×

We use cookies to help make LingQ better. By visiting the site, you agree to our cookie policy.


image

Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë, CHAPTER XXVIII-b

CHAPTER XXVIII-b

My glazed eye wandered over the dim and misty landscape.

I saw I had strayed far from the village: it was quite out of sight. The very cultivation surrounding it had disappeared. I had, by cross-ways and by-paths, once more drawn near the tract of moorland; and now, only a few fields, almost as wild and unproductive as the heath from which they were scarcely reclaimed, lay between me and the dusky hill. “Well, I would rather die yonder than in a street or on a frequented road,” I reflected. “And far better that crows and ravens—if any ravens there be in these regions—should pick my flesh from my bones, than that they should be prisoned in a workhouse coffin and moulder in a pauper's grave.” To the hill, then, I turned.

I reached it. It remained now only to find a hollow where I could lie down, and feel at least hidden, if not secure. But all the surface of the waste looked level. It showed no variation but of tint: green, where rush and moss overgrew the marshes; black, where the dry soil bore only heath. Dark as it was getting, I could still see these changes, though but as mere alternations of light and shade; for colour had faded with the daylight. My eye still roved over the sullen swell and along the moor-edge, vanishing amidst the wildest scenery, when at one dim point, far in among the marshes and the ridges, a light sprang up. “That is an ignis fatuus ,” was my first thought; and I expected it would soon vanish. It burnt on, however, quite steadily, neither receding nor advancing. “Is it, then, a bonfire just kindled?” I questioned. I watched to see whether it would spread: but no; as it did not diminish, so it did not enlarge. “It may be a candle in a house,” I then conjectured; “but if so, I can never reach it. It is much too far away: and were it within a yard of me, what would it avail? I should but knock at the door to have it shut in my face.” And I sank down where I stood, and hid my face against the ground. I lay still a while: the night-wind swept over the hill and over me, and died moaning in the distance; the rain fell fast, wetting me afresh to the skin. Could I but have stiffened to the still frost—the friendly numbness of death—it might have pelted on; I should not have felt it; but my yet living flesh shuddered at its chilling influence. I rose ere long. The light was yet there, shining dim but constant through the rain. I tried to walk again: I dragged my exhausted limbs slowly towards it. It led me aslant over the hill, through a wide bog, which would have been impassable in winter, and was splashy and shaking even now, in the height of summer. Here I fell twice; but as often I rose and rallied my faculties. This light was my forlorn hope: I must gain it. Having crossed the marsh, I saw a trace of white over the moor. I approached it; it was a road or a track: it led straight up to the light, which now beamed from a sort of knoll, amidst a clump of trees—firs, apparently, from what I could distinguish of the character of their forms and foliage through the gloom. My star vanished as I drew near: some obstacle had intervened between me and it. I put out my hand to feel the dark mass before me: I discriminated the rough stones of a low wall—above it, something like palisades, and within, a high and prickly hedge. I groped on. Again a whitish object gleamed before me: it was a gate—a wicket; it moved on its hinges as I touched it. On each side stood a sable bush-holly or yew. Entering the gate and passing the shrubs, the silhouette of a house rose to view, black, low, and rather long; but the guiding light shone nowhere. All was obscurity. Were the inmates retired to rest? I feared it must be so. In seeking the door, I turned an angle: there shot out the friendly gleam again, from the lozenged panes of a very small latticed window, within a foot of the ground, made still smaller by the growth of ivy or some other creeping plant, whose leaves clustered thick over the portion of the house wall in which it was set. The aperture was so screened and narrow, that curtain or shutter had been deemed unnecessary; and when I stooped down and put aside the spray of foliage shooting over it, I could see all within. I could see clearly a room with a sanded floor, clean scoured; a dresser of walnut, with pewter plates ranged in rows, reflecting the redness and radiance of a glowing peat-fire. I could see a clock, a white deal table, some chairs. The candle, whose ray had been my beacon, burnt on the table; and by its light an elderly woman, somewhat rough-looking, but scrupulously clean, like all about her, was knitting a stocking. I noticed these objects cursorily only—in them there was nothing extraordinary.

A group of more interest appeared near the hearth, sitting still amidst the rosy peace and warmth suffusing it. Two young, graceful women—ladies in every point—sat, one in a low rocking-chair, the other on a lower stool; both wore deep mourning of crape and bombazeen, which sombre garb singularly set off very fair necks and faces: a large old pointer dog rested its massive head on the knee of one girl—in the lap of the other was cushioned a black cat. A strange place was this humble kitchen for such occupants! Who were they? They could not be the daughters of the elderly person at the table; for she looked like a rustic, and they were all delicacy and cultivation. I had nowhere seen such faces as theirs: and yet, as I gazed on them, I seemed intimate with every lineament. I cannot call them handsome—they were too pale and grave for the word: as they each bent over a book, they looked thoughtful almost to severity. A stand between them supported a second candle and two great volumes, to which they frequently referred, comparing them, seemingly, with the smaller books they held in their hands, like people consulting a dictionary to aid them in the task of translation. This scene was as silent as if all the figures had been shadows and the firelit apartment a picture: so hushed was it, I could hear the cinders fall from the grate, the clock tick in its obscure corner; and I even fancied I could distinguish the click-click of the woman's knitting-needles. When, therefore, a voice broke the strange stillness at last, it was audible enough to me. “Listen, Diana,” said one of the absorbed students; “Franz and old Daniel are together in the night-time, and Franz is telling a dream from which he has awakened in terror—listen!” And in a low voice she read something, of which not one word was intelligible to me; for it was in an unknown tongue—neither French nor Latin. Whether it were Greek or German I could not tell. “That is strong,” she said, when she had finished: “I relish it.” The other girl, who had lifted her head to listen to her sister, repeated, while she gazed at the fire, a line of what had been read. At a later day, I knew the language and the book; therefore, I will here quote the line: though, when I first heard it, it was only like a stroke on sounding brass to me—conveying no meaning:— “‘Da trat hervor Einer, anzusehen wie die Sternen Nacht. ' Good! good!” she exclaimed, while her dark and deep eye sparkled. “There you have a dim and mighty archangel fitly set before you! The line is worth a hundred pages of fustian. ‘Ich wäge die Gedanken in der Schale meines Zornes und die Werke mit dem Gewichte meines Grimms. ' I like it!” Both were again silent.

“Is there ony country where they talk i' that way?” asked the old woman, looking up from her knitting. “Yes, Hannah—a far larger country than England, where they talk in no other way.” “Well, for sure case, I knawn't how they can understand t' one t'other: and if either o' ye went there, ye could tell what they said, I guess?” “We could probably tell something of what they said, but not all—for we are not as clever as you think us, Hannah. We don't speak German, and we cannot read it without a dictionary to help us.” “And what good does it do you?”

“We mean to teach it some time—or at least the elements, as they say; and then we shall get more money than we do now.” “Varry like: but give ower studying; ye've done enough for to-night.” “I think we have: at least I'm tired.

Mary, are you?” “Mortally: after all, it's tough work fagging away at a language with no master but a lexicon.”

“It is, especially such a language as this crabbed but glorious Deutsch. I wonder when St. John will come home.” “Surely he will not be long now: it is just ten (looking at a little gold watch she drew from her girdle).

It rains fast, Hannah: will you have the goodness to look at the fire in the parlour?” The woman rose: she opened a door, through which I dimly saw a passage: soon I heard her stir a fire in an inner room; she presently came back. “Ah, childer!” said she, “it fair troubles me to go into yond' room now: it looks so lonesome wi' the chair empty and set back in a corner.” She wiped her eyes with her apron: the two girls, grave before, looked sad now. “But he is in a better place,” continued Hannah: “we shouldn't wish him here again. And then, nobody need to have a quieter death nor he had.” “You say he never mentioned us?” inquired one of the ladies. “He hadn't time, bairn: he was gone in a minute, was your father. He had been a bit ailing like the day before, but naught to signify; and when Mr. St. John asked if he would like either o' ye to be sent for, he fair laughed at him. He began again with a bit of a heaviness in his head the next day—that is, a fortnight sin'—and he went to sleep and niver wakened: he wor a'most stark when your brother went into t' chamber and fand him. Ah, childer! that's t' last o' t' old stock—for ye and Mr. St. John is like of different soart to them ‘at's gone; for all your mother wor mich i' your way, and a'most as book-learned. She wor the pictur' o' ye, Mary: Diana is more like your father.” I thought them so similar I could not tell where the old servant (for such I now concluded her to be) saw the difference. Both were fair complexioned and slenderly made; both possessed faces full of distinction and intelligence. One, to be sure, had hair a shade darker than the other, and there was a difference in their style of wearing it; Mary's pale brown locks were parted and braided smooth: Diana's duskier tresses covered her neck with thick curls. The clock struck ten. “Ye'll want your supper, I am sure,” observed Hannah; “and so will Mr. St. John when he comes in.” And she proceeded to prepare the meal.

The ladies rose; they seemed about to withdraw to the parlour. Till this moment, I had been so intent on watching them, their appearance and conversation had excited in me so keen an interest, I had half-forgotten my own wretched position: now it recurred to me. More desolate, more desperate than ever, it seemed from contrast. And how impossible did it appear to touch the inmates of this house with concern on my behalf; to make them believe in the truth of my wants and woes—to induce them to vouchsafe a rest for my wanderings! As I groped out the door, and knocked at it hesitatingly, I felt that last idea to be a mere chimera. Hannah opened. “What do you want?” she inquired, in a voice of surprise, as she surveyed me by the light of the candle she held. “May I speak to your mistresses?” I said.

“You had better tell me what you have to say to them. Where do you come from?” “I am a stranger.”

“What is your business here at this hour?”

“I want a night's shelter in an out-house or anywhere, and a morsel of bread to eat.” Distrust, the very feeling I dreaded, appeared in Hannah's face. “I'll give you a piece of bread,” she said, after a pause; “but we can't take in a vagrant to lodge. It isn't likely.” “Do let me speak to your mistresses.”

“No, not I. What can they do for you?

You should not be roving about now; it looks very ill.” “But where shall I go if you drive me away?

What shall I do?” “Oh, I'll warrant you know where to go and what to do.

Mind you don't do wrong, that's all. Here is a penny; now go—” “A penny cannot feed me, and I have no strength to go farther. Don't shut the door:—oh, don't, for God's sake!” “I must; the rain is driving in—”

“Tell the young ladies.

Let me see them—” “Indeed, I will not.

You are not what you ought to be, or you wouldn't make such a noise. Move off.” “But I must die if I am turned away.”

“Not you.

I'm fear'd you have some ill plans agate, that bring you about folk's houses at this time o' night. If you've any followers—housebreakers or such like—anywhere near, you may tell them we are not by ourselves in the house; we have a gentleman, and dogs, and guns.” Here the honest but inflexible servant clapped the door to and bolted it within. This was the climax.

A pang of exquisite suffering—a throe of true despair—rent and heaved my heart. Worn out, indeed, I was; not another step could I stir. I sank on the wet doorstep: I groaned—I wrung my hands—I wept in utter anguish. Oh, this spectre of death! Oh, this last hour, approaching in such horror! Alas, this isolation—this banishment from my kind! Not only the anchor of hope, but the footing of fortitude was gone—at least for a moment; but the last I soon endeavoured to regain. “I can but die,” I said, “and I believe in God. Let me try to wait His will in silence.” These words I not only thought, but uttered; and thrusting back all my misery into my heart, I made an effort to compel it to remain there—dumb and still. “All men must die,” said a voice quite close at hand; “but all are not condemned to meet a lingering and premature doom, such as yours would be if you perished here of want.” “Who or what speaks?” I asked, terrified at the unexpected sound, and incapable now of deriving from any occurrence a hope of aid. A form was near—what form, the pitch-dark night and my enfeebled vision prevented me from distinguishing. With a loud long knock, the new-comer appealed to the door. “Is it you, Mr. St.

John?” cried Hannah. “Yes—yes; open quickly.”

“Well, how wet and cold you must be, such a wild night as it is! Come in—your sisters are quite uneasy about you, and I believe there are bad folks about. There has been a beggar-woman—I declare she is not gone yet!—laid down there. Get up! for shame! Move off, I say!” “Hush, Hannah!

I have a word to say to the woman. You have done your duty in excluding, now let me do mine in admitting her. I was near, and listened to both you and her. I think this is a peculiar case—I must at least examine into it. Young woman, rise, and pass before me into the house.” With difficulty I obeyed him.

Presently I stood within that clean, bright kitchen—on the very hearth—trembling, sickening; conscious of an aspect in the last degree ghastly, wild, and weather-beaten. The two ladies, their brother, Mr. St. John, the old servant, were all gazing at me. “St.

John, who is it?” I heard one ask. “I cannot tell: I found her at the door,” was the reply. “She does look white,” said Hannah.

“As white as clay or death,” was responded.

“She will fall: let her sit.” And indeed my head swam: I dropped, but a chair received me. I still possessed my senses, though just now I could not speak. “Perhaps a little water would restore her.

Hannah, fetch some. But she is worn to nothing. How very thin, and how very bloodless!” “A mere spectre!”

“Is she ill, or only famished?”

“Famished, I think.

Hannah, is that milk? Give it me, and a piece of bread.” Diana (I knew her by the long curls which I saw drooping between me and the fire as she bent over me) broke some bread, dipped it in milk, and put it to my lips. Her face was near mine: I saw there was pity in it, and I felt sympathy in her hurried breathing. In her simple words, too, the same balm-like emotion spoke: “Try to eat.” “Yes—try,” repeated Mary gently; and Mary's hand removed my sodden bonnet and lifted my head. I tasted what they offered me: feebly at first, eagerly soon. “Not too much at first—restrain her,” said the brother; “she has had enough.” And he withdrew the cup of milk and the plate of bread. “A little more, St.

John—look at the avidity in her eyes.” “No more at present, sister.

Try if she can speak now—ask her her name.” I felt I could speak, and I answered—“My name is Jane Elliott.” Anxious as ever to avoid discovery, I had before resolved to assume an alias . “And where do you live?

Where are your friends?” I was silent.

“Can we send for any one you know?”

I shook my head.

“What account can you give of yourself?”

Somehow, now that I had once crossed the threshold of this house, and once was brought face to face with its owners, I felt no longer outcast, vagrant, and disowned by the wide world. I dared to put off the mendicant—to resume my natural manner and character. I began once more to know myself; and when Mr. St. John demanded an account—which at present I was far too weak to render—I said after a brief pause— “Sir, I can give you no details to-night.”

“But what, then,” said he, “do you expect me to do for you?”

“Nothing,” I replied.

My strength sufficed for but short answers. Diana took the word— “Do you mean,” she asked, “that we have now given you what aid you require? and that we may dismiss you to the moor and the rainy night?” I looked at her.

She had, I thought, a remarkable countenance, instinct both with power and goodness. I took sudden courage. Answering her compassionate gaze with a smile, I said—“I will trust you. If I were a masterless and stray dog, I know that you would not turn me from your hearth to-night: as it is, I really have no fear. Do with me and for me as you like; but excuse me from much discourse—my breath is short—I feel a spasm when I speak.” All three surveyed me, and all three were silent. “Hannah,” said Mr. St.

John, at last, “let her sit there at present, and ask her no questions; in ten minutes more, give her the remainder of that milk and bread. Mary and Diana, let us go into the parlour and talk the matter over.” They withdrew.

Very soon one of the ladies returned—I could not tell which. A kind of pleasant stupor was stealing over me as I sat by the genial fire. In an undertone she gave some directions to Hannah. Ere long, with the servant's aid, I contrived to mount a staircase; my dripping clothes were removed; soon a warm, dry bed received me. I thanked God—experienced amidst unutterable exhaustion a glow of grateful joy—and slept.

CHAPTER XXVIII-b CAPÍTULO XXVIII-b ГЛАВА XXVIII-б BÖLÜM XXVIII-b

My glazed eye wandered over the dim and misty landscape. Mon œil vitreux errait sur le paysage sombre et brumeux.

I saw I had strayed far from the village: it was quite out of sight. J'ai vu que je m'étais éloigné du village: il était tout à fait hors de vue. The very cultivation surrounding it had disappeared. I had, by cross-ways and by-paths, once more drawn near the tract of moorland; and now, only a few fields, almost as wild and unproductive as the heath from which they were scarcely reclaimed, lay between me and the dusky hill. J'avais, par des croisements et des chemins de traverse, une fois de plus attiré près de l'étendue de landes; et maintenant, seuls quelques champs, presque aussi sauvages et improductifs que la lande dont ils étaient à peine récupérés, se trouvaient entre moi et la colline sombre. “Well, I would rather die yonder than in a street or on a frequented road,” I reflected. “Well, I would rather die yonder than in a street or on a frequented road,” I reflected. «Eh bien, je préfère mourir là-bas que dans une rue ou sur une route fréquentée», ai-je réfléchi. “And far better that crows and ravens—if any ravens there be in these regions—should pick my flesh from my bones, than that they should be prisoned in a workhouse coffin and moulder in a pauper’s grave.” “And far better that crows and ravens—if any ravens there be in these regions—should pick my flesh from my bones, than that they should be prisoned in a workhouse coffin and moulder in a pauper's grave.” «Et il vaut mieux que les corbeaux et les corbeaux - s'il y a des corbeaux dans ces régions - choisissent ma chair de mes os, que qu'ils soient emprisonnés dans un cercueil d'atelier et mouleur dans la tombe d'un pauvre. To the hill, then, I turned. Vers la colline, alors, je me suis tourné.

I reached it. It remained now only to find a hollow where I could lie down, and feel at least hidden, if not secure. It remained now only to find a hollow where I could lie down, and feel at least hidden, if not secure. Il ne restait plus qu'à trouver un creux où je pourrais m'allonger, et me sentir au moins caché, sinon en sécurité. But all the surface of the waste looked level. But all the surface of the waste looked level. Mais toute la surface des déchets avait l'air de niveau. It showed no variation but of tint: green, where rush and moss overgrew the marshes; black, where the dry soil bore only heath. It showed no variation but of tint: green, where rush and moss overgrew the marshes; black, where the dry soil bore only heath. Il ne présentait aucune variation mais de teinte: verte, là où la jonc et la mousse envahissaient les marais; noir, où le sol sec ne portait que de la bruyère. Dark as it was getting, I could still see these changes, though but as mere alternations of light and shade; for colour had faded with the daylight. Dark as it was getting, I could still see these changes, though but as mere alternations of light and shade; for colour had faded with the daylight. Comme il devenait sombre, je pouvais encore voir ces changements, mais comme de simples alternances de lumière et d'ombre; car la couleur s'était fanée avec la lumière du jour. My eye still roved over the sullen swell and along the moor-edge, vanishing amidst the wildest scenery, when at one dim point, far in among the marshes and the ridges, a light sprang up. My eye still roved over the sullen swell and along the moor-edge, vanishing amidst the wildest scenery, when at one dim point, far in among the marshes and the ridges, a light sprang up. Mon œil passait toujours sur la houle maussade et le long du bord de la lande, disparaissant au milieu des paysages les plus sauvages, quand à un point sombre, loin parmi les marais et les crêtes, une lumière jaillit. “That is an ignis fatuus ,” was my first thought; and I expected it would soon vanish. “That is an ignis fatuus ,” was my first thought; and I expected it would soon vanish. "C'est un ignis fatuus", fut ma première pensée, et je m'attendais à ce qu'elle disparaisse rapidement. It burnt on, however, quite steadily, neither receding nor advancing. It burnt on, however, quite steadily, neither receding nor advancing. Il a brûlé, cependant, assez régulièrement, ni reculer ni avancer. “Is it, then, a bonfire just kindled?” I questioned. «Est-ce donc un feu de joie allumé? Questionnai-je. I watched to see whether it would spread: but no; as it did not diminish, so it did not enlarge. I watched to see whether it would spread: but no; as it did not diminish, so it did not enlarge. J'ai regardé pour voir si elle se propagerait: mais non; comme il n'a pas diminué, il ne s'est donc pas agrandi. “It may be a candle in a house,” I then conjectured; “but if so, I can never reach it. It is much too far away: and were it within a yard of me, what would it avail? Il est beaucoup trop loin: et s'il était à moins d'un mètre de moi, à quoi cela servirait-il? I should but knock at the door to have it shut in my face.” Je ne devrais que frapper à la porte pour qu'elle se referme sur mon visage. And I sank down where I stood, and hid my face against the ground. Et je me suis effondré là où je me tenais, et j'ai caché mon visage contre le sol. I lay still a while: the night-wind swept over the hill and over me, and died moaning in the distance; the rain fell fast, wetting me afresh to the skin. Je restai immobile un moment: le vent de la nuit passa sur la colline et sur moi, et mourut en gémissant au loin; la pluie tomba rapidement, me mouillant à nouveau jusqu'à la peau. Could I but have stiffened to the still frost—the friendly numbness of death—it might have pelted on; I should not have felt it; but my yet living flesh shuddered at its chilling influence. Could I but have stiffened to the still frost—the friendly numbness of death—it might have pelted on; I should not have felt it; but my yet living flesh shuddered at its chilling influence. N'aurais-je pu m'empêcher de me raidir devant le gel encore - l'engourdissement amical de la mort - il aurait pu se jeter dessus; Je n'aurais pas dû le sentir; mais ma chair encore vivante tremblait sous son influence glaciale. I rose ere long. Je me suis levé avant longtemps. The light was yet there, shining dim but constant through the rain. La lumière était encore là, brillante faible mais constante à travers la pluie. I tried to walk again: I dragged my exhausted limbs slowly towards it. J'ai essayé de marcher à nouveau: j'ai traîné lentement mes membres épuisés vers elle. It led me aslant over the hill, through a wide bog, which would have been impassable in winter, and was splashy and shaking even now, in the height of summer. It led me aslant over the hill, through a wide bog, which would have been impassable in winter, and was splashy and shaking even now, in the height of summer. Cela me conduisit en pente au-dessus de la colline, à travers une large tourbière, qui aurait été infranchissable en hiver, et était éclaboussante et tremblante même maintenant, au plus fort de l'été. Here I fell twice; but as often I rose and rallied my faculties. Here I fell twice; but as often I rose and rallied my faculties. This light was my forlorn hope: I must gain it. This light was my forlorn hope: I must gain it. Cette lumière était mon espoir désespéré: je dois la gagner. Having crossed the marsh, I saw a trace of white over the moor. Having crossed the marsh, I saw a trace of white over the moor. Après avoir traversé le marais, j'ai vu une trace de blanc sur la lande. I approached it; it was a road or a track: it led straight up to the light, which now beamed from a sort of knoll, amidst a clump of trees—firs, apparently, from what I could distinguish of the character of their forms and foliage through the gloom. I approached it; it was a road or a track: it led straight up to the light, which now beamed from a sort of knoll, amidst a clump of trees—firs, apparently, from what I could distinguish of the character of their forms and foliage through the gloom. Je m'en suis approché; c'était une route ou une piste: elle menait directement à la lumière, qui maintenant rayonnait d'une sorte de butte, au milieu d'un bouquet d'arbres - sapins, apparemment, d'après ce que je pouvais distinguer du caractère de leurs formes et feuillage à travers le obscurité. My star vanished as I drew near: some obstacle had intervened between me and it. My star vanished as I drew near: some obstacle had intervened between me and it. I put out my hand to feel the dark mass before me: I discriminated the rough stones of a low wall—above it, something like palisades, and within, a high and prickly hedge. Je tendis la main pour sentir la masse sombre devant moi: je distinguai les pierres brutes d'un muret - au-dessus, quelque chose comme des palissades, et à l'intérieur, une haie haute et piquante. I groped on. J'ai tâtonné. Again a whitish object gleamed before me: it was a gate—a wicket; it moved on its hinges as I touched it. De nouveau, un objet blanchâtre brillait devant moi: c'était une porte - un guichet; il bougeait sur ses gonds lorsque je le touchais. On each side stood a sable bush-holly or yew. De chaque côté se tenait un buisson de zibeline-houx ou if. Entering the gate and passing the shrubs, the silhouette of a house rose to view, black, low, and rather long; but the guiding light shone nowhere. En franchissant la porte et en passant devant les arbustes, la silhouette d'une maison se dressait, noire, basse et assez longue; mais la lumière directrice ne brillait nulle part. All was obscurity. Were the inmates retired to rest? Les détenus ont-ils été retirés pour se reposer? I feared it must be so. Je craignais qu'il en soit ainsi. In seeking the door, I turned an angle: there shot out the friendly gleam again, from the lozenged panes of a very small latticed window, within a foot of the ground, made still smaller by the growth of ivy or some other creeping plant, whose leaves clustered thick over the portion of the house wall in which it was set. En cherchant la porte, je tournai un angle: là jaillit à nouveau la lueur amicale, des vitres en losange d'une toute petite fenêtre grillagée, à moins d'un pied du sol, rendue encore plus petite par la croissance du lierre ou de quelque autre plante rampante, dont les feuilles se groupaient épaisses sur la partie du mur de la maison dans laquelle elle était placée. The aperture was so screened and narrow, that curtain or shutter had been deemed unnecessary; and when I stooped down and put aside the spray of foliage shooting over it, I could see all within. L'ouverture était si blindée et si étroite que le rideau ou l'obturateur avait été jugé inutile; et quand je me suis penché et que j'ai mis de côté le jet de feuillage qui jaillissait dessus, je pouvais tout voir à l'intérieur. I could see clearly a room with a sanded floor, clean scoured; a dresser of walnut, with pewter plates ranged in rows, reflecting the redness and radiance of a glowing peat-fire. Je pouvais voir clairement une pièce avec un sol sablé, propre décapé; une commode en noyer, avec des assiettes en étain disposées en rangées, reflétant la rougeur et l'éclat d'un feu de tourbe incandescent. I could see a clock, a white deal table, some chairs. Je pouvais voir une horloge, une table blanche, des chaises. The candle, whose ray had been my beacon, burnt on the table; and by its light an elderly woman, somewhat rough-looking, but scrupulously clean, like all about her, was knitting a stocking. La bougie, dont le rayon avait été ma balise, brûlait sur la table; et à sa lumière, une femme âgée, un peu rude, mais scrupuleusement propre, comme tout autour d'elle, tricotait un bas. I noticed these objects cursorily only—in them there was nothing extraordinary. Je n'ai remarqué ces objets que brièvement - il n'y avait rien d'extraordinaire en eux.

A group of more interest appeared near the hearth, sitting still amidst the rosy peace and warmth suffusing it. A group of more interest appeared near the hearth, sitting still amidst the rosy peace and warmth suffusing it. Un groupe plus intéressant est apparu près du foyer, assis toujours au milieu de la paix et de la chaleur rose qui le submergeait. Two young, graceful women—ladies in every point—sat, one in a low rocking-chair, the other on a lower stool; both wore deep mourning of crape and bombazeen, which sombre garb singularly set off very fair necks and faces: a large old pointer dog rested its massive head on the knee of one girl—in the lap of the other was cushioned a black cat. Deux jeunes femmes gracieuses - des dames en tout point - étaient assises, l'une dans un fauteuil à bascule bas, l'autre sur un tabouret inférieur; tous deux portaient un profond deuil de crêpe et de bombazeen, ce costume sombre mettant singulièrement en valeur des cous et des visages très clairs: un grand vieux chien pointeur posait sa tête massive sur le genou d'une fille - sur les genoux de l'autre était coussiné un chat noir. A strange place was this humble kitchen for such occupants! A strange place was this humble kitchen for such occupants! Un endroit étrange était cette humble cuisine pour de tels occupants! Who were they? They could not be the daughters of the elderly person at the table; for she looked like a rustic, and they were all delicacy and cultivation. I had nowhere seen such faces as theirs: and yet, as I gazed on them, I seemed intimate with every lineament. Je n'avais jamais vu de visages comme les leurs, et pourtant, en les regardant, j'avais l'impression d'en connaître tous les traits. I cannot call them handsome—they were too pale and grave for the word: as they each bent over a book, they looked thoughtful almost to severity. A stand between them supported a second candle and two great volumes, to which they frequently referred, comparing them, seemingly, with the smaller books they held in their hands, like people consulting a dictionary to aid them in the task of translation. Un stand entre eux soutenait une deuxième bougie et deux grands volumes, auxquels ils se référaient fréquemment, les comparant, apparemment, aux petits livres qu'ils tenaient entre leurs mains, comme des gens qui consultaient un dictionnaire pour les aider dans la tâche de traduction. This scene was as silent as if all the figures had been shadows and the firelit apartment a picture: so hushed was it, I could hear the cinders fall from the grate, the clock tick in its obscure corner; and I even fancied I could distinguish the click-click of the woman’s knitting-needles. Cette scène était aussi silencieuse que si toutes les figures avaient été des ombres et l'appartement éclairé par le feu un tableau: tant elle était silencieuse, j'entendais les cendres tomber de la grille, l'horloge tiquer dans son coin obscur; et j'imaginais même pouvoir distinguer le clic-clic des aiguilles à tricoter de la femme. When, therefore, a voice broke the strange stillness at last, it was audible enough to me. When, therefore, a voice broke the strange stillness at last, it was audible enough to me. Quand, par conséquent, une voix rompit enfin l'étrange immobilité, elle me fut assez audible. “Listen, Diana,” said one of the absorbed students; “Franz and old Daniel are together in the night-time, and Franz is telling a dream from which he has awakened in terror—listen!”  And in a low voice she read something, of which not one word was intelligible to me; for it was in an unknown tongue—neither French nor Latin. "Écoute, Diana, dit l'un des étudiants absorbés ; Franz et le vieux Daniel sont ensemble dans la nuit, et Franz raconte un rêve dont il s'est réveillé avec terreur - écoute ! Et, à voix basse, elle lut quelque chose dont pas un mot ne me fut intelligible, car c'était dans une langue inconnue, ni français, ni latin. Whether it were Greek or German I could not tell. “That is strong,” she said, when she had finished: “I relish it.”  The other girl, who had lifted her head to listen to her sister, repeated, while she gazed at the fire, a line of what had been read. «C'est fort», dit-elle, lorsqu'elle eut fini: «Je savoure ça. L'autre fille, qui avait levé la tête pour écouter sa sœur, répéta, tout en regardant le feu, une ligne de ce qui avait été lu. At a later day, I knew the language and the book; therefore, I will here quote the line: though, when I first heard it, it was only like a stroke on sounding brass to me—conveying no meaning:— Plus tard, je connaissais la langue et le livre; par conséquent, je vais ici citer la phrase: bien que, quand je l'ai entendu pour la première fois, ce n'était qu'un coup sur des cuivres qui sonnaient pour moi - sans signifier: - “‘Da trat hervor Einer, anzusehen wie die Sternen Nacht. "Da trat hervor Einer, anzusehen wie die Sternen Nacht. '  Good! good!” she exclaimed, while her dark and deep eye sparkled. bien!" s'exclama-t-elle, tandis que son œil sombre et profond brillait. “There you have a dim and mighty archangel fitly set before you! «Là, vous avez devant vous un archange faible et puissant! The line is worth a hundred pages of fustian. La ligne vaut cent pages de fustian. ‘Ich wäge die Gedanken in der Schale meines Zornes und die Werke mit dem Gewichte meines Grimms. '  I like it!” Both were again silent.

“Is there ony country where they talk i' that way?” asked the old woman, looking up from her knitting. “Yes, Hannah—a far larger country than England, where they talk in no other way.” “Well, for sure case, I knawn’t how they can understand t' one t’other: and if either o' ye went there, ye could tell what they said, I guess?” «Eh bien, bien sûr, je ne sais pas comment ils peuvent se comprendre l'un l'autre: et si l'un ou l'autre vous y alliez, vous pourriez dire ce qu'ils ont dit, je suppose? “We could probably tell something of what they said, but not all—for we are not as clever as you think us, Hannah. We don’t speak German, and we cannot read it without a dictionary to help us.” “And what good does it do you?”

“We mean to teach it some time—or at least the elements, as they say; and then we shall get more money than we do now.” «Nous avons l'intention de l'enseigner quelque temps - ou du moins les éléments, comme on dit; et nous recevrons alors plus d’argent qu’aujourd’hui. “Varry like: but give ower studying; ye’ve done enough for to-night.” «Varry aime: mais donnez de la puissance à l'étude; vous en avez assez fait pour cette nuit. “I think we have: at least I’m tired.

Mary, are you?” “Mortally: after all, it’s tough work fagging away at a language with no master but a lexicon.” «Mortellement: après tout, c'est un travail difficile de s'attaquer à une langue sans maître mais avec un lexique.»

“It is, especially such a language as this crabbed but glorious Deutsch. «C'est, surtout une langue comme ce Deutsch crabe mais glorieux. I wonder when St. John will come home.” “Surely he will not be long now: it is just ten (looking at a little gold watch she drew from her girdle). «Il ne sera sûrement pas longtemps maintenant: il est juste dix (en regardant une petite montre en or qu'elle tira de sa ceinture).

It rains fast, Hannah: will you have the goodness to look at the fire in the parlour?” The woman rose: she opened a door, through which I dimly saw a passage: soon I heard her stir a fire in an inner room; she presently came back. “Ah, childer!” said she, “it fair troubles me to go into yond' room now: it looks so lonesome wi' the chair empty and set back in a corner.” “Ah, childer!” said she, “it fair troubles me to go into yond' room now: it looks so lonesome wi' the chair empty and set back in a corner.” «Ah, enfant!» dit-elle, "ça me dérange juste d'aller dans cette pièce maintenant: ça a l'air si solitaire avec la chaise vide et en retrait dans un coin." She wiped her eyes with her apron: the two girls, grave before, looked sad now. She wiped her eyes with her apron: the two girls, grave before, looked sad now. Elle s'essuya les yeux avec son tablier: les deux filles, graves auparavant, avaient l'air tristes maintenant. “But he is in a better place,” continued Hannah: “we shouldn’t wish him here again. “But he is in a better place,” continued Hannah: “we shouldn't wish him here again. «Mais il est dans un meilleur endroit», a poursuivi Hannah: «nous ne devrions pas lui souhaiter à nouveau ici. And then, nobody need to have a quieter death nor he had.” And then, nobody need to have a quieter death nor he had.” Et puis, personne n'a besoin d'avoir une mort plus calme ni lui non plus. “You say he never mentioned us?” inquired one of the ladies. “You say he never mentioned us?” inquired one of the ladies. «Vous dites qu'il ne nous a jamais mentionné? demanda l'une des dames. “He hadn’t time, bairn: he was gone in a minute, was your father. «Il n'avait pas le temps, bairn: il était parti dans une minute, c'était ton père. He had been a bit ailing like the day before, but naught to signify; and when Mr. St. Il avait été un peu malade comme la veille, mais rien à signifier; et quand M. St. John asked if he would like either o' ye to be sent for, he fair laughed at him. John a demandé s'il voulait que l'un ou l'autre de vous soit envoyé chercher, il s'est moqué de lui. He began again with a bit of a heaviness in his head the next day—that is, a fortnight sin'—and he went to sleep and niver wakened: he wor a’most stark when your brother went into t' chamber and fand him. Il a recommencé avec un peu de lourdeur dans la tête le lendemain - c'est-à-dire une quinzaine de jours de péché - et il s'est endormi et ne s'est pas réveillé: il était très dur quand ton frère est entré dans la chambre et l'a fand . Ah, childer! Ah, childer! that’s t' last o' t' old stock—for ye and Mr. St. c'est le dernier des vieux stocks - pour vous et M. St. John is like of different soart to them ‘at’s gone; for all your mother wor mich i' your way, and a’most as book-learned. John est comme une soart différente pour eux 'at est parti; pour tout ce que ta mère travaille à ta façon, et presque comme un livre. She wor the pictur' o' ye, Mary: Diana is more like your father.” Elle regarde la photo 'o' ye, Mary: Diana ressemble plus à ton père. I thought them so similar I could not tell where the old servant (for such I now concluded her to be) saw the difference. I thought them so similar I could not tell where the old servant (for such I now concluded her to be) saw the difference. Je les trouvais si similaires que je ne pouvais pas dire où la vieille servante (pour une telle chose, je la concluais maintenant) voyait la différence. Both were fair complexioned and slenderly made; both possessed faces full of distinction and intelligence. Les deux avaient le teint clair et la forme mince; tous deux possédaient des visages pleins de distinction et d'intelligence. One, to be sure, had hair a shade darker than the other, and there was a difference in their style of wearing it; Mary’s pale brown locks were parted and braided smooth: Diana’s duskier tresses covered her neck with thick curls. L'un, bien sûr, avait des cheveux d'une teinte plus foncée que l'autre, et il y avait une différence dans leur style de port; Les mèches brun pâle de Mary étaient séparées et tressées lisses: les tresses plus sombres de Diana couvraient son cou d'épaisses boucles. The clock struck ten. “Ye’ll want your supper, I am sure,” observed Hannah; “and so will Mr. St. «Vous voudrez votre souper, j'en suis sûr,» observa Hannah; «Et M. St. John when he comes in.” And she proceeded to prepare the meal.

The ladies rose; they seemed about to withdraw to the parlour. Les dames se levèrent; ils semblaient sur le point de se retirer dans le salon. Till this moment, I had been so intent on watching them, their appearance and conversation had excited in me so keen an interest, I had half-forgotten my own wretched position: now it recurred to me. Till this moment, I had been so intent on watching them, their appearance and conversation had excited in me so keen an interest, I had half-forgotten my own wretched position: now it recurred to me. Jusque-là, j'avais été si déterminé à les regarder, leur apparence et leur conversation m'avaient excité un intérêt si vif, j'avais à moitié oublié ma propre position misérable: maintenant cela me revenait. More desolate, more desperate than ever, it seemed from contrast. And how impossible did it appear to touch the inmates of this house with concern on my behalf; to make them believe in the truth of my wants and woes—to induce them to vouchsafe a rest for my wanderings! Et combien il semblait impossible de toucher les détenus de cette maison avec inquiétude en mon nom; pour leur faire croire à la vérité de mes besoins et de mes malheurs - pour les inciter à garantir un repos pour mes pérégrinations! As I groped out the door, and knocked at it hesitatingly, I felt that last idea to be a mere chimera. Alors que je tâtonnais à la porte et que je frappais avec hésitation, je sentis cette dernière idée être une simple chimère. Hannah opened. “What do you want?” she inquired, in a voice of surprise, as she surveyed me by the light of the candle she held. “May I speak to your mistresses?” I said.

“You had better tell me what you have to say to them. Where do you come from?” “I am a stranger.”

“What is your business here at this hour?” "Quelle est votre affaire ici à cette heure?"

“I want a night’s shelter in an out-house or anywhere, and a morsel of bread to eat.” «Je veux un abri nocturne dans une dépendance ou n'importe où, et un morceau de pain à manger. Distrust, the very feeling I dreaded, appeared in Hannah’s face. La méfiance, le sentiment même que je redoutais, apparut sur le visage d'Hannah. “I’ll give you a piece of bread,” she said, after a pause; “but we can’t take in a vagrant to lodge. «Je vais vous donner un morceau de pain», dit-elle après une pause; «Mais nous ne pouvons pas accueillir un vagabond pour loger. It isn’t likely.” Ce n'est pas probable. “Do let me speak to your mistresses.”

“No, not I.  What can they do for you? "Non, pas moi. Que peuvent-ils faire pour vous ?

You should not be roving about now; it looks very ill.” Vous ne devriez pas vous déplacer maintenant; ça a l'air très malade. “But where shall I go if you drive me away? «Mais où irai-je si vous m'éloignez?

What shall I do?” “Oh, I’ll warrant you know where to go and what to do. «Oh, je vous garantis que vous savez où aller et quoi faire.

Mind you don’t do wrong, that’s all. Attention, ne faites pas de mal, c'est tout. Here is a penny; now go—” “A penny cannot feed me, and I have no strength to go farther. Don’t shut the door:—oh, don’t, for God’s sake!” “I must; the rain is driving in—” "Je dois; la pluie pénètre… »

“Tell the young ladies.

Let me see them—” Laissez-moi les voir..." “Indeed, I will not. "En effet, je ne le ferai pas.

You are not what you ought to be, or you wouldn’t make such a noise. Vous n'êtes pas ce que vous devriez être, sinon vous ne feriez pas un tel bruit. Move off.” Partez. » “But I must die if I am turned away.” «Mais je dois mourir si je suis refusé.»

“Not you.

I’m fear’d you have some ill plans agate, that bring you about folk’s houses at this time o' night. Je crains que vous n'ayez de mauvais plans en agate, qui vous amènent aux maisons populaires à cette heure de la nuit. If you’ve any followers—housebreakers or such like—anywhere near, you may tell them we are not by ourselves in the house; we have a gentleman, and dogs, and guns.”  Here the honest but inflexible servant clapped the door to and bolted it within. Si vous avez des partisans - des voleurs de maison ou autres - dans les environs, vous pouvez leur dire que nous ne sommes pas seuls dans la maison ; nous avons un gentleman, des chiens et des fusils". Le serviteur, honnête mais inflexible, fit claquer la porte et la verrouilla à l'intérieur. This was the climax. C'était le point culminant.

A pang of exquisite suffering—a throe of true despair—rent and heaved my heart. Une douleur exquise - une affliction de vrai désespoir - a déchiré et soulevé mon cœur. Worn out, indeed, I was; not another step could I stir. Épuisé, en effet, j'étais; je ne pouvais pas remuer un autre pas. I sank on the wet doorstep: I groaned—I wrung my hands—I wept in utter anguish. Je me suis effondré sur le pas de la porte mouillée: j'ai gémi - je me suis tordu les mains - j'ai pleuré dans une angoisse totale. Oh, this spectre of death! Oh, this last hour, approaching in such horror! Oh, cette dernière heure, qui s'approche avec tant d'horreur ! Alas, this isolation—this banishment from my kind! Hélas, cet isolement, ce bannissement de mon espèce! Not only the anchor of hope, but the footing of fortitude was gone—at least for a moment; but the last I soon endeavoured to regain. Non seulement l'ancre de l'espoir, mais le pied de la force avait disparu - au moins pour un moment; mais je m'efforçai bientôt de retrouver le dernier. “I can but die,” I said, “and I believe in God. "Je ne peux que mourir, ai-je dit, et je crois en Dieu. Let me try to wait His will in silence.” Laissez-moi essayer d'attendre sa volonté en silence. These words I not only thought, but uttered; and thrusting back all my misery into my heart, I made an effort to compel it to remain there—dumb and still. These words I not only thought, but uttered; and thrusting back all my misery into my heart, I made an effort to compel it to remain there—dumb and still. Ces mots, je n'ai pas seulement pensé, mais prononcé; et repoussant toute ma misère dans mon cœur, je fis un effort pour le contraindre à y rester - muet et immobile. “All men must die,” said a voice quite close at hand; “but all are not condemned to meet a lingering and premature doom, such as yours would be if you perished here of want.” «Tous les hommes doivent mourir», dit une voix assez proche; «Mais tous ne sont pas condamnés à faire face à une catastrophe persistante et prématurée, comme le serait le vôtre si vous périssiez ici par manque. “Who or what speaks?” I asked, terrified at the unexpected sound, and incapable now of deriving from any occurrence a hope of aid. “Who or what speaks?” I asked, terrified at the unexpected sound, and incapable now of deriving from any occurrence a hope of aid. «Qui ou quoi parle?» Ai-je demandé, terrifié par le bruit inattendu, et incapable maintenant de tirer de tout événement un espoir d'aide. A form was near—what form, the pitch-dark night and my enfeebled vision prevented me from distinguishing. A form was near—what form, the pitch-dark night and my enfeebled vision prevented me from distinguishing. Une forme était proche - quelle forme, la nuit noire et ma vision affaiblie m'empêchaient de distinguer. With a loud long knock, the new-comer appealed to the door. With a loud long knock, the new-comer appealed to the door. Avec un long coup fort, le nouveau venu fit appel à la porte. “Is it you, Mr. St.

John?” cried Hannah. “Yes—yes; open quickly.”

“Well, how wet and cold you must be, such a wild night as it is! "Eh bien, comme vous devez être mouillés et avoir froid, par une nuit aussi sauvage que celle-ci ! Come in—your sisters are quite uneasy about you, and I believe there are bad folks about. There has been a beggar-woman—I declare she is not gone yet!—laid down there. Il y a eu une mendiante - je déclare qu'elle n'est pas encore partie! - couchée là-bas. Get up! for shame! Move off, I say!” “Hush, Hannah!

I have a word to say to the woman. You have done your duty in excluding, now let me do mine in admitting her. Vous avez fait votre devoir en l'excluant, laissez-moi maintenant faire le mien en l'admettant. I was near, and listened to both you and her. I think this is a peculiar case—I must at least examine into it. Je pense qu'il s'agit d'un cas particulier et je dois au moins l'examiner. Young woman, rise, and pass before me into the house.” Jeune femme, lève-toi, et passe devant moi dans la maison." With difficulty I obeyed him.

Presently I stood within that clean, bright kitchen—on the very hearth—trembling, sickening; conscious of an aspect in the last degree ghastly, wild, and weather-beaten. À présent, je me tenais dans cette cuisine propre et lumineuse - sur le foyer même - tremblante, écœurante; conscient d'un aspect au dernier degré horrible, sauvage et battu par les intempéries. The two ladies, their brother, Mr. St. John, the old servant, were all gazing at me. “St.

John, who is it?” I heard one ask. “I cannot tell: I found her at the door,” was the reply. “She does look white,” said Hannah. "Elle a l'air blanche", dit Hannah.

“As white as clay or death,” was responded.

“She will fall: let her sit.” And indeed my head swam: I dropped, but a chair received me. Et effectivement ma tête a nagé: je suis tombé, mais une chaise m'a reçu. I still possessed my senses, though just now I could not speak. “Perhaps a little water would restore her.

Hannah, fetch some. But she is worn to nothing. Mais elle n'est usée à rien. How very thin, and how very bloodless!” Comme c'est très maigre et si exsangue! “A mere spectre!”

“Is she ill, or only famished?” «Est-elle malade ou seulement affamée?

“Famished, I think.

Hannah, is that milk? Give it me, and a piece of bread.” Diana (I knew her by the long curls which I saw drooping between me and the fire as she bent over me) broke some bread, dipped it in milk, and put it to my lips. Her face was near mine: I saw there was pity in it, and I felt sympathy in her hurried breathing. Son visage était près du mien: j'ai vu qu'il y avait de la pitié et de la sympathie dans sa respiration précipitée. In her simple words, too, the same balm-like emotion spoke: “Try to eat.” Dans ses mots simples, aussi, la même émotion semblable à un baume parlait: "Essayez de manger." “Yes—try,” repeated Mary gently; and Mary’s hand removed my sodden bonnet and lifted my head. «Oui, essayez», répéta doucement Mary; et la main de Mary enleva mon bonnet détrempé et releva la tête. I tasted what they offered me: feebly at first, eagerly soon. J'ai goûté à ce qu'ils m'offraient : faiblement d'abord, avidement ensuite. “Not too much at first—restrain her,” said the brother; “she has had enough.”  And he withdrew the cup of milk and the plate of bread. “Not too much at first—restrain her,” said the brother; “she has had enough.” And he withdrew the cup of milk and the plate of bread. “A little more, St.

John—look at the avidity in her eyes.” John - regardez l'avidité dans ses yeux". “No more at present, sister.

Try if she can speak now—ask her her name.” I felt I could speak, and I answered—“My name is Jane Elliott.”  Anxious as ever to avoid discovery, I had before resolved to assume an alias . J'ai senti que je pouvais parler et j'ai répondu: "Je m'appelle Jane Elliott." Soucieux comme toujours d'éviter la découverte, j'avais auparavant résolu de prendre un pseudonyme. “And where do you live?

Where are your friends?” I was silent.

“Can we send for any one you know?”

I shook my head.

“What account can you give of yourself?” «Quel compte pouvez-vous donner de vous-même?»

Somehow, now that I had once crossed the threshold of this house, and once was brought face to face with its owners, I felt no longer outcast, vagrant, and disowned by the wide world. D'une manière ou d'une autre, maintenant que j'avais franchi une fois le seuil de cette maison et que j'étais une fois confronté à ses propriétaires, je ne me sentais plus exclu, vagabond et renié par le monde entier. I dared to put off the mendicant—to resume my natural manner and character. J'ai osé repousser le mendiant - reprendre mes manières naturelles et mon caractère. I began once more to know myself; and when Mr. St. Je commençai à me connaître à nouveau, et lorsque M. St. John demanded an account—which at present I was far too weak to render—I said after a brief pause— John a exigé un compte - que j'étais bien trop faible pour le moment - dis-je après une brève pause - “Sir, I can give you no details to-night.”

“But what, then,” said he, “do you expect me to do for you?” «Mais qu'attendez-vous de moi, alors, dit-il, que je fasse pour vous?

“Nothing,” I replied.

My strength sufficed for but short answers. Ma force me suffisait pour des réponses courtes. Diana took the word— “Do you mean,” she asked, “that we have now given you what aid you require? «Voulez-vous dire,» elle a demandé, «que nous vous avons maintenant donné l'aide dont vous avez besoin? and that we may dismiss you to the moor and the rainy night?” et que nous pouvons vous renvoyer dans la lande et la nuit pluvieuse? I looked at her.

She had, I thought, a remarkable countenance, instinct both with power and goodness. Elle avait, pensai-je, une physionomie remarquable, un instinct à la fois de puissance et de bonté. I took sudden courage. J'ai pris soudain courage. Answering her compassionate gaze with a smile, I said—“I will trust you. Répondant à son regard compatissant par un sourire, j'ai dit: «Je te ferai confiance. If I were a masterless and stray dog, I know that you would not turn me from your hearth to-night: as it is, I really have no fear. Si j'étais un chien sans maître et errant, je sais que vous ne me détourneriez pas de votre foyer ce soir: comme il est, je n'ai vraiment pas peur. Do with me and for me as you like; but excuse me from much discourse—my breath is short—I feel a spasm when I speak.”  All three surveyed me, and all three were silent. Faites de moi et pour moi ce que vous voulez ; mais excusez-moi de parler beaucoup - j'ai le souffle court - j'ai des spasmes quand je parle". Tous les trois m'ont regardé, et tous les trois sont restés silencieux. “Hannah,” said Mr. St.

John, at last, “let her sit there at present, and ask her no questions; in ten minutes more, give her the remainder of that milk and bread. Mary and Diana, let us go into the parlour and talk the matter over.” Mary et Diana, allons dans le salon et discutons de la question. They withdrew.

Very soon one of the ladies returned—I could not tell which. A kind of pleasant stupor was stealing over me as I sat by the genial fire. Une sorte de stupeur agréable me volait alors que je m'asseyais près du feu génial. In an undertone she gave some directions to Hannah. Ere long, with the servant’s aid, I contrived to mount a staircase; my dripping clothes were removed; soon a warm, dry bed received me. Bientôt, avec l'aide du domestique, j'arrivai à monter un escalier; mes vêtements ruisselants ont été enlevés; bientôt un lit chaud et sec me reçut. I thanked God—experienced amidst unutterable exhaustion a glow of grateful joy—and slept. J'ai remercié Dieu - j'ai éprouvé au milieu d'un épuisement indicible une lueur de joie reconnaissante - et j'ai dormi.