I heard him go as I stood at the half-open door of my own room，to which I had now withdrawn. The house cleared，I shut myself in，fastened the bolt that none might intrude，and proceeded- not to weep，not to mourn，I was yet too calm for that，but- mechanically to take off the wedding-dress，and replace it by the stuff gown I had worn yesterday，as I thought，for the last time. I then sat down: I felt weak and tired. I leaned my arms on a table，and my head dropped on them. And now I thought: till now I had only heard，seen，moved- followed up and down where I was led or dragged- watched event rush on event，disclosure open beyond disclosure: but now，I thought.

The morning had been a quiet morning enough- all except the brief scene with the lunatic: the transaction in the church had not been noisy; there was no explosion of passion，no loud altercation，no dispute，no defiance or challenge，no tears，no sobs: a few words had been spoken，a calmly pronounced objection to the marriage made; some stern，short questions put by Mr. Rochester; answers，explanations given，evidence adduced; an open admission of the truth had been uttered by my master; then the living proof had been seen; the intruders were gone，and all was over.

I was in my own room as usual- just myself，without obvious change: nothing had smitten me，or scathed me，or maimed me. And yet where was the Jane Eyre of yesterday?- where was her life?- where were her prospects?

Jane Eyre，who had been an ardent，expectant woman- almost a bride，was a cold，solitary girl again: her life was pale; her prospects were desolate. A Christmas frost had e at midsummer; a white December storm had whirled over June; ice glazed the ripe apples，drifts crushed the blowing roses; on hayfield and cornfield lay a frozen shroud: lanes which last night blushed full of flowers，to-day were pathless with untrodden snow; and the woods，which twelve hours since waved leafy and fragrant as groves between the tropics，now spread，waste，wild，and white as pine-forests in wintry Norway. My hopes were all dead- struck with a subtle doom，such as，in one night，fell on all the first-born in the land of Egypt. I looked on my cherished wishes，yesterday so blooming and glowing; they lay stark，chill，livid corpses that could never revive. I looked at my love: that feeling which was my master"s- which he had created; it shivered in my heart，like a suffering child in a cold cradle; sickness and anguish had seized it; it could not seek Mr. Rochester"s arms- it could not derive warmth from his breast. Oh，never more could it turn to him; for faith was blighted- confidence destroyed! Mr. Rochester was not to me what he had been; for he was not what I had thought him. I would not ascribe vice to him; I would not say he had betrayed me; but the attribute of stainless truth was gone from his idea，and from his presence I must go: that I perceived well. When- how- whither，I could not yet discern; but he himself，I doubted not，would hurry me from Thornfield. Real affection，it seemed，he could not have for me; it had been only fitful passion: that was balked; he would want me no more. I should fear even to cross his path now: my view must be hateful to him. Oh，how blind had been my eyes! How weak my conduct!