barred, prison-like._ MISS GRYCE _and_ MISS TEMPLE _discovered_.

_Enter_ MISS SCATCHERD L. H. 2 E.

_Miss S._ Here’s a fine to do! who do you think is coming here directly?

_Miss T._ I cannot say, Miss Scatcherd.

_Miss S._ The veritable Mr. Brocklehurst himself. The generous endower of this most benevolent institution, for the confusion of intellect and suppression of liberty.

_Miss T._ For shame, Miss Scatcherd; you must not speak so.

_Miss S._ I’ll say what I think, in spite of anybody. Heaven knows I’m sick enough of this dungeon.

_Miss T._ So indeed am I. But I must fulfil my destiny.

_Miss S._ Pshaw! a fig for destiny. I’m resolved when Mr. Brocklehurst does come, to give him a piece of my mind. I’ll say to him——

_Enter_ BROCKLEHURST L. H. 2 E.

_Brock._ What will you say, my dear Miss Scatcherd?

_Miss S._ I hope you find yourself quite well to-day, sir.

_Brock._ Remarkably well, I thank you. Miss Temple, your most obedient. I congratulate you all, ladies, upon the general appearance of your interesting pupils. But—pray be seated—I regret, and believe me, it gives me, as a man and a Christian, inexpressible pain to be obliged to reprove. I regret, I say, to find that the rules of the establishment have been, I would almost say, criminally neglected.

_Miss T._ I am sure, sir, not of our own——

_Brock._ Ah—suffer me. How is it, Madame—I address you as superintendent and controllor of this place—how is it that the woollen stockings are not better attended to?

_Miss T._ Indeed, sir, I——

_Brock._ Ah—pardon me. I find also, in settling accounts with the housekeeper, that a lunch, consisting of bread and cheese, has twice been served to the girls within the last fortnight. By whose authority was this shameful innovation? May I be permitted to request an answer, direct and unequivocal?

_Miss T._ I must be responsible for the circumstance, sir; the breakfast was ill prepared, and——

_Brock._ Allow me. You are aware that my plan in bringing up these girls is, not to accustom them to habits of luxury.

_Miss G._ There’s no doubt about that——

_Brock._ Miss Gryce, if you please—but on the contrary, by spare diet and wholesome exercise, to render them hardy, patient, and self-denying, and encourage them to evince fortitude, under temporary privation.

_Miss G._ Starvation?

_Brock._ Privation, Miss Gryce. That woman’s deafness is very inconvenient. Oh! madam, when you put bread and cheese, instead of thin water-gruel, into those children’s bodies, you little think how you starve their immortal souls.

_Miss G._ You are right, sir, the poor things are starved nearly.

_Brock._ Silence. And now, Madame, I come to the most awful dereliction of all. I observed as I passed through the school that one girl, if not more, had her hair decked in the absurd vanity of curls, absolute cork-screw curls.

_Miss T._ It is Julia Severn, sir. Her hair curls naturally.

_Brock._ _Naturally!_ Madame! don’t attempt to hide your negligence under such a paltry plea. What have we to do with nature?

_Miss G._ Nothing.

_Brock._ Miss Temple, that girl’s hair must be cut off. I will not have a curl or a top-knot in the school. I want those charges to become the children of grace, not the offshoots of vanity. Where is Jane Eyre?

_Miss T._ She has retired to her room, sir; her health is failing under the close confinement.

_Brock._ Impossible! close confinement here? Why she must be out of her senses.

_Miss G._ Nearly.

_Brock._ I don’t believe a word of it, it’s nothing but laziness. If she does not attend to her duties to-morrow, she must seek elsewhere for a situation, and they are not to be picked up so easily; and now, ladies, I will take my leave, trusting that the reproof which conscientious feelings alone urge me to make will sink deep within your hearts, and ultimately spring up into the sweet-smelling flower of repentance and amendment. Good day.

[_Exit Brocklehurst_, L. H. 2 E.

_Enter_ JANE EYRE, L. H.

_Jane._ Ah, aunt, aunt! you do not, you cannot know the bitter slavery to which your hate has doomed me: eight long years of joyless, hopeless, pitiless imprisonment—life dragged along in one unvarying level, in the very springtime of my youth—with heart and brain astir, and yearning for the love of kindred, full of bright thoughts and glorious impulses, the world and all its chances, changes, forever closed against me—it is terrible. Oh, for freedom! freedom! My heart bounds like an imprisoned bird against its wiry barrier, at the mere thought—freedom—blessed freedom; those only, who lose thee, know thy worth. (_Throws open window._) Oh, I have prayed for liberty until my loud cry seemed scattered on the passing wind. I cannot rest—I cannot think—my tortured brain, in wild confusion, whirls. Heaven send me a change, no matter what—a break to this heart-cankering monotony—a change, or I shall go mad.

_Enter_ MISS GRYCE.

_Miss G._ Perhaps you may have one sooner than you anticipate.

_Jane._ How! speak! is there such a hope?

_Miss G._ Brocklehurst has been here, and I took advantage of my slight deafness to give him a few stings.

_Jane._ Poor girl, his heart is clad in steel, no mortal can reach it; but you hinted at a change; what do you mean?

_Miss G._ In the first place, he says you are not sick, that it’s nothing but laziness.

_Jane._ The hypocrite! the false-tongued hypocrite! Go on.

_Miss G._ And that unless you attend to your duties, you’ll have to go.

_Jane._ Where?

_Miss G._ Anywhere,—out into the road; he’d do it.

_Jane._ He would—I know he would. What shall I do? Oh, pity me, for I need pity much. Homeless, friendless, and an orphan; what is to become of me?

_Miss G._ Why don’t you try and get something to do?

_Jane._ Have I not done so? Have I not, in the faint hope of, at least, changing my servitude, advertised for the situation of a governess? I have served here for eight years, and I would fain serve elsewhere; I know it would but be an exchange of prisons, but even that variety would be a boon. A new place in a new house, with new faces, it does not sound as sweet as liberty, excitement, enjoyment; but alas! they are all equally hollow and flattering, and to me it is a mere waste of words to utter them.

_Miss G._ Don’t grieve so terribly; who knows what this letter may contain?

_Jane._ (_Starting up._) For me! Gryce! (_Fiercely._)

_Miss G._ What! don’t look at me so awfully.

_Jane._ You are one who would see the fire laid to the stake before you would produce the wretch’s pardon.

_Miss G._ I was afraid it might contain bad news.

_Jane._ There is no bad news for me, the slightest change becomes an incident; a drop of water in the endless desert of my existence is as a mighty river. (_Reads._) Oh kind, benignant Providence, my prayers are heard at last! Listen. (_Reads._) “If J. E. is in a condition to give satisfactory reference as to character and capacity”—(that they must not, dare not refuse me,) “a situation can be offered to her where there is but one pupil, a little girl, under ten years of age, and where the salary——” Oh, I care not for that. “Apply to Mrs. Fairfax, Thornfield.”

_Miss G._ Thornfield, why it’s not more than two hours’ walk from here.

_Jane._ My heart is full, and forces from my eyes the unaccustomed tears. Years—long years of suffering misery are forgotten in this one moment of delight. Now my aspiring thought will have fit element to work within; high hopes and wild imaginings are crowding through my brain. I feel as though I were revelling in dream-land, and as with a lightning flash, the rocky barrier is rent that kept me from communion with my kind. Oh, world! oh, bright and glorious world! thy doors are opened to me at last!

[_Exit_, R. H.