oil painting for sale

Mrs. Fairfax. I hurried on my frock and a shawl; I withdrew the bolt
and opened the door with a trembling hand. There was a candle
burning just outside, and on the matting in the gallery. I was
surprised at this circumstance: but still more was I amazed to
perceive the air quite dim, as if filled with smoke; and, while
looking to the right hand and left, to find whence these blue
wreaths issued, I became further aware of a strong smell of burning.
Something creaked: it was a door ajar; and that door was Mr.
Rochester's, and the smoke rushed in a cloud from thence. I thought no
more of Mrs. Fairfax; I thought no more of Grace Poole, or the
laugh: in an instant, I was within the chamber. Tongues of flame
darted round the bed: the curtains were on fire. In the midst of blaze
and vapour, Mr. Rochester lay stretched motionless, in deep sleep.
'Wake! wake!' I cried. I shook him, but he only murmured and
turned: the smoke had stupefied him. Not a moment could be lost: the
very sheets were kindling, I rushed to his basin and ewer;
fortunately, one was wide and the other deep, and both were filled
with water. I heaved them up, deluged the bed and its occupant, flew
back to my own room, brought my own water-jug, baptized the couch