CHAPTER XIV.

HARRY LEROY.

It was several weeks after Iola had written to her brother that her letter reached him.  The trusty servant to whom she delivered it watched his opportunity to mail it.  At last he succeeded in slipping it into Lorraine’s mail and dropping them all into the post office together.  Harry was studying at a boys’ academy in Maine.  His father had given that State the preference because, while on a visit there, he had been favorably impressed with the kindness and hospitality of the people.  He had sent his son a large sum of money, and given him permission to spend awhile with some school-chums till he was ready to bring the family North, where they could all spend the summer together.  Harry had returned from his visit, and was looking for letters and remittances from home, when a letter, all crumpled, was handed him by the principal of the academy.  He recognized his sister’s handwriting and eagerly opened the letter.  As he read, he turned very pale; then a deep flush overspread his face and an angry light flashed from his eyes.  As he read on, his face became still paler; he gasped for breath and fell into a swoon.  Appalled at the sudden change which had swept over him like a deadly sirocco, the principal rushed to the fallen boy, picked up the missive that lay beside him, and immediately rang for help and dispatched for the doctor.  The doctor came at once and was greatly puzzled.  Less than an hour before, he had seen him with a crowd of merry, laughter-loving boys, apparently as light-hearted and joyous as any of them; now he lay with features drawn and pinched, his face deadly pale, as if some terrible suffering had sent all the blood in his veins to stagnate around his heart.  Harry opened his eyes, shuddered, and relapsed into silence.  The doctor, all at sea in regard to the cause of the sudden attack, did all that he could to restore him to consciousness and quiet the perturbation of his spirit.  He succeeded, but found he was strangely silent.  A terrible shock had sent a tremor through every nerve, and the doctor watched with painful apprehension its effect upon his reason.  Giving him an opiate and enjoining that he should be kept perfectly quiet, the doctor left the room, sought the principal, and said:—­

“Mr. Bascom, here is a case that baffles my skill.  I saw that boy pass by my window not more than half an hour ago, full of animation, and now he lies hovering between life and death.  I have great apprehension for his reason.  Can you throw any light on the subject?”

Mr. Bascom hesitated.

“I am not asking you as a matter of idle curiosity, but as a physician.  I must have all the light I can get in making my diagnosis of the case.”

The principal arose, went to his desk, took out the letter which he had picked up from the floor, and laid it in the physician’s hand.  As the doctor read, a look of indignant horror swept over his face.  Then he said:  “Can it be possible!  I never suspected such a thing.  It must be a cruel, senseless hoax.”