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. I wandered, on a moonlight night, through
the grass-grown enclosure within: here I stumbled over a marble
hearth, and there over a fallen fragment of cornice. Wrapped up
in a shawl, I still carried the unknown little child: I might not
lay it down anywhere, however tired were my arms -- however much its
weight impeded my progress, I must retain it. I heard the gallop
of a horse at a distance on the road; I was sure it was you; and
you were departing for many years and for a distant country. I
climbed the thin wall with frantic perilous haste, eager to catch
one glimpse of you from the top: the stones rolled from under my
feet, the ivy branches I grasped gave way, the child clung round
my neck in terror, and almost strangled me; at last I gained the
summit. I saw you like a speck on a white track, lessening every
moment. The blast blew so strong I could not stand. I sat down
on the narrow ledge; I hushed the scared infant in my lap: you
turned an angle of the road: I bent forward to take a last look;
the wall crumbled; I was shaken; the child rolled from my knee, I
lost my balance, fell, and woke."
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