He descended the one step, and advanced slowly and gropingly towards the grass-plat. Where was his daring stride now? Then he paused, as if he knew not which way to turn. He lifted his hand and opened his eyelids; gazed blank, and with a straining effort, on the sky, and toward the amphitheatre of trees: one saw that all to him was void darkness. He stretched his right hand (the left arm, the mutilated one, he kept hidden in his bosom); he seemed to wish by touch to gain an idea of what lay around him: he met but vacancy still; for the trees were some yards off where he stood. He relinquished the endeavour, folded his arms, and stood quiet and mute in the rain, now falling fast on his uncovered head. At this moment John approached him from some quarter.

     "Will you take my arm, sir?" he said; "there is a heavy shower coming on: had you not better go in?"

     "Let me alone," was the answer.

     John withdrew without having observed me. Mr. Rochester now tried to walk about: vainly,--all was too uncertain. He groped his way back to the house, and, re-entering it, closed the door.

     I now drew near and knocked: John's wife opened for me. "Mary," I said, "how are you?"