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 myself 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 m