rs
too late!"

He passed on and ascended the stairs, still holding my hand, and still
beckoning the gentlemen to follow him; which they did. We mounted the
first staircase, passed up the gallery, proceeded to the third story:
the low black door, opened by Mr. Rochester's master-key, admitted us to
the tapestried room, with its great bed and its pictorial cabinet.

"You know this place, Mason," said our guide; "she bit and stabbed you
here."

He lifted the hangings from the wall, uncovering the second door; this
too he opened. In a room without a window there burned a fire, guarded
by a high and strong fender, and a lamp suspended from the ceiling by a
chain. Grace Poole bent over the fire, apparently cooking something in a
saucepan. In the deep shade, at the further end of the room, a figure
ran backward and forward. What it was, whether beast or human being, one
could not at first sight tell; it groveled, seemingly, on all fours; it
snatched and growled like some strange wild animal; but it was covered
with clothing; and a quantity of dark grizzled hair, wild as a mane, hid
its head and face.

"Good morning, Mrs. Poole," said Mr. Rochester. "How are you? and how is
your charge to-day?"

"We're tolerable, sir, I thank you," replied Grace, lifting the boiling
mess carefully on to the hob: "rather snappish, but not 'rageous."

A fierce cry seemed to give the lie to her favorable report: the clothed
hyena rose up, and stood tall on its hind feet.

"Ah, sir, she sees you!" exclaimed Grace: "you'd better not stay."

"Only a few moments, Grace; you must allow me a few moments."

"Take care then, sir! for God's sake, take care!"

The maniac bellowed; she parted her shaggy locks from her visage, and
gazed wildly at her visitors. I recognized well that purple face--those
bloated features. Mrs. Poole advanced.

"Keep out of the way," said Mr. Rochester, thrusting her aside; "she has
no knife now, I suppose? and I'm on my guard."

"One never knows what she has, sir, she is so cunning; it is not in
mortal discretion to fathom her craft."

"We had better leave her," whispered Mason.

"Go to the devil!" was his brother-in-law's recommendation.

"'Ware!" cried Grace. The three gentlemen retreated simultaneously. Mr.
Rochester flung me behind him; the lunatic sprang and grappled his
throat viciously, and laid her teeth to his cheek; they struggled. She
was a big woman, in stature almost equaling her husband, and corpu