he rejoined; and rising, he strode a little distance up the pass, threw himself down on a swell of heath, and there lay still.

He threw himself down on a swell of heath, and there

lay still

“I can do what he wants me to do: I am forced to see and acknowledge that,” I meditated, — “that is, if life be spared me.

But I feel mine is not the existence to be long protracted under an Indian sun. What then? He does not care for that: when my time came to die, he would resign me, in all serenity and sanctity, to the God who gave me. The case is very plain before me. In leaving England, I should leave a loved but empty land — Mr. Rochester is not there; and if he were, what is, what can that ever