The Complete Novels. Эмили Бронте

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. Come, 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.

      “Now, my good fellow, how are you?” he asked.

      “She’s done for me, I fear,” was the faint reply.

      “Not a whit! — courage! This day fortnight you’ll hardly be a pin the worse of it: you’ve lost a little blood; that’s all. Carter, assure him there’s no danger.”

      “I can do that conscientiously,” said Carter, who had now undone the bandages; “only I wish I could have got here sooner: he would not have bled so much — but how is this? The flesh on the shoulder is torn as well as cut. This wound was not done with a knife: there have been teeth here!”

      “She bit me,” he murmured. “She worried me like a tigress, when Rochester got the knife from her.”

      “You should not have yielded: you should have grappled with her at once,” said Mr. Rochester.

      “But under such circumstances, what could one do?” returned Mason. “Oh, it was frightful!” he added, shuddering. “And I did not expect it: she looked so quiet at first.”

      “I warned you,” was his friend’s answer; “I said — be on your guard when you go near her. Besides, you might have waited till tomorrow, and had me with you: it was mere folly to attempt the interview tonight, and alone.”

      “I thought I could have done some good.”

      “You thought! you thought! Yes, it makes me impatient to hear you: but, however, you have suffered, and are likely to suffer enough for not taking my advice; so I’ll say no more. Carter — hurry! — hurry! The sun will soon rise, and I must have him off.”

      “Directly, sir; the shoulder is just bandaged. I must look to this other wound in the arm: she has had her teeth here too, I think.”

      “She sucked the blood: she said she’d drain my heart,” said Mason.

      I saw Mr. Rochester shudder: a singularly marked expression of disgust, horror, hatred, warped his countenance almost to distortion; but he only said —

      “Come, be silent, Richard, and never mind her gibberish: don’t repeat it.”

      “I wish I could forget it,” was the answer.

      “You will when you are out of the country: when you get back to Spanish Town, you may think of her as dead and buried — or rather, you need not think of her at all.”

      “Impossible to forget this night!”

      “It is not impossible: have some energy, man. You thought you were as dead as a herring two hours since, and you are all alive and talking now. There! — Carter has done with you or nearly so; I’ll make you decent in a trice. Jane” (he turned to me for the first time since his re-entrance), “take this key: go down into my bedroom, and walk straight forward into my dressing-room: open the top drawer of the wardrobe and take out a clean shirt and neck-handkerchief: bring them here; and be nimble.”

      I went; sought the repository he had mentioned, found the articles named, and returned with them.

      “Now,” said he, “go to the other side of the bed while I order his toilet; but don’t leave the room: you may be wanted again.”

      I retired as directed.

      “Was anybody stirring below when you went down, Jane?” inquired Mr. Rochester presently.

      “No, sir; all was very still.”

      “We shall get you off cannily, Dick: and it will be better, both for your sake, and for that of the poor creature in yonder. I have striven long to avoid exposure, and I should not like it to come at last. Here, Carter, help him on with his waistcoat. Where did you leave your furred cloak? You can’t travel a mile without that, I know, in this damned cold climate. In your room? — Jane, run down to Mr. Mason’s room, — the one next mine, — and fetch a cloak you will see there.”

      Again I ran, and again returned, bearing an immense mantle lined and edged with fur.

      “Now, I’ve another errand for you,” said my untiring master; “you must away to my room again. What a mercy you are shod with velvet, Jane! — a clodhopping messenger would never do at this juncture. You must open the middle drawer of my toilet-table and take out a little phial and a little glass you will find there, — quick!”

      I flew thither and back, bringing the desired vessels.

      “That’s well! Now, doctor, I shall take the liberty of administering a dose myself, on my own responsibility. I got this cordial at Rome, of an Italian charlatan — a fellow you would have kicked, Carter. It is not a thing to be used indiscriminately, but it is good upon occasion: as now, for instance. Jane, a little water.”

      He held out the tiny glass, and I half filled it from the water-bottle on the washstand.

      “That will do; — now wet the lip of the phial.”

      I did so; he measured twelve drops of a crimson liquid, and presented it to Mason.

      “Drink, Richard: it will give you the heart you lack, for an hour or so.”

      “But will it hurt me? — is it inflammatory?”

      “Drink! drink! drink!”

      Mr. Mason obeyed, because it was evidently useless to resist. He was dressed now: he still looked pale, but he was no longer gory and sullied. Mr. Rochester let him sit three minutes after he had swallowed the liquid; he then took his arm —

      “Now I am sure you can get on your feet,” he said — “try.”

      The patient rose.

      “Carter, take him under the other shoulder. Be of good cheer, Richard; step out — that’s it!”

      “I do feel better,” remarked Mr. Mason.

      “I am sure you do. Now, Jane, trip on before us away to the backstairs; unbolt the side-passage door, and tell the driver of the post-chaise you will see in the yard — or just outside, for I told him not to drive his rattling wheels over the pavement — to be ready; we are coming: and, Jane, if any one is about, come to the foot of the stairs and hem.”

      It was by this time half-past five, and the sun was on the point of rising; but I found the kitchen still dark and silent. The side-passage door was fastened; I opened it with as little noise as possible: all the yard was quiet; but the gates stood wide open, and there was a post-chaise, with horses ready harnessed, and driver seated on the box, stationed outside. I approached him, and said the gentlemen were coming; he nodded: then I looked carefully round and listened. The stillness of early morning slumbered everywhere; the curtains were yet drawn over the servants’ chamber windows; little birds were just twittering in the blossom-blanched orchard trees, whose boughs drooped like white garlands over the wall enclosing one side of the yard; the carriage horses stamped from time to time in their closed stables: all else was still.

      The gentlemen now appeared. Mason, supported by Mr. Rochester and the surgeon, seemed to walk with tolerable ease: they assisted him into the chaise; Carter followed.

      “Take