I resisted all the way: a new thing for me, and a circumstance which greatly strengthened the bad opinion Bessie and Miss Abbot were disposed to entertain of me. The fact is, I was a trifle beside myself; or rather out of myself, as the French would say: I was conscious that a moment's mutiny had already rendered me liable to strange penalties, and, like any other rebel slave, I felt resolved, in my desperation, to go all lengths.
“Hold her arms, Miss Abbot: she's like a mad cat.”
“For shame! for shame!”cried the lady's-maid.“What shocking conduct, Miss Eyre, to strike a young gentleman, your benefactress's son! Your young master.”
“Master! How is he my master? Am I a servant?”
“No; you are less than a servant, for you do nothing for your keep. There, sit down, and think over your wickedness.”
They had got me by this time into the apartment indicated by Mrs. Reed, and had thrust me upon a stool: my impulse was to rise from it like a spring; their two pair of hands arrested me instantly.
“If you don't sit still, you must be tied down,”said Bessie.“Miss Abbot, lend me your garters; she would break mine directly.”
Miss Abbot turned to divest a stout leg of the necessary ligature. This preparation for bonds, and the additional ignominy it inferred, took a little of the excitement out of me.
“Don't take them off,”I cried;“I will not stir.”
In guarantee whereof, I attached myself to my seat by my hands.
“Mind you don't,”said Bessie; and when she had ascertained that I was really subsiding, she loosened her hold of me; then she and Miss Abbot stood with folded arms, looking darkly and doubtfully on my face, as incredulous of my sanity.
“She never did so before,”at last said Bessie, turning to the Abigail.
“But it was always in her,”was the reply.“I've told Missis often my opinion about the child, and Missis agreed with me. She's an underhand little thing: I never saw a girl of her age with so much cover.”
Bessie answered not; but ere long, addressing me, she said—“You ought to be aware, Miss, that you are under obligations to Mrs. Reed: she keeps you: if she were to turn you off, you would have to go to the poorhouse.”
I had nothing to say to these words: they were not new to me: my very first recollections of existence included hints of the same kind. This reproach of my dependence had become a vague sing-song in my ear: very painful and crushing, but only half intelligible. Miss Abbot joined in-
“And you ought not to think yourself on an equality with the Misses Reed and Master Reed, because Missis kindly allows you to be brought up with them. They will have a great deal of money, and you will have none: it is your place to be humble, and to try to make yourself agreeable to them.”
“What we tell you is for your good,”added Bessie, in no harsh voice,“you should try to be useful and pleasant, then, perhaps, you would have a home here; but if you become passionate and rude, Missis will send you away, I am sure.”
“Besides,”said Miss Abbot,“God will punish her: He might strike her dead in the midst of her tantrums, and then where would she go? Come, Bessie, we will leave her:I wouldn't have her heart for anything. Say your prayers, Miss Eyre, when you are by yourself; for if you don't repent, something bad might be permitted to come down the chimney and fetch you away.”
They went, shutting the door, and locking it behind them.
The red-room was a square chamber, very seldom slept in, I might say never, indeed, unless when a chance influx of visitors at Gateshead Hall rendered it necessary to turn to account all the accommodation it contained: yet it was one of the largest and stateliest chambers in the mansion. A bed supported on massive pillars of mahogany, hung with curtains of deep red damask, stood out like a tabernacle in the centre; the two large windows, with their blinds always drawn down, were half shrouded in festoons and falls of similar drapery; the carpet was red; the table at the foot of the bed was covered with a crimson cloth; the walls were a soft fawn colour with a blush of pink in it; the wardrobe, the toilet-table, the chairs were of darkly polished old mahogany. Out of these deep surrounding shades rose high, and glared white, the piled-up mattresses and pillows of the bed, spread with a snowy Marseilles counterpane. Scarcely less prominent was an ample cushioned easy-chair near the head of the bed, also white, with a footstool before it; and looking, as I thought, like a pale throne.
This room was chill, because it seldom had a fire; it was silent, because remote from the nursery and kitchen; solemn, because it was known to be so seldom entered. The house-maid alone came here on Saturdays, to wipe from the mirrors and the furniture a week's quiet dust: and Mrs. Reed herself, at far intervals, visited it to review the contents of a certain secret drawer in the wardrobe, where were stored divers parchments, her jewel-casket, and a miniature of her deceased husband; and in those last words lies the secret of the red-room-the spell which kept it so lonely in spite of its grandeur.
Mr. Reed had been dead nine years: it was in this chamber he breathed his last; here he lay in state; hence his coffin was borne by the undertaker's men; and, since that day, a sense of dreary consecration had guarded it from frequent intrusion.
My seat, to which Bessie and the bitter Miss Abbot had left me riveted, was a low ottoman near the marble chimney-piece; the bed rose before me; to my right hand there was the high, dark wardrobe, with subdued, broken reflections varying the gloss of its panels; to my left were the muffled windows; a great looking-glass between them repeated the vacant majesty of the bed and room. I was not quite sure whether they had locked the door; and when I dared move, I got up and went to see. Alas! yes: no jail was ever more secure. Returning, I had to cross before the looking-glass; my fascinated glance involuntarily explored the depth it revealed. All looked colder and darker in that visionary hollow than in reality: and the strange little figure there gazing at me, with a white face and arms specking the gloom, and glittering eyes of fear moving where all else was still, had the effect of a real spirit: I thought it like one of the tiny phantoms, half fairy, half imp, Bessie's evening stories represented as coming out of lone, ferny dells in moors, and appearing before the eyes of belated travellers. I returned to my stool.
Superstition was with me at that moment; but it was not yet her hour for complete victory: my blood was still warm; the mood of the revolted slave was still bracing me with its bitter vigour; I had to stem a rapid rush of retrospective thought before I quailed to the dismal present.
All John Reed's violent tyrannies, all his sisters’proud indifference, all his mother's aversion, all the servants’partiality, turned up in my disturbed mind like a dark deposit in a turbid well.
Why was I always suffering, always browbeaten, always accused, for ever condemned? Why could I never please? Why was it useless to try to win any one's favour? Eliza, who was headstrong and selfish, was respected. Georgiana, who had a spoiled temper, a very acrid spite, a captious and insolent carriage, was universally indulged. Her beauty, her pink cheeks and golden curls, seemed to give delight to all who looked at her, and to purchase indemnity for every fault. John no one thwarted, much less punished; though he twisted the necks of the pigeons, killed the little pea-chicks, set the dogs at the sheep, stripped the hothouse vines of their fruit, and broke the buds off the choicest plants in the conservatory: he called his mother“old girl,”too; sometimes reviled her for her dark skin, similar to his own; bluntly disregarded her wishes; not unfrequently tore and spoiled her silk attire; and he was still“her own darling.”I dared commit no fault: I strove to fulfil every duty; and I was termed naughty and tiresome, sullen and sneaking, from morning to noon, and from noon to night.
My head still ached and bled with the blow and fall I had received: no one had reproved John for wantonly striking me; and because I had turned against him to avert farther irrational violence, I was loaded with general opprobrium.
“Unjust! -unjust!”said my reason, forced by the agonising stimulus into precocious though transitory power: and Resolve, equally wrought up, instigated some strange expedient to achieve escape from insupportable oppression-as running away, or, if that could not be effected, never eating or drinking more, and letting myself die.
What a consternation of soul was mine that dreary afternoon! How all my brain was in tumult, and all my heart in insurrection! Yet in what darkness, what dense ignorance, was the mental battle fought! I could not answer the ceaseless inward question-why I thus suffered; now, at the distance of-I will not say how many years, I see it clearly.
I was a discord in Gateshead Hall: I was like nobody there; I had nothing in harmony with Mrs. Reed or her children, or her chosen vassalage. If they did not love me, in fact, as little did I love them. They were not bound to regard with affection a thing that could not sympathise with one amongst them; a heterogeneous thing, opposed to them in temperament, in capacity, in propensities; a useless thing, incapable of serving their interest,or adding to their pleasure; a noxious thing, cherishing the germs of indignation at their treatment, of contempt of their judgment. I know that had I been a sanguine, brilliant, careless, exacting, handsome, romping child-though equally dependent and friendless-Mrs. Reed would have endured my presence more complacently; her children would have entertained for me more of the cordiality of fellow-feeling; the servants would have been less prone to make me the scapegoat of the nursery.
Daylight began to forsake the red-room; it was past four o'clock, and the beclouded afternoon was tending to drear twilight. I heard the rain still beating continuously on the staircase window, and the wind howling in the grove behind the hall; I grew by degrees cold as a stone, and then my courage sank. My habitual mood of humiliation, self-doubt, forlorn depression, fell damp on the embers of my decaying ire. All said I was wicked, and perhaps I might be so; what thought had I been but just conceiving of starving myself to death? That certainly was a crime: and was I fit to die? Or was the vault under the chancel of Gateshead Church an inviting bourne? In such vault I had been told did Mr. Reed lie buried; and led by this thought to recall his idea, I dwelt on it with gathering dread. I could not remember him; but I knew that he was my own uncle-my mother's brother-that he had taken me when a parentless infant to his house; and that in his last moments he had required a promise of Mrs. Reed that she would rear and maintain me as one of her own children. Mrs. Reed probably considered she had kept this promise; and so she had, I dare say, as well as her nature would permit her; but how could she really like an interloper not of her race, and unconnected with her, after her husband's death, by any tie? It must have been most irksome to find herself bound by a hard-wrung pledge to stand in the stead of a parent to a strange child she could not love, and to see an uncongenial alien permanently intruded on her own family group.
A singular notion dawned upon me. I doubted not-never doubted-that if Mr. Reed had been alive he would have treated me kindly; and now, as I sat looking at the white bed and overshadowed walls-occasionally also turning a fascinated eye towards the dimly gleaning mirror-I began to recall what I had heard of dead men, troubled in their graves by the violation of their last wishes, revisiting the earth to punish the perjured and avenge the oppressed; and I thought Mr. Reed's spirit, harassed by the wrongs of his sister's child, might quit its abode-whether in the church vault or in the unknown world of the departed-and rise before me in this chamber. I wiped my tears and hushed my sobs, fearful lest any sign of violent grief might waken a preternatural voice to comfort me, or elicit from the gloom some haloed face, bending over me with strange pity. This idea, consolatory in theory, I felt would be terrible if realised: with all my might I endeavoured to stifle it-I endeavoured to be firm. Shaking my hair from my eyes, I lifted my head and tried to look boldly round the dark room; at this moment a light gleamed on the wall. Was it, I asked myself, a ray from the moon penetrating some aperture in the blind? No;moonlight was still, and this stirred; while I gazed, it glided up to the ceiling and quivered over my head. I can now conjecture readily that this streak of light was, in all likelihood, a gleam from a lantern carried by some one across the lawn: but then, prepared as my mind was for horror, shaken as my nerves were by agitation, I thought the swift darting beam was a herald of some coming vision from another world. My heart beat thick, my head grew hot; a sound filled my ears, which I deemed the rushing of wings; something seemed near me; I was oppressed, suffocated: endurance broke down; I rushed to the door and shook the lock in desperate effort. Steps came running along the outer passage; the key turned, Bessie and Abbot entered.
“Miss Eyre, are you ill?”said Bessie.
“What a dreadful noise! it went quite through me!”exclaimed Abbot.
“Take me out! Let me go into the nursery!”was my cry.
“What for? Are you hurt? Have you seen something?”again demanded Bessie.
“Oh! I saw a light, and I thought a ghost would come.”I had now got hold of Bessie's hand, and she did not snatch it from me.
“She has screamed out on purpose,”declared Abbot, in some disgust.“And what a scream! If she had been in great pain one would have excused it, but she only wanted to bring us all here: I know her naughty tricks.”
“What is all this?”demanded another voice peremptorily; and Mrs. Reed came along the corridor, her cap flying wide, her gown rustling stormily.“Abbot and Bessie, I believe I gave orders that Jane Eyre should be left in the red-room till I came to her myself.”
“Miss Jane screamed so loud, ma'am,”pleaded Bessie.
“Let her go,”was the only answer.“Loose Bessie's hand, child: you cannot succeed in getting out by these means, be assured. I abhor artifice, particularly in children; it is my duty to show you that tricks will not answer: you will now stay here an hour longer, and it is only on condition of perfect submission and stillness that I shall liberate you then.”
“O aunt! have pity! Forgive me! I cannot endure it-let me be punished some other way! I shall be killed if-”
“Silence! This violence is all most repulsive:”and so, no doubt, she felt it. I was a precocious actress in her eyes; she sincerely looked on me as a compound of virulent passions, mean spirit, and dangerous duplicity.
Bessie and Abbot having retreated, Mrs. Reed, impatient of my now frantic anguish and wild sobs, abruptly thrust me back and locked me in, without farther parley. I heard her sweeping away; and soon after she was gone, I suppose I had a species of fit:unconsciousness closed the scene.
我一路反抗，对我来说这是新事物，这种情形大大增强了贝茜和阿博特小姐对我的恶感。事实上，我有点儿忘乎所以，或者像法国人常常说的那样失常。我意识到一时的反抗会使我轻易遭到莫名其妙的惩罚。因此，像其他反抗的奴隶一样，我决心不顾一切，竭尽全力。
“阿博特小姐，抓住她的胳膊，她就像一只疯猫。”
“真可耻！真可耻！”夫人的女仆喊道，“爱小姐，你的行为真吓人，竟敢打一位小绅士——你恩人的儿子！你的小主人。”
“主人！他怎么是我的主人呢？我是仆人吗？”
“不，你还不如仆人，因为你白吃白住不干活。好了，坐下来，仔细想想你的恶行吧。”
这时，她们已经把我拽进了里德太太指定的房间，把我用力按在了凳子上。冲动之下，我像弹簧一样一跃而起，她们的两双手立刻按住了我。
“你要是不安生坐着，我们就必须绑住你，”贝茜说，“阿博特小姐，把你的吊袜带借给我，她马上会把我的吊袜带挣断的。”
阿博特小姐转过身，从她的一条粗腿上解下了那条必备的带子。这项捆绑前的准备，以及由此产生的额外耻辱，稍微消除了我的激动情绪。
“别解了，”我嚷道，“我不动了。”
作为保证，我双手紧紧贴在凳子上面。
“注意别动，”贝茜说。她确定我的确平静下来，就松开了手。随后，她和阿博特小姐两臂交叉胸前站在那儿，脸色阴沉，怀疑地看着我，就像怀疑我心智是否健全一样。
“她以前从来没有这样做过。”最后，贝茜转向阿比盖尔说。
“不过，她生性总是这样，”对方答道，“我经常把自己对这个孩子的看法告诉太太，太太也同意我的看法。她是一个阴险的小东西。我从来没有见过像她这样年纪的女孩如此深藏不露。”
贝茜没有回答，但过了一会儿，她说——“小姐，你应该明白，你受到的是里德太太的恩惠，是她养活你。要是她赶你走的话，你就不得不进救济院了。”
我对这些话无言以对，它们对我并不新鲜。我生活的最初记忆包括一些同样的暗示。在我听来，这种责备我依靠别人生活的话已经成为一种模糊的调子，既让人痛苦，又让人难过，但又只是似懂非懂。阿博特小姐说道——
“你不应该因为太太好心把你跟里德小姐和少爷一起抚养长大，就以为自己跟他们平等。他们会有好多钱，而你一分钱都不会有。你要做的就是要谦恭，设法顺从他们。”
“我们告诉你的这一切都是为你好，”贝茜补充道，声音并不严厉，“你应该设法帮忙做事，讨人喜欢，那样说不定你会在这儿有一个家。但要是你意气用事、粗鲁无礼，我敢说太太会打发你走。”
“另外，”阿博特小姐说，“上帝会惩罚她。他说不定会在她发脾气时把她打死，死后她会去哪儿呢？嗨，贝茜，我们随她去吧。反正我是无法让她动心了。爱小姐，你独自待着时，就祷告吧，因为你要是不忏悔，说不定就会有坏东西顺着烟囱下来把你带走。”
她们关上门走了，并给门上了锁。
红屋是一个四方四正的房间，很少有人在里面睡觉，其实我可以说，从来没有，除非盖茨黑德府偶尔涌入一群客人时，才有必要利用所有房间。不过，这是府里最宽敞、最堂皇的房间之一。一张红木床立于房间中央，硕大的床柱上挂着深红色锦缎帷幔，犹如帐篷似的；两扇始终拉下窗帘的大窗半掩在类似布料做成的彩饰和流苏当中；地毯呈红色，床脚边的桌子上铺着深红色台布；墙壁是柔和的浅黄褐色，其中带有粉红色；衣柜、梳妆台和椅子都是乌黑锃亮的旧红木做的。床上高高地堆着床垫和枕头，上面铺着一条雪白的马赛布床罩，在四周深色调的衬托下白得耀眼。几乎一样突出的是床头边的一把铺有坐垫的大安乐椅，也是白色，前面放有一只脚凳；我认为，看上去它像一个苍白的王座。
这个屋里很少生火，冷飕飕的；它远离保育室和厨房，静悄悄的；因为大家都知道很少有人进去，所以显得阴沉沉的。只有女仆星期六到这儿来，擦去一周来静静落在镜子上和家具上的灰尘。还有里德太太本人隔很长时间才来一次，查看衣柜里某个秘密抽屉里的东西。这儿存放着各种各样的羊皮纸文稿、她的首饰盒和她已故丈夫的微型画像。最后那几个词就是红屋的秘密——这个秘密有一种魔力，这使它尽管富丽堂皇，但冷冷清清。
里德先生已经去世九年了。他就是在这个房间里断气的；他就躺在这个灵堂里；他的棺材就是从这儿被承办丧事的人抬走的；而且，从那天起，一种阴沉的祭奠氛围使人不再经常闯入这儿。
贝茜和刻薄的阿博特小姐让我牢牢坐着的是一只放在大理石壁炉架附近的低矮软垫凳；床耸立在我的面前；我的右面是又黑又高的衣柜，衣柜上柔和斑驳的反光使镶板的光泽不断变幻；我的左面是关得严严实实的窗户，两扇窗户之间的一面大镜子映照出了床和房间的空旷威严。我拿不准她们是否锁住了门，等敢走动时，我就起来去看看。哎呀！是的，牢房也绝不会锁这么紧。返回去时，我必须从大镜子面前经过，我的目光被吸引住了，不知不觉地探寻起了镜子里显露出的世界。在虚幻的空间里，看上去一切都比现实中更冷清、更阴沉。那个陌生小人在那儿凝视着我，洁白的脸上和胳膊上都蒙上了斑驳的阴影，在其他的一切都静止时，一双闪闪发亮的恐惧的眼睛在闪动着，真有幽灵的效果。我想，它就像一个半仙半人的小幽灵，就像贝茜在夜晚的故事里描绘的那样，从沼泽地蕨类丛生的荒谷里冒出来，出现在晚归的旅行者眼前。我回到了矮凳上。
这时，我迷信起来，但是，迷信还没有完全占据上风。我仍然热血沸腾，反叛的奴隶那种痛苦的情绪仍然鼓舞着我，我必须得阻挡往事的奔涌，才能不向阴暗的现实畏缩。
约翰·里德的一切专横跋扈、他姐妹的一切高傲冷漠、他母亲的一切厌恶、仆人们的一切偏心，都像一眼浑浊的井里的黑色沉淀物一样，在我烦乱的心里翻腾起来。
为什么我总是受苦，总是战战兢兢，总是被人指责，永远受到责难？为什么我永远不能讨人喜欢？为什么我尽力想赢得别人的青睐，却没用呢？伊莱扎任性自私，却受到尊重。乔治亚娜爱发脾气，刁钻刻薄，吹毛求疵，傲慢无礼，却得到大家的纵容。她的美貌、她的粉红脸颊和金色鬈发，好像使她人见人爱，弥补了各种缺陷。没有人阻挠约翰，更不用说惩罚了，尽管他扭断鸽子的颈部，害死小孔雀，放狗咬羊，摘掉温室藤蔓上的葡萄，掐掉暖房里上等花木的嫩芽，他还叫他的母亲“老太婆”，有时因为她的黝黑皮肤像他自己而谩骂，他蛮横地无视母亲的心愿，经常撕毁她的丝绸服装，而他却还是“她自己的宝贝”。我不敢犯任何过失，我力争尽职尽责，人们还是说我淘气烦人，从早上到中午，从中午到夜里，都闷闷不乐、偷偷摸摸。
因为挨打和摔倒，我的头仍然疼痛流血。约翰随意打我，没有人责备他；为了免受进一步的无理殴打，我反抗了一下，所以我受到了众人的责骂。
“不公平——不公平！”我的理智说。受到痛苦的刺激，我的理智变得早熟，尽管是短暂的力量。决心也同样受到了鼓舞，促使我采取某种奇怪的应急手段，逃脱难以忍受的压迫——比如逃跑，要是无法奏效，那就不再吃喝，让自己死去。
那个沉闷的下午，我心里是多么惊慌失措！我的整个脑袋是多么混乱，我的整颗心都在反抗！然而，那场内心斗争又是多么模糊，多么愚钝无知！我无法回答内心那个没完没了的问题——为什么我这样受苦。目前，在相距——我不会说是多少年，我看得一清二楚。
我在盖茨黑德府是一种不和谐。我在那儿跟任何人都不像，我跟里德太太、她的孩子们、她挑选的仆人都不和谐。事实上，他们不爱我，我也不大爱他们。他们不必热情对待一个跟他们无法产生共鸣的人；一个在性情上、在能力上、在癖好上都跟他们背道而驰的异类；一个既不能迎合他们的趣味，也不能给他们增添快乐的无用东西；一个有害的东西，对他们的对待愤愤不平，对他们的见解却又蔑视的讨厌家伙。我知道，要是我是一个乐观聪明、无忧无虑、漂亮顽皮、活蹦乱跳的孩子——即使同样寄人篱下，无依无靠——里德太太也会对我的存在容忍，比较满意；她的孩子们会对我有朋友之情，更加热诚；仆人们也不会动不动就把我当成保育室的替罪羊。
日光开始舍弃红屋，已过四点钟了，阴沉的下午正渐渐走向阴沉的黄昏。我听到雨还在不断地敲打楼梯窗户，风在门厅后面的小树林里咆哮。我渐渐地像石头一样冰冷，随后勇气也消沉了。平常的屈辱情绪、缺乏自信、绝望沮丧浇在了我越来越弱的怒火上。大家都说我坏，说不定我就是那样吧，我不是一直在想着饿死自己吗？这当然是一种罪过。我该不该死呢？要么盖茨黑德府教堂圣坛下的墓穴是一个诱人的归宿？我听说里德先生就安葬在这样的墓穴里，这个念头又引起了我对他的回忆，我越细想，就越害怕。我记不得他了，只知道他是我自己的舅父——我母亲的哥哥——是他收养了我这个失去父母的婴儿，并在弥留之际要里德太太答应把我当成她自己的孩子一样来抚养。里德太太可能认为自己信守了承诺，我敢说，从本性来说，她践行了当初的承诺。但是，她怎么能真心喜欢一个不属于她家、丈夫过世后跟她没有任何关系的外人呢？她发现自己受到这个勉为其难的保证的约束，充当一个她无法喜欢的陌生孩子的母亲，看到一位志趣不合的外人永远闯入她自己家人这个团队，肯定是讨厌极了。
我突然产生一个奇特的念头。我不怀疑——从不怀疑——要是里德先生健在的话，他一定会善待我。现在，我坐在那儿，望着雪白的床和阴影覆盖的墙——同时偶尔将着迷的目光转向隐约闪光的镜子——我开始想起了自己听说过的死人的事儿，因为人们违背他们的遗愿，所以他们在坟墓里躁动不安，就再访人间，惩罚发假誓的人，为受压迫的人报仇。于是，我想，里德先生的幽灵受到外甥女冤屈的困扰，可能会走出坟墓——无论是在教堂地下墓室，还是在未知的逝者世界——来到这个房间，站在我的面前。我擦掉眼泪，忍住哭泣，担心号啕大哭可能会惊动一个超自然的声音来安慰我，要么是从昏暗中引出某个带有光环的面孔，露出奇异怜悯的神情，弯腰看着我。这个念头在理论上令人欣慰，但要是实现，我觉得会非常可怕。我竭尽全力不去想它——我尽力意志坚定。我抖去拂在眼上的头发，抬起头来，尽力斗胆环顾了黑洞洞的房间。这时，一道光在墙上闪了一下。我问自己，是一道月光透过百叶窗的缝隙照进来了吗？不，月光是静止的，这道光是动的。我凝视着，只见它滑到了天花板上，在我的头顶上微微颤动。我现在能轻易地推测到，这道光十有八九是有人提着灯笼穿过草地时射进来的。而另一方面，我的脑子却朝恐惧方面想，我的神经因激动而颤抖，我认为那道飞掠而过的光是某个幽灵从另一世界到来的预兆。我的心咚咚直跳，头脑越来越热，耳朵嗡嗡作响，我以为那是翅膀的急速拍动声，好像什么东西靠近了我。我感到压抑、窒息，再也无法忍受了。我冲到门口，拼命地摇晃门锁。外面走廊上传来了飞跑的脚步声、钥匙转动声，贝茜和阿博特走了进来。
“爱小姐，你病了吗？”贝茜问道。
“多么可怕的声音！那声音完全穿透了我！”阿博特高声嚷道。
“带我出去！让我进保育室吧！”我哭道。
“为什么？你受伤了吗？你看到什么东西了吗？”贝茜又问道。
“噢！我看到了一道光，我想一定是鬼来了。”我抓住了贝茜的手，她没有从我手里拽走。
“她是故意尖叫的，”阿博特有些反感地说，“尖叫得真凶！她要是疼痛难忍，就可以原谅，但她只是想把我们引到这儿。我知道她的花招。”
“这一切是怎么回事？”另一个声音蛮横地问道。随后，里德太太沿着走廊走来，她的帽子被风鼓得大大的，睡袍呼呼作响。“阿博特和贝茜，我想我下过令让简·爱留在红屋里，要等我亲自过来问她。”
“夫人，简小姐尖叫得那样响亮。”贝茜恳求说。
“放开她，”这是唯一的回答，“松开贝茜的手，孩子。放心，你用这些方法是出不去的。我痛恨花招，尤其是小孩子，我有责任让你明白花招解决不了问题。你现在要在这儿多待一个小时，只要完全服从，一动不动，那我就放了你。”
“噢，舅妈！可怜可怜吧！饶了我吧！我受不了了——用别的办法惩罚我吧！我会没命的，要是——”
“安静！这样胡闹大家真要烦死了！”毫无疑问，她就是这样感觉的。在她的眼里，我是一个早熟的演员。她由衷地把我看成是一个居心叵测、灵魂卑鄙、口是心非的危险人物。
贝茜和阿博特退去后，里德太太无法容忍我现在拼命痛苦地嚎叫，没有再谈下去，突然把我向后一推，将我锁在了里面。我听到她扬长而去的声音，她走后不久，我想我一阵痉挛，不省人事，结束了这个场景。