oil painting artist

'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.'