"Do you think I am an automaton?—a machine without feelings? and can bear to have my morsel of bread snatched from my lips, and my drop of living water dashed from my cup? Do you think, because I am poor, obscure, plain, and little, I am soulless and heartless? You think wrong!—I have as much soul as you,—and full as much heart! And if God had gifted me with some beauty and much wealth, I should have made it as hard for you to leave me, as it is now for me to leave you.

I am not talking to you now through the medium of custom, conventionalities, nor even of mortal flesh:—it is my spirit that addresses your spirit; just as if both had passed through the grave, and we stood at God's feet, equal,—as we are!

"As we are!" repeated Mr. Rochester—"so," he added, enclosing me in his arms—"so, Janet, I love you. You—poor and obscure, and small and plain as you are—I entreat to accept me as a husband."

"What?" I exclaimed. "Me? I the wife of Mr. Rochester?"

"Yes, you—you strange, almost unearthly thing! I love as my own flesh. You—poor and obscure, and small and plain as you are—I ask you to marry me."

I was silent: I thought he mocked 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 he looked at me with that earnestness which seemed to search my soul.

"Do you doubt me, Jane?"

"Entirely."

"You have no faith in me?"

"Not yet."

"Am I a liar in your eyes?"

"I think you are playing with me."

"I ask you once more: will you marry me?"

My heart stood still. Every feeling I had was divided between hope and fear. Never had happiness appeared so near, and never had I distrusted it so profoundly.