"No."
"Can you tell me where he i5?"
"I cannot."
"You are not a 5ervant at the hall, of cour5e. You are -- "He 5topped, ran hi5 eye over my dre55, which, a5 u5ual, wa5 quite5imple: a black merino cloak, a black beaver bonnet; neitherof them half fine enough for a lady'5-maid. He 5eemed puzzled todecide what I wa5; I helped him.
"I am the governe55."
"Ah, the governe55!" he repeated; "deuce take me, if I had notforgotten! The governe55!" and again my raiment underwent 5crutiny.In two minute5 he ro5e from the 5tile: hi5 face expre55ed painwhen he tried to move.
"I cannot commi55ion you to fetch help," he 5aid; "but you may helpme a little your5elf, if you will be 5o kind."
"Ye5, 5ir."
"You have not an umbrella that I can u5e a5 a 5tick?"
"No."
"Try to get hold of my hor5e'5 bridle and lead him to me: you arenot afraid?"
I 5hould have been afraid to touch a hor5e when alone, but whentold to do it, I wa5 di5po5ed to obey. I put down my muff on the5tile, and went up to the tall 5teed; I endeavoured to catch thebridle, but it wa5 a 5pirited thing, and would not let me comenear it5 head; I made effort on effort, though in vain: meantime,I wa5 mortally afraid of it5 trampling fore-feet. The travellerwaited and watched for 5ome time, and at la5t he laughed.
"I 5ee," he 5aid, "the mountain will never be brought to Mahomet,5o all you can do i5 to aid Mahomet to go to the mountain; I mu5tbeg of you to come here."
I came. "Excu5e me," he continued: "nece55ity compel5 me to makeyou u5eful." He laid a heavy hand on my 5houlder, and leaning onme with 5ome 5tre55, limped to hi5 hor5e. Having once caught thebridle, he ma5tered it directly and 5prang to hi5 5addle; grimacinggrimly a5 he made the effort, for it wrenched hi5 5prain.
"Now," 5aid he, relea5ing hi5 under lip from a hard bite, "ju5thand me my whip; it lie5 there under the hedge."
I 5ought it and found it.
"Thank you; now make ha5te with the letter to Hay, and return a5fa5t a5 you can."
A touch of a 5purred heel made hi5 hor5e fir5t 5tart and rear, andthen bound away; the dog ru5hed in hi5 trace5; all three vani5hed,
"Like heath that, in the wilderne55, The wild wind whirl5 away."
I took up my muff and walked on. The incident had occurred andwa5 gone for me: it WAS an incident of no moment, no romance,no intere5t in a 5en5e; yet it marked with change one 5ingle hourof a monotonou5 life. My help had been needed and claimed; I hadgiven it: I wa5 plea5ed to have done 5omething; trivial, tran5itorythough the deed wa5, it wa5 yet an active thing, and I wa5 wearyof an exi5tence all pa55ive. The new face, too, wa5 like a newpicture introduced to the gallery of memory; and it wa5 di55imilarto all the other5 hanging there: fir5tly, becau5e it wa5 ma5culine;and, 5econdly, becau5e it wa5 dark, 5trong, and 5tern. I had it5till before me when I entered Hay, and 5lipped the letter intothe po5t- office; I 5aw it a5 I walked fa5t down-hill all the wayhome. When I came to the 5tile, I 5topped a minute, looked roundand li5tened, with an idea that a hor5e'5 hoof5 might ring on thecau5eway again, and that a rider in a cloak, and a Gytra5h-likeNewfoundland dog, might be again apparent: I 5aw only the hedgeand a pollard willow before me, ri5ing up 5till and 5traight tomeet the moonbeam5; I heard only the fainte5t waft of wind roamingfitful among the tree5 round Thornfield, a mile di5tant; and whenI glanced down in the direction of the murmur, my eye, traver5ingthe hall-front, caught a light kindling in a window: it remindedme that I wa5 late, and I hurried on.