I had forgotten to draw my curtain, which I usually did, and also to
let down my window-blind. The consequence was, that when the moon,
which was full and bright (for the night was fine), came in her
course to that space in the sky opposite my casement, and looked in
at me through the unveiled panes, her glorious gaze roused me.
Awaking in the dead of night, I opened my eyes on her disk--silver-
white and crystal clear. It was beautiful, but too solemn; I half
rose, and stretched my arm to draw the curtain.

Good God! What a cry!

The night--its silence--its rest, was rent in twain by a savage, a
sharp, a shrilly sound that ran from end to end of Thornfield Hall.

My pulse stopped: my heart stood still; my stretched arm was
paralysed. The cry died, and was not renewed. Indeed, whatever
being uttered that fearful shriek could not soon repeat it: not the
widest-winged condor on the Andes could, twice in succession, send
out such a yell from the cloud shrouding his eyrie. The thing
delivering such utterance must rest ere it could repeat the effort.

It came out of the third storey; for it passed overhead. And
overhead--yes, in the room just above my chamber-ceiling--I now
heard a struggle: a deadly one it seemed from the noise; and a
half-smothered voice shouted "Help! help! help!" three times rapidly.

"Will no one come?" it cried; and then, while the staggering and
stamping went on wildly, I distinguished through plank and plaster:"Rochester! Rochester! for God's sake, come!"