"You are quite a stranger to me--where is Bessie ?" "She is at the lodge, aunt." "Aunt," she repeated.

"Who calls me aunt?
You are not one of the Gibsons; and yet I know you--that face, and the eyes and forehead, are quiet familiar to me: you are like--why, you are like Jane Eyre!" I said nothing: I was afraid of occasioning some shock by declaring my identity.
"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.