“Iamcometoseehowyouarespendingyourholiday，”hesaid。“Not，Ihope，inthought？No，thatiswell:whileyoudrawyouwillnotfeellonely。Yousee，Imistrustyoustill，thoughyouhaveborneupwonderfullysofar。Ihavebroughtyouabookforeveningsolace，”andhelaidonthetableanewpublication—apoem:oneofthosegenuineproductionssooftenvouchsafedtothefortunatepublicofthosedays—thegoldenageofmodernliterature。Alas！thereadersofoureraarelessfavoured。Butcourage！Iwillnotpauseeithertoaccuseorrepine。Iknowpoetryisnotdead，norgeniuslost;norhasMammongainedpowerovereither，tobindorslay:theywillbothasserttheirexistence，theirpresence，theirlibertyandstrengthagainoneday。Powerfulangels，safeinheaven！theysmilewhensordidsoulstriumph，andfeebleonesweepovertheirdestruction。Poetrydestroyed？Geniusbanished？No！Mediocrity，no:donotletenvypromptyoutothethought。No;theynotonlylive，butreignandredeem:andwithouttheirdivineinfluencespreadeverywhere，youwouldbeinhell—thehellofyourownmeanness。
WhileIwaseagerlyglancingatthebrightpagesof“Marmion”（for“Marmion”itwas），St。Johnstoopedtoexaminemydrawing。Histallfiguresprangerectagainwithastart:hesaidnothing。Ilookedupathim:heshunnedmyeye。Iknewhisthoughtswell，andcouldreadhisheartplainly;atthemomentIfeltcalmerandcoolerthanhe:Ihadthentemporarilytheadvantageofhim，andIconceivedaninclinationtodohimsomegood，ifIcould。
“Withallhisfirmnessandself—control，”thoughtI，“hetaskshimselftoofar:lockseveryfeelingandpangwithin—expresses，confesses，impartsnothing。IamsureitwouldbenefithimtotalkalittleaboutthissweetRosamond，whomhethinksheoughtnottomarry:Iwillmakehimtalk。”
Isaidfirst，“Takeachair，Mr。Rivers。”Butheanswered，ashealwaysdid，thathecouldnotstay。“Verywell，”Iresponded，mentally，“standifyoulike;butyoushallnotgojustyet，Iamdetermined:solitudeisatleastasbadforyouasitisforme。I’lltryifIcannotdiscoverthesecretspringofyourconfidence，andfindanapertureinthatmarblebreastthroughwhichIcanshedonedropofthebalmofsympathy。”
“Isthisportraitlike？”Iaskedbluntly。
“Like！Likewhom？Ididnotobserveitclosely。”
“Youdid，Mr。Rivers。”
Healmoststartedatmysuddenandstrangeabruptness:helookedatmeastonished。“Oh，thatisnothingyet，”Imutteredwithin。“Idon’tmeantobebaffledbyalittlestiffnessonyourpart;I’mpreparedtogotoconsiderablelengths。”Icontinued，“Youobserveditcloselyanddistinctly;butIhavenoobjectiontoyourlookingatitagain，”andIroseandplaceditinhishand。
“Awell—executedpicture，”hesaid;“verysoft，clearcolouring;verygracefulandcorrectdrawing。”
“Yes，yes;Iknowallthat。Butwhatoftheresemblance？Whoisitlike？”
Masteringsomehesitation，heanswered，“MissOliver，Ipresume。”
“Ofcourse。Andnow，sir，torewardyoufortheaccurateguess，Iwillpromisetopaintyouacarefulandfaithfulduplicateofthisverypicture，providedyouadmitthatthegiftwouldbeacceptabletoyou。Idon’twishtothrowawaymytimeandtroubleonanofferingyouwoulddeemworthless。”
Hecontinuedtogazeatthepicture:thelongerhelooked，thefirmerheheldit，themoreheseemedtocovetit。“Itislike！”hemurmured;“theeyeiswellmanaged:thecolour，light，expression，areperfect。Itsmiles！”
“Woulditcomfort，orwoulditwoundyoutohaveasimilarpainting？Tellmethat。WhenyouareatMadagascar，orattheCape，orinIndia，woulditbeaconsolationtohavethatmementoinyourpossession？orwouldthesightofitbringrecollectionscalculatedtoenervateanddistress？”
Henowfurtivelyraisedhiseyes:heglancedatme，irresolute，disturbed:heagainsurveyedthepicture。
“ThatIshouldliketohaveitiscertain:whetheritwouldbejudiciousorwiseisanotherquestion。”
SinceIhadascertainedthatRosamondreallypreferredhim，andthatherfatherwasnotlikelytoopposethematch，I—lessexaltedinmyviewsthanSt。John—hadbeenstronglydisposedinmyownhearttoadvocatetheirunion。Itseemedtomethat，shouldhebecomethepossessorofMr。Oliver’slargefortune，hemightdoasmuchgoodwithitasifhewentandlaidhisgeniusouttowither，andhisstrengthtowaste，underatropicalsun。WiththispersuasionInowanswered—
“AsfarasIcansee，itwouldbewiserandmorejudiciousifyouweretotaketoyourselftheoriginalatonce。”
Bythistimehehadsatdown:hehadlaidthepictureonthetablebeforehim，andwithhisbrowsupportedonbothhands，hungfondlyoverit。Idiscernedhewasnowneitherangrynorshockedatmyaudacity。Isaweventhattobethusfranklyaddressedonasubjecthehaddeemedunapproachable—tohearitthusfreelyhandled—wasbeginningtobefeltbyhimasanewpleasure—anunhoped—forrelief。Reservedpeopleoftenreallyneedthefrankdiscussionoftheirsentimentsandgriefsmorethantheexpansive。Thesternest—seemingstoicishumanafterall;andto“burst”withboldnessandgood—willinto“thesilentsea”oftheirsoulsisoftentoconferonthemthefirstofobligations。
“Shelikesyou，Iamsure，”saidI，asIstoodbehindhischair，“andherfatherrespectsyou。Moreover，sheisasweetgirl—ratherthoughtless;butyouwouldhavesufficientthoughtforbothyourselfandher。Yououghttomarryher。”
“Doesshelikeme？”heasked。
“Certainly;betterthanshelikesanyoneelse。Shetalksofyoucontinually:thereisnosubjectsheenjoyssomuchortouchesuponsooften。”
“Itisverypleasanttohearthis，”hesaid—“very:goonforanotherquarterofanhour。”Andheactuallytookouthiswatchandlaidituponthetabletomeasurethetime。
“Butwhereistheuseofgoingon，”Iasked，“whenyouareprobablypreparingsomeironblowofcontradiction，orforgingafreshchaintofetteryourheart？”
“Don’timaginesuchhardthings。Fancymeyieldingandmelting，asIamdoing:humanloverisinglikeafreshlyopenedfountaininmymindandoverflowingwithsweetinundationallthefieldIhavesocarefullyandwithsuchlabourprepared—soassiduouslysownwiththeseedsofgoodintentions，ofself—denyingplans。Andnowitisdelugedwithanectarousflood—theyounggermsswamped—deliciouspoisoncankeringthem:nowIseemyselfstretchedonanottomaninthedrawing—roomatValeHallatmybrideRosamondOliver’sfeet:sheistalkingtomewithhersweetvoice—gazingdownonmewiththoseeyesyourskilfulhandhascopiedsowell—smilingatmewiththesecorallips。Sheismine—Iamhers—thispresentlifeandpassingworldsufficetome。Hush！saynothing—myheartisfullofdelight—mysensesareentranced—letthetimeImarkedpassinpeace。”
Ihumouredhim:thewatchtickedon:hebreathedfastandlow:Istoodsilent。Amidstthishushthequartetsped;hereplacedthewatch，laidthepicturedown，rose，andstoodonthehearth。
“Now，”saidhe，“thatlittlespacewasgiventodeliriumanddelusion。Irestedmytemplesonthebreastoftemptation，andputmyneckvoluntarilyunderheryokeofflowers。Itastedhercup。Thepillowwasburning:thereisanaspinthegarland:thewinehasabittertaste:herpromisesarehollow—heroffersfalse:Iseeandknowallthis。”
Igazedathiminwonder。
“Itisstrange，”pursuedhe，“thatwhileIloveRosamondOliversowildly—withalltheintensity，indeed，ofafirstpassion，theobjectofwhichisexquisitelybeautiful，graceful，fascinating—Iexperienceatthesametimeacalm，unwarpedconsciousnessthatshewouldnotmakemeagoodwife;thatsheisnotthepartnersuitedtome;thatIshoulddiscoverthiswithinayearaftermarriage;andthattotwelvemonths’rapturewouldsucceedalifetimeofregret。ThisIknow。”
“Strangeindeed！”Icouldnothelpejaculating。
“Whilesomethinginme，”hewenton，“isacutelysensibletohercharms，somethingelseisasdeeplyimpressedwithherdefects:theyaresuchthatshecouldsympathiseinnothingIaspiredto—co—operateinnothingIundertook。Rosamondasufferer，alabourer，afemaleapostle？Rosamondamissionary’swife？No！”
“Butyouneednotbeamissionary。Youmightrelinquishthatscheme。”
“Relinquish！What！myvocation？Mygreatwork？Myfoundationlaidonearthforamansioninheaven？Myhopesofbeingnumberedinthebandwhohavemergedallambitionsinthegloriousoneofbetteringtheirrace—ofcarryingknowledgeintotherealmsofignorance—ofsubstitutingpeaceforwar—freedomforbondage—religionforsuperstition—thehopeofheavenforthefearofhell？MustIrelinquishthat？Itisdearerthanthebloodinmyveins。ItiswhatIhavetolookforwardto，andtolivefor。”
Afteraconsiderablepause，Isaid—“AndMissOliver？Areherdisappointmentandsorrowofnointeresttoyou？”
“MissOliveriseversurroundedbysuitorsandflatterers:inlessthanamonth，myimagewillbeeffacedfromherheart。Shewillforgetme;andwillmarry，probably，someonewhowillmakeherfarhappierthanIshoulddo。”
“Youspeakcoollyenough;butyousufferintheconflict。Youarewastingaway。”
“No。IfIgetalittlethin，itiswithanxietyaboutmyprospects，yetunsettled—mydeparture，continuallyprocrastinated。Onlythismorning，Ireceivedintelligencethatthesuccessor，whosearrivalIhavebeensolongexpecting，cannotbereadytoreplacemeforthreemonthstocomeyet;andperhapsthethreemonthsmayextendtosix。”
“YoutrembleandbecomeflushedwheneverMissOliverenterstheschoolroom。”
Againthesurprisedexpressioncrossedhisface。Hehadnotimaginedthatawomanwoulddaretospeaksotoaman。Forme，Ifeltathomeinthissortofdiscourse。Icouldneverrestincommunicationwithstrong，discreet，andrefinedminds，whethermaleorfemale，tillIhadpassedtheoutworksofconventionalreserve，andcrossedthethresholdofconfidence，andwonaplacebytheirheart’sveryhearthstone。
“Youareoriginal，”saidhe，“andnottimid。Thereissomethingbraveinyourspirit，aswellaspenetratinginyoureye;butallowmetoassureyouthatyoupartiallymisinterpretmyemotions。Youthinkthemmoreprofoundandpotentthantheyare。YougivemealargerallowanceofsympathythanIhaveajustclaimto。WhenIcolour，andwhenIshadebeforeMissOliver，Idonotpitymyself。Iscorntheweakness。Iknowitisignoble:amerefeveroftheflesh:not，Ideclare，theconvulsionofthesoul。Thatisjustasfixedasarock，firmsetinthedepthsofarestlesssea。KnowmetobewhatIam—acoldhardman。”
Ismiledincredulously。
“Youhavetakenmyconfidencebystorm，”hecontinued，“andnowitismuchatyourservice。Iamsimply，inmyoriginalstate—strippedofthatblood—bleachedrobewithwhichChristianitycovershumandeformity—acold，hard，ambitiousman。Naturalaffectiononly，ofallthesentiments，haspermanentpoweroverme。Reason，andnotfeeling，ismyguide;myambitionisunlimited:mydesiretorisehigher，todomorethanothers，insatiable。Ihonourendurance，perseverance，industry，talent;becausethesearethemeansbywhichmenachievegreatendsandmounttoloftyeminence。Iwatchyourcareerwithinterest，becauseIconsideryouaspecimenofadiligent，orderly，energeticwoman:notbecauseIdeeplycompassionatewhatyouhavegonethrough，orwhatyoustillsuffer。”
“Youwoulddescribeyourselfasamerepaganphilosopher，”Isaid。
“No。Thereisthisdifferencebetweenmeanddeisticphilosophers:Ibelieve;andIbelievetheGospel。Youmissedyourepithet。Iamnotapagan，butaChristianphilosopher—afollowerofthesectofJesus。AsHisdiscipleIadoptHispure，Hismerciful，Hisbenignantdoctrines。Iadvocatethem:Iamsworntospreadthem。Woninyouthtoreligion，shehascultivatedmyoriginalqualitiesthus:—Fromtheminutegerm，naturalaffection，shehasdevelopedtheovershadowingtree，philanthropy。Fromthewildstringyrootofhumanuprightness，shehasrearedaduesenseoftheDivinejustice。Oftheambitiontowinpowerandrenownformywretchedself，shehasformedtheambitiontospreadmyMaster’skingdom;toachievevictoriesforthestandardofthecross。Somuchhasreligiondoneforme;turningtheoriginalmaterialstothebestaccount;pruningandtrainingnature。Butshecouldnoteradicatenature:norwillitbeeradicated‘tillthismortalshallputonimmortality。’”
Havingsaidthis，hetookhishat，whichlayonthetablebesidemypalette。Oncemorehelookedattheportrait。
“SheISlovely，”hemurmured。“SheiswellnamedtheRoseoftheWorld，indeed！”
“AndmayInotpaintonelikeitforyou？”
“Cuibono？No。”
HedrewoverthepicturethesheetofthinpaperonwhichIwasaccustomedtorestmyhandinpainting，topreventthecardboardfrombeingsullied。Whathesuddenlysawonthisblankpaper，itwasimpossibleformetotell;butsomethinghadcaughthiseye。Hetookitupwithasnatch;helookedattheedge;thenshotaglanceatme，inexpressiblypeculiar，andquiteincomprehensible:aglancethatseemedtotakeandmakenoteofeverypointinmyshape，face，anddress;forittraversedall，quick，keenaslightning。Hislipsparted，asiftospeak:buthecheckedthecomingsentence，whateveritwas。
“Whatisthematter？”Iasked。
“Nothingintheworld，”wasthereply;and，replacingthepaper，Isawhimdexterouslytearanarrowslipfromthemargin。Itdisappearedinhisglove;and，withonehastynodand“good—afternoon，”hevanished。
“Well！”Iexclaimed，usinganexpressionofthedistrict，“thatcapstheglobe，however！”
I，inmyturn，scrutinisedthepaper;butsawnothingonitsaveafewdingystainsofpaintwhereIhadtriedthetintinmypencil。Iponderedthemysteryaminuteortwo;butfindingitinsolvable，andbeingcertainitcouldnotbeofmuchmoment，Idismissed，andsoonforgotit。
Chapter34
WhenMr。St。Johnwent，itwasbeginningtosnow;thewhirlingstormcontinuedallnight。Thenextdayakeenwindbroughtfreshandblindingfalls;bytwilightthevalleywasdriftedupandalmostimpassable。Ihadclosedmyshutter，laidamattothedoortopreventthesnowfromblowinginunderit，trimmedmyfire，andaftersittingnearlyanhouronthehearthlisteningtothemuffledfuryofthetempest，Ilitacandle，tookdown“Marmion，”andbeginning—
“DaysetonNorham’scastledsteep，
AndTweed’sfairriverbroadanddeep，
AndCheviot’smountainslone;
Themassivetowers，thedonjonkeep，
Theflankingwallsthatroundthemsweep，
Inyellowlustreshone”—
Isoonforgotstorminmusic。
Iheardanoise:thewind，Ithought，shookthedoor。No;itwasSt。JohnRivers，who，liftingthelatch，cameinoutofthefrozenhurricane—thehowlingdarkness—andstoodbeforeme:thecloakthatcoveredhistallfigureallwhiteasaglacier。Iwasalmostinconsternation，solittlehadIexpectedanyguestfromtheblocked—upvalethatnight。
“Anyillnews？”Idemanded。“Hasanythinghappened？”
“No。Howveryeasilyalarmedyouare？”heanswered，removinghiscloakandhangingitupagainstthedoor，towardswhichheagaincoollypushedthematwhichhisentrancehadderanged。Hestampedthesnowfromhisboots。
“Ishallsullythepurityofyourfloor，”saidhe，“butyoumustexcusemeforonce。”Thenheapproachedthefire。“Ihavehadhardworktogethere，Iassureyou，”heobserved，ashewarmedhishandsovertheflame。“Onedrifttookmeuptothewaist;happilythesnowisquitesoftyet。”
“Butwhyareyoucome？”Icouldnotforbearsaying。
“Ratheraninhospitablequestiontoputtoavisitor;butsinceyouaskit，Ianswersimplytohavealittletalkwithyou;Igottiredofmymutebooksandemptyrooms。Besides，sinceyesterdayIhaveexperiencedtheexcitementofapersontowhomatalehasbeenhalf—told，andwhoisimpatienttohearthesequel。”
Hesatdown。Irecalledhissingularconductofyesterday，andreallyIbegantofearhiswitsweretouched。Ifhewereinsane，however，hiswasaverycoolandcollectedinsanity:Ihadneverseenthathandsome—featuredfaceofhislookmorelikechiselledmarblethanitdidjustnow，asheputasidehissnow—wethairfromhisforeheadandletthefirelightshinefreeonhispalebrowandcheekaspale，whereitgrievedmetodiscoverthehollowtraceofcareorsorrownowsoplainlygraved。Iwaited，expectinghewouldsaysomethingIcouldatleastcomprehend;buthishandwasnowathischin，hisfingeronhislip:hewasthinking。Itstruckmethathishandlookedwastedlikehisface。Aperhapsuncalled—forgushofpitycameovermyheart:Iwasmovedtosay—
“IwishDianaorMarywouldcomeandlivewithyou:itistoobadthatyoushouldbequitealone;andyouarerecklesslyrashaboutyourownhealth。”
“Notatall，”saidhe:“Icareformyselfwhennecessary。Iamwellnow。Whatdoyouseeamissinme？”
Thiswassaidwithacareless，abstractedindifference，whichshowedthatmysolicitudewas，atleastinhisopinion，whollysuperfluous。Iwassilenced。
Hestillslowlymovedhisfingeroverhisupperlip，andstillhiseyedweltdreamilyontheglowinggrate;thinkingiturgenttosaysomething，Iaskedhimpresentlyifhefeltanycolddraughtfromthedoor，whichwasbehindhim。
“No，no！”herespondedshortlyandsomewhattestily。
“Well，”Ireflected，“ifyouwon’ttalk，youmaybestill;I’llletyoualonenow，andreturntomybook。”
SoIsnuffedthecandleandresumedtheperusalof“Marmion。”Hesoonstirred;myeyewasinstantlydrawntohismovements;heonlytookoutamoroccopocket—book，thenceproducedaletter，whichhereadinsilence，foldedit，putitback，relapsedintomeditation。Itwasvaintotrytoreadwithsuchaninscrutablefixturebeforeme;norcouldI，inimpatience，consenttobedumb;hemightrebuffmeifmyheliked，buttalkIwould。
“HaveyouheardfromDianaandMarylately？”
“NotsincetheletterIshowedyouaweekago。”
“Therehasnotbeenanychangemadeaboutyourownarrangements？YouwillnotbesummonedtoleaveEnglandsoonerthanyouexpected？”
“Ifearnot，indeed:suchchanceistoogoodtobefallme。”Baffledsofar，Ichangedmyground。Ibethoughtmyselftotalkabouttheschoolandmyscholars。
“MaryGarrett’smotherisbetter，andMarycamebacktotheschoolthismorning，andIshallhavefournewgirlsnextweekfromtheFoundryClose—theywouldhavecometo—daybutforthesnow。”
“Indeed！”
“Mr。Oliverpaysfortwo。”
“Doeshe？”
“HemeanstogivethewholeschoolatreatatChristmas。”
“Iknow。”
“Wasityoursuggestion？”
“No。”
“Whose，then？”
“Hisdaughter’s，Ithink。”
“Itislikeher:sheissogood—natured。”
“Yes。”
Againcametheblankofapause:theclockstruckeightstrokes。Itarousedhim;heuncrossedhislegs，saterect，turnedtome。
“Leaveyourbookamoment，andcomealittlenearerthefire，”hesaid。
Wondering，andofmywonderfindingnoend，Icomplied。
“Half—an—hourago，”hepursued，“Ispokeofmyimpatiencetohearthesequelofatale:onreflection，Ifindthematterwillbebettermanagedbymyassumingthenarrator’spart，andconvertingyouintoalistener。Beforecommencing，itisbutfairtowarnyouthatthestorywillsoundsomewhathackneyedinyourears;butstaledetailsoftenregainadegreeoffreshnesswhentheypassthroughnewlips。Fortherest，whethertriteornovel，itisshort。
“Twentyyearsago，apoorcurate—nevermindhisnameatthismoment—fellinlovewitharichman’sdaughter;shefellinlovewithhim，andmarriedhim，againsttheadviceofallherfriends，whoconsequentlydisownedherimmediatelyafterthewedding。Beforetwoyearspassed，therashpairwerebothdead，andlaidquietlysidebysideunderoneslab。（Ihaveseentheirgrave;itformedpartofthepavementofahugechurchyardsurroundingthegrim，soot—blackoldcathedralofanovergrownmanufacturingtownin—shire。）Theyleftadaughter，which，atitsverybirth，Charityreceivedinherlap—coldasthatofthesnow—driftIalmoststuckfastinto—night。Charitycarriedthefriendlessthingtothehouseofitsrichmaternalrelations;itwasrearedbyanaunt—in—law，called（Icometonamesnow）Mrs。ReedofGateshead。Youstart—didyouhearanoise？Idaresayitisonlyaratscramblingalongtheraftersoftheadjoiningschoolroom:itwasabarnbeforeIhaditrepairedandaltered，andbarnsaregenerallyhauntedbyrats。—Toproceed。Mrs。Reedkepttheorphantenyears:whetheritwashappyornotwithher，Icannotsay，neverhavingbeentold;butattheendofthattimeshetransferredittoaplaceyouknow—beingnootherthanLowoodSchool，whereyousolongresidedyourself。Itseemshercareertherewasveryhonourable:fromapupil，shebecameateacher，likeyourself—reallyitstrikesmethereareparallelpointsinherhistoryandyours—sheleftittobeagoverness:there，again，yourfateswereanalogous;sheundertooktheeducationofthewardofacertainMr。Rochester。”
“Mr。Rivers！”Iinterrupted。
“Icanguessyourfeelings，”hesaid，“butrestrainthemforawhile:Ihavenearlyfinished;hearmetotheend。OfMr。Rochester’scharacterIknownothing，buttheonefactthatheprofessedtoofferhonourablemarriagetothisyounggirl，andthatattheveryaltarshediscoveredhehadawifeyetalive，thoughalunatic。Whathissubsequentconductandproposalswereisamatterofpureconjecture;butwhenaneventtranspiredwhichrenderedinquiryafterthegovernessnecessary，itwasdiscoveredshewasgone—noonecouldtellwhen，where，orhow。ShehadleftThornfieldHallinthenight;everyresearchafterhercoursehadbeenvain:thecountryhadbeenscouredfarandwide;novestigeofinformationcouldbegatheredrespectingher。Yetthatsheshouldbefoundisbecomeamatterofseriousurgency:advertisementshavebeenputinallthepapers;ImyselfhavereceivedaletterfromoneMr。Briggs，asolicitor，communicatingthedetailsIhavejustimparted。Isitnotanoddtale？”
“Justtellmethis，”saidI，“andsinceyouknowsomuch，yousurelycantellitme—whatofMr。Rochester？Howandwhereishe？Whatishedoing？Ishewell？”
“IamignorantofallconcerningMr。Rochester:theletternevermentionshimbuttonarratethefraudulentandillegalattemptIhaveadvertedto。Youshouldratheraskthenameofthegoverness—thenatureoftheeventwhichrequiresherappearance。”
“DidnoonegotoThornfieldHall，then？DidnooneseeMr。Rochester？”
“Isupposenot。”
“Buttheywrotetohim？”
“Ofcourse。”
“Andwhatdidhesay？Whohashisletters？”
“Mr。BriggsintimatesthattheanswertohisapplicationwasnotfromMr。Rochester，butfromalady:itissigned‘AliceFairfax。’”
Ifeltcoldanddismayed:myworstfearsthenwereprobablytrue:hehadinallprobabilityleftEnglandandrushedinrecklessdesperationtosomeformerhauntontheContinent。Andwhatopiateforhisseveresufferings—whatobjectforhisstrongpassions—hadhesoughtthere？Idarednotanswerthequestion。Oh，mypoormaster—oncealmostmyhusband—whomIhadoftencalled“mydearEdward！”
“Hemusthavebeenabadman，”observedMr。Rivers。
“Youdon’tknowhim—don’tpronounceanopinionuponhim，”Isaid，withwarmth。
“Verywell，”heansweredquietly:“andindeedmyheadisotherwiseoccupiedthanwithhim:Ihavemytaletofinish。Sinceyouwon’taskthegoverness’sname，Imusttellitofmyownaccord。Stay！Ihaveithere—itisalwaysmoresatisfactorytoseeimportantpointswrittendown，fairlycommittedtoblackandwhite。”
Andthepocket—bookwasagaindeliberatelyproduced，opened，soughtthrough;fromoneofitscompartmentswasextractedashabbyslipofpaper，hastilytornoff:Irecognisedinitstextureanditsstainsofultra—marine，andlake，andvermillion，theravishedmarginoftheportrait—cover。Hegotup，helditclosetomyeyes:andIread，tracedinIndianink，inmyownhandwriting，thewords“JANEEYRE”—theworkdoubtlessofsomemomentofabstraction。
“BriggswrotetomeofaJaneEyre:”hesaid，“theadvertisementsdemandedaJaneEyre:IknewaJaneElliott。—IconfessIhadmysuspicions，butitwasonlyyesterdayafternoontheywereatonceresolvedintocertainty。Youownthenameandrenouncethealias？”
“Yes—yes;butwhereisMr。Briggs？HeperhapsknowsmoreofMr。Rochesterthanyoudo。”
“BriggsisinLondon。IshoulddoubthisknowinganythingatallaboutMr。Rochester;itisnotinMr。Rochesterheisinterested。Meantime，youforgetessentialpointsinpursuingtrifles:youdonotinquirewhyMr。Briggssoughtafteryou—whathewantedwithyou。”
“Well，whatdidhewant？”
“Merelytotellyouthatyouruncle，Mr。EyreofMadeira，isdead;thathehasleftyouallhisproperty，andthatyouarenowrich—merelythat—nothingmore。”
“I！—rich？”
“Yes，you，rich—quiteanheiress。”
Silencesucceeded。
“Youmustproveyouridentityofcourse，”resumedSt。Johnpresently:“astepwhichwilloffernodifficulties;youcanthenenteronimmediatepossession。YourfortuneisvestedintheEnglishfunds;Briggshasthewillandthenecessarydocuments。”
Herewasanewcardturnedup！Itisafinething，reader，tobeliftedinamomentfromindigencetowealth—averyfinething;butnotamatteronecancomprehend，orconsequentlyenjoy，allatonce。Andthenthereareotherchancesinlifefarmorethrillingandrapture—giving:thisissolid，anaffairoftheactualworld，nothingidealaboutit:allitsassociationsaresolidandsober，anditsmanifestationsarethesame。Onedoesnotjump，andspring，andshouthurrah！athearingonehasgotafortune;onebeginstoconsiderresponsibilities，andtoponderbusiness;onabaseofsteadysatisfactionrisecertaingravecares，andwecontainourselves，andbloodoverourblisswithasolemnbrow。
Besides，thewordsLegacy，Bequest，gosidebysidewiththewords，Death，Funeral。MyuncleIhadheardwasdead—myonlyrelative;eversincebeingmadeawareofhisexistence，Ihadcherishedthehopeofonedayseeinghim:now，Inevershould。Andthenthismoneycameonlytome:nottomeandarejoicingfamily，buttomyisolatedself。Itwasagrandboondoubtless;andindependencewouldbeglorious—yes，Ifeltthat—thatthoughtswelledmyheart。
“Youunbendyourforeheadatlast，”saidMr。Rivers。“IthoughtMedusahadlookedatyou，andthatyouwereturningtostone。Perhapsnowyouwillaskhowmuchyouareworth？”
“HowmuchamIworth？”
“Oh，atrifle！Nothingofcoursetospeakof—twentythousandpounds，Ithinktheysay—butwhatisthat？”
“Twentythousandpounds？”
Herewasanewstunner—Ihadbeencalculatingonfourorfivethousand。Thisnewsactuallytookmybreathforamoment:Mr。St。John，whomIhadneverheardlaughbefore，laughednow。
“Well，”saidhe，“ifyouhadcommittedamurder，andIhadtoldyouyourcrimewasdiscovered，youcouldscarcelylookmoreaghast。”
“Itisalargesum—don’tyouthinkthereisamistake？”
“Nomistakeatall。”
“Perhapsyouhavereadthefigureswrong—itmaybetwothousand！”
“Itiswritteninletters，notfigures，—twentythousand。”
Iagainfeltratherlikeanindividualofbutaveragegastronomicalpowerssittingdowntofeastaloneatatablespreadwithprovisionsforahundred。Mr。Riversrosenowandputhiscloakon。
“Ifitwerenotsuchaverywildnight，”hesaid，“IwouldsendHannahdowntokeepyoucompany:youlooktoodesperatelymiserabletobeleftalone。ButHannah，poorwoman！couldnotstridethedriftssowellasI:herlegsarenotquitesolong:soImuste’enleaveyoutoyoursorrows。Good—night。”
Hewasliftingthelatch:asuddenthoughtoccurredtome。“Stoponeminute！”Icried。