"And when I breathe calmly?"
"Then I love to look at you; for you may be dreaming of me. I watch you much longer than you can tell; but I do not look at you too long at a time for fear my eyes should awaken you."
"But what makes you do this?"
"Do I not tell you? Besides," and she averted her face and gave me a sweet shy look, "my watching might make you dream of me."
"But could not I dream of you as well when you are by my side?"
She shook her head. "No. You can make people dream of you by looking at them in their sleep."
"Nonsense, Geraldine," I exclaimed, a little warmly; "this is some crazy old woman's belief: you must not think such things."
I saw her upturned eyes slowly cloud with tears. Her beauty, too, suddenly took the same intensely plaintive and piteous expression I had marked in her when I had seen her walking in her sleep.
"You are angry with me, Arthur."
"No, dearest," I answered, kissing the tears from her eyes, "I am not angry with you. I only think you should not indulge such foolish fancies."