Jane Eyre Page #3

belonged to you.

Bless you, child,

what an idea. Me?

I'm only the housekeeper.

Forgive me.

There is a distant connection

between Mr. Rochester and me,

his mother was a Fairfax,

but I'd never presume on it.

Heavens. Me,

owner of Thornfield?

We shall have a cheerful

house this winter.

With Miss Varens

here and with you,

we'll have quite

a merry time of it.

I'm sure that last winter, and what a severe

one it was, if it didn't rain it snowed,

if it didn't snow it blew.

I declare, not one soul came to

the house from November to February.

When spring finally came, I thought it

a great relief I hadn't gone distracted.

I've had Martha lay a fire.

I hope you'll be comfortable.

Now, get that lot turned

over before frost comes down.

Do you want the

upper bit doing as well?

Yes.

We must open

the window in the study today

to let in some air.

I've never seen such

an ancient old house.

How beautifully

you've preserved it.

Well, Mr. Rochester's visits

are always unexpected.

He doesn't like to arrive and

find everything all swathed up,

so I keep it in

constant readiness.

Now, come and

meet Miss Varens.

Did I mention

she's French?

Will you ask her

about her parents?

Mr. Rochester neglected to

tell me anything about her.

Her mother

has passed away.

Adle is going to show us

her accomplishments.

Oh!

How very French.

Very good.

Very good.

Now, we're going to make

a press. Shut the book up.

Butterfly.

And what was it

before it was a butterfly?

Caterpillar.

"I shall leave

and walk into town."

"Do not go,"

begged her maid.

"The Gytrash roams

these hills."

A spirit of the North that

lies in wait for travelers.

It tenants the

carcasses of beasts,

possesses horses,

wolves, great dogs.

You know it

only by its eyes,

which burn as

red as coals,

and if one should

chance upon you...

Nothing. A mere story.

What nonsense.

Whatever

brings you up here?

I've been waiting

to pour our tea.

I'm not in need of tea,

thank you.

It's a quiet life,

isn't it?

This isolated house, a

still doom for a young woman.

I wish a woman could have

action in her life, like a man.

It agitates me to pain that the

skyline over there is ever our limit.

I long sometimes for a power of

vision that would overpass it.

If I could behold

all I imagine...

I've never seen a city,

I've never

spoken with men.

And I fear my

whole life will pass...

Now, exercise

and fresh air,

great cures for

anything, they say.

I have some letters to post.

Will you take them?

Up! Up, you

cursed beast! Up!

- Stand back.

- Are you injured, sir?

May I be of some help?

Where did you

come from?

Just below, at Thornfield

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