monet painting

Jane, cast a glance on my sufferings- think of me.'
He turned away; he threw himself on his face on the sofa. 'Oh,
Jane! my hope- my love- my life!' broke in anguish 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!' I said. 'God keep you from harm
and wrong- direct you, solace you- reward you well for your past
kindness to me.' 'Little Jane's love would have been my best reward,' he answered;
'without it, my heart is broken. But Jane will give me her love:
yes- nobly, generously.'
Up the blood rushed to his face; forth flashed the fire from his
eyes; erect he sprang; he held his arms out; but I evaded the embrace,
and at once quitted the room.
'Farewell!' was the cry of my heart as I left him. Despair added,
'Farewell for ever!'