beatanxiously:myinwardtranquillitywasbroken.Theclock,fardowninthehall,strucktwo.Justthenitseemedmychamber-doorwastouched;asiffingershadsweptthepanelsingropingawayalongthedarkgalleryoutside.Isaid,“Whoisthere?”Nothinganswered.Iwaschilledwithfear.

    AllatonceIrememberedthatitmightbePilot,who,whe-doorcedtobeleftopen,notunfrequentlyfoundhistothethresholdofMr.Rochester’schamber:Ihadseenhimlyingtheremyselfinthems.Theideacalmedmesomewhat:Ilaydown.Silenposesthenerves;andasanunbrokenhushnnedagainthroughthewholehouse,Ibegahereturnofslumber.ButitwasnotfatedthatIshouldsleepthatnight.Adreamhadscarcelyapproachedmyear,whenitfledaffrighted,scaredbyamarrow-freezingienough.

    Thiswasademoniaclaugh—low,suppressed,atered,asitseemed,attheverykeyholeofmychamberdoor.Theheadofmybedwashedoor,andIthoughtatfirstthegoblin-laugherstoodatmybedside—orrather,crouchedbymypillow:butIrose,lookedround,andcouldseenothing;while,asIstillgazed,theunnaturalsoundwasreiterated:andIkcamefrombehindthepanels.Myfirstimpulsewastoriseandfaste;my,againtocryout,“Whoisthere?”

    Somethinggurgledandmoaned.Erelong,stepsretreatedupthegallerytowardsthethird-storeystaircase:adoorhadlatelybeeoshutinthatstaircase;Ihearditopenandclose,andallwasstill.

    “WasthatGracePoole?andisshepossessedwithadevil?”thoughtI.Impossiblenowtoremainlongerbymyself:ImustgotoMrs.Fairfax.Ihurriedonmyfrodashawl;Iwithdrewtheboltahedoorwithatremblinghand.Therewasadleburningjustoutside,andoinginthegallery.Iwassurprisedatthiscircumstastillmorewa