My eye sought Helen, and feared to find death.
Close by Miss Temple's bed, and half covered with its white curtains, there stood a little crib.

I saw the outline of a form under the clothes, but the face was hid by the hangings: the nurse I had spoken to in the garden sat in an easy-chair asleep; an unsnuffed candle burnt dimly on the table.

Miss Temple was not to be seen: I knew afterwards that she had been called to a delirious patient in the fever-room.

I advanced; then paused by the crib side: my hand was on the curtain, but I preferred speaking before I withdrew it.

I still recoiled at the dread of seeing a corpse.
"Helen!" I whispered softly, "are you awake ?" She stirred herself, put back the curtain, and I saw her face, pale, wasted, but quite composed: she looked so little changed that my fear was instantly dissipated.
"Can it be you, Jane ?" she asked, in her own gentle voice.
"Oh!" I thought, "she is not going to die; they are mistaken: she could not speak and look so calmly if she were." I got on to her crib and kissed her: her forehead was cold, and her cheek both cold and thin, and so were her hand and wrist; but she smiled as of old.
"Why are you come here, Jane?
It is past eleven o'clock: I heard it strike some minutes since." "I came to see you, Helen: I heard you were very ill, and I could not sleep till I had spoken to you." "You came to bid me good-bye, then: you are just in time probably." "Are you going somewhere, Helen?
Are you going home ?" "Yes; to my long home--my last home." "No, no, Helen!" I stopped, distressed.