“I do,” extricating myself from restraint rapidly and completely.

“Oh, Jane, this is bitter! This — this is wicked. It would not be wicked to love me.”

“It would to obey you.”

A wild look raised his brows — crossed his features: he rose; but he forebore yet. I laid my hand on the back of a chair for support: I shook, I feared — but I resolved.

“One instant, Jane. Give one glance to my horrible life when you are gone. All happiness will be torn away with you. What then is left? For a wife I have but the maniac upstairs: as well might you refer me to some corpse in yonder churchyard.

What shall I do, Jane? Where turn for a companion and for some hope?”