Jane sat and listened eagerly as the man explained what had happened to her beloved. "The flames surrounded him, miss. They say he was lucky to escape with his life, let alone all of his limbs."
"Where does he reside now?" Jane inquired.
"Ferndean, but not happily." The man shook his head sadly. "I have heard that in the first days following the fire he was in as good health as can be expected, but then he began to act strangely. The servants have said that he screams of fire in the night and when he is alone he can be heard yelling at another. They say he's going mad."
Jane gasped. She couldn't believe that a fire would break the iron constitution of Mr. Rochester. As long as she had known him he had been unbending and unbreakable. Surely, he couldn't be going mad.
She thanked the man for his information and left the inn hurriedly, one thought was in her mind. I must see him.
The door was closed as it had been for the entire day, and the day before that and the day before that. Mr. Rochester had not left his room for what amounted to four days now. Mary brought him his food twice a day, but he did not even acknowledge her existence when she entered the room. He simply continued to sit in his uncomfortable wooden chair, even though there was a much more comfortable sofa behind him, in the middle of the room. He sat slumped over like an old hunched over man, his eyes closed as if he was in deep thought.
The only thoughts that ran through his head were, it can't be. It can't be. I must be going mad. But every so often another thought would break in, yet I am sure of what I saw.
He sat with all of the windows locked, yet suddenly an icy gust of wind swept through the room. The gust chilled Mr. Rochester as it hit him and in an instant his only candle went out.
His heart nearly skipped a beat as a wave of terror and anxiety overcame him. "No! Not again. My punishment!" He cried. Then in a quieter tone. "I beg of you, have mercy."
Bright flames seemed to spring up in a terrifying circle around him. They danced, licking their lips, but never daring to come any closer to him. Tears fell down his cheeks. Without even touching him, the flames had cracked his armor.
"Rochester!" A rage filled voice cried from nowhere.
Mr. Rochester looked up to find a bright red glowing eyes staring at him through a swirling gray cloud that was slowly expanding. The eyes seemed to pierce into his very soul and he felt a hollowness in his chest. "Please!" He cried. "Please!"
The fog did not seem to even hear him. The shining red eyes grew in size and the fog swirled around the room like a tornado. The wind picked up around Mr. Rochester and the flames danced and spun around him. "Rochester!" The disembodied voice cried again and Rochester was sure that this was the end.
But suddenly there was a knock at the door. "Come in! Hurry!" Rochester cried, struggling to be heard over the wind.
The door knob turned and as the door opened the wind, fire and strange fog dissolved immediately, as if they'd never been there at all.
"Mr. Rochester?" A soft voice asked.
"The fire, it's gone." Rochester gasped for breath.
He did not notice who had entered the room, who had saved him. Relief had washed over him and had blinded him momentarily.
"Mr. Rochester?" The voice asked again.
"The fire." He gasped.
"Mr. Rochester?" The voice stayed calm through all of the repetition and finally Mr. Rochester looked up to find a small, plain looking girl in a light blue dress holding a candle.
"Jane?" He cried with surprise.