Free Delphi Complete Works of the Brontes Charlotte, Emily, Anne Brontë (Illustrated) by Elizabeth Gaskell, Emily Brontë, Charlotte Brontë, Anne Brontë, PATRICK BRONTE Page A

reflections were too undefined and fragmentary to merit record: I hardly yet knew where I was; Gateshead and my past life seemed floated away to an immeasurable distance; the present was vague and strange, and of the future I could form no conjecture.  I looked round the convent-like garden, and then up at the house — a large building, half of which seemed grey and old, the other half quite new.  The new part, containing the schoolroom and dormitory, was lit by mullioned and latticed windows, which gave it a church-like aspect; a stone tablet over the door bore this inscription: —
    “Lowood Institution. — This portion was rebuilt A.D. — -, by Naomi Brocklehurst, of Brocklehurst Hall, in this county.”  “Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven.” — St. Matt. v. 16.
    I read these words over and over again: I felt that an explanation belonged to them, and was unable fully to penetrate their import.  I was still pondering the signification of “Institution,” and endeavouring to make out a connection between the first words and the verse of Scripture, when the sound of a cough close behind me made me turn my head.  I saw a girl sitting on a stone bench near; she was bent over a book, on the perusal of which she seemed intent: from where I stood I could see the title — it was “Rasselas;” a name that struck me as strange, and consequently attractive.  In turning a leaf she happened to look up, and I said to her directly —
    “Is your book interesting?”  I had already formed the intention of asking her to lend it to me some day.
    “I like it,” she answered, after a pause of a second or two, during which she examined me.
    “What is it about?” I continued.  I hardly know where I found the hardihood thus to open a conversation with a stranger; the step was contrary to my nature and habits: but I think her occupation touched a chord of sympathy somewhere; for I too liked reading, though of a frivolous and childish kind; I could not digest or comprehend the serious or substantial.
    “You may look at it,” replied the girl, offering me the book.
    I did so; a brief examination convinced me that the contents were less taking than the title: “Rasselas” looked dull to my trifling taste; I saw nothing about fairies, nothing about genii; no bright variety seemed spread over the closely-printed pages.  I returned it to her; she received it quietly, and without saying anything she was about to relapse into her former studious mood: again I ventured to disturb her —
    “Can you tell me what the writing on that stone over the door means?  What is Lowood Institution?”
    “This house where you are come to live.”
    “And why do they call it Institution?  Is it in any way different from other schools?”
    “It is partly a charity-school: you and I, and all the rest of us, are charity-children.  I suppose you are an orphan: are not either your father or your mother dead?”
    “Both died before I can remember.”
    “Well, all the girls here have lost either one or both parents, and this is called an institution for educating orphans.”
    “Do we pay no money?  Do they keep us for nothing?”
    “We pay, or our friends pay, fifteen pounds a year for each.”
    “Then why do they call us charity-children?”
    “Because fifteen pounds is not enough for board and teaching, and the deficiency is supplied by subscription.”
    “Who subscribes?”
    “Different benevolent-minded ladies and gentlemen in this neighbourhood and in London.”
    “Who was Naomi Brocklehurst?”
    “The lady who built the new part of this house as that tablet records, and whose son overlooks and directs everything here.”
    “Why?”
    “Because he is treasurer and manager of the establishment.”
    “Then this house does not belong to that tall lady who wears a watch, and who said we were to have some bread and cheese?”
    “To Miss Temple?  Oh,