Ext. A midsummer dawn. Thornfield the grounds

ST JOHN (CONT'D)

The snow was up to my waist at

one point.

JANE

You are recklessly rash about

your own health.

ST JOHN

Nonsense.

St John's eyes alight on Jane's charcoal drawing. Jane

snatches it away too late. There is a moment of silence.

JANE

Why are you come?

ST JOHN

An inhospitable question.

JANE

I mean on a night like this -

ST JOHN

I got tired of my mute books and

empty rooms. Besides I've been told

half a story and I'm most impatient

to find out the end.

JANE

Please...

Jane motions to St John to sit. He doesn't. She becomes

increasingly uneasy as he speaks.

ST JOHN

Twenty years ago, a poor curate

fell in love with a rich man's

daughter and married her. She was

disowned by her family and two

years later the rash pair were both

dead. They left a daughter which

charity received into her lap - as

cold as that snow drift I almost

stuck fast in. Charity carried the

friendless thing to the house of

its rich maternal relations. It was

reared by an aunt-in-law; I come to

names now - Mrs Reed of Gateshead.

Jane starts. She is on her feet.