Jane Eyre - Page 103/412

"You live just below--do you mean at that house with the

battlements?" pointing to Thornfield Hall, on which the moon cast a

hoary gleam, bringing it out distinct and pale from the woods that,

by contrast with the western sky, now seemed one mass of shadow.

"Yes, sir."

"Whose house is it?"

"Mr. Rochester's."

"Do you know Mr. Rochester?"

"No, I have never seen him."

"He is not resident, then?"

"No."

"Can you tell me where he is?"

"I cannot."

"You are not a servant at the hall, of course. You are--" He

stopped, ran his eye over my dress, which, as usual, was quite

simple: a black merino cloak, a black beaver bonnet; neither of

them half fine enough for a lady's-maid. He seemed puzzled to

decide what I was; I helped him.

"I am the governess."

"Ah, the governess!" he repeated; "deuce take me, if I had not

forgotten! The governess!" and again my raiment underwent scrutiny.

In two minutes he rose from the stile: his face expressed pain when

he tried to move.

"I cannot commission you to fetch help," he said; "but you may help

me a little yourself, if you will be so kind."

"Yes, sir."

"You have not an umbrella that I can use as a stick?"

"No."

"Try to get hold of my horse's bridle and lead him to me: you are

not afraid?"

I should have been afraid to touch a horse when alone, but when told

to do it, I was disposed to obey. I put down my muff on the stile,

and went up to the tall steed; I endeavoured to catch the bridle,

but it was a spirited thing, and would not let me come near its

head; I made effort on effort, though in vain: meantime, I was

mortally afraid of its trampling fore-feet. The traveller waited

and watched for some time, and at last he laughed.

"I see," he said, "the mountain will never be brought to Mahomet, so

all you can do is to aid Mahomet to go to the mountain; I must beg

of you to come here."

I came. "Excuse me," he continued: "necessity compels me to make

you useful." He laid a heavy hand on my shoulder, and leaning on me

with some stress, limped to his horse. Having once caught the

bridle, he mastered it directly and sprang to his saddle; grimacing

grimly as he made the effort, for it wrenched his sprain.