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Anne Bronte. Agnes Grey
Chapter I – The Parsonage
Chapter II – First Lessons in the Art of Instruction
Chapter III – A Few More Lessons
Chapter IV – The Grandmamma
Chapter V – The Uncle
Chapter VI – The Parsonage Again
Chapter VII – Horton Lodge
Chapter VIII – The 'Coming Out'
Chapter IX – The Ball
Chapter X – The Church
Chapter XI – The Cottagers
Chapter XII – The Shower
Chapter XIII – The Primroses
Chapter XIV – The Rector
Chapter XV – The Walk
Chapter XVI – The Substitution
Chapter XVII–Confessions
Chapter XVIII – Mirth and Mourning
Chapter XIX – The Letter
Chapter XX – The Farewell
Chapter XXI – The School
Chapter XXII – The Visit
Chapter XXIII – The Park
Chapter XXIV – The Sands
Chapter XXV–Conclusion
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As we drove along, my spirits revived again, and I turned, with pleasure, to the contemplation of the new life upon which I was entering. But though it was not far past the middle of September, the heavy clouds and strong north-easterly wind combined to render the day extremely cold and dreary; and the journey seemed a very long one, for, as Smith observed, the roads were 'very heavy'; and certainly, his horse was very heavy too: it crawled up the hills, and crept down them, and only condescended to shake its sides in a trot where the road was at a dead level or a very gentle slope, which was rarely the case in those rugged regions; so that it was nearly one o'clock before we reached the place of our destination. Yet, after all, when we entered the lofty iron gateway, when we drove softly up the smooth, well-rolled carriage-road, with the green lawn on each side, studded with young trees, and approached the new but stately mansion of Wellwood, rising above its mushroom poplar-groves, my heart failed me, and I wished it were a mile or two farther off. For the first time in my life I must stand alone: there was no retreating now. I must enter that house, and introduce myself among its strange inhabitants. But how was it to be done? True, I was near nineteen; but, thanks to my retired life and the protecting care of my mother and sister, I well knew that many a girl of fifteen, or under, was gifted with a more womanly address, and greater ease and self-possession, than I was. Yet, if Mrs. Bloomfield were a kind, motherly woman, I might do very well, after all; and the children, of course, I should soon be at ease with them – and Mr. Bloomfield, I hoped, I should have but little to do with.
'Be calm, be calm, whatever happens,' I said within myself; and truly I kept this resolution so well, and was so fully occupied in steadying my nerves and stifling the rebellious flutter of my heart, that when I was admitted into the hall and ushered into the presence of Mrs. Bloomfield, I almost forgot to answer her polite salutation; and it afterwards struck me, that the little I did say was spoken in the tone of one half-dead or half-asleep. The lady, too, was somewhat chilly in her manner, as I discovered when I had time to reflect. She was a tall, spare, stately woman, with thick black hair, cold grey eyes, and extremely sallow complexion.
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The garden was a large one, and tastefully laid out; besides several splendid dahlias, there were some other fine flowers still in bloom: but my companion would not give me time to examine them: I must go with him, across the wet grass, to a remote sequestered corner, the most important place in the grounds, because it contained HIS garden. There were two round beds, stocked with a variety of plants. In one there was a pretty little rose-tree. I paused to admire its lovely blossoms.
'Oh, never mind that!' said he, contemptuously. 'That's only Mary Ann's garden; look, THIS is mine.'
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