My home, then, when I at last find a home, is a cottage; a little
room with whitewashed walls and a sanded floor, containing
four painted chairs and a table, a clock, a cupboard, with two or
three plates and dishes, and a set of tea things in delf. Above, a
chamber of the same dimensions as the kitchen, with a deal bedstead
and chest of drawers; small, yet too large to be filled with my
scanty wardrobe: though the kindness of my gentle and generous
friends has increased that, by a modest stock of such things as
are necessary.

It is evening. I have dismissed, with the fee of an orange, the
little orphan who serves me as a handmaid. I am sitting alone on
the hearth. This morning, the village school opened. I had twenty
scholars. But three of the number can read: none write or cipher.
Several knit, and a few sew a little. They speak with the broadest
accent of the district. At present, they and I have a difficulty
in understanding each other's language. Some of them are unmannered,
rough, intractable, as well as ignorant; but others are docile,
have a wish to learn, and evince a disposition that pleases me.
I must not forget that these coarsely clad little peasants are of
flesh and blood as good as the scions of gentlest genealogy; and
that the germs of native excellence, refinement, intelligence, kind
feeling, are as likely to exist in their hearts as in those of the
best born. My duty will be to develop these germs: surely I shall
find some happiness in discharging that office. Much enjoyment I
do not expect in the life opening before me: yet it will, doubtless,
if I regulate my mind, and exert my powers as I ought, yield me
enough to live on from day to day.

Was I very gleeful, settled, content, during the hours I passed in
yonder bare, humble schoolroom this morning and afternoon? Not to
deceive myself, I must reply No: I felt desolate to a degree. I
felt yes, idiot that I am I felt degraded. I doubted I had
taken a step which sank instead of raising me in the scale of social
existence. I was weakly dismayed at the ignorance, the poverty,
the coarseness of all I heard and saw round me. But let me not hate
and despise myself too much for these feelings; I know them to be
wrong that is a great step gained; I shall strive to overcome
them. To morrow, I trust, I shall get the better of them partially;
and in a few weeks, perhaps, they will be quite subdued. In a
few months, it is possible, the happiness of seeing progress, and
a change for the better in my scholars may substitute gratification
for disgust.

Meantime, let me ask myself one question Which is better? To
have surrendered to temptation; listened to passion; made no painful
effort no struggle; but to have sunk down in the silken snare;
fallen asleep on the flowers covering it; wakened in a southern
clime, amongst the luxuries of a pleasure villa: to have been
now living in France, Mr. Rochester's mistress; delirious with his
love half my time for he would oh, yes, he would have loved
me well for a while. He DID love me no one will ever love me so
again. I shall never more know the sweet homage given to beauty,
youth, and grace for never to any one else shall I seem to
possess these charms. He was fond and proud of me it is what
no man besides will ever be. But where am I wandering, and what
am I saying, and above all, feeling? Whether is it better, I ask,
to be a slave in a fool's paradise at Marseilles fevered with
delusive bliss one hour suffocating with the bitterest tears of
remorse and shame the next or to be a village schoolmistress,
free and honest, in a breezy mountain nook in the healthy heart of
England?

Yes; I feel now that I was right when I adhered to principle and
law, and scorned and crushed the insane promptings of a frenzied
moment. god directed me to a correct choice: I thank his providence
for the guidance! Having brought my eventide musings to this
point, I rose, went to my door, and looked at the sunset of the
harvest day, and at the quiet fields before my cottage, which,
with the school, was distant half a mile from the village. The birds
were singing their last strains. "The air was mild, the dew was balm."

While I looked, I thought myself happy, and was surprised to find
myself ere long weeping and why? For the doom which had reft
me from adhesion to my master: for him I was no more to see; for
the desperate grief and fatal fury consequences of my departure
which might now, perhaps, be dragging him from the path of right,
too far to leave hope of ultimate restoration thither. At this
thought, I turned my face aside from the lovely sky of eve and lonely
vale of Morton I say LONELY, for in that bend of it visible to
me there was no building apparent save the church and the parsonage,
half hid in trees, and, quite at the extremity, the roof of Vale
Hall, where the rich Mr. Oliver and his daughter lived. I hid my
eyes, and leant my head against the stone frame of my door; but
soon a slight noise near the wicket which shut in my tiny garden
from the meadow beyond it made me look up. A dog old Carlo,
Mr. Rivers' pointer, as I saw in a moment was pushing the gate
with his nose, and St. John himself leant upon it with folded arms;
his brow knit, his gaze, grave almost to displeasure, fixed on me.
I asked him to come in.

"No, I cannot stay; I have only brought you a little parcel my
sisters left for you. I think it contains a colour box, pencils,
and paper." I approached to take it: a welcome gift it was.
He examined my face, I thought, with austerity, as I came
near: the traces of tears were doubtless very visible upon it.
"Have you found your first day's work harder than you expected?"
he asked. "Oh, no! On the contrary, I think in time I shall get
on with my scholars very well." "But perhaps your
accommodations your cottage your furniture have disappointed
your expectations? They are, in truth, scanty enough; but, "I
interrupted, "My cottage is clean and weather proof; my furniture
sufficient and commodious. All I see has made me thankful,
not despondent. I am not absolutely such a fool and sensualist
as to regret the absence of a carpet, a sofa, and silver plate; besides,
five weeks ago I had nothing I was an outcast, a beggar, a vagrant;
now I have acquaintance, a home, a business. I wonder at the goodness
of god; the generosity of my friends; the bounty of my lot. I do
not repine."

"But you feel solitude an oppression? The little house there behind
you is dark and empty." "I have hardly had time yet to enjoy a sense
of tranquillity, much less to grow impatient under one of loneliness."
"Very well; I hope you feel the content you express: at any rate,
your good sense will tell you that it is too soon yet to yield to
the vacillating fears of Lot's wife. What you had left before I
saw you, of course I do not know; but I counsel you to resist firmly
every temptation which would incline you to look back: pursue your
present career steadily, for some months at least." "It is what I mean
to do," I answered. St. John continued, "It is hard work to control the
workings of inclination and turn the bent of nature; but that it may
be done, I know from experience. god has given us, in a measure, the
power to make our own fate; and when our energies seem to demand
a sustenance they cannot get when our will strains after a path we
may not follow we need neither starve from inanition, nor stand still
in despair: we have but to seek another nourishment for the mind,
as strong as the forbidden food it longed to taste and perhaps purer;
and to hew out for the adventurous foot a road as direct and broad
as the one Fortune has blocked up against us, if rougher than it.

"A year ago I was myself intensely miserable, because I thought I
had made a mistake in entering the ministry: its uniform duties
wearied me to death. I burnt for the more active life of the
world for the more exciting toils of a literary career for
the destiny of an artist, author, orator; anything rather than
that of a priest: yes, the heart of a politician, of a soldier,
of a votary of glory, a lover of renown, a luster after power, beat
under my curate's surplice. I considered; my life was so wretched,
it must be changed, or I must die. After a season of darkness and
struggling, light broke and relief fell: my cramped existence all
at once spread out to a plain without bounds my powers heard a
call from heaven to rise, gather their full strength, spread their
wings, and mount beyond ken. god had an errand for me; to bear which
afar, to deliver it well, skill and strength, courage and eloquence,
the best qualifications of soldier, statesman, and orator, were
all needed: for these all centre in the good missionary.

"A missionary I resolved to be. From that moment my state of mind
changed; the fetters dissolved and dropped from every faculty,
leaving nothing of bondage but its galling soreness which time
only can heal. My father, indeed, imposed the determination,
but since his death, I have not a legitimate obstacle to contend
with; some affairs settled, a successor for Morton provided, an
entanglement or two of the feelings broken through or cut asunder
a last conflict with human weakness, in which I know I shall
overcome, because I have vowed that I WILL overcome and I leave
Europe for the East."

He said this, in his peculiar, subdued, yet emphatic voice; looking,
when he had ceased speaking, not at me, but at the setting sun, at
which I looked too. Both he and I had our backs towards the path
leading up the field to the wicket. We had heard no step on that
grass grown track; the water running in the vale was the one lulling
sound of the hour and scene; we might well then start when
a gay voice, sweet as a silver bell, exclaimed, "Good evening,
Mr. Rivers. And good evening, old Carlo. Your dog is quicker
to recognise his friends than you are, sir; he pricked his ears
and wagged his tail when I was at the bottom of the field,
and you have your back towards me now."

It was true. Though Mr. Rivers had started at the first of those
musical accents, as if a thunderbolt had split a cloud over his head,
he stood yet, at the close of the sentence, in the same attitude
in which the speaker had surprised him his arm resting on the
gate, his face directed towards the west. He turned at last, with
measured deliberation. A vision, as it seemed to me, had risen at
his side. There appeared, within three feet of him, a form clad
in pure white a youthful, graceful form: full, yet fine in
contour; and when, after bending to caress Carlo, it lifted up its
head, and threw back a long veil, there bloomed under his glance
a face of perfect beauty. Perfect beauty is a strong expression;
but I do not retrace or qualify it: as sweet features as ever the
temperate clime of Albion moulded; as pure hues of rose and lily
as ever her humid gales and vapoury skies generated and screened,
justified, in this instance, the term.

No charm was wanting, no defect was perceptible; the young
girl had regular and delicate lineaments; eyes shaped and coloured
as we see them in lovely pictures, large, and dark, and full; the long
and shadowy eyelash which encircles a fine eye with so soft a
fascination; the pencilled brow which gives such clearness; the
white smooth forehead, which adds such repose to the livelier
beauties of tint and ray; the cheek oval, fresh, and smooth; the
lips, fresh too, ruddy, healthy, sweetly formed; the even and
gleaming teeth without flaw; the small dimpled chin; the
ornament of rich, plenteous tresses all advantages, in short,
which, combined, realise the ideal of beauty, were fully hers.
I wondered, as I looked at this fair creature: I admired her
with my whole heart. Nature had surely formed her in a
partial mood; and, forgetting her usual stinted step mother
dole of gifts, had endowed this, her darling, with a grand dame's
bounty.

What did St. John Rivers think of this earthly angel? I naturally
asked myself that question as I saw him turn to her and look at
her; and, as naturally, I sought the answer to the inquiry in his
countenance. He had already withdrawn his eye from the Peri, and
was looking at a humble tuft of daisies which grew by the wicket.
"A lovely evening, but late for you to be out alone," he said, as
he crushed the snowy heads of the closed flowers with his foot.
"Oh, I only came home from S " (she mentioned the name of a large
town some twenty miles distant) "this afternoon. Papa told me you
had opened your school, and that the new mistress was come; and
so I put on my bonnet after tea, and ran up the valley to see her:
this is she?" pointing to me. "It is," said St. John. "Do you think
you shall like Morton?" she asked of me, with a direct and naive
simplicity of tone and manner, pleasing, if child like. "I hope I
shall. I have many inducements to do so." "Did you find your
scholars as attentive as you expected?" "Quite." "Do you like
your house?" "Very much." "Have I furnished it nicely?"
"Very nicely, indeed." "And made a good choice of an attendant
for you in Alice Wood?"

"You have indeed. She is teachable and handy." (This then, I thought,
is Miss Oliver, the heiress; favoured, it seems, in the gifts of
fortune, as well as in those of nature! What happy combination of
the planets presided over her birth, I wonder?)
"I shall come up and help you to teach sometimes," she added. "It
will be a change for me to visit you now and then; and I like a
change. Mr. Rivers, I have been SO gay during my stay at S . Last
night, or rather this morning, I was dancing till two o'clock. The
th regiment are stationed there since the riots; and the officers
are the most agreeable men in the world: they put all our young
knife grinders and scissor merchants to shame." It seemed to me
that Mr. St. John's under lip protruded, and his upper lip curled
a moment. his mouth certainly looked a good deal compressed,
and the lower part of his face unusually stern and square, as the
laughing girl gave him this information. He lifted his gaze, too,
from the daisies, and turned it on her. An unsmiling, a searching,
a meaning gaze it was. She answered it with a second laugh, and
laughter well became her youth, her roses, her dimples, her bright
eyes. As he stood, mute and grave, she again fell to caressing Carlo.
"Poor Carlo loves me," said she. "HE is not stern and distant to
his friends; and if he could speak, he would not be silent."

As she patted the dog's head, bending with native grace before his
young and austere master, I saw a glow rise to that master's face.
I saw his solemn eye melt with sudden fire, and flicker with
resistless emotion. Flushed and kindled thus, he looked nearly as
beautiful for a man as she for a woman. his chest heaved once, as
if his large heart, weary of despotic constriction, had expanded,
despite the will, and made a vigorous bound for the attainment of
liberty. But he curbed it, I think, as a resolute rider would curb
a rearing steed. He responded neither by word nor movement to the
gentle advances made him. "Papa says you never come to see us now,"
continued Miss Oliver, looking up. "You are quite a stranger at
Vale Hall. He is alone this evening, and not very well: will you
return with me and visit him?" "It is not a seasonable hour to
intrude on Mr. Oliver," answered St. John. "Not a seasonable
hour! But I declare it is. It is just the hour when papa most
wants company: when the works are closed and he has no
business to occupy him. Now, Mr. Rivers, DO come. Why are
you so very shy, and so very sombre?" She filled up the hiatus
his silence left by a reply of her own.

"I forgot!" she exclaimed, shaking her beautiful curled head, as
if shocked at herself. "I am so giddy and thoughtless! DO excuse
me. It had slipped my memory that you have good reasons to be
indisposed for joining in my chatter. Diana and Mary have left
you, and Moor House is shut up, and you are so lonely. I am sure
I pity you. Do come and see papa." "Not to night, Miss Rosamond,
not to night." Mr. St. John spoke almost like an automaton:
himself only knew the effort it cost him thus to refuse.

"Well, if you are so obstinate, I will leave you; for I dare not
stay any longer: the dew begins to fall. Good evening!"
She held out her hand. He just touched it. "Good evening!" he
repeated, in a voice low and hollow as an echo. She turned, but
in a moment returned. "Are you well?" she asked. Well might
she put the question: his face was blanched as her gown.
"Quite well," he enunciated; and, with a bow, he left the gate.
She went one way; he another. She turned twice to gaze after him
as she tripped fairy like down the field; he, as he strode firmly
across, never turned at all. This spectacle of another's suffering
and sacrifice rapt my thoughts from exclusive meditation on my
own. Diana Rivers had designated her brother "inexorable as
death." She had not exaggerated.

Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte Deluxe Edition Chapter 32.>