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“Yes—yes; but where is Mr。 Briggs? He perhaps knows more of Mr。 Rochester than you do。”
“Briggs is in London。 I should doubt his knowing anything at all about Mr。 Rochester; it is not in Mr。 Rochester he is interested。 Meantime; you forget essential points in pursuing trifles: you do not inquire why Mr。 Briggs sought after you—what he wanted with you。”
“Well; what did he want?”
“Merely to tell you that your uncle; Mr。 Eyre of Madeira; is dead; that he has left you all his property; and that you are now rich— merely that—nothing more。”
“I!—rich?”
“Yes; you; rich—quite an heiress。”
Silence succeeded。
“You must prove your identity of course;” resumed St。 John presently: “a step which will offer no difficulties; you can then enter on immediate possession。 Your fortune is vested in the English funds; Briggs has the will and the necessary documents。”
Here was a new card turned up! It is a fine thing; reader; to be lifted in a moment from indigence to wealth—a very fine thing; but not a matter one can prehend; or consequently enjoy; all at once。 And then there are other chances in life far more thrilling and rapture…giving: this is solid; an affair of the actual world; nothing ideal about it: all its associations are solid and sober; and its manifestations are the same。 One does not jump; and spring; and shout hurrah! at hearing one has got a fortune; one begins to consider responsibilities; and to ponder business; on a base of steady satisfaction rise certain grave cares; and we contain ourselves; and blood over our bliss with a solemn brow。
Besides; the words Legacy; Bequest; go side by side with the words; Death; Funeral。 My uncle I had heard was dead—my only relative; ever since being made aware of his existence; I had cherished the hope of one day seeing him: now; I never should。 And then this money came only to me: not to me and a rejoicing family; but to my isolated self。 It was a grand boon doubtless; and independence would be glorious—yes; I felt that—that thought swelled my heart。
“You unbend your forehead at last;” said Mr。 Rivers。 “I thought Medusa had looked at you; and that you were turning to stone。 Perhaps now you will ask how much you are worth?”
“How much am I worth?”
“Oh; a trifle! Nothing of course to speak of—twenty thousand pounds; I think they say—but what is that?”
“Twenty thousand pounds?”
Here was a new stunner—I had been calculating on four or five thousand。 This news actually took my breath for a moment: Mr。 St。 John; whom I had never heard laugh before; laughed now。
“Well;” said he; “if you had mitted a murder; and I had told you your crime was discovered; you could scarcely look more aghast。”
“It is a large sum—don’t you think there is a mistake?”
“No mistake at all。”
“Perhaps you have read the figures wrong—it may be two thousand!”
“It is written in letters; not figures;—twenty thousand。”
I again felt rather like an individual of but average gastronomical powers sitting down to feast alone at a table spread with provisions for a hundred。 Mr。 Rivers rose now and put his cloak on。
“If it were not such a very wild night;” he said; “I would send Hannah down to keep you pany: you look too desperately miserable to be left alone。 But Hannah; poor woman! could not stride the drifts so well as I: her legs are not quite so long: so I must e’en leave you to your sorrows。 Good…night。”
He was lifting the latch: a sudden thought occurred to me。 “Stop one minute!” I cried。
“Well?”
“It puzzles me to know why Mr。 Briggs wrote to you about me; or how he knew you; or could fancy that you; living in such an out…of…the… way place; had the power to aid in my discovery。”
“Oh! I am a clergyman;” he said; “and the clergy are often appealed to about odd matters。” Again the latch rattled。
“No; that does not satisfy me!” I exclaimed: and indeed there was something in the hasty and unexplanatory reply which; instead of allaying; piqued my curiosity more than ever。
“It is a very strange piece of business;” I added; “I must know more about it。”
“Another time。”
“No; to…night!—to…night!” and as he turned from the door; I placed myself between it and him。 He looked rather embarrassed。
“You certainly shall not go till you have told me all;” I said。
“I would rather not just now。”
“You shall!—you must!”
“I would rather Diana or Mary informed you。”
Of course these objections wrought my eagerness to a climax: gratified it must be; and that without delay; and I told him so。
“But I apprised you that I was a hard man;” said he; “difficult to persuade。”
“And I am a hard woman;—impossible to put off。”
“And then;” he pursued; “I am cold: no fervour infects me。”
“Whereas I am hot; and fire dissolves ice。 The blaze there has thawed all the snow from your cloak; by the same token; it has streamed on to my floor; and made it like a trampled street。 As you hope ever to be forgiven; Mr。 Rivers; the high crime and misdemeanour of spoiling a sanded kitchen; tell me what I wish to know。”
“Well; then;” he said; “I yield; if not to your earnestness; to your perseverance: as stone is worn by continual dropping。 Besides; you must know some day;—as well now as later。 Your name is Jane Eyre?”
“Of course: that was all settled before。”
“You are not; perhaps; aware that I am your namesake?—that I was christened St。 John Eyre Rivers?”
“No; indeed! I remember now seeing the letter E。 prised in your initials written in books you have at different times lent me; but I never asked for what name it stood。 But what then? Surely—”
I stopped: I could not trust myself to entertain; much less to express; the thought that rushed upon me—that embodied itself;— that; in a second; stood out a strong; solid probability。 Circumstances knit themselves; fitted themselves; shot into order: the chain that had been lying hitherto a formless lump of links was drawn out straight;—every ring was perfect; the connection plete。 I knew; by instinct; how the matter stood; before St。 John had said another word; but I cannot expect the reader to have the same intuitive perception; so I must repeat his explanation。
“My mother’s name w