"Do you not want me to go?" I asked.
"No, stay with me."
She did not let herself sink back on her pillow. A strange fright had changed her expression; her eyes wandered restlessly, as if pursuing a moving shadow. I approached her, and laid her down myself, arranged her in the bed, touched her forehead, asked her gently:
"What ails you, Juliana?"
"I do not know; I am afraid."
"Of what?"
"I do not know. It is not my fault; I am ill; I am like that."
But her eyes, instead of fixing themselves on me, continued to wander.
"What are you seeking? Do you see something?"
"No, nothing."