if not of life, yet for ever of happiness."

"Tell him to be cautious, sir: let him know what you fear, and show him
how to avert the danger."

He laughed sardonically, hastily took my hand, and as hastily threw it
from him.

"If I could do that, simpleton, where would the danger be? Annihilated
in a moment. Ever since I have known Mason, I have only had to say to
him 'Do that,' and the thing has been done. But I cannot give him orders
in this case: I cannot say 'Beware of harming me, Richard;' for it is
imperative that I should keep him ignorant that harm to me is possible.
Now you look puzzled; and I will puzzle you further. You are my little
friend, are you not?"

"I like to serve you, sir, and to obey you in all that is right."

"Precisely: I see you do. I see genuine contentment in your gait and
mien, your eye and face, when you are helping me and pleasing me--working
for me, and with me, in, as you characteristically say, '_all that is
right_:' for if I bid you do what you thought wrong, there would be no
light-footed running, no neat-handed alacrity, no lively glance and
animated complexion. My friend would then turn to me, quiet and pale,
and would say, 'No, sir; that is impossible: I cannot do it, because it
is wrong;' and would become immutable as a fixed star. Well, you too
have power over me, and may injure me: yet I dare not show you where I am
vulnerable, lest, faithful and friendly as you are, you should transfix
me at once."

"If you have no more to fear from Mr. Mason than you have from me, sir,
you are very safe."

"God grant it may be so! Here, Jane, is an arbour; sit down."

The arbour was an arch in the wall, lined with ivy; it contained a rustic
seat. Mr. Rochester took it, leaving room, however, for me: but I stood
before him.

"Sit," he said; "the bench is long enough for two. You don't hesitate to
take a place at my side, do you? Is that wrong, Jane?"

I answered him by assuming it: to refuse would, I felt, have been unwise.

"Now, my little friend, while the sun drinks the dew--while all the
flowers in this old garden awake and expand, and the birds fetch their
young ones' breakfast out of the Thornfield, and the early bees do their
first spell of work--I'll put a case to you, which you must endeavour to
suppose your own: but first, look at me, and tell me you are at ease, and
not fearing that I err in detaining you, or that you err in staying."

"No, sir; I am content