'Mother! Mother! For Heaven's sake don't trouble me! I don't feel just right, and you must let me alone for the present.'
“Well, he kept on walking for an hour longer, and then everything was still in his room for the night. This morning on trying his door it was unfastened. I went in. He was lying in bed wide awake. But, oh! such a change as I saw in his face. It was colorless as on the evening before; but less expressive of emotion. A dead calm seemed to have settled upon it. I took his hand; it was cold. I pressed his forehead; it was cold also. 'Henry, my son, how are you?' I asked. He did not reply; but looked in my face with a cold, steady gaze that chilled me. 'Are you sick, my son?' He merely shook his head slowly. 'Has anything happened? What has happened?' I pressed my question upon him; but it was of no use. He would not satisfy me. I then asked if he would not rise. 'Not yet,' he said. 'Shall I bring you some breakfast?' 'No--no--I cannot eat.' And he shook his head and shut his eyes, while there came into his face a look so sad and suffering that as I gazed on him I could not keep the tears back.
“And it has been no better with him all the day, Doctor,” added Mrs. Wallingford, heaving a long sigh. “Oh, I am distressed to death about it. Won't you come and see him? I'm afraid if something isn't done that he will lose his senses.”
“Have you no conjecture as to the cause of this strange condition of mind?” I asked.
“None,” she replied. “Henry is a reserved young man, you know, Doctor; and keeps many things hidden in his mind even from me that should be outspoken.”
“Hasn't he been paying attention to Squire Floyd's daughter?”
“Nothing serious, or I should have known of it. Henry is rather shy about the girls.”
“What is his condition just now?” I inquired. “How did you leave him?”
“He's been in bed nearly all day, and hasn't touched a mouthful. To all my persuasions and entreaties he answers--'Please, mother, let me alone. I will be better after a while.'”
“I think,” said I, after musing on the case, “that, may be, the let-alone prescription will be the best one for the present. He is prostrated by some strong mental emotion--that seems clear; and time must be given for the mind to regain its equipoise. If I were to call, as you desire, it might annoy or irritate him, and so do more harm than good. No medicine that I can give is at all likely to reach his case.”