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He lifted the hangings from the wall, uncovering the second door:
this, too, he opened. In a room without a window, there burnt a fire
guarded by a high and strong fender, and a lamp suspended from the
ceiling by a chain. Grace Poole bent over the fire, apparently cooking
something in a saucepan. In the deep shade, at the farther end of
the room, a figure ran backwards and forwards. What it was, whether
beast or human being, one could not, at first sight, tell: it
grovelled, seemingly, on all fours; it snatched and growled like
some strange wild animal: but it was covered with clothing, and a
quantity of dark, grizzled hair, wild as a mane, hid its head and
face.
'Good-morrow, Mrs. Poole!' said Mr. Rochester. 'How are you? and
how is your charge to-day?'
'We're tolerable, sir, I thank you,' replied Grace, lifting the
boiling mess carefully on to the hob: 'rather snappish, but not
'rageous.'
A fierce cry seemed to give the lie to her favourable report: the
clothed hyena rose up, and stood tall on its hind-feet.
'Ah! sir, she sees you!' exclaimed Grace: 'you'd better not stay.'
'Only a few moments, Grace: you must allow me a few moments.'
'Take care then, sir!- for God's sake, take care!'
The maniac bellowed: she parted her shaggy locks from her visage,
and gazed wildly at her visitors. I recognised well that purple face,-
those bloated features. Mrs. Poole advanced.
'Keep out of the way,' said Mr. Rochester, thrusting her aside:
'she has no knife now, I suppose, and I'm on my guard!'
'One never knows what she has, sir: she is so cunning: it is not in
mortal discretion to fathom her craft.'
'We had better leave her,' whispered Mason.
'Go to the devil!' was his brother-in-law's recommendation.
''Ware!' cried Grace. The three gentlemen retreated simultaneously.
Mr. Rochester flung me behind him: the lunatic sprang and grappled his
throat viciously, and laid her teeth to his cheek: they struggled. She
was a big woman, in stature almost equalling her husband, and
corpulent besides: she showed virile force in the contest- more than
once she almost throttled him, athletic as he was. He could have
settled her with a well-planted blow: but he would not strike: he
would only wrestle. At last he mastered her arms; Grace Poole gave him
a cord, and he pinioned them behind her: with more rope, which was
at hand, he bound her to a chair. The operation was performed amidst
the fiercest yells and the most convulsive plunges. Mr. Rochester then
turned to the spectators: he looked at them with a smile both acrid
and desolate.
'That is my wife,' said he. 'Such is the sole conjugal embrace I am
ever to know- such are the endearments which are to solace my
leisure hours! And this is what I wished to have' (laying his hand
on my shoulder): 'this young girl, who stands so grave and quiet at
the mouth of hell, looking collectedly at the gambols of a demon. I