this way. If your mother was here, you would not close
yourself against her."

Norman interrupted him in a voice strangled with sobs: "It is no good
saying it--I thought it would only make it worse for you; but that's it.
I cannot bear the being without her."

Dr. May was glad to see that a gush of tears followed this exclamation,
as Norman hid his face under the coverings.

"My poor boy," said he, hardly able to speak, "only One can comfort you
truly; but you must not turn from me; you must let me do what I can for
you, though it is not the same."

"I thought it would grieve you more," said Norman, turning his face
towards him again.

"What, to find my children, feeling with me, and knowing what they have
lost? Surely not, Norman."

"And it is of no use," added Norman, hiding his face again, "no one can
comfort--"

"There you are wrong," said Dr. May, with deep feeling, "there is much
comfort in everything, in everybody, in kindness, in all around, if one
can only open one's mind to it. But I did not come to keep you awake
with such talk: I saw you were not quite well, so I came up to see about
you; and now, Norman, you will not refuse to own that something is the
matter."

"I did not know it," said Norman, "I really believe I am well, if I
could get rid of these horrible nights. I either lie awake, tumbling and
tossing, or I get all sorts of unbearable dreams."

"Ay, when I asked master Harry about you, all the answer I could get
was, that he was quite used to it, and did not mind it at all. As if
I asked for his sake! How fast that boy sleeps--he is fit for a
midshipman's berth!"

"But do you think there is anything amiss with me?"

"I shall know more about that to-morrow morning. Come to my room as
soon as you are up, unless I come to you. Now, I have something to read
before I go to bed, and I may as well try if it will put you to sleep."

Norman's last sight that night was of the outline of his father's
profile, and he was scarcely awake the next morning before Dr. May was
there again.

Unwilling as he had been to give way, it was a relief to relinquish the
struggle to think himself well, and to venture to lounge and dawdle,
rest his heavy head, and stretch his inert limbs without fear of
remark. His father found him after breakfast lying on the sofa in the
drawing-room with a Greek play by his side, telling Ethel what words to
look out.

"At it again!" exclaimed Dr. May. "Carry it away, Ethel.