28 Further Cont. Jane Eyre Read By Stephanie Poppins

Jane Eyre is a woman with a difficult past. Her childhood was at Gateshead Hall, where she was emotionally and physically abused by her aunt and cousins. Her education was at Lowood School, where she gained few friends and role models and suffered privations and oppression. Then she arrives at Thornfield and meets the inimitable Mr Rochester...

In this episode, things get worse and worse for Jane.

Transcript

This is SDHudsonMagic Jane Eyre Chapter 28.

Further Continued Some days later to the hill I returned.

I reached it,

And it was dark.

I could not see.

I could not see.

I could not see.

I could not see.

I could not see.

I could not see.

I could not see.

I could not see.

I could not see.

I reached it,

And it remained now only to find a hollow where I could lie down and feel at least hidden if not secure.

My eye still roved along the moor edge vanishing amidst the wildest scenery when in one dim point far in among the marshes and the ridges a light sprang up.

I expected it would soon vanish but it burned on quite steadily,

Neither receding nor advancing.

Is it then a bonfire just kindled?

I questioned.

I watched to see whether it would spread,

But no,

It did not diminish,

So it did not enlarge.

It may be a candle in a house,

I conjectured.

But if so,

I could never reach it.

It was much too far away,

And were it within a yard of me,

What would it avail?

I should but knock at the door to have it shut in my face.

I sank down where I stood and hid my face against the ground.

I lay still a while,

The night wind swept over the hill and over me,

And died moaning in the distance.

The light was yet there,

Shining dim,

But constant through the rain.

I got up and tried to walk again.

I dragged my exhausted limbs slowly towards it.

Here I fell twice,

But as often I rose and rallied my faculties.

This light was my forlorn hope.

I must gain it.

Having crossed the marsh,

I saw a trace of white over the moor.

I approached it.

It was a road or track,

Leading straight up to the light,

Which now beamed from a sort of knoll amidst a clump of trees.

My star vanished as I drew near.

Some obstacle had intervened between me and it.

I put out my hand to feel the dark mass before me.

I discriminated the rough stones of a low wall.

And near it,

A gate.

It moved on its hinges as I touched it,

And on each side stood a sable bush,

Holly or yew.

Entering the gate and passing the shrubs,

The silhouette of a house rose to view.

Black,

Low and rather long,

But the guiding light shone nowhere.

All was obscurity.

Were the inmates retired to rest?

I feared it must be so.

In seeking the door,

I turned an angle and there shot out the friendly gleam again from a very small lattice window.

The aperture was so screened and narrow that curtain or shut had been deemed unnecessary,

And when I stooped down and put aside the spray of foliage shooting over it,

I could see all within.

It was a room with a sanded floor,

Clean scoured,

A dress of walnut with pewter plates arranged in rows,

Reflecting the redness and radiance of a glowing peat fire.

I could see a clock,

A white deal table and some chairs.

The candle,

Whose ray had been my beacon,

Burnt on the table and by its light an elderly woman,

Somewhat rough looking,

But scrupulously clean,

Like all about her,

Was knitting a stocking.

A strange place was this humble kitchen for such occupants.

Who were they?

A group of more interest appeared near the hearth.

Two young graceful women,

Ladies in every point,

One in a low rocking chair and the other on a lower stool.

They wore deep mourning of black crepe,

Which sombre garb singularly set off very fair necks and faces.

A large old pointer dog rested its massive head on the knee of one of them,

And in the lap of the other was motioned a black cat.

Now give over studying,

You've done enough tonight,

Said the older lady.

I wonder when St John will come home,

Said one of the girls.

Surely he'll not be long now,

It's just ten,

Said the other.

Hannah,

Will you have the goodness to look at the fire in the parlour?

The woman rose and opened a door through which I dimly saw a passage.

Soon I heard her stir a fire in an inner room before she came back.

Ah,

Said she,

It's fair troubles me to go into your room now,

It looks so lonesome with the chair empty and set back in a corner.

Then she wiped her eyes with her apron and the two girls grieved before,

It's even sadder now.

But he's in a better place,

Continued Hannah,

We shouldn't wish him here again and nobody need have a quieter death not he had.

You say he never mentioned us,

Inquired the other.

He hadn't time Ben,

He was gone in a minute,

Was your father.

He'd been a bit ailing like the day before,

But no to signify.

And when Mr.

John asked if he'd like either of you to be sent for we fair laughed at him.

He began again with a bit of heaviness in his head the next day then he went to sleep and he never wakened.

He was almost dark when your brother went into the chamber and found him.

I looked at the young women closely I thought them so similar I could not tell where the old servant saw the difference.

Both were fair,

Complexioned and slenderly made.

Both possessed faces full of distinction and intelligence.

One to be sure had hair a shade darker than the other and there was a difference in their style of wearing it.

Mary's pale brown locks were parted and braided smooth and Diana's duskier tresses covered her neck with thick curls.

The clock struck ten.

You'll be wanting your supper I'm sure observed Hannah and so will Mr.

John when he comes in.

Then she proceeded to prepare the meal.

Then the young ladies rose and seemed about to withdraw to the parlour.

Till this moment I'd been so intent on watching them their appearance and conversation had excited in me so keen an interest I had half forgotten my own wretched position.

I groped out the door and knocked at it hesitatingly.

What do you want?

She inquired in a voice of surprise as she surveyed me by the light of the candle she held.

May I speak to your mistresses?

I said.

You better tell me what you have to say to them.

Where have you come from?

I'm a stranger.

What's your business here at this hour?

I want a night's shelter and an outhouse or anywhere and a morsel of bread to eat.

Distrust the very feeling I dreaded appeared in Hannah's face.

I'll give you a piece of bread,

She said after a pause,

But we can't take in a vagrant to lodge it in lightly.

Do let me speak to your mistresses.

No,

Not I.

What can they do for you?

I'll be roving about now.

It looks very ill.

But where shall I go if you drive me away?

What shall I do?

Oh,

I'll warrant you'll know where to go and what to do.

Mind you don't do it wrong,

That's all.

Here's a penny.

Now go.

A penny cannot feed me and I have no strength to go further.

Don't shut the door.

Don't,

For God's sake.

I must.

The rain's driving in.

Tell the young ladies let me see them.

Indeed I will not.

You're not what you want to be or you wouldn't make such a noise.

Now move off.

But I must die if I'm turned away.

Not you.

I'm feared you'll have some ill plans again that'll bring you folks' houses at this time of night.

But if you've any followers housebreakers or such like anywhere near,

You can tell them we're not by ourselves in the house and we have a gentleman and dogs and guns.

Here the honest but inflexible servant clapped the door to and bolted it within.

This was the climax.

A pang of exquisite suffering.

A throw of true despair.

Renton heaved my heart.

Worn out indeed I was.

Not another step could I take.

I sank on the wet doorstep.

I groaned.

I wrung my hands.

I wept in utter anguish.

All this spectre of death.

All this last hour approaching in such horror.

Alas this isolation.

This banishment from my kind.

Not only the anchor of home but the footing of fortitude was gone.

At least for a moment.

I can but die I said.

And I believe in God.

Let me try to wait his will in silence.

These words I not only thought but uttered and thrusting back all my misery into my heart I made an effort to compel it to remain there.

Dumb and still.

All men must die.

Said a voice quite close at hand.

But all are not condemned to meet a lingering and premature doom such as yours would be if you perished here of want.

Who or what speaks?

I asked.

Terrified at the unexpected sound.

A form was near.

What formed the pitch dark night and my enfeebled vision prevented me from distinguishing.

With a long loud knock the newcomer peeled the door.

Is it you Mr.

St.

John?

Cried Hannah.

Yes,

Yes.

Open quickly.

Well,

How wet and cold you must be.

Such a wild night as it is.

Come in.

Your sisters are quite uneasy about you.

And I believe there's been bad folks about.

There's been a beggar woman.

I declare she's not gone yet.

Lay down there.

Get up for shame.

Move off I say.

Hush Hannah.

I have a word to say to the woman.

You've done your duty in excluding.

Now let me do mine in admitting her.

I was near and listened to both you and her.

I think this is a peculiar case.

I must at least examine into it.

Young woman rise and pass before me into the house.

With difficulty I obeyed him.

Presently I stood within that clean,

Bright kitchen on the very hearth.

Trembling,

Sickening and conscious of an aspect in the last degree ghastly,

Wild and weather beaten.

The two ladies,

Their brother Mr.

St.

John,

The old servant,

Were all gazing at me.

St.

John,

Who is it?

I heard one ask.

I cannot tell.

I found her at the door was the reply.

She does look white,

Said Hannah.

As white as clay or death was responded.

She will fall.

Let her sit.

Diana,

I knew her by the long curls which I saw drooping between me and the fire as she bent over me,

Broke some bread,

Dipped it in milk and put it to my lips.

Her face was near mine.

I saw there was pity in it and I felt sympathy in her hurried breathing.

Try to eat,

She said.

Yes,

Try,

Repeated Mary gently,

And Mary's hand removed my sodden bonnet and lifted my head.

I tasted what they offered me,

Feebly at first,

Eagerly soon.

Not too much at first,

Restrain her,

Said St.

John.

See if she can speak now.

Ask her her name.

I felt I could speak and I answered,

My name is Jane Elliot.

Anxious as ever to avoid discovery,

I had before resolved to assume an alias.

And where do you live?

Where are your friends?

What account can you give of yourself?

Sir,

I can give you no details tonight.

But what then,

Said he,

Do you expect me to do for you?

Nothing,

I replied.

Do you mean,

Said Diana,

We have now given you what aid you require and we may dismiss you to the moor in the rainy night?

I looked at her.

She had,

I thought,

A remarkable countenance,

Instinct both with power and goodness.

I took sudden courage.

Answering her compassionate gaze with a smile,

I said,

I will trust you.

If I were a masterless and stray dog,

I know you would not turn me from your hearth tonight.

As it is,

I really have no fear.

Do with me and for me as you like,

But excuse me for much discourse,

As my breath is short and I feel a spasm when I speak.

All three surveyed me and all three were silent.

They withdrew.

But very soon one of the ladies returned,

I could not tell which.

A kind of pleasant stupor was stealing over me as I sat by the genial fire.

In an undertone she gave some directions to Hannah and here along with the servant's aid,

I contrived to mount a staircase.

My dripping clothes were removed and soon a warm dry bed received me.

I thanked God,

Experienced amidst unutterable exhaustion a glow of grateful joy and slept.

Reviews

A little solace, at least…dear Jane.
Thank you!🙏🏼❤️