"When will he e? When will he e?" I cried inwardly，as the night lingered and lingered- as my bleeding patient drooped，moaned，sickened: and neither day nor aid arrived. I had，again and again，held the water to Mason"s white lips; again and again offered him the stimulating salts: my efforts seemed ineffectual: either bodily or mental suffering，or loss of blood，or all three bined，were fast prostrating his strength. He moaned so，and looked so weak，wild，and lost，I feared he was dying; and I might not even speak to him.

The candle，wasted at last，went out; as it expired，I perceived streaks of grey light edging the window curtains: dawn was then approaching. presently I heard pilot bark far below，out of his distant kennel in the courtyard: hope revived. Nor was it unwarranted: in five minutes more the grating key，the yielding lock，warned me my watch was relieved. It could not have lasted more than two hours: many a week has seemed shorter.

Mr. Rochester entered，and with him the surgeon he had been to fetch.

"Now，Carter，be on the alert," he said to this last: "I give you but half an hour for dressing the wound，fastening the bandages，getting the patient downstairs and all."

"But is he fit to move，sir?"

"No doubt of it; it is nothing serious; he is nervous，his spirits must be kept up. e，set to work."

Mr. Rochester drew back the thick curtain，drew up the holland blind，let in all the daylight he could; and I was surprised and cheered to see how far dawn was advanced: what rosy streaks were beginning to brighten the east. Then he approached Mason，whom the surgeon was already handling.