He rose, and with a stride reached me.
"My bride is here," he said, again drawing me to him, "because my equal is here, and my likeness.
Jane, will you marry me?"
Still I did not answer, and still I writhed myself from his grasp: for I was still incredulous.
"Do you doubt me, Jane?" "Entirely."
"You have no faith in me?" "Not a whit."
"Am I a liar in your eyes?" he asked passionately.
"Little sceptic, you shall be convinced.
What love have I for Miss Ingram? None: and that you know.
What love has she for me? None: as I have taken pains to prove:
I caused a rumour to reach her that my fortune was not a third of what was supposed,
and after that I presented myself to see the result;
it was coldness both from her and her mother.
I would not -- I could not -- marry Miss Ingram.
You -- you strange, you almost unearthly thing!
I love as my own flesh. You -- poor and obscure,
and small and plain as you are -- I entreat to accept me as a husband."