CHAPTER XX 262
" And dressed?"
" Yes." " Come out, then, quietly." I obeyed. Mr. Rochester stood in the gallery holding a light. " I want you," he said: " come this way: take your time, and make no noise."
My slippers were thin: I could walk the matted floor as softly as a cat. He glided up the gallery and up the stairs, and stopped in the dark, low corridor of the fateful third storey: I had followed and stood at his side.
" Have you a sponge in your room?" he asked in a whisper. " Yes, sir." " Have you any salts-- volatile salts?" " Yes." " Go back and fetch both."
I returned, sought the sponge on the washstand, the salts in my drawer, and once more retraced my steps. He still waited; he held a key in his hand: approaching one of the small, black doors, he put it in the lock; he paused, and addressed me again.
" You don ' t turn sick at the sight of blood?" " I think I shall not: I have never been tried yet." I felt a thrill while I answered him; but no coldness, and no faintness. " Just give me your hand," he said: " it will not do to risk a fainting fit."