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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 committed to black and white.'
And the pocket-book was again deliberately produced, opened, sought
through; from one of its compartments was extracted a shabby slip of
paper, hastily torn off: I recognised in its texture and its stains of
ultra-marine, and lake, and vermilion, 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
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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?'
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