第27页
'You don't show it.'
'You little sharp thing! you've got quite a new way of talking.
What makes you so venturesome and hardy?'
'Why, I shall soon be away from you, and besides'- I was going to
say something about what had passed between me and Mrs. Reed, but on
second thoughts I considered it better to remain silent on that head.
'And so you're glad to leave me?'
'Not at all, Bessie; indeed, just now I'm rather sorry.'
'Just now! and rather! How coolly my little lady says it! I daresay
now if I were to ask you for a kiss you wouldn't give it me: you'd say
you'd rather not.'
'I'll kiss you and welcome: bend your head down.' Bessie stooped;
we mutually embraced, and I followed her into the house quite
comforted. That afternoon lapsed in peace and harmony; and in the
evening Bessie told me some of her most enchaining stories, and sang
me some of her sweetest songs. Even for me life had its gleams of
sunshine.
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CHAPTER V
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FIVE o'clock had hardly struck on the morning of the 19th of
January, when Bessie brought a candle into my closet and found me
already up and nearly dressed. I had risen half an hour before her
entrance, and had washed my face, and put on my clothes by the light
of a half-moon just setting, whose rays streamed through the narrow
window near my crib. I was to leave Gateshead that day by a coach
which passed the lodge gates at six A.M. Bessie was the only person
yet risen; she had lit a fire in the nursery, where she now
proceeded to make my breakfast. Few children can eat when excited with
the thoughts of a journey; nor could I. Bessie, having pressed me in
vain to take a few spoonfuls of the boiled milk and bread she had
prepared for me, wrapped up some biscuits in a paper and put them into
my bag; then she helped me on with my pelisse and bonnet, and wrapping
herself in a shawl, she and I left the nursery. As we passed Mrs.
Reed's bedroom, she said, 'Will you go in and bid Missis good-bye?'
'No, Bessie: she came to my crib last night when you were gone down
to supper, and said I need not disturb her in the morning, or my
cousins either; and she told me to remember that she had always been
my best friend, and to speak of her and be grateful to her
accordingly.'
'What did you say, Miss?'
'Nothing: I covered my face with the bedclothes, and turned from
her to the wall.'
'That was wrong, Miss Jane.'
'It was quite right, Bessie. Your Missis has not been my friend:
she has been my foe.'
'O Miss Jane! don't say so!'
'Good-bye to Gateshead!' cried I, as we passed through the hall and
went out at the front door.
The moon was set, and it was very dark; Bessie carried a lantern,
whose light glanced on wet steps and gravel road sodden by a recent