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."

"Has he no love affair on hand?"

"I think not."

"Hasn't he been paying attention to Squire Floyd's daughter?"

"Delia?"

"Yes."

"I believe not, Doctor."

"I've seen him at the Squire's."

"Nothing serious, or I should have known of it. Henry is rather shy
about the girls."

"And you wish me to see him to-night?"

"Yes. Something ought to be done."

"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."

Mrs. Wallingford looked disappointed, and demurred strongly to my
conclusion