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“once or twice。”
a pause。
“how long did you reside with him and his sisters after the cousinship was discovered？”
“five months。”
“did rivers spend much time with the ladies of his family？”
“yes； the back parlour was both his study and ours： he sat near the window； and we by the table。”
“did he study much？”
“a good deal。”
“what？”
“hindostanee。”
“and what did you do meantime？”
“i learnt german； at first。”
“did he teach you？”
“he did not understand german。”
“did he teach you nothing？”
“a little hindostanee。”
“rivers taught you hindostanee？”
“yes； sir。”
“and his sisters also？”
“no。”
“only you？”
“only me。”
“did you ask to learn？”
“no。”
“he wished to teach you？”
“yes。”
a second pause。
“why did he wish it？ of what use could hindostanee be to you？”
“he intended me to go with him to india。”
“ah！ here i reach the root of the matter。 he wanted you to marry him？”
“he asked me to marry him。”
“that is a fiction—an impudent invention to vex me。”
“i beg your pardon； it is the literal truth： he asked me more than once； and was as stiff about urging his point as ever you could be。”
“miss eyre； i repeat it； you can leave me。 how often am i to say the same thing？ why do you remain pertinaciously perched on my knee； when i have given you notice to quit？”
“because i am fortable there。”
“no； jane； you are not fortable there； because your heart is not with me： it is with this cousin—this st。 john。 oh； till this moment； i thought my little jane was all mine！ i had a belief she loved me even when she left me： that was an atom of sweet in much bitter。 long as we have been parted； hot tears as i have wept over our separation； i never thought that while i was mourning her； she was loving another！ but it is useless grieving。 jane； leave me： go and marry rivers。”
“shake me off； then； sir；—push me away； for i’ll not leave you of my own accord。”
“jane； i ever like your tone of voice： it still renews hope； it sounds so truthful。 when i hear it； it carries me back a year。 i forget that you have formed a new tie。 but i am not a fool—go—”
“where must i go； sir？”
“your own way—with the husband you have chosen。”
“who is that？”
“you know—this st。 john rivers。”
“he is not my husband； nor ever will be。 he does not love me： i do not love him。 he loves （as he can love； and that is not as you love） a beautiful young lady called rosamond。 he wanted to marry me only because he thought i should make a suitable missionary’s wife； which she would not have done。 he is good and great； but severe； and； for me； cold as an iceberg。 he is not like you； sir： i am not happy at his side； nor near him； nor with him。 he has no indulgence for me—no fondness。 he sees nothing attractive in me； not even youth—only a few useful mental points。—then i must leave you； sir； to go to him？”
i shuddered involuntarily； and clung instinctively closer to my blind but beloved master。 he smiled。
“what； jane！ is this true？ is such really the state of matters between you and rivers？”
“absolutely； sir！ oh； you need not be jealous！ i wanted to tease you a little to make you less sad： i thought anger would be better than grief。 but if you wish me to love you； could you but see how much i do love you； you would be proud and content。 all my heart is yours； sir： it belongs to you； and with you it would remain； were fate to exile the rest of me from your presence for ever。”
again； as he kissed me； painful thoughts darkened his aspect。 “my scared vision！ my crippled strength！” he murmured regretfully。
i caressed； in order to soothe him。 i knew of what he was thinking； and wanted to speak for him； but dared not。 as he turned aside his face a minute； i saw a tear slide from under the sealed eyelid； and trickle down the manly cheek。 my heart swelled。
“i am no better than the old lightning…struck chestnut…tree in thornfield orchard；” he remarked ere long。 “and what right would that ruin have to bid a budding woodbine cover its decay with freshness？”
“you are no ruin； sir—no lightning…struck tree： you are green and vigorous。 plants will grow about your roots； whether you ask them or not； because they take delight in your bountiful shadow； and as they grow they will lean towards you； and wind round you； because your strength offers them so safe a prop。”
again he smiled： i gave him fort。
“you speak of friends； jane？” he asked。
“yes； of friends；” i answered rather hesitatingly： for i knew i meant more than friends； but could not tell what other word to employ。 he helped me。
“ah！ jane。 but i want a wife。”
“do you； sir？”
“yes： is it news to you？”
“of course： you said nothing about it before。”
“is it unwele news？”
“that depends on circumstances； sir—on your choice。”
“which you shall make for me； jane。 i will abide by your decision。”
“choose then； sir—her who loves you best。”
“i will at least choose—her i love best。 jane； will you marry me？”
“yes； sir。”
“a poor blind man； whom you will have to lead about by the hand？”
“yes； sir。”
“a crippled man； twenty years older than you； whom you will have to wait on？”
“yes； sir。”
“truly； jane？”
“most truly； sir。”
“oh！ my darling！ god bless you and reward you！”
“mr。 rochester； if ever i did a good deed in my life—if ever i thought a good thought—if ever i prayed a sincere and blameless prayer—if ever i wished a righteous wish；—i am rewarded now。 to be your wife is； for me； to be as happy as i can be on earth。”
“because you delight in sacrifice。”
“sacrifice！ what do i sacrifice？ famine for food； expectation for content。 to be privileged to put my arms round what i value—to press my lips to what i love—to repose on what i trust： is that to make a sacrifice？ if so； then certainly i delight in sacrifice。”
“and to bear with my infirmities； jane： to overlook my deficiencies。”
“which are none； sir； to me。 i love you better now； when i can really be useful to you； than i did in your state of proud independence； when