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When I awoke, I was aware of being somewhere warm and soft. There seemed to be a red glow nearby, with thick black bars across it, and I could hear muffled voices around me. I felt hands helping me to sit up, and when I opened my eyes properly, I saw that l was in my own bed. The glow came from, he fireplace, and there were candles burning. It night. Bessie was standing beside me, looking anxious. And sitting in a chair by the bed was a sprightly, bright-eyed old man. I recognized him as Mr. Llovd, the apothecary.
‘‘Do you know who I am, Jane?” he asked.
"You are Mr. Lloyd. You come when the servants are ill, I said. If Mrs. Reed herself or her own children ever fell sick, she called a proper doctor.
“Well, I think she’ll be alright after all,” Mr. Llovd smiled holding my hand. “I’ll come back tomorrow. In the meantime, make sure she stays warm.’’
After seeing him out, Bessie returned. ‘’Is there anything I can do for you, Miss Eyre? She asked softly. “Would you like a bite to eat — or some milk?”

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“No thank you,” I said, puzzled. Why was she beg so nice to me?​, „
“Then I’ll go to bed myself — it’s after midnight,’’ she said. “But you can call me if you need mee .’’
“Bessie, what happened?” I asked. “Am I ill?’’
“You fell into a faint 2 with crying, in the Red Room,” said Bessie. “You’ll be better soon.”
The next day, I sat wrapped in a blanket by the fire, feeling miserable. The Reeds were out visiting friends in their carriage, and I should have been happy. Instead, I felt as if my spirit had been broken3.
Bessie came in with a pastry tart for me. She had put it on a beautiful little plate, decorated with flowers and birds. I had always loved this plate, but I had never been allowed to touch it. Now, I could find no pleasure in it, and I had no appetite.
Then Bessie asked if I wanted to read a book. I chose Gulliver’s Travels —- but, when I opened it, the same feeling came over me. The stories and pictures I had loved meant nothing, and I put the book aside.
At midday, Mr. Lloyd returned, as he had promised, and asked Bessie how I was.
“She’s doing very well, sir,” she replied.
‘Then what’s wrong, Jane? You’ve been crying.” ‘I daresay she’s upset because she couldn’t go out in the carriage with the others,” said Bessie.
I was outraged at this suggestion. “No!” I said indignantly. “I was only crying because I was sad.”
“Sad? But why?”
I suppose she’s still sore from her fall,” said Bessie.