"The men in green all forsook England a hundred years ago. I don't think
either summer or harvest or winter moon will ever shine on their revels
more."
Mrs. Fairfax dropped her knitting, wondering what sort of talk this was,
and remarked that Miss Eyre had been a kind and careful teacher.
"Don't trouble yourself to give her a character," returned Mr.
Rochester. "I shall judge for myself. She began by felling my horse."
"You said Mr. Rochester was not peculiar, Mrs. Fairfax," I remonstrated,
when I rejoined her in her room after putting Adela to bed.
After a time my master's manner towards me changed. It became more
uniform. I never seemed in his way. He did not take fits of chilling
hauteur. When he met me, the encounter seemed welcome; he always had a
word, and sometimes a smile. I felt at times as if he were my relation
rather than my master, and so happy did I become that the blanks of
existence were filled up. He had now been resident eight weeks, though
Mrs. Fairfax said he seldom stayed at the Hall longer than a fortnight.
_II.--The Mystery of the Third Floor_
One night, I hardly know whether I had been sleeping or musing, I
started wide awake on hearing a vague murmur, peculiar and lugubrious.
It ceased, but my heart beat anxiously; my inward tranquillity was
broken. The clock, far down in the hall, struck two. Just then my
chamber-door was touched as if fingers swept the panels groping a way
along the dark gallery outside. I was chilled with fear. Then I
remembered that it might be Pilot, and the idea calmed me. But it was
fated I should not sleep that night, for at the very keyhole of my
chamber, as it seemed, a demoniac laugh was uttered. My first impulse
was to rise and fasten the bolt, my next to cry: "Who is there?" Ere
long steps retreated up the gallery towards the third floor staircase,
and then all was still.
"Was it Grace Poole?" thought I. I hurried on my frock, and with a
trembling hand opened the door. There, burning outside, left on the
matting of the gallery, was a candle; and the air was filled with smoke,
which rushed in a cloud from Mr. Rochester's room. In an instant I was
within the chamber. Tongues of fire darted round the bed; the curtains
were on fire, and in the midst lay Mr. Rochester, in deep sleep. I shook
him, but he seemed stupefied. Then I rushed to his basin and ewer, and
deluged the bed with water. He woke with the cry: "Is there a flood?
What is it?"
I briefly related what had transpired. He was now in his dressing-gown,
and, warning me to stay where I was and call no one, he added: "I must
pay a visit to the third floor." A long time elapsed ere he returned,
pale and gloomy.
"I have found it all out," said he; "it is as I thought. You are no
talking fool. Say nothing about it."
He held out his hand as we parted. I gave him mine; he took it in both
his own.
"You have saved my life. I have a pleasure in owing you so immense a
debt. I feel your benefits no burden, Jane."
Strange energy was in his voice.
Till morning I was tossed on a buoyant, but unquiet sea. In the morning
I heard the servants exclaim how providential that master thought of the
water-jug when he had left the candle alight; and passing the room, I
saw, sewing rings on the new curtains, no other than--Grace Poole.
Company now came to the hall, including the beautiful Miss Ingram, whom
rumour associated with Mr. Rochester, as I heard from Mrs. Fairfax.
One day Mr. Rochester had been called away from home, and on his return,
as I was the first inmate of the house to meet him, I remarked: "Oh, are
you aware, Mr. Rochester, that a stranger has arrived since you left
this morning?"
"A stranger! no; I expected no one; did he give his name?"
"His name is Mason, sir, and he comes from the West Indies."
Mr. Rochester was standing near me, and as I spoke he gave my wrist a
convulsive grip, while a spasm caught his breath, and he turned whiter
than ashes.
"Do you feel ill, sir?" I inquired.
"Jane, I've got a blow; I've got a blow, Jane!" he staggered.
Then he sat down and made me sit beside him.
"My little friend," said he, "I wish I were in a quiet island with only
you; and trouble and danger and hideous recollections were removed from
me."
"Can I help you, sir? I'd give my life to serve you."
"Jane, if aid is wanted, I'll seek it at your hands."
"Thank you, sir; tell me what to do."
"Go back into the room; step quietly up to Mason, tell him Mr. Rochester
has come and wishes to see him; show him in here, and then leave me."
At a late hour that night I heard the visitors repair to their chambers
and Mr. Rochester saying: "This way, Mason; this is your room."
He spoke cheerfully, and the gay tones set my heart at ease.
Awaking in the dead of night I stretched my hand to draw the curtain,
for the moon was full and bright. Good God! What a cry! The night was
rent in twain by a savage, shrilly sound that ran from end to end of
Thornfield Hall.
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.
It came out of the third storey. And overhead--yes, in the room just
above my chamber, I heard a deadly struggle, and a half-smothered voice
shout, "Help! help!"
A chamber door opened; someone rushed along the gallery. Another step
stamped on the floor above, and something fell. Then there was silence.
The sleepers were all aroused and gathered in the gallery, which but for
the moonlight would have been in complete darkness. The door at the end
of the gallery opened, and Mr. Rochester advanced with a candle. He had
just descended from the upper storey.
"All's right!" he cried. "A servant has had a nightmare, that is all,
and has taken a fit with fright. Now I must see you all back to your
rooms." And so by dint of coaxing and commanding he contrived to get
them back to their dormitories.
I retreated unnoticed and dressed myself carefully to be ready for
emergencies. About an hour passed, and then a cautious hand tapped low
at my door.
"Are you up and dressed?"
"Yes."
"Then come out quietly."
Mr. Rochester stood in the gallery holding a light.
"Bring a sponge and some volatile salts," said he.