“Is it Jane? What is it? This is her shape⁠—this is her size⁠—”

“And this her voice,” I added. “She is all here: her heart, too. God bless you, sir! I am glad to be so near you again.”

“Jane Eyre!⁠—Jane Eyre,” was all he said.

“My dear master,” I answered, “I am Jane Eyre: I have found you out⁠—I am come back to you.”

“In truth?⁠—in the flesh? My living Jane?”

“You touch me, sir⁠—you hold me, and fast enough: I am not cold like a corpse, nor vacant like air, am I?”

“My living darling! These are certainly her limbs, and these her features; but I cannot be so blest, after all my misery. It is a dream; such dreams as I have had at night when I have clasped her once more to my heart, as I do now; and kissed her, as thus⁠—and felt that she loved me, and trusted that she would not leave me.”