“My poor Eugene, try to be calm.”
“I do try. I try so hard. If you only knew how hard! Don’t let me wander till I have spoken. Give me a little more wine.”
Lightwood complied. Eugene, with a most pathetic struggle against the unconsciousness that was coming over him, and with a look of appeal that affected his friend profoundly, said:
“You can leave me with Jenny, while you speak to her and tell her what I beseech of her. You can leave me with Jenny, while you are gone. There’s not much for you to do. You won’t be long away.”
“No, no, no. But tell me what it is that I shall do, Eugene!”
“I am going! You can’t hold me.”
“Tell me in a word, Eugene!”
His eyes were fixed again, and the only word that came from his lips was the word millions of times repeated. Lizzie, Lizzie, Lizzie.
But, the watchful little dressmaker had been vigilant as ever in her watch, and she now came up and touched Lightwood’s arm as he looked down at his friend, despairingly.
“Hush!” she said, with her finger on her lips. “His eyes are closing. He’ll be conscious when he next opens them. Shall I give you a leading word to say to him?”
“O Jenny, if you could only give me the right word!”
“I can. Stoop down.”
He stooped, and she whispered in his ear. She whispered in his ear one short word of a single syllable. Lightwood started, and looked at her.