tity.

"Yet," said she, "I am afraid it is a mistake: my thoughts deceive me. I
wished to see Jane Eyre, and I fancy a likeness where none exists:
besides, in eight years she must be so changed." I now gently assured
her that I was the person she supposed and desired me to be: and seeing
that I was understood, and that her senses were quite collected, I
explained how Bessie had sent her husband to fetch me from Thornfield.

"I am very ill, I know," she said ere long. "I was trying to turn myself
a few minutes since, and find I cannot move a limb. It is as well I
should ease my mind before I die: what we think little of in health,
burdens us at such an hour as the present is to me. Is the nurse here?
or is there no one in the room but you?"

I assured her we were alone.

"Well, I have twice done you a wrong which I regret now. One was in
breaking the promise which I gave my husband to bring you up as my own
child; the other--" she stopped. "After all, it is of no great
importance, perhaps," she murmured to herself: "and then I may get
better; and to humble myself so to her is painful."

She made an effort to alter her position, but failed: her face changed;
she seemed to experience some inward sensation--the precursor, perhaps,
of the last pang.

"Well, I must get it over. Eternity is before me: I had better tell
her.--Go to my dressing-case, open it, and take out a letter you will see
there."

I obeyed her directions. "Read the letter," she said.

It was short, and thus conceived:--

"Madam,--Will you have the goodness to send me the address of my
niece, Jane Eyre, and to tell me how she is? It is my intention to
write shortly and desire her to come to me at Madeira. Providence has
blessed my endeavours to secure a competency; and as I am unmarried
and childless, I wish to adopt her during my life, and bequeath her at
my death whatever I may have to leave.--I am, Madam, &c., &c.,

"JOHN EYRE, Madeira."

It was dated three years back.

"Why did I never hear of this?" I asked.

"Because I disliked you too fixedly and thoroughly ever to lend a hand in
lifting you to prosperity. I could not forget your conduct to me,
Jane--the fury with which you once turned on me; the tone in which you
declared you abhorred me the worst of anybody in the world; the
unchildlike look and voice with which you affirmed that the very thought
of me made you sick, and asserted that I had treated yo