He said it.
“Kiss me, dear.”
He kissed her.
“Now lay me down on the pillow. I’m not eighteen yet—and I feel as old as eighty! Rest; all I want is rest.” Looking at him fondly, her eyes closed little by little—then softly opened again. “Don’t wait in this dull room, darling; I will send for you, if I wake.”
It was the only wish of hers that he disobeyed. From time to time, his fingers touched her pulse, and felt its feeble beat. From time to time, he stooped and let the faint coming and going of her breath flutter on his cheek. The twilight fell, and darkness began to gather over the room. Still, he kept his place by her, like a man entranced.
CHAPTER LIX.
The first trivial sound that broke the spell, was the sound of a match struck in the next room.
He rose, and groped his way to the door. Teresa had ventured upstairs, and had kindled a light. Some momentary doubt of him kept the nurse silent when he looked at her. He stammered, and stared about him confusedly, when he spoke.
“Where—where—?” He seemed to have lost his hold on his thoughts—he gave it up, and tried again. “I want to be alone,” he said; recovering, for the moment, some power of expressing himself.