I was sure St. John Rivers--pure-lived, conscientious, zealous as he was--had not yet found that peace of God which passeth all understanding: he had no more found it, I thought, than had I with my concealed and racking regrets for my broken idol and lost elysium--regrets to which I have latterly avoided referring, but which possessed me and tyrannised over me ruthlessly.
Estaba segura de que John Rivers -por puro, honrado y celoso que fuerano había encontrado la paz de Dios, no la había encontrado más que yo, con mis ocultos recuerdos de mi paraíso perdido y mi ídolo destrozado, que me atormentaban amargamente.