I had not notified to Mrs. Fairfax the exact day of my return; for I did not wish either car or carriage to meet me at Millcote. I proposed to walk the distance quietly by myself; and very quietly，after leaving my box in the ostler"s care，did I slip away from the George Inn，about six o"clock of a June evening，and take the old road to Thornfield: a road which lay chiefly through fields，and was now little frequented.

It was not a bright or splendid summer evening，though fair and soft: the haymakers were at work all along the road; and the sky，though far from cloudless，was such as promised well for the future: its blue- where blue was visible- was mild and settled，and its cloud strata high and thin. The west，too，was warm: no watery gleam chilled it- it seemed as if there was a fire lit，an altar burning behind its screen of marbled vapour，and out of apertures shone a golden redness.

I felt glad as the road shortened before me: so glad that I stopped once to ask myself what that joy meant: and to remind reason that it was not to my home I was going，or to a permanent resting-place，or to a place where fond friends looked out for me and waited my arrival.

"Mrs. Fairfax will smile you a calm wele，to be sure," said I; "and little Adele will clap her hands and jump to see you: but you know very well you are thinking of another than they，and that he is not thinking of you."

But what is so headstrong as youth? What so blind as inexperience? These affirmed that it was pleasure enough to have the privilege of again looking on Mr. Rochester，whether he looked on me or not; and they added- "Hasten! hasten! be with him while you may: but a few more days or weeks，at most，and you are parted from him for ever!" And then I strangled a new-born agony- a deformed thing which I could not persuade myself to own and rear- and ran on.