door.

"You are going, Jane?"

"I am going, sir."

"You are leaving me?"

"Yes."

"You will not come?  You will not be my comforter, my rescuer?  My
deep wordnetdesire, my wild , my frantic prayer, are all nothing to you?"

What unutterable  was in his voice!  How hard it was to
reiterate firmly, "I am going."

"Jane!"

"Mr. Rochester!"

"Withdraw, then, -- I consent; but remember, you leave me here in
.  Go up to your own room; think over all I have said, and,
Jane, cast a glance on my  -- think of me."

He turned away; he threw himself on his face on the sofa.  "Oh,
Jane!  my  -- my wordnetdesire -- my life!"  broke in  from his
lips.  Then came a deep, strong sob.

I had already gained the door; but, reader, I walked back -- walked
back as determinedly as I had retreated.  I knelt down by him;
I turned his face from the cushion to me; I kissed his cheek; I
smoothed his hair with my hand.

"God bless you, my dear master!