第3章

The next thing I remember is, waking up with a feeling as if I had had a frightful nightmare, and seeing before me a terrible red glare, crossed with thick black bars. I heard voices, too, speaking with a hollow sound, and as if muffled by a rush of wind or water:agitation, uncertainty, and an all-predominating sense of terror confused my faculties. Ere long, I became aware that some one was handling me; lifting me up and supporting me in a sitting posture, and that more tenderly than I had ever been raised or upheld before. I rested my head against a pillow or an arm, and felt easy.

In five minutes more the cloud of bewilderment dissolved: I knew quite well that I was in my own bed, and that the red glare was the nursery fire. It was night: a candle burnt on the table; Bessie stood at the bed-foot with a basin in her hand, and a gentleman sat in a chair near my pillow, leaning over me.

I felt an inexpressible relief, a soothing conviction of protection and security, when I knew that there was a stranger in the room, an individual not belonging to Gateshead, and not related to Mrs. Reed. Turning from Bessie (though her presence was far less obnoxious to me than that of Abbot, for instance, would have been), I scrutinised the face of the gentleman: I knew him; it was Mr. Lloyd, an apothecary, sometimes called in by Mrs. Reed when the servants were ailing: for herself and the children she employed a physician.

“Well, who am I?”he asked.

I pronounced his name, offering him at the same time my hand: he took it, smiling and saying,“We shall do very well by-and-by.”Then he laid me down, and addressing Bessie,charged her to be very careful that I was not disturbed during the night. Having given some further directions, and intimates that he should call again the next day, he departed;to my grief: I felt so sheltered and befriended while he sat in the chair near my pillow;and as he closed the door after him, all the room darkened and my heart again sank:inexpressible sadness weighed it down.

“Do you feel as if you should sleep, Miss?”asked Bessie, rather softly.

Scarcely dared I answer her; for I feared the next sentence might be rough.“I will try.”

“Would you like to drink, or could you eat anything?”

“No, thank you, Bessie.”

“Then I think I shall go to bed, for it is past twelve o'clock; but you may call me if you want anything in the night.”

Wonderful civility this! It emboldened me to ask a question.

“Bessie, what is the matter with me? Am I ill?”

“You fell sick, I suppose, in the red-room with crying; you'll be better soon, no doubt.”

Bessie went into the housemaid's apartment, which was near. I heard her say-

“Sarah, come and sleep with me in the nursery; I daren't for my life be alone with that poor child to-night: she might die; it's such a strange thing she should have that fit: I wonder if she saw anything. Missis was rather too hard.”

Sarah came back with her; they both went to bed; they were whispering together for half-an-hour before they fell asleep. I caught scraps of their conversation, from which I was able only too distinctly to infer the main subject discussed.

“Something passed her, all dressed in white, and vanished”—“A great black dog behind him”—“Three loud raps on the chamber door”—“A light in the churchyard just over his grave,”etc., etc.

At last both slept: the fire and the candle went out. For me, the watches of that long night passed in ghastly wakefulness; strained by dread: such dread as children only can feel.

No severe or prolonged bodily illness followed this incident of the red-room; it only gave my nerves a shock of which I feel the reverberation to this day. Yes, Mrs. Reed, to you I owe some fearful pangs of mental suffering, but I ought to forgive you, for you knew not what you did: while rending my heart-strings, you thought you were only uprooting my bad propensities.

Next day, by noon, I was up and dressed, and sat wrapped in a shawl by the nursery hearth. I felt physically weak and broken down: but my worse ailment was an unutterable wretchedness of mind: a wretchedness which kept drawing from me silent tears; no sooner had I wiped one salt drop from my cheek than another followed. Yet, I thought, I ought to have been happy, for none of the Reeds were there, they were all gone out in the carriage with their mama. Abbot, too, was sewing in another room, and Bessie, as she moved hither and thither, putting away toys and arranging drawers, addressed to me every now and then a word of unwonted kindness. This state of things should have been to me a paradise of peace, accustomed as I was to a life of ceaseless reprimand and thankless fagging; but, in fact, my racked nerves were now in such a state that no calm could soothe, and no pleasure excite them agreeably.

Bessie had been down into the kitchen, and she brought up with her a tart on a certain brightly painted china plate, whose bird of paradise, nestling in a wreath of convolvuli and rosebuds, had been wont to stir in me a most enthusiastic sense of admiration; and which plate I had often petitioned to be allowed to take in my hand in order to examine it more closely, but had always hitherto been deemed unworthy of such a privilege. This precious vessel was now placed on my knee, and I was cordially invited to eat the circlet of delicate pastry upon it. Vain favour! coming, like most other favours long deferred and often wished for, too late! I could not eat the tart; and the plumage of the bird, the tints of the flowers, seemed strangely faded: I put both plate and tart away. Bessie asked if I would have a book: the word book acted as a transient stimulus, and I begged her to fetch Gulliver's Travels from the library. This book I had again and again perused with delight. I considered it a narrative of facts, and discovered in it a vein of interest deeper than what I found in fairy tales: for as to the elves, having sought them in vain among foxglove leaves and bells, under mushrooms and beneath the ground-ivy mantling old wall-nooks, I had at length made up my mind to the sad truth, that they were all gone out of England to some savage country where the woods were wilder and thicker, and the population more scant;whereas, Lilliput and Brobdignag being, in my creed, solid parts of the earth's surface, I doubted not that I might one day, by taking a long voyage, see with my own eyes the little fields, houses, and trees, the diminutive people, the tiny cows, sheep, and birds of the one realm; and the corn-fields forest-high, the mighty mastiffs, the monster cats, the tower-like men and women, of the other. Yet, when this cherished volume was now placed in my hand-when I turned over its leaves, and sought in its marvellous pictures the charm I had, till now, never failed to find-all was eerie and dreary; the giants were gaunt goblins, the pigmies malevolent and fearful imps, Gulliver a most desolate wanderer in most dread and dangerous regions. I closed the book, which I dared no longer peruse, and put it on the table, beside the untasted tart.

Bessie had now finished dusting and tidying the room, and having washed her hands, she opened a certain little drawer, full of splendid shreds of silk and satin, and began making a new bonnet for Georgiana's doll. Meantime she sang: her song was-

“In the days when we went gipsying, A long time ago.”

I had often heard the song before, and always with lively delight; for Bessie had a sweet voice, —at least, I thought so. But now, though 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 that I think I shall never forget it.”

“Nonsense! And is it that makes you so miserable? Are you afraid now in daylight?”

“No: but night will come again before long: and besides, —I am unhappy, —very unhappy, for other things.”

“What other things? Can you tell me some of them?”

How much I wished to reply fully to this question! How difficult it was to frame any answer! Children can feel, but they cannot analyse their feelings; and if the analysis is partially effected in thought, they know not how to express the result of the process in words. Fearful, however, of losing this first and only opportunity of relieving my grief by imparting it, I, after a disturbed pause, contrived to frame a meagre, though, as far as it went, true response.

“For one thing, I have no father or mother, brothers or sisters.”

“You have a kind aunt and cousins.”

Again I paused; then bunglingly enounced-

“But John Reed knocked me down, and my aunt shut me up in the red-room.”

Mr. Lloyd a second time produced his snuff-box.

“Don't you think Gateshead Hall a very beautiful house?”asked he.“Are you not very thankful to have such a fine place to live at?”

“It is not my house, sir; and Abbot says I have less right to be here than a servant.”

“Pooh! you can't be silly enough to wish to leave such a splendid place?”

“If I had anywhere else to go, I should be glad to leave it; but I can never get away from Gateshead till I am a woman.”

“Perhaps you may-who knows? Have you any relations besides Mrs. Reed?”

“I think not, sir.”

“None belonging to your father?”

“I don't know. I asked Aunt Reed once, and she said possibly I might have some poor, low relations called Eyre, but she knew nothing about them.”

“If you had such, would you like to go to them?”

I reflected. Poverty looks grim to grown people; still more so to children: they have not much idea of industrious, working, respectable poverty; they think of the word only as connected with ragged clothes, scanty food, fireless grates, rude manners, and debasing vices: poverty for me was synonymous with degradation.

“No; I should not like to belong to poor people,”was my reply.

“Not even if they were kind to you?”

I shook my head: I could not see how poor people had the means of being kind; and then to learn to speak like them, to adopt their manners, to be uneducated, to grow up like one of the poor women I saw sometimes nursing their children or washing their clothes at the cottage doors of the village of Gateshead: no, I was not heroic enough to purchase liberty at the price of caste.

“But are your relatives so very poor? Are they working people?”

“I cannot tell; Aunt Reed says if I have any, they must be a beggarly set: I should not like to go a begging.”

“Would you like to go to school?”

Again I reflected: I scarcely knew what school was: Bessie sometimes spoke of it as a place where young ladies sat in the stocks, wore backboards, and were expected to be exceedingly genteel and precise: John Reed hated his school, and abused his master; but John Reed's tastes were no rule for mine, and if Bessie's accounts of school-discipline (gathered from the young ladies of a family where she had lived before coming to Gateshead) were somewhat appalling, her details of certain accomplishments attained by these same young ladies were, I thought, equally attractive. She boasted of beautiful paintings of landscapes and flowers by them executed; of songs they could sing and pieces they could play, of purses they could net, of French books they could translate; till my spirit was moved to emulation as I listened. Besides, school would be a complete change:it implied a long journey, an entire separation from Gateshead, an entrance into a new life.“I should indeed like to go to school,”was the audible conclusion of my musings.

“Well, well! who knows what may happen?”said Mr. Lloyd, as he got up.“The child ought to have change of air and scene,”he added, speaking to himself;“nerves not in a good state.”

Bessie now returned; at the same moment the carriage was heard rolling up the gravel-walk.

“Is that your mistress, nurse?”asked Mr. Lloyd.“I should like to speak to her before I go.”

Bessie invited him to walk into the breakfast-room, and led the way out. In the interview which followed between him and Mrs. Reed, I presume, from after-occurrences, that the apothecary ventured to recommend my being sent to school; and the recommendation was no doubt readily enough adopted; for as Abbot said, in discussing the subject with Bessie when both sat sewing in the nursery one night, after I was in bed, and, as they thought, asleep,“Missis was, she dared say, glad enough to get rid of such a tiresome, ill-conditioned child, who always looked as if she were watching everybody, and scheming plots underhand.”Abbot, I think, gave me credit for being a sort of infantine Guy Fawkes.

On that same occasion I learned, for the first time, from Miss Abbot's communications to Bessie, that my father had been a poor clergyman; that my mother had married him against the wishes of her friends, who considered the match beneath her; that my grandfather Reed was so irritated at her disobedience, he cut her off without a shilling;that after my mother and father had been married a year, the latter caught the typhus fever while visiting among the poor of a large manufacturing town where his curacy was situated, and where that disease was then prevalent: that my mother took the infection from him, and both died within a month of each other.

Bessie, when she heard this narrative, sighed and said,“Poor Miss Jane is to be pitied, too, Abbot.”

“Yes,”responded Abbot;“if she were a nice, pretty child, one might compassionate her forlornness; but one really cannot care for such a little toad as that.”

“Not a great deal, to be sure,”agreed Bessie:“at any rate, a beauty like Miss Georgiana would be more moving in the same condition.”

“Yes, I doat on Miss Georgiana!”cried the fervent Abbot.“Little darling! —with her long curls and her blue eyes, and such a sweet colour as she has; just as if she were painted! —Bessie, I could fancy a Welsh rabbit for supper.”

“So could I—with a roast onion. Come, we'll go down.”They went.

接下来我还记得，我感觉自己好像刚从一场可怕的噩梦中醒来，只见眼前一片可怕耀眼的红光，红光中划过一道道粗黑杠。我还听到有人说话，声音空洞，好像被一阵疾风或水流盖住一般。激动不安和压倒一切的恐惧感使我神思恍惚。不久，我意识到有人在触摸我，把我扶起，让我靠坐在那儿。我以前从来没有被这样温柔地抱起过，我把头靠在一个枕头上或一条胳膊上，感到非常舒服。

五分钟过后，疑云渐渐消失了。我完全知道我是在自己的床上，那道红光是保育室的炉火。时间是夜里，桌子上燃烧着蜡烛，贝茜手里端着脸盆站在床脚边，一位老先生坐在我枕边的椅子上，倾身看着我。

我知道屋里有一个陌生人——一个不属于盖茨黑德府、跟里德太太没有关系的人，我深信他会保护我，安全有了保障，感到有说不出的安慰。我转过脸不再看贝茜（不过，在我看来，她在场绝对没有阿博特讨厌），仔细打量那位先生的脸。我认出了他，是药剂师劳埃德先生，仆人们生病时，里德太太有时请他过来。她自己和孩子们生病，她就请医生。

“喂，我是谁？”他问。

我说出了他的名字，同时向他伸出一只手。他握住我的手，微笑着说道：“我们很快就会好的。”说完，他扶我躺下来，随后又对贝茜说话，告诫她多加小心，夜间不要打扰我。他又吩咐了几句，并明确表示他明天再来，然后才离开。让我难过的是，他坐在我枕边的椅子上时，我感到自己是那样受到呵护和友待；他在身后关上门时，整个房间都暗淡下来，我的心又沉了下去，心里沉甸甸的，有一种难以言传的悲伤。

“你觉得你应该睡觉了吗，小姐？”贝茜口气相当温柔地问道。

我几乎不敢回答她，因为我害怕下句话说不定会粗鲁。“我试试看。”

“你想喝什么或能吃什么吗？”

“不，谢谢你，贝茜。”

“那我想我去睡了，因为都过了十二点了。不过，你要是夜里需要什么，可以叫我。”

这是多么彬彬有礼！这使我大胆问了一个问题。

“贝茜，我怎么了？我病了吗？”

“你病倒了，我想是在红屋里哭病的。你肯定很快就会好转。”

贝茜走进了附近女仆的房间。我听到她说道——

“莎拉，过来跟我一起睡在保育室吧。今天晚上，我不敢跟那个可怜的孩子单独在一起了，她说不定会死。真奇怪，她居然会那样发作。我不知道她是不是看到了什么东西。里德太太有点儿太狠了。”

莎拉跟她一起回来了。她们俩都上了床，嘀嘀咕咕说了半个小时，才进入梦乡。尽管我只听到了她们的片言只语，但我能够非常清晰地推断出她们讨论的主题。

“有个东西经过了她的身边，浑身白衣服，转眼就消失了”——“他后面有一只大黑狗”——“在房门上咚咚咚敲了三声”——“教堂墓地里的一道光正好掠过他的坟墓”云云。

最后，两人都睡着了，炉火和蜡烛也都熄灭了。对我来说，漫漫长夜就这样在恐惧和清醒中过去了，我害怕得浑身绷紧，这种恐惧只有小孩子才能感受到。

红屋事件没有给我在身体上留下严重或慢性疾病，它只是让我的神经受到了惊吓，我对此到今天都记忆犹新。是的，里德太太，尽管你让我受到了某种可怕的精神折磨，但我应该原谅你，因为你不知道自己做了什么，你是在割断我的心弦，但你却以为你只是要根除我的恶习。

第二天中午时分，我起来，穿上衣服，裹了一块披巾，坐在保育室的壁炉边。我感到身体有气无力，神经衰弱，但我更糟糕的毛病是内心难以言说的苦恼，这种苦恼使我不断默默流泪。我刚抹去脸颊上的一滴咸咸的泪水，另一滴就跟着落下。然而，我想我本来应该高兴，因为里德一家人都不在，他们都坐马车跟他们的妈妈出去了。阿博特也在另一个房间里做针线活。贝茜来回走动，一边收拾玩具，整理抽屉，一边不时地跟我说一句少有的贴心话。对我来说，我习惯了那种不断挨训、出力不讨好的日子，这种情况应该是平静的天堂。而事实上，我备受折磨的神经现在处于这种状况，任何平静都无法抚慰，任何快乐都无法使它们惬意兴奋。

贝茜下楼去厨房，端上来一块果馅饼。果馅饼放在一只图案鲜艳的瓷盘上，图案上是一只天堂鸟，偎依在一圈旋花植物和玫瑰花蕾上面。这幅画曾经常常激起我内心极其狂热的羡慕之情；我经常恳求让我端一下这只盘子，以便更加仔细地端详，但至今总是被认为不配享有这种特权。现在，这只珍贵的器皿就放在我的膝上。我还受到热诚邀请来吃器皿上的一小圈精美的油酥点心。徒有虚名的青睐！就像其他大多数长久拖延而又常常期盼的青睐一样，来得太晚了！我吃不了这果馅饼；而且那只鸟的羽毛、花卉的色泽，好像莫名其妙地失去了光泽。我把盘子和果馅饼放到一边。贝茜问我是否想要一本书。“书”这个字产生了短暂的刺激。于是，我恳求她从图书室取来了《格列佛游记》。我曾经开心地反复精读过这本书，发现这比童话里写得有趣深刻。至于那些小精灵，我在毛地黄叶和花冠之间，在蘑菇下面和爬满老墙角落的常春藤下面没有找到之后，终于认定了这个难过的事实，就是他们都离开英国到某个原始的乡下去了，那儿树林更加蓬乱和茂密，人口更加稀少。而在我的信条里，小人国和大人国都是地球表面可靠的一部分。我不怀疑将来有一天我会去远航，亲眼看看一个王国里小小的田野、小小的房子、小小的树木，看看那儿的小小的人儿、小小的牛儿、小小的羊儿和小小的鸟儿，看看另一个王国里森林般高耸的玉米地、威猛的大驯犬、巨型猫和高塔般的男男女女。然而，当这本珍爱的书现在放在我的手里——当我一页页翻过去，从妙不可言的插图中寻找迄今一直都能找到的那种魅力时，我找到的不过是怪异和凄凉。那些巨人成了憔悴的妖怪，那些矮人成了恶毒可怕的小鬼，格列佛则成了身处极其可怕险境的最孤寂的流浪者。我不敢再向下看了，就合上书，把它放在桌子上那块尝都没尝的果馅饼旁边。

贝茜现在已经打扫和收拾好了房间，洗过手之后，打开了一只放满灿烂夺目绸缎碎片的小抽屉，开始为乔治亚娜的洋娃娃做起了新帽子。同时，她唱了起来。她唱的歌词是——

“很久以前，在我们去流浪的日子里。”

我以前经常听这首歌，而且总是听得心花怒放，因为贝茜有一副甜美的嗓子——至少，我认为是这样。而现在，尽管她的嗓子依然甜美，但我发现其中的旋律有一种不可名状的忧伤。有时，她一心一意地工作，叠句唱得非常低沉，余音袅袅。“很久以前”唱出来，就像挽歌里最哀伤的旋律。她又唱起了一首民谣，这次真是一首哀婉的歌曲。

“我两脚疼痛四肢乏力；

路途遥远，大山荒芜；

黄昏无月，阴气沉沉

笼罩途中可怜的孤儿。

为什么让我独走远方，

荒野漫漫，灰石叠起。

人心狠毒，天使良善，

凝望可怜孤儿的足迹。

遥远柔和的夜风在吹，

晴空无云，朗星温和。

上帝仁慈，护佑苍生，

希望安慰可怜的孤儿。

即便是走过断桥坠落，

神思恍惚，迷失沼泽。

天父带着承诺去祝福，

可怜的孤儿拥入怀抱。

无家可归，无亲无故，

信念的力量仍在心头。

天堂是家，永远安息，

上帝善待可怜的孤儿。”

“来吧，简小姐，别哭。”贝茜唱完后说道。她还是对着火说“别烧！”为好，但她怎么能揣度出我受到的极度痛苦的折磨呢？这天早上，劳埃德先生又来了。

“怎么，已经起来了！”他一进保育室就说，“嗨，保姆，她怎么样了？”

贝茜回答说我情况很好。

“那她应该高兴才是。过来，简小姐，你的名字叫简，是不是？”

“是，先生，叫简·爱。”

“瞧，你一直在哭，简·爱小姐，你能告诉我为什么吗？哪儿疼吗？”

“不疼，先生。”

“噢！我敢说，她是因为不能跟小姐们一起坐马车出去才哭的。”贝茜插话说。

“当然不是！她都那么大了，不会为这点儿小事生气的。”

我也是这样想的。她这样冤枉我，伤了我的自尊，所以我马上答道：“我这么大，从来没有为这种事哭过。我不喜欢乘马车出去。我是因为难受才哭的。”

“嘿，呸，小姐！”贝茜说。

好心的药剂师似乎有点儿摸不着头脑。我站在他的面前，他目不转睛地看着我。他的眼睛又小又灰，不很明亮，但我敢说现在应该非常机灵。看上去他既严厉又和蔼。他从容地打量着说道——

“昨天是什么让你得病的呢？”

“她摔了一跤。”贝茜又插话说。

“摔跤！唉，又像娃娃一样了！她这个年龄还不会走路？她一定有八九岁了吧。”

“我是被人打倒的，”我脱口而出，自尊心受到伤害，又引起了一阵疼痛，我就干脆做了说明。“但那不会使我生病。”劳埃德先生捏了一撮鼻烟吸时，我补充道。

他要把烟盒放回背心口袋时，铃声响起，叫仆人们去吃饭，他知道是怎么回事。“保姆，那是叫你，”他说，“你可以下去了。我来开导简小姐，等你回来。”

贝茜宁愿留下来，但她又不得不走，因为准时吃饭是盖茨黑德府的硬规定。

“你不是摔倒病的，那是怎么病的？”贝茜走后，劳埃德先生追问道。

“我被关在一间有鬼的屋里，直到天黑。”

我看到劳埃德先生一边微笑，一边皱眉。

“鬼！什么呀，你毕竟还是孩子！你怕鬼吗？”

“我怕里德先生的鬼魂，他就是死在那个屋里，还在那儿停过灵。贝茜和其他任何人夜里能不去那儿就不去。没有蜡烛，把我一个人关在那儿，真狠心——真狠心，我想我永远也忘不了这件事。”

“胡说！就是这个使你难受？现在是白天，你还怕吗？”

“不怕，但黑夜很快又要来了。另外——我不开心——为其他事儿很不开心。”

“其他什么事儿？你能告诉我些吗？”

我是多么希望能完整地回答这个问题啊！要回答又是多么困难啊！尽管孩子们能感觉，但他们无法分析自己的感情，即使分析能够部分在思想上得以体现，他们也不知道如何用言辞来表达这个过程产生的结果。然而，我又担心失去这第一次和唯一一次吐露伤心事的机会。因此，不安地停顿了一会儿之后，我设法想出了一个贫乏无力却又真实的回答。

“首先，我没有父母，也没有兄弟姐妹。”

“你有一位和蔼可亲的舅妈，还有表兄妹。”

我又停顿了一下，然后笨嘴拙舌地说道——

“可是，约翰·里德把我打倒在地，舅妈又把我关进了红屋。”

劳埃德先生又一次掏出了鼻烟盒。

“你不觉得盖茨黑德府是一座非常漂亮的房子吗？”他问，“有这样漂亮的一个地方居住，你还不感激涕零？”

“这不是我的房子，先生。阿博特说我在这儿还不如仆人。”

“呸！你不会傻到想离开这个辉煌壮丽的地方吧？”

“我要是有别的地方可去，就乐意离开。可是，我要一直等到长大成人才能离开盖茨黑德府。”

“你也许可以——谁知道呢？除了里德太太之外，你还有什么亲戚吗？”

“我想没有了，先生。”

“你的父亲那边也没有吗？”

“我不知道。有一次，我问过里德太太，她说过我可能有一些姓爱的地位低下的穷亲戚，但她对他们的情况一无所知。”

“要是有这样的亲戚，你想去见他们吗？”

我沉思起来。在成年人看来，贫困显得冷酷，对孩子来说，更是这样，他们对勤劳可敬的贫困没有多少概念。他们认为，这个词只是跟衣衫褴褛、食物匮乏、壁炉无火、举止粗鲁和低贱恶习有关。对我来说，贫困和堕落是同义词。

“不，我不喜欢跟穷人在一起。”我回答说。

“即使他们善待你，你也不喜欢吗？”

我摇了摇头，不明白穷人怎么会有办法仁慈，然后还要学会像他们那样说话，接受他们的举止，没有教养，像我有时见到的那种贫苦女人一样长大成人，坐在盖茨黑德府的村舍门口奶孩子或洗衣服。不，我不够勇敢，以社会地位为代价换取自由。

“可是，你的亲戚很穷吗？他们都是劳动人吗？”

“我说不清。里德舅妈说，要是我有什么亲戚的话，他们一定是一群叫花子。我不想去要饭。”

“你想上学吗？”

我又沉思了起来。我几乎不知道学校是什么。贝茜有时说起那个地方，小姐们带足枷坐在那儿，戴着背板，必须文文静静、规规矩矩。约翰·里德恨学校，骂老师，但是，约翰·里德的体验对我来说不足为凭。要是贝茜对校纪的说法（她来盖茨黑德府之前是从主人家的小姐们那儿听说的）有点儿骇人听闻，她详细说明的这些小姐获得的才艺，我想也同样引人注目。她夸耀起了她们制作的漂亮风景画和花卉画，夸耀起了她们能唱的歌、能弹的曲，夸耀起了她们能编织的钱包，夸耀起了她们能翻译的法文书，一直夸耀到了我听着动心，跃跃欲试。此外，学校将是彻底的变化，它意味着一次远行，意味着跟盖茨黑德府彻底分开，意味着进入一种新的生活。

“我真想上学。”沉思过后，我说出了这个结论。

“好，好！谁知道会发生什么呢？”劳埃德先生站起来说，“这个孩子应该换一下空气，换一下环境，”他自言自语地补充说，“神经不好。”

这时，贝茜回来了，同时碎石路上传来了滚滚的马车声。

“是你们的太太吗，保姆？”劳埃德先生问道，“走之前，我想跟她说说。”

贝茜请他走进早餐室，随后就带他出去了。从后来发生的情况，我推测，在随后跟里德太太的面谈中，药剂师斗胆建议应该送我上学。这个建议被欣然采纳了，据阿博特说。一天夜里，我上床后，她和贝茜坐在保育室做针线活时谈起了这件事。她们以为我睡着了。“恐怕太太一定高兴甩掉这样一个令人讨厌、脾气又坏的孩子，看上去她总是盯着每个人，暗地搞鬼。”我想阿博特相信我是幼年的盖伊·福克斯。

就是那次，我从阿博特小姐跟贝茜的谈话里第一次得知，我的父亲是一位穷牧师，我的母亲违背亲友们的意愿嫁给了他，亲友们都认为这场婚姻跟她不般配。外公里德对她的忤逆行为大发雷霆，跟她一刀两断，没有给她一分钱。母亲和父亲结婚一年之后，父亲担任副牧师所在的那座大工业城市流行斑疹伤寒症，他在探访穷人时染上了这种病，母亲受他感染，两人不到一个月就相继去世了。

听了这些话，贝茜叹了口气说：“可怜的简小姐也值得可怜，阿博特。”

“是的，”阿博特答道，“她要是一个可爱漂亮的孩子，有人就可能会同情她的孤独凄凉，可这样一个小讨厌鬼实在让人无法喜欢她。”

“的确不大讨人喜欢，”贝茜表示同意，“无论怎样，在同样情况下，乔治亚娜小姐这样的美人会更动人。”

“是的，我宠爱乔治亚娜小姐！”热心的阿博特叫道，“小宝贝！——长长的鬈发，蓝蓝的眼睛，她还有那样可爱的肤色，简直就像画的一样！——贝茜，晚餐我能吃威尔士兔子就好了。”

“我也一样——加烤洋葱。来，我们下楼吧。”她们走了。