Delphi Complete Works of the Brontes Charlotte, Emily, Anne Brontë (Illustrated) Read Online Free PDF Page A

her voice was still sweet, I found in its melody an indescribable sadness.  Sometimes, preoccupied with her work, she sang the refrain very low, very lingeringly; “A long time ago” came out like the saddest cadence of a funeral hymn.  She passed into another ballad, this time a really doleful one.
    “My feet they are sore, and my limbs they are weary;
       Long is the way, and the mountains are wild;
    Soon will the twilight close moonless and dreary
       Over the path of the poor orphan child.
    Why did they send me so far and so lonely,
       Up where the moors spread and grey rocks are piled?
    Men are hard-hearted, and kind angels only
       Watch o’er the steps of a poor orphan child.
    Yet distant and soft the night breeze is blowing,
       Clouds there are none, and clear stars beam mild,
    God, in His mercy, protection is showing,
       Comfort and hope to the poor orphan child.
    Ev’n should I fall o’er the broken bridge passing,
       Or stray in the marshes, by false lights beguiled,
    Still will my Father, with promise and blessing,
       Take to His bosom the poor orphan child.
    There is a thought that for strength should avail me,
       Though both of shelter and kindred despoiled;
    Heaven is a home, and a rest will not fail me;
       God is a friend to the poor orphan child.”
    “Come, Miss Jane, don’t cry,” said Bessie as she finished.  She might as well have said to the fire, “don’t burn!” but how could she divine the morbid suffering to which I was a prey?  In the course of the morning Mr. Lloyd came again.
    “What, already up!” said he, as he entered the nursery.  “Well, nurse, how is she?”
    Bessie answered that I was doing very well.
    “Then she ought to look more cheerful.  Come here, Miss Jane: your name is Jane, is it not?”
    “Yes, sir, Jane Eyre.”
    “Well, you have been crying, Miss Jane Eyre; can you tell me what about?  Have you any pain?”
    “No, sir.”
    “Oh!  I daresay she is crying because she could not go out with Missis in the carriage,” interposed Bessie.
    “Surely not! why, she is too old for such pettishness.”
    I thought so too; and my self-esteem being wounded by the false charge, I answered promptly, “I never cried for such a thing in my life: I hate going out in the carriage.  I cry because I am miserable.”
    “Oh fie, Miss!” said Bessie.
    The good apothecary appeared a little puzzled.  I was standing before him; he fixed his eyes on me very steadily: his eyes were small and grey; not very bright, but I dare say I should think them shrewd now: he had a hard-featured yet good-natured looking face.  Having considered me at leisure, he said —
    “What made you ill yesterday?”
    “She had a fall,” said Bessie, again putting in her word.
    “Fall! why, that is like a baby again!  Can’t she manage to walk at her age?  She must be eight or nine years old.”
    “I was knocked down,” was the blunt explanation, jerked out of me by another pang of mortified pride; “but that did not make me ill,” I added; while Mr. Lloyd helped himself to a pinch of snuff.
    As he was returning the box to his waistcoat pocket, a loud bell rang for the servants’ dinner; he knew what it was.  “That’s for you, nurse,” said he; “you can go down; I’ll give Miss Jane a lecture till you come back.”
    Bessie would rather have stayed, but she was obliged to go, because punctuality at meals was rigidly enforced at Gateshead Hall.
    “The fall did not make you ill; what did, then?” pursued Mr. Lloyd when Bessie was gone.
    “I was shut up in a room where there is a ghost till after dark.”
    I saw Mr. Lloyd smile and frown at the same time.
    “Ghost!  What, you are a baby after all!  You are afraid of ghosts?”
    “Of Mr. Reed’s ghost I am: he died in that room, and was laid out there.  Neither Bessie nor any one else will go into it at night, if they can help it; and it was cruel to shut me up alone without a candle, — so cruel