CHAPTER XV 187
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.
The hiss of the quenched element, the breakage of a pitcher which I flung from my hand when I had emptied it, and, above all, the splash of the shower-bath I had liberally bestowed, roused Mr. Rochester at last. Though it was now dark, I knew he was awake; because I heard him fulminating strange anathemas at finding himself lying in a pool of water.
" Is there a flood?" he cried.
" No, sir," I answered; " but there has been a fire: get up, do; you are quenched now; I will fetch you a candle."
" In the name of all the elves in Christendom, is that Jane Eyre?" he demanded. " What have you done with me, witch, sorceress? Who is in the room besides you? Have you plotted to drown me?"
" I will fetch you a candle, sir; and, in Heaven ' s name, get up. Somebody has plotted something: you cannot too soon find out who and what it is."
" There! I am up now; but at your peril you fetch a candle yet: wait two minutes till I get into some dry garments, if any dry there be-- yes, here is my dressing-gown. Now run!"