“That is my poor, little cousin,” explained Arthur.
“Is he sick or in pain?” asked Chester, in quick sympathy.
“He had a fever when he was three years old that left his mind a wreck. He is now eight. The most eminent physicians have seen him, but there seems little hope of his improvement or recovery.”
“Does he suffer pain?”
“You ask on account of the shriek you heard. As far as we can tell, he does not. The shriek comes, so the doctor tells us, from a nervous spasm. He would have been a bright boy if he had kept his health. Would you like to see him?”
Chester shrank back.
“I am afraid I should excite him,” he said.
He had, besides, an idea that a boy so afflicted would be repulsive in appearance.
“No,” said Arthur, “it may relieve him to see you by diverting his thoughts.”
Without further words, he opened the door of a room at the head of the staircase and entered, followed reluctantly by Chester.