bed, there stood a little bed; I saw the outline of a form under the clothes. Miss Temple was not to be seen:

      “Helen!” I whispered softly, “are you awake?”

      She stirred herself, and I saw her face, pale: she looked so little changed that my fear instantly disappeared.

      “Can it be you, Jane?” she asked, in her own gentle voice.

      “Oh!”

25

придётся обойтись тем, что есть