Still I could not turn，nor retrace one step. God must have led me on.

As to my own will or conscience，impassioned grief had trampled one and stifled the other. I was weeping wildly as I walked along my solitary way: fast，fast I went like one delirious. A weakness，beginning inwardly，extending to the limbs，seized me，and I fell: I lay on the ground some minutes，pressing my face to the wet turf. I had some fear- or hope- that here I should die: but I was soon up; crawling forwards on my hands and knees，and then again raised to my feet- as eager and as determined as ever to reach the road.

When I got there，I was forced to sit to rest me under the hedge; and while I sat，I heard wheels，and saw a coach e on. I stood up and lifted my hand; it stopped. I asked where it was going: the driver named a place a long way off，and where I was sure Mr. Rochester had no connections. I asked for what sum he would take me there; he said thirty shillings; I answered I had but twenty; well，he would try to make it do. He further gave me leave to get into the inside，as the vehicle was empty: I entered，was shut in，and it rolled on its way.

Gentle reader，may you never feel what I then felt! May your eyes never shed such stormy，scalding，heart-wrung tears as poured from mine. May you never appeal to Heaven in prayers so hopeless and so agonised as in that hour left my lips; for never may you，like me，dread to be the instrument of evil to what you wholly love.