Something gurgled and moaned. Ere long，steps retreated up the gallery towards the third-storey staircase: a door had lately been made to shut in that staircase; I heard it open and close，and all was still.

"Was that Grace poole? and is she possessed with a devil?" thought I. Impossible now to remain longer by myself: I must go to Mrs. Fairfax. I hurried on my frock and a shawl; I withdrew the bolt and opened the door with a trembling hand. There was a candle burning just outside，and on the matting in the gallery. I was surprised at this circumstance: but still more was I amazed to perceive the air quite dim，as if filled with smoke; and，while looking to the right hand and left，to find whence these blue wreaths issued，I became further aware of a strong smell of burning.

Something creaked: it was a door ajar; and that door was Mr.

Rochester"s，and the smoke rushed in a cloud from thence. I thought no more of Mrs. Fairfax; I thought no more of Grace poole，or the laugh: in an instant，I was within the chamber. Tongues of flame darted round the bed: the curtains were on fire. In the midst of blaze and vapour，Mr. Rochester lay stretched motionless，in deep sleep.

"Wake! wake!" I cried. I shook him，but he only murmured and turned: the smoke had stupefied him. Not a moment could be lost: the very sheets were kindling，I rushed to his basin and ewer; fortunately，one was wide and the other deep，and both were filled with water. I heaved them up，deluged the bed and its occupant，flew back to my own room，brought my own water-jug，baptized the couch afresh，and，by God"s aid，succeeded in extinguishing the flames which were devouring it.