shudder shook him, and, ere I could interpose my arm, he sank in a heap at my feet, white, and cold, and lifeless.  Before I had raised him, Thorne and the man sprang to my aid, and the latter, bending over with eager haste, took the thin white hands in his own, half caressing them, half fearing to grasp them, speaking to him the while in tones of frightened entreaty, that, on any other occasion, would have been ludicrous enough.

“Come, now, my little man,” said he,—­“come, don’t be afeard, don’t be afeard of me!  Dan Buckhurst won’t harm ye, not for the world, poor child!  Come, stand up!  ’Twas all a joke.  Come, come!—­My God!  Doctor, he a’n’t dead, is he?” cried he to Thorne, in horror.

“If he is, you have killed him, you damned old fool, you!” responded Thorne, impetuously, thrusting the man aside with an angry gesture, and bending down to examine the lad’s inert form.  “Thank God, Ned,” said he at last, “it is only a swoon this time, and we’ll soon have him all right.  We must get him to bed, though.  Here, Buckhurst, you are the strongest; stop whimpering there, you old jackanapes, and bring him along.”

Buckhurst quickly obeyed, lifting Clarian up in his arms as gently and tenderly as if he had been an infant, and following Thorne, who led the way to our rooms.  There the lad was placed upon the bed with which he had become only too familiar, and the Doctor, by means of his restoratives, soon had the satisfaction of recalling breath and motion.  As soon as the boy’s sighs gave evidence of returning vitality, Thorne thrust us all from the room, including Mac, who had now come in from class, saying to Buckhurst,—­

“Now, Sir, tell them all about it,—­and wait here; I shall want you presently.”  With which words he closed the door upon us, and returned to his patient.

Mr. Buckhurst refused the chair tendered him by Mac, and paced up and down the room in a state of immense perturbation.

“Well, I never!” said he, “well, I never!  It taken me all aback, Sir,” added he, turning to me.  “Did you ever see anything like it?  Why, he’s jest like a gal!  Dang it, Sir! my Molly a’n’t half as nervous as he is.  I hope he’ll get well,—­I raelly do, now.  I wouldn’t hev had it happen for I dunno what, now, indeed!” And he resumed his walk, repeating to himself, “Well, I never!  Who’d ‘a’ judged ’twas a child like that?”

“May I beg to know what you refer to, Mr. Buckhurst?” asked Mac, with considerable impatience in his tones.

“Eh,—­what?  He’s mighty delicate, a’n’t he?” said the man, with his thumb indicating the next room.

“Very delicate indeed, Sir,—­perhaps you can explain the cause of his present attack,” said I, angrily; for I had begun to think, from Buckhurst’s manner, that he had been guilty of some practical joke upon Clarian.  I saw the fire of a similar suspicion blazing in Mac’s eyes; and I fear, had our conclusions been verified, the worthy Mr. Buckhurst would have fared very badly at our hands, spite the laws of hospitality.