子浪小说

第5部分（第1页）

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　e　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。”

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