The next thing I remember is, waking up with a feeling as if I had had a frightful nightmare, and seeing before me a terrible red glare, crossed with thick black bars. I heard voices, too, speaking with a hollow sound, and as if muffled by a rush of wind or water:agitation, uncertainty, and an all-predominating sense of terror confused my faculties. Ere long, I became aware that some one was handling me; lifting me up and supporting me in a sitting posture, and that more tenderly than I had ever been raised or upheld before. I rested my head against a pillow or an arm, and felt easy.

In five minutes more the cloud of bewilderment dissolved: I knew quite well that I was in my own bed, and that the red glare was the nursery fire. It was night: a candle burnt on the table; Bessie stood at the bed-foot with a basin in her hand, and a gentleman sat in a chair near my pillow, leaning over me.

I felt an inexpressible relief, a soothing conviction of protection and security, when I knew that there was a stranger in the room, an individual not belonging to Gateshead, and not related to Mrs. Reed. Turning from Bessie (though her presence was far less obnoxious to me than that of Abbot, for instance, would have been), I scrutinised the face of the gentleman: I knew him; it was Mr. Lloyd, an apothecary, sometimes called in by Mrs. Reed when the servants were ailing: for herself and the children she employed a physician.

“Well, who am I?”he asked.

I pronounced his name, offering him at the same time my hand: he took it, smiling and saying,“We shall do very well by-and-by.”Then he laid me down, and addressing Bessie,charged her to be very careful that I was not disturbed during the night. Having given some further directions, and intimates that he should call again the next day, he departed;to my grief: I felt so sheltered and befriended while he sat in the chair near my pillow;and as he closed the door after him, all the room darkened and my heart again sank:inexpressible sadness weighed it down.

“Do you feel as if you should sleep, Miss?”asked Bessie, rather softly.

Scarcely dared I answer her; for I feared the next sentence might be rough.“I will try.”

“Would you like to drink, or could you eat anything?”

“No, thank you, Bessie.”

“Then I think I shall go to bed, for it is past twelve o'clock; but you may call me if you want anything in the night.”

Wonderful civility this! It emboldened me to ask a question.

“Bessie, what is the matter with me? Am I ill?”

“You fell sick, I suppose, in the red-room with crying; you'll be better soon, no doubt.”

Bessie went into the housemaid's apartment, which was near. I heard her say-

“Sarah, come and sleep with me in the nursery; I daren't for my life be alone with that poor child to-night: she might die; it's such a strange thing she should have that fit: I wonder if she saw anything. Missis was rather too hard.”

Sarah came back with her; they both went to bed; they were whispering together for half-an-hour before they fell asleep. I caught scraps of their conversation, from which I was able only too distinctly to infer the main subject discussed.

“Something passed her, all dressed in white, and vanished”—“A great black dog behind him”—“Three loud raps on the chamber door”—“A light in the churchyard just over his grave,”etc., etc.

At last both slept: the fire and the candle went out. For me, the watches of that long night passed in ghastly wakefulness; strained by dread: such dread as children only can feel.

No severe or prolonged bodily illness followed this incident of the red-room; it only gave my nerves a shock of which I feel the reverberation to this day. Yes, Mrs. Reed, to you I owe some fearful pangs of mental suffering, but I ought to forgive you, for you knew not what you did: while rending my heart-strings, you thought you were only uprooting my bad propensities.

Next day, by noon, I was up and dressed, and sat wrapped in a shawl by the nursery hearth. I felt physically weak and broken down: but my worse ailment was an unutterable wretchedness of mind: a wretchedness which kept drawing from me silent tears; no sooner had I wiped one salt drop from my cheek than another followed. Yet, I thought, I ought to have been happy, for none of the Reeds were there, they were all gone out in the carriage with their mama. Abbot, too, was sewing in another room, and Bessie, as she moved hither and thither, putting away toys and arranging drawers, addressed to me every now and then a word of unwonted kindness. This state of things should have been to me a paradise of peace, accustomed as I was to a life of ceaseless reprimand and thankless fagging; but, in fact, my racked nerves were now in such a state that no calm could soothe, and no pleasure excite them agreeably.

Bessie had been down into the kitchen, and she brought up with her a tart on a certain brightly painted china plate, whose bird of paradise, nestling in a wreath of convolvuli and rosebuds, had been wont to stir in me a most enthusiastic sense of admiration; and which plate I had often petitioned to be allowed to take in my hand in order to examine it more closely, but had always hitherto been deemed unworthy of such a privilege. This precious vessel was now placed on my knee, and I was cordially invited to eat the circlet of delicate pastry upon it. Vain favour! coming, like most other favours long deferred and often wished for, too late! I could not eat the tart; and the plumage of the bird, the tints of the flowers, seemed strangely faded: I put both plate and tart away. Bessie asked if I would have a book: the word book acted as a transient stimulus, and I begged her to fetch Gulliver's Travels from the library. This book I had again and again perused with delight. I considered it a narrative of facts, and discovered in it a vein of interest deeper than what I found in fairy tales: for as to the elves, having sought them in vain among foxglove leaves and bells, under mushrooms and beneath the ground-ivy mantling old wall-nooks, I had at length made up my mind to the sad truth, that they were all gone out of England to some savage country where the woods were wilder and thicker, and the population more scant;whereas, Lilliput and Brobdignag being, in my creed, solid parts of the earth's surface, I doubted not that I might one day, by taking a long voyage, see with my own eyes the little fields, houses, and trees, the diminutive people, the tiny cows, sheep, and birds of the one realm; and the corn-fields forest-high, the mighty mastiffs, the monster cats, the tower-like men and women, of the other. Yet, when this cherished volume was now placed in my hand-when I turned over its leaves, and sought in its marvellous pictures the charm I had, till now, never failed to find-all was eerie and dreary; the giants were gaunt goblins, the pigmies malevolent and fearful imps, Gulliver a most desolate wanderer in most dread and dangerous regions. I closed the book, which I dared no longer peruse, and put it on the table, beside the untasted tart.

Bessie had now finished dusting and tidying the room, and having washed her hands, she opened a certain little drawer, full of splendid shreds of silk and satin, and began making a new bonnet for Georgiana's doll. Meantime she sang: her song was-

“In the days when we went gipsying, A long time ago.”

I had often heard the song before, and always with lively delight; for Bessie had a sweet voice, —at least, I thought so. But now, though her voice was still sweet, I found in its melody an indescribable sadness. Sometimes, preoccupied with her work, she sang the refrain very low, very lingeringly;“A long time ago”came out like the saddest cadence of a funeral hymn. She passed into another ballad, this time a really doleful one.

“My feet they are sore, and my limbs they are weary;

Long is the way, and the mountains are wild;

Soon will the twilight close moonless and dreary

Over the path of the poor orphan child.

Why did they send me so far and so lonely,

Up where the moors spread and grey rocks are piled?

Men are hard-hearted, and kind angels only

Watch o'er the steps of a poor orphan child.

Yet distant and soft the night breeze is blowing,

Clouds there are none, and clear stars beam mild,

God, in His mercy, protection is showing,

Comfort and hope to the poor orphan child.

Ev'n should I fall o'er the broken bridge passing,

Or stray in the marshes, by false lights beguiled,

Still will my Father, with promise and blessing,

Take to His bosom the poor orphan child.

There is a thought that for strength should avail me,

Though both of shelter and kindred despoiled;

Heaven is a home, and a rest will not fail me;

God is a friend to the poor orphan child.”

“Come, Miss Jane, don't cry,”said Bessie as she finished. She might as well have said to the fire,“don't burn!”but how could she divine the morbid suffering to which I was a prey? In the course of the morning Mr. Lloyd came again.

“What, already up!”said he, as he entered the nursery.“Well, nurse, how is she?”

Bessie answered that I was doing very well.

“Then she ought to look more cheerful. Come here, Miss Jane: your name is Jane, is it not?”

“Yes, sir, Jane Eyre.”

“Well, you have been crying, Miss Jane Eyre; can you tell me what about? Have you any pain?”

“No, sir.”

“Oh! I daresay she is crying because she could not go out with Missis in the carriage,”interposed Bessie.

“Surely not! why, she is too old for such pettishness.”

I thought so too; and my self-esteem being wounded by the false charge, I answered promptly,“I never cried for such a thing in my life: I hate going out in the carriage. I cry because I am miserable.”

“Oh fie, Miss!”said Bessie.

The good apothecary appeared a little puzzled. I was standing before him; he fixed his eyes on me very steadily: his eyes were small and grey; not very bright, but I dare say I should think them shrewd now: he had a hard-featured yet good-natured looking face. Having considered me at leisure, he said-

“What made you ill yesterday?”

“She had a fall,”said Bessie, again putting in her word.

“Fall! why, that is like a baby again! Can't she manage to walk at her age? She must be eight or nine years old.”

“I was knocked down,”was the blunt explanation, jerked out of me by another pang of mortified pride;“but that did not make me ill,”I added; while Mr. Lloyd helped himself to a pinch of snuff.

As he was returning the box to his waistcoat pocket, a loud bell rang for the servants’dinner; he knew what it was.“That's for you, nurse,”said he;“you can go down; I'll give Miss Jane a lecture till you come back.”

Bessie would rather have stayed, but she was obliged to go, because punctuality at meals was rigidly enforced at Gateshead Hall.

“The fall did not make you ill; what did, then?”pursued Mr. Lloyd when Bessie was gone.

“I was shut up in a room where there is a ghost till after dark.”

I saw Mr. Lloyd smile and frown at the same time.

“Ghost! What, you are a baby after all! You are afraid of ghosts?”

“Of Mr. Reed's ghost I am: he died in that room, and was laid out there. Neither Bessie nor any one else will go into it at night, if they can help it; and it was cruel to shut me up alone without a candle, —so cruel that I think I shall never forget it.”

“Nonsense! And is it that makes you so miserable? Are you afraid now in daylight?”

“No: but night will come again before long: and besides, —I am unhappy, —very unhappy, for other things.”

“What other things? Can you tell me some of them?”

How much I wished to reply fully to this question! How difficult it was to frame any answer! Children can feel, but they cannot analyse their feelings; and if the analysis is partially effected in thought, they know not how to express the result of the process in words. Fearful, however, of losing this first and only opportunity of relieving my grief by imparting it, I, after a disturbed pause, contrived to frame a meagre, though, as far as it went, true response.

“For one thing, I have no father or mother, brothers or sisters.”

“You have a kind aunt and cousins.”

Again I paused; then bunglingly enounced-

“But John Reed knocked me down, and my aunt shut me up in the red-room.”

Mr. Lloyd a second time produced his snuff-box.

“Don't you think Gateshead Hall a very beautiful house?”asked he.“Are you not very thankful to have such a fine place to live at?”

“It is not my house, sir; and Abbot says I have less right to be here than a servant.”

“Pooh! you can't be silly enough to wish to leave such a splendid place?”

“If I had anywhere else to go, I should be glad to leave it; but I can never get away from Gateshead till I am a woman.”

“Perhaps you may-who knows? Have you any relations besides Mrs. Reed?”

“I think not, sir.”

“None belonging to your father?”

“I don't know. I asked Aunt Reed once, and she said possibly I might have some poor, low relations called Eyre, but she knew nothing about them.”

“If you had such, would you like to go to them?”

I reflected. Poverty looks grim to grown people; still more so to children: they have not much idea of industrious, working, respectable poverty; they think of the word only as connected with ragged clothes, scanty food, fireless grates, rude manners, and debasing vices: poverty for me was synonymous with degradation.

“No; I should not like to belong to poor people,”was my reply.

“Not even if they were kind to you?”

I shook my head: I could not see how poor people had the means of being kind; and then to learn to speak like them, to adopt their manners, to be uneducated, to grow up like one of the poor women I saw sometimes nursing their children or washing their clothes at the cottage doors of the village of Gateshead: no, I was not heroic enough to purchase liberty at the price of caste.

“But are your relatives so very poor? Are they working people?”

“I cannot tell; Aunt Reed says if I have any, they must be a beggarly set: I should not like to go a begging.”

“Would you like to go to school?”

Again I reflected: I scarcely knew what school was: Bessie sometimes spoke of it as a place where young ladies sat in the stocks, wore backboards, and were expected to be exceedingly genteel and precise: John Reed hated his school, and abused his master; but John Reed's tastes were no rule for mine, and if Bessie's accounts of school-discipline (gathered from the young ladies of a family where she had lived before coming to Gateshead) were somewhat appalling, her details of certain accomplishments attained by these same young ladies were, I thought, equally attractive. She boasted of beautiful paintings of landscapes and flowers by them executed; of songs they could sing and pieces they could play, of purses they could net, of French books they could translate; till my spirit was moved to emulation as I listened. Besides, school would be a complete change:it implied a long journey, an entire separation from Gateshead, an entrance into a new life.“I should indeed like to go to school,”was the audible conclusion of my musings.

“Well, well! who knows what may happen?”said Mr. Lloyd, as he got up.“The child ought to have change of air and scene,”he added, speaking to himself;“nerves not in a good state.”

Bessie now returned; at the same moment the carriage was heard rolling up the gravel-walk.

“Is that your mistress, nurse?”asked Mr. Lloyd.“I should like to speak to her before I go.”

Bessie invited him to walk into the breakfast-room, and led the way out. In the interview which followed between him and Mrs. Reed, I presume, from after-occurrences, that the apothecary ventured to recommend my being sent to school; and the recommendation was no doubt readily enough adopted; for as Abbot said, in discussing the subject with Bessie when both sat sewing in the nursery one night, after I was in bed, and, as they thought, asleep,“Missis was, she dared say, glad enough to get rid of such a tiresome, ill-conditioned child, who always looked as if she were watching everybody, and scheming plots underhand.”Abbot, I think, gave me credit for being a sort of infantine Guy Fawkes.

On that same occasion I learned, for the first time, from Miss Abbot's communications to Bessie, that my father had been a poor clergyman; that my mother had married him against the wishes of her friends, who considered the match beneath her; that my grandfather Reed was so irritated at her disobedience, he cut her off without a shilling;that after my mother and father had been married a year, the latter caught the typhus fever while visiting among the poor of a large manufacturing town where his curacy was situated, and where that disease was then prevalent: that my mother took the infection from him, and both died within a month of each other.

Bessie, when she heard this narrative, sighed and said,“Poor Miss Jane is to be pitied, too, Abbot.”

“Yes,”responded Abbot;“if she were a nice, pretty child, one might compassionate her forlornness; but one really cannot care for such a little toad as that.”

“Not a great deal, to be sure,”agreed Bessie:“at any rate, a beauty like Miss Georgiana would be more moving in the same condition.”

“Yes, I doat on Miss Georgiana!”cried the fervent Abbot.“Little darling! —with her long curls and her blue eyes, and such a sweet colour as she has; just as if she were painted! —Bessie, I could fancy a Welsh rabbit for supper.”

“So could I—with a roast onion. Come, we'll go down.”They went.

接下來我還記得，我感覺自己好像剛從一場可怕的噩夢中醒來，只見眼前一片可怕耀眼的紅光，紅光中劃過一道道粗黑杠。我還聽到有人說話，聲音空洞，好像被一陣疾風或水流蓋住一般。激動不安和壓倒一切的恐懼感使我神思恍惚。不久，我意識到有人在觸摸我，把我扶起，讓我靠坐在那兒。我以前從來沒有被這樣溫柔地抱起過，我把頭靠在一個枕頭上或一條胳膊上，感到非常舒服。

五分鐘過后，疑云漸漸消失了。我完全知道我是在自己的床上，那道紅光是保育室的爐火。時間是夜里，桌子上燃燒著蠟燭，貝茜手里端著臉盆站在床腳邊，一位老先生坐在我枕邊的椅子上，傾身看著我。

我知道屋里有一個陌生人——一個不屬于蓋茨黑德府、跟里德太太沒有關系的人，我深信他會保護我，安全有了保障，感到有說不出的安慰。我轉過臉不再看貝茜（不過，在我看來，她在場絕對沒有阿博特討厭），仔細打量那位先生的臉。我認出了他，是藥劑師勞埃德先生，仆人們生病時，里德太太有時請他過來。她自己和孩子們生病，她就請醫生。

“喂，我是誰？”他問。

我說出了他的名字，同時向他伸出一只手。他握住我的手，微笑著說道：“我們很快就會好的。”說完，他扶我躺下來，隨后又對貝茜說話，告誡她多加小心，夜間不要打擾我。他又吩咐了幾句，并明確表示他明天再來，然后才離開。讓我難過的是，他坐在我枕邊的椅子上時，我感到自己是那樣受到呵護和友待；他在身后關上門時，整個房間都暗淡下來，我的心又沉了下去，心里沉甸甸的，有一種難以言傳的悲傷。

“你覺得你應該睡覺了嗎，小姐？”貝茜口氣相當溫柔地問道。

我幾乎不敢回答她，因為我害怕下句話說不定會粗魯。“我試試看。”

“你想喝什么或能吃什么嗎？”

“不，謝謝你，貝茜。”

“那我想我去睡了，因為都過了十二點了。不過，你要是夜里需要什么，可以叫我。”

這是多么彬彬有禮！這使我大膽問了一個問題。

“貝茜，我怎么了？我病了嗎？”

“你病倒了，我想是在紅屋里哭病的。你肯定很快就會好轉。”

貝茜走進了附近女仆的房間。我聽到她說道——

“莎拉，過來跟我一起睡在保育室吧。今天晚上，我不敢跟那個可憐的孩子單獨在一起了，她說不定會死。真奇怪，她居然會那樣發作。我不知道她是不是看到了什么東西。里德太太有點兒太狠了。”

莎拉跟她一起回來了。她們倆都上了床，嘀嘀咕咕說了半個小時，才進入夢鄉。盡管我只聽到了她們的片言只語，但我能夠非常清晰地推斷出她們討論的主題。

“有個東西經過了她的身邊，渾身白衣服，轉眼就消失了”——“他后面有一只大黑狗”——“在房門上咚咚咚敲了三聲”——“教堂墓地里的一道光正好掠過他的墳墓”云云。

最后，兩人都睡著了，爐火和蠟燭也都熄滅了。對我來說，漫漫長夜就這樣在恐懼和清醒中過去了，我害怕得渾身繃緊，這種恐懼只有小孩子才能感受到。

紅屋事件沒有給我在身體上留下嚴重或慢性疾病，它只是讓我的神經受到了驚嚇，我對此到今天都記憶猶新。是的，里德太太，盡管你讓我受到了某種可怕的精神折磨，但我應該原諒你，因為你不知道自己做了什么，你是在割斷我的心弦，但你卻以為你只是要根除我的惡習。

第二天中午時分，我起來，穿上衣服，裹了一塊披巾，坐在保育室的壁爐邊。我感到身體有氣無力，神經衰弱，但我更糟糕的毛病是內心難以言說的苦惱，這種苦惱使我不斷默默流淚。我剛抹去臉頰上的一滴咸咸的淚水，另一滴就跟著落下。然而，我想我本來應該高興，因為里德一家人都不在，他們都坐馬車跟他們的媽媽出去了。阿博特也在另一個房間里做針線活。貝茜來回走動，一邊收拾玩具，整理抽屜，一邊不時地跟我說一句少有的貼心話。對我來說，我習慣了那種不斷挨訓、出力不討好的日子，這種情況應該是平靜的天堂。而事實上，我備受折磨的神經現在處于這種狀況，任何平靜都無法撫慰，任何快樂都無法使它們愜意興奮。

貝茜下樓去廚房，端上來一塊果餡餅。果餡餅放在一只圖案鮮艷的瓷盤上，圖案上是一只天堂鳥，偎依在一圈旋花植物和玫瑰花蕾上面。這幅畫曾經常常激起我內心極其狂熱的羨慕之情；我經常懇求讓我端一下這只盤子，以便更加仔細地端詳，但至今總是被認為不配享有這種特權。現在，這只珍貴的器皿就放在我的膝上。我還受到熱誠邀請來吃器皿上的一小圈精美的油酥點心。徒有虛名的青睞！就像其他大多數長久拖延而又常常期盼的青睞一樣，來得太晚了！我吃不了這果餡餅；而且那只鳥的羽毛、花卉的色澤，好像莫名其妙地失去了光澤。我把盤子和果餡餅放到一邊。貝茜問我是否想要一本書。“書”這個字產生了短暫的刺激。于是，我懇求她從圖書室取來了《格列佛游記》。我曾經開心地反復精讀過這本書，發現這比童話里寫得有趣深刻。至于那些小精靈，我在毛地黃葉和花冠之間，在蘑菇下面和爬滿老墻角落的常春藤下面沒有找到之后，終于認定了這個難過的事實，就是他們都離開英國到某個原始的鄉下去了，那兒樹林更加蓬亂和茂密，人口更加稀少。而在我的信條里，小人國和大人國都是地球表面可靠的一部分。我不懷疑將來有一天我會去遠航，親眼看看一個王國里小小的田野、小小的房子、小小的樹木，看看那兒的小小的人兒、小小的牛兒、小小的羊兒和小小的鳥兒，看看另一個王國里森林般高聳的玉米地、威猛的大馴犬、巨型貓和高塔般的男男女女。然而，當這本珍愛的書現在放在我的手里——當我一頁頁翻過去，從妙不可言的插圖中尋找迄今一直都能找到的那種魅力時，我找到的不過是怪異和凄涼。那些巨人成了憔悴的妖怪，那些矮人成了惡毒可怕的小鬼，格列佛則成了身處極其可怕險境的最孤寂的流浪者。我不敢再向下看了，就合上書，把它放在桌子上那塊嘗都沒嘗的果餡餅旁邊。

貝茜現在已經打掃和收拾好了房間，洗過手之后，打開了一只放滿燦爛奪目綢緞碎片的小抽屜，開始為喬治亞娜的洋娃娃做起了新帽子。同時，她唱了起來。她唱的歌詞是——

“很久以前，在我們去流浪的日子里。”

我以前經常聽這首歌，而且總是聽得心花怒放，因為貝茜有一副甜美的嗓子——至少，我認為是這樣。而現在，盡管她的嗓子依然甜美，但我發現其中的旋律有一種不可名狀的憂傷。有時，她一心一意地工作，疊句唱得非常低沉，余音裊裊。“很久以前”唱出來，就像挽歌里最哀傷的旋律。她又唱起了一首民謠，這次真是一首哀婉的歌曲。

“我兩腳疼痛四肢乏力；

路途遙遠，大山荒蕪；

黃昏無月，陰氣沉沉

籠罩途中可憐的孤兒。

為什么讓我獨走遠方，

荒野漫漫，灰石疊起。

人心狠毒，天使良善，

凝望可憐孤兒的足跡。

遙遠柔和的夜風在吹，

晴空無云，朗星溫和。

上帝仁慈，護佑蒼生，

希望安慰可憐的孤兒。

即便是走過斷橋墜落，

神思恍惚，迷失沼澤。

天父帶著承諾去祝福，

可憐的孤兒擁入懷抱。

無家可歸，無親無故，

信念的力量仍在心頭。

天堂是家，永遠安息，

上帝善待可憐的孤兒。”

“來吧，簡小姐，別哭。”貝茜唱完后說道。她還是對著火說“別燒！”為好，但她怎么能揣度出我受到的極度痛苦的折磨呢？這天早上，勞埃德先生又來了。

“怎么，已經起來了！”他一進保育室就說，“嗨，保姆，她怎么樣了？”

貝茜回答說我情況很好。

“那她應該高興才是。過來，簡小姐，你的名字叫簡，是不是？”

“是，先生，叫簡·愛。”

“瞧，你一直在哭，簡·愛小姐，你能告訴我為什么嗎？哪兒疼嗎？”

“不疼，先生。”

“噢！我敢說，她是因為不能跟小姐們一起坐馬車出去才哭的。”貝茜插話說。

“當然不是！她都那么大了，不會為這點兒小事生氣的。”

我也是這樣想的。她這樣冤枉我，傷了我的自尊，所以我馬上答道：“我這么大，從來沒有為這種事哭過。我不喜歡乘馬車出去。我是因為難受才哭的。”

“嘿，呸，小姐！”貝茜說。

好心的藥劑師似乎有點兒摸不著頭腦。我站在他的面前，他目不轉睛地看著我。他的眼睛又小又灰，不很明亮，但我敢說現在應該非常機靈。看上去他既嚴厲又和藹。他從容地打量著說道——

“昨天是什么讓你得病的呢？”

“她摔了一跤。”貝茜又插話說。

“摔跤！唉，又像娃娃一樣了！她這個年齡還不會走路？她一定有八九歲了吧。”

“我是被人打倒的，”我脫口而出，自尊心受到傷害，又引起了一陣疼痛，我就干脆做了說明。“但那不會使我生病。”勞埃德先生捏了一撮鼻煙吸時，我補充道。

他要把煙盒放回背心口袋時，鈴聲響起，叫仆人們去吃飯，他知道是怎么回事。“保姆，那是叫你，”他說，“你可以下去了。我來開導簡小姐，等你回來。”

貝茜寧愿留下來，但她又不得不走，因為準時吃飯是蓋茨黑德府的硬規定。

“你不是摔倒病的，那是怎么病的？”貝茜走后，勞埃德先生追問道。

“我被關在一間有鬼的屋里，直到天黑。”

我看到勞埃德先生一邊微笑，一邊皺眉。

“鬼！什么呀，你畢竟還是孩子！你怕鬼嗎？”

“我怕里德先生的鬼魂，他就是死在那個屋里，還在那兒停過靈。貝茜和其他任何人夜里能不去那兒就不去。沒有蠟燭，把我一個人關在那兒，真狠心——真狠心，我想我永遠也忘不了這件事。”

“胡說！就是這個使你難受？現在是白天，你還怕嗎？”

“不怕，但黑夜很快又要來了。另外——我不開心——為其他事兒很不開心。”

“其他什么事兒？你能告訴我些嗎？”

我是多么希望能完整地回答這個問題啊！要回答又是多么困難啊！盡管孩子們能感覺，但他們無法分析自己的感情，即使分析能夠部分在思想上得以體現，他們也不知道如何用言辭來表達這個過程產生的結果。然而，我又擔心失去這第一次和唯一一次吐露傷心事的機會。因此，不安地停頓了一會兒之后，我設法想出了一個貧乏無力卻又真實的回答。

“首先，我沒有父母，也沒有兄弟姐妹。”

“你有一位和藹可親的舅媽，還有表兄妹。”

我又停頓了一下，然后笨嘴拙舌地說道——

“可是，約翰·里德把我打倒在地，舅媽又把我關進了紅屋。”

勞埃德先生又一次掏出了鼻煙盒。

“你不覺得蓋茨黑德府是一座非常漂亮的房子嗎？”他問，“有這樣漂亮的一個地方居住，你還不感激涕零？”

“這不是我的房子，先生。阿博特說我在這兒還不如仆人。”

“呸！你不會傻到想離開這個輝煌壯麗的地方吧？”

“我要是有別的地方可去，就樂意離開。可是，我要一直等到長大成人才能離開蓋茨黑德府。”

“你也許可以——誰知道呢？除了里德太太之外，你還有什么親戚嗎？”

“我想沒有了，先生。”

“你的父親那邊也沒有嗎？”

“我不知道。有一次，我問過里德太太，她說過我可能有一些姓愛的地位低下的窮親戚，但她對他們的情況一無所知。”

“要是有這樣的親戚，你想去見他們嗎？”

我沉思起來。在成年人看來，貧困顯得冷酷，對孩子來說，更是這樣，他們對勤勞可敬的貧困沒有多少概念。他們認為，這個詞只是跟衣衫襤褸、食物匱乏、壁爐無火、舉止粗魯和低賤惡習有關。對我來說，貧困和墮落是同義詞。

“不，我不喜歡跟窮人在一起。”我回答說。

“即使他們善待你，你也不喜歡嗎？”

我搖了搖頭，不明白窮人怎么會有辦法仁慈，然后還要學會像他們那樣說話，接受他們的舉止，沒有教養，像我有時見到的那種貧苦女人一樣長大成人，坐在蓋茨黑德府的村舍門口奶孩子或洗衣服。不，我不夠勇敢，以社會地位為代價換取自由。

“可是，你的親戚很窮嗎？他們都是勞動人嗎？”

“我說不清。里德舅媽說，要是我有什么親戚的話，他們一定是一群叫花子。我不想去要飯。”

“你想上學嗎？”

我又沉思了起來。我幾乎不知道學校是什么。貝茜有時說起那個地方，小姐們帶足枷坐在那兒，戴著背板，必須文文靜靜、規規矩矩。約翰·里德恨學校，罵老師，但是，約翰·里德的體驗對我來說不足為憑。要是貝茜對校紀的說法（她來蓋茨黑德府之前是從主人家的小姐們那兒聽說的）有點兒駭人聽聞，她詳細說明的這些小姐獲得的才藝，我想也同樣引人注目。她夸耀起了她們制作的漂亮風景畫和花卉畫，夸耀起了她們能唱的歌、能彈的曲，夸耀起了她們能編織的錢包，夸耀起了她們能翻譯的法文書，一直夸耀到了我聽著動心，躍躍欲試。此外，學校將是徹底的變化，它意味著一次遠行，意味著跟蓋茨黑德府徹底分開，意味著進入一種新的生活。

“我真想上學。”沉思過后，我說出了這個結論。

“好，好！誰知道會發生什么呢？”勞埃德先生站起來說，“這個孩子應該換一下空氣，換一下環境，”他自言自語地補充說，“神經不好。”

這時，貝茜回來了，同時碎石路上傳來了滾滾的馬車聲。

“是你們的太太嗎，保姆？”勞埃德先生問道，“走之前，我想跟她說說。”

貝茜請他走進早餐室，隨后就帶他出去了。從后來發生的情況，我推測，在隨后跟里德太太的面談中，藥劑師斗膽建議應該送我上學。這個建議被欣然采納了，據阿博特說。一天夜里，我上床后，她和貝茜坐在保育室做針線活時談起了這件事。她們以為我睡著了。“恐怕太太一定高興甩掉這樣一個令人討厭、脾氣又壞的孩子，看上去她總是盯著每個人，暗地搞鬼。”我想阿博特相信我是幼年的蓋伊·福克斯。

就是那次，我從阿博特小姐跟貝茜的談話里第一次得知，我的父親是一位窮牧師，我的母親違背親友們的意愿嫁給了他，親友們都認為這場婚姻跟她不般配。外公里德對她的忤逆行為大發雷霆，跟她一刀兩斷，沒有給她一分錢。母親和父親結婚一年之后，父親擔任副牧師所在的那座大工業城市流行斑疹傷寒癥，他在探訪窮人時染上了這種病，母親受他感染，兩人不到一個月就相繼去世了。

聽了這些話，貝茜嘆了口氣說：“可憐的簡小姐也值得可憐，阿博特。”

“是的，”阿博特答道，“她要是一個可愛漂亮的孩子，有人就可能會同情她的孤獨凄涼，可這樣一個小討厭鬼實在讓人無法喜歡她。”

“的確不大討人喜歡，”貝茜表示同意，“無論怎樣，在同樣情況下，喬治亞娜小姐這樣的美人會更動人。”

“是的，我寵愛喬治亞娜小姐！”熱心的阿博特叫道，“小寶貝！——長長的鬈發，藍藍的眼睛，她還有那樣可愛的膚色，簡直就像畫的一樣！——貝茜，晚餐我能吃威爾士兔子就好了。”

“我也一樣——加烤洋蔥。來，我們下樓吧。”她們走了。