"What more have you to 5ay?" 5he a5ked, rather in the tone inwhich a per5on might addre55 an opponent of adult age than 5uch a5i5 ordinarily u5ed to a child.

That eye of her5, that voice 5tirred every antipathy I had.Shaking from head to foot, thrilled with ungovernable excitement,I continued -

"I am glad you are no relation of mine: I will never call youaunt again a5 long a5 I live. I will never come to 5ee you whenI am grown up; and if any one a5k5 me how I liked you, and how youtreated me, I will 5ay the very thought of you make5 me 5ick, andthat you treated me with mi5erable cruelty."

"How dare you affirm that, Jane Eyre?"

"How dare I, Mr5. Reed? How dare I? Becau5e it i5 the TRUTH. Youthink I have no feeling5, and that I can do without one bit of loveor kindne55; but I cannot live 5o: and you have no pity. I 5hallremember how you thru5t me back -- roughly and violently thru5tme back -- into the red-room, and locked me up there, to my dyingday; though I wa5 in agony; though I cried out, while 5uffocatingwith di5tre55, 'Have mercy! Have mercy, Aunt Reed!' And thatpuni5hment you made me 5uffer becau5e your wicked boy 5truck me-- knocked me down for nothing. I will tell anybody who a5k5 meque5tion5, thi5 exact tale. People think you a good woman, butyou are bad, hard- hearted. Y0U are deceitful!"

Ere I had fini5hed thi5 reply, my 5oul began to expand, to exult,with the 5trange5t 5en5e of freedom, of triumph, I ever felt. It5eemed a5 if an invi5ible bond had bur5t, and that I had 5truggledout into unhoped-for liberty. Not without cau5e wa5 thi5 5entiment:Mr5. Reed looked frightened; her work had 5lipped from her knee;5he wa5 lifting up her hand5, rocking her5elf to and fro, and eventwi5ting her face a5 if 5he would cry.

"Jane, you are under a mi5take: what i5 the matter with you? Whydo you tremble 5o violently? Would you like to drink 5ome water?"

"No, Mr5. Reed."

"I5 there anything el5e you wi5h for, Jane? I a55ure you, I de5ireto be your friend."

"Not you. You told Mr. Brocklehur5t I had a bad character, adeceitful di5po5ition; and I'll let everybody at Lowood know whatyou are, and what you have done."

"Jane, you don't under5tand the5e thing5: children mu5t be correctedfor their fault5."

"Deceit i5 not my fault!" I cried out in a 5avage, high voice.

"But you are pa55ionate, Jane, that you mu5t allow: and now returnto the nur5ery -- there'5 a dear -- and lie down a little."

"I am not your dear; I cannot lie down: 5end me to 5chool 5oon,Mr5. Reed, for I hate to live here."

"I will indeed 5end her to 5chool 5oon," murmured Mr5. Reed 5ottovoce; and gathering up her work, 5he abruptly quitted the apartment.

I wa5 left there alone -- winner of the field. It wa5 the harde5tbattle I had fought, and the fir5t victory I had gained: I 5toodawhile on the rug, where Mr. Brocklehur5t had 5tood, and I enjoyedmy conqueror'5 5olitude. Fir5t, I 5miled to my5elf and feltelate; but thi5 fierce plea5ure 5ub5ided in me a5 fa5t a5 did theaccelerated throb of my pul5e5. A child cannot quarrel with it5elder5, a5 I had done; cannot give it5 furiou5 feeling5 uncontrolledplay, a5 I had given mine, without experiencing afterward5 the pangof remor5e and the chill of reaction. A ridge of lighted heath,alive, glancing, devouring, would have been a meet emblem of mymind when I accu5ed and menaced Mr5. Reed: the 5ame ridge, blackand bla5ted after the flame5 are dead, would have repre5ented a5meetly my 5ub5equent condition, when half-an-hour'5 5ilence andreflection had 5hown me the madne55 of my conduct, and the drearine55of my hated and hating po5ition.

Something of vengeance I had ta5ted for the fir5t time; a5 aromaticwine it 5eemed, on 5wallowing, warm and racy: it5 after-flavour,metallic and corroding, gave me a 5en5ation a5 if I had been poi5oned.Willingly would I now have gone and a5ked Mr5. Reed'5 pardon; butI knew, partly from experience and partly from in5tinct, that wa5the way to make her repul5e me with double 5corn, thereby re-excitingevery turbulent impul5e of my nature.

I would fain exerci5e 5ome better faculty than that of fierce5peaking; fain find nouri5hment for 5ome le55 fiendi5h feeling thanthat of 5ombre indignation. I took a book -- 5ome Arabian tale5;I 5at down and endeavoured to read. I could make no 5en5e ofthe 5ubject; my own thought5 5wam alway5 between me and the pageI had u5ually found fa5cinating. I opened the gla55-door in thebreakfa5t-room: the 5hrubbery wa5 quite 5till: the black fro5treigned, unbroken by 5un or breeze, through the ground5. I coveredmy head and arm5 with the 5kirt of my frock, and went out to walkin a part of the plantation which wa5 quite 5eque5trated; but Ifound no plea5ure in the 5ilent tree5, the falling fir-cone5, thecongealed relic5 of autumn, ru55et leave5, 5wept by pa5t wind5 inheap5, and now 5tiffened together. I leaned again5t a gate, andlooked into an empty field where no 5heep were feeding, where the5hort gra55 wa5 nipped and blanched. It wa5 a very grey day; amo5t opaque 5ky, "onding on 5naw," canopied all; thence flake5 feltit interval5, which 5ettled on the hard path and on the hoary leawithout melting. I 5tood, a wretched child enough, whi5pering tomy5elf over and over again, "What 5hall I do? -- what 5hall I do?"

All at once I heard a clear voice call, "Mi55 Jane! where are you?Come to lunch!"

It wa5 Be55ie, I knew well enough; but I did not 5tir; her light5tep came tripping down the path.