This is S.
D.
Hudson Magic.
Jane Eyre Chapter 33 It is not in Mr.
Rochester.
He is interested,
Resumed St.
John presently.
Meantime,
You forget essential points in pursuing trifles.
You do not inquire why Mr.
Briggs sought after you and what he wanted with you.
Well,
What did he want,
Said I?
Merely to tell you your uncle Mr.
Eyre of Madeira is dead.
That he has left you all his property and you are now rich.
Merely that,
Nothing more.
Yes,
You,
Rich,
Quite an heiress in fact.
Silence succeeded.
You must prove your identity of course,
Said St.
John.
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 for me.
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 comprehend 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 hooray,
Adhering one has got a fortune.
One begins to consider responsibilities,
To ponder business.
On a base of steady satisfaction rise certain grave cares and we contain ourselves and brood over our bliss with a solemn brow.
Besides,
The words legacy,
Bequest,
Go side by side with the words death and 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 on you and you were turning to stone.
Perhaps now you will ask how much you're 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'd never heard laugh before,
Laughed now.
Well,
Said he,
If you had committed 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's a mistake?
No mistake at all.
Perhaps you've 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 company.
You look too desperately miserable to be left alone.
But Hannah,
Poor woman,
Could not stride the drifts as well as I.
Her legs are not quite so long,
So I must even leave you to your sorrows.
Good night.
He was lifting the latch,
And 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,
St John,
Tonight.
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,
St John,
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 I was a hard man,
Said he,
Difficult to persuade.
And I am a hard woman,
Impossible to put off,
Said I.
I am cold,
He pursued,
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 streamed onto 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 sadded 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 may 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,
I am your namesake,
That I was christened St John Eyre Rivers?
No,
Indeed.
I remember now seeing the letter E comprised in your initials written in books you have at different times lent me.
But I never asked for what name it stood.
Then I stopped.
I could not trust myself to entertain,
Much less to express the thought that rushed upon me.
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 complete.
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 was Eyre.
She had two brothers.
One,
A clergyman,
Who married Miss Jane Reed of Giggshead.
The other,
John Eyre,
Merchant,
Later Fonchon Madeira.
Mr Briggs,
Being Mr Eyre's solicitor,
Wrote to us last August to inform us of our uncle's death and to say he'd left his property to his brother the clergyman's orphaned daughter,
Overlooking us in the consequence of a quarrel never forgiven between him and my father.
He wrote again a few weeks since to intimate the heiress was lost and asking if we knew anything of her.
A name casually written on a slip of paper has enabled me to find her out,
And you know the rest.
Again St John was going,
But I set my back against the door.
Do let me speak,
I said.
Let me have one moment to draw breath and reflect.
I paused.
He stood before me,
Hat in hand,
Looking composed enough,
So I resumed.
Your mother was my father's sister.
Yes,
My aunt,
Consequently.
He bowed.
My Uncle John was your Uncle John.
You,
Diane and Mary,
Are his sister's children,
As I am his brother's child.
Undeniably.
You three,
Then,
Are my cousins.
Half our blood on each side flows from the same source.
We are cousins,
Yes.
I surveyed him.
It seemed I had found a brother,
One I could be proud of,
One I could love,
And two sisters,
Whose qualities were such that when I knew them but as mere strangers,
They had inspired me with genuine affection and admiration.
The two girls,
On whom,
Kneeling down on the wet ground and looking through the low lattice window of Morehouse kitchen,
I had gazed with so bitter a mixture of interest and despair,
Were my near kinswoman.
And the young and stately gentleman,
Who had found me almost dying at his threshold,
Was my blood relation.
Glorious discovery to a lonely wretch,
This was wealth indeed,
Wealth to the heart,
A mine of pure genial affections.
This was a blessing,
Bright,
Vivid and exhilarating.
Not like the ponderous gift of gold,
Rich and welcome enough in its way,
But sobering from its weight.
I now clapped my hands in sudden joy,
My pulse bounded and my veins thrilled.
Oh,
I'm glad,
I'm glad,
I exclaimed.
St.
John smiled.
Did I not say you neglected essential points to pursue trifles,
He asked.
You were serious when I told you you'd got a fortune,
And now,
For a matter of no moment,
You're excited.
What can you mean?
It may be of no moment to you,
You have sisters and don't care for a cousin,
But I had nobody,
And now I have three relations,
Or two if you don't choose to be counted,
And they are born into my world full grown.
I say again,
I am glad.
