That night I never thought to sleep; but a slumber fell on me as soon as I lay down in bed.  I was transported in thought to the scenes of childhood:  I dreamt I lay in the red-room at Gateshead; that the night was dark, and my mind impressed with strange fears.  The light that long ago had struck me into syncope, recalled in this vision, seemed glidingly to mount the wall, and tremblingly to pause in the centre of the obscured ceiling.  I lifted up my head to look:  the roof resolved to clouds, high and dim; the gleam was such as the moon imparts to vapours she is about to sever.  I watched her come —­ watched with the strangest anticipation; as though some word of doom were to be written on her disk.  She broke forth as never moon yet burst from cloud:  a hand first penetrated the sable folds and waved them away; then, not a moon, but a white human form shone in the azure, inclining a glorious brow earthward.  It gazed and gazed on me.  It spoke to my spirit:  immeasurably distant was the tone, yet so near, it whispered in my heart —

“My daughter, flee temptation.”

“Mother, I will.”

So I answered after I had waked from the trance-like dream.  It was yet night, but July nights are short:  soon after midnight, dawn comes.  “It cannot be too early to commence the task I have to fulfil,” thought I. I rose:  I was dressed; for I had taken off nothing but my shoes.  I knew where to find in my drawers some linen, a locket, a ring.  In seeking these articles, I encountered the beads of a pearl necklace Mr. Rochester had forced me to accept a few days ago.  I left that; it was not mine:  it was the visionary bride’s who had melted in air.  The other articles I made up in a parcel; my purse, containing twenty shillings (it was all I had), I put in my pocket:  I tied on my straw bonnet, pinned my shawl, took the parcel and my slippers, which I would not put on yet, and stole from my room.

“Farewell, kind Mrs. Fairfax!” I whispered, as I glided past her door.  “Farewell, my darling Adele!” I said, as I glanced towards the nursery.  No thought could be admitted of entering to embrace her.  I had to deceive a fine ear:  for aught I knew it might now be listening.

I would have got past Mr. Rochester’s chamber without a pause; but my heart momentarily stopping its beat at that threshold, my foot was forced to stop also.  No sleep was there:  the inmate was walking restlessly from wall to wall; and again and again he sighed while I listened.  There was a heaven —­ a temporary heaven —­ in this room for me, if I chose:  I had but to go in and to say —

“Mr. Rochester, I will love you and live with you through life till death,” and a fount of rapture would spring to my lips.  I thought of this.

That kind master, who could not sleep now, was waiting with impatience for day.  He would send for me in the morning; I should be gone.  He would have me sought for:  vainly.  He would feel himself forsaken; his love rejected:  he would suffer; perhaps grow desperate.  I thought of this too.  My hand moved towards the lock:  I caught it back, and glided on.