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- Шарлотта Бронте
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- Джэйн Эйр
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- Стр. 347/445
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He
did
love
me
--
no
one
will
ever
love
me
so
again
.
I
shall
never
more
know
the
sweet
homage
given
to
beauty
,
youth
,
and
grace
--
for
never
to
any
one
else
shall
I
seem
to
possess
these
charms
.
He
was
fond
and
proud
of
me
--
it
is
what
no
man
besides
will
ever
be
.
--
But
where
am
I
wandering
,
and
what
am
I
saying
,
and
above
all
,
feeling
?
Whether
is
it
better
,
I
ask
,
to
be
a
slave
in
a
fool
's
paradise
at
Marseilles
--
fevered
with
delusive
bliss
one
hour
--
suffocating
with
the
bitterest
tears
of
remorse
and
shame
the
next
--
or
to
be
a
village-schoolmistress
,
free
and
honest
,
in
a
breezy
mountain
nook
in
the
healthy
heart
of
England
?
Yes
;
I
feel
now
that
I
was
right
when
I
adhered
to
principle
and
law
,
and
scorned
and
crushed
the
insane
promptings
of
a
frenzied
moment
.
God
directed
me
to
a
correct
choice
:
I
thank
His
providence
for
the
guidance
!
Having
brought
my
eventide
musings
to
this
point
,
I
rose
,
went
to
my
door
,
and
looked
at
the
sunset
of
the
harvest-day
,
and
at
the
quiet
fields
before
my
cottage
,
which
,
with
the
school
,
was
distant
half
a
mile
from
the
village
.
The
birds
were
singing
their
last
strains
--
"
The
air
was
mild
,
the
dew
was
balm
.
"
While
I
looked
,
I
thought
myself
happy
,
and
was
surprised
to
find
myself
ere
long
weeping
--
and
why
?
For
the
doom
which
had
reft
me
from
adhesion
to
my
master
:
for
him
I
was
no
more
to
see
;
for
the
desperate
grief
and
fatal
fury
--
consequences
of
my
departure
--
which
might
now
,
perhaps
,
be
dragging
him
from
the
path
of
right
,
too
far
to
leave
hope
of
ultimate
restoration
thither
.
At
this
thought
,
I
turned
my
face
aside
from
the
lovely
sky
of
eve
and
lonely
vale
of
Morton
--
I
say
lonely
,
for
in
that
bend
of
it
visible
to
me
there
was
no
building
apparent
save
the
church
and
the
parsonage
,
half-hid
in
trees
,
and
,
quite
at
the
extremity
,
the
roof
of
Vale
Hall
,
where
the
rich
Mr.
Oliver
and
his
daughter
lived
.
I
hid
my
eyes
,
and
leant
my
head
against
the
stone
frame
of
my
door
;
but
soon
a
slight
noise
near
the
wicket
which
shut
in
my
tiny
garden
from
the
meadow
beyond
it
made
me
look
up
.
A
dog
--
old
Carlo
,
Mr.
Rivers
'
pointer
,
as
I
saw
in
a
moment
--
was
pushing
the
gate
with
his
nose
,
and
St.
John
himself
leant
upon
it
with
folded
arms
;
his
brow
knit
,
his
gaze
,
grave
almost
to
displeasure
,
fixed
on
me
.
I
asked
him
to
come
in
.
"
No
,
I
can
not
stay
;
I
have
only
brought
you
a
little
parcel
my
sisters
left
for
you
.
I
think
it
contains
a
colour-box
,
pencils
,
and
paper
.
"
I
approached
to
take
it
:
a
welcome
gift
it
was
.
He
examined
my
face
,
I
thought
,
with
austerity
,
as
I
came
near
:
the
traces
of
tears
were
doubtless
very
visible
upon
it
.
"
Have
you
found
your
first
day
's
work
harder
than
you
expected
?
"
he
asked
.
"
Oh
,
no
!
On
the
contrary
,
I
think
in
time
I
shall
get
on
with
my
scholars
very
well
.
"
