There was I, then, mounted aloft; I, who had said
I could not bear the shame of standing on my natural
feet in the middle of the room, was now exposed to
general view on a pedestal of infamy. What my
sensations were no language can describe; but just
as they all rose, stifling my breath and constricting
my throat, a girl came up and passed me: in
passing, she lifted her eyes. What a strange
light inspired them! What an extraordinary sensation
that ray sent through me! How the new feeling
bore me up! It was as if a martyr, a hero, had
passed a slave or victim, and imparted strength in
the transit. I mastered the rising hysteria,
lifted up my head, and took a firm stand on the stool.
Helen Burns asked some slight question about her
work of Miss Smith, was chidden for the triviality
of the inquiry, returned to her place, and smiled at
me as she again went by. What a smile!
I remember it now, and I know that it was the effluence
of fine intellect, of true courage; it lit up her
marked lineaments, her thin face, her sunken grey eye,
like a reflection from the aspect of an angel.
Yet at that moment Helen Burns wore on her arm “the
untidy badge;” scarcely an hour ago I had heard
her condemned by Miss Scatcherd to a dinner of bread
and water on the morrow because she had blotted an
exercise in copying it out. Such is the imperfect
nature of man! such spots are there on the disc of
the clearest planet; and eyes like Miss Scatcherd’s
can only see those minute defects, and are blind to
the full brightness of the orb.
CHAPTER VIII
Ere the half-hour ended, five o’clock struck;
school was dismissed, and all were gone into the refectory
to tea. I now ventured to descend: it
was deep dusk; I retired into a corner and sat down
on the floor. The spell by which I had been
so far supported began to dissolve; reaction took
place, and soon, so overwhelming was the grief that
seized me, I sank prostrate with my face to the ground.
Now I wept: Helen Burns was not here; nothing
sustained me; left to myself I abandoned myself, and
my tears watered the boards. I had meant to
be so good, and to do so much at Lowood: to make
so many friends, to earn respect and win affection.
Already I had made visible progress: that very
morning I had reached the head of my class; Miss Miller
had praised me warmly; Miss Temple had smiled approbation;
she had promised to teach me drawing, and to let me
learn French, if I continued to make similar improvement
two months longer: and then I was well received
by my fellow-pupils; treated as an equal by those
of my own age, and not molested by any; now, here
I lay again crushed and trodden on; and could I ever
rise more?
“Never,” I thought; and ardently I wished
to die. While sobbing out this wish in broken
accents, some one approached: I started up —
again Helen Burns was near me; the fading fires just
showed her coming up the long, vacant room; she brought
my coffee and bread.
