"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."
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