In the course of the tale I had mentioned Mr. Lloyd as having come to see me after the fit:  for I never forgot the, to me, frightful episode of the red-room:  in detailing which, my excitement was sure, in some degree, to break bounds; for nothing could soften in my recollection the spasm of agony which clutched my heart when Mrs. Reed spurned my wild supplication for pardon, and locked me a second time in the dark and haunted chamber.

I had finished:  Miss Temple regarded me a few minutes in silence; she then said —

“I know something of Mr. Lloyd; I shall write to him; if his reply agrees with your statement, you shall be publicly cleared from every imputation; to me, Jane, you are clear now.”

She kissed me, and still keeping me at her side (where I was well contented to stand, for I derived a child’s pleasure from the contemplation of her face, her dress, her one or two ornaments, her white forehead, her clustered and shining curls, and beaming dark eyes), she proceeded to address Helen Burns.

“How are you to-night, Helen?  Have you coughed much to-day?”

“Not quite so much, I think, ma’am.”

“And the pain in your chest?”

“It is a little better.”

Miss Temple got up, took her hand and examined her pulse; then she returned to her own seat:  as she resumed it, I heard her sigh low.  She was pensive a few minutes, then rousing herself, she said cheerfully —

“But you two are my visitors to-night; I must treat you as such.”  She rang her bell.

“Barbara,” she said to the servant who answered it, “I have not yet had tea; bring the tray and place cups for these two young ladies.”

And a tray was soon brought.  How pretty, to my eyes, did the china cups and bright teapot look, placed on the little round table near the fire!  How fragrant was the steam of the beverage, and the scent of the toast! of which, however, I, to my dismay (for I was beginning to be hungry) discerned only a very small portion:  Miss Temple discerned it too.

“Barbara,” said she, “can you not bring a little more bread and butter?  There is not enough for three.”

Barbara went out:  she returned soon —

“Madam, Mrs. Harden says she has sent up the usual quantity.”

Mrs. Harden, be it observed, was the housekeeper:  a woman after Mr. Brocklehurst’s own heart, made up of equal parts of whalebone and iron.

“Oh, very well!” returned Miss Temple; “we must make it do, Barbara, I suppose.”  And as the girl withdrew she added, smiling, “Fortunately, I have it in my power to supply deficiencies for this once.”

Having invited Helen and me to approach the table, and placed before each of us a cup of tea with one delicious but thin morsel of toast, she got up, unlocked a drawer, and taking from it a parcel wrapped in paper, disclosed presently to our eyes a good-sized seed-cake.