it　shivered　in　my　heart；　like　a　suffering　child　in　a　cold　cradle；　sickness　and　anguish　had　seized　it；　it　could　not　seek　Mr。　Rochester’s　arms—it　could　not　derive　warmth　from　his　breast。　Oh；　never　more　could　it　turn　to　him；　for　faith　was　blighted—confidence　destroyed！　Mr。　Rochester　was　not　to　me　what　he　had　been；　for　he　was　not　what　I　had　thought　him。　I　would　not　ascribe　vice　to　him；　I　would　not　say　he　had　betrayed　me；　but　the　attribute　of　stainless　truth　was　gone　from　his　idea；　and　from　his　presence　I　must　go：　THAT　I　perceived　well。　When—how—whither；　I　could　not　yet　discern；　but　he　himself；　I　doubted　not；　would　hurry　me　from　Thornfield。　Real　affection；　it　seemed；　he　could　not　have　for　me；　it　had　been　only　fitful　passion：　that　was　balked；　he　would　want　me　no　more。　I　should　fear　even　to　cross　his　path　now：　my　view　must　be　hateful　to　him。　Oh；　how　blind　had　been　my　eyes！　How　weak　my　conduct！

My　eyes　were　covered　and　closed：　eddying　darkness　seemed　to　swim　round　me；　and　reflection　came　in　as　black　and　confused　a　flow。　Self…abandoned；　relaxed；　and　effortless；　I　seemed　to　have　laid　me　down　in　the　dried…up　bed　of　a　great　river；　I　heard　a　flood　loosened　in　remote　mountains；　and　felt　the　torrent　e：　to　rise　I　had　no　will；　to　flee　I　had　no　strength。　I　lay　faint；　longing　to　be　dead。　One　idea　only　still　throbbed　life…like　within　me—a　remembrance　of　God：　it　begot　an　unuttered　prayer：　these　words　went　wandering　up　and　down　in　my　rayless　mind；　as　something　that　should　be　whispered；　but