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it on an occasion that seemed to me of small moment； namely； my weekly visit to Morton school； and still more was I puzzled when； if the day was unfavourable； if there was snow； or rain； or high wind； and his sisters urged me not to go； he would invariably make light of their solicitude； and encourage me to acplish the task without regard to the elements。
“Jane is not such a weakling as you would make her；” he would say： “she can bear a mountain blast； or a shower； or a few flakes of snow； as well as any of us。 Her constitution is both sound and elastic；—better calculated to endure variations of climate than many more robust。”
And when I returned； sometimes a good deal tired； and not a little weather…beaten； I never dared plain； because I saw that to murmur would be to vex him： on all occasions fortitude pleased him； the reverse was a special annoyance。
One afternoon； however； I got leave to stay at home； because I really had a cold。 His sisters were gone to Morton in my stead： I sat reading Schiller； he； deciphering his crabbed Oriental scrolls。 As I exchanged a translation for an exercise； I happened to look his way： there I found myself under the influence of the ever…watchful blue eye。 How long it had been searching me through and through； and over and over； I cannot tell： so keen was it； and yet so cold； I felt for the moment superstitious—as if I were sitting in the room with something uncanny。
“Jane； what are you doing？”
“Learning
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