hat　he　and　I　are　on　a　level。　I　wish　I　had　stood　firm—God　knows　I　do！　Dread　remorse　when　you　are　tempted　to　err；　Miss　Eyre；　remorse　is　the　poison　of　life。”

“Repentance　is　said　to　be　its　cure；　sir。”

“It　is　not　its　cure。　Reformation　may　be　its　cure；　and　I　could　reform—I　have　strength　yet　for　that—if—but　where　is　the　use　of　thinking　of　it；　hampered；　burdened；　cursed　as　I　am？　Besides；　since　happiness　is　irrevocably　denied　me；　I　have　a　right　to　get　pleasure　out　of　life：　and　I　will　get　it；　cost　what　it　may。”

“Then　you　will　degenerate　still　more；　sir。”

“Possibly：　yet　why　should　I；　if　I　can　get　sweet；　fresh　pleasure？　And　I　may　get　it　as　sweet　and　fresh　as　the　wild　honey　the　bee　gathers　on　the　moor。”

“It　will　sting—it　will　taste　bitter；　sir。”

“How　do　you　know？—you　never　tried　it。　How　very　serious—how　very　solemn　you　look：　and　you　are　as　ignorant　of　the　matter　as　this　cameo　head”　（taking　one　from　the　mantelpiece）。　“You　have　no　right　to　preach　to　me；　you　neophyte；　that　have　not　passed　the　porch　of　life；　and　are　absolutely　unacquainted　with　its　mysteries。”

“I　only　remind　you　of　your　own　words；　sir：　you　said　error　brought　remorse；　and　you　pronounced　remorse　the　poison　of　existence。”

“And　who　talks　of　error　now？　I　scarcely　think　the　notion　that　flittered　across　my　brain　was　an　error。　I　believe　it　was　an　inspiration　rather　than　a　temptation：　it　was　very　genial；　very　soothing—I　know　that。　Here　it　es　again！　It　is　no　devil；　I　assure　you；　o