"Ere many days," I said, as I terminated my musings, "I will know
something of him whose voice seemed last night to summon me.
Letters have proved of no avail--personal inquiry shall replace
them."
At breakfast I announced to Diana and Mary that I was going a
journey, and should be absent at least four days.
"Alone, Jane?" they asked.
"Yes; it was to see or hear news of a friend about whom I had for
some time been uneasy."
They might have said, as I have no doubt they thought, that they had
believed me to be without any friends save them: for, indeed, I had
often said so; but, with their true natural delicacy, they abstained
from comment, except that Diana asked me if I was sure I was well
enough to travel. I looked very pale, she observed. I replied,
that nothing ailed me save anxiety of mind, which I hoped soon to
alleviate.
It was easy to make my further arrangements; for I was troubled with
no inquiries--no surmises. Having once explained to them that I
could not now be explicit about my plans, they kindly and wisely
acquiesced in the silence with which I pursued them, according to me
the privilege of free action I should under similar circumstances
have accorded them.
I left Moor House at three o'clock p.m., and soon after four I stood
at the foot of the sign-post of Whitcross, waiting the arrival of
the coach which was to take me to distant Thornfield. Amidst the
silence of those solitary roads and desert hills, I heard it
approach from a great distance. It was the same vehicle whence, a
year ago, I had alighted one summer evening on this very spot--how
desolate, and hopeless, and objectless! It stopped as I beckoned.
I entered--not now obliged to part with my whole fortune as the
price of its accommodation. Once more on the road to Thornfield, I
felt like the messenger-pigeon flying home.
It was a journey of six-and-thirty hours. I had set out from
Whitcross on a Tuesday afternoon, and early on the succeeding
Thursday morning the coach stopped to water the horses at a wayside
inn, situated in the midst of scenery whose green hedges and large
fields and low pastoral hills (how mild of feature and verdant of
hue compared with the stern North-Midland moors of Morton!) met my
eye like the lineaments of a once familiar face. Yes, I knew the
character of this landscape: I was sure we were near my bourne.
"How far is Thornfield Hall from here?" I asked of the ostler.