w as freely and as long as they liked.
If the flood annoyed him, so much the better. So I gave way and cried
heartily.

Soon I heard him earnestly entreating me to be composed. I said I could
not while he was in such a passion.

"But I am not angry, Jane: I only love you too well; and you had steeled
your little pale face with such a resolute, frozen look, I could not
endure it. Hush, now, and wipe your eyes."

His softened voice announced that he was subdued; so I, in my turn,
became calm. Now he made an effort to rest his head on my shoulder, but
I would not permit it. Then he would draw me to him: no.

"Jane! Jane!" he said, in such an accent of bitter sadness it thrilled
along every nerve I had; "you don't love me, then? It was only my
station, and the rank of my wife, that you valued? Now that you think me
disqualified to become your husband, you recoil from my touch as if I
were some toad or ape."

These words cut me: yet what could I do or I say? I ought probably to
have done or said nothing; but I was so tortured by a sense of remorse at
thus hurting his feelings, I could not control the wish to drop balm
where I had wounded.

"I _do_ love you," I said, "more than ever: but I must not show or
indulge the feeling: and this is the last time I must express it."

"The last time, Jane! What! do you think you can live with me, and see
me daily, and yet, if you still love me, be always cold and distant?"

"No, sir; that I am certain I could not; and therefore I see there is but
one way: but you will be furious if I mention it."

"Oh, mention it! If I storm, you have the art of weeping."

"Mr. Rochester, I must leave you."

"For how long, Jane? For a few minutes, while you smooth your hair--which
is somewhat dishevelled; and bathe your face--which looks feverish?"

"I must leave Adele and Thornfield. I must part with you for my whole
life: I must begin a new existence among strange faces and strange
scenes."

"Of course: I told you you should. I pass over the madness about parting
from me. You mean you must become a part of me. As to the new
existence, it is all right: you shall yet be my wife: I am not married.
You shall be Mrs. Rochester--both virtually and nominally. I shall keep
only to you so long as you and I live. You shall go to a place I have in
the south of France: a whitewashed villa on the shores of the
Mediterranean. There you shall live a happy, and guarded, and most
innoc