Helen's head, always drooping, sank a little lower as she finished
this sentence. I saw by her look she wished no longer to talk to
me, but rather to converse with her own thoughts. She was not
allowed much time for meditation: a monitor, a great rough girl,
presently came up, exclaiming in a strong Cumberland accent "Helen Burns, if you don't go and put your drawer in order, and fold
up your work this minute, I'll tell Miss Scatcherd to come and look
at it!"
Helen sighed as her reverie fled, and getting up, obeyed the monitor
without reply as without delay.