"PACKING TIMES."
I was disappointed,—I wanted to talk with him; but I took the book and went over to the window.
It was a capital story, and I soon got interested in it. I don't know how long I'd read—I was enjoying the story so much—when I heard a queer, smothered sound, and it came from the direction of Felix.
In a minute I was by his side, exclaiming, "Why, what's the matter, Fee?"
He had slipped down in the bed, and while his poor helpless legs still lay stretched straight out, he'd twisted the upper part of his body so that he was now lying a little on his side, hugging one of the pillows, and with his face buried in it. His shoulders were shaking, and when he raised his head to answer me, I saw the tears were streaming down his cheeks.
"Shut the door—quick!" he cried, gasping between the words. "Lock it—pile the furniture against it—don't let a creature in—oh, don't let them see me!"
I flew to the door and locked it; and by the time I got back to the bed, Fee seemed to have lost all control over himself. He twisted and twitched, rolling his head restlessly from side to side,—one minute throwing his arms out wildly as far as they could reach, the next snatching at the pillows or the bed-clothes, and trying to stuff them into his mouth. And all the time he kept making that horrible sharp gasping noise,—as if he were almost losing his breath.
I was dreadfully scared at first,—that Felix, of all people, should act this way! I got goose-flesh all over, and just stood there staring at Fee, and that seemed only to make him worse.
"Don't stare at me like that. Oh, don't, don't, don't!" he cried out. "I can't help this—really—I can't, I can't! Oh, if I could only scream without the others hearing me!" He threw his head back and beat the pillows with his outstretched arms.
Then, somehow, I began to understand: a great lump came in my throat, and taking hold of one of Fee's cold, clammy hands, I commenced stroking and patting it without a word.