Original subtitles

I was going back to Thornfield.

But for how long was I to stay there?

Not long, I was sure.

I had heard from Mrs Fairfax in the interim.

The party at the hall had dispersed and Mr Rochester had left for London to make

arrangements for his wedding to Miss Ingram.

There you are.

Well he's not a ghost, but every nerve I have is unstrung.

Come on, if you please.

Is this Jane Eyre coming from Milket on foot?

Oh yes, just one of your tricks.

Not to send for a carriage and come clattering home like a common mortal.

Oh no, you must steal him, just as if you were a dream or shade.

What the deuce have you done with yourself this last month?

I've been with my aunt, sir, who is dead.

A true Janey in reply.

Good angels be my guard.

She comes from the other world, from the abode of people who are dead,

and tells me so, here alone.

If I dared, I'd touch you to see if your substance or shadow.

Truant.

Truant.

Absent from me a whole month, and forgetting me quite, I'll be sworn.

I might ask much the same of you, sir.

I thought you were in London.

I was.

I suppose you found that out by second sight.

Mrs Fairfax wrote to me.

Did she inform you what I went there to do?

Oh yes, sir.

Everyone knew your errand.

You must see the carriage, Jane.

And tell me if you won't think it will suit Mrs Rochester exactly.

She'll look like Queen Bodicea leaning back against those purple cushions.

I only wish I were a trifle better adapted to match with her externally.

Will you let me pass, sir?

No.

Not till you give me a charm, elf as you are, or a filter to make me a handsome man.

It would be past the power of magic, sir.

Pass, Janet.

And stay your weary little wandering feet at a friend's threshold.

Thank you, Mr Rochester, for your great kindness.

I'm strangely glad to get back again to you.

Wherever you are is my home.

My only home.

Oh, such a waste!

Ma petite maman anglaise.

Once the ladies left, poor Adèle was at a loss.

She's bothered the life out of me.

When is mademoiselle returning?

Every minute of the day.

Well, I'm home now, Adèle.

Exactement.

Et maintenant, je veux que tu viennes... Speak English, child.

We shall begin our lessons again tomorrow.

Just a second.

Oui.

And so Arthur Wellesley became the Duke of Wellington.

But I like better Napoleon, because he was French.

He was Corsican, really.

Now, Adèle, I want you to write a short essay.

Compare these two great men and remember... But it's too difficult.

No, it's not.

You must learn to apply yourself.

A fortnight of dubious calm succeeded my return.

Nothing was said of my master's marriage.

And I saw no preparation for such an event.

There was no journeying backward and forward to Ingram Park.

True, it was 20 miles off.

But what was that distance to an ardent lover?

I began to Cherish hopes.

I had no right to conceive.

Never had Mr Rochester been kinder to me.

And, alas, never had I loved him so well.

Jane!

Come and have a look at this fellow.

Could his shadow feel?

Look at his wings.

He reminds me of a West Indian insect.

One doesn't often see so large and gay a night rover in England.

Ah, he's flown.

Stay, turn back.

It's a shame to sit in the house on such a lovely evening.

Though my tongue is usually prompt enough at

answer, there are times when it sadly fails me.

Come.

The sun is setting as the moon rises.

Jane, Thornfield is a pleasant place, is it not?

Yes.

And I suspect you've become attached to it?

Yes.

As you've become attached in some degree, though I

don't comprehend it, to that foolish little girl Adele.

And even to simple Mrs Fairfax.

In different ways.

I have an affection for both.

Pity.

It is always the way.

No sooner have you got settled in a pleasant resting

place than a voice calls out to you to rise and move on.

Must I move on, sir?

I believe you must, Jane.

Well, sir, I shall be ready to move when the order comes.

We made a bargain, did we not?

You requested that when I married Miss Ingram, Adele

should be sent to school and you allowed to leave.

Then you are going to be married.

Very soon, Miss Eyre.

You're not turning to look after more moths, are you?

There was only a ladyclock child flying away home.

And I promised I would find you a new post.

Yes, sir, you did.

Well, I've heard of a place that will suit.

It is to undertake the education of the five daughters of

Mrs Dionysius O'Gaul of Bitternut Lodge, Conaught Island.

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, sir.

From Thornfield.

Well?

From you, sir.

It is a long way, and I'm 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.

Because I sometimes have a feeling, especially when you're near to me as you

are now, it's as if I had a string 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 should come between us,

I'm afraid this chord of communion will be snapped.

And I have a nervous notion I should take to bleeding inwardly.

As for you, you'd forget me.

That I never should?

Impossible to proceed.

Oh, I wish... I wish I'd never been born or come to Thornfield.

Because you're sorry to leave it?

Because I love it.

Because I've lived properly here, I've not been trampled on, not been petrified.

I've not been buried with inferior minds.

I've talked face to face with what I reverence and

delight in with an original, a vigorous and expanded mind.

I've known you, Mr Rochester, and now I see the necessity of departure.

It's like looking on the necessity of death.

Where do you see the necessity?

Where?

You so have placed it before me in the shape of Miss Ingram, your bride.

My bride?

What bride?

I have no bride.

But you will have.

Yes, I will.

I will.

Then I must go.

You said it yourself.

No, you must stay.

I tell you, I must go.

Do you think I can stay to become nothing to you?

Do you think I'm an automaton, a machine without feelings?

Or do you think because I'm poor, obscure,

plain and little, I'm soulless and heartless?

You think wrong.

I have as much soul as you and full as much heart.

If God had gifted me with some beauty and much wealth, I would make it as hard for

you to leave me as it is for me to leave you.

Jane.

No!

I'm 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 stood at God's feet, equal as we are.

As we are.

So, Jane, so?

Yes, so, sir.

And yet not so, for you are a married man, or as good as, and

wed to one inferior to you, whom I do not believe you truly love.

I scorn such a union, therefore I am better than you.

Let me go.

Where, Jane, to Ireland?

Yes, anywhere.

I've spoken my mind and I'm free.

Jane, be still.

Don't struggle so, like a wild, frantic bird.

I'm no bird.

No net ensnares me.

I am a free human being with an independent will, which I now exert to leave you.

And your will shall decide your destiny.

Jane, come back to me.

Never.

I am torn away now and I cannot return.

But I summon you as my wife.

It is you only I intend to marry.

I thought he mocked me.

I offer you my heart and my hand.

Your bride stands between us.

My bride is here because my equal is here and my likeness.

Jane, will you marry me?

Do you doubt me?

Entirely, sir.

You've no faith in me?

Not a whit.

Am I a liar in your eyes?

Little skeptic, you shall be convinced.

What love have I for Miss Ingram?

None.

What love has she for me?

None.

I caused a rumor to reach her that my fortune was not a third of what was supposed.

Such sudden coldness when we next met.

I could not... I would not marry her.

But you... You strange, almost unearthly thing.

I love you.

Like my own flesh.

You.

Poor and obscure and small and plain as you are.

I entreat you to accept me as a husband.

His earnestness and incivility began to give credit to his sincerity.

You, Jane.

I must have you for my own.

Say yes quickly.

Mr. Rochester, let me see your face.

Turn to the moonlight.

Why?

Because I want to read your countenance.

Turn.

There.

Read on.

Only make haste for I suffer.

Oh Jane, you torture me.

How can I do that?

If you are true and your offer real.

It is.

My only feelings to you must be gratitude and devotion.

I cannot torture.

Gratitude?

Jane, accept me quickly.

Say Edward.

Give me my name.

I will marry you.

Do you truly love me?

Do you sincerely wish me to be your wife?

I do.

Then, sir... I will marry you.

Edward.

Edward.

Come to me entirely now.

Make my happiness.

I will make yours.

God pardon me 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.

You happy, Jane?

Yes, sir.

It will atone...

if there is not love in my heart and constancy in my resolve.

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 men's opinion, I defy it.

The weather changes.

We must go in.

I could have sat with you all till morning, Jane.

Isn't it take off your wet things?

And before you go...

Good night, my darling.

Explanations will do another time.

Mademoiselle Jeannette?

Was it late?

No, it's early, but I must tell you... Pendant la nuit, au milieu de l'orage...

and she told me that the horse Chestnut tree...

with a seat around it at the bottom of the gardens...

had been struck by lightning in the night... and half of it split away.

And Mr. de Rochester is up already... and says I'm to have no lessons this morning.

Jane, I've decided.

You must give up your governance in slavery at once.

Indeed, sir, begging your pardon.

I shall not.

You will not?

No, sir, we should go on as before.

As before?

As thus?

Jane, you look blooming and smiling and pretty.

Is this my pale little elf?

It is Jane Eyre, sir.

Soon to be Jane Rochester.

In four weeks, not a day more.

The announcement made me giddy.

A feeling stronger than joy stunned me.

It was, I think, almost fear.

You blush, now you're pale, Jane.

Why?

Because you gave me a new name.

Jane Rochester.

Yes, Mrs. Rochester.

Young Mrs. Rochester.

And you must be a tired in satins and lace.

This morning I wrote to my banker in London...

to send me certain jewels he has in his keeping.

In a few days I shall pour them into your lap...

for every attention and every privilege shall be yours...

as I would accord a peer's daughter if about to marry her.

So never mind jewels.

Jewels for Jane Eyre sounds unnatural and strange.

I would rather not have them.

I will myself with a diamond chain around your neck.

Sir, please, don't address me as if I were your captive beauty... for I am not.

I'm your plain, quakerish governess.

You're a beauty in my eyes and I shall make the world acknowledge it.

But then you will not know me, sir.

I shall not be your Jane Eyre any longer.

No, you shall be Jane Rochester.

An ape, rather, in a harlequin's jacket.

A Jay in borrowed plumes.

And after we are married...

in the church below yonder...

I shall waft you away to regions nearer the sun.

To France, to Italy.

All the ground I've wandered over shall be retrodden by you.

My Jane.

My bride.

Ten years since I flew through Europe half mad with hate, rage...

and disgust as my companions.

Now I shall revisit it, healed and cleansed... with a very angel as my comforter.

I am not an angel.

And I will not be one till I die.

I will be myself.

So do not send for jewels or satins.

I will not wear them.

You refuse?

Absolutely.

Ah, that will be your married look, I suppose, sir.

Oh, after six months.

I have observed in books written by men...

that period assigned as the furthest to which any husband's ardour extends.

Hm, distasteful.

And like you again.

Oh, is that how you will appear should I ask a favour?

As your wife?

Who talks of favours?

I've offered you favours.

But not of my choosing, sir.

May I ask for now?

What, you changeling?

There.

You are less than civil now.

And I like rudeness a great deal better than flattery.

This is what I have to ask.

Why did you take such pains to make me believe you wish to marry Miss Ingram?

Is that all?

Thank God it is no worse.

It may make you indignant, Jane.

And I've seen what a fire spirit you can be.

You positively glowed in the cool moonlight last night...

when you mutinied against fate and claimed your rank as my equal.

Of course I did.

But to the point, Miss Ingram... I feigned courtship of her...

because I wished to render you as in love with me as I was with you.

I knew jealousy would be my best ally.

Excellent.

Now you are small.

Not one whit bigger than the end of my little finger.

Was it not a burning shame and disgrace?

Did you think nothing of Miss Ingram's feelings?

She has none, save pride, and that needs humbling.

But won't she feel forsaken and deserted?

On the contrary.

She deserted me, did she not, on hearing I

might not be as wealthy as she had supposed.

You have a curious designing mind, Mr Rochester.

Matched to yours, you said, sir.

But your principles are in some points eccentric, sir.

They've not been trained as yours have, Jane.

They may have grown a little awry for lack of attention.

Are you anything else to ask?

It is my delight to be entreated and to yield.

Yes, sir.

So prompt.

Please communicate your intentions to Mrs Fairfax.

When she saw me with you last night in the hall.

And she was shocked, sir.

Did she think you'd given the world for love and thought it well lost?

I believe she thought I'd forgotten my station, sir.

And yours.

Station?

Your station is in my heart, Jane.

And on the necks of those that insult you, now or hereafter.

I shall enlighten her.

I saw that I could not allow him or myself to sink into a bathos of sentiment.

I determined to show him in the ensuing weeks

all the more rugged points in my character.

That he might know fully what sort of bargain he had made.

While there was yet time to rescind it.

Nor would I bear to be dressed like a doll by Mr Rochester.

To sit like a second dainty with the golden shower falling daily around me.

I resolved to write to my uncle John in Madeira.

Who had been informed that I was dead.

If I had the prospect of one day bringing Mr Rochester a fortune.

Be it never so small.

I could better endure to be kept by him now.

There.

I declare, Miss Jane, you look almost pretty.

Mr Rochester may be proud of his bride after all.

Try the veil.

It is too fine.

I should have preferred a square of plain lace.

But it was worn by Mr Edward's mother and her mother before her.

That only serves to make it too solemn an object for such as I.

What nonsense.

You may wear it with head held high.

Have you not won him against all odds?

It's like a dream.

I cannot believe it.

Sofie?

Sofie, what are you doing?

And these dreams weigh on your spirits now, Jane.

Now I am with you.

Little nervous subject.

Forget visionary woe.

Think only of real happiness.

Do you love me, Jane?

Repeat what you do.

I do so.

I do with my whole heart.

Look wicked, Jane.

Coin one of your wild, shy, provoking smiles.

Tease me.

Vex me as you have these last weeks.

Tell me you hate me.

Do anything but move me.

I will tease you and vex you, sir, to your heart's content.

When I finish my tale.

I thought you'd told me all.

I thought I'd learned the source of your melancholy in a dream.

There's more.

I'll not believe it.

I warned you of incredulity beforehand.

His disquietude, his apprehensive impatience, surprised me.

Was I looking for comfort where there would be none?

I woke from my dream of Thornfield as a dreary ruin.

And a light dazzled my eyes.

Daylight, I thought.

No, a candle.

Sophie has come in.

Then a form emerged and my blood crept cold in my veins.

Sophie, I cried.

But it was not she, nor Leia, nor Mrs Fairfax.

No, nor even that strange woman, Grace Poole.

It must have been one of them.

No, sir, I solemnly assure you.

It seemed a woman.

Tall, with thick, dark hair.

Her face... I wish I could forget that savage face.

She took my wedding veil and placed it over her head.

Then?

Then what did she do?

Remove the veil once more and rent it in two parts.

Then she came towards me, thrust the candle close to my face.

Her lurid visage flamed over mine.

For only the second time in my life... I became insensible from terror.

Thank God.

Who was with you when you revived?

No one but the broad day, sir.

The creature of an overstimulated brain.

No, sir, the thing was real.

As your previous dreams, is Thornfield a ruin?

Am I leaving you without a tear, a kiss, a word?

Not yet.

Am I about to?

There.

The clock announces the day, which is to bind us... indissolubly.

And once we are united...

there shall be no recurrence of these mental terrors, I assure you.

It was no mental terror, sir.

For there on the carpet in full daylight was the veil torn in two.

Oh, my darling.

I thank God if anything malignant had come near you last night...

it was only the veil that was torn.

Do you think what might have happened?

Now... it was half dream, half true.

A woman did, I doubt not, enter your room, tear your veil.

And that woman was Grace Poole.

No, sir.

Yes, it was she.

In a state between waking and sleeping you ascribed to her...

a goblin appearance different from her own.

Her hair, her black face.

But I had not referred to the blackness of her face.

I see you would ask why I keep such a woman as Grace Poole in my house...

and I will tell you.

When we've been married a year and a day... are you satisfied, Jane?

Do you accept my solution of the mystery?

It seems the only possible one, sir.

Satisfied I was not.

But to please him I answered with a contented smile.

It is something of relief, sir.

Could you not share Adele's bed tonight?

It is no wonder the incident has made you nervous.

Promise me to go to the nursery.

I shall be glad to.

And fasten the door securely on the inside.

And now no more somber thoughts.

Chase doll care away, Janet.

The wind has fallen.

It's a lovely night.

The night is serene.

And so am I.

And tonight you will not dream of separation and sorrow...

but of happy love and blissful union.

These two persons present come now to be joined.

Therefore if any man can show any just cause...

why they may not lawfully be joined together... let him now speak...

or else hereafter forever hold his peace.

Now, no.

He may yet himself recant.

I require and charge you both...

as you will answer at the dreadful day of judgment...

when the secrets of all hearts shall be disclosed...

that if either of you know any impediment...

why you may not be lawfully joined together...

ye do now confess it.

For be ye well assured that so many as are coupled together...

otherwise than God's word doth allow... are not joined together by God...

neither is their matrimony lawful.

He paused as the custom is.

The marriage cannot go on.

I declare the existence of an impediment.

Proceed.

I cannot proceed without some investigation of the charge of impediment.

The objector had his opportunity.

He did not take it.

He's been enjoined to hold his peace forever.

Proceed.

I cannot, Mr. Rochester.

I waited, sir, lest you might yourself recant.

Proceed.

The ceremony is quite broken off.

I'm in a condition to prove my allegation...

an insuperable impediment to this marriage exists.

What is its nature?

Perhaps it can be explained away.

It cannot be.

It simply consists in the existence of a previous marriage.

Mr. Rochester has a wife now living.

He disavowed.

Nothing.

Who are you?

My name is Briggs, a solicitor of Essex Street, London.

And you would thrust on me a wife?

I would remind you of her existence, sir... which the law recognizes, if you do not.

Favor me with an account of her.

With her name, her parentage, her place of abode.

Certainly.

I affirm and can prove that on the 20th of October, A.D.

1821... Edward Fairfax Rochester of Thornfield Hall, Yorkshire...

was married to my sister Bertha Antoinetta Mason...

daughter of Jonas Mason Merchant and of Antoinetta Mason...

his wife, a Creole at the Church of St. Paul, Spanish Town, Jamaica.

The record of the marriage will be found in the register of that church.

A copy of it is now in my possession.

Signed, Richard Mason.

That, if a genuine document, may prove that I have been married.

But it does not prove that the woman mentioned therein as my wife is still living.

She was three months ago.

I have a witness to the fact whose testimony even you, sir, will scarcely controvert.

Produce him.

Or proceed to hell, sir.

He is here.

Mr. Mason, have the goodness to step forward.

You.

Have you to say?

Please, Rochester.

The devil is in it if you cannot answer distinctly.

I demand again, Dick.

What have you to say?

Sir.

Do not forget this is a sacred place.

Are you aware, sir, whether or not this gentleman's wife is still living?

Courage.

Speak out.

She is now at Thornfield Hall.

I saw her there last April.

Aye, my brother.

At Thornfield?

Impossible.

I'm an old resident in this neighborhood, sir, and I've never heard of a Mrs.

Rochester at the Hall.

No.

By God, I took care that none should hear of it.

He held counsel with himself, formed his resolve, and announced it.

Enough!

Wood, close your book.

John Green, leave the church.

There'll be no wedding today.

Fate has outmaneuvered me.

Or Providence checked me.

I'm little better than a devil at this moment and deserve, no doubt, the sternest

judgments of God even to the quenchless fire and deathless worm.

What this lawyer and his client say is true.

I am married.

But to what kind of wife you shall see directly.

Bertha Mason, by name, sister of this resolute personage.

Cheer up, Dick.

Never fear me.

I'd as soon strike a woman as you.

My wife... is mad, gentlemen.

And she came of a mad family.

Idiots and maniacs through three generations.

I found out after I wed the daughter.

For they were silent on family secrets before.

I went through rich scenes.

Briggs, Wood, Mason, I invite you all to visit Mrs. Poole's patient and my wife.

You shall see what sort of...

being I was cheated into espousing and judge

whether or not I had a right to break the compact.

This girl knew no more than you of the disgusting secret.

She thought all was fair and legal.

And never dreamt she was going to be entrapped

into a feigned union with a defrauded wretch.

Come.

All of you.

For the right about every soul.

Away with your congratulations.

Who wants them?

Not I.

You're 15 years too late!

Mason!

Did you never hear rumours, Wood?

Some said she was my bastard half-sister.

Others my cast-off mistress.

You remember this place, Mason?

She bit and stabbed him here.

Psst!

Good morrow, Mrs. Poole.

Morning, sir.

How are you on your charge today?

We're tolerable, sir, thank you.

Snappish but not rageous.

Be careful so she sees you.

You better not stay.

You must allow me a few moments, Grace.

You must allow me!

Take care, sir.

We'd better leave her.

Go to that devil.

Take care.

You lie!

You say you take me home!

Grace!

That.

is my wife.

Such is the sole conjugal embrace I'm ever to know.

And this is what I wish to have.

This young girl...

who stands so grave and quiet at the mouth of hell.

Compare them!

Then judge me, priest of the gospel and man of the law!

And remember with what judgment you shall be judged.

Go now.

I must shut up my prize.

You, madam, are cleared of all blame.

Your uncle will be glad to hear of it if indeed he still be living...

when Mr Mason returns to Madeira.

Hi, uncle.

What of him?

Do you know him?

Mr Mason does.

Mr John Eyre has been the Funchal correspondent of his house for some years.

We deal in Madeira wine, madam.

Your uncle received your letter concerning your...

contemplated marriage to Mr Rochester while I was staying with him.

Mr Mason was on his return to Jamaica but had stopped to recover his health.

And you revealed the true state of matters to him?

I did.

Whereupon your uncle implored Mr Mason to prevent the false marriage...

being himself on his last sickbed.

Mr Mason referred to me and I used all dispatch.

I'm thankful that I was not too late, as Darkless you must be too.

Was I?

As yet I could not tell.

Were I not morally certain your uncle will be dead before I return...

I would suggest that you should accompany me.

I suggest Miss Eyre remain in England until she can hear further from...

or of her uncle.

Yes.

Have we anything else to stay for?

No, no, let us be gone.

I shall await Mr Rochester in the library, Miss Eyre.

By all means.

Accept my sympathy, Miss Eyre.

Thank you.

I was myself still...

without obvious change.

Yet where was the Jane Eyre of yesterday?

Where was her life?

Where her prospects?

My hopes were all dead...

struck with a subtle doom...

such as in one night fell on all the first born of Egypt.

I looked on my cherished wishes.

They lay stark, chill corpses that could never revive.

I looked at my love.

It shivered in my heart like a suffering child...

in a cold cradle.

I wish you good day, Mr Rochester.

Be damned to you, Wood...

you safe man of God.

I wrestled with my own resolution...

to leave Thornfield.

Oh, I wanted to be weak.

Let another help me.

But conscience turned tyrant...

held passion by the throat.

I perceived I was sickening from inanition.

Neither meat nor drink had passed my lips that day.

My head swam.

I almost fell.

You've come out at last.

I've been waiting and listening.

Yet not one movement have I heard, nor one sob.

Five minutes more of that deathlike silence... and I shall have forced the door.

A white cheek...

a faded eye... and no trace of tears.

I suppose then your heart has been weeping blood.

Come.

Not a word or reproach, Jane.

Nothing bitter?

Jane, I never meant to wound you thus.

Will you ever forgive me?

I forgave him at that moment.

Yet not in words.

Not outwardly.

Only at my heart's core.

You know me to be a scoundrel, Jane.

Yes, sir.

Then tell me so.

Roundly, sharply.

I cannot.

I am tired and sick.

I can read your thoughts.

You intend, do you not, to make yourself a stranger to me?

All is changed about me, sir.

I must change too.

Adele must have a new governess.

Adele shall go to school.

We've settled that already, have we not?

I've settled that.

I shall shut up Thornfield Hall... nail the front door, bore the lower windows...

and give Mrs Poole 200 pounds a year to live here with my...

wife, as you all term that fearful demon.

So you speak of her with hate.

It is cruel.

She cannot help being mad.

Jane, my darling, you misjudge me again.

It's not because she's mad I hate her.

If you were mad, you think I should hate you?

I do, sir.

Then you're mistaken...

and know nothing about me, nothing about the sort of love of which I'm capable.

Your flesh is as dear to me as my own.

Your mind is my treasure.

And if it were broken, it would be my treasure still.

Did you never once feel the same towards your wife?

Never.

I was deluded... hot-winked... by her, her family...

my brother and my own father.

My father, Jane, was an avaricious grasping man.

My elder brother, too.

Did you ever hear anything of them?

Mrs Fairfax told me your brother died.

But not before he'd connived, together with my father...

to provide me with a fortune and a wife.

My father could not bear to break up the estate.

Instead, he sent me... how green I was... to Spanish town, Jamaica.

There was my chosen bride, imposing, beautiful... with 30,000 pounds, her dowry...

bemused by lies.

They told me her mother was dead, not locked in an asylum.

I married her... due to my father's careful wishes.

And then... on our honeymoon... I learned the truth... saw it in her eyes...

heard it in her voice... experienced it in her...

violent, vicious contradictions.

For four years I endured her...

and birthed her a Mason... the true daughter of an infamous family...

diseased lunatic.

In the interim, my brother died, my father also.

I formed a plan.

It was that or suicide, Jane... to return here with my lunatic burden...

to confine her with due attendance here... which I did.

Ten years followed.

I traveled... first cursing all mankind...

then... seeking the solace, my foolishness... and others' falsehood had denied me.

I did not find it until...

you... were walking in Hay Lane.

I rode past you without a thought.

I had no presentiment of what that quiet little figure would be to me.

I did not know it even when my horse stumbled.

You came to my aid.

It was as if a lynet had hopped to my foot...

and proposed to bear me on its tiny wing.

I was silly...

but you did not go.

I was to be aided...

by that small hand.

And aided I was.

I demand that aid again, Jane.

I would give it gladly, sir.

You can, you can.

How?

Jane, we are packed and ready.

Nothing holds us safe.

Dull convention.

You shall be Mrs. Rochester... both virtually and nominally.

I shall keep you as long as you and I live.

No!

You don't love me then?

It was only my station and the rank of wife that you valued.

Now you find me disqualified to be your husband... you recoil from me.

I do love you more than ever.

But I must not show or indulge the feeling...

and this is the last time I must express it.

I must leave you, Mr. Rochester.

Jane, you must be reasonable or in truth I shall get mad.

If I were to live with you as you desire...

I should then be your mistress, a thing owned by you.

And I will not be both for my own sake and for yours.

Jane, I'm not a gentle-tempered man.

Do you truly mean to go one way in the world... and leave me to go another?

I do.

Do you still mean it?

Yes.

Still?

I do.

Jane, this is bitter, wicked.

It would not be wicked to love me.

It would be to obey you.

Well, what shall I do, Jane?

Where shall I turn for a companion, for hope?

Do as I do, trust in God.

Believe in heaven, hope to meet again there.

Farewell.

Jane, you condemn me to live wretched and to die accursed.

No, no.

God bless you.

Interact you, solace you...

and reward you well for your past kindness to me.

Jane.

Jane!

Jane!

The coachman had set me down at a place called Whitcross...

some 60 miles from Thornfield.

He could take me no further for the 20 shillings I had given him...

and I was not possessed of another penny in the world.

It was only now I realized that in my distress...

I had left the few belongings I had brought with me on the seat.

I was destitute.

And quite alone.