I was chilled with fear.
All at once I remembered that it might be Pilot, who, when the kitchen- door chanced to be left open, not unfrequently found his way up to the threshold of Mr.Rochester's chamber: I had seen him lying there myself in the mornings.

The idea calmed me somewhat: I lay down.

Silence composes the nerves; and as an unbroken hush now reigned again through the whole house, I began to feel the return of slumber.

But it was not fated that I should sleep that night.

A dream had scarcely approached my ear, when it fled affrighted, scared by a marrow-freezing incident enough.
This was a demoniac laugh--low, suppressed, and deep--uttered, as it seemed, at the very keyhole of my chamber door.