ourney；　nor　could　I。　Bessie；　having　pressed　me　in　vain　to　take　a　few　spoonfuls　of　the　boiled　milk　and　bread　she　had　prepared　for　me；　wrapped　up　some　biscuits　in　a　paper　and　put　them　into　my　bag；　then　she　helped　me　on　with　my　pelisse　and　bon；　and　wrapping　herself　in　a　shawl；　she　and　I　left　the　nursery。　As　we　passed　Mrs。　Reed’s　bedroom；　she　said；　“Will　you　go　in　and　bid　Missis　good…bye？”

“No；　Bessie：　she　came　to　my　crib　last　night　when　you　were　gone　down　to　supper；　and　said　I　need　not　disturb　her　in　the　morning；　or　my　cousins　either；　and　she　told　me　to　remember　that　she　had　always　been　my　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？”