"As I exclaimed 'Jane! Jane! Jane!' a voice -- I cannot tell
whence the voice came, but I know whose voice it was -- replied,
'I am coming: wait for me;' and a moment after, went whispering
on the wind the words -- 'Where are you?'
"I'll tell you, if I can, the idea, the picture these words opened
to my mind: yet it is difficult to express what I want to express.
Ferndean is buried, as you see, in a heavy wood, where sound falls
dull, and dies unreverberating. 'Where are you?' seemed spoken
amongst mountains; for I heard a hill-sent echo repeat the words.
Cooler and fresher at the moment the gale seemed to visit my brow:
I could have deemed that in some wild, lone scene, I and Jane were
meeting. In spirit, I believe we must have met. You no doubt
were, at that hour, in unconscious sleep, Jane: perhaps your soul
wandered from its cell to comfort mine; for those were your accents
-- as certain as I live -- they were yours!"
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