Jane Eyre

hand, and I could not free it. I bethought myself of an expedient.
    »I think I hear Mrs. Fairfax move, sir,« said I.
    »Well, leave me:« he relaxed his fingers, and I was gone.
    I regained my couch, but never thought of sleep. Till morning dawned I was tossed on a buoyant but unquiet sea, where billows of trouble rolled under surges of joy. I thought sometimes I saw beyond its wild waters a shore, sweet as the hills of Beulah; and now and then a freshening gale wakened by hope, bore my spirit triumphantly towards the bourne: but I could not reach it, even in fancy, – a counteracting breeze blew off land, and continually drove me back. Sense would resist delirium: judgment would warn passion. Too feverish to rest, I rose as soon as day dawned.
     
     
Chapter XVI
    I both wished and feared to see Mr. Rochester on the day which followed this sleepless night: I wanted to hear his voice again, yet feared to meet his eye. During the early part of the morning, I momentarily expected his coming: he was not in the frequent habit of entering the schoolroom; but he did step in for a few minutes sometimes, and I had the impression that he was sure to visit it that day.
    But the morning passed just as usual: nothing happened to interrupt the quiet course of Adèle's studies; only, soon after breakfast, I heard some bustle in the neighbourhood of Mr. Rochester's chamber, Mrs. Fairfax's voice, and Leah's, and the cook's – that is, John's wife – and even John's own gruff tones. There were exclamations of »What a mercy master was not burnt in his bed!« »It is always dangerous to keep a candle lit at night.« »How providential that he had presence of mind to think of the water-jug!« »I wonder he waked nobody!« »It is to be hoped he will not take cold with sleeping on the library sofa,« etc.
    To much confabulation succeeded a sound of scrubbing and setting to rights; and when I passed the room, in going down stairs to dinner, I saw through the open door that all was again restored to complete order; only the bed was stripped of its hangings. Leah stood up in the window-seat, rubbing the panes of glass dimmed with smoke. I was about to address her; for I wished to know what account had been given of the affair: but, on advancing, I saw a second person in the chamber – a woman sitting on a chair by the bedside, and sewing rings to new curtains. That woman was no other than Grace Poole.
    There she sat, staid and taciturn-looking, as usual, in her brown stuff gown, her check apron, white handkerchief, and cap. She was intent on her work, in which her whole thoughts seemed absorbed: on her hard forehead, and in her common-place features, was nothing either of the paleness or desperation one would have expected to see marking the countenance of a woman who had attempted murder; and whose intended victim had followed her last night to her lair, and (as I believed) charged her with the crime she wished to perpetrate. I was amazed – confounded. She looked up, while I still gazed at her: no start, no increase or failure of colour betrayed emotion, consciousness of guilt, or fear of detection. She said »Good-morning, Miss,« in her usual phlegmatic and brief manner; and taking up another ring and more tape, went on with her sewing.
    »I will put her to some test,« thought I: »such absolute impenetrability is past comprehension.«
    »Good morning, Grace,« I said. »Has anything happened here? I thought I heard the servants all talking together a while ago.«
    »Only master had been reading in his bed last night; he fell asleep with his candle lit, and the curtains got on fire; but, fortunately, he awoke before the bed-clothes or the wood-work caught, and contrived to quench the flame with the water in the ewer.«
    »A strange affair!« I said, in a low voice: then, looking at her fixedly, – »Did Mr. Rochester wake nobody? Did no one hear him move?«
    She again raised her eyes to me; and this time there was something of consciousness in their expression. She seemed to examine me warily; then she answered, –
    »The servants sleep so far off, you know, Miss, they would not be likely to hear. Mrs. Fairfax's room and yours are the nearest to master's; but Mrs. Fairfax said she heard nothing: when people get elderly, they often sleep heavy.«
    She paused, and then added, with a sort of assumed indifference, but still in a marked and significant tone, »But you are young, Miss; and I should say a light sleeper: perhaps you