He gazed alternately at me and at the weapon.

With a movement equally solemn he stooped and took it up.

He placed the blade in different positions, scrutinizing it accurately, and maintaining, at the same time, a profound silence.
Again he looked at me, but all that vehemence and loftiness of spirit which had so lately characterized his features, were flown.

Fallen muscles, a forehead contracted into folds, eyes dim with unbidden drops, and a ruefulness of aspect which no words can describe, were now visible.
His looks touched into energy the same sympathies in me, and I poured forth a flood of tears.

This passion was quickly checked by fear, which had now, no longer, my own, but his safety for their object.