Either 7 Read this passage, and then answer the question that follows it: No: stillness returned: each murmur and movement ceased gradually, and in about an hour Thornfield Hall was again as hushed as a desert. It seemed that sleep and night had resumed their empire. Meantime the moon declined: she was about to set. Not liking to sit in the cold and darkness, I thought I would lie down on my bed, dressed as I was. I left the window, and moved with little noise across the carpet; as I stooped to take off my shoes, a cautious hand tapped low at the door. 'Am I wanted?' I asked. 'Are you up?' asked the voice I expected to hear, namely, my master's. 'Yes, sir.' 'And dressed?' 'Yes.' 'Come out, then, quietly.' I obeyed. Mr Rochester stood in the gallery, holding a light. 'I want you,' he said: 'come this way: take your time, and make no noise.' My slippers were thin: I could walk the matted floor as softly as a cat. He glided up the gallery and up the stairs, and stopped in the dark, low corridor of the fateful third story: I had followed and stood at his side. 'Have you a sponge in your room?' he asked in a whisper. 'Yes, sir.' 'Have you any salts – volatile salts?' 'Yes.' 'Go back and fetch both.' I returned, sought the sponge on the washstand, the salts in my drawer, and once more retraced my steps. He still waited; he held a key in his hand: approaching one of the small, black doors, he put it in the lock; he paused, and addressed me again. 'You don't turn sick at the sight of blood?' 'I think I shall not: I have never been tried yet.' I felt a thrill while I answered him; but no coldness, and no faintness. 'Just give me your hand,' he said: 'it will not do to risk a fainting fit.' I put my fingers into his. 'Warm and steady,' was his remark: he turned the key and opened the door. I saw a room I remembered to have seen before, the day Mrs Fairfax showed me over the house: it was hung with tapestry; but the tapestry was now looped up in one part, and there was a door apparent, which had then been concealed. This door was open; a light shone out of the room within: I heard thence a snarling, snatching sound, almost like a dog quarrelling. Mr Rochester, putting down his candle, said to me, 'Wait a minute,' and he went forward to the inner apartment. A shout of laughter greeted his entrance; noisy at first, and terminating in Grace Poole's own goblin ha! ha! She then was there. He made some sort of arrangement without speaking, though I heard a low voice address him: he came out and closed the door behind him. 'Here, Jane!' he said; and I walked round to the other side of a large bed, which with its drawn curtains concealed a considerable portion of the chamber. An easy-chair was near the bed-head: a man sat in it, dressed with the exception of his coat; he was still; his head leant back; his eyes were closed. Mr Rochester held the candle over him; I recognised in his pale and seemingly lifeless face – the stranger, Mason: I saw, too, that his linen on one side, and one arm, was almost soaked in blood. [from Chapter 20] How does Brontë make this moment in the novel so dramatic?