Then my own thoughts worried me. What crime was this that lived
incarnate in this sequestered mansion, and could neither be expelled
nor subdued by the owner? -- what mystery, that broke out now in
fire and now in blood, at the deadest hours of night? What creature
was it, that, masked in an ordinary woman's face and shape, uttered
the voice, now of a mocking demon, and anon of a carrion-seeking
bird of prey?
And this man I bent over -- this commonplace, quiet stranger --
how had he become involved in the web of horror? and why had the
Fury flown at him? What made him seek this quarter of the house
at an untimely season, when he should have been asleep in bed? I
had heard Mr. Rochester assign him an apartment below -- what
brought him here! And why, now, was he so tame under the violence
or treachery done him? Why did he so quietly submit to the
concealment Mr. Rochester enforced? Why DID Mr. Rochester enforce
this concealment? His guest had been outraged, his own life
on a former occasion had been hideously plotted against; and both
attempts he smothered in secrecy and sank in oblivion! Lastly, I
saw Mr. Mason was submissive to Mr. Rochester; that the impetuous
will of the latter held complete sway over the inertness of the
former: the few words which had passed between them assured me of
this. It was evident that in their former intercourse, the passive
disposition of the one had been habitually influenced by the active
energy of the other: whence then had arisen Mr. Rochester's dismay
when he heard of Mr. Mason's arrival? Why had the mere name of
this unresisting individual -- whom his word now sufficed to control
like a child -- fallen on him, a few hours since, as a thunderbolt
might fall on an oak?
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