thrilled along every nerve I had; “you don’t love me, then? It was
only my station, and the rank of my wife, that you valued? Now
that you think me disqualified to become your husband, you recoil
from my touch as if I were some toad or ape.”
These words cut me: yet what could I do or I say? I ought
probably to have done or said nothing; but I was so tortured by a
sense of remorse at thus hurting his feelings, I could not control
the wish to drop balm where I had wounded.
“I do love you,” I said, “more than ever: but I must not show or
indulge the feeling: and this is the last time I must express it.”
“The last time, Jane! What! do you think you can live with me,
and see me daily, and yet, if you still love me, be always cold and
distant?”
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“No, sir; that I am certain I could not; and therefore I see there
is but one way: but you will be furious if I mention it.”
“Oh, mention it! If I storm, you have the art of weeping.”
“Mr. Rochester, I must leave you.”
“For how long, Jane? For a few minutes, while you smooth your
hair—which is somewhat dishevelled; and bathe your face—which
looks feverish?”
“I must leave Adèle and Thornfield. I must part with you for my
whole life: I must begin a new existence among strange faces and
strange scenes.”
“Of course: I told you you should. I pass over the madness
about parting from me. You mean you must become a part of me.
As to the new existence, it is all right: you shall yet be my wife: I
am not married. You shall be Mrs. Rochester—both virtually and
nominally. I shall keep only to you so long as you and I live. You
shall go to a place I have in the south of France: a whitewashed
villa on the shores of the Mediterranean. There you shall live a
happy, and guarded, and most innocent life. Never fear that I wish
to lure you into error—to make you my mistress. Why did you
shake your head? Jane, you must be reasonable, or in truth I shall
again become frantic.”
His voice and hand quivered: his large nostrils dilated; his eye
blazed: still I dared to speak.
“Sir, your wife is living: that is a fact acknowledged this
morning by yourself. If I lived with you as you desire, I should
then be your mistress: to say otherwise is sophistical—is false.”
“Jane, I am not a gentle-tempered man—you forget that: I am
not long-enduring; I am not cool and dispassionate. Out of pity to
me and yourself, put your finger on my pulse, feel how it throbs,
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and—beware!”
He bared his wrist, and offered it to me: the blood was forsaking
his cheek and lips, they were growing livid; I was distressed on all
hands. To agitate him thus deeply, by a resistance he so abhorred,
was cruel: to yield was out of the question. I did what human
beings do instinctively when they are driven to utter extremity—
looked for aid to one higher than man: the words “God help me!”
burst involuntarily from my lips.
“I am a fool!” cried Mr. Rochester suddenly. “I keep telling her
I am not married, and do not explain to her why. I forget she
knows nothing of the character of that woman, or of the
circumstances attending my infernal union with her. Oh, I am
certain Jane will agree with me in opinion, wh"};
