He raised his face, that looked haggard and aged; his hair hung in disorder over his forehead, and dark rings were about his eyes.
“Come away,” said Julião. And he added, seeing the terror depicted on Jorge’s countenance, “No, she is not dead; she is still in the same lethargic condition. Come.”
Jorge rose, and answered with gentleness,—
“Yes; I am going. There is nothing the matter with me—thanks.” And he left the alcove.
The counsellor rose, and embraced him with solemnity, saying,—
“I am here, dear Jorge.”
“Thanks, Counsellor, thanks.”
He took a few steps up and down the room; from time to time he glanced uneasily at a package that was on the table; he took it up, opened it slightly, and saw Luiza’s hair; he looked at it, passing it from one hand to the other, and said, kissing it tenderly, “She took such pride in it, my darling!”
He returned to the alcove, but Julião took him by the hand and sought to draw him away. He resisted gently, and pointing to a candle that was on the little table by the bed, said,—
“Perhaps the light troubles her.”