h　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　weled　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　cannot　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；　be