It came out of the third storey. And overhead--yes, in the room just above my chamber, I heard a deadly struggle, and a half-smothered voice shout, "Help! help!"
A chamber door opened; someone rushed along the gallery. Another step stamped on the floor above, and something fell. Then there was silence.
The sleepers were all aroused and gathered in the gallery, which but for the moonlight would have been in complete darkness. The door at the end of the gallery opened, and Mr. Rochester advanced with a candle. He had just descended from the upper storey.
"All's right!" he cried. "A servant has had a nightmare, that is all, and has taken a fit with fright. Now I must see you all back to your rooms." And so by dint of coaxing and commanding he contrived to get them back to their dormitories.
I retreated unnoticed and dressed myself carefully to be ready for emergencies. About an hour passed, and then a cautious hand tapped low at my door.
"Are you up and dressed?"
"Yes."
"Then come out quietly."
Mr. Rochester stood in the gallery holding a light.
"Bring a sponge and some volatile salts," said he.