hurried on to her uncle's sleeping apartment; it was vacant. Her heart
for the first time sank within her, and she leant against the
wainscot, sick and faint. "I have yet a hope," exclaimed she, and even
as she spoke she turned to seek the oratory. She was right. The
crucifix stood, and the breviary was open on the small table, even as
they were the first time she entered that room: and on a rude mattrass
beside it lay her uncle. She sank on her knees, for he lay motionless;
but, thanks to the holy Virgin, not breathless; no, as she bent over
him, and her lips touched his, she could perceive the breath, the
precious breath, of life: his hand too! it burnt in hers, but she
could feel the pulse distinctly.

Giulietta rose, and threw herself before the crucifix. A violent burst
of tears, the first she had shed, relieved her; and then calmly she
prayed aloud for strength to go through the task which she had
undertaken. The room was hot and oppressive; but she opened the
window, and the sweet air came in, fresh and reviving from the garden
below. She bathed her uncle's temples with aromatic waters, and poured
into his mouth a few drops of medicine. He opened his eyes, and turned
faintly on his pallet, but sank back, as though exhausted. Again he
stretched out his hand, as if in search for something, which failing
to find he moaned heavily. Giulietta perceived at once that parching
thirst was consuming him. From the balcony a flight of steps led to
the garden; she flew down them to the fountain, whose pure, cold water
made the shadow of the surrounding acacias musical as ever. She
returned with a full pitcher; and the eagerness with which the patient
drank told how much that draught had been desired. The cardinal raised
his head, but was quite unconscious; and all that long and fearful
night had Giulietta to listen to the melancholy complainings of
delirium.