Lem looked then, not at Gay, not at Lorna, not at his father, not even at his aunt or at Schulig, but at Henrietta Bates, and in his eyes was an appeal.
“I don't want to go to jail,” he said pitifully. “Don't be afraid; you'll not be there long, Lem,” Henrietta said, and as her heart bled for him she stooped to wrap her arms around him.
The boy's eyes fastened on her face eagerly as if they could not leave it. He swayed slightly and closed his eyes.
“Look out! He's falling!” Lorna cried, and Henrietta caught him in her arms as he fell, and lowered him to the porch floor.
“He's fainted!” Gay exclaimed, and bent to help Henrietta.
The boy's face was white as death, and his eyes were closed, but his head did not droop and he seemed to breathe. Gay, taking his hand to chafe it, looked up in alarm.
“Why—why—he's all stiff!” she exclaimed. “He's dead!”
Lorna, too, was on her knees at Lem's feet now, and Miss Susan, her face now white with fright, was grasping the boy's other hand and crying, “Lem! Lem!”
Henrietta, calm, as one might have known she would be, bent forward and raised one of Lem's eyelids. It remained open and the uncovered eye stared glassily. She gently closed the eyelid and arose.
“He is not dead and he has not fainted,” she said. “I have seen such cases before. It is a cataleptic fit, I think. Has he ever had them before?” she asked Harvey.