hould　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　unwele　intrusion—even　from　falsehood　and　slander。”

“And　take　Adèle　with　you；　sir；”　I　interrupted；　“she　will　be　a　panion　for　you。”

“What　do　you　mean；　Jane？　I　told　you　I　would　send　Adèle　to　school；　and　what　do　I　want　with　a　child　for　a　panion；　and　not　my　own　child；—a　French　dancer’s　bastard？　Why　do　you　importune　me　about　her！　I　say；　why　do　you　assign　Adèle　to　me　for　a　panion？”

“You　spoke　of　a　retirement；　sir；　and　retirement　and　solitude　are　dull：　too　dull　for　you。”

“Sol