"Let me alone," was the answer.
John withdrew without having observed me. Mr. Rochester now tried
to walk about: vainly,--all was too uncertain. He groped his way
back to the house, and, re-entering it, closed the door.
I now drew near and knocked: John's wife opened for me. "Mary," I
said, "how are you?"
She started as if she had seen a ghost: I calmed her. To her
hurried "Is it really you, miss, come at this late hour to this
lonely place?" I answered by taking her hand; and then I followed
her into the kitchen, where John now sat by a good fire. I
explained to them, in few words, that I had heard all which had
happened since I left Thornfield, and that I was come to see Mr.
Rochester. I asked John to go down to the turn-pike-house, where I
had dismissed the chaise, and bring my trunk, which I had left
there: and then, while I removed my bonnet and shawl, I questioned
Mary as to whether I could be accommodated at the Manor House for
the night; and finding that arrangements to that effect, though
difficult, would not be impossible, I informed her I should stay.
Just at this moment the parlour-bell rang.
"When you go in," said I, "tell your master that a person wishes to
speak to him, but do not give my name."
"I don't think he will see you," she answered; "he refuses
everybody."
When she returned, I inquired what he had said. "You are to send in
your name and your business," she replied. She then proceeded to
fill a glass with water, and place it on a tray, together with
candles.
"Is that what he rang for?" I asked.
"Yes: he always has candles brought in at dark, though he is
blind."
"Give the tray to me; I will carry it in."
I took it from her hand: she pointed me out the parlour door. The
tray shook as I held it; the water spilt from the glass; my heart
struck my ribs loud and fast. Mary opened the door for me, and shut
it behind me.
This parlour looked gloomy: a neglected handful of fire burnt low
in the grate; and, leaning over it, with his head supported against
the high, old-fashioned mantelpiece, appeared the blind tenant of
the room. His old dog, Pilot, lay on one side, removed out of the
way, and coiled up as if afraid of being inadvertently trodden upon.
Pilot pricked up his ears when I came in: then he jumped up with a
yelp and a whine, and bounded towards me: he almost knocked the
tray from my hands. I set it on the table; then patted him, and
said softly, "Lie down!" Mr. Rochester turned mechanically to SEE
what the commotion was: but as he SAW nothing, he returned and
sighed.