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still retained my 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.
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CHAPTER XVI
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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 Adele'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 downstairs 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 commonplace features, was nothing either
of the paleness or desperation one would have expected to see