“Go back now into the room; step quietly up
to Mason, and whisper in his ear that Mr. Rochester
is come and wishes to see him: show him in here
and then leave me.”
“Yes, sir.”
I did his behest. The company all stared at
me as I passed straight among them. I sought
Mr. Mason, delivered the message, and preceded him
from the room: I ushered him into the library,
and then I went upstairs.
At a late hour, after I had been in bed some time,
I heard the visitors repair to their chambers:
I distinguished Mr. Rochester’s voice, and
heard him say, “This way, Mason; this is your
room.”
He spoke cheerfully: the gay tones set my heart
at ease. I was soon asleep.
I had forgotten to draw my curtain, which I usually
did, and also to let down my window-blind. The
consequence was, that when the moon, which was full
and bright (for the night was fine), came in her course
to that space in the sky opposite my casement, and
looked in at me through the unveiled panes, her glorious
gaze roused me. Awaking in the dead of night,
I opened my eyes on her disk — silver-white
and crystal clear. It was beautiful, but too
solemn; I half rose, and stretched my arm to draw
the curtain.
Good God! What a cry!
The night — its silence — its
rest, was rent in twain by a savage, a sharp, a shrilly
sound that ran from end to end of Thornfield Hall.
My pulse stopped: my heart stood still; my stretched
arm was paralysed. The cry died, and was not
renewed. Indeed, whatever being uttered that
fearful shriek could not soon repeat it: not
the widest-winged condor on the Andes could, twice
in succession, send out such a yell from the cloud
shrouding his eyrie. The thing delivering such
utterance must rest ere it could repeat the effort.
It came out of the third storey; for it passed overhead.
And overhead — yes, in the room just above
my chamber-ceiling — I now heard a struggle:
a deadly one it seemed from the noise; and a half-smothered
voice shouted —
“Help! help! help!” three times rapidly.
“Will no one come?” it cried; and then,
while the staggering and stamping went on wildly,
I distinguished through plank and plaster:-
“Rochester! Rochester! for God’s
sake, come!”
A chamber-door opened: some one ran, or rushed,
along the gallery. Another step stamped on the
flooring above and something fell; and there was silence.
I had put on some clothes, though horror shook all
my limbs; I issued from my apartment. The sleepers
were all aroused: ejaculations, terrified murmurs
sounded in every room; door after door unclosed; one
looked out and another looked out; the gallery filled.
Gentlemen and ladies alike had quitted their beds;
and “Oh! what is it?” — “Who
is hurt?” — “What has happened?”
— “Fetch a light!” —
“Is it fire?” — “Are
there robbers?” — “Where shall
we run?” was demanded confusedly on all hands.
But for the moonlight they would have been in complete
darkness. They ran to and fro; they crowded
together: some sobbed, some stumbled: the
confusion was inextricable.
