rushlight; but this morning we were obliged to dispense with the

ceremony of washing; the water in the pitchers was frozen. A change

had taken place in the weather the preceding evening, and a keen

north-east wind, whistling through the crevices of our bedroom windows

all night long, had made us shiver in our beds, and turned the

contents of the ewers to ice.

   Before the long hour and a half of prayers and Bible-reading was

over, I felt ready to perish with cold. Breakfast-time came at last,

and this morning the porridge was not burnt; the quality was

eatable, the quantity small. How small my portion seemed! I wished

it had been doubled.

   In the course of the day I was enrolled a member of the fourth

class, and regular tasks and occupations were assigned me: hitherto, I

had only been a spectator of the proceedings at Lowood; I was now to

become an actor therein. At first, being little accustomed to learn by

heart, the lessons appeared to me both long and difficult; the

frequent change from task to task, too, bewildered me; and I was

glad when, about three o'clock in the afternoon, Miss Smith put into

my hands a border of muslin two yards long, together with needle,

thimble, etc., and sent me to sit in a quiet corner of the schoolroom,

with directions to hem the same. At that hour most of the others

were sewing likewise; but one class still stood round Miss Scatcherd's

chair reading, and as all was quiet, the subject of their lessons

could be heard, together with the manner in which each girl

acquitted herself, and the animadversions or commendations of Miss

Scatcherd on the performance. It was English history: among the

readers I observed my acquaintance of the verandah: at the

commencement of the lesson, her place had been at the top of the

class, but for some error of pronunciation, or some inattention to

stops, she was suddenly sent to the very bottom. Even in that

obscure position, Miss Scatcherd continued to make her an object of

constant notice; she was continually addressing to her such phrases as

the following:-

   'Burns' (such it seems was her name: the girls here were all called

by their surnames, as boys are elsewhere), 'Burns, you are standing on

the side of your shoe; turn your toes out immediately.' 'Burns, you

poke your chin most unpleasantly; draw it in.' 'Burns, I insist on

your holding your head up; I will not have you before me in that

attitude,' etc. etc.

   A chapter having been read through twice, the books were closed and

the girls examined. The lesson had comprised part of the reign of

Charles I, and there were sundry questions about tonnage and

poundage and ship-money, which most of them appeared unable to answer;

still, every little difficulty was solved instantly when it reached

Burns: her memory seemed to have retained the substance of the whole

lesson, and she was ready with answers on every point. I kept

expecting that Miss Scatcherd would praise her attention; but, instead

of that, she suddenly cried out-

   'You dirty, disagreeable girl! you have never cleaned your nails

this morning!'

   Burns made no answer: I wondered at her silence.

   'Why,' thought I, 'does she not explain that she could neither

clean her nails nor wash her face, as the water was frozen?'

   My attention was now called off by Miss Smith desiring me to hold a

skein of thread: while she was winding it, she talked to me from

time to time, asking whether I had ever been at school before, whether

I could mark, stitch, knit, etc.; till she dismissed me, I could not

pursue my observations on Miss Scatcherd's movements. When I

returned to my seat, that lady was just delivering an order of which I

did not catch the import; but Burns immediately left the class, and

going into the small inner room where the books were kept, returned in

half a minute, carrying in her hand a bundle of twigs tied together at

one end. This ominous tool she presented to Miss Scatcherd with a

respectful curtsey; then she quietly, and without being told, unloosed

her pinafore, and the teacher instantly and sharply inflicted on her

neck a dozen strokes with the bunch of twigs. Not a tear rose to

Burns's eye; and, while I paused from my sewing, because my fingers

quivered at this spectacle with a sentiment of unavailing and impotent

anger, not a feature of her pensive face altered its ordinary

expression.

   'Hardened girl!' exclaimed Miss Scatcherd; 'nothing can correct you

of your slatternly habits: carry the rod away.'

   Burns obeyed: I looked at her narrowly as she emerged from the

book-closet; she was just putting back her handkerchief into her

pocket, and the trace of a tear glistened on her thin cheek.

   The play-hour in the evening I thought the pleasantest fraction

of the day at Lowood: the bit of bread, the draught of coffee

swallowed at five o'clock had revived vitality, if it had not

satisfied hunger: the long restraint of the day was slackened; the

schoolroom felt warmer than in the morning- its fires being allowed to

burn a little more brightly, to supply, in some measure, the place

of candles, not yet introduced: the ruddy gloaming, the licensed

uproar, the confusion of many voices gave one a welcome sense of

liberty.

   On the evening of the day on which I had seen Miss Scatcherd flog

her pupil, Burns, I wandered as usual among the forms and tables and

laughing groups without a companion, yet not feeling lonely: when I

passed the windows, I now and then lifted a blind, and looked out;

it snowed fast, a drift was already forming against the lower panes;

putting my ear close to the window, I could distinguish from the

gleeful tumult within, the disconsolate moan of the wind outside.

   Probably, if I had lately left a good home and kind parents, this

would have been the hour when I should most keenly have regretted

the separation; that wind would then have saddened my heart, this

obscure chaos would have disturbed my peace! as it was, I derived from

both a strange excitement, and reckless and feverish, I wished the

wind to howl more wildly, the gloom to deepen to darkness, and the

confusion to rise to clamour.

   Jumping over forms, and creeping under tables, I made my way to one

of the fire-places; there, kneeling by the high wire fender, I found

Burns, absorbed, silent, abstracted from all round her by the

companionship of a book, which she read by the dim glare of the

embers.

   'Is it still Rasselas?' I asked, coming behind her.

   'Yes,' she said, 'and I have just finished it.'

   And in five minutes more she shut it up. I was glad of this.

   'Now,' thought I, 'I can perhaps get her to talk.' I sat down by

her on the floor.

   'What is your name besides Burns?'

   'Helen.'

   'Do you come a long way from here?'

   'I come from a place farther north, quite on the borders of

Scotland.'

   'Will you ever go back?'

   'I hope so; but nobody can be sure of the future.'

   'You must wish to leave Lowood?'

   'No! why should I? I was sent to Lowood to get an education; and it

would be of no use going away until I have attained that object.'

   'But that teacher, Miss Scatcherd, is so cruel to you?'

   'Cruel? Not at all! She is severe: she dislikes my faults.'

   'And if I were in your place I should dislike her; I should

resist her. If she struck me with that rod, I should get it from her

hand; I should break it under her nose.'

   'Probably you would do nothing of the sort: but if you did, Mr.

Brocklehurst would expel you from the school; that would be a great

grief to your relations. It is far better to endure patiently a

smart which nobody feels but yourself, than to commit a hasty action

whose evil consequences will extend to all connected with you; and

besides, the Bible bids us return good for evil.'

   'But then it seems disgraceful to be flogged, and to be sent to

stand in the middle of a room full of people; and you are such a great

girl: I am far younger than you, and I could not bear it.'

   'Yet it would be your duty to bear it, if you could not avoid it:

it is weak and silly to say you cannot bear what it is your fate to be

required to bear.'

   I heard her with wonder: I could not comprehend this doctrine of

endurance; and still less could I understand or sympathise with the

forbearance she expressed for her chastiser. Still I felt that Helen

Burns considered things by a light invisible to my eyes. I suspected

she might be right and I wrong; but I would not ponder the matter

deeply; like Felix, I put it off to a more convenient season.

   'You say you have faults, Helen: what are they? To me you seem very

good.'

   'Then learn from me, not to judge by appearances: I am, as Miss

Scatcherd said, slatternly; I seldom put, and never keep, things in

order; I am careless; I forget rules; I read when I should learn my

lessons; I have no method; and sometimes I say, like you, I cannot

bear to be subjected to systematic arrangements. This is all very

provoking to Miss Scatcherd, who is naturally neat, punctual, and

particular.'

   'And cross and cruel,' I added; but Helen Burns would not admit

my addition: she kept silence.

   'Is Miss Temple as severe to you as Miss Scatcherd?'

   At the utterance of Miss Temple's name, a soft smile flitted over

her grave face.

   'Miss Temple is full of goodness; it pains her to be severe to

any one, even the worst in the school: she sees my errors, and tells

me of them gently; and if I do anything worthy of praise, she gives me

my meed liberally. One strong proof of my wretchedly defective

nature is, that even her expostulations, so mild, so rational, have no

influence to cure me of my faults; and even her praise, though I value

it most highly, cannot stimulate me to continued care and foresight.'

   'That is curious,' said I, 'it is so easy to be careful.'

   'For you I have no doubt it is. I observed you in your class this

morning, and saw you were closely attentive: your thoughts never

seemed to wander while Miss Miller explained the lesson and questioned

you. Now, mine continually rove away; when I should be listening to

Miss Scatcherd, and collecting all she says with assiduity, often I

lose the very sound of her voice; I fall into a sort of dream.

Sometimes I think I am in Northumberland, and that the noises I hear

round me are the bubbling of a little brook which runs through

Deepden, near our house;- then, when it comes to my turn to reply, I

have to be awakened; and having heard nothing of what was read for

listening to the visionary brook, I have no answer ready.'

   'Yet how well you replied this afternoon.'

   'It was mere chance; the subject on which we had been reading had

interested me. This afternoon, instead of dreaming of Deepden, I was

wondering how a man who wished to do right could act so unjustly and

unwisely as Charles the First sometimes did; and I thought what a pity

it was that, with his integrity and conscientiousness, he could see no

farther than the prerogatives of the crown. If he had but been able to

look to a distance, and see how what they call the spirit of the age

was tending! Still, I like Charles- I respect him- I pity him, poor

murdered king! Yes, his enemies were the worst: they shed blood they

had no right to shed. How dared they kill him!'

   Helen was talking to herself now: she had forgotten I could not

very well understand her- that I was ignorant, or nearly so, of the

subject she discussed. I recalled her to my level.

   'And when Miss Temple teaches you, do your thoughts wander then?'

   'No, certainly, not often: because Miss Temple has generally

something to say which is newer than my own reflections; her

language is singularly agreeable to me, and the information she

communicates is often just what I wished to gain.'

   'Well, then, with Miss Temple you are good?'

   'Yes, in a passive way: I make no effort; I follow as inclination

guides me. There is no merit in such goodness.'

   'A great deal: you are good to those who are good to you. It is all

I ever desire to be. If people were always kind and obedient to

those who are cruel and unjust, the wicked people would have it all

their own way: they would never feel afraid, and so they would never

alter, but would grow worse and worse. When we are struck at without a

reason, we should strike back again very hard; I am sure we should- so

hard as to teach the person who struck us never to do it again.'

   'You will change your mind, I hope, when you grow older: as yet you

are but a little untaught girl.'

   'But I feel this, Helen; I must dislike those who, whatever I do to

please them, persist in disliking me; I must resist those who punish

me unjustly. It is as natural as that I should love those who show

me affection, or submit to punishment when I feel it is deserved.'

   'Heathens and savage tribes hold that doctrine, but Christians

and civilised nations disown it.'

   'How? I don't understand.'

   'It is not violence that best overcomes hate- nor vengeance that

most certainly heals injury.'

   'What then?'

   'Read the New Testament, and observe what Christ says, and how He

acts; make His word your rule, and His conduct your example.'

   'What does He say?'

   'Love your enemies; bless them that curse you; do good to them that

hate you and despitefully use you.'

   'Then I should love Mrs. Reed, which I cannot do; I should bless

her son John, which is impossible.'

   In her turn, Helen Burns asked me to explain, and I proceeded

forthwith to pour out, in my own way, the tale of my sufferings and

resentments. Bitter and truculent when excited, I spoke as I felt,

without reserve or softening.

   Helen heard me patiently to the end: I expected she would then make

a remark, but she said nothing.

   'Well,' I asked impatiently, 'is not Mrs. Reed a hard-hearted,

bad woman?'

   'She has been unkind to you, no doubt; because you see, she

dislikes your cast of character, as Miss Scatcherd does mine; but

how minutely you remember all she has done and said to you! What a

singularly deep impression her injustice seems to have made on your

heart! No ill-usage so brands its record on my feelings. Would you not

be happier if you tried to forget her severity, together with the

passionate emotions it excited? Life appears to me too short to be

spent in nursing animosity or registering wrongs. We are, and must be,

one and all, burdened with faults in this world: but the time will

soon come when, I trust, we shall put them off in putting off our

corruptible bodies; when debasement and sin will fall from us with

this cumbrous frame of flesh, and only the spark of the spirit will

remain,- the impalpable principle of light and thought, pure as when

it left the Creator to inspire the creature: whence it came it will

return; perhaps again to be communicated to some being higher than

man- perhaps to pass through gradations of glory, from the pale

human soul to brighten to the seraph! Surely it Will never, on the

contrary, be suffered to degenerate from man to fiend? No; I cannot

believe that: I hold another creed: which no one ever taught me, and

which I seldom mention; but in which I delight, and to which I

cling: for it extends hope to all: it makes Eternity a rest- a

mighty home, not a terror and an abyss. Besides, with this creed, I

can so clearly distinguish between the criminal and his crime; I can

so sincerely forgive the first while I abhor the last: with this creed

revenge never worries my heart, degradation never too deeply

disgusts me, injustice never crushes me too low: I live in calm,

looking to the end.'

   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.