lf. I shall come right again. Only leave me to
myself now.' But, how can I let him go on in this way? Oh, Doctor, I
am almost beside myself! What can it all mean? Something dreadful has
happened."

I sat listening and reflecting for something like ten minutes. Steadily,
from one side the room overhead to the other, went the noise of feet;
now slowly, now with a quicker motion: and now with a sudden tramp, that
sent the listener's blood with a start along its courses.

"Won't you see him, doctor?"

I did not answer at once, for I was in the dark as to what was best to
be done. If I had known the origin of his trouble, I could have acted
understandingly. As it was, any intrusion upon the young man might do
harm rather than good.

"He has asked to be let alone," I replied, "and it may be best to let
him alone. He says that he will come out right. Give him a little more
time. Wait, at least, until to-morrow. Then, if there is no change, I
will see him."

Still the mother urged. At last I said--

"Go to your son. Suggest to him a visit from me, and mark the effect."

I listened as she went up stairs. On entering his room, I noticed that
he ceased walking. Soon came to my ears the murmur of voices, which rose
to a sudden loudness on his part, and I distinctly heard the words:

"Mother! you will drive me mad! If you talk of that, I will go from the
house. I _must_ be left alone!"

Then all was silent. Soon Mrs. Wallingford came down. She looked even
more distressed than when she left the room.

"I'm afraid it might do harm," she said doubtingly.

"So am I. It will, I am sure, be best to let him have his way for the
present. Something has disturbed him fearfully; but he is struggling
hard for the mastery over himself, and you may be sure, madam, that he
will gain it. Your son is a young man of no light stamp of character;
and he will come out of this ordeal, as gold from the crucible."

"You think so, Doctor?"

She looked at me with a hopeful light in her troubled countenance.

"I do, verily. So let your heart dwell in peace."

I was anxious to get back to my good Constance, and so, after a few more
encouraging words for Mrs. Wallingford, I tried the storm again, and
went through its shivering gusts, to my own home. There had been
no calls in my absence, and so the prospect looked fair for a quiet
evening--just what I wanted; for the strange condition of Henry
Wallingford, and the singular circumstance connect