Chapter 32 Despair

1 It was evening the following day when the coach set me down at a place where four roads met. It drove on: it was a mile away now ... I was alone. At this moment I discovered that I had forgotten to take my bundle out of the coach. I had nothing left in the world.

2 The signpost told me that the nearest town was ten miles off. There were great hills behind and on each side of me. There were chains of mountains far beyond the deep valley at my feet. I saw no travellers on the road.

3 What was I to do? Where should I go? I touched the grass. It was dry, and still warm with the heat of the sun. The sky was clear, and there was no wind. Tonight I would be the guest of Nature: she would lodge me without charge. I had one piece of bread left. I gathered a handful of wild berries and ate them with the bread. I had some rest that night, but it was broken by a sad heart.

4 The next day I followed a road which led away from the hot sun. I was weak and tired out when at last I heard a bell—a church bell. Human life and human activity were near. A little later I entered a village. At the bottom of its one street there was a little shop with some bread in the window.

5 I went into the shop. A woman was there. Seeing a respectably dressed person, a lady as she supposed, she came forward with politeness. How could she serve me? I was seized with shame—because I had no money. My tongue would not pronounce the request for food, that I had intended to make. I only begged permission to sit down for a minute. Disappointed, she coldly pointed to a chair.

6 After a little while, I asked if there was any dressmaker in the village.

7 'Yes, two or three. Quite as many as there is employment for.'

8 'Do you know of any place in the neighbourhood where a servant is wanted?'

9 'No, I do not.'

10 I went on a little longer, but she seemed tired of my questions.

11 At last I took out my handkerchief, and asked if she would give me a loaf of bread for it.

12 She looked at me with immediate suspicion.

13 'No, I never sell stuff in that way. How can I tell where you got it?'

14 An ordinary beggar is often an object of distrust, a well-dressed one is always so. I could not blame the woman. I left the village in despair. The rest of the day I begged, but always in vain.

15 I passed the night in a wood. It was damp, and towards morning it rained. Another day went by, as hopeless as the first. I began to wish for death.

16 Towards the evening on the next day, I saw a faint light in the distance, and dragged my tired body slowly in its direction. A white gate could just be seen in the growing darkness. I passed through it and came to a kitchen window. A candle was burning on a table, and an oldish woman, rather rough looking, but very clean, was sewing by its light.

17 A group of greater interest appeared near the fireside. Two young, graceful women—ladies in every way—sat, one in an armchair, and the other on a lower seat. Both were dressed in black. A large old dog rested its head on the knee of one girl, and the other girl was smoothing the fur of a black cat.

18 This humble kitchen was a strange place for such people! Who were they? I had nowhere seen such faces as theirs, and yet, as I stared at them, I seemed familiar with every feature. They were pale and thoughtful-looking, and each bent over a book, while two other great books, which they frequently referred to, lay on the floor beside them: those might be dictionaries to help them in the work of translation.

19 I watched them for a long time. At last the oldish woman began to prepare a meal. I went to the door and knocked. She opened it.

20 'What do you want?' she inquired, in a voice of surprise.

21 'May I speak to your mistresses?'

22 'You had better tell me what you have to say to them. Where do you come from?'

23 'I am a stranger.'

24 'What is your business here at this hour?'

25 'I want a night's shelter in some corner, and a bit of bread to eat.'

26 Distrust, the feeling that I feared most, appeared in the woman's face. 'I'll give you a piece of bread,' she said, after a pause, 'but we can't take a wanderer in to sleep.'

27 'Where shall I go if you drive me away?'

28 'I expect you know where to go. Here is a penny. Move off.'

29 Here the honest but unsympathetic servant shut the door and fastened it inside.

30 This was the end.

31 Weak as I was, I could not go another step. I sank down outside the door and wept.

32 'I can but die,' I said aloud. 'Let me wait God's will in silence.'

33 'All men must die,' said a voice quite near me, 'but not all are fated to do so in their youth.'

34 'Who is speaking?' I asked, frightened at the unexpected sound. The newcomer knocked loudly at the door.

35 'Is that you, Mr St John?' cried the servant.

36 'Yes, yes. Open quickly, Hannah.'

37 'Well, how wet and cold you must be on a night like this! Come in. Your sisters have been quite anxious about you. There has been a beggar-woman. I believe she has not gone yet. Get up, for shame!'

38 'Be silent, Hannah. You have done your duty, now let me do mine. I think this is a special case.' And turning to me, he told me to pass before him into the house.

39 I obeyed him with difficulty. Soon I was in that clean, bright kitchen, with all the family looking at me. My head seemed to go round: I dropped, but a chair received me. One of the sisters broke some bread, dipped it in milk, and put it to my lips. There was pity in her face. I tasted what was offered me: weakly at first, then more eagerly.

40 'No more at present, Diana. She has no strength: it will harm her. Try if she can speak now. Ask her her name.'

41 I answered: 'My name is Jane Elliott.' I was anxious that my true name should not be discovered.

42 'Where do you live? Where are your friends?'

43 I was silent.

44 'Can you send for anyone you know?'

45 I shook my head.

46 Somehow, now that I had once entered this house and been brought face to face with its owners, I no longer felt a wanderer who belonged nowhere. I no longer felt a beggar, and my natural manner began to come back to me. When Mr St John demanded an account of myself, I said after a short pause:

47 'Sir, I can give you no details tonight.'

48 'What, then, do you expect me to do for you?'

49 'Nothing.' I had only enough strength for short answers.

50 Diana now spoke. 'Do you mean that you have now received the help that you need, and that we may dismiss you to the rainy night?'

51 I looked at her. She had, I thought, an unusual face, expressive of both power and goodness. I took sudden courage. Answering her sympathetic look with a smile, I said:

52 'I will trust you. If I were a masterless and homeless dog, I know you would not turn me away tonight. As it is, I have no fear. Do as you like with me, but excuse me from much speech—it hurts me to use my voice.'

53 All three looked at me in silence.

54 'Hannah,' said Mr St John at last, 'let her sit here at present, and ask her no more questions. In ten minutes more, give her the rest of the bread and milk. Mary and Diana, let us go into the sitting room and discuss the matter.'

55 They went out. Very soon one of the ladies returned and gave some directions to Hannah. Before long I was helped upstairs into a warm, dry bed. I thanked God, and with a warm feeling of grateful joy I fell asleep.