CHAPTER XXIII 318
" Not the voyage, but the distance: and then the sea is a barrier-- "
" From what, Jane?" " From England and from Thornfield: and-- " " Well?" " From YOU, sir."
I said this almost involuntarily, and, with as little sanction of free will, my tears gushed out. I did not cry so as to be heard, however; I avoided sobbing. The thought of Mrs. O ' Gall and Bitternutt Lodge struck cold to my heart; and colder the thought of all the brine and foam, destined, as it seemed, to rush between me and the master at whose side I now walked, and coldest the remembrance of the wider ocean-- wealth, caste, custom intervened between me and what I naturally and inevitably loved.
" It is a long way," I again said.
" It is, to be sure; and when you get to Bitternutt Lodge, Connaught, Ireland, I shall never see you again, Jane: that ' s morally certain. I never go over to Ireland, not having myself much of a fancy for the country. We have been good friends, Jane; have we not?"
" Yes, sir."
" And when friends are on the eve of separation, they like to spend the little time that remains to them close to each other. Come! we ' ll talk over the voyage and the parting quietly half-an-hour or so, while the stars enter into their shining life up in heaven yonder: here is the chestnut tree: here is the bench at its old roots. Come, we will sit there in peace to-night, though we should never more be destined to sit there together." He seated me and himself.