“Jane, be still; don’t struggle so, like a wild frantic bird that is rending its own plumage in its desperation.”

“I am no bird; and no net ensnares me; I am a free human being with an independent will, which I now exert to leave you.”

Another effort set me at liberty, and I stood erect before him.

“And your will shall decide your destiny,” he said:  “I offer you my hand, my heart, and a share of all my possessions.”

“You play a farce, which I merely laugh at.”

“I ask you to pass through life at my side —­ to be my second self, and best earthly companion.”

“For that fate you have already made your choice, and must abide by it.”

“Jane, be still a few moments:  you are over-excited:  I will be still too.”

A waft of wind came sweeping down the laurel-walk, and trembled through the boughs of the chestnut:  it wandered away —­ away —­ to an indefinite distance —­ it died.  The nightingale’s song was then the only voice of the hour:  in listening to it, I again wept.  Mr. Rochester sat quiet, looking at me gently and seriously.  Some time passed before he spoke; he at last said —

“Come to my side, Jane, and let us explain and understand one another.”

“I will never again come to your side:  I am torn away now, and cannot return.”

“But, Jane, I summon you as my wife:  it is you only I intend to marry.”

I was silent:  I thought he mocked me.

“Come, Jane —­ come hither.”

“Your bride stands between us.”

He rose, and with a stride reached me.

“My bride is here,” he said, again drawing me to him, “because my equal is here, and my likeness.  Jane, will you marry me?”

Still I did not answer, and still I writhed myself from his grasp:  for I was still incredulous.

“Do you doubt me, Jane?”

“Entirely.”

“You have no faith in me?”

“Not a whit.”

“Am I a liar in your eyes?” he asked passionately.  “Little sceptic, you shall be convinced.  What love have I for Miss Ingram?  None:  and that you know.  What love has she for me?  None:  as I have taken pains to prove:  I caused a rumour to reach her that my fortune was not a third of what was supposed, and after that I presented myself to see the result; it was coldness both from her and her mother.  I would not —­ I could not —­ marry Miss Ingram.  You —­ you strange, you almost unearthly thing! —­ I love as my own flesh.  You —­ poor and obscure, and small and plain as you are —­ I entreat to accept me as a husband.”

“What, me!” I ejaculated, beginning in his earnestness —­ and especially in his incivility —­ to credit his sincerity:  “me who have not a friend in the world but you —­ if you are my friend:  not a shilling but what you have given me?”

“You, Jane, I must have you for my own —­ entirely my own.  Will you be mine?  Say yes, quickly.”