e。

“You　know　I　am　a　scoundrel；　Jane？”　ere　long　he　inquired　wistfully—　wondering；　I　suppose；　at　my　continued　silence　and　tameness；　the　result　rather　of　weakness　than　of　will。

“Yes；　sir。”

“Then　tell　me　so　roundly　and　sharply—don’t　spare　me。”

“I　cannot：　I　am　tired　and　sick。　I　want　some　water。”　He　heaved　a　sort　of　shuddering　sigh；　and　taking　me　in　his　arms；　carried　me　downstairs。　At　first　I　did　not　know　to　what　room　he　had　borne　me；　all　was　cloudy　to　my　glazed　sight：　presently　I　felt　the　reviving　warmth　of　a　fire；　for；　summer　as　it　was；　I　had　bee　icy　cold　in　my　chamber。　He　put　wine　to　my　lips；　I　tasted　it　and　revived；　then　I　ate　something　he　offered　me；　and　was　soon　myself。　I　was　in　the　library—sitting　in　his　chair—he　was　quite　near。　“If　I　could　go　out　of　life　now；　without　too　sharp　a　pang；　it　would　be　well　for　me；”　I　thought；　“then　I　should　not　have　to　make　the　effort　of　cracking　my　heart…strings　in　rending　them　from　among　Mr。　Rochester’s。　I　must　leave　him；　it　appears。　I　do　not　want　to　leave　him—I　cannot　leave　him。”

“How　are　you　now；　Jane？”

“Much　better；　sir；　I　shall　be　well　soon。”

“Taste　the　wine　again；　Jane。”

I　obeyed　him；　then　he　put　the　glass　on　the　table；　stood　before　me；　and　looked　at　me　attentively。　Suddenly　he　turned　away；　with　an　inarticulate　exclamation；　full　of　passionate　emotion　of　some　kind；　he　walked　fast　through　the　room　and　came　back；　he　stooped　towards　me　as　if　to　kiss　me；　but　I　remembered　caresses　were　now