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- Шарлотта Бронте
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- Джэйн Эйр
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- Стр. 407/445
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It
was
a
journey
of
six-and-thirty
hours
.
I
had
set
out
from
Whitcross
on
a
Tuesday
afternoon
,
and
early
on
the
succeeding
Thursday
morning
the
coach
stopped
to
water
the
horses
at
a
wayside
inn
,
situated
in
the
midst
of
scenery
whose
green
hedges
and
large
fields
and
low
pastoral
hills
(
how
mild
of
feature
and
verdant
of
hue
compared
with
the
stern
North-Midland
moors
of
Morton
!
)
met
my
eye
like
the
lineaments
of
a
once
familiar
face
.
Yes
,
I
knew
the
character
of
this
landscape
:
I
was
sure
we
were
near
my
bourne
.
"
How
far
is
Thornfield
Hall
from
here
?
"
I
asked
of
the
ostler
.
"
Just
two
miles
,
ma'am
,
across
the
fields
.
"
"
My
journey
is
closed
,
"
I
thought
to
myself
.
I
got
out
of
the
coach
,
gave
a
box
I
had
into
the
ostler
's
charge
,
to
be
kept
till
I
called
for
it
;
paid
my
fare
;
satisfied
the
coachman
,
and
was
going
:
the
brightening
day
gleamed
on
the
sign
of
the
inn
,
and
I
read
in
gilt
letters
,
"
The
Rochester
Arms
.
"
My
heart
leapt
up
:
I
was
already
on
my
master
's
very
lands
.
It
fell
again
:
the
thought
struck
it
:
-
"
Your
master
himself
may
be
beyond
the
British
Channel
,
for
aught
you
know
:
and
then
,
if
he
is
at
Thornfield
Hall
,
towards
which
you
hasten
,
who
besides
him
is
there
?
His
lunatic
wife
:
and
you
have
nothing
to
do
with
him
:
you
dare
not
speak
to
him
or
seek
his
presence
.
You
have
lost
your
labour
--
you
had
better
go
no
farther
,
"
urged
the
monitor
.
"
Ask
information
of
the
people
at
the
inn
;
they
can
give
you
all
you
seek
:
they
can
solve
your
doubts
at
once
.
Go
up
to
that
man
,
and
inquire
if
Mr.
Rochester
be
at
home
.
"
The
suggestion
was
sensible
,
and
yet
I
could
not
force
myself
to
act
on
it
.
I
so
dreaded
a
reply
that
would
crush
me
with
despair
.
To
prolong
doubt
was
to
prolong
hope
.
I
might
yet
once
more
see
the
Hall
under
the
ray
of
her
star
.
There
was
the
stile
before
me
--
the
very
fields
through
which
I
had
hurried
,
blind
,
deaf
,
distracted
with
a
revengeful
fury
tracking
and
scourging
me
,
on
the
morning
I
fled
from
Thornfield
:
ere
I
well
knew
what
course
I
had
resolved
to
take
,
I
was
in
the
midst
of
them
.
How
fast
I
walked
!
How
I
ran
sometimes
!
How
I
looked
forward
to
catch
the
first
view
of
the
well-known
woods
!
With
what
feelings
I
welcomed
single
trees
I
knew
,
and
familiar
glimpses
of
meadow
and
hill
between
them
!
At
last
the
woods
rose
;
the
rookery
clustered
dark
;
a
loud
cawing
broke
the
morning
stillness
.
Strange
delight
inspired
me
:
on
I
hastened
.
Another
field
crossed
--
a
lane
threaded
--
and
there
were
the
courtyard
walls
--
the
back
offices
:
the
house
itself
,
the
rookery
still
hid
.
"
My
first
view
of
it
shall
be
in
front
,
"
I
determined
,
"
where
its
bold
battlements
will
strike
the
eye
nobly
at
once
,
and
where
I
can
single
out
my
master
's
very
window
:
perhaps
he
will
be
standing
at
it
--
he
rises
early
:
perhaps
he
is
now
walking
in
the
orchard
,
or
on
the
pavement
in
front
.
Could
I
but
see
him
!
--
but
a
moment
!
Surely
,
in
that
case
,
I
should
not
be
so
mad
as
to
run
to
him
?
I
can
not
tell
--
I
am
not
certain
.
And
if
I
did
--
what
then
?
God
bless
him
!
What
then
?
Who
would
be
hurt
by
my
once
more
tasting
the
life
his
glance
can
give
me
?
I
rave
:
perhaps
at
this
moment
he
is
watching
the
sun
rise
over
the
Pyrenees
,
or
on
the
tideless
sea
of
the
south
.
"
I
had
coasted
along
the
lower
wall
of
the
orchard
--
turned
its
angle
:
there
was
a
gate
just
there
,
opening
into
the
meadow
,
between
two
stone
pillars
crowned
by
stone
balls
.
From
behind
one
pillar
I
could
peep
round
quietly
at
the
full
front
of
the
mansion
.
I
advanced
my
head
with
precaution
,
desirous
to
ascertain
if
any
bedroom
window-blinds
were
yet
drawn
up
:
battlements
,
windows
,
long
front
--
all
from
this
sheltered
station
were
at
my
command
.
