Here then I was in the third storey,fastened into one of its mystic cells; night around me; a pale and bloody spectacle under my eyes and hands; a murderess hardly separated from me by a single door: yes- that was appalling- the rest I could bear; but I shuddered at the thought of Grace poole bursting out upon me.
I must keep to my post,however. I must watch this ghastly countenance- these blue,still lips forbidden to unclose- these eyes now shut,now opening,now wandering through the room,now fixing on me,and ever glazed with the dulness of horror. I must dip my hand again and again in the basin of blood and water,and wipe away the trickling gore. I must see the light of the unsnuffed candle wane on my employment; the shadows darken on the wrought,antique tapestry round me,and grow black under the hangings of the vast old bed,and quiver strangely over the doors of a great cabinet opposite- whose front,divided into twelve panels,bore,in grim design,the heads of the twelve apostles,each enclosed in its separate panel as in a frame; while above them at the top rose an ebon crucifix and a dying Christ.
According as the shifting obscurity and flickering gleam hovered here or glanced there,it was now the bearded physician,Luke,that bent his brow; now St. John"s long hair that waved; and anon the devilish face of Judas,that grew out of the panel,and seemed gathering life and threatening a revelation of the arch-traitor- ofSatan himself- in his subordinate"s form.
Amidst all this,I had to listen as well as watch: to listen for the movements of the wild beast or the fiend in yonder side den. But since Mr. Rochester"s visit it seemed spellbound: all the night I heard but three sounds at three long intervals,- a step creak,a momentary renewal of the snarling,canine noise,and a deep human groan.