“How dare you affirm that, Jane Eyre?”

“How dare I, Mrs. Reed?  How dare I?  Because it is the truth.  You think I have no feelings, and that I can do without one bit of love or kindness; but I cannot live so:  and you have no pity.  I shall remember how you thrust me back —­ roughly and violently thrust me back —­ into the red-room, and locked me up there, to my dying day; though I was in agony; though I cried out, while suffocating with distress, ‘Have mercy!  Have mercy, Aunt Reed!’ And that punishment you made me suffer because your wicked boy struck me —­ knocked me down for nothing.  I will tell anybody who asks me questions, this exact tale.  People think you a good woman, but you are bad, hard- hearted.  You are deceitful!”

Ere I had finished this reply, my soul began to expand, to exult, with the strangest sense of freedom, of triumph, I ever felt.  It seemed as if an invisible bond had burst, and that I had struggled out into unhoped-for liberty.  Not without cause was this sentiment:  Mrs. Reed looked frightened; her work had slipped from her knee; she was lifting up her hands, rocking herself to and fro, and even twisting her face as if she would cry.

“Jane, you are under a mistake:  what is the matter with you?  Why do you tremble so violently?  Would you like to drink some water?”

“No, Mrs. Reed.”

“Is there anything else you wish for, Jane?  I assure you, I desire to be your friend.”

“Not you.  You told Mr. Brocklehurst I had a bad character, a deceitful disposition; and I’ll let everybody at Lowood know what you are, and what you have done.”

“Jane, you don’t understand these things:  children must be corrected for their faults.”

“Deceit is not my fault!” I cried out in a savage, high voice.

“But you are passionate, Jane, that you must allow:  and now return to the nursery —­ there’s a dear —­ and lie down a little.”

“I am not your dear; I cannot lie down:  send me to school soon, Mrs. Reed, for I hate to live here.”

“I will indeed send her to school soon,” murmured Mrs. Reed sotto voce; and gathering up her work, she abruptly quitted the apartment.

I was left there alone —­ winner of the field.  It was the hardest battle I had fought, and the first victory I had gained:  I stood awhile on the rug, where Mr. Brocklehurst had stood, and I enjoyed my conqueror’s solitude.  First, I smiled to myself and felt elate; but this fierce pleasure subsided in me as fast as did the accelerated throb of my pulses.  A child cannot quarrel with its elders, as I had done; cannot give its furious feelings uncontrolled play, as I had given mine, without experiencing afterwards the pang of remorse and the chill of reaction.  A ridge of lighted heath, alive, glancing, devouring, would have been a meet emblem of my mind when I accused and menaced Mrs. Reed:  the same ridge, black and blasted after the flames are dead, would have represented as meetly my subsequent condition, when half-an-hour’s silence and reflection had shown me the madness of my conduct, and the dreariness of my hated and hating position.