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- Шарлотта Бронте
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- Джэйн Эйр
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Shall
I
be
an
outcast
again
this
night
?
While
the
rain
descends
so
,
must
I
lay
my
head
on
the
cold
,
drenched
ground
?
I
fear
I
can
not
do
otherwise
:
for
who
will
receive
me
?
But
it
will
be
very
dreadful
,
with
this
feeling
of
hunger
,
faintness
,
chill
,
and
this
sense
of
desolation
--
this
total
prostration
of
hope
.
In
all
likelihood
,
though
,
I
should
die
before
morning
.
And
why
can
not
I
reconcile
myself
to
the
prospect
of
death
?
Why
do
I
struggle
to
retain
a
valueless
life
?
Because
I
know
,
or
believe
,
Mr.
Rochester
is
living
:
and
then
,
to
die
of
want
and
cold
is
a
fate
to
which
nature
can
not
submit
passively
.
Oh
,
Providence
!
sustain
me
a
little
longer
!
Aid
!
--
direct
me
!
"
My
glazed
eye
wandered
over
the
dim
and
misty
landscape
.
I
saw
I
had
strayed
far
from
the
village
:
it
was
quite
out
of
sight
.
The
very
cultivation
surrounding
it
had
disappeared
.
I
had
,
by
cross-ways
and
by-paths
,
once
more
drawn
near
the
tract
of
moorland
;
and
now
,
only
a
few
fields
,
almost
as
wild
and
unproductive
as
the
heath
from
which
they
were
scarcely
reclaimed
,
lay
between
me
and
the
dusky
hill
.
"
Well
,
I
would
rather
die
yonder
than
in
a
street
or
on
a
frequented
road
,
"
I
reflected
.
"
And
far
better
that
crows
and
ravens
--
if
any
ravens
there
be
in
these
regions
--
should
pick
my
flesh
from
my
bones
,
than
that
they
should
be
prisoned
in
a
workhouse
coffin
and
moulder
in
a
pauper
's
grave
.
"
To
the
hill
,
then
,
I
turned
.
I
reached
it
.
It
remained
now
only
to
find
a
hollow
where
I
could
lie
down
,
and
feel
at
least
hidden
,
if
not
secure
.
But
all
the
surface
of
the
waste
looked
level
.
It
showed
no
variation
but
of
tint
:
green
,
where
rush
and
moss
overgrew
the
marshes
;
black
,
where
the
dry
soil
bore
only
heath
.
Dark
as
it
was
getting
,
I
could
still
see
these
changes
,
though
but
as
mere
alternations
of
light
and
shade
;
for
colour
had
faded
with
the
daylight
.
My
eye
still
roved
over
the
sullen
swell
and
along
the
moor-edge
,
vanishing
amidst
the
wildest
scenery
,
when
at
one
dim
point
,
far
in
among
the
marshes
and
the
ridges
,
a
light
sprang
up
.
"
That
is
an
ignis
fatuus
,
"
was
my
first
thought
;
and
I
expected
it
would
soon
vanish
.
It
burnt
on
,
however
,
quite
steadily
,
neither
receding
nor
advancing
.
"
Is
it
,
then
,
a
bonfire
just
kindled
?
"
I
questioned
.
I
watched
to
see
whether
it
would
spread
:
but
no
;
as
it
did
not
diminish
,
so
it
did
not
enlarge
.
"
It
may
be
a
candle
in
a
house
,
"
I
then
conjectured
;
"
but
if
so
,
I
can
never
reach
it
.
It
is
much
too
far
away
:
and
were
it
within
a
yard
of
me
,
what
would
it
avail
?
I
should
but
knock
at
the
door
to
have
it
shut
in
my
face
.
"
And
I
sank
down
where
I
stood
,
and
hid
my
face
against
the
ground
.
I
lay
still
a
while
:
the
night-wind
swept
over
the
hill
and
over
me
,
and
died
moaning
in
the
distance
;
the
rain
fell
fast
,
wetting
me
afresh
to
the
skin
.
Could
I
but
have
stiffened
to
the
still
frost
--
the
friendly
numbness
of
death
--
it
might
have
pelted
on
;
I
should
not
have
felt
it
;
but
my
yet
living
flesh
shuddered
at
its
chilling
influence
.
I
rose
ere
long
.
The
light
was
yet
there
,
shining
dim
but
constant
through
the
rain
.
I
tried
to
walk
again
:
I
dragged
my
exhausted
limbs
slowly
towards
it
.
It
led
me
aslant
over
the
hill
,
through
a
wide
bog
,
which
would
have
been
impassable
in
winter
,
and
was
splashy
and
shaking
even
now
,
in
the
height
of
summer
.
Here
I
fell
twice
;
but
as
often
I
rose
and
rallied
my
faculties
.
This
light
was
my
forlorn
hope
:
I
must
gain
it
.
Having
crossed
the
marsh
,
I
saw
a
trace
of
white
over
the
moor
.
I
approached
it
;
it
was
a
road
or
a
track
:
it
led
straight
up
to
the
light
,
which
now
beamed
from
a
sort
of
knoll
,
amidst
a
clump
of
trees
--
firs
,
apparently
,
from
what
I
could
distinguish
of
the
character
of
their
forms
and
foliage
through
the
gloom
.
My
star
vanished
as
I
drew
near
:
some
obstacle
had
intervened
between
me
and
it
.
I
put
out
my
hand
to
feel
the
dark
mass
before
me
:
I
discriminated
the
rough
stones
of
a
low
wall
--
above
it
,
something
like
palisades
,
and
within
,
a
high
and
prickly
hedge
.
I
groped
on
.
Again
a
whitish
object
gleamed
before
me
:
it
was
a
gate
--
a
wicket
;
it
moved
on
its
hinges
as
I
touched
it
.
On
each
side
stood
a
sable
bush-holly
or
yew
.
