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I was still listening in thought to her well-remembered tones,
我心里仍倾听着记忆犹新的声调，
still picturing her pale and spiritual aspect, her wasted face and sublime gaze,
仍然描摹着她苍白而脱俗的容貌，消瘦的脸庞和崇高的目光。
as she lay on her placid deathbed, and whispered her longing to be restored to her divine Father's bosom
那时她平静地躺在临终的病榻上，低声地倾吐着要回到神圣的天父怀抱的渴望。
when a feeble voice murmured from the couch behind: "Who is that?"
正想着，我身后的床上响起了微弱的响声：“是谁呀？”
I knew Mrs. Reed had not spoken for days.
我知道里德太太已经几天没有说话了。
Was she reviving? I went up to her.
难道她醒过来了？我走到她跟前。
It is I, Aunt Reed.
是我，里德舅妈。
"Who -- I?" was her answer. "Who are you?" looking at me with surprise and a sort of alarm, but still not wildly.
“谁--我？”她回答。“你是谁？”她诧异地看着我，颇有些吃惊，但并没有失去控制。
You are quite a stranger to me -- where is Bessie?
我完全不认识你--贝茜呢？
She is at the lodge, aunt.
她在门房，舅妈。
"Aunt," she repeated. Who calls me aunt?
“舅妈！”她重复了一声。谁叫我舅妈来着？
You are not one of the Gibsons, and yet I know you -- that face, and the eyes and forehead, are quiet familiar to me.
你不是吉卜森家的人，不过我知道你--那张面孔，那双眼睛和那个前额，我很熟悉。
You are like -- why, you are like Jane Eyre!
你像--唉，你像简·爱！
