"It is a long way off, sir."
"No matter—a girl of your sense will not object to the voyage or the distance."
"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 at 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.
