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Eyre came to Gateshead and wanted to see you; Missis said you were
at school fifty miles off; he seemed so much disappointed, for he
could not stay: he was going on a voyage to a foreign country, and the
ship was to sail from London in a day or two. He looked quite a
gentleman, and I believe he was your father's brother.'
'What foreign country was he going to, Bessie?'
'An island thousands of miles off, where they make wine- the butler
did tell me-'
'Madeira?' I suggested.
'Yes, that is it- that is the very word.'
'So he went?'
'Yes; he did not stay many minutes in the house: Missis was very
high with him; she called him afterwards a "sneaking tradesman." My
Robert believes he was a wine-merchant.'
'Very likely,' I returned; 'or perhaps clerk or agent to a
wine-merchant.'
Bessie and I conversed about old times an hour longer, and then she
was obliged to leave me: I saw her again for a few minutes the next
morning at Lowton, while I was waiting for the coach. We parted
finally at the door of the Brocklehurst Arms there, each went her
separate way; she set off for the brow of Lowood Fell to meet the
conveyance which was to take her back to Gateshead, I mounted the
vehicle which was to bear me to new duties and a new life in the
unknown environs of Millcote.
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CHAPTER XI
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A NEW chapter in a novel is something like a new scene in a play;
and when I draw up the curtain this time, reader, you must fancy you
see a room in the George Inn at Millcote, with such large figured
papering on the walls as inn rooms have; such a carpet, such
furniture, such ornaments on the mantel-piece, such prints,
including a portrait of George the Third, and another of the Prince of
Wales, and a representation of the death of Wolfe. All this is visible
to you by the light of an oil lamp hanging from the ceiling, and by
that of an excellent fire, near which I sit in my cloak and bonnet; my
muff and umbrella lie on the table, and I am warming away the numbness
and chill contracted by sixteen hours' exposure to the rawness of an
October day: I left Lowton at four o'clock A.M., and the Millcote town
clock is now just striking eight.
Reader, though I look comfortably accommodated, I am not very
tranquil in my mind. I thought when the coach stopped here there would
be some one to meet me; I looked anxiously round as I descended the
wooden steps the 'boots' placed for my convenience, expecting to
hear my name pronounced, and to see some description of carriage
waiting to convey me to Thornfield. Nothing of the sort was visible;
and when I asked a waiter if any one had been to inquire after a
Miss Eyre, I was answered in the negative: so I had no resource but to
request to be shown into a private room: and here I am waiting,