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This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 567 pages of information about Jane Eyre.

Reader, though I look comfortably accommodated, I am not very tranquil in my mind.  I thought when the coach stopped here there would be some one to meet me; I looked anxiously round as I descended the wooden steps the “boots” placed for my convenience, expecting to hear my name pronounced, and to see some description of carriage waiting to convey me to Thornfield.  Nothing of the sort was visible; and when I asked a waiter if any one had been to inquire after a Miss Eyre, I was answered in the negative:  so I had no resource but to request to be shown into a private room:  and here I am waiting, while all sorts of doubts and fears are troubling my thoughts.

It is a very strange sensation to inexperienced youth to feel itself quite alone in the world, cut adrift from every connection, uncertain whether the port to which it is bound can be reached, and prevented by many impediments from returning to that it has quitted.  The charm of adventure sweetens that sensation, the glow of pride warms it; but then the throb of fear disturbs it; and fear with me became predominant when half-an-hour elapsed and still I was alone.  I bethought myself to ring the bell.

“Is there a place in this neighbourhood called Thornfield?” I asked of the waiter who answered the summons.

“Thornfield?  I don’t know, ma’am; I’ll inquire at the bar.”  He vanished, but reappeared instantly —

“Is your name Eyre, Miss?”

“Yes.”

“Person here waiting for you.”

I jumped up, took my muff and umbrella, and hastened into the inn-passage:  a man was standing by the open door, and in the lamp-lit street I dimly saw a one-horse conveyance.

“This will be your luggage, I suppose?” said the man rather abruptly when he saw me, pointing to my trunk in the passage.

“Yes.”  He hoisted it on to the vehicle, which was a sort of car, and then I got in; before he shut me up, I asked him how far it was to Thornfield.

“A matter of six miles.”

“How long shall we be before we get there?”

“Happen an hour and a half.”

He fastened the car door, climbed to his own seat outside, and we set off.  Our progress was leisurely, and gave me ample time to reflect; I was content to be at length so near the end of my journey; and as I leaned back in the comfortable though not elegant conveyance, I meditated much at my ease.

“I suppose,” thought I, “judging from the plainness of the servant and carriage, Mrs. Fairfax is not a very dashing person:  so much the better; I never lived amongst fine people but once, and I was very miserable with them.  I wonder if she lives alone except this little girl; if so, and if she is in any degree amiable, I shall surely be able to get on with her; I will do my best; it is a pity that doing one’s best does not always answer.  At Lowood, indeed, I took that resolution, kept it, and succeeded in pleasing; but with Mrs. Reed, I remember my best was always spurned with scorn.  I pray God Mrs. Fairfax may not turn out a second Mrs. Reed; but if she does, I am not bound to stay with her! let the worst come to the worst, I can advertise again.  How far are we on our road now, I wonder?”

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