I was come to see Mr. Rochester. I asked John to go down to the turnpike-house, where I had dismissed the chaise, and bring my trunk, which I had left there: and then, while I removed my bonnet and shawl, I questioned Mary as to whether I could be accommodated at the Manor House for the night; and finding that arrangements to that effect, though difficult, would not be impossible, I informed her I should stay. Just at this moment the parlour-bell rang.
“When you go in,” said I, “tell your master that a person wishes to speak to him, but do not give my name.”
“I don’t think he will see you,” she answered; “he refuses everybody.”
When she returned, I inquired what he had said.
“You are to send in your name and your business,” she replied.
She then proceeded to fill a glass with water, and place it on a tray, together with candles.
“Is that what he rang for?” I asked.
“Yes: he always has candles brought in at dark, though he is blind.”
“Give the tray to me; I will carry it in.”
I took it from her hand: she pointed me out the parlour door. The tray shook as I held it; the water spilt from the glass; my heart struck my ribs loud and fast. Mary opened the door for me, and shut it behind me.
This parlour looked gloomy: a neglected handful of fire burnt low in the grate; and, leaning over it, with his head supported