"How far is Thornfield Hall from here?" I asked of the ostler.

"Just two miles，ma"am，across the fields."

"My journey is closed," I thought to myself. I got out of the coach，gave a box I had into the ostler"s charge，to be kept till I called for it; paid my fare; satisfied the coachman，and was going: the brightening day gleamed on the sign of the inn，and I read in gilt letters，"The Rochester Arms." My heart leapt up: I was already on my master"s very lands. It fell again: the thought struck it:-

"Your master himself may be beyond the British Channel，for aught you know: and then，if he is at Thornfield Hall，towards which you hasten，who besides him is there? His lunatic wife: and you have nothing to do with him: you dare not speak to him or seek his presence. You have lost your labour- you had better go no farther," urged the monitor. "Ask information of the people at the inn; they can give you all you seek: they can solve your doubts at once. Go up to that man，and inquire if Mr. Rochester be at home."

The suggestion was sensible，and yet I could not force self to act on it. I so dreaded a reply that would crush me with despair. To prolong doubt was to prolong hope. I might yet once more see the Hall under the ray of her star. There was the stile before me- the very fields through which I had hurried，blind，deaf，distracted with a revengeful fury tracking and scourging me，on the morning I fled from Thornfield: ere I well knew what course I had resolved to take，I was in the midst of them. How fast I walked! How I ran sometimes? How I looked forward to catch the first view of the well-known woods! With what feelings I weled single trees I knew，and familiar glimpses of meadow and hill between them!

At last the woods rose; the rookery clustered dark; a loud cawing broke the morning stillness. Strange delight inspired me: on I hastened. Another field crossed- a lane threaded- and there were the courtyard walls- the back offices: the house itself，the rookery still hid. "My first view of it shall be in front," I determined，"where its bold battlements will strike the eye nobly at once，and where I can single out my master"s very window: perhaps he will be standing at it- he rises early: perhaps he is now walking in the orchard，or on the pavement in front. Could I but see him!- but a moment? Surely，in that case，I should not be so mad as to run to him? I cannot tell- I am not certain. And if I did- what then? God bless him! What then? Who would be hurt by my once more tasting the life his glance can give me?