第67部分(第3/7 页)

g　trough。　“Will　you　give　me　that？”　I　asked。

She　stared　at　me。　“Mother！”　she　exclaimed；　“there　is　a　woman　wants　me　to　give　her　these　porridge。”

“Well　lass；”　replied　a　voice　within；　“give　it　her　if　she’s　a　beggar。　T　pig　doesn’t　want　it。”

The　girl　emptied　the　stiffened　mould　into　my　hand；　and　I　devoured　it　ravenously。

As　the　wet　twilight　deepened；　I　stopped　in　a　solitary　bridle…path；　which　I　had　been　pursuing　an　hour　or　more。

“My　strength　is　quite　failing　me；”　I　said　in　a　soliloquy。　“I　feel　I　cannot　go　much　farther。　Shall　I　be　an　outcast　again　this　night？　While　the　rain　descends　so；　must　I　lay　my　head　on　the　cold；　drenched　ground？　I　fear　I　cannot　do　otherwise：　for　who　will　receive　me？　But　it　will　be　very　dreadful；　with　this　feeling　of　hunger；　faintness；　chill；　and　this　sense　of　desolation—this　total　prostration　of　hope。　In　all　likelihood；　though；　I　should　die　before　morning。　And　why　cannot　I　reconcile　myself　to　the　prospect　of　death？　Why　do　I　struggle　to　retain　a　valueless　life？　Because　I　know；　or　believe；　Mr。　Rochester　is　living：　and　then；　to　die　of　want　and　cold　is　a　fate　to　which　nature　cannot　submit　passively。　Oh；　Providence！　sustain　me　a　little　longer！　Aid！—direct　me！”

My　glazed　eye　wandered　over　the　dim　and　misty　landscape。　I　saw　I　had　strayed　far　from　the　village：　it　was　quite　out　of　sight。　The　very　cultivation　surrounding　it　had　disappeared。　I　had；　by　cross…　ways　and　by…paths；　once　more　drawn　near　the　tract　of　moorland；　and　now；　only　a　few　fields；　almost　as　wild　and　unproductive　as　the　heath　from　which　they　were　scarcely　reclaimed；　lay　between　me　and　the　dusky　hill。

“Well；　I　would　rather　die　yonder　than　in　a　street　or　on　a　frequented　road；”　I　reflected。　“And　far　better　that　crows　and　ravens—if　any　ravens　there　be　in