“Not　the　voyage；　but　the　distance：　and　then　the　sea　is　a　barrier—”

“From　what；　Jane？”

“From　England　and　from　Thornfield：　and—”

“Well？”

“From　you；　sir。”

I　said　this　almost　involuntarily；　and；　with　as　little　sanction　of　free　will；　my　tears　gushed　out。　I　did　not　cry　so　as　to　be　heard；　however；　I　avoided　sobbing。　The　thought　of　Mrs。　O’Gall　and　Bitternutt　Lodge　struck　cold　to　my　heart；　and　colder　the　thought　of　all　the　brine　and　foam；　destined；　as　it　seemed；　to　rush　between　me　and　the　master　at　whose　side　I　now　walked；　and　coldest　the　remembrance　of　the　wider　ocean—wealth；　caste；　custom　intervened　between　me　and　what　I　naturally　and　inevitably　loved。

“It　is　a　long　way；”　I　again　said。

“It　is；　to　be　sure；　and　when　you　get　to　Bitternutt　Lodge；　Connaught；　Ireland；　I　shall　never　see　you　again；　Jane：　that’s　morally　certain。　I　never　go　over　to　Ireland；　not　having　myself　much　of　a　fancy　for　the　country。　We　have　been　good　friends；　Jane；　have　we　not？”

“Yes；　sir。”

“And　when　friends　are　on　the　eve　of　separation；　they　like　to　spend　the　little　time　that　remains　to　them　close　to　each　other。　e！　we’ll　talk　over　the　voyage　and　the　parting　quietly　half…an…hour　or　so；　while　the　stars　enter　into　their　shining　life　up　in　heaven　yonder：　here　is　the　chestnut　tree：　here　is　the　bench　at　its　old　roots。　e；　we　will　sit　there　in　peace　to…night；　though　we　should　never　more　be　destined　to　sit　there　together。”　He　seated　me　and　himself。

“It