简爱(英文版)-第57部分

快捷操作: 按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页 按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页 按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部! 如果本书没有阅读完，想下次继续接着阅读，可使用上方 "收藏到我的浏览器" 功能 和 "加入书签" 功能！


“Mary　Garrett’s　mother　is　better；　and　Mary　came　back　to　the　school　this　morning；　and　I　shall　have　four　new　girls　next　week　from　the　Foundry　Close—they　would　have　e　to…day　but　for　the　snow。”
“Indeed！”
“Mr。　Oliver　pays　for　two。”
“Does　he？”
“He　means　to　give　the　whole　school　a　treat　at　Christmas。”
“I　know。”
“Was　it　your　suggestion？”
“No。”
“Whose；　then？”
“His　daughter’s；　I　think。”
“It　is　like　her：　she　is　so　good…natured。”
“Yes。”
Again　came　the　blank　of　a　pause：　the　clock　struck　eight　strokes。　It　aroused　him；　he　uncrossed　his　legs；　sat　erect；　turned　to　me。
“Leave　your　book　a　moment；　and　e　a　little　nearer　the　fire；”　he　said。
Wondering；　and　of　my　wonder　finding　no　end；　I　plied。
“Half…an…hour　ago；”　he　pursued；　“I　spoke　of　my　impatience　to　hear　the　sequel　of　a　tale：　on　reflection；　I　find　the　matter　will　be　better　managed　by　my　assuming　the　narrator’s　part；　and　converting　you　into　a　listener。　Before　mencing；　it　is　but　fair　to　warn　you　that　the　story　will　sound　somewhat　hackneyed　in　your　ears；　but　stale　details　often　regain　a　degree　of　freshness　when　they　pass　through　new　lips。　For　the　rest；　whether　trite　or　novel；　it　is　short。
“Twenty　years　ago；　a　poor　curate—never　mind　his　name　at　this　moment—fell　in　love　with　a　rich　man’s　daughter；　she　fell　in　love　with　him；　and　married　him；　against　the　advice　of　all　her　friends；　who　consequently　disowned　her　immediately　after　the　wedding。　Before　two　years　passed；　the　rash　pair　were　both　dead；　and　laid　quietly　side　by　side　under　one　slab。　（I　have　seen　their　grave；　it　formed　part　of　the　pavement　of　a　huge　churchyard　surrounding　the　grim；　soot…black　old　cathedral　of　an　overgrown　manufacturing　town　in　—　shire。）　They　left　a　daughter；　which；　at　its　very　birth；　Charity　received　in　her　lap—cold　as　that　of　the　snow…drift　I　almost　stuck　fast　in　to…night。　Charity　carried　the　friendless　thing　to　the　house　of　its　rich　maternal　relations；　it　was　reared　by　an　aunt…in…law；　called　（I　e　to　names　now）　Mrs。　Reed　of　Gateshead。　You　start—did　you　hear　a　noise？　I　daresay　it　is　only　a　rat　scrambling　along　the　rafters　of　the　adjoining　schoolroom：　it　was　a　barn　before　I　had　it　repaired　and　altered；　and　barns　are　generally　haunted　by　rats。—To　proceed。　Mrs。　Reed　kept　the　orphan　ten　years：　whether　it　was　happy　or　not　with　her；　I　cannot　say；　never　having　been　told；　but　at　the　end　of　that　time　she　transferred　it　to　a　place　you　know—being　no　other　than　Lowood　School；　where　you　so　long　resided　yourself。　It　seems　her　career　there　was　very　honourable：　from　a　pupil；　she　became　a　teacher；　like　yourself—really　it　strikes　me　there　are　parallel　points　in　her　history　and　yours—she　left　it　to　be　a　governess：　there；　again；　your　fates　were　analogous；　she　undertook　the　education　of　the　ward　of　a　certain　Mr。　Rochester。”
“Mr。　Rivers！”　I　interrupted。
“I　can　guess　your　feelings；”　he　said；　“but　restrain　them　for　a　while：　I　have　nearly　finished；　hear　me　to　the　end。　Of　Mr。　Rochester’s　character　I　know　nothing；　but　the　one　fact　that　he　professed　to　offer　honourable　marriage　to　this　young　girl；　and　that　at　the　very　altar　she　discovered　he　had　a　wife　yet　alive；　though　a　lunatic。　What　his　subsequent　conduct　and　proposals　were　is　a　matter　of　pure　conjecture；　but　when　an　event　transpired　which　rendered　inquiry　after　the　governess　necessary；　it　was　discovered　she　was　gone—no　one　could　tell　when；　where；　or　how。　She　had　left　Thornfield　Hall　in　the　night；　every　research　after　her　course　had　been　vain：　the　country　had　been　scoured　far　and　wide；　no　vestige　of　information　could　be　gathered　respecting　her。　Yet　that　she　should　be　found　is　bee　a　matter　of　serious　urgency：　advertisements　have　been　put　in　all　the　papers；　I　myself　have　received　a　letter　from　one　Mr。　Briggs；　a　solicitor；　municating　the　details　I　have　just　imparted。　Is　it　not　an　odd　tale？”
“Just　tell　me　this；”　said　I；　“and　since　you　know　so　much；　you　surely　can　tell　it　me—what　of　Mr。　Rochester？　How　and　where　is　he？　What　is　he　doing？　Is　he　well？”
“I　am　ignorant　of　all　concerning　Mr。　Rochester：　the　letter　never　mentions　him　but　to　narrate　the　fraudulent　and　illegal　attempt　I　have　adverted　to。　You　should　rather　ask　the　name　of　the　governess—　the　nature　of　the　event　which　requires　her　appearance。”
“Did　no　one　go　to　Thornfield　Hall；　then？　Did　no　one　see　Mr。　Rochester？”
“I　suppose　not。”
“But　they　wrote　to　him？”
“Of　course。”
“And　what　did　he　say？　Who　has　his　letters？”
“Mr。　Briggs　intimates　that　the　answer　to　his　application　was　not　from　Mr。　Rochester；　but　from　a　lady：　it　is　signed　‘Alice　Fairfax。’”
I　felt　cold　and　dismayed：　my　worst　fears　then　were　probably　true：　he　had　in　all　probability　left　England　and　rushed　in　reckless　desperation　to　some　former　haunt　on　the　Continent。　And　what　opiate　for　his　severe　sufferings—what　object　for　his　strong　passions—had　he　sought　there？　I　dared　not　ansy　poor　master—once　almost　my　husband—whom　I　had　often　called　“my　dear　Edward！”
“He　must　have　been　a　bad　man；”　observed　Mr。　Rivers。
“You　don’t　know　him—don’t　pronounce　an　opinion　upon　him；”　I　said；　with　warmth。
“Very　well；”　he　answered　quietly：　“and　indeed　my　head　is　otherwise　occupied　than　with　him：　I　have　my　tale　to　finish。　Since　you　won’t　ask　the　governess’s　name；　I　must　tell　it　of　my　own　accord。　Stay！　I　have　it　here—it　is　always　more　satisfactory　to　see　important　points　written　down；　fairly　mitted　to　black　and　white。”
And　the　pocket…book　was　again　deliberately　produced；　opened；　sought　through；　from　one　of　its　partments　was　extracted　a　shabby　slip　of　paper；　hastily　torn　off：　I　recognised　in　its　texture　and　its　stains　of　ultra…marine；　and　lake；　and　vermillion；　the　ravished　margin　of　the　portrait…cover。　He　got　up；　held　it　close　to　my　eyes：　and　I　read；　traced　in　Indian　ink；　in　my　own　handwriting；　the　words　“JANE　EYRE”—the　work　doubtless　of　some　moment　of　abstraction。
“Briggs　wrote　to　me　of　a　Jane　Eyre：”　he　said；　“the　advertisements　demanded　a　Jane　Eyre：　I　knew　a　Jane　Elliott。—I　confess　I　had　my　suspicions；　but　it　was　only　yesterday　afternoon　they　were　at　once　resolved　into　certainty。　You　own　the　name　and　renounce　the　alias？”
“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　was　Eyre；　she　had　two　brothers；　one　a　clergyman；　who　married　Miss　Jane　Reed；　of　Gateshead；　the　other；　John　Eyre；　Esq。；　merchant；　late　of　Funchal；　Madeira。　Mr。　Briggs；　being　Mr。　Eyre’s　solicitor；　wrote　to　us　last　August　to　inform　us　of　our　uncle’s　death；　and　to　say　that　he　had　left　his　property　to　his　brother　the　clergyman’s　orphan　daughter；　overlooking　us；　in　consequence　of　a　quarrel；　never　forgiven；　between　him　and　my　father。　He　wrote　again　a　few　weeks　since；　to　intimate　that　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。　You　know　the　rest。”　Again　he　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　posed　enough。　I　resumed—
“Your　mother　was　my　father’s　sister？”
“Yes。”
“My　aunt；　consequently？”
He　bowed。
“My　uncle　John　was　your　uncle　John？　You；　Diana；　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；　latticed　window　of　Moor　House　kitchen；　I　had　gazed　with　so　bitter　a　mixture　of　interest　and　despair；　were　my　near　kinswomen；　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　wele　enough　in　its　way；　but　sobering　from　its　weight。　I　now　clapped　my　hands　in　sudden　joy—my　pulse　bounded；　my　veins　thrilled。
“Oh；　I　am　glad！—I　am　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　had　got　a　fortune；　and　now；　for　a　matter　of　no　moment；　you　are　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　three　relations；—or　two；　if　you　don’t　choose　to　be　counted；—are　born　into　my　world　full…grown。　I　say　again；　I　am　glad！”
I　walked　fast　through　the　room：　I　stopped；　half　suffocated　with　the　thoughts　that　rose　faster　than　I　could　receive；　prehend；　settle　them：…　thoughts　of　what　might；　could；　would；　and　should　be；　and　that　ere　long。　I　looked　at　the　blank　wall：　it　seemed　a　sky　thick　with　ascending　stars；—every　one　lit　me　to　a　purpose　or　delight。　Those　who　had　saved　my　life；　whom；　till　this　hour；　I　had　loved　barrenly；　I　could　now　benefit。　They