I did. Mr. Rochester，reading my countenance，saw I had done so.

His fury was wrought to the highest: he must yield to it for a moment，whatever followed; he crossed the floor and seized my arm and grasped my waist. He seemed to devour me with his flaming glance: physically，I felt，at the moment，powerless as stubble exposed to the draught and glow of a furnace: mentally，I still possessed my soul，and with it the certainty of ultimate safety. The soul，fortunately，has an interpreter- often an unconscious，but still a truthful interpreter- in the eye. My eye rose to his; and while I looked in his fierce face I gave an involuntary sigh; his gripe was painful，and my overtaxed strength almost exhausted.

"Never," said he，as he ground his teeth，"never was anything at once so frail and so indomitable. A mere reed she feels in my hand!" (And he shook me with the force of his hold.) "I could bend her with my finger and thumb: and what good would it do if I bent，if I uptore，if I crushed her? Consider that eye: consider the resolute，wild，free thing looking out of it，defying me，with more than courage- with a stern triumph. Whatever I do with its cage，I cannot get at it- the savage，beautiful creature! If I tear，if I rend the slight prison，my outrage will only let the captive loose. Conqueror I might be of the house; but the inmate would escape to heaven before I could call myself possessor of its clay dwelling-place. And it is you，spirit- with will and energy，and virtue and purity- that I want: not alone your brittle frame. Of yourself you could e with soft flight and nestle against my heart，if you would: seized against your will，you will elude the grasp like an essence- you will vanish ere I inhale your fragrance. Oh! e，Jane，e!"

As he said this，he released me from his clutch，and only looked at me. The look was far worse to resist than the frantic strain: only an idiot，however，would have succumbed now. I had dared and baffled his fury; I must elude his sorrow: retired to the door.