Jane Eyre

unenslaved feelings with which to communicate in moments of loneliness. There would be recesses in my mind which would be only mine, to which he never came; and sentiments growing there fresh and sheltered, which his austerity could never blight, nor his measured warrior-march trample down: but as his wife – at his side always, and always restrained, and always checked – forced to keep the fire of my nature continually low, to compel it to burn inwardly and never utter a cry, though the imprisoned flame consumed vital after vital –
this
would be unendurable.
    »St John!« I exclaimed, when I had got so far in my meditation.
    »Well?« he answered, icily.
    »I repeat: I freely consent to go with you as your fellow-missionary; but not as your wife; I cannot marry you and become part of you.«
    »A part of me you must become,« he answered steadily; »otherwise the whole bargain is void. How can I, a man not yet thirty, take out with me to India a girl of nineteen, unless she be married to me? How can we be for ever together – sometimes in solitudes, sometimes amidst savage tribes – and unwed?«
    »Very well,« I said shortly; »under the circumstances, quite as well as if I were either your real sister; or a man and a clergyman like yourself.«
    »It is known that you are not my sister; I cannot introduce you as such: to attempt it would be to fasten injurious suspicions on us both. And for the rest, though you have a man's vigorous brain, you have a woman's heart, and – it would not do.«
    »It would do,« I affirmed with some disdain, »perfectly well. I have a woman's heart; but not where you are concerned; for you I have only a comrade's constancy; a fellow-soldier's frankness, fidelity, fraternity, if you like; a neophyte's respect and submission to his hierophant: nothing more – don't fear.«
    »It is what I want,« he said, speaking to himself; »it is just what I want. And there are obstacles in the way: they must be hewn down. Jane you would not repent marrying me; be certain of that; we
must
be married. I repeat it: there is no other way; and undoubtedly enough of love would follow upon marriage to render the union right even in your eyes.«
    »I scorn your idea of love,« I could not help saying; as I rose up and stood before him, leaning my back against the rock. »I scorn the counterfeit sentiment you offer: yes, St John, and I scorn you when you offer it.«
    He looked at me fixedly: compressing his well-cut lips while he did so. Whether he was incensed or surprised, or what, it was not easy to tell: he could command his countenance thoroughly.
    »I scarcely expected to hear that expression from you,« he said: »I think I have done and uttered nothing to deserve scorn.«
    I was touched by his gentle tone, and overawed by his high, calm mien.
    »Forgive me the words, St John: but it is your own fault that I have been roused to speak so unguardedly. You have introduced a topic on which our natures are at variance – a topic we should never discuss: the very name of love is an apple of discord between us – if the reality were required what should we do? How should we feel? My dear cousin, abandon your scheme of marriage – forget it.«
    »No,« said he; »it is a long-cherished scheme, and the only one which can secure my great end: but I shall urge you no further at present. To-morrow, I leave home for Cambridge: I have many friends there to whom I should wish to say farewell. I shall be absent a fortnight – take that space of time to consider my offer: and do not forget that if you reject it, it is not me you deny, but God. Through my means, He opens to you a noble career; as my wife only can you enter upon it. Refuse to be my wife, and you limit yourself for ever to a track of selfish ease and barren obscurity. Tremble lest in that case you should be numbered with those who have denied the faith and are worse than infidels!«
    He had done. Turning from me, he once more –
     
    »Looked to river, looked to hill:«
     
    But this time his feelings were all pent in his heart: I was not worthy to hear them uttered. As I walked by his side homeward, I read well in his iron silence all he felt towards me: the disappointment of an austere and despotic nature, which has met resistance where it expected submission – the disapprobation of a cool, inflexible judgment, which has detected in another feelings and views in which it has no power to sympathize: in short, as a man, he would have