"May I not watch him—attend him?" inquired Matilda, imploringly.
"No," answered the physician; "in the weakened state in which he now is, the sight of you might cause immediate dissolution."
Matilda started, as if overcome by horror at the bare idea, and promised to obey his commands.
The morning came—Matilda arose from a sleepless couch, and with hopes yet unconfirmed, sought Verezzi's apartment.
She stood near the door listening. Her heart palpitated with tremendous violence as she listened to Verezzi's breathing—every sound from within alarmed her. At last she slowly opened the door, and, though adhering to the physician's directions in not suffering Verezzi to see her, she could not deny herself the pleasure of watching him, and busying herself in little offices about his apartment.
She could hear Verezzi question the attendant collectedly, yet as a person who was ignorant where he was, and knew not the events which had immediately preceded his present state.
At last he sank into a deep sleep. Matilda now dared to gaze on him: the hectic colour which had flushed his cheek was fled, but the ashy hue of his lips had given place to a brilliant vermilion. She gazed intently on his countenance.
A heavenly, yet faint smile diffused itself over his countenance—his hand slightly moved.
Matilda, fearing that he would awake, again concealed herself. She was mistaken, for, on looking again, he still slept.
She still gazed upon his countenance. The visions of his sleep were changed, for tears came fast from under his eyelids, and a deep sigh burst from his bosom.
Thus passed several days: Matilda still watched with
