Jane Eyre

clinging about him now; and the two dowagers, in vast white wrappers, were bearing down on him like ships in full sail.
    »All's right! – all's right!« he cried. »It's a mere rehearsal of Much Ado About Nothing. Ladies, keep off; or I shall wax dangerous.«
    And dangerous he looked: his black eyes darted sparks. Calming himself by an effort, he added: –
    »A servant has had the nightmare; that is all. She's an excitable, nervous person: she construed her dream into an apparition, or something of that sort, no doubt; and has taken a fit with fright. Now, then, I must see you all back into your rooms; for, till the house is settled, she cannot be looked after. Gentlemen, have the goodness to set the ladies the example. Miss Ingram, I am sure you will not fail in evincing superiority to idle terrors. Amy and Louisa, return to your nests like a pair of doves, as you are. Mesdames,« (to the dowagers) »you will take cold to a dead certainty, if you stay in this chill gallery any longer.«
    And so, by dint of alternate coaxing and commanding, he contrived to get them all once more enclosed in their separate dormitories. I did not wait to be ordered back to mine; but retreated unnoticed: as unnoticed I had left it.
    Not, however, to go to bed: on the contrary, I began and dressed myself carefully. The sounds I had heard after the scream, and the words that had been uttered, had probably been heard only by me; for they had proceeded from the room above mine: but they assured me that it was not a servant's dream which had thus struck horror through the house; and that the explanation Mr. Rochester had given was merely an invention framed to pacify his guests. I dressed, then, to be ready for emergencies. When dressed, I sat a long time by the window, looking out over the silent grounds and silvered fields, and waiting for I knew not what. It seemed to me that some event must follow the strange cry, struggle, and call.
    No: stillness returned: each murmur and movement ceased gradually, and in about an hour Thornfield- was again as hushed as a desert. It seemed that sleep and night had resumed their empire. Meantime the moon declined: she was about to set. Not liking to sit in the cold and darkness, I thought I would lie down on my bed, dressed as I was. I left the window, and moved with little noise across the carpet; as I stooped to take off my shoes, a cautious hand tapped low at the door.
    »Am I wanted?« I asked.
    »Are you up?« asked the voice I expected to hear, viz., my master's.
    »Yes, sir.«
    »And dressed?«
    »Yes.«
    »Come out, then, quietly.«
    I obeyed. Mr. Rochester stood in the gallery, holding a light.
    »I want you,« he said: »come this way: take your time, and make no noise.«
    My slippers were thin: I could walk the matted floor as softly as a cat. He glided up the gallery and up the stairs, and stopped in the dark, low corridor of the fateful third story: I had followed and stood at his side.
    »Have you a sponge in your room?« he asked in a whisper.
    »Yes, sir.«
    »Have you any salts – volatile salts?«
    »Yes.«
    »Go back and fetch both.«
    I returned, sought the sponge on the wash-stand, the salts in my drawer, and once more retraced my steps. He still waited; he held a key in his hand: approaching one of the small, black doors, he put it in the lock; he paused and addressed me again.
    »You don't turn sick at the sight of blood?«
    »I think I shall not: I have never been tried yet.«
    I felt a thrill while I answered him; but no coldness, and no faintness.
    »Just give me your hand,« he said; »it will not do to risk a fainting fit.«
    I put my fingers into his. »Warm and steady,« was his remark: he turned the key and opened the door.
    I saw a room I remembered to have seen before; the day Mrs. Fairfax showed me over the house: it was hung with tapestry; but the tapestry was now looped up in one part, and there was a door apparent, which had then been concealed. This door was open; a light shone out of the room within: I heard thence a snarling, snatching sound, almost like a dog quarrelling. Mr. Rochester, putting down his candle, said to me, »wait a minute,« and he went forward to the inner apartment. A shout of laughter greeted his entrance; noisy at first, and terminating in Grace Poole's own goblin ha! ha!
She
then was there. He made some sort of arrangement, without speaking: though I heard a low voice address him: he came out and closed the door behind him.
    »Here,