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way, ma'am: he wouldn't leave the house till every one else was out
before him. As he came down the great staircase at last, after Mrs.
Rochester had flung herself from the battlements, there was a great
crash- all fell. He was taken out from under the ruins, alive, but
sadly hurt: a beam had fallen in such a way as to protect him
partly; but one eye was knocked out, and one hand so crushed that
Mr. Carter, the surgeon, had to amputate it directly. The other eye
inflamed: he lost the sight of that also. He is now helpless,
indeed- blind and a cripple.'
'Where is he? Where does he now live?'
'At Ferndean, a manor-house on a farm he has, about thirty miles
off: quite a desolate spot.'
'Who is with him?'
'Old John and his wife: he would have none else. He is quite broken
down, they say.'
'Have you any sort of conveyance?'
'We have a chaise, ma'am, a very handsome chaise.'
'Let it be got ready instantly; and if your post-boy can drive me
to Ferndean before dark this day, I'll pay both you and him twice
the hire you usually demand.'
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CHAPTER XXXVII
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THE manor-house of Ferndean was a building of considerable
antiquity, moderate size, and no architectural pretensions, deep
buried in a wood. I had heard of it before. Mr. Rochester often
spoke of it, and sometimes went there. His father had purchased the
estate for the sake of the game covers. He would have let the house,
but could find no tenant, in consequence of its ineligible and
insalubrious site. Ferndean then remained uninhabited and unfurnished,
with the exception of some two or three rooms fitted up for the
accommodation of the squire when he went there in the season to shoot.
To this house I came just ere dark on an evening marked by the
characteristics of sad sky, cold gale, and continued small penetrating
rain. The last mile I performed on foot, having dismissed the chaise
and driver with the double remuneration I had promised. Even when
within a very short distance of the manor-house, you could see nothing
of it, so thick and dark grew the timber of the gloomy wood about
it. Iron gates between granite pillars showed me where to enter, and
passing through them, I found myself at once in the twilight of
close-ranked trees. There was a grass-grown track descending the
forest aisle between hoar and knotty shafts and under branched arches.
I followed it, expecting soon to reach the dwelling; but it
stretched on and on, it wound far and farther: no sign of habitation
or grounds was visible.
I thought I had taken a wrong direction and lost my way. The
darkness of natural as well as of sylvan dusk gathered over me. I
looked round in search of another road. There was none: all was
interwoven stem, columnar trunk, dense summer foliage- no opening