Read the excerpt below from the novel jane eyre by charlotte brontë and complete the instruction that follows.

it spoke to my spirit: immeasurably distant was the tone, yet so near, it whispered in my heart:
“my daughter, flee temptation! ”
“mother, i will.”
so i answered after i had waked from the trance-like dream . . “farewell, kind mrs. fairfax! ” i whispered, as i glided past her door. “farewell, my darling adèle! ” i said, as i glanced towards the nursery. no thought could be admitted of entering to embrace her. i had to deceive a fine ear: for aught i knew, it might now be listening.
i would have got past mr. rochester’s chamber without a pause; but my heart momentarily stopping its beat at that threshold, my foot was forced to stop also. no sleep was there: the inmate was walking restlessly from wall to wall; and again and again he sighed while i listened. there was a heaven—a temporary heaven—in this room for me, if i chose: i had but to go in and to say:
“mr. rochester, i will love you, and live with you through life till death,” and a fount of rapture would spring to my lips. i thought of this.
that kind master, who could not sleep now, was waiting with impatience for day. he would send for me in the morning; i should be gone. he would have me sought for: vainly. he would feel himself forsaken; his love rejected: he would suffer; perhaps grow desperate. i thought of this too. my hand moved towards the lock: i caught it back, and glided on.
drearily i wound my way downstairs: i knew what i had to do, and i did it mechanically. i sought the key of the side-door in the kitchen; i sought, too, a phial of oil and a feather; i oiled the key and the lock. i got some water, i got some bread: for perhaps i should have to walk far; and my strength, sorely shaken of late, must not break down. all this i did without one sound. i opened the door, passed out, shut it softly. dim dawn glimmered in the yard. the great gates were closed and locked; but a wicket in one of them was only latched. through that i departed: it, too, i shut; and now i was out of thornfield.

source: brontë, charlotte. jane eyre. london: w. nicholson and sons, 1847. wikisource. web. 6 july 2011.

identify and analyze the primary conflict.