"Barbara," said she, "can you not bring a little more bread and

butter? There is not enough for three."

Barbara went out: she returned soon "Madam, Mrs. Harden says she has sent up the usual quantity."

Mrs. Harden, be it observed, was the housekeeper: a woman after Mr.

Brocklehurst's own heart, made up of equal parts of whalebone and

iron.

"Oh, very well!" returned Miss Temple; "we must make it do, Barbara,

I suppose." And as the girl withdrew she added, smiling,

"Fortunately, I have it in my power to supply deficiencies for this

once."

Having invited Helen and me to approach the table, and placed before

each of us a cup of tea with one delicious but thin morsel of toast,

she got up, unlocked a drawer, and taking from it a parcel wrapped

in paper, disclosed presently to our eyes a good-sized seed-cake.

"I meant to give each of you some of this to take with you," said

she, "but as there is so little toast, you must have it now," and

she proceeded to cut slices with a generous hand.

We feasted that evening as on nectar and ambrosia; and not the least

delight of the entertainment was the smile of gratification with

which our hostess regarded us, as we satisfied our famished

appetites on the delicate fare she liberally supplied.

Tea over and the tray removed, she again summoned us to the fire; we

sat one on each side of her, and now a conversation followed between

her and Helen, which it was indeed a privilege to be admitted to

hear.

Miss Temple had always something of serenity in her air, of state in

her mien, of refined propriety in her language, which precluded

deviation into the ardent, the excited, the eager: something which

chastened the pleasure of those who looked on her and listened to

her, by a controlling sense of awe; and such was my feeling now:

but as to Helen Burns, I was struck with wonder.

The refreshing meal, the brilliant fire, the presence and kindness

of her beloved instructress, or, perhaps, more than all these,

something in her own unique mind, had roused her powers within her.

They woke, they kindled: first, they glowed in the bright tint of

her cheek, which till this hour I had never seen but pale and

bloodless; then they shone in the liquid lustre of her eyes, which

had suddenly acquired a beauty more singular than that of Miss

Temple's--a beauty neither of fine colour nor long eyelash, nor

pencilled brow, but of meaning, of movement, of radiance. Then her

soul sat on her lips, and language flowed, from what source I cannot

tell. Has a girl of fourteen a heart large enough, vigorous enough,

to hold the swelling spring of pure, full, fervid eloquence? Such

was the characteristic of Helen's discourse on that, to me,

memorable evening; her spirit seemed hastening to live within a very

brief span as much as many live during a protracted existence.




readonlinefreebook.com Copyright 2016 - 2024