I'll nail up the front door and board the lower
windows: I'll give Mrs. Poole two hundred a year to live here with _my
wife_, as you term that fearful hag: Grace will do much for money, and
she shall have her son, the keeper at Grimsby Retreat, to bear her
company and be at hand to give her aid in the paroxysms, when _my wife_
is prompted by her familiar to burn people in their beds at night, to
stab them, to bite their flesh from their bones, and so on--"

"Sir," I interrupted him, "you are inexorable for that unfortunate lady:
you speak of her with hate--with vindictive antipathy. It is cruel--she
cannot help being mad."

"Jane, my little darling (so I will call you, for so you are), you don't
know what you are talking about; you misjudge me again: it is not because
she is mad I hate her. If you were mad, do you think I should hate you?"

"I do indeed, sir."

"Then you are mistaken, and you know nothing about me, and nothing about
the sort of love of which I am capable. Every atom of your flesh is as
dear to me as my own: in pain and sickness it would still be dear. Your
mind is my treasure, and if it were broken, it would be my treasure
still: if you raved, my arms should confine you, and not a strait
waistcoat--your grasp, even in fury, would have a charm for me: if you
flew at me as wildly as that woman did this morning, I should receive you
in an embrace, at least as fond as it would be restrictive. I should not
shrink from you with disgust as I did from her: in your quiet moments you
should have no watcher and no nurse but me; and I could hang over you
with untiring tenderness, though you gave me no smile in return; and
never weary of gazing into your eyes, though they had no longer a ray of
recognition for me.--But why do I follow that train of ideas? I was
talking of removing you from Thornfield. All, you know, is prepared for
prompt departure: to-morrow you shall go. I only ask you to endure one
more night under this roof, Jane; and then, farewell to its miseries and
terrors for ever! I have a place to repair to, which will be a secure
sanctuary from hateful reminiscences, from unwelcome intrusion--even from
falsehood and slander."

"And take Adele with you, sir," I interrupted; "she will be a companion
for you."

"What do you mean, Jane? I told you I would send Adele to school; and
what do I want with a child for a companion, and not my own child,--a
French dancer's bastard? Why do you import