Lovely and bright—”
“He is kind,” the boy murmured. “He will not bite.” The look on his face was growing peaceful. He leaned back in his chair and was soon lost in quiet slumber.
“You see,” the doctor murmured low as they tiptoed from the room, “God, with our help, is working a cure. Tomorrow we will repeat this. By that time the demon of fear will have left him.”
“And it was his scream we heard,” Florence said softly.
“It was his scream,” the father of the boy, the rich Mr. Van Zandt, replied. “It is a form of hysteria brought on by fright. He has suffered long, and we have suffered with him. We hoped this secluded spot might help. It did no good. When the illusion came he was seized with terror. He screamed. But now, thanks to this good doctor and the mystery of music, we may hope for a complete cure.”
“These cases,” the doctor said, assuming a professional air, “are strange, but not uncommon. At some time in the patient’s past he has been terribly frightened. His outer self may have forgotten; his deep, inner self has not. When conditions arise that suggest this fright, it reoccurs.
“If we can still his mind, then cause him to think back, back, back to that time of great fright, we may be able to reassure his inner self, and the hysteria vanishes.
“We hope to banish this terrifying dog, who in reality could not have been vicious at all, then our work will be done.”
“That,” said Greta some time later as she sat in the boat near to the lodge, “is one of the strangest things I have ever known.”
“Our minds are strange,” said Florence as she rowed slowly toward the shore nearest their home on the ridge. “But that,” she murmured after a time, “that which we witnessed today is no less than musical enchantment.”