I hate the rain

Having descended a staircase, traversed a portion of the house below, and succeeded in opening and shutting, without noise, two doors, I reached another flight of steps; these I mounted, and then just opposite to me was Miss Temple's room.  A light shone through the keyhole and from under the door; a profound stillness pervaded the vicinity.  Coming near, I found the door slightly ajar; probably to admit some fresh air into the close abode of sickness.  Indisposed to hesitate, and full of impatient impulses--soul and senses quivering with keen throes--I put it back and looked in.  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.  While I tried to devour my tears, a fit of coughing seized Helen; it did not, however, wake the nurse; when it was over, she lay some minutes exhausted; then she whispered--