"No,--he has not touched any stimulant. This is much worse than that,--this means epilepsy, Mac, and we may have to choose between death and idiocy."
He was still examining the boy, and showing Mac how to hold him most comfortably.
"If I could only get at the causes of this attack,--those, I mean, which lie deeper than the mere physical disorder,--if I could only find out what it is he has been doing,--and I could, easily, were I not afraid of directing suspicion towards him, or bringing about some unfortunate embarrassment"--
"What is it you suspect?" thundered Mac.
"Either some cruel trick has been played upon the boy, or he has been guilty of some act of madness"--
"Impossible!" cried we in a breath; "Clarian is as pure as Heaven."
"Look at him, Thorne!" said my good chum,--"look at the child's baby-face, so frank and earnest!--look at him! You dare not say an impure thought ever awoke in that brain, an impure word ever crossed those lips."
Dr. Thorne smiled sadly.
"There is no standard of reason to the enthusiast, my dear Mac; and here is one, of a surety. However, time will reveal; I wish I knew. Come, Ned, help me to mix some medicines here. Be careful to keep his head right, Mac, so as to have the circulation as free as possible."
While we were occupied in the front room, there came a stout double knock at the door, and when I opened it, Hullfish, the weather-beaten old constable of the borough, made his hesitating appearance. The Doctor gave me a quick glance, as if to say, "I told you so," and then returned the old man's bluff salutation. As soon as Hullfish saw him, he came forward with something like a sigh of relief, and said,--