“I don’t think you’ll ever do it again—ha, ha, ha!” said the doctor.
“And why not?” asked William.
“The fright of being wakened as you were, cures it. That’s the reason I shook you out of your doldrum,” chuckled the doctor.
“I’m frightened—frightened out of my wits.”
“Glad of it,” said the doctor. “Be the less likely to do it again.”
“Do you think I—I’m really cured?” asked William.
“Yes, I do; but you must change your habits a bit. You’ve let yourself get into a dyspeptic, nervous state, and keep working your brain over things too much. You’ll be quite well in a week or two; and I really do think you’re cured of this trick. They seldom do it again—hardly ever—after the shock of being wakened. I’ve met half a dozen cases—always cured.”
The doctor stayed with him the greater part of that night, which they spent so cheerfully that Drake’s articulation became indistinct, though his learning and philosophy, as usual, shone resplendent.
It was not till he was alone, and the bright morning sun shone round him, that William Maubray quite apprehended the relief his spirits had experienced. For several days he had lived in an odious dream. It was now all cleared up, and his awful suspicions gone.
As he turned from the parlour window to the breakfast table, the old Bible lying on the little book-shelf caught his eye. He took it down, and laid it beside him on the table. Poor Aunt Dinah had kept it by her during her illness, preferring it to any other.