"O Miss Jane! don't say so!"
"Good-bye to Gateshead!" cried I, as we passed through the hall and went
out at the front door.
The moon was set, and it was very dark; Bessie carried a lantern, whose
light glanced on wet steps and gravel road sodden by a recent thaw. Raw
and chill was the winter morning: my teeth chattered as I hastened down
the drive. There was a light in the porter's lodge: when we reached it,
we found the porter's wife just kindling her fire: my trunk, which had
been carried down the evening before, stood corded at the door. It
wanted but a few minutes of six, and shortly after that hour had struck,
the distant roll of wheels announced the coming coach; I went to the door
and watched its lamps approach rapidly through the gloom.
"Is she going by herself?" asked the porter's wife.