Сборник лучших произведений английской классической литературы. Уровень 3

Through the smoke I saw flames on the curtains of the bed, and Mr. Rochester lying motionless, in deep sleep.

“Wake up!” I shook him, but he only murmured and turned- the smoke had dulled his senses. I rushed to his basin, where I found a water jug as well. Both were full of water and I lifted them up in turn, carried them over to the bed and drenched the curtains and blankets. I flew back to my own room, brought my own water jug and extinguished the fire.

The hiss of the dying fire and the splash of water woke Mr. Rochester at last.

“Is there a flood?” he cried.

“No, sir,' I answered, 'but there has been a fire. Get up. You are wet now. I will fetch you a candle.”

“Is that Jane Eyre?” he demanded. “What have you done with me, witch? Have you plotted to drown me?”

I fetched the candle from outside my door. When I returned, Mr. Rochester was wearing his dressing gown. He took the candle from me and inspected the blackened wet bed.

“What happened?” he asked. “Who did this?”

I told him everything-how I had heard the murmur and the strange laugh, which I knew from before, and footsteps going up to the attic, and how the candle had been left outside my room.

“Should I fetch Mrs. Fairfax?” I asked.

“No-no, don't fetch anyone,” he said. “Stay here in this chair, and wait for me. I am going upstairs for a minute, and I will be back soon. Don't move.”

I waited there in the darkness for what seemed like hours. Soon he came back, looking gloomy.

“I have sorted it all out,” he said. He stared at me. “I forget whether you said you saw anything when you opened your chamber door.”

“No, sir, only the candlestick on the ground.”

“But you heard an odd laugh? You have heard that laugh before, I think, or something like it?”

“Yes, sir: there is a woman who sews here, called Grace Poole, – she laughs in that way.”

“Grace Poole-you have guessed it. She's-well, she's a little eccentric. Meantime, I am glad that you are the only person, besides myself, acquainted with the precise details of tonight's incident. Say nothing about it. I will take care of it myself.”

“Good-night then, sir.”

He seemed surprised. “What!” he exclaimed, “are you quitting me already, and in that way?”

“You just said I should go back to my room, sir.”

“Yes, but not in that brief, dry fashion. Why, you have saved my life! Let us at least shake hands.”

He held out his hand. I gave him mine. He took it first in one, them in both his own.

“You have saved my life: I have a pleasure in owing you so immense a debt. I cannot say more.”

“Good-night again, sir. There is no debt, sir,” I said. “I am glad I happened to be awake, and was able to help[25 - I am glad I happened to be awake, and was able to help. – Я рада, что не спала и смогла помочь.].”

But he would not let go of my hand.

“I knew…” he said, “I knew as soon as I saw you, that you would do me good in some way.” He stared at me intensely.

“I think I hear Mrs. Fairfax stirring, sir,” I said.

“Well, then you must go,” he said, releasing me.

Back in my bed, I could not sleep for a second. My brain turned over and over the strange and dramatic events of the night, until I was exhausted. Feelings of terror, when I thought of what might have happened, constantly changed places with joy, when I thought of the touch of his hand, and the look I had seen in his eyes. Too excited to rest, I rose as soon as day dawned.

Chapter 17

I both wished and feared to see Mr. Rochester on the day, which followed this sleepless night. I wanted to hear his voice again, yet feared to meet his eye. But the morning passed just as usual. Nothing interrupted the studies. Later I heard Mrs. Fairfax and the servants talking about the fire as if it had been nothing but an accident, which Mr. Rochester himself had dealt with.

“What a blessing he was not burnt in his bed!” they exclaimed. “It is always dangerous to keep a candle lit at night.” “It's a mercy he thought of using the water jug.”

When I walked past Mr. Rochester's room, I saw that everything had been cleaned up. The curtains were gone from the bed, and Leah was busy scrubbing the smoke-stained window panes.

I was about to go in and speak to her, when I saw someone else sitting in the room. It was Grace Poole. She was sewing new bed curtains, and looked as plain and poker-faced as ever. How could she still be here, after what she had done last night? I was sure she would have been dismissed immediately. I stepped into the room.

“Good morning, Grace,” I said. “Has anything happened here? I thought I heard the servants all talking together a while ago…”

“Only master had been reading in his bed last night. He fell asleep with his candle lit, and the curtains got on fire, but he woke up just in time to put out the fire.”

There was not a hint of guilt in her face.

“It's a wonder no one heard anything,” I said. “Didn't he wake anyone?”

“The servants sleep so far off,” said Grace, concentrating on her sewing. “Only you and Mrs. Fairfax sleep near this room, and she is an old lady and sleeps soundly. Why, did you hear something, Miss?” With this she looked up at me, and at last I thought I could see awareness behind her eyes.

“I did,” I said, “but I thought it was just Pilot. But then… Pilot does not laugh, does he? I heard a laugh.”

Grace took another piece of thread and threaded her needle purposefully. “I hardly think the master would laugh, Miss, when he was in such danger,” she remarked. “Perhaps you were dreaming.”

“I was not dreaming.”

“Have you told master that you heard a laugh?”

“I have not had the opportunity of speaking to him this morning.”

“You did not think of opening your door and looking out into the gallery?” she further asked.

She seemed to interrogate me in return trying to find out how much I knew.

“On the contrary,” said I, “I bolted my door.”

“Don't you bolt it every night?”

“No.”

“It will be wise so to do.”