il　me；

God　is　a　friend　to　the　poor　orphan　child。”

“e；　Miss　Jane；　don’t　cry；”　said　Bessie　as　she　finished。　She　might　as　well　have　said　to　the　fire；　“don’t　burn！”　but　how　could　she　divine　the　morbid　suffering　to　which　I　was　a　prey？　In　the　course　of　the　morning　Mr。　Lloyd　came　again。

“What；　already　up！”　said　he；　as　he　entered　the　nursery。　“Well；　nurse；　how　is　she？”

Bessie　answered　that　I　was　doing　very　well。

“Then　she　ought　to　look　more　cheerful。　e　here；　Miss　Jane：　your　name　is　Jane；　is　it　not？”

“Yes；　sir；　Jane　Eyre。”

“Well；　you　have　been　crying；　Miss　Jane　Eyre；　can　you　tell　me　what　about？　Have　you　any　pain？”

“No；　sir。”

“Oh！　I　daresay　she　is　crying　because　she　could　not　go　out　with　Missis　in　the　carriage；”　interposed　Bessie。

“Surely　not！　why；　she　is　too　old　for　such　pettishness。”

I　thought　so　too；　and　my　self…esteem　being　wounded　by　the　false　charge；　I　answered　promptly；　“I　never　cried　for　such　a　thing　in　my　life：　I　hate　going　out　in　the　carriage。　I　cry　because　I　am　miserable。”

“Oh　fie；　Miss！”　said　Bessie。

The　good　apothecary　appeared　a　little　puzzled。　I　was　standing　before　him；　he　fixed　his　eyes　on　me　very　steadily：　his　eyes　were　small　and　grey；　not　very　bright；　but　I　dare　say　I　should　think　them　shrewd　now：　he　had　a　hard…featured　yet　good…natured　looking　face。　Having　considered　me　at　leisure；　he　said—

“What　made　you　ill　yesterday？”

“She　had　a　fall；”　said　Bessie；　again　putting　in　her　word。

“Fall！　why；　that　is　like　a　baby　again！　Can’t　she　manage　to　walk　at　her　age？　She　must　be　eight　or　nine　years　old。”

“I　was　knocked　down；”　was　the　blunt　explanation；　jerked　out　of　me　by　another　pang　of　mortified　pride；　“but　that　did　not　make　me　ill；”　I　added；　while　Mr。　Lloy