Some time in the afternoon I raised my head, and looking round andseeing the western sun gilding the sign of its decline on the wall,I asked, "What am I to do?"

But the answer my mind gave--"Leave Thornfield at once"--was soprompt, so dread, that I stopped my ears. I said I could not bearsuch words now. "That I am not Edward Rochester's bride is theleast part of my woe," I alleged: "that I have wakened out of mostglorious dreams, and found them all void and vain, is a horror Icould bear and master; but that I must leave him decidedly,instantly, entirely, is intolerable. I cannot do it."

But, then, a voice within me averred that I could do it and foretoldthat I should do it. I wrestled with my own resolution: I wantedto be weak that I might avoid the awful passage of further sufferingI saw laid out for me; and Conscience, turned tyrant, held Passionby the throat, told her tauntingly, she had yet but dipped herdainty foot in the slough, and swore that with that arm of iron hewould thrust her down to unsounded depths of agony.

"Let me be torn away," then I cried. "Let another help me!"

"No; you shall tear yourself away, none shall help you: you shallyourself pluck out your right eye; yourself cut off your right hand:your heart shall be the victim, and you the priest to transfix it."

I rose up suddenly, terror-struck at the solitude which so ruthlessa judge haunted,--at the silence which so awful a voice filled. Myhead swam as I stood erect. I perceived that I was sickening fromexcitement and inanition; neither meat nor drink had passed my lipsthat day, for I had taken no breakfast. And, with a strange pang, Inow reflected that, long as I had been shut up here, no message hadbeen sent to ask how I was, or to invite me to come down: not evenlittle Adele had tapped at the door; not even Mrs. Fairfax hadsought me. "Friends always forget those whom fortune forsakes," Imurmured, as I undrew the bolt and passed out. I stumbled over anobstacle: my head was still dizzy, my sight was dim, and my limbswere feeble. I could not soon recover myself. I fell, but not onto the ground: an outstretched arm caught me. I looked up--I wassupported by Mr. Rochester, who sat in a chair across my chamberthreshold.

"You come out at last," he said. "Well, I have been waiting for youlong, and listening: yet not one movement have I heard, nor onesob: five minutes more of that death-like hush, and I should haveforced the lock like a burglar. So you shun me?--you shut yourselfup and grieve alone! I would rather you had come and upbraided mewith vehemence. You are passionate. I expected a scene of somekind. I was prepared for the hot rain of tears; only I wanted themto be shed on my breast: now a senseless floor has received them,or your drenched handkerchief. But I err: you have not wept atall! I see a white cheek and a faded eye, but no trace of tears. Isuppose, then, your heart has been weeping blood?"

"Well, Jane! not a word of reproach? Nothing bitter--nothingpoignant? Nothing to cut a feeling or sting a passion? You sitquietly where I have placed you, and regard me with a weary, passivelook."

"Jane, I never meant to wound you thus. If the man who had but onelittle ewe lamb that was dear to him as a daughter, that ate of hisbread and drank of his cup, and lay in his bosom, had by somemistake slaughtered it at the shambles, he would not have rued hisbloody blunder more than I now rue mine. Will you ever forgive me?"

Reader, I forgave him at the moment and on the spot. There was suchdeep remorse in his eye, such true pity in his tone, such manlyenergy in his manner; and besides, there was such unchanged love inhis whole look and mien--I forgave him all: yet not in words, notoutwardly; only at my heart's core.

"You know I am a scoundrel, Jane?" ere long he inquired wistfully--wondering, I suppose, at my continued silence and tameness, theresult rather of weakness than of will.

"Yes, sir."

"Then tell me so roundly and sharply--don't spare me."

"I cannot: I am tired and sick. I want some water." He heaved asort of shuddering sigh, and taking me in his arms, carried medownstairs. At first I did not know to what room he had borne me;all was cloudy to my glazed sight: presently I felt the revivingwarmth of a fire; for, summer as it was, I had become icy cold in mychamber. He put wine to my lips; I tasted it and revived; then Iate something he offered me, and was soon myself. I was in thelibrary--sitting in his chair--he was quite near. "If I could goout of life now, without too sharp a pang, it would be well for me,"I thought; "then I should not have to make the effort of cracking myheart-strings in rending them from among Mr. Rochester's. I mustleave him, it appears. I do not want to leave him--I cannot leavehim."

"How are you now, Jane?"

"Much better, sir; I shall be well soon."

"Taste the wine again, Jane."

I obeyed him; then he put the glass on the table, stood before me,and looked at me attentively. Suddenly he turned away, with aninarticulate exclamation, full of passionate emotion of some kind;he walked fast through the room and came back; he stooped towards meas if to kiss me; but I remembered caresses were now forbidden. Iturned my face away and put his aside.

"What!--How is this?" he exclaimed hastily. "Oh, I know! you won'tkiss the husband of Bertha Mason? You consider my arms filled andmy embraces appropriated?"

"At any rate, there is neither room nor claim for me, sir."

"Why, Jane? I will spare you the trouble of much talking; I willanswer for you--Because I have a wife already, you would reply.--Iguess rightly?"

"Yes."

"If you think so, you must have a strange opinion of me; you mustregard me as a plotting profligate--a base and low rake who has beensimulating disinterested love in order to draw you into a snaredeliberately laid, and strip you of honour and rob you of self-respect. What do you say to that? I see you can say nothing in thefirst place, you are faint still, and have enough to do to draw yourbreath; in the second place, you cannot yet accustom yourself toaccuse and revile me, and besides, the flood-gates of tears areopened, and they would rush out if you spoke much; and you have nodesire to expostulate, to upbraid, to make a scene: you arethinking how TO ACT--TALKING you consider is of no use. I know you--I am on my guard."

"Sir, I do not wish to act against you," I said; and my unsteadyvoice warned me to curtail my sentence.

"Not in your sense of the word, but in mine you are scheming todestroy me. You have as good as said that I am a married man--as amarried man you will shun me, keep out of my way: just now you haverefused to kiss me. You intend to make yourself a complete strangerto me: to live under this roof only as Adele's governess; if ever Isay a friendly word to you, if ever a friendly feeling inclines youagain to me, you will say,--'That man had nearly made me hismistress: I must be ice and rock to him;' and ice and rock you willaccordingly become."

I cleared and steadied my voice to reply: "All is changed about me,sir; I must change too--there is no doubt of that; and to avoidfluctuations of feeling, and continual combats with recollectionsand associations, there is only one way--Adele must have a newgoverness, sir."

"Oh, Adele will go to school--I have settled that already; nor do Imean to torment you with the hideous associations and recollectionsof Thornfield Hall--this accursed place--this tent of Achan--thisinsolent vault, offering the ghastliness of living death to thelight of the open sky--this narrow stone hell, with its one realfiend, worse than a legion of such as we imagine. Jane, you shallnot stay here, nor will I. I was wrong ever to bring you toThornfield Hall, knowing as I did how it was haunted. I chargedthem to conceal from you, before I ever saw you, all knowledge ofthe curse of the place; merely because I feared Adele never wouldhave a governess to stay if she knew with what inmate she washoused, and my plans would not permit me to remove the maniacelsewhere--though I possess an old house, Ferndean Manor, even moreretired and hidden than this, where I could have lodged her safelyenough, had not a scruple about the unhealthiness of the situation,in the heart of a wood, made my conscience recoil from thearrangement. Probably those damp walls would soon have eased me ofher charge: but to each villain his own vice; and mine is not atendency to indirect assassination, even of what I most hate.

"Concealing the mad-woman's neighbourhood from you, however, wassomething like covering a child with a cloak and laying it down neara upas-tree: that demon's vicinage is poisoned, and always was.But I'll shut up Thornfield Hall: I'll nail up the front door andboard the lower windows: I'll give Mrs. Poole two hundred a year tolive here with MY WIFE, as you term that fearful hag: Grace will domuch for money, and she shall have her son, the keeper at GrimsbyRetreat, to bear her company and be at hand to give her aid in theparoxysms, when MY WIFE is prompted by her familiar to burn peoplein their beds at night, to stab them, to bite their flesh from theirbones, and so on--"

"Sir," I interrupted him, "you are inexorable for that unfortunatelady: you speak of her with hate--with vindictive antipathy. It iscruel--she cannot help being mad."

"Jane, my little darling (so I will call you, for so you are), youdon't know what you are talking about; you misjudge me again: it isnot because she is mad I hate her. If you were mad, do you think Ishould hate you?"

"I do indeed, sir."

"Then you are mistaken, and you know nothing about me, and nothingabout the sort of love of which I am capable. Every atom of yourflesh is as dear to me as my own: in pain and sickness it wouldstill be dear. Your mind is my treasure, and if it were broken, itwould be my treasure still: if you raved, my arms should confineyou, and not a strait waistcoat--your grasp, even in fury, wouldhave a charm for me: if you flew at me as wildly as that woman didthis morning, I should receive you in an embrace, at least as fondas it would be restrictive. I should not shrink from you withdisgust as I did from her: in your quiet moments you should have nowatcher and no nurse but me; and I could hang over you with untiringtenderness, though you gave me no smile in return; and never wearyof gazing into your eyes, though they had no longer a ray ofrecognition for me.--But why do I follow that train of ideas? I wastalking of removing you from Thornfield. All, you know, is preparedfor prompt departure: to-morrow you shall go. I only ask you toendure one more night under this roof, Jane; and then, farewell toits miseries and terrors for ever! I have a place to repair to,which will be a secure sanctuary from hateful reminiscences, fromunwelcome intrusion--even from falsehood and slander."

"And take Adele with you, sir," I interrupted; "she will be acompanion for you."

"What do you mean, Jane? I told you I would send Adele to school;and what do I want with a child for a companion, and not my ownchild,--a French dancer's bastard? Why do you importune me abouther! I say, why do you assign Adele to me for a companion?"

"You spoke of a retirement, sir; and retirement and solitude aredull: too dull for you."

"Solitude! solitude!" he reiterated with irritation. "I see I mustcome to an explanation. I don't know what sphynx-like expression isforming in your countenance. You are to share my solitude. Do youunderstand?"

I shook my head: it required a degree of courage, excited as he wasbecoming, even to risk that mute sign of dissent. He had beenwalking fast about the room, and he stopped, as if suddenly rootedto one spot. He looked at me long and hard: I turned my eyes fromhim, fixed them on the fire, and tried to assume and maintain aquiet, collected aspect.

"Now for the hitch in Jane's character," he said at last, speakingmore calmly than from his look I had expected him to speak. "Thereel of silk has run smoothly enough so far; but I always knew therewould come a knot and a puzzle: here it is. Now for vexation, andexasperation, and endless trouble! By God! I long to exert afraction of Samson's strength, and break the entanglement like tow!"

He recommenced his walk, but soon again stopped, and this time justbefore me.

"Jane! will you hear reason?" (he stooped and approached his lips tomy ear); "because, if you won't, I'll try violence." His voice washoarse; his look that of a man who is just about to burst aninsufferable bond and plunge headlong into wild license. I saw thatin another moment, and with one impetus of frenzy more, I should beable to do nothing with him. The present--the passing second oftime--was all I had in which to control and restrain him--a movementof repulsion, flight, fear would have sealed my doom,--and his. ButI was not afraid: not in the least. I felt an inward power; asense of influence, which supported me. The crisis was perilous;but not without its charm: such as the Indian, perhaps, feels whenhe slips over the rapid in his canoe. I took hold of his clenchedhand, loosened the contorted fingers, and said to him, soothingly -

"Sit down; I'll talk to you as long as you like, and hear all youhave to say, whether reasonable or unreasonable."

He sat down: but he did not get leave to speak directly. I hadbeen struggling with tears for some time: I had taken great painsto repress them, because I knew he would not like to see me weep.Now, however, I considered it well to let them flow as freely and aslong as they liked. If the flood annoyed him, so much the better.So I gave way and cried heartily.

Soon I heard him earnestly entreating me to be composed. I said Icould not while he was in such a passion.

"But I am not angry, Jane: I only love you too well; and you hadsteeled your little pale face with such a resolute, frozen look, Icould not endure it. Hush, now, and wipe your eyes."

His softened voice announced that he was subdued; so I, in my turn,became calm. Now he made an effort to rest his head on my shoulder,but I would not permit it. Then he would draw me to him: no.

"Jane! Jane!" he said, in such an accent of bitter sadness itthrilled along every nerve I had; "you don't love me, then? It wasonly my station, and the rank of my wife, that you valued? Now thatyou think me disqualified to become your husband, you recoil from mytouch as if I were some toad or ape."

These words cut me: yet what could I do or I say? I ought probablyto have done or said nothing; but I was so tortured by a sense ofremorse at thus hurting his feelings, I could not control the wishto drop balm where I had wounded.

"I DO love you," I said, "more than ever: but I must not show orindulge the feeling: and this is the last time I must express it."

"The last time, Jane! What! do you think you can live with me, andsee me daily, and yet, if you still love me, be always cold anddistant?"

"No, sir; that I am certain I could not; and therefore I see thereis but one way: but you will be furious if I mention it."

"Oh, mention it! If I storm, you have the art of weeping."

"Mr. Rochester, I must leave you."

"For how long, Jane? For a few minutes, while you smooth your hair--which is somewhat dishevelled; and bathe your face--which looksfeverish?"

"I must leave Adele and Thornfield. I must part with you for mywhole life: I must begin a new existence among strange faces andstrange scenes."

"Of course: I told you you should. I pass over the madness aboutparting from me. You mean you must become a part of me. As to thenew existence, it is all right: you shall yet be my wife: I am notmarried. You shall be Mrs. Rochester--both virtually and nominally.I shall keep only to you so long as you and I live. You shall go toa place I have in the south of France: a whitewashed villa on theshores of the Mediterranean. There you shall live a happy, andguarded, and most innocent life. Never fear that I wish to lure youinto error--to make you my mistress. Why did you shake your head?Jane, you must be reasonable, or in truth I shall again becomefrantic."

His voice and hand quivered: his large nostrils dilated; his eyeblazed: still I dared to speak.

"Sir, your wife is living: that is a fact acknowledged this morningby yourself. If I lived with you as you desire, I should then beyour mistress: to say otherwise is sophistical--is false."

"Jane, I am not a gentle-tempered man--you forget that: I am notlong-enduring; I am not cool and dispassionate. Out of pity to meand yourself, put your finger on my pulse, feel how it throbs, and--beware!"

He bared his wrist, and offered it to me: the blood was forsakinghis cheek and lips, they were growing livid; I was distressed on allhands. To agitate him thus deeply, by a resistance he so abhorred,was cruel: to yield was out of the question. I did what humanbeings do instinctively when they are driven to utter extremity--looked for aid to one higher than man: the words "God help me!"burst involuntarily from my lips.

"I am a fool!" cried Mr. Rochester suddenly. "I keep telling her Iam not married, and do not explain to her why. I forget she knowsnothing of the character of that woman, or of the circumstancesattending my infernal union with her. Oh, I am certain Jane willagree with me in opinion, when she knows all that I know! Just putyour hand in mine, Janet--that I may have the evidence of touch aswell as sight, to prove you are near me--and I will in a few wordsshow you the real state of the case. Can you listen to me

"Yes, sir; for hours if you will."

"I ask only minutes. Jane, did you ever hear or know at I was notthe eldest son of my house: that I had once a brother older thanI?"

"I remember Mrs. Fairfax told me so once."

"And did you ever hear that my father was an avaricious, graspingman?"

"I have understood something to that effect."

"Well, Jane, being so, it was his resolution to keep the propertytogether; he could not bear the idea of dividing his estate andleaving me a fair portion: all, he resolved, should go to mybrother, Rowland. Yet as little could he endure that a son of hisshould be a poor man. I must be provided for by a wealthy marriage.He sought me a partner betimes. Mr. Mason, a West India planter andmerchant, was his old acquaintance. He was certain his possessionswere real and vast: he made inquiries. Mr. Mason, he found, had ason and daughter; and he learned from him that he could and wouldgive the latter a fortune of thirty thousand pounds: that sufficed.When I left college, I was sent out to Jamaica, to espouse a bridealready courted for me. My father said nothing about her money; buthe told me Miss Mason was the boast of Spanish Town for her beauty:and this was no lie. I found her a fine woman, in the style ofBlanche Ingram: tall, dark, and majestic. Her family wished tosecure me because I was of a good race; and so did she. They showedher to me in parties, splendidly dressed. I seldom saw her alone,and had very little private conversation with her. She flatteredme, and lavishly displayed for my pleasure her charms andaccomplishments. All the men in her circle seemed to admire her andenvy me. I was dazzled, stimulated: my senses were excited; andbeing ignorant, raw, and inexperienced, I thought I loved her.There is no folly so besotted that the idiotic rivalries of society,the prurience, the rashness, the blindness of youth, will not hurrya man to its commission. Her relatives encouraged me; competitorspiqued me; she allured me: a marriage was achieved almost before Iknew where I was. Oh, I have no respect for myself when I think ofthat act!--an agony of inward contempt masters me. I never loved, Inever esteemed, I did not even know her. I was not sure of theexistence of one virtue in her nature: I had marked neithermodesty, nor benevolence, nor candour, nor refinement in her mind ormanners--and, I married her:- gross, grovelling, mole-eyed blockheadthat I was! With less sin I might have--But let me remember to whomI am speaking."

"My bride's mother I had never seen: I understood she was dead.The honeymoon over, I learned my mistake; she was only mad, and shutup in a lunatic asylum. There was a younger brother, too--acomplete dumb idiot. The elder one, whom you have seen (and whom Icannot hate, whilst I abhor all his kindred, because he has somegrains of affection in his feeble mind, shown in the continuedinterest he takes in his wretched sister, and also in a dog-likeattachment he once bore me), will probably be in the same state oneday. My father and my brother Rowland knew all this; but theythought only of the thirty thousand pounds, and joined in the plotagainst me."

"These were vile discoveries; but except for the treachery ofconcealment, I should have made them no subject of reproach to mywife, even when I found her nature wholly alien to mine, her tastesobnoxious to me, her cast of mind common, low, narrow, andsingularly incapable of being led to anything higher, expanded toanything larger--when I found that I could not pass a singleevening, nor even a single hour of the day with her in comfort; thatkindly conversation could not be sustained between us, becausewhatever topic I started, immediately received from her a turn atonce coarse and trite, perverse and imbecile--when I perceived thatI should never have a quiet or settled household, because no servantwould bear the continued outbreaks of her violent and unreasonabletemper, or the vexations of her absurd, contradictory, exactingorders--even then I restrained myself: I eschewed upbraiding, Icurtailed remonstrance; I tried to devour my repentance and disgustin secret; I repressed the deep antipathy I felt.

"Jane, I will not trouble you with abominable details: some strongwords shall express what I have to say. I lived with that womanupstairs four years, and before that time she had tried me indeed:her character ripened and developed with frightful rapidity; hervices sprang up fast and rank: they were so strong, only crueltycould check them, and I would not use cruelty. What a pigmyintellect she had, and what giant propensities! How fearful werethe curses those propensities entailed on me! Bertha Mason, thetrue daughter of an infamous mother, dragged me through all thehideous and degrading agonies which must attend a man bound to awife at once intemperate and unchaste.

"My brother in the interval was dead, and at the end of the fouryears my father died too. I was rich enough now--yet poor tohideous indigence: a nature the most gross, impure, depraved I eversaw, was associated with mine, and called by the law and by societya part of me. And I could not rid myself of it by any legalproceedings: for the doctors now discovered that MY WIFE was mad--her excesses had prematurely developed the germs of insanity. Jane,you don't like my narrative; you look almost sick--shall I defer therest to another day?"

"No, sir, finish it now; I pity you--I do earnestly pity you."

"Pity, Jane, from some people is a noxious and insulting sort oftribute, which one is justified in hurling back in the teeth ofthose who offer it; but that is the sort of pity native to callous,selfish hearts; it is a hybrid, egotistical pain at hearing of woes,crossed with ignorant contempt for those who have endured them. Butthat is not your pity, Jane; it is not the feeling of which yourwhole face is full at this moment--with which your eyes are nowalmost overflowing--with which your heart is heaving--with whichyour hand is trembling in mine. Your pity, my darling, is thesuffering mother of love: its anguish is the very natal pang of thedivine passion. I accept it, Jane; let the daughter have freeadvent--my arms wait to receive her."

"Now, sir, proceed; what did you do when you found she was mad?"

"Jane, I approached the verge of despair; a remnant of self-respectwas all that intervened between me and the gulf. In the eyes of theworld, I was doubtless covered with grimy dishonour; but I resolvedto be clean in my own sight--and to the last I repudiated thecontamination of her crimes, and wrenched myself from connectionwith her mental defects. Still, society associated my name andperson with hers; I yet saw her and heard her daily: something ofher breath (faugh!) mixed with the air I breathed; and besides, Iremembered I had once been her husband--that recollection was then,and is now, inexpressibly odious to me; moreover, I knew that whileshe lived I could never be the husband of another and better wife;and, though five years my senior (her family and her father had liedto me even in the particular of her age), she was likely to live aslong as I, being as robust in frame as she was infirm in mind.Thus, at the age of twenty-six, I was hopeless.

"One night I had been awakened by her yells--(since the medical menhad pronounced her mad, she had, of course, been shut up)--it was afiery West Indian night; one of the description that frequentlyprecede the hurricanes of those climates. Being unable to sleep inbed, I got up and opened the window. The air was like sulphur-steams--I could find no refreshment anywhere. Mosquitoes camebuzzing in and hummed sullenly round the room; the sea, which Icould hear from thence, rumbled dull like an earthquake--blackclouds were casting up over it; the moon was setting in the waves,broad and red, like a hot cannon-ball--she threw her last bloodyglance over a world quivering with the ferment of tempest. I wasphysically influenced by the atmosphere and scene, and my ears werefilled with the curses the maniac still shrieked out; wherein shemomentarily mingled my name with such a tone of demon-hate, withsuch language!--no professed harlot ever had a fouler vocabularythan she: though two rooms off, I heard every word--the thinpartitions of the West India house opposing but slight obstructionto her wolfish cries.

"'This life,' said I at last, 'is hell: this is the air--those arethe sounds of the bottomless pit! I have a right to deliver myselffrom it if I can. The sufferings of this mortal state will leave mewith the heavy flesh that now cumbers my soul. Of the fanatic'sburning eternity I have no fear: there is not a future state worsethan this present one--let me break away, and go home to God!'

"I said this whilst I knelt down at, and unlocked a trunk whichcontained a brace of loaded pistols: I mean to shoot myself. Ionly entertained the intention for a moment; for, not being insane,the crisis of exquisite and unalloyed despair, which had originatedthe wish and design of self-destruction, was past in a second.

"A wind fresh from Europe blew over the ocean and rushed through theopen casement: the storm broke, streamed, thundered, blazed, andthe air grew pure. I then framed and fixed a resolution. While Iwalked under the dripping orange-trees of my wet garden, and amongstits drenched pomegranates and pine-apples, and while the refulgentdawn of the tropics kindled round me--I reasoned thus, Jane--and nowlisten; for it was true Wisdom that consoled me in that hour, andshowed me the right path to follow.

"The sweet wind from Europe was still whispering in the refreshedleaves, and the Atlantic was thundering in glorious liberty; myheart, dried up and scorched for a long time, swelled to the tone,and filled with living blood--my being longed for renewal--my soulthirsted for a pure draught. I saw hope revive--and feltregeneration possible. From a flowery arch at the bottom of mygarden I gazed over the sea--bluer than the sky: the old world wasbeyond; clear prospects opened thus:-

"'Go,' said Hope, 'and live again in Europe: there it is not knownwhat a sullied name you bear, nor what a filthy burden is bound toyou. You may take the maniac with you to England; confine her withdue attendance and precautions at Thornfield: then travel yourselfto what clime you will, and form what new tie you like. That woman,who has so abused your long-suffering, so sullied your name, sooutraged your honour, so blighted your youth, is not your wife, norare you her husband. See that she is cared for as her conditiondemands, and you have done all that God and humanity require of you.Let her identity, her connection with yourself, be buried inoblivion: you are bound to impart them to no living being. Placeher in safety and comfort: shelter her degradation with secrecy,and leave her.'

"I acted precisely on this suggestion. My father and brother hadnot made my marriage known to their acquaintance; because, in thevery first letter I wrote to apprise them of the union--havingalready begun to experience extreme disgust of its consequences,and, from the family character and constitution, seeing a hideousfuture opening to me--I added an urgent charge to keep it secret:and very soon the infamous conduct of the wife my father hadselected for me was such as to make him blush to own her as hisdaughter-in-law. Far from desiring to publish the connection, hebecame as anxious to conceal it as myself.

"To England, then, I conveyed her; a fearful voyage I had with sucha monster in the vessel. Glad was I when I at last got her toThornfield, and saw her safely lodged in that third-storey room, ofwhose secret inner cabinet she has now for ten years made a wildbeast's den--a goblin's cell. I had some trouble in finding anattendant for her, as it was necessary to select one on whosefidelity dependence could be placed; for her ravings wouldinevitably betray my secret: besides, she had lucid intervals ofdays--sometimes weeks--which she filled up with abuse of me. Atlast I hired Grace Poole from the Grimbsy Retreat. She and thesurgeon, Carter (who dressed Mason's wounds that night he wasstabbed and worried), are the only two I have ever admitted to myconfidence. Mrs. Fairfax may indeed have suspected something, butshe could have gained no precise knowledge as to facts. Grace has,on the whole, proved a good keeper; though, owing partly to a faultof her own, of which it appears nothing can cure her, and which isincident to her harassing profession, her vigilance has been morethan once lulled and baffled. The lunatic is both cunning andmalignant; she has never failed to take advantage of her guardian'stemporary lapses; once to secrete the knife with which she stabbedher brother, and twice to possess herself of the key of her cell,and issue therefrom in the night-time. On the first of theseoccasions, she perpetrated the attempt to burn me in my bed; on thesecond, she paid that ghastly visit to you. I thank Providence, whowatched over you, that she then spent her fury on your weddingapparel, which perhaps brought back vague reminiscences of her ownbridal days: but on what might have happened, I cannot endure toreflect. When I think of the thing which flew at my throat thismorning, hanging its black and scarlet visage over the nest of mydove, my blood curdles

"And what, sir," I asked, while he paused, "did you do when you hadsettled her here? Where did you go?"

"What did I do, Jane? I transformed myself into a will-o'-the-wisp.Where did I go? I pursued wanderings as wild as those of the March-spirit. I sought the Continent, and went devious through all itslands. My fixed desire was to seek and find a good and intelligentwoman, whom I could love: a contrast to the fury I left atThornfield--"

"But you could not marry, sir."

"I had determined and was convinced that I could and ought. It wasnot my original intention to deceive, as I have deceived you. Imeant to tell my tale plainly, and make my proposals openly: and itappeared to me so absolutely rational that I should be consideredfree to love and be loved, I never doubted some woman might be foundwilling and able to understand my case and accept me, in spite ofthe curse with which I was burdened."

"Well, sir?"

"When you are inquisitive, Jane, you always make me smile. You openyour eyes like an eager bird, and make every now and then a restlessmovement, as if answers in speech did not flow fast enough for you,and you wanted to read the tablet of one's heart. But before I goon, tell me what you mean by your 'Well, sir?' It is a small phrasevery frequent with you; and which many a time has drawn me on and onthrough interminable talk: I don't very well know why."

"I mean,--What next? How did you proceed? What came of such anevent?"

"Precisely! and what do you wish to know now?"

"Whether you found any one you liked: whether you asked her tomarry you; and what she said."

"I can tell you whether I found any one I liked, and whether I askedher to marry me: but what she said is yet to be recorded in thebook of Fate. For ten long years I roved about, living first in onecapital, then another: sometimes in St. Petersburg; oftener inParis; occasionally in Rome, Naples, and Florence. Provided withplenty of money and the passport of an old name, I could choose myown society: no circles were closed against me. I sought my idealof a woman amongst English ladies, French countesses, Italiansignoras, and German grafinnen. I could not find her. Sometimes,for a fleeting moment, I thought I caught a glance, heard a tone,beheld a form, which announced the realisation of my dream: but Iwas presently undeserved. You are not to suppose that I desiredperfection, either of mind or person. I longed only for what suitedme--for the antipodes of the Creole: and I longed vainly. Amongstthem all I found not one whom, had I been ever so free, I--warned asI was of the risks, the horrors, the loathings of incongruousunions--would have asked to marry me. Disappointment made mereckless. I tried dissipation--never debauchery: that I hated, andhate. That was my Indian Messalina's attribute: rooted disgust atit and her restrained me much, even in pleasure. Any enjoyment thatbordered on riot seemed to approach me to her and her vices, and Ieschewed it.

"Yet I could not live alone; so I tried the companionship ofmistresses. The first I chose was Celine Varens--another of thosesteps which make a man spurn himself when he recalls them. Youalready know what she was, and how my liaison with her terminated.She had two successors: an Italian, Giacinta, and a German, Clara;both considered singularly handsome. What was their beauty to me ina few weeks? Giacinta was unprincipled and violent: I tired of herin three months. Clara was honest and quiet; but heavy, mindless,and unimpressible: not one whit to my taste. I was glad to giveher a sufficient sum to set her up in a good line of business, andso get decently rid of her. But, Jane, I see by your face you arenot forming a very favourable opinion of me just now. You think mean unfeeling, loose-principled rake: don't you?"

"I don't like you so well as I have done sometimes, indeed, sir.Did it not seem to you in the least wrong to live in that way, firstwith one mistress and then another? You talk of it as a mere matterof course."

"It was with me; and I did not like it. It was a grovelling fashionof existence: I should never like to return to it. Hiring amistress is the next worse thing to buying a slave: both are oftenby nature, and always by position, inferior: and to live familiarlywith inferiors is degrading. I now hate the recollection of thetime I passed with Celine, Giacinta, and Clara."

I felt the truth of these words; and I drew from them the certaininference, that if I were so far to forget myself and all theteaching that had ever been instilled into me, as--under anypretext--with any justification--through any temptation--to becomethe successor of these poor girls, he would one day regard me withthe same feeling which now in his mind desecrated their memory. Idid not give utterance to this conviction: it was enough to feelit. I impressed it on my heart, that it might remain there to serveme as aid in the time of trial.

"Now, Jane, why don't you say 'Well, sir?' I have not done. Youare looking grave. You disapprove of me still, I see. But let mecome to the point. Last January, rid of all mistresses--in a harsh,bitter frame of mind, the result of a useless, roving, lonely life--corroded with disappointment, sourly disposed against all men, andespecially against all womankind (for I began to regard the notionof an intellectual, faithful, loving woman as a mere dream),recalled by business, I came back to England.

"On a frosty winter afternoon, I rode in sight of Thornfield Hall.Abhorred spot! I expected no peace--no pleasure there. On a stilein Hay Lane I saw a quiet little figure sitting by itself. I passedit as negligently as I did the pollard willow opposite to it: I hadno presentiment of what it would be to me; no inward warning thatthe arbitress of my life--my genius for good or evil--waited therein humble guise. I did not know it, even when, on the occasion ofMesrour's accident, it came up and gravely offered me help.Childish and slender creature! It seemed as if a linnet had hoppedto my foot and proposed to bear me on its tiny wing. I was surly;but the thing would not go: it stood by me with strangeperseverance, and looked and spoke with a sort of authority. I mustbe aided, and by that hand: and aided I was.

"When once I had pressed the frail shoulder, something new--a freshsap and sense--stole into my frame. It was well I had learnt thatthis elf must return to me--that it belonged to my house down below--or I could not have felt it pass away from under my hand, and seenit vanish behind the dim hedge, without singular regret. I heardyou come home that night, Jane, though probably you were not awarethat I thought of you or watched for you. The next day I observedyou--myself unseen--for half-an-hour, while you played with Adele inthe gallery. It was a snowy day, I recollect, and you could not goout of doors. I was in my room; the door was ajar: I could bothlisten and watch. Adele claimed your outward attention for a while;yet I fancied your thoughts were elsewhere: but you were verypatient with her, my little Jane; you talked to her and amused her along time. When at last she left you, you lapsed at once into deepreverie: you betook yourself slowly to pace the gallery. Now andthen, in passing a casement, you glanced out at the thick-fallingsnow; you listened to the sobbing wind, and again you paced gentlyon and dreamed. I think those day visions were not dark: there wasa pleasurable illumination in your eye occasionally, a softexcitement in your aspect, which told of no bitter, bilious,hypochondriac brooding: your look revealed rather the sweet musingsof youth when its spirit follows on willing wings the flight of Hopeup and on to an ideal heaven. The voice of Mrs. Fairfax, speakingto a servant in the hall, wakened you: and how curiously you smiledto and at yourself, Janet! There was much sense in your smile: itwas very shrewd, and seemed to make light of your own abstraction.It seemed to say--'My fine visions are all very well, but I must notforget they are absolutely unreal. I have a rosy sky and a greenflowery Eden in my brain; but without, I am perfectly aware, lies atmy feet a rough tract to travel, and around me gather black tempeststo encounter.' You ran downstairs and demanded of Mrs. Fairfax someoccupation: the weekly house accounts to make up, or something ofthat sort, I think it was. I was vexed with you for getting out ofmy sight.

"Impatiently I waited for evening, when I might summon you to mypresence. An unusual--to me--a perfectly new character I suspectedwas yours: I desired to search it deeper and know it better. Youentered the room with a look and air at once shy and independent:you were quaintly dressed--much as you are now. I made you talk:ere long I found you full of strange contrasts. Your garb andmanner were restricted by rule; your air was often diffident, andaltogether that of one refined by nature, but absolutely unused tosociety, and a good deal afraid of making herself disadvantageouslyconspicuous by some solecism or blunder; yet when addressed, youlifted a keen, a daring, and a glowing eye to your interlocutor'sface: there was penetration and power in each glance you gave; whenplied by close questions, you found ready and round answers. Verysoon you seemed to get used to me: I believe you felt the existenceof sympathy between you and your grim and cross master, Jane; for itwas astonishing to see how quickly a certain pleasant easetranquillised your manner: snarl as I would, you showed nosurprise, fear, annoyance, or displeasure at my moroseness; youwatched me, and now and then smiled at me with a simple yetsagacious grace I cannot describe. I was at once content andstimulated with what I saw: I liked what I had seen, and wished tosee more. Yet, for a long time, I treated you distantly, and soughtyour company rarely. I was an intellectual epicure, and wished toprolong the gratification of making this novel and piquantacquaintance: besides, I was for a while troubled with a hauntingfear that if I handled the flower freely its bloom would fade--thesweet charm of freshness would leave it. I did not then know thatit was no transitory blossom, but rather the radiant resemblance ofone, cut in an indestructible gem. Moreover, I wished to seewhether you would seek me if I shunned you--but you did not; youkept in the schoolroom as still as your own desk and easel; if bychance I met you, you passed me as soon, and with as little token ofrecognition, as was consistent with respect. Your habitualexpression in those days, Jane, was a thoughtful look; notdespondent, for you were not sickly; but not buoyant, for you hadlittle hope, and no actual pleasure. I wondered what you thought ofme, or if you ever thought of me, and resolved to find this out.

"I resumed my notice of you. There was something glad in yourglance, and genial in your manner, when you conversed: I saw youhad a social heart; it was the silent schoolroom--it was the tediumof your life--that made you mournful. I permitted myself thedelight of being kind to you; kindness stirred emotion soon: yourface became soft in expression, your tones gentle; I liked my namepronounced by your lips in a grateful happy accent. I used to enjoya chance meeting with you, Jane, at this time: there was a curioushesitation in your manner: you glanced at me with a slight trouble--a hovering doubt: you did not know what my caprice might be--whether I was going to play the master and be stern, or the friendand be benignant. I was now too fond of you often to simulate thefirst whim; and, when I stretched my hand out cordially, such bloomand light and bliss rose to your young, wistful features, I had muchado often to avoid straining you then and there to my heart."

"Don't talk any more of those days, sir," I interrupted, furtivelydashing away some tears from my eyes; his language was torture tome; for I knew what I must do--and do soon--and all thesereminiscences, and these revelations of his feelings only made mywork more difficult.

"No, Jane," he returned: "what necessity is there to dwell on thePast, when the Present is so much surer--the Future so muchbrighter?"

I shuddered to hear the infatuated assertion.

"You see now how the case stands--do you not?" he continued. "Aftera youth and manhood passed half in unutterable misery and half indreary solitude, I have for the first time found what I can trulylove--I have found you. You are my sympathy--my better self--mygood angel. I am bound to you with a strong attachment. I thinkyou good, gifted, lovely: a fervent, a solemn passion is conceivedin my heart; it leans to you, draws you to my centre and spring oflife, wraps my existence about you, and, kindling in pure, powerfulflame, fuses you and me in one.

"It was because I felt and knew this, that I resolved to marry you.To tell me that I had already a wife is empty mockery: you know nowthat I had but a hideous demon. I was wrong to attempt to deceiveyou; but I feared a stubbornness that exists in your character. Ifeared early instilled prejudice: I wanted to have you safe beforehazarding confidences. This was cowardly: I should have appealedto your nobleness and magnanimity at first, as I do now--opened toyou plainly my life of agony--described to you my hunger and thirstafter a higher and worthier existence--shown to you, not myRESOLUTION (that word is weak), but my resistless BENT to lovefaithfully and well, where I am faithfully and well loved in return.Then I should have asked you to accept my pledge of fidelity and togive me yours. Jane--give it me now."

A pause.

"Why are you silent, Jane?"

I was experiencing an ordeal: a hand of fiery iron grasped myvitals. Terrible moment: full of struggle, blackness, burning!Not a human being that ever lived could wish to be loved better thanI was loved; and him who thus loved me I absolutely worshipped: andI must renounce love and idol. One drear word comprised myintolerable duty--"Depart!"

"Jane, you understand what I want of you? Just this promise--'Iwill be yours, Mr. Rochester.'"

"Mr. Rochester, I will NOT be yours."

Another long silence.

"Jane!" recommenced he, with a gentleness that broke me down withgrief, and turned me stone-cold with ominous terror--for this stillvoice was the pant of a lion rising--"Jane, do you mean to go oneway in the world, and to let me go another?"

"I do."

"Jane" (bending towards and embracing me), "do you mean it now?"

"I do."

"And now?" softly kissing my forehead and cheek.

"I do," extricating myself from restraint rapidly and completely.

"Oh, Jane, this is bitter! This--this is wicked. It would not bewicked to love me."

"It would to obey you."

A wild look raised his brows--crossed his features: he rose; but heforebore yet. I laid my hand on the back of a chair for support: Ishook, I feared--but I resolved.

"One instant, Jane. Give one glance to my horrible life when youare gone. All happiness will be torn away with you. What then isleft? For a wife I have but the maniac upstairs: as well might yourefer me to some corpse in yonder churchyard. What shall I do,Jane? Where turn for a companion and for some hope?"

"Do as I do: trust in God and yourself. Believe in heaven. Hopeto meet again there."

"Then you will not yield?"

"No."

"Then you condemn me to live wretched and to die accursed?" Hisvoice rose.

"I advise you to live sinless, and I wish you to die tranquil."

"Then you snatch love and innocence from me? You fling me back onlust for a passion--vice for an occupation?"

"Mr. Rochester, I no more assign this fate to you than I grasp at itfor myself. We were born to strive and endure--you as well as I:do so. You will forget me before I forget you."

"You make me a liar by such language: you sully my honour. Ideclared I could not change: you tell me to my face I shall changesoon. And what a distortion in your judgment, what a perversity inyour ideas, is proved by your conduct! Is it better to drive afellow-creature to despair than to transgress a mere human law, noman being injured by the breach? for you have neither relatives noracquaintances whom you need fear to offend by living with me?"

This was true: and while he spoke my very conscience and reasonturned traitors against me, and charged me with crime in resistinghim. They spoke almost as loud as Feeling: and that clamouredwildly. "Oh, comply!" it said. "Think of his misery; think of hisdanger--look at his state when left alone; remember his headlongnature; consider the recklessness following on despair--soothe him;save him; love him; tell him you love him and will be his. Who inthe world cares for YOU? or who will be injured by what you do?"

Still indomitable was the reply--"I care for myself. The moresolitary, the more friendless, the more unsustained I am, the more Iwill respect myself. I will keep the law given by God; sanctionedby man. I will hold to the principles received by me when I wassane, and not mad--as I am now. Laws and principles are not for thetimes when there is no temptation: they are for such moments asthis, when body and soul rise in mutiny against their rigour;stringent are they; inviolate they shall be. If at my individualconvenience I might break them, what would be their worth? Theyhave a worth--so I have always believed; and if I cannot believe itnow, it is because I am insane--quite insane: with my veins runningfire, and my heart beating faster than I can count its throbs.Preconceived opinions, foregone determinations, are all I have atthis hour to stand by: there I plant my foot."

I did. Mr. Rochester, reading my countenance, saw I had done so.His fury was wrought to the highest: he must yield to it for amoment, whatever followed; he crossed the floor and seized my armand grasped my waist. He seemed to devour me with his flamingglance: physically, I felt, at the moment, powerless as stubbleexposed to the draught and glow of a furnace: mentally, I stillpossessed my soul, and with it the certainty of ultimate safety.The soul, fortunately, has an interpreter--often an unconscious, butstill a truthful interpreter--in the eye. My eye rose to his; andwhile I looked in his fierce face I gave an involuntary sigh; hisgripe was painful, and my over-taxed strength almost exhausted.

"Never," said he, as he ground his teeth, "never was anything atonce so frail and so indomitable. A mere reed she feels in myhand!" (And he shook me with the force of his hold.) "I could bendher with my finger and thumb: and what good would it do if I bent,if I uptore, if I crushed her? Consider that eye: consider theresolute, wild, free thing looking out of it, defying me, with morethan courage--with a stern triumph. Whatever I do with its cage, Icannot get at it--the savage, beautiful creature! If I tear, if Irend the slight prison, my outrage will only let the captive loose.Conqueror I might be of the house; but the inmate would escape toheaven before I could call myself possessor of its clay dwelling-place. And it is you, spirit--with will and energy, and virtue andpurity--that I want: not alone your brittle frame. Of yourself youcould come with soft flight and nestle against my heart, if youwould: seized against your will, you will elude the grasp like anessence--you will vanish ere I inhale your fragrance. Oh! come,Jane, come!"

As he said this, he released me from his clutch, and only looked atme. The look was far worse to resist than the frantic strain: onlyan idiot, however, would have succumbed now. I had dared andbaffled his fury; I must elude his sorrow: I retired to the door.

"You are going, Jane?"

"I am going, sir."

"You are leaving me?"

"Yes."

"You will not come? You will not be my comforter, my rescuer? Mydeep love, my wild woe, my frantic prayer, are all nothing to you?"

What unutterable pathos was in his voice! How hard it was toreiterate firmly, "I am going."

"Jane!"

"Mr. Rochester!"

"Withdraw, then,--I consent; but remember, you leave me here inanguish. Go up to your own room; think over all I have said, and,Jane, cast a glance on my sufferings--think of me."

He turned away; he threw himself on his face on the sofa. "Oh,Jane! my hope--my love--my life!" broke in anguish from his lips.Then came a deep, strong sob.

I had already gained the door; but, reader, I walked back--walkedback as determinedly as I had retreated. I knelt down by him; Iturned his face from the cushion to me; I kissed his cheek; Ismoothed his hair with my hand.

"God bless you, my dear master!" I said. "God keep you from harmand wrong--direct you, solace you--reward you well for your pastkindness to me."

"Little Jane's love would have been my best reward," he answered;"without it, my heart is broken. But Jane will give me her love:yes--nobly, generously."

Up the blood rushed to his face; forth flashed the fire from hiseyes; erect he sprang; he held his arms out; but I evaded theembrace, and at once quitted the room.

"Farewell!" was the cry of my heart as I left him. Despair added,"Farewell for ever!"

That night I never thought to sleep; but a slumber fell on me assoon as I lay down in bed. I was transported in thought to thescenes of childhood: I dreamt I lay in the red-room at Gateshead;that the night was dark, and my mind impressed with strange fears.The light that long ago had struck me into syncope, recalled in thisvision, seemed glidingly to mount the wall, and tremblingly to pausein the centre of the obscured ceiling. I lifted up my head to look:the roof resolved to clouds, high and dim; the gleam was such as themoon imparts to vapours she is about to sever. I watched her come--watched with the strangest anticipation; as though some word of doomwere to be written on her disk. She broke forth as never moon yetburst from cloud: a hand first penetrated the sable folds and wavedthem away; then, not a moon, but a white human form shone in theazure, inclining a glorious brow earthward. It gazed and gazed onme. It spoke to my spirit: immeasurably distant was the tone, yetso near, it whispered in my heart -

"My daughter, flee temptation."

"Mother, I will."

So I answered after I had waked from the trance-like dream. It wasyet night, but July nights are short: soon after midnight, dawncomes. "It cannot be too early to commence the task I have tofulfil," thought I. I rose: I was dressed; for I had taken offnothing but my shoes. I knew where to find in my drawers somelinen, a locket, a ring. In seeking these articles, I encounteredthe beads of a pearl necklace Mr. Rochester had forced me to accepta few days ago. I left that; it was not mine: it was the visionarybride's who had melted in air. The other articles I made up in aparcel; my purse, containing twenty shillings (it was all I had), Iput in my pocket: I tied on my straw bonnet, pinned my shawl, tookthe parcel and my slippers, which I would not put on yet, and stolefrom my room.

"Farewell, kind Mrs. Fairfax!" I whispered, as I glided past herdoor. "Farewell, my darling Adele!" I said, as I glanced towardsthe nursery. No thought could be admitted of entering to embraceher. I had to deceive a fine ear: for aught I knew it might now belistening.

I would have got past Mr. Rochester's chamber without a pause; butmy heart momentarily stopping its beat at that threshold, my footwas forced to stop also. No sleep was there: the inmate waswalking restlessly from wall to wall; and again and again he sighedwhile I listened. There was a heaven--a temporary heaven--in thisroom for me, if I chose: I had but to go in and to say -

"Mr. Rochester, I will love you and live with you through life tilldeath," and a fount of rapture would spring to my lips. I thoughtof this.

That kind master, who could not sleep now, was waiting withimpatience for day. He would send for me in the morning; I shouldbe gone. He would have me sought for: vainly. He would feelhimself forsaken; his love rejected: he would suffer; perhaps growdesperate. I thought of this too. My hand moved towards the lock:I caught it back, and glided on.

Drearily I wound my way downstairs: I knew what I had to do, and Idid it mechanically. I sought the key of the side-door in thekitchen; I sought, too, a phial of oil and a feather; I oiled thekey and the lock. I got some water, I got some bread: for perhapsI should have to walk far; and my strength, sorely shaken of late,must not break down. All this I did without one sound. I openedthe door, passed out, shut it softly. Dim dawn glimmered in theyard. The great gates were closed and locked; but a wicket in oneof them was only latched. Through that I departed: it, too, Ishut; and now I was out of Thornfield.

A mile off, beyond the fields, lay a road which stretched in thecontrary direction to Millcote; a road I had never travelled, butoften noticed, and wondered where it led: thither I bent my steps.No reflection was to be allowed now: not one glance was to be castback; not even one forward. Not one thought was to be given eitherto the past or the future. The first was a page so heavenly sweet--so deadly sad--that to read one line of it would dissolve my courageand break down my energy. The last was an awful blank: somethinglike the world when the deluge was gone by.

I skirted fields, and hedges, and lanes till after sunrise. Ibelieve it was a lovely summer morning: I know my shoes, which Ihad put on when I left the house, were soon wet with dew. But Ilooked neither to rising sun, nor smiling sky, nor wakening nature.He who is taken out to pass through a fair scene to the scaffold,thinks not of the flowers that smile on his road, but of the blockand axe-edge; of the disseverment of bone and vein; of the gravegaping at the end: and I thought of drear flight and homelesswandering--and oh! with agony I thought of what I left. I could nothelp it. I thought of him now--in his room--watching the sunrise;hoping I should soon come to say I would stay with him and be his.I longed to be his; I panted to return: it was not too late; Icould yet spare him the bitter pang of bereavement. As yet myflight, I was sure, was undiscovered. I could go back and be hiscomforter--his pride; his redeemer from misery, perhaps from ruin.Oh, that fear of his self-abandonment--far worse than myabandonment--how it goaded me! It was a barbed arrow-head in mybreast; it tore me when I tried to extract it; it sickened me whenremembrance thrust it farther in. Birds began singing in brake andcopse: birds were faithful to their mates; birds were emblems oflove. What was I? In the midst of my pain of heart and franticeffort of principle, I abhorred myself. I had no solace from self-approbation: none even from self-respect. I had injured--wounded--left my master. I was hateful in my own eyes. Still I could notturn, nor retrace one step. God must have led me on. As to my ownwill or conscience, impassioned grief had trampled one and stifledthe other. I was weeping wildly as I walked along my solitary way:fast, fast I went like one delirious. A weakness, beginninginwardly, extending to the limbs, seized me, and I fell: I lay onthe ground some minutes, pressing my face to the wet turf. I hadsome fear--or hope--that here I should die: but I was soon up;crawling forwards on my hands and knees, and then again raised to myfeet--as eager and as determined as ever to reach the road.

When I got there, I was forced to sit to rest me under the hedge;and while I sat, I heard wheels, and saw a coach come on. I stoodup and lifted my hand; it stopped. I asked where it was going: thedriver named a place a long way off, and where I was sure Mr.Rochester had no connections. I asked for what sum he would take methere; he said thirty shillings; I answered I had but twenty; well,he would try to make it do. He further gave me leave to get intothe inside, as the vehicle was empty: I entered, was shut in, andit rolled on its way.

Gentle reader, may you never feel what I then felt! May your eyesnever shed such stormy, scalding, heart-wrung tears as poured frommine. May you never appeal to Heaven in prayers so hopeless and soagonised as in that hour left my lips; for never may you, like me,dread to be the instrument of evil to what you wholly love.