the floor ever so long."

"Faint--how long did it last?" said her father, examining her without
apparent emotion, as if it had been an indifferent patient.

"I don't know, things seemed so long that evening. Till after dark at
least, and it came on in the morning--no, the Monday. I believe it was
your arm--for talking of going to see you always brought it on, till Mr.
Ward gave him a dose of brandy-and-water, and that stopped it."

"I wish I had known this before. Derangement of the nervous system, no
doubt--a susceptible boy like that--I wonder what sort of nights he has
been having."

"Terrible ones," said Ethel; "I don't think he ever sleeps quietly till
morning; he has dreams, and he groans and talks in his sleep; Harry can
tell you all that."

"Bless me!" cried Dr. May, in some anger; "what have you all been
thinking about to keep this to yourselves all this time?"

"He could not bear to have it mentioned," said Ethel timidly; "and I
didn't know that it signified so much; does it?"

"It signifies so much, that I had rather have given a thousand pounds
than have let him go on all this time, to be overworked at school, and
wound up to that examination!"

"Oh, dear! I am sorry!" said Ethel, in great dismay. "If you had but
been at home when Cheviot wanted Harry to have sent for you--because he
did not think him fit for it!" And Ethel was much relieved by pouring
out all she knew, though her alarm was by no means lessened by the
effect it produced on her father, especially when he heard of the "funny
state."

"A fine state of things," he said; "I wonder it has not brought on a
tremendous illness by this time. A boy of that sensitive temperament
meeting with such a shock--never looked after--the quietest and most
knocked down of all, and therefore the most neglected--his whole system
disordered--and then driven to school to be harassed and overworked; if
we had wanted to occasion brain fever we could not have gone a better
way to set about it. I should not wonder if health and nerves were
damaged for life!"

"Oh! papa, papa!" cried Ethel, in extreme distress, "what shall I do! I
wish I had told you, but--"

"I'm not blaming you, Ethel, you knew no better, but it has been
grievous neglect. It is plain enough there is no one to see after you,"
said the doctor, with a low groan.

"We may be taking it in time," said Margaret's soft voice--"it is very
well it has gone on no longer."

"Three months is long e