I went up to the couch and sat down on the low seat at its head. She handed me the book with a smile, saying that it made her eyes ache. "Would I read a little till Mr. Lee came up?"
She said this languidly, and there was a strange look about her eyes, as if they had been overtaxed. I received the volume, but fell into thought with it in my hand, forgetting that she was observing me.
"What is the matter?" she said, touching me with her shadowy hand. "Has anything gone wrong? No bad news about our young friend, I hope."
"No," I answered, starting; "I have not heard from him this morning."
"Well, what is it then? You look strangely, as if something had frightened you."
"Do I? No, indeed, nothing has frightened me."
"Perhaps," she said, with a little hesitation, "you are getting anxious about me; these heavy feelings that hang about my head in the morning are a little depressing; I don't really know what to make of them."
I looked at her anxiously; there certainly was a singular expression in her eyes which made me thoughtful. She went on in a soft, dreamy way, as if talking to herself.
"Then I used to sleep so lightly. It was a great affliction,—that state of semi-wakefulness which left everything unreal, but was not sleep, wore me out; now I fall into such profound slumber, but it gives me no more rest than the other state; and I awake with the sensation of a person who has been struggling hard through the night."
"But this may arise from opiates."