“Well, doctor?” questioned Redwood.
“Oh, doctor, doctor,” cried Christine, looking up through her tears, “is—is he—?”
“No, no, my child,” answered the doctor, kindly. “He'll be as well as ever in an hour or two—only a bit head-achey and shaken up. There's no occasion for any alarm at all.” Turning to Redwood: “It's epilepsy. Does he have these attacks often?”
“I'm blamed if I knew he had them at all,” said Redwood. “How is it about that?” he asked, addressing the rabbi.
“He has never been troubled this way before,” the rabbi replied.
“Perhaps it's in his family?” questioned the doctor.
“Perhaps. I don't know,” the rabbi answered, though he did know perfectly well that Elias's father had died in an epileptic fit; a fact, by the way, of which Elias himself was ignorant.
“Brought on, then, by nervous excitement, worry, loss of sleep, or what not, I suppose. It will be interesting to note whether he ever has another,” the medical man concluded.
Christine, upon receiving the doctor's assurance that her lover was in no danger of death, had begun anew to sob upon his breast, more violently, if possible, than at first.
The clergyman had retired to the back parlor, and was discoursing of the mishap to a bevy of gaping guests.