I not spend these sweet days of liberty with her? Had I forgotten her?
No doubt she was far better than Mary Ann, as the latter could only tell funny stories. But Helen was gravely ill. She was kept separately and Miss Temple took care of her personally. She had been taken to a room upstairs, and I saw her once in the garden with Miss Temple but was not allowed to speak with her. She did not have typhus, but an even more serious disease-consumption. How serious the disease was I learnt only later.
One evening, in the beginning of June, I had stayed out very late with Mary Ann in the wood. We had wandered so far that lost our way and it was only thanks to a man and woman, whose cottage we accidentally found that we found our way back. When we returned, we saw the doctor's pony at the gate. Mary Ann went inside, and I stayed behind a few minutes to plant in my garden a handful of roots I had dug up in the forest. It was such a pleasant evening that I felt sorry for the sick who were lying in their beds now.
I was still there when the doctor came out, accompanied by a servant. He climbed onto his pony and left, and I ran over to the servant to ask about Helen.
“Is it Helen Burns Mr. Bates has been to see?”
“Yes,” was the reply.
“What does he say about her?”
“She is doing very poorly. He says she'll not be here long.”
I knew instantly what this meant. It did not mean that Helen was going to her own home. She was going to be taken to the region of spirits. She was about to die. I felt a desire-a necessity to see her, I asked in what room she lay.
“She's in Miss Temple's room,” said the nurse.
“May I go up and speak to her?”
“Oh, no, child! And now it's time for you to come inside.” The nurse closed the front door.
I went in by the side entrance which led to the schoolroom and was just in time to hear Miss Miller call the pupils to go to bed.
I could not fall asleep. I was thinking about Helen all the time. At last, after lying in bed for a while I made up my mind and got up quietly. Everybody was fast asleep and I crept away to Miss Temple's room unnoticed. “I must embrace her before she dies,” I thought. “I must exchange with her one last word.”
A light shone through the keyhole of Miss Temple's room. I opened the door gently without knocking, and went in. Miss Temple was not there-she was usually up all night, taking care of the sick. The servant I had spoken to earlier was asleep in one of the armchairs. My eye sought Helen, and feared to find death.
I felt slight relief as I saw Helen, heavily breathing and pale but alive and awake. She was calm as usual, and recognized me at once.
“Can it be you, Jane?” she asked, in her own gentle voice.
“Perhaps she won't die,” I suddenly hoped. “They must be mistaken.”
“Why are you here, Jane? It is past eleven o'clock.”
“I came to see you, Helen: I heard you were very ill, and I could not sleep till I had spoken to you.”
“You came to bid me good-bye, then: you are just in time probably.”
“No, no, Helen!” I tried to stop my tears.
Helen started to cough. It did not, however, wake the nurse. When the cough was over, Helen lay some minutes exhausted. Then she whispered, “Your feet are bare. Lie down and cover yourself.”
I did so. She put her arm over me and continued, “I am very happy, Jane; and when you hear that I am dead, you must not grieve: there is nothing to grieve about. We all must die one day. My illness is gentle, I am in no pain, my mind is at rest. I have only a father; and he has lately married, and will not miss me. I am happy to die young; I will avoid so many sufferings.”
I felt so comfortable by her side, and did not want to leave her. I stayed with her that night and we both soon fell asleep.
When I woke up, it was day. I was in somebody's arms; the nurse held me; she was carrying me through the passage back to the dormitory.
A day or two afterwards I learned that Miss Temple, on returning to her own room at dawn, had found me on Helen's bed; my face against Helen Burns's shoulder, my arms round her neck. I was asleep, and Helen was-dead.
She was buried in Brocklebridge churchyard with no headstone. Now a grey marble tablet marks the spot, inscribed with her name, and the word 'Resurgam' meaning “I will rise again.”
Chapter 10
When the typhus fever had fulfilled its mission at Lowood, it gradually disappeared. But news of the disease spread, its victims had drawn public attention on the school. An inquiry was held into how the disease could have broken out[18], and soon the public found out about the unhealthy nature of the site, our poor diet and clothing, about our cold overcrowded dormitories. The discovery brought changes to our institution and shame to Mr. Brocklehurst.
He had been spending only a small part of the school's funds on the students. Some said he spent the rest on himself and his family; but it could not be proved.
Because of his wealth and family connections, Mr. Brocklehurst retained the post of treasurer, but now he had to answer to a committee of new governors. The committee decided to move the school to a new building on the hillside, where there was no fog. We were given bigger helpings, good clothes and proper boots, and more space and time to ourselves. And so Lowood was transformed from a miserable, cruel institution, into a flourishing school with happy, healthy pupils.
I stayed there for eight years. My life was uniform: but not unhappy. My teachers supported me. In time I rose to be the first girl of the first class. Since sixteen I became an assistant teacher to the younger girls.
Through all changes Miss Temple stayed at Lowood. For me, she was a mother, governess, and, latterly, companion. When I grew up, she became a dear friend. Looking at her, I turned calm and quiet and started to appear disciplined even to myself.
But at this period she married, removed with her husband (a clergyman, an excellent man) to a distant county, and was lost to me. Destiny, in the shape of the Rev. Mr. Nasmyth, came between me and Miss Temple. I watched her leave in a carriage and with her was gone every feeling, every association that had made Lowood in some degree a home to me.
With her all calmness I had acquired previously was gone, too. Now I was left in my natural element, and beginning to feel old emotions.
My world had for some years been in Lowood: my experience had been of its rules and systems; now I remembered that the real world was wide, and that a field of hopes and fears, of sensations and excitements, awaited those who had courage to go forth.
I went to the window, opened it, and looked out. My eye passed all other objects to rest on those most remote. I traced the white road going round the base of one mountain, and vanishing in a gorge between two. How I longed to follow it farther! I recalled the time when I had travelled that very road when I was brought to Lowood. I had never quitted it since. My vacations had all been spent at school. Moreover, I had had no communication by letter or message with the outer world. I knew nothing but school-rules, school-duties, school-habits and the voices, faces, phrases, costumes, and preferences of the Lowood people.
And now I felt that it was not enough. I got tired of the routine of eight years in one afternoon. I desired liberty.
Here a bell for supper called me downstairs, and I descended planning to return to my thoughts at bedtime.
Unfortunately, I shared my room with another young teacher, Miss Gryce. She could talk endlessly about trivial matters I hardly cared about, and I often forced myself to look interested. Tonight she insisted on chattering and gossiping as usual. And I felt a great amount of relief when she snored at last.
I sat up in bed. It was a chilly night; I covered my shoulders with a shawl, and then I proceeded TO THINK again with all my might.
“What do I want? A new place, in a new house, amongst new faces, under new circumstances. How do people do