The singing
stopped; Felipe did not stir.
"Can I go?" whispered Alessandro.
"No, no." replied the Senora, impatiently. "He may wake any
minute."
Alessandro looked troubled, but bowed his head submissively, and
remained standing by the window. Father Salvierderra was
kneeling on one side of the bed, the Senora at the other, Ramona at
the foot,-- all praying; the silence was so great that the slight
sounds of the rosary beads slipping against each other seemed
loud. In a niche in the wall, at the head of the bed, stood a statue of
the Madonna, on the other side a picture of Santa Barbara. Candles
were burning before each. The long wicks smouldered and died
down, sputtering, then flared up again as the ends fell into the
melted wax. The Senora's eyes were fixed on the Madonna. The
Father's were closed. Ramona gazed at Felipe with tears streaming
down her face as she mechanically told her beads.
"She is his betrothed, no doubt," thought Alessandro. "The saints
will not let him die;" and Alessandro also prayed. But the
oppression of the scene was too much for him.
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