she　reviving？　I　went　up　to　her。

“It　is　I；　Aunt　Reed。”

“Who—I？”　was　her　answer。　“Who　are　you？”　looking　at　me　with　surprise　and　a　sort　of　alarm；　but　still　not　e—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。　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　l