This is the last of the Jane Eyre pictures, and it's the odd one out - it's not part of a pair like the other ones, and obviously the scene depicted takes place inside the house, not outside, therefore the focus is much more on the figures, rather than on the landscape. Chronologically, it would be the second in the series, inbetween nr. I and nr. III - but it is actually the last one I finished painting, quite a while after the other ones which were all done in the space of a few weeks.

Here is the relevant passage from "Jane Eyre:"

"This was a demoniac laugh - low, supressed, and deep - uttered, as it seemed, at the very key-hole of my chamber-door. The head of my bed was near the door, and I thought at first the goblin-laugher stood at my bedside - or rather, crouched by my pillow: but I rose, looked around, and could see nothing; while, as I still gazed, the unnatural sound was reiterated: and I knew it came from behind the panels. My first impulse was to rise and fasten the bolt; my next, again to cry out, "Who is there?"
Something gurgled and moaned. Ere long, steps retreated up the gallery towards the third story staircase: a door had lately been made to shut in that staircase; I heard it open and close, and all was still.
"Was that Grace Poole? And is she possessed with a devil?" thought I. Impossible now to remain longer by myself: I must go to Mrs. Fairfax. I hurried on my frock and a shawl; I withdrew the bolt and opened the door with a trembling hand. There was a candle burning just outside, left on the matting in the gallery. I was surprized at this circumstance: but still more was I amazed to perceive the air quite dim, as if filled with smoke; and, while looking to the right hand and left, to find whence these blue wreaths issued, I became aware of a strong smell of burning.
Something creaked: it was a door ajar; and that door was Mr. Rochester's, and the smoke rushed in a cloud from thence. I thought no more of Mrs. Fairfax; I thought no more of Grace Poole or the laugh: in an instant, I was within the chamber. Tongues of flame darted round the bed: the curtains were on fire. In the midst of blaze and vapour, Mr. Rochester lay stretched motionless, in deep sleep.
"Wake! wake!" I cried - I shook him, but he only murmured and turned: the smoke had stupefied him. Not a moment could be lost: the very sheets were kindling. I rushed to his bason and ewer; fortunately, one was wide and the other deep, and both were filled with water. I heaved them up, deluged the bed and its occupant, flew back to my own room, brought my own water-jug, baptized the couch afresh, and by God's aid, succeeded in extinguishing the flames which were devouring it.
The hiss of the quenched element, the breakage of a pitcher which I flung from my hand when I had emptied it, and above all, the splash of the shower-bath I had liberally bestowed, roused Mr. Rochester at last. Though it was now dark, I knew he was awake; because I heard him fulminating strange anathemas at finding himself lying in a pool of water
"Is there a flood?" he cried.
"No, sir," I answered; "but there has been a fire; get up, do, you are quenched now; I will fetch you a candle."
"In the name of all elves in Christendom, is that Jane Eyre?" he demanded. "What have you done with me, witch, sorceress? Who is in the room besides you? Have you plotted to drown me?"
...
"Good night then, sir," said I, departing.
He seemed surprized, - very inconsistently so, as he had just told me to go.
"What!" he exclaimed, "are you quitting me already: and in that way?"
"You said I might go, sir"
"But not without taking leave; not without a word or two of acknowledgement and good will: not, in short, in that brief, dry fashion. Why, you have saved my life! - snatched me from a horrible and excruciating death! - and you walk past me as if we were mutual strangers! At least shake hands."
He held out his hand; I gave him mine: he took it first in one, then in both his own.
"You have saved my life: I have a pleasure in owing you so immense a debt. I cannot say more. Nothing else that has being would have been tolerable to me in the character of creditor for such an obligation: but you; it is different; - I feel your benefits no burden, Jane."
He paused; gazed at me: words almost visible trembled on his lips; - but his voice was checked.
"Good-night again, sir. There is no debt, benefit, burden, obligation, in the case."
"I knew", he continued, "you would do me good in some way, at some time; - I saw it in your eyes when I first beheld you: their expression and smile did not - (again he stopped) - did not (he proceeded hastily) strike delight to my very inmost heart so for nothing. People talk of natural sympathies: I have heard of good genii: - there are grains of truth in the wildest fable. My cherished preserver, good night!"
Strange energy was in his voice; strange fire in his look.
"I am glad I happened to be awake," I said; and then I was going.
"What! you will go?"
"I am cold, sir"
"Cold? Yes, - and standing in a pool! Go, then, Jane; go!"
But he still retained my hand, and I could not free it." ...

From: Charlotte Brontë: "Jane Eyre", vol. I, chapter XV

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last updated: 16 February, 2004