. Jo, it o snoorm continued all nig day a keen  impassable. I ter, laid a mat to to prevent t, trimmed my fire, and after sitting nearly an ening to tempest, I lit a candle, took down “Marmion,” and beginning—

    “Day set on Norled steep,

    And tweed’s fair river broad and deep,

    And C’s mountains lone;

    tohe donjon keep,

    t round them sweep,

    In yellore shone”—

    I soon forgot storm in music.

    I , s . Joing tc of tood before me: t covered all figure all  in consternation, so little ed any guest from t night.

    “Any ill news?” I demanded. “hing happened?”

    “No.  up against tos.

    “I sy of your floor,” said  you must excuse me for once.” to get  took me up to t; e soft yet.”

    “But w forbear saying.

    “Ratable question to put to a visitor; but since you ask it, I anso tle talk  tired of my mute books and empty rooms. Besides, since yesterday I ement of a person to  to he sequel.”

    doerday, and really I began to fear s ouced insanity: I  ured face of  did just no s grieved me to discover trace of care or sorroed, expecting  least compre   struck me t ed like y came over my : I o say—

    “I oo bad t you se alone; and you are recklessly ras your own h.”

    “Not at all,” said  do you see amiss in me?”

    tracted indifference, ude  least in his opinion, wholly superfluous. I was silenced.

    ill sloe; t urgent to say sometly if  any cold draughe door, which was behind him.

    “No, no!” ly and someestily.

    “ell,” I reflected, “if you  talk, you may be still; I’ll let you alone nourn to my book.”

    So I snuffed tirred; my eye antly drao s; ook out a morocco pocket-book, tter,  it back, relapsed into meditation. It o try to read able fixture before me; nor could I, in impatience, consent to be dumb;  rebuff me if my  talk I would.

    “ely?”

    “Not since tter I showed you a week ago.”

    “t been any c your os? You  be summoned to leave England sooner ted?”

    “I fear not, indeed: sucoo good to befall me.” Baffled so far, I c myself to talk about the school and my scholars.

    “Mary Garrett’s motter, and Mary came back to t o-day but for the snow.”

    “Indeed!”

    “Mr. Oliver pays for two.”

    “Does he?”

    “o give treat at Cmas.”

    “I know.”

    “as it your suggestion?”

    “No.”

    “hen?”

    “er’s, I think.”

    “It is like ured.”

    “Yes.”

    Again came truck eigrokes. It aroused  erect, turned to me.

    “Leave your book a moment, and come a little nearer the fire,” he said.

    ondering, and of my wonder finding no end, I complied.

    “ience to ale: on reflection, I find tter ter managed by my assuming tor’s part, and converting you into a listener. Before commencing, it is but fair to  tory ale details often regain a degree of fres, e or novel, it is s.

    “ty years ago, a poor curate—never mind  t—fell in love er; s tly disoer tly side by side under one slab. (I  formed part of t of a -black old caturing tos very birty received in  of t I almost stuck fast in to-nigy carried to ts ricernal relations; it -in-lao names noesart—did you  is only a rat scrambling along ters of t ered, and barns are generally ed by rats.—to proceed. Mrs. Reed kept ten years:  say, never old; but at t time sransferred it to a place you kno seems eac strikes me ts in ory and yours—s it to be a governess: tes ion of tain Mr. Rocer.”

    “Mr. Rivers!” I interrupted.

    “I can guess your feelings,”  restrain to ter’s cer I kno t t o offer o t at tar s alive, tic.   conduct and proposals ter of pure conjecture; but ranspired  ; every researcer ry ige of information could be gating  t ster of serious urgency: advertisements  in all tter from one Mr. Briggs, a solicitor, communicating tails I  imparted. Is it not an odd tale?”

    “Just tell me tell it me—w of Mr. Rocer?  is he doing? Is he well?”

    “I am ignorant of all concerning Mr. Rocer: tter never mentions  to narrate t and illegal attempt I ed to. You sure of t which requires her appearance.”

    “Did no one go to ter?”

    “I suppose not.”

    “But te to him?”

    “Of course.”

    “And ers?”

    “Mr. Briggs intimates t to ion  from Mr. Rocer, but from a lady: it is signed ‘Alice Fairfax.’”

    I felt cold and dismayed: my  fears true: y left England and rusion to some former  on tinent. And e for  object for rong passions— t ansion. Oer—once almost my en called “my dear Edward!”

    “ have been a bad man,” observed Mr. Rivers.

    “You don’t know  pronounce an opinion upon h.

    “Very o finis ask t tell it of my oay! I   is alisfactory to see important points ten doted to black and we.”

    And t-book ely produced, opened, sougs compartments racted a sily torn off: I recognised in its texture and its stains of ultra-marine, and lake, and vermillion, trait-cover.  up,  close to my eyes: and I read, traced in Indian ink, in my oless of some moment of abstraction.

    “Briggs e to me of a Jane Eyre:” isements demanded a Jane Eyre: I knet.—I confess I  it erday afternoon t once resolved into certainty. You ohe alias?”

    “Yes—yes; but han you do.”

    “Briggs is in London. I s  all about Mr. Rocer; it is not in Mr. Rocer erested. Meantime, you forget essential points in pursuing trifles: you do not inquire er you—h you.”

    “ell, w did ?”

    “Merely to tell you t your uncle, Mr. Eyre of Madeira, is dead; t  you all y, and t you are nohing more.”

    “I!—rich?”

    “Yes, you, rice an heiress.”

    Silence succeeded.

    “You must prove your identity of course,” resumed St. Joly: “a step er on immediate possession. Your fortune is vested in ts.”

    urned up! It is a fine to be lifted in a moment from indigence to  not a matter one can comprely enjoy, all at once. And ture-giving: tual  it: all its associations are solid and sober, and its manifestations are t jump, and spring, and s   a fortune; one begins to consider responsibilities, and to ponder business; on a base of steady satisfaction rise certain grave cares, and ain ourselves, and blood over our bliss h a solemn brow.

    Besides, t, go side by side ive; ever since being made a to me and a rejoicing family, but to my isolated self. It less; and independence  t—t t swelled my .

    “You unbend your fore last,” said Mr. Rivers. “I t Medusa  you, and t you urning to stone. Perh?”

    “h?”

    “Orifle! Noto speak of—ty t ?”

    “ty thousand pounds?”

    unner—I ing on four or five tually took my breat: Mr. St. John, whom I had never heard laugh before, laughed now.

    “ell,” said ted a murder, and I old you your crime was discovered, you could scarcely look more ag.”

    “It is a large sum—don’t you take?”

    “No mistake at all.”

    “Per may be thousand!”

    “It is ten in letters, not figures,—ty thousand.”

    I again felt rat average gastronomical poting doo feast alone at a table spread  his cloak on.

    “If it  suc,” o keep you company: you look too desperately miserable to be left alone. But  stride ts so e so long: so I must e’en leave you to your sorro.”

    ing tc occurred to me. “Stop one minute!” I cried.

    “ell?”

    “It puzzles me to knoo you about me; or  you, living in suc-of-to aid in my discovery.”

    “Oen appealed to about odd matters.” Again tctled.

    “No; t does not satisfy me!” I exclaimed: and indeed ty and unexplanatory reply y more than ever.

    “It is a very strange piece of business,” I added; “I must kno it.”

    “Anotime.”

    “No; to-nigo-nigurned from t and her embarrassed.

    “You certainly s go till you old me all,” I said.

    “I  just now.”

    “You s!”

    “I her Diana or Mary informed you.”

    Of course tions ified it must be, and t  delay; and I told him so.

    “But I apprised you t I o persuade.”

    “And I am a o put off.”

    “And ts me.”

    “, and fire dissolves ice. token, it reamed on to my floor, and made it like a trampled street. As you o be forgiven, Mr. Rivers, tcell me w I wiso know.”

    “ell, t to your earnestness, to your perseverance: as stone is inual dropping. Besides, you must knoer. Your name is Jane Eyre?”

    “Of course: t tled before.”

    “You are not, per I am your namesake?—t I . John Eyre Rivers?”

    “No, indeed! I remember noter E. comprised in your initials ten in books you  different times lent me; but I never asked for  stood. But hen? Surely—”

    I stopped: I could not trust myself to entertain, muco express, t t rus embodied itself,— t, in a second, stood out a strong, solid probability. Circumstances knit tted t into order: t o a formless lump of links  straig, tion complete. I kneinct, ter stood, before St. Jo I cannot expect to uitive perception, so I must repeat ion.

    “My motes, late of Funcor, e to us last August to inform us of our uncle’s deato say t  y to er, overlooking us, in consequence of a quarrel, never forgiven, beto intimate t t, and asking if ten on a slip of paper o find . You kno.” Again  I set my back against the door.

    “Do let me speak,” I said; “let me  to dra.” I paused—ood before me,  in hand, looking composed enough. I resumed—

    “Your moter?”

    “Yes.”

    “My aunt, consequently?”

    he bowed.

    “My uncle Joer’s cher’s child?”

    “Undeniably.”

    “You the same source?”

    “e are cousins; yes.”

    I surveyed  seemed I ers, rangers, tion and admiration. tticed er a mixture of interest and despair, ately gentleman  ion. Glorious discovery to a lonely co t!—a mine of pure, genial affections. t, vivid, and exing;—not like t of gold: rics  sobering from its weighrilled.

    “Oh, I am glad!—I am glad!” I exclaimed.

    St. Jo say you neglected essential points to pursue trifles?” old you you  a fortune; and noter of no moment, you are excited.”

    “ can you mean? It may be of no moment to you; you ers and don’t care for a cousin; but I ions,—or t co be counted,—are born into my world full-grown. I say again, I am glad!”

    I  topped, ed s t rose faster ttle ts of  t seemed a sky tars,—every one lit me to a purpose or deligill t. ttered,—I could reunite t be too. ere  four? ty tice—enougo spare: justice ual   a mere bequest of coin,—it was a legacy of life, .

    aking my spirit by storm, I cannot tell; but I perceived soon t Mr. Rivers ly attempting to make me sit do. o be composed; I scorned tion of raction, so  again.

    “rite to Diana and Mary to-morroell to come ly. Diana said they will do very well.”

    “tell me er,” said St. Jo really make an effort to tranquillise your feelings.”

    “Nonsense! and  of an effect   keep you in England, induce you to marry Miss Oliver, and settle doal?”

    “You  in communicating t ed you beyond your strength.”

    “Mr. Rivers! you quite put me out of patience: I am rational enoug is you  to misunderstand.”

    “Pertle more fully, I ster.”

    “Explain!  is to explain? You cannot fail to see t ty tion, divided equally beto eac I  is, t you se to your sisters and tell tune t o them.”

    “to you, you mean.”

    “I imated my vieaking any ot brutally selfis, or fiendiseful. Besides, I am resolved I aco Diana and Mary. It  me to  orment and oppress me to y tice, t migo you, t is absolutely superfluous to me. Let tion, and no discussion about it; let us agree amongst eac at once.”

    “ting on first impulses; you must take days to consider sucter, ere your word can be regarded as valid.”

    “O is my sincerity, I am easy: you see tice of the case?”

    “I do see a certain justice; but it is contrary to all custom. Besides, tire fortune is your rig by s; o leave it to  to you. After all, justice permits you to keep it: you may,  absolutely your own.”

    “it is fully as mucter of feeling as of conscience: I must indulge my feelings; I so seldom unity of doing so. ere you to argue, object, and annoy me for a year, I could not forego t a glimpse—t of repaying, in part, a migion, and o myself lifelong friends.”

    “You t. Jo kno is to possess, nor consequently to enjoy  form a notion of tance ty t o take in society; of ts it o you: you cannot—”

    “And you,” I interrupted, “cannot at all imagine ternal and sisterly love. I never ers; I must and ant to admit me and own me, are you?”

    “Jane, I ers ers—  stipulating for t rights.”

    “Brot tance of a ters? Yes; slaving amongst strangers! I,  merit! You, penniless! Famous equality and fraternisation! Close union! Intimate attac!”

    “But, Jane, your aspirations after family ties and domestic emplate: you may marry.”

    “Nonsense, again! Marry! I don’t  to marry, and never shall marry.”

    “t is saying too mucions are a proof of tement under which you labour.”

    “It is not saying too muc I feel, and ions to t of marriage. No one ake me for love; and I  be regarded in t of a mere money speculation. And I do not  a stranger—unsympat from me; I  my kindred: ttered tisfied,  t them sincerely.”

    “I ters; and I knoion for t for tion of talents. You too astes and s resemble Diana’s and Mary’s; your presence is alo me; in your conversation I ime found a salutary solace. I feel I can easily and naturally make room in my  for you, as my t sister.”

    “t contents me for to-nigter go; for if you stay longer, you e me afresrustful scruple.”

    “And t must now be s up, I suppose?”

    “No. I ain my post of mistress till you get a substitute.”

    ion: we sook leave.

    I need not narrate in detail truggles I s I used, to get matters regarding ttled as I ely resolved—as my cousins sa lengt my mind ably fixed on making a just division of ty—as t in ts  ty of tention; and must, besides, ely conscious t in my place t I  lengto consent to put to arbitration. t. truments of transfer : St. Joency.