A neain time, reader, you must fancy you see a room in t Millcote, , sucure, sucs on telpiece, sucs, including a portrait of George tation of to you by t of an oil lamp  of an excellent fire, near ; my muff and umbrella lie on table, and I am racted by sixteen o tober day: I left Lo four o’clock a.m., and te to striking eight.

    Reader, tably accommodated, I am not very tranquil in my mind. I t  me; I looked anxiously round as I descended teps ts” placed for my convenience, expecting to o see some description of carriage ing to convey me to t er a Miss Eyre, I ive: so I  to request to be so a private room: and ing, s and fears are troubling my ts.

    It is a very strange sensation to inexperienced youto feel itself quite alone in t adrift from every connection, uncertain o s from returning to t it ted. ture sens t sensation, t; but turbs it; and fear   myself to ring the bell.

    “Is ter whe summons.

    “t kno t reappeared instantly—

    “Is your name Eyre, Miss?”

    “Yes.”

    “Person ing for you.”

    I jumped up, took my muff and umbrella, and ened into tanding by t street I dimly saw a one-horse conveyance.

    “tly o my trunk in the passage.

    “Yes.” ed it on to t of car, and t in; before  me up, I asked  o thornfield.

    “A matter of six miles.”

    “ there?”

    “happen an hour and a half.”

    ened to  outside, and  off. Our progress ime to reflect; I ent to be at lengtable t elegant conveyance, I meditated muc my