第87页
'Do you know Mr. Rochester?'
'No, I have never seen him.'
'He is not resident, then?'
'No.'
'Can you tell me where he is?'
'I cannot.'
'You are not a servant at the hall, of course. You are-' He
stopped, ran his eye over my dress, which, as usual, was quite simple:
a black merino cloak, a black beaver bonnet; neither of them half fine
enough for a lady's-maid. He seemed puzzled to decide what I was; I
helped him.
'I am the governess.'
'Ah, the governess!' he repeated; 'deuce take me, if I had not
forgotten! The governess!' and again my raiment underwent scrutiny. In
two minutes he rose from the stile: his face expressed pain when he
tried to move.
'I cannot commission you to fetch help,' he said; 'but you may help
me a little yourself, if you will be so kind.'
'Yes, sir.'
'You have not an umbrella that I can use as a stick?'
'No.'
'Try to get hold of my horse's bridle and lead him to me: you are
not afraid?'
I should have been afraid to touch a horse when alone, but when
told to do it, I was disposed to obey. I put down my muff on the
stile, and went up to the tall steed; I endeavoured to catch the
bridle, but it was a spirited thing, and would not let me come near
its head; I made effort on effort, though in vain: meantime, I was
mortally afraid of its trampling forefeet. The traveller waited and
watched for some time, and at last he laughed.
'I see,' he said, 'the mountain will never be brought to Mahomet,
so all you can do is to aid Mahomet to go to the mountain; I must
beg of you to come here.'
I came. 'Excuse me,' he continued: 'necessity compels me to make
you useful.' He laid a heavy hand on my shoulder, and leaning on me
with some stress, limped to his horse. Having once caught the
bridle, he mastered it directly and sprang to his saddle; grimacing
grimly as he made the effort, for it wrenched his sprain.
'Now,' said he, releasing his under lip from a hard bite, 'just
hand me my whip; it lies there under the hedge.'
I sought it and found it.
'Thank you; now make haste with the letter to Hay, and return as
fast as you can.'
A touch of a spurred heel made his horse first start and rear,
and then bound away; the dog rushed in his traces; all three vanished,
'Like heath that, in the wilderness,
The wild wind whirls away.'
I took up my muff and walked on. The incident had occurred and
was gone for me: it was an incident of no moment, no romance, no
interest in a sense; yet it marked with change one single hour of a
monotonous life. My help had been needed and claimed; I had given
it: I was pleased to have done something; trivial, transitory though
the deed was, it was yet an active thing, and I was weary of an
existence all passive. The new face, too, was like a new picture
introduced to the gallery of memory; and it was dissimilar to all