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‘What have you heard? What do you see?’ asked St. John. I saw
nothing, but I heard a voice somewhere cry‘Jane! Jane! Jane!’-
‘O God! what is it?’ I gasped.
I might have said, ‘Where is it?’ for it did not seem in the room-nor
in the house-nor in the garden; it did not come out of the air-nor
from under the earthnor from overhead. I had heard it-where, or
whence, for ever impossible to know! And it was the voice of a
human being-a known, loved, well-remembered voice-that of
Edward Fairfax Rochester; and it spoke in pain and woe, wildly,
‘I am coming!’ I cried. ‘Wait for me! Oh, I will come!’ I flew to the
door and looked into the passage: it was dark. I ran out into the
garden: it was void.
‘Where are you?’ I exclaimed.
The hills beyond Marsh Glen sent the answer faintly back-‘Where
are you?’ I listened. The wind sighed low in the firs: all was
moorland loneliness and midnight hush.
‘Down superstition!’ I commented, as that spectre rose up black by
the black yew at the gate. ‘This is not thy deception, nor thy
witchcraft: it is the work of nature. She was roused, and did-no
miracle-but her best.’ I broke from St. John, who had followed,
and would have detained me. It was my time to assume
ascendency. My powers were in play and in force. I told him
to forbear question or remark; I desired him to leave me: I must
and would be alone. He obeyed at once. Where there is energy to
command well enough, obedience never fails. I mounted to my
chamber; locked myself in; fell on my knees; and prayed in my
way-a different way to St. John’s, but effective in its own fashion. I
seemed to penetrate very near a Mighty Spirit; and my soul rushed
out in gratitude at His feet. I rose from the thanksgiving-took a
resolve-and lay down, unscared, enlightened-eager but for the