“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.