"Is there a little girl called Jane Eyre here?" she asked. I answered "Yes"，and was then lifted out; my trunk was handed down，and the coach instantly drove away.

I was stiff with long sitting，and bewildered with the noise and motion of the coach: gathering my faculties，I looked about me.

Rain，wind，and darkness filled the air; nevertheless，I dimly discerned a wall before me and a door open in it; through this door I passed with my new guide: she shut and locked it behind her. There was now visible a house or houses- for the building spread far- with many windows，and lights burning in some; we went up a broad pebbly path，splashing wet，and were admitted at a door; then the servant led me through a passage into a room with a fire，where she left me alone.

I stood and warmed my numbed fingers over the blaze，then I looked round; there was no candle，but the uncertain light from the hearth showed，by intervals，papered walls，carpet，curtains，shining mahogany furniture: it was a parlour，not so spacious or splendid as the drawing-room at Gateshead，but fortable enough. I was puzzling to make out the subject of a picture on the wall，when the door opened，and an individual carrying a light entered; another followed close behind.

The first was a tall lady with dark hair，dark eyes，and a pale and large forehead; her figure was partly enveloped in a shawl，her countenance was grave，her bearing erect.

"The child is very young to be sent alone," said she，putting her candle down on the table. She considered me attentively for a minute or two，then further added-