e 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 consequ