best　friend；　and　to　speak　of　her　and　be　grateful　to　her　accordingly。”

“What　did　you　say；　Miss？”

“Nothing：　I　covered　my　face　with　the　bedclothes；　and　turned　from　her　to　the　wall。”

“That　was　wrong；　Miss　Jane。”

“It　was　quite　right；　Bessie。　Your　Missis　has　not　been　my　friend：　she　has　been　my　foe。”

“O　Miss　Jane！　don’t　say　so！”

“Good…bye　to　Gateshead！”　cried　I；　as　we　passed　through　the　hall　and　went　out　at　the　front　door。

The　moon　was　set；　and　it　was　very　dark；　Bessie　carried　a　lantern；　whose　light　glanced　on　wet　steps　and　gravel　road　sodden　by　a　recent　thaw。　Raw　and　chill　was　the　winter　morning：　my　teeth　chattered　as　I　hastened　down　the　drive。　There　was　a　light　in　the　porter’s　lodge：　when　we　reached　it；　we　found　the　porter’s　wife　just　kindling　her　fire：　my　trunk；　which　had　been　carried　down　the　evening　before；　stood　corded　at　the　door。　It　wanted　but　a　few　minutes　of　six；　and　shortly　after　that　hour　had　struck；　the　distant　roll　of　wheels　announced　the　ing　coach；　I　went　to　the　door　and　watched　its　lamps　approach　rapidly　through　the　gloom。

“Is　she　going　by　herself？”　asked　the　porter’s　wife。

“Yes。”

“And　how　far　is　it？”

“Fifty　miles。”

“What　a　long　way！　I　wonder　Mrs。　Reed　is　not　afraid　to　trust　her　so　far　alone。”

The　coach　drew　up；　there　it　was　at　the　gates　with　its　four　horses　and　its　top　laden　with　passengers：　the　guard　and　coachman　loudly　urged　haste；　my　trunk　was　hoisted　up；　I　was　taken　from