Pleasure at regaining made me forget merited reproach for the teasing torment; my joy was great; it could not be concealed: yet I think it broke out more in countenance than language. I said little.
“Are you satisfied now?” asked Dr. John.
I replied that I was—satisfied and happy.
“Well then,” he proceeded, “how do you feel physically? Are you growing calmer? Not much: for you tremble like a leaf still.”
It seemed to me, however, that I was sufficiently calm: at least I felt no longer terrified. I expressed myself composed.
“You are able, consequently, to tell me what you saw? Your account was quite vague, do you know? You looked white as the wall; but you only spoke of ‘something,’ not defining what. Was it a man? Was it an animal? What was it?”
“I never will tell exactly what I saw,” said I, “unless some one else sees it too, and then I will give corroborative testimony; but otherwise, I shall be discredited and accused of dreaming.”
“Tell me,” said Dr. Bretton; “I will hear it in my professional character: I look on you now from a professional point of view, and I read, perhaps, all you would conceal—in your eye, which is curiously vivid and restless: in your cheek, which the blood has forsaken; in your hand, which you cannot steady. Come, Lucy, speak and tell me.”
“You would laugh—?”
“If you don’t tell me you shall have no more letters.”