CHAPTER XXI 300
True , generous feeling is made small account of by some , but here were two natures rendered , the one intolerably acrid , the other despicably savourless for the want of it . Feeling without judgment is a washy draught indeed ; but judgment untempered by feeling is too bitter and husky a morsel for human deglutition .
It was a wet and windy afternoon : Georgiana had fallen asleep on the sofa over the perusal of a novel ; Eliza was gone to attend a saint ' s-day service at the new church -- for in matters of religion she was a rigid formalist : no weather ever prevented the punctual discharge of what she considered her devotional duties ; fair or foul , she went to church thrice every Sunday , and as often on week-days as there were prayers .
I bethought myself to go upstairs and see how the dying woman sped , who lay there almost unheeded : the very servants paid her but a remittent attention : the hired nurse , being little looked after , would slip out of the room whenever she could . Bessie was faithful ; but she had her own family to mind , and could only come occasionally to the hall . I found the sick-room unwatched , as I had expected : no nurse was there ; the patient lay still , and seemingly lethargic ; her livid face sunk in the pillows : the fire was dying in the grate . I renewed the fuel , re-arranged the bedclothes , gazed awhile on her who could not now gaze on me , and then I moved away to the window .
The rain beat strongly against the panes , the wind blew tempestuously : " One lies there ," I thought , " who will soon be beyond the war of earthly elements . Whither will that spirit -- now struggling to quit its material tenement -- flit when at length released ?"
In pondering the great mystery , I thought of Helen Burns , recalled her dying words -- her faith -- her doctrine of the equality of disembodied souls . I was still listening in thought to her well-remembered tones -- still picturing her pale and spiritual aspect , her wasted face and sublime gaze , as she lay on her placid deathbed , and whispered her longing to be restored to her divine Father ' s bosom -- when a feeble voice murmured from the couch behind : " Who is that ?"