Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte Deluxe Edition Chapter 23.

A splendid Midsummer shone over England: skies so pure, suns so
radiant as were then seen in long succession, seldom favour even
singly, our wavegirt land. It was as if a band of Italian days
had come from the South, like a flock of glorious passenger birds,
and lighted to rest them on the cliffs of Albion. The hay was
all got in; the fields round Thornfield were green and shorn; the
roads white and baked; the trees were in their dark prime; hedge
and wood, fullleaved and deeply tinted, contrasted well with the
sunny hue of the cleared meadows between. On Midsummer eve,
Adele, weary with gathering wild strawberries in Hay Lane half
the day, had gone to bed with the sun. I watched her drop asleep,
and when I left her, I sought the garden.

It was now the sweetest hour of the twenty four: "Day its fervid
fires had wasted," and dew fell cool on panting plain and scorched
summit. Where the sun had gone down in simple state pure of the
pomp of clouds spread a solemn purple, burning with the light
of red jewel and furnace flame at one point, on one hillpeak, and
extending high and wide, soft and still softer, over half heaven.
The east had its own charm or fine deep blue, and its own modest
gem, a casino and solitary star: soon it would boast the moon;
but she was yet beneath the horizon.

I walked a while on the pavement; but a subtle, wellknown scent
that of a cigar stole from some window; I saw the library
casement open a handbreadth; I knew I might be watched thence; so
I went apart into the orchard. No nook in the grounds more sheltered
and more Edenlike; it was full of trees, it bloomed with flowers:
a very high wall shut it out from the court, on one side; on the
other, a beech avenue screened it from the lawn. At the bottom was
a sunk fence; its sole separation from lonely fields: a winding
walk, bordered with laurels and terminating in a giant horsechestnut,
circled at the base by a seat, led down to the fence. Here one could
wander unseen. While such honeydew fell, such silence reigned,
such gloaming gathered, I felt as if I could haunt such shade for
ever; but in threading the flower and fruit parterres at the upper
part of the enclosure, enticed there by the light the now rising
moon cast on this more open quarter, my step is stayed not by
sound, not by sight, but once more by a warning fragrance.

Sweetbriar and southernwood, jasmine, pink, and rose have long
been yielding their evening sacrifice of incense: this new scent
is neither of shrub nor flower; it is I know it well it is
Mr. Rochester's cigar. I look round and I listen. I see trees
laden with ripening fruit. I hear a nightingale warbling in a wood
half a mile off; no moving form is visible, no coming step audible;
but that perfume increases: I must flee. I make for the wicket
leading to the shrubbery, and I see Mr. Rochester entering. I step
aside into the ivy recess; he will not stay long: he will soon
return whence he came, and if I sit still he will never see me.

But no eventide is as pleasant to him as to me, and this antique
garden as attractive; and he strolls on, now lifting the gooseberry
tree branches to look at the fruit, large as plums, with which they
are laden; now taking a ripe cherry from the wall; now stooping
towards a knot of flowers, either to inhale their fragrance or to
admire the dewbeads on their petals. A great moth goes humming
by me; it alights on a plant at Mr. Rochester's foot: he sees it,
and bends to examine it. "Now, he has his back towards me,"
thought I, "and he is occupied too; perhaps, if I walk softly,
I can slip away unnoticed."

I trode on an edging of turf that the crackle of the pebbly gravel
might not betray me: he was standing among the beds at a yard or
two distant from where I had to pass; the moth apparently engaged
him. "I shall get by very well," I meditated. As I crossed his
shadow, thrown long over the garden by the moon, not yet
risen high, he said quietly, without turning "Jane, come and
look at this fellow." I had made no noise: he had not eyes behind
could his shadow feel? I started at first, and then I approached him.

"Look at his wings," said he, "he reminds me rather of a West Indian
insect; one does not often see so large and gay a nightrover in
England; there! he is flown." The moth roamed away. I was
sheepishly retreating also; but Mr. Rochester followed me, and
when we reached the wicket, he said, "Turn back: on so lovely
a night it is a shame to sit in the house; and surely no one can
wish to go to bed while sunset is thus at meeting with moonrise."

It is one of my faults, that though my tongue is sometimes prompt
enough at an answer, there are times when it sadly fails me in
framing an excuse; and always the lapse occurs at some crisis, when
a facile word or plausible pretext is specially wanted to get me
out of painful embarrassment. I did not like to walk at this hour
alone with Mr. Rochester in the shadowy orchard; but I could not
find a reason to allege for leaving him. I followed with lagging
step, and thoughts busily bent on discovering a means of extrication;
but he himself looked so composed and so grave also, I became
ashamed of feeling any confusion: the evil if evil existent or
prospective there was seemed to lie with me only; his mind was
unconscious and quiet.

"Jane," he recommenced, as we entered the laurel walk, and slowly
strayed down in the direction of the sunk fence and the horsechestnut,
"Thornfield is a pleasant place in summer, is it not?" "Yes, sir."
"You must have become in some degree attached to the house,
you, who have an eye for natural beauties, and a good deal of the
organ of Adhesiveness?" "I am attached to it, indeed."
"And though I don't comprehend how it is, I perceive you have
acquired a degree of regard for that foolish little child Adele,
too; and even for simple dame Fairfax?" "Yes, sir; in different
ways, I have an affection for both." "And would be sorry to
part with them?" "Yes."

"Pity!" he said, and sighed and paused. "It is always the way
of events in this life," he continued presently: "no sooner have
you got settled in a pleasant restingplace, than a voice calls
out to you to rise and move on, for the hour of repose is expired."
"Must I move on, sir?" I asked. "Must I leave Thornfield?"
"I believe you must, Jane. I am sorry, Janet, but I believe indeed
you must." This was a blow: but I did not let it prostrate me.
"Well, sir, I shall be ready when the order to march comes."
"It is come now I must give it tonight." "Then you ARE going
to be married, sir?" "Exactly precisely: with your usual
acuteness, you have hit the nail straight on the head." "Soon, sir?"

"Very soon, my that is, Miss Eyre: and you'll remember, Jane,
the first time I, or Rumour, plainly intimated to you that it was
my intention to put my old bachelor's neck into the sacred noose,
to enter into the holy estate of matrimony to take Miss Ingram
to my bosom, in short (she's an extensive armful: but that's not
to the point one can't have too much of such a very excellent
thing as my beautiful Blanche): well, as I was saying listen to
me, Jane! You're not turning your head to look after more moths,
are you? That was only a ladyclock, child, 'flying away home.'
I wish to remind you that it was you who first said to me, with
that discretion I respect in you with that foresight, prudence,
and humility which befit your responsible and dependent position
that in case I married Miss Ingram, both you and little Adele
had better trot forthwith. I pass over the sort of slur conveyed
in this suggestion on the character of my beloved; indeed, when
you are far away, Janet, I'll try to forget it: I shall notice
only its wisdom; which is such that I have made it my law of
action. Adele must go to school; and you, Miss Eyre, must get a
new situation."

"Yes, sir, I will advertise immediately: and meantime, I suppose
"I was going to say, "I suppose I may stay here, till I find
another shelter to betake myself to:" but I stopped, feeling it
would not do to risk a long sentence, for my voice was not quite
under command. "In about a month I hope to be a bridegroom,"
continued Mr. Rochester; "and in the interim, I shall myself look
out for employment and an asylum for you." "Thank you, sir; I
am sorry to give."

"Oh, no need to apologise! I consider that when a dependent does
her duty as well as you have done yours, she has a sort of claim
upon her employer for any little assistance he can conveniently
render her; indeed I have already, through my future motherinlaw,
heard of a place that I think will suit: it is to undertake the
education of the five daughters of Mrs. Dionysius O'Gall of Bitternutt
Lodge, Connaught, Ireland. You'll like Ireland, I think: they're
such warmhearted people there, they say." "It is a long way off, sir."
"No matter a girl of your sense will not object to the voyage
or the distance." "Not the voyage, but the distance: and then the
sea is a barrier " "From what, Jane?" "From England and from
Thornfield: and " "Well?" "From YOU, sir."

I said this almost involuntarily, and, with as little sanction of
free will, my tears gushed out. I did not cry so as to be heard,
however; I avoided sobbing. The thought of Mrs. O'Gall and Bitternutt
Lodge struck cold to my heart; and colder the thought of all the
brine and foam, destined, as it seemed, to rush between me and the
master at whose side I now walked, and coldest the remembrance of
the wider ocean wealth, caste, custom intervened between me and
what I naturally and inevitably loved. "It is a long way," I again said.
"It is, to be sure; and when you get to Bitternutt Lodge, Connaught,
Ireland, I shall never see you again, Jane: that's morally certain.
I never go over to Ireland, not having myself much of a fancy for
the country. We have been good friends, Jane; have we not?"
"Yes, sir."

"And when friends are on the eve of separation, they like to spend
the little time that remains to them close to each other. Come!
we'll talk over the voyage and the parting quietly half an hour
or so, while the stars enter into their shining life up in heaven
yonder: here is the chestnut tree: here is the bench at its old
roots. Come, we will sit there in peace tonight, though we should
never more be destined to sit there together." He seated me and
himself. "It is a long way to Ireland, Janet, and I am sorry to send my
little friend on such weary travels: but if I can't do better,
how is it to be helped? Are you anything akin to me, do you think,
Jane?" I could risk no sort of answer by this time: my heart was still.

"Because," he said, "I sometimes have a queer feeling with regard
to you especially when you are near me, as now: it is as if I
had a string somewhere under my left ribs, tightly and inextricably
knotted to a similar string situated in the corresponding quarter
of your little frame. And if that boisterous Channel, and two
hundred miles or so of land come broad between us, I am afraid that
cord of communion will be snapt; and then I've a nervous notion I
should take to bleeding inwardly. As for you, you'd forget me."

"That I NEVER should, sir: You know " Impossible to proceed.
"Jane, do you hear that nightingale singing in the wood? Listen!"
In listening, I sobbed convulsively; for I could repress what I
endured no longer; I was obliged to yield, and I was shaken from
head to foot with acute distress. When I did speak, it was only
to express an impetuous wish that I had never been born, or never
come to Thornfield. "Because you are sorry to leave it?"
The vehemence of emotion, stirred by grief and love within me,
was claiming mastery, and struggling for full sway, and asserting
a right to predominate, to overcome, to live, rise, and reign at
last: yes, and to speak.

"I grieve to leave Thornfield: I love Thornfield: I love it, because
I have lived in it a full and delightful life, momentarily at
least. I have not been trampled on. I have not been petrified. I
have not been buried with inferior minds, and excluded from every
glimpse of communion with what is bright and energetic and high.
I have talked, face to face, with what I reverence, with what I
delight in, with an original, a vigorous, an expanded mind. I
have known you, Mr. Rochester; and it strikes me with terror and
anguish to feel I absolutely must be torn from you for ever. I see
the necessity of departure; and it is like looking on the necessity
of death."

"Where do you see the necessity?" he asked suddenly. "Where?
You, sir, have placed it before me." "In what shape?" "In the shape
of Miss Ingram; a noble and beautiful woman, your bride." "My
bride! What bride? I have no bride!" "But you will have." "Yes; I
will! I will!" He set his teeth. "Then I must go: you have said it
yourself." "No: you must stay! I swear it and the oath shall be kept."

"I tell you I must go!" I retorted, roused to something like
passion. "Do you think I can stay to become nothing to you? Do
you think I am an automaton? a machine without feelings? and
can bear to have my morsel of bread snatched from my lips, and my
drop of living water dashed from my cup? Do you think, because I
am poor, obscure, plain, and little, I am soulless and heartless?
You think wrong! I have as much soul as you, and full as much
heart! And if god had gifted me with some beauty and much wealth,
I should have made it as hard for you to leave me, as it is now for
me to leave you. I am not talking to you now through the medium
of custom, conventionalities, nor even of mortal flesh; it is
my spirit that addresses your spirit; just as if both had passed
through the grave, and we stood at god's feet, equal, as we
are!"

"As we are!" repeated Mr. Rochester "so," he added, enclosing
me in his arms. Gathering me to his breast, pressing his lips on
my lips: "so, Jane!" "Yes, so, sir," I rejoined: "and yet not so; for
you are a married man or as good as a married man, and wed to
one inferior to you to one with whom you have no sympathy
whom I do not believe you truly love; for I have seen and heard
you sneer at her. I would scorn such a union: therefore I am
better than you let me go!" "Where, Jane? To Ireland?"
"Yes to Ireland. I have spoken my mind, and can go anywhere
now." "Jane, be still; don't struggle so, like a wild frantic bird
that is rending its own plumage in its desperation."

"I am no bird; and no net ensnares me; I am a free human being
with an independent will, which I now exert to leave you."
Another effort set me at liberty, and I stood erect before him.
"And your will shall decide your destiny," he said: "I offer you
my hand, my heart, and a share of all my possessions."
"You play a farce, which I merely laugh at." "I ask you to
pass through life at my side to be my second self, and best
earthly companion." "For that fate you have already made
your choice, and must abide by it." "Jane, be still a few
moments: you are overexcited: I will be still too."

A waft of wind came sweeping down the laurelwalk, and trembled
through the boughs of the chestnut: it wandered away away
to an indefinite distance it died. The nightingale's song was
then the only voice of the hour: in listening to it, I again wept.
Mr. Rochester sat quiet, looking at me gently and seriously.
Some time passed before he spoke; he at last said, "Come to my
side, Jane, and let us explain and understand one another."
"I will never again come to your side: I am torn away now, and
cannot return." "But, Jane, I summon you as my wife: it is you
only I intend to marry." I was silent: I thought he mocked me.
"Come, Jane come hither." "Your bride stands between us."
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."

"What, me!" I ejaculated, beginning in his earnestness and
especially in his incivility to credit his sincerity: "me who
have not a friend in the world but you if you are my friend:
not a shilling but what you have given me?" "You, Jane, I
must have you for my own entirely my own. Will you be
mine? Say yes, quickly." "Mr. Rochester, let me look at
your face: turn to the moonlight." "Why?" "Because I
want to read your countenance turn!" "There! You will
find it scarcely more legible than a crumpled, scratched
page. Read on: only make haste, for I suffer."

His face was very much agitated and very much flushed, and
there were strong workings in the features, and strange
gleams in the eyes. "Oh, Jane, you torture me!" he exclaimed.
"With that searching and yet faithful and generous look,
you torture me!" "How can I do that? If you are true, and your
offer real, my only feelings to you must be gratitude and
devotion they cannot torture." "Gratitude!" he ejaculated;
and added wildly "Jane accept me quickly. Say, Edward
give me my name Edward I will marry you."

"Are you in earnest? Do you truly love me? Do you sincerely
wish me to be your wife?" "I do; and if an oath is necessary
to satisfy you, I swear it." "Then, sir, I will marry you."
"Edward my little wife!" "Dear Edward!" "Come to me come
to me entirely now," said he; and added, in his deepest tone,
speaking in my ear as his cheek was laid on mine, "Make my
happiness I will make yours." "God pardon me!" he subjoined
ere long; "and man meddle not with me: I have her, and will
hold her." "There is no one to meddle, sir. I have no kindred
to interfere."

"No that is the best of it," he said. And if I had loved him less
I should have thought his accent and look of exultation savage;
but, sitting by him, roused from the nightmare of parting
called to the paradise of union I thought only of the bliss
given me to drink in so abundant a flow. Again and again he said,
"Are you happy, Jane?" And again and again I answered, "Yes."
After which he murmured, "It will atone it will atone. Have I
not found her friendless, and cold, and comfortless? Will I not
guard, and cherish, and solace her? Is there not love in my heart,
and constancy in my resolves? It will expiate at god's tribunal.
I know my Maker sanctions what I do. For the world's judgment
I wash my hands thereof. For man's opinion I defy it."

But what had befallen the night? The moon was not yet set, and we
were all in shadow: I could scarcely see my master's face, near as
I was. And what ailed the chestnut tree? it writhed and groaned;
while wind roared in the laurel walk, and came sweeping over us.
"We must go in," said Mr. Rochester: "the weather changes. I
could have sat with thee till morning, Jane." "And so," thought
I, "could I with you." I should have said so, perhaps, but a livid,
vivid spark leapt out of a cloud at which I was looking, and there
was a crack, a crash, and a close rattling peal; and I thought only
of hiding my dazzled eyes against Mr. Rochester's shoulder.

The rain rushed down. He hurried me up the walk, through the grounds,
and into the house; but we were quite wet before we could pass the
threshold. He was taking off my shawl in the hall, and shaking
the water out of my loosened hair, when Mrs. Fairfax emerged from
her room. I did not observe her at first, nor did Mr. Rochester.
The lamp was lit. The clock was on the stroke of twelve.
"Hasten to take off your wet things," said he; "and before you go,
goodnight goodnight, my darling!"

He kissed me repeatedly. When I looked up, on leaving his arms,
there stood the widow, pale, grave, and amazed. I only smiled at
her, and ran upstairs. "Explanation will do for another time,"
thought I. Still, when I reached my chamber, I felt a pang at the
idea she should even temporarily misconstrue what she had seen. But
joy soon effaced every other feeling; and loud as the wind blew,
near and deep as the thunder crashed, fierce and frequent as the
lightning gleamed, cataractlike as the rain fell during a storm
of two hours' duration, I experienced no fear and little awe. Mr.
Rochester came thrice to my door in the course of it, to ask if
I was safe and tranquil: and that was comfort, that was strength
for anything.

Before I left my bed in the morning, little Adele came running
in to tell me that the great horsechestnut at the bottom of the
orchard had been struck by lightning in the night, and half of it
split away.

Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte Deluxe Edition Chapter 24.>