my blundering down those stairs that day would have led to this!"
"If people only knew what results you get there wouldn't be enough stairs in the world for all the people who'd be tumbling over each other to tumble down them," said Lucilla.
"You're wandering, dear," said Jane. "Oh, Mr, Rochester, is it really true?"
"As true as taxes," said Mr. Rochester.
••••••
And so, led by Mr. John Rochester, who by a curious coincidence had on boots as new as Mr. Dix's—boots that creaked too—they explored the house. It was, they both felt, a great moment. Those trembling joys of their first furtive raid on Cedar Court, those breathless glimpses, those hurried peeps at forbidden treasures of cabinet and banner-screen—these surely would be as nothing compared with the mature joy of this absolutely lawful exploration.
They "went over" the house. No longer now were shutters opened, a mere reluctant inch, by fumbling feminine fingers, but flung fully back by the strong hand of a benevolent authority. The treasures of furniture and hangings, of picture and ornament, which, just glimpsed in twilight, had remained less a subject for memory than the seeds of romantic imaginings, now came forth out of the shadows boldly, solidly, with all their correct curves and angles, their definite "periods," their declared colours and unconcealed textures. To the early survey the place had seemed a dream-mansion—a place with a spell on it,like the Castle of the Sleeping Beauty, or the old brewery where Miss Havisham walked in her ghostly bridal satin and dusty bridal flowers. Seen now by daylight, the May sunshine streaming unhindered through the dusty panes, with Mr. Rochester's new boots creaking on its obvious carpets, it was just like a house—like any other house. Rather a big house, furnished in a rather old-fashioned style. Even the front rooms, whose boarded windows still denied the light, seemed not very mysterious, only dark and dull.
