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All the house was still; for I believe all, except St. John and myself, were now retired to rest.
整座房子寂静无声。因为我相信，除了圣·约翰和我自己，所有的人都安息了。
The one candle was dying out: the room was full of moonlight.
那一根蜡烛幽幽将灭，室内洒满了月光。
My heart beat fast and thick: I heard its throb.
我的心砰砰乱跳，我听见了它的搏动声。
Suddenly it stood still to an inexpressible feeling that thrilled it through, and passed at once to my head and extremities.
突然一种难以言表的感觉使我的心为之震颤，并立即涌向我的头脑和四肢，我的心随之停止了跳动。
The feeling was not like an electric shock, but it was quite as sharp, as strange, as startling:
这种感觉不象一阵电击，但它一样地尖锐，一样地古怪，一样地惊人。
it acted on my senses as if their utmost activity hitherto had been but torpor, from which they were now summoned and forced to wake.
它作用于我的感官，仿佛它们在这之前的最活跃时刻也只不过处于麻木状态。而现在它们受到了召唤，被弄醒了。
They rose expectant: eye and ear waited while the flesh quivered on my bones.
它们起来了，充满了期待，眼睛和耳朵等候着，而肌肉在骨头上哆嗦。
"What have you heard? What do you see?" asked St. John.
“你听到了什么啦？你看见什么了吗？”圣·约翰问。
I saw nothing, but I heard a voice somewhere cry --
我什么也没有看到，可是我听见一个声音在什么地方叫唤着——
"Jane! Jane! Jane!" -- nothing more.
“简！简！简！”随后什么也听不到了。
"O God! what is it?" I gasped.
“呵，上帝呀！那是什么声音？”我喘息着。
I might have said, "Where is it?"
我本该说“这声音是从哪里来的？”
for it did not seem in the room -- nor in the house -- nor in the garden;
因为它似乎不在房间里——也不在屋子里——也不在花园里。
it did not come out of the air -- nor from under the earth -- nor from overhead.
它不是来自空中——也不是来自地下——也不是来自头顶。
I had heard it -- where, or whence, for ever impossible to know!
我已经听到了这声音——从何而来，或者为何而来，那是永远无法知道的！
And it was the voice of a human being -- a known, loved, well-remembered voice -- that of Edward Fairfax Rochester;
而这是一个声音——一个熟悉、亲切、记忆犹新的声音——爱德华·费尔法克斯·罗切斯特的声音。
and it spoke in pain and woe, wildly, eerily, urgently.
这声音痛苦而悲哀——显得狂乱、怪异和急切。
