What was I to do? Where to go? Oh, intolerable questions, when I

could do nothing and go nowhere!--when a long way must yet be

measured by my weary, trembling limbs before I could reach human

habitation--when cold charity must be entreated before I could get a

lodging: reluctant sympathy importuned, almost certain repulse

incurred, before my tale could be listened to, or one of my wants

relieved!

I touched the heath, it was dry, and yet warm with the beat of the

summer day. I looked at the sky; it was pure: a kindly star

twinkled just above the chasm ridge. The dew fell, but with

propitious softness; no breeze whispered. Nature seemed to me

benign and good; I thought she loved me, outcast as I was; and I,

who from man could anticipate only mistrust, rejection, insult,

clung to her with filial fondness. To-night, at least, I would be

her guest, as I was her child: my mother would lodge me without

money and without price. I had one morsel of bread yet: the

remnant of a roll I had bought in a town we passed through at noon

with a stray penny--my last coin. I saw ripe bilberries gleaming

here and there, like jet beads in the heath: I gathered a handful

and ate them with the bread. My hunger, sharp before, was, if not

satisfied, appeased by this hermit's meal. I said my evening

prayers at its conclusion, and then chose my couch.

Beside the crag the heath was very deep: when I lay down my feet

were buried in it; rising high on each side, it left only a narrow

space for the night-air to invade. I folded my shawl double, and

spread it over me for a coverlet; a low, mossy swell was my pillow.

Thus lodged, I was not, at least--at the commencement of the night,

cold.

My rest might have been blissful enough, only a sad heart broke it.

It plained of its gaping wounds, its inward bleeding, its riven

chords. It trembled for Mr. Rochester and his doom; it bemoaned him

with bitter pity; it demanded him with ceaseless longing; and,

impotent as a bird with both wings broken, it still quivered its

shattered pinions in vain attempts to seek him.

Worn out with this torture of thought, I rose to my knees. Night

was come, and her planets were risen: a safe, still night: too

serene for the companionship of fear. We know that God is

everywhere; but certainly we feel His presence most when His works

are on the grandest scale spread before us; and it is in the

unclouded night-sky, where His worlds wheel their silent course,

that we read clearest His infinitude, His omnipotence, His

omnipresence. I had risen to my knees to pray for Mr. Rochester.

Looking up, I, with tear-dimmed eyes, saw the mighty Milky-way.

Remembering what it was--what countless systems there swept space

like a soft trace of light--I felt the might and strength of God.

Sure was I of His efficiency to save what He had made: convinced I

grew that neither earth should perish, nor one of the souls it

treasured. I turned my prayer to thanksgiving: the Source of Life

was also the Saviour of spirits. Mr. Rochester was safe; he was

God's, and by God would he be guarded. I again nestled to the

breast of the hill; and ere long in sleep forgot sorrow.




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