I saw Mr. Rochester shudder: a singularly marked expression of disgust, horror, hatred, warped his countenance almost to distortion; but he only said--

     "Come, be silent, Richard, and never mind her gibberish: don't repeat it."

     "I wish I could forget it," was the answer.

     "You will when you are out of the country: when you get back to Spanish Town, you may think of her as dead and buried--or rather, you need not think of her at all."

     "Impossible to forget this night!"

     "It is not impossible: have some energy, man. You thought you were as dead as a herring two hours since, and you are all alive and talking now. There!--Carter has done with you or nearly so; I'll make you decent in a trice. Jane" (he turned to me for the first time since his re-entrance), "take this key: go down into my bedroom, and walk straight forward into my dressing-room: open the top drawer of the wardrobe and take out a clean shirt and neck-handkerchief: bring them here; and be nimble."

     I went; sought the repository he had mentioned, found the articles named, and returned with them.