“Rather an unpleasant sight, my lad,” said the doctor quietly, “even when a culprit richly deserves it. But about Lennox. He might, though as a rule brave as a lion, have had a seizure like that.”
“No, he mightn’t sir,” said Dickenson stoutly.
“You don’t know, my lad.”
“Oh yes, I do, sir. I know Drew Lennox by heart.”
“But there is such a thing as panic, my lad.”
“Not with him, sir.”
“I say yes, my lad. Recollect that he had a terrible shock a little while ago.” Dickenson’s lips parted. “He was plunged into that awful hole in the dark, and whirled through some underground tunnel. Why, sir, I went and looked at the place myself with Sergeant James, and he let down a lantern for me to see. I tell you what it is; I’m as hard as most men, through going about amongst horrors, but that black pit made me feel wet inside my hands. I wonder the poor fellow retained his reason.”
“But he got the better of that, sir,” said Dickenson hoarsely.
“How do you know, sir? He seemed better; but a man can’t go through such things as that without their leaving some weakening of the mental force.”
“Doctor, don’t talk like that, for goodness’ sake!”