Scenes and Characters

It happened one day that Jane, having finished her book, looked round for some other occupation; she knew that Miss Weston had walked to Broomhill; Rachael was with Lilias, and there was no amusement at hand. At last she recollected that her papa had said in the morning, that he hoped to see her and Emily in the schoolroom in the course of the day, and hoping to meet her sister, she resolved to try and get there. The room had been Mr. Mohun's sitting-room since the beginning of their illness, and it looked so very comfortable that she was glad she had come, though she was so tired she wondered how she should get back again. Emily was not there, so she lay down on the sofa and took up a little book from the table. The title was Susan Harvey, or Confirmation, and she read it with more interest as she remembered with a pang that this was the day of the confirmation, to which she had been invited; she soon found herself shedding tears over the book, she who had never yet been known to cry at any story, however affecting. She had not finished when Mr. Devereux came in to look for Mr. Mohun, and finding her there, was going away as soon as he had congratulated her on having left her room, but she begged him to stay, and began asking questions about the confirmation.

'Were there many people?'

'Three hundred.'

'Did the Stoney Bridge people make a disturbance?'

'No.'

'How many of our people?'

'Twenty-seven.'

'Did all the girls wear caps?'

'Most of them.'

Jane was rather surprised at the shortness of her cousin's answers, but she went on, as he stood before the fire, apparently in deep thought.

'Was Miss Burnet confirmed? She is the dullest girl I ever knew, and she is older than I am. Was she confused?'

'She was.'

'Did you give Mary Wright a ticket?'

'No.'

'Then, of course, you did not give one to Ned Long. I thought you would never succeed in making him remember which is the ninth commandment.'

'I did not refuse him.'

'Indeed! did he improve in a portentous manner?'

'Not particularly.'

'Well, you must have been more merciful than I expected.'

'Indeed!'

'Robert, you must have lost the use of your tongue, for want of us to talk to. I shall be affronted if you go into a brown study the first day of seeing me.'

He smiled in a constrained manner, and after a few minutes said, 'I have been considering whether this is a fit time to tell you what will give you pain. You must tell me if you can bear it.'

'About Lily, or the little ones?'

'No, no! only about yourself. Your father wished me to speak to you, but I would not have done so on this first meeting, but what you have just been saying makes me think this is the best occasion.'

'Let me know; I do not like suspense,' said Jane, sharply.

'I think it right to tell you, Jane, that neither your father nor I thought it would be desirable for you to be confirmed at this time.'

'Do you really mean it?' said Jane.

'Look back on the past year, and say if you sincerely think you are fit for confirmation.'

'As to that,' said Jane, 'the best people are always saying that they are not fit for these things.'

'None can call themselves worthy of them; but I think the conscience of some would bear them witness that they had profited so far by their present means of grace as to give grounds for hoping that they would derive benefit from further assistance.'

'Well, I suppose I must be very bad, since you see it,' said Jane, in a manner rather more subdued; 'but I did not think myself worse than other people.'

'Is a Christian called, only to be no worse than others?'

'Oh no! I see, I mean-pray tell me my great fault. Pertness, I suppose-love of gossip?'

'There must be a deeper root of evil, of which these are but the visible effects, Jane.'

'What do you mean, Robert?' said Jane, now seeming really impressed.

'I think, Jane, that the greatest and most dangerous fault of your character is want of reverence. I think it is want of reverence which makes you press forward to that for which you confess yourself unfit; it is want of reverence for holiness which makes you not care to attain it; want of reverence for the Holy Word that makes you treat it as a mere lesson; and in smaller matters your pertness is want of reverence for your superiors; you would not be ready to believe and to say the worst of others, if you reverenced what good there may be in them. Take care that your want of reverence is not in reality want of faith.'

Jane's spirits were weak and subdued. It was a great shock to her to hear that she was not thought worthy of confirmation; her faults had never been called by so hard a name; she was in part humbled, and in part grieved, and what she thought harshness in her cousin; she turned away her face, and did not speak. He continued, 'Jane, you must not think me unkind, your father desired me to talk to you, and, indeed, the time of recovery from sickness is too precious to be trifled away.'

Jane wept bitterly. Presently he said, 'It grieves me to have been obliged to speak harshly to you, you must forgive me if I have talked too much to you, Jane.'

Jane tried to speak, but sobs prevented her, and she gave way to a violent fit of crying. Her cousin feared he had been unwise in saying so much, and had weakened the effect of his own words. He would have been glad to see tears of repentance, but he was afraid that she was weeping over fancied unkindness, and that he might have done what might be hurtful to her in her weak state. He said a few kind words, and tried to console her, but this change of tone rather added to her distress, and she became hysterical. He was much vexed and alarmed, and, ringing the bell, hastened to call assistance. He found Esther, and sent her to Jane, and on returning to the schoolroom with some water, he found her lying exhausted on the sofa; he therefore went in search of his uncle, who was overlooking some farming work, and many were the apologies made, and many the assurances he received, that it would be better for her in the end, as the impression would be more lasting.

Jane was scarcely conscious of her cousin's departure, or of Esther's arrival, but after drinking some water, and lying still for a few moments, she exclaimed, 'Oh, Robert! oh, Esther! the confirmation!' and gasped and sobbed again. Esther thought she had guessed the cause of her tears, and tried to comfort her.

'Ah! Miss Jane, there will be another confirmation some day; it was a sad thing you were too ill, to be sure, but-'

'Oh! if I had-if he would not say-if he had thought me fit.'

Esther was amazed, and asked if she should call Miss Weston, who was now with Lilias.

'No, no!' cried Jane, nearly relapsing into hysterics. 'She shall not see me in this state.'

Esther hardly knew what to do, but she tried to soothe and comfort her by following what was evidently the feeling predominating in Jane's mind, as indicated by her broken sentences, and said, 'It was a pity, to be sure, that Mr. Devereux came and talked so long, he could not know of your being so very weak, Miss Jane.'

'Yes,' said Jane, faintly, 'I could have borne it better if he had waited a few days.'

'Yes, Miss, when you had not been so very ill. Mr. Devereux is a very good gentleman, but they do say he is very sharp.'

'He means to be kind,' said Jane, 'but I do not think he has much consideration, always.'

'Yes, Miss Jane, that is just what Mrs. White said, when-'

Esther's speech was cut short by the entrance of Miss Weston. Jane started up, dashed off her tears, and tried to look as usual, but the paleness of her face, and the redness of her eyes, made this impossible, and she was obliged to lie down again. Esther left the room, and Miss Weston did not feel intimate enough with Jane to ask any questions; she gave her some sal volatile, talked kindly to her of her weakness, and offered to read to her; all the time leaving an opening for confidence, if Jane wished to relieve her mind. The book which lay near her accounted, as she thought, for her agitation, and she blamed herself for having judged her harshly as deficient in feeling, now that she found her so much distressed, because illness had prevented her confirmation. Under this impression she honoured her reserve, while she thought with more affection of Lily's open heart. Jane, who never took, or expected others to take, the most favourable view of people's motives, thought Alethea knew the cause of her distress, and disliked her the more, as having witnessed her humiliation.