From my discourse with Mr. Lloyd, I gathered enough of hope to suffice as a motive for wishing to get well; a change seemed near, - I desired and waited for it in silence. It tarried, however; days and weeks passed: I had regained my normal state of health, but no new allusion was made to the subject over which I brooded. Mrs. Reed surveyed me at times with a severe eye, but seldom addressed me: since my illness, she had drawn a more marked line of separation than ever between me and her own children; appointing me a small closet to sleep in by myself, condemning me to take my meals alone, and pass all my time in the nursery, while my cousins were constantly in the drawing room. Not a hint, however, did she drop about sending me to school: still I felt an instinctive certainty that she would not endure me under the same roof with her; for her glance, when turned on me, expressed an insuperable and rooted aversion.
Eliza and Georgina, evidently acting according to orders, spoke to me as little as possible: John thrust his tongue in his cheek whenever he saw me, and once attempted chastisement; but as I instantly turned against him, he thought it better to desist, and ran from me uttering execrations, vowing I had burst his nose. I heard him in a blubbering tone commence the tale of how "that nasty Jane Eyre" had flown at him like a mad cat: he was stopped rather harshly by his mother, Mrs. Reed-
"Don't talk to me about her, John: I had told you not to go near her; she is not worthy of notice; I do not choose that either you or your sisters should associate with her."
Here, leaning over the banister, I cried out suddenly, and without at all deliberating on my words;
"They are not fit to associate with me."