“Bride!” Mr. Rochester bowed, and the curtain fell.

A considerable interval elapsed before it again rose.  Its second rising displayed a more elaborately prepared scene than the last.  The drawing-room, as I have before observed, was raised two steps above the dining-room, and on the top of the upper step, placed a yard or two back within the room, appeared a large marble basin —­ which I recognised as an ornament of the conservatory —­ where it usually stood, surrounded by exotics, and tenanted by gold fish —­ and whence it must have been transported with some trouble, on account of its size and weight.

Seated on the carpet, by the side of this basin, was seen Mr. Rochester, costumed in shawls, with a turban on his head.  His dark eyes and swarthy skin and Paynim features suited the costume exactly:  he looked the very model of an Eastern emir, an agent or a victim of the bowstring.  Presently advanced into view Miss Ingram.  She, too, was attired in oriental fashion:  a crimson scarf tied sash-like round the waist:  an embroidered handkerchief knotted about her temples; her beautifully-moulded arms bare, one of them upraised in the act of supporting a pitcher, poised gracefully on her head.  Both her cast of form and feature, her complexion and her general air, suggested the idea of some Israelitish princess of the patriarchal days; and such was doubtless the character she intended to represent.

She approached the basin, and bent over it as if to fill her pitcher; she again lifted it to her head.  The personage on the well-brink now seemed to accost her; to make some request:- “She hasted, let down her pitcher on her hand, and gave him to drink.”  From the bosom of his robe he then produced a casket, opened it and showed magnificent bracelets and earrings; she acted astonishment and admiration; kneeling, he laid the treasure at her feet; incredulity and delight were expressed by her looks and gestures; the stranger fastened the bracelets on her arms and the rings in her ears.  It was Eliezer and Rebecca:  the camels only were wanting.

The divining party again laid their heads together:  apparently they could not agree about the word or syllable the scene illustrated.  Colonel Dent, their spokesman, demanded “the tableau of the whole;” whereupon the curtain again descended.

On its third rising only a portion of the drawing-room was disclosed; the rest being concealed by a screen, hung with some sort of dark and coarse drapery.  The marble basin was removed; in its place, stood a deal table and a kitchen chair:  these objects were visible by a very dim light proceeding from a horn lantern, the wax candles being all extinguished.

Amidst this sordid scene, sat a man with his clenched hands resting on his knees, and his eyes bent on the ground.  I knew Mr. Rochester; though the begrimed face, the disordered dress (his coat hanging loose from one arm, as if it had been almost torn from his back in a scuffle), the desperate and scowling countenance, the rough, bristling hair might well have disguised him.  As he moved, a chain clanked; to his wrists were attached fetters.