painting in oil

afresh, and, by God's aid, succeeded in extinguishing the flames which
were devouring it.
The hiss of the quenched element, the breakage of a pitcher which I
flung from my hand when I had emptied it, and, above all, the splash
of the shower-bath I had liberally bestowed, roused Mr. Rochester at
last. Though it was now dark, I knew he was awake; because I heard him
fulminating strange anathemas at finding himself lying in a pool of
water.
'Is there a flood?' he cried.
No, sir,' I answered; 'but there has been a fire: get up, do; you
are quenched now; I will fetch you a candle.'
'In the name of all the elves in Christendom, is that Jane Eyre?'
he demanded. 'What have you done with me, witch, sorceress? Who is
in the room besides you? Have you plotted to drown me?'
'I will fetch you a candle, sir; and, in Heaven's name, get up.
Somebody has plotted something: you cannot too soon find out who and
what it is.'
'There! I am up now; but at your peril you fetch a candle yet: wait
two minutes till I get into some dry garments, if any dry there be-
yes, here is my dressing-gown. Now run!'
I did run; I brought the candle which still remained in the