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"How well you read me, you witch!" interposed Mr. Rochester: "but what did you find in the veil besides its embroidery? Did you find poison, or a dagger, that you look so mournful now?"

"No, no, sir; besides the delicacy and richness of the fabric, I found nothing save Fairfax Rochester's pride; and that did not scare me, because I am used to the sight of the demon.

But, sir, as it grew dark, the wind rose: it blew yesterday evening, not as it blows now-wild and high-but 'with a sullen, moaning sound' far more eerie.

I wished you were at home.

I came into this room, and the sight of the empty chair and fireless hearth chilled me.

For some time after I went to bed, I could not sleep-a sense of anxious excitement distressed me.

The gale still rising, seemed to my ear to muffle a mournful under-sound; whether in the house or abroad I could not at first tell, but it recurred, doubtful yet doleful at every lull; at last I made out it must be some dog howling at a distance.

I was glad when it ceased.

On sleeping, I continued in dreams the idea of a dark and gusty night.

I continued also the wish to be with you, and experienced a strange, regretful consciousness of some barrier dividing us.

During all my first sleep, I was following the windings of an unknown road; total obscurity environed me; rain pelted me; I was burdened with the charge of a little child: a very small creature, too young and feeble to walk, and which shivered in my cold arms, and wailed piteously in my ear.

I thought, sir, that you were on the road a long way before me; and I strained every nerve to overtake you, and made effort on effort to utter your name and entreat you to stop-but my movements were fettered, and my voice still died away inarticulate; while you, I felt, withdrew farther and farther every moment."

"And these dreams weigh on your spirits now, Jane, when I am close to you? Little nervous subject! Forget visionary woe, and think only of real happiness! You say you love me, Janet: yes-I will not forget that; and you cannot deny it.

Those words did not die inarticulate on your lips.

I heard them clear and soft: a thought too solemn perhaps, but sweet as music-'I think it is a glorious thing to have the hope of living with you, Edward, because I love you.' Do you love me, Jane?-repeat it."

"I do, sir-I do, with my whole heart."

"Well," he said, after some minutes' silence, "it is strange; but that sentence has penetrated my breast painfully.

Why? I think because you said it with such an earnest, religious energy, and because your upward gaze at me now is the very sublime of faith, truth, and devotion: it is too much as if some spirit were near me.

Look wicked, Jane: as you know well how to look: coin one of your wild, shy, provoking smiles; tell me you hate me-tease me, vex me; do anything but move me: I would rather be incensed than saddened."

"I will tease you and vex you to your heart's content, when I have finished my tale: but hear me to the end."

"I thought, Jane, you had told me all. I thought I had found the source of your melancholy in a dream."

I shook my head. "What! is there more? But I will not believe it to be anything important. I warn you of incredulity beforehand. Go on."

The disquietude of his air, the somewhat apprehensive impatience of his manner, surprised me: but I proceeded.

"I dreamt another dream, sir: that Thornfield Hall was a dreary ruin, the retreat of bats and owls.

I thought that of all the stately front nothing remained but a shell-like wall, very high and very fragile-looking.

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