From what, Jane?"
"From England; and from Thornfield; and "
"Well From you, sir."
I said this almost involuntarily; and my tears gushed out. I did not cry so be heard, however; avoided sobbing. The thought of Mrs. O'Gall and ernutt Lodge struck cold to my heart; and colder the thought of all the brine and foam, destined to rush between me and the master, at whose side I now walked, and coldest at the remembrance of the wider ocean-wealth, caste, custom, between me and what I loved.
"It is a long way," again said.
"It is, to be sure; and when you get to Bitternutt Lodge, I shall never see you again, Jane; Inever go over to Ireland. We have been good friends, Jane, have we not?"
"Yes, sir."
" And when friends are on the eve of separation, they like to spend the little time remains to them close to each other. Come, we'll talk o voyage and the parting quietly, half an hour or so, while the stars enter into their shining life up in heaven; here is the chestnut tree: here is the bench at its old roots. Come, we will sit there in peace to-night, through we should never more be destined to sit there together." He seated me and himself."
"It is a long way to Ireland, Janet, and I am sorry to send my little friend on such weary travels, but if I can't do better, how is it to be helped? Are you anything akin to me, do you think, Jane?"
I could risk no sort of answer by this time, my heart was full.
"Because," he said, "I sometimes have a queer feeling with regard to you especially when you are near me, as now; it is as if I had a string somewhere under my left ribs, tightly and inextricably knotted to a similar string situated in the corresponding quarter of your little frame. And if that channel, and two hundred miles or so of land, come between us, I am afraid that cord of communion will be snapped, and then Ive a notion I should take to bleeding inwardly. As for you, you'd forget me."
"That I never should, sir-"
" Jane, do you hear that nightingale singing in the wood? Listen!"
In listening, I sobbed convulsively; for I was shaken from head to foot with acute distress. When I did speak, it was only to express an impetuous wish that I had never been born, nor come to Thornfield.
"Because you are sorry to leave it?"
The vehemence of emotion, stirred by grief and love within me, was so asserting a right to predominate-to overcome, to live, rise at last; yes, and to speak.
"I grieve to leave Thornfield; l love Thornfield; I love it, because I have lived in it a full and delightful life. I have not been trampled on. I have not