Fearing to move even an inch lest she should arouse her, and knowing the physician’s anxiety to secure repose, the slight figure sat like a statue, supporting the head and shoulders of the sleeper.  The clock ticked on, and no other sound was audible, save a sigh from Mr. Palma, and the heavy breathing of Olga.  The former was leaning back in his chair, with his arms crossed, and though Regina avoided looking at him, she knew from the shimmer of his glasses, that his eyes were turned upon her.  Gradually the room grew cold, and she raised her hand and pointed to a large shawl lying on a chair within his reach.  Very warily the two spread it lightly over the arms and shoulders, without disturbing the sleeper.  One arm was clasped about Regina’s waist, and the flushed face was pressed against her side.

So they watched until three o’clock, and then Mr. Palma saw that the girl was wearied by the constrained, uncomfortable position.  He had been studying the colourless, mournful features that were as regular and white as if fashioned in Pentelicus, and noted that the heavy hair coiled low at the back of the head, gave a singularly graceful outline to the whole.  She kept her eyes bent upon the face in her lap, and the beautiful lashes and snowy lids drooped over their blue depth.  He knew from the paling of her lips that she was faint and tired, but he realized that she could be relieved only by the sacrifice of that sound slumber, upon which Olga’s welfare was so dependent.  If she stirred even a muscle the sleeper might awake to renewed delirium.

The next hour seemed the longest he had ever spent, and several times he looked at his watch, hoping the clock a laggard.  To Regina the vigil was inexpressibly trying, and sitting there three feet from her guardian, she dared not lift her gaze to the countenance that was so dear.

At four o’clock he took a pillow and lounge cushion and placed them behind her as a support for her wearied frame, but she dared not lean against them sufficiently to find relief; and stooping he put his arm around her shoulder, and pressed her head against him.  Laying his cheek on hers, he whispered very cautiously, for his lips touched her ear: 

“I am afraid you feel very faint; you look so.  Can you bear it a little while longer?”

His breath swept warm across her cold cheek, and she hastily inclined her head.  He lowered his arm, but remained close beside her, and at last she beckoned to him to bend down, and whispered: 

“The fire ought to be renewed in the furnace; will you go down, and attend to it?”

Shod in his velvet slippers, he noiselessly left the room.

How long he was absent, she was unable to determine, for her heart was beating madly from the pressure of his cheek, and the momentary touch of his arm; and gazing at the ring on her finger, she fiercely upbraided herself for this sinful folly.  Wearing that opal, was it not unwomanly and wicked to thrill at the contact with one, who never could be more than her coolly kind, prudent, sagacious guardian?  She felt numb, sick, giddy, and her heart—­ah! how it ached as she tried to realize fully that some day he would caress Mrs. Carew!